VoL. XXXL

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THERE'S. A LAUGH IN THINE YZ.

 

 

 

ein L
aN eee oe RNS Wee Nk Bh ____ Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year i876, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of . Washington, D. C.
wh: seamen eo se ee = eR EE I PEO = {ge eerere oey eee eg a oan 6 aocmnasemnnnnciene se eo ae mene es et ei SET eee mre seca rte arr
STREET & SMITH, } Nos. 27, 38, 31 Rose St. ; AY — j Three Dollars Per Year.| FRANCIS 8. STREET.
Propricters. ns a. Box 4896, New York, NEW YO R kK, MARCH 6, 1876. Two Gopies Five Dollars. | FRANCIS S. SMITA. No. 6,
cited to take her place. The captain’s terms were
oi reas a } so generous that Grace gratefully accepted at once;
BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE. —b pr? UP EN and, a week after, was domesticated atthe Hafl,
Pubes x iduan in thind by6, ve eee ES e housekeeper and companion to his daughters.

There's a joy in thy face,

In each step over the sward
There's a judilant grace;

And thy yoice—oh. how.sweet—
As tts musical words

Perfect harmony make
With the breeze and the birdet

Dear Mary,.we know
That thy joy swelling thes
¥3 not for thine own sel,
But for us, the loved ua;
For thy mind is a beam,
And thy heart is a flower,
Ever fixed in thy souls
Own pure Paradise bower.

it is summer we need, ,
Aa a symbol that yet
Our minds and our hearts
Shall in Bden be set,
That grand Eden on high,
Where no black clouds e’er roti,
While with thee all shall breathe,
Each a Paradised seal.

CAPTAIN
Danton’s Daughters.

By May Agnes Fle ming.

 

CHAPTER L
QRACKE DANTON,

A low room, oblong in shape, three high, narrow
windows. admitting the light through small, ok-
fashioned panes. Just at present there was not
much to admit, for it was raining hard, and the
afternoon was wearing on to dusk; but even the wet
half ight showed you solid mahogany furniture, old-
fashioned as the windows themselves, black and
shining with age and polish; a carpet soft and thick,
but its once rich hues dim and faded; oil paintings
of taste and merit, some.ol them portraits, on the
papered walls, the red glow of a kurge coal fire glint-
ing pleasantly on their broad gilded frames,

At One ot the windows, looking ont at the cease-
less rain, a young lady sat—a young lady, tall, rather
atout than slender, and not pretty. Her complexion
wits too sahow; her features too irregniar; her dark
hair too scant, and dry. and thin at the parliag; but
ier “Gyes were. fine, large, brown and clear; her
manner, self-possessed and lady-like. She was very
simply but very tastefully dressed, and looked every
day of her age—twenty-six.

The rainy afternoon was deepening into dismal
twilight; and with. her check resting on ber hand,
the young lady sac with a thoughtful face.

A long avenue, shaded by towering tamaracs, led
down to stately entrance-gates; beyond, a winding
road, leading to a village, not to be seen from the
window. Swelling meadows, bare and bleak now,
spread away to the right and left of the thickly-
wooded grounds; and beyond all, through the trees,
there were glimpses of the great St. Lawrence, tur-
bid and swollen, rushing down to the stormy Gulf.

For nearly halfan hour the young lady sat by the
window, her solitude undisturbed; no sign of life
within or without the silent house. Then came the
gallop of horse’s hoofs, and a lad rode up the avenue
and disappeared round the angle of the building.

Ten minutes after there was a tap at the door,
followed by the entrance of a servant, with a dark
Canadian tace.

“A letter, Miss Grace,” said the girl, in French.

‘Bring in some more coal, Babette.” said Miss
Grace, also in French, taking the letter. ‘‘Where is
Miss Eeny ””

* Practicing in the parlor, ma’moiselle.”

‘Very well. . Bring in the coal.”

Babette disappeared, and the young lady opened
her letter. It was very short.

“MonTREAL, November 6, 18—.

“My Dear Grace—Kate arrived in this city a week
aco, and [-have remained here sines to show her
the sights, and let her recruit after her voyage.
OGzden tells me the house is quite ready for us, so
you may expect us almost as soon as you receive
this. We will be down by the 7th, for certain. Og-
den says that Rose is absent. Writs to herto return.

‘Yours sincerely, HENRY DANTON.”

**p. 8.—Did Ogden tell you we were to have a vis-
itor—an invalid gentleman—a Mr. Richards? Have
the suite of rooms ox the west side prepared for
him, BD?”

The young lady-refolded her note thoughtfully,
and walking to the fire, stood looking with grave
eyes into the glowing coals.

“S90 soon,” she thought; ‘*so. soon; everything to
be changed. What is Captain Danton’s eldest daugh-
ter like, I wonder? What is the captain like him-
self, and who can this invalid, Mr. Richards be? I
don’t like change.”

Babette came in with the coal, and Miss Grace
roused herself from her reverie.

‘Babette tell Ledru to have dinner at seven. I
think your master and his daughter will be here
to-night.”

‘*Mon Dieu, mademoiseile! The young lady from
Bngtand?”

“Yes: and see that there are fires in all the rooms
up stairs.”

“Yes, Miss Grace.”

‘Ts Miss Beny:still in the parlor?’

**Yes, Miss Grace.”

Miss Grace walked ont of the dining-room. along
a carved and pictured corridor, up a broad fli sht of
shining oaken stairs, and tapped at the first door.

‘Come in, Grace,” called a pleasant voice, and
Grace went in,

Jt wasa much more elegant apartment than the
dining-room, with flowers, and books, and birds,
and pictures, and an open piano with music scat-
tered about,

Half-buried in a great carved and gilded chair, lay
the only occnpant of the room—a youthful angel of
fitteen, fragile of form, fair and delicate of face, with
light hair and-blue eyes. A novel lying open in her
lap showed what her occupation had been.

“T thought you were practicing your music, Eeny,”
said Grace,

“So I was, until I got tired. But what’s that
you've got? A letter?

Grace put it in her hand.

“From papa!” cried the girl, vividly interested at
once. ‘Oh, Grace! Kate has come!”

“Yes,”

The young lady laid down the letter and looked
at her.

‘*How oddly you said that! Are you sorry?”

“Sorry! Oh, no.”

“You looked as if you were. How strange it
seems to think that this sister of mine, of whom I
have heard so much and have never seen, should be
coming here for good! And papa—he is almost a
stranger, too, Grace. I suppose everything will be
very different now.”

“Very, very different,” Grace said, with her quiet
eyes fixed on the fire. ‘The old life will soon bea

+

 

    

~

w&
SSS S
OSS WS

SS

With all the blood of the Dantons flushing her check, she struéi him a blow in the face which made him reel.

 

 

thing of the past,
here; have we not, Beny?”

“Very happy,” answered Beny; ‘tand will be still,
Thope. Papa and Kate, and Mr. Richards—I won-
der who Mr. Richards is?—shail not make us miser-
able.”

“T suppose, Beny,” said Grace, “I shall be quite
forgotten when this handsome Sister Kate comes.
She ought to be very handsome.”

She looked up at an oval picture above the marble
mantel, in a rich frame—the photograph of a lovely
girl about Eeny'’s age. The bright young face looked
at you with a radiant smile, the exuberant golden
hair fell in sunlight ripplea over the phimp white
shoulders, and the blue eyes and rosebud lips smiled
on you together, A lovely face, full of the serene

promise of yet greater loveliness to come. Eeny’s
eyes followed those of Grace.
“You know better than thaf, Cousin Grace. Miss

Kate Danton may be an angel incarnate, but she can
never drive you quite out of my heart. Grace, how
old is Kate?”

“Twenty years old.”

“And Harry was three years older?

Se Ge,'?

“Grace, I wonder who Mr. Richards is?”

“Sa do 1.”

‘Did Ogden say nothing about him?”

**Not a word.”

‘Will you write to Rose?”

**T shall not have time.
Eeny. That is what I came here to ask you to do.”

“Certainly, with pleasure,” said Eeny., ““*Rose
will wait for no second invitation when she hears
who have come. Will they arrive this evening?”

“Probably. They may come @ any moment; and
here Lam lingering. Write the mote at once, Keny,
and send Sam back to the village with it.”

She left the parlor and went down stairs, looking
into the dining-room as she passed, Babette was
setting the table alreadv, and silver and cutelass
sparkled in. the light of the ruby flame. Grace
went on, up another staircase, hurrying from room
to room, seeing that all things were in perfect or-
der. Fires burned in each apartment, lamps stood
on the tables ready to be lit, for neither furnace nor
gas was to be found here. The west suite of reoms
spoken of in the letter were the last visited. A long
corridor, lit by an oriel window, through which
the rainy twilight stole eerily enough, led to a baize
door. The baize door opened into a shorter cor-
ridor, terminated by a second door, the upper half
of glass. This was the door of a study, simply fur-
nished, the walls lined with book-shelves, sur-
mounted by busts. Adjoining was a bathroom, ad-
joining that a bedroom. Fires burned in all, and
the curtained windows commanded a wide western
prospect of flower-garden, waving trees, spreading
fields, and the great St. Lawrence melting into the
low western sky.

“Mr. Richards ought to be very comfortable here,”
thought Grace. “It is rather strange Ogden did not
speak of him.”

She went down stairs again and back to the
dining-room. Eeny was there, standing before the
fire, her light shape and delicate face looking fragile
in the red firelight.

‘Oh, Grace,” said she, “I have just sent Babette
in search of you. There isa visitor inthe parlor
for you.”

“For me ”

“Yes, a gentleman; young, and rather handsome.
I asked him whom I should say wished to see you,
and——what do you think—he would not tell.”

“No ! What did he say ?”

‘Told me to mention to Miss Grace Danton that a
friend wished to see her. Mysterious, is it not ?”

“Who can it be?’ said Grace, thoughtfully.
“What does this mysterious gentleman look like,
Eeny ?”

“Very tall,” said Eeny, “and very stately, with
brown hair, and beard and mustache—a splendid
mustache, Grace ! and beantiful, bright brown eyes,
something like yours. Very good-looking, very
polite, and with the smile of an angel. There you
have him.”

“Tam ag much at a loss as ever,” sald Grace leav-
ing the dining-room. ‘This is destined to be an
evening of arrivals, I think.”

She ran up stairs for the second time, and opened
the parlor door. A gentleman before’ the fire, in
the seat Eeny had vacated, arose at her entrance.
Grace stood still an instant, doubt, amaze, delight,
alternately in her face; then with a cry of ‘‘Frank,!”
she sprang forward, and was caught in the tall
stranger’s arms.

“J thought you would recognize mein spite of

I wish you wonld write,

 

the whiskers,” said the stranger, “Here, stand off

Saree ee pa
7 ; ‘ ‘
And we heve been vary happy { and lei me took ‘at sod, tev ms ka six

tnd Four years ago. Looking @ack to-night, Grace
sighed to think how pleasant it had all. been, now
that it was over. It had been such a quiet, untrou-
bied time—she sole mistress, Rose's fits of il-temper
and Eeny’s fits of illness, the only drawback. And
now it was at an end forever. The heiress of Dat-
ton Hall was coming to wield the scepter, and a
new era would dawn with the morrow.

There was a tap at the door, anda voice asking:
“May I comein, Grace ”” and Grace woke up from
her dreaming.
| “Yes, Heny,” she said; and EHeny came in, looking
: fat her searchingly.

:. “Have -you. been crying 7 she asked, taking 4
' stool at her feet.

“Crying? no ! What should [ cry for ?”

*You look sosolemn. I heard your visitor go, and
iranup., Who was it f”

| My brother, who has just returned from Ger-
i many.”

‘Dear me! Didn’t I sayhehad eyeglike you?
He’s a doctor, isn’t he ”

*“Ves.%

“Grace, I thought you said yon were poor 7”

“Well, Tam poor—am I not 7”

“Then who paid for your brother studying medi
cine in Germany ?”

“Unele Roosevelf. He is very fond of Frank.”

**Tg your uncle Roosevelt rich 7”

‘“*} believe so. Very rich, and very miserly.”

“Has he sons and daughters ?”

“Nos we are his nearest relatives.”

“Then, perhaps, he will leave you his fortane,
Grace.”

“Hardly, I thing. He may remember Frank in
his will; but there isno telling. Heis very eccen-
tric,

“Grace, I hope he won't leave it to you,” said
Eeny, soberly.

‘*Really, why not, pray.”

“Because, if you were rich yon would go away.
I should be sorry if you left Danton Halt.

Gracé stooped to Kiss the pale young face.

“My dear Heny, you forget that your beautiful
sister Kate is coming. Ia a week or two, you will
have reom in your heart for no one but her.”

*You know better than that,” said Beny; *“per-
eee will be like Rose, and I shalt not love her
at all.”

Grace smiled.

“Do you mean to say you do not love Rose, then?*

**Love Rose?” repeated EHeny, very mach amazed
af the question; ‘“iove Rose. indeed! I should lik
to see any one who could lore Rose. Grace, where

 

 

 

 

i years have wrought in my sister Gee.”

He held her ott at arm's length aux surveyed her,
smilingly. i

**A little older—a little graver, bub @therwige the
same. My ‘solemn Gracie, you willlook lke yeur
own grandmother at thirty.”

“Well, I feel. as if I had lived acentury, or two
now. When did you come ?”

“From Germany, last week; from Montreal, at
noon.”

*You have been a week in Montreai, then ?”

**With uncle Roosevelt—yes.” ‘

“How goud if seems to see you again, Frank.
How long will you stay here—in St. Croix 2”

‘That depends—untibl get tired, | suppose. (So
Captain Danton and his eldest daughter are here
from England ?”

‘How did you learn that ?”

Saw their arrival in. Montreal duly chronicled.

What is she like, Grace ?”

“Who 2”

‘Miss Kate Danton.”

“I don’t know. I expect them every moment; I
should think they came by the saii@ train you did.”

“Perhaps so—I rode. second-class, I. got talking
to an old Canadian, and found him such a capital
old fellow, that I kept beside him all the way... By-
the-by, Grace, you’ve got into very comfortable quar-
ters, haven’t you ?”

“Yes, Danton Hallis a very fine place.”

‘**How long is. if you have been here ?”

‘sFour years.”

“And how often has the captain been in
time ?”

“Twice; but he has given up the sea now, snd is
going to settle down.”

“I thought his eldest daughter was a fixture in
England ?”

“So did I,” said Grace; “but the grandmother
with whom she lived has died, it appears; conse-
quently, she comes toher natural home for the
first time. - That is her picture,”

Miss Danton’s brother raised his handsome brown
eyes to the exquisite face, and.took a long survey.

‘She ought to be'a beauty if she looks like that.
Belle blonde, and TL admire blondes so much !do you
know, Grace, I think I shall fallin love with her ?”

‘Don’t. It willbe of no use.”

‘Why not? IT am a Danton—a centleman—-a
member of the learned profession of medicine and
not so bad-looking#® Why not. Grace ?”

He rose up as He said it, his brown eyes smil-
ing. Notso bad-looking, certainly. A fine-looking
fellow, as he leaned against.the marble mantel,
bronzed and bearded, and a thorough gentleman.

“Tt is allof no use,” Gracé ‘said, with an answer-
ing smile. ‘Doctor Danton’s: numberless perfec-
tions will be quite lost onthe heiress of Danton
Hall. She is engaged.”

“What a pity ! Who is the lucky man?

%, &
that

 

‘Hon.’ Lieutenant Reginald Stanford, of Stanford
Royals, Northumberland, England, youngest son of:
Lord Reeves.”

“Then mine is indeed a forlorn hope! What |
chance has an aspiring young doctor against the |
son. of a lord.’

‘You would have no chancein any case,” said ,
Grace, with sudden “seriousness. ‘tf once asked
her father which his eldest daughter most resem- |
bled, Rose or Eeny. ‘Like neither,’ was his reply.
‘My daughter Kate is beantiful, and stately, and |
proud as &@ queen,’ Ishall never forget his own
proud smile as he said it.’

“You infer that Miss Danton, if tree, would be
too proud to mate with a mefe plebeian profession-
al man,”

“Yes.”

“Then resignation is ali that remains. Is it im-
proper to smoke in ‘this. sacred chamber, Grace? I
must have something to consvle me.: Quite a grand
alliance for Danton’s daughter, is if mot?”

“They do not'seem tothinkso. I heard her father
say he would not: consider a prince of the: blood-
royal too good for his peerless Kate.”

“The duse he wouldn’t!: What an uplifted old fel-
low he must be!”

“Captain Danton is not old., His age is about
forty-five, and he does not look forty.”

“Then I'll tell you what to do, Grace —marry him!”

“Frank, don’t be absurd! Do you know you will
have everything in this room smelling ot tobacco for
a week. I can’t permit it, sir.”

“Well, I'll be off,” said. her brother, looking at
his watch. ‘I promised to return in half an hour to
supper.”

“Promised whom?”

| from over the mantel.

 

“M.leCure. Oh, you don’t know I am stopping
at the presbytery. 1 happened. to meet the curate,

 

is your brother stopping? At the hetel »”

“No; at Monsieur le Cure’s. He knows Father
Francis: FEeny, do you hear that 7”
; She started up, listening. Through the tempest
friends—a fellow-feeling, you know, makes us won- om atone Sit er ann We surgang gles ig Fog
drous kind. Judge of my amazement on meeting | Cowa eae carriage wheels rattling rapidly up to

: * ° ithe house

him on Notre Dame street, in soutane and bro vd- | “ET hear it.”

Ss te pes De Ey te 20 wk Lin ost. “ET hear it,” said Eeny; “papa has. come.  O
brimmed hat, and. finding he had taken to Mother! grace. how pale you are !”

Shusscal v ‘ot c 7 ‘ithal 5 ;
Ra i adenine eae have knocked me down with @| «sam 1” Grace said, laying her hand on her beart,

« vy fi 2 » , | : : ‘
Mutual confidences followed;| ang moving toward the door, She paused in the

and when he learned I was coming to St. Croix, he} E ‘ A shaping SI :
told me that I must pitch mytent with him. Capitai| Beer, peenrnar Hy and ste deny ait tecliee ys

eg eye Aer e : | passionately to her heart,
eet itis, too; and M. le Cure is the soul of hos-| tore they come, tell me once more’ you will not det

Will you give me a glass of wine after that | 4;; ‘
| this nev ar steal your heart entire
jong, speech, and to fortify me for my homeward | Tell pt gd nah reac b entirely Semnaae
route?” ‘ eens . nant we
; ‘Always, Grace,” said HKeny;
Grace rang and ordered wine. Doctor Danton | rlage as come 1
oven’. his glass standing, and then drew on his| Grace opened the door, and went out into the en-
& Hay Dee er cea bie aes trance-hali, The marble-paved floor, the doomed
“der ees 7 ie OG: US AOE ceiling, the carved, and statued, and pictured walls,
ae e DUsey 7 aoa et ABS § » | Were quite grand in the blaze of a great, chandelier.
By no means. I rode up here on the cures nag, ! an instant later. and aloud knock made the house
and came at the rate of a funeral. Theold beast! ying and Babette flung the front door wide open.
seemed to enjoy himself, and to rather like getting | 4 staiwart gentleman, buttoned up ina great coat,
soaked through, and I have no doubt will return a8) with a young lady on his arm strode in.
he came. And now.! must go; it would never do to | “Quite a. Canadian baptism, papa,” the sik
a] 2) - Boge € < j 7 ° area 4
be Pane here by these grand people—Captain and | very voice of the young lady said; ‘Iam almost
MISS Danton. drenched.” 4
His wet overcoat hung ona chair; he put it on) Grace heard this, and caught a glimpse of Captain
while walking to the door, with Grace by his side. | panton’s man. Oeden gallanting & pretty, rosy
Ww ia: aha } cee t ese 299 : : near e Beware ss ‘
“When shall 1 see you again, Frank? | girl, who looked like a lady’s maid, and then, very,
‘To-morrow. I want to have a look af our.Eng- | very pale, advanced to meet her master and his
lish beauty. By Jove! it knows how to rain iD) ganehter.

Canada.” | Mv de: ; ” 7

‘ UO j y dear Miss Grace,” the hearty voioe of the
The cold November blast swept in asGrace opened | gajjor said, as he srasped her hand, * I am delighted

the front door, and the rain fell ina downpour. 11! ¢o gee you. My daughter Kate. Miss Grace.”

the black darkness Grace could just discern a white} “wy daughter Kate bowed ina dignified manner,

horse fastened toatree. afi Oy | scarcely looking at her. Her eyes were fixedon a
“This is ominous, Grace,” said her brother. “Cap-| smaller, slighter figure shrinking behind her.

tain Danton and his daughter come heralded by| «Hallo Beny !” cried the captain, catehing her in

wind and tempest. Take care itis not prophetic of! hig arma; “trying to play hide-and-go-seek are

ey . °% oe 2 F

dom stic squalls, i but 1 ; ..| you ? Come out and let us have a look at you.

dimeatie™ down the steps, but he was back again|" Ye held her up over his head as if she had been a
eeu S kitten, and kissed her as he set her down, laughin
‘Who was that pale, blue-eyed fairy I met when I} ang breathless. eee

entered? “You little whiff of thistle-down, why can’t you

‘‘Eveieen Danton.” get fat and rosy as you ought? There, kiss your
“Give her my best regards—Doctor Frank’s. She i ’

; 2 qaglF sister Kate, and bid her welcome.”
will be rather pretty, I think; and if Miss Kate snubs Eeny looked timedly up, and was mesmerized at one
me, perhaps I shall fall back on Miss Eveleen. It)

d E glance. Two lovely eyes of starry radiance looked
seems to me I should like to get into so great a) Gown into hers, and the loveliest face Beny ever saw
family, Once more, bon soir, sister mine, and pleas-| was lighted with a bewitching smile. Oo arms
ant dreams. ‘ were held ont, and Eeny sprang into them, and
He was gone this time for good. His sister stood | pissed the exquisite face rapturously.
in the doorway, and watched the white horse and} “you darting child!’ the sweet voice said, and
its tall, dark rider vanish under the tossing trees. | that was all; but she held her close, with tears in
the starry eyes.
CHAPTER II. “There, there!” cried Captain Danton; “that will
y do. You two can hug each other at your leisure by-
RATR POT FON: and-by; but just at present I am very hungry, aad
Grace went slowly back to the parlor and stood should like some dinner. The dining-room is in
looking thoughtfully into the fire. It was pleasant | this direction, isn’t it, Grace? I think I know the
in that pleasant-parior, bright with the illumination | way.”
of lamp and fire—doubly pleasant in. contrast with| He disappeared, and Kate Danton disengaged her

 

Father Francis, in Montreal—we were achool-boys |
together—and he was about the wildest, most mis-}
chievous fellow [I ever met. We. were immense

‘“there—the car-

YT will}

 

 

» the tumult of wind and rain without. Very pleasant! new-found sister, still holding her hand.

to Grace, and she sighed wearily as she looked up| ‘Come and show me to my room, Eeny,” she said.
from the ruby coals to the radiant face smiling down | “Eunice,” to the rosy lady’s-maid, “tell Ogden to
bring up the trunks and unpack at once.. Come.”
‘*You will be mistress, to-morrow,” she thought;| Still holding her sister’s hand, Kate went up stairs,
“the place I have held for the last four years is, and Eeney had eyes and ears for noone else. Eunice
yours from to-night. Beautifulasa queen. What gave her young lady’s order to Ogden, and followed,
will your reign be like, I wonder?” and Grace was left standing alone.
She drew up the arm-chair her brother had va-| ‘Already,” she thought, bitterly, “already I am
cated and sat down, her thoughts drifting backward | forgotten!” i
into the past. Backward tour years, and she saw| Not quite. Captain Danton appeared at the head
herself, a penniless orphan, dependent on the bounty | of the stairs, divested of his greatcoat.
of that miserly Uncle Roosevelt in Montreal. She! “I say, Ogden. Oh, Miss Graze, will you come up
saw again the stately gentleman who came to her, ! stairs, if you please? Ogden, attend to the luggage,
and told her he was her father’s third cousin, Cap-; and wait for me in my dressing-room.”
tain Danton, of Danton Hall. She had never seen| He returned to the parlor, and Grace found him
him before; but she had heard of her wealthy cousin’ standing with his back to the fire when she entered.
from childhood, and knew his history. She knew: A portly and handsome man, florid and genial, with
he had married in early youth an English lady,| profuse fair hair, mustache and side-whiskers. He
who had died ten. years after, leaving four, placed a chair for her, courteously, and Grace sat
children—a son,. Henry, and three daughters, ! down.
Katherine, Rosina and Eveleen. The son, wild! ‘You are looking pale, Miss Grace,” he said, re-
and wayward all his life, broke loose at the! garding her. ‘You have not been ill, I trust, Og-
age of twenty, forged his father’s name, and fled to, den told me you were all well.”
New York, marriéd an actress, got into a gambling “T am quite well, thank you,”
affray, and was stabbed. That wasthe endof him.| ‘You wrote to Rose, I suppose? Where is it she
The eldest daughter, born in England, had been) has gone?”
brought up by her maternal grandmother, who was “To the home of Miss Le Touche, a friend of he
rich, and whose heiress she wastobe. Mrs Dan-!in Ottawa. Eeny has written to her, and Rose wil

| ten and hertwo youngest children resided at the) probably be here in a day or two, at most.”

Hall, while the captain.was mostly absent. After
her death, a Canadian lady had taken charge of| ‘As for you, my dear young lady, I find you have
the house, and Capfain Danton's daughters. All! managed so admirably in my absence, that I trust
this Grace knew, and was quite unprepared to see! we shall retain you for many years yet. Perhaps I
her distant kinsman, and to hear that the Canadian am selfish in the wish, but it comes 80 naturally that
lady had married and left, and that she was soli- you will pardon. the selfishness, Kate is in total

The captain nodded.

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‘ “And your brother? In Germany still, I sup
. “No, sir; my brother is in Canada—in St.
He was here this evening,”

‘Indeed! Where is he stopping?
him to come here.”

We

means to stay long.”

The door opened as she
came in,
other’s waist, and Eeny seemed entranced.

fondly in his face.
*“‘How pretty the rooms are, papa!
and bedroom are charming.
chaperon me all over to-morrow—such a de
mantic old house.”
Grace sat and looked at her,

My b

with a flashing diamond. . A solitaire diamond
' On her left hand—those
hands—her engagement ring,

=

no doubt.

rea

=—

wise round

of man’ had won that high-beating heart.
in every

have completely captivated little Heny.

less daughter.

their heart, and then turned to Eeny, cling
her stately sister.
. “Take care, Eeny!

glamour over all she meets? She’s uncanny,
you warning—a witch; that’s the word for it?

“Do witches ever eat, papa?” laughed Mis
ton; *‘because Tam very hupgry. What time
dine?”,

“Immediately, it you wish, sir.”
*-[mmediately let it be, then.”

their appéaraace with the ‘first course.
resided, but this evening she sat

“Phe first time, papa,” she said.
blunders, tell me.”

one else was coming.
—oh, Richards!”

it in surprise.

ward with that radiant smile of hers, began
Hen
forget Mr. Richards.

“What a beautiful room!” Kate said.
nothing half so quaint and old ‘as this at
- papa.”

dows, with a music-rack beside it, and the
jady went over and opened it, and ran her
with a masterly touch over the keys. .

0me music. How do you like your piano?”
.. ‘Like is not the word, papa. It is superb!”

by the piano with arapt face.

eyes, and Grace sat down in a corner, and
from her pocket her crochet.
“Oh, Kate, how beautitully you play!”

*‘T never heard any thing like that.

Don’t you play ?”
“A little.

bah ! not like that.”
““Who is your teacher ?”

twice a week to
better than he doe

the white hands busy again.
you have ?”

“A song, may dear.”

“Well, what do you like? Casta Diva!”

Gowrie ?”
“YT shall try it if you wish.”

ful.
song was the best applause.
laughing at her sister’s entranced face.

“Oh, don't stop !”? Beny cried, imploringly,
again, Kate.”

There wasa loud ring attne door-bell
Kate could answer.

ing up the drive.

ly looking at the door.
‘*Who is that ?” said Beny.

still stood silent and intent. They could he

in the hall and up the stairs.
“They are helping him up-stairs,” said
drawing along breath;

questions, but her sister sat down again
piano, and drowned her words ina storm of

father came back. The
and questioningly, but
as good-humored as ‘ever:

in bed ?”?

night and retired. Grace, with a simple
captain held out his hand,

‘sand pleasant dreams.”
-good-night was quiet and cool

impress her very favorably. or she was too
to be cordial with dependents.

curtains,

impenetrable. Was this wintry tempest,

storms in their peacem! Canadian home?

night, and I should judge those purple e
fiash with the Danton fire too. *
, clouds meet, there is apt to be an uproar.
or be surprised if there is warin the camp
ong.’
Her door opened softly. Grace turned

like a spirit.
‘*May I come in Grace ?”

ing
Beny came in and
Grace’s feet.
“Oh, Grace, isn’t she splendid ”
“Who ?”
“You know who I mean—Kate.”

gt With her work.

 

 

always
Beng, and Miss Kate took the head ofthe, table.
“Tf T make any

“She is very handsome,” Grace said quietly,

ignorance of the mysteries of housekeeping. Heaven
help me and my triends if we had to depend on her

catering. Besides,” laughing slightly, ‘some one is
coming before long to garry her off.” ~

Grace bowed gravely.  * —S ;

“So you see, my fair Kinswoman, you are indis-
pensable. I trust we shall prevail. upon you.to re-}
main.” , as

-“If you wish me to do so, Captain Danton, J shall,
certainly.”

“Thank you. ds, that rich old curmudgeon, your
uncle, alive yet?”

“Yes, sir.” :

pose.”
Croix.

must get
~_“He ig on a visit to M, le Cure, and I do not think

said it, and Kate and Keny
The sisters had their arms around each

Kate

| went over and stood beside her father, looking up

oudoir

Heny is going to

ar, ro-

How beautiful she
was! She still wore slight mourning, and her dress
was black silk, that fell in full rich folds behind her,
high to the round white throat, where it was clasped

blazed

slender delicate little

They

were all the jewels she wore. The trimming
¥ her dress was of filmy black lace, and all her
nasses Of bright golden hair were twisted coronet-
het noble and lovely head. She was

ry tall, very slender; and the exquisite face just
one With only the faintest shadow of rose. “*Beau-
. ', ad stately, and proudas a queen!” Yes, she
fooked all that, and Grace wondered what manner

There

was a Witchery in her glance, in her radiant smile,
graceful movement, that fascinated even

her tather’s sedate housekeeper, and that Cea to
n’ her
beauty and her pride, as she stood there so graceful
and elegant, Grace thought her father was right
when he said’a prince was not too good for his peer-

He smiled down on her now as men do smile down
on what is the apple of their eye and the pride ‘of

ing to

Don’t let Kate bewitch you.
Don’t you know she is a sorceress, and throws a

J give

Eeny’s reply was to lift Kate’s hand and kiss it.

3 Dan-
do we

“What time, Miss Grace?” asked the captain.

Grace rang and ordered dianer to be served.
Thomas, the old-butler, and a boy in buttons made
Grace had

beside

“Oh, papa!” exclaimed Eeny, “I thought some
A sick gentleman—Mr. what?

The tice of Captain Denton and his eldest daugh-
ter darkened suddenly at the question. Grace saw

*-Hé will be: here presently,” he said, but he said
it with ‘an ‘air of restraint; and Kate, leaning for-

telling

some story of their life at sea that made her

They adjourned to the drawing-room after dinner.
A long, low, sumptuous apartment, very stately and
very grand, and decorated with exquisite taste.

“We lad

home,

There was a grand piano near one of the tall win-

young
fingers

-“That’s right, Kate,” said her father; *‘give us

- The white hands sparkled over the polished ivory
keys, andtheroom was filled with melody. . Beny

Captain Dan-
ton sat in an arm-chair and listened witlt half-closed

drew
Beny

cried, ecstatically, when the flying hands paused.
J What was it?”
Only a German waltz, you little’ enthusiast !

Rose plays too, poikas and waltzes; but

‘“Monsieur De Lancey. He comes from Montreal
give us lessons. But you play
8.”

“Little flatterer !” kissing her and laughing, and
*Papa, what will

“Yd be sorry to like it! can you sing the Lass 0’

She broke into singing as she spoke, and Grace’s
work dropped in her lap as she listened. What an
exquisite voice it was ! Soclear, so sweet, so power-
The mute-wrapped stillness that followed the
Miss Danton rose up,

Sing

before

Captain Danton and Grace had
been listening an instant before to acarriage roll-
The former started up now and
hurried out of thc room; and Kate stood still, intent-

“Mr. Richards ?”
Kate laid her hand on the girl’s’ shoulder, and

ar the

door open, hear the voices of the captain and his
man Ogden; and then there was a shafiling of feet

Kate,

“Yes, it is Mr. Richards.”
Eeny looked as if she would like to ask some

at the
music.

Halfan hour passed, nearly an hour, Miss Danton
played on and on without ceasing, and then her
ja looked at him quickly

is high-colored face was

“Playing away still.” he said, ‘and Heny’s eyes
arelike two midnight-moons. Do you know it is
half past ten, Miss Beny, and time little girls were

'. Grace rose up, and put her work in her pocket.
“Heny came over, kissed her ‘tather and sister good-

good-

‘night, was following her example, but the cordial
' “*“Good-nignt, my little housekeeper,” he said;
Miss Danton held out her taper fingers, but her

Her father’s housekeeper, it would seem, did not

proud

Up in her own room, Grace turned her lamp low;
and sitting down by the window, drew back the
The rain still fell, the November wind
surged through the trees, and the blackness was

as her

brother had said, ominous of coming ‘trouble and

_,‘\L wonder how she and Rose will get on,” thought
Grace. Rose’s temper is as gusty as this November

es can

When two thunder-

I shall
before

round,

and saw Eeny in a long night-dress, looking

“Itis time you were in bed,” said Grace, turn-
up the lamp, and beginning to unbraid her hair.
sat down on a low stool at

going

 

 

“Handsome! She is lovely! She is glo
Grace, people talk abont Rose being pretty
is no more to Kate than—tha

‘‘Did you come in here merely to say that ? If so,
Miss Eveleen, I must request you to depart, as
Tam Ging We say my prayers,” ;

“Directly,” said Heny, nestling more comfort-
ably on her) stool; |‘*Did you ever’ hear any one
play and sing as she does ?”

“She plays and sings remarkably well.”

“Grace, what would you give to be as beautiful
as she is ?”

‘Nothing ! And now go.”

“Yes. Ismtit odd that papa did not bring Mr,
Richards into the drawing-room. Ogden and papa
helped him upstairs, and Ogden brought him hig
supper.”

“Who told you that ?”

“Babette. Babette saw him, but he was so
muffled up'she couldnot make him out.” He is very
tall and slim, she says, and looks like a young man.”

*“‘Heny, how soon are you going,?
“Ob, Grace,” she said, coaxingly.
all night with you.”

“And keep me awake until morning talking,
Not I,” said Grace. ‘‘Go!”

**Please let me stay?”

“No! Beoft!”

She litted her up, led her to the door, and put her
out, and Heny ran offto her own chamber.

As Grace closed her door, she heard Kate Dan-
ton’s silk dress rustle upstairs.

Good-night, papa,” she heard her say, in that
soft, clear voice that made her think of silver bells.

“Good-night, my dear,” the captain replied.
And then the silk dress rustled past, a door opened
and shut, and Miss Danton had retired.

“Let me stay

 

CHAPTER III.
4 CHANGE OF DYNASTY.

With the cold November sunlight flooding her
room, Grace rose next morning, dressed and went
down stairs. Very neatand ladylike she looked, in
her spotted gingham wrapper, her snowy collar
and cuffs, and her dark hair treshly braided.

A loud-voiced clock in the entrance-hall struck
seven. No one seemed to be astir in the house
but herself, an her footsteps echoed weirdly inthe
dark passages. A sleepy scullery maid was lighting
the kitchen fire when she got there, gaping dis-
mally over her work; and Grace, leaving some di-
rections for Ma’am Ledrnu, the cook, departed again;
this time for the dining-room, where footman
James was lighting another fire. Grace opened
the shutters, drew bacli* the curtains, and let in
the morning sunburst in all its glory. Then she
dusted and rearranged the furniture, swept up the
marble hearth, and assisted Babette to lay the cloth
for breakfast. It was her invariably morning
work; and the table looked like a picture when she
had done, with its old china and sparkling silver.

It was almost eight before she got through; and
she ran upstairs for her bonnet and shawl, and
started for her customary half-hour’s walk before
breakfast. She took the road leading to the vil-
lage, still and deserted, and came back all glowing
from the rapid exercise.

Captain Danton stood on the front steps smoking
a@ meerschaum pipe, as she came up the avenue.

“‘Good-morning, Hebe !” said the captain. ‘'The
November roses are brighterin Canada than else-
where in August !”

: Grace laughed, and was going in, but he stopped
er,

‘Don’t go yet. I want some one to talk to.
Where have you been?”

“Only out for a walk, sir.”

“So early! What fime do you get up, pray?”

‘“‘About half-past six,’

‘Primitive hours, upon my word. When is break-
fast time?”

‘Nine, sir, The bell will ring in a moment.”

It rang as she spoke, and Grace tripped away to
take off her bonnet and smooth her hair, blown
about by the morning wind. The captain was in the
dining-room when she descended, standing in his
favorite position, with his back to the fire, his coat-
tails drawn forward, and his legs like two sides of a
triangle. :

‘‘Are the girls up yet, Grace? Excuse the prefix;
we are relatives, you Know. Ah! here is one ot
i pod ere aes mademoiselle.”

““Good-morning, papa,” said Eeny, kissing him.
“Where is Kate?” pias ms me

‘‘Kate is here!” said the voice that was like silver
bells; and Kate came in, graceful aud elegant in her
white cashmere morning robe, with cord and tassels
of violet, and a knot of violet ribbon at the rounded
throat, ‘I have not kept you waiting, have I?”

She kissed her father and sister, smiled and bowed
to Grace, and took her place to preside. Very pret-
tily and deftly the white hands: fiuttered among the
fragile china cups and saucers, and wielded the
carved and massive silver coffee-pot. :

Grace thought she looked lovelier in the morning
sunshine than in the garish lamplight, with that
flush on her cheeks, and the beautiful golden hair
twisted in shining coils. . ®

Grace was very silent during’ breakfast, listening
to the rest. The captain and his’ eldest daughter
were both excellent talkers, and never let conversa-
tion tiag. Miss Danton rarely addressed ‘her, but
the captain’s cordiality made amends for that.

“I must see that brother of yours’ to-day, Grace,”
he said, ‘‘and get him to conie up here. The Cure,
too, is a capital fellow—I beg his pardon—I must
bring them both up to dinner. Ate the Ponsonbys,
and the Landrys, ané the Le Favres-in the old
places yet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pll call on them, then—they don’t know I’m here
—and see if a little company won’t enliven our long
Canadian winter. You three, Grace, Rose and EHeny,
have been living here like nonettes long enough.
We must try and alter things a little for you.”

The captain’s good-natured efforts to draw his
taciturn housekeeper out did not succeed very well.
She had that unsocial failing of reserved natures,
silence habitually;.and her reserve was always at
its worst in the presence of the captain’s brilliant
daughter. That youthful beauty fixed her blue eyes
now and then on the dark, downcast face with an
odd look—very like a look of aversion.

‘What kind of person is this Miss Grace of yours,
HKeny®” she asked her sister, after breakfast. ‘Very
stupid, isn’t she?”

‘Stupid! Oh, dear, no! Grace is the dearest, best
girlin the world, except you, Kate. I aon’t know
how we should ever get on without her.”

“I didn’t know,” said Kate, rather coldly; ‘‘she is
so silent and impenetrable. Come! You promised
to show me through the house.”

They were alone in the dining-room. She walked
over to the fire, and stood looking thoughtfully up
at the two portraits hanging over the mantel—Cap-
on Danton at twenty-seven, and his wife at twenty-
our. :

“Poor mamma!” Kate said, with a rare tenderness
in her voice. ‘How pretty she was! Do you re-
member her, Eeny?”

“No,” said Eeny.
thing, Kate.
telis me.”

“Who is Margery?”

“My old nurse, and Harry’s, and yours, and Rose’s.
She nursed us all, babies, and took care of mamma
when she died. She was mamma’s maid when she
got married, and lived with her all her lite. She is
here stili.”

“YT must see Margery, then. I shall like her, I
know; for I like al) things old, and storied, and ven-
erable. I can remember mamma the last time she
was in England; her tall, slender figure, her dark
wavy hair, and beautiful smile. She used to take
ae in, her arms in the twilight and sing me to
sleep.

“Dear Kate! But Grace has been a mother to me.
Do you know, Margery says Rose is like her?”

“Whom? Mamma?’ ’

“Yes; all except her temper. Oh!” cried Eeny,
making a’ sudden “hasnt Rose got 9
temper!”

Kate smiled.

“A bad one?” ,

“A bad one!’ You ought to see her tearing up and
down the room in 4 So eo and Ba ea

‘**You know I was such a little
All I know about her is what Margery

Mon Dieu!” cried Eeny, holding her breath at th
recollection, ,

“Do you ever quarrel?” asked Kate, laughing.

“About fifty times a day. Oh, what a blessing it
was when she went to Ottawa! Grace-and I have
been in paradise ever since. She’ll behave. herself
fora while when she comes home, I dare say, before
you and papa; but it won’t be for long.”

Grace came in, and Kate drew Eeny away toshow
her over the house. It was quite a tour. Dantor
Hall was no joke to go over. Up stairsand down
Stairs; along halls and passages; the drawing-room,
where they had been last night; the winter drawing-
room on the second floor, all gold and crimson; a
summer eee ae its four sides glass, straw
matting on the floor, flower-pots everywhere, look-
ing like a conservatory; the library, where, per-
petuated in oils, many Dantons hung, and where
book-shelves lined the walls; into What was once
the nursery, where empty cribs stood “as in olden

8 i
just nothing at all.” |.

 

.

 

d where, under a sunny window, a low.
.Mrs. Danton’s own chair; into Kate’s

  
 
  
 
  

  

fluted satin and brocatelle; into her
Beg ey oT ing was hile, And,

"$1 , pretty
to Rose’s, very dis-
cteristic; into Papa's,
fully ave and unlike
; the ee fection of order
n Eeny stopped, out ot breath.
“more,” she said; *papa’s study, but
he is writing there /now, and the green-room, and
Mr. Richard’s rooms, and—” ; j

“Never mind,” said’ Kate, hastily; ‘‘we will not
disturb papa or Mr. Richards, Let us go andsee old
Margery.”

They found the old woman in a little room appro-
Miated to her, Knitting busily, and looking bright,
and hale, and hearty. She rose up and dropped the
young lady a stiff courtesy. pigdy

“Tm very glad to see you, miss,” said Margery.
“T nursed you often when you was a little blue-eyed,
curly-haired, fosy-cheeked baby. Youare.very tall
and very pretty, miss; but you don’t look like your
mother. She don’t look like her mother. You're
Dantons, both of you; but Miss Rose, she looks like
her, and Master Harry—ah, poor, dear Master Harry!
He is killed; isn’t he, Miss Kate?’

Kate did not speak. She walked away from the
old woman to a window, and Eeny saw she had
grown very pale. Men

“Don’t talk about Harry, Margery!” whispered
Eeny, giving hera poke. ‘Kate doesn’t like it.”

“I beg your pardon, miss,” said Margery. ‘I
didn’t mean to offend; but I nursed you all, andI
knew your mamma when she was a, little girl. I
was a young woman then, and J remember that
sweet young face of hers so well. Like Miss Rose,
when she is not cross.”

Kate smiled at the winding up, and went away.

“Where now?” she asked, gayly. ‘lam not half
tired of sight-seeing. Shall we explore the outside
forachange? Yes? Then come and let us get our
hats. Your Canadian Novembers are of Arctic tem-
perature.”

“Wait until our Decembers tweak the top of your
imperial nose off,” said Eeny, shivering in anticipa-
tion. ‘*Won’t,you wish you were back in England!”

The yellow November sunshine glorified garden,
lawn, and meadow as Eeny led her sister through
the grounds. - They explored the long orchard,
strolled down the tamarac walk, and wandered round
the fishpond. But garden and orchard were all
black with the November frost, the trees 3 ed
skeleton arms,and the dead leaves drifted in the
melancholy wi They strayed down the win
drive to the , and Kate could see the villag
St. Croix alonSthe quarter of a mile of road leading
to il, with the sparkling river beyond.

“T should like to see the village,” she saidy ‘but
perhaps you are tired.” _ ce J

“Not so tired as that. Let us go.”

“IfI fatigue you to death, tell me so,” said Kate,
“Tama great pedestrian. I.used to walk miles and

miles daily at home :

Miss Danton. found St. Croix quite a large place,
with dozens of straggling streets, narrow wooden
sidewalks, queér-looking, Frenehified houses, shops
where nothing seemed se hotels all still and,
torlorn, and a ¢hurch with a tall cross and its doors
open. Sabbath stillness lay over all—the streets
were deserted, the children seemed too indolent to
play, the dogs to lazy to bark. The long, sluggish

   

©
“ta

  
    
   
 

canal, running like a leeae, Serpent round the vil-
lage, seemed ave more of life than it had.

“What a dull place!” said Kate. ‘Has everybody
gone to sleep? Is it always like this?”

“Mostly,”” ny. “You should hear Rose
abuse it. Itis only fit for a lot ef Rip Van Winkles,

( she say’. Ali the life there
is, is around the station when the train comes and

oes.” ee eS
The sisters ) a dered along me the canal until the
village was Toft behind, and they were in some deso-
late fields, sod from the recent rains. A black
marsh spread beyond, anda great gloomy building
reared itself against the blue Canadian sky on the
other side. ~~”

“What old bastile isthat ?” asked Kate.

“The St.. Croix Barracks,” said Eeny, uneasily.
“Come away,Kate, Iam afraid of the soldiers—
they may ses us,”

She, turn
brawny re

 
   
  
  

14 and uttered .e Two
were stridi across the wet
field to- bhéy atoue one t reeled as (thi
walked, and s¢@up asort of I wh
finding they were-discovered. =~"

‘Don’t yo rid away, my little
“we're com i

       

+

dears,” said one,
‘as fast as we can.” ~ may ae

“Oh, Kate!” cried Eeny, in terror, “‘what. shall
we do?” : AFD
“Let us go at Once,” said Kate, those men are
intoxicated,”* ped  . Woe
‘They started. together over the fields, but. the
men’s long strides gained upon them at every step.

“I say, my dear,” hiccoughed one, layinpuhis big
hand on Kate’g shoulder, “you musti’t run away,
you know. By George! you’re a pretty girl! give
us a kiss !? be rHig.: wr

He put his arms round her waist. Only'for an in-
stant; the next, with all the bloodof alii the Dan-
tons flushing her cheeks, she had sprang back and
struck him a blow in the facé that made him reel.
The blood started from the drunken soldier’s’ nose,
and he stood for a second stunned by the surprise
blow; the next, with an imprecation, he would
have caught her, but that some thing caught him
from behind, and held him as inavise. A big dog
had come ov e fields in vast bounds, and two
rows of formidable ivory held the warrior fast.
The dog was notalone; his master, @ tall and. stal-
wart. gentleman, was beside the frightened girls,
with his strong grasp on the other soldier’s: collar.

You drunken rascal !” said the owner of the dog,
“vou shall get the black hole for this to-morrow.
Tiger, my boy. let go.” The dog witha growl re-
leased his hald. ‘And now beo , both of you, or
my dog shall tear you into mince-meat !” ;

The drunken ruffians shrunk away discomfited,
and Eeny held out both her hands to their hero.

“Oh, Doctor Danton! What should we have done
without you?”

“T don’t knew,” said the doctor. ‘You would
have been jn &) very disagreeable, predicament, I
am afraid. It: is hardly sate for young: ladies to
venture so farfrom the village unattended, while
these drunken soldiers are quartered here,”

“TY often came alone before,” said Eeny, ‘and
noone molested me. Let me make you acquaint-
ed with my sister—Kate, Doctor Danton’”

Kate held out her hand with that bewitching |

smile of hers. |.

“Thank you and Tiger very much. I was not.
aware I had a name sake in Saint Croix.”

‘He is Grace’s brother,” said Beny.; »Aad he-is
only here on a visit—he is just from Germany.” ,

Kate bowed;: patting Tiger’s big head. with Ler!
snowflake of @ hand. : ‘f-had eatos® ent}

‘This is another friend we have to, thank,” she
said. ‘How came you to be so opportunely, at
hand, Doctor Dantom?” ;

“By the merest chance. Tiger and I take -our
morning constitutional along these desolate fields
and flats, Ill have these fellows properly. punished
for their rudeness,”

“No, no)” said Kate, “let them go. It is not like-
ly to happenagaim, Besides,” laughing and blush-
ing, ‘I punished one of them already, and Tiger
came to my assistance with the other.”

“You served him right,” said the doctor. “If
you will permit me, Miss Danton, I will escort you

to the village” _

“Come home with us,” ‘said Eeny, ‘twe, will just
be in time for luncheon, and I know: you;want to
see Grace.” '.) 5 : Teposi ,!

“A thousand thanks, mademoiselle—but )po—not
this morning.” .o¥o': WD -b. Ba fie

Kate seconded the invitation; but Doctor Danton.
politely ' persisved ‘in ee He walked ‘with
them as far as‘Saint Croix, then, raised:his hat, said
good-by, whistled for Tiger and was gone." : «+ |»

The young ladies reached the hall in ay: in
time to >brush thelr hair béforé’ luncheon, where,
of course, nothing was talked of :butrtheir »adven-
ture'and their champion. — moa ovad

“By George! if 1 catch these fellows, I'll: break
every bone in their drunken skins,” ‘cried the irate
captain. “A
in, but for the Goctor. T’ll ride down te. the par-
sonage, or whatever you: call it, immediately after
luncheon, and bring him back to dinner, will he
nill he—the cure too, if he’lhcome; for the eure is a
very old friend.” ~ Orit vis

Captain Danton was as good as his word,
As soon as lunche was over, he ieee ‘his
horse and rode , humming a tune. Kate:stood
on the steps, with the pale November sunlight: gild-
ing the delicate rosé-bloom cheeks, and making an
aureole round the tinsel hair watching him out
of sight. Eeny was clinging round her as usual,
and Grace stopped to speak to her on her way |
across the hall. :

   
  
   

  
 

“You ought to goland practice, Heny. You have} ™

not touched the piano to-day, and to- morrow your
teacher comes.”

etty fix’ you two’ would have’ been |)

«4 THE NEW YORK WE

.j loud ringing of the dinner-bell aroused her, and she
‘| arose with a little sigh from her pleasant reverie,

-on | ~

 

“Yes, Eeny,” said Kate, “go attend te your mu-
sic, Iam going up stairs, to my room,”

prised tio. speak. ‘While she had been hunting every-
where for her, Kate-had been closeted with the mys-
terious invalid all the afternoon.

where the fire shone bright, the wax candles burned,

You should have allowed Tiger to give those fellows

you. not?”

= turning to him with that dangerous smile of
“hers:

-the instrument, and Father : Francis ,;pulled out his
“watch: {

let us be*off.”

sic must have bewitched us, Miss Danton, » -

‘4{ prefer Father Francis.

.room, Eunice was there.-waiting.to undress her,
and Kate lay back Jinan arm-chair while the girl
took down and, combed out. her long, hair,

ane and a petty rob

the

not 'so.

 

    
  

opened the parlor door,

 

       
 
 
 

camp with suitable

pushed herin, a broad staircase. Not | to be driven arey . The only : x that the gip-
to her own ¥ h, but dlong the quiet cor- |8v leader made to the Peitera yrder was: ‘We
ridor Jeading to\the, greed Bitize door, .‘The key of | @t@ upon the roperty a | uck amshire.” That
thas andes in Nar poakety sic opened Me, locked | so noe bests i vam rosie th
No ee eye Wiha, Seer fans the proprietoe of the lands, before these
: . _* . ie . i r 8 ul _ ©

| Heny practiced conscientiously tree hours. /It | { i was Fe with this pe SDP

88

was then nearly five o’clock, and the afternoon sun
was dropping low in the level sky. \ She rose up,
closed the piano, and went in search of her sister.
Up stairs and down stairs and in my lady’s chamber,

but my lady was nowhere to be found. Grace didn’t s

know where she was, Eunice, the rosy English
maid, didn’t know. Eeny was perplexed and pro-
voked. Five o’clock struck, and she ‘started out in
the twilight to hunt the grounds—all in vain. She
gave it up in half an hour,and came back to the
house. The hall lamps were lighted up stairs and
down, and Heny, going along the upper hall, found
what she wanted. The green baize door was un-
locked, and her sister Katé came out,relocked and
put the key in her pocket.

Eeny stood still looking at her, too much sur-

“Time to dress for dinner, I suppose Eeny,” she
said, looking at her watch. “One must dress, if
papa brings company. Did you see Eunice? Is she
in my room?”

“IT don’t know. Have you been in there with Mr.
Richards-all the afternoon?” ;

“Yes; he gets lonely, poor fellow! Run away and
dress.”

Eunice was waiting in her young lady’s boudoir,

the curtains were drawn, and everything looked
deliciously comfortable. Kate sank into an easy-
chair, and Eunice took the pins out of the beautiful
glittering hair, and let it fall in a shining shower
around her.

“What dress will you please to wear, miss?”

“The black lace, I think, since there is to be com-
pany, and the pearls.”

She lay listlesssly while Eunicé combéd out the
soft, thick hair, and twisted it coronet-wise, as she
best liked to wear it. She stood listless while her
dress was being fastened, her eyes misty and dreamy,
fixed on the diamond ring she wore. Very rover
she looked in the soft rick lace; pale pearls on the
exquisite throat; and she smiled her approval of
Eunice’s skill when it was all over.

“That will do, Eunice, thank you. You can go
now.

The girl went out, and Kate sank back in her
chair, her blue eyes, tender and dreamy, still fixed
on the fire... Drifting into dreamland, she lay twist-
ing her flashing diamond round and round on her
finger, and heedless of the passing moments. Tne

shook out her lace flounces, and tripped. away down
stairs.

They were all in the dining-room when she en-

tered—pap3, Eeny, Grace and strangers—Doctor
Danton and a clerical-looking young man, with a
pale, scholarly face and penetrating eyes, and who
was presented as Father Francis.
“The cure couldn’t come,” said the captain. “A
sick call. Very sorry. Capital company, the cure.
Why can’t people take sick at seasonable hours,
Father Francis?” ‘

“Ask Doctor Danton,” said Father Francis. ‘I am
not a physician—of the bodies of men.”

‘Don’t ask me anything while the first course is
in progress,” said the doctor. ‘*You ought to know
better. I trust you have quite recovered from your
recent fright, Miss Danton?” :

“A Danton frightened!” exclaimed her father.
“The daughter of all the Dantons that ever fought
and fell, turn coward! Kate, deny the charge!”

“Miss Danton is no coward,” said the doctor. ‘She
gave battle like a heroine.”

Kate biushed vividly.

‘AS you are strong, be merciful,” she said. “I
own to-being so thoroughly frightened that I shali
never go there alone again. I hope my preserver,
Herr Tiger, is well?”

“Quite well. Had he known I was coming here,
he would.doubtless have seut his regards.”

“Who is Herr Tiger?” asked the captain.

“A big Livonian blood-hound of mine, and my
most intimate triend, with the exception of Father
“Birds ofa
that I class-myself with doctors and blood-hounds.

 

a@ Jesson they would remember, Danton. Their
drunken insolence is growing unbearable.” ;

Dinner went. on and.ended.. The.ladies left the
dining-room; the gentlemen lingered, but not long.

Kate was at the piano entrancing Eeny, and Grace
sat at her crochet. Miss Danton got up and made
tea, and the young doctor lay back in an arm-chair
talking to Eeny, and watched, with half-closed eyes,
the delicate hands floating deftly along the fragile
china cups. |

“Give us some music, Kate,” her father said,
when it was over. ‘Grace put away your knitting,
and be my partner ina game ofwhist. Father
Francis and the doctor will stand no chance against
us*”?

The quartet sat down. Kate’s hands flewup and
down the shining octaves of her piano, and filled
the room with heavenly harmony, the waves of music
that ebbed, and flowed, and fascinated. She played
until the card party broke up, andthen she wheel-
ed round onthe stool.

‘*Who are the the victors ?” she asked. :

“We are,” said the doctor. “‘When I make ‘up
my mind to win, I always win. The victory. rests
solely with me.”

“Til vouch tor your skill in cheating,” said Grace.
“Father Francis, I am ‘surprised that you counte-
nance siich dishonest proceedings.”

* *D wouldn’t in any one but my partner,” said the
priest, crossing over to the piano.

of music, and it iswery rarely indeed I hear such

music as you have given us to-night, ‘You sing, do

“Sing !" exclaimed her father. ‘Kate sings like
@ hightingale: : Sing ns a Scotch song, my dear.”

“What shall it be, papa?”

“Anything.” ‘Auld Robin Gray,’if you like.”

Kate sang the sweet old Scottish ballad with a
pathos that went to every heart.

“That is charming,” said Father Francis.
for me, now, Scots wha ha.”

She glanced up at him brightly; it wasa favorite
ot her own, and she sang it for him as he had never
heard. it.sang'before.
oMHave you! no favorite,

“Sing

Dector Danton 2” she

“T wantito treat all alike.” :
**Do you sing ‘Hear me Norma) ?”
/ Her answer was the song. Then she arose from

“What will 'the cure’ think of! us he) exclaimed;
“half-past eleven. Danton, getup this instant and

“Thad: no idea it was.so.late,”.said the doctor,
rising, despite the captain’s protest. . Your mu-j

They shook hands with the captain and departed.

Grace and Eeny went up stairs atronce. Kate
was lingering’ stilhin-the drawing-room when her
father came back from seeing his guests off.

‘A fine fellow)that young doctor,” said the cap-
tain, in his hea way; “a remarkably fine fellow.
Don’t you think sa; Kate ?”

“He is well-bred\”? said Kate, listlessly, “I think
Good-night, papa.”

She kissed her father and went slowly upto her

She

    
   
  
   

 

     
   

some One unknown; thedosing .p
of any one else to accuse, charged
the theft. It was impossible to prov'
againstthem, and indeed, as it has since been
to appear, they were not the guilty parties; still
prejudice was aroused by the circumstance, ‘an
the ey 3 magistrate intimated to the gipsies that

had: r “fold up their tents the Arabs,

and silently steal away.” Puts "
‘This was well-meant advice, and every one in the
court thought that the gipsies would depart. But
They remained quietly at their encamp-
ent as before, and behaved themselyes with un-
exceptionable propriety, so far as was known.

magistrate, however, felt a little vexed that his hint | to see mamma cry and I

had not been attended to, and so proposed to put
it in such legal form as should com k
to “move on.” An officer was sent to their littie

-

.” said the young priest. “Not | as

y “Don’t! b
cease playing, Miss Danton. I am devotedly fond

haunted the London streets at all ho

rane Asid, Inwas in’vreality,in

the mysterys» For. worst do “t th
to sleep Mtbout won Serpe if Tsho
back at Mc Peg’s again

without congratulating

ha ped -yet. . You see,
much Twas as old et six when I
eéjas most children are at eight.

 
  

Or
Many yearsrago .a

the young ladies of the’ ghamshire,
who rown from her horse and was being

ragged along) by one fe r feet remaining in the
stirr For this hero of one of the race the
promise was given spar nd¢rers should never
there be disturbed in their v on within the

  

 

boundary of Buckinghamshire Gomains, and the
privilege then accor _is still recognized by the
representative of the family. THis grant has never
been abused by the gipsies, and non@ are molested
who camp under its privilege, so that Nocton is a
sort of sanctuary where the tribe can rest without
fear of ejectment by.the constable.

 

NAMELESS HAGAR,

Authcrof THE CURSE OF EVERLEIGH,
BADLY MATCHED, cic.

 

(Nameless Hagar” was commenced in No. 4. Back Nos. can be

obtained from any News Agent.)
CHAPTER XL.

“When you get time,” Claudé interposed; bitter-
ly—bitterly still, though he knew he was dying—‘I
wish you’d listen to me. to knowif you
were watching me that night?” he asked of Hagar,
as she came to his side instantly.

“Tsaw you partof the time. The, rest I have
gathered from others—from Jack, there, when he
came lying to me about having hunted down my
father. I guessed that you were theactor in it all,
and I heard you one night talking with your moth-
er at Cloudy Mount.” _ oa :

“Fate has been against me,” Clare said, witha
groan.

ae rather that Heaven has,” Hagar uttered,
sternly

“Was that the reason_you hated me so from the -
first?” Clare asked. “You must have been very
young. How could you remember me?”

“Ihave a good memory, and the. circumstances
were fearful enough to print themselves inefface-
ably on even a childish brain like mine. Iwas but
six years old. [had Breve, from my mother that
evening, and got lost in the woods. Iwas hiding
in the long ferns away from you, when I saw you
turn round saying those words about having it out
with Lord Rou Odd that I remembered them,
yousay. But I was as old as most children of eight
ornine. I followed_you then, andIsaw all the
rest. It was I, only I, a r, little, horrified child,
who called out that word to you--murderer. Butl
knew you beforethat. You came one night and
threatened my mother. You didn’t know Lwas
there. She pulled the curtains before me as I lay
asleep, and fwaked and peeped at you between
them. Itwas you. who sent that dreadful man
eer geen to steal me from her and drive her
mad.”

“No, [swear it was not. [don’t know what you
mean,” he said. :
i “It was I!” said a fierceand angry voice beside

nem,

The Dowager Duchess of Molyneux had come.
Shestood nodding her old befrizzied head at her
dying son. : s :

Didn%tI tell you?” she said, shrilly, to him.
“Didn’t I tell you it was a trick? I knew she would
be the death of youif you came here. . Oh, Vernon,
my darling, my son, my son!”

The old woman bent down upon her knees be-
side him, in a wild pnd. awful | ave of anguish,
crying aloud. Vernon Clare’s hard face softened at

ast. ;

With alast expiring effortof strength, helified

his right arm partially round her neck,

a Dear, mother,” he murmured, and his head
Of aA. ree
He was dead, with her name upon his lips.

. The wretched mother was the first to discover it.

She d her head and saw hini, death on his face,

and hushed her cries.

She fell forward senseless, and never. ‘waked to

anything but dotag: ; yas
mother,” Lord Routh

e again.
“She stole you from your

ard, “or caused you to be

hatred to your mother, as

explained to Hagar

stolen, . She did it out
that had happened
orus herson would

wellas to me eet Ding gt
L at bu po

to us, considering Me
was mamma related to them?” Hagar

never. have done that fatal
a ow

oe was Vernon Clare’s cousin, on his father’s
si e.”

“IT knew she was a. Molyneux,” interjected Hagar.

“She lived under the same roof with him after
her own father’s death till his persecution of her
to make her marry him drove /her to flight. Soon
after her flight, I, who had never seen ‘her before,
met her. We loved and were married. I was not
then Lord Routh, and having a difference with the
then possessor of the title, I concealed from her
my family name and married her under an assum-
ed one, Soon after you were born, Clare chanced
upon us, and told me that lie about. her polng his
wife, and showed me what seemed proof of the
fact. Lbelieved in her love, but I felt horrib!
wronged, and left her without any explanation.
haye lately learned from another that Clare told
your mother that I had deceived her, that she had
never been my wife—hence'she never sought me.
We were both too proud, I never saw her again in
life after I left her on accountof-his lies till 1 saw
her raving in madness because they taken her
ehild,.. I. did not know she was near Rothmere the
night. Gerald Ruyter was killed, but Clare did. We
2ad discovered her, and hence our quarrel. He at-
tacked me with bitter language, and I retorted. You
had run away from your mother’ that night into
the woods, and you came in with aspotoft blood on
your little hand and jan awful tale about seeing
some one shot, and your mother fancied I was in if.
Then afew nights after, were stolen out of your
bed, and that finished the crazing of her sorely
tried brain. BNA ls Bley her, her tender nurse

e

and attendant thro six’ months that she
lived afterward, and became greatly attached to

er; * Hen2e, when after tonsa unavailing search
for you, I at last found you, [arranged with Myra
to heip me carry out-my schemes for your happi-
ness,” r

“Was it through Myra that, you. conveyed to me
all those nice letters of advice,.and all those fine
presents, and the money ?”?

pene enae tA find them when Myra was not
a out.’ ) : e

“We managed it between us. I was never very
far away from you long.. Do you_remember the
gardener at Madame Duchine’s? I was he, and
again at the French schoo} I was janitor.”

agar’s tears began to flow.

**How good you were to watch over meso, Ah, if
I had but known you were so near.”

“It was'much better that you should not, or I
thought so then.” : . i

“How did you find me there in Holborn?’ Hagar
asked... "“How could you know it was 1?”

“At your mother’s death ‘bed, I vowed never to
know rest or, peace till Lfound you. To accomplish
this, I disguised myself’ in’ various ways, and

> T haa f pecting Stina! you
seasons, ‘reasons for sus you
would‘bée found there; and for six of those years
when I was supposod to be traveling in Europe
f f London, disguised.
Iwas ata window of a house near, while Lady
Frances Deyaux was talking with.you that day in

Holborn, and I knew as soon as I saw you that 1. *}

had found my child at last, though I had not seen
you since you were quite a baby. But you look like
your mother—you are very like her in somethings,
only she had none of that bitter temper I have
seen in you. She wasialways gentle and forgiving,
though so-proud,” » ;

“ sha?n’t be bitter..any more, now.” Hagar said,

‘with a radiant look at her father.

Lord Routh smiled at her fondly. ©
.\ How to get possession of you without creati
disagreeable gossip was thé next thine. Tam afrai
T managed rather clumsily, but it was. the only way
i could contrive, then)?" > 5

“And it was you who told metogotethe Green

  

lay with half-closed eyes, dreaming tenderly, not ee Hagar. coger a
sof this evening,not-.of Doctor Danton, but of an- “You.don’t know, how near I was to not going. I
other, handsomer, dearer, and faraway. was afraid it was ate br nro) ro.
} . oo{80 BE! GonTINTED) “IT knew you would | ome if T put in those words
of memoligon sigubeasayin elit “Sopsage ane a Aon. wikis
agar s pv ees i WOE 2
fier wf “Ah!” she said, “what a time that was—what a
’ ROMANTIC- INCIDENT. ablimaed: cxeataphenttaionike Wittear tines that one
ae Ut | ined | “". | How happy I was,and yet * ched, how I
An event of a romanti¢ Gharaeter lately oceurred | gloated over the things,in those trunks. And
in Lincolf‘county, E dé inothe town of Nocton, ‘thésupper! Oh, my! how nongty was apat night,
Some gipsies were en 4 in:the environs of the | and such airs as I took on, myself... ” She
i onmi ‘sighed again. “I wish I could have over again

A Feige MAY Sh ns Sh ae ee Vi

12 ig hateful, un
a} er tram
“You did?” Lord

and wicked «@ little wretch
ndon streets.? || |
Routh exclaimed, in amaze-

trite wot boy Ut Ee
“Ladidio Pm sute Ldon’t, know Aube unless it was
Po k IT ever went
ldn*t wake u
ain, an never wak
myself that nothing had
Thad been an so
was with Mamma
I do believe Lused
.d T cried she did.
Lord Routh caught her to him and kissed her

O10

agai

mmy

the gipsies 'again and again.

“Suffering ages us all,” he said, stifling a groan.

avg

   
          
     

ne epee

se sa erm erythema nT

'

 

i |

Ni

 

a.
P

 

'
ne
ore

 

~*~

 

Ra
 

cs

Pat Meade mane:

  
 
    
 
       
  
  
 
  
   

tee
iain eas

me

STEER

aha ee rs”

sp men eresenctodaagar et:

i Ratt

 

 

Sg ne nner apa same nr

 

_* after they got to him.

 

 

 

 

as most girls at fif-
to make that fierce
sponsible for my
‘dd haye turned

or her name.”
a used you to be
aten her with

 

   

TC

   
        

C _on her son’s account.
oi 0. thine true igh have brought
A ¢ Gerning him.” | ;

Pri she Hale mé,though? How Len-
ier chaperon vouch for me

  

e
f

 

shat WATE 2) the venom all
ahad to smile the sweetest.”

 

The expla: e_all over and done with.
A month ha 4 y Stella Ruyter and
‘Lord Rou ied in June.

All this ti scarcely seen Claude De-

   

vaux since the night of, the tenth of March. She
and her father were in London still. He was ar-
ranging money matters, ‘and Hagar refused to
leave him. - ’

Lord. Routh’s income had accumulated during
those years when he was supposed to be traveling,
and he was an immensely wealthy man. He was
making large settlements on ay Stella, to whose
cheeks the roses had all come back. ‘
-.” ‘My father,” Hagar said one day—she always ad-
dressed him thus—“I want to know what. has be-
‘come of Mr. Deyaux?” | ;

“How should I know?” he rObU Ena? but she saw
that he did know, and the old, odd, short laugh
broke over her scarlet lips.

“To dream that anything could keep me from hav-
ing my Own way now, after having had itso long,”
she said, irefully, to herself, and went to her room,
and wrote an imperious summons to Claude. _

He was to come to her at once; she was obliged
to.see him on a matter of the greatest importance.

But Claude did not come. He wrote back to her
that he could not trust himself in her presence. She
must excuse him. Toso muchas address her, or
teuch her hand now. would be presumption in

him, » : ;

“Humph!” said Hagar, angrily, “I knew there
woe, have to be something to bother. Pllshow
them.

She rang an imperious summons on the bell, and
ordered a carriage with a look that sent the foot-
man off dancing. _ = a ae

“Haye it round in a jiffy, too,” he added to the
subordinate to whom he repeated the order. “My
lady isin a precious passion. I never saw her in
just such a one before.

Yes, Hagar was my lady now—Lady Hagar Routh.
For along time it made her jump every tims the
servants or any one else called her “my lady.”

The carriage she had ordered was not long, and
‘she entered it looking royally beautiful—a queen of
loveliness arrayed for conquest.

She wore asuperb carriage dress of dark green
velvet, trimmed with ermine, and fastened with
emerald buttons set in gold. Her splendid hair was

elaborately dressed in braids and curls mingled,
enough to have started a hair-dresser’s shag but
it was every bair her own. Thero was some hing
in Hagar’s very nature which revolted against
everything that was in the least a sham.

On her head she worea hat which was a marvel
of Parisian art, all snowy plumes, green satin, and
priceless lace. Her red lips were set with determi.
nation, her lovely eyes shone with the anticipation
of astormy scene. }

“As if J would porns any nonsense of that sort,”
she muttered to herself, with an imperious laugh,
as she descended from the carriage in front. of
Lady Franees Devaux’s house, and went sweeping
up the marbie steps, with her velvet. dress trailing

eee — # ideas’

enough now. She saw that in spite of his bravery
he had altered; had suffered fearfully.

She compressed her lips. , ee ;

“T méan to. marry ‘you in spite of this,” she
thought, but did not say. bane

“Yes,” she said, “I-would have_married you if it
had not been for this; and now, Claude, as we have
settled that, [ should be very glad to see Lady Fran-
ces, and say good-by to her, too. Do you think she
would see me?” | eS

“T'll go and bring her,” Claude gasped, and got
out of the room as auickly as he could.

Hagar chuckled, positively chuckled—no_ other
word would express the series of little short laughs
that came from her as'she looked after him.

“{ thought that would make him-wince. Hg was
glad of an excuse to get out of the room, and’kee
me from seeing how hard Thad hit him. How dar
he give me up so easily ?” 4

“T can’t see ‘her,” Lady Frances declared, in ter-
ror, when her-son came for her.

“Oh, mother, you must, for my sake—for your
broken-hearted Claude’s sake. She has acted just
as you would have her act. She agrees that a mar-
riage between us, under the circumstances, is im-
possible.”

“She does, does she—the selfish, false-hearted,
deceitful jade! Thenshe never loved you, Claude,
as you fancied—neyer!” eee

‘he words breke from Lady Frances’ lips like a
shower of hot shot: Her eyes flashed fire, her voice
shook with passion.

Claude stared. a3
“Why. mother, you insisted aoe my giving up
all thoughts of her,” he said, wildly.

“T don’t care if [did. Ididn*t expect she’d beso
fierce foritas all this. Come, TU go down. I’ve
changed my mind—Id like to seehernow.” |.

“Ttold you she.was very proud,” Claude said, in
asad, remonstrating voice.

“Proud!” Lady Frances uttered, scornfully, as
she swept down the stairs. “You’re good enough
for any girlin England yet.” .

And Hagar, naughty aes eereOD Ee: heard her.
Asin Claude’s case, she threw the door open and
met Lady Frances init. Extending both her hands
to that dumb-stricken_ lady, she lifted her darkly
beautiful face, resplendent with exultation. :
“You stick to that, Lady Frances,” she said,
solemnly, “and Pll stand by you as long as there is
breath left in my body.” aS

Scarcely knowing what she was about, and cover-
ed with confusion, at this sudden apparition of
beauty and laughing graciousness, Lady Frances
yielded her hands to that cordial greeting.

“Andhe shall be Duke of Molyneux, too, sha’n’t
he ?” Hagar said, coaxingly, as she led her forward
and put her into a silken chair. :

Lady Frances sank into the ehair, looking com-
pletely subdued.

Hagar madea gesture to Olaude.
wondering. Q
i en own,” Hagar said, touching his shoulder

ightiy.
‘He obeyed her. When did he. ever refuse to do
that, poor, love-lorn Claude? Hagar was beside
him in a flash. 1) 91

“Now, mamma,” she said, saucily, “don’t let us
have any more humbug. Is ita bargain ? Do you
give us your blessing; and all the rest of it?

Lady Frances burst into tears.

“Do you mean that you will marry my dear boy,
after a]! ?” she asked, in a trembling voice.

“Tf hell ask me, I will, He hasn’t asked me yet.”

“You know [ have athousand times,” Claude said,
with agitation.
aa that was Hagar Valette. Zam Lady Hagar

outh.”

“Will you be my wife, Lady Hagar Routh ?”

“My Lord Duke of Molyneux, I will,and glad to
get you. You’re the best match in England to-day,”

 

He came up,

 

something less than a yard behind her.

Claude Devaux was lounging discontentedly and
very low in spirits in his mother’s boudoir, when
Hagar’s card .was brought in by the obsequious
footman, in whose left-hand waistcoat pocket the
eat guinea was burning which Hagar had given

im. om

The man marched directly to Claude, with the
eard. Lady Frances looked up in surprise. f

“It is Hagar,’ Claude said with a voice of despair,
“‘T shall have to seo her now.”

duady Frances turned. to the footman.

“Did her ladyship bid you give her card to your
master or me ?” t I

fo Mr. Devaux, my ie he said pd ceil

“‘Go down, then,” Lady Frances said. “i should
like to avoid it, but it cannot be”) « :

“I should think not,” Claude said withemphasis
as he stood “primping” like any girl; before his
mother. “I shall have to tell her everything
now.”

“i doubtif that is necessary,” Lady Frances re-
monstrated shrinking 6vidently. “If you have any
regard for me, after the long and terrible sacrifi-
ces I have made—if you have any respect. for your-
self—you will not betray to Lady Hagar Routh our
family secrets,” ests yp ;

“Mother!” Olaude turned round and stared at
her aghast. “How am going tobelp it? If you
think I can go back from all I have said about lovy-
ing or, Wsnens tele Bee the Soe to the
wWoysol it, _ you r go your-
self and see how ‘it is. She wouldn’t believe
me, now, if I eyen told hor I did not love her. Oh,
no,” shaking his handsome head with mingled rue-
fulness and amusement, “she’s not one of that
kind. I knew she'd neyer let me off that way. She
has come after the reason, the reason she will have.
td defy ii penis with such wits as youand I
have got; to keep her from it. Goodness knows I
could never get any reason out of her, though, and
now the tables are turned, she has no right to ex-

ect that I will give her any. But what's the odds ?
When Hagar says she will, thero’s an end, How do
{ look, mother ?”

“A great deal better than would be expected of

our father’s son.” Lady Frances ‘answered stern-

y.
Claude’s sunny face paled. He went to his mo-
* ther and put.an arm round her neck,

“Dear mother,” he said, his fine lips trembling,
“don’t grudge me my last chance of seeing her, I
worship the dust off her little feet, the wind that
kisses her pale bright check. She isso doep in my
heart that to taks her out of it is‘like tearing my
heart out by the roots. *But I have promised you,
and I mean to keep my word. There is one conso-
lation for you. /;Phough Imust, tell her our secret,
there is no_danger of her persisting after she

knows it. Hagar is prouder than Lucifer.”
And with that, Lady Frances let him go.

He quitted the room slowly, but the nearer ho got
to Hagar, the faster he went, At the drawing-room
door, however, he stopped, and did his utmost to
compose his beaming face to the sad and solemn
expression that was so'muchi more suitable ander
the circumstances. ;

“Hang it all!” he muttered; “I can’t look sorry
when I’m glad, and there'll be time énough to pull
adong face when it’s all over; the story told, and
Hagar said good-by to forever.”

That instant the door, which stood ajar, though
he had not noticed it, was dashed open, and Hagar’s
mocking laugh burst into his face.. os ’

“T heard you!” she cried, exultingly. ‘Come in
here, Sir Long-face. _Now,, then, .what’s it all
about?” | \ f F ;

She shut the door behind him, put horselfagainst
it, and shook one finger at him solemnly.

“Now, then ?” she repeated.

Claude drew. a-heavy sigh. ape

“Tt’s awful, Hagar—upon my word-it is.. You
ought to know nothing else would keep me from

u.

“Humph!. It’s something..about you.now, is. it?
Well, goon, When f{ know what itis, I can: judge
better.” oT

“Vernon Clare was my father !
it—nobody can now.” ‘ oh 4

we sheer’ thinknot;’ Hagar said, biting her lips,

“if its true, [don’tbelieve it, though.’ ‘

“Oh, it’s 80; no doubt about it.” Claudoshook his
head, gloomily.

“Who says so ?” 3

“Mother ;.and she ought to know. ,

“To be sure she ought.” laughed Hagar again.

“You see he married herin France—she is French,
you know—and then be came over heré that time,
and he told. no one he was married. He loved his
cousin, the Lady Lucille, all the time, and then, after
—the—after the shooting heran away to France to
m other again, and-she found it all out from his
talking in his sleep, and refused ito live with him
any longer, She promised,to keep. his secret, so
long as he let her alone and made no Claims on her
or her child. Then she took her family name, and
her father dying about that time, and leaving her a
property, she came to England to live, and. brought
m6, thinking herself less liable to meet her hus-

” band here than in Franee. ‘She never happened to
meet him after his return; to. England, and neyer
uessed till he was dead that Mr. Athol and Vernon
lare were one. I declare toyou, Hagar, I never
suspected it, anditturns me chilly now to think
how often I met him and never guessed he was my
father. I’m glad now’ [ was always, civil to him,
poor fellow. I did pity him, and he must haye been
wretched enough for any one to pity.”

“Why, then,” cried Hagar, “you're Duke of Moly-
neux. Justin time, too. The poor fellow who has
been calling himself duke was thrown from his

. horse this morningin the park. He never spoke
Had you heard ?”

Claude shook his head in a bewildered way.

. “Well,” Hagar. said, after a pause, “that is the
. story,is it? Yowyétold me allnow?” |
oA ee i? Claude-answered, gloomily. “My mo-
there not ae iptold, even to you. put ay it
would have to.come, now you were here after it.

“Exactly! «I aoe uover have left the house, ex-

There, JZ can’t help

 
    
  

 

ceptin charge.of oliee officer, till you told.me.
But youve got to uma i to lose the dukedom.”
; “Yes, we pf the dukedom might go in
o welcome.” | s there] ving: wow-ap that went hard,
for I felt nea ure you would marry me now, but
for this. Would you not, ia
e loo: her longingly, the handsome, deli-

.s itive fac6 very pale,the blue eyes sad

 

returned Hagar, quickly, her quaint, queer, out-
spoken self tothe last.

And Lady Frances had not the courage—p.
not the inclination—to make a single lection.

Lord Routh, when he found what had been deter-
mined on by Hagar and Claude, kept his objections
to himself, if he had any. Perhaps he had none.

Ciaude became Duke of Molyneux.

Jack had a sum of money given him by Hagar—a
large sum—for she felt a litthe remorseful in his
connection—and went to Australia with it,

THE END.

———__—__—_ »>-@<4——————___—

ONLY FOR THEE.

BY EDWARD MAXWELL.

perhaps

 

Boundless as the stars in the biue sky above us,
Countless as’gtains in the sands by the sea,
Deep as the measureless depths of the ocean,
Is the love of my heart for thee, only thee.

Oft when-the night closes darkly around me,
And sorrowful thoughts to my eye call a tear,
A vision of glory enlightens the darkness,
When I feel that thy spirit is hovering near.

O! when in the future my folly may grieve thee;
And anger burn hot where love used to be,

I pray thee remember that nothing but anguish
Can e’er be my portion divided from thee.

WAS HE MAD

When He Married Her?

By Annie Ashmore.

[“Was He!Mad When He Married, Her?’ was commenced in
No.8. Back Nos. can be obtained from any News Agent. }

CHAPTER XXII.—(Continued.)

Tha loft of the squalid old house was a horrible
place for a prisoner. There was no ceiling; the
roof met overhead about four feet from the floor,
under the roof-tree; and the. eavés came down to
the floor on either side.

There was not_an_ article of furniture to be dis-
eovered—no window, no door, no. mode of egress
except by 4a hatehway from which the ladder had
been removed. ;

A prisoner had moaned and tossed upon the mus-
ty heap of straw, which. this den contained, for two
oe With seariet cheeks, and heayjly-ciouded
brow, St. Cloud Trevanion,.had. raved, through a
second attack of that, fever which terror and ex-
haustion had brought on once before.

The burning sun_ beating, on the shingles of the
roof had oecasioned a stifling heat in which she al-
most expired; and during her calmer moments
when the night dews fell through the. craeks upon
her parched skin, she -had suffered al) Dut death
from apprehension. of her fate.

Between the waves of her delirium. came seasons
of strange reflection, in which the. past events pre-
sented themselves to her in horrifie colors; show-
ing her as with the celestial gleam of Heayven’s
lightning,the wiekedness, the,crimes which had al-
most been committed by her in. that wild frenzy of
her love. Oh, into what an abyss had her passions
plunged herd

She had stained her hands with human blood;
she had let her untamable heart pursue. Gerald
Travers in spite of the.two lives which stood be-
tween them; though sho: was a wife, and he a hus-
band, she bad,ealled him to herself ‘“‘my lover.”
What. a’ pitfall she had been bovering over! Oh!
was'it she, St. Cloud, who had. been that mad, wild
BRERERE burning for the blood of husband and
rival?

For the sake of justice she would have been justi-
fled in warning Gerald.Travers against unexpect-
ad treachery; but, oh! not as she had dreamed of
doing it, with her rival low inthe, dust and herself
raised to her ancient place in his heart! :

Had the past few weeks been a hideous dream ?
See her now, as with face hidden in her lap, head
bent low in shame, remorseful tears dripping hour
by hour from a heart which has forgotten even. sur-
rounding peril, in its great sorrow. for past sin—
see her upon _her wretched. pallet, alone, ill,,.and
hopeless of release as day and night creep over:
her!

At last she hada visit from her jailers;they
elimbed through the, hatehway, Mother Mowser
bearing a lantern,and shut it securely behind

 

 

 

 

 

ot

hem,

Each frightful visage expressed a cowardly wish

to reassure her, and their manner was not°> unkind

as they stood: before her scrutinizing : her.

“Feel able for aleetle bit of a chat with yer aun-

tie?” said the old woman, bending down to peer

inte those feverish eyes which had wept so many
ears.

St. Cloud only looked from one to the other in
horrorand disgust. | :
“Feel better, Cousin St, Cloud?” twanged the in-
famous Tom, seating himself beside her,

She shrank from the contamination of his touch,
and averted her face.

“Come, my dear, you; mustn’t be naughty,” said
Mother Mowser, in a wheedling tone; “we?vo come
up to have a.talk with you,and I’m sure [ hope it
will end :pleasantly. hat would you think, my
beauty, of making us a little bit of a promise, and
being let outof thiserib to go where you liked
with good wishes and the best of ‘friends all
around ?” , é

“Name your promise,” said St. Cloud, anxiously.

“Oh; taint nothing to hurt a fly;.only that you’ll
keep dark.on all you’vo seen. and heard from your
wellwishers here, and that you'll get your fortune
out of the hands of the old gent Treyanion, and
hand it all slick and sly over to your lovin’ auntie
except enough to keep.up appearances on; an
also that you’ll get your dear husband out of jail
where they’ve sent pina, sath tell them, you_ain’t
ad toletany pr ings goon again him, That’s

arded them in ever-increasing as-
ne horrible old woman unfok
eme; and  nseeing them bot

       
  

 

 

nefits

wos THE NEW YORE WEEKLY. #30>

fers en

 

SE

 

waiting anxiously for an answer, a look of pale
scorn settled on her features. |

No,” said she, in a low voice; “I shall never con-
sent to sitch a vile plot as that.”

Evidently discomfited they eyed each other, and
for a few minutes seemed at a loss how to proceed.
At an Long Tom, with a wink at Mother Mous-
ar, said:

“T s’pose you don’t want any harmto Come over
the chap yeu’re soft on,do you? Because if

‘don’t, you'd better knock under towhat Aunt

a Says. ey
'“T know too well the wretches I haye to deal with.
to. ee faith in ‘your promises,” retorted she,.
with spirit. “Tt is’ ur profit to take Gerald

f is to
Travers’ life, and: you will not spareit to please me.
To Hoeven leave him, and if ho must perish, L

will not have sullied my'soul by becoming your ac-
eomplice in order to save'him.’

The girlish, trembling tones might have moved
hearts of stone, but Mother Mouser and Long Tom
had long sinese parted with: even ossified members
in place of hearts, and only gave herscowls of un-
surpassed malignity, — ;

“Very well, then,” said the old woman; “yow kin
please yourself, young one. It don’t make a mite
of difference to our plans} we felt fond of you, and
thought we’d do you @ kind turn, that was’ all; but
now see what a ungrateful wagabone youare! We
oat hey to keep you here as long as you live, that’s
a La 4 i
St. Cloud grew véry:pale,and clasped her hands
in momentary despair. E &

“You threaten me with murder!” faltered she. “I
understand you now.” A

“Don’t tell lies; young woman!” exclaimed Long
Tom, shifting his cowardly eyes under her full, ae-
cusing gaze. “We don’t mean to hurt a hair of
your head. If you was of a forgivin’ disposition
nom we wouldn’t hey to keep you up in this nasty
piace.” ; E

“T thank you for taking me here,” said the girl,
with flashing eyes; “you have *given me time to
think, and to place my misery in a High Hand. I
have been wicked enough in my misery, but I will
be sono more. Destroy me if you will; 1 shall not
seek to save myself By ene Ru

“Hoity-toity!” said Mother Mouser, picking her-
self and the lantern up at onee. ““You’ve raised up
a wonderful sperrit, my gal! Well, nephew, there’s
no use argui ving with a pect; let’s shut up the
house, and set off for Memphremagog to see Judas
for ourselves; and think yourself lucky, little mott,
if you don’t starve before we come back.” —

“Aw revoire!”” grinned Long Tom over his shoul-
der, and the vultures disappeared.

Their hypocritical devices struck terror to St,
Cloud’s* heart; she felt that her doom was spoken,
and throwing herself prop her heap of straw, she
humbly commended herself to ; irom whom in
times past she had strayed so far.

 

CHAPTER XXIIL

The night is far advanced. St. Cloud knows it by
a star that glimmers through a crack in the rotte
roof. She has awaked with a shock from:a ligh
slumber—awaked to feel in every atom of her being
a crawling apprehension. She fancies that some
one is present. ,

She slips from her straw bed, and glides from it
as.far as she can,and wedges herself under the
eaves.

After a period which seemed interminable she
distinguished a peculiar, soit, yielding sound—
stealthy as that of a cat creeping upon velvet feet;
itcontinues a few minutes, then a sudden flash of
light illumines the whole scene. _

As in a horrible trance she. sees Long Tom stoop-
ing over the morsel of straw—a knife in his teeth—
his face corpse-white! |

His hands are oceupied by adark lantern. anda
heavy iron bar; Mother Mouser is seen -in the
background, guarding the open batchway.

The murderers both utter a surprised ery when
they see that the bed is empty, and turn their flash-
ing lantern in every direction; they soon discover
the object. of their search under the eaves; they

 

ipat tote i Zuiltily at the wild, white face of
ess ;
ut the old woman recovers first, and rushes for-
ward with fiendish triumph. St. Cloud utters a
piercing and frantic shriek, eludes the outstretch-
talons, and flies to the hatchway. With one
bound Long Tom has caught her, and drags her
away froin the opening. ae
Another, shriek from the desperate victim—the
old woman gripes her round the neck, and cuts the
loud cry midway. :
“Quick ! mutters she hoarsely, knife her!”
Long Tom gropes on the floor for the knife which
he has dropped—finds it—< the girl, and with
the blaze of the lantern squeezed close to her face,
in. the hand which holds her, raises his hand to

| strike

“But a loud voice below stops the murderous blow
midway—he listens with a convulsed face.
Do it!” whispers the woman ferociously, “What
are ye frightened of ? Give me the knife then.
reely has She said it when 4 tal) form bounds
ugh the ;jnatchway, deais gtremendous blow
e skuti of the rufian,Pegechés the form of

oud from his relaxing s », and Seizes tho
old woman by the throat. :
Down fails the lantern, and &!i is dark. Mother
Mouser strikes out venomously with her nails. and
fastens her teeth like.a wild beast into the, wrist
which holds her, writhes free, and serambles down
a der inthe pitehn darkness, pulling it down
after her, quite careless of the fate of her compan-
ion in crime. [

St. Cloud stirs in the arm whieh has saved her;
her expiring faculties return to her; she sobs, and
clings wildly to her unknown deliverer.

“Heaven biess you!” gasps she conyulsively ; “You
came just in time!”

The man feels carefully for the lantern, strikes a
match, lights it, and looks into her face.

“Oh, Anthony Dare! Good, kind Anthony Dare!”
sereamed the girl, clasping ber hands around his
arm.

“Hurt any ?” drawls the well-remembered voice
with its peculiar soft cadence.

“No—no! thanks to you! How glad I am that it
was you who saved me!” weeps she joyfully.

“Are you though ?” with a queer friendly smile;
“You poor little mouse, you were most done for
that time! Sit down here on this heap of rubbish
pad get back your breath while fi truss this fowl a

it. 7s

   
 
     

thro
u
spe

He very gently placed her upon the straw, and
then tearing off Long Tom’s woolen cravat, he
eoolly binds the fallen hero, hand and foot.

“Now we'll leave him to his meditations if you’ve
no objections,” says he, giving a parting kick to'the
insensible ruffian ; and swinging himself down in-
to the room. below, with a sublime disregard of the
absence of the ladder, he. calis to St. Cloud to come
and drop herself into his arms.

This done; he fastens up the hatch with two long
nails in the door to keep it snug, and then searches
every corner of the hovel for Mother Mouser, and
scouts about the premises outside for a while.

But Mother. Mouser has prudently withdrawn
herself from so unlucky a termination of her vile

ot.

So Anthony Dare returns, derisively cursing her
fleetness. of foot, and finds St. Cloud still weeping
out her thankfulness to Heayen for such a deliver-
ance.

“Them beggars was jest a-goin’ to cut the little
throat, wasn’t they?” he drawls, witha glimmer of
rage in eaeh vailed eye, as he notes how ill she is
looking. “‘Pity I wasn’ta minute later, wasn’t it?”

“Armoment, later would have been too- late for
m6,” answers she, with a convulsive shudder.
BB i made youthink of coming to this dreadful
place?” . ;

“Pibtelh your, I went next mornin’ after we part-
ed'to see you at the hotel where Thad sent you, and

they told.me-you_had gone to private lodgings.
Dont, know why I thought it, but I expected you

was Somaéwhere round Minto square, so I had a
hunt,. The grocer’s boy at the corner said a little
piece.of. goods, like you had taken lodgings oppo-
site, and [went to the place. The lady of the house
said you ‘was out forthe last two hours a-walkin’
in the square garden, and I went there. An old
lady a-setting right.in‘the sun on the middle walk
said that she had seen you talkin’ to Mrs. Captain
Hazard, and that two persons, an old woman anda
thin. man, had taken you away in a coach. ‘Oh,
ho!’ thinks I, ‘something’s. up, and the little one’s
grabbed.’ S50, when I saw them two death’s-heads
in a certain fine lady’s box at the show last night, I
guessed in a minute what was like to eome over
little St. Cloud.. LT come across the chap this morn-
in’, and dogged him round a bit until he took me
here. [lay round all day behind a pile of rubbish
back in the field, and saw lots o’ things happening
—yisitors and all that; and when I seed a light
sneakin’ up stairs at midnight, [invited myself to
be of the party, and I was jest lookin’ for a stone to
br ak in the door, when I heard your little pipe for

help.’

Ho takes St. Cloud’s hand and leads her from the
hovel, which he carefully locks and nails up, chuck-
ling that the old Scratcher won’t get in to her pal
in ahurry; andthen they walk down the road, he
most delicately supporting the feeble steps of, the

irl as she staggers along weak and dizzy, but feel-
ing sweetly secure...

St. Cloud telis her friend all that has befallen her
since she entered Thretford.

Haying finished her recital, she looks up to see
why he makes no remark, and beholds an expres-
sion upon his face whith she never forgot. :
Such a dark and demoniac countenance as is
enero ortrayed could only be caused by a heart
full, of seething passions, She shrinks from him
abashed, and ventures to say no more. :
They have by this time reached the more fre-
quented. streets of Thretford, and soon afterward

     
      

arrive at last at a hotel close to the railway. line.
| Searcely has she looked through the glass-door
of the lowe ys than she utters alittle scream
7 and rushes in. i a:
ze) xGitedly about, while

tlemen are walkin;

 

 

    

rietor of the hotel examines his books;

r

'O “Ari Oi “oO

merece her guardian and Mr, Carrington Roselle.
Then ensues a great confusion; the old man
catches the lost one in his arms, and in a broken
voice thanks Heaven that no worse has come over
her than those white cheeks and feyered eyes; the
young man pours out imperious questions, and
waits with manifest impatience for all the rhapso-
dies to subside; the hotel-keeper peers through his
glasses and shuts his books; the loungers look,
and smile, and nod their heads amiably, while little

Saintie, sobbing and quite overcome, whispers out

herinecoherent story.

They tell her that laos have. been at almost every
hotel in the city in search of her, having at last in-
duced Stainertotellthem where she might have
gone; they tell her that they have been to the house
in Minto square to warn Gerald Travers of the plot
which as yetthey can only imperfectly guéss at;
but that Gerald Travers and the mysterious bride
haye vanished; they tell her (she is too shame-
faced to ask) that her miserable husband is out of
danger from the wound she gave him, and has been
removed tothe jail-hospital, from which, as soon as
his health will permit, he must go to prisonand an-
swer to the charge of imposture; and, meantime,
Bertha, with heavenly forgiveness which no doubt
wiil rank her as a second Mrs. Fry (Carrington
with a sneer); is nursing the contemptible creature
in the hospital until he shall be able to do without
her sublime ministrations.

When all this has been tumbled out disjointedly
enough, St. Cloud: remembers the brave friend to
whom she owes her life, and runs out to the door
to drag him in and present him for her guardian’s
thanks.

But Anthony Dare; aiter a long, wistful look at
the sweet, innocent woman who stirred his heart as
none but hissacred mother had once done before,
had turned on his heel some time ago, and gone.

CHAPTER XXIV.

There was a large wooden house which stood in
a pertoct plantation of roses.

thad a cheerful aspect; a noble sheet of water
lay within view, and a few bold curves of distant
hile. bristling with pines, added grandeur to a
landscape otherwise tame and domestic.

Therqwere no trees near the house, nothing taller
than roses. You seemed to wade breast high in
blushing foam tothe door-steps, for the shrubs had
encroached upon the walks and linked their briery
arms since last the plantation had had a master.

It had got one at last, however. The house was
invaded by an army of uphoisterers,; the grounds
by a squadron of gardeners. In a very few days
an Aladdin palace stood in place of the disreputa-
ble ruin, andthe new tenants moved in,

NTR Travers, his Victoria, and three new ser-
vants.

The pair had remained quietly in lodgings in the
neighboring village (five miles off) until the house
was ready forthem.

Gerald had not been troubled by another fit since
they hadleft Thretford; but a painful lassitudecon-
tinually weighed upon him.

‘He did not care ‘to move off the sofa now, except
when his devoted wife entreated him to wander
aboutia few minutes, leaning upon her arm; and
his appetite was. decreasing every day. . He slept
each night until quite exhausted by the depth of
the'sleep, and awoke each morning with aterrible
weakness moe him.

So miserably despondent had he grown, that if it
hadnot been forhis Victoria he would have wel-
comed death gladly.

But she’ was so\touchingly bound up in him.
When he would eatch her large, mystic eyes fasten-
ed'upon his haggard face; he feltas if Heaven was
too eruel to deprive them of each. other already.

The evening after their arrival, she sweetly came
to him’ from some’of the rooms ‘where she had
doubtless: been ‘planning something for his com-
fort (dear heart did she ever think of anything else?)
and sho said tenderly: ;

“My husband, rouse yourself and come out with
mein that beautiful garden of roses. Such asea of
them as there is.”

And so urgent was he, that despite his growing
loathing to anything like exertion, he dragged him-
self from the couch, and leaning on her arm, went
out.

The Sun was sinking; Jit east its roseate gloss
over the glassy lake, the meandering highway
which wound along to St. Felis, the sea of roses,
andthe transeendent countenance of the woman.
She lodéked as ii glorified. Her azure robes were
tinted by the glow. Sheseemed to wear a vapory
robe of opal hue. ;

A more magnificently beautiful mortal was never
formed. .

Gerald Travers was not surprised, when a man
who was walking past on the road stopped abrupt-
ly and gazed with attention upon him and his wife
ad th azed languidly about. He thought the
man might well be astonished at the sight of such a
eupyED woman loading about a cataleptic.

they approached the gate Victoria gave a great
start, and after standing rooted a moment guided
her purband husband tnto another path.

She knew. the outline of the man although he was
muffied up to the chin, with a broad hat pulled well
down over his eyes. So shocked was she that she
led Gerald nearer tothe house than she had intend-
ed, and at once he per nted to one of the open win-
dows on theground floor from which a thick smoke
was issuing, and cried that the house was on fire,

His Victoria screamed with horror, and ran in to
investigate the cause, and he, all anxiety, hurriedas
well as he could aiter her,

Opening the door ofthe library a volumeof smoke
rolled into his face, a forked tongue of flames shot
aiter it; he could see nothing,

. Where, was Victoria? Surely not in the midst of
it, trying to save any valuables:

Remembering just then thatin his eseritoire he
had loeked up valuable papers, among them his
will, he shouted for,the servants, and then rushed
into the chamber, and despite the danger, sueceeded
in dragging it out into the hall,

. ey this time the servants had arrived, and were
dashing buckets of water into the room, and not
until the mysterious configration was pretty effec-
tually quenched did Victoria rush in from the rose-
garden and throw her arms round her husband.

“What are you doing here?” she shrieked in ter-
ror. “Come away, my precious Gerald; this is no

lace for you!” And she attempted forcibly to draw

im away.

_ ‘Stay, my dearest,” answered he, flushed and ex-
cited. “I must take care of mp papers now that I
have rescued them.’ And he pushed the light es-
eritoire into view.

Victoria no sooner eaught sight
sereamed in a voice of horror:

“Good Heaven, the eseritoire! Were youin that
room yourself aiter these wretched papers? Oh,
rather that they had perished fifty times than that
your life had been endangered!” > -

And, indeed, her pallid face witnessed to her sin-
eerity this time.

“T escaped porte unhurt my love,” said Ger-
ald, affectionately ; ““‘but.I got quite a fright about
you. when I reached the burning room, and did not
see you. Where did you go, my darling ?”

“Ah, why do you ask, beloved? Victoria is so
ashamed of her inconyenient sensitiveness some-
times! I rushed up to my room to obtain my
maid’s help, and not finding here there, fainted
i think, or something silly of the kind. Come away
instantly from this!”

And she redoubled her efforts to take him from
the room.

Butin this instance Gerald was obstinate; he
would not go until he had seeured the eseritoire,
and he pushed it before him into the nearest room.

Here his wife fell abouthis neck, and went into
ecstasies over his miraculous preservation, wonder-
ed how. the fire broke out, suggested causes, ex-
pressed astonishment; in fact, all but drove the
escritoire out of his mind. But not quite.

In five minutes he was back to it, was unlocking,
was turning over the papers, looking aghast, toss-
ing them over and over, and ¢rying out:

“Heavens! the will is gone!”

Victoria looked the picture of bewilderment, and
stood gaping at her husband with eyes and mouth
open.

“Are you sure you put it there, Gerald?” she
asked.

“Certain of it! Why, how can youask? Don’t you
remember that you were with me when I locked it
in here?” cried he, eagerly.

She looked more amazed than ever; regarded
him steadily, and then. began to weep.

“Oh, Geraid, you frighten me!” she quayered; “IT
do not remember anything about it.”

Gerald threw himself ona chair in sudden an-
guish.

Ho had been lately reading in a treatise on cata-
lepsy which had mysteriously found itself in his
way, that the patient gradually loses aH his facul-
ties, his memory among the list.

Gerald thought he was losing his memory!

Still, strange to say, he could have taken his oath
that he had locked tite will in that escritoire, Vic-
toria standing beside him, the last thing they did
before leaying Thretford.

He was nearly crazed, and began to bite his fin-
ger nails like a madman to assure himself that this
was really he, Gerald Travers.

Presently he felt his wife’s velvet arms round his
neck—her warm lips on his cheek; she was com-
forting him; that at least was real!

“Never mind, my darling, think no more about
the will,’ she murmured; “or if you are still
troubled, draw up anew one. I will look myself
foritin the library where they have cleared the
rubbish out. Itis probable you sipped it some-
where else, and haying intended at first to, put it in
the escritoire, you had the fancy that you did so.”
But when, after an hour’s eareful search, she re-
turned to him saying that she could not find it any-
where, nor even a vestige of it among the rubbish,
that it must have been completely destroyed, he
could not think enough about it although to please
his wife he said nothing more.

It worried him, and he could not go to sleep that
night; but to prevent Victoria from exhausting

of it than she

 

herself sitting by him as she was bent on doing

_ penned
until he fell asleep, he closed his eyes, and tried a
little fond deception.

Seeing him apparently slumbering at last, shé
tenderly drew the curtains close round his bed, ex-
tinguished the light, and glided away toher dress-
ing -=9cmm,

erald lay and thought about the missing will
until he got into a fever of excitement, and then he
rose and opened the window, that the cool air from
the water might refresh him.

As he did so he thought he heard voices in the
distance, and listened with a feeling of surprise, for
it was well on for midnight.

There was no moonlight, but the sumMer sky
was bright, and he soon distinguished two figures
pacing to and fro in the rose-shrubbery, by the
railing which divided it from fhe road. ;

They were a man and a woman.

* aE % a a * *
_ “My love,” said he, next morning at the break-
fast-table, “I fear wechaye made a bad selection of
our servants. Last night I believe I was a sort of
spy upon Sally’s love affairs. I saw anexceedingly
aifectionate couple parading the garden forat least
half an hour, atthe end of which the woman en-
tered the house. Youhad better ask Sally about it.”

“Shocking!” said Victoria, rose-red with indig-
nation. ‘I really will not have such a person inthe
house. I will discharge her this momenti” and: in
righteous wrath, she swept into the kitchen and or-
dered the amazed cook, to,.consider. herself .dis-
missed. :

Gerald, being rather soft-hearted, was ‘sorry for
poor Sally when he saw her goingpast the window,
erying, with her earthly possessions tied up in a
bundle on her arm. %

During the course of the day he said to his wife:

“Tam going into St. Felix, my love, to get a new
will prepes 3a,”

Oh, Gerald, don’t worry yourself to-day,” coaxed
Victoria. ‘Why should you wear yourself doing
anvthing that you can avoid?” : ‘

“That is one thing that I cannot
shall drive me, andI will be
lunch.”

“May Inot go with you?”
quickly.

“T think not this morning,’ ‘answered her hus-
band kissing the white brow which rested on his
shoulder ; and he looked away off through the win-
oom) at the gay expanse of water with a mournful
sigh.

"Very well, darling; if you preier to'go alone, of
course I shall notinsist; only take—take care of
yourself, my—my beloved husband? and the sweet
tones trembled. i i sar

“My sweet Victoria,” returned Gerald, touched to
the heart by the disappointment’ thatthese, aviver-
ing accents betrayed, ‘surely, never man was blessed.

post me. ‘John
back t. time. for

exclaimed Victoria,

by so devoted'a wife as you.’
Still he-did not consent to take ‘her with himy ©)
Astonishing! What was he going: to do? "oe Or
When he was just about stepping into the phaeton

rwhich awaited him atthe door, Victoria said, cas-

ually, while she buttoned his gloves: :

“ “By the way, dear, lL want,to aSk you something.
itis silly, perhaps, but itis one of my fancies.
When you get the new will made, won’t you say,
‘Tomy beloved Victoria Mist. Travers,’ instead.ot
‘my wife’ only? I wish all your friends tosee that
you were resolved there should’be no mistake in
the person.’

And though agood: deal astonished, the doting
husband promised. ayes

Gerald Travers drove down to St. Felix, got an
attorney to prepare the new will according to. Vic-
toria’s directions, had itduly witnessed, and took
it away with him.

Then he drove round to the house of an eminent
physician, who—allat once that morning he had
remembered—was to be found in St. Felix.

It was for this reason that he had wished to go
alonetothe village; he would eonsuit Dr. Hen-
pessy, without harrowing his wife’s feelings by re-
vealing to her that he knew his state,and would
coe how far the frightiul disease had laid hold of

im.

In five minutes he had described, his cGase,to tha
grave old doctor with the verdict of the Thretford
physician to Mrs. Hazard.

Dr. Hennessy stared hard’ at. him \for a while
with an eye of profound. amazement, went, to his
medical library and read for another while, came
back to the patient and asked him more questions,
then sank into a chair, and dropping his hands on
his knees, leaned forward and stared . harder than
before into the face of so strange a patient.

are you deceiving me?” -asked:he, at last.

Deceiving you? Heavens! isthis,a time to‘con-
cqal_ or mis¥opresent when I feel that I am.dying ?”
ave you no suspicion of what’s the mater with

you, Captain Hazard?”

“Have lnot told you, sir, that it has’ been: pro-
nounced to be catalepsy ?” ‘

Dr. Hennessy took a last earnest survey of his
eyes, his tongue, his skin, and burst out;

“It’s not catalepsy—it’s Porson!”

G (TO BR CONTINUED.)

ay Sg

Items of Interest.

_ 8 A lady in England who was some time
since hugged by 4 bear, brought an action for damages against
arailroad company, and recovered a verdict for $300. he eir-
cumstances were these: Mrs. Montgomery was waiting in the
station fora train. The bear‘was on a hand truck. Mrs. Mont
gomery, unconscious of the proximity of the bear, found herself
in the grasp of its paws, aud squeezed so severely that her breath
was guite taken away. She was rescued without suffering from
broken bones, but not without painful physicial and nervous sen-
sations, which have t left her. She wore at the time a seak
skin jacket, « i sd that the conduct of the béar
might be re le to’'an association of ideas between this article
of dress and the animal’s former seal-hunting exploits'in the
Arctic regions :

ae At a social gathering in Dayton, Ohio, last
month, a baby, the son of Mr. and Mrs. Charles King, was num-
bered among the guests. A reckoning was made, and it show-
ed that this baby was blessed beyond most others in the num-
ber of those by whom it was loved and cherished as one oftheir
descendants. There were present Mr. and Mrs.. Chas. Spim
ning, great-grandfather and great-grandmother; Mrs. Samuel
King, great-grandmother; Mr. and Mrs. William King, grand-
father and grandmother; Mra. Miller, grandimother; Mr.
Mrs. Charles King, father.and mother. , So that the little fledgel-
ing was gazed upon at the same moment by ‘one ‘great-grand-
father, two great-grandmothers, one grandfatherand two grand-
mothers, beside the father and mother, ;

ea Death from a. singular cause occurred
lately at Saugerties, N. Y. Mrs. Bogardus of that place awoke
in the night with as re headache, and, taking a bottle, of
smelling salts from. a stand ,applied it to her nose occa-
sionally. She soon fell asleep, and on awaking in the morning
found that she had retained the bettle in her hand, and that the
salts had drawn a blister on her thumb, which had covered the
mouth of the bottic. In ashort time inflammation. arose, gan-
grene set in, and in spite of every effort to stop its progress her
entire system became poisoned, resulting in her death. She was
between forty and fifty years of age.

ag” An unparalleled case oflawlessness oceurred
a short time since at Cameron, Texas, A negro, named Smith,
had been sentenced to be hanged for the murder of a Mr. Baker,
a young farmer. Just before daylight on the oe named for the
execution, an armed body of horsemen, forty or fifty strong, made
their way to the jail. They forced an entrance, took the prisomer
from his cell, and. conducted him some miles out from the,town.
He wastied up by the hands, fuel was collected and heaped
under and around him, and a fire kindled, which gradually
blazed and enveloped his body, burning ittoacrisp. Not satis
fied with the torture inflicted and the consequent death, the mob
then riddled the charred remains with bullets.

a@ There isa remarkably old couple; named
Fruits, living in Montgomery County, Ind: The man, and wife
are aged respectively 113 and lll years, and they have lived to-
gether 8 years. The old man stands up as straight as a:ramred,
and does a good dealof work every day. He has always been a
moderate liver, and uses no tobacco. But his wife has been a
steady smoker for. sixty years. The old lady is afflicted witha
cancer, which made its appearance upon her forehead forty years
ago, and which she is now. doetoring with coal oil. “At onetime
in her life she weighed 226 pounds, but gradually shrunk away
till she now tips the beam at 125.

aa Ripe strawberries, some measuring ‘three
anda quarter inches in circumference, and grown in the open
air, were picked in California as late as January 2d. Referring
to some that were gathered on the 13th of December, a Nevada
paper remarks: ¢ “Strawberries grown in the open air at an: alti-
tude of 2,350 feet above the ocean, with huge banks of snow three
feet deep in sight, and not thirty miles distant, shows what kind
of a climate we have in California, and particularly in the foot-
hills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.”’

saz A singular meeting took place lately at the
Hudson River Railroad depot in Philadelphia. “A divorced wife
and child met:the husband from whom'she had been separated.
and while the father, mother, and child’ stood talking in 4 little
group, the second wife of the divorced husband stood aside talking
with a friend, waiting for the interview to close. The train was
ready to start, and as the engine whistled, the divorced husband
hastily bid his first wife and child adieu, and joining his second
wife, the two hurried to the cars.

Ohio,

aa There was a wedding of note at Lodi
on the 20th of last January, the bride being Miss Martha Weaver.
vnd the groom Mr. A. Meltshing, and there were present, Mr.
Lomer Griffin, great-great-grandfather to the bride, aged one
hundred and sixteen years; Willis Griffin, gréat-grandfather,
with his wife, and Mrs. Weaver, the grandmother, making five
generations represented in the company. The great-great-grand-
father is making great calculations on visiting Philadelphia the
present year.

ga A long tramp is reported—that of four Ger-
mans from this city, who had reached Louisville, Ky., on their
way toSt. Louis. Ithad taken them eleyen weeks to aécom
plish the journey to Louisville, and when they arrived there they
were foot-sore, weary, and hungry, and without a cent in their
pockets.. They bad subsisted by begging their food from day to
day, sleeping in barns and outhouses at night.

a@~ A parrot belonging to Mrs. Theodore Byx-
bee, of Meriden, Conn., perched himsélf on her breast when she
was fatally ill, the other duy, and was with difficully driven away.
After Mrs. Byxbee’s death the bird refused for a long time to eat
. talk, and seemed to realize what had happened, as if he were
uman.

as Two bags of old English coin, yalued at
$1,000, were recently found by some laborers engaged in pulling
down the old Wenner homestead on Bergen Avenue, Jesey City
faieoe, They had been concealed between the ratters of the
puilding.

ag Thirty thousand persons were added i< the
permanent residents of London, last year, and it is restimated
that by the middle of the present year, the population of the
British metropolis will exceed four and a quarter millions.

sa It has been suggested thatif young men
will marry on the 29th of February they will be able tosave many
presents expected on wedding anniversaries.

sa A New Hampshire housewife claims to have

 

 

  
  
     
 

     
  

 

 

 

     

 

made 2,705 fires in 1875. Her husband modestly refuses to di-
yulge his name, ‘

 

ast

i

1}

ninanteisiinee AARP tae OBI ee His

its acer inane

2-1 iy a esp in cacy saci te

wt

naion rations peas ti

6 Rae a me Le eta Oe

os ereanarcenetl alienate

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #30

 

 

 

 

NEW YORK, MARCH 6, 1876.

 

 

~~

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The Revivalists.

When Orville (better known among the danger-
ous classes as ““Awful”’) Gardner became miracu-
lously converted, his fellow roughs predicted that
he would 800n be back among them again “a har-
dsr nut to crack than ever.” They asserted that
“Awful” had some “points” to play—that he was
assuming the religious role for the purpose of
bleeding the faithful, after which he would again
join the boys in their midnight orgies. Perhaps
they hada right to believe this, for of all thedaard
characters that cursed New York at thetime (about
fifteon years azo) “Awful” wassurely the worst. But
“Awful” never went bask to his old associates—that
is, never but once, and that was some months after
his conversion, when a party of the worst of them
were drinking and cargusing in a Broadway den.
“Helio!” cried ons, as Gardner entered, “here
comes ‘Awful.’ I knaw ho’d bs with us again before
long. Como, old fellaw! Coms and take a drink!’
“That's what I cam3in for,” responded Gardner,
earnestly, “but I don’t want to drink that poison
which is dealt out atths bar. I came in to invite
you all to gowith m3 and take a drink of the water
of etsrnal life which flows freely for all and which
will cost you nothing. Ihave drank it, boys, to my
perfast satisfaction, and I would like to see you all
as happy as [ am.”

Whether the simple exhortation accomplished
anything just at that tims or not we do not know, but
certain it is that since then he has accomplished a
world of good, and is still working in the cause of
religion and morality.

Sines Gardner was brought to a knowledge of his
wickedness, a number of the class to which he be-
longed have become converted, and are working
right valiantly to pull from the muck of vice and

 

- misery those of their former companions who are

atill floundering therein. Prominent among these
simple but earnest workers are Peter Dwyer of
Vandam strest, and Jerry McCauley of Water street,
and the good which these two former violators of
law and order are accomplishing is simply incal-
Gulable. Night after night they are fighting the
devilin his stronghold, and tearing from him his
victims like brands plucked from the burning. It
would seem that the Almighty had a special design
in solecting thess men for the peculiar work in
which they are engaged. They are rude in
speech and unpolished in manners, but they
are earnest in appeal and utterly fearless of
consequences, and can talk to those who surround
them in a language just suited to their comprehen-
sion. “Ooms and join us, boys,” they say, “and,
with the blessing of God, we will make you as hap-
py as weare. You know what we were once—you
can ses what we are now. We have clean hearts,
undimmed eyes, decent clothes, and enough to eat.
But, above all these, we have Christ in our hearts.
Com3 and join ourarmy. On one side you have
Christ, who pleads with you to give up sin; on the
other sids stands the devil exhorting you to evil.
How can you hesitate which to join? Christ offers
you psace, joy, and contentment—the devil offers
you a diseased body, an impaired mind, a blasted
reputation, misery, despair, and death. You can

‘never know @ moment’s happiness while you are

in the service of the devil—you can never know an
unhappy moment while you are fighting for Christ.
Come and join us! Won’t you come? Come now,
while we sing ahymn.” Many there are, of course,
rum-sodden and crime-stained, upon whom their
remarks at the time make little impression, and
again, many who “go to to scoff remain to pray,”
and these humble exhorters are adding hundreds
to the fold of Christ.

Oh, for a thousand such missionaries as these
lowly-minded but earnest men! If we had but one
in every poison-blasted, sin-cursed section of the
eity, how soon would our prisons, our poor-houses
and our hospitals show a different record!

All Christian men and women should do their
utmost to help these unselfish toilers in the cause
of morality, and it is a burning shame and dis-
grace that the vicious and depraved should be al-
lowed to interfere with them in the prosecution of
their glorious work. Again and again have they
been insulted and maltreated, and we call upon the
authorities to see to it that they are hereafter left
unmolested in their labor of love, and that those
who disturb them receive the punishment which
they richly merit. Remember that they are work-
ing for the city’s treasury as well as for the city’s
morals, and this of itself should recommend them
to the kind consideration of the city authorities,

——_—_>-9+—___
Seats for the Saleswomen.

We have seen it stated somewhere that A. T.
Stewart, the great dry-goods merchant, was the
first to introduce the practice of placing chairs in

 

his salesroom for the conyeniance and comfort of
his lady customers. By doing so itis said his trade
increased very rapidly and continued to grow till it
had reashed its present huge proportions. If Mr.
Stewart was to bsathus rewarded for studying the
comfort of rich ladies who rode in their carriages
and “fared sumptuously every day,” how much
greater should be the reward of the Messrs. Stern
Brothers, dry-goods dealers in Sixth Avenue, who,
it is said, have been the first to supply their tired
saleswomen with seats upon which to rest them-
selves while not waiting upon customers? We
hope, and we believe, that this liberality and kind
consideration for their tired employees will add as
much to their exchequer as it does to their credit
for kindness of heart.
——--—__ 4

OLD AGE.
REFLECTIONS FOR THE YOUNG,

A century ago, it was respectable te be oki.

Children were taught to venerate old age. The
school-boys were instructed to lift their hats, and
the school-girls were taught to “courtesy,” when-
ever an old man, or woman, passed them by.

Everybody gave way to old age. The warmest
place by the fireside, and the softest chair in the
house, belonged to grandfather; and if grandmo-
ther lost her spectacles, or dropped a stitch in her
knitting work, young hands and young eyes were
ready to serve her at once.

Father used always to be consulted in all. busi-
ness matters; and mother’s advice and counsel

were heeded and respected.

“Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days
may be long in the land which the Lord thy God

iveth thee!” was taught to the children along with

he lesson—

“Who was the first man ?”

“Who was the first woman?”

Reverence for old age was inculcated from in-
fancy, and the reckless youth who would have
dared venture a scoff at the expense of gray hairs
and tottering ebay would have felt the rod of
which Solomon was the advocate.

How is it now?

Father is “the old man,” or “the governor.” Mo-
hige is “the old gal.”

oung men,in their strength and thoughtless-
meds. .baen radely past the aged in all our public
assemblies, and occupy comfortable seats in our
street cars: and railway carriages, while the old
man and: woman stand unsteadily, and support
themselves by canes or crutches. :

young ladies, rosy and blooming—just as that
poor old nNoring woman once was—will crowd
her away from the fire in our public halls, and
laugh with their gay young Gompanions, when her
scanty garments of afashion ten years ago obso-
lete, meet their eye. :

Old: age is laughed at. Gray hairs are flouted.
Wrinkles are made a jestof,and young America
goes on all unmindful of the fact that a few more
springs of bloom, and a few more autumns of decay
will bring gray hairs to take the place of the brown
locks upon his temples, and wrinkled furrows to
displace the bloom upon his smooth forehead.

Pause and reflect! ;

Old age is what we areall coming to! Nothing
can saye us from it but the grave!

And if inthe years coming, when feebleness and
decay shall fall upon us, we would be respected
and cared for by those around us, let us now, in
our youth and strength, be thoughtful of the aged,
for it is not truer that God liveth, than is the divine
assertion—

“With what measure ye mete it shall be measured
to you again.” KATE THORN,

LAW OF THE BORDER.

BY JOS. E. BADGER, JR.

 

 

There is one incident of my trapping life that I
can never forget, though I were to live twice my
years (thoughtfully uttered old Pierre Lajoie, one
day, as we lazily floated down the Missouri, “jug-
ging for cat.’’) :

At that time Iwas staying at Fort Union, near the
Missouri, a short distance above the mouth of the
Yellowstone river. I had been on the sick list for
three months past, from a couple of Blackfoot ar-
rows that felt their way pretty deepin my hump
ribs, but was getting pretty smart again, when the
adventure occurred of which I spoke. Though I
had passed through a fewscrapes, and witnessed
summary justice more than onee, I never witnessed
border law administered in that way but the once.

Though it was nearly Christmas, and winter was
pretty well advanced, the fort was unusually well
manned, two parties not yet having “‘spreed them-
selves out” yet, after adelayed spring hunt, and
this was lucky enough, too, as you shall soon learn.

At that time Fort Union was in the very heart of
the Indian country. Upon every side stretched the
hunting-grounds claimed by the Crows, the Black-
feet, the Cheyennes, Snakes, Flatheads, and Ricka-
rees. Yetthe fort was never actually attacked by
the redskins, though threatened more than once.

One bitter cold morning in December, ’38, the

-men sent out at daylight to relieve the guard over

the horses, came running back with bad news.
Not only was that particular herd of animals gone,
but the three horse guards had been murdered,
and their scalped bodies left lying upon the frozen
river.

It did nottake long forthe older and more ex-
perienced mountain men to explain what had oc-
curred, by reading the “sign” on the new fallen
snow, there having been a light storm on the even-
ing before. They proved thata party of Indians
numbering at least fifty, had been skulking round
the fort since before the snow ceased falling, for a
part of their tracks were almost obliterated. They
had probably watched until the last guard was re-
lieved, and by this means learned the precise spot
where they were stationed. Then they had crept
up, unseen, near enough to fairly riddle the whites
with arrows. Certain it was that no powder had
been burned during the night near the fort, since
some of our number were up playing cards, and
would have heard an alarm. Then the redskins
aoe drove off the herd of horses, overa hun-

red in number.

In less than ten minutes after the alarm was
given, thirty-one stout mountain men were in the
saddle, each man leading a_second horse, and un-
der lead of Captain Jack Cravens, we rode forth
and took up thetrail. Our orders were short and
sweet. We were to overtake and punish the horse-
thieves at any cost. Thestolen animals were notour
object somuch asto avenge our murdered com-
rades. We were overstocked with horses at the
fort, and for this reason we each took two. We
were to ride one at his best pace until knocked up,
then turn them adrift and change saddles to the
led animals, by which means we hoped to overtake
the redskins before nightfall, though we knew they
too would change from one beast to another.

It was one of the coldest days I ever experienced,
and we had the north-west wind full in our faces
as we followed_at a gallop oe, the broad, plainly
defined trail. Yet, bowing our heads tothe cutting
blast, we galloped on, slackening our pace occa-
sionally to breathe ouranimals, until, by mid after-
noon, we had made over sixty miles. Then we
changed horses, and pressed on with renewed
speed. It was quite evident that the horse-thieves
suspected pursuit, and were using their remounts
to the best advantage, or we would have overtaken
en before. As it was, the trail was fully an hour
old.
Just at dusk we caught sight of a huge fire bla-
zing up in the midst of a grove of trees lying along
the trail, and believing this was the camp of the
horse-thieves, we looked to our fire-arms and dash-
ed forward, too full of revenge to think of caution
or strategy. But,as we drew nearer, we heard loud,
angry voices, that unmistakably came from white
men. They heard us at nearly the same moment,
and leaped for cover beyond the circle of firelight.

Captain Cravens quickly called out that we were
friends, and, after a few questions were put and
answered, we rode up to the camp without fear of
being saluted with half an ounce of lead. We
found they were a company of traders, under Cha-
bonard, a half-breed—French and Chippewa.

We found they had four ee oe captives, one half-
breed, the others full-blooded Rickarees. It was
over these that they had been disputing; not but
that all agreed that they were worthy of death, only
adozen different modes of punishment were sug-
gested, each being strongly advocated.

It seems that these four men were of the party of
horse-thieves we had been pursuing. T ey had
come upon the camp of the traders about one hour
before, and demanded whisky. Chabonard refused
to supply them unless they first paid him. The
Richarees grew more and more insolent, declaring,
at last, that unless their thirst was quenched, they
would drink the blood of the pale-faces. But Cha-
bonard didn’t scare worth a cent,and his men
ranged themselves round the goods. Just then the
traders discovered a fresh scalp hanging at the
waist of an Indian, and fired upon them. In the
melee that ensued several Rickarees and one trader
were killed, the four captives being found among
the fallen, stunned by blows from rifle butts. The
Rickarees did not make much of a fight, probably
oe that they were being pursued, and soon
withdrew, driving their stock before them.

What i
our leader.

Chabonard promptly replied that they were to be

 

killed; that they had shot one of his men, and that

are you going to do with them ?” asked ‘

a fresh white scalp had been found upon the half-

breed.
“All right—do it, then; if you REITs we will have
time to see the fun while our animals are breath-

ing.

“Fiwo ‘ar come next ‘calf-time,’ me an’ my pard-
ner, Jefi Grimes—you all knowed Big Jeff, I reok-
on,” put in.old Bob Burnes, one of Chabonard’s

ands. “As I said, these Rickarees ketched us nap-
pin’, an’ then set out to roast us. I got free—but
they riggled old Jeff. Iswore then that Pd sarvea
Rickaree the same way the fust. I cotched alive—an’
this stunted imp I knocked over. I ain’t a-goin to
go back on my word—it’d a my medicine. ’’'m
going to roast him, anyhow!”

Btrange as it may seem to you, Joe, this speech
was greeted with a cheer. You can’t understand
the deadly hatred that has ever existed between
mountain men and the Indians, Every season
some loved and trusty friend is killed“by the red-
skins, But why talk? [am telling you what really
occurred, and if wo were not justified in our at
then ‘tis too late for an apology now.

_ The four wretched prisoners were securely bound
head and foot with trap chains, taken from the tra-
ders’ goods. The three Indians remained stoical ‘|
paying no attention to the threats and taunts of
their captors, though they must have known the
fate in store for them. But the half-breed proved
himself a perfect coward, begging and praying for /
mercy, making all sorts of promises, even offering,
toi us direct to the rendezvous for which his
lato comrades were heading. But we felt confident
of overtaking them very soon, and so paid little at-
tention to him.

The camp fire was a huge one, fresh logs having
been added as soon as the fate of the captives was
determined upon, and now two of the top logs were
rolled aside with poles, thus revealing a deep bed
of giowing coals. Then the four men were caught by
feet and shoulders _and slung into the fire. The
lags rolled back and shut them from our sight.

There was a singie half-stified shriek, then a
brief but terrible struggie that cast the coals in
showers around .us. -Then ali was still as a pecu-
liar blue flame shot high above the logs.

It was a horrible deed. and I have often regret-
ted it, though I teok BO Das in it beyond lookin
quietly on. Yet they had murdered our nds an
comrades, and, by the law of the border, their lives
were forfeited.

“Come!” hoarsely cried Crave’ 1
that his strong frame shook as though with the
ague.. “Come, men, we are losing time, the Ric-
karees are expecting a visit from us—don’t let’s dis-
appoint them.” .

e quickly followed his lead, and breathed eas-
ier as we left the ore and that significant blue
flame behind us. As for me, I know that the horri-
bie scene I had just witnessed weighed upon my
mind likeanightmare. But never mind that.

For atime we were forced to travel: at a moder-
ate gait, but when the moon came up, as it did
early, we could follow the trail as easily and rapid-
ly as in broad daylight, since the redskins had bro-
ken through the crust of the snow at every step.
Still they must have traveled at a pretty g gait,
since it was nearly daylight before we heard any-
thing from ther,

We did hear them then, though it was half an
hour later before we saw them. We. heard the
rapid firing of. rifies, mingled with faint yells, and
knew that the redskins were up to some new devil-
try. We naturally concluded it was our game,
sinoe the trail led direct for the spot where the fir-
ing was going on.

“Boys, you know the spot,” suddenly cried Cap-
tain Crayens, “‘It’sinthesecond hoHow from here
where Fitzpatrick built the log fort and whipped
out the Blackfoottribe. The devils have seen some
whites in there; 80 now for one steady charge and

pay off all scores?®
e didn’t need thisspeech to urge uson. Our
hatred had not cooled any duri our long ride,
and we dashed rapidly on, spoi ing for a fight.
Just as we were Climbing the second hill, a loud re-
port came to our ears, much like thunder,only
sharper. For a moment we paused, but then dash-
ed on over the hill. :

A seene of horrible confusion met our gene, Near
two hundred horses had been stampeded by the
explosion; half a hundred Indians were wildly
running across the snow crust; the logs of the old
fort were scattered in every direction. This much
we saw, and then charged the panic-stricken sava-

ges.

There was no fight, the redskins were too badly
frightened, and we didn’t give them time to re-
cover. Remembering our slain comrades, we mas-
sacred them mercilessly. Our rifles emptied, we
used our pistols, then went for the surviving
wretches with clubbed gunsor knives, more than
once crushing them beneath our horses’ hoofs. I
don’t think over half a dozen braves made their es-
cape. I told you.it was a massacre, :

eneath the ruius we found one man still alive.
It seems that ajparty of traders, five in number,
had camped for the night in the old fort. The
Rickarees di d them, and in the fight tnat
ensued, by som cident a bag of powder was ig-
nited, the expl proving fatal to all of the tra-
ced man died within the hour.

We gave their sodies burial, then collected the
stampeded animes, and took up the back trail.
Onour way we picked up most of the horses we
had abandoned, and reached the fort without any
further trouble.

 

and I could see

   

 

cn Sa tl eee

Hard Employers.

Americans, as a class, have elicited worid-wide
praise for the respect they pay toladies. In no
other country aré women 80 well treated, the poor
as well asthe rich, We admit, of course, that there
are exceptional cases, but they are not numerous.
Our thoughtless or cruelstorekeepers, who compel
their female clerks tostand all day, must be classed
among the exceptional casds. Some employers,
unaware of the fatigue endured by fragile girls
forced to stand many hours at atime, on having
the matter properly brought to their notice, have
granted their female clerks the privilege of sitting
down: when not attending customers. Unfortu-
nately all the offending storekeepers have not been
so easily moved by pity. There are many whose
innate stubberness impels them to continue their
ill-treatment, because to perform an act of simple
justice now would be an admission that they had
done wrong. So, rather than acknowledge that
they had ever been unkind to their female clerks,
they still contend that the poor girls are not cruelly
treated when foreedto remain on their feet from

 

early morn until late in the evening. Public senti- | q

ment will ere long bring these hard taskmasters to
terms by infiluen¢ing a withdrawal of patronage.
Touch their pockets, and you strike them where
they are most sensitive.

ROMANCE OF BATTLES IN ’76.
FOR OUR CENTENNIAL YEAR.
BY NED BUNTLINE.

NUMBER THREE.—MUD ISLAND.

After his naval force was driven back, two of his
finest ships burned, his mercenary force of Hes-
sians half destroyed, it would have been supposed
that Lord Howe, who held the lower Delaware and
could have had supplies landed within two or three
hours’ wagoning from his headquarters, would not
have risked more loss of life and royal munitions
for so small an advantage.

But with bull-dog ebstinacy he was determined
to gain his point, no matter at what cost. siv-
ing reinforcements from New York, he occupied
Province Island, at the mouth of the Schuylkill
river, and commencing his labors in the night,
erected works which covered and held five formid-
able batteries bearing on Fort Mifflin, within five
hundred yards distance.

Inside of Hog Island they had a floating battery
of twenty-two %4-pound guns close to an angle of
the fort. Added to this the British admiral brought
four 64-gun ships and two of forty guns each with
their broadsides to bear within nine hundred yards
of Fort Mifflin,

Altogether on the morning of November 10th,
they opened fire from fourteen strong redoubts,
beside their shipping, on the American defenses
and little flotilla. It was a terrible shock for the
Patriots to meet and withstand, but for six days
and nights Colonel Smith and his heroes in Mifflin
answered gun for gun in proud deflance. Wound-
ed at last, Colonel Smith was carried over to Red
Bank, which was still in our hands.

The command then devolved upon Lieuténant-
Colonel Russell, of the Connecticut troops. He
bravely continued the defense until disabled, and
wen eae, Thayer, of Rhode Island, took com-
mand. F

Now, night and day, with round shot, bombs, and
with grape and canister whenever they could be
used, the British kept up the terrible siege. When
the heavy floating battery, beforementioned, open-
ed on the 14th within forty yards of an angle of the
fort, the little garrison of only three hundred men
silenced it béfore noon, though it was supported
by thirty armed boats from the men-of-war. Never
even in the days of Spartan heroism at Thermopyle
did such courage shine forth as now within the mud
walls of Mifflin. More than two-thirds of the resist-
ing garrison were wounded.
was covered with the dead.

 

 

Finally the British fleet forced its way up the
east channel, and opened fire on the rear of the

 

your father deeme

Their battle-ground | th

 

nin Mifflin but two was dis-

fort: Then eve
mounted or disabled. Completely surrounded on
ali sides but one, the garrison etill fought on until
night gave them cover for retreat, and then the
heroic Thayer, with his last two guns disabled, sent
off his wounded to ank.

With only forty men he yet held the works, de-
fended now alons by musketry until midnight, and
then r setting fire to everything that would
burn, he made good his retreat to Bank.

During the entire war of the Revolution, in truth
take all the wars that history records, and you will
find no more obstinate or glorious defense. Out of
four hundred men when thesiege commenced, over
two hundred and fifty were killed or disabled by
wounds.

The British concealed their losses, through cha-
arin at the greatness thereof, but it is safe to say

ey lost at least five to one on land and water, for
our American marksmen had then, and still have
an anti y to wasting lead, and generally sent
their bullets to the righ Spot.

Fort Mercer was 800n after evacuated, and now
the British held the Delaware to Philadelphia.

 

DISCOVERED BY A RING.

BY LAWRENCE LESLIE,

 

The years 1847, 1848, and 1819 were rendered mem-
orabie in Vienna by number and boldness of
the highway robberies which were committed upon
travelers in the very suburbs of the city. he in-
telligence which guided these attacks was uot less
remarkable than their audacity was s.. prising.
In nearly every instance the victim oa lted fur-
nished a rich booty to the bandits, anu tore seemed
almost a supernatural agency aiding the offorts of
the outlaws, enabling them to strike where rich re-
wi were certain, resistance unlikely, escape
oar, and detection impossible.

The police of Vienna, the shrewdest and best in
Europe, with the possible exception of. that of
Paris, had made extraordinary efforts to check the
outlawry and arrest, the perpetrators, but the at-
tempt was as often baffled, and the robberies went

on.

In the fall of 1849 Bir William Harlow, an English-
man of great wealth, was penerne, along the high-
way in his carriage about three miles from the city,
accompanied by his wife and daughter, the latter a
beautiful young lady. seventeen years of age. f

Suddenly a couple of masked men appeared in
the road before them, their horses were seized, and
their valuables demanded. Bir William instantly
drew 2 pistol, and pointing it at the insolent rob-
ber, pulled the trigger. At the same instant his
daughter, alarmed at'the demand, had drawn her
purse, and reached out her arm to deliver it. The
alm was sure,and the robber fell‘heavily to the
earth; but the young lady uttered ascream of
agony, which drew her father’s attention even from
the gravity of the situation without. He found
that his ball had passed through the small white
arm, inflicting-a severe wound, from which - the
blood was flowing in great profusion. Eeoraaely
alarmed he gave no heed to his assailants, bestow-
ing all his attentions upon the now insensible girl.

he reportof the pistol brought three or four
more masked men to the spot, accompanied by a
tall, well-built man, who appeared to act as their
leader, but whose movements were characterized
by such ease and grace as to excite wonder howa
common robber could acquire such high-born ac-
complishments. He arriyed on the scene just in
time to prevent one of his men from summarily
avenging the death of his comrade, and at his com-
mand every thoughtof plunder was dismissed, and
every aid extended to the wo. nded iady and_ her
stricken parents. The brokerimb was bound up,
the horses were reattached to the carriage, and in
afew moments they were ready to proceed to the
city. where they could procure a surgeon.

ir William Harlow was so grateful for those at-
tentions that, when ready to start, he drew a valu-
able ring from his finger and presented it to the
bandit chief with thanks. ie

The robbery was reported to the authorities, the
usual investigation was made, and the usual failure
followed. :

Miss Harlow’s injuries were not severe, and ina
few weeks the family resumed their tour, and final-
ly returned to eens. :

In 1852 Miss Harlew was married, and soon after
went to reside in Vienna, her husband being at-
en to the English embassy i the Austrian
cou

In the society of the imperial cif¥,'she (now Mrs.
Archibald Ingsley) soon formed the acquaintance
of Count Baroni, a native of Hungary, but long a
resident at the Austrian capital. He was reputed a
person of great wealth, many accomplishments,
and hig! social position. He soon became a regu-
lar and frequent visitor at the house of Mr. and
Mrs. Ingsley, and the lady became the object of his
most gallant attentions. 5 :

The rather loose morality prevalent in the high
circles of Austrian society tolerated an intimacy
which ended in a mad declaration of love by the
infatuated count. To what extent his feelings were
reciprocated there are no means of knowing.
While tolerating, even encouraging his friendship,
she steadily resisted his ardent advances, thus
constantly inflaming his passion, and <a ee
hope alive. He became blindly, madly enamo
of her, and pressed his suit with frantic despera-
tion. Every other assion or impulse seemed to
forsake him, or was kept in perfect subordination ;
and he seemed to exist only in her presence, and
live only in the hope of finally winning her heart
and hand. j

One day, in the delirium of his passion, he threw
himself at her feet and begged her to fly with him
tosome haven where no obstacletotheir union
would be known or suspected, and in that quiet re-
treat live in the full enjoyment of that happiness
which he declared must crown an affection so ar-
dent as theirs.

Finding her resolution unshaken, and crazed by
her obduracy, he rose to his feet,tore open his
vest, wrenched from the slender 1 chain to
which it was _ attached a peeve gold ring, witha
rich diamond setting, and holding it up before her
eyes, now opened wide with wonder and fright, he

cried:

“See here! Why do you now treat me with such
coldness and scorn? For three years I have been
your lover, your slave; your image has been the
ever present object of my worship, and I now lay
fortune, liberty, life, even, at your feet! Do you
know this ring? It was presented to me by your
father years ago, for some services I rendered you
and him in a moment of deadly peril, when I saved
you, unconscious and bleeding as you were, from
robbery and death! Believe me, that the love
which turned aside the avenging dagger three
years ago, will atill ror you from every evil. If

me worthy of this gift, why
should his daughter refuse to extend her confi-

ence.

Thus did the infatuated man rave, while he
thrust the jewel into the white face of the frighten-
ed woman.

A cry of horror broke from her lips, as she recog-
nized the ring, and the terrible memories of the
fearful adventure in the suburbs of Vienna three
years before, came back in all their painiul distinct-
ness and detail. With those hateful memories was
broken the spell which had once led her to listen to
the professions of her admirer. In her eyes he
was no longer the polish courtier and gallant com-
panion, but the masked assassin, the common foot-
pad and vulgar thief, who prowled stealthily for

prey as the wolf hunts the harmless and defense-

ess members of the flock. She could not conceal
her aversion, and when the count attempted to pro-
with his supplication, she turned away her
head with a loathing that was unmistakable, and
waving him away besought him to leave her, and
enter her presence no more. :

Thesupplicant was notslow to perceive his failure,
and a gleam of reason mene enne the thick mist
in which his senses had been envelo , the idea of
his danger came upon him with such force that he
stood appalled as he confronted it.

As the consequences of his rashness rose before
him, the selfish perion triumphed. over all others
and turning to the lady, his face livid with rage an
baffled passion, eyes flashing with the terrible dead-
ly brilliancy of the rattlesnake’s when about to
strike, he hissed through his clenched teeth, as he
withdrew: |

“Woman, if you lisp a word of this, I will kill
you,if I hunt you to the endofthe earth. My
death alone will not save you, for I have a hundred
followers who will know all within an hour, and if
harm comes to me, you and yours cannot hide your-
selves from their vengeance!”

His concluding words were wasted, for before he
had finished Mrs. Ingsley had fallen back upon the
sofa, apparently lifeless; and when,a short time
after, an attendant entered her room she was still
lying unconscious.

The whole house was alarmed, and messengers
sent to call a physician and apprise the lady’s hus-
band. Both arrived at about the same time, and
met at her bedside. Totheir anxious inquiries as
to the cause of her sudden illness, she long refused
to answer, sere totheir urgent entreaty that
she dare not. Of course, this only heightened their
determination, and after a tedious struggle the se-
cret was extorted from her. °

The matter was immediately laid before the
authorities, but the chief of police shook his head
incredulously. He knew the count well, and de-
clared thatit was impossible for him to commit
such an offense. :

But the accusation was positive, and at last it was
arranged that a squad of officers should proceed
gmterty to make the arrest and search the premises,
so if the suspicion should prove groundless, the
affair would produce no unpleasant scandal.

About midnight half a dozen men quietly entered
6 count’s palace, and placed him under arrest.
A careful. search of the premises followed
vast quantity of plate,
were found, which h

,anda
welry, and other valuables
been taken from waylaid

 
   

———

travelers or plundered from neighboring estates,
and much of it was identified.’

he prisoner was soon brought to trial, when the
facts developed showed that he had been long con-
nected with a band of RuAaeeD, and it was un-
der his direction that most of the bold robberies
committed during the few Tyeceding years had
been planned and executed. He was a secret po-
lice agent in the pay of the government, and there-
fore able to warn his companions of impending
danger, or turn Suspicion and pursuit away from
the guilty parties. [t was his knowl and guid-
anoe that had enabled them to select their victims
with such uniary profit, and his influence with
the authorities had paralyzed and thwarted al! ef-
forts made for their detection and ure,

He was convi » executed, his wealth,
amounting to over $2,000,000, con With his
death, his followers, who had escaped the gallows
or the prison, dispersed, and this famous band of
outlaws ceased to exist.

 

 

Advice to Young Wives.

“Young wife and mother—make your home a
place of beauty, etc., etec., etc., eic.”

Do, my dear. Kiss your husband the minute he
comes home—tipsy or sober. Run for the double s.
fapittoon and slippers), and let the baby squall.

ive him theest of the pudding—you can eat the
burned part yourself. Put the mealy potatoes on
his plate—you know you prefer them water-soaked.
Fie will probably sit on two chairs and read the pa-
per to himself; be happy. When hesmokes strong
cigars that make you cough, and strangle the baby,
be happy. When he wonders if you will cock as
mother did, be happy. .Taik a great deal about
mother—his mother, mean, Smile sweetly when
he comes home “from his lodge,” walking side-
ways to keep the floor from striking him. When
he praises pretty Miss B..and asks you why you
don’t do your back’hair up like hers, still be happy.
When he goes off to the picnié with Widow Jones,

who dresses so nobby, by Jove!” smile him away
and shed your tears in secret. When you tell him
Jimmy’s shoes are worn out, and he asks you where
in the dickens that last fifty cents went to, then
and not till then feel that life isa burden. Lay the
burden down as soon as possible. so that the Widow
Jones can step into your shoes. at widow, my
dear, will revenge all your wrongs. GARRY Moss,

—_—>9+—_-+______
THE CURSE OF THE WORLD.

Some effective arguments against the sale and
use of rum as a beverage have been advanced by
Mrs. Comstock, the Quakeress, who is a stanch and
persistent temperance advocate. She has spent
considerable of her time among the. prisons in
this country and those in Europe. and ‘out of the
120,000 prisoners whom she has visited’ she founil
that a very large pereentage of them either. direct-
ly or indirectly came to that condition through in-
toxicating drink.

Last Christmas she was out to the Michigan State

Prison, and out of the 800 convicts thereshe learned
that all but 80 had been victims of rum. She has
visited over 70,000 inmates of poor-houses, and of
this number over 60,000 had been brought there by
this terriblo scourge; and so the proportion was in
other institutions. in the idiotie asylums the off-
spring of drunken fathers and mothers were to be
found upon whom had been entailed the curse. In
1873 the British people spent one hundred and
thirty-three and a half million pounds sterling in
liquor, thirty. millions of which had gone to in-
crease the revenue of that country. When, about
thirty-three years ago, some British merchants en-
deavored to introduce opium into China the Em-
peror would not allow it, and when he was told it
would vastly increase his revenue, he said that he
would never add to the increase of his revenue that
which would impoverish and destroy his people.
What a blessed thing it would be for the United
States to-day if the President had the will and
the power to say this of liquor. The efforts of the

inese government to prevent the importation of
opium caused an armed conflict. with the British,
known asthe opium war. The British, of course,
overmatched their opponents, and the war was
terminated in 1812 by a treaty which permitted
opium to enter Chinese ports.

nT

It Might Have Been.

Truly has it been said that of all the sad express-
sions which have been uttered the saddest is: “It
might have been.” How many hearts year after
year as time passes alomg under the pressing
weight of grief haveset fo thiscomplaint. How
many sorrowing ones when looking back to the
happy days gone by have uttered a gi pe this short
sentence what seemed almost a cry of despair, and
there are not many who, when looking back upon
their past lives, and the youthful days they have en-
we7ee do not regret that their surroundings are not
what they might have been. So much, indeed, do
they see to regret as memory truly and plainly
paints the jax Pig many golden hours wasted, so
many precious moments misspent—that they are in-
clined to despond.

But reason teaches us that since the days that
are past can never be recalled, our best course
is to improve the future. To-day let us re-
view the year that is past, and see what lessons we
can there learn that will be of use to us in the year
that istocome. Will we act Spon it, and live truly
in earnest from this time? We look backward and
see how it might have been had we acted @ifferently,
and the lesson it teaches us is this: “To take warn-
ing from the past, and in the future act well our
parts, wherever we are, whatever the circumstan-
stances by which we aresurrounded, however hum-
ble our lot, to earnestly, faithfully and nobly dis-
charge our duty. Louise FARRINGTON.

 

 

 

 

 

Pat Rooney's Story.

No. 18 of the Boys of the World, now ready, eon-
tains the opening part of a lively story by the
famous Irish comedian and vocalist, Par Rooney.
It has a good plot, teems with spirited incidents, all
of which are vividly and vigorously delineated,
and bears the quaint title of “Jmrry THz Gawkx.”
As the author is everywhere recognized as “one of
the boys,” it may well be inferred that the hero of
his story is no fool, although people called him
“JERRY THE GAWE.”

 

 

Two NEW STORIES

will be commenced

NEXT WHE.

No. 17 of the New York WEEKLY will contain the
opening part of an extremely interesting historical

DANIEL BOONE;

THUNDERBOLT OF THE BORDER.
By BURKE SRENTFORD,
Author of “SQUIRREL CAP,” “THE STEEL
CASKET,” etc.

The scene of this eventful story is the “dark and
bloody ground” of Kentucky, and the time of action
about

ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
Therefore, and because the leading incidents are
historical, the exeiting narrative of ‘“Danren
Boone” may be properly termed

A CENTENNIAL STORY:

 

 

Inthe same number of the New YoRK WEEKLY
will be given the first installment of an entrancing
serial by a vigorous young author,

DANIEL DOYLE,

who wields a keen and graceful pen, and possesses
the rare faculty of being able to entertain his read-
ers without taxing their credulity by the presenta-
tion of improbable incidents. He has chosen for
illustration a topic of the day,
A LIVE SUBJECT,
a living reality; and this he treats with the earnest-
ness of one who well understands the work he has
set out to perform, and is conscious of his ability to
at least aid in redressing a series of
ATROCIOUS WRONGS

to suppress which the law has vainly struggled for
| the last few years,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4
ee
rly

’
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a

 

THE NEW YORK WEEBLY. =~

 

 

a re

“WORTH MAKES THE MAM.”

BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH.

“Werth makes the man ;” the pompous fost
Who boasts of rank and power—
Whose heart is flinty as a rock—
Who wears a visage sour—
Though he may boast of gentle birth,
And own his weight in bullion,
Is meaner in the sight of God
Than is his humbie scullion

See youder purse-proud, heartiess dame,
Trimmed up with costly laces,

Who treats the honest poor with scorn,
The rich with airs and graces—

Issheisalady? Save the marki
Reflect and you’! discover

That in ali qualities of soul
Her maid will rank above her.

Disease claims power o’er the king
Asorer his lowly brother,

And Death will lay his icy hand
On one as on the other.

And “tis not birth, nor wealth, nor pom,
‘That claims our admiration,

But true nobility of soul
Whate'’er may be man’s station.

Pile rich clothes on a statue fair,
Until it blaze with spiendor,
You cannot any warmth, or heat,
Or motion thus engender.
So ali the money in the worid,
Though reckoned over double,
Gould not, in any Ronest mind,
A stony heart ennobic.

No, he or she who m this life
Bears good will to a neighbor,
Whether possessed of fortune large
@r doomed by Fate to iaber—
Who watches at the couch of pain,
Gr soothes another’s trouble
With svweet, unselfish sympathy,
Such—only such—are noble.

 

’ Show mie the man that has a heart

To feei the worid’s distresses,

Whose nature is all charity—
Whose life is one that blesses.

And Til show you a nobleman—
Whateer his rank or station—

Before whom even kings must bow
in silent admiration.

 §SDILVER-SWORD;
e ORs
THE BEAST-TAMER OF SEGNA.
By Prof Wim. HB. Peck,

Author of “WILD REDBUEN,” “FIP TEEN
THOUSAND POUNDS REWARD,” ctc.

 

 

 

{"Sitver-Sword’’ was commenced in No. lt. Back numborg
can bs obtained of any News Agenit.}

CHAPTER V.
THE SISTER OF THE BEAST-TAMER,

That wailing, piercing cry of the leopard was of

course: heard in the costly silken tent which
sheltered Orbetia, the imperious chief-wife of the
absent Saraceno; and I ask the reader’s attention
as Ispeak of the sister of the beast-tamer as she
Re this time.

Ucbetia was @ tall and well formed woman nearly
thirty years of age, being buta few io younger
than her brother Ercole. So far as her figure was
regarded the critic could find but little to call in-
ferior, except that it was much too masculine in ail
its proportions; in brief, exceedingly like that of
her mother, or that of her brother.

_ Nothing of feminine grace, but much of mascu-
line strength characterized her tall and squarely
built form. Her hands, feet, and joints were large,

though her hands like her complexion were of rare

fairness.

Her features were far from being handsome,
though she posse a@ faultless compiexion
when.not in @ passion, and her eyes would have
been called beautiful but for their hard, cruel, and
selfish keenness. They were. jet black and very
brilliant, liké those of her brother, and in remark-
able contrast to her light red eyebrows, light red
hair and sunny complexion.

Though her face was not homely, and possessed
a Kind of beauty, her features were coarse and na-
turally stern. They were far more like those of her
mother than of her brother. Unlike his forehead
hers was ‘high, and less brutal in its expression.
There was an oon upon it which spoke of
imperious will and stern ambition ; the ambition to
suagawes savage men, and not over savage

She was not afraid of the former; but she shrank
from that terrible pastime which was the chief de-
7 ofher brother. _

{ her heart was capable of the tender sentiments
of the passion of love, it was not known in Segna.
Certainly she did not fove Saraceno. She had mar-
ried him only to be chief among the women of Seg-
na, to gain power, to be able to tower above al! in
the absence of her husband. She loved pomp, and
state, and adulation. Had Saraceno been pliant to
her imperious will, her arrogant desire _to preside
equally with him, in the councils and affairs of the
pirate-dukedom, probably she never would have
conspired against him. j

But of late, and perhaps since the day when he
proclaimed her his duchess, Saraceno had regard-
ed her in his heart as a wife who had been forced
upon him. Because of his oath to Ercole del Zoc-
colo he had not only wedded Orbetta but had, b
her demand, repudiated or sent from her palace all
his other wives.

Saraceno had done this because upon no other
terms would the Zoccoli throw the weight of their
influence in his favor. A year had elapsed since
then, and during all this time the pirate-duke had
eagerly though secretely sought for some safe
means by which he could crush that power wielded
at Segna and among the pirates by the Zoccoli—a
power perhaps equal to his own despite the advan-
tages he possessed in being their duke and admiral;
for Ercole was popular among the fighting men of
Segna, and, when the mood to sail seized him, al-
ways a successful commander.

On the day when L introduced Orbetta to the rea-
der she was clad in her robes of state, for in every-
thing she affected the garb and ceremonial of
thoss great ladies, duchesses and princesses, of
whom she had heard.

Ambition for show, state, pomp and authorit
had been her chief passion from her childhoo
even as a love of beast-taming had been the chief
passion of her brother.

The same booming of cannon that had aroused
all Segna had deceived Orbetta into the belief that
the galleys of Saraceno would be at anchor in the
harbor before midday.

Therefore with that train or retinue of attend-
ants, which she had affected since her elevation to
the pirate ducai-throne, and mounted upon asnow-
white palfrey she had issued fromthe main gate of
the rampart wall, and proceeded to this superb and
splendidly-decorated tent, which had been prepared
for her by the steward of the palace.

Her tent, or pavilion, was: as sumptuously fur-
nished within as it was magnificently decorated
without. Since becoming Duchess of Segna she
had used with a grasping and eager hand the spoils
which the more avaricious and hoarding Saraceno
had heaped up in the treasury-rooms of the pirate-
ducal palace. i

_The pavilion was of silk and cloth of gold; the
silk of rich crimson, trimmed and adorned with
figures and designs cut from the most costly vel-
vets and the rarest linens. The tent-poles were of
polished or gilded wood, and the spoils of many a
successful pirate raid and opr aided to make
it an object of conspicuous and glittering splendor
upon the great plateau.

A score of magnificently-clad Africans, each man
carrying a naked cimeter, paced in slow and differ-
ent circles around the tent after Orbetta had en-
tered it with her six waiting-women—for, like her
brother and her mother, most of her household and
attendants were black slaves, who had at various
times been captured by the pirates from the Turks.

She affected Oriental luxury, display and_profu-
sion in all her surroundings, At one end of her
pavilion was a platform of plants, many yards in
area, covered with rich Persian carpets and white
velvet, and elevated three feet above the ground,

This platform was ascended by four steps, cover-
ed with cloth of gold; the steps guarded on each
side with balusters and hand-rails of violet-wood
as well as of atlas-wood white as snow, ebony-wood
black as jet, zebra-wood beautiful in its showy
strips,and rare woods of many kinds all combined.

In the center of this platform, and shaded by a
gorgeous canopy of rose-colored satin, was the
mus , or state throne, of cushions of rose-color-
ed velvet, richly slashed, trimmed and embroidered.

Upon this throne of cushions Orbetta proudly re-
clined her stately though rather masculine form,
immediately after she entered the pavilion, her
mass of light red hair in rich and glittering curls
flowing down ppoe her neck and shoulders even to
her waist, and her faultlessly fair complexion in
vivid contrast to the rubescent hues of the cushions
and canopy.

 

each dog hath his day, and
that this dog

 

sar Tso

Her robe was of crimson silk, spangled with gol-
dea flowers. Her large and strong arms, white as
milk, bare to the shoulder, and loaded with brace-
jots and armiets of gold studded with jewels, and
festooned with light chains of gold of most exqui-
site workmanship. ,

Her belt or zone was of solid and chased gold,

mamed and polished, and also garnished with a
ed dagger of no small size—a weapon as for-

|midabie in her strong hands as its sheath and hilt

of pear: and gold were ornamental in her zone.

She wore wide trousers of silk, of the faintest
green tint, penconey aed looped with golden lace,
and lace of ragest linen texture. These flowing
trousers were gathered just above the ankles,
which, with her feet, were clad in white satin bus-
kins richly laced and gemmed. ;

Her crown—carried upon a crimson cushion by
an African page, and not now on her head—was
tarban-like in shape, being made of a costly and
gossamer-like shawl, of a deep purpic crimson,
and decorated in front by a large and magnificent
aigrette of jewels; and from this sparkling and
Te aigrette rose three tall white plumes of the

ich.

Her throat and much-exposed bosom, both as fair
as the snowy plumes of her turban-crown, glittered
with their barbarous wealth and display of jewels,
chains of gold, and massive ornaments of pearl and
precious work. . ;

The six female slaves and her Afric page were
clad in tunics of white and crimson silk, their arms
to the shoulder, and their legs tothe knee, naked,
and their skins as black as ebony. Each worea
snow-white turban crossed with crimson ; for white
and crimson were the colors assumed chiefly as pe-
culiarly their own by the Zoceoli; while the favor-
ite oolor of the absent Saraceno was marine-green,
to which Orbetta gave some trifling favor in the hue
of her Turkish trousers.

Beated, aia Turc, near her, was one of her slaves,
with a large tray resting upon her knees, and on
this rer were refreshments of wine and of food, of
which the would-be Zenobia of Segne partook tan-
guidly from timetotime. _ |

The moment at which I introduce Orbetta the
Magnificent—for so she delighted to be styled—was
just prior to the arrest of her brother, the beast-
tamer, and neither he, nor she, nor their mother,
had ever imagined that the despised secretary
could dare to show hands of steel in his dealings
with them. ‘

“Castra,” said the duchess—for let us give herthe
ducal title since she loved it so well, and though the
title was laughed at by the proud dames of palaces
remote from Segna—‘‘Castra,” said the duchess to
a white-bearded old African who stood within the
ctu door, or apron, armed with a naked cime-

Yr ”

approach. ; ‘ .

The St African, still vigorous and sinewy, his
kean arms and legs covered wiih a close net-work
of muscles, advanced to the foot of the four steps at
the platiorm edge, knelt and touched his forehead
to the lowest step; and then, still on his knees, lift-
ed his head and fixed his gaze upon the face of his
roistress, and shading his eyes with his hand, as
one does when gazing toward the sun, and thereby
conveying the flattery that the beauty of his mis-
tress dazzied_ his vision. :

Orbetta had received so much flattery of this kind
since she had become the wife of Saraceno, that she
now considered it her due. z

“Gastra,” she continued, “‘go forth, and see what
my brother, the noble Eroole, makes out the sail to
be—that sail which was dimly in view as we entered
this our pavilion.” : ’

Castra again touched his forehead to the lowest
step, arose, walked backward to the apron of the
tent, and was about to raise it and step forth, when
oe mistress summoned him to return, by a gos-

ure.

it was one of Orbetta’s delights to command, and
see prompt obedience follow even herslightest ges-
ture. No maiden in her teens, suddenly elevated
from low life to royalty, could have exceeded this
woman of thirty in her whimsical arrogance; nor
did any of those under her authority dare to show
the slightest contempt of her assumption of these
airs of a royaltyrant. Her resentment even of a
supposed slight, or of ang suspected refuctanse in
proffering the most servile obedience and ‘flattery
to her, was quick and merciless. :

_ The broad cimeter of old Castra had smitten off
the heads of no jess than three of her attendants
since she had become mistress of the power of life
and death over such slaves; and his vigorous hand
had administered the bastinado to ascoreof slight-
ly offending servants of her household.

“Castra,” she said, when this chief of her slaves
was again kneeling before the steps of the plat-
form, “hast heard what order of welcome the skulk-
ing Lazzaro has prepared for the coming of our
ducal spouse?”

“If a worm mayspeak in such presence and
live,” replied Castra, plucking a handful of grass
from the ground and scattering it upon his turban
as a token of his utter unworthiness to be alive in
the divine presence of his mistress, * I will state to
est highness that no proclamation of such order

ath been made; but that it is known there is to be
much feasting, as is customary, beneath the great
tent, and after that various sports and games for
the peopis—mock combats and the like; and if the
great Saraceno shall prin Oey eaptives with him,
some of the same are:to be beheaded on the death-
block by Omicida for the amusement of the people;
this pleasant pastime to follow the division of such
spoil as Res be brought by the aca tna galleys.
But Signor ro, since he received the commis-
sion of Governor of Segna from the Austrian court,
and theoffice of Castellano of Segna from the illus-
trious Saraceno, has not deigned to proclaim——”

“Ventured to jetenie you intended to say,
slave!” exclaimed Orbetta, her eyes sparkling and
her fair face suddenly crimson with rage.

“Ventured to proclaim his wishes to the people,
most gracious mistress, was in the mind of your
slave, whose tongue shall lap dirt like the oe
of a dog for incorrectness of speech in such celes-
tial presence,” said Castra, who then thrust his
huge lips into the — at the base of thesteps.

Orbetta smiled. Such slavish acts in honor of her
power always pleased her.

So she had heard the slaves and even the bords of
the great Sultan of the Infidels were wont to do in
the presenee of their royal master. ;

All of her female slaves, on seeing their mistress

smile, clapped their hands, showed their white
teeth, and exclaimed, as with one voice:

“The Sun shines! TheSunshines! Glorytothe

dengher of the Sun, herself as bright and grand!”

ich was a set form of flattery in use among the
household of Orbetta whenever she smiled.
“Peace,” she said, with a languid wave of her
hand, and the poor, helpless wretches around her
eee instantly mute, and let their eyes fall to the
ground.
“We doubt,” Orbetta continued, “if this lizard of

a Lazzaro shall venture from his fortress at the Ar-
sonal to-day, any more than he did yosworday, or
eg-

even since our ducal husband departed from
na. He hath not dared to use in any way that au-

thority of Castellano with which Saraceno clothed

him. And by my throne,” she added. with an oath,
her face again suddenly crimson with wrath, “had
Saraceno consulted with us before his departure,
this Venetian scribe and thief.should rather have
been flayed alive than been made Castellano of Seg-
na. Why did not Saraceno leave the chief com-
mand of Segna to me, or to our noble brother?
This fellow, ro, has for nearly a year held the
private _ear of Saraceno—doubtless to malign the
noble Zoccoli—mother, daughter, and son. But
dreamed three times
E ro, was to be hanged in the
presence of Saraceno. So vexed have we been
since first we heard that Lazzaro was left as Castel-
lano of Segna, that had he dared to show his fox-
face outside the Arsenal, a stiletto should have
been thrust between his ribs. Oanst imagine, Cas-
tra, how, the ugly, cowardly knave obtained the
commission of Governor of Segna from the Aus-
trian court?”

“Nay, great mistress.”

“Little over a year ago he came to Segna a miser-
able fugitive, Castra.”

“Only truth ever exhales from the beautiful lips of
the ty Orbetta!” replied Castra; bowing to the
groun

“And for a week he was the butt and jest of the
town, Castra.”

“The truth is ever on the tongue of my peerless
mistress {”’

“But after a private interview with SBaraceno he
was made secretary and master of ceremonies.
Then he slew five good swordsmen, at various
times, with his rapier, and Saraceno protected him.
And here, recently, when Saraceno sailed suddenly
without informing me of what further honor he
had conferred upon this fellow, it becomes known
by proclamation from the Arsenal-fortress that
Paolo Lazzaro is not only Governor of Segna in
place of the Austrian captain Sibeck, but also Cas-
tellano of the town!” |

At this instant, and just as Orbetta had worked
herself into a rage which caused her to smile in
derision of the absent secretary, one of the slaves
mistaking the smile for one of pleasure, clapped
her hands, and shouted:

“The Sun shines! .The Sun shines, etc.,” per-
ceiving her great mistake too late.

“Ha!” cried Orbetta, glad to be able to have so
near at hand an object upon which she could vent
some of her spite. “Is this not mockery of. our
ducal presence! Bastinado the slave, Gastra! Give
her a hundred blows well laid on- :

Great mistress,” began the luckiess wretch, as
she knelt where she stood and lifted her hands im-
ploringly.

_ Bilence! or Castra shall use the edge of his
cimeter upon a neck and not its flat upon the
soles of thy feet! Yesterday thou wert slow in pol-
ishing the sheath of my dagger, even if thou wert
not mocking me now! To it, ral” commanded
Orbetta. now as red in visage as the crimson cush-
ions of her musnud.

The hapless slave fearing the edge of the cimeter
if she delayed to obey, threw herself flat upon her
breast in the center of the sward encompassed by

 

 

the pavilion, and elevated her bare feet until the
soles were squarely mower. :

Two other female slaves quickly advanced, and
each seized an ankle of the prostrate woman with
both hands, nao her feet firmly in position to
receive Rare terrible Oriental punishment called

8 . :

The unfortunate culprit, who had doubtless ex-
rienced the of such barbarous treatment
fore, cast aside her turban, thrust her clutching
fingers into her thick, crispy, wool-like hair, grap-
pled great handfuls of it, set her teeth hard, press-
ed her forehead flercely upon the ground, and nerv-
ed her frame with contracted muscle to bear with a

continuous shrill wailing the expe agony. |

Oi Castra’s huge Sg dilated with that tigerish
delight he always had in inflicting pain.

The victim had offended him in some way the
day before; had called him ‘‘White Beard,” a name
he dete ; and now to that natural joy he always
feit in inflicting pain and even death, this old sav-
age of the African jungies, untamed in his native
ferocity by thirty years of slavery, felt added the
fiendis elights which the barbarian enjoys in
taking vengeancs upon & personal enemy.

Had he dared he would have exclaimed as he
brandished his glittering cimeter:

‘ Beet mistress, give me her head, and not her
ee 3?

But he knew that the whims of his tyrant-mis-
tress were perilous to ali who ventured to attempt
to alter them.

With all the strength of his sinewy arm, on which
was a network of muscles Ife great and small
cords combined in tangled masses, he struck the
flat of his broad, thin, and elastic cimeter upon the
upturned soles.

he. victim screamed, shuddered, and a thrill of
terrible agony made her prostrate frame quiver
from neck to heel, the helpless and smitten feet vi-
brating with a rapid, tremulous, jelly-like shiver-
ing fearful to look Weep:

ot fearful to old Castra, whose huge ine parted
ina malignant grin of sxuitant hate, as he flour-
ished: his stinging blade for a second blow; nor
fearful to Orbetta, who calmly quaffed a goblet of
rose-colored sherbert the while; and apparently
not fearful to the other slaves, too cunning to do
more than to force grins of approval upon their
inky visages, which, despite their forced signs of
approval, wore a dusky pallor.

he second blow fell, and when the cimeter rose
from this blow a red stream hed upward, for
the keen edge had slightly cut the skin, despite the
skill with which Castra managed the flat of the

weapon. :
“Good ! Beat them raw!” said Orbetta, setting
aside her emptied goblet.

But ere the third blow fell the apron of the pa-
vilion was thrust aside, and the African guards of
Orbetta—the armed escort which had accompanied
her from the ducal palace to thé pavilion—rushed
in in great disorder, their eyes dilated in wonder
and alarm, their hands unarmed with those showy
cimeters which they had carried so grandly a few
minutes before, and their mouths full of muttered
exclamations of surprise and dismay.

Hal” cried Orbetta, pale as death for a single in-
stant, and as suddenly red again, as she sprang to
her feet,and drawing her dagger. “‘What now,
slaves ?”

‘The Austrian guards haye disarmed us, and
driven us into the pavilion with their spears, great
mistress!” replied one, as he.and his score of 6om-
rades huddied together near the spot at which they
had rushed in. ~ :

he wailing -and screaming of Castra’s victim
had filled the pavilion with a noise that drowned
that made outside of the tent by the disarming of
Orbetta’s guards.

ore Orbetta could ask a second. question the
apron of the pavilion was again thrust aside and a
tail Austrian soldier entered, spear in hand, and
halted just after entering.

i tad his stern blue eyes upon Orbetta, he said,
coldly:
~ “By order of Signor Paolo Lazzaro, who has just
arrested Captain Ercole Zoccolo at the death-biock,
no one within this pavilion shall quit it without
Signor Lazzaro’s written permission.” —

hese words were uttered in the pavilion just af-
ter ‘o had effected the arrest of the beast-ta-
mer, and while the daring secretary was beginning
his descent of the plateau slope toward the beach.

Immodiately after the arrest of the beast-tamer,
& Coen. of the arsenal guards, moving with
great quickness had swept*in a circle around the
pavilion of Orbetta, and disarming the surprised

ricans in a trice, drove them peil-mell into the
tent, as I stated above.

Flashing his eyes upon Castra, who. steod near
the prostrate woman glaring in amaze, the Austrian
added to his just quoted words: bot

‘By whose command, African, are you punishing
that woman ?”

“By the command of thaddthsitof Segna!” re-
plied Castra, after glancing/at his mistress, whose
mingled emotions of wone@r and’ wrath made her
speschiess for the moment

“is the punishment confglete?” demanded the
Austrian.

_“By my beard, no!” replied Castra. “The noble
duchess commanded a hundred blows to be given
and If have given but two——”

‘i 6 punishment. The so-called Duchess of
Segna no longer has authority in this pavilion or
elsewhere in Segna. I,as the officer of Lazzaro,
Governor and Castellano of Segna, now command
here!” replied the officer, and catling to some not
then within the pavilion. ;

Four Austrians entered the pavilion instantly at
the call of Conrad—which was the name of this Ar-
senai officer. i

The four who entered carried each along stout

whip made of dried and twisted bulls’ hides.
_ It was plain that these men had come prepared to
inflict a terrific scourging upon some one, and
in the presence of the amazed duchess, if not upon
Orbetta herself.

 

CHAPTER VI.
ORBETTA’S PAVILION.

Orbetta, till now thunderstruck as it were, here
advanced haughtily to the edge of her platform and
cried out: sity

“Give way, hirelings of the Kaiser! Who dares
prevent Orbetta: of Segna from free acéess to the
people of the Uscoechil” a

“Who dares ?” repeated the Austrian sternly, as
he advanced his long lance threateningly toward
her throat. “Idare! Back to your cushions there
under your gay canopy! You are under arrest.”

“Il? exclaimed. Orbetta, recoiling in renewed
amazement.

*“You—you who call yourself Duchess of Segna.”

“By whose command! Who has dared to thus in-
sult the w__. of Saraceno—the sister of Ercole del
Zoccoio!”

“Lazzaro—who has your
pinned upon the death-block.” |

Appalied by these words, which she understood
to mean that her brother was dead, and that his
corpse was upon the death-block, spiked down
upon it as the corpses of proved or even oe
traitors were ofteu exposed to the execrations of
the Uscocchi, Orbetta staggered back to her cush-
sane andsank down upon them, half stunned by

smay.

Had the despised Lazzaro detected the Zoccoli
conspiracy ? id Saraceno discover it before he
sailed, and had he left orders with Lazzaro to de-
stroy the Zoccoli on a certain day, and the certain
day to be that upon which it should become known
to Lazzaro either that Saraceno had escaped or been
captured by the Venetian fleet—the fleet sent to de-
stroy Saraceno because of the secret information
sent to Venice by the Zoccoli?

These doubts flashed through Orbetta’s mind, as
she staggered back and half-sat, half sank upon
her gorgeous musnud. ;

Had Saraceno plotted with the Austrian garrison,
and therefore made Lazzaro his instrument of de-
struction? How hadthe arrest and death of Ercole
been effected !

“All has come as suddenly upon me.” thought
Orbetta, “as an unexpected dagger-thrust, and for
Diy present I can do no more than gasp!”

“Cast. aside your cimeter!” said the officer Con-

to Castra, whose weapon was still drawn.
f my mistress so commands,” replied Castra,
with sullen ae for he longed to continue the
punishment he had but begun, and moreover he
liked not at alli the significant glances of the five
Austrians, —

“Disarm -the black hound, and flog him till he
swoons,” said Conrad. “Rascal! disguised as a
wood-seller you have twice enteredthe Arsenal-
fortress. By the order of Governor Lazzaro you
are to be furiously flogged. Cast aside your weap-
on and yield to your fate.”

The African’s white and erispy beard seemed to
uncoil and bristle as he brandished his glittering
blade above his turban, while his other hand drew
a formidable-looking creese or serpent-shaped
dagger from the folds of the sash about his waist.

“Austrian,” he said, in a low, fierce tone, ‘“forone
year I have been the captive of the Uscocchi, and
captain of the African body-guards of the wife of
Saraceno. For more than twenty years before fate
made metheslave of the Uscocchi, I was chief of
the African palace guards of the great Sultans of
Tunis, and before that Iwas the ‘king of ten thou-
sand black warriors of Numidia. I was not born to
be flogged.” j

Had all the Africans of Orbetta been as brave as
this eruel-hea and strong old black lion of the

, Ercole del Zoccolo

rad

Numidian deserts, the Arsenal guards would not | 1

80 readily have penetrated to her presence. But
old Castra was one in ten thousand. He was born
a king of a race of black warriors, and as their
king he had lived to his thirtieth. year. Then he
had fallen into the hands of a Sultan of Tunis, who
had spared his life, and’ given him the high office
of chief of the African palace guards; and about a
year prior to the date of this story he had been cap-
tured at sea by Saraceno, who, then just made Duke
of Seena, had presented him to Orbetta, and she
had made him captain of her household guards,

 

This old man, white-bearded and sixty years old,
but vigorous as a lion, active as a panther, cruel as
a wolf, and tough as the iron-wood of his native
forests, secretly adored the haughty and red-haired
Orbetta. It was the delight of his life to serve her,
to dream of her, for in
beautiful woman in alithe world. It was a joy to
him to please her with those arts and juggieries of
Oriental flattery he had learned: when a slave of
the Sultan of Tunis. He was her master of cere-
monies, the planner of all those pompous forms
and services with which she loved to be sur-
rounded,

He had never permitted her nor any one to sus-

t that she was in his secret soul his adored god-
ess. He knew that were the haughty woman to
suspect that his quick and graceful service to her
whims arose from love and not from servile fear,
she would laugh scornfully and eer and
command him to be hanged or strangl like a
ound.

But still he adored her, ;

To be flogged, bastinadoed in her presence would
be worse to him than to die a thousand deaths com-
bined in one.

‘Black hound, dare you flourish your blade and
creese in my face!” exclaimed Conrad, thrusting
his long lance at the African’s throat. “Die then,
por you resist,for 50 commands Signor Laz-
zaro |”

The African evaded the first thrust by sinkin
sncdenty upon one knee; the second by an upwar
stroke of his creese; the third by a sweep of his
scimeter.

At this moment the dismal shriek of the leopard
rose on the air, reaching keenly the ears of all in
the pavilion.

“Hal” thought Orbetta, half-springing from her
cushions. “Ercoleis not dead. Only Ercole can
make Selim utter that cry. "Twas to be the signal-
ery for hurling the lions upon Saraceno and his
three captains of the great galleys. But Ercole, if
not dead, must at this instant be menaced by some

reat peril, or he would not give the signal for the

reeing of the lions.”

Even while these thoughts rushed through her
mind, she sprang to that edge of the platform which
touched the silken walls of her pavilion, and witha
single circular slash of her large dagger, cut a great
hole through the silk and linen.

_By this action she made in an instant, and with a
single adroit stroke, a kind of window, whence her
vision commanded a view of the death-biock, and
also, in another direction, a view of the apron of
oo ee in which were the beasts of her

rother.

The soidiers of Conrad outside of the pavilion
unaware of what was going on in the pavilion, an
unaware of the meaning of the leopard’s shrill and
hideous scream, imagined Orbetta was about to at-
tempt to escape; therefore three of them instantly
dropped the meee poms of their long lances toward
the hole just made, and exclaimed, as with one

vaice:. -

“We are to slay youif you attempt to leave the
pavilion. Back!” and the three points of the lances
advanced even into the pavilion through the hole.

Butthesweep of Orbetta’s razor-edged dagger,
going upward to the left, and around above to the
right, and then curying downward and outward to
where the blade had first entered, had sliced out a
great circular sheet of the silken wall, three or four
feet in diameter, and as the severed portion fell
outward, a fair range and scope of vision remained
open to Orbetta, even aiter she had recoiled a pace
from the threatening spears. ;

And at this moment the roars of the beasts in the
cireus-tent were replying to the still sounding
sereech and scream of the leopard.

Orbetia, nearly as keen-eyed as her brother, per-
ceived his massive head and towering plume of
many Colors encircled by the up-slanted spears of
those who held him under arrest.

“Ab!” she thought; ‘‘he is not slain; but he re-
cognizes imminent peril, and so gives the signal to
free the lions. But where is Lazzaro?”

The reader is aware that at this moment the sec-
reruns was descending the plateau slope toward the

each.

And at this same moment, also, Conrad, to whom
the scream of the leopard and the roars of the
beasts signified nothing, made a fourth and most
desperate charge with his lance upon the African
thrusting at the negro’s: head, throat, breast, an
stomach, with fierce and skilled rapidity.

“ZL will spit thee like anortolan, thou black and
accursed mummy of Egypt!” exclaimed Conrad, en-
raged by the skill with which the scimeter and
ereese of the African parried his practiced thrusts.

Agile as a-monkey,. vigilant as a mastiff, and
strong in grip and wrist as a gorilla, the African
evaded by leaps to the right, to the left, and back-
ward, and with exquisite fencing, the furious and
skillful attacks of the Austrian, who disdained to
cali for help to slay so despised an antagonist.

+The head of thy lance!. And now thy own, ac-
cursed giaour!” cried Castra, as his cimeter shear-
ed off the head of the Austrian’s spear, despite the
brazen bands and knobs with which the stout ashen
shaft was protected; and,as he spoke, he. leaped
toward Conrad with the swiftness of a cheetah.

But Conrad, the Austrian, was a veteran of many
rough’ campaigns, and as familiar with terrible
hand-to-hand combats as with the hilt of his sword.
Brief as this combat had been he had instantly dis-
covered thatthe African was one of those formidable
experts with the Saracen cimeter whose prowess
had. often threatened to overcome the steel-clad
warriors of Christendom. Conrad knew that the
African would not spring at him until the lance-
head should be smitten off, and that his forward
bound would instantly follow the achievement of
that feat.

Therefore the heavy and shortened shaft of the
lance fell like a battle-mace squarely upon the tur-
baned head of the African, as he sprang forward
with gleaming eyes and cimeter. poised, to smite
off, at a single blow, the head of the Austrian.

he African fell stunned,

“Flog the rascal to iife, since he liked. not to be
fi ged to death,” said Conrad, with a grim smile,
to his four comrades, who, whip in hand, had gazed

on eagerly during the fierce though brief combat.

The four bounded forward, and instantly a storm
of terrific scourging from four separate quarters
hailed down upon legs, arms, and body of the pros-
trate African. ‘

The slave-woman, who had just suffered from his
barbarity and that of the woman he loved, grinned
joyously as she reclined on the grass under the
platform. ; eerie,

She, at least, had good right to rejoice in the pun-
ishment of Castra.

At this instant Orbetta, whose eyes had been fixed
expectantly toward the circus-tent, clapped her
hands and exclaimed:

“Ha! ‘The lions of Ercole are loose!”

That appalling and universal shrieking, scream-
ing, and screeching of the populace—of: which I
have spoken, and which pealed from beach. to
mountain as. the poo saw the leaping, roaring
beasts rushing from .the tent of Ercole—now were
a even as Orbetta clapped her hands and
eried:

“The lions of Ercole are loose!” |

The four heavy scourges of twisted bull’s-hide
were hissing and slashing, drawing blood from the
prostrate Castra at every stroke, and for a few sec-
onds the strong men, who struck with all their
strength, did not heed the screaming and yelling
of the terrified people.

[TO BE CONTINUED. ]

ed

THE DOG DETECTIVE
AND HIS YOUNG MASTER.

By Lieutenant Murray.

 

 

[The Dog Detective” was commenced in No. 16. Back Nos,
can be obtained of any News Agent.]

 

CHAPTER XXTI.
THE SIOK CHAMBER.

Minnie Worthington was very patient, very un-
complaining, but she gradually became _so ill that
at last she was confined to her room, and soon after
to her bed. It was then that the parents became
frightened; her pale cheeks and gently fading
strength touched them to the very heart.

Again the family physician came.

The good man was puzzled. He could find no
organic disease, yet he saw only too clearly that
Minnie was much worse than when he had seen her
a couple of weeks since. Her complexion, former-
ly so blooming and lovely, began to present that
awful transparency of skin, which develops the
blue veins, and is so often the presage of consump-
tion.

The doctor called her mother into an adjoining
room, and said, earnestly: ‘ BE Ok

“Mrs, Worthington, your daughter is quite ill,
and I confess that Iam puzzled to assign any cause
for it. I can discover no oe of disease,

“Do you think her so very ill?” ‘

“TJ do think her seriously threatened with con-
sumption,” said the doctor.

Mrs. Worthington trembled and turned pale at
these ominous words.

“Can you not advise us what to do?” she asked at

ast. ’
“Yes,” said the professional man, looking the
mother‘full in the face. “Give me light!”

“What do you mean,.doctor?” :

“T mean, Mrs. Worthington, that if Iam to treat
the gentle invalid in the next room with any ho
of success, I must know what it is that has brought
her to:'this condition.”

“How can I say?”

“You must know. You who are her mother.
ree is suffering from some mental trouble, .I
suspect.”

is eyes she was the most | t

 

 

“Do you really think that could make her so ill,
r

or?
“Tt seems that it has done so, whatever it is,” was
the reply.
Please to sit down, doctor,” said Mrs. Worthing-

on.
Then the mother told him of the disappointment
of Minnie relating to young Merrill. e doctor
demanded to know all about their < intance;
how it first took place, where and when, to all ot
which the mother returned fulland clear answers
a Fag rg re a os
8 this Morton Merrill a wo young man?
asked the doctor. tte
_watirely so.”
“Your objection to their intimacy then is founded
on, his circumstances of birth and fortune?”
“Why, yes, doctor,” said the mother, hesitatingly.
The professional man mused for a few moments.
in silence before he spoke again. It was a peculiar
c He had really nothing to do with the matter
in question, except so far as it affected the health
of his patient. Buthe thought that his duty was
plain enough, and so he spoke plainly.
tines 3 wish to lose your daughter, Mrs. Worth-
n 2?
“How can you ask such a question, doctor?” said
the mother, with tears in her eyes. .
In other words then, can you weigh a matter of
ped: and of money in the balance against her
ife?
wit it so serious as that?”
is.”
“Let me think of this, doctor.”
“Very well.”
;, You will call to-morrow?”
‘ii you wish.” :
“Certainly. In the meantime can we not give
#innie some prescription that will be of advan-
28 er?”
{ cannot minister professionally to a mind dis-
eased,” he Replies?
And so he departed.
Mrs. Worthington knew that the doctor had
spekon without prejudice. He did not even know
dorton by sight, and she felt that Minnie’s condi-
tion did not permit of delay in its treatment. She

had not been blind to the cause of her chikd’s health,
but she had ho against hope that she would by-
ney forget Morton, and gradually become her-
Be

n.

When the doctor had closed the door after him:
Mrs. Worthington sought Minnie’s bedside, an
kissing her tenderly, asked:

‘What can I do for you, dear?”

‘Nothing, mother.”

‘Can’t I send for some one?”

Send for some one?” repeated Minnie, looking
at her mother, and repeating her words,

., 188, dear.”

“What do you mean, mother?”

““Wouldn’t you like to see Brindle?”

Brindle! dear, good Brindle! Yes, indeed.” an-
swered the invalid, as fresh color leaped into her
pale eheek.

I will ask your father to see about the dog.”

Thank you, mamma.”

When her husband came home from the store
that day, Mrs. Worthington told him what the phy-
sician had said,and her own convictions as well.
She also told the merchant that she had asked Min-
nie if she would like to see Brindle, and that the ef-
fect had been like magic upon her. Husband and
wife talked the matter over between them, and it
was resolved to bring about a meeting between
Minnie and Morton in the most delicate manner
possible, without committing themselves to any fu-
ture ee s ;

Morton Merrill was therefore surprised by a call
at the office where he was studying law from Mr.
Worthington, who told him that his daughter had
been quite ill, but was now convalescent, and that
she had expressed a wish to see Brindle. :

“T hope she ‘s much better, sir,” said Morton with

‘6

iety.

es,” replied the merchant. “I think you had
better go with the dog. Morton,” he added, ‘for no
one else can manage him so well as you can.”

“Thank you. sir. I shall be only too happy to
serve Miss Worthington in any possible way.’

Morton’s heart beat very rapidly. He hardl
knew how to interpret this change of affairs. It
was only so lately that he had been told he must not
visit the house at all. He did not stop, however, to
think long about the invitation, but was soon at the
Worthington’s, accompanied by Brindle.

The dog seemed instantly to partace of his mas-
ter’s cheerful spirits, and was full of new life and
vivacity.

They were expected, and were shown at once up
to Minnie’s chamber, where the invalid, propped
up by pillows, was sitting in a large arm-chair near
the window, through which streamed the forenoon
sun. Mrs. Worthington greeted Morton very king
ly as he entered.. Morton found it impossible to
suppress a tear as he took Minnie’s hand and look-
ed into her faded, invalid face; but he rallied in-
stantly, and said: :

“Your father told me, Miss Worthington, that yow
had expressed a wish to see Brindle, and that I had
better bring our mutual friend pores

Mrs. Worthington was delighted that Morton’s
tact had thus saved her from all necessity for ex-

lanation, and a moment or two after actualky left

er daughter alone with Morton, to the no little
surprise of both,

In the meantime Brindle had been licking the
hand which Minnie had let drop by her side, while
his big eyes seemed to say how sorry he felt that
she had beenill. Except for Morton, the dog had
never shown such attachment to any human being
as he evinced for Minnie, :

“Good fellow,” said the invalid, patting the dog’s
head kindly.

Morton could draw but one deduction from Mrs,
Worthington’s conduct in leaving them thus alone,
Certainly it was equivalent to removing from him
the restraint which had not long since been im-

osed. Was it to place him upon his honor? Ah?
it might be. He was puzzled. His heart beat as
though it would leap out of his breast. He longed
to take that little white hand which Brindle had
been lapping.

_He talked gently with the invalid about various
light on after inquiring carefully about her-
self. Butit was useless. Both knew that they were
ne their true sentiments toward each other,
Finally their eyes met and spoke what their tongues
would not have dared to utter ye before.

Morton was impelled beyond any power he could
offer to resist, and came to her side dropping upon
one knee. He took the little white hand gently,
tenderly, and pressed it to his heart so naturally
that Minnie was not even startled by the act, but
let her head drop on his shoulder with just a tiny
blush suffusing her pale, sweet countenance,

“Oh! Minnie!” whispered Morton.

“Dear, dear Morton!’ responded the invalid.

Then Morton Merrill, for the first time, pressed
his lips upon her forehead, and Minnie nestled
close upon his broad, manly bosom! :

‘Do you really love me, Minnie ?” he asked, in an
ecstasy of tenderness,

She did not_ answer by words, but held up her
lips to him! For one moment he pressed her in his
arms, and then drawing back to_his seat both had
composed themselves as Mrs. Worthington reen-
tered the apartment.

Oh! those tell-tale blushes!

T mothe cquid interpret the meaning only too
readily, but t 10708 at seeing a lightin her oman:
ter’s eyes, which had so long been absent, for the
time at least, caused her to forget all disappoint-
ment on her own part. : 3

Brindle had taken his master’s place beside Mjn-
nie, and sat upon his haunches looking up into her
face with his big, expressive eyes full of earnest
love for the gentle invalid.

Morton, ever thoughtful, rose to go.

Mrs. Worthington invited him to bring Brindle to
see her daughter again!

It was quite a general remark, but Morton felt
that from her it was significant, and said that it
would give him great pleasure todoso.

That afternoon Minnie received a beautiful clus-
ter of blue violets, bound up in a nestof fragrant
tube-roses. There was no card, no word came with
the sweet little messengers, but, ah! they spoke
volumes to the now happy inyalid. She secret!
pressed them again and again to her lips, anc
scarcely took her eyes from them for hours, untib
she fellinto asoft, refreshing slumber accompanied
by delightful dreams. Dae { :

The doctor did not come until the following day.
When his eyes rested upon his patient he opened
them alittle farther than usual, shrugged his shoul-
ders with a peculiar smile,said a few pleasant
words to Minnie, assuring her that he was glad to
gee her improving, and told Mrs. Worthington, as
he passed out with her into another room: ‘

“You have found the panacea for your daughter's
iliness, my dear madame.”

“So it seems, doctor.” ge

“You will not require me at present, [ think,” and
go the wise old family friend departed, smiling.

Morton was no less happy than Minnie, A new
life opened to him at once. His old ambition came
back; he would study hard and excel in his. profes-
sion. .'These were the thoughts which filled his
busy brain. He only feared that such happiness,
such good fortune could hardly falito his sh *re; he
feared lest it should not last, and asked \umseif
again and again if it were possible.

n the excess of his happiness he petted and
talked to Brindle, who, as he invariably did on such
occasions, seated himself upon his haunches and
looked steadily into his master’s face, canting his
head first on this side and then on that, as though
trying to understand every word that was. uttered
to him, and then in respouse he would lay his heavy
jaws on his master’s knee. 4 _

Morton was inclined to be very reticent, but in the
excess of his happiness he felt that he must open
his heart to some one, and so he confided in his
good friend, Mr. Cooper, who told him that he had
suspected the truth of this matter all along, but that
he thought it was not becoming in him to be the

 

 

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CHAPTER XXIL
THE INSTINOT OF A DOG,

Minnie’s recovery from her lateserious illness was
30 rapid as to seem like magic, The weight was
taken from. her heazt, the color camesback to her
face, and her exquisite form gradually assumed
the rounded outlines) which had so charmed the
ye ae sensitive nature had yielded to dis-

  

appoint t. ’ ;
thing had been said to Austin Gray by way of

@xplanation, and though he knew nothing:certain-
éy, yet he suspected that some seeret change had
#aken place. Morton Merrill no longer avoided the
house, but came tliere occasionally at the same
ime that young Gray was in the house. Tes ot

' Phere was no outward change except that Minnio
was now very happy and very well in health. Mors
tondid not venture to make any. advances, . Indeed
fe had been absolutely betrayed into doing swhat
‘Se did in Minnie’s sick chamber, beside: which her
mother never left them alone now... Having no
further anxiety relative to Minnie’s immediate
Sealth, she could not make up her mind to openly
countenance Morton Merrill as her child’s destined
fusband. Her pride revolted at the idea.

So matters were in rather an anomalous eondi-
tion at the Worthington’s just at this time: |

4 could not long continue thus. Austin Gray
must soon call for an explanation, Mrs. Worthing-

‘fon yery well knew, and it came sooner éven than
she had anticipated. It was through his father that
Austin approached the parents .of Minnie. Mr.
and Mrs. Moutdneton eould ‘hardly defend their
position, and only:said that they had made no
#romises to either Morton or Minnic. ;

The truth was that they did. not in their hearts
wish to break off the understanding as itregarded
young Gray, and.they still hoped against hope that

Something would. occur, to settle matters in, his

avor.

#inally, Mr. Worthington told Austin’s father to let
ihe matter rest’ for awhile. His son should have
every advantage afforded him to win Minnie’s af-
fections, and if he sueceeded it would be entiraly in
vaccordance with the. wishes of both himself and
Mrs. Worthington. This was all he could do in the
matter, and as Austin’s affections seomed so much
engaged with the beautiful girl, this proposition
Was necessarily accepted. ;

“4 Bona that Morton Merrill would be my
rival with Minnie, as he was my Class rival in col-
fege;”.said Austin Gray, ‘ ;

pathis remark was. uttered to his mother, who tried
#9 console her favorite son.

“That is not the worst of it; either,” continued
Austin, “Morton himself is no ¢réat rival, I am as
good-looking a fellow as.he.is, and haye no. end, of
Social adyantages,.above him, saying nothing of
pecuniary considerations, but, hang it,, mother,
that dog Brindle is us much nry rival as his master
is. : ;
“How queerky you.talk, Austin.”

*“Atis adact.”’,
wate Goat

“You.talk.as though you were losing your wits.”

“Why I tell you that Morton is nothing without
this dog. You remember that ho once sayed Minnie
Worthington in the Public Garden from being. ear-
wied off by the;shelp, of that dog, and in the haif-

diozen scrapes in which he has been made sucha
ero it has been more than half through..Brindle

  

‘that he has gained his reput
member the rebbery at her fath
‘very well indeed.” : i
| Why the dog killed onc of the burglars there.”

i “Yes, Lreamember.. That was terrible,”

“But it all went to win Minnie’s heart; and to
make Morton Merrill a hero in her eves,”

“What youjsay, Austin, is no doubt true,”

“I know it is, and I wish somebody would poison
that dog, Ido, sincerely.” ;

“Oh, Austin, how ungenoerous to feel so.”

“Lean’t help it. .Why, mother, he brings. Brindle
with him every time hé Comes to the Worthingtons,
and into.the parlors too, as though. he weré.adis-
tinguished guest: ‘The dog won’t goto people gen-
sraily, but. he goes straight to Minnie’s sido, and is
petted, befare he willgo and lic down ina corner
Dy himsel{.”?

“Why, Austin, you are not
» “Well, no; I'didn’t say that.
\ Gut it amounts to the samo thing. Come, come,

you will win Minnie yet,” said his mother.

“Tt don’t. look like it.”

" Austin Gray wernt moodily to hisown room to
‘think.over his disappointment: His mother did

not think that he was quite in earnest as.to the ref-

‘erence to Brindle, but he was, in fact;and he now
commenced to think if there .was not somb’way to
have the dog made to secretly disappear.

he fact was that Austin Gray was’ not An over-
scrupulous person,and there was ataint of bad
blood in his veins that sometimes incited him to
‘real evil.

Be had become thoroughly aroused with regard
to his prospects with Minnie Worthington. He
really believed that he loved her, but it was that
selfish sort of affection which is only keen in the
pursuit, and which once in possession, fades.
“There was this difference between his affection and
that.of Morton: The latter would have made any
sacrifice for Minnie’s happiness, even to resigning
‘all claim to her hand, if that were required, while
the former was thinking solely of his own gratifi-

c@ation.

Austin Gray found Mrs. Worthington his best
THC: ‘He opened his heart, as he told her, frankly
(So her, and quietly managed to refer tothe plebeian
origin of Morton, and the fact of his coming to town
a beggar. in which condition he might have re-
‘mained, but-for Mr. Worthington’s generosity.

fhese ideashe was. constantly imparting to Mrs:

Worthington in an insidious manner, and they had

their effect,

» Morton saw Minnie’s mother again growing cold
‘toward him, afd, ot course, knew the cause, though
ae oe not know how much pains young Gray took
“$0 malign him. He had no defense to offer for his

position, he would strive to make the best of it by

devotion to his profession. He would never weary,
he said to himself, in his endeavors to become en-

tirely worthy of the love of that sweet and innocent
girl,

He was compelled to exercise strict economy in
orderto make his limited means suffice for his
support, and for the necessary expenses attendant
upon his course of law studies. He had still some
money left, and seeking Mr. Cooper, he asked him

-ifthere was any opportunity whereby he might
venture a portion of it withareasonable hope of

‘profitable return, as they had done before.

_ But such chances had suddenly become rare. Tho

times'did not warrant any ventures by shipments

*%e foreign ports. -

“You see, now, Morton, that you went too far in
your secret aid to Mr. Worthington,” said Cooper.

‘You simply robbed yourself.”

i do not regret it,” was the reply; “and I should
éertainly do the samething again if fwere able, un-
der similar circumstances.”

Morton began to feel anxious about his pecuniary
situation. Hecould not hope to earn anything
from his profession for a considerable time yet.
This anxiety,in connection with long hours of

- study borrowed from the night, began to tell upon
ais naturally strong constitution, and he grew pale
sand>thin. ‘

Too proud to even tell Mr. Cooper of the fact that
his last dollar was gone, he strove, by acting as a
covyist among his brothers of the legal profession,

‘$o-earn atfew dollars.
sie Knew how to economize, nono better, and he
at oncesbrought down his expenses to the mini-
mum. He sat up late copying legal documents, and

‘wasithus enabled to keep up_an entirely respecta-
ole. appearance, but his food was of'the plainest
and cheapest, and he took asmall attic room ata
mere nominal cost, By these means he honorably
paid his bills, but he was overtasking himself.

‘Minnie watched his pale face and asked him if he
‘was well. He did not come yery often ‘to the
Worthingtons, or stop long when he did come.

Rime was very precious just now. But he com-

‘plained to no one,stoutly fighting his way against
ailimpediments.. Onee more he was compelled to
Pouat over his pennies, and to part with them eau-
tiously.

“Well,” said he, patting Brindle on the head as he
brought home to him some fresh scrap meat. “We
have roughed it before, old fellow, and we ean do
0 again, until better times return.”

“Brindle looked into‘his master’s face with an ex-
pression of intelligence which almost startled Mor-

“ten, {treally seemed as though the dog perfectly
anderstood his situation.

» By and by.a morning came when Morton felt too

4ilto get up and dress himself. His head was hot,

“his oe throbbed, and his whole frame was ina
fever, e¢ had overtaxed both body and. brain.

“Fhe penalty must be paid! He had kept his own
secret as to his poverty, and when he had leased

the garret where he was he told no one, not even

Mr. Cooper. He felt alittle sensitive about his

needy circumstances.

“Now he lay there alone and thought. Ho felt that
he was threatened: with serious illness, but he knew

not what todo, He was too weak to get up. Brin-
‘die came to the side of his cot-bedstead and licked
os Jmaster s hand. “Good boy, Brindle, good

DOV t

This was the last he could remember. They were
the last words of reason that-he uttered for he knew
not how long.

He had not_been 'to the 1 : ae
nor had Mr. C aw Office for some days

, Looper seen him for a week, which was
an unusual interval to oecur without his dropping in
to say_at least ‘Good day, Cooper,’ when one after-
200n Mr. Cooper was surprised by seeing Brindle

and appearing so odd in his ef-

on. Don’t you re-
r’s store 2”

  

   

jealous ofa dog?”

:ome into the store

‘orts to attract his attention that he could not but
“understand the dog’s object. He would reach up

and iap Mr, Cooper’s hand, then turn. anderun to-

ward the door with his head turned back tosee if

he was, penne.

r. Cooper observed that: the dog looked ve

“gaunt and, thin, and a strange fear creeping over
him, he seized his hat to.see if that was what Brin-

 

  

 

die wanted of him. The dog ey uttered a
low earnest whine and w ed his tail vigorously
to paca ib was what he desired, and Mr, Cop pox
followed him out into the street. Brindle ran fast
in front of him and then returned as if to hasten
his steps and ran on once more.

This expressive pantomine on the part of the dog
was kept up until he led Mr, Cooper to a very hum-
ble old tenement in Hanover Street, where he stood
with his fore feet upon the front door, and which
Mr. Cooper opened. He followed the dog up three
flights of stairs into an attic room, the door, of
Which was half open. '

The dog hastened to the bedside and there Mr.
Cooper saw the pale and unconscious features of
Morton Merrill, while Brindle peered at him with
his big eyes and uttered the low peculiar whine of
-his species. The tears sprang. into the book-
keeper’s. eyes, for he; comprehended the whole
scene in a minute,

How long had ne lain here deserted by all except
that one faithful but dumb friend? Certainly it
must have been some days,... Water first! He bath-
ed Morton’s head, and the inyalid, though partially
unconscious, drank eagerly of the cool refreshing
liquid. He sought in vain for any information or
assistance from the people below:,, They were eaeh
the occupants of a single room, “Didn’t know the
gentleman up stairs, never saw him,” they said.

* Mr. Cooper was, however, a man of prompt ac-
tion, and in an hour’s time he had brought a trusty
physician and. a hospital nurse. He quickly. sup-
plied such articles and medicines as were desired,
and his unconscious friend was now in good hands,

Thé doctor concluded that the fever must have
run three or four days :at least... Kvidently no one
had been. near the invalid, except Brindle. How he
had managed to open the door at last, and go off
for Mr. Cooper, was apparent from: the scratching
of his nails about the heavy latch which, by some
lucky hit, he had finally lifted. The door once
open. he had rushed away to Pearl street, as we
have seen, and thus brought succor to his master’s
bedside. ; ;

He sat now on his haunches watching everything
which was done for Morton, and eyincing his silent
gratitude. by the constant wagging of his.tail, and
a continuous low whine. ?

It was some time before he would himself touch
the meat Mr. Cooper went out and bought for him,
though he ‘had not eaten for days. But finally he
hastily swallowed.a portion, and then. resumed his

| post beside the bed.

CHAPTER ‘XXIII.
THE SURPRISE,

Mr. Cooper, who had from the first proved a good
friend to Morton, now showed the disinterested
spirit of a true Samaritan, and passed all his lei-
sure hours by the invalid’s bedside. The poor at-
tie was carefully cleansed and every needed com-
fort supplied with a liberal hand. Brindle could
only be induced~-to leave the room for a.few min-
utes daily, but sat watching Morton’s sleeping form
with an expression of almost human anxiety.

_The invalid was very weak. and had been deli-
rious for several days, Indeed he had shown no
signs of reason or sanity since Mr. Cooper had dis-
covered him. The book-keeper and the doctor
were very anxious about Morton, and Mr. Worth-
ington was consulted as to whether he could sug-
gest anything proper to be dono in behalf of the
invalid. He had beeh casually informed by Mr.
Cooper of his illness at first. Nad ab

He went to see Morton and was shocked to find
him in such quartors.: Mr. Cooper had examined,
as far as ‘hoe eould, the sick man’s affairs: There
was not one'eentin his purse! and it was also dis-
covered that he had drawn the last dollar from his
savings bank aecount.. The truth was at once di-
vinéd by Mr. Cooper. His young friend had been
working too hard to procure the means of a-yery
humble subsistence, A little account-book showed
that he had:reeeived a dollar here and there for
copying legal’ documents, his only means of pre-
sent support. 5 ee Serena :

“Why, Mir. Cooper,” said ‘the’ meréhant, after he
saw how the case stood, ‘Morton Merrill- has been

almost as. poverty-stricken lately as when we first
knew him a homeless boy.”
“He has} sir.”

“Not a cent in his purse.”

‘Not one.” ,

“It is only a wonder that he has made his money
Jast.so long, I think.” : :

“He has always been e¢onomical as far as. his
own expenses are concerned.”

“FT wondered: how he got through college as he
did,” continued the merchant.

“He joined me in some: shipments of goods to
foreign ports, and we were fortunate.”

‘Oh, you were. Well, well, that explains how his
money held out so jong

"Ho is very sick, Mr. Worthington,” ?

“There can be no doubt of that,” was the reply.

“The only words I have heard him spedk sin™e
his illness was the name of your daughter.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes, sir. He has pronounced the name of Min-
nie several times.”” «

“Poor fellow!” said the merchant, “we were
speaking of him at home yesterday.” :

“Tf you will excuse me from the store this fore-
noon,” continued the book-keeper, “I think I will
remain with him. The doctor tells me that the
next few hours will form the turning point in his
fever, and will doubtless decide the case.”

“Certainly, Mr. Cooper, stay with him YW all
means, and see that he has every necessity. will
cheerfully meet the expenses myself.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Then, as the merehant left the house, Mr. Cooper's
attention was attracted. by the peculiar conduct of
the dog. Brindle walked up-and down by the bed-
side with as much regularity as a sentinel upon his
beat, now and then raising himself upon his hind
feet with his fore paws upon the bed, and looking
into his master’s face.’ Was it possible that some
subtle instinct told the dog to anticipate a change
in Morton’s condition?’ He grew more and more
restless in his behavior, uttering now and then a
low whine. ;

“Well, well, good ook said the book-keeper, as
he tried to pacify him by patting his head.

Brindle, howeyer, would only just turn his eyes
to acknowledge the caress, and then resume his
restless movements in watching his master.

Mr. Cooper then took a note from his pocket, and
read it slowly.. It was as follows:

DEAR SIR:—I know that you are a trusted and faithful friend
of Morton and my father. I must see Morton. It is not neces-
sary that my parents should be informed of my visit. Will you
please meet me at the Atheneum Gallery to-morrow at noon,
and go with me to Morton’s lodgings? I can only say that you
will be,entitled to my heartfelt thanks if you will thus oblige
me. MINNIE WORTHINGTON.

_'That is to-day at twelve o’clock. It is nearl
that time now. I will keep her secret, and will
serve her as she wishes, if it should cost me my sit-
uation at the store,’’ he said, half aloud.

The nurse had been asleep in a large easy-chair,
but as she now awakened, Mr. Cooper told her that
he was going out, but would soon: be back witha
young lady friend of her patient, and then de-
parted.

Again the nurse nodded off into sleep, as these
professionals are apt to do. Itwould seem that
they egn sleep at any moment they choose, and it is
very fortunate that they can, as they are thus ena-
bled to keep careful watch at such extraordinary
hours as is often demanded of them.

In the meantime Brindle had jumped into the
chair beside the head of the bed, and bringing his
mouth very near to Morton’s face, sat watching his
eee and now and then uttering a low, plaintive
whine.

Suddenly Morton awoke from a long and quiet
sleep, and opening his eyés, they met Brindle’s as
the low whine also saluted his ear.

The dog seemed to hold his breath for a moment
as his large eyes grew bigger.

His master recognized him!

It was the first symptom of returning reason.
With a great effort Morton raised his hand and
touched the dog’s head. The poor animal could
hardly suppress his joy within bounds, He covered
his master’s hand with kisses from_his great,
rough tongue, but did all delicately, as though con-
scious that he must be gentle with the invalid.
Then he jumped down and _ ran whining about the
room, half upsetting the sleeping nurse, who got
up.and came to Morton’s side.

he dog, absolutely trembling with delight, came
back and resumed his place in the chair, with his
face near his master’s, every now and then indulg-
ing in alow whine of congratulation, orton had
not yet spoken, but the dog knew that his master
was better, by that touch of his hand and glance of
his eye, justas much as the doctor would have
known it. eh ty

i havebeen quite sick?” said Morton in alow
voice to the nurse.

‘Yes, but are better now,” she answered; ‘and
everything is all arranged for you by your friend
Mr. Cooper.”

Ab?”

. “But you will please not to ask questions at pres-~
ent, until you have taken some nourishment.”
Very well.”
ee you feel that you can take a little beef tea?”
es

In anticipation of his awaking, this had been al-
ready prepared, and Morton partook of a few table-
epee uls with evident relish, and realized its in-

gorating influenee almost immediately. In ten
minutes the nurse gave him more. She understood
her businéss, and’ was Fexpiel to.giye: him but a
small quantity at a time. Already his eyes began
to brighten, and his blood to cireulate: more natu-
rally through his system.’ .

Mr. Cooper soon returned.

, He was greeted by Brindle, who knew his steps,
in so boisterous and demonstrative @ manner, as
he entered the room, that he knew something had
taken place of an unusual nature, A glance at his
young friend’s face explained it.

 

Thenthe kind-hearted book-keeper sat down by
his side, and ina low voice told Morton all that was

 

 

necessary for him to know, and many pleasant
things, about the Worthingtons—that Mr. Worth-
ington had been to see him, and was very kind and
friendly, and, in short; placed. Greta tae ina fav-
orable aspect to the eyes of the invalid.
The doctor care and was full of encouragement.
Morton’s,excelient constitution now asserted its
recuperative powers, and the next day Mr. Cooper
found him so much better that’he resolved to keep
his word with Minnie, and bring her to see him.
When the gentle girl came + o that garret room,
and looked into Morton’s. pale, though now intel-
ligent face, the big tears started from her eyes. But
she quickly brushed them.’ away, and bending Ove
him .pressed her lips tenderly to_ his forchoad.
Brindle acted like a young puppy, and made himself
almost ridiculous in the expression of his joy by
grotesque pantomime.
Morton day in silence, too weak ‘and too happy to
talk, but holding Minnie’s hand within his own, .
The nurse, asserting her proper authority, said
thatthe lady must stay but five minutes,and so
Minnie soon prepared to go, being shown down
stairs by Mr. Cooper. ,_ , oe ba avie
As they passed through the lower entry, Minnie
met her father coming into the house. ;
Mr. Worthington uttered a few words of astonish-
ment and reproach, and bade Minnie return at
once toher home, Then turning to Mr. Cooper he
asked for an explanation.» The’ book-keéper.said
that under other cireum: ces he would not have
betrayed Miss Worthingto ’s confidence, . but.as all
was now known he should make’ no’ secret of the
matter.at any rate.) Af 56 F) new? ‘Cs
Mr. Worthington ° Yery indignant. His book-
keeper had never seen him so, angry before, Ha
said that it was all a co. piracy to rob, him of his
child, anda great deal more of similar import...
was very, much enr,

and.consequently. ue
y.
more than he really ‘ant. Mr. Goo ree

c por. onthe
contrary, was cooland collected, He felt that he
had co. itted no great crime, and atany rate he
was determined not to lose his temper. '

, Dake .this,” said, the merchant, handing Mr.
Cooper a couple of hundred dollars, “and see this
roung man’s bills paid, and I trust [may never see
im, again,” j
*You.cannot so easily repay your obligations to
that poor sick youth, sir.”
ee obligations ?” :
(NOS LeMol wiacds .
“True, he did sérve me faithfully,” said the mer-
chant, “and,save my, moper that night.” '
“More than that, sir,” said .Mr. Con per, quietly;
but witha Pinealanty Fe59lvod aspect.
“True, true, he bravely saved my daughter from
the wretch who seized her.”
“Still more; sir.”)»» *4 mech. 3
“What do you mean, Mr. Cooper 2?”
‘‘T hardly dare to s ¢ out.’ 7
“Concerning what?” __ Josey
“Concerning the secrets of that noble youth who
has lain so.long poverty-stricken and insensible,”
“TLdo not understand you.” | :
eee as: FON, Rave ackaowies
orton, you owe him, if possible. sti
“You speak in riddles,” 7 5% :
“Do you not know, sir, that you haye been twice
onthe verge of failure?” nite |
“Of course I do,” said the merchant, “But what
has that todo with Morton Merrill?” | ;
¢ pear notes weré paid.”
“They were.” ‘ :
“Weavy otes 9
“Ay, far 1 yond

now
“That

4

owing poor
more.”

my means to liquidate, as you

oor youth paid them, Mr. Worthington,”
sai the hook kospen, impressively.
Impossible!”

“Tt is true.”

“Morton Merrill paid those heavy sums ?”

ae “did. .Impoyerished, himself to save your
eredit.”

“Tell me how this is possible, Tell me briefly as

you can,” said the excited merchant. ,

'Then'Mr. Cooper explained how fortunate he and
Morton had been in their speculations. How Mor-
ton chaneed to distover the merchant’s embarrass-
ments, and how he instantly realized on his bonds
and paid the notes, keeping his secret from every
one except himseli, c

“DoThear aright? And am I in mysenses?”
asked Mr. Worthington, pressing his hands over
his forehead, OG

“Tt is all as I haye told you, sir.”

“Let me go up to him at once.”

“Twould recommend that you should not,” said
Mr. Cooper.. ““Youare greatly excited. He has just
seen your daughter.” '

“You are right; T must calm m
ply, as the merchant walked
from the house.

elf,” was the re-
oughtiully away

(To BE CONTINUED.)
Ot

Our Knowledge Boxe 00g
i Se :
A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.

;
SG We take pleasure in r@sponding to every question
ed to us in this column, for 9 i r
mation not only @ the parties especially seeking it, but
the mass of our readers; but with the increase of our circulation
has grown the number of questions soliciting answers by mail.
These questions «wre almost uniformly important ones, costing,
te satisfactorily answer them, much time and labor. For this
reason all persons in future wishing their queries replied to’ by
mail, will please inclose 50 cents to defray the expenses
necessarily incurred.

 

QUESTIONS — RED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
Hf, A. B.—l. TO MAKE A FINE PASTE.—A solution of two anda
half ounces of gum-arabic in two quarts of warm water, is thick-
ened to a paste with wheat flour; to this add a solution of alum
and sugar of lead, one andahalf ounces each, in water; the
mixture is heated and stirred until about to boil, and is then
cooled. . It may be thinned,.if. necessary, with a gum solution.
2. The apple-tree is subject te several diseases. The best pre-
yentive of them is heading low, so that the trunk of the tree will
be shaded from the hot sun, and washing the tree oe
with soap-suds—a pint of soft soap toa gallon of water... 2.002.
S.—For various kinds of DyBs see No. 25 of volume 30......2 AvE,
#.—We cannot aid you...... Book Worm.—The Persian insect
powder generally proves efficacious. We presume you can get
it at any druggist’s........ Walter Jones.—A good recipe........
Ola Subscrider.—MINCE-MEAT.—The following will make excel-
lent mince pies: Boil four pounds of iean beef and chop it fine,
Pick and_ chop three pounds of suet, wash two pounds of cur-
rants and one of raisins; te the peel of two lemons and add |
the juice;an ounce of sliced citron, and twelve large apples
chopped fine. ‘ Mix these ingredients with three pounds of sugar,
half a pint of wine, and the same of brandy, and a little sweet
cider, and nutmeg and mace to your taste. Bake this mince-
meatin puff paste, with a lid of paste on top........ Charles Mes,
—To imitate ROSEWOOD, seeNo. 7 of volume 81...... Long Joe.—
VIOLIN YARNISH:—Gum sandarac, four ounces; seed-lac, two
ounces; mastro, Benjamin, in tears, each one ounce; pounded
glass, four ounces; Venice turpentine, two ounces; pure alcohol,
Errirty-two OUNCES. ,...... LE. C. C.—DANDRUFF.—To remove dan-
druffi, wash your head occasionally with sulphur and water—an
ounce of sulphursto a quart of water........ XxX, ¥. Q.—Yes......
Buffalo.—STOUGHTON BITTERS.—Two pounds of ginsing, two
pounds. of gentian root, one anda half pounds of dry %orange
peel, half a pound of Virginia snake-root, one ounce of quassia,
a quarter of a pound of cloves, three ounces of red saunders
wood, three gallons of alcohol, ninety-five per cent, three gal-
lons of soft water. Grind allthe ingredients to coarse powder,
infuse ten drops, and filter....Hagan.—To WHITEN PIANO KEYs.
—Rub them with a rag dipped in diluted sulphurous acid. Re-
peat the operation three or four times. If this does not succeed
rub them with whiting diluted with olive oil; then rub them
with whiting alone, and end with rubbing them with a soft dry
PEN. 62... Morton Merrill.—To DEVELOP THE INSCRIPTION ON
Worn Coins. By heating the coins gradually, the ins
Scription will, in almost all cases, make its. appearance......
C. L. O.—RUBBER AND LEATHER CEMENT,—Take sixteen parts
of gutta-percha, four parts of India-rubber, two parts of common
caulker’s pitch, and one part of linseed oil. The ingredients are
melted together, and used hot. It will unite leather or rubber
that has not been'vulcanized........ Stela.—To TAKE ICE CREAM
STAINS OUT OF SiLK DRESSES.—Cover the stains thickly, with
magnesia, and sew a piece of cotton close over them. Let it re-
math fill the magnesia absorbs the grease. French chalk is also
good,.... New York Boy.—We cannot recommend you to attempt
to make COLORED Firks, They are difficult to manufacture, and
are dangerously inflammable. Besides in most theaters they
have been superseded by the calcium light, color being commu-
nicated by passing the rays of light through colored glass. Th
unpleasant smell of colored lights is avoided, and the effects ca:
be prolonged at pleasure instead of lasting only a few minutes...

 

MEDICAL DEPARTMENT.

Fy. Y. M.—TREATMENT OF THE TEETH—As we have said to others,
the enamel protects the teeth from external injuries. When it
is broken, or worn away, the bone of the tooth becomes exposed,
and rotting begins immediately. You should therefore avoid
hot or very cold drinks, or any very sudden transition from heat
to cold, or from cold to heat, All acids are injurious to the teeth,
and any food allowed toremain lodged between them aid in
their decay, No tooth powder that is at all gritty should be used.
Charcoal, if properly pulverized and used judiciously, say ones
or twice a week, and a little at a time, will cleanse the teeth and
help render them white. r this, once a fortnight will be suf- 4
ficient for its employment. Prepared chalk, mixed with a little
orris root, is an efficientand harmless dentrifice. If convenient,
use tepid water.

B. €.—HEADACHE.—If your headache is caused by any acidity
of the stomach, bi-carbonate of soda will relieve you. ake half
a eee in a third of atumbierof water. If not relieved
in half an hour, repeat the dose.

Capt. Jinks.—A CoLD IN THE HEAD.—This may sometimes be
cured by inhaling through the nose the emanations of ammonia
contained in a smelling bottle. If the sense of smell be com-
pletely lost, the bottle should be mere under the nose until the
pungency of the volatile alkali is felt. The bottle is then re-
moved, but only to be reapplied after a minute. This easy ope-
ration being repeated seven or eight times in the course’of as
many minutes, the nostrils me free, the sense of smell is
restored, and ‘the secretion of the irritating mucus is stopped.
This remedy is said to be peculiarly advantageous to singers.

Unhappy Wife.—CURE FOR DRUNKENNESS.—A mixture made
up as follows, and taken in quantities equaltoan ordinary dram,
and often das the desire for strong drink returns, will cure the
worst case of drunkenness: Sulphate of iron, five grains; Pe
permint-water, eleven drams; spirits of nutmeg, one dram. This
preparation acts as a tonic and stimulant, and so partially sup-
eck the place of the accustomed liquor, and prevents the abso-

ute physical and moral prostration that follows a sudden break-
ing off from the use of stimulating drinks. It1sto be taken in
es equal to an ordinary dram, and as often as the desire
or a dram returns.

ae --@ << ---- --—
FRIENDSHIP.

True friendship keeps no profit and loss account,

osts no ledgers, strikes no daily ances, but

kes gratitude for Geant, and regards affections
always solvent. It has no clearing-house, gives no’
notes of hand, carries on no brokerage of attach-
ment, makes no bargain in this commerce of the
affections. With it, “yours truly” goes a great way,
and certainly, worn thr are as they are by in-
cegsant use, no words haye a stouter body of sig-
nificance left in them, .

t

se co

onan

Wr ey ” a *~

ee

address-
answers generally afford infor-# 4
also. to

 

 
 

WASHINGTON’S NAME.

BY MICHAEL SCANLAN.

 

 

Ye nations embiazoned in song and in story,
Retrace your proud flights thro’ your cycles of glory,
And cu!l trom their settings of purple and gold,
Every name "mong the deathless by walor enrolled.
Bring them forth, round their brows all their victories beaming,
Their deeds o’er the ramparts of history streaming,

Broadly blown down the echoing channels of fame—

They'll pale in the light of our Washington’s name!

As, we gaze o’er the fields where those heroes come sweeping,
Lo! freedom's enchained and fair virtue is weeping;

Their banners, like meteors Oi ruin, unfurled,

But light up their pathways of death thro’ the world!

Bright as the summer moon beaming in splendor

Down brown-bearded harvest fields, glowing and tender,

Or altar fires burning with rich holy flame,

ls the glory that haloes our Washington’s name,

When liberty’s trumpet tones leaped from the mountains,
And rapine and war from the red-throated fountains,
With all their dread horrors, had deluged the land,

Hope sprang into faith at his loyal command;

The tyrant’s proud tegions were beaten and aumbled,
Their visions of conquest like faver dreams crumbled,
Their glory ingulfed in their black sea of shame,

While the watchword of freedom was Washington’s name.

In. the flerce tront,o£ war, girdled round by disaster,
When serried battalions came roaring on faster

Than storm-tortured pillows—when hope stood aghast,
And death shrieked aloud in the sulphurous blast—

He heads the last charge! While the foe gapes in wonder
He tears these victorious battalions asunder,

And plucks from their brows’the red laurels of fame,
While the mountains re-echo our Washington’s name.

When peace flung her banner of light o’er the nation,

His, was the soul caught her first inspiration ;;

fis sword, freedom's sun, which had flashed thro’ the fight,
Sacred homage, Was laid on her altar of light,

And that valor which. blazed in the battle’s commotion

Im peace was the star of the patriot’s devotions

While the wondering nations, with joyous acclaim,

Sang peeans of triumph to Washington’s name.

Barth's proudest and greatest, kings, heroes, and sages,
Who've soared for a time o’er the dark-rolling ages,

At length shall go down to man’s general doom,

And their names, like their dust, shall be quenched inthe tomb.
But glory has crowned him with beauty undying,

And long as a banner to freedom is flying,

No shadow can rest on the sunshine of fame

Which haloes forerer our Washington’s name.

Lady velyn’s Folly.

BY THE. AUTH OR OF
A WOMAN'S TEMPTATION.

 

(“Gady Eyelyn’s Folly” was commenced in N6. 53. Back Nos.
can be obtained from any News Agent.)

.

 

CHAPTER LY.

Madame Dubois saw her opportunity. She was
one of the wisest, Just as she was ane of the loveli-
est of women. She had her ambition, and it was a
high one,

f all those who courted, flattered, and admired
her, she, as & mere matter of liking, liked Lord
Chesterleigh least, but for his vast wealth, and the
luxury that surrounded him, the state and magnifi-
cence in which he lived, she had the most profound
and unlimited veneration. She saw no oneso hon-
ored, she saw no oneso sought after; his most stu-

id sayings were more eagerly applauded than the

yeoeet wit of others. |

hen, of all who admired her, he was perhaps the
most in earnest; others bent the knee to her, and
the next hour to some one else; he seemed to care
for nothing else. . ;

The word marriage was also pleasing to her ear.
No one élse mentioned it, and he, the bluff earl, had
declared, over and over again, that if he were free
he would make her his wife,, that if he had met her
first he should have married her; and, notwith-
standing the fact that he Aad’ already a beautiful
young wife whom he had married for love, she
thought it quite possible that in time she might be-
come Countess of Chesterleigh.*

That was the-height of. her ambition. ;

= 25865. neither so tiful nor so.clever as I
am have beeh m les before,” she said |
to herself; “an only one who speaks
at all of marriage, and he only mentions it as a.re-
mote, contingency, [ must do my best to marry |
J ae

She oy her way now clearly. He was so infatu-
ated with her that there seemed no likelihood of his
ever forgetting her. She knew that she could drive
him mi oF ersistently refusing tospeak to him,
although she would give him eyery possible oppor-
tunity of seeing hex. ,

She Deena Aare charming, more fascinating
than ever. r stage costumes were something
maryelous. She made herself talked about every.
day for some hew extravagance, some new luxury.
On the stage she acted at him, althoughshe refused
to speak to-him; her magnificent eyes seemed to
rain down fire nbn him; scorn, Jove. hope, en-
treaty, defiance, all played round him as lightning
plays round atree, ‘He was always at the theater.
She would notopen her doors.to him, she would
not speak to him; but she knew quite well the full:
power of her wicked spell. .

Nighvaarer night he was therein the same box,
and he seemed to. see and hear nothing but her.
Sho knew that slowly and surely she was driving

im mad, but she did not relax. To hayesaved him

rom death she would not haye spoken to him until
he brought to her'a written apology from the young
countess. There is no charm so strong, no spell so
potent, as that cast by a wicked woman, and: there
are few more wicked than Madame Dubois.

One beautiful morning she sat in: her boudoir—
3, room, that could not for luxury and magnificence
have been surpassed in London. Queens might
have enviedit. It was filled with clear, sweet rose-
colored light, and with the fragrant breath of a
thousand flowers; it was all light, warmth, luxury,
and perfume. Madame: Dubois thought nothing
of its magnificence. She was accustomed to it now;
more than one noble fortune had been impaired in
order that she might be surrounded by all that was
most luxurious.

She was reclining on a couch of softest satin, her
eyes only half opened, her lovely hair unfastened
and hanging around her, her superb figure robed
in richest, softest silk, a knot of crimson flowers on
her white breast, a jeweled fan in her beautiful
hand; she was the incarnation of a deadly, fatal
charm.. She was. talking -languidly to her friend
and confidante, her half-sister Pepina, who was her
housekeeper, secretary. friend and companion;
and now on_this fair, sunshiny morning, madame
had sent for Pepina to talk to her.

“You say l am idle, Pepina,’ she said, with one
flash of her magnificent eyes. .“‘My mind is busy,
even though my hands are still. Iam not idle; I
am simply maturing a grand scheme.”

“What scheme is that ?” asked Pepina, unrolling
her knitting; she perceived now why she had been
sent for. Madame wished to unburden her mind.

“I intend, Pepina, by some means or other—
erooked ones if straight ones will not ayail—but I
intend to b e Countess of Chesterleigh.”

Pepina laughed in the same indulgent fashion
as ‘she would have laughed at the caprice of a

   

      

  

ehild:

“Countess of Chesterleigh—and considering that
there is already one of that. name, how do you in-
tend to manage it ?” ;

“You are incredulous, Pepina, you often are; but
then you are compelled to own in the end that I
suceeed where I will success.” '

“You are clever enough for anything,” ’ said
ss en “put E cannot see how you are’to manage

s ”

“T shall manage it through the noble institution

| that in England is called the Divorce Court.”

Pepina shook her head gravely.

“You will neyer find a peer of the reaim figuring
there,” she said.

adame laughed. ;

“There have been more brag eon things,’ shesaid:
“it will be a work of time; but I have any amount
of patience and perseverance when my own. inter-
est is: at stake.” ;

“That is true,” said Pepina, dryly.

“T told you all about the quarrel, and that baby-
faced wife of his refusing to apologizeto me. Of
course, what she said was true, but she did not
know it. Itold him, as you know, that until I re-
ceived that apology [should never speak to him

ain,”
epina nodded, as though she would say that it
was a good stroke of business.

Madame continued:

“Though I said that, he is not offended. T cannot
offend him. I know that he would give half of what
he is worth to talk tome. He never misses ms one
night atthe theater. He watches me—watches me
until if I had alittle more heart or conscience, I
should grow nervous. I shall be quite firm. I do
not intend to utter one word.”

_, then how are you to marry him?” cried matter-
of-faet Pepina.

In this way—I know that he will never get that
apology from his wife; she is one of the spirited
kind—he will never get it, and I shall never speak
to, him without. Now what will he do?”

“mon twill tell He is'so entirely: English
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thatif» he sets*his mind: upon © Le kewiast
have it. Now, my opinion is that

she does not

 

 

 

  

write that apology, he will lead her such a life that
she will be compelled to senarate from him.”
“Poor young thing!” Pepina, compassion -

ately.
“Wis,” said madame, serenely, fit will be bad for
her, no doubt; but then sheshould have apologized

to me.’
“What if he compels her to write an apology, and
she does write it, what then?”) »: >...

Madame’s face fell. . hi ,

“T have every hone an vill. refuse, Pepina.
Were Lin hot piace should refuse, even if he beat
me to death. There is only a véry faint hope, then,
if she apologizes.” p

‘What is the faint hope?” asked. Pepina.

“Why—that she will detest him so heartily for
forcing it from her, that they »will never be friends
again?” ; 17 Be gabe ;

ae Pepina said, slowly, ‘there is something in
that.”’ , :

“Of course, if, he brings me an apology I shall
sing again at his house, and he shall be welcomed
at mine, but I will take good care that every one in
London reads that apology; lit will be a'‘grand tri-
umph for me.” oi jaw biscotti :

“What kind of a woman is this wife of his?”
asked the confidante; “is she beautiful?”

“Yes,” replied madame; “she is. not, you under-
stand,so beautiful as Tam, but there is the charm
pt i birth and high breeding, which, alas! I

ack. :

“You donot lack many charms, my dear—neyer
mind that. Does he care much about ber?” f

“No; she is too cold, too pure, too proud for him.
I. should suit him ten thousand times better, and
he knows it, Yet,” she continued, “he gives me the
idea of having loved: her very dearly.once, But
such a marriage as theirs was the greatest mistake
that could be made—spirit with matter, snow with
sun, ice with fire; nothing could be more incon-
gruous—they could not be happy.” :

‘‘Peopie of different characters often are,” said
Pepina, sententiously. ;

“Ah, yes; but not such characters as theirs. She
is graceful, he is’ graceless; sho is the soul of re-
finement; every idea that poner his head
is coarse, if not vicious; she is intellectual, he is
stupid. Bah! what more can [ say? He is dark-
ness, she is light; she is day, ho is night.”

“You seem to admire her “very much,” said
Pepina. ; ?
“Yes, I do. Strange as it may seem,I know a

yore woman when I see her; and this. wife whom
intend to supplant—to SORE OY if needs must
be—this wife of his—is—all I have described her.” _
Then there was silence for some minutes; mad-
ame played with her jeweled fan—shut it, opened
it—then continued: : :

“You wiill find that I shall create quite a furor in
this great world of theirs, Pepina. Great ladies
now pass me withscornful looks—I am more beau-
tiful than they are; some of the papers say that I
am almost the first singerin the world—yet Lam
not of them. I can tell by the proud expression of
their eyes when they rest on mé that they are say-
ing, ‘She is ony an actress!’ But let me be Coun-
tess of Chesterleigh; they can no longer look down
on mo; they, will be compelled to own that Iam
their equal in rank and position; then I will pay
my debts.” :

. Drust you for that,” said Pepina, admiringty.

Yes, trust me. You do not know how I thirst to
avenge myself on the cold-hearted, proud English-
women—how [hatethem! One never hears a gen-
uine word of applause from them; when I haye
sung my whole heart away, they janguidly touch
their white kid gloves or bury their faces in their
flowers. The menof this cold clime please me well
enough—the women not at all.” gh

‘Yet they are very good,” said Pepina.

“Good! what is that? Ah, Pepina, when I am
Countess of Chesterleigh, I will revenge myself: I
will pass those with scorn who have passed me
with scorn. I will repay contempt with contempt;
I will make meer queen of.fashionable London;
I will have balls, fetes, and entertainments that will
outshine the Arabian nights; and [ will make those
who pass me now in contempt sue humbly to me
for notice, ask me for favors, plead’ to me for pa-
tronage,”

The dark
soned. j

“I can be magnificently insolent,” she said; “I
will show these fine ladies what superb patronage
I can give them.” , ?

“And there is only. one obstacle to, all, these
dreams,” said Pepina, laughingly,

Obstacle!” repeated madame; “what is it?”
cine Countess of Chesterleigh herself,” replied

epina.

“Thad forgotten,” laughed madame; “I declare
T had quite forgotten, Ah, nevermind that obsta-

cle, Pepina; Is soon remoye it: When I am
Lady Chesterleig you shai go back to our Italian
home and be happy there.” aS.

eyes flashed, the beautiful face crim-

Lwould rather remain and share the spoils,”
was the faughi feply, ‘which .Madame ubols
quite believed. ;

bt —_—_——

re HAPPFER LYI.

For two. or three days . Countess of Chester-
leigh was absent from all scenes of gayety. The
fashion » world with regret that their
beautiful n was not well.

“Over tired,” some said; and no one guessed that
she sat in her room brooding over her injuries,
ane waiting until the searlet mark faded from her

ace,

The earl kept his promise to the letter—not one
word did he say of the apology—although-his im-
patience for it was great.

He had one great force in reserve, and if all else
failed he must call in the aid of the Countess Dowa-
ger—that fierce, terrible woman, who had so. suc-
cessfully frightened his young wife—if all else fail-
ed he must send for her,

All else did fail; the marks of the cowardly blow
died away at last, and Lady Evelyn bégan to go out
again inthe world. Invitations, as of old. poured
in upon her; no fele, no ball was complete without
her; she was queen of every brilliant. throng she
joined. When she had quite recovered, and‘ some-
thing like the old light shone in. her ‘eyes, he re-
newed the attack. He went to her one evening, his
eyes burning, his hands trembling with impatience
—he could have wrung ‘the words from ‘her, have
forced them from her lips—but when hoasked for
them he again refused.

*“You will not?” he said.

“Once and for ail—I will not. DP would not if you
carried a swordin your hand and held it over my
head. I have told_you now for the last time, elear-
ly, slowly, distinetly—J will not.”

His face grew livid, terrible ‘to see: angry rage,
baffied passion, shone in every feature, “It will be
the worse for you,” he said, turning away.

She might have been prepared for what follow-
ed, but she was not. Two or three days passed,
and as he said no more she began to. hope
the storm was passing oyer, that her steady re-
sistance had conquered him, and he had given up
the idea.

Vain, delusive hope! She fancied one evening as
she lay half asleep that she heard a carriage stop at
the door. It was nearly midnight then, so she con-
eluded that she was mistaken. Had she known
who it was, allthe drugs in India would not have
sent her to sleep.

It was aterrible shock to her the morning after-
ward on going down_to the breakfast room to find
the grim dowager_already ensconced there. She
looked up at Lady Evelyn with a grim smile.

“You did not expect me,” she said}; “unexpected
pleasures are always the most enjoyable.”

Le Evelyn said something,she did not know
what, and the dowager, looking at her, said:

“I haye come purposely .to have a little talk
ip you, my dear; we shall find time for it to-
day.’

Mother and son had already talked the matter
over. In justice to the countess dowager it must be
owned that her son entirely misled her. Had she
known the truth, her morality as a Christian wo-
man, her instinct as a lady, would have compelled
her to take the part of the hapless yee He
completely misied her. On the night of her arrival
he had*waited for her; he had asked her to grant
him an ‘audience before she saw his wife.

While Lady Evelyn lay sleeping, mother and son
satin the-library laying the fatal plot that was to
end in so fatal a manner.

Lord Chesterleigh most certainly cruelly deceived
his mother; he dwelt chiefly upon the fact that he
was at present the laughing-stock of all London.
And to the dowager countess, with her peculiar
ideas of the respect, obedienee, and honor that
Wives owe their husbands, there was something al-
most horrible in the idea.

“IT can assure you. mother, that all Londonis
watching us—our part of London, I mean—and if
she does not give in, I can never expect to be looked
upon as a man of sense or firmness again.”

“Certainly not. Iam very glad that you sent for
me, Talbot. The willful, rebellious girl! We must
break that proud spirit, for it will never bend. But,
Talbot—you will excuse my asking—of course it is
all right between you and this—what did you eall
her—singer ?”

“Right!” eried the earl, in an injured voice. “Of
course it is right; nothing eould moreso, upon
my word, mother. She must have been mad to have
imagined what she did. It was absurd! And then
to ask Madame Dubois in that public manner,
fore a whole room full of people, if Zhad given her
the jewels. Imagine what J looked like! I do not
think any man was ever rendered so completel
nie before, It was annoying beyond
words.”

“TI should think it was enneyiie. indeed. Of
course you did not give her the jewels, Talbot ?”’

“Of course I did not, mother; [ can show them to
you now, if you like.”

“Your word is quite sufficient,” said the deluded
lady ;, ‘you would not speak falsely to me, Iam

ure

"Heaven forbid!” said the earl, with a virtuous
shudder. “Yet, you see, mother, though the insult
was public, my wife absolutely refused to apolo-

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“not say even One gracious word. I
uboais behaved uncommon-

gize; she wo
must say that Madame
dy well—much better, inded, than Lady Evelyn. She
Tose at once, and said that after'so cruel an insult

she must ask for an apology. You must own it was
due to her,” i ,

“It was due to her,” replied the dowager, gravely.
“T know what those kind of people are like, those
artistes—they are ail most ridiculously sensitive;
indeed, they discern insults where none are really
intended. No wonder that the lady should feel
most keenly your wife’ unparalleled rudeness.”

“T immediately apologized myself to Madame
Dubois; but, of course, that was not sufficient—it
was not I who offended her. She declared that sige
would not enter the house, or have the least com-
munication with us again, until she had received
un “apology.”

A dignified frown came over the dowager’s face.

~*I think,” she said, ‘that for a person in her con-
dition, that it was rather an unbecoming thing to
=r, She is not Lady Evelyn’s equal, after ali.”

“He looked up anxiously. To have losthis moth-
er’s support just now would have been to have lost
his game; he knew that, and was
anxious, as 4

“Of course not; she knew that. No person could
have a more -trueor correet idea of her own place
in society, or what is due to the position of her su-

  

periors ; ares ahigher respect for rank and
TR PES assure you.”
) ’s face relaxed. That was. as it

Ow
should be. pect for rank was a most delightful
trait in any. character. She began to think that
Madame is was most certainly an injured wo-
man.

“For the mere matter ofasinger not singing at
my house@again,” said the earl, “that matters little.
One will, if another will not. It is no longer amere
trifle of that kind; it hasgrown intc something
much grayer. Every one knows that my wife an-
DOR and offended me, while she insulted Madame
Mubois. Every one knows too, that Iinsisted upon.
an apology, but that she defiantly refused me, and
cae you'it is a matter of public notoriety—of
public seandal—that there is a struggle for master-
ship. between us. Every.one knows that I have in-
sisted unos ence; eyery one knows that my
wife has refused to obey. People are watching us,
and every one will know who wins. Now, mother,
@ must not be defeated. I must not be conquered
by a.woman,amere girl. It is absolutely essential
that she should write this apology. If she does not,

shall never be able toshow my face in society
again. They say that you have the happy talent of
managing people. Show some of it now, That
apology I must have. Teach me how to get it.”

*‘Foree itfrom her,’ said the dowager, grimly.
“In my young days wives never thought of defying
and disobeying their husbands. Ido not really.
know what the worldis coming to. To-morrow
we will see her both together, and ask her plainly
enough if she is willing to give in; if she says no, I
have a pee: and on must follow my adviee,”

.L will.” he said. ““What is it?”

Tell her she is going to Hardress, but instead of
that, take her to Glencairn, and shut her up there
until she consents to what you ask.”

 

CHAPTER LVILI.

It was with some satisfaction that the dowager

repared herself for the task appointed. Lady

velyn was the first who had refused to yield to
her the most implicit. obedience. Therefore she
tiked the idea of bringing her into submission; if
coe not be done in. one fashion, it might in an-
other.

When, on this morning, Lady Evelyn had finish-
ed her breakfast, the dowager looked at her.
“Are you going out to-day ?” she asked.

“Yes,” was the reply. “Lady Macdonel has
promised, to eall for me; weshall drive out to-
gether.” :

“Then, if you wish to ee your engagement
with Lady Macdonel, you had better come with me
at once; my son and I haye something to say to

you. this; “Bi
eben no particular wish to hear it,” said Lady

velyn.” cat 2

“Perhaps not; but your wishes will hardly be
consulted in the matter; you must hear it. Will
you join us in the library ?” :

“T-would rather not: every disagreeable scene of
my life has passed in the library—my married life
Imean. Idetestthe room.” —

“Every room in your husband’s house ought to
be pleasant to you,” was the grave comment.

_A quick angry rejoinder rose to Lady Evelyn’s
lips, but she repressed it. After all, she was but
young, and youth ought to respect age. She must
not, without real cause, bandy words with the
countess dowager. : ’

*‘Perhaps,” said that lady, “you will be kind
enough to grant us an audience in the drawing-

™m.

“Tf you wish to see me, it matters but little where
the interview takes place,” said_ Lady Evelyn. “‘T
am going to the drawing-room, because I shall see

y Macdonel there; if you want to talk to me,
you can join me there.” "

The dowager glared at her over her glasses.

“You are very independent, Lady Evelyn.”

“Why should I not Be ?? was the careless reply:

and without another word, Lady Evelyn quitted the
room. If shetrembled in anticipation of that in-
view, she gayeno sign of it. She walked calmly,
proudly, too proudly to please the dowager, who
would fain have seen her more awe-struck. _
_ “They shall never know that I fear them,” she
said to herself when she stood alone in the great
solitary room; “I must show a brave face to my
lenemies; and she turned proudly to look at them
‘as they entered the room together—it was an omin-
‘ous conjunction, mother and son.

She folded her hands lest they should tremble,
she nerved herself. Her father had refused to take
her in, but there was always a friend in death. If
they drove her to extremities she could always die;
that thought seemed to bring some consolation.
She looked calmly at them. ;

“Did you want to speak to me?” she said, and
there was not the faintest tremor in her voice.

“Yes,” replied the dowager, carefully closing the
door; “itis time you heard ‘something of the truth,
my Lady Evelyn.” : : ue

“T wonder why everything disagreeable is ealled
truth,” she said.

“T have been astonished to hear from your hus-
band, Lady Evelyn, that you. have refused to sub-
mit to his wishes,” began the dowager.

Lady Evelyn did not raise her face or evince the
least sign of having heard one word. The dow-
ager began to feel indignant.

‘Of course,” continued the hard, pitiless voice,
‘“Tmake great allowance for your want of good
training, and for your most unfortunate descent.
Had your mother been sane and sensible, she would,
without doubt, have taught you thata woman’s first
duty is obedience. If you have never been taught
in your life before,’ she said, “let me teach you
now that a wife is compelied to obey her husband—
compelled, do you hear the word ?—by the law of
Heaven and the laws of man.”

No answer. Lord Chesterleigh looked at the calm,
proud face. : :

“Women at war.” he said to himself. ‘I ~wonder
which will win? I hope my mother; but I fear it
will be my wife.” :

“Your conduct altogether since your marriage,
Lady Evelyn,” continued the dowager, growing
irate, “has. been strangely unbecoming, anything
but ladylike. You have had the bad taste to defy
your husband in public; all the world knows that.”
’ “Does the world know also that he beat me for
it—that he struck me down to the ground, and left
me lying there?” . .
| The countess dowager drew back alittle shocked,

“Did you do that, Talbot?’ she asked.

He looked up half ashamed. :

“T did,” he saidy“‘but she must own she provoked
m6 to it, provoked me beyond atl bearing.’’

“That was no exeuse,” said the dowager, gravely.
“Nothing can pardon such a want of courtesy, such
awant of common decency; you are certainly the
most terrible couple I eyer saw. Talbot, I am
ashamed of you.” ; Q
' The earl knew there was nothing for it but sub-
mission. Once lose his mother’s support, and all
was lost.

“T was ashamed of myself,” he said; “‘yery much
aan I begged my wife’s pardon; she knows

“Then you did your best to atone,” she said: “that
of course alters the question. I think, Lady Eve-
lyn, as your husband humbled himself to you, you
need not mind giving in to him.”

» “What does he want?” inquired the young count-

ess, briefly. ; ,

, The dowager coughed uneasily. She had fancied

lit would be an easy matter to win this young girl

round to her wishes, she was so young and timid.

This plain question—what did he want? puzzled
er. What he did really want was notan easy thing

to grant, :

“It appears,” she replied, “‘that under your own
\roof, in your husband’s presence, in the presence of
lyour guests, you openly, insulted one who had been
invited here, and s
from all insults.”

) “Tasked herif my husband_had given her the
jewels she wore,” said Lady Evelyn. “I grant the
question was indiscreet, but I cannot see how it
was an insult.” 3 :

+ “You are a baby,” cried Lady Chesterleigh. ‘My
son had far better have gone into any nursery in
London, and have chosen a wife there.”

“T wish to Heaven, madame, that your son had
done so,” said the girl, earnestly, “It was an un-
fortunate marriage.” __

“Tt has been so, especially for my son, Lady Eve-
lyn. Lappeal to your common sense. Do what

our husband has asked you; it is but a trifle, yet
t has become a bone of contention; be you the one
to givein. Itis but a trifle, yet as that trifle has be-
come magnified so greatly, for the sake of my son’s

ould therefore have been secure

proportionately

4
34

 

happiness and honor, give in.

“T would do anything reasonable for the sake of
your son’s happiness and honor,” she ro and ¢
there was something strangely pathetic in her!

2. ssiniesiaateaeieetaiediaeeeeeeeee

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voice; “but, Lady. Chesterleigh, you, with alf your
sternness, with all your dislike of me, you area
lady, an honorable English woman. Do you know
what you ask me when you ask me to do this?”

“No,” she replied, wonderingly.

“Ask your son, there. Ask him what Madame
Dubois. is to him, and if he tells you the truth, even
yeu who hate me would never ask meto apologize
to her.’

“It is all false!” eried the earl, hotly. “Mother,
do not believe one word of it. Isay itis false!” .

“And I say it is true!” cried Lady Evelyn.

The dowager held up her hands in horror.

“You are aterrible pair. Talbot, is tv true?”

“No, mother, it is not,”

“Swear on the honor of the Chesterleighs,” snecr-
ed Lady Evelyn. ‘Madame, itistrue; the jewels I
saw upon that woman’s neck and arms were the
same that I had seen a few hours previously in my
husband’s dressing-room. No matter what he says,
he cannot deny it?’ i

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

= 2

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Fine Lilium Gratis. Samples 25 cts. Address J, GREIVES, See’y,
Box 8377, Paterson, N. J
END 75 cts., and receive by return mail a Solitaire Lake

KS George Diamond Shirt Stud, best thing yet. Entirely new.
Money refunded ifnot satisfactory. H,. Ferd & Co., Rochester, N.Y.

 

 

SE EEC, _SER

 

FOR SALE IN BROOKLYN,

“On the Hill,” (the most fashionable part of Brooklyn), a mag-
nificent four-story and brown-stone front house, elaborately furn-
ished and frescoed throughout. This house has been built about
five years. It has been thoroughly overhauled, painted up and
replumbed throughout, andis in perfect order. The stoop is
high and wide, and of pure stone, balusters and all. The house
is richly built, and is just the residence for a person of means,
It is entirely unincumbered, and wil! be sold at a sacrifice, Ad-
dress F. S. S., Box 4896, N. Y. P. O.

5O VISITING CARDS, with your name
ag ie sent for 25 cents. We have 100 styles.
AGENTS ANTED. 9 sampies sent for stamp.
15-4 A. H. FULLER & CO., Brockton, Mass.

 

 

ROM THE GRAV E.—If Eps are going there with

Consumption, Bronchitis, or any Lung trouble,

send for late discovery that will save you. FREE. Address Dr,
EVANS, Box 467, Danville, IHinois. 18-2.

Pp Ys well on small investments; MAGIC LANTERNS
and STEREOPTICONS of all kinds and prices;
views illustrating every subject for Public Exhiditions and Par-
lor oe 72 page catalogue free. McA LILISTHR,
49 Nassau street, N. Y. w5l-26,

$15.00 SHOT GUN.

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

P. POWELL

w50-26 “238 Main strect, Cincinnati, O.

°o per day at home. Samples worth $1
5 & S20 free. STINSON & CO., Portiand, Maine.

w50-52

1¢ A WEEK io canvass for Vickery’s Fireside
Visitor. Costs NOTHING to try it.
52-55 Pp. O. VICKERY & CO., Augusta, Maine. _

GENTS WANTED.—Salary or Commission. Vatmable
pamapies tree, Address F. M. REED, Sth street, New York.
w31-52

$10 2825

EVOLVERS!! SEVEN SHOT NEW
Buffalo Bill Revolver sent, with 100 Cartrid-
ges, for $3.. Full Nickel Plate. Satisfaction guaranteed.
trated Catalogue Free. Address f
10-13 WESTERN GUN WORKS, Chicago, Tit.

@ UFFERERS FROM NERVOUS DEBILITY
KS who have tried in vain every advertised remedy, will learn
ee peer cure by addressing

 

 

 

 

 

per day. Send tor Chromo Catalogue. . J.
{, BUFFORD’S SONS, Boston, Mass,

 

Tilus-

 

DAVIDSON & CO., Box 2,296, New York.
MA R RIAGEH An interesting illustrated work of
: , 260 pages, containing Valuable intor-
GUIDE mation for those who are married or
contemplate marriage.
Price 50 cents, by mail. Address
Dr. BUTT’S DISPENSARY,
12 North Eighth street, St. Louis, Mo.

15-2

PORK 4 NONTH.AGENTS WANTED
everywhere. Business honorabie and first-

class. Particulars sent free. Address
___S- WORTH & CO., St. Louis, Mo.
; ecalcomanie, Chromos, Steel Engravings, Photographs,
Scrap-Book Pictures, Mottoes, etc. Samples and catalogue,
p.-p., 10 cts. Agents. J. L. Patten & Co., 1GZ William st., NvY.

Send stamp for ve on Opium ang to

13-6
OPIUM
. B. SQUIRE, M. D.,
Wrihington, teens Co., Ind.

12 A DAY AT HOME.—Acents wanted. Outfit
and terms free. TRUE & CO., Augusta, Maine. 5052

3 60 A MONTH.—-AGENTS WANTED, 24
F best selling articles in the world. One sample free,
ddress J. BRONSON, Detroit, Mich. 80-26

Ww 4 NTED —A FEW INTELLIGENT
e Ladies and Gentlemen to solicit
orders for Captain Glazier’s new work, **Wattles for the
Union.” Just the book for Centennial times. All expenses
advanced. References required. DUSTIN, GILMAN & CO.,
Hartford, Conn, ; Chicago, Til. : Cincinnati, Ohio. 14-18

CARPETS very cheap at 112 FUL-
is | TON ST., N. Y._ Send for a pricelist.
16-7 J. A. BENDALL.

 

 

Pema a

 

and Morphine Habit cured. The
riginal and Omly Cure prepared.

 

 

 

 

DO) FANCY CARDS, 7 Styles. wit h name, 10 cts,
or 20 acquaintance cards, 4 styles, no name, 10 cts, <Ad-
dress J. B. HUSTED, Nassau, Renns. Co., N. ¥.

_ VICK’S'
FLORAL GUIDE.

This is a beautiful Quarterly Journal, finely illustrated, and
eontaining an elegant colored Frontispiece with the first num-
ber. Price only 25 cents for the year, The first No. for 1876 just
issued. 3G Vick's Flower & Wegetable Garden
35 cents: with cloth covers 65 cents.

Address JAMES VICK, Rochester, N. Y.

Leek: 6 Rubber Tip Pencils only 20c. Two as sampies, 1c.
lL. T. NORTON, 166 St. Clair St., Cleveland, O

 

 

 

AMERICAN GENIUS. MOODY & SANKEY

*

The great revivalists, Messrs. Moody and San-
key, who electrified staid old England with their
eloquence and enthusiasm, “are fair samples of
American genius. Springing from the common
people, their sympathies are alive to the wants
of the whole people, and herein lies the secret of
their great success. Those who seek to be popu-
lar must study and be familiar with the wants of
the masses, and prove loyal thereto.. To this fact
we may trace the grand success in business, as
well as in religious undertakings, which man
Americans have achieved.. Strikingly illustrative
of these suggestions is that great establishment,
located at Buffalo, N. Y., and known as the
‘“World’s Dispensary’’—a most. appropriate
name, indeed, for that vast institution, within
whose walls are manufactured remedies which
are in demand in every quarter of the globe, and
at which a corps of distinguished physicians and
surgeons, onder the personal direction of Dr.
Pierce, are constantly administering to the needs
of thorsands of sufferers everywhere, and whose
succes, *n the treatment of all forms of chronic
ailments has become so well known that there is
scarcely a hamlet in the land in which his name
is not familiar. Its proprietor, says the Herd
and Terchlight, of Detroit, “is aman of thepeopk,
writes for them, and to them tenders his eminent
professional services.’ His advertisements are
earnest exhortations. Like the great revivalists
his enthusiasm is multiplied by the mparalleled
suecess of his enterprise, as well as by the offi-
cacy of his remedies in curing disease. The people
believe in him and his remedies, because, as the
New York Tribune says, “he sympathizes with
them in all their afflictions, efforts, and attain-
ments.’’ Hence, Dr. Pierce’s Goiden Medical
Discovery is to-day more largely employed as a
blood and liver medicine, and also as a cough
remedy, than any other.remedial agent in the
world. His Favorite Prescriptionshe does not
recommend as a “cure-all,”’ as is so often done
by compounders of worthless, humbug nostrums,
but for all diseases and weaknesses peculiar to
women it has proved itself so ntuch of a specific
that it now enjoys great popularity and universal
confidence. Dr.Pierce’s Pleasant Purgative Pellets
“scarcely larger than mustard seed’’ have provec
so agreeable and reliableas a cathartie that they
arerapidly taking the place of the large, nauseous
pills heretofore so much in use; while his Oom-
pound Extract of Smart-Weed is a favorite reme-
dy for Colic, Cramps, Summer-complaint, Diar-
rhea, Dysentery, Cholera, and Cholera Morbus,
and also as a liniment. Of Dr. Sage’s Catarrh
Remedy, and Dr. Pierce’s. Nasal Douche, little
need be said; as they are known everywhere as
the greatest specifics for Catarrh and “cold in the
head,”’ ever given to the public. And besides this
large measure of success, Dr. Pierce seems likely
to achieve as great renown as an author as he has
as a physician. His CoMMoN SENSE MEDICAL
ADVISER, a book of about 900 pages, which he
sells at the unparalleled low price of $1.50, has
already been sold to the extent of exhausting two
editions amounting to forty thousand copies.

 

 

. The secret of Dr. Pierce’s success, as well as that

of the great revivalists; and scores of other
Americans, who by their genius have advanced
step by step’from obscurity to affluence and dis-
tinction, consists in treating the people with con-
sideration, sympathy, candor, and honesty. No
man, who hopes to attain either wealth or dis-
tinction, can afford to deal unfairly with the
world or be indifferent to the wants and best ins
terests of humanity.

 

NOTHING BUT SIN.

BY MRS. M ‘A. KIDDER.

 

 

Thire a. man to, digin my garden for a day, and at its close I
give him eight shillings; the man hasearned it. He goes home,
and his.wife says: {Where did. you get that money?’ He says,
“T worked for it.” But suppose anotherman comes tome and
says: “I have been sick for the last’six weeks, and unable to
work; my family are suffering for want of food,” and I give him
eight shillings. The one is a gift; the otheris not. Now God is
a Sovereign; He is not down here selling salyation—offering you
salvation if you will pay something forit. What can you offer
to the King of kings? What haye you got that God will accept?
Nothing but your sins.—Mr. Moody’s London Sermon.

What can I offer Thee, King of kings?
What can I give for Thy grace within?
Nothing haye I wherewith I may buy,
Nothing but sin, ah! nothing but sin!
Nothing but sin, with a crown to win,
Nothing, Lord, nothing but sin.

Needy and lowly I take my seat,
Learning my lesson at Thy dear feet, >
Drinking in love trom the fount above,
Giving Thee naught for a draught so sweet~—
Nothing but sin, with a crown to win,
Nothing but sin, Lord, nothing but sin.

Blessed salvation, so full and free,
Blessed salvation for one like me.
Jesus hath paid, and sacrifice made,
Lord I am sinful, be this my plea,
Nothing but sin, with a,crown to win,
Nothing but sin, Lord, nothing but sin.

 

Pleasant Paragraphs.

{Most.of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing
toward making this column an attractive feature of the NEW
YorK WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for publica-
tion anything which may deemed of sufficient interest for
general perusal. It is not necessary that the articles should be
penned in scholarly style; so long as they are pithy, and likely
to afford amusement, minor defects will be remedied. }

 

Pin ’em Back Tight, Mother.
Pin my skirts back, mother, tight as you can.
For it is time that I tried the new plan,
Followed by maidens when out.on the street,
Called the new fashion of showing their feet!
Pin ’em back, mother, oh, tighten with care,
So that in walking my form will look fair—
‘You would not have me go out like a fright—
Pin ’em back tight, mother, pin ’em back tight!

Pin ’em back, mother, tight under my arms,

For I would show off the best of my charms!
Nature has lent me a form full of grace,

Peerless in stature, and lovely in face!

Why should I'seek to hide beauty so rare,

When I can modestly “tie back” with care; ,
And all the young men are charmed with the sight
Pin ’em back tight, mother, pin ’em back tight!

-Pin my skirts back, mother, tight if you please,
So that my ankles will be more at ease!

Don’t I look lovely when brought into view—
Faultless in beauty, with charms not.a few?
Now my dress fits me, it’s charming and neat,
Showing the size of my prim little feet;

iam the star of late fashion to-night—

Pin ’em back tight, mother, pin ’em back tight!

Pin ’em back tight, mother, so I may know

If all the charms that are thrilling I show!

I would look nice when I’m out on the street,

For I may chance some Young gallant to meet!

Yes. I can breathe, Lam ignite pt my ease—

Tighten my skirts yet-a uittle more, please;

Don’t be afraid, for your child is all right—

Pin ’em back tight, mothér, pin ’em ‘back tight!

THEo, D. C. Mizner, M. D.

That Door.

Every night for the past two weeks, Gibson has
come home from a hard day’s toil and always found
the basement door wide open. Then Gibson would
remark to his better half:

“Tf she would close the door once in a while it
would be more comfortable, and the hinges would
keep from rusting.”

She would smileandsay: |

“She had enough to do without shutting and
looking after doors; and if he wanted that door
kept shut, he could hire a boy for the winter
a just to attend to that door and nothing
else.

Gibson said that during his existence he had
never come across so tough a family as Mrs. G——’s
and said that. “he really believed they were all
brought up and educated in the Aretic regions, and
that they’d all feel comfortable sitting in an ice-box
during January.”

She reminded Gibson that “she would have no
more personal remarks about her family; that they
were every bit as good as his.”

“They must be if they are all like you,” said

“T won’t have any more abuse from you, Mr.
G—. Ishali drown myself a

“Don’t be in.a hurry about drowning, Sarah;
wait until there is ice on the river, and then you
can die comfortably.”’ ( !

Sarah kept still and Gibson thought that the next
night he came home that door would be closed.

m arriving home the following evening he was
amazed to find the door wide open. He did not
wait to goin, but_ran around to the hardware store
and gotone of the latest patent spring arrange-
ments for doors, and started back for home. It
took him inside of two hours to find the serew dri-
ver, gimlet and the hammer; but he found them at
last, and started the job.’ He bore a sweet smile on
his face while putting on the spring arrangement,
and Sarah stood by, suggesting to him a few points
on household matters. He got the spring on the
door after a severe struggle, and tried to see how it
worked,

He opened the door wide, and, slam-bang it shut
with such foree as to knock two feet of plastering
off the hall ceiling.

Now Sarah happened to be standing just where
the plaster fell, and dawn it cameon her head. She
uttered a terrible yell, found her breath, and then
swore positively that Gibson had strucu her with
the hammer, with intent to kill, She couldn’t be
convinced otherwise until she saw the hole in the
ceiling. }

Gibson told. her to shut. up,that folks going by
would think she was intoxicated.

“T can’t stand,” she said.

Gibson told her to “sit down then.”

She threw the gimlet at him, and then the ham-
mer; and he hada hot time dodging around forten
minutes.

Gibson said she was excited and had better go to
bed, as he was going to stay up that night and try
and get the dooropen. He says when he bought
the patent spring arrangement, he did not tell the
man he wanted the door closed for ever. He got it
opened that night, and now it begins to work a lit-
tle casy: but all visitors ring the bell at the up-
stairs door now,

When a polite book agent stops at the basement
door, he scarcely has time to say, “Allow me, ma-
dame, to introduce to. your——” when slam goes the
door, and he leaves.

The hired girl’s beau came tosge her the other
hight and while she was opening the door, it slip-
ned, and slammed. with great force in his face.
Every mail brings.that hired girl some returned
gift which she had bestowed on him at one time.

The door is always closed now: eyerybody seems
to have a grudge against it;.and Gibson says the
house is.always warm. Gibson_ himself hasn’t full
confidence in that door yet. Many a morning he
gets out of the basement window. when going to
business, CHARLES M, SIMPSON,

The Liar of the Century.

The greatest liar born during the present century
is the author of the following big story: “On a cer-
tain occasion Jim L. determined to catch a flock of
wild geese that were so wild he could not get near
enough to shoot. them. Providing himself with a
strong line and hook, he eaught a small lamprey-eel
and put iton the hook for a bait. Having deposited
the bait in the shallow water where the geese were
in thé habit of feeding, he tied the other end of the
line around His wrist, and hid himself in a neigh-
boring drift to wait for them. , They came at their
regular time, twenty-four of them, and settled right
down by the bait. In a veryshort time an old gan-
der discovered the eel and gobbled him up instant-
er, but the little crawler wouldn’t stay gobbled, and
soon made his way through to his native element,
when hé was again swallowed by another one, with
like result, until he wentthrough the whole flock and
had them all safely strung. Seeing that he had
them all caught. Jim began to haul away on his
line, when they all flopped their wings and soared
aloft, carrying Jim with them, as they struck a bee-
line for their summer home in the Northern lakes,

eager firemen no doubt mistaking the light in Mr.

i don’t you know that Washington was the Daddy of

 

Jim says he concluded he was off on a visit to Don-
aldson, although it might be termed a wild goose
chase, when just as they were passing the lower
end of Seven Mile Island, a squirrel-hunter fired
his rifle at the flock, and, luckily for Jim, cut the
line, when it pulled out, and he fell in the river and
swam ashore,”

My Neighbor's Mishaps.

Mr. Solomon S— is a tailor, who livesin our
town, and itisof him Iam going to tell the story.
He is not overburdened with fat, but is a sprightly
little fellow, somewhat quick-tempered, as tailors
generally are. He lives up in the fourth story of a
well-packed tenement. He has a wife and child,
and always plenty of work—too much, sometimes,
as was the case last week. He had worked ver
hard the fore part of the week, night and day, an
last Thursday had resolved to go to bed very early,
so that he could have a good rest. He went to bed
immediately after supper, and as it was early yet,
his wife told him she intended to go and see a lady
friend of hers, only for a half-hour, who lives just
around the corner, about ten blocks away. Mrs. 8.
said she would leave the baby at. home, although
her husband was not well satisfied, fearing it might
disturb him; yet, as the baby was sleeping soundly,
and his wife assured him it would not awake, he at
ors consented to let her go.

The tailor was soon after in the arms of Morphe-
us. But he was not to enjoy a good sleep, for he
was suddenly startied by a yell—Mr. 8. says it was
something like an Apache war-whoop—and which
eame from that baby, too, who had unluckily awak-
ened. Then he went for that child like a streak of
lightning, and tried to soothe it. by bellowing some
“Rockaby Baby” tunes, among them, “Yankee
Doodle,” “Net for Joe,” “Star-Spangled Banner,”
ete., ete.; but that baby would cry. At last, tiring of
this, he slung it into its erib, where the poor child
was soon frightened into silence.

He had scarcely jumped into bed again, when,
crash went that bedstead to the floor, and Mr. 5.’s
stum py littlenether extremities stuck out, like twin
salt bags, from among the debris. He soon got
himself disentangled, however, and then tried to
set up the bed; but that confounded piece of furni-
ture would not hold. He hunted around for some
rope, but finding none, he had to take recourse to
his suspenders, with which he tied up the bedstead.
Then he once more went off to sleep.

When he awoke again he heard the clock striking
twelve, the baby squealing, his wife (who had in-
tended to stay only half an hour) just returned, and
bustling about the room. He thought this was very
annoying—he told his wife so. Shetold him to go
to—— sleep; it was none of his business, ete., ete.
At last he got so “riled” he went for a pot of stale
coffee that had been standing on the stove, and let
it drive at his wife. She dodged this, but a seventy-
five-dollar looking-glass behind her didn’t, which
he was keeping for a stingy brother who had gone
to California. Mrs. 8. afterward shoveled up. that
looking-glass in the slop-bucket. This cooled him
somewhat.

At last he lay down again. How long he slept he
could not tell, but he was awakened by hearing the
ery of “fire!” If there is one thing that scares the
tailor, itis fire. He fell out of bed, with the inten-
tion of rushing to the window. The room was dark,
and in his hurry and excitement, he did not exactly
notice the washstand, but he found out where it
was by tripping over it, and breaking the basin and
pitcher, and barking his shins generally. Howey-
er, he got to the window and stuck his head out.
The poor, bewildered man had forgotten thatit was
closed. But he knew then, by the ringing of the
glass, and the ringing in his ears, that an opening
had been made. Then he remembered it was a half-
crazy neighbor of his, who was given to roving
around in the night occasionally, and who, ina
spell, had cried “‘fire!” The tailor, with a half-
smothered Sunday-sechool(?) word_on his lips, went
back to bed, meanwhile raking the broken glass
out of his hair with his fingers.

But he could not sleep; he was too excited. His
wife told him to go to sleep. Hetold her to go to
the duse. Then the fond couple got to wrangling
again. Words were not enough to express their
thoughts; they got at one another again. Hus-
band and wife fondly tearing around the room, she
belaboring him with the coal-shovel, while he with
due hand was trying to ward off the blows which
she dealt out so generously, and with the other
hand holding his bleeding head, which had acted
the part of. a battering-ram rough the window.
Then, to add its share to the comp ete pandemoni-
um, the ‘dear one” in the cradle began_to screech.
At last 8. got so raving mad he yelled “fire!” him-
self. Before he had time to think what he had real-
ly done, the alarm had been given at the nearest
engine-house, the apparatus had arrived, two
streams were playing against the windows of §.’s
apartments, crashing through the glass—the too-
8.’s room for the flames they had been summoned
to extinguish. Small articles were beginning to
float around the rooms, while at the same time the
valiant police had battered down the bedroom-
so9e. and were also hammering away atthe kitch-
en-door. -

Then Mr. 8. thought the house was really on fire;
consequently he turned his attention to saving his
property. He grabbed a wash-basket, and as he
was so terribly excited, he did not exactly notice
that he slung in a spittoon, several old petticoats,
a clay pipe, the clock, more old clothes, an old
stoye-pipe hat, without rim, and two holes in it,
and other useful articles. Then he started to rush
down stairs. As he was descending the last flight he
slipped, and in the fall things were eonsiderably
mixed. When the assortment got to the bottom, a
policeman hammered around on the heap, out of
which he dragged the poor tailor, whom, without
more ado, he marched off to the station-house as
the incendiary.

He sat in his lonely prison cell until the next
morning. When he got home, his wife was quietly
carting down broken crockery in the coal-scuttle,
setting up sad-looking furniture, and hanging out
clothes, ete., to dry.

- Mr. 8. gazed with moist eyes over the scene of
desolation. Then he got to figuring up his losses,
which he found rose to the awful sum of one hun-
dred and eighteen dollars and twenty-five cents.

It is better to stand off a bit when you ask him
about going to bed early again.

OLuA DOMMIYAUN.
Torpedoes.

The colored ladies of Washington call themselves
brunettes, and back ;it up with a kick from a foot
thirteen inches long.

Mere than five months must elapse before Mr.
Fvyarts can spread his oratorical pinions at the
Philadelphia Centennial, and yet he already limits
himself to a diet of eagles’ eggs.

A dressmaker’s apprentice speaks of her cross-
eyed lover as the fellow whose looks are cut bias.

There were numerous looks of intense disgust on
the faces of several coachmen who, while waiting
the other day on Fifth avenue for their employers.
who were attending a “kettledrum,” were regaled
by the hospitable hostess with—hot tea,

“Ma,” said a young Brooklynite, as he stood be-
fore the looking-glass wrestling with a shirt-collar,
“T shall be twenty-four years old to-morrow, and,
when I reflect that I never yet had a shirt to fit me
in the neck, it seems to me as if my life had been a
failure.”

It’s acurious incident of matrimony, that if you
tell your wife to get up and build the fire she exhib-
its her dutiful obedience by forthwith proceeding
to fire up.

“How much to take me to the cathedral?” asked a
tourist, just arrived in Dublin, of a hackman.
“Well,” said Pat,,““the meanest man I ever took gave
me three shillings.”

“What do they always put D. C.

after Washington
for?” asked Mrs. Quilo of Mr.Q. “

hy, my dear,

his Country?” said Quilp, with a snicker.

“All is wanity,” remarked a tinware peddler, the
other day. hat’s life to me, anyhow, but holier
and tin sell?”

There’s a girl in’ Iowa who has seven fingers.
Young men are rather shy. Seyen fingers can take
in a shocking handful of hair on oécasion, no
doubt.

*Whent have work to do,’’said an old toper, “TI
always set about doing it.” He had been “setting
about” in a bar-room for years.

 

O44

The Ladies’ Work-Box.

(The winter Catalogue of Patterns now ready, price 6 cents.

Send to the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency. }

 

“Miller.”’—You. are perfectly mght in wishing to do as much
as possible of your spring and summer work before the seasons
commence. Such material as organdie muslin cannot be made
in the elaborate designs of silk and like fabrics. Make your
dress with high neck and Jong sleeves. No, do not line the
waist or sleeves, and if you shirr them the effect will be very
pretty. Trim with Valenciennes Jace. The skirt and oyerskirt
may be trimmed with fluted or plaited fiounces. Loop‘and trim
with elusters ot flowers, or knots or bows of ribbon, either white
or any desired color. The sheer white organdie dresses are very
pretty when worn ever skirt and waist of silk in any becoming
eolor ; for instance, rose or buff for a brunette, blue, green, and
pink for a blonde.

“Lenore.’—As you liye in New York, your best plan would be
to visit some of the costumers and select a beoming style. There
are afewsuch houses on Broadway, and you will find a great
nunberon Third avenue, or on the Bowery below Third strect.
At any of them the proprietors will allow you to examine the
maasquerade costumes, and you can then find something to suit
you, and we feel sure that if you desire the dress for one even-
ing only, it will be cheaper to hire a suit than to buy material
and have one made. You can also find out from the costumer
where the net and other fabrics can be procured, but we think
you can find all materials at any of the large dry-goods establish-
ments.

‘Hazel Eyes.”—Certainly you can wear the black velvet cloak,
and it will not be inappropriate. Peopic are not so particular
now as they used to be in such matters. Silks, velvets, and al-
pacas.are used quite as much as the serges, cashmeres, incrinoes,
and camel’s hairs.

“Mrs.

that we can ScaOey realize how decided they are until we com

are a suit worn a few seasons ago with one recently from the
hands of a fashionable modiste. Now, the skirt is as narrow 29
it can conveniently be worn; the waist is long, but shaped clese-
ly to the form; the sleeves are close-cut, and have no more, trims
Ming upon them than is necessary to a fine finish and pretty
appearance of the hand. Anordinary skirt consists only ef =
gored front breadth, two side gores, and a back breadth, whiel

‘orms @ huge plait. Inthe front and at the sides there are
neither gathers nor plaits—no fullness at all. Exclusive of trim-
ming, the amount of material required is comparatively small,
but the side-plaiting rapidly takes itup. This style of trimming,
requires the length three times over of the space it is intended
to occupy, and therefore cuts into the material. very fast. Am
essential feature of modern dress-making is neatness and ace
racy. Poor workmanship will not do upon garments without
folds, and a “perfect fit” is indispensable, where the style of t
garment is dependent upon its shape, rather than the material
and trimming. The paper patterns are now so accurate that no
one need have a badly-fitted dress, and with the instructions
upon the patterns the trimmings.can be neatly and _ prettily ar-
ranged. The princesse dress continues and increases in favor,
but has not by any means caused polonaises, and basaués, and
overskirts to be abolished. Our catalogue of spring patterns is
now ready, and may be procured by sending name and address
in full, and six cents. 4
“Vaniliia.”"—Your blue silk dress would be very handsome fo»
wear with an overskirt and fichu, or sacque of organdie muslir,
trimmed with Italian Valenciennes edging, as itis you can use
the white shawl you already have for an overskirt. and make
our cape of the white muslin. Let your dress waist be high in
he neck and your sleeves long. The shawl should beso ar~
Tanged that the point should form an apron front, and the ends
be looped or tied in the back. Wear pale pink flowers at your
throat and in your hair, and flesh-colored gloves to match the
fiowers. The shoes may be either black or white. Arrange your
hair in curls, and loop them at the back of your head.

“Inquisitive.”’—We see nothing in our fashion exchanges about.
beads and bead ornamentation, therefore we cannot advise your
to make up a garment you want to continue fashionable. after a
style which is mow considered out of date, but those who have:
handsomely-beaded garments still continue to wear them, al-
though but few now trim with beads. Use gros grain or faille
silk for your outside wrapper it you like better, either cashmere:
or drap d@’ete is much used for talmas, dolmans, and sacques.
Guipure lace will trim handsomely. No, do not trim your alpaca.
suit with satin. If you have enough material trim with the al-
paca, adding only a few bows of gros grain ribbon. Next to it~
self black silk will trim with good taste, but if the silk is used
the decorations need not be so elaborate as when the alpace
forms the trimming. Woolen and silk fringes are used hd toy af-
paca, but the wool grows rusty before the alpaca loses its luster,
and silk fringe, unless silk forms a portion of the garniture,seems
rather out of place. In our spring catalogue you will see all our
new styles.

“Sydney Abernethy.’’—We can get the ornamented paper for
youfor $1.50 a box. Yes. Write direct to the New YorK
WEEKLY Purchasing Agency for anything you may wish, and.
you will find your orders promptly executed. j

“A Friend.”’—You may wear plaited frills of crepe de chine in

the neck and sleeves of your cashmere dress. White gives @
finish to a black dress, You may also fasten a white flower with
leaves at your throat and in your hair. ’
, “Cal Jo.’—You may make a very pretty combination’ suit by
using skirt pattern No. 3,966, price 35 cts., which requires little or
no decoration; overskirt No. 4,191, price 30 cts., and basqne No.
4,289, price 35 cts. These ea form a very pretty suit, and
from your samples we feel sure that your suit will be both com-
fortable and stylish.

“Debbie K.’*—Mornings wear a pink silk dress with «white illu-
sion overgarment, both the dress and overdress being covered
with stars. <A half-moon forms a crown for the head and star
ear-drops are in the ears. Evening can have a bine robe made
after the same suggestion, while night’s costume is black and
covered with stars. The fiower girl’s dress of white is pretty and
simple, and can be appropriately worn by any youug miss or
lady with a small foot.

“D. B. Wallace.”,—Thank you for Freddie’s picture; we will:
give him an honored place in our sanctum. We have quite a
number of babies now, and hope our friends will continue to:
send for our gaHlery*is not near full. From all’ parts of the
United States we have received the likenesses of cherished little
ones, and among them some most beautitul pictures of lovely
children, and we can assure parents that we earnestly appreciate
their kindness in sending them.

“Mrs, Talbortson.””—For boys from three. to ten years of age*
use pattern of zouave pants, No. 4,276, price 15 cents. These ca
be made of any material, but our mode! was formed ef nayy-blue
flannel, and gathered at the knee with an elastic ba un an
narrow strip of muslin or braid. The front waisthan¢ overlaps
the front in a point at the center; and the extra widths eut on
the back edges ofthe front near the top act as facings for the
pockets. Braid and aline of small buttons are arranged along:
the outside seam, and the effect presented is asjaunty and stylis’®.
as possible. A row of white braid might be added on each side
of the buttons, or a single line of inch-wide Titan braid might Be
placed beneath, and arranged between two or more rows of stilt
narrower Titan or soutache braid. Waterproof cloth, beaver,
broadcloth, lady’s cloth, or any material in use for boy’s pants,
may be made up by this model. <A pretty pattern for jacket: is
No. 4,272, price 20 cents. This is very simple in construction, buf

is one of the most fashionable garments of its kind, . It is adjust-
ed by underarm and shoulder seams. The fronts de not meet
in the usual manner at the center, but are eurved downward
from the shoulder on each side, the two parts being connected
with a fancifulty-shaped strap, which is retained in place by but-
ton-holes and twosmall ivory buttons. A pocket opening is
made at each side, and the edges, like those of the strap and the
lower part of the garment, are bound with silk braid. A line of
braid is employed to border the collar at the back, and to outline:
the curved revers on each side of the front. The Sieeve is in
coat-shape, and is neatly ornamented with braid to produce the:
effect of a cuff with lapping ends. We have this pattern in sizes
for boys from four to ten years of age.

 

    
 

 

  

  
  

 

 

Thing’s Generally.
BY MAX ADELER.

A WATCH-DOG FOR SALE.

— One day, recently, a rough-looking vagabond
called at my house, accompanied by a forlorn, mon-
grel dog. came out upon the porch to see him,
and he said:°

“Tsay, pardner, I understood that you wanted to
buy a watech-dog, and I brought one around for
you. You never seen such a dog for watching as
this one. You tell that dog to watch a thing, and
bet your life he’ll sit down and watch it until he
goes stone blind. Now I’li tell you what I'll let you

1ave—”

I cut his remarks short at this point with the fm-
formation that I did not want a dog, and that-if }
had wanted a dog, nothing on earth could induce
me to accept that particular dog. So he left and:
went down the street. He must have made a mis-:
take and come in again through the back gate,
thinking it was another place, for in afew minutes
the cook said there was aman in the kitchen who
wanted to see me, and when I went down there was
the same man with the same dog. He didn’t recog-
nize me, and as soon as I entered, he remarkedz

“Tsay, old pard, somebody was saying that you
wanted to buy. a wateh-dog. Now here’s a watch-
dog that’d rather watch than eat anytime. Give
that dog something to fasten his eye on, don’t care
what itis, anything from a plug hat to a skating-
rink, and there his eye stays like it was chained
wap a trace chain. Now I'll tell you what Ill do:
with

T suddenly informed him, in a peremptory tone,.
that nothing would induce me to purehase a dog at
that moment, and then I walked him ont and shut
the door. When he was gone, [ went across the:
street to see Butterwick about top-dressing my
grass-plot. He was out, and I sat down on the
porch chair to wait for him. A second later, the
proprietor of the dog came shuffling through the
gate, with the dog at his heels. When he reached
the porch, he said, not recognizing me: ‘

“Tsay, pardner, the man across the street there:
told me you wanted a good watch-dog, and I came
right over with this splendid animal. Look at him"
Never saw such an eye as thatin a dog, now did
you? Well, now, when this dog fixes that eye on
anything, it remains. There it stays. Earthquakes,
or fires, or torch-light processions, or bones, or
nothing, kin induce him to move. Therefore, what
IL say is that I offer you that dog for 2

Then I got up in silence and walked deliberately
out into the street, and left the man standing there.
As TI reached the sidewalk I saw Butterwick goin
into Col. Dunks’ law office just below my house. J
went over after him, while the man with the dog
went in the opposite direction. Butterwieck was'in
the back office, and as the front room was empty I
sat down in a chair until he got through with
Dunks’ and came out. In afew minutes there was
arap at the door. said: .

“Gome in!” i)

The door slowly opened, and a dog crept in.
Then the man appeared. He didn’t seem to know
me. He said:

“TL say, old pardy, I dunno your right name, I’ne
trying to sella gorgeous watch-dog; that one there :
and T thought maybe you might be hungry to get a
valuable animal who kin watch the head off of any
other dog in this yer country, so I concluded to eall
and throw him away for the ridic’lous some of—’

“T wouldn’t have him at any priee.”

“What! don’t want him! Don’t want a dog with
an eye like.a two inch auger that’ sitand wateh a
thing for forty years if you tell him to! Don’t want
a dog like that!” ;

“Centainly I don’t.”

“Well, this is singular. There don’t appear to be
a demand for watch-dogs in this place now, does
there? Youw’re the fourth man I’ve tackled about
him. You really don’t want him ?”

“Of course not.”

‘Don’t want any kind of a dog:
of good pups, or’a poodle ?”

“No, sir.”

“Woll, maybe .you could lend: me: five dollars on
that dog. Til pay you back to-morrow.”

“Can't do it,’

“Will you take him as a gift, and give mea chaw
of terbacker?”

“*T don’t chew.”

“Very strange,” he -muttered,, thoughtfully...
“There’s no encouragement for aman in this world.
Sure you won’t take him?”

“Yes, certain.”

“Then, you infernal whelp, get out of here, or I'll
kick the everlasting breath out of you., Gome now,
git!” And he gave the dog a kick that sent him in-
to the middle of the street, and then withdrew him-

 

 

 

not even a litter

sei,
The trade in dogs certainly is not active in our
village.
—__-—->-@—~<—_-

Dried Egrs ’

  

A new industry, that .of drying eggs, has bee
on foot at Passau, on the Danube, and the Prussi:
military authorities are about to. give the product
a fair trial for soldiers’ rations. The London News
says several German chemists,and Prof. Petten-
kofer in particular, are very sanguine as to the sue-
cess of the experiment, and they pronounes dried
eggs to have lost none of their valuable properties
by the gradual evaporation of the water contained

 

 

 

“Dressmaker,”? Bertha Lovejoy,” and others.—The
changes in cutting garments have come upon us so gradually $

by them in their original state.

    

 

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WINTER SUNSHINE.

BY NATHAN D, URNER.

 

Wh! a gift divine is the glad sunshine,

When the buds in the Spring are tender,

‘In the golden tlaze of the Summer days,
And in the Autumn’s reign of splendor;

‘But sweeter, methinks, it falls and sinks,
With many an airy splinter,

Athwart the doors and along the floors
Of our heavy homes in Winter.

Robbing the air of its chill despair,
Earth’s wrinkled forehead it touches,
As she cowers beneath her hoary wreath,
Like a mendicant on crutches.
Et pauses and looks at the frozen brooks,
And then, with a smile of pity,
Passes village and farm, with a greeting warm,
And so comes into the city.

¥rom street to street, upon shining feet,
It glides on its mission holy,
With a benison soft below and aloft
Alike on the proud and the lowly;
But most, I opine, of the coarse and fine,
‘It loves with the poor to linger, fe
Where Want and Care by the cold hearths stare,
And Misery lifts her finger.

Oh! here through the cold and freezing mold
Such dens it unearths in its sallies,
One would think it might lose its pearl-broidered shoes
In the reek and the ooze of the alleys;
But it steals apace with the same soft grace,
The loved and the lost caressing,
And the good and bad, and the sad and giad,
Rejoice in its silent blessing.

It slips through the walls of the hospitals,
Through the cots of the sick and the yearning,
Here and there takes a stand, with a white shining hand
On the brow that is throbbing and burning;
And then on again, every image of pain
Calling forth its immeasurable pity,
‘Out into the air, to the fields brown and bare,
And away from the hive of the cicy.

hi a gift divine is the sweet sunshine,
When the worid is berett of its blossoms,
Like a glance of love from the angels above
It descends to our grateful bosoms;
And whether it fal! upon wintry wall,
Or among the dewdrops tender,
Not less do we sup of its golden cup,
With a blessing upon the sender.

CALEB’S JEALOUSY.

BY MABRY KYLE DALLAS,

“Why, what is that?” asked Caleb Moor, as the
expressman rattled up to the door of John Hutter’s
farm-house, dumped something heavy on the
porch, and stood whistling and beating time with
aa boots while he waited for some one to come
out.

“Going to have company, Jennie?”

Jennie Hutter shook her head.

“No,” said she; “pa has taken it into his head to
have city boarders, that’s all. Some old gentleman
who is going to write a book and wants quiet, I be-
fieve. What a bother!”

Caleb laughed. ‘

_.., He'll not bother you much, plaything,” he said.

“You are not interested in the crockery, nor do you
Sweep or make the beds. The rose on the branch
by the window will be troubled as much by his
coming as you.”

Jennie routed.

““How idle a fancy me,” she said. “I sew per-
petually, and I made a custard yesterday. Ma
won't jot me do housework, and old Nancy always
says: ‘Go away and don’t bother me, child,’ when I
try to help. ee ;

“There, plaything,” said Caleb, “don’t make ex-
cuses. I’d as soon expect a humming-bird to turn
kitchen-drudge as you; and youare to belong to
me some day, and I shall lay you up in cotton as
you lay your pins and ear-rings, and like to see
your little hands snow-white as they are now, if
you are a farmer’s wife.”

Jennie looked down and blushed. She had been
betrothed to Caleb for two years, but she had not
quite grown used to talking of it.

“livery one tries to spoil me,” she said. “You
will work, Caleb; why not I?” i

Caleb lifted her upon his knee as though’she had
been a child. :

. J6nnie,” he said, “this is why,” and he put her
kittie hand upon his great brown palm. “‘See the
difference: between :us.. I was’ made to work.

groat, broad-shouldered_ six-footer, with the
sinews of a’ giant and the constitution of a
horse, and you look as if a breath would kill you—
# fairy, just a little taller than those we used
to read of in the gilt-covered picture-books years
ago. When I first grew up and took notice of farmer's
wives, 1 made one observation. As a general thing
“bey’re worked harder than the men. I’ve seen
fellows with acres upon acres anda fortune put
away inthe bank, whose wives did all the cooking,
and washing, and ironing fora dozen hands bo-
sides their own children, women with’ babies ery-
ing after them and keeping them up all night, and
maybeaslip of araw girl halfthe time to hel p.
Pve seen those women break down before they
were thirty into sallow, gray-haired, you’d almost
eail old, and I’ve seen them buried, and heard the
elergyman cali these deaths ‘dispensations of Proy-
idence,’ when an honest jury ought to have been
eailed to give the verdict, ‘worked to death.’ Yes,
my dear, and ifin allthese hard lives a thing was
dons wrong or forgotten, those men would talk of
idleness, and scold, and grow), and worry as if they
had servants instead of only the delicate mothers
of their little children to do their bidding, and then
I’ve said this, Jennie: ‘When I’m married Pl have
ahelpmeet anda friend, a thing to love and cher-
ish, notaslaye. And I’ilshow folks that a farmer
¢an treat his wife as wellasaking, and have as
fresh and blooming a one.’ And that’s my plan,
Jennie, and was when I chose you. Iknow you are
willing to help me, and you shall in fifty ways, but
not, if I’m as I hope to be, a well-to-do man, asa
erease. ets ak

ennie nestled her head upon his shoulder and
said nothing, though she thought, “how good aaa
fender he is, and how happylam.” And what
more Caleb intended to say, no one will ever know.
pia gs at that momenta voice close to their ears
Said:

“Is this Mr. Hutter’s?”

And Jennie flew from Caleb Moor's knee and
began to crochet violently, her cheek as red as the
Berlin wool she was knitting, while Caleb seized
upon a volumeof poetry which adorned the table
and began to regard it intently, utterly ignorant of
the fact that he was holding it upside down.

This is Mr. Hutter’s?” asked the voice again,
and Jennie, becoming aware that it was her duty to
speak, replied:

_Xos, Sir; walk in and I’ll call pa.”

*#horoupon the gentleman entered.

2 Hen’t disturb your father if he is busy,” he said.

My name is Jordan. I—I believe my trunk arrived
an -hourago. }

Jonnie said, “Yes, sir.” And Calob lifted his eyes
to see the “old gentleman” who “wanted quiet, and
was Boing to write a book.” ‘. :

26 saw a man offorty, very bald, but by no
eiderly or plain looking, A very handasine aaa
an fact, with an “air distingue,” which Caleb, plain
and homely as he was, understood at a glance, and
eyes brown, long-lashed, and bright which follow-
aed ennie’s SS ae figure admiringly,

’ Suppose ke wants a beauty for his 2
thought Caleb. ‘‘Well he’s welcome, and tat
put her in as good and handsome as she is [’ll buy
“then Oaleb | ked

1 Hen Valeb looked at his big silver watch. r ‘
bered that the man whom he was to see about the
two calves which were to be sold would be Waiting
and walked yey. homeward. And why, thinking
tt over, he should be sorry that the new boarder
was a ‘handsome, middle-aged man instead of the
old book-worm he had expected, Caleb could not

ell.

“What, is that man to me,” he said i
again. “I’m an idiot, and I’d trust Tonite: with the
eangpomoat young fellow under the sun I’m cer-
Sunday was Caleb's ing night. The evening
h country custom, the

when, after the old-fas ione
absented themselves from the parlor and

 

 

 

family

teft-the courting couple solus. On other d
might happen in,” but he was not expectex OF phe

_ On Sunday, therefore, Caleb went over

ters. Tea Was Over, and Jennie was in Peers
s0 were the “old folks.” so was Mr. Jordan. Mr
Jordan was very sociable and talked a good deal.
b Hight o’clock Game, and he did not stir home still
“ en and talked. The old folks looked at ‘each

ae yen Mr Pi oa * —
Fed be ii ah te as aba, Mas and
tended to go to bed at all. eh he never in-

‘The conversation flagged. All the better for Mr.

Jordan.’ He held the
and he liked good fheweneyat ene Petty

ap edge The old folks arose.
re | excuse us,” they said, politely, “we'll

se

reti

 

 

sone ee

 

Mr. Jordan excused them, and remained talking
ill.

The fact was that in the society to which he was
accustomed no young lady would haye remained
up alone to entertain a gentleman, and it never en-
tere his mind that while Caleb remained be was
de trop.

Caleb imagined the gentleman was trying
him out,” and grew indignant. He folded his arms
and scowled. ‘

Mr, Joraan hoped smoke was not disagreeable
to Miss Hutter, and lita cigar. Finally, Caleb in a
rage, hearing the clock strike two took his hat and
departed, and Jennie ran up stairs to cry for Caleb
had not kissed her at parting.

Caleb himself was jealous and wrathful, and as
time wore on nothing happened to change his
mind. Thesame thing was repeated evening after
evening, and Jennie was not as angry asshe should
have been. Indeed Caleb was fast becoming pos-
sessed of the idea that she liked Mr. Jordan better
than she had ever liked him. :

“The impertinent rascal he must know that she’s
engaged to me,” said Caleb. ‘‘I’ll show him what I
think of him,” and accordingly he did his best to be
rude to Mr. Jordan, and toshow him that he was
not welcome in the little parlor.

Mr. Jordan only fancied his manners uncouth
and his temper bad, and devoted himself to Jennie
who tried to make amends for her lover’s ill-be-
havor by great politeness, and who was terribly
troubled, poor little soul, by Caleb’s disagreeable
manners.

Had she known the whole truth, she might have
been yet more troubled. Caleb’s greatest fault was
rjcalousy, and now that passion was boiling in his
heart, and maddening him until the good-humored,
well-intentioned young farmer was a revengeful,
dark-browed, dangerous sort of fellow, with all
sorts of wicked thoughts and feelings. :

He hated the handsome man who was striving to
win Jennie from him, and he was angry at Jennie,
who seemed to “encourage 5

to “see

him.

At last, one Sunday, he did not go to the Hutter’s.
Better not go than suffer as he did, he said; and
neither did he attend as usual to his farm, butspent
his time wandering about the woods with gun and
game-bag, by wie of excuse for idleness. For a
whole week hesiepton the grass, and bought his
meals at wayside taverns, or sometimes shot a rab-
0 or a hare and broiled it over a gipsy fire for his

inner.

There must be something done, He must have it
out with Jennie, and give her back her letters, and
that golden lock of hair that lay against his breast
—but not yet, not yet. So he wandered about the
wood like a madman, and mad he was for the time
to all intents and purposes. L

The Sabbath evening came again, and he sat un-
der a great elm, with his gun by is side and his
head bowed on his hands. It was quite dark, and
no one could have seen him in the shadow. Neither
did he see two people who walked slowly past, but
he heard their voices—John Doolittle and Peter
Duckworth, old residents of G—,

“What's come of Caleb Moor?” asked one.

“Dunno,” said the other. “He’d orter hurry back;
“the city feller’! have his gal if he don’t.”

“Have her any way,’ said the first. “Mark my
words, she’s jilfed Caleb. I seen her and t’other
sitting in the verandy like two turtle-doves as I
went a-past, and he’s as rich as a Jew, they say.”

“That’s enough for any woman,” said the second,
and the two trotted on.

Caleb listened until they were gone,and then
started up. The image presented by the words,
“like two turtle-doves,” lashed him to such a fury
as he had never felt before. ‘ :

“Pil kill him!’ he muttered. “I’l kill him! by
Heaven, I will!” :

And he examined his gun as he spoke, with a ter-
rible gleamin his dark eye, and throwing it over
his shoulder, hurried away toward the utters’
farm-house.

It was a dark night, moonless and cloudy. Far
away he could see the gleam of candle-light from the
small parlor, and two dark figures with their backs
tothe window. He knew them in a moment—Mr.
Jordan and Jennie Hutter. : :

“Together! together!” he whispered between his
teeth, and strode on, crushing the green grass be-
neath his feet. fo

At jast only the branches of a tall lilac intervened
between himself and the pair. He stood behind it,
and looked at his gun again. He listened.

“Thave something to say to you, Jennie,” said
Mr. Jordan’s voice,

Caleb took aim, deadly aim, at the broad back of
the speaker, and stood still again.

“Vil hear what it is and then kill him,” he mut-
tered. “Yes, I'll hear it all.
her feet just as she has given her false heart into
his keeping, dead, and then I will end my wicked
life, and the man wholoves her andthe man she
loves shall die together.”’

His finger was on the trigger, and he stood like a
statue of vengeance waiting for the words whose
import he already knew. ;

“You must know I love you,” said Mr. Jordan.
“You must be used tolove and admiration. But
perhaps you cannot guess how much. It is better
than my life. Jennie, I adore you.”

Caleb drew one step nearer, his teeth set, his eyes
sparkling. :

Jennie said nothing. Mr. Jordan went on:

“Will you be my wife, Jennie? Iam older than
you, but [ will be very kind to you. Could you like
me well enough for that, my dear? You would
never repentit. Tam rich,and my wealth would
be lavished upon you. You shalf move in circles
where your beauty and your grace will be appre-
ciated, and your wish shall belawtome. You—
Jennie, don’t run away, speak to me—will you be
my wife, darling?”

Tho muzzle of the gun rested on the window-sill
now, and Caleb Moor’s breath almost brushed the
thin, dark curls of Jennie’s wooer.

“How will she say it?” thought Caleb. Not what—
that he believed he knew. In a moment more Jen-
nie spoke, ‘

“Tam so sorry,” she said. “I did not think—it
never entered my mind that you liked meso. Your
ways are so different from ours, and—and—you are
so much richer and older.” _

“But does that make any difference ?” asked Mr.
Jordan.

“I don’t know. If it was any one else I should
say thesame. I cannot say yes, liir. Jordan.”

; aleb heard the words, and his gun dropped
ower.’

“.Why not? Am IJ too old ?” asked the wooer.

Pll tell you the simple truth,” said Jennie. “I
am engaged, Mr. Jordan—I have been engaged two
years to Caleb Moor.”

“But you don’t love the sulky brute,” cried Mr.
Jordan—“‘that can’t be, Jennie.’

“I love him better than any thing else in the
world,” said Jonnie; ‘and if the richest, handgom-
est and best man on earth were to speak as you
have spoken to-night, and if he were poorer than a
Loggar, and were to lose all the fine, manly looks
I like so, [should choose him before the other. I
feel your offer to be acompliment, and I hope you'll
not care much; but, I must say, no.”

“You must, indeed, if you feel thus,” said Mr. Jor-
dan, and, without another word, he walked out of
the room. 3

Caleb dropped his loaded gun on the grass, and
walked in. His dress was disheveled and soiled,
his hands blackened with powder, and his face very
pale ; but Jennie threw her arms about his neck.

here have you been, Caleb?” she said: “and
what have you been doing ?”

And he answered: —

Jennie, ve been in the woods, hunting rabbits,
and as to what I’ve been doing, why, I’ve been cher-
ishing wicked, angry, jealoust oughts, that I oucht
to be ashamed of. ‘ve been bad at heart as bad
could be; but it’s all over now, Jennie, and I’ll ney-
er be eoeee of you any more—neyer, darling.”

And Caleb never was; and the remembrance of
that evening remained with him, though he could
not bring himself to shock Jennie by telling her the
whole truth.

JOE’S NUGGET,

BY ARTHUR L. MESERVE.

 

 

 

I had been about three months at Tear-Shirt
sere pan she thing happened which I am going
you of.

We had all of us only middling luck. Nonaof the
party had made a big strike in the way of finding
nuggets. Still we had nothing to comnlaka of. WW
were making fair wages, and that in the long run
is better than making a big haul at one time, and
ee iaying off and aeeag through the whole of

n ess than a month’s time, as I have y
plenty of fellows to do. CL

Oe day the camp was all astir itke 9 hive of bees
which somebody had thrown a rock into. One of
our chaps, a fellow by the aams of Joe Garland,
had made aten-strike. He had hit upon the big-
gest nugget of gold that had ever been found in the
region of Tear-Shirt. Tt was a good one. worth a
couple of thousand at least, and the boys ail gatk-
ered about it with greedy eya:. Thev envied Foe
his good luck; still they were ail giad that he had
gotit. A prouder fellow than he was you never
saw. He hugged the chunk and petted it. and it
did seem that he would neyer tire of feasting his
eyes upon it.

After the first excitement was over Joe was left to
: mo 1 one and cee ove turned to digging again,

“A One hoping that he might agor | s fort.
as Joe hid beet ; ght soor be as fortunate

oe had half a mind to set off for Frisco with
treasure at once. The express only ran Sones
week, and it lacked three days of the time of going
again. He was afraid that in some way he might
loose the nugget before it was got to a place of
sacety. Still I don’t think that there was a@ person
in the camp that he was suspicious of. It would

have been hard to ha: ick
was not called allright, P04 Out @ fellow who

 

Joe carried his nugget to the cam , but h
not stow it away with the rest of the cpeaiien ita

i

Then he shall drop at},

 

would bide it for himself. If the rest was stolen
while he was away at work he was going tosave his.

Two or three times a Joe would leave his
work and go and see that the nugget was safe. We
used to tease him about it, and tell him he was
losing flesh at the rate of ten pounds a day, and
that if the treasure was not sent away soon, there
would be nothing left of him but skin and bones.

The second day after the finding of the treasure
about the midd'e of the forenoon, Joe made one o
these visits to the camp. He was gone but a little
time, and when he came back,a more frightened
and woe-begone looking countenance than his you
never saw in your life. |

“What is it?” we all cried, in chorus, as he came
dashing in among us.

“Tt’s gone!” was all the poor fellow could manage

Bay.

“What is gone?” we repeated, though onthe mind
of gach flas a ae ea of the treasure.

“The nugget,” he gas ¥

We aneppen spade and pick, and started for the
camp. All of us were interested. If the nugget was
stolen, most likely all the dust we had gathered had
gone with it.

We piled into the camp, and went for the spot
where the general treasure was kept. Each drew
a breath of relief when_we found that it had not
been tampered with. The robber, whoever he was,
had contented himself with Joe’s nie,

After we had satisfied ourselves with a look in the
place where Jos had k it, and thus convinced
ourselves that it was really gone, we all turned to,
totry and find a clew to the rebber.

But, try as we would, not the slightest clew could
we find. Notatrack could we discover about the
ome ones those which we felt sure our own feet

ad made.

The fellow who done the cooking was the onl
one who had been about the camp since we h
left in the morning, and weedy. much less Joa,
suspected him, for he was Joe’s brother. ’

It had been his custom to do up the work in the
morning, and spend the rest of the forenoon with
us until it was time for dinner. .

He had not been at the diggings more than an
hour before Joe had made the discovery of his loss
So that the robbery could have but just taken place.

All that ey, we Spent in searching around, but
getting no chew. hoever the robber was, he had
covered his trail too well for us.

Night obliged us to give over the search, and the
lost nugget was the last thing in our thoughts as
one after another we dropped off to Bleep.

Ih n asleep some time, when some one
gave mea nudge in my side, which completely
woke me. I started up and dimly in the darkness
I saw Joe’s brother beside me. :

“What do you want ?” I said, a trifle pEpoxed. for
I didn’t relish the punch I had got. ““Hush! Joe
has just got up and gone out; and if he wan’t
asleep when he went then I miss my guess. He
used to do such things when he'wasa boy. Let us
folkow him.”

Isprang to my feet,and we went softly out. A
sudden thought flashed to my mind, but I said
ene It might be that the nugget would be

ound. '

It was bright starlight outside, and we saw Joe
moving away toward a clump of oaks which stood
about forty rods off. We followed after him as fast
as we could, and got to the trees almost.as soon as
he did. At the foot of one he stopped and bent
down, and pretty soon we saw him draw something
forth. For awhile he-seemed to be fondling it, then
he put it carefully back,and turning round he
went by us toward the camp. He moved like one
who had his eyes shut, and both of us would have
taken our oath that he was fast asleep.

“The nugget is. found,” said I, in a whisper, and
then we hurried to the tree, Its trunk was hollow,
and thrusting in my hand I drew out the lost trea-
sure.

We carried it back to the camp. When we got
there no one was stirring. Joe was lying on his
back fast asleep, and all the rest were snoring in
concert, We carefully put the nugget in the place
where Joe had kept it,and then turned in ourselves.

In the morning we got Joe to show us the tast
place where he hadseen his treasure. When his
eyes fell upon the nugget a more astonished man

ou never saw in your life. Then to the wonder-
ting crowd we told the story of how we had found it.

POTTS’ VALENTINE.

BY POTIPHAR POTTS, ESQ.

 

 

I know that I am a married man.

I acknowledge it freely.

fam sorry for it, and would gladly change it, but
change of that kind is searce, scarcer even than
scrip.

It is one of the problema of life the way a woman
willhangtoaman after she gets him,and how
dreadful. loth she will apbear to beto have him
while heis trying to court her.

Now, there was Mrs. Petia. Before I married her
IT used to have to coax Her three or four hours to
porn me to press my ruby lips to hers, and after

got a mustache, and was dying to know_ how it
would ssem to kiss @ woman with oneon. I had to
promise her a new set of jewelry to let me find ont.
And after that, she acted as if she had as much cu-
riosity to find out as Lhad. I coaxed her to marry
me, and she said she didn’t wantto marry. Shehad
decided to live an old maid.

-Now, when I would: be giad to persuade her to
live a life of single-blessedness, she won't be per-
suaded, She says she has got used to hearing
somebody snore nights,and she shouldn’t know
how to get along without the old familiar sound.

If it be true that she hears snoring, she must hear
herself, for lam positive I never snore. No, never.
if I did I should have heard it before now, of
course. : E 3

Mrs. Potts is in the habit of reprimanding me
with being too boyish fora married man. Ilikea
little bachelor party now and then. I like, once in
awhile, to go wheréI know no woman will ever
come. It sort of rests aiellow that has been nagged
for years. No disrespect meant to the ladies. Not
by any means. They argall angels, but then one
might weary of the society of angels if one liked to
smoke and sup a little drop of whisky-sling occa-
sionally. Because angels are not supposed to
pink whiskey-sling. No disrespect to angels,
elther.

February the 14th, of the present year, wasa great
day for Purdy. It was the anniversary of the birth
of Purdy’s twins. Heis prouder of these twins
than acat would be of two tails. Well, it is every
man’s duty, asa citizen and a Christian, to be
proud of twins. They count high, as doublets do
in backgammon.

Mrs. Purdy and Mrs. Potts, on Valentine’s day,
took the twins out to their grandmother’s, and Pur-
dy andI had an oyster supper at the Man’s
Lodge, with some champagne and a sprinkling of

randy.

_ Lt was all on acccunt of the twins, you know, and
ss any blame is to be attached to anybody, blamethe
wins.

We allsung songs,and told some stories, and
smoked a box of cigars, and then we began to
f° home. Isay began, for it was a work of time.

he sidewaiks wereso confounded slippery, and
our boots were just like the sidewalks. They do
make such uncommon slippery boots nowadays.

And Purdy and I were tired, too. It is tiresome
work to make speeches and shake hands with your
friends who congratulate you on haying twins. It
is true I had no twins myself, but I sympathized
with Purdy, and entered into the hand-shaking
with spirit.

Purdy sat down several times to rest on the way
home, and he. hugged & policeman who told us to
move on, and, told him he had gottwins. The po-
liceman said “hang the twins,” and went his way.

Purdy couldn’t find his front door key-holo, and
I seemed to have forgotten all about where his front
door was, and we coneludéd to go into my house

and wait si that front r came Reppd.

about eleven o’clock, and almost time to
expect our wives home with the twins. We made
our toilet for them. I curled my hair, and put
some of Araminta Maud’s Bloom of the ily on m
cheeks and nose, which the cold winter zephyrs had
made purple-red. Cold weather ruins a man’s com-
plexion! Purdy washed his face in cologne and
poured some in his handkerchief, but it turned out
that there was hair dye in the cologne bottle, and
Purdy’s face was just the color of mahogany!
duse take the women! Who else but a women
would ever have thought of putting hair dye in a
cologne bottle to deceive innocent men and trust-
ing servant-girls ?

Just Purdy had finished wiping off as muci a¢.
he could of the dye, on Mrs. Potts’ muslin gow:,
which hung on a chair to air—my eye fellon a lars
package addressed to myself.

"_P. Ports, * A VALENTINE.”
by hes A Says eS Ac nane og you, coe my

oy am married, the ladies do not n ao5
oes it be?” re prereee

‘A d—dressing gown!” says Purdy leaning cyer
to examine tab uistee but he leaned toc f SG
his Lead more than balanced his heels, and he 35
down handsomely, with his feet in Mrs. Po.s:
work-basket, and his head in the wash-bowl!

We ‘ished him out, he and I—and then we opened
the bundle. It was agood-sized red flannel petti-
coat, with a label pinned to it which read thus—

P. )F OTTS—VALENTINE— Under petticoat goverir-

“Put it onJ” says Purdy, “and I'll dance a rozn:

bao aor Seems as if twas a female woman lone.
e ! ’

I made the attempt, with Purdy to help me, bas we
wouldn’t seem to go on in the natural way: aa
Purdy proposed that he should hold the bande it
pais while I got down on the floor and Crawsas *a-
io ewere suet doing jt ween. yn ae poise are

; e cross “ya ah!” of a tir Ue, oar
knew that the ladies had returned, Mae. God
was coming in to rest a little and talk ens, the
events of the day.

The

 

«od THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #--

“Lord!” says I, “if Araminta sees me thus, it will
be all up with otts!” and I hastened to scramble

floor when the ladies and the babies, came in.
| Purdy—wise Purdy! had jumped in behind the bed
at the first sound of their approach, and I was left
to face the storm unarmed «nd single-handed!

Mrs. Potts had ababyin her arms—so had Mrs,
Purdy. Mrs. Potts’ eyes fell on that petticoat the
first aping. :

Never shall I forget the expression of her face,

“PO TTS!” says she, in capital letters an inch
bong! and.in a yoice to which the voice of the roar-
ing tion would be tike the bleat of a lamb! ;

“My dear!” says I—with my most affectionate in-
tonation.

“Where is she?” demanded Mrs. Potts. .

“She?” says I. “Well, really, my dear, that is a
which is open to discussion—ain’t it,

question
urdy ?”

When I spoke to Purdy, Mrs. Purdy flung aturn
on the bed, and with one leap she cleared the mat-

tress and landed on the other side, with her hands
in Purdy’s red shock of hair, _ b

“You villain! you rascal!” cried she. “You the
husband of a confiding wife, and the father of
fwing, shut upinachamber, with a strange pettli-

“Its Potts’ works—I know it is!” screeched Ara-
minta; “he is false as Satan! Where is the woman?
Pll tear her into inch pieces! Vil claw her heart
out! DP bust up her pull-back! DP’ll—l’li—l’l——”

And here sh threatening, and flew at me
with a will. Bhe drew maps on my face with her
finger nails; she kicked my shins with those
French kid boots of hers bought with my money;
she tore my vest in two up and down the back; and
to complete all, she rubbed my nose on the stove-

ipe, and tenderly express the opinion that

anging was too good for me.
told her I was glad to hear it, for I had observed
in the course of along and varied life that people
pen: not likely to get much of what was too good
or them,

Purdy had been lying under the bed for some
time, and his wife was puttingin the licks where
they would do the most good

I explained matters to Mrs. Potts while she
a to take off her hack hair; forif you area
amily man, you know that a woman’s back hair
always comes down in a scrimmage, and when she
stops and takes it off, you had better be on your
guard, for depend upon it she means business.

Purdy swore to whatI had said, and we showed
the two ladies the wrappings and the address
which had come on the bundle, and: they subsided.
Only Mrs. Potts declared she knew the petticoat
came from old maid Ann Btiggins, who used to be
aflame of mine, and who has hated Araminta ever
since our marriage. ;

We were a happy family that night, and Mrs.
Potts gave the petticoat to Mrs. Purdy make a
pair of ’em for the twins; and Purdy says, “tell ’em
to send their valentines right, along. til pay a
man to raise twins,” he says, “when he has such
substantial encouragement.’

 

 

To Correspondents.

To BUYERS,—Al] communications in regard to the prices or the
purchasing of various articles must be addressed to the NEW
YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, contain the full address of
the writers, and specify the size, quantity or quality of the goods
desired. Thove requiring an answer must have two threecent
stamps inclosed. Owing to the large increase of letters to be an-
swered in this column, a delay of several weeks must necessarily
ensue before the answers appear in print.

NOTICE.—With every mail we receive a number of letters on
various subj 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 in the information. This we
will cheerfully submit to when the questions are answered
through our columns, as the knowledge thus imparted will inter-
est and benefit the mass of our readers; but in the future, to se-
cure an answer by maw, persons desiring it must inclose a FIFTY
CENT STAMP, to pay us our trouble amd expense.

 

4a Gossip WITH READERS AND ConTRIBUTORS.—
Aspiration says: “I would like to lay my case before you and
ask your advice, forI am in agreat deal of trouble.” Iam a
young man nearly eighteen years old, and received a pretty good
common school education. found it very pleasant and easy to

most of my classes. I & special fondness for declamation
and debate, and at.all the school exhibitions I was aclected aa
ene of the speakers, and received a great many words. of-en-
couragement. Ever since I was a littke boy I had hoped that one
day I should become a lawyer, and, until within a few months,
I fondly indulged theexpectation. But my father, who has been
a 7 strict business man, and a very stern parent, was resolwed
that I should be trained for business. He abuses the profession
of law in the bitterest terms, and says that no son of hisshould
ever dirty his hands among such asetof men. So he put mein
& commission house at the lowest round, and told me I had to
work my way up ashe did when he was aiad. But this ia not
my trouble, for I think he is right about its being the best for a
lad to work his way up from the lowest round, and it is not my
purpose to object te hard work in an humble place that makes
me so wretched, and neither is it because I have to give up the
idea of law—I trust Ihave higheraims now. I got acquainted
with a young man of my ewn age, who is aclerk in a store near
me. I found him to be one of the most conscientious and sweet-
est-tempered, and geniai personsI ever knew. He persuaded
me to go with him some distance to attend Dr. B—'s church,
and to goto the prayer meeting in the week. Then I became
very much interested, and think IT have found that which is in-
finitely better than all earthly honor, pleasure, or riches, and
ever since I got that I feel as if I must become a preacher of the
Gospel. I did not dare tell my father, whois about as bitter
against preachers aa he is inst lawyers; se I wrote him a note
and hinted at the change of my purpose. He sent for me, and I
never saw him in such a towering passion. He teld me that he
would disown me, that he would never help me with a dol-
lar, that he would disinherit me if I dared to talk of such a thing;
that if I would go on in the course he had marked out for me, he
would do everything for me; that, after I had been trained where
I was he would set me up in business, and I would certainly gain
wealth and 2 position in this city, which he thinks isthe greatest
place in the world. Now, dear editor, what shall I do? My father
is such a bitter and determined man I know he will carry out his
‘threats, and it almost breaks my heart to think I shall be driven
from home, and away from my mother and sisters whom I dear-
ly love. My Tne friend tells me to wait for several years, and
the way willopen. Buti feel anxious to goto college and
begin the seven years of study and preparation which will be
necessary in order to enter the ministry. Please give me your
advice, and teil me what I can do in order to get forward, and
you will greatly oblige ‘one who is perplexed.” Itis plain that
the days of persecution have not ended yet, anda man’s foes
shall be those of his own household. We think that noman ought
to enter the sacred office unless he feels under such constraint
that be can do nothing else, -Ifthis is your feeling, then, noth.
ing ought to stop you. Read Luke xiv, 26, and. remember that
“hate not” here means to prefer before. You will have a sore
trial, but this will all the more prepare you for greater useful-
ness. A great many young men teach until they lay up some
hundreds, and then, by such otber aids aa are provided by
friends of educational societies, they work .their way through.
We advise you to go to Dr. B—— and consult freely with him;
you will'find a friend and wise counselor in: him.

C. E. M. says: “I have been three years in the city where I
now am, and attached myself to a certain society here, and was
getting on quite well when certain parties started the most
abominable stories about me, and they are wholly without the
shadow of foundation. I am exceedingly sensitive, and know
not what todo. I hope I am a Christian, and I am against call-
ing these fellows to personal account. Will you please advise
me? Shall I contradict the slander and assure all my acquaint-
ances that the stories are hes? Or shall I leave the place and
start somewhere else? for just now I have a good offer to go into
bnsiness with an old acquaintance in another city. Do please
advise me, for I have no one else I ean goto.”” We think your
way is very plain. You know the advice that the great philos-
opher, Plato, gave toa young friend under similar circumstances:
“Stay where you are, and live in such a way that no one will be-
lieve the stories.’ No better advice than that. Ifyou leavethe
place people will say: “There, that is proof of his cuilt!’ and the
stories will follow you and damage you whereyer you go. Some
one has well said, that slander is a strange plant, the more you dig
at it the more it will grow, but if you never notice it, it will die
of itself. Try it, and make no reference at all to the Stories, and
in due time a strong tide of sentiment will set in your favor.

G. P.—By the provisions of the amended Homestead law per-
sons who served ninety days or more in the army or navy ofthe
United Statea during the recent rebellion, and were honorably
discharged are entitled to have their term of enlistment deduct-
ed from the five years required of settiers to perfect title to lands
acquired under such law. He is also allowed six months, after
locating his homeste: to settle and commence improvements
on she same. The total coat of fees, etc., is about $20. By writ-
ing to the Land Commissioner, General Land Office, Washing-
ton, D. C., you may obtain blank forms, etc., beside such other
information as may be required. _

Granger.—Dealers in obscene literature and other unlawful
goods are liable to fine and imprisonment. Should such goods
be sent through the mails the offender may be tried in the
United States courts.

J. P. McDermott.—We do not know whether it is the gentle-
man’s real or professional name. ’ :

Seay Michel.—None of the stories named can be procured in
book form.

Pine Chopper.—The lumber region of Oregon extends north
and south through the whole western part of the State, the Coast
range and the region west of it being covered with dense foresta
of gixantic trees We do not know the wages paid to choppers.

East Desmoines.—See foot of column.

G. H. C.—London was the largest city in the world twenty
banda ago, = -. Se ro to Fea in the United States

ureau atistics, London has 2 population of 3 (260, Sut-
cham, China, 2,080,000; Paris, 1,851,792; Peking, 1'300,000! Teehan:
tschan-fu, Hangst-ta- Siangtan, Sangnan-fu, and Canton,
1,000,000 each (estimated) and New York, 943,292. As the limita
of New York city have been extended, and there has also been a
considerable increase of population during the past five years, it

one Sey claim to be the fifth city af not the fourth) in the
world in ee of size.

Fresh Fish.—The population of the United States, by the cen-
sup of 1870, was 38,925,598; of Illinois, 2,539,891.

ane Sea.—Cadeta are not taken on’ any of the line of steam-
£0'ps.

kK ee eS Sree, to = TS of the American
Ant LB oadway, this city. ey wi vise you, and at-
‘end to the matter, if desirable, 7 a a

ate is nO work which will give the information de.
3 OG.

Kanses «°:.—lat. We have no advice to offer youin opposition
oo that ce +o 2r parents. They know what is best for your wel-
4a%e, 2n3 s0-i should govern your action by their wishes. See
*Knowietet Box.’

¥. P. & --.chel is pronounched me-shel.

‘ — ae —The ballads could not be used in the New York
WSEKLY,

». J. W ~tet. Rules 18 and 19 of the game of chess read: “If
& D-8;@x ¢y.o0k the adverse king without saying ‘Check,’ his ad-
versrsy not obli te attend to it, but the former, in
cays 2° next move, were tosay ‘Check,’ each player must
retract ov .ast move, and he whois under check must obviate
+. Ti ;t: <ng has been in check for several moves, and it can-
aot be «ci ertained how it occurred, the player whose king is in
checS m.~t retract his last move, and free his king from the
check; 0:* fthe moves made subsequent to the check be known,
they «wet “e retracted.” When “Check” is called, the player
must rer.o* 2 his king out of check, or parry the check by inter-
posing a maa between the king and the attacking piece, or cap-
ture tne checking man. 2d. See foot of column. 34. In the
—o of checkers, ifa player neglects or refuses to jump when

e has the opportunity, his opponent may take the capturing
piece, whether man or king, or compel the other to take the
piece he omitted to jump. 4th. The best jump by a horse, over
water, is 39 feet; over hurdles, 34 feet: over a wall, 33 feet.

Flo.—Thomas Jonathan (Stonewall) Jackson was born at
ere, Va., Jan. 21, 1824, and died at Guinea’s Station, near

8

 

 

Fredericksburg, May 10, 1863, of neumonia, which set in after
the amputation of his arm, which was shattered eight days pre-

out‘of the thing, and had 7 dropped it on the fi

learn, and without overtasking myself. I stood at the head of

   
 

prominent part in the engagement. During ite progress,
&® moment when the day was ntly lost, his brigade made
80 firm a stand that some one cried out, “Here is n, stand-
ing like a stene wall,” and thenceforth “ ackson” be-
came his sobriquet.

G. W. P.—ist. Wafers may be purchased of any atationer. 2d.
We cannot procure a \ See of

which sometimes attains a length of fifteen and a height of
twelve feet, though the average is considerably lees. ‘

ZL. W. 6.—Cadets at West Point are appointed by the President
and members of Congress, on occurrence of vacancies, The
course of study embraces a partes. of four years. There are no
catalogues issued by the institution.

‘ .—The perforations in the metal sole cause the snow to
bi ore readily than on the flatsole. We do not think you
can remedy the matter. ‘ P

Anzious Inquirer.—The nearest port to Zanesville, Ohio, at
which you can embark for Cuba is New York. The fare by
menneer is $65 and $40. The time occupied in the trip is about

ve days.

Cinnamon Tom.—The series was incomplete. A work on the

subject will cost $2. : ;

R.—Iist. There is nos fied time in whieh accepted arti-
cles will appear in print. 2d. The listis almost endless. 3d. The
price of coin sets varies with the condition of the pieces. 4h.
aren do not give the titles of the MSS. we cannot answer your
question.

Bi Buffalo.—ist. The name Michel ia pronounced on the
stage me-shel, 2d. The gentleman’s name was originally Fla-
herty. 34. The wages of wood engravers vary from $15 to $40
cre Only the best ip pg can pomeane | me latter

gure. Apprentices get no wa; e first year, and when ap-
prenticed to first-class workmen have eh for being
4th. Our story is a correct serial version
other bore no resemblance to it in an ,

D. O,—There are no preparations which will force the beard to

grow,

Muskrat Dick.—lat. The fare from New Haven, Conn., to Wa
basha, Minn., via New York and Chicago, is about $32.
Black Hills are in the southwestern part of Dakota territory.

Pero-Nixon.—Iist. There is little eae we of ireod 3a. on
the staff of one of the city dailies. 2d Very 3d. The

dren of first cousins are called second cousins, There is no
One word to express the relationship between yourself and your
father’s cousin. The latter’s children, as above stated, are your
second cousins. Your children and those of your second cousin
might be called third cousins, but the degrees of relationship are
not usually carried to that point. »

Distress.—There is no place where the lady can be confined or
taken care of except an insane asylum. Your fami physician
should be able to suggest a proper institution, be familiar
with the phases of the malady.

Peter P.—If an inventor applies for a patent when another ap-
plication for a similar invention is pending, the two cases are
declared by the commissioner to “‘interfe: and each party is
notified to present evidence as to the date when he first invented
the thing. He who proves priority of invention receives the pat-
ent, and the other applicant is rejected. Until the patent is
granted, no proceedings for infringement can be urdertaken.

Boy Exile.—In cribbage two sixes, two deuces and a seven
count twelve—eight for fifteens, and four for the two pairs. 5

An Aadmirer.—ist. Richard I., of England, ealied Coeur de Lien,
(the hion-hearted), was not deformed. You doubtless refer
to Richard I1., who was humpbacked and had a hait in hia gait.
2d. The following record ot the first eS Day” is taken
from Elliott's “History of New Engiand:”. “In 1623, after the
angen ef the harvest, Governor Bradford sent out a compan

or game, that they might furnish themselves more dainty a
abundant materials for a feast, and rejoice together after. they
had gathered the fruits of their labors. So they got, their game
and they cooked it, and they ate it, and they feasted Massasoit
and ninety of bis Indians, and they thanked God with all their
hearts for the good world and the good things in it.”

A Hetlander.—There is no extradition treaty between the
United States and Holland. ; : ;

Rothmere,—Any newsdealer will furnish you with the Poultry
World.

J. ¢. B.—ist. We do not discuss religious matters in this co}-
umn. 2d. Your success as a druggist will depend quite as much
on the location of your store as on your own ability to master
the business. 3d. Our opinion is that the young lady is tired of
your company, and that you should transfer your attentions to
another quarter. ;

Clerk.—ist. Phonography may be learned without a teacher,
but it will take much longer. 2d. Yes.

W. T. H.—The rule in regard to all lotteries is, the more you
put down the less you take up.

Harais Chateau.—ist. The song has been printed only in the
columns of the NEw YORK WEEKLY, and has not been set to mu-
sic. 2d. We do not know the whereabouts of either.

R. C. B.—The gentleman's address is 63 Ctiff street.

Clausen.—The average wages of each man was eight dollars,
ninety-one cents and about iour mills per week.

.—There are no blank books made for the especial use
to which you reter. The size and form of the book will depend
on how minutely you wish S deseo the events of each day. Fer
all practical purposes, an ordinary diary is quite 4 enough.

California Joe.—lat. A dealer in paints and varnishes will teil

ou what kind and just how much you will require. 2d. A
knowledge of the German language could be obtained without a
teacher, 2
nunciation would be necessarily imperfect.

Cc. H. Soan.—ist. In the State of N
liable for a note of hand given by his wife:
an individual. 2d. Yes. 3d. We are informed tha
similar to what are called “Alaska diamonds,”
upward.

WV. B. ¥.—On the advent of each new administration the va-
rious postmasters are appointed from the ranks of the adherents
of the successful candidate. In someof the smaller towns,
where the pay of the official is small, the incumbent of the office
is reappointed, regardless of his politica. For this reason it is
possible that there may be here and there a Democratic post-
master under the present Republican administration.

Hoedium.—We cannot furnish the papers desired of Vols.
XXIV. and XXV., but can those of the su uent volumes.

Fcaest Rustace.—ist. The fare to California by rail, on either
of the through hnes, is $140; emigrant rate, $60. Ad ener-
getic farmer is likely to do well there. 3d. Yes. 4th. The supply
of bookkeepers and telegraph operators exceeds the deman

A, B. B.—I\st. “I am going to my destination” is equivatent to
“T am going to the end of my journey,” which, to say the \east,.
would not be a very definite reply. If used
absurd. ‘‘My destination is New York,” or “‘They are bound for
the same destination as myself,” is correct. Out of school
hours there are various ways in which a boy may employ him-
self beside the time spent in flying kite, shooting marbies, play-
ing ball, etc. There are nemerous chores he may do, and thus
relieve his parents, such as keeping the coal and wood boxes and
the water pail filled, the garden and cellar cleanedof litter and
chips, and the thousand and one little things which to make
up @ long day’s toil for both father and mother. In the evening,
instead of roaming on the streets with other boys, and taHing
into bad habits, hecan empicy the time profitably in reading
history, rudimentary books on the different <r entertain-
ing story books and papers, or in playing checkers, ¢ e688, domi-
noes, or other innocent games.

H. H. H.—The lock of hair could not have possibly come from
the head of a person with even one-eighth of African blood in
her veins. It is too soft and fine, too light in color, and has not
the least sign of a kink.

NW. G.—Any chemist will furnish you with the phosphorus.

P. B. H.—The inability to find subjects for conversation is not
80 much the result of a paucity of ideas or ignorance as of difii-
dence. It will wear off as you become more accustomed to so-
ciety. In the meantime, remember that the next thing to being
& good talker is to be a good listener. {

Anna H. G.—Ist. We cannot accept MSS. with the stipuiation
that they will be published within a specified time. They are
placed with a large quantity of accepted matter, and take an
equal chance with the rest. 2d. As to whether you will be able
to make a living, we will be frank with you, and say no. There
are not markets for one out of a bundred acceptable MSS.
which are forwarded to publishers with cverv mail. If we pub-

be sued ag

lished three papers a day we could not use what comes to us, not
takin, ee re the matter which is only fit for the
waste baske

C. J. C.—We know nothing of the concern.
‘ Solater.—Your newsdealer might undertake to sell the volume
or you. '

Domingo,—The fare to San Domingo is $80.

TO PURCHASING AGENCY CORRESPONDENTS,

In response to the queries of our correspondents who send no
address, we give the prices at which the following articles may
be procured through the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agen-
cy: Townsbend’s “mesmerism,” $1.25. “School and Exhibition
Dialogues,’ $1.50, "Manual of Chess,” 75 cents,

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT,

Litile Nellie 3.—ist. We do not liketo give advice in 4 case like
yours. You are married, therefore owe your husband both your
love and respect, and if you know that his disposition is a jealous
one, should endeavor to in no way excite his jealousy. 9. You
do perfectly right in eee aloof from the gentleman
of whom you write, and if he has any regard for your happi-
ness he will not seek to win your affection from your husband.
3d. Try to be patient, and do your duty, and your husband will
see that he has been unjust in his suspicions.

Roselie Evelyn.—ist. Some young ladies marry at the age of
seventeen et but we think it too young. 2d. I a lady is accom-
panied by her brother to a ball, she should, before accepting the
escort of another gentleman to supper, refer him to her brother.
3d. It is not proper for a lady to receive the escort of two gen-
tlemen in one evening. 4th. We do not approve of girls flirting,
and if practiced at all, we deem that it is carried to far. 5th. There
may be two bridesmaids, or three if desired. Their duty is to
assist the bride in arranging her toilet. The bride's parents fur-
nish the carriages for the bridesmaids and groomsmen. T;
groom always sends a carriage for the officiating clergyman an
his family. When arrived at the vestibule of the church, the
fast bridéSmaics and groomsmen watk in rat; the others fol-
lowing in the order in which Spey wand atthe altar. The father
walks next with the bride, and the groom follows with the bride's
mother upon his arm, and at the altar the father and mother
step back and the bride takes the groom’s left arm.

C. A. H.—There are exceptions in all cases,

£. I. B.—\st. The gentleman should be introduced to the lady,
It is not necessary to say anything, but custoniary to maké
some remark, such as ‘I am pleased to make your acquaint.
ance,” if the person introduced’ is one that you have heard
much of and you are pleased to have the honor of their acquaint-
ance. 2d. legving & company Fou should leave the room ag
quietly as possible, making your Adieus to the hostess only.

Cecilia C.-—-The gentleman may be perfectly honorable
and sincere in his intentions. Howeyer, we congratulate you
upon your Sense in not allowing his absence to worry you.
If he is what he cepreecn ted himself ta be, he. will visit you
when he returns'to the city, and offer an explanation and apolo
gy for his silence. We would advise you to steel your heart
against the fascinations of ane eats mah unless you know
something of his character. not continue te correspond
with him, even See you should receive his address, until you
are pawfectly satisfied that his character is what it shonid be.
Make inquiries of his acquaintance regarding his family, He
may still have a wife, and you cannot be too careful.

P. LZ. R.—Ist. You can continue to call occasionally upon the
young lady as a friend or acquaintance, and if after a few
months, or perhaps another year, you still her society
essential to your happiness, and she seems to favor your atten
tions, you can with perfect propriety ask her parents te grant
you their an to address their daughter. 2d. See answer
in “Knowledge Box.’’

0. E.—If a person asks you to correspond, but does not give
you any P. O. address, it will be most inconsistent if offense is

ken because no letter is received from you.

Jennie,—If the gentleman is well known to you, and his char-
acter is good, there would be no impropriety in your accepting
his invitatien to a sleighing party.

A New Story by Mrs, Holmes.

Mrs. HoLMgs’ new story, “Tae Cuatzau DOR,”
written expressly for the New Yorx WEE&LY, will
be commenced in a few weeks.

 

 

 

What's in a Snowflake?

The Chemical Review states that in a drop of water
obtained from a sigle snowflake and magnified 500
times, were foun ieces of coal, fragments of
cloth, grains of starch, sandy matter, and an im-
mense yariety of other substances, nota fragment

 

of which exceeded in diameter tho three-thors-
andth part of an inch.

 

2d. The —

t it would be a long and tedious precess, and the pro-.
ew Jersey, a2 husband is not

as auch it is simpuy~-

 

 

 

ee