 

 

 

 

 

<i ease nnnncnen a nme nA TCL TLC CT aetna ata tne tnt te

 

 

 

 

 

6

 

STREET S& SMITH, j
Proprietors. }

VOL. XXXI.

 

 

 

THE SHRINES.
(Written for a Dear Friend.)

BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE.

 

Thy manly brother’s gone I know,
And thy true heart dissolves in tears,
Ah, thus must all some sorrow feel
While we are still within the years.
Dear Harriet, I mourn with thee,
And in night watches weep with thee—
Sad sister, let me now entwine,
Although not heavenly as thine,
Respects true votive roses round,
Thy nobie brother’s funeral shrine.

Thou speaketh not, yet thy consent
fs given me in that weeping eye,
And there is lovely answer in

The tender music of thy sigh.
Come, once again, in evening’s shade
We'll go unto his sacred grave,
And pray that after life is past,

We, too, will walk in the Divine,
And with him meet forevermore
*Mid angel-roses ne’er to fade,

By Heaven’s eternal shrme.

MOLLY MAGUIRE,

THE
TERROR OF THE COAL FIELDS.

By DANIEL DOYLE.
A Mine Boss.

“Molly Maguire” was commenced in No. 17. Back numbers
can be obtained from any News Agent. ]

 

CHAPTER XIII.

LOST IN THE MINE—WANDERING THROUGH A WIL-
DERNESS OF NIGHT—A PLEASANT DREAM AND A
FEARFUL AWAKENING.

As soon as the men who remained in the cave re-
covered from the surprise incidental tothe short,
swift struggle between Neal Nolan and Jack
Grimes, they hastened down the slope, guided by
the light of their lamps, to ascertain what fate had
fotelien the Sepeceeet ts their mad and headlong

sscent. Wwere.o. ini
not possibly roll to the bio imion Wat Shey comid

: Oy
it was very steep, and the monionten eee oe - but Se

nists obtained trom their fierce attagk upon each
other was such as to impel them to the foot of the
almost perpendicular plane with a violent shock.

Neal Nolan, an utter stranger to where he was
when he precipitated the attack, imagined, as they
copeoerts from the lights in the cave and con-
tinu to roll rapidly down, down into the gloom,
that they were on their way tothe bottomless pit,
and would never stop. He had never been ina
mine, and was consequently ignorant of the char-
aster of where the party met when he made the as-
sault on Grimes. He imagined they had reached
the bottom ofthe plane,and were actually in the
mine, when they turned into the cave or narrow
recess that was only midway in the four hundred
foot slope.

Grimes, on the other hand, being experienced in
mining matters, the precise situation, al-
though he was not aware of the great depth to
whjch they had to descend.

oy were hurled to the foot of the slope with
great force into a shallow pool of water, and both
were so stunned by the shock as to be unconscious
for afew seconds. Grimes fell uppermost, and as
soon ashe regained sufficient strength to drag
himself away, he did so, making his way back in
the direction of the slope, and leaving Neal strug-
ging amid the coal dust and water.

The knife which he had held, and with which he
expected to mete out death to Nolan, was dashed
from his grasp by the force with which the latter
flung himself upon him at the mouth of the cave,
and this Grimes regretted very much, when he felt
what a fine opportunity he now enjoyed to deal his
adversary astabin thedark. Fearing Nolan’s su-
perior strength, however, he dared not press the

Nos.
P.O. Box 4896, New York,

~
27,

29, 31 Rose St.,

 

NEW YORK, APRIL 10, 1876.

 

 

pass

 

 

WNHAL, “I AM LOST!”

 

   

 

 

 

chambers in. a labyrinth of the’ most inextricable
confusion. ed Malone again called the name of
Nolan as loud as he was able, and the group paus-
ed, and listened attentively for an answer. Once
or twice they thought they heard a voice coming
from afar like a whisper, but whence it came, the
most experienced among them was unable to de-
termine. -They. pressed further on, along the main
road. Occasionally they thought they heard the
sound of hurrying footsteps before them, but it was
only the noise of the rats rushing off in frightened

 

swarms at. their ppproach, The search was con-
tinued long and di gently. At t, Ned Malone’s
lamp gave out, and this warmed the party, that they
must speedily return or they too would be teft to
wander in darkness, and so they retraced their
way to the slope determined to renew the search
for Nolan on the morning ote

By the time they had reached the foot of the slope
all the lamps had been extinguished but one, and
this too gaye out, before they got half way up to the
cave in which their meeting was held, and where a
full supply of .oil was kept. They were too weary
to resume the search for Nolan, in fact-were com-
pletely exhausted, and so leaving him to what they
feared must be inevitable death, they sought their
homes for a few hours’ rest, before going to work,
or to renew the search for the unfortunate young
man.

_ The sensation of suddenly finding himself alone
in a mine, at a depth of four hundred feet—which

 

hand-to-hand struggle even there, and so con-
cluded to beat a hasty retreat as soon as he got free
from the “greenhorn’s” grasp.

_ About a hundred feet from the foot of the slope
he met his companions descending. They were
somewhat startled by the appearance of Grimes.
His clothing was torn in tatters; #=-face, scratched
by the sharp pieces of coal with which he came in
contact, was streaming with blood, and altogether
he presented a frightful aspect.

. Where is Nolan?” hurriedly asked Ned Malone.

“He’s down below, an’ that he may never rise

ag’in,” was the dogged response. “The madman
almost murdhered me. A fine mimber ay a saycrit
society he is, ain’t he?”
_. Hush now, Jack,” said Ned Malone. ‘You are to
blame _yerself for what ye did; you sed things to
him that no man could: stand, an’ the poor boy
heard all about his uncle’s death. You ought to be
the last man in the world that’ud say a word to
him. Is he alive?”

“I don’t know, an’ I don’t care ayther.”

Come, boys,” said Malone, “let us hurry on, and
see if we can save the poor greenhorn.”

And so saying, he led the way, followed by the
revaainder of the party, with the exception of
Looney, who remained with Grimes to console
him and converse with him on the unfortunate re-
suks so far of their foolhardy mission, when they
ought to be attending to their business at Potts-
vile.

“It’s a cursed job,” he said, “and I don’t believe
we'll ever be able to bring our lives away wid us out
0’ this miserable place.”

Boéh sat down on the end of an old railroad tie,
and watched the party descending to the assistance
of Nolan, who, Grimes hoped, would never’ recover
trom the shock. The lights disappeared at last,
and for fully two hours Grimes and Looney waited
the return of their comrades, but to no purpose.
nen astonished atthe length of their absence, the
‘wo Pottsville men made the best of their way out
of the slope,and hastened to Murty Grogan’s sa-
loon, where they called up the bar-tender and pro-
sured a bottle of whisky with which they consoled
thenrselves in a dingy room until nearly dawn,
when both with their heads resting on the table fell
fast asleep.

Ned Malone and those who accompanied him to
the foot of the slope were astonished to find that
Neal Nolan was missing. There were the evidences
of a struggle in the coat dust, upon which large
Spots of blood were visible, but Neal was nowhere
to beseen. Malone shouted at the top of his voice,
calling Nolan’s name, but no answer came, save
tne echo of the sound flung back fromthe dismal
c nambers of the mine.’ Then taking thelamp from
his hatand holding it near the ground, he traced
N: al’s footprints, in the culm, bent in the direction
of the main gangway leading some five miles dis-
tant under the mountain.

1, £ see how it is now,” he said, ‘‘the poor fel-
low was, 80 bothered in the dark, that he-didn’t
know which way he kem down, an’ he is gone into
the gangway and has lost his road. Hurry on boys

r Heavens sake, let us thry an’ find him or he'll
be dead before mornin’.”

They hastened along the passage, The atmos-
phere was dark and disagreeable; occasionally a
ootprint or a blood spot was visible, but on reach-
ing &@ point in which the gangway branched off in a
dozen different directions these traces disappeared,
and the party stood completely bewildered, not
knowing which road totake. From each of these
passages other roads branched off for miles, and
these were crossed and recrossed by worked-out

  

he thought a thousand, at least—from the. surface
of the earth, wrought astrange, indescribable effect
upon Neal Nolan as soon as he realized that his
hated adversary was gone.

. The Lord save us!” he exclaimed, on recovering
himself from the effects of his fearful fall and the
struggle with Grimes. “What kind of a place is
this,and what madness kem over me at all to do
what I did? Ah, I remember now; that murdherin’
dog that killed my uncle, that rufiflan, Grimes,
called me.a coward, an’ I suppose _he thought he’d
kill me too, but I gev ’im askin full of sore bones,
atany rate, an’ that sameisacomfort, although
me own bones are sore enough from the tumble.
I wonder in the world where am [ at all, or is this
another mine deeper than the one we were in?
Well, I mustn’ stand here in the dark many minutes,
so I’ll thry to find me way back.”

Instead of finding his way back, however, he wan-
dered into the main gangway,and with his hand
apainet the side of the passage, he groped his way
along quite rapidly, thinking what a.splendid road
Mi was, and how much more easy it was to walk out

1an in.

“Surely,” he thought, “‘this way must lead me to
the village pretty soon;” and so deceiving himself
with afalse hopeinthe assurance that he would
soon be out of. the gloom, he penetrated it deeper
nos Goenak, until he was far away from the foot of
he slope.

At one os his right hand, with which he felt
his way along the passage, suddenly came against
a sharp angle, indicating another passage leading
tothe right. This he followed for some distance,
when he encountered another, which he took, and
along which he pursued his fruitless journey for a
time. Then coming to a standstill, he ventured to
cross the road and guide himself by his left hand,
as his right had grown tired, and his fingers were
pained by contact with the jagged feces of coal
which jutted out from the black wall irregularly
and were as sharp as pieces of broken glass. After
going along this way forsome distance he turned
to his left, by way of another passage, along which
he wandered. :

At one time he heard the sound of voices calling
what he thought was his name. He imagined that
they came in a dozen different directions. He first
turned one way then another, but so baffled was he
that he could not tell where the voices came from.
Three or four times he answered lustily, but his
face being within a footof the solid wall of coal
the sound was broken against it, and was confined
almost to the passage in which hesteod. Once he
thought he heard a voice calling in the roof above
him; again it seemed to proceed from the earth
beneath his feet, and finally concluding it © be
some delusion of the mind that was mocking him,
he refused to answer further, and pursued his aim-
less path at aslow pace, for howas growing very
tired and dispirited. . :

Atlength he stumbled against a huge piece of
coal,and stooping down, he felt thatit was dry,
and taking aseat uponit, he concluded to rest a
while and ruminate on his awful underground
journey.

Athought came into his mind that he ought to
pray, and so yielding tothe holy impulse, he prayed
earnestly for deliverance from that deep, dark, and

unforeseenly. He endeavored to look in every di-
rection, to see if he could discern a ray of light, but
it was a hopeless task.

The blinding darkness, the complete honeliness.
the impenetrable gloom of the place al influenced

 

 

the poor wanderer to such a degree that he felt the

= t
“OHM, HEAVY EIN YY? CRIED

disagreeable tomb into which he had wandered so. ;

     

j i fei oo
fearful symptoms of despaig tiling fast upon flim,
and he began to think he &2$uid never again be-
hold the light ofday. ifseamed too awful. The
idea of wandering about jn wilderness of night,
and dying in some lonely eye so far beneath the
surface of the earth, camé'upon his mind in all its
oppressive and crushing weight, and made him as
weak as achild. He prayed again for strength to
sustain him in his sufferings, and so while prayin
be fell asleep, with his head resting against a wall
of co

‘The dreams that came to him were far fairer than
his waking thoughts; at least they seemed. so at
first. He dreamed that hewas returning to his na-
tive village in Ireland once more, a rich and pros-
perous man. His mother met him at the door of
their old cottage, and: wept tears.of joy at his re-
turn, whileshe kissed himoyer andover. His gray-
haired father, tottering from his seat by.the old
fireside. fondly welcomed him, and then the boys
and girls of the village, his former friends and com-
Boreas. gathered in until the house was filled

ld Lanty Sheehan, the piper, was sent for, and
taking aseat by the hob, he played merrily while
oe happy party danced with glee as they often did

ore.

At length he thought the dance was ended, and a
dark-browed stranger entered the cottage. It was
Jack Grimes, with a knife in his hand and danger
in hiseye. He advanced to where Neal Nolan sat,
and with a movement rapid as lightning plunged
the knife through his hand as itlay carelessly upon
the table.

With acry of pain the dreamer awoke, only to
find himself in utter darkness. His right hand,
through which he thought the knife had_been
thrust, was still very sore, and it seemed to Nolan
as if the knife did really pens it.

_Presently his left he suffered the same sensa-
tion, and he screamed with pain. : F

Then he felt a dozen creeping things crawling
over his body, and leaping suddenly.to his feet he
flung them to the ground, and then there was a
sudden squealing anda perfect storm of: sound
rushing in ali directions around him.

He was in the midst ofan army of rats, that came
upon him and attacked him while he slept. ;

hese hateful and vicious things wander. through
the mines in hundreds ofhungry swarms, and when
they make an attack are exceedingly bold and:sav-
age. Indeed it often occurs that they gather in
scores around agroup of miners while af dinner,
and fight like tigers forthe crumbs which the men
throw to them, forthe sport wh’ch the battle affords.
Many a miner, who haghalf-eaten his dinner, has
been surprised to find agozen rats fighting for the
dinner-pail by his side, 6r_decamping with some
choice morsel which hehad been reserying for the
close of his meal. The rats are always welcomed,
however—strange to say—where miners are at
work; and tosee them abandon a mine is a sure
sign, according to the suberatitious, that seme great
acgident is about to befall.

Neal Nolan wondered at first whether he had not
wandered into a nest of snakes. The popular be-
lief of the average Iridiman is that every spot of
American soil is infested with this species of rep-
tile. He endeayored to run forward, and in his
haste stumbled upon dozens of rats. This was fol-
lowed by a chorus of squeals which was taken up
by the rest, and the ferocious animals again rushed
at Nolan, leaped upon him, buried their fangs in
his flesh, clung t him despite his desperate strug-
gles to shake them off, and commenced their _terri-
ble work of destruction. He heard with horror
their squealing, in their eagerness to get at him,
and folt at last that his fate was near.

“Oh Heaven!” he cried, “Iam lost!”

CHAPTER XIV.
THE BLACK DIAMOND SHAFI—LIFE IN THE MINE AND
THE COAL BREAKER.
“Down in 2 coal mine
Underneath the ground
Where a gleam of sunshine
Neyer can be found,
Digging dusky diamonds
All the seasons round,
Down in a foal mine
Underneath the ground.”

 

Harry Morgan was up at an early hour, and par-
taking of a simple meal hastened to the Black Dia-

mond Shaft hoping to enter on his day’s work, is
anxiety to be in time, brought him first at the
works. He wéntinto the engine house and hada
leasant chat with the engineer who congratulated
nim on his suoecess in his trial of the day previous,
, and then went around to the mouth of. the shaft, to
| s0e a everything was in order before the men ar-
| rived.
'_ The day was just dawning, and although Harry
| Morgan. felt buoyant of spirit, his heart was heavy,
for thethought of Ellen Sefton, whose life he deem-
ed in danger, was evar with him. He would glad-
ly legrn how she was before entering on his day’s
| toil, bnt that was an impossibility just then at such

{

| an early hour, and with an important task before

 

 

+
; i
him. So he endefvored to console himself with the
hope that when hjis day’s work was over he would
employ some means of ascertainimg her con-
dition. — om?

Occupied with these thoughts he s@arcely saw
where he was going in the gray dawn, until he
stumbled against a hollow-sounding object that
made him start back with horror. it lay immedi-
ately in front of the gate leading to the mouth of
the shaft, and at a short distance from it He look-
ed at ita moment in wonderment, c

It was a common coffin, with a rude drawing of a
skull’ and cross-bones on the top, beneath which
was a significant legend as follows:

 

The mine boss was fairly staggered. _ ;

“Can it be that I dream and tha this is a ghost of
the fancy, that still pursues me? No, it isa reality,”
he said, touching the coarse coffin with his foot. “It
is a reality; another way of sending a Molly Ma-
guire notice. This I presume is their final warn-
ing. ‘They have grown desperate, and are doubt-
less mortified at their humiliating defeat. So far,
their persecution of me has cost them dearly and
punished themselves severely.
They have killed one of. their
own number, and murdered a
priest on the altar-steps. ._How
much farther do: they intend
to earry their hellish design ?
¥es, it is evident aoe not
intend to rest until they take

my life. That's as certain as
fate. Well the.man who takes

it will find enough to do,” and
Harry Morgan Tooked at his
revolver to, see that it was all
right, and made sure that his
dagger was within easy reach.
Presently the ‘workmen be-
gan to assemble at. the mine,
The appearance of the coffin,
with its grim legend, startled
them. Harry Morgan made a
study of every face, as each
workman came to .serutinize
it in turn. But. all. seemed
equally) surprised.’ In. fact,
those who knew all about it
played their parts so well as to
eompletely perplex the mine
boss, who began to doubt as to
whether any of the employees
at the Black Diamond shaft
had any hand in the tranSac-
tion after all. ;
The coffin was reared up in a

eonspicuous place, where _ it

cou be et green. and the

men. were lowered down. the ee
shaft to. their work in groups eee

of a dozen at atime. The shaft THE B

was three hundred feet deep.

Harry Morgan waited for the last trip, and re-
marked to some of the men that he was surprised
at. Ned Malone’s absence, as he was generally so
eas at his work. He was informed by Thady

i that, Ned was not well

“In that case,” said Morgan, ‘I will not put any
one into his chamber for a day or two, at least until
I see if he will be able to return within that time.”

The mine boss had to come in contact with, and
issue orders to, several men who afew days pre-
vious were clamoring for his death, believing him
to be Miles Murphy’s murderer; but he did not let
this fact make any difference in his general bearing
toward them, either in his courtesy or enforcing

 

his orders. It was noticed by some that the mine

Three Dollars Per Year.
Two Copies Five Dollars.

-| shock of théYmine
i workmen in adjacent chambers, preparatory to

   

No; 21.

boss was not, perhaps, as familiar as: was’ his tor-
| mer wont with the workmen; but he simply aimed
\to do his duty, without harshness, and without
| compromising his dignity, and he did it..

There were employed inthe mine and coal-break-
er of the Black Diamond shaft four hundred men
| and boys, and as the day gameniced, and the works
/ were fairly under way, the scene wasa busy one in-

deed. Down deep in the bosom of the earth the ex-
| citing whir of industry kept up. its incessant

sound. Along the cape ways coal cars, heaped with
| the dusky mineral, and drawn by mules, attended
by drivers with lights in their hats, went flying
with amazing rapidity to the foot of the shaft, where
each loaded car was in turn placed upon a platform
and hoisted swiftly up, as though it were a feather
rising in the air, to the mouth of the opening three
| hundred feet away, then, without halting, up a
| hundred feet more tothe tower of the tall and state-
ly, Goal-breaker, where it was rapidly emptied of its
eontents, replaced upon the platform, and swiftly
lowered again, while on the other side of the shaft
another car ascended, and so the scale-like motion
was kept up the livelong day.

Away hundreds of yards from the foot of the shaft,
the miners were scattered at their respective cham-
bers, boring, blasting, and. bringing down in
massive breasts the shining treasures of anthracite,
which were speedily broken up into smaller pieces
by the laborers, and tossed into the coal cars wait-
ing to receive them. Lights flitted here and there

hrough the intense darkness, looking, in the dis-
tance, like faint will-o’-the-wisps moving over a
marsh on some dark night, and producing a weird
‘and wonderful picture. ;

The shouts of drivers spurring on their unwilling
mules, the rumbling of car-wheels along the tracks
leading through the several passages, the frequent
iner’s blast, the ery of caution to the

 

ba eon S. STREET.
FRANCIS S. SMITH.

 

 

 

“firing off,” and the general bustle, combined to
produce a vivid scene.

In the towering breaker, lifting its bold, black,
and majestic dimensions above the mouth of the
shaft, a scene of industry fully equal in exciting in-
terest to that going on underground, was progress-
ing. Uptoa platform near its highest point, a
hundred feet high from the mouth of the shaft, the
coarse coal was speedily hoisted from below by
means of the most perfect and powerful machinery.
Here the coal was “dumped” into a steep slope, se-
cured with stout timbers, along which it ran into
the iron jaws of the rolls, or breakers, supplied
with massive teeth, between which the mineral was
broken up, and sent rushing down another slope
leading to a lower floor, where it was distributed
into a hundred different shallow channels, lined
with sheet-iron, and across which a number of little
boys sat all day long, with eyes bent to their task,
with blaekened faces, and fingers nimbly engaged
sorting the slate from the stream of coal, as it
passed down to another room.

This room in which the boys were employed was
the sereen-room and they were the slate-pickers.
Their ages varied from nine to fourteen years, al-
though the law provided that no boy less than
twelve years old should be employed in the bréak-
er. But what do the Pennsylvania coal operators
care about such a law? Wherever their personal
interests or their purses were concernéd they were
-iully as selfish exacting and tyrannical—though
Se not so sanguinary—as the Molly Maguires,

et éven this statement will not bear qualification.
If the nature-of mine accidents is taken into ac-
count, and the horrible catalogues of murder
caused by disasters that could be averted by employ-
ers did they but comply with the law, it will beseen
that they are guilty of even more deaths than the
ay that has made itself the terror of the coal

lelds.

Most of the slate-pickers who sit there cleaning
coal in the screen-room the'livelong day, are the
children of mine-laborers, and are forced into this

sition for the mere pittance they obtain, to assist
in keeping a large family who would otherwise
starve were they forced to subsist on the scanty
wages of their fathers. Others are forced there by
drunken, dissolute parents who spend twice the
sum their children earn in drink, and who lead one
perpetual life of poverty and low dissipation, while
their families grow up ignorant, callous-hearted,
and neglected, becoming in time the wild weeds of
society, the .desperadoes of the smaller cities, or
the tramps of the nation.

Another class ofthe slate-pickers is composed
largely of the orphans of miners and laborers
killed in the mines. These little fellows, made pre-
maturely old by want and sorrow, realize their
grave responsibilities, and with heads bowed sadly
over their work sit musing amid the cloud of coal-
dust on the amount their labor will bring, and how
far it will assist their widowed mothers at home in
ay the little shanty over their heads.

Often, indeed, some of the best men in the State
i have been recruited from the ranks of the slate-
pickers, and mule-drivers at our mines, and there
is a pretty story current to the effect that the pre-
sidentof one of the wealthiest coal and railroad
companies in the eountry atthe present day, was
once a mule-driver in the mines.

But the lot of the little slate-picker is always a
hardone, and nowhere are the lines of the illus-
trious Elizabeth Barrett Browning more appli-
eable than in their case, where she says: ;

“How long, how long, oh, cruel nation!

Will you turn the world on a child’s heart ?
Trample down with a mailed heel its palpitation,

And tread onward to your glory in the mart!”

In the eoal-breaker of the Black Diamond Shaft
amid the busy slate-pickers, hard at work sai
Owney Keegan, the orphan boy, who was one of the

 

 

 

     

Se

nota nn ARSE er ear ie re
LACK DIAMOND BREAKER.

witnesses of Miles Murphy’s murder. Bysome un-
fortunate circumstance ‘his secret leaked out, and
when a favorable opportunity presented itself he
was besieged by a number of his companions who
were eagerly pressing him for the circumstances of
the tragedy. In an unguarded moment he forgot
the injunctions of his mother, who cautioned him
to be silent on the subject, and he proceeded to tell
what he had witnessed. Nearly every coal shute in
the screen-room was abandoned, and the boys
clustered around Owney as he narrated the tale to
his astonished hearers. Justas he had revealed a
point of absorbing interest, there was a sudden
scramble, arush in many directions, and his au-
dience dispersed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

9 ee ef

 

 

 

a

 

 

—-
Nees cnn

Owney, startled by this demonstration, looked
around him, and was astonished and pained to see
Mick Moran standing over him, whip in hand, and
with a scowling look. The appearance of Satan
himself would not be more terrifying to Owney.

Moran was the ‘cracker boss” whose duty it was
to stand in the breaker.all day, watchingstheslate-
pickers, and inflict corporal’ punishment upon
them for any trifling neglect of their duty: He was
a cruel task-master, and the boys both feared and
_ hated him, and they often had good reason to do so
for Moran used his h rawhide” unsparingly.

“An’ this is how you ddle er time away When me
back is turned, Owney, and idle the time o’ the
other boys, too, wid yer lies.” : ian
dnt you please, sir. I wasn’t tellin? no lies,” said

whey.

“You weren’t, eh? Then take that, an’ that, and
that!” said the brutal boss, bringing down the heavy
lash of his whip with cruel force across the poor
lad’s head and shoulders.

Owney cried aloud for mercy, but the savage
cracker boss pursued his fearful punishment, until
the boy was forced to relax his grasp of the side of
the shute to which he had been clinging, and rolled
down to the bottom of it, an incline plane about
twenty feet long. : -«

“Oh, you are takin’ on somemore 0’ yer thricks,
said Moran, following the little fellow, who lay sob-
bing where he fell. “Get up out o’ that or I'll give
you some more o’ this whip that’ll put life into
you.”

Owney did not seem to heed the words addressed
to him, but still continued to sob loudly. The other
boys, almost frightened to death by the sayage con-
duct of the cracker boss, kept close at their work.

“You won’t get up,” continued, Moran, touching
the prostrate boy with his foot.

here was no response sayeabroken sob. — _

The cruel Moran then stooped down, and fearing
he had kjlled the boy, lifted him up. The lad’s face
was swollen and bleeding, and he had evidently
lost the power of speech. j

The cowardly cracker boss, fearing that he had
committed a murder, hastened down the steps with
the boy in his arms, and placing him in a coal
wagon, bade the driver hasten home at once with
him to his mother, as the little fellow had, he said,
met with an accident in the coal breaker.

 

CHAPTER XY.
LIGHT AND HELP IN THE MINES—A DESPERATE
EED.

Neal Nolan realized at last that he was attacked
by aswarm of rats. He had heard of their vicious
character, and read of men frequently falling a
prey to them, and so when he felt them bury their
teeth in his flesh, and heard the loud squea ing of
the hundreds struggling to get at him, a thrill of
horror crept through his veins, and he thought his
last moments were at hand. He did not know
whether it was day or night with the outside world,
ip oon been sleeping some time before being at-

acked.

With him, however, it was night—intense awful
everlasting night, made hideous and frightful by
the flerce, venomous and relentless enemy’s by
which he had been assailed. He had just surren-
dered himself to his fate, when a bright lighu flash-
ed upon him and for a few moments dazzled his
sight. Presently he heard the welcome sound’ of
human voices; and hope again made his pulses
beat wildly. The voices were those of a party of
men led on by Ned Malone, who were in search of
him. He saw them approach, and ran to meet
them, some of the rats still clinging to him, and
others rushing around him in countless numbers.
As soon as he could see distinctly, he recognized
Ned Malone coming toward him.

“Oh, Ned, Ned!” he cried, “for Heaven’s sake save
me!

The men stood aghast, shocked by the frightful
apparition, as they beheld Nolan’s face streaming
with blood, and his spihing hanging in shreds
around him. Even Malone did not recognize him;
but the sound of his voice he knew, and hastened
to his assistance with all speed.

The thousands of rats, emboldened by the taste
of blood, seemed unwilling to'relinquish the con-
flict, and boldly charged onthe entire party. The
men were armed with revolvers, and speedily com-
meneced firing into the mad swarm. This had the
effect of frightening them away, and they darted
off through the dark passage with a sound like
that of a storm.

When Neal Nolan was thus rid of his tormentors,
all his pent-up energies gave way, and he fell pow-
erless at the feet of his deliverers.

»_ “Boys, boys, he is nearly dega. said Malone, ad-
dressing his: companions. ‘Come, let us hurry
with him totheslope, and get him some fresh air
and water.”

: The atmosphere where they found him was hot
and most oppressive. He had been breathing it
during the day, and this fact alone robbed his nat-
urally robust constitution of its strength; besides,
he suffered much from the loss of blood, the pain
of mind and body endured in that gloomy solitude,
and the despair he had entertained of meeting
such a shocking fate as to fall a prey to the swarm
‘of rats that came upon him so unexpectedly and
attacked him so savagely.

4 They hastened with him as fast as they were
,able to the foot of the slope. Here the air was

|purer, and, after resting a while, they were pleased
to see him show signs of returning consciousness.

| After a few minutes he recovered, but was still very

; weak and unable to walk, so it was with great diffi-

,culty the men could carry him up the slope.

It was evening when they reached the outer
jworld, a pleasant, balmy evening, and, on reaching
the mouth of the mine, Neal Nolan begged of his
\friends to set him down and bring him a drink of
\water, as he was dying of thirst, _

) His request was complied with, his face and tem-
‘ples were bathed with waterfrom a cool spring
‘close by, and it seemed as though he felt his wasted
energies returning again. i

} They assisted him toward {the village, wondering
; Where they would take him for a few days’ rest.

| None of them had a home in which they could ac-
commodate him, and the humble cottage of his late

juncle was too: fullof sorrow already. to makea
comfortable resting-place for one requiring a few
days of quiet and care.
assing along the street, they met Bernard Blake,
an old, stanch, and kind-hearted resident, to
whom they related the circumstances.

“Oh, if that’s all,” said Blake, ‘‘ye can take the
(peor fellow to my house. Lethim thry to make

imself at home there until he is strong enough to
igo to work.” i ;

The party thanked him, and assured him he
would lose nothing by his kindness; and Neal, who

ifelt keenly for his own helpless position, was so
‘overcome that he could not find words to thank his
| benefactor.

). So he was taken to Bernard Blake’s house, where

|Mrs. Blake and her daughter Alice, on hearing the

‘story of Neal’s adventure, ministered to his wants,
‘bade him be of good cheer,and to make himself

.entirely at home. : :

A neat little room was assigned to him, frem
(which he could see into the cozy garden, and here
|he ‘found relief and rest, little dreaming that he
Should go away fromthat happy place with agreater
|pain than the one he brought there. _ :

Shanty Hill was the theater of a continued excite-
;ment. Nosooner was the public mind beginning

to recover itself from the effects of some startling
incident, than another, fully as exciting, occurred,
and so the people of the place were kept in one
perpetual fever of unrest and anxiety. Indeed so
rapidly did events of the most alarming type occur
in the neighborhood, that it would tax the energies
of the most facile chronicler to keep pace with
them,and the line “Another murder in Shanty
Hill,” was constantly kept standing in the offices of
the newspapers of neighboring towns to record the
tragic and desperate deeds that were continually
being committed in that ill-starred yicinity.

Constable Dwyer, it will be remembered, had
warrants in his possession for the arrest of the two
Pottsville desperadoes, Jack Grimés and Larry
Looney, on a-charge of murder. Hewwas a daunt-
less officer, and felt that he would be néglecting his
duty, and dishonoring his manhood did he allow
them to escape, knowing themito bein the neigh-
borhood, and having a thorough knowledge of
theirhaunts. _ b

Accordingly, disguising himself asia miner, and
blackening his face as though he had been at work,
he proceeded to Murty Grogan’s saloon just as the
day was dawning. The bar-tender was already
busy putting things in order for theday, and the
constable soon ascertained that he was the sole oc-
cupant of the bar-room. x7 i

“Business is quiet i
Dwyer. “Well, I’ll set the ball rolling; let me have
a drink of your best whisky.”

The bar-tender thinking he knewévery miner in
Shanty Hill, was rather puzzled to find he was not
aqqna ae With his customer. _

“T came here last night from ‘Pottsville, and was
at a meeting in the mine where I got my face black-
ened,” continued Dwyer...

The bar-tender taking him for a member of the
Molly Maguire Society was completely thrown off
his guste by this little stratagem, and hastily an-
swered:

.Oh, thin you know the other two min from Potts-
ville that’s here ?”

ves. You mean Grimes and Looney ?”

The same,” said the bar-tender. “T thought you
were a sthranger,” he added, “for I know every
miner on Shanty Hill as well as they know the taste
of Murty Grogan’s grog. Have a dhrink wid me
now, sir; it’s a little airly, but I don’t mind havin’ a
friendly snifther, seein’ you are a Schuylkill man,
and that you must be oné@o’ the boys,” and so say-
ing the pair partook of a “social” glass, Dwyer
drinking very lightly.

I believe Jack and Larry are here now?” said

wyer.
“Oh, yis, they kem in mighty airly in the mornin’
or sometime at night it was, I guess, and called me
up togivethemadhrink. I gey them the bottle an’
left them in the little room in there, where they are

 

Pd ; cases, and was at a losshow to proceed.
I see, this morning,” ‘said:

 

as dhrunk as two lords be this time, an’ both fast

asleep. :
so think Tll go in andsee them,” said Dwyer,
“and have a little joke with them.”
“Do, sir; it’ll take a rise out o’ them to see you so
soon,” said the bar-tender, and Dwyer entered the
room: uestions... . = Aipegit i Five \
Criamenee yf sat with their heads resting
on the table, andsnoring soundly, when Constable,
Wwyer Game in. Phe bottle lay tossed on the floor

i mts, the atmosphere of the dingy room ft
raise fines of Whisky Mn the}

was poisonous with the
faces of, the drunken Men, as they appeared in the
early twilight, were hideous and répulsiye. The

gray light of morning stole through the narrow -

little window, and)by it the officers studied the faces
of those before him, and gig ow as to his
best method of proceeding. His first thought was
to disarm the ruffians*while they slept. This he
roceeded te do cautiously, first securing a mur-
erous knife and revolver from Grimes, then goings
to his companion to servehim in asimilar manner.*
He had no sooner taken Looney’s reyolver, how-
ever, than that individual suddenly awoke, and
stared at the intruder in open-mouthed astonish-
ment. Then springing to his feet, he felt for his re-
yolver, but as he did so Dwyer leveled it at is head
and whispered: : . f
“Tf you make any resistance I'll shoot you like a
dog, I’m a detective, and you are my prisoner!" |
“You a detective! Pshaw!. You’re a miner ain’t

you?” said Looney, affecting indifferance although }.

wonderfully confused. q : i

Dwyer answered him by handing him a pair of
handcuffs, at the same time saying:

“Put these on without a word, or you’re a dead
man!” ‘

He saw that he had desperate men to deal with,
and now that he had undertaken the task he was
determined to play a desperate part.

Looney hesitated, while'a dark scowl! played over
his featuree, and thedemonin his nature debated
with him as to what was best to do. |

“What d’ye want to arrest me for ?” he asked.

“On a chargeof murder,’ the detective replied.
“You are accused of killing Miles Murphy.” :

“It’s a lie!” said Looney, stamping the floor with
his foot, at the same time arousing his compan-
ion. : .
Grimes in his stupor was no little surprised to
see a third partyin the room, and seemingly en-
gaged in a warm dispute with Looney at whose
breast he still held the revolver pointed.

“Aha!” cried Grimes, “what's that?” 4

“Here is a man that sez he’s a datective, Jack, an
wants to arrest me for murdher.” : ‘

“These words had the effect of recalling Grimes
to his senses, and without anothor word he felt for
his revolver. He could not find it. He sought his
knife; that too was missing. | Mas :

Aeoee he muttered to himself. “We are ruin-
e a j
“Well who did he say you murdhered?” said
Grimes rising slowly to his feet, and stealthily
stealing round toward where Dwyer stood.

“Stand off!” said Dwyer throwing down the hand-
cuffs on the table, and with a swift movement,
drawing another revolver on Grimes. ‘Now the
first of you that moves one step nearer I’ll shoot
him down on the spot.” : pee

“Well this is a pretty fix,” said Grimes, “and
where do you want to take the man ?”

“IT want you both,” was the reply and can’t afford
to stand here any longer.”

ONS you let us getadrink, or some break-
fast ?”

“You can’t have one or the other until you reach
the lockup, then J’ll provide you with a good
breakfast.” - : a

Then Grimes, as if suddenly conceiving some
fiendish thought, conc.uded on adopting different
tactics than using force there, and committing
murder in the house of his friend. Besides he felt
that an attack on the constable at that moment
while he was on his guard and soe well armed
would result in the death of himself or his com-
panion, so addressing Looney he said: ;

“Oh, put on the handeuffs, Larry; we'll go wid the
gintlemen, he’s doin’ his duty, an’ av coorse they
ean’t prove anything on us.” This with a signifi-
cant look at Looney who understood the purport
of his companion’s words and quietly allowed him-
self to be handcuffed. :
te I want you to be handcuffed,” said Dwyer to

rimes. *

“Is id me? Ah,shure the sarra handcuffs ever I
wore, an’ I'd rather not if you plaze for Ill go wid
you as quiet as a lamb.” ;

Dwyer did not like to be too exacting, lest he
might excite his prisoners to an anger that would
probably. prove fatalto his undestaking, and see-
ing that Grimes was unarmed, and eet walk
with him to the lockup, he did not urge him very
much to assume the manacles.

The three set outin the direction of the lockup,
which lay half a mile distant. The path leading to
it was through a lenely and Serena cies part of
the village, and at one point ran along the steep
bank of a busy little brook that was almost dry.
Neither spoke a word for a few minutes, and every-
thing had goneon so wellthat Dwyerinwardly con-
rretciated? himself on what seemed to him a highly
successful mission: In the excitement he forgot to
make a thorough search of Looney to see if he car-
ried any other weapons than the revolver. In this
he made'a fatal mistake. i

After the party had reached a point where the
river bank was steepest, Dwyer felt himself sud-
denly attacked by Grimes, who dealt him astun-
ning blow with, his fist on the head, felling him to
the ground. In an instant he drew a revolver, and
without waiting to rise to his feet again, pointed it
at his assailant, and drawing the trigger made an
effort to shoot him. But it was the very one he
had taken from Grimes, andits last shot had al-
ready been fired at Father O’Neill, so it was empty.

“The knife, the knife, Jack!” cried Looney, ex-
posing the blade which he carried in his belt.

In an instant Grimes drew the weapon, and
sprang like a tiger on the prostrate constable, into
whose breast he plunged it with a fearful oath. |

A groan escaped the constable’s lips, and an in-
stant later he was quivering in a pool of blood.

“Get his keys, Jack,” cried Looney, ‘‘and release
me from these handcuffs.”

This was speedily done, and the two desperadoes,
seizing the form of the faithful but unfortunate
Constable Dwyer, flung it over the steep craggy
embankment, and it fell with a heavy thud among
the sharp rocks in the brook eighty feet below.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

——__>-9~+___.
Items of Interest.

4a A suit for divorce has been commenced in

Portland, Oregon, which is, to say the least, somewhat romantic.

 

-The plaintiff and defendant were married in one of the Eastern

States when quite young, but misunderstandings soon followed,
and a divorce was obtained. Both Pee married again, and
the husband was blessed with two children, now grown to wo-
manhood. After a lapse of some years death claimed the hus-

.| band of the defendant and the wife of plaintiff as his own. The

defendant being again alone, and somewhat advanced in years,
“went West,” arriving in Portland some four years.ago. Amon

the first persons she met on arriving there was her long lost an

long separated husband. e “spark” in the bosoms of each
was fanned until it kindled into a blaze. They were married, lived
together about three years. took up the old quarrel where they
left it thirty years-ago, and are now seeking for another divorce.

aa The oldest inmate of the Ohio Penitentiary
has been pardoned by Gov. Hayes. Hisname is James Frazer.
He is seventy-three years old, and had been in prison under life-
sentence since September, 1847, fer murder in the second degree;
He was sentenced from Marietta, after two trials, for killing his
wife. The first trial resulted in his conviction for murder in the
first degree and a sentence to be hanged. His wife’s body was
found in a well, and the evidence was entirely circumstantial.
He has always protested his innocence, and has borne an irre-
roachable character in prison. His sensation in stepping out
rom his thirty years’ entombment into the midst of a world of
new things is described as novel and almost Overpowering, He
is respectably connected, and his friends haye signified their
willingness to provide for him.

aa A young man, named Charles Rritchie, lost
his life on Democrat Mountain, Col., last month, in crossing a
field of snow. When just over the brow of the mountain he and a
companion, named Thomas, lost the trail.” Ritchie sat down to
slide, and the moment he did so the snow started. Thomas was
only about three feet from him, and the snow started above and
under him; but, being on his feet, he succeeded in saving
himself. Ritchie, however, was carried down the mountain side,
and over a precipitous ledge of rock fifty feet high. When found
life was extinct. He had failen, and rolled, and slid a distance of
nearly a thousand feet.

aa A set of artificial teeth (three on a small
e was accidentally swallowed a short time since by Mrs. Adam
resse, of Todd roan Pa. Dr. Trout, the physician sent for,
found that the teeth had lo
and the question was how they were to be extricated. The doc.
tor did not have with him the instrument neenetaly used in such
e at length hit upon
an expedient, F g some fewing ilk he tangled it into a
knot, and having attached a string to if, requested the lady to
swallow it. This, atter some difficulty, she succeeded in doing,
and the silk becanie éntangled in the teeth, when all that re.
mained to do was to pull them out by the string.

a@-. The price of admission to the Centennial
Exhibition in P! ae will be fifty cents, payable in one
note, ioe ha Ethe recording turnstiles will have nothing

dged at the entrance of the stomach,

  

to do with the notes, except to decide whether they are good or
bad, ¢ them in the boxes, where each one will register it-
self. An ‘Office of the Centennial National Bank will

be established near each entrance, to change money for visitors
not having fifty-cents note. In the event ofa resumption of
specie payment prior to or during the exhibition the rule will be
amended to meet demands. :

ag A grocer in the town of Santa Clara, Cal.,
has adopted an original method of business. Each side of the
store is fitted up for business on its own account. Inthe general
arrangement each side is a duplicate of the other, the difference
being that one side is cash and the other credit, When a cus-
tomer comes in, the first question asked is: “Do you wish to buy
for cash or on account?’ If it is a cash customer the goods and
prices on the cash side are shown, but if it 13 one who wants
credit, he is shown the other side, and made to realize the value
of ready money, :

a@- Edna A. Rice and Eddie Carpenter, aged
eight years, had their second birthday party given them last
month, in Pawtucket, R. I. They were born on'the 29th of Feb.,
1868. As their birthday comes only once in four years, the -late
occasion was made a notable one. The mothers of the little miss
and master are twins. :

ag During a snow-storm in Wisconsin on Feb.
27th, the Central Railroad depot at Stevens Point was struck by
lightning, set on fire, and destroyed,

“THE LOST BALLOON.

BY BDWARD H. CAREY.

ae enn

 

The wild waves cast it up one day
While sporting with the winds at play—
A slimy, soaked and shapeless:thing,
To which the sea-weed would not cling—» -
An aimless mass, dl] wrecked and torn,/
Now shoreward and now,seaward borne,
Now buried in the boundléss deép,

~ Now hurled aloft by ocean’s sweep,
Begirt by treacherous waters round,
Storm-tossed and hopeless. Thus twas found
After long months had passed away,
And Time had quité effaced the day
When the great cloud-ship rose in air,
Deep freighted with unfelt despair,

Par ‘And the bold aeronaut’s farewell

Rang back to carth—his own death-kriell

7

And wher the vessel reached the shore,
And told the tidings. which it bore,
The lite and light in one crushed soul
Flickered and feebly died.
+ * * * * * * = s
The roll
Of Memory’s resistless wave,
Soon hurried to a misty graye
The sweet, sadstory, dimly known,
Of Love that could not live alone.

SILVER-SWORD ;

“OR,
THE BEAST-TAMER OF SEGNA.

By Prof. Wm. H. Peck,

Author of “‘WILBREDBURN,” “FIFTEEN
THOUSAND POUNDS REWARD,” etc.

 

 

(‘“‘Silver-Sword” was commenced in No. 14. Back numbers
can be obtained of any News Agent. ]}

CHAPTER XI.—ContTInNvED.

“My heart,” Thyra replied, “bids me trust in the
truth of thy voice, which seems like as [have im-
agined the voice of an angel of goodness should be.
I will put full faith in thee, stranger. I know that
thou hast put full faith in me; for were I to hint to
Ercole that thou art notas thou hast feigned to be,
he would seize thee and hurl thee alive to his beasts.
I must therefore believe that strong love for me
hath induced thee to imperil thy life by deceiving
Ereole and Orsola. Thou art the only stranger
they have ever permitted tospeak apart with me;
and as thou hast confided in me, I will confide in
thee. Aid me, then, to escape from Segna, and if
thou art in truth one half so fair to my eye as this
portrait is—and art, indeed, its original—I may love
thee. Nay, stranger, hecause of gratitude alone,
and wert thy faceto remain as unattractive to me
as itnowis, still shouldI try to love thee; for I
know not at what hour yonder beast-tamer may be
seized with a desire to make me his wife, and I have
swornin my heart to plunge this dagger into my
heart when all hope of not being left an unstained
maia shall desert my sdul.”

“And I swear to devote my life to efforts for thy
speedy deliverence,” was the reply of the pretended
trader. “Keep the brooch. Ihave shown thee how
to keep the portrait concealed init. No one can
suspect that the brooch contains a picture—”

“Nay, if thou givest it to me, do so before Ercole
or Orsola, or they will takeit from me,” said Thyra.
“They permit me to accept no gifts without their
consent; they will beat me if I do, and they usually
make me give to them even such gifts as they per-
mit the people of Segna to present to me.”

“I willso manage matters,” replied the pretend-
ed trader, ‘‘that they shall permit thee to retain the

brooch as thine own. And y thee, fair maiden,
to study well that Da ind to believe tay that
it is the perfect si tude_of one who never loved

woman tillhe sawthee. I need not warn thee to
be careful never to permit any one to suspect that
the brooch contains a pictur there no one

thou eouldst dare place faith?”

    
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
    
  
   
  
 

anger of Ercole too much fe
my escape. There are, ig
timated to me their read ‘and desire to. resoue:

eared their sinceri y |
ers toserye me. Omi-
Se ne to Whoa Pas
chance whispe Dy
aid me ifI will but tpuat ii
Ihave ever been fearful of treachery, and of
arousing the jealousy of Egeole, that [ ‘have never
given the slightess encouigeement tolthe head-
man’s ofiprs of friendship and, indeed, my soul
shrinks from eyén the she t{ alliance with so
terrible a being. | No; untifaew I haye never dared
permit any one t suspect=msy loathing for Ercole,
and so there is ng one ap th6 world in whom I dare
place faith.’ : Si eeern

“But now thou wilt trust me?’

“My heart bids me trust thee, stranger——”

“Let ne heart call me Leon, and whenever thou
dost think of me let thy thoughts call me Leon, and
thy faith know me as in truth not less repulsive to
the eye of woman than this portrait.”

“Nay, already my soul is drawn to thee in most
trustful confidence ey the sound of thy voice,
Leon—a yoice so unlike any that I have ever

illimgness to die to
faith and power; but

eard.
“I will not deceive thee, sweet Thyra. It will be
very difficult to rescue thee from the Uscocchi; but
this is my present scheme,” said the pretended
trader, “On the fifth of next month thesister of the
beast-tamer, he has told me, is tobe publicly wed-
ded, with much pomp of ceremony, to Captain Fil-
ippo Saraceno.” Cay i:

“That is true, and it is said that Captain Sarace-
no is atthe same time to be crowned by the Uscoc-
chi chiefs as Duke of Segna. One more vote than
he now_has will elect Saraceno to that rank, and
Ercole del Zoccolo has the casting of that vote. The
vote must be given on the fifth day of next month,
and doubtless Ercole will cast it for Saracenoas
soon as the latter shall have wedded Orbetta del
Zoccolo and publicly declared her to be his only wife,
toshare with Saraceno for life all greatness that
the chiefs of Segna may eonfer upon him.”

“The day has been fixed unalterably?”

“Yes, as the Uscocchi are impatient to see the va-
cant ducal seat filled, since as whileit is vacant they
have no legal head.”

“And the ceremonies aretotake place upon the
plateau between the beach and ramparts toward
the harbor?”

“Yes; it is there that all great occasions are ever
celebrated.” ‘

“The beast-tamer will exhibit his trained beasts
ne the games of his circus and menagerie?”

e >

.And thou wilt be present?” |

“Of. course; but not on this oceasion as a per-
former.”

‘And why not as the Princess of Lions?”

Because of something which Orbetta has said to
Ercole,” replied Thyra, blushing. “Nay, I may as
well tell thee that though Orbetta does not love Sar-
aceno, and desires to wed him only that she ma
be Duchess of Segna, she is jealous of him, and will
make him publicly repudiate’all his other wives
ere she will permit her brother to proelaim that the
Zoecolo faction cast their votes for Saraceno. She
imagines that if Saraceno shall see me as the Prin-
cess of Lions on the day of his marriage with her,
he may bestow upon methat praise and admiration
which she declares he must never give to any wo-
man except herself.” 7 :

“Ah! And has Saraceno wever seen thee?”

“Neyer but. once as the Prin@ss of Lions, and
se was four days ago, when theu wert present,
an 2 ee r

,, And felt all my soul leap toward thee, most beau-
tiful Thyra,” said the pretended trader. “Andnow
for my scheme by which I hope to rescue thee. I
have learned that whenever the Usepechi celebrate
any great affair upon the plateau, their galleys are
left wholly deserted, that every man may be free to
participate in the joys of the day.”

“That is true.”

‘And that even the beach of the harbor is desert-
ed; in fact, that all Segna swarms tothe plateau,
save a few sentinels who reluctantly remain upon
the ramparts looking seaward. On the fifth day.of
next month, therefore, and beforethe hour of noon,
thou wilt see approaching the beach which lies di-
rectly off the center of the plateau nearly opposite
to that solid scaffold they calf the death-block.
a sail-boat painted green and white, and with
a single long pennant, unlike any ever used
by, the Uscocchi, also green’ and white, and
when thou shalt seea broad and square banner of
green and white float from the on of the single
lateen sail, on which shall be a black star, use all
thy speed of foot to be first at the beach, I shall be
in that boat. I doubt not that thou canst contrive
some means by which thou shalt beable to spring
suddenly from those who may be about thee, and
so arrive at the beach many yards in advance of
any who shall pursue thee. Oncein my boatthou
wilt be safe, save from the cannon of the ramparts,
and that is a_peril we must risk—and one little to
be feared, as I judge the wine-cup will be as fre-
quent among the sentinels there as among the
booths.on the plateau. What thinkest thou of this
scheme ?”
uit is very feasible,” was Thyra’s prompt reply.

T shall. undoubtedly be upon the plateau, and in

Her tent will be pitched near the death-block, and
it will; be easy for me to leave it suddenly at any
time, and if there should bs any persons on the

 

oma

case, I would not dare to show any eagerness to be
at the beach—I could gain permission to saunter
toward the beach, with one or two of Orgola’s wo-
men, so that whem»the»brodiipandegreen banner

i @yail myself of thy

; But fearest thou
not the swiftpursuit that will beémade?”

‘““Nay—for that has neyer floated upon the waters
of the Adriatic. or any of its ba gulfs

   
  
  

rescue thee.” : ‘

“And whither wilt thou take me, Leon?”

“To Venice.” :

“To Venice!” i

“To Venice, and then to—wherever thou mayst
desire to go, if When thou shalt haye seen me un-
disguised I am/not in feature the exact original of
this portrait, and if thou @amst not consent to be
the wife Ofehim who is that Portrait’s original.”

“But,” replied Thyra, bluShinglv, ‘if on the fifth
of next month there be afi us wind, orno wind
at all ?” i

“It is not the season for storms nor calms, gentle
Thyra, but for stiff andallday breezés. But upon
the favor of the wind,sofar as strength is con-
cerned, we must depend.” ; : ’

“The channels of the harbor and bay are intricate
and difficult.” i J

“But well known to me. Since I have been in
Segna I have secretly taken soundings of the har-
bor,and drawn a_ perfect chart of allits safe and
perilous places. If ourpresentscheme should fail,
or SNE hy occur to\prevent the attempt upon your
part, I will boldly enter Segna—but in such disguise
that no one shall recognize me ‘asethe Austrian
trader, Durldorf—and feign to join. the Useocchi,
and then seek to rescue thee from the walls of the
town. Jf once thou art in my boat, and my boat
beyond musket-shot of the pirate, I doubt not that
I shall bear thee safe to Venice.”

Here further private conversation between Thyra
and the pretended Austrian trader was checked by
the approach of Ercole and Orsola, and to them the
pretended trader said:

“The maiden seems to understand well all that I
have imparted to her as regards the perfect train-
ing of the lion-cubs.”. Z :

Ay,” said Ercole, interrupting the speaker, ‘I
trust she may remember all that thou hast told her
of such training, asI would have those cubs to
oF as tame and docile as house-dogs, Herr Durl-

orf. Already she hath a knack of teaching my
beasts tricks which delight the people, and those
two stout lion-cubs will be well grown by the time
my wedding-day cometh round. Iam to wed Thy-
ra one year and two months from this day, and she
must train the young lions so that they shall draw
our wedding-chariot about the plateau on that day
without a guard of armed slaves around. Hast
written down as well as heeded closely the instruc-
tions of Herr Durldorf, Thyra?’ -

-I have all here set fairly down, Lord Ercole,” re-
pea Thyra, giving him the title of lerd because

rbetta had insisted that he should so be called by
her; and holding her tablets for his inspection.

‘Nay,” said the beast-tamer, waving the tablets
aside, ‘thou knowest I cannot read; and that I had
thee taught both to read and write by the old priest
Angolo—but for his skill therein we would have
lopped off his shaven head on the death-block, by
my beard! ho!.hol—but saved him that he might
teach thee, Thyra, for pen, paper and ink are more
to be trusted than memory. So, as thou hast the in-
structions of Herr Durldorf set down—hast no
more to tell, Herr Durldorf?”

_. No more, Captain Ercole, save this. In my trad-
ing in_Spain among such descendants of the an-
cient Moors as are now there, I purchased this
brooch,” replied the roses trader, and display-
ing the article in his hand, which he held boldly to-
ward the beast-tamer.

CHAPTER XII.
MORE OF THE AUSTRIAN TRADER.

The beast-tamer took the brooch from the hand
of the prmended Austrian; and stared at it for a
moment curiously. ;

Thyra secretly trembled lest he might touch the

hidden spring by whieh the picture was concealed.
Already her heart was so drawn toward the rare
nobleness and er beauty of that painted face,
that in her soul she knew she could devotedly love
the original, if such an original existed.
., ‘Isee naught to admire in the bauble, save that
it seems tobe good gold. Herr Durldorf,” growled
the beast-tamer; and as he spoke he gave the
brooch to Orsoia.

Again Thyra’s heart fluttered with fear—a fear
that was utterly baseless except in_her secret, con-
sciousness that she had already said to herself:

¢‘If I ever meet the originalof the hidden picture
Zz adore-xim!” and from the fact that he pre-
tended trader at her side had declared himself to be
the original in disguise, and swore that he loved
her and was resolved to rescue her to wed hex

What if the fingers of Orsola, more ¢elicate than

 

the: tent of Orsola, who is to perform in a show. |.

spring! Then indeed would Ercola|never permit
hyra to recieve and keep that brooch—at least not
the picture it contained, and Thyra’s heart yearned
with fervent desire to possess that. :

“Itis but an antique bauble,’, said Orsola, pois-
ing the brooch upon the end of her forefinger, as
she was accustomed to weigh golden coins of
doubtful weight. “Antique, and not solid gold, or
*twould be heavier. But why. dost thou-show it to
us, Herr Durldorf?”

“Tis true, it is not, Captain Ercole,” said the
eee trader and addressing the beast-tamer,
“that thou dost intend to wed this fair maiden
some time during next year ?”

“Aye—ere July of next year—on the tenth of: that
month, to be precise, sinee on that day ’twill be
ten years since I snapped her up.”

“And why, as the maiden is already nearly to full
womanhood grown, dost.thou delay the intended
TAT ERAS. Captain Ercole—if I may presume to
ask

those of the beast-tamer were to iShae the secret

“Concern thyself not with my determinations,

Herr Durldorf,” replied Ercole, scowling; ‘‘but ex-
lain to me why thou hast seen fit to thrust this
rooch upon my notice ?” . ,

“TI did but marvel why, with so fair a prize within
thy hand, Captain Ercole, thou couldst. defer thy
intended full possession thereof,” said the pretend-
ed trader, shrugging his shoulders. “True, it is

or , a Craft
that can compete with ‘this in which I shall seek to | b

 

= — eed

the maiden, however, but as regards the lost Vene-
tian gem, “I] Tesoro,’ of the whereabouts of which
gem the beast-tamer could have spoken a y,

 

though it was notas , na that
this pretended trader Was wherein of the
jewel. a

tu
*

 
   

  
 
 
   

On_perceiving the lurid glare of thé beast-tamer’s
dye, Phy rae Ht abba quic teh fear that
he had dis red \thata secret » had just

sen made@betweem! herself and the: pretended
trader. Sh@ also seeretly tr € the life of

Herr Durldorf
feared that as the
ee pomld legen y ea rian

rader, Ercole now sought toquarrel With him, to
invite him) to sharp spee@hygoas to have some
shadow of an excuse to sla

: J v : ~
There hudlhice rewa eril forthe Stranger, as

  
 

nother | on—she
‘had learned all that
rom thé supposed

Ereole ce rewarded with deatha foreign

ieee ‘ — taught mm pong rare trick of

us art; an reoie,as he struck t man

had exclaimed: Pome
At least, if thou hast not lied, no man save Er-

cole del Zoccolo shall use thy trick, since thou hast

pyorn only thyself knew thy secret till thou taught

it to me.

And then Breoleéhad slain the man and cast the
chopped up body to his tigers—animals he never
attempted to tazxe.. His, lions he never permitted
to taste. human ‘blood, if*he could prevent it; but
tigers he justly regarded as untamable for the
sports and shows of his menagerie.

Thyra knew, too,as did Herr Durldorf, that a
slave of Ercole’s menagerie had offended the fero-
cious beast-tamer a few days before, and that said
slaye was to be cast to the tiger named Wrathsfoot,
which for three days had been deprived of food,
that its ferocityshould be increased; and Thyra
saw in the just quoted words of the beast-tamer a
latent determination to give the pretended trader
tothe fangs of thetiger to prevent the man from
revealing to some other tamer of beasts those se-
crets of his art not known eyen to Ercole until this
Herr Durldorf hadimparted them to him. Orsola,
and Thyra.

And as Thyra§believed Herr Durldorf had not de-
ceived herin aught that he had told her, and as
aren her soul had become elated with secret aud
never before imagined hopes of deliverance from
the horrors of Segna, she felt that were Ercole to
slay Herr Durldorf sheshould remain for life the
slave of his erene and his menagerie.

Perfectly skilled in reading the eruel designs of
her brutal and mercifess master, she now trembled
in her soul*for the safety of the pretended trader;
but hoped that he would remember a caution she
whispered to him ere he had told her he was not
what he seemed; a warning which she had given
simply from that nobility of soul which led her
ever to regard more the welfare of others than her
own. Therefore, when Herr Durldorf first began
his teaching in the menagerie, she—believing him
to be menaced by great peril and pitying his fate
which had led him to desire to impart secrets of
beast-taming to Ercole—had whispered to him:

Stranger, if thou wouldst not be food for the
beasts of my master pretend to be not able to teach
him all thy secrets of his art until thou hast ob-
tained something which thou must say thou hast
not with thee. And when thou art beyond the walls
of this menagerie, enter them not again, but fi
from Segna. Heed my warning, or my master will
never permit thee to depart in life. He will learn
all he can of thee, and when thou shalt say: ‘I have
taught thee all I know,’ he will feed his tigers with-
ot flesh, lest thou shouldst teach thy seerets to
others.”

Herr Durldorf had now been three days within
the walls of Ercole’s menagerie, during which time
every hint of a desire on his part to go forth had
been put aside by the beast-tamer with these words:

. Not until thou shalt swear to me, and also con-
vince me that thou hast taught me all that thou
knowest, will I permit thee to leave my premises.
But until that time thou art my honored guest and
revered teacher.”’ .

And at every instant of these three days the pre-
tended traders did not fail to perceive that vigilant
eyes were upon him, and that to escape from the
walls which surrounded the dwelling and menag-
erie of the beast-tamer was impossible without
Ercole’s consent.

Slowly, therefore, had Herr Durldorf imparted
his instruction, and slowly but surely gained so far
upon the confidence of Ercole and Orsola that they.
had permitted him to converse with Thyra beyend*
their hearing, though not out of their sight; and
not until this hour, toward the close of the third
day of Herr Durldorf’s presence in the place, had
he been able, or rather had he dared to reveal to the
maiden the facts which were set before the reader
in the preceding chapter.

The speech of the beast-tamer,.sd..Jarming to
Thyra, did not ap ear fo.starste nim whom I here
cate Heng Duridge. or he replied, calmly:

“Yes, Captain ole, thou didst tell me why thy
great tiger Wrathsfoot was deprived of food, but
that matter concerns me not. t fear not tigers——”

Nay—tigers cannot be tamed!” ejaculated. the
beast-tamer, instantly imagining that a man whose
power over other beasts had exceeded his own,
might know of some secret by which even tigers
might be made useful in the Zoccolo shows—and so
far as Ercole knew, the tiger was an untamable
beast, useless in his collection except to. be looked
at as a curiosify, or used asaliving dread and a
dreadful excutioner toward his slaves.

I have a secret, Captain Ercole,by which tigers
cas be made as tame as thy performing leopard

im 7 ;

“Ha!” cried Ercole, his eyes sparkling with jo
and desire to be master also of so rare and value
ble asecret. “If thou wilt impart. to me that secret,
Austrian, I will double that reward which I prom-
ised to pay thee when thou shouldst have taught
me all that thou didst know "t

“But,” said Orsola, eager also tolearn this spoken
of secret, “Herr Durldorf must now impart to us
the secret without additional reward. Ee agreed
to teach us all he knew for a certain sum, and singe

e asserts he hath such a secret he must impart it
to us without expectation of further pay.”

ery true,” said Ercole,

Nay, 1 agreed ‘only to instruct hereas regards the
taming of lions and the curing of certain ‘discases.”
replied Herr Durldorf. ‘I know notif any man

 

 

 

‘

 

none of my affair, and %
man’s blood grows warm at sight of female béauty
as my white, hair and heard do.truly, vouch; an
my sixty years also——” 2 :

“Ho!” broke in: the ‘beast-tamer.’ “Our Captain
Saraceno—who may be ‘our. duke—is fully sixty
years old, though his hair and: beard are scareely
streaked with silver, and he hath too eager an eye
for female beauty to please my sister, who looks to
be his duchéss if he be made duke. But speak of
this bauble. Why dost show it tous? Hath it aught
2 do with the teaching of this maiden how to tame

ions ?’ ;

‘Aye, that it hath, Captain Ercole, or I should not
haye shown it.” .

“Good! Though in what respect this bauble may
be of use in lion-taming, I see not,” said Ercole,
again examining the brooch. :

‘Nor do I,” echoed Orsola, taking the ornament
from the palm of her'son,’and again regarding it
closely. “In what way, now,” she added scornful-
ly, holding the brooch contemptuously aloft, “may
one tame eyen a monkey with this. gewgaw, which
Pied made to fasten. a woman’s braided hair, I
judge ?” :

“Are not false love, and infidelity. and discontent,
and jealousy, under'the marriage yoke terrible li-
ons, able to destroy’ domestic peace, Captain Er-
cole?” said the pretended trader, grayely,in his
shrill, reedy voice. “‘And dost thou not love'this
maiden, and hope to rétain her love, which, of
course, thou art assured thou hast, or surely thou
wouldst not desire to make her thy wife?”

“Pooh!” replied the coarse-hearted beast-tamer.
“Itis true that there is.that in my heart which
would prompt me to east the maiden as. food. to
grim old Moloch and black Satana in the den
there, rather than give her to the arms of another,
and perhaps that feeling is what‘thou callest love.
I know not that she feels the same for Pa ho! ho!
and I care not, by my beard! I know that she does
not love any other more than she loves her life,
and, by my soul!” he added, rolling his terrible
eyes Slowly upon the maiden; “when I suspect that
she has seen more in any other man than is in Er-
cole de] Zoecolo to admire, a feast of woman’s flesh
for the lions will be near to their maws.”

Thyra, ever on her guard against revealing in the
faintest degree her loathing for her tiger-hearted
master, smiled calmly, and replied:

“I shall neyer see in Segna any man more to be
admired by me than I have eyer admired Lord Er-
eole del Zoccolo. I know not if this be love like
that of which I have read——” :

“Better it may be some day for thee,” said the
beast-tamer, scowling again, and interrupting her
words, “if that old priest, Angolo. had not permit-
ted thee to read books of romances. Enough of
this. She is to be my wife, Herr Durldorf, and now
Iwould know what the fact hath to do with the
brooch. Speak briefly, for it is near the hour when
I close the outer gates of my grounds, and this is
the last time I shall permit even thy old white beard
to enter them, since thou, old as thou art, hastdared

raise to her ear Thyra’s beauty. I thought, when

gave thee permission to instruct her in beast-
taming—in which, I must admit, thou hast taught
me one or two tricks of which I had not heard—I
say I thought thou wert tdo old not to knowthe fol-
ly of speaking of matters which concern thee not.
But let that pass.. Give me good reason, now, why
thou hast shown the brooch, or I doubt whether
all thy wizard-like power over the lions, and which,
I do admit, did amaze me, will avail thee with my
tiger, Wrathsfoot, which for three days 1 have not
fed—and thou knowest why I have not given him
an ounce of meat for three days.”

The beast-tamer glared savagely at the pretend-
ed trader as he. uttered these words; for, without
knowing: why, and taught perhaps by his brutish
instinct, he began to suspect the stranger had ven-

 

slope, or upon the beach between me and thy grsen
and white boat, I think—since, of course, in such

tured into the Zoceolo menagerie for some secret

in all the world knoweth of this seeret. save my-

Iam far past the age when | self

elf,

“Qh, thou_ wishest to drive a hard bargain with
us,” said Ercole, feigning to barter in the matter,
for he had indeed, as Thyra feared, resolved to kill
the supposed trader as soon as he should be con-
vinced that the trader had no more to teach, “And
doubtless, Herr Durldorf,”. he continued, “the se-
cret is worth a rare price, if only thou hastit. Now

haye heard, and believed it not, that a certain
wizard, whom some call Silver-Sword, the magician
of Milan—I really know not if there be such a per-
son—hath wonderful power totame even tigers.
‘Hast ever heard the same, Austrian?”

. But forthe deep reddish dye which stained the
entire surfaceof the pretended trader’s counten-
ance, perhaps asudden and uncontrollable pallor
of. fear or surprise which was beneath that dye,
might have been seen by each of the three who were
gering at him, as the beast-tamer: spoke of Silver-

‘Perk: ete Re the ba at ree rh had h

e DS, , 00, ; e ast- mer, Who in trut
not the slightest suspicion that the man before him
was disguised, was.never nearer death in all his
perilous life than he was at the instant he spoke of
that magician.

For he to whom Ercole was speaking was Silver-
Sword, the ician of Milan, and who. Silver-
Sword was will in due time appear.
_ Silver-Sword—as I may now term the pretended
intruder—darted one keen: glanee into the eyes of
the beast-tamer,and read theré that Ercole del Zoc-
colo’s, mention of his name, or rather mention of
one of his names, was by mere chance, and not
hotenag of either. knowledge or suspicion of the
ruth. :
“I know naught of the person thou dost name.
Captain Ercole,” he replied, calmly. “‘I know this,
however,” he added, as he drewavial from his
bosom and held it toward the beast-tamer, “that
unless he whom thou callest Silver-Sword, the Ma-
gician of Milan, hath the secretof making such
essence as this in this vial, he hath not the secret of
taming tigers.”
Silver-Sword had now thrust two objects of mys-
terious interest upon the notice of Zeecolo—the
brooch and the vial.
In his heart he had resolved that the maiden
should be permitted to wear as her own the brooch;
and by means of the vial he was pepaing @ means
of escape from the menagerie. He had not forgot-
gotten the whispered warning of Thyra, and he
recognized that his hour of peril was near.
he vial was small and of crystal, with a golden
cap fitted upon a ES poet of ground glass, and con-
tained a few drops of some amber-colored liquid.

“What is this?” demanded Ercole, stretching out
his hand to receive the vial.

“Nay, uncorkit not,” saidthe disguised magician,
“or its strength will quickly be lost. A drop.of this
liquid, which is oil. being placed upon a piece of
raw, meat,and the same fed to atiger, will make
the beast as tame and obedient to any one who hath
another drop of the same sme@ted upon his hands
as thy tamest spaniel is obedient to thy eall.”

“Thou shalt prow this to me, Herr Durldorf. If
thou hast merely uttered a boast, be the fault upon
thy head,” said the beast-tamer.

“T neyer boast of that which I dare not at least at-
tempt,” replied Silver-Sword, with a glance into
the beautiful eyes of Thyra; and the maiden knew
that he thus signified to her secretly, “I mean to
rescue thee from these pirates of Segna.”

“And,” added the beast-tamer, “after thou shalt
have proved to me the poteney of thy oil thou shalt
sell me much of it.” i

“Save the two or three drops: in the vial, Captain
Ercole, I have nonein Segna—nene nearer than
Vienna. | :

“So!” said Ercole, seowling. “But thou canst
teach me how to make it? Orteach my mother,
wad hath some skillin distilling medicaments al-

ready?”

 

 

and perhaps treacherous purpose; not as regards

ys j re
“Hasily had ithe ingredients which are imper-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

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- yorumé, entitled “The People’s Common Sense

SOUP ENE Core CORE LN ORES LOE TALES PENT OP

och
ae
wD

 

 

 

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Farorcseeesieninimeensin ccaseenaibee

 

per day. Send for Chromo Catalogue.: J.

atively necessary for the creation of so wonderful  BUFFORD'S SONS, Boston Mase

an oil—the various rare gums, and: spices, and es-
sences, and oils, and perfumes, Captain Ercole.
Andas i must return to Segna within two months

to reeeive certain large payments of spoils and
un bale of merchandise I may not now receive,

5
illon my } n bring with me a large vial of
this rargouh and & package of those things where-
m I sand

$10 2$25

EVOLVERS!! SEVEN SHOT NEW SB rey
Buffalo Bill Revolver sent, with 100 Cartrid- °
ges, for $3. Full Nickel Plate. Satisfaction guaranteed. Ilus-
trated Catalogue Free. Address
10-18 . WESTERN GUN WORKS, Chicago, Il.

 

 

 

 

Oe ae ay Oe aye yt SD ra tate caed mga era) alvonaoed Tomy wi ach
d price therefor, and bid thy friends to sell of | fa simple cure by addressing |e ae
eir spoils to me at lower rates than they are wont ’ 2296,
to do to other traders.” _-

Siz

20

Address J. BRONSON, Detroit, Mich.

A DAY AT HOME,.—Agents wanted. Outfit
and terms free., TRUE & CO., Augusta, Maine. 59-52

A MONTH.—-AGENTS WANTED. 24

here was so much of the eager and avaricious
air of the genuine trader in the words and manner
of the distinguished rician, that even had the
Zoceoli hitherto entertained a suspicion that he
was anything more than one of those wandering

 
  
 

 

best selling articles in the world. Onesample tree.

 

 

 

 

The maid looked up in dismay. She had forgot-
ten the possibility of her mistress not being able to
make her way about the gloomy place. She did her
best in deseribing it, and Lady Evelyn said, doubt-

fully:

“T think that I shall find it.” eae.
., Then, when you reach the room,” pale jisburn,

knock at the door; if the worst comes to the worst
and sheis there, do not be frightened; remember
your disguise makes you safe. Do not letthe sound
of her voice distress you. Go in boldly; you need
not look at her. Ialways place the keys on the
small stand that you will find at her bedside; go in
at once py the keys there, and walk out again.”

He ifshe speaks to me, Lisburn, what shall I

oO > yy : 4
“Smile to yourself, and_ think how long it will be
efore you hear her veice again,”

 

 

and venturous traders by whom ‘spoils of the

Uasoses Hors Ronee ly be a .

now have set aside such susp :
But no definite suspicion existed in the

e Zoccoli. ;
“First,” replied Ercole, with a grim smile

  
 
   

WANT "A FEW INTELLIGENT

ED. Ladies and Gentlemen to solicit
orders for Captain Glazier’s) new work, ** Battles for the

advanced. References requir _DUSTIN, GI
‘‘\79 | Hartford, Conn.; Chicago, Ul.; Cincinnati, Ohio.
to Dealers. No peddling from
e house to house, Highty dollars a

will try the boasted potency of this oil. Thou thy- W N TE
A month, hotel and traveling ex-
17-6

self, trader, shalt try its merits upon my tiger,

Wrathsfoot, which fierce beast hath not et three

days-tasted food. ‘Thou shalt give him a bit of raw

meat whereon shall be but one drop of this oil, and Address ROBB & CO., Cincinnati. 0,

then thou shalt deck his neck, his ears, ant, tail A MONTH.—A GENTS WANTED
everywhere. _ Business honorable and first-
class. Particulars sent free. Address

J. WORTH & CO., St. Louis, Mo.

with ribbon knots, as my sister oft decks $2 50
20-2
2 New Masonic Works.

lap-dog! Ho! ho! a lap-dog or a lady’s pa
MASON ic. and highly important.

y
as perilous a beast as Orbetta ever cares to touch;
and yet she will dare beard the boldest man in Seg-
natoo! But what sayest thou, trader, to the test?
complete Catalogue. nts wanted.
REDDING & co. Publishers of Masonic Works, __
31 Broadway, New York.

LMAN & CO.,
14-13

 

y Men to travel and sell our goods

penses paid.

 

 
  
  

 

 

Unique
“Armed with the oil I fear not thy starved tiger,” Send for
replied Silver-Sword, calmly. .
“Bravo! Thou art either afool or a very wonder- 18.4
ful man, said Ercole, laughing grimly. “Now I
suspect that thou hast heard that itis easier to put
one’s hand into a lion’s jaws than to take it out un- {
hurt. But thou hast accepted the test, - :
thinking I might not hold thee to it. Well, a:
thou , art either, afogl or a very Wepde ful
Now if this oil hath the power of which th
boast, I will pay thee a large sum for the
and thou shalt have most lucrative trade amon
the Uscocchi. But as I fear Wrathsfoot will
to lap the blood of thy heart rather than the see
of thy oil, explain to me, ere we prove the potency
of thy oil, why thou hast shown to us this brooch?
“I would sell the brooch to thee as a gift which
thou mayest disdain to give eitherto thy mother.
or to this maiden, or to any other. It hath fstrange
virtues, not perceptible to eye, ear, or touch, Cap-
tain Ercole.” - _. : oy
“This!” exclaimed the beast-tamer, again staring :
at the brooch, ; rbirepe
“Indeed!” said Orsola, leaning upon the shoul- =
der of her son, and_ gazing with renewed interest; —
atthe ornament. ‘Explain thy meaning, trader.” :
But the explanation of Silver-Sword, his escape
from the fangs of the staryed tiger, and other mat-
ters which shall lead to his meeting with Thyraa
year later as I left him and the maiden in the green
and Nae boat, must be sought for in the following
chapter.

 

Watches to Agents who will sell our Centen-
nial Stationery Package. It contains 15
sheets Paper, 15 Envelopes, Golden Pen, Pen-
holder, Pencil, Patent Yard Measure, and a
Single package, with pair of elegant Sleeve-
cents.
M. RIKOLAS & CO.,
Philadelphia, Pa.

   
 
   
   
  
 

piece of Jewelry. ir
Buttons, post-paid, 25
Circulars free.
19-4

 

VISITING CARDS, with your name
finely ee oe! wont Ore pate: ane styles.
ENTS WAN . samples : '
AG ee va Be FULLER & CO., Brockton, Mass.

 
   
 

INE ASTRAY FROM THE FOLD OF LOVE.

BY THEO. D. C. MILLER, M. D.

 

 

 

There was one astray from the fold of love,
And the Shepherd. called his sheep;
But the purple shadows of twilight fell
Alike o’er forest, and hill, and dell,
And the Shepherd could but weep
For the lamb astray from the fold so mild,
Alone in the depths of the forest wild.

* CHORUS. /
A yoice is heard from the told of Love,
And just at the close of day ;
*Tis the Shepherd's call for his lamb astray,
‘As he gathers his flock ’neath the staid bright ray—

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

 

 

“KNOW THY OPPORTUNITY.”

The grim monster, Death, was althily ap- He weeps for the one away!

roaching. I could almost feel his hot, fiery But the lamb has gone from the spotless fold,
Ceeeth upon my forehead. My faithless verre The city of Love and the streets of gold.
Hewes, 09 ren ae tae ‘ me, hatin this There was one astray from the fold of Bliss,

And the Shepherd called in vain;
*For the raging torrent was round about,
And echo answered the Shepherd’s shout—
“No voice from the sunless plain!
Could the lamb refuse to answer that call
Of the Shepherd dear, who had cared for all!

Cuorvs: A voice is heard from the foid of Love, etc.

auspicious day he had deigned to moisten my
eyelids with heavenly ambrosia, and I slept. As
T slept, behold, [hada dream! Ithought that I
was roaming upon foreign soil whither my phy-
sician had sent me to recover my health. I was
in a great metropolis—one'of the grand marts of
the world. In one of my strolls I chanced to meet
aman who had in his hand a handsomely-bound
There was one astray from the fold of Joy—
Only one from out the fold!
But the Shepherd knew that his lamb was weak,
_ A tear of pity stole over his cheek—
He loved the one in the cold!
And he cried again o’er the billows deep,
Bring back to my arms the long-lost sheep. -

Medieal Adviser,” and who said that he was an
agent for the sale of the book. The title was such
a novel one that I was_impelled to give the work
a casual notice. As I hastily glanced over its
pages, Lobserved that it contained treatises not
commonly found in medical works. But I had
too many times been hoaxed by eee and
T determined that I would have nothing to do with
it. A voice within me, like a faithful mentor,
whispered; “Know thy opportunity; in that book
is thy salvation!” I an reasoning with my-
self. Although doubtful and distrustful, yet I
put forth my hand to take the poate and, lo! the
ent was gone! I was miserable. In my agony Sa h
Famke. Grint drops of perspiration were upon He would eall = penne ~ arene
my brow. By my bedside was a friend, who had The tity GA Love with its stpeots ef Bold.
called during my slumber to see me. Said or (Sener ice is heard from the fold of Love, ete.
triend, “I have brought with meabeok, just pub-| = | t il ie:
lished, ye th, pene ee ou.” One ‘Le j ia — , =. F i a
glance at the work, and 1 was urged, was a, Vo 7e yu's 0 ye
> 4 . 7 : < i; e
BY THE AUTHOR OF i al
A WOMAN’S TEMPTATION.

CHoRvs: A voice is heard from the fold of Love, ete.

There was one astray from the fold of Love, /
And the Shepherd's heart was sore!

Then He sent His watchmen o’er hill and plain

To bring back the lamb in its guilt and stain—
More dear to Him than of yore!

 

  

‘The People’s Common Sense Medical Adviser,”
by Dr. R. V. Pierce, of Buffalo, N. Y. Surely, this
was the veritable book which I had seen in my
dreams. My friend ioaned me the work, and

every day, as my strength permitted, I perused ;
. its pages. Although it contained very interest-] (aay Evelyn's Folly” was commenced in No. 53. Back Nos.

 

can be obtained from any News Agent.]

CHAPTER LXVII.

Out once morein the fresh air, under the blue
vault of Heaven, Lady Evelyn was, at first, almost
bewildered by the change, It had not) been easily
managed. She had met with many difficulties, not
the least of which was her own terrible neryous
dread. Lisburn had done her best. She had tried
to cheer her; she had talked over the escape as cer-
tain; she had laughed over the difficulties, and
then, when night came on, she had lighted the
lamps, and ha ane to dress her mistress in
the clothes that belonged to her.. As she had said,
they were both of the same size, and when Lady
Evelyn had on the print dress, the white apron, and
white cap, she could have passed well for Lisburn;
when, in addition, her head and face were eae r re
up in the large handkerchief that Lisburn had
worn all day, it was impossible to recognize her.
She smiled at her maid’s delight, for turning round
and looking at her, Lisburn cried out:

“My lady, I never knew what. a pretty costume
mine was before. I shall always like it now.”

‘But Lisburn. did not look so well in Lady Evelyn’s
dress as Lady Evelyn did in hers—that was no mat-
ter. She stood half shy, half ashamed, while my
lady fastened the trailing silk and fine laces around
her; then the Dene lady brought a magnificent
cashmere shawl and laid it over her shoulders.

“You_must wrap yourself up in this, Lisburn,’
she said, “‘and liedown upon the couch with a book
in your hand.”

“The maid drew back half shyly.

ing treatises on Biology, Cerebral Physiology,
Human Temperaments, Nu of the Sick, 5
yet, being an invalid, I was most interested in the
subjects of Diseases and Remedies. I believed
that I had a liver affection, and yet more than
one medical attendant had pronounced my dis-
ease Consumption, and thatI vould fall with the
autumn leaves. In that book I found my symp-
toms pee ortrayed. I wags then confident
that I had not deceived myself. Ireasoned thus:
“Any man who can so truthfully depict my feel-
ings, and apparently understands my constitu-
tional tendencies, must know just what my phys-
ical system demands. I will trust my case with
Dr. Pierce. Iwill take his Golden Medical Dis-
covery. as recommended for my disease.’’ The
result is, that after having perseveringly follow-
ed his prescribed treatment, I once again enjoy
the blessings of health. Therefore, I would say
to the afflicted, “Know thy opportunity,’ and
take Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery. |
UIs.

 

 

 

$1000 per week can be made by any smart man whocan keep
his business to himself. Address G. H. Gerry, Lawrence, Mass.
MARRIAGHi | adpintoesiag, erent ven
GUIDE contemplate marriage,

Price 50 cents, by mail. Address
Dr. BUTT’S DisPENSARY,
21-2 12 North Eighth street, St. Louis, Mo.

 

An interesting illustrated work of
260 pages, containing valuable infor-

 

 

e . 33 . ee
and Morphine habit absolutely and eyeed. | 1 1:5 dont in this beautiful shawl?” 0
u 2 r. t OF :
saz for particulars. DR. CARLETON, Andthen Lady Evelyn, almost forthe first time
187 Washington st., Chicago. 21-2

 

 

 

since her imprisonment, sughed aloud. The sound
seemed to startle even herself.

“What respect ave. fo
Lisburn! Lying down in it will not hurt it.’

But Lisburn trembled and blushed as my lady
drew a magnificent shawl around her; then she lay
down nips the. eouch, and tooka book in her
hands, , Lady Evelyn. stood. against the door,
watching her, and smiling as she
many a long day.

“Lam sure, Lisburn,” she said, witha touch of
her old gayety, “if I look like that when I am lying
down. to read, I look very nice.” ;

Then Alice came up, followed by old Andrew, who
unlocked the door, and stood like a grim sentinel
while tea was being taken in. Neither of them had
me least suspicion,of the change that had taken
place. Kt Re

Alice made her usual arrangements; Laty Svat
did all that she remembered to have seen Lisburn
do; then Alice turned to her and said, in alow

1 PRINTING PRESS.

ive adjustable screws, etc; weight, 6 pounds.
Send stamps for circulars. :
ISLAND CITY M’H'G CO.,
P. O. Box 1551. 59 Cedar Street, N. Y.

JUST OU

ets. Large profits.

you have for a éashmere shawl,

 

The NOVELTY NEEDLE SHARPENER for
« all nore machines. Selis fast at 25
CASHIN & CO., Hagerstown, Md.

HrOoW OFF YOUR TRUSS.—Found a Rem-

ony, for BREACH! It never has failed to heal a rup-
ture. nd us $1 and we will forward recipe for eure. Address
RECIPE CO., Box 97, Danielsonville, Ct.

Ate WANTED IN _ EVERY STATE.
Address N. Y. TOBACCO CO., 145 Reade Street, N. Y.

$4 06 FOR $2.—‘The parties will do all they claim.” —
N.Y. Weekly Sun, Jan. 12, 1876. For parti¢ularssend
rane C. F. WINGATE & CO. (Limited), 69 Duane St., N. Y.

 

 

 

 

 

voice: hes
‘ “T am sorry your face isno better, CanIgetany-

PRAIRIE WARBLER, | 78 (toment Lady Bvel pin | es
A new and noyel invention for imitating all kinds of Birds, OF On ¥ wvelyn was at a 108s; she

thought she was boundto speak, and if she did
speak all would be lost. One moment’s. refle:
showed her that, after all, she was not compelle
speak; she shook her head slowly, as though
would show that.her pain was too great for words.

“Ah, poor girl,’”. said Alice, ‘““Ican understand—
you cannot speak?” 2s bine

Then they went away,
fromthe couch, would. in
mistress, The result wa

   

Animals, and Musical Instruments, used by Ventriloquists, Ma-
gicians, and Actors. The imitations have been believed tc be a
natural gift, all can become Masters of the Art. A useful article
for creating amusement for old and young. A child can preduce
the sound. Indispensable for Sportsmen and Hunters, for by its
use they can imitate and call all the Birds of the Air, such as the
Nightingale, Mocking Bird, Robin, Canary, Thrush,
goa. Turkeys, Geese, and in fact all other Birds that fly. Also,
for imitating the Neigh of a Horse, the Bray of an Ass, the Grunt
5, Hog, the Bark or Whine of a D
Birds and animals increation. Price,
ae, 7 for $1, with directions for use.

English Lark,

   
  
     
   
    
   
  
  

1 Lisburn, springing
upon waiting on her.
compromise; they took
‘yn listened attentively

, and in short all kinds of
y mail, 25 cents; 3 for 50
Address

 

   

 

_. | tea together, and La
13 AVIDSON & Co., No. 86 Nassau street, New York. to th e instruction : er maic d. Wh w
“Youn not spea rew,’ she said; ‘‘you
OPi U M 6 eet aad: ike Onto prepared: The! must hold. light so that he can see the lock—if
Send stamp for book on Opiam ating to | he should k to you there will be no need to an-
W. B. 8g IRE, M. D., swer him—then hold out your hand as though it
Worthington, Greene Co..Ind._| was something to which you were quite accustomed,

and he will give you the keys.’
Be aed ick aa epbat ad hy sh
r ’ : e white hand, white y-leaf,
lor Entertainments. 72 page catalogue Sree. Mc AI. LISTER, wit lovely pink-tipped fingers, and covered with
49 Nassau street, N, X, W51-26. costly gems. hey both looked at it and smiled.
Sa” | 1

7 dy It is well we thought of that,” said Lisburn.
5 gy es , hat hand would have betrayed you at once.”
WA 1. =| Bady Evelyn looked thoughtful
anted

st well on small investments; MaGic LANTERNS
and STEREOPTICONS of all kinds and

rices ;
ee illustrating every subject for Public Exhibitions an

  
  

 

 

twas her fine white hand that betrayed Mary
of Scotland,” she said, slowly. “When she was
eseaping she put out her hand; some one near
her said, ‘That isnot the hand of a washerwo-

_ A double barrel gun, bar or front action locks; warranted gen-
uine twist barrels, and a good shooter, OR NO SALE; With Flask,
Pouch and Wad-cutter, for $15, Can be sent C. O. D. with privi-
lege to examine before payin bill. Send Bap for circular to.

POWELL & SON in. Ay . ‘
26 street, Cincinnati, 0. in No Spar ew mould bere, dea oom, has is pot
e hand of a waiting-maid,’ ” sai isburn. “You
° r day at home. Samples worth $1 i j
BH = BLO ke "SrisoN eGo. Portia, hau, | MuUsttake off your rings. my lady. and contrive to
. . Lady Evelyn took off her rings, and laid them
877 A WEEK to canvass for Vickery’s Fireside! one by one on the table. The maid took them and
52-55
4 GEWN'
mples
we1-52

 

 

 

Visitor. Costs NOTHING to try a put them out of sight.
P. O. VICKERY & 0O., Augusta, Maine. When you have the keys,” she continued, “you
WANTED.—Salary or ge mmission. Valuable | £0,at once to the dowager’s room——”
Address F. M. REED, 8th street, New York. vy Dut, Lisburn,” pee hes gry the young countess,
I do not know where that is.”

 

Just the book for Centennial times. AJl expenses

y

{| could not find the room; then,

ad not done for}. rm
| The sound of the words so alarmed Lady Evelyn

   
   

a 3 AS yO
| hear the gall adi

   
  
   
 
  
 
    
    

could not forget the fright she h

You must be careful not to start.back surprised or
ar) Ree: she would surely suspect if you
did. Then, when that danger is over, you have but
one more to run—that is old Andrew. Listen, my
lady, attentively. You can get out of the lower cor-
ridor window; itis the only one which is ever left
unfastened. I found it out quite by accident. Then
you will probably hayeto remain some time in the
eourt-yard, Andrew goes out; he unlocks the gate
and goes out. It is his habit to go some little dis-
tance round the path and look around him.

should imagine he thinks there is some precaution
about the habit. We shall owe our escape to it.

 

 

 
  
 
  

y he does that, yeu must make some sudden
and unexpected noise inthe court-yard. [threwa
large stone atthe door. Heruns in hastily to sea

what is the matter; you seize that moment to es-
cape. You will want to be quick and adroit, and to
seize the moment, or—all is lost.”
Lady Evelyn sighed deeply; it was so great an
enterprise for her.
“I wish,” she said, that I were safely outside. I
would give something to find myself on the shore.”
“That is but the first half of the enterprise,” said
Lisburn. “I amsure that you will feel some little
dismay when you find youmeet outside on the cliff
alone. Why, my lady, [ do not think you have ever
Seo on the rocks before, or out alone at
night.” ‘
a said Lady Evelyn, “that I certainly have
not.” a g
“You must be yery cautious in descending the
cliff,’ continued Lisburn. “The path is steep and
narrow, with very uncomfortable precipices on each

“It is theésame warning,”.she said, “and this is
the-second time it has come. Heaven keep us from
all harm; there is something going to ee 1g

Lady Evelyn was safe. She wentrapidly as she
dare down the steep, narrow path. It was bewil-
dering to her to find herself once more ‘in the open
air, the broad sky over her head, the fresh air
sweeping around her, the sea tossing its cloud-liko
spray, the moon shining from behind the clouds;
the fresh airseemed to infold her—she could hardly
realize that she was free. Then when she turned
the corner of the cliff shesaw the great, restless,
heaving sea; she could have cried aloud for joy as
she saw the wild waves tossing their heads and
sending great showers of spray. ;

Free! Once more free! The gloomy cell, the cold
stone ruins, the horrible, ghastly solitude—all was
over now—soon, only a few minutes more, and she
would be with Rex!

The remainder of the path was more difficult to
find; huge precipices and tall crags abounded
there, but she was steady and careful—one step ta-
ken she paused befere taking another.

At last, coming to him slowly from out the thick,
soft gloom, Rex saw her. There was no glad cry of
recognition, no rapture of welcome, she held out
her hands to him, and they trembled violently.

Rex,” she said, gently, “thank Heaven I am
sayed, dear, and by you!”

So for some minutes they stood—the great ocean
rolling near them, the vast sky overhead=they stood
in silence that means more, that was far more elo-

uent than words. His first impulse had been to
clasp his arms round her and kiss her, as one just
saved from a great danger; but, though he loyed
her better than any other woman. living, she was
the wife of another man; she was there alone and
helpless. All those things appealed to his chivalry.
Rex held the little hands in his own, but he did not
even bend downto kissthem. His dark eyes flashed
strange fire as he looked at her, for the moon
showed him a face much changed, pale, worn, and
dim. He saw the dreadful havoc that the cruel im-

risonment had made on that beautiful figure, and

e prayed Heaven, in its merey, to keep from him
the man who had been guilty of such cruelty. Then
he bent his handsome face and looked at her, and
it was so new,so beautiful for her to meet once
more the brave, kindly glances of those dark eyes,
that she. poor soul, broke down and wept aloud.

Oh! Rex,” she sobbed; “‘can it be possible that I
am here. with you?”

 

side. Once down, all your difficulties are ended;
the sea lies before you. Onthe rock you will find

   
  
 
 

Mr. Henderson, with two others, and they will row
you to the yacht.” de

She pressed her hands over her heart, and Lis-
‘burn heard say:

Rex, Rex! Bose
Then she looked around her with a dazed, con-

Lisburn,” she said, grayely,: “is it possible: that
before the sun rises I shall have left this terrible
place, and be once more free?”

“It is possible. Before the sun rises you will be
away on the smooth seas, you will look on this
asadream. Now, my lady, courage; I. hear An-
rey coming to lock up, Courage; only one hour

onger.” ay)

Lady Evelyn shuddered as one seized with mortal
cold, and Lisburn heard her say) tocherself again,
“Rex! Rex!” She uttered theoname softly, as
though she drew from it some hidden strength.

Then the sound of footsteps echoed through the
es. Lisburn: wrapped: herself more
r shawl, my lady drew, her handker-
osely round her face, and then the old

long passag
closely in he
chief more cl
man came in. ;

He looked around, as was his custom; he looked
at the silent figure with the magnificent cashmere
drawn round it. at:

“Good night, my lady,” he said ; and from the sofa
there came a faint sound, as though thelady were
too tired to speak, and that he knew meant e00dr

Se

the candle in her hand. The room in which it had
been the dowager’s desire for Lisburh)to sleep was
close to the Western Tower, but not in it. /An-
drew carefully looked oyer his keys; he ‘selected
the right one, and secured the door. My lady held
the light, and her hand didnot tremble. He looked
up, with a laugh. ;

‘It seems a pity, too, to shut up such a pretty bird
in such a dull cage,” he said.

A faint sound, that might haye been a laugh ora
ery, came from the mufiled face, Whichever it was
it quite satisfied Andréw,

  
 

    
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 

or the keys, and, for the
It annoyed at

the courage in the w
cited faney that she had heard voices.
she was f

needed al he
x-

SOON: |
to her

    
   
 
   
   
    
 
    
     
 
 
  
     
     
   
 
 
     
 
        
  

    

eis

!’ she said withasob.

Perhaps h wee waiting for outside those

gloomy prison walls, where the sea broke on the

shore. This te gave ber Courage. She tried
1

  

again; this time she was more successful. She re-
cognized a small square passage, with alarge clock
in it, that Lisburn kad described to her.

“Tam near the dowager’s room,” she thought.
Another moment and she saw the red light of the
fire shining underneath the door; there was a
sound too, as though some onewere stirring in the
room, a sound which filled her with dread. There.
was Rex waiting ;the moon wa ining on the sea, |
She could picture Tkis mpatiently up and
down, listenin king for her. 1 if
ee h h to prevent her from
going. TI d,that dry, peculiar
cough which always filled ‘Evelyn’s heart with
dread. bled, and then stood still one mo-
ment to reassure herself; fear would only prove to
We, por mortal enemy now. Shedrew the handker-
chfef more tightly round her face, and opening the
door, went boldly in. Her enemy was there, seated
by the fire with a thick shawl wrapped round her,
evidently Bh evidently suffering, ‘but fighting
against it. She turned listlessly round when the
door opened. Lady Evelyn gave one rapid look
16 saw the table by the bed and went to-

- Le J
... ou are no better, Lisburn,” said the dowager.

I must say this place is coldand damp, Ido not
feel very well myself, to-day.” fost
evident that she did not expect an answer,

  

     

vent on: )

do not feel better I shall leave youalland_re-

) England in afew days. Ido not know what

»matter with me.” i
Evelyn placed the keys on the table; she

was turning round to leave the room, when the

c ae stood up suddenly. — be

“Let me see your face, Lisburn,” she said;

haps I could suggest some remedy for it.” ~

      
  
  
 

 
 
    

 

CHAPTER LXVUL .

that, forthe moment, she lost all her presence’ of
mind, The large candlestick thatshe held in her
hand suddenly fell to the floor. ; i
Dear me,” cried the dowager, “how clumsy you
are! ar have quite startled me. I detest to see
people dropping everything they hold.” %
It was evident that the dow
so Oe eee? once were, for she looked pale
and frightened. Perhaps the silent gloom of the
house, its ghostly noises, or the knowledge that she
was most cruelly perseeuting her son’s wife, agita-
ted her. The dowager was not ite herself ‘she
ad.
“You should take hold of things more firmly,”

er’s nerves were not

she said; “girls in these days seem to think thot
Ing j,

they have nothing to do but break—no, never. m
your face now. I will see it to-morrow.” St
he dowager was manifestly out of temper—how
thané&fuk Lady Evelyn was for itno one could éyer
ell. pete
“You can go,” said thedowager, angrily. “I shall
want nothing more, and the next time you enter
my room, = to be more careful.” ehis
nly too thankful for the escape, Lady Evelyn
turned away. She had not reached’ the ine: a
the staircase, before she heard Lady Chesterleig

say:

oi isburn! I had forgotten, Lisburn.” a8

She made no roply. but stood still to see if the
peeeet repeated the ery. She did not, but went
back to her room, and Lady Evelyn thanked Heaven
as she heard the door close behind her, Then re-
membering Lisburn’s instructions, she went down
into the lower corridor where the one unfastened
window was. MW
The house was silent as death, not a sound dis-
turbed. the profound stillness. She wondered
where her husband was, and what he was doing.
Then she thought how much he must haye desire
the apology to submit himself to this solitary iit

  

risonment in order to force it from her. She
ound the window unfastened; gently, slowly,
noiselessly, she raised it, and then,in one minute,

she found herself on the ground in the court-yard. !
After that all went well, though her heart beat loud-
ly with fear; she stood in one dark corner until old’
Andrew came out. She did not feel the cold, her
anxiety was too great. After a time the steward

came out, and did just as Lisburn had said. He

opened the gate, and looked down the path to see if
any one or anythin was nigh. When he heard the
noise that Lady Evelyn made purposely, he ran in

again, leaving the gate open for one minute, and,

during that minute, she made her escape.

Once more old Elspie came out, and bewailed the
coming doom of the Chesterleighs,

 

 

night. | f yf
Titwhviiien deid \stamie. as hockelieveris MRD

| for life.”

r ah
‘on: She| tw

ard VOI er ne
nd out. She sat down on the cold steps

3,904, price 30 cents.
' $3 cack yards.

Yes,” he replied. “Do not tremble, Lady Evelyn;
haye no fear. All your troubles are over now. You
shall never go back to meet with such treatment as
this again.” -

Still sobbing wildly she clung to him.

Rex,” she said, “I feel as though I had_ been
dead, and live again. I feel as though I had been
in the very gates of hell,and had found Heaven.
Oh! Rex, I’shall never go back. Mako haste and
Saye me.” | ;

There is,no more fear,” hesaid, ‘‘Thé boatis
here, and the yacht lies not far from here.”

Still she clung to him, trembling as a. child who
has just found.a refuge long sought. He saw that
she trembled so violently that it was with difficulty
she could stand. feat

dy Evelyn,” he said, in that grave, kind voice
she remembered so well; “you must try. and be
brave, just a little longer. I want you to talk to me.
Weshall be in the boattogether, but the seais
rough, and it is just possible that we could not talk
there. Iwant you to tell me all yous etans..

Even in the moonlight he saw her face grow paler
as she raised it to his, ;

You are going with me?” she cried, asudden,
shar agony in her voice. “You are going with
me, Rex?

The clasp of her hands tightened round his arm,
her eyes lingered on his, ;

‘No, not with you,” he replied, “Only as far as
the yacht, no farther. Dear Lady Evelyn, if ever
the time should come when this story of your es-
cape becomes known, it will not do for my name to
e known _with it. Always. remember that, [have
been your lover, and that many know it; the name
of one who loved you as I did should not be mixed
pin the story of your escape.” :

he bent her head until her face rested on his
arm,

“It is very hard,” she said. “Oh, Rex, how I have
suffered for my folly! While I have been there all
alone I have had time to think it ovyer—how mad,

and marry the man I loved.” :
Rex had a code of honor all his own, perhaps—a
rare one in these degenerate days. e had loved
her dearly enough, Heaven knew; he loved her
now, but _he did not care to hear her talk in that
strain, He moved uneasily. i ,
“Tt is done,’ he said, gently; “and marriage is
She raised her head quickly with a keen sense of
pain. ; E
“You are vexed with me, Rex,” sho said. “Oh,
ow yell I remember that grave voice—thabito

    
  
     
  
   
  

 

  

g not vexed,” he replied; “but repinin
ours is useless—useless and pain
and for 1 I will give my life in your de
if you_need it, but we will not ta
Lady Evelyn, tell me—what shall you do? I have
t Aorashy friends here on board the Norther
Be e, who will help you in every way; they h

Y¥ promised me not toleaye you until y
Abn cate in your sister’s house.”

   
      

‘We, dear—I would rather stay with you here, and

sweep, us away together—than I would go away
from you again.” »

The strong figure on which she leaned trembled,
the. black eyes flashed fire. Thereis no storm so
strong, so irresistible as that_of human. passion;
but Rex stood firm. He was silent for some min-
utes, collecting himself; then, with sweet, grave
tenderness, he bent over her.

_. “My dear Lady Evelyn, that can never be; we
must not wait. here until the waters take us away.
‘We haye all life before us, and have.each our own

| battle to fight; we must be brave and fight it.”

But she only clung to him, sobbing out that no
onein the wide world cared. for her, except him;
let her die—let her die with him, then and there.

It was hard for any man to listen to that storm of
sorrow and love, yetremain unmoved; still he must
do it—her yery weakness was her protection. In a
erowded drawing-room, with a circle of admirers
around her, y Eyelyn would not have been half
so well guarded in the eyes of the chivalrous man
who loved her as she was by the silence, and dark-
ness, and solitude. So, with brave, strong words he
calmed her; he soothed and ‘stilled her until the

assionate weeping grew less; then she‘told him

er plans. She would go—not home.

“Thave no home, Rex. When my husband had
beaten me, and I went home, my father refused to
take me in. I think,” she added, with a dreary
laugh that seemed to chime in with the sobbing
waves, ‘I think he would rather I was killed in
what he would consider a respectable manner, than
that I lived after a fashion he did not think respec-
ble.. I cannot go there, Rex; it is no home for
me, But Sir Roden will be kind to me, and my sis-
ter will take me in, lest worse ‘should happen.
Heayen help me! there is no one in the wide world
who cares for me.”

“Then you go to Lady Courteney’s? and, Lady
Evelyn, it will be better that this story of your es-
eape should not be known; at least, it should not

e known that I had anything to do with it. Tell
me, what do you propose for the future ?”

‘She held her lovely child-like face to his.
“Tt do not know; I wish that you would tell me,
Rex. What shall I do?”

“T should advise you, were I aor brother, to re-
main with y Courteney until the forms of sepa-
ration from your husband have been arranged.
Even if you go back to htm after some time, it will
be better not to go back new. He must be taught
that your life and happiness are precious, also
that you have friends who know how to defend you.
Tam quite satisfied now that I know what you pro-

y Rex,”
‘again ?” : d
‘I do not know; not for some time. Ah, here is

the boat. | You will not be frightened, will ae ae

She looked over the dark, tossing sea. The little
boat that rose and_fell with the waves looked so
small,so fragile. The darkness over the waters
was so intense, she was frightened although she
would not say so. eat E
“There is one thing,” she said; “if the little boat
eects we shall die together.”

e could not help feeting touched, for ho saw that

she preferred death with him to life without him;
but he eet cheerily. ¥

“That. littlé boat, as you call it, will not upset,
Lady Evelyn: You cannot see the headland, but be-
hind it the yacht is waiting.”

“Tam not afraid,” she said, and they went. in tho
little boat together, nr
(TO BE CONTINUED),

ee i
The Ladies’ Work-Box. \

[The sprin Catalogue of Patterns now ready, price 6 cents.
Send to the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency.]

“MJ, C."—Your baby is just three months old now; then
don’t make him any more long clothes; let him wear those he
has until the first warm days come, and then put him in his new
short garments, so that his little legs will have a chance to grow
active and strong. Make little ue or Gabrielle dresses, or, if
you like better, make the yoke waists with full skirts, although
the sacque shapes are rather more suitable fer boys; still either
style may be adopted by both sexes. For cloak make a long
saeque with cape. For early spring, merino or opera flannel
owill’ be useful, and that can be worn on cool days all through
the summer; but for full dress you can use white Marseilles, and
ean either trim the sacque and cape with Hamburg edging or
you may embroider the garments yourself. We can send you
patterns of all kinds of garments forchildren. Send your name,
address in full, and also six cents for catalogue of spring fash-

she asked faintly ; ‘““when shall I see you

 

 

°

ns.

“Winifred.”"—Make your dress by pattern No. 4,328, price 40.
cents, a very neat, plain and. stylisix pelonaise. The skirt is No.
You can get. the suit out of eighteen or
The white silk handkerchiefs cost from $1.50 to
each, You can wear shades of almost any color. For

 

 

how foolish, and how blind I was—not to trust all,

, Rex!” she cried, “I—I—do not be cross with |i
die on. the shore—let the waves come back and.

Rn,

    
  

 

baby’s dress you can use pattern No. 2,789, price 20 cents, which
is & Sacque or Gabrielle dress, or, it y¢ better, you may use
a French yoke pattern,.No. 3,941, price 15 cents. Any time you
send your name, address, and six cents, you can get a catalogue
of spring fashions. Yes, there is a gilt preparation which you
can put upon. the rubbed-off spots on the frame, but they must
be varnished to make the gilt stick om. We can hardly advise
you what to-do in regard to leaving home. It certainly isa
great‘undertaking for a’ young gi i
not grou what ee work | she La: ete thoroughly. The
pay Of a Seamstress is not much, and the work is ve ine
or one in poor health.” With ; say

“Little Nell”’—Do not be ashamed of the size of your feet.

 

They will be no larger when you are nineteen years old than
they are now at thirteen. You will grow a good “deal taller and

sLouter Bas hands. aad tog maaan at rest of the Wony:
exc! in giving to girls some sensible advice about the
care of the , including the folly of wearing boots that are too
small, remarks: ‘Learn this lesson; no one cares about the size
of your foot except yourself, therefore be comfortable.’’

._ ‘Young mother.”—Aprons of white muslin are again in fash-
ion for little girls, Some are shaped after the fashion of yoke
slips, and are embroidered up each side of the back, while others
are low-necked, with short sleeves in Gabrielle shape, and are
trimmed with a large design of open needle-work. Dainty dress-
es can be made for children of pique; lawn, or cambric, and with
rufiles of the fabric, will look quite as well as if trimmed with ex-
pensive trimmings. Pe

“Mrs. Godwin.’’—To lace tightly is the very worst thing you can
do, for it not only ruins your Realth, but makes your re ap-
Paar stouter than it really is. Read the following item, and

enefit by its teachings: “The late Duchess of Deyonshire grew
at forty very stout, like many other Englishwomen, yet she re-
ed her beauty. ‘How ave you kept <a complexion so
ure, my dear duchess?’ asked one of her fellow-ladies-in-wait-
ing at the court of Queen Victoria. ‘By dressing at ease and
keeping my temper,’ said the handsome duchess. In France,
where women have a natural taste for what is becoming in dress,
a large woman wears gmpt _draperies and loosely fitting gar-
ments, which make her ‘and feel at her ease. No labored
breathing, no unnatural redr no fearof suffocation. She is
simply a large, beautiful object, instead of a pillow tied in the
middle, with a general air of asphyxia. Tight dressing never
makes a large woman look smaller.”?

“Mrs. A. M.”.—Among the other spring fabrics, vigogne reap-
pears in new tints, of which the very fashionable cream-color is
the predominant one; other fine tints are two or three shades of
dark blue, chestnut brown, several shades of gray, and delicate
turquoise colors. They seil for $165 a yard. Very beautiful
cashmeres are displayed of the lovely ecru colors, ranging from
cream-color fo several shades of delicate yellow; again of the
slightest possible tint of yellowish white. These are all wool,
very soft, and intended for the princesse and polonaise overdress,
the other portions of the co being of black velvet, or differ-
ent shades of brown, according an artistic contrast. The
trimmings will be of ecr mere lace in elaborate patterns

 
   
   
  
  
  
   
 

   
   
  
 
 
 
 

d kid gloves are worn with church,

They cost $150 a pair. Bridal
ry long. With short sleeves we have
ere fastened with from thirteen to sey-

 
  
   
   

tte grenadines, while others are of cream,
plum color. Mode, gray, drab, and gray-
alsoshown. There are also many ecru
linen, showing occasional rough threads
er tissues of the Rreceat season. Old-fash-
another fabric displaying the prevailing
; ert Fee, tints. It is said this will be given

 

ish-blue grenad
mixtures of si
like the Knick
ioned wool b
ivory, wheat,

character by bows of cardinal, or else old blue gros
grain; in some: ces it is effectively combined with myrtle
green in pl. and damask fi

; 3.

_ “Anxious Josie.”’—Ist. Hold the feather over a hot stoye and
it will curl ee: but be very careful that the heat is not too
great, or the er will scorch. 2d. Keepthemclean. 3d. You
write a plain, clear hand, very easy to read.

“Florence W.”’—It is almost impossible to tell how the magnifi-
cent imported dresses are made. Some of the ornamentation is
woven in the material, others are wrought by hand. We do not
know how the dress you refer to was done; we only know of the
“waved” e . The braid and other trimmings cost from 50 cts
to $3 peryard. A handsome ball-dress is of cream-colored silk,
with skirt very plain in front, and all of its fullness behind. The
train forms a perfect fan, and has wide, lengthwise puffs besides.
The plain silk front has an apron of two deep curves of duchesse
lace, headed by shells of cream-colored tulle and shirred puffs.
This forms a shell behind, and is held together by large loops and
bows. A garland of fully-blown roses is down oné side. The cor-
set waist is laced behind, and edged with a fiounce of lace. The
heading of the lace is tulle shell trimming. Lace is in the arm-
Hoje and around the neck.

rs.

misses of from eight to fifteen years of age is No. 4,339, price 30
cts. The garment is very simple, only two breadths being used
in making it. They are not joined in the usual style at the top,
but are shaped in puplum fashion, and each is fitted to the
figure by means of a dart, the right side overlapping the left in
front. Qur modelis made of cashmere, and is decorated with
oxy dles silver buttons, bound button-holes, and bias bands of
silk. The pocket, which is useful as well as ornamental, is sug-
gestive of a closed parasol, and is shirred at both edges to form
a ruffied finish, a dainty row of silk being added at the bottom.
On account ofits unique andsimple construction this overskirt
is already very popular for spring wear. Plain camel’s hair or
eashmere makes up handsomely by the model, and may be
trimmed with bands of plain or figured silk, Titan braid, or
corded bands ofthe material. The garment is long, as the skirt
worn beneath need be but very slightly trimmed.
_ “Sarah B.,”’ “Hester” and Others.—During the spring and sum-
mer all kinds of cotton fabrics, such as-calico, percale, lawn, and
ints will be more worn than for many seasons past. These
‘esses are made in the most simple shapes, have very few bias
Seams and their draping is done by tapes and drawi strings
that are easily straightened out, and are, therefore, casily laun-
dried. The calico or cambrics of which the suits are made may
be of any figure or of plain grounds, but those with stripes,
plaids, or mere dashes of color are preferred. Usually the ma-
terials are chosen to show stripes of two widths, or else they are
— plain, partly striped, or else the plaids and stripes are cut
ias to produce variety. One suit is made with a continental
basque and long round overskirt. Another suit consists of skirt
and polonaise. In truth we find the costumes in all manner of
genisns. French and blouse waists, and others alleasy to wash
and iron, ’

re

need. These will provea desirable support, and at the same
time are so pliable that the wearer can with ease bend over to
button or Jace her shoes, and the springs will ‘not break, but will
resume proper position -when the body is raised. These clasps
cost 25 cents a pair.

“Young Lady.”’—You will not require half the number of gar-
ments for the visit. It is a great mistake to think of taking more

Mm | than one medium sized trunk tostay a month at the house ofa

friend, particularly when you say, she is not by any means fash-
i le, and you will not go to any places of entertainment ex-

e cept afew tea-parties. You may take a morning dress or two, 2

ng suit, a visiting costume, and your two silks for recep-
an purposes. Get your boanet in the city, and you will havea
tyle, and besides can judge before buying, it it will become

  
 
   
 
  
 
   
    

 

TOR NED,” a
ommenced in the New YorK W#HEKLY ina
two. ~

Sorina ole

SROWN PAPER CIGARS.

does not'take out from 2,000 to 5,000

       
  
  
  
  
 

w paper makes a ‘‘filling” almost
perior, to the genuine leaf. In fact,
s impossible to detect the delicate
iterlapped with leaves in the finished
y folding the exterior. For this pur-
pose; we.are told ,
under combustion, leaving no residum other than
a pure white ash. To such a refinement of art has
this business: béen carried that by the use of ma-
chines rolled over the sheet of paper an almost per-
fect impression of the tobacco leaf is obtained, the
peculiar “spots” being printed as on calico. Smo-
kers of Havana cigars will, no doubt, consume their
“weed” with an added zest after learning of what
itis probably composed. : i

  
 
   
  
  
     
  
 

The appended letter reads ¢o
sense. But the puzzle is to fin

‘Friends; Srr: Friends,
stand your position
bearing ,
A man. the 4
is \ whilst t ceited *
contempt ; :
ridicule. « A
are P.

 

Fifteen Childre

A man on being asked how mar

 

dren he had,

answered: “My children are tenyand my wife’s
children are ten; yet when we comé to count them
up there are only fifteen.” Thisne

tion, and we hope our: readers can g

The Family of Five,

A little boy said. to his father: “Papa, this day}
my birthday, itis the 15th of, February. I know my
age for I was born in 1870; but how old are you, an
mamma,and my little sister, and my elder
ther?” The father,answered: “The differen

 

is the age of your sister. Your brother is twice
age of your sister; the age of your mother is twice
the age of yourself, brother and sister combined,
whilst [am as old as: your mother, with yours and
your sister’s ages added. Now, my child, can you
not.tell me the age of each member of our family?”
Pror, SEARCH.

Answers to the aboyo will be givenn No. 23.

A Request.—Our readers who ‘can send us inge-
nious or curious problems for publication, will fa-
vor us by so doing. The answer must in each case
accompany the problem.

 

Answer to problem. in No. 19:—Oxen, 25; Cows,

 

30; Horses, 10; Pigs, 260. Total, 325. __

 

girl, particularly when she does”

M.”—A decided novelty in the line of oyverskirts for.

. eG
“Tnquirer.”\—The serpentine corset clasps are exactly what you

new serial by Ned Bantline,

d that not asteamer leaves New York for

reams, 0 oceasional instances as high as/30,000 °
reams. 6 arse brown wrapping-paper. What
this pape used for was for a long time a mys-
tery ;. but i recently been revealed that it enters
into the ma cture of “pure Havana cigars.” It
is said that When saturated in the juice of tobacco

, it serves..admirably, the paper, -

tween your age and that of your brother douk le a &

Pate

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

Cg)?

 

 

 

 

 

ean ent

 

 

ews

ieee

- LDL AI

NEW YORK, APRIL 10, 1876,

Oem oor ee

Terms to Subscribers :

eee

 

a

One month, (postage sree) 25c. | One Year—1 copy (postage free)$3
Two'months. .. ....¢ceasen 50e, py ie ZB COPIES... i's vs eciee 5
Three months ............ 75¢. FS PE emits Ghent b 10
Four months....... nde cee $1.00 Sich MINIS aac chine uct 20

 

Those sending $20 for a Club of Eight, all sent at one time, will
be entitled to a Ninth Copy FREE. Getters up of Clubs can after-
ward add single copies at $2.50 each.

IN MAKING REMITTANCES FOR SUBSCRIPTIONS, always procure
a draft on New York, or a Post-Office Money Order, if possible.
Where neither of these can be procured, send the money, but al-
ways in @ REGISTERED letter. The registration fee has been re-
duced to ten cents, and the present registration system has been
found by the postal authorities to be virtually an absolute pro-
tection against Josses by mail. 4/l Postmasters are obliged to
register letters whenever requested to do so.

In addressing letters to STREET & SMITH, do not omit our Box
Number. By a recent order of the Post-office Department this is
absolutely necessary, to insure the prompt delivery of letters.

To SUBSCRIBERS.—When changing your address, please
give former, as well as present address, with County and State;
also, be certain to name the paper for which you subscribe. <#

ALL LETTERS SHOULD BE ADDRESSED TO
STREET & SMITH, Proprietors.
25, 27, 2Dand 31 Rese St.. N.Y. P.O. Box 4896

Sickness in the. Public Schools,

Parents are often unable to account for the sud-
den ailments of their children. We know that in
many cases these ailments originate in the public
schools, the temperature of which is not properly
regulated by the teachers. At times the heat will
be turned on until the children complain of it;
then, instead of permitting the airto cool grad-
ually, the windows are widely opened, and the pu-
pils seated near them are exposed to sudden chills.
Some teachers are so selfishly neglectful of the little
ones. under their charge, that they consult only
their own comfort when they regulate the registers.
The poor children, whose health should be of para-
mount importance to their education, are made to
endure any temperature deemed suitable to the
teacher. The teacher’s position may be in the cen-
ter of the room, where the draught from the win-
dows, or the heat from the steam-pipes ranged
round the walls, has little if any injurious effect.
But the pupils who are seated near the pipes and
the open windows are at once exposed to heat and
cold; and, in their childish ignorance, while over-
heated, go to the windows to experience the de-
lightful sensation of being suddenly cooled. No
parent need be told of*the imprudence of such ex-
posure, or of the numerous and often fatal diseases
thus contracted. Parents, unaware that their chil-
dren are thus exposed to sudden variations of tem-
perature, have been unable to assign a cause for
the flushed faces, the headaches, and the burning
fevers of their children. The little ones go to
school in the morning rosy with the bloom of health,
and return home jaded and spiritless, so ill that a
physician must be called in. The health of our
children is the first consideration; therefore teach-
ers should watchfully guard against the evil results
we have pointed out. Wedo notassert that all
teachers are willfully neglectful in this important
matter; but we are certain that many of them,
probably through ignorance of the laws governing
health, are indifferent to the physical weMare of
their pupils. Through this ignorance, indifference,
or selfishness, children and their parents suffer,
because it cannot be denied that many of the dis-
eases of childhood are contracted in the public
schools.

THE NEW MINISTER.

What a flutter of excitement and interest pervades
the congregation in the country meeting-house on
the Sunday morning when the new minister is ex-
pected to make his debut! y

Everything is in its best trim. The square, prim
old edifice, which is generally located upon the very
windiest hill which can be found, is swept and gar-
nished by careful hands. There is evergreen over
the great staring windows, and spruce boughs hang
from the stove-pipe. |

Some of the good sisters, who have faithfully pe-
rused the account of the great scandal, and who
have an idea of Piymouth church in their minds,
have ornamented the box-like inclosure, called the
pulpit, with bouquets of marigolds, and sweet mar-
joram, set in the pitchers, and the little squeaking

seraphine” which does duty as an organ, has been
tuned by the music-teacher at the corner, and each
one of the singers has eaten extra quantities of gum
drops, and sweet fiagroot, and cubebs, that he or
she may be “in voice” to greet the mew minister.

When at last he comes attended by Deacon Glum.
and the other ‘“‘members of the committee,” every
eye is on him, andageneral inventory of his be-
longings is at once taken. '

The cut of his coat is noted, the wrinkles on the
knees of his pantaloons, and the turn-up of the
toes of his boots, are observed sithe way his hair is
parted, the little bald_spot on the top of his head,
which he had flattered himself he had so skillfully
concealed by brushing his hair over it, the peculiar
trim of his side-whiskers, the tie of his cravat, the
number of buttons on his vest, are all taken notice
of, and every woman in the congregation has set-
tled it in her own mind whether she is going to like
See

is text is marked out in each little square, black-
covered Bible, to be referred to on some future oc-
casion; and his every remark is listened to atten-
tively, with a view to after-service criticism.

Over the baked beans and Pe the invariable
Sunday dinner in New England, the sermon is dis-
cussed pro and con, and the new minister is literally
torn to pieces and dissected.

His periods are found fault with, his grammar is
remarked upon, his gestures are talked over, and
reproduced for the benefit of some member of the
family who was not present at the ‘““meeting-house.”
They wonder if he bought his clothes at the store,
or had them made to order. One thinks his coat
too long-waisted, and another objects to his wear-
ing gold studs in his shirt bosom.

..,eacon Simpson, who belongs to the old school,

kinder thinks a minister of the gospil would look
better without rings on_ his fingers!” and Squire
Ellis’ daughter, Marie, who used to be called Mary
Ann before she went to boarding-school, says the
cut of his whiskers is perfectly horrid !

Mrs. Brown, the widow of a former minister,
sighs, and observes that things have changed since
Samuel used to dispense. spiritual food to starvin
souls, and She wonders what the aforesaid Samue
would haye thought to have stood up before that
congregation with a blue neck-tie on ? i

Mrs. Deacon Glum. the president of the sewing
society, hopes that the new minister will feel it his
duty to step into thesociety meetings and open with
prayer. Itis such atask for women to be expected
to Bray aa sew too. aoe it th

J 6 young men wonder if the new minister
will be willing to take part in their lyceum and de-
bating elub—and allthe young girls wonder if he is
—married or engaged. ATE THORN.

————_ >< ______

A Case of Theft.

On two or three occasions our advertising agent
has calied at the office of the Zrish World, published
in this city, with the intention of having advertise-
ments of the New York WEEKLY inserted therein.
On each occasion the proprietor refused to insert
our advertisements, giving as a reason for his re-
fusal that the New Yorx WEEKLY is not a proper
paper to recommend to his readers—that its litera-
ture is of a sensational character, and its general
contents too trashy to interest the class among
which the Irish World chiefly circulates. We know
that many of the readers of that paper are also
reguiar readers of the New Yorr WEEKLY; there-
fore the fact that they continue to take the NEw
YoRK WEEKLY and admire it, isa convincing argu-
ment against the arrogance of Mr. Patrick Ford,
who has constituted himself a literary censor to
decide what publications should be read or avoided
by his subscribers. We are also confident that
many more of his readers might readily be induced
to regularly peruse the New York WEEKLY if its

 

 

 

 

 

 

with this end in view, wesent our advertisements

to the Irish World.

But it was not to find fault with Mr. Ford for re-
fusing our advertisements that we commenced this
article. We desire to direct attention to a theft de-
liberately perpetrated by the Irish World. The con-
tents of the New YoRK WEEKLY, in the opinion of
Mr. Ford, are too light and frivolous to place be-
fore his readers; yet in the issue of the Jrisk World
dated March 18, we find a poem which the proprie-
tor has filched from our columns—a poem written
expressly for the New York WEEKLY, and pub-
lished by us over a year ago. Not content with this
petty theft, he strives to conceal it by a change of
title, and the omission of even the nameof the
author, Michael Scanlan. The pdem, as it origin-
ally appeared, bore the title of “The Irish Soldier
to Columbia on Saint Patrick’s Day.” To make it
appear as if written this year, Mr. Ford has changed
the title, and in his paper it reads, ““The Irish Sol-
dier’s Address to Columbia on the American Cen-
tennial ef Saint Patrick’s Day.” To further indicate
that itis original, and not stolen from the NEw
York WEEKLY, a half-page descriptive illustration
accompanies the poeminthe Jrish World. Need
more besaid to prove Mr. Ford guilty of a con-
temptible theft?

The contents of the NEw YoRK WEEKLY,if read
from its pages, are too coarse to suit Mr. Ford and
his readers; butif filched from our columns, and
published as original in the Irish World, of course
our articles derive merit from the transfer. At
least, so thinks Mr. Ford, who by his conduct ad-
mits that even he occasionally finds “a good thing”
in the New YoRK WEEKLY, and is dishonorable
enough to steal it.

Se

WASHINGTON EXTRAVAGANCE.

BY GAIL HAMILTON,

 

 

There is so extensive a commingling of truth
and falsehood in the statements of newspapers,
that it may be questioned whether we really know
much more of the world than we did before the dis-
covery of printing. The matter narrows itself
down to this point: Which is better, to know false-
hood or to be ignorant of truth ? One who endea-
vors to see things as they are, is appalled by the
grave errors of statement, the still graver errors of
inference, which a CO ey irresponsible
press has, knowingly and without knowledge, in-
nocently and with malice, sometimes with design
and oftener, perhaps, with blindness, infused into
the minds of a large portion of the American pub-
lic. These errors, from whatever cause arising,
are far from harmless. Indeed, I know nothing
more harmful in a republic than for the mass of
the people—who are the real rulers—to conceive
and entertain radically wrong notions in regard to
the manners and the morals, the conduct and the
customs, the life and the conversation of their
eer in the various departments at the national
capital.

ne might, for instance, sometimes imagine that
republican government was to be maintained in its
urity and integrity only by unmeasured abuse of
ngress. Our own personal dignity is to be proved
only by the degradation of those who represent us.
Yet it is to be remarked that while nothing is too
bad to say of Congress as an aggregated body, the
same Congress, disintegrated, reduced to so many
individual members, has a large measure of re-
spect, confidence, and regard in the community
where the members severally reside. Correspond-
ents and critics, constantly represent and assume
Congress as a body to be overwhelmingly and dis-
gracefully ignorant, stupid, corrupt, bent on mis-
chief, blundering into bad legislation, alert only
for personal aggrandizement, moved to right action
only by abject terror of the home constituency and
of public opinion; rogues to be whipped into the
semblance of virtue by every country editor an
every city correspondent; lazzaroni fattening at the
public expense; dolts infinitely inferior to the po-
pulace which selected them for momentous public
service, and actually doing nothing so grateful and
welcome as going home and thereby relieving their
selectors and electors from the incubus of fear as
to what legislative folly they would next commit.

Yet, apart from their Congressional taint. the
persons who make up Congress are very genefally
considered, both among the communities from
which they come and inthe society to which they

o, gentlemen. In very many cases they are among
the most accomplished, respected, and conspicuous
gentlemen of their home neighborhood. ey are
not only gentlemen in the essentials of morality,
but in the minuti# of manners. They understand
the use of the fork and the pieniAcance of the dress
coat. It is very, very rarely thatthey smoke in your
parlors. or put their get on the chair cushion when

hey are visiting alady. The corrupt and trading
trickster, the noisy and vulgar ranter of Washing-
ton, is quite often evolved by the reporter from the
aera and honorable gentleman of the rural
tricts,
or are the charges confined to generalities, Men
are selected by name to be denounced as bought
and sold. Measures are branded as infamous on
the authority of adventurers. Indeed, it may be
stated as a rule, and a rule not flattering to the in-
telligence of the poopie. that every man entering
Congress takes the life of his reputation in his
hands. There is no measure of a man’s value more
accurate than his actual standing in Congress.
There is none more capricious than the Congress-
man’s standing in newspapers. The House of Re-
presentatives is a great hopper in which pretentious-
sness and reputation avail absolutely nothing, but
a man is instantaneously and relentlessly ground
down into his essential availability when the bran
and the flour may be known and read of all his fel-
lows. Many a reputation has been made in Con-
aroees but many a one, also, has speedily been re-
uced to its lowest terms. Previous distinction is
of little worth. Whata man can do on this arena,
not what he has done on another, decides his posi-
tion. Butso far asthe law of nature permits, his
reputation outside may be packed away and de-
stroyed by aclass of scandal-mongers who esteem
the sanctity of personal character as nothing when
weighed against the inestimable worth ofa startling
paragraph or a thrilling telegram: In this respect
it is to be feared that we have degenerated. Time
was when no accusation againsta public man of
any party was made merely for sensational pur-
poses. The consequence was that when a charge
was made, it meant serious business for the man ac-
cused. Now, while a public reputation is ruthless-
14 and groundlessly assailed for the sake of “selling
the paper,” the correction must come in the fact
that the people so often deceived grow incredulous
of such reports, and the evil comes in the fact that
bad and good are thus commingled; and the pub-
lic, wearied with baseless charges against good
men, will refuse in the end to believe or to examine
true charges against bad men; so that very natu-
rally this vicious effort to despoil virtue ends in
shielding vice.

As the case at present stands, honest and whole-
some legislation is well-nigh as much impeded by
the clamor of well-meaning and honest, but misin-
formed constituences, as it is by the clutches of dis-
honesty and rapacity. A man is as likely to require
all his energy, and resolution, and firmness to con-
front and combat the mistaken antagonism of good
people as he is to meet and overthrow the natural
and expected sok peng of bad people. He who is
wounded in the house of his friends, feels a deeper
hurt than his foes could give and is stimulated by
no hope of victory, anon that which comes from
the consciousness of well-doing. While the bugles
are sounding imaginary battles all the country
over, and thrilling the hearts of eee ote with the
music of ensets never made, repulses never suffer-
ed, and victories never won, a great deal of quiet
work is done in enacting and preventing legisla-
tion by sturdy and substantial men, too well-bal-
anced to be alarmed or disgusted with the folly
which they heed, and if necessary humor, confident
that when folly has shaken his cap and bells, sober
sense will appear for their justification.

To illustrate by examples might be invidious,
but another charge as sweeping, as obnoxious, and
as baseless, way, PEEBADE, he examined without
running the risk of disagreeable and offensive per-
me rye 3 by the Baa
«20 connection with the “Salary Grab,” with

Credit Mobilier,” with failures, panics, and death,
with public and private disaster, and without any
connection at all, the newspaper moralists are fond
of warning people against the luxury, the display,
the mad rivalry for elegance, expensiveness, and
show which riot in Washington, and mar the purity
of the Republic. Corrupt measures are carried be-
cause Congressmen are wild to outshine Congress-
men in palatial residences, costly equipages, and
sumptuous living. The people, it is heroically said,
do not want the representatives of a republic to
live like princes. Washington styles are costly, ex-
travagant, and-out of keeping with the plainness
of democratic principles. They bring ruin into
families, falseness into character, recklessness into
legislation. The impression thus created, and the
fear, the belief widely entertained, is that the peo-
ple’s representatives, as ageneral thing, are leading
lives of luxury, acting the nabob in splendid man-
sions, after a fashion unworthy of rational Chris-
tian beings and highly displeasing to a virtuous
and intelligent rnral constituency.

Let us take a peep at these palatial residences,
and see if, dismissing ideal virtue, we can get a
glimpse of facts. There are three hundred and

 

merits were brought to their attention. Therefore,

sixty-six members of both Houses of Congress.
How many of these do my readers suppose “keep

 

house” at all in Washington? Just thirty-one.
The remaining three hundred and thirty-five live
in the different hotels and boarding-houses of var-
ious degrees of goodness and badness, These
three hundred and thirty-five may be instantly
counted out of the lists of rival racers for show.
One look at the hotels and boarding-houses of
Washington is enough. That momentary survey
would forever dispel any fears of unmanly and un-
democratic luxury. The boarders show no pas-
sion for expense; they make no secret of economy,
no pretense of display; they give no parties; thay
keep no carriage but an elevator. Spartan virtue
is not more signal than theirs. On a charge of lux-
urious living they may be summarily dismissed
upon an alibi without so much as the smell of fire
upon their garments. The palatial residences,
such as they are, can “strike home” only to thirty-
one Senators and Representatives—that is, to one-
twelfth part of the two Houses of Congress.

For the palatial mansions, in general, I am sure
my readers will be surprised when I say, that there
is hardly to-day a finished house in Washington,
with the exception of the residences of Messrs.
Corcoran and Riggs, the wealthy bankers, that
would rank as first-class, or even as second class,
in any of our leading cities. Indeed,I néed not
make the comparison with our leading éities; for
really, when one compares any private house in
Washington with the city of New York north of
Union Square, or with Boston in its Beacon Street
and Commonwealth Avenue section, or with Phila-
delphia in the neighborhood of Rittenhouse Square,
or with Cincinnatiin its Walnut Hills splendor, or
with the broad and beautiful Lake Side avenues of
Chicago, or with the West Side opulence of St.
Louis, the comparison becomes puerile, Itis only
with cities of a minor class that comparison is per-
tinent; but even then it does not redound to the
credit of Washington magnificence. You can find
few if any such houses inthe national capital as
abound at Cleveland, or Hartford, or Milwaukee,
or Providence, or Buffalo. Hence, people who have
not visited Washington will take my word for it,
that while its public buildings are massive, splen-
did and grand, beyond any European standard, its
private houses are modest, inexpensive and unpre-
tending beyond those of any other city in the
United States that has reached a population of
sixty thousand inhabitants.

Afew residences now. building,and some that
have perhaps been completed within a few months,
are of amore expensive class than the city has
hitherto seen; but of these, I think, only one be-
longs toa Member of Congress. The house of the
British Legation is one of the_largest and most
elegant ever furnished by the British government
for the residence of its minister. But if the effete
monarchies of Europe choose to be magnificent,
even before our very face and eyes, I do not know
that we can help it. : i

Stewart stands at the meeting of the ways, with a
house very large, very fine, very noticeable, of a
peculiar and some aver of a questionable taste; but
that may be owing toits novelty. Butif you con-
trast the houses owned or occupiéd by Senators
and Representatives in Washington with those
which the same gentlemen occupy at home among
their constituents, and which they occupied before
perry were therepresentatives of constituencies, it
will be seen that they have not been driven to Wash-
ington by poyerty, and are not here showing the
signs of fattening on plunder, or wrestling for the
prize of extravagance. Take, for instance, the
somewhat shabby house which was Gen. Butler’s
residence for years, and which is now incorporated
into Gray’s Inn, and compare it with his spacious
and splendid house on the banks of the Mer-
rimac, or his picturesque eyrie on Cape Ann.
Take Senator Sherman’s modest little box on
Franklin square, and look at his superb establish-
ment at Mansfield. See.Clarkson Potter’s unpre-
tentious home here, and then turn to his New York
city house near Gramercy Park, and his elegant
country house in Westchester. Look at the
plain, old-fashioned square block on H
so long occupied by the late Mr. Hooper,
and then visit his ‘‘palatial mansion” on Common-
wealth avenue, his summer house on the South
Shore of Massachusetts, and his autumn retreat up
in the Berkshire hills. Call bgt Mr. Albert, in his
quiet, unostentatious row, and then visit his mag-
nificent homein the City of Monuments; or take
the house of Senator Chandler, perhaps the finest
of all Congressional residences, and set it beside

dj his lordly establishment at Detroit, and it will be

seen that whatever spoils our thirty-one house-
keepers may have su ed in wresting from the
National Treasury, they do not lavish them on
Washington UGispidy; that however much they
may have prostituted their position to their
ae emolument instead of using it

he public _ adv. e, they have not turn-|
ed its profits to, the support of ostentatious
rivalries and of favolous expenditures; nor has
their ill n wemith avaided them eyen to mend
their stVlex living. Nothing can exceed the mod-
esty, quietness € privacy, and simplicity of
their homes. How much gold lies buried in their
cellars IG not know, but their exterior splendor,
the unbecoming, unrepublioan, and pernicious
pomp and royalty of their soctal life are never seen
in Washington, but exist only in the imaginations
that construct and the pencils that portray.

——— EQ

Facts from the Black Hills.

»

Requests for authentic information about the
Black Hills, and the probabilities of securing gold
there in large quantities, have been numerous of
late. Of course our correspondents are anxious to
accumulate wealth rapidly; and seeing the many
rosé-tinted accounts of the Black Hills, are prepar-
ed to start at once, provided they were assured by
the New YorRK WEEKLY that their expectations
would be realized. But we think the following let-
ter from the Syracuse Journal will convince most
people that there have been many glittering stories
told of the Black Hills, to encourage emigration
thither. The letter is written by Mr. Thomas I.
McCarthy, son of John McCarthy, Esq.. of Syracuse,
dated at Denver, Feb. 28. It will be read with par-
ticular interest by all who credit the highly-colored
reports put in circulation by speculators relative
to the Black Hills. Mr. McCarthy writes:

“I have made an extra effort toget some infor-
mation in regard tothe Black Hills furor, about
which you hearso much. Many of the reports, ru-
mors, and interviews are conflicting in their na-

ture, according as they come from Speculators in
supplies or land, sporting men, miners, or fools.

 

Last evening, in company with a représentative of | f

the press, I called upon agentleman from Golden
City, who is well known in mining circles as the
discoyerer of the famous Blue Bird Mine in Boul-
der County, Colorado, and who had just arrived
from Custer City, Black Hills. The gentleman gave
the following facts from memory anda journal he
had kept during his absence: ‘Left Denver about
the ist. of January, in company with four others;
went to Cheyenne, thenceto Fort Laramie, thence
to Old Woman’s Fork, and from the latter point
to Cheyenne River, which is within forty-five miles
of Custer City, which place we reached on Jan. 29.
Prospected several days on French Creek, near
town, from the bottom of a twetve foot hole; took
out three pans of dirt, and from careful washin

found color of gold worth about one cent. Left
this section for Hill City on Spring Creek, where
we prospected twenty days in Ruby Gulch, near
the creek, where the best prospects have been
found. -We sank a pit to bed-rock, fourteen feet
from the surface, three feet wide and five feet long.
We then drifted at right angles, taking out about
two tons of dirt, from which we washed out
two dollars and a half. (Mr. Jones then exhibited
the dust in a very small bottle, the total amount
would not fill a small mustard spoon, and it was
the result of the labor of his party for six weeks.)
Paes in Palmer Gulch and other points near
Hill City, found ‘colors’ in every hole we sank, but
nowhere in paying quantities. Of my own per-
sonal knowledge, do not know of any point in the
Hills, where a man can make on an average $a

day.

i Aven and his five men have been on Spring
Creek for four months,and have taken out some
$500, or an average of $1 per day to theman. They
have run a drift on the rim-rock or bar about forty
feet in from the bank.of the creek, and two other
drifts some thirty feet each in length, at right an-

les from the end of the first tunnel, all the drifts

ollowing the bed-rock. They takeout the dirt by

the use of a dump cart and wooden track. This
dirt is washed in sluice-boxes, and all the gold
carefully gathered.

The lode claims I discovered contained nothing
but barren quartz,and gave no indication of the
real stuff. As an agricultural and stock country, it
cannot be excelled. The climate is warm and
pleasant. Timber is slenty, and water good and in
abundance. Custer City, situated in a small park,
contains about two hundred houses, (mostly log;)
or seven or eight hundred. -There have

een no serious disturbances as yet, but ina few
days two dance-house outfits from Cheyenne will
open up, and that will probably set the ball rolling
for the boys. Sporting circles are well represent-

Supplies o all kinds exceed the demand, as
everybody goes with a stock on hand. The item of
flour sells for $6 asack, whisky twenty-five cents
for the usual two ounces. Mr. Jones sold his sup-
plies just before leaving the Hills, and came
through from Custer to Cheyenne—about two hun-
dred and seventy miles—in seven days. Metno In-
dians, but saw ponytracks at some of the crossings
(streams), stated that he had been to the Hills, and

ad seen enough to satisfy him there was no big

 

money to be made in mining, But if a person
wanted to locate for farming or stock purposes,

would advise them togo and see all for themselves.’
This closed his statement. ?

“T had occasion to visit the United States branch
mint this morning, and asked the officials if they
had yet received any dust from the Hills. They
stated that they had received only three small lots
since the excitement commenced, amounting in all
to about eighteen ounces, worth $20 an ounce.
Use this information or letter for the information
of yourself or any of my old friends, as you may see

 

o~

ROMANCE OF BATTLES IN ’76.
FOR OUR CENTENNIAL YEAR.
No. 8.- HAN wonT, THE IDIOT.

Before Benedict Arnold had studied _ treason,
while yet his escutcheon was pure and his valor
unstained, he volunteered to go to the relief of Col-
onel Gansevoort, then enyoirned by a large body of
British and Indians in Fort Schuyler, in the Mo-
hawk Valley. ibs

St. Leger, the British general, had already defeat-
ed Herkimer, who had been sent to raise the siege,
and the bloody battle of Oriskany, where thé heroic
Herkimer lost his life, will be remembered while
history is read. :

Arnold, on his way, with a very inadequate force
for the gales es captured asmall body of tories,
and among them was one Han Yost, who, as _a half-
witted man, had ever been free to go and come
among the Indians, and from some peculiar super-
stition among them, was regarded as a “Big Med-
icine.”

»Han Yost, regarded as a spy, for he had been seen
often with the enemy, was sentenced to be hung,
andthe hour was set for his execution, when his
mother and brother came into Arnold’s camp,
pleading for his life. : j i

“There is but one condition which will saye him,”
said Arnold. “If you, his mother and brother, will
remain here to die in his place if he fails, I will let
him go among the Indians that sustain St. Ledger
in his siege of Fort'Schuyler, to frighten them with
a story that Iam coming down on them with five
thousand men, and able to kill them all.” ase

Han Yost was told the condition on which his life
was to be spared, and he was not idiot enough to
refuse the chance. He loved his mother and
brother, and knew that he must be faithful to save
their lives. : 3

Arnold sent an Oneida Indian, whom he knew he
pons trust, tosee that Han Yost did not falter on

e way.

The garrison in Fort Schuyler were in a terrible
strait. Their provisions and ammunition almost ex-
hausted, with a knowledge if they surrendered they
would most likely be given oyer to Indian torture
and massacre, they were in the last stage of des-
peration. .

St. Ledger, confident that they could sustain the
siege but a little longer, pressed it to the utmost of
his power. His Indian allies,anxious to know how
soon they could triumph over their enemies, had
called a pow wow, and with their own Medicine
Men were in council when Han Yost suddenly rush-
ed in among them. ; j

“Fly!? he said. “The Yankees are coming with
an ng Bene 4 fills the lower end of the valiey—com-
ing with cannon and horses, and if you are here
when they come not one of you will get away.”

The Indians were terror-stricken. They did not
believe Han Yost could lieto them. While they lis-
tened in dismay, the Oneida Indian came in from

another direction. ‘ aie
He, too, said his people were allin alarm. “‘Little
eople were coming

 

birds” had told them the white j
thicker than the leaves on the forest trees—coming
to overwhelm the red men and drive them away
from their hunting-grounds forever.

* Tn less than hour, to his dismay, St. Leger found
all his Indian allies deserting him.

 

_. Finding that Han Yost had something to do with
it, he sent for him and heard the same story. Han
added a little more here. He showed his coat, which
he rer on a tree and shot into, and said he had
escaped from the enemy with his bare life, they
shooting as he ran.

St. Leger took the panic, asa man once caught
the small-pox, because he could not help it. Un-
supported by the Indians, he dared not wait to be at-
tacked by an outside force, and the garrison was as
much delighted as they were surprised, to find St
Leger following his Indians toward Canada, when
they could not have held out another day.

SMITH AND HIS COUNTERPART.

- BY

 

A AUGUSTA.

 

Did it ever occur to you what ote things might
happen to,you if zee looked just like somebody
else, and were liable to be taken by this other mor-
tal’s friends for their friend, and to receive treat-
ment accordingly? :

A little awkward sometimes, though there are
pleasant features about it, as an experience of mine
last fall leads meto believe. Having nothing better
to do, suppose I give it to you.

“Smith,my boy,” said old Harland to me, one

elerk in his great importing

ou like to go West, to Chicago, St. Paul, and Oma-
ha, as our agent? Important business relations in
these localities will oblige some of the house to go
and Hendricks is down with the rheumatism, and
had as lief. be shot as sleep in any bed but my own.
What do you say?”

I was delighted, and told the old fellow so atonce.
I had been in ‘New York five years, without takin,

any other holiday than the law prescribes, Fourt
of July, Christmas, etc., and the prospect of a jour-
ney made me as happy as the prospective first pair
of trousers makes a four-year-old boy.

_In a few days it was all settled. I packed my va-
lise, received my instructions, and said good-by to
my landlady, who, as I always paid my bills prompt-
ly, shed a tear or two on the corner of her apron in
honor of my exodus.

Everything went on swimmingly. The day was
lovely, the car a new one, nobody in it was scented
with musk, the conductor was a model.and there
was such a pretty young lady a seat or two ahead of
me, with a ravishing -hat_and feather, a bewilder-
ing curled waterfall, and eyes as bright as Alaska
diamonds. : i

And she had such a coquettish way of cutting the
pages of her book, and presenting her ticket for

estination to the conductor, and asking himina
sweetly imploring voice “if we were almost there,”
that she quite took my fancy, and I resolved that if
one. of those inevitable smashes took place such as
we are regaled with in first class novels, I would
re all personal considerations aside, and ‘go

or her.’

We had nearly reached Rochester, when two
strangers entered the car. They acted like men
who were hunting for something. They took seats
just before me, and turned round back to back,
and read their newspapers and looked at me over
the tops of them. Now, men generally do not look
over the tops of their newspapers at anybody but
handsome women, and their Borate nt made me
nervous, I changed my seat, but did not get out of
range. ;

I went to the smoking-car, and my shadows sud-
denly developed ataste for smoking. I returned
to the car I had left, and they followed me, and as I
was about taking my seat, one of them laid his
hand on my shoulder. :

“Mr, Smith,” said he, “you are my prisoner.”

I exhibited a specimen of the “clear grit,” which
Mr. Collyer speaks of, and knocked him down.

Then the other one, and a half dozen of the -
sengers, pounced upon me, and I was handoutfed.
and done for generally.

Then everybody flocked round me to remark on
what a desperate looking criminal I was.

“Might have known by his face that he was a ras-
cal!” said a short gentleman with a_bald head.
“Got a regular hang-dog expression? Was it mur-
der, sir?” to the constable. :

“No, it was embezzlement,” said that gentleman.

“Got his employer’s money, eh?”

“Exactly! One of the most daring cases we’ye
had on our hands foralongtime. But we’ve work-
ed it up successfully, and now we’ve got him.”

“Shocking!” said an elderly woman in a pink
bonnet. “Thank Heaven I never wastied toa man.
They’re alwaysturning outbad.”

‘A sad thing,” said asleek-looking individual.

“Willit be State Prison?” asked a solemn-faced
old lady, with a bundle of papers under her arm.
“Because if it is, young man, I will give thee a tract
to read, and profit by.” ;

Andshe handed me a leaf of piper with the some-
what startling title, “The Road to Hell!” __

“I remarked that I had no wish of learning any-
thing in regard to that route, and that os Si up
a eT gentleman in a white choker, who in-
quired— :

‘Young friend, hast thou a mother ?”

Thast!” said I—‘‘likewise a grandmother, two
aunts, sixteen cousins, and a father-in-law!”

“Beware!” said he, “of sitting in the seat of the
scornful!” - ;

He was just going to read me his last sermon on
total depravity, when we arrived at Rochester, and
I was taken to the lock-up. r

I did not like my quarters. It was impossible for
any decent white man to like them. Dirty and ill
smelling, and I would have been glad to change the
bed for any respectable pine plank. E

It seemed that I was charged with appropriating
the funds of one Mr. Junius B. Streeter, of Syracuse,
who was represented as my confiding employer,
but [had never heard of him before, and certainly
had not the pleasure of being possessed of any of
his funds.

I tried to impress this fact upon my captors, but
they only laughed, and assured me that Mr. Pel-
ham and Mr. Ball, the detectives who had seized

 

 

me, had a very accurate description of the rascally

as THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. 3=-

 

ae =e

 

clerk, from Mr. Streeter himself, and my appe
mcd by Sa 9 it perfectly. 7

was to have my examination next morning, and
then, if I could prove that I was anybody but
Smith, I was at iberty to do so. a . John
._ Just as I had finished my breakfast next morn-
ing, the keeper came in to say that a young lady
desired to see me.

A young lady! I was horrified, for I had neither
combs, brushes, or clean collars. I smoothed down
my refractory locks with my fingers, flirted the
dirty towel across my face, rubbed my boots with my
handkerchief, blew my nose, and my toilet being
thus completed, was ready to receive my visi-

or.
,, shades of Hebe and Venius! The morning star
itself was ho comparison to her! Blue dress, blue
ribbons, blue eyes, blonde tresses, and a voice
Sweeter than a fifty-dollar music-box !

She rushed toward me, flung her arms around
my neck, put her soft cheek against mine, hunted
under my mustache for my lips, and planted there
such a regiment of kisses as to take my breath
away. I was quite willing to haveher take it away,
and did not care a picayune if she kept up this sort
of thing till Christmas.

Dearest Cousin John!” cried she; “It is such 4
shame for yow'to be here! But it is just like those
blundering officers! They fancy themselves won-
derful in the detective business! Theyd arrest
their own grandmother if they had one, darling.»

Yes,” said I, seeing that she paused for breath,‘‘I
have no doubt of it!”

.1 read about your arrrest in the paper last
night. It gave your name as Mr. J. Smith, but J.
stands for John, and I knew it was you! I told
papa so, but he said ‘pshaw!’ but I always haye

 

 

my way, and so I came down to see you, without
even stopping to dress! Dear me! I expect fam
just _horrid in this old wrapper!”

“Horrid!” said I; “why I thought your dress
was divine!” f

She laughed, and kissed me again. I hoped she
would keep on agin so. It seemed to me the
nicest thing she could do. |

“Papa is coming down in an hour or two to bail
you out, for of course you are innocent, and old
Streeter is mistaken about your taking his dirty
money ?” : ;

“Of course he is,” said I. ;

“And you'll come up with papa to dinner, dear
John ?”

Yes, darling!” i :

Then good-by,” said she, “I must go home and

order your fayorite roast duck, with oyster sauce!”
and she kissed me again, and vanished.

 

Of course I knew that I was playing the miserable
part of a hypocrite, but I could not resist the temp-
tation of keeping still and letting destiny work for
He, especially when such a lovely girl represented
estiny. :

Papa came down, as she had told me he would,
and how he managed itIdo not know, but the
thing was settled in the course of a couple of hours,
and he had shaken hands with me, and I was riding
with him in a handsome carriage, drawn by a pair
of high-stepping bays, going to dinner.

Alice—that was what her father called her—re-
ceived us cordially. She was “dressed” now, and
Isuppose all these flounces and puffs would not
admit of her kissing me, since she did not do it.
My heart sank. I wished myself back in prison, if
pretty Alice were so much more affectionate in
prison than out of it.

But Alice had me sit near her at the table, and she
sweetened my coffee, and dished out my roast duck,
with oyster sauce, herself. And I adored her, and
was very near telling her so.

We had just got to pudding when a servant open-
ed the door, and ushering in a gentleman, an-
nounced: 3

“Mr. John Smith!” a ;

I turned, and confronted the visitor. It was like
looking in a glass. He was my exact counterpart
in avery Dara: Our own mothers could not
haye told us apart. ; 5

Consternation was on his face—I reckon it was
also on mine. Alice was white with horror. Papa
stood rubbing his glasses and trying to convince
himself that the trouble was in his eyes.

“Jupiter!” said the new comer; ‘‘who are

“John Smith, sir,” said I. “Who are you ?”

“John Smith, sir,” said he; and then he saw how
ludicrous it all was, and burst out laughing.

4 ‘ ey have I done?” cried Alice. “Oh, what have
one ?”

ou ?”

 

day—Harland was my employer, andI was head}
house—“how_ would |

 

“Don’t cry, cousin,” said John Smith, the nephew;
“Pll have an explanation at once.” Then he turned

fiercely to me and demanded one. I told him I
oom be very happy to accommodate him, and I
id so.

Papa Gordon—that was his name—laughed heart-
ily. But Alicecrept out of the room, and I wassure
her eyes were running over with tears, and I felt
like a malefactor—yes, indeed! like a pair of them.

But John Smith, the nephew, gave us very good
news after all. Mr. Streeter, who was the said
John’s employer, had been mistaken in his suspi-
cions regarding his clerk, and it had been clearly
established that Streeter’s own son was the guilty
one.
80 altogether we had a nice time congratulating
ourselvyes—John and I—and Mr. Gordon rubbed his
gisenes, and seemed highly delighted over the epi-
sode.

It was a long time before Alice came back to the
room where we were sitting, and then I managed
to draw her aside for a moment to ask her pardon
for not having undeceived her at once.

“Really,” said I, “it was all so delightful that I
could not speak the words which would drive you
away from me.” ‘

And what more I said would not interest anybody.

I went about my business the next day, but on my
return Icalled at the Gordon mansion, and two
months ago I prevailed_on Alice Gordon to accept
the name of Smith; and I owe the sweetest wife in
the world to the fact of having a counterpart.

Josh Billings’ Philosophy.
GRAVEL STONES.

I dont kno which iz the most delishus—to be
praized or to be pittyed. ‘ : 3

We kan trace most ov the joy and sorrow in this
world right bak to woman.

 

An enemy that fears you iz not a very dangerous .

one. -
The very height ov human intelligence iz to kno
just what things are aktually worth. | 1

The most generous souls feel praize the most,
and sho it the least. :

Mankind are a race oy coquets, hunting for
temptashun; even virtew herself luvs once in a
while to flirt with the devil. :

The wust man to convince iz the one who sez
“yes” to every thing yu Say. ,

Thare iz nothing on earth so empty az a hed with-
out enny branes in it; it iz wuss than a pail with
the bottom knockt out. 5 ;

' It ain’t every man that Providence konsiders
worthy ov being tried bi adversity. ;

The man who gambles or drinks whiskee kant
chooze hiz assoshiates.

Marrid life iz too often a mere trial ov endur-
ance.

Bigots, enthuziasts, and clothes pins, all ov them
hay small heds. :

Tears won’t kure enny thing, but they are good
for an alterative. |

hay allways notissed that thoze who hav the
most ov gravity, hav the least ov enny thing else.

A fust rate pun iz a literary mosaik, and if a man
* lucky enuff to execute one, he ought to stop right
thare.

It iz no viktory to convince a phool.

The man who kant learn ennything from his fail-
ures iz past all hope. ; :

Men oy the gratest genius hay the most simplisity
and reverence. , ‘

The road to ruin iz down hill, and allwuss McAd-
amized at that.

hare iz no room in a small hed for ennything
else but cunning. :

Ihay seen men solazy that they would tire the
tools all out that they workt with.

Pashun nutralizes both strength and reazon.

True liberty iz the result ov judishus restraint.

Envy and avarice kant be satisfied; after they hav
et up everything else, they will commence feeding
on _themselfs. :

Truth don’t alter nor gro old; 2 and 2 made four
Ce Adam waz a boy, and it amounts to the same

-day.

{ never_hav seen an angel yet, and don’t think i
want to; Ishouldn’t kno how to behave in the pres-
ence oy one.

Klams hav got a grate deal ov pashunce, but they
hain’t got anything else. "

Rt man who kant amuze himself, kant amuze
others.

Everyboddy praises a kompetency, but everybod-
dy iz digging infor summore. _

It iz a fearful condishun to gitinto to be depen-
dent upon others for our pleazzures. —

One ov the misfortunes ov genius iz not to hay
enny intimates. s s 3

Grate sensitiveness iz not a posative evidence oy
merit; it iz often the mere result ov ennui or pride.

Antisipashuns oy the fewter form the plezzures of
youth, reflekshuns ov the past, thoze ovold age. _

This iz mi plan, to beleave all things, but put mi
money onlyinafew. . ‘

Azlong az the mollasiss holds out yu. will find
oe egg acai it iz with most ov the friendships
ov life. ‘

The hardest sinner in the whole lot to konvert iz
the one who spends one haff hiztime in sinning
and the other haff in repentanse. :

If yu dont mean bizzness_ beware ov the widders.

Grease iz so cheap thati hav allwuss wondered
whi it want used for everything. |

We are all on the hunt for happiness, one expekts
to find it in welth, another in amuzement, and i
hay seen a man whoze joy all lay in having 3 dogs
following him.

 

 

A golden key will pik allmost enny lok.

 

 

PAI

 

 

 

 

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THE B AORDING-SCHOOL Bov’s REVERIE. x i ing the door, and felt herself grow sick end faint as
e

 

BY FRANCIS S. SMITH.

 

Don’t talk to me of boyhood’s days,
So jubilant and bright,

Of “hide and seek” and ‘Spy the Wolf,”
Of marbles, top and kite.

Such things may do for little chaps
Who know no other joy,

But I have reached fourteen, and T
Don’t want to be a boy.

2

Who wants to be shut up in school,
And crammed with stupid knowledge,
Till the old master says that be
Is fit to enter college?
I see fo fun in that myself—
*Pwould suit me r far
To promenade Fith avenue
And chew on my cigar.

I want to sport a stovepipe hat,
T want to sling a cane,

I want to flirt with Isabelle,
Or pretty Mary Jane;

I want to be a thoroughbred
Like my big brother Dan—

I want to be a billiard sharp— .

_ Twanttobe aman! F

The poets sing of school-boy joys
Tn measures sweet and fluent,
But where’s the joy in being licked
Like sin for playing truant?
They try to lead a chap to think
A boarding-school is Heaven,
And then they make him live on slops,
- dad go to bed at seven! %

I want to “gamble on the green” —
T want to drive a trotter—

Hewever hot the pace might be,
I'd like to make it hotter.

I want to go to fancy balis,
To concerts, and theaters—

i want to go to nobby spreads,
Where I can lick the waiters.

   

I want to be a lively lad,
i want to go on sprees;

T want to slosh around, you know,
And travel where I please.

The greatest song of all the songs
That poet ever sung

Was not that stuff “it might have beez.* $

But “go it while you’re young!”
I want to “celebrate myself,”
Like Walt Whitman, the poet—
And when I see a chance to go,
Of course I want to “‘go it.”?
Bat blissful visions fare ye well
Oh, terrible disaster! ;
I must unto my books again,
For yonder comes the master!

CHATEAU D’OR.

 

By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes.

[“Chateau d'Or? was commenced in No. 19. Back Nos. can
be had of all News Agents in the United States. ]

CHAPTER VY.
THE NEWS WHICH CAME TO CHATEAU D’OR.

“Monsieur Brunell had received a telegram say-
ing that M.-Haverleigh would visit the chateau the
fo owing day, and both Anna and Madame Ver-
west had received letters apprising them of his
coming, and bidding the one see that a grand din-
ner was in readiness for him, and the other to ar-
ray herself in her most becoming attire as befitted a
wife about to receive her husband after a separa-
tionof many months. To Anna this visit seemed
more awful than anything she had yet experienced
at the chateau, for ta her as a whole her life there had
not been without its pleasures. Acting upon Ma-
dame Verwest’s advice she had tried to make the
best of her position, and in Scauiring the language
and a knowledge of music she had found a solace

 

ox many a weary hour which_ otherwise would |T

ave hung heavily upon her hands. She was fond of

French and music, and had developed a remarka- {
ble talent for them both, while in the Ww. l-selected |
s

library she had found a dolight
thought she could find in ;
west was herself a good scholar andaclear rea-
soner and thinker, and in her constant companion-

ship Anna was rapidly developing into aself-re- |

liant woman, capable of thinking and acting for
herself. She had long since given up all hope of
hearing from home unless she could find some
other method of communication than through the
medium of Monsieur Brunell, who took charge of
every letter from the chateau and who, when ques-
tioned upon the subject as to woe answer ever
came to her, aways replied that he did not know,
unless mney were i on os bp He always de-
posited ‘the post, and more than that he
could not do for madame, much as he would like
to. It was all in vain that Anna had tried other
methods of getting her letters to the post. It could
not be done, even ceo Madame Verwest, who
said always, ‘I would so gladly, but I dare not.’
“And so, though letter after letter had been writ-
ten home there had come to her no reply, and she
Soest pretty accurately that her letters were sent
irectly to her husband, who, of course destroyed
them. A prisoner for lifeshe began to fear she
was, and sometimes beat her wings cruelly against
her gild e,forit was gilded. Haverleigh had
kept his word, and every luxury in the way of ser-
vice, elegant dress, and furniture was hers. All the
servants were respectful and attentive, while Ce-
line was her devoted slave. Anna could talk with
her now tolerably well and the first use she made
of her knowledge was an effort to convince her
maid of her sanity, and that she was kept a prison-
er there to suit the whim of her husband whom she
represented as a dreadful man. But to this Celine
gave no credence, though she at first smilingly as-
sented to her young mistress’ assertion, as if it
were a part of her business to humor every fancy
of the poor lunatic. Once Anna was more earnest
than usual and begged her maid to say if she be-
lieved her ee f
“Qui, oui, Celine answered vehemently, ‘I must
think it, else why are you here shut up from the
world and Paris, and monsieur is far too kind, too
fond, to imprison madame for naught, and yet—’
“Here Celine paused a momentasif a new idea
had just occurred to her, and then she continu-

* ‘And yet it isa little strange that Mademoiselle
fee gronk’ be crazy, too, like you, and like you
shut up here.’

"Who was this Agatha?’ Anna asked; and then,
little by little, she heard the story of the poor
young girl from Normandy, who had died in what
Celine called the ‘Ghost-Room,’ with the sweet re-
frain, ‘Je vais revoir ma Normandie’ on her lips.

“She haunts the room still,’ Celine said; ‘and
often on stormy nights when the wind howls round
the old chateau, we hear her voice singing of_Nor-
mandy. You see,that was her home, and she
thought she was going back toseeit again. Oh,
but she was pretty, much like madame; only she
was mademoisello—no wedding ring, for true—no
pricey am she was not lady, like you Americaine.

he was people—very people.’

“This was ne’s version of the story, and that
night Anna heard from Madame Verwest more of
poor Agatha, who believed herself a wife, and who
went really mad when she found that she was not.
If anything had been wanting to complete Anna’s
loathing and horror of her husband, this story
would have accomplished it. That he was a demon
in human form as well as a madman she had no
doubt, and there gradually crept into her heart a
fear lest she, too, like poor Agatha of Normandy,
would die in that dreary house. Still youth is hope-
ful, and Anna was young and cheered by the cour-
age of Madame Verwest, who was to her more like
a mother than aservant,she found herself con-
stantly forming plans for escape from the chateau.

en she received her husband’s letter, telling her
he was coming, her first and pear feeling
was one of horror and dread; but anon there arose
in her mind a hope that he might be coming to re-
lease her, or at least to take her with him to Paris,
and once there she would fall in with Americans or

a and through them obtain her freedom.
“With this end in view she eras to make

herself as attractive ana agr © as possible to
the man she detested, and on t) when he was
expected she suffered Celine to dress her in one of
the many Paris gowns which she had never worn,
for it had hitherto seemed worse than folly to array
herself in laces, and silks, and jewels for her soli-
tary meals. But to- aS there was a reason for
dressing, and she bade Celine do her best, and
when that best was done and she saw herself in the

lass, a picture of rare loveliness in blue satin and

ace, with pearls on her neck and arms, menething
of her old Merges, fi Naga within her, and she foun
herself again wishing that her friends at home
could see her.

. Inthe kitchen below all was bustle and expecta-
tion, for whatever Ernest Haverleigh might be to
to others, he was exceedingly popular with his ser-
yants, and not a man or woman of them but would
have through fire and water to serve him.
In the dining salon the table was set for dinner as
it never had been laid sinée the first night of Anna’s
eve at Chateau d’Or, morethan five monhts ago.

d Anna glanced inthere once as she was pass-

 

 

and the costly array and remembered what it
was for.
“*At half-past five the train was due, and justas the

was h , and from the window where she had so
often watched the sun setting she saw the long
train moving off toward Marseilles, and afew mo-
ments after the sound of carriage wheels in the
court below told her that her husband had come.
She did not ge to meet him, but with clasped hands
and rapidly beating heart stood waiting for him
just where he left her months before, terrified, be-
wildered, crouching upon the couch, with her face
hidden in her hands. Now she stood erect, with an
unnatural brightness in her blue eyes, and a flush
on her cheeks, which deepened to scarlet as her
ear caught the sound of heavy footsteps and she
knew he was ¢éoming. .

“The nextmoment he opened the door, and start-
ed involuntarily as if he had not been prepared to
see her thus. He had not expected to find her so
beautiful and so matured. He had left her a timid,
shrinking girl; he found her a woman, with that
expression upon her face which only experience
or suffering brings. His vole had been all marked
out and arranged. He should find her tearful, re-
proachful, desperate possibly, and that would suit
him well, and make her insanity more probable to
his servants, while he would be the patient, endur-
ing martyr-husband, humoring her like a child,
and petting her as he would p& a_ kitten which
seratched and spit at his caresses, How then was
he disappointed, when, with a steady step she cross-
ed the room to meet him, and offered her hand as

 

et and self-possessed to all appearance asif
he had been a stranger seeking audience of her.

““*Ma precieuse, ma belle reine, how charming I
find you, and_how delighted Iam to see. you look-
ing so well, he exclaimed as he encircled her in
his arms, and held her to his bosom as lovingly as
if she had been the bride of yesterday.

“Oh, how she loathed his caresses, and felt her
blood curdling in her veins as he pressed kiss after
kiss upon her cheek and lips, and called her darl-
ing and Bet. and asked if she were glad to see him
again. She could nottell alie, and she dared not
tell the truth, but her eyes told it for her, and he
saw it at once, and said in a deprecating tone:

“**What, not glad tosee me, when I have lived in
the anticipation of this meeting ever since I parted
with you last autumn. Why then didn’t I come
before? you may ask. Business before pleasure,
you know, and thenI hoped that perfect quiet in
this lovely retreat would go far toward restoring
you. Eh, ma petite. How is it, are you any better
here?’ And he touched his forehead significantly.

“That exasperated Anna, who, fora moment, lost
her self-control, and releasing herself from him,

head, exclaimed:

““Have done with that. You know I am not crazy,
and you shall not stay in my presence if you insult
me thus!’ :

“She was very beautiful then, and for a moment
Haverleigh felt a wave of his old love or passion
sweeping over him as hestood looking at her; then
the demon within whispered of that day_in New
York, and the words he had overheard, and he was
himself again, her jailer and master rather than
lover and husband. : ;

“‘Ha, my pretty pet,’ said he, ‘andso you are
mistress here, and can refuse or permit my pres-
ence as you please! So be it be then, and if it suits

ou better to be sane, why sane you are to me at

east. But, Mrs. Haverleigh, joking aside, I am
glad to see you, and I think you greatly improved,
and I come in peace and not in war, and if you in-
cline to the latter I would advise a change in your
REogramme, Upon my soul, you are charming.’

“He drew her to him again, and she suffered his
kisses in silence, and did not even shrink from him
when inthe presence of Celine he drew her down
upon his knee, and called her his angel and dove.
But the color had all faded from her cheeks, and
left her very pale, while her hands shook so thatshe
could scarcely manage her soup, when at last din-
ner was announced, and he lead her to the dining
salon. He was all attention to her, anda stranger
watching him would have thought him the most
devoted of husbands, but to. Anna there was some-

 

  
  
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
 

tning disgusti and terrible in his manner which
she knew must be assumed as a means of deceiy-
ing the servants, who, no doubt, pitied their master
for being so unfortunately married.

“When dinner was over, and they had returned
to the salon, Anna could restrain herself no longer,
but going up to her hushand startled him with the
question ;

Tnere is something I must, ask you, and for the
love of Heayen answer me truthfully. Ihave writ-
ten home seven times since you left me here last
October, but have never received a word in reply.
ell me, do you think my letters ever crossed the
sea? Did mother ever got them ?

For an instant the hot blood flamed up in Mr.
averleigh’s face, and his eyes fell beneath the

steady gaze fixed so searchingly upon him. Anna

ew that hersuspicions were correct, and that her
titers had never gone to America, and the lie he
id her did not in the least shake her belief.

Do I think your mother eyer got them ?” he re-
peated, at last. “She must have gotten some of
them,and some may have been lost. You gave
them to Brunel?’

*“*Yes, always to Brunel. No one else would
touch them, and I was_never allowed to post one
myself. Why not? Whyam I treated so like a

risoner? Why do you keep me here? Surely I

ave been sufficiently punished for the foolish
words you overheard. Forgive me forthem. Try
me again. Let me go with you to Paris, when you
return. [shall die here,or go mad. Don’t drive
me to that. Ob,let me go away somewhere. Let
me go home—back to mother,’ ,

“She was knacling now at his feet, and he was
looking down upon her with a strange glitter in his
eye. Then the look softened, and there was unut-

 

 

terable tenderness in the tone of his voice as he
stooped to raise her, and leading her to the couch,
said to her, pityingly:

**Poor child, you don’t know what you ask. You
have no home to goto. Your mother is dead—died
suddenly—and in kindness to you I have withheld

our sister’s letters, wishing to spare you pain, but
have it with me. Can you read it now?’

“He held a worn-looking envelope toward her,
but for a moment she did not see it. The blow had
fallen so suddenly, and was so terrible in its mag-
nitude, that for a brief space both sight and sense
failed her and she sat staring blankly into the face
observing her as if she neither saw nor heard. Af-
ter a moment, however, her eyes relaxed from their
stony expression; there was a quivering of the
lips, a rapid heaving of the chest, and then in a
yoice her husband would never have recognized as
hers, she said: ;

“Give me the letter, please. I can read it now.”
| “He Tr it to her, and holding it mechanically
in her hand she studied the address, in her sister’s
handwriting: * iT HAVERLEIGH, Esq., Paris,
FRANCE. Care of Munroe & Oo.’ The date upon the
back was Dec. sth, and there yas the dear old Mill-
field post-mark, seeming to bring. her so near her
home, and making her heart throb wildly in her
throat, where was a strange sense of suffocation.
At last, when eyery part of the soiled envelope had
been studied, she slowly opened it and drew forth
the sheet folded inside. Then the look of anguish
on her face gave way to one of perplexity, as she

said:

“ ‘Look, this is not Mary’s letter. It is from your
agent in Scotland.’ $

“My agentin Scotland! Not Mary’s letter! What
do you mean?’ Mr. Haverleigh asked, and takin,
the paper from her he saw that she was right, an
that he held a communication from his Scottish
steward regarding his estate in the Highlands.‘ What
can this mean? I don’t understand,’ he said, and
seemed to be intently thinking; then suddenly he
added: ‘Oh, I believe I_ know how the mistake oc-
curred. This from McKenzie I received the same
day with the one from your sister, and instead of
feos the latter in this envelope, as I meant to do,

tore it up, as I do all my letters of no importance,
and put this in its place. Lam so sorry, but I can

ive you the particulars. you bear it now?

here, nd your head against my arm, you look so

 

white and strange.’ ;
He sat down beside her, and drawing her to him,
made her lean against him while he told her how
her mother, after an unusually hard day’s work,
had sickened ool and died within three days,
pon happily aw a message of love on her
ips for her absent daughter. After the funeral
was over, yielding to the earnest solicitations of a
lady who was visiting in Millfield, Mary had decid-
ed to rent the house and go West with the woman
as a governess for her children. Fred, too, had ac-
companied them. as there was in the place a good
school, where he could finish his Rreparaties for
college. The name of the lady Mr. Haverleigh
could not recollect, erent that it was somethin
like Creydock or Heydock, while the town he hé
quite forgotten, and could by no means recall. It
was so unfortunate, that mistake about the letters,
and he was so sorry, he kept reiterating; but Anna
did not seem to hear, or if she did, shedid not care.
She only was conscious of the fact that her mother
was dead, her home broken up, and all hope of help
from that quarter cut off. The effect was terrible,
and even her husband was alarmed when he saw
how white and motionless she sat, with her hands
dropped helplessly at her side. Bad as he was, he
did not want her to die then and there, and he
tried to move her from her state of apathy; but she
only answered, ‘Don’t, don’t. Please go away. [
want to be alone.’

“He made her lie down on the couch, and to this
she did not object, but, like atired child, laid her
head among the soft silken cushions, and with a
long, low, gasping sob, closed her eyes wearily, as
if to shut out all sight of everything. Madame Ver-
west and Celine were sent to her, and were told of
the sad news which had so affected her, and one be-
lieved it, and the other did, not, but_both were un-
remitting in their attentions to the poor, heart-
broken girl, who gave no sign that she knew what

 

they were doing or saying to her, except to moan,

little silver clock chimed the half-hour, the whistle | t

stepped backward, and with a proud gesture of her | D’O

 

occasionally: ‘Oh, my mother is dead! my mother
is ;
“Mr. Haverleigh, too, was exceedingly kind, and
very lavish with his caresses, which Anna permit-
in a dumb, passionless kind of way, like one
who could not help herself, Once, when he stroked
her long, bright hair, she lifted her mournful eyes
to him, and asked: ‘Won't you take me from here ?
Won’t you let me go back to where you found me?
I can take care of myself; I can work in the shop
ain, and after a while you will be free from me.
Will you let me go ?” A
“Free from her! Did he wish tobethat? Fora
moment, when he remembered the glittering black
eyes, the only eyes in the world which had power
to make him quail, he half believed he did. On his
return to Paris he had met the woman with the glit-
tering eyes, which seemed to read his very _sonl,
and ferret out his inmostthoughts. There had been
a stormy scene between them, for Eugenie Arschi-
nard was not one to brook arival. She it was who
had compassed the ruin of poor Agatha of Norman-
dy, when, but for her, Hayerleigh might have dealt
fairly with herand made the marriage tie more
than a mere farce, a horrid mockery. From his
town-house in London Eugenie had seen the
young, fair-haired girl driving by and looking so
eagerly at the'place, and with her thorough
knowledge of tho world, ‘she knew her to
be an American, and essed her to be
some new flame whom he
home, as a plaything of an hour. She never fora
moment believed him married; he was not a
marrying man; he dared not marry, bound as he
was to her, by the tie of honor, witch in her infidel
heart she held above the marriage yow. So when
she met him in Paris by appointment, she charged
him with his new fancy,demanding who and where
she was, and he was a very coward in her presence
and dared not elk ber the truth of that simple wed-
ding among the New England hills, but suffered
her to believe that Anna, like Agatha, was only his
dupe whom hecould cast off at pleasure. Eugenie
had no wish at present to be bound herself. She
was true to Haverleigh and she enjoyed to the full
the luxuries with which he surrounded her, and in
Paris, where such connections were common, she

had her cirelé of friends and reigned among them
a pepen ¢ e of Haverleigh’s name and the
style in which he kept her. By and by, when she

was older and ceased to attract admiration she
meant to marry him and so pass into a respectable
old age, but just now her freedom suited her best,
and she gaye no sign of her real intentions for the
future. But Haverleigh knew full well that to con-
fess he had a wife was to evoke astorm he had not
courage to meet, and so he told her the girl she had
seen was a little wild rose from America whom he
had lifted from poverty and taken to Chateau

rs

“ “You know I must have something to amuse me
when I am at that dreary place, and Anna does as
well as any one. A little washed-out, spiritless

body of whom you need not be jealous.’
his he had said to Eugenie, and then had
bought her the diamond set at Tiffany’s which she
admired so much, had driven with her in the Bois
de Boulogne, and afterward dined with herin the
little fairy palace of the Champs d’Elysses, her
home, of which she had the title deed in her _
session. And yet in his heart, black as it was, Ern-
est Haverleigh respected Anna far more than he
did this woman, who so fascinated and enthralled
him, for though Annahad come to him with a lie
on her lips, and a lie in her heart, and had wounded
his self-love cruelly,she was pure and womanly,
while Eugenie was steeped to the dregs in sin and
in intrigue. But she ruled him completely, and_ if
he had desired he did not dare take Anna back with
him to Parisand present her as his wife, and, he
was not quite bad enough to cast ape her publicly
the odium of being his mistress. Neither would he
send her back to erica for there was no pretext
whatever by which he could be free from the bond
which held him her husband. She had plenty of
pretexts; he had none. Hecould not let her go,
‘and besides he was conscious of a real interest in
her, a something which fascinated him and made
him wish to keep her there at Chateau D’Or, where
he and he alone could see her at his will. Some
time, perhaps, when Eugenie was less trouble-
some he might take her away, but not now, and
when she gaid to him so pleadingly, “Will you let
me go home?’ he answered her very gently, ‘Poor
child, you have no home to go toin America. Your
home is here, with me. Not always Chateau D’Or,
erhaps, for some time I mean to take you with me.
t do so now for certain. reasons, but by and
6 or the happiness in

       
 
 
  

‘only answer, as she
him and wished that
Mr. Haverleigh re-
wz himself entirely to
ith intense disgust
them because she
Yerwest he was very
civilly, it is true,
h showed how wide
sm. He was mas-

 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

ter, she w: de her feel it keen-
ly. Once, came suddenly upon
him as he », she laid her hand
on his ar = ates el
“Ho ce La ress
“What. to he replied, savagely, and she
continued:

““This horrid life of sin and deception. You
know the girl’s mother is not dead.’ 5 i

“It’s a lie! he cried, springing to his feet. “A
lie—I swear it to you! And you shall not interfere,
orif you do, by——’

“There was & frightful oath, as he threatened the
trembling woman, who seemed afraid of him, and
did not speak again while he went on:

“*T am beginning to love her once more; to feela
real interest inher. I find her greatly improved,
thanks to you, I Bupnoce. A few months more of
seclusion, and I shall introduce her to the world;
but I will not have her family hanging on me—a set
of low Yankees, working in Bee toe teaching
school, and making dresses for the rabble,’

“Ts not her family a good one, then?’ Madame
Verwest asked, and he replied:

“*Good enough for its kind for aught I know. No
stain, unless it be the half-sister or something of
the father, who went to the bad, they say—ran off
with a Boston man, who never meant to marry her,
and the natural consetuence, of course.’

“*Where is this woman?’ madame asked, and he

replied: :

* ‘Dead, I believe, or ought to be. Whyshould
such women live?’ s i

“Ves, oh, why?’ was answered sadly in madame’s
heart; but she made no response, and when her
tyrant of a master motioned her to the door in to-
ken that the interview was ended, she went out
without a word. ‘

“Three days later he left the chateau, saying he
should come again in September or October, and
possibly bring people with him. Madame Archi-
nard, a lady of high position and great wealtn, had
long wished to visit Southern France, and he might

erhaps invite her down with other friends, and

lithe chateaufull, :

**And you, my little white rose,’ he said to Anna,
‘I want you to get your color back, and be like your
old self, for I shall wish By wife not to be behind
any Parisian beauties. I shall send you_ the very
latest styles. Worth has your number,I believe.
ae aoe good-by, my pet. Take care of yourself,
and if—’ pe

“He bent down to-her, and whispered somethin
in herear, which turned her face to scarlet, an
made her involuntarily exclaim: |

“ ‘Oh, anything but that—anything but that!’

CHAPTER VI.
IN THE AUTUMN,

“The summer had gone by—a long, bright, beau-
tiful summer so far as_sunny skies, and fair flew-
ers, and singing birds, and fresh, green grass
could make it bright and beautiful; but to Anna,
still watching drearily the daylight fading in the
western sky, and whispering messages for the sun
to carry tothe dear ones across the water, it had
dragged heavily, and not all Madame Verwest’s love
and petting, which were given without stimt to the
poor girl, had availed to win her back to the com-

aratively cheerful state of mind she had been in
merams receiving the sad news of her mother’s

eath. :

“She had ceased_writing to America; that was
useless, she knew. H rx letters would never reach
there, and she had ed to expect any news from
home, for however often Mary or Fred might write,
their letters would never come to her. Of this she
was convinced, and she grainely settled into a
state of hopeless pomhy. taking little or no interest
in anything, except, indeed, poor Agatha’s grave.

“She had found it ina little inclosure on the
island which held Chateau D’Or, choked with tall

rass and weeds,and smothered by the Co OAr ae
branches of the peer and willow which overshad-
owed it an mid rom. view the plain white stone on
which was 8 me inseribed, “Agatha, aged 20.
Nothing to tell when she died, or where, or where
her home been, and what her life. But Anna
knew now all the sad story of the sweet peasant-
girl lured from her home by promises of a mar-
ieee which did take place at last, but with a flaw
init which made it illegal, and poor Agatha no
wife. Then, when reparation had been refused,
she had held herself as pure and spotless as was
Eve when she came first from the hands of her
Creator, but had gone mad with shame and re-
morse, and died at “Chateau D’Or, with a song of
Normandy on her lips, _.

“With the help of Celine, the weeds and grass
were cleared away from the neglected yard, which,
as the summer advanced, grew bright with flowers
and vines, and was Anna’s favorite resort. Here
she would sit for hours with her head turned down,
thinking sadly of the past, and wondering what the
future, which many a young wife would have look-

orward to eagerly, might have in store for her.

 

 

n first there dawned upon her the Dpeemy
at another life than her own might be intruste

had lured from|b

to her keeping she had recoiled with horror, feel-
ing that she eould not love the child of which Ernest
Haverleigh was father; then there crept over her a
better, softer feeling, which was succeeded by a
presentiment which grew to a certainty that both
would die, mother and little one, and be buried
there by Agatha; there was just room between her
grave and the fence, room in length and breadth
both, for she had lain herself down in the grass and
measured the space with her own person. She
would have a headstone, too, like Agatha, with,
Anna, aged 19 on it, and in the other world, far
away from Chateau D’Or, she might perhaps meet
Agatha some day, and with her recount the sorrows
they had borne and which had helped to fit them for
the eternal home, where Anna hoped now and
believed she would go. Sorrow had brought her to
her Saviour’s feet, and she felt that whether she
lived or died it would be well with her.
Occasionally her husband had written to her,
short but_kind letters, and once or twice, when he
had asked her some direct questions she had an-
swered him, but nothing he might now do could
eyer awaken in her asingle throb of affection for
him, and when late in August there_came to her
from Paris several boxes of dresses, Worth’s ver
latest styles, she felt no gratitude to the giver, an
when a day or two after his letter arrived, telling
her of his intention to fill the chateau with compa-
ny, and expressing a wish that she should look her
est, as some of the guests would be ladies of culti-
vation and taste, she experienced only feelings of
aversion and dread in view of the coming festivi-
ties. The servants, on the contrary, were delighted.
There had been no company at the chateau for
years, and now it was a pleasant excitement, open-
ing the chambers long shut up, airing linen, un-
covering furniture, sorting silver, hunting up re-
ae. making jellies, and cakes, and sweetmeats,
and speculating as to who was coming and what
they would wear. Madame Archinard was certain,
for Monsieur Haverleigh had written Madame Ver-
west to that effect, and the largest and best sleeping
room was to be hers, and the finest saddle-horse,
and her maid was to haye the large closet adjoin-
ing her room, so as to be. always within call, and
madame was talked SD and speculated upon almost
as much as if it had been the empress herself
expected at the chateau, instead of the wo-
man who had originated this visit and insisted
upon it, partly because she wanted change, and
partly because she knew that there at Chateau D’Or
was the fair-haired American of whom she had
caught a glimpse in London. She had often ques-
tioned Mr. Haverleigh eee with regard to Anna
and at last, after a hot and angry quarrel, she had
wrung from him the fact that in an inadvertent

who recently had become hopelessly insane, and
was immured within the walls of Chateau D’Or. At
first Eugenie’s rage had been something fearful,
and even Haverleigh had trembled at her violence.
After a little, however, when the first shock was

ally to consider the situation, which was not so bad
after all. True, she could not marry him now her-
self, should such a fancy take her, but she had n
by any means lost her power over him or any par
af it. Hespent his money for her as freely, a
was quite as devoted to her as he had been before
he saw this American, who had conveniently gone
crazy, and was kept so close at Chateau D’Or. In
her heart Eugenie did not quite believe the insani
ty, though it suited her to have it so, and she w
very anxious to see one, who in a way, was a kind
of rival to her, so she proposed and insisted upon
the visit to the chateau, and chose her own com-
pentone. three of them ladies of her own rank in
ife, and six of them young men who wereallina
sn et satellites, and would do to play off against
each other when there was nothing better for
amusement. gis.
To these people Mr. Haverleigh had explained
that there was a Mrs. Haverleigh, a sweet, unfortu-
nate young creature,who was hopelessly insane. She
was perfectly harmless, and _ quiet, and ladylike, he
said, and might ily be taken for a rational wo-
man, unless she got upon the subject of her sanity.
Then she would probably declare that she wassane
and kept at Chateau D’Or against her will, and that
her friends knew nothing of her fate, as none of
her letters ever reached them, and none of theirs
reached her. Of course all this was false, he said,
as she was free to write as often as she pleased,
while he always showed her whatever he thought
she ought to seefrom home. When the sad news of
her mother’s death reached him, he, had withheld it
for a time, thinking it better so, but_he had told her
at last, and the result was as he had feared, an ag-
gravation of her malady and a of deep des-
bonesuey from which she was seldom roused. He
id not Know what effect so mugh gayety and dis-
sipation would have upon her, but he hoped the
best, and trusted to their good sense not to talk
with her of her trouble, or to eredit anything she
might say with regard tohim. He repeated all this
with a most grieved expression upon his face, as if
his burden was almost heavier than he could bear,
and the eer ladies were y sorry and piti-
So or \ @ man upon whose life so great a blight
en. 3
“Eugenie Archinard, who knew him so well, kept
her own counsel, but of the four ladies none were
ong: half pT a to see Anna Haverleigh as her-
self.. It was ‘late one lovely September afternoon
ed ie chateau, where all
id Madame Verwest,
in her best black silk and laces, stood waiting for
them,courtseying respectfully as they were present-
ed to her, and then conducting them to their several
rooms. Anna was not present to receive them. She
preferred not to see them until dinner, and stood
waiting for her husband in the | nm. She had not
been permitted to wear mourning for her mother
as she had wished to do, but on this occasion she
was dressed in a black. silk grenadine, with
puffings of soft illusion lace at. her neck and
wrists, while her only ornaments were a necklace
and ear-rings of jet. To relieve the somberness of
this attire Celide had fastened in her bright, wav
hair a beautiful blush rose, which was far more ef-
fective than any costly ornament could have been,
and had Anna studied her toilet for a mth she
could not have chosen amore becoming one, or one
which better pleased her fastidious lord. She was
beautiful as she stood before him with that pale,
pensive style of beauty so attractive to most men,
and as he held her in his arms:he felt for a few mo-
ments how far superior she was to the Eames
f

    
        
    

ed women he had brought there as her
and for half an instant he resolved to keep |
them, lest so much as their breath should

rfrom
fall upon
and contaminate her in some way. But it was too
late now. She must meet them day after day, and he
must see her with them, and go on acting his false
part, and make himself a still greater villain, if pos-
sible, than ever. But he would be very kind to her,
and deferential, too, especially before wee
whom for thetime being he felt that he hated with a
most bitter hatred, not only for whatshe was, but for
the power she had over him. How gorgeous she

at dinner in her dress of crimson satin, with lace
overskirt, and diamonds flashing on her neck and
arms, and how like a queen, or rather like the mis-
tress of the house, she carried herself among hi
companions as the stood on the grand salon
ing for Mrs. Haverleigh, and the younger po
speculating upon the probabilities of her acting
rationally in their presence, while she, Eugenie
listened to their speculations with a scornful curl
on her lip, and an increased glitter in her black

 
 
 
 

ves. Aa

“There was the sound of soft, trailing garments
on the stairs, and Eugenie drew her tall figure to its
full height, and tossed her head proudly as An-
na entered the room, a graceful little creature, with
a tint of the sun on her wavy hair, a faint flush on
her cheeks, and the purity of her complexion
heightened by the color of her dress. And still she
was not a child, for the woman was stamped in
every lineament, and shone in the blue eyes she
bent so curiously upon the guests as, one by one,
they gathered around herto be presented. And An-
na received them graciously and welcomed them
to the chateau, which, she said, would be pleasanter
for having them there. Hie

“*You must be often yery lonely living here alone
so much,” Eugenie said to her purposely, and in-
stantly the great blue eyes, which had been scan-
ning her so curiously, filled with tears, and the
sweet voice was inexpressly sad which replied;

“Oh, you don’t know how lonely,’

“It was long since Euggnie Archinard had felt a
trob of anything like kindly pity for any one; but
there was something in Anna’s face and Anna’s
eyes which struck a chord she had thought stilled
forever, and brought back a wave of memory which
shook her for an instant like a tempest, and made
her grow faint and weak before this woman she
had meant to hate. Years ago, before Eugenie
Archinard was the woman she was now, she had
loved a young half-sister with all the intensity of
her strong, passionate nature, and loved her the
more for having had the care of her from the time
her first wailing ery echoed through the chamber
ofthe dying mother. For this child Eugenie had
toiled and denied herself, and gone without suffi-
cient food that the little one might be daintily
clothed and fed on delicacies. Then,in an unlucky
hour, Eugenie went to Paris to make her fortune
as milliner, and get a home forthe young gic grow-
ing each day more and more beautiful. But before
that home was made Eugenie’s brilliant beauty had
been her ruin, and she would not brine her sister
into the tainted atmosphere of her world.

“The glamour of Haverleigh’s love and money
was in its freshness, and in her intoxication she
forgot everything else until there came a terrible
awakening, and she heard that ‘La Petite, as she
called her sister, had left her home with a stran-
ger, and gone no one knew whither, or whether for
good or bad. Then for atime the jgiry palace off
the Champs d’Elysees was closed, while Eugenie,
maddened and remorseful, sought far and near for
traces of La Petite, but sought in vain, and after
many weeks she returned toher home and life in
Paris, gayer,more reckless than_ ever, but witha
pain in

 

 

ment.

hour he had married the little New England girl, | F

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. tee—~ = 5

 

oman

“Time passed on till more than a year gone,
and then she heard from the gray-haired er at
home that in a roundabout way, which he never-
theless felt to be reliable, tidings had come to him
of La Petite’s death, though how she died or where
he did not know.

These were very uncomfortable days for Ernest
Haverleigh, who, never having heard Eugenie men-
tion her sister,did not knowshe had one, and
could not guess of the bitter grief which consumed
her day and night, and made her sometimes like a
raging animal in her hatred of all mankind.

t was at that time that Mr. Haverleigh, finding
no comfort with Eugenie, had decided to visit
America, and leave the lady to herself until she
was in a better frame of mind. He had found her
better on his return, and furiously jealous of Anna,
whom she wished so much to see, and whom, when
she saw, she felt herself drawn strangely toward,
because of aresemblance to the dear little sister
dead, she knew not where.

Mr. Haverleigh had dreaded this meeting be-
tween the eagle and the dove, as he mentally
styled the two women who were bound to him, one
by the tie of merre , the other by the so-called tie
of honor. Would the
dered, and he watch
marveling much at
lor which showed lf even through her paint.
Anna had either made a favorable impression, or
else Eugenie thought her too insipid to be consid-
ered as a riv:

 

 

 
   
 

fora moment. In either view of the

   
   
  
  
  
  
 
    
  

matter he was pleased to know that there was not
to be war be n the two ladies, and with this load
ere i became the most urbane and agree-

“It was a very merry dinner party, for the guests
were all youn and in the best of spirits, and the
light jest and | repartee passed rapidly around
the boar na was quiet. She did not un-
derstand { well enough to catch readily
What they said, especially when they talked so rap-
idly, and so at a time. But she was a good

listener, and { to seem interested and smile in
the right place, and she looked so girlish and pret-
ty, and di r_ duties as hostess so gracefully that ©
her husband felt proud of her, while every man at
the table pronounced her perfect, and every wo-
man charming. - ;
Those Me og pare at Chateau d’Or were ve
' Mr. Haverleigh was a good host, an

   
  
    
  

is guests knew well how to entertain themselves,
so that from early morning into the small hours of
night there was no ation of pleasure and rey-
elry. a did not join in the dissipation. She
was at all strong, and then in the freedom of

yurse between these volatile, unprincipled
. people she saw much to censure, and
k from any familiarity with them. This reti-
cence on her part was attributed to her Sunes
malady, which made her melancholy, the ladies

  
  

 

hought, and after a few ineffectual efforts to draw

     
   
 
 
 

her into their circle, they gave it up, and suffered
over, she grew more calm, and began more ration- | Tae nf

her to remain quietly in her room.

nie, however, often sought her society, at-
by the look in her face to the lost one, and
by a desire to see how far the story of her insanity
was true, and to know something of her early his-
tory. But it was not until the party had been at the
chateau for three weeks, and were beginning to
talk of going back to Paris, or still farther south to
Nice or Mentone, that cerrnsity for the de-
sired interview presented itself.
[TO BE CONTINTUED.]

ey

e- OG —-—---—--—

CAPTAIN -
Danton’s Daughters.

By May Agnes Fleming.

(“Captain Danton’s Daughters” was commenced in No. 16.
Back Nos. can be obtained of any News Agent in the U. States. ]

CHAPTER VIII.
THE GHOST AGAIN.

Rose Danton stood leaning against the low, old-
fashioned chimney-piece in her bedroom staring at
the fire with a very sulky face.
love with pretty Rose, should have seen her in her
sulky moods if they wished to be thoroughly disen-. ,
chanted. Just at present, as she stood looking
loomily into the fire, she was wondering how the
onorable Reginald Standford would feel on his.
wedding day, or if he would feel at all, if they should
find her (Rose) robed in white, floating in the fish-
pond, drowned! The fish-pond was large enough;
and Rose moodily recollected reading somewhere
that when lovely woman stoops to folly, and finds
too late that men betray, the only way to hide that
folly from every.eye, to bring repentance to her
lover, to wring his bosom, is to—die!

The clock down stairs struck eleven. Rose could.
hear them dispersing to their bedrooms. She
could hear, and she held her breath to listen. Mr.
Stanford, going past her door, whistling a tune of
Kate’s. Of Kate’s, of course! He was happy and
could whistle, and she was miserable and couldn’t,
If she had not wept herself as dry as a wrung
sponge, she must have relapsed into hysterics once
more; but as she couldn’t, with a long-drawn sigh,
she resolved to go to bed.

So to bed Rose went, but not to sleep. She tossed
from side to side, feverish and impatient; the more
she tried to sleep, the more she couldn’t. It was
quite a new experience for poor Rose, not used to
“tears at night instead of slumber.” .The wintry-
moonlight was shining brightly in herroom through
the parted curtains, and that helped her wakeful-
ness, perhaps. As the cloek struck twelve, she
sprang up in desperation, drew a shawl round her,
and, in her night-dress, sat down by the window, to
comtemplate the heavenly bodies.

Hark ! what noise was that ?

The house was as still as a vault; all had retired,
and were probably asleep. In the dead stillness,
Rose heard a door open—the green baize door ot
Bluebeard’s room. Her chamber was very near that
een door; there could be no mistaking the sound.
nce again she held her breath to listen. In the
profound hush, footsteps echoed along the uncarpet-
ed corridor, and passed her door. Was it Ogden on
his way up stairs? No! the footsteps paused at the
next door—Kate’s room; and there was a light rap.
Rose, aflame with curiosity, tip-toed to her own
door, and applied her ear to the keyhole. Kate’s
door opened; there was a whispered colloquy; the
listener could not catch the words, but the voice
that spoke to Kate was not the voice of Ogden.
Five minutes—ten—then the door shut, the foot-
steps went by her door again, and down stairs. ;
Who was it? Not Ogden, not her father; could it
be—could it be Mr. Richards himself! ee
Rose clasped her hands, and stood bewildered.
Her own troubles had so occupied her mind of late
that she had almost forgotten Mr. Richards; but
now her old curiosity returned in full force.

“If he has gone out,” thought Rose, ‘twhat is to
hinder me from seeing his rooms. I would give the
world to see them!”

‘She stood for 2 moment irresolute.

Then, impulsively, she seized a dressing-gown.
covered her bright head with the shawl, opened her
door softly, and peeped out.

ANY still and deserted. The, night-lamp burned
dim at the other end of the long, chilly passage, but
threw no light where she stood.

The green-baize door stood temptingly halt open;
no creature was to be seen—no sound to be heard.
Rose’s heart throbbed fast; the mysterious stillness

 

  
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
 

of the night, the ghostly shimmer of the moonlight,
the mystery and romance of her adventure, set
every pulse tingling, but she did not hesitate. Her
slippered feet crossed the hall lightly; she was be-
side the green door. Then there was another pause
—_a moment’s breathless listening, but the dead still-
ness of midnight was unbroken. She tiptoed down
the sho dor, and looked into the room. The

quite deserted; a lamp burned en a table
strewn with books, papers, and writing-materials. —
anced wonderingly around at the book-lined
ir. Richards could pass the dull hours if
those were all novels, she thought.

The room beyond was unlit, save by the moon

 
 

shining brightly through the parted curt ains. Rose
examined it, too; it was Mr. Richards’s bedroom,
but the bed had not been slept inthat night. Bvery-

thing was orderly and elegant, no. evidences of its
occupant being an invalid. One rapid, comprehen-
sive glance was all the girl waited to take; then she
turned to hurry back to her own room, and found
herself face to face with Ogden. 4

The valet stood in the doorway, looking at her,
his countenance wearing its habitual calm and re-
spectful expression. But Rose recoiled, and turned
as white as though he had-been a ghost.

It is very late, Miss Rose,” said Ogden, calmly.
“J think you had better not stay here any longer.

Rose clasped her hands supplicatingly.

“Oh, Ogden! Don’t tell papa! Pray, don’t tell
papa!”

much as my place is worth. I must!” : ‘
He stood aside to let her pass. Rose, with all her
flightiness, was too proud to plead witha servant, and
walked out in silence.
Not an instant too soon. As she opened her door,
some one came up stairs; some one who was tall,
and slight, and muffled in a long cloak.

 

er heart which never left her for a mo-

He passed through the baize door, before she had

 

 

I nen

 

 

Those who fell in =~

 

 

“I am very sorry, Miss Rose, but it would be as — ;

 
 

 

 

 

 

TW :
6 = 6 CANS

 

ioucee

s¢ THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. fe

 

 

 

 

time to see his face, elosed it after him, and was
one.
. Rose locked her door, afraid of she knew not
what ; and sat. down on the bedside to think, Who
was this Mr. Richards who passed for an invalid, and
who was no invalid? Why was he shut up here,
where no one could see him, and why was all this
mystery? Rose thought of “Jane Hyre” and Mr.
Rogaester’s wife; but Mr. Richards could not be mad
ox they never would trust him out alone at night.
‘What;'too, would her father say to her to-morrow ?
She quailed a little al the thought; she had never
seen her indulgent father out of temper in her life.
He took the most. disagreeable contretemps with
imperturbable good-humor, but how would he take
phis ?

“7 should not like to offend papa,” thought Rose,
uneasily. ‘tHe is very good to me, and does every-
thing lask him. Ido hope he won't be angry. I
almost wish I had not gone!”

There was no sleep for her that night. When
morning came, she was almost atraid to go down to
breakfast and face her father;-but when the bell
rang, and she did d d, her father was not there.

Ogden came in with his master’s excuses—Captain
Danton was very busy, and would breakfast in his
study. The news took away Rose’s morning appe-
tite; she sat crumbling her roll on her plate, and
feeling that Ogden had told ae that that was
the cause of his non-appearance. ~

Asthey arose from the table,°Ogden entered
again, bowed gravely to Rose, and informed her she
was wanted in the study. ie

Kate looked at her sister in surprise, and noticed
with wonder her changing face. But Rose, without
a word, followed the valet, her heart throbbing fast-
er than it had throbbed last nigh

Captain Danton was pacing up. down his study
when she entered, with the sternest face she, had
ever seen him wear, In silence he pointed to a seat,
continuing his walk; his daughter , sat down, pale,
but otherwise dauntless. ;

‘“R se!” he said, stopping short before her, ‘twhat
took you into Mr. Richards’ rooms last nivht ?”

“Curiosity, papa,” replied Rose, readily, but in
secret quaking.

*‘Do you know you did a very mean act? Do you
know you were playing the spy?”

The color rushed to Rose’s face, ahd her head
drooped.

“You knew you were forbidden to r there;
you knew you were prying into what was no affair
of yours; you knew you were doing wrong, and
would displease me; and yet, in the face of all this,
you deliberately stole into his room, like | like
a thief, to discover for yourself. Rose Da am
ashamed of you!” i. oe

Rose burst out crying. Her father was very an-

ry, and deeply mortified; and Rose really was very

ondof her indulgent father.

“Oh, papa! I didn’t mean—tI never He

 

   
  
  
  
  

please, papa, forgive me!”

Captain Danton resumed his walk up and dow
his anger softened at the sight of her distress,

‘“*Ts it the first time this has occurred?” he asked,
stopping again; ‘‘the truth, Rose. I can forgive
anything but a lie!” f a

“Yes, papa.” J

‘*You wever have been there before 2?” h

‘No, never!” .

Again he resumed his walk, and again he stopped
before her.

‘Why did you go last night 2”

za

“TI couldn’t sleep, papa. I felt worried about some- |

thing, and I was sitting by the window. I head Mr.
Richards’ door open, and some one come out and rap
at Kate’s room. Kate opened it, and I heard them
talking.” ;

Her father interrupted her.

“Did you hear what they said ?” he asked, sharply.

“No, papa—only the sound of their voices. It was
not your voice, nor Ogden’s; so I concluded it must
be Mr. Richards himsetf. I heard him go down
stairs, and then I peeped out. His door was open,
and T—T——-_”

“Went in!”

“Yes, papa,” very humbly.

“Did you see Mr Richards ?”

“T saw some one, talland slight, come up stairs
and go in, but I did not see his face,”

‘And that is all ?” : j

“Yes, papa.” :

Once more he began pacing backward and forward
his face very grave, but not so stern. Rose watched
him askance, nervous and uncomfortable.

“My daughter,” he said at last, ‘‘you have done
very wrong, and grievedme more than I can say.
This is a serious matter—more serious by far than
you imagine. You have discovered, probably, that
other reasons than illness confine Mr. Richards to
his rooms,”

“Yes, papa.”

. Mr. Richards is not an invalid—at least not now
—although he was ill when he came here. But the
reasons that keep hima prisoner in this house are
80 very grave that I dare not confide them to you.
This much-I will say—his life depends upon it.”

“Papal” Rose cried, startled.

‘His life depends upon it!” repeated Captain Dan-
ton. “Only three in this house know his secret—
myself, Ogden, and your sister Kate. Ogden and
Kate Ican trust implicitly, can I place equal confi-
dence in you?”

“Yes, papa,” very faintly.

“Mr. Richards,” pursued Captain Danton, with a
slight tremor of voice, “is the nearest and dearest
friend I have on this earth. It would break my
heart, Rose, if an ill befell him. Do you see now
why [am so anxious to preserve his secret; why I
felt so deeply your rash act of last night ?”

i “Forgive me, papa!” sobbed Rose. “I am sorry; I
didn’t know. Oh, please, papa.”

He stooped and kissed her.

“My thoughtless little girl! Heaven knows how
‘freely I forgive you—only promise me your word of
honor not to breathe a word of this.”

“T promise, papa.”

“Thank you, my dear. And now you may go; I
have some writing to do. Goand take a ride to
cheer you up after all this dismal talk, and get back
your roses before luncheon time.”

He kissed her again and held the door open for
her to pass out.

ning up stairs.”
“IT say, Rose,” exclaimed her sister, ‘‘don’t you
want to go toa ball? Well, there are invitations for
the Misses Danton in the parlor.”
“A ball, Eeny? Where?” 4
‘At the Ponsonbys’, next Thursday night. Sir
Ronald, Doctor Frank, papa, and Mr. Stanford are
all invited.” oe
Rose’s delight at the news banished all memory of
the unpleasant scene just over.
mit of Rose’s earthly bliss, anda ball at the Pon-
sonbys’ really meant something. In ten minutes her
every thought was absorbed in the great question,
“What shall I wear ?”
“To-day is Wednesday,” thought Rose. ‘Thurs-
day one, Friday two, Saturday three, Monday four,
Tuesday five, Wednesday six, Thursdayseven. Plenty
of time to have my new silk made. Pll go and speak
to Agnes at once.” Jue
) She tripped away to the sewing-roo: search of
the little seamstress. The door wasajar; she push-
ed it open, but paused in astonishment at the sight
which met her eyes. k
The sewing-room was on the gro!
windew about five feet from the
window, which was open, sat th
work lying idly on her Jap, twisti

  

     
   
   
      
     
  
    
 
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
  
   

floor, its one
ound. At this
eamstress, her
fingers in a

restless, nervous sort of way pecu oher. Lean-
ing against the window from with his arm on the
sill, stood Doctor Danton, talking e had known

Agnes Darling all nis life.

The noise of Rose entrance, slight asit was, caught
his quick ear. Helooked up and met her surprised
eyes, coolly, composedly. es.

‘Don’t let me intrude!” said Rose, é1
she found herself discovered. “I dic
see Doctor Danton here.” a

“Very likely,” replied the impert
‘it is an old habit of mine, turning u

laces, Besides, what was I to d
itchen was invisible, Miss Kate |
with Mr. Stanford, Miss Rose was closeted myster-
iously with papa, Miss Heny practicing the ‘Battle of
Prague’. was not to be « bed. In my distraction
I came here, where ¥ Darling has kindly permit-
ted me to remain and study the art of dressmaking.”

He made his speech purposely long, that Rose
might not see Darling's confused face. But
Rose saw it, and believed as much of the gentleman’s
story as she chose. ;

“And now that you have discovered it,” said-Rose,
“i dare say we will have you flying on all occasions
to this refugium peceatorum. Are you going? Don’t
let me frighten you away!”

“You don’t; but’ I want to smiokea cigar under
the tamaracs. You haven’t such a thing as a match
one you, have you? No matter; Ive got one my-
self.

He strolled away. Rose looked suspiciously at the
still confused face of the sewing-girl.

ering, when
not expect to

0: Grace in the
) had gone riding

“How do you come to know: Doctor Danton?” she

asked, abruptly.

    
  
   
   
   
 

; Rose, with a great weight off her
mind, went down the passage and met Eeny run-.

A ball was the sum-_

*“T_he-—I mean the window was open and he was
passing, and he stopped to speak,” stammered Ag-
nes, more confusedly still. :

“JT dare say.” said Rose; ‘but he would not have
stopped unless he had Known you before, would
he?"

“T_saw him once by aecident betore—I don’t know
him——”

She stopped and looked piteously at Rose. She
was & childish little thing, very nervous, and evi-
dently afraid of any more questions.

“Well,” said Rose, curtly; ‘if you don’t choose to
tell, of course you needn’t. He never was a lover of
yours, was he ?” : :

“Oh, no! no! no!”

“Then I don’t see anything to get so confused
about, ‘What are you working at ?”

‘Miss Eeny’s jacket.” :

‘Then Miss Heny’s jacket must wait, for I want my
aew silk made for Thursday evening. Come up to
my room, and get to work at once.”

Agnes rose obediently. Rose led the way, her
mind straying back to the scene in the sewing-room
her entrance had disturbed,

“Took here, Miss Darling,” she broke out; ‘tyou
must have known Doctor Danton before. Now you
needn’t deny it. Your very face proves you guilty.
Tell the truth, and shame the Didn't you know
him before you came to Danton Hall ?”

They were in Rose’s room by thistime. To the
zreat surprise of that inquisitive young lady, Agnes
Darling sank down upon a lounge, covered her face
with her hands, and burst into tears. "

‘Goodness me!” exclaimed the second Miss Dan-
jon, as soon .as surprise would let her speak, “what
yn earth isthe matter with you? What are you
wying about? What has Doctor Danton done to

ou?”

‘Nothing! nothing!” cried the worried little seams-
tress. “Oh, nothing! It is not that! I am very
foolish and weak; but oh, please don’t mind me, and
don’t ask me about it. I can’t help it and lamvery,
very unhappy.”

‘‘Well,” said Rose, after a blank pause; ‘‘stop cry-
ing. I didn’t know you would take it so seriously,
or I shouldn’t have asked you. Here's the dress, and
I want you to take a great deal of pains with it, Ag-
nes. Take my measure.” j

Rose said no more to the seamstress on a subject
30 evidently distressing; but that evening she took
Doctor Frank himself to task. She was at the piano,
which Kate had vacated tora game of chess with
Mr. Stanford, and Grace’s brother was devotedly
wurning her music. Rose looked up at him abruptly,
her fingers still rattling off a lively mazurka.

‘‘Boctor Danton, what have you been doing to
Agnes Darling ?” ?

“I! Doing! I don’t, understand!”

““Of- course, you don’t, Where was it you knew
her?” «,

*“*Who says I knew her ?”

‘Tdo;. There,:no fibs; they won’t convince me,
and you will only be committing sin for nothing.
Was it in Montreal?” _

‘Really, Miss Rose——”

“That will do. She won’t tell, she only cries. You
won’t tell; you only equivocate. Idon’t care. I'll
tind out sooner or later.”

‘Was she crying?” :

“J should think so. People like to make myster-
ies in this house, in mv opinion. Where there is se-
srecy there is something wrong. This morning was
not the first time you ever talked to Agnes Darling.”

‘*Perhaps not,” replied Doctor Danton, with a very
grave face; but, pogr child! what right have I to
make known the trials she has undergone? She
has been very unfortunate, and I once had the op-
portunity to befriendher. That is all I know of her,
or am at liberty to tell.” ;

There was that in Df. Frank’s face that, despite
Rose’s assurance, forbade her asking any more ques-
tions.

‘*But I shall never rest till I find out,” thought the
young lady. I've got at Mr. Richards’ and rit get at
yours as sure as my name is Rose.”

- The intervening days before the ball, Rose was too
much absorbed in her preparations, and anticipa-
tions of conquest, to give her mind much to Agnes
Darling and her secrets.. That great and hidden
trot&ble of her life—her unfortunate love affair, was
worrying her too. Mr, Stanford, in pursuance
of his promise to Kate, played the agreeable to her
sistet with a eeevoking. perseverance that was proof
against any amount.of snubbing, and that nearly
drove Rose wilds He would take a seat by her side,
always in Kate’s presence, and talk to her by the
hour, while she could but listen, and rebel in-
wardly. Never, even while she chafed most, had
she loved him better. That power of fascination;
that charm of ‘ace, of voice, of smile, that had con-
quered her fickle heart the first time she saw him,
enthralled her more and more hopelessly with every
passing day. It was very hard to sit there, sullen
and silent, and her eyes averted, but the Dan-
ton pluck stood in good stead, and the memory
of his treachery to her goaded her on.

“It’s of no use, Kate,” he said to his lady-love;
“our pretty Rose will have nothing to say to me. I
more than half believe she is in love with that very
clever Doctor Frank.” ~

“Dr, Frank? Oh, no; he is not half handsome
enough for Fie

“He isa thorongly fine fellow, thongh. Are you
quite sure he has not taken Rose captive ?”

“Quite. He is eS well to flirt with—nothing
more. Rose cares nothing for him, but lam not so
sure he does not care for her. Rose is yery pretty.”

“Very, smiled Mr, Stanford, ‘‘and knows it. I
heh der ifshe will dance with me the night of the
ball 2?” ‘

Tht night of the ball came; bright, coe: and
calm. The large, roomy, old-fashioned family car-
riage held Rose, Heny, Sir Ronald, and Doctor Dan-
ton, while Mr. Stanford drove Kate over in a light
cutter. The Ponsonbys, who were very uplifted
Dato people, had not invited Grace; and Captain

 

°

     
  
   
     
      

 
  

  
 
 

n, at the last moment, announced his inten-
on of staying at home also.
“Tam very comfortable where I am,” said the
| saptain, lounging in an arm-chair before the blazing
fire; ‘‘and the trouble of dressing and going out this
old night is more than the ball is worth. Make my
xcuses, my dear; tell them I have had a sudden at-
ack of gout, ifyoulike, or anything else that comes
uppermost.”

“But, papa,” expostulated Kate, very much sur-
prised, for the master of Danton Hall was eminently
social in his habits, ‘‘I should like you to come so
much, and the Ponsonbys will be so disappointed.

“They'll survive it my dear, never fear. I prefer
taying at home with Grace and Father Francis, who
will drop in by-and by. There, Kate, my dear, don’t
waste your breath coaxing. Reginald, take her
away.” . : 7

Mr, Stanford, with the faintest shadow of a know-
ing smile on his face, took Kate’s arm and led her
down stairs. £

“The brown eyes and serene face of your demure
housekeeper have stronger charms for my papa-in-
law than anything within the four walls of the
Ponsonbys. What would Kate say, I wonder, if I
told her ?”

_ As usual, Captain Danton’s two daugl-.ters were
the belles of the room. Kate was queenly as ever,
and as far out of the reach of everything masculine,
with one exception, as the moon. Rose, in a change-
ful silk, half dove, half pink, that blushed as she
walked, with a wreath ofivy in her glossy hair, turn-
ed heads wherever she went. Doctor Frank had the
privilege of the first dance. After that she was sur-
rounded by all the most eligible young men in the
room. Rose, with a glow on her rounded cheeks,
and a brilliancy in her eyes, that excitement had
lent, danced and flirted, and laughed, and sang, and
watched furtively, allthe while, the only man pres-
ent she cared one iota for. That eminently hand-
some young Officer, Mr. Stanhope, after devoting
himself, as in duty bound, to his stately fiancee, re-
signed her, after a while, to an epauletted colonel
from Montreal. and made himself agreeable to Helen.
Ponsonby, and Emily Howard, and. sundry other
pretty girls. Rose watched him angry and jealous
inwardly, smiling and radiant outwardly. Their fin-
gers touched in the same set, but Rose never deign-
ed hima glance. Her perfumed skirts brushed him
as she flew by in the redowa, but she never looked
up.

‘*He shall see how little I care,” tage jealous
Rose. ‘I suppose he thinks I am dying for him, but
he shall find out how much he is mistaken.”

With the thought in her mind she sat down while
her partner went foranice. It was the first time
that night she had been a moment alone, Mr. Stan-
ford, leaning against a pillar idly, took advantage of
it, and was beside her before she knew it. ‘Her cheeks
turned scarlet, and her heart quickened involuntar-
ily as he sat down beside her. '

‘J have been ignored so palpably all evening that
Tam half afraid to come near you,” he said; ‘‘will it
be high treason to ask you to waltz with me?”

Alas for Rose’s heroic resolutions! How was she
to resist the persuasive voice and smile of this man ?
How was she to resist the delight of waltzing with
him? She bowed in silence, still with averted eyes;
and Lieutenant Stanford, smiling slightly, drew her

 

 

hand within his arm. Her late partner came up with

the ice, but Rose had got something better than ice-
cream, and did not wantit, The music of the Ger-
man waltz filled the long ball-room with harmony;
his arm slid round ‘her waist, her hand was clasped
in his, the waxed floor slipped from under her feet,
and Rose floated away into elysium.

The waltze d’ecstase was over, and they were ina
dim, halt-lighted conservatory. Tropical flowers
bloomed around them, scenting the warm air; deli-
cious music floated entranzingly in. The cold white
wintry moon flooded the outer world with its trosty
glory, and Rose felt as if fairy-land were no myth,
and fairy tales no delusion. They were alone in the
conservatory, how they got there she never knew;
how she came to be clinging to his arm, forgetful of
past, present, and future, she never could under-
stand,

‘‘Rose,” said that-most musical of voices; ‘*when
will you learn to forget and forgive. See, here is a
peace-offering!”

He had a white camellia inin his button-hole—a
flower that halfan hour ago had been the chief
beauty of Kate’s bonquet. ‘He took it out now and
twinedits long stem inand out of her abundant
curls.

“Wear it,” he said, ‘and I shall knowI am for-
given, Wear it-for my sake, Rose.”

There was a rustling behind them of a lady’s dress,
and the deep tones of a man’s voice talking. Rose
started away from his side, the guilty blood rushing
to her tace at sight of her elder sister on Doctor
Danton’s arn.

Kate’s clear eyes fixed on her sister's flushed, con-
fused face, on the waxen camellia, her gift to her
lover, and then turned upon Mr. Stanford. That
eminently nonchalant young Englishman was. as
cool as the frosty winter night.

“JT should think you two might have selected some
other apartment in the house for a promenade, and
not come interrupting here,” he said, advancing.
**Miss Rose and I were enjoying the first tete-a-tete
we have had since my arrival. But as youare here,
Kate, and as I believe wéare to dance the German
together-——” 4 e708

“And you resign Miss Rose to me?” said Doctor
Frank:

“There is noalternative. Take good care of her,
and—adieu.” ‘

He led Kate out of the conservatory. Doctor
Frank offered his arm to Rose, still hovering guiltily
aloof. i ;

“And I believe you promised to initiate me into
the mysteries of the German, Well, do you waht
me?”

This last was to a man-Servant who hadentered,
and looked as if he had something to say.

“Yes, sir—lf you are Doetor Danton.”

“Tam Doctor Danton. hat is it?” i

‘“Tt's a servant from the Hall, sir. Captain Dan-
ton’s compliments, and would you go there at
once?”

Rose gave a little scream, and clutched her com-
panion’s arm,

“Oh, Doctor Frank, can papa be sick?”

“No, miss,” said the man, respectfully; “it’s not
your father; it’s the young woman what sews.
Thomas says——” hesitating.

‘Well, said Doctor Frank, *Thomas says what ?”

“Thomas says, sir, she see a ghost!”

“A what?”

‘A ghost, sir; that’s what Thomas says,”. replied
the man, with a grin; ‘‘and she’s gone off into
fainting fits, and would you return at once, he says.
The sleigh is at the door.”

‘Tell him I will be there immediately.”

He turned to Rose, smiling at her blank face.

“What shallI do with you, mademoiselle? To
whom shall I consign you? [must make my adieus
to Mrs. Ponsonby and depart.”

Rose oe his arm, and held it tight, her be-
wildered eyes fixed on his face.

“‘Seen.a ghost!” she repeated, blankly. ‘That is
twice! Doctor Frank, is Danton Hall haunted 2?”

“Yes; haunted by the spirit of mischief in the
shape of Rose Danton, nothing worse.”

“But this is the second time. There was old Mar-
gery, and now Agnes Darling. There must be
something init!” oS

“Of course there is—an over-excited imagination.
Miss Darling has seen a tall tree'covered with snow
waving in the moonlight, and has gone into fainting

longer; for, trying as it 1s, [really must leave you,”

Rose dropped his arm,”

‘Yes, go at once, Never jnind tie; Iam going in
search of Kate.” ;

It took some time to find Kate. “When found, she
was dancing with a red-coated officer, and Rose had
to wait until the dance was over. —

She made her way to her sjster’s side immediately.
Miss Danton turned to her with a brilliant smile that.
faded at the first glance. i , : é

‘*How pale you are, Rose! Whit is it 2”

“Am I pale ?” said Rose, carelessly; ‘‘the heat, I
dare say. Do you know Doctor Frank has gone ?”

“Gone! Where ?”
‘To the Hall. Papasent for him.”
“Papa? Oh, Rose——”

. “There! There is no occasion to be alarmed, papa

 

is well enough; it is Agnes Darling.”

“Aones! ‘What is the matter with Agnes ?”
_ “She has seen a ghost!”

Kate stared—so did the young officer.

‘“‘What did you say, Rose?” inquired Kate, won-
deringly.

“‘She—has — seen — a —ghost!" slowly repeated
Rose; ‘‘as old Margery did before her, you know;
and, like Margery, has gone off into fits. Papa
sent for Doctor Frank, and he departed half-an-hour
ago. 280
Slowly out of Kate’s face every trace of color
faded. She rose abruptly, a frightened look in her
blue eyes.

‘Rose, I must go home—I must se@ Agnes. Cap-
tain Grierson, will you ba kind enough to find Mr.
Standford and send him. 2s at .

Captain Grierson hastened on his mission. Rose
looked at her with wide openeyes..- ‘\

“Go home—so early! Why, Kate, what are you
thinking of?” 4 en.

“Of Agnes Darling. You can stay if you like. |
Sir Ronald is your escort.” yee

“Thank you. A charming escort he is, too—grim-
mer than old Time in the primer. No; if you leave,
so do I.” Sk :

Mr. Stanford sauntered up while she was speak-
ing, and Rose drew back. | a °

‘What is it, Kate ?. Grierson says you are going
home.” ee +i ;

Kate’s answer was an explanation. Mr. Reginald
Stanford set up an indecorous laugh. —

“A ghost! That’s capital! Why did you not tell
me before that Danton Hall was haunted, Kate ?”

“JT want to return immediately,” was Kate’s an-
swer, 2 little coldly. ‘tI must speak to Mrs. Pon-
sonby and find Eeny. Tell Sir Ronald, please, and
hold yourself in readiness to attend us.”

She swept off with Rose to find their hostess.
Mrs. Ponsonby’s regrets were unutterable, but Miss
Danton was resolute. 5

‘So absurd, you know, Helen,” she said, to her
daughter, when they were gone; “such nonsense
about a sick seamstress,” ;

“I thought Kate Danson was proud,” said Miss
Helen. ‘‘Dhat does not look like it. Iam not sorry,
she has gone, however, half the men in the room
were making idiots of themselves about her.”

Kate and Reginald Stanford returned.as they had
come, in the light sleigh; and Sir Ronald, Rose, and
Eeny, inthe carriage. Rose, wrapped in her man-
tle, shrunk away in a corner, and never opened her
lips. She watched gloomily, ani so did the baronet,
the cutter flying past. over glittering snew, and
Kate’s sweet face, pale as the moonlight itself.

Captain Danton met them inthe enfrance-hall, his
ftorid face less cheery than usual. Kate came for-
ward, her anxious, inquirin. § eves speaking for her.

“Better, my dear; much better,” her father an-
swered. ‘‘Doctor Frank works miracles. Grace
and he are with her; he has given her an opiate,
and I believe she'isasleep.”

“But what is it, papa?” cried Rose.
a ghost?” ei ae

“A ghost, my dear,” said the captain, chucking
her under the chin: ‘You girls are as silly as

eese, and imagine you see anything you like. Sne

sn’t able to tell What frightened her, poor little
thing! ‘Hunice is the one who seems to know
anything at all about it.” ‘

“And what does Funice say ?” asked Kate.

“Why,” said Captain Danton, ‘it seems Eunice
and Agnes were to sit up for you two young ladies,
who are not able to take off your own clothes yet,
and they chose Rose’s room to sit in. About two
hours ago, Agnes‘complained of toothache, and said
she would go down stairs for some pain-killer that
was in the sewing-room. Eunice, who was half-
asleep, remained where she was; and ten minutes
after, heard a scream that frightened her out of her
wits. We had aliretired, but the night-lamp was

     

“Did she see

against the wall, all white andtrembling. The mo-
ment Eunice spoke to her ‘I saw his ghost!’ she said.
in a choking whisper, and fell back in. a dead faint
in Eunice’s arms, I found her so when I came out,

 

fits. Now, my dear miss, don’t hold me captive any

| and Morton brought the dog up from below.
“Come here, Brindle.” said the beautiful girl.

burning; and rushing out, she found Agnes leaning | With

for Eunice cried lustily for help, and Grace 7 all}

the servants were there in two minutes. We did
everything for her, but all in vain. She lay like
one dead. Then Grace proposed to send for her
brother. We sent. Hecame, and brought the dead
to-life,”

*An extraordinary tale,’ said Reginald Stanford.
‘“*When she came to life, what did she say ?”

‘Nothing. Doctor Frank gave her an opiate that
soothed her and set her asleep.”

As he spoke, Doctor Frank himself appeared, his
calm face as impenetrable as ever.

“How is your patient, doctor ?” asked Kate.

“Much better, Miss Kate. In a day or two, we
will have her all right, I think. She is a nervous
little creature, with an overstrung and highly
imaginative temperament, I wonder she has not
seen ghosts long ago.”

‘Youare not thinking of leaving us,” said Cap-
tain Danton. ‘No, no; [ won't hear of it. We can
give you a bed and breakfast here equal to anything
down at the hotel, and it will save you a journey up
to-morrow morning. Is Grace with her yet ?”

“Yes, Grace insists on remaining until morning.
There is no necessity, though, for she will not
awake.”

Kate gathered up the folds of her rich ball-dress,
and ran up the polished oaken stairs, nodding adieu.
Not to her own room, however, but to that of the
seamstress.

The small chamber was dimly lighted by a lamp
turned low. By the bedside sat Grace, wrapped in
a shawi; on the pillow lay the white face of Agnes
Darling, calm in her slumber, but colorless as the
pillow itself.

Kate bent over her, and Grace arose at her en-
trance. It was such a contrast; the stately, beauti-
ful girl with jeweled flowers in her hair, her costly
robe trailing the carpetless floor, the perfume of her
dress and golden hair scenting the room, and the
wan little creature, so wasted and pale, lying asleep
on the low bed. Aer hands grasped the bedclothés
in her slumber, and with every rise and fall of her
breast, rose and fell a little locket worn round her

 

neck by a black cord. Kate’s finger touched it
lightly.

‘*Poor soul!” she said; ‘‘poor little Agnes! Are
you going to stay with her until morning, Grace?”

“Yes, Miss Danton.”

“T could not go to my room without seeing her;
but now there is no necessity to linger. Good-
morning.”

Miss Danton left the room. Grace sat downagain,
and looked at the Jocket curiously.

‘I should like to open that and see whose picture
it contains, and yet

She looked a little’'ashamed, and drew pack the

 

tei im RRA ne

ee ore

from theruffian who attacked her in the Public
Garden some years since,” said one. om

Ay, and who killed the burglar who broke into
Mr. Worthington’s store,” added another,

“Who would think, to look at him now,” said one
of the throng, “that he could ever be so fierce as to
killa man?”

“T shall never forget that tableau,” said another,

Mr. and Mrs. Worthington. stood ack from the
rest and looked on with undisguised interest.

The folding doors were closed for a moment.

At a signal they were opened again, and the
guests Saw anew picture. Morton was sitting in
the chair, Minnie stood by his side with one ar
leaning upon his shoulder in a gentle, trusting way,
and Brindle stood by, with his big jaw resting upon
his master’s knee, and his eyes {Sokine lovingly
into Morton’s,

If the dog had been of stone he could nothave re-

mained more immovable, and so of course with
Minnie and Morton. who understood their part. It
seemed as though Brindle understood also what
was desired of him, for when the guests burst forth,
in aloud round of applause, he did not move a
muse until his master and Minnie changed their
position, :
There had been many gay and pleasant moments
during the evening’s entertainment, but this one
scene or rather these two groupings, formed by
Minnie, Morton, and Brindle, were of the deepest
interest, and which none of that fair company were
ever likely to forget. Mr.and Mrs. Worthington
turned silently away to hidethe sympathetis tears
that sprang to their eyes, for they knew the life
story of those three figures.
This was the closing scene of that happy occas-
ion, and after abrief half hour of pleasant inter-
course, the assembly separated in joyous spirits,
even Austin Gray coming to Morton and Minnie at
last and congratulating them in an agreeable and
polite manner. It was impossible to resist the con-
tagious spirit of the occasion.

“Morton,” said young Gray, “we were classmates.
I may have been a little jealous of you, a little un-
fair perhaps at times, but let us shake hands and
be friends. You have deseryed the success which
you haye met with.” _ ' ;

“My dear fellow,” said Morton, “I am very glad

to reciprocate. your politeness; your goodness of

heart I have never doubted. I most heartily accept
ina good wishes and assure you.of my kindest
eelings.”

It was gratifying to Mr. and Mrs. Worthington to
see the two young men thus cordially greeting each
other, especially as it made their own task lighter
in smoothing over matters with Austin’s parents,
who had always expected that their son was to
marry Minnie. ; :

“Good eyening, Morton,” said Mr. Worthington
pressing his hand as they were about to part, “that
was ahappy idea of the tableaux.’ 5

“Mr. Gray said the guests desired to see Brindle,
and I thought thatwould be as pleasanta way to

 

hand that touched it. But curiosity—woman’s in-
tensest passion—was not to be resisted.

“What harm can it be?” she thought. ‘She’ will
never know.”

She lifted the locket, lightly touched the spring,
and it flew open. It contained more than a picture,
although there was a picture of a handsome, boyish
face that somehow had to Grace a familiar look. <A
slip of folded paper, a plain gold ring, and a tress of
brown, curly hair dropped out. Grace opened the
little slip of paper, and read it with an utterly con-
founded face. It was partly written and partly
printed, and was the marriage certificate of Agnes
Grant and Henry Darling. It bore date New York,
two years before.

Grace dropped the paper astounded. Miss Agnes
Darling was a married woman then- and childish as
she looked, had been so for two. years. What were
her reasons for denying it, and where was Henry
Darling—dead or deserted ?”

She look at the pictured face again. Very good-
looking, but very youthinl and irresolute. Who had
she ever seen that looked like that? Some one,
surely, for it was as familiar as her own in the glass;
but who, or where, or when, was all densest mys-
tery.

There was an uneasy movement of the sleeper.
Grace, feeling guilty, put back hastily the tress of
hair—his, no doubt—the ring—a wedding-ring, of
course—and the marriage certificate. She closed
the locket, and laid it back on the fluttering heart.
Poor little pale Agnes! that great trouble of
{ woman’s life, loving and losing, had come to her
then, already. at i

In the cold, gray dawn of the early morning,
Grace resigned her office to Babette, the housemaid,
and sought her room. Agnes Darling still slept—
seas mercifulsleep Doctor Frank's opiate had given:

er, ;

 

[TO BE GONTINUED.} ahs

THE DOG DETECTIVE
ND HIS YOUNG MASTER. —

By Lieutenant Murray.

  

 

(“The Dog Detective” was commenced in No. 10. Back Nos
can be obtained of any News Agent.]

: CHAPTER XXXIL.
TABLEAUX.

The house occupied by the Worthingtons on
Beacon street was one blaze of light, and the sound
of music greeted the ears of the passers by.

_ The contrast between the soft sounds and bril-
liant reflection from the lace-curtained windows,
as seen and heard from without, where the Novem-

 

exhibit the good old fellow as any other.” |

“The very thought was an inspiration, said Mrs.
Worthington, adding her cegngratulations to her
Baer A and bidding Morton a cordial good
night. ‘

But Minnie attended him to the door, and took
away his loving kiss to her pillow to dream
upon.

And now came the preparations for the marriage.
True, both Morton and Minnie were very young
but there was no other reason for delay. They had
known each other nearly seven years, his fortune
was assured and ample, no objéction suggested it- -
self save that her parents did not want to part from
their only child. : :

Mr. Cooper.and Mr. Winship, both single men,
the first perhaps a little old for a groomsman,
agreed to act in that capacity for Morton. They
were true and tried friends to him, and he took oc-

Morton,” said Mr. Cooper, ‘and indeed I might
erhaps retire, but Mr. Worthington has been very
ortunate lately and proposes to take me in as
partner. TI think I shall join him.”
“Good,” said Morton, “I know you love business,
and this is a most fitting connection for you who

 

fession, but he was of very limited means.

He had taken a scantily-furnished office in Court
street, and put out hissign. One morning, when
he came to his room, he started back and thought
that he had opened the wrong door; but as he saw
his name on the door, and other signs which con-
vinced him it was his office, he entered. He found
that during the night three heavy black walnut
book-cases, with glass fronts, had n ‘placed on
three sides of the room, and these were filled with
a complete law library. The very thing he most

 

required.

were alsothere, and on the desk a note in Morton’s
well-known hand, begging him to accept these from
his old pupil and friend, as a mark of gratitude and
sincereregard.

Mr. Winship was not a weak man, but he abso-

' lutely sat down and, woman-like, had a good ery.

“Three thousand dollars would not duplicate the
gift,” said he. “Ifhe had asked me what I most
coveted, I could not have designated anything more
near the fact than he has selected.”

He hastened down to their mutual friend, Mr,
Cooper, to tell him the news.

ou are too Jate. i know all about it,” said
Cooper. “He and I have been busy over the matter
these three weeks.”

‘Heisas generous as he is manly,” said Mr.
Winship.

“You can’t praise him too much to me,” replied
Cooper. “He is the finest specimen of a true gen-
tleman I ever knew.”’ i
It was arranged that the bridal tour should be to
England first, to visit Lord Elmore’s splendid

 

ber winds swept across the open common, and
whistled amo the trees, was a vivid one. The
night was cloudy, and the moon only now and then
looked through the rifts between the seuds that
traversed the sky. E :

It was the same eventful night which had wit-
nessed the scene already described at: the Charles-
town State Prison. While the tragic events were
occurring there which sent Arthur Bailey_and Dick
Burrage to their last resting-place, while Bob Hur-
ley was struggling in the chilling tide-way and af-
terward dragging himself to a hiding-place, the
scene at the Worthington’s was avery gay and hap-
py one.

The large parlors were thronged by young per-
sons of both sexes, and while a small band of pro-
fessional musicians played in an adjoining room
pninty or forty dancers glided about in graceful

gures. f
Mrs. Worthington was very busy, and very proud
to be able to introduce Lord Elmore to her guests.
To many Morton’s romantic career and histor
was Fees aes but they had very few of them
ever met him before. Minnie was under no re-
straint now, but,freely leaned. upon her chosen
one’s arm, or whirled with him in the giddy waltz.

Austin Gray, a_little sober, a little morose at
eart, was there. He had made up his mind to ac-
cept the situation and make the best of his defeat.
As we have said, he was not one to break his heart
over such a matter. He was of too selfish a nature
for that; his pride was more touched than his
heart. Minnie treated him kindly. She knew that
he would not mistake her now, and therefore was
under less restraint than formerly with him. _
is was whatwas known at that time in New
England as a Lemeecoment party,” and all under-
stood that M e@ was to marry Morton, Lord

more. Sine
“What a haudegec couple!” said one to another,
as Minnie and Morton moved as partners in the

dance. :

“He is said to be amazingly rich.”

“Yes,” said_the first speaker, “and a few years
ago he was a beggar, nearly starving in the street,
Austin Gray says.” ‘ bs

“Have you heard about his dog?”

“Yes, and I want to see him.”

So do I. on
“And I,” added a :
“What are you ing about?” asked Austin

Gray, who joined the group at that moment.
“About Lord Elmore’s dog,” said one.
“Yes; we want to see him,” said another.

sure to have brought him, He is somewhere down
stairs, I would bet a hat.” © aan

“Ask him to let us see the dog,” said a young lady
to Austin Cra ; .

{if you wish it,F will” =) :

“Oh, we do want to see him,” chimed in another
lady, earnestly. nid gett

It had already reached the time for the company
to partake of refreshments, and while t

if he would show the dog to the company, as _man
had asked to seehim. To this Morton agreed.
Tt true enough that Brindle was down stairs, |
and Morton arranged a little tableau with Hines
consent. Before the throng left the Suppers ;
Minnie took'a seat at the end of one of the parlors,

The dog came instantly to her side, and greeted
her by putting his head into herlap and looking
intelligently into her eyes, while Minnie rested her

hand caressingly upon his head. At that moment
the merry guests poured out of the supper-room
into the parlors, and the picture of the Dog and the |
Maiden burst upon them. Bt Fee
it was a beautifal sight. es

‘Brindle did not move, nor Minnie. Morton stood
back: with folded arms looking at them, yet almost
inarm’sreach. It might have been a group in
marble, or such a composition as Rogers so nap ly

elineates in miniature. The lookers on hushed
their voices lest they should disturb the scene, and
break the charm as it were.

All were in raptures

 

“That’s easily done,” said Austin Gray; “he is |

Dey Go d-
ed into the supper-room, young Gray asked M rion
| town

 

“That is the braye creature that saved Minnie

estate at Cass-Orton, and then a six months’ tour
of the Continent—a most agreeable programme.

_ Brindle is already agreat traveler,” said Minnie,
“and will feel quite at home enrouie.” |

“He will be content, depend upon it, darling,
wherever we are with him,” was the reply.

“We will never part with him as long as he lives,
will we, Morton?” f

“Never,” said his master, putting his hand loving-
ly on Brindle’s head. y

It was STUDI RG. when Mhey cera together, to see
how evenly the dog diyided his attention between
Minnie and Morton. He seemed nearly as fond of
ee ne ae did of his master, True and faithful

riend!

Then came the public ceremony at St. Paul’s
church, when the young and beautiful bride. was
dressed like a fairy queen, and Morton looked
handsome and manly in his quiet yet dignified
style of dress and gentlemanly bearing.

t was avery grand and very happy wedding, at
which large numbers of friends and acquaintances
assisted. The church was hung with. flowers;
everything was in exquisite taste, and character-
ized by true elegance. Eyes and tongues were very
busy, but no one had ought but g wishes to ex-
press.

‘Then came the grand wedding-breakfast at Min-
nie’s home, followed by many kindly exchanges of
sentiments and tender farewells, for steam was
even now up on board the Cunarder that lay at the
pier in East Boston, upon which they were to cross
the ocean. Their baggage was already on board,
and the carriage awaited them at the door.

It is rarely that such complete Havel falls to
ae ia of humanity as Minnie and Morton now
shared,

Presently they had said their last farewell; Min-
nie had been pressed tenderly to her mother’s
arms; then. they entered. the carriage, Mr.
Worthington with them, to’ see the young couple
fairly on board the steamer. Brindle followed the
carriage at an easy trot over to Boston.

One more affectionate leave-taking between the
merchant and his daughter, a hearty farewell be-
tween him and Morton. The Jast they saw of each
other as the steamer cast off the shore-lines, was
as Minnie and Morton stood PR upon the
greater arm in arm, and Brindle by their
side.

And thus commenced a happy new life for our
henean? heroine, never more to be separated on
oy 2 THE ENR

pe ts ls be ee ages «

THE OLD ELM TREE-

The great elm tree on Boston Common, which
was blown down a short time ago, suffered severe
injuries from gales. in 1860 and 1869, but each time
recovered its life and Vig. The tree was very rot-
ten, and its trunk and larger limbs looked like
drain’ or sewer pipes,so holtow were they. The
tree is teprosented upon the oldest map of the
wn known to exist, which was engraved inthe
year 1722, and then was of sufficient size to have at-
taine tin Cob It is reasonable to believe that
growing long. before the arrival of the first
co sts. ] ba pty ft was growing in 1630. Upon
its limbs it is : ipposed that some of the early exe-
cutions in the old colony took place. and it is cer-
tain that during mee volutionary struggles of
America this tree was one of the places of constant

the Sdéns of Liberty, who frequently
caused it to. be illuminated with lanterns on even-
ings of rejoicing and on al. occasions. It alsp
served the purpose of popular feeling and indig-
nation, for many has been the Tory who has been
hung in effigy from its branches. Perhaps on this
account it acquired the name “Liberty Tree,”
which it bore in 1784. The first measurement of the
great tree of which any unt was made was
taken in 1825. The dimensions were as follows:
Height, 65 MF circumference, 24 feet 2 inches, 2

  
    
 

G

 
  

 

feet -6 inches from the ground, and aig branches
extended in’ eter 86 feet. It was as handsome
in form and large in size as venerable in age. er
measurements, in 1844, showed that the tree had
not ceased to grow. ney ae

: £

 

 

 

 

TIED st

<
aN

caasion to make each a very elegant present as a _
memento of the event. | ‘ =
You have no necessity to attend to business, \

have served Mr. Worthington. so long and so
faithfully.” *
Mr. Winship had got fairly launched in his pro- “

An elegant writing-desk, chairs, ete., to match;

 

 

 

 

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ste Rae aiakitehibalanaliaaapeaiatiipeitsialaD, Viena tte

ia Litas

 

 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

COME AND TESTIFY TO JESUS.

 

BY Mpe M A. KIDDER.

Son of God? I will b in a few witnesses.
whe ie was Of Calaphus President of the Sanhe:
; Galan ¥ to Him, “Art chow the Son of God?” An
' : “am, and thou wili see me sitting at the right
- han y who isin Heaven.” And Pilate, when Jesus was
brought him, said, “I can find no fault in this man.” And

as a reap, gpd to him: ae thou
jthing to de with this just man.” e centurion e@ cross

wrist : truly this man is the Son’ of God.”
L to

Eyen the devils trom hell
y ] re Hisenemies. Now let His fr
Bal he ee ge FPO piesa. in the wilder-
° 5

 

ess see. Paul cate ots
“Mavy-this cleave to the roof of my mou! ever eny
» And Heaven sa; : “Thisés my be-
ae ion tall ease Bones en, wy friends to
you; His arms are ex-
eption Heis prepared

to
gi Ooi pg y es 7 pn you will find
ity: lation ouneed carry you through your trials.
its actions what -you think of Christ.—Hr.

¢ ofke sermon. e ae

 

 
    

Moody's p ;
Ye who know the Lord ¢f glory—
¥e who serve Him day by day—
Come and testify toJesus,
, Who hath washed your Sins am y:
| @efietn): You may saye a dying sinne:
Christiaz brother if you try;
Oome and testify to Jesus,
Come, oh, come and testify.

Ye who labor in the vineyards—
Ye who sail upon the main—
Come and testify to Jesus,
Wh hath cleansed your every stain.

Fou may saye @ dying sinner, oi
Christian brother if you try;
Come and testify to Jesus,
Come, oh, come and testify.

Nenana

‘ Should the sowers give up sowing— -
Or the reapers fall to reap— ve
Where, oh, where would be the harvest,
For the Husbandman to keep. ©

You may save a dying sinner,
Christian brother if you try;

Oome and testify to Jesus,
Come, oh, come and testify.

Ye who feel His Holy Spirit—

Ye who know His cleansing blood—
ome and testify to Jesus,

Who now interceds with God.

You may save a dying sinner,
Christian brother if you try;

Come and testify to Jesus,
Come. oh, come and testify. 2

 

_ DANIEL BOONE,

"THUNDERBOLT OF THE BORDER.

By BURKE BRENTFORD,

nuthor of “SQUIRREL CAP,” “THE STEEL
CASKET,” etc.

(“Daniel Boone” was commenced in No.17. Back numbers
ran be obtained from all News Agents. }

CHAPTER XI.
“QUT OF THE FRYING-PAN INTO THE FIRE.”

To lunge once more into the running stream—
which 8 16 very sensibly did, however, ‘a little more
scantily attired than before—and pring the pre-
cious canoe to shore, was, with Bessie, the work of
avery littletime.
' To right it and bail out the water was the work
of but little more, The half of an oar, or paddle,
which had been floating under it, made but a peor
implement of progression, but it was better than
none. In afew minutes the brave girl had thrown
in the berries and mussels she had collected, had
ot in herself, and was paddling across the waters.

 

ith her imperfect paddle she had great difficulty

in stemming the flood. When she did reach the
Ohio side, it was several miles below the pointfrom

hich She had : 3 ;
Ww! eo 7“ | started ; but she began paddling up |

stream with a
er object was to keep One eer tat

7 1 fox Bfts:}) ore
miles or more, then go up the Bie Sandy .as far as { ~2°

possible, to some point whence she could strike
southward through the forest. for \Boonesborough

Night. came upon her before she had made more | yo
than five or six miles. She drew her canoe high up | %

- the beach—the flood was subsiding, not rising, that
she ascertained at first—made a hearty meal of her

mussels, berries, and grapes, and looked about for

a place to rest for the night.

he sunshine had completely dried the inside of
the canoe; so she made shift for shelter by turnin
it upon its side, and sleeping upon the hard one,
with the half-covering of the other side over her
h Then, alone in the desolation of the vast
wilderness, brave Bettie Boone slept the deep and
dreamless sléep which only comes from extreme

- bodily fatigue. "

' It was almost daylight when she awoke and arose.
After her first bewilderment, the first thing she did
was to sit down again and haye a good ery over the
death of her lover, her mother’s heart-breaking
anxiety, and her own pitiable situation. The next
thing she did was to make ascanty meal upen what
remained of her mussels and fruit.

She was then about to launch her canoe, when a

faint line of smoke curling above the trees a short

distance away attracted her attention, and made

her heart beat fast. It must be another Indian en-

campment, she oOuae She had only escaped one
oO

ee ee
, she resolve satisfy herself. amberi
the low eliff which overhung the sandy beach, she
cautiously made her way into the woods, which
were fortunately very dense.

he saw the camp-fire glitter through the trees,
and, crouching low, she approached it with breath-
less anxiety. :

It proved to belong to a single Indian hunter. He
was ae by the fire, cutting up some venison,
apparently freshly, or recently, killed. His fire-
lock leaned against a tree on the other side of the

re.

The Indian, having evidently cut a steak to his
satisfaction, took up a gourd and went toward the
river for some water. He passed so closely to the
spot where Bettie crouched that her heart stood
still and she almost fainted. He almost trod on one
of her hands; but he passed on without discover-

ing her,

he young girl sentup a mute prayer of grati-
tude to the Great Father. Then asudden theught
flashed upon her like an illumination from above.
Why not take possession of the gun of the Indian
leaning against the tree, and shoot the owner on
bie Nay Lanse on Nees river? iiss

ut perchance the gun was unloaded—there la

the freshly killed game!—there was no time to ren
load it now. Should it be unloaded, prove a mere
flash in the pan, then her fate would, indeed, be
sealed, and, afew moments later, her long black
a would be dangling as atrophy atthe rad man’s

Desperate as was the chance, she resolved to tak
it. She stole up, took the gun, examined the bo
ing, assured herself that it was good, and then took
her position behind a tree, which commanded the
camp-fire and the path of the Indian’s return.

{n a few moments he came back with his gourd
full of water. He did not notice the absence of his
gun, but set downthe gourd and again stooped
over the careass.of the deer.

Bettie, white as a sheet, but with unquivering

nerves, knelt upon one knee, rested the gun on her
left hand, sent up a prayer to Heaven, took aim,
and fired.
The savage bounded into the air, and then fell
upon his Knees, with a whoop. But he was only
wounded. The bullet had passed through nis neck,
and the blood was oozing from his lips; but his
knife was in his hand, and his eyes were fixed upon
the spot whence the shot had proceeded with the
glare of a rounges eer :

Unperceived, © stole through around behind
pie elubbing the gun, struck him with all her
might in the back ofthe neck. But her girl’s

 

 

     
 
 
 

   
  
 

 
 
 
 
 

    

  
   
    

strength was comparatively feeble, and, ady i
geous as Was the point from which the blow was de (tl

 

 

 

  
  

   
  

vered, it only partiaily stunned the savage: wher
as, administered by a powerful suld as-
suredly have broken his neck. oe . vor "
er now wheeled upo r is

ed up, and towered above This in as fiok

 
 
  

 

 

  
   

rted in, snatched
Soon me of reach
er hand clu on her form, or

en she flew him “daa ‘d It ghastl
ashes upon his naked shoulders and at .” Weak
rom the of blood,the redskin again sank upon

his knees, e then struck at his drooping head.

 

 
 

  

 

 

 

   
 

   

 
 

  

Enfeebled as she was by over exertion and ite-
et th first blow of the hatchet. Wapered and
ont : Then, g1asping the handle

   

  

  

ona ‘both hands, and gatheri
together all her ex ; ng
struck another blow. and strength, the brave girl

hatchet deep into the skuli.
It was the final stroke. The Indian plunged for-
a Ws his face, and his iimbs were motionless.
ettie stood stock-still for a moment, pallid as a
host, hatchet in hand: ‘Then she dto ped upon
e earth end ley there as motionless as the bloody
corpse i . The excitemént, tho tremendous

   

 
 

 
   

   

  

  

 
   

 

 

   

 

 

This blow fell upon the unfortunate girl with
paralyzing effect, which
quesne with secret delight. {

“Weaker and weaker she grows; she’ll be mine

t of her own free will,” he chuckled be-

ind his fiendish mask of lugubrious dissem-

strain of nerye and brain, had been too much ved you in much the same fash-
her, and she had fainted
drops of a thunder-shower
her from aswoon which h
‘As soon as she could gather her
she hastened to take advantage of

red.
the blanket of the fallen Indian with
sticks, she sheltered the remnants of the camp-fire
from the rain. She then recove
ammunition belo
the thickest-leav

. was perceived by Du-
Yes; but not quite the same way,”
the smile broadening over her dusk
tain come to see you in a little while.’
“Tell him I shan’t see him,”

The girl laughed 1 : ‘
‘Oh the white maiden will. Captain fine
man, yery beautiful gentleman,” said the girl, with
another laugh, as she retired. .

Bettie buried her face in her hands again.

A soft sigh eaused her: to raise it
started back; Duquesne had_ entered st
Rey: to be heard; he was now half-reclining at her

several hours.
seattered senses

Her grief was tearless. She could only sit and
rock herself to and fro, now and then giving utter-
uick moans of keen anguish.
1 feelthat I met and rescued
you on the river, poor girl!” he murmured. ad
you got as far up as the Shawnee village, you would
y met the same’ fate as your un-

ance to little sh.

the gun and the a 3
“How _overjoy

ng to it, andtook shelter under
tree at hand and awaited the
passing of thestorm. It was a short-lived but ter-
w as red as blood, thun-

eals overhead, and the | f
wind blew a hurricane, while the rain fell in sheets.
ad heard and felt many as )
before, but never under such lonely, desolating cir-
As the thunder crashed, and now and
then would come to her ears the crashing fall of
some great monarch of the weods,she wept and

ar.
hour the storm had ceased, and all
peace and summer sunshine once more. Be
Mtie’s mercurial spirits rose once more. Shecame
ter and prepared.totake advan-
der of the day, which had proved
et so fortunate to her.
e she essayed to relieve her na-
food than mussels
e fire still remain-
ing, she kindled a blaze with some dry wood, and
eooked a venison steak for herself, always turning
her back as much as possible to the ghastly specta-
cle of-the dead Indian.
partaking plentifully of meat and water,
ngthened, Bettie cooked to a
crisp a quantity more of the venison to take with
her on her expedition up the river. This she wrap-
up in the blanket, which she had previously
ung up in the sun to dry, and then reluctantly
proceeded to a task which was necessary, but to her
overstrained nerves loathsome and horrible in the

as the task of taking the wampum belt
of the Indian, whichshe deemed
e should wear h :
she at last possessed herself of it, how-
ed the broad-beaded trophy twice
irlish waist, garnished it with shot-
pouch, powder-horn, tomahawk and knife, and
ng her rifle in one hand stood gazing out into
the summer air, as though it contained a mirror in
which she was admiring herself triumphantly. |
She nodded her head, as though perfectly satis-
fied with her changed appearance, and, seizing the
blanket containing her proyisions, she returned to
her canoe, far more hopeful than when she first en-
it

ribletempest. The sky have undoubte
der crashed in repea' s

elegant man; soft-voiced,
soft-featured, with aframe beautiful and graceful
as an Apollo, which was set off to the
tage by the scarlet, well-fitting fatigue-dress which

he wore. :
He laid his hand li
“Nay, nay, do not

He was a supremel quick, sharp moan was his only answer.

He saw, to his inward glee, that his art had pre-
vailed, that he had at last made her believe this
stupendous lie. It will be remembered that Du-
quesne himself had doomed Boone to death; or
rather he had handed him oyer to the tender
es, which, if anything, was a
is reaching his camp, he had
roceeded to the river, hoping to be
} tness the tortures of the victim:
arrived intime to be informed of the manner of
e; and was returning full of mortifi-
; C hen chance threw the dearest
object of his dreams into his very arms.

Nay, weep no more, unhappy one,” said he now,
gently disengaging one of her hands from the poor,

You haye a friend and com-

N ink I mean you harm,” said
he, insweet, winning, velvety accents.
me lie here and gaze upon your beauty. Jask no

She averted her face with a shudder.

“Ah, Bettie, there was atime when you gave me
reason to dream that you loyed me,” he continued,
his large, soul-burning eyes upon her re-

mercy of the sav

shivered wxh fe:
os little worse. Upon

But in half an

Rout from her sh

taser ayaa emorgnourisn Yes,” said she, with bitter energy; ‘‘and
me sparks 0 : Ys ;

a know well enough how you turned that love
ou it did turn long ago.”
; ou amaze me!” he exclaimed,
with well-feigned astonishment. ““What mean you?
éaven!” he continued, his voice becoming in-
assionate feeling; ‘
how, in the far-off wilderness, you seemed to me in
your uneouth surroundings a very angel of beauty
and light! I do remember how, overpowered by
your beauty, I forgot myse

moaning girl’s face.
forter in meat least.”
oor mother! my poor mother!” cried
at will you do when you hear of this?
Would that I were with you to comfort you.”

t is impossible!” exclaimed Duquesne. “The
heavy rains have rendered the way impassable be-
home. I repent of what I
have done—of the selfishness and madness to which
my passionate devotion to you prompted me. W.
I would prove the sincerity of my re-
your mother at

What shall I do?” moaned the grief-stricken
r

“Throw yourself upon my protection,” cried Du-
her hand and throwing himself
‘Here, in the eternal
an asylum and arefuge. I

hatred, as I assur’
“T, the cause!

and feeling much stre

tween here and your

poured forth my
uosity which I have
ow that should have
ig a mystery I cannot

ever since regretted! — escorti
turned your Tove to hate, Pt er.
from the dead bod

pon him in-sudden scorn.
necessary that s d

“eould a virtuous girl,
d ignorant of the world, listen to
ur mean, wicked proposals without hating you?
our own conscience must have told you how mean
and wicked they were, since you fled from my fath-
er’s wrath like a whipped h

He winced, and bit
temper—he very seldom di
ou mistake, sweet one,” saidhe; “it was. im-
perative duty called me north at that time. Nothing }
would have pleased me better than to have encoun-
tered your noble father, and to have convinced him
of my real motives.”

Your real motives!” exclaimed the young girl.
en but cowardly and dis-
hour you have

lain!” she exe!
however simple quesne, seizing
upon his knees at her feet.
love of my bosom, find
swear I love and
Bettie was utterly broken down—nerveless.
weakly pushed himfrom h
knees, but resumed his seat at her side, and still
retained her hand in h
She did not withdraw it at first from pure physi-
cal inability, and his bold, bad breast was filled
with the wildest hopes.
At last she disengaged her hand, but very feébly,
which he construed into meaning reluctance.
Poor girl, I respect your heavy sorrow, and will
leave you to yourself,” he murmured, with diffi-
culty schooling his voice down to the consoling

ever. She wrap

B: but did not lose his He arose from his
that.

 

“Poor, dear mother!” she muttered to herself; | ,,
, and my own strength and | “What could they have be
honorable, since from that very
made repeated attempts, through your redskinned
allies, to carry me away from my home? One of
your murderous bands had me in their power a
fortnight ago, and I was rescued by my father and
his friends, who, thank Heaven! slew them all.
Was I not escaping from another band of your say-
age assassins last evening, when you decoyed me
into your boat?” ‘
You were, my brave girl, and you were playi

& part which I believe no other
have dared to play but yourself,”-said Duquesne,
“But consider my cruel position.
now at. war with the colonies. :
Boonesborough to demand your hand, without
losing my liberty ?” | :

“Aye;-or without losing your life as well?” was

neering reply.

j 5 Ber gare her
grew brokep—“i
nied me, [ shalls AY
upon your faithfu

or, poor murdered Tom is de-
find peace and rest, perchance,
eart,”

again, but soon dried her eyes.
: ht yet remained.
ed it by tying, with some stout buffalo robe thongs
she had found on the Indian’s body
pling to her broken oar-blade, whic
more efficient. Then, after devoutly saying her
prayers, once more, alone for asecond time in the
trackless wilderness, she laid herself down, and
soon passed into the oblivion of nature’s sweet re-

 

ne.

But when he passed out of his tent his dark fea-
tures were illuminated by triumph and joy, and hi
soul was jubilant.

{TO BE CONTINUED. | beer.

 

a piece of sap-
irl on earth woul

Pleasant Paragraphs.

[Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing }
toward making this column an attractive feature of the NEW
YORK WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for publica-
tion anything which maybe 4d
general perusal. It is not necessary that the articles should be
penned in scholarly style; so long as they are pithy, and likely
to afford amusement, minor defects will ed. ] :

Sb awoke, refreshed, invigorated, and inspired 1 Pp poste cus hard

with new hope and courage,

Now, it so happened—though it has little to do
with the actual thread of our narrative—that, upon
ing, almost atthe very hour that our
heroine pushed out into the Ohio river, her father,
Daniel Boone, miraculously rescued from the stake,
th might and main for the Ohio
arther up the stream. And

 

er for my argu-
ne pies cant pe Wi ne oe but to draw
ou, aye, to steal you, to my ar.

7 “Say, rather, to ara me tothem, bound, wretch-
ed, and insulted by your savages.
tain Duquesne! You can rob me of my life, but not
of my self-respect!” yaa
Betty,” said Duquesne, still im

this very morning, More Sparks)

A country editor speaking of a big egg brought

his office, after describing the size, asks:

“Who can beat it ?” of
Now that’s one of the easiest

I ever came across.

 

side, fifty-five miles
while his brave daughter was paddl
‘up, with her thoughts bent upon home and Ken-
tucky, her father was plunging into the unknown
forests of the Ohio shore.
comparing notes, or rather recollections, long af-
terward, and was generally regarded by the se
as a beneficent dispensation of Providence.
the father, and daughter encountered
each other, he would probably have pr: ith
her back to Beonesboro
ceeding to Detroit, as he did,
formation which served to save Boones

  
  

, that editor will sen
uestion to our house, my Betsy Jane ‘will
aylight through it in a second, withour
Beat it! Bless your dear soul,
twenty more like it! 3
. Thompson,” said a neighbor, who rush-
ed hurriedly into the former’s house just as she
was sitting down totea, “there’s a dreadful accident
pened to your husband. Train ran off the track
mashed him up. Oh! it’s horrid, horrid!” and
the neighbor wiped her eyes sympathetically on
one corner of her gingham apron.
“Gracious sakes! is that so? Th
And he had on his Sunday r glothes too, and
in and two of my finger rin
! Ana Pll bet anyt ie
is all ruined, and his clothes all t
dear, I shall ery my ¢

ably calm, “if I could have co
atany time duri
honorably dem

 

ast. twelve months, and
your hand in marriage, could

were betrothed to the young hunter, Callaway. I
saw him, I remember, when hewas about eighteen,
m for his fearlessness, man-
ou could not have made a
1 the rude spirits of the bor-

ive unction, and asneer
not spoken. “But, Bettie,

s dead.”

his became known, in

 

     

 
 

 
 
  

liness, and candor.
nobler choice among
der land.” This with dece

   

ofipson: killed!
that

  
  

moves in a mysterious way. His won-
rs to perform.” _ f 2
Keeping near the shore, to avoid the force of the
ie made pretty good |s
ped at noon, to

calen layed that

after an hour’s rest she ¢

late. The sun sank lower x
radually disappeared behind the hills.
she was casting
ood landing-place for the night,
y distinct sounds. They were far.
d down toher upon the evening
indistinetly enough, but she was sure that

adow of the tall trees that
overhung the bank, and waited and listened in great

orn and ruin ;
out, I know j

 
  
  
 
  
  
 

 

ease her hunger, an |“ Landlady:—‘‘Yes sir.” -

dear dead mother! ms as if Iwas

lo bad anok, for it was on
was poisoned, an

aaekeras ca I get th

J put away you’ll
‘hear some of the Fas

ever done in this

 

 

  

t ” said a traveler the
boy sitting on the fence down

Pingery. :

e Black Hills,” was the reply.
““Where’s your mother?”
“She’s gone too.

headed butcher
“And left you'alone?”:
“Yer right, stranger. I’m pl

 

ur head, if the | other day to a sm

dy} yours, and yours
that murder upon yo
good and pure can be heard

alled, at least
of this righte-

me men would have been
conscience-stricken, at the intens
Duquesne was not. se, b

Englishman, he treasured up the indignity of
having been struck by a foot—even a prett;
man’s foot; but now he was perfectly cool and self-

possessed.
As Bettie grew weak and helpless, after the force
of her rage was spent, he quietly led her to.aseat

upon the deer-skin lounge, and took aseat beside

j way last week with a red-
,durn her ugly picture.”

ey came nearer and nearer down the stream,
cerned through the

and presently she dis
oan aboat sweeping down the mid

“Got no relatives at all?
“Nary_a one, all dead, *ceptin’ a grandfa
he was hung last week.”
ld sitting there bare-footed and bare-

“Course I am, stranger, but I can’t help it. Hain’
ot any shoes, nur no I G 1
gatall. Got a notion to jump inter the river and

her astonishment, no long, narrow

ener: bot a big, re wee Pom Pugh my Ale re- | 1d

membered seeing asac a Nor rolina . i

Qs “Poor child! poor child!’ he murmured, taking

her hand in his, and using atone of the deepest re-

spect and commiseration; “my heart bleeds for
with your agonizing

Three oars were flashing on either side, Lighted Bis BUR BO BOM Gy
torches waved aloft, showing theforms of ovyera

dozen men in thet boat, and flashing gayly upon the
waters.
iid Heimeant..At lest sho could haat Frais

Indians, but men of. her own color and blood.
English laugh or two, then a hearty
by exclamations and more laughter.
were white hunters—men who

I cannot but s
istress. Trust m ere’s five dollars for you.
_terrib ourself some shoes, stockings,

Bf
ok like a smart boy, and I just pity you that
uch.” ‘

 

were that your attendants
tives with yourself—that not a
ould be injured. He shall be
nged, power to avenge; and after a
while you will forget him.”
‘‘“How—how can I

“Well, Lam smart, you bet. Smart enough t
ars out of you. Thank you, strange
rize candy boxe

Mother and dad’s lookin’ for

8 .

And the littlerooster slid out and left the stra:
surprised, just five dollars worth.

— Blivens came runnin
asked me if I had seen “] ; 1 +.

“Procrastination!” said I, eying him shar
“You’re drunk, Blivyens.”

“No, indeed, I
my life. You see I’ve lost my watch. Somebo
stole it while Iwas at dinner. It 3
about it, and he said that ‘Procrastination was the
thief of. time,’ and I’m hunting him. Hai

m. : won’t I just go for the
ver forget him?’ sobbed the

jonately, and cast-

would save and [

With a shrill scream of joy, she headed her canoe
to the center of the stream, and plied her paddle
with all her might.

“How! cried :
jing his arm about her)
‘ger, nobler, tenderer lo
jof! How but in the abs
love you forever and
She was herself again in
away his arm

 

up to me yesterday,

han he was ever capable Cees
rocrastination.

ain,and her voice was heard. ;
ing passion of one who

their boat asshe a
and lowered their torches.
“Who are you?” they cried.
“A hapless American girl
dians—are whom you can rescue
leaping with joy.
ide, and get aboard; you are safe

able difficulty, the glare

a moment. She cast
if it were a coiling viper, and
h She did not speak;
eloquent of her bound-

ng .from the In-

»’ she replied, her ' | white glue, oneanda half pounds of dry white lead, h

but her flashing eyes were ¢€ Itold Bill Jon
less contempt and scorn. __
He saw his mistake, an

d was quick to rectify it.
His voice changed. Tt

became deeply respectful

“Forgive me forgive me! he said, humbly. “‘This
consuming passion of mine is forever overcomin
my reason—even the Christia
have for other’s feelings. 4 0
me to mention something else, which I had nigh
forgotten, and which is only my duty—a sad, sad
duty, but an imperative one.” His voice broke, and

e paused; but presently went on; You have sus-
tained another loss, my
that of your ioyer,
could possibly sv

-Unsophisticated

She did so with consider
of the torches dazzling her eyes.
prang in among them with another cry of

Then, to her dismay, she p
the men had red coats on th
What!” exclaimed the owner
ng forward and seizin
3 une and the goddess o
so kind to me?”
She started back

She was in the arms of

CHAPTER XIL
CAPTOR AND CAPT!
ort or station occupied by the
uesne andhis command (con-
and twice as many
mouth of the Wa-

charity I should | him a fortune.

ek Bettie, this brings

Oa is Best
of the single voice,

    

the ghost, and |
d, which—next to :
r aps—is the greatest you

as she was, his du
much for her. She knew nothing of
long-studied art by which—th
the inflections of, his yoice, the
tures—he had learnedto mask _ hi
simulate all emotions to which

with the ery of a wounded
Captain Arthur Du-

rough his manner,
lay of his fine fea-
Yh r own heart, and
British Captain e child of nature
sisting of about fifty regula
Indian allies) was very near t
on the northern si
It was composed of a small stockade, and a num-
ber of tents and wigwams.
the tents, at aboutnoon on

Well, I reckon I did. Splen-
Took dinner with ’em several
et ’°em in London, and old Catacomb him-
self took me to the theater, and paid the hull bill.
yl do know it’s the Catacombs,

— One night last week'a Pottsville man had occa-.
sion to go to the drug store for a bottleof paragoric
to quiet the infant, who was squalling loudly with
the colic. Coming back,
where the hired girl was sleeping, and stumbled
over the clothes-horse. i

The girl, awakened by the_ noise
burglar was inthe house, and let
with a flat-iron, which happened to be lying on the
stand near by, and screamed murder.
him plump in the back, and
doubled him over on top of the store, upsetting the |,
wash boiler, tilting over the coffee pot, and numer-
ous pans and kettles, and causing the pipe to come
down withacrash.  . :

In a twinkling, the wife arrived with a lamp in
re shovel in the other.

Thinking the man who lay buried beneath the] an
ots and kettles to be a burglar, she set the lam
own, and swinging the shovel vigorously wi
both hands, she brought it down with fearful veloc-
ity on the most prominent part of his person which
presented itself.

Then the man yelled bloody murder, and begged
be let up, saying:

*““Marier, (hic) don’t yer know me, old gal? Sa
arcade Got er pollygolic (hic) fur er baby

e ”?

looked at Aim questioningly.
ttie,” replied that sad and broken

x the king of hunters and

was the first sound
d parted her pretty lips
for many.aday. Butthe idea that her father, C
onel Daniel Boone, the Thunderbolt of the Wilder-
‘should ever succumb to the fell destroyer was
so ridiculous as to make her laugh.
The beautiful eyes of the arch
her filled with tears, a spasm of
twitched his lips, and his voice ws
red, more as if speaking to himself

Well, I’m glad of it.

If there’s anybod

your noble father .
sure’s your born.

prince of pioneers, is dead.’
Bettie gave a little laugh. It
of genuine mi

r
ae oy on oo: e pay yee ow the

rapment of our heroine er unprine
admirer, sat Bettie Boone, wi * A

changed, and. for the better,

She was attired in along
colored stuff, of elegant fashion, which fitted her
graceful, robust figure to pe
tendered her that morni
squaw, who spoke Englis
the creature, or one of the many creatures, of Du-
: been accepted perforce, for the
poor girl’s own garments had suffered so much by
: gto ponder per phoned aie
ite men of whatever nationality.
She had also cleaned her beautiful bl
which was wound in simple, lustrous coils about
r _,in a word, even in her melancholy eap-
tivity, the final captivity which she and her parents
- | had dreaded so much, she looked decidedly pretty
and attractive.

Her surroundings were also neat and tidy.
coarse, substantial rug covered aportion of the
There were several camp-stools, a little
rant wild flowers, and a
‘e of deer-skins in one corner.
arted, and some one
ead with astart. It
was only the young half-breed squaw, who had
been charged to attend her, and, indeed, to watch
and guard her. for, from what Duquesne had seen
and heard of his captive’s bravery and enterprise,
he believed her capable of almost any daring an
erate deed toward attempting an esca,
The half-breed girl was. young and qui
with soft, dark eyes, which, nevertheless,,n
then glittered with the subtle, treacherous light
which one almost invariabl

ppearance was much he went in at the door

gown of dark, wine-

by a young half-breed
fluently, and who was | ken as he mutte c
The iron struck
She does not believe me.
Perchance it is for the best.”
He even started up to quit thetent. As he had
shrewdly conjectured, she, now utterly deceived,
calied him back.

wind and weathe:

“T cannot believe,” saidshe,in atremulous voice;
“but pray tell me ail.”

“Bettie, call up all your ne
his head gravely.
a number of friends, started
in pursuit of your captors. —

rye,” said he, shakin
ather, in company _wi

‘he second day the
d and surrounded by over a hundre
hawnees, who murdered all. except
whom they reserved for torture, u
at the large Shawneetown on
that town your
erate attempt to escape.

le assailant.

 

ble, containing some fr;
he Ohio. Upon
lant father made a des-
e rushed down the bluff | (

the beach, where a number of canoes were ly-
ing, but before he couldr
down, and fell

ree ee a _ the not
ettie raised her 3).
“That’s the way you do, you brute,eh? Gotothe
drug store in a hurry for the dear baby, and get as
drunk as a biled owl before you return. Shame on
said his angry wi
““Marier (hic), I hain’
Took a drink of the (hic)
an’ that up-(hic)-set me.
Too strong fur er baby (hic). :
now his wife refuses to believe he went into
the kitchen by mistake, when the front door was so
and claims that there is a conspiracy on
foot, in which her husband and the hired girl are

ch them he was shot
1 reper of ior
she was too muc ‘ :
‘e t drunk. Sober’z a judge,
How—how do you 2?” she faltered, in ollygolic comin
W, graveyard tones.
When I took youinto my bo
on my way hither from avis
where llearnedall. 7
save him. Night before last one
brought me news of Boone’s cap
position it was intended to makeo
t boat, with picke
he Indian village
e to see your poor

“Shawnee town,
of my visit was to

©

y discerns in the savage

“Captain wants to know if white maiden wants
some more coffee?” said the girl, in a soft, gentle

ice.
‘No,” said Bettie, impatien
more—nothing but my lit

w which sank the blade of the

The girl was discharged, and the gentleman de-
i home doctoring his cuts and
bruises, that he never did see just such a muss
about a little paregoric and a child with the stom-

get out up the river in our best
men for rowers. I arrived at
two hours too late; only in ti
father’s mangled

tly 5 “T want nothing elares, as he sits at

 

 

 

KEY ee

In Need of Information.
Scene, a country railway station, with passenger-

|train bound north. The conductor had just i

naled for the enginer to “go ahead,’ when he o
served,'at a distance, a corpulent old lady, with a
Boxe carpet-bag in hand, gesturing wildly with her
umbrella. The eourteous conductor, supposing
she wished to take his train, again signaled ior the
engineer to stop forour fatfriend to come up. She
reached the platform at last, puffing and blowing
as if she were a rival of the iron-horse, and man-
aged to gasp:

Say, Mister Conductor, when does the next train
leave goin’ south ?”

The expression on the conducter’s face may be
imagined. RUPERT.

‘ A Lively Excitement. att

It was very windy the other morning as I started
to go over the way to a small grocery to Poa slice
of ham for breakfast. The wind was blowing a
gale, and, as I entered the store, a barrel that stood
in front on the pavement was whirled into the
street, spilling the contents. Mrs. Baker, the gro-
cer’s wife,a corpulent man,just coming from
the kitchen to wait upon me, saw the barrel,

There goes our wood barrel!” she exclaimed,
rushing for the door, shouting for Joe, her hus-
bend, who usually rather slow in his. move-
ments,

  
    

pon my poodle as she went out,
I home howling dreadfully. The
my Wife out to see what was the
matter. Mrs. hed the street and was nearly
up to the barrel, when another blast carried it on
flying round the cerner. Nothing daunted, how-
ever, for she was a resolute woman, she still pur-
sued the flying barrel, which, in its run, struck a
k wagon, which bursted it by the starting of the
horse. Mrs. cked up the staves in anger and
returned home.
She met Mr. B. just coming out of the kitchen in

a hurry, with his coat off. Somehow he caught his
shirt sleeve in a nail ina barrel, and jerking his
arm away, hiselbows struck a pitcher filled with
molasses. which stood on a cider keg, and for which
asmall boy was w 1g. Of course the pitcher fell

as
a

  
   
  

tothe floor and was hed to pieces, scattering
the molasses all around.

Mr. Baker gaping dawn in the excited and use-
less effort to save the pieces, was awakened toa
sense 3 the situation_ by a blow from one of those

 

    
  
  
  

staves i hands of Mrs. B.—a blow that any base-
baller would have easily made a home run on.

8 Loutand hurried home. My wife stood
at_ the or awaiting my arrival, and angrily
asked: (

How

id you hurt the dog so?” q
e could get out of me for fifteen minutes
ey hadn’t any ham.” Joun Draxn. 4
A Magic Barrel. a

x i 2 4
_ An ingénious contrivance to evade the liquor law
in Maine has been discoyered in Bangor. It con-

sists ofa barrel within a barrel, furnished with
| faucet, which, when turned one way supplies swee

cider, and when turned another, supplies’ lag«

Slightly Perplexed. '

Stumbling into his room, he sat down on the ed
of the bed and soliloquized thus: “Feet wet, tig

| boots, a sore on one hand an’ a felon on t’other, a. |

0 bootjack in z’house. Sings got to be dif’ren..>
‘ther I mus’ get married, else get a bootjack;
whishall I do?’

A Chance for Young Men. r
_ Miss Ada and Miss Lizzie Challis have purchased

the Martinsville, Ind., Gazette. In a leading edito-
rial of the first number, under the new regime, this

} extract occurs:

‘Pause, young man; you wantto get married,
and it is about time you did.” a
Who will be the first to put the Challis to His
Don’t Smoke Poor Cigars.
He was smoking acigar on a car where
were ladies. Alady took out her purse
cents, and handed it to him. g
_What’s this for?” said he.

It’s to buy you a good cigar when yous
the presence of ladies.” at
_ He threw the cigar out of the window, th
in the lady’s lay, jerked the strap, and jumps

A Woman Silenced. i

_Alady in Norwich, Conn., found her ton
tirely paralyzed last week, the result, it is |
of playing the harmonica. The opinion s
be gaining ground that the harmonica is-of
real value in a family than a stalled ox. '
; The Boarder’s Guess. .  ~_

» Boarder:—"'Ts the red-haired girl gone awa

    
    
    
    
 
   
   
  

Boarder:—‘I thought so. I found black h ir
the butter to-day.” QUIDA¥

To P.-P. CONTRIBUTORS.—The following MSS. are
‘Pm mad at You;’ ‘A Lawyer Sold;’ ‘It is John, or
‘Punishing an Stealer ;’? ‘A Wise Seven-Year-Old ;?
Him at Last;’ ‘Boots Full of Blood.’....The followi ee ef
fully declined: ‘Big Boots; ‘Inveterate Smoker;’ ‘Bors Gr
‘Cool vs. Whisky;’? ‘How Pat Raised the Wind;’ ‘Lines on
Lady’s Fan;’ ‘Sofa Riddle; ‘Old Jokes,’ from J. A. W.: °
Bishop’s Funniments;’ ‘An Old Farmer ;’ ‘How to Dig 4 Weil;
‘Fruits of Education;’ ‘All Aboard; ‘Dried-Apple ies’—old: i
‘Wanted the Sidewalk? ‘In Shipwreck ys« In Bed; ‘Would ye
Joba Man; ‘Answer to a Matrimonial Advertisement;’ ‘The
Coasters ;’ ‘Slaying the Grange’~an old joke; ‘The Carpenter’s
Fall;’ ‘Hard-Shell Sermon.’ .

9 Our. Knowledge Box ;

A FEW pfRaGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.

 

RG= We take pleasure in responding to every ere address-
ed to us in this column, for the answers generally afford infor-
mation not only to the parties ially seeking it, but also to
the mass of our readers; but with the increase of our circulation
has grown the number of questions soliciting answers by mail,
These questions are almost uniformly important ones, costing,
to satisfactorily answer them, much time and labor. For this
reason all persons in future wishing their Sane replied to by
mail, will please inclose 50 cente to defray the expenses
necessarily incurred.

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WARTED.
A, A. S. Yonkers.—ToO CLEAN BRONZE.—Coat it occasionally with
oil, and wipe off with a cloth.......... G. D. L»—CEMENT.—The
cement to which you refer is, we think, what is called ‘wagon
cement,” from the fact that leather traces are held together by
it.. Itis a very simple article. Itis made by taking the com-
mon fish-glue, dissolving it in an equal weight of warm water,
and to each pint of this solution adding two fiuid ounces of alco-
hol, and half an ounce of gum mastic dissolved in a little alco-
hol. Mix thoroughly and keep in a well-stoppered bottle. Itisa

- | goodcement for many purposes when continued moisture is not

resent. Should this not be the cement you mean, try the fol-
owing recipe, which may proye of service: Four A pper of

@ pound
ot isinglass, one gallon of soft_water, one quart of alcohol, and
half a pint of white varnish. Dissolve the glue and isinglass
in the water, by gentle heat if preferred, stir In the lead, put the

4 alcoholin the varnish, and mix the whole togethers. i.e. cccece

e ae E
Blivens rushed on down the street. The boys.
call him “Old Procrastinate” now. F.
— Charles Augustus Snooks’ father died and le:
d man had “struck ile” ii
red ee nat : pt nie ie: or rote BOR, on
ad struck oil on the farm o e senior Snooks, | . :
and offered him fifty thousand dollars for the farm, each of sandarac and mastich; next, add half an ounce of tur-
which he accepted. After which the senior Snooks ’
is little bed, gave up
was planted by his sorrowing family.
. Then Charles Augustus said he was going ona
“tower” to Europe, and he went. :

When he returned, he boasted of thesights he
had witnessed, and the great lords, dukes, and | f
ces he had dined with.
Did you see the Catacombs of Egypt while you | $¢°
eect asked a friend.

did family, too.

Cosmos.—l. Ammonia sulphate of copper is a dark blue pulveru-
lent substance, formed by rubbing together one ounce of sul-

_,, | phate of copper and half an ounce of sesquicarbonate of ammo-

nia, until carbonic acid ceases to be evolved; then drying the
pee wrapped in bibulous paper, in the air. 2. GLUE WHICH

TANDS MOISTURE WITHOUT FTENING.—Dissolve, in about
eight fluid ounces of strong methylated spirit, half an ounce

tine. This solution is then added to a hot, thick solution of
which insinglass has been added, and is next filtered,
through cloth or a good sieve. A good LIQUID GLUE
s thus mad ill a glass jar with broken-up glue ot best qual-
ity; then fillit with acetic acid. Keep it in hot water for a few
hours until the glue is all melted, and‘ you will have an excelent
lue always ready. 3. To MAKE COMMON INK INDELIBLE,—
‘ake of iodide of potassium, one ounce; iodine, six drams; water,

es; dissolve. Make a solution of two ounces of ferro-

   
  
  

     

o

        
   
  
   
 
  
       
   
        
 
   
 
 
    
  
   
      

assium in water. Add the iodide solution to the
e precipitate will fall, which, after filtering, may
water, forming a blueink. This blue. ed to
nders it indelible...... H. B. 8. H.—This corres-

common I Ns
pondent wi recipe for “explosive powder for filling to
torpedoes.”’ ror M.—The recipe is a very good one. Fr f r
Rumball.—1. ff birds, etc., see No. 31 of volume 30.. 2. To
tan with the see No. 38 of volume 30. 3. To CATCH MUSK-
RATS.—Take a trap with a single spring; set it one-and-a-
half inches uD ater; hang part of a sweet apple over the
foot-plate, and ithe trap toastake or rush. When the musk-
rat sees the @ will ge it. When he comes down he
eran , trap ity Dimple.—l. Try flaxseed tea.
t will keep ecurlalong time. 2. Take magnesia occa

sionally... .Tals

 

nnot aid you. :
A reliable authority says that the diet, like all

treatment, must have reference to the present
lent. Ifthe disease take the bronchial form,
ng, and other condititions ealculated to carry
m, haye not yet supervented; or if the patient

ectic, the diet must be spare and simple, con-

sisting chiefly Ik and farinaceous substances. But in alZ
cases where sease is tubercular, or beingbronchial, has
reached the st emaciation, the very earliest moment at

ubdued, should be improved to build u

bes
€ ‘ous diet—diet that can be taken withou

 
  

are if taken cold) are. partic
sweet butter and cream. ee

2. @ all the outdoor exercise pos-
sible. 3. The average amoun

ay 4 required by persons in
rs. consumptive should cer-
‘sleep is to repair the energies >

ast nd the recuperative power
possessed, will measure the amo U
Ferdon.—The U. 8. Dispensatory—which every good druggist
keeps a copy of—in giving the me properties and uses of
an

  
    

dical

chlorinated soda, says: “itis a stimulant, antiseptic, and resol-
vent. Internally it has been employed in diseases termed putrid
or malignant, It has also n given in dysentery accompanied
with peculiarly fetid disc es, and in scrofula, bilious disor-
ders, and chronic diseases he skin. The dose in these cases
is from thirty drops to a teaspoonful, givenin a cupful of water,
and repeated every two or three hours. It forms a good mouth-
wash when diluted with eight sof water. In a word itisa
fine disinfecting agent. You will find other remedies for a bad
breath in our last number.

Toronto.—l. WARTS.—The causes of these excrescences are
very obscure. 2. Lunar caustic will remove them. 3. $15, $20,
and $25 per week. : ’
Mary Belt.—DIPHTHERIA.—The following simple remedy'is ve

‘popular in Australia, it having been used there, it is stated, with

great success in hundreds of eases: ‘‘Put the children (or those
suffering from it)in a warm bed, and take some red hot coals
from the stove on a fire shovel; sprinkle a tables oonful or less
of flour of sulphur on the hot cinders and place der the bed.
The nurse or attendant must remove the shovelout of the room
when the children begin coughing. Let this be Gone for two or

 

 

 

 

ptain love white maiden very much,” said the

: Forgive me!—I—I’'m
girl, with a smile, q

I can say ne more!” SoLoNn SHINGLE,

 

three ten and it will be found that the fumes from the sub
phur will kill the throat fungus called diphtheria.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
 
      
     
    
    
 
    
    
      
   
 
   
     
   
 
     
  
 
  

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE HOUR SHE LOVED.

BY NATHAN D. URNER.

 

 

“Uncle, why are you lost in thought
So long in this room, ere the lights are brought,
With only the fire-gleams fluttering nigh
To deepen t!\c shadows on ceiling and wall,
And every diy in the dim nightfall ?”
Listen, my dear; I will tell you why.

When I was a man of about your size,

Gay, four feet nothing,) with just such eyes,
Wide with wonder, and locks as fair,

I climbed the knees of a lady bright,

Who loved to linger in just this light,
When twilight deepened the wintry air.

This was the hour she loved the best,

That seemed to give her the gentlest rest;
And often now, when I sit alone

In the self-same hour, and softly trace

The red gleams there in the fire-place,
And the shadows over the carpet thrown,

I seem to have her with me once more;

And to crouch at her knees on the tufted floor,
Even as now you crouch at mine.

I can see the flashes go up and down

Her wine-colored dress from slippers to crown,
And into the wells of her dark eyes shine,

I can feel the touch on my cheek and hair

Of a vanished hand, and the nameless air
Of comfort and peace that went with her;

I can fancy myself a child again,

As free from sorrow, and guile, and pain—
Hush! Leave me, darling. I must not stir.

“But who was the lady, uncle dear,
Whose memory still can chain you here,
in whose twilight hour you still find joy ?”
Ah, madcap! whom could it be but one
Whose love is deepest since life begun ?
The lady bright was my mother, boy.
Run to your toys and picture-book,
And leave me here at my chimney-nook,
A little space ere the candles come.
This is the hour ghe loved the best,
That seemed to give her the gentlest rest;
Sweet is the silence—sweet the gloom.
—

BOB THOMPSON’S LUCK.

BY J. RB. HAMMOND.

 

 

 

“My daughter,” ejaculated Gen. Brown—George
Washington Brown, Brigadier-General of militia—
huskily, his voice choked with the contending emo-
tions that were struggling in his bosom for utter-
ance. “My daughter!” he repeated, his eyes dilated

with astonishment at such unheard-of effrontery.
“Marry, my daughter, sir!” and his cheek grew livid
with) rage, as he glared at the person addressed
with)the ferocity of a tiger. ‘You a poor, low-born,
low4bred mechanic, aspiring tothe hand of Vir-
winia Brown—Virginia Brown, sir, the reigning
pelle of Skunkville, and prospective heiress to her
aunt’s fortune, which will not be less than two
jhousand dollars—Virginia Brown, a descendant of

ocahontas, and a member not only of one of the
grst families in Virginia, but in America. This is
a2 outrage, sir, an unparalleled case of effrontery.
T jepeat it, sir, an unparalleled case of effrontery.
Search history, sir, from the creation of Adam
gown to the present time, and I dare say a parallel
eas? can’t be found, and but very few in fiction.
Why. Sir, my daughter can marry Dr. Squirt or
Lawrer Quirk either at the drop ofa hat. It cer-
tainlpean't be with my daughter’s knowledge and
conser’ that you have approached me with so mon-
strous Proposition.” |

“Tt ee ainly was with her knowledge and con-
sent, ag pnever would have dreamed of approach-
ing you ch. such a subject without.”

“Well. pir, when fire ceases to burn and water to
seek itg Jevel, you may begin to entertain hopes of
gaining My consent to your marrying Virginia
Brown, Lut nottillthen. When the soaring eagle
seeks-a y2ate in the insignificant bantam, I may
consent 70 my daughter marrying a mechanic, not
before, Lou have my answer.”

And with a wave of the hand the outraged parent
indicated that the conference had closed, and the

aspirart fora matrimonial connection with a de-
scendant of Pocahontas withdrew without further
Rab Thompson stood six feet three inches in his
stocking feet, and as he strode defiantly on, his her-
éuleab trame dilating with indignation, determined
in, hig OWD mind to marry Virginia Brown or per-
ish in the attempt in spite of parental swell-head-
adners; he looked the peer of any in the realm, be
he salary-grabber, crooked whisky ring-master, or
squire of low Gosely and presented a marked con-
trast to the hatchet-faced, spindle-shanked Squirt,
and the duck-legged, bald-headed, blubber-lipped
Quirk, whose protuberance of paunch, expansion
of jowland probulgent eyes but illy compensated
for the insufficiency of his nose and chin.

While lumbering along as though propelled by a
high-pressure engine, Bob’s mixyd was as active as
bis legs, and before he reached home he had de-
termined to try his luck in California, and so after
an interview with Virginia Brown, to California he
went. ‘

Some three years have elapsed, during which
time Bob Thompson has wielded pick and shovel
as only aman of his herculean build could, making
dirt, gravel, and boulders fly, and has succeeded in
accumulating quite a pile of the auriferous dust,

Hearing of some rich discoveries a hundred miles
or so north of where he was then digging, he put
his gold, along with a supply of provisions, into a
leather knapsack, which he shouldered, along with
his rifle, blanket, and shovel, and struck out alone
for the new discovery. :

During the first four days he met with no adven-
tures worthy of note. On the fifth day, however,
he made some discoveries, and fearful ones they
were. ; gab cits

He was lost in the mountains, his provisions were

nearly exhausted, and thus far he had met with no
game, ‘
Tt was a gloomy prospect he had before him. He
might stumble on a miner’s shanty at any moment,
but there were nine chances to one in favor of his
traveling hundreds of miles without meeting with
a human being. ‘ ¥

As night was now approaching, Bob seated him-
self on arock and partook of afrugal repast from
the contents of his knapsack, then wrapping his
blanket about him, he stretched himself on the
ground, and with dismal forebodings, resigned him-
selftoslumber. : $

The next morning, shouldering his knapsack,
gun, etc., he trudged onward. Over rocks he clam-
bered, over mountains he climbed, and into moun-
tain torrents he plunged, until night once more
closed around him. .

y this time he began tosee the necessity of
limiting himself to half rations. Two days later he
submitted to a still further reduction, allowing
himself only quarter rations. |. :

Four days after that his provisions were entirely
exhausted, and he began to feel the gnawings of
hunger as he had never felt them before.

On the next day, which was the fourteenth day
since he started, he began to hanker after his knap-
sack. The next day he commenced on it, and ate a
piece about the size of a full-grown greenback.
The amount of nourishment he derived therefrom,
however, was entirely disproportionate to the exer-
cise. it afforded his jawbones and grinders in its
mastication; still, it seemed to keep him, on his
feet.

The next day he doubled the dose, and onthe fol-
lowing day he shot a partridge, which, by mixing
with his knapsack, he made to last four days.

In.two days more his knapsack was gone, and he
felt himself growing perceptibly weaker.

He now began to experiment on the bark@f trees.
Finding one, after a great many trials, the Bark of
which was not unpleasant to the taste, he laid in a
good supply, and went ahead. Though Rot un-
pleasant to the taste, it had but little nourishment
in it, and he began to weaken rapidly. ven

So weak did he at length become, that he was
compelled to leave his gold, which he buried at the
root of a tree, with very little hopes of ever, seeing
itagain. And we may as well state right hére that
he never did see it again. : 3

Ten more days he spent wanderipg £6 and fro
among the mountains, living on bark™and an occa-
om berry, and growing weaker and weaker every
day. —

_ On the eleventh day after burying his gold, while
dragging himself along with great difficulty, seeing
a singular elevation before him, he concluded to
climb it, provided his strength would hold out to
carry him to the top, and there lay down and die.
On reaching the top, he found the elevation to cov-
er some four or five acres, with anarrow rim about
six feet high around the edge, the interior depres-
sion being as level as a floor. *

Noticing what seemed to be an opening toward
the center of the depression, he dragged himself
toward it, and found it to be a perpendicular open-
ing, some ten feet in length, and three feet across
in the widest part, which was about the middle, and
ar that his eye was unable to penetrate to the
Vottom,

There was‘nothing extraordinary in that. There
are holes in the ground, both natural and artificial,
the world over. But while glancing down that fis-
sure, Bob Thompson saw something that sent the
blood in quickening pulsations through his arte-
ries, and gave him a new lease of life.

The sides of tiié orifice, as far down as he could
see, were pure, unadulterated gold.

The indications were that there wero millions of
tons of gold right beneath his feet.

4

 

 

   

It flashed upon his mind ina moment that this
was the crater of an extinct volcano that at some
remote period of the world’s mssory had belched
pure gold in a liquid state which had subsequently
cooled down, leaving a solid mass of gold some four
or five acres in extent,and it might be hundreds—
possibly thousands—of feet in thickness. :

_ Whata sight for a dying man—for a man perish-
ing with hunger. rot

He was able, and would have been willing to pay
millions for the carcass of a rat; but no rat was to
be had foramillion dollars. No; nor for a hun-
dred or a thousand millions,

Noteyena mouse! ;

OES up the soil in different places, in order
to satisfy himself as to the truth of his conjecture,
and finding gold within an inch or two of the sur-.
face at every point examined, he climbed over the
river again, and going down a ravine, found pure
gold there also from scales just visible to the naked
eye to nuggets that would sink the largest ship

afloat.

Climbing to the top of one of these nuggets, abeut
the bigness of a tobacco hogshead, he seated him-
self thereon, and turning his thoughts homeward,
was soon lost in a reverie, from which he was pre-
sently aroused by arustling in the leaves near by.
Turning his head in the direction of the sound, he
saw a tremendous buck grazing within fifty yards
of where he was standing.

Raising his rifle to his shoulder, he fired, but so
excited was he that had the animal been the size of
a Pennsylvania barn it wouldn’t have been in the
slightest danger. |

levating his head, the buck gazed a moment at
the animated skeleton who was thus amusing him-
self, then giving his tail a flirt,he wheeled and
struck a lope, and the next moment disappeared
behind a huge auriferous boulder. :

Reloading his rifle, Bob clambered down from his
nugget and started in pursuit. | ; i

ight closed around him without his catching
another glimpse ofthe object of his chase. Hope
that had nerved him up while the chase lasted, now
began to die out, and he sank to the earth, com-
pletely exhausted by hunger and fatigue.

The sun was high in the heavens when he awoke
the next morning, and still higher before he sum-
moned sufficient resolution to get up in order to
resume the apparently hopeless search that the
darkness of the night had suspended. f

Raising himself to his feet at length, though with
considerable of an effort, his heart was gladdened
by the sight of a buck—but whether the one he had
been PUT Be, orsome other he couidn’t tell—graz-
ing some two hundred yards distant from where he
was standing. ;

Dropping to the ground, he snaked himself along
to withim: about a hundred yards of the unsuspect-
ing quadruped, when rising to his knees he took
deliberate aim, and fired.

The exertion and excitement together proved too
much for him, and at the crack of the rifle he faint-
ed and fell to the ground. : J

On recovering his consciousness, his first
thoughts were of the buck, and on ooking in the
direction he had fired, his heart sank within him,
for no animal, either living or dead, was to be seen.

He now resigned himselfto his fate, and lay down
to die. He had lain there perhaps a couple. of
hours, when he caught sight of a buzzard sailing
overhead.

“Tthink you’re in somewhat of a hurry,” said

Bom “coming after me before the breath has left my
ody.
Presently a thought struck him. |.

“It’s the buck,” said he, and raising to his feet
with great difficulty, and staggering along like a
drunken man,he wentto where the animal was
standing when he fired, where he found blood in
such profusion that he experienced no eee, in
following thetrack of the wounded animal. In less
than a quarter of a_ mile, though it seemed longer
than any ten miles he had ever travelered before he
undertook this. trip, he came upon the carcass, as
yet untouched by either buzzard or wolf, though
quite a number of the former were visible. .

Language is peecrane to describe the joyous
emotions that thrilled Bob Thompson’s heart, as
he sank exhausted by the side of this monster
buck, which to his excited optics looked as big as a
mountain.

it was the work of but a very few moments for
him to strip the hide from one of the hind legs and
eut a chunk therefrom, which he devoured raw.
Then gathering up some fuel, he proceeded to kin-
dle a fire and cook and eat as much as he thought
would be prudent in his then famished condition.

The next morning, after partaking of a bountiful
repast, feeling much strengthened, he proceeded to
conyey his venison, aqguarter ata time; back ty his
gold ae which he succeeded in accomplishing
by night, 2 :

Bob spent the next day in prospecting and mak-
ing rough calculations as to the probable value of
his discovery. ,

Counting the thickness of the five acres at one
hundred feet—and he felt confident that it was five
if not ten times that thick—he estimated that ata
fair valuation he had gold@enough to purchase all
the real estate and personal property on the habit-
able globe, and have enough left to allow himself a
million a minute for spending money during the
remainder of his life, provided his years didn’t out-
number those of Methuselah.

The next thing to be considered was how he was
to manage so as to profit to the fullest possible ex-
tent by his discovery. = :

After turning the matter over in his mind he con-
cluded the best plan would be to conceal his dis-
covery for the present. With that view he went to
work, and by means of poles and brush, covered
with dirt, soon succeeded in concealing from view
the opening in the center of the crater.

But to cover upthe immense chunks in the adja-
cent ravines, so as, while concealing the treasure,
not to excite the suspicion of other gold-hunters
who might stumble on that locality, was a most dif-
ficult job, and for the successful accomplishment of
which it required weeks of the most herculean la-
bor. It was finally accomplished, however, and the
best evidence that it was successfully accomplished
lies in the fact that to this day it has never been dis-
covered by any one else.. :

Having completed the job of concealing his trea-
sure, he made a sack out ofa part of the buck’s
hide, and putting a couple of hundred pounds of
nuggets therein, shouldered it and struck out for
the settlements.. _. ,

Asa means of finding his way back, he determined
to follow up the stream on which his mine was lo-
cated, making as he proceeded a map of the route
on a piece of buckskin. oho ds

On the fourth day he fellin with a company of
miners who were out prospecting, from whom he
purchased a pony and procured a supply of provi-
sions. '

In six more days he reached the point from
whence he had set out on his prospecting tour, and
on going to the post-office he got a letter, the peru-
sal ofywhich produced a deermination on his part
to return home immediately. |

During his absence some important events had
transpired. . ; .

Lawyer Quirk, after eating a hearty supper of
tripe and onions, and hard-boiled cags. washed
down with half a gallon of buttermilk, had taken
his landlady somewhat by surprise on her repair-
ing to his bed-chamber the next morning, for the
purpose of putting it to rights, by presenting him-
self to her astonished optics in the character of a
first-class corpse. j

Verdict of the coroner’s jury, “Died of apoplexy.”

Consumption had waved its wand over Dr. Squirt
and his literary tastes had undergone a radical
change. Instead of poring over the works of By-
ron, Moore, and Scott, he found more congenial
themes in the writings of Job, Jeremiah, and Paul,
and his mind dwelt more on winding-sheets and
coffins than on orange blossoms and bridal couches.

General Bullion, a retired banker, with a bald
head and a bottle nose, and an interesting family
of seven motherless children, ranging from one to
eleven years of age, had, with her father’s permis-
sion, made a desperate effort to convert the charm-
ing Virginia Brown into Mrs. Bullion number two.

Phat oung lady not appreciating at a very high
figure the honor designed to be conferred upon
her, had contemptuously spurned the sighing
widower from her feet.

n being remonstrated with by her father, she
had rebelled against parental authority and avowed
her determination to marry Bob Thompson or no-
body, whereupon her irate sire had taken her to
Europe, and after an absence of some months had
returned alone and persistently refused to give
any satisfactory account as to what disposition he
had made of his daughter.

On reaching home Bob lost no time in gaining all
the information that was to be had—and that was
very little—in relation to the probable whereabouts
of Virginia Brown, when he packed his trunk and
started for erarnpe :

He had but little difficulty in following the track
of sb general and his daughter up to certain point
in ve

At the little village of Doni he lost the track.

After searching Kurope thoroughly, without re-
covering the trade,that he had-lost at Doni, he: re-
turned to that village; determined to explore every
nook and cranny, not only of the town, but also of
the surrounding country,

But his efforts were fruitless.

_ At the end of three months of as faithful search
ag was ever prosecuted by mortad man, he_was as
much in the dark as ever to: Virginia Brown’s
whereabouts. Though thoroughly convinced in his
own mind that she was somewhere in the vicinity,
the exact locality remained as much a mystery_at
the end of three months as it was on the first day
he began the search.

Meeting with a London policeman passing
through the village one dey, he laid the case before
him, and asked him what he would take to find her.

What will you give?” asked the policeman.

‘A thousand dollars,” said Bob.

Ili try,” said the policeman.

The first move he made was to go to the inn—the

 

only one the village could afford—and making the

landlord drunk, contrived by the judicious expen-
diture of something less than half-a-dollar in elic-

iting information that led to the discovery that the
object of their search was in a certain convent less
than a dozen miles distant.

After several unsuccessful efforts to rescue the
maiden, Bob concluded finally to put in practice
some of his California experience.

So having obtained a plan of the convent and as-
certained the exact locality of the room occupied
by Virginia, he procured suitable tools and under
yprer of adark stormy night commenced opera-

ions,

Sinking a shaft just outside of the convent wall,
on popehing the bottom of the foundation he drifted
under until he had. reached a point directly under
the room occupied by Virginia Brown, when turn-
ing upward it was not long before the two lovers
were in each other’s arms, and in less than six
heurs from the time he commenced operations the
two were in a carriage and proceeding at the rate
of eight miles an hour in the direction of France,
Wad they reached without interruption the next

ay.

Two days after they reached Paris, where Bob’s
cup of bliss was filled to overflowing by his being
united in the bonds of matrimony to the lovely be-
ing whose image, imprinted upon his heart, had in-
spired his pathway forso many long years, and
enabled him to overcome so many apparently in-
surmountable obstacles. 9

After several years spent in visiting all parts of
the habitable globe, Bob and his wife haye recently
returned to the United States where he is now or-
peaizing a company for the purpose of working

is mine, confidently calculating on being able to
throw at least twenty thousand million of dollars
in gold on the market during the next ten years.

ully for Bob.

HE IS DEAD NOW.

BY MAX ADELER.

 

 

 

You may have noticed in the papers that Belu-
chius Jamsuttacheheebhoy was wounded the other
day by the Nawab of Dada in Ahmeddnugger.

And thus another one of the earth’s great and
noble ones passes away. I knew him well; I refer
to Beluchius Jamsuttacheheebhoy, of course. He
was in some respects a very remarkable man, even
for a Hindoo. I remember that in his earlier years
his mind assumed somewhat of a devotional cast;
and in the first. impulse of his religious’ fervor he
undertook to give his feelings expression by stand-
ing upon one leg for sixty-seven years. After he
had held that other leg in the air for about thirty-
two months, however, his views underwent a
change, and he concluded to put it down. Itseems
but yesterday that he came to me and said that af-
ter turning the matter over in his mind it struck
him as somewhat absurd foraman to hope to se-
cure eternal felicity by holding up his toes, and that
he -was now convinced that if he hoped to get into
the path of duty he should have to engage in the
work of pitching babies to the saered crocodiles.

I never knew any one to fire his whole soultoa
work as Beluchius did to this. To see that saintly
Hindoo take a baby by the seruff of the neck and
chuck it at a hungry crocodile, wgs to have your
respect for mankind increased. ‘He was an un-
usually conscientious man, and he never caused
the animals any unnecessary annoyance. When
one of them would prop its Jaws open Beluchius
would take any odd twin that he had in his collec-
tion and heave them into the animal’s mouth with
a precision that was little less than marvelous. He
acquired dexterity by practicing with a rag baby
on a stuffed alligator, and it was a comfort to see
the good man going through his exercise with that
scrupulous fidelity which always distinguished

im.

But he wearied of it at last. He told me that his
soul craved something which would develop his
higher powers, and so he joinedthe Thugs, Here
the same lofty devotion to duty characterized his
conduct. He had a way of error a man which
brought all the instincts of his better nature into
play, and his friends never could sufficiently ad-
mire the artistic manner in which he disposed of
the various members of his family. It was not so
rauch that he brained both of his parents with a
euare fling of the boomerang, although that was
spoken of at the time as something a little above
the average, and it was not that he choked off his

& NEW YORK WEEKLY, S2--

prove my mepcorante and add to my personal
beauty by poking my eyes out with his thumbs, or
aoe re on my head with the poker, or knock-
ing out my front teeth with the broom handle; and
yet, if I do not submit gutsisy £0 these physiognom-
ical alterations at the hands of this enterprising
infant, that enterprising infant’s mother will pout
till her lips look like two pork sausages tied side by
side with a string.

If I venture to assert that I cannot, with confi-
dence, assert my belief thathe is a great musical
genius, then the pouting gets worse than ever. She
says that, “Itisso plainly evident from the dear
child’s spirited performances on the drum, and the
tin trumpet, and the bones, that he is destined to
be nothing less celebrated than a second Mozart or
Mendelsshon.”

Oh, what ajolly place Paradise must have been
before the first paby. was born. How thoroughly
Mr, Adam and Mrs. Eve Adam must have enjoyed
themselves before that rip of a Cain was born to
bother ’em. I'll bet two dollars and a half, that if
the Paradisaicanimals were as docile as is generally
supposed, Cain had a gay old time with them before
his baby brother, Abel, came for him to play with. Of
course he tied the tails of the snakes in double
bow-knots round the necks of the giraffes, played
horse with the hyenas, harnessed the alligators to
his wagon, made the elephants lift him up into
trees so he could steal apples (a trick he had doubt-
less learned from his mother), sheared the white
bears, and made the gorillas catch rabbits for him
to use for bait when he went fishing for whales.
T’ll bet he got up fights between ostriches out under
the plum trees, and made the antelopes run quar-
ter-races with the reindeer; that he set the wild-
eats to catching porgies, and the camels to digging
soft clams, and that he made the lions live on hasty
pudding, and fed the buffaloes on sirloin steaks;
and that at least once aday he tied tin kettles to
the tails of the tigers and made ’em run, while he
followed them on a swift rhinoceros and stirred
them up by sticking packs of lighted fire-crackers
to their ears with Limerick fish-hooks. Imagine
old Ad., or tender little Mrs. Ad., trying to find their
youngster to give him a switching with a grape-
vine, while he was in a corner of the garden trying
to climb over and see what was on the outside, or
was quietly watching from an eagle’s nest the fruit-
less endeavors of his loving parents to find him and
give him the trouncing he so well deserved.

But I’ve strayed from the infant I commenced
talking about, and have got off among a lot of ba-
bies that never knew what it was to drink milk out
of a bottle or be churned in a patent baby-jumper.

To come back to the child I began with. He can
do more things at once than any infant animal I
ever saw yet. I’ve seen him fight his mother with
one hand, pull his own hair with another, kick with
both feet, and seream like a locomotive engine, all
at once. He’s got more yell in him than any dozen
steam-engines I ever saw, and the only comfort I
have is, that he’ll soon get it all out of him atthe
rate he’s going on now, for the stock of yell, how-
ever large, can’t stand such constant demands a
great while. i

Despite the yell; the loving parents resolved to
have some Phe Aepe taken for the friends and
admirers of the infant. Now, if anybody who reads
this, ever tried to get a picture taken of a baby, a
wide-awake baby, a baby given to yells, to squalls,
to pulling people’s noses, to putting his hands into

make acareful and thorough investigation. Generally
there is a good deal of smoke there is geme. fire, and you meee
afford to run any risk. There is not much danger of your heart
narekSs a - eect Were, it would be far better to suffer un-
Oo wake w in a pu r" i
ne tp have te ee adoom worse thane See ane
writes: “iam a young man farming for a livelihood.
have fallen desperately in loye with a beautiful youn , tagy, ad
I think that itis not in vain. I wish to marry her, Mat am a
young man of limited means, ahd it is as much as her father can
do to support the balance of the family. Iam of good moral
habits, and endeavor to save all that Ican. Thaye had a toler-
ably fair education, and have bem advised by a good many
friends to marry, and they think I would do very well by marry-
ing her. I have been a constant reader of the New YORK
WEEKLY a long while, and would thank you very much
for your adyice in this important matter, as I “have no
parents to consult about it. Your tarly reply would be
thankfully received, so please do not throw this away in the
waste-basket.”” You should have stated your age. If you are
twenty-four or over, you are old enough tomarry. Many per-
sons hold back from marrying under the impression that the
cost of living to a man and wife will be double tat which each
would expend had they remained single. Bw this is 4 great
mistake, Ifthe parties are good managers—and tore than half
depends on that—the two when married will not wend much
7 ae the be tiving a We should, wetiwe in your
, ‘00 eal of confidence in the ri i
they ex all ney cinganeiaaees, BAvION “lends.
. Writes: “Ihave afather and mother, bro is-
ters, and friends, who are interested in my Seitere, Rae:
turn from them and come to you, knowing that when adsice is
sought, no matter what your opinion may be, you give it fxely
Iwas formerly acquainted with a young man for over a ear,
until about a month ago, when he asked mycompany hoye
from an entertainment in which we each tookapart. I coy.
sented then, asTalsohave upon similar occasions since then,
Two weeks ago he called, having asked permission to spend thé
evening. A young man, my sister’s intended, came in shortly
after, and as we had but one sitting-room, we were obliged to be
together, as the rest of the family were in the dining-room, The
first part of the oer passed very pleasantly. We sang and
talked of everything that was right and proper, and enjoyed
each other’s company. My sister is always full of fun, and would
not do anything wrong. But I was reading aloud, and she kept
turning the light down, until finally she turned it out. It was
not relighted, and we sat there in a dark room without a thought
of wrong. Mr. A. conversed with me on friendly terms fora
while and then he asked meif I loved him. I said that I did.
He then acted in a way that a presumed lover is supposed to act.
I received his attentions, as I believed him in earnest. Present-
ly he began to take liberties that I thought were entirely incon-
sistent with manly dignity, and I, of course, resented them. He
saw immediately the mistake he had made, and asked my for-
veness. He said he loved me, and thought al! the more of me
ause of my sentiments. He said he was honorable, and no
one living could bring any charge ainst him, that it was the
first time in his life that he had ever insulted a lady, then it was
his own ignorance, and he was sorry and ashamed ofit. I did
teel Stary with him, but knew he had done wrong and had tried
to atone for it. I could not talk to him, and he took his leave,
after receiving a promise from me to go.to a party to which I
said before I would go. . He came that night. The events of the
revious evening kept coming into my mind, and I felt as though
could not meet himagain. Sol wrote hima letter telling him my
feelings and withdrew seacpeonnisn for the party. - I sent the letter
to him, and although I knew he deserved it, I thought he was
not all to blame, for I could not hold myself entirely unaccount-
able. Idid not expect an answer, yet the next day he came
through the rain with a letter, and was.shown into the room
where I was. He attempted to speak, but his feelings overcame
him, and he left. He wrote that he was honorable, that he loved
me, and wanted to prove to me that he was honest. Ofcourse, I
forgave him. The character of this young man is thought to be
good by all who know him. Hehas no bad habits, uses no
intoxicating liquors, and no tobacco in any form. He
is seen at church regularly every Sunday, but he is not
a professor of religion. I know heis respected by every one.
Our homes are both in the country. He is about twen-
ty-six and I am almost twenty-two. The questions I wish
answered are these, and rsd give me your candid
opinion: 1. If he had meditated this and didn’t love me, do you
think he would have tried to exonerate himself? and woutd he
have told his parents what he had done? 2. Did I do right in
forgiving him and receiving his attentions so soon again? It

 

xe ee s pocket, to being particularly active and
quicksilvery at the very time when he is wanted to
keep very still and quiet, then that person can sym-
pathize with me, for I was the victim.

Of course, the father of the infant was taken con-
veniently ill, and it fell to my lot to convey that
armfulof howling baby to the photographic gal-

 

lery.

The infant was arrayed in his royal felt, a work
which was complicated on this occasion by his de-
termination to wear his shoes on his hands, and to

unch a hole through his hat and wear it on one
leg like a garter, also, by his refusal to put his legs
into his drawers, and insisting on having them
tied tothe poker,so he could carry them likea

flag.

“Kiter two long, tedious hours we coaxed him into
the mysterious room. Then, when the man was
ready, the infant wouidn’t have his hair brushed;
then he insisted on brushing it himself; then he
wanted to go tosleep; then he discovered a little
girl about four years old, and he marched delibe-
rately up and kissed her on both cheeks; then he
smacked his lips as if he liked it; then he jammed her
bonnet over her eyes, kicked her on the shin, and

 

 

 

grandmother by slipping the clothes-line over her
head and tightening it by fixing his grandfather to
the other end and dr him out of the window.
But when he pinned his aunt ‘tq the cellar-door
with the teasting-fork ind drovw
the roof by putting blasting-p
people said that the man’s se
some kind of recognition over
deserved for putting his little brothers and sisters
in the well and then dropping cremated grind-
stones on them. ;

There was something about . mygn that warms

   
 

ed the heart toward‘him. After resigned from
the Thugs, he found relief for 4: yearning after
truth by grr upon the sac swing. Often
and often have [ seen him runthe iron hook
through the small of his back ortkrough the calf of
his leg, and go humming round and round, swear- |
ing at the man at the crank for turning so slow:
and then he would come down and ran the car
of Juggernaut over the ribs of three or four hun-
dred common people, and scrunch them up, and
go home feeling all the time that he hadn’t done
anything near his duty, and wasn’t half good
enough to associate with bas ma moral people.

But it is all over now. The alligators may go
hungry now as faras he is concerned. Who will
go prowling around picking up stray babies for
them now? Who will butcher superfluous people
in the hearty fashion he used to be 89. fond of?
Who will make slip-nooses of ldthes-lines and
suspend old people out of the windows, and shoot
unnecessary Corks out through the shingles and
up through the stars? Nobody about Ahmeddnug-
ger, any way. One town can’t very well grow more
than one such manas he, And nowthat his sim-

earried off her doll, and dipped it in a pail of dirty
water; then other folks came in, and we had to wait;
then the infant disappeared; then he was found in-
dustriously washing.a bonnet and green parasol
that he had taken from the little girl; the colors had
come out of the ridbons, and his nese was now
bright green, one cheek purple, the other blue, and
there was a broad stripe of yellow down the mid-
die of his forehead.

seems to me it has the appearance of a weak and easily influenced
mind. But not all the love or wealth in the world could in-
duce me to do wrong. 3. If he should ask me to marry him, as I
believe he intends to do, would it be advisable for me to accept
him now? or should I wait until he has proved himself more
worthy of an honest girl’s love?’ Let us begin by saying how
proud we feel that there are such noble girls as you have proved
yourself to be. We cannot praise too highly the manner in
which you promptly met such advances. Let our million readers
learn a great lesson from your example. Let no girl think for a
moment that she can commend herself to any man by permit-
ting dishonorable familiarities. She should rise instantly and
leave the room. His course shows he really loves you, and your
course has. bound. him—as it will any true man—all the more
closely to yourself. His telling it to his parents is additional
proot ofthis. Ifany exception at all is to be taken to your con-
duct, we think it is in the direction of too soon receiving him
back again. While you are right in forgiving him—upon due
proof of his sincere repentance—it would have been better both
for you and him to have put him upon alonger probation. Now,
that it is done, say nothing aboutit. Weadvise you not to accept
him at once, but tell him you will wait and see what he proves
himself to be, but you will receive his company.

. EB. Mc.—Address i letter: “Rt. Hon. Gathorne Hardy,
War Office, Pall Mall, London, England.”

A. W. H.—See reply to “J. H. Crook” and “‘P. J. Kinlen.”’

C. W. Aze.—Resident aliens are subject to taxes equally with
citizens. Each and all must contribute toward the expenses of
the government under which he lives, and whose privileges he
enjoys. Were it otherwise, particularly in communities where
there is a large proportion of aliens, the burden of local govern-
meee would be a very grievous one to the rest of the commu-
nity,

. H. C.—Fidelite is the French form of fidelity. It is pro-
nounced fe-dai-le-tai.

_ A. W. Cockrell.—Several ane have been made to bring a
live gorilla to this country, but they have all been failures.
Those which have been exhibited as gorillas from time to time
were chimpanzees. . :

W. H. V.—ist. Whether the will is a lesetesedepends upon the

 

chine. e man toid him a bird was comin,
opt ar the tube; the infant watched for the_bir
about two seconds, then deliberately got off his
‘chair, and started to look for the bird; the man
shut the cover down quick, but he was too late, the
photograph was spoiled; it gave the infant two
noses, and the top of his head was represented in
the middle of his heart. The man tried again; the
infant was quiet; the man thought he would get a
good picture; the man looked at his watch, pees
the infant to sit still. The man presently looke
up to put the cover on, and found the infant kicking
the back of the chair with his shoes, and looking
out of the window. It seems the infant had got up,
turned completely round and seated himself wit
his back to the camera. ~The effect was to give a

At last we got him washed and seated before the

 

picture with a double view of the infant—haif back
and half front, the face and the back were so mixed
that his nose seemed to be growing out of his neck,
his hair was sprouting all over his cheek while his
eyes calmly regarded the spectator from the back
of his h in the immediate vicinity of the bump
of curiosity.

The man retired to the closetto get the plate
reper try again. ;

In half an hour all was again ready, and the man

 

ple, and modest, and unpretending life is ended, I
offer him this little testimonial of my esteem, and
sigh to think what a man he would have been to
our little community where the corofer might have
followed him up and held about fifteen inquests a
day, and where he would have given the undertak-
ing business an impulse that would have put it
right upon its feet, and enabled some of us to get
up corners in coffins.

DOESTICKS’ LETTERS.
PHOTOGRAPHING A BABY,

Some years ago my big brother, Tom_Cliffson,
got married, one spare afternoon,out West, and
about a year or so afterward there came a baby, by
express, also from out West, Isuppose. Of course,
that infant was the most wonderful specimen of
small boy ever invented, and proud “parients” ex-
pected all the neighbors to take asolemn oath to
that effect within fiye minutes after coming into
the house. ;

It had the straightest nose, the reddest cheeks, the
handsomest mouth, the most symmetrical legs, and
the loudest voice ever yet possessed by mortal

 

aby. ;

The indignities have always had to submit to
from that specimen of Out-Westism aré something
fearful to relate, and a thousand times more fearful
to endure. The child evidently labors under the
delusion that uncles were invented only to be the
playthings of intelli. babies, and in this idea he
is aided and abetted by his fond mother.

IT am fond of bread and milk, but asa ruleI would
prefer_ taking it by way of the mouth to having it
poured onthe top of my head,-forit worn’t soak
through, as I know by the repeated experiments of
that wonderful infant. [Iam also partial to roasted
apples, but.I prefer gating them with a spoon to
having them ‘stuck into my shirt-bosom and per-
sistently hammered down by two baby fists.

The infant andIalso differ on the subject of
whisker-pulling; he wants to pull them ail out,a
handful at once, while [would rather part witha
few hairs at a time. : 7

On the questions of treading on toes, and being
hammered in the face with sticks of kindling-wood,
and having ‘‘sugar-teats,” especially second-hand
ones, stuck into my a and having molasses-
oon ot into my hair, and haying my wateb used
to poke the fire with, and on several other little
matters which greatly interest the infant mind, we
are decidedly at variance. : E :

But the unkindest cut of allis thatif [,even for
an instant, decline to accept in perfect quietude all
the attentions of that lovely babe,its mother, my
sweet sister-in-law, immediately declares it to be
her opinion that I am the greatest brute that has
lived since King Herod. To that I have to submit
in silence, even with a fond smile, to having miik
and molasses, and mashed potatoes and gravy, an
sausages, and all the things its mother eats, to say
nothing of the hundred incomprehensible messes
that are concocted for babies, all poured on top of
my head and allowed to dribble through my hair
or smeared over my face and be severely rubbed
into my whiskers.

Tam compelled to endure all the bumps, thumps,
raps, claps, and scratches that lie within the scope
of two year old ingenuity to inflict, and to bear it all
quietly, and even smilingly. se

if I venture to. insinuate that I am not cooked,
and would prefer not being deluged in gravy just

et; or if I dare to hint that I don’t positively |

aving carpet-tacks hammered into my skull wit
ht, that blessed baby’s mother goes off
into a fit of the sulks that lasts her till I buy the
baby a new toy ;.and even then the kiss of reconcil-
iation she gives me tastes more than half the time
as if, before she saluted me, she had just kissed a
Jemon with the rind off. ;

Tam tolerably well content with my features as
nature gavethem to me, and I certainly do nol agree
with the infant, when he seems to think he can in-

  

a paper-we

 

tried again. The infant was very quiet this time
for about four seconds; then he got a glimpse of
the little girl, and was impelled to nod to her and
to kiss his hand. The result was that this picture
“bh the infant twelve eyes and six noses, and the
ngers of his right hand were represented as try-
ing to force themselves down his throat.
he man went to the dark closet again. He came
out soon, but not till he had sworn all the skin off
the roof of his mouth, and taken the edge off his
front teeth. A ;

This time I volunteered to hold the infant in my
lap. The infant screamed for my watch, then he
would have it open, then he filled it full of molasses
eandy, then he was quiet; he then went to sleep in
my lap, and this time the man gota picture. To be
sure it didn’tlook more like the infant than it did
like anybody else’s y, but the man persuaded
the folks that it was an excellent likeness.

Before we got out of the place, the infant con-
trived to get his hands into a bowl of chemicals,
which dyed his fingers orange and eat his clothes
fullof holes. ;

The bill for pictures, chemicals, and all was $27.25,
and the greatest fun was that the intant tore the
picture into strips next day and nearly choked
himself by trying to swallow it in half-inch pieces.

relationshi thatactetar omecne heirs, If the disinherit-
Tolponship be or. she can Claim her share of the estate, un
der her herd of dower. If not, the will cannot be.broken on ti:c
ground of equal relationship with the party to whom the property
is devised. 2d. We do not know whether there is a veterinary
comage in Indiana.

A Favorite.—The name of the Duke of Portland is W.J. Cav-
endish Scott-Bentinck. His London address is 19 Cavendish
square.

E. C. D.—Colorado is not a State. The last Congress passed an
act to enable the people of that territory to form a consticution
and State government, and providing for the admission oi the
State into the Union-as soon as its constitution is adopted by a
vote of the people.

ta, a ee us the problem, and if acceptable we wiil
publish it.

P. J. Kinlen.—The admission to the Centennial grounds and
all the buildings will be only fifty cents. The total expense of
the trip will depend on how !ong the party propose to stay in the
city, and at what sort of a hotel you propose to put up.

foiner.—A child born in Canada, it its parents are residing
there permanently, is a British subject. ;

Grace B. W.—ist. As you will not be of an to marry for
two or three years yet, if you and your lover continue true to
each other, the opposition of your mother will probably be over-
come during the interval. The difference of twelve years in your
~~ is really no disparity, as the husband should be the senior
of his wife by a few years, and as you approach maturity the dif-
ference will bécome less apparent. 2d. In a country town,
where rents are low and. living corey cheaper than in the
city, an economical couple may live very comfortably on $12 a
week. 3d. Do not marry a man you do not love. .

J. H. Crook.—lsat. The reduction in railroad fares to Philadel-
phia, ae en Centennial Exhibition, will be about twenty-five
per cent. . The first-class fare from New York to Calcutta, In-
dia, via Erie Railway to San Francisco, is .

W. C. G.—Any writer of ordinary ability can put the facts in
readable form.

Lester Colman.—ist. The fare from New York to Philadelphia
is $2.75. 2d. Traviata is pronounced trah-vi-a-ta. 3d. The Duke
La Rochefoucauld’s mamims fill a volume of 150 es. 4th.
Alex. Davy Dumas, Dumas (vere), the novelist, died at Puy, near
Dieppe, France, Dec. 5, a

Cc. S. Edwards.—The quantity of MSS. in hand compels us to

more for some time to come.

. —You cannot change the color of your child’s
hair without the use of dyes, which are injurious, and will pre-
vent its healthy growth. Its present color doubtless harmonizes
with her complexion, and a change would be a disfigurement.

A. J, Kellogg.—ist. The pay of enlisted men in the U.S. army
is $13 per month, and the term of enlistment five years. There
are recruiting stations in nearly all large cities. 2d. Recruits for
the navy must be physically sound, and landsmen at least five
feet six inches in height. Able seamen receive $20 per month,
ordinary seamen $16, and landsmen $i4; each receives beside
$1.50 per month in lieu of the grog ration, which has been aboi-
ished. macraiting ofhoes may be found near the wharves in all
seaboard cities. None but men over twenty-one years of age are
enlisted. The term of enlistment isthe same as in the army—
five years. : :

James Cygnus.—The verses are crude in construction

Z. X, Jones, Jr.—VYou will have toe e asa fireman on a lo-
comotive. The pay is $40 a month and upward.

M. L. Osborne.— ae is pronounced ding-en.

North Scituate.—Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary contains an

 

decline purchasi
Reader, Phila.

 

They want me to take that infant for another pho-
tograph; if I do, Pll let you know.
Emphatically,
. K. PHILANDER Doxrsticxs, P. B.

—_—_—_—— > @<__ —_——
To Corresvondents.

To BuyErs.—Ali communications in regard to the prices or the
purchasing of various articles must be ressed to the NEW
YORK WEEKLY Purehasing Agency, contain the full address of
the ae specify the size, quantity or quality of the goods
desired. Those requiring an answer must have two three-cent
stamps inclosed. Owing to the large increase of letters to be an-
swered in this column, a delay of several weeks must necessarily
ensue before the answers appear in print.

Novrics.—With every mail we receive a number of letters on
various subjecta, in which the writers request an answer by mail
instead of through the various departments. Todo this we are
compelled to employ additional help, beside being put to consid-
erable trouble and expense to obtain the information. is we
will cheerfully submit to when the questions are answered
through our columns, as the knowledge thus imparted will inter-
est and benefit the mass of our readers; but in the future, to se-
cure an answer by mail, persons desiring it must inelose a FIFTY
CENT STAMP, to pay Us for our trouble and

 

 

aa Gossip WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
Estelle and Nellie write: “As we are in trouble, and concern-
jing something regarding which we hesitate consulting our
| friends, we come to you for advice. About twoyears ago I be-
came acquainted with a young man about three years my senior.
After a year’s acquaintance I found that he loved me, and I re-
turned ‘his love. He soon left the neighborhood, and for some
time we corresponded, until I suppose he became displeased at
some joke of mine and stopped writing. After a few weeks I
wrote a note, as¥me his forgiveness for my carelessness, but
still I received no answer. Now I am not sure he received either
of these, for it seems he would have been gentlemanly enough
to have answered. I am very sorry that there has m any
trouble, but Pdomot like to write a third time until he answers.
My friend, Nelli€, is also in trouble. She says: ‘About eighteen
months age I became vigiwere on with @ young gentleman, and

 

we loved each other. ~ ere engaged, and fora time we saw
no obstacle to our uhioh. But about two months age a lady
friend told me that some very’bad.-stories were out concerning
him, and that it would be welt for me to drop him. I love him,
and it would kill me to do that, so I don’t know whattode. The

oung man is absent at present, and when he returns Ido not
now how to receive him. Shall I tell him of those‘ stefiea, or
shall I refuse to see him? Please notice this, as I am Nearly
broken-hearted.’ Now, kind friend, please tell us both what to
do.” Estelle—If the young man has been residing continuously in
one place, the probability is that he did.receive one or the other
of your letters, and we advise you not to write again. To doso
would only cheapen you in his eyes, and excite in trim feelings of
contempt for you. Better let him alone, and remember that wo-
men are always the strongest in their power over men when
they hold themselves back to be sought, rather than appear to
make any advances toward the men. Beside this, a man who
cannot take a joke and is so easily offended, shows that he is not
fit to besomethe husband of any tender and loving woman.
Nellie—We advise you to receive him when he returns, but to tell
him candidly about the stories you have heard. You owe it both
to yourself and to him. If you cannot speak te him directly,
then prepare a carefully written letter, and ask him what he can
gay in the way of explanation, Ifthere remains any doubt about
his character, then get some male member of your family to

 

 

appendix giving the pronunciation of proper names.

Mrs. Swan.—A letter addressed to the lady at this office will
reach her.

E. F. Beck.—ist. There is not the slightest probability of your
securing an appointment as a cadet at either West Point or An-
napolis. 2d. A book of instruction on the accordion will cost 75
cents. 3d. Do not attempt to remove your eyebrows.

Canadian Heiress.—Have nothing to do with the bonds, an®
you will incur no risk.

Jas."Bond.—Iist. The new series will be commenced soon. 2d.
Prebably. The matter has not been deci

Inquirer.—ist. The parties ma) noe each by his or her own
name. 2d. Railroad fares to Philadelphia will be reduced 25 per
cent. during the progress of the Centennial, but $100 will hardly
pay the expenses of three persons, including fare both 7s be-
tween Fort Wayne and Philadelphia, and hotel bills for four

days.

iF. C. Dines.—Read Ewbank’s “‘Life in Brazil.” It is consid-
ered the best work on that country. We will furnish it for $3.

Ware Josh.—Consuit a good landscape painter. ee

Geo. F. Jennings.—Exhibitors are not charged for space in the
exhibition buildings at Philadelphia. Applications must be
made to the commissioners for your State.

The following MSS. will appear in the Mammoth Monthiy Read-
er: “In the Garden of Gethsemane,” “‘Wife’s Commandments,”
“The Orphan’s Story.”” Phe following are respectfully declined:
“Clouds and Sunshine,” ‘“Phe Captain’s Daughter,” ‘Watching
and Waiting the Tide,” “The Dream of Youth,” ‘‘Myrtle’s Vow.”

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.

Belle.—You were right in your assertion. Flowers have ahyays
been symbols of the affectio: probably ever since our first pa-
rents tended theirs in the garden of God’s own peotne. They

ied a e
he

 
 
 

 

 

seem hallowed from that association, and inten p
represent pure, tender and devoted thoughts and feelings.
expression of these feelings has been in all ages the province of
poetry. All that leve flowers and poetry are not love-sick school
girls or boys by any means. Tt is an indication of a refined na-
) ture, that bears the impress of an earnest spirit seeking the good,
Jand true, and beautiful. White lily is purity and beauty, and
the gentleman that sent you that flower paid you a compliment.

S. M. D.—While the young lady is visiting her friend, we see

no way for you to meet her, unless | calling upon her at her
friend’s house. Wethink you should endeayor to overcome
your objection to calling at the place where she is visiting, out of
respect to the young lady, if you value her friendship.
ome.—Ist. An invitation to a ball should be given at least a

week beforehand. 2d. Upon entering, first address the lady of
the house, and after her, the nearest acquaintance you may re-
cognize in the house. 3d. If you introduce a friend, make him

uainted with the names of the chief persons present. But
first present him to the lady of the house, and to the host, 4th.
Do not select the same partner frequently. 5th. If there are
more dancers than the room will accommodate; do not join in
every dance.
. Anna C.—If you have pretty hands and arms, there can be no
objection to your playing on the harp if you play well, 2d. if
you would live happily, endeavor to promote the happimess of
others. ie ;

J. H.—Moderation, decorum, and neatness, distinguish the
entlemman. He is at all times affable, and studious to please.
ntelligent and polite, his bebavior is pleasant and graceful.

When he enters the dwelling of an inferior, he endeayors to hide
if possible, the difference between their ranks in life. In the
mansions of the rich the correctness of his mind induces him to
bend to etiquette, but not to stoop to adulation. Correct princi-
ples caution him to avoid the gaming-table or an other foible
that could occasion him self-reproach. Appear only to be a gen-
tleman, and its shadow will brimg upon you contempt: be a

 

 

gentleman and its henors wil remain even after you are dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ened Bett 5