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STREET & SMITH, j
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VoL. XXXI.

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

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29, 31 Rose St.,

 

 

THR PRIDE OF MY HEART.

BY FRANCIS S. SMITH.

 

 

My love she is tender,
She’s petite and slender,
Her tresses are dark and her eyes are sky-blue;
i She’s sprightly and airy, .
She moves like a fairy,
And the heart in her bosom is leyal and true.
She is perfect in feature,
The sweet Httle creature,
She’s natural, truthful, and free from ali art;
She’s brilliant and witty,
And full of sweet pity—
My dear one, my own one, the pride of my heart.

The gay belle of the ball,
Grand, voluptuous, and tall,
Ia the eyes of some critics a Juno may be;
But with all her grand charms,
Swelling bust and bare arms,
She hasnt the beauty that fascinates me.
No, a figure petite,
And @ countenance sweet,
And a form nicely rounded by nature—not art—
fs what I desire,
And makes me admire
My dear one, my own one, the pride of my heart.

——_—_—__>-9+____——

THE JEW BANKER;

OR, THE

WOLVES OF WARSAW.

By JUSTIN JONES [Harry Hazel.]

Author of “THE MUTE SPY,” “WEST POINT
CADET, “VIRGINIA GRAHAM, THE
SPY OF THE GRAND ARMY,” “THE
YANKEE GOVERNESS,” “THE
JAYHAWKEKERS.” etc. ete.

CHAPTER 1.
THE FORBIDDEN WEDDING.

There are no people on the civilized portions of
the earth who possess a greater devotion to their
native soil than the Poles. §
fixed decree of the autocrat of all the Russias, that
ifa banished man returns from his exile without

 

permission of the imperial power, it shall be re- |
garded as the worst of ecrimes—a crime _ only to be |

expiated by an ignominious death of the daring
offender—yet there are well-known instances of
Polish exiles returning, and subjecting themselves
to every deprivation possible to endure, comforted
only by the seamingly poor boon of inhaling the
atmosphere of Polish skies, and treading the blood-
stained soil of their ancestors.

On a fine autumnal evening, in the year 185—, the
magnificent cathedral of Warsaw was brilliantly il-
luminated, on the occasion of the nuptials of Al-
bert Zolinski, a SUG, and talented officer of ar-
tillery, and Olympia Marieville, the daughter of
Thadeus Marieville, a Polish noble and perics.
who was exiled in the year 184—, when Olympia
was too young to understand that a “journey to Bi-
Rs was seldom followed by ajourney from Si-

aria.

The cathedral was thronged by the many friends
of the happy pair, and also by hundreds of curious
visitors, who had only heard of the marvelous
beauty of the exile’s daughter, and who availed
themselves of this opportunity to feast their eyes
upon one who had excited so much envy even
among the fairest of her sex of the capital of the
Polish kingdom.

The bridal procession advanced up the broad isle
of the cathedral, and stood before the gorgeously
decorated altar; the archbishop and assistants in
their Pee a robes, also appeared, and only
awaited the last note of an appropriate voluntary
upon the grand organ toe cease reverberating
through the grand arches of that high and capa-
cious interior, as preliminary to the imposing and
solemn rites.

All was at length silent, and the ceremony pro-
ceeded. Four groomsmen were attendant upon the
bride and bridegroom, as bridesmaids are not
recognized in the marriage rites of the Greek
church. The archbishop haying first placed in the
hands of both the bride and bridegroom a lighted
wax candle, he proceeded, with a loud and solemn
voice to read the ritual, to which each gave audible
responses. He then took from the altar two rings
—one for the bride, and one for the bridegroom.
After placing the rings on their right. hands, he
eovered them with astole, and led them three times
around the altar, followed by the groomsmen who
held over their heads, meanwhile, a golden crown.

During this part of the ceremony all announce-
ments of any objection, legal or otherwise, why a
marriage should not take place, must made,
otherwise the final decree of the consummation of
the marriage is immediately pronounced by the
ee toe: or as soon as’ the father or guardian
of the bride steps forth to place her hand in that of
her wedded lord. :

The uncle of Olympia, Rufin Marieville, who had
beento her as a kind and indulgent father, since
his brother’s exile, advanced to perform his part in
tlie ceremony, and had already taken her hand,
when a voice from a group upon the right of the
altar, spoke in loud and ringing tones:

“Hold! Rufin Marieyille! In the name of Tha-
deus Marieville, J forbid the banns!”

Had a thunderbolt from Jove’s artillery descend-
ed upon one of the towers of the great cathedral
at that moment, it could scarcely have awed that
immense assemblage into a momentary silence
more effectually than did the stentorian tones that
fell upon their ears at that critical and interesting
point of the eeremony.

Rufin Marieville turned with a startled and ap-
palled aspect toward the spot whence the bold
warning had come. The bride fell fainting in her
lover’s arms. The archbishop and his assistants
gazed sullenly upon the disappointed group, as if
to ferret out the audacious person who had thus
disturbed the sanctity of that holy place.

Presently the figure of a stranger, stately and
dignified in demeanor,. who had been leaning
against one of the massive pillars that sustaine
the gallery, made his way through the fashionable
throng, and stalked with an exalted air toward the
bridal group.

All eyes were at once concentrated upon this
stranger, for there was no: one of that vast assem-
blage who could remember ever having seen him
before—and they gazed with exceeding interest
and curiosity, for certainly there was that in his
air and manner which marked him as no ordinary
personage. ‘

He was attired in the garb of a Lithuanian noble,
and carried in his hand a massive gold-headed
_— which he held as majesty might hold a scep-

er,

The lower features of his face were concealed by
& well-trimmed gray beard, and wavy gray locks
covered his head, and strayed around his neck and
the upper portion of his massive brow in great
profusion for one of his apparent years. His face
was full and somewhat flushed, and it wore a severe
and commanding expression, commingled with
solemnity and sadness; and although the stately
figure and firm step indicated. that he had not
passed the prime of man’s existence, yet his aspect
was somewhat venerable, and at once commanded
the respect, if not the sympathies of that large
concourse of the beauty and fashion of Warsaw.

‘This ceremony must proceed no. farther!’ said
he, in half-whispering tones, in the ear of the
bride’s uncle.

‘And who. is-he that has dared to interrupt it?”
demanded Rufin Marieville, meeting the earnest
gaze of the stranger, ;

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A voice from a group upon the right of the altar, spoke in loud and ringing tones:

 

“Did I not speak in the name of Thadeus, thy
brother—this maiden’s father? By his instigation
Iam here.”

“Alas! we have long mourned him as dead!” was
Rufin’s reply. “He did not long survive his terri-
ble sentence of banishment to the steppes of Sibe-
ria!

“TI repeat—Thadeus Marieville still lives!” per-
sisted the stranger, in the same half-whispering
tones. ‘On the honor’of a Polish patriot I know it
to be true. And ere many days have passed I will
— you abundant proof—but not here—but not

ere.

_t haye already proof of his death!” said Rufin.

The official announcement of his demise was sent
me long ago from St. Petersburg. Who can gainsay
imperial authority ?”

“Art thou so blind as not to have discovered that
this was a stratagem—a, political artifice. Is it not
true that all the people of Russia, and of Poland,
too, are made to believe that all who are exiled to
Siberia, die there! unless pardoned by the Czar?
Was it ever acknowledged that an exile ever suc-
ceeded in making a successful escape from Sibe-
ria?

“We cannot acknowledge that which is impos-
sible,” remarked Rufin, thoughtfully; “and yet I
eee” why itis thou hast raised a doubt in my

reast.”

“Because I speak the words of truth,” answered
the stranger; “‘and I promise thee, on the honor of
aman, tomake goodthat which I have uttered.
Therefore retire, Rufin Marieville, to thy home.
Take thy yet unwedded niece with thee. I, alone,
will answer to thee, most satisfactorily, for this in-
terruption.”

This conversation had taken placein such low,
almost whispering tones, that no other ears had
heard it.

“Young man,” he continued, turning to Albert
Zolinski, “bide thy time, and thou mayest yet bea
happy bridegroom.” :

‘Olympia goes: from this cathedral only as my
bride,” exclaimed Zolinski, still nae the almost
unconscious maiden in his arms, while gazing de-
fiantly at the stranger.

“Rash youth! beware! It is worth more than thy
life to wed this maiden. Knowestthou not that she
is'the daughter of an exile?”

“Yes, I know all! [have gained the assent ofthe
highest authorities of this place to take her hand in
marriage. Besides, have I not the full consent and
warm approval of her uncle, who has so long been
iuih pueachor and guardian ?”

“Yes, Albert Zolinski; I know all, and more than
thou canst know at this time. Murmur not, threat-
en not, and all may be as thou wishest. Raise but
thy hand or voice against my authority, and she is
lost to thee forever ! FOREVER!!”

The solemn and impressive earnestness with
which the stranger uttered these last words caused
the disappointed lover to relinquish his half-wed-
ded bride into the hands of Rufin Marieville, and
the hand which clutched the hilt of his sword fell,
as if suddenly paralyzed, by his side. )

The arehbishop and his retinue. meanwhile, re-
tired in dignified disgust from before the assembled
multitude, the lights of the altar were extinguished,
and murmurs of disappointment, and remarks ex-
pressive of wonder, were heard on all sides.

The beauteous Olympia, accompanied by her two
female attendants and uncle, and followed by the
sorely disappointed Zolinski, and the four grooms-
men, the latter highly excited and indignant, were
at length enabled, by the dispersion of a large por-
tion of the assemblage, to reach the vestibule of the
cathedral before the lights were entirely extin-
guished. . :

ree was lifted into her uncle’s e¢arriage, in-
stead of the bridal carriage of her intended hus-
band, and it was driven rapidly away toward the
almost palatial mansion, which she had left but an
hour before, little dreaming that: she should again,
50 om pass another night beneath its hospitable
roof.

The stranger, who had thus se summarily thwart-
ed the cherished hopes of the lovers, had wrapped

a long dark cloak about him, and drawn aslouched |
hat. over his massive forehead, thus enabling him- | I
iselfto disappear, unnoticed, in the thickets of the | despite the earnest remonstrances of the brothers |

 

throng, as it poured from the wide portals of the
cathedral.

Albert Zolinski, in an agony of desperation, at-
tempted to rush toward Marieville’s coach, as he
beheld his soul’s idol lifted into it, but he was held
back by his two brothers, until-it was impossible
to reach it. He then was placed perforce in the in-
tended bridal coach, andin company with his two
brothers, Louis and Michael Zolinski, and his
friend Stanislaus Kontrenko, was driven rapidly
away ina contrary direction, and toward a delight-
ful chateau, overlooking the river Vistula, in which
had been prepared the nuptial chamber of the be-
trothed lovers. crSR

The coach had passed the Casimir Palace, and had
turned into a dimly-lighted and narrow street lead-
ing toward the Vistula, when from both sides of the
street a dozen armed men, dressed as Russian offi-
cials, suddenly appeared and ordered the driver to
stop the vehicle; but, instead of obeying the per-
emptory demand, he struck the horses with his
noe whip, causing them to leap violently for-
ward.

Two of the red-collared subjects of the Czar, how-
ever, had succeeded in seizing the horses by the
heads, but they were made to unloose their grasp,
and were thrown suddenly and violently to the
earth, and the wheels of the heavy carriage passed
over them.

The others, finding themselves likely to be baf-
fled in the attack, fired two or three: pistol-shots,
when from below seven or eight men, also armed,
and wearing the official red collar, came quickly
up, and succeeded in arresting the flight of the
horses, and then ordered the coachman to dis-
mount on pain of instant death.

The leader of the attacking party, with drawn
swords, and backed by his followers with pistols
and glittering sabers, appeared at the door of the
carriage and demanded the names of the four per-
sons who occupied it.

“By what authority do ye, like midnight assass-
ins, thus stop a gentleman’s carriage ?” demanded
Stanislaus Kontrenko, the personal friend of Albert
Zolinski. %

“By the same right that the Czar rules in War-
saw,” was the reply of the Muscoyite officer, “Iam
here to arrest one Albert Zolinski, formerly of the
Imperial Legion.” j :

, and is he not now an officer in the imperial ser-
vice ?”

‘His commission is revoked, and I now _ arrest
him for violating an imperial.ukase,” was the an-
swer of the Muscovite.

“Prithee what is the nature of the offense ?” de-
manded Stanislaus. ;

“He is charged with marrying, without the im-
perial consent, the daughter of an exiled convict—
one Thadeus Marieville.”’

“Tt is false!” cried Albert. “I gained the assent
of the viceroy, the highest authority of Poland.”
“That, too, has been revoked,” replied the official.

“TItds impossible! I’ll not believe it!” returned
Albert.

“Thou’rt a madman to dispute it!” exclaimed the
Russian. “But I can no longer parley with thee in
the street. I arrest Albert Zolinski by authority.”

“Thy charge is utterly groundless,” rejoined Mi-
chael Zolinski, the elder brother of Albert. ‘No
such marriage has been consummated.”

“Lying Pole! Thinkest thou thus to thwart the
officers of justice? Are we not all witnesses to the
marriage? With mine own eyes I saw the bridal
pair enter the cathedral searcely an hour since.
Come—I'll hear no more. Officers, take charge of
the prisoner, and eonvey him to the polizei (police
bureau). Thou hadst better die than suffer him to
escape.”

During this somewhat heated colloquy the door
of the carriage had been opened, and the whole
force of gendarmes had surrounded it; so that es-
cape might be impossible.

Many passers-by, and denizens of the street, had
meanwhile been attracted toward the scene by the
high words that had been used, without compre-
hending very accurately the nature of the business.

The prisoner and his friends had now alighted; |
| man and beast.”

the former was seized and manacied, and the offi-
eers had already commenced dragging him away,

 

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I forbid the banns!’

 

Zolinski, and Stanilaus Kontrenko, when a voice,
which came from one who had at the moment
joined the throng of spectators, a voice like that
which had been heard in the great cathedral, ut-
tered these words, in loud and animated tones:
‘Poles, this is a Russian outrage! A blow at_the
personal liberty of every man who hears me. Wilt
thou stand thus listlessly and see an innocent
countryman of thine dragged away before thy very
eyes. Tothe rescue! to the rescue! Vaszol! vas-
zol! (Forward! forward!’’) ;
; These last words were uttered in stentorian
ones.

There was no mistaking this bold man’s identity.
It was he who had forbidden the nuptials to be sol-
emnized between Zolinsky and the daughter of the
exiled Marieville.

He boldly advanced toward the red-collared gen-
try, brandishing a heavy sword, and was resolutely
followed by the brothers Zolinski, Kontrenko, and
several of the by-standers, who were also Poles,
and who had suddenly gained a little patriotic
enthusiasm from the unknown stranger’s brief
harangue.

The contest was but a brief one.

The Russians stood their ground but for a mo-
ment, and then fled, their loud-mouthed leader
first setting the example, leaving the Poles masters
of the situation.

The rescued prisoner was quickly released from
his manacles and again assisted into the carriage,
followed only by the heroic stranger. The vehicle
was then drivensorapidly from the scene that

ursuit would have been vain, even if the officials

ad recovered their lost ground, by overpowering
those who remained.

When the melee was over, those who had taken
part in the brief struggle, vanished quietly through
the by-places which that dark, dismal street afford-
ed, thus permitting the discomfited minions of im-
perial power to seek their revenge on some future
occasion, and their redoubtable leader to report to
his munificent master the ill-success of his strata-

gem.

““And now for a place of safety,” said Stanislaus
Kontrenko to Louis and Michael. “This affair will
surely compromise us. The Russian blood-hounds
will seek to scent us out as soon as they. can re-
eover from the sound drubbing we have given
them. Let us quickly separate, each taking a dif-
ferent direction, and finally meet atthe kavezma
(inn) of faithful Jan Zerwodski. Enter at the se-
eret door. must avoid being seen in the streets
in each other’s company.”

“Tl go by the way of the Grand Bazaar,” said

ouis.
_“And I'll take the route by the Zamek,” chose
Stanislaus.

“And I’ll continue to find my way thither by the
Church of 8t. Borromeo,” added Michael.

The trio separated, and although they selected
circuitous routes, they arrived at Jan Zerwodski’s
Inn, within seven minutes of each other.

 

CHAPTER II.
THE SECRET RETREAT.

The inn of Jan Zerwodski was the favorite resort
of great numbers of the best class of the Poles of
Warsaw, notwithstanding it was generally under-
stood that Jan’s political proclivities were decidedly
Russian; and it was his chief delight to obtrude
his political sentiments upon those Polish citizens
who relished not the iron rule of the Czar, especially
whenever any of the Muscovité gentry were pre-
sent. But he did it with such good humor that his
countrymen—for he was a native of the Polish eap-
ital—were never offended, while the partisans—we
might add,the worshipers—of the em'peror were
always delighted.

Jan’s entire establishment embraced quite a num-
ber of buildings, which, one after another, he had
conjoined to the original or main structure, and
which together covered an unusually large space
of ground merely for inn accommodations; but, as
he énlarged his premises, he introduced other fea-
tures besides those of mere “accommodation for

He had established a pistol gallery, a fencing-
room, a card-room, a billiard-saloon, a club-room,

 

and one or two other departments besides those
which legitimately belong to a well-regulated Po-
lish, public-house.

The chief reason why the Russians did_ not very
generally patronize Jan, was because the Poles who
frequented there were ever to be found greatly in
the majority, and fairly gained a monopoly of all
the comforts and sporting conveniences of the es-
tablishment.

The secret door to which Stanislaus had alluded,
was known only to the members of a.certain club
which met there as frequently as once in a week,
ostensibly for convivial purposes but really for the
purpose of conferring together upon matters of
serious and vital import as they considered them.

Entrance to this secret door, even by the mem-
bers of the secret club, was never resorted to un-
less in extremely emergent cases, such as, for ex-
ample, that which caused Stanislaus Kontrenko and
the brothers Zolinski to avail themselves thereof,
when it was anticipated that the hounds of the
despot, or the ‘““Wolves of Warsaw,” would soon be
upon their track.

It was a peculiar contrivance, so ingenious, so
unique, that no traces of either door or window
could be discovered upon the exterior or interior
of the wall.

Stanislaus reached the inn first, but he approach-
ed not by the most frequented way, for when he had
arrived within perhaps a hundred yards of the
front building, he turned down a dark alleyway,
and after groping his way along cautiously upon
the slippery and rough pavement, he reached an
arched passage running ata right angle from the
alley, which, after passing through he gained a
small oblong area in the rear of one of Jan’s united
group of tenements.

A trellise, with vines, well nigh covered the entire
face of the wall, but unlike other trellises, it was
found that a small portion of it would move to and
fro like a common door, although nothing bearing
resemblance to a hinge could be seen. The wall
behind was built of timbers laid horizontally—a
common mode of building in Poland.

Stainslaus, after proving his knowledge of the
true secret of the trellise, also satisfied himself that
he had not quite forgotten another secret, and that
was—a section of one of the horizontal timbers
some three feet in length would move on its center,
making an aperture sufficiently capacious for an
ordinary sized man to go through. Between the
timbers and inner wainscoting there was a space of
some sixteen inches in width, with height enough
for ome to stand erect. A sliding panel, fitted with
a secret spring, only had to be drawn aside to admit
our refugee within the apartment, a large, comfort-
ably-furnished room, with chairs sufficient for a
dozen or fifteen persons to be seated, but which was
now unoceupied except by the new-comer, so far
as he gould discern by means of a match which he
struck on entering, and immediately extinguished.

Three or four minutes elapsed when Louis Zo-
linski arrived, and went through the same process
that his friend did who had preceded him; and im-
mediately after came Michael. The trio now felt
themsélves in at least a temporary refuge of safe-
ty. The room was so totally dark that they could
only recognize each other by their voices.

anislans |\—Touls !? said Michael, as he gained
ingress to their hiding-place.

“Here—here!” the two former answered, simul-
taneously. ‘‘Are we alone?” asked Michael.

“T struck a match on entering, and satisfied my-
self that thereisno one here besides ourselves,”
replied Stanislaus.

“Then we are safe forthe night at least,” re-
marked Louis. “The hungry wolves have ever
failed to scout out their prey in this asylum, thanks
to good Jan Zarwodski.”

“Ought we not to apprise him that we are here?”
asked Michael.

“Let us wait until it istime for the inn loungers
to have dispersed,” answered Stanislaus. “Jan
does not retire until some time after his grand en-
trance is closed for the night.”

“You advise well,” said Louis. “We can’t be too
cautious, for we have been engaged in a scene to-
night which will insure usa journey far beyond
the Uxal mountains, unless some good stroke of
fortune favors us.”

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“They may transport my poor body there, but
my spirit shall not go withit. That belongs to
Poland,” said Stanislaus, with determined empha-

sis.

“But what offense have we committed that should
cause us to fear banishment to Siberia?” asked
Michael. ; a :

“We have assisted in resisting the authority of a
military satrap, which, with the gxangeratod ac-
count of the offense that will surely be given, is
enough to constitute one of the gravest of offenses,
replied Kontrenko. “And may Heaven have mercy
upon that nobivioo king stranger who came to our
rescue! If they seize him they’ll torture him to
death with the knout.”

“And yet he was the prime cause of all,” said Mi-
chael. “What possible motive could he have hadin
interrupting the marriage ceremony at the cathe-
dral? How came he possessed of the power to stand
between the church and Albert and his betrothed?
And who can he be?” |

“Your first inquiry he promised to explain to

Rufin Marieville and to your brother. As for his

power to forbid the banns, he looked as if the Al-

mighty had bestowed it upon him. Who heis no
one appeared to know, but Iam content to have
discovered that he isa Pole, and can strike when

Polish rights are trampled upon by the red-collared

minions of Cossack despotism,” was the answer

of Kontrenko, in half-inaudible but emphatic
tones,

“T can forgive his interference at the cathedral
because of his daringly risking his life to prevent
Albert’s arrest,” said Louis. “He seemed more
than a match for the whole herd of Muscovites. I
never before beheld asword wielded with such
matchless dexterity, for the sabers of his opponents
flew out of their hands and rattled upon the pave-
ments in all directions. Such a swordsman might
have excited the envy of the great Pulaski himself,
of whom it is said he never failed to disarm his an-
tagonist.”

‘Oh, that poor, suffering Poland had ascore of
such men, for warriors and leaders, as he appeared
to be!” exclaimed Stanislaus. ‘His yery bearing,
so commanding and noble, might excite the sleep-
ing patriotism, and fire the dull souls of every Pole
in the kingdom, to rise up and drive the Russian
wolves, howling back far beyond the eastern boun-
dary of ancient Poland!” 1

“Speak not quite so audibly, good Stanislaus,”
cautioned Michael. ‘“‘Even these insulated walls
will not prevent tho conduct of loud words to ears
beyond, especially when such stillness prevails as
at this hour. Let us say no more of the mysterious
stranger at present, but let us confer together, in
whispers only, and agree upon some plan of action,
that may either defy the ravenous hunters, or get
ourselyes out of tho unfortunate dilemma in which
we are plated ?” : .

“You caution wisely, my friend,” said the impet-
uous Kontrenko,” in whispers. “I will curb this
unruly tongue of mine, or clip it off with my stilet-
to. Now. Michael, you are excellent in devices:
Show us how an unearthed fox may escape from a

ack of hounds; or how an exile may escape from

Biberia, and there is st£l hope for us.”

Leaving our trio of refugees seated in the dark
room of Jan Zerwodski’s inn, discussing plans for
their future safety, let us take a view of that part of
the inn which was well Latites and presented a
more animated and hospitable appearance. |

Within the same hour, but perhaps a few minutes
later, that our three refugees had sought their
piace of concealment, a party of five red-collared
officials entered the public room of Jan’s inn and
mingled: with the many guests there assembled.
The badges of their Besiccsion were hidden be-
neath a loose Polish froek, or blouse, such as the
ora, people usually wear, and their official
dignity had been somewhat dampened by the sub-
stitution of a jauny Polish cap, instead of the stiff
regulation cap, which they had doffed afew min-
utes before calling at the karezma. A poor dis-
guise, indeed; for the Russian gendarme, howeyer
metamorphosed, could no more look like a Pole
than a Chinaman could look like a Yankee.

Jan, the landlord, saw the real character of his
new customers the moment they entered, and he
approached them with his usual civility and suay-
ity, begging them to beseated, and then began set-
tia forth the riches of his larder and of his cel-

rs. , ;

His persuasive words resulted in their ordering
supper. They then expressed a wish that while
supper was being prepared, they might be permit-

_ ted to visit the bowling and billiard saloons, card
he Ae and othee spinmeclre apartments of this
really famous public resort.

Of actnen Jan appeared delighted, and he ordered
one of his assistants to escort these new guests
through the several apartments, at the same time
he was more than suspicious that they were
“wolves in sheep’s clothing,” on the track of some
one within his establishment; and that one must
be one of his own countrymen, for itso happened
that, besides the would-be strangers, there was not,
nor had there been, asingle Russian guest at the
inn during that evening.

His mind naturally reverted tothe secret cham-
ber with the secret entrance; but as yet, among
the long string of bells, communicating by wires
with every part of the inn, that of this room had
not been struck. ;

His eyes glanced toward the bells with a nervous
eagerness whenever one of them tinkled, and when
at length his anticipation was realized, he darted
out of the room to obey the summons, with a readi-
ness which he rarely exhibited, leaving the now
few loitering guests to the care of his assis-
tants. ;

He returned after the lapse often or fifteen min-
utes, and resumed his duties as if nothing unusual
had oceurred, but there was an expression of satis-
faction resting upon his countenance, notwith-
standing he was harboring refugees in his house,
and was aware also of the presence of Russian de-
tectives in disguise, whose errand he perfectly un-
derstood.

After having been escortedthrough the several
apartments of Jan’s_ establishments, excepting
those which were used for his private guests, they
returned to the grand public room, when they were
informed by Janthat their supper was ready,and he
led them to a small adjoining apartment where the
little entertainment they had ordered was served.

“Tt is pleasant, landlord,” remarked one of the
guests, “to find a house of entertainment where
Polish customs are so well observed and Russian
doors do not frequent.”

“My house is open to all without regard to their
nationality,” replied Jan. “Allare welcome who
a not begrudgingly pay for their accommoda-

ions.”

“But among your many guests we have seen only
ourown countrymen,” said the first speaker, in-
quiringly. .

“Your observation, then, is not as keen as mine,”
returned the landlord: “‘for, besides Poles, we have
entertained to-night, Muscovites, Lithuanians, and
Cossacks; but we are allof one nationality now,
and distinctions are odious to the power that rules.”

“Know you, landlord, the three brothers Zolinski,
of Warsaw ?”

“Ah! right well—noble young men are the Zolin-
skis,” replied Jan, unhesitatingly. “One of them
if an officer of the Imperial Legion, and this, if re-
port speaks correctly, is his wedding-night.”

“Know you also Stanislaus Kontrenko ?”

“Ah! how could [but know so good a customer
as Kontrenko? Heis rich, andspends his money
as a rich young noble should do.”

“Has he, or either of the Zolinskis, been here to-
night?” asked the disguised Official.

“You do not know them, then ?” queried Jan.

“Most assuredly we all know them.”

“That is very strange,” continued the landlord:
“for just before you came in I was conversing with
two of the Zolinskis and their friend Kontrenko.
You must have passed them atthe very threshold
of the inn! Acarriage awaited them at the door,
and it drove away immediately before you entered.”
“Know you in what direction ?”

“Tdid not make the inquiry, though I inferred
from their conversation that Cracow was their im-
mediate place of destination.”

“Thank you, landlord; and pardon me for being
thus inquisitive, for we have journeyed from Rom-
berg to Warsaw on especial and urgent. business
with these gentlemen. Weintended to have been
your guests for the night, but must now be satisfied
with your excellentsupper.”

The detectives quickly finished their evening r
past, and after paying the landlord and ecompli-
menting him upon the excellence of his inn gener-
ally, hastily to0k their leave.

In less than thirty minutes afterward a Kabitka,
drawn by four fleet horses, passed rapidly through
one of the principalstreets of Warsaw, and entered
upon the great post-road leading toward Cracow.

Meanwhile Jan had sought the company of his
three refugee guests in the secret apartment, and
conveyed to them a substantial repast with his own
hands; and while they were partaking of it he en-
tertained them with an account of all thatthe reader
knows of his interview with the red-collared of-
ficials in disguise.

 

CHAPTER III.
THE JEW BANKER.

Leading from the square in front of that ancient
and palatial pile of buildings, called the Zamek—
onee the residence of the kings of Poland, but now
an imperial palace of Russia—is a street called
Lobieski, probably named in honor of the patriot,
: a Lobieski, who figures prominently in Polish
nistory.

In this street, atthe interesting period of which
we are writing, there lived one Mordecai Brunn,
ostensibly a banker, but in reality a diamond mer-
chant and a money-lender. He was apparently as
thorough a Jew as any one of his faith could be.

Mordecai had not long been a resident of War-
saw,and although but little known tothe rabbis,
and to the society of Jews generally, his name was
familiar among princes, nobles, andthe money
kings, not only throughout Poland, but in the great
cities of the Russian_empire, and even in the pal-
aces of the Czar and Grand Dukes,

 

 

The diamonds, pearls, and other jewels of Mor-
decai were sought for by the greatest magnates of
the land; and if precious stones of great value were
needed for the crown of Nicholas, or for the coro-
net of aprincess, or for the tiara of a patrician
bride, none were selected until an examination was
made of the Warsaw Jew’s magnificent ¢ollection.
_In truth, Mordecai became the envy of all the
jewel merchants of the empire, for, however enter-
pising they were in in portaipate ms from the
cities of every quarter of the globe, the
found their best efforts eclipsed oF the Warsaw
merchant, whose resources seemed inexhaustible,

Notwithstanding he frequently\dagzzled the eyes
of princely customers with a brilliant display of
diamonds and other sparkling stones, he held in
most sacred reserve three single diamonds which
alone were of more value than all others he pos-
sessed, and which were unriyaled in their size and
purity by the finest. gems‘in the crown of the auto-
crat of all the Russias.

No mortal eyes had ever_ feasted on these price-
less gems, save his own and the Parisian lapidray’s,
whose art and skill were purchased to give them
the sparkling, lustrous beauty they now possessed ;
andto himself he declared that no money should
ever purchase them, and that they should not leave
his hands, nor their existence be further known
until certain great objects had been attained.

What these possible objects could be, and how he
became possessed of these rare and invaluable
stones, will be developed ina future chapter of this
romance,

Mordecai, like many other notables of his race,
was also a money-lender; but not a cringing, mer-
cenary, merciless usurer, as many money-lendin
Jews have been characterized by novelists an
dramatists, and if he did frequently loan money to
some of the prodigal Muscovite gentry, at an exor-
bitant rate of interest, it was to better enable him
to assist the honest merchant and mechanic to ear-
ry on their legitimate business successfully, by
loaning them money at the minimum rate of inter-
est, and sometimes without any interest whatever.

Mordecai’s residence on_ Lobieski street was a
stone structure, with grated windows, inclosed by
a high stone wall, which gaye the place a decidedly
prison'-like appearance.

During business hours, a porter, at a heavy iron-
grated door, admitted the Jew’s visitors. At all
other hours it was securely bolted and barred.

There was one other mode of egress and ingress
to the inclosure in the rare—a secret to all but the
Jew and his faithful secretary, Paul Pulasky, a
Hungarian by birth, and of Christian parentage,
but a most constant attendant at the services of the
synagogue.

Thus was the rich diamond merchant’s house
comparatively secure from burglars, and from the
red-collared officials of the Chief Director of the
Polizei, and also from the prying curiosity of the
populiee. ; :

Oo have sealed the walls with arope or ladder
was possible, but more than ordinary care would
have been required to have ayoided the pen
row of long, sharp pikes which glittered all aroun
the crown of the quadrangular wall.

On being admitted within the inclosure, during
business hours, the visitor, after passing through a
long, vine-clad arbor, would be conducted by the
janitor, or porter, directly into the business cffiee—
a moderate-sized: room, with plain walls and plain
furniture ; the latter consisting of a narrow counter
with apairof bullion sgales upon it, some half a
dozen oak chairs, a desk, and a huge iron safe, ap
arently set in the massive walls ofthe main build-
ing, while the room itself was but a projection, or
addition, never designed by the original architect,
but afterward added to suit the caprice om conye-
nience of some one beside the original owner: per-
haps of Mordecai himself.

he porter on entering would ask the customer
a seated, then striking a bell, the former would
retire... >

This Summons invariably was responded to with-
out delay by either the diamond merchant himself,
or by his faithful secretary, Paul Pulzsky.

The personal appearance of the Jew cannot fail
to be interesting to our readers. Those who anti-
cipate another Isaac of York, or another Shylock,
or the less-famed Wandering Jew of the French
romancist, willnot find anything approaching the
counterfeit of either in the Jew of Warsaw. | In fact
we might almost be warranted in pompering him
in some respects to Richard Coeur de Lion, or
Front de Boeuf,orJohn of Gaunt, or any other
stalwart hero of history or romance, for his stature
was at least six feet, his figure finely proportioned,
and his limbs of graatimuscular development. His
features were large and symmetrical; his eyes of
deep blue were shaded by shaggy grayish eye-
brows; and his complexion, though naturally light,
was bronzed by exposure to the weather, for the
Jew traveled much—much more than his neighbors
knew anything about—sometimes incognito, some-
times in propria persone, if it could be said that he
ever appeared as such. : Y

As we have described him, so do we introduce
him to the reader, |

Standing erect ‘in the large hall of his mansion,
with a long, heayy broadsword in hand—such a
one as Charles Ma:tel would have found weighty
enough—confronting a man of much less stature
and less muscular power, his own confidential sec-
retary, and the only person besides himself who had
ever seen the inside of this apartment since it be-
came the et erty of its present possessor.

“Now, Paul, strike with all thy might,” urged
Mordeeai; “for by St. Borromeo, I shall get out of
all practice, and become as feeble as a woman, if
thou dost not lay on with all thy strength. Come,
now, press me closely; make thy feints adroitly—
thy thrusts more sudden—that Imay not lose my
skillin parrying blows.”

““T never was made, my good master, for a hacker
of limbs, that’s certain; but I will do my best,” re-

lied Paul, ashe advanced apace or two toward

is powerful antagonist, and began the exercise by
cutting, and thrusting, and hacking his master’s

 

invariably

sword most vigorously.
Lay on, Paul! Strike harder! -That’s the way)

Ido now feel that thou art something of a fencer,
and might defend thyself creditably against. the
best of the red-collared warriors quartered upon
Warsaw,’ said Mordecai, as he stood like a statue,
with nothing movable except his powerful right
arm, with which he wielded the heavy broadsword,
and received upon it the clanging blows of his
weaker but by no means unskilled adversary.
“Well done, Paul! thou dost improve wonder-
fully!’ continued the Jew. ‘Now defend thyself,
and use all thy care and skill lest I disarm thee!”
And the skillful swordsman, now assuming the
offensive, began cutting right and leit so vigorous-
ly that from Paul’s forehead great drops of perspi-
ration oozed, and at each clash of the two blades it
seemed that his would be wrenched from his hand.
“There, Paul, that will do for to-day,” said Mor-
decai, throwing down his sword. “I commend thee
for not losing thy grasp of the weapon. It argues
well for thy future skill in the use of the sword, and
there is no knowing howsoon one or both of us
may be called upon to proyeour skill. Besides, it
is good exercise for men of our quiet habits. To-
morrow morning we will have another bout, and
on the-next day thou must take thy departure to
the Crimea, on the mission that I haye spoken to
thee of; thence to Constantinople; thence to Ven-
ice; thence to return bythe way of Vienna and
Cracow. My correspondence of yesterday speaks
of rare bargains in diamonds to be made in Sebas-

made with the Emperor of Austria when thou dost
show him the gems which thou wilt purchase in the
Crimea. Fifteen to twenty days will suffice for thy
journey. To-day thy letters of credit shall be pre-
pared. Take thy departure quietly, and thou wilt
searcely be missed from thy friends in Warsaw be-
sides myself.”

‘It is a responsible mission,” said Paul; “but in
all its details I will endeayor to represent you as
well as my ability will permit. Atleast,the confi-
dence you repose in me shall not be abused, unless
by errors of judgment,”

The stroke of a bell cut off further conversation,
and Paul hurried from the room to obey the sum-
mons, while the Jew put up the weapons and then
glanced aroundthe room to see that all was in or-
der. Then he paced up and down the apartment in
a thoughtful mood.

“Yes, he is faithful,’ he at length soliloquized.
“Faithful and trustworthy, or there is no faith in
man. Havel not already trusted him with untold
wealth? Have I not confided in him the innermost
secrets of my soul? Has he not kept all his prom-
ises bravely—ay, bravely, for it requires true cour-
age in Poland to keep one’s promises? Besides, it
is for his best’ interests to be faithful; and, more-
over, he is safely bound to me by other considera-
tions. Heisin my power. ButIwill not. betray
him. Oh, no, Paulis my best friend, and I am his
best friend. In this world, at least, we are bound
together by ties that are indissoluble.”

His soliloquy was interrupted by the secretary’s
return, who informed himthatanoble customer
awaited him,

LY “What manner of man is he, Paul?” asked the
ew.

“He is a money borrower.”

_ Anoble customer indeed, if money-borrowing
is his occupation,’ said Mordecai,  satirically:
“none but nobles ean make money-borrowing a
trade. Inform this noble money-borrower that the
Jew will wait upon him presently.”

Mordecai entered an adjoining apartment, and
after making some marked changes in his dress,
and also in the hirsute appendages of his face, he
descended to the office below, and appeared to: his
customer a yery different personage from him we
have seen practicing the art of fencing with his
pupil and seeretary, but as he was usually seen by
the nobility and gentry, and known among them
only as Mordecai Brunn, the Jew broker and dia-
mond merchant.

' But what a transformation our thrifty dealer in
precious stones had undergone. He looked no
more like the dignified, athletic Mordecai than a

 

right royal monarch looks likeacringing sup-

| that I sent ‘for a horse-doctor.

topol; and the Sultan of Turkey is desirous of pur-|
chasing a rare string of pearis for the Sultana; andy
it will be strange, indeed, if a rare bargain be not

  

liant at his feet.
uced to the reader asthe Jew were lost. e was
no longer dignifled and erect, no longer seemed in
the vigorous strength of a man of fifty yearsina
normal condition, butinstead his form was bent,

  
  
    

he shu iedin his gait, fawning in his demeanor,
and altogether bearing himself more like the cun-
ning, ayari¢ious usurer than the most subtle of the
Hebrew rage, . ty

His long flowing beard, frosted with age, his
silken skull-cap, and loose gaberdine, together
with his submissive and cringing manner, con-
trasted mos with the lotty and ecom-

ost unfavor Dive
manding air which he hac exhibited while stand-
ing, sword in hand, before his pupilin the manly
art of feneing.

é decorations upon the military coat of the
visitor indicated that he was not only a nobleman,

half Mongolian, half Caucassian features proclaim -

ed him a genuine Russian. #
As the Jew ontorae trom the rear of hin Stfice, the

visitor arose, and the accustomed salutation passed
between them. :

“Keep thy sitting, most noble Count Tumanof,”
said the Jew, in a slightly tremulous voice; “and if
it be thy pleasure to purchase diamonds that shall
vie with the jewels of a monarch’s crown, say to the
Jew thou wouldst look atthem.”- 5 >

“T crave neither diamonds, pearls, emeralds, ru-
bies, nor sapphires, good Mordecai,” replied the
young prétiieal son of the Baron Tumanof; “but i
am sorely pressed for money.”

“Money! more money! thou wouldst have more
money?” said the Jew banker, as if greatiy sur-

nee an gazing at his customer with a penetrat-
ng look... eat

“AY, maper. good Jew, money!” ansivéred. the
applicant, with assurance, ee :

“Ah, thonsyouldst have money, but surelydtcan-
not be for thyself?” queried Mordecai. _ cy

“Surely it can be for none other! Think vou that
I could do such disagreeable work for-another?”
_.Why—let me see,” said the Jew, thoughtfully;
“it is but one little month that thou didst draw from
the Imperial Treasury seven thousand rubles!”

Gone—all gone—every kopeeck, Lassure yeu; be-

sides a thousand thalers borrowed of my brother
ine ; and a thousand more from my fathers’s
coffers.” a o

“And what hast thou to show for so much treas-
ure?”
“Nothing!

“Nothing?” repeated Mordecai
utteranes. By my faith thou art
of, thy race: Nothing-—nothing :

But experience-—experience, good Jew,” inter-

rupted the count. “Experience, I have been taught,
is valuable, andit boots not at what price pur-
@ £3 ,

yp?
with astonished
the most prodigal

3

 

even thousand rubles worth of experience!”
remarkedthe Jew, musingly; “and all bought in
one little month, too! Itis wonderful! Ina life of

 
    
   

three-scoré years I have not paid so much for that
which you ¢ali experience.”

‘T never knew-a Jew that did,” replied the count,
satirica “It ig as natural for a Jew to be provi-
dent as for a Russian to be prodigal.”

“Ay, our race foresees wants, and take measures
to supply them; yours see nothing beyond the day,
and that swhy you ever want money!” retorted
Mordecai(’”’

That is’very true, and it is why I want money

ow.
“Tell me,” said the Jew, not heeding his last re-
mark,-‘of this experience thou hast bought, and
aid so dearly for as if sucha commodity could not
ave been obtained for less than one tithe of the
sum thou # it cost thee.”
“T shall have to make you my father confessor
then.” said fhe connt. }
“What, a Greek Christian confess to a Jew?”
“Yes; better confess to thee, Mordecai, than to a
priest of the Greek church, for all the sins I had
confessed to him he would be sure to reveal to my
father, the baton, while I know that what is confid-
ed to thee will never pe imparted to another.” >

“Did exer Christian have such faith ina Jew!”
exclaimed Mordecai. ‘‘Thou mayst be assured I
will keep faith with thee, though thou wert the
worst of Christians, so far as regardeth this experi-
ence which thow wilt impart to me.” f

“Know then, good money-lending Jew, I did iose
at one sitting at Jan Zerwodski’s inn, three thous-
and rubles, and that thrifty, sharp-witted Pole,
Stanislaus Kontrenko, a man who loveth Russian
gold better than Russian rule—did win it; a thous-
and more i did bestow upon the sweetest siren that
ever fascinated the senses of a susceptible mortal;
two thousand more were expended in feasting my
friends, and in pleasurable recreations generally.
and the remaing thousand in a little personal affair
o gratify my revenge upon a successful riva] in

ove.”
_ “Better tor thee hadst thou thrown thy money in-
to the Vistula,’*#remarked Mordecai.

“T confess that much, so far as the three thousand
that went into the pockets of Kontrenko is con-
cerned. The thousand that won for me the kind-
ness of my angelic siren was well expended, for I
triumphed over a_half-secore of worshipers who
were at her feet; the two thousand that it cost me
to entertain some choice Spirits from St, Peters-
burg I regard as a good investment; and as for the
seventh thousand that afforded me more real satis-
faction than all the rest. Revenge is sweet, and I
have gained a partial revenge over my worst _ene-
my,and I needa thousand rubles more to com-
plete it. Oh, how I do hate—”

The count hesitated.

0?”

‘My rival—Albert Zolinski! He who had attempt-
ed to steal from me my heart’s treasure, Olympia
Marieville, the fairest maiden of all Poland!”

Had the count been looking into the Jew’s coun-
tenance at that moment, he might have observed.a
lightning-like flash of indignation that would have
sealed his livs in regard to the two last-named per-
sons.

(TO BE CONTINUED )

 

‘BY MAX ADELER,

I saw iButterwick driving a dray past my house
the other day with a horse lying on the vehicle. He
stopped, when I came out and I asked him:

“Butterwick, what's the matter with your horse?”

“The principal thing that ails him now is that,he
is dead: said Bude Wik: “Would you beligvenow
that was a four thousand dollar horse?” be

om T wouldn't" ” ;

e

nly;

dollars: Ey OW
‘Was he fast?” ib ere J
Slowest horse in Neweastlecounty—never known

toga out of'a walk.”
. What made him cost so much?” ; ;
li tell you. Just ‘after I bought him of Jim
Bradley for $125, he got a fit one night, and jumped
the fenee into Cooléy’s yard, kicked a litter of pigs
to death, and broke the cow’s leg, and faintedion
top of the sash on the hot-bed. Pigs, $40; cow, $60:
sash, $55. Less see, how much is that?”

“One hundred and fifty-five dollars.”: 2

“Well, he seemed so sick after we got him home
He said the horse
had ‘epizooty, andI must rub red pepper in his
nose. }i rubbed in a quarter of a pownd, and he
sneezéd all over,a $60 suit of clothes, amd butted a
$750 diamond pin’ outof my shirt frontyand' ‘the
noi e made scared Cooley’s brood’ mare so
went into a violent fit, and lost her colt;;soDh
pay th
shoot. y
One fifty-five, and sixty-one, two fifteen, and nine
ate eleven sixty-five—$1,165.”

es >

So asthe red pepper didn’t cure’ him, I got an-
other horse-doctor, and soon as heeame, he said:
‘Butterwick, that horse isa glandered. ruin. The
omy thing that’ll save him is rubbing him-well all
over with kerosene oil. So I got twoorthree gal-
lons of kerosene and rubbed the horse; and while I
was doing it—I don’t know ‘how. it»was—but I went
to strike a match to light a cigart}..when the can
caught fire, and in about aminute: the ‘horse and
the stable were inablaze. I got out the horse,
burning as he was, and° rum hint ‘into the “creek,
but the. stable was a goner. ‘It cost me forty-five
hundred to build, and it was onlyinsured for three
thousand. How much ‘is that—$2.665? And count
in two horse-doctors’ fees and the kerosene, so that
it comes up to $3,000°° ~~ Ts

“Correct.” t

You ought to have seen that horse! Baked all
over the outside so hard that a hammer would
bounce: back when you struck him, He looked
mere like asheet-iron horse. I dunno how it affect-
ed him.exactly, but it seemed Kinder to derange
his mind, for on the following Sunday he broke
out of the pasture field and went galloping bang
through the door of the Methodist church, right up
the aisle to the peice nemag et another spasm
on him, and kicked’ the: xdgon and the four
front pews to splinters, and then he bolted out

was lyingon his back hammering at two of the
Heister family tombstones with his hind legs, as if
he was determined to batter them down before he

uit. He didn’t know what he was at, of course.
The horse didn’t feel well. I paid three hundred
and ninety-five dollars for thosedamages. Lemme
see; that brings it up to——”

“To $3,395——”

“Ts that all? Now how wasit that he made up
the balance? Oh, yes. You know old Bannister ?
Well, he asked me one day to lend him the horse to
drive over to amass meeting. They had fireworks
in the evening. Now any horse would scare at fire-
works even if he isn’t sick. And as soon as they
sent up the first rocket this poor, suffering animal,
his nervous system was unstrung, and what did he
do? He reared, and pitched, and finally started for
a plate-glass show-window—he didn’t know it was
a window—and by George, he went. through it, and

 

took Bannister and the buggy in with him, It was

a

SET ee

butan officer in the service of the empire, and his }

A HIGH-PRICED HORSE, -.|*

. he Was, a yway+cost me four thousand’

she.
: ad to

‘$200 for the colt, because he threatene
‘if I didn’t. What does that foot up now?*

through the window, and whewthey sent for me he | it

2 Ah tenet

crookery they kept in thestore, andif he didn’t
eternally sling that buggy around among the plates
and things! Smashed’em! Well, sir, he smashed
up about four hundred dollars’ worth, and I paid
for’em, and two hundred dollars for the window

besides. It’s anmactual fact. Now where are we?
ow much?”
“That unts to $3,995,"

“Yes, and five dollars for the dray I’m taking him
home-on is $4,000, Pye just been down to the shop
after him, It was.last night. He swallowed thirty-
six teacups and. a cuf-glass decanter, he was 50
seared, and they killed him. He was acostly horse,
but I don’t bear him any grudge, now he’s dead.”
-And Butterwick droye on toward the glue facto

to >a ize onthe remains.

: .
1 .y te
| \

 

THE LIBERTY TREE.

a

 

BY MICHAEL SCANLAN

Britannia rose in her pride to proclaim
That Freedom sbonid die in the !and;
@ur fathers, aow first in the vanguard of fame,
Sprang forti at great Freedom’s command,
And flung back the challenge of insuit and scorn
“Tn trumpet blasts over the sea,
And lo, when the angels rolled in that giad morn,
| They planted the Liberty Tree) ,
3 No sweet-scented breezes played soft *mong its leaves,
In hfe giving sunshine arrayed,
And iove never haunted the dewy-npped eves
To tryst happy hours 1n }ts shade:
But the wild breath of carnage biew hot ‘mong its boughs,
And wrapt it in darkness and dree,
And wars wrecking legions, with blood- beaded brows,
Roared ‘round the young Liberty Tree

But }ts roots bad struck deep in the patriot’s blood
And the people's unwavering faith,

So it rose in its beauty thro’ fire and thro’ flood,
Like a spirit enfranchised by death:

And when the wild ecboes of war died away,
The nation triumphant and free.

Assembled once more on the old planting day,
And danced ‘round the Liberty Tree.

Now freedom’: first cycle beholds our tair land
With ber banner of beauty unfuried.

A meteor of hghbt, to inspire and command
The homage and faith ot the world;

So, freemen, fill up the eld liberty cup,
And the toast oi our spirits shaJl be,

“The names of the men of the sword and the pen,
Who planted the Liberty Tree!"

THE THREE BLOWS;

LOVE, PRIDE AND REVENGE.
By KARL DRURY. eae

(“The Three Blows” was commenced in No. 25. Back Nos.
can be obtained of any News Agent.)

CHAPTER XXX.
THE STRIKING OF THE FIRST BLOW.

As thesethoughts dart through Matthew Ryan’s
mind he £ ides outof the card-room. About five
minutes elapse. As he re-enters the room (and his
re-entrance has of course been exactly timed and
be the game at Clement’s table is just
e 4 b.

‘eourse no other game is begun until the gen-
tlemen are served with their various drinkables. |

It is now Clement’s turn to deal thecards, This,
considering that there are four players at the table,
is.undoubtedly a curious stroke of luck for Mat-

 

 

thew. But, let us here mention, he has made him-
self thoroughly aware, ten good minutes previous-
ly, that the deal was shortly to fall into Mr. Ham-

mond’s hands. Had this not been the case, he must
have‘ wed his arriyal with the refreshments un-
til the deal actually became Clement’s.

Matthew serves each other gentleman with what
he has ealled for, slipping neatiy among the en-
Com USEE throng, but leaves Clement until the

ast.

The cards have just been placed-at Clement’s side
by his next neighbor. ~Matthew is now beginning
to serve Clement with what he wishes, leaning over
the table on precisely this same side. Meanwhile
Fulton Maitland has quietly changed his own place
and has Go quite near to ‘ent, on the oppo-

e side fromthe servant. .

And now Fulton Maitland bends down, murmurs
the words, “My dear_ mond,” and, in a voice
loud enough for all to hear, compliments him on

F

 

his recent good playing, while at the same time he
adds: “You have certainly had capital hands,
007

Clement’s head is now turned toward Fulton
| Maitland, and heis completely absorbed in what
that gentleman is saying, as indeed is every one at
the table or aroundit—every one except Hugh
Fielding, Cea ; ,
Who ever, in a party of this sort, gives a grain of
heed to the waiterwho is pouring out liquor into a
tumbler? In spite of its dreadful peril, in_ spite of
the admirable sleight-of-hand it requires, Matthew
Ryan’s position is not such a very difficult one for
this precise reason. |
. When Clement é ein tne toward the cards his
Keyes rest upon a pack précisely similar ‘to the one
he hasseen a moment before, in color, texture,
pattern, and even_in_ the degree of use through
“which it has passed. But it is not the Same pack.
atthew Ryan has accomplished his work, and

‘I sugeessiully. “Whatever else happens-is no concern

of his.. Come what will come, he is now “‘comfort-

able off” before he dies. ‘

' Clement begins to deal. The deal is made. Just
as it. is finished a thunderbolt falls upon the quiet
assembled company. _ é

That thunderbolt consists of the following words,
spoken’ in ‘a ‘clear, firm, ringing voice by Hugh
Fielding: . :

“Perhaps I ought not to say it—I would not do so
unless I were: thoroughly certain—but, Mr. Ham-
mond,I know you to have. just..concealed three
cards within one of your back coat-pockets.”

Clement léaps from. his “seat-as if a snake had
stung him. ‘All the others at his table: follow his
saxample. Everybody stands fora second aghast
and motionless. Many now rise from the other
tables, and come flocking toward this. for Field-
ipe's words have been distinctly audible allthrough
the card-room. é ;

Clement is the first co speak, which he does with
white face and coldly te eyes.

pie. are a liar, and must answertome for that
insult.”

Hugh Fielding—much as ne may loathe it—plays
his part superbly, doubtless on account ofthe eause
for which it is played. i j

4 it bea lie,’ he cries, “I dare you to prove it
such.”

Clement makes a quick gesture toward his glass,
evidently intending to hurl it at Fielding’s face;
but rapid hands seize his, and several forms inter-
pose between. two men, who are already some dis-
tance apart. 1

The voice of Fulton Maitland now falls calm yet

onorous on every ear.

“Phe cards are all here onthe table, Mr. Ham-
mond. Letthem be counted. That, surely, is the
best way of* proving whether or not yonder gentle-
man owes you an abject apology.”

Dead silence. Clement’s lip curls contemptu-

ously. ;
Proof,’ he sneers. “Is there anyman inthis
room, exeept yonder blackguard, who wants it? A
low, miserable adventurer, as everybody knows!”
This is certainly an impoliticthrust onthe part of
the accused. In a vague way, despite the immense
prestige of Clement Hammond’s name and posi-
tion, it turns the popular feeling away from him;
or, at least, makes many of those present feel that
Fielding has, if he has nothing else, the right to get
himself reasonably and squarely denounced as a
reckless slanderer.
Somebody now leans forward and’ collects the
ecards lying upon the table into a regular. pack,
Somebody else now takes a portion of this pack.

hearts, spades, clubs, diamonds.

“There are three cards missing,” shouts Hugh
Fielding’s voice determinedly. ‘“Tell me there are
not, Rivington; tell me there are not, Haughton,
and I will make that man the most groveling apol-
ogy he could possibly desire. _ :

he gentleman whose name is Rivington turns
away, with an inserutable face. He is a profound
snob, and reverences Clement. The gentleman
called Haugkhton—a little yellow-faced fellow of
about sixty, with ferret eyes and a weazel 'face—
looks round about him, and states with sharp brev-

wc
“Three ecards are missing, The ace of clubs, the
king of diamonds, and the ace of spades.”

low murmur bursts from the crowd. Every
eye is leveled upon Clement’s pale, sneering face.
“Look on the floor,” suggests a voice.

Tho suggestion is instantly followed. The crowd,
large as it has become, widens, the table is moved
far away from its original position. Everybody
looks at the floor, There is not a sign ofa dropped
card anywhere visible. : }

“Search his coat-pockets,” cries the indomitable
voice of Fielding, “and you will find those three
cards there.”

Clement fixes his disdainful look very calmly,
now, upon thespeaker, gazing at him over the
shoulders, as it were, of many intervening forms.

_ ‘Any low scoundrel,” he haughtily begins, “has
it in his power to throw doubt upon the honor of a
gentleman in such a case as this. You have done
so at presont, but the doubt, I am sure, has only

 

 

 

| been momentary. Nobody now believes your bru-
‘tal slander.

“It isn’t a question of believing slanders or dis-
believing them,” cries a new voice; “it’s a question
of finding those three missing cards.”

“You will find\them,” exclaims Hugh
Fielding, “in the ba¢k-pocket of that man’s coat. I

saw him put them t re. I am certain of what I

st ‘ ite i
~ Falton Maitland, who has managed _ to be stand-
ing directly beside Clement Hammondat this junc-
cure of affairs, now speaks with loud clearness:

tisn’t beneath your dig: ye ammond, to re-
fute this usation practically. Here, let us see
whether man speaks truth or falsehood. lithe

latter, you know, he simply ruins himself and tho-
roughly exempts you,” —

Lets remember that it is Fulton Maitland who
speak -Yulte Maitland who has just done Clem-
ent Hammond the inestimable service of saving his
credit.. No wonder that Clement—ragefully obstin-
ate and haughty as this wholly unfounded charge
may have made him’ the matter of permitting
himself to be searched—allows the hand of Fulton
Maitland first to place itself familiarly on his shoul-
der and then to drop downward into the region of
his nether pockets.

Many pairs of eyes are fixed on the hand of Ful-
ton Maitland as it makes this descent. It is ines
entering one of the pockets when Clement, feeling
a sudden and wholly natural repulsion against
being thus cavalierly dealt with even by his sup-

osed benefactor, makes a quick grasp at the hand

ehind him.
hat movement is a most terribly unlucky one.
If any doubt were hereafter to have remained con-
cerning his real guilt, such doubt has been entirely
swept away now.

Fulton Maitland eludes the grasp, his hand
reaching the interior of the pocket a second of so
after it is made, And then he draws forth, with a
short, horrified exclamation, three squares of
pastboard that cannot possibly be anything except
three playing-cards.

He lifts them above his head, though with no
triumphant gesture. ,

A loud, almost fierce murmur bursts from the
crowd. Gurled lips and kindling eyes meet Clem-
ent Hammondateyeryturn, >

He, for his own part, is See et ee He
sees that he has been made the victim of some
deadly ruse of Which: Viera has acted as chief
manager. Fulton Maitland, who has just showered
benevolence upon him, he never dreams of sus-
pecting. | ay

There is undoubted aconspiracy. But of whom
(besides Fielding) does it consist, and wherefore has
it been formed? These thoughts dart through his
mind like lightning, and. mingled with the unde-
served sneers and Santer phuoDe glances that sur-
round him, make him fairly gnash his teeth with
rage and shame, eer

—I—have only to say, gentlemen,” he stam-
mers, ‘that I know nothing whatever—”
..A loud ery, mixed with hisses and shouts of

shame! shame!” now assails his half-maddened

ears. He tries to speak:again. but men sneeringly
turn on their heels and will not heed him. Five
minutes before he held a position of haughtiest
superiorty among these same associates who now
openly contemn his company. i

eisaruined man, as far as concerns his pe7-
sonal honor. He may swear a hundred things, and
use the eloquence of Demosthenes to defend his
own cause—it will avail nothing, In the previous
deal those three missing cards had all been seen
and remembered. A man two or three yards away
from him who was known not to have changed his
position for a half-hour) had seen his cheating and
accused him of it. The proot afterward had: been
overwhelming. Nobody standing about him could
have es such a Oe as to have put these
cards into his pocket, and the idea is too ludicrous
to be entertained for a second, in the opinion of all
thoseavho even deign to discuss its probability,

Clement Hammond leaves the Metropolitan Club
that night a shunned, dishonored, degraded man,
Nobody considers that his act is anything but
glaringly atrocious, and in not a single instance
does Any One give him the benefit of a single doubt.

Hugh Fielding has left the card-room in the so-
ciety of several friends who show themselves gen-
erously ready to stand between him and any attack
on the part of the (so considered) detected card-
swindler, He misses seeing Fulton Maitland after
ward, but being feverishly desirous of ing him,
and ascertaining that he has left the club without
having been met. by*himself, Fielding takes a cab
and is quickly driven to Maitland’s house. _

He finds his old friend seated in the library.
Hither, at his master’s order, the servant has shown,
him. Sylvia has been with her husband a moment
before, but she is here no longer.

 

 

In less than three minutes the suits are made out—

Hugh Fielding sinks into a chair at Fulton Mait-

land’s side. i j
Heaven help me, Mr. Maitland—it is done!”
Fulton Maitland smiles. ;
And well done, also, my good Hugh.” __ ‘

At these words the strong man before him buries
his face in his hands with a shiyer worthy of some
hysterical girl. How different from the calm, de-
termed accuser of the card-room! ,,
“Oh, Mr. Maitland,” he moans, “Heaven only
knows the torturing ordeal through which I have
passed. Icannot regret what [have done, since it
was congin Your SGEVIC8; Dubay ot po Be!

“Stop, Hugh.” aa Ela

Fulton Maitland has risen and drawn near his
friend and laid one hand, by no means lightly, on
his shoulder. ts

Hugh Fielding uncovers his face,.and turns it,
brimful of eager inquiry toward his companion;
for something in the other’s tone has promised
comfort—he cannot tell what or why. — -

And then Fulton Maitland speaks again.

“Hitherto you have worked inmy cause, Hugh,
unquestioningly. But now, since I see you over-
whelmed with throes of conscience that are indeed
most natural, I hold it surely to be my duty to tell
you alittle story, after hearing which the acts just
ponent may appear in a trifle less hideous
colors.” ; ;

“A story, Mr, Maitland ?” fon larhert

“Yes-—of my wife, Sylvia_Heath Maitland’s. past,
life. Certainly, by-the-by, I have been wrong in
calling it a little story, Take off your overcoat,
Hugh ; it will at pies last an hour. And have a ci-.

gar. Don’t want to smoke? Well, Pll leave it here

on the table at your side, an erhaps in a lew mo~

ments you may find that you are r and light it. .

Who knows? 5.o¢) bra faelie fio: A
CHAPTER XXXI.

ADELE’S FLIGHT.

Three days after these events above narrated,
Adele Hammond, quite unannounced, bursts,one-
afternoon into the boudoir of Sylvia. % ,

“Sylvia,” she eries, “I have left his house forever
Last night he came home in a sort of madly intox--
ieated state, and heaped the most terrible insults.
upon me. ‘Yowean form no idea of what he said—
IT myselfshudder to recall his words. Then; too, he,
has proven. himself, by haying been publiely de-
tected cheating in cards at the club, even arworse
roguethan I thought! him. _ Cheating at, eards—.-
pah! itis horrible. Thank Heaven, we haye no:
children!” ¢ ¥

Sylvia smiles.a dim, wintry kind of smile.

“Who:told you of that’ affair ?” i

Adele’s tell-tale.color betrays her. : “3

ae told me! Why—why—the Count de Bel-~-
voir.’ VOR: f s

Sylvia laughsinow. ae ign

“T thought so.” And then her face'grows sudden-
ly serious. “But. Adele, how do you meanito man-
age, or you say you have left-your husband
orever ?” ? shot al 3

“I shall live alone by myself until AuntCaroline,
the only relative whom I have alive now, returns
from Europe. This, I regret to say, wilknot be till
nextautumn.” oo en

Sylvia seems meditating. 6°. a

“Yes, [ remember; you told me. Whata pity you
cannot get a divorce! But that is quite impossible.
There are no grounds for it.” @ 3 P

“No grounds!” Et ue nee ;
is cannot prove one of your husband’s
detual ean though you may know them to
exist: Ah, belieye me, dear Adele, all thought of
gaining a divorcee is perfectly’ uséless. And yet,
what a pity itis! Yow oughtto become the Countess
de Belvoir.. You would grace the title, and he him-
self is such a noble, splendid fellow!” SOI Ds

Adele hangs her'Heads .©* '° i © Ames.

“Do-you wonll yaaa re ae Carey for me, Sylvia 2?

Sylvia leans her lips‘ close to’ her companion’s

:

ear. i
“He worships you. He tells meso often enough;
and, perhaps, some day he will tell you.as well.” ~
} u »> aneeer _ An or «

That evening Adele goes to a certain quiet ho
which Sylvia’s advice selects for her. A little lat
Blige sees the Count de Belyoir in her own bou-

oir. :

“It is now nine o’clock,” she coolly observes to the
count. “Mrs. Hammond is, no doubt, sitting in her.
loneliness there at the —— Hotel, longing for you.
Go to her. o not remain very long: but during
your stay declare your passion for her. Counse}
her to 4 with youto Europe. You know just how
I want the matter done, we have talked it over so
often. Assoon as you. have made your meaning
perfectly clear you must take abrupt leave of her.”

‘The count bows, a vague, satirical smile on his’
handsome face. ’ f
1 “Any further orders, madame ?” he suavely ques-"

ions. SHEET f ; 3

“None. Youwsee my meaning perfectly, I trust.)
To-night the first real breach must be made in the:
woman’s scruples against flying with you to Bu-
rope. She is not to be won in a day, ora week, ard-
ently as she already loves you. It is now early
April. Not before latter May will you have gained
your point—although I feel confident that a man: of
your attractions, count, must ultimately succeed.”

The count bows nearly to phe gromne.

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enough thet her words are grossest flattery, yet is

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be charmed, encouraged, and

one compelled to
stimulated by'them.
Sylvia smiles a little wearily.

terer.”

CHAPTER XXXII.
SYLVIA’S INDECISION.

Sylvia proves to be no false prophet. It is one
thing for Adele Hammond to feel that she has giv-
en the Count de Belvoir every atom of her old loyal
devotion to Clement; it is one thing for her to thrill
as his step approaches, and tremble when he takes
her hand at greeting or at parting, but assuredly
it is quite another thing for her to;dream of

assing beyond the sacred marriage laws. In

eaven’s Sight, Adele argues, she is still Clement’s
wife; and until death has annulled the bond be-
tween them she must recognize its sanctity.

Against these true. womanly views a clever and
specious sophistry does battle, however, and al-
though the Count de Belvoir soon perceives that
Sylvia predicted the delay of his victory with sin-
gular correctness, the ultimate gaining of that
victory is in every manner among the probabilities.

It is now the early portion of May. Since leaving
her husband’s house Adele has received from Cle-
ment. who has ascertained her place of abode, sev-
eral and eyen pleading letters. He has begged her
to return to. him. He has asked her pardon for
having soiled her name with any_insolent_sugges-
tions regarding her own and the Count de Belvoir’s
conduct. He professes to believe—and, let us here
inform the reader. at heart he really does belieye—
that Adele has been wholly blameless except in the
matter of a few slight imprudenees. He promises
to show her every kindness and respect, if only she
will conssent once more to reinstate herself in her
old wifely position.

Each of these letters assoon as she receives it.
Adele shows to Sylvia. And Sylvia murmurs to her.
after reading it very much the same formula of
co aoe f uf ie é
* p28 rp is a dishonored man.among his_ fellow-men.
The fact of his living apart from you increases the

version in which men hold him, and he knows it.
He. wants you back for purely politic reasons—these
and these only. Be eares nothing for you—has no
‘more love for youthan for some, handsome. statue
or picture. Ishould not advis6é you to return, You
Have your own income. which has turned out to be
‘ampler ne supposed, and which supports
bea nicely. No, since you have. lost all love for

im and since. there is doubt. whatever that his
heart holds nota vestige of real love for you, I
should by all means suggest that you refused to
hear his appeal favorably.”

‘. As may readily be supposed. Adele, in
thesc-cases “has received her friend’s adv
uly tae strong an inclination to follow it.

e days lapse along until about the middie of
May. This year the spring has been unusully for-

and the foliage is abundant enough to make
‘itseem almost i1ike midsummer. while the®delic-
Gous balminess of the atmosphere is of a nature
unfortunately too rare to be called a
‘ype of our American May.

‘ulton Maitland has rented a large estate at Fort
Washington. or rather in its immediate vicinity,
and has added a hous® and grounds which are
already magnificent. improvements of a most cost-
dy character. Being reached only by a short drive
from New York, Sylvia sinee about the first of
Apri: has chosen to. vacillate between town and
country Any sudden access of cold weather has

-breugni hex promptly.toe the city. but at the ap-
proach of mild skies and breezes she has gladly
returned to hérsu¥urban paradise.

_ The Mai*tlands.have taken their passage for Eu-
“rope. and are to sail in the folloying June.

¢., Isha) have struck the third blow before the be-
ginning of Jane.” Syivia has told her husband.
«After that,there will be nothing to keep me here.
Indeed. Ishould rather wander for years among
Moreign lands, try—under new skies and: among
new peoples. to forget—utterly to forget—the hate-
‘ful past!”

“As you please.’ Fulton’Maitland answers. ‘You
know. for I have often told. you. how I myself pre-
fer Europe to America. But before we go I have
something to propose. Perhaps the thought of it
ean you at first.”
= J e ??

 

each of
Tee with

permanent

“As yet we have given no grand entertainment,
“ne great. brilliant ball. wherewith to repay society
for the many favors it has showered upon us dur-
ing the past winter. I, because of my wealth. you

h, monsieur le comte, ’tis you who are the flat- |

Sold at one-bali the cost of importation.

“the public,

Geers Sree sO 8

only the leading jewelers of the country: for that reason they
‘are ali the finest watches that aremade = 17
.best makers im the world are represented in this stock.

‘cause of these failures, it is deemed advisable to convert this

 

know, owe somathing of this sort to the world,
which” (with a soft, fond smile at Sylvia) “has re-
esived. my wife so flatteringty. And now. Sylvia,
love. to come directly to the point. I propose that
_ we give a grand fete-champetre, followed by a ball at
our Fort oat palace. It must bosomething
unusually splendid, you know. I shall give Del-
monico ¢arte-blanche.” —
Sylvia is not long in yielding her consent to this
pre osition. The fete and ball are fixed for the 17th
3 At

On the 14th the weather is raw. harsh, and rainy,
and for this and for other reasons Sylvia chooses
to bein town.

it ge nearly the end with Adele. Tho resolution
which has held out for weeks trembles and almost

fails at last. She has been seated in Sylvia’s boudoir,

alternately weeping passionate tears and address-
ing eager questions to Sylvia.

Can you really tell me that you think I would
not be wrong—wrong from a purely moral stand-
point, I mean—in leaying the country with this
man. and in living with him as his wife hereafter?”

These and numberless questions of asimilar na-

.ture Adele asks again and again. To all of them

_ Sylvia returns the same answer. Yes, she adyises

* Adele to take this SPU St ante reckless step. Witha
man like the Count de Belvoir there will be no re-

entance that can possibly follow the act. He loves

with an undying love. He will always be her
mardian. her friend—her husband, except in
erely legal right so to call himself.

As Adele takes her departure that evening, Sylvia
warmly presses her hand, and, while firmly hold-
ing it, murmurs in her ear:

Think well over all I have said: By to-morrow,
dear friend, I hope to see that you shall be willin

‘to.crown the count’s patient and devoted love wit
the sweet success it deserves. Remember, I, for
one, justify and uphold your conduct.”

/ ter Adele’s departure Sylvia goes back to her
boudoir. locks herself within it, and for at least two
hours suffers the keenest agony.

_.She has grown to love Adele very dearly—so
dearly, in fact.that itis not until now, when the
necessity of sacrificing. her. in the dealing of tho
Third Blow. presents itself with startling nearness,
that she realizes the depth and sincerity of her

regard.

“Shall I save her?” Sylvia meditates. ‘Will not
the yengeance be complete without this sweet crea-
ture’s ruin?”

And then. rushes over her avery wave of self-
contempt: she sneers at her own paltry weakness,

~her miserable.-vacillating purpose. Oh. she was to
.bea grand, pitiless, unflinching Nemesis, and what
‘have two turquoise-colored eyes and a winning
smile had econ change her into? What, unless
a wretched, unstable trembler? A week ago she
would have laughed at the thought of these qualms,
and called them sheerest folly. Now the iron seems
to enter herinmost soul when Adele’s beautiful
image rises before her. Whatis she to do? Forego
that firm resolve of the past?—leaye her life-work
an unfinished performance, whose. want of com-
pletion shall be but the proof of her own poor
* faint-heartedness?

She presses a hand to either temple and walks
the floor of her boudoir from end to end, with
tightly-meeting lips and absorbed-looking eyes.
She tries to rouse her failing spirit into a new de-
sire for revenge, she recalls every incident of

,Cloment Hammond’s brutal deception, she reminds
herself of how she, Silvia, tho last of an ill-fated
race, should feel: almost appointed as by a sacred
vicarship to be its avenger.

Where. she questions of her own soul, is her con-

-viction, once So steadfastly severe, that Heaven has
Baee tod her as the instrument of its own pun-
dishing, castigating wrath?

. But finally the force of her old resolve triumphs

against these. paieigernples for the time, at least.
She stands within the conter of the room, at the
close of her flereé struggle, with firm-clenched

‘hands and determination stamped on every fea-

ure, ‘
“Lwill walk the path wherein my feet haye set
hemselyes,” she mutters. “I will not falter.”
Just then there isashap, hurried knock atthe
door. followed by these words:
Sylvia, Sylvia, Iam back again. CanI come

ylvia hastens to the door and ppons it. Adele
her dark yail lifted above a dead-pale, tear-stained
face rapidly crosses the threshold.

Sylvia.” she bursts forth, “he—that man who
calls himself my husband, has just written moa
letter commanding me—yes, commanding me to re-

‘turn. Here itis—but no. I would rather not show
it to you. That would be too eee to him.”
bie Adele; and you haye returned to tell mo of
is
Clement Hammond's wife sinks upon a near
lounge and bursts into passionate tears.

Yes. Sylvia. But to tell you, also, that—that I
wish to write that man an answer, I—I canno

think of things crushing enough to say, and—an

“Tell him the real truth regarding your Jove for
Count de Belvoir. Tell him that ators the in-
closed reaches him you andthe count shall have

sailed, for Europe together. Then give me your
_hote, and after you andthe count are gone, I will
‘send itto him. That surelyisallthe answer his
_ letter requires.”
A ie is deadly white.
“Well, well,” she gasps,_ “You may write such a
ae di you wish. Then I will copy it and leaye it
ou ’

Hours afterward, when Sylvia Maitland holds
note of this sort, in Adele’s own handwriting, ad?

5

dressed to Clement Hammond.a new revulsion of
feeling makes heragain suffer from agonies of in-
decision and at length wearily murmur:
“No. no, no, 1 cannot sacrifice that sweet soul even
to such a cause as this. Icannot. Ishall not!”
{TO RE CONTINUED.}

ENORMOUS SACRIFICH
Of Solid Gold and Silver Watches,

Failure of three of the largest Watch Importers in New York.
Over a Million Dollars’ Worth of their Goods ordered to be

 

 

 

 

An opportunity to purchase Gold and Silyer Watches at less
than one-half their usual price has neyer before been offered to

List of Prices that these Goods are Ordered to be Sold at:

SILVER WATCHES. ............--.-3-.. - -$9, $12, $16, and $18.
Laviks’ GOLD WATCHES, $19, $22, $25, $28, $30, $35, $40, and $45.
©. $35. $40, $45, $50, $55, $60, and $65.
Parties wishing Watches should order at once, as the assort-
ment is now complete, so we can fillany order of most any mag-
nitude or description. If you don’t wish any particular makeor
style of Watch, simply one that is substantia! and will keep good
time, let us know what price you wish to pay, and we willsend
you the best watch possible for the money.
Of course the higher the price paid for a Silver or Gold Watch.
the finer the works and tbe heavier and finer the case will be
This stock of Watches was imported with a view of supplying

The names of all the
1 On ac
count of the great depression in business, which has been the

stock into cash within sixty days, at whatever sacrifice is neces-
sary to doso. The works of these Watches are full Jeweled and

ver movements. They are all Hunting Cases and Warrantea
Solid Gold and Silver.

The well-known firm ot ELIAS & CO., Manufacturers of Jew-
elry. has been appointed to dispose of these Watches, and has
been instructed to send them by express, CO. D., to any part of
the United States, and to allow parties ordering them te examine
the Watches before paying one penny, and if they are not satis-
factory and just as represented, they are under no obligation to
receive them. A written guarantee will be sent with each Watch,
stating quality: &c Five per cent. discount will be made to jew
elers purchasing by the dozen.

In ordering, always state whether you want a lady’s or gent’s
size Watch, Hunting Case or Open Face, and about what price
you wish to pay, and what Express you wish it sent by. Address

all orders to
ELIAS & CO..

33-4eow No. 9 Great Jones St., New York.

 

   

se

YS Se?
GLENN’S SULPHUR SOAP,

THE LEADING EXTERNAL REMEDY FOR LOCAL DISEASES OF THE
SKIN, BLEMISHES OF THE GOMPLEXION, RHEUMATISM
AND A RELIABLE DISINFECTANT AND PRE-
VENTIVE OF CONTAGION

This mcomparable speefic removes entirely and speedily.
Eruptions of the Skin or Scaip

It especially COMMENDS ITSELF TO THE LADIES on account of
ite PURIFYING and BEAUTIFYING influence upon tie COMPLEXION.

Every one possessing a cake ot GLENN’S SULPHUR SoaP, cost-
ing 25 or 50 cents. MAY ENJOY AT HOME ALL THE BENEFIT DERIV
ARLE FROM a series of costly SULPRUR BATRS.

Dandruff is eradicated and the hair'prevented from tailing out
or prematurely turning gray.

PHYSICIANS RECOMMEND ITS USE

Seht by maul. prepaid, per Box, (3 Cakes), 75c, and $i 50.

N. B.—The large cakes at 50 cents are triple the size
all Druggists. * © N CRITTENTON, Propcietor,

27-l2eaw No. 7 Sixth avenue, N. Y-

Sole by

 

NEW STYLE
DIAMOND VISITING CARDS.
The Latest and Nicest Thing Out.

50 Assorted (22 different kinds, including Snowflake Marble,
v Cream Plaid, Damask, Repp, Tinted, Bristols. &c ,) with
your name onthem, for 25 cents. ‘an give you the same assort-
ment of common square cards if you prefer them.

S. J. SPEAR. Medfield. Mass.

Address
Samples for 3 cent: stamp
No postals. “State where you saw this

33-2e0w

UFFERERS FROM NERVOUS DEBILITY
who have tried. in vain every advertised remedy, will learn
of a simple cure by addressing
50-52 DAVIDSON & CO., Box 2,296, New Yor.

GENTS WANTED. —Salary or Commission. Valuable
ye free. Address F. M. REED, Sth street, New York
OWLS;

 

 

A DAY AT HO
and terms free. TRU

Outfit

E.— Agents wanted

& CO., Augusta, Maine

 

 

 

° per day at home, Samples worth $1

S5 ao $20 free. STINSON & CO, Portiand, Maine
w50-52

A WEBK to canvass for Vickery’s Fireside

Wisitor. Costs NOTHING to try it.

$7 P.O. VICKERY & CO., Augusta, Maine.

 

 

= ‘ . = 77933 . nace
E ®SONAIU..—A sure remedy for freckles and tan. Ad,
dress T. C. WAY, Box 100, Chicago, Il.

GENTS WANTED to sell Sewing Machine Needles

and Attachments. Sample dozen needles for any machine
sent wrens for 35 cents; sample tucker, 75 cents. Address
WM. E. REED & CO.. 767 Broadway, New York 35-4

 

 

HIE most promising avenue now open to energetic men
leading to a lasting, profitable business, is an Agency for
the UNEVED STATES LIFE INSURANCE CO. of
New YWork—the strongest in the land.
The President will give fuller particulars.

MARRIAGH
GUIDE

Price 50 cents, by mail,

 

An interesting illustrated work of
260 pages, containing valuable intor-
mation for those who are married or
contemplate marriage.

Address
DR. BUTT’S DISPENSARY,
12 North Eighth sireet, St. Louis, Mo.

35-2
‘ ‘BR YG! suffered with Catarrh
{ thirty years; was cured in
© Six weeks by a simple rem-
¢

edy, and will send the re-
J. MEAD,
35-4

 

ceipt, postage free, to all afflicted. Address Rev. T.

Drawer 176, Syracuse, New York.

WV ‘N ag
ATTENTION, ALL!
GREAT BANKRUPT SALE OF JEWELRY.

Having a large bankrupt stock ot fine Gold and Plated Jeweiry
which we wish to dispose of, in order to do so rapidly we offer
the tohowing great Bargain:

We will send a pair ot elegant gold-plated sleeve-buttons, a set
of gold tront shirt-studs, a collar-button, a lady's wedding-ring,
and an oroie watch-chain—the entire lot sent, post-paid, on
receipt of 50 cents

You can sell any one article for more than the price ot the lot
Every article as represented or money returned

LES & CO. 736 Broadway, New York City

 

 

 

MORE THAN MERE IDEAL,

BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE

 

 

There is a light within her eyes
That makes us think of cloudless skies .

There is that sweetness in her face

That makes it seem a mirrored grace—

A grace trom myrtled spirits caught,
When soul 1s blest with heavenly thought.

Surely that blest, diaphanous morn,
When she was for us iaughing born,
Can never 3 false prophecy,
Night-shade instead of roses,
“Too true the music m her voice.

Too artless ali her ways—as now.
While ip ber gooaness we rejoice,

A star must aiways erown her brow

Yes storms from if can never sweep—-
But rainbews by Love ever curled,
Show biue-eyed Peace with her white wings.
_The rightfu: queer. of a the world—
A queen with Heaver’s own scepter given.
Whose song through myriad rosy years,
Shoulo make petpetua) harmony
With God's inmost inner spheres

ee Oh OM Dist
To Corresvondents.

To BUYERS. —All communications in regard te the prices or the

urchasing of various articles must be address to the NEW

YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, contain the full address of
the writers, and specify the size, quantity or quality of the goods
desired. Those requiring ab-apswer must have twe three-cent
stamps inclosed. Owing to the large increase of letters te be an
swered in this columm, a delay of several weeks wust necessarily
ensue before the answers appear in print

NoTICE,—With every mai: we receive a number of Jetters on
various subjects, in which the writers request an answer by mat
instead of through the various: departments To de this we are
compelled to employ additional help, beside beme put te consid-
arabia troubie and expense toobtain the information. This we
will cheerfully submit to when the questions are answered
through our columns, as the knowledge thus imparted wil! inter.
est and benefit the mass of our readers; but in the future, tc se-
zwure an answer by mail, persons desiring it must inclose a FIFTY
CENT STAMP, & pay US for cur wowble and expense.

 

#a> Gossip wiTs READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.

Mrs. Mary E. Smy® writes as. one cx the most difficult letters
to reaG we ever received. She says: “My busband has been a
subscriber for your papel for ten years. We have deep constant
readers, and yalue it very bighly. 1 have lopg wanted to teli you
that he is a habitual drunkard and to beg that you will pléase to

ublish all that lies in your power to enforce ee man on the

ace of the earth, as much as possible, so that be shall be tempe-
tate. I myself ama ‘Temperance Crusader,’ and have been for
the last year and a half, and have been a daughter in the tempe
tance lodge ever since I was eighteen, and I am now forty-five.
Four hundred ladies organized a division here by agp De the
viedge. and have tought the liquortraffic with moral courage
and ¢lear grit. ‘We have held monthly temperance meetings
All this did not seem to affect our young men much, as we faiied
to have our influence reach them in view to leaving the saloons.
For the first four menths I could not see as anything had been
done to have the desired effect. Finally 1 took the responsibility
upon myselt of consulting a counsellor and the city authorities—
but all a private matter. They had tried to shut up the saloons
here, but it was sold on the sly. My busband.avorked for one
saloon-keeper for four months, and was forced to drink up about

 

REVOLVERS -sx57 $3.00

NEW BUFFALO BILL REVOLVER.

Sent, with 100 Cartridges, for $3. Full Nickle Plate. Sat-

isfaction guaranteed. Illustrated Catalogue FREEZ.
WESTERN GUN was Chicago, W1.,

69 Dearborn street, (MeCormick BISEk). b. 0. Box 540.

28

 

$15 s $5 Send for particulars. Catalogue free. F.
o & ) & Co., ih Nassau street, N. Y.

Or
$350

34-26 (JAY. BWaONSON, Detroit, Mich.

WAN TED-3 LESMEN — To, travel and

sell our goods to the trade. Fifty

dollars a month; trayeling and hotel expenses paid. ate?
34

BOSTWICK & CO. Cincinnati, O

LEASANT and PROFITABLE

MENT.—“Beautiful!’ “Charming!” ‘Oh, how lovely!”
“What are they worth?” ete. Such are the exclamations ot
those who see the large, elegant, new Chromos produced by
the European and American Publishing Co, Every one will
want them. It requires no talking to sell the pictures—they
speak for themselves. Canvassers, agents, and ladies and gen-
tlemen out of employment, will find this the bést opening ever
offered to make money. For full particulars send stamp for
confidential circular. Address F, GLEASON & CO., 738
Washington St., Boston, Mass. 34-11

YES
a day sure to all. SIMPSON & SMITH, 64 Cort-

YES landt Street, New York. 34-5

“A DROP OF JOY IN EVERY WORD.”
FLEMINGTON, Hunterdon Co., N. J.,)

5 June 26th, 1874. {

Dr. R. V. Prerce, Buffalo, N. Y.: Dear Sir—It is
with a happy heart that I pen these lines to ac- }
knowledge that you and your Golden Medical
Discovery and Purgative Pellets are blessings to
the World. These medicines cannot be too high-
ly Pac for they have almost brought me out
of the grave. Threc months ago I was broken
out with large ulcers and sores on my vagy
limbs and face. 1 procured your Golden Medi al
Discovery and Purgative Pellets, and have taken
six bottles, and to day I am in good health, all
those ugly ulcers having healed, and left my skin
in a natural, healthy condition. Ithought atone
time I could not be cured. Although T can but
poorly express my gratitude to you, yet there is
a drop of joy in every word I write. God’s bless-
ing rest on you and your wonderful medicines,
is the humble prayer of

Yours, truly, »
JAMES. 0. BELLIS.

When a medicine will promtly cure such terri-
ble eating ulcers, and free the blood of the viru-
lent poison causing them, who can longer doubt
its wonderful virtues?. Dr. Pierce, however,
does not wish to place his Golden Medical Dis-
covery in the catalogue of quack patent nostrums
by recommending it to cure every disease, nor
does he so recommend it; but what he does claim
is this, that thero is but one form of blood disease
that it will not cure, and that disease is cancer.
He does not recommend his Discovery for that
disease, yet he knows it to be the most searching
blood cleanser yet discovered, and that it will free
the blood and systenr of all other known blood
pie be they animal, vegetable or mineral.

he Golden Discovery _is warranted hy him to
cure the worst forms of Skin Diseases, as all forms
of Blotches, Pimples, and Eruptions, also all
Glandular Swellings, and the worst form of Scrof-
ulous and Ulcerated Sores of Neck, Legs, or other
parts, and all Scrofulous Diseases of the Bones
as White Swellings, Fever Sores, Hip Joint and
Spinal Diseases, all of which belong to Scrofalous

iseases. 4

2 > FANCY CARDS, New Styles, with name, 10 cents.
eP Post-paid. J.B. HUSTED, Nassau, Renss. Oo., N, Y.

Nason, |
w29-7

 

A Month.—Agents wanted. $6 best selling arti-
cles in the world. One sampie free. Address

 

 

EMPLOY.

 

WE WANT an agent in eyery town. Easy work
at home. Write now and we wil! start you. $8

 

 

 

Visiting Cards, with your name finely printed,

Sent for 25 cents. We have 100 Styles. Spree

$250 A MONTH.—-AGENTS WANTED
35-2 J. WORTH. & CO., St. Louis, Mo.
PEARSON & PHELPS, Auburn, N. Y.

Wanted. 9 Samples sent for stamp.
erywhere. Business honorable and_ first-
WANTED, CANVASSERS to take orders for en-
YOUR NAME
sta

 

 

FULLER & CO., Brockton, Mass.
class, Particulars sent free. Address
larging Pictures. Send for Circular and Price-List.

 

neatly printed on 40 fine Bristol
Cards (7 tints) for 10 cts. and 3 ct.

 

 

all of his wages: Sometimes he declined when induced by him;
other timés he bought it himself and brought it home, and would
drink a pint every night and a pint every day, and so did not re-
ceive but a smal! amount of mhe T had to run into debt, but
expected to have means to pay for provisions, but 1 could not
meet my promised bills and would not run up a bill any more.
Then I could barely sustain life for six months. [was neariy on

the point of starvation ° d me so that I could neither
eat, sleep ,nor work. F pal i

if WT ust bet ys at et SHOR iA in-
uiring of them al! if he bough uor of them. found that he
had—ot every one but Spel aisa that he had spent a great deal
of money ip the —— company, @s I have the checks. I then took
‘this man by surpriseand:allon the sly. I said but little about
‘being in favor of temperance, for I wanted them to think I
was in tavor of selling, 23 to gain more influence, and I have
played the game upon them all and it work fikeacharm. I
visited them all very often, and they didn't trust me much
I got a lot of reliable information on hand’ before the election
last.spring, and had posted the city authorities an@ the district
attorney. The former had in their possession 300 pages and the
latter 400, and then they passed a no-license law and the no-
license ticket was voted. Then at the first sitting ofcourt I went
before the grand jury and entered a great many complaints
against the figaer sellers, and have been_ before the grand jury
for a year, entering liquor complaints. I was determined and
resolyed to fight this thing down, feeling that 1t was my dut
and a duty that every drunkard’s wife ought to do. _I don’t wish
to praise or exalt myself in the least, but I actually don’t believe
that the no-license ticket would have carried the day here, or
the saloons have all been closed so speedily, had I not made
this move. I have worked hourly and daily, and weekly
and monthly, and for ayear anda half, with the courage of a
lion. I have fought drunkards and whisky boldly and
defiantly. I have written nearly 1/200 pages on the subject
ot billiard tables and tobacco and Jiqnor-drinking. Nearly
pages have been lectured from and published by a
friend—a temperance lecturer who is traveling. And I have
written letters of advice to a great many young men here which
have had a good result. Some of them used to swear and scorn
me at the first for visiting the saloons, and some would insult
and impose upon me. But I heeded, not their remarks, but con-
sidered from whence they came. I kept’ at my post, and after
awhile Tjearned that they got ashamed of their improper re-
marks, and repented and said no more to me. It was not sur-
rising for me to hear them and their vulgar oaths, for I knew
efore I had made up my mind to go through them here that
I would have to take the bitter with the sweet. And although it
was very annoying and provoking, I fought it through. T am
happy now to say that I am glad I used my influence in the di
rection of a reformation, and that a great deal of good has re
sulted therefrom. But still 1 have not succeeded in reforming
my husband, and never expect to, and my health is nearly gone,
and Lam so reduced to poverty that I feel discouraged, , Mother
nature has done more for me than for the generality of common
women. I am, as it were, aself-made woman. I have had a
good practical experience, and am weli informed and instructed,
and I have good abilities and talents; have traveled consider-
able, and made a great many acquaintances, and always found
agreat many friends. I have made up my mind to write a Jec-
ture on the subject of temperance and travel, and the remain.
der of my life will be more agreeable and pleasant. I really need
the recreation and change in order todrown my past troubles
as much as possible. I expect to live but a few years at the long
est. Iam crushed down in spirit and in ‘health, and am ali dis-
couraged and deranged to all intents and purposes. I am really
an object of pity and sympathy. Lam going to leave here as
soon as I can get some of my debts paid, and get enough to go
away with. And now you must excuse this writingin great
haste, and this is all the paper I have (one sheet). I desire that
you will publish all you can.’? You areone of the world’s true
1eroines, and we gladly present your record of your noble
struggle for temperance and reformation, (But let us beg that
you will aimto write more Jegibly. Had it not been for our
great interest in this noble cause, we should hardly have under-
taken to have read and copied your letter; 1t was areal task.)
Let our millions of readers “read, mark, learn, and inwardiy
digest”? what eyen one womancan do when she makes up her
mind, and then goes to work and perseveres inthe use ofthe
efficient means, One or two such women to every thousand or
so of our population could carry the day for temperance and
order throughout the Jength and breath of our beloved Jand. We
can but exclaim: God with you! and do not fail to look up to
jh and and put your trust in Him who alone can give the vic-
ory.
. Liberty Bell.—Our_ statement a week or two since that the
Liberty Bell now in Independence Hall, Philadelphia, was rung
on the 4th of July, 1776, in honor of the passage of the Declara-
tion of Independence, was taken from Appleton’s Cyclopedia.
Further inyestigation, however, proves that this is an error, as
the Declaration. was adopted in secret session on that day, and
on the 5th ¢ireulars were sent to the various assemblies, conven-
tions and councils of safety of the various States, requesting that
the Declaration be proclaimed. In Philadelphia it was not
known until the 6th, and was first publicly read in the State
House yard, by John Nixon, on the 8th of July, amid a general
rejoicing, lighting of bonfires, and ringing of | bells, the old State
House (Liberty) bell being one of the first, if not the first, to ring
out the glad tidings. Bancroft, the historian, makes no mention
of the bell being rung on the 4th, but speaks of its being rung at
the general jubilee on the 8th.

Romeo.—We shall not advise you to act in opposition to the
wishes of your parents, particularly in your desire to adopt the
stage as a profession, All stage-struck youths are just as san-
guine of success as yourself, but the difficulty is in nearly all
caseS that the puplic fail to discover the histrionic ability which
is so ar ha to the possessors ot it.

Monitor.—i\st. We know nothing of the concern. Write toa
mercantile agency. 2d. Pike county, Pa., is not in a farming re.

ion. It has a rough, hilly surface, and indifferent soil, with
orests that yield large quantities of timber. There are several
tanneries and some twelve or more saw-mills in the county.

Citizen.—The matter will have to be settled in the courts. Mit
nors are in a measure irresponsible for debts contracted by
them, but as judgment has been secured and partially satisfied,
it seems to us the balance may be collected.

Mt. Peter, L. S.—The play will cost 15 cents.

Cc. L. B.—It is impossible to do anything more than generalize
in regard to the West. The best plan isto goto that portion of
it yon prefer, and work at anything which offers until you can
establish yourself.

A Reader.—The quotation is from Book I. of Milton’s “Para-
dise Lost,’’ and reads as follows:

“ Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks

In Vallombrosa, where th’ Etrurian shades

High over-arched imbower.”
Wild Rose.—Sketches of average merit, one to two columns in
length, are@vorth about $5.
. The distance from New York to San Francisco, by

 

mp; on 50 Assorted Cards (no two alike) 30 cts; 20 Acquaint-
ance Cards, 12 styles, 10 ets. Agents’ Outfit, 25 cts.
35-5 1 & CO, Box 49, Clintonville, Conn.

 

 

nks.—1s
rail, is 3,310 miles, 2d, See ‘Etiquette Department.”

<< THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. =

— a on x

H, Russell.—MSS. for publication should be written in a Jegibie
hand, with black ink, on white paper, and on one side of the
Sheet. The pages should be numbered consecutively, and not
commenced anew with each chapter. MSS. should not be rolled;
they may be folded, or put up in a flat package, or in a paste-
board box. ©

W. H.—A German. thaler is worth 72 cents in American
coin.

Hal St. John. —We know nothing of the individual)
vouch for the reliability of our advertisers

W. G, Henderson —We employ no traveling agents to canvass
for the NEW YORK WEEKLY.

Sam Jones, A. U. Gruhlky and Banjo.—See foot of column.
Tressilian.—\st. See ‘Etiquette Department.” 2d. A diamond
ring may be purchased tor $25 upward; pearl, $15 upward; opal).
$35; gold ring $8 to $15. 3d. The distance from New York to San
Francisco, via Cape Horn, is 18,850 miles; py rail, 3,310 miles;
from New York to Des Moines, Iowa. 1,256 miles. The fare to the
latter point is $24.20. 4th. If you are unable to judge of the
young lady’s feelings toward you by her actions, a declaration ot
your own sentiments will be likely to produce an avowal trom
her. 5th. The problem has been used before

Phito.—ist. The salaries of actors depend on their ability and
their line of business. 2d. The gentleman reterred to is a teacher
ot elocution. We doubtif he would undertake to prepare you
for the stage unless liberally paid.

Baxter —We have no list of Boston tradesmen

Alice and Kate.—There is no society such as you name under
the supervision of the Episcopait Church. The Female Benevo-
lent Society, at Fourth avenue and Twenty-first street, and the
Ladies’ Depository, at 873 Broadway, furnish and assist respect-
able females to obtain employment. .

Harry Morgan —“A Mad Marriage” was written for the NEW
YORK WEEKLY by Mrs. May Agnes Fieming. The papers will
cost $) 44.

H Elliott McBride.—The series was completed in No, 12.

A Reader, Kansas City.—Learn the trade tor which you have
the strongest inclination, and for which you are physically
adapted

Anxious Inquirer.—The American patriots, during the Revo-
Jutionary war, received no acquisitions to their strength from
any of the European governments except France, who sent sey-
erat fleets to their aid, and some 6,000 soldiers under the Count
de Rochambeau. There were many cases of individual service
render by foreigners. such as Lafayette, Pulaski, Kosciusko,
Steuben, and others. but they were offered irrespective of their
governments.

A W Tyler —See a New York city Business Directory.

Four Lea? Clover.—All of your questions are answered in last
week's issue

C Smith.—See reply to “C H S." in No 382

Frank Detroit —ist. The reguiar army of the United States
numbers about 25,000 2d There is no such body as the volun-
teer force ot the State or the United States; This force consists
of all able-bodied citizens 3d There is an excess ot commis-
sioned officers during time of peace, and censequently not the
slightest chance of an enlisted man being promoted to such a
position. 4th. Cadets at Wes: Point are appointed by the Presi-
dent anc Members ot Congress 5th Genera! officers rank in
the folowing order: General. lieutenant-general. major-general
and brigadier-general 6th Gen, William T Sherman holds the
highest rank

Kate Sullivan —The California mine is a stock concern.

Conemaugh.—The name has the ring of several swindling con-
cerns which have been in operation at various times during the
past few years Better leave it alone

West Virginia.—We do not know where you can dispose of
walnut knots

Philip Gready —\ist. The last transit of Venus across the disk
of the sun occurred Dec. 8. 1874. 2d. Venus revolves around th
sup ata distance o! 66,000,000 miles from that luminary, which is
about 92,000,000 miles from the earth. During the transit, there
fore, she 1s 26,000,000 miles from us, but when at the opposite side
oi the circle is 158,000,000 miles from the earth. 3d. The next
transit of Venus wi'! occur Dec 6. 1882. 4th The moon is distant
trom the earth about 240,000 miles

Amateur M L B—list MSS. tor publication should be written
on one side of the sheet, in black ink on white paper. The size
oO: paper is immaterial. 2d. Wedo not wish to purchase any
MSS

We do not

A W. Garret.—)st. Continental money is valueless as a circu-
lating medium. It is not redeemable by the U. S. Government.
2d. Michael Angelo Buonarotti is celebrated as painter, sculptor
and architect, in all of which he stands in the first rank. As a
painter his marvellous genius is best known. His “Sleeping
Cupids” and *“‘Bacchus™ are his most noted works of art as a
sculptor, while the dome of St Peter’s Cathedral at Rome is the
grandest exhibition ot his talent as an architect. He was also the
author of several sonnets.

J A. Clabby —Anpply at the office of the line, 37 Broadway.

X T R—The gentleman is still living A letter addressed to
him, in the care ot Harper & Brothers, will reach him.

TO PURCHASING AGENCY CORRESPONDENTS.

in response to the queries of our correspondents who send no
address, we give the prices at which the tollowing articles may
be procured through the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agen-
cy: Book oi instruction on the banjo, 75 cents; ‘The Inducto-
rium, or Induction Coil,” $1 20; ‘‘Manuai of Etiquette,” 75cents;
war of Good Society,’' $175; “The Perfect Gentleman,”

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.

H.C. B. S—ist. lt a gentleman sends a lady a periodical, and
atthe expiration of the year, or coficlusion ef the volume,
should cease to send it, she would not, have cause to feel ag-
grieved, but should express her thanks for the favor received.
2d. Ladies do not take the arm of a gentleman when walking un-
Jess they are married or engaged. except in the evening, and
then agentleman should offer his arm asa protection, anda
lady should not retuse to take it, whether they are engaged or
not. 3a. On entering a church or theatre the gentleman usually
prsecdes the lady, that he may the more readily find a seat for
per. :

Paul Byan —ist. When cards of invitation are received for
weddings or dinner parties, an acceptance or regret should be
sent immediately,so the vacancy may be supplied by others.
2d. An acceptance should be simple, yet cordial.

Michigan Strength.—\ist. If you tailed to invite the young lady
from mere‘torgetiuiness, we certainly think you owe her an apol-
ogy. 2a. Instead of sending a verbal invitation by her ‘brother,
it woulckhave been in better taste to hare sent her. a, written
apolagy, and asked permission to become her escort for the
evening. : ‘

Tressilian.—jst. When introducing two. Jadies introduce the
younger to the older one. The ‘form of words may be 1n like
manner: ‘’Mrs. Hayes, I have the pleasure of introducing to you
Miss Wheeler.”’ 2d. If introducing a gentleman to a lady the
form should be changed somewhat; thus: ‘Mrs. ——, allow me to
present (or introduce) to you Mrs.—.”’ 3d. See Answers to Cor-
respondents

F. D.—I1st.. lf a gentleman gets acquainted with a lady at a ball
or party, and desires to escort her to supper, he may first ascer-
tain if she has company}; if not, he may ask it he may have the
pleasure ot becoming her escort to.supper. 2d. If he wishes to
accompany her home..and she has no other escort, he may with
propriety ask if -he may have that pleasure. Upon arriving at
her home he should ring the door-bell and wait until the servant
opens the door. or if she is provided with a key, he should offer
to unlock the door for her, or wait to see that she has no difficul-
ty'in getting into the house. 3d. It she should fail to ask him to
call, he may ask her permission to call to see that she has suf-
fered no inconvenience from the evening’s enjoyment. A call of
this kind should be made within two days. 4th. When a gentle-
man meets a lady on the street, and she recognizes him by a
bow, upon returbing her bow he should tip his hat. To fail todo
so would be impolite, and show lack of good manne 5th. Ata
wedding the groomsman wears white kid gloves, the same as the
groom.

—_—___——_>0-+

Josh Billings’ Philosophy.
POWDER AN D SHOT.

Az mutch az punning haz been ridikuled it iz safe
to say that a good pun iz hard to beat, and pleazes
everyboddy.

The jealousys oy the grate men hev cauzed more
sorrow and ruin to the world than the iniquitys oy
the lower classes hay. r

Genius allways demands admirashun, altho it
often fails to command respekt.

I.beleave mankind generally are prouder ov their
bad luk than oy their good fortune.

Habits, even thesmallest ov them, are most arbi-
trary. The peg we hang our hat on, the corner
where we stand our cane, are az necessary to us az
our coffee for brekfasst.

Human happiness haz been deskribed so often,
and defined so menny diffrent ways, that Ihavy eum
to the konklusion that it don’t exist at all.

Life ain’t mutch more than a farce enny how, but
it eh important that the farce should he well
ackted.

Thoze people who watch their helth or the weath-
erkock too closely, don’t generally watch enny
thing else mutch.

_Ifthis life wazto be the end ov man’s. existence,
he would not be filled with desires forsumthing he
hadn’t got and couldn’t define.

In case ov doubt, ask yure wife about it.

Happiness, after all, iza giftfrom natur. All the
world givento some wouldn’t makethem happy,
and taken away from others wouldn’t make them
unhappy. :

Don't tell the world enny thing about yure joys
oryure sorrows; a recital ov one will make them
jealous, and oy the other vain. 5

Disseazes and pain are grate levelers; the highest
and the lowest hav the colik just alike. i :

It iz the little things that sho karakter. Wheni
see aman pikupa piece ov orange peel from the
sidewalk that sum thoughtless kuss haz dropt there
and heave it into the gutter, i want to kiss that man
and call him couzin.

“Mother,” “Home,” “Child,” are the three tender-
est words in enny language.

Building air kastles iza kind ov gambling which
at first excites, then depraves, and finally exhausts
the energys.

People who hay nothing to do areallways ina
grate hurry to do it.

The human harte iz like avery ritch piece ov
ground—capable ov produsing in grate crop weeds
or flowers, just az it iz hoed or neglekted.

If Adam and Eve had remained in the Garden ov
Eden untill this day and not fell, they would hay
been nothing more than two fatt specimens.

Humility is the best teacher I kno ov, it iz all-
ways safe, and generally sure.

he reazon whi so fu suckeeed in humorous
writing iz bekauze they mistake hiperbolee for hu-
mor—genuine humor iz nothing more than genu-
ine sense, out on a bender.

My experience among men haz been, that all
thoze who do the most bragging, about indepen-
dence, do the least ov it afterwards.

It is harder work to be a sekond rate hipokrit,
than to be a fust klass christian.

Idleness iz the mrate bane ov life, the devil all-
ways enters the idle man’s house without knock-

 

ing.

Athoroughly lazy child is almost az mutch ova
kurse az an idiot.

Ill natured people don’t Are amiable az they gro
older, but like an old fighting dog, who haz spent
his youth in continual warfare, sets down in the
gateway to fight flies, and growl at the passers by,
on_the opposite side of the street. :

There is hardly enny thing that we diskover so
early, and relenquish so late, az that we have gen-
ious in an eminent degree. ,

The fust atheist we have enny ackount of was
Cain, he was a consistent one too, for he killed his
own brother and konsidered it no krime.

Ingratitude iz the devil’s kreed.

I notiss that thoze persons whoze handwriting iz
adorned with the most flourishes, don’t flourish
mutch at ennything else.

Comick lekturing iz the most irregular bizzness i

 

kno, itizaz hard to guess what kind ov a verdikt

 

an audience will bring in az it iz.to tell the amount
ov damages a pettitt jury iz a going to giv for kill-
ing sumboddys yeller dog.

Soloman waz like a grate menny other lights ov
the world, hiz philosophie grip waz more grippy
than hiz moral squeeze.

_ Lhe most comfortably matched family teams that
i hav ever saw hooked up, haz been whare one ov
the partys wanted eVerything their own way and
the other party waz willing they should hav iti

It izanotissable truth in the market, that the
value ov all our luxurys depends entirely upon the
price that other folks put on them.

The men ov few, and very regular habits; are not
allways the most long lived, they wear out in one
place, and rust out in another.

The hardest lesson to learn and the eazyest one
to forgit, iz humility. :

The failings ov mankind irather respekt; it iz
only their vices that i dispize.

Thare are but fu pholks who are az big phools az
other people think they are; and there are less who
are az wize az they think they are themselfs.

It iz allways best to giv it up when we git beat,
but it aint-allways necessary to acknowledge it.

The man who looks to hiz own conshience for
pay, iz allways sure oy gitting all that iz due him.

_ The devil haz been slandered more than enny one
ikno oy. If we never took the trubble to hunt him
up we should seldum cum:akrost him.

Millyuns oy books hay been writ to teach man-
kind how to be virtewous and happy. The follow-
ing little sentence iz worth more than all ov them
put together—“Do az we would like to be done by.”

“Throw phisick to the.dogs,” looks well enuff in
a proverb, but whare will yu find the dog that will
tuteh it?

If we could live our lifes over agin, eyen with all
the experience we hav gained to guide us, the best
we should do would be to make a’ new set ov blun-

ers. Maer? 4 =a
_ Hypokrasy iz not only the most diffikult to detekt
in others, but iz one oy the most diffikult things to
detekt in ourselfs.

Thoze countrys who hay the most laws hay the
most lawbreakers.

True Juv don’t make a man jealous enny more
than ekonemy makes him mean.

If a man could swop off all the happiness he ex-

ekts in this life for a moderate supply ov comfort

6 would make a good trade.

>_> 9

Our Knowledge Box.
A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.

 

 

We take pleasure in responding to every question address-
ed to us-in this column, for the answers generaliy afford ‘infor-
mation not only to the parties especially seeking it, but also to
the mass of our readers; but with the increase of our cireulation
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 queries replied to by
mail, will please inclose 50 cents to defray the expenses
necessarily incurred.

 

_W. J. A. M.—Tincture ot capsicum, put on the nails, will some-
times break up the habit of biting them..... .A. B. C. —We can-
not tell you.... Twelve Year Reader.—TO MAKE FINE COLOGNE
WaTER.—Take alcohol at 85 deg., ten quarts; dissolve in it es-
sence of neroli petit grain, 12 ounce; essence ot rosemary, 2 1-2
drams; essence of lavender, 11-4 drams: essence ot clove, 1-2
dram; essence of bergamot, 121-2 drams; lemon, 121-2 drams;
essence of Portugal, 71-2 drams: tincture of benzoine, 11-4
drams, _ Bottle as soon as you like, but be sure that the articles
are fresh and pure....Tute Tuttle —Glycerine and lemon. iuice
will generally remove tan, and rusty nail-water freckles........
Strike Three Blows.—Write direct tothe NEw YORK WEEKLY
Purchasing Agency........ J. M. W.—No other recipes........,.
J. M. B.—We cannot tell you........ Entry Clerk.—Spirits of am-
monia will help you. A tablespoon{ul to halfa basin of water
when you wash your feet........ Pestered Housekeeper.—TO GET
RID OF RATS.—Melt tar and pour around the rat holes. The tar
gets on their coats, which they very much dislike, and they soon
leave their quarters. Let any onetry this experiment, and he
will find that there will bea general stampedeofrats.... Laura
L.—To REMOVE TAN.—If glycerine and lemon juice, as before
recommended, fail, dissolve magnesia in enough water to make
athick paste. Spreaditon the face, and let it remain a tew
minutes. Then wash off with castile soap-suds. and rinse with
clear water,....... James Williams.—A very good recipe.,......
FA. S.—l. GRAHAM BREAD. Prepare a sponge as for white
bread, using potatoes or white flour. The rule with many is to
take out a certain quantity of the risen sponge on baking day,
and set aside for brown bread. Put into a tray two parts Gra-
ham flour, one-third white, and toevery quart ot this allow a
handful of Indian meal, with ateaspoonful of salt. Wet this up
with the sponge, and when it is mixed add, for a loaf of fair size,
half a teacupful of molasses. The dough should be very soft. If
there is not enough of the sponge to reduce it to the desired con-
sistency, add alittle blood-warm water. Knead it diligently and
long. It will not rise so rapidly as the white flour, having more
“body” tocarry. Let it take its time; make into round, com-
fortable Joaves, and set down again for the second rising, when
youhave again kneaded it. Bake steadily, taking care it does
not burn, and do not cut while hot. It will take a longer time to
bake than white bread. Brown flour should not be sifted. 2,
There is, we believe, only.one case on record.... .......5 eveege
“Jack.” Bridgeport.—Dampen the wali paper with warm water
by means of a clean whitewash brush, and then peel off the pa-
er. Itmay be necessary todampen the paper three or tour
imes..... 4 Rara Avis.—SOLDERING WITHOUT FIRE.—Take one
ounce of sal-ammoniac and one of common salt, an equal quan-
tity of calcined tartar, and as much of bell-metal, with three
ounces of antimony. Pound well ali together, and sift it. Put
this into a piece of linen, and inclose it well all round with full-
er’s earth about an inch thick. Let it dry; then put it between
two crucibles over a slow fire, to get heat by degrees. Push on
the fire till the Jump becomes: red-hot, and melted altogether;
let the whole cool gradually, and pound it into powder. hen
you want to solder anything, put the two pieces you want to
join on a table, approaching their extremities as near as you
can to one another; making a crust of fuller’s earth, so that
holding to each piece and passing under the joint it should open
over on the top, then throw some of your powder between and
over the joint. Haye some borax, which put into hot spirits of
wine till itis consumed, and with a feather rub your powder at
the joint; you will see it immediately boil. As soon as the boil-
ing stops the consolidation is made. Ifthere be any roughness,
grind it off on a stone...... Kamfor.—We cannot inform you,.....
Housekeeper.—No recipe of that particular kind..... J €—IvorRY
KEYS.—Rub them carefully with a rag dipped in a little sulphur-
ous acid. Repeat, ii necessary, and finish off with whiting paste.
R. B. Hammond,—i. Use the best plaster of Paris. 2. Both
are very good.......... Alice Moore and Fanny Day.—Take abun-
dance of exercise, and avoid the use of fo containing much
starch or sugar. Also see No. 20 of volumé 31..... J. J. C—CR-
MENT TO UNITE INDIA-RUBBER.—Take sixteen parts of gutta-
pereha, four parts of.India-rubber, two parts of common caulk-
ers’ pitch, one part of linseed oil. The ingredients are melted
together, and used hot. It will unite leather or rubber that has
not been vulcanized...........J- F. McC.—Paris green and sugar,
mixed in about equal proportions, will generally exterminate
water bugs. Be careful how you use the Paris green, as it isa
deadly poison,

 

MEDICAL DEPARTMENT.

_ W.M. A.—There are two kinds of polypus or tumors—one soft,
jelly-like, the other fleshy or fibrous—one grows from the nose,
and the other generally connects itself with the womb. Both
kinds are either twisted off with a pair of forceps, or strangled
by putting a string, called a ligature, around their neck, which
will generally cause them to fall off in-ashort time. You should
consult a regular physician regarding your trouble—one who can
give you his persona! attention. f

. H. P.—WEAK EYES.—Bathe your eyes in salt and water
every morning. Atterward bathe in dlear water
__W. M. B.—A large tub will answer the purpose. In bathing
immerse the body up to the hips, and remain in the water from
eight to ten minutes. Wash all over at least twice a week.

L. D, D.—ELDER OINTMENT.—Take of elder flowers and Jard,
each two pounds. Boil the elder in the lard till it becomes crisp;
then express through linen.

Joe Leeds.—You need the services of a dentist.

Mississippi.—Take plenty of exercise, and indulge freely in all
the fruits of the season—stewed prunes are good. If you fancy
roast beef get it as rare done as you can.

Ab.—We cannot aid you. Consult an oculist.

A. D,.—For catarrh, see No. 26 of volume 31.

An Old.Soldier.—1. You will find calisaya bark and iron a cap-
ital tonic. Druggists keep it prepared.
three times a day after each meal.

W. F. G.—FACIAL NEURALGIA. Pass a piece of ice gently over
the affected side of the face every five minntes, lessening the
painfulness of the application by holding some alcohol fluid in
the mouth until a shght feeling of warmth is excited. A ve
goevom case, treated in this manner, was cured in twelve

2. We think not.

Jonathan Swift.—Try cold water bathing.

pipe, place a wad of cotton in the bowl, drop upon it eight or ten
drops of chloroform, and coyer with another wad of cotton.
Place the stem to the affected ear, then blow into the bowl, and
generally the pain will cease in a few moments. :

Bitious.—Avoid rich or greasy food, and take occasionally a
dose of rhubarb and magnesia.

W. S. Band Carson.—WoRMS.—The ‘seeds of the pumpkin
have within a few years obtained in this country considerable
reputation in the treatment ot tapeworm. The employment of
them, however, is not new. The flesh of the pumpkin was used
in 1820. The dose of the seeds is about two ounces, which are to
be taken early in the morning, and followed in an hour or two
by a fluid ounce of castor oil. The mode of adminiStration 1s
various. Sometimes the seeds, deprived of their outward cover-
ing, are beaten into a paste with sugar, and thus taken. In
other instances they are formed into an emulsion by rubbing
them up thoroughly with water and a little sugar. The followin
recipe is recommended: Take of pumpkin seeds, six. hundre

rains; sugar, one hundred grains; ethereal extract ot male
ern, sixty grains; water, five fluid ounces. Bruise the seeds in
a marble mortar with the sugar, and half a fluid ounce of water,
and when a homogeneous paste his been obtained, add the ex-
tract of fern, and gradually mix in the rest of the water. The
emulsion should be taken, without. straining, early in the morn-
ing, in four doses, at intervals of fifteen minutes, the bottle be-
ing well shaken each time.
epentant Youth.—Continue to take the bark ‘and iron after
each meal, and bathe night and morning in cold water.

> @4
MAKING GIRLS WALK GRACEFULLY. |

The Hindoo girls are gracefully and exquisitel
formed. From childhood they are accustomed to
carry burdens on their heads. The water for fami-
ly use is always brought by the girls in earthen
jars, carefully poise in this way. The exercise is
said to strengthen the muscles of the back, while
the chest is thrown forward. No crooked backs are
seen in Hindostan. Dr. Henry Spry says that “this
exercise of carrying small vessels of water on the
head might be advantageously introduced into our
boarding-schools and private families, and that it
might entirely supersede the present machinery of
dumb-bells, backboards, skipping-ropes, ete.
Young ladies ought to be taught to carry a jar, as
these Hindoo women do, without ever touching it
with their hands.”

The same practice of carrying water leads to pre-
cisely the same result in the south of Spain and in
the south of Italy as in India. A Neapolitan female
peasant will carry on her head a vessel full of water
to the very brim over a rough road and not spill a
a drop of it, and the acquisition of this art or knack
gives her the same erect and elastic gait, and the
same expanded chest and well-formed back and

 

 

 

shoulders.

Ossal.—SIMPLE CURE FOR EARACHE.—Take a common tobacco-

Take a desertspoontul :

nours. '
oon Matthews.—For ingrowing toe-nails, see No. 22 of volume :

  

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

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Pe eee eee

NEW YORK, JULY 17, 1876.

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Liberty.

As appropriate for this number of the New York
WEEKLY—our Fourth of July issue—we append a
few of the noblethoughts of great minds upon the
inspiring theme of Liberty:

The greatest glory of a free-born people
Is to transmit that freedom to their children.—
Harvard,

Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be pur-
chased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid
it, Almighty God! I know, not what course others
may take, but as for me, give me liberty or give me
death.— Patrick Henry.

The love of liberty with life is given,
And life itself the inferior gift of Heaven.—
Dryden.

We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all
men are created equal; that they are endowed by
their Creator with inalienable rights; that among
these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
—Thomas Jefferson.

For freedom’s battle, once begun,
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won.— Byron.

Liberty knows nothing but victories. Soldiers
call Bunker Hill a defeat; but liberty dates from it,
though Warren lay dead on the field— Wendell
Phillips.

Give me the centralism of liberty; give me the
imperialism of equal rights.—Charles Sumner.

Liberty is an old fact. It has its heroes and its
martyrs in almost every age. As I look back
through the vista of centuries, [can see no end of
the ranks of those who have toiled and suffered in
its cause, and who wear upon their breasts its star
of the legion of honor.—Chapin.

The human race isin the best condition when it
has the greatest degree of liberty.—Danie.

Liberty is one of the most precious gifts which
Heaven has bestowed on man; with it we cannot
compare the treasures which the earth contains or
the sea conceals; for liberty,as for honor, we can
and ought to risk our lives.—Cervantes.

Liberty and union, now and forever, one and in-
separable!—Daniel Webster.

Many politicians are in the habit of laying it
down as a self-evident proposition, that no people
ought to be free till they are fit to use their freedom.
The maxim is worthy of the fool in the old story,
who resolved not to go into the water till he had
learned to swim.— Macaulay.

Liberty must be a mighty thing; for by it God
punishes and rewards nations.—Madame Swetchine.

TRAMPS.

The newspapers of the day are filled with ac-
counts of outrages by the tide of wanderers dis-
tinguished by the general name of “tramps,” and
all the women and children in lone country houses
live in constant fear. ‘ 5

In making some call not long since in a country
neighborhood where we have a wide circle of ac-
quaintances, we found every door securely fasten-
ed, and to our rapsomebody from within called
out in trembling accents, which they tried hard to
make sound brave:

““Who’s there?” :

We have no doubt butthat the tramp nuisance
is a disagreeable and perhaps dangerous eyil, but
it is one which law, and sometimes the judicious
use of arevolver, will restrain, andintime wipe

 

 

 

ou

And we believe that every lady should number
target-shooting among her SCO DuED en We
would rather be able to scientifically lay out a bur-
glar by. the application of cold lead if occasion
required, than be classed as a proficient in em-
broidery, or an edept in any kind of fashionable
fancy work. _

But as we faithfully read the papers we cannot
help being struck by the fact that—judging from
the printed accounts—the women of these United
States are in much greater danger from their own
husbands than they are from tramps. | :

We scarcely take upa paper in which there is
not an account of some atrocious murder of which
a wife is the victim.

The ax which severs the head from the body, the
“cold poison,” the deadly bludgeon, the blazing
kerosene, all have lately conspired to put wives out
of the world. 7

Women are abused and beaten by their own hus-
bands quite as much as by tramps, andif we were
to judge at all from what we hear, we should say
that a woman’s liability of death at the hands of her
husband is about twice as great as from the hands
of tramps. ; ;

Young girls who are about getting married, and
who dream of nothing but roses and kisses in nup-
tial life, how would you like having a can of kero-
sene poured on you and set on fire by your loving
and protecting husband?

How would you like to have your head chopped
off while you were washing the floor, as an affec-
tionate husband chopped off his wife’s recently.

Does not the prospect frighten you? Is itnot
better to be an old maid, and keep cats, and make
pinafores for some other woman’s children?

Of course, itis, but then who among us,if we
were young girls, could be made to see it?

KATE THORN,
a a

The Best Stories | of the Best Authors.

We have often been complimented for the con-
stantly varying attractions we place before the pub-
lic. Our list of contributors is so large—much
larger than that of any other paper—that we are
enabled at all times to select the best works of the
best authors. Unlike our cotemporaries, we are
not forced to present the works of a few stock con-
tributers allthe year round. The public become
tired of reading the works of the same authors
month after month, and long forachange. They
desire more variety, and this they are sure to find
in the NEw YorK WEEKLY, which is constantly on
the watch for new talent, and frequently adds new
authors to its already numerous staff, and at the
same time retains all its favorite contributors. The
contents of the New York WEEKLY are always fresh
and interesting, because among its contributors
there is encouraged a spirit of rivalry which
prompts each writer to do his or her utmost in the
effort to excel. Consequently every issue of the
New YoRK WEEKLY contains the best works of the
best authors.

——_____—__ > @—+4________-

An Irishman, who had returned from Fire Island,
after a three days’ sojourn there, was askedif he
enjoyed himself. “Injoyed meself!’’ he exclaimed.
“Do ye call it injoyment to be kept awake all night
flattenin’ the muskaithers on yer cheeks, and
spendin’ the day puttin’ hailing lotions on yer
chops to cure the wounds of the blood-suckers ?
Not much injoyment in fightin’ muskaiters whin
they come at ye in regiments iv a thousand ata
time. Instead of being a place of pleasure, Fire Is-
land isa place of pain. Begorra, I thought I was
in purgatory.”

 

BLUNDERS OF A BASHFUL MAN.

By Mrs. MARK PEABODY,
AUTHOR OF THE “SLIMMENS PAPERS.”

NUMBER FIVE.
HE COMMITS SUICIDE.

Two days after the fair (one day after the bonfire),
sometime during the afternoon,I found myself
alone in the store. Business was so dull that fa-
ther, with a yawn, said he guessed he’d go to the
post-office and have a chat with the men.

“Be sure you don’t leave the gtore amoment
alone, John,” washis parting admonition. |

Of course I wouldn’t think of such a thing—he
need nothave mentioned it. Iwas a good business
fellow for my age; the only blunders I ever made
were those caused by my failing—the unhappy fail-
ing to which I have hitherto alluded.

Isat mournfully on the counter after father left
me, my head reclining pensively against a pile of
ten-cent calicoes; Iwas thinking of my grandmo-
ther’s legacy gone up in smoke—of how Belle
looked when she found I had conducted her into
the coal-cellar—of those tidies, cradle-quilts, bib-
aprons, dolls and ladies’ fixings, which had been
nefariously foisted upon me, a base advantage taken
of my diffidence!—and I feltsad. I felt more than
melancholy—I felt mad. I resented the tricks of the
fair ones. And I made a mighty resolution! “Never
—never—never,” said I, between my clenched teeth,
“will lagain be guilty of the crime of bashfulness
—never!”

I felt that I could face a female regiment—all Bab-
bletown! I was indignant; and there’s nothing
like honest, genuine indignation to give courage.
Oh, ’d show ’em! I wouldn’t give a cent when the
deacon passed the plate on Sundays; I wouldn’t
subscribe to the char—— }

In the midst of my dark and vengeful resolutions
I heard merry voices on the pavement outside.

Hastily raising my head from the pile of calicoes,
I saw at least five girls making for the store-door—
a whole bevy of them coming in upon me at once.
They were the same rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed,
dezeitful, shameless creatures who had persuaded’
me into such, folly atthe fair. There was Hetty
Slocum, the girl who coaxed me into buying the
doll; and Maggie Markham, who sold me the quilt ;
and Belle, and two others, and they were chatting
and giggling over some joke, and had to stop on the
steps until they could straighten their faces. I
grew fire-red—with indignation.

Oh, father, why are you not hére?” I cried, in-
wardly. ‘Oh, father, what ashame to go off to the
postapiticg and leave your son to face these impos-
ors

Isummoned back my flying resolutions—I tried
to feel as I felt five minutes before, like facing a fe-
male regiment. Now was the time to prove my
courage—to turn over a new leaf, take a new depar-
ture, begin life over again, show to these giggling
girls thatI hadsome pride—some self-independ-
ance—some self-resp—— __

The door creaked on its hinges, and at the sound
a blind confusion seized me. In vain I attempted,
like a brave but despairing general, to rally my
forces; but thev all deserted me at once; I was
hidden behind the calicoes, and with no time to ar-
range for a nobler plan of escaping a meeting with
the enemy—no auger-hole through which to crawl
—I followed the first impulse, stooped, and hid
under the counter. .

In a minute, I wished eye out of that; but the
minute had been too much; the bevy had entered
and approached the counter, at the very place be-
hind which I lay concealed. was afraid to
breathe; the cold sweat started on my forehead.

“Why!” there’s no one in the store!” exclaimed
Bell’s voice.

“O, yes, there must be. Let us look around and
see? responded Maggie, and they went tiptoein
around the room, peeping here and there, while
silently tore my hair. I was so afraid they would
come behind the counter and discover me.

In three minutes, which seemed as many hours,
ay, came to the starting-point again.

‘There isn’t a soul here.” :

“La, how funny! We might take something.” |

“Yes, if we were thieves, what a fine opportunity
we would have.” ,

“Tl bet three cents it’s John’s fault: his father
would never leave the store in this careless way.”

“What 9. ~ueer fellow he is, anyway!” :

“Ha. na, ha! so perfectly absurd! Jsn’t it fun
when he’s about ?” — ; 4

“I never was so tickled in my life as when he
brought that quilt.”

“I thought I would die laughing when he took
~~ into the coal-cellar, but I kept a straight

ace.

“Do you think he’s good-looking, Hetty ?”

“Who? John Flutter! good-looking? He’s a per-
fect fright!” ‘ f é

“That’s just what Ithink. Oh, ist’t it too good to
see the way he nurses that little mustache of his!
I’m going to send him a magnifying-glass so that
he can count the hairs with less trouble.”

“If you will, ’ll send a box of cold cream; we
can send ’em through the post-office, and he’ll
never find out who they came from.”

“Jolly! we'll do it! Belle won’t send anything,
for he’s dead in love with her.”

“Much good it'll do him, girls! Do you suppose
I’d have a man that can’t say boo! to.a goose? Not
I. Iwant a fellow with some spunk. I wouldn’t
marry that simpleton if he was made of gold.”

“Did you ever seesuch ared face as he has! I
would be afraid to come near it with alight dress

 

“And his ears!” 4 fe 9

“Monstrous! and always burning.”
, And the awkwardest fellow that ever blundered
into a parlor. You know the night he waited on
me to Hetty’s party? he stepped on my toes so that
I had to poultice them before I went to bed; he tore
the train all off my pink tarlatan, he spilled a cup
of hot coffee down old Mrs. Ballister’s back and
upset his saucer of ice-cream over Ada’s sweet new
book-muslin. Why, girls, just as sure as I am
standing here, [saw him cram the saucer into his

ocket, when Belle came up to speak with him!

tell you, I was glad to get home that night without
any more accidents.”

“They say he always puts the tea-napkins into
his pocket when he takes tea away from home.
But it’s not kleptomania, it’s only bashfulness. I
never heard befere of his pocketing the sau-

cers.

“Well, he reaily did. It’s awful funny. I don’t
know how we'd get along without John this winter
—he makes all the fun we have. What’s that ?”
nae don’t know, it sounded like rats gnawing the

oor.”

(It was only the amusing John gritting his teeth,
Iam able to explain.) :

_ Did you ever notice his mouth ?—how large it

“Yes, it’s frightful. I don’t wonder he’s ashamed
of himself with that mouth.”

“T don’t mind his mouth so much—but his nose!
I never did like aturn-up noseinaman. But his
father’s pretty well off. It wouid be nice to marrya
whole store full of dry-goods and haye a new dress
every time you wanted one. I wonder where they
have gone to! I believe I'll rap.”

The last speaker seized the yard-stick and
thumped on the counter directly over my head.

“Oh, girls! let’s go behind, and see how they keep
things. I wonder how many pieces of dress-silk
there are left!” :

‘I gugss [ll go behind the counter, and play
clerk. If any one comesin, Ill go, assure as the
world! and wait on’em. Won’t it be.fun? There
comes old Aunty Harkness now. I dare say she’s
after a spool of cE ge or apaper of needles. [’m
going to wait on Wer. Mr. Flutter won’t care—I’ll
explain when he comes in. What do you want,
auntie ?” in a very loud voice.

My head buzzed like a saw—my heart made such
a loud thud against my side I thought they must
hear it; but I made a convulsive effort to hear the
old lady’s reply. Thank my stars! she wanted “an
ounce o’ snuff,” and that article was kept in a glass
ar in plain sight on the.other side of the store.

here was a movement in that direction, and I re-
covered partially. I half resolved to rise up sud-
denly—pretend I’d been hiding for fun—and laugh
the whole thing off as a joke. But the insulting,
the ridiculous comments I had overheard, had
made me too indignant. Pretty joke, indeed! But
I wish I had obeyed the dictates of prudence and
affected to consider itso. Father came bustling in
while the girls were trying to tie up the snuff, and
sneering beautifully.

‘What, what, young ladies! Where’s John?’

That’s more than we know—tschi-he! We've
been waiting at least ten minutes. Auntie Hark-
ness wanted some stch-uff, and we thought we’d do
it up for her. I s’pose you’ve no objections, Mr.
Flutter?” ‘

Not the least in the world, girls. Go ahead. I
wonder where John is! There! you’ll sneeze your
pretty noses off—let me finish it. John has no bus-
iness to leave the store. I don’t like it—five cents,
auntie, to you—and Ltold him particularly, not to
leave it a minute. I don’t understand it; very sorry
you’ve been kept waiting. What shall I show you,
young lady?” and father passed behind the counter
and stood with his toes touching my legs, notwith-
standing I had shrunk into as small space as was
conyenient, considering my size and weight. It
was getting toward dusk of the short winter after-
noon, and I hoped and prayed he wouldn’t notice

me.
‘What shall I show you, young ladies?”
“Some light kid gloves, No. 6, please.”
Yes, certainly—here they are. Ido believe there’s
a strange dog under the counter! Get out—get out,
sir, [say!” and my cruel parent gave me a vicious

ick,

I pinched his leg'impressively. I meant it as a
warning, to betray to him that it was I, and to im-
plore him, figuratively, to keep silence.

But he refused to comprehend that agonized

 

90 aa is omens eR

inch; he resented it. He gave another vicious
Riek. Then he stooped and looked under—it was a

‘associates.

was struck down and killed.

 

 

little dark—too dark, alas! under there. He saw a
man—but not to recognize him,

“Ho!” he yelled, “robber! thief! burglar! I’ve got
you, fellow! Come out o’ that!” ,

I never before realized father’s strength. He got
his hand in my collar, and he yerked me out frona
under that counter, and shook me, and held me off
at arm’s length. : Z

“There, Mr. Burglar,” said he, triumphantly,
“sneak in here again will—JoHN!”

“The girls had been screaming and running, but
they stood stillnow. . :

“Yes, John!” said I, in desperation. “The drawer
came loose under the counter, and I was nailing on
astrip of board. when those young ladies came in.
I kept quiot, just for fun. They began to talk in
an interesting manner, curiosity got the better of
politeness, and I’m afraid Pve played eavesdrop-
per,” and I made a killing bow, meant especially
for Belle.

‘Well, you’re a pretty one,” exclaimed father.

‘So they say,’ said I. “Don’t leave, young ladies.
I'd like to sell_youa magnifying glass, and some
cold cream.” But they all left ina hurry. They
didn’t even buy a pair of gloves.

The girls must have told of it, for the story got
out, and Fred advised me to try counter-irritation
for my bashfulness, ,

“You’re nota burglar,” said he, “but you’re guilty
of counter-fitting.” _

“Nothing would suit me better,” I retorted, “than
to a tried for it, and punished by solitary confine-
ment.”

And there was nothingI should haye liked so
much; The iron had entered my soul. I was werse
than ever. I purchased a four-ounce vial of lauda-

num, went tomy room,and wrotealetter to my

mother ;

“Mother, Iam tired of life. My nose is turn-up,
my mouth is large, I. pocket other Pat saucers
and napkins, Iam always making blunders. This
is my last blunder. I shall never blush again.
Farewell. Let the inscription on my tombstone be
—'Died of Bashfulness.” JOHN.”

AndI swallowed the contents of the vial and
threw myself on my little bed.

—_—_—__—__>-9~+______

ANECDOTES OF
THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

BY BRADDOCK FIELD.

 

The reader of the history of the Revolutionary
War sees frequent mention made of Lord Sterling
among the American generals. This gentleman
was not, asit may be inferred he was from his
title, a peer of Great Britain, but, on the contrary,
he was a native of the State of New York. His real
name was William Alexander, and the title “Lord
was atitle of courtesy given him by his American
Some time before the war he went to
England to lay claim to the earldom of Sterling and
the estate thereto appetaining, basing his claim on
the ground that an ancestor had held this title and
a grant of Nova Scotia in 1621. Mr. Alexander spent
a large fortunein this pursuit, but failed in his end,
as the British government refused the appt
He subsequently became a general in the Continen-
tal army, and Was highly esteemed for his patriot-
ism, prudence, and courage. He was captured in
the battle of Long Island in August, 1776, and he it
was who informed General Washington (to whom
he was much attached) ofthe intrigue instituted
against the latter in 1777 by General Conway and
others, knownin history as the “Conway Cabal.”
Lord Sterling’s weakness was his vanity in the mat-
ter of his title. On this head a good story is told.
He once attended at the execution of a soldier, and
hearing the poor wretch exclaim with emphasis,
“The Lord have mercy on me!” his vanity led him
to take the ejaculation as a personal appeal to him-
self, and he exclaimed warmly, “No, you rascal—I
won’t have mercy on you!” e

After the surrender at Yorktown the American
generals, following the example set them by Wash-
ington, treated the captured British officers with
every civility and hospitality. This generous and
polite treatment, however, cule not remove from
the minds of the latter the bitter memory of_their
defeat, It was recorded that once, while in Wash-
tnton’s presence, the Marquis Cornwallis, the Brit-
ish commander-in-chief, was standing with his hat
off. ‘““My Lord,” observed Washington, “you had
better be covered from the cold. Pray resume your
hat.” To which Cornwallis, touching his head with
his hand, replied in lugubrious tone: “It matters
little, sir, what becomes of this poor head now.”

The father. of General Alexander McDougall, of
the Continental army, was a Scotchman, who
carried on the business of a milkman in the
city of New York. General McDougall grew
up with Whig principles, and when the war
broke out he took sides against King George.
In 1776 he was _ appointed by Congress a brig-
adier-general. He was a man who loved a joke,
and was entirely unaffected in his character. Some-
times he would narrate the story of his life to his
friends, and on these occasions he would close with
the remark, uttered in a broad Scotch accent: ““And
now, gentlemen, you have got the history of Saw-
ney McDougall, the milkmon’s son.” F

General Washington’s traditional gravity was
once sadly disturbed by an anecdote related at his
table by a certain Dr. John Thomas,a regimental
surgeon from New England. Thomas was an ex-
cellent story-teller, and could take off the charac-
teristics of the people of. his section as no one else
could. After the preliminaries of peace had been
signed, he was invited one dayto dine at head-
quarters. One of Washington’s aids requested that
the guest might be allowed to repeat the dialogue
that had passed between two Yankee soldiers who
had visited Count Rochambeau’s camp. Thomas
had nearly reached the conclusion of his story and
Washington still sat unmoved, with his stately, im-
passive countenance turned toward him. At last
the doctor reached the point at which the two sol-
diers began to comment on the Frenchman’s idea
of a hat,and ke repeated what had _ been said:
“What do you suppose Chambeau’s soldiers calla
hat?” said Jonathan. ‘‘Why, the tarnal fools they
call it a chapeau; and why and be darned to them
can’t they call it a hat and ha’ done with it?” This
absurdity was too much for eyen Washington to
listen to without yielding it the tribute of a hearty
laugh; and this was almost the only instance of
hilarity on his part during the entire war. ;

There was among the French allies of the Ameri-
cans in the Revolution, a certain whimsical officer
named Houdin, who by his cotemporaries was
called Udang. This personage was said to have
been very vain of his personal appearance—a fact
which once led some of his friends to play a practi-
cal joke on him, on the occasion of a visit that he
made to Boston in the year 1780. They employed a
negro woman to address him familiarly while he
was in the crowded market. On his return to camp
from his visit, his friends asked him how he had
enjoyed himself in Boston. “I like Boston very
well,” he replied, ‘‘all but one certain Madame Nig.
Itell you. One gentleman say to me, ‘Will you
take a walk in the market?’ Igo, and there it was
IThear somebody say behind me, ‘How you do,
Captain Udang?’ I look around. One black wench
say again, making reverence, ‘I hope you be well,
Captain Udang?’ ‘Who be you speak to mein de
market?’ Isay. ‘You forget,’ she say, ‘I was your
sweetheart in ’77.’?. ‘Hol’ yer tongue, you rascal
we ch! You speak tomeinde market when Iam
w. : gentlemen, I cutoff your head, I will, you
re. il wench!’ I was so asham, voyez vous, I put de
hat oyer my mee andrun right home tru five tous-
and people. Next day some gentlemen: tell me who
own de black wench dat speak to me in de market.
and advise me to tell her mistress. I go to the
house and knock, knock. Pent Py the door open,
‘How do youdo, Captain Udang?’ De same black
rascal wench dat spoke to me in de market! I say,

Who own you? Tell your mistress one gentleman
officer wish tosee her.’ When de mistress come,

me.’ say I, ‘do you own dis madame nig dat
speak to me in de market?’ She say, ‘If you had
not been too familiar with my negro wench, she
would not spoke to youin de market.’ ‘Ha! ha!’ I
say, ‘Is datso! Den, madame, I say you be one bi
rascal yourself!’ The gallant captain remaine
in the countryand received the appointment of
conductor of military stores, a post which he held
until his death.

At the battle of Monmouth an American gunner
‘ Scarcely had he
fallen when his brave wife, “Molly Pitcher,” as she
is known in history, took his place and served the

iece so bravely during the rest of the action that

ngress rewarded her after the engagement by
conferring on her w commission, with its accom-
panying Le and allowances. At the British at-
tack on Fort Washington another courageous wo-
man, Margret Corbin by name, replaced her hus-
band who had been killed while serying at a gun.
This valiant, woman was wounded while thus en-
gaged, and Congress, in July, 1779, passed a resolu-
tion granting her during her natural life one-half
a soldier’s pay and ordered that she should imme-
diately receive out of the public stores one suit of
clothes, or its value in money. __

Deborah Sampson was the child of poor parents
who dwelt, at the outbreak of the war for indepen-
dence in Plymouth County, Massachusetts. She
was an ardent patriot, and when hostilities began
she conceived the idea of going forth to fight, as a
soldier, for the liberties of her country. From her
earnings she put by enough in the course of time
to fit herself outas a soldier, and disguised in man’s
clothing she offered herself for service in the army
in October, 1778. For three years she served in
this capacity, her sex remaining unsuspected, and
she was twice wounded in battle. The second
wound was more serious than the first, and while
lying unconscious in a hospital at Philadelphia,
whither she had been conveyed, her sex was dis-
covered by Dr, Binney, her attending surgeon. Dr.
Binney kept the discovery to himself and treated
his patient with great kindness. en_she had re-
covered sufficiently from_her wound, he sent her
with a letter to General Washington i hich he
announced to the latter that the bearer, a pretend-

 

 

 

 

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #2

 

her discharge from thé seryice. Thenceforth she
resumed the habiliments of her sex and at the end’
of the war she married and settled with her hus-
band in Sharon, Connecticut. She lived to a ri

old age, surviving nearly all her cotemporaries in
the great drama in which she bore so heroic a

part.

Hugh Gaine’s New York Mercury of October 2,
1775, relates the hard fate that befell a certain impu-
dent young man at Kinderhook, New York, at the
hands of a number of patriotic young girls at a
“quilting rolic.” He was a Tory and the only man
present on the occasion, and he yented his spite
against Congress in a series of abusive remarks.
At last the exasperated girls seized him, stripped
him to the waist and applied to him a coat of mo-
lasses and the tops of ans which grew in Pos
sion in an adjoining field. Thus equipped, they
turned the young rascal adrift,

An incident somewhat similar to the above oc-
curred in the spring of 1776 in Stratford, Connecti-
cut. A resident of that place had named his lately-
born son Thomas Gage, after the British general of
that name. The young ladies of the neighborhood
whose fathers and brothers were in the service of
their country, hearing of this, assembled and
selecting their officers, marched to the number of 180
in regular military style to the house of the offend-
ing parents, with the purpose of tarring and fea-
thering the unfortunate mother of the child, The
father of the boy, however, having received intel-
ligence of their oe provided himself with a
musket, and so sueceeded in keeping the female
army at bay. ae

MISS OAKES’ CHARGE.

BY HERO STRONG,

read the letter, and the next day Deborah received 1

 

 

The face of the woman sitting there in the little
parlor, and turned toward the rising moon, was
stormy and troubled. : ‘

Her heart was fullof rebellion against fate, the
hardest fate a woman is ever called upon to meet—
a loveless life. : {

I trust those of you who read this know nothing
of such a life by experience, for I wish no woman
s0 ill as to desire her existence to.be shorn of the
one great blessing which makes all trouble easy to

ear.
This was Katharine Oakes’ thirty-second birth-

day. Years before she had stood on the threshold
of womanhood, and seen life, all and sweet,
and full of royal promise, spr before her.
She had entered on it fearless} tingly, pre-

ared to be grateful to Heaven for the good, and
aie to be willing to bear the trials patiently.
The trials had come full soon. One ppone her
nearest and dearest were taken away from her,
until the grave covered all her kindxed, and she
was left alone only her trustin Heaven and
Ross Sunderland’s love to comfort her.

She had been five years engaged to Mr. Sunder-
pends when the Widow Alice Martin came to Lanes-
ville.

Sunderland wasaman of no great stability of
character, and Mrs. Martin was a woman who knew
how to play her cards. Sunderland was wealthy,
and Mrs. Martin wanted a husband to pay her bills.
He would answer the purpose as well as any other
man. The fact that he was promised to another
did not trouble the widow in the least. She was
shrewd enough to know that the romance of their
love had worn off during a five years’ engagement,
and she had not lived thirty-five years in the world
without finding out that long engagements seldom
culminate in anything but coldness and disappoint-

ment.

In afortnight’s time the artful little cheat had
put Ross Sunderland where he did not know what
was to be done next; and.Kate Oakes was proud,
and clear-sighted, and the%esult was hee what the
widow had anticipated. Mr. Sunderland received
his liberty, and threw himself at once at the feet of

 

 

 

ed soldier, was in reality a woman. Washington | know, and don’t forget to say that I bless her every

ay of my life for saving my little Annie.” ~
When he was gone, Kate drew the whole story out

f the nurse. .

Annie’s father had been wrecked, but_ not
drowned. He had written Aunt Martha a full ae-
count of everything, but the letter had never
reached its destination. Supposing his child safe
and well cared for, he had joined a party bound for
the diamond fields, and had been one of the few to
realize afortune. He had returned home seekin
for Annie, and after a long and weary search had
foundher. His kind care had provided nurses for
Miss Oakes, to whom he was very grateful.

But Katherine heard all the story with keenest

ain, forshe had learned to Geenhy love the little

nnie, and how could she part with her?

When she was able to sit UP. Capt. Cleares
broached the subject to her. She put her arm
round the child with a suppressed cry.

‘Papa must not take me away from Auntie Kate,”
said the little girl, “must he, Dollie? But he must
take Aunt Kate and me both, and love us both
together.”

The eyes of Kate met those of Capt. Cleares,
What freemasonry there was in the glance I ‘do
not pretend to know, but the big captain put his
arms around the woman and the child, and drew
them both to his breast. |

“My wife and my child!” he said, softly, and
kissed them both with infinite tenderness.

_And Kate Oakes’ life was no longer desolate, and
little Annie had a mother whose love was pure and
strong as that which is born of ties of blaqd.

The Coxcomb.

Rey. T. Dewitt Talmage is not an admirer of fops.
Here is his opinion of them: “If there is any man
in the community that excites ar Sones it is the
soft-handed, soft-headed fop who, perfumed until
the air is absolutely sick,spends his summer in
taking killing attitudes, and waving sentimental
adieus, and talking infinitesimal nothings, and
finding his heaven in a set of lavender kid gloves;
boois as tight.as an inquisition; two hours of con-
summate skill exhibited in the tie of a flaming cra-
vat; his conversation made up of ‘ah’s!’ and
‘oh’s!’ and ‘he-he’s!’’ It would take five hundred
of them stewed down to make a teaspoonful of
calf’s-foot-jelly.”

A GRAND STORY
BY THE
Author of “Lady Evelyn’s Folly,”

NEXT WEEK.

A story of great power and marvelous interest,
by a,ffavorite contributor, will be commenced next
week.

BITTER ATONEMENT,

BY THE AUTHOR OF

“A WOMAN’S TEMPTATION;” “LADY EVE-
LY¥N’S FOLLY;” etc., etc,

 

 

 

is a unique story, pure in sentiment, and char-
acterized by warmth and tenderness. The heroine
is a beautiful and cultured girl who,too young

 

the charming Alice. Of course, he was promptly
accepted, and in less thana month the wedding

took place. “3 ;
ee akes withdrew more than ever from socie-
ty,and had always been rather reticent, and ill-
neerer people said she was pining for her lost
over.

In the three years which had elapsed since his
marriage, Ross Sunderland had repented sorely
enough his disloyalty to Katharine, and had wished
his charming wife at the bottom of the sea
more times than he was years old; but Mrs.
Sunderland did not care for that, so long as her
laces and jewels were the costliest in town, and her
turnout the admiration and envy of all the less for-
tunate women, y

Kate Oakes was still unmarried. Her love for
Sunderland had died when she first realized his ut-
ter unworthiness; but we allcherish the memory
of whatis dead, andsoin her heart she kept the
sweetness of the love she had once felt for this false
man, and often suffered her life to be saddened by
the thought of what might have been.

This was her history—no romance or tragedy
about it, you see—a very commonplace affair, and
hardly worth the telling. : :

For the greater part of the time. Miss Oakes was
quietly resigned to her fate. She had been so long
called an old maid that she had quite gotten_ over
the pain the careless words had at first given her.

People were always saying of her that she was so
strong and self-reliant she needed no one to take
care of her, forgetful of the fact that to no woman
on earth are protection and appreciation half so
sweet as to the woman who is entirely. able to pro-
tect herself. : (

To-night a very little thing had made her discon-
tented. A stone cast into a still lake will stir all its
surface into ripples, and so aslight thing will break
up the composure of years in a human heart.

ooth was going to play that night in the Town
Hall. It was a great treat for Lanesville, and every-
body was going. Kate wished very much to go, but
etiquette in this little country town was a very stern
affair,and it would have been social death fora
lady to go to a theater alone. She thought that
some of her married friends might have asked her
to join their party: but they did not; and to-night
she sat by the window and saw Margaret Allston

to fully realize the solemnity of marriage, and
destitute of friends who might advise her, makes

A FATAL MISTAKE,

by becoming the bride of a rude man whom she:

cannot love. Too soon she awakes to the con-
sciousness of her wretched blunder, and discovers
that she has doomed herself to ;

A LIFE OF MISERY.

Their tastes and habits are entirely dissimilar,
and her refined nature is constantly shocked by
association with a cold, hard, stolid man, who can-
not appreciate her noble qualities, and measures
everything by its value in money. The slights and
insults she is forced to endure in her own home—
indignity after indignity heaped upon her by her
husband’s sister—at length arouse her spirit, and
she resolves upon an act of questionable character;
and then follows her

BITTER ATONEMENT.

A more heart-stirring story was never written.
Itis impossible to read it without feeling the pulses

bound in sympathy with the M

ABUSED CHILD-BRIDE,

who is one of the sweetest and most lovable char-
acters ever drawn by this gifted and universally
admired author. 1

 

and Hannah Reed, old school-friends of hers, go
by,.escorted by their husbands, and looking happy
and content, and rebellion had crept into her heart.
Not that she would have married Tom Allston or
Jim Reed under any circumstances, for neither of
them was her kind; but a strong sense of her utter
desolation came over her asshe watched her friends

pass by.

A very foolish thing for anybody to ery over, but
Kate Oakes did ery over it, and made her cheeks
very red, and her brown eyes very dull and heavy.

By-and-by it began to rain, and the wind blew
and shook the casement, and Katharine’s white cat
crept into her lap to be warmed and petted; and, in
a little lull of the storm, there came a timid rap at
the outer door.

Miss Oakes put down the cat and went to answer
thesummons. A thin-faced, pinched-looking little
girl, with a ragged doll tightly clasped in her arms,
stood shivering on the door-step.

“Please, ma’am,” said the small vagrant, her teeth
chattering between the words, ‘“‘may I come in and
warm myself?” ‘

eMiss Oakes took the little, half-frozen hand in
hers, and drew her to the warm fireside. She re-
moved the wretched shoes and the ragged, wet
dress, and wrapped her in a shawl of her own, and
placed her in a great easy-chair in the corner.

“Dollie,” said the child, addressing her India-
rubber traveling companion, “you and me is all
right now. We’se got to Heayen!” | :

Miss Oakes learned the child’s history while she
was gating the warm supper which was soon placed
before her. ;

Her name was Annie Cleares. Her mother was
dead. Three years before her father had sailed
away in a big ship, and left her to the care of her
Aunt Martha, somewhere in a great city. Thenthe
news came that the cruel sea had swallowed up her
poor papa. Soon after her Aunt Martha had died,
and a woman with such a long nose, and such a
dreadful temper, had taken her away to a place
where she had to bring wood and scrub pots and
kettiés all day; and then, little Annie said, this wo-
man, who owned the aforesaid pots and kettles, had
turned her out of doors the night before because
she had symptoms of small-pox. :

Miss Oakes shrank back Inyoluntarily. Almost
everybody has a nervous horror of this disease,
and for a moment Kate was tempted. to send her
small visitor to the almshouse. Only fora moment,
however. There was something wondrously ap-
peetine in the soft blue eyes the child lifted to her

ace, and the heart of the lonely woman could not
resist the pleading. She undressed the little waif,
laid her in her own bed, and sent for the doctor.
His decision was prompt. The child had the small-
pox, and had best be sent at once to the place pro-
vided for cases of the kind. :

But Miss Oakes said no. Her mind was made up.
She would keep Annie, and nurse her back: to
health, or make her dying moments easier and
sweeter. So the doctor left her in peace, :

It was a fierce struggle for life with little Annie,
and all alone Miss Oakes kept watth_ beside her.
And when at last the crisis was reached, and the
child was pronounced out of danger, then Katha-
rine’s strength gave way, and she, too, fell a victim
to the disease, 3

For weeks she lay there on her bed, unconseious
of all that was passing around her; but one sunny
day in April mind and memory came back, and she
lifted herself feebly on her elbow and lookedaround
her. She was in her own pleasant chamber, and
Annie was playing with a gorgeous new doll before
the glowing grate. A pleasant-faced, middle-aged
woman was sewing by the window, and in the arm-
chair was a tall, bronzed-cheeked man of forty
years or more, an amused smile on his face, anda
very genial light in the blue eyes which met her

own.
“Well, Mrs. Bell,” said he tothe old lady. “our
patient is herself in, thank Heaven. I will go

A meritorious feature of all this author’s stories
is their fidelity to nature. Life is pictured in warm
and harmonious tints, with the deft skill of a
painter, and the mind delights to linger upon the
scenes so artistically portrayed. The reader is
taken captive by the intense earnestness of the
novelist, and feels an abiding interestin the boldly
delineated characters.

Mothers! sisters! wives! You have in the new
story by the author of “Lapy Evrnyn’s Fobty,” a
grand and entrancingly interesting narrative—one-
of especial importance to the female mind; for

only a woman’s heart can fully estimate the keen.
indignities which an envious and cruel woman:
forced upon an innocent young girl because she
became

HER BROTHER’S BRIDE.

Young and old, you who admire a really great.
story, will be thoroughly pleased with

A BITTER ATONEMENT.

THE PRESIDENT TO SUNDAY-SCHOOL
CHILDREN.

—_—_—_— -

 

WASHINGTON, June 6; 1876.
To Acad Editor of the Sunday-School Times; Philadel-

ia:
Your favor of yesterday, asking a nee from
me to the children and youth of the United States,
to accompany your Centennial number, is this
moment received. '

My advice to Sunday-schools, no matter what
their denomination, is: Hold fast to the Bible as
the sheet-anchor of your liberties; write its pre-
ae in your hearts, and practice them in your
ives. :

To the influence of this book we are indebted for
all the progress made in true civilization, and to
this we must.look as our guidein‘thefuture. |

“Righteousness exalteth a nation; but sin is a.
reproach to any people.”

fours respectfully, U. 8. GRANT.

 

“@WEN THE CoNvVICT,” a powerful sensational
story, has just been commenced in No. 37 of the
Boys ofthe World. Itteems with thrilling incidents,
and is one of the most exciting stories ever written.

Om a

WISE EXPENDITURE.

When a young man of limited means designs to
marry, he naturally desires to win a prudent, eco-
nomical wife, and, with that idea in his mind, often
fondly imagines he is acting wisely in choosing a
wife from a family poorer than his own. He fangies
that a young lady brought up with*few luxuries
will be simple in her ideas. He could hardly make
a greater mistake. There are brilliant exceptions,
no doubt; but the girl who has. never had any

 

money to spend, has no idea how to spend it when
she has it. We do not believe in marrying for
money; but. a man witha small income consults
his future comfort to much better purpose

 

 

out now; and mind you tell her all she wants to

 

choosing a wife who knowsthe valueand use of
money. .

:

 

 

 

 

 

manent tantstsasnarannassbsesist

ingest

annem

Ae

 
 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

——_—_———— en : = o
’ “89 Raymond is Lord Rosenbury now,” mused| ‘My mother is very ill, Parkin,” he said. “Imust| Before Lord Rosenbury could reply, Walter en- | gilistic featur
THE NATION § BIRTHDAY. Toraine, still keeping his gaze fixed upon Walter. | go home immediately. Ihave just time to catch | tered the little garden, bowed Saeed to his ot Gaal omtin ema
BY E, NORMAN GUNNISON. Heis the owner of the grand ancestral estates? | the train. lordship, and would have entered the dwelling, had} The frequenters of the Buzzard’s Roost generally
The long rent-rolls of the Rosenburys belongto}| Flinging off the sudden languor the news had | not the expression of Martha’s countenance re- | occupied_a wide, but low-roofed and miserably- 2
Stream, oh, flags on the summer air! him? Ah, well, he may have a happy life of it! } given him, Walter sent his servant for a cab, while | strained him. vantiledad room in front of the bar, where they con- a
Shout, ob, people, and trumpets blare, He’s a lucky fellow. Are you friendly with him, | he speedily changed his garments. | ‘ mother?” he said, with asudden pallor, “Is | gregated every evening, and after spending all the a
Send your voices beyond the sea, Wolter® P ; Ina few, moments he was speeding toward the | —is she better?” money they could obtain, sat chatting until a late
wa Fee? tan eal Not particularly, replied the young artist, | station, where he arrived justin timeto takethe| Martha sobbed aloud, hour. Occasionally they marched up to the bar to
This is the ay of t ee frankly. We are not congenia]— train, and he was soon on his way home. Walter looked at her a moment, and then regard- | drink with some stranger who happened to drop
This is the day of a nation’s birth! Not congenial, ah? Dear me! | Do you expect to ! ed Lord Rosenbury with an inquiring gaze. in by accident, and who could not think of enjoy-
Shout, oh, ocean! respond, oh, earth! be intimate with his lordship—— CHAPTER V | His lopdship trembled before the gaze, and sank | ing his rum alone and in the presence of such ge-
: Not atall. I do not like him, and he does me s upon a Sat in the porch. nial company, although they were often wished in
Stars which have numbered thirty-seve the honor to reciprocate the sentiment I feelto-| We must now return to Lord Rosenbury, whom| He had been nerving himself to meet the man he | regions far warmer than the Buzzard’s Roost.
: Gleaming bright in the air of heaven, ward him.” Lert : 5 fe we left standing beside his dead mother, in the cot- | was so deeply wronging—the man who was the} Political and polemical discussions were quite
Brighter beam with a dimless ray, Oh, indeed!” said Loraine, sarcastically. “By | tage where she had passed the closing years of her rightful lord of Rosenbury, but he had not succeed- | frequent, and oftentimes animated, among the reg-
Tic late nation’s patel aan} the way, Walter, you talk like parson. Where did | existence. : ; ed in gaining a perfect self-possession. ular customers, who generally referred the matter
cao ah teeth hea ine. you pick up so much education? If his pepdship experienced any regrets at the| His manner was agitated and his voicetrembling | for final decision, whenever the dispute waxed
Day of glory! oh, ’ Waiter briefly explained that the late Lord Rosen- | death of fhe un appy woman, they were smothered | as he said: warm, to the burly Bob Snaggles, who was sup-
Shout, oh, shout for a people free! bury had made him his protege, and had given him | under the joy he felt at the supposed safety the| “Prepare yourself for the worst, my dear Walter. | posed to be an authority on all great questions, in-
i : dbiads ‘ties dowtihd a first-class education at the first institutions of the | event gaye to his secret. _ | Your poor mother is dead.” asmuch as he had aspirations for a seat in the State
Shout tillthe mountains € sound, country. : ; ee ; Yes, it is as well that she has gone,” he added,in}| Walter uttered acry of grief, and rushed into the | legislature.
Send the echo the earth around. “Possible?” exclaimed Loraine. ‘His lordship | a tone of deliberate calculation. “She was getting | cottage, ob never hesitated to give a decision—right or
Flag of Freedom, of Union, fiy was very benevolent, as I remember. But what | old, and might have taken it intoher head toibabble,| As his glance rested upon the pale, stern face of | wrong, he cared not; and his opinion was consid-
Greeting the glories of July else did he do for you? 3 ye or to make use of her relationship to me. Ican now | the dead woman, he sobbed aloud, kneeling by the | ered fi al. Indeed, the broken-winded doctors and
Hundredth birthday! oh, ambient air, Walter hesitated about answering his interlocu- | understand the familiarity I have noticed in her | bedside. meek-eyed sons of Mars often agreed with him on
eee eit a 0 cage’ ca ter, but after a moment’s thought he replied: conduct—that familiarity. about which I have been When he had recovered from the first shock of his | questions of medicine or war, when they knewright
ery s prayer! He sent me abroad to travel—to Rome to study. | so sensitive. It is very clear now why she held my | grief, Lord Rosenbury and Martha stole softly into | well he was wrong; but they hated to incur his di

1S-

I was in Rome when the tidings reached me of his | hand so long, and why she stared so earnestly at} the room, and stood by his side. pleasure, and whenever Bob gave a decision on

Falls the sun on each glowing star,

 

 

, death, so I hastened home again.” ; me. The interest she has taken in me wasthatofa}| Itwas partof the false Lord Rosenbury’s plans | some scientific subject that called forth -
River shackle and broken bar “So you are a regularly-educated painter. Ij mother. Itis fortunate that Lady Rosenbury was} to administer consolation to the eadad heart of | bation of an old whisky conbed Spain aided
Tell thy glory on land and sea. thought artists were always poor, yet they live like | not at home to-day, and still more fortunate that|the young artist, but the words he had intended to | Doctor Optic, whose great learning commanded the
Hark to the uttered voice: Be Free— alord. Do you get well paid for your pictures?” Walter Loraine has not made his appearance. Thej utter fled from his memory. He trembled exces- | universal respect of the buzzards, he generally
Free as the boundless air which blows pa VOU wer. Reina, Vicareag, rare es But I ares WO Pave cornet been revealed to them Phyo Bod els Beas owed violently. ae ’em up for the boys,” who bowed to him while ™
: : { n not obliged to paint pictur ra living.” . py h n present. ‘ at a situation was that! they clinked their glasses, as t i i
Oren she ea of Afeine mye “Not obliged to paint? Howthen do you live in As indicated by these words, Lord Rosenbury did} The true Lord Rosenbury was mourning as a gitaintnegien: - SE OPES On Sunes lOE
Europe lays on thy votive shrine this style ?” " : not have any doubts of Mrs. Loraine’s statements. |son the death of his nurse—the nurse who hadso]|_ Doctor Optic had just given a dissertation on the
Offering meet. From the distant mine Lord Rosenbury completed his benefactious to | Considering the solemn circumstances under which | cruelly betrayed his interests,and whom he be- human eye, which was ustened to with open-
; Heaped up silyer and gold are brought; me by leaving me a small fortune,” said the artist, she had spoken, and recalling the many corrobor- | lieved to have been his mother—while the false lord | mouthed admiration by the “regular customers.”
+ib- Sis Whint Géd'tn tha lana hath wredatt! with some emotion. ‘He foresaw that painting for | ations presented in his past knowledge and history |—the true son of that unfaithful nurse—stood by | He discoursed eloquently on the power of vision
r ia Bictheved ool vk ek t a living would be a long struggle, and kindly placed | he could not help but acknowledge to himself, with | him, pretending sympathy. and endeayored to make his hearers understand
' Se ee me aboye all want and all cares. I have money | a sigh, an entire belief in the revelations she had} Lord Rosenbury suddenly and keenly realized | the formation of the eye, the offices of the sclerotic
' . Greeting the glories of July. enough to do as I like—travel, or remain at home.” | made to him. ot a : these facts. and choroid coats, the retina, the cornea, the crys-
Join, ob, people, in glad acclaim! And how did Raymond like your having this| He mused a moment in silence upon the startling] It seemed tohimas though he could _ hear the | talline lens, and the iris, all of whieh was so much
: indbiabiirsite coke poet pebelaina | : fortune left to you? inquired Loraine. stroke his thoughts and prospects had received. yoice of Mrs. Loraine calling upon him to render | Greek to the buzzards. This, as a matter of course,
: eT oi Dads thw hats oh Wed I neither know nor care.” Aa Ne A bitter sneer curled his lips as he reflected that | justice to Walter, and to take his place as chief | led the doctor into the most gross falsehoods, and
| Ring, ob, bell, w: y hale old veice! Loraine looked at the young artist in astonish- | he was the son of a gardener and an humble nurse, | mourner by her death-bed; but he turned away made him giye utterance to assertions of a most
Shout, oh, nation—oh, land rejoices ment; but that emotion passed as he marked the |and_ that Walter Loraine, the reputed son of the|from her cold, rebuking face, and endeavored to outrageous character, which were willingly be-
: Flag of Freedom above us fly, earnest, haughty face, and his careless smile. dead woman, was the real heir of the Rosenbury | collect his thoughts. ; lieved because they were not understood.
ame This is thy glorious Fourth—Jatyt .,, BO you never wish, Walter, he asked, suddenly, | estates and titles. ; aR os : “Do not grieve so, Walter,” he said. in a trem-| The conversation arose out of a discussion of Da-
that you were Raymond Lord Rosenbury? Worse than all else, this real heir was his rival in | bling voice, laying his hand upon the fair hair of | vid Burton’s blindness, and Doctor Optic startled
Wouldn’t you like to exchange places with him ?” | love! eS ve . : the young artist. ““We must all die, you know——” | not afew when he declared that he could cure him
BY REQUEST No; I would rather be Walter Loraine than Ray- Well, so be it,” he at length ejaculated,inatone| Lord Rosenbury’s,faltering tones and abrupt |in less than six months at his infirmary for the
: mond Lord Rosenbury.” | i full of energy and resolution. “Be the secret as| pause touchod the generous heart of Walter, and he | deaf and blind.
; Sees “You are content, then, in your sphere of life?” | galling and menacing as it may, it is mine—and | clasped the hand resting upon him, and said,}_ Tom Jones was so fascinated by the doctor’s
. “I am content.” 5 ; ii mine only! His late lordship did not suspect it, or | gratefully: ‘ learning and skill that he instinctively felt in his
* 7 THE F ALSE HEIR ® But, Walter,” persisted Loraine, “do you pre-|he would have been glad, no doubt, to exchange Thank you, my lord, for, your sympathy. I] pockets to ascertain if he had sufficient money to
: 9 tend that you like your obscure lifesd well that you} me forthis painter! Her ladyship is equally ig-| shall not forget it. Atsuch a time as this, it is very ‘set ’°em up” for the_boys, or, in other words, to
would not exchange it for atitle and unbounded |} norant of the truth, and Walter himself, of course, | comforting to me to feel that another shares my | treat the company. He pulled forth his last dollar,
OR, wealth? Do you never look above your station for | has no knowledge whatever of it. As to that gone sorrows——”’ all crumpled and creased, and straightening it out
awife? Or are you already married ?” teel father of mine, he is dead in Australia. The} He Ae. Bian. on his knee, looked at it a minute, and then, witha
THE BELLE OF THE SE ASON A shadow flitted over the artist’s face, as he re- | result of all these facts is satisfactory. Iam fully} Lord Rosenbury began to recover his self-pos- | drunken leer at Bob Snaggles—who had been con-
* |sponded: \ established in my possessions and honors as Lord | session aS he looked upon the artist’s upturned | templating him from the corner of his left eye, al-
Tam not married. Of courseI should not de-|Rosenbury,and nothing can occur to dispossess | face, with all its glorious beauty. though he pretended at the same time to be deepl

BY THE AUTHOR OF ' ee a title Ped teers cee wine ent, me ae i nd Saf keep my own counsels, and all Noo handsome he is!” he thought, bitterly. | engrossed in the study of a meerschaum pipe whic
— » 66 great means of doing good, of making others hap-|willbesafel” 3 “Nature gave him everything—beauty, ius, win- | the “buzzards” presented him with on the previou
‘SIR JOHN’S oe ee THE HOUSE OF py. They would even, perhaps, add to my own He looked again at his dead mother’s features, | ning henna fete ee ber eee ey He tit New Year’s Day he said: = ats °
SECRETS,” etc. happiness, But would repining give me either ? | which seemed to have assumed astern expression. never miss the rank of which he was deprived at| “Bob, I reckon you be’r-ser-um-up once more.”
("The Falee Heir” was commenced last week. Ask your News | Ould it not embitter the blessings Ihave? My lot] “She must be attended to,” he said to himself. | such an early age, and to me it is indispensable—| Bob obeyed with alacrity, seeing it was a ready
Agent for No, 34, and you will get the openang chapters.) ®/is not obscure. I have friends and acquaintances I must not remain here.” invaluable! He has enough withoutit. Ishould be | money transaction. The iieearda’—-ab the fre-
: ae : among the nobleand great, and I aspire to fame. IL} He thought of his late mother’s neighbor and at- | a fool to resign it!” quenters of the ‘“‘Roost” were called—stood up he-
CHAPTER IV. should be foolish to reject what I have because I] tendant, Martha Williams, and stepped to the front} His heart grew harder as he thus thought, and as | roically, and advanced smilingly to the bar, and as
Th bak an dhis fl b can’t have more.” : door, hoping to see her. His wish was gratified, | he remembered that he and Walter were rivals in | each grasped his glass, Tom Jones said:
_ + he oe 1s crosse ‘4 oor but afew] “You are quite a philosopher,” remarked Loraine. | for the good woman was standing on the steps of | love, his resolution to keep his false position grew] ‘Boys, I guess I'll give you a song.”
pines ere he cen een oe snoring in | “J was inclined tothink Lord Rosenbury was wrong her cottage, waiting to be summoned, and she has- | as hard as adamant. : ; And with his glass in one hand and the crumpl
a nts He paused in his walk, and looked in educating you above your station——” tened to rejoin him, in obedience to a gesturehe} “We have not always been friendly, Walter,” he | dollar in the other, he essayed a ditty, entitled " Bi
ar t im th Soo hh 4. “So Pardon me,” said Walter, “but you mean your|made. to her. By thetime she had reached the | said, after a brief silence, noticing that Martha had Brummell, the Bruiser of the Mines,” a “heroic”
Be ee can that be e€ mused, me one must | station, not mine. I am just making mine. You|scene of death he had assumed a becoming look len rom the room. “To be frank with you, my | odein praise of a pugilistic miner, whose delight
His arpa a t ay opisk iiis + Senet see I don’t consider because one man is a gardener, | and attitude of sorrow. ate father was always holding you up to meas an | lay in thrashing mine bosses, and at which avoca-
ay He a t ies 0 = c 4 e ee ae to | that his posterity to the latest generation must be] “She has gone, then, poor thing!” she said, as her | example,and that embittered me against you. Then, tion he was conceded by the poet to be the ‘“cock-
L ® Ho an i a t 3 it was oS © anh e had left it. | gardeners also. Every man makes his own station | eyes rested upon the still and white face. too, mat you succeeded so well at the uniyersity, | 0’-the-walk.”
: a unloe ti 1 4 ixoret glanced into the outer | by his own character—his own intellect.” “Yes, itis allover,” answered his lordship, with | and I did so ill, it annoyed my father, and.made| The regular customers united in the chorus,”
; chery aS iced that it was empty, and returned | “Well, well, have your own ideas, Walter. Isup-|a sigh. “She dropped off quite suddenly, yet as | me still further Baahftearee inst you. Isee now | Which ran as follows:
; ae, stu om h that Ih that . ro it is natural for you to be aspiring and all that. | quietly as a lamb! er soul seemed to be at,peace, | how unworthy were my akon. Will you bury ‘open they filled thar elassed high, my boys
: th. Oe eee ast be cot a pou he | f came back, however, expecting to find youdgnor- | a8 became such a good woman, and her only regret | with, me, in your mother’s graye, Walter, all our Anagrenk until@ey fl,
‘ thought. ine ma hnigs must be concealed in this or | ant, and contented with a laborer’s life. How is was yee hae Bon haa) not pn eer a animosities idaivtt 4 Ww, j " To! pean ores of the mines,
J s 4 7 Aes} your mother ?” ‘ s he made this statement, he fixed his eyes upon} _“‘Cheerfully, adly!?. erie lt shakin ey called bold Bill Brummell,”
hese A look into a pretty dressing-room adjoining} ‘Quite well, ibelieve. She was well when I heard | the attendant in a furtive but searching toasters Roschiiwny’s hand. YYou age, indeeds noble, mE Big iene
: told him that it was untenanted, and he began an % hich’ showed bh fully h ; : t Just as Tom Jones was in the act of beginnin
; L u ! from her last, a week or two ago, which’ showed how ecarefully he meant to inform|lord. I beg your pardon for having oftentimes : f
beg ome eee vp of the studio. : “Does she live at the old cottage ?” himself, henceforth, of the views of every one | misjudged you!” Be third perge, the door was opened and Enoc
Guided by the sound, he went to the distant cor-| “Yes. I suppose you Will go to-day to see her?” | around him, and how closely he meant to guard his} Lord Rosenbury was pleased with this result of | “itive poet mil t f th 1
: = roek tis i SANTOR hols Hee tere himself, Oh, there’s no hurry,” said Loraine. “Time | great secret. ,) | what he deemed his diplomatic confession, t we ne the Bus we mR Es xine «Pe itu of
' , drewo e lounge, and behe is singular vis- enough for her reproaches. Has she any money ?” But the manner of Martha Williams assured him| “And we shall be friends |” he asked. that e 1 re en r ry + r eat ne bo
itor. 1 hi ith hi T don’t know. She has enough to support her- | that she had not receiv pe slightest hint of the} Walter hesitated. itt ak 00 t e theviall at 7 amen ame y “0
hat stranger lay at his ease, with his head | self comfortably. Lady Rosenbury offered her an | relationship between the dead woman and@himself,} “Our stati are 80 widely different,” he said, | RRU9C, OWN to we ey and plodding Prune
- + thrown back on the cushion-pillows, his hand rest- ; : it? “A 7 Stirs dey | # 3 ; ' | Tife he led. He was aman whom they made fun of
; U ) L ! : annuity some time ago,and she refused to accept it.” | for her cotintenance merely displayed the sorrow | bitterly, “an should be such an humble friend to : d ’ , ney ! A,
| i ing on his brows, his flaming red neck-tie unfas- |"“She refused it? Ab. 1 understand, But if { had | natural to the occasion, as she replied: © | your lordship——” behind his back, and fawned upon in his presence;
. : tened, and a gentle perspiration bedewing his | peen here she would have accepted it, scruples or| “His absence, my lord, must, indeed, have been a] “Nonsense. Walter. Call me Raymond, asin our | 22) impractical dreamer, they thought, whose e¢-
>

 

 

flushed countenance. i i a : centricity found vent in columns of poetry contri-
Ta the gutint oked at ils eimings Bieta ath no scruples. Does.the present lord do anything | pain to her, She always hada strange tenderness | boy Let us be friends—equals. My father uted tothe pages of the Weekly Miner. Neverthe-

. 3 f re or him!’ * 7 ae TY 1 j
amused smile gathered about his mouth. ON replied in the negative The statement was true. Heaven only knows tha mune © intimate, and 1 now second }jogs, if they wanted a corporation lampooned, or

“This is certainly a very cool proceeding,” he ai and! ilent fo ith what pityi i ‘ : . {an abuse held up to publie scorn or ridicule, they
ggid, aloud. “What ‘can ‘tho Tellow want hore? | songs ung ne en ns nso” | Yogrots the unhagpy woman had Yooked upon. the 0 eae me ho wopttcant S| uvariebly Importuned nook (5 0 to ears
\ Th . i ett int’. : ; The artist occupied the time by scrutinizing the | child she had 80 deeply wronged. : “How you loved your mother, Walter 1? said Lord | Viission to make war on monopoly with the wea-

E itt ae Sh uttering of the curtains called his | face of his visitor; but there was no affection inthe| “She has been talking about him all day—hoping |} Rosenbury, pressing his Want “You almost wor- | jons placed at his disposal by the muses
et n on 0 ‘a a window and balcony, and instantly | glances he bestowed upon him. He seemed to feel | and praying for his arrival,” added Martha, as she | shiped each. pther.” Mattha tells me. , D How his heart sank within him as he saw the

ee re Yee the manner in which an extrance simply indifferent to him. occupied herself with the little offices of affection} “Alas, no,” sighed Walter. “My mother loved me|.vascering, boisterous hilarity of Tom Jones
aS een effected. : 2 “The old woman—that is, your mother—thinks a | toward the deceased. “You cannot imagine, my | very tenderly, putt fear to neta it—I did notlove a habe child lay at home dead, and whose wife was

. .. 1 must be more careful in future,” he thought, | great deal of you, I believe,” said Loraine, at length | lord, how muah they thought of gach other.” her halt enough. There was a link missing Cer | Re ee ee oarted. Hoch hesitated as to whether he
i especially whenIsend my valet away on busi- | breaking the silence. : “Of course not,” replied Lord Rosenbury. “The]ns/ LIalways feltit. I feel it even now. I even] -hould interrupt him with his sad message until
at ness. I might be robbed of all my valuables with- | “T pbelfeve so. She seems to_have a strange kind | love of a mother for her only son is often beyond | think sh ee it.” we: Eig ied bn Wa ult an Bis ho hom ahead. tee

out being 5 at of my loss until they were gone | of tenderness for me, which I cannot understand. | the realization of those around them.” rd bury grew very pale, and faltered: its ia affirmative, thinking te himself ‘“Deed:

werner . oe mivaind further contemplation of the i aah ro Ee > pRURner tare b The spirit of anes words does not do Lord Rosen- ‘ ‘Do not grieve for her, then, Walter, Sheis hap- |{, goodness I better do it now. It will strike terzor-

i a nd you love her equally ?’ ury any injustice. pier now.’ $ * SLOSS ;
strange man before him, the artist gently touched | “Why, not so much, of course,” replied Walter, | | ““But how does it happen, Martha,” he added,| “Yes,” said Walter, regaining his calmness, “she bo Rib hoaripnd may ba Parte beckoned:
nea ae po saying: poeeney as if io wore anolining ee own feel- fe eh 8 ont t he did ib are in | is negeee gi ae is DEAE at last. The sor- | pnoch to the bar, and made signs to Bob Suaggles
és an 7 . |ings. “I suppose filial love isn strong as ma- | time to soothe his mother’s dying moments?” rows r life are forever ended.” . f rs 2D ‘ !
A still louder snoring was the only reply his ternal love. WP isam her highly; Iam gratefulfor}| “I cannotsay, my Pa Iam sure,” respondedthe| “Yes,” OD to give him @ drink; Bob stooping toward the Li
‘0

ay é I served Lord Rosenbury, endeavoring to | caiq:
» words elicited. | Peek eves | her affection and thé indulgence with which she | good neighbor. r Walter! Ido not see what | remember some verses appropriate to the occasion. :
Weil, poally. this grows more serious,” said the | always treated me. She.
a

4

ce SRR NO tet:

 

 

 

 

 

has rejoiced in my educa- | can have detained him. He must have been ott of | “You should feel as you yourself expressed it once:| ‘““Wot’ll you ’ave?” and Enoch shook his head.

artist, with a laugh. ‘‘What if some of my fashion- | ¢j in Lord Rosenbury’s friendship for me, in my | town, or for some cause failed to receive my let- Tom Jones at last reached the refrain, “Then
able patrons were to call upon me at this monfent. Shtaueaee aud prepeuh position; bat my hi hak ter.” * “TI see thee dead, ~~ ey eo on they filled their glasses high, my boy,” at the same
| What if some lady were to enter. Imust getthe|thoughts, my noblest aspirations, I have been| “Perhaps we had better telegraph,” sugg his getudel sinks sapien, audiians senna, time lifting his own over his head, and looking
fellow out without delay.” Pe obliged to confine to my own breast, as far as she is | lordship, “It would be terrible tor his mother to Thy dally ite Eternity— ¥ with a besotted but_good-humored smile at Enoch.
He touched him again with his foot, this time not | concerned. be buried without his presence. I suppose you I know that thou art blessed where pains, The poet laid his hand on the singer's arm, and
so gentle as before, and called: “Di sband’ i address?” And tears, and griefs, can neyer come, with tears in his eyes said:
Micha ecik G Sau meee act a nf Did Lady Rosenbury share her husband’s good | have his town add :

oot 9 t up— ; opinion of you?’ Oh, yes, my lord=here itis,” and she produced}, And that thy voice is tuned to strains _ “Ffor Heayen’s sake, ToraJones. stop your sing-
pat m see,” muttered the fellow, sleepily turning Ashe has been equally Rind fone * ¥ & séreD Of paper, To gin pore. He I have To which all mortal tongues are dumb.” ‘ in, ae widiba ,
Steere as , guia ; 3 “Ah!” saic raine, his face darkening. “You'd | already telegraphed to him, and i e most urgen Walter listened to this quotation from oneofhis} 4 , : , 5
That is coe cool,” said the artist. “Come, | better keep your own sphere, Walter. Tet her la- | terms informing him of his mother’s dangerous | own boyish poems without Siiharahen dian aword, |.” Way should ’e stop ?” said Snagegles, angry, and
if you don’t get up I must have you put out. dyship alone. She’s'no equal for asimple garden- | condition.” ‘ ‘and at jength said: ' in a hoarse whisper.

 

“Breakfast ready?” asked the fellow, rubbing his | er’s son——” Phat was right, but wé will telegraph again, and | “Who was with my mother in her last moments, | _, Because,” said Enoch, very much agitated, “his }
eyes. “No need make such noise, Ain’t deaf.) “But Iam not the gardener’sson—I am an artist,” | send a servant to find him, if he does not speedily | my tert » Sea pOwey 4 ntS> | child is dead at home.” te Giendartbtt at
hat want?” | ; said Walter, smiling. “I stand on my own respon- | appear,” said his lordship, placing the address| “J was, Walter. She died but a few moments be- The abrupt message struck like a na Orch a
By dint of his exertions, the stranger managed | sibility, be pleased to remember.” carefully in his ‘pocket-book. “He ought to have | fore your =rrival. She sent, for her ladyship and the heart of the singer. The. glass ee as his
. 4 to awaken to a full consciousness, and he then sat|  Laraine’s face flushed, and he looked anxious and | been here long .. My heart bleeds for him. | myseli; but her ladyship being absent on a visit, 1) Was flourishing time over his head, fellfrom his
up and stared at the artist with evident surprise. ill at ease. When is the train duc?” ' me alone. Her last words were to commend you palsied fingers and was shattered into fragments
His sleep had apparently greatly sobered him. “Well, well, we won't quarrel,” he said, in tones| “At ice o’clock, my lord.” ¥ my friendship—her last prayer for your wel- | 0” the floor, while he tottered against the bar and.
After a moment’s contemplation of the amused | meant to be soothing. “Love whoever you like,| His lordship looked at his watch. fare.” struggled to realize if the poet’s message was a
countenance of the artist, he struggled to an up-| Walter. Makes no Timsicaned to poor old father. |» “It is within a few minutes of five,” he said. “Per- | ““Tpen she thought of me to the last ?” reality, or if it was simply one-of those hideous

right position, gathered up his pillows with clum- "yy t Moi 1d. i i aps he is in the coming train, and will soon be| “ ‘ _|spells ‘that frequently came to torture him with
4 siness, replaced them on the couch, and then fully Hala doa Settee Oats ook bs om Hh pul cho with us. T will ae ahs oe er ‘ To the very last, Walter. She loved you ten awful visions after he had been indulging to a

 

i derly.”,, : ;
emerged from his concealment. your father. Couldn’t you spare meatrifle?” —. They both proceeded to the door, and Lord Rosen- |" Waitér bowed his head on his hands, mentally re- | Steater excess than usual in the fiery fluid called:
H Ah, see! Beg pardon for momentary forgetful-|° “Certainly,” said Walter, going to the table and bury seated himself under the yine-clad pore pales the admission he hdd made to Colte tally Fon whisky. , Nat i idkly.
Ate, ness,” he said, with an awkward bow, and he re- | searching in vain for his pocket-book—the one Lo-|_ “Your lordship has not seen Walter lately?” asked | that the dead woman had seemed to him more like The buzzards drained their g ete he ; ¥3.
; moved his hat. “Are you Walter Loraine? raine had already in his possession. Martha, after a pause. a nurse than.a mother, and although he reproached lest they might meet with a fate similar to that of
Lam,” replied the artist. ss > i sai i “No— ” i shi “Sit | hijgat aa : ¢ i Tom Jones, then looked regretfully at the broken.
. ‘a : > Why, that’s very singular,” said the artist, No—really—no,” answered his lordship. it | himself for it, the feeling returned to him now with : C Ke it i.
Walter Loraine, of Rosenbury Heath ? searching among the papers and in his stationery | down, my good woman. The fact is, Walter has | force.” an uae glass on the floor, as if they thought 1 ie pity |
y The artist replied in the affirmative. | cabinet. “I am very sure I threw it down here | been very busy with his Dipfocsional labors, arid I | With his grief were therefore mingled bitter and much whisky was wasted, and from aah nes an
Possible?” cried the stranger. “Should not} when I came home.” with my studies—with my sports and travels.” stern self-reproaches, he little dreaming that Na- the poet-miner who was standing by i side. ae
H rir have known you, Saw your eat at the door just| “Oh, never mind your pocket-book!” exclaimed| ‘Ah, I had faneied that there was a—a feeling of|ture herself dictated the feeling he so deeply re- Enoch," said Tom Jones, “what is uae: —
; ' now,and thought you might be the Loraine of | Loraine, with suspicious eagerness. “Can’t you | coolness between your lordship and Walter, and | cretted. ge, man What did I hear you say about my

Rosenbury Heath. As boy, you had a remarkable give me ahundred pounds? Bea long time before | that you intentionally avoided each other.” ‘After exhausting his small stock of consolations,

fancy for pictures.” dear, no—not the slightest ill-feeling—at | Lord Rosenbury called Martha, and then sum- You heard me say that he is dead at home, Tom

rh ee . si trouble you again, Walter.”
Walter regarded his visitor in surprise, and said, The role Mae a

i uick, keen glance at Loraine’s | least, on my part. Why should there be? Walter | moned his carriage and went home, leaving the Jones,” said Enoch, bitterly, “and here you are ;
: ; coldly: face, saw it flush still more deeply under his scru-|has always known his station, and I, of course, }ikj sichbor alter al ith their d carousing and singing at a public bar.” |
{ Indeed! Well, what can I do for you?” tiny, and then, satisfied of the whereabouts of his |have not forgotten mine. We could, therefore, } BS ee Or and; Walter alongwith Shoix dead. ‘Oh, don’t! don’t, Enoch! don’t fool me now: The

y [TO BE CONTINUED. } , old woman sent you on this errand to say that little

“That’s not very warm greeting,” said the man, | pocKet-book, he went to the desk in one corner of | never have become intimate, but I: have always
a on laugh. ete what one would ex- fhe room, and filled outa check for the amount de- | esteemed Walter very highly.” t a segp hala —peicetil atte ea Jimmy wis aad, bi it wa bsg this ie
Poor .,viter being gone rae ene ten years.| sired. He then handed it to Loraine. Martha drew a long breath of relief. ¢5 . won't work, said Jones, wi 4 ook avian F t

n 4 know me, Walter? IamColte Loraine—| That personage had advanced toward the desk, “Tam glad to hear this assurance, my lord,” she THE SI A TE-PICKER: he shook like an aspen, and looked with a vacan
yous at er! :  |seen the document filled out, and now beheld Wal- | said, seating herself, “and must beg the privilege of ' 9 } Stare in the face the pot. na Adelina
Ripa gh pero ro would have found it hard to. credit | ter put in his pockst a pursemuch better filled than | declaring to Walter that your lordship bears him é eek s right, ar nent Schnee Be
th ie ement—the two men being in no feature | the one he hac ‘ ndest feelings. The truth is, my OR. THE ,|oneo ae eee rae apping, | im oR oe a {
T indaod “As you are not going to Rosenbury Heath imme- | lord,” she added, in the form of an apology,” Wal- stipe vigorously; but nalth oe i eS es
Indeed, astronger contrast than they presented | diately,” said Walter, “I will write to mother this }ter is very proud, and thinks himself the equal of SLAVE OF THE COAL-SHAFT could banish from Tom Jones's heart the terror

Se...

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pould hardly be imagined. evening, informing her that you are alive and have | any one, ‘and hehasthe idea that your lordship which the words of Enoch Evans struck to it,

y father!” exclaimed the astonished young | returned. You purpose remaining in London?’ | was—was jealous of him——” “Tam not deceiving you, fom,” he said, “and I

 

j man. “Is it possible!” aine i ive. “T je im!” exclai is rdshi ; forgive you for doubting me. Your little Jimmy is.
i aq Muite !” responded the man, with great coolness. i gern cece ee or two,” said ria eeier hat wee iapaden aM ctl nk Geeeeped + By DANIEL DOYLE, indeed dead; he was killed in the breaker to-day,.
| Ihave just returned from Australia. It’s a hard | Walter, “with one of my pictures, and owe her a|that the woman’s words had struck home. ‘‘I jeal- (A MINE BOSS,) and your poor wife is breaking her heart at home
j lace. Gained a little money out there—just enough | letter. As I said, I will write her to-night.” ous of my nurse’s son! What do you mean?” p while you are spending here the money thatis sadly
i pay my fare home. Don’t you know me, Wal-| “All right, Walter. Sha’n’t see you again very} “I beg your lordship’s pardon,’ stamméred the | [phe siate-Picker” was commenced in No, 3% Back Nos. can needed there. Look you. ae
j ter? : soon, 80 good-by.” woman, conscious of her blunder, but seeing n0 | pe obtained from any News Agent.] This was more than BobSnaggles could stand.
; a a ae cone. paneer nie ey ry ne ores hands with the young artist, put his| way of extricating herself aoe it, save. Ma sae : en er ones ot bisiiekg and oi sen eee
4 then said, as he relinquished it: Part ave eibiantane i ea ee cr eb Gesu ewsne: a0 lt § sor eraer waving Gini psn erp rc sincere sympathy for dones he flewinto a great

 

Yes, I know you now. My surprise at first pre- | “If Parkin had been here, he would not haye been | u eeks at a time at the great house, and | 7#* BUZZARD’S ROOST—ENOCH EVANS AND THE BAB-/rage at Evans for his indiscretion in delivering
yented a recognition., We believed youdead. Nine | allowed to enter.” thought Walter, with a anailes educating him, and thinking #0 much of him/and @ KEEPER~A FIGHT, FOR THE LAST DOLLAR. such a Sad message to a man who was “henjoyin’
took ago, or thereabouts, my mother received a| after his visitor’s departure. ‘What a father to re- | finally leaving him a fortune, that, when Ispoke,1} _ When Enoch Evans went to the house of Mrs. | of himself.” He came round from behind the bar,
: etter from Australia, written by afriend of yours, | spect_and love!” he added, more bitterly. ‘What | quite forgot the great difference in your situations. | Jones he found that luckless creature almost dis- and laying one of his burly hands on the poet-
4) stating that you had died —’ ; 4 would Geraldine say to such a relative ?” ind then my lady makes so muchof Walter, too.” _ | traeted with grief. The neighbors had dropped in | miner's shoulders ¢ aid, or rather hissed in a great
' Ah, yes.” said the yisitor, throwing himselfatfull | Going to his picture, Walter resumed his contem-} “Poor Walter,” obseryed Lo senbury. “I | one by one to offer their sympathies, but no amount | rage: ec,

length oheb a couch. “Good Joke, at! He, he! | plation of it, but Loraine’s visit had made an un- | fear that it was a great mistake in my father to edu- | of kind*words could soothe her sorrow. Night was “Get out of my} /ace, youliar and you villain.

So you believed it,eh ? I got a friend to write | pleasant i essio n hi nd he di hi bove his sphere. But Iam willing and | falling, and as yet her husband had not returned, | See wot you did to zhat ere poor man,” pointing to
that letter, just to deceive you all. Pretty neatly quite himself, OT Bann ale oes) Mateo | aasibas tebe to hint € < C tl a .

. 4 a ; P anxious to be to him the friend and patron my late | and she did not know where he was, nor could she | Jones, down whose cheeks the tears began to flow.
a & . one, wasn’t it?” | a. It was not pleasant to have such a vulgar. drunken | father was, As you haye suggested, he is almost | guess, unless he happened ‘to be at one of the sa-| “Tam not aliar,nor a villain, look you,” said
7 «eens ree with you,” said Walter, coldly. father, and Walterdelt annoyed and disturbed. fierce in his pride,and [ have had no opportunity | loons in the neighborhood, where his ni hts and|Eyans, warmly smarting under the imputation,
f mS n’teh? Did old woman marry again ? “T suppose he will run through his hundred and | of coming to an understanding with him. Let me | days, as well as every penny he could lay hands on | “and I tell you, Bob Snaggles, take your hands off
—™. 2 o. She believes herself a widow, and prefers | twenty pounds,” thought Walter; ‘‘and will then | hope that this’sad event—the death of his mother— | from whatever source, were spent. , ay, |e, now.” : ; ; ;
. ean so. (0 ie i go home and rob mother of her sayings. I must will render him more accessible than before to my I wonder does Tom Jones know about his child’s |; “You ama liar,” said Bob, pushing him against
| “What ve eh? He, he! Pretty good!” _ : warn her of his probable intentions. Of course | kindly wishes and esteem.” 4) i death ?” said Enoch to some of the women who | the bar with considerable force, 7
<i 2 h ae haye been your object in sending|she will have a home with me alwaysif she is} “Thanks, my lord.” said Martha, with a gratified | were sitting like mutes in the kitchen, Just then Ike Spilkins, the cracker-boss, entered
a | Onn Tt a letter ?” asked Walter. ? obliged to render up to himallshe has. He can|look.. “Knowing Walter’s kindly heart, Iam sure | ~ I don’t. think he do,” replied one. He was not|the. room, smoking a dirty black pipe, which he
j h ue t ruth was, Walter, found new ties out| never rob her of a home and support while I live,|he willbe touched by your ‘kindness and by the | home all day. ‘ ¥ promptly removed from his mouth on seeing the
i oe ee me a new wife with little money, and | I will write to her now.” representations I shall take the liberty of making| “Do any one know where he is now ?” asked the | condition of affairs. He did not expect to meeti
» oun! malate as well get ridof the old woman.| He seated himself at his desk and proceeded to | to him.” poet-miner. Tom Jones there or he certainly would not have
Wo ae ane wege know. Wasn't fair to keep | write to Mrs, Loraine. “4 There had been for years a strong antagonism |. The women looked from one to another, and at | visited the place, and fer a few seconds he was un-
Age tied Up and be free ’self, course.’ \ His letter was unusually affectionate, for he re- | between Rosenbury and the young artist, but it was | lastone of then?ventured to say: decided as to whether he should enter or retire’
ne ooked astonished and disgusted at this | proached himself for the feeling he had confessed | now an object with his lordship to dissimulate the Indeed he do be at the Buzzard’s Roost pretty | from the scene. He finally concluded to remain
reygiat on aw , to Loraine, and he communicated the fact of Lo- | fact, and to place himself on terms of friendly in- often, and maybe heis there now.” and learn what was the matter with his friend, Bob
od an wife died three years ago,” contin-|raine’s return with the utmost caution and tender- | timacy, if possible, with his rival. i Ho Oushy to know about ees said Enoch,|Snaggles. : eat
u raine, marki the emotion with. which » Lord Rosenbury was about to reply, when. the | “and indeed I willtry to find him, look you, if it) “There,” said Enoch Evans, on seeing Spilkins. *

’ ) 0 ness. H ay : ) 2 : : ¥ 2 cM ;
pealtee had received his communication. “Left me| While still busy at his task, a rap sounded at the | shrill whistle of a locomotive was heard, and the | take all night.” and so saying, he left the cottage, | “There is a man that will tell you whether Pm a
er little propertyycourse. Went into little busi- | door, and Parkin, Walter’s valet. entered the cham- | train rushed into the village station, less than half and hastened in the direction of the Buzzard’s | liar or not.” '

ness. Lost if all. Lived from hand to mouth. | ber. ; a mile distant. Roost, a low groggery on the outskirts of Mapleton,| Snaggles_ looked around, and recognizing his
; inally, heard Lord Rosenbury was dead, and de-| He advanced and stood respectfully at alittle dis-| ““Weshallsoon know itif Walter has come,” he | celebrated as the resort of all the “bummers” in the friend. said: ,
ets to hasten home as quickly as possible. | tance from his master until Walter was ready to | said, with sudden feverishness. “Ah, there comes | village, including old soldiers, who could relate| “Ho, that’s a gentleman, that is, and he won’t tell
fein vee money of all my acquaintances, worked | attend to him. a cab—” wonders of the war; broken-down doctors, who | none o’ your lies.”
He: re so on,and heream.” | , The valet was somewhat of a dandy, but his face} “And Walter himself is in it, my lord,” explained | discoursed learnedly, and with copious Latin ex-| ‘“Wat’s up ?” said Spilkins. : ;
ut what had Lord Rosenbury’s death to do with | showed him to be an honest and faithful man, and | Martha, as Lord Rosenbury paused. “I saw his | tracts, to the vulgus mobile, on the formation of the] “Why, here’s this fanatic,” replied Snaggles: “he
your re ?” asked Walter. nding ‘ his glances at the young artist were full of are-| head looking out of the window.” human system and the various ills it was heir to; | says Tom Jones’s boy was killed in the breaker to-
aa ‘sd ea : rted and looked uneasily at the artist, | spectful affection. 4 Lord Rosenbury arose, and began pacing up and | miners, who related stories of mining and its haz-| day, and he comes into my bar to preach a sermon }
PAViNg : “Well, Parkin, what is it?” asked Walter, finish-|down the narrow, flower-bordered path between | ards; and railroad men, who told thrilling tales o i :

 

. , on it.”
, 3 eee ae meee the tongue, that’s all. Heis|ing the sentence he had begun, “You did your|the gate andthe cottage, and Martha stood inthe | the road; besides a number of nondescript loafers | _“Isthat so, Mr. Spilkins; is that so?” eagerly ask-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

eve ne rer” f errand correctly?” doorway in tearful silence. with a penchant for strong whisky, and a compli- | ed Jones, in great distress.
wae a 6 is dead,” said Walter, with a deep sigh,| “Yes,sir; and here’s atelegram, sir,as has just} The cab came nearer and nearer, stopped at the | ment for every vulgar tale that contributed tothe} “Iam ony it is true,” the cracker-boss said, after
3 Se ee a chair. : come for you, sir,” replied Parkin. “I hope it’s no | gate, and Walter Loraine sprang out. bar-room amusement of the Buzaard’s Roost. The} a pause. “Your Jimmy was, I think, smothered in
of s—his son, Raymond, has suceeeded him, | bad news sir.” “Oh, who will tell him the truth?” moane ar-| place was dingy, disagreeable, and dirty, and in ex- | a coal-schute to-day. I know some boy was, and I
Oper - Walter took the telegram, scanned its meaning, |tha. “Oh, my lord, would you break thé s to | act keeping with the appearance of the host, Bob | think they said it was your son, ;
z course. yes and sank back in his chair, deathiy pale.” lpoor Walter?” Snaggles, a burly fellow, with bristling hair, pu-'! Bob Snaggles still held the poet-miner in his
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vise-like grasp, and on hearing pyine corroborate
his story, remarked with a scowl:

“T could smash you to pieces.” ?

The buzzards did not attempt to_ interfere.
There opinion was that the poet-miner deserved to
be annihilated for marring their coarse enjoyment
with his sad story, and that Bob Snaggles would be
perfectly justified in carrying out his threat of
smashing him to pieces. :

“Let him go,” said Jones, at length awaking from
the reverie into which the news of his boy’s death
had at first thrown him. .

“Yes,” replied the other, “but he must leave here,
at the same time relaxing his hold, i

“We'll both leave together,” said Jones, “Come,
Bnoch; you are, after all, my friend,” and he stag-
gered in the direction of the poet-miner.

Snaggles looked at Jones in amazement,
asked?

“Who is going to square up forthose drinks, Tom
Jones ?* Where is that dollar ?” : F

“He’s in my_pocket now, Bob. Tll want it, you
know, to bury Little Jimmy, and I can pay you for
these drinks some other time.”

Jones was so drunk that he could searcely stand,
and Snaggles, seizing him by the collar, shook him
rougly; : :

“You won’t go out of here till you pay for the
drinks,”’ he said. © ;

“But Iwill. That's my last dollar. and I want it
now to buy little Jimmy’s coffin.” t
~ “Tittle Jimmy be blowed,” said Snaggles. making
an effort to thrust his hand into Jones’s pocket, but
he was intercepted by Evans, who grasped his
hand’ and requested that he would not insist on
taking the last dollar fromthe unfortunate man.
But SHaggles was as strong as a lion, and shaking
Evans off, dealt him astunning blow which sent
him reeling to the far corner of the room, Then
throwing Jones on the floor, a struggle ensued for
the money. The latter fought savagely, bit Snag-
gies in the hands, and received seyeral severocuts
on the head and face during the conflict. Not one
of the cowardly customers attempted to interfere,
until at length the poor drunken wretch Jones,
confused with whisky, and rendered almost sense-
less, was completely overcome. In his right hand
he still held the crumpled dollar with a deadly grip.
Snaggles. in the effort to obtain it, tore the bill into
Rioce. and then taking Jones in his arms carried

im to the door. and flung him _ into the street. , All
this time Enoch Evans struggled to goto the poor
wretch’s assistance, but he was held back by Doctor
Optic and Spilkins, who declared it was a fair fight
of man and man andthat nobody should go be-
tween them, eet ;

' Jones having been disposed of as already stated,
andJeft lying in the gutter, Snaggles rushed flercely
at the poet-miner, seized him by the neck, and

ushed him out of the door, which he closed with a

ang. Then returning to his place behind the pag

welling with pride ever the victory he _hé
achieved, “’set’’em up’ for the regular customers
in honor of the “splendid strle”’ in which, they
assured him, he had “polished off” his opponent.

CHAPTER IX,
ENOCH EVANS AND THE WIDOW GORDON,

Enoch Byans had an exceedingly disagreeable
task in assisting the unfortunate Tom Jones to his
miserable home. It was a task from which many a
man would shrink in disgust. but the poet-miner
was possessed of a kind heart, and it seemed to him
4s if he, of all other men in Mapleton: should be the
one to earry it outr. Jones staggered at every step,
and frequently made frantic efforts to go back and
be revenged on Snaggles, whose cruel conduct he
could not forget even in the stupor of intoxieation-
At last thedowly hut was reached late in the night,
and asthey were about to enter. Enoch whispered
in the ear of his unsteady companion:

“Now, Tom, sober up. look,you, and be a man.”

“Allright, Nock; mind your own business,” was
ihe ungrateful ee

Mrs.. Jones, the Widow Gordon, and a couple.ot
neighboring women were the only octupants of the
dreary home when Enoch and Tom Jones stagger-
ed through the doorway. The poor ‘wife, weary
with weeping started back on seeing her bésotted
husband, with his face bloody and his clothing ¢ov-
ered with mud, where he had fallen several times
along the way. She was well aware'of his violent
eharacter, and» trembled at the thought of the
stormy scene that was’likely to ensue.

“Say, old woman,” he hiceoughed, adyvancing-to

vyhere she stood: “where is littlé Jimmy ?”” :

“Tom,she answered, in a frightened tone,
little Jimmy has left us;’
key, in whieh was mingled a touch of reproaeh,
“vou will never whip him any more.” :

“Well, where is he?” said the brutal husband with
an oath. The broken-spirited wife pointed to the
room in which a solitary candle dimly burning,
kept vigil over the dead slate-picker, and)Tom
Jones staggered through the door, and leaning
against the wall. looked in the quiet face of ‘the
erushed ereature to whom life had beon a torture
both at héme and in the coal-breaker. rae

"The drunken father with a long and earnest gaze
on the corpse, stood in that attitude for some time,
hile numerous touching thoughts flitted ‘through
is mind, and a still small voice kept whispering to
him that he ought to reform and lead a different

and then

“Noo

e. ;
“But it is:too late! too late!’ he muttered audibly,

and throwing himself in an old chair by the bed, he

laid his head beside that of little Jimmy, and beg-

ine forgiveness for his many cruelties to the lad,
ell fast asleep. ‘ i

The néighbors, one by one jyent away, with the
exception of Mrs. Gordon and Enoch Eyahs. .The
former begged of Mrs. Jones to take a. little sleep
as she must be very much fatigued, but the poor
mother declared thatshe was not a bit tired nor
sleepy. and that she could not spare time to close
her eyes as longas Jimmy was inthe house, lest
she might forget him even a moment.. So she took
her chair to the door of the room in which the boy
day, that she might be able to look at his fago. |

“Tt isa very sad case, Mr. Evans.” said the widow
Gordon, with a languishing Jook at the poet.

“Very sad indeed,” said. Enoch. who ;like, the
elder Weller had a mortal dread of widows, and did
not exactly like the idea ot finding himself sudden-
ly alone in the society of one whose blandishments
were proverbial throughout the neighborhood.

Enoch prided himself on being a bachelor, and
hoped he would eontinue so through life, with no
bride but his muse, no eares but those of his
neighbors. ,..) ® ‘

“Ah, I pity that poor woman,” said Mrs. Gordon,
sotte voce, and indicating by a nod of the head that

‘she meant Mrs. Jones.. ‘‘Between you and me, Mr.
Evans, her life is a fearful misery, and her marri-
age has been a very unhappy one.”

‘Lbelieve it, Mrs. Gordon,” replied the other.
facta great many marriages are unhappy, and all
because most people are in too greata hurry to get
married.”

“Yes, that’s very true, but after all what pleasure

1s therein a solitaryisingle life?”
“Well, Mrs. Gordon, there is an old:proverb that
says, life is what we make it, and I believe there
are some persons who eould be happy married’ or
single, and others look you, who, could not be
happy in any condition.”

The widow was strongly, in favor of rriage,
and indeed forsome time had regarded the poet-
miner with great favor, She was possessed of
considerable personal attractions, had not yet quite
lost the charms which made her a favorite in her
younger days. and was, moreover, a diplomat in
the: management of such hearts as fluttered around
her sphere.

_ [tell you, Mr. Evans,” she said, confidently, “‘it
is a poorthing for man or woman in siekness or
sorrow, to have no friendly hand near, no friendly
voice to whisper comfort or consolation. While we
have healthef course we are apt not to think so
much of this; but I know, Enoch—Mr, Eyans, f
mean, itis asad thing.to be.a poor lone woman in
this world.” ; "e

Enoch felt himg@lf drawn.toward the widow by a
sense of sympatfy for her forlorn situation, and he
endeavored to harden his heart against her soft
insinuations. She followed up the attack, however,
with renewed ferce until the poet-miner almost

_felt himself a captive to her musical voice and
tender glances. : »

“That's all very fine,” he said at last, asserting his
bachelorhood again. “‘That’s all very well, Mrs.
Gordon, but. how much better, you. see, those
Rees would be if they were not married. Now, I

old that there is no life so content_as a single one,
and such I mean to lead myself, Mrs. Gordon, all
the days of my life, Lam past the time when my
heart was tender. and when I had nothing but rosy
dreams of love and marriage, and now I can look
on the matter in an unbiased light. I know you
rill. agree with me when I say a single life is: best,

ook you.”

“Heigho!” said the widow with a weary sigh, as
she saw the turn which the poet’s thoughts were
taking, “I am sorry that I must differ with you
there. You are certainly a man for whose opinion
I have the greatest respect, in fact I don’t think
there is another man in Mapleton I esieem s0
much, but on this question I cannot agree with you,
Mr. Evans.”

Enoch would gladly have changed the subject of
conversation, but he had. no opportunity to do so,
and finding himself somewhat embarassed by the
widow’s persistency, he resolved on retiring from
the discussion, and notwithstanding that he had
come to remain all night, he rose to go home.

‘You are not going home already, Mr. Evyans?’,
said the widow.

He amswered in the affirmative, and was rather
surprised to hear Mrs. Gordon say:

I think I'll go home too, as you are going my
way. I left little Graceasleep when Icame out, and
I am SOM Sree BRR, about her.”

he poet had no alternative but to accept the
situation which he did with as_good.a grace as
possible, and so bidding Pe Mrs. Jones good-
night. and saying a word of encouragement to her,
both left the sorrow-stricken hut. The poet-miner
was still more astonished on leaving the house to
find that the Widow Gordon actually took hold of

     

> then adding in A lower

“In

oe

his though she was on the
most friendly terms with him.

The distance to her house was not far, but to
Enoch it seemed a mile, as he feared at every step
that he would meet some of the neighbors, and
rather than that should occur, he would preter that
the earth would cave in under his feet, and swal-
low himup. Twoor three times he thought he saw
some one coming in the opposite direction, and on
each occasion he made an awkward and ludicrous
attempt to extricate his arm from that ofthe widow,
and found himself calied upon to make atrifling
apology every time. The widow employed her con-
yersational powers to advantage during the short
journey Pet managed to talk about a variety of
topies. The blindness of David Burton was dis-
cussed, as were also the dreary prospects which
seemed in store for his unfortunate family. Mrs.
Gordon said she was surprised that David Burton
did not go to be treated for ashort time at Dr. Op-
tie’s infirmary for the blind, but Enoch answered
her there was no hope, as his eyes were entirely
destroyed. Shé cited cases, however, in which she
said Dr. Optic had performed the “most miraculous
cures,” and added that she would persuade Dayid
Burton to try the establishment for a couple of
weeks at any rate. It would be such a great bless-
ingif his sieht were restored. The great interest
which the Widow Gordon manifested in behalf of
the afflicted family won for her new favor in the
poet’s estimation, and thrown completely off his
guard by the fact that the marriage question was
not once hinted at during the walk, he really began
to think Mrs. Gordon a most amiable and kind-
hearted personage.

“Mr. vans,” said the widow, when they were
drawing near the door of the hut, ‘‘you don’t know
how mueh my little Grace thinks of you. She is
continually talking of ’Noek and I believe if she
was a young woman instead of a child she would
fall in love with you.”

“She is avery interesting, good little girl, indeed,”
said Enoch, “and I like her a good deal.”

“But here we are at last,” srid the widow, as they
stood before the door ‘How short the journey
seemed.”

Enoch dared not subscribe to this opinion for
owing to his unfortunate embarrassment, he
thought the distance along one. It had been yery
agreeable even unto him, though, and he actually
began to think as he was about to depart that there
i Fy after all, be some happiness in married life,
and that fhere were'a great many more unworthy
women in the village than the Widow Gordon. She
stretched’‘out her hand to wish him good night,
and ere he was conscious of what he was doing, he
actually pressed it to his lips, then hurried away,
astonished at his own boldness, and leaving the
widow not alittle perplexed by what she thought a
very strange act on the part of Enoch Evans.

What a fool I be,” thought Enoch to himself_as
he reflected on what he deemed such a rash act. “Tl
never speak to that woman any more; it do make
meso silly *you see. What would the neighbors
say if they knew IL kissed Widow Gordon’s hand?
Deed ta goodness I would neyer hear the last of it
now, and it would serve’ me ferry right, go it

a2? ,

Thus chiding himself for his impulsive conduct,
the poet-miner made his way to His narrow and
seantily-furnished room, and lighting a candle
proceeded to pour oyer the manuscript of a com-
plicated oem which he was ‘preparing for the
Weekly Miner, instead of taking thé rest which his
wearied. condition of mind and body needed s
badly. But nature asserted herself, and even whi
he was puzzling his brain for ene and ‘meas-
uring the number of feet necessary to-a line, he
dozed into a profound sleep in which visions of the
Widow Gordon, Bob Snaggles. andthe slate-pickers
were curiously mixed up together. How long he
slept he knew not, but he was rudely awa ened by
a loud knocking at his door, and a voice outing
that his room was on fire. The candle he had left
burning. Caen re the flame tc the papers on
his table, and these, ifitluding the cne upon which
his new poem was written, were ablaze”

CHAPTER X.

ENOCH EVANS PAYS A VISIT TO DR. OPTIC’S EYE AND
. EAR INFIRMARY. oe

The. door of Enoch Evans’ room was. broken
open, and a bucket of water dashed on the burning
papers nipped the incipient fire in the bud. It.was
inech’s laborer who accomplished this feat—a droll
fellow named Mick Muldoon, who grew so iit (
over the, affair that, he did not know what Ww
doing. He seized Enoch bythe collar, and drag-
ging him out of the room, pushed him down stairs
for peeves atthe imminent peril of by eaking his
NOCK. Hin, tila > r

‘“W—what's the matter?” cried Enoch, as soon as
he Could find words to speak to the excited Mul-
doon, who rushed down stairs for another bucket
of water... bi) ‘
_ “What’s the matther, isid?_ Why, man, the house
is on fire, an’ Yer all grec to blazes!” and so say-
ing, he procured anothér supply of water, hastened
to the fine» room, which was fille

and oa

the bucket pro ously around the apartment.
This experiment, he repeated several times, ex~

citing the inmates of the house to a neryous pitch.

and making them believe that the entire building

stroyed several books and other. articles which
a prized highly. : 7
“he poet, at length procuring’ a light, proceeded
to investigate the true state of affairs, and endeavor
if possible to save his new poem, over which he
had been poring when he'dozed into the sleep from
which he had been awakened so rudely. But it was
too late—the poem in question was already in ashes.
Doubtless the inflammatory character of the verses
mado theman easy preyto the flames; but be that
as.it may, the result of many weary hours’ 10ought
and toil was consumed with them, and isnoci’s
only consolation was thatthe idea still existed in
his head. : er, <a

Hé was just ¢ongratulating himself on this fact,
ag. well as on the somewhat fortunate circumstance
that the House did not catch fite—the only damage
done being a slight charring of eee on W!
the i stood—when he experi
shoek in the shape’of ’a bucket of, water dashed
upon him by the over-zealous’ Muldoon, who could
not be conyinced that the fire was already extin-

uished, _This for the time being really did banish

noch’s cherished ideaof the new poentfrom his
brain, and in its stead there was an inclination to
profanity, which found vent in language more vig-
orous ‘than wise, addressed to the exeitable Mick
Muldo6nh, who, not waiting to see what he had done,
hastened off for some more water. Oh comiftg back
he was met at the door by Enoch, who grasped him
by the throat, and exclaimed, as he pressed his fin-
gers tightly thereon? :

“Mick, are oo mad, or do you want td drown me
out!” ae #

“Let-go your howlt, man,” said Mick, “or the dtvil
break me step but Pll Stave you?

“My room, and my papers, and
$troyed, look you, with your foolishness dashi
water where there is no fire,” said Enoch, relaxing
his grip; “and deed to goodness, I am nearly.
drowned myself with YOR ;

‘Wasn’t there any fire, then, at all?” said Mick, in
astonishMents * » ‘3 — ;

“Only a few papers you see that wereon my
table.” ee . ¥

“Oh,thin I ax yer pardon; for whinI kem in
from the dance I thought I saw yer room in ablaze,
an’ shure the laste 1 could do was to putid out. It
gayeme a great scare entirely, for [ thought you
wor burned into a cindher.”

Alight was procured Once more, and when Mul-
doon saw that he had caused greater damage than
the fire he was. exceedingly,penitent. and, before
retiring to rest, begged Several times that Enoch
would excuse him.

The bard ofthe Weekly Miner, after changing his
wet clothing for a dry suit, went and took his place
in a large chair by the kitchen fire, and closing his
eyes, tried to fall asleep. The exciting events of
the evening previous, however, flitted through his
mind, and: kept. him wakeful and restless. He
thought of the unhappiness of the Jones family. the
misery of the wife, the death of the child, and the
degradation of the husband in his. wild carousals at
the Buzzard’s Roost. Again his thoughts reverted
to the sad condition ofhis friend, David'Burton, and
he wondered what he could doo alleviate the suf-
fering of -himself and little family. Yes. Widow
Gordon had told him of a certain optician. Dr.
Optic, who performed miraeulous cures. He had
heard of him before—had heard of the complicated

cases he had treated, of the many sufferers from a
distance who found relief at his eye and ear infirm-
ary, which was one of the institutions of the neigh-
borhood, and he resolved on visiting Dr. Optic that
very morning. and having achat with him on the
subject.
_ From this Enoch’s thoughts drifted to his meet-
ing the Widow Gordon. He thought how agreeable
she had been, how pleasantly she discoursed, and
finally ruminated on what heconsidered his own
erowning act of follyin kissing her hand. She
would now, he thought, doubtless think him in love
with her, and that he could not permit. Oh, no, he
must never be so foolish again as to walk home
with, her, orlet her hang upon his arm and fasci-
natehim by her blandishments, ‘That would never
do. The bard of the Weekly Miner was made of
sterner stuff than that, and eyen if the widow was
agreeable, he would not allow himselfto be en-
snared by her sweet and winsome strategy.

With this manly determination uppermost in his
mind, he fell fast asleep in the chair. and did not
awaken again until the morning sun poured his
powerful rays through the window, full in the
‘poet’s face.

Morning always hada peculiar charm for the
poet. Itwasinthe morning, when the day was
young, that nature looked loveliest. The Susque-

anna fiver seemed calmer and clearer in the
morning than
the valley of
birds san
sky look

y books are de-

t any other time. It was then that
yoming looked most beautiful, the
their happiest melodies at morn, the
softer and more serene, the sunshine

 

 

-half shut and his face fearfully swollen.

; h with smoke, |
fing vigor asly, discharged the contents of |
iscv

vas in flames, while he drenched the room and de-'

 

hich
ced a sudden

verte were full, ane to all appearance

 

2 Rn natn

seemed more golden then than at a
day, the leaves looked a brighter green, the grass
seemed imbued with more life as each spear glis-
tened’neath its dewy diamond, and the very at-
mosphere was redolent with more balmy odors.

Enoch Evans strolled abroad to enjoy the scene
and admire the surroundings, which he regarded
with enthusiam.

Already the little slate-pickers were wendin
their way tothe different coal-breakers scattere
along the river, and standing like so many grim
sentinels keeping watch and ward over the lovely
seene,

The poet often pitied the lot of the little toilers,
and how to better their condition frequently formed
a perplexing problem for him, His sensitive na-
ture had often watehed with pain children taken
almost from the eradle to the eoal-breaker, and
there subjected tothe most inhuman cruelties at
the hands of brutal and ignorant ecracker-bosses,
whose own lives were rendered callous by contact
with such seenes from childhood, and who hada
firm belief that the only way to control a boy ora
mule was with the lash, and that it shouid be laid
on unsparingly. in order to make boy or mule do
his duty.

Enoch EByans often thought the Legislature ought
to interfere and prevent, by the application ofa
rigid enactment, children from working in the
eoal-breaker’ under a certain age. He knew that
such a law had been passed, but then on reflection,
and considering the condition of some poor fami-
lies, he fancied its application would be cruel, as
for instance. in the case of his unfortunate friend,
Burton, who was reluctantly compelled to let his
little son. Ben, becomea dlatepick or at an age
when he was scarcely old enough to enter the pub-
lic school

“Ah. it’s a pitiful case * thought the poet: and he
returned to his boarding-house, where he found
breakfast already waiting for him.

After breakfast he set out for thé eye and ear in-
firmary of Doctor Optic, which was situated ata
distanee of about a mile from where he lived. He
was informed that the doctor was in his study in
the second story of the establishment, and the ser-
vant added that he was so busily engaged that she
did not think he could see any one.

Bnoeh Evans, however. told her to say that an old
friend wanted to speak with him a few minutes.

The seryant complied, and inashort time re-
turned, and told the poet that the doctor would see
him, gt the same time asking him to follow her.

The bard of the Weekly Miner ascended the nar-
row. rickety stairs, that groaned and_ tottered as if
they. would’ break at every step, and on reaching
the landing, proceeded in the direction of a door to
which the servant pointed, and entering in, in re-
sponse toa gruff invitation, found himself face to
faee with the renowned Doctor Optic.

The doctor sat in'a great arm-chair. with his eyes
The room
was redolent of thefumes of whisky, and its ap-
pearance for a study was anything but ag reeable.
Onthetop of an old library. filled with tattered
books, stood a large cage. containing about half a
dozen ferrets, who fixed their piercing eyes upon
the visitor as soon as he entered, as if they would

“aR

“Well, what do you want?”

The doctor did not recognize Enoch Evans, but
turning in his chair, and making an effort to look
wise. said, in a husky voice: ‘

“Come, sir. let me look at your eyes.”

“Th—there is nothing the matter with my eyes,
doctor.” said Enoch.

And before he could proceed further. he was in-
terrupted by the optician. who hiccoughed out:

"Hang it, what do you want here, then? Don't
you know, sir, that this is an eye and ear infirma-
ry—Doctor Optie’s Institution—and unless you are
deafor blind you have no business here?”’

The poet-miner thought this rather strange con-
duct on the part of such an eminent man as Doctor
Optic was eonsidered to be. but then he thought
that genius was always eccentric, and he suddenly
remembered haying seen the doughty doctor at the
Buzzard’s Roost on the evening previous. The
doctor’s eccentricity was pet ony: due to the latter
fact. The truth was he had not been more than
two hours from the orgie, and he was stil) suffering
from the effects of the night’s debauch. bis

“T am not deab nor blind, doctor—look you,’ said
Enoch; ‘‘but I came ’oo see in the interest of a man
what is blind; andif you have time to talk to ms
now, Ili tell yowmy business.”’

“You are quite sure) your; eyes and ears are all
right?” said the doctor- (
"Quite sure, doctor. Why, don’t you, know me?”
é be doctor looked. steadily at his visitor a min-
ute, then gave a prgjonsed whistle, and exclaimed:

“Why, no—yes—confound it all. why how de you
do? The poet-miner, I declare. Hang it. sit down
man; we'll have a bottle.” rel

“IT never drink. doctor.” _)

“You don’t—a poet not drink! Don't tell me that.

sir, Ah! Anacreon, you sly dog, where would your
inspiration come from if you did 1 anet the rosy
bowl that lends magic to the soul? J tell you what
—by the way. what is your name? Ihave such a
poor Memory—see so, many blind people—get con-
fused, you_ know- Ah, thank you, Enoch Evans
that’s it. I tellawou what..Kyans, life 1s not worth
much without A glass of good ardent spirits now
and again to drive away the dullness. Oh. I find it
is glorious. My bottle. sir,is the only casis in the
geport of my life. TF-am_ alone,sir.in the. world:
Nave neither wife nox child. My only pets are my
ferrets—see how they stare and how their eyes glis-
ten. They know Lam speaking now. and they are
attentive. But what was I.saying? Yes, that my
bottle was myonly comfort, We'll haye a glass.”

“Not any for me. thank you,” said och.

“Nonsense, man,” said the doctor. and seizing an
instrument slike a drum-stick, he made asavage
attack with it upon a Chinese gong elose by. pro-
ducing.a most unearthly noise. 3 5

The seryant came rushing into the room in re-
sponse, and received orders to bring a certain bot-
tle from the cellar. which was produced in a.very
short time. . : ? .

“You see I'm well waited upon.” said the doctor.

“That gong.sir. is to strike terror into my servants.
and makethem obe in

you what, sir. Sound is a great power and makes
manyaman a slaye, ‘Sound, gir, makes Many a
man and woman famous; and the want of a good

voice has often made brilliant men go unrecognizegl

through this world. This.is splendid,” as he he
the bottle to the light.” “The pure quill, sir—genu-
ine eau de vie,’.and he pouréd_ out some of the
liquor in aglass an ae ded it to Enoch Evans,
he inte ook it fro pis hand and laid it un-
touched upon the table, while the doctor drank his
with evident gusto. | . a “sc teed <7

“Hang it, man, drink. What a dul) life you must
lead without a little wine or brandy.” :

But Enoeh absolutely refused to touch it, and
taking the very first opportunity, proceeded: to
state his business, and ask Dr. Optic’s opinion as
to whether he could be of any service to the blind
miner. : a8 :

‘I can cure him, sir, ina month, but he must be-
come an inma@® of my infirmary.” said the dostory,

. That I fear. w wid be impossible,” said Enoch ;
“he is so. poor, and has quite a helpless family, and
I fear your charges would betoo high for him.”, _

“Too poor.” saidthe doctor, “Pshaw! not. at all
sir. My infirmary. is essentially for the poor. I
pave at present fifty inmates here, sir—d and

lind, all told, and they are without exception poor
people. Such persons don’t receive the ‘attention
due to them in the large- hospitals, or under the
care of aristocratic M. D.’s, and so Ll give them the
full benefit of extensive experience here, to-
gether with a due share of personal attention to
each, That’s where the benefit lies. My charge.
sir, for board and first-class attention is forty dol-
lars a week—a mere bagatelle.”

Enoch Eyans shook his head. :

“Tam afraid poor Burton cannot pay that,’ he
observed. “Cannot he be treated as an outdoor
patient?” . me ‘

ere shy te sir. It is one of the most rigid
rules of the infirmary that cases requiring, con-
tinued treatment. shall be here all the time for
special supervision. It is only in isolated instances
of rare One ee requiring only one or two visits
that [take outdoor patients. By the way, there’s
a case compns this morning. and if you wait a short
time yowlf see as neat an operation as you ever
witnessed. -It is a little girl. ten years old, who has
been co ey blind ever since the age of six.
She comes-with her parents shortly, and so I must
steady up4

The doctor didso by taking a pier deep draught
of the brandy, and then pushing the bottle behind
the cage in which the ferrets were, he threw off his
coat, assumed an old, faded morning gown and a
pair of slippers, ran’ his Bpaers through his hair,
and tried to put on a look of importance, such asa
professional man of his caliber should wear. Then
walking over.to the cage he pointed to one of the
inmates, which was proyehing at_the bottom.

You see that ferret, sir. I made it blind for the
purpose of experimenting on its eyes.”

Enoch thought what a terrible piece of eruelty
that must be.

It is coming on gloriously,” said Dr. Optic; ‘can
see splendidly now under my attention,” and as
he spoke he touched the little sufferer with a cane
and made it leap about to show his visitor how well
it could see.

While thus engaged, the servant announced that
a party was waiting in the hall tosee the doctor—a
lady, and gentleman, and a little girl...

“Ah, tellthem come up,” said the doetor. “Now,
art Ee added to Enoch, “you shall see this opera-
ion.

Then making another raid on, the brandy-bottle
to “steady” his neryes, he stood, or rather sat, in
readiness to receive his visitors.

They were aman and woman about the middle-
—_ leading between them a fair-haired and beau-

ful little girl, who’ was completely blind. Her
erfect, her
cheeks were as ruddy as a rose-bud, and the entire
cert of her features was one of tranquillity
a complete contentment with her severe afflic-

on.

YORK WEEKLY.

ny other time of

 

 

double quick time. I tell’

 

~ — = = = eS

“Ah, good morning,” said the doctor. ‘How do
ou do, my little dear?” as he took the girl by the
and.

“Tam very well, thank you,” said the child.

“Rose, dear,” said her mother, “this is the doc-
tor, who is going to give you relief, to enable you to
see.

“Oh, sir,’ said the girl, with enthusiasm, “you
can restore my sight, can you? How happy i dhall
be to look upon dear mamma’s face once more,
andto seethe warm sunshine thatI feel on my
cheek these fine mornings.” ‘

Enoch Evans was touched to the heart by the sad
condition of the beautiful girl, and he would gladly
make any sacrifice in his power to restore her
sight. If indeed Dr. Optic could give her relief,
then he would be entitled to everlasting gratitude.

“Yes, my pet,” said the doctor. “Dll enable you
to see, but you must be alittle patient while I op-
erate on your eyes.”

Then ealling the poet, he showed him the girl’s
eyes, and explained the nature of the affliction,
telling him to keep a close watch while he enabled
the child to see.

So Rose Raymond sat on her father’s knee; the
mother turned away ; the father averted his head;
and the doctor, procuring his instruments, held
one of the child’s eyes open, while he penetrated
the optic with some sharp, spear-like_ blade. The
girl groaned in great pain, but tried to suppress
her agony. The operation was repeated on the
other eye,and then Dr. Optie, whose hand fairly
shook with delirium tremens, asked Rose if she
could see anything.

“Oh, no, no. sir,” she said, in broken accents.

Again the operation was repeated. The pain was
intense, and the poor sufferer thought she would
rather be blind for ages than endure such torture
any more.

“Now, my dear,”’ said the doctor, “do you see
anything?”

“T don’t know,” said the child, hesitatingly, and
fearing lest the experiment would be repeated if
she sai. “No.”

The wily doctor knew the situation right well.
He was aware that it was impossible for the girl to
see, but was at the same time determined that he
would keep her there until she was glad. to ac-
knowledge that she did in order to gain her
liberty.

“Do you see my face?” he asked.

“T think I do,” said Rose.

She thought she did, it was true, but only in
fancy, and her imagination had conjured up for
her a fearful. monster. She felt his hot, unholy
breath on her cheek, and realized that he had been
drinking, and alreadythe poor thing was anxious
to get away from him, even if she could do so by
saying—what was false—that she could see a little.

r. Optie turned around in triumph to Enoch
Evans, and said:

ae a fewdays she will see as well as youor I,
sir.’
The mother and father were overjoyed, but in the
midst of it all there were two present who felt in
their hearts that poor Rose Raymond would never
see again. These two were the doctor and the child
herself.

“Forty doliars,” said the doctor to her father.
Miles Raymond, who was evidently a well-to-do
farmer.

He paid the sum without a murmur, and then de-
seended the stairs with his child in his arms, placed
herself and his wife in the wagon atthedoor, and
drove off.

Enoch Evans kept thinking to himself all this
time what a wonderful man Dr. Optic was. and al-
ready he had arrived at the determination of ad-
vising David Burton to become aninmate of the
eye and ear infirmary by all means,

“Tl bring him down this afternoon, doctor,” he
said; ‘“‘andif ever you employed talent on any one,
IT want you to bestow it on Dave Burton, look you,
and make him see.”

“Tl do it, sir—yes, Anaereon, I’) do it. Tl) cast
light on the retina of his dul! and sightless optics
in spite of old Nick.”

And Enoch Evans, full of the praise of this great
doctor, bade him good morning.

{TO BK CONTINUED !

—>- @ -—+--—-

CAPTAIN
Danton’s Daughters.

By May Agnes Fleming.
i“Captain Danton’s Daughters’? was commenced in No. 16
Back Nos. can be obtained of any News Agent in the U_ States.}

CHAPTER XXV.
AT BOME,

Late in the afternoon of a dark November day,
our travelers reached Saint Croix, amd found the
carriage from the Hall awaiting them at the station.
Rose leaned back in a corner, wrapped in a large
shawl. and with a heart too full of mingled feelings
to speak. How it-all came back to her, with the
bitterness of death, the last time her eyes had look-
ed upon these familiar objects—how happy she had
been then, hoy hopeful; how miserable she had been
since, how hopeless now. The well-known objects
fliitted before her, eyes, seen through a mist of tears,
so well known thatit seemed only yesterday since
she had last looked at them, and these dreary inter-
vening months only a wretched dream, Ah! no
dream, for there sat the English nurse, with the
baby in her arms, a living proof of their reality. One
by one the old-places spun by, the church, the pres-
bytery, with Father Francis walking up and down
the little garden, his sontaine tucked up, and _ his
breviary m his hand, alllooking ghostly in the dim
afternoon light. Now the village was passed, they
Were flying through wide open gates, and under the
shadow of the dear old trees. There was Danton
Hall, not the dingy, weather-beaten Danton Hall she
knew, but a much more modern, much more elegant

 

 

 

mansion; and there on the gray stone. steps stood
her father, handsome and portly, and kindly as ever;
and there was Grace beside him—dear good Grace,
and there was Eeny, dressed in pale pink with fiut-
tering ribbons, fair and fragile, and looking like a
rosebud. little group of three persons behind, at
sight of whom Kate uttered an exclamation of de-
light.

. “Oh, Frank! there are Harry and Agnes! To
think papa never told us! What a charming sur-
prise!”

That was all Rose heard; then she was clasped in
her father’s ‘stalwart arms, and sobbing on his breast.
They all clustered around her first—their. restored
prodigal—and Grace kissed her lovingly, and Eeny’s
soft arms were around her neck. Then the group
in the background came forward, and Rose saw a
sunburned Sailor’s face, and knew that it was her
brother Harry who was kissing her, and her sister
Agnes, whose arms clung around her, Then she
looked at the third person, still standing modestly
in the background, and uttered a little ery.

‘Jutes!’ M. Le Touche!” ;

* He came forward, # smile on his face, and ~his
hand. frankly outstretched, while Eeny blashingly
hovered aloof,

“T am very happy to see yon again, Mrs. Stanford

—very happy to see you looking so well!”
So they had met, and this was all! Then they
were in the drawing-room—how, Rose could not tell
—it was all like a dream to he7, and Heny had the
babe in her arms, and was carrying it around to be
kissed and admired. ‘The beauty! the darling! the
pet!” Eeny could not find words enough to express
her enthusiastic rapture at such a miracle of baby-
dom, and kissed Master Reginald into an angry fit of
crying. Lf

They got up to their rooms at. last. Rose broke
down again inthe seclusion of her chamber, and
cried until her eyes were as sore as herheart. How
happy they all looked, loving and beloved; and she,
the deserted wife, was an object of pity. While she
sat crying, there was a tap at the door. Hastily
drying her eyes, she opened it, and admitted Grace,

‘Have haye you been crying, Rose?’ she said, ten-
derly taking both her hands, and sitting down be-
side her. “My poor dear, you must try and for-
get your troubles, and be happy withus. I know
itis very sad, and we are all sorry for you; but the
husband you have lost isnot worth grieving for.
Were you not surprised,” smiling, ‘to see Mr. Le
Touche here?”

“Hardly,” said Rose, rather sulkily. ‘I suppose
he is here in the character of Eeny’s suitor ?”

“More than that, my dear. He is here in the
character of Eeny affianced husband. They are to
be married next month.”

Rose uttered an exclamation—an exclamation of
dismay. She certainly had never dreamed of this.

‘The marriage would have taken place earlier,
but was postponedin expectation of your and Kate’s
arrival. That is why.Harry and Agnesare here. M.
Le Touche has a perfect home prepared for his bride
in Ottawa. Come, she isin Kate’s room now. I
will show you her trousseau.”

Rose went with her step-mother from her chamber
into Eeny’s dressing-room. There was spread out
the bridal outfit. Silks, in rich stiffness, fit to stand
alone; laces, jewels, bridal-vail, and wreath. Rose
looked with dazzled eyes, anda feeling of passionate,
jealous envy at her heart. It might have been hers,
all this splendor—she might have been mistress of
the palace in Ottawa, and the wife ofa millionaire.

But she had given up all for love of a handsome
face; and that handsome face smiled on another

 

now, and was lost to her forever. She choked back
“

Ae et te pO

  

 

 

 

 

mC) .

ry

setae tale ta nhs ioe —_

= ee ST ees
the rebellious throbbing of her heart, and praised
the costly wedding outfit, and wus glad when she
ceuld escape and be alone again. It was all bitter
as the waters of Marah to poor, widowed Rose; their
forgiveness so ready and so generous, was heaping
coals of fire on her head; and at home, surrounded
by kind friends and every comfort so long a stranger
to her, she felt even more desolate than she had
ever done in the dreary London lodgings,

But while all were happy at Danton Hall, save
Captain Danton’s second danghter, once the gayest
among them, the days flew by, and Eveleen Dan
ton’s wedding-day dawned, Such a lovely Decem-
ber day , brilliant, cloudless, warm—just the day for
a wedding. The little village church was créwded
with tho rich and the poor, long before the carriages
from the hall arrived, Very lovely looked the young
bride, in her silken robe of virgin white, her misty
vail, and drooping flower-crowned head. Very
sweet, and fair, and innocent, and as pale as her
snowy dress, the center of all eyes, as she moved up
the aisle, on her father’s arm. There were four
bridemaids; the Demoisecles Le Touche came trom
Ottowa for the oceasion, Miss Emily Howard, and
Miss La Favre. The bride’s sisters shared with her
the general admiration--Mrs. Dr, Danton; Mrs. Stan-
ford, all anburn ringlets, and golden brown silk, and
no outward sign of the torments within; Mrs. Harry
Danton, fairas a lily, clinging to her sailor-busband’s
arm, Jike some spirit of the sea; and last, but not
ieast, Captain Danton’s wife, very simply dressed,
but looking so quietly happy and serene. Thenit was
all over, and the gaping spectators saw the wedding
party flocking back into the carriages, and whirling
away to the hall.

Mr. and Mrs. Le Touche were to make but a brief
tour, and return in time fora Christmas house-warm-
ing. Doctor Frank and his wife went to their Mon-
treai home, and Mrs. Stanford remained at Saint
Croix. The family were all to reassemble at Ottawa,
to spend New Year with Madame Le Touche.

Rose found the intervening weeks very long and
dreary at the hall, Captain Harry had gone back to
his ship, and of course Agnes had gone with him.
They had wanted her to stay at home this voyage,
but Agnes.had lifted such appealing eyes, and clung
inso muchalarm to Harry at the bare idea of his
Jeaving her, that they had given it up at once. So
Rose, with no companion except Grace, found it very
dull. and sighed the slow hours away, like a modern
Mariana in the Moated Grange.

3ut the merry New Year timecame round at last;
and all the Dantons were together once more in
Eeny'’s splendid home. It made Rose’s heart ache
with envy to walk through those lovely rooms—long
vistas of splendor and gorgeousness. :

“It might have been mine!—it might have been
mine!” that rebellious heart of hers kept crying out.
“[ might have been mistress of all this routine of
servants—these jewels and silks I might have worn!
I might have reigned like a queenin this stately
house if I had only done right!”

But it was too late, and Mrs. Stanford had to keep
up appearaaces, and smiles. though the serpents of
envy and regret gnawed at her vitals. It was very
gay there! Life seemed all made up of music and
dancing, and feasting and’mirth, and skating and
sleighing, and dressing, and singing. Life went like
a fairy spectacle, or an Eastern drama, or an Arca-
dian dream—with care, and trial, and trouble, mon-
sters unknown even by name. 7

Mme. Jules Le Touche played the rule of hostess with
charming grace—a littleshy, as became her youth
and inexperience, but only the more charming for
that. They were very, very happy together, this
quiet yonng pair—loving one another very dearly,
as you see, and Jooking forward hopefully to a future
that was to be without a cloud.

Mrs. Le Touche and Mrs. Stanford were very much
admired in society, no donbt; but people went into
raptures over Mrs. Frank Danton. Such eyes, such
golden hair, such rare smiles, such queenly grace,
such singing, such ‘playing—surely nature had
created this darling of hers in a gracious mood. and
meted outto her a double portion of her favors.
You might think other Jadies—those younger sisters
of hers included—beautiful until she came; and then
that stately presence, that bewitching brightness
and grace, eclipsed them as the sun eclipses stars.

“Whata lucky fellow Danton is!’ said the men.
“One doesn’t seesuch a superb woman once ina
century.”

And Doctor Frank heard it, and smiled, as he
smoked his meerschaum, and thought so too.

And so we leave them. Kate is happy; Eeny
reigns right royally in her Ottawa home; and
Rose—well, poor Rose has no home, and flits
about between Saint Croix, and Montreal, and
Ottawa, all the year round. She calls Danton
Hall home, but she spends most of her time
with Kate. Itis not so sumptuous, of course, as at
Oitawa, in the rising young doctor’s home; but she
is not galled every moment ofthe day by the poig-
nant regrets that lacerate her heart at Eeny's, She
knows that Reginald Stanford has procureda di-
yorce, and has married the wealthy and worthless
Madame Millefleur.. She hears of them occasionally,
as they wander through.the Continent, and the
chain that binds her to him galls her day and night.
Little Reginald, able to trot about on his own sturdy
legs now, accompanies her in her migratory-flights,
and is petted to death wherever he goes, He has
come to grief quite recently, and: takes it very hard
‘that grandpa should have something else to nurse
besides himself. This something else is a little atom
of humanity named Gracie, and is Captain Danton’s
youngest daughter. 3
» THE END. 8.

{Another charming story by Mus. May AGNES
FLEMING, written expressly for the New Yorr
WEEELY, will soon be commenced.) oa

 

eb pi rigedibn tet

Items of Interest.

 

xax- One of a number of children of a party. of
emigrants passing through .Wyoming Territory reeently, was
missed oné evening, and search was made for the child, but
without success. In the morning the search was renewed, and
repairing to the place where the children were at play the even-
ing previous, large tracks supposed to those of a mountain
lion, were discovered and followed for a distance of about five
miles into a large canon, where the child was discovered on 2
projecting rock some two hundred feet high. After much diffi-
culty the little one was rescued from its Soriioda position. Its
clothes were badly torn, but aside from a few scratches on its
face the child was uninjured. Thereis no doubt that the lion
had carried and left the child where it was discovered, and had
gone aiter its cubs. :

xa The Catholic church located at Two Rivers,
Wisconsin, was struck by lightning a few Sundays since, while a
class in catechism were reciting, and two children named Catha-
rine Kirsch and Theresa Lindam, respectively ten and twelve
years, who had finished their recitation and were standing under
one of the windows outside the church, were killed, one instant-
ly and the other dying from the effects of the stroke in a few
hours. Nine other children were rendered insensible by the

 

‘ceed the whole population of

shock. The tower of the church first received the stroke, and
from thence the lightning-seemed to leap from one place to an-
other, tearing up the floor, shattering windows, rending pillars,
and doing other mischief.

sar One of thestrangest coincidences on record
-occurred lately in Saratoga, N. ¥., at the death of Mr. James
Carragan, who. lived on White street. The upper sash of one of
the windows had been lowered to'give the patient more air. A
darighter sat by the sufferer, giving him ice, which he craved,
and a friend of the family was also present. Just before mid-
night Mr. Carragan- gave unmistakable signs of sinking, and
when the town clock was striking the hour his spirit leftthe body.
As he was dying a robin flew in, and resting on the lowered oe
gave forth in clearest notes its well-known song, and the moment
death claimed the sufferer the bird flew away.

aa There was ice in Lake Superior as late as
Jnne 9th. At that date the head of the lake for twenty miles
down, was covered with ice of a thickness of ten or twenty feet,
and for miles it was anchored along the shore. Occasionally the
wind would drive it a short distance, so as to make openings to
admit the e of steamers into,the body of the ice, and then
would clese as to hold them there days, and in some
cases for a week-or.more, before they’ id in or out. It
looked at one time as if the lake would not be of ice till long
after midsummer. .

vs tB .*

ag@- A Cherokee woman, named Chawanga,
lately died near Fort Smith, Arkansas, at the extraordinary age of
130 years. She lived with her son-in-law, James Boling, who fre-
quently visits the town named on h back with his wife. Mr.
B. is a youth of ninety-five, his wife | a few years his junior.
He served in the late war on the Union side, and was a member
ot Col. Phillips’ regiment of loyal Cherokees, acting chiefly
interpreter. .

ea- A train on the Kansas Pacific Railroad was
recent cunveying a number of valuable Government horses for
use in the Crook expedition oars’ the Sioux and Cheyenne In-
dians, when a fire broke out in the car ich contained the
horses, and which was also filled with loose hay. The train was
stopped and an ineffectual attempt made to get the frantic and
sufiering horses out. Finding it impossible to extricate or rescue ~
any of the noble animals from their terrible condition, the men
in charge brought out their fire-arms and pr ed to shoot the

horses out of their misery.

nar A very remarkable lusus nature has been
grown in Illinois City—a full-blown, beautiful white rose, taken
from a crab-tree growing in the getdes of Dr. William Twigg.
The tree is a large variety of the Siberian, very full of fruit, and
with no plants, shrubs, or trees in its neighborhood. It has
never produced anything of the kind betore The tree, the doc-
tor states, bears another rose as finely developed as the one
plucked, but on the opposite side.

sar Nearly five hundred and fiftygthousand
persons are interred in the three cemeteries of Calvary. Green-
wood, and Cypress Hills, Long Island. This is more than the
population of Kings County, and if the Evergreen and Wood
lawn, and the Hebrew ere are added, the number will ex-
ng Island. These cemeteries are

justly styled “Cities of the Dead.’

eg A strange disease of a very, mali
has made its "P vaee o the children in
r. ‘ Several have di

quant
tyne
Sullivan County, N. ed recently atter a few

ethel,

 

hours’ illness. The physicians, it is stated, are completely baf-
fled in their efforts to determine the nature of the malady.

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ae
COLUMBIA,

Fourth of July, 1976.

BY MIOHAEL H

 

MATHIEW.

Leud toll the bells of myriad domes,
Prociaaming thy Centennial day.
While from thy countless happy homes—
From humble cot and mansion gay—
Gilad hearts a thankful praise outpour—
Pray God to bless thee evermore,
And watch o’er thee, Columbia!

What change have wrought a hundred years!
Now to the world’s astonished gaze,

The day,that mark’d thee free appears,
Recalling sad,-but glorious days,

Of heroes led by Washington,

Of dauntless braves who fought and won,
And died for thee, Columbia!

Who kings and tyrants nobly braved,
And served but Honor, Duty, God;
Who for their valor only craved
A green rest on their country’s sod.
_ Wrapt in thy banner’s hues above
Their beaming ranks now gaze with love,
And smile o’er thee, Columbia!

They’ve slept on Glory’s azure field,
Dreaming ot Freedom’s endless reign.

In dreams her sacred arms they wield,
And fight her battles o’er again.

They waken at her angel call

To-day, and all their blessings fali
Upon their dear Columbia!

Qur fathers’ God! whose faintest breath
Can shake the earth and rend the skies,
Or sweep the great and proud to death,
And bid the low to glory rise,
Bless thou the starry flag that waved .
_ Above them as they fell, and saved
Their cherished land, Columbia!

Qh, make their ehildren wise and strong
As they in Right and trust in Thee,
And grant that Pluto’s might of wrong
Ne’er saps our tree of Liberty.
From North to South, from shore to shore, ,
With Thine let aU one name adore,
The sweet, bright name, Columbia!

Columbia! the freeman’s pride, z
And hayen of the world’s oppressed,

May Truth and Justice be thy guide,
And dwell eternal in thy breast.

Ob, may thy flag torever be

Respected, loved, on land and sea,
Beautiful home, Columbia!

TONY,

THE TRAMP.

By HORATIO ALGER, Jr.
Auther of “THE CASH BOY;” “THE WEST-
ERN BOY;” “ONLY AN IRISH BOY;”
“ABNER HOLDEN’S BOUND BOY 2” etc.

 

r oi ead) 6 Us,
[Tony the Tramp” was commenced in No. 32, Back numbers
can be obtained from any News Agent. |

CHAPTER XII.
TONY STARTS OUT ONCE MORE.

It was not until after Rudolph’s seizure that Ben,
who had followed the ign align police, discoyv-
ered the bags of gold in the hands of the tramp.

“Give me my money!” he shrieked, in excitement
and anguish. “Don’t let him carry it off.”

“It’s safe, Ben,” said oneof the captors. “But
who would .have supposed you had so much
money?” )>1 * e

‘ it isn’t much,” falteredthe oldman.

“The bags are pretty heavy,” was the significant
rejoinder, “Will you take two hundred dollars
apiece for them?”

“No,” said the old man, embarrassed. .

“Then it seems there is considerable after all.
But never mind. Takethem,and take better care
of them hereafter.”

Ben advanced with as much alacrity as he could
summon in his weakness, and stooped to up
the bags. He had got hold of them when the tramp,
whose feet were unconfined, aimed a kick at him
which completely upset him.

Eyen though he fell, however, he did not lose his
grip of «the bags. but clungtothem whiletrying
with pain. tO

“Take that, you old fool!” muttered the tramp.
“It’s the first installment of the debt I owe you.”

“Take him away, take him away! He will mur-
der me!” exclaimed old Ben, in terror,

“Comealong. You've done mischief .enough,”
said his captors, sternly, forcing the tramp along.

“Tl do more yet,” muttered ea

He turned to Tony, who stood at a little distance
watching the fate of his cae companion.

*“[’ve got a score to settle with’ you; young traitor.
The day will come for that yet.”’

“I’m sorry for you Rudolph,” said Tony; ‘but
you've brought it on yourself.”

“Bah! you hypocrite!’ retorted the tramp. “I
don’t wan’t any of your sorrow. it won’t save you
when the day of reckoning comes.”

He was not allowed to say more, but was hnrried
away tothe village lock-up for detention until he
could be conveyed to more permanent quarters.

‘Doctor Compton was among the party who had
been gutenipnsd by Tony. He lingered behind, and
took Ben apart.

_ov Mr. Hayden,” he said, “I want to give you a piece

of advice.”

“‘What is it?” asked the old man.

“Don’t keep this gold in your house. It isn’t
a, vy

-“Who do you think will take it?” asked Ben, with
a scared look. 4
>“None of those here this morning. unless this
tramp should escape from custody.”

o“Do you think he will?” asked the old man, in
terror... a. ean

e “Tthink not: but he may.” POA AF. natn

#& “If he don’t. what danger is there?”

“Tt will get about that you have money secreted
here, and I venture to say it,will be stolen before
three months are over.”

“Tt will kill me,” said Ben, piteously. ;

“Then put it out of reach of danger.” uw
é“Where ?” 3
"fam going over to the county town, where there
is a bank. Deposit it there, and whenever you
want any go and get it.” ;

“But banks break

arm.

“This is an old, established institution. You need
not be afraid of it. Even if thereis some danger,
there is far less than here.”

“But I can’t sce the money—I can’t count it,” ob-
jected Ben. j

“You ean see the deposit recordin a book. Even
if that dosen’t suit you as well, you ean sleep com-
fortably. knowing that you are not liable to be at-
tacked and murdered by burglars.”

The old man yacillated, but finally yielded to the
force of the doctor’s reasoning. A day or two later
he rode over to the neighboring town, and saw his
Boyous gold deposited in the vaults of the bank.

e heaved a sigh, as it was locked up, but on the
whole was tolerably reconciled tothe step he had

sometimes,” said Ben, in

an.
3 We are anticipating, however.
hen the confusion incident to the arrest was
oyer, Tony came forward.
r. Hayden,” he said, “you are so much better
that [think you can spare me now,”
But,” said the old man. startled at the boy’s
question, “suppose amet a comes back,”
“I don’t think he can, He will be put in prison.”
“T suppose he will. What a bold, bad man.”
Yes, he is a bad man, but Iam sorry for him, 1
on't like to think of oneI have been with so long
n the walls of a prison. Isuppose it can’tbe help-
ed though.”
How did you come to be with him?” asked the
old man, in a tone of interest.
~ “T don’t know, I have been with him as long as TI
can remember, You used to know him, didn’t
you?”
‘A little,” said the old man, hastily,
‘‘Where was it?”
“In England—long ago.”
In England, Washe born in England?” asked
Tony in surprise.

“And you. too?” _
“Yes, [ am an Englishvian.”
Do you think Tam English, too ?” asked the boy,

erly.
a are so}; yes, I think so,” answered Ben, cau-
OUSLY. its ,
Have you any idea who I.am—who were my
parents ?
No, I don’t know,’
van you cued er i
n’t trouble me now,” said Bén, peevishly. “I
am not well. My head is conftised. Some ay tf will
think it over and tell you what I know.”
; But if Tam not here?”
.LWwill write it down, and give it to the doctor.”
That will do,” said Tony. “I know he will keep
itfor me. Now, good-by.” -. t
ie Sauvage ake in the world. I
- es, ave my own way.to make 8 world,
can’t live on you any longer,”

.

said Ben, slowly.

 

“To be sure not,” said Ben, hastily. “I am too
poor to feed two person, and you have a very large
appetite.” : 3

“Yes,” said Tony, laughing, “I believe I have a
healthy appetite. I’m growing, you know.”

“Tt must be that,” said old Ben, with the air of one
to whomamystery had just been made clear, “What
is your name ?” } j

“Tony,” answerediour heroin surprise at the
question.

“No. I mean your full name.”

“That is more than I know. I have always been
ealled Tony, or Tony,.the Tramp. aasoles last
name is Rugg, and he pretends that lam his son.
If I were [should be Tony Rugg.”

“You are not hisson. He neyer had any son.”

“T am glad to hear that. Ishan’t have to say now
that my fatheris in jail for robbery. Good-by, Mr.
Hayden.” :

“Good-by,” said Ben, following the boy thought-
fully with his eyes, till he had disappeared round a
turn in the road.

“Well,” thought Tony, “I’ve set up for myself
now in earnest. Rudolph can’t pursue me, and
there is no one else tointerfere with me. I must
see what fortune waits me in the great world.”

With a light heart, and a pocket still lighter. Tony
walked on for several miles. Then he stopped ata
country grocery store, and bought five cents worth
of crackers. These he ate with a good appetite,
slaking his thirst at a wayside spring.

He was lying carelessly on the green sward
mee atin peddler’s cart drove slowly along the
road.

“Hallo, there!’ said the peddler.

“Hallo!” said Tony.

“Are you travelin’?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want a lift ?” F
“Yes,” said Tony. with alacrity.

both of us. You can holdthe reins when
anywhere.” __ :

“Tt’s a bargain,” said Tony.

“Are you travelin’ for pleasure ?’’ asked the ped-
dier, who was gifted with his share of curiosity.

“On business.” said Tony.

‘What is your business? You’re too young for an
agent.”

“T want to find work,” said Tony.

“You’re a good, stout youngster, You’d ought to
get something to do.”

“So I think,” said Tony,

mae worked any ?”

“Got any folks ?”

“If you mean wife and children. I haven’t.” an-
swered our hero. with a smile.

“Ho. ho!” laughed the peddler. “I guess not. I
eo father or mother, uncles or aunts, and such
ike.”

“No, Iam alone in the world.” ; ;

“Sho! you don’t say so. Well, that’s a pity. Why.
Ive got forty-leyven cousins and a. mother-in-law
to boot. I'll sell her cheap.”

“Never mind!” said Tony.
of her.”

“Tl tell you what,” said the peddler, “I feel inter-
ested in you. I’ll take you round with me for a day
or two, and maybe I can get you a place. What do
you say?”

“Yes, and thank you.” said Tony.

“Then it’s settled. Gee up, Dobbin!”

CHAPTER XIil.
TONY GETS A PLACE.

Toward the close of the next day the tin-peddler
halted in front of a country tavern, situated in a
village of moderate size.

“I’m going to stay here over night,” hesaid.

“Maybe they’ll let me sleep in the barn,” said
Tony. '

“In the barn! Why not in the house ?”

j “Thaven’t got any money, you know. Mr, Bick-
ord.”

“What's the odds? They won’t charge anything
extra for you to sleep with me.”

“You’re very kind, Mr. Bickford, but they won’t
keep me for nothing, and I don’t want you to pay
for me.” Ri

At this moment the landlord came out on the pi-
azza, and asked the hostler: oe ot %

“Where’s Tom ?” | eas

“Gone home—says he’s sick,” answered James.

“Drat that boy! It’s my opinion he was born
lazy. That’s what’s the matter with him.”

“T guess you’re, right, Mr. Porter,” said James-
eae Day Some care. TO RoR L had po.

“T wouldn't take him backgaf anybody to
take his place.” | FT c-

“Do you hearthat, Teny?’ said the peddler,
nudging our hero. ig :

Tony was quick to take the hint. a fi

He walked to the landlord, and said: .. -

““T’ll take his place.”

stop

“IT won’t deprive you

a
4

i

“Inever saw you before. Ati: etl on cits
t have just come,” said Tony. “I amdooking for
a place.’

‘What can you do ?” pleat «
“Anything you want me to do.” |
“Have you any references ?”

 

 

r . £ qj WN
“Tean referto him,” said Tony. pointing to.the J
tin peddler. : ws

“Oh, Mr. Bickford,” said the landlord,. with a‘
glance of recognition. “Well, that’s enough. Til
take you. James, take this boy to the kitchen, and
give him some supper. Then tell him what’s to be
done. What’s your name, boy ?”

“Tony Rugg.’’ Sj

“Very well, Tony, Vll give you three dollars a
week and your board as long as wesuit each other.’

“Tve got into business sooner than I expected,”
thought Tony. : i

The hostlerset him to work in the barn, and
though he was new to the work, he quickly under-
stood what was wanted, and did it.

“You work twice as fast as Sam,” said the hostler
approvingly. .

““Won’t Sam be mad when be finds I have taken
his place?’ asked Tony.

“Probably he will, but it’s his own fault.”

‘Not if he’s sick.”

“He’s no more sick thanI am. He only wants to
get a day or two off.”

“Well, [am glad he left a yacaney for me.” said

ony. ,

“Where did you work last ?” asked the hostler

“Nowhere.”

“Never worked ?) Then how did you live ?”

“Ttraveled with my guardian.”

“Were you rich ?” asked James, rather impressed
by Tony’s answer.

“No; [ just went round and lived as I could. I
didn’t iikeit, but I couldn’t help it. I had to go
where Rudolph chose to lead me.’’*

“Where is he now ?”

“T don’t know. I gottired of being atramp, and
ran away from him.

“You did right,” said James. who was asteady
man, and looked forward to.a snug home of his
own ere long. “All the same, Mr. Porter wouldn’t
have taken you if he had, known you were a
tramp.”

“T hope you won’t tell him, then.
beatramp any longer.”,

“No; I won’t tell him. ‘I want you to stay here.
Td rather have you than Sam.”

“Thank you. Dll try to suit.”

» Tony was assigned to a room inthe atic. There
were two beds in this chamber, one being occupied

I don’t want to

by James. Heslept soundly, and was up betimes
in the morning. After breakfast, Mr. Bickford, the
tin-peddler, made ready to start.

ood-by, Tony,” he said, in a friendly manner,
“T’m glad you’ve got a par

“T wouldn’t have got it if I hadn’t youto refer to,”
said Tony.

“The landlord didn’t ask how long [Pd known
you.” said Bickford, smiling. ‘However, I guess I
know enough of you to give you a recommend.
Good luek to you.”

As the peddler drove away, Tony noticed a big,
eeu ee boy, who was just entering the hotel
yard.

“That’s Sam,” said the hostler. “He don’t know
hes lost his place,”

CHAPTER XIV.

5 TONY’S aIv At

Sam was about two inches taller than Tony, red-

aired, and freckled, with @ big frame. loosely put
together. He was @. born bully, and aete were the
tricks he had played on smaller boys in the village.
He liked his place at the hotel because he was no
longer obliged to go to school, but_he was too lazy
to fulfill the duties satisfactorily. His father was a
blacksmith, of surly disposition, yery much like
Sams’s, who was generally believed to ill-treat his
wife, a meek, uncomplaining woman, who filled
the position of a household drudge.

Sam strutted into the yard with the air of a pro-
prietor. He took no particular notice of Tony, but
accosted James. The latter made a signal to Tony
to be silent.

“Well, have you just got along?’ asked the
hostler.

“Ye-es,”’ drawled Sam.

“What made you go home yesterday afternoon,
and not come back ?”

“T didn’t feel well,” said Sam, nonchalantly.

“What was the matter with you?”

‘“Thada sortof headache.”

“Do you think Mr. Porter can afford to pay you
wages, and let you go home three times a week in
the middle of the afternoon ?” q

“TL couldn’t work when I was sick of course,” said

pam. .

“You’re mighty delicate, getting sick two or three
times a week.”

“Couldn’t help it,” said Sam, unconcerned.
: “I suppose you have come to work this morn-
ing.
“Ye-es, but I can’t work very hard—I ain’t quite
got over my headache.”

“Then yowll be glad to hear that you won’t have
to work at all.” ‘

 

‘Ain’t there anything to do?” asked Sam, with
an air of relief, oe

“Then get_up here. There’s room enough for |

“Who are you?’ asked the landlord, in-surprise..

“I see re expecting I be whipped,” said
Seer ietahon. isnt |

‘was’ about to take place.

quiet smile,

 

“Yes, there’s plenty to do, but your seryices ain’t
required. You’re bounced!”

“What!” exclaimed Sam, his eyes lighting up
with anger.

“Mr. Porter’s got tired of your delicate health. It
interferes too much with business. He’s got a
fougher boy te take your place.”
~ “Where is he?” demanded Sam, with an ominous
frown.

“There,” answered the hostler, pointing out our
a who stood quietly listening to the conversa-

ion. .

Sam regarded Tony with a contemptuous scowl.
So this was the boy who had superseded him. He
hated him already for his presumption in ventur-
ing to take his place.

“Who are you ?” he demanded, roughly.

‘Your successor,” answered Tony, coolly.

He knew that his answer would make Sam very
angry, but he was not afraid of him, and felt under
no, paras obligations to be polite.

g ou.won’t be. my successorlong,”..retorted

a 4

ms
“Why not ?” ;
“What business had you to take my place ?” .
‘The landiord hired me.” ’
“I don’t care if he did. He hired me first.”
Then ao better go to him and complain
aboutit. It’s none of my business-—”
It’s my business,” said Sam, with emphasis.
“Just as you like.”
*“Will you give up the place?”
“No.7 Tony. “You must think I’m a fool.
What should I give it up for?”
‘Becatse it belongs to me.”
“IT domt see that. I aun? Mr. Porter has a
right to hire anybody he likes.”
He had no right to give you my place,”
“That’s his business. hat shall I do next,
Jameés ?” ;
“Go to the barn and shake down some hay for the
horses.”
“All right.” i
Sam walked off deeply incensed, muttering
threats of vengeance, against Tony.
Three days later a boy entered the stable, and
calling for Tony presented the following missive:
“If you ain’t a coward, meet me to-morrow night
at seven o’clock, back of theschool-house, and we'll
settle. by fighting, which shall havethe place, you
T. Hf you get licked, you must clear out, and
leave it to me. ~~ Sam Payson.”
Tony Showed the noteto the hostler. =
“Well, Tony, what are you going to do about it ?”
asked James, curiously,
Pll be on hand.” said Tony, promptly. “He
won't find it so easy to lick me as he thinks.”

CHAPTER XV.
THR BOYS’ DUEL.

Sam Payson felt perfectly safe in challengin
Tony to single combat. He had measured him with
his eye, and seen that he wastwo inches shorter.
and probably twenty pounds lighter. But appear-
ances were deceitful, and he had no idea that Tony
had received special training, which he lacked,

This was the way it had happened: «

In the,course of his extensive wanderings Tony
had attracted the attention ofa certain pugilist who
was a friend of Rudolph. :

: ‘Til tell you what. Rudolph,” said the pugilist.
“you can make something of that boy ?”

“How?” asked the tramp. t

Tl teach him to box, and you can get an engage-
ment for him in a circus,” ra

“Do itif you like,” said the tramp. “It won’t do
him any harm.” . at
_ So Tony received a gratuitous course of lessons
in boxing, which were at last interrupted by alit-
tle difficulty between his’ teacher and the: officers
of the law. resulting in the temporary confinement.
ofthe former, The lessons were never resumed,
but they had gone sofar that Tony was quite a
skillful boxer for a boy.) =! Sit Rie hut

He,:too. had measured’ Sam, and felt quite sure
of being able to’ conquer*him, and that with ease.
He did not, however, mention the grounds of his
confidence to James, when the latter .expressed
some .apprehension that he would find Sam too
much for him. Age as et
Don’t be ‘alarmed, James,” said Tony, quietly.

| “Pm enough for hi

“He's bigger than you,’ said Sam, doubtfully.
“T knexy that, but he’s oh sy.” T°

“He’s's . but he’s pretty strong.” “

'

“So am I,” Pp +

“¥ou’ve got pluck;‘and “you deserye to beat,
Tony,” said his friend... ... ti

“I mean to,” answered Tony. “Comealong and
see t ’3 all fair.” |» ia’

t ha Se t
“Lwillif I ean get away. Will’ you give up your
place if you re licked?” ‘
“ ob x ‘plied Tony, “Pi give up my place and
eth age.’ eri 3
: n't believe Mr. Porter wi e Sam back.”

able to do oe ; : evatad
James feared that Tony ‘overestimated his prow-
ess, but earnestly hoped that the boy. in whom he

| already. felt a strong: interest, would achieve the
|victory. :

“Meanwhile Sam had made known the duel which
He eonfidently antici-
pated. ‘vVictory,and wanted the village boys to be
witnesses of the manner in which he was going to
polish off that interloper.

“Ti learn him to cut me out of my place,” he
said, boastfully; “Tlllearn him to mind his own
business.” . 63 3 E

“Will you get your place again if you lick him?”
asked one of his companions. ; (

“Of eourse, TF will.% 5 ;

“Suppose he won't Give it up?”

“Then Vil lick’ him. every day till he’s glad to
clear out. _ All you boys know [don’t stand no non-
sense.” ...) og 200% ia :

The result of Sam’s boastful talk was that about a
hundréd boys enacted behind the school-house to
witness the boys’ duel. |

Many of them who had suffered from Sam’s
bullying disposition would haye been glad to see
him worsted, but none anticipated ‘it.

Nothing was known of Tony except that he was
eonsiderably smaller and lighter, and probably
weaker. It was generally thought that he would
not be able to hold out iong, and that Sam wouid
achieve an easy yictory.

Tony tried to be on hand at the time appointed,
but he had mere than _ usual to do. and it was five
minutes past seven before he entered the fleld, ac-
companied by James.

There had been various speculations as to the
cause of his delay.

‘aeons come,” said Sam, with a sneer. ““He’s
afraid.”
ct Dela you doif he don’t come?” asked John
Nolan.

“What willI do? Dll piteh into him wherever I
see him.” j

‘Didn’t he accept your challenge?” :
quae he aceepted, but he’s thought better of it,
ikely.”

“There he comes!’ shouted a small boy.

All eyes were turned upon Tony, as he entered
the field, with James at his side,

‘“‘T’m sorry to have kept. you waiting, boys,” said
our hero, politely. ft

“We concluded you’d backed out.” said Sam, with
a sneer.

“That isn’t my style,” returned Tony, witha
“Thad more to do than usual to-

«

night.”

“You’ve still more to do.’ said Sam, jeeringly.
‘I pity you.” t .

“Do you? Youre very kind,”
moyed.

“Oh, don’t thank me too soon.” ;

‘Then I won’t. When are the exercises to com-
mepge ?”

‘He takes it cool,” said Nolan. j

“Oh, its only show off,’ said Sam. “You'll see
how he’ll wilt down when f get hold of him.”

"he two boys stripped off coat and vest and faced
each other. Tony was wary, and watchful, and
quietly looked into the eyes of his adversary, show-
ing no disposition, to begin. t i

am began business by thrusting his right fist
violently in his face, or rather trying to do so. With
searcely an effort Tony parried the blow and re-
turned it quick as lightning, striking Sam fullin
the nose. !

Sam was not only maddened but disagreeably
surprised, especially when he discovered that blood
was trickling from the injured organ. He was still
more incensed by the murmur of applause which
followed from the crowd of boys. Had the applause
been elicited by his success, he would have enjoyed
it, but now it was quite a different matter.

He breathed an audible curse, and losing all pru-
dence began to let drive at Tony with each fist in
rapid succession, with the intention of oyerpower-
ing him. But unfortunately for him this exposed
him to attack, and a couple of forcible blows in his
face warned him that this was too dangerous.

Tony stood upright, as cool and collected as at
first. He had warded off every blow of his adver-
sary, and thus far was untouched.

There was a murmur of surprise among the boys.
They had come tosee Tony used up, and all the
using up proyed to be from the other side, James
was as much delighted as surprised. He could not
repress clapping his hands, a movement which was
quickly imitated by the boys. F

“Tony knows how to take care of himself,” he
thought. “‘That’s why he took matters so coolly.
didn’t half believe him when he told me there was
nodanger.” — ,

Sam felt humiliated and maddened. He regretted
now that he had undertaken a task which seemed
every moment more formidable. What! was it pos-
sible that he, Sam Payson, the crack fighter of the
village, was being ignominiously whipped, and that
by asmaller boy. He felt that if he permitted this,
his prestige would be forever gone, and with it the
panne ae wynien Fe 2° much prized. He must make
one desperate effort. +

“a I can only got hold of him,” he thought, “I
ean shake the a

said Tony, un-

out of him,

He tried to grasp Tony round the body. intend-
ing to throw him violently down upon the ground;
but our hero was too quick for him, and showered
the blows upon him with such rapidity that, blind-
ed and overwhelmed, Sam himself staggered and
fell on his back.

Instead of following up the victory, Tony drew off
and |:t his adversary rise. Sam renewed the at-
tack so wildly that in two minutes he was again
lying flat.

“that’s enough,Sam! You’re whipped!” shout-
ed the boys.

But Sam was not conyineed. He renewed the at-
tack once more, butthere was no hope for him
now.

He got up sullenly, and. in a voice nearly choked
with rage, said:

“Tl be even with you yet, see if I don’t.”

“Hurrah for the stranger!” shouted the boys, en-
thusiastically, as they crowded around our hero.

“Boys,” said Tony, modestly. “I’m much obliged
“i on for your congratulations. Was it a fair

ght?’

“Yes, yes!”

“Then it’s all right. Don’t say anything to him
about it. He feels bad, as Ishould do in his place.
I havyen’t any ill will toward him, and I hope he
hasn’t toward me.”

This speech made Tony astill greater favorite, and
the boys, making a rush, took him on their shoul-
ders, and bore himin triumphtothe inn. Poor
Sam slunk home, suffering keener mortification
than he had ever before experienced in his life.

(TO BE CONTINUED. ]

> Ot

Pleasant Paragraphs.

{Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing
toward making this column an attractive teature of the NEW
YORK WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for publica
tion anything which may be deemed of sutticient interest for
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 be remedied. |

General Ruggles’ Hog.

On the 8th of October, 1862, our company left New
Orleans under the first cartel of exchange of pris-
oners after General Butler took possession of the
city. We proceeded. to. Baton uge, where we
were duly exchanged and. turned over to our Con-
federate friends. 6 were then conveyed to Vicks-
burg, thence to Jackson. and finally eamped on the
fair grounds near Pearl Riyer. As our company
had been detailed for guard duty in Jackson, we
had considerable time to loaf around and attend to
our animal comforts, On the approach of | Christ-
mas a meeting was held and a committee appointed
instructed to procure a suitable Christmas dinner,
thonestly, of course; we were. then an innocent set
of boys). Wewent to work, but soon found that
the citizens of Jackson looked with contempt at us
because we were common soldiers. We soon be-
came disgusted at our want of success, and on
Christmas Eve we (the committee) held a meeting,
and it was resolved that between the hours of one
and two that night we would conscript one of Gen-
eral Ruggles’ hogs. He had two fine hogs fattening
for his spring bacon, and they were in a pen in the
rear of his headquarters on State street. After at-
tending. midnight services at the little Catholic
church, we threw out our pickets, our right resting
at camp, our left extending to the hog-pen, a dis-
tance of over a mile. ;

The writer of this was delegated to seale the pen
and secure the hog. At one o’clock I climbed into
the pen with an ax. The pen was about twelve feet
squaré, half covered over with boards to protect
the hogs from the rain. After getting inside, I
saw, dimly, for it was very dark, two black spots in
one corner of the pen. kicked at the spots, and
two hogs jumped up and began to mové around.
then began operations with my ax, striking every
time Teould Seea black streak, and hitting the
hogs SRA Ae out of every five blows; the other
three would. strike the side of the pen, and you
eould hear the noise half amile off. After about
oe blows I gave one of the hogs a stunner,

By this time lights appeared in General, Ruggles’
house. I lifted my hog, which weighed about 150
pounds, threw him over the pen, and he'was car-
ried off by amy confederates outside. I jumped
over to make my escape, fdr by this time the enemy
were alarmed and making tracks for the hog-pen.
Isuppose I was alittle exeited, and did not think

    

about the ax, which belonged to hee mapany, and
had the name cut on the handle. It° Lnotdoto
leave itin the’pen. Iturned. back,. ed over,

  
  

for camp, the

pen
and secured the-ax, and started
pe nD 100 feet re my

advancing foe not being more
rear When [jumped the pen, F
You would suppose that this narrow escape would
cure us of our penchant for stealing hogs, but like
the tiger that once tasted blood, our company be-
game the most notorious hog thieves in the Con-
edera

andria, ; L 7.
The blood of that first hog has been harrowing my
conscience for nearly fourteen, years, but I feel
easier after this confession: - RECONSTRUCTED.

Bob Johnson’s Hat.

Bob Johnson was born and raised in a part of
Treland where stoves were unknown. Shortly after
his arrival in this country, while on a visit to his
cousin, he had seen fit to assist in the watering of
his horse at the pump in rd, and so entered
the house from the rear. Ont ight of the door,
on entering, was a stove, and + fling nothing of

d-néew, one—down

it, he set his plug-hat—a
e front room, where

upon itand passed on into , re sé
the ladies were. A brisk and entertaining conver-

  
  
  
 

2%

sation ensued, and the hat on*the: stove was for-

gotten and neglected. :
When Bob arose to leave, he found that his nice
silk hat had actually burnt down to within an inch
of the brim. A. M. Gippon.
He Wanted a Job.
The superintendent of one of the Pennsylyania
railroads was one day applied to by a green young
chap from the hay-fields fora job.as brakeman.
The superintendent was busy, and had on an ay-
erage about a dozen applications a day from men
desiring the same employment on hisroad. This
happened to be thetwelfth one that day. The su-
Bert ntaaoelh turned round and looked at the chap,
and sald:
“So you want to brake on this road, do you?” The
fellow nodded his head in affirmation. ‘*Well,”
centinued the superintendent, “you can.sit down
there and wait alittle while. We have no vacancy
at present, but we kill about two brakemen a day
on this road, and, if you. will only be patient fora
few minutes, I have no doubt that I shall soon re-
ceive a message stating that Sgipe one has lost a
leg or an arm, and then you can have the job.”
The fellow gave one long look of dismay and hor-
ror, and catching up his hat, ran out of the office,
and probably never stopped until he got safe on the
farm again. ¥F. M.
Among His Enemies.
Some two or three years ago the boys of our vil-
lage went to, cut.a bee tree, said tree being on &
farm belonging to an old deacon in the M. E.
ehureh. He had Dick, one of the party, arrested,
and: made him pay damage. A few months after
that there was a revival in the church, and the old
deacon was on hand every night chock-full of re-
ligion. One night our friend Dick—stuttering Dick
we called him—attended church, and, when. the in-
vitation was given for sinners to come forward, the
deacon started down the aisle exhorting and pray-
ing for the boys to saye themselyes while yet there
was time. Approaching Dick, he invited him to go
up and take a seat among his friends. ae
“TJ d-don’t l-like to g-g-go: among my enemies,
answered Dick. f* 7 ‘
“But the Saviour went among His enemies,” 4
“Y-yes; but, b-b-by thunder, they k-killed Him!

SHARON,
s@ A Big Wade.

Two young men from Chicago went to Seneca to
spend a few days, and put up at the house of Old
Abe, a weli-known.sportsman,, Their experience
in ritral life was somewhat limited, but their thirst
after knowledge was great. It was resolved to go
on a.coon hunt, and a very dark night was chosen
for the sport. Old Abe led them up_ on the Illinois
river bluff, which at this place is full of ravines,
and for hours he made them crawl around on their
hands and knees. to keep them from falling into
erevasses, which he said were numerous, although
there .were none at all. About two o’clock he
brought them within a mile and a half from home,
on the banks of the canal. The gravel pit at this

 

xmy, asthe citizens of Marksville, Alpx- '

. on a nnn
dive for it, caught it at the third attempt, put his
entire weight to. it, and, of course; rang both belis
violently. j

“Here! here! What’s the matter with yer?”
yelled the conductor. “What are yer ringing the
bell at both ends for ?”

“Because,” cried the passenger. with great con-
tempt, “because (hic) I want both ends of the (hie)

ear to stop.’
A Marbie-Shooter.

_ Boys are not to wear out their knuckles hereaftor
in “knuckling down.” A patent has been granted
for a pistol which is designed to shoot marbles by
the aid of a spring.

A Novel Prayer.

One summer day our little five-year-old Jessie cut
up some naughty caper, and mamma, as a punish-
ment, debarred her from her usual afternoon plea-
sure—that of playing out on the pavement with her
companions. At night Jessie knelt by mamma’s
knee, with her little hands reyerently folded, and
blue eyes uplifted, and after repeating ‘Now Lla
me,” ete., added, after a moment’s pause: ‘‘O. Lord,
won’t you please make it a eee day to-morrow.
so Iean go out and sy, » Here another slight
pause, then, ‘’O, Lord, please excuse me-for not
going out to-day. Iwas a naughty girl. and my
mamma wouldn’t let me.”

_ We didn’t wish trusting innocence to see.us laugh-
ing, and were obliged to turn away our faces. Dear
WEEKLY, don’t you think that wasreal cunning ?”
SISTER JULIA,
A Shower of Brick, :

Mat Laughlin was a mischievous boy. One day
his father had engaged a Milesian to carry.brick to
the roof. where the chimney was being élevated.
The laborer had brought up two: hods of brick and
had descended for another when a few bri¢ks were
accidentally knocked off bythe» masonvand fell to
the street.. The laborer mad®é a dive for a,hhogshead
lying near and crawledin. After waiting a few
moments until the falling bricks had ceased, he be-
gan crawling out, feet first. Mat, who was standing
close by. had seen the whole peéerformanee, and as
the man was crawling out he gave him several vig-
orous whacks with a club. The man, thinking that
some more brick were falling, crawled: back into
the hogshead as quick as he couldand:began howl-

ing:

“Oh! be. jabers, I must have carried up about
forty wagon load of brick, and they all fell at once,
at different times.”’ Dua HAWKINS.

A Poser for Uncle Rube.

“Is there anything else to-day, Mrs. Waltop?”
asked Uncle Rube. as he deftly stuck ‘a potato over
the spout of a kerosene can.

“IT don’t mind meif there is,” said the old lady.
with a cursory glance about the store; ‘‘unless yez
has some spring clothes-pins, maybe ?”

“Just out of spring styles—big run? got some ele-
gant fall styles, though. Will sell ’em, to elose out
the lot, at cost.”

“Och, it’s sharp wid yer sellin’ at cost, yer are, Mr.
Rube—but let’s see um.”

“There’s two lots of them, mam, big ones and lit-
tle ones. Just ten dozen in each lot-——” :

**Phat’s this they cost ?” x

“The large ones aretwo for a cent, the others

three.”
ene five fer two cints, if Itakes thim all, is
i

“Exactly,” with a bland smile.

“Parcel thim fer me,an’take yer money out’n
that,” throwing down a dollar bill.

“Thank ye, mum; that’s just right—just one dol-

“Och! go away wid ye now! Where’s,yer ’rith-
metic? Twinty dozen is 240. an’ at the rate of five
fer two cints, that makes jest 96 cints, I’m thinkin’.
Be off wid yer foolin’ an old woman, Mr. Rube,”
anit Hav ine received her change the old lady de-
parted.

Uncle Rube was lost in thought. Her figures were
eertainly correct, and yet ten dozen pins at two for
acent.and ten dozen at three for a cent, had cost
him just one dolar. Tothis day the old man ean-
not find those four cents. EvLuis M, CLARKE.

Woung Impudence. '

. Young man called on his girl. and while waiting
in his parlor for her to make her appearance, her
little brother struck up the following conversation:

.

Say, are you Lib’s feller ?”
“Yes.”

“Well, She’s going to get her dress buttoned up
behind; *tain’t no good way, is it ?”

“T don’t know.”

‘Kin you slide on yer ear ?”

“No s>

Kin you stand on yer head ?”
oO.
Kin you turn flip-flap ?”
Ox
ae swim dog-fashion ?”
INO.

“Kin you play billiards with your nose ?”
~ SE don’t think T eG said the young man.
omnes had better learn quick.’

*’*Caus, Lib said you don’t know half as much as
young feller ought to that’s trusted out alone. She
only lets you come after her because your old govy-
ernor has got the lucre; and she thinks she will go
double with you—get married—earom on the old
man’s pockéet—squeeze lots of stamps out of him—
and then go to all the ‘excursunshons, while you
stay at home, mind the kids: and learn to play bil-
liards with your poll-parrot nose.” .

When Lib came in there’ was no one in the room
but-her innocent brother catching the gold fish
with a pin-hook for the cat, and singing “Hold the
Fort.” NAS

Swallowed a Dictionary. — ,

Last Sunday,as Willie Jones was visiting his
friend Johnny Styles, he wassurprised to hear‘such
big words from. a boy of his own age. and said. as
Johnny struggled to get out asix-syllablenoun:
I guess you must have swallowed a dictionary.’
Jack’s father, sitting at the other side of the room,’
heard a portion of the remark, and turning, saw!
his son’s red face as shame forced him to try and
get. out the word. But there it stuck, and it gave
him great trouble to eject it. even in syllables. The
father sprang from his seat in alarm. and excitedly
eried: >
“My sonis choking!” | barre
The other members of the family hastened to
Jack’s side,and their anxious faces were soon
lighted up with merriment when they were told
that Jack had only been suffering from a word
which had lodged crosswise in his: throat. Jack
now uses smaller words, b sO. Resi
PERE ARRIUS Says that when Bourdalone preach-
ed in Rouen the tradesmen all left. their shops, the
smiths their forges, and the physicians their sick,,
and flocked to hear the silver-tongued .orator.;
“But,” he adds, with the most charming naivete,
“when J preached there, the following year I set;
everything to rights again—every man minded his;
own business.” ; ;

SHor DrareR; “I find we have no number twelve
shoes, sir; but here isa pair of large nines.” Cus-
tomer: “Nines! Do yer take me for Cindereller?”

To P. P. CONTRIBUTORS.— Barber Lingo.—The articles in. this,
column are nearly all gratuitous, sent’ by people who write just
for “fun.??: When they imagine or hear of a good thing, they
briefly describe at, and deem themselves sufficiently rewarded
on seeing the contribution in print..... Ben Bunker,—Too long
ipits of A. M. G.—Pleased to hear from you..... The tollowing MSS
are accepted: * “A Big Wade,” “Playing the Golden. Harp,’
“Wanted a Job; “One Thing He Did Know;” “A Poser for
Uncle Rube;’ ‘‘A Snake Story ;” “Among His Enemies;” “Gen.
Ruggles’ Hog;”. “Bob Johnson’s Hat; “Shower of Brick;”
“Dowd’s Dilemma;” ‘Salt for Love; “A Hard Turn;” ‘His
First Attack.””..,....:...The following are respectfully declined >
“Didn’t Go to the Theater;’’ “Lima Beans; ‘Simon Short’s Son
Samuel”—published before; ‘The Pilot’s Yarn,” “Jake and
Bill; *An Orator Bounced;” “Unhealthy hens;” ‘Jack Bee-
die’s Hat;” ‘‘The Salesman.and His Dog;” ‘‘Originalities;? ‘A
Truthful Dream;” ‘Freak of Nature;” ‘Intelligent: Dog: “A
Girl Like That;’? *‘An Irishman’s Adventure.” i

—_—___—__ + @~+—

PROBLEMS FOR THE PEOPLE.

A LUCKY BREAK.

A man had a forty-pound weight which was acei-
dentally broken into (4) four pieces. He found, on
examination, that on a pair of balance-seales he
could weigh with them any number of pounds from
one'to forty. What was the weight of each piece?

J. G@. CATLIN.

AN ALLOY PROBLEM.
Tn 80 pounds of an alloy of copper and tin there

 

 

place rendered the canal wider than usual, and
very shallow for. a mile or more at the north side.
Turning to the Chicagoans, who were nearly tired
out, he said: #ibikae

“Boys, you see that light ?” pointing to the head-
light of a locomotive in Seneca. “That’s my house,
it’s only about a mile and a half across to it, but it’s
all slough—very shallow, however; while to. get
around the slough is at least six miles, Now,
which will you do—go through, or around ?

“Through the canal,” said the tired men. :

Old Abe led the men into the stream, and turning
parallel to the banks, led them a full mile down
ihe eanal. They were not ten feet from the bank at
any time. They never knew the trick that was
played upon them. SENECA,

Cocoanuts with Hinges,

He seemed to be in a deep study, as he stood un-
der the awning of a fruit store and surveyed a heap
of cocoanuts. He finally picked up one and exam-
ined it; and cae eer was moved to inquire if he
wanted to purchase. , 2
as he put it down; “but it’s my opinion that if the

on hinges, us boys would buy millions of ?em.”
A Car-Stopper,

After witnessing a play divided into fiye acts, the
intermissions between which he had evidently im-
proved, a gentleman riding in one of our street cars
got to his feet, straightened his legs as wellas he
| could, adjusted his hat, looked up and measured

for an instant the distance to the bell-strap, made a

 

“f guess not,” replied the lad, |:

fellers who make cocoanuts would fix them to open }

are 7 lbs. of copper to 3 of tin. ow much copper
must be added to the alloy that there may be 11 lbs.
of copper to4 of tin? F, W. STEWART, |

PARTNERSHIP. ot

Three .men formed a partnership to extend 16
months. Aput in at first $300,and at the end of 8

months $100 more. Bput in, at first $600,,.but at the
end of 10 months' drew out $300. C put in at, first
$500, and at the_end of 12 mont $400 more:, Lhey

What was each man’s share?» =
THEO. W; NESSEL.'9
THREE WORKMEN. 9 © :es0v 06
Three men, A, B, and C, contract to doa P1666 6f
work for $60. Bdoesin one day as much as‘A plas
one-half what C does in one day. CO doesin 6ne
day as much as Aand Bboth. A works on the jo
71-2 days; B21-2 days; C17-8 coe Whatis each
man’s share? . A. L. FISHER,

ANSWERS TO PROBLEMS IN No, 33
Tux WINNING PROBLEM.— ora;
: Ahad $2,441,406,25 era
’ B had. 4,394,531,26 oat
Chad  '5,957,031,25
« -Dhad — 7,207,031,25
; 4 Lgtal $20,000,000,00
DECEMBER AND May,—The: man’s age was 69. years
and 12 weeks; the woman’s, 30 years and 40 weeks,
Tae Fuyvinc BEES.—T2 bees.

gained $759.

O09 bf

oy fon

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WAYSIDE RESTS.

BY NATHAN D. URNER.

 

 

How oft, when resting a bit from toil,

Oppressed in spirit, o’erwrought in brain,
. Do I seem to stand on the yielding soil

Of a path of my boyhood once again,

That idled away through the woodlands brown,
By swamp, and hollow, and fields of corn,

From the sleepy skirts of a seaside town
To the quaint-built cottage where I was born!

Ferns and mosses its margins lined,

It had birds, and flowers, and outlooks fair,
But the dearest features I bring to mind

Were the resting-places that, here and there,
Tempted a boy to oblivion

Of school, or errand, or irksome task;
Soft bowered seats upon log or stone,

As picturesque as the heart could ask.

The first one, after you left the town,
Was a broad, flat rock at the wood’s dark edge,
Where the resinous scents from the hemlocks blown,
Were blent with those from the hawthorne hedge;
And the next one drooped at a turnstile old,
Where the deep lane into a footpath crept,
Where the bright-eyed squirrels grew overbold,
And the hares in the brushwood cowered and leapt.

Then a furlong further, a great oak spread
Its knotted roots o’er the brooklet’s flow,
With the birds alive in the boughs o’erhead,
And the sticklebacks in the wave below;
While the dangling loops of a swinging vine,
Still further, offered to man or boy,
The luxury of a rest divine,
As might have tempted a wood-nymph coy.

And other recesses as sweet there were
At leafy intervals all along
From village to cottage, with just a stir
Of whispering surf and eolian song
As you neared the palings, whence rose to view,
Between the twinkles of orchard trees,
Soft glimpses of sea with a sail or two
Bending and bowing before the breeze.

Ah! sad and weary the life-paths are
When youth and pleasure are left behind,
And the resting-places are few and far
For him who strays with a restless mind;
But a comfort comes when, vivid and free,
As on and on through the world we roam,
We catch a glimpse of the mystic sea
Of eternal life as we draw near home.

 

LETTERS FROM ABROAD -No. 8.

BY LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.

 

Roman Livinc—How THEY Hire Homes In Rome
—BREAKFASTS AND DINNERS—Cost oF LIvING—
Roman SocreTy—RoMAN RECREATIONS—A VISIT
TO THE Popz—A Visit TO GARIBALDI.

In New York, if _you wish to live genteelly, you
hire a house; in Rome you hire an apartment.
think there is seldom such a thingin Romeas a
house wholly occupied by one Pa ““Quale pi-
ano?” is as constant a question as ‘What street ?”
But piano by no means signifies a musical instru-
ment. It means “What story ?—as the French say,
“Quel etage?” If you go upa flight of stairs to
your apartment, you live onthe primo piano. If
you go up as nearly as possible to the roof, you are
on the uliimo piano ; nor is the ultimo piano an apart-
ment to be ae It is hard to climb up to ig, of
course; but when once you are there, what_ wide-
spread and beautiful views you have, and what
clear air. ;

You cannot dance in a Roman house unless the
permission is expressly accorded in your lease. So
much rent, with permission to dance, is a common
form of words. The lady who has a ‘‘permission
to dance” is an object of envy to her friends.
‘Whether it is that Roman houses are less strongly
built than ours, or that their owners mean them to
last forever, Ido not know; but I think that ordi-
eery Roman houses are not strongly constructed;
for Ihave beentold thatto have people dancing
over your head in them is really something alarm-
ing. The old palaces, or palazzos, as they are call-
ed, are built so solidly that you can imagine them
lasting forever; and if you have the good fortune
to live in one of them you can dance as much and
aslongas you please. : ‘

Roman living is very simple. There is one uni-
form breakfast—coffee, a boiled egg, and bread and
butter. After a few hundred mornings this be-

 

comes slightly monotonous, since the only variety.

to which you are treated is the different degree of
hardness to which your egg is boiled. The lunch,
or, as they callit,the second. breakfast, comes at
one o’clock. Youhave some kind of meat, bread
without butter, the simple red wine of the country,
and a pear or an apple, by way of dessert. At half-
past six or seven at night comes dinner, the one
substantial meal of the day, and by that time you
have become hungry enough to appreciate it. You
have soup, fish, three or four kinds of meat, pud-
ding, fruit, and afterward tea.

Roman restaurants are very good, but they have
certain whimsies of their own from which nothing
would induce them to depart. For instance, they
willnot give youices till after oneo’clock. Ice-
cream ofaforenoon? Not by any means. No mat-
ter how warm you are, or how tired you are, or
how high the thermometer has risen into the nine-
ties, it is not proper, according to the Roman ideas,
to eatices before the second breakfast, and pro-
eure them you cannot. Nor need you fancy _ that
you ean indulge in any mild little nocturnal dissi-

ations. I went out with a friend at a quarter be-

ore ten, intending to solace myself with a cream,
but the good confectioner had closed his pretty
ee shop, and gone home to the bosom of his

‘amily.

recone in Rome isso simple and so inex-
pensive that Il wish the Roman fashion could be
transplanted into America. How it would simplify
society and multiply hospitality. lady “‘re-
ceives” from fourto six of an afternoon, once a
week, or once a fortnight.

Her rooms are beautiful with flowers, for you can
buy more flowers in Rome for one dollar than you
can procure for fifteen in New York. Your hos-
tess wears a pretty but quiet toilet—that is to say,
some handsome dark silk or velvet, made with high
neck and long sleeves. She receives you with a
sweet graciousness, troubled by no thought of
caterer’s bills or blunders. After a while she offers
you a cup of tea, and you find in the tea-room
plenty of hot tea, and delicious little cakes—nothing
more. An evening party is scarcely more preten-
tious. Perhaps ices will be added tothe tea and
cakes, or a glass of simple wine, but nothing else.
Game, oysters, cold fowl—the hundred and one
necessities of a New York banquet are never so
much as thought of at a Roman party.

Some of the pleasantest receptions are held in
‘studios. I know one Italian painter whose studio
is the finest in Rome—I fancy there are few, if any,
finer in the world. Five or six spacious rooms, hung
with wonderful tapestry, adorned with rare car-
vings, with old china, and with curious Arab armor,
open out of each other. And here are landscapes
‘so beautiful that one could look at them forever.

~ It is the studio of the Italian artist, Vertunni, three
of whose pictures have gone to our Centennial Ex-
hibition. Here, to these rooms,so rich in art treas-
ures, comes every Friday afternoon that fair Ro-
man matron, Madame Vertunni, and receives her
own and her husband’s friends with a charming
grace, and a hospitality as warm and generous as
the Roman sunshine. But these receptions are
simple like all the others. Plenty of tea and dainty
little cakes are the sole refreshments. But there
are the pictures to see; and always music. The
best singers in Rome sing there, and harp, and
piano, and violin fill up the pauses of conversa-
tion. This is a rational and pleasant way of
doing” society. The whole thing is inexpensive,
both to host and guests. You pay eighty cen-
times—about fifteen cents—each way, for the car-
riage that takes you there; or, if you want to keep
it waiting for you, thirty-five cents an hour.

A large proportion of Roman society—at least of
American society in Rome—is made up of artists.
Every other man who is introduced to you invites
you to go and see his pictures or his statues. It is
no wonder that the artists love to linger among
those fascinating scenes. Then itisa very reason-
able place to live. Six hundred dollars a year will
hire you a really elegant apartment. Five dollars
a month will get you a good servant. Or if you do
not want to keep house, you can find a comfortable
room at a pension for eight or nine francs a day,
eleyen or twelve dollars aweek. Ifyou area man.
and choose to hire a furnished lodging-room, and
get your meals at the restaurants, you can live much
more cheaply still. A brilliant fellow—a graduate
of Harvard—was living in this way, and told meit
cost him three franes and a-half (70 cents) a day.
He paid forty cents a day for his room, and for the
remaining thirty cents lived most healthfully and
comfortably. I was mentioning this fact toan Eng-
lish gentleman, who had passed some years in
Rome, and he said, “Why the fellow is extravagant!
He ought not to spend more than one franca day
for his lodgings.” I mention these details that
people who want to see Rome may have some
definite idea of the cost of doing so. Once estab-
lished there, in lodging or pension, and all man-
ner of delights await you.

A winter in Rome would go far toward a liberal
education. You can choose some new pleasure for
every day. Go of amorning to the Vatican orthe
‘Capitol, and you can see the finest statuary in the

 

 

 

orld; or you can go picture-hunting. In the pic-
ture allory of the Vatican, or the Barberini, or the
Borghese, or any one of a dozen galleries, you can
find the wonderful works of those old masters
whose art was their religion, Or, if you_prefer
modern art, countless studios invite you. Do you
wanta ramble among green trees, through quiet
paths, there are ascore of villas hospitably open to
the public, each one with grounds so beautiful that
you always think the last one, whichever it is, the
finest. Or you can haunt, like a happy modern
ghost, the old ruins, with their beauty—which the
world elsewhere can hardly match—with arches,
and towers, and stately columns rising clear
against the wonderful bitte sky of Italy. Or, if you
choose, you ean dropinto some dim old church,
and see an immortal picture or statue, and perhaps
hear some strain of music that will follow you for
days afterward with itssolemn pathos. |

hen there are visits to be made quite different
from the ordinary visits of society. Every one
wants, for instance, to go to see that gentle old gen-
tleman, the Pope of Rome. You make interest with
the head of the Am@rican College, or with some
other good Catholic dignitary, and procure your
permission. In due time you aresummoned to an
audience. Your card of admission tells you how
you must be attired. When you go to see the Queen
of England you must go with bare arms and low-
necked gown, no matter how cold the day, or how
sore your throat. The demands of the Pope are no
less absolute, but very different. His Holiness ob-
jects to the frivolous finery in which Her Majesty
delights. He enjoins that you wear, if you area
lady, a black dress, no gloves, and on your head a
vail. A gentleman must go all in black, save his
white neck-tie—must be dressed, in short, as for an
evening party, except that, like the ladies, he, too,
must wear no gleves. 5

The venerable Father has one very bad habit—he
is a most unpunctual host. He invited us to an au-
dience at a quarter before eleven, and let us shiver
in the audience-hall until one before he made his
appearance, andI have heard many others of his
visitors tell the same story. |

You climb innumerable stairs, under the escort of
the Pope’s Swiss Guards; tall fellows clad in motley-
black and yellow, striped in fantastic fashion,
Michael Angelo is said to haye designed this cos-
tume, as he is said to have designed almost every-
thing else in Italy—he must have planned the attire
of the Swiss Guards in a merry mood, for it looks
like a huge, practical :-joke,in which the wearers
are unwillingly assisting. ‘You climb up very near
to Heayen before you get to the audience hall of
his Holiness, and you are glad, at first, to sit down

jin one of the red chairs, standing in a long, solemn

row against the wall, on either side of the long,
narrow hall. When you have rested a little, and
your eyes have become accustomed to the, semi-
twilight of the room, you amuse yourself for a
while with watching yourfellow-sufferers, who, like
yourself, are waiting and freezing in this long,
eold hall, with its handsome marble pavement.
But even the contemplation of other people’s woes
becomes monotonous after a time, if you are shar-
ing those woes yourself. You get very impatient of

‘waiting before the arrival of the gentle old gentle-

man. But at last he comes, : :

The Pope—Giovanni Maria Mastai Ferretti—was
born on the 13th of May, 1792. He is, therefore, 84
hoes old; but he does not look more than seventy.

e has the appearance of a man who has led a sim-
ple and blameless life. He was dressed in a creamy
white broadcloth robe, which came_down_to his
dear, little red shoes.. He wore a little skull-cap of
the same cream-colored stuff. Round his waist
was a handsome sash of white watered-silk. His
costume would have been ppavely t05 a baby on a
cold day—it was lovely also for him, come now to
an age which ought to be his second childhood;
but his small, bright eyes are still remarkably keen
and shrewd, though pleasant, and there is about
him no appearance of failing powers. __

It is according to rule to kneel when His Holiness
comes in—kneel while he is speaking to you_per-
sonally, and kneel again when he goes out. When
he speaks to ar he gives you his soft, white, well-
kept old hand; and to kiss it, as custom demands,
is a pleasure, and not a penance. You feel fond—
you cannot help feeling fond—of the dear, gentle,
old man. I, for one, however, felt no inclination to
prostrate myself on the floor and press my lips to
the red toe of his slipper, as I saw so many faithful
Catholics eager to do. When he had made the
round of his guests, he turned and gave to all of
us, our pictures, and rosaries, and keepsakes of all
sorts included, a general benediction. I felt all the
better for this, myself; and I hope Catholic friends
for whom my little gifts were designed will share
to their profit the blessing so gently and sweetly
given. ‘ :

There is another old’ gentleman in the neighbor-
hood of Rome to whom itis yet more difficult to
make a visit than to His Holiness. I refer to
General Garibaldi. A few days after paying
our respects to the Pope, we thought we
would go to the opposite. pole of the
era: and offer our congratulations to the gen-
eral on his United Italy. We drove several miles
out of town to find him, and on the way it began to
rain, We drew up beforehis gate wet and shiver-
ing. The gate was locked. Several other carriages
were there before us, their ocke ants wet and
shivering also. After awhile an Italian woman
came to the gate. The general did not receive to-
day—she said—if we would return to-morrow at 4
o’clock we should surely see hi It seemed cold
comfort, but there was no help, and we turned our
unwilling faces toward Rome. . ;

_ The next day we returned again at the appointed
time, and were admitted. The house is, externally,
yery handsome, and the grounds which surround
itare beautiful. But inside prevails what I should
call absolute squalor; but what may be the great
general’s idea ofsimplicity. The room in which he
received us was large and well-lighted; but_it was
absolutely barren of every comfort. Here and there
great patches of paper were torn from the walls.

rusty-looking trunk stood in onecorner. The
sole furniture was a'long table and five hard chairs.
In one ofthese chairs sat Garibaldi himself—the
other four were occupied by four common-looking
men. Whothey were I have no idea, or why they
werethere. They sat there, solemnly, when Ienter-
ed ; they sat there, solemnly, when I came away. Any
idea of yielding their seats to ladies—several of
whom were waiting in the room—neyer crossed
their minds.

Garibaldi is singularly handsome, even now in
his old age. He stretched out to us his poor hand,
all contorted with long rheumatism, and he spoke
to us with the brightest and sweetest cordiality.
They say he likes Americans, and, indeed, he told
us so himself. But we were not invited to sit down,
and our standing»audience came to aspeedy con-
clusion. No doubt Garibaldi could live differently
if he would, but to me there seemed something piti-
fulin an old age so absolutely deyoid of ordinary
comforts. : ;

Howeyer, comfort, as we understand it,is not
known in Italy. The wealthy people liye elegantly,
the artists, and other people of refined tastes, live
beautifully, so surrounded by works of art, so lay-
ish of flowers and pictures, that life is charming—
but there is, all the time, a conspicuous absence of
many things which we in America regard as abso-
lutely essential—gas in our rooms, for instance,
and furnaces,or even good stoves. Among the
common people there is nothing of the snug thrift
that makes the humblest cottage in Americaa home.
And yet. I think, the Italian peasantry are far hap-
Re than the day laboring classes in America.

hey ask for so mueh less that their life is infinitely
easier. You never see the harassed, care-worn ex-
pression so common in America. They live out of
doors, or with open doors; they bask in the sun-
shine of their sunny land; they are always ready
to talk, or laugh, or sing; and to me, looking on, it
seems as if there never were people so absolutely
free from envy, malice, and all uncharitableness,
so genuinely kind of heart, as these Italians of to-

day.

ROMANCE OF BATTLES IN ’76.
FOR OUR CENTENNIAL YEAR.
BY NED BUNTLINE.

No. 21._ARNOLD’S FIRST HATE.

Benedict Arnold had but one redeeming point in
his character—he was a man of undoubted courage.
Even in his earliest boyhood it was a noted point in
his character. He feared nothing.

When a boy he headed a party of lads to confis-
cate some valuable casks in a ship-yard in the old
port of Norwich, where he lived, the casks being*in-
tended by him and his companions for a bonfire to
light their play-ground at night.

- A constable was sent to put a stop to the outrage,
but young Arnold, undaunted, threw off his coat
and dared him to touch a cask. The other boys
rallied to his support, and the casks went to the
flames before the indignant owner could put a stop
to the outrage. :

But the first hate of the inborn traitor is what I
commenced to tell about.

About the time the Revolution was breaking out,
the only sister of Arnold, Hannah, was receiving
the addresses of a fine-looking and wealthy young
Frenchman, whose wishes to marry her were
ye seconded by her mother and all her friends
excepting Benedict only.

He conceived the most yiolent antipathy to the
young Frenchman, anc tole him flatly if he did not
keep away from his sister he would kill him. .

But love was stronger than fear in fhe breast of
the Frenchman, and he continued his visits, going
unarmed, lest in a passion he might injure the
brother of his betrothed.

Benedict Arnold, furious in his hate, procured a
large horse-pistol, loaded it to the muzzle, and
swore that he would blow a hole in the Frenchman
big enough for a frog to jump through.

he lover, however, was on hand when night fell,
and had just met Miss Hannah on the threshold of

 

 

 

rushing up the walk in front, pistol in hand.

Death or retreat was now the choice of the French-
man, and, urged by the terrified sister, he jumped
out of a back window and fled. _

Mortified at being obliged thus to leave his sweet-
heart’s house, he left the place, and Hannah Arnold
lived and died rng ‘oi ;

It would have been better for Arnold and his
country had the young Frenchman been armed
and as ready to use his weapon as Arnold was.

—
The Ladies’ Work-Box.

(The Summer Catalogue of Patterns now ready, price 6 cents.
Send to the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency. }

OUR BABY PIOTURE-GALLERY.

 

Our twins, Wiliicand Willis Shaw, are the chil-
dren of Ella J. Shawof Ithica, N. Y., aged 22 months.
The boys are just as cunning as they can be, and
we think the picture remarkably good when two
such active little ones had to try the patience of the
artist.

NOVELTIES FOR THE MONTH.

A stylish polonaise, buttoned at the back, is No. 4,469, price 35
cents. This garment is fitted to the figure by curved seams. Its
skirt is deep and rounding, and the drapery is gracefully ar-
ranged. As the back is cut without seam at the center, the un-
derlapping side of the opening is faced with a strip of the mate-
rial. The garment is tied back in a manner described under the
illustration which will be found on the pattern.

The new overskirt, which is very pretty, is No. 4,457, price 30
cents. This is to be cut bias. It is an apron in front, buttoned
at the left side, and with full drapery back. A triple box-plaited
pocket of plain cambric is placed on the right side, and the mid-
die plait is caught.downward at the center of the top and drawn
upward atthe bottom. This skirt can be prettily trimmed with
a border of fine plaitings of the material. :

No. 4, 471, price 10 cents, is an adjustable collar. One authori-
ty says, every lady understands perfectly that the manner in
which she dresses her neck has a marked bearing upon the gen-
eral appearance of her entire toilet, “and her aim is, therefore,
not only to dress it becomingly, but also to vary the arrange-
ment often enough to guard against monotony. To do this it is
not necessary to have unlimited means at one’s command, or to
depend entirely upon the advice of others. Ifgood taste and a
little ingenuity are exercised, much can be accomplished with a
small outlay of either time or money ; and as ladies have a desire to
make the same costume appear fresh and new, a variety of changes
may be made by the arrangement ofthe adjustable collar. This is
shaped with deep lapels like those of a gentleman’s coat, but the
part which resembies the collar has sharp, drooping points. It
rolls over at the back, leaving only about half an inch of the in-
ner edge to be fastened to the dress. The lapels are quite wide
and nearly square across the ends, which extend to meet low

onthe bust. A bow of ribbon is usually placed at this point
which entirely conceals the part of the collar, being removable.
All the edgings are finished with pipings of silk. the collar is

to be worn with a suit trimmed with silk, it may be made of
silk, or of any other materials which enters into the construc-
tion of Ihe costumes. A suit with velvet sleeves or trimmings
would be tastefully completed with a velvet collar of the shape
described. By wearing a full ruching of tulle or lisse in the
neck, and arranging a chemisette to correspond in front, the ap-
pearance of a garment would be sufficiently impro for almost
any oecasion. A collar of this style is also a convenient acces-
sory to an untrimmed waist, as it relieves the plainness other-
wise certain to be observed. : ati ‘

No. 4,473, price 25 cts., is the pattern of a most s' _fichu
wrap, which is very becoming, easy of adjustment, mse-
quently most stylish, and is as well adapted to stout as to slight
figures. One may be formed of lace, ped grenadine, trimmed
with French lace; or you may use guipure net, or lace insertion
and ribbgn in alternating stripes, as the seam of the cape at the
»back is bias. Over this seam is a narrow, deep hood, which falls.
in a point a little below the cape over a plaited postilion formed in’
the ends of the front portions, which are worn crossed, brought
back and closed with a hook and eye. All the edges ered
with lace set_on quite full. At the extremity of hood de-
pends a long loop and shorter ends, :iu } of ribbon. This
garment may be madein heavy fabrics, or all summer ma-
terials, organdie, &c. a ;

“May L. P.”—A pretty and seasonabz garment may be made
of cashmere, silk, drap d’ete, or white pique, after pattern No.
4,312, price 35 cents. The back is slightly adjusted, but the front
is allowed to fall loosely, and is curved up tothe underarm seam,
where the skirt 1s slightly pointed. A full, flowing sleeve, open
nearly two-thirds of its length on the inside, is joined to the arm-
scye, and the neck is completed with a standing collar. Such a
sacque may be trimmed in any desired manner, with lace, fringe,
silk bands, or with plaitings of the material. A still later novel-
ty is the ladies’ wrap, No. 4,404, price 25 cts., which may be made
of the same materials. This, too, is fitted. in the back, with
loose fronts, and the sleeves are largé, flowing, and square. A
pretty street garment, with coat-sleeves, is No, 4,398, price 30cts.
This is a French sacque, with tab-front, and is peculiarly adapt-
ed to slight, graceful figures. Now we have given you some idea.
of three of our most stylish wraps.

“Mrs. M. E. M.””—We cannot really tell which garments are the
most fashionable, basques or polonaises, as one style seems to be
as much in favor as the other. Some es prefer the plain
basque and elaborately-draped overskirts, while others still con-
sider the polonaise most graceful and convenient. The hair is
still arranged crimped in tront, and waved back off the forehead,
and braided and coiled on the back of the head rather low down.’
For evening, curls are in favor, and may be seen coming out of
the coil on the back of the head, and falling over the neck.

“H. E. B.” New York.—Good kid gloves sell at $2, $2.50—up
to $3.50—according to their length. You can get a very fine
two-buttoned glove for $2.25. Sash ribbons for children range
from 50 cents a yard to $1.15 and $1.50. The ribbons, at the lat-
ter price, are very soft and handsome; Still you can get very
nice ribbons for $1, and even less. :

“Clytie and Vashti.’”?> Wear white organdie mnslin; it is much
more appropriate than silk. Make your cashmere dresses with
basques and overskirts. No. 4,405, price 30 cents, will be a very
stylish overskirt for your purpose, while a handsome basque is
4383, price 30 cents.

“Josephine B.” Rose Hill.—To go to the Centennial you will
only need a good traveling dress, and a nice hat, and pair of
gloves. Even if you stop at a hotel you will not be required to
change your dress for meals, unless you are stylish and desire to
do so. Thanks for your appreciation.

“Madge.” Your only duty will be to accompany the bride and

‘oom into the room, and to remove the glove of the bride, if she

as put it on her left hand. Why not make a neat, pretty, white
organdie muslin dress for the p . Then you can make use
of it at any and all times. Trim the skirt and overskirt with
ruffles of the material, edged if youcan afford it with Italian Val-
ee lace. Such a suite would be also appropriate for a
ride.

“Anna Valette.”” Make your skirt after pattern No. 4,413, price
35 cents. A plain waist No. 3,577, pricel0 cents. Then comes the
overdress—one of our novelties—it is No. 4,402, price 35 cents.
ze has no sleeves and is a very handsome finish to a fashion-
able suit.

“Anna Lola.””—Make your dress of crepe cloth after the fol-
lowing patterns, and trim with cordings and bias bands of the
material, and you will have a deep mourning suit without the
expense of crepe, and Henrietta cloth or bombazine. Skirt is
No. 3,587, price 30 cts. Trim with two box-plaited fiounces. The
dressy overskirt is No. 4,250, price 35 cts, and is very prettily
decorated with bias folds of the material. The basque has a
deep cuirass front, and is decorated to correspond with skirt and
overskirt—the pattern is No. 4,269, price 30 cts. For your boy of
five years, use pants’ eee No. 4,247, price 15 cts. A shirt waist
to which they may be buttoned is No. 3,981, price 20 ets. The
coat can be cut after No. 4,411, price 25 cts. This has a cut-away
front and is closed only at the neck. A sailor hat of straw, de-
corated with a band of ribbon together with a bow and short end
at the back completes the costume.

“Josie E.”—We would be very glad to have a photograph of
your pretty little girl. Send us one, will you? Make the dress
a Gabrielle, and trim witn two narrow ruffies of the mate-
rial.

“Minnie Merry.”—Of course your hair waves naturally as it
curls, so comb it ee back over a small roll of hair, and
then arrange in the k in a eluster of looped curls.

“Laura Vere.”—When the chatelaine-pocket is designed to
complete various costumes, it is most generally made of either
silk, lace, or velvet, any of these materials being considered in
good taste, and very appropriate. Sometimes it has scarcel
any other trimming than the ribbon by which it is suspended,
and a bow of drooping loops with short ends attached to either
the top or the bottom of the pocket. ppeguenety the dress ma-
terial is used in its construction, and in that case the et is
fastened securely to the costume like those of other descriptions.
The most stylish cashmere jackets have trimmings of lace with
very many linesof Titan or soutache braid. Others have inch-
wide bias folds of sulk edged with narrow lace; upon others are
seen wide folds of silk stitched in ine about a fourth of an inch
apart, or soutache braid applied in the same manner. One could
hardly get out of style in the selection of trimmings, as there
are so many kinds equally fashionable that a lady need scarcely
do more than consult her purse and taste in the matter.

“Mary MeDermott.’’—The Turkish brilliantine has a most beau-
tiful luster, and we can get that for you at $1 and $1.25 a yard in
desirable qualities.

“Miss Rosie Fleetwood,’’—A very elegant and pretty dress,
which will prove useful either for home receptions, walking, or
half evening dress, is of black silk, trimmed with cream lace in-
sertion. Round the bottom of the skirt there is a flounce ot

laited silk; above a strip of cream insertion, then two cream

ace borders, placed edge to edge, and divided by a bias band of

silk. The overskirt forms in front two aprons, and is finished in
a square shape on the left side. The back widths form two large
points, which are draped and fall very low over the train. This
overgarment is trimmed with a cream lace border, and insertion
to match put on plain over the silk.. The bodice is ornamented
with cream lace round the basque and two cream lace borders,
forming bretelles in front. The sleeves are striped on the upper
part with stripe of insertion put on slantways. The bottom of
the sleeves is trimmed with a revers form of lace and insertion
with bow of mixed cream and black ribbon. Another stylish
dress of steel-gray silk is made as follows: The skirt is orna-
mented with two flounces put on in hollow plaits, the upper one
with a heading. The sewing on is covered with a black silk pas-
sementerie en: beaded with silk. The tunic or overskirt
is only a very little draped behind under a scarf of raspberry-
colored silk, which is tied on the left side. The apron is caught
up with three ornaments of pasSementerie, silk, and steel. A
trimming of the same style is repeated in smaller proportions
upon the sleeves, and upon the small pockets in front. The
bodice is fastened down the front by small steel buckles through
which are passed small raspberry-colored ribbons.

“Mrs. Meade.’””—All kinds of hats and bonnets are fashionable.
Many are now made very low, and the former Marie Stuart
shape has also aqcearee A pretty model witha Marie Stuart
brim has on top, between the brim and ¢rown, a very full half-
garland of gilliflowers; the same flowers are arranged under the

rim in the back. On the inside of the brim, around the head,
eream-colored tulle is placed. The strings come from the back
ofthe brim, and tie under the chin; they are in the same eolor

 

the sitting-room, when young Arnold was seen

 

as the flowers. Coarse straws are considered very elegant for
‘traveling purposes; they are trimmed in many instances with
most unsuitable trimmings—that is, lace and gauze.
As the bonnets are lower change in the style o- i.air-dressing
becomes ne . The hair is allowed to fall loosely into a
net; it is not dressed up on the top of the head or crimped. Very
young ladies wear small flat bands in front, with light puffs on
the back ef the head, fastened on one side by small shell combs.
The remainder of the hair falls in long curis, or is simply waved
and put intoanet. Braids and waved bands are worn by mid-
dle-aged ladies; some curl the ends of the braids, and then put
them into a coagpe-meshed or crimped net. i

‘Laura B.”—A stylish bonnet of black straw has a white silk
border. The crown is of corn-colored silk, finished with a scarf,
ornamented with ecru Valenciennes. A wreath of hyacinths
and violets completes the decorations. Turbans and walking
hats are pretty for young girls, and need only be trimmed with a
ribbon band.

 

THE
GREAT WONDERS AROUND US.
num BER Six.
MYSTERIES OF BIRDS.
BY PROF, RUDOLPH.

 

In our last article we showed the peculiar struc-
ture and wonderful work ofthe gizzard—that ani-
mal grist-mill of the bird.

‘There is another marked peculiarity of some
birds, which touchingly illustrates the tender re-
gard of the Great Father for all His creatures. Take
the pelican for instance. Its nest is generally more
or less remote from the sea-shore, and to carry
sufficient food to its young: would require very
many leng journeys back and forth from nest to
sea, and from sea to nest. To prevent so many
journeys, a kind Providence has provided it with a
capacious and natural come Dag under its lower
jaw, in the form of a pouch in which it deposits its
prey of fish and other food, and when well filled,
hies away to its nest to distribute its stores to its
young family, and then returns for another load.

This same contrivance allows the bird to earry a
gzood stock of provisions while on exploring ex-
peditions in regions were food is scarce.

The swift has also this natural game-bag. It is
also found in some. other birds. The vulture, has
the power of storing large quantities of food in its
gullet, and thus carries large supplies of carrion to
its young in asingle load, besides making provis-
ion for itself. — . ‘ ; ;

Another amusing circumstance is related of some
wild fowl, as the cormorant—noted for its great vo-
racity—and some. sea-gulls, seen at a distance
through a telescope, reposing after a repast rather
too bountiful, as we would think. The cormorants
had not only filled their stomachs up to their full-
est capacity, but had attempted higher gastronomic
performances, and were seen by the telescope with
fish hanging half way out of their mouths, the other
ane being down their throats and. in their stom-
achs.

Sea-gulls swallow bones long enough to. reach
their stomachs, while one end is seen projecting
from their mouths as in the cormorants, and like
them, too, they allow the fish or bone to slip down
from time to time, as the lower end digests and
makes room for more. ; ,

Such habits, however, we all think are not in very
good taste, even for a wild bird, for we are naturally
disgusted with gluttony, even in a brute; and itis
one of the grosser and baser'yices which the Sacred
Word of God so_seyerely condemns in man, and
which always makes a glutton an intolerable nui-
sance to the decent portion of his fellow-men. And
yet for all this, the human cormorants are every-
where found—among the civilized nations as well
a8 among cannibals. See that you do not belong to

em.

THE IMMENSE NUMBERS OF BIRDS
often excite astonishment as they pass in review
before us. Swallows are sometimes seen in flocks
amile broad and many scores of miles in length.

In the Rocky Mountains wild pigeons have often
been seen in flocks more than a mile broad, and re-
quiring full three hours to pass.

Now it is a lowestimate of a pigeon’s speed to say
that he flies a mile a minute; but putting it at this
low rate, the flock just mentioned as requiring three
hours to pass,must have been one hundred and
eighty (180) miles long by one mile broad. Think
of an uninterrupted stream of bird life, one mile
wide and 180 miles in length! It has been estimated
that if there were only two pigeons to each square
yard, there would be in that single gathering one
billion and one hundred and fifty millions of birds!
How extensive is animal life, when a single flock of
pigeons outnumbers the whole living family of
man! The beautiful black birds, bringing their
sweet notes in company with all that is lovely and
bright in spring, often darken the sky and shut out

{the sun for a Jong time as they pass on their way.

From what we see in our own day, therefore, we
can better understand the miraculous sending of
quails to the numerous hosts of the Israelites in
such numbers that they were all satisfied for many

ys.

Their camp included nearly three millions of
Hebrews besides foreigners, and the number of
quails requisite to feed this meet-hungry multi-
tude must have been immense.

, The power of the Great Jehoyah was shown in
briaging these birds in such immense numbers
into the NOY camp of the Hebrews, that, hungry as
they were, they were satiated with meat. This mir-
acle was twice performed for them to appease
their hunger and to rebuke their most wicked dis-
trust of God’s kind providence, after so many
mighty wonders wrought in their behalf. For,
doubting God’s goodness, with so many proofs of
that goodness all around us, is always an exceed-
ingly great sin. Itis questioning God’s honesty.

he variety of birds is greater than is generally
supposed. It is estimated that there are four times
as many different kinds of birds as there are of
quadrupeds. This seems to be a special provision
of a Kind Providence to prevent the too great in-
crease of noxious insects which would otherwise
do great injury to the farmer’s crops.

The birds must therefore be regarded as a sort of
police foree in the animal world, to keep a certain
class of creatures from robbing mankind. Where
they—the birds—have been’ destroyed, the insects
have greatly increased, and in turn destroyed the
ae ofthe fields and produced famine in large

istricts. This has been repeatedly the case in
France, until the French government has, by law,
come to the protection of the birds, and an _im-

rovement of crops is already seen. So then,

ys, don’t destroy the birds. They are God’s
police in the insect world.
—_——__-9<____

A SANGUINARY DUEL.

BY CAPT. BARCLEY,

The 13th New York, and the 2ist Massachusetts
Regiments of Infantry, were encamped in close
proximity. y :

Camp life is dull, but its monotonyis often bro-
ken by prhaeily humor, as the following life
sketch will show. ;

Corporal D—— of the 13th New York had a bitter
hatred for a Corporal M——— of the 21st Massachu-
setts. The origin of the animosity the writer never
learned, but, as petty jealousies exist everywhere,
it is safe to affirm that the army had its full share.
Corporal D—— was of German descent, while Cor-
poral M boasted that the blood of the Emmets
coursed through his veins. It was generally
known throughout each regiment of the ill-feeling
that existed between the two corporals, andstories,
purely imaginary in their nature, were carried from
camp to camp, never failing inadvertently to reach
the ears of the corporals.

Corporal D—— was told that Corporal M had
said that the Dutch were a nation of cowards, and
neyer yet had been able to take Holland. In retal-
iation Corporal D—— boldly threw in the teeth of
Corporal -that Robert Emmet was a rebel
and was hung as a rebel, as he deserved to be.
And that were not the Irish a race of arrant cow-
ards they would have_tnrown off the British yoke
long sinee. Corporal M burned with indigna-
tion and rage wnen he heard of this slur thrown
upon himself and‘his country. Stung to madness
he openly asserted that blood alone could wipe out
this stain upon his manhood, and that he should
challenge his defamer, and put his boasted cour-
agetoabloodytest. : : :

The challenge was written not in polished, but in
a meaning form, and duly sentand delivered. Cor-
poral D— turned pale when its contents were
made known tohim. He had not for a moment
thought that his w ing tongue would cause so
great a denouement. He submitted the challange to
the fellow members of his company, and it was
unanimously decided that he had no alternative
but to fight, or be branded asa coward and a pal-
troon. The challange was accepted and weapons
named. They were to fight with pistois; distance,
ten paces; time, midnight; place, in a shaded
ravine a short distance from the respective camps.
Midnight was chosen for the reason that it was
only by stealth that they could escape the guards,
as the practice of dueling was not countenanced in
the army for the settlement of private quarrels. |

The matter leaked out, and the boys of each regi-
ment, while fully determined that the duel should
be bloodless, were yet equally determined to have a
little fun over the affair. The surgeons of each reg-
iment were consulted, who readily accepted the
task assigned them. |

Seconds were appointed, and the guards duly
posted to feign sleep and halt no member of their
respeetive regiments about midnight. The sur-

eons prepared themselves with vials containing
iquid resembling blood, and with a lancet.

twas mutually understood between the respect-
ive seconds that the pistols should be charged with
powder only, while each should prepare himself
with a pop-gun of sufficient caliber to carry mar-
bles with some force for ten paces, and each second
to take his position near his friend and discharge
simultaneously his marble bullet at the breast of

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the combattants. 1

During the afternoon each second had _ been
dispatched privately from one camp to the other to
am papty settle the matter and prevent bloodshed.
Corporal M—— was inexorable—the insult had been
too great, and nothing but blood wouldsatisfy him.

orporal was less blood-thirsty, but when told
that werporal M—— had said that the cowardly Hes-
sian of the Thirteenth New York did not dare fight,
his blood bviled with rage, and he determined]
announced that he would be on the chosen groun
at midnight. : i

Corporal D—,, with his second and surgeon, had
safely passed the guard, who nodded at his poet.
and were promptly on the ground. Corporal M——
and his two friends had been equally successful,
and were only ten minutes late.

“Can nothing be done to prevent this deadly con-
flict?” said one second to the other.

“T fear not,” was the reply. ‘‘I have used my best
endeavers to do so, but in vain.”
. “Gentlemen,” said one of the surgeons, address-
ing the principals, “cannot mutual explanations
opues,,7ou to become friends and prévent blood-
she

Corporal M—-, in aloud voice, said:

No; that villain has grossly insulted me, and he
or I must bite the dust.”

Gentlemen, take your places,” demanded the
seconds.

Pistols were handed each, and they boldly faced
each other. The moon was sinking in the west, and
its pale rays gave sufficient light for the contestants
to distinguish each other. .

“All ready, gentlemen?” said each second, taking
his place.

ed a nervously answered each trembling cor-
poral.

““One—two—three—fire!”

Both pistols were discharged at the same mo-
ment,and the seconds had fired accurately, for
both corporals were hit in the breast, and both fell
to the earth.

Promptly the gurgcons gushed to the aid of the
fallen men, tearing open their shirt-bosoms, and
seoring the skin of each breast dexterously, let the
blood flow from their vials down the wounds.

Doctor, do you think he is mortally wounded?”
asked the second of Corporal D—-.

“Yes,” repens the doctor; “the wound is a mor-
tal one, I fear. Beara hand, and let’s take him to
his tent. i ants

~The same conversation occurred in the hearing
of Corporal M.,in regard to his own case, and in
the darkness ‘both men were carried to their re-
spective camps and tents. Both lay for days care-
fully nursed by-their surgeons. * Both were assured
that their wounds had been »probed and the bullet
extracted, to which fortunate event they owed their
lives. Bandages and plasters were carefully kept
upon their external wounds, however, and nature
was performing her work slowly, but well. ._

Corporal D. was told, howeyer, that his fire had
been fatal, and that Corporal M. had died within
an hour after being hit. He expressed some feel-
ing of sorrow for his death, but said he deserved it.
Corporal M. was told exactly the same story re-
garding Corporal D., and he expreesed himself in
the same terms as Corporal D., which was the only
subject that the two coporals ever agreed about. |

Both corporals finally recovered, and the trick
which had been played upon them came to their

ears.

As both had proved themselves game men, and
were in the same boat, as far as the joke was con-
cerned, comrades interceded; they met, not with

istols, but with.mutual apologies, and shook

ands, and drank from the same canteen.

During the Dlands battles which took place after-
ward, known as the seven days’ fights,” no two
regiments did braver or nobler work than the gal-
lant Thirteenth New York and Twenty-first Massa-
chusetts, and.we can add that no two braver’ men
pat A inthe ranks than Corporal D.and Corpo-
ral M.

 

ten eee

New Kent (C. H.) Church, Virginia.

In the spring of 1864, while attached to a brigade
staff in the Second Corps of the Army of the Poto-
mac, our column upon the march during General
Grant’s campaign in Virginia, en route to Peters-
burg, passed within sight of asmall church at no

reat distance, known as “St. Peter’s,” located near

ew Kent Court House, in that county.

This little church was famous for having been
the place where George Washington was married
one fine dayin January, 1759, to the charming
young widow, Martha Custis, of the “White House,”
so called,an extensive and beautiful estate in for-
mer times, upon the river, which latter place will
be well remembered by thousands of Union soldiers
from the North as for some time General McClel-
lan’s headquarters, and which was subsequently
visited repeatedly by our army to and fro in the
course of the Virginia campaigns.

The marriage of Washington was a romantic epi-
sode in American history. At that time he was in
the full ripeness of his young nmranhood, and was
known as the handsomest man of his day. He was
then a colonel in the British service, just past thir-,
ty, in command of the royal forces on the frontier,
and had neyer been known as being muchof a
“Jadies’ man.” ; padde

He was afine horseman, and his duties in those
early days required him to pass much of his time in
the saddle. Early in 1758, he was well mounted, on
his way (accompanied by a single colored body-
servant, who rode behind him at a short distance)
to confer with the commanding general of the Eng-
lish troops, when he came in sight of the “White
House” mansion, where he halted to exchan
courtesies with the proprietor, Mr. Custis, a wealthy
planter and prominent citizen of Kent county, re-
siding upon this fine estate. i

lonel Washington dismounted in the court-
yard, handed his bridle to his servant, and re-
marked that they would go on in halfan hour, He
then entered the mansion, where he was_ kindl
received by Mr. Custis, and met the youthful Wid-
ow Martha there for the first time.

The colored orderly outside waited half an hour.

an hour, two hours, but Colonel Washington did
not make his appearance. And two hours more
passed away before a White House servant came to
inform 0, aprrte attendant of Colonel W. that his
master had concluded not to go on until the fol-
lowing morning.
_ This was considered a very unusual ogiurrapee
in the attendant’s experience. Colonel Washing-
ton was proverbially known for his promptness and
active pursuance of duty, and his sable friend
could not imagine what should thus detain him,
But morning came, and the horses were before the
door at an early hour.

The colonel’s dutiful attendant was informed,
greatly to his surprise, that his master had con-
oinae to tarry tillnoon and dine with the Custis

amily.

Atearly afternoon,the two horses were again
brought to the portal, ready saddled. But the col-
onel was not ready to depart until evening.

en he went away swiftly about his business,
and left behind him the lovely Widow Custis, who,
twelve months afterward, became Mrs. George
Washington. Sita

When the head of our column came in sight of
St. Peter’s church, in 1864, it was ee made
known that this wasthespot where Washington
had been married, more than a hundred years pre-
viously, and several members of the staff—among
them the writer—obtained permission to gallop
away to make a flying visit to this pretty spot. But
we found the building an indifferent structure,
small, very pany, furnished, a good deal dilapi-
dated, and of a capacity to seat certainly not much
over one hundred persons, outside the altar.

The desk or pulpit, and the altar in front, were
all very plain, and though the interior had been
pretty much “cleaned out,” we stood upon the spot
where once the honored bride and groom had stood,
to be united in the holy bonds of wedlock—sur-
rounded (as history tells us) “by numerous repre-
sentatives of the first families of Virginia, in all the
pride and pomp of that early period, when the Fa-
ther of his Country was in his glorious prime.”

After the ceremony a six-horse coach stood at the
church portal, in which the bride and bride-maids
embarked; and these were driven away, while
Washington upon his favorite steed rode in the
saddle ide the great carriage containing his
blooming, beautiful wife and her attendants, to-
ward the colonel’s eleganthome.

We spent an hour in examining this notable loca-
tion and its elegant, natural surroundings. Then
at a sharp gallop we dashed away,tojoin the
head of the column once more, which had advanced
some miles during the time we had taken to enjoy
a peep en passant at the little church where Martha
Custis, more than acentury since, had been made
Mrs. Washington.

a ae a

A Coincidence.

A poem written by Wm. C. Bryant for the presen-
tation of the New York Women’s Centennial Flag,
ends: .

“Yet when the foes of freedom fling
The bolts of war with deadly aim,
A million gallant hearts shall spring
To shield its sacred folds from shame.”

Anda poem written by Mr. Durivage to commem-
orate the restoration of the U. S. flag to Fort
Sumter (published in the WV. Y. Evening Post), closes
with the expression of the same thought, as thus:

“But if again in fight
These stars and stripes shall flame,

A miilion swords shall leap to light,
To guard their holy tame.”

eB cn
Every parent should read Tony THE TRAMP, by
Horatio ALGER, Jr., and: THE SLATE PicKER; or, THE

.

 

 

 

 

SLAVES OF THE CoAL-SHAFT, by DANIEL. DOYLE.

 

 

 

 

 

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