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; _______ Bnterea According to Act of Congress. in the Year 1875. dy Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Conoress, Washington. D.C. ict eis ot a te a
VOL. XXX. “UNoprictors. 12.0. Bow £896, Now York. NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 8, 1875. Two Copies Five Dollars. witaNcis 8.smrra. NO, 14

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TRIED FOR HIS LIFE;

Or, THE CHAIN OF GUILT!
By LIEUTENANT MURRAY,

Author

CHAPTER I.

THE PLANTATION HOME.

Our story, in its opening chapters, takes us to that
beautiful gem of American Archipelago, the Island
of Cuba, which the poetical Abbe Raynal pronounced
to be the garden of the world, where perpetual sum-
mer smiles upon the inhabitants, and whose natural
wealth almost baffles description.

The tranquil beauty of a tropical sunset lingered
tenderly over. bended palm and heavily-laden cocoa-
nut trees, the gentle sighs of the land breeze swept
over the neighboring coffee plantations, fragrant
with odors from the innumerable blossoms of the
low latitudes. It was the one moment of twilight
which precedes the falling curtain of night over a
fairy-like landscape. The three leagues lying between
the spot and the Spanish capital was too great a dis-
tance for even the boom of the sunset gun from the
Moro, to disturb the quiet avenue of palm trees,
mangoes and bananas. Star after star sprang rapidly
into. place in the broad expanse of blue that hung
over all, torming an arch of planetary splendor un-
équaled elsewhere. A few wax-lights were already
sprinkled here and there in the rooms of the low,
broad-spread country house that formed the domes-
tic aspect of the scene, while the family group that
sat beneath the ample piazza was hushed and silent
under the softening influence of the hour.

The individuals referred to consisted of a lady and
two gentlemen, each disposed in easy and graceful
positions upon the bamboo seats. Af the feet of the
lady crouched, ‘fike ‘a marble statue, a large, im-
movable bloodhound. Within easy cali af one end
of the piazza, a negro was half reclining, upon, the
fioor, and watching the rapid, gyrations of the fire-
fiies. A negress, evidently the immediate attendant
of the lady, was nodding her head, overcome with
drowsiness, a little behind. her mistress: Such was
the opening scene of the story which we'record.

Inez Ariata, as she sat’ half reclining there, was a
being of surpassing loveliness, and the dreamy in-
fluence of the hour seemed well to suit her mood.
She had just entered her twentieth year, but yet ex-
hibited. all the perfection of womanhood, in form
and feature, whica earlier ripens in her native clime
than in the colder regions of the north. The:rich
olive complexion of her race was strikingly relieved
by a profusion of hair, so black as to be only com-
parable with itself, or perhaps with the large
and now languid eyes that seemed to be capa-
ble of so much of earnest passion, so much. of
spirit, or, of loving tenderness. Like the richly-
gilded harp that stood half exposed near her, it de-
pended upon the hand which should touch their
latent springs as to whether sweet harmony should
be elicited, or jarring and discordant sounds. The
hair, from its line of demarcation about the beauti-
ful face, was drawn smoothly away, and after being
gathered in a heavy knot at the back of the head,
still reached below her waist in its unconfined
abundance. The face was oval, the lips and mouth
very sweet in expression, and the teeth faultless. The
slight tendency of the whole figure to embonpoint was
not too apparent, while her folded hands lay before
her, in their beautiful delicacy of form and size, as
expressive as the clear, soft.lines of her brow. The
dress, slightly diaphanous, was rich, though but. lit-
tle ornamented by the art of the modiste, exhibiting
a throat and arms that would have been a revela-
tion to a painter. Untainted by the national love of
ornament, she wore one gem alone upon her hand,
the value of which might have freed half a hundred
slaves.

The two members of the opposite sex, to whom we
have referred, presented the most marked contrast
to each other. The one dark and Spanish in every
feature, the other with all the brightness of com-
plexion, and the clear blue eye of the Saxon race,
Neither could yet have passed his twenty-fifth year.
Both were fine, manly figures, and each, in his style,
was decidedly handsome, while the very contrast be-
tween them, as they sat there so near together, was
of mutual advantage in its picturesque effect. A
child might have divined the relative position which
they bore to each other and to the beautiful girl
whom we have described. It needed no words, the
expressive eyes of the two momentarily betrayed
their feelings; but not so the lady, it was’ evidenc,
forif she had chosen between them, not even’ a
glance from those languid eyes had ever evinced her
reference, But that she was pleased and quite at

ome in the presence of both was evident from the
mood which so wholly possessed her.

The wealth of the Ariata family was proverbial in
Cuba. Count Gomez Ariata, the father of Inez, had
died two years previous to the opening of our story,
leaving her an orphan, and under the charge of her
aunt, his only surviving sister. The aunt, nowa
widow, with a son, Pedro Ariata, about the age ot
Inez, formed the family at Buena Vista, as the Ariata
plantation was called. Donna Ariata had married
one of her own name, a kinsman, years gone by, in
Seville, and hademigrated in her widowhood to join
her brother’s family in the tropics. Pedro Ariata
had inherited an ample fortune from his father,
though not nearly so large as that which formed the
inheritance of his fair cousin, Inez. They had been
reared together like brother and sister, and most
judicious labor had been expended upon the educa-
tion of each, a pleasant spirit of emulation exciting
them for years in. the pursuit of such accomplish-
ments aS were appropriate and common to them
both.

Antonio de Mena had in appearance all the striking
individuality of the Spanish race from which he
sprang. He, too, had now lost both parents, and
was the proprietor of a neighboring plantation. In
point of worldly possessions he was almost equally
fortunate with the Ariatas., He had also grown up
from boyhood as the intimate friend and piaymate
of Inez, and was the firm friend and admitted confi-
dant of her cousin, Pedro. Brilliant by nature, and
well cultivated by assiduous study, he was an excep-
tion to most of his class in the island, and altogether
seemed richly worthy of the confidence and friend-
ship of Inez Ariata. Still, a careful observer could
see in De Mena’s face, sleeping under the cover of
emotional restraint, a shade of those vivid traits of
passion which are native to the Castilian race, and
which are ever ready to break out upon the least
provocation. Yet up to the date of which we now
speak, the voyage of life had been as one upona
summer sea with Antonio de Mena; what it might

of MEZZONI THE BRIGAND; CHILD OF THE

 

 

SEA; THE BUCCANEERS,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LDP LD OO

 

 

 

 

become under adverse emotions and trying fortune
remains yet to be seen.

Rufus Bancroft, the third member of the group,
and who sat between Inez Ariata and De Mena, was
a true type of the young American student. He was
aboye the ordinary hight, and possessed a well-de-
veloped physique, for he had been an active partici-
pantinall the athletic games of his class, and stroke-
oar of the winning boat’s crew. Just now his cheer-
ful, open countenance seemed almost transparent,
lighted up by the pleasant thoughts and promptings
of the moment. The high forenead and firm lips
spoke of intellect and decision of character, while
his clear blue eyes, which wandered so incessantly
to that lovely face, were tell-tales of what the tongue
would not have dared to speak. At home he had
graduated high in his class, and had essayed the
preliminary steps in a chosen profession, but -over-
mental exertion had induced an illness which had
ultimately sent him to a milder climate than that of
his native land, in search of change and recupera-
tion. This alone accounts tor his presence at Buena
Vista, near. by which spot chance had led him to take
up his residence for some months previous to the
opening scenes of this story.

Within the broad hall which formed both entry
and sitting-room of the plantation house was anoth-
er group of persons, consisting of Donna Ariata,
Pedro, her son, anda lady engaged in some crochet
work of a light and graceful nature. Of Pedro
Ariata little need be said in anticipation of the na-
tural and gradual delineation of his character which
the course of our story will discover, except that he
was a free and generous-hearted young fellow of
two-and-twenty, rather self-willed and impulsive,
but with the true instincts of a gentleman. Un-
doubtedly his character had been toned and pecu-

with Inez. He was very plain in his tastes and de-
sires, devoid entirely of the pride of birth and posi-
tion which is usually the heritage of hisclass. What-
ever he might lack in pride, however, was amply
atoned for by his mother, who possessed enough of
that heart-hardening spirit to form a supply for all
concerned. She always boasted that she was a lady
oi the old school, and evinced her pride of birth and
fortune not by any hauteur of manner, but on the
contrary by an extreme and punctilious courtesy.
Mabel Reed, companion, instructress, friend, for
she was all these to both Inez and her aunt, had
been an inmate of the family at Buena Vista for
about six years. When Inez was fourteen years of
age her governess, an excellent and efficient French
woman, died, and at the suggestion of an American
friend, who was visiting the master of Buena Vista
at that period, a young American governess was
procured to fill the vacant place, thus, as was pro-
0sed, insuring the advantage of a knowledge of the
Inglish language, as wellas some other accomplish-
ments yet unacquired by the daughter of Signor
Ariata. This purpose resulted in the engagement
of Miss Reed, from New England, whose home rela-
tions were ofa nature to necessitate some such oc-
cupation, for a period at least, and thus on her twen-
tieth birthday, some six years previous to the open-
ing of our story, she had nominaily taken charge of
Inez and her education, the matter of pupilage be-
ing equally shared. by a sort of quasi concession be-
tween Inez and her cousin, Pedro.
ne ee the confident assertion of the
respected authority who had recommended Mabel
Reed to the responsible and trying position, still on
her arrival at Buena Vista Signor Ariata had ex-
pressed grave doubts of her competency, in point of

 

 

liarly influenced by his almost constant association |

 

ODDS

age and experience, for such a duty, and had re-
marked to his sister that the young American was
*too handsome, too young, too delicate, in short,
too everything to meet his approval.” This, how-
ever, was the result of a first impression. Hardly
had amonth passed after Miss Reed's advent, and
the assuming of her new duties, before her gentle,
but firm and thorough method, her rare delicacy of
conduct, her lady-like manners and remarkable ac-
complishments had won the respect and highest
conside.zation of every member of the household.

CHAPTER IL.
A FAMILY PICTURE.

Donna Ariata sat with folded hands, and expressed
as much by the cozy pose and amplitude of her per-
son as by the quiesence and dreamy smile upon her
features, that she also was affected by the softening
influence of the first moments of evening. Pedro
was tickling the ears of alittle plethoric Spanish
poodle, pausing now and then to nod his head ap-
preciatingly to the exquisite air of a Strauss waltz
performed by a music-box on the table. A few deli-
cate and valuable statuettes, a few good pictures
here and there upon the walls, a few choice articles
of use and beauty combined, imparted an aspect of
taste and refinement. An American piano stood
open near at hand.and upon the marble center-
table was an attractive display of books in French,
English and Spanish, the whole forming a scene

more appropriate for the pencil than for the pen to,

represent.

As the last strains of the waltz ceased with the
motive power which had produced it, Pedro closed
the tiny-box, and turning cheerfully to Mabel Reed,

| Said:

“Let this be the introduction to some of those de-
lightful New. England airs which you play so well
and so feelingly,” and as he spoke he moved to-
ward the piano and arranged a seat for her before
the keys.

“You are always complimentary, Pedro,
swered.

“Compliments, if meant for compliments, are but
empty things,” replied the young Cuban, feelingly.

Without waiting to be urged, or even a second
time solicited, Mabel sat down to the instrument,

”

she an-

| and with the skill and feeling of a true artist, elicit-

 

ed such melody as would have delighted more scien-
tific ears than those of her present audience. While
she played Pedro sat close by her side, his head
resting upon his hand ina half-reclining position,
and his eyes bent tenderiy upon her face, intently
reading its simple yet touching aa of expres-
sion. After a while, as she seemed about to leave
the instrument, he said:

** ‘Sweet Home,’ to close with, please.”

And Mabel, smiling kindly, responded with the fa-
miliar but exquisite song, every word and note of
which came straight from her heart, for her own
home was far, far distant across the sea, and she
comparatively a stranger in a strange land. As t'1e
last words died away upon her lips, and her hands
ceased to strike the keys, a tear stole down her
cheek, and a quick, involuntary sigh escaped her,

Pedro, casting a hasty glance toward his mother
to satisfy himself that she slept, laid his hand upon
Mabel’s, and looked into her face with such earnest,
tender sympathy, that she started as from a dream,
and hastily withdrawing her hand, said, half re-
proachfalty, half tenderly:

**Pedro! Pedro !”

The impetuous young creole turned hastily away,

 

 

~

 

with a disappointed expression upon his face, but a
single glance from her was as law to him at any
time. He was her pupil, her junior by nearly four
years; she had always called him Pedro, just as she
had called his cousin Inez, but she was to them both,
Miss Reed. He and his cousin were only fourteen
and sixteen, respectively, when she first came to
Buena Vista, and the three had from the first sus-
tained a delicacy and propriety of intercourse which
had never been infringed upon. Both of her pupils
had learned at the outset to respect, and then to
love Mabel Reed. Pedro, at first with all the boyish
ardor of his nature, but this feeling had gradually
ripened into a more fixed and settied affection,
which, however, had never found expressjon in
words, or, indeed, the least familiarity of conduct.
On her part, it would be useless to deny that Mabel,
at least in a degree, perceived the partiality of Pe-
dro Ariata for herself, but realizing their relative
situation, ages, everything, she was incapable of af-
fording him any encouragement in suchasentiment,
or at least under present circumstances. This had
been the rule of conduct which she had laid out to
follow, and thus far she had succeeded in its consist-
ent pursuit.

Thrown at an early period of her life upon her
own resources, and left, as it were, alone in the
world, she had only the rules of right and wrong
taught her by the parents now gone forever, on
which she could safely rely. _She had thus early ap-
plied this principle of relf-reliance, every suggestion
being tested by principle and the severest rules be-
fore she adopted or rejected it. It would have been
foreign to ner nature to outrage the confidence of
Donna Ariata, his mother, by winning or encourag-
ing her son’s affection. Though Pedro’s mother
prized the services of Mabel Reed at their full value,
it may be questioned if she entertained any warmer
sentiment toward her than that of a strictly selfish
character, doubtless estimating the value of her va-
ried and successful teachings, to both her son and
niece, simply upon a money basis. And yet, in her
proud way, she was very fond of Mabel Reed, and
took pleasure in making her situation most agreea-
ble in the family circle.

““By Heaven !” murmured Pedro to himself, as he
turned away toward the open piaza, ‘I would give
a hundred doubloons to kiss those tears away from
her eye-lashes; but she is as cold and unapproacha-
ble as a niched saint in the cathedral.”

Thus saying, and out of conceit with himself, he
joined the group. who still sat in fhe star-light.

“Oh, Pedro, why did you let her stop singing ?”
exclaimed Inez. ‘The touching and delightful mu-
sic, the sweet night air, and this soft star-light, were
like an Alnaschar vision.”

“There was inspiration in that song,
nio De Mena, with honest enthusiasm.

“You should be proud of your countrywomen if
they are generally so accomplished as is Miss Reed,”
said Inez, turning toward Rufus Bancroft. ‘‘You
seemed quite magnetized while she was singing.”

“T was, indeed,” he answered; ‘tand recalled the
saying of good old Izaak Walton, ‘Lord, what music
hast thou provided for thy saints in Heaven, when
thou affordest bad men such music on earth? ”

“Tzaak Walton—Izaak Walton!” repeated Pedro,
carelessly; “he was a fisherman, was he not ?”

“Undoubtedly,” replied the American, with a
smile,

“A fisherman, indeed!” said Inez, reproachfully;
“he was a delightful author and angler, and no end
of a nice old party who wrote English books.”

“Did you ever think,” said De Mena, “that music

said Anto-

ete. etc.

| is the only branch of the fine arts: that is shared by
| the animal kingdom aswell as by man? L-have seen
| mice charmed by it, ay, and elephants, too.”
| “Very true,” said Inez, pleasantly,. ‘‘and the birds
are among the bestof all prima donnas. Father
i told me, when [ was sitting down to, my first lesson
| with Miss Reed, that the body required food and the
| soul required music.”
| ‘Inez, Miss Reed was crying as she closed that
| Song,” said Pedro, in an under-tone to his cousin.
| Full of sympathy, Inez started up instantly to seek
her, so-called, governess, for it was doubtful which
regarded the other with the more ardent and sisterly
affection.
teacher and pupil had come to be changed in a de-
gree, as the original period of her engagement as
governess drew to a close. Mabel had already allu-
ded to the fact that her return to her northern home
must soon take place. Fortune had happily brought
these two together under most favorable circum-
stances, both pure and noble-minded, and both the
better for their mutual association. Mabel-had_ suc-
cessfully imparted to Inez the accomplishments she
herself possessed, and in the tender, loving nature
of her pupil had found abundant reward. Pedro
also sharing much of this sentiment with his cousin,
The “*windy tempest of her heart” had blown up
quite a shower from Mabel’s eyes by the time Inez
joined her in herown apartment. Evincing a native
and most womanly delicacy, she gathered her dear
friend’s head to her own bosom, and asking no ques-
tions whatever, soothed her by silent endearments.
It would have puzzled Mabel, perhaps, to have said
exactly for what she wascrying. The song reviving
her home recoliections had undoubtedly flooded her
heart, and. Pedro’s honest and tender sympathy,

, though gently repulsed, had bedewed her eyés afresh.

THeL the suggestiveness of the hunr, and a thousand
and one half-defined, indistinct thoughts, floated 14
her brain in dream-like vagueness, But she quickly
recovered herself now, and kissing Inez she’ said
nothing. The two sat together for a few moments
in loving proximity, and looking out of the vine-
framed window far away over the level country
about Buena Vista, each too busy with the brain to
individualize aught that met their eyes, in the dim
starlight that lay over the surrounding plantation.

Thethree gentlemen, left to themselves, assumed
reclining attitudes, and the inevitable cigar was soon
produced by each. Even Rufus Bancroft lighted and
daltied with one, though he did not evince the down-
right relish for indulgence in the fragrant weed
which seems born in a native of this sunny isle.
And it appeared that Donna Ariata was capable of
an occasional cigarette, but. then she was troubled
with asthma, as she said, and the tobacco was a spe-
cific which was adopted from necessity.

At this moment was heard the clatter of hoofs
down the long perspective of the avenue which

connected the house with the public road, and ina
brief period there came in sight the figure of a small
gray-haired man mounted upon a diminutive Cuban
pony. He soon joined the others, and accepting a
fresh cigar lighted it in an easy manner that’ showed
his habitual use of the pleasant sedative, and then
threw his wiry little figure at full length upon one
of the long bamboo seats.

‘*Well, doctor,” said Pedro, familiarly, “any news
at Cereto ?’—the residence of the new comer.

Doctor Finley was one of those jovial, shrewd,
and humane Scotch physicians, who are somehow to
be found in almost all countries. He had lived for
years in Cuba, and was a professional who, ignoring
much of the technicality of the schools, practiced

4 upon the results of experience and the dictates of

good common sense. He hada few maxims which
he was ever ready to quote when the occasion, re-
quired, such as ‘‘medicine was but @ poor substitute
for prudence and exercise,” and that ‘patients gen-
erally could get along far better without the doctor
than he could get along without them,” that “time,
patience, and plenty of cold water-were the best phy-
sicians extant,”—that ‘*Doctor Sun and Doctor
Fresh-air, beat the rest ten to one.” Doctor Finley
was quite fortunate in the matter of this world’s
zoods, and could afford to be honest in his advice to
his patients and friends.

“Nothing very lively,” responded the doctor to
Pedro’s question. ‘‘f was within halfa league of
Buena Vista, convincing a patient that she did not
require any medicine, and so Irtthought Pd just drop
in upon you.”

‘A thousand welcomes,” said Pedro.

‘Look ve, Pedro, a thought strikes me,” said the
doctor.

*“*Does it hurt?” asked De Mena, lazily.

‘No: ’'m used to them,” answered the doctor,
dryly. “It might hurt where it hit for the first time.”

“‘Well, well,” said Pedre, **what is the idea?” You
and De Mena can’t be together for a minute without
sarcasm.”

“Not a bit of it,’ replied the doctor. ‘i was hop-
ing he might have an idea just to realize what it
signifies.”

“You are a sad wag, doctor,” said Rufus Bancroft,
joining in the conversation, while De Mena pre-
tended to be half asleep.

“There’s to be a eargo of Africans run onthe south
shore to-morrow,”eontinued the physician, “and I
am for making up a party to ride over and see the
thing. What say you, Mr. Bancroft. You have
never seen a cargo of negroes landed ina hurry,
have you?”

“Not I, and could any effort of mine prevent it,
such an event should be impossible. fam not Quix-
otic, however, and have not come to Cuba to inter-
fere with her institutions,”

“Well said,” replied the doctor. “Our approval,
or disapproval affects nothing. A carga is to be
landed, as I have said, and we may as well see it
done.”

The arrangements were at once agreed upon. The
four were to rise early on the following morning,
and with their island ponies seek a favorable spot
for the proposed observation before the heat of the
sun became oppressive. After a goblet of claret
and a second cigar the doctor galloped away toward

Cereto. —
CHAPTER IT.
THE SLAVER,

It was one of those incomparably beautiful morn-
ings which render the early day so lovely in Cuba.

5

 

 

The four gentlemen who had agreed to join each
other in.the excursion, were taking a cup of coffee

 

 

It was but very lately that the relation of

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~ ef
a Pere es tage es i 9
“~ ? omy Cyd .
‘ Vy ae : i:
we , SS
ic evious to their start. | sail which she has just set will crowd her bows right | put in marching order inland, and to baffle pursuit, ‘How mucli does she run ??' ; OUAPTER VIII.

Dreakthst ‘ ee ee tropics, and the | into the wind’s Be yee what a jigger sail is meant | if it were attempted by the authorities, who some- Pi a ninenan Rae THE STEAMSHIP.
early fast is broken only by coffee and fruit. The | for.” times made a show of it. The negroes were dis- ane ata Ta mee eet And that’s all he could remember. The next thing that
dovtor’s horse had been for some time before the | ‘‘What is that bustle on the cruiser’s forecastle?” | patched in various directions in the charge of ex-| 43); y thought he oe aud reaching up on tip-toe, he happened did not seem to have any connection with the
piazza, as he had come from Cereto, and three more | asked De Mena, who had been watching in picnee perienced individuals, who knew very well how to | trieg to turn: of. these ks, Just Roe oa Elsie sinking ship or the) als and (he storm. Some one said
smart and bright looking ponies were now brought “They are running out a bow gull,’ Te} ed the | dis i e them among the plantations so as to baf- pitcned, ae Bly sp jwiedwn his back on the floor. something about comee ~C =yes——
up, each animal being held by a negro. doctor, hurriedly, for the scene was now becoming | fle all search. “There now, Wliere- age your sea-legs. Thought ye a, saad

It was Looséarlysfor the ladies..to.appear, so the | exciting to the lookers-on upon.the shore, ROT S mien the -attention Was drawn | was.a ailor ?? pe 5 fey “ Ws [Gh the foor in the
gentlemény 6s Saby its cigar, were 5000 mounted, “Hark!” said 8, th € is the "*Smoke—the re-| seaw@ d from wh nee Cat @ the hoarse boom of a| 0 I aun, cried Billy, scrabbling up again; “only, you camtahite ea bint rere rece tee oa
and chatting pleasantly, disappeared up the long} port will reach usin an i iat.”? \ _| gun floating over the water. The evening which: oe A ' Rie ee sear Tt A, ; SARS. . BHO y.O0 the Moor, while the engineer
and shady ple yward thee mpi, road, themag-| “There it is, hOarse and savage; and see,” said} shuts down like x the tropics was already] § rie if gone. pe <p ret, toniieaiccsAnd Was) ya cup of coffee. The
pie-voice of ‘the, dalkative, good-natured doctor, | Pedro, ‘the shot is skimming over the water in di-| arrived, and the on af d but a fitful} PAD on took! 2 ae shouted dawn ahedad- Ela solee spoon danced in
reaching the ear Tong after they disappeared | rect line with the brigantine. Ah! but it hag passed | and partial light ye could ern in the , np tea Oat Yay ye the
from sight. Mabel Regd, who | made her ap- ahead of her.” wi i ern board vite Wiles had ar- ‘there! ‘ ” ‘ ;

- » futus

pearance upon, the piazza, obseryed-this with a)

smile, for the doctor and/she were good. friends,
each Hes ot (Res ly appreciating the aoas
qualities of the others She gathered up some light
sewing material from within the house, and sat
down in the open shade to pares the sweets of the
morning atmosphere, just as the long line of field
hands, headed by their overseer, filed by to their
daily task.

They were a cheerful, thoughtless set of beings,
chattering and laughing among themselves, each in
their various native dialects, all turning with a
grateful smile toward Miss Reed as they passed, for
there were few among them who had not experi-
enced her thoughtful kindness on occasion. With
all a Northerner’s hatred to slavery, still Mabel was
forced to acknowledge that she saw the institution
under its least objectionable features on the Ariata
estate, where the negroes were treated with marked
kindness, Which was in strong contrast to the neigh-
boring plantations.

Qn leaving the avenue of palms the little group of
horsemen dashed off at an easy gallop on the main
road leading to the South, along a fine road lined
on cither side by a lime hedge in full bloom and sey-
eral miles in extent. To Rufus Bancroft the delicious
fragrance, the richness of the foliage, the abund-
ance of the fruit, and the marvelous tropical gran-
deur of the vegetation were too inspiring for silence,
and, much to the delight of the doctor, every now
and then the young American would burst forth in
extravagant encomiums. Pedroand De Mena being
native to the manner born, took matters more
calmly, talking leisurely together as they followed
the other two at a hand gallop.

A’ couple of hours’ ride brought the party at last
to a gentle rise of ground, in approaching which
they had gradually ascended, and now found them-
selves upon a sort of plateau of open land, pre-
senting a view of the ocean and the coast line for
many miles. The mist of the morning was yet
hanging over the still waters, but a gentle breeze
now springing up began to disperse it and to lift the
wail which shrouded the sea. The party sat in
silence upon their horses for a while, the doctor re-
marking that this was the best spot from which to
view the landing of the expected cargo of Africans.
It was no great matter of curiosity to any of the
Seat except Rufus Bancroft. De Mena and Pedro

ad been familiar with these scenes from their very
childhood.

“Book, here away,” said the doctor, ‘“‘over this
utting line of coast, do you not discover something?
My eyes are pretty good; I don’t think they deceive
me.” :

“Yes, yes,” answered the American, “something
is creeping out of the fog certainly.”

“You are right, doctor,” said De Mena, as he
lighted a cigar. ,

Directly the indistinct outline ofa graceful tracery
of spars could be discerned through the misty gauze,
gradually becoming more and more distinct, com-
menging at the top hamper and descending toward
the deck, until at last there lay, with a look of
treacherous tranquillity; the admirable outline of a
three-masted brigantine. Her beauty of model and
singular rig were very peculiar, and individualized
her at once as not belonging to any legitimate com-
merce, Her deck was fiush fore and aft, there not
rig, Sd much as aninch rise for the quarter deck
line, but yet she presented what seamen describe as
a@ good sheer from stem to stern. The entire carry-
ing capacity was below decks, the line of which
came up to within two feet of the bulwark cap. She
was a clipper of American build, evidently, In short
she was the very style of crait which has rendered
the ‘‘middle passage” of such terrible interest, and
which, by their sailing qualities, for years outwitted
and escaped the navies of the world.

“Hal” exclaimed Pedro, ‘‘what have we here to
seaward of the clipper ?”

‘‘Where do you mean?” asked De Mena

“Look where I am pointing.”

“By Jupiter,” said the doctor, “here is something

, not laid down in the programme.”

\ “There will be-some fun now,” said De Mena.

'  **We can see over the top of this mist,” continued
the doctor, “something which is not known on
board the brigantine.”

The party on the plateau now watched the course
of events with breathless interest, for, less than a
league seaward of the slaver, there now loomed up
above the mist which still hung to the water in that
direction, three topmasts, the stately set of which,
with their firm rig, told an experienced eye, that
either an English or French man-of-war floated be-
neath, such as cruise in these waters to intercept the
swift-winged slavers from the coast of Africa. All
this was clear to the doctor and his party.

‘Hane the luck!” exclaimed De Mena; “can’t we
signal the fellow in-shore, and let him know he is
looked for ?”

“He will be caught,” said Pedro,

“Don’t you fear,’ replied the doctor, whose
shrewdness detected signs of preparation which
ee not apparent to his less-experienced compan-

ons.

There were watchiul eyes in the brigantine, for
at this moment a drapery of snow-white canvas
seemed to fall like magic from the spars of the
slaver, and taking its just position, was ready to
catch the first breath of the northerly breeze which
the larger craft was bringing down with it as it
crowded a bank of fog just, at its bow. The scene
Was now becoming more and more exciting.

“Why did not the slaver effect a landing under
cover of the night, and not wait for broad day, and
the risk of being overhauled ?” asked Pedro.

“The fog has bound her hand and foot,” said the
doctor. ‘She ranin by soundings as close as she
dared and dropped her anchor to await the morning
light.” f

“You have a reason for everything,” answered De
Mena, ‘“‘and are right more than half the time.”

- “T don’t know what will happen next when you
praise the doctor,” said Pedro, laughing.

“Sir,” said Rufus, ‘the slaver is off, she feels the
light wind; egad, she hasn’t taken up her anchor
though, not if I can see rightly at this distance.”

“Itis observant on your part to notice the fact,”
replied the doctor, whose early life as ship’s surgeon
in the English navy had afforded him considerable
nautical knowledge. ‘She hag slipped her cable,”
he continued, ‘‘but willbe back again to pick up the
buoy attached before many hours, you may depend.
Nothing on the coast unless it be asteamer can hold
& Course with those fiy-aways.”

**But the cruiser will have it all her own way this
time,” said Pedro.

**Not a bit of it,” said the doctor; ‘‘the slaver will
outmaneuver the ship.”

“I don’t see how that is possible,” said Rufus.
“She seems to me to be pertectly entrapped.”

“She has got outa boat and is towing her bow
round soas to give her the advantage of this light
wind abeam,” said De Mena.

“I will stake my reputation,” continued the doc-
tor, ‘that the brigantine will lead yonder cruiser a
wild-goose chase, double on her track like a hare,
and land her cargo somewhere hereabouts before
midnight. See, the cruiser is a Frenchman, and

you can make her out now to her flag dangling at
he peak. She must scent the game, for she cer-
tainly cannot see the slaver.”

The view now rapidly cleared by the gradual ris-
ing of the wind, and after a few moments both the
cruiser and the brigantine came into full view of
each other. The Frenchman, as though by a sort of
instinct, had come down under an easy press of can-
vas, simply wearing jib, maintopsail and spanker;
for sie was very nearin shore; but as a view was

The cruiser had got a bow-chaser to bear upon

   
 

slaver, and attempted to cripple her by a fe

 

and éven, a moment or tao later, Yawed from her
‘course to bring’ a whole bi to>bear, which

  
 

was discharged with naval pret

shots tearing up the shore within twenty or thirty
rods of the group on the {plateau. Itwould have
seemed that the large spread of canvas which the
slaver carried would have presented a sure target
for the cruiser’s guns, but the brigantine appeared
to be unharmed, and evidently, in the light but
steady wind that aa atae was creeping away from
the ship. Everything in the shape of canvas was
packed upon the Frenchman’s spars, studding sails
and all, while ever and anon there boomed across
the water the hoarse bark of the heavy bow-chaser.

 

CHAPTER IY.
LANDING A SLAVE CARGO.

The party who had been watching upon the shore
stopped long enough to see the little craft weather
the important point at the entrance of the bay, when
she took the wind abaft and skimmed over the sur-
face of the water like a sea-gull. :

“She steers due south,” said the doctor, pointing
to the brigantine, ‘tand will lead the Frenchman
away among the Caymien Isles, where he will doubt-
less get aground with his big hull and heavy draught
of water.

‘Doctor, I really believe you hope the slaver will
escape,” said Rufus Bancroft.

“Of course he does,” said De Mena, ‘‘Finley
hates a Frenchman, and so do all Scotchmen, I
believe.”

“Not exactly,” said the doctor, smiling, ‘‘though
there.is no love lost between us, that’s a fact.”

The party now turned their horses’ heads inland
to the little hacienda of Lenori, where a small Cuban
inn was located, and here the four gentlemen, who
had gotten up a stiff appetite, were soon busy over
a broiled fowl, stewed plantains and Cataline wine,
After the hearty meal had been fully enjoyed, came
the cigars, and a reviewal of the events which they
had witnessed. It culminated in a long and some-
what tedious discussion, Rufus stoutly contending
against the diabolical trade and the whole system of
slavery even more boldly than he had done at any
previons time since he had been upon the island.
Still all was conducted in the best of good feeling,
the doctor more than half siding with the young
American in the discussion, in which De Mena alone
became very earnest.

“Liverpool and Boston, England and America,”
said DeMena,-*‘in their early days all drew an im-
mense wealth from the slave trade, as you are doubt-
less aware.”

“T admit it,” said Rufus, ‘‘but there is a later
period of enlightenment, I trust.”

‘Even that brigantine which we saw this morning
was of American build, and came doubtless from Bal-
timore,” continued De Mena. ‘You people build
the fastest clippers, and speed being the desideratum,
the adventurer knows where to go.”

As the doctor insisted upon waiting until evening
before returning home, the afternoon was passed in
strolling through the neighboring plantations and
the flower begirt field, after which, mounting their
horses, the party returned once more to the spot
where during the oe hours they had witnessed
the scene which we have described in the last chap-
ter. Nothing could have been better timed for ac-
complishing their purpose. Just at the very moment
that they reached the crowning point of the plateau
they beheld the brigantine once more rounding a
small promontory and entering a tiny bay where
there was scarce water enough to float her.

All was at-once bustle and. commotion on board
and on shore, and it was very plain that everything
had been prearranged to meet the exigency of the
case. The spot was Gemmeerstively Jonely; not two
score of people were visible upon the shore, but
these evidently understood their business, being of
course interested parties. 5 by ey
fp What has me of the cruiser, after all her
bluster ?” asked Rufus Bancroft,

“Left, as [told you she would be,” replied the
doctor, ‘‘down among the islands.”

“Tt seems very stupid that the Frenchman should
not have divined this,” said Rufus.

“Frenchmen were never born to make good
sailors,” said the doctor. ‘Now an English craft
would have chashed the slaver at the outset in
launches, and certainly would have guarded this
special spot where it was plain she meant to land.”

“While this conversation was-going on the brigan-
tine had hauled as close in shore as possible, and.a
broad plank was shipped from her gangway to a
projecting rock, over which a line of dark naked
objects at once poured like a-flock of sheep in single
file. “They consisted mostly-of full grown men, but
occasionally a woman ora boy came out, and hurried
forward like the rest. The doctor and his friends
had ridden down to the shore to watch the landing,
and out of the small hold of the craft came two
hundred and eleven human beings, the mystery
being how they could have been packed in such a
space and live through the voyage.

‘Close packing,” said the doctor, ‘close packing,
but they have it all reduced to a system, keeping
thirty or forty on deck and in the fresh air at a time,
night and day, unless in very bad weather; then the
poor creatures have to suffer terribly by the foul
stench and poisoned air.”

**Horrible!” said Rufus, with a shudder.

The doctor knew all the peculiarities of the new
importations as well as the modus operandiby which
they were transported irom that distant coast.

“These fellows,” he said, pointing to a group, ‘‘are
Congos. They are small, but agile, and very good
laborers. You have often heard them sing, Rufus,
upon the plantations, haven’t you, inastrange mon-
otone? But you never hear them whistle. Here,
that woman and the dozen just behind her, are Fan-
tee. They are, a8 you see, a larger race, and are un-
easy and revengeful.” :

‘But here are some,” said the observant Ameri-
can, ‘‘who are even larger than the Fantees.”

‘Ah, yes, these fellows are from the Gold Coast,
and will bring a heavy sum in doubloons. They will
be sent to Havana, and sold for domestic servants.
The planters would like them only they are held at
such high prices.”

“Here comes a squad that look as though they
had white blood in their veins,” said Rufus.

“They aa to the Ebros, or mulatto tribe. They
are a faithful, but slow and rather stupid people.
They make good field hands, where all work by rule
and motion alike; but you cannot teach them much.”

“Why are those half-dozen fellows, yonder,
shackled together?” asked Rufus, pointing to a
group by themselves.

‘Those are Ashantees; they look gaunt and have
borne the voyage but poorly on their allowance of
rice and water. They belong to a powerful inland
tribe in Africa, and being rarely captured, seldom
find their way to the traders on the coast. They are
sturdy and serviceable fellows, but they must be
humored, the lash will not subdue them.”

“I respect them for it,” said Rufus, as he regarded
the half dozen negroes in their iron shackles.

“Hush,” said the doctor, ‘this is no time nor place
for such talk. That fellow yonder understands Eng-
lish, and would think nothing of shooting you if he
founda good excuse. If he overheard you that
would be quite sufficient.” é

“Of what tribe are those slim and quiet-looking
men, just behind the line of palms?

“Those,” said the doctor, ‘tare Caroballees, a sin-
gular and superstitious tribe. They are highly-es-
teemed by the planters, but not when first landed.

 

gained of the siaver, her appearance changed like
magic,

At asignal, a throng of dark objects peopled the
shrouds and spars of the cruiser, and yard after yard
of heavy duck was let fall and sheeted home, until a
mountain of canvas had appeared and was propel-
ling the dark hull of the vessel through the water.
The Frenchman was all life and animation now.

In the meantime the brigantine had not been idle.
In addition to the two masts of the conventional
brig rig, she had added a short mizzen-mast stepped
well aft, not four feet from her taffrail, upon which
she now hoisted a spanker and gaff-topsail, complet-
ing a rig that was both Sere and very effective,
especially in a light wind.

“Now, if the brigantine can weather that point at
the entrance of the bay, she will give the cruiser a
ran for it, just as you Have predicted,” said the
American.

“Trne enough,” said Pedro,

“She will do it,” continued the doctor; “that after

 

They must be domesticated before they will bring
good prices, for they believe that after death they
will return to their native land, and consequently
they are prone to suicide.”

‘It is singular that they should all seem to be in
tolerable health,” remarked Rufus; ‘‘there is not a
sick one in the lot.”

‘Sick ones are never landed,” replied the doctor.

““What do you mean ?”

“The ocean is always along side,” was the reply,
“and is the only hospital a slave-ship knows!”

Rufus Bancroft shuddered as he realized the
meaning of the doctor’s words, the truth of which
was only too manifest. Inthe meantime De Mena
and Pedro had been strolling among the human car-
go, and remarking upon the value of this and that
class of slaves. With them it was scarcely a novelty,
but the more than sensitive young American felt a
chill_at his heart which was only too visibly reflected
in his countenance. As they once more mounted

  

    

  
  

vars away

sing of the mat-
witnessing, or

vith the resty when thedo
‘Lads, let us stop and see’
ter. There will bea sight yet, wor
Tam mistaken.” ae

‘It is getting late,” said Rufus, ‘and we may have
a long-time to wait, though I confess I am curious.”

‘‘We shall not be detained long,” answered the
doctor, knowingly.

‘Will the brigantine attempt to lead the ship an-
other chase ?” asked the American.

‘That would be useless now—besides the French-
man has the weather-guage of the slaver. Her
course is very clear. The brigantine has run her
last slave cargo.

‘*Yet she is spreading her {wings again,” said Pe-
dro. “See—there goes her mainsail.

“That doesn’t look much like giving up at least
without a try for it,” said Rufus.

**You will see,’ said the doctor,

Even while Doctor Finley spoke the brigantine
was standing seaward with all of her sails set, and
in the dimlight a ter boat might-be seen leay-
ing her side and pul toward/the shore, while at
the same time a bright blaze sprang up from a mid-
ships on board the slaver, and slowly creeping likey
a living serpent from shroud t Pee and from
spar to spar, until the graceful aiaey itine was one
brilliant sheet of flame, lighting the shore and bay
so vividly that the smallest objects were discernible.
The craft had performed her wicked mission, had
made a fortune tor the owners by the ill-gotten
freight, and as was common when escape was_im-
possible, to obliterate all record she was destroyed.

The party on shore watched the brilliant bonfire
and saw the cruiser cautiously; haul her wind and
bear away, for fire was an enemy with which she
could not contend, nor-was there credit or booty
left to reward any risk. A few moments later there
arose a Shower of broken and blazing matter Hea-
venward, while a confusing shock thunder-like
report filled the atniosphere as the fire reached’ the

owder-magazine, and the beautiful but guilty
rigantine was blown to atoms! —

The party then tur, their horses’ heads toward
Buena Vista, and rode off at a smart pace in silence,
Rutus, at least, with quite enough mental food for
digestion.

    
 

(TO BE GONTINUED.)

 

AX Sa OR Y eee, "TPE BOYS.
William staver,
THE FIRE-BOY.

By Charles Barnard. Seg

(‘William Staver’? was commenced in No, 10, Back numbers |
ean be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.)

CHAPTER VII.
THE BURNING OF THE SHIP.

The captain drew up the w ws to keep out the spray
and rain.. Tien turning to Billy, said:

“It’s a bad night, Billy.” :

“Yes, I guess it is. Hello! is that clock right! It’s
most mornin’,’! : Z

“Yes. It’s nearly right. The sun will be up presently.’’

Then the captain 1 earnestly out at the Jights of
the Steamer, and the reared and plunged
the great waves and seemed to shake the foam and 8)
from her bows like some splendid horse, ready for,
On they went throuzh ef water and the,
the steamer came nearer and nearer, All the ni
the Elsie had toiled up and aon in the bay le
the steamer, and now that she Sound a ne
about to be made upon her for help. Presently

to be lighter, and iu a few npments Ley os me up
siowly o
that she

side the mighty ocean

great waves. T. on ie eH
two sails set and was sail ‘by their aid, wi
plain that she was not using her engines, Her
looked black st the gray in the east, and
ranged past hersie Diew her whistle, aud a
out: “Pug, aboy!? 55017 ald ace b tbat
The captain let down a window and shouted: +

“What steamer is that?’ Do you want help?’
— Broken. shaft. Which way is the tide set-
t j ;

“Strong to the nor’ard. Can ye steer without help?”

“AY, ay, sir. But you must take me through the Nar-
rows.’

SAY, BY, Sir.’

Then @ big wave seemed to lift the Elsie up in the air,
and the sleamer-sw. past, and the wind that seemed to
lull behind the--shelter- of the steamer blew in cold and
damp at the windows. : }

Now forthe ship,” said the captain. ‘The steamer
can go alone for-adittiesvhile, and we must see wihiat the
matter is with the vessel.” Bi) 5 i ee aati

Rolling and pitching in the angry sea the Elsie turned
around and followed the steamer, It was soon tight
enough to see for some distance. Putting on full speed
they quickly passed the laboring steamship aud made for
the ship that-could be seen a mile or two to the south west
off Nantucket beach. She was under one or two sails
and seemed to be trying to make Boston Light. Rushing
and plowing through the sea before the wind the Elsie
sped on hererrand as fastas steam could drive her, It
was now light enough to see plainly, bat the daylight only
added to the terribie aspect of the storm, . It. was plainly
increasing, and every w.ve that boiled up in foam and
fury under the stern of the boat seemed more threatening
and dangerous, Far to the south Minot’s Light stood
pale and white in its robe of ice, The long line of Nan-
tasket beach was white with foam. Tothe north Boston
Light seemed standing in a white island of foam. Behind
them the steamship labored slowly through the water,
The storm seemed to increase every moment. Nothing
short of the most powerful ships and steamers could liye
much longer in such a sea, and these twoin trouble must
be got into shelter as quickly as possible. Nearer and
nearer they came to*the ship, and then they saw to their
horror a black column of smoke streaming from her bows
while at the mast-head the flag was flying union down,

Billy noticed the smoke first, and standing up, cried:

“Golly! captain, she’s afire!”

“Sit down, Billy, sit down. We've got trouble enough
now. Sit perfectly still—no, here, you run down tothe
fire-room and tell the engiueer and firemen to get the
pump ready.”

Billy, in a fever of excitement, opened the door and
nearly pitched into the sea in hiseagerness. At the same
time the captain called to Johm, who stood on the deck,
to get out the hose.

Here was trouble and excitement enough. Twoships
in distress, with afurious storm coming on, and one of
them on fire. Not another vessel in sight, and only the
Elsie able to render any help whatever. The ship was in
the greatest danger and must be attended to first.

Billy staggered along the slippery deck as fast as the
motion of the boat would allow, and tumbled headfore-
most into the engine-room. Picking himself up, he cried:

“Fire! There’sa fire! A ship a-fire! The captain says
how you must get the engine—no, mean the pump—
ready, and where's the fireman,”’

“He’s below—down the jJadder there.’?

Billy saw the iron ladder by the side of the engine and
quickly scrambled down and found himself in the hold.
It was quite dark, and had itnot been for the helping
hand of the fremanhe could not have found his way.
The upright engine stood in the middie, but the fireman
led lim past itinto the fire-room, where the end of the
boiler made one side ofthe room. There were two doors,
both glowing red withthe fires inside while in the ash-
pits showers of sparkling coals were falling down. On
either side were the coal-buukers and in one corner stood
the powerful steam-pump, ‘To Billy the place seemed fa-
miliar enough, He had spent the best of his short life in
just such a place in the old ferry-boat, where his father
had been a fireman for so many years.

“Golly!? said Billy; “this is a fust-rate fire-room.”

“Yes,’”? said the fireman; ‘is a pretty good fire-room,
only is rather dark.”

“Where's the steam-pnmp ??? said Billy,

“That's it,” said the man, pointing to a rusty, horizon-
tal pump beside the engine,

“Willit throw a big stream ???

“TVs a buster!)

“Golly! Who’s the hoseman ?!?

“Oh, John; he’s hoseman; leastways, he did the time
the Greyhound was. burnt over atthe AUantic dock.
That's before they had the Flanders,”

“The Fianders is a buster,’ said Billy, with enthusiasm.
“She can throw—golly, how she rolls.”?

“Yes, she do. Ii’s getting rough.’?

“Eight sireams,’? suid Billy, steadying himself as the
boat rolled from side to side.

“Look out now; I must stir up the fire."

‘‘Lemine help you??? cried Billy, “1 can do it fust-rate.
My dad—lhe was busted up, you kuow—he was fire-
man.”

‘Busted up?!

“Yes; on the ferry-boat.!?

“Ont? ;

“And I can tend the fire. Give me the shovel’?

“Ken ye? Well, open the door now.’? '

Buly bravely opened the furnace door and a food of
light filled the dark and grimy place,

The fireman shoveled in the coal in silence, and Billy

 

 

    
   
    
      
    
 
 
  
 
 

     
  
  

 

 

their horses the last of the negroes were landed and

stood looking admiringly or,

Ru It some}
he startling drama}

  

} tn

 
   
 

 

m-punp- on the Go
eM the bell rang)
speed. The firem: 1
Hight, tried the water, and then set the feeding-pump
agoing. Billy, greatly excited by these preparations, pre-
to gO On deck to see the fun,

aon as he reached the engine-room he heard some one
callhim.

“Ay, ay, sirl’” he cried, in true sailor fashion, ‘‘Com-
ing, sir!’?

In the engine-room he found the captain talking with
the engineer,

“It's HO use totry to save her.
passengers and then beach her.
row ??

“Yes, sir, 1 can.’

“Tavs good. Go out and help Jolin with the boat.”

He went out on the deck and the captain followed him,
saying to the engineer:

“Keep her moving slowly,’’ and to Billy, ‘‘Mind what
you do, Billy, and keep cool.”?

Such a sight. The Eisie had come up with the vessel
and was lying close under her lee. She wasa splendid
ship. Full rigged and in perfect order, but a hidden fire
‘Nad been goa ene days ab her Cargo, and here in si ae
of home she Was ready to perish, not {rom storm, but
from fire. The officers and ef : AS
the captain of the Bisie caiiie out
‘sullation. Could the tug take t

fire Keep under?

Would the fir a Coul
engine was disabled e lWisie co
but the smoke was leaking from
decks were hot. They might try it.

The Elsie was started up and came close Jong side, but
the sea Was 80 rough and the ship rolled so much that she
backed out at once and drew off a little distance.

“Throw us a@tine!’’ shouted the captain,

Once more thé Elsie ran along side and a heavy line
came flying tirough the air and landed at the stern. Billy
and Joln weré there ready to launch the Elsie, Jr., in
case & boat was needed, aud catching the rope made it
fast to the hose.

“Haulaway there!’?

And they did with a will, The hose was taken on the
ship’s deck and'soon they heard the sailors chopping a
hole in the deck.

“Play away there!’

“Play away!’ shouted Billy, running to the door of the
engine room.

At once he heard the clanking of the engine, and the
men cheered on the ship. 1n the meantime the ship and
the Elsie went plunging and roliing on toward Boston
Light, where they could see the disabled steamer taking
a tack to stand off to sea till a pilot or the Elsie couid come
to her assistance. :

The long black hose hung between the bark and the tug
now sagging down into the foaming water and now pulled
out almost Straight as either slip or boat rolled on
wayess— SSS =

in-the-meantime the wind spon szongse and stronger.
Theswaves seemed longer dnd-higher. As the wihd was
northeast and they were trying to make to the 2orth west,
they ad-the-futt force of the sea. fhe shippiunged into
the owaves, and torrents of water poured in upon her
decks. —The fire smoidered just as fast, andeven the hose

We must rescue the
Here, Billy, can you

   
 

deck He, lad a con=
inside ® Yes, bu
n’t..tell, Their ang
give them a stream, |
the hatches aud the

| now-delivering a puwerful stream Uirough a hole in the

deck seemed to do u0 good. They had already tried Noou-
ing the fire, and the ship was plainly sinking under the
load of water that hadbeen poured into her, The smoke
still leaked Srom every crack in the deck, and the fate of
the shi smed séaled, :

Alt what was that? A cry of horror and alarm rose
from the deck. ‘The masts! Eaten away by the fire tie
remast seemed ready to fall. As the ship roiled in the
a it swayed fromeside to side, and threatened to crush
the deck. The Bisié forward to escape tle danger,

| The hose stretched, and then with a snap it parted in tie

mi ees
John sprang to pull itin and Billy ran to the engine

room, shouting: d

~~ “Hold on! hold on! The hose’s busted!?

What wasto bedonenow? ‘The Elsie dropped astern
the ship to be out of danger. It was impossibie tosave
lip. The only thing to do was Lo save the crew and

gers and let her go: ef "

Ome one stood up atthe stern with a speaking trum-

‘Tug, ahoy! Come alongside and take us off. The ship’s
4 , ;
y, Sir,”) and as a cheerful sign of help at hand

tain blew his le long aud loud, and cheers
a hilt Bhip’s | a
higmmonent the mast swayed more and more,
rhit Bgut ot 2¢ ON the dripping rigging and on
ne
‘boat!’ shouted thecaptain. “We can’t go too
it a-pea.’?) th =

near in such a+ ; =
“Ay, ay,’ said John, ashe prepared to pul down the
small Sou that lay upside down on the bone.

Still the siorm seemed to increase. The E'sic, now out
of the shelter of the ship, rolied and pitched furiously.
The ship was plainly josing her headway, and would soon
fall Off into the trough Of the sea and become unmanage-
able. Whatever was to be dene 4anust=be- done quickly,

full head eEsteam was putonp,-and the Zisie came up

 
 
 

headsawere gathered round tre taflrail,—
~“Man-your boats!’ screamed the captain.

“Ay, ay, sirl There’s two loading now.
come ‘long side ?”?

“No; the masts might fall.
boats,”?

Now the fire, having broken through the deck, began
to roar, aud clouds of black smoke swirled and rolled in
the strong wind.

“Launch to windward!” shouted the captain.

“It is too late. The boats are loading now.”

“Lookout for the masts!”

‘Man. the, boat!” shouted the captain;
astern!’?

Without delay John and Billy launched the “Elsie, Jr.,??
and with a line allowed the boat to tow astern. Could
she live in such a sea. Could——

Ah! What's that? Slowly at first, then with a terrific
crash, the foremast reeled, and then plupged with a
splash into the sea.

The boats! Where are they? Were they crushed? The
Elsie dropped astern again, and then swung ahead under
the ship’siee. As they came round, a sight met their
view too horrible to describe. The mast had fallen across
one of the boats, and the poor wretches to gave them-
selves had sprang into the boiling sea.

“After them, Join!” .

It needed no second warning. John and Billy sprang
into the boat and pushed off. A huge wave seemed to
sweep them away, but they rowed with might and main,
and, at the risk Of their lives came alongside the burning
ship. Struggling, fighting for life, the sailors swam for
the little boat, und were oue at &@ time takenin. ‘Then
they pulled for the Eisie, that was steaming alongside.
The other boat also put off, loaded down to the water’s
edge.

The fire had now ran up the rigging, and was bursting
from the deck in several places. The few that were left
on board were crowded round thie stern.

“Lookout! The mainmast!” ;

It toppled and shook, but did not fall, and with screams
and shouts the men on the ship cried that they had no
more boats. 50 only the one skip’s boat aud the Elsie, Jr
were left to save the rest.

It took but a few moments for the two boats to get their
loads aboard the Hisie, where the poor, half-irozen wreteli-
eg were taken at once into the cabin out of the dreuching
rain and the storm. Two of the men remained in the
ship’s boat and put offagain, while John and Billy fol-
lowed them in the Elsie, Jr, as fast as possible. The
boat was shipping water at every plunge through the
seas. Billy’s cap blew off, his ciothes were soaked
through, his feet and hands were perishing with the cold;
still he Clung to the heavy oar, and tugged and puiled
with the best of his little strength,

How the fire roared! The ship suddenly swung round
helplessly in the trough of the sea. The great waves
struck her sides with a sound of thunder, and the spray
hissed and splashed into the fire and floated away in
gusis of white steam,

“Pull away! pull away, Billy! We're almost up with
herl’?

“Ay, ay! I’m a—pull—in—inl” cried Billy, catching
his breath between the strokes.

Now they caine up under her stern, and a row of faces
looked down on them trom the buruing ship.

“Throw us a rope!’ shouted Johu—throw us a rope???

Tne rope dropped over the edge, and hung dangiing
and swaying over the water. Then a big wave rolied
past, and swept them away from it. With might and
main they rowed again til they.came under it. Then a
man slid down it, andswung tound fro over the foam-
ing water. The boat rau under him and he dropped
lightly into the stern.

“Tuke the oar, man,’ screamed John.
most dead.”?

With an effort Billy unclasped his sti? Ongers from the
oar, and tumbled over inlo the buws aud sat down 1b a
puadie of water,

How the fire roared, Itran along ihe ropes, and shot
over the sails liilthey fell in black rags tv me burning
deck. . Another man Came down the rope.

Just as he dropped into the boat the rope was drawn
suddenly away, and to their horror the siip’s siern seein-.
ed to rise out of the water, With frantic haste they rowed
away leaving the rest behind. A monstrous wa't of yel-
low water came rolling in from the sea. The Eisie, Jr.
ruse like a cork upon it, But the ship!

She rolled over before it. The stern rose higher and
higher. The nustscricked and snapped, and pieces of
the blazing spars fell intothe water, ‘The poor creatures
leit aboard Jeaped inte the sea. The wave with a thuhder-
ing shock broke in hersides, and in a blinding cloud of
steam and spray she plunged out of sight 1m tie foaming
and boiling seu.

Can’t you
You must take to your

“and tow

“The cuild’s

 

age

Ww were on deck, and when } f

‘} room and then went in.

e as nearas-it was sufe. A crowd of |

       
  
  
 

ee Sy

That’s just fust-rate— 1 guess. get up and—say—
Who’s them ?? ‘Oe.

“Those are the men on the ship. They are taking a nap
now——

“Oh!l—yes—the ship—she burnt up.
that?

A dull boom seemed to float over the stormy waters,
The men hea, and awoke with a start.

“108 guns,” said one.
“Guus!” cried Billy. ‘Oh! lemme get up.”
“No, sit still, Billy. It’s the steamer firing signals for
S.

  

Hark—what'a

u

But Billy couldn't rest there, aud hastily swallowing the
coffee he got up and prepared io go out on deck. Some-
how his little legs were stiff and his hands-were-sore,;-bué
Bomes would keep him in, Those guus! He must go
out'alid see what Was going on. *

The. engineer-cautiously opened the door and held it se-
cure whi Billy crept out, Then the door closed with a
slam in the fi “wind. A dash of cold rain “blew io
their faces. The boat seemed to reel and plunge through
the surging waves as if it was but a chip ou the sea. Billy
Bg to the house with might and main. A big wave
Struck the bows and came sweeping along the deck in a
‘food. Itswept over his feet and he was wet through in a
moment,

The eugineer walked along to the door of the engine-
c Billy did not care to follow. Wet
“as he was he meant to stay out and see what was going
on. Seeing his chance when the deck was Jevel for a mo-
ment he ran back toward the stern and round to the other
side. To his surprisethe ‘Elsie, Jr.” was towing behind.
What had happened? Why didn’t they haul her in? Pass-
ing rou Orble Other side he was su sed to find the
deck crows With men Who were trying to find shelter
from the Storm behind t ouse. hat aforlorn and
wretched set! They corerss Wn OM»the wet deck and
seemed to be having a miserable time generally.

At sight of Billy they brightened up, and one said:

“That's ’im,”?

“Mighty smart boy,’’ said another.
ye hurt much.”?

“What??

“Was ye hurt much the time the boat swamped ?’?

“Whatboat?? said Billy, drawing upto the house to
keep out of the rain.

‘That boat,’”? said one man, pointing over his shoulder
at the Elsie, Jr., towing astern. ‘‘Didn’t ye know she
ae and that ye nearly got drownded, ye

i 7

‘‘No,’’ said Billy, in amazement, ’

“Yes, and tlefellers picked ye up and put ye in the
cabin.”? :

“Ohb that’s why 1 was so wet; and now say, mister,
where’s the ship?! j f

“She suuk.??

“No, I mean the ship what’s firin’ the guns,’

“Oh! that’s a steamer off the light’us, We’s bound out
to her. . She's just atread.?? : /

“L mean to go and see her,’ said Billy,

“All right, Pass the boy long, mates.” ,

So they made-room for him, and We crept past them to-
ward the bows. Seeing the wheelhouse door! open, Le
climbed in, aud was surprised to find ip of men. y
were talking among themselves aud looking earnestly out
through the misty windows.

“She Gan’t niake it,” said one,

“10's hard dines for him,’ said another.

“See how she rolls! Are we doing our best, captain Pp

“No. We've taken so much water that the oval is wet,
and she wiil not imeke-steam very fast. -

and nothing

=

“Say, sonny, waa

Then they were silent for a few nvoments,
could be heard save the heavy beating of the engine and
the dash of the rain against the windows,

Billy couldn’t see very well belund the tall men, and
Said 0.

“Hellow! Who's that?’

“IVs me. Ll want ter see the fun.”

“Is that you, Billy Staver? said the captain, turring
round from the whee}, “i thought you were sick after
your bath.” ifi352
c “Nos 1’m fust rate now. And say, captain, what’s them
guns a firiu’ for?” : rs
_ “iVaihesteamer. You shalksee her fast
we come up wiih her, c

“I had some coffee.”

-*Phat’s not enough. Go down in the cabin and attend
to some of those cakes,” eens

“Ig they sugared on top f”?

How themenali Jaughed!

‘The doughnuts, | mean.’

“Yes,’? replied the captain, with a laugh; ‘they's
sugared on top,??

Billy thought he would attend to them r
climbed downto the deck, and, ho.ding on}
crept along to the hatch. ~ When he got there he paused a
inomentto see where they were. As the boat yose on the
top of A wave he saw a wiiite tower on fn island just
ahead. The surf was rolling in long lines of foam over
the rocks, aud .through the drifling clouds jie cauglit a
glimpse of a yellow hill beyond, Butthe sight that fixed
Lis attention was a steamship heading toward the light-
house ana trying her best to enter the harbor,

To the left. was another yellow hill standing sharp and
ragged against the flying clouds, At ie foot of the hill
the breakers seemed lo” be tearing and repding the land
to pieces. Could ‘the steamer get in past the point? It
seemed coubtiul. ‘there was no smokefrom her stack.
The two or tliree small sails spread in the Wind seemed
ready io burst and fy away in ribbons. Tlie masts
swayed from side to side, as if the ship rolied in every
sea. The Elsie was heading for her and making a gallant
SAEs £9 come to the— pet late

plash! And & great green wave sw and dashed
on to the deck. It swept our Billy frie fees and in an
instant he found himself sprawling on the deck in a
puddte of water. | wy

“Hellot there! Where ye going?”

Some one seized him’ by the arm, and he felt himself
dragged into the room,

“What are you doing out there

“Nuffin,” said Billy, wringing the water out of his cap.
“IT was going Gown lo the cabin, and that wawe—wagn’t it
& buster—just upset me,’?

‘And now you're drenched through.”

“Y-e-s, Lis wet some,”

‘You'd better go down stairs and get dry.”

“But Lwans to see the steamer, aud.’m awful hungry.’

“Pilgend you some thing tu eat? .

Without a word Billy crept down the iron Jadder into
the fire-room. The fireman helped him past the clank
enugibe and gave him a seat on a Jamp-of coal by the great
boiler. The douglinuls soomcame, and with these in hand
he stood before the fire and steamed himself: The steam
rose in littie clouds about him, 80 tliat he jooked like some
huge chicken being roasted before tie blaze. The fireman,
jaugued and said he was cooking fast. Billy laughed too,
and thought the doughnuts were just prime,

How the Elsie roiled Bits of coal in the bunkers
dropped down wilh a rattling sound as the boat swayed
fronrside togide. The fireman stired up the great, glowing
caverns of fire with a huge poker,and showers ofred cinders
felidown iu the ash pit. Some times they went one way, and
then as ihe boat rolied they all fell another way. Munch-
ing his }anch, Biliy watched the sparks auid steamed him-
sell in sence,

Suddenly the bell rang. The engine stepped, and it
seemed very slill, Then ihey heard yoices on the deck.
What had happened?

Stuffing a douginut into each pocket of his ragged old
coat he said he must go and see what was up,

*9Taint puffin,” said the man. “It’s only the steamer.
We are going to tow her in.”

“)m going to see, any way,” said Billy, and up the iron
ladder he climbed and came-to the engine room. The
engiucer wus looking Out one door and the other was
shut.

tet mister, 1 want ter see.”?

“There's not much to see. ‘Lhe steamer is going to giv
us & bow line.” ee

Then someone called outside, and the bell rang to start
the engine. He couldn't wait any longer, Le must go
out and see What was going on.

Bnough to see, ceriauily. They had come up with the
sicamship, aud were right under her lee. She was a
mnonster snip, and the Eisic looked hike some Mitle water-
rat beside her, The steamship was heading to the horth,
toward Boston Light, which was now only about a mile
away. She was close in shore—off Point Alerton. foo
near for safety, The surf was beating in fury on the beach,
and thesea-wall seemed half buried inthe foam aud flying
spray. How the great ship rolled! Now they could see
all tue people on the deck, and then she rolled the other
way, aud her black sides seemed almost as high as a
ho. ee

Bily went to the stern, where he couki get a good view,
aud siood behind the house out of the rain, How the
wind roared and whistied in the ship's rigging! And to
think Lis great steamship, that looked so strong, was
nearly helpless! Her engine broken aud her fires out!
Nothing but the brown sails to save her froin the black
rocks and the horrible white sands of Point Alerton and
wild Nuntasket Beach, where many good ships had laid
down their bones,

The Elsie was now nearly opposite her bows, and Billy
saw the nen on deck running along asif in great excite-
meni, Twoof the handson the Kisie came out where
Billy stood, anda tallsailor with a coil of rope in his
hand stood on the bows of the steamship. Sue buried
her bows in a foaming wave, and then Tose highin the
air till the rad water-line came up into sight. The Elsie,
pitehing and plunging in the sea, pushed cluse up to the
sieamship, ‘The sailor on her bows stoog like a statue in
the wild witd and blinding rain. Down she plunged with
{a heavy rollin another great wave, and then, as she rose

again, the rope came flying through the air toward the
Elsie, just where our Biily stood, Toe men sprang to
Catch it, and Billy instinctively put Ont his hands to help.
lt Hew over tlcir heads and oviled on the deck like a

her f h when
lave you had your breakiast

ht away, and
boih hands,

 

-

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yee

 

secession

 

 

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EER BPO I

rawr

 

 

 

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brown snake. It fell at Billy’s feet, and he dropped upon
ig and clung to it tight with both hands.

The Hisie lurched at the same instant, and ina ent
our Billy was dragged with .a terrible—jerk into the sea,
With a desperate clutch he | on tothe rope, and went
down and’ dewn into the freéz water. it swept over
his head and roared in his ears. He had the wit to shat
his mouthand to cling tothe rope with the energy of

despair. WR :
Ah! Then there was confusion and uproar!
“Man overboard! mat overboardt’) | ids
Two OF tree round’ life-préesetve fame, ring, down
from the stoathan's heck and droppéd inte tie water.
| out the Elsie, and a man ke
hind, though she could

rope was throw from
in such:a furious sea: anid: ro # 673 jal
through it-all. It palled and

  
 
 

     

to the boat towing

Billy clung to the rope ;
strained and neariy dragged his arms out of his shouldérs
The ship rose on another wave, and_he found hit
dangling in the air under the, ship’s bows. Siler
again, and he swung against her iron sides with a te
bang that made’him scream with pain. Then the green
water swept up to him again, and with a gasp he went in
once nore deep under the foamy, ocean. Was
ohilled through in an instant, but clung to the rope in des-
peration. It was his only chance. Up again out of the
water. He saw the Elsie snorting and puffing to come up
with him, and——

Oh! what a terrible blow again as he swung against the
ship! They were pulling him up, Another foaming wave
sweptlike lightning under him, but. it only touched his
feet this time. How the rope puiied and strained. It was
tears his very fingers out. He couldn’t hold on much

onger.

Stout bands had hold of the otherend. A dozen men
pulled with might and main. A row of faces looked over
the edge ofthe bulwark, and hands and arms were stretch-
ed out to rescue him. Ina moment his bare head came
up level with the deck. They took his little red hands and
seized him by his old ragged coat, and, with a cheer, he
fiew heels over head on to the deck. How they cheered!
They hurrahed and hurrahed, and the Elsie blew her
whistle, and everybody acted like mad.

Thé rain fell in torrents, and the great ship reeled and
plunged into the séa, but nobody seemed to mind it. They
s)00K Billy by the hand, and, cheered again, and had a
uproarously jolly time generally.

Butthe ship! Whatof her? Where wasshe going? A
big officer in a gold lace cap took Billy’s hand, and Jed
him away toward the cabin, and the boatswain’s whistie
piped up above the roar of the sea and the scream of the
fierce wind.

Again the tall sailor threw the ropeto the Elsie. It was

caught this time by someone beside a boy, A tow line
was quicklyran out, and with a full head of steam on, the
Hisie plunged alread toward Boston Light.
& It wag nonetoo soon. ‘Thexrocks on the shore seemed
to grow hearer and nearer. Unless she could pull fast,
she was lost. Could the little Elsie, that seemed such a
mere pleasure-boat beside the giaut steamer, saye her?
The ship, big as slie was, could hardly help herself. ~The
situation was critical, and the officers looke@ grave, and
the great crowd of men on deck looked at the yellow banks
on the shore, and at the long lines of foaming surf, and
were silent. When people stop talking on.a ship, there is
trouble. Perhaps she should not have ventured in se near
in such a gale, That was true, and had there been no help
near, she would have stood off to sea and rode out the
storm as best she couid with the few sails they might man-
age to keep up. Asthe Hisie had been in sight at the time
they made the land, they had depended on her to take
them in. All wotld have been safely over before now, had
not the burning ship called the tug away.

It was a@ close race for life. If the Elsie could drag the
steamship half a mile farther, all was safe, and
they could enter the harbor without any trouble. The
Bisie puiled the heavy rope out to its fulllength. It tight-
ed and strained, and the drops of water.dripped from it
in a little shewer. Dowmit went into thesea, and then it
straightened out.again stiff and taut. The Elsie seemed
to tear up the sea witli her propellor, and black clouds of
smoke poured out of her stack. At first the steamship
did not seem to move, and the Elsie stood stock still, puif-
ing and smoking like a wild thing.

The ship rolled and rolled in the sea, and the black rope
strained as if it was ready to part. Slowly sheseemed to
drift sideways toward the shore. Then sle moved a little
and her bows turned a point or two toward the east. The
boatswain’s whistie piped loud and_ shrill, and a dozen
men ran up the rigging to take in sail. She was coming
up into the wind. She wassafe. The Elsie had mastered
her. The mighty sleamship moved siowly aliead. The
ijutle tow-boal, that seemed such a speck on the water,
was equal to the task. Let the wild sea beat on cruel
Nantasket. Let the surges trample on the stones of
Point Alerton. The men on deck gave three cheers, and
the Elsie biew her whistle and plunged ahead dragging
her tremendous load slowly after her. The Keeper at the
Light blew his great fog-horn, and all the people in the
cabin heard it and were glad.

Billy heardit, too. Poor little fellow! He had seen
rough times, but. they were most over. He had tried to
do his duty, and had been nearly killed in doingit, The
officer led him into the cabin, and a great crowa of ladies
and gentlemen gathered round him. Such a splendid lit-
tle fellow. They couldn’t do too much for him,

Poor boy, he las had a stormy time of it, but he is al-
mosé in port, and (he storm is just clearing away. ;

They said so on deck as the stout little Elsie towed them
in over the foaming seas into the harbor, for far away in
the north it looked jight and broken as if the sun was just
ready to come out. The storm was nearly over,

{To BK CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.)

 

 

OUR KNOWLEDGE BOX. .

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
B, Twilight.—Put afew drops of tannic acid in the water when
you wash your feet, This will tenu to harden the feet, and ren-
der them less liable to perspire............ Emma M.—VERMIN ON
BIRDS may te avoided by allowing them good opportanities for
bathing, cleanliness in the cage, and dry sand mixed with avi-
seed and seattered on the floor..... Agnes Cadell.—1. Apply iodine
to the*bunion night and morning. 2. Rub a little glycerine over
them occasionally....... A, W. K.—1. Silver plating requires skill
and experience, and the requisite tools to work with. Besides it
would not compensate you to do what you design. _ 2. No..... 45
SJ T. K.—Weak eyes may be benefited by bathing them in
galt and water.......4.—l. No. 2. Itis pronounced in English as
itis written. 3 About 18......Molly.—To Rip Cats oF FLEAS.—
Dip them in @ decoction of pennyroyal once a week. Ifthe herb
sannot be obtained, the oil will answer, In this case saturate a
string or ribbon with it and tie it round the neck of the cat. Sat-
urate the string or ribbon once a week till the pests disappear...
Maria.—l. We can supply you with a good cook book for $1.75. It
contains all the recipes. necessary for a young housekeeper.
Write.to the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency. 2. CLAM
CHOWDER.—Put into boiling water from ot to a hundred of the
smatbsand clams, and, when all their shells haye been opened,
take them out, as they are then sufficiently boiled. Extract ali
the‘hard or tough uneatable part, and throw it‘away. Slice thin
as much salt pork as, when fried in the bottom of a large pot,
will produce half a pint of liquid or gravy. Take out all the
pork,leaving the liquid in the pot. Add to. ita layer of clams;
then alayer of biscuit soaked in milk or warm water; next an-
othe¥layerof clams; then another layerof soaked biscuit; then
moreclams. Season with pepper and mace. If there is no ob-
ection to onions, add three or tour boiled and sliced, and some
minced sweet majoram, Also some potatoes, boiled, peeled, and
quartered. Let the last layer be clams, and then cover the whole
with & good paste, and bake it in an ironoven, or boilitin an
iron pot. Chowder of fresh codfish, halibut, sea-b or any
other ‘good fish, is made’ as above. 3. TO PRESERVE GRAPES.—
Put some close bunches of grapes, not too ripe, in @ jar, pricking
each one with a needle. Fill up the jar with equal quantities of
loai-sugar sirup ‘and French brandy. Make the sirup by taking
half the weight of the grapes in sugar, and water enough to dis-
solve it, and boil andskim it well. If this isnot the right. recipe
write us again...... Tiger —We have no recipe of the kind......
Fishey.—AQUARIUM CEMENT.—One part, by measure, say a gill of
litharge; one gull of plaster of Paris;-one gilt of dry, white
sand; one-third of finely-powdered rosin. Sift, and keep corked
tight till required for use, when it isto bemade into a putty by
mixing with boiled linseed oil, with @ little patent dryer added.
Never use it afterit has been mixed with the oil over fifteen
hours. This cement can be used in marine as well as fresh
water aquaria, as it resists the action of salt water, But the tank
must have either aniron or stone frame-work—a wooden one
will warp, and cannot be made tight witii any kind of ce-
ment. Be sure your plaster of Paris is pute: Dentists
always keep that which is good. It is best to let the
tank stand a day or two belore the wate? is put in...
J Stacy.—We presume there are a good many, but we can-
not give you their names......4, H.—l, Dip the soles in water.
2 We cannot tell you......J Mountain Joe.—No recipes that we
can recommend...... Wm. D. B.—The daily application of glycer-
ine and toilet powder (chalk or magneésia);may help toobdliterate
them in time..,.Jirs. S. & S.—No recipe for. that particular cos-
metic, but we give one for ENAMEL PowDER: . Take- equal parts
of fAinely-powdered French chalk and pearl-white; sufficient
rouge or curmine to slightly tinge it; mix. Used to conceal dis-
colorations, and, without the coloring, to whiten the skin......
A Sufferer, Suoger, E, C. T, and E, 8., Art, Steamboat Charley,
Yony Starbuck, Ink, John Green, Clara, Blanche ©, 3. P. H., F.
W. H., G.M., GC, O. M. B., German, Chicago, Lou H., Buyer,
Kenl, Fairy Moonlight, G. EL. M., G.8., “Happy New Year,’’
Contributor, Genie Simms, Carrie Distress. Your letters have
been received, and will be answered as soon as possible.

MEDICAL DEPARTMENT,

Patient Sufferer ana J. Clifton, New Orleans.—PILEs.—Cool ap-
plications are generally the best for piles, though in some cases
the use of tepid water is preferred. If habits of cleanliness were
more common than they are, we should have less of Ure disease
in question, Wasi night and morning, and be temperate in eat.
ing and drinking. A good medical authority says that-bad cases
of pes have been cured by a diet of rye mush and milk, Steam.
ing is sometimes resorted to. Inthat case make a decoction of
hops, stramonium and poke. If there is much inflammation
and distress, apply a poultice composed of slippery elm bark and
stramonium or poke leaves. The food should be of a laxative
natures Indulge in meat not over once aday, and then let it be
tender-and niceiy done, Avoid the use of stimulating condi-
ments... If you must use a purgative of some kind, tet it be of
the mildest character, Any severe medicine will irritate the
bower bowels, and cause a determination of blood to the part.
The domestic syringe is often used with good effects Daily iujec-
tiois of cool water will strengthen the bowels and restore the
dilated yens to their natural condition. For local. treatment
nothing is better than two ounces of lard and ove dram of the
flowers of sulphur mixed, and rubbed between two plites of lead
until they are well bluckened. This ointment is not only sooth-
ing, but curative, both in the bleeding and blind piles.

A Ay Your wmode of bathing is correct. 2) Neither would de
you any batm, f

Alsop.—We cannot advise you until we know more concerning
your habits,

Fanny Jordan.—1. The right side is considered the best. 2. You
will soon failinto the habit of lying on thatside, ~

Brtékt utler,—1, Go to a regular physician. 2. Attend to
the business that compensates you the most satisfactorily,

W. B.—You will have nothing to fear if you heed. our advice.
Continue the treatment suggested, ‘+

A, B. W.—REMEDY FOR CHAFING.—When the neck, armpits,
thighs, efc,, of children get chafed or excoriated, a remedy inay
be found by keeping the parts clean, and by dusting them with
powdered slippery elm, or starch, or toilet powder, Grown per-
fons May employ tlle sametreatmment, or wear cotton between
the parts whieh rub together, ‘ \

Z:ro, Wrestling Joe, John Bell, St. Lonis, Mo., Unhappy, D. 0.
8., Boston Boy, Charles P., 8ufferer, Enxghteen Years’ Roldet of
N. Y. WEEKLY, Thomas C., Jr., GL B., Nervousness, W. P., Ger-
mman-Ametrican, Sufferer, Sagesmufid, Bb. CL F., Louis’ Bisang,

1. B., Keno.—Yourietters

Squirrel Cap, King Philip, A.J. T., L,
have been received, and will be answered is soon as possible.

 

THE LOVER'S LAMENT.

BY NATHAN UPHAM.

 

 

My love has flown afar,
And left me sighing in my lonely room;
Beyond the roses’ bloom,
Beyond the evening star,
Her home is bright, while mine is filled with gloom.

Here lives the last fond kiss
That lett her lips, ere sped Death’s fatal dart!
How sad from her to part,
While glowed the thrilling bliss,
Whose memories long shall live in my sad heart!

Tell me, ye maidens fair,

Who come, flower-laden, from the fragrant grove,
Did ye not see my love,
AS ye were roving there,

While she was passing on to realms abovet

Aht no, ye have not seen,

Or light would wake, with rapture, your sweet eyes;
Beyond the starry skies,
Beyond the azure screen,

No tidings from my love in Paradise!

 

A STORY OF OLD KENTUCE.

Coonskin, the Scout:

— OR, — ;

THE PRINCE OF BORDERMEN.

By Duke Cuyler.
CHAPTER IV.
FOLLOWING THE TRAIL.

The sun by this time had sunk down into the tree-tops,

and in a little while it would drop beneath the horizon.
Too much time had been spent already about the spot
where they stayed. Unless ie made haste now, the dark-
ness would fill the forest before he could come up with
the savages. ‘This the scout saw at a glance, and s0 he
bade the Yankee follow swiftly on as if he was determined
to keep him company.
' All the arms that the latter had yet shown, was a for-
midable jack-knife, and Coonskin wondered much that he
should have ventured into that section of the country in
so defenseless a state. But he was mistaken in thinking
that the Yankee possessed no other. Striding up to a
clump of bushes near at hand, he pulled a rifle from its
place of concealment, remarking as he did so:

“—T was tarnel afraid that the varmints might steal it,

but I did not dare to take it into the hole with me. There
would have been a first-rate chance in there for an acci-
dent; and as for fighting, I wouldn’t have had elbow-room
to have done mucii in that line.”’
.-Coonskin was pleased to see that his self-elected com-
panion was thus provided for in the way of arms. If he
only knew how to use his rifle and keep his tongue still,
he might, after all, be of some use to him. A glance along
the weapon showed him that it was a good-looking one
at least, and he demanded of its owner if he was a good
shot.

“Wal, middling. I’ve killed crows and squirrels, and
woodchucks and the jike. Never tried my hand on bigger
game. Might hit an injiv, though, if I hada good chanee,
and he didn’t fire afore [ could. Polly Walker, here, is
pretty sure. I named her arter a gai I courted once, but
the darned critter give me the smitten arter all. I meant
to alter the name of the gun, arter that, but I had got in
such a notion of calling it for her that I couldn’t seem to
do it, so its name is Polly Walker now.’?

“Well, come on now,’ said ihe scout impatiently.
‘Keep close to me, and mind (hat you don’t speak unless
you have occasion to.”

“f never does,’? returned the Yankee, in a drawling
tone.

Coonskin saw that there was no hope of his keeping
quiet, unless he set the example himself; so he hurried
on in silence, while the Yaukee followed close at his heels,
with strides as long as his own.

The time he had spent about the fallen tree had been, at
least, half an hour — much longer than he intended it
should have been.

It had given the savages time to get much farther in ad-
yance than he had wished them to, and he Knew that un-
less he.made haste, that he would hardly come up with
them by the time he had set.

This was between sunset and dark—when the shadows
of evening would begin to gather, 80 that his motions

 

would, in a measure, be hidden from them.

Their numbers he knew almost to a certainty, but he
wanted to be certain who the captives were before he laid
hig plans for their rescue. Not but that he would do his
best to deliver them let them be who they would; bat with
a knowledge of who they were, he could lay his plans
with more certainty, lie thought.

This he could not do unless he could steal close up to
them before the night was fairly down. Even did they
stop for the night and kindle a camp fire, the probabilities
were that the captives woukt be 80 far removed therefrom,
that its light would not aid him to recognize them.

More than that did he not get into their neighborhood
before it became dark he would have no little difficulty in
Keeping the trail.

The moon would not rise until near midnight, and then
its beams would not be able to pierce the thick foliage

gree of distinctness. In spite of his utmost caution he
would be apt to wander from it,

With this thought uppermost in his mind he hurried on-
ward at a swift pace,

Each moment he expected to hear the Yankee break
out im remonstrance, but he was mistaken, His com-
panion held his peace, and plied his long legs as fast as
Coonskin desired to go.

For nearly an hour they kept on in this way without
half-a-dozen words passing between them.

The sun dropped beneath the horizon, and the dusky
shadows of evening began to gather in the forest. Night
was fast coming, and still they had not come up with the
savages.

Evidently they had made better time than they were do-
ing when he first struck the trail.

This was contrary to his expectations. He had thought
thatthe female captives would be s0 exhausted that they
would have moved slower.

It could be hardly possible that they feared pursuit, for
had this been the case they would have endeavored to
have covered their trail,

It was also impossible that they could have had an inti-
mation that he was, upon their track,

Deeper and deeper grew tlhe shadows in the forest, tell-
ing that night was fast coming on. Even now their pro-
gress was not as swift as it had been. Closer attenuon
had to be paid to the trail that they might not wander
from it. Should they lose it-onceit would-be no slight
task to regain it in the fast-increasing darkness.

“Jerusalam, this is a hard one!’ cried the Yankee, at
length. “Lf wish I was to ham in Connecticut.”

“So do I,’’ cried Coonskin, turning upon him. “TI wish
you were there, or that you would hold yer tongue.
you don’t, l wouldn’t wonder if you lost that scalp of
your’n before five minutes.”’

“Shol you don’t say so? Why, I wouldn’tlose that ere
for five dollars. You don’t see anything of the varmints
round here, do ye ?”’

“No, but LhopeI may soon. We ought tohave come
up with’em before this. If youdon’t want to get into
the worst scrape you ever was in, don’t speak again until
Ispeak to you. Remember that you ain’t in Conuecticut
now.??

“T know it; but I wish to mercy I was.
there awhile, you can bet.’

Having’ given ullerauce to this in aloud whisper, he
wag silent again much to the reliet of the scout.

Silently and as swiftly as possible they moved onward,
Goonskin taking the ulimost pains not to wander from the
trail.

At length the darkness of night hung about them like a
pall until the sharp eyes of the scout no longer could keep
tne trail, Lt was hidden from him most effectually.

Provoked wiilt himself for having lingered so long
about the fallen tree, where he had discovered the Yankee
in his predicament, he sought, but in vain, for some sign
of the trail.

His ill luck caused him to utter an exclamation of im-
patience which reached the ears of his companion.

“T wouldn’t search any longer, mister. You might jest
as well huut for a needic in a haystack as to try to find
their tracks aginin’this ere darkness. Whatdo you say
to turning in forthe night and take daylight for it in the
morning? Vdiike mighty well to rest my legs, I’ve
tramped so far to-day that L’ll be durned if they don’t aclie
the whole length of’em.”

“Didn't L tell yon to keep your tongue still?’ eried the
scout, augrily. “If wedo anything to get our friends out
of the clutches of the redskins we’ve‘got to do it to-night,
By to-morrow morning, if they Keep on, they'll be where
we can’t help them outof their difficully. If the thing is
possible, we’ve gotto strikea blow for them to-night,
Bat Ym afraid that tongue of yours will ruin all Vil bet
you can’t hold it for half-an-hour to save your life.”’

“What will you bet?”

‘A dollar,”?

“Donel I ain’t made one since I come into this blasted
country. Dll be sculped alive afure you'll get. 80 much as
& whisper out of my head.’? 7

The Yankee was as mule as death now, while the scout
went on wilh his search for the trail, but with no better
success than before. Try as he would he could not tell
whether they were upon it or not.

There seemed but one course for him to pursue, and
that wastoremain quietly where they were until the
moon should rise, But this. would not be until midnight,
and much precious time would be lost.

Did the savages keep on they would put sucha distance
between them that it would be fhpossible for him lo cume
up with them before daylight should) dawn, and then
there would be little hope of his being able to deliver the
captives,

There. was one resource left to him, but he hesitated
about adopungit. ile could Jightatorch, and in that
way seek to follow the trail, bot there was danger in do-
iug this.

Were the savages close at hand they would perceive it,
and thus danger would be drawn upon hin anc his plans
thwarted. Siillif he went on, this was the ouly plau left

I would stay

 

to him.
Inspite of the risk he determined to adopt tt. Ie was
standing in a littte hollow, the Vey spot for him to

with sufficient power to show him the trail with any de-:

If

 

 

make his preparations, asthe light would not be ob-
—<S by any one unless they chanced to be close at
hand.

Kneeling down he drew forth his flint and steel, and
soon had the sparks flying into the little pile of dead leaves
which he had heaped up. ;

They caugltas quick asso much tinder, and a bright
blaze sprung up, illuminating a small circle of a few feet
in diameter.

The Yankee had watched his motions in silence, but
now he could contaiu himself no longer. ,

For the opportunity of speaking he would lose the dollar
he so much coveted, so he broke out with:

“Jerusalem and the prophets! What in natur are you
doing? If the redskins see that light weshall lose our
scaips as sure as preaching!’

This was uttered in aloud whisper, for he remembered
the injunctions Coonskia had given him.

“T don’t mean that they shall see it,’ answered the
scout. ‘As soon as I get my torch a-going I shall put it
out. Lie quiet here, and I will be ready to move on ina
few moments,”’

From the dry branch of a pine he set to work fashion-
ing a torch which should serve him for the object he had
inview. This was the work of but a few moments, and
when it was completed he thrust the end of it into the
fire, and in a little time it was well ablaze. Then gently
renloving it, he swung it about him untilit was allaglow,
while at the same time he stamped out the fire that he
had kindled among the leaves,

‘Now follow, and be careful that you don’t speak above
your breath,’? he said to the Yankee, and holding the
on close to the earth, he commenced his search for the
trail.

It was some minutes before he found it; but at last he
struck it at a point nearly twenty rods from where he had
commenced his search.

The Yankee had kept close to his heels; and now silent-
ly pointing out the trail to him, the scout motioned for
him to come on.

With the torch held close to the earth, so that the signs
might not escape him, and also that its light might not
be seen from any considerable distance on either side,
Coonskin went forward as swiftly as the circumstances
would admit. At times, when the lay ofthe ground was
such that the light might be seen at a distance, he would
remove his cap from his head and hold it in such & man-
ner that the light could not be seen by any who might
chance to be in advance.

Not a word passed between tiem. Notwithstanding he
had lost his dollar, the Yankee for the timé being was as
mute as the grave.. Perhaps it was because he knew that
they were in no-common danger. Did the savages but
get a clew to their whereabouts, they would have them
at a disadvantage.

They. could see nothing themselves beyond the circte of
light thrown out by the torch, while all their motions
would be plainly visible to the enemy. The odds were,
indeed, greatly. against them.

For perhaps half{.a mile they went on inthis way, ana
by that time the torch was on the point of going out. A
new one must-be provided, or in a little time they would
be left in total darkness.

But, as it chanced, they had no further use of a iight.
As suddenly as a flash of lightning from the clouds, and
with no more warning of its coming, an arrow flew past
the head of Coonskin, so close that at first he thought
that it had hit him.

The next instant he had cast the torch tothe earth and
placed his foot upon if.

 

CHAPTER Y.
THE YANKEE'S MISHAP.

“Gash all hemlock! What in nater was that?”
the Yankee.

‘*Hist!? said Coonskin, in a low, warning tone.

“But whatin the name of thunder was it 2" persisted
Steve, in a whisper. ‘I swan! it sounded jest like a hawk
diving artera chicken. Aunt Sally sent me once——”

“Will you keep still 1’? cried the scout, in the same tone.
“Tf you don’t you will have your throat cut in less than a
minute. That was an arrow aimed at my head. The red-
skins are about us, Foilow me quick, unless you want to
stay here and lose your scalp.’

This he said hurriedly, aud the next moment he was
gliding away in the dense darkness in the opposite di-
reclion from whence the shot had come,

The Yankee did uot linger behind. Nimbly he followed
on in the footsteps of tiie scout, his eyes trying to pierce
the gloom that enshrouded them, in searcn of enemies;
but lt was so great that had they been within a dozeu
f-et he would not have perceived their outlines.

Expecting each moment that in spite of their caution
they would make some sound that would show the savages
which way they were moving, the scout hurried along,
following nearly the same direction as that which the trail
was tending. ’

Lie had now but little hope of being able to. do anything
at present for the deliverauce of the captives,

if they gave these savages the slip Who were now close
upon them, they without doubt belonged to the main
party, and would give their companions warning.

It might be that even now he was close upon those
whom they sought, or rather hurrying from them,

For sometiing like teu minutes they glided on in this
way, and then the scout suddenly paused. Yee

The Yankee did likewise, dut not so quickly big#Pat he
ran against his companion wit sucit force as Tos nearly
throw him from his feet. 3

Giving utterance to an exclamation which, although
hardly audible, sounded much like a malediction, Coon-
skin stood motionless, and listened for the footsteps of any
who might be in pursuit.

For afew moments he heard nothing, and then his quick
ear caught a slight sound coming from a point but a little
in theirrear. Again it was repeated, this time nearer
than before. :

Low. as it was the scout was not slow in determining its
meaning. It was the stealthy footstep ofasavage. Dark
a3 it was, ard as silently as they moved, the redskin had
followed hin unerringly. J

To attempt to shake him off in this way was impossible;
other means must then be resorted to. There was no
time to lose—something must be done, and that quickly.

In a whisper he bade the Yankee not to stir irom his
tracks, and’then he hastily retraced his steps for a dozen

aces.

. Pausing by the trunk of a large tree, he listened again.
The soft footstep of the savage was close at hand. Club-
bing his rifle, the scout stood motionless, waiting for the
savage to approach. ; :

A minute luter and he beheld the dim outlines of a figure
within a few feet of hit,

Raising his rifle he stood ready to deal the redskin a
blow, which he meant should end his career forever. He
must not fail in the attempt, or all wouid be lost.

In ignorance of the near proximity of his foe, the red-
skin came on, until hardly more than apace separated
them,

This was the scout’s opportunity. With a spring for-
ward he brought down the butt of hisrifle with all his
strength upon the head of the savage, It crushed his
skull as though it had been an eggshell, and he dropped
at once in his tracks. There was no need to repeat the
blow; it had done its work quickly aud well.

The dull thud of the body of the savage, as it went
down to the earth, reached the ear of the Yankee,
and caused him to utter an exclamation of surprise, in
spite of the repeated injunctions he had received to ulter
no sound,

In & Moment the scout had bounded to his side, and in
an angry tone once more commanded him to be silent,

But this the Yankee would not do, until he had been in-
formed of the cause of the sounds he had heard.

“Jerusalem! he ain’t dead, is iie?’”? he cried, in a whis-
per.

“Yes. He won't trouble ug again, I’m mighty sure,”
answered the scout.

“Wal, you take it master cool killinga feller critter,’’
said Steve, “1 declare I dou’t believe your conscience
troubles you,any more than though you had killed a
rabbit.”

“No, I’m sure it don’t. I wouid tike to serve the whole
race of ’em the same way. But it won’t do for me tobe
standing here, lye got to find out where the rest of ’em
are, i{ 1 can.”

“Wal, I’m ready to be off.’

“But you are not going with me,”

“Not going with you? Whatin nater is the reason???

“Because | waut Lo look round here alone,”’

“What is to become of me???

“You are to Keep quiet here until [come back. I won't
be gone long. To my mind the whole party ain’t far off,”

“But what if some of the redskins come this way while
you are gone f"?

“In that case, you must look out for yourself. Keep
your eyes Open, aud serve them asIhaye that one out
yonder, if they come near you, Anyway, don’t stir from
here uutit 1 come back, if you can help it.”!

“Pit bet a dollar ) shalt be Killed. It will be jest my
tarnel luck. LwshI was to hum. Say, mister, can’t
youtake me with you??

“No, I won't be gone a great while. Look sharp for
danger, and you will come out allright. When i come
for you l wilt give a signal, and do you answer it; other-
wise I may not flud you. I will hoot like an owl, and do
you do the same iu return,”?

“JT don’t believe I can. .I should have to practice for an
hour, afore you could tell it from the squawk of a goose,”

“Never mind; do the best you can,”

“Vittry. Oh, dear, what did I come out in these tarnel
parts for? Ifeelitin my bones that it will be the last of
me. Lil be darned if le ain’t gone. Jertisalem! this isa
pretty scrupe to get into, If ever [see daylight agin I
shall be mistaken, What in nater can he wantto icave
me beliind for? Wve haifa mind to follow him. But he’s
gone out of sight aud hedring. I don’t think it is serving
a feller right, and Ji tell him so when I see him agin.”

Giving utterance to his discontent in these ejaculations,
the Yankee stood trying to pierce the darkness in the di-
recuion whither the scout had gone; but he saw nothing,
Save the shadowy Outlines of the trunks of the trees about
him, which in his imagination he more than once counted
into moving savages,

Slowly the momeuts went by notil nearly half an hour
had elapsed since the departure of the scout, In that
time he had not stirred from his tfacks,, but stood as
though he was as firmly rootedto. Lhe spot. as were the
trees by which he was surrounded, Tis ears were strained
to catch the first sound of the returning footsteps of
Coouskin, ov that of any savage who might chance to
come that way. Now and then ie cast an apprehensive
glance in the direction of the spot where the dead savage
Was lying, as though he was halt fearful of seeing a ghost,
or Lhubt the redskiu would come to life again, and make
oh onslaught upon hin for the purpose of taking his
scalp.

Up to this time ho, had seen or heard nothing more
alaviming to hin than the profound silence that rejgned

cried

 

-<aice THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3e—

Amc ae

—

around; but that was enough.to keep liim uneasy. Hach
moment he was fearful of seeing an enemy approach in
some shape or other.

Had he known in what direction to have gone, he would
long before lad set out in pursuit of the scout, buat he
might have searched until morning without finding him.

At lasta slight sound close to the spot where he stood
senta thrill through his entire ffame and made his hair
stand on end.

It was so low that had he not at that moment been lis-
tening intently he would not have heardit. Even then
he could not tell what it was like, and he strained his ears
to listen for a repetition of the sound.

it was not long in coming.

This time he felt sure that he did not mistake-its import.
It really was a low, stealthy footstep coming from the di-
rection where the dead savage lay.

Could it be that the redSkin had come to life, and was
about to pay him a visit? Or was it one of his late com-
rades come to avenge his death?

Then another idea occurred to him.
scout returning ?

But the next thought was, if it was he, why did he not
give the signal which had been agreed upon between
them?

It might be that he had forgotten it. This seemed
hardly probable, but still it mignt beso. He would give
it himself, and see if he could get an answer in return.

Opening his lips he gave utterance to a sound which he
meant shouid imitate the cry of an owl, but had a bird of
that species been anywhere within hearing, instead of
replying thereto, it would have departed in hot haste
through fright. No known bird had ever been guilty of
uttering such a cry as that,

Steve thought that he had not been altogether success-
fulin his effort, and so was content to let it rest there,
while he listened for a reply.

But none came. A stillness most profound reigned
around him. The footstep he had heard, no longer {ell
upon his ear.

Convinced now that it could not be Coonskin returning,
he peered round him in the darkness, uncertain what hor-
rible shape his eyes might fall upon.

For the space of a couple of minutes he stood thus in
fearful expectation, straining both eyes aud ears to detect
the presence of a foe. Then the suspense was broken.

There was a whizzing sound as of a missle cutting the
air, and the next instant a tomahawk was buried in the
trunk of the tree close to which he stood. Sonear had
the weapon came to his head that he involuntarily ciapped
his hand up to his face to see if he had not been wounded.

The next instant the dusky form of a savage sprang to-
ward him.

As quick as thought the Yankee brought his rifle to his
shoulder, aud taking aim upon the savage pulled the
trigger.

Although the redskin was at its very muzzle the bullet
went wide of its mark, and his enemy stood unharmed
before him.

The next instant the savage sprang upon him, Knife in
hana.

Dropping his rifle, and summoning all his strength for
the encounter, which he saw was to be one of life or
death, the Yankee threw his arms about his antagonist in
such a manner as to confine his arm to his side so that it
was impossible for him to use his Knife. In vain it was
that tle savage struggled to free himself so that he could
use his weapon. The Yankee held him as in a vise, know-
ing that did the savage but manage to free the hand that
heid the knife his doom was sealed.

For a couple of minutes the struggle went on, both pat-
ting forth all the strength they possessed, and neither
gaining the advantage. .

How long it might have continued it is impossible to
tell, had they not in their struggles struck against a large
root of a tree, which was above the surface, and which
sent them heavily to the earth.

As ill-luck would have it the Yankee came undermost.
His fall broke the hold he had upon the savage and he lay
beneath his antagonist completely at his mercy.

CHAPTER VI.
WHAT COONSKIN FOUND.

Determined to rid himself for the time of the compan-
ionship of the Yankee, Coonskin hurried from the spot,
fearful that, in spite of his commands to-the contrary, the
former would come on and persist in bearing him com-

any.

. He Knew well that if he did so it would be impossible to
do anything toward accomplishing the deliverance of the
c.uptives,

Ever since he had fallen in with him he had been try-
ing to make him hold his tongue, but with what success
the reader already knows,

It Was @ task which he saw it was impossible for him to
accomplish. No matter how great was the-stake, or how
essential silence was to success, the Yankee would talk.
He felt sure that nothing but death, or perhaps being left
by himself; would silence his unruly member.

‘With him in company the scout Knew that he was in
constant danger, and thatit would be impossible to ac-
complish the work on which he hadsetout. One unlucky
slip of his tongue might ruin all.

In truth, notwithstanding the promise the Yankee had
made, he would be in no hurry going back for him in case
there was apy chance to strike a blow forthe deliverance
of the captives. He might look to his own safety, and
make his way out of the forest in the best way he Could.

The scent felt impressed with the idea that these he
sought were close at hand. That the savages whom he
had slain belonged to the party whose trail he had been
following he had but little donbt. If this was the case tlie
main body could not be far away.

He knew from the distance they had come that the
female portion of the captives must be greatly fatigued,
and that it would be impossible for their captors to drag
them mucihi farther until they had given them a chance to
rest,

Unless they had received some intimation that they
were pursued, he felt sure that they were encamped at no
great distance away.

The only savage, so far as he knew, who had discovered
his whereabouts, he had put out of the way of returning
to alarm the others, and if he blundered on no more in
the darkness he was in hopes of discovering the position
of the main party; and by watching his opportunity of
finding a chance to aid the captives.

He knew well that he had no easy task before him, but
this knowledge did in no way deter him from attempting
its accomplistiment. He had been successiul on similar
occasions when the odds against him had been full as
yreat.

With these thoughts passing through his mind, he silent-
ly made his way back as near ashe could determine in
the direction of the spot where he had quitted tlie trail.

Once upon it, as near as he could determinein the dark-
ness, he would follow in the direction it tended, in the
hope of coming upon those he sought.

With noiseless footsteps he passed on, fearing ever and
anon to listen for any sound that should denote the pres-
ence of anenemy. But only an unbroken silence reigned
around. If the forest had been a huge tomb it could not
have been more noiseless.

The rattle of a dead leaf beneath his own feet now and
then was the only sound, save his own breathing, that he
heard,

A few minutes brought him back, as mear as he could
judge, to the vicinity of the trail.

With the Knowledge that the savages were so near, he
dared not light another torch to seek for it again, but
slowly made his way along as near as he could in the di-
rection which it led. Still he had misgivings that he was
not going aright.

It was the easiest thing in the world for him to be mis-
taken. His only guide was the stars, which now. shone
dimly through the tree-tops, and by these he kept on in
the general direction which the trail had led.

Stillhe knew not but what it had doubled upon itself,
and that he might be going directly from those he sought.
He had followed Indian trails enough to know that this
was often the case. However, there was nothing for him
to do but to trust to chance to guide him aright.

For some fifteen minutes he went on inthis way, a prey
to uncertainty. ‘

The route he tuok had led up a slight acclivity, and now
he had reached the summit.

No sooner had he gained it than he saw directly below
him an object that sent a thrill of satisfaction to his heart,

Gleaming through the trees was a light coming from a
point not more than thirly rodsin advance of the spot
where he stood,

That it cume from a camp-fire there was no reason to
doubt, and that about It were gathered those he sought he
felt conviuced. ‘

Not more than a minute ‘did he remain motionless iu
his tracks, and then he slowly descended toward it, pick-
ing his steps along with the utinost caution, knowing
well that more lives than his own depended upon his mo-
tions. A blunder now would raise an alarm and ruin all.

Nearer and nearer he drew to the camp-fire, and in a
few moments he was so close that he could distinguish
the figures of the savages crouching about it. Of the
captives he as yet saw nothing. Tney were doubtless
back in the shadows that hung so close about the spot as
though they were jealous of the small place the fire
usurped,

Closer and closer he crept, his footsteps givizg out not
the slightest sound.

Little dreaming that the enemy they feared so much was
even then looking upon them, the savages crouched about
the fire over which they were cooking their evening meal.

Could they have but known that the white man, whom
they feared above all others, was 80 close upon them, how
quickly they would have changed their position to one of
defense. But no sign was given them that this was the
cuse,

Nearer and nearer drew the scout, and at last his gaze
was rewarded by a glimpse of the captives.

Just within the edges of the circle of light thrown out
by the fire, he saw them huddled together and bound so
that they could hardly stir hand or foot,

The light Where they Jay was notstrong enough forhim
to deterinine if they were the ones he supposed them to
be, but that they belonged to the Allen settlement he had
no doubt.

lie saw also that their number was the same as he had
determined by the signs along the trail.

From the forms of the captives his glance went back to
the savages. There were nine of them visible about the
fire.

He saw that he hada difficult task before him, but he
did not shrink from it. Each of the savages had got to be
put beyond any probability of doing him mischief before
he could attempt the rescue of the captives,

In open warfare this could not be done, Nine against
one made the odds too great. Le must either resort to
siratexy Or else wait until they were asleep. Then, if
jortune favored bia, he could dispose of them one by one.

Debating this in his mind he stood motionless, gazing
upon the scene before lim.

Might it mot be the

-With a Maltese cross is clasped ontside,

 

3

But he was uot destined to remain so long. The report
of a rifle rang sharply through the forest, startling him as
such a sound had never done defore.

lt came from the direction of the spot where he had
left the Yankee, and told him as plaiuly as words could
have done that that individual had got into some sort of a
difficulty; either real or imaginary.

The sound had Starited the savages about the camp-fre
as well as himself, and brought them to their feet in an
instant.

The echoes of the rifle-shot died away, and a silence
reigned as profound as before. :

Anxiously the scout watched tle motions of thesayages
to see What course they would pursue.

For a few moments they consulted together; and then
Six of them, snatching up their weapons, started hastily
olf in the direction whence the sound had come.

Thanks to the darkness, which was all the more blind-
ing to them Coming as they did from before the camp-fire,
they did not see the scout, who was within half-a-dogen
paces of them as they passed.

He listened to their retreating footsteps for a minute,
and then turned his attention to the motionsof those who
remained behind.

Hastily they tore asunder the wood that, fed the camp-
fire, stamping the brands into the earth, and in another
minute an inky blackness reigned over the spor,

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

————___>-@<+_____——_

THE LADIES’ WORK-Box.

THE PURCHASING AGENCY CATALOGUR.—Owing to many
changes and reductions in prices, we have been forced to defer
the publication of our New Purchasing Agency Catalogue until
the present time, Alloraers now received will be filled at once.
It will be sent to any address, pre-paid, on receipt of ten cents.

 

 

According to our promise we present some decided
novelties, which will be not only stylish forthe present
season, but equally appropriate for the spring. Among
them we find a unique overskirt, which can be made of
silk, cashmere, or any material. Our model is of a fash-
ionable shade of camel’s hair, with decorations of tassel
fringe, silk bands, and silver-finished buttons. The gar-
ment is in three pieces, a front gore and two side gores.
The front has a peculiar, folded appearance, obtained by
plaits laid in the back, the portion back of the plaits
forming a fan-shaped drapery that partly conceals the
wide sashes of the material sewed beneath. These sashes
are lied in a double bow-Knot, and fall in graceful ends.
The entire garment is edged with fringe, headed by the
silken bands, The number of this pattern is 3,663; price
20 cents. An elegant basque to accompany this. skirt is
No. 3,662; price 20 cts. This, too, is peculiar in construc-
lion, but very handsome. It is a kind of jacket, with an
adjustable vest. The back is full, while the deep front
is open, showing the vest. Cuffs, pockets and collar, to-
gether with fringe and buttons, handsomely ornament the
garment. No. 3,654; price 25 cents, is a novelty in the shape
ofa demi-polonaise with basque back. It haga deep front,
so Cul away at the center as to form a short, vest, while
the back basque is formed by large box plaits. The side
fronts are held together by sashes tied together in the back
below the basque. The neck is completed by a fraise,
while bands of silk trim the entire garment, ineluding vest
and cuffs.

“Maggie.”—Certainly wecan furnish any quantity of
French dry stamping material. For $25 you can get quite
enough to commence business with, and then you can
order more as you need it,

“Oarrie.’’—lt is almost impossible to describe how the
“Spool What-not” is made, as you have to use your own
judgment and taste in its construction. You string the
spools upon a strong twine, and then knot them together
in any shape you may fancy.

“L. L, H.’—Yes, we can match the. goods for yous the
price will be 55 cents per yard. All money should be sens
by draft or P. O. order, made payable to Berea & Smith,
The name and address in full should. accompany each»
order, or should be in each letter requiring reply, as this
will insure a speedy answer, and agave us both time and
trouble. By glancing at our books you will find that we
sometimes have the same bame, with a half-dozen differ-
ent addresses, and we are very apt when only the name
is sent to direct answer to “John Smith’ in. Troy, when
a should write to our friend in Albany, N. Y., or Atiante,

a.
“J. M. T.’—Your pattern was sent December 12. Our
spring catalogue of patterns will be ready in about six
weeks or two months.

“Greenville.’—No, 3,567, price 25 cents, is a Lady’s
Dolman Cloak pattern. We haveit in sizes from twenty-
eight to forty-six inches, bust measure. s

‘‘Photographer.’’—Ball fringes cost from 75 cents to
$1.50 per yard. Twoand three bails come in two styles,
ast _" and the solid balls. These fringes are very
stylish. {

“Sarah B.’’—Aprons are being much worn by girls, and
they are made in various desigus—some simply to. keep
dresses clean, and oihers as full dress. One pattern suit-
able for girls of from two to nine years of age, is designed
for an apron, but when belted to the figure looks ve
much like an overdress, The front is deeply rounded,
while the back, cut in scollops, is short. It can be prettily
trimmed, and with pockets on the front. ‘This apron can
be made of any material used for such purposes—o{ mus-
lin, and trimmed With braid; plaid nainsook, with pretty
Valenciennes lace, can be worn over any dress with good
effect. Percale, or chambrey, made up in this way; with
scolloped and bound edges, is neat and convenient, while
dark prints, trimmed with a bias band of the same, are
exceedingly serviceable for home wear. An apron of this
kind, if formed of worsted goods, and neatly decorated in
any of the fashionable methods, will answer for an over-
dress,

“Mrs, M. A. T.”’—Crumb cloths come in all sizes ahd
qualities, and cost from $1 to $10.. Every dining-room
should have one in order to preserve its neatness, We
can get you napking as low as $1.50 per dozen, and extra
fine ones from $5 to $25 per dozen. Table linen we can
get from one and a-half to twe and a-half yards wide, and
ranging in pri¢e from $1.25 to $2.50 per yard. Scotch
loom dice and damask patierus are neat and pretty. Pat.
tern linen comes in spreads two yards wide and from two
to six yards long. it costs from $1.50 to $7 per yard;
Napkins to match. Some of the designs portray hunting
scenes, fruit, flowers, vines, and the numerous mosaic
paiterns. Napery Jinens by the yard are really very de-
sirable, aS a lady may cover her table with the finest fab-
ri¢ at & much less expense than the same quality ina
pattern cloth would cost.

‘Mrs. G. E, L.’—We are glad to be able to say that the
garments for children are growing far more. simple than
those of last year. Wesee less trimming, singieskirts,
and no bustles. For little ones under two years old the
simple sacque dresses, Or those with yokes abd full waists
are worn; they are made of lawn, cambric, or pique, or
in truth any white material is suitable for the purpose.
For older children no materials are so appropriate as the
pretty and useful Scotch plaids; these dresses do both tor
nice and common wear. Butif desirable you can:make
some rather handsomer suits of cashmere, merino, or
poplin, with silk trimmings, and for a fall dress you can
have a little suit entirely of sume pretty inexpensive silk.
High boots and striped stockings are quite popular, but
white stockings should be worn for extra occasions. For
your baby of one year of age you can make a pretty cloak
by using pattern of French’ cloak No. 3,622, price 20 cts,
This style can be used for children of from one.to four
years of-age. The front is in sacque form, while the back
has @ plain waist joined toa box-phaited skirt. The cape
is without seams. You can make the garment of cash-
mere or merino, and line with flannel. Drab cashmere,
trimmed with blue sik, or satin stitched in diamond de-
sign, put onin front and around Cape, and also to form
cuffs, will be pretty. If the cloak were made of whiite
merino, and trimmed with bright facings, it would prove
a very dainty-looking affair, but too easily soiled for ordi-
nary use. Pink or blue pressed, or opera flannel are very
fashionable for children’s apparel, when trimmed with
needlework edgings of cambric, is handsome when made
in thisshape, and lined with white silk or merino, Any
material used in making children’s cloaks from summer
pique to warm plush, can be appropriately fashioned after
this pattern.

“Nellie Bly.” For misses and young ladies we see a very

pretty collar after the following model: ht isa triple-fiuted
ruffie of Italian Jace sewed upon a circular muslin collar,
that fastens behind undera velvet bow and floating ends.
One lace fluting stands up, and a row of square jet beads,
Muslin roffies,
side-plaited, and removable for washing, are also hand-
some and popular. For thin throats, a double rome of
unequal widths is preferred. . The sleeve to. match.has.a
muslin insertion band, to which is set a narrow and slight-
ly flaring cuff of muslin, atthe outer edge of which is
placed a row of the fluted lace, and another row of flating
overlaps it and conceals the foundation. The set is very
pretty.
; eLeitie.” For girls of from four to nine years of age, a
very neat house-jacket is No. 3,655. Price li cents, ‘This
can be made of opera-flannuel, decorated with pinked edges
aud soutache braid. The cut-away front is double-breasted
as far as the waist-line, where it slopes away toward the
sides, forming a WV shaped opening, while the half-
fitting back displays an opening similar to that at the
front. The wide coat-sleeves are open and. rounding at
the outside, and their edges, like those of the little collar
at the neck, and all the edges of the garment are fanci-
fully cut with a pinking-iron, and adorned with four lines
of soutache braid, the upper line assuming a scro}! design,
The front is closed with pear! buttons and button-hvies,
This sacque can be made of bright flannel, and worn over
white, or it can be made of biue or gray. If the dreas is
gray, the jacket will be pretty if of biue flannel,

“Birdie Stanwood.’’—Of course little Birdie, dolls haye
just as much feeling as any body, if we only knew it, 80 in
winter you must have areal warm, comfortable suit for
your pet. Be certain and have a flanne) petticoat for her,
and il she is subject to colds or croup, you should not ne-
giect to make a flannel or merino underskirt, to cover her
chest. For dress, you can use Scotch plaid for every ‘day,
or if you like better, cashmere, merino, alpaca, or camel's
hair will be suitable, For very best dress you may use
silk. Have acloak of cloth, aud a velvet hat to mateh
suit.

‘Italian Sue.’—The new style hat is a hittle wider in the
crown than those of last year, and the arrangement of the
hair permits it to fall lower upon the head than was possi-
ble a little while ago, Tlie crown is plainly covered with
velvet, and the rim is shirred, with whalebone, and stiffly
wired. A band of velvet, with a double bow and buckle,
holds the stem of an ostrich plume that curls round the
crown, A bouquet of white blossoms jis under the rim,
where it is crowded upward i a cognettish and becoming
manner, As yet, the straws fur spring have not been
opened, so the only hats we can buy are of velvet, stk,

 

beaver and felt. Yes, luce is used as trimming on bonnets
for married ladies,

 

 

 

eek

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

   

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Impure Publications.

‘It is a curious fact that indelicate matter, which, if
published in the form of fictitious narrative, would
‘subject the printer and seller to criminal indict-
ment, and, if convicted, to punishment by fine or
imprisonment, or both, finds a place in the columns
of reputable journals if it takes the shape of an ac-
tual casein court. Respectable newspapers, which
are taken into families and read by young children
as well as grown-up persons, do not hesitate to re-
port at length the Beecher-Tilton trial and similar
cases, which abound in impure details and unwhole-
some suggestions. We say this is at least curious.
We know very well by what argument a distinc-
tion is sought to be sustained. The bad book, we
are. told, presents the indelicate matter solely for
the sake of its indelicacy, while the newspaper re-
_ port presents the matter as a part of the occurrences
of real life. That may establish a difference of mo-
tive in the publication, but does it show that the
effect on innocent minds is less injurious? Is famil-
iarity with impure things any the less hurtful when
the impure things are actual facts than when they
are imaginary incidents? We doubt it. Editors of
daily papers defend themselves by saying, “We
must publish these matters because they are news.
Other papers publish them, and our readers demand
them.” This proves too much, because the argu-
ment might be used to justify the printing of the
most disgusting indeencies so longas any papers
contained them and readers could be found for them
Another argument is to the effect that the influence
of reports of divorce and similar suits is upon the
whole moral, because the shame of publicity makes
cuch cases less frequent. The truth is that the par-
ties to suchsuits very often are not ashamed at all;
and it is certainly desirable that people might be re-
strained from domestic immorality in some way that
would not corrupt the mindsof readers. We believe
the public would sustain a daily newspaper which
should steadily refuse to publish such filthy and in-
decent disclosures as those of the Beecher-Tilton
case. At all events, so far as the New YorK WEEKLY
is concerned, we would no more permit it to pub-
lish a report of an indecent trial than an indecent

story.
_—_———_ >< ______

HIGHT OF IMPUDENCE.

Onr readers will remember a brief description which -we
gave lately in our columns of the last outrage by the
italian brigands near Rome, where a chamberlain of the
Vatican was captured and held for ransom in @ heavy
sum, 2nQa Who was not released until it was paid. By the
last Earopean mail we come in Possession of a fact in con-
nection with the abduction of the priest, which in spite of
its rascality, bears a ludicrous aspect. When the last in-
staitment of the fifty thousand francs ransom money had
been paid over to the bandits, the leader offered some ex-
piatory remarks touching the whole affair, and would
fain persuade his prisoner to look upon the outrage as
leniently as possible. ‘You shall now be conducted by
my men through the shortest and easiest paths down the
mountain side,” said. the brigand chief. “Thank you,”
Said the prelate, only too glad to get away from his rude
jailors on any terms. “I may not ask your blessing at
parting,” continued the chief of the robbers, in a voice of
contrition, ‘but you will permit me to kiss your hand,”
The prelate, a little surprised at the request of the briganad
under the circumstances, stretched out his hané to him
forgetting that he wore a ring of great valueon his fore-
finger. The chief of the robbers, as he kissed the hand,
slyly slipped the ring off the finger, and coolly appropri-
ated it to himself!

 

 

 

 

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

 

Queen of the Antilles,

Spain, torn by internal dissensions, and fighting
in a civil war, which has assumed mammoth pro-
portions, still sends troops every few months to
Cuba, where they go to sleep in a foreign grave.
Many troops come to the West Indies from the
mother country, to aid in the struggle to maintain
this last gem in the New World, which has so long
glittered in the Spanish diadem, but tew of them
ever return to their homes, three thousand miles
away. ‘The ranks of these Castilian troops are
thinned not alone by the bullets of the patriots, but,
in the summer season, by those scourges more
fatal and sweeping, the yellow fever and Asiatic
cholera,

How clearly retributive justice is evinced in the
instance of Spain. Less than three centuries from
the time when she stood without a rival in the ex-
tent and wealth of her colonial possessions, we be-
hold her stripped, one by one, of the rich exotic
jewels of her crown. Her vice-regal coronet torn
from her grasp; Mexico revolts; the South Ameri-
can provinces throw off her yoke; and now, though
she clutches with feeble grasp the brightest gem of
her Transatlantic possessions, the Island of Cuba,
yet it is evident that she cannot long retain its
ownership. The time will surely come when the last
act in the drama of retribution will be consummated,
and Cuba will be free!

‘tune Freglom's battle, once begun,
Bequeathed (rom bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won.”

Situated, as it were, but lony cannon range from
our southern shore, and commanding absolutely the
Guif of Mexico, with its teeming commerce, this
“Bden of the Gulf,” this gem of the American
Archipelago, must ever be a subject of absorbing in-
terest to our citizens. Though situated at so short
a distance from us, yet the manners and customs of
its people, the architecture, the climate, the vegeta-
tion, are all at such complete antipodes with our
own, that truthful pictures of life upon the island
assume the aspect of romance. Rich in: soil, salu-
brious in climate, and marvelously productive, it is
the home of commerce.

Cuba seems formed tobecome “‘the very button
on Fortune’s cap.” No wonder that the poetical
Abbe Raynel pronounced it to be “the boulevard of
the New World,” or that the Spanish historian called
it the fair emerald in the crown of Ferdinand and
Isabella.

‘*___— Tt is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven has done for this delicious land,

What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree,
What goodly prospects o’er the hill expand.””

If Cuba lies at present under the armed heel of
despotism, we may be sure that the anguish of her
sons is keenly aggravated by their perfect under-
standing of our own liberal institutions, and an
earnest desire to participate therein. It is beyond
the power of the Spanish government to keep the
people in darkness. The young men of Cuba, edu-
cated at our schools and colleges, the visitors from
the United States, andthe American merchants es-
tablished on the island, are all of them so many
apostles of republicanism.

In this connection it is proper to state that ‘‘TrrEep
FoR His Lirg,” the story by LigvTENANT MURRAY,
begun in this number of the NEw York WEEKLY,
contains glowing descriptions of scenery and inci-
dentsin the Island oi Cuba and the neighboring

Isle of Pines.
~—____—__ >-@~<

ENVIOUS PEOPLE.

“The envious will die, bat envy never.”—Moliere.

Nearly all the passions have objects to flatter
them, but envy can gain nothing but vexation.
It is an ill-natured vice, com of meanness
and malice, and yet the world is full of envious
people, who covet their neighbor’s goods. They
rail at the partiality of fortune which raises
one individual and depresses another. Such peo-
ple, however, rarely pause to trace effects to
causes, and to realize the conditions upon which
the success Owe envy is really based. An indi-
vidual of this kind was one day dining with a
certain Marshal of France, a survivor of the Na-
poleonic era.

“Ah? said he, “I should like to be a Marshal
of France, with a retired pension. What a de-
lightful life! You have an income of seven or
eight hundred thousand frances, hotels, castles,
and all sorts of honors. Fortune has loaded you
with favors, Marshal.”

“Do you think so?”’ said the old soldier. ““Well,
I will surrender all I have to you for much less
than it has cost me.”

“You are joking.”

“On the contrary,” said the Marshal, “f am
very much in earnest.”

*“How so?”

“Well, I am tired of this sort of life.”

“Tt is not possible.”

‘My fortune is an incumbrance, indeed. I
was looking for some one who would relieve me
of it, at even less than it has cost me.”

“How is it to be done?” asked the other, quite
eee at such an idea.

“Post yourself at the end of this alley, say
at seventy-five paces distant; or, I will be more
liberal, and give you one hundred paces. I will
send for thirty of the grenadiers, ood shots,
The whole transaction shall be on a liberal scale.
You shall give the word of command yourself—
you see I am all consideration. They shall fire
upon you once only, and if you are not touched,
my fortune shall be yours after the trial.”

“Ah! this is unreasonable—this is anpty
suicide. I should be sure not to require the for-
tune,” said the guest, making a wry face over
the idea.

“And yet,” said the Marshal, “I have been shot
at, during twenty oe by two or three mil-
lions of soldiers, who have never happened to
touch a vital spot!”

Is not the moral obvious? We are often in-
finitely mistaken in our estimate of the fortune
of others.

 

we Ow

ITEMS OF INTEREST.

ka There was a race recently between a Hudson
River Railroad train and a wild dack, which was flying seuth-
ward in a straight line, not over ten feet from the surface of the
river. I¢did not deviate a hair’s breadth from its course from
the starling point to New Hamburg tunnel, being abreast of the
center of the train all the time. When the train entered the
tunnel the duck was still on the wing, and neither duck nor
train had gained an inch of advantage. The duck acted as if
charmed by the noise and speed of the train.

a@ Paris has had another tragecy. <A boy of 17

rsuaded a girl of 11 years of age to rob her tather of 900 francs.

se next day repenting of her crime, she asked the boy to re-
turn the money. He shook some coin out of his handkerchief,
and on her stooping to pick them up, he slipped a noose around
her neck, strangied her, and threw the body into the river. On
being arrested, he attempted suicide. He has since confessed
nce shal Part of the money was found in the house of his
mother.

_ aa Asingular and sudden death occured lately
in Fiint, Michigan. Miss Josie Leisslie, a young lady of twenty,
while seated at an organ, playing, fell over backward in a fit of
laughter, overturning an oil-lamp, which set fire to the carpet.
The flames were soon extinguished, but the lady when picked up
was dead. Her death was attributed to heart disease, The
corpse had a hife-like appearance when buried, though it had
been Kept five or six days.

ear A man, named D. H. Hewitt, has been ar-
rested at Fort Scott, Kansas, for inhumanly whipping a bound
boy, aged about six years. On examining him gashes three
inches long were revealed, and scars of previous Whippings were
plainly visible. The wretch had also hung the boy up by his
thumbs, allowing his feet to barely touch the floor, and had left
him in this position for several hours, An indignation meeting
was held and it required the ntmost endeavors of the peaceably-
disposed citizens to preyent the prisoner from being mobbed,

ee A most extraordinary. case of mistaken
identity occurred recently in Glasgow, Scotland. A man named
Nicholas Nolan carried home froma police station a drunken
woman, whom he supposed was his wife. Inside the house the
woman died, and itwas then discovered that she .wasa total
siranger. The missing wife afterward turned up at the Central
Police Station, where she had been locked up on a charge of
drunkenness,

aa One of the most astounding things in me-
chanical science is a movement at the rate of 400 miles an hour.
Itissaid that Messrs. Brown & Go., of Sheffield, Eng.. were en-
abled to lately drive at that rate, not a locomotive, but a saw.
Anything forced against it divided like thin air. A bar of iron
was almost instantly severed.

4a- At a horse show, held at Brighton, Eng., the
first prize for horses was errr by one that was in the charge of
Balaclava, and has been driven by the exhibitor tor 18 years.

 

“SHE WAITS FOR ME.”

BY B. FRANK RUSSEL,

 

T dreamed last night a blissful dream,
That filled my soul with deep delight;
My spirit caught a passing gleam,
Of that fair world of glories bright.
It seemed the portal opened wide;
I saw the golden gateway through—
The throne of God; the crystal tide,—
Such scenes as only angels view.

A glimpse of Heaven’s own beateous things,
Of fadeless flowers, of waving grass,
Of golden harps with silver strings,
Across my vision seemed to pass.
I saw a throng of spirits bright,
And midst them one fair form I knew,
Clad in a robe of dazzling white,
As pure as lilies washed in dew.

A voice! I heard it join the song
What rolled along the arch on high;

I'd know that tone a host among,
And love its cadences for aye.

It was the same that yeara ago

My infant voice oft led in prayer;
The maze of youth still guarded through:

/ Its memory haunts me everywhere.

But when I saw the vision sweet

That in my ’raptured dreams was given,
I knew my mother’s angel feet

Had walked the shiny way to Heaven.
I dried my tears, was sad no more,

For though life’s years may weary be,
I know upon the Heavenly shore

My ange! mother waits for me.

THE FEMALE SPY.

BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY.

 

 

 

There may be met on almost any pleasant day in Detroit,
Michigan, in the principal streets, a well-dressed and fine-
lookiug woman of about thirty years—a dark-eyed bru-
nette, Of medium size. and possessing a well-rounded
figure. There is nothing about her to especially attract
the eye of a passer-by, Save that her style of dress and
her manners are perhaps a little prononcé, lacking that
indescribable something which we Call refinement.

Her deep, dark eyes are full of eXpre-sion and spirit,
and she would be called handsome in any company—a
woman by whom thoughtless men could easily be led
astray, and for whom mnocent ones might barter honor
and respectability, and break their honest hearts for—a
type of that class who may be found in all large cities,
leading a forsaken and cast-awny life.

Such women have always a dark history.
coms step by step to this brink of perdition. Fortune has
dealt hardly by them. Events beyond their control have
generally prompted their downward steps. Hunger, hard-
ships, desertion, misery in a hundred different forms have
tracked their way; Lemptation hus been strong, resistance
feeble,

In the instance-which we relate, even the horrors of
civil war had united to harden a heart once tender and
loving, and to teach vengeance where only confiding gen-
tleness dwelt before.

In the early spring of 1861, Kate Karney, as she is now
called, was 2 lovely young girl of seventeen, just returned
to her rural home in one of the southern districts of Ken-
tucky. She was more than well-educated, possessing many
accomplishments rarely attained until maturer year-,
Impulsive, romantic, intelligent, Kate was the pride
of her doting father, and more tenderly watched because
she had not @ mother’s guidance. She was the very life
of her plantation home.

Near by her fathe)’s estate was that of the Hudson fam-
ily. consisting of an old gentleman and wile, with one son
about Kate’s age. Of course, being such near neighbors,
an intimacy naturally existed between the two families,
and young Hudson and Kate were the best of frieuds—in-
deed, they were alrendy lovers, re

Rebetion was rife, and the raids upon the Unionists by
Southern soldiers provoked retaliation, so the tide swept
back and forth along the Border States, which became
the battle-ground for troops representing both sides, It
thus Came about that the plantations of Kate’s father and
the Hudsons, both fell under the ban of war, and both.
were destroyed. During the conflict the parents of young
Hudson, as well as Kate's father, lost their lives.

These two young friends were both made orphans on
the same day by the civil war. The conflict that swept.
like a blighting fire over their district, despoiled them
not alone of every inch of property, but of every relation
they had ever known, and thus friendless and alone to-
gether, they were the more tenderly drawn to each otiers

Hugh Hudson and Kate naturally took sides with the
rebellion; lude and Jongitude, rather than any sense
of right of*wrong, often settling these matters in Civil
war. It was undoubtedly by the Union troops they had
suffered, and so together they vowed vengeauce agaiust
all who supported the cause of the Union.

As a Woman Kate could do but little, therefore she as-
sumed male attire, and was called *Kit.””) Hugh and his
companion now joined a neighboring gang of guerrillas,
or bushwackers, as they were called during the war, This
band was engaged in ail sorts of irregular warfare against
the North, and acted as banditti ratuer than as soldiers,
becoming the terror of the Kentucky border.

Kate proved especially valuable as a spy, and in the
pursuit of such information as might prove valuable to
her associates, often assumed her proper attire, and by
means of her double character frequently avoided arresi.
She became so important a member of the guerrillas,
that she rose to secund in command of the force. Young
as she was, aud tothem she wasaman, no one of the
gang, except her lover Hugh, suspecting her sex.

She was a fearless rider, brave to a faull, and knew the
use of fire-arms so as to employ them, especiaily the
pistol, with fatal accuracy. For two years Hugh and
Kate were the terror of the border, and Controlled the
band of jawless men whom they had joined, until finally
she found her health gradually failing her, and a change
became necessary if she would preserve her life.

Hugh saw this, and advised her to seek employment in
the Confederate army, where she could also have the ordi-
nary comforts of civilized life. Her two years of camp
experience had been too trying for her physical endurance.
Still she would not quit the cause she had espoused, aud
so adopted Hugh’s advice,

Disguised as a young man, and supplied with the most
desirable testimonials, she succeeded in securing a po-
sition on the staff of General Cinirborne, the famous
fighting Irishman, in the rebelarniy. This situation she
held, doing her duty like a man in all respecis, until the
battle of Atlanta, July 12, 1864, in which her warm friend
and commander, General Pat Clairborue, was killed.
This broke up her connection with this division of the
rebel army, and she returned to her youthful hero, the
Keutucky bushwacker.

Here Kate reveled ina carnival of blood. The gang,
incited to fresh activity under her influence, perpetrated
some of the most daring and bloodthirsty deeds, which
the records of the war can exhibit. She acted the
dangerous and important part of spy to perfection, and
thus gave these guerrillas remarkable advantage, besides
which as aleader she was Courageous to desperation.
She had been taking iessons of fighting Clairborne, as be
was cahed, @ man who absolutely loved the sight of
carnage,

Camp life and its trying exposures, often sleeping
night after night upon the bare ground, with the stars
only above her, soon put her again on the K-list, and
by her indomitable perseverance she succeeded in being
ordered by the rebel war departinent Lo Andersunville,

Here she Was intrusted witha lieutenant’s duty, and
passed for aman, her sex never eve being suspected.
Some Union prisoners who were incarcerated in that fa-
mous prison, and whoghance to read these lines, wiil
perhaps recall @ short, rather stout and smouth-faced
lieutenant, with flashing black eyes, who was on duty
there. Harsh und cruel, itis said she was, to the last
degree, but was she not currying out her bitter oath of
vengeance ?

Inthe meantime her hero was engaged in his bravo
business on the border; he scorned all regular warfare;
his guerrilla operations were Marked by the most fiendish
inhumanity and needless bluodshed. He became the
terror of tiie hour for filly miles around, unt finally a
price was set upon his head, and he was hunted.tke a
Wild beast, which he seemed to resemble more than 2a
human being, in his atrocities,

in Common with Kate, he had sworn te devote his life
to vengeance, and he slayed women and children as reck-
jegssly as he did armed men. He had grown to be a fiend
incarnate, and even those who Claimed to favor the Con-
federate cause, had no excuse to offer fur the inhaiman
bush whacker, Whose frenzy was to kill and burn wher-
ever he could get the Chance outside the rebel lines,

Finally his career became so oatrageous as to call for a
reprinnand from the headquarters at Richmond; but what
cared young Hudson for orders ? he belunged to no organ-
ized Military association, he was emphatically a free lance,
and fought upon his own line and in his own way, but at
the same time, though much aud many of his operations
were of the most dastardly and cowarily character, still
he must ran some personal risk to accomplish them, and
his Career was drawing to an end.

Early in 1865 a band of irregular cavalry was got to-
geiher to hunt out this pest of the border, und they deter-
mined to bring him in or not to return. Many of the men
who composed the party had suffered by his depredations,
and several had lost those near and dear to them by his
assassin knife and incendiary torch. Such men were in
earnest, and they would not be turned from their purpose.
The bushwhacker’s days were numbered.

He was finally surprised and captured in camp, with a
number of his gang, aud brought into Luatsvilie, and
committed to prison.

Kate was away in Andersonville, but she heard of his
capture, and hastened to the neighborhood of her old
home. Here she assumed her proper sex, and attended,
a8 Jar as permitted, upon her hero. The captured brig-
ands, for they were realiy nothing else, were tried by
court martial and condemned to death, Kate was by the
culpriv’s side during the trial, from beginning to end,
and endeavored in various ways to influence the court,
bntin vain.

He was convicted and hung at Louisville, Ky., in March,

They have

 

buried the broken heart of the Female Spy.

 

 

 

 

FATAL EXPERIMENT.

The power of the imagination is truly remarkable—in-
deed, almost beyond belief; and many people are great
slaves toits whims and caprices. One-half the ills that
flesh is heir to are superinduced by the fancy of the suf-
ferer, a8 hundreds are known to have died by mere symp-
toms of cholera, yellow fever, and the plague, induced by
dread alone of these terrible maladies. People of strong
nervous temperaments are often great slaves to the
tyranny of mind over matter. Young medical students
are very fond of illustrating this fact by practical jokes
upon unsuspecting people.

We very well remember a case in point which occurred
in this city not long ago, but which we do not remember
to have’seen in print. It was that of an amateur butcher,
engaged ina slaughter house, and who, in placing his
meat upon a hook, slippedinthe blood upon the floor,
and hung himself, instead of the meat, upon the barbed
point. Hisscreams were deafening, and when he was
released from his frightful situation his agony was in-
tense. He was quickly carried in the arms of three men
tothe nearest plhysician’s office, and so great was his
pain (in imagination) that he cried piteously upon every
motion made by the doctor in cutting the coat and shirt
sleeve from about the wounded arm. . When at last the
arm was bared not a scratch was there. The hook-point
had merely grazed the skin and torn the shirt sleeve.

These thouglits were suggested to us by an experiment
just tried at St. Petersburg, Russia. A criminal condemned
to death was handed over to the surgeons of the hospital
for the purpose of acertain experiment. He was taken
tothe dissecting room and laid upon amarble slab, his
hands, feet, and body were securely tied to the table upon
Which he lay. He was then told, after being carefully
blindfolded, that he was to be bled to death. A pail was
brought, the surgeon snapped his lancet upon the main
artcry of the arm, while an attendant stood by pouring a
small stream of blood-warm water upon the arm, which
ran off into the pail. Tie poor criminal heard the steady
stream flowing into the pail, and soon grew weak and
faint, then swooned, and in exactly twelve minutes was
deadl

Here was an unmistakable evidence of the power of the
imagination, illustrating in a remarkable manner thie re-
flections mentioned above, for in this instance not one
drop of blood had been taken from the body of the crimi-
nal! His fancy had proved as fatal to him as though he
had actually bled to death.

—————__ > 0+—____—_

THE JOSH BILLINGS SPICE-BOX.

ROOTS AND ARBS.

The desire to be captain iz the strongest desire ov the
human harte.

When brothers fite, ‘then cums the tug ov war.””

‘Too much religion 1Z just az bad az too much ov enny
thing else.

Lovers quarrell, then kiss and make up, then quarreil
aguin.

fe are told that virtew iz its own reward, and we kan
see that wickedness allways iz.

Fear unites us all in oue common bondage.

The more a man Knows, the less he iz an unbeleayer in
enny thing.

Men in power hay no real friends,

If yu kant say enny thing good ov @ man after he iz ded
and gone, don’t make a buzzard ov yureself, and disturb
his remains, i

Sum people are not happy unless they are in pursuit ov
sumthing impossible,

The lowest seat may not be the most pleazant one, but
it is generally the safest, ;

Thare iz nothing bnt a mirakle will keep a prodigal man
riten to the end ov hiz life. ;

Mankind won’t proffit bi experience, the world makes
az menny blunders now az it did belore the flood.

It iz a grate art to play ihe fool well; good fools are the
skaresest things in market.

Ovstinacy luoks Well enuff in a mule of & gate-post, but
it is neither ornamental nor usephull in a man.

If you take the rumatism out ov old age, thare ain’t
mutch ov euny thing else left to brag on.

The most generous men we hav are often the hardest
ones to KolleKt a det ov.

Wherever the husband makes munny, and the wife
Saves il, thare happiuess and thrift iz pleased to take up
its abole.

Tnoze who luv munny seldum lav enny thing else az
mutch, ;

Rumor haz a thousand tungs and no heart,

The tung iz the only member ov the boddy that we hay com-
plete control over, and still it iz the one that makes us the most

‘

ude,
I had rather liv in a wilderness than hav a bad man for a

nabor.

It iz a fakt, i beleave, that mankind will git sik ov ennything
else quicker than they wili ov fighting.

Thare iz nothing quite so tejus az the man who tells yu the
same old storys over agin every time he meets yu.

The very poor hay no friends, nor even relashuns.

The one who iz really devout, don’t hav to hunt for a church to
worship in.

ie misfortunes that we bring upon ourselfs, all hav dubble
teeth.

Thare never waz a wize man yet who waz a wicked one.

Good and evil gro cinss by each other now just az they did in
the garden ov Eden.

I doubt whether enny man yet ever spent a whole day ov un-
alloyed happiness, :

Thare are times when it will do to play the fool just a little.

Sekrets are dangerous gouds, their betrayal haz broken more
friendships than any other one thing.

The man who kant blush iz no wuss off than a mule iz.

Envy won’t let a man eat, drink, nor sleep in peace.

To listen quietly to a slander iz to be a silent partner in the
concern.

Impudence, like brass, soon grows dull.

Mankind draw menny ov their vices and virtews from the very
soil they liv on.

It iz better to be a true and faithful servant than a dissolute
master.

One ov the most diffikult things in a man’s karakter to judge
ov iz the aktual amount ov happiness he iz posse ov.

No inan ever shouldered a ton yet, either bi the aid ov tears
or prayer.

The man who iz allwuss sure that he iz going to be ritch nezt
year, iz seldumm mistaken about it.

He who knows a grate menny, iz sure to be master ov none,

Thare iz a grate uiffrense between a brave and a rekless man,
and the two spould not be kontounded.

Poverty iz not dishonorable enny more than sickness iz; it iz
only the cauze ov it that may be dishonorable.

Man’s pashuns make bim more terrible than enny beast ov the
dessert.

Thare izno labor-saving invenshun that kompares with the eye
ov the master.

The best hits that hay ever been made, hav been made just az
the bey hit the woodcock on the fly—bi picking up the fust stone
he could find and let drive without taking aim; and the boy and
the woodcock, both, were astonished at the result.

Thare iz one witness who always swares to the truth, and no
one kan suborn or impeach it, and that iz, a man’s conshience.

Men flatter the improvident, but seldum do the canshus.

One mau kan see inte futurity just as far az another kan, and
none oy them kan tell whether the world will be in existence to-
morrow.

The only way to find out all about a man, iz to set him on the
top round ov the ladder, and then stund off and take a good
square louk at him,

What a man gits unjustly iz harder to hang onto than the hot
end ov a poker.

We allways d.spize those whom we kan flatter.

Even the bees will rob a weak hive ov lis hunny, just so a weak
Nation falls a viktim to the naboring stro: g one. *

Children are a constant anxiety. The only time we Kan kon-
sider them safe, lz when they are fast asleep.

Yu kant make a man thik ackording to Jaw, yu may make
him acat 80,

iiappiness haz been defined so often, and so menny ¢ifferent
ways, that Lam allmost ov the opivyun that it don’t exist atali.

It iz better to be kikt by a mule than to be praized bi a fool.

The eazyest way to git thru this world, iz to busile thru it.

The strongest pashun of the female harte 1z to pleaze sum-
boday, and be adinired in return for it.

Dent expekt mutch m this world, and then if yu don’t git
mutch you'll think it’s all right.

Thoze who :ead every book they can git hold of, swallowing
them whole, kontrakt a literary dispepshea, hard to kure.

Danidys are a quick studdy; alter you have looked one over
for a minnitt, you hav got the size ov the whole ov them.

The resolute make their own terms with men, and witt things.

He who works tor the public has a thougafd masters, each one
of which insists upon bemy served in a different way.

The more we kno, the Jessy posative we bekum, It iz only the
phools who never hay ceny doubts.

Thure iz nothing unat iz honest, but what a man had better do,
than be idle,

Modest men may not allways be courageous, but courageous
Men are allways modest.

Borrowers and beggars are haff brothers.

Nothing to hope for, iz the saddest condishun ov life.

What a woman dares to think she dures to do.

1 notiss one thing: The thorns ona bush allways outlast the
fruit, or the flowers.

Thare i nothing in life imparts such exquisite delite az the
suckcess of our children.

It iz ume euuff for a man to laff at hiz own wit after others git
thru,

Don'tlet an opportunity slip, opportunitys are hard to make
and seldum happen.

li iz necessary that majoritys should rule, but that iz no posa-
tive evidence thal they are right.

Accidents are simply another name for carelessness. _

It iz im possible to flatter the man who never flatters himself,

True luv dares all unings and fears nothing. :

Most wimmin had rather be admired for their buty than be
respekted tor their sense. t

onemy iz nothing more than good sense applied to the affairs
evevery day life. q

A jewel in a swine’s noze iz neither usephull nor ornamental.

Heaven governs all mankind with ten short and simple laws
and yet men Kant organize a base-ball klub without having at
Jeast 30 edrkts'to govern it.

A lazy man iz wuss than a ded one, bekauze he takes up more

room. '

I hav seen lots ov pholks who had traveled all over the world,
= about all they seemed to kno about it waz how mutch it Kost
to.do it,

Blessed iz he (she, or it) whodon't need adversity to strengthen
them, nor afflikshun to purify.

He who makes up hiz nund that he shan’t suckceed haz all-
reddy tailed. A

Az long az our pluk holds out no one kan klaim a viktory
over us,

Iam satisfied thare iz but very little distress in this world but
what Kan be traced to sum kind ov folly.

 

1865, and in the same grave with her young hero was | Yam

If it wasn’t for Fashion a large share ov the world wouldn’t
no What kind ov clothes to wear to be kumfortable. :
poze thare ig a human being, who iz not an ideot,
ut what haz a superstition ov suin Kind.

 

ceva enone enero tee renner

Thare are people who are never unhappy, simply bekauze they
hav never known what it iz to be happy.

_ No man kan tell how mutch oy the bero or the koward thare iz
in him untill he haz been well tried,

Az long az life holds out vanity and foolishness will.

We kant be perfect, but we kan be better than we are.

When reazon fails to korrekt an abuse, then try ridikule,

Adam committed the most sin with the least amount oy temp-
tashun ov enny ov our previous relashuns.

The only pedigree worth haying iz the one a mam makes for
himsell and transmits for example.

Thare iz the vulgar in hi life az well az low, and the hifaluting
vulgar are the most disgusting.

Very sedate children have often been known togro into ha-
rum-skarum youths, and finally settle back into stupid old men.

Fame iz the paorese wages enny man ever worked for.

The tust haff ov most peoples ife iz t knocking holes in
their constitushun, and the seckond haff in stopping the leaks.

Wealth kreates more wants than it supplys,

Dont let the world kno enny thing about yure trials and trub-
bles; it willexcite their vanity sooner than it will command
their compashan.

The gratest heros the world haz ever produced hay been thoze
who hav conquered themselfs.

Yu kant git wit or wisdum in a college, you may learn thare
how to uBe it.

Whether amung men or animals, yn will notiss one thing, all
the very paneling ones hav small heads, “

Thare iz this difference between a wize man and a phool—the
wize man learn sumthing from every one he meets, while the
phool tries to learn every one he meets sumthing.

Wit surprises us, humor makes us laff.

Genuine wit and good sense are usually found in each others.

company,
3 Wit ners to make one grate mistake, it had rather lose a friend
1an a joke,

Yung inan, if yu expekt to suckceed, dont offer to settle with
the world for 50 cents on the dollar, it yu do, the chances are
that yu will git cheated out ov yure whole claim.

Customs are stronger than laws, bekauze they are older and
more natral, I suppose.

Reet Si rr airs prety

PASSING PARAGRAPHS.

— Areputation isa good thing to Jeave for one’s de-
scendants, but few men can live on it themselves, Bret
Harte made a great reputation by the “Heathen Chinee’’
—S0 great that he secured a contract with Osgood & Co.
for $15,000 a year. But that only lasted twelve months,
and Bret has now descended to the Custom House.

— It the peopie of New Orleans were asked if they had
had enough of military government, they would probably
say that they had had their Phil.

— Raising money for the Western people afflicted by
grasshoppers is a good thing; but the Zribune makes 2
bore of it by publishing long letters and articles from
other papers whenever it getsa dollar. So far as the
readers of the Tribune are concerned ‘the grasshopper
has become 4 burden,’ ;

— Judging from the tone of some of General Sheridan's
New Orleans dispatches, some people think Sherry-dan
ought to be changed to Whisky-dan.

— At Northampton, Mass., there is a female clerk in
the express office, Miss Carrie Clark. Her name is a fit-
ting one. Carrie is appropriate to express freight, anda
the English always Gall a clerk a Clark,

— Readers of Jules Verne’s ‘Desert of Ice’? will con-
clude that they prefer a dessert of tropical fruits.

— General Phil Sheridan, who was lifted very high by |

Five Forks, has recently been impaled on @ thousaud
pens.

— Mrs. Isabella Beecher Hooker has been elected Pres-
ident of the Connecticut Woinan Suffrage: Association.
One would think that she had had eflough of that sort of
thing aud would be ambitious to retire to private life and
stay there.

— Earthquakes are getting quite common lately—so
common that they produce them with a dlasting-powder
called ‘“‘Rend-rock,”?

— The old battle of New Orleans, January 8, made Gen-
eral Jackson famous. The new battle of New Orleans,
January 4, will be associated with General Sheridan.

— The Worcester Praying Womens Temperance Union
believe in works as well as faith. They furnish the fire-
meu with hot coffee, so that they shall notiwant hot whis-
ky.

— The eminent Spanish Republican, Senor Castelar,
has resigned the offices he held in the University, the
Board of Public Instruction, and the Centennial Commis-
sion. This suggests that he is not resigned to the new
monarchy.

— The members of the Seventh Regiment have resoived
Not to visit New Orleans, to which city they had been in-
vited. Perhaps they think there has been quite enough
military there.

— Si Sam was treasurer of a Chinese Association in
New York. Si Sam appropriated the society’s funds, and
now a good many of the members want to see Sam.

— There has been something of excitement and litiga-
tion about the apple-grinding dogs on Broadway. Bat
everybody will admit that a dog might better be used for
making cider than for making sausages.

— Bergh has been writing to the Mayor about street
nuisances. It may be said that this has nothing to do
with the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals
because it concerns human beings. Yet the people have
submitted quietly to the nuisances so long as to suggest
they are dumb beasts,

— A new edition of ‘‘Sheridan’s Ride’’—his ride to
New Orleans in the cars, by order of the President. The
last will not make him as popular as the first.

— Since the civil marriage law went into operation in
Germany, less than one-fourth of the Protestants marry-
ing haye employed a clergyman. The rest have been
Satisfied witha magistrate. The law ought to be entitled
“for the cutting down of pastoral perquisites.’

— In Brooklyn there is one policeman to 791 inhabi-
tants. The heads of our neighbors over the river are
comparatively safe,

— A mine of filth has been struck in the Beecher-Tilton
case. Anthony Comstock has done noble work in the
suppression of the publication of obscene matter. Let
him now ‘go for’? the Beecher-Tilton indecency, and he
will soon strike a ‘Comstock lode’’ of nastiness,

— Hamiet’s remark on a short-lived play recently pro
duced in this city: ‘‘Alas, poor ‘Yorick? ”

KEEPING HENS.

Seldom indeed do we take up an agricultural journal
Without Coming across a paragraph headed. something
like this: ‘Phe Profits of Poultry,” ‘The Income of
Twelve Hens,” “‘Eggs us a Source of Revenue,” ‘Is the
Keeping of Hens a Paying Investment?” and so on.

We generally rend these articles when nothing better
offers, and alter arising from the perusal of one of them,
we are astonished that everybody does not Keep hens, and
make their everlasting fortune thereby.

For if one may believe these florid writers, hen-keeping
is almost as easy a road to fortune as is the purchase of a
ticket in the Kentucky Library Lottery, and the hen could
Hot postpone the rendering up of accounts any oftener.

These enthusiasts in the hen business will go on aud
show you, by actual figures, how much corn, toa grain,
a hen will Consume ina year; how much fresh water,
und hogs’ liver, and cayenne pepper, and ground oyster
shells, she will need to Keep her gizzard ip aruuning con-
dilion; and then they will recken up the profits—an egg
a day—and astonish you wilh the result.

And when you come to think 1 over, you feel as if hens
were public benefactors, and you wonder that everybody
who Wants to make money—and who doesn’t ?—does not
go into the magnificent business of hen-keeping.

Now, experience teaches us that a great deal of this talk
about the profits of heus is mere moonshine.

A hen begins to be active—that is, she commences her
summer canipaign—just about. the time your early peas
are up, and you are planting your beets, and radishes,
and onions,

She is of a very investigating disposition, and would no
doubt have located the North Pole jong ago, if it had been
situated anywhere wherescratching could have reached it.
This investigating principle of hers extends down into her
toe-nails, ald animates Liose greenish-yellow legs of hers
to fly backward and forward in a way which you feel will
deai out death and destruction to the worms and grubs,
She gets up early, and pecks and scratehes, and scratches
aud pecks, and works late, and looks so innocent and
happy that you feel sure she is doing no mischief, and by
and by you Walk oul Lo inspect her labors, aud find that
your eariy peas are all decapitated, and your onions, aud
beets, and radishes are unearthed, and your wile’s flower
garden hus been “‘harrowed’? by that hen’s toe-nails, in a
way that you know will be very harrowing to the soal of
the woman who went without a hew spring hat in order
to have ten dollars to lay out in Choice seeds and catuags
to pul into that desecrated garden.

Of course you indulge in strong language against (hat
hen, and all her relations, and so dues your wife; and you
shut biddy up on corn and water, and only Jet her out
toward night for a constitutional walk, and to pick up a
little gravel. . You fee! moderately sure then that you will
get all the eggs she lays; but she is too old for you, aud
improves her atlernoon out by stealing her nest under the
barn, where toward autunm she sits, and haiches out the
wretched litile chickens, scraiching for which she spends
the rest of her time until December comes, and then she
is **moulling,’? aud practically good for nothing.

 

 

 

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BY NATHAN D. URNER.

 

I bowed my head against the storm,
And burried o’er the Park,

When suddenly a woful form
Arose from out the dark;

And alms were craved in husky tones
That thrilled my very soul,

For they recalled the scenes of old,

Of youth, and joy, and scattered goid,
And Pleasure's mantling bowl.

I seized the wretch, and drew him near
A street-lamp’s flickering light,
Ah, yes! twas he, with vision blear,
In most unhappy plight;
An utter wreck, and yet withal
The friend of other days!
His utterance died within his throat,
His ragged knees each other smote,
He cowered at my gaze.

A mildew blight, a fungous moid,
The man had all bespread,
Just as it grieves some ruin old
Where footsteps fear to tread.
The sodden rags, reluctant, hid
The musty form beneath;
The hair that once in ringlets tossed
Clung to his crown, dry, gray and mossed,
Like some old charnel-wreath.

The jovial air, so debonair,
Had changed to one of tear,
The smile, once bright beyond compare,
Was now tlie drunkard’s leer.
The rust, and must, and dust of life
Lay on him deep and dire;
And still, with outstretched, trembling palms,
Io rasping tones he whined for alms,
To quench a thirst of fire.

The horrid laugh he gave whea I
Spoke of the gokien Past
Will haunt my ears until I die,
And made me stand azhast.
He clutched the trifling coins I gave,
And, with a ghastly grin,
Like that which marks a body stark,
He sped across the lonely Park |
To haunts of v.ce and sin.

I waited by the City Hall
Till the last echo died,
Afar—away—beyond recali,
Then turned with homeward stride;
But ere I reached the lighted street,
With voice of solemn power,
And every stroke a separate shock,
The huge, white-faced, black-handed clock
Tolled the Eleventh Hour.

BETTINA,
The Italian Nurse;

phil Bag Ale ihe .

Whose Wife Is She?
By Annie Lisle,

{Bettina” was commenced in Nw 12. Back numbers can be
obtained jrom any News Agent in Mhe United States.)

CHAPTER V1.—(CONTINUVED.)

‘Yon are better, are you not, Lissa?’ asked Hsteile, as
. she notieed the Jong breath of relief and the sudden rush
of color to Lissa’s face. :

“Oli, yes; that lust nap cured my headache entirely,”
she unswered, throwing off hat’ and vail with a merry

_ laugh, and sbaking down a shower of golden ringlets
around her face and neck. ;

For, with another ‘unaccountable whim,” as Dr. Ullin
termed it, she had kept them bundled in a Knot under ler
hat all day.

Her convalescence was now rapid, and, ere they reached
Cincinnati, she had by her beauty anc vivacily, combined
with a kind of childlike arlessness that sometimes ren-
dered her very charming, entirely worn off the previous
unpleasant impression she had made upon Dr. Uliin.

Here the carriage met thei, and, after a delightful
drive, they reached Oakdale just as the setting sun was
gilding the tops of the stately trees, from which Mrs.

| Uilin’s place had taken its name.

As they entered the carriage drive winding through the
avenue of tull ovks, the lovg-exiled girl recognized many

beloved in childiood. She was in an ecstasy of de-
light, clapping her hands with joy. When they stopped
at thedoor sie was the first to spring out, and, flying
lightly up the flight of marbie steps, was once more, after
jong years, Clasped to her mother’s heart— weeping for
joy, not a word spoken.

Lissa drew back, thinking it an opportunity to examine

 

ot erases rte sey nt nse =

—

 

  

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ticed the question, for he answered, ‘I don’t know,’ and
jooked quite surprised at our laughter afterward.”

B-itina fell glad that she wus nob sitting where the
light fell upon her face durimg this chatter, for she was
conscious of a hightened color, and she would have con-
gratulated herself still further had she kuown how délen-
tively Siie Was being observed.

“1 do wonder whose child he is?" still chattered on Es-
telle. “I said that to Paul so often that he asked me nut
tou speak ofitagain. itis well 1 did not promise, how-
ever, for | should have broken my word, you see.”

“Whosoever he may be he has certainly falien into good
hands and seems very fond of his nurse,’? said Lissa.

The voice was soft and low as the cooing of a dove;
what then there was in it that jarred on Bettina’s neryes
she could not have told any more than why the far more
periect fuce should not please her as did Estelle’s, whose
greatest beauty consisted in the frank, coufiding expres-
sion of her inuecent, childlike countenance.

“Will you kiss me, little one?’ couxed Lissa, Caressing-
ly patting the child’s soft cheek.

With a very decided “No, no,’ he buried his face in his
nurse’s bosuin.

“Oh, weil, it requires different Kinds of tact to accom-
plish different euds, and | pever possessed the sort to
winababy’s favor. Now there is not a child along the
street that wili not answer to Essie’s smile,” she said,
twining her arms lovingly around the young girl as she
heard Mrs, Uilin’s footsteps.

She entered the room with a light upon her face that
had been rarely seen there of late years,

‘Cornelia is now ready to see you, Essie, if your cousin
will excuse you. Sbe dves not fee! able to see a stranger
to-nignt. I wiliseud Paul for you, Lissa.”

 

“Take no trouble for me, deur aunt. I will amuse my-
self with this darling baby.”

“Good-by, sweet eyes,” said Estelle, showering loving
kisses upon the little face.

When they were alone Lizza threw herself with careless
grace upon an ottoman at Bettina’s feet, and with an in-
different air, but eyes full of interest, asked:

“Do you see much of Cousin Cornelia???

“Yes; Lum with her a good deal of late.”

“Are ner fits of insanity frequent ?’?

“No; they are very rare now.”

“| hope she is uot dangerous. Iam very timid, and
there is nothing in the worid for which I feel such a hor-
ror as a maniac. -Had 1 known about her I really believe
that Ishoutd not have come here, but Essie did not tell
me until just before we reached New York, and I have
been in a shiver ever since.”

Her terror appeared so unfeigned that Bettina felt real
sympathy, wid ted to disarm tier fears by an assurance
of Cornelia’s very decided improvement in this respect,
and explaining that though her health was visibly failing,
her mind xppeared to become more clear and rauonal as
her pliysical powers became weaker.

“Lthink i strange,’? continued Lissa, “that my aunt,
with whom L lived, had never heard of Cornelia’s insan-
ity; perhapsamy mother kuew tt, but she died when 1 was
quite young: She was Mrs. Ullin’s step-sister, so the fam-
My are not im reality related to me, and if Essie and 1 had
not met al schovl we should probably scarcely have heard

4 Of each other,”?

How much more of her family history she might have
related to Bettina is uncertaimm if Doctor Ulin’s entrance
had not preveuted.

“My mother hus commissioned me totake charge of
you whilst sheis otherwise engaged. Will you go with
me to the drawing-revin 2?" he said to Lissa.

As they left the room Bettina watched with a kind of
fascination the beautiful face upturned to his, now lighted

jup and radiant with liappitess, and accused hersell of a

want of charity in having thought it not a trathfal one,
That Doctor Uilin did ‘not ‘eyen by a glance no-
tice her after his avsence hurt her more than she would
have liked to ackuowledge, and it was with a bitter sigh
she laid the sieepiug bave in his Cradie, as she thought:
“What other treatment need | ever expect front,.this
proud man, knowing me only a8 a menial and judgiug

me as he does ?"?
CHAPTER VII.
DREAMS.
“They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,
Or take a weight from off our waking toils.”

Laterin the evening, Bettina went out upon the veran-
dah, and from there, tempted by the bright moonlhght, in-
to the garden below. How long she lad remained there
engrossed with memories of the past, thoughts of the
present, and speculatious of the future, she Knew not,
when suddenly recalied (rom dream-land by the sound of
a voice Close beside lier. f

In her alarm she uttered a terrified cry.

*“] amsorry I trightened you,” said Dr. Ulin.

“On itisnothing. IL believe Lam nervous to-night,”

“And likely to be more so, if you expose yourself thus
to the night air.’

‘‘Here is your shawl,’ and he would have wrapped it
around her shoulders, but she drew herself up and stepped

 

 

 

unobserved. the splendid mansion, aud catch a glimpse of
the surrounding grounds,

The movement was noticed by Dr. Ullin, who, being in
an unusuilly charitable mood, attributed it to a delicacy
that woald not jook upon a scene tvo sacred to be pro-
faned by the eyes of a stranger.

“Conie here, cousin,’’ called Esteile, laughing through
her tears; and, when Lissa came up the steps, she wound
her arm around her waist, and drew her too within her
mother’s embrace.

“Come nearer the light, my dears, that I may see you
more cleariy,’? said Mrs. Uilin, forgetting that a mist of
tears rendered her vision dim.

Bettina, bending over the balusters with pardonable
curiosity, jooked down upon, the litle group, as Estelle,
with arms around ker mother, was gazing fondly in the
dear face, so aged and worn, 80 sadly changed since she
last had seen it; while Lissa, fair aud smiling, chatted
gay!y with Dr. Uuin, who louked with unmistakable ad-
Miratiow upon the beautuful and graceful girl.

“Surely he has changed his mind with regard to facing
the young catamouut,” Bettina thought, with just a shade
of bitterness.

Bre long the young ladies, preceded by Mrs. Ullin, went
up to their rooms, They were enthusiastic in their ex-
pressions of approval for the taste and elegance with
which they were fitied up. z

“How beautifull how tasteful! Thanks, dear mammal’?
Estelle exclaimed. ‘ :

“You must thank Bettina, my love; she arranged the
rooms,”? Mrs. Ullin replied.

“And who is Bettina, pray ??

“Baby's uurse.”?

“Ou, yes; | remember now that you have mentioned
such a personage in some of your letters. The old Jady
Must possess excellent taste, She's a good thing to have
in tae family,” Esiehe said, laughingly, just as the door

between them and the amused subject of the re-
marks, Who, passing through the hall to her owB room,
had uuintenuonally overheard them. ;

Later im the evening, fuotsieps paused at the nursery
dvor, anu a half-whispered conversation ensued.

“On, brother Paul,. i really Cannot wait till morning to
Bee the buby. Win sure tle old nurse wouldn’t care if we
did waken him this once.”

“Very well. Ifyou are willing to risk the venerable
dame’s displeasure, you Can go in.”?

“Ou, bul you must go with us. She will
overwhelmed at ihe sight of two strangers.”’

A refusal followed, then a@ laughing discussion as to
which of the two girls shuuld enter first and take the re-
Bponsibilily of waking the child, Finally the knob was
sSiuwily turned, the door pusted genliy ajar, and a curly
head peeped Cuutiously in, and Was thea withdrawn.

Betuna, sitting ip the shadow, was rocking the child to
Bleep tu her arms,

“May we come in and see the baby?” asked a sweet
young voice, from the outside.

*Certumly, come.”? And the two glided in on tip-toe.

“He ig not Bleeping,” said Bettina, seeing them sudden-
hy halt and look at exch other im amazement,

Bsielle’s risibilities, never under the best of control,
were how entirely overcome, and sie burst inlo a merry
peal of luugtiter.

. “Pardon my rudeness{” she explained, as soon as breath
Was granted her; “but I have been speaking of you as

colhe old nurse. Now | cau uuderstaud my brother's
amnsement.’?

Her chixiish merriment was quite irresistible, and Bet-
Lina joined In it involuatariy.

Ali tus while Lissa had nol spoken, but was attentively
surveying the nurse and her surroundings. The deep
blue eyes, usually shadowed by thetr lung lashes, were
now Wide open, voting Beitita closely as she stepped fur-
ward into the light to meet them.

From Ue suapely fout ihat peeped out from the grace-
ful foids of her dress, to the small, classic head, crowned
With its abundance of red-brown hair, nothing escaped
her observation. Noteven tiat this wealth of lair, giit-
tering wherever the light fell upon it with @ golden tnt,
was the chief charm in this beautuful woman who stood
before her—reulty beautiful, no one could deny, although
her face Was partly concealed, and the reguiarity of fea-
pees destroyed by the large Colured speciacies which she

ure,

“For what odject 2” thought Lissa. “Can it be to hide
& defect 5 ae olherwise lovely face, or for the purpose of

be entirely

For it had not taken long for this wily girl, nalf-French
by birth, and wholly Soin the quickness of her percep-

‘ tious, to discover that Betuna did not belong to the posi-
tion she occupied,

., Soon, kneeling beside the nurse's chair, Estelle was try-
jug make friends with the baby. He could not more
than some peopie of larger growth resist the winning
wie, and pleasant voice, so she had not long to plead fur

“Is he not lovely? Such glorious eyes! No wonder
Panl could remember no other feature, when | asked him

» lo describe tue child. He toid ine he tad the finest eyes
he ever saw, and then looked dreamily out of the car-
riage as if trying to recall them to memory. 1 pulied his

‘ hair, and asked him if that was all he could remember—
hadn’t he @ nose ora mouth? Bust I don't think he no-

back from his reach.

“What have | done, now; why do you treat me thus?”
he asked quieity. ‘

“Have you forgotten already?” she answered, as she
removed her glasses aud raised her eyes fearlessly and
proudly to his.

“No, Bettina; I have not forgotten, and you I see have
not forgiven.”

“I have forgiven, Dr. Ultin, for I know you have ap-
parently good grounds upou which to base a prejudice,
but whut I desire is, that you may never again, turvugh
iorgetfulness, be tempted to treat me wilh a kindness Liat
would seem to prove you a friend, and then when I feel
secure in that belief, suddenly remeniber your suspicions
and become my foe. You, certain of your lionvrabie posi-
tion, know nothing of the weight ofa Kind word, or of the
sudden revulsion of feeling when a friendly glance is
clouded with suspicion and distike.’’

Her voice, which was at first clear and firm, faltered
and almost died away before she had finished speaking,
while her whole frame trembled with deep emotion.

Dr. Uilin had never seen this woman, generally sv quiet,
aroused before; and he was surprised to fiud hidden fre
smoldering under the placid surface, but uever had sheso
thoroughly won his respect and admiration, neyer had she
looked so beautiful; yet what could lie say?

With unutterabie pity, therefure, he looked down upon
this glorious creature, still in her youth, yet whose whole
life wus blighted.

“I am not your foe, Bettina; | am more your friend
than you deem me. L would not permit another to wound
your feelings, though | may at times appear cruel myself.
But why are you so unusually sad, to-night? you have
had no bad news from your friends, 1 trust.”

“My frends, where are they? Do you believe in
dreams ?? she asked in the same sad voice, after a little
pause.

“No, certainly not; why; have you had one?”

“Yes, several; dark ominous oues, aud ‘coming events
cast their shadows befure,’ you kuow.”

“1 know no such thing; but come, tell me yours, and I

as dreams are generally."!

“I cannot put them into words, atleast but one of them.
But look! did you see how suddenly that cloud appeared
and obscured all the moonlight? su the little ray of light
that was commeucing to dawu for me, will soon be shroud-
ed in gloom.”

“Fudgel Now tell me your dream.”

“Well, I was standing upon the bank of a beautifal
stream, whose blue waters, Clear as a crystal, flowed along
gently, with a musical murmur at my feet. Then, from
x0 Opposite direc ion, you Game toward me, bearing in
your hand a bouguet of brilliant hues, which you offered
me, but as 1 reactied forth to lake If, the flowers became
rank weeds. ‘Take it, it is the water of life! said you,
aud I looked aguin, to see a goblet of pure cold water,
which I quickly raised to my thirsty lips, when oh——”

“What wus il, Bettina?” suid Dr. Ullip, interested in
spite of himself.

“You slirieked ‘Poison!’ just as from under my lips a ser-
peni—a serpeut will large azare-like eyes, erected its crest
ready to strike its fangs, and then the stream, which had
become swollen lo au angry riyer, roared, lashed its waves

me in its turbid waters.”

“Nonseusel you are feverish, bad circulation, cold feet,”
said the practical Inedical gentleman. ‘Let me feel your
pulse,’ aud he tried to touch her wrist, but with a willful
motion She Ciasped her hauds tigttly behind her, saying:

“Du bid you guvd-night nuw, for L see yuu are laughing
at me,

“No, fam not ready to say good-tiight just yet. See I
have brought you uw peace-offeriug,’’ he auswered, as he
took fromarustic seat beside hin a volume of poems
neatly but plainly bound, such as tie thought she would
not refuse lo accept,

“When lL was if Cincinnati I was getting the new. edi-
tion of Louyfellow’s poems for Cornelia, and Ll remem-
bered [hat you, tov, were one of lis admirers,’? he said,
inexplanation, “But come, you must go in now; there
is a heavy dew falling,” wud tie drew her hand tirough
his urn.

Before they reached the door Bettina stopped to replace
her glasses.

“I wish you could be persuaded to lay aside those hid-
eous Unngs,” suid Docior Ulin, abruptly.

“Merciful Heaven! at wow of all timses,’? she exclaimed,
in an excired vuice.

Surprised at lier unusual vchemence he said no more,
bul noticed the flusu returning to fier face and felt her
hiaad tremble upou ttis arm.

“Are you going toe the nursery ?'? he asked, as they
parted at the fuot of tne steps,

Fees?

**Wait there afew moments for me."’

Thvugh surprised at the request she complied with it,
Soun aiter Doctor Ullin made tits appearauce with some
liquid in a giuss, which he gave tu her, saying:

“Take Lins, it will quiet your nerves. You have not yet
regained your usual sirengil.’!

She (ook it, and Was about raising it (o her lips, then
suddenly hesitated, aud looking up, with a face deathly
pale, said, ina shuddering Wuisper:

“Is & poison ?"

Hastily taking the goblet from her hand he drew her
beneath the ight,

“Look at me, girl, are you crazy? How dare you mis-
trust me,” and dashiag tie hand he fetd angrily away
he waiked to the door, but returning Lminediately, said:

“1 beg your pardon, | was rude.’?

“Of course | was. only jesung—my dream you know,”
she said, upologetically, seeing him so moved.

*Paen you are not a bad actress, Betuna, but you must
not make such terrible accusations as that even in jest.
You dtd not realize the force of it. Ouce you told me that
you had never tusi faith in but one person—but what
cause have you for ever misfrusting me ?”'

“Forgive me, Lcaunot account for my depression to-
nigit. In justice to you, however, [ will prove that 1

 

have faith in your prescription by taking this stuff.”

Will bear witness that they are ouiy made of such stuf

and dashed furiously over my feet, threatening to engulf,

 

She again raised the glass to her lips. Doctor Ullin
smiled approval, and atthe same moment Lissa’s fair
face and beaming blue eyes appeared in the doorway.

“Ol! I beg pardon,”* she said, with a meaning iook; “Tt
hope I did not interrupt you. But did I not leave my fan
here, Bettina???

“Ihave not seen it,’? answered Bettina, faintly, while
shrinking away from her as from one whom she dreaded,

Lissa hunted vainly for the missing article, finally giv-
ing up the search with another more elaborate apology
for the mal-apropos Call.

AS slie passed the front door on returning to the parlor
she saw Doctor Ullin standing on the veranda, the expres-
sion of extreme annoyance with which he had left the
nursery not yet gone from his face. Stealing out noise-
lessly, as she always walked, she was at his side before he
was aware of her presence, and placing her white hand
on his arm, she said, timidly:

“Cousin Paul, are youangry with me?’

The rosy lip were very tremulous, aud the large eyes
filled with Lears as she spoke,

“Why no, child, why should I be?’? he replied, gently,
while stroking the dimpled hand that clung so confidingly
to his arm. :

“Oh, you looked so cross when I went into the nursery
to jiook for my fan you frightened me,” she said, with a
little shiver.

“I was not offended with you for coming into the room
when you did, but perhaps I was annoyed that you shonid
consider an apology necessary, thusimplying that you
deemed your preseuce an intrusion which could not be
under the circumstances you know.”

“lam so glad. I was fearful | had offended you, and I
want so much to beloved by every one—especially my
cousins,» she added, with such an innocent, child-like
expression that Doctor Ullin smiled at her perfect artless-
ness as he softly smoothed the long golden curis that now
rested against hisshoulder. “Iam so far from home,
you and Essie seem so happy together and I am so lonely,”
she said, with a litle sigh.

“What, home-sick already, little one!’ he said, taking
the lovely face between his hands and looking with real
pity into the azure depths of the eyes that soon fell be-
neath his gaze and were vailed by their loug lashes.

For it Was a peculiarity with Lissa that she never but
for an instant would meet the straightforward look of
another,

“Run in and get a shawl, and we will walk in the gar-
den,”? said Doctor Thin.

She flew across the hall and was back again in a mo-
ment with 2 mautie thrown carelessly around her white
stioulders.

“Not a movement the fairy makes or an article of dress
she wears bnt expresses perfect grace,’? was her com-
panion’s thought, as with her hands clasped around his
arm and her face radiant with delight they sauntered
slowly down the walk.

In their wanderings he carefully avoided the place
where he had just been with Betiina. Why he shoaid do
so he could scareely have explained, any more than he
could how this child’s soft, cvoing voice and _ siivery
laughter shonld have so nearly beguited him into forgetful-
vess of the stern dignity he had maintained for years, as
well ag of the lateness of the hour, It was with a feeling
of self-reprouch that he exclaimed:

*Lissal your hair'is wet with dew, and I know that it
must be high time you were sleeping.”’

Hastily retracing their steps they met Essie coming in
search of them.

“On, truuntsi? she cried, “have I found you at. iast.

PWhat a search 1 have. had, and slipping her hand

through her brother’s arm, the trio entered the house.

Looking down upon the two bright, youthful faces be-
side him, beaming with hope and. happiness, a third, no
longer a child’s face, but a woman’s, retined through suf-
fering, and infinitely lovely, arose before Doctor Ullin’s
mental vision, and when next he looked into the violet
eyes haif their witchery was gone. How long shall that
sad iace come between him and evil?

 

CHAPTER VIII.
PETTY MANEUVERING.

The family were all assembled in the library one morn-
ing, when Bettina, passing through the hall stopped to
speak to the housekeeper, placing the child meantime
upon the floor, Jn amoment he perceived the haif open
door and pushing 1t back stood still upon the threshold.
The litle figure seeming to create a very atmosphere of
purity around him, every eyerested on him with silent
admiration, apparently fearing to speak lest -the picture
should dissulve from View.

Fresh from his bath, the while slip loosely fastened had
fallen from off lus fair and dimpled shoulders. Hach
hand held a small shoe, while his bare feet resting upon
the crimson Curpet were like pearly shells with their pink
lining. The lignt, fleecy, golden locks made a halo of
beauty around the sweet baby lace, possessing more than
baby prettiness, for every feature was exquisitely formed.
His large, brown eyes were wide open with a half-
frightened luok, until chancing to rest upon Essie, when
in a Moment they beamed with smiles as he hastened, fast
as the little toddling steps could carry him, to bury his
face in-her lap.

Estelle had him in her arms half smothering him with
kisses when Bettina discovered the little runaway.

She entered the rvom with reluctance, for she had rather
avoided Doctor Uilin during the Jast few days, as Lissa
never failed to present herself by his side, aud by what
seemed bul a Chance word or look always to wound her
pride or hurt her feelings in some manner, all with such
a display of artiessness that no one appeared to notice it
bul the object for whom it was intended,

Doctor Uilin sat near the window deeply absorbed in the
mornivg paper, apparently not noticing her entrance.

Estelle was unwilling to give up the baby, and tried to
teach him 10 call her nanve; then with a mischievous
twinkle in her bright black eyes she sprang upon her
brother’s knee with him in her arms, and Jaughingly
tossed the newspaper across the room.

“Now listen, brother, and I will teach him to speak your
name—say ‘Paul,’ little one.”

The rosy lips, after several ineffectual attempts, lisped a
sound very like it.

Bettina scarcely dared look op me Sure she was she
should see an angry frown on Dr. Ullin’s face; but on the
contrary he was evidently very much amused at Essie’s
earnestness, and Lissa’s apparent delight as she Knelt be-
side his chair with dancing eyes.

Abasheil at the laughter that followed his imperfect pro-
nunciation, the little fellow hid his eyeson Dr. Ullin’s
shuulder, while one tiny and wandered lovingly over
his face, and that face,so unaccustomed toa child’s
caress, flushed and softened beneath the gentle touch.
Before he could prevent it, Essie, springing away and
laughing heartily, lelt him in possession of the babe, who,
to increase his discoumfiture, clasped his arms tightly
around his neck.

“I will relieve you, Dr, Ullin,’’ said Bettina, approach-
ing with flushed cheeks,

“No, no—I will take him. I only wanted to see how
Paul would bear the infliction,’’ Esteile said, merrily.

“Paul used to be very fond of children,” quietly re-
marked Mrs, Ullin,

“Did he really? Yesterday I wastrying to make him
say he loved this little darling, and ali the answer I got
was: ‘Chikiren are a great nuisance, aud you are no ex-
ception, Essie.? But really, mamma, 1 think .if is time
our bavy was named; only think, he must, be uearly a
year old,”?

“Well, I believe I promised you the privilege of naming
him, my dear.”?

“Oh, Essie, 1 think his Kind nurse has a velter right to
do that than any one else,” said Lissa’s solt voice.

That voice, not like Cordelia’s, ‘‘ever soft and low,” for
she sometimes forgot herself, and then it took a sharp,
rasping souud that was not so agreeable. This last re-
Mark was delivered in her gentlest coo, but Bettina de-
tected in the musical accents the lurking sarcasm—the
bold insinualion meant to be conveyed to her ear alone,

Dr. Ullin, turning sharply around, looked keenly at the
speaker, but her lips wore Lheir sweetest smile, and the
fair face betrayed not the slightest token of ill-feeling,
Then glancing at Bettina, he saw by her flushed cheeks
und indignant expression that she too had misjudged the
gemtie litte Creature, and, by way of atoning fur the
suspicion nat he was convinced was unjust, hie laid his
hand on the golden head so temptingly close to his shoul-
der, and Said, Kindly:

“You are a good child to (hink of that. Ithink myself
that by her devotion and care Bettina has won tne privi-
lege of selecting his name,”

“Thank you; 1 an quite willing Miss Estelle should do
so,’* Bettina rephed, iu a slightly faltering voice.

“Then, Maminas,’? suid Estelle, a shade of gravity com-
ing over the Dright young fice, “et us call him -Eigar.’
1 would like him to be named for the dear littie brother I
cau remember so well; and perhaps, dear mamma,’’ she
added, as she saw tne old, gad look in her face—“‘perhaps
he may indeed be a son to you, and the comfort of your
old age, &s you once thought our Hddie would be”?

“It shad be ag you wish, may daughter,’ said Mrs. Ulin,
striving tu & sume a Cheerui air again.

“Then when shail the curistening be?”

“Why not wait uutil your friend comes to perform the
rite??? suggested Dr. Ulin, with a sly glance at his sister’s
biushing face.

Estelle appeared gratified by this proposition from her
brother. The matter seeming to be thus settled, Bettina
caine forward and took the childin herarms. Acci-
dentally her hauds came in contact with Estelle’s, who
exclaimed:

“Why, Bettina, your hands are like ice, and you are
pale! Ave you sick???

“Thank you. No, 1 am very well,” was the quiet re-
ply, as she iiastily left the room ty take refuge in the
uursery, Whereshe could indulge in herownu thoughts
undisturbed.

But tuo unselfish to long forget the afflicted one she
always remembered when anything transpired that she
thought would amuse or interest, sie suvuon went up to
Cornelia’s room, saying, in ag playful a tone as stie could
command when she entered aud placed the chitd in her
arms:

‘Allow me to present to you ‘Master Eugar.’

“Essie has pained him, tnen, and for the little brother
who died. 1 hope you lke It, Bettina ?

“Very well, Are you suffering more than usual to-
day??? she then asked, with sume anxiety, noticing that
the thin, white face looked sadder, and if possible paler,
than usual,

“No; ouly nervous and irritable, Lissa has startied me
so several times lately, stealing in. as noiselessly as a
ghost with that cathike tread of ners, sometumes speaking
or touching me before ] am aware of her presence. You
will think me foolish to be affected by such a trivial thing
—and ob, Betiinal 1 wii} Confess to you that is not the
worst that troubles me, but the fear that Paul will become

 

 

 

bewitched by her beautiful face and — affectation of
artiesspess—imany a wiser man has been by such things,

 

you know; and then after awhile, after I am gone, per-
haps may woo her for his wife.”

“T think you are nnnecessarily alarmed, dear Cornelia.”?

The words had scurcely passed Bettina’s lips when the
Subject of their remarks stood beside thens.

With almost 2 shriek Cornelia iinpatiently exclaimed:

“Lissa, Twish you could step more heavily, aud not
come upon us in quite such a ghostly fashion.”

*“[ am so sorry | frightened you, Cousin Corrie, but I
thought you would be pleased to hear the dear baby was
named, So persuaded Essie to let me run up and tell you
first, but of course Bettina has told you,”

Thus Chattering away, she threw herself upon an otto-
man at Cornelia’s side. Bettina pitied the evident annoy-
ance of the invalid, and soon Said to her:

“You are weary, and we Will leave you now, Cornelia.”

“Oh, forgive my thoughtlessness, dear,’ said’ Lissa,
pressing a kiss upon the pale forehead,

Au angry glance had followed the nurse’s remark, but
was quickiy Covered by the sweetest of smiles. Follow-
ng Bettina to the uursery, she said, in a confidential

ne:

“You know I told you I was afraid to bein the house
with a maniac; all that fear has gone now, and I love her
deariy. Cousin Paul told me that he knew I should, and
he wishes me to visit her quite frequently, as he says she
needs cheering.” *

Bettina wondered in her own mind if Dr. Ullin’s
presence could not charm away the dreariness of that
lonely Chamber better than al! others, and thought indig-
nantly ihat she would never again allow pity tor him to
make her so charitable for the want of that love and care
he should bestow upon his wife, whom he seemed to now
regard with no warmer feeling or more devotion than he
might cherish for a sister.

“Do you think it will rain, Bettina? asked Lissa, look-
ing with an anxious air atthe sky as she stepped out
upon the verandah. .

“I think there isno appearance of it at present,’? was
the reply, iu a cold voice.

‘I sincerely hope it will not, for I am going to have a
glorious horseback ride this evening with Cousin Paul.
Is not Essie foolish to prefer staying at home? but her
new piano is to be here to-day, her birthday present from
her brother, and nothing would induce her to leave it 50
soon. She is passionately fond of music, and says one of
the sweetest memories of her childhood is Paul’s playing
upon the organ. He has not touched it for years, they
tell me, but, after much persuasion on my part, has prom-
ised to do so to-morrow in honor of his sister’s eighteenth
birthday.”

Here her tongue was suddenly silenced by the appear-
ance of Dr. Ulin coming npin the carriage to take them
out for a ride; and a moment after, when Bettina went to
the window to see what had attracted Lissa’s attention
and taken her away so quickly, she saw the little figure,
with long, golden curls floating yn the wind, seated by his
side.

Sick at heart and weary of life, she bowed her head and
gave way to gloomy thoughts.

Soon Hssie’s sweet voice called to her to know if she
migtit take the child with them, promising he should be
well cared for, as her mother would accempany them.

Mrs. Ulin now occasionally went out with them, yield-
ing only at first to Estelle’s persuasions, for the loving
mother was ever striving to add to the happiness of the
dear young daughter, who ‘would be with her now so
short atime, although she seemed oppressed with care
for the sufferer who was fast passing away from. Shadows
of the dreary past, too, sometimes hung heavy over her
heart, but now that new objects of interest had arisen
that sorrowful past that would not be buried could
stretch forward and blend with the liopes of the future.

Evening came.

Not yet late enough for night’s cool shadows to fall over
the earth, but their balmy influence was felt, though as
yet a golden haze spread over the whole landscape. The
sun was just setting in a bank of dark clouds lined and
fringed with gilded rays of sunshine, their threatening
darkness so concealed by the beauty and splendor of
their gorgeous gilding that they might rise and shroud
the world in gloom as suddenly aud unlooked-for as many
of our Jife’s storm clouds that are so hidden with joys aud
happiness,

With little thought or care for storms or sunshine
Doctor Uilin and, Lissa started for, their horseback ride,
and as he iifted the graceful little fairy into the saddle an
expression of deep and uundisguised admiration lighted
up his stern face,

The deep, biue riding-habit she wore contrasted well
with her fair, rosy complexion, soft. and smooth as a
child’s; while the smail cap displayed to advantage her
face, faultless in contour as a Grecian goddess. Her
yellow curling hair flashed in the light, and beneath his
ardent gaze the purplish blue. eyes were softened aud
shaded by the long goiden lashes that vailed them.

Exquisitely lovely she looked; and as her companion
bent over her with tender care to allay her fears of the
spirited horse upon which she was mounted, no wonder
that Bettina, who stood watching them from the hall door,
where she had been called to render some slight assist-
ance, should feel her heart not only throbbing with indig-
nation, but with a deadly fear fur the happiness of the
poor invalid in the solitude of her own room.

With the thought of how much she would herself be
willing to do and sacrifice, rather than the last hours otf
this suffering woman should be thus embittered, she
hastily ascended to her room.

She found Cornelia at the window watching the hand-
some, dashing-looking equestrians, Whom a turn in the
road soon hid from view.

‘Did you see them, Bettina?” she said. “Paul has not
looked sv happy for years. He is deserving a goud wife,
and I suo hoped his future might atone for all these days of
darkness; but Lissa could never appreciate his noble svul,
she is:too shallow.”’

She spoke bitterly, but yet with a calm voice, as
though it were only for Paul that her heart was wounded.

Belore Bettina could answer they were interrupted by
Estelle, who said in a cheerful voice:

“Now, Corrie, | have come to ask a mighty favor, and
you will not refuse me, will you, sister, dear?”

“I do not think 1 could refuse you anything, little one.”’

“It is only this. My new piano has been taken into the
music rvom and is now standing temptingly open waiting
for me, but I could not have the heart to touch it uuless
you will come down and listen to me.”?

Cornelia appeared both surprised and deeply touched
by this appeal from the warm-hearted gir], but murmured
a faint refusal because of her weakness and the fear of
Pauits disapproval, *‘And perhaps mamma, too, would
not like it,’? she added,

‘Yes, yes, mamma wishes youtocome. We know that
you are very weak, dear Corrie, but Bettina and If will
assist you, and youshall see no oneelse, for Paul and
Lissa will not return for hours perhaps; and when he
fluds that it has not harmed you he will be glad for you to
often join us.”?

With the last words she coaxingly twined her arms
around Cornelia’s waist, who, really longing for the
change, was unable longer to resist, especialiy as the
thought crossed her mind how short her lime might now
be to gratify those who loved her,

The music-room lay beyond an ante-room of flowers,
and was closed from the parlor by great glass doors. It
had never been entirely finished until alter Estelle’s arri-
val, and then Doctor Ullin had furnished it for his young
sister’s especial use. All bore the marks of lavish ex-
penditure and refined taste.

When they entered, Bettina declined the invitation to
accompany them, although both Cornelia and Estelle
warinly urged it, as she feared her presence might be
considered an intrusion; but Mrs. Uiliu came forward and
said, in her ever kindly voice:

“You will gratify me, my dear, as weil as my daugh-
ters, if you will come in.”

Estelle’s performance was good. Her yoice was clear
aud sweet, though not hignly culluvated, and she sang
with much taste and feeling.

Music with Bettina was a passion, and as she had no
opportunity of gratifying it of late, even this much was a
real pleasure, aud she expressed her regret when Essie
left the piano.

“Do you not play some accompaniments?’ asked Cor-
nelia. “I Know Uthat you have a beautiful voice, tough |
have never heard it bat in nursery songs.”?

**] used to,’? was Bettina’s quiet reply.

-“Tnen, indeed, you mast sing for us,” urged Essie, ‘I
have heard manima and Paul speak of your voice. Please
do not refuse when it ig only we three who will listen to
you.

; Again Mrs. Uliin seconded her appeal, and so earnestly
that there could be no refusal,

It was with timidity that Bettina crossed the room and
took ber seat al the instrument, but the moment she ran
her flagers over the keys embuarrassinent vanished, aud
at the same time all memory of time and place. She was
at home in dear Italy again, and the genius that had then
inspired her, moved her now. Wave after wave of mel-
ody rose and fell, and floated on, as her listeners sat, too
eulranced: to speak even after the faintest echo had died
away, fur fear of breaking the spell.

“Sing, Bettina,” said Mrs. Ulin, in almost a whisper.

Without seeming yet to have remembered where she
was, Bettina poured forth her whole soul in an Italian
song—a sad, dirge-like melody, which displayed to ad-
vantage the fine contralto notes of her magnificent voice,

Just as she was singing the concluding verse Doctor
Uitin aud Lissa made their appearance at the door, but
quietly stopped there in obedience to Estelle’s warning
finger. Fearing rain, they lad returned unexpectedly,
and were apparently struck with astonishment at the
scene before them, though by Doctor Ullin the musical
talent of Bettina had been loug suspected,

Lissa's blue eyes opened wide with scorn, and her pret-
ty lips were wreathed with a mocking sinile, though it
was With an appeargnce of intense delight that at the con-
clusion she ¢ried:

“Bucore! encore! Oh, heavens! what a charming sing-
er!” ‘This she spoke in French, a language Lissa invaria-
bly used when out of temper,

Beuitin left the music-room immediately. Soon after,
she saw Doctor Uilin carrying Ournelia up-stairs, and as
they passed Ile duor he was murinuring some words of
endearment, aud kissed the pule face lying on his
shoulder.

“How can he think to atone for such neglect by a few
idle caresses 2?” Lhought Bettina, a8 she reflected. with in-
dignation upon iis hite couduct,

With the Hope of banishing the unpleasant feelings that
filled’ her heart, she soon alier left the house and went out
onthe grounds, Lissa’s ringing Jaughter still sounded
in her ears and jarréd her nerves as she crossed the hall
and went down the steps, so she directed her steps lu &
summer-heuse at some litle distance,

It was so thickly covered with vines that the moonlight
could scarcely penetrate, and this cloudy night tne ob-
scurity was still deeper,

Into a seatiin the farthest corner Bettina threw herself,
enjoying the darkness and quietness of Unis solitude, bul

she was soon disturbed by a heavy step upon the grave}
Walk, and the smoke of a cigar wafted by 2 passing
breeze warned her who was approaching. Sitting per-
fecily still she hoped to escape observation, but Doctor
Uilin entered, evidently uncouscions of her presence, and
his start of surprise was unfeigned when he caught a
glimpse of her white dress ag she attempted to leave the
place,

“Stay, Bettina,”
meditations.”

“Thank you; they can be finished in my own room, fF
Was not aware that this was one of your favorite retreats,
or I should not have intruded.”?

“I rarely ever come to this spot, and donot know how
my steps chanced to terminate here just now. Wasita
good or an evil spirit, think you, that guided me?”

“it seems not an invisible oue, at least, tuough I should
much rather it had been until 1 made my escape,” was
the answer, in a tone of annoyance. ,

“What do you mean?’

“Look!

They stood inthe door of the summer-house, and as
Doctor Ulin looked in the direction: which she pointed,
he saw in the dim light Lissa gliding down the walk with
her swift, noiseless steps,

“Remain quietly where you are and you shal! not be
compromised tlirough me,’? he said; and going to meet
the young lady, he drew her hand through his arm and
walked toward the house.

“Aunt Ullin said I should find you on the verandah,
when I did not do so I traced you here by your cigar.
I wished to ask you a question about the direction of our
ride, for Essie and 1 have have had quite a——”

And bow her voice died away in the distance, so Bettina
heard no more, but she felt. well-convinced Lissa had
seen her enter the garden and then watched her cousin
leave the house.

Alter a while she returned by.a side entrance, and go-
ing to her room locked the door, the only way she could
now feel secure from. prying eyes.

‘How dare she watch iy footsteps??? she exclaimed,
passionately, as she seated herself, by the open window
that the night air might coo! her burning face.

From the veranda below she heard the murmur of
voices, and Lissa’s falliug sharp and shrtlon the still
night air met her ear, then the sound of herown name
perce her attention to the conversation which fol-
owed,

“Do you know, Essie, it was my misfortane to inter-
rupt such @ tete-a-tete between Cousin Paul and Bettina
in (he garden, where I went in search of him?”

“Lissa, 1 know you would. not ,voluntarily convey
Wrong iimpression,’? answered Doctor, Uilin, ina serious
tone; “but yon are now dving so, and. your statement’
also reflects very seriously upon one of your ‘own sex.
Our meeting was pureiy accidental;; we had exchanged
but afew words, and Bettina was just leaving as——"”

“AS you saw me Coming, and to prevent.an unpleasant
encounter you hastened toomeet me, that’s allj> but you
we not deceive me, for I had seen one edge of her white

ress.’?

“Why should I wish to deceive you?” he said, sternly.

“My son, your explanation was unnecessary. Lissa,
you. dv not. Kuew, your cousin if you suppose for anjin-
stant lnat he would. clandestinely neet one of his motli-
er’s household, Aud in jusiice to Bettina d must say that
I have never seen an act of -hers. warranting the belief
thal she is capable of duimg anything unmaidenly.”

Mrs. Uilia's voice was-haughty and severeas she spoke.

“There, child, de nol crys, Weall Know-that you means
no harin, little one,’? said Doctor Ullin, inva caressing
Lone, be

“With a proud gesture Bettina lefi the window feeling al-
most Gontempt fur the mnan who Could be so easiiy be-
guiled, by an. appearance of sweet artiessness under which
this perfection of art was so thinly vailed.

Not lung after this a fyotstep, paused at her door, and &
low voice Said: '

“Bellina, are you here 2’

“Yes; am I needed ?? she answered, stepping quickly
out into the hail Wi Ge

“No, lam. sorry I startled you, but Ihave been listen-
ing for you Lo enter the house, atid felt anxious that I did
not hear you. J think you: had) better pot venture so fur
inlo the garden again alter night.”

“Never fear, | shall remain in my own apartments here-
after,”? she replied, haughtily. ; ;

“Oh, Lhope you will not confine yourself in-that man-
ner. Believe ime, Liruly regret placing you in an: un-
pleasant position, Lissa loves to tease, andif ste should
chance to mention our meeting thisevening you must MOG
ailow it to grieve you.”? i

“She has not the power, sr, of grieving me, but I will
never permit her to speak of it to me as she did to you,’?
aud the stight form quivered with indignation, ;

“Jt was. very (thoughtless, iideed, but sie meant no
liarm.??

“It was not thoughtlessness, and she @id mean harm,”
retorted Bettina, passionately.as she stepped in‘her room
and closed the dvor, leaving Doctor Uilin rooted to’ the
spot, uot Knowing whether lo be amused or angry.

¥ [tO BE CONTINUED. ]

ee a

Midnight Marriage.

By Amanda M. Douglas,.

Author of THE CROWN OF DUTY, SYDNIE
ADRIANCE, STEPHEN DANE, Etc.

said he. “I will not interrupt your

PART I1.—ALTHEA.

["“The Midnight Marriage” was commenced in No.8 Back Nos.
can be obtained of any News Agent in the United States.)

CHAPTER 1V.—(CONTINUED.)

If, in the weeks that followed, Althea suffered some
sharp pangs, she could gloatin secret over her rival’s pain.
For it was surely evident that Muriel had arified into the
swift current of love. Strive vigorously as she might, to
hide it, a look or word would betray the secret to these
pitiless eyes.

Through all this Aithea held her way royally. From a
half pity, half indifference, she had come to hate Muriel
with a depth and intensity that the other couid not have
realized. She felt herself bitterly wronged in the fact of
this puny girl being the possessor of a fortune, while she
was so hearly penniless as to be dependent upon the
kindness of friends in some degree. And then it ought
to have been quite impossible for this pale, spiritiess
creature to cross her path, but she held some occult
charm for Harold Walsingham. Was it the mere fact of.
wealth ?

lf she chose to give one deep, mortal stab, she might an-
nounce her engagement. Sheknew well that under such
a blow, Muriel would fade away like some pale fiower in
an early autumn frost. She could bar Harold Walsingham
effectually from her presence, but what wouldit avai. If
Muriel died, there would still be the hard bar of poverty
between her lover aud herself,

The other view she hardly dared to put into thought.
And yet Harold Walsingham might have seen it with his
worldly nian’s eyes, Should she play this one fateful card, .
and show her hand at fast ?

After all, what was this little question of life or death?
If a hunian soul went out early m the day, it escaped the
dreary evening. Both couid not be happy it seems, so
what if she stood aside for a brief while, and let the other
sip at the edge of the cup, If there was a Heaven for
such simple, white lives, would it not be better than this
perplexing, toilsome life? For if she, Muriel, had a happy
day, it must be brief. Aud the end must be beyond a pere
adventure,

She studied Harold Walsingham well before she made
her venture,

Que day she said, with great apparent sweetness;

‘Harold, we liave both been wrong, T fear. You thought
my cousin versed iu the ways of the world, forgetting
that those simple, country days—a matter of no moment
to you—might prove dangerous to her. Aud J, to put a
itie variety and supstine in the life of neutral tints, have
allowed her to drift into the beguiling current,”?

“What do you mean ?? with his easy careless smile,

J mean that Muriel loves you; pour, fovlish child.”

Harvld Walsingham colored and bit his lip. To be con-
fronted with this fact by the woman to whom he was eu-
gaged, was hardly agreeable. How would she take it?”

“Nonsense,” he repiied gayly.

“IL is not nonsense,” and her tone was graver.
deep, peculiar eyes studied his face intently,

“A gir’s Iking.”?

Did he Care, or was he trying to decive her ???

“As strong as hernature willallew, Is it her fault if
the substratum is vaptd and shallow 2???

He made an uneasy gesture,

“My darling,’ he said with a little forced laugh; “you
surely are not jeaious ?””

“| jealous—ot her ?”?

Tuere was a world of regal, beautifal disdain in every
feature, Countess to him the pangs ste had already en-
dured? Ah, sie meant to piay a higher game than that ft

“You remember that you had been eloquent about ler.
I found her there solitary, unhappy, deprived of all genial
companionship. You were the bound between us. What
Charm is it that makes all men and all women fil down
and worship you? | lingered, itis true, Ste was sweet,
pretty, a sort of shy wood-nyimph hidden in a forest, And
yet | think she will bear me witness that T utiered no
word to which you might not have listened.”

“} should not question e.’? was the haughty reply,

“Bat why do you bring her in my presence now ft”?

“} dkl it to satisfy mysell,”?

“And now—"!

“} ain satisfied that she loves you.”?

He gave a light luugh that had in it @ litte ironical
flavor.

“To what end is all this?” he asked presently.

She came nearer. He took both hands in lis and with
a sudden impulse pressed passionate kisses ou her teinpte-
ing lips.

SH erotd,” she saii, in a strange voice, while a peculiar
light glittered in her eyes—“Harold, what if you had not
Known mneand met her as you did? She is an heiress,
very delicate, consdinptive by inheritance, perhaps.”

“You think the briefuess might lave rendered the bord
endurable? She is not the kind of woman to hold me
captive, as you well know. A year of such lender coving
would drive me to desperation.”

“But less thau &@ year—a few months—a few weeks ?!?

“Don't teuipt nie,’?

Tnuere was a huskiness in his voice, and in spite of his
strong effurt some swar hy blood stained his face,

The

 

“What would you lave done ?’?

 

 

 

‘tig BORIC as SBE 8

ea

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her voice was clear almost tocoldness, and yet filled
with desperate strength.

‘“‘How can [ tell? [loved you too well to put a bar be-
tween, unless——”’

“Well?

“What fiend’s mood is this that you arein? If she
dies she may leave her fortune to you. I wonderif you
would be generous enough toshareit witha poor devil
like me???

‘“Haroldl!

“Well,)’ he returned recklessly, ‘‘that only stands
between. We are neither of us brave enough to dare
poverty.” Bi j

“And yet I believe you have been tempted to think—if I
Were quite free—here is a fortune—and the incumbrance

“How you speak of her!’’ he said, with a little shiver.

“‘$tie-has dared to love you!”

“Thatis her misfortune, truly.’

“J should hate her with a deep and undying hatred, but
she is fond of meas a bird may be charmed by a
snake, and then—let her crowd all she can in her brief
life. If she had made you untrue, | should be pitiless!”

He knew it well. He would be sorry to have this woman
for an enemy, to stand to her in any relation but that of
master. He was nota tyrant because he lovedher. A
peculiar and contradictory soul swayed from the center
of self.

“Yes, you might have married her then."’

He did not know how well she was acting apart.

“Possibly. It would be no worse than a woman selling
herself. L should have taken the poor child into my keep-
ing and been kind and tender while shelived—and bowed
decorously over her grave. Why do you wish to know
all this, Althea ?'?

“‘Yes,’’ she answered, with a little scorn, ‘“‘men are not
always immaculate. They occasionally bow to strong
temptations.” ‘

He understood the drift of all this, but it was not to hig
purpose to allow it to appear.

“Since I did not propose such a venture to myself, do
not blame me too hardly. Why linger over the subject?”

“If you married her—now, Harold ?”’

He started in unfeigned surprise, and studied her face
for many moments.

“You propose il!’ he gasped.

“I suggested it because I know you must have thought
of the first contingency. I am nota generous woman,
Harold. To give up the manI loved and see him happy
in another woman’s arms would be like deathtome. [
am afraid it would make me—yes, & murderer. But this
is different. Tender and fond you miglit be, yet there
would be a place in your heart that she could never reach
—DPhave been there, If her death unwedded would be of
any advantage to me, I should hardly thake this sacrifice.
But if I did it for your sake——”’

*‘Hush,” he said, huskily, less brave than she. “Do
not let us tempt ourselves. She might recover—happy
women do sometimes. And then to think that we had
lost each other utterly ——”’

“E shall. be there with you, always. Itis her plan to
keep me. [shall count the smiles and bide my time.”

She-uttered this with a bitter laugh. Well, perhaps,
that he could not see the depth of blackness in her soul.
Little‘ honor, little right feeling as he possessed, this
would have made him shrink from the beautiful demon
who was tempting with her faceof enchanting sweetness.

“No,’! he returned, “you could not. A woman who
loved would ‘betray her jealous passion. For, my darling,
there ig hot Southern biood in your veins. The women of
your race are not proverbially patient.”

“think I could wait.”

The eyes glittered with a steely light, and the curves
of the feverishly scarlet lips seemed to writhe like a ser-

nt.

PBat to woo her—a girl neither distasteful nor repulsive
—to look on and see it alll’’

“You fancy that I could not endureit? It would be
brief, and [ should think of the day when my reign should
begin. Dol look weak and puling—a woman to faint by
the wayside ?’!

So Medea might have appeared in her subtle, dangerous
beauty.

“Nol? he exclaimed, involuntarily.

“Sie will not marry Alfred. That chance being dis-
missed Uncle Daiziel will be the gainer by her death. I
doubt if she could alienate her propertysoon after she
was eighteen. But her husband——”

They glanced into each others eyes. Both were to lend
themselves to the plot. Why Althea should be so confi-
dent of her cousin’s death it was hardly worth while to
inguire. Whether he had experienced more than a pass-
inginterest in Muriel she did not caretoknow. She
would only look at the future.

“Think what. you propose. Have you the will, the
courage???

“Try mel [ could endure anything but the loss of your
love. Andif that went——’!

The eyes gloomed over duskily.

Since if sin there were she was ready to doit for his
Sake, he felt peculiarly tender toward her.

“No, you need not fear. No woman could ever so stir
the depths of my soul. Why, if your hands were stained
with crime, their clasp would still thrill every pulse of my
being."

“Crime!’? she echoed, with a mocking laugh. ‘Who
talks of that—unlesgs it be acrime to give you, poor whii-
ning fool, a taste of happiness. Since she loves you let
her steep her soul in dreams, short-lived, but fair while
they last. I wonder if the strongest of us have any more?’’

The arrangements were briefly concluded. Quite by
accident Muriel was to make the discovery, and Althea
parted with her betrothed in astrange torment of anxious
love and fear. There was a fierce determination in her
eyes not quite pleasant to see, and the lines about the
mouth were rigid and merciless.

“Now, if [can out-maneuver Uncle Dalziel,””? she mur-
mured to herself, ‘‘there will be a storm, surely.”

Muriel could hardly accept her great happiness. Asshe
confessed, there was a misgiving concerniug Althea, who
Was reserved, distant, petulant, and sweet by turns.
More than once she resolved to relinquish Harold Wal-
singham, yet with that seemed to go all the blessedness
of life. But she took Althea in all her plans of the future.

And yet it could hardly be termed happy or satisfactory.
In. order to shield Muriel from suspicion, Althea was pre-
sent atthe interviews, which were not frequent. The
poor child lived in an atmosphere of unwholesome excite-
ment and perpetual dread. Would tle time of freedom
ever come?

Althea had no thought of wholly relinquishing her lover.
She riveted lier chains by appeals that Harold had not the
power or will to resist, Mer tenderness had in it a charm
that no other woman ever possessed for him. Was it her
wonderful beauty ?

Yet Muriel was not wanting in loveliness. He experi-
enced for her a peculiar pity, which might have proved .a
Warmer regard had not his heart been preoccupied. He
Knew, too, that every word and gesture was weighed, and
the account rigorously kept. But Muriel had many hours
of bliss, and his senses—for conscience seemed utterly
dormant—were satisfied.

The wrong they were both working this hapless girl
troubled him but little. A kind of biind fate held them
ail in her nef, and he was quite content to drift on
carelessly.

Other eyes had been watching, however. Matthew
Dalziel began to grow fearful of the golden prize slipping
through his son's loose fingers, and insisted that he should
speak. The fate of his suitthe reader knows already.
But when Muriel confessed her love for Harold Walsing-
ham, his anger Knew no bounds. Alihea was to be sent
away, and Walsingham banished.

She had played for too desperate a stake to lose now.
Stay she must to see the end of. the tragedy. She faced
the angry man with all her boldness.

“You are Muriel Quinell’s guardian,’ she said; “but
there may be a law above you, even.. For a few months
jonger you have control of this unfortunate child, but if
you keep her thus closely imprisoned, if you deny her the
solace ot friends, and her death ensues—for it is hardly
probable that she will live to attain her majorify—you will
have toanswer for the consequences, You will be her
murderer!’

Matthew Dalziel started. Had any dim thought floated
through his brain ?

“You are wild,” he returned. ‘Muriel has the best of
care—all that is necessary.’’

“fas she? Herdeath would certainly be a gain to
you.??

His face was livid with passion. Did. this girl venture
to accuse iim beforehand? She stood there proud and
undaunted, aud he absolutely cowered before her,

“How dare youl’?

“Tg it mot the truth? If you keep her secluded in this
house and her death ensues, you will answer to Harold
Walsingham forit. Take away from her.all companion-
ship, and you will see her fade daily, hourly. 1 doubt
whether sie lives with the best of care and attention.”

Ile started at those words, little dreaming that she
meant them for a subtile temptation. If Muriel died here
alone, it migt be unpleasant Lo have the matter inquired
inte.

“She is not ill,*he said, stoutly. ‘Delicate she has
always been, but her father had the same peculiarity of
constitution. He lived past middle life.”

“If she should live, she will, marry Harold Walsingham
a3 soon a3 she has the legal right x

“A fortune hunter!’ he interrupted, angrily; ‘some of
your fashionable crew, who canscent gold only, He
shall never, never marry hert”

“You will see. In the spring she will be her own
mistress,”

“Why don’t you marry him yourself?” he asked, coarse-
ly. ‘You are generous wilh your admirers.”

She smiled haughtily over his sucer, without deigning a
reply.

They faced each other with keen cyes. Unconfessed in
each lieart was the hope of Murici's death, if fate could
so will, But her words had touched him a little. If the
child should die here alone, if might be uupleasant.

“Ho wants her money!’ Matthew Dalziel said, dog-
gedly, :

“And you wantif, too. It seems to be an even thing.
You woald marry hicr to a man she hates, or else keep hier
single. Harold Walsingham will make her happy while
her life is spared. 1 shall not be the gainer in any event,
it seems, 80 my counsel is at least disinterested.’

“What would you counsel?!’-he asked, sneeringly.

‘J do not see any wisdom in making her life miserable
While it does last. It seems to ime that she is very, very
fragile. Ihave no doubt but that you will be possessor of
the coveted gold, yet ldo not envy you. Hf you have any
soul you will be haunted by hateful recollections of your
persecation."?

“And 80 you would havo us throw the doors wide open
and invite inthisschemer! Love! Do you suppose he
ae he neen upon her if sie were
or f°
‘Perhaps not, But you would hardly give her a home

 

terse iinet eo aD SR eat

ifshe were poor. You would think her no fit mate for
Alfred.’®

He winced at this thrust. It maddened him to see her
stand there so cooland calm. Had she any interest in
this business? Her high disclaimer was as nothing in his
eyes. Whatif she counted upon marrying Walsingham
afterward ?

If Muriel died before she was eighteen! Life was al-
ways uncertain, and hers most precarious. In that case
it might be well to have them all here.

And ifhe meant to fight against this subtle-eyed wo-
man it would not be well to show his hand too soon in
the game.

“Leave me!’ he exclaimed, with an imperious gesture.

She obeyed, with a haughty inclination of the head,

His face drooped in his hands. Yes; if Muriel should

diet! ——
CHAPTER Y.
THE VANQUISHED AND THE VICTOR.

The violent alternations of longing, fear, hope and de-
spair told sadly upon Muriel. Little did she guess that
these three people were watching her with such eager
eyes that every breath, every flutter of color was noted
and treasured up. What might have roused her under
other circumstances, crushed her now. The love that
might, and perhaps would have cleared her vision, had
there been other passions to contrast it with, became,
from her very isolation, the absorbing emotion of her life.
Althea fed it skillfully.

Harold Walsingham had been banished for the present.
Althea was not so easily managed. Muriel would not
give her up,,and Matthew Dalziel found that he must
yield. Muriel’s illness rendered this imperative.

Doctor Wentworth was calledin. A grave, pompous
man, with a learned air, who afterward held a private
consultation with Muriel’s guardian.

“A very slender constitution, I should say, and the fact
of her father dying with consumption makes the case
more critical, my dear sir. I should advise a warmer
climate—a perfect change.’?

‘But would it be practicable so late in the season ?””

“A sea voyage—lem!? and the doctor stroked his
smoothly-shaven chin.

“[ hardly believe it would prove judicious.”’

“There is considerable local irritation from recent caus-
es, and—lhem!—perhaps it might be rathersevere. She
may get over this with good care, I really do not see
why she should not,’?

“But you think that she—that the prospect is not—flat-
tering for a long life?’

“My dear sir, hardly. Death is one of the natural re-
sults of life; you Know, and must cometoall. Sometimes
from a fatal defect of constitution these cases run down
suddenly and get beyond the reach of medicine; others
linger for years, and atill another class recuperate
quickly.’?

The doctor glanced at his hearer with much compla-
cency. It was one of his peculiarities never to give a de-
cided opinion.

“There is no positive cause for alarm. She is nervous
and excitable, and it would be well not to cross her. We
physicians often have to minister to diseased minds as
well as diseased bodies."

Doctor Wentworth bowed, in his dignified fashion, and
departed. Of the little world in which his patient lived he
knew nothing. The large world, in which he fancied him-
self a sort of central prop, was of much more importance
to him.

Althea Kept her eyes steadily fixed on the future, com-
ing nearer every day. She studied the fever flush, the
slight cough, the resuless nights and throbs of hope de-
ferred. Tender and gentle as she was outwardly, her
heart took long draughts of secret satisfaction. This
woman had dared to raise her eyes to a foibidden heaven,
and each pang paid for some instant of bliss.

She worked warily. It was easy to make an ally of
Alfred. She had only to fling him asmile, acromb of
confort, to let him maunder over her fair hand or inter-
cept her on halls and stairs. There were some hungry
coquettish instincts—not the desire for love but the satis-
faction of power. Perhaps it gleamed out the more
strongly here because there was one Man whom she dared
not rule, and to whom she had to be in some degree pliant.
Only for the present. When she reigned, crowned and
sceptered, he too must bow.

Matthew Dalziel made some rather ungracious conces-
sions at length. Harold Walsingham was again admitted.
Since he had plans also, it would be well to keep them in
the background—to let these puppets have their day.

It would be difficult, perhaps, to dissect the complex
characier of Harold Walsingham. A vein of secret infi-
delity is often found underlying these selfish, pleasure-
loving temperaments. Capable sometimes of the most
extravagant fidelity, they are yet seldom entirely true.
Though there may be luscious blossoming roses in the
beaten path, they must still turn aside for a stray flower.

Now that he was free to woo this dainty, delicate Muriel,
that he was her accepted lover, he wanted the delights of
so pure and entire a love. There were moments when he
reveled in its sweetness, and at such times Muriel was
wildly happy. She had not the strong, daring, persistent
charm of Althea. A woman of this stamp becomes heart-
broken by neglect and coldness. Heroic she might be,
and yet the vital pith needed for such contests tells more
in endurance than sharp, decisive action.

Altitea understood this weakness of her lover. A better
and higher-toned woman would have despised him and
been alienated by an overhanging sense of inconstancy.
But the wary Italian blood that never for an instant loses
the keen scent, whether it be in love or revenge, ran
stealthily through her veins. If this clinging, beseeching
woman were his wife he would tire of her in a month.

She endured it because of the end. When the last act
was played, when Muriel stood on the threshold of a new
and absorbing life, stretching out her pale hands to this
man, her husband, but the lover of another, the curtain
would fall, Would she dream of warm kisses in her
deathly siamber? Would she look from herserene heaven
and see anotier woman reigning in her stead ?

And if she experienced a pang—alh! would it more than
pay for those she had given here?

And so they drifted on. Now Muriel went about the
house with radiant smiles of hope, then she was pale and
depressed, Through it all Althea comforted and charmed
with her beguiling voice and siren sweetness, All that
Wealth and beauty could bring to make the rooms a haunt
of loveliness was there.

But suddenly there came a terrible prostration of every
energy, as ifa blow had been struck at the vital springs
of life.

Matthew Dalziel scouted the idea of any immediate
danger.

ott is the trying weather,’ he said, carelessly. ‘‘Perhaps
it would have been better if we had gone South.”

Althea had never viewed that project with favor. She
looked at the man now—was he really insensible to the
danger ???

“Doctor Wentworth must be summoned,” she deciared,
imperatively. ‘Or, perhaps, some younger and more
skillful man.’

A dull hue suffused Matthew Dalziel’s face.
“Tf Doctor Wentworth cannot help hershe is beyond
any one’s reach,’’ he said, doggedly.

“Tf you are satisfied ——”’

“Lam, certainly. She will mend again as she has be-
fore. » Send if you like.’’

Althea stood silent wiiere he left her. What was in the
depths of this man’s soul? A Curious smile crossed her
face, a Kind of stony, desperate smile, with a deep hate
underlying it like a shadow.

Had he dared—and a shiver ran through her frame, but
notof pity. This young giri’s death in less than a fort-
night would be so much to him. Was this confidence in
her recovery a mere biind?

Dispatching a messenger for the physician, she returned
to Muriel’s room, Tile sick girl lay on her couch, witha
ray of pale, wintry sunshine flecking her soft, abundant
hair. The wistful’ eyes: glanced up—a picture to move
any woman’s heart. But this one before her held in its
depths a stubborn sense of injury for which only death
could atone, ‘You have sent??? she asked, weakly.
“Yes. Uncle Dalziel thinks it only a nervous whimsey.
Would you rather have any other person?”’

“No. It may be useless—all of it. Althea, I sometimes
fancy the end may be nearer than we imagine.’’

“Nonsense, my darling. You are low-spirited.”’

The wiutry gust shaking the window sent a shiver to
her very sou!. A tear crept to the large, lustrous eyes.

“Uncle Dalziel regrets that we did not go South,” Al-
thea said, softly. ‘If you had——

“It looked so terrible to me—a journey among strange
people. Andit might have been the same anywhere.
Althea, do you believe there is a special fate marked out
for us that we can neither help nor hinder ?”!

“T don’t Know, child. Your head is full of strange fan-
cies.”’

The slow-moving eyes wandered about the room. Yes,
it would be hard to‘die.

“Tam so young,’ she murmured.

Althea made ho comment, but busied herself with the
flowers. Luscious blooms and wafis of fragrance like a
summer day. Harold Walsingham's taste was evident
here.

Doctor Wentworth came at last. He had not seen Mu-
riel for nearly a week, yet the change was not greatin
outward appearance. - But the short, labored breathing,
the languid pulses that would have no strength in thet
but for the fever, and the strange, unearthly loveliness
would have told to keen senses that the life was drawing
to a close.

How little he knew when he made learned explanations
of the nature of hereditary diseases, He was strongly
addicted to science and theories, and obstinate in his
opinions,

Death was everywhere, and that this young girl’s life
should go out now was another proof that consumption
was inherent. If only sound, healthy people would
marry.

“People often have these sudden changes,’ he an-
nouncek ‘You are a trifle weaker, but I can give you a
tonic that will brace you up again, And when the weath-
er becomes pleasant——”

“You think that [ may live for sometime ?’ Muriel asked,
anxiously.

“Oh, yes. And recovery is not quite an impossibility,’
with a sage flattering smile. ‘Keep up your spirits, my
dear young lady.”

But outside of thedoor Althea questioned him in her
prompt, incisive way.

“A critical case, I may say, and yet there had not been
Sufficient disease to Kill the girl. it’s the faultof these
miserably frail constitutions parents give their children.
What can they endure???

“She will go through the spring ??

“LT really cannot promise.’ Some new phase may de-
velop itself in three days.’ This isithe most uncertain of
all diseases, you know.»

Wiien she returned Mariel questioned her eagerly.

In wary bits the truth came out, Althea, feeling how

 

important the time really was, used it to lier best inter-

{

6 << THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

ests, hinting that one, at least, would not be inconsola-
ble.

“Uncle Dalziel, you mean? Oh, no, Althea, he could
not wish me to die.”’

“Half of such @ fortune might be a temptation."

“T wish it might be yours instead.”’

‘But it cannot, you see’?

“Tf | could make a will.’

There was an eager wistiul light in the face like the last
fitful flare of sunset,

“You can be married the day you are eighteen.”’

MS there a guilty tremble in Althea’s voice?

$-¥pa,!

Muriel raised her head, and rested the soft cheek on the
Wasted hand,

“Tt would be Harold’s, then,’ she continued. ‘And
why not, since he loves me ???

Althea turned away her face to hide the flush. If Mu-
rie! could be married on her birthday, and if the flicker-
ing flame went out in great joy—would anybody question

t?

“And then could I not will apart of it to you, my dar-
ling ?

“Never mind about me,’’ Althea answered faintly.

“Yes, [ought; | must. You have been so kind, so gen-
erous; shielded me from Uncle Dalziel's anger, and but
for youl know Harold would never have him recalled.
He will regard my wishes.’

“But Uncle Dalziel ?””

~‘He is far from being poor. I should bequeath both
him and Alfred something, but you must have enough to
make your life happy when I am gone. If I had lived,
you know, we were to share it together,”

“Don’t talk of it,’’ Althea exclaimed, with shuddering
impatience. ‘‘Harold will be your liasband, and his right
will have the best. And there may be long years ”

‘No, there will not be any years,’’ was the slow, solemn
rejoinder.

Althea sat silent when Muriel ceased talking.

If she too had desired this death, if she had compassed
it in guilty thought, her hands at least were cleau. Fate
had stepped in between this girl, aud the brooding des-
perate dream that would hardly need to be put into exe-
cution.

But these tardy days, these laggard hours! . Would they
ever have an end? When would she be free to shake off
the remembrances of the winter and begin her life, the
life for which she had toiled and planned and pushed
others aside? Had she no fear of a terrible retribution in
it?

Ah, she laughed all such things to scorn. Weak souls
might falter, regret, repent, but there was no such work
for her. To the last she would wear her bewildering dar-
ing smile, though the earth fell to ruins around her.

Day after day. Aslow fading, a just perceptible loss of
strength, a quiet drifting on to the broad river of eternity.
And now that it had come so near Althea wished it over.

“My birtnday!’? Muriel exclainied, in a weak, tremulous
voice, as she opened her eyes. ‘‘Harold is to come this
morning. I told him the right of gift would be mine. Do
you suppose he fancied why I was so urgent?’’

“Do not exert yourself too much,’’ Althea rejoined
softly. :

“It is gray and gloomy, ig it not?. And I wanted it
bright. Ishould like to be a child again and cry.”’

“Hush, dear. Here is your wine. Mrs. Ralph just sent
it up.

“How cooland delightful! Uncle Dalziel took great
pains to getit. Heds kind. Sometimes I wish I had not
been born to the fortune. Wouldn’t some one have loved
me as well, Althea ?”?

An hour later there was a great stir in the household.
A shriek from Althea had summoned Mrs. Ralph.

She’s dying!’ exclaimed the woman. ‘I’ve felt it for
the last week. I knew there would be a death in thig
house.” Rt

“But it must not, shall not bel’? exclaimed Althea, with
superhuman energy.

She had not counted on this—to see the prize snatched
from her grasp at the last moment.

Doctor Wentworth was summoned hurriedly, but be-
fore he arrived Althea had sneceeded in bringing her from
the deathly swoon.

The learned physician shook his head sagely.

“She cannot live twenty-four hours,’ he said. “For
some days the medicines haye refused to act. Let her
have whatever she desires. No one can do anything
more for her.’

Was there a gleam of smoldering triumph in Matthew
Dalziel’s eyes? Althea caught it. Had this man been
pitted against her in a desperate game.

“Send for Harold,” pleaded the dying Muriel.

Alfred Dalziel came and went at Althea’s beck. Harold
Walsingham soon made his appearance, and Muriel re-
quested them ail to be summoned to her room, declaring
her intentions to become the wife of the man she loved.
There was 2 firm resolution in the eyes and the lines about
the mouth. But could she stand this storm of opposi-
tion?

Matthew Dalziel raved. Harold Walsingham made one
or two gentlemau!, protests, but Althea was queen of the
situation. Eveu lier uncle cowered before her, and was
forced to submit,

The clergyman came. A few explanations were made
and the service began. Matthew Dalziel had not been
beggared by this move. :

“TI forbid this marriage!” he exclaimed.

“By what authority??? demanded the lawyer, who had
also been summoned.

“By the terms of her father’s will. She cannot be
married until she is eighteen. Hereis the record of her
birth: Born, Marcli ninth, 18—, at 10 P. M., Muriel, first
child of Margaret and Walter Vergne Quinnell!’

Tuere were several seconds of deathly silence, .broken
at length by an exclamation from Althea.

Muriel had fainted in Harold’s arms,

“You have won!’ Altnea exclaimed, in a sharp, bitter
tone to her unele. “Gentlemen, the fortune is his.
What do you suppose he cared for this poor, dying girl?”

If Matthew Dalziel could have strangled her as she stood
there in her daring beauty, he would have doneit.. Why
had he ever been wild enough to ask her there to play into
her hands in so. desperate a fashion? Why had he not
kept this weak, puny girl in his own hands, to die sooner
if it had so happened ?

“She is not deadj Althea exclaimed, in a tone of
strong, eager triumph, forcing a restorative between the
pale lips.

No, she was not dead. It was mid afternoon then, and
she hovered on the brink of the fatal stream until Althea
and Harold bethought themselves of a young physician
who had created a sensation by a daring article on pre-
mature interments, citing several cases of apparent death
where the patient had been restored.

Of that mysterious journey and subsequent midnight
marriage the reader has been informed. ‘The secrecy, the
weird surroundings were due to Althea. Matthew Dalziel
paid no farther heed to his niece. She had beep wrested
from himat the eleventh hour, and her fortune had
slipped through his fingers. He had scrupled at nothing,
stained his soul with crime, and what had it availed?

And now he Saw through the girl’s daring schemes.
After Muriel was dead slie would marry this Harold Wal-
singham. Again he went eagerly over his dead cousin’s
will. She could not marry until she was eighteen, but
after that her father had given her the widest liberty. He
wished now thatshe might live years to, torment these
treacherous lovers.

Yet he dared take no step. His own attempt at crime
might be brought to light. And in any event the fortune
was lost to him. Let the matter go by quietly then.

Two days afterward Muriel lay in the house, shrouded
in softest wlute and coffined, with the flowers she loved
so Well scattered around in Sweet profusion. Two strange
days they had been. Bach breast held a guiity secret
locked within it, and no one had dared accuse tile other.
An awful stillness pervaded the place, Only Althea re-
joiced, though she made no outward sign. But deep in
her soul were flames of triumph, of profound passion
looking toward acertainty. It seemed sometimes as if
she must break into the old heathencry of joy and satis-
faction. ;

To Harold Walsingham there came a sense of pain with
this freedom. In his old dainty . philosophic fashion he
reasoned it out. Were not life and death infinite and
constantly recurring. Was it not merely a change of
matter, manifested under different forms to which im-
portance had been attached by superstitionand habit? If
ithe Heaven in whiich this girl believed were true, her soul
was surely at rest.

Had any untoward event shortened her life? His love
had not saddened it—on the contrary, lie believed firmly
that it had been the one glimpse of sunshine where all the
rest was shadow.

And if he had never seen this beautiful, dazzling, allur-
ing woman, he might have given his whoie heart to yon-
der child in her coffin. Why should he think of it? Why
torment himself about chance’ probabilities? He was
wont to take the goods the gods provided and not perplex
his brain with these endless questions, And whether this
woman, to whom he had yielded: the little remnant of
soul with which he was endowed inthe beginning, had
sinned, whether she were base and treacherous and foul
at heart, he would not inguire. For never had her smile
been sweeter, her grace and passion, and clinging love
more exquisite and bewildering. Whiat a depth of slum-
berous fire lay in those dark eyes, what bloom and beauty
on rose-tinted cheek that flushed for him alone, and the
scarlet lip that seemed still to glow with the warmth of
his last kisses!

The funeral was very quiet. Doctor Wentworth made
no guestion of the death—consumption was too common
a disease to bring much doubt in its train. They buried
Muriel beside her father, inan old-fashioned city grave-
yard that had once been held in high esteem, but was now
falling: in desuetude. A lonely-looking place this bleak
March day.

Just the other side of the path some one had been
buried that morning. Harold Walsingham turned away
from it all with a shivers Death and its somber con-
comitants were repellent to him, and mostof all this
being shut outof sight under these brown hard clods of
earth, :

That night, by mistake, the body of Muriel had been ex-
humed, and so the tragedy was not ended.

Matthew Dalziel meant’to make a desperate effort to
find a flaw in the wiil, or tlie marriage. Althea did not
return home with him but went tothe house of a friend,
She too wanted to shut the sight away in oblivion.

Yet she came back after a few days. Alfred had been
neatly wild over her departare.

“I saw the will,’? he said. ‘Muriel’s will. Father will
try to prove the whole'‘thing a fraud, and illegal!”

“We can hardly do that,’? was ‘the confident rejoinder,
“If Muriel had ho right to make a will, on account of her,
age and the circumstances, the property will go to Mr
Walsingham. Beside,sie remembered us all. And as
her dying wish it would be sacreil to him.”

 

 

thong! tems’?

i i lar lt ii nal a ne

There was a keen, hungry look in the pale eyes, Some- |

thing that might be unscrupulous and perhaps vengelul;
and the heavy lower jaw hightened the expression.

She thought a moment before she answered, for sie
Was not quite ready to have him transformed into a bitter
enemy.

“How can you ask the question now? she returned,
in a soft, pitiful tone, ‘‘and poor Muriel scarcely cold in
her gravel?

“I was glad to have him marry her,’ he said. “I wish
she had lived!” ‘

There was a vicious intensity in every feature, not re-
gard or sympathy for the hapless gir).

‘It would have saved much trouble. Do you know what
step your father proposes to take?”

“Any step will be useless. But Althea—you think——”

“Well, what??? she asked, impatiently.

That Walsingham will obey Muriei’s requests ?””

“Of course! Do you suppose the man has no honor?
If through some legal quibble he might escape, he is not
the person to take advantage of it. Do you suppose he
would grudge you the few thousands,”

“It ig net that!’ he exclaimed, vehemently. “Oh, you
know now, Althea, you must know what has been in my
heart for the past week. Yon are not poor, my queen,
my darling! and my father’s foolish objection to our
marriage Can no longer hold its ground. Notthat I ever
cared——’?! t

Alfred, are you crazy?’ she interrupted.

“Orazy 7?

He straightened himself, and the pale, gray eyes took
on a tint of green. The loose lips quivered with passion,
and then became ashen with fear.

“Oh,” he said imploringly; “you have loved me! You
have given me sweet, precious Moments that you could
spare from her, and any fragment was delightful to me.
Yes, it must have been love.’’

The wistful look might have moved another heart. She
smiled scornfulty.

‘Althea?’ he exclaimed passionately; “I have been
tempted to murder that man! It was a horrible thought,
but [ could not endure that he should love you.’

“The question would be whether I love him!”

She uttered this with a bright, bewildering smile that
dazed his slow brain tke a sudden flash of sunlight.

“And you do not? Tell me that!”

“‘L will tell you nothing to-day—you are cross and im-
pertinent. Have I not said twenty times, that I could love
no one?!

“But you promised to try,” he pleaded.

“And you promised not to torment me. Uncle Dalziel
is angry at me because I helped poor Muriel, and if he
fancied that I meant to marry you aU

“But he can’t mind itnow. You will be gnite rich.”

Did this poor fool imagine that even in the depths of
poverty she would bestow herself upon him? The conceit
Was too absurd.

“You weary me,’ she said, with a disdainful gesture.
“Go awayl?

And yet she softened a little before he went. This hom-
age was not much, to be Sure, liresometo her often, since
it had put on the daring of love, but she had made Alfred
useful (hrough this self same weakness, and she was not
quite ready to throw him off. She would keep the spaniel
at her feet a little longer.

Did his threat mean anything? There was something
bitter in the Dajziel blood after all. If Harold Walsing-
ham were out of the way

Oh, no wonder she shuddered. Tolose the great hope
of her life now!

And then she laughed softly. This slow, dull-brained
Aifred Dalziel the hero of a melo-dramatic romance! Why
it was preposterous! He had neither the wit nor the cou-
rage.

 

 

[To BE CONTINUED. }

Saved by ‘Her Blood.

By Grace Gordon.

(“Saved by Her Blood’ was commenced in No. 51. Back Nos.
can be obtained of any News Agent in the United States. }

CHAPTER XXXI.

A week passed over before the return of Count Ramou-
ski and Harry Neville from London,

In the meantime General Neville had gone to Chisel-
hurst to make preparations for the reception of his grand-
son’s family, who were for the future to make Chiselhurst
their principal place of abode, that property and mansion
being very superior in every respect to Trevylian Castle.

It was necessary that Harry Neville—whom we must
now call Sir Harry Trevylian Neville, In right of his wife
being heir to the tile and property of Trevylian—it was
necessary, We repeat, that he should spend a week or two
at Trevylian, arranging his affairs and attending to the
transfer of the estate to his wife as heir.

Immediately, therefore, on the return of the gentlemen
from London, the Count and Countess Ramouski, Sir Har-
ry and Lady Trevylian Neville, at once preceeded to Tre-
vylian Castle.

They occupied an open chariot. The day was lovely for
the season of the year, the beginning of November, and
the party were in high spiriis—Eugenie and her son with
easier hearts than probably they had ever known.

On approaching the castle gate Ethel thought that she recog-
nized one whom she had seen before iu the man who opened it,
yet feeling at a loss as to where or how she had seen the face.

An infantine voice attracted her attention to the door of the
porter’s lodge, where stood Dolly Holler, with Toddlums in her
arms, her face radiant with smiles; and dressed in a pretty stuff
gown, she looked a very different person from the poor, dispirit-
ed, hard-working woman whom Ethel had left behind in Lon-

 

 

 

 

‘don, and whom she had begged her husband to search for, and,

it possible, todo something, not only for her, but for the release
ot her husband, so unjustly punished for a robbery he had never

committed.

Ata RSA she understood the whole. Bill Holler had been
rescued from confinement, and was now lodge-keeper at Trevy-
lian Castle. This was the reason of the evasive answers her hus-
band had given her when Ethel pressed him to teil her how he
had succeeded in his search for Dolly and his endeavors to ob-
tain Bill’s release. y

i:thel held out her hand, calling to Dolly to come and speak to
her, and, shaking hands kindly, Jeaned over and touched with
her lips the brow of the pretty-looking, pleased young woman.

Ethel sighed as the carriage passcd on. The sight of Toddlums
had made her think of her own darling, whom she believed to be
lying under the waters of the lake.

On arriving at the castle door, scarcely was Ethel’s foot on the
first step in ascending the portico, when her own little Willie,
dressed in his blue velvet frock and white lace, as she had last
seen him, rushed down the steps and sprang into her arms.

The chiid was perfectly wild with joy at ‘seeing not only his
mother, but his father, whom,in his own childish way, he had
nigel, and had heard the servants say he would never see
again.

“Where have you been, Willie? Whotook you away?” and
many such questions came pouring from Ethel’s glad lips, as she
kissed and clasped her child to her breast a hundred times.

“J wasin such a nice place, mamma, where I had two puppies
to play with, anda lotot kittens, and chickens, and young ducks,
and we liyed ina nice little house without any steps before the
door, anda nice old woman who made the breakiast for Alice
and Mary, and me, and we played all day long. I was never
tired there, only when I thought about you, and the old woman
always promised she would gofor you when she had time. And
the old woman who brought me there came to see metwoor
three times, and told me she would some day bring you.”

“But what old woman brought you there? Don’t you know
who brought you to that placer”

“Oh, yes, she’s up stairs in the library, waiting for you.”

At this intimation the whole of the party proceeded to the ii-
brary, where, to their astonishment, they found the weird wo-
man of the Deep Well, dressed in her cloak and bonnet, ready to
depart when she had resigned her charge into the hands of his
mourer, and accounted for the way in which he came into her
possession.

Without wailing to be asked a question, she said:

“| have been waiting here for an hour back, expecting you. I
have much to do at my own home, and can iil afford the time;
but [ would not go without telling you what another would not
doso well. On the night you were taken to the. lunatic asylum
by my poor, misguided son, I was here in a disguise no one could
penetrate. I heard your cries and tears as you were taken away,
and the heart-rending way in which you implored to be allowed
to take your child with you. I could do nothing to help you then.
I knew if I raised my voice in your detense it would defeat the
object Lhad in view, You would very soon have had one less
friend in the world, and what wasot more consequence, there
would have been no onc totell thetale of my sin and its terrible
cousequences, Which you already know. ut although I could
not help you, Il could help your child. 7

“J bad not lived eight years in Trevylian Castle without being
able to enter it by ways that servants, who had only lived a few
months there, kuew nothing of. I remained atthe lodge all that
night and day, and next evening I went to the room where the
child was contined, and by the help of a little wooden horse, and
promises that I would bring him to his mother, easily persuaded
him to come withme. I brought him to my sister’s house, had
his fine frock taken off, and his face and hair dyed, asI did to
your own afterwards,

“The child was happy and pleased there; he had my sister’s
grandchildren as playmates, and none knew that the dark-faced,
black-haired boy, in his coarse clothes, was better born than
those he lived among.”

The old woman now rose to go, and all joined in begging her
to remain in the castle tor at least a few wine

“I cannot do £0,’ was her reply, “I have business at my own
home, and were it otherwise, this castle is full of sadness and sor-
rowtome, I ruined my own child by bringing him here. But
I dare say you would all like to know how I couid tell about the
captive in the dungeon here, by the power of my crystal?”

“Yes,” replied Sir Harry. “That. is a subject I have often
thought on with wonder—how you were abie to teli that a black
erime marked my hand, and afterward to sec the captive ia his
dungeon, who nobody knew was there but myself.”

“Well, I will tell you all about it, as much as I know myself,”
Was the womamsreply. ‘When lived in this castle, an old wo-
man, who had nursed Sir Hugh, used to come here every year
to visithim. The nursery at that time, was the balconied cham-
ber, and she used to tell me many storiss of a dungeon, the en-
trance to which, she had heard, was from the back of the ward-
robe. She even pointed out the very plaice which, I have found
since then, opened into the dungeon stair,

“Many a time I have tricd myself to find the spring, which,
she told me, it was said to opén the back of the wardrobe.

“Soon after I went to live at the Hill of the Deep Well.

“A gipsy woman, wandering about in a sterm, came to my
honse, and died there. Belore she died, she gave me the crystal
you have seen me use, telling me how I was to use it, at the samo
time saying that whatever I wanted to see in the crystal, I. must
think of, and it would appear to me.

“fF have sometimes thought her words were true, and I did see
what my imagination told ne I would, and did hear what I ex-

cted to hear. Be this as it may, when you came to me,” said
she, addressing Sic Harry, ‘tto have the tortune of yourself and
wife told, I recognized in you at once the boy who had called off
the dog with which my son hounded me from his castle many
years before.

“When my son disappeared in such a wonderfal way, I came
to the castle, and seeing you, I fancied that there wus guilt in
your face. I knew how my son hud kicked you abont likea dog,
and I thonght you had watched an opporiuaity and thrown him,
unawares, trom some gully on the lake shore, into) the water,

“Many a day I wandered round and round that Jake, trying
to discover the body of the man who was down in the dungeon,
And'so, When you eame to me, I told you that you liad comuit-
ted a black crime.

“What I told your wife was all chance work; I might have
said the very opposite, if it had come iuto my head.

“When you came back at night, Iwas sure, whatever you had
done with your reputed father, you had net murdered him, or
else you would not have come back again. And when you asked

 

me to call your enemy, I cannot account for it, but all Phad been

told of thed Trevytinn Casth to mind
“alihea, do you love that mau? I lave sometimes | {°winned Tearuestly, while b Tooked into’ the oryatal, tosed thd
es anciel did ae. :

dungeon, and It

 

0 a Ams AMARONE A At

‘But bow,” said Sir Harry, “did you come to tell me about the

| sapphire ring on this lady’s finger?” ag he spoke placing his hand

ou his mother’s shoulder.

“That is easy told,” said she. “I knew that my son wasin
love with Lord Colambre’s niece, and my husband, who spent a
summer there, ag servant toa gentleman at Colambre, had
heard it whispered among the servants that’ Miss Fitagerald had
married a young officer, and that he and their child were com-
ing home in the vessel in which my son was shipwrecked, and
were drowned; and from the first moment I saw you 1 said to
myself you were Miss Fitzgerald’s son, not Ralph’s. You had
the Colambre eyes and the Colambre forehead; the rest of your
face and your hair belonged to another, but not a lineament of
your face resembled my son. :

“ITsaw Miss Fitzgerald after she became the Countess Ra-
mouski. She and the coaht were at Broughton station waitin
for their carriage. I saw the sapphire ring on her finger that
day, and I was near enough to hear her say to her husband, ‘My
hands were so thin -when it was put on, and are so large now,
that I will never be able to take it off.’

“She was turning the ring round and round at the time, and I
saw her biush scarlet. That day I was as sure as I am now that
she was your mother. ;

“If the impression needed confirming it was doubled when I
saw you at the Hill of the Deep Well.

“Last spring, when Lheard you had disappeared as mysterious-
ly as Ralph had done, and thathe had come back again, I was
were enough that you were in the dungeon, and he had es-
caped.

“It was this,” said she, turning to Ethel, “that made me dye
your face and advise you tocome here asa servant, that you
might find out thespring that led down tothe dungeon. I was
almost sure your husband was there.”

“But why did you not tell me that you knew Willie was safet
This would as least have been a comfort to me.”

“But the child was well onough off without you, and it would
have divided your attention from the work there was much need
of yourdoing. Iknewif Ralph Moore took it into his head he
veces think very little of letting your husband starve in the
dungeon,

“The woman who gave me the stone taught me to speak im

such a way asI could throw my voice into it, making it appear
to the one having thew fortune told that the voice came from
the stone, and it was I who said the words you fancied came
from your husband.
_ “Alas! alas! I began by’ deceiving others—I ended by deceivy-
ing myself. Many @ day have I gone with that stone to the pool
on the top cf the hill, and made incantations till I fancied every
thought that was passing in my own mind was reflected in the
crystal, and every word T wished to hear spoken I would hear as
clearly as if an angel’s voice rang it outin the air.”

While the woman was speaking, Count Ramouski held his
wife’s right hand in his, turning thering round and round. Tho
hand was thinner than it had been for years, and at last he gac-
ga the ring passed the first joint, and dropped into his

and.

Eugenie looked in his face with glad eyes and asign of relief
as she saw it fall from her finger,

“Who will have ‘this ring?” said the count, as he tossed it up
and down lightly in his hand. ‘‘Eagenie is tired of it, and yet
Lowe itsome kindly thoughts; it wus by its luster I knew the
hand it shone on.”

“The. ring belongs to Ethel,’ said the countess, ‘as much as
Trevylian Castle does,” and taking the jewel from her husband
she put it into Lady Neville’s hand.

“Tf it is mine, I will give 1t to you,” said Ethel, addressing the
old woman.

“Give it to me!” repeated the widow. ‘What would I do with
such a costly gem?’

“If you love me as much as Elove you, you will wear it for my
sake,’? was Ethel’s reply, putting the ring on the old woman’s
finger as she spoke. “You will wear it now, and we will talk over
this and many other things I wish to say when I come to visit
you at the Hi!lof the Deep Well, which willbe less than twe
— —_ this time.”? a ;

e old woman was about to reply, when she was sto b
Sir Harry, who said: . seasoned

“Ethel, you said to me the first evening we spent in Warsaw
Castle after our release from the dungeon; that Sir Ralph had
told you asecret. which, if I knew it, would influence all my
future life. But that he had bound you, down, by the most
solemn oath, never ‘to Uivulge what he had intrusted you with
while he lived. That secretcan be toki now. Sir Ralpi is lymg
beneath the grass in the churchyard of St. Armand’s. And it is
fair it should be told in presence of this woman, who is Sir
Ralph’s mother, and to whom ‘we owe so much.”

“The secret is told already,’ said Ethel. “You ali know it. The
words Sir Ralplt whispered in my ear were these:

“ “General Neville, of Chiselhurst, is your husband’s
father, and he has no living representative except your boy.’

Sir Ralph had added: 5

“The day you marry me, General Neville shall receive abund-
ant proof that this is the case.”?

But Ethel forebore to repeat this, in mercy to the weird
woman, rs ‘

Searcely’ had Ethel uttéred the last word, in repeating the
secret, when a shock, as if from an earthquake, seemed to
rock the castle to its very foundations, while a loud roar, as tf
thunder were bursting over their heads, and then the eens
hurling noise which succeeds such thunderclaps, fell upon the
astonished ears. ‘

For an instant they lookedinto each other’s pale, terror-stricken
faces, and then they simultaneously rushed out to the lawn,
where they saw the domestics of the castle flying with frantic
haste toward the east wing.

Following with swift feet in the wake of the servants, they saw
that the Tower of Trevylian Castle had fallen, a heap ot ruira,
into the lake!

They stood for afew minutes gazing with awe and silence on
the scene of destruction.

“Old Mabel’s tale is true,” said the weird woman. “TI€ hae
gone from mouth to mouth for hundreds of years, and been
laughed at; yet now it has come to pass:

**When right is might in Trevylian Halt,
The dungeen tower shall quake and fall;
There let fhe haunted fragments lave
Their crucl records in that pure wave.
Never again shall these turrets hide

The deed of sinin ifs hour of pride;

Ever and ay shall the waters flow

Over the doomed walls below;

The ancient walls that no more shall clasp
The breaking heart with relentless grasp;
But buried lie, "neath a juster ban,

Than the feeble curse of despairing man.!

They left the desolate scene; the weird woman, with drooping
head and wondering heart, took her way to the castle gate, the
others standing on the steps looking after her, untii the tall
black figure was hidden from their sight by the dark pines and

 

 

brown beeches lining the narrow pathway which she had chosea
as her nearest road to the gate.
“So it has been, and ever will be,” said Count’ Ramouski,
breaking the silence which they had all kept since the weird we-
man’s voice, uttering the old prophesy, had died on their ears
“The dungeon tower of Trevylian Castle has fallen b
same law winch has laid in ruins Egypt and Rome—the law of
retribution is the surest in the workd.””
“Verily, there isa God that judgeth on the earth."

(THE END.)

Next week a beautiful story by the author of “Lady Damar’s
Secret,” entitled: THROWN ON THE WORLD; or. THR DISCARDED
WIF®, will be commenced in our columns.

The ‘wo Avengers.

By Francis A, Durivage,

 

 

 

“The Two Avengers’? was commenced in No. 10. Baek Nos
can be obtained from any News Agent in the United Statea

CHAPTER XIlf.
THE TWO AVENGERS.

Ugly rumors affeciing the credit of the Spaniard . began
to circulate in the financial worid of Paris, which, like all
other commercial centres, is apt to vibrate between blind
credulity and causeless panic. Stiil he managed to keep
his head above water by the union of coolness and andaci-
ty. He was as lavish in his expenditures, as.ever,
weil knowing that (he moment an adventurer. is known
to economize, he is a lost man. He kept his creditorsiquiet
by an occasional payment ‘‘on account,’? and whenever a
tradesman became unmanageably impertinent, he quietly
transferred his custom to another dealer in the same line
of business. Still he carried his head high, and made, as
usual, a splurge in all public places. His eguipage, his
opera-box, his diamonds and dress, were as dazziing as
ever. But ‘‘troubled care’ began to line his face, and in
the privacy of his own home, the smile he wore on parade
changed to the haggard expression of perpetual. anxiety.

One night he came home, pale, wearied and broken..down.
Claudine, who, though estranged from the man _ by his revolting
vices, still had a woman’s sympathy for sorrow and suffering,
had been sitting up for him, and she was shocked by his appear-
ance.

“You are unwell, Manuel,’ she said. ‘‘What is the matter with
you?

j “Nothing,” he replied morosely. “It is bad enough to have
foes without to deal with; but to have domestic spies at home is
intolerable: Why are you sitting up at this late hour?”

“I sat up,’? she replied sadly, “because I thought you might re-
quire some service at my hands.”

“There are plenty of jackeys to minister to my wants. It is past
midnight. Go to bed.”

Thus repulsed and wounded both by his words and manner,
the poor lady tearfully wathdrew. ‘

Montana went to the sideboard, and filling a large goblet to the
brim with raw brandy, drank it-to the dregs.

Then he walked up and down the vast apartment, muttering
his thoughts aloud.

“That ‘facet Its Se of hate—1 cannot ba muastaken.
Years havé passed, and now when I fancied myself in perfect
safety, when five thousand miles of sea and land are between
me and. the scene of blood, Ae, of all men, mses to confront me.
T should have sent him to join his comrade. Dead men tell no
tales.”

He paused and rang the bell violently. It was answered by a
yawning servant. ;

“Send Justine to me,” was the brief and peremptory order.

‘She is in bed long ago, monsieur.’’

“Well—wake her, tool! and bid her come to me directly.”

The servant retired, ahd Don Manuel resumed his walk, pacing
to and fro hke a wild beast in his cage.

Justine, the chamber-maid, appeared in a loose wrapper, with
her hair in curl-papers, very much irrirated at having had her
dreams of the sergeant-major of the 2d Chasseurs d’? Afrique so
rudely disturbed,

“What are nonsieur’s commands?” she asked.

“Wake your mistress at daybreak, to-morrow morning,” he
said. “Dress her as quickly as possible, and pack her trunks and
yours. l am going to spend a few Gays at Fontainebieu, You will
go with us. See that ceéffee and rolls are served before we siart.
Now go.”

Justine flounced off, uttering between her teeth that her mas-
ter was & bear, a brute, no gentleman, etc. Perhaps, her wages
were somewhat in arrears.

Don Manuel threw himself upon a sofa and slept by fits and
starts till morning. A hasty breakiast was dispatch at day-
light, Don Manuel gave ordersthat the baggayget i
otf by express, and then his party started, Madume Mon
Justine, Wilford and little Robert in acarriage,and Don M
riding his black horse. do

Phe journey occupied two days, the party halting the aint eeent
at Lieusaiut, aud finishing the trip ontheafternoon ot the follow-
ing day. They putup atthe Hotel de Londres, nearly
the gate opening on that courtyardof thetoyal chateau where
Napoiecon I, upon lis abdication, took leave of the Old Guardyan
incident immortalized by one of the most popular ef Horace
Vernets pictures. ;

The morning after their arrival Don Manuel mounted his horse
for aridein the beautiful forest, which covers a space’ ot More
than forty thousand acres,

The landlord advised him to take a guide asthe roads and
paths were s0 intricate that strangers were frequently lostan
their mazes. eae

Don Manucl laughed disdainfully, :

“A man) theroagttly versed iu eee has his
way through the trackless forests of America, has'no ofa
guide at Fontainebleau,” he said, ag he gave his horse ithe spur.

Restless, wretched, fevered, he rode .along the solitary bridie-
paths, under the huge oaks and beeches, in a silence .bi
only by the chirping of the birds and the belling of distant deer.
Ale cared nothing tor the exquisite beaury of the woodland
seenery. His only thought was: ‘Here Iam sate!”

A turncf the road brought him mto a. broad clearing, rendered
remarkable by three gigantic trees, rearing their. branches to

Heaven, aud known as the Royal Oaks. At this momenta sin-
gle horseman forth from the shade, and conironting Lim,

 

call ue

 

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The man was dressed in full Mexican costume, a sombrero on
hts head, dark-biue velvet jacket and slashed pantaloons, gar-
wished with innumerable silver buttons, the broad crimson sash
about his waist sustaining two Colt revolvers, one of which he
arew, : i. leveled.as he spoke. He was well-mounted,
and a eng, | iat was coiled on the high peak of his Spanish

Ba i oo

“Look atime! he cried. “Look at me and tremble, Julian
Nevado- tori thief{ murderer! Wretch, whose hand is red
with blood of our true comrade, Pedro Carmel, slain by thy
hand i 4ba Death Ranch of La Puebla, and whom I swore to
2B trailed you to the utmost limits of the earth.”

Foa well did Julian Nevado, the masked robber of the Death

- it’ was he who had assumed the name of Manuel

Montano—recognize the speaker. It was Sebastian a, his
former comrade—it was the man whose face, seen but for a mo-
ment by thelighbof a gas-lampin a by-street of Paris, had filled
his guilty soul with mortal terror. j ; ‘

Here was thisman, the sworn ayenger, confronting him, pis-
tol in hand, ana he completely unarmed! His only chance for

life lay in flight. Quick as thought he wheeled his horse and

gave him the spur, at the same time bending his head down to
the flowing mane. 4 “
Two shots, fired in quick succession, missed their mark and
only served to madden Julian’s black horse to frantic speed.
{as he was gaining on his pursuer, another horseman, recos-
nized at a glance as Silvestro Zamora, dashed from a side-path,
catching at the fugitive’s bridle, but; missing it. ;
The three horses thundered on, the murderer. gaining at every
stride. The pursuers held their fire, for there was no chance of
planting a bales when they were galloping at sucha terrific
. The keen, sharp rowels of the Spaniard tore the horse’s
na oey the richtonel and ‘nturiated: animal! literally de-
wour

But then came a sharp hiss. Co.. a was throwing the lasso,

while tog his intended victim was within possible reach. Ser-

ike the noose coiled round the fugitive at the same time

his horse tripped over the root of a tree, and both steed and
rider came to the ground with a dull, heavy crash.

Kn an instant Silyestro Zamora flung himself from the saddle
and sat on the neck of the black charger, his own horse stand-
ing still in his tracks. Sebastian Cosala dismounted also, and
grasped his fallen foe by the throat. :

“Dog I” he cried, “I have you at last. At last Pedro Carmel is

8
“Life! Life!” gasped Julian.
the world in regan for my life.’
“No—death! death!” retorted Sebastian. “If we were starv-
we would not be false to our oaths.”
e teok forth a paper. ‘ ;
“This,” he said, “villain, is your epitaph. Listen to it, while
yet you are a breathing man.” Thereupon he read as follows:
“his is the body of Julian Nevado, falsely calling himself
Manual Montano. His death is the punishment of his murder
and plunder of a comrade, Pedro Carmel, in the so-called Death-
Raneh in the State of La Puebla, Mexico, ten years ago.””
With almost inconceivable daring the self-constituted exe-
ewtsoners had added their names to this document.
“SeBASTIAN COSALA,
SILVESTRo ZAMORA,”

Then Sebastian Cosala, spreading the parchment on the breast
et his victim, nailed it to the living flesh by driving his knife
throughit to the hilt, carefully avoiding, Lowever, a vital spot.

The vengeance of the confederates was, yet to be completed.

noose of the lariat was drawn tight round the ankles of the
victim, while the other end was made fast to the saddle-bow.
Then the Mexicans parmnittes the black horse to rise, and start-
ing with yells, blows and pistol-shots, he launched forth as

“Tartar of the Ukraine breed,”

that bore Mazeppa to the wilderness. : 3

Mounting their horses, the avengers following the flight of the
black:horse, watched with demoniac delight, the dying agonies
ot their victim as his head was dashod against a rock or tree-
trunk, or received a blow from the steel-shod hoofs ef the mad

,t will give you all Ihave in

When life was gone from the bleeding murderer they wheeled
their horses, and effected their escape through the vast forest,

Lite more remains to be told. To paint the consternation
and horror of the inmates of the hotel when the foaming black
horse afrived in the courtyard, dragging a mutilated wreck of
humanity at his heels, would be simply impossible. The shock
was almost too much for Claudine, and it was well for herin
that terrible hour of trial that she ‘had beside her so true a
friend and sympathizer as Clarence Wilford.

After the authorities had held a -aanest over the remains,
and they had been committed to the grave, Claudine, Robert and
Wilford returned to the late residence of the deceased in the
Avenued! Antin, Paris. :

The affairs of ‘the Spaniard, on being investigated, were found
to be inia deplorable condition; and there was abundant docu-
mentary évidence, showing that he had been a thorough-faced
swindler.) As for his assets they yielded but a trifling percentage

on bisindsbtedness.

French justice, with all its keenness, failed'to trace and appre-
hendthe two avengers of the forest of Fontainebleau.

Their antecedents were easily ascertained. They had came to
Paria withea string of American horses, which they readily dis-

of. Their Mexican costume attracted little attention ia a

city accustomed tothe dress of Arabs, Tur! Americans and
Greeks.) Afier the assassination they must have completely
obanged their attire, made their way to the seaboard and taken
8b

pene or America. ;
hither Olaudine and the little boy, accompanied by Wilford,
returned isoon after'the tragedy in the forest, and the widow
found.lierself back at Briarwood Lodge not many months after
the date ot her unfortunate marriage, Mr, Lamar, who had
Jest heavily by the Spaniard, was never tired of denouncing
him, but bis name never once passed his daughter's lips.

Clarence Wilford woke up one fine morning, like Byron, to find

‘famous: A novel, published during. his absence, had
met with sach extraordinary success, that thenceforth, instead
of having to seek publishers, publishers sought him,and his fame
and fortune were secured. When he nextcame to Briarwood Lodge
it wasé’as a suitor; when he left ‘it, he was an accepted lover.
This event was speedily followed by his marriage to the lady he
had in secret so romantically when he despaired of ever
winning her. The married life of Mr. and Mrs. Wilford was ex-
ceptionally happy.

The-faise-hearted Alberto Colonna met with a deserved fate.
Having ‘provoked achailenge from one of Victor Emmanuei’s
Ibassar Y lie went to the ground fully expecting to kill him
ae he bad slain the father of his victim, but justice for once

the weapon of. his. adversary, and the hussar’s blade
versed the body of the duelist and treitor.

“atl they that take the sword shali perish with the sword.”

THE END.

A new story by Francis A. DurivaGE will soon be com-
menced,

Badly Matched ;

Se eee
WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN.

By Helen Corwin Pierce,
Aathor of THE FALSE CHAMPION; THE
CURSE OF EVERLEIGH; THE
INJURED HUSBAND, etc.

 

 

Matched” was commenced in No. ll. Back numbers
tained from any News Agentin the United States.

CHAPTER XII.

Miss Chandos began her Jessons the following day. One
of the pleasantest rooms at Longmere was set apart for
the pohoviroom and ostentatiously fitted up with what-
ever would bave been necessary for a child of eight or ten

ears,

Vida laughed loudly as she surveyed the apartment for
the first time in M. St. Just’s company.

“tam a terrible ignoramus,’’ she said, ‘but I didn’t
know I was so bad as this. What a lovely room though!”

The room was octagonal, with projecting windows to
the south and east. Itcommanded a superb view, and
was riohly furnished.

“Very lovely,’ M. St. Just answered; but his dark,
sirangely-bright eyes were fastened on Vida, not looking
at the room, and xsort of quiver crossed his handsome

{Bad
can be

 

oath.

“Would that I were free to be myself to her!’ he said
to himself, sorrowfully, and moved toward the table in
the center of the room.

«Let us find out, if we can, how much you do not know,
Miss. Chandos,’ he said, taking up one of the class-books
on the table.

VWida jooked at him in surprise.

*How much better you speak English sometimes than
you do at others, M. St. Just?”

“Do 1??—with a keen, quickly-withdrawn glance Lo-
wardher. “I daresay. Whatdo youknow of grammar,
Miss-Chandos ?’’

“fF ought to know more of English grammar than you,
being a Frencliiman,’’ answered Vida, in her bright, for-
ward way. ‘‘How do you come to know English so well,
M. 8. Juste”

“‘My mother was English. She took great pains with
me. Mademoiselie perhaps doubts my ability to instruct
her? Shalilshow her my testinonials? Madame, her
guardian, seemed quite satisfied with them.”

Vida opened her large, frank eyes, and arched her slen-
Ger viack brows at him.

“You know it was I who wanted you. Testimonials,
indeed! Ask me again whatl know about grammar.”

He smiled.

“What do you know of grammar, Miss Chandos?’

“Nothing, M. St. Just, So now you can display your
own ignorance without fear.’

The tutor smiled again. The girl's saucy brightness,
far from offending his dignity, warmed his heart like sun-
shine. He had already noticed that she had an air to-
ward him different from that for any one elise. Was it con-
tempt for the inferiority of his position as compared with
her own? Had the haughty insolence of her so newly-ac-
quired station already quenched the natural sweetness
and generosity of her disposition? He knew better,

“It is her soul that recognizes mine even under this dis-

ise,’? he assured himself, triumphantly; and then those

ack eyes of his would lighten behind their glass mask,

' and his tones would grow tender and tremulous in spite

of him.
The lessons went on rapidly. Vida’s slightly eccentric
tutor proved very exacting in that particular. He told

_ her plainly that she knew even less than she thought she

did, Not only did she Know nothing of grammar, but
she was frightfully ignorant in all those directions in
gn young Jady of her age should be thorouglily in-
ormed.

He gave her long tasks, and relentlessly iRsistea upon
their being made perfect, He criticised her without re-
morse,

He knew she had a spirited temper, but she never dis-
played it, even when he was most critical and sometimes
ubjustifiably severe.

it M. St. Just assumed this dictatorial and pedagogic
style of bearing, for the sake of tmpressing upon his
lovely and endearing pupil the fact that he was precisely
what he pretended to be, and nothing else, he succeeded
betler, perhaps, than he wished. Vida was too genuine
herself to readily suspect others. f

Mrs, Bazel never came near them. She had weightier
matters on her mind, and she fancied her valuable word
was well disposed of for the present, being Kept by her
books from a too Careful observation of what was passing
about her, as wellas being in no danger of forming an
injudicious attachment,

“Girls are such fools,” she said toherself. ‘I am glad
this tator isso old and ugly; I need have no anxiety about
her falling in Jove with him,”

Side by side with this innocent life which M. Chastine
St. Just and his interesting pupil were living, was grow-
ing up @ tragedy of a most heartrending and cruel char-
aoter. Neither Vida por M. St. Just suspected it really,

 

 

 

Vida not atall, M. St. Just, though he had aclew, was
far from guessing it in its cruel hideousness.

Lady Clara Delaney was of a simple, credulous, confiding
nature, at the same time shallow, vain and spoiled by
indulgence, for she had been a spoiled only child Lill she
married Lord Hasbrook, and became a spoiled and in-
dulged wile.

The one strongest trait in this strange combination of
sweetness and frivolity was a devouring, all-mastering
curiosity.

When Bruce Delaney displayed such blind passion at the
intimation from his wife that he possessed a dangerous
and terrible seeret, he lighted in her weak soula fire of
dreadful curiosity, that all his after threats, assertions and
cajoling could mot quench. The subject possessed for her
the weird and frightful fascination that a ghost has for
the child that would turn idiotic with fear at the sight of
one. She could not keep her thoughts from it. The more
she tried not to remember the scene in the library the less
she could forget it.

She would sit in her own chamber, and closing her eyes,
recall with a shuddering fascination the way her husband
had looked at her when she told him what Mrs, Bazel
had, wilh demon cleverness, put into her mind to say.

“He looked like some wild animal, ready to tear me in
pieces,”’ she said to herself; ‘‘and he said if I fainted he
would kill me before 1 came to,”’

One night M. Chastine St. Jast was coming rather late
from the school-room, where he sometimes sat long after
Vida Chandos had taken her pale, gleaming face and elec-
tric gray eves toler own apartments. His room was in
the other part of the long gothic structure, but in getting
to it he had to traverse a corridor, which was met by an-
other, thatran past Lady Clara Delaney’s apartments, As
he came opposite this passage, he heard a door opened
and shut{furiously, and looking up, he beheld my lady fly-
ing down the corridor, her blue eyes wild and dilated with
terror, her face like the face of a corpse.

Her satin-slippered feet made no sound on the thick
carpeted floor. She came toward him like the sheeted
ghost of herself. Before he had scarcely recognized her,
she flupg herself upon his arm, Ciinging to himin a con-
vulsion of fear.

“Save me—take me away! Hide me! hide mel!’’ she
whispered, dragging him on almost without will of his
own, and exercising a frantic strength in her efforts that
no one would have deemed that little, frail and childish
creature capable of.

He paused in the gallery beyond and spoke to her; but
she stopped him with an adjuration so wild and piteous
that he could not resist it.

“Take me to your room—do, do, dear M. St. Just. They
will not think to Jook for me there. Take me! take me!”

Instead of that, ‘M. St. Just pushed open a door at the
extremity of the gallery, and half leading, half carrying
Lady Olara, conducted her outside upon a sort of balcony
over hung with ivy. To satisfy her, he turned the Key in
the door. There were no lights on this side of the man-
sion, except such as shone from the halls and the servants’
rooms.

M. St. Just seated Lady Clara and remained standing
himself. Lady Clara slid from the seat to the floor of the
balcony, and Kneit with her face in her hands, for what
seemed to her anxious and perplexed companion a long
time. It was a moonlight night, and a straggling ray or
two came through the vines, and silvered the curls of Lady
Clara’s hair, and turned the white of her dréss to colder
and more transparent lines.

She rose at last, and turned her wan waxen face to-
ward him.

She was more like herself now, but never, he thought,
had he seen so white a face or such scared eyes. Her
voice, too, seemed to have suddenly lost its sweetness,
and sounded like silvery bells, jangled and out of tune.

“T have thought it all over,’’ she said; ‘‘I must go back,
if | goto my death.”

She shuddered violently.

He answered her quickly: "

“Of course, I do not know what you mean, nor wisn to
know, unless you wish to tell me; but you need not go back
to any danger, Lady Clara, while 1 cau stand between you
and that!?

‘You are very kind, but yon cannot help me—no one
can—and I cannot tell you what I mean. Please to open
the door, M. St. Just.”

‘‘Are you strong enough ?”?

“Yes; be quick, please. Perhaps, after all, I have not
been missed. J am such a litile Goward, you see; any-
thing scares me.’’

She smiled up at lim pitifully, in a way that smote him
with pain.

He opened the door for her, and with a last faint “Thank
you,’”? and the words *‘]’m such a silly little coward,’’ she
glided away.

M. St. Just did not dare to follow her. Some premoni-
tion must have held him where he was, listening and
watching in the ghostly moonlight for what would hap-
pen next,

As he.stood thus in complete shadow himself, some one
came out of the darkness of the gallery, stood looking a
moment, and then followed Lady Clara.

He could not see positively who thig person was, but
there was left in the air a familiar scent, such as he knew
Mrs. Bazel to be in the habit of using.

“Can it be possible that Lady Clara stands in any such
terror of Mrs. Bazel?’? he asked himsel£ ‘Why should
she fear her?” ,

He waited some time, listening, half expecting—so
tragic was the pitch to which Lady Clara’s sirange be-
havior had wrought him—that something terrible was in-
deed about to happen. What that something was or
might be his excited imagination was not able to even

guess at. —
CHAPTER XIUL

Lady Clara succeeded in reaching her own room with-
out being seen, or she fancied so. But no sooner had she

 

 

thrown herself upon a siiken chair in her dressing-room,
and sent away her maid—for she feared the girl’s scrutiny
of her scared face—than, without warning, Mrs. Bazel
glided in and stood before her, a sneering smile on her
full, scarlet lips.

Lady Clara could only gasp when she saw her, for she
thought:

“she knew that I was listening, and she will tell Bruce.
He said he would kill me, and he wiil.”

“Yes, lsaw you,” said the handsome widow, nodding
her head, with its glittering coronal of yeliow hair.

Her black gauze dress to-night was sireaked with thin
scarlet satin stripes, that shone and undulated as she
moved like streams Of fire.

Lady Clara shrank from ler, as from the embodiment
of fear and evil. Then this pale, sensitive, Cowardly crea-
ture tried to remember that she was in her own house,
where thig woman was only a guest. She sat up in her
silken chair and tried to recall the dignity she had so
prettily aped as Lady Clara Hasbrook.

“What was it you wished tosay to me, Mrs. Bazel??*
she asked, in @ yoice that would be unsteady in spite of
her.

“Don’t put on airs with me, Olara,’’ answered the
malicious widow, coolly. ‘*You’ve been listening again,
but I shan’t tell. Kiss me now, and make it up, my
sweet.”?

She lowered her rouged cheek to Lady Ciara’s pure
lips, and the timid child dared not refuse to kiss it,

Then the widow drew forward ajow, easy-chair, and
seating herself, rocked slowly to and fro, while she en-
tered upon a conversation in which she artfully contrived
to at the same time excite that dangerous curiosity of
Lady Clara’s still more, and to allay her so evident terror
of her husband,

“Will you ride out with me inthe morning, Clara?”
she asked, sweetiy, asshe rosetogo. “You know you
have never tried my present, and I take it very unkind of
you—I do indeed, dear. Star is such a beauty, too, and
so gentle.”’

“Is he gentle, Mrs. Bazel?. Mamie says that the Lon-
don groom who came with him declared he wasn’t a fit
horse for any lady to ride,”

Mrs. Bazel bit herlips. Then she laughed.

“I canexplain that. The man had taken some sort of
an absurd fancy to my pretty Star, and did not want him
sold, and was angry because Il would have him and no
other. He had an idea of getting him himself some day,
Iremember him perfectly. Had he not lost some of his
teeth, so that he looked gnu talked oddly 2?

Lady Clara remembered in a inoment this peculiarity of
the London groom, and she was compelled to accept Mrs.
Bazel’s explanation of the matter, and promised to ride
out with her in the morning.

‘TE won't go,’? declared Bruce Delaney, when Mrs. Ba-
zel made Known to him the agreement she, had come to
over night with his wife, and requested his escort,

Miss Chandos was left out, ag a matter of course.

Delaney looked at the imperturbable widow darkly and
with clenched teeth. Ie felt that she was his evil genius,
He was satisfied that mischief was intended toward Lady
Clara in this ride, though he could not guess how. Ue
had tried the horse himself, and found him gentle and
tractable, but he knew that cold glimmer in Julia Bazel’s
cyes 100 Well to believe thatshe meant weil by poor Clara.
He did not love his little wife, and he wag a baa and
cruel-hearied wretch, But he was human, and Lady
Clara’s childish affection for himself touched him.

“Tcan’t harm her, nor I can’t let her be harmed,’! he
muttered,

‘What is tlat?? asked Mrs, Bazel, coolly,

“T won't gol”? he repeated; ‘I tell you 1 won't.”

“Oh, yes, you will,’ said Mrs. Bazel, positively, linking
her armin hig and leading him outside, “Vil tell you
why. Your wife was listening to us last cvening,”?

“Nol? exclaimed Brace Delaney, with a burstof rage.

“Yes,” responded the widow, quietly; ‘1 %now it.’?

“Tlow 2”?

“] saw her, and she did not deny it when I charged her
with it afterward.”

Bruce Delaney threw a dark glance toward the Junch-
eon-table, but his wife having already Jeft it, Vida Chan-
dos received the weight of it, aud shrugging her graceful
shoulders—a habit nequired trom M. Sit. Just—said, ina
low voice, to her tutor:

“The Bruce isin a bad humor, ishe not? What black
brows he lias got.”

Delaney reflected a moment,

“We talked of nothing that she would understand,” he
said, gioomily,

“Ol course not, bat she seemed to have understood,
nevertheless. It’s not the first time she hag listened,
either, the littie cat. Perhaps she has sense chough to
put two and two together.”

“What was that youtold her about Bluebcaad 7 he de-
manzied angrily.

The handsome widow smiled,

“I merely asked herif she Knew how Biuebeard came
to have so many wives. Nothing more, upoi ny honer.
She doesn’t seem to have minded the warning,.’*

Delaney shuddered, either at he first or the last part of
this speech, or both,

“Shall we ride or not? questioned Mrs, Bazel, again.

 

7 QOn't Care——ae!?

Bruce Delaney bent a dark glance upon her.

“I wonder if you ever had a conscience?’ he said.

“T did once,’? answered the widow, with a yawn, ‘‘and
I found it very inconvenient. I hope you have not gota
fragment of one left, my dear—-—”

She stood on tiptoe to whisper a name in his ear, which
turned him ashier than before.

‘You're worse than Satan,’’ he hissed.

She laughed.

“Shall 1 order the horses, or will you??? she asked
tauntingly.

“Order them yourself.’’

“T have already done so, an hour since. I think I hear
them stamping in the court-yarduow. lknew you would
go. i must run away and dress now, but I can’t, if I try,
look so lovely as my lady.’’

Bruce Delaney stood full ten minutes longer staring
straight into the shrubbery, Then he, too, went to dress
for the ride, the hideous meaning of which he could not
pretend not to kuow now. Badas he undoubtedly was,
he revolted from Mrs. Bazel’s plans with @ horror that
showed he had enough instincts of goodness left to save
him, if he had only chosen to abide by them. But he did
not. Hechose rather to continue on in that dark and
dreadful road upon which he had taken the first wicked
step so long ago.

Strangely lovely looked Lady Ciara, as she descended
from her apartments with Mrs, Bazel sustaining her al-
ready failing courage. Now she comforted her with as-
surances concerning the gentleness of Star, the next mo-
ment she uttered a cavert sneer that stung the timid,
weak herves of the fragile creature to a false and angry
daring that was scarcely more to be trusted than her
cowardice. \

The horses were waiting, a splendid roan for Mr. Dela-
ney and a fine thoroughbred chestnut for the widow.

Delaney and the widowrode one each side of Lady
Clara, aud Delaney led the animal on which Lady Clara
was mounted by a stout halter. The pretty black had an
easy gait, and Lady Clara gradually grew more confident
than/at first. She sat quite erect in her saddle and pre-
tended to feel] at her ease, but through all that charming,
childish pretense it was easy to see that the sweet mouth
was a-quiver with fear, and the innocent blue eyes that
tried tv look so careless had in them a lurking and un-
conquerablie terror.

Bruce Delaney rode silent and gloomy, never speaking,
scarcely looking up. The man’s soul was black within
him. He did not love his wife. He had only married her
for the money he believed was hers; but her devotion to
him touched him nearly, Only that morning her dimpled
arms had been round his neck, and she had kissed him so
fondly that he had said to himself:

“Kither she doesn’t know, or she doesn’t care, and I
won't hurt her.’’

Mrs. Bazel furtively touched him with her whip behind
Lady Clara.

He glanced that way scowling.

‘Now? syllabled the widow’s scarlet lips, and her
gemlike eyes questioned him. :

He shook his head angrily, and clenched a tighter hand
on the halter by which he was leading his wife’s horse.

Mrs, Bazel shut her teeth hard, and an ashy pallor
covered her face.

‘It shall be now, nevertheless,’® she murmured to her-
self, and bent in her saddle till her lips were on a leyel
with the pretty black’s pointed ears.

Delaney was watching her, but he could not have told
that she did or said anything. Yet she had spoken Clara
Delaney’s death sentence. f

That instant Star shot forward, literally tearing his hal-
ter from Delaney’s grasp.

He had been trained for a race-horse, and Mrs, Bazel
had only whispered in his ear the word with which his
trainer had been in the habit of inciting him to his most
desperate speed.

Bruce Delaney was nearly pulled out of his saddle, and
before he could settle himself in it again, or fairly reallzed
what had, happened, the wicked widow spurred her chest-
nut across the path in front of him.

ln half-a-dozen malicious words she told him the truth,
concluding: '

“Now, if you wish to follow you can, but you can’t do
anything. You know the sound of your horse’s hoofs be-
hind would only make him run the faster.” i

Delaney clenched his hand and shook it in her face.

J] wish it were you!’’ he said, and strained his wild,
black eyes after the racer and his doomed rider,

“She will be thrown and killed, without doubt,” said
the widow, with horrible coolness, ‘‘and no one can be
blamed. You ought to be thankful that a business that
had to be done has been accomplished so easily, and with-
out implicating you in the least,”

But for all she spoke so coolly, the pallor that had first
stricken her face had not left it. Even her lips were whi-
ter Uian the handkerchief she kept pressing to them with
her violet-gloved hand.

 

CHAPTER XIV.

Delaney had remained like one siunned. Now, howey-
er, he spurred his horse forward desperately, and rode
in the direotion in which Lady Clara had disappeared.

Mrs. Bazel, after ap instant’s hesitation, galloped after
him. But Delaney had got too much ahead to be over-
“taken readily, and alter riding a short distance, Mrs, Ba-
zel relinquislied the attempt, murmuring to herself:

“He can’t gave her—it is impossible!”

Suddenly she beheld Bruce Delaney slacken his pace.
Then the black racer appeared, coming that way, and
Mrs. Bazel perceived, with a thrill, that his saddie was
empty. The pretty, childish figure that had filled it was

net
Tate instant the cool, strong-nerved widow reeled in her
seat, then touching her chestnut with her whip she dashed
on, nor drew rein till she had joined Dejaney.

A singular group was under the oaks there, One glance
told the wicked woman that her diabolical scheme had
failed.

Lady Clara was perfectly unharmed, sitting on the green
turf, her hat off, aud the plume broken; but she scarcely
looked paler than usual as she glanced gratefully from

/her husband, who had dismounted, and stood beside her,

toaslight, graceful young gentieman who leaned in a
careless attitude against a tree near.

The stranger wore a “hunting suit of Lincoin green,”’
and his cap, which he carried in his hand, had a short,
thick, green plume. He was as handsome as a prince,
Mrs. Bagel noticed even then, and on the little finger of
his slender and delicate white hand he wore a single jew-
el, which glowed like a sun.

Mrs. Bazel instantly sprang from her horse, and rush-
ing to Lady Clara, covered her with hypocritical caresses
and Congratulations. But Lady Clara shrank from her as
from the upraised crest ofa serpent. The eyes of the two
met.

“T heard you,’? Lady Ciara said in a low voice. “You
made Star run, and you meant I sliouid be killed, which
Lshouid have been but for this gentleman.”’

Mrs. Bazel whitened at first, then she affected not to
have noticed anything singular in Lady Ciara’s words.
She turned to the stranger, who bowed, while a slight
smile curved his lips.

“Lord Arnault, Mrs, Bazel,’? spoke Delaney, suddenly,
and with slight scorn in his voice, for at that moment he
hated the widow with all his strength.

Mrs. Bazel bowed very low. She could almost forgive
Lady Giara for not getting killed, since her safety had
brought her the acquaintance of a British peer. He was
a young man, loo, scarcely beyond his majority, and the
widow’s most boasted conquests had been among very
young men. ,

She smiied radiantly upon his lordship,

“} don’t know how you did t,’? she said in her most
musical tones.

“It was more accident than anything else,’’? he answer-
ed lightly. “I was riding this way, and saw a black horse
tearing toward me, with a jady clinging upon his neck.
O! course, I knew it was a runaway, and reining Saladin
ucross the road as the black swerved to clear us, I caught
my lady from his back. It was very simple.”

Tue young peer addressed Mrs. Bazel, but under the
droop of his jong, black Jashes, he was watchimg Lady
Clara Delaney, where she sat in her swee’ and childlike
beauly.

“Tf it had been her husband, he might have broken his
neck for me,” he said to himself. ‘‘He looks like @ cur,
aud she like an angel.”

liow to get Lady Clara back to Longmere? was the
question now, aud Lord Arnault solved it.

“A friend of mine—-Sir Gillis Le wes—lives not faraway.
If she will permit me, 1 will borrow his phacton and drive
Lady Clara to Longmere myself.’

Lord Arnault’s eyes glowed strangely as he made the
offer, but no one noticed it save Lady Clara.

She glaneed ut her husband, aud wondered what made
her heart throb so, .

Mr. Delaney hastened to accept the young earls offer.
He, 23 well a3 Mrs. Bazel, was clated. ut making the ac-
quaintance of Lord Arnault. 1f he had known What in-
uence this handsome young Jord was to have on his
future would lig have done any differently? But he did
not know. Iie knew only that the Earlof Arnault had
just comeinto the possession of his magnificent estates,
and carried a full and very. open purse, aud he hoped he
gambled itke other young men.

Thus it happened that through the golden June twilight
these two, Lord Arnault and Lady Clara, rode slowly to-
gether towurd Longmere. Astrangzcr would have pro-
nounced them made for each other; he with his’ princely
shape and striking face, his chivalrous grace, she 80 little,
so shy, so lovely and childlike.

Lady Clara was twenty, but she had always been and
always would beachild, She had been marricd twice,
but lier first husband liad becn more like a father to her,
and in actual knowledge of life no girl of fifteen was ever
more inexperienced and ignorant. She sat now in Sir
Gillis Lewes’ low pheeton, biushing like a girl with her
first lover, while the young and too handsome Lord
Arnault followed her every gesture with glances of un-
conscious fervor and admiration.

The young earl was waited for in the London world a8
a wonderful catch, but allin vain, for he had this day re-
ceived upon his heart the impression of one siveet face
that should not be erased while life lasted—not even
when a grave should yawn between them.

That night at Longmere Lady Clara sat in her boudoir,
still dreaming, perhaps, while the light of a perfumed
lamp sireamed over her soft as mvonlight. 2

She tg pretty,’ sneered Mrs, Buzel, as she stole noise-
lessty in and stood Jooking at her.

Lady Clara started violently at sight of her. She had
absoluiely forgotten the wicked widow till Unab moment,
She stared at her now in mingled fear and anger, her pretty
blue eyes dilating. i

“f wantto know what you meant by that singular
speech of yours to-day!’ demanded Mrs. Bagel, carelessiy.

Lauy Clara was trembling, but she answered boldly,
everything considered:

 

“Limeant what 1 said, Mrs, Bagel. Ihave only this to

YORK WEEKLY. #30=-

ie

a more: My husband must decide between you and me

The widow sneered openly:

“He will refuse to do go.”?

“Then J will leave Longmere.?!

“Where will you go?”?

“‘Anywhere, so I get.out of the reach of a woman who
Wants my husband so badly that she is ready to murder
me to secure him !”

The baleful eyes of the widow glittered so menacingly
that Lady Clara retreated a few steps involuntarily. She
-had never seen Mrs. Bazel violently angry before.

“You little fool,’? hissed that lady, “‘it,is not 1 who
wants your life—it is your husband. He thinks you have
fees his secret, and he dare not Jet you live after

Dare not! Lady Clara felt asif she were dying, Had
he committed a murder then? or what was that dreadful
secret which he dare not have her know and live.

The widow stood looking at her a moment more, the
glittering blonde face, like snow, with passion and wick-
edness. Then she glided from the room, and thence along
the carpeted corridor to a door of Bruce Delaney’s apart-
ments, @ door of which she, aione possessed the key.
Pausing here she deliberately but softly unlocked it with
akey which she always carried. Back again now she
darted like an evil spirit, and looking in upon Lady Clara,
still pondering her frightful thoughts, she said:

“You may solve all your doubts, Lady Clara, this mo-
ment, if you wish. Go to the door of your husband’s
dressing-room and look in. I desire that you should do
80 tO convince you of my innocence. He will not see
you; he sits with his back to the door,”

Clara Delaney stared at the evil woman in a sort of fas-
cination. What was this she was tempting her do? What
could that secret of her husband’s be which she had only.
to look into his room to discover?

‘His door is unlocked; I have,just been to his.room my-
self, He will not see you, or know of your presence. You
be ae 59 a oan and satisfying yourself as if you

y es nave you nota ri
Nryba ss e, y ght? Are you not

The subtle tempting of the false widow affected Lady
Clara in spite of her resistance to it. She felt asif a
wicked spell had been cast about her. A horrible insane
desire d her to knowall. Why should she hesi-
tate when she had only to go a few steps to end the mat-
ter? Coward though she was, her curiosity in this su-
preme movement mastered her cowardice.

‘I must know or I shall die,” she said, shutting her
litle white teeth hard, and the next moment she had
passed the cruel widow and left her smiling after her like
a beautiful demon.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

 

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Single copies can be ordered through music stores or news-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

dealers. Enclose stamp for full catalogue. Ask for
s } . .
B. W. Hitchcock’s Publications.
No. Instrumental. Author.
96. Falling Flakes..... SeSahits Uke cued cca teh etch Keeler
MOG.) Ariayy line Ae at aeOG e200 Ss oi os aes ca be ena - Louis XTIT
129. Clear the Track. Galop............. So aae, bei et eos Strauss
70.1 VACIR ADO WY AD eye esse ness Strauss
LSE: GEARS TV SA BLOT Si dees in adhcte ialbige’y is We \si< cig (RGR bps ae .., Ganz
132. Bridal Chorus, from “Lohengrin” i sopises ogeheeoebane Wagner
134. Argentine Fantasia. Mazurka....................0-- Ketterer
135. On the Banks of the Blue Danube........... puenieke . Strauss
ARF Ramis ee WV a Vers ok pads «Sys wasp amas ea Strauss
137. Pureas Snow. (Morceau elegant)...........6..cesece- Lange
144. Carnival Scenes. Waltz.......... Lew adagtwoleb wens tee Strauss
146. The Black Key, Polka Mazurka............ aw BEF a Herzog
147.) Mollie’s “Dréany WaBt . oS I a SSE Reissiger
16.5A Happy: Circié:' (Galop.e os... oc NT a ae Strauss
158. La Fille de Madame Angot. Waltz. ................-. Lecocq
161-7 TyithlouMipenieis: GCALOD 6... i.c) noc) si hcieon sp sine opis oon BUCK
163.) WitiAbedan,  POURA »,. oj. 4s <a be nens <5 osigebipteet tse Strauss
MGA.j Lette be Gay, . Wiadtmea: wh. veiiciess mise kies ne9 Strauss
1664 emacte VW Gneviakwar yc! C0. BOE, OG. seas Liszt
TOTaNew moup-Holise. Walter eee
Jee.? “Where the Oltron Blooinathi 7 5... ot eels Strauss
AGO8 Bel6 AiOUibes. -QUICKREED: died 6). 1. +s «5m »' see cbatai dines Rublee
¥70.; Whormat: My Wladawile.iiist os 0. ccm dsc difeen fos Osborne
172. “‘Love’s Greeting.” ‘(Seventh Regiment Quickstep)....Meyer
173. “La Jolie, Parfumeuse.’”? Opera by................ Offenbach
174. Tl Talismano, (violin and piano)................. 2..... Opera
175, La Prjucesse De Trehbizonde, LANCERS)... ese oes lee Opera
176. Gaite de Coeur Waltz (violin and piano)........... .. -Opera
177. La Fille de Madame Angot, Lancers.............. -....Opera
No. Songs. Author.
10. The Nun’s,Prayer...... 0500 eas sab Bao hale + gna Ce eat Obertheir
16: Tre Tears DP Pitke for Thee nc. os isos csinapis tsi’ wsiee cauind es Verdi
MRS DO Mob WP ormat Perec skins vs baits Bek RT ei ek Aide
52. Brown Eyes and Blue Byes. 2.0.5.0. elec eee cu clle dene Pratt
O35. Dear Meare ww Hones. os. ch eee il. tee J. R. Thomas
7; Was There Any Harm in That?............... Vincent Davice
71. Do You Really Think He Did ?...........-.eeeene »-...Hudson
tehi, Matin EM Ei skin ea bad h ste d, - SEKGS Fe sein owiendabee binkp oo J. Daniel
OOF Tt Wonder Who.S8ho Was. i206 .0...6. bebe ese eee Wetmore
101. Good Enough for Me (song and dance).............0.085 Pratt
Vid, The Muiden’s Request... 0.2... dec eee ee eee Stoddart
124, The Grand Old Farm, Quartette......... ke 6h « nae Rublee
138. Little Katy Did-Didn’t .......ccceccees cence soovees Stoddard
160, I Wait Thee, My Darling.........6.... csc ee eons - Harrington
151, For Old Love’s Sake........... Poe dahis. t CAO wUseeat Jdat Abt
152. The Dear Little Shamrock...... Soveees tecacctecds ... Cherry
153. Words, Vain Words..... Sarids. +s SARANE CALPE Os oO V. Gabriel
154, Unspoken........-+- Sai bb) n'y) sire. sale bok ii Siena oS athe -Scott Gatty
159, Father Says I May.........0.eeeeeee As surg by Gus Williams
1097. Juanita, Spanish Song......... Pe va du OAR Hon, Mrs. Norton
488. What to Take. Temperance Song and Chorus,...,....Meyer

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43.20,

 

10-l3e0wW.

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

1

EL

pes

 

 

 

 

OH! TAKE ME HOME TO DIE.

BY P. GILSKY COOK.

 

{ feel the shadows gatherirg
Closer ’round me day by day,

And there’s something seems to tell me
That I soon must pass away.

Yet oh! “tis hard to breathe one’s last
Beneath a foreign sky,

Then if you love me truly, .
Oh! take me home to die.

Mine was a restless spirit,
Anc one that loved to roam,

But now my wand’rings all are o’er,
My lone heart sighs for home.

For the white cot on the hiliside
Where oft, in days gone by,

Dve romped and played in childhood,
Oh! take me there to die.

{ fain would lay my weary head
Upon my mother’s breast,

And with her loved arms ’round me,
My soul would sink to rest.

For e’en tho’ strangers may be kind
The weary heart will sigh,

For friends and loved ones, far away~—
Then take me home to die.

 

CHRISTMAS EVE

AMONG THE SNOW-DRIFTS.

BY HELEN LUQUEER.

 

 

Yell not think of goin’ to the party to-night, Janie,
my val? It's snowin’ great guns.” i

“Or flakes, father? Yes;l have promised Mr. Judkins
i would go with him. And you know this is Christmas
Eve, and it would not do to be cooped here at home with
you oli people while all the rest of the world are enjoying
the festivities of the season.” f

“Thar yer go with yer back talk. I declare, mother, it
jest spiles a guod, plain country gal to send ’em to board-
in’ school.” .

“Janie is a good girl, father, if she is better edercated
mor you or L be,’ returned the rosy, genial mother, bust-
ling about the great farm kitchen, heating bricks for her
Gaughter’s feet and warming wraps for her dainty little
person in holiday attire, at which sie glanced with loving
admiration and pride.

*] don’t know as her ederkation ili keep her from bein’
stuck fast in some snow-drift betwixt here and Stuben-
ville er not. I tell ye it’s a terrible night, and if it keeps
on snowin’ and blowin? till midnight Dark Holler ’ill be
drifted full so that no livin’ horse or span kin git through
oniless they am like ‘Lijah’s horses o’ fire.”

Good Mrs. Van Winkie’s looks of fond admiration
changed to dismay at the danger depicted so forcibly by
her husband, and she said:

“Prehaps ye'd betier ginitup, Janie. It would be dread-
ful to be lost among the hills or git tipped over in some
big dvift.””

“Oh, nonsense! There is not theslightest danger. Mr.
Judking knows the road perfectly, aud 1 am not.the least
alarmed.”

“No, in course, ye hain’t. ’Taint in youthful blood to
be afeurd. But I'd like to know how Mr. Judkins or any-
body else 1s to find the road when its kivered up two feet
Geep with snow.”

The jingling of bells at the moment announced the ar-
rival of Miss Jennie’s escort, and silenced her father.
And when a moment later the tall, athletic form of Mr.
dudkins appeared, as he came stamping into the huge,
glaring Kilchien, he looked so strong, resolute and able to
Gombat with the raging elements, that the fond and anx-
jous parents at once bustied about, and without expostu-
jation, to assist the young people off. Aud very soon they
were snugly tucked in the culler aud dashing away bve-
hind # span of fleet and fiery horses.

“Eft wear you, Judkins, l’d take ther dug road past
Dend Man’s Pint, ef ‘tis ther furtherest, and so avoid
Dark Holler and Black Hill,’? called Farmer Van Winkle,
@s they were driving away.

Then stamping off the snow, te went back into the
house, moralizing upon the folly of youug peuple in gen-
eral, aud his Jan in particular.

“It's strange folks will fergit they was ever young ther-

selves,” returned his wife, ‘**Pears to me ‘tain’t forty
thousand years since ye used to go tropsin to every frolic
Within twenty miles, rain or shine, Suow or blow, It didn’t
make no difference to you. And yer livin’ yit. And
Cuariey Judkins is bigger and stronger than ever ye was,
and knows enough to take keer of hisself aud our little
daneto boot. So I shan’t worrit bout ’em.”
. “Allright, old woman! Ef ye won’t fret, I sha’n’t. So
fetch up yer apples and cider, and one of them ar big
mince pies. Ei ther foolish youngsters am goin’ to keep
Ciivistimas Out in a big storm like this, Vil have mine ’cor-
Gin’ t0 my OWn notion, right here in this old Duich kitch-
ep, and afore as big a fire as I Can git up.”

e piled on huge logs, which illuminated the great
room, With ils strings of dried pumpkins and apples aud
guaint old furniture, and lighted up the rugged visages of
the eld man aud his good wife. The table was placed in
the fall giare of the fire, and when loaded with the re-
freshments he had desired, they sat down to talk over
their youthful days and the merry Ciristmas Eves in the
dong-ago.

_ fue little village of Steubenville lay cradied in the lap
of one of the many lovely valleys amid the evergreen-
crowned hills of Pennsylvania. Upon this stormy Chirist-
mas Eve it wore quite a festive appearance. At the little
tavern, dignitied by the name of “Hotel,’’ there was to be
@ genuitie Country dance. The low, dingy ball-room was
brilliantly lighted, and was gayly decked with evergreens,

surmounted by an American flag that had seen service,

and was iung in graceful folds above the two fiddlers,
squeaking away at ‘‘Money-musk,” when the fair Jennie
@ud Mr. Judkinus made tieir appearance,

The five-mile ride through storm and darkness would
have been considered tedious to any but young lovers;
and as it was they were not sorry to exchange it for the
warmth and light of the bali-room, and soon were trip-
Ming the light fantastic toe with the rustic lads and lasses,
whe looked upon the young merchant of Plainville and
tle boarding-schoo!l miss as hglts of great magnitude,
and were not a little awed and jealous. But, notwith-
standing, all went merrily until the hours waxed and
waned morningward, and preparations were beginning
tobe made for departure. :

“Jennie,” said Mr. Judkins, “Doctor Ellis has been
calied away to attend a patient, and I promised to take
his girl home for him. It is bub a half-mile, and I shall
mot be gone long.”

Jennie flushed to the roots of her hair, and bowed
assent.

*You will be ready by the time I get back ?? he asked.

st¥ es.)

. Miss Jenkins had been a cruel thorn in poor Jennie’s
Bide all the evening, being a consummate flirt, and deter-
mined to number the wealthy Mr. Judkins among her ad-
miirers, if not suitors, and had deliberately thrown herself
at that gentieman’s head. She had smiled her sweetest
smiles at him, and danced her best for him; and tate in
the evening, when Doctor Hillis had announced to her that
he had an imperative suiumous, she was daucivg with
Jdudkins, and exclaimed:

“Oh, dearl L can’t go yet. I must finish this set, even
if I have to Lrouble Mr. Judkins to take me home.”

«1 will certainly consent to do that,’”? he laughed.

So the wilful young thing actually carried off Jennie Van
Winkle’s escort before her very eyes,and as they gayly de-
parted, she could have cried for vexation. Somehow, she
felt herself neglected aud overiovked, and the Ccrowuing
atroke of her rival was one feather too much.

“Jack Fenton, are you going home uow ?”’ she asked of
one of the country lads living near her home, as he Came
in muffled, equipped for the ride.

“Yes, Miss Jennie, and alone at that.”

“Will you take me home, Jack ?”

“Or course I will, and jump at the chance. Bat where
is your grand friend, Mr. Judkins?”’

“Bush! Don't speak so loud. He has not treated.me
just nght, and I want to teach him a lesson. Piease don’t
Say anything about it. I wiil be ready to go with you in
& moment.”? ’ ‘

Sire dashed out of the little entry, where she had seized
upun the good-natured Jack, and soou reappeared, hood-
ed and Cluaked, and they were off in a trice.

Meanwhile, Mr. Judkins returned, and was informed
that Miss Jennie Van Winkle, not wishing to wait any
Songer, had tuken her: departure with Jack Fenton. To
say that Judkins was angry aud disgusied would be pul-
ting it very mildly. At least, he drove off like a veritable
Jehu, and althougu the snow lay piled in great heaps, he
managed to reach the farm-house of the Van Winkles
‘about four o'clock in the morning. He found the vld man
up and busily shoveting out the paths, thinking, no doubt,
of his Jeunie’s delicately-clad feet. Judkins drew rein and
Bald:

“Good morning, Mr. Van Winkle. I have a waterproof
belonging to your dauglter, which I will give you i you
will step this way.’?

“Why, Judkins! Is that ye?

*I3 she not at home, sir???

“How the devil should she be home, young man, if
ge did not fetch her?’ burst out the old manu sternly.

Belore he had half finished the sentence, the ‘‘young
man’ had whirled about his team, and was dashing furi-
ously back, wilh the one thought tugging at lis heart-
strings, that the young idiot, Juck Fenton, had attempted
the Beach Hill road, and that Dark Hollow must be dan-
gerous and impassable.

In her disturbed state of mind, Jennie had given little
Shought to the route they traveled, until stuck fastin an
immense drift. The jaded horse. proved unequal to the
task of pulling them out, even with Jack’s utmost assist-
ance. The storm had ceased. It had cleared off exceed-
ingly cold, and as Jennie sat shivering in the sieigh, with
the Wind penetrating her like a knife, she thought of Mr.
Judkins’ superior turnout, its warm robes, high back,
strong horses, and the eXtra cloak she had left in the
sleigh, aud, above all, she was thinking of the agreeable
conipanion sie had exchanged for the simple young feilow
tugging at his horse’s head.

“What will you do?” she at length exclaimed through
her chattering teeth.

“Jim blessed if I know, Miss Jennie.
wet through the Holler.
icould only get Out of this one we could go around by
Deadman's Point. ‘Bue rest of the folks must have gone
that way."

Where’s Jennie?”

We can never

it’s chuck full of such drifts. If

 

 

=

“So you are tied up in a snow bank?” said a voice ont
of the gloom.

Jennie gave a start and a little scream of delight as she
recoguized it as belonging to Mr. Judkins. With alimost
a@ single stride the great, stroug fellow was by her side,
and continued: ;

“You will have to unhitch your horse, Fenton, and ride
back to Steubenville fur assistance to extricate your cutter.
And you, Miss Jeunie, will have to permit me to carry you
to my sleigh. 1 was forced to leave it back at the Corners.
it was not safe to venture into this pitfall even with a
strong team.” ,

Suiting the action to the word, he gathered the shiver-
ing and thoroughly penitent young lady within his arms,
carried her nearly a quarter of a mile as if she had been
a baby, deposited her safely in the sleigh, and tenderly
Wrapped her up in the robes. Then he took his piace by
her side, and they began their homeward journey, while
the gray dawn of Cliristmas morning was manifesting
itself in a pale. golden glow upon the eastern sky.

“Mr. Judking, what do you think of me?” faltered
Jennie, after they had ridden a little distance in silence.

“I think you were very unwise to trust yourself to Jack
Fenton and his miserable little conveyance because you
were angry with me. I could dono less, under the cir-
cumstances, than take Miss Jenkins home, and I did not
suppose you would care.”

“I know you think me mean, jealous and spiteful, and
will never forgive me or think well of me again.
I—am really very—very—sorry.”’ '

She was sobbing in the bitterness of abandonment,
mortification and repentance. Though having been seri-
ously offended, Judkins was melted by her tears, and be-
gan the delicious task of comforting the pretty, sorrowing
girl. And, somehow, before he Knew it, his arm was
around her, her head was nestied upon his manly breast,
and he was whispering ail sorts of sweet nonsense into
her willing ears. Vows, tender and true, that were to bind
them together for life were spoken in the reconciliation.
And as they drove up tothe old farm-house the eastern
sky was brilliant: with rosy splendor, and the anxious
parents noted the glow of happiness in the two youthful
faces, that smiled out at them through the aurora of
blushes and tender, love-lighted eyes. They knew a
Ciristmas carol was being sung in the two young hearts,
and their old ones took up the refrain and joined in the
chorus for sympathy and joy.

a

AN ALLIGATOR BREAKFAST.

IT expect some of the people yet live who helped me eat
that breakfast, and if they do they will vouch for the
truthfulness of my story. ; ;

The breakfast was found, ready cooked, in the Big Cy-
press Swamp west of Okeechobee Lake, in Florida, in
1840, under the following circumstances:

It was the morning before Lieutenant Commanding
Edmuud Templar Shubrick was so terribly wounded in
the head, that afterward a whole lower jaw of gold and
an upper and lower set of artificial teeth had to be put in.
We had marched steadily all night in hopes of surprising
the camp of Billy Bowiegs, a noted chief of the Seminoles.
Our march had not been very pleasant or comfortable.
Yue mud and water through which we passed ranged
from knee to waist deep, and between thatand tumbling
Over cypress Knees and roots we had what might safely
be called a rough journey.

Just as day began to dawn we came out on astrip of
dry pine tand, aud at that instant, being in command of
the advance, 1 smelled the smoke of a camp-fire.

In a second I ordered flankers out right and left, but at
the same instant a couple of buck Indians, @ squaw, and
a little Indian boy jumped up from a fire in a thicket with-
in a rod of usall.

The men fired without waiting for orders. One of the
bucks fell dead, but the squaw and the other Indian ran
and got clear in spite of us. But the little fellow ran
right in among the meu, dodging here, and there, and
every one tried to.catch without harming him. A dozen
men at one time or another in the clase had hold of him,
but he wriggied away like an eel, and after all got away
entirely. :

The alarm sure to be given both by our firing and the
Indiaus who had escaped, we at ouce gave up tie idea of
ete Mr. Bowlegs, and halted to rest on the dry
ground,
Taking possession of a large iron potoyver the Indian
camp-fire, I called my messmates around .me, and went
in for a breakfast ready cooked. It smelied very savory,
appearing to be a fresh meat stew thickened with dried
and pounded arrowroot aud seasoned with salt, while on
= Kop floated chunks of palmetto cabbage, nicely
viled.
We went into that mess with rare appetites and came
out fully satisfied. I don’t know but some of us were a
little more than satisfied, when getting to the bottom of
the pot we found by the scales that had settled there that
we had been eating alligator siew.
I never looked al one swimining’ around in the lagoons
afterward without a shudder as 1 thought of that break-
fast. NED BUNTLINE.

 

 

UNCLE JOHN’S
CHRISTMAS STORY.

BY LIZZIE HUNT.

 

 

Situated nearly opposite West Point, and about an hour’s
drive from the river, is a large, modern dwelling-house,
standing on a slight eminence, with a delightful rolling
lawn around it. Beautiful shade trees make it cool and
pleasant in summer, but sigh out mouruful refrains in the
long winter nights. The French roof aud cozy bay win-
dows .give to the house an air of grace and refinement
which nothing else Gan impart. Within the grouuds are
finely-built barns, carriage-liouse, and henneries, aud an
elegant lodge at the entrance of the beautiful drive, that
wound so far ere you reached the house you almost be-
lieved you had lost your way. This latter building wouid’
have astonished the grandfather of the present owner of
the place, Mr. Judson Horton, for in its way it was quite
as unique as the larger house, and many a man, well-to-do
in the City of New York, would be glad of as good a place
Lo live in, and with our modern ideas Call it a cottage.

It is winter, and all around the house is bustle and con-
fusion. Large Saratoga trunks are arriving, with now
and then a little hair trunk, and beside it a Russian-leather
traveling bag, and no end of band-boxes, and hat-boxes,
and mysterious-looking packages that gave no evideuce
of the nature of their contents,

The neighbors stood three tiers high (or seemed to by
the position they occupied at the windows) as the sleighs
drove up, loaded with people and luggage. What could
it mean? There was no one at Squire Horton's old enough
to marry. Why, it was Christmas week, and there was Lo
be a family gathering.

Invitations had been sent to relatives far and near.
Uncle Jolin (as he is called by every one who knows him)
and his wife willed it so, and what the old people say is
law. To be sure they were a liltie put-out with the new
fandangled house, as they called it, but with the largest
room, and all their old-fashioned furniture, they “sort 0’
stayed,” as Uncie John said.

“it was wonderful, dear suz alive! How high them
rooms were! Why, mother had never seen the wall. It
was so amazing steep it made ler head swim.??

The dear old people lived with their great-grandson,and
were houvored and respected by all. At every arrival litile
Tot, the great-great-grandchild, the youngest and most
petted of all, would run from the ball-door to “Graudpa
Jonnu,’—so-called because she had other grand-parenis—
Lo tell him who the new-comers were. .

Just now she came ib his roum wilh @ little puckered
mouth, and said: ;
*“Danpa, daupa, they tys and then they tisses, tisses
and tys.. What for ovuu fink? I dess they have been
naughty bad, and can’t have any tissmas.”

“Now mother, said Uncle John, “did you ever see any
thing like it? She is the wondertullest child I ever saw.”
“Law sakes, Julin, she is just another pert little thing,
for all the world, like our Thedosia, that we lust sevenly
years ago this winter,”?

Tne old lady’s head sank on her breast, in sweet but
sad meditation, and her thoughts went back to tle little
one, as if it were but yesterday that she had placed her,
all dimpled and sweet, in her tiny coffin-bed.. Wouid her
darling Know her in the bright hereatter? Just here her
soliloquy was interrupted by the entrauce of a bevy of
old, Middle-aged and young peopie, come to greet father,
mother, grandparents, or Whatever relation the dear old
people might sustain to them.

“Well, now,’? said Uncle John, “‘if this isn’t worth a lot
of money, to see once more 80 Many that we love.”

He peered at them with his undimmed eyes, aud happy
faces siniied back at hin.

Just then the door opened for the thirtieth time, and a
fasuionably dressed young man Caine in. The oid couple
did not seem to Know him, when an old geutleman will
Silvery, white hair, advanced and said:

“Father, don’t yeu know this is Sumantha Ann’s boy ?’

“Land # massy, you don’t say. Come right here,
Samuel, you ought to ve a right smart jad, seelug What a
likely mother you had,??

The youth blushed, and stooped to kiss his great grand-
parents: Tne youug peuple tittered at his coufusiou, aud
Tot said:

“Oh, danpa John, he is yeal seet, and 1’ove him. Don’t
be toss any more.”?

Every oue in the room joined in the laugh, and Tot said:

“They’re yeal mean, so, now!"?

It was the day before Curistmas, and the young people
proposed a game of snow ball and coasting down hill.
They assembled in the great yard, and theu was such a
pelting and pummeling. The air seemed filled with
mammoth snow flakes. Aft last the game grew so excit-
ing that uncles, aunts and grandparents all joined in.

The door opened, and le:nimg on his staf, with little
Tot in her riding hood and cunning mittens, came Unceie
John. He couid not resist the temptation of joming in the
sport. The game had carried him back many, many
years, and he was a boy once more. He drew on his blue
and white striped mittens, and had a ‘ust rate game of
snowballing,” only he said he was ‘‘a leetle mite stuf in
the jints.””) Then he must man the big bob sleighs, which
were fastened together, thirty people were piled on, and
they started at the top of a high hill, and went three-
quarters of a mile to the foot, when with a sudden thu:np
and jerk the whole party were precipitated into @ moun-
tain of snow. Then followed a general scrambling, shak-
ing and screaming, till atl were on their ieet again. Unele
ae laughed until tears rolied down his cheeks, and
said:

“Land sakes alive, what an wndecent way to unload."
Then he seated himself on one of the bobs with Tot in his
arms, and said: “Aslam the oldest, and this baby the
lituest, we'll ride up hill.”

7?

 

 

But I—|

What a puiling, tugging, panting, and blowing ere they
‘reached the hill-top! Not one of them seemed sorry to hear
the dinner-bell. The city guests had never eujoved such
appetites before. Oue would have thought he had luuched
in @ nest of jackdaws, 80 anxious was each to relate his
or her experience in the snow-drift. Little Tot said:

“Me fell down, mos’ broke mine town, statch mine eyes
out, and bumped mine head in Ganpa John’s tumick;
I tink ’em dumped us off on purpos,"?

In the afternvon, they all assembled in the old people's
room, which looked ancient enough with its rag carpet,
high-post bed in one corner, hung around with calico cur-
tains, with figures representing Gabriel blowing his trum-
pet, and queer little cherubs, with heads like Jack-o’-lan-
terns. And there was the chest of drawers, with the brass
handles. What strange treasures had been hid iu those
drawers in the days gone by!

The comfortable old settle had been drawn up to the
fireplace, and the time passed in family visiting. They
must see how tnany teeth Rebecca’s baby has. How large
a stock they wintered Over; how the markets are; what
shiftiess do-nothings neighbor Vanchoick’s children have
turned out, and what a dreadful wicked place the city is
for boys. There seemed no envy or strife. Four genera-
tions sat down and discussed the past and present.

At last, evening came, and seated around the fire, with
foaming pitchers of sweet cider, apples, hickory nuts, and
walnuts, molasses-candy, and popcorn in abundance, the
time passed joyously, until the large, folding-doors were
thrown open, and oh! wonders! There was a gigantic
Christmas tree, and over the top, in great, gilt letters, this
motto: “Glory to God in the Highest, Peace and Good
Will to Men.”

Who can enumerate the gifts? There hung in a very
conspicuous place a stocking two yards long, @ present
to one of the maiden aunts, who was so long drawn out
that one wondered that she had not, ere this, resorted to
a row of tucks to bring her within reasonable hight. The
stocking was filled with bonbons, neckties, collars, cuffs,
a dress, gloves, aud last. but by no means least,
@ fine little miniature man, dressed in the most approved
fashion, and he insisted in winking one eye at Aunt Me-
hetabel, the man-hater of the Horton family. She eujoyed
the joke, however, and laughed with the rest.

Uncle Jolin had a nice, new great-coat, a tobacco-box
aud pipes. Tot had a wonderful mechanical toy. As it
was pluced on the floor and crept off, she called:

“Oh, ganpa, see, see! a baby that can keep, and ’taint
@ meat-buby neiver.”?

Then there was watches and chains for some of the
young people,and furs for the aunts who had none.
Grandma had a new Testament in large print; and as the
jack-in-the-box and sponge monkeys were handed down
she laughed until she wept. '

Good old Parson Pinkins and his other half were there.
Uncle John could not have Christmas without this vener-
able expounder of the word of God. He and his wife
Cume in for their share of the good and useful things, As
he sliook a well+filled purse, he seemed quite repaid for
his Cold ride in the drifting snow.

After the distribution of presents was over, they called
for stories. Several had been told of Christmas in the
long ago, when they called on Uncle Join who rubbed his
smooth, shining crown, and said:

“Well, now, 1 disremember about almost every Christ-
eee racer, now, ain’tit? I guess I shall have to give
it up.

“No, no!’? came from a chorus of voices, “‘you must
tell us something.”

‘Well, I think [ will tell you of a little baby that came
to this world just oue hundred years ago to-morrow. It
was born on Christmas day, in a log Cabin that stood just
where this house does; only in thein are days they hud no
turupikes, but corduroy roads. This baby’s parents wore
hum-spun clothes. The whiz and whiz of the spinning-
wheel was the music they had instead of peannys. The
iittile mother made her play many tunes, and the husbaud
Kept time in the forest near by with his ax, which went
thud, thud, all day long. They dew say that the wild In-
juns would often come to the door.”

‘Was it Taptin Jot?’ queried Tot.

The oid man did not mind the child, but continued:
“Well, the baby, as I said, came on Christmas, and was
a boy. The mother said the angels brought him, and it
was an omen of good luck for the child that he siiould
come on Cliristmas. According to tradition le would be
a kiug some day, «

“His name was Jolin, like mine, and they dew say, as lie
grew older, they nicknamed him King Joiin, and he grew
to be mighty hansoin and did some considerable sparking
among the gals. But, by-and-by, he left the cabin and
went way down to York, and a few years after he caine
back with a fair-liaired, brown-eyed little wife. My! I
have hern tellof her many times. The wolves chased
them home, and if it had not have been for one of them
pesky Britishers, I believe they would have been chawed
up. Bat that feller cawholopped about ten of ’em. The
bride and groom came to the old home on Christmas day.
She rode on the sume horse with her husband, aud seemed
wonderful skeert to meet 80 mauy Strangers, for the old
folks had determined to give the young people a supprise,
wey Ey enough, dear suz alive, the house was filled with
relations.

“Oh, I guess if you ali could have seen the dinner they
had we would have laughed. Why, there were three
Whole pigs, pumpkin pies, wild deer, turkeys, chickens,
pumpkin bread, and taters. Oh, they had a joliy time.
Friends came from far and near, well armed with mus-
kets, for these were risky times. Every bough that sna ped
or strange noise they heard, eacli man stoud ready to fire.
That night, before the peopie went to their’ homes, the
grand-sire took down the old family Bible, and read by a
taller dip, of a Christinas time when the great Father
gave to Lhe world the most precious of Christmas gifts,
even the child Jesus, the littie babe born in Judea, Tien
they Kuelt in prayer, and afferward they all joined in
siugiug that fine vid hymn, ‘Rock of ages cleft fur me.’
The old folks were dreadiul pious, and had always sot a
Store by Jolin. The motner still believed the legend that
a child boru on Christmas should wear acrown. John
disregarded their pious teachings, and told his parents
that 48 SO many people were stopping at the cabin on
thelr way between the two big towns. York, and Albany,
he would build an addition to the old house and Keep a
tavern. The family did not like the idear, but John went
to work and soon had a nice respectable place for travel-
ers. Massy sakes alive, depeud uponit, there are people
living yet who wili remember that old tavern,”

“Did it have camils and elephunts aud. happy toads?’
asked the interested Tot.

“Oh, Child, it weren’t a caravan, but tavern or hotel.”
“The sleighs aud stages used to come Looting their horns
up thatare hill,”? aud he pointed to the west. ‘They
changed horses, and warmed the passengers inside and
out, for they kept wouderful spirits in them days,’’ aud
Uncle John chuckled to himself.

“Avout these times the boys and men used to, have
shooting and raffliug matches. They would pay so much
for shooting ata turkey or chicken, and if they hit the
fowl it was theirs. l have known ove man to git ten
turkeys and as Many Chickens, and he would sell them
and get quite a pile. Old John would never let them have
their games on lis grounds. Sirauge, now, wern’t it?
Aud he Was nothing like a Christian, and suvld enough
whisky to drown Amerikee. He had some, principle
though—I reckon ’twere the wife he had. Slie was a
real good Woiman, Who cCalkeriated to go to meeting on
(te Lord’s day, aud Jolin always hitched up old sorrel aud
took her Over to meeting, bul druy hum and went back
after her when meeting was out.

“They had children, some of which grew to be men and

Wiminin, others were placed in the louesome burial plot
on the hillside.
“Setting aside the loss of children, things always seemed
to prosper with Jolin. He was called well-to-do and re-
spected by his neighbors. You know a man who has a
leetie of this world’s goods will be kinder iooked up to.”?

“Danpa, What about the Tismas buby ?””

“On, yes! Well, he saw the first steamboat fhat ever
sailed on the old Hudson. The news came froin York that
a buat on wheels would pass West Poiut ou such a day.
Well, every one disbelieved it, for how could a boat go on
wheels when there was no ice on tile river? Well, the
peuple up nere in this neighborhood all got on that big
mouutaip a mile back, aud sure enough at jest the time
they suid she came. Well, tuey du say she were a queer-
lovking craft. Not much like the craft they swim ou the
water these days, ”

“Did he ever see the cars? :

“Pears to me he did! There came a rumor that they
were aguing to build a railroad through from York to Al-
bany, and of course it would hurt the business at the
tavern. People povli-poohed at the idea, but alter a long
tune they laid the rails, not much like our feuce rails, but
real iron vars. Then one day Juin wasin the village of
Could Spring with as fine a yoke of steers as yer ever laid
eyes Ou, und there Came one of the tarnelest screechiugs
he ever heard. Everybody was down in the village pear
the railroad track wiil their hands over their eyes, waten-
ing to see what kind of a looking critter Could bellow like
that. Now, John was sitting on his wood wagon—yvu
see he hauied a load of wood now and then when times
were dull at the tavern, for these paris used to be weil
stocked with timber in them days.

“Now, them ar steers caught sight of the critter as it
came plunging out of the tunnel, when it gave one of its
oumercifui shrieks, and them steers just turned clean
around, and started on a gallop for home. They never
stopped until they got-to the pair of bars that used to be
on Lhe north side of the barn. I Kalkerlate Juhu would
have seen the first engine if it had not have been for them
pesky steers. You see he had about all the business he
could attend to, to keep in the waggon, so lie never caught
Sight of that new machine Uiab went driving through the
country like mad. To be sure he saw it afterward, and
went as far as Green Pint once with an iron mule to draw
him.

Twelve o’clock rang out from grandpa’s old-fashioned
clock that stood in the corner of the room. Then the
littie French clock on the mantel in tie dining-room
struck the hour with its silvery tongue, aud somewhere
upstairs a tiny cuckoo called twelve times.

Just then Uucie Joe catied their attention to a little note
Which he had-overlooked and now took from the topmost
bough of tie Christmas tree. It was addressed to “Dee

Unele Fed,” and signed “Tot.”’ It was printed in queer

little letters, and the frienuds asked to have it read. So
Uncle Joe read:
“Dee Uncle Fed, pease doant swarany mo. It hurts

danma, aud [ faid you wontgo when you die where
inama says is God’s buty pace.’

The tears sioud in the eyes of the dashing but rebuked

ung uncie. He said, taking in his arms a beautiful,

usning girl:

“Goud helping me, Bertie, I will never take His name in
vain again.”

Grandma Horton clasped her withered hands, that had
in days gone by toiled sv lovingly for the children, and

said:
“And a little child shall lead them.”

 

   

Then all Knelt in prayer and separated for the night.
In the moruing the house resounded with the Christmas

greetings of triends. Little Tot, in her prettily-embroid-
ered night-dress, stole on tiptoe to Grandpa John’s room,
und awakened the old people with her “bery merry tiss-
mas, danpa.”’ ‘Phe little midget got a chair and scrain-
bled into the high bed, aud puiling at graudpa’s red flan-
nel night-cap, said:

“You ‘ook ike the woof that eat ’ittle yed yidinghood
up. Wasn't it ake how the oxens yun away wif the
man, so him toodn’t see the tars?”

Just then the first bell rang, and half-an-nour later all
assembled in the cozy breaklust-room and had merry
Christmas greetings.

After breukfast the guests whiled away the morning
hours with music, checkers, chess and parlor croquet,
the children in testing their new toys.

At last the dinner hour came, and it was a Christmas:
dinner, with its turkeys, plum-pudding and numerous
other dishes. They were all seated, thanks had been re-
turned to the Giver of all, when Tot piped out with her
shrill little voice: ,

“Oh, danpa, you fordot to tell us what came of the Tis-
Mas man.” -

“Dear suz alive, so I did.”

“Who was he, danpa?’?

“My dear child, that Christmas baby was your old
grandpop, born just one hundred years ago to-day, ac-
cording to my calculations. Ain’t it, mother ?”

“Yes, Jolin; the Lord has been very good to you and
me. And I shall be ninety come spring.”

“Oli, danpa, what a big lot of years to live.”

“1 can’t for the life of me see what the Lord let old John
Horton live so long for. Ivan’t pray in public nor talk
much, but Ido love the Lord. Dear suz, I can’t tella
half | wan ter, but I just as much expect to get to Heaven
as to eat this dinner. Yes, I know my dear old mother
thought because 1 was a Christmas child | would bea
great man and wear a crown, Please God, the only
crown I shall ever wearisin my Father’s Kingdom in
Glory. I was seventy years in giving my heart to Him,
and [Know the crown must be leetie, 1 was so long in
finding the way; but the next time I meet my precious
mother she won’t be disappinted, for her Christuias baby
will have his crown!” ms

Se a

PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS.

 

comet THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. ¢2-

“Y-a-a-s—oh, certainly—you bet. Git her up sniptious, you
carn me O78: None of your dratted one-hoss fixins for ine.
a Ss eo

‘Just so. Silver handles, of course ?” ;

“Eb? What’s thet you say, stranger—sil-ver han-dles? On,
durn it, now, won’t thet he pilin’ it on too hefty like? I kin
stand silver screws and sich, but there’s no use makin’ ¢he hall
tarnation trap of silver. The thing has to be moved, and must
are nanan but I ain't quite so studk up as thet now—not quite,

ranger.

“Very weli,” acquiesced the man of obsequies, “I'll ordin-
ary handles to it, then pat

‘Egus-actly—them’s ’em, mister; now yer talkin’, Ornar
handles “Il do, But, [ say, stranger (veflectively), make the whe
glisten like thunder,”

“Yan Wioola ‘What's ther miateor with

as, wheels. at’s ther matter w anyhow f*
eae th aver eee of meee te —_ e ,

“Coffin!” shneked the dejected-lookin oung man. “Cofii
Now, who the dickens said anything about emine La mn
one wr you oa a cof Yr

“No-o! I want a cradle—a to rock my new baby in.”

“And isn’t your wife dead ?” ’ 7 ag

“Not by ajugful. Don’t yer make cradles for sale?” «

“No, my friend, I am an undertaker,”

“Undertaker of what ?”

“T make coffins,”

“Oh, Lord, let me ketch the feller that sent me here!’*

And the grief-stricken youth crammed his hat over bis ey
ran his hands deep down in the pockets of his trousers, hee |
pounced out on the streets searching for vengeance.—E£nquirer.

A Comical Mistake.

A man in San Juan, California, arose a few mornings a
while the festive lark was still snoring, and with a tin’ bucket
under his arm, wentto the barn tomilk the family cow. It
was dark and rainy, and in fumbling about for old Brindle he
got into the wrong pew and began to pail the off mule of his
wagon team. He can’t remember now which side of the roof he
went out at, but his recollection of alighting on the picket fence
is very vivid. He expects the bucket down in a few days.

Brevities.
A Marne lady, very stout, got on a flour-barrel to hang out
clothes last week. When next seen she had broken through
the head of it, and was rolling around the back yard unable to
extricate herself, and screaming wildly. She repudiates the
wearing of hoops altogether hereafter.
_A DUTIFUL son in Waldoboro, Maine, chanced to make use of
his mother’s tea-pot as a repository for half a pound of powder:
The next time they had company, there was a territic explosion
all of a sudden, aud the old lady attributed it all to the fact that
hey had just bought some “guipé@wder-tea.”

A GENTLEMAN asked a negro boy if he wouldn’t take a pinch of
snuff. *‘‘No.” replied the darkey, very respectiully, “me thank
you. Pomp’s nose not hungry.”

A LITTLE boy having broken his rocking-horse the da
purchased, his mamma began to scold, when he silence

it was
her by

 

A Frustrated Elopement.
Mr. Tom Martin, of Ridgeway, was generally consid-
ered a very fortunate man, for he was the father of an
unusually handsome daughter. Kate Martin was the
belie of the place, and all the young menin town were
very happy to own the acquaintance of Mr. Martin.
In some respects, this was a good thing for Martin, for
he was certainly hard up for cash, and any young fellow
who aspired to become a lover of Kate, could not of
course refuse the father @ loan of five dollars, or a half
dozen cigars.
Tom Martin had always tntended that Kate should re-
trieve the somewhat fallen fortunes of the family by
marrying @ rich man, and consequently he looked with
little favor on the larger number of her suitors.

Dick Wade was Mr. Martin’s favorite among them, for
Dick was old and wealthy, and would cut up fat, to use
Martin’s expression.

But Kate had views of her own, and her preference
was for George Hallowell, a young, good-looking fellow,
who pluyed the violin to perfectiou, sported a blond mus-
tache, and Was poor as a Church mouse, aud likely Lo cop-
tinue so,

Things had come to such a pass that Mr. Martin had
forbidden young Hallowell the house, and he was obiiged
to time his visits to his fair Kate so as pot to run the risk
of encountering her paternal relative.

Kate was very found of music; and no doubt George’s
skillful. touches upon the violin had done much toward
developing any latent tenderness she might have felt for
him.

An elopement had been arranged between the young
eople, to take place on a Certain Tuesday night, when old
artin Was to pay a visit to a neighboring city, where his
only brother dwelt, and both Kate and young Hallowell
were in high giee at the prospect of fooling the old gentie-
Mun so completely.

George’s opportunities of seeing Kate were few, and
their methods of holding couverse were necessarily
limited. The violia did a great deal of talking for thei,
and evenings while Mr, Martin was smoking his pipe,
and telling stories over a mug of ale at the village hotel,
George would be on the sidewalk, under Kate’s window,
scraping out the notes of ‘‘Am I Not Fondly Thine Own,’’
or something similar. Indeed, the lovers’ had arranged
on aregular vocabulary of “airs’? to express what was
meant, and when the violin gave forth the dulcet strains
of “Captain Jinks,’? Kate Knew that their plan was pro-
gressing: and when it wailed out “Robin Adair,’ she
knew that something had arisen to make difficuity.

On Saturday morning. preceding the Tuesday fixed for
the elopement, Tom Marlin puton his best suit, tied his
crochet scarf around his thruat, took his black leather
Valise, kissed Kate good-by, aud proceeded to the depot
on his way to his brother's in Springfield.

Ouly Kate and her Aunt Janie were left in the honse;
and when Aunt Jane got a novel to read she was utterly
oblivious of anything else, and a dozen Kates might have
eloped from under her very nose, aud sie would not have
been the wiser for it.

Saturday night. and Monday night the violin did valor-
ous duty under Kate’s window, and when Tuesday night
arrived aud ten o’clock struck, Kate had tucked Aunt
Jane up in bed, and was herseil suugly en-conced in
waterproof and hood, waiting for the first notes of “Cap-
tain Jinks,” which was the signal to tell her that ail was
well, and that her lover’s carriage was iu wailing. when
she was to steal softly down the back stairs, and go out
to become Mrs. Hallowell.

The welcome sound reached her waiting ears at lasi—
site glided down the stairs, and openiug the door calied
softly:

“George, here I am!’’

And at the same moment she heard her father’s step in
the front hall. The old fellow had returned sooner than
had been expectedl

But Kate was not to be deterred. She rushed forth in
the direction of the sound of that violin, and unfortunately,
there was a hign picket fence between her and the musi-
cian. She put her mouth to an opening in the pickets,
and Called:

“George, he’s got back! Come quick, and help me over,
or all is lost!’

The violin ceased. By the light of a clouded moon she
could see George making frantic efforts to rise, but they
availed nothing! There he sat on the sidewalk, apparently
helpless to get up.

“Oh Lord!” she cried in affright.
it a stroke of apoplexy?’

“A stroke of the devill’? cried George in no amiabie
tone of voice. ‘Kate, I’ve took root! :

“Oh heavens! he’s insane!’ exclaimed Kate,

“Do stop yelling!’ cried George. ‘1t’s this confounded
pitcii pavement that’s done it! The concrete has stuck
fast to my punts, aud | can’t move a peg! Drat the old
nan! He had it put duwn on purpose!’ :

“Hold easy a moment,’ Said Kate, “while I siip around
the other way and help you!” aud while she was slipping
round, the old man, who had heard the lover’s outery, had
slipped out of the front door, and Was advancing upon the
capiured lover with a Coal-scuttle fuil of ashes and a
mouth full of oaths,

George gave a frantic spring just as the contents of the
scultie were let fly in his direction, aud there was an
ominous sound of the tearing of doeskin, and then a youn
man dashed down the street witha White patch just un- |
der his Coat tails, and a demoralized violin waving in oue
hand and an immaculate beaver in the other,

The force of circumstances had proved too much for the
youny iover, and all that was left to tell the tale was the
seut of a very fashionable pair of pants, imbedded in the
concrete, in front of old Martin’s door.

Kate never forgave him, tough why he was to blame
it would be difficult to teil, and three weeks afierward she
married old Wade, and George wrote her a letter to say
that he should drown himself that very day!

But he changed his mind, and is now the happy husband
of a buxom widow who had a family of nine children to
Start with. CLARA AUGUSTA. |

A Bristling Compliment.

Bob Walker, an enterprising clothier in Ceutral New York, was
in Shelley’s bookstore one duy talking with the proprietor about
Watkins, a neighboring dry goodsdealer, who las the reputation
ot being of a porcine disposition.

“Well,” said Bov, “I don’t say that Watkins is a d—— hog; but
if he was a shoemaker I know that he wouldu’t have to reach far
after bristles.” _ JUNKINS.

Waiter Girl Phonetics.

A well-known clergyman recently had occasion to dine at the
principal hotel in Hornellsville, and he discovered that the waiter
girls girded themselves very tight aud spoke a peculiar dialect.
Said one of thein:

“Bitstek bammerlamchops.”

Not long after she renewed the conversation by remarking:

* “Feerecofy,” and as a farewell plaintively ejaculated, “‘Dwish-
humfridegs.”

These were her words, We preserve the sounds and ponder
them. Butit is a sin tor man or woman to get sotigit so early in
the morning.

He Wanted a Cradle, Not a Coffin.

He entered the office of a Cincinnati undertaker with a look of
great care on his honest face. His eyes were heavy aud slightly
bloodshot, telling of nightly vigils and loss of sleep. EF
was unkempt and shaggy. The soft-hearted man of coffins
looked upon his visitor with a gaze full of pity and thanktulness
—pity for the customer’s loss aud thanktulness for his patronage.
He — 80 young to be vurdened with the loss of a dear one by
deat

The manufacturer of burial cases nodded a ‘silent assent and
condoling recognition ;.the yeung man trom the country said:

‘How d’ye ?”

Then ensued a painful silence broken at length by the man of
grave business.

“Can I do anything for you to-day, sir?”

“Wall, I reckin’ so, stranger !”?

Another silence. Ounce more the undertaker began by suggest-

ing:
“EYour sister ?””

Young man stared a moment, then, as a hight gradually broke
upon his perplexed mind, he smiled a smile more suggestive of
sorrow than happiness, and replied:

“No—iny wife.”

“Sudden ?”” :

“No—expected su’thun’ of the kind for several months.”

“When did it happen?” _

“Bout 4 o’clock this morning.”

“Looks natural?” :

“Rather.” (Spoken carefully, and expressive of some doubt.)

* About what do you want the cost of it to be ?”

Til treat her

“Don’t eare for expense; gitit ap kinder nice.
my friend; you'll have it lined with white satin, I

“Is he drunk? or is

handsum, cause sive is the first one Lever had.”
“Very well,

sup’ 7

“Jest as you say, stranger.”

“Silver-headed screws, too, I sup 27”

“Y-a-a-s, I s’pose so. An’, stranger, jest put a bully top to’t.”

“Oh, of course; and you'll want 4 glass in it, also, I suppose ?”

 

His hair:

inquiring: “What is the good of a horse till its broke?”

“SHEAR” nonsense—Clipping jokes.

A LOWELL mil! girl the other day said toa director who wishea
her to consent to a reduction of wages: “Before I'd do it, Pd see
you and your whole graspiw’ set in To-phi-et, pumpin’ thunder at
three cents a clap.”

A gentleman said to his gardener: “George, the time will come
when a man will be able to carry the manure tor an acre of land
in one of his waistcoat pockets.” To which the gardener replied:
“T believe it, sir; but he will be able to carry all the crop in the
other pocket.”

FRANKIE (aged four)—“Mamma, a lady at school kissed me to-
day.” Mamma—‘Did she, dear? Ihope you kissed her back.”
Frankie (indignantly)—‘“‘Kissed her back! No, I didn’t; I kissed
her cheek.”

THE way some of our would-be fashionable youths look a lady
out of countenance would indicate that they are not over-famil-
iar with the politeness of high-life above stares.

GENERAL PiLLow is in Shreveport, La.. looking after a cotton

elaim h2ld by his wife. The lawyers call it the great Pillow-
case.

 

To CORRESPONDENTS.

B@- GOSSIP WITH READEKS AND CONTRIBOUTORS.—
Edward Poole.—1st. The portion ot the tower of London Known
as the White Tower, was commenced by William the rer,
in 1078, and completed by bis sun and successor, William (us,
who, in 1098, surrounded it with walis and a broad, deep. ditel.

 

Several succeeding princes added other buildings and ca-
tions, What are called the “New Buildings,” were jo
1850. The tower was inhabited as a palaee by several sovereigns,
till the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Since her time it has been
chiefty used as a prison and depository for ar records, and

roperty belonging to the crown, and also for public offices, 2d.

e bave not the space to priut the jist of Chicago periodicals.
The Inter-Ocean, Times and Tribune, are the leading morning dai-
lies, 3d. According to the census of , St. Louis had a popula-
tion of 310,864, and Chicago, 298,977. The growth sinee that pe-
riod is estimated, each claiming the position of fourth city in the
Union. Chicago has tne finest streets and the most ent
buildings...... G. W. D. and BE. A. H.—You will see, by referring
to our terms, that the subscription price of the NEw YORK WREK-
LY remains the same—$3 per year—and that the postage is pre-
paid by the proprietors........ Inquirer.—Under a compeient
instructor, ee may be learned a tew
months...... A. M. B.—J. . Scott, 77 Nassau street..,...
Mrs. S. J. V.—We do not wish to add to our list of paid contribu-
Cors.'6s4 H. Ashall —ist. The ulation of London, in 1841, was
1,948,417; in 1851, 2,362,236; im 1861, 2,803,034; in 187! 8,251,804.
That of Pekin is estimated at 1,660,000...... W. M. F.—Your paper
is mailed from this office on Saturday. Wiy you do not get it
under six days we do not know...... J. F. W.—We wilt send you
the Mammoth Monthly for fifty cents a year, and date
your subscription from No. 1, issued last March, it you it.
oatteal Saratoga,—The 22 of February, 1859, came on Tuesday.....
Legerdemain.—We will send you “The Magician’s Own Book” for
$1 50, and ‘fom Burke of Ours,” in paper, for 7 cents; bound in
clotn, $2...... Buffalo Bill.—list. We will send you a magic lan-
tern for $7 DO, $10 or $12. 2d. Yes...... 8S. L. H.—The U. 8.
Consul at Melbourne, Australia, is Thomas Adamson, Jr.; at

ueensland, J. E. Brown. A letter directed simply to the
. 8. Consul, at any port, will reach its destination........ :
Duck.—It is a swindling concern...... Old Man Bob.—ist. There
was no imprupriety in ee to call for the young lady, and to
accompany her home, 2d. We cannot suggest a suitable em-
Pe ens 3d. We do not know....Za Fille de Madame Angot.—
N, P. Willis, the poet and journalist, died at his residence, “Idle-
wild.” in Cornwall, on the Hudson, January 20, 1867, aged sixty
years. ....Cudet.—Addregs a letter to the Secretary of the com-
pany, at the office, foot of Canal street....Queen City.—Ist. The
papers will cost six cents each. 2d. A nice picture or book will
be an appropriate as well as cheap present tor a young lady. We
will purchase anything you may select. 30. Persons -haviog a
number ot Calls to make on New Year usually commence about
noon. 4th, We do not know the lady’s surname. She is on a
theatrical tour....B. A. ton.—"‘Josh Billmgs” is the nom de
plume of Henry W. Shaw. He may be addressed at this office...
£. 0. S.—1st. From $5 upward, 2d. No....John 2.—I1st.
See reply to “William I.” in No. 10, 2d. We will seud you a
pocket lantern for $1.50... Sweifzer.—We cannot iniorm you......
The following MSs. have been accepted: Mothertess, To a Lady
The Snow, Unchanged...... The foliowl will appear in the
Mammoth Monthly Reader: y Bible, The Market Price of
Freckles, Death on the Rail, Eyes, The Hidden Heart, Dyboli’s
Serenades, The Hunters’ Feud, Adventure in a Lonely Tavern....
The following are respectfuliy declined: Kitty Lee, In the China
Seas, Lulu, Loved Oues at Hume, "fis buta Day, A. Life Sketch,
An Accident and its Consequences, A Precious Gift, Lines, A
Wish Realized, The Guild House, The Two Miss-shots, Forlorn,
Teil me, Darling, Blue Violets, Labor no Disgrace, Think of the
Poor, Hannah Hendersen, ‘The Wreck of the Western Star,
Epithalamium, The Way of the Wicked, What have we Donef
Vain Longings, The History of England, Four Hearts, Indepen-
dent aud Seit-Reliant, That Face, Departed, Stanzas, Folded

Away.
ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.

Garnet.—We do not think that any girl should accept the com-
ny of ayoung man when she eets him. She can ailow
im to escort her home from a party, or the like, but should not
accept his decided attentions until she Knows something about
his antecedents. A young girl cannot be too reserved in her be-
havior, in our opinion; and she rarely loses the good opiumon of
geuthemen by modest and retiring manners,

F. R.M.—Remember, friend, that “fine feathers make fine
birds, and therefore when you call upon young ladies, attire
yourself in the best clothes you possess, even if you are tosail far
oer seas in the alternvon. Young ladies often change their
minds, so do not be discouraged, but continue your attentions
until you can discover whether they please or not. f

bepledioda stats There would be no impropriety in the brides-

maids wearing white dresses when the bride wears a light
silk. 2d. It 1s more comme il faut to be married in a vail of nice
white silk illusion lace, two yards wide, and let it fall on
sides of the head te the ground. The face vail is about three-
eightns of a yard in Jepgth. 3d. Rip down the finger ot the glove
to alluw the ring to be puton. 4th, The bridesmaid and grooms-
man enter the church tirst, the bride and groom toilow, or else
the bride walks in with her tather, and the bridegrvom wih her
mother, and meet at the altar, The bride and groom walk out
first; their attendants toliow closely. .
Jo K.ng.—\st. In asking a lady to dance you should say
“Miss ——, may I have the pleasure of your hand in the next
dance?” 2d. It 1s not essential to take a lady to supper, yet itis
polite to do so, aud you should pay for both. In asking a lady
to supper, say ‘May I attend you to the supper tablet”

Modus Operandi.—Your only course is to visit the young lady,
and pay her little attentions and see for yourself if they are re-
ceived with pleasure. use she isrich and you are peor you
need not tear to offer her your hand and heart.

Jack Lyon.—There was no impropriety in the sending of a verbal
reply to your written note, aud you have no cause to take uim-
brage at it.

Bare Back Bill.—ist. Cali upon the lady about a week or ten
days betore tbe dall takes place, and say, *“*Miss —-, may I have
the pleasure of beiiig your escort at the ball?” 2d. When intro-
ducing a young lady to your sister, you should say “Miss —-,
atiow me to present to you my sister.”

2 RE SE TT

A FASCINATING STORY OF ENGLISH SOCIETY
NEXT WHEE,

Iu No. 15 of the NEW ¥ORK WEEKLY, will be cuin-
menced an entrancing serial, entitled

THROWN ON THE WORLD;

—— OR,

The Discarded Wife,

BY THE AUTHOR OF
“LADY DAMER’S SECRET,” “A WOMAN'S
ERROR,” “DORA THORN,” etc., etc,

Tuis soul-absorbing production illustrates English life
with rare skill and fidelity. There is not an extravagant
scene in it, yet every incident is intensely interesting. The
Characters are artistically drawn, and we become curious
concerning them and their motives from the moment cf
their introduction. A clever and ingeniously evolved pilot
connects Lhe exciting yet natural scenes, and it is never
for a moment forgotten by the reader, who follows it with
mind absorbed until the last scene discloses the delightful
mysteries.

A better story than THROWN ON THE WORLD; or,
THE DISCARDED WIFE, is not often given to the public,
and the proprietors of the NEw YORK WEEKLY confidently
recommen it as

A Story Certain to Please All.

It will be commenced NEXT WEEK, in No. & of the
NEw YORK WEEELY.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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