VoL. XXXL.

Proprietors.

 

ee ee

 

BY HUGH HOWARD.

Is smoking so jolly ? Why, Jack,
What a beautiful smoker you aret

I &ealare, Pll be sixteen next week,
And i've never yet smoked a cigar.

Will I try one now? Goodness, old boy,
Your pockets seem splendidly stocked.

Tl take just a puff or two. Jack,
Are you certain that door, there, is locked ?

By gracious! it tastes pretty strong,
And it makes your lips kind of feel stung.
And then —— how it catches you here,
Right down at the roots of your tongue!

But still, l:don’t mind that a bit.
There must go my twentieth puff.
No doubt I shall presently come
To think smoking jolly enough!

it’s puzzling to see how take

Such mouthfuls of suf and don’t flinch.
But I’m doing finel e ;

Why, just look—DPve smoked a whole inch!

Oh, Jack, I’m a terrible goose,

To think smoking learned in a day:
For I’m all of a sudden so sick,

That I feel like fuf—fainting away!

Goodness me! My poor head, how it spins!
Please don’t laugh somuch! Mercy! Ob, my!
I—I tell you, upon my word, Jack,
I cer—certainly am going to die!

But if I do die you must say
‘Twas a fit, or a colic, or—— Ah!
Don’t tell them I died from a smoke,
And was killed by my fuf—first cigar!!

THE THREE BLOWS;

OR

LOVE, PRIDE AND REVENGE.

By KARL DRURY.

[The Three Blows’? was commenced last week. Ask your News
Agent for No. 25 and you will obtain the opening chapters.)

CHAPTER IV.
THE VOICES FROM THE PAST.

Meanwhile Sylvia, in ose manner while ad-
dressing those few farewell words to Clement Ham-
mond we have seen so much of dignified com-
posure and self-possession, has hurried through
several rooms of the homestead in search of her
grandmother. ;

She at last finds the old lady seated in her own
chamber; rocking slowly backward and forward
near one of its windows, and staring out into the
view that window commands of a purple and crim-
son sunset.

 

 

Sylvia’s manner while parting from Clement
Hammond may have betrayed no sign of the Ree
sionate indignation that Mrs. Heath’s conduct had
roused; now, however, it is quite different. She
draws near her grandmother with blazing eyes and
gloomily-creased forehead,

“What right has any one to bear the name of
lady,” she cries, “and yet so outrage hospitality as
you have done, grandmamma? Even savages respect
the laws of hospitality,” she goes furiously on. ‘I
tingled with shame when I saw you treat that gen-
tleman as you did. And all because of his parents,
grand-parents, or possibly some yet more remote
ancestor haying committed certain faults—faults
for which he is no more accountable than I am,”

Mrs. Heath tranquilly rises as Sylvia. finishes
speaking. Everything in this grand old lady’s
manner indicates the utmost quietude.

“Sylvia,” she murmurs, with slow sadness of tone,
“when you have seen certain records which I shall
now show you, perhaps your opinionof howl
acted will slight 4 change. These records have
been put together by my own hand, gathered partly
from the lips of informants now dead and gone,
partly from the evidence of old family papers. Do
you care to see them?”

“Yes,” answers Sylvia, curtly and or

Her grandmother’s placidity disarms her, as it
were, and therefore leaves her secretly more irri-
tated, though, perhaps, less outwardly angry.

.., Before I get these records,’ Mrs, Heath proceeds,

Lhayeafew more words of explanation, Sylvia.
This Clement Hammond, whom you saw to-day for
the first time under such strange circumstances, is
your third-cousin, His father, who was not of the
direct branch of the family, inherited Cedarwood
very unexpectedly, through the loss in an Atlantic
steamship of three near relations bearing the name
of Hammond. Clement Hammond is the last of his
race and name, unless he has married and had
children ; of that I know nothing.”

Sylvia starts as if something had stung her while
this last sentence leaves her grandmother’s lips.
But the vague light that fills the room, and the old
lady’s uncertain sight, save so suspicious a sign
from being detected.

“Married?” the girl tries to say, carelessly. ‘Oh,
no, he isn’t married. That is, he hasn’t the look of
amarried man, somehow.”

But you have not found out positively whether
he be married or no, have you?” questions Mrs.
Heath, a ring of deep anxiety in her tone.

No.” then, after a slight silence, Sylvia pro-
ceeds: “Why have none of the Hammonds ever be-
fore come to live at Cedarwood.”

I believe that this Clement Hammond has been
here onee or twice before, since his father’s death.
But these Hammonds are thoroughly city-living
people, and Osmund Hammond, Clement’s father,
was aman of great wealth at the time he inherited
this ph gg and celebrated, thirty years ago in
New York, for the sumptuousness of his entertain-
ments among acertain fashionable clique. Clem-
ent has no doubt inherited all his tather’s wealth,
being an only child, and he probably despises so

quiet and unfashionable a spot as this, notwith-
standing the great beauty of Cedarwood as a place
of residence.’

The old lady now moves toward a high, antique-
looking mahogany cabinet, the key of which she
wears on her wateh-chain. From this cabinet she
presently obtains rather a sizable bundle of papers,
petly tied together, and showing evidence of much

abor. ,

The manuscript, in possession of which Sylvia
now finds herself, is quite too long, and in places
much too uninteresting for usto give entire. We
shall therefore clip but_a few extracts from this
elaborate history ofthe Heath family, and condense
thosemuch more than old Mrs. Heath has done in
her chronicles. ;

TRACT I.—An account is givén of how one Mal-
colm Heath, a Scotchman, obtained a grant of land
from King George in the year 1757, and thereon
erected the Homestead. Repairs and alterations
have been so numerous since then, however, that
most say the structure had been radically rebuilt
one might alat least three times during the century
that followed, being at present a great, rambling,
quaint, many-chambered house, well-known
among antiquarians asa rare specimen of anti-

volutionary days,

Exrract IT.—In the year 1767, just ten years after-
ward, Ralph Hammond began the estate originally
known as Hammond Park, its name (after it had
been twice destroyed by fire and twice re-erected),
being subsequently changed to that of Cedarwood.

(Here follow seven accounts of seven marriages
between the neighbor families of Heath and Ham-

STREET & SMITH, j Nos. 27, 29, 31 Rose St.,
P.O, Box 4896, New York,

THE FIRST CIGAR.

Mrs. Heath a separate story in itself, carefully re-
lated from the beginning, with all its most minor
particulars worked up and dilated upon. We shall
give but the bare facts, employing little of such
adornment.)

Extract III.—In the year 1769 Malcolm Ross
Heath, eldestson of Maleolm Heath, married Edith,
only-daughter of Ralph Hammond. The first three
years of this marriage passed happily for both. A
child was born to the wedded pair, and all promised
most tranquilly for the future. But in the fourth
year after his marriage, Reginald Heath, now own-
er of the homestead through his father’s death, re-
ceived a blow whose terrible and unanticipated sud-
denness doubtless ended his life a few years later.
He wéke up one morning to find at his bedside a
note from his adored young wife, stating her in-
tetion to elope with his own bosom friend, a certain

 

Richard Cameron, who had been spending some
time at the homestead. It has already been stated
that Reginald Heath never recovered from and only
briefly survived this blow.

Extract IV.—The next Hammond-Heath_mar-
riage is that of Major Osmund Hammond to Ellinor
Heath, twenty years later, in 1789. This gentleman,
who had reaped high military honors during the
late war and had been distinguished by the inti-
mate friendship of no lessa man than General
Washington himself, suddenly, a few years after
marriage, shook off all trammels of_respectability
and became a notorious drunkard. His wife, faith-
fulto him and willing to defend him with her last
breath, died of a broken heart several years before
Major Hammond’s miserable life terminated.

TRACT Y.—In 1790 a certain Clement Reginald,
oi the younger Hammond branch, married Louisa
Heath, a cousin and close friend of the Mrs. Major
Hammond jnst mentioned. This lady’s life was no
less wretched than that of her kinswoman. So
grossly was she maltreated, indeed, that perhaps
even the major’s incessant drunkenness was pre-

 

ferable to the glaring infidelities and heartless in-
sults from which she suffered at the hands of her
shallow-brained lord. Ten years of patient endur-
ance ended with her finally obtaining a divorce
from this reprobate. But her death from consump-

te took place only two years afterward, at Char-
eston.

Extract Vi.—The next marriage is in 1822, be-
tween Osmund Clement Hammond and Edith Lou-
isa Heath, a ngs of the direct line, as was her
husband a son of thesame. Although originally a
love-match, this marriage was disturbed almost
from its pg ing by fierce quarrels and dissen-
sions in which both families took part, and which,
in their day, were subjects of public scandal.

Extract VII.—In 1843, twenty-one years_later,
John Reginald Hammond married Jane Heath,
making her mistress of Cedarwood. Mrs. Heath’s
relatives and friends were wont to say that she
constantly received the most terrible beatings from
her.husband, and that now and then her cries for
mercy could be heard ringing across the Ceader-
wood lawns. But she persisted always in presery-
ing the most angelic reticence regarding her ill-
treatment, and died many years before her hus-
band—poisoned by John Hammond, his enemies
whispered, in order that he might marry a lady to
whom he had recently become attached.

Extract VIII.—Only a year later we find one of the
Hammond cousins marrying a sister of John Ham-
mond’s wife. During the voyage ofthe happy young

air to Europe, but a week or so after their wed-

ing, the bride was made a widow by one of the
most sudden and unforeseen blows imaginable.
She afterward joined a convent, saying to ev. ry-
body that her life was a wreck, and that her grief
was too incurably permanent fer the world’s eyes,
to look upon it. i
_ Extract IX.—The last Hammond-Heath union
is that between Faulkner, a younger brother of the
aforementioned John Reginald and a Miss Olivia
Heath, whose relationship to the family of the
homestead was somewhat distant. After five years
this marriage resulted in a mutual separation, the
wife receiving a yearly alimony from the husband
whom she no longer felt herself able to endure. At
first it Was believed that Faulkner Hammond felt
pleased at this arrangement, and that'he was far
from placing any surveillance upon his wife,
desiring only to be rid of her presence. But
on acertain occasion, after receiving certain in-
telligence, Mr. Faulkner Hammond ehose to ap-
pear at the door of his wife’s house, and demand |
aninterview. It wasgranted. At its termination, |
however, this gentleman left the room with asmok-
ing pistol in his*hand, having shot Mrs. Heath |
through the heart before taking his departure. His |
arrest immediately followed the crime’s discovery; |
but what the law terms “extenuating circumstan-
ces” prevented, at his trial, a verdict of “guilty.” |
After the occurrence of this event, in the year 1853, |
all intercourse between the two families ended. |
Every daughter of the Heath family has been rear-
ed with the firmest determination on their parents’ |
part to save them from a marriage of this ill-fated |
nature; and every son, on becoming of age, has |

 

 

mong h of these marriages has been made by

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i ter that!

NEW. YORK, MAY 15,.1876.

 

 

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“Am I right? Can I be right ? | ‘Has the shyrdea

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alliance. Nota teow’! iiginbers “of the Heath family
have asserted their fixed belief that a curse hung
over all unions contracted between the two races,
rejecting stoutly enough the theory that what had
happened was but a strange chain of circumstan-
ces, and roundly stating that they believed the devil
was mixed up in the matter, or else that Divine
anger was unfailingly roused whenever Heath
wedded Hammond.

CHAPTER VY.
THE SHADOW OF THE CURSE.

Sylvia has seated herself to read her grand-
mother’s carefully-prepared manuscript while it is
yet light enough for her to decipher its. legible
characters; but long before she has finished it
candles have been brought to her, and the last
traces of sunset have left the May heaven in which
they love, as we know, to linger late.

‘As Sylvia’s eyes are sweeping the final lines of
the manuscript, a soft and well-known voice mur-
murs at her elbow: :

Now you know everything.” :
; . is Mrs. Heath who speaks. Sylvia starts to her
eet.

“Yes, everything!’ she repeats, bitterly. “But
why have you not told me before? Have I been
such a mere baby for at least two years past that you
weary justified in keeping these records away from
me a9

Her troubled face and a certain sort of latent
nervousness in her manner produee far from a
pleasant effect upon this old lady, who adores Syl-
via with more than a parent’s tenderness.

“It was the wish of your dead mother,” Mrs.
Heath answers, “that you should know nothing of
these sad events until you had completed your
eighteenth year. I protested against this, but the
poor dying creature oul my hand (how_well I
remember it all!) and made me promise that I would
accede to her wish. Her words were: ‘I do not want
the shadow of the curse to touch Sylvia at too early
an age. Her father is already dead. She will prob-
ably not aeee ataliin the great outward world,
but live quietly here at the homestead with you un-
til she is at least twenty. And as for the Hammonds
being so near,’ your poor mother added, ‘I should
think that this exact knowledge where the enemy
was situated would be far better than to have him
ambushed in a great city like New York.’”

“Good Heavens!” cries Sylvia, somewhat petu-
lantly. “It is terrible to beso guarded. You make
me feel like that princess in the fairy-tale, who was
kept in the tower for years and years without see-
ing the light of day.” ‘ ;

“And finally she did see it, and all her guardian’s
watchfulness was useless,” murmurs Mrs. Heath,
in a dreamy, absorbed way, while a transient look
of pain crosses her face. Then, rousing herself,
as it were, she addresses Sylyia more direetly. “You
ean hardly blame such vigilance. Let those who
will denounce it.as idle wee but our preju-
dice against the Hammond family is founded upon
a series of the most wretched experiences. Es-
poser. ought any one who bears the name of

eath to guard a daughter from—from such an en-
counter, Sylvia, as that which befell you this morn-
ing. If you remember what you have just read,
you will admit that only in a single instance has a
male scion of our house married a daughter of the
Hammonds; in that case the result was as disas-
trous as the others; but in all the remaining six
eases it hus been a daughter of the Heaths, whose
life has been ruined by contact with some man who
has borne that other hateful name.”

After a slight silence Sylvia abruptly asks:

“Do you suppose that Clement Hammond knew
all this history of the past when he entered our
gate this afternoon ?” } c

“T do not know how he can possibly be in ignor-
ance of it,” answers the oldlady. “Indeed, he must
know. Evenif he has not heard in precise detail
everything which has happened, he must under-
stand what great wretchedness and disaster haye
been brought upon us by his ancestors, and that
=e families are now at dagger’s drawing with each
other.”

“Then it was very bold—very unmannerly for
him to enter our gate,” muses Sylvia. But sud-
denly her brow contracts darkly, and she shakes
her head in rapid negation. ‘“No,no,no! It was
neither bold ner unmannerly. He had saved our
lives, noble fellow that he is! and it did not oecur
to him that we would drive him from our doors af-

He wished us to forget and ee eS am
sure of it!” the girl goes excitedly on. “But we re-
fused his generous advance.. We opened the old
wounds, instead, and dragged the dead past out of
its grave, and threw at that good, brave, handsome
maan the ashes and dustof what had long crumbled
into completest ruin. Oh, it was not well!—it was
eraven, ignoble, niggardly!”’

All in a moment, so to speak, a violent state of
excitement has sueeeeded Sylvia’s previous mood
of bitter sullenness. She begins quickly to pace
the floor of the apartment, from end fo end; one

 

 

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yg li

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» of the curse already fallen upon my darling ???

tumult, the piper is raised toward her temple as
though she felt her brain to be in a -whirl and were
seeking to still its confusion.

Mrs. Heath watches her with the most poignant
anxiety Seen Eee on every feature. Suddenly she
rushes toward her and seizes both her hands, and
fixes eager, yearnin,

“Oh, Sylvia,” she
I be right ?”

“What do you mean, grandmamma ?”

“Has: the shadow of the curse already fallen upon
my Daring, whom I have a Gur dod so tenderly and
deyotedly for so long ?” 1 the old lady’s tranquil-
lity has disappeared now. Great tears are stream-
ing down her wrinkled cheeks. She is the picture
of passionate and intense suffering. ‘‘Teil me, Syl-
via,” she goes hurriedly on; “tell me the exact
truth, my dear. Do you love this—this Clement
Hammond? Do-——”

But at this instant Sylvia plucks away both hands
from her grandmother’s hold, and stands before
the old lady fora moment with flashing eyes, and
with face literally aflame.

“In loye with Clement Hammond! Oh, grand-
mamma, how should you dream of such a thing?
If any. one but you had used such a sentence, I
should certainly have considered it to be almost an
insult. I have seen this man but once in my life,
remember, and have not spoken, during that time,
many more than twenty words to him.”

And pray Heaven,” mutely comments poor Mrs.
Heath, ‘‘that you never see him again as long as
you live upon this earth!”

Perhaps Sylvia sees this prayer on her. grand-
mother’s face, pi OU no sound of it reaches her..

Not long afterward, while Sylvia is passing
through the lower hall of the homestead, she meets.
Madame Belville. :

Well, madame,” she éxclaims, with a little as-:
sumption of gayety, that is a wretched failure, be-
cause so pure artificial, “I hope you haye quite
recovered from this afternoon’s fright. But you
are looking rather pale, by the by.” .

.Madame sees at once that Sylvia wishes no allu-
sion made to her grandmother’s strange reception
of Clement Hammond. She readily perceives that
her a has been going through some process of
explanation with Mrs. Heath that has made her sick
of the whole subject, and anxious to dismiss.it from
her mind.

“Am I pale?” madame asks. “It is because of
this afternoon’s adventure, suppose. Ah, Sylvia,
I do not feel that I can ever enter another carriage
without a shudder.”

Nonsense,”

“At any rate,” murmurs madame, “you must hu-
mor me for a week or so in the matter of walking
instead of driving—won’t you? After that time,
you know, I may have’ conquered my prejudice.”

“Walking!” repeats Sylvia; and then a vague,
pleasured look seems to struggle through the mel-
ancholy upon that superb, low-browed face of hers..
It,is a look which madame’s keen eye detects,

“Walking of an afternoon is very plgnsans ma-
dame goes on, “if it isn’t dreadfully hot, you know.
Rupp we try a stroll to-morrow, instead of a

rive.”

“Very well,” answers Sylvia, a little absently.

A slight silence follows. bint try ad , j

During this silence madame is thinking: ‘It will
even be easier than I believed it. But, this, of
course, is only the first step. That man will want
me to act as his tool allthrough.” "i ‘

And at the same time Sylvia is thinking: “Can it
be possible that I am glad of madame’s proposition
because there is a chance of meeting him?”
she shivers, while her thoughts go swiftly on:
“Gogd Heayens! Is grandmamma right? Has the
shadow of the curse indeed fallen upon me ?”

CHAPTER VI.
. THE SETTING OF THE TRAP.

Clement Hammond rides immediately home to
Cedarwood after his brief. interview with madame
on the homstead piazza. Giving his horse to a
groom under the stately porte-cochere of this noble
stone building, he enters the large, dim, lonely
hall,and passes through two wholly dismantled
chambers, till he at last reaches one eozily fitted up
as a sort of study for himself. _ . 4

Then he promptly takes ay materials and
begins a letter to his wife in New York. Heis quite
well. he tells her, and except tor the annoyance of
being away from her sweet, sunny face, in excel-
lent spirits. : ;

He vetoes her proposition—received that morn-
ing in the most loving of letters—that she shall fol-
low him to Cedarwood. , :

“By no means think of coming,” hewrites. “This
old bu#tding has been neglected for so long atime
that nearly every one of its rooms, froms cellar to
garret, is completely uninhabitable. Ihave man-
aged to have a sitting-room fitted up for myself and
a tolerable bedroom; but you, my dear Adele, with

eyes upon her face.
urst forth, “amIright? Can

 

 

 

your intense daintiness an@ refinement, would lan-
;guish here most miserably. And then I doubt if

been counseled to avoid the danger of any such | hand is pressed against her heart as if to quiet its | you would see much of me during the day. I oceu-{

*

 

Ihree Dollars Per Year. eee Cis S. STKEET.
two Copies Five Dollars.

 

No. 26.

FRANCIS S. SMITH.

 

 

py most of mytime with surveyors and the old
resident farmers—quarreling with these latter,
very often, as to what are the real boundaries of the
estate. My qna amusement is riding out occasion-
ally on my blooded horse, Lochinvar, which I am
very glad thatI brought. It is. unfortunate that
these difficulties should-have arisen at a time when
I wanted to sell the old place; but beyond any doubt
I have discovered that my estimable ancestors: were
about as careless regarding title-deeds and other
legal documents as may well be imagined. Life
here is, of course, yery stupid. Ihope you are
enjoying yourself in town. Spare yourself no
pleasure, my dear, withfn -ordinary moderation,
that money ¢an afford, though I clearly understand
that there are few means in the city of getting
pleasure just now, opera being over and the season
absolutely ended: Tam afraid that I cannot prom-
ise to sée you in at least a month, though pease I
may pounce upon you much earlier than that. On
the other hand, should my absence prove conside-

 

Then |

rably longer than a month, you must not complain.
Everything depends upon the more or less prompt
settlement of certain disputed claims and the more
or less early changing of chaosinto order. By-the-
by, mention to'no one where Iam, unless they al-
ready know and-make themselves very inquisitive
on the subject. Then be as reticent as you can.
| My reasons for wishing this are simply that certain
| would-be prophets will begin to prophesy all sorts
of dismal things regarding the house of Hammond
Co.,the moment they hear its head is selling so
large a property as Cedarwood. ButI assure you,
Adele, and beg: you to believe, that our banking-
house has never before been.in a more flourishing:
condition. That I should wish to realize what I can
from the sale of .Cedarwood is only natural, as you
must agree. I.consider it more than idle for me to
pay taxes onsoimmense an estate and permit
mice and spiders to occupy this huge house. And
now, little blue-eyes, with the best of love, believe
me your devoted husband,
“CLEMENT HAMMOND.”

Nearly all the latter portion of this letter, let us
here en to state, is true. No want of ready
money induces Clement Hammond to sell Cedar-
wood. The business of Hammond & Co., which his
late father left in magnificent order, yields its pres-
ent managers an enormous income, He simply
has desired to sell the old family estate because he
believes it to be of large value, and possesses a dis-
taste for the country. Newport, Sharon, and afew
of .the.most fashionable watering-places excepted.
: But the rest of the letter must be called deliberate

ying.

He has spent very. little time, with surveyors and
with old resident farmers, though—luckily for the
pte 9 vraisemblance of his letter—he expected to

o both on leaving New, York. The claims are in
no way disputed, and should he find the right sort
of purchaser for Cedarwood to-morrow, no flawin
ee would prevent that purchaser from

ing it.

Only for one reason has Clement Hammond writ-
ten to his wife as we have heard. That reason is
his passion for Sylvia Heath—a passion born three
days ago when he chanced to look through:a slight
opening in the hedge of his own lawn and discover
her standing near one of the front gates.

From that moment until the day of the aceident:
he had been pondering in his own mind: hew best
he would be able to bring about an acquaintance:
between himself and this wonderful beauty. At
first everything seemed to stand in the way of such:
a project. The deadly feud between the families
was asort of vast prickly hedge beyond which the
mostadventurous admirer would not presume to

ass. How was he to manage? Something must

edone. “And nee should be. done,” Clem-
ent Hammond determinedly told himself,’ if he had,
to remain in that part of the country three or: four
months, Was he a man to forego a resolution after
once making it?, Had he not been reared from his.
infancy on the Epicurean principle that as life is
short we should cram it with all available pleas-
ures? Married? Of course he was married, but —
vogue ba. gatenes he was in love with this glorious
pong of his. Was she not a sort of cousin, by-the

iy”

Somewhat after this fashion Clement Hammond
refiected, upon first seeing Sylvia. Suddenly, as
we know, an opportunity presented itself for him
to become acquainted with her. When he first.saw
the phaeton being hurried toward destruction he

plain, that Sylvia. was one of the vehicle’s..o¢cu-
pants. Being a rider of really superb skill, he had,
dashed forward tothe rescue,. Recognizing. Sylvia.
he determined to make Lochinvar exert his. finest
qualities with some effect—and, as. we know, suc-
ceeded. :

The moment he saw Madame Belville with any-.
thing like a near view, he remembered her face—
whose it really was and where last seen. We have:
witnessed with how much quiet politenee how.
much apparent freedom from aot
an acquaintance,” he treated the ladies after the ac-.
cident. This line of conduct was adopted from.
Poo politic reasons. ‘‘There is no use,” he told.

imself, “for me to expedite matters, now. I hold
the game completely in my own hands. This.
French woman is evidently the governess; and.
either Iam losing my wits or this. French woman,
is Madame Natalie St. Aubin, She must, of couxse,,
be this girl’s governess. She was governess, I re-
member, in de Lesseps’ family.”

On the followihg day—the day after the runaway
and its accompanying rescue—Clement Hammond
is restless, impatient, perturbed. between the hours
of nine and four. At four precisely he stations
himself at the same opening in, his lawn-shrub-
bery through which he first saw Sylvia.

Ten minutes pass and they do not yet appear.
And then this man of pleasure, whose whole-life has.
been one long indulgence of exery least whim, one:

imself in quite.a little frenzy of impatience.

“Impertinent French woman!” he mutters; “how
does she dare ? Does she not recollect that I hold
her in the hollow of my hand and ean erush her at
any moment?” And now he opportunely remen-
bers that he told Madame Belville she must be.on
the roadside between four and five o’clock. :

He waits another fifteen minutes, and, there is
still no Sylvia, still no Madame Belville. Visions. of
Sylvia’s beautiful, low-browed, marvyelous-eyed
face haunt him perpetually. He slashes the. fresh
May foliage with the cane that he-carries, looking
os as a god, by the way, in his angry impa-

ience.

At last they appear. Clement rushes toward the
gate, and then leaves it in the mostlanguid of man-
ners, contriving to do so just as, they pass on the
opposite side of the road. 3 .

e bows to them first, with a surprised air; then
he walks boldly across the road and joins Sylvia,
who is on the outside. ‘ :

The girl is struck dumb by the audacity of this,
action, but before she has thought of resenting it &

been made to meet her ears. : ;
Clement Hammond has a voice like richest music.
—orrather hecan readily makeit so at choice.
Added to this there is his extraordinary beauty,
and last, but by no means least, there is the pres-

 

| ence of a thousand nameless graces in his maaner
and in conversation, which a constant association
| with the world and with its most polished people
; has indisputably given him. .
Sylvia is charmed before she knows it. At first
' she makes timid answers, but presently gets bolder.
|and actually finds herself talking to her distin.
| guished companion without mueh morethana faint
heart-flutter.
Clement readily perceives the impression he has.
made, after a little while has elapsed. : xt
“A,” he declares to himself, ‘itis plain sailing
—just as I supposed. What sheuldone expect with
a girl reared as she has been?”
He manages, presently to give madame a look
which she perfectly understands. This look means:
“You must contrive to leave us together.”
|. Madame answers by another took, which hor ob-
i server interprets to be:
{ “Ttis impessible!”
Clement, for once at least, succumbs to the ocea-

 

 

 

 

did not know, as it is only fair to him for us.to ex-.

esire to “strike-..

ST ie of every most luxurious desire, finds,

stream of the softest and pleasantest nothings has,

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

a aa, os HOR ee

fae AEN fe Teg BO er

erento

 

\

|
'

+

 

SSeS

arc

 

 

 

 

  

 

{" fully interru

& wy,

\ der of your gourney,” said
A

i

“ -coats composing a portion-of D

 

 

 

 

 

 

2

 

 

 

sion,
ladies at their gate with the most courteous of bows
and no definite arrangement as to seeing Sylvia on
the morrow. Atthe same time he has taken pains
to mention that he always stroNs on the roadside
between four and five o’clock, and that he shall
hope to meet Miss Heath and madame on the fol-
fewing day. atk’ s

us

 
  
  
 
    
 

That evenin,

isappearin
Temong
Bie that ge

igeoom. and he
ile that ni

pit the Mia
it, the p
specified being ¢ tead lawn-gates,
and the hour beil ( . Mae >
onset aimee: ne ame ae
does not dar bey the din this note;
for Seton is. Phe meet

rae takes place that
night at ten o’clock, and at the homestead lawn-

 
   
   

  
 

gate. ; :

Let us not linger over what was discussed during
this meeting. We had best only concern ourselves
with-the results of it. ; ‘

They are these: On the following day, a little af-
‘ter four o’clock, Sylvia, accompanied by madame,
leaves the grounds of the homestead. They haye
only walked a few short steps along the road when
madame gives a shiver. :

Ah,” she exclaims, “how cold itis!” .

“Tt is rather cool,’ acquiesces Sylvia, ‘‘for this
‘season of the year.”

“I am not warmly enough shawled,’” protests
madame. “I am sure of it. I should so hate to
-catch cold in thespring, you know. Let'me run
‘hack to the house and get something warmer. You
‘will wait forme here. I shall only be a very few
“moments.” ;

With this the Frenchwoman hurries away, not
waiting for Sylvia’s reply. _A moment or two later

lyia finds herself blushing to the ears, and in,
close conversation with Mr. Clement Hammond.

: [TO BE CONTINUED.}

—_—_—__ > e~+____-
id TRIED AND TRUE. »

BY MISS E. WENBORN.

 

Tried and true, my bonnie laddie,
Tried and true, my dear—

Through winter wind and summer weather
Five long, weary year.

's And Jcould doubt thee, and forget thee!
Tried and true of heart,
Never heed thy spoken promise
When we came to part. ®

Never thinking thou couldst struggle
Par from kindred’s light,
Independent, proud, and truthful,
_ Never swerving from the right.

For I was vain and would have judged thee
Naught deserving, fickle, wild;

‘Never seeing ought of manhood .
In thy conversation mild.

‘But thou hadst a Christian spirit—
Jewel from abovel

‘Gentle word and tender conscience
Tried and true, my love,

‘So I choose thee for may true love,
‘Trusting place my hand in thine,

Choose thee once for all, forever,
Dear and faithful Valentine.

 

%\
'

_ DANIEL BOONE,

\ THE

_ THUNDERBOLT OF THE BORDER.
4 By BURKE BRENTFORD,

| Author of “SQUIRREL ©AP,” “THE STEEL
CASKET,” etc. ‘

[Danie: Boone” was commenced in No. 17. Back numbers
can-be-obtained from all News Agents.) _

CHAPTER XXIV.

A NEW CAGE FOR THE CAPTIVE BIRD...
Efhave always found that the thoroughly evil-
minded man. however wily, cunning, and polished,
is apt to overreach himself before fully aecomplish-
ing is wicked end. ;

t was, at any rate, certainly the case with Captain
Arthur Duquesne, ;
+ During his journey northward, his thousand and
one respectful attentions slowly but:steadily began

 

 

to win upon the mind of his fair captive—or, at

jeast, to moderate the supreme aversion in which
she had heretofore held him. In :addition to her
unsophistication, pretty Bettie Boone.in spite of
her natural force of character.and strength of mind,
was. very impressionable ‘and her ee. lonely
and:unprotected position rendered her unusually
susceptible to kindness.

Duquesne had the shrewdness to see this.. He
was. as_wily asasnake. He.anticipated ‘ther ever
wish. Eyery attention which:she received, thoug
bearing the name of the author:upon its iface, was
performed with a distant respect. almosttimidity,
asif coming from one fearfulof being found out
by the recipient, j

She bad begun to think that ‘he must-really have
¢ometo mean her well—that he was taking her to
Detroit merely for the purpose of obtaining some
oppcrhialty of sending her home. She was com-
pletely deceived. She began.to express her appre-
ciation at first by a. grateful glance or two,then by
ae ‘such, then by a smile,-or a flushing of the
cheek. ; ;

He was, of course, as completely deceiyedias she.

Entirely misinterpreting her innocent manner,
his. passions again resumed ‘their sway with all
their force.

| He grew less and less guarded. hour by hour, and
finally 'in an evil hour (for him),dropped.the mask.
, it matters not to our readers when, how, or where.
. Sufficeit to say that the insulter was indignantl
spurned with ten-fold energy. scorn. and fury, an
that -he..again slunk away. with the. galling con-
sciousness (always doubly galling.to the thorough-
iy vicious) of having outwitted himself,

He became moody and discontented after this,
said nothing for a day or two, and, of course, Bettie
missed the many attentions she had been ‘receiving.
She cared nothing for this, inasmuch as her cap-
tor’s real character was now more.fully laid bare to
her than ever before. —

Duquesne, after rongtns, the Wabash, at length
hit upon the plan of sen ing his prisoner to the
neighborhood of Grosse Pointe, under special es-
cort,:and by a different route fromwhich he him-
self was pursuing. He had two objects for doing
this. First.he refiected that a temporary separa-
tion from his prisoner might lessen her aversion,
which his pride would not yet permit him to be-
lieve was:confirmed. Secondly, he knew:that Gen-
eral Hamilton had a thorough knowledge of his
(Duquesne’s) private character, and ihe had cause
to dread: more than a simple rebuke,-should it be-
come known that he had forcibly abducted a pure
young girl from her home and friends.

He made: known his determination to Bettie at
the camp -on the evening of the same day upon
Which ‘he’had come to it.

She received the announcement of his intention
regarding ‘her ker in sullen silence.

i know :you desire to get rid of. iny sosietytom.

e

; Dorarily. atdeast. Miss Bettie,” said

‘Say ‘altogether,’ and tell the truth,’.she scorn-

ted.
ou will be ‘in, safe hands during the remain-
i he, speaking:as if un-
Sons ous of ‘having been interrupted. “It will
ee t ‘five ‘Indians, headed by my sergeant

ti

ci
nsist of

Hite joune cin a
& youmg girl was secretly rejoiced -at this.
‘The man mentioned, Brakstock, had alwaysitreated
‘her with gneat respeet, andsshe had reason ‘to be-
iMeve that he ‘honestly pitied her. If she had had
‘her own choice for a guide from among the-red-
uquesne’s com-
‘mand, she would have chosenzhis man.

The next morning her little escort was formed,
“and prepared to quit:the main command,to pur-

sue:4 route in a more westerly direction.

Before they set-out, Duquesne xode out to bid'‘her
good-by. She would not vouchsafe him a word or
look.’ He bit his lip.and rode away, with a forced
laugh, after giying some parting instructions ‘to
Or Botiy dissbvetied thie chatina deed tt

etty discovered t ‘she not misjudged the
‘honesty of the latter. He'had not hig pommaaten
Duquesne to permit Makutah, her half-breed atten-
dant, to accompany her, but throughout the long,
arduous journey pro and consider-
ate, and kept the Indians in admirable discipline.

No. mishap took place, and they reached the St
Clair River on the morning of the fifth day after
quitting the Wabash, stopping at a picturesque
little Indian village that crowned the bluff.

.You will have to abandon your herse here,
miss,” said Bradstock, touching hisjcap. “In a
oot we shall get some conoes, and eross the

ver.

“Is that Grosse Pointe?” said Bettie, pointing to
a small island, beautifully embowered, with white-
washed stockades and military out-buildings glis-
tening here and there through the trees,

Yes, miss, that’s Grosse Pointe.”

In a short time, they were crossing the river in
two canoes, Bettie, the sergeant, and Makutah in
one, the five Indians following in‘a larger one,

royed respectfu

ee nls Joe Se sali
oa eT ip tasts
Filta leo Teer

    
  
 
  

The walk is quite along one. He leaves the

    
 
 
   
      
  
 
 
   
  

 

nebey, swept, below, the point ree island, and
eaded directly for the opposite shore.

“Am I not to be taken 40 Ghose Pointe, ser-
geant ?” asked Bettie, in great surprise.

“Wo, miss,” he replied.
“Where then ?” ~
Bradstock hesitated. 4
“Tve orders not to tell you, miss,

*re no eta ar aw;

 

  
 
   

   
      

more quest’ is, but, reflec
complies little, she held her

 
 
 
  
   

{ hreo miles
stood inthe deep woods, on the
ok whieh danced and brawl

was conducter

lonely cabin

 
   
  
  
   
     

 
       

on, me
kut duete within, where they
were m ri Be The lat-
ter appe pe well acquainted with Makutah,
and greeted her with noisy expressions of affec-
tion. Then she regarded Bettie with eager, leer-
ing, cunning eyes. ,

“White maiden come at last, eh?” she mumbled.
“Big chief captain on island wantee see white
maiden muchee more last night.” ¢ oe

She chuckled in such a cronish. witch-like way

that Bettie turned away in disgust, and went to the
door of the cabin toseek some consolation from
Sergeant Bradstock,
But he had disappeared. She was only greeted
by the stolid stares of the five Indians, who had
flung themselves down, upon the ground in differ-
ent places. She undersiood her position at once.
Bradstock, acting under orders, had returned.to
Grosse Pointe alone, and she was left under an In-
dian guard. -, :

She had by this time, however, been, tried too of-
ten to be greatly downcast at this. She therefore
quietly placed herself in charge of Makutah, who
conducted her toa rear apartment (the cabin con-
tained two) that was lighted by a little opening cut
in the logs high above the ground, and informed
her that both of them were to occupyit during
their stay at the cabin. ; i

To her surprise, the young girl found that this

ortion of the building had been rudely but neatly
Btted up.as ifin anticipation of her reception.
There were a rough table. several camp-stools, and
heaps of clean deer and bear-skins lining one side
of it, with a roughly-framed looking-glass sus-
pended directly below the window.’

Bettie hailed the mirror—the first she had seen
since quitting her mother’s cabin—with girlish en-
thusiasm, and directly availed herself of its reftec-
tive properties. :

“Gracious! how horrid I look!” she screamed
glancing intothe glass, while the half-breed girl
stood by, with a broad grin revealing every glisten-
ing tooth in her head.

 

   
  
    

 

 
 

  

icturesque than civilized, and we prudently re-

rain from describing it.
_ And here is a great big wooden comb, too, hang-
on by astring!” exclaimed Bettie. “Come, Maku-
tah, get the other clothes you have been carrying
in that bundle for so many days, and take me down
tothe brook. Wehaye a capital chance to make
our toilets, whatever happens.” .

After first obtaining the consent of the old hag
without, Makutah consented: and when Bettie re-
turned, about half an hour thereafter, clothed in
fresh garments, her pretty face blooming, and her
jon well-combed hair dripping from her cold
bath, she presented a highly improved appear-

ance. : é

She and Makutah fared well during the day upon
roast venison and parched Indian corn, which the
old crone cooked in the front part of the cabin, and
evening came without Duquesne making his ap-
pearance, much to the relief of not only the white
captive, but of kutah as well. For Bettie had
now reason to believe that she had at last won over
Makutah to be her friend. At any rate, she had
many times noticed that the half-breed girl cast
manya dark, treacherous glance from under her
ioe eahgy at Duquesne when the latter’s back was
urne

Makutah had, indeed, confided in her as much as
to hint that Duquesne had treated her brutally,
when his relations with her were more intimate
than at pa eee time.
_ She had also succeeded in winning her dusky
a regard in many ways, which women
allthe world over. whether civilized or savage
might understand and appreciate. Presents, o
coursé, she ee anette to & font’ She aoe
ways of © hing the maiden’s hea e laug
her h wtO btn up her coarse, glossy hairin hand-
some iolds, and helped to ornament her buckskin
garments. a Al ’

love her. ;
CHAPTER XXV.

THE VILLAIN FOILED AGAIN.

Bettie had sc nished t

 

that Captain
visit: and, att
come ‘away.

“Yes, in an é ter -
face maiden,” she muttered, when the
had disappeared into the outer room, “you have
been good to the poor Indian girl, and Makutah
never forgets. Put this in your bosom, Hush!
The captain comes.” : ; /

When Duquesne entered, Bettie noticed a great
alteration in his appearance. It was not the alter-
ation of the splendid full-dress uniform in which
he was bedizened, and which he carried like a

 

an expression of harshness she had never noticed
in itbefore. His lips were compressed, and his
eyes glittered. :

The truth of this was that Duquesne had just re-
turned from the yisit to General Hamilton, men-
tioned ina former chapter, who had informed him
of the presence of Boone at Detroit, and of the na-
ture ef the Kentucky hunter’s visit there. Duquesne
had lied himself out of the serape on every point,
By ont already been narrated, and was now ina fit
of fury. ;

“So, Miss Bettie,” said he, harshly, ““Isee you here
last. How do you like your new quarters.”
‘Before fo came I was very well pleased, sir,”
returned the young girl, coolly. “If you are going
to continue your visits, I should muc piper eing
in any dungeon on the face of the earth.”

“You will certainly never be rid of me, my dear,”
was the mocking reply. ‘I wasn’t such a fool as to
bring you here, except for the easy Bent of my
own society which I have found quite agreeable to
most young ladies. But,” he continued, in another
tone. which resembled his fascinating manner of
old, ‘Bettie, for Heaven’s sake, do not anger me
into saying bitter things which must wound my
own heart far more than yours. Listen—look upon
me! Does not the maddening, all-consuming pas-
sion I bear you:speak in my altered manner, my
pallid face and‘thollow eyes? The five days of sep-
aration from your dear side. have alone effected
this. Ihave been in torment, ever since. Oh! it
only required this separation, after having once all
but possessed you, to tell me how profoundly, how
terribly Llove you!” -
He would have made his fortune upon the stage.
He sank at her, feet with something like a sob.
His face wreathed, his whole frame quivering with
emotion, and his:arms outstretched appealingly to-
ward her.
This was more than the young girl could stand.
If her heart was touched, in spite of the hundred
proofs she had had of the utter perfidy and hypo-
crisy of the man ‘before her, the reader must par-
don her in consideration of her helpless, desolate
position, her girlish years, her unsophistication,
and the matchless art of the polished villain who
lie “ay ruin. Still there were grains of logic in
er reply.
_. Captain Duquesne,” said she, drawing shrink-
ingly away from him, ‘your manner puzzles and
frightens me. I.do not know what to say or think.

   
   

at,

 
    
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
    
  

   

  

comparison to yourself; I cannot imagine how any
one could really affect:such passion and: misery
as you have displayed, without meaning and feel-
ingit. Yetitseems to methat you must think me
to be even a greater fool thanITam. Poor asiam,
Thave been brought up under the care of a good
and pious mother, and under the protection of an
upright, God-fearing father. Their simple teach-
ings have led me to look upon yirtue as the one
great element in agirl’s character and happiness,
and one which, once surrendered, can never be re-
deemed. And yet, with all your wild and appa-
rently sincere pleadings, you would. counsel me to
disgrace myself and family forever.”
isgrace! Great Heaven! call it not by sucha

name, my beloved one, “‘cried the villain, following
up his advantage with passionate eagerness. “‘It is
no disgrace’ to put your trust in one who will love
and protect you forever and ever, but whose unfor-
tunate difference of station in life renders it impos-
sible to offer his hand in marriage.
ery is marriage without love; but how doubly a
mockery would be a love which an inability of mar-
riage must €rush out forever! Ihave wealth and
friends beyond the sea. But promise to be mine
and Iwill throw up my commission in the army,
and carry you aw: * to my own land, where you
shall be ashining light in a shining home, with
myself as your slave until death do us part? For-
get your old and yulgar associations, forget that
you are utterly in my power, and only think of the
boundless love and fortune in your grasp. Oh! do
not make me remember that I have you in my
power, to do with you as I will. Do not—” ;

The blush of mingled shame, indignation, and
scorn had been mantiing her young cheek from the
moment he commeneed this string of sophistries
and protestations, but it suddenly rushed to the
roots of her hair as he speke of her “old and vulgar
associations,” and reminded her that she was in his
power,

 

~

ry

     
  

re of the river, she | w

he maiden’s appearaneé was certainly more |

ive, qurehe found ofier (i

In short, she believed that she had made Makutah i

       
  
   
  
 

She interrupted him by springing to her feet, and,

as she had done once before, spurning him from

her with her foot. ‘

“Dog! retch !

she exclaimed, the
: ing it ash

 
 

coward!’

    
  

you make y:.
- Would not

     
  

Makutah’s parting gitt—
it full at his throat. ,
_ He relinquished his grasp, and leaped back just
in time to ayoid the falling stroke. As it was, the
keen blade ripped through his ruffled shirt-besom
and gaudy vest, laying his breast bare, and just
grazing his flesh. 7
He laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword, and
stood for a moment gazing at her, in doubt and
hesitation, , aac
“Away!” cried the excited girl. ““Do not tempt
me further! I am a child of the border, a free
hunter’s daughter, and you cannot escape me a
second time. Ifit comes to the worst, this knife
shall drink my own heart’s blood before I submit
ee finger’s touch]”
is face was d

his voice was ca
“T see that I m
claws, my beau
shall be found

He strode aw
him talking an,
without. She

angrily in repl
dashed out oft

   
      
     
 
       
          
 
   
  
  

  
  
   

ppressed fury, but

    

ns to elip your
sure the means

h. She heard
ad the old hag
| maiden laugh
ered oath as he

      
   

  
      
    
     
 
   
    
 
 
  
  

   

y in, as though
a wild beast.
nile upon her

; ve Di e rob 34 said
the latter, admiringly. ‘Ah, if Makutah had knife
at one time long ago, big-ckief captain would no be
here now.to do wicked.”
_ Bettie, now that her excitement began te wane,
cast aside the knife, and flinging herself uponthe
partet of skins, burst into a fit of bitter weeping.

   
    
 
  

  
 
 
  
   

rningit to her mistres
white maiden do, ke

   

sharp knife always.” : :
Tiettie returned the weapon toits concealment in
the bosom of her dress, but it wasalong time be-
fore she could control her unstrung nerves, though
her ky attendant did her best to soothe her.
They were left in peace for the remainder of that

ay. r °
Bettie learned from Makutah that her persecutor
called at the cabin several a. two folloy
days, and had long conversations with her old half-
breed keeper, but she could not learn what these.
conferences were precisely about, though she
no doubt that they had some reference to herself.
any times had the idea of effecting her escape
occurred to her duri her captivity in the cabin,
but a number of careful examinations of her sur-
roun s had convinced her that it would be im-
possible without assistance.

    
  
   
     
  
   
   
  
   
  

  

 
   
      
    
  
  
  
   
  
     
  
    
   
 
   
 
   
  
  
   
   
 
    

tle & gicgm of hope penetrated the gloom
of her captivity, andso saree yer htas to cause
her for a few moments to doubt the evidences of her
senses. i te
" On the afternoon of_the third day after her inter-
view with Duquesne, Maku who had at all times
a free passage thro ( dians myo.kSps con-
stant gu in, came in with her

smile than they

s’ side,and drew
sd parchment, which
en torn from seme
n or military order. Upon it
ption, that seemed to
e of charred w

~ With
light, and 2
:—I have been lurk

ATTLE BEragy ; about here for
E peak ir my ao a torun you Pa ; ja
a all night this coming night, for I think my
Dur

 

old woman |

a prince; but his face was pale and thin, and wore A

 
 
   

ed
ing the old hag of the cabin in his secret service
supplying her abundantly with rum, of which she
was extravagantly fond. There happened to bea
quantity on hand at that time; the half-breed girl
knew where it was kept, and this, she said, was to
be largely instrumental in forwarding the plan of

Ttseemed that Duquesne was in the habitof keep-
y

 
  
  
 
  
 

escape. t '

Bettie was now another girl. The despondency
which had so greatly oppress her for a number
of days eer blown from her brain as by a refresh-
ing wind.

ith the renewal of hope, she seemed to gather
tenfold energy and strength. She busied herself
with bundling up her few effects in the smallest
ossible compass. She chatted so cheerfully with
Pee that the latter had to caution her more
an once. if *

 

Lam a_ poor, friendless girl, utterly ignorant in’

hat a mock-_

ce
sen they sat still, and did nothing—nothing but
wait,

 

CHAPTER XXVL
BETTIE BOONE’S ESCAPE,

Toward midnight, when the old hag of the cabin
was fast asleep, Makutah stole a bottle of rum from
under a heap of skins where a number of bottles
were concealed, and went with it te the chief of the
Indian guard, who sat calmly by the little camp-
fire, a few yards from the cabin, smoking his pipe,
his four comrades being gathered around him
though none of them seer

“Gotonka,” said the half-breed girl, softly, draw-
ing herself to his side, and speaking in the lan-
guage of her tribe, “thou hast often begged me to

e thy squaw,to keep thy wigwam in order, and
hoe thy corn and tobacco fields, and I have as often
denied thee.”

, Makutah speaks the truth,’ grunted the war-
rior, in reply. ““Makutah is a half-breed, and has
the protection of the pale-faces, who let her do as
she likes. Otherwise, Gotonka would have bought
her of her people, instead of making a squaw of
/himeslt by waiting for her own consent.” |

“Like enough,” said Makutah, with a smile; “but
to show Gotonka that she is not altogether indiffer-
ent to him; she has brought him a little present,
which she has stolen from under the old half-breed’s
head. See!” : :

She held up the black bottle in the firelight.

The savage delight with which the chieftain seized
the bottle and sprang up, can be better imagined
than described. The other Indians had caught a
glimpse of the bottle,and also bounded to their
feet with electrical agility. j ’

From lip to lip the magic bottle passed with sur-
prising rapidity until it was empty. _

“No. more!” sighed Gotonka, holding the bottle
upside down. regretfully, ,

‘Some more in the cabin,” said Matukah.

“And this old hag has been keeping it all to her-
self!” exclaimed the warrior, drawing his knife
wrathfully. “She dies!’ es

The others, already thoroughly heated with what
they had drank, also gathere ut him, drawing
their weapons menacingly, ag

“Wait, Gotonka.. Makutah will bring you all there
is,” said the half-breed girl, and she bounded into
the cabin. :

She returned ina moment with three mere bot-

es.

It only required one more to get the savages in a
state of boisterous intoxication. They danced about
the fire, waving their weapons, and giving utter-
ance to the most appalling yells.

These awoke the old erone from her drunken
sleep. She hobbled out of the cabin, and imme-
diately divined what had happened. Thesight of
her beloved fire-water being wasted by these drun-
ken wretches excited her in an unwonted degree.

She hopped around them like an antique grass-
hopper, shaking her fist at_themin imbecile fury.
But Gotonkaspeedily turned the farce into atragedy
by sinking his tomahawk deep into her brain, and
she plunged to the grou weltering inher blood.

Makutah, who had not looked for this, was great-
ly alarmed, and ran into Bettie, to tell her what had
happened. : ‘ ¢

But there was no occasion of their having any
fear for themselves. As the savages continued their
flery.potations, one by one they fell down in their
tracks, perfectly oblivious; all except Gotonka and
another warrior, whose fury alone seemed excited
by the liquor they poured down their throats.

At length, the former, suddenly pointing to the
cabin with his tomahawk, shouted:

“The pale-faced maiden! We must have her!”

The other yielded this acquiescence, and the two
reeled together toward the cabin door.

Bettie had heard their shouts, and all-forgetful
of her knife, crouched in one corner, cowering with
fear; thile Makutah was for the moment also un-

 

| neryed,

replied.
] f bi ‘ where pale-face never come. Good-by. white
> said Makutah, picking the weapon | maiden.”

  
  
  
 
   
      

  

 
   

the crack of arifle rang close by, and_he fell for-
ward, with a bullet through his head. His comrade
turned, and clutched his rifle. . :

Buta f hicket like a shadow,
at with the grip of a
fe was buried in his

  
   

i ‘Yeal.”
is nothin

  
    
  

he added,

 
 

ing her to his c p 4
speaking in a swift, exeited tone; “there is no time
to lose at present. We haveto make our way on

foot to the river, three miles away. When we have
crossed it, I have two horses awaiting, and then we
can laugh at pursuit. Come! This good Indian
girl has promised to accompany usto the other side
of the stream.”

In afew minutes they were threading the thick
forest as fastas the darkness of the night would
admit, and in a little over an hour thay reached the
river bank. Here they got into a large canoe,
which Tom had had in readiness,and at once
pushed out into the stream, Makutah insisting that
she aelone should do the paddling. ;

“We are fully a mile below the island of Grosse
Pointe, and cannot be observed except by some evil
mischanee,” said Tom. -

“Oh, Tom!” murmured Bettie,throwing her arms
about him and gazing up inte his face, “there can
be no further mischance now. You have not arisen

 
  
    
 

  

But, ere Gotonka reached the door of the cabin,

 
   
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
   
   
   

 

 

ee

condition of the blood. When this is the case the liver does not
take out as much of thecarbon and other substances as it should,
and the mucus membraneofthe nose becomes a dumping.
ground for the foul matter. If persons thus afilicted will squeeze
the juice of a good-sized lemon in unbler of water and
drink it without sug pt will, if they live
aipenically, be surprised e the “catarrh ditticulty
Will diminish. When it fails may be considered as
due to other causes,”

i? ee #

   
 

        
  
  
 

  

     
   

 

  
    

¢ ——— ; 7 fi \
ogue tern We y, price 6 cents.
RK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency. |

OUR BABY PICTURE-GALimry. ,

—_—

   
  
 

ve

We repeat request to mothers haying pic-
tures of their little ones to send them in at their
earlie venience,

|
“Nina C.” The de begeaie pl colors will be worn this sprinc.
Gray or brown will make & neat walking suit. The } ater
grades of eamel’s hair too are now fashionable; either of these
Iabrics will be useful to you, for the dust shakes from them very
easy. In making the costume you will require anywhere from
twenty to twenty-five yards of fabric. Polonaises will be worn
Suite as much as basques and overskirts. Jackets are now used
street wear, but a little later basques will be heavy enough
without extra wraps. By sending name and address in full, and
two three-cent stamps, or six cents toour NEW YORK WEEKLY
L Agency, you can procure a catalogue of the new
ae Styles, and from it you can select any pattern you may
sire,

“Osgood.” For making your prints’ dresses use polonaise pat-
tern No. 4,220 price 40 cents, which is not only a stylish polonaise,
but has the advantage of being easily laundried. The skirt
should be walking style and length, and can be cut after pattern
No. 3,308 price 30 cents. S
“Victoria.” Do not use any thing for io complexion. The
climate you live in has considerable to do with it, and-we sup-
se you do not take half enough exercise in the open air.
tanding ina store all day is not exercise, it is simply fatigue,
and we can only hope that you are at least allowed to sit down
wher you arenot waiting upon customers. We should think a

 

from the dead only to be baffled. God is too good
to witLhold His protection frem us now, darling.”

His own heart was too full to speak; he could
only press his trembling lips to hers.

They reached the opposite shore in safety, and
all got out upon the bank.

akutah held out her hand to Bettie in token of
farewell. f

“What!” said Bettie, clasping the outstretched
hand of her late attendant, *‘you will not leave me
now, good Makutah?”

“Yes,” said the other, simply.

“But what will become of you, poor girl? You
have been my chief aid in escaping. Captain Du-
quesne will kill you.”

The half-breed maiden laughed and smiled in
her peculiar way. .

“Big chief captain never more see Makutah,” she

“Igo far away to my mother’s peo le,

mai
1 smacitie did not merely shake hands this time, but
,embraced her and kissed her tenderly.

Tears burst from under the long eyelashes of the
pe maiden at'this exhibition of a tenderness to
which she was unused. She hesitated a moment,
and then said, timidly:

“Pale-faced maiden won’t be angry if Makutah
ask for some little thing?’

“Angry!” exclaimed Bettie; “I am rr too happy
to deny anything to any one, least of all to one to
whom I owe so much.” i

“Makutah would only beg a lock of the pale-faced
flower’s beautiful hair,” said the other, “so that she
can remember her when far away.”

Bettie made Tom cut off a lock of her hair with
his knife, and then handed it to Makutah. The lat-

ter kissed the hand that gave it, and then, before
ate could - prevented, sprang into the wood and
appeared.

“Come, darling,” said Tom; ‘“‘day begins to break,
our horses are but a few steps away, and we have
no time to lose.” ; Bota

He led the way toa little grassy opening in the
woods, where two fine horses, well caparisoned,
and one of them provided with a side-saddle, were

 

grazing.

“I stole these from a British eamp only six hours
ago,” said Tom, “There were two ladies in their
party, and I grieve tosay that one of them will

dress of black alpaca, say the grand opera brand, would be more
useful to you than any other.. The Beaver .mohair is as: prett:
and glossy as silk, and wears splendidly. The Turkish brilliant-
ine is a little heavier, and has the same lustrous finish. After
washing you hands in Soap, rinse them in diluted vinegar. That
is far better than oil, particularly if your hands are rough,

“Lula.”—The side plaiting can made nine inches deep.
Three yards of the fabric will make one yard of the plaiting, if it
is done by machine. Send to the NEw YoRK WEEKLY Purchas-
ing Agency, and we will have the plaiting done for you.

“Philadelphia.”—We should think the dress would be stylish
made of the black foundation, and trimmed with alternate
flounces of black and white, put on in side plaitings or double
ruffles, that is, a deep ruffle of white edged with a smaller one of
black. Tohead these ruffles with patienda of budsiand leaves
would be very pretty, or if you have not enough flowers tor
wreaths, you can put them on in clusters with good effect. The
material usually comes very wide, so we think eight yards of the
black and five of white will be quite sufficient for an elaborately
garnitured dress. j

“M. E. D.”—The easiest way to cut bias bands is to cut the
cloth exactly on the bias, and then measure and fold. pressing
as you arrange in the desired position, and then cut the cloth in
the crease made ped pressing. There is a bias-cutter, which is
very convenient after you learn exactly how to use it. The price
is $leach. Yes, we can get one for you.

“Mrs. L. H.,”? Memphis, Tenn.—For stamping patterns for em-
broidery and braiding, write direct to the NEW YoRk WEEKLY
Purehasing Agency. We can furnish anything ofthe kind you
may desire. It you want information upon such subjects, send
address in full, and stamp to prepay ee on your letter, if-
the answer goes by mail. } information given in the Work-
Box is without charge. always glad to serve our friends,
and will be pleasod to he you again,

“Ettie P.’—If you want éap traveling suit, you cannot do
better than to get de bege, which ean be found to cost 50 cts. and 60
cts. a yard in very pretty qualities. More expensive materials
are camel’s hair, Fongesepoelin and alpacas. You can get these
fabrics in all the fashionable colors, and in black, gray or brown
will be suitable. Make with askirt and polonaise, and if worn
in cool weather you can wear a cape; or sacque with the suit.

“Mrs. Florence,” Chicago, wishes we would come to her eye:
day. If we did so she might tire of us, so the weekly visit is best.
Yes, plaids will be very much worn by children this reason, both
for full suits, and combination costumes. You can make a very
stylish suit for misses of from eight to fifteen years of age after
the following model. For skirt use pattern No. 3,838, price 20 cts.,
which has the fullness drawn to the back by a large, triple box-
co Make the skirt of the plain material, and have a broad

acing of the plaid about the bottom, while above it a narrow
band serves as a finish, the facing and band being quite sufficient
ornament for a skirt of this description, For overskirt use pat-
tern No. 4,253, price 30 cts. Cut from plain goods in a deep apron
arranged in lengthwise shirrs, each of the shirrs being

concealed by a bias. plaid band, while the bot-
tom is edged by a _ bias ruffle of similar goods. In
making the basque plain goods are also selected, but the

sleeves are of the plaidand have plain cuffs. The garment is
fitted to the form, and has side-gores in front, together with
euryed edges; while the back hasa correspondingly shaped seam
and moderately wide side backs, Rounding pocket-laps complete

 

sadly miss her saddle to-morrow.” -

e lifted his sweetheart upon one of the steeds,
gatheredane he long lines by which a had been
tethered, sprang into the saddle himself, and they
rode swiftly away.

> [TO BE CONTINUED.]

_ Our Knowledge Box.

A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.

4

 

 

Rae We take pleasure in responding to every question address-
ed to us in. this column, for the answers generally afford infor-
mation ng@®only to the parties especially seeking it, but also to
the mass of our readers; but with the increase of our circulation
has grown the number of questions soliciting answers by mail.
These questions are almost uniformly important ones, costing,
to satisfactorily answer them, much time and labor. For this
reason all persons in future wishing their queries replied to by
mail, lease inclose 50 cents to defray the expenses
necessarily incurred

 

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED,
Mabdel.—FROZEN PUDDING,—Freeze a cream of any kind as for
ice-cream, about hard e toput intoa mold (a melon-shaped
mold is as pretty as any); z the bottom of the mold any
kind of preserved fruit, or large strawberries, about an inch
apart; then a layer of ice-cream ;then fruit, and a little ded
monds; then ice-cream, and so on till the mold is full: then
cover it with a cloth, and put the tin cover onvery tight. Pack
it in salt and ice for four or five hours, Brandied fruit of any
kind is nice in these puddings...... j. Franklin.—OMELET
FOR ONE PERSON.—Beat three eggs very well; add a very little
salt and pepper; puta bit of butter, not more than a teaspoon.
ful, into the frying-pan; stir it round quickly; as soon as hot
turn in the egg; keep the pan moving slightly; as soén’as the
egg is set, turn it half over. Slip it on to a dish, and send it to
the table hot.... . William Joknson.—A very good recipe..,...
Harvest and J. L. A.—\. KALSOMINING.—In case the wall of a
large room, say sixteen by twenty feet a is to be kalso-
mined with two eoats, it will require about one-fourth of a
eend of light-colored glue and five or six pounds of Paris-white.
ak the glue over night inatin vessel containing about a
quart of warm water. Ifthe kalsomine isto be applied the
next day, add a pint more of clean water to the glue, ann set the
tin vessel containing the glue into a kettle of Seine water over
the fire, and continue to stir the glue until it is well dissolved and
ee thin. If the glue-pail be placed in a kettle of boiling water
the glue will not be scorched. Then, after putting the Paris-white
into a large water-pail, pour on hot water and stir until the liquid
ars like thick milk. Now mingle the glue liquid with the
whiting, stir it thoroughly, and apply it to the wall with a white-
wash brush, or with a paint-b. It _is of little consequence
what kind of an instrument is employed in opts on the kalso-
mine, provided the liquid is spread smoothly. Expensive brushes,
made expressly for kalsomining, may be obtained at brush-fac-
tories, and at some drug and hardware stores. But a white-
wash brus’, having long and thick hair, wiil do very well. In
case the liquid is so thick that it will not fiow from the brush so
as to make smooth work, add a little more hot water. When
applying the kalsomine, stir it frequently. Dip the brush often,
and onty so deep in the liquids ag to take as much as the hair
will retain without letting large drops fallto the floor. Iftoo
much glue be added, the kalsomine cannot be laid on smoothly,
and will be soe d to crack. The aim should be to apply a thin
layer of sizing that cannot be brushed off with a broom or a‘ dry
cloth. A thin coat will not crack. 2. We cannet tell yous.......
Buffalo Sam.—1. Isinglass is prepared chiefly from the sounds
or swimming bladders of fishes. NV. ¥. Herald or Sun. 3. West
Troy, N. Y......... -Commumne.—We cannot vouch for him........
A Reader.—SHINY SKIN.—Lave the face with water slightly acid-
ulated with lemon juice....John Smith.—FRECKLE POMADE.—
Take of oil of almonds, four ounces adoirdupois; hog’s lard,
three ounces, spermaceti, one ounce; melt, add of expressed
juice of house-leek, three.fluid ounces, and stir until the mixture
solidifies by cooling. A few drops of cologne water may be add-
ed to scent it....Shoemaker.—LiQuiD BLACKING.—Ivory-black,
in fine powder, molasses, three-quarters of a pound,. sweet eil,
two ounces, beer and yinegar, of each one pint. Rub together
the first three until the oilis perfectly killed, then add the beer
and vinegar....Cher7y.—PHARAOH’S SERPENTS’ EGGs.—A sub-
stitute nearly as good as the original mercury compound, and
superior in not being poisonous, is prepared in the following way :
Take bichromate of potassa, 2 parts; nitrate of potassa, one part;
white sugar, three parts. Pulverize each of the ingredients sep-
arately, and then mix them thoroughly, make small paper cones
of the desired size, and press the mixture into them. They are
now ready for use, but must be kept from meisture and light...
Boston Boy —Printers, when their fingers get sore, burn white
Eager on an iron surface, and rub the sore places with the re-
su
S.

   
 
  

 

ting oil....George.—To be had of any respectable druggist...

S. S.—To CLEAN Straw Hats.—Rub the soiled straw with a
cut lemon and a little salt, and wash off the juice with water.
Then sprinkle a little gum water on them to stiffen them, and
dry in the sun...Rose Michel.—To APPLY TOILET POWDER.— After
bathing the face, before drying, apply a little glycerine with or
without dilution of rose water; then take a flannel cloth and rub
the face dry. Then with a bit of cotton or puff, throw the pow-
der on, without friction. Let it remain there until you have
completed your toilet. Then take a soft linen rag and carefully
remove all traces ofthe powder, going into _astrong light and.
investigating every eyebrow and dimple. If past the days of
dimples, examine closely the wrinkles...... Grace Danton.—
CURLING THE Harir.—Hair that is naturally straight cannot be
made to stay permanently in curls. The following fiuid will
make the hair curl temporarily: Take borax, two ounces; gum
arabic, one dram; and hot water (not boiling), one quart.
Stir, and assoon as.the ingredients are dissolved, add three
tablespoonfuls of strong spirits of camphor. On retiring to rest,
wet the hair with the above liquid, and rol it in twists of paper
as usual. Do not disturb the hair till morning, when untwist
and form into ringlets.

 

MEDICAL DEPARTMENT.

S.L. R. and A Desperate One.—We cannot aid you.

Inquirer.—LIME-WATER FOR DysPEpsia.—Lime-water has oft-
en been yery usefully employed in cases of dyspepsia attended
with irritability or any other derangement of the stomach.
Mixed with milk—two tablespoonfuls toa cup of milk three times
a day—it will no doubt ee of great benefit to you.

Hrs. E.—Rhubarb and magnesia will almost always cure a
gag caused by biliousness.
ally.

Thomas.—Sleep may frequently be ‘procured by taking a
teaspoonful of bi-carbonate of soda dissolved in a third of a tum-
bler of water. Take it just before going to bed.

W. D.—Kat less salt or greasy food, and take a dose of magne-
sia occasionally.

A. B. F.—DRUNKENNESS.—One means of reforming -drunk-
ards has been found to consist in making them take some
nourishment, usually bread, that has been steeped in wine... This
remedy, it is stated, is much used as a legal punishment in
Sweden and Norway. On the first day the drunkard swallows his
portion gayly enough; on the second it is less palatable; and he
soon receives it with the utmost-repulsion. In.ge Leight or
ten days of this diet brings about such utter nausea mh prison-
ers have been known to abstain wholly from it. “This point
reached, the toper, with but rare exceptions, is radically cured.

Catarrh.—C cured by snuffing

Take a small dose occasion-

Irdinary cases of CATARRH can b
up the nose a little table-salt three or four times a day. Sulphur
.and alcohol have also been recommended, but we cannot vouch
for their efficacy. An eminent practitioner days: ‘Many cases
of catarrh are caused by inability of the liver to perform its

 

 

‘| Wash

the side-back skirts, while a military collar slashed at the back,
stands about the neck. The entire suit is very jaunty and dressy.
The hat to wear with it may be of chiptrimmed with wreaths of
blossoms and knots‘of ribbon, and ends of the same at the back.

“Trinadia Castell.”,—You will look best in the more quiet co-
lors; with such hair
would give you too gay a look.
out rims, so you can wear eithe
comb your front y t oft. your face—wave it, and
let the waves tall y forehead. In such a place as
ington you can surely see all the fashionable styles of hair-
dressings, so your best plan would be to spend an hour or so in
trying the effect of the various styles upon your face, and then
you can adopt the most becoming manner of arranging.

“Ada.’—Trim your wine-colored alpaca with side plaitings of

the material, or you may use silk a shade hd or darker,
which can be put on in folds or bias bands. very pretty suit
may be mace after the following patterns: For skirt use pattern
No. 3,919, price 25 cents. This is gored with plain front and sides,
while the back is gathered and rather full. ‘The skirt may be left
plain, or can be trimmed if desirable; but with overskirt No.
4,186, price 25 cents, there is but little need of skirt decoratien
as that model is long and prettily trimmed with ruffles, tabs, and
bows. Phe basque is very pretty. It is No. 4,270, price 30 cents.
This has a plain front skirt and a full postilion back skirt. The
sleeves are in coat shape, and a military collar surrounds the
neck. Trim with ruffles, plaitings or bands, justas you like best.
Wear linen collar and cuffs, or ruffle with the suit, and let your
linen always be fresh and clean, All these patterns can be fur-
nished for misses of from eight to fifteen years of age, and the
suit can be made in any of the wool fabrics, or in cambric, cali-
co, linen, etc., as the a are simple and can be easily
laundried, and always look tidy and neat.

“Mrs L. R. S.,”? Wis,—For your little girl, four and a half years
of age, you may make a dainty little suit after the followi g pat-
tern; For skirt use No. 3,721, price 10 cents. This is a very jaunty
little affair, which fallsjust below the knees, while all its fullness
is gathered at the back. It can be prettily and fancifully decor-
ated according to the description upon the pattern, or the taste
ofthe maker, The waist is plain, and is cut by pattern No. 2,937,.

rice 10 cents. As it is low-necked, and has short sleeves, 2
acket must be worn with it; the pattern of jacket is No. 3,245,.
price 15 cents. The jaunty garment is loose in front, and is cut
away, and the back is only halffitting. The sleeve is in coat
shape, and each sleeve is cut in a point at the wrist. This suit
may be made of camel’s hair de bege, plaids, or cheeks, in any
fabric, or it would be pretty made of percale, print, or linen.
Now for the boy: His dresses should be little gabrielles, and for
outside wear a plain sacque, now of flannel, lady’s cloth, or any
eas and later of Marseilles. There are two patterns
whl ma
cents., This is a double-breasted coat, and can be made of bas-
ket cloth, and trimmed with braid, or of linen and pique. The
other, a longer garment and single-breasted, is No. 4,376, price
20 cents, and can be made long enone’ to cover up the entire
dress of the child. These are both suitable for children of from.
one year to six years of age. Another pattern which may be
used eithor asa cloak or dress is No. 4,251, price 25 cents. “The
front is plain and deep, andis ornamented with two skirt-
Pa on and one breast-pocket, .while it. is closed with’ button-
oles and button. The waist at the back is plain, but. a. plaited

  
  
   
 

leand be in fashion. Do not

finished with cuffs, while a collar completes the neck. This can
made in any winter or summer material.

 

PROBLEMS FOR THE PEOPLE.

A PLUNDERED SHEPHERD.

A shepherd was met by a band of robbers who
plundered him of one-half of his flock and one-half
of asheep over; afterward a second party met him,
who took one-half of what he had left, and one-half
of a sheep over; and soon after this athird party
met him and treated him.in the :same manner.
After the three robberies he found that he had five
sheep remaining. How many had he at first ?

} OLON P. ROTHSCHILD, aged 13.

 

 

MEASURING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

A man wishes to measure a gallon of milk, and
has but a three and a five gallon can in which to
measure it. How can he measure it accurately ?

C. Francis Soratt.

 

TWO NUMBERS.
There are two numbers, the less of which is tothe
qreeiae as listo3. If toathird and half a third ef
e first number you add six.the sum will be twice
the number. What are the numbers ?
Grorce §. 8.

 

FIND IT.
Find a number such that one-third of it multiplied
by one-quarter shall be equal to 108.
DAvip HEPwoRTH.

 

ANSWERS TO PROBLEMS IN No. 24.

Duck Eces anp Hen Eces.—A duck egg is worth
two and one-third cents, and a hen egg is ‘worth
one-third of a eent. é

THE Two TRAVELERS.—200 miles.

Taz Four Boys.—First boy, 11; second boy, 8:
third boy, 5; fourth boy, 3. Total, 27 marbles. f

-——--—_>-_e+

ANECDOTE OF JOHN BROUGHAM.

Iwas at Brougham’s Lyceum (afterward Wal-
lack’s old theater) one night, when, in consequence
of some untsual excitement outside—some cele-

bration or torehlight eee audience did
not number aboye. fifty or sik tas The farce of the
“Omnibus” was played, with Brougham as Pat

oney. During the performance the gas went
out. Mr. Brougham came on the stage carrying a
candle, which merely served to give us a better idea
of the darkness. Some wag in the third tier cried

out: 4

_ “Mr. Brougham, sing us ‘The light of other days
is faded.’”

_ Ah, my friend,” said Brougham, after several
ineffectual efforts to light the footlights with his
candle—“‘ah, my friend, this isa proceding we can’t
make light of.”

 

 

function properly, In such cases there is often a too alkaline

Seg

a

Subsequently the gas shone again, and the farce
went on.— Galaxy.

sae’

be used for this purpose; one is No. 4,361, price 20

skirt is attached to the waist-line. The sleeves are coat shape,”

 

= ree

 

cer nttRIn Stat remem ee oe

ten eel

 

 

 

 

 

 

™

wi
”
-aeencannienanensassseansii

a
ae a

*
Si: LA Rs.

ta

 

 

 

 

 

 

Se i pre eee nee

ane eens coeeeen —_—

ranted harmless. Address W. CALVIN, Box 5027, New York

 

 

 

 

 

 

TO ABVE RAISERS.

One Dollar and Twenty-five ots. per line.

CUTS DOUBLE PRICE,
FOR EACH INSERTION CASH INADVANCE

Pee

OO eee

© chop ™ per day. Send for Chromo Catalogue. J
SiO = $25 fi. BUFFORD'S SONS, Boston, Mass,
w31-52 ,

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

 

 

 

A DAY AT HOM E.—Agents wanted. Outfit
$12 and terms free. TRUE & CO., Augusta, Maine. 50-52
MARRIAGH) snaeeneh! ?
CTU LA Mincs | ousaeacteecince tee oF
Price 50 cents, by mail. Address
FOR $2.—‘‘The parties will do all they claim.”"—

25-2
$4 06 N. Y. Weekly Sun, ee 1876. For particulars send
— C. F. WINGATE & CO. (Limited), 69 Duane St., N. Y.

 

_An interesting illustrated work of
260 pages, containing valuable intor-

Dr. BUTT’S PISPENSARY,
12 North Eighth street, St. Louis, Mo.

 

GENTS WANTED.—Salary or Commission. Valuable
are free. Address F. M. REED, Sth street, New York.
WwW -

AGENTS WANTED for the new Book
by BRIGHAM YOUNGS Wien

E A | Se. 19. 25,000 already sold. Ilustrated*
circulars sent free. DUSTIN, GILMAN,

vou G. & CO., Hartford, Ct.; Chicago, Mls; Cincin:
nati, Ohio; Richmond, Va. 1£13

Visiting Cards, with your name finely printed,
sent for 25 cents. We have 100 Styles. Agents
Wanted. 9 Samples sent for stamp. A. H
FULLER & CO., Brockton, Mass. 23-4

“LOVE

 

 

of Liquor” cured. Given in any drink
without the knowledge of the person. War-

23-4
20 BEAUTIFUL DESINGS of

ALL F O It BRACKETS, dc., and 1 doz. SAWS, in a
50 CHNT S| 260" Saratéda Springs, NY. ae

FE VIPAT > —ONE PACK MAGIC TRICK
25 oO IGN hos CAR DS.—Wonderfal tricks, 14 tab-
leau pictures; 1 pack visiting cards; the magic bird, imitating
birds, beasts, &c.; great fun; vanishing cartes de visite, and Hel-
ler’s celebrated trick cards. All 6 articles sent free on receipt of

 

 

25c! Address Masor & Co., 30 Broadway. N. Y. P.O. Box 4,217.
: 24-34
5O VISITING CARDS, in splendid case, for 25 cts
Samples for 3-cent stamp.
24-4 S. E. FOSS & CO,, Campello, Mass.

$15.00 SHOT GUN.

_A double barrel gun, bar or front action locks; warranted gen-
line twist barrels, ‘and a good shooter, OR NO SALE; with Flask,
Pouchgnd Wad-cutter, for $15. Can be sent C. O. D. with privi-

 

 

lege to examine before paying bill. Send stamp for cireular t
P. POWELL & SON : t :

ih 3 Main street, Cincinnati, O.
PRAIRIE, WARBLER.

 

A new and novel inyention for imitating all kinds of Bi
Animals, and Musical Instruments, used by Ventriloquists, Ma-
gicians, and Actors. The imitations have been believed to be a
natural gift, all can become Masters of the Art. <A useful article
for creating amusement for old and young... A child can produce
the sound. Indispensable for Sportsmen and Hunters, for by its
use they can imitate and call all the Birds of the Air, such as the
Nightingale, Mocking Bird, Robin, Canary, Thrush, English Lark,
Quail, Turkeys, Geese, and in tact all other Birds that fly. Also,
for imitating the Neigh of a Horse, the Bray of an Ass, the Grunt
of a Hog, the Bark or Whine of a Dog, and in short all kinds of
Birds and animals in creation. Price, by mail, 25 cents; 3 for 50
cents, 7 for $1, with directions for use. Address
20-13 Davipson & Co., No. 86 Nassau street, New York.

> er day at home. Samples worth $1
S! & %&2O Free. STINSON & CO., Portland, Maine.
w50-52
7 A WEEK to canvags for Viekery’s Fireside
j Visitor. Costs NOTHING to try it.
52-55 P. O. VICKERY & CO., Augusta, Maine.

A MONTH.-A GENTS WANTED
everywhere. Business honorable and first-
25-2

 

class, Particulars sent free. Address
° J. WORTH & CO., St. Louis, Mo.

VEN EGARSo UR Gal wine o:

 

Molasses, without using drugs. Name paper and address
F. I. SAGE, Springfield, Mass. 25-4

“WHO WILL SUFFER”

It is now 28 years since DR. TOBIAS’ VENETIAN LINIMENT
Was put before the td warranting it tocure Chronic Rheu-
matism, Headache, Cuts, Burns, Bruises, Old Sores, Pains in the
Limbs, Back, and Chest; and it never has failed. Sold by Drug-
gists. -Depot, 10 Park Place, New York.

ey) 7 7 1HYQ)

TO OWNERS OF HORSES.

0 ONG WHO HAS EVER USED DR
nd Tobias’ Horse Venetian Liniment willever be without it
it is a certain cure for Colic, Sore Throat, Cuts, Bruises, old

Sores. Warranted superior to any other; in pint bottles, at $1.
Sold by the Druggists. Depot, 10 Park Place, New York.
MOTH AND FRECKLE

PERRY’S LOTION is intended only for re-

moying MOTH PATCHES, FRECKLES, and TAN. It is reliable.
For PIMPLES, BLACHEADS, or FLESHWORMS, ask your Druggist
for PEERRY’S COMEDONE and PIMPLE REMEDY, the INFALLIBLE
SKIN medicine, or consult
24-5eow Dr. B. C. PERRY, 49 Bond St., New York.
» TUTTE RING.—U. S. Stammering Institute, (Dr. White)
417 Fourth avenue, N.Y. Best references. No pay until
perfectly cured. Call or send for circular.

FEVER AND AGUE

‘Sufferers can learn of a sure cure by addressing J. R. BARRY,
Grand street, New York City.

OPIUM

aI Watches to Agents who will sell our Centen-
4 i nial Stationery Package. It contains 15
sheets Paper, 15 Envelopes, Golden Pen, Pen-
holder, Pencil, Patent Yard Measure, and a

iece of Jewelry. Single package, with pair of elegant Sleeve-
uttons, post-paid, 25 cents.

Circulars free.
M, MIEROLAS & CoO.,
Philadelphia, Pa.

200 A MONTH. Agents wanted. Business. honor-
able. EXCEL. Mre. Co., Chicago, Hi. 26-3

NEW STYLE

_ DIAMOND VISITING CARDS.

The Latest and Nicest Thing Ont.

5 0 Assorted (19 different kinds, including ‘Snowflake, Marble,
&c.,) with your name on them, for25 cents. Address
S. J. SPEAR, Medfield, Mass.
26-2eow

 

 

 

 

 

and Pe habit absolutely and speed-
ily cured. Painless; no publicity. Send
saw Wen particulars. DR. CARLETON,
487 Washington st., Chicago. 26-2

 

 

 

Samples for 3 cent stamp.
»

Y ES WE WANT AN AGENT in every town.
Easy work at home. Write now and _ we
YES

will start go. $s a day sure to all. SIMP-
'H, 64 Cortl
6 Splendid Cards, with name, samples and price-list, 10c.
20 3 ir

 

 

SON & SMI andt St., N. Y.
varieties. . VAN DURBURGH, Castleton, N. Y.

 

2 y FANCY CARDS, 7 styles; with name, 10 cents.
Address J. B. HUSTED, Nassau, Renss. Co., N. Y

 

 

THE huge, drastic, griping, sickening pills, con-
structed of crude, coarse, and bulky ingredients,
are fast being guporaeass by Dr. Pierce’s Pleas-
ant Purgative Pellets, or Sugar-Coated, Concen-
trated t and Herbal Juice, Anti-Bilious Gran-
ules—the “Little Giant’’ Cathartic or Multum in
Parvo Physie. Modern Chemical Science enables
Dr. Pierce to extract from the juices of the most
valuable roots and herbs their active medicinal
principles, which, when worked into little Pellets
or Granules, scarcely larger than mustard seed.
renders each little Pellet. as. active and powerful
asa large pill, while they are much more palat-
able and pleasant in offock.

Dr. IrnA A. THAYER, of Baconsburg, Ohio,
writes: “Iregard your Pellets as the best rem-
edy forthe conditions for which you prescribe
them.of anything I have ever used, so mild and
certain in effect, and leaving the bowels in an ex-
cellent condition. It seems to me they must take
the place of all other cathartic pills and medi-
cines.”’

Lyon & Macomper, druggists, Vermillion, D.
T., say: ‘‘Wethink they are going tosell like
hot cakes as soonas people get acquainted with
them and will.spoil the pill trade, as those that
ri used them like them much better than large
pills.”’

 

 

 

 

 

 

HINTS ABOUT BEAUTY.

There is nothing more unfavorable to female
beauty than late hours. Women who, either from
necessity or choice, spend most of the day in bed,
and the night at work or dissipation, have always a
pale, faded ae ee ae dark-rimmed, wearied
re Too muc cree is almost as hurtful as too
little, andis sure to give the person unwholesome
fat. Diet, also, has a marked influence upon per-
sonal beauty. A gross and excessive indulgence in
eating and drinking, is fatal to the female charms,
especially where there is a great tendency to “mak-
ing the flesh.” ularity oftimein daily repast and
good cooking arethe best means ofsecuring notonly
good health, but good looks. The appetite should
neyer be wasted during the intervals between meals
on pastry, confectionery, or any other tickler of
the appetite, which gratifies the taste, but does not
cuppent the system. Exercise is, of course, essen-
tial to female beauty. It animates the whole phys-
ical life, pulpkens the circulation of. the blood,
heightens the coler, develops the growth, and per-
fects the form of each limb and the entire body. It
also gives beauty and grace to every movement,

PS PER en

 

 

|

 

 

K WEEKLY. #32>-

6m
@
——/

od

 

 

BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER.

 

“T have traveled much for a. young man, but T never found a
happy backslider in my life: Inever saw a man that was really
born of God, and born again, and born of the Spirit, that ever
could find the world the same to him afterward. I pity the back-
slider, but I want to tell you that the Lord Jesus pities youa
good deal more than any one else can pity you. He knows how
bitter your life is, and He wants you to come home. Oh, back-
slider, come home to-night. I have come with a loving message
from your Father. He will receive you with joy and gladness,
and He will say as of him mentioned in Luke xy., ‘Bring out the
best robe, and put it upon him, kill the fatted calf, put a ring on
his hands and shoes on his feet, and let us rejoice and be glad;
for the wanderer is come home, the dead is aliye again.” Oh,
prodigal, come home to-night. Backslider, while I am speaking,
say down in the depths of your heart, “J will come back to-
night.’ Say as the prodigal of old did, “I will ariseand go to my
Father,” and He will receive you. I never_heard of a backsli-
der coming home, but God received him. I never heard ofa
prodigal with his face toward home, but God was ready to re-
ceive him. Did you ever read of such? Never. I defy any
man to say he éver knew a really honest backslider want
to get home, but God was willing to take him in. And He
takes you back just as youare. He will restore his love unto
your heart to-night if you will only come.’—JIr. Moody's
don Sermou, ;

 

I once found Jesus precious
And felt his cleansing blood,
But ah! I turned aside to sin
And lost the path to God!
I hear sweet voices calling—
I see the beacon light—
I know the Saviour seeketh me
I will come back to-night. ~
Refrain.)
I’m starving in the desert—
My Father’s house in sight—
I hear sweet voices calling me,
I will come back to-night,

The soui that hath known Jesus
Oh blessed joy within!
Wil ne'er again be satisfied
To eat the bread of sin;
The sweetest earthly morsel
Ts bitter in the end,
Oh, holy Spirit, heavenly dove
@n my poor soul descend.
J’m starving in the desert—
My Father's house in sight—
I hear a sweet voice calling me,
1 will come back to-night,

My feet are bruised with treading
The rough and thorny road,
I’m weary of this weight of sin
@h, take my burden Lord;
I see my pardoning Saviour
Arrayed in robes of light—
1 hear his sweet voice calling me,
T will come back to-night. 4

I’m starving in the desert—
My Father’s house in sight—

I hear a sweet voice calling me,
I will come back to-night.

Pleasant Paragraphs.

{Most of our readers are undeubtedly capable of contributing
toward making this column an attractive feature of the NEW
YorK WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for publica-
tion anything which may be deemed of sufficient interest for
general perusal. [t 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.)

Bullhead Brady’s Adventure with Guerrillas,

Inthe year 1862, in the vicinity of the Illinois river,
there resided a young man named William Brady,
who was semetimes called “Bullhead Brady.” The
very name of ‘guerrillas’ made him quake, and
the boys thought to play upon his fears. Mr. Hol-
derman, his employer. was telling him, one eyen-
ing. how dangerous it was to be out after night, as
the ae were getting rather too daring and
troublesome. Some nights after this conversation
had taken place, Mr. Holderman took Brady out
coon hunting. He had placed two of his neigh-
bors at points fifty yard apart, with their shot-guns
well loaded with powder and paper. Mr. Holder-
man and air eor with their hounds on their
eoon hunt. Alter traveling around quite a while
over the rough hills of the Illinois river without
finding any game. Mr. Holderman suggested that
they had better go home. as danger was to be
feared from the guerrillas, who, he said, were very
numerous. Brady quickly assented, and they
started, Holderman taking a route that would
bring them close to the two_men.as had been
agreed upon by the tricksters. When they came up
to the first man, from an ambush he fired both bar-

rels atthem, and the smoking paper from his gun

passed just over their heads.

Mr. H. jumped as high ashe could, and started
and ran toward the other man, Bullhead Brady fol-
lowing him as fast as his legs could carry him.
They had not proceeded far until they heard asec-
ond report, and the contents of the other man’s gun
whistling over their heads. Mr. H. jumpec. about
four feet high, fell on his back,ande 2d ov:

“O,Lam shot! Oh, Bill, run home ior heip!”

eer started off at lightning speed, dashin
through ereeks and scrambling over fences an
brush-piles, pausing not an instant until he ar-
rived at the house of the nearest neighbor.

Pale and breathless, he excitedly told the alarm-
ing news, demanded assistance, and asked for a
six-shooter and a butcher-knife. He wanted them
to #0 to the scene of the tragedy—for he believed
Holderman was dead or dying—and clean out the
treacherous guerrillas. ;

The listeners laughed at him, as they understood
the {oks. so he ran on to Holderman’s as fast as he
could, shouting loudly that Mr. H. was shot.

hen he entered the house, he found some four
or five persons around the table playing cards.
Brady exclaimed: |
Holderman is killed by the guerrillas!”

But they seemed deeply interested in the cards,
and paid but little attention to him.

< by he roared, “you seem to take it
cool when Holderman is lying dead in the woods!”

He begged them to go with him and take their
guns and knives, but they merely laughed at him.

hile they were talking the matter over, who
should come in but Holderman himself.

Brady looked up with astonishment, and said:

“Why. Abe, I thought you were shot!”

“Oh, no, sir; I only fainted,” was the reply.

“Well, you are rather queer material for a sol-
dier,” said Brady. “Iran over fences, brush-piles,
log-heaps, and through creeks, with the water fly-
ing higher than some of the young saplings, and
Heaven only knows what other dangers I passed
through, and I didn’t faint.”

Up to this day Brady doesn’t quite understand
that happy coon hunt he took over the rough banks
of the old Illinois river in the year 1862.

D. HoHENSHELD.
Aneedote of Mr. A. T. Stewart.

Mr. A. T. Stewart was a man of simple taste,
modest and unpretentious in manner and _attire;
consequently he never tried to make himself a con-
spicuous figure at any place outside of his own es-
tablishment. On one occasion he visited Garden
City alone, to view the improvements there goin
on; and as he alighted from the cars, he engage
an open carriage to convey him around the little
village his money had erected upon a barren plain.
As the vehicle passed from house to house, the
driver entertained Mr, Stewart by expressing his
opinion of the merchant prince’s first effort at vil-
lage One and the effect it would have upon ad-
jacent Long Island towns. The driver had never

efore seen Mr. Stewart, and was unaware that he
was his listener.

“This is a big undertaking,” said the driver; ‘but
T think it will fall through. The village will never
be completed according to Stewart’s intention.”

“Why?” saidthe merchant, anxious to learn of
any possible obstacle to his pet project.

‘“Because—because this enterprise has already
made a heavy drain upon. Stewart’s purse,” an-
swered the driver; “and I don’t think the d—— old
fool has enough money to carry it out.”

GLENDOWER.
An Trishman’s Compliment.

I used to employ in Manchester, England, a long,
raw-boned Irishman to do oddjobs, One day, be-
ingin &#good humor,instead of giving him six-
sence as he expected,I gaye him a shilling and
hreepence extra fora pint of beer.

““Bedad,” said he, “they_may talk as they like, but
there’s nobody like an Englishman for paying a
man for His work,” .

“What are you talking about? Iam not an Eng-
lishman,”

“‘And what are you?” he said.

“Why, I’m aSeotchman.”

I thought the Irishman was nonplussed by my
answer, but he gave me acomieal look, and said:

“And sure, isn’t a Scotchman better than an Eng-
lishman any day in the week?”

A Big Lip.

I Baye at present working for mea young man
who h avery large under lip of a searlet color,
which attracts the attention of nearly every oné
who sees him for the first time. One ay a custom-
er asked him what was the matter with his lip. He
answered he was born so. The customer then
asked his name, and he said:

ti Tere is James Horan, but the boys call me
‘Big-Lipped Dinnis’ for short. Now as you want to
know about my lip, I will tell you a secret, but don’t
give itaway. [’msaving up my money, and as you
see. I have lip enough for alot. As soon as Ihave
sayed upenoughI will havethe foundation dug
outand buildahouse onit.” |

“Well,” said the gentleman, “I have heard of peo-

 

es

“T WILL COME BACK TO-NIGHT.” ~ ple getting houses by their chook, but this isthe
h

rst time I ever heard of any one building ene on

is lip.” D. McD.
A Long Time Between Drinks.

In the year 1857, which was quite a severe one as
a great many of my readers still remember, the
Delaware river at Philadelphia was frozen over for
the first time in many years. The people made
good use of it while it lasted, in the way of skating

and sleighing, which attracted crowds to the ice.

The venders of refreshmerts were well represented
as they always are on such occasions, and one of
them is the subject of my story.

He had_ erected a booth for the purpose of dis-
pensing alcoholic and malt liquors. To have every-
thing handy, he had cut a hole in the ice behind the
bar so as to have water without the expense of hay-
ing it carried there from the shore.

verything went along smoothly for some time
until an Irishman entered the booth and called for
a glass of ale. The dispenser of that beyerage
turned around to drawitfrom the keg, which, by
the way, was standing just back of the hole in the
ice. The ice had become thin about the hole, and
the barkeeper stepped directly in the opening and
suddenly disappeared. :

The Irishman waited and waited for some time,
when in came another customer and inquired of
the thirsty Irishman forthe bartender. The Irish-
man answered: . ;

“He wint down in the cellar for aglass of ale for
me some time ago, andif he doesn’t soon bring it,
hegorne I won’t wait much longer.” |

o you think the Irishman gothisiale? No,as
that was the last ever heard of Tood the dispenser
of aleoholic beverages. e TTA.

Keeping 2 Hotel Under Difficulties.

A Missouri gentleman relates the following expe-
rience of a couple of travelers in Kansas, who were
looking for good farming land, and who were com-

elled oyer night to sleep at a farm-house in a thin-

y settled district. The edifice contained but one
room, and the aseommodations might be accurately
described as not luxurious. When bed time ap-
proached for eagie ypiece of blanket was hung
across the room. The travelers took their side of
the apartment, andydarkness and silence soon
reigned in the house. “Tp pears that the chickens.
for want of @ better place, roosted on the flour bar-
rel, but more frequently on the line from which the
aforementioned blankethung. When it was thought
sleep had overcome. the guests, the good wife thus
addressed her liege lord:

“I say, John, if you are going to keep a hotel you
must make different arrangements.”

“Why, Sarah Jane?” softly inquired the drowsy
husband. :

“Because I’m not going to get up in this fix to
turn the tails of them chickens.” READER.

Sweet Confusion.

Ashort time ago oneof the teachers in the In-
dianapolis High Schoolwas giving alesson from
Oliver Goldsmith’s ‘Deserted Village.” She came to
the line where the author says ‘‘These all in sweet
confusion seek the shade,” ;

The teacher said: 5

Herbert, you may giye an example of ‘sweet
confusion.

The boy replied: ‘

Yesterday, when a little youngster came intoa
candy-shop and asked for a cents’ worth of candy,
the man had to step on a chair in order to reach the
particular kind the boy wanted. The man slipped,
and in trying to saye himself from falling knocked
down all the jars of candy which were on the shelf.
The result was, allthe jars were broken and the
candy lay mixed up on the dirty floor. I think that
was a case of ‘sweet confusion.’ ” SINKS,

Didn’t Want Him,

John P., who lived in Gallien, Ohio, was. at the
time the rebellion broke out. a brigadier general in
the State militia, As his father had a pretty fair
supply of “rocks,” and was generous to his sons
John was enabled to possess himself of a uniform,
the dazzling splendor of which excited the envy of
all the young men for miles around, The draft
came on and John was one ot its earliest victims.
Domping his general’s uniform he went to Colum-

bus and reported at the “headquarters for con-
scripie | $4 y
hat do you want?” said the officer in charge,

eying the gorgeous uniform in wonder.
“Why,” said John, “I’ve been drafted, and I
thought I’d come down and report for duty.”
- o are you?” :
‘Brigadier General John P. from Gallion.” '
“Well, sir, you’d better go back to Gallion. We
are not drafting brigadier generals now.”
‘ JOHN BRAUN.
His Means of Support.

Ataecourt in Toronto a witness was under ex-
amination in the ease of an unpaid account. Judge
Boyd put thé question to him:

‘What is your octupation ?”

The witness did not seem to understand the mean-
ne 96 the word “occupation,”’ and answered with

The judge: “What do you do for a living ?”
Witness: “Oh, my. wife’s a dressmaker!”

An Unfortunate Young Man.

Some friends were sitting around the stove on a
winter evening, when one of the party spoke of a
young man who had lost anarm. Another person
took up the same subject, and speaking of the same
unfortunate young man, said that he had also lost
aneye. Then athird “Young America” asked: ‘‘Is
his arm off on the same eye he is blind on ?”

: ROLLICKING SAM.

A Grave Marriage.

On the 27th of Feb., in Caswell Co.. by the Rev. Bar-
zilla Graves, Capt. Wm. Graves, son of John Graves,
Esq., to Miss Nancy Graves, daughter of General
Azariah Graves.

The Graves, ’tis said,
Will yield their dead eee ;
When Gabriel’s trumpet shakes the skies;
But, if God please.
From Graves like these,
A dozen living folks may rise.
Lizzie WHITEHOUSE.
Picture-Producing Hens,

A boy of five years old went into a candy store in
Troy with his mother, andspying some Easter eggs
surprised all the clerks by -asking his mother to
buy him some “‘hens that laid eggs with eg on
them.” C,. T. PLUMING.

To P. P. ConTRIBUTORS.—The following MSS. are accepted:
‘The Quaker’s Prayer;’ ‘Fairly Caught;’ ‘Too Full For Uster-
ance; ‘Burnett Asleep; ‘Cross as a Mule;’ ‘Sniggle’s Dream ;’
‘A Good Trick..... The following are respectfully declined: ‘New
Year Calls; ‘Gave Her Orders;’ ‘Pull Down Your Vest;’ ‘Cart
Before the Horse; ‘Onthe Brainless Fop;’ ‘Mogrum Musings;’
‘Stale Lemon; ‘Trying to Explain;’ ‘Why He Wears a Wig;’
‘Come and Meet me;’

Josh Billings’ Philosophy.

Children and colts should be managed alike.
Giv them the largest possible pasture to run in,
with the highest kind ov a fence around it.

We hay astrologers, both he and she, who kan
foretell, for one dollar, marriage, war, rats, pesti-
lence, and famine, but who kant, for the life oy
them, foretell whare or when they are going to git
the next gt meal oy. vittles. 3

The publik hay no mercy at all for the writer who
proves tobe a literary failure. |

Avarice knows no bounds to its wants.
lows everything. Itiz az big a glutton az the sea.

Buty iza hard thing to define. Thare izjust apout
az.menny styles ov it az thare iz faces. :

The saddest oy allthings sadin this world, iz a
child with a broken spirit.

God never made a man with pashuns stronger
than hiz reazon; if He did, He holds Himself re-
sponsible for his ackshions.

T sumtimes think, “Heaven bless the stummuk-
ake!” If it want for that, menny ov us deakons and
laymen wouldn’t hay enny good excuse for hot

 

It swal-

rum,

I think it pays a man td be friendly and liberal
while he iz here, for he haz got to meet theze same
people in the other world, and kant take none ov
this world’s goods with him. .

Ihav eum to the konklusion, az kostly az they
are, Wimmin are a cheap investment, for if it want
for them men wouldn’t pay for raising.

To think right and akt phoolish iz the fate ov most
men.

A trained child izto mea kind ov horror, i luy to
see them reckless with innosense.

A good book iz the best friend enny one kan hav,
it iz allwuss reddy to impart advice,and never
stoops to flattery. Sit, .

Thare iz 2 very common ways oy hideing ignor-
ance, one iz in the buckram oy gravity, and the
other with the cap, and bells ov impudence.

Old bachelors, and old maids, are a capshus set
ov kritters, they not only want their own way, but
eyeryboddy else’s way too.

I neyer knu a profeshional fault-finder but what
waz more guilty oy short comeingsthan ennyboddy
else in that parish. : '

One grate misfortune ov experience iz thati
makes more people suspishus than wize. ”

Thare iz two kinds oy virtew, one that iz liable to
no temptashuns, and one that iz liable to all but re-
—_ alli—the last kind iz not only the best but the
safest.

Leta yung man’s karakter be what it would, i
never would giv him up for lost so long azi found
him free from ingratitude.

Man kant make cirkumstances, but he kan take
them bi the hornsinsted ov the tail, if he haz a
mind to.

Thereis nothing so diffikult to recover as a lost
reputashun ; not more than adozen hay been found
and restored to their owners since the days of Cain
and Abel. f

Charity iz good seed to sow; it blossoms here and
iz harvested in Héaven.

 

Thare is az mutch difference between a cheerful

 

pwn anda mirthful one, az between aChristian and
a clown.

I do luy little chrildren with all my heart; they
are tome like the flowers that hav sprung up.in
our pathway, in a night, moist with a divine dew
and fragrance.

Don’t parade yure sorrow before the world, but
bury them, as the dogs do their eld bones, and then
groul if anyboddy offers to dig them up.

Necessity makes its own laws, and then executes
them or brakes them, as she takes a noshun

One reazon whi the friendShips oy the world are
so transitory iz bekauze they are formed upon mu-
tual pleazures instead of mutual interests.

I luv humility in men, but i have been deceived

oftner by it than enny one trait ov profeshion.
_ The gratest mistake that.enny woman kan make
iz, just az soon az her husband haz been elekted
capting ova malisha company to be krazy to ap-
pear in hiz nu uniform.

To read,to hear,to see, to think, are the four
means oy knolledge. He who only veads will soon
hay more than he kan hold; he who only hears will
soon hay more than he kan trust; he who only sees
willsoon be distrakted; and he who only thinks
will soon run out.ov materials, i ‘

_ One ovthe mostawkward things to do izto git
into company abuy or belo our level. . :

Klubs are a place whare most people goto git rid
ov themselfs.

Politeness iz one oy the fu things that a man had
better assume, even if he ain’t honest about it.

It may be safe for an old maa to despize publik

pisyun when he thinks it ain’t just, butihardly
think it best for a yung man to do it.

odesty and bashfullness look alike, but the
don’t akt. alike; bashfullness soon wears off, mod-
esty never duz. ; \

A man’s branes are like the soil—the moro it iz
kultivated, the more it kan be,

Fear iz the germ oyall true courage, but itizthe
fear to do wrong. :

The yoice oy conshiencs, tho softer than an in-
fant’s kan make itself heard abuv the roar oythe
wildest pashuns.

Kontentment iz the simple science ov knoing
when a phellow iz well off. and keeping still
about it.

The most lonesum_ bizzness in this life, and the
most thankless. too, iz keeping a distrikt skool: i
had rather tend a mile stone.

The boy who iz pikt out to bethe genius ov the
family iz allmost sure to turn out to be the biggest
lunkhead in the whole lot.

Jokeing iz a risky bizzness; just for the sake ov a
seckond klass joke menny aman haz lost a fust
klass friend. ‘

He who givs hesitatingly; better not giv at all.

The objekt oy kontempt seems to be, to lowera
man in his own estimashun, and in his nabors,
thare ain’t nothing that will lift the brussells ona
man’s back guicker thanthis, . .

The world iz so fond ov kriticiseing every boddy,
that they mix faults. and misfortunes together, and
treat them both-alike. . . ey Wy

About one haff the satisfackshun in_ this life kon-
.Sists in pittying each other, the taylor pittys the
poor shumaker on the opposite side of the street.
and the shumaker ir turn pittys the poor taylor.
pn thus they enjoy Jife at the expense of each
other.
. Humility iz a good thing. but i think the best plan
iz, to be humble in private, and keep a stiff upper
lip in publik. _

The end oy all arguments should be to get at the
truth, but the end oy most arguihents iz simply to

 

Vin.

We are told that ‘truth iz mitey and will preyail,”
iam glad that this iz so, but in the mean time, thare
tee seem to be eny end to the lies laying around

oose. : ‘
¥ hate a cunning man, tome he iz like a spider,

the only two insekts who sett traps for their

viktims. : :

A pedant iz one who haz found out bi sum
process that 2. and 2. allwuss make 4, and them
spends his time trying to prove it to the rest ov

mankind
—_—__—__ > 0-4 —_____

To Corresvondents.

To Buyrrs.—All communications in regard to the prices or the

purchasing of various articles must be addressed to the NEW
Fork WEEKLY Purchasing Agency. contain the full address of
the writers, and specify the size, quantity or quality of the goods
desired. Those requiring an answer must haye two three-cent
stamps inclosed. Owing to the large increase of letters t» be an-
swered in this column, a delay of several weeks must necessarily
ensue before the answers appear in print.
NorTiceE.—With every mail we receive a number of letters on
yarious subjects, in which the writers request an answer by mail
instead of through the various departments. To do this we are
compelled to employ additional help, beside being put to consid-
erable trouble and expense to obtain the infermation. This we
will cheerfully submit to when the questions are answered
through our columns, as the knowledge #hus imparted will inter-
est and benefit the mass of our readers; but in the future, tose
cure an answer by mail, ns desiring it must inclose a FIFTY
CENT STAMP, to pay us for our trouble and expense.

 

 

kar GosstP witH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS:—

Jennie writes: ‘“‘There is a young man that I think a great deal
of, but he does not come to see me. He sings in the choir at the
Methodist chureh, and whenever I go to church there he looks
at me all the time; at least he is looking at me whenever I hap-
pen to look that way. I have been introduced to him, and he
escorted me home from a party. Now, what hwant to know is:
this: Do you think he thinks anything of me?. He is always
courteous to me, but whenever he is anywhere where I am pres-
ent he seems kind of bashful. I was at a sociable where he was
present, and he seemed to want to take me home, but he was
afraid to venture. I heard it remarked by several that ‘he want-
ed to take you home, I know, for I could see it in his looks.’
Please answer this.”> We think the signs look that way as well
as the lad’s eyes; so, if you are iattkemt aa doubt he will be able
to tell you by-and-by. When love strikes deep its first effect is
often to make the swain decidedly bashful and ‘afraid to ven-
ture.’ Sometimes a little ‘‘accidental”—you know—encourage-
ment on the part of the sweetheart opens the way and encour-
ages the stricken one toa little more bravery. Verbum sap, &c.

Stella Grant says: ‘I want ape advice about a matter that
concerns me yery much, Although my parents are living, I feel
as ifI cannot go tothem in confidence. Nearly four years ago,
while I was visiting a cousin in another State, I became acquaint-
ed with a young lawyer, who paid me a great deal of attention
while I was there. e waited om me from church, escorted me
home from sociables, and took me out seyeraltimesto drive. My
friends told me that he stood well in society, and was a periect
gentleman, and was very promising in a professional way. As I
was about leaving he asked me if I would correspond with him.
I told him I would. if my parents: did not object. When they
Jearned about this young man they gave their consent. We cor-
responded for over two years, with more or less regularity. He
also came to visit me twice, and his letters grew more and more
affectionate, but he never made any declaration of love. I
haven’t a very ardent temperament myself, but I was growing
more and more fond of him every time § saw him, and the more
J read his letters. All at once, without any intimation in his
correspondence, he quit writing tome, and did not come to see
me. felt deeply grieved, but my pride would not permit me to
write him for an explanation. I waited and waited, hoped and
hoped, but no letter came, and no explanation. About six
months ago I received a letter from my cousin, asking me why I
had written to Richard, asking him to stop corresponding, and
also to discontinue his visits, She said that she had, in an un-
expected way, gota hint that noeDE was wrong, and she
was determined to find out the reason. She was acquainted with
an intimate friend of Richard, and got him to discover the
truth of the matter, and he came to her with the an-
nouncement that I had written to ask him to discontinue
his attentions. As you may weil imagine, this letter fairly
blinded me. I did not know what todo: I wrote my cousin that
Thad never penned such a letter in the world. By-and-by she
wrote me that she had seen the letter, and it was in my hand-
writing, as plain as black and white could maxe it; that I must
have forgotten I had ever written it, or I must have penned it in
my sleep. I was bewildered, and almost tried to think I had
done it. Noone can tell what I suffered. I dreamed about it by
night and thought of it by day. At last I began to suspect how
it occurred. I fearned that a certain person (I will not call her a
lady) sometime ago visited the same place, and it flashed across
my mind that she might have done it. I was determined to find
out. I waswell acquainted with parties in the post-office, and
also with, an intimate friend of hers, and, after a great deal of
managing, I learned of a certainty that she was the one. She
imitated my hand perfectly (for so I learned), and she must have
gotten hold of some of my writing and practiced until she could
cleverly imitate it. Now, I want your advice as to two matters.
What shall I do to that woman ? on’t you think she deserves
to be severely punished in some way? She seems to have suc-
ceeded in estranging that young man, for_he has not renewed
either his correspondeneé or his visits. I cannot say I shall
break my heart if he does not, but it isa sore trial to me, for I
think a great deal of him. Please excuse this a letter, and
give me your advice.’ You certainly give us an illustration of
as great an act of meanness and malice as we have ever heard.
She certainly deserves the keenest kind of punishment, but
whether you ought to eae to inflict it is another question,
Remember Him who said: ‘Vengeance is mine,” etc. We ad-
vise you to let Him take the punishment in His own hand. You
jet her entirely alone—she will yet suffer enough for it. It would
be quite proper for you to write him (in a calm and dignified
way) a full statement of the facts. First denying that you ever
wrote such a letter or ever thought of such a thing, and ti.en
telling him you have discovered who did it. If he does not re-
new his attentions, it will show that either his mind has changed
or that some one has continued to sow the seeds of mischief. We
pity you in so severe a trial, and hope you know where your
comfort and strength lie. Go there, and all will be well.

Kate Danton.—“Cest une autre chose” is a French phrase, and
means “That is quite a different thing.” }

Logan.—It is always better for young married couples to liye
separate from each other’s family, as with the best of people
there will sometimes be einai This is especially the case
when a wife lives with her husband’s family. Mothers are apt to
think the wives of their sons need to be trained to become good
housekeepers, and are not apt to overlook the mistakes made from
inexperience, or any departures.from their own method of con-
ducting household matters. They secm to forget that they labor-
ed under the same disadyantages themselves in their youth, or
if they remember itis withthe remark that they would have
been glad to. haye had somebody to instruct them, while at the
same time they would haye resented it as an interference, An-
other cause for discontent is that the mother occupies the place
in the household which rightly belongs .o the wife, while the lat-
teris a sort of privileged boarder. Ifycur parents are not able

out compelling you to deprive your wife of necessaries and com-
forts, they should remove to asmaller one, and endeavor to
bring their expenses within a smallér compass.

F. @. Constantine.—‘“‘Bennie’s Battle” will appear in the Boys:
of the World, and “His Scholar for Life” in the Mammoth Monthly

ader.

A, M. N. Z.—I\st. The distance from New York to Chicago, by
rail, is 899 miles; New York to Hamburg, 3,775. 2d. We cannot
give the date. 3d. See “Knowledge Box.”

G. B—Ilst. Nothing but practice will accustom your horse to
the sound ot firearms. Some horses, however, will never stand
fire, as anybody whe has been in the army will tell you. 2d. See
foot ot column. 3d. Care and practice. ;

Ola Boy.—lst. The fare from New York to San Francisco, by
rail, is $136. 2d. The Centennial Exhibition grounds cover an
area of 450 acres.

Shufle-board Pete.—ist. An English translation of Cicero’s
@rations will be furnished tor $1.50. 2d. Yes: itis a branch of
tha London house. 3d. Dumb bell and club exercise.
of column.

Twin Lake.—The sun is distant from the earth about ninety
millions of miles, and is about three millions of miles farther
away in summer thanin winter. The difference in the heating
power is owing to the rays striking the earth obliquely in_ the
hak ch while in the summer they strike it nearly perpendicu-
arly.

~

See foot

 

 

 

 

 

to live comfortably in the house you have provided for them with- |

 

 

Sh. M. J.—There is no method by which a person can increase
his stature.

T. Lang.—The children of citizens of the United States born
while their parents are abroad temporarily or on the public ser-
vice, are deemed to be citizens, and as such are eligible to the
office of President.

Rose Danton.—tst. ‘‘Wollen sic mich kuessen’’ is German for
“Will you kiss me?” 2d. The papers containing ‘A Mad Mar-
riage” will cost $1.50; in book form, $1.75.

Subseriber.—Consult a lawyer well posted in the statutes and
the practice of Pennsyhvania courts. It is doubtful if you could
oe possession of the property in any event without a suitat

aw. :

A. O. P.—Prussia is bounded north by the North Sea, Den-
mark and the Baltic, east by Russia, south by Austria, Saxony,
and other German States, and west by Luxemburg, Belgium
and Holland.

J. B. Haddon.—Albany is not avery large city, nor are there
so many objects or points of interest in it as to require a guide
book to enumerate them.

D..A. O, Erie.—We have looked through several collections of
Trish poems, but have been unable to find it.

Rolling Thunder.—ist. A knot is a division of the log-line,
serving to measure the rate of the vessel's motion. The logis a
piece of wood in the form of a quadrant of five or six inches ra-
dius. It is about a a of an inch thick, and so balanced, by
means of a plate of lead nailed tothe circular part, as toswim

rpendicularly in the water. The log-line is a small cord, with

nots at.equal distances, one end of which is fastened to the log
and the other wound round a reel in the galley of the ship: The
numberef knots which run off the reel in half a minute shows
the number ofmiles the vessel sails in an hour. 2d. See “Origin
of Molly Maguires” in No. 20. 3d. The points would have to
determined by the course of the sun. 4th. In the game of check-
ers, @ player who has ee an advantage in the number of
pieces, has a perfect r ight toincrease the proportion or brin
thegame ‘to a close if he can by exchanges. This is considere
perfectly legitimate. A player receives no mercy at the hands
oo opponent for allowing himself to be placed at such a dis-

van i q

Paul Bryan.—At the Women’s Hospital in the State of New

eases peruas to women are treated. Application for admission

must be made at the institution, and testimonials of character

furnished. At the N. Y. Homeopathic Dispensary, 327 East

Twenty-third street, diseases peculiar to women and children are

Mend nantes Application must be made between ll A.
0

. Post Scout.—We do not wish to purchase any MSS.

A, E S—The interest of $1 for one day, at seren per cent., is
-001944 and 160-360ths. i
nitely.

Constani Reader.—A caul is a membrane which sometimes en-
velopes the head of a child when born. By the superstitious it
is deemed to be lucky to be born with a caul, which is said to be
protection against innumerable evils and a preservative against
drowning.

Boy.—ist. Parents are responsible for necessaries furnished to
minor children, but they must be strictly necessaries, suchas
the parents are in duty bound to supply, but have failed to pro-
vide. Persons trusting minors without authorization from the
parents cannot recover.

J. Riley.—The officer undoubtedly exceeds his authority, and
can be arrested and punished for assault.

Constant Reader.—Apply at the office of the Commissioners
ot Charities and Correction, 66 Third ayenue, this city.

Charley La Huerte.—lst. See foot of column, 2d. See ‘‘Knowl-
edge Box.”

Bridgeport.—The pamphlet containing account of the murder
and the trial is out of print.

W. S.R.—Write to the Chief Clerk, U. S. Signal Serrice Bu-
reau, Washington, D. C.. There is but little probability of your
obtainiag the appointment desired,

J. D. F.—We do not know the address of a Dublin lawyer.,

L. H. Merrill.—1st. We do not answer questions in relation fo
the private affairs of our contributors. 2d. See ‘‘Knowldge Box.”

N. J. Clarke.—We know nothing of the scheme reterred to, but
advise you to make no investment in lotteries of any kind. But
few of them are conducted on the square.

Right or Wrong.—\st. The number of hours whieh constitute #
day’s work with those in the employ of the U. 8. Government de-
pends upon the nature of the employment, where employed, and
what is the prevailing rule with employees of private individuals
and firms in such loeality. The wages are also determined by local
rates. 2d. Write to the departmentiunder which the contract for
work was given out.

A. S—Education alone will not make an author. One must
possess the ability to ereate characters, construct plots, invent
incidents, and the ability to interweave them all into an inter-
esting narrative. Education, of course, will give a polishto the
story, but will not give one the faculty. ,

M. S.—The original articles in the Mammoth Monthly Reader
are gratuitous contributions: The ow price at which the paper
is furnished does not permit outlay in this direction. Beside, we
are in receipt of a large quantity of gratuitous matter, and con-
sequently are not under the necessity of purchasing.

We. Us and Ourselves.—There'is no place near the city where 2
party camping out would find fish and game enough to make the
trip a pleasantone. As cheap an’ excursion of this kind as you
can take is to engage board at some’ farm house on Long Island
near the eastern shore. :

Bit’ W.—lst. Nick Whiffles was. the leading character in a se-
rial of the same name published im the NEw YORK WEEKLY.
There is: no such individual in existence. 2d. The “Buffalo Bill”
recently shot in Texas was not theoriginal, Hon. W. F. Cody. At
the time of the occurrence statedthe latter was performing at
Pittsburg, Pa.

Walter ana Glenn.—Ist. Mrs. M. A. Fleming writes exclusively

for the NEw YORK WEEKLY. She has not written a line for any
other paper for a number of years. 2d. Hume’s History of Eng-
land is from the inyasion of Jul.us Cxsar tothe abdication of
James IT., im: Macauley’s history is from the accession of
James II. See foot of column. 3d. There are no _ histories of
Asia and Africa. Books of travel in the’ different parts ot both
divisions with histories et different countries in each will inform
yeu as to the manners and customs.
B.L. £.—The centaurs were a mythical'race of beings, half
man and half horse, who were supposed to inhabit the mount-
ains and forests of Thessaly, where they Jed’ a wild and savage
life. There’are various legends connected with the origin of the
myth. According: to Palephztus, one ofthe later Greek writers,
they were a body of young men who first used: horses for riding.
In their pursuit ef wild bulls, they were sometimes seen by the
neighboring inhabitants, who being unaccustomed to seeing men
on horseback, imagined that the man and horse were one being,
and hence originated! the. fable.

Altoonain.—The works will cost respectively 75, 20:and 50 cents.
Ruby.—By writing to the Commissioner of Patents, Washing-
ton, D. C., you will obtain a pamphlet containing directions how
to procure a patent, and many things in regard. to fees, etc.,
which it would be well to know before making your application.
John,—Ist. If there are unpaid taxes against a property which
is sold for the amount ot the mortgage, the claims.of the holder
of the mortgage take precedence of all others, but the property
will still be responsible for all back taxes and assessments.
2d. When there is more than one mortgage on an: estate, the
must be satisfied in their order. If the property, on' being sod,
brings no more than the amount of the first mortgage, the
holder of the first mortgage takes it all.

John Smith writes:—‘‘I wish your adyice in regard toa little
trouble I have. My parents: live on a farm, and as. they are
somewhat advanced in years; they wish to move to atown close
by, and want me toget married and work the farm, which, by
way is avery fine one. Now, lL would be very glad to do so, as
there is one young lady whoniI really love, but whom F cannot
get. Ihave been waiting on her for more than a year, and she
seems pleased with my company, always inviting me to come
again soon. I have asked herto be my wife, but she says we can
never be more than friends. There are two other girls. E wait on
occasionally, one is a Catholic and the other a Protestant. They
are both in good circumstances,.and J fiatter myself that I might
win either ofthem. Do you think it advisable tor a Catholie and
Protestant to marry? Lam twenty-seven years of age.” It
very natural that your parents should desire to see you “mar-
ried and settled down,” and as you are of the same opinion
yourself, we advise you to continue your attentions to the girl
you love, rather than to either of those you do not eve. ost
young ladies like an earnest wooer, and by devoting yourself to
her solely and assiduously. you may in time compel. her to see
that you are necessary to each other. At least, have a plain talk
with her,.asking her reasons for refusing you, while she_eyi-
dently prefers your society to others. 2d. A Catholic and Prot-
estant — wed and live happily together, provided they do
not make their religious views a cause of bickerings.

G. C., Ticonderoga.—ist. The Bacific Ocean was first seen by
Europeans in 158. Vasco Nunez de Balboa, the Spanish gov-
ernor of Darien, proceeding on native information, set out on
an exploring expedition across the isthmus, and having ascend-
ed a hill, saw the boundless ocean.spread out before him. As his
yiew extended chiefly to the south, he gave it the name of.the
Mar del Zur, or South Sea, It reeeived its present name from
the celebrated navigator, Fernando de Magellan who sailed
across it in. 1521. 2d. Pontiac was:a chief of the Ottawas, an AI-

onquin tribe, born about 1712, and -killed in 1769. He was first
tices as. an ally of the French, and successfully defended De-
troit, in 1746, against the attack of some hostile northern tribes.
He is also believed to have led severrl hundred Ottowas at Brad-
dock’s defeat in 1755. He was always a bitter enemy of the En-
glish, and incited several attempts to drive them out ofthe West.
Some yearsibefore his death. his influence lessened, and in 1766
he formally submitted to the English rule. He was killed by an
Illinois Indian at Cahokia, opposite St. Louis, while drunk.

J. H. Lornia.—The late A. T, Stewart’s wealth is estimated at
about $50,000,000. 4

Margaret Pearl.—ist. We infer trom your letter that you are a
very sensible young lady, While:you love the gentleman, in the
absence of any declaration of affection on his part,.you should
not permit those familiarities which are accorded only to an ac-
cepted lover. Although he is doubtless offended: at: what he
may consider prudery, he will, after he gets over his fit of
pique, admire youallthe more; for your discretion and self-
respect. Lips which every male friend is permitted to kiss lose
their sweetness with those to whom such privileges. may with
propriety be accorded. 2d, Aman who will steaba lady’s pic-
ture, and’ pefuse to return it when requested to.do.s0, is a con-
temptible snob. If you have a brother, instruct him to demand
it, and ifthe party will not give it up, take measures to compel
him to do so. . i e ;

Hiner.—\st. Parker’s ‘‘Aids to:-English Composition” will be of
much assistance to you. We will furnish it for $1.25. 2d. Thank
you for your good opinion. : ‘ 7

Doctor Danton.—|st. We know nothing of the reputation of the
concern. There are so many bogus firms advertising samples
and great inducements to agents, that it is almost impossible to
discriminate. 2d. Your father-beingin California, he is better
able to advise you in regard to.obtaining employment there than
we are.. 3d. At present writing. there is a hitch, im the arrange-
ments in regard to the rate at which excursion tickets will be
sold between Philadelphia and)San Francisco during the progress
of the Centennial exhibition, the Union Pacific R. R. objecting to.
a reduction from the regular rates.

Barnacte Bill.—Address a letter tothe wardem, or chaplain of
the Sing Sing prison, this State. We haye no means of ascertain-
ing except in this way, whether there is such convict there.

Ernestine.—lf your eyes are weak and. sensitive to a strong:
light, you will obtain relief. by wearing blue-or London smoke
glasses. We willsend you a pair for $2 50. b f

‘A.—You are by several years too young to,think of marrying,
and'as you are in doubt as to the feelings of. the lady concerning.
yourself, you, can gradually withdraw your: attentions. Even
were you of a proper age to marry, you-would'be very nnwise to
choose as a partner a lady in whom you hadinot the most uniitm-
ited. confidence,

Annie Brand.We can furnish complete files of the New Yoru
WEEKLY from the commencement of Vol. XXVII.

f
TO PURCHASING AGENCY CORRESPONDENTS. 4

In: response to the queries of our correspondents who send’. n0,
address, we give the prices at which the following articles. may
be-procured through the Nkw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agen-
cy: Hume's “History of England,” six volumes, $9; Macauley’s.
“History of England,’” ive yolumes, $7/50 and $10.

The following MSSi. hayé been ageopted for the Mwnmoth
Monthly Reader: ‘‘Minnie’s Success;?” ‘SA. Poet’s Darling,™......
The following are respectfully declined: “Morning,” “‘@me. Year.
Ago,” “Through Death to Life.”

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.

od. Vv. &.—Ist. If a young lady invites a gentleman to,call upon
her, and names:the day and hour-for the visit, she should. keep
the appointment; to fail in doing: it would be a breach of eti-

uette that no.lady would be guilty of committing. If she should;
find after she had made the eugagement that cixcumstances of
which she was. unaware at the time would prevent. her keeping
it, she should write a regret and name some other time for the
visit. 2d. Your lady

The decimals may be carried out indefi-

iend owes you an apology, and yau
cannot well call again without losing your digmity, until you re-
ceive it. 3d. Both gentlemen may raise their hats. wpon meeting
a lady acquaitance, but it is customary for thelady to bow first.
4th. A gentleman should never ask a lady to dance with hin-un-
less he has been introduced to her. ‘ ‘ é ;

Maggie.—There would be no impropriety im being married
in black silk, and in church, but it is not customary to weer black
as a bridal costume. A white tulle vail maybe worn with a
baack silk dress if one desires it. 3

Miss Florence.You are most unfortunate in your love, and our

 

 

 

advice to you is to endeavor to think as little about the young
gentleman as you can. The habit of drinking intoxicating liquors,
to excess is sufficient cause in itself fora yeung lady §@ hesitate.
to marry a gentleman that indulges in the practice. .

te ane + y

  
 

oe SER e rere

York, corner of Fourth ayenue and Forty-ninth street, only dis- °

 

 

 
 

 

 

a i alee

 

 

 

’

 

 

 

    
 

New Yo

~

 

Daa eee ee

NEW YORK, MAY 15, 1876.

—_

Veer

IPD eae

Terms to Subscribers :

 

 

a

One month, (postage free) 25c. | One Year—l| copy (postage free)$3
Pwo. months. ......cse.... 50e. Phe ZCOBIOB. 2 aot he dee 5
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Those sending $20 for a Club of Eight, all sent at one time, will
be entitled to a Ninth Copy FRER. Getters up of Clubs can after-
ward add single copies at $2.50 each.

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

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

a@~ To SuUBSCRIBERS.—When changing your address, please
give former, as well as present address, with County and State;
also, be certain to name the paper for which you subscribe. «6a

ALL LETTERS SHOULD BE ADDRESSED TO

STREET & SMITH, Proprietors. ¢

25, 27, 2D and 31 Rose St., N.Y. P.O. Box 4896

A CHARMING STORY

BY

A New Contributor.

A pleasing and perplexing story, with a captiva-
ting plot, will be commenced next week. It is en-
tithed

 

 

 

a

Mystery of the Wold.

By ANNIE CLARE.

 

So artistically and ingeniously is this story told,
that the reader’s attention is at once aroused by the
perplexing mystery with which the narrative
opens. For atime all the efforts to solve it only
add to the mystification, and the reader hurries
from page to page, his mind a willing captive to the
author whose skill is so adroitly shown.

“THE MysTERY OF THE WoLD” will be begun in
No. 27. Itisa story certain to elicit general ad-

miration.
STAR SRS LS, 5 MM AS CATE LEI CE DE ELIE DEE IE DEE SILLA TRAE SPR SEE EE I PCE

The Great Battle Painter.

A letter-writer from Paris states that a very fine
cabinet-size painting, by Horace Vernet, was re-
cently discovered in the possession of a poor fam-
ily residing near the church of Notre Dame, and
who little knew the value ofthe same. Itis an un-
doubted original, and has been purchased by a
rich connoisseur for the sum of fifteen thousand
francs—or three thousand dollars; quite a little
fortune'to:'the humble people who received it. We
remember very wellthe cafe in the Quartier Latin,
Paris, on whose walls are some of the youthful
sketches of Vernet and his comrades. Here the
young students met to partake oftheir frugal re-
‘pasts, and while waiting to be served, amused
themselves by painting scenes in the panels of the
‘walls, where they still remain and render the Cafe
Lafitte famous. Itis a cheap and modest restaurant,
where'the visitor is sure of well-cooked viands and
pure wines, though situated in an humble quarter
-of the great French capital. Vernet was not yet
‘twenty when he left those tokens of his future ge-
nius upon the cafe walls, and probably little dream-
ed of the great eminence to which he was destined
‘to rise in his profession as an artist.

Horace Vernet was born in Paris in 1789. His
father was also an artist, and distinguished for the
‘Same specialty which his son followed, namely, the
painting of battlepieces of large dimensions. After
‘arriving .at ‘the age of twenty Horace Vernet made
rapid strides toward fame until he was justly es-
‘teemed the first artist of his school, either ancient
‘Or modern. He was created a chevalier of the
legion of honor by Napoleon, in 1814,an officer of
‘tthe:legion of honor by Charles X., in 1825,a mem-
‘ber of the Institute in 1826, and was made a director
-of the Academy at Rome in 1828. Among his most
famous works, all of which are of very large di-
mensions, are a series of battle pieces painted by
order of Louis Philippe, and now to be'seen at the
Constantine gallery at Versailles. His paintings
rendered most familiar in this country by means of
engravings, are “Ihe Trumpeters,” “The Barriere
de Clicky.” “Battle of ‘“Tolosa,” “Soldier of Water-
hoo,” ete. At the Exposition of 1855, a jury of paint-
ers of various nations awarded him the grand
medalof honor. He has been dead about twelve
years, but still lives in the hearts of the French
peeple, and especially among all lovers of the
grand and beautiful in art. His reputation how-
ever is not local, it is universal, and it is no exag-
geration to say that he was the greatest painter of
wartike seenes that ever lived.

One day, when Vernet was about twenty-three
years of age,he was passing through a certain
street in Paris, when hesaw a poor family being
turned out of doors for non-payment of rent. ““How
much is the debt?” asked the painter of the dis-
tressed widow surrounded by her children. ‘Fifty
frances,” was the reply. But Vernet had only a
eouple of dollars or ten franes in his pocket, and
indeed was never very well supplied with money.
He bade the people wait for hist return, and step-
ping intoa neighboring establishment, purchased
apiece of eard-board eighteen inches square. A
pencil and a bit of India-ink he had in his pocket.
Afew bold strokes, a few graceful shadings, a
touch here and there, occupied him less than thirty
minutes, when he had represented the storming of
a redeubt by French infantry, with all the fire and
energy which won him such deserved fame. In the
corner he scrawled the date and ‘““By Horace Ver-
net.” Hastening to the distressed family, he hand-
ed the mother the sketch. “They will pay you
three hundred franes for that at the nearest art
store,” hesaid. “Hasten, my good woman, settle
your rent,and put the balance in your pocket.”
That identical sketch, now almost priceless, is in
pogsession of the government, and preseryed in
the Luxemburg Palace among other treasures of

art. :

Vernet was always distinguished for his ardent
sympethy with freedom,.his adopted motto being,
“Where liberty is, there is my country.” Asaproof
of his independence of character, it is recorded
that when Louis Napoleon desired him to altera
picture of a military review, leaving outa certain
general who was obnoxious to the French emperor,
Vernet refused to do it.

“Iam a painter of history, sire,” was his noble
reply, “and TI will not violate the truth.”

The genius of the great battle painter was uni-
versal; if ‘he éepicted an Eastern scene, the Arab
type was unm ‘stakable, and so of all other nation-
alities. This is not the case with many French ar-
tists who are.already justly famous, and itis very
difficult for an.artistto avoid being national in his
faces and figures. This was the ease with the fa-
mous Larisian caricacurist, Gavarni, the illustrator

 

 

4

 

 

 

Se ee errr

of “‘Les Gens du Monde,” and the same criticism
applies to Dore the popular and prolific artist of to-
day, whose Londoners are by no means John Bulls,
but Frenchmen, most unmistakably Frenchmen,
masquerading as cockneys. This is one of the
tests of true genius; thatof Horace Vernet was
universal and for all time. A

 

TRIALS OF
A RAILWAY TICKET MASTER.

It has been the custom ever since the invention of
railways to inveigh against the officials who con-
duct the running of trains. :

Itisa privilege granted the traveling public by
their American birth and the Constitution. Free
speech, whether it be just or not. ;

Conductors, baggage masters, freight ents,
ticket sellers, all come in for their share of con-
demnation. : 3 ,

Eyery individual who patronizes a railway line
has some particular grievance. He is not treated
courteously by somebody. Some one of the officials
is “hoggish,” or “snappish,” or “short,” or some-
thing equally as bad.

We are not prepared to say that because a man is
a railway officer he is free from the faults bestowed
upon the rest of mankind—not by any means—but
we do feel like saying a few words forthe much
abused class of ticket masters and railway conduc-
tors. }

Did every anybody who finds fault with a ticket
master stop to consider what it is to stand twelve
hours out of twenty-four in the little cell where
tickets are dispensed, and answer questions at the
rate ‘of a dozen a minute—questions so silly and
irrelevant that we fear the reader who scans this
article will think we exaggerate, which we certainly
do not; forin our somewhat extensive traveling
experience we have heard all these inquiries made,
and a host of others equally as inconsistent.

Early in the morning Mr. Smith, the ticket master
on the B. and J. Railroad, takes his station behind
the little windows of the office. Very likely his
head aches, and he feels out of sorts gene
he was disturbed last night by his colicking baby,
and his wife got up cross to breakfast, and told him
“shut up” when he ventured to suggest that his
beefsteak resembled the sole of an ancient boot
fried in soap-grease. Lad

Smith comes tothe office devoutly wishing that
babies, and cross wives, and colic had never been
inveasee and takes his place with his patience at a

ow ebb.

Oldish lady, laden down with bundles and bas-
kets, enters. _ ; !

“Say, mister, is this where they sell tickets to go
onto the railroad?”

“Yes, madame.” é a

“Got any tickets for Mowbray’s Crossing? Ain’t
it Mowbray’s, oris it Zebray’s? There’s a bray to
it, anyhow! And it’s where Cousin Tom Hodgkins
lives. You know Tom, I ’spose?”

“Can’t say I do, ma’am.” .

“Do tell? Why, [thought everybody knowed Tom.
He mends kerridges, and things. Heern tell of him,
ain’t ye?” :

“No, ma’am.” i
“on. now, that’s curis. I shouldn’t have though
i 1? e

“Do you wish for a ticket?” {

“Wall, I dunno! P’raps Td better. Less see; how
fur is it?”

“To where?” i

“To where Tom lives.”

“How in the duse should I know?” ,

“Why, hain’t I jest told ye? And you needn’t git
mad and swear about iteither. Hain’t you paid for
staying here and answering questions?”

“Yes, civil ones.” |

““Wall, this is a civilone. What’s the fare?”

“Where tot? 7) a

“To where Cousin Tom lives.”

“What eo ;
owbray’s Crossing.”

‘Fifty cents.” on

“Fifty cents! Land of the living! Fifty cents to
gothere! Can’t you take thirty-five?”

““We make no reductions.”

“Oh, you don’t? Well, you needn’t be so snap-
scious about it. Dll give you forty cents.” :

“T said we made no reductions,” with emrhasis,

Lanne sake! Well, you needn’t take my head

And grumblingly she produces the scrip, and
gives way to the next comer, only to find out that
the train for Mowbray’s has béen gone five min-
utes, for which she gives the ticket master a thor-
ough “going over” in that he allowed that train to
leave before she got her ticket. :

And after she has “freed her mind,” she retires
sullenly to a corner of the depot, where, surround-
ed by her varied and numerous bags and bundles,
she resigns herself to wait four hours for the next
train to Mowbray’s. :

And it will be astory to tell her grandchildren,
and all her acquaintances, how that impudent
po ag master ‘‘sassed her,” and made her miss the

rain.

A tall man in spectacles comes in, all forgetful of
the fact that this is the ladies’ room. s

There is a time-table of the trains right before
his eyes by the side of the office window, but he
doesn’t see it. Oh,no. He is an independent man,
and he knows that men are hired to stay in ticket
offices to answer questions, and he is not going to
put himself out to hunt over a time-table. No, sir!

‘Say here, you! what time does the train leave?”

‘“Where for?”

“Groton, of course.”

Len o’clock.” Z

“Ten o’clock!” with an accent of incredulity.
“Are you sure? I was told it was 10:5.”

“Ten o’elock, sir.”

“What, the train for Groton?”

EOS RAE ts
“Does it run right through?”
“It does.”

 

“Without change of cars?”

“Without change.”

“Palace cars?”

Pes Bins

Here a voice from the other room, and at the
gentlemen’s window, bursts in impatiently, not to
say angrily:

“Say! here! you fellow! why don’t you attend to
business? How long does anybody have to wait
to get a ticket for Bloomville? I’ll report you to the
superintendent if things ain’t managed differ-
e

ntly.”

When the passenger for Bloomville and a half-
dozen others on that side are attended to, the spec-
tacled man, who has been waiting with visible im-
patience, returns to the charge.

“Say! here—you! are you sure that the next train
goes to Groton?” ‘

“The ten o’clock train goes there.”

“Ain’t that the next one?”

‘.No, there are three before that.”

Oh, there is! and the ten o’clock train goes right
through?” ‘

“Yes, sir. Have a ticket?”

“Wall, no, I guess not. I hain’t a going till to-
morrow, and I’ve got a ticket over the other road,
but I thought I’d just step in and inquire aboutthis
route, just to pass away the time. Hadn’t anything
else in particular on hand.”

But the ticket master mustn’t swear or say any-
thing emphatic; if he should, he would be report-
edtothecompany. .

Enter stout an eee male personage, with
a hat-box and umbrella.

‘Look here, mister! where’s my trunk?”

How in the - should I know?” demands Mr.
Smith, beginning to feel riled.” ~

None of your impertinence to me, if you please.
Pll have that trunk, or Pll sue the company. It was
checked at Chicago three weeks ago. I want to
know where it is. That’s what J want to know.”

Apply to the baggage master. I have nothing to
do with trunks.”

h, you hain’t! Wall, can’t you answer a civil
uestion? I'll report you before the sun goes
own,” and off he goes in high dudgeon.

Another customer takes the place vacated before
the little window. =

, Do you ealculate that clock in.this room is
right?”

., © 8s, sir.”

Oh, youdo! Wall,I don’t see how that can be,
for it’s five minutes slower than my watch, and that
is exactly with the Pawdunk steam whistle.”

We don’t run trains bythe Pawdunk steam
whistle,” snaps the ticket master, and turns to an-
other customer, perhaps equally as annoying.

,Conductors are subject to the same class of inqui-
ries. Timid female passengers are anxious about
the bridges, and wonder if the boiler is likely to
burst, and want to knowif the conductor is sure
that the engineer ain’t drunk and liable to run ’em
off the track.

Thinking over the trials to which these men are
subject, we only wonder that there are so many
ticket masters and conductors who manage to keep
their temper, and who are polite and courteous
under all circumstances. Kate THORN.

——>-o + ____. .

THE LAST STAKE.

A bet made by a celebrated gambler many years
ago, deserves tobe recorded for its singularity.
After a run of ill-luck with Lord Lorn, he jumped
up suddenly, and seizing a large punch bowl that
stood near, said, addressing his lordship:

For once, I'll have one bet where I have an equal
share of winning! Odd or even for fifteen thou-
sand guineas |”

“Odd,” replied the peer, with the utmost compo-
sure.

Dash went the punch bowl against the wall, and
the pieces being counted, unfortunately for the
young hero of the experiment there proved an odd
one, and he was 2 ruined man.

 

 

 

nerally, for h

  

_ ‘THAT HANDSOME FELLO

BY JAMES L. BOWEN.

W.

 

The handsome young man may usually be very
happy, but no sooner is it necessary for him to take
a journey by railthan he seems to suffer untold

rture. If one may judge from his acts, he be-
comes at once insane—his every movement being
controlled by an evil spiritof unrest.

He gets to the depot early, and makes his head-

uarters in the ladies’ waiting room. He buys_his
ticket with agreat display of bank notes, and_ is
obliged to count his change several times, stopping
only to wind his very elegant watch and compare
it with the clock at the station. If circumstances

ermit, he goes outside, takes a few turns up and
down the platform in front of the windows, and
then comes in again tosee that his watch still agrees
with the clock. This comparison is repeated as
often asa pretty young !ady enters the waiting-
room, an omes his chicf cause of anxiety until
the train arrives, and he gets aboard.

Does he take a seat like travelers of common flesh
and blood? Not by ni § means. He selects a whole
seat, places his dainty little traveling-bag and um-
brella in it so that no one else will secure it, and
stands in the passage-way till the train gets under
motion. Then he looks about and doesn’t seem to
like his location. So he walks, very erect in his
carriage and very steady on his feet, no matter how
much the train may vibrate, all the way to the rear
door of the rear car, and, after looking out upon
the receding road-bed for a while, takes his way
back again» ‘ ,

Of course he is looking for a good vacant seat,
but he seems a great deal more interested in those
that are occupied—by young ladies, He is dressed
to perfection, as a necessity. Who ever heard of a
“slouchy” Adonis? His kids fit admirably—at
least the one he wears does; he would wear the
other, but has several heavy rings on the left hand,
and can’t get any glove on. You are sure to notice
the rings; they strike against the car seat so often,
and are accidentally (?) so prominently dis piaren
ashe rests his hand against the door of the car
while he stands and gazes out. This latter occupa-
tion engages most of his étime, and shows
that, beside being a beauty by birth and by dress,
eisagreat admirer of the beauties of nature as
viewed from the railroad. 4

Every movement of this handsome young man is
an (unstudied) embodiment of maar grace which
people cannot help noticing, though you may be
sure that is not the reason we he takes. so much
pains to keep himself before the eyes of all in the
car. If the road is very smooth, and the train runs
steadily, he stands in a most charming attitude
with one hand—the one with the rings—resting on
the smallof his back and the other by his side.
When curves and grades are reached, he quietly

lues himself to the door-knob with a gentle touch ;

ut he is never eS off his guard. The more vio-
lent movements of the car may cause him to sway
gracefully back and forth, like a forest tree in the
wind, but to stagger or lose his perfect uprightness
—nevyer. The handsome young man would, doubt-
less, immediately expire from mortification were
he a into making such an awkward move-
ment.

Asa station is approached, the young man usual-
ly retires to his seat, arranges his little valise and
umbrella in the unoccupied portion next the aisle,
and, if the car is pretty well filled, rests his hand
conveniently over the back of the seat. In case a
pretty young lady enters the car. his hand decends
upon the articles, and they move quickly out of the
way, because it would be too bad to have the young
lady embarrassed for a seat while the handsomest
young genton thetrain hadroomtospare. But
most pretty young ladies have seen these pieces of
faultless stupidity before, and ten to one will accept
aseatin preference with some uncouth farmer in
homespun, or laborer whose hands are stained by
honest toil. .

If the pretty young lady passes without taking
the offered seat, the convenient baggage resumes
its — and nothing else has the power to move
it. Tottering old age, that never seeks beyond the
first vacant seat, looks appealingly toward the

oung man, all in vain. He doesn’t see them.
Something outside attracts his attention, and holds
it till the last comer is seated; then his interest
has been so awakened that he must needs go to the
door to get a better look, and to repeat the weary-
ing round of his sauntering, balancing, and sim-

ering.
P Perhaps there is no cure for this disgusting kind
of exhibition; but if somebody only could impress
upon these handsome perambulators the fact that

   
 
 
 

every sensible person who notices them at all, in-

stead of inwardly remarking their beauty or g ged

C mov ment. Ao eR _exXxGhaIm}) a. Wha a
a a E.

   

   

story of “THe THREE Brows,” commenced last
week. Ask your friends to read it, and contem-
plate the vindictive animosity of a woman who has
been betrayed and scorned by the man she loved.

WORKING GIRLS.

The respect in which woman is held in a State is
the surest index to its civilization. 4 ;

The savage, with his crude ideas of “might being
right,” looks upon woman as an accommodation,
supplied to him by the Great Spirit to plant his
corn, chop his wood, and cower in the corner of his
wigwam before her chief. As we ascend thescale we
find the brutality of man toward woman growing
less, until we come to the United States—woman’s
promised land.. : ;

There is no other land where woman is as uni-
versally respected as in our great Republic. Inthe
older nations there may be classes where woman is
treated with more etiquette, if honoring rank may
be reckoned as honoring woman, but when we get
outside the titled classes woman becomes the ac-
commodation and the drudge again, the sport and
slave of the general rudeness. |

That woman suffers even inthe United States,
notwithstanding our adyanced position in true civ-
ilization, cannot be denied. Notwithstanding that
woman occupies a more pleasant and enviable po-
sition in this favored land than has been accorded
her in any other nation, thereare women even here
suffering and pining beneath heartless systems.
*Tis true they are not trampled into the dust be-
neath the moccasin of the Indian, but they are
pressed down as surely and as unrelentingly by
our incomplete Christian civilization, without ex-
citing that eres horror which is excited by wo-
man’s condition in the rude grasp of barbarism.

The class known as the “‘working girls” in our
eae is an illustration of “barbarism in civiliza-

ion.”

Were these working girls in Baraboolagha, rev-
erend gentlemen would arouse the land with indig-
nation over their sufferings and the barbarism of
the system which paled their cheeks and stamped
them with premature age; and Christian ladies in
the household of the Republic would mourn over
their sad fate; but these girls being some of our
own flesh and blood, and suffering at our a
doors, there is no romance in coming to their relief.
And yet did Christian aspiration ever have a nobler
field of labor? Let us take those girls who work in
our city stores forafew dollars *%.week, who walk

 

long and weary hours fora miserable pittance.
Many have parents to support, and after returning
to their cheerless homes—for poverty makes his
own congenial surroundings—from their daily toil,
must work for themselves until the ane
chimes fall on their weary hearts like requiems for
better days. .

,_ Talk of. the heroism and strength of those who

ive in comfort, because they resist the tempter.
Talk of the courage which faces death on the battle-
field, while fame will trumpet its deeds to the four
winds. But the god-like heroines, unhonored and
unsung, are the pale-faced, humbly-dressed work-
ing girls, who wear out their lives in dingy shops,
blanching their cheeks and their brows to preserve

he whiteness of their souls,

And how does Christian civilization pay tribute
to these virtues? By treating vice, when gayly ap-
pareled, with more respect. :

o into the street cars, public places of amuse-
ment, or any other resort where fashion congre-
gates (if we can imagine working girls in such
places!) See that pale, genteel girl, dressed in
calico. She has worked ten or twelve hours, and is
weary. She looks half ashamed, for there are no
sympathetic looks turned toward her. She stands,
of course, for not ane of the two rows of well-dress-
ed gentlemen! will rise togive her a seat. What
care they for honest poverty? She isnot a lady, for
ladies wear silks, and therefore she can stand. But
there soon enters a lady—she must be
she not highly ornamented. Velyets, lace, dia-
monds and paint— ee flaring, shameless paint
—all speak loudly for her. She has the audacity of
vice, and the vuluptuous expression which never
Shrinks abashed as gentle virtue does. A dozen

entlemen (?) rise to give her their seats, and feel

appy whenshe bestows that smile oy oe their good
breeding, which has been bestowed on the com-
monestruffian of the pave. Thereis not a man who
rises to give her his seat who does not know in his
soul that her trappings were purchased atthe ex-
pense of that which is the gem in the crown of wo-
manhood. y

What must our ‘working girl” think and feel
when shesees the world thus paying homage to
vice—as heathens worship their hideous but bediz-
zened gods!—and permitting virtue to stand like a
pariah at the golden gate of crime! en she
reaches her lonesome garret, must she not hear the

 

voice of the tempter, thatsilver voice so musical
with lies, whispering to h=. ssary aad Uiseeuragcc

in the summer sun and winter sleet, to work their | V.

a lady, for is} Th

 

<4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. eso

soul: ““What are you paling your cheeks for?” “to
proserty that which the world tramples beneath its
eet?” “Fool, mankind respects appearances more
than it respects substance.” ‘The jeweled wanton
is higher in the world’s esteem—its polished but
flippant esteem—than she who eats the bitter bread
of honest labor and pairs with pinching poverty to
saye her virtue.”

Oh, virtuous mothers, whom Heaven has blest
with the good things of the world, why do you not
help and cheer those brave TmOL king girls” who
battle pynlens tyranny and temptation

Oh, fathers, who respect virtue in your daughters,
and brothers who would die to guard the honor of
your sisters, why do you not show more respect to
those brave ‘‘working girls” who fight alone,
against poverty and contumely, to preserve that
which you respect so much in your daughters and
sisters—that purity which is of Heaven?

A country where honest labor and its heavenly
companion, virtue, are not respected, has ruin
written across itsface,no matter how much tin-
sel and glitter hide that ruin from the ublic
eye. Such a country is like the vice which it
worships, painted rottenness. hen respecta-
bility means appearance, and when society tol-
erates, nay admires, bonanza’d vice, such re-
spectability and such society are nourishing a
career which will destroy the very life of a nation;
for virtue alone is national life—vice is death.

America, being herself the goodly child of
labor, haying no higher heraldry than the sword
and plowshare, should not run into luxury—the
fout-blooded panderer to vice—ere her toiling
founders are cold in the earth; and Americans,
above all other men, should protect and encourage,
nay, honor the “working-girls,” whose pale faces,
like silent accusers, appeal to Heaven against that
society and against the systems which ignore and
paper them. :

Man has a hundred tongues to publish his wrongs,
a hundred arms to fight his upreenore, but these
“working-girls” are being crucified, and God only
hears their sighs and sees their wrongs. Let us
also hear, and see, and apply the remedy ere
Heaven takes up their cause in its anger, and
shakes the nation to pieces as_it has before been
shaken for other sins. MICHAEL SCANLAN,

MEN AND RAZORS.

Did any of the lady readers of the New York

EEKLY ever glance into the forbidden ground ofa
barber’s shop, and see from two to half-dozen spe-
cimens of masculinity in that semi-horizontal po-
sition of beatitude belonging to the region? and
did you thank the chance (?) that led you to pass it
again directly and get another look at the facial ex-
prose seen nowhere else on earth, but under a

arber’s hands? :

Talk about the delusions of hasheesh. I don’t
believe any victim of that Eastern drug could pro-
duce such a die-away look of sensuous intoxication
as comes over the faceof a man resigned to the
care of a barber in whom he has confidence; for he
discusses this quality of his artist with all the ear-
nestness of “stocks.”

 

 

d to this indescribable repose of feature the
white foam which seems to be kindly applied to
help out the nature that abhors a vacuum, and you
have a slightly different individual from the shrewd
schemer of a half-hour ago. : i

Well, the matter loses its absurdity a little when
one considers the blessing of such a temporary
quietus for overtasked brains, which the gods alone
could have devised. ‘ : ‘

I used to wonder that men of parsimonious habits
would so Panes art with the last dime of their
“bottom dollar for this luxury, till I saw what came
of it, and I have never marveled since. \

_But there comes this home-inquiry from jealous
sisterhood—what have we, in all the variety of our
work and play,to compare with this interval of for-
getfulness of earth and Heaven, enjoyed by our
whiskered brothers?  _

Alas! giving us our “rights” doesn’t give us this!

Kate KELso.

————__>-2<_____.

MY PICTURE-GALLERY.

BY SOLON SHINGLE.

 

As far back as I can remember I have been a lover
of pictures. :

As a baby I never would suck a nursing-bottle
not illustrated. | : ee ;

My mother said this love for pictures was heredi-

tary.

My great-grandfather was a dealer in pictures,
and something of an artist. He finally “rose to
fame” in a steamboat explosion. i

But when he came down he retired from business
altogether.

Well, my fond ma—allma’s are fond ones, you
know—soon found I inherited my grandfather’s
great love for pictures, so she ordered my nursing-
bottles right from the manufactory by the gross,
each and every one to be ornamented with an origi-
nal copy of some work of art by the old masters.

She also found out a few other peculiarities in my
disposition, namely: that I had a sound pair of
lungs, and could use them; that I was possessed of
a remarkably combative pair of hands and feet,
and had a will strongerthanamule. _

Nurse said I was as mean as the old Nick, but ma
at Iwas her darling topsy-wopsy, and that settled
it.
So I was left free to burst as many nursing-bot-
tles over the heads of my brothers and sisters as I
pleased, and to kick up my little heels and squall to
my heart’s content. :

I grew older my love for works of art increas-
ed, and pictures were my chief delight.

When five years old I had a little china cup pre-
sented to me wuich molded my young mind most
effectually in a particular channel, which was to
bear fruit in after life.

On that little cup were the portraits of Euryall,
Medusa, and Stheno, the three Gorgons, daughters
of Phorcus and Cete, who could, at will, change
whom they looked upon into stones, ete.

For hours I used to sit and gaze upon those three
faces, and. when my mother told me about the
Heathen Deities, about Apollo, and Ajax, and Alo-
eus, and Amalthza, the goat that suckled Jupiter,
Iresolved_to hayea collection of paintings of the
Heathen Deities if [lived to the age of manhood,
and I have kept my word. ;

But that tittle china cup, like the pitcher which -

goes once too often to the well, got broken. ;

In a fit of anger I dashed it on the floor, and shiy-
ered it to atoms.

When my kind, indulgent parent asked. who
broke that cup, I replied: _

“Mother, I cannot, cannot lie; brother Bill mashed
it with his little hammer.” : “kDa

Ihave quite a collection of pesines in my stu-
dio now, and as I sit this bleak November day and
gaze at them with pride and love, the scenes of my
early life, as depicted above, float before my eyes,
like a beautiful panorama. 3

The following are a few of my pictures of Heathen
Deities, painted expressly for me at great expense
by the old, very old masters: §

Hercules cleaning’ out the Augean stable with a
wheelbarrow and a dung fork, while 3,000 oxen look
complacently on_and chew their cuds. The scene
is very natural. By Titian. i

Erostratus setting fire to the temple of Diana at
Ephesus, with a can of coal oil and a box of matches
in his hand. He did this incendiary act to geta
big name. The cussshould have been made an In-
en aot for his baseness. Good picture. By
andyke.

Erebus crossing the river Styx in a steam-tug,

while Esculapius, the god of physic, hovers over

the scene in a balloon, felitag, {2 his hand a big

black bottle marked “Old Rye.” Very spiritual. By
urillo.

Icarus, son of Dedalus, who, with his father, put
on false wings,and undertook fly from Crete
into Sicily. The old man stood the trip very well,
butthe boy, like ray others who try to fly too
high with borrowed plumage, melted the wax with
which his wings were fastened, and he tumbled
into the sea. Hence the Gluecarian sea. Beautiful
and life-like. By Castillo. i

Pandora sitting on a big pile of bandboxes, This
picture is my pride. ndora was a milliner
who was made by a big blacksmith name
Vulcan out of pieces of old stoves and scraps of
iron, which the boys used to bring to his shop and
sell to get money to goto circuses and minstrel
shows with. After he had hammered her out to
suit him, filed and rasped her up about right, he
put a pull-back skirt and a chignon on her, and by
some hocus-pocus means blew the breath of life
into her body, when she immediately waltzed out of
the shop, went down town and hired rooms for a
millinery establishment, which her descendants
run to this day.. Pandora was endowed with many
gifts, one of which was to empty a bandbox on the
head of any one who sassed her, or who didn’t set-
tle their bills regularly at the end of the month.
ese boxes were said to contain all kinds of evils,
the contents of which were worse to take than a
dose of castor oil. The picture before me shows
she was a trump and made of wt ART metal. I guess
she was a tough one, painted by Velasquez.

Tomy right is a picture of Narcissus, a good-
looking but very foolish youth, who was sent by his
mother to the creek for water, with strict injync-
tions to hurry back as quick as possible. (From
experience, I find that when boys are told to go as
quick as possible, they generally stay as long as pos-
sible, and human nature was then, we see, the same
as it is now.) Well, Narcissus went to the creek,
and, as-his mother wasn’t one of the fixy or prim-
py kind, and his father never shaved, there was,
consequently, no looking-glass in the house where
he took his hash, so he thought he’d take a peep at
his eet face in the water. He did so, and the
durn fool fell in love with himself, and no persua-
sion could induce him to leave the spot. Even pro-
mise of a nice meerschaum pipe. well colored, and

; season tickets tothe opera had no effect on this

 

  

 

love-sick youth. So Cupid came along one day and
turned him into a daffodil, where he still sprouts.
Served him right, though I think. an application of
blacksnake, well laid on, would have moved him.
Good picture. By Vandyke.
ear the above is a representation of Leander
Swimming 16 miles over the Hellespond to see his
sweetheart Hero, who was a beautiful girl, kept a
eanut stand,and was some relation to Venus,
eander used to swim that 16 miles every night to
eat peanuts with Hero, and pour soft nonsense into
her willing ear. He had to do this on the sly, too,
as the gal’s parents didn’t take My kindly to him,
and threatened to bust his mug if he didn’t keep
shady. They finally married, I believe, after great
trials and tribulations, emigrated to New York, and
opened a peanut stand in an oyster cellar. No mo-
id could purchase this painting. By Paris Bor-
one.

The picture of Nixon, tied to a perpetually turn-
ing wheel, is sad to Sok upon, and “these eyes, al-
belt unused to the melting mood. drop tears,” as [I
gaze uponit. Nixon was the son of Phlegeus, and

rom all accounts he wasahard nut. He boasted
of “true inwardness” with Juno, Jupiter’s wife, for
which he was made to sit onthe “ragged edge” of
Jupiter’s wrath. That is, he was condemne to be
tied to a wheel, which was to be kept perpetually
turning. In the picture before me the wheel turns
as naturally as possible, and with great regularity.
There is a moral to this, which ean be figured out.
Painted by Raphael. é

The last picture I shall notice at this time, is that
of “Phaeton setting the World on Fire.” This pic-
ture is the choicest in my collection, and was paint-
ed for me by one of the old masters, an old cha
named Da Vinci, who could sling a paint brus
mighty lively, I tell you. Phaeton was a wild youth
who fancied he knew everything and a little more.
His father, whose name was Sol, had a span of
blooded colts, which nobody else could drive, nor
handle even. Phaeton had beg ed his father, time
and again, for the use of the colts and carriage. but
the old man couldn’t “see it” that way. Phaeton
declared he could manage them air colis, if he
couldn’t he’d sell out and leave the country.

“The old man’s‘ mighty afeared of them colts of
his’n,” said Phaeton, complainly, to his mother one
day. “Thinks J can’t drive the critters. I'll bet
him anickelI kin handle the ribbons as good as
he, besides I kin beat him at draw poker the best
dey he ever seed.” « :

inally, worn out by the continual beggings and
pleadings of Phaeton, the old man told him one.
day he could hitch the colts to the spring wagon,
and go to the drug store for a can of coal-oil. This
tickled the ‘boy mightily. He drove up town, got

 

the oil, took two or three big drinks, and started for
home. Coming along by the house where his gal
lived, he saw her looking at him from the window,
and wishing to show off, he gave the colts a cut with
his whip and_ they ran off, threw the oil into some
coal-pits, which took fire, and the whole earth was
soon in a blaze, and finally consumed. To save
themselves, this un tees family emigrated
overland to Texas. ie artist has depicted the
who! : scene very truthfully, especially the whole
in tlie coal-pit, where the @an of oil went in.

Any readers of the NeEw€YorK WEEKLY passing
through Pottsville, are invited to call at my house
and see the above rare works of art.

 

WOMEN’S WORK.

There is agreat deal said of the inadequacy of
the prices paid for the work done by women, and
of the few avenues open to those compelled to earn
for themselves a livelihood. Now it seems to me
this isin a great measure the fault of woman her-
self,or of those having charge of young girls.
Scarce one woman in one hundred, in any class of
society, is thoroughly educated. The usual school
routine is gone through, asuperficial knowledge of
the English branches acquired, a smattering of one
or two foreign languages, a little music and draw-
ing, and they forgotten after a year or two of mar-
ried life. Then, after the education is .pronounced
“finished,” comes the debut in society, and in a few
months perhaps, or years, the endand aim of life
is attained—a fashionable wedding is announced.

 

 

The bride thinks far more of her handsome trous-
seau and her elegant bridal gifts than of the duties
and responsibilities she is about to assume. After
the bridal tour commences, housekeeping—in most
cases carried on by the servants. Should the hus-
band prosper in business, life may glide along
smoothly in shallow waters. But fortune is such a
fickle goddess. Some day, Por ane, the sky may.
be suddenly overcast, black clouds of misfortune
may Seon Sows like great birds of prey descend-
ing upon their hapless victims. The husband and
father may be cut down by the swift scythe of the
Great Reaper in the prime of his life, in the midst
of his labors. Fortune gone, friends take a hurried
leave, and a helpless woman, with little chil-
dren clinging to her, wrings her hands in tear-
less agony, and the cry goes forth, “Oh, Heaven!
what can ido?” Memory brings back the careless,
thoughtless pave ot girlhood, and “Oh!” thinks the
despairing soul, “could I but have looked forward
to this day, would have been prepared for it—
fitted myself for some avocation in hfe by which I
could maintain myself and my children.” She
makes a mental list of her acquirements. Teach-
ing ?—her education has been too superficial for
that. Music ?—ditto. Drawing ?—ditto. Sewing? A
good dressmaker earns three dollars a day. Yes,
but she understands her business thoroughly, and
there has been nothing thorough in this woman’s
life. An indulged daughter,a petted wife—she is
without resources. A boarding-house? Yes, that
is the only resort of the decayed gentlewoman.

he owns her furniture, and nothing else in the
world; so the handsome house is given up anda
cheaper one rented, and the delicate lady opens a
boarding-house, to succeed, PErnAne, if health of
body and strength of will shall be equalto thé task ;
if not, to suecumh and die, leaving her orphan chil-

.dren to the tender mercies of a selfish world.

_ Now I believe that any bright, energetic girl is
just as capable of learning some particular thing
well, as much as I believe that any bright, energetic
boy is capable of it. Only impress upon her mind
the necessity for it. Teach her to consider it a dis-
grace to grow up without acquiring some useful
occupation or trade, as much as you would teach it
to yourson. Let it be music, painting, sculpture,
book-keeping, dress-making, millinery—anything,
so that she acquire the art thoroughly.

There isin the city of New York an institution
(the Cooper Institute) founded by a noble man,
whom women shall rise up and called blessed,
where any woman may receive free, an education
which shall fit her to take a place in the world as a
laborer worthy of her hire. No healthy woman
need be a drone in the great hive in which she

ives.

Whence come so many wretched, _ill-assorted
marriages? For the reason that half the women
marry for homes, and they get homes to shelter
them, not homes in the true sense of the word.
Home is a place where the heart is at rest, and were
girls differently educated they would wait for that
real home, where “joy is duty and _love is law,” ra-
ther than ancons the first man who offers them a
good house, and lead henceforth and forever after
a life of bitter repining for what might have been,
and growing old before their time with the friction
te must exist between two natures entirely dis-
similar.

There are women—poor, tired souls, wretched
from their very infancy—so surrounded and hem-
med in by adverse circumstances that education is
among the eae Ye ge must mie 3 sit oo
worn lingers and hollow eyes, singing the “Song
of the Shirt.” To such may Heaven be more mer-
ciful than man has been, and give them in the here-
after sweet and eccs recompense for lives of
toil, and want, and sorrow. Mrs, C, E. PERRY.

——_—>-2+_____
4 TERRIBLE DUEL.

A duel between twe French noblemen is reported
to have taken place on the Belgian frontier, under
the most revolting circumstances. According to
the account just made public, the quarrel originat-
edin afashionable drawing-room. A count anda
duke were discussing politics, and the conversation
became so hot that the former lost his temper, and
so far forgot himself as to strike his noble oppon-
ent a blow on the face. The latter did not reply,
but sought his friends immediately afterward, and
swore to them that he would never see his family
again until he had washed out the insult with the
blood of his adversary. No time was lost in ar-
ranging for the meeting, which took place next
day. The combat was of the bitterest description.
Before they had fought long the duke was wounded
in two places—in the arm and in the chest. With
the blood streaming from his hurts, he continued
the conflict, though hardly able té mantain himself
erect. When about to succumb from weakness, he
summoned all his strength for a final attack, and
succeeded in striking his adversary a mortal blow

from the effects of which he instantly fell dead. The
duke then staggered forward, and, bending over
the dead man, steeped his handkerchief in. the
blood that had flowed from the fatal wounds. After
rubbing the gory cloth on his face, he turned to his
friends and said, “I confide this handkerchief to
you, that you may hand it tothe duchess, my wife.
Tell her to place it among the marriage gifts of our
daughter ; it is the come of her father—the purity
of his name.” Scarcely had he uttered these words
when he too expired, going into eternity with a
smile upon his face, produced by the sentiment that

 

his honor had been satisfied.

 

Kreme.

 

 

 

 

 

 
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SEOOND CHILDHOOD.

.. BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH.

I was twenty and she fourteen,
An‘ yet we played together—

We romped and frolicked on the green
Tn lair and stormy weather.

We kissed, nor had a thought of wrong,
At parting and at meeting—

Whether alone or mid the throng,
This was our constant greeting.

We parted, and when next we met
Her age was almost twenty—

She seem’d to me the same sweet pet,
But she kad lovers plenty.

I rushed to kiss her as of old,
Not dreaming she would slight me,

But she cried out, “You are too boli!
Stand back, sir! You affright me!”

I went abroad. ‘When I returned
The charming little Gerty,
For whom my heart still fondly yearned,
Was single yet and thirty.
We met when all was calm and still,
While walking through the wildwood,
She cried, “Now kiss me if you wilB
ve reached my second childhood !”'

MOLLY MAGUIRE,

THE
TERROR OF THE COAL FIELDS.

By DANIEL DOYLE.
A Mine Bass. -

 

 

 

{Special arrangements have been made to furnish Back Num-
bers of “Molly Maguire.” It commenced with No. 17, and we
have given the wholesale agents throughout the country full
supplies of the NEW YORK WEEKLY, so that the retail agents
can get them at once. STREET & SMITH.)

CHAPTER XXVII.

AT THE- MOUTH OF THE DEADLY MINE—MRS. SEFTON
HEARS OF HARRY MORGAN’S DEATH WITH SATIS-
FACTION.

The day following the destruction of the Black
Diamond breaker dawned bright and beautiful.
Old Sol came upinacloudless sky, and sent his
sunny shafts streaming into the valley, where
d and desolation seemed to hold sway. The
voice of mourning, awakened into action at_mid-
night, still continued to be heard, and the sad wail
or caoine of the women of Shanty Hill would turn a
heart of stone to tenderness, or wring tears from a
rock. The scene around the mouth of the shaft
was one of confusion. Heaps of mangled, mis-
shapen machinery lay strewn around as it had
been warped and twisted in theterrible fire. Old
timbers still lay smoldering on the ground; the
culm-pile or heap of coaldust—acres in extent, and
fifty feet high—was one lurid mass of fire, and al-
though the firemen had surrounded the mouth of
the mine with streams of water, the heat was still
oppressive and unbearable. :

aptain Carr,the mine superintendent, was on
the ground busily engaged with ropes and tackle-
blocks preparing the way for some brave yolunteer
to venture into the mine, ascertain its condition,
and see if there was any hope of saving those im-
prisoned there. “

The firemen worked heroically, and by the assist-
ance of the neighbors—for every one was willing to
lend a mein ing: hand—a path was made at length
through the fireand tothe mouth of the shaft.
Here it was ascertained that the flames had extend-
ed down the sides of the shaft and_consumed the
timbers by which they were lined. Out of the fiery
abyss a powerful current of foul gas and smoke
emanated, and, warned by its noxious influence,
the firemen found it would not be safe to venture
ro much less descend into the mine for some

ime. ; \

They directed several streams of water into and
against the sides of the shaft, and kept this up for
the greatest part of the day. In the afternoon, pul-
leys and ropes being ready, Captain Carr called for
volunteers to go down into the mine. Several brave
in 4 stepped forward, but only two couid be low-
8) a times - ~yak so +) spre oe:

The ropes were adjusted to two of the stoutest of
those present, and, amid the silent prayers and the
hush of all present, they commenced the perilous
descent, taking with them the end of a cord with
vate er were to signal in case they wanted to be

oisted.

On going half way down the shaft, they found the
heat unbearable; alittle lower it was scorching,
while the foul air was oppressive. Instantly they
gave the i to the men at the ropes, and they
were speedily hoisted to the surface, when it was
discovered that they were unconscious. They were
carried out of the crowd and cared for, while two
other volunteers, undaunted by the condition of
those just rescued, offered to descend. They were
lowered, but with no better success than those who
went before them,and sothe shaft continued to
belch forth its contagion the live-long day, keeping
the sorrowing multitude at bay.

The shadows of night began to fall at last, and
still the faithful women, who had stood in the heat
and smoke all day and endured the agony of a hun-
dred deaths, were there, hoping against hope, and
keeping their eyes fixed on the mouth of the fated
mine, from which they expected to see the spirits
of those they loved and lost emerge once more.
Many of them endeavored to deceive themselves
into te delusion that their friends were still alive.
A sister could not believe that her brother, with
whom she conversed but a day before, was dead;
a mother could not realize that the son on whom
she doted had perished in pain; and a sweetheart
couid not believe that the arm that entwined her so
lovingly at the door but afew short evenings ago
had withered, while the lips that whispered words
of love in her ear and showered kisses on her cheek
were already decaying in the deadly mine.

It is difficult to realize death. The loving friends
that live can scarcely bring themselves to belieye
thatthe form of some dear companion resting in
the coffin before them is all bereft of life; then what
must it be with those who could not see their
friends—who hoped yet feared, who despaired yet
doubted in the recovery of the men shut out from
them by four hundred feet of earth and rock, and
penal that had been transformed into a gate of

re

Oh, hope, false hope, what a traitor thou art
sometimes! and oh, how often poor mortals will
hope and hopeon inthings earthly, even in the
face of most convincing evidence, ences vee to
make themselves, believe that that which they
should wish is true, while to every other eye—yes,
to the gaze of the world—its falsity is charing!y ap-
parent! It is this blind confidence that breaks
many a human heart when it has been indulged in
to an extent at which the shattering of belief be-
comes a double betrayal more painful than the
penetrating pangs of deavu itself.

Again, when the night came two more men ven-
tured down the shaft. They succeeded in going
into the mine, but found the atmosphere there sti-
fling. They ventured far enough from the foot of
the shaft to ascertain that no human being could
live an hour in that place. They were knee deep in
water, and beneath their feet they frequently felt
human bodies. An effort was made to raise one of
those and take ittothe surface, but the struggle
was futile,and had to be forsaken speedily else
they who engaged in it would lose their lives too.
Warned by this fact, and assuring themselves that
there was not a living thing in the mine, that it had
been transformed from a scene of industry into a
vast charnel-house, the men gave the signal to re-
turn, and were hoisted slowly up the shaft. When
they reached the surface they were surrounded by
crowds of anxious questioners. Being the first
that had ventured to the bottom of the shaft since
the destruction of the breaker, it was thought they
must possess a vast amount of information, and
everyb present was pressing around them to
know if they had seen such and such a one, or if
their friends. were still alive, and what hope was
there for their release. The men were so fatigued
from their experience that they could not give any
information for some time. Robert Carr begged of
the crowd to give them breathing space for a min-
ute or two and they would know all.

As soon as the men gained sufficient strength to
speak, they made theirsad message known. It was

narlie Blake who spoke. He said:

Iam sorry to saythere is not a man or beast
alive in the mine, and the pumps must be put to
work before the bodies can be taken out. The place
is flooded with water.”

_ This sad news produced a most profound sensa-
tion. Several old men and women in the assem-
blage fainted away, and atashort distance from
where Charlie Blake stood when he spoke a woman
with a babe on her breast, uttered a ery of anguish.

Oh, Heaven, then my husband, my Robert is lost!”
and then she fell senseless on the grass. It was
Robert Perry’s wife who had waited and watched
the livelong lay to hear. some tidings from her
husband. A fair young girl bent over her weeping
violently. This was her husband’s sister Eva. Both
were cared for tenderly, and many forgot their own
Great sorrow for the moment, to give relief to the

istressed and suffering women. But. theirs was
on ie solitary instance of many equally affecting

It was far into the night when the crowd dispersed
only to return to the spot again at early dawn, when

the work of pumping the water out of the mine|h

and recovering the bodies was entered on and

 

pushed forward vigorously under the personal su-
pervision of the superintendent, Captain Carr.

Harry Morgan’s first request, as soon as he gained
consciousness r being rescued from the flames,
was that Neal Nolan should be carried with him to
his own house, there to be cared for until such time
as he should recover, or die, as the case might be,
Both he and Harry Morgan sustained a severe
scorching, and at first it was rumored in the village
that both were dead. Neal being a stranger, did
not excite much interest. or curiosity by his case;
not. so Morgan, however, whose death would be a
source of sincere satisfaction to many in the neigh-
borhood—whose minds had become prejudiced
against him, they knew not why but from some
subtle, unaccountable cause.

Among those who heard the rumor of Harry
Morgan’s death with complacent feelings, was Mrs.
Sefton. Ever since her daughter’s sad and ong
experience in the burning house, Mrs. Sefton hate
the mine She looked upon him as the prime
cause of Ellen’s misery, and regarded him as one
guinently arene, the detestation which he, to a
great extent, enjoyed. : :

“It is a blessing that he is dead,” she said to her
husband, Luke Sefton, on hearing the news; ,‘a

reat blessing, and now that Ellen seems to be on

e mending hand it is a happiness to know that he
will torment her no longer. “

“For my part,” said Luke Sefton, “I never could
learn what crime Morgan had committed to win
such a deep dislike at your hands. He has always
been an upright, honorable young man, as far as I
could see.” z

“Then that cannot be very far,” Mrs. Sefton re-

lied, pettishly, ‘or you would know that he has
: : : e cause of breaking down your daughter’s

ealth.” f

“It was her own fault. It was her devotion to him
that led her to remain with his mother the night
the house was set on fire, and that surely was none
of Harry Morgan’s doings. For my part I think
you have done a great wrong in being instrumental
in making Harry Morgan and his mother stay away
from here. You know that Harry and Ellen were
engaged to be married, and they loved each other
very eters ane you encouraged his visits here
yourself, some time ago.” 4

“If I did it was because I was foolish then. Ellen
can, when her health is restored, get a better hus-
band than ever he dare be, and I don’t want her
married to a man who isso sincerely detested in
the neighborhood as he had grown to be of late.”

“You little know the nature of the hatred he in-
curred, and that it is because he dared be true to his
manhood that he was maligned and persecuted by
the Molly Maguires, a society that may single me
out for vengeance this very night. As for Ellen

etting a better husband that Harry Morgan would

ave made her, that I question very much. Where
could you have found a man who would venture his
life to save her as he did, when in her wild, raving
fit she ran into the cave-hole, where she must have
perished in a few minutes only for him ?”

“It was the very least he ought to do under the
circumstances,” was the unfeeling reply of Mrs.
Sefton, “but let us drop the subject. e is dead
now, and there isan end ofit. Lam very glad my
daughter has got _rid of him so readily, for had he
lived I do believe her old attachment for him would
assert itself again.” | :

A voicein an adjoining room was heard calling
“Mother,” and Mrs. Sefton hastened to her daugh-
ter’s bedside. Ever since her adventure and nar-
|row escape from drowning, Ellen Sefton had not
| been subject to the raving spells by which she was
Peavie y persecuted. Although very feeble of

ody, her mind was tranquil, and there seemed to
be every hope of her recovering her former mental
and bodily vigor. . : 3

“Mother,” she said, anxiously, “have you heard
ifany one at all was rescued from the Black Dia-
mond Shaft?”

“T hear that not one escaped,” was the answer.
“Did you learn who were there?”

 

“They tell me that at least two hundred men |}.

perished.” }

Then there was a pause; a stru
in the feeble girl’s heart. She knew her mother
had learned to hate Harry Morgan, and she scarcely
yentured to breathe his name. At length, summon-
ing up sufficient courage, she'said:

“T wonder if Harry ‘an. was there?”

“Yes, they say he was,” the mother answered.

“Ah, I feared he was!” the poor girl said in a
broken voice. “Heaven ae his poor mother!” .

Mrs. Sefton could not help seeing that the mes-
sage was a painful one to her daughter, and for a
few seconds she ‘seemed at a loss what to say. El-
len Sefton struggled hard to conceal her emotion,
and turned away from her mother’s scrutinizing

le was going on

   
 
   

said, “butit is no worse, my dear, than th
another mo! in th d te
Ano Draken hae . r
gus rom her eyes r he was h
could not sleep, and thtating of Harry Morgan
sobbed the whole night away. a
Her mother had long since taught her to th
that her lover cared for her no more, but in th

 
  
 
 

 

   

    
 
 

very soul. ou Morgan given répeated
proofs of his fidelity, and his last act, in which he
risked his life for her sake, was, in her estime ‘
the crowning test of his love. a
Mcrning found her with swollen eyes and a sore
eart. She tried to reason herself into an

tance of the sad situation, but the resignation tiet
she sought so eagerly would not come, and a con-
flict kept raging continually in her mind between
hope and despair. She would sometimes think to
herself that even among so much death and disas-
ter, it was possible he might be saved, and she long-
ed to learn the truth, no matter how unwelcome it
might be. So in the morning when the servant
went tosee her, she enjoined on her the greatest
secrecy, and begged of her to hasten to Widow Mor-
gan’s house and ascertain for her the true condi-
tion of affairs, and then waited anxiously for her
return, thinking every footfall she heard was that
of her messenger with welcome tidings.

At length the door was thrown open, and the ser-
vant entered almost out of breath.

“Tell me, tellme what’s the news?” said Ellen,
eagerly. ‘ .

“Oh, bad news indeed, miss,” was the reply. “I
met Mrs. Morgan crying at the door, and could
hardly get her to speak to me at first. After a while,
when I asked her what was the matter, she said:

My son Harry is dying.”

Ellen Sefton raised herself on her pillow, and
leaning on her arm, said:

“What; he is not dead then?”

“No, but Mrs. Morgan said he could not live until
night. He was brought home alive, she told me,
and was able to talk to her at first, and seemed all
right. Then last night he grew worse, and talked
of youall thetime. Oh, but he is badly burned
miss, and his poor mother is in great distress, an
says he is worse to-day, and that it is impossible for
him to live twenty-four hours.”

Ellen Sefton sank back on her
the frightened servant regretted her unguarded
speech when she saw that her young mistress had
fainted away.

 

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.
‘THADY HOOLIGAN AND THE REPORTER.

The news of the burning of the Black Diamond
breaker, and the immense loss of life incident
thereto, Bprest like wildfire throughout the land,
and thrilled the soul of the nation with horror.
Bvory whate it was reported that it was the act of
the Molly Maguires, and the detestation in which
that organization was hitherto held was intensified
to the very highest pitch in consequence of the hor-
rible holocaust. The week succeeding the disaster
was a woeful one for Shanty Hill. Workmen were
brought from other mines to assist in the task of
recovering the bodies of the unfortunate men who
fella prey to the flames, and the recovery of each
succeeding body was but the signal for a fresh out-
burst of grief.

Representatives from all the leading newspapers
of the great cities flocked to the scene, in quest of
the particulars relating to the shocking story, and
each one of these, itis needless to say, went to the
valley with the expectation of seeing every man he
met marching around bristling with, bowie knives
and revolvers—even inthe open day. It is true that
although they might have encountered a good many
ene so armed at night, yet the appearance of

e majority of those they met in the daytime was
such as to indicate that they were as law-living and
orderly as any other class of citizens they could find
ie 4 other great industrial center in the United

es.

Among the corps of correspondents that flocked
to the scene of the Shanty Hill disaster was one
Carl Cash, a reporter doing utility work for one of
the leading New York dailies. This young man
had the air of a plenipotentiary bound on some im-
portant mission. It was his first visit to the coal
regions, and, like everybody else who had never
been there before, he regarded himself in the light
of a pioneer, whose experience would be read with
intense interest by an admiring public.

day, while riding in the ears to the scene, he
ictured_ to himself-an awful state of affairs at
Shanty Hill,and had worked his imagination to
such a pitch that he expected the residents would
meet him at the train for the purpose of engaging
in the fun of killing him, or carrying him into cap-
tivity. The country seemed a very wild one to him,
and he had always made ita point to estimate the
character of the people according to the general
appearance of the country in which they lived.

When Mr, Carl Cash got off the cars at the little
station outside Shanty Hill he was flushed with ex-
citement and eager for immediate information. He
saw a crowd of men loitering at a short distance
from the station, and engaged in an animated dis-
cussion. These he intended to approach witha
volley of questions, but the horrible suspicion that
they were all Molly Maguires forced itself upon

im, and suggested to him the applicability of the

 

 

part of valor, especially since the group in ques-
tion did not seem to be in the most amiable mood.
They were talking in astrange tongue, and the re-
porter, catching afew words of the conversation,
came “4 the conclusion that the men were arguing
in Irish. :

This was not so, however. The disputants were
Welsh, and were discussing the merits of a musical
contest—such contests are of frequent occurrence
among the Welsh miners—held in a town some
few miles distant the week previous.

“Tl have nothing to say to that crowd,” thought

1 Cash ; and then turning to arailroad employee
close by, he asked himthe road to the Black Dia-
mond Shaft, and receiving rather.a gruff reply and
the barest possible indication of the direction in
which the place lay, he set out somewhat bewil-
dered and disheartened. After proceeding along a
rough, irregular road for about a quarter of a mile,
aa encountered aman going in the opposite direc-

ion.

The man was evidently a miner. His head was
bandaged in several folds of muslin, as though he
had been in some fearful affray in whic
been seriously wounded, and at first sight in the
distance the appearance of the upper portion of
his pry was notat all unlike that of a turbaned
Turk. A closer inspection of his clothing told his
avocation, while his dialect at once assured the
quick ear of the knight of the quill of his nation-

ality. ;

“Goo d day to you, my good man,” said Carl, sum-
moning up all his cou le

“Good day to yourself,” was the half-gruff reply
of the turbaned individual, who eyed the smart,
well-dressed stranger with suspicion, wondering
to himself if he was not aspy, or a detective, or a
coal operator. Ghii

“Excuse me, sir, but are you a Molly Maguire?”
asked the indisereet Carl.

“Am I a what?” was the say
who was no other than Thady

““A Molly Maguire?” | Pats

“Musha, may the divil fly away wid your impu-
dence, whoever you are, this mornin’, but it’s yer-
self that has the cheek to ax sich a bowld ques-

.

e reply of the man,
ooligan.

tion.”

_ “Perhaps you don’t know that I’m a representa-

tive of the New York Herald. I’m out here in search
of information,” said Carl, determined, now that
he a touched the subject, to pursue it as far as he
could.
_, Perhaps I don’t inagh; and perhaps I don’t care
if you wor an ambassador from the King o’ Spain,
I won’t take any 0’ yer lingo,me goodman. Keep
a civil tongue in yer ;,or whatever you are
you'll be nobody purty quick.”

“Well, sir, lassure youl meant no harm; and _ to
convince you of my sincerity, here’s a five-dollar
bill for you to drink my health with.”

“Oh, begorra that althers the case. [thought you
wor some spalpeen that wanted to play planxties
on me, but nowlI see you are a gintleman all out.
Oh, more power to you, sir; you didn’t mane to in-
sult me afther all. What’s yer name, sir, if it’s axin’
a dacint question?” ‘i
: ess my name is Car] Cash. What might yours

e? ?

have. Myname is plain Thady Hooligan, but some
calls me Misther Hooligan. The lower ordhers
most always calls me*Thady, but I don’t mind that,
bekase they don’t know any betther, an’ a gintle-
man Jie always make allowance for ignorant
people.” ;

_ ‘You are very right, sir, But to my former ques-
tion as to whether you are a Molly Maguire?”

“Now you ax me something that no man in Shan-
ty Hill would answer. There’s not a man inthe
pos will stand We an’ Say he’s_a Molly, although

e the same token I think there is plinty 0’ them to
be found.”

“IT would like very much to have an interview
with one,andif you could inform me where I
could find him; you would do me a great favor.”

“An intherview you’d like to haye—maybe you’d
bether not, and the laste you say about the Mollies
the healthier yout find the counthry hereabouts.
I knew min that began talkin’ about them wunst,
an’ all of a suddint they wor taken sick an’ died.”

_ Carl half comprehend e rude hint, but since
he had given the fellow five dollars he was bound
to squeeze as much information as possible out of

im.
3 Be have you your head and face bandaged up
TORE nicer

 

 

“Oh, I was one 0’ boys that was in the Black Dia-
mond Shaft when the place tuck fire.”

“You were,” repeated the delighted Carl, grasp-
ing Sh en by the hand, ‘my dear fellow. You are

  
 
 

 

gaze. . : :
“Certainly her case is a sad one,” Mrs. Sefton

ing so the devoted girl was doing violence to her | h

ju e I wanted to see; Iam really glad I
met you, Mr. Molly Maguire.” 5

“What the divil did you call me?” said Thady, in-
aqionan a ‘ onl sr ™

      

 
   

 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
   

e reporter took care

ill you please
LOW _ Re i want to have
alf-an-h at with you. x :
| Thady did not thoroughly understand why this
stranger should have for such a sudden attach-.
ae t for him, and wanted to have half-an-hour’s
, at \ him at the hotel; but Paving taken his
five dollars he thought it was the least he ought to
do to show him to the best saloon in ee Blace,

which was a hotel and grocery-store combin
“My good man,” thought Thady to himself,
they went along, “the divil a much you'll get out 0’
me. I wouldn’t wondher but he’s a apy, in disguise
afther all,” and he cast frequent and furtive glances
at the newspaper man as they passed along.
“Yes, Iwas to work in the mine—no, I wasn’t to
work, ayther, bekase none but kl ud work
I was
oin’ on

   
 
  
 
     

    

 
    
     
        
 

there durin’ the sthrike. Well, own. there
anyway, to see how things was g »? said Hoo-
ligan, as he took his seat in the hotel parlor, while
pre Cash proceeded to write down every word he
uttered.

“Now,” said the reporter, “begin your story and
give it, from beginning to end in your own lan-

guage.

Thady then started off in Irish, and talked quite
rapidly, while Carllooked at him in amazement.
At length he stopped him, and said:

‘For goodness sake, man, what are you saying ?”

“T’m tellin’ the story in my own language,” said

hady.
Cari could not help smiling.

“Well, I’m sorry to say I don’t understand Irish,”
he said, ‘‘and you’d do me agreat favor now to de-
scribe your experience, in lish,”

coy made another start and this time acquitted
himself to the satisfaction of the eager interviewer.
When he had toldthe tale of destruction and death
Carl approached him with a number of critical
questions, as to how, in his opinion, the breaker
caught fire, and yarious other things that Thady
did not relish in the least.

“I den’t know how the breaker caught fire,” he

illow, and then | said

id.
“Is there no clew of any kind ?”

‘Sorra clew, unless it was that the moon was
shinin’ at the time, an’ maybe that set the breaker
on fire,” said Thady, with a laugh, intending to be

witty.

“Oh, very good, Mr. Maguire,” said the reporter;
cae joke, but in my opinion that’s all moon-
shine.”

“Iwant you for to undherstand, me good man,
that my name is not Misther Maguire. Now that’s
twice you called id to me, and I won’t be insulted
by any man—no, not ifhe was the Earl of Drogheda,
or the Lord Leftenant himself.”

Carl regretted the tapsus lingue inasmuch. as it
had a tendency to destroy the temper of his inform-
ant; but he made suitable apology, adding that he
had a friend in New York named Maguire, and that
his name was Tone eon his tongue’s tip. The
truth was the name of Molly Maguire was upper-
most in the reporter’s mind, and that accounted
for his using the name whenever he addressed
Hooligan, whom he looked upon as a member of
the order. :

But Thady was just as easily conciliated as he
was offended, and the newspaper man was too good
a strategist to let him remain angry for any length
of time, when a few words of compliment or flat-
tery could smooth his ruffled temper. He could
not ascertain the origin of the fire at the Black
Diamond Shaft, and he could not learn from Thady
the name of a prominent Molly Maguire whom he
might interview. These were very important mat-
ters to him, and hedetermined to compass them
eeepite all obstacles.

“Well, now, Mr. Hooligan,” said he, “you are evi-
dently a hard-working, honest man, who has lived
here a long time.” ;

“You may say that, thin. I work hard, and I’m
an ould residenther o’ this place, although a young
man in years.”

“Then this order of Molly Maguire, of which we
were speaking, must have some origin here—some
cause for existence. If you know what it is, as you
doubtless—being aman of more than ordinary in-
telligence—do, I wish you would tell me.”

_ Thady pee a minute, and seemed as if buried
in seep thought. At length, he said:

Well, sir, J don’t know but what I heerd, but the
razon the ordher 0’ Molly Maguireis hereso strong
is on account o’ the divilthry 0’ the mine bosses and
the chuperintendents. To tell you _the thruth; sir,
it’s no wondher if there is plenty o’ Molly Maguires
among the miners. You see, minin’ is adangerous
callin’. Aman don’t know the minnitthat his sowl
will be called upon while he is at his work.”

., Lhat’s one reason why they should lead a good
life,’ saidthe reporter. .

“Arrah, shure we would, man, if they’d let us;
but who can stand id when he sees the Welsh mine
bosses promotin’ their own counthfymin, an’ lavin’
an Irishman workin’ hard all the days of his life in
the one place; Most.ali:the mine bosses around
here is Welsh, and whin any o’ their own counthry-
min come out here greenhorns, they give them a
place at wanst as miner, over the head of an Irish-

 

time-worn axiom that discretion was the dc*ter}

man that has worked in the same place as a laborer
for five years, behavin’ himself as well as any body,

 

 

he had | dh

“A purty good name in these hard times you’

ae Or eT

sett, «THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. == = 5

 

maybe, and thryin’ to keep his wife an’ little chil-
dher from starvin’. Is that right, or is that fair ?
Then there is no satisfaction to be had from an
body. All you have to dois, if you don’t like id,
you can laveid. Well, this made the boys so mad
that they didn’t know what to do, an’ one o’ thim,
Shawn Gear, I think we used to call him——”
“Hold on, Mr. Ma— Hooligan. Let us have some-
thing to drink,” said the reporter, who was getting
ntrthe dri duced, a bottle placed on th
e drinks were produced, a bottle p onthe
table, and Thady went on with his story:
Well, I was talkin’ o’ Shawn Gear, wasn’t I? Yes,
I was. Shawn sed: ‘Boys, I haye the remedy.
There was a society in the owld counthry that I be-
longed to wanst. I wasthe very man that cut the
Is o’ Lord Lucan’s cows, whin his agint, Shaw-
néen na Stutthers, drove my aunt’s cows an’ sowld
thim for the rint. At that time I was the captain o’
the Molly Maguire’s Boys. Aha! thim wor the lads,’
sez he, ‘that wouldn’t take the andrewmartins o’
the mine bosses. Br can’t we have the Molly Ma-
guire’s Boys pare ? An’ frome that day pat the or-
er grew bigger an ger, an’ to-day. you
wouldn’t know who is a Molly Maguire an’ who is
not. Why, bowld Andy Kerrigan, the politician
that puts on so much style, is a big gun wid the
boys, a the divil a much o’ the work he dus,
an’ some o’ thim do say that he only jined the or-
dher to gain the influence an’ the votes o’ the min.”
‘Is this Shawn the—what did: you call him ?—the
originator of the order here—still in this neighbor-
hood ?” said the reporter.
Oh, no; he is dead an’ gone this many a day, an’
-a fine owld gintleman he was in his time.”
Oh, I have no doubt he was. Can you tell me
howe aeny persons were lost in the Black Diamond
- ;

“Well, some sez a hundred, and some say a hun-
dred and fifty; but I don’t know. Chuperintendent
Carr canstell you. Bad luck to him! it is all his
fault. He sint the blacklegs into work in spite 0’
the min, and——”

Here Thady stopped short, having suddenly dis-
covered that he was treading on dangerous
ground.

“And what then ?”

Oh, nothing, only that the breaker was burnt.”

In this strain Thady Hooligan kept conversing
with the reporter during the afternoon and late into
the night, imbibing freely as the story progressed,
but always cautious lest he might commit himself or
the order of Molly Maguire, of which he was such a
devoted member. When at last he arose to go home,
he found that his head was just a little unsteady,
and that his legs were in perfect sympathy with it.

“Be the morthal, Misther Hard Money, I—I—can
hardly stand up,” said he.

“Hard Money, eh? Well, that’s good,” said the
other. “My name is Cash—Carl Ca Remember
it when you call here to-morrow to inquire for me.”
And so saying, the reporter showed Thady to the
door, shut it after him, and then returned to the
at of arranging his notes and preparing his

etter.

Thady sauntered down the street, and branched
off in the direction of his hut. The night was
bright, and as the semi-intoxicated fellow stag-
gered along, singing fragments of Molly Maguire
ditties, he attracted the attention of every one he
met, who wondered at the man’s madness for
daring to sing in the street while the entire neigh-
borhood was yet in tears andsorrow. But Thad
didn’t carea jot. Death had no terrors for him, an
so he pursued the uneven tenor of his way intoa
lonely part of the road.

_ He saw a man coming across the field to his right,
in the direction of the road, and he suddenly
stopped short to ascertain who it was. The man
kept right on, and crossed the road a few yards in
front of Thady, who, on seeing the figure, stood
transfixed to the ground as though he had seen an
apparition, while his eyes grew big with wonder.
is gaze followed the individual in question until
the latter disappeared behind a clump of trees on
the left of the astonished Thady.

“Holy thunder!” exclaimed the latter’ ‘Dan Da-
vis’s ghost!” And his hair an to rise, while he
freely perspired with fear. “Shure his body was
found in the mines, an’ he’s as cowld a corpse as
could be seen. What the divil does his ghost want
wid me, I wondher? Ah,Isee now; shure it was
meself an’ Ned Malone that took the oath to shoot
’im in his thracks, an’ now he’s follyin’ me around,
an’ he’ll hunt me all the time. Begorra, the next
time I see *im I’ll give ’im a taste o’ this.”

And Thady caught hold of his revolver as he
spoke, and hastened homeward with all his might,
firmly convinced that he had seen the ghost of Dan
Davis, “‘the king o’ the kone ge as he was called,
and determined that should hesee him again he
would endeavor to carry out his oath, and “shoot
him in his tracks.”

 

$2. fa3% Lees
srEe “Aa * ~ he ae #
CHAPTER XXIX.” —
SOME CHANGES OCCUR IN SHANTY HILL—LUKE SEF-
TON’S SUDDEN WEALTH—HARRY MORGAN MEETS A
SINCERE FRIEND ONCE MORE.

The weeks passed wearily in Shanty Hill. Spring
had brightened into summer, but yet the voice of
mourning had not died outin many ahome. The
trees. had. blo t hundreds of hearts
throbbed to the musicof asorrowful dirge, and
hundreds of cheeks were pale, and refused to re-
eeive the blossoms of health and contentment.
Every hg? § found groups of women and aged
men at the old graveyard, and here they wept until

as | their hearts were sore, and their temples ached,

and their eyes were dim, and their footsteps feeble,
while they contemplated what a cruel and relent-
less jailer Death is, who holds his victims, in the
prison from which neither look nor voice nor
message can proceed—the prison of the grave.
Could those’who strike at human life, but measure
the atrocity of the act, or eres the sorrow of sur-
viving friends, even though they were the veriest
fiends, they would pause before inflicting such a
blow, that even eternity itself cannot repair. And
yet strange to say itis often those who are thrown
into paroxysms of the greatest grief over the death
of a dear friend, that are the very least who hesitate
in moments of passion to hasten their fellow-beings
into eternity—and cut them off from all communion
with those whom they hold in the dearest regard,
and who will mourn them forever and forever.
Short as the time had been since the destruction of
the breaker there were several changes in Shanty
Hill. Luke Sefton for instance had risen from a
position of comparative poverty to affluence, all
owing to a lucky purchase that he had effected some
years previously of a large tract of land on the out-
skirts of the village. en he bought it, it seemed
the wildest, and most sterile place that could well
be conceived, but during the spring of which we
speak, the storekeeper tested it, and found it to be
rich in thick veins of anthracite. The consequence
was that he sold itfor‘an enormous sum to the
Black Diamond Coal Company who contemplated
the introduction of a railroad, and the establish-
ment of ironworks in that locality. The news of
Luke Sefton’s luck spread far and near, and old men
who called him a fool when several years previously
he invested in the barren land, came around to con-
gratulate him on his prosperity. The sudden_ flow
of fortune did not make Luke Sefton proud. Not so
his wife, however. The tide of prosperity lifted her
to a giddy height, and at once her attention was
turned to giving her daughter Ellen who had been
completely restored to health, a higher accomplish-
ment. Ellen had been a patient, industrious girl,
and now her mother advised her to forget the past,
and be ambitious of the future; to think no more of
her early love,and of her adventures, but to blot
them out from the book of memory, and begin to
write her history anew on a bright, unsullied page
with fashion and fortune for her pen and ink.

“Tt can never, never be, my mother,” she said, “If
we are rich, I cannot forego my former simplicity
and my former happiness for a life of vain display
and unhappy pride.” But Mrs. Sefton wasin hopes
she would soon overcome this girlish idea and de-
termined on sending her for aterm to a fashion-
able academy for young ladies.

It was rumored that Luke Sefton was about to
build a handsome mansion on one of the best sites
in the village, and thathis daughter was about to
goto some fine academy at Philadelphia to com-
plete her accomplishments and make them worthy
of her fortune. : ; ;

This was the subject under discussion at the door
of Harry Morgan’s cottage, where the mine boss,
who had recovered from the effects of his adven-
ture in the Black Diamond. Shaft, was sitting con-
versing with his mother and Neal Nolan one charm-
ing summer evening.

earing the subject an unpleasant one for_ her
son, Mrs. Morgan changed it, and addressing Neal
Nolan, said: j :

“You were veryfortunate in meeting with such
sincere friends asthe Blakes have proved them-
selves; as soon as they learned you were able to go
out, Charlie and Alice came over here and insisted
on haying you removed to their house, and they
would not take no for an answer.” ;

“They have been very kind to me indeed,” said

eal.
“But the Blakes were always good,” added Mrs. '

Morgan, “and somehow managed to command the
respect of all classes. Indeed I don’t know of a
more interesting girl in the place than Alice Blake,
5 ot pre who, for her advantages, is better accom-
plished.”

“That’s precisely what Neal thinks, too,? said
Harry Morgan, laughing.

Neal was, completely abashed at: first, but over-
coming his personal feelings, he did not fail to
pay the young lady in question a very handsome
compliment.

“There’s a dochter kem here lately,” he added,
“that’s mighty attentive to her, an’ he has the gift
o’ the gab so well that he ingages all her attention
while he is there. He calls nearly every night, an
Alice plays an’ sings for him, an’ sometimes he
thrys to sing too, but there is no more musicin him
than a magpie; but bedad what he can’t make out
in music he can make up in style.” ;

“Ah, you need not fear him, Neal,” said Harry

 

Morgan. ‘He’s a doctor, and those professional

 

lca

 

as

men do not let their hearts go for a sweet song or a
pretty face. hen he marries it will be to secure
ducats as well as a wife.”

An’ be the same token,” said Neal, “I heard him
axin Alice Blake to give him an introduction to Miss
Sefton. He knows they are acquainted.”

Oh, indeed,” said Harry Morgan. “I told_you
what this young adventurer was seeking for. He’s
a brainless heiress-hunter Ill bet you; one of those
fellows who, like a certain class of women, make a
study of marrying rich, and think of nothing else.
So you think he has an eye after Miss Sefton.’

‘Alice told him that you and her were engaged,”
said Neal, incautiously.

Ah that was when we were both poor, Neal. Now
she has grown rich, and, of couse, IL have become
poorer still under the persecution that followed.
me ever since your uncle’s death. Pride and poverty
are but badly matched, and Miss Sefton, doubtless,
thinks so too. What did the doctor say, Neal, when
Alice told him that?”

«, He laughed a hearty kind ov a laugh, and sez he,
that’s impossible.’ ”

Well, BUBDORe he viewed us as we stand at pres-
ent, not as we had been,” said Harry Morgan after
a pause, during which it cost him a struggle to sup-
press his indignant opinion of the doctor’s sar-

casm.

“Miss Sefton often comes to see Alice Blake,”
said Neal, ‘‘an’ I heard her say the other night that
she was goin’ away to somegrand academy at Phil-
adelphia.”

Oh, yes, that’s the current report,” said Harry
Morgan. - c
His mother, who had been busying herself about

the cottage during the Freaier part of this conver- ©

sation, stopped and sai

In my opinion no academy can ever make Ellen ©

Sefton a bit more charming than she used to be
when she visted here last year. But I suppose her
mother desires to have her finished, so that she can
move in high-toned society. Itis natural enough.
She isthe only daughter, and Mrs. Sefton fairly
dotes on her.” 5 j

“Mother, you will see that everything is ready
for my going in the morning,” said Harry, chang-
ing ati subject of the conversation somewhat sud-

enly.

“Yes, Harry, but itis too bad, my boy, that you
are going so far away. I wish you could find work
a little nearer home.”

“Oh, Arrandale is not far, mother, and besides I
will come home every Saturday night. Then it
won't be very long until the Black Diamond break-
er is_rebuilt, and when it is Superintendent Carr
says I can have my old place. This idle life is get-
eee to me. Myself and Neal here will keep
each other company while away, and we'll return
home every Saturday night. I know Neal will want
to be in Shanty Hill over Sunday.” | :

“If I_can get metwo feet out avid alive,” said
Neal, ‘“I never want to seeid agin but to have the
eyesight.”

‘Ah, come—come, Neal, you don’t mean that?”
said Harry. :

_ Well, it’s near time I went home,” said Neal, ris-
ing to

go.
Pll walk over with you,” the other said; “I want

to see Charlie Blake,” and they walked in the direc-

tion of Bernard Blake’s house together.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)

CAPTAIN
Danton’s Daughters.

By May Agnes Fleming.

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

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIV.
TRYING TO BE TRUE.

Late that evening, the sleighing party returned in
high good spirits—all exhilaration after their long
drive through the frosty air. Crescent moon and
silver stars spangled the deep Canadian sky, glitter-
ing coldly bright in the hard white snow, as they
jingled merrily up to the door,

“Oh, what a night!” Kate cried.
tion to go in doors.” ‘

“It is frostbitten noses to stay out,” answered
Reginald. ‘Moonlight is very well in its place; but
I want my dinner.”

The sleighing party had had one dinner that day,
but were quite ready for another. They had
stopped at noon at a country inn, and fared sumptu-
ously on fried ham and eggs and sour Canadian
bread, and then had~ gone rambling off up the hills
and into the woods.

How it happened, no one but Reginald Stanford
ever knew; but it did happen that Kate was walk-
ing beside Jules Le Touche up a steep, snowy hill,
and Reginald was by Rose’s side in a dim, gloomy
forest path. Rose had no objection. She walked
beside him, looking very pretty, in a black hat, with
jong white plume and little white vail. They had
walk

“Tt is profana-

ed on without speaking until her foolish heart ~
was fluttering, and she could stand it no longer. -

She stopped short in the woodland isle, through
which the pale March sunshine sifted, and looked up
at him for the first time. 3

‘*Where are we going ?” she asked.

‘For a walk,” replied Mr. Stantord, ‘and a talk,
You are not afraid, I hope ?” *

‘‘Afraid ?” said Rose, the color flushing her face;
“Of what should I be afraid ?”

“Of me !”

‘‘And why should I be atraid of you ?” ;

“Perhaps because I may make love to you. Are
you ?

) P ‘No be

‘Come on, then.”

He offered his arm, and Rose put her gloved fin-
gers gingerly in his coat-sleeve, her heart fluttering
more than ever.

“You are going tobe married,” he-said, ‘‘and I
have had no opportunity of offering my congratula-
tions. Permit me to do it now.”

“Thank you,”

“Your M. Le Touche is a pleasant little fellow,
Rose. You and he have my best wishes for your fu-
ture happiness.” .

‘The
ceedingly obliged to you!” her eyes flashing; ‘‘and
now, Mr. Stanford, if you have said all you have to
say, suppose we go back.”

‘But I have not said all Ihave to say, nor hak. I
want to know why you are going to marry him 2”

““And I want to know,” retorted Rose, ‘‘what busi-
ness it is of yours ?”

‘Be civil, Rose! I told you once before, if you
recollect, that I was very fond of you. Being very

fond of you, it is natural I should take an interest:

in your welfare.
for?”

‘For love!” said Rose, spitefully.

“*T don’t believe it! Excuse me for contradicting
you, my dear Rose; but I don’t believe it. He isa

ood-looking lamb-like little fellow, and he is worth
orty thousand pounds; but I don’t believe it!”

‘Don’t believe it then. What you believe, or
what you disbelieve is a matter of perfect indiffer-
ence to me,” said Rose, looking straight before her
with compressed lips.

“I don’t believe that, either.
saying such things to me ?”

“Mr. Stanford, do you mean to insult me,” de-
manded Rose, furiously. ‘‘Let me go this instant.
Fetch me back to the rest. Oh, if papa were here,
you wouldn’t dare to talk to me like that. Reginald
Stanford, let me go. I hate you!”

For Mr. Stanford had put his arm around her
waist, and was looking down at her with those
darkly daring eyes. hat could Rose do—silly,
love-sick Rose. She didn’t hate him, and she broke
out into a perfect passion of sobs,

“Sit down, Rose,” he said, very gently, leading
her toa mossy knoll under a tree; ‘and, my dar-
ling, don’t cry. You will redden your eyes, and
swell your nose, and won’t look pretty. Don’t cry
any more!”

if Mr. Stanford had been trying for a week,.
he could have used no more convincing argu-
ment.

Rose wiped her eyes gracefully; but wouldn’t look
at him.

‘“That’s a good girl!” said Stanford. “I willagree
to everything rather than offend you. You love M.
Le Touche, and you hate me. Will that do?”

‘*Let us go back,” said Rose, stiffly, getting up. ‘TI
don’t see what you mean by such talk, I know it is
wrong and insulting.”

“Do you feel insulted ?” he asked, smiling down
at her.

“Let mé alone!” cried Rose, the passionate tears.
starting to her eyes again, ‘‘Let me alone, E tell
you! You have no business to torment me like
this!”

He caught her suddenly in his arms, and kissed
her again and again.

**Rose! Rose! my darling! you love me. don’t you?
My dear little Rose, I can’t let you marry Jules Le
Touche, or any one else.”

He released her just in time.

‘Rose! Rose!” Kate’s clear voice was calling
somewhere near.

‘tHere we are,” returned Stanford,.in. answer, for
Rose was speechless; and two minutes iater, they
were face to face with Miss Da:ton and M. Le

What are you going to marry him

 

 

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Mr. Stanford’s face was clear asthe blue March
sky, but Rose looked as flushed and guilty as she
felt. She shrank from looking at her sister or lover,
and clung involuntarily te Reginald’s arm.

“Have you been plotting to murder any one?”
asked Kate. ‘You look like it.” Jo

“We have been flirting,” said Mr. Stanford, with
the most perfect composure. ‘You don’t mind, do
you? M. Le Touche, I resign in your favor. Come
Kate.”

Rose and Reginald did not exchange another
word all day. Rose was very subdued—very still.
She hardly opened her lips all. the afternoon to the
unlucky Jules. She hardly opened them at dinner,
except to admit the edibles, and she was unnaturally
quiet all the evening. She retired into a corner
with some crochet-work, and declined conversation
and coffee alike, until bedtime. She went slowly
and decorously upstairs, with that indescribably
subdued face. and bade everybody good-night with-
out looking at them.

Eeny, who shared Grace’s room, sat on a stool be-
fore the bedroom fire a long time that night, looking
dreamily into the glowing coals. ¥ ;

Grace. sitting beside her, combing out her own
long hair, watched her in silence,

Presently Eeny looked up.

“How odd it seems to think of her being mar-

ried.” 4

“Who ?”

‘Rose. It seems queer, somehow. I don’t mind
Kate. I heard’before ever she came here that she

was going to be married; but, Rose—I can’t realize
i

“T have knownit this long time,” said Grace.
*‘She told me the day she returned trom Ottawa. I
am glad she is’going to do so well.”

“YT like him very much,” said Heny; ‘‘but he seems
too quiet for Rose. Don’t he ?”

“People like to marry their own opposite,” an-
swered Grace; ‘‘not that but Rose is getting re-
markably quiet herself. She hadn’t aword to say
all evening.” ‘

“Tt will be very lonely when June comes, won’t it
Grace ?” said Eeny, with a little sigh. “Kate will
go to England, Rose to Ottawa, your brother is
going to Montreal, and perhaps papa-will take his
ship again, and there will be no one but you and I,
Grace,”

Grace stooped down and kissed the delicate,
thoughtful young face.

“My dear little Eeny, papa is not going away.”

“Isn’t he? How do you know ?”

“That is a secret,” laughing and coloring.
won't mention it, I will tell you.”

“T won't. What is it 2?”

Grace stooped and whispered, her falling hair hid-
ing her face.

Beny sprang up and clasped her hands.

*-Oh, Grace!”

“Are you sorry, Eeny ?”

Eeny’s arms were around her neck. Eeny’s lips
were kissing her, delightedly.  —

“J am so glad! Oh, Grace, you will never go
away any more!”

“‘Never, my pet.. And now, don’t let us talk any
longer; it is time to go to bed.”

Rather to Heny’s surprise, there was no revela-
tion made next morning of, the new state of affairs.
When she gave her father his good-morning kiss,
she only whispered in his ear: : gp gid

“Tam so glad, papa.” a

And the captain had smiled and patted her pale
cheek, aad sat down to breakfast, talking genially
right and left.

After breakfast, Doctor Frank, Mr: Stanford, and
M. Le Touche, with the big dog Tiger at their heels,
and guns over their shoulders, departed for a morn-
ing’s shooting. Captain Danton went to spend an
hour with Mr. Richards. Rose secluded herself
with a book in her room, and Kate was left alone,

he tried to play. but she was restless that morning,
and gaveitup. She tried to read; the book tailed
to interest her. She walked to,the window and
looked out at thesunshine glittering on the melting
snow.

i “I will go for a-walk,” she thought, ‘‘and visit
some of my poor people in the village.”

She ran upstairs for her hat and shawl, and sal-
lied forth, Her poor people in the village were al-
ways glad to see the beautiful girl. who emptied her
purse so bountifully for them, and spoke to them so
sweetly. She visited halt a dozen ot her pensioners,
leaving pleasant words and silver shillings. behind
her, and then walked on to the Church of St. Croix.
The presbytery stood beside it, surrounded by a trim
garden with graveled paths. Kate opened the
garden gate, and walked up to where Father Fran-
cis stood in the open doorway.

“Ihave come to see you,” she said, ‘since you
won't come to see us, Have you forgotten your.
friends at Danton Hall? You have not been up fora

week,”’ ;

“Too busy,” said Father Francis; “the cure is in
Montreal, and all devolves upon me. Come in.” yi

She followed him into the little parlor, and sat
down by the open window. .

“‘And what’s the news from Danton Hall ?”

“Nothing! Oh!” said Kate, blushing and smiling,
“except another wedding!” ‘

“Another! Two more weddings you mean ?”

“Nol” said Kate, surprised; ‘tonly one. Rose, you
know father, to M. Le Touche!”

‘ ne Francis looked at her a moment. smil-
ngly.

**They haven’t told you, then?”

SSW hat???

‘‘That your father is going to be married!”

Her heart stood still; the room seemed to swim
around in the suddenness of the shock.

“Father Francis,”

“You have not been told? Are you surpris-

“Tf you

room. With her hand on the door, she paused, and
looked at Eeny. 7 ,

‘*You are pleased, no doubt, Eeny ?”

“Yes, lam,” replied Eeny, stoutly. ‘Grace has
always been like a mother tome; I am glad she is
going to be my mother in reality.”

“Tt is a fortunate thing you do,” said Rose, ‘for
you are the only one who wiH have to put up with
her, Thank goodness! I’m going to be married.”

‘Thank goodness !” repeated Heny; ‘‘there will be

eace in the house when you're out of it. I don’t
vee any one I pity halfso much, as that poor M.
Le Touche.”

Kate saw Rose’s angry retort in her eyes, and hur-
ried away from the coming storm. She kept her
room until luncheon-time, and she found her father
alone in the dining-room when she entered. The
anxious look he gave her made her think of Fathér
Francis’s words.

“T have heard all, papa,” she said, smiling, and
holding up her cheek. ‘I am glad you will be hap-
py when-we are: gone.”

He drew a long breath of relief as he kissed her.

“Father Francis told you? You like Grace ?”

“T want to like every one you like, papa,” she re-
plied, evasively. * — : ee ees esi

Grace came inl aS she spoke, and, in spite of her-
self, Kate’s face took that cold, proud look it often
wore; but she went up to her with outstretched
hand. She néver shrank from disagreeable duties,

“Accept my congratulations,” she said, frigidly.
“I trust you will be happy.” Sr,

Two deep red spots, very foreign to her usual com-
plexion, burned in Grace’s cheeks. Her only an-
swer Was a bow, as she took her seat at the table. . .

It was a most comfortless repast.
stiffness, a restraint over all that would) not be sha-
ken oft—with one exception. Rose, who latterly had
been all in the downs, took heart of grace amid the
general gloom, and rattled away like .the Rose of
other days... To her the idea of her father’s marriage
was rather a good joke than otherwise. She had no
deep feelings to be wounded, no tender memories to
be hurt, and the universal embarrassment tickled
her considerably. KR

“You ought to have heard everybody talking on
stilts, Reginald,” she said, in the flow of her returned
spirits, some hours later, when the gentlemen re-
turned. ‘Kate was on her dignity, you know, and
as unapproachable as a princess-royal, and Grace
was looking disconcerted and embarrassed, and papa
was trying to be preternaturally cheerful and easy,
and Keny was fidgety and scared, and I was enjoy-
ing the fun. Did you ever hear of anything so droll
as papa’s getting married?”

‘J never heard of anything more sensible,” said
Reginald, resolutely. ‘‘Grace is the queen of house-
keepers, and will make the pink and pattern of ma-
trons. I have foreseen this for some time, and I as-
sure you I am delighted.” e

‘So is Kate,” said Rose, her eyes twinkling. ‘‘You
ought to have seen her congratulating Grace. It
was like the entrance of a blast of north wind, and
froze us all stiff.” ;

“Tam glad June is so near,” Kate said, leaning

here and know that she was mistress.” “
Mr. Stanford did not seem to hear; he was.
ling to Tiger, lumbering on the lawn. When
speak, it was without looking at her. BEY
‘Tam going to Ottawa next week.” yea oi.
“To Ottawa! With M. Le Touche?’ asked Kate,
while Rose’s face flushed up.
‘Yes; he wants me to go, and I have said yes. I
shall stay until the end of April.” :
Kate looked at him a little wistfully, but said noth-
ing. Rose turned suddenly, and ran up stairs.

   

last. ;
‘It will not’be for long,” he answered, carelessly.
“Come in and sing mea song.” :

The first pang of doubt that had ever crossed
Kate’s mind of her handsome lover, crossed it now,
as she followed him into the drawing-room.

_*How careless he is!’ she thought; ‘how willing
to leave me! And I—could I -be contented any-
where in the world where he was not ?”

By some mysterious chance, the song she selected
was Eeny’s ‘Smile again, my dearest love, weep n_t
that I leave thee.” é

| Stanford listened to it, his sunny face overcast.

“Why did you sing that?’ he asked, abruptly,
when she had done. _

“Don’t you like it?”

“No; I don’t like cynicism set to music.
is a French chansonet—sing me that.”

Kate sang for him song after song.) The moment-
ary pain the announcement. ot his departure had
given her wore away.

“It is natural he should like change,” she thought,

‘and it is dull here. Iam Mad he is going to Otta-
wa, and yet I shall miss him. Dear Reginald! what
would life be worth without you !”

. The period of M. Le Touche’s stay was rapidiy
drawing to a close. March was at its end, too—it
was the last night of the month. The eve of de-
parture was celebrated at Danton Hall by a social
party. The elder Misses Danton on that occasion
were as lovely and as much admired as ever, and
Messrs. Stanford and Le Touche were envied by
more than one gentleman present. Grace’s engage-
ment to the captain had got wind, and she shared
the interest with her stepdaughters-elect.

Early next morning, the two young -men left.
There was breakfast almost before it was light, and
everybody got up to see them off. It was a most
depressing morning. March had gone out like an
idiotic lamb, and April came in in sapping rain and
enervating mist. Ceaselessly the rain beat against
the window-glass, and the wind had a desolate echo
that sounded far more like winter than spring.

Pale, in the dismal morning-light, Kate and Rose

we t

Here

 

ed? i have been' expecting as much this some
time. ‘

_ “You are jesting, Father Francis,” she said; find-
ing voice, which fora moment had failed her; ‘it
cannot be true!”

“Tt is quite true.
he told me himself.”

“And te whom—”

She tried to finish. the sentence but her rebellious
tongue would not.

“To Grace! Iam surprised that your father has
not told you. If I had dreamed it was in the slight-
est degree a secret’ I certainly would not have
spoken.” She did not answer.

He glanced at her and sawthat her cheeks and
lips had_ turned ashen white, as she gazed steadfast-
ly out of the window.

“‘My child,” said the priest, “you do not speak.
You are not disappointed—you are not grieved ?”

“You have given mea great shock,” Kate said,
coldly. ‘I never dreamed of this! I am both disap-
pointed and grieved.”

x She arose to go, still pale with the great and sud-
den surprise. ‘

‘You have given me a great shock in telling me
this. Inever dreamed of another taking my dear,
dead mother’s place. Iam very selfish and unrea-
sonable, I dare say; but I thought papa would have
been satisfied to make my home his.. I have loved
my father very much, and I cannot get used to the
idea all ina moment of another taking my place.”

. She walked tothe door, Father Francis followed
er.

“One word,” he said. “It is in your power, and in
your power alone, to make your father seriously un-
happy. You have no right to do that; he has ‘been
the most indulgent of parents to you. Remember
that now—remember how he has never grieved you,
and do not grieve him. Can TI trust you to do this?”

**You can trust me,” said Kate, a little softened.
‘Good morning.”

She walked straight home, her heart allin a rebel-
lious tumult. From the first she had never taken
very kindly to Grace; but just now she felt as if she
positively hated her. .

‘‘How dare she marry him!’ she thought, the an-
Bry blood hot in her cheeks, ‘*How dare she twine

erself, with her quiet, Quakerish ways, into his
heart! He is twice her age, and it is only to be mis-
tress where she is servant now that she marries
him. Oh, how could papa think of such a thing ?”

_She found Rose in the drawing-room when she ar-
rived, listening to Eeny with wide-open eyes of
wonder. The moment Kate entered, she sprang up,
in a high state of excitement.

‘Have you heard the news, Kate? Oh, goodness,
gracious me? What is the world coming to! Papa
is going to be married !”

**I know it,” said Kate, coldly.

“Who told you? Eeny’s just been telling me, and
Grace told her last night. It’s to Grace! Did you
ever! Just fancy calling Grace mamma !”

“I shall never call her anything of the sort.”
‘ae yan ne it, then? I told Eeny you wouldn't

Ke it. at are you going to say to papa?”

“Nothing.” cae ee ne EO

“No? Why don’t you remonsirate? Tell him he’s
old enough and big enough to have better sense.”

“‘T shall tell him nothing of the sort; and I beg you
will not, either. Papa certainly has the rirht to do
as he pleases, Whether we like it or not doesn’t
matter much; Grace Danton will more than supply
our places.”

Isaw your father yesterday, and
7

,t® be seen after.

Danton bade their lovers adieu, and watched them
drive down the dripping avenue and disappear.

An hour before he had come: down stairs that
morning, Mr. Stanford had written a letter. It was
very short:

“DEAR OLD Boy:—I’'m off. In an hour I shall be on my way
to Ottawa, and from thence I will write you next. Do you know
why lam going? ITamrunning away from myself! ‘Lead us
not into temptation’; and Satan seems to have me hard and fast
at Danton Hall. Lauderdale, in spite of your bad opinion of me,
I don’t want to be a villain ifI can nelp it. I don’t want to do
any harm; I do want to be true! And here itis impossible. I
have got intoxicated with flowing curls, and flashing dark eyes,
and all t@e pretis bewitching, foolish, irresistible ways of that
piquant little beauty, whom 1 have ‘no business under Heaven

to think of. I know she is silly, and frivolous, and coquettish
and vain; but Ilove her! There, the murder is out, and I feel
better after it. But, withal, I want to be faithful to the girl who
loves me (ah! wretch that lam!) and soI fly. A month out ot
sight of that sweet face—a month out of he of that fay:
young voice—a month shooting, and riding, and Suplering these
Canadian wilds, will do me ood, and bring me back a new man.
At least, I hope so; and don’t you set me down as ayillain for
the next four weeks, at least.”

The day of departure was miserably long and dull
at the Hall. It rained ceaselessly, and that made it
worse. Rose never left her room; her plea was
headache. Kate wandered drearily up stairs and
down stairs, and felt desolate and forsaken beyond
all precedent.

There was a strange, forlorn stillness about the
house, as if some one lay dead in it; and from morn-
ing to night the wind never ceased its meiancholy
complaining.

Ofcourse this abnormal state of things could not
last. Sunshine came next day, and the young la-
dies were themselves again. The preparations for
the treble wedding must begin in earnest now-—
shopping, dressmakers, milliners, jewelers, all had
A journey to Montreal must be
taken immediately, and business commenced. Kate
held a long consultation with Rose in her boudoir;
but Rose, marvelous to ‘tell, took very little interest
in the subject. She, who all her life made dress the
great concern of her existence, all at once, in this
most important crisis, grew indifferent.

She accompanied Kate to Montreal, however, and
helped in the selection of laces, and silks, and flow-
ers,.and ribbons; and another dressmaker was hunt-
ed up and carried back.

It was a busy time after that; the needles of Agnes
Darling, Eunice, and the new dressmaker flew from
morning until night. Grace leit her assistance, and
Kate was always o>cupied superintending, and be-
ing fitted and refitted, and had no time to think
how lonely the house was, or how much she missed
Reginald Stanford. She was happy beyond the
power of words to describe; the time was near
when they would never part again—when she would
be his—his happy, happy wife.

It was all different with Rose; she had changed in
a most unazcountable manner. All her movements

‘were languid and listless, she who had been wont to

keep the house astir; she took no interest in the
bridal-dresses and jewelry; she shrank from every
one,and wanted to be alone. She grew pale, and
thin, and hysterical, and so petulant that it was a
risk to speak to her. .What was the matter?_every
one asked that question,and Grace and Grace’s
brother were the only two who guessed within a
mile of the truth.

And so April wore away. Time, that goes on for-
ever—steadily, steadily, for the happy and the mis-
erable—was bringing the tated time near. The
snow had fied, the new grass and fresh buds were
greenon the lawn and trees, and the birds sang
their glorias in the branches so lately tossed bv the

 

 

She spoke bitterly, and turned to go up to her own

epics
RAPA}
° erat

af

wintry winds.

THE NEW YORK

There was a}

/most interesting conversation.

lightly on her lover’s shoulder; ‘I could not stay

oe

  

SS rarer svmnentosorammnsnai nn

 

Doctor Danton was still at St. Croix, but he was
going away, too. He had had an interview with
Agnes Darling, whose hopes were on the ebb; and
once more had tried to engraft his own bright, san-
guine nature on hers. ? :;

“Never give up, Agnes,” he said, cheerily. ‘Pa-
tience, patience yet alittle longer. I shall return
for my sister’s wedding, and I think it will be all
right then,” :

Agnes listenedand sighed wearily. The ghost of
Danton Hall had been very well behaved of late, and
had frightened no one. The initiated knew that
Mr. Richards was not very well, and the night air
was considered unhealthy, so he never left his
rooms, The tamarac walk was undisturbed in the
lonely April nights—at least by all save Doctor
Frank, who sometimes chose to haunt the place, but
who never saw anything for his pains.

May came—with it came Mr, Stanford, looking
sunburned, and fresh, and handsomer than ever. As
on the evening of his departure from the Hall, so
on he eve of ‘his departure from Ottawa, he had
written to that confidential friend:

‘BER LAUDERDALE:—The month of probation has expired.
To-morrow I return to Danton Hall. Whatever happens, I have
done my best. If fate is arbitrary, am I to blame? Look for

Pe une, and be ready to pay your respects to Mrs. Stan-
‘or } ;

 

CHAPTER XY.
ONE OF EARTH’S ANGELS. —.

Mr, Stanford’s yisit to Ottawa had changed him
somehow, it seemed to Kate. The eyes that love
us are sharp; the heart. that sets us up for its idol is
quick to feel every variation. Reginald was changed
—vaguely, almost indefinably, but certainly changed.
He was more silent than of old, and had got a habit
of falling into long brown studies in the midst of the
[ He took almost as
little interest in the bridal paraphernalia as Rose,

‘and sauntered lazily about the grounds, or lay on

the tender new grass under the trees-smoking end-
less cigars, and looking dreamily up at the endless
patehes of bright blue sky, and thinking, thinking—
of what? 4

Kate saw it, felt itjand was unéasy. Grace sawit,
too; for Grace had her suspicions of that fascinating
| young officer, and watched him closely. They were
not very good friends“Somehow, Grace and Kate
Danton; asort of armed neutrality existed between
them,and had eversince Kate had heard: of her
father’sapproaching marriage. She had never liked
Grace much—she liked her less than ever now. She
was marrying her father from the basest and most
mercenary motives, and Kate despised her, and was
rigidly civil and polite whenever she met her. She
took it very quietly, this calm Grace, as she took all
things, and was respectful to Miss Danton, as be-
came Miss Danton’s father’s housekeeper. ‘

‘Don't you think Mr. Stanford. has altered some-
how, Frank, since he went to Ottawa?” she said one
day to hembrot hes, as they sat alone together by the
dining-room yvindow. ae
Doctor Danton looked out. Mr. Stanford was
‘sauntering down the avenue, a fishing-rod over his
‘shoulder, and his bride-elect on his arm.
‘Altered! How?”
‘I don’t know how,’ said Grace, ‘but he has al-

tered. There is something changed about him; I
don’t knew what. Idon’t think he is settled in his
mind.” 0%

“My dear Grace, what are you talking about? Not
settled in his mind! A man who is about to marry
the handsomest girl in North America!”

“TI don’t care for that. I wouldn’t trust Mr. Regi-
nald Stanford as far as I could see him.”

“You wouldn’t? But then you are an oddity,

 

“We shall miss you—I shall miss you,’’ she said al

Grace. What do you suspect him of?”

“Never mind; my suspicions are my own. One
thing I am certain of—he is no more worthy to mar-
ry Kate Danton than I am to marry a prince.”

“Nonsense! He is as handsome as Apollo, he
sings, he danses, and talks divinely. Are you nota
little severe, Grace?”

Grace closed her lips.

‘““We won’t talk about it.
the matter with Rose?”

‘*T wasn’t aware there was anything the matter.
An excess of happiness, probably; girls like to be
married, you know, Grace.”

‘‘Fiddlestick! She has grown thin; she mopesin
her room all daylong, and hasn’t a word for any
one—she who used to be the veriest chatterbox
alive.” :

“All very naturally accounted. for, my dear. M.
ne Touche is absent—doub less she is pining for

nim.” sce 4

“Just about as much asTam. I.tell you, Frank, I
hope things will go right next June, but I don’t-be-
lieve it. Hush! here is Miss Danton.”

Miss Danton opened the door, and seeing who
were there, bowed coldly and retired again. Un-
justly enough, the brother came in for part of the
aversion she felt for the sister,

Meantime Mr. Stanford sauntered along the vil-
lage with his AOE APA nodditig good-humoredly
right and left. Short as had been his stay at Dan-

What do you suppose is

had won golden opinions from all sorts of people.
From the black-eyed girls who fell in love with his
handsome face, to the urchins rolling in the mud,
and ve wacpbige ng handtuls of pennies. The
world. and Mr. Stanford went remarkably well with
each other, and whistling all the way, he reached
his destination in half an hour—a clear, silvery
stream, shadowed by waving trees and famous in
fishing annals, He flung himself down on the turty
sward, lit a cigar, al egan smoking and staring
reflectively at vacancy. ;
The afternoon was lovely, warm as June, the sky
.Wwas cloudless, and the sunlight glittered in golden
ripples on. the: stream, All things were favorable;
but Mr. Stanford was evidently not a very enthusi-
astic disciple of Isaac, Walton; for his cigar was
smoked, out, the stump thrown away, and his fish-
ing-rod lay unused still. He took it up at last, and
dropped it scientifically in the water. ie
“‘Tt’s. & bad business,” ke mused, ‘‘and hanging,
drawing, and Grerter ng. woul too good for me.
But what the di do? and then she

 

cKens is a fellow te
is so fond of me, too—poor little girl!” -

He laid the fishing-rod down again, drew from an
inner,pocket a note-beok and pencil. From between
the leaves he drew out a sheet of pink-tinted, gilt-
edged note-paper, and using the note-book fora
desk, began to write. It was a letter, evidently;
and after he wrote the first line he paused, and
looked at i: with an odd smile. The line was, ‘*An-
gel of my dreams.” ©. Ke

“T think she will like the style of that,” he mused;
‘it’s: Frenchified and sentimental, and she rather

affects that sort of thing. Poor child! I don’tsee
how I ever got to be so fond of her.”
Mr. Stanford weat on with his letter. It was in

Frengh, and he wrote very slowly and thoughtfully.
He fiter the four sides, ending with.‘‘Wholly thine,
Reginald Stanford.” Carefully he re-read, made
some erasures, folded, and put if jnan envelope. As
he sealed the envelope, a big dog caine bounding
down the bank, and poked its cold, black nose in-
quisitively in his face. 7S ;

“Ah! Tiger, mein herr, how aréyou? Where is
your master?” : %

“Here,” said Doctor Frank. “Don’t let me in-
trude, Write the address, by all means.”

“As if I would pe you au fait ofmy love-letters,”
said Mr. Stanford, coolly putting the letter in his
note-book, and the note-book in his pocket. “I
thought you were off to-day?”

“No, to-morrow. I must be upand doing now;
T am about tired of Saint Groix, and nothing to do.”

“Are you ever coming back?”

“Certainly. I shall come back onthe fourth of
June, Heaven willing, to see you made the happiest
man in creation,” ;

“Have a cigar?” said Mr. Stanford, presenting his
cigar-case. “I can recommend them. You would
be the happiest man in creation in my place,
wouldn't you?” ,

‘Most decidedly. But I wa8n't born, like some
mei? I know of, with a silver spoon in my mouth.
Beautiful wives drop into ‘some men’s arms, ripe
and ready, but Lam not one of them.”

“Oh, don’t despond! Your turu may come yet!”

sons are odious.”

“Go on.” :

“To Miss Rose Danton. She is pining on the
stem, at the near approach of matrimony, and
growing as pale as.aspirit, What is the matter with
her?” ry
‘*You ought to know best. You’re a doctor.”
“But love-sickness; I don’t believe there is any-
thing in the whole range of physic to cure that.
What's this—a fishing rod?” ’
“Yes,” said Mr, Stanford, taking more comfortable
position on. the grass. “I thought I would try my
luck this fine afternoon, but somehow I don’t seem
to progress very fast.” ag ‘

“T should think not indeed: Let me see whatI
can do.” ;
Reginald watched him lazily, as he dropped the
line into the placid water. ° Be oo

 

“What do you think about it yourself?” he asked,
v <a .
mw, 5

| after a pause, -

“About what ?” ;

*

WEEKLY.

 

ton Hall, he was very well known in the village, and

“T don’t despond—tI leave that to—but compari-|

/on board the Peerless and introduced him to Cap-

 

paar 3

“This new alliance on the tapis. He’s a very nice
little fellow, I have no doubt; but if I were a pretty
irl, I don’t’ think I should like nice little fellows.
e is just the last sort of a man in the world I could
fancy our bright Rose marrying.”

‘Or course he is! It’s a failing of the sex to marry
the very last man their friends would expect. But
are you quite sure in this case; no April day was
ever more changeable than Rose Danton.”

“I don’t know whatyou mean. They’ll-be married
to a dead certainty.”

“What will you bet on the event ?”

“Pm not rich enough to bet; but if I were, it
wouldn’t be honorable, you know.”

Doctor Frank gave him a queer look, as he hooked
a fish out of the water.

“Oh, ifit becomes a question of honor, I have no
more tosay. Do yousee this fellow wriggling on my
hook ?” 8

*Yeg!? :

“Well, when this fish. swims again, Rose Danton
will be Mrs, Le Touche, and you know it.”

 

rushed red to’ Reginald’s face.

“The duse take your innuendoes!” he exclaimed.
“What do you mean?” __

“Don’t ask me,” said Doctor Frank. “TI hate to
tell a lie; and I won’t say what I suspect. Suppose
We change the subject. Where is Sir Ronald
Keith ?”

“In New Brunswick, doing the wild-woods and
shooting bears. Poor: wretch! with all his eight
thousand a year, and that paradise in Scotland Glen
Keith, I don’t envy him, Inever saw any one so
hopelessly hard hit as he.”

“You're a fortunate fellow, Stanford; but I doubt
ifyou know it. Sir Ronald would be a far happier
man in your place,” —

i bias face of the young Englishman darkened sud-
dently,

‘Perhaps there is such a thing as being too for-
tunate, and getting satiated. I wish I could be
steadfast, and firm, and faithful’ forever to one
thing, like some men, but I can't. Sir Ronald’s one
of that kind, and so are you, Danton, but I——”

He threw his cigar into the water, and left the
sentence unfinished. There was a long silence.
Doctor Frank fished away as if his life depended on
it; and Stanford lay and watched him, and thought
—who knows what?

[TO BECONTINUED.|
——_—___ > e+

NATURE.

BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLAOE.

 

 

 

O, never yet was he deccived
Who put on Nature’s lap his trust,
Therefore sometimes we'll go to her
From carking care and city dust.
Along the blue Winandamere
Thus thought sung hallowing, of old,
And holier still it seems to us F
Where Hudson's summer wares are rolled.

Then by his waters let us rest
Beneath 3 paradise of leaves,
Where winds are laughing from the west
And to the spirit nothing grieves.
O, we will listen to the sound,
So like a soul in every tree,
And from the music try to wind
The meaning of the mystery.
Blest summer woods! O, miracles
Of forest, river, mountain, cloud{
No longer for your meanings we
Will, in fierce longing, cry aloud,
Butin a toust with quiet hours
That goldenly above us roll,
Feel grand interpretations glide
Into each.still, yet thoughtful sout.

NAVIGATOR NED;
OR,
HE WOULD BE A CAPTAIN.
y eur By NED BUNTLINE.

(“Navi Cr Ned” was commenced in No. 24 Back
can ent from any News Agent.} Famer

 

: CHAPTER VIIL

I will not insult my intelligent young readers by
expressing a thought that they are ignorant of
the wonders of Californian scenery, which have
been so ably depicted by the pens and pencils of
artists and travelers, but will skip over the inci-
dents of travel enjoyed by our hero and _ his good
friend Captain Dennis,and simply take up my
enain of narrative where it begins with their return
to San Francisco. . :

They grrived in the night on the Stockton steam-

rang for breakfast; for Ned had staid on deck till
after Baianehy, watching the little steamer as she
was skillfully steered through the winding chan-
nels of the San_Joaquin, as it forced its way
through the vast Tule morasses toward its future
ecean home,

‘After breakfast they landed, andas the captain
had to see his consignees before going on board
the Peerless,he told Ned: he might as well look
around the town for two or three hours as not.

The boy was only too ged of the peace ier for
everything was new and strange to him, especially
when he got up on Sacramento and Jackson streets
into the Chinese quarter of the town. He wandered
on and on, looking at the oddly-dressed Chinamen,
till he cameinto the most dangerous a of the
town—“the Barbary coast” it is called there—
though he did not know it.

Suddenly, as he passed a low, sunken grog-shop,
he heard an oath hissed out in Spanish, and the
next moment a tall, swarthy form leaped up from
the basement door of the grog-shop, and Ned sawa
man with a glittering knife in his hand springing
toward him, whom he instantly recognized as Don
Diego Carrabajal. ;

. “Heaven help me!” cried the unarmed boy, and
with a shout for help he rushed down the street at
his wildest speed. . '
But faster and with longer strides came the ruf-
flan rushing after him,and each second the boy
thought he would feel that terrible knife-blade be-
tween his shoulders.

Close before him was a group of sailors, looking
as if freshly landed from some ship, for all were
clean and sober, and toward them ran the boy, still
shouting for help. _

A second more and the Spaniard’s hand was on
Ned’s shoulder.

“Tye got you now, you little wretch!” hissed the
Spaniard. | ei

And his knife raised high in the air flashed before
the doomed boy’s eyes as it descended toward his
heart. But help was near—astrong hand caught
the deseending arm, and a dozen men grappled the
struggling, yelling ruffian who was thus foiled in
the mony act of murder.

Hardly realizing how he was saved, Ned eried out
to the mew to secure the wretch, for he was an es-
caped pirate; but in spite o2 them all, after stab-
bing one to death and wounding two more severely,
the Spaniard broke away and rushed out of sight
among the slums and alleys of the bad locality.

“Edward! Rdioard ! my son! You at least are
sayed!” cried one of the wounded men.

Then, wonder upon wonder, Navigator Ned re-
cognized his own father, clean and sober, among
those who had rescued him from the hands of the
murderous Spaniard.

“Are you badly hurt, father?” asked the boy. as
he helped him to his feet.

“No, Edward; itis only a gash in the side. T must

get the blood a Dee though, or my life will soon
ebb away. And I want to live, now that I have
found you, for’ I have dashed the bottle to earth
never more to piek it up again, and please Heaven
I will make your mother happy yet.’
Policemen, as usual, after an affray is over, were
now. crowding around them in numbers, and the
dead and wounded men were looked to, while some
‘went in pursuit of the murderer, Vho with three of
nis seas had escaped the night before from the city
jail.

But erieator Ned took his father under his own
eare, quickly going toa drugstore where his wound
was dressed by a pr oeh whom they sent for. :

Then Ned, proud of a sober father, and thankful
that he had helped to save his life, took his father

tain Dennis. !

It aD eeerorl that Mr. Straight had shipped on an-
other ¢ mer belonging to the same owners, which
sailed only a week laterthan the Peerless. But she
had gone around the Horn and madea long pas-

sage.

“Captain Dennis asked Ned if he would not like to
have his father on the same ship with him, and Ned
replied that he would, for-he hoped his influence
a lore would help his fatherto keep his pledge of
sobriety.

So Captain Dennis promised to get him exchanged
from the other ship, and he made his own surgeon
take him under his care, for the loss of blood had
been considerable, and Mr-Straight was very weak.

When the escape of the pirate chief, and his ‘sub-
sequent murderous assault upon the chief witness

ainst him, became known through the city pa-

 

    

He said the last words so significantly, and with.
such a look, that all the blood of all the Stanfords | Bh

 

eX Om C\

 

ASN
the State, an additional one by the Mayor, and yet
a thousand dollars more by Captain Dennis for his
arrest, it seemed as if ha would not be permitted to
escape.

Yet no more was heard of him while the Peerless
was taking in her cargo, nor -yet, indeed, when,
three weeks later, she was all ready to sail on her
return.trip. '

The epip lay off in the stream, the pilot,on board,
her sails loosed, and everything ready, even her
cable hove short and anchor almost atrip. The eap-
tain, who had been on shore to take his papers from
the custom-house, and had hyip come off, was stand-
ing aft, trumpet in hand, while his boat was being
run up at the quarter dayits.

In the stream, as usual, there were. numerous
fruit boats, which always linger about an out-going
ship, calculating on sales, but none now were al-
lowed alongside.

The boat was up, the capstan manned to heave
the anchor up, the three topsails sheeted home and
hoisted, and all was now ready to break ground.

Heave away, and stand by the jib halliards and
the fore topsa A PEACER !” shouted ee captain,

“All apeak, sir, shouted the second mate from the
forecastle, where he stood loking over the bows.
2 9 next instanthe shouted: ‘‘Shebreaks ground,
sir!

He meant that ‘the anehor was loose from the
ground, and the ship ready to swing to her sails.

 

 

 

 

shouted Captain Dennis through his trumpet.
obeyed, the ship began to yeer around toward her
outward course.
_ At that second a terrible scream was heard, com-
ing from the waist of the ship.

man had clambered on board from a shore-
boat, unseen in the excitement of getting under-
way. and now he was recognized, as he stood for a
moment on the bulwarks, grasping the struggling
form of Navigator Ned in his brawny hands,

It was Diego Carrabajal, the pirate chief.

With a fiendish yell of derision, he held the boy
an instant there, and then, as Ned’s father, the cap-
tain, and many others, sprang to aid the poor boy,
the pirate leaped overboard and disar peared in the
waters of the bay.

“Hard down the helm! Let go. all halliards!
Drop the anchor!” shouted the captain, each order
coming almost like a shriek from his lips.

Then, as these wero in turn obeyed, almost as fast

 

 

as given, he shouted: ae

*“A crew here in the quarter-boat! Lower away,
with all hands in!” : a Raa

He was first in the boat himself. * "| © ¥

In agony, Mr. Straight looked over the side where »
the pirate had disappeared with his son in his
arms. All that he couldsee was some bubbles cf
air rising to the surface near where an empty
shore-boat drifted on the water. ;

But a second later he saw two faces rise to the
surface; one the flushed, dark face of the malig-
nant pirate; the other yoga ot his dear boy, pale,

HT

      

   
  

very pale, but yet show Teper In a seccnd they

went down again, and, wild with agony, he spranz

aft into the quarter-boat to make one of the crew. .
“Lower away—lower away, quick!” shouted the

captain. ‘
Tn a half-minute the hoatréncitet the water.
“Unhook the falls! Up oars, let fall, and give
way!” cried the captain. :

captain, standing up, looked for a sign of the boy,
or aglance of the murderous pirate, while he drew.
a revolver from his pocket. _

“Steer to port—steer to port!” shouted the mate
from the bulwarks, and at the same instant the
captain got a glimpse of a head rising to the sur-
ace. haps Se See let

‘ RES

 

¢ ae i t
CHAPTER IX.

Tho captain raised the revolver to fire, but in a
second lowered it, for the white, despairing face
turned toward him was that of Navigator NED.

“Give way men—give way!” he cried.
will sink before we reach him!”

Mr, Straight, Ned’s father, was in the bow and
looking quick in. the direction of his sinking son,
he seized a boat-hook and eaught its crooked iron
in_ his jacket as the boy went down again.

In amoment the oars were dropped and half a
dozen eager hands reached for the boy as the boat
ranged up to him. ‘

ull hard! How heavy he is?” cried the man
who first grappled him, and as another, the boy’s
father, seized and helped to raise him,a ery of won-
der, almost of horror, broke from every lip.

The boy, with his left hand clutched in the beard

 

of Diego Carrabajal, helda broad dagger in his
right, and as both Bodies were drawn into the boat,
it'was seen that the Spaniard had been stabbed a
dozen times in the breast and neck.

He was dead, but the boy, now unconscious, was
yet alive. ,

 

er, and did not leave their berths till the first bell-

Quiesly Captain Dennis rowed back with his boat
to the ship, which was again anchored. "

Furl all sails, Mr. Wild!” he cried, as soon as he:
touched the deck. ‘Have the lad lifted carefully
from the boat and carried into my cabin. Call the
surgeon quickly.”

n afew seconds Navigator Ned was in the cabin, °
and while he was rubbed all over with stimulating
psa: oe coffee was brought to give him as he

vived. ou .

In a little while he was able to téll all he knew of
what had occurred in and under the water.. When
the pirate sprang overboard with him, the boy
wrenched the pirate’s own knife from his belt, and
knowing it was for life that he struck, he drove it
agajn and again into the villain’s breast and throat
until the Jatter, relaxing his hold,allowed him fo
struggle for the surface, which he did, as we know,
successfully, though he could not haye kept up,
clutching the pirate as he yet did, unconsciously, by
his long and tangled beard.

I know it is awful to killa man,” he sobbed, as
he thought of it. “But he would have drowned me
if J had not.” ,

“You did right,” said the captain, overjoyed that
his brave protege was yet alive. “‘The ship is at an-
cher, her sails are furJed, and_here we stay till I
have that villain’s carcass carried on shore, identi-
fied, and you receive the three thousand dollars’ re-
ward offered for him, dead or alive.”

Oh, captain, how rich nity dear mother. will be
now,” sobbed the happy boy. ~“‘Father—father,
don’tery. You are a good and sober man now, and
you will share in all of mother’s joys.”

Ned’s father was on his knees by the boy’s bed,
erying in low, hysterical sobs. His joy could find
no other utterance.

In alittle while Ned was so much. stronger that
he was able to go on shore with the captain in one
boat, while asecond, under charge of Mr. Wild,
brought the pirate’s body to the shore.

The latter was put onacart and taken to the
mayor’s office, where, recognized by his lato jailers,
and seen by thousands, the dead pirate became the
center of curiosity. :

_ The governor happening to be in town, at once
issued his warrant for the reward, the mayor paid
his in a city check, and despite our young hero’s
Pepys. the captain paid his thousand dollars down
in gold.

_ Navigator Ned found himself. suddenly so lion-
ized, s0 worried by sneer vee reporters, so
songee after by everybody, that he was only too
glad to getoff to the ship again, with his richly
earned gold, and he never felt happier than he did
when the:ery eame once more:

“All hands up anchor!” : :

This time there was nothing to keep the ship
from proceeding to sea, andin alittle while Ned
again saw the blue Pacific through the emerald
portals of the Golden Gate. e
When the ship’s watches were set, Ned was de- \
lighted to find his father assigned to duty with him,
and that both were in the same mess. The captain
had taken charge of ‘his money, but hetold him
that he wanted him to stay in his watch and learn
allthe duties of a seaman thoroughly, for on his

-yery next yoyage he hoped tosee him fill an officer’s

berth.

Navigator Ned was delighted with this thought.
Manhood came faster than his years. But he de-
termined work constantly for improvements,
and to be worthy of all that was intended for him.

The crew were no longer jealous when they saw
him called by the side of an older and stronger sea-
man to take his trick at the helm; they all acknowl-
edged his worth, and vied with each other in doing
hima good turn whenever a chance came. . ;

The voyage down the coast was not so rapid as it
had been up,for winds were light and baffling;
but still the Peerless made better headway than
most ships would have done, and though Captain
Dennis had no hope of coming near his fast time
out,he hoped to make better than an ordinary
voyage. f 4 :

He had orders to stop at Rio Janeiro on his way
back, if he could do so without losing too much
time, for one of the owners was there with his fam-
ily, and would take p e home with him.

‘or days and weeks they.ran on, occasionally
haying to tack when the wind drew ahead, and at
last they came into the dreaded vicinity of Cape
Horn. E ; "

The captain, remembering his. success in the
straits before, and more-confident when he thought
of the harbor known to them all as “Ned’s»Haven,
determined to again try that passage.

CHAPTER X.

It is not gallant, to say the least, to so long leave
the good mother and the fair young sisters of Navi-
gator Ned out of sight, for all whofeel an interest
in our Pik must also feel an interest in those
whom he loves. :

That they were astonished, not to say delighted.
when but one hundred days had _ elapsed, an d-
ward was heard from, is but to tell half that they
felt. : > :

Mr. Crowningshield was himself in a glow of de-
light as he handed over to Mrs. Straight tho one
hundred dollars already earned by her brave son,
for his ship had made tne quickest passage yet

 

 

pers, and a reward was offered by the Governor of

*

known, and her voyage, with the $8,000 passage

 

“Hoist away the jib! Brace in the head yards!”
The next second, as these orders. were quickly ~

 

 

he boat sheered out clear from the ship, and'the -

 

N
“The boy

 

 

 

 

 

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money paid by the Spaniards; had been wonder-
fully profitable. . E

“Captain Dennis has:not sent me full particu-
lars,” said he, “but will do so by letter; but he says
in his dispateh that he has twice owed-the safety of
the ship and allon board te your boy. whom he
calls Navigator Ned.”

“T thank Heaven the dear boy has been useful to
him, and that his life has been preserved,” said
Mrs. Straight, while tears of joy coursed down her
cheeks. , * ey:
“You will doubtless ,hear from him by mailina
littie over a week,” said the merchant. ‘The mails
take but ashorttime to.cross the continent now,
and I expect full partieulars from the capta&in in a
few days. When you need. any money, call. on me
without hesitation. Captain Dennis has put your
boy, on full seaman’s wee .

Mrs. Straight wept while she said:

“The money you have brought, with my own
2arnings, will bring comforts to this house for a
year to come which we_haye not.known for along
time. Itis not EO I will have to touch a cent of
Edward’s wages until, preserved by a kind Provi-
dence, he is once more with us, But I thank you
all the same.” ;

The merehant now left,and Mrs. Straight was
alone to talk to her dear girls about their good,
brave brother and his prospects.

“Oh, that your father had staid at home to hear
ofthis!” she said. ‘Where he now is, dead _ or liy-
ing, none can tell but our Father above, May He
save and help himif he liyes! and may the liquor
ae be unknown to his lips!” ,

he girls wept_and laughed _ by turns, while they
talked of their brother and his funny new name,
“Navigator Ned.” p ; p ,

“It sounds almost like “Alligator Ned,’ ” said Ber-
tha, who had just been reading about Florida in
her Sography. ; y
*“More like ‘Elevator Ned,’ ” said Hattie, who had
that day been up in an elevator at‘the Metropolitan
Hotel. where she carried adress toa lady which
her mother had been making. j

“He has undoubtedly earned the name by his
knowledge of nayjgation.” said Mrs. Straight. once
more resuming her work, though she told the girls
they would go shopping next day, and each should
have a new dress from their brother’s bounty.

Ten days later there came a very long letter from
Edward to his dear mother and sisters. In it he
told them many incidents of the voyage, and all
about finding the castaways.on the bleak shores of
Patagonia. He did not tell them, however. about
his keen eyesight having discovered the harbor
which sayed the ship, though he told them all about
the poor castaways, of one of whom he had iearned
Spanish, so that he knew when he heard them talk-
ing that the pirates intended to capture the shi
and murder the crew.and was able to warn h
captain... He told, too, how the captain drugged
their coffee, and_ thus was able to secure and iron

hem, and now he said they were safe in prison.
did not speak of the threats of the pirate- chief
against his own life, or say a word that might cause
his dear mother uneasiness. |,

He spoke of his expected visit to the great trees
and the ¥osemite Valley with the kind captain, and
how much information he hoped to gain, and how
glad he was to have such chances: and he told, too,
how he had been allowed to assist in navigation,
and how he got his funny name. ;

Of his father, he as yet knew, nothing, and of
course could say nothing, for he did not then even
know that he had left home, for Mrs. Straight had
not written, so little did she expect when he left
that her son would so soon be where a letter could
reach him. ; 3 ;

Soon after Mrs, Straight had received her letter
Mr, Crowningshield came again to see her. |

He had received his letter. with full particulars.
from Captain Dennis, and_the latter had given her

son allthe eredit which the boy in his native mo- ]-

desty had failed to take to himself. And after the
merchant had told all this, he said:

“Captain Dennis writes to me that, young as the
boy is, he is fit to take the position of second, or
even first mate of a ship. and he asks that we shall
go arrange that he can take him out as his second
mate on his next voyage. And he shall do it, my
dear madame—he shall do it. for we owe our ship
and cargo to ae F ‘

And before he left Mr. Cad weshaeiield forced the
mother to take flve hundred dollars. which he said
was a present for Ned’s good conduct and services,
and she might invest it for him, or herself and
daughters, as she chose.

Never was a happier mother than was Mrs,
Straight when she heard how nobly her son had
acted, and how fully his conduct was appreciated.

On his very second yoyage he was to become an
officer, with a salary of sixty dollars a month. It
seemed incredible, and yet facts proved that it was
not impossible. r

And his was not the first case by many on record,
where. boys by good conduct and studious habits
have risen rapidly in service. cs is

The writer of this stery would not tell it were it
not to encourage his. young readers in the New
Yorn WEEKL it it is.a matter of record inthe
Naval, Departiies ’ Washington, that he, when
only seventeen y@ars old, and actually a midship-

man in the U. 8. Navy, was an Acting-Lieuten on
the U. 8. Schooner Otsego, and raring itesen tn ff

dred dollars a year, in the Seminole \ arflon the
Florida Coast - ; oi nbd

Dut to return to our story. Mrs. Straight, while
she looked on the check for five hundred dollars in
her hand, studied how she could inyest it so that it
would be a real’benefit to her boy. ;

As we said before, she lived well up town, where
as yet building lots were very cheap, and she had
heard that a double vacant lot, next to the little cot-
tage which she rented. could be bought for five
hundred dollars. Sho i:newthat property was ad-
vaneing all the time, .rd felt asif she would be

able to pay thetaxes on the lot.so the yery next
day Edward Straight’s name was on. record as the
owner of real estate in New York city.

Little did the good mother dream that what she
paid hundreds for would be worth as many thou-
sands in less than three years, yet so it was. _

CHAPTER XI.

‘‘Mcther, dear mother, whatis the matter?, cried
little Bertha. when she and her sister came home

from. school and found Mrs. Straight in tears, and

sobbing almost hysterically,

“Your father! pope father!” sobbed Mrs. Straight,
and they saw a letter on the floor at her feet.

“Is he dead?” both the little girls cried out...

“Oh, no, no; thank Heaven he lives, He lives,
and is with Edward, whose life he helped to save,
and he is a soberman. Thank Heayen for that!”

The mother’s tears flowed still as she sobbed out
these words, but they were the tears of an almost
felirious joy.

Cruel as her husband had been, neglectful, too,
in his days of dissipation, she had neyer forgotten
—could never forget—the happy days of his early
love, when his. manhood was. her pride, and when
no frenzied taste for drink made him hateful to
himself and all about him. | :

Calming down_after.a while, she took up the let-
ter, which was from Edward, telling her about his
return fromthe Yosemite, his arrival in the city,
the escape of the pirate-chief from jail, and his
murderous attack upon him, which was foiled by
the bravery of the sailors, of whom he discovered
his father to be one, and that his father was wound-
ed while saving him. He added thatthe wound
Was not dangerous,and that the captain had got

ie father transferred to his own ship, the Peer-

288,

._And, dear mother,’ the boy added in his letter
itwould make you happy to see how well an
healthy my dear father looks, He has not touched
a drop of liquor since he left your house in despair,
finding I was gone,and he has sworn a solemn
oath neyer to let the poison pass his lips again.
And.dear mother, I know he will not break his
oath, The sailors on his ship said in allthe cold
and terrible weather off Cape Horn, when their
captain served out hot grog to them, he alone re-
fused it,and said he would perish before he would
use it. It makes me veryhappy to look now in
his clear eye,to hear his soft, kind voice uttering
no oaths, bucso often talking of you and my dear
sisters, and woudering if you will ever forgive and

love him again.” ;

“Forgive aad love him!” she murmured, ten-
derly. “Forgiveness and love will be no name for
the weicome which waits him here, if our Heaven!
Father will only send him safely back here with
my dear son, Allthe past shall be as if it had never
been. and we will begin life anew,and every step
shall be blessed.”

The children Were very glad to heartheir mother

icture out hours of gladness before them, for with

er they had seenso much sorrowthat joy was al-
most a stranger in their hearts.
hile they were yet mingling their congratula-
tions, a knock was heart, and Hattie, running to
n the door, admitted their good friend, Mr.
Crowningshield.
amt have good news for you by telegraph,” said he.

The Peerless has sailed, and is on her way home

with your son and husband on. board, both well.”

hank Heaven!” said Mrs. Straight. “It seems
as itl should count the aours till they come, and
everyhour shail carry with it a prayer to Heaven
for ; eir safety on ead ak h

Our son has just passed through a terrible
peril, bearing himself like a hero,” said the mer-
chant. “And in afew minutes he not only saved
his Orie but earned three thousand dollars in
gold. which he is bringing home with him in the

‘Ob, sir, do not jest with me.” ,

am Not jesting,fmy dear Mrs. Straight. The
facts haveall come to mein a dispatchsent by Cap-
tain Dennis. just as his ship was getting under way.
It appeared that the eseaped pirate got on board
the vessel, and seizing your son in his arms jump-
ed overboard with him to drown him, But the
brave boy, even with the pirate ® death-clutch on
his form, tore the pirate’s own knife from his belt.
and killed him inthe water, clinging to his body
till both were drawn into the boat, thus earning the

ee

 

reward offered, of three thousand dollars, for the
capture of the murderous wretch, dead or alive.” »
rs. Straight turned pale and shuddered. _
“Edward has the life-blood of a human being on
his hand,” she murmured. a 4
“Is it not better that he should be the executioner
ofaferocious pirate,a human tiger, than that he
should have been the pirate’s victim?” asked the

merchant.

“Yes—a thousand times yes! My brave, braye
mie Who can blame him? Even our Father above
will justify him. Why should I for an instant think
it could be wrong?”

‘No one can think so, and he just,” said the mer-
chant. “And now, my dear lady, the errand whicl
brought me here concluded, I must return to busi-
ness. In about a hundred and ten or twelve days,
we may look for the Peerless in our harbor. Sheis
loaded more deeply coming back, and has to run
off her course a little to take Mr. Sheply on board
at Rio Janeiro. But she will not be many days
over the time I name, if she does not come within
it,asThope.” . ait f :

He now left, —_ the widow had something more
to talk about. Her son was coming with what to
them would be afortune, compared to their present
and past condition. toe

“It seems more like a dream than reality,” she
said, as she rose to prepare the evening meal for
herself and the girls.

[TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.]

Pear ava nuree. wens ©
CENTENNIAL SAYINGS.
WISE AND OTHERWISE.

“Penny wise and pound foolsh”—
“Cunning as a knaye’’—
“Fretful as a porcupine’*-—
“Cruei as the graye”— :
“‘Jender asa spring chicken”—
£ Gentle as a lamb"—

“Homely as a hedge fenee”—
“Happy as a clam.”

 

 

 

“Handsome is as handsome dees”—
“Crazy as a coot”’

“Silent as a churchyard”—

“Lower than the brute”—

“Honest as the day is leng’’~
“Muddy as a ditch”

“Savage as a meat-ax"—

“Nervous as a witch.”

“Birds of a feather, flock together”=—
“Deefer than a post” —

“Cooler than a cucumber?—
“Paler'than a ghost”—

“Take a thiet to catch a thief’
“Never rains but it pours’”’—

“Jolly asa waterman”—

“Big as all outdoors,’?

“Out ot debt then out of danger”—
“Sow if you ould reap’—

“Als not gold that glitters”
“Look before you leap’’

“Business is the salt ot life’—
‘“Palking pays no toll*—

“Suffer hke a martyr”—

“Look unto the goal.” ;

——_—--—- +9 +—-——---—

SILVER-SWORD ;

¢ OR.
THE BEAST-TAMER OF SEGNA.

By Prof. Wm. H. Peck,

Author of “WILD REDBURN,” “FIFTEEN
_. THOUSAND POUNDS REWARD,” ete,

|“Silver Sword” was commenced in No, 14 Back numbers
can be obtained of any News Agent}

 

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
MAHMOUD, THE ELEPHANT OF ERCOLE.

_As Ercole charged across the psoas on his huge
elephant, the Austrians had begun two movye-

ments. ’

Half of their foree, which in all was not more than
two hundred men. under command of that Conrad
whom we have seen so terribly flog Castra, the
African, was pursuing Orbetta, as surrounded by

x African body-guard, she was retreating toward
the ramparts. bSt'Ex

The other half.those with Paolo at this momen:
excepted, under the command of old tath Si-

ie eae nne eed fata spears.to attack
reole. whose capture Sibeck knew h een com-
manded at all hazards by Paolo. * eTer

“Steady. men, steady!” shouted this grim old
Austrian veteran, as he saw the pondergus beast
rushing toward his force. And then in his beard
with a bitter oath: ‘What fool put it into Governor

ro’s brain to march us from tne Arsenal this
day without our muskets? When I was Governor
of Segna did lever parade my fads unarmed with
Phe ince criaa ech
, He knew nothing oft tots of his superior. He
little suspected that Pe Chad ordered Po to pa-
rade his troops this Gay armed only with spears,
swords—and the byuckler, which was fast going out
of use among regular troops--in order that. the
contemplated rising of the’ galeoiti: should not be
crushed suddenly by the fire of the musketry.

Ow “were my lads armed with their muskets,”
he eoatinued to himself, “they could riddle that
great beast as he comes up, and Ercole, too, the
rascally beast-tamer,”

Steady, lads, steady!” he feetg shouted, as the
terrible and sweeping strides of Mahmoud rapidly
lessened the space now between Freole and the
Austrians. alt! First rank kneel and. plant
pout spear butts in the ground, points aslant,

reast-high to the beast. Let him impale, himselt
ontwenty spear-points. Second rank aim atthe
brute’s eyes and trunk. Pick out the eyes of the
damnable beast. Make short work of him. all.
Piercehim! ,Hamstringhim! But capture his mas-
ter alive, since the governor hath thus strictly or-
dered. Blight the governor! I would he were here
to share in the killing of this elephant. Steady.
lads of Austria! Steady, and we will have a hun-
dred spears into the vitals of the brute in the twink-
ling of an eye. Steady!”

Sibeck’s soldiers, a hundred in number, and halt-
edintwo ranks. wor =. 2
great beast coming straight toward them, his
mighty trunk uplifted, and hishuge mouth pealing
terrific cries.

“They mean to stand Mahmoud’s. charge,” said
Orsola to Ercole, as the strides of the beast carried
them nearer and nearer te the ranks of Sibeck.
Shall I on?”

“Nay ; though I do believe Mahmoud’s tough hide

ard gréat weight would crash yon clump of spears
like they were So many reeds,” replied Ercole, who
was standing erect in the howdah. “But the noble
beast might receive serious hurt, since I see some
of those knaves have packed their spear-butts into
the ground. Charge close, and then sweep around
their right flank, for unless we overtake that Aus-
trian force in Orbetta’s rear she may be captured.”
“Stride, Mahmoud, cide!” eried Orsola.
And Mahmoud, as 2ompletely under the guidance
of her staff as a traincd steed is under the bridle in
his rider’s hand, %yepton with fearful speed and
front toward the “cidiers of Sibeck, until just as the
latter begar to set their teeth hard, and to hold
thoir breath -n expectation of the impending shock.
a slight touch of Orsola’s staff caused the beast to
rush svdden] y off to his left, and so swiftly to turn
the right flank of Sibeck’s men, and after that to go
charging on in the direction Pa suee by Orbetta,

The galeotti_ in the path of Mahmoud. scattered
right and left from before him as they saw him
coming, for they were armed only with swords,
axes and short spears, or javelins—Paolo having

eemed it not safe for his own vian. that they should
be too speedily armed with muskets,

But as they gave way for the passage of the beast
many pore their javelins at the brute, at Ercole,
c 1sola.

Some of these darts struck Mahmoud in various
parts of his eae hulk, and deeply penetrated his
thick hide, where some of them remained erect i
the wounds they had made, while others swaye
downwards and dangled to and fro as he moved.

Two wounded his trunk or proboscis giving him
keen paip, under which he roared and became for
a time ungovernable even to Orsola. ;

One javelin gashed Orsola.in the cheek, causing
her to lose presence of mind for a moment, during
which Mahmoud wheeleddrom the course she de-
sired him to pursue, and turned to avenge himself
upon some of those who had wounded him,

or several minutes the infuriated beast charged
erratically about the plateau, here and there and
everywhere, striking down fleeing galeotti with his
tremendous trunk, and erushing the fallen with his
enormous feet.

Showers of darts were hurled at him and Ercole
by such of the galeotti as did not fly to a distance or
hide temporarily in some of the tents.

Orsola, again wounded, quitted her exposed place
on the guide cushion which was strapped on Mah-
moud’s neck, and elambered into the howdah,
where she sank downina heap upon the floor of
the howdah.

The sides of the howdah protected her from all
missiles. save such as might fall from above—as the
Normans shot their arrows at the battle of Hast-
ings.
| Ercole, stern and deflant, stood orect in the how-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a — Sass —

dah, armed with a javelin which he had wrenched
from where it had affixed itself in the edge of the
howdah, and with this javelin and the sound of his
voice sought to regain that control of the elephant
which Orsola had lost. ; ;

The beast-tamer seemed to bear a charmed life
amid the tempest of darts which the galeotti hurled
at him and his beast.

Ansalmo, the chief leader of the galeotti,had given
his fellows the order to slay the beast-tamer at all
hazards. So long as Eréole del Zoccolo lived the
Uscoechi would have a formidable head, and by this
time many of those Uscoechi who were stupid from

rageed ink until this tumult began by the arrest
of Ercole, were regaining their wits and natural
vigor: and seeking to organize as a body.

Ercole, too, now aware that some Coty and for-
midable rising of the galeotti was ablaze, from time
totime placed'to his oe atrum he had'taken
from beneath a seat of the howdah, and blew the
battle-call of the Uscocchi, even while his elephant
was charging here and there over the plateau.

The Austrians with Sibeck, surprised and alarmed
by the outbreak of the galeotti, formed their force
into a solid phalanx to ee bot on the defensive,
until their governor, ro,should be at their
head tocommand.

It was at about this time when _ Paolo and the sol-
diers with him—those who had fled from the ap-
prea of the lions—arriyed again upon the pla-

eau.

As Paolo was hurrying to join Sibeck’s force. Er-
cole regained control of Mahmoud, and the great
begat seein charged across the plateau to the aid of

rbe

Orbetta was in imminent danger of recapture by

nrad,

The latter had led his force with what speed he
could in pursuit of the pie, duchers, whose fleet-
ness of foot and that of her African escort had for
a time increased the distance which was_ between
her and Conrad when the latter discoyered her es-
eape from the payilion. .. ha

ut the rush of the galeotti fromthe main ram-
part-gate had caused Castrato change the direction
of his flight toward a more distant and smaller
rampart-gate to the southward, and this change of
course had enabled Conrad to make a rapid, ob-
lique march, by which he was fast oyertaking Or-
betta and her African guard when Ercole gained
control of Mahmoud. i:

It was the desire a ad parse of Orbetta to reach
the Arsenal. Such had been the part assigned to

| quick strokes and slashes with the edge of her dag-

 

her in that eon piaay of the Zoceoli to destroy
Saraceno, Of which I have hinted, but which I must
eaye for future explanation in full; and although
-he Zoceoli conspiracy was not now ablaze, Orbetta
deemed it wise in her to try to carry out to asuc-

= that part which she wasto have acted at such
ime.

His part wasto seize the Austrian Arsenal and
have control of its cannon: and I have stated that
the Arsenal commanded the whole town of Segna.

_ We cannot arrive at the gate before Conrad, my
mistress.”’ said Castra, looking back at the pursu-
ing Austrians. ‘‘Much less can we reach the Arse-
aal before him—and were that done. doubtless we
sould not seize the fortress, since even one senti-
nel may have already closedits gate or raised the
iraw-bridge of the fosse.” :

“Ercole has eopeiniods control of Mahmoud.” re-
plies Orbetta, who had readily divined why her

rother had not continued straight upon that
course which he had begun. “See! he has left the
galeotit in his rear.” ae

“He comes like the sand-storm of the desert.
great mistress,” replied Castra, “*but he can searce
reach us ere we shall be surrounded by Conrad’s
Austrians. But there is a chance that Conrad may
not slay us allere Lord Ereole comes up. We will
do what battle we can, though we are but ascore to
nearly a hundred. We may make the battle longer
yonder on the causeway.”

The causeway of which Castra spoke was built
across a great sunken plain which lay between the
plateau and that gate by which Orbetta desired to
enter the town.

The causeway was built of stones and. timber.
upon which a straight road about twelve feet wide
and on a level with the surface of the plateau. had
been made; and the surface of this road was gen-
erally about ten feet higher than the marsh or
sunken plain on which it was built.

The road was_ nearly half a mile in length, and
had been built by the galeotii, whose barrack-field
was once situated in that part of the town to which

 

the gate gave entrance, but was now called the Wa-
ter Carrier’s Road. as by it the Useoechi galleys
were supplied with water for their voyages; the
wells and springs from which the water was taken
in casks for transportation over this road flowing
into a large aqueduct or reservoir situated just
within the walls of Segna, and.near th

from which this caugaway,

       
        

, mt of Segr is high
s arch, but not more than six,
and was defended by a port-

 
  

  

/ ound to
or eight feet wide.
eullis, hee
This portcullis, formed of timbers Joined across
one another like those of a harrow. and, each
pointed with iron,and hung in grooves within the.
archway of the gate, was now raised. °

“Tt may be my mistress,’”’ said Castra, as they
hastened on, ‘that land my comrades can delay the
advance of the Austrians long enough to enable
thee to enter the fate before they overtake thee—
and if thou canst, then remember to let fall the port-
eullis. After that may Allah be thy defender, for
He alone knoweth how this day may end.”

Conrad and his soldiers were very near Orbetta’s
escort at this time, but Castra had time.to place his
small force upon the causeway in four ranks, each
rank about ten paces apart; while Orbetta and her
women fled on téward the gate..

Castra with four of his best men formed the
fourth rank toward the gate. | ;

Paradise_and its eternai delights await the true
believer!” shouted Castra, who with all his Afri-
cans, was a conyert to the Moslem faith. ‘Fear not.
but rejoice to die fe ting the Giaours!”

He spoke in Arabie, which the Africans—captured
by the Moslems in their youth, understood perhaps
better than any Ethiopie dialect of their own race:
and encouraged bythe sublime courage and.devo-
tion of their leader, the sable-skinned warriors
shouted back their resolve to meet the coming onset
of the Austrians, . Bg Skis

nrad was fully aware ef the swift and formida-
ble approach of the elephant in his rear; and was
no less eager to secure Ercole alive than he was to
recapture Orbetta, ‘

He divined the intention of the beast-tamer. so
far as the rescue of Orbetta was concerned. but he
did not suspect that she and Ercole were both alike

i actuated by a desire to seize the arsenal.
. wore pale faces as they saw the}

He divided his foree into two somnauics. of about
fifty men each, as he saw the ta¢ties of Castra on the
causeway, ‘

Giving the command of one of those companies
to an officer named Carlbolt, and ordering him to
attack and overcome Castra, and pushon in pur-
suit of Orbetta. he placed the other company in
solid phalanx onthe plateau just where the cause-
way gadec. and confronted the approach of Mah-
moud,

The charge of the beast-tamer upon, Conrad’s
company was almost simultaneous with the charge
of Carlbolt’s command upon the farees of Castra.

Iwill speak first of the latter charge, as it was
made a few moments before that of Ercole.

The first rank of the Africans fell to a man ere
Carlbolt’s soldiers exchanged a blow or thrust with
the second rank; and the narrowness of the cause-
way enabled the Africans to deliver an obstinately
prolonged resistance, during which their cimeters
played fiercely in the faces of their foes, several of
whom were slain or hurled from the causeway ere
this first rank was annihilated by the superior
number of the Austrians.

But the first rank was. swept away, and the
second, and the third, and then the fourth, after
aan had battled with all thestubborness of despe-
ration.

Last of all Castra received a blow on the head
fron a battle-mace, as his cimeter swept off the
head of Carbolt; and the next instant saw the
heroic old African king fall heavily from the eause-
way to the marshy earth on which it was built. .

he victorious Austrians rushed on shouting in
pursuit of Orbetta, whom it was still possible to
overtake before she could reach the gate—for the
speed of this swift-footed daughter of the Zoccoli
had been delayed in a manner little expected by
her, and thus:

I stated {pat now that several of those who had
fied from the plateau were still upon, the narrow
causeway road. Worn out and exhausted by terror
and their exertions to, escape from they, knew not
what, these fugitives, mostly of the. old and lame,
staggered and reeled along, scarcely able to drag
one foot after the other, and at times were dizz
and weak, and thrust. aside by the staggering rus
of another, would fall oyer the edge of the elevated
road and die suffocated in the ooze of the marsh..

Orbetta, still full of vigor and speed. had passed
several of these crippled fugitives, when one grap-

led ather and clutched her tunic as her active

orm was flashing past him,
_ He who thus seized her with hands stronger than
his legs, was an aged costumer, the very man in
bt shop her gorgeous bodice and tunie had been
made.

“Save me, Orbetta of the Zoccoli!’” sereamed this
old man, clinging to her with the fierce tenacity of
servile terror. ‘Let me have the aid of thy arm.
sheltered thy mother and thee when ye were almost
paupers-—”’ ; : :

“Loose thy hold, old dotard!” cried Orbetta, in
savage wrath, and with a glance back to where
Castraand his doomed comrades were then battling,
‘Thy life is in no danger: mineis. Loose me!”

“Save me from thy brother’s beasts! Isaw one

 

 

 

 

tearing open the breast of Yaccopo the Greek!”

 

 

 

 

screamed the old man, who was crazed with fright.
‘Saye me from the lions of Ercole!” _
This shall free me, since thou wilt not!” ex-
claimed Orbetta, red as scarlet with rage, and
plunging her dagger to the hilt into the old man’s
side. ; |
He shrieked with pain, but his vitality was great,
and his strong old hands clasped around her left
arm held on, while he cursecéher bitterly.
_ Three times she darted her relentless blade deep
into his body, twice into his throat with all the
merciless wrath of a true Zoccoli; but his tenacity
of life was wonderful, and his mad grasp neyer for
an instant relaxed its desperate clutch upon her
arm. 4
‘““Nay--even if dead I will cling to thee, ingrate—
my eurse cling to thy soul, Orbetta—and the lions
shall deyour us both!” screamed the old man, no
longer able to keep his feet, as he hung like a dead
weight upon her arm. “Oh that [had teeth to tear
thee for thy stabbing!” and howling he fastened
his jaws upon the wrist of that arm of hers which
his iron grip still held.
His gums were toothless, or his mad bite would
have torn a huge mouthful of flesh from her wrist.
Satan seize thy hands!” cried Orbetta, as with

ger she cut the cords and tendons of both of his
wrists.

 

His grasp relaxed, and he fell heavily headlong,
and was dying fast as Orbetta renewed her fkight
for the gate,

But he had so long. delayed her progress that
there was. at the moment. she resumed her flight.
little chance for her to arrive at the gate in time to
let fall its porteullis ere the foremost of her pur-
suers, three men of remarkable fleetness of foot,
should be near enough to her to grasp her,

So eager were these three to overtake her. and |
thereby win a reward promised by Conrad when he
discovered her escape from the pavilion, to him
who should first seize her—and so sure were they
that they had her nearl in her grasp, that they
heard not, or heeded not, eries of terror and warn-
ing which pealed from the lips of their following
comrades a moment after these three had begun to
take the lead in the chase.

Lreturn to Ercole.

His great beast charged straight for the center of
Conrad’s phalanx, which I[haye said was formed on
the plateau just where the causeway road became
a part of it.

he hide of Mahmoud was thickly studded with
the shafts of the many javelins whose heads were
imbedded in his flesh. Double the number of these
shafts, and the elephant might aptly have been
compared to a mammoth porcupine armed with
gigantic quills.
ut strong as were the arms of the galeotti who
had thus pierced the hide of the beast, none of their
avelin points had reached his vitals, though he
ad lost much blood; and as he charged this blood
dripped and streamed from his hundred wounds in
great drops.

Ereole was not now armed with a single javelin.
Half a score or more were at his side in the how-
dah; and these he had wrenched and drawn from
where they had ‘struck the howdah, and even from
some of Mahmoud’s wounds.

Aware that his terrific beast was fully under his
control, and that the beast knew it was the desire
of his master to reach Orbetta. Ercole no longer
used a javelin to direct him, but from time to time
encouraged him with his shouts.

With his enormous head high in the air. and his
trunk uplifted,soasto present his most terrific
aspect. Mahmoud charged straight for the clump
of firtty spears. sweeping his trunk and huge tusks
downward as he neared that rank whose spear
butts rested. against the earth. andthus turning
aside this chevaux-de-frise of spear-points without
impaling himself upon a single one of them.

And ere Mahmoud thus struck the front rank of
Conrad’s Austrians Ercole had hurled three jave-
lings from his howdah with wonderful quickness
and unerring certainty of aim.

Three Austrians sank under the piercing of these
jayelins, and the first who fell was Conrad.

Ercole’s keen eye had sighted out this brave and
sagacious officer the instant the charge of Mah-
moud carried the beast-tarcer within sure recog-
nition of features; and the dart hurled by Ercole
struck Conrad in the eye, and crushed its steel point
through the Austrian’s brain and skull, while Mah-
moud was yet ten once from the front rank.

Mahmoud forced his way through the Austrian
pbatans almost as swiftly and scatteringly as a
skillfu Ty hurled ball crashes through the pins of a
bowling-alley. é

There was some delay from the vindictive desire
of the wounded beast te kill, He smote right and
left with his huge tusks and trunk. Some he turn- |
ed upon as they were thrown down. and pommeled
and mashed them with his tusks. crashing their
breasts, or heads, or stomachs into jellied masses
with asingle stamp of one of his tremendous fore
feet. ; creer (IRM E

To one who had given him a painful hurt in the
ear he was Bpecieny merciless. The soldier
stumbled and fell after thrusting his spear point
core into the hollow ofthe beast’s ear; and, ere he
could escape, one of the elephant’s tusks struck him
déad; and then again and again did the vindictive
beast tread upon the not of this dead foe, knead-
ing its flesh and shivered bones into the dust and
soil. or

But Ercole again recovered, mastery over the
ponderous animal, and hurried him upon and
along the causeway road to rescue Orbetta. ;

Those Austrians who had overcome the resist-
ance of Castra and his Africans had all, to.a man
rushed onin pursuit of Orbetta, but, as I state
aboye, three of their number, being men of won-
derful speed of foot, had quickly shot ahead far in
advance of the others, : 7

The latter, now since their battle with Castra less
than twenty unwounded men-—so hot had been that
brief but terrible hand-to-hand combat—assured
that their three fleet-footed comrades .would re-
capture Orbetta, were retracing their steps to look
to such of their fellows as had been wounded by the

cimeters and jayelins of Castra’s_ Africans, or to.)

join themselves, to Conrad’s force, when they beheld’
the charge of Mahmoud _ upon that force. ey

At first they quickened their steps with the desire
tojoininthe expected conquest of the elephant
and capture of the beast-tamer, but when they
were still a hundred yards distant from the road
end, they beheld the utter and sudden_ defeat of
their friends on the plateau, the havoc Mahmoud
was making, and the scattering of Conrad’s force.

‘They halted, in doubt what to do, as their officer,

Carlbolt, was slain,and those who remained un-
wounded were all private soldiers.
_ Before they had decided what to do, they beheld
the terrific and victorious beast charging up toward
them along the causeway road, and with strides
which were devouring the intervening distance of a
hundred yards with a speed like that of the wind.

-Then they knew what to do, and didit. They
knew that if fifty men in regular plalanx had failed
to stay the beast, or scarcely to impede his charge,
twenty men, exhausted already, could not do it.

Therefore, turning their faces. toward the port-
eullis-gate again, these twenty. began to run with
all the strength and speed of sudden terror.

Mahmoud gained rapidly upon them, for the
aor of an elephantis almost equal to that of a

1orse.

The width of the causeway was not anywhere
more than twelve feet, it elevation generally about
fen. fret above the marsh through which it‘was

uilt.

The twenty fugitives, to aman, one by one, and
in quick suecession, deserted the causeway road
for the marsh. €

There was no time to choose ways by which one
might make a clambering descent to the marsh, for
the sides of the causeway were sheer and preae
and therefore these twenty Austrians leaped bodilv
out into space and fell splashing, one after another,
into the watery ooze of the marsh on the right and
on the left of the causeway road.

Inthe marsh they were as least safe from the
great beast, for certainly he was too sagacious an
animal to precipate his ponderous bulk ten feet
downward as a great rock falls.

But they would have been as safe from Mahmoud
had they simply crouched motionless_on either
edge of the road as he charged by. for Mahmoud
was now wholly obedient to the voice of his master,
who was shouting as loud as a trumpet’s blast:

“Stride, Mahmoud! Halt not! On, Mahmoud!
Thou seest Orbetta, the sister of Ercole. ‘Stride,
king of beasts! Rescue Orbetta—-Orbetta, who feeds
thee with honey-cakes and sweet wine!”

. And Mahmoud--for beyond all doubt the elephant
is.the most sagacious of all quadrupeds, and most
of all capable of perfectly understan ing ee speech
of man—replied with that roar with which he was
accustomed to signify his recognition of Orbetta,
who had often fed him with dainties, and swept on
with rapid and enormous strides along the narrow
road in flerce pursuit of the three Austrains, whose
fleet feet were fast nearing the fugitive duchess,

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR.

Gen. William Nelson commanded the Fourth
Diyision of, Buell’s army. He had been a naval
officer, and his tyranny and harshness caused his
men. to dislike him at the first. ee the mareh
southward took. the troops into the enemy’s
country, the soldierly preceptions and fnstinets of
the old general, as well as his stern sense of duty
and pride in his command, won for him respect
and a strange sort of feeling that was almost
affection. Nelson was a strict disciplinarian, and
always moved, or went into camp, or left camp, as
if in the presence of the enemy. He superintend-
ed, early every morning, the formation of Hne of
battle; was on his horse at the first bugle-blast,
and rode down. the line like a hurricane, expecting
every man, officer as well as private, to be in his
place, and ready for duty. Men, under this train-

 

 

ing, payne unconsciously , alert, and emphatic in
action. It was a standing joke that Nelson’s divis»

¢

ion could ‘‘tumble out” quicker than any other.

On the march southward from Nashville, Buell’s
advance was delayed by the destruction of the
bridge across Dtck River. Nelson fretted under
the delay, protested against it, and finally volun-
teered to put his division across without a bridge,
if he were allowed the advance. Permission was
given for him to cross,and he issued one of the
queerest military orders on record. This was read
to the troops in the morning, and was in sub-
stance like this: ’

The men will march to the river, fix bayonets,
and stack arms. They will then take off their
pane blouses, and aceoutrements. putting all ina

undle, which will be placed onthe bayonet. They
will then take arms, and with bundles on the bay-
onets as ordered, will wade the river in their shirts
and drawers. Officers will see that there is no
confusion, and that, en reaching the further bank
the men dress quickly and march rapidly forward
to_restore the circulation.

 

order was read to them on a cool, bright spring
morning. They marched down tothe river; they
undressed to their shirts; and, in view of the entire
pepulation of Columbia, men, women, and child-
ren, they, with cheers, and shouts, and jokes, and
laughs, plunged into the cold water. The scene
was ludicrous in the extreme; but in not veyr
ver hours the entire division was marching south-
ward, It kept the advance during the interval be-
tween that date and the battle of Shiloh. Hadh®
men not waded Duck River in their shirts, Buell’s
army would not have been within call to turn the
tide at Shiloh.—Chicago Tribune,
at

THE CODE OF HONOR.

BY MAX ADELER,

_ It grew out ofa dispute about the election, I be -
lieve; but anyhow, Andy Grigg pulled Peter Lamb -
nose, and applied to him some language indicatin:;
that he was only a mendacious pickpocket. ‘:
Peter challenged him to fighta duel, and Andy
cepted, and some of their friends agreed to att::): |
to the details for them. In the meantime Peter |
gan fo practice with the pistol. Heset up amo!
ses barrel in his garden for a target, and he use.: :
go out there andspend the afternoon firing at ‘*.
e expended nearly two hundred shots upon *:,
and his second did think that he hit it once; bu
upon closer inspection the perforation turned o:.’
to be a worm hole. Peter said that he never saw
pistohseatter so. He hit nearly everything else i:
the neighborhood but that molasses barrel. Tw >
of Butterwick’s pigs were shot through an!
through; Judge Pitman’s cow got a bullet throug’:
her thigh. The fence palings were fairly riddled,
and Johnson’s little boy, while sitting onatre»
away off behind Peter, hada hole shot through hi
hat. It gotto be understood in the neighborhoo:
that when Mr. Lamb was practicing for that duc!
people who were behind him and at the right or lef;
must retreat to their cellars, or else get right in
range with the molasses barrel if they wanted to b.:
perfectly safe. There was some talk about gettin:
the authorities to interfere and stop the duel, bu:
when they spoke to Squire Hayes about it. he said
that he was a stockholder in the insurance com-
pany which held policies on the lives of the duel-
ists. and he wasn’t going to hurt the interests of the
company by forcing those two fellows to stay at
home where something might happen to hurt them,
while they could be clear out of danger firing at
each other. And when one of the seconds asked Dr.
Binns to act as surgeon during the encounter, he
laughed, and said that if he came outthere he
would feel a to cut up somebody so as to earn
his money, and he thought it would be better for
him to stay away so that there would be no blood-

shed.

Both the duelists were in love with the same girl,
Kitty Miller. and I think jealousy had something to
do with the fight as wellas politics: and a day or
two before the deadly conflict was to_occur Mr.
Grigg wrote a farewell letter to Miss Miller, and
after declaring his imperishable affection, he in-
closed her a lock of his hair and bade her farewell,
asking her to think of him sometimes if he fell on
the field of honor. On the same day Peter addressed
her a note, telling her that she was the only woman
he ever loved. inclosing a few strands of his hair,
and begging her not to forget him if he perished
by the hand of his enemy. :

On the morning of the duel, which was to take
lace at.six’o’clock, Peter rose early after_a sleep-
ess night, and thought the subject over calmly. He

came to the conelusion that it would be simply idi-
otic for him to stand up and be shot at on account
of the election and because of a girl about whose
feelings he didn’t knowanything. He argued that if
he was killed Gregg might get the girl and that
would be of not much gatisfaction to the dead man,
and that if he killed Gregg the girl might not ac-
cept him after all, and anyhow he would have to
leave the country to escape the gallows, and then
she would be pretty sure to marry some other man.
So he determined to take the five o’clock train for
the city, and to pretend, when he came back that he
was called away by atelegram on important busi-
ness. So he packed his carpet-bag and walked off
through the morning darkness to thestation. When
he got there, there was one other passenger in the
waiting-room. He'was sitting by the stove with his
back tothe door. When Peter entered the man
looked around. It was Andy Gregg. When he saw
Peter he turned very, red,, but before Peter could
recover his presence of mind, Gregg said: ;

“You scoundrel, you are trying to run away from
me, are-you ?””

“No, ’m not; but I heard ‘you were scared to
death, and intended to bolt, so I came here to stop

u.

“That’s a lie; you never heard anything of, the
kind. I expected you’d sneak off and I determined
to block your game.” ° die

“No you didn’t, you coward,” said Peter, boldly,
“for you’ve got your valise with Te.

“So have you got yours,” said Andy. ER
| “I—I—know—I—well, I’ve got my pistols in it.”
| “All right then,” said Gregg, with sudden: fierce-

ness. ‘‘Less go outside and fight now.” 4

“No, I won’t either,” said Peter, “if I do anything
TH eon you right here.”

“Then you’re a—’” )

Before Mr. Gregg could express his feelings the
door opened, and in walked Miss Miller with a
strange young man, When she saw the duelists

_|'she smiled charmingly, and after speaking to them

‘she introduced her companion as Mr. Brown, the
gentleman to whom she was engaged to be married.
hen. the contestants said good-morning, and
sought the open air. Then they started for home
and before they got there they ‘agreed to say no
more about the matter. Then they tried to get those
two letters from the post-office, but failed; but the
next day Mr. Brown called with them, and left word
that if the duelists sent any more’ messages of that
kind he would come round and_ hammer them up
with aclub.. So now they are looking for some-
body else with whom to engage their affections, and
the coroner has just two bloody corpses less to sit
upon than he ought to have.

a
Items of Interest.

sar Two women in Des Moines, Iowa, recently
gave birth to children in the same room and at the same time.
The circumstances transpired sooner than had been expected,
and as a consequence preparations for the new arrivals had not
been made. Intelligence of the event was conveyed to a neigh-
boring house, and a woman living near there hastened to them in
order to render necessary aid.” SLe cared for the little stran-
gers, bathed and clothed them, and in due season started to pre-
sent them to their waiting mammas,. Then she made the startl-
ing discovery that she had succeeded in inextricably mixing the
infants so that she was unable to decide which was the mother of
either. The case was anxiously considered by all parties, but no
decision-could be reached, and finally the two mothers cast lots
for choice, agreeing that if the children should, when grown, de-
velop family traits ee to identify them they should be
ee ifthe present selection should prove to be incor-
rec

ra An act of civility performed about four
years ago, in Columbus, Ohio, has lately met with a handsome
reward. A correspondent thus tells the story: ‘One cold, rainy
Stniog an old gentleman with a cane in each hand, and a bas-
ket on his arm, was going up an alley between Town and Rich
Streets, The payement was one sheet of ice, and suddenly the
old gentle ane feet flew from under him, and he fell quite
heavily. A lady seeing him fall helped him up, picked up his
canes and basket, and guided him to a place of safety. The gen-
tleman took the trouble toinquire the nat name. It was given
him, and oan honorable mention of 1n his will, which on being
read after his death, which occurred a short time since, contain-
ed a bequest to the lady of several hundred dollars. Her name
is T. E, Gillispie,

aa A case in which nearly everybody is inter-
rested, has lately occupied the Circuit Court, in Washington.
Mr. R, E. Talcott, on the 25th of August, 1874, bought for $2.50 an
excursion ticket an the steamer Pilot Boy to Blackistone’s
Island and return, “good for this date only.’’ The price of pas-
sage each way was $2. Talcott went down on the 25th in the
steamer, but did not return until the 29th, when his ticket was
refused and $2 fare demanded. He refused to pay and was put
ashore in Virginia, about fifty miles from Washington. He
brought suit for damages and a verdict of $2.50 which has been
tound in his fayor, the Court deciding that the ticket was good
for any day.

nar Florida has reason to boast of its orange
trees. A Jacksonville correspondent writes us that near the yil-
lage of Sanderson there is one which measures five feet three in-
ches in cicumference, three feet above the ground, 1s twenty-one
inches in diameter, and bears from five thousand to six thousand
oranges per year. In the neighborhood of Waldo there is aim
orange tree which measures eight feet five inches in. cieumfer-
ence, just above the ground, is thirty-seven feet high, and the
breadth of top or spread is twenty-seven and a half feet. The
tree divides mto fonr prongs or branches, measuring re-
Peery twenty-seven and a halt, thirty-nine, forty, and forty-
three inches in circumference. Six thousand six hundred oran-
ges have been gathered and sold from it in one year.

az A London hostler was almost instantly
killed recently ina curious manner. He was driving an omni-
bus into the stable-yard te change the horses, when a telegraph
wire, which. had broken, and one end of which had become fas-
tened toa fence railing, so that it hung across the yard, caught
him under the chin, inflicting a terrible wound, and well-nigh
severing the head from the body,

naz While yet a young man, the late Mr. A. T.
Stewart made the boast that he would have a store upon which
there should be no sign. He kept his word. ‘There was, hows

 

 

ever, this one sign upon the doors of his establishment, ‘‘Push,”?
It was a significant word,

 

Imagine the looks of 8,000 or 10,000 men as this -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

OE A

cy

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE LITTLE BUILDERS.

BY NATHAN D. URNER

 

 

Leave stately isles and pillareddomes,
By mortal hands contrived,
Close-crowded courts and swarming homes,
Where human lives are hived,
And come where Nature’s architects,
The birds, on bush and tree,
Their houses twine from plans divine
Most beautiful to see.

His humble taste the wren displays,
And builds a lowly nest,

While, plaiting his in trimmer ways,
The bluebird does his best:

Contented with a hut of straw,
The meadow-lark is gay,

On hedge and bush the jay and thrush
Their villas build away.

Meet dwelling for a dainty guest
The yellowbird’s is found
High up in air, while ruddy-breast
Builds closer to the ground;
The lapwing hides in covertslow, +
The dove in leafy heights,
And his whole soul the oriole 4
In pendant bowers delights.

Each builder buildeth as he likes,
And singeth as he toils,

‘There are no sullen shocks or “strikes,”
No mutinies or broils;

The interests of Capital
And Labor ne’er contend,

But one and all, and great and small,
In happy order blend.

Oh! sweet it is, from cliques and sects
And noisy factions free,

To watch these lovely architects
At work on bush and tree;

‘To hearken to the songs they sing,
As though their little breasts

With loving thought of God were fraught
The while they build their nests.

THE ARTIST’S MODEL.

BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY.

 

 

 

It is difficult to conceive of a more interesting or
suggestive sight than is afforded bythe flower mar-
ket of Paris. The women of all ages who bring
these beautiful floral gemsto the city exhibita
taste in their arrangement which would be of value
toaprofessional painter. Itisintuifion with them,
and you see a living poem in every little depart-
ment which is allogted to its special owner. f

The principal m@rket lies just across the Pont
Neuf, on the large square bordering the Seine, and
covering in extent some three acres of ground,
There is something very tender and human inthe
element of appreciation which makes such a busi-
ness persis and profitable in a great Babel of a
city like Paris. A people who have a love for these
a of purity and beauty cannot be wholly de-
praved.

Like music, flowers are a universal language, and
‘both address themselves to the finer sensibilities of
the heart. ‘

But let us watch the scene which lies near the
Pont Neuf, just back of the Palais de Justice, and
see who they are who form the purchasers and ap-
ere of these floral gems. Here is a vehicle

t for a princess, with its liveried servants and
richly caparisoned .horses. The lady occupant de-
scends lightly, and walking hither and thither
among the long alleys between the stands, selects
an elegant bouquet and several pots of blooming
plants, which are duly dispatched in accordance
with her orders.

Here is arough-looking butcher. Can he want
flowers? Yes; and he selects his full-blown pot of
pansies with native taste. Here is a sad-faced wo-
man in widow’s weeds; the wreath of immortelles
which she pays for tells its own story. To-night it
will decorate a tomb in Pere la Chaise. This giddy
and neryous fellow, fullof smiles, takes away a
wedding-wreath, packed carefully inatox. Price
1s NO ODject to nim. :

Butstay! . This party, who is also paying for white
flowers, with afew blue heliotropes intermixed,
Sighs heavily as he receives the sad emblem, to be
devoted to the last ceremony over a beloved child,
perhaps, or a wife from whom he parts forever.

Obserye this palo ced but handsome _grisette.
What a beautiful figure the girl has. How came
one so humble with such an exquisite form, with
hands and feet so small, and with the quiet dignity
ofaqueen? She carefully counts the few sous in
her purse. She must, perhaps, forego her dinner,
but she resolves, and the sweet little pot of migno-
netteis hers. She carries it away as daintily as
though it were an infant which she held in her

arms.

“Who is that girl?’ Tasked of the woman who:
sold her the plant, and of whom I purchased a few
‘buds by war of introduction. :

‘That is Marie Blanc.”

“A poor girl?”

“Well, yes, Marie hasn’t anything but her beauti-
ful figure, in the way of fortune.”

““How does she gain a livelihood?” I asked.

“Well, Marie used to be a model to the artists, but

phe does not do much of anything now. Sometimes

she ‘stands,’ as she used to do, just to get a few
francs.”

*‘She is very beautiful.”

aan she is faded now, but she used to be beauti-

‘Has she met with misfortune ?”
‘Misfortune of the heart,” was the reply.
‘Has some villain deceived her ?”
“No, Marie has not been deceived.”
“How then ?”
‘She has been fascinated. Some of us think she
has been bewitched.”
How so?” I asked.
It is a long story. She lives in a little room over

‘that. bird store yonder.

Thank you,” said I, ner my half france, more
for the information than the flowers.

I resolved learn poor Marie’s story, if I was
obliged to purchase half the canaries inthe bird
store to accomplish it. I found the man who kept
the shop, and who let her the little garret over the
same, to be a very intelligent and communicative
permon, who was ready to answer all my questions

ee

ye

He told me that Marie was a good girl, entirely
respectable, and now left quite alone in the world
by the loss of her mother within the last six months.
AsIhad before been informed, she had gained a
respectable living as a model, a very peculiar occu-
pation, but yet quite oe and consistent with
the most rigid ideas of propriety. This had been
especially the case in Marie Blanc’s instance, while
her mother lived, as she was her inseparable com-
panion. But of late Marie had grown sad and
moody, and only resumed her old occupation briefly
and at times when her purse became quite ex-
MShohad 1

ehad for nearly a year, previous to her mo-
ther’s death, been the special model of a youn
married artist in the Rue Rivoli, who had profited
by her exquisite form to inspire both his pencil and
his chisel, for he was both painter and sculptor,
and a perfect enthusiastin his art. Pierre Jenot
though married to a worthy and good companion,
was in reality wedded to his art alone; there his
heart and mind centered. Marie, who had inno-
cently posed for him, had been in his eyes solely a
means not an object. He looked far over and be-
yond the beautiful girl herself. :

His model knew that Pierre was married. She
knew that the young artist could never be aught to
her,more than he then was, but a strange and
thrilling sentiment gradually developed itself in
her bosom toward him, until in her secret heart she
loved the young artist above all elsein life. No
sign of this appeared, and word of such sentiment
would have meant instant banishment, for her mo-
ther was the very soul of honor and propriety.

Finally Pierre Jenot_ made, with great care and
labor, a wax figure, with Marie for his model, and
his own poetical imagination as prompter. It was

indeed the perfection of art,so exquisite and true | I

to nature as to astonish his fellow artists, and all
of those who were permite’ to see the statue.

‘Is it not strange that the ancient. fables of classic
love should be corroborated by familiar facts in
our own day? Herein we have an instance no less
curious than interesting. The mythological story,
familiar to most readers, I must briefly repeat in
order to show its remarkable counterpart.

Pygmalion, a famous sculptor, had made with
wonderful skill a statue of ivory so beautiful as to
enchant all beholders. It was the perfect sem-
blance of a maiden that seemed alive, and only
prevented from moving bya sense of modesty. The
sculptor’s art was so perfect that it concealed itself
and the statue looked like the work of nature. Pyg-
malion admired itso much that at last he fell in
love with his own creation!

Oftentimes the artist regarded the statue so long
and so lovingly that his senses became confused,
and he would lay his hands upon it as if to assure
himself whether it were living or not, and could
not then believe that it was only ivory. He even
caressed it, and gave it presents, those that young
girls love, such as flowers and beads of amber. He
even put raiment on the beautiful limbs. and rings
on the fingers. To her ears he hung rings and
strings of pearls upon her neck.

t last Pygmalion prayed to the gods. He did not
dare to say: “Ye gods, who can do all things, give
me, I pray you, my ivory virgin for a wife,” but he
dig say: “One like my ivory virgin.” This prayer
he offered at the altar, amid the smoke and perfume

 

 

 

of burning incense. When he reached home once
more, he hastened to see his statue, and to press a
kiss upon the mouth. It seemed to be warm!

Pygmalion pressed its lips again, he laid his hand
upon the limbs, the ivory felt soft to his touch, and
yielded to his fingers like human flesh. He stands

azing with ardent delight, again and again kissing
the statue with alover’s ardor. The virgin felt the
kisses and blushes, and opening her timid eyes to
the light, fixed them beaming with love upon Pyg-
malion. Venus blessed the nuptials she had form-
ed, and from this union Paphos was born, from
bots the ancient city, sacred to Venus, received

name.
This was the mythological story related thous-
ants of years ago; now let us go on with that of
to-day.

Pierre Jenot had perfected his statue of wax, and
he sat sometimes for hours before it. He repro-
duced it upon canvas, he wrote verses about it, he
sat and sang songs to it. Surely Pierre was infatu-

ated.

“Pierre!” cried his wife one day.
‘Yes, wife.”
me hither.” : ne

“T will,” he answered, still lingering.

“Why do you sit there idling?” ty

Oh, it is not idleness,” he replied, “it is heayen!”

“Bah! you are a fool, Pierre.” :

‘My statue is inspired!” said the enthusiast.

“If you don’t stop your nonsense about the
statue,” she replied, “I will destroy it.”

“Destroy it! It would be murder.”

have promised you,” said the hard, unsympa-
thetic companion, “so beware!” _ y
You would break my heart,” said the artist.

r performing the slight service for which his
wife had called him, Pierre Jenot returned to his
studio, where he met Marie Blanc, her coming and
going being so common a thing as to cause no es-
pecial notice. Her quick eye detected the sorrow
and anxiety which his wife’s words had crea‘
upon Pierre’s features. Shesaw him sit down sadly,
Ag half entranced, once more before his statue.

he crept close to his side, and held his hand and
kissed it.

She could understand the artist’s enthusiasm.
She knew that it was her own beautiful limbs and
body that had. furnished the model for the statue
he loved. It was as though she herself was being
worshiped by proxy. “Am Iso beautiful as that ?’
she asked herself, as she held his hand, all uncon-
sciously tohim. He was fascinated by the statue,
she was fascinated with him. And still he sat there
absorbed, and she kneeling by his side.

The statue, the artist, the model, what a grou
for a picture! The wondrous beauty of the inani-
mate figure, the rapt and adoring expression of the
handsome artist, the loving gaze of the kneeling
model. Had they been posing they could not have
formed a more striking tableau. The careful ob-
server would haye seen thatit was Marie Blane,
and she alone, who was reproduced in that exqui-.
site work of the young artist.
this moment the door of the studio opened
cautiously, and there stood the angry wife!

She saw Pierre turn toward Marie and smooth

66)
“

ly, pee then resume his entranced gaze upon the
statue.

Her patience was exhausted, and rushing for-
ward, by considerable exertion of strength, she
threw down the statue, which was broken intoa
score of piecesina moment. The patient labor of
atwelvemonth was destroyed. Her husband’s idol]
had perished before his eyes.

Marie saw the rising poe and seizing her chip
hat hastened away to her home. Pierre said not a
word, but rushing into another room found a knife,
and hastening toward his wife sought to kill her.
Her cries brought assistance, and the weapon was
taken from his hands.

But Pierre Jenot was a maniac!

Such was the story [learned concerning Marie
Blane, the artist’s model, and Pierre Jenot, the lat-
ter being confined in an insane asylum near Ver-
sailles, while the former was dragging along her
weary life in a garret of the Rue Rivoli.

I had heard nothing of either, since my return to
America, until Isaw the following paragraph in a
Boston paper:

“A modern Pygmalion died recently in an insane asylum in
France. He was a maker and exhibitor of wax-work figures, and
made one of a girl s0 supremely beautiful that he passed most of
his time in contemplating her. His business being neglected,
bankruptcy overtook him. He still retained his wax figure, but
one day his wife destroyed it, which so enraged him that he
made a furious assault upon her, and would have murdered her
but for the intervention of neighbors. The authorities finding
him to be insane, placed him in an asylum.”

Farewell, Pierre Jenot. ButI will yet learn the
closing chapter of the life of the artist’s model.

THE RED-HEADED BURGLAR.

BY HELENA DIXON.

“Tl tell you°what it is, Gill,’ said the elder of
Farmer Grimes’ sons to his brother, as he rub
his honest, toil-hardened hands together, and look-
ed with pride at the double row of butter firkins
which had been:brought up from the cellar prepar-
atory to being sent to market, “we might just as
well take a run down to Gotham ourselves and sell
the butter as to send it to Warner & Wait. They’ve
lined their pockets long enough with commissions
from us, Besides, we’ve grown up like a couple of
dolts, without seeing any bigger sights than a cir-
cus now and then. hat do you say ?”

“It’s a tip-top plan,” answered Josh. “And then
we can get a handsome keepsake for the girls, and
mother shall have a silk that will stand alone.”
“The girls’ who were thus to remembered
were Clara and Jenny Danvers, the soon-to-be
wives of Gilbert and Joshua Grimes.

“T shall get Clara an accordion that will beat that
nee old thing of MaryGreen’s all to blazes,”
said Gill.

“And Jenny shall have a chain for the watch her
Aunt Polly gave her. But we'd better see what dad
says about our going.”

So “Daddy Grimes” was consulted, and his con-
sent obtained. a
“The butter was theirs,” he told them. “The
ad worked hard for it all summer, and he want
them to make the most of their labor. But,” he
added, after a moment of reflection, ““you’ll have to
keep your eyes sharp about you. Every other man
in York lives by his wits. Take care they don’t
shark you out of your money. Have Susan put

ockets in your shirts and keep your greenbacks
nthem; and besure you don’t tell any body how
much you’ye got.”

“Oh, we’ll be enough for them, dad. Won’t we,
Gill ?” said Josh; and Gill answered, promptly:

“You bet.” ;

The next morning two tall, muscular, sunburned,
but by no means fll-looking, young men took their
seats in the “express” for New York, duly impress-
ed with the importance of their first trip. ns
After a somewhat lengthy silence, during which
the two amused themselves by studying the faces
of their fellow-passengers, one of them purchased
a morning paper and ran his eye anxiously over
the market reports. |

“Tl tell you what it is, Josh, we'll have nearly
two thousand between us. Butter is forty-five cents,
with an upward tendency. Won’tdad and mother
be surprised ?” er Sea we

“Hush!” said Josh, giving his brother a nudge
with his elbow. ‘That red-headed fellow behind is

MC aL
eir arrival in New York, the two brothers

 

 

After t
concluded to finish the day in “looking around,”
determined not to fail to realize the highest figure
for theinbutter through haste; besides, they.could
stroll around and see the sights just as well before
the sale, said Gill, as afterward.

“Yes, and enough sight safer,” added.Josh, “for
somehow all these city chaps seem to know whe-
ther a fellow is flush with money or not.” ;
Gill and Josh followed the moving crowd into
Broadway, and when. they got tired of walking—
Gill all the while keeping hold of the skirts of Josh’s
coat for fear of losing him—they took a drive in the
park, and when darkness settled over the great city
they roars in at the first hotel they found and
registered their names.

“D’ye see that red-headed fellow—the very chap
that came down.behind us on the cars—watching
us all the time we were eating our supper?” whis-
pered Josh, as he drew his brother into a corner.

“No,” answered Gill; “but we are in a regular
den of thieves, I do believe, that white-haired ras-
cal over there—see, he’s looking this way now—
never took his greedy gray eyes off me all the while

was at table.”

I must give that red-headed bird to understand
that we haven’t sold our butter yet as our heads
won't be worth a fig in the morning,” and Josh
moved toward the individual with the red hair.
We’re safe enough for to-night, I guess, and to-
morrow we'll find other quarters,” said Josh, as he
and Gill took possession of the room assigned them
for the night. But still ten o’clock the following
night found them in the same room.

They were as safe there as they would be any-
where till they got out of the city,” Josh had finally
concluded, and beside the hotel was near the depot
and they wished to take an early train for home.

After making sure that the windew-blinds were
tightly closed, and the door locked and bolted, the
two sat down before the table and divided the pro-
ceeds of their butter between them. __

“Nearly a thousand a piece,” said Gill exultantly.
“This will give us quite a start. It’s three times as
much as dad had when he and mother got married.”

“T don’t just like the way that red-headed fellow
maneuvers. I wonder, what he’s lopping around
here for, anyhow?” said Josh, as he bestowed his
money in his wallet. j

“T don’t know,” replied Gill; “but if he pus his
freckled face in here, he will never curl those red
locks of his again; and the young man sportively
pointed a bright new reyolver at the door.

Yes, we're good fora dozen likehim,” said Josh,
as he drew a mate to Gill’s pistol from his pocket.
{ “Thank fortune, mother and the_girls don’t know

what a strait we're prepared for. The’sight of these

 

back the hair from her forehead, quite involuntari- |-

pata would scare them into fits,” and Josh crept
nto his bed, and Gill was soon sound asleep in his.
“There it is twelve o’clock,” muttered Josh, as a
palgaboring clock struck the hour, “‘and I haven’t
had a wink of sleep yet, and no likelihood of get-

ting any either. ere! what's that? Some one is
certain y sawing a hole inthe door;”’ and Josh
raised himself on his elbow, and listened to the

well-defined sound which had disturbed him, while
reat round drops of sweat oozed from his fore-

ead.

“Weshall be murdered, Gilland I! Oh, don’t I
wish I had been at the North Pole before I came to
this infernal city. If I could only wake Gill with-
out that red-headed villain—I know it’s him—hear-

ing me,”
“Phen Josh bethought him of his means for self-
defense, and crept cautiously and noiselessly out

o ;

How his limbs trembled! He had scarcely
strength to stand. Seating himself on the edge of
his bed, he groped for his clothes, and began to

ress.
He knew he was doing a dastardly thing in not
waking his brother, but for his life he dared not
utter a whisper, and his legs he-was sure would
refuse their office did he*‘attempt to move.

t oe after what seemed a full hour of mental
agony, Josh became aware that some one was
treading stealthily over the carpet. It was pitchy
dark, but intuitively the young man felt that the
footsteps were ep prencning. :

re his revolver in his trembling fingers, he
hastily discharged it not once merely, but several
times in quick succession. There was only a slight
groan, and Josh was on the point of firing again,
when the room rang with the report of a weapon

not his own. Again and again the repert shook the
window, and caused toshake and tremble every
fiber in Josh’s body.

At length, forgetful alike of his money, which he

ad pisved under his pillow, and of his brother,
who for aught he could tell might be dead or dy-
ing, Josh rushed for the door, expecting every mo-
ment to feel the steel of the burglar-assassin

ainst his throat. i

e found the door still locked and bolted. The
intruder must have entered by the window. How

Josh wished for the strength of 8amson to enable
him with a single stroke of his arm to carry away
the obstruction, w could he, trembling in every
joint as he was, and expecting every moment to be
seized in the stout arms of the red-headed villain,
ever get the door unfastened! But it was accom-
plished at last, and then, suddenly recovering his
wonted strength, he darted away, bareheaded and
barefooted as he was, down the three flights of
stairs,and out on the street, shouting “Murder!”
as he ran, and followed by half-a-score of the in-
mates of the house.

He soon outstripped his pursuers, and ran till he
reached the depot like one gone wild, determined
that the first train should take him homeward.

His money was gone, and Gill was in all proba-
bility killed. He must return to his parents with
the sad intelligence,and then come back for the
body of his hapless brother.

He leaned against the oak paneling of the ticket
office, determined to be the first to secure a ticket.
He had stood thus but a few minutes when he felt
his knees knock pee hee, and the breath came
thick and fast from between his Raa lips, for the
form of his murdered brother had entered the
room.

His face was pale and haggard, his eyes wild and

reternaturally bright, and there was a wound on

is cheek from which the blood had flown copious-
ly. Josh was filled with superstitious awe, and
who would not be when the evidence of things su-
pernatural existed before his very eyes?

“He has. come to punish me for leaving him to
such a fate, andI deserve it,” thought Josh, as he
placed his hands over his eyes to shut out the
vision.

But ghosts are not wont to converse with mortals,
and Josh’s hands came down, and the paleness left
his cheeks as he heard the words:

‘So you got away too, Josh. It seems too good to
be real. I felt that that fellow’s revolvers, or worse
still, a chance shot from my own. had killed you. I
sept see how you could get away, and I not know
i er
_ Josh opened his eyes very wide at this, and seiz-
ing Gill by the hand he dragged him at a break-
neck pace back to the hotel. They were closely fol-
lowed by a couple of grim policemen, but the
brothérs knew little of the duty of those function-
aries, and cared less.

“My money! Gill, my money! Hurry along, or
some one will have it.”

Old red-head has got it, and mine too, you may
be sure of that. He wouldn’t waste so many shots
on a couple of wretches for nothing.” And Gill
sighed as he thought of his lost money, and how
the wedding of himself and Clara Danvers would
have to be indefinitely postponed in eonsequence
of the robbery. ‘
“Gill,” said Josh, as he rushed up the hotel stairs,
three steps at a timé, “‘we’ve been a couple of fools
and the only wonder is that we aren’t both as de
ashammers. There was nobody in the room but our-
selves, and we were pelting away at each other.”

With this Josh led the way into the room they had
oecupied, to find it filled with people, several police-
men amongthenumber. The majority were intent
on examining the ceiling, which was penetrated in
six or eight places by bullet holes. Only one ball
had entered the pee. below the ceiling, and this
was ene the one which had grazed Gill’s

cheek.

Humiliating to the brothers as the confusion of
made in order that they might remain possessed of
their liberty. The money was found, undisturbed,
beneath their pillows, and early in the morning
osh and Gill took their seats in the cars for home.

Coniound it all,” said Josh, as he glanced at the
patch on his brother’s cheek. ‘Mother and the
girls won’t rest till they know how that piece came
out of your cheek, and I’d rather be whipped than
tell them, Jenny is such a e.”. a co
“They'll never find it out by the telling,” said Gill,
emphatically; but for all that Clara coaxed the
whole story from him that very night, as they talk-
ed together under the elms which grew by her fa-
ther’s gateway.

Before the two sisters went to sleep they had their
laugh together over the ludicrous affair, and Josh
never heard the last of the red-headed burglar, and
all Daddy Grimes to say to produce a charm-
ing color in each of his boys’ faces was simply—

 

THE THREE Biows.—Those who have read the
opening installment of ‘Tue THREE Bows,” which
appeared last week, are unanimous in the opinion
that it promises to be a remarkably entertaining
story. This opinion willbe strengthened by the
perusal of the succeeding installments,

A WIFE'S REVENGE.

BY HERO STRONG.

 

 

 

Very much against the wishes of her parents, and
of her twin brother Albert, Marian Seymore mar-
ried Leroy Allston. : ;

t was one of those cases we find it extremely dif-
ficult to explain, where a woman, sensible on all
other points, is PF . afool where the object of her
love is concerned. f

If any girl of her_acquaintance had fallen in love
with Leroy Alliston and Marian had stood by,a
calm, indifferent spectator, she would have deeply
commisserated the unfortunate girl,and perhaps
have ventured on alittle friendly advice, which, of
course, would have been deemed impertinent, and
trea accordingly. ;

Allston was of good nly, and he had a very
handsome face to recommen him; but he was dis-
solute, and reckless, and. unprincipled, and people
were right when they said that he sought Marian
solely for her fortune. :

He was gp tyneag on of wonderful powers of fasci-
nation, and when he sat beside Marian, and looked
into her faee with those deep, dark, passionate eyes
of his, andtold her ina voice sweeter than that of
a siren how he loved her. she forgot everything but
his presence, and was entirely under his control.

omen like her love deeply when they yield to
the sweet madness, and Marian’s passion for her
handsome lover knew no bounds. Her fortune
was her own, having been left her by a deceased
uncle; and as she was twenty-four years of age she
had a perfect right todo asshe pleased.

So, as I said at the beginning,she married All-
ston, and all her relatives were grieved and dis-
pleased thereat. yet

The young couple commenced housekeeping in
splendid style, andfor a time everything went on
in harmony. 5 :

Allston used his wife’s money freely, and gathered
about him all the fast young men inthecity. He
kept his pair of blooded ponies, and his crack trot-
ters, and he his suite of rooms at the club
house, he smoked the choicest cigars,and drank
the finest wines which money could purehase.

All this time Marian loved him, and one oar
foolishly enough believed that he loved her. en
he came home at night so much under the influence
of wine that the keyhole of the door was lost to
him, his wife woyld hasten down to admit him, and
hurry him up to their chamber, lest the servants
might see and remark upon the disgraceful state of
the master.

Things went on ‘thus for a couple of years, and
Marian bore it all without complaint. [ suppose
she would have gone on bearing it to the end, if
Allston. had not indulged himself in another fash-
ionable vice of the day. .

Mrs. Staniford was a widow, or professed to be,
and she was beautiful and fascinating, and unfor-
tunate, and all that, and Allston was her very devo-
ted slaye. He furnished a house for her in sump-
tuous style out.of his wife’s money—and there he

 

their not over-valiant conduct was, it had to_ be | th

<i: THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. bee

Do youthink that society frowned upon him be-
cause of this? Then you know not society. “He
was arich and fashionable young man, and his
wild oats were not yet sown; his wife was rather
prin and orthodox; and, after all,he was no worse

han the majority of men!” Virtuous young ladies
smiled on him, and doting mammas greeted him
cordially and made him welcome to their homes
and to their firesides.

Marian was the last to hear of her husband’s last
sin. When she did, she ,refused to credit it.
Through everyining she had never once doubted
his love for her, and that had kept her heart tender
toward him. Confirmation was not long wantin
and Marian had an opportunity to convince herse
herond, all possibility of doubt, of his defection,

o one knew or guess9d how hard this was for
her, for she was one of those women who believed
in the necessity of personal purity and chastity for
aman as much as for a woman.

She met Mrs. Staniford often—a bold, handsome
woman, who laughed in her face, and more than
once ventured to address Mr. Allston when he was
riding or walking with his wife. r

From the time Marian first made herself sure of
her husband’s infidelity, her whole nature seemed
to undergo a change. 3 rom being a gentle, loving,
confiding girl, she me an imperious and exact-
ing woman, And, moreover, she sought the friend-
seek ce Mrs. Staniford, and won, in a large degree,
the base woman’s confidence.

Those who knew Marian best, wondered at the
sharpening of her features, and the strange pallor
of her face, and at the expression of determination
which had settled over her countenance.

My dear, you look like fate itself,” said Allston
to her one day, after he had studied her face over
his newspaper. “I hope you are not sitting for a
tableau of Nemesis.”

She smiled grimly, but did not answer him; in-
deed, she seldom answered anybody in those days.

Her brother Albert was a great deal with her, and
the trim vessel of which he was the master lay idle,
with furled satis, in the port.

By-and-by it was reported that Mr. and Mrs. All-
ston and Mrs. Staniford were going on a pleasure
voyage in the Nautilus with Captain Seymore, and
everybody wondered, and exclaimed at that “‘queer
Mrs. Allston!” and when the Nautilus had got out
of sight of land, it was all forgotten.

On and on the vessel sailed, until the southern
seas were reached; and yous’ Allston had begged,
and threatened, and stormed, to be put on shore,
Captain Seymore was obstinate. They were on a
pleasure voyage, he said, grimly, and Re hoped they
would all be as happy and as quiet as possible.

Something in the captain’s stern, set face—some-
thing in the sullen, determined aspect of the crew
—something in the quiet air of triumph with which
Marian regarded Allston and Mrs. Staniford—struck
terror tothe hearts of these guilty wretches, and
this terror grew upon them oh by day.

The vessel anchored one night under the lee of a

low, sandy island, overgrown with the luxuriance
of tropical vegetation, and a boat was got out.
Iston and Mrs. Slaniford were standing togeth-
er on the deck of the Nautilus, looking out at the
green oasis. The captain approached, and gallantly
offered his arm to the lady.

‘You have been very anxious to goon shore,”

said he; ‘““you now have an opportunity. My sister
and myself are going to visit the island, and we in-
vite you to accompany us.”
There was a cold, steel-like glitter in his eye as
he spoke, which might have warned Aliston of the
fate which awaited him, had he observed it; but he
was too eager to set foot on dry land once more to
notice anything unusual in the captain’s de-
meanor.

They all entered the boat, which was pulled by
two silent oarsmen, and in a few moments the keel
grated on the sand ofthe shore. The party alight-
ed, and. no sooner had Allston and Mrs. Staniford
advanced a few paces up the beach than Captain
Seymore and his sister returned to the boat, which
instantly pushed off from the shore.

half-dozen fathoms’ length from shore the men
drew in their oars, and Mrs. Aliston stood up in the
boat, and spoke, in a clear, ringing voice, to those
left behind:

“A long and happy life to you! And may you
never grow weary of each other’s society! Your
island is all your own, and from the fact that it lies
a hundred leagues from the usual track of vesels,
ou will not be subject to much company. You will
ave nothing to do but love each other. Adieu.”
Then the boatshot away into the gathering gloom,
followed by the agonized cries and entreaties of
those left behind, andin afew moments the Nau-
tilus spread every sailto the freshening breeze,
and when morning broke over the blue, sweet sky,
she was miles and miles away from the dreary lit-
tle island and its hapless waits. .

The Nautilus came da just eleven months
fromthe time she sailed away, and Mrs. Allston
was in mourning for her husband, who was. said
+o have died of malarial fever somewhere in the

ropies.

obody_ inquired for Mrs. Staniford, but it was
peered she had been left at some port where the
autilus had touched. :

Years passed away, and Marian Allston had stood
at the head of society in her native city, beautiful,
fascinating, and rich, but cold as stone and nearly
as feelingless, said her admirers. j

At forty, she lay ‘dying of quick consumption.

Her brother had died three years before, and her
parents had followed him within a year of each
other. Consequently, there were no near relatives
to stand around her death-bed. ,

She sent for Doctor Deane, the rector of St. Mat-

 

 

ew’s.

To him she told the story Ihave been trying to
tell you, and to him she gave a chart of the south-
ern waters, where thirteen years before she had
left her husband and his mistress to fate.

Upon him she enjoined the task of fitting outa
ship to sailto these remote seas, and seeking that
desert island, to bring back those wretched crea-
tures if alive, or if they were dead, to bury their
bones. A little after midnight she died. Docto
Deane performed the service required of him.
The vessel he fitted out found the island, and
found likewise the bonesof Allston and the wo-

man.

She had died first. He had evidently been dead
but a short time, for his flesh was not all consumed
and in his hand was found ascrap of paper, fade
and discolored, bearing these words:

“Aug. —, 18— oe
“T have managed to keep the date up to this time..

I feel that lam dying. Dying, oh, Heaven! and all
alone! Fanny has been dead eleven years. Oh,
Marian! Marian! you have indeed h your re-

venge!

“It grows dark ; the palm-trees wave their branch-

~ over my h like eee demons. Heayen
ave mercy upon—me!”

A graye was made on the desolate shore, and the

two skeletons were placed within it.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS.

BY ALLENA AUDLEY.

 

 

 

Of course there is no such land as Fairy, but you
can’t help calling.to mind the romance of child-
hood, when you look at that beautiful child stand-
| ing just at the brink of the brook, the bright waves
melting in a delicious murmur at her feet, and the
sunlight kissing the gold of her hair.

Doubtless the brook is singing a sweet oe to
her. All about green meadows, and bright blos-
soms, and the singing and winging of birds, and
the blowing of blithe summer winds. |

There is a daisy growing under her little feet but,
ah! she lifts her bright eyes at last—now, a penny
for yourthoughts. |.

“-Tisn’t Edith, Auntie, it’s only me, and you know
JT never do have any thoughts. I was only wonder-
ing which dress I should wear to the party to-mor-
row night. There’s ry white poplin, with bands of
cherry velvet; and my blue silk, the little lace jacket
sparkling with beads of amber.

And the little feet take another careless step, and
the daisy is crushed. |

Ah, who shall lift again the sweet flower of inno-
cence in that child’s heart! Will all the sweet rain
of the skies bring back that subtle fragrance that
exhales from a child’s life before the fashion and
folly of the world have stifled it?

In through the one door float summer sweets on
softsouth winds. Birds sing everywhere, and the
very atmosphere is pulsing with music.

There is a dream in the air, and bright eyes catch
and hold it. There is a hope, crowned with the
light of glad to-day, and red lips part in light laugh-
ter as the hope flits by. There are vague longings,
and pure, high aspirations abroad. hich of them
all brings the bloom of that fresh young cheek?
Which of them all lends such light to those brown
eyes? :

There is a sudden tremulous motion of the red
lips, a shadow of tears in the lifted eyes—ah, show
me the cloud that darkens your path. the grief that
A penny for the thought!

“Trouble enough! Any one would think that the
world was turning upside down. Here I am,
nervous and wretched, searcely able to hold my
head up, and Bridget comes to say that her sister is
dead, and she must go home. Such utter selfish-
ness disgusts me. One thing is certain—if she will
put orsuch airs, she need not come back to me!’

Oh, woman, lost to allapprehension of Oharity!
Trifler in the serious affairs of life; poor wanton
butterfly, hovering at the edge of Pleasure’s intoxi-

has overtaken you?

and use of life; thirsty, when the rich ‘wine of life
stands yet untasted; cold, when the mantle of
‘Christian grace waits to warm you; naked, when
you might be clothed in the rebe of His Righteous-
n !

 

 

but from every good tree, let us pluck some fruit,
ke mind a storehouse, and let no moment go by
rere, is honest—is of good inten
nd he who is honest—is o: ntent—is of un-
doubted loyalty toward his brother; my penny for
your thought!
. ———————_+-0-<—______—__

ROMANCE OF BATTLES IN’76.
FOR OUR CENTENNIAL YEAR.
BY NED BUNTLINE.

No. 13.- THE ESCAPE-VALLEY FORGE.

After the battle of Brandywine, and before Wash-
inton had made his winter quarters at Valley Forgs,
the Americans had quite a large quantity of flour
for the use of the army, at a flouring mill, the ruins
of which can now be seen near the old headquarters
at Valley Forge.

Finding that the British would be almost certain
to capture the place and seize the flour, Genera]
Wash aton sent Colonel Hamilton and Captain
one with asmall troop of horse to destroy

res.

They had just crossed the mill-race, and were
about to commence the work of destruction, when
two videttes, sent offto the south-east to look out for
the enemy, came tearing in, pursued by a whole
regiment of British dragoons.

amilton, with four of hismen, sprang into a
boat and crossed the Soba under a furious fire
from the enemy, while Light-Horse Harr .
with the mounted videttes and four more of his men
on horseback dashed over the bridge close at hand,
amid a shower of bullets. 4

The British followed them, firing volley after vol-
ley as they rode, until they saw that Lee could not
be overtaken, and then they returned to make the
capture of the stores.

hen Lee reached the camp he expressed his fears
that Colonel Hamilton had either been killed or
captured, but while he was making his report Ham-
ilton rode Up, egunily excited, with a belief that Lee
had been cut off and killed or taken.

It was indeed a remarkable escape, since not an
American was killed or captured, though in pistol
shot of such a vastly superior force. Had Hamilton
been killed then, Aaron Burr would not have had

e sad notoriety of killing him in a duel.

 

KEMINISCENCES
OF BULWER AND DICKENS.
“What are the Wild Waves Saying?”

BY J. A. Jd.

 

 

_ Inthesummer of 1849 I was residing at Ventnor,
in theIsle of Wight. The cholera was raging jn
ndon, carrying off thousands of victims weekly.
Every one that possibly could fled from the modern
Babylon. Charles Dickens was staying at the ro-
mantic village of Bonchurch (about a mile distant
from Ventnor) engaged in writing “David Copper-
field,” when Bulwer went down to Bonchurch from
London to spend a few days with him. |

About ten o’clock every morning Dickens and
Bulwer walked on the beach, the former dressed in
a white drill suit and a light felt wide-awake. His
pockets were he and always filled with
reading matter. Bulwer dressed, as usual, with the
punctiliousness of a Beau Brummell. He invari-
ably took his morning bath in the sea; but Dickens
was not a regular bather. After the bath they.re-
paired tothe Boniface Hotel, where they imbibed
their Rudesheimer and seltzer. Then they would
return to the beach, and Bulwer, lighting his pipe
which was one of the handsomest meerschaums
ever saw, they would engage in long and animated
conversations. f P i :

Ihad been acquainted with Dickens some time,
but had never been introduced to Bulwer. Robert
Watson, a London attorney, Edwin Whittaker, an
attorney from Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and Edward
Pollard, also an attorney from Gloucester, honored
me with avisit at Ventnor. Whittaker was Bul-
wer’s attorney, and I was introduced by him to the
great novelist, poet, and dramatist. __

One morning, accompanied by Dickens, Bulwer
came dewn,-as usual, tothe Ventnor béach, and
shortly afterward entered the bathing-machine. It
was a tempestuous morning; the sea was running
very high, and but few people were to be seen on
the sands. Bulwer, who was never a good swim-
mer, “ventured beyond his depth,” Isuppose, about
two hundred yards. The beach is an exceedingly
steep one, and immediately after abather descends
from the peng eeehing into the sea, he is out of
his depth. The billows were breaking against the
beach with tremendous force. Isaw Bulwer in the
distance battling with them, but had no idea that he
was in any danger, as I did not know he was an in-
different swimmer. It was with the utmost diffi-
culty that he succeeded in reaching the stove—in
fact, he narrowly esca a watery grave. He told
me afterward that if he had been potest 1 yards far-
ther out he would not have been_enabled to save
himself. What a mighty chasm in English literature
was thus happily ave _ When he had dressed,
which he did with much difficulty, trembling like
oe - en leaf, his pulse beat at 120, and he wasina

ever.
ickens was on. the beach, and perceiving Bul-
wer’s pallor, procured a carriage, and with diffi-
culty got him into it. As he entered it, he asked
two or three of us, who were standing near, ‘““What
are the wild waves Sanne

Dickens accompanied him home to Bonchurch
and sent for Dr. Martin, an eminent rhysician of
Ventnor. Isaw the doctor afew hours afterward,
when he informed me thatthe probability was that
Bulwer would not be able to leave his bedfora
week, and even intimated that his great mind had
been shaken. But he did not comprehend the elas-
ticity of Bulwer’s constitution.

To my great astonishment, as I was seated on the
beach the next egpebess a Isaw him enter his ba-

ing-machine as usual, apparently_in excellent
health. London.

Strange to say, Leech, the celebrated caricaturist
for Punch, nearly lost his life at the same spot about
two weeks afterward. Leech, Frank Stone, Ege,
Douglas Jerrold, and Mark Lemon, were all visit-
in, ickens at the time. Every one of them, as
well as Bulwer and Dickens, has gone ‘‘to that
bourne from whence no traveler returns.’

I did not see Bulwer or Dickens until the follow-

ng ember, when our meeting was purely Ager
dental. Iwas ining with an old friend, Basil Wi-
gan, the son of Dr. Wigan, the celebrated author of

The Duality of the Mind,” at Long’s Hotel, in Bond
street, London. _ He was giving a petite diner to my-
self, the young Earl of Hopetoun, and Lord Robert,
Montagu (the brother of the present Duke of Man-
chester), who was buried in a pauper’s graye in
Sydney, Australia, in 1855.

Dickens and Bulwer entered the dining-room and
sat at the table opposite to where we were ;
T arose, and shook hands with the illustrious au-
thors, after our dinner was over.

Wigan and the two young noblemen. had an en-

agement, and I was about leaving the hotel, when

ickens asked me if I would not take a glass of
“Chateau Lafitte” with them. Bulwer, always as
polite as the most punctilious of French noblemen,
ree and handing me a chair, begged me to be
seal saying:

“Dickens is initiating me into the doctrines of
Epicurus.” 4 ‘

A bottle of “Chateau Lafitte” was ordered, which
was followed by a second and a third, and the beau-
tiful scenery of Bonchurch and Ventnor was dis-
eussed, as the small hours of the morning were
creeping on. Reference was madeto Bulwer’s nar-
row escape from drowning, when Dickens said to

 

The same evening he left for

im:

“Do you remember the question you put when I
handed you into the carriage after you left the
bathing-machine?” .

Bulwer tried to remember it, but could not. |

Dickens took out of his pocket the manuscript
of a song, which is known wherever the English
language is spoken. The firstline of it is, “What
are the wild waves sayiag?” Addressing me, he
asked if those were not the exact words of Bulwer,
as he entered the carriagethat might have been
employed in conveying his corpse to his temporary
home in the beautiful village of Bonchur¢h. I had
a distinct remembrance of the question Bulwer
asked after his narra ae’: and reading the
manuscript, Bulwer foretold its popularity. Such
is the incident that originated one of the most beau-
tiful ballads in the English language.

 

LOST WOMEN.

We commend the following thoughts to the pub-
lic: “Has it ever oceurred to you what a commen-
tary upon our civilization are those lost women,
and the attitude of society toward them? A little
child strays from her home inclosure, and the
whole community is on the alert to find the wan-
derer and restore it to its mother’s arms. What re-
joicings when it is found, what tearful sympathy,
what Bbatinest ef congratulations! There are no
harsh comments upon tired feet, be they ever so
miry; no reprimand for the soiled and torn gar-
ments; no lack of kisses for the tear-stained face
But let the child be grown into womanhood; let her
be led from it by the scourge of want; what hap-
pens? DoChristian menand women go in qu

 

eating cup; knowing nothing of the real beauty ofher? Do they provide all possible help for her

return, or, if she return of her own notion, do they
receive her with such kindness and delicacy asto
secure her against wandering ? Farfromit. Atthe
first step she is denounced as lost. Lost! echo
friends and relatives;_we disown you; don’t ever

 

ess!
Thought flies hither and thither through a world

of busy minds. Yet which thought is worth our
enny ?

E Let us learn wisdom—let us seize the golden op-
ortunity of action, while our hands can grasp it.

 

spent his leisure time.

 

come to disgrace us. Lost! says society, indiffer-
| ently. How bad these girls are! And, lost! irre-

trievably lost! is the prompt verdict of convention-
al morality; while one and all unite in bolting every
door between her and morality. Ah! will not those
lost ones be required at our hands hereafter ?

 

et us not be idlersin the world’s great vineyard;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ris

 

sa ‘ et CCC Rt

 

nae natteea amen

sents

 

 

~

cen CE ea lh ONCE scan tibiae e RBCS gy apg. mepneen is mance 4

OP as

ay tM

PCL EEO nt trimmete

neiger