ee EY a \ omnia a nibs , a + ht ashanti net f iz , * Meal N a 7 Sib AG i ke a ae italian ih ncn 8 pea tf roc tipeal nile a STREET & SMITH, Proprietors. Vou. XXX. WHERE ARE MY FLOWERS! BY MARY E. LAMBERT. She stood beside the flower-bed, Our girlie, three years old; Jack Frost had called in the night-time, And the air was bleak and cold. “O, mamma, where are my flowers ? Could they fly like the birds away ? Have my lady-slippers gone walking With my prince’s feather gay ? “Where are my white star flowers, And my fragrant mignonette— All my pansies and white daisies, And my last blue violet ? “Did they cut them down, dear mamma, Like the grass upon the ground? Where my flowers so lately blossomed There are brown leaves strewn around.’’ It was pitiful to listen:— Could we make her understand, That stern winter blighted flowers That had bloomed at spring’s command ? “Did they have the scarlet fever ?”” She asked, with tear-filed eyes; “Will they go, like little Nellie, To the angels in the skies ? “O, mamma! I have found them; All my flowers are blooming bright.” And she pointed to the sunset sky, In its gorgeous, fading light. Again, in a dark and dismal day, When the winter brought first snow, ‘She said: “Tis my flowers coming home; Now my roses soon will grow.” *Twould be wellif our older eyes could see All the beautiful and fair In this pleasant world, when a little child Sees bright flowers every where. i? Lady Evelyn’s Folly. BY THE AUTHOR OF A WOMAN’S TEMPTATION. [Lady Evelyn’s Folly” was commenced last week. Ask any News Agent for No. 53, and you will get the Arst chapters.] CHAPTER IV. The Earf of Knoban wasre of the most popwar “talent anf aBdon& atest Sity, of pleasing manner ‘and genial conversation, if would be difficult to be- lieve how he had devoted himself, heart and soul, to the worship of Mammon. Yet that very worship ‘was conducted in such a frank, outspoken fashic>, no one could dislike him for it. It was difficult to believe that this genial, hospitable man would have ‘sold his soul almost for place;” that the honor and fame of this world seemed to bim all in all; that he had no hope, no end, no aid beyond them. He was not andtheist; the name of God was not foreign to his Js; but he made religion a means to an end. Itwas respectable to go to church, to subscribe to foreign missions, to take an interest in the conver- sion of heathen, to honor the high dignitaries of the church; it gave an air of stability to man, such as no wealth or position could give. So the Earl of Kno- ban went to church every Sunday, looked edified as he listened to the sermon, smiled benignantly on his inferiors as he came out, believed, in the secret depths of his own heart, that a high place in this world was more important than a high place in the next. Yet, despite this worship of Mammon, he was not a bad man, simply because it was his nature to be good. It would have gone sorely against the grain for him to have defrauded his neighbor, or to have spoken falsely, to have yielded to the common and coarse vices of men. He kept aloof from them—not for religion’s sake, not because they were sinful, but because he wasa man of refinement and disliked them. Seeing him outwardly calm, kind, hospitable, genial, none could have suspected that his master- passion was love of the great world, and that all things must give way to it. Seeing him outwardly deferential, yielding, almost gentle in his manner, no one could have believed that where his worldly interests were concerned his will was of iron; that to further them he would have walked over red-hot plowshares; that they were the beginning and end of his existence. . To secure them he would gladly have sacrificed all that he held dearest in the world. He wanted to stand high with his fellow men. He wanted them to say while he lived, and after he was dead, that no one was like Lord Knoban—he was “the noblest Roman of them all.” He wanted to add new dignity and new honor to his race. He wanted to reach the highest honor that any subject could attain, to stand where “the fierce light that beat upon the throne should shine also upon. him.” He wanted to rank high as a statesman, and no less high as a courtier. He wanted to be the trusted friend of royalty, and to secure these ends and aims it is no exaggeration to say that he would have sold his soul. Yet it was only on certain occasions, far distant, that this, his master-passion, showed clearly. It came out in full force on the occasion of his mar- riage. He had no particular love for the gentle, hapless Lady Gwendoline. He liked her, and, to do him justice, it must be said that he liked no one else; but he married her, not because he liked her, but because such a marriage would help him considera- bly. The Duke of Hardforth, Lady Gwendoline’s father, was a man who wavered in hig politics. If the earl could but secure him to his own party, it would be the greatest victoryhe couldsecure. Then Lady Gwendoline was a great heiress, and every one said that the marriage was most desirable. ‘‘People ot his rank,” the earl thought, “had higher motives in marriage than mere liking or love.” His alliance with Lady Gwendoline would increase his political importance a hundred fold; it would indeed be the dest possible thing that could happen to him, so he Nos: 27, ok 31 Rose St., 0. Box 4896, New York, “7 wish I a i ent age four be good like you. — = ——. 43 duke, who. in'‘his @aughter's name, wcdeprefr néhe, What mattered it to the gentle lady who was to be bartered for position? She had not spirit enough to save herself—it was her father’s will and Lord Kno- ban’s will. It seemed to her there was nothing for it but submission, and then, perhaps, in the mercy of Heaven, death. Every one knew that she loved her cousin, a young captain in the guards. Indeed, the fashionable world looked on with great amusement, wondering how it would end. Such a mesalliance as the mar- riage of a duke’s daughter with a slenderly-fortuned young captain could not be thought of. Men at their clubs laid bets upon the matter; but the Gordian knot was soon untied. Lady Gwendoline loved the captain, but she had no thought of resistance. She was like a charmed or fascinated victim. She loved the young captain, but her love was not strong enough to incite her to rebellion. She submitted, as she would have done to anything else her father had ordered. She made but one effort to escape her fate. She appealed to Lord Knoban himself; but it was all in vain, She clung, weeping, to his arm, and told him that she loved her young cousin with all her heart, and prayed him to withdraw his suit. She might just as well have appealed to a rock. The earl smiled kindly, and assured her that she wonld forget all that nonsense in time. ‘TJ never shall, my lord,” she replied. “If you in- sist upon it, I must marry you. I could not resist my father, or disobey him; but I shall never be hap- py, never while I live. I shall go mad, or die.” The eari smiled again. “J do not think you will do either,” he said; ‘tand people of our rank must make some little sacrifice to position.” So she married him; she had not spirit enough to make any further opposition; but, as she had pre- dicted, she was never happy. Lord Knoban was very kind to the hapless lady. He treated her with the utmost gentleness. It was rarely that any one saw her smile. She had three children, the young Lord Randolph, heir to the earldom, and the Ladies Georgiana and Evelyn. Then suddenly her health and strength failed her; she drooped and faded like some flower on which a blight had fallen. It would have been a thousand times better for her if she had died; but her fate was more terrible. She lost her reason, and was obliged to be taken from her children. It was amost harmless and melancholy madness, which would end, the doctors said, only with her life, and it was caused——-_ Ah, well! all the world knew what had caused it. The gentle, simple, hapless lady had been slowly driven mad by the sore weight and burden of her own unhappiuess. Lord Knoban was of course very sorry; but all the advantages he had hoped to gain by his marriage were already his. What mattered a woman’s broken heart if only his object was obtained? He made every provision for his wife’s comfort, then sent for his cousin, the widowed Lady Grange, to take charge of his house and his children. Then, except for the payment of the annuity charged for the unfortunate countess, he forgot all about it, Yet, with his usual regard for appearances, he tried hard to gloss over the truth; he whispered mysteriously that there could be little doubt but that his wife’s mind had been affected before her marriage, and most people belleved him. The only time that he ever laid aside his over- whelming selfishness was when the Rector of Hurst- mead wrote to him on behalf of hisson. He was in- debted to the rector for his life, and if he did feel a ym tor Sao@e on carth, it was for e Rev. Michael Henderso, When he found that it was in his power to furlier the: fortunes of the rector’s son he did so. It didnot interfere with him- selt in any way; he would be none the less a great man for having helped his olefriend, On the con- trary, if, as the rector seemeto think, there was any genius in the young matit would be somtch the more to hishonor. Peopl would talk then ot Lord Knoban’s generosity, hisdiscrimination, how he fostered genius and brougl! out talent. By all means let the young man comejnd he would do his best for him; so he wrote the grcious, kindly letter which had rejoiced the rector’meatt. He was liberal enough with ijon¢y. Money was but a means to an end; and hoffered his young secretary a handsome salary. e desired, too, that he should live under his roof; prily because in that way he could best repay his dekfothe rector, and partly because he thought it wdd look as well to have his young protege and seetaty always near him. He had no idea of keepg stcret from his right hand what his left hand 4d, ot of hiding his light under a bushg’. He metated a generous, kindly deed; why should notiis favorite world know of it? So after the letr wis written he sought my Lady Grange, who w in'the morning room. ‘“Taura,” he said, ‘you may eectanew member added to the family.” She looked up at himin alari $‘A new member! What can ju mean, Brandon? Surely, Randolph isnot going tmarry jet?” “T wish he would,” said thearl, gliomily; ‘the spends too much time danglinafter shat pretty Miss Falmer. No, there is no irriage on the ta- pis.” And then ia afew wordhe expained who the new inmate of his householwas. Lady Grange was a wise wian. . Her present position was one of the greatesiase and comfort. She was the mistress of HardresAbbey—pne’ of the finest seats in’ England—and oHardress House— one of the most magnificent maionsin Belgravia. She was always most solicitious tlease her cousin, but on this occasion she did not siciently command her feelings. ‘Do you think it is prudent to ng a young man, a stranger, to livé here 2” she asi. ‘Prudent ? I do nof understar’ said thé earl. _ “With young, girls; sand abovel, one like: Eve- lyn,” she said. y a ‘Are youspeaking of my daughs, Lady Grange,” asked the earl, haughtily. “J am speaking of them,” she ried. “Then permit me to say you fot, yourself. My daughters can have nothing in cmon with my sec- retary.” “You will ark all young men alroung girls have plenty in commen,” she said; buhe angry frown deepened on the earl’s face, “T must beg of you, Lady Gran not to speak of ; my daughters in that way.” hei. “Last even- | ing, Sir Roden Courtney wrote tos, proposing for Georgiana.” “That. will be a very suitable ich,” said Lady Grange. ‘*And I have hopes—mind, I knoothing for cer- tain—but I hope Lord Chesterieighe richest peer in England, has been attracted bivelyn. Sucha marriage as that exceeds my higt hopes. Iam told that Lord Chesterleigh woulot be refused it he proposed for a royal princess.” This time Lady Grange did not de, “You maybe sure of one thiiBrandon,” she jie, : _“-iss me, dear.?? Georgie. Three Dollars Per Year. gyal S. STREET. Two Copies Five Dollars. No. 54. FRANCIS S. SMITH. ‘A victim for the amusement of your leisure hours,” said her sister, severely; “to be kept to practice your arts upon when no one else is near. Just as years ago you used to keep one doll to pinch and torment.” “That poor doll!” laughed Lady Evelyn, with -per- fect good-temper. a “I shall consider it my duty to warn: that young man,” said Lady Georgiana, gravely. “Do, Georgie; he will be quite sure to fal! in. love- mith me then without any trouble on my part.” = I believe,” said Lady Georgiana, ‘that you. are one of the most incorrigible flirts that ever lived.” “Did I ever deny it,dear? I knowlam. Icam no more help flirting than a bird can. help singing. ‘Flirting,’ you call it; thatis an odious word. I can- not help making myself agreeable to every nice man: Imeet. Ireally cannot help it, Georgie; it is my nature. .It is my nature to try to make myself look 5 i a ‘ > Kl N y RS ee ‘My daughter will find # _ > nas to please me,” said the earl, with dignity; and then they discussed the details of the young secretary's residence at Har- dress House. CHAPTER V. Lady Georgiana Knoban sought her sister’s room with more wonder in her face than she generally expressed. “Evelyn,” she said, carefully closing the door of her sister’s boudoir; “have you’ heard the strange intelligence ?” “IT have heard nothing, Georgie; if it be worth telling, make haste and tell me. I always envy ‘ as beautiful as I can, to smile as sweetly, and make: myself charming; why should J not do.so.?” Lady Georgiana shrugged her shoulders, with:a pretty affectation of despair. ‘*You have no sense of what is fitting, Evelyn:” “Have I not? Go to my bird-cage there, talk a. few minutes to my feathered friend, see how he will: arch his neck, open his bright eyes, and presently sing his sweetest song for you.. Caress my pretty spaniel here, and he will display all his latest-ac- quired talents for your delight; so, place me in the society of anice man, and I cannot help doing my best to attract him; it is but human nature, after all, Georgie. Did I never tell you that the old. Duchess of Leadstown said I was a child of nature ?” “A remarkably well-tutored one,” sneered: her: sister. ‘I always lose my patience,.Eve, when I talk to you.” “Of course you do; you are too precise, Georgie, and I am not precise at all—I never intend to be: A short life and amerry one is all I ask. Besides,, Georgie, you cannot deny that want of precision suits me just as full dress suits me and does not suit you. You may think me wicked as. you like—I own frankly that’ the sight of a blaek coat always puts me on my mettle, and urges me to try what I can “J would never say so, Evelyn. I wij) not ar with you; I thought it only sisterly and kind to tell you this, and give you fair warning not to flirt with. this Mr. Henderson—you may not hurt vourself if you do so, but you will assuredly hurt him.” ‘‘How so?” askéd the coquettish beauty, with a dimpling smile that exasperated her sister. “How so!” she repeated. ‘You are quite sure papa will not allow anything of the kind; and if he observes it, Eve, the young man will be sent away. Now, Eve, they say he has talent, even genius; let him have a fair chance—do not cause his abrupt: dis-. missal.” the bearer of good news; it is delightful to cause a sensation.” “I do not. know if this be good news or not,” said | Lady Georgiana, proudly. “I said strange intel-! ligence, Eye—not good. news—the two expressions differ. considerably. Will you sit down, Eve? I find it impossible to talk while you are’ moving about.” Lady Evelyn suddenly dropped the piece of lace she was holding, and sat down. “If all the people in the world were as precise as you, Georgiana,” she cried, petulantly, “I should wish myself in another planet. You are just like papa.” ‘I hope you mean to compliment me by that, Eve- lyn,” said her sister., *I,do not like to think you | would use papa’s name without proper respect.” ‘Listen to the child!..One would think you had done nothing but study.your catechism; you have your duty to your neighbors ail by heart. What is the news, Georgie ?” She folded her little white hands with a mock. ex- pression of intense interest, which did not at all affect the serenity of Lady Georgiana, who pro- ceeded to tell her what Lady Grange had hastened to communicate to her. Lady Evelyn listened with some little attention; her thoughts wandered once or twice to the exquisite ball costume that lay over the chair, and to the new set of pearls on the toilet table; but she managed, nevertheless, to listen with & moderate degree of interest, “A young secretary to live with us? I think, our house very dull.” “How can it be dull, Hve, when you go to three or four parties every week of your life,” remonstra- ted Lady Georgiana, — “The parties are delightful enough; but, I repeat it, home is dull; papa is solemn and prosy—you may arch your eyebrows just as much as you please, Georgie. You know it is true. Lady.Grange is Lady Grange, and I never believe one word she says.” ‘Hush, Eve,” said her shocked sister, “Nay, I shall not hush. Who: believes Lady Grange? Her notion of truth is to agree with every one. She sighs gently when: I complain of papa, and she sighs when papa complains of me. But, Georgie, ib will make things a little more cheerful to have a handsome secretary in the house.” “How do you know he is handsome?” asked the elder sister. ‘He is sure to be, my dear,” was the cheerful re- ply, “‘especially if he happens also to’ be poor. In all the novels I have read, the secretary is hand- some and penniless; as a rule, he falls in love with the daughter of the house, is repulsed with disdain, and commits suicide.” “T wish you would not talk so lightly, Eve.” ‘““My heart is light, why should my thaughts be heavy? Isee.a perfect vista of delight before me. No more dullness; a handsome young secretary to I am glad, | said, ‘in this and every other ma, Lady Evelyn will please herself.” } sigh whenever I look at him, and to pick up my fan “You think, then, if I smile he will. sigh, Georgie. —he will not resist me? Well, I will think of it. I say, Georgie, dear, if you asked a flimsy, wretched. spider to spare a fly, would it 7” ‘*Your comparisons are simply absurd, Evelyn. I have done my duty—Lady Grange asked me to doit, knowing that you never pay the least attention to, anything she may say. I wash my hands of it now.. If you like to deprive an honest, honorable young man—a genius, perhaps—of his hopes of advance- ment, just for alittle selfish amusement of your-own, do so; I shall interfere no further.” “You have no right to think I shall do anything of the kind, Georgie,” said Lady Evelyn, with a flushed face; then she rose from her chair, and knelt down by her sister’sside. She threw one white arm round Lady Georgiana’s neck, and drew the stately head down to hers. “I wish I could be good, like you, Georgie. Kiss me, dear. Iam quite. sure that I have two souls, and they are always trying which shall be master.” “Two souls!” cried Lady Georgiana. a terrible thing to say!’ ‘It ig true, dear; one soul always: prompts me to be good and obedient, to measure my words, and—not to flirt. You know. Oeorgie, the otheris a mad, wild soul, always leading me into mischief, and persuading me that it is a great pleasure to trample the proud hearts of men under my willful feet. When that soul is master it is all over with me,”? ‘ “You must not talk so wildly, Eve; you can be good if you will; you are not obliged to be capricious, and will, ful, and daring.’ But the little fitof repentance had already passed. Lady Evelyn rose from her knees and waltzed to the great mirror; she took off the blue ribbon that confined ler locks, and let a shower of rich, golden hair fall over her shoulders, “When .do you say this Mr. Henderson is coming, Georgie?’ “Papa.expects him. this evening... You, will remember~ my warning, Eve.”’ ‘Wil you walk into my parlor?” sang the willfat: girl; and, with an angry look on her face, Lady Georgiana, quitted the room. “There, now, I’ve made her cross,’ said Lady Evelyn to herself; but she forgot all about her sister in wondering. about the handsome young secretary. She laughed aloud as she stood before the great mirror. “Lady Grange will have no peace in, her life,’ she thought; ‘she will follow me and watch me. I will give her quite ‘enough, to do, that 1s one comfort.”? Then Lady Evelyn Knoban rang the bell, and when Lisburn, her maid, appeared, she bade her take unusuat pains with her toilet. ‘Are you going out this evening, my lady? asked the girl. “No,” was the reply, with & quiet, musing smile; “‘still I wish to. look as well as possiblie.”’ “That will pot be difficult,” thonght Lisburn; and sie was right. There could beno greater contrast than these two daughters of the proud Earl of Knoban presented. The eldest, Lady Georgiana, was a tall, stately patréodan; not beautiful, but her face was pleasing from its hig-bred, se- “Oh, Hye, what when it falls; some one to tease and enchant.” rene expression. She had Se eyes, a fine figure, and an iiggw te i g t * 2 t 4 him a. beautiful picture that he never was to forget while . + a agreeable smile; still those who flattered her most never called Lady Georgiana Knoban beautiful. She was proud, precise, and what Lady Grange delighted in calling ‘per- feclly well regulated in manner.’? he lived by rule; she thought asit was proper to think, she spoke as it was proper to speak. She never yielded to impulse, but was guided in everything by principle. Perfectly calm, al- Ways self-possessed, always well-bred, she was hot partic- ularly lovable, but she was one well fitted in everything to take her place as a great lady in the world. There was no fear that feelings of any kind would ever run away with her. Passion to her was a dead letter. She would love where she was told, marry whom she was bid. She was in this world to make the best of it, and she intended to do 805) she had duties. to perform, and slie meant to perform: them; but, as for apything else, it was of No moment to my Lady Georgiana, \ There was something almost grand about her stately, impassive calm; but it was not the calm that covers 2 voleano. Of the grandeur, the generosity, the self-sacri- ; fice of passion, she was absolutely incapable, She had many lovers, because her rank was high and her fortune was large. As was Only, natural, she deter- mined to select the most eligible among whem, and Ahe most eligible was the rich young baronet, sir Roden Gourteney, of King’s Rest. She had almost made up her mind to accept him, but in the mean time treated him with dignified reserve lest some one more eligible still should appear, it would be well for the world if every one in it was guarded, cold, and passionless as Lady Georgiana Knoban. CHAPTER VI. When Rex Henderson entered Hardress House, it seemed to him that he had gone direct into another world. The rectory at Hurstmead was handsomely fur- nished, bué it was ina plain, substantial style. He had heyer seen anything like this palatial magnificence. He was shown into the library, but as he crossed the hall he caught a glimpse of the superb suite of rooms, the price- less pictures, the rich hangings, the glorious statues, cop- icd fromthe world’s most famous treasures, He saw Ser- vantsin livery; he saw magnificence and luxury such as had never entered his simple mind, nor even his bright- est dreams. He felt somewhat awe-struck when he stood in that library with its hundreds of costly volumes. His hand- some Saxon face grew paler; then he took himself to task somewhat severely: “Ouly last week,” lie thought, “I wrofe what seemed tome a splenuid essay on the ‘Equality of Man’; that was to prove all men were eqnal; and now I am frightened at the splendor that I did not dream existed. I am a@ gen- tleman; DO man can be more.”? That reflection gave him courage, and when Lord Kno- ban entered, he found him calm and self-possessed as though he Nad passed his life in the midst’ of luxury. The earl greeted liim kindly. Lis manner, always polished and refined, was more kind than ever. “T cannot-tell.you, Mr. [enderson,” he said, ‘Show great a pleasure it-is to me to shake hands with the son of my dearest friend. Ican only say that you shall be to me asa son of my own.” They taiked for some time about Hurstmead, the recto- } ry, the rector, the probabilities of his ever coming to Lon don. Then the earl said his son, Lord Randolph, had been abroad, bat was now fresidiug at Hardress House, “T suppose you have not been a great. traveler,’ said the earl. 1fyou aspire to be a writer, you must travel, Wethonghtof going to ltaly.. 1f we do so, you must ac- company us,. And now, Mr, Henderson, if you will go to your room, I ‘will introduce you to the Jadies before din- ner. 1 hope you will like your rooms,’”’ continued the earl, ‘‘Hardress House is nothing like the Abbey; there we can give you your choice; here, your rooms are next Me my son’s. Your work will be principally carried on ere.%3 + ; Aud Rex, to his surprise, found two very handsome apartmenis allotted to him, A sitting-room, with books, pictures, flowers, and everything that he could possibly require; a Sleeping-room, fitted withevery luxury and comfort. , “How kindheistome. How happy Iam, thought Rex; ‘how happy I shall be.. He talked about the ladies. Ido hope there are not many girls. I shall never feel at home with any girl but Margaret, my pearl Margaret.” The young man’s heart grew warm within him as he counted up his blessings; the love of his father ana his promised wife at home; the happiness. that awaited him here; the future that lay before him when he slioukt be one of the world’s great wrilers, and women’s eyes should grow brighter as they uttered his name. He was unutter- ably happy; his frank, blue eyes shone brightly, his fair, handsome, Saxon face was beautiful in its hope and glad- ness, He had forgotten his fears, forgotten that all this mag- nificence was new to him; the beauties that surrounded ao seemed to have kindled his soul into a warm, artistic glow. He went downto the drawing-room, and perhaps at that moment-he was as happy as any human being who ever existed, The earl was there, and iua few flattering words he introduced him to Lady Grange, She opened her eyes in wonder; the slim, tall figure, the handsome face, and the fair, clustering hair were not quite what she expected. She spoke to him kind!y, and | then the-earl lead him up to Lady Georgiana. She gave him the greeting that she honestly believed due him;.kind, because his father had saved her father’s life; patronizing, because he was her father’s secretary; reserved, because she was a lady of title, and he her infe- |} d rior; yet in some measure gracious herare su-eneclially an dns: , Aowon different iInfluences'into one manner as could Lady Georgiana Knoban. Then Rex raised his head, for he heard the sound ofa low, musical laugh. Heturned quickly, and saw before he lived. ‘Some women are born sirens. Lady Evelyn was-one of them. It was not merely her fair, blonde loveliness that Won all hearts; there was acharm about her, a fascina- tion that is im itself a gift ten thousand times more fatal than beauty. Plain women have it sometimes, and men forget they are plain. Lady Evelyn had a voice that was like the softest sigh ‘of the summer’s wind; she hadasmile that seemed to fleepen ju her eyes and die away on her lips; she had the most charming aud subtle grace of woman. She wasirre- sistible; her very caprices hadachara {facking in the virtue of other women; her defiant, willful ways tasci- nateed more than yirtue could have done; her face was ‘perfect in its: fair Joveliness; her eyes of tle rare, rich tue of the violet; lier liair golden as the far-famed tresses of poor Beatrice Cenci.. Indeed, those who had seen that most exquisite picture always said that Lady Evelyn re- sembled it. Her figure was tall, slender, and beautifully rounded; -her white hands were gemsin themselves. When Lady Evelyn set herself to win a heart it behooved 2 man to pray for himself; he could not resist her. She Was the very opposite of her sister; she was gay, very charming, with a bright grace, a brilliant repartee, an irresistible charm that Lady Georgiana lacked. p Was there a soul beneath all this? This story will tell. ' “My youngest daugiifer. Lady Evelyn,’! said Lord Kuo- ban; and the admiration Rex felt was shown in his eyes; his face flushed, his hands trembled. - She was so beautiful, this dangerous girl, whose shining eyes were siniling into his. Yet he did not understand why that'smile deepened as she looked at her sister with a saucy little nod of her graceful head, . He looked at her dress, too, in wonder. He had seen nothing grander than Margaret’s blue brocade, a dress sacred to grand days and high festivals; this was a shining raiment that jJooked like moonbeams on snow. She wore’ soft glim- mnerlng pearls that were no whiter than her neck; and this wouderful dress seemed to be caught up at random, with sprays of white heath; the whole effect was beaulti- ful beyond words. Lady Evelyn gave him the full benefit of her loveiy eyes, then the white lids drooped over them. - The whole scene had only lasted one minute, but the bait had taken. Rex was dazed as the man who drinks a delicious draught of rare strong wine. Then Lady Grange went up to the triumphant beauty. » “It seems to me, Evelyn,’? she said, “that you have eet a very elaborate and unnecessary toilet this even- ng. ) - “You could give me no greater proof of i{ssuccess than finding fault withit,’”? was the saucy rejoinder. Then they went into dinner, and Rex was placed next to Lady Georgiana, opposite her sister. He had quite forgotten his shyness and fear; he felt perfectly at home, and de- lighted Lord Knoban by his intelligen$ conversation and his great talent. There was one thing that might have struck him with dismay even then if he had stopped to analyze lis Own feelings, and that was how he avoided looking at Lady Evelyn. “if Lam to keep my head clear and my senses about me,” he thought, “I must not look at her.?/ She noticed it, and said to herself, with asmile: “All. comes to those who know how to wait.?? But she could not resist making one or two pitfalls for him. She would ask, suddenly, some question so simple, yet clever, that he looked up iu instant wonder—then she had the pleasure of seeing how her beauty dazzled hin, how his face flashed, and his words grew confused. The ladies withdrew, and then Lord Knoban drew up his chair nearer. “Tshall call you ‘Rex,’” he said, ‘just as your father does, Listen tome, Rex. Your success or failure in life Will depend entirely upon yourself, You have talent most certainly, { believe you have genius. Ali depends now on your industry. Divide your day, work so many hours for me, 80 many for yourself, and do not neglect to study the worldin which you move. Above all, asthe most sure and certain way of acquiring polish of manner, I advise youtospend 4s much time as you can with the ladies; nothing gives a man greater refinement than that.” It was in accordanee with this advice that Rex went to the drawing-room; there he was introduced to Sir Roden Courteney, who was there ‘‘on duty,’’ as Lady Evelyn ex- pressed it, adding: ““T should think nothing but the consciousness of duty well performed could support any one under the burden of wooing you. You never help, even by a look, a smile, or a sigh,’ “I prefer to be wooed, not to woo,’? was. the grave re- Swiggt RRS ply. , And Lady Evelyn laughed alond. “You could not, Georgie, even if you would. It has not been given to you to look winning.” Once or twice Sir Roden looked from the his Jady-love to the lovely, laughing Buch a.curious song. Sir Roden had a fine tenor voice, and amg some duets with Lady Georgiana, while her sister talked with Rex. Then Lady Grange, seeing how Matters stood, said: stately face of countenance of her Bistes; but what puzzled Rex was that Lady Evelyn sang THE N “J would rather be excused,’ she replied. But Ludy Grange pressed the matter most urgently; then she rose, and wilh a professional bow to Lady Grange, went to the piano, The song she chose to siug puzzied Rex. It was the old-fashioned ballad of The Spider and the Fly.” She sang it through in arich,jsweet voice; every word was distinct and clear, while, Lady Gourgiana’s face grew pale with suppressed anger, _ (rO BE CONTINUED.) BASHFUL BEN; THE IMP OF THE SCHOOL. By Nathan D,. Urner, Author of ROVER AND TRADER, POEMS, SKETOHES, /Ete. 1 Ra — « ful Ben”? was commenced in No. 49. Back Nos, can be had of ROWE Dealers in the United States and the Canadas.) CHAPTER XIll. A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE—SKAGGS IN CL9VER. The footsteps came nearer and nearer,and then Ben heard the key in the lock. Jt then suddenly flashed upon his mind that it might be his guardian returning to gloat over his misery, or even bent upon some darker mission, and he quickly gathered up the cords from which he had freed himself and placed his hands behind his back, to give the impression that he still remained bound. He had hardiy done co before the door opened and old Panks entered, bearing a stoutstick in one hand and sending the rats scampering in every direction from the unwelcome rays of the lantern which he carried in the other. Without a word, but with an ominous and dangerous leok upon his bony face, Panks hung the Jantern upon a hook that projected from one of the walls, and then turned to the prisoner. ; 55 “TI recognized yon from the first, my little Benjamin, said he, smiling grimly, and fidgeting nervously with his slick, : “I guessed aS much,’ said Ben, laughing; “and you seemed to be overjoyed at the recognition.” .*You might as well take it merrily while you wan, my littie man,’ said Panks, harshly, “for you have buta short time to live.” “Great Heaven! you don’t mean to say that you came to murder me??? cried Ben, overcome with sudden horror, “Hardly that, Benjamin, forI am a highly respectable and pious man, as you know,” said Panks, smiling more grimly than before. ‘But if you were lying helpless upon the floor, for instance, you might cultivate more intimate relations with these innocent jittle Creatures (pointing to some of the rats that still ventured to peer out from their hiding-places, in spite of the Jantern) than you can in your present position.’ ‘Beas The lad saw no pity, nothing but iron will and murder- ous resolve in the stern, immovable face into which he gazed. The horror deepened in his soul, his heart almost stood still. ; ¥ : “Yeu gsee,’? Benjamin,?? Panks went on to say, in his horribly cool and quiet way, ‘you have not only proved a marplo. to my plans by running ae from school, get ting drowned, and then returning to life in this absurd and preposterous manner, but you must needs play the eavesdropper upon Certain grave secrets concerning both youand me. I might have overlooked the former fault, but the eavesdropping, my boy, is entirely beyond my for- iveness.”? ee " “It was only natural that I should want to find my mo- ther,’? said Ben, with quivering lips, for his heart was in ‘his boots. : ' i “You hadno business to know you hod any mother— youl’? cried Panks, purposely working himself intoa rage, probably for the purpose of sustaining himself in the dark deed he had set out to accomplish, aud he furiously bran- dished his cudgel. “Go ahead, you dirty coward!” said Ben, white to the lips, but recovering something of lis coolness and cour- age in the dire emergency; ‘‘it won't be the first time that murder has stained yoursoul, First the father, and then the son.?? eax qe: ‘ j Pankss ra back as if he had received a blow. But he recovered himself, and, with renewed fury and a tor- rent of oaths, he struck out at his apparently helpless cap- tive, 3 But Ben evaded the blow, and suddénly—rendered des- perate and knowing that life ilself was at stake—leaping from his perch, he flew like a bull-dog at his assailant, and fastened his strong fingers upon his throat. Panks was atfirst taken by surprise to find that his intended vic- tim’s hands were free, but he wasa powerful as well as determined man, and was at disadvantage but fur a mo- ment. < } It was awful therein the deep subterranean silence, the fearlul struggle between the boy and the mau—a siruggle for life and tor death. Butit did notlastlong. Tenacious and desperate as the lad’s gri D-Was, he-was Uaslied aside by his far more powerful anta ro! » breathing hard and pow literaliy beside himself masteriug pas- sion, held him dowa with one hand. hold on the stick for the final blow. Ben closed his eyes aud gave iimseif up f{ wats pO | “ane PNA: ‘ashed to the Ww livering ere All, BO 1 Gi bs pie door of Walch sad fortynately been left open— With a lond. cry, and 4 light form planged between the Would-be assagsiu’s legs, bringing lim to the ground with such stunning force as to cause him to lie Motioniess for a moment; and, before he could recover, Bea was upon fim, plying the fallen cudgel over his head with a will, While the fiithful Brickey—who had come to tie rescue in the nick of time—assisted the wear aud tear of his slioe- leather upon the fallen man’s ribs, “That's enough; do not kill him, Ben! said Brickey at last, restraining his enraged companion, “Curse him! didn’t he wantto kill me?) cried Ben, furiously. “Yes, but let us leave him to the fate he first designed for you—tie him up and leave him for the rats,¥ “Good! You heard everything that he said, then?” “Yes, [followed him down the cejlar-stairs and through the passage, and heard all his threats, bat I did not think he really meant to kill you. It was omly when he over- came you and had you at his mercy that I found courage to come to ihe rescue,’? said Brickey, Who was busily en- gaged in tying the stunned and bleeding man’s wrists be- hiud his back, taking care this time to m AnOLS which there was ne escape, Ms f “It was lucky tha you, mustered when you did, or I should “have b still pale and breathless-after h got enough cord to bind his feet, “No; we'll tantalize him by le for a while, out of reach of the ra one coming to his rescue inah his having come here but myself. now and let us be off.” As Ben took the lantern from the hoo remy weakly to his feet, and began to beg and Whine for mercy, calling Heaven te witness that he had really meant Ben no harm, and had been merely stung to momentary fury by the latter flying at his throat so ferociously. His only respouse was a mocking laugh, and, as the lads shut and bolted the door behind them, leaving him to his gloomy fate, the Jast they saw of him he was feebly crawling on the ledge, tobe out of reach of the rats, which the smell of blood had already attracted in immense numbers from their lairs, ‘ “Give me the lantern, and follow me,” said Brickey. “I will slip up Stairs and get wy bundle, and we'll be eff to- gether, “Why burden yourself witha bundle?” gaid Ben. “I shall leave my things at the hotel fur greater security. We will excite less suspicion, if we travel uneucum- bered.”? : “AN right.?? It was long past midnight, and not another soul appear- ed to be stirring in the silent house as they ascended from the cellar. Extinguishing the lantern and leaving it in the hall, they cautiously unbelted a side door and went out. In a few minutes they were on the road leading from Manhattanville to tlie city. “Where are we bound 7’? gaid Brickey. “To New York first, and then to Sandcliff, Long Jslanad, wherever that may be,’? replied Bashful Ben. “Thank Heaven, I know where my mother is to be found at last!” he added, fervently. “Itis my privilege to not only bring to her the dead alive—for dead she must indeed deein me by this time—but tosaye her from te toils of an infernal villain.as well.” They trudged on at a rapid pace, and mostly in silence after that, for the scene of unwonted excitement and ter- ror they had just passed through had told upon their youthful nerves more than either of them would haye cared to confess. ; They pressed on over the broad, handsome road, which Was a8 SMOOtl as a floor, skirting the groves, lawns and elegant en ct seats, and avoiding the observation of any guardian of the night who chanced to ride or saunter past ky slipping into the shadow of the roadside trees, and s00n had the beautifully lying grounds of the Central Park upon their Jeft, with ere and there the bright river sparkling in the starbeams on the right. The first streakings of daybreak found them still on the road, but before the sun arose, they reached the terminus ofthe Eigtth avenue cars, aud afew minutes ater had paid their fare, and were fast asleep in a cozy car-corner, on their jingling way down town, They slept so soundly that the conductor had to turn them out upon reaching the Astor House, but the morn- dubitably as the ebb-tide of the sea, and they felt grateful and refreshed for even the brief slumber that had been vouchsafed them. cee Breakfast was the first thing in order, and having dis- paiched a bountiful one at a neighboring restaurant, the two friends were sallying out to Jook up information con- cerning their proposed destination, and best way of reach- ing it, when whom should they chance to meet passing along the thoroughfare, with a light, springy step, spruce- ly dressed, and looking far more hopeful and cheerful thau they had ever seen him before, but Horatio Skaggs ! Indeed, such a beneficent change had taken place in him during the few days they had been separated that, as Ben afterward declared, he positively seemed to have grown fat and hearty. We was hardly less delighted at the meet- ing than were the boys. ; _ “Syelyn, will you sing for us? : ‘ search. first have achatanud then hunt up the information you | story, which Wasi simple one, but nose the less inter- shertened his og een ing Sunshine was bright on Broadway, wilh its hurrying | etl bn renege ene Now mente attrage general attention mot throngs all tending in one direction as natu r and in- | 2%) “Luckily I have a little time to spare this morning,” said he; when they had made kuown the object of weir W YORK WEEKLY. #3 “Just cme inte this hotel office, and we wi! desire.”’ They were soot seated, and the faithful fellow told his esting to his hearrs. Years ago, it apeared, Skaggs had been aclerkina large retail dry-pods store. A nuuiber of peculations had been carried @ for a considerable length of time, and poor Skaggs, witl) another clerk, who chanced to be his room-mate as we} fell under the suspicions of his em- ployers as being oncerned inthe disappearance of the missing goods. ‘hough entirely innocent, the knowl- edge of these susjciol ing entertained: against him, aggravated in divrs le ways by hig fellow-lodger, who was the realcrimimal, s0 preyed upon his nervous and over-sensitivé nature that he was persuaded to do the very worst thiy that he could have done under the circumstances—to y to paris unknown, without so much assaying good-byo any one. His flight, strengthened by calummies set float by his Tie conta was at first deemed proof positve of his guilt; the case was published in the ke and he officers of justice were set upon his track, bat withou! success, though a knowledge that ke was thus looked or tended to increase his morbid alarm toa painful degre, and make him, as he expressed it, “afraid that hisqyn shadow was going to turn intoa policeman at ever step.) Such was his unenviable po- sition when Docto Zevulon Birchem, who had just about that time perfecid his conception of the Dingtown Academy for the keaking in of unruly boys and relief of distressed pareulsfuund him vegetating under an as- sumed name, In thobscure village in which his mother lived, and earningt precarious subsistence as a sort of overgrown ra miae and rustic Jack-of-all-tradeg, with- out other ambitionthan to keep out of jail, and rapidly sinking into hopelés despondency. Birchem, who had known one of his irmer employers and frequently visited the store, remembred the peculation story, and, recog- nizing Skaggs at oce under his assumed nume—it is not Vital Lo our story tab we should add to its nomenclature by giving his real nme—resolved to make use of him to his own advantagefor he kuew him to be possessed of a liberal education. Je made himself known and g0 work: ed upon the poor fedw’s weak and timorous disposition that thenceforwardie had him at pretty much. his own price, and—workin also upon the young man’s love for his aged mother, WO was an invalid and yery poor— for years kept himi the drudge-slavery in which the reader was first intbduced to him, until, being relieved from the support oftis mother by her death, he had found courage and dirit to shake off the hated bondage and make tlie bold wroke for freedom, which he had at last attained, “Skags had not been successful in finding his brother, and ‘as constrained to believe him either dead or beyond his tach in foreign parts. But upon the first day of hisretuato New York, he chanced to en- counter one of his {mer employers, who, to his infinite surprise—for, Overeme by his old terror of arrest, lis first impulse was lout aud ran—had kindly greeted him and entered upon sub expjanations as could not fail to lift a great and Wear load irom ‘his..mind, It seemed that, through thé wdkof professional detectives and the medium of decoy-gois duly marked, the thefig had been fastened upon tile culprit. hardly @& mouth after Skaggs’ disappearane, and the penitent rascal lad made a conlession entilely: pun his former room-niate, and betraying the s by whichhe had for.a time di- € h eices verted suspicion ftomimse!f to an innocent man. The latter was now injilé to call upon the. | ab once. While condemnin ‘his timidity in deserting his post when cons “own innocence, they made such amends as they ould for the injustice they had done him by at once re-@nioying him in a more responsibie position and ata higher salary than before. — rg ry, listened to with absorbing in- ‘8, Whose opinion of the Din it then became B | Ben’s turn to tell of the exciting and eventful si h which Bricky and he had passed, anc to descr} the success that had thus far at- tended his search, : ei “You fill me wit» sfonishment, an must be a far wors. » in any of es have imagined,” said Skaggs. “Yo 4 ) time to jose,’ he added, go- ing to the office de: gud returning with a Gazetteer and Railway Directory ‘i me Wil surely pursue you Without pity as su as We getsentof the irap in which you so cleverly cient fin? y “T fancy he willems ees all day, amd perhaps a good portion of te « 1 AS Wel),”’ said Brickey. “Not one of the ) « ; Ay where he ds, and no one will think ofc ohitg fy ty ry fer him un\il his continued disappi' 9 a beraialavm.” “Let us hope th: : | ade way with him before he ts f avagely. Re, They found tha) fisi )ifieant village on Long Island & rn remity of the island and somey \ » North Shore Rail- road, necessftatiys © | € hearest station. “itis probably famihes of qhe "ie we o differere ie ali the ay ciet < wor “seit quest should be ep, 2 ee a re 7 oT “Good-by, my lads!"? called he honest fellow after them, «How different are our sensaiens now from those that marked our parting at Hariei! Then ft was nothing but doubt, unceriainty and darhess; new i§ ja wilh Lope, confidence and prospective #y.”* sce CHATER XIV. THE RAILROAD ACCIDE’—ANOTHER INTERRUPTION. When Bashtal Beu felt the ars of the North Shore Railroad rattling and) jolting beneatlhim, as they bore in the direction of Sandcliff, he almost felt It the goal for which he had been praying and striving so longas as good as won. In spite of his rough ways, which mighteay be attributable to the exception- ally unsympathetic lite thated been his trom early elnidhood, and his innate love of mijef, he was an affeciionate, kind- hearted and sweet-dispositi¢d boy, wio had, inthe secrecy of his own soul, yearned und ped for the tender mother’s love ot which he had known solit} with asaduess and bitterness of which few had ever even cted him. And now, iv the live- liness of his youthful iminution, when he seemed about to realize his dream, a softbreh brushed his cheek, warm, dewy kisses lingered on his ipspd he was infolded to the breast which had been 80 longiien! him, but which should have been his shelter and protectia: fm the cradle. Poor Ben! he was stil toirn that there were more slips be- tween the cup of an aniciptd happiness and his thirsting lip. Brickey, ceiving lis {nd’s. preoccupation, busied himself with hig own thougntsjandatched the agreeable landscapes that fieeted past the ar-wlow as they dashed along. They were on a large train that 8 crowded with Nor Teer ers, mostly women and childrewho were going from New York or Brooklyn to one or th¢oihof the many cheap summer resorts that intersperse the Ssundore of Long Islaud in such profu- sion, ‘and much nvoiseand qriment prevailed around tiem, They liad quitted the lasilage at which they were to stop before reaching the gatiopyhere they, were to disembark 10 take the stage to Sanicliff, en there came a strange coche tion of the cars, & pasic-sti¢n uprising of the passengers, a sea of blanched and frghtenfaces, and a tremendous crash and splintering of iron apd tiurs, instantly followed by clouds of smoke and steam, as¢youpg adventurers strove to pick themselves out of ajebris (broken seats #nd shattered glass they became dimlyand Iribly aware that they, with many others, were the viitims ojne of those disasters socommon in American annals under head of “A Great Railroad Acci- dent,” Yheir train had eillided ha freight train, smashing the en- gines, telescoping the forrd car, and wrecking the others down the side of asmall @ankment, the car in which were our boys, resting upou thege of iisroof and almost upside- down, i Though none were killedd few seriously injured in this car, the air was filled with shri and cries; almost every une was capsized, and ther€ was ajeral rush and scramble to get out by doors, Windowsor tue yning erevicestn the sides of the shattered structure “Are you hurt, Brickey?”led out Ben, with difficulty achiev- ing an erect position, the se of the ridiculous becoming up- permost ashe recovered fn his bewilderment and looked around him, for nearly eveone was head downward, and liitie was to be seen but a inultlinous array of legs belonging lo man, woman, ehild, and int at the breust, helplessly and des- perately beating the air as ir respective owners struggled to recover their equilibrium‘Are ix hurt Brickey?” he re- peated, in a louder voice, fue had received no immediate an- swer. “Not much, I believe,” ast came in muffled tones from somewhere down under ats of humanity, whose vitality was marked by divers struggiismbs and squalling babies. Scarcely forbearing irolaughing, Ben selected the pair of legs which seemed likelies belong to Brickey, and alter hard puiling and displacemen other members of the mass toa more natural position, hicceeded in disinterring his friend,” who looked very much as € had passed through a threshing- machine. At any rate, hes decidedly rumpied, minus his hat, and his nosé Was blew copiously, - “Jerusalem |” was his fiexclamation upon being brought to light. ‘Let's get out of tipen.” , “Let us first endeavor bsist some of these less fortunate ones around us,” said Ben : ; With the help of others) had regained their feet they began to set things to rights, ana@ining the open air by means of a winduw soon alterward.y energetically joined the throng that was engaged in extring tne wounded from the other cars. The engines had beJmost smashed to pieces by the collision, anc the baggage and the car next to it were hope- lessly wrecked, A deseri¢ation and two or three farm-houses were near to which the ind were conyeyed as fast as they were taken from the ruinfhis and the clearing of the incum bered track occupied till middie of the alternoon when an inyentory of the accidentlituted by one of the surgeons.who had opportunely arrived 2 the scene, showed that the en- gineer and fireman of thdgnut (rain and the engineer of the passenger train had beened outright, while fomy-two passen- gers were more or less sesly injured, but nong*tatally so, it was thought, The track been so disarranged and broken up as to necessitate a day's irs before other tfuins could pass over the spot. , f Bashful Ben had displasuch tireless energy and rare good- ttle of which was shaby Brickey, who bad seconded his ena’s efforts to the bess ability, and many kindly glances of approbation were nowowed upon them by the officers of the road, the medical mad others, The telegraph was not lable at that point, no instrument being at haud, but fleet-nted messengers had been Gispateii- ed both east and west witelligence of theaccilent, soon aiter it occurred; and just abolis time, there arrived upon the acene an eager Car-load ewspaper reporters from New York and Brooklyn, cach anxio surpass the others in obtaining the fullest ere their respective journals, Amoug them was a brusque youdlow who carried his right hand m a sling, and appeared to beh disturbed in his mind. “Was there ever such Jas mine ?” he exclaimed to the eon- ductor of the passenger), with whom he chanced to be ac- quainted. ‘Iam here fe New York 7—, yet upon leaping on the train at Hunter’s t I so sprained my wrist as to render it impossible for me to wa line. I will be hopelessly beaten by these other chaps, anobably reecive my discharge upon returning to the office.” “Won't your felluw-reprs assist you ?? “Not they; its alwaysnond cut diamond among us in a Pieintands with with Jonn at your curly ae said Splasher, engaged in the effort to outwit the other as to have no time to think of my distress, even if he Nad the will.” “There’s a lad about here who can assist you materially, I think,” said a bystander, who happened to overhear the conver- sation, “He is as smart as chai-lighting; bas distinguished himself by his lively and well-judged as-istanee throughout this sad affair; and, if he can only write good English, I aq bt not he can give you an excellent account of the accident. There he is now,” he added, as Ben passed by with a number of workmen, gesticulating energetically, and setting forth his opinion of the accident, the railroad aud every one connected with it with the freedom and independence which @iways @istinguished him. The distressed reporter at oneg 60! hi hisassistauce, and first inquired his name. , “My full name 1s Behjamin Binder,” was the reply; “but my retiring habits and inualy modesty of character aiwaysearned for meat school the sobriquet of ‘Bashfut Ben,’ ” on ree Was a@ general laugh at this reply, for Was DOW so sure 0 Audingl mother jn a very short space Of time that he not deem it necessary to further conceal his ; “f will do the best I can to assist you,” yaid B derstood the nature of the jonrnmalist’s request, hope to go right 6n to the next station 60 as to before dark. But come on, sir,to some quiet papefand pencils. Brickey, run to all of the su the/names of the killed and wounded as well as the ¢ ; of the wounds received. ' Brickey stated off on his errand, and our hero and there ‘er er sangite aretired place, where Ben set to work av once,) ‘ patonicc Brickey from time to time for such additional particu- arsas he desired, ; Composition had always been Ben’s forte at school (so far as anything was in the line of his studiés,) and, ssessing a re- markably fertile imagination, he wrote with extraordinary rapidity and correctness for alad of his years. It was about three o’clock in the afiernoon when he set to work, and by the time that the long summer twilight began to deepen around him he had, with a number of corrections at the suggestion of his more experienced companion, completed a very fuil and lenghty report of all that had occurred, combining, in addition to vita Bepveniers, “A Graphic Account of the Accident, by Mr. Benjimin Binder, an Eye-Witness,”? which Jacob Splasher, as the reporter had introduced himself, pronounced us thrilling and interesting to the last degree. “Capital! It will be asgensation to-morrow morning, and a ‘beat’ on all the other papers,” exclaimed Splasher, inclosing the report with much satisiaction in a large envelope which he drew from his pocket, aud dictated the address to be written on the back. . “Just. wait here, boys, tili I go and give this in charge of the conductor, who is about to take back his train with such of the wounded as are able to travel. We will then go on to —— Station together, where there isa telegraph office, trom which Lean telegraph ‘any additional particulars that may eome to light, especially as to the cause of the accident.” “These newspaper chaps are ae tellows, I’ve heard,” said Brickey, dubiously. “Ihardly think we shall ever again see Mr. Splasher, as he calls himself.” “Don’t run the risk of misjudging him,” said Ben. ‘For my part, I rather liked his looks, and he seemed to be really grateful for the service Lrendered him, Iam chiefly concerned, when 1 come to think of il, about the time we have lost. It may enable my guardian to overtake or intercept us,” : “yen supposing him to have got out of the wine-cellar, how will he know what direction we lave taken?” said Brickey. “Doesn't he know that I heard everything that passed between him and the housekeeper?” said Ben; ‘and won't he be apt to guess that the first useI made of my freedom wasto make a break to find my mother? However, I take the most hope trom the assumption that he will not dare to have me arrested, know- ing, as he does, that iis dangerous secrets are now in my pos- session. But you were wrong about one thing, my boy, for here comes Splasher.”? : : The géntleman of the press made his appearance, looking very well contented with himself, and satisfactorily explained his de- tention. ; “I sent off the report,” said he, “together with a note to our managing editor, describing the fortunate agency by which I had come by it, Then, Poe that there will not be any train here to convey us to Station for three hours, Iran over to yon further ftarm-house, arid femaies the housewife to cook us a baug-up supper, which.is already preparing for us.” This was welcome intelligence, as buth boys were exceedingly hungry. phone Ben would willingly have borne his internal cravings a litle’ longer ta have been able fo push on his journey without @clay, as he began to-have a vague premonitory con- sciousness that his trials were noteven yetatenend. Splasher, who had taken an unaffected interest in him, enlivened himself still further on the way to the fart:-house by frequent draughts {rom.a suspicious-looking, wicker-cased flusk, wluch he produced from meas book st, butthe contents of which botuof the lads declined:to taste. . F * *Idon’t know but that you are rightin not forming an ac- oropitea tir, “But you,” (indicating “at any rate, will know him well enough by-and-by, for yow’re a born newspaper man, if there ever was one,’? sh ey E “Pray, wio is Joha?'! sald Ben, innocently. as “Joa Barleycorn, of course. What! don’t you twig? Why, I mean ‘the rosy,’ ‘the ardent,’ gin, whisky or applejack, which- ever youve a mind to call it; only this happens to be 8.0. LB superfine old Bourbon, you know.” “Ohl” exclaimed Ben, his mystification thoroughly elucidated by this time, ell, I hope I may become a newspaper man, as Trather like what I’ve seen of the business. But it seems to me that the best way to succeed in that, as every other business re- quiring steady application and a clear head, is by letting alco- holi¢ poison severely alone.” “Poison! It’s the elixir of life sometimes,” said Mr. Splasher, with a laugh, and applying himself again to the neck ofhistiask. “But, seriously speaking, my boy,” he added, “if you ever want to become a er ust communicate with me, and I — be able to materialiy aid you, There are younger persons than you, and not half so smart, inthe biz. You haveall the require- ments for a successful start—vim, push, energy, command of language, and, what is better still, unconscionable. ‘¢heek.’ I know all the ropes, meing been through all the grades {rom sweeper-out office-boy to city editor and army correspondent. I will take you under my protective wing, and muke@you a imem- ber of the Dribbler’s Club at the start.” F “Im sure you are very kind,” said Ben, finshing with plea- sure, “But may I inquire what is the Dribbler’s Club, Mr. Splasher ?” “Ay, my boy. It is an intellectual and convivial association of Pall the ge nd bright particular stars of tue New York news paper pr ch governs this country and all the civilized globe. 1] bination of wit aud wis om, brawn and brains, ope, a /} pleasare from yee that they would pags the night upon a couple of settees in the office, so as to be as near to |1im as possible, This exhibition of kindness, especially Brickey’s desire to share his rmprisonment, touched Ben quite deeply. Tho mterior of the jail was quite a primitive affair, being a large, rambling, Scantily- furnished affair, but it contained a tidy pallet, upon which Ben, being heartily tired, and, moreover, determined to take matters philosophically, was soon fast asleep. He was rudely awakened in a tew hours—at least some time before daylight—by the massive in lts of the cell-door being with- drawn ana the heavy steps of ders, and started into a sit- ting posture to behold, in the ght light of the lantern which the jailer held in his hand, old Panks, kis son Tom Panks, and— mirablle dictu/—Doctor Zebulon Birchem, while behind this trio of-worthies were Brickey and Splasher—who had probably fol- lowed they: m from the office, unknown to the juiler—and a arena tic-appearing gentleman, Whom Ben had never seen betore, ‘ “What! not in chains?” cried Panks, turnin with much dis- risoner to the keeper. his the way you take care of the most desperate and dangerous crimiaals in these country places? “The first step on the road I predicted he would travel,” said Birchem. | *I am a Witness to the boy’s desperate character.” “And I to his attempt at breaking into our house, and after- ward he tried to murder father,” chimed in Master Tom. Bashful Ben could hot refrain: {rom bursting into a really hearty fit Ge Nuenrer: bs , “Mark \his effrontery! take notice of his desperateness and dangerousness!” cried Panks. “I demand that he be chained to the floor until the officer arrives from New York to take chargo of him to-morrow.l’ ; ‘ “Oh, bosh!? exclaimed the keeper, who was not in the most excellent humor for having been roused from his rest; “I don’t see his desperateness nor his dangerousness nuther. * “T ask your protection in his matter, Mr. Mayor!” cried Panks, turning to the rustic-iooking gentleman, who happened to be the mayor of the village. ‘I demand that this ruffian——” “This ruffian, as you are pleased to term him, sir,” interrupted the mayor, impatiently, senpenre to be about the most cheerful- ly disposed © entative of the dangerous classes it lias ever been ny fortune to. encounter, and he will probably be in safe keeping till your officer comes for him in the Morning. The ob- ject of you and your friends in coming on beforehand, and rous- ing honvst folks out of their beds at this unseemly liour, is be- yond my comprehension, Asfor the Jad himselt, I think there mast be some mistake, or, as these gentlemen assert,” with @ Wave of the hand toward Splasher and Brickey, who as yet had not spoken a word, b contented themselves with making encouraging signs to the ner, ‘a conspiracy against him. At, any rate I know, and nearlyevery one “in this vicinity is equally well aware, that he behaved most nobly at the distress- ing ‘railroad aceident this afternoon, and won golden opinions everywhere: and the officer comes for him will have to pro- duce avona fide warrant for arrest, or he shall not be given up. oP “The sentiments expressed by his honor the mayor do eredit alike to his head and heart!”? exclaimed Splasher. “Not ouly will Benjamin Binder’s report of the accident appear ia to-mor- row morning’s 7——, which] have the honor to represent, but the Sunday edition of that unsurpassable and widely-fead sheet will contain a life-sketeh, chiefly autobiographical, by the same talented young writer, which will bring the dark to light, and cause certain guilty individuals te,oscillate in thew,pedal-cncase- ments in such a manner as will cause the public Nair to fairly curl, Ah, my venerable old high-cockalorum!” he added, re- garding Panks with ominous sternness, “the seeretsof tie guilly ‘must see the light, andthe crimes of the wrong-doers be brought home to them in the long run.” es Panks turned pale, and both Birchem and Master‘Tem looked uncomfortable, “Do IT understand tliat you are indeed the representative of the influential journal you just named?” said the former; ‘and that you contemplate the publication of a siatement from tlis— this person here?” “Old gentleman, yowvregot it down toa fine point,” “T will see yOu outside in atew moments, sir,” said Panks, with a look of peculiar significance. e “No, you sha’n’t, sir!” exclaimed’ Splasher, ‘buttonitig up his coat und striking, his breast with a heroic air, ‘1 hough a tho- rough newspaper man, and usuaNy susceptible to the weakness of iy class, in this case, sir, I aur not’ to ‘be’ “seen,» niark thatt Thank Heaven! I never yet failed to be incorruptible when my honor as a friend was pitied against my momentary self-inter- est. Panks smiled eraftily, as if tosay: ‘‘We will see about that; E have had to do with gentlemen of your profession before,” when the mayor declared that he would be kept out of bed no longer, and ordered the jailer to sbow the visitors out and Ag the door. But, at Splasher’s earnest solicitations, seconded by the permis- sion of the mayor, and in spite of the objections raised’by Panks and his companions, the lantern was leit hanging pen a nail, for the benefit of the prisoner, into whose lund, moreover, 2 scrap of paper was slipped by the reporter as he passed out. No sooner was he lett alone than Ben lost no time in edging up to the lantern and reading the slip, which contained the fol- lowing lines: “B. B.: Inspite of the bluster, which yoti will presently sce me Assume in your favor, the old man here has a pacity. bad-appear- ing case against you, and may give you no end of trouble, unless you manage to reach your motiier and seeule ber protection. on’t go to sleep again, but .be ready. to escqpe iu an, hour or two when the opportunity is presented to you.” SPLASHER,’” Ben felt great satisfaction upon reading this, but lo-ked around in vain to see by What means the proiised oppurtunity would be presented, inasmuch as the room contained pe ewe, and the only door appeared to be very Leavy and solid, wd securely bolted. But at Jast, high up ia the cetiter of the steeply-shoping roof (the jail-building was but ,one story) high) he percand a small skylight which, he had not noticed before, and concluded that the proffered assistance would come irom. that quarter, if from anywhere, though in what manner he was at a toss @ Ccon- ceive, for the light appeared to be heavily barred, “ae He kept awake with much. difficulty, being still re tly in ar- rears on the account of nature’s sweet resturer, in about an. hour, his patience was rewarded by secing the ékyligit opened and the aperture darkened by a human head, ‘ ; “Are you awake?” Called out the repoxter’s voice, in a leud but cautious whisper. “Good! Wait till we get rid of some of these bars, and we will loWer down a rope.” health, h and happiness, to paddie us my, the escape thence, the voyage in the storm, with its attend. allot here’s a sensation !? exeloimed Br. Splasher, open ing hig eyes. “But are you in earnest f ss vs “Perfectly se,” said Ben; “but, upon yourreturn to New York, you iy test the trath of my stateinent by going to tie c fi ce, and glaucing at the aceoent which I trans- ted to them, and which Jed directiy.to the capture of the.reb- bers; for every page of the manuscript bexrs my name in full’ on its back, written very small on the lower margin.” “Hy Jove, though! aut it seems almost tuo goud to be true!” exclaimed Splasher, whose frequent applications to the spuirit- flask appeared to have only sharpened his faculties, ‘Why did you give false names when your identification with the affair would have given you no end of bonor.and profit ?? “There were good reasons,” said Ben, hesitatingly. ‘You see we had run away from a Jersey boarding-schoul, and I was, moreover, anxious to hide from a cruel guardian, who may even now be upon my track, and——"” ; _-Asensation! a romance in real lifel? broke in Splasher, de- lightedly, ‘To-day is Friday, aud Tecan have itin for our Sun- day edition, Whatdoyou say? We have pleuty ot time, and I have sufficient use of my hand to take phonographic notes, in which lam a proficient. You shall give me your whole story from beginning to end, and I will txke it down word for word.” “All right!” said Ben, greatly elated, and thinking, with his accustomed foresight, that he saw a way of getting out of an ugly scrape, should old Punks determite to prefer a charge of attempted burglary against him. *Butlet us first fortify our- selves with this smoking supper, which I see the farmer’s wife has ready for us.” The repast was an excellent one, and, assoon as it was over, Mr. Splasher drew himself up to a table, with paper before him and pen in hand, while Ben, with Brickey at his elbow, set out upoh his story. He experienced the difficulty in writing by dictation that is known to every one unaccustomed to it, but his self-assurance and natural gift of language stood him in good stead, and Le svon progressed swimmingly. € made‘no concealment of names of persons and places, but, beginning with a brief sketch of his own Jife, told w straighttor- ward, unvarnished story of his advent al the Dingtown Acade- ant thrilling mecidents, the capture by the river-pirates, the man- ner of escape from their clutches, etc., ete., aud winding up With what he hau heard under the hbrary window of his guardian’s house, his subsequent capture aud incarceration in the rat-in- fested wine-celiar, the attempt to murder him on the part of Panks, the escape from death by turning the tables on tlhe would- be murderer, and, indeed, every incident connected with his story up to that very moment of writing. No where did he omit to give his comrades credit for their full share in the exploits described. Le even went éo far as to give a brief history of Skaggs’ hard case and the treachery he liad so long suffered at old Birchem’s hanas; and the while story was told with such boyish simplicity, and bore such an impress of truth that Spiasher, at its conclusion, declared it inimitable. “I had intended dressing it up in the transcription,” said he, “but it will make a greater hit just asit is. The story shall be published on Sunday just as you have told it, in the first person, and without the alteration of a line. Hallo! time’s up!” The narration of the story had occupied over two hours, ana &man Dow entered to tell tell them that the train for —— was ubout to start. It was only about cight miles from the station, but the trio were so tired and sleepy—Ben and Bricky from the Joss ot sleep sustained on the preceding night, and Mr, Apis hes perbaps irom his sundry visitations 10 that wicker-work Hask of his—that they Were ull asleep almost as soon as seated in the car. The conductor had to shake tuem up rather roughly upon reaching the station. “Come on,” said Splasher, bracing himself with another nip— an ‘eye-opener,’ he called it; “Ill show you wliere to stop.” But Ben had no sooner sect foot upon the dimly-hghted station before agruff-voiced, burly man, with a large German silver shield upon the breastof his blue flannel blouse, laid a Leavy hand upon his shoulder, “Tam looking fora : ; young man of about your size, my boy,” said the mau, grimly. CHAPTER XV. AGAIN IN THE TOILS—A BOLD STROKR FOR FREEDOM. “Poor Ben! it was hard, very hard, to be thus cruelly balked when the goal of his hopes, so striven for, so fought Tor, was almost within his clutch; but even now he did not wholly give in, though he bad felt a strange sickening sensation ut the heart when the officials heavy hand was laid wpon him. “Good-by, Brickey; good-by, Mr. Splasher,” said he, witha feeple effort at his old cheerfulness, while his companious stood by amazed and bewildered at the suddenness of the arrest. . ou see ny cruel guardian has not forgotten the debt he owes me.?? 2e, “I say what’s all this about, now ?” cried Splasher, in a high voice. “You'd better come fo the viilage jail office, and see, if you’re curious about it,” said the constable, roughly. ‘The description which this lad answers to was telegraphed irom New York this afternoon, and, if he turns out to be Benjamin Binder, he must remain in jail until the officers come from) New York to take charge of him.” “That my name, but I am guiltless of any wrong-doing,” said en, simply. They went to the jail office, which seemed to be the village po- lice station and police court as well, Ben keeping his own coun- sel, Brickey feeling very sad and miserable, and wondermg whether his friends misiortunes would ever cease, and Splasher talking very loud, as, indeed, is pretly often the case with news- paper gentiemen of his class. He chanced to be persounlly acquainted with the dignitary in charge—and, for that matter, be appeared to be ubiquitous all over the country; “the penalty of dame,” as he himself express- ed it—hut that gentleman could only promise, upon receiving Mr. Splasher’s explanation, to render Ben’s detention as little irk. some as possible by putting him in the must comfortable strong room they had (the jail consisted of but one room, so far as thut was concerned, though he didn’t deem it worth while to men- tion the fact); the arrest having been regulary effected upon in- formation telegraphed by the New York authorities, Splasher’s face grew long at this, _ “Never mind, Ben, I'll go to jail with you,” said Brickey, edg- ing up to bis friend, The official, however, wagged his mighty head, and declared it couldnt be; and, though Brickey shed tears, and Splasher vapor- ed still more bravely, swea: ing that be would see the mayor the first thing in the morning, iu regard to the outrage, our hero was @ase jike this,” was the ondent reply, “and each is so much i rope cate 7 Reo The bars wereevidently but insecurely fastened i teokikat © Sevier time te rmeve them, Aud, a BD BE ome oy bout, danek: Lu peieeth, : : a t am astern: wud then make yorrsei{ fatto the rope,” de was bid, was hail who: a, mee “Wart tll 2 replace these bars it the skylight,” pe) plusher,. " oe : ae is the Cuuseot that lurid light in the sky all stots bane oT : 7 “Tie forests are on fire in almost every early Ways happens alter such-1 drought as tuey bate hag abet here, this summer,” seid Splasher. “You may have to” pase tiongh’ some of it; Lutif it oceasions you xi: r, M Milbaiso serve ta 4 distract any purhait thet mey be made, Now, chen, be cautious.’? They followed Lim to tre edgeor the rvof, which was nearly thirty feet from the ground; but the endef the rope was made - fast, and they all descended sately, Splaser escending last, and then biinging down the rove itself after wveral smart jerks, “There,” said he, coiling up te rope and tucking it under bis arm, "Ltan¢ey, when they flnd the bird bas fown, they will pux zie their brains some time before diseuvering the manuer of his -cetion, as nearly flight. Follow me, boys.” : {435 Heledthem outof the village, until they came toa broad country road that branched to the leit, aud them held ous his hand to bid them farewell, { ‘ “The day is about to break,” sail he; ‘‘and you will soon have its light, in addition to that of the forest | fires, to guide youon your way, which 1s, icdeed, simple enough, being straight be- tore you, seven miles to the oceau beach. I shall return to New York in a few hours, with the additional facts 1 have se together respecting the accident, and in time tu transcribe yo story forthe Sunday edition, Master Bashiul Ben. Is would: now we agier jor you to push on alone, as your companion’s disappearance will, of course, be counected with your escape: when itcomes to light, Indeed, lmade the proposition, but he would not listen to it.” é pee said Ricker ny preter to tneck with ‘Ben to the end.’? ut won’t you be suspected o ug concerned in my esea Mr. Splasher?” said Ben. e, ) r i “It won’t matter whether I am or not; Pma thoroughbred,” said the reporter, With a laugh. “You willhear from me again. -by. : 3 a } i me RENEE sae aio wi ® QUT OF THE DARKE. BY H. A, GREINER. Out of the dark and turbid stream Into‘ ie bright and sunny gleam; Out from the low and noisome den Where demons wear the garb of men; Out from the bacchanalian clan, Brother, lead thy brother man. \ Out frem the halls of gilded sin, Though fair without, they are foul within; Back from the wine-cup’s ruby gleam Forth to virtue’s sparkling stream; ’ Out from the soul-destroying clan, Brether, lead thy brother mau. Out from drunken insanity’s dream Let the light of reason beam, Up from the depths of despond’s sleu At the temperance shrine to bow; Out of the dark, death-dealing clan, Brother, pluck thy brother man, Kindly, with words of love and eheer, His wayward footsteps stay, Gently, as oft his mother dear Has tanght him the better way; Firm im the faith of the Heavenly land, Lead him to take a temperance stand, Repented at Leisure By C. M. B., Author of THROWN ON THE WORLD; LOVE WORKS WONDERS; LURED AWAY; ete. etc. [‘‘Repented at Leisure” was commenced in No. 47. Back Nos: can be had of any News Agent in the United States.} CUAPTER XXIII. There was considerable excitement when Ethel Gordon once more cresséd the threshold of her Iather's house. The servants Jooked at her in wonder. What had hap- pened to their bright young mistress? She jiad left them only a fewshort months since, and then no flower had been fairer or more blooming. She returned to them, her face colorless, her eyes shadowed with sorrow, the bright- ness gone from her; there were no more smiles, ao more Sweel snatches of song. “J can hardly believe,” said the butler—an important person at Fountayne—‘‘that itis Miss Gordon; nor can I think what has so completely changed her.” They hoped that it was only fatigue from her journey, and that in a few days she would be her own bright, ca- prictous, charming seli again. But days passed on, weeks elapsed, and nochange cameto her; and they realized the fact that her girlish gayety had gone from her for ever. | The servants had been tempted at first to resent Miss Digby's rale, butaftera time they acknowledged that it was Weli thutshe was there. The willful, pretty, impe- rious caprices that had made the amusement and had caused the despair of the whole household were all ever. Neither ruje nor power had any more interest for Ethel. Those who went toask her questions, hoping that she ‘would evitice some Jittle interest, all received the same auswer, the same listiess, indifferent reply. It was either “] know nothing of it,’ or, You had better ask Miss Digby.’ The ojd housekeeper would listen with tears in her eyes : ‘It she would only scold or go into passions lke she used todo, I should not care; but what I cunnot bear isto see her sitting there looking as though the world were all over for her.” it had been a terrible trial for Ethel that coming home. She had been so completely queen aud mistress, her reign had been ‘so undisputed, she had been Bo dearly loved. Life had been bright for her—bright with vague, pleasing hopes. They were all blighted now. She lad left home the. fair, proud descendant of a grand old race; she had returned the wife of a forger and athief. She had left Fountayne one of the happiest, gayest, brightest of human bens; she had returned svithout an interest in life, Ht had been terrible to her that coming home; the sight of the familiar, much-loved spot seemed to show her more clearly than ever what depths of degradation sepa- rated her from the gay, proud young Ethel who had been mistress there. Sle walked under the shade of the tall, spreading trees, and the rustle.of the wind among the branches seemed to have a voice. That voice said to her: “You are the first degenerate Gordon. Your predeces- sors were faithful and true; you are the first who hag married a forger and a thief.’? She walked inthe long picture gallery, and. the fair, proad faces of the Gordons long sincedead seeined to look doin on her with scornful pity. ‘A forger and a thief!’ She fancied each proud mouth repeated the words; and she passed along the gallery, pale, frightened, the shadow of her former selfs In after years she tried to remember how mauy deaths she had died before the goldea autumn faded into ei winter. , She dreaded lest this terrible se- cret ef ners should be known. She would have suffered any torture, she would have endured any punistiment, rather than that. What if Laurie should write and claim her, saying that she was his wife? True, it could do him no good; i could not save him from the consequences of his crime. Perhaps, remembering how young she was, and how completely he had deceived her, he might be merciful and spare her. : She was so innocent, so ines pero. that ske did not know where to write to him. She had an idea of sending him. a passionate appeal for silence and compassion; but how should she adadcess her letter? Her life lad passed so happily untiinow. She knew, in some vague kind of way, that there were sin, sorrow, and crime in the world; that life had ashady side all unknown tothe iunocent; she kuew that there were prisons and scaffolds; but it was all in the vaguest fashion, She had never seen any- thing of crime, and vow she was suddenly brought face to face with it. Herewn husband—the man whom she had married in secrecy and huste—lay in a felon's cell. The man thrqugh whose ald. and helpshe had intended to triumph over her rival was bound hand and foot inthe trammels of stern, terridie justice. What should she do ifever he wrote to claim her? She raised her beautiful despairing face to the bright heavens, “‘] should kill myself?’ she said. ‘‘A Gordon coujd never live in shame.”? Every toud ring at the hall door,every unexpected noise, every look of excitement on the faces of those near her, sent a thrill of fear to ler heart, blanched her face, and made her hands tremble so that whatever she was bold- ing fell, It seemed to her that her hving moments were dying ones. Yetshe cuuld not tell whatshe dreaded. Her husbaud could notseek her, andit was knprobable that any one else Knew her secret; still the terrible fear never left her, never died away. That was her first great paunishment;: the second was her gradual awakening toa sense of what she had done. it had seemed like a feverish dream toher. She had been jed on {rom hour to hour, day to day; she had been drawn so insensibly, 80 gradually, intothe net that she had not noticedit. Her senses had been steeped in a glamour of flattery, homage, and fancy which she had mistaken for love. he desire for vengeance had hurried her on, the pictared dreanr of a clever triumph had closed her eyes to alielse, It had been a dream, and the awakening was terrible to her. Booking back calmly, she could not believe that she— Ethel Gordoun—had been so biindly misled. Now that it svas too jate she asked herself where was her pride, her dignity, her self-respect; where the pride of race and name that should have kept her from so terrible a blunder, so ‘great a folly, so miserable a sin? } Perhaps that was the greatest punishment of all. She -wrould look around her with: despairing eyes, asking lier- self new long she had to live; how long she must carry this terrible burden of sorrow and shame. There was Ho help for her; no human aid or power could help her. Sne had taken her vows before Heaven, and only Heaven could release her from them. No wonder she buried her face‘in her hands, hated the bright sunshine, and longed only for death. There were long nights when no sleep came to her, when with rapid step she would walk up and down her room, wringing her hands, uttering from time to time a Jow, passionate cry, longing with !mpotent, wrath to have Laurie Carrington punished for what he had done to her. ; “It was so cruel,” she said—‘‘so bitterly cruel!” ' Zo satisfy his selfish love Ne had blighted the whole of her fair young life. What had she done, she asked, with weeping eyes, that Heaven should punish her so cruelly? Where were whole days when she could do nothing, when She wandered Jistlessly from room to room, her beautiful Jace restless with pain, unable to read, to sivg, finding only in perpetual movement a solace for her most griev- ous pain, She knew that time would deaden It, thata day would come when only a dull stupor would tell what sbe had suffered, but it seemed long in coming. The friends and neighbors who had known her when her life was all sunshine looked wonderingly at her now; but neither wonder, nor pity, nor compassion, nor sym- pathy, touched Ethel; she was becoming indifferent to ah. There were times, too, when she felt a terrible craving, a desire that she might wake and find it alla dream, that she might wake aud find herself Ethe! Gordon agaiu—gay, frank, proud, bewitching Ethel—that ste might emerge from this dark cloud, aud sun herself once more in the brightness of life. Howshe longed for it! But the die was cast, and Jife was to be no bright dream for her. She laughed sometimes—a bitter, reckless laugh—when she remembered her father’s words—how he had proplhie- sied that if{she did not rid herself of her pride aud willful humor, & mightier hand Would do it for her. Gradually everything fell Intoits old routine at Foun- tayne. Miss Digby more than verified all Sir Leonard's predictions, Sue made an excellent mistress forthe Hall. Her rule was firm and gentle. She was liked and re- spected, but there was no snch passionate attachment as had been expressed for Ethel Gordon. “] am almost afraid to meet your father, Ethel,’ said Helen Digby one day. “What will he say to me when he looks at yoa?? * ‘Why should he say anything at all?’ asked Ethel. “Oh, my dear, my dear, you are so alltered—you are so terribly ehanged. Ol, Bethel, if I could only make you Wit you used to be—if I could bring back the bright- hess tc your face, the light to your eyes—if I could give rere res you some of your old defiant frankness, my darling, I would sacrifice all 1 have in the world.’’ ‘‘Am 1 so terribly changed?’ she juquired, with (a slow smile. Helen Digby raised her hand and pointed toa lilac tree. “There is just as much difference,’’ she said, ‘between youas I knew you first and you as you are Mow, as there is between that tree when it is covered with fragrant flowers and that tree as it, stands withont a bloom.” Ethel smiled again, the slow, sad smile, which never brightened the violet eyes.. She kuew the comparison was correct. oe = eae 2 CHAPTER XXIV. More than two years had passed since Ethel Gurdon had q contracted her fatal marriage vows; what she had fore- 4 seen came true. The sinart of her pain, the intolerable anguish, had died away—had given place to a dull stupor, from Which she made no effori to arouse herself. By this time she realized what she had done, and knew that as long as life lasted there was uo hope, no chanee for her; she would have to bear her burden in secrecy and misery 1 until death released her. She had grown resigned to it -4 with a hopeless, proud, cold kind of resignation; she suf- fered proudly, even as she had sinned, Helen Digby had grown accustomed to the change, While the servants had ceased to comment upon it; and when Sir Leovard re- turned it struck him with all the force of a terrible blow. He came home one autumn evening, and his first words were; “Where is Ethel?’ She had not hastened to great him as he thoughtshe would. Conscience had: made a coward of her. She was almost afraid he would read her secret in her face—that face of which he had once been so proud. Slowly and quietly she came to him; the evening light shone full upon her. Itshowed him ciearly the colorless cheeks, the sad eyes; and for a few minutes he hardly re- cognized his darling. She had been wontto walk with Such light, buoyant grace—her steps had made music in his ears; now every movement was sad and slow. Sir Leonard looked at her in dismay. “Helen,” he said, “is this Ethel? My darling, what have you been doing? What has happened to you ?’?. She clung round his neck, her tender arms holding him as though she would never let him go again. She shed a few quiet tears—hopeiess, despairing tears; his presence brouglit the old happy life back to her so forcibly, the life wherein she had been so free, 80 hkappy—whereln she had carried no terrible burden of fear aud despair. Sir Leonard unclasped her arms, and jooked ‘earnestly at her. “How beautiful you have grown, Ettel,’? he said. “But af ” ibe beauty of 8 sad woman, notofa bright young girl. She tried to look and speak like her old self, “It is your fancy, papa,’”? she said. ‘Why should I be sad—novw especially when I have you back ?”* Sir Leonard said no more jast then; bus’ that evening, after Ethel had left them, he asked Helen Digby to give lim fiveorten minutes—he wanted to speak to her par- ticularly. He wished to thank. ker for her constancy, her goodness, her care for his interests, her kindness—to ar- range for the time of their marriage; but, above all, he wished to speak to her of Ethel—to ask what had hap- pened to the child—what ailed her. : “Believe me, Helen,’ he sald, slowly, ‘that in all my ilfe [ have never seen such achange, She was a bright, will- ful, laughing girl when I went away, now she looks like one who for long years, has carried a terrible burden of sorrow. Helen, | know you will be perfectly frank with me; have you any clewto this mystery? have you any idea of what has changed her??? Helen Digby raised her clear, truthful eyes to his, “I haye not the least idea in the world,’? she answered, “Has she had a lover, or anything ef that kind?” ‘No. You must remember that she has never been a day away from me—not one single day, Leonard. She could not have had @ lover without my knowing It. But { hardly like to say what I think.” “Say anything you please to me, Helen. I know your interest In my darling is a8 great almost as my own.”? “I think, candidly, she detests all notion of love and lovers.. She is 80 unlike other girls, Leonard; she never seenis to care for admiration, not eventolikeit. I @o not belleve she will ever marry.’ ‘It is strange,’’ sald Sir Leonard, musingly. “But true,’’ she supplemented. “You say the beginning of all this was on illness caused by a suustroke?”? ‘ f “I think so,’’ replied Miss Digby. ‘One warm summer day Ethei went out foralong ramble; she was always fond of the woods. When shereturned she hada severe fainting fit. She was ill for some days after it, and I do not think she haséver been the same since.’? , “We must see what change cf scene will do for her,” said Sir Leonard. ‘If you wit consent, Uclen, our wed- ding trip shaH beto Francéand Italy. Ethel will like that, Lam sure.’ “Willyou allow me to advise one thing, Leonard?” said Helen, timidly. ‘Do not talk to Bthei about herself, She is very proud, very reticent; and { have noticed that any reference to herself gives her pain. She seems to shrink from it. I could not do much for her while you were aivay, but I should say that plenty of change, cheer- ful society, and not appearing to nolice her depression and melancholy would be the best cure for both.’ “You are very wise, Helen. I quite agree with you. And now will you think of rewarding my patience? I have waited almost three years.” It was settled that thelr marriage should take place in September. _ MS } . } “Then, sat@ Sir Leonara, “we camspend the winter in Italy, aad that will do Ethel good.” The morning eet Sir Leonard saw his daughter walking in the grounds; he joined her there. She was in her favorite spot, the grove of lime-trees. “T often thought of these lime-trees while I was away,” he said. ‘Ethel, lam giad to find you here alone; [ want to speak to you.’! h He saw her shrink with a kind of pervons dread. “It is not of yourself,’ he hastened to add, *‘umtess I stop for one minute to express my great satisfaction. You have grown, Ethel, and you are exceedingly beauti- ful. Ido not want to flatter you, but Ido not think among all the Gordons we have had one more falr than you.” : She sighed to herself that this beauty had been but of litue use to her—that lis pride iu it would be but of short duration. , “You will not be surprised to hear that I hope to be married soon,’’ he continued, “No,” she sald, gent “IT quite expected it.” “You have grown to like Helen, Ethel, as I thought you would.’ Her colorless face flushed. f *She has been very kind and good to me, papa; I do not think any one could have been kKinder.”? “Tam glad of it—I knew it would be so. We shall be very happy, Ethel;’ and then Sir Leonard paused in sheer wonder, F What had come to her? He remembered certain incl- dents before he went away—he called to mind her pride, her defiance, her pretty, willful, imperious ways, her ca- resses ind persuasions. What had made her so meek, so gentie, so submissive? He was about to sny something as to the change, when he remembered Helen’s advice and was silent. After a time he continued: “You will be Helen's bride-maid, Ethel? She particu- larly wishes it,’ She shrauk back, pale, shuddering—scared at the very ulterance of the words. Tilien her face flushed crimson, and a strange light came into her €éyes. “Papa, do not think me wanting in respect, but indeed Icould not. Ihave such a neryous dread of weddings that it would inake me {il to Bee one.”! Str Leonard laughed aload, “Why, Ethel, how unlike you are to other girls. I should have thought that of all things a wedding would have pleased you best.’? He langhed and spoke jestingly; but he was startled at the pallor of her face. What could it mean? “But, papa,’! she said, ‘I am not jesting. You cannot teH how much I dread anything of that kind. It is not girlish nonsense. LTamagirl no longer. Sometimes I think that Iam older than any one who has ever lived—I feel so old.”? “A wedding will make you feel young again,’’ returned Sir Leonard. ‘Seriously, Ethel, you must comply with my wish. To do otherwise would be to slight Helen in the eyes of the world; aud that lami sure you do not de- ire.’’ “IT should be unwilling to do that,’? she said, gravely. “Tf you insist, or if you think ft needful, 1 will coniply.”’ >*AVill you tell me, Ethel, why you dislike weddings?” asked Sir Leonard. The words had strack him painfully. “I think they are very solemn, very grave affairs,’’ she replied, trying to speak lightly; and her father felt relieved —it was only a girlish, nervous fancy after all. The wedding-day came. Helen Digby was married from Lady Stafton’s house, and Lady Stafton made the most of a brilNant entertdinment. The bride herself 100k- ed very fair and comely, the bridegroom manly and gal- lant; but every one there talked in low tones of the mar- velous beauty, the pale, starry loveliness of the young girl who was Helen’s bride-maid—the girl who, while the solemn marriage service was read, drew her while lace shawl round her shoulders and shuddered as with mortal cold. They talked in-Jow tones, wondering what it was about the girl that seemed so cold and strange, wondering why the marvelous face neverliguted up, nor the beautifully curved Iips parted with asmile, Ethel’s loveliness and grace created some little excitement among Lady Stal- ton’s gnests; the ladles all admired her, the men were quite enthusiustic about her; but although the most dell- cate, subile, graceful flattery was offered to her, and the most exquisite compliments were paid to her, no man could boast of a kind word or a sinile from her. Amid the splendor of the wedding, the homage that floated around her, the admiration her loveliness excited, Eihel never forgot one thing—ihat she was the wile of a forger and a thief, The guests might wonder at the grave, proud, collected manner, but no one even suspected the secret that had brought tu Bethel death in life, CHAPTER XXy. Sir Leonard and. his wife enjoyed the wedding-trip ex- ceedingls. No one knew whether Hihel enjoyed it or not; she was quiet, listless, alimostindifferent. But her father, who knew how dearly she Joved all art, how greatly she admired everything that was rare and beantiful, thought sie must be pleased. He did not know of the dark, terri- ble curtain thut shaded from her everything fair and bright. They lingered through the winter months in Italy, and then, when the spring came round, they made prepara- tions for returning to Eagland. Lady Gordon expressed a wish to spend a few daysin Paris, and Sir Leonard en- gaged a spite ef rooms at the Hotel Bristol. They were at breakfast there one morning, when a jarge packet of letters arrived from England. Lady Gor- don sat smiling at her husband, who was making himself uncomfortable by wondering wie French cooks never made%good tea. Ethel was absenuly looking over the col- amus of a daily paper when the letters were brought tn, anil ain Leonard in haste took them from the wailer's land, ‘ “More compliments and congratulations,’ he said. “Why, Helen, we have been married seme months now, nevertheless our friends are not tired of wishing us jey even yet,’? ; AS ne spoke he gave Lady Gordon several letters) ad- dressed to herseif. “You seem to have'no correspondents, Ethel,’ he re- marked; ‘*no letters ever come for you.” “I never write any,’ she explained, “That seenis strange. Have you no young lady friend whom you care for?” Tepe only two friends whom I love are here,’ she re- plied. } 1 Sir Leogard continued: “You are so different from other girls, Ethel; I should be better pleased, my dear, to know that you had girlish friends, and Cared for them, than to see you indifferent to everything and every one alike.” Then Sir Leonard opened his letters; Lady Gordon was already deeply engrossed in hers. The baronet read two or three and laid them down. There was a lurgeone with a government: seal, and Sir Leouard's face flushed with pleasuré as he read St, “That is very gratifying,” he seid; “the result of my misssion to Vienna las been so eXcelient that I am offer- ed an excellent government appointment; it will oblige me to remain in London during the parliamentary season, though.”? ; “Yan delightod to hear it,’ responded Lady Gordon; or id eke that your merit and talent are appreciated.” “And you, Ethel,’’ asked Sir Leonard, “have you noth- ing to say to me ?"? / She clasped her arms in the 6:d girlish fashion round his neck, and laid her beautiful face close to his. “Jam proud of you, papa,” she said; and then her heart grew cold with the thought of what*he—to whom houor was s0 justly paid—would say if he kpew that she was Lhe wife of a felon. Sir Leonard Jaughed a low, happy laugh that did his wife’s heart good to hear. “T shall have the fairest, kindest wife, and the most beau- tiful daughter in Loudon,” he remarked. ‘Ethel, you will have to look more Kindly upon lovers there.”’ ; She shrank back as though lis words had stabbed her. “IT wil not have lovers,” she said. “Oh, papa, never speak to me of such.’?: He laughed again, thinking that a woman so royally beautiful must hear of love and lovers, whether she jiked itor not. Then he returned to his letters,. The next was one with a deep black border, and, as he read the smile died from Sir Leonard’s face, and palued, haif-be- wildered surprise came lustead. : “Echel—Helen,’? he cried, “here isstrange news—so strange!” , iaay Gordon put down her cup, and looked at her hus- band. d* ‘What is it, Leonard ?”? she asked, briefly. “I cannot believe that it is true,” he said; ‘It seenasg In- eredivie. Tell me, Helen, am 1 dreaming or waking ?’” “Waking, Leonard. What has surprised you somueh ?” “Listen, Ethel; listen, Helen, sweet wife. Lord St. Nor- man isdead. He was my cousin, once removed. He is dead, and lam his heir. Iam Lord St. Norman now. Teli me, am I dreaming or awake?’ a, your good fertuns come about, Leonard ?” “Unexpectedly, and somewhat fmcomprehensibly; for Lord St. Normau was quite a youngman, I knew thatl was bext of kin, bur J] never even thought of being his heir, I expected he would marryand have children of his cwn. He was quite young, and was engaged to marry Lady Mary Semour,”? ; , There was silence for some looking at her father, asked: “Are you pleased, papa ?”? “T hardly know, my dear; Isupposefam. Ishall bea very rich man. [am not quite sure, but } think I jike my ‘own Bame of Gordon best, Helen. Yow will be a great lady now, my dear. You will be Lady St. Norman of Norman’s Keep, in Devoushire, Yarneld Abbey, in York- shire, Rosse, in Scotiand, and mistress of a large maun- sion, Brookdale House, in London, as well as of a pretty villa in the Iale of Wigkt. Do yoy not feel much elated, my dear??? “Wo,” she replied, simply. ‘I was always proud of pelos your wife, Leonard; nothing could add to that 1onor.’? . ‘ it Which little speech so delighted Lord St. Nerman that he rose from his seat and kissed Helen’s comely face, and ar ae atEthel, y ig te “This makes a areas ifpr e im your prospects, Ethel; it will make you one of the rigiiest helresses in Eugland. You must prepare for a regular slege.”’ i “Why must it make me a great heiress, papa?” she asked, quietly, _. ‘ ‘ “Because, my dear, I shall be able to leave you a very large fortune—one that will aurprise you. For yourgake, lam much pleased, Ethej.?\ _ For her sake! She snilled to herself. What dif- ference could it make to her, ghe forger’s wile? A large fortune could do nothing qr g@r. All the money that was ever coived could not help | She had fang away every hope in life to become the wifg of a convicted felen, “Bihel,” cried her father, “#0 not look sad., You must help me to write some letlersA. Aud Helen, will you see that all preparations are made for our return? We must 0 to Norman’s Keep—at least I must. You had better ollow in a few days, when the funeral is over,?” ‘Papa,’ said Ethel, turning to hin suddenly, “are you surprised ?”? ; “Iu some measure, of course. I Knew that I was the. late lord’s heir-at-law; but, ag he wag young, and was engaged to be married, Lreally never thought there was any probability of my succession, Seriously speaking, it isa yery excellent thing for you, Ethel. Wilh your beauty and fortune, you may attain one of the highest positions in England. Iam hepeful for you.” Sian She turned away, sick at heart. Not by one word would she damp the ardor of his hepes, or show him how fatile they were; not by one word would she hint to him that plans and hopes for her were all in vain. She was already the wife of a forger and a thief. When Lord St. Norman had quitted the room, Helen went up to Ethel, and, raising the beautiful face with her ands, looked long and wistfully at it. “Ethel, ny dear,’ she said, ‘‘you have Kept your own eounsel; something las happened in your life, 1 knos not what, which has changed you from a gay, bright girl tuto asad, unhappy woman. 1 see it now, and have guessed it for some time past, I am notseeking to learn your se- cret, Ethel; but, my dear child, this much I do ask you: Could you not, for your father’s suke, Jay aside this de- pression, and be more like other girls—for his sake,. dear —to give him pleasure??? ‘Am I not like other giris?’? she asked. “No, you are quite different from all others,’? replied minutes, and then Ethel, Lady St. Norman. “Then to please you, Helen, and to please my father, I will really strive to copy them. Ican promise no more.” But with that Helen was almost content, knowing that what Ethel Lad said she would do. 4 CHAPTER XXYVI. A bright, beantifal May day. In Brookdale House every one seemed to be unusually busy and excited, for to-day La- dy 81. Norman and Miss St. Norman were to be introduced to Her Most G-acious Majesty. Lady St. Norman, usually so _— 80 gentile, so plucid, Owned that she was agi- tated. She was surprised that Ethel did not manifest more in- terest. Lord St. Norman’s daughter seemed. to think but little of the greatevent which gave her step-mother so much pleasure. If her father liad not insisted, she would not have agreed to go atall.’? “It was all very well for others,’ said Ethel to herself; “for girls who had a happy future, a bright, pleasant life before them; but for her, there seemed something inoon- gruous alout it,” The wife of a forger and a thief to be reeeived at court. She smiled bitterly to herself asshe thought of it. In- stead of going tocourt or mingling wilh the gay and happy, the poor child would fain have hidden herself, her sorrow and despair fromall mortal eyes. In vain she had begged her father to leave her at Norman’s Keep, to let her stay at Fountayne. to place her anywhere, rather than ask her totake her position in the great world. “Of what useisity’? she asked herself, ‘Other girls have some hope—the hope of love, of marriage, of happi- ness, of pleasure; I have none,”’ The very word ‘love’? was distasteful to her. What had love done for her but plunge her into such a dark gulf of misery as she could not be resened from? Lord and Lady St. Norman both wondered why Ethel shrank from the society of young girls of her own age. She seemed to avoid and dread them. Their pretty inno- cent conversation, their ideas of love and lovers, were all fall of pain to her; their girlish laughter seemed to hart her, their freedom from care was to her like a reproach,”? “T shall never be as they are,’”? she was wont to say to to herself; ‘there willbe no more laughter or song, no more pleasure or brightness for me,’? Lord St, Norman had taken possession of his new es- tates; he had attended the funeral of the late Jord, had administered to his will, arranged all his affairs, and had decided that Norman’s Keep should be the principal place of abode of himself and his family. He had been warmly welcomed by the tenantry, with whom the sate lord had not been a favorite; young and thoughtless, lie had not looked after their interests or attended to their wants, The new lord promised to be very different, and he was welcomed accordingly. People were all anxious to make his acquaintance, As Sir Leonard Gordon he had been weil Kuown in diplomatic circles, but not beyond them; now, With his uew title, every one felt an interest tu him. It was known that he had only one daughter, and much wonder was.aftoat about her. Some had known beauti- ful Ethet Gordon when sle lived in the quiie retirement of Fountayne; when she had been content with county so- ciety. But Lord St. Norman’s heiress was a very differ- ent person. Inthe great world people sere all desirous of welcoming her. The family had gone to London, and had taken posses- sion of Brookdale House, Both ladies were presented on the same day, the ouly difference being that one looked forward to the event with the keenest pleasure, the other with the Keenest pain. Lady St. Norma was. pleased with her court costume—she was delighted with the grand old fulily diamonds; while Ethel siood in ali the grun- “Awake, most certainly,’? replied WS -wife. “How has | deur of her beanty before the large mirror, and never even remarked the color of the dress she was wearing. “Ot what use is it all??? was the burthen of her thoughts. “Of what use ??? Lord Si. Norman had purchased an exquisite set of pearls and rubies for her; he intended them as a surprise on theday of her presentation; and a surprisethey were. He gave them to her himself, “That is the greatest pleasure I have had since I have been a rich man,’ he said. “I have always longed to be able to give you bright and beantifal jewels, Ethel, you are so beautiful yourself. Now my longing has been gratified.’? we ,. ne opened the oases, The time had been when her saee WOul! Lave flushed with pleasure and her eyes have gieamed with delight at the sight of those gorgeous jew- els. Now, as she looked at them, her face grew pale, her eyes dim with tears, “They are too good, toecostly for me, papa,’’ she said. Lady St. Norman smiled. ' “Why, Ethel, youare growing humble!’ he exclaimed, “Too good for youl In my opinion there is uo jewel too costly for you, my darling.” She heid.up her, and with alittle gesture of infinite pain, bus she uttered no.word; she could not expiain to him, the prowl, indulgent ‘father, who valued his riches only because they siiuistered to her pleasure, that jewels did Doe beft her. She was the wife of a forger anda thief, “Take them, my darling,’ he requested, “and be happy; I would give afl | have in the world, Etlie, to see a brigiit- er look on your face.”? She kissed him and thanked him, tryifg to hid@ her despair behind a smiling couutenance, and on the day of her presentation at eourt she wore them. Lord St. Norman had always been proud of his daugh- ter; he had always rejoiced in her glorious beauty; but on this day he was prouder than ever. The court costume suited her regal style of beauty; her very indiffereuce to her Own loveiiness seemed lo increase 1l; aud at court she created a sensatiou rarely equaled. The day following every oue was in raptures concerning her; the fashionable papers, whieh gave a full description of her costume, spoke of her marvelous beauty; men at their clabs, Jadies in their drawing-rooms, discussed her. She woke one morning to find’ herself famous, to find her name on every lip, to find men eloquent in her praise. Invitatious poured in upon her; the beautiful Miss Si. Norman was worshiped jikea queen. She received all homage with indiflerence, . Lord St. Norman was delighted with his daughter's success. Ou the morning aller the reception, as they Sat Logether at breakfast, he complimented her. “You have all the world at your feet, Ethel,’ he said. But Helen, leoking into the face of the girlshe had grown to love so dearly, thought to herself that even the homage of the whole world would bring no happiness to “The Duchess of Listborough, Lady Bramfield; how many more invilations haye you?’’ asked ler father, look- ing over the cards. ‘Why, Ethel, if the days‘ were forty- eight instead of twenty-four hours long, you eould not ac- cept all these.’ To his surprise she seemed neither elated nor flattered. He could not understand her. It seemed most uunaturat that she should be so completely judifforentto the admira- tion Of the fashionable world. That same day Lord S¢, Norman said to his wife: “Helen, }eanuot imagine why Ethel differs so greatly from other girls, I think ] shoul@ prefer her agshe was, with all her Jaults, ber pride, her leve of power—the Ethel of old, who Was always capricious, always charming, to oe Ethel. who has grown patient, submissive, amd indil- ereut. Helen sighed deeply. “She was happier then, Leonards but I eannot see why ‘she suould be 80 unhappy now.?? . They talked of her, wondered abowt her, and Jamented the change in her, but they said little to her. She had edad them plainly how much she disiiked all allusion to herself, Be ure long Ethel St. Norman found herself queen of the most briliaut soeiety in London. She was more sought after, more admired, than any other woman in England, aud herehief charm was that she seemed so utterly an- conscious of her beauty. No homage, bo admiration, no flattery, bropght a flash to her face, a ligntto her eyes. Her superb: indifference, her calm, proud serenity, her cool reception of all attention, had a piquancy ali their Own. Girls who binshed, smijed, talked, were pleased with pretty attentions, were common enough; this grand young beauty, Who would have received the homage of kings as coolly as-she did thatof her peers, was, to say the least of it, avcommon. Men strove to win asmile from the perfect lips, and falled; they exerted talent, in- reste wit, all te wim from her-one kind look, and alted. She was among them, dnt not of them; she seemed like one apart from:all others. Some of the noblest aud: most distinguished men in, sought to win the favor of the proud, peerless girl, antl did not succeed. The culder she appeared, the greater was their admiration; the more devoted they became, the prouder andthe calmer she seemed, Ifshe had given smile forsmile, if she had seemed prqud from the admiration lavished upon her; if she had scifi in the least degree to attract, Ii might have been different, As it was, 20 man eould boast of one mark of favor, no man ceuld flutter himself that Ethel St. Norman cared for him. It was debated whether more animation or a dash of coquetry would improve hen. The..decision always was that she could not be mere Winving than she was in her calm, cool pride; that she could not be more charming than she was in her proud, serene indifference. She had pnumberless. admirers, and would have haa many lovers, but that she slirank with pain from all sueh. No man had the courage’to make love to her. They called her Snow Queen, but she never even smiled when she heard the name. She knew why she could never sun her- selfin the warm light of kindness or even of love;: she knew why no man niust win asmile from her lips-or bring & sparkle into her beautiful eyes. (TO: BR. CONTINVED.) wa Ot Pleasant Paragraph . Mooker’s Wife's Aunt. Tlooker received a visit from his wife’s annt «ot long since. Mr. Hooker was quite glad to see the old lady, and did all he could to make her visit pleasant for her, and she had him hopping around all the blessed me, and had every piece of furniiure removed from its place and trans- ferred to another place, She found fault with the dinner, and pounded all of the children the first day she game; ane when night threw Its mantle of darkhess over the town In which Hooker ved, he was glad in his soul, for now he thought he could:have one blissful mioment of rest. 1t took the whole family to put the old lady to bed,.and they had hardly got her there when slie bounced-out again to see if it was going to rain, so that she couldn’t go home on the following @ay. — Mr. Hooker retired eurly and was just going into a bliss- ful doze when the old lady eried out: “Wiiliam, its nine o’clock and time for me to take my. lung balsam. Bring it here.’? Mr. H. arose and gave the suffering mortal her balaam, and soothed her for half an hour while she groaned.and wisted she was dead. Then he again retired, and when: the clock straek ten the ola lady yelled: ‘“Willlam, iv’s time for me to take my cherry pectoral.. Get up aud bring it here. Bringseme cream for me-to take it in, too.” Hooker kindly arose again and gave his relative her medicine. Then she made him get a shovel and barn some sugaron it to scare off the musquitoes. Then he went to bed, and at eleven it was: “William! Willyamt it's time for me to take my nerve drops. Get up aud bring them to me, and go down cellar and get me some raspberry jam to take themin. They're awful nasty.’? Mr. H. groaned several tymes and then waltzed around a half hour, supplying the old Jady’s wants; and after he had smoothed her pillow and puta jug of water to her feet, she remarked that she wished he was dead, that his wife might marry a ricit man, At twelve o’clock Hooper was nwakened from a deli- cious dream by the angelic voice of his wife’s aunt.. This time it was: “William! Oh, Willi-a-m! are you deaf? I've been try- ing to tell you for ten hours that it was time for me totake my strengthening cordial. ITalways eat a@ Small raw to- mate after taking it. You go out into the garden and get mie one.’? With a low sob Hooper arose, wrapped a quill around him, pranced oul into the garden, and began to feel around among the potato vines for a tomato, It was pltch dark, but he finally stambled on to a tomato vine and se- cured a tomato, which he carried up to the old lady. “Willlam,’’ she said, “that’s a red tomato. | wanta yaller one, ‘cause they’re the sweetest.”? Then Hooper got the lantern and ane secured ‘a yaller one.”? It was a very good tomato, and the old lady guessed she’d save the seed. and Hooper had to hold his two hands in under her chin to receive the seed as she ejected them from her mouth. Then he went to bed, and just as his lead touched the pillow, he was agaiu aroused. “William! You William Henry Hooper, wakeup. D’ye want 60 sleep all yer life? Get up and bring me my pow- ders. Is oue o’clock, and time for me to take ’em. Bring me an apple to eat, too.’ Hooper swore softly to himself for a few moments, and again arose, lie had to put tho old lady’s false teeth in before she could eat the apple. Maybe he didn’t mean to, but he put the upper ones In wrong side up, and his wife’s aunt cut her gums so se- verely that she groaned with pain. She got up and chased him all over the house with & bolster in her hands. She took a. “erick” in her side just as sle got tothe foot of the stairs, and Hooper had to set ler up on his shoulder and carry her up to her room. Her 210 pounds avoi:du- pois proved too inuch for Looper, and she fell over back- wards just as they reached the head of the stairs. But Hooper held on to her feet, and landed her on to the bed with such force that the Buted ruffle on her night-cap was smashed out straight. He then rushed into bis own room, and his wife called him au unfeeling dog, and his wife’s aunt howled until two o'clock, Then she sheuted: “Willan Hooper, come right here, and put a new plas- ter on my corus!’’ Hooper was just going to say that he wouldn't do it, when his wife braced herself against the wall and with her feet pushed him out ef bed. He again went to minis: ver bo Lue wants of lds wHe'’s relative. -ccaisy THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #30—> & She told himthat she was dying, and he said he was giad of it. He then put a huge plaster on her corns, and another one right over her mouth, aud then he went grin- ning and dancing back to his couch. ‘ At three o’clock his wife gaye him a dig with her thumb, and said: an gel up and see if Aunt Rebecca wants any- ng. “Get up yourself,’ said William, “and ifshe wants any- thing you'd better give her some strychnine, or some of the rat poison | brought home to-day.?? “iM give you a crack with a chair!’ said Mrs. H., as she rushed into her aunt’s room. What followed hen she discovered what Hooper had done, can better be imagined than described. I will say, however, that Hooper’s broken nose is nearly well, but he fears his hair will never grow agalin, as it was all taken out by the roots. His wife’s aunt carried hofme with her a new black silk dress, a present from Hooper, as a balm for her lacerated feelings. JEFF. L. HARBOUR. Couldn't Fool Him. | A friend of ours had a birthday lately, and while speak- ing toa German musician of his absent friends with Whom he would have liked s reunite on the joyous occa- sion, the man of music asked how old he was “Thirty-one,” replied our friend. ‘Dirdy-von! Oh, nix. You Is more as dot?! “No; I was born in 1844, “1844? Ah, how Ihafe got you puddy goot,” said he, in trlumph. “Tow so?! “Because you dold me more as five year ago dot you vas born in 1844," '& Chance for a Trade. " “Papa, did you see those nice little guns dowr to the store?! asked a Iittle six-year-old boy. = « to feed and clothe that I cannot afford to buy you one,’ replied his father, seriously. Little Harry glanced at the baby in the cradle with no loving expression on his face. Finally he said: “Well, papa, ’lltell yeu what you can do—youcan swap little Tommy fer a gua.” Shaking the Wrong Man. Macready used every agency “‘tltat nature put in his power” tomakeé his acitmgtell, He neglected no aid of light and shade, no study of position, no minute attention to detail, indeed no artifice whatever that would heighten the effect. The storm scene in Zea was one of his most powerful representations. Au old man, tottering and ex- hausted, raving at the elements, aud defying thunder, lightning, and hail, isa touching spectacle. To get him- self up in style for this scene he employed a strong and museular friend to spend a few moments in shaking him vigorously, first right and then left, then forward and back, as a dog shakes a rat, till hiss hair was every way, and his general condition so mixed wp that, when the muscular man gave hin the final shove on the stage, he was the very picture of a reeling, Wornowt, Sand used-ap old man, and as he vented higiage on the stormy forees of nature, the impressiom was tremendows, One night the stout party Was somewhat late, and, fearing that be would be behindhand iu bis part as ‘‘shaker,”’? he rushed in hurriedly to what he supposed the right place, and, | seeing an elderly-looking maam with long white hair peer-- ing round as though he expected somebody, ike went for- ward and shook him—shook him powerfuliy—shook him to make up for lost time—shook the “daylighv’’ out of him, aud then flung him headlong on to the stage. The pit saw itin a moment, and they hooted as only the pit of the old days could hoot. The victim, scared salmust to death, slunk back as quickly as possible to private life, and the stout party didn’t quite take in the situation till the outraged Lear, indulging in a tall kind of rhetoric not found in Shakespeare, impressed on him that he had manipulated the wrong man. Origin of the White Race, At a recent prayer-meeting in Louisiana, the following unigne explauation was given by the colored preasher, as to the origin of the white race: “When Oain killed his brudder Abel, the Lord, missing him,.axed Cain: ‘Whar’s your brudder Abel?’ Cain an- Bwereds ‘i dou’t know, massa; I didn’t seed him:’ Then the Lord buuted around the corn-field, and by aud by he comed back aud looked ober the fence, aud again axed him; Whar’s your bradder Abel, you grand rascul nig- ger, yor?” Then Quin he git skeered, umd if tt hadden been forthat nigger turning so white, we nebber would liavd bee troubied with this sassy set of white trash.” J. A. M. Foul Business. Two of eur “kudlud’ citizens, after intently witnessing, a game of base-ball, were heard eouversing: as follows: “Tsay, Sambo, less us jine de base-ball club.’? “What for, nigger??? , “Well, Sambo, kase it larn you how ter ketch foutson de fy—a muteh easier way than stealin' dem from de ro0st.-" W. B.S. Indestructible Jaw. A married man, who some years ago cheerfully attend- ed the funeral of his bitterest enemy, removedthe body of hisjmother-iu-law from the cemetery (he other day, and hesays-he ceuld find nothing but her jaw, whieh was ina perfect state-of preservation. A Sensible Kiss. As young coupie were out riding the other evening, the young man-veutured to ask fora kiss, The-lady was much surprised—as all young ladies affect to-be when omer a request js made—anad asked what goodit would do him. “Oh,? replied the young man, “it would make me feel so gay and lively?” “Well; Churiie,.if, as you say, a kiss is apt to make one so very lively, B think if we expect to get home before morning, you had better get out at ouce and ‘kiss the old mare??? AE. J.B. . Fife and Drum. When about seventeen, the peet Campbell, together with a couple ot friends, played an excellent joke upon a coupe of tradesmen in the Trongate of Gla-gow. A respectable apothe- cary named Fife had a placard in his window, printed in large letters, “Ears piereed by A. Fife,” meauing the operation te which: young ladies submit for the suke of wearing ear-rings. Fife’s-next deor neighbor was a spirit dealer named et and terms. Tom and his friends struck on an expedient for recon- ciling them; they proeured a long deal board, and painted on it, in flaming capitais, this inscription from Othello:—“The spirit- stirring Brum—the ear-piercing Fife.” This they nailed one night over the centiguous doors, to the great apnoyance of aris andi Fife, and the great amusement of every oue else in Zow. To PR. P, CONTRIBUTORS.—The following MSS. are accepted: “A Drick as Good xs Doo,” “Hatching Velocipedes,”? “Common Ta- ters,’ “A Keen Retort,’ “Bold Jimmy,” “A Fat Benedick,”* “Sweet Johnny,” ‘Born Poor.”’........ The following are respect- fully declined :: “Ding in His Ears,” “A Tale of Love,” “What Was Wanted,” “Epitaph, “An American Turnip,” OH kistorical Items. ConoxEL. Thomas Jefferson Randolph, the grmnd- son and literary executor of Thomas Jefferson, died at ‘Bdge Hill,” his estate, in Albemarle county, Va., recently, in the 84th ear of his age. Deceased was the son of Gov. Thomas Mann ndolph and Martba Randolph (daughter of Thomas Jefferson) and was born in the coanty of Albemarle. In 1829 he published the “Life and. Correspondence of Thomas Jefferson,” in four volumes, and he served several terms in the House of Delegates between 1832 and 1838. In 1851-2 he became a member of: the Convention whieh met to revise tue Constitution of the State, and was once afterward in the Legislature. THE original name of Albany, N. Y., was Beaver- wyck. It was founded: by the Dutch in 1623, It capitulated to the English in 1664, and then received its present name in honor of the Duke of York and Albany, its proprietor. ASIA was so. called by the Greeks from the nymph Asia, the daughter of Oceanus and Tethys, and wife of Japhet. Asia was the first quarter of the world peopled. There the law of God was first promulgated; here many of the greatest monar- chies of the earth had thelr rise, and from hence most of the arts aud sciences have been derived. Tue standard of the eagle was first borne by the Persians, and the Romanscarried figures of the eagle, as ensigns, in silver and gold. When Charlemagne became master of the whole of the German Empire, he added the second head to the eagle-for his arms, todenote that the empires of Rome and Ger- many were united in him. The eagle was the imperial standard of Napoleon, and js that of Austria, Russia, and Prussia. It is also the national emblem of the United States ot America. Scovill’s Blood and Liver Syrup.—Serofula, Rheumatism, Pimples, Gout, and Kidney Disorders, and ali dis- tempers which aflect the external portions of the body indicate an unclean condition of the venous fluid. ScoviILL’s BLooD: AND Liver SykuP may be relied upon as a swift and certain remedy. The conceutrated extracts of Sarsap arilla, Stillingia, and other invaluable antiseptic and alterative plants and herbs form the basis of this powerful remedy. Price $1 per bottle. Edey's Carbolic Troches,—Among the various remedies for coughs, none enjoy a higher reputation than Epry's CARBOLIC TROOHES. This fact places them above the ordinary list of medicinal preparations. For Coughs, Colds, Asthma, and as a disinfectant and preventive against contagious diseases they are aspecific. Invaluable to Singers and public speakers, Sold everywhere. Price 25 cents per box. The Great American Consumption Remedy. Dr. Wa. ITALL’S BALSAM FOR THE LUNGS cures the worst cases of Ooughs, Oolds, and all the diseases of the Lungs, Throat and Chest. For Whooping Cough and Croup it is a certain specific. The most obstinate eases surely yield to Hall’s Balsam, when used perseveringly. Stauds ut the head of all cough preparations. Sold everywhere. Price $1 per bottle. . Dr. Mott’s Liver Pills,—It is easy enongh«to make apill, but to make agood pill, ah! that’s the difficulty. There arec¥ ap, harsh, @rastic pills, that are of even less value than a dose m salts. But a good medicine, like Dr. Morr’s LIVER PILLS, whieh penetrates to the seat of disease, is a desideratum indeed. Will positively cure all diseases of the liver. Sold every- where. Price 25 cents per box. About Bitters—aAt certain periods of life a tonic is a necessity,; but there is danger in using stimulants that injure toe organs of digestion while giving temporary relief. To obviate this ana present to the public a tonic free trom Alcoholic porson, Dr. GREENE prepared the OXYGENATED BITTERS, u Sure cufe for Dyspepsia and all Kindred complaints. Sold everywhere. Price $l per bottle. hey ees : , Henry’s Carbolic Salve.—Tiis article is so well known that it is only mecessary to caution the public against imitations. Remember thatit requires a particular proportion and a careful adnvizture of the carbolic acid wih ether ingre- dients to produce a salve that may be relied upon, The genuine ouly guaranteed. See that it bears the Jac-simile signature and yrivate proprietary stamp of Jobu F. Heury. Sold everywhere. riee 25 ceuts per box. Townsley’s Toothache Anodyne.—A sure cure. “Yes, Harry, ] saw them; bat I liave so many children ; these twoshopkeepers were, forsome cause or other, on bad. got y i 4 cot THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. toe5— cumstances, for a firm of liquor Gealers had startled the “Pil attend to her case,” sez the conductor man, taking | Indeed, paradoxical as it may seem, the rule held good | sparkle of & diamond ring on a very soft, white hand, and husband in business, furnishing the stock of liquors ana | ™& by the shoulder. ‘We've jest got to Greenville—l’ll | that the more money he possessed the poorer a man in| said in a strangely soft and richly musical voice: : R ; . . chuck her out herel’? ‘ reality might be called. Sucii being the financial condition “My name is Paul Vinson!" buylng for him the needful license, At least with such} And he prepaired for to chuck. of the country in general, it Wasa matter Of no surprise to] ‘And the horse?” gasped San Clark. a start they should have been able to have made their liv- Be RRR ee SPR Re? i me that the crowd a San Kone was ay liberally peace A arate, on as that of a beauteous woman, lighted up ; with ‘‘current funds, S$ & natural consequence the | the face of Vinson. fig; and Higy ‘would have dons Go, “bat for thelt Lye of DRESS VS. DECORUM. betting was quile free, not to say reckless in-a igh de- | ' “The horse isthe Flying Dutcman!” strong drink. Three weeks ago the brother died in the gree. “Great Jupiter!’ exclained Clark. ‘Paul Vinson! The i all d. Sunday afternoon the At length a race was made up. San Clark’s little black | sharpest sport west of the mountains! The Flying Dutch- AAS FRC RAG ERNE BY ae 7 1am tired of the question as frequently discussed in the | are was pitted against a good-looking bay, owned by an | man! Good heavens! the fastest horse, by all odds, in the wife and mother died, and while Mr. Gough was pleading | papers touching “‘Woman’s Dress,” wherein they inveignh | 41) qeer hunter in buckskin leggius, and moccasins of like | State! Sold out, boys, by hokey! his favorite cause the husband of this unhappy home was | #gainst the injury done to health by the present style, ‘ ; ;. San Clark paused a while, took a long breath, squirted ; lsigh for pantaleted school-giris and old-fashioned ; y ws ’ in the throes of deliviwm tremens, and was not likely to Some walhon as something pally desirable. As San’s mare was led out the crowd cheered lustily, | some tobacco juice from his mouth, and wiped his moist know or care how very near to death he had traveled with |" My mothers’s garret, with its long closed chests, affords demonsirating their partiality in the most boisterous and | brow witha huge bandanna. Then he broke out again: , oe his wife. When found by the police he was lying beside | ® eenite onsale ee a sete Sanne alaaee aie eee cried her delighted owner, as he| by chanel Wine Poight "hove MM ae Rad 6 her dead body in a frightful condition, and it is said that De erit cs neatipon Mab alrkaae Westy hips With the | 8t00d upon a big oak stump near the track, with an | bit of sense, Here, boys, the last rascal of you, d’ye hear ? - “ ° ’ in? 1 for several weeks they had subsisted upon liquor alone, | weight of at least six white skirts, and high enough in the enormous quid in his cheek, ‘Youth, beauty, and a fair) You're all goim’ over to San Clarke's house to licker OOO NN een NEW YORK, NOVEMBER 16, 1876. eae meemeOhoIOO—iaenilihme™ ~~ Menu Subscribers: , . complexion,” and to git supper, I:’s San Clark’s set-up this One month wulelinos Gen nee copy (postage sree).$3| HO Other food having been taken Into the place in that | "mat to impart comforlable respirauion. are the |, Tie Judges took the stand, Powhattan Bell, manager, at | time gure. Come along, Vinson. Don’t be hangin’ Twomonthh..-s.ces-s.c« BOG 1S HES SOONERS 5c epee Foes) 5|time. And thus has ended in four weeks the career of a ghee dtii-pelt canivaniieroancies let ba mammas Be ore. rey ' the word away they went, like the swift, ea yon eS pobad er cts . pare. shuckin. Fong manta eer On toe me ge a a family who tried to keep a liquor saloon, for, hardly less | expended in the nine-tucked, hemstiiched, needly-workea, | Tes!stiess wind. a ee le gai Oe ie oe aig It was nip and tuck, round and round—two best out of | shanty. Boys,’ said San, pausing and turning half Those sending $20 for a Club of Eight, all sent at one time, will | tragic will be the fate of the surviving member of those Bait Fore nanaretos nee i Ane = pee was =~ coef: three, and the little black mare came gallantly out three | round, facing the crowd. >*Boys, Old San’s been took in “a be entitled to a Ninth Copy FRex. Getters-up of Clubs can after-} wn eomposed the adilt portion of the family, though ag | ered under the high-poke bonnets than now in the light! jengths ahead. —out of the wet. Had the wool pulled over his eyes. ward add single copies at $2 50 each. , fc jaunty hat. ‘i Ged The cheering of the crowd was loud, long and uproari- | Got his eye teeth cut for the first time in his life. I don’t IN MAKING REMITTANCES FOR SUBSCRIPTIONS, always procure a| yet he is not dead, For the child, whose memory of) If] were amother I would rather see my daughter | oo, while they gathered about San Clark, and congratu- | care a snap, boys—vou know I don’t—about the fifty, nor draft on New York, or a Post-Ofice Money Order, if possible. | father, mother, and uncle must always be connected with physicially weak than mentally and morally so; and be- lated him on every hand. five times fifty for that matter, but I'l! swear it’s the cus- Where neither of these can be procured, send the money, dus al- , , “ fore I lectured upon dress I should most certainly lecture A ways in d REGISTERED letter. The registration fee has been re-| gin, there can only pity be felt, and perhaps the good upon decorum. We lament that we have no modest, in- After a general drink all round, several other heats | sedest shame on the top of the habitable globe, that San epi i » : J were run by other fast horses with variable results. Clark should be caught a nappin’—in that sort of style. raund by inn comatAtDancinn te Ge aitenae ta earn ee people of the city will exert their influence to save him j nocent girls, Why is ats ; eae ti Finally, San Clark’s little black mare beat everything | That's what grinds him—awtul!” ! tection against losses by mail. al Postmasters are obliged to| from a similar fate. For the temperance people the in-| Because we have no motherly mother, I am thrown | on tne grounds, winning for her lucky owner several} He moved on a few steps in silence, absorbed ir deep 1 4 register letters whenever requested to do so, cident is one of tle kind that atirs into activity every | 20 Unfrequently in the society of women whose bearded | hundred dollars—in “wild cat” bills, San was “in high | meditation, then he stopped again, faced the crowd for the In addressing letters to SrREET & SMITH, donot omit our Box ; sons should be a silent reproach to their vanity, and Not | rather over the result, and dispatched an extra messen- | last time, and concluded in this wise: : Number. By a recent order of the Post-oftice Department this is | dormant faculty, and with reuewed zeal they will fight | until the matronin years becomes a matron in habli- ger over to old man Bird’s, for a fresh supply of his “Boys! San will never live over it. He'll grieve hisself ry absolutely necessary, to ensure the prompt delivery of letters. the demon of rum from its strongholds in the community. ments, and the follies of youth are abandoned for the re- “best,” on whose return to the scene of action whisky | to death. He’s got a pain in his chest now. Sam’s gone ' ALL LETTERS SHOULD BE ADDRESSED TO TE taky too that thik’ will dae thease facte'to urge’'a revoea- sponsibility of maternity, need we talk to their misguided | qo weg like water from the mountain rills. up the spout, boys, You needn’t shake your heads. San ; STREET & SMITH, Proprietors. y f i daughters, By this time the broad disc of the October sun began | Clark ain't it for a ‘sport’ no how. He’s too green. Look | 25, 27 29 and 31 Rose St.,N.¥. P.O. Box 4896 | ‘ion of licenses where liquor is sold to those intoxicated; | Girls belore entering their teens are taught they were | sink behind the forest trees, and the crowd slowly to| here, boys! If San Clark ever rans another horse, figlits ' eo Re Eee ie but in this case the liquor was furnished to be sold, and aren te a sacs 4 rere “ey oan ener ery, Ae disperse. another cock, or throws another card, he wishes le may : ‘ ' under the pretext of selling it the rumseller and his family | jargest diamond, or has the most plethoric purse, It is aiienen Sa bs ape ee eer a no be eternally condemned!” And he was as good as his word. os é : . — 4 A CHARMING FRONTIER STORY were the victims. Rum and ruin walk hand in hand, not a matter of the heart in elther case, and since it is to} time a singular looking man quietly. mingling in the ene ate ar ? | and while the most eloquent of temperance speakers en- | be the lady’s support, she applies herself to her profes- crowd, Hitherto he had been a silent, but deeply inter-] Josh Billings’ Philosophy. as assiduously as man to his. And if she cannot en- NEXT WEEK. tertains his hearers, the demon of intemperance is slaying da a hulient in dae way, she will in another. Sat eee ace Bre chaeneaiee ane ears adios Si its deluded victims in the byways and streets of the great | Every unwomanly device is resorted to, and she de-| ora naw, SUDDEN THOUGHTS. With the next issue of the New YORK WEEKLY we be- | City, and the Morgue and the Potter's Field are counting hey malane iol hetero: Aan oe etiie bake PB onion Gowced afte eg roe yeoman, Sat Honesty ahd Shpetnere rns Sle shee ae ole Perens ay gin Volume XXXI., and init we shall present the opening | 2¢W Occupants every day.” may be, saucy, bold, deflant glances, inviting to an ad- forty-five years of age, and his heavy mustache of nutty aba cee wee maid the most ov either seem to make the > ite é vance as she seemingly retreats. And the instruction opt ike g 2 oe Bd ee “ z o 2 * ’ chapter of a fresh and entertaining story entitled, from mistaken mammas to withhold your opinion, if you es Get ree ee cod ra oa ane he Caeeeeeee I never hav met an infidel yet who hadn’t a smattering § > ; ’ i * have any—‘‘for men never like opinionated women’’—to 7 . ov knolledge, and who didn’t think ne waz a very pro- 6 Boys of the W orld ‘ no mean acquaintance with the sporting world. st] e and the very simple are Pr eak-N eck Ben, o — : think, presume, but never Know anything, and alas! |“ “wpockt Lye got a leetle chunk of a lioss that 1° like to poe PeMmaers 0) SOE Oe are ; ; make themselves agreeable to gentlemen by laying aside inv The public are delighted with tie appearance and con- | this “prudery’? pe. raising pa aiaeane e cee eS oiding we eee, Bike Rueaner L casas or two, some-|, 1/.yu want to git the good ee. or ms prmnPeny. yu J J : : : : é * “} are in, 1 th ith admirashun ov them- ¥ i E BOY PIO Ni EER. tents of our new paper, the Boys of the World, and s0 | their hands or encircling their waists. Al, in sucha con- what contemptuously, and then repjied in an irritable tone: are in, yu must first fill them with a 5 i ye | diti i 34 justly lik ' girls, j 2 2 ‘ selfs, aud next impress them with yure own insignifi- q great isthe demand for it that success is assured. The. Hae 9 ta terrDecanee justly apee oe: al &} “Not I'll be hanged if you will! The little mare’s been Cunces IC this buooeede: HA Will opdtiably Ws vaulehen thas — OR, — entire edition of No.2 was given away, and to supply , * | run enough to-day!” their Opinyun ov yu ain’t worth mutch. those who have not yet secured copies ofthat num- “You aint afeerd to run her agin my hoss, I suppose,” | | never knu but two gamblers who reformed and quit 7 ay , , retorted the stranger, with a slightly perceptible sneer. t ¥ t ate inthe | Le FRONTIER LIFE IN MINNESOT ‘A, | ver, an extra edition has been printed. Any person de- THE HORSE “Afraid! nol” replied San, somewhat stung by he man. Oe Brofeshan, and both ov them were third rate in the ; siring a copy of No. 1 can get it free by application at the ’ ’ ner as well as the language of the other; “but the little | ~ Pooig want full az mutch watching az knaves do. By Frank H, Stauffer. nearest news agency, as all the agents have secured large RACE AT SAN CLARK S. mare’s tied. She oughtent to be run anymore. Why} knyy seems to be a disseaze that every boddy liaz and didn’t you put in sooner? However, mister, where i8| every boddy iz ashamed ov. Hee ges Se eae suppiles, BY CREAM 0’ TARTAR, M. D. your horse? Let’s take a peep at him.” Adversity puts weapons into a man’s hands to fight bak, ng ‘ : The Boys of the World contains entirely fresh matter? The stranger stepped back a few paces, into the rear Of | while prosperity too often disarms him. uh ivisa story which the Boys and Girls will read with : But first to him that held the rein the crowd, and quickly reappeared, leading behind him} pnjjosoply kant do away with a single trial or trubble; 4 , avidity, ‘whileolder heads /will be charmed at Se eae es eee A crown he nimbly flung; the new “race horse.” the best It kan do iz to reduse them to their lowest fight- ew : : hesitate to buy the Boys of the World, thinking it con- For holding of the horse ?—why no— A universal roar of laughter greeted the reappearance ing weight. ; ; ifs PATHOS, ITS FRESHNESS, tains matter also to be found in this paper. It is different SOS ne Whee se Fes PPG. LOT. °F OEMS Stranger and his “nag.” A “sorrier-looking,” | Pets oy all kinds are a noosance; a pet child iz just az s i t The amusements of a new country differ from those of | more sheepish “‘brute#’ I had never before seen in all my | pad ag a pet monkey. ITS GLIMPSES OF SCENERY, | ‘rom the New York WEEKLY in every respect. the older States, more in degree than in kind. The pas- | life. Virtew and vice are so adroitly mingled in sum consti- ITs ABUND ANCE OF INCIDENT We request a critical examination of the Boys of the | sions of mankind are alike, whether their expression is} He was a long, gaunt, bony, scraggy-necked sorrel, that tushuns that the man himself kant tell which iz who. , World, confident that the unanimous opinion will be | found among the rude pioneers or in the gay halls of me- | kept his nose constantly to the ground, and looked for all It iz more diffikult to keep a friend that it iz to rekoncile ITS COHERENT DRAMA, : tropolitan wealth and fashion. the world as if he were two-thirds asleep. Occasionally | ay enemy, be that it is the best paper for the young folks yet given tO} “the gpirit that animates the fashionable exquisite, as | he gave a hollow, startling cough, as if he were in the last Men often fail to be Influenced bi their judgements, but Bay Ss : ITS PLEASING CULMINATION. the public. : he paces aretud tle elegant billiard table in French calf | stages of pulmonary consumption. ; ; . they never fail to be influenced bi their pashuns. boots, immaculate linen, and pantaloons of faultiess style, | He appeared to have scen extensive service at the plow, | ‘The most dangerous ov all flattery iz the very common Among its characters are is the same that swells the bosom of the rustic youth in | the marks of trace-chain and collar being plainly ‘‘visible kind that we bestow upon ourselfs. i ; iN j his home-spun suit at @ County shooting match or the | to the naked eye.” San Clark was astounded. : I presume it haz kost the authors ov the best things that BREAK-NECK. BEN, THE HERO. PETTIGREW PAPERS—N 0. 14, circus “show.” “Why, hangit, man, you don’t pretend to say that thing hee been written more timeto korrekt their works ay wah Where is the difference—in a moral point of view, at | can7un, l hope? Why, he’s sastasleepnow. Take care, | than it did to write them. Strong, sturdy, strategical, never breaking other people’s BY CLARA AUGUSTA. least—between the jeweled hands mae Goal ule and yen fall down on you, braitica tt he aoe seat is Altho love iz blind it kant be fettered; it haz enslaved ne c si i . : F éuchre in the luxurious back parlor of the brown-stone he stranger seemed altogether unmoved, eit y the | thousands, but won’t be enslaved itself. en a ee “Hold on jest the haif a shake of a cat's tail,” sez 1t0 | front, and the hard and horny paws that manipulate | merriment of the crowd or the sarcastic words of San] Most ov the grate men ov the earth hav outlived their j Seeze, “while I climb onto the woodpile; it won’t be so | draw-poker in the village bar-room or the rough precincts | Clark. power, if not their usefullness. LITTLE CHRISTIE, HIS SISTER. likely, if it busts, to hurt me up there.” ; of the country “still-house 2”? ates walt be. es ire bites bas se Minoritys are az often right az the majority; most all Ay. . - ry e . * . as , Fair, fresh, fascinating, stolen by the Indians and recap-} nq I clim onto the woodpile, and Priscilly she mounted MOne sagen i ay ae he Sta t, | git him ranged up. He ain’t eraight y long-winded; he's fF SPOR AEA EDF NEARS BON ERDAS Rae. TRE tured by Ben. the garding fence, and sez she: The love of gambling is inherent in the hu ae got a bad cough, Doc.” And lis eye twinkled slightly a8] ~ We are never more than haff az mizerable az we think . “Patience, if lam kilt intirely, lay me out in my lee Seterde die waa ta tlae. | Tn tee ok ee hae spoke. “But what do you say, Dock, to a half-mile | we are, { , : "LAS : : —no ‘wild-cat,’ mind — : rane ca, cova persia a amaay, (OC SME a whie rows on mg brea and tet the Vitis one of liad rennli of the fa,_And it has been | Eat sone ite ack mar tn athe arco. Yo" "|, Beoben hours are gharsecnngvow, and fare mor Rollicking, reckless, reliable, with a tiger in his stomach. | squire that my last thoughts was of him.” ST enero, Meni tieae tea tae appalling fact, | 542 Clark gave a long whistle, and looked around com-| “ir a man iz only true to himself, it will be very difikult “Now, Seeze,” says I, “all is reddy. “I'll give the es spirit enters largely even into the business transac- ae rienis aateaer BRe bed-bug,”’ he said. Miericonnin . yyeie h ofte a "4 i i i ; . -bug, ero’s, like fourth ov July orashuns, are often made to LUKE MAXWELL, A SCOUT. | word ot command. At ‘three’ atrike, Oue—two—three. or ie Moperatelle'ton sACubA gael t Wimetd *oretute, Then turning to the stranger he continued: order. ; ’ A ; ‘ llow, and I don’t three j a ave, gaunt, generous. Firel”? ” t, but the very soul, spirit and “XOU -S6Gmn 1 bE & Sleyet Sprs. of. lellow, [ A suckcess seems to me to be compozed ov three ingre ee And Seeze at the word give that box the all-firedest | or yambling--a “eame Of chance,” par excoWienos? ‘Tie Soir hand tate aver Pookes eta takibg ak, Vouk baat ein iis tongues sh et eee oad i iri : BROL, . um folks dont seem to hav enny fakulty to git ahe MINN ON. A, THE MY STERIOUS, lick that ever you seed anything have, and it split clean sens Pore rae ores aoe te: caeommhoniant Are you in solemn earnest, stranger, about the race?” Unis til hatening Onis ths dens atk ST Others, Uilb tony, be in two, and out bounced the nicest, yellerest-green Hub- ae ; it ; ; The stranger’s face lighted up with a meaning smile as | , t but it i Or 6 The whole business is tended with all the stirring ex- : ; lonest Dut it 1Z poor. hate” St fai bard squash that ever you sot your two eyes onto. citement—the nian often agonizing suspense—ana be Pre ee Sar how hetee’ erty ecw n re = paving eneve an py hag pane CAPTAIN VANCE SUNDERL AND, I felt a leetle cheap, but then anybody is liable to make ee rey eT te the race track, the Faro gathered around San Clark and the proprietor of the un-| oy others iz cane Seen 3 mistakes, and Patience Pettigrew has never pertended Indeed I am not so sure that even the moral distinction gainly steed while the preliminaries were being arranged, Virtew seems to thrive the best on poor sile, whare the In command at Fort Snelling. i and their interest in the case was intense and earuest. | ground iz very ritch, if it aint well hoed, thare iz sure to . ad oP 1 0 7 is as broad as eome perans are led to soppose. The betting was free—ten to one on San Clark’s mare. | £o°a weeds toons worn : ) There was a slip of paper pinned to the handle of the daeae of the most fascinating forms of gambling is the | indeed, the stranger's horse had few friends. with the I sumtimes think that men tell the truth az often out ov ga The incidents in this story are very graphically painted, squash, which sed it was sent by Mr. Squire Pilkins for This. aitisenl ny i. ar back into the shadowy past nerve and hardihood sufficient to risk any money at any kompliment to their honor az respekt to their honesty. ; " and @ deeply interesting plot cements the numerous ex- | our Thanksgiving squash pies. i and modern civilizatfoprhas shorn it of none of its pecu. ot oe eerie Murine een ahaliy oun the rival} ,, | Ba olen heard it reported that “man iz a failuve,'’ : citing episodes with which the narrative abounds. When Priscilly found out where it cum from she tm- | liar attractions andge@uctive charms, Perhaps, after all, Evi ah cnn brought upon the track. The contrast was ~ smaot tenor: ae - eee « ice kia core 38 cain r ; “BREAK-NECK BEN” will be commenced braced it, and patted it, and sed it was just like the BEE preeeur ast a Ride: Wor dor be unoncie t Bo eR eee teat abina! tkawethe stranger's 1) Witt, and when i diskover what he haz did since, i must . NEXT WEEK. AERTS SUN Ee ee eee er ee bad Popular arisen Iis alleged cruelty is far-feteli- | gavesay was hever seen. He stood on track, with his | x t sald i - skull. When we take a little romantic walk under the achs and bowels needed ransacking or overhauling. ing. making half her usual speed, and yet she was moving orton he ae nus Uoeineenaebane Vice te coon : ne in the cere of an Sv eping. ue nengia of some é in a little ered pf eaten Mey have such a habit of This fact—more than any severe moral principle—made swiftly away {rom the old sorrel, and doing it with allim- bi misses, single pins, and ten strikes. ; ow. hung tree seize upon our combs and the stately fabric | busting up and making folks into mince-meat; and ever t my ow 1 int aginable ease. f 7 i - of our back hair is completely demolished. ¥ time they whistled I ixpected nothing but what the biley et ar Ath teed hte athens ie WT eRe ee Oe ee “San” Clark, which was short for Sanford, lived about | The stranger looked on with a countenance full of sut-| tery; the one may be honest, the other never iz. Honest praize will strengthen enny man, but flattery will weak- ; en ennything except a mule. It ain’t safe to luv each other too mutch; a little meglekt once in a while iz a good alteration. Combs are, also, an expensive item. A shell comb costs} Would kick up some tantrum or other, and we should all | »; I-h i prise, anxiely, and concern. The boy whipped and from five to forty dollars, according to quality, and every be lanched into eternity, or some other dreadful place. sad agportugiaaut yao Keptitast nites Mri ottie spurred, but it seemed. utterly impossible to get the oid lady wants @ shell Comb, though she cannot tell it froma} When we got eanamost to Boston, a feller cum into the | and blooded hounds. He played “draw-poker” well, and | Horse up to higher speed, horn one, at one-tenth its cost, to save her Ife. car where I was, with a whole lot of brass things with | was an “A No. 1” Judge of good whisky. San’s mare was fully two hundred yards ahead. It was Young men who are thinking of marriage, hac better | leather handles, and figgers on ’em, strung onto his arm. He was, also, reputed altogether free from certain little | 20 race atall, And uow achange seemed tocome over} 7 kno lots oy folks who hav got just branes enuff to spile defer it until the era of combs is passed, A wile to keep| ‘Baggage, ma’am??? sez he, little peccadilloes ot a gallant nature. Notivithstanding | the feeling of the crowd. them. Ifthey had less they might possibly amount to in combs is an extravagant luxury which few young men} “‘No,” sez 1; “I guess I don’t want to buy any baggage | these failings, however, San Clark was regarded asthe best | They pitied the infatuated man who ownedsuch a steed, | sumthing i can afford. ; to-day. } lve got two trunks and two barrils along with physician in the whole country, and; having a constitu- and who was foolish enough to risk his money on his Weak men are the hardest kind to control. They lave . a Think of courting a pretty girl who wears a high comb! | Ine, besides this satchel bag, which is so heayy it gives | tion like a horse, did a tremendous practice. speed. Remarks of a commiserative character passed }no more bakbone than an angleworm r y % Thiuk of courting her in the impassioned, high-pressure | Me the neurollogy in my shoulder in jest the same spot 1 had often heard him tearing about over the country | from lip to lip. It iz very seldum we see a man who iz too mutch for é style which novelists tell about; think of her reclining on | Where I had it last spring. . Young man,’ sez I, “did ever | jjke a house afire, mounted on a trim-bailt, clean-limbed But, Lord bless yout look yonder! Suddenly the boy} the pizzness he iz engaged in, but quite common to see your “manly bosom’? with one of these high combs in her | You have the neuroliogy ?”? flashing-eyed bay that would have done your very soul | threw his whip to the ground, leaned gracefully forward | the pizgness too mutch for him’ 7 hair, and ia imminent danger of smashing it to atoms if} ‘No,’ sez he; “1 never did. good to see. “Dock,” or “San,” Clark, as he was most | iN his little jockey saddle, and laid his hand lightly on the} “ Suockcess iz too often the only real merit that kan be you venture to squeeze her a litue closer! Think of its} ‘Then yowre lucky,” sez I;:‘for it’s the drawingest generally called ali Over the country, was 4 very hand- | $0rrel’s mane. found in a performance. ragged edges being suddenly brought in contact with your | Pain Lat ever you ixperienced—draws up the leg of a six- some man, a little above the medium height straight as| Heavens and earth! what a scene transpired. I don’t care how mutch branes a woman may hay loving countenance as she lifted her head to ask you if | {00t man so’s it would fit the body of a five-footer.”? an Indian arrow—sinews, lithe, and active, with large As if the dead had suddenly come to life, like the swift | :nare’s lots ov times in her life that she would be willing you weren’t ashamed of yourself! ‘Baggage, ma’am ?” sez he agin, kinder onpatient. blue eyes, and fuli auburn beard. He “was usually flash of the lightning’s wing, old sorrel sped along the to swop them all off for buty 8 And if you are a general lover, and girls are plenty in| _ ‘‘Ltold youl didn’t want to buy none,” sez I; “and if dressed in asomewhat rasty suit of black broadcloth—his |. track. - In a moment San Clark’s rider comprehended the 5 vour vicinity, think of the scrip it would require to make] I did, I don’t want none of them brass fandaugoes you’ve ) : fr coat Ss but sb ~ Phe is, | awful mistake. ae = peed vvd the probable damage you would do in a season, | £O'—n9, sir.” ae Clark jo ae of ia wveoc best ek mealies wae Ruin and desolation, sackcloth and ashes, were behind . scilage to combs, we Mean! “Madam,” sez he, “I havn't anything to sell; I aman county, and decidedly the ruling spirit in his neighbor- him. No 2 L But it is little use to say anything about the disadvan-} agent who forwards baggage. I'll forward your trunks hood. , He wag about forty years of age. With the quick, sharp intuition of desperation and de- . e . ‘ tages of combs, for we shall all wear them, and find them | 0d barrels to any designation,” and he passed me.over a On the eventful Saturday I rode over to San Clark’s. | SPair, be put the little black mare to “tie top of her ‘ - so elegant, and so becoming! as long as they are fashion- | handfull of them brass things, and began to write in & | J found the race track—half mile cireult—on his land bent.” OF THE able, and when they shall be tabooed by the Lady’s Maga- | book. A large and rather promiscuous crowd had already as-|. The. astonished, eager, awe-struck crowd breathed s Lai im- i while every eye was strained upon the track. they are out of style! KATE THORN. | ducior man, I haint to be imposed onto in no such wag soon discovered that a certain trim-looking: littie black y ey: zine we shall fling them aside with contempt, and tell| .‘‘LOok herel”’ sez I; “jest. you take your brass thing- +i hard—hard; each pulse’s throb could almost be heard ra each other how hateful combs were, and haw giad we are | Umbobs, and make yourself skeerce, or lll call the con. Grau eaibcovillen thik Waereine WeRr aie nice ek : 8 0 the ; mare belonging to San Clark was a decided favorite with |, The silence of death succeeded the clamor of a moment as that are, I take the papers, and read ’em, too, and [] ¢ i c before. Sr eerste know all about your SwWinudling, pocket-picking rascals, as 7 Saentiaiwres aGaieith te tane ee coaedecan ir “Every nerve of the black charger was strained to full play.” A Case for Temperance Lecturers go a gallivanting round a deserving, honest people. You country youths, dressed in their holiday apparel, middle- With distended nostril, with fierce, flashing eye, with NOW READY, bs . don’t play none of yer tricks onto me,” and I give him a aged hunters, clad in buckskin, or home made jeans, quite } Teeking flank, ‘ shove which sent him: rite into the fat stummuk of aja collection of the neighboring farmers, some rustic ’sport- “Like a bark fed by fierce furnace ire,” AND ; } A tragedy’ worthy the attention of temperance lécturers plamp ooking old er that was a injoying a very nice } ing men, and lastly, a considerable sprinkling of hard-| the little black mare spurned the swift, receding track ; { occurred, over a week ago, in a liquor store on Atlantic flew oneneeraiash Win; doe theplaupenee meee es ae Soa, cael ral seemed as fond | beneath her dainty feet. Ye gods! but it was a thrilling F or Sale by all the News Agents. : avenue, Brooklyn. The body of a woman, the wile of the | his feet with a snort, aud kicked out, and struck out sev- " The whole Pontfiy Marbled ‘tredventiy ana freely nie pallor of the grave overspread San Clark’s face. proprietor, was discovered in the back room, where, also, Bahar ~ ee ak old ladies, and Knocking | throughout the day. Whisky was cheap in those days— | How hard he drew hislaboring breath. 1 pitied the man PRICE 5 CENTS : less than @ month previous, the woman’s brother had ders the hater youn gianiifeased oldie ee at wen Te nt Een Oty Salat reniky cénts per gatiqa—and, } id my very soul. ? x died—both from tle same cause, intoxication. Her hus-| setting cluss by. : 7 Ofasih Gal that was a | moreover, It was also pure. In vain! in vain! Like a bird on the wing the sorrel _ : It was procured at San Clark’ j A band, tossing wildly in the ravings of delirium, lay beside The two old ladies they riz, ana begun for to} ay down p San Clark’s expense, from old man | passed the panting black mare! s a 2 l Bird’s distillery, nine miles away, on the head waters of “Wj i " Gg © Mi i Cc his wife, unconscious of his proximity to a corpse, the law, and punch every body with their parrysols, and | Little Raccoon. " ihidpsoaiaanihte nad oly ae ee Miah pak ne : ion opies ’ : the gal she was hoppin’, and she grabbed that plump old i her glossy beauty lost to human eyes. A cry of despair— A helpless and innocent child, the offspring of this de- | Man by the hair of hiz head, and actilly shook iain tht the brag: Repl eg th quarreling, hilarity and r f ~ cs ‘ . ? 3 good humor being in the ascendant. “A cry that shivered to the tingling stars”— OF graded couple, weptina corner of the room. On tie very pa acces er aes his ee She had enuff muscle to Several ‘fast” nags were on the ground, the varied | broke from the pallid lips of the crowd. next evening Mr. Gough, at the Academy of Music, in the Brarthtie 1 aoe _ ball club up into bigness. It beat an me tee the main topics of conversation. On—onu—on—round the track, with an ease, beauty, No 1 game city, deliver i " Tis ° n fac 1orseta was the order of the day. Money was and grace—such as that rustic crowd had never seen be- e Ys ered a lecture on his favorite theme, tem Lt erent sae brass things he was mad, and he | flush. Everybody hada pocketful. This general finan- fore; until, like alight boat skimming before the breeze. perance. ‘Had he been in want of a fitting illustration Or man that, it was all owing to that old : cial prosperity was easily explained. ‘The State, at that |; 1 ti he fe: ‘ s 2 - V iY V . W Ve hag with the red satc! i amie Besa ’ t and parting the feathery foam, the sorrel horse came gal 434 4 of the evils he pietured,” says the Brooklyn Eagle, ‘he wae to put me eo nehmee the conductor | time, under the “free? banking enactments of the legisla- | loping in one hundred feet ahead of the little black marell HA i BEEN GI EN A AY, if 1a eth ture, swarmed with “wild ca’ banks, and the whole| The silence that supervened was im ressive. ati ee ar me listeners 'o the three victims of Pod TT tee he ee ratte 8eZ : ¢ f country was flooded with their trashy and unreliable pa- “Ill take the little | y, ifyou leané.”’ gala the stranger, eee Som Ty Eee : antic avenue gin-mill; and he might have madea tue young Wag, shaking his fist at Se dae Pe institutions ran a brilliantly | approaching the bewildered, stupefied holder of the stakes. strong point in doing so, for nothing has been more shock-| Jp} let : : c race, Suspension and collapse were of daily. San Clark, for some moments, was speechless with 4 oO you know whether you're afoot or horseback,” | n: ; ; : af ’ pi eres e 8 ing or more painful to record. Here wasa family consist. | 8&2 I—“I vow I will, afore P’'m done with vel” ana : nay, alinost hourly, occurrence. Consequently holders of | amazement. He was the most completely demoralized ag ’ 5 ‘notes on demand’! came to grief by the acre. Nobod man | ever sa ing of four people, husband, wife, child, and brother, and seized onto him by his paper collar, which parted amid- | could tell, in those y y w. : . t “flush times” how rich he might safe- At length, as the st: ietly ‘“fobbed” the stakes IN ¢ ) VV RR, B3 A.D Y ships, and the fi ; g ength, as the stranger quietly ‘‘fobbe le Stakes, - ' they were not destitute or in Saidtolle cdubarveaiea ‘cit: ih : sp staal ion adh Kiet oh round like hailstones Siar et simply by the amount of money he | he gasped out: “Who the duse are you anyhow ??? { I The stranger gracefully touched his hat, revealing the PRICE 5 CENTS. ; : iia anit Attract merenpetranemaeatiet THE LESSON OF THE GRASS. BY MARIE S. LADD. “Q green, and {resh, and ever cheerful grass That lines the path I pass— Less cheerful, I, alas— Why should you look so bright ?” One to me said, who, looking through a glass, Saw not the world aright. “The place the God of Nature gave, I ill According to His will, Beside this babbling mll, Where you so often sigh— In valley low, or on the rounded hill,*® Islowly made reply. “T creep along the winding river’s bank $ The steep and dangerous bank Where never flocks have drank, \ Yet I in safety go; Down the rough cliff, and on the margin dank All silently I grow. “and on the highest peak where man ne’er trod, From out the icy sod, Where dwarf shrubs o’er me nod, I shoot my bardy spears; On trackless wastes, forever known to God, At times my leaf appears. “Yet when His stern and biting frosts are sent, I wither in content, e My glory being spent; For summer sun and dew, Warm winds and floods, all in their season sent, That glory will renew. “And yet, behold! a higher life than mine, CG weary one, 1s thine! Why should you so repine At Fortune’s brooding face— Formed in the image of the One Divine, And favored by His grace ?”’ I know not how my silent speech he knew, But to the distant blue His eyes from me he drew - Sustained his earnest look— I will, undaunted, still, the right pursue,” Then left the rippling brook. Born to Betray ; OR, A GAME WELL PLAYED. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. Author of WHO OWNED THE JEWELS; TME PHANTOM WIFE, etc. (‘Born to Betray,” was commenced in No. 52. Back numbers can be obtained of any News Agent in the United Staies.] BAER ds CHAPTER VI.—(CONTINUED.) lt was a half-sheet of fine, gilt-edged paper, and on it Was written, in a cramped hand: A PRESSENT FUR THEA CHILD, Voderneath this, in his adopted father’s writing, a few lines, thus: “Mem.—Tnis came a yere after we took the babby. It inclosed twenty pounds. No more ever came. I’ve no ide who sent it,”? Alas, there was little in this new revelation to confirm Jasper’s theory. It was the chirograplhy of an illiterate person; and the sum sent was small, and, it seems, had hever been renewed. His dreams had flown so high, only to fall so low. The disappointment seemed to him unbearable. Then he said, to himself, flercely: ‘*Here is the opal necklace. Was that owned by some poor, ignorant creature like the one who wrote this note? It was far more probable, tome, thatshe was but the agent of other parties. ‘A pressent fur thea child.’ Every atom of blood in his body tingled with shame as he read the words again. Only @ sensitive spirit which has brooded all its life over some “blot on the escutcheon’? can begin to imagine the pain thatill-written, vulgar scrawl gave the reader. Well, the paper was not vulgar; that did not match the writing. For the first time, so absorbed had he been in the message, Jasper turned his attention to the half-sheet of note-paper on which it was inscribed. There, in the left-hand corner was the faint impression of a crest, or motto, or coat-of-arms, stamped in relief but not in color, and was almost obliterated. He drew close to the win- dow and examined this with eager eyes. He was afraid he could make nothing of it. Had the cloud suddenly opened oniy to close again without letting a ray of light into the dense darkuess? - “Why, now I make it out, quite clearly. Where have i geen that device before? Itisfamiliarto me, A rose and aleopard. ‘Strength and sweetness.’ Is it possible?” he cried, the next moment, as a thought broke over him. He recollected that he had seen the same device on the seal of the bottle which had been cast at his feet by the sea, In all probability this was but a coincidence. Jasper’s mind was a logical one, without a touch of fanaticism; he had no reason to think it was anything but a coincidence —and yet he trembled, while vague, indistinct crowding phantoms of possibilities jostled each other in his imagi- nation. Hesankintoachair and took from his pocket- book the card-picture which had come in the bottle. He studied the lovely, girlish face, as if those laughing lips could speak and answer his passionate questioning—those winning eyes could tell the “‘heart-histories which lay un- written’? ontheir bright mirrors. Wild conjectures of some relationship to this fair, unhappy girl presented themselves. Nothing was clear; yet a chain, invisibly fine but strong, seemed to draw him to her. Was it providential that that sealed bottle, freighted with its strange message, should have traveled thousands of miles to lay itself down at Ris feet? Such athing was marvelous; and he had prided himself in not believing in miracles. One thing was certain; nothing but death could now prevent his going in search of that vessel which held im- prisoned this helpless girl who had appealed to chance to befriend her. If he should find her she might open for him the closed door which lay between him and his pa- rentage. Never before in his life had he been so deeply stirred—not even when he had spoken to Cecilia Crevel- ling so madly at parting from her. To learn something of his own history was, he truly believed, to bring him uear- ér to Miss Creyelling. He could not remain in the close, hot room. He wanted more space to breathe in than he would find in the whole city. He went down on the street and walked, walked— until it must have been late in the afternoon that he found himself in a fashionable part of London, and sat down un- der the trees in a park, having suddenly realized that he was faint and weary. A long procession of stylish equipages was roiling along the drive not far from where he sat, and numbers of people came along the footpath. It Was sunset, and everybody was out-of-doors. Jasper noticed the crowds as he would the sands of the sea-shore, withoub any per- ception oi individual grains until two persons sauntered by in close conversation, and their voices attracted his aitention. Bn Vivien,’’ he thought, ‘‘ang that singular friend of lis.” Vivien did not perceive him, but the restless eyes of Capt. Billings saw everything, and discovered this man of whom he was in search, though not a muscle of his face betrayed recognition. eae did not. know me,’? murmured Jasper; ‘‘l’m glad of that, But he was mistaken. The American knew him, and in a few minutes had parted from Vivien, got around in the rear of the young man, and remained in his vicinity until Jasper left the park—followed nim to the door of a restaurant where he took au economical dinner—‘‘shad- owed” him to his lodgings, and all quite unsuspected. Jasper spent the most of that night wondering how he could make a hundred pounds take him all over the world, but toward morning he fell into a sound sleep, and awoke late in amood for action. Buying a paper, while he breakfasted he looked over the shipping intelligence. Where he was going or what he could do, was more than he could tell. The letter had been written a year previous, and the Sea Foam might now be in the Hast India seas or lying off the coast of Greenland. He had nothing to go by, except Guila’s intimation that she believed the vessel Was going to be ordered into some obscure or totally un- known port, there to leave her a prisoner on land instead of oceau—a solitary dweller on some island, perlaps— that is, solitary, with the exception of her maid and a servant or two. How to rightly attempt such a search was the puzzle. Were he able to charter a steamer, there might be a faint prospect of success. ASit was the prospect wus more hopeless than the proverbial one of looking for a needle in a haymow,. , Three questions recurred again and again to our adven- urer. What interest could Basil Vivien have in the letter and picture? Where did he—Vivien—come from, and what were his antecedents ? Why had he come to London so suddenly with that rough-looking American ? AS all objects are green if we look through a green glass, so everything uOW appeared suspicious to Jasper Velasky. Another thing gave him exquisite torment. He had never liked Mr. Vivien; but in the last eight-and-forty hours he had grown to distrust the man’s whole charac- ter. To think of leaving Miss Crevelling the prey of such a man’s selfishness—with her father adding all his influ- ence in favor of the wooer—was misery. Apart from his own wishes it seemed wrong to go off Without more effort to warn her against such a suitor. Ge must come to some decision, immediately. As usual | it helped him to think hard to walk. As he stepped out 4 ou baa acaba into Lhe street a man was passing the house. It was the American. He stopped and spoke: “] reckon you're the same gentleman my friend had a tussle with, eh? Dreadiul foolish!—queer, too, about that sealed bottle. Walking my way? This is my first visit to London, and Ishke to go through allthe oda, out-of-the- way streets and places. Somebody told me I'd find a right smart show of flowers in the market somewhere be- low here. Isthatso? Well, nevermind now; lll walk with you if you’ve no objections.” Jasper stared coldly at the stranger, but this did not abash him; he turned and walked beside the young man, with a friendly air, as H he had known him all his life. Jasper suspected that it was no accident which had brought him to that quarter. “1 don’t know as we’ve been introduced, though we did meet in Vivien’s library. Your name’s Velasky, I’m told. Odd sort of name! Mine is Captain Green Billings’ of New York and San Francisco. Run over to London to see my friend on business. Going back in a week or two. By the by—speaking in the strictest confidence—I don't exactly understand Basil Vivien’s conduct about the bot- tle you found. Now, if you’ve got as much curiosity on the subject as I think you have, you’ve hit the nail on the head when you make my acquaintance. I’m the only man on earth—with the exception of six sailors—who knows the true history of the Sea Foam. ‘That makes you jump, don’t it! Well, it’s a fact. Don’t you go off on any wild-goose chase without consulting with me. Vivien takes the aiternoon train back to the country. I shall be disen- gaged this evening. Can youcall al my room No, 120, R— Hotel about eight o’clock ?”” “7 am very much astonished, Captain——”’ “Billings. Of course, you are. Interested, too. Per- haps you and I are destined to become good frieuds. I think you would like information about that vessel and that young lady. Very weli, here’s my card, with the number of my room—eight e’clock. I’m off for the Crys- tal Palace now.” He thrust his card into Jasper’s hand and turned offin an opposite direction from that Jasper was taking. This-little incident put Jasper into a flutter, and also prevented his completing any planof action until after the interview with this captain, aninterview which it might be folly to refuse. Resolving to distrust Billings as much as he did Vivien, to be on his guard, to be very sharp and cautious, to try to get information without giv- ing any, he became: impatient for eight o’clock. k . j t yf ly guessed the onuse of the removal. She had seet in| May, he was briefly told in answer, had leftthem and|iriend of ours. Other recommendations were eqnally and what I had thought of long, I did at last. “Will you tell me again, Lewis, and more clear- je the Times the death of the master whem her father then served, and concladed it had lost him his situation. Since then she had not looked after them; she had not had the time, she told herself; and so she did not Know their ad- dreas, and they did not Know hers. Her Aunt Foxaby had died while she was at Parkwaier. } No; she had neither friends nor help to look fo, only her- taken service with another firm. Fred Lyvett found ont.the firm—which consisted of one gentieman eolnreng saw May and his wife. He inquired after Sophia. They did not know where Sophia was, they said; and said truly—for it was before she called upon them, Sophia was out somewhere as governess they told him; her first place was in Ireland, in somé ras family, faise; and on these she was admitted to the family. Lord Tenuygal applied tous afterward, and to Lady Langton, who, in point of fact was the first person imposed upon, as it was sie Who saw the certificates and engaged Miss May; avd thus the plot was lrid bare. Miss May’s ger- vices * Lord Tennygal’s family were dispensed with the same day. Jmeant to have told you then, and once fairly away to write youall. Itseemed to me I could never lookin your face and break your heart. But even that has been forced upon me; it is part of my punishment, and a very hard one to bear.” Ones mere silence—she has never moved or wv please. I do not seem ablo to understand you. y son a murderer! Surely I have misunder- stood all you have been saying.” 4 “Yes, it is hard to realize, is it not? It is hard to think that one sin, done years ago ina moment of passion, atoned al as I had hoped, should self, And, us she has just said, getting along was very | but they had reason to believe that she had quitted it for} ‘But sie conld have known nothing of these false re- | looked u i it i hard, As Frederiek Lyyett's wife—oh, what a triompi ft another. They had not heard from her Jateiy; and—that | commendations!’ exolaimed Fred Lyvett. “You Peaiia ourself b omise beside your beets i aenn Ame Lane oe aa hese a t would ve! how all would be changed! was all they knew, or, had to say. “Of course not,’’ mimicked his father. “They dropped | pathor’s d&th- ,»’ Lewis Nolan goes on, “to|} sends me Dane from himatooall time My i > . find there was ouly one siugle hindrance, which might be no hindrance at all, for it might newer be disclosed. I conid do this, and 1 could do the other, reasoned Sophia, in her delusive hope. Sophistry begutles the best of us. Still, but for the Joose principles and the absurd notions instilled into her mind by her early tratning, it might not, in this one Some weeks afterward, Fred went down to them again; for he could not forget So 3and then he found that they were gone away from the piacéin consequence of the death of the master, and nobody seemed to know where they could be found. From that time Frederick Lyyett had never seen any- into Lady Langton’s hands from the clouds, just in the pnick of need. What a greenhorn you are, Fred » “If you knew her you would not suspect her of such conduct,’ retorted Fredarick. ‘She is honor itself, Per- haps her parents, over-9nxious, may have been tempted But I have nor to say this. However it may bring to justice the man who apres his adopted son’s death. If you feel that promise must be he lifts her head and looks at him,such agony: in her face as it breaks his heart to see. fate is deserved—hers, Boor. innocent child, is not. I ought to break those things to you, I suppose, but I never learned how to b things; I can tell you in no other way than this.” ' ‘He drops into a seat, for he is dead tired, and en grave insiance, have beguiled even Sophia May. She re- | thing of the people, avd never as much as heard the name ; have been, I will stakq my name that she herself wasin-| “Oh, forgive me!” he eries, “I know tha you | begins as collectedly as he can, the whole most ; Solved to suppress all inconveiient remembrances; aud | olf May mentioned, He was beginniug to look mpon the} nocent.’ A, ig tart ; : uy = ¢ 4 y * ae : “You'd Jose the stake. There can be liitle doubt that eannot, my own Wife. I would giye my life’ for wretched narrative of misplaced love, of insane Frederick Lyveit’s fate was sealed. “And money for pressing present needs I must have,’ eonciuded Sophia, bringing her reflections to a close. *‘He must help me. 1 shall write and deaiand it,” She put her writing materials before her; wrote, sealed _ And addressed a letter, Then she drew up a shores notice te send to the Times, past episode in hfs life as a thing gone by and done with; was iudeed beginning to forget Sophia, outil that most fatal evening when, Chancing to be in the neighborhood of Brompton, he saw her pass in the gtreet, And so the old acquaintanceship was renéewWed, and he was more madly in love than ever; and Sophia, on her part, saw her aspiring hopes and dreams drawing nearer and nearer she herself farnished them, At any rate there can be none that she was a party to the conspiracy. I forget the detalls now, but it was all plain enough to me at the time. ‘The old Dowager Langton ¢ame to me at the office, and We went into tue matter together, A fine rage she was in; threatened to prosecute Miss May. Steer clear of her, ou, and I have crushed every hope eut of yours orever.” > She drops her head again, and onee more there is silence. Theclock on the mantel strikes three, and he starts up. “T am going at once,” he says, hurriedly; “every moment I linger is an added torture. j SRIOUS) of ungovernable assion, and of the he sits listening with strained and pain- ful attention, eomprehending at last the whole sad history of passion and sin, remorse and retribution. And when the story is done, there is silence again. Mrs. Nolan sits weoping, with- out a word, such tears as in all her Jife she has result. toward realization as the days and weeks went ons, meee Eee a Serko tcl hiner caaanons ake , i ) : i rede CHAPTER IX, : ad ni ee eplbbe, Brande Mlsed Be mar rer oe rick; “but I ani paride ‘sure shé will conie out of it as There nara Yee in my study that I must never shed before, and she has been a Met of S THE ADVERTISEMENT IN THE ‘TIMES," 1 But May and his wife lad suppressed the eause of their} bright as Crystal. You could nos 100k at her, sir, and be- th th ‘a : trouble, acquainted with sorrow. s , Inn desirable quarter ofatashionabic winter warering: | being turned away, from Mr. Fred Lyvett. In fact, they | lleve otherwise.” P © ee tle tis tha Ss. hi ‘ May forgive you, my son!” is what she Place, where the communication with London is speedy | did not presume to allude to past eyeutsin any way. No-}{ ‘You need not talk about leoks, Fred,’’ broke in James. apers, letters, lie strewn over his writing-table; says at last. " ‘ and oft, there sat, one morning, alady and gentlenian at | body else had told hits and therefore the fact—that they | “You never could read people or countenances in your he turns up the gas, sits down, and for half-an-|. “Am I indeed a murderer?” he drearily asks; breakfast, in 2 room that faced the sea—Colonel and Lady | had been turned away through himt—lad come upon him | life. You know it,” hour is busy. He fills all his pockets, then still | “have I all these years been deluding myself with : a Harriet Devereax, Upon his marriage he had repur- | all the more startling from Sophia, + dan “T will answer for her perfect innocence in the affait rapidly exchanges his full-dress evening suit for sophistries?” chased into the army; hence his rise in uitlitary rank. He questioned her somewhat minutely ag to her life YuP- 1 Deforeliand,” repeated Frederick to his father, tarning his | street wear, buttons up an overcoat, and, hat in a d ! th d times no!” his Gady Harriet was plain, it has been already said, but | ing the interval of his absence. Sophia parried it ag well | back ON gn.™C8. “What other people did was no fault of | hand. returns to his wife’sroom, She is lving as murderer -—no, & thonsant ar Th OF MN the gooduess of her faces aud is subdued luok of sorrow | us she could, but some of the questions she was obliged | hers, ait; and 1s.2l! not allow lt to mako any difference | he jeft her, she looks as if she never eared to lift mother cries out, “Heaven forbi + one ye li in ponerse) h in ea eae b puriee: ig MeN tn th dae hee ta paar P ae ye ‘ in my sae ‘ Siaheciok’ Yat ne t; ait haus again oe aR ee had 5 panne or ren a eve _ Was pli rf an he used to be, or instance, when he said toher one day: Whatwasftie}] ‘Then undersiafid itié, Frelerick; You Must ehoose ba- 7° eq ? he “ : : iS Man siite. “A € Same, 3 4 with his disagr eeable black eyes, aud his dark, dissipated | name of the nobleman in whose famlly you lived in Ire- | teen this girl and your family. it cb degrade yourself “Sydney, paeaye oD ene Wilk you try and here at least it seems you must expiate your se } = es ot ~~ MHONg aside of forty now; older land ?,she could not pretend to have forgotien it; she had } by marrying her, you are nolonger one of us, and you not to haw me yee’ wee alert gut vet phere You havo sin. Oh, my son! my son! what can I Bay to i? J nan ; is eo eet bl fon 7 . ia * bral ee iipent in- pea Lord Tones ae. She left because of her health, she ee leave the business.” always been Mere Tee enn be generous | comfort you?” . ‘. u ular temper. | told him; and after a long respite of country air, whenshe} ‘Thats all talk,’ thought Fred. "Sai Umidat Say oné good- “Tt j ‘ faints BU eee. le was dressed in & floweret, crimson-stik dressing- | was staying with an old jady, known to her Aunt Foxaby, | me,’? . ’ ‘ 41 TR rt ae oa with a low Se sort of cry, and +h ty eet at pou yaar lese ea you forgive ; Oe is gee rather Se arg Manis anc he lay | she eee to the bgp nottv bea er governess |. ‘Either he or L should go ont. of it,’ added Mr. Janien, flings herself upon Ris breast. Her arms cling Sack no lear ‘ 7. RAR PoRitor’ sy. si 4! K in eusy-chair, yawning an Wirling his great | again, but to try and get music pupils, And she told it so] in a determined, haughty manner. And h e and sai : ; : : ‘ . black whiskers, Something had delayed the post that | artlessly that Fred Lyvett never supposed guile. And | good-night to his Eiken mata round his neck as though wee ee ae onsen He breaks utterly down at the words, at the ; w morning, including the newspapers, It was quite suffi- | then the months of spring went on. It broke up the conference. Indeed, Mrs. Lyyett and their hold, but she does not, ¢ de & word. | thought of that beloyed, that most wretched wife > el Lo a wt ‘a Colonel, to ponder neers morose eek. her daughters entered almost immediately. ae kisses fall e her lips, wf real tne eyes, | and turns away anc bows ils face on his arm . lan usual. steniper, never good, had grown very CHAPYER X. . full of an en ecan neyer for, OOK Up In ‘6 ‘ x oa Sd f bad indeed, aluost unbearable; the result of his indul- ppitin FO Serene} his face Te Pint me Lewis, my koy, it is nr apt Re SOrrow NING. $$$ —q@ ar i : y . ; 7 TW hcndenty he took up his cup, drank what was in it One evening Mr, Lyvelt sat at home in his handserte Items of interest ae witol my wife! my wife’ 1 and T know that forgiveness higher andl dabentar : and pushed it from Lim with a jerk. His wife drew it to- | residence at the West Bud. Ilis wife and daughters were ° poeta of er ees holds her eeneie will not be refused. I will care for your wife. F ward her, out; Frederick had not come in to dinner at all; and he, £5" There are said to be thirteen hundred } ard ior one long moment, then places her gently Oh, cor child, what a blow for her who has ¥ “You need not give me any more of that trash. 1 have | Delve alone, had dropped off into an after-dinner doze in| ties in Gheel, Belgium, 2 town of cleven Seni Saree back in her chair; her arms fall rare her eyeS | joged you beyond the love of woman !”’ a had enough for one morning.” his easy-chair, The entrance of some one aroused him. | Ths insane are not in an asslum, but board and lodge with the follow him, her white lips are incapable of utter- “Bush!” he hoarsely exclaims, “I am almost “If you would-come in earlier and go to bed, you would His eyes were only half open, and he took it to be his] people of the place. The patients are from all nations and ail | ing’ a word. She sees him leave the room, hears mad already—do you want to drive me quite.” : , feel more inclined fer breakfast,’? she observed, in a quiet | YOUDer son. ranks of society, and they are accommodated according to their | hi @ out of the house, h the door cl: b * y, Y i 9? 3 \ , q dB 16 m £ , Nears tO door ciose be- will tell 7our pl a 27s k = tone, one that struggled not to show Is long gabdued re-} ‘1 Say; Fred—~ Ohi, it is you, James.” means; the wealthy sro’ placed with the affigent, and the poor | hind him, and still sits tion] hi cage ete 9 ah with deka oh asap bard oe i 7} ea . mi a eh with the poorer, Ia word this colony of lunatics is the special | 21N , ahd Still Sits motionless, speechiess, tly, infinite cor.passion, infinite, yearnin : sentiment, ‘It was four o'clock this morning.’ James Lyvett drew a chair near his father. Mr. Lyvett| care of the commune of Gheel, the qr étabendt canta alcoass staring straight before her, blankly, at the open gently; I pa: , s J &> =n He did not condescend to reply, but leaned forward and | —& Very Oogrteous mun, even to lls children—tried to] more than 500000 franes annually through the keeping of the door. care 7 mother love in her SYes) ' pulied the bell. The servant answered it in hot haste; he | Shake off his sleepiness, lunatics, and indireetly also a great deal through the cheap work 5 OHAPTER XVII ‘T have none. I joinmy regiment, as FT have ‘ : knew his master. “lam paying youa late yiait, father,’ began James; | of all kinds whic#! the patients perform for the inhabitants. It | . told you, at once; ond that, the future will { E X “Bring my meerschaum,?? “put I haye just heard something about Fred. it’s not | isthe personal interest of the inhabitants to do their Guty weil “aS ONE WHOM HIS MOTHER COMFORTETH.” take care of itself. I things end as I wish, there F S “Oh, pray do not smoke tn this room!" pleaded his wife, | Very pleasant, I thought 1 would come at ence and speak | PY,the ,Patients as Miese are intrusted only to people whose sai j j d of furth 1 If they d Jn alarm. “It makes me feel so sick.” | to you; I knew iny mother and the gitls would be out,” | PoFal flness and rneaus of existence are approved. Infact.a| Luey Nolan wasailing that might; those dread- will bo no need of further plans. vy do not, “Hf you dou’t like It you can go out of it,” Swas the civil} ‘Nothing has happeved to him—no accident’ with that ereaedasicoe ee pestadie H Agnaties are het | ful spasms of Tz : spine complaint, aggrava- I shall go to Caneerns and there begin again. reply. “My meerschaum, do you hear! What do you | Young horse he drives?" exclaimed Mr. Lyvett, who was| gage Some disorderly fellows were put in the Sta- ted by her ceaseless hacking cough, were back to | Our parting is for et ne you mesh see. If stand staring there for?” still but half awake, in spite of his efforts, ‘He was to | tion-houso at Troy the other day. One of them owned a Scotch | torture her. All night long, while suffering of | must write a letter to Graham explaining with- \ The servaut did hear, and flew away. Buta longer in- | !ave gone with your mother and the girls to-night, but he | terrier that made frantic efforts. to get with his master, bat was | another kind infinitely: har to bear than the | out telling the real cause of my abrupt departure. terval elapsed than his master thought necessary, and he | did not come in,” finally driven away. Determined to achieve his object he gained | most torturing. physical pain, was rending the | There need be no scandal; I have simply gone to had rang another violent peal when the man appeared, “No, no, nothing has happened,” returned James, in a | entrance to the yard sar catclillins a biteiek Gai aeceene bak heart of Laws Malena lay on her bed | the war, as is all men’s duty nowadays. Formy ' , , *U4sthig how you obey orders?! rather impatient tone. ‘Do you remember that foolish | yingow of theif cell, and the dog: took hold aus rr Sy d endured. All ni + the by ife.” ause to command himself—“I commit ; oe a awa ( ‘ og. tc of 1, and after nu- } and endured. night. the s lamp burned, | Wife, "—a pau ' “Tne postman cane, sir, and I walted to take the let- | business of Fred's getting himself entangled with Old} merous trials was drawn up to the window, about ‘six feet above | all pi i her toy ‘e. Shel youth, she ha inanawer ; May°* t hipped } ff to Val ” os : . night her mother watched unweariedly by her | her your care. 6 Has youth, she Ss ters from hitn,’? answered the man, as he laid down the | May’s girl when you shipped him off to Valparaiso? oie gvoRney Sane o ae OF. bedsi d it nky when the ehill O strength, and she has limitless wealth; she need ; meerschaum, the see and some letters before his mas- ae Wellf? returned Mr. Lyvett, now very wide} yg- A section of one of the big trees of California dawn was breaking that pain ceased ed, and sdeep not mourn forever. Persuade her to travel , ter. Glancing at the addresses of the latter, the colonel | @vake. , has been received In Philadelphia 1 pried he tooktthe supplement, and devoured the very lines | sisters to-night 2”? , numbered her Geseendanis by the hundred. Her faculties were | her anxiety for one child the illness of the other; | ly as he rises. You eat nothing, ny. son. she had read aloud. “J did not intend to go, father. I told Fanny so.’? bat ape lial eeeesne lets “Lucy has had one of her bad turns all night,| ‘Your coffee has done me good. Post the F <“Cursed bother!? he muttered. “I must send for that| ‘Where have you been ??? sag A Baptist evangelist, of London, (Rey. Mr. |and has just fallen asleep. What is it, Lewis?| package to Graham, mother, and take the letter, * letter now. : phowghe ns eentraens tom ioe neotey “Been " ee Mr. Fred, rather naan aes a the | Wright, has had construoted a movable baptistry, which he ear. Sydney——” to Sydney yourself. I will go up and look at = * was over and done with. What ‘something’ has oecurrec question, for Mr. Lyvett was not in the habit of cross- | Ties around io the tent ia which he preaches, Recently he bap- ; Lucy before I leave.” 2 *% Unless—I hope it has.” questioning his sons. “To lots of places. A fine night, | "ed forty persons in it. ee eer tis Biche on ian bas E TEE eaibed ¥6 te He ascends the stairs without noise. The little ~} Le wasstill gazing at the lines, as ifthe gazing at them | James,.is it not?” nar A double murder and suicide were committed Nae DS, ; 5 is dark 1 d Lucy lies tr is ¢ ; errhp eee Sid fas apey 2 9” ; ' Sa land 1” Ohibles Brink i window. The glow of the eastern sky, all rose-| dainty room is darkened, and Lucy hes tranqu Would solve the enigma, when aservant-maid came tuto Perhaps you have been to Brompton? recently at Carlinville, Ili. Charles Brink, in a fit of anger,shot ? see . ty asl after herexhausting nightof pain. How the room. “To Brompton, sir! repeated Fred, in a dubious ac- | Mrs. Devorah Hall, his mother-in-law, and Ellen Brink, lus wite, | red, threw a fictitious flush upon the face that | ly asleep T ROE GRHAUSUDS TNS Ht OF De + @ “Lady Harriet has sent me to ask if you will please step | cent. killing them instantly, and then shot himself. seemed to have grown worn and aged, ina night. | placid, how pure, how passionless is that wan into the nursery, colonel?” “Here, come and sit down. Idon’t go to bed this night ag- Ex-Goyernor Horatio Seymour, in a reeent| So, standing with his back to her, his eyes on}face. He stoops. gently and touches his lips to 3 “What for? until you andi have had an understanding. A pretty | letter, predicts that in five years from’this time the population | that lovely radiance, he spoke: her thin cheek. Shestirs restlessly, but does not “* “Tre litue girl is ill, sir’? thing James has heard—that you are playing the fool | of this country will be more than 50,000,000, “Mother,” he said abruptly, “I am going | awaken, and he goes as he has come, unheard. é “What good can Ido if she is?” again with that Sophia May.” aa A new kind of potato bug, much larger than | away.” His mother is erying below. She has striven “Ter ladyship thought——? ; ( “Pray who told you?’ demanded Frederick, turning to | his Colorado brother, recetitly appeared in Minnesota, much to “My son!” heroically to keep up, but nature is stronger than te 5 ? * 2 . Yt « . . . . < } ‘ar ‘rs n te ai J : _ “ a > 4 1 oun't ouane yer; lau busy,’ hesharply interrupted. his brother. $ A i iat oe the alarm of hg te me rs ot that State. L} *) have rejoined my old company—I leave at will. He takes her in his arms and kisses her. Leave the room. That is of no conseqnence,’? was the reply of Mr. ka The Prismoidal or one rail railroadis com- j *“Good-b ther. For { for Yet it was his own child! games Lyvett. “The question ts, is it so?” pleted from Houston to San Antonio, Texas, and is now open for | OD to-day. ‘If when the war ends, there is an rs 12 Daeg gh ae dean BhY? Goo ae te ill That the advertisement was addressed to him, “The]| ‘Have you renewed your intimacy with her or not??? | traffic. , 4 end of me also, well and good; it will be far the | me. I will write to you regularly, and you wi Corsair,” he well Knew, end he took steps to obey its be- | sharply interrupted Mr. Lyvett. ag There isa citron tree in Jacksonvilte, Florida, | easiest way of solving all difficulties. If there is | tell me all that thore is to tell. Everything, you 4 hest, and have the letter from the oid address, which was| ‘Yes, L have,’’ replied the younger som. “‘I do not wish | that blosgoms every month in the year not, I will start at once for Sacramento, and} understand.” J ©} i Gein vena a. en ne oR Pati LE END = cme ore 5 ; 2 OW MD pe rly * ° $e wih we ; a Se { 1 . é : = 5 : * ey ; q i 4 Ey | oi, Rie Mcp x sottnsceapeenesinialtee atom “T understand.” She sobs audibly, in a heart- broken way and slings to him. “Gh, my hoy, my boy! it is hard to let you go.” | ‘It is hard for me; do not make it any harder, mother,” hesays in a tortured voice, and she opens her arms and lets him go. The only son of his mother, and she was a widow, and the last time she may ever see him this side of the gg Her eyes are blinded with tears as she watches him out of sight. The son who bas been her hope, her pride, her gladness for seven-and-twenty years. Ste watches him out of sight as women Go watch the men they love, and may never see again, and then sits down and cries as she has never cried in all her troubled life. CHAPTER XVIII. ‘THE LIGHT IN THE DUST LIES DEAD.” Lying motionless against the cushioned back of her chair, white and still; so, when morning comes, and a servant enters, she finds Lewis Nolan’s wife. She has not fainted, she has not been insensible for one moment; ske lies here stunned. Over and over in her mind the weary hours through, the words he has said keep repeating themselyes—the words that divorce them forever. He has killed Bertie Vaughan; her husband is the man she stands pledged to her dying father to de- liver over to justice; he has left her, never to re- turn, These three things follow each other cease- lessly through her dazed brain, until the very power ef thinking at all becomes numb, She opens her eyes at the girls cry of consterna- tion, and rises with an effort. The servant speaks to her, but. she is unconscious of what she says. She goes into her bedroom—it is dark and still here— and lies down with a dull sense of oppression and suffering. upon her, and’ buries her face in the pil- lows. _ If she could only sleep, if she could only for an nour cease to think, But she cannot. Like a ma- ehine that has been would up to its utmost tension, and must go on untilitrnuns itself down, so she thinks, and thinks, and thinks... Where is Lewis now? Willit be wrong for her to think of him after this, to love him, to pray for him? Ifso, she will do wrong all her life long... Is she committing a sin in disobeying her father’s last command? How strange, how strange that Lewis should have been the one to throw Bertie over the cliff. Poor ertie! how fond and proud they all were of him once-—her father, and mother, and she, too. He rises before her, the blonde, boyish beauty of his face, his fair, curling hair and merry eyes. It was a dreadful fate; and Lewis, her Lewis, whom she has revered and honored as something more than man, his hand is red with Bertie’s blood. Thought becomes such torture that she presses both hands upon her temples, striving by main force to shut it out. She is still lying bere when Mrs, Nolan reaches the house and goes up to ker room, “My own dear chid!” The white face lifts, the eyes look at her so full of infinite misery that tears spring to those of the elder woman, She puts herarms about her and kisses the blanched lips. “Sydney, my dearest child, what shall 1 say to you? How shall I comfort you?) May Heaven help you—you must look for your comfort there.” “Has he gone?” Sydney says, in an odd, hollow yoice that startles even herself, “Yes, dear—Heaven help him! He came to me at daybreak this morning, and told meall. Are you angry with him, Sydney? Oh, if you knew how he suffers you would not be.” **Angry with him?” she repeats, in a dreary sort of wonder. ‘Angry with Lewis? Qh, no!” “Tt was a terrible thing. Do you not think, my dearest daughter that it is almost as bitter a blow _tomeasto you? Ihave beenso proud of my boy, of his talents, of the praise men gave him; he was such a good son always, so free trom the vices of ~ most. young men. And now-——” But her voice breaks, and the tears. gush forth again, none the less heart-rending for being so uiet, . But Sydney does not cry. She looks at her in the same drearily dry-eyed way, in a sort of wistful won- der and envy at her tears. : “TI cannot cry,” she says, wretchedly, with her feu fuse trynkgs ete} * ro was toe salue Way “Waoelt Bertie was killed, and papa lay dying and dead. They thought I was hard and cold, because when all wept Isat like astone. I feel the Same now. And mostly [ ery for such little things.” ' She sighs heavily, and lies, in a tired way, back among the pillows. She recalls how she sat and wept when poor mamma died, lonely and sorrowing, pur Without this miserable, unendurable aching of the heart. ; wd é ‘Have you had breakfast ?” Mrs. Noian asks, more troubled by this apathetic despair than by any hys- terical outburst of grief. vs “No; IT was not hungry. Is it past breakfast- time ?”? ; “It is two o’clock, and you have fasted a great deal too long. We will be having you sick on our hands, and that won't help matters.” Mrs. Nolan rings the bell, and wipes away alltrace of tears, and orders strong coffee and toast. ‘I cannot nurse two inya- lids at once,” she says, forcing a smile, ‘tso I must var you up. Poor Lucy was in wretched pain all night.” “Ah, poor Lucy! dear Lucy! patient, gentle Lucy! Does she know ?” “Yes, dear. I told her ye before I came away. She was asleep when-Lewis left, and he kissed her. good-by without awakening her.” A quiver passed over Sydney’s face. thinking of their own last parting. \ “How does she bear it ?” “As she bears all things—with angelic patience. In long suffering, my child, Lucy has learned resig- nation, that virtue which some one beautifully calls ‘putting God between ourselves and our troubles.’ You must learn it, Sydney. That. and that alone, will enable you to bear this, and all the other sor- Tows of life.” “Life can have no other sorrow like this, mother.” “The lesson we all must learn, dear child, sooner or later, is endurance. You must lay your sorrows at the feet of Him who bore our sorrows, and look for help and comfort there. Here is a letter Lewis left for you this morning; you will read it when I am gone.” She draws back for a second, with a startled look, and gazes at it. ; “May 1?” she says. ‘Will it be right 7” “Right! Right to take your husband's letter! My child, is your mind wandering? Does your duty as a wife cease because you have discovered a sin in your husband’s life?” “But it was like no other,” Sydney says, wildly, “and it must part us forever.” “Tam very sorry to hear it. But that is a ques- tion of the future, for thought and humble prayer. Just now you can decide nothing. Here come your coffee and toast. Now, Sydney, I shali expect you, for my sake, to eat and drink,” “I will try to,” Sydney says, submissively. She rises in bed; Mrs, Nolan bathes her face and hands and places the tray before her. She is thirsty, an drinks the ceffee eagerly, but she cannot eat. With difficulty she swallows a mouthful or two, and looks beseechingly up in the other’s face. “I cannot,” she BAS: Mat Past, not now; later, [ will try.” Very well, my déar, j wish I could stay with you, but I cannot. Would you not like to come wari me, andsee Lucy? She askéd mé t6 bring you back if you were able tocome. Will you not, my child? Order the carriage, and come and stay with us for a few days.” ; But Sydney shakes her head, and turns away. “No, mother. Do not feel hurt—but I cannot go, eannot leave home. I am better here, better alone. I must be alone for awhile. No one, not even Lucy, can help me bear my trouble yet,” *‘Poor child!’ Lewis Nolan’s mother stands and looks at her with infinite mother pity in her kind old face. What can she say, what can she do for this stricken heart? And only yesterday life seemed to hold all of happiness one life can ever hold. “IT am half atraid to leave you,” she says, in a troubled voice. “You eught not to be lett alone. And it is so diffieuit for me to come’ often.” Sydney flings her arms about her with a yery heavy sob. “Dear mother—dear, thoughtful mother, do not fear for me. Iam not so weak as you think, Only leave me to myself for a little. Indeed I am better alone.” Mrs. Nolan goes, and Sydney has her desire; she is alone. The hours pass, the evening fails. Teddy, who has been clamoring for her all a , makes his way at lamp-light time into her room, but she neither hears nor heeds him. The servants look at each other, and whisper and wonder. Something has happened between master and missis, and master has gone, and missis isn’t fit to rise off her The night passes, another day breaks rises and dresses, dry-cyed and nasthy: pa breakfast-time comes she sits down ‘with’ that meal, & She was ‘*Was the matter wiz you, Auntie Sydney?” is the burden of Teddy’s wondering cry; ‘“‘and where’s Uncle Lewis? I wants Uncle Lewis. Say, Auntie Syd, where’s Uncle Lewis?” The child’s reiterated question grows so torturing that she is forced to send him away at last. An hour er two later brings ence more her mother- in-law, looking wretchedly worried and anxious. Sydney is sitting listlessly in the very chair in which she sat when her life was crushed out, as it seems to her, by that dreadful story, her hands folded loosely in her lap, her eyes fixed on a portrait of her hus- band on the wall. She has not read his letter—she feels no desire to read it; she is st#l striving, and still unable, to realize all the horror of the past for- ty-eight hours. She lifts two listless, apathetic eyes to the mother’s face. “Ts Lucy better?” she asks. f “Luey is better in body, but suffering naturally in mind—suffering more for you than forany one else. Will you not come with me to-day, Sydney?” But still Sydney wearily shakes her head. “Give me a little longer, mother, to think it all out by myself. Tt is so hard to realize it all. The blow was so sudden that I feel crushed—stunned.” - She is firm in her resolve, and once more Mrs. Nolan leaves her, sadly troubled. What a miserable business it all is. How terrible to think that the ungoverned pagsion of a moment should wreck two lives forever. : The news spreads that Mr. Nolan has rejoined the army, and that Mrs. Noian is inconsolable over his departure, Mrs, and Miss Macgregor call, and Mrs. Nolan is at home. Her sorrow she cannot forget is also her secret; Lewis’ honor and safety are in her hands. Whatever she may suffer, though she never meet him more, no one may suspect that other than natural grief at parting is in her heart. She comes down as carefully dressed as usual, to meet them, but at sight of her both ladies utter a simultaneous } exclamation. _ “My dear Sydney, surely you have been ill!” . She is so worn, so wasted, so white, so changed in three dayz, that both sit and look at her, honestly shocked. “No,” Sydney answers, ‘I have not been ill.” She leans her head against the blue satin back of her chair, as if even to sit upright were a painful ef fort. '-*: “We were very much surprised to. hear of Mr. Nolan’s departure, my dear Sydney,” says Mrs. Mac- gregor, smoothly, and watching her with a cat-like gleam. ‘A very sudden decision, was it not?” “Not atall. He has been talking of it from the first.” : “Ah! we all know what it is to have our dear ones in danger, .Poor Dick!” sighs Dick’s mother,,with, real feeling. “T wish my dear one—meaning, of course, Mr. Van- derdonck—would take it into his head to go three hours after the ceremony. With what Spartan gen- erusity would I not offer wp my bridegroom upon the altar of my country,” says the vivacious Katherine, The call is short, for Sydney’s responses are mono- syllabic; she looks cold, and wretched, through it all, the very ghost of her own bright self. ‘‘And this is to be in love!” says Katherine, with her most contemptuous shrug, “Thanks and praise be that I never felt the tender passion. She looks as if she might safely go into her coffin and the lid be screwed down, Aiter six months of matrimony, too!” , I believe there is something more under this than meets the eye,” says mamma, oracularly. ‘I never liked the looks of that young man. In the ordinary course of things she might grieve for his departure; but there is something more than wifely grief in that face, or I am mistaken.” ; Mrs. Graham came too, full of sympathy for Mrs. Nolan, and of pride and praise for Lewis. Sydney listened drearily to it all, tried to answer, and was glad when it was all over, and she was left alone once more. ‘ , On the fifth day she went out for the first time, and made her way to the cottage to see Lucy. With- out a word Lucy opened her arms, and Sydney went. into them and lay still. The mother left them alone —if any one could help this dumb torpor of pain, it was Lucy—she would not interfere. She was right. Seated on a hassock beside Lucy’s chair, Lucy softly touching the fair head that droop- ed on her knee, Lucy ee and. sweetl speak- fless Orsfadney’s despair. ~ Sie PaowRe SME Ea less, speechless despair, an agony of loss, ef bewil- dered misery too great for tears or words. “I want you to stay with me all night,” Lrey said, entreatingly. ‘‘Remember you have never passed a night here yet, It is so lonely for you in that great empty house.” rm a Lonely! . A spasm crossed the widowed wife’s face. Ay, lonely indeed; lonely forever more. She started, and with Luc gentle words still soothing her troubled soul, the first unbroken sleep that had come to her saa t night refreshed her. Shehad knelt by the bedside with clasped hands and bent head, with no words on her lips, but bow- ing down body and soul at the foot of the Cross, her heart crying out in its ae for help to that great love “‘that never fails, when. earthly loves decay,” And with next day’s awakening some of Lucy’s own perienys and resignation seemed to awake in her soul... : ‘Have you read the letter Lewis left for you, Syd- ney ?” Lucy asked before they parted, Sydney's lips quivered, ‘Not yet,” she said. able.” * Read it to-day, dear. See what he says, and if there is anything he asks you to do for him, you will be the ne for doing it. And keep Teddy with you—poor little tellow, it is cruel to neglect him and make him suffer. A child isthe best companion in the world too.” Sydney goes, feeling strengthened and lightened somehow, and obeys all orders. She goes to see Teddy, who isin trouble on his own account, his frisky ‘‘wocking-hoss” having just pitched ‘him heels over head. Heis kissed, and comforted, and set right side up again, and then Sydney wanders away to her husband's study, and, in the room sacred to his use, reads the letter. It is very long,:and inexpressibly tender.” It shows her his heart as she has never known. it be- fore. And allat once, at some loving, pathetic words,at the old pet: name; ‘my princess,” she breaks down, and a very tempest of tears and sobs washes away the darkness of despair. The worst is over, the blow has fallen, and she knows he is dear- er to her a hundred fold than ever before. She sits there for hours, and an uplifted, sublimated feeling comes in place of the tearless, hopeless apathy that has held her so long. She will begin her life anew apart from him in this world if it must be, and yet united more closely than before in heart. In help- ing others she will forget her own sorrow—in doing good peace may return evyén to her. She will learn to say, **Thy Will be done,” and kiss the rod that smites her. She will possess her soul in patience, and wait, and if never here, at least in the true Fatherland, where all are forgiven, where parting aa pein come not, her husband will be hers once “T could not. I was not (FO BE CONTINUED.) = eB pe 4 op HINTS FoR THE HOME Crrozz, Ao Pi eatin, — " — To prevent decay it choice or rare fruits which we wish to preserve as specimens, clean Out the place affected and remove all the dirt and disorganized and bruised matter, and fill up the ¢avity with plaster of Paris; A little space may be worked out from under the edges of the skin, so tlaat when the plaster is pressed inward it will keep its place. Tle exclusion of the air consequent Upon this application is all tlaat is necessary Ce ead caekrene ian o ae ee la and valuable app in “rs are involved, the trouble wil ifi comparison sith the result accomplished, Were eate — A tablespoonful of ammonia warm water will often restore the color of car ts, even if injured by acid or alkali. Ifa eeiling has beeg whitewashed with the carpet down, and a few drops should Tall, this will remove it. Or, after the carpet is well beaten aAd brushed, scour with ox- gail, which will not only extract graase but freshen the colors. ué pint of gall in three gallons of warm Water will do for a farge carpet. Table and floor otZ-cloths May be thus washed. The suds left from a wash, whe, i i most cold, cleanse floor-clotiis Grn MY ee oe — Vegetables do no ordinarily form as large a part of the ordinary subs! ¢tence of an American as they should, Whether cooked alone, er jointly with the cheaper pieces of meat in the form of a Aew or hash, they will always serve as a substantial means of patrition, and tend to diminisl the cost of household consum ptyon in one gallon of _— Vegetablzs should never be washed until imme- diately before bzing prepared for the fable. Lettuce is made al- most aad ohn flavor by dipping in water soine hours before it is served, Otatoes suffer even more than other vegetables throagh the washing process, They should not be put in water Lill just ready for builing. — A tablespoonful of black pepper put in the first water in which gray and buff linens are washed, will keep them from spotting, It will also generally keep the colors of black or pas Rye Pedal ae or musglins, from running, and does not lirden water, — Musty bottles or jars may be sweetened with ie or dissolyed soda. Let either remain in them a short time, then dry and seald them, They will uct become musty if a little salt be kept in them, } JOY. BY H. W. The boen of joy who hath not known, Or felt its transient flight ? For like a dream "tis quickly fdewn Like visions fair and bright. 2Tis a2 sunbeam from that world of mirth, Whose sweet and genial rays, @ountless diamonds equa! not in werth, When none can those gems appraise. Joy I have seen how twinkling bright, In eyes of maiden fair, When beamed they hke the stars ef night, Lighting the heaven there. Oh, joy is really but a dream Too swect a boen to linger, ghted when it doth brightest gleam, Touched by sorrow’s finger. pn The Man in Blue; Which Did He Love? By Mrs. Sophie Oakley. [“The Man in Blue” was commenced in No. 48. Back nimbers €an be procured of any News Agent in the United States] CHAPTER XXIX. A VISIT TO THE ENCHANTRESS. “Are you sure of that?” 4 “Quite sure, since 1 saw him pass by here mysdf. The great Unknown is all the fashion; people in ligi places rave about her, itis said. Oue thing is certain, juuging by the visits she has, she must be getling end mously rich. She is a kind of sorceress, people say, butin reality 1 think a very cunning Woman who kuows how to coin her artinto gold. Come, it will be only a half grinea for a sitting of fifteen milutes,’? | “T have heard so much of her,’’ said Lady Evi, ‘I con- fess I should like to see her.*? i “Cone then,’ and Lady Isabella donned her tonnet and shawh “Iknow a way by which we can gain aimitiance round by another street. She is not generai overrun will business at this hour, and you can go wry safely with that crape vail over your face. “a The broughanl Was sent away round the corner, and Lady Isabella went out together. They ted into the beautiful anle-room, Which I havé before de- seribed. | Lady Eva was delighted for she was a passonate lover of flowers. She threw up her vail, and wentthe rounds of the roonr, Suddenly she started, pausitg before a great oval inirror, and cried out in a yoice ofterror: “The man in biuel? i “Whatis it, my dear? Pray what has/happened?” asked Lady Isabella, coming toward hier. | ‘Nothing,’ said Lady Eva, trembling, “ony I thought I - must haye seen iu that mirrortthe man inv blue, ‘And pray who is the man in bine, my live? and how could you have seen any one there who wis not in the room ?”? “Ou, Tam sure I saw him,” said Lady Bfa. ‘The mir- ror is convex, and I might have seen him /rom the hall. Ile was the terror of poor papa’s life; I hae and fear him. Please don’t ask me anything more about him.” “No, dear, not now for here comes a summons for us-to go up stairs.” “How perfectly beautifull’? whispered Tady Isabela, as the two women were ushered into the gas-lighted room by & pretlily-alttred page;_ splendid in amy life.” ; “Hush,’? said Lady Eva; “iook at that beautiful, beauti- ful woman. Can she be flesh and blood 2? A curtain of Silver gauze huugin frowt of the throne upon which the Unkuown Was seated, @ magnificent cor- Qnet on her temples. : “What would you with me?? ; The voice floated soft and musical to where they sat. | “Can you uot divine? asked Lady Isabella, tremu}- ously. ‘ ‘4 ean.?? * Aun electric light seemed to run from globe to globe, and soft, vivid hues from intensest crimson to palest green shinmered along the stage, heightening the marvelous Joveliuess of the woman who Set there; fading and flush- ing, aud sending Pent i ears from the strange ap- ar sich shone on ever gon case of the silage,” confined the MUSICai Voice, “and you, daughter of a Noble jwouse, Seek 10 know what 4 bh “Tell us exactly what you ee,’ replied Lady Cora, Iremulously. ao “For you, child of wealth an¢ tuxury, penury and an obscure name, the falsehood of frieuds, the treachery of enemies.” ; sa ‘it ig nothing—it is nothing,” whispered Lady Isabella to Lady Eva, seeing that she was almost overcome with terror, “She issonly a chargeter’ ._ “Bul a character who tells jhe truthj’” was the solemn response. Lady Isabella sat back shocked. “For you, queen of the stage, obloquy and shame, but not dishonor. False and true friends, but a lover. who triumphs over all difficulties.” f “Let us go,’? said Lady Eva, ; “Not yet,’ was (he response from the mysterious throne, “Think three questions each, carefully aud clearly.” “You first, suid Lady Eva to Lidy Isabella. There was a pause, then the Unknown spoke, asif in response lo some question. Where you hated before, you loye now.” The color heighteued in Lady Isabella’s face. Again she thought, looking steadily toward the Unknown. Yes, he loves. you, but not worthily;? and then the Unknown added, as if in response to ullother question, “Yes, better than before,’? “My dear, it is very wonderful, said Lady Isabella to Lady Eva; “it is now your turn to question.” Again there was a solemn slillness, aud the Unknown answered the second thought, ‘He is dead to thee,? \ Lady Eva clutched at the hand of her friend, growing asliy pale. Then came another interval, and the answer: “Itis a demon. Heuncelortu there is nud peace to the house of Tenipleton.”? Lady Eva uttered alow cry. How did thissingular wo- man know her name? She stillheld tightly the hand that rested in her palm, Oi Oe voice again replied ‘He is a murderer!” then her hold relaxel, and Lady Eva fell back in 9 dead faint. Almost instantly the page appeared, holding restora- tives, which Lady Isabella applied. When tle poor girl came to the Uukuown was no longer there, andtlie friends made their way out, reproaching themselves br haying come at all. CHAPTER XXX. THE COTTAGE ON PRINCE WILLIAM'S ROAD. Meantime Earl Dudley Templeton had taken acab and driven Out on the Prince William’s road. Hisfeatures looked set and hardened, and he seemed occupied with gloomy thoughts. The driver pulled up before a dainty little cottage that had a profusion of flowers in the yard, and several foun- lains, and statues, gleaming between the slenderleaves of summer plants. Dismissing the cab, he entered the house, The hall was half a circle, and ledinto rooms on either side. The place was a miracle of refinemeut and beauty. A lovely little girl came fying toward him, call- jug in sweet, infantile tones: Papa.’? He kissed her but coldly. “Where is your mother?) he asked. The fairy littie creature called: “Mamma Rosa, here is papa,” and presently a fair wo- man entered slowly, her eyes drooping, her manner timid. “Ah, Rosa; well, you got my note, I suppose ?”? “Yes,” she said, trying 10 speak with composure, but the tears Would come. . ‘And you are prepared to submit to my proposals?”’ The Woman paused a moment, and seemed to be gath- ering ap her strength. Then her form dilated, her voice deepened. “No,’? she said, “monster! [am not prepared. Qh, Earl Templeton, you and such as you, have too terrible power in this world,” “Foolish woman,” he gaid, witha sneer, “why do you listen to such as 1?” “Because we have been taught to look up to and to rev- ereuce You} thatisthe reasou. We trust in your honor and youruin us. You hold the scales of justice in your own hands. When you met mein that. dear mountain home in Wales, i was innocent, and I believed all you said. You took advantage of my ignorance and professed to marry ine. I knew all assoon asl came here; but 1 loved you 80! I loved you sol”? “It is to be hoped the love is worn out,’ he said, sneeringly. “Great Heaven!’? she exclaimed, “if I conld only say yes. Sometimes I thinkit is, but a woman’s heart is such u strange thing.’? “We won't have any sentiment,” he said, smoothly. ler great dark eyes looked searchingly at him; they were tearless now. Suddenly a rush of new emotions seemed to pass over her as her eyes, so pathetic before, now shot fire, ‘Are you going to send me away?’ she cried; ‘‘doyou mean it??? yt **] certainly mean it.’? ‘When do you want me to go?’ \ “In a week at the furthest.? ~ - ‘Shall you bring some other poor soul here ?? **Phat’s as the fancy lakes me.’? “And where shall 1 go?’ she cried, piteously. may keep all the jewelry.” She paused aimoment to gather strength, Then she said, in lower tones than she had yet spoken, though they were full of bitterness and concentrated wrath: “I will go, but I call Gown the curse of Heaven on you and yours. Whoever comes here aller me, in the anguish of my soul, I curse her. Whwever you may love, truly or falsely, by Curse rest like-a blight upon her,” ‘‘] never siw anything go: feds Hh : ou. Shajil tell you what I see, or. Ww didl SOLE URL Beder pieneeyea rn ee “Suit yourself; J] shall give yousome money, and you: THE NEW YORK WEEKLY, to~ She stood there, her arm lifted, looking up. Earl Tem- pieton for the moment was transfixed with horror. She had always been so gentle, had borne all his neglect, all his insults with the sweetest temper, replied to his cold- ness With the most passionate loye, that this was a wholly untooked for revelation. “Come here, my poor little one,’? she murmured, fold- ing her arms about the beautiful chiid, ‘come to me and let me teach you lo curse him also, my baby. Innocent as you are, you shalllearn torepeat his name with hor- ror. Earl Dudley Templeton, we shall vacate heré to- morrow night. Is this house mine till then?” “Of course,’’ he replied, mechanically. “Then Jeave it; go, befurel lose the little reason Heaven has spared me; go, monster! go, accursed! Leave me, or I shall be tempted to murder youl”? Man as he was, Earl Templeton was frightened at this oman, SO calm and self-contained ju her fury, and walk- 2d out cowed and angry. Then the poor creature he had ruined by false promises, aud deserted when she had the tenderest claims upon him, walked up and down likea tigress, uuheeding the voice of the child, who was crylpg bitlerly. She flew up the stairs, and, beginning with the costly mirrors in her lovely drawing-room, shattered everylning that could be broken. She tore the silk and lace hangings of the bed in the room adjoining into infin- lessimal shreds, cut Open the costly mattresses, aud then demolished the delicate coverlets, The carpets, which were the best that could be procured for money, she cutin in every direction, and with an ax mutilated the furnt- ture, Sending the servant away, she destroyed all the glass and porcelain ware, ruined the pictures, which were gems of art, and then sat duwn to consider whether or not she tee fire the house, and with her child perish in the ames. Her baby had fallen asleep on the floor, its pretty curis hanging over its dimpled shouiders and snowy bosum. “Must I—inust I let you live to grow up that such as he may prey upon your beauty, my precious one?” she cried her brain seething, her blood on fire. “Nos wo will per- ish together. Heaven will forgive me and curse him. But she whois to come afier me shali not wear the jewels I have worn; they shall go into the deptlis witl me—into the depths,” She gathered the beautifulthings that had once given her such delight, and placed’ them inasmall bag. Then she put on her bonnet and shawl, gazed about her atthe wreck she had made, took her childin her arms, and went Out into the night. Not many days after the papers stated, in 2 matter-ol!- fach way, that a woman and child had been found drowned in the river, in an obscure town many miles from London. ‘That was all. Ear! Templeton set his lips when he discovered the hay- oc that had been made with his possessions. However, the house needed new furniture, he said, and he had the debris of the old carted off in the night; and he read the paragraph that struck his heart as.with a cold hand standing jn the newly-furnished drawing-room of the beautiful cottage on Prince William’s road—starting as he fancied he heard the rustle of garments near—the soft, low ery of @ childish voice. CHAPTER XXXL MISS CLIVE. Where was the artist, Reginald Grey? To be sure he had no one to whom he was so closeby allied that a search for the missing friend must be inevitable, but the public began to take an interest in the fate of the lost man. Ag- grieved sitiers protested that he had deiuded them inte giving him orders, and there were their poriraits left in ali the bright confusion of half-completed pictures, What was to be done abeut it? The actors aud actresses in their little circle discussed the matter, till the appearance of Lady Isabella (whom many fof them hated because of her real superiority) drove them to shrugs, and winks, and whispers. “Why doesn’t she have a lady come to the theater with her, instead of that handsome fellow who has eyes for no one but her??? whispered one of the stock actresses, who had vainly tried to attract Tom’s attention. For all that Lady Jsabella hanced Yom her shawl and her wraps, sublimely indifferent to whatever might be said about her. Perhaps it is too soon to divulge her se- cret, but Iam tempted to tell that already she much more than liked Tom, though he never dreamed of it. He watched at the side-scenes for her appearance, and forget everything and every body else. It was whispered about, too, that om was growing rich; that he had madetwo or three lucky bets, and the horse on which he staked thousands in smail sums here and there, had won, and, altogether, Tom was not a despairing swain. Still, matters were not satisfaciory to outsiders. Lady Isabella had some tempting effers occasionally. A for- eign prince treated her with distinguished honor, and once sent up a diamond necklace in a bouquet, which she returned, and then laughed over the incident with Tom. Royalty itself had sent for her, !o take part in some pri- vate theatricals, but she returned her regrets. She was determined to be nothing more nor less than a poor Woman earning her way to fame and wealth. Faceronats Wuuispered that Tar Beane lft ibe eis ao thorough gentleman iu his manners, and never pre- sumed. Lady Isabella, moreover, was always rigidly proper, and, some way, people who Claimed lo be her su- periors stood in awe of her. : One day Tom told her that a poor woman wished to see her. : “T am very weary,’’ she said, ‘‘and must decline to see any one.’ But something in Tom's face made her hesitate, and, calling him back, she said: “Send her up.’? ' ; Tom went down stairs with a rare smile on his lips. Presently a wreck of a woman was ushered juto her small drawing-room. Lady Isabella received her courteously. “You do not remember me ?? said a faint voice. Lady Isabella shook her head, “Have you forgotten Clive ?? “Clivel Miss Clive, whose voice has so often enchanted me? Cau it be possible? Pardon my yellemence; but I am so much astonished.” \ “Well you may be. My voice is all gone.’ ‘And you are sick and suffering. Let me ring for some refreshments,”? “No; I am in need ofnone. I eat yery little now. I am just out of the hospital, and weak, oh, so weak! I thought maybe I might get round again, and that perhaps I might have your sympathy; for they say that you are so good to the poor.”? “IT shall be very glad to help you,’? said Lady Isabella, taking up her purse that laid beside her. “Not that way, my lady, ifyou please. My brother has sent me some money, and 1t will last a Jong time, my wants are so few. WhatI wish, is, if I ever get better, that you wiliobtain me some subordinate position on the stage. Iam still fond of the dear old profession.” Lady Isabella was thinking busily. “The girl, with an intuition born of suffering, seemed to divine her thoughts. “I hope you won’t judge one too harshly, because—be- cause——”? ' The thin cheeks were dyed with blushes. *O, I remember now; you lived one time on Prince Wiliiam’s road.’? ; The girl crouched low, covering her face with her handg, ‘Aud you used tosingso beautifully,’ said Lady Isa- bella, in a pitying voice. * “Yes, it was that led to my downfall. [have wished I had never known how.” “Poor, poor child!’ murmured Lady Isabella; ‘you paid dearly for the gift.” “Then you will not turn me away with harsh You, 2 lady born, will pity me.’’. “} do pily you;indeed 1 do, particularly when I remem- ber who betrayed you,’ said Lady Isabella. “O, dear lady,’’ sobbed the girl, ‘and I have heard that another who lived there has gone to her death. It is very sad, and he is a cruel, bad man, noble though he is. His victims are many. Some said you looked with favor upon him, but 1 couldn’t believe it, only 1 knew that he would be glad to have such as you for a wife.’? Lady Isabella’s heart swelled with wrath and indigna- tion, as she thoughts of the time when little pretty Miss Clive stood before the footliglts, her sweet, clear yoice soaring like a bird’s,; while the entranced audience held their-breath to listen. Poor little thing, and come to this! She promised her assistance, and Tom bowed the poor creature out. cate OHAPTER XXXII, IN THE DEATH CHAMBER. The earl was. restless and dispirited. Something pur- sued him, something disturbed Lhe should-be even tenor of his life. gus : “To the duse with such friendship,’? muttered the earl one day, as he stood in his own magnificent breakfast- room, plunged in reflection. “Did you speak, Dudley ?? asked Lady Eva, who stood watering a magnificent southern rose near Lhe window. “Not to you; how gloomy the heuse is! I’m tired of this everlasting black; it’s enough to drive & man crazy. I'll travel.” “I would, dear,” said his sister, ‘and lll go to Temple- ton House for a while,” ies + ‘Templeton House be hanged!’ he mutteted, ond then smiled, for he thought of the sweet, fresh face there that always brightened at his coming, And still he was haunt- ed by some tormenting spirit. No Wonder, He rang the bell. Ernest made his appearance on tip- Often and often words, e. ‘ “Is Saunders.in the louse?” asked the earl, ‘'] believe so, m? Jud,’ said Ernest, smilingly. “Go see, and tell him te come here.’? pe Ernest went out, looking at the back very much of an exquisite indeed, : ‘Wonder ’is ludship keeps him a hanging on,’’ he mut» tered. “He don’t need no other than me.’’ looked like a butcher as much as ever, Ouly he seemed to have donned the clothes and manner of an undertaker. He despised Ernest in a dignified way, and thought that the new earl should displace him, and settle jiis father’s more decorous servant 1n his place. However, he obeyed the summons, and found Earl Dud- { ley walking impatiently about, as usual. ‘Saunders, 1 wish you would open and air my father’s room,” said the earl. ‘There are some business papers there that I must look over.” “Very well, m’ lud,” replied the man, with inward trep- idation. He shared the superstitious fears of the other servants, thongh he professed to be brave enough to cope with any- thing alive or dead. Its very certain that he bribed one of the servants to go ik with him, ’ : Presently he came back. He delivered the message to Saunders, however, who | C “All ready, m? lud,? he said. ; ar The earl felt his strength deserting him as he left the door of the breakfast-room. Could he go alone in that dreadful place that he had not laid eyes on since the time he stood there on the night of his father’s death ? “You will stay in the ante-room, Saunders,’ he said. “Yes, m1? lud,’? the man replied, mechanically. More aud more his limbs trembled 4s the new earl ap- proached that dreaded place. He stood on the threshold. The reom was in the same order that it was the last time he had seen his father lying there. The bronze finger of the paper-weight stil pointed grimly at him, the great arm-chair stood there inthe old earl’s favorite. place. The fresh, Hving portrait of his father—Reginald Grey's work—looked down upon iim. Everything seemed fall of the presence of that man to whom life had yielded all her blessings, and who had used them so poorly. The new earlentered slowly, but the atmosphere op- pressed him. This was no time for idle fears, however; he had work todo. The papers were to be searched out and ruthless- ly burned. Then they could trouble him no more, and he could travel at peace with himself. An unaccountable trembling selzed him as he passed the bed, to gain access to his father’s escritoire. It seemed to him that the old man must lie there still, his eyes wide open and staring. For worlds he could not have looked that way. A cold dew stood upon his forehead; he drew his breath with difficulty. For, stamped with a peculiar and horri- ble sin, he stood there, a wretch deserving uot tobe alive. llis sister’s dream occurred to Lim, and he let fall the pa- pers he had seized. They were tied with red tape, and to him seemed to jar the house. Had they awakened the old man to life again? : Hie Jooked at the label. “Papers containing proofs,’ that was allit said, but he already knew whiat their Contents threatened; the old earl had told him. “They must be utterly destroyed,’ he muttered. “Wo!” said a deep voice near. ‘And he k ew that voice. He gave a great cry of horror. Somebody stood at his shoulder as he cowered there, the image cf ‘alject fear. It was pitiful almost to’see his wild cyes, to hear his gasp- ing breath. “Wo!” exclaimed the voice, with a sterner accent. The room had suddenjy grown dark to him. His brain reeled. “Give me those papers!) Still he dared not look. He took them up, his hana shaking. Some other hand laid on his. The sleeve was blue. He took courege; it wus not the old earl’s ghost come to punish him. He turned round. “Tt was the man in blue.” “Cowardl? said the latter. The earl’s courage returned. “You have no right to these papers, them to you, villain’? “You will give them to me. names.’? “Who are yon that attempts to control.my actions?” “One you have reason to fear.” “Leave the premises, or 1 will call the seryants.? “Call them.) a: The ear! pushed the intruder aside, still with the papers in his hand. Phe door of the ante-room was locked, and the key gone. That was unfortunate, for the bell-pull Was in the ante-room, The man in blue stood with folded arms, smiling grimly at his perplexity. : “I find myself in your power,’ said the earl, with a savage gesture, “‘audlhave no doubt you are armed; cowards are always provided with concealed weapons,’ “Ig that the reason you carry a sword-cane aud a pige tol?’? said the man in blue, coolly. “Yes. I confess thas, lam armed. Ever sinee Lord Dudley Templeton made an attempt on my life, I have carried weapons—wheuever 1 thought I should meet fim,”? he added, with a sarcastic. — shrug. ; The earl was boiling over with wrath. The man in blue had this adyantage Over lim, that he was perfectly cool and self-possessed. : “T swear Vil burn these papers,’’ cried the earl, “No you won't. You aretoo much afraid of cold lead,’? was the provoking reply. ‘ “See here, my friend,” said the earl, changing his tac- ties, ‘‘we will compromise 1n this matter. Leave ne and let the thing rest, and I promise to make over to you one- third of my fortune,"? “No,’? cried a hollow voice. Earl Dudley bit his lip till.the blood came, and looked aboutin ascared manner, The voice certainly proceeded from the bed. and was succeeded by a deep breath. ‘“AWhat infernal trickery is this??? said the earl. “Did you recognize the voice??? asked the man in blue; ‘it sounded marvelously like that of your father, the old earl.?? “It is trickery—infernal trickery, Irepeat,’? gasped Earl Dudley. “No—you know how J died!” came in smothered ac- cents upparently from the bed. gue earl stood back aghast, then he flew to the bed, threw down. the clothes, looke@ underneath; there was nothing there—nobody concealed. The baffied nobleman sank down on the nearest seat, not knowing in what way to defend himself. “Come, We are losing time,’ said the manin blue, “and Tam not remarkable for the quality of patience 1 possess. Give me the papers or else I will blazon to the whole world the truth about this matter.” “Spare me—think of some compromise,” ejaculated the earl. ‘‘I will not be disgraced.”? : “There is only one way in which you can save yourself,” said the man jin blue. ; Fovy what is that??? cried the earl, trembling from head 0 foot. “Take what money you can avail yourself of, without touching the estates, and heave the country. I promise that you shall be safe from justice. {TO BE CONTINUED, he: ro >-o<______ Our Knowledge Box. Iwill not give Don't call yourself QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.— Skeleton and an Anxious Inquirer.—How To GET Fat.—Eyery person should weigh himself irom time to time, and thus ascer- tain whether the teod he is eating is on to his flesh or not. re the substance of whose system we have irequently pub- lished, found that for him sugar was the most productive of fat. If he ate five ounces of it he increased one pound. Another ex- perimenter, speaking from his own knowledge, declares in:‘favor ofsuet as that which fleshed him most rapidly. Another author ity says that milk, especially when taken fresh from the cow, is superior to anything else. If one can drink three or four pints of ita day, an increase of weightis ascertain, and perhaps more certain, than by swallowing cod-liver oil. Starch, fh the form of arrowroot, sago, tapioea, or farina, is equally lauded by others. To be avoided are pickles, vyinegur, highly-spiced food, sour wines or fruit, acid vegetables, etc. One thing should beborne in mind: Itis not the quantity but the kind of food that is demanded. If an article be difficult of digestion, it will prove of positive injury, no matter how much you partake of it. In other words, when- ever the stomach has to Jabor with ‘tlie food put into it, it de- tracts just so much from'the nutrition which would otherwise attend it. Other causes of leanness shotld be avoided, such as irregular hours of rest or for meals, cating: between meals, anx- iety, worry, overwork, and severe exercise. In some parts of Asia, where a considerable embonpoint. is deemed essential to beauty, the art of fattening dumsels ‘for the trade” has been ca ried to a high degree of perfection. They sleep long and late on soft beds, and they avoid violent exercise or distubing thoughts. They bathe in lukewarm water, and take while ni the bath a broth made from tat chickens boiled with rice or with arrowroot.. On leaving the water they are sofily rubbed down with scented vege- table oils, such as pure olive oil boiled with gum benzoin, whiclk not only preserves 1t from rancidity but imparts to it a rich ara- ma, The oil prevents the watery fiuld from passing out in the perspiration, and softens the outer layer of the skin. They drink moderately of a mixture of honey und water, and take daily « preparation of the castor bean, which slightly moves the bowels and increases the appetite..... K.—To be had of any druggist... A Cripple.—GOLD PLATING POWDER.—Wash thoroughly a quaxr- ter of an ounce of chloride ef gold; then add to ita solution of two Ounces of cyanide of potassium in a pint of clean rain water; shake well, and Jet itstand until the chloride is dissolved. Add one pound of prepared Spanish whiting, expose to the air till dry, and then put away in @ tight vessel. ‘To apply it, make a paste of it with water, and rub it on the surface cf the article with a piece of chamois skin or cotton-flannel. ‘he surface of the article should be thoroughly cleansed before applying the pow- GOP. ii, B.—Spirits of ammonia will remove grease from coat collars...... Sydney Owenson.—To PRESERVE CITRON MELON. —To each pound of melon allow one pound of sugar and one large, fresh lemon. Cut the melon in slices three-fourths of an inch thick, and take off the skin. Boil it in weak alum water until it is quite tender, then putiton a hair sieve to drain until the next day, and throw away the alum water. Take a part of the sugar and make a thin sirup, slice the lemons and take out the seeds. Boiltheminthe sirup until tender. Then boil the citron a few moments and put itin the jars with the lemon. Add the rest of the sugar to the sirup, let it boil a minute and skim its pour it over the melon hot and seal up immediately, This makes a delicious preserve...... George.—We cannot inform you....... - Nellie Golden.—1. To get thin avoid food containing niuch starhe or sugar. 2, Apply the glycerine first and after it has dried upom the skin, powder the face with the starch-powder....Old. Rock. oy Cae the strongest cements known js. made of fine- ly powdered quicklime and the white of an egg. Apply quickly to the edges of the articles to be mended and place firmly to- gether...... A.B, CTO’ PRESERVE AUTUMN’ LEAVES.—Take a warm flatiron—if hot it will spoil the colors—and iron the leaves on the wrong side till they are perfectly dry, then varnish them with a light coat of white yarnish and they are done, © MEDICAL DEPARTMENT, L..C. B.-THE Fext.—The best remedy for Corp FErr is to dip them every night and morning in. a basin of cold water, and at- terward rub, them dry with a coarse towel, To HARDEN THE Fret tannic acid has been used with. success. Employ i in the proportion of five grains to a fiuid ounce of water. To correct an ORFENBIVE SMELL OF THE Fret, bathe them in a weak soiu- tion of permanganate of potassa; one scruple to eight ounces of water. j @. H. N.—HEARTBURN.—This common and distressing affection is generally, counected with indigestion. To relieve it for the moment, magnesia, soda, or seltzer Water, or water acidulated with sulphuric acid, may be employed. To cure the complaint requires the digestive powers to be strengthened by tonics, bit- ters, and some preparation of iron. The application of a blister over, the stomach. may be of use. ,The white oxide of bismuth in six grain doses, three times a day, taken in milk, has beem found of service. Aanire?.—REMEDY FOR BARBER’S ITCH AND TEeTTER.—Sim ple as the followiug remedy may appeur,we have authority forsaying that it has cured the most obstinate cases: Moisten the part al- fected with saliva (spittle) and rub it over thoroughly three times a day with the ashes of a good Havana cigar. Suffering Reader.—For Asthma, see No, 44 of volume 30, A Ten Years? Reader and BE. K.—No. True Blue.—For Worms, see No. 41 of volume 30, Beauty Spots.—-FLESHWORMS.—Thie black spots on the face are not always what are called fleshworms. What are mistaken for them are produced in this way: The skin may be coarse, and the ducts, being large, collect the perspiration, which hardens and plackens, and hence the common supposition of there being grubs or maggots in theskin. The remedy issimple. Clean the parts affected by squeezing out the substance that is lodged there, and then use a little diluted cologne water, or bay rum, several times a day until the blotches have disappeared, If they are really fleshworms, tuke something to purify your blood—sulply or sarsapariila. » ° Rosunna.—l. We have no preference, : v Both are good, know nothing concerning him, hp cicariamappesinnpeaiar ate ate Cee ls ae : D> Ra ae — Oe « ‘ e o € a SSS mes E Fu nie J ‘Ee NEW YORK. WEE: RLY. FALLING LEAVES: BY JOHN ERIGENA BARRETT. The woods are turning brown again, Their summer charms are,dying,. And leaves that were the first-to bloom, Upon,the ground are lying; And like the hopes we entertained Ere life’s bright dreams were shattered, When glowing fancies filled the mind, The talling leaves are scattered. The leaf that decked the tallést tree, Throughout the summer weather, Now with the very lowliest rose, Lie side by side together; And so the proudest human hearts, When life’s career is ended, Together with the meekest ones With common dust are blended. The glowing wealth of.green that came In springtime’s ruddy morning, And spread its sheen the woodtands o’er, The forest trees adorning, Is fading, slowly fading now, Like a weary midnight ember, And soon shall lose its luster In the ashes of September. The forest songster’s voice is hoarse, The whip-poor-will is weary, No more is heard the laughter Of the mountain-thrush so cheery; A change comes over all the land, And youth to age is turning, The summer skies that erst were clear With blood-red clouds are burning. The midnight dews come coldly down, The midnight winds are chilling, And by their frigid breath the frail, The beautiful are killing. Thus fade the fairest dreams of earth; The ones we'd fondly cherish And fain would keep to love through life, Are ever first to perish! THE CHANGELINGS. BY CLARA AUGUSTA. Mrs. John ‘Bates: and Mrs. Aaron Sawyer were close friends. Schoolmates in early life they had been constantly together, aud in their young womanhood they had mar- ried partners in business, and had not drifted apart as friends usually do in the course of life. Their houses were close together, and they were always running back and forth with their tatting or crochet work; and if you wanted to instance a female Damon and Py- thias here was a chance. By-and-by, in due course of time the crowning climax took place—or, indeed, two of them. Mrs. Bates was the mother of a boy, and Mrs. Sawyer was the mother of a boy—all within two days. There was a grand joilification in the two houses, Mr. Bates and Mr. Sawyer strutted to business together morn- ings with a very conscious air about them, asif everybody Knew that they were fathers—fathers of boys. To have seen them you might easily have believed that there had never been any children born in that vicinity before. Of course, the babies were paragons—all babies are. There pever was a second-class baby born. All of them are A No. 1—to somebody. The babies looked just alike. Both had light hair aud light-eyes, and faces very like the fool moon in the old- fashioned eight-day clocks, and their expression was very similar to the expression of & small-sized, well-ripened pumpkin, Their mothers dressed them exactly alike in every par- ticular, from the edging on their frocks to the width of the hems on their respective blankets, and it would have taken a magician to have told one from the other, This the mothers fully realized, and to prevent mistakes Mrs. Bates kept a bit of red'string tied round the finger of her baby, asa precautionary measure. One day, when .the children were a couple of months old, there was a@funeral in the vicinity, and Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Sawyer wanted to attend; for they lived ina country neighborhood, and perhaps you know. that in these sparseiy-settled localities {rmerals are tie only amuse- ment people have. They left their babies with the Widow Hin, a neighbor, who, having a bad speil of the rheumatism, was obliged to step at home ana content herself with the little diver- sion of seeing the procession pass by. The widow had five children of her own, and was sup- posed to know something about the management of ba- bies. The fond mothers gave her a thousand charges about their darlings, and after Kissing them asif they were about starting on a voyage to Japan, they departed. The funeral sermon was powerfal—the minister excelled himself in making the mourners Cry; the corpse was ‘‘Jaid out beautiful,’ and the coffin must have cost a hundred doltars. The Jadies enjoyed everything very much, and took an inventory of all the mourning dresses and bon- nets, and the length of the vails, for future reference and discussion, and hurried back to Mrs. Hills. When they arrived there the babies were asleep. “Looking like little cherribs, as they was! said Mrs. Hill, enthusiastically. The mothers ran to the bed, each one anxious to em- brace her own particular darling. Mrs. Bates looked for the red string. Four clubby hands were. lifted and ex- amined, and then the young mother sank back with a cry of dismay. The string was not there! “Good Heavens!’ cried Mrs. Sawyer, ‘‘we are undone! What will Aaron say ?”? “John will never forgive mel’’ cried Mrs. Bates. “Oh, dear! deary.me! what shall we do?”’ “Don’t take on so!’ said Mrs. Hilt; “there must be some mark by which you could distinguish them. They can’t be exactly alike.”’ *‘As alike as two beans,” said Mrs. Sawyer. “Or two peas,’’ said Mrs. Bates, ‘*Bat their clothes??? gasped the widow. clothes must be a little different. “Not a particie,’’ answered both mothers, in chorus. Just then Jittle Johnny Hill, the widow’s youngest, came in. Johnny was one of those bad. boys of which so much is said and written, and everybody prophesied that Joln- ny would be drowned some Sunday, or hanged some day not far in the future. Johnny looked knowing. All three of the women pounced upon him, and Inquired about the missing red string. Johnny, like the great and good Washington, could not tellalie. With the memory of the many spankings his mother had given him, he acknowledged the corn. “7 took it off from him,” he said, blubbering. “Oh, you dreadful, wicked, sinful boyl’’ cried his mother. “Yon wouldn’t let me climb onthe fence to look at the funeral,’ said Johnny, wratifully, “and I wanted to do something. And while you were up garrit awatching that pursession I took off the string."? Of course, as Mrs, Hill had protested to. both ladies that she had never left the children for a moment, this reveia- tion of Johuny’s was a stunner, and Johnny knew by the wrathful gleam in the maternal eye that he should, in teclinical terms, ‘‘catch it’? when the ladies were gone. “But when I took the string off,’?, said Jonny, hopeful- ly, “I waxinated him just as I seed mother waxinate Tom and Fanny the other day.” “On, you little angel!’ cried Mrs. Sawyer, kissing John- ny’s dirty face, rapturously. ‘‘Annie, we aresaved!” and she began to look for the mark,on the child’s arm. : “Thank, goodness!’ cried Mrs. Bates. ‘I feel asif a mountain had been removed from my mind.’? “But I waxinated tother one too,’~put in Johnny, streaking it for daylight, closely pursued by his mother and the poker. Sure enough! Both children were scratched on the arms, and the matter was as much @ mystery as ever. The two young mothers wept bitterly, and Mrs. Hill wept with them. There was nothing to be done but take each & baby and go sadly home. The proud fathers raved when the dreadful news was told them, but allin vain. \The question of identity must remain unsettled. As the babies grew larger, the one which Mrs. Bates had developed very large teeth. This was a Sawyer fam- _ tly mark, so the babies were changed. Present!y the Saw- yer baby got to having boils; this was a peculiarity of the Bates biood, so the babies were chauged again. Then the Bates baby’s ears dropped off a long distance from its head, just like Mr. Sawyer’s ears, so another change was effected; and 80 On. every week or two for a year. The babies; were continually traveling from one house to the other, aud the two families were in a state of constant grief and "ucertainty. One dark, stormy night in December, while Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer were reposing on their virtuous couch, with the baby between them, there came a night peal at the door bell, Sawyer swore inwardly, and his wife begged him not to get up, as it was probably somebody come to murder him. That was what people rung bells for at-that time of night. Sawyer grasped his revolver in one hand, and holding up hits pantaloons by the waistbands with the other, pre- sented himself at the door, “‘Who’s there ?’' he demanded. “Oh, iv’sme! It’s John and me, and baby,’? cried Mrs. Bates’s voice. ‘Let.usin quick.” Sawyer released one hand, and admitted them. Mrs. Bates sank on the sofa entirely done for, “Dear mel it fs so strange Oh, May!’? as Mrs. Sawyer *Oall your wile,”’ said she. I never thought of it before. appeared, ‘any baby had a wart on the back of his beck, just atthe roots of. his hair, and. I never thought of it till half au hour ago, and John and I have runall the way.) “And the baby tiat I’ve got now has got a wart just there,” cried Mrs. Sawyer, stripping’ the’ unfortunate youngster for inspection. Mrs. Bates seized him, and almost devoured him with kisses, “Oh, the blessed wart!l’’ cried she. ‘The blessed, bless- ed wart! Now we can begin to liye once more.’? Bless ’em!’? “Surely their | degrees each, called Signs of the Zodiac. “Tank Providence!’ exclaimed Mr. Sawyer. “And the wart!’ exclaimed Mr. Bates. ness reigned. MORAL. Always have warts on your babies. Wonders of Nature. By Prof, M. Rudolph. OUR FAMILY OF WORLDS—No. 3. The next planet in order from the. Sun is Venus, the most beautiful to the unaided eye of them all. We say to the “unaided” eye, for Lhere are incomparably more beau- tifuland wonderful features in some of the other planets, when viewed by large telescopes, as we shall hereafter except a few of the invisible asteroids, or smallest planets —revolve from west io east around the Sun ina given path, owtside of which they need never be sought, That path is called the Zodiac, andis 16 degrees in breadth. The Ecliptic.is the apparent, path of the Sun in the heav- ens, but in reality it is the path of the Earth, as it pursues its way among the Stars in its annual journey around the Sun. This ecliptic is inclined about 23 1-2 degrees to the equinoctial or equator of the heavens, which is directly over the equator of the.Harth. About..one half of the ecliptic, therefore, lies north of the equator, and the other half south of it. Now, through the center of the Zodiac runs this important circle, the ecliptic, so that there are eight degrees on each side of it. This Zodiac then. is the world-path of our system, where alone we must always seek the planets. Itis divided into 12 equal parts of 30 It will pre- vent much loss of time and labor, therefore, in seeking fer the members of our world family, to bear in mind, that the pianets seen by the umaided eye cau never be found more than eight degrees either north or south of the ecliptic, and that this ecliptic is never more than 23 1-2 degrees either north or south of the equator of the heavens, which is invaribly directly over the equator of the Earth. Attention to this will greatly facilitate the finding of planets. When Venus rises before the Sun, she is Morning Star, and when ater, she is Evening Star for about the same length of time. This planet, like Mercury, exhibits all the, phases of the Moon; at one time appearing as a delicate and most beau- tiful crescent, then a half-moon, then gibbous, or bulging, and then gradually becoming full. After this she passes through a series of chaugés of an opposite character, gra- dually waning from the full to, the gibbous, then to. the half-form, then to the same beautiful, delicate crescent, when it is wholly lost to view in the superior brilliancy of the Sun, which by this time it has seemingly approach-' ed. These phases can be distinctly seen with a telescope of about 2 1-2 or 3inches diameter, and will amply reward the observer for the time aud expense requisite for mak- ing the observation. The same glass will also present the Moon under anew and startling aspect, exhibiting the shadows of the lunar mountains, and the craters of the extinct volcanoes with considerable distinctness, The mean, thatis average distance of this planet from the Sun, is about 66,000,000 miles. Her yearis about 225 ofour days. The day of this planet is very nearly the same as our oWn, and is therefore commonly reckoned as of 24 hours. . : It moves in its orbit around the Sun at the rate of 22 miles a second, or.about 79,000 miles each hour; so that while we are gazing at this beautiful and apparently sta- tionary body, itis dashing on through space more lian 3,000 times faster than a railroad passenger (rain travel- ing 25 miles an hour! Her great distance from us causes her to appear stationary. Venus is about 26,000,000 of miles from the Earth when both bodies are on the same side of the Sun; but. when the Earth and Venus are on opposite sides of. the solar center, then she is about 158,000,000 miles distant from us. This,and her change of position, by .which her phases are produced to our view, will explain lier vary. ing briliiancy as seen by us, at.one time so bright as to be seen at noonday, and casting a distinct sliadow at night, at others appearing very much like one of the brighter Stars. Sheis never seen more than 47 degrees from the Sun, hence cannot be visible more than about three hours before sunrise, Or after sunset, Her diameter is about 7,500 miles, and her volume is therefore about four-fifths that of our planet, while her density is also nearly the same; thatisacubie foot of matter of average weight from Venus would weigh about the same as a cubic foot of matter of average wei our own globe. A body weighing a pound here would Planet’s equator. in his mind here an QUtLaCuLVe PUWwer vt ive power upon bodies on the surface. It would be well for the reader to ix tae To ilustr ate: This soe of the planet... This will be understood when it is remem- feels the attractive power of the whole mass more sensi- bly than on a larger globe, because this body lies nearer the whole mass than if it were far out from the center on the immense circumference of a great globe like the Sun; for the law of gravitation is that attraction deoreases in power as the square of the distance increases. Hence it is that bodies on the Sun, though ‘weighing so much more than they would on the’ Earth, yet do not weigh as much as they would but for their great distance from a.iarge portion of theSun’s matter. In other words, ifthe Sun were condensed to one-half his present bulk, bodies would weigh more on his surface, because they would be nearer his whole mass of matter. The Seasons on Venus are very much the same as on Mercury, No Moon:has,yet,been generally observed re- volving around this planet, althougi some astronomers assert that a very minute one has been seen. -The planet has doubtless many aerolites moving around it, as has our globe, and one of these may serve aS a small Moon. THE EARTH. We come now'to our own globe, which is next in order of distance from the Sun. The astronomers of remote times did not include the Earth in the catalogue of planets. place in the heavens, or, rather, as not belonging to the heavens at all, strictly. speaking, but -holding the first rank in the material creation as the great central world around which Sun, Moon, planets and Stars.all revolved, whilethe Earth was firmly aud immovably fixed as a great pivot of motion. The idea of its moving through space was treated as\a gross absurdity, and contrary to all the evidence of the senses, It was argued, and certainly very plausibly, that it was plain that the Sun rose in the east, und passing majes- tically through the heaveus, set in the west, And further, it was gravely asserted, thus did the Moon, planets, and even all the Stars, and with great regularity, also; and as if all this were not evidence enough, comets occasionally came to add the weigiit of their testimony to prove the gereral movement of the heavenly bodies around our globe, while meteors and aerolites, or sloot- ing Stars all tended to strengthen the conviction of the fixedness of ‘the Earth and the revolutions of the Stars. But this theory was found unsatisfactory and far from sufficient to explain many astrovpomic phenomena. For instance, apon what the Earth vested was a ques- tion that caused the ancients ‘much perplexity and gave rise to many absurd theories. Thus it was at one time taught that it rested upon the back of a huge turtte; at another, it was said to be supported by a great elephant; and by some nations it was asserted to be resting upon the shoulders of an immense bull, and when the animal was weary of liolding it upon one shoulder he shifted it to the other, and this was the cause of earthquakes. But upon what the turtle, elephant, and bull rested, their theo- ries did not attempt to explain, and these questions were regarded as’ too deep for their philosophy, as doubtless they were, It is a most interesting and important fact, that while these ridiculous aud childish theories were seriously maintained by grave philosophers of heathen nations, the true. theory Was, il part at least, taught. in the Sacred Scriptures. Thus, in the book of Job—the oldest book in the world, and written 200 years before the time of Moses, the great truth respecting the Earth’s real position is thus explicitly and sublimely announced: ‘He stretcheth out the Norih over the empty place, and hangeth the earth upon: notih- ing.’ How came the Brbie to be so far in advance of the schools of science? How can we explain the fact, that in an ageof profound ignorance of the trae principles of science, these Scriptures taught so clearly, in such strik- ing and sublime language these two great astronomic truths? First, we have the startling fact, clearly stated, that this globe we inhabit is not resting upon any sup- port, but is floating in space. Secoud, tre truth of con- paratively recent demonstration, and ouly by the greatest telescopes, that there are but jew stars in the northern part of the heavens, in comparison with thoge in other. parts, How can we account for this? There is but one way, and that is by admitting that these Scriptures are not the production of human minds, but the exclusive work of the Spirit of Jehovah. For, if the Bible thus early taught science of which the whole world was then ignorant, we must conciude that it was written under the immediate direction. and at the special dictation of the Divine Spivit, and therefore is in- deed the Divine Revelation it claims to be, The foregoing sublime announcement of the Earth’s Suspension in space, and consequent regular rotation every 24 tours on its axis, is daily receiving striking con- firmation in all the observatories of the world. In these observatories there are telescopes called meridian citcles and transit instruments, whose chief work is to note the passing of astar over the meridian line at a given mo- ment, Such is the astounding regularity of their appa- rent motions, or, more .-properly, of the motion of the Karth on its axis, that the great astronomer, La Place, stated, that after a most rigorous investigation, he finds the Barth’s motion has not changed the one hundreth part of a. second of time in 2000 years! How perfect are the Creator’s works! The same remarkable regularity marks the annual jour- ney of our globe around the Sun. Let it be remembered that to complete a journey, say of 3,000 miles {rom Boston to San Francis¢o, precisely at a given moment, there must be numerous stoppages in order not to be in advance of time, and then a frequent quickening of speed so as not to be behind time; but here is this great traveler, the miles dred times only, but for tens of thousands of yearsy and ‘Amen!’ gaid both the ,jwomen, and once more happi- see. Let it here be borne in mind that all, the planets— weigh only about five-sixths of a pound there on the} ama tut be sane of ancient Rome. gular rates of speed in given parts of its orbit. In performing this long journey we dash along at the rate of about 68,000 miles each, hour, and .the marvel is that we are not left behind, and a still greater marvel is it that the atmosphere, and thin, fleecy clouds are not streaming out in space, and entirely lost.to-us. The next article will be a continuation of our Family of Worlds. ; —_——-_>-0-+- THINGS GEHRENERALLY. _ BY MAX ADELER. A TERRIBLE AFFLICTION. — Mr. Fisher's wile was very iil in July;and there were serious fears that she would die. And one day when he came home they communicated to him thesad intelligence that she was n0 more. When the first. outburst. of grief had subsided, he sent an orderto the ‘undertaker for a coffin, he tied crape on the door-Knob, he sent his hat around to the store to have it draped in black, he adver- tised the death in the papers with some poetry attached to the announcement, and-he made general preparations for the funeral. Then he sat down. in the parlor with his great sorrow, and his friends tried to comfort him. ‘It's no use,’’ he said; ‘‘I’ll never get over it. There never was any woman like her, and there never will be again. I don’t want to live without her. Now she's gone I’m ready to go any time. I’d welcome the grave. What's life to amanlike me? It's a void—an émpty void; that’s what it is; and there is no more happiness in it for me.” “You must try to bear up under it,’ said Dr. Potts, “These afflictions are meant for our good.” “O, it’s all very well to talk,” said Mr. Fisher, wiping his eyes; ‘but when a woman like that skips off to live among tlie angels, @ man can’t help being miserable. An- gels don’t make your home happy. Angels don’t sew on your buttons, and do up your shirts, and look after the children, and boss the hired girl, and. go..scrubbing around, do they? Leastways I never heard of it, and I'd rather have a woman like Mrs. Fisher anyhow.’’ “But you must reflect how much happier she is now; that our loss is her gain,” said Mr. Brown. “Well, I don’t see it,” replied Fisher. ‘She was: happy enough liere, bustling around, making things lively, spat- ting with me sometimes, bless her dear heart, when I an- noyed her, and jawing away all day long at the children and ‘the hired girl, making music in the house. Who’s she going to jaw now I’d like to know? How’s she going to relieve her feelings when she gets mad? Flying around in a night-gown with) wings on behind her shoulder blades, and agjtting on damp clouds twanging away at soine kind off harp, ain’t going to suita woman like her. She never had much of an ear for music any way. And what L say is that if. Henrietta had her choice I bet any- thing she’d rather be home here tending to things, even if every day inthe week was a rainy wash-day. Now I know she would.” “You take a gloomy view of things now,” said Dr. Potts. “After a while the skies will seem brighter to you.?’ “No, they won’t, either,’ said Mr. Fisher.. “They'll grow darker untilthere’s aregular awful thunder storm | of grief, I can’t live through it. It'll kill me. - Ive got a notion to jump inte Henrietta’s grave and be buned with her. I’ve got half a mind to commit suicide, so-I can——”’ t Just here the doctor came down stairs and into the par- lor, with a smile on his face. Mr. Fisher saw it, and stop- ping abruptly, he said: “Dr. Burns; how you can smile in the midst of the aw- ful desolation of this family, is more than I.can under- stand, and [ don’t——*! ; “J’ ve got some good news for you, Mr. Fisher,’ said the doctor. “No, you haven't,’ said Fisher. ‘‘There can be no more good news for me in this world.” “Mrs, Fisher is alive.’? “What?” #3 «3 “Mrs. Fisher is alive,’ said the doctor. ‘‘She was only in a condition of suspended animation after all. She'll be perfectly well, I think, ina few days.”’ get up off of her bedand stay alive—going to shirk the grave after a}! ??? ; ‘*Precisely, aud I congratulate you heartily.’’ “O you needn’t congratulate me,’’ said Fisher. "This isa pretty piece of business, now ain’tit? But it’s just like her. She always was the crookedest woman on earth, and I believe that if we’d got her buried, and I'd married again, she’d ’ve kicked off the coffin lid and got.me into trouble for bigamy. Who's goivg to pay that undertaker now I'd like to know? Blamedif she mayn’t do it her- self, and the advertising, alldghat poetry, and the crape, it of | and those things? lL never heard of Such foolishness. It the mischie, womet carrying on so, x 2>ing to—"* , tat came in Fith Mr. Fisher's hat, with makes memad as at Just here the boy important principle in estimating the | a weed around it, and Fisher gving tle hat a savage kick ULM OPC HY pte wiry fens tw Sa p ta to the poy: “You infernal little scoundel, get out of here or I'll attractive power is not exactly in proportion to the séze | break your neck.” Then the company adjourned, and Fisher, taking the bered that a body lying upon the surface of a small planet } crape off of the door knob, went around to see the under- taker. CLASSIC SRT. — Mr. Butterwick was in an auction ‘store in the city a shelf, He asked a bystander nice thing to have them, auihe bid in the whole lot, af- ter which the man who had told him. about them very kindly marked their nemes on the back with a lead peucil. When Butterwick gotthem home aud had rapged them round the parlor, he ,nvited Rev. Dr. Potts anda few friendsin to see the cillection. He began: with the One near the door. “This,” he said, “isa portrait bust of Caligula. “I’ve been reading about him. He was one of those fellers that ruled Rome.. They say heused to get drunk as an owl, and bring his horse in to sitonthethrone. Rough wasn’t it?? “Did I understand you tosay this is Caligula, Mr. But- terwick ?”? asked Dr. Potts, “Yes; that’s him.” “Cal_—_-. -—SsKW/ihay, there certainly must be some mistake. at home,’? “Can't help it. It's Caligula, 1know; and those who knew him say it’s a splendid likeness.’! “OQ, very well. But I’m surprised that a churchmem- ber, like you, would have this bust of Byron in your house.’! “Byron! Why, my gracious, man! that’s not By—— Come, now, that’s good | Byron! Why, that’s Coriolanus, a Roman fighter, you Kuow. Could lick a whole army corps with one liand behind him, they say.. I didn’t know him myself.’? k “This is very remarkable—extraordinary! I felt certain that was Byron,” said the doctor, There must be some mistake, I think.’ “Oh, no,’”? replied Butterwick; ‘it’s all right. That's Coriolanus, and this is Cicero. Speaker, you know. Great at mass meetings. Splendid lecturer, too. Fine head, isn’t-it?"? ; “Now, really, Mr. Butterwick, don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you know that’s not a bust of Cicero. Why, my poor fellow-sinner, that’s a iife-luke portrait of Gene- ral Grant.’ ; “Well, now, I'll just bet you it ain't,’ exclaimed Batter- wick. “I’ve seen Grant aud Cicero both, and it looks ex- directly from Rome, you understand.” : Just then Judge Pitman called over from the other side of the room: “] say, Butterwick, where’d you get that bust of Hor- ace Greeley? . It’s capital.’’ ‘“Hor—— Why, you are certainly crazy! Horace Gree- ley! Too bad, judge. Too bad for a man of your years. A school-boy would have known that itis a bust of Octa- vius Cesar, Emperor of Rome. Don’t you see for your- self that it is? Look at the mouth, the bald head, the ears! Cresar all over him, as plain ‘as daylight.’ “Tt certainly looks like Mr. Greeley,’’ said Dr. Potts, *®xactly like him!’ exclaimed all the company. “Gentlemen,” said Butterwick, ‘if you mean this for a joke it’s all well enough, but you are carrying it a little too far. Perhaps you will say this bust isn’t Cleopatra.” “J,00k here, Mr. Batterwick,’? exclaimed the judge, an- grily, “we don’t mind a bit of fun, as you say, but if you are going to insult the company by shoving off on usa bust of Jolin ©. Fremont as Cleopatra, our friendship is at an end.” me hia ent “Oh, it is,isit? Fremont! That splendid likeness of the Egyptian Queen with ter name all penciled on the back of the neck. Perhaps. yow lH say this one isn’t Cato.” Chorus.—‘ ‘Certainly it isu’t, 1s a bust of Charles Dick- ens." : Bu tterwick.—‘And maybe this one isn’t Jutius Cesar, that, was killed ?”” Chorus.—“Of course it isn’t, It’s nobody but Martin Van Buren.” 7 Butierwick.—"And perhaps you'll have the face to in- form me that this is not a perfect likeness of Horatius Fiaccus ?” Chorus.—“If that: isn't Senator Sumner then- there never was any man Of that name.) Butterwick.—**And since you- are’ so awful smart I ex- pect you'll have a hard enough cheek to telime in my own honse that these two ain’t Mare Antohy aud Brutus?” Chorus.—“Why, Butterwick, those are Burns and Sir Walter Scott. Butterwick.—‘O, they are, are they? Well, you can just get out of here before I put you out.. You don’t know any more about art than a drove of hogs: If Vda knowed liow ignorant you -were, l’ti tiever have ‘asked you in to iook at. these noble pieces of sculpture. And as for you, old Dr. Potts, you can't preach any more gospel to me. A man who can go back ou eternal truth the way you've done about Coriolanus ain't fit to regenerate a Pagan. I’m going to the Methodist church after this.” Then the company Jeft, and Mr. Butterwick telegraphed to the auctioneer to-ascertain positively about his collec. tion. He has not heard yet. BUNKER AND THE DOGS. — In the early part of the sammer f hireda man named Bunker as a gardener; and ashe was said to be an expert, J directed him to go to work and fix up the ‘garden in ac- cordance with his own notions. On the morning of the first day I saw him going out through the front gate with a gun over his shoulder, and I conceived the idea that Bunker was about to begin his career with me by taking 2 Earth, performing each year a journey of nearly 600,000,0004 holiday. without a variation of one hundredth part a 4 i ; second of time, and doing this not once, twice, or a lfun-| dog while aiming ata rabbit; but he simply smiled and In about an hour, however, he came back puli- ing a dead dog by the tail. 1 asked him if he had shot his passed in. He buried the dog under the grape arbor. this two witiiout a single stoppage; or any other than re- When that was done Bunker loaded'up ‘his gun and Sal- lied outagain, and I asked him if hewas going after Suipe. Hewas silent, and he went on down:the road; but after a while he returned@again-with a setter. pup and a yellow cur, both dead. 1 diGn’l exactly get the hang of the proceeding, and I remarked to Bunker that hé must be rather a poor shot to hit his Own dogs every time in- stead ofthe game. But Bunker helahis peace, and, after interring the two dogs beneath the grape-arbor,-he put four fingers of buckshot in his 2un, got. & drink of water at the pump, shouldered arms, and struck out for the front gate, Linqguired if there ;was.a target shoating match anywhere around our neighborhood to-day, bute didn’t hear me, and he weit on, j About four o’clock he came marching up the yarAwwith two dead cats and a blue poodie, It was extraordidary; but when l asked him if he was gunning for domestic ani- mals iu order to settle a’bet;: he coughed a couple of times, winked at me, and proceeded to vig a fresti grave. When the funeral was over Bunker reloaded his;gun; blew his nose, tightened up his suspenders, winked at me again, and emerged from. the front gate. He had been gone about ten minutes when I heard. two slots from a gun in quick succession down. the road.’ Five minutes later I saw “Mr. Bunker coming up the road ata frigiit- ful rate of speed, pursued - by a three-legged dog and-my friend Butterwick. Bunker kept aliead; and -when:lhe got to my house he bolted. ip and shut the door.. Then Butterwick tackled me, while the three-legged dog stood by looking as if he would be miserable if he didn’t bite something. Butterwick said that my man had. shot the leg off of Butterwick’s dog, and he was going to have satisfaction for it if he had to go to law about it.” I paci- fied Butterwick and he went home with the dog behind him. Then I sought an interview with Mr. Bunker, J said: “Bunker, you -have been carrying on in the most pre- posterous manner ever since you’ve been here, and now you have nearly killed a valuable animal belonging to my neighbor, Mr. Butterwick, I'll. thank you to tell me What you mean, sir, and that right off.” Bunker winked at me again, cleared his throat, pulled up his shirt-collar, and said: ‘TI was goin’ to knock off ’s soon ’s I’had scooped old Butty’s dog. He'd abeen splendid to bury out there jong .with the others. Pil-tell_you: ‘now how-itis.. The best thing to make grape vines grow is dogs; bury ’em right down among the roots. Soon as I seen them vines of vourn I said to inyself them vines wants a few dogs, and I concluded to put in my first day rakin in all I could find. Makes the grapes fine, bunches big, and flavor high. I’m goin’ out. agin to-morrow, down the other, road, to shoot a few more.”’ But he didn’t make the trip. I discharged him that night. He was too enthusiastic fora gardener, and I thought maybe life might open out to him a more prom- Pre vista in some other capacity elswhere than at my place. ———--»-0~< TO CORRESPONDENTS. aa «~GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.— EZ. Brown.—The U. S. sloop-of-war Cumberland was run into and sunk by the Confederate ram Merrimac, in Hampton roads, at the mouth of the James river, March 8, 1861, The prow of the ram struck her amidships, laying open her side, and the second blow sunk-her. The Merrimac then steamed tor the frigate Con- gress, Which surrendered after receiving her fire. The frigates Minnesota and St. Lawrence and gunboats Oregon and Zouave attempted to take part in the contest, the Merrimac being aided by the Confederate steamers Yorktown and Jamestown, but the Minnesota ran aground off Newport News, the St. Lawrence failed to come to close quarters, and; the gunboats. were some- what disabled. This was the condition of things at the close of the day. The Monitor arrived’ about 10‘o’clock -in-the evening, and immediately went to the protection of the Minnesota. Harly on the morning of. the 9th the Merrimac advanced toward and fired ‘on the Minnesota, when=the Monitor Opened fire with her ll-inch guns, The engagement lasted several hours, the Merri- mac trying in vain to run down.and ‘sink the Monitor, the ves- sels Coming into contact five times. The Merrimac finally re- tired disabled, the heavy iron prow being so wrenched by the concussion against the side of the Monitor that the timbers were | r started, causing the vessel to leak badly. Other damage was also | r inflicted by shots entering her port-holes. Musiclan.—Handel was not‘an Englishman, though he passed ‘You don’t actually mean to say that woman’s going to | most of his life im London. He was born at Halle, in Lower Sax- ony. i 1 The most glorious triumphs of his genius may be said to nave been dedicated to the English people, whose adopted son he was, A P.—The original painting of Rosa Bonheur’s ‘picture The N. J., and we believe is still owned by him. gravings.of this es scene may be purchased at almost, any first class art Store. ¢ ; ; Inquirer.—Rev. Mr. Spptaccn is not an advocate ot : totahabsti- nence, as he liashimself publicly stated. He is also.a moderate tobacco smoker. He believesin the use and not the abuse of these stimulants, but he does not enjoy good health. MHaritime.—The American whale fisheries used to give employ- ment to’ 20,000 hardy nen, but there are not half that number now so employed. Rock ‘oil 1s too cheap and abundant not to have revolutionized the old resort to supply the market. Bash —Ist. The reigning royal family of England is more recently descended trom tbe house of Hanover, which is traged pack to the House ot Guelph, a line of Italian princes of grated two "MO are. traced to_ the Rinth sembneeronaryws pa can be. called, therefore, is Guelph. The different dynasties which have reigned in:the various kingdoms and empires of Eu- rope are usually called after the founder of each line, or the lo- cality from which itsprang. 2d. There is a line of steamers for New Zealand from San Francisco. Connections may be made from this region either by steamer or rail. 3d. See “Etiquette Department.” Ae Z ; Constant Reader.—The bank is no longer in existence and the asiorttime ago, and while them he saw a dozen or so | bill is worthless. plaster busts standing e who they were, and the man, just for a joke, told Butter- wick that they represented the great men’ and emperors ) So Butterwick thought it would be a | ability is not to be judged by his occupation, provided it isan | away form. Artington.—The. words “For Rent’? do not require a point be- ween them. When followed by the words “‘Inquire at,” a eriod should be placed after the word rent. Van Cott.—ist. Whitfield isasurname. 2d. A man’s respect- oct bonest means of livelihood. It is determined by his:habits and conduct. 3d. Mercer street was named after n. Mercer, of Revolutionary fame. 4th. Confer with some gentleman whose opinions you respect, and in whose judgment you, have confi- dence, and ask his advice and assistance in your efforts to lead a better life in future. Show him and others, by your actions, that you are really sincere in your desire to reform, and you will find any to give youa helping hand. 7 Merehant, Bra vo.—The real wealth of this country was never more obvious than now. Financial schemers are playing a deep came-and doing much mischief, but behind all this the granaries of the country are teeming with plenty, and the reac- tion is‘at hand. Benjamin L.—Congress did vote a gold medal to Paul Jones for his victory over the Serapis frigate. Jones was a Scotchman ‘by birth and a splendid seaman. His flag bore tie original device of a rattlesnake, with the legend: “Don't tread on me!” . Artist.—Miss Harriet Hosmer, the sculptor, is a Yankee’ girl, born near Boston. She makes her home in Rome, where her 5 It was regarded as occupying afar more important | That looks exactly like a tust of Sakespeare that I have | studio is visited by all strangers. Miss Hosmer has achieved a high artistic reputation. She is in her forty-seventh year, Invalid.—Florida is far preferable for an invalid. There you can find-greater comforts than in Italy, and certainly a much more congenial climate in winter. Many hardships must be en- countered in crossing the ocean, beside greater expense, B. D. M.—You are undoubtedly correct. Copley gave as much attention to the hands of his sitters as he did to their faces.. He believed that there was 4 great deal of expression and individu- ality in the hand, and painted in accordance with his theory. H. A. J.—The law in regard to aliens holding and conveying real property applies to men and women alike, whether married or single, and the disability is removed in the same manner. In this State all that is necessary to place an alien on the same foot- ing with a native in this matter is the declaration of intention to become a citizen. It makes no difference whether the husband be an alien or a citizen, the wife cannot convey real property without becoming legally qualified to do so in the manner above stated. Tyro.—“The United States Dispensatory” is used by all drug- gists. We will furnish itior $10. ; 0. K.—They are two distinct publications, The order of publi- cation has been reversed. S.—See the Clipper and Wilkes’. Spirit for movements of tle- atrical troupes trom week to week. Roy.—There is no particular class of works to recommend to one who is desirous ot obtaining a mercantile education. Read whatever bears upon the peculiar branch of trade in which you propose to engage. : 1 Walter Varian.—I1st. Conviction of an infamous crime and pun- actly like Cicero, aud not a bit like Grant. This came | ishment in a State prison deprives the person so convicted of the right to vote and certain other civil rights, no matter in what degree of the offense he may have been adjudged guilty. In some States a pardon restores such person to all rights of citizen- ship, while iu others, uniess it is otherwise stated in the pardon, it is merely a remission of the balance of the term of the sen- tence. In some States a special act of the Legislature is neces- sary to restore a pardoned criminal .to the full possession of civil rights. 2d. A native of Mexico must go through the same forms as any other foreigner to become a citizen of the United States, 33. When a portion of any foreign country is annexed to the United States, the native residents are of course entitled to the same privileges as other citizens of the United States. Were it otherwise, there would be no voters except such as emigrated from the other States into the new State. 4th. Copyrights are secured through the Librarian of Congress, and not at the offices of U.S. district courts, as formerly. 5th. Mrs. May Agnes Fiem- ing has written for no paper except the NEW YORE WEEKLY since her engagement several years ago. 6th, ‘“‘Fanchette, the Fawn” will cost 66 cents; ‘‘Mountain Tom” $4-cents.- R.O@—The Peruvians did have such a practice and ac- tually sacrificed their first-born children to suave, as they sup- posed, their own lives in sickness. So Aune, King of Sweden, sought the prolongation of his life by the sacrifice of nine of his Ons. ‘ Parent.—It is. all folly to attempt to deprive people of amuse- ments. Books and leciures are all very good in their way, but there must also be music, dancing, and-theatricals; all that is necessary is for good people to encourage and give them proper tone. ae ‘ Dairy Maid.—Your friend is perfectly correct, for it is a curious fact that the Chinese make no use of milk either in its liquid state or in the sbape of curds, butter or cheese. They eat treely enough, however, of snails, rats, and snakes. Young Subscriber.—The Nereids of mythology are sea-nymphs, described as being always in attendance upon Neptune. They are generally represented as riding upon sea-horses sometimes with the human form, but most generally with the tail of a fish. Curley.—""The Wonders of Nature”. were commenced in No. 34, Vol. XXX. The papers will cost six cents each. 4 M. B. Seafles.—Write tO the President of one of the leading. medical institutions,. Thera is oneconnected with the ahesiery. -of Buffalo, one at Albany, one at Geneva, one connected with the University of New York, and another at Bellevue Hospital in tiiis city. You will thus ascertain the requisites for admission, the cost of tuition, lectures, etc., and all other necessary informa- ion. : er lend.—We have no copy of the British army regulations, and nnot answer your queries, F nr. r L'The Little Flirt,” whichk-we will send you for 25 cents, contains the desired information, Stroke Oav.—The rowing machine, used by the leading gymna- siums of this city, aud considered to be the.best, will be furnished ior $35; glycerine, for dlling cylinder, 35.eents; desk for ma- chine, $5; thermometer, $4; boxing, Sl. : Thurles.—MSS. tor publication should be wrktten on one side of the sheet, on white paper and with black ink. The pages should be numbered by the author, and the matter broken tuto chapters and paragraphs, and punctuated, at least'as far as the sentences are concerned. The mivor. punctuation miurks will be inserted by the compositor. The size of paper used is immaterial. Constant Reader.—The insurance company reterred to is sound as we know, . I M Epaic W.—Polishing irons are $8.25 each, if that'is what you r to. Mf . i T eguciant Readky.—The Governor of New Jersey is elected for a term of three years, and cannot hola the office for two consecu- tive terms, but may be re-elected after an interyal of one term. | Workingman,—There is no objection to you reprinting the reci- pes and items, butany attempt at will be stopped, L brokers in this city. ei J.C. Parkis.— ‘There is no law prohibiting the office. ee , A Rosinante.—The Spanish pronunciation of Quixote is ke-he-ta. The English is quiz-ot. Tine cca eames one ea eR CTR The following MSS. have been accepted: ‘The Picture that Hangs on the Wall,” “Sabbath Morning Thoughts.” The follow- ing will appear in the Mammoth Monthly Reader: ‘‘Artless,” “Harry Jagger’s Wager,” “Lines,” “The Unbidden Guest,” “To My Sisters,” ‘To W. H. B.,” “Verses./ ‘A Word to Parents,” “In- vocation,” “Origin of Christmas,” “The Old »Story,” ‘The Old Love Song,” “A Reverie,” “Cast Upon the. Waters,” “I Know Not,’ “Phe Governess.”’ The following are respectfully declined: “Belle Lee's First and Second @hoiee,”’ “Old Times,” “The Old -House.on the Hill,” “Beauty,” “tA Woman's Detanse,” “A Sad Truth,” “Life,” ‘Poetical Billet Doux,’’ “Reconciliation,” “Hu- manu Life,” ‘In Love with Two,” “Speak Kindly,” “Woman and Temperance,” “A Pair of Ghosts,” “Parting,” “Youre Married, and Must Obey,” ‘The Sailor Boy,’ ‘The Lost Mariner,” “Under the Snow,’ “Be Brave and True,’’ ‘“‘Deatl,” ‘Lines,’ “The Art- | Lament,” “John Sharp,” ‘What did-I Dream,” “At the take. TO PURCHASING AGENCY CORRESPONDENTS, In response to the queries of our correspondents. who send no address, we give the prices atavhich the following articles may be procured through the NEW YorK WEEKLY Purchasing Agen- ey: Spectacles, steel frames, pebble glasses, $20 per dozen; “The To Orphans,’ 75 cents; Haswell’s “Mensuration,” $1.25.- - ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT. Hicbara:~1st.. We see no way for youto get out of your present difficulty butto declare yourlove tothe young lady. She will eilher give yousome encouragement or bid you cease to hope to win her love, Any alternative is preferable to suspense. 2d. She may be very-much in love with you, yet maidenly modesty would sogtea her showing her love unless she was first assured it was ught..; .* tae? Bovdbie T.—The propriety of a gentleman kissing a young lady friend ‘previous to -his going away, to be gone along time, would depend entirely upon the nature of their drie iii. We hold that a kiss is sacred, therefore, should not-be" edupon any unless very dear friénds or relatives. urs trothed lovers are understood. to be-very-dear.. Ho yo we do ot sanction too much freedom in any case. a Frank.—I1st. By being polite and lad; the affections of a gentleinan may be won much quicker than by showing that you are in love with him) sMen -had much rather win than be won. 2d:: Your own judgment ought to determine the motive the gentleman bad. in telling you. that he loved you. He wilt, find some way to asK you to be his wite if he desires to make you his, ~~ Susan.—By being always polite and lady-like to all, you will be enabled to retain the friendship and esteem of your gentlemen acquaintances without giving encouragement to any one of them to hope to have your society exclusively. Jane.—The gentleman who takes offence at trifles, yet professes to love you above all others, is probably jealous of your atten- tion to any one beside himself. For your own, as weil as his ae we would recommend that you refrain from annoy- ing him by your attention - to others, Love sometimes makes people jealous and watchful of the object of their affections. Ben.—If a stranger enters a pew where there are iadies, and one of them offers hima hymn book, he may accept it if the ladies are supplied with books; if not, he may decline to take it. After the first hymn has been sung he may place the book in the rest that.is always found inevery pew. Upon the second hymn being announced, he should turn to the lace in the book and hand the book to the lady that had proffered it to him upon his entering the pew. Broken-hearted Wife.—See answer to “Euchre and Croquet,” in last week’s paper. Millava A.—Iist. Your father and mother both being still alive, they are entitled to the name of parents: Your uncle and aunt have acted the part of father and mother, and there is no im- propriety in you caHing them father and mother. However, the relation remains unchanged. 2d. You are entirely too young to receive the company of gentlemen as lovers, or with a view to matrimony. ZLaura,—Obedience to your parents is not an indication of childishness, and does not prove that yoa are afraid of them. On the contrary, it 1s your duty to obey them, and we think it only shows that you love and honor them. To any one who taunts you with cowardice for being obedient to your parents, we would suggest that you have as little tosay to them as possible. We think only cowards would dare act in disobedience to father and mother. fixe and not too attentive, ————>-2<+___. The Ladies’ Work-Box. “Mrs. Lewis.’—A very stylish dress for a middle-aged lady, who is inclined to be rather dressy, may be made witli skirt slightly trained. Black or silver-gray silks are the most suitable and useful materials, and are handsome enough, and appropri- ate for anyand all occasions. Trim theskirt with a flounce chuep quarters of a yard coap, The new method for putting on these flounces is as follows: Trim the lower edge with a narrow ow of Knife-plaiting; measure off the depth you want the lower uffie; then -gather and sew on. the skirt; the top portion you may shirr in rpendicular clusters, and fasten down to the skirt, leaving the bound upper portion of the flounce to forma narrow ‘ruffle-above the clusters of shirring. ‘fhe Overskirt should be long, deep and full, and can be gracefully draped on the sidesand inthe back. Trim with, fold of silk, and edge of black point lace, or with a knife-plaiting the same width as that occa: Tile < A Horse Fair,”:,was purchased bt & gentlemen in Hoboken, Dn onthe skirt. Make the waist a basque, deen and rounding in tront and-rathor sliorterin the back. Have a shirring on the back of waist upand down, and alsoon the outside seam ot sleeve. Trim edge with large cording and the handsome lace, and the~ entire suit will be very rich. The gray silk trimmed with the black lace will be particularly elegant for reception or full dress occdsions. Sot’ frills of lace can be worn in neck and sleeves, or the large collarettes are now very fashionable as well as becoming to mratrons. “Rosa Bell.’—Why not get. a dozen or a half dozen handkerchiefs for the present to your friend. Christmas is so neat you should wait until that time, and then surely no one can object. We have the plain hemstitched tandkerchiefs with initials worked in them for $1 and up to $1.50 each. A novelty isin the French batiste, bordered with three broad hemstitchings of different colors, cardival,. white, and ecru; the ceuters are also@hecrn, 32 2 berg EOS, 2 an Beye De eae neg ec hg Rm me squares, and price $1:25each, Gloves, too; will be a suitable gift; We can send you handsome kids for gentlemen for $2.50 or $3a . air, and good substantialjgloves for $1.75. Neck-ties cost from 5 cents to $1.50 each. “Rob Roy.”—Get pants of doeskin, and cloth coat and vest. The new style coat is single-breasted, with waist and skirt of me- dinm length. The edge is finély corded, and’ there are five but- ton-holes on each side, which turns back to the second button from the bottom; the sleeves are finished with a cuff and two buttons. The vest is single-breasted, rolling collar, the three lower buttons closing. The pants are otf medium size, eighteen « inches across the knee and bottom, and with very little apriee. A halt-dress coat is made in the single-breasted, low roll, cut- A comfortable overskirt is composed of rough goods, and trimmed with Astrachan or shaggy beaver. The neck = - is finished with two frogs or loops, fastening in front and forming: a muffler. The edges of these are corded with velvet. Overcoats reach velow the knee. “Mrs. H...—Yak iaces trim very prettily and are very much used; nevertheless they certainiy are cheap trimmings, and as such one does not value them enough to transfer them trom one suit to another, whereas the guipure laces will outlast at least two suits, and are handsome as long as there is no tear or break- age. The guipure laces range in prices according to width and quality, and cost from 26 cts. to $2.50 per yard, while Yak laces the same widths range from 10 cts. to $1.25 a yard; the one be- ing silk, and the other woolen, or cotton and wool. We can get you the French Valenciennes lace for 50 aud 75 cents. a piece of ten yards. It is quite good and wide enough to trini infants’ caps, ruffies and ties, and also to make with inserting those white lace strips now used to tie around the throat above the collar. “Estelle M.’—Yes, we will send you a very stylish felt hat al- ready trimmed for$l0. Navy blue or bottie greén will become you. Trim in velvet the same shade. intermingled -with gros grain ribvon, with a bow on one side, anda _ wing or the head of a bright bird onthe frout or back. Velvet hats trimmed with ribbons and flowers will be much worn later in the season. We can get you one to cost from $10 to $15. The fashionable colors are rich and dark. Cardinal red is much: in demand; also all the lustrous blues, greens and purples, . “‘Housekeeper.””—Blue walls or lights are not becoming to all complexions, and in coloring a house one slionld be careful in making selection of tints. Pearl, dun color, and flesh. tints, are colors which suit all, fair or dark, while the blue reflection gives a dead look. Any drawings or pictures, or furniture against scarlet or pale-red walls, are wonderfully set off either by day or night. A room painted iu murrey color, a kind of dull light lilac warmed up with amber hangings, will also have a very delicate and beautiful effect. To revive faded flowers, place two inches of the stem in hot water; when cold, cut off this portion and place them in cold water, F “Mrs. and Miss Kent.”—The gloves most worn for ordinary pur- poses have (wo buttons; others have from. one to five, and range in prices accordingly, costing from $1 to $3 a pair. a good two. buttoned glove may be bought for $1.50 to $2.25. The walking shoes for fall are closed with buttons, and do not differ in shape from our summer styles. Wecan get them tor you at all prices from $3.50 to $10a pair. Very nice shoes cost $5 and $7a pair. Make your skirts of black; the arctic alpaca will be useiul mate- rial, While your overskirts and basques may be made of plaid a reproduction of our serials E. C.—tThere are about seventy-five regularly licensed pawn- President of the United States from visiting a foreign country during his term ot fabric. Scotch plaids are now very much in demand for such urposes. j ‘ . “Mrs. Fleming.’—1n trimmings we find a number of varieties in braid, moss trimmings, fringes in silk and woolen, also heavy colored fringes for suitings. Crochet buttons are used on siik dresses. And we also findmew fancy pearl buttons in hight and dark shades, rose-pearland white, ivory in dark shades, and also jet and horn in every variety. On biack . dresses, silk, or cashmere when. silk is used as trimming, the silk batton is the most suitable. The yellow cashmere lace is of delicate tex- ture, and resembles an English thread lace. Itis greatly used for millinery purposes, and also makes a pretty finish for neck- ties. Velvet is much used for basques, and trimmings of over- skirts, as well as skirts. The velvet striped silks are among the novelties tor winter wear, and are very handsome ig polonaises or any upper garments. 3 “LH B.—We can purchase all kinds of ready-made under- garments for you. Drawers, costing trom 75 cents to $2 a pair. They come with tucks, without and with the Hamburg edgimg, also, with tucks, puffs, edging and inserting. Chemises range from $i to $3 50 each. They are with piain fronts, corded bands, and inallelaborate designs, according to price, Night-gowns cost from $1 25 to $5, and, like chemises and drawers, are either plain or handsomely finished. ————_>- +__—_. OLD CHAIRS. When Mary and I were married we were very young and foolish. [had nothing to be married with, nothing but a brave heart, a strong arm, and my love for Mary. We repteda room and went to housekeeping. We gathered.a few articles of furniture, a tabie, bedstead, and a few dishes, but through inexperience our money gave out before the necessity of chairs ad entered our minds, Here was a cilemmat! J told Mary we must not commetuce our life by runuing in debt; she quite agreed with me like a dutiful litte wile, and laughingly said, ‘We must turn down the tubs, dear.” It was not long, however, before a kind neighbor, calling and noticing our lack of clairs from her perch upon a tub, offered us a half-dozen chairs she had no other use for. ; They. were old, ones to be sure, but they answered just as well for.us. Never shalll forget the new face those chaits gave our hitherto unfurnished room, or the satis- faction with which we altered the positions of our newly- acquired dignity (viz Cliairs) until we were tired out, Yeurs have passea since then, and J aman old man, the wheel of fortune has turued, ani’ my kind: neighbor and myself have changed places. She las become a poor childless widow, but through her mauy acts of neighborly kindness she has endeared herself to us, and never can L forget. those-old chairs. ‘ Alt now the secret is out at last. It was those “‘old chairs’? that had supported poor old Mrs. S. so long. She had been living upon the interest of a friendly act done years before, tiius carrying out the divine commandment to “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” Could we look into the hidden paths of life we should o{tener see them, and find itis. not self-interest nor riches that oftenest binds leart to heart; the simplest form ofa friendly act can do more far more than they. It is these friendly acts of kindness from one toward another that rob wealth of its power to curse, extracts the bitter from sorrow, and open the wells of hope again to the despair- ing heart. We do not always see the golden links shining in ‘the chain of human events, but they are there, and hap- | py is he whe feels their irrresistible influence. ZINA Fay. / i wot gh oon anche ce. ; ene cilinne Ane NSN aO ALCO et tise =