eee

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

Vo. EXKL,

   
 

 

BY EUGENIE.
A dear little child,
Both modest and mild,
Was mourning the loss of her mother.
F Her mother had died,
And sadly she sighed,
“f’ve no one now left but dear brother.”
The rest were all dead,
To Heaven they'd fied,
Her mother to join them was going.
Ah, who could but moan
To see them alone,
And the tears from their eyes fast flowing.

These two were as one—
This daughter and sen—
Their lives to each other were plighted ;
For grief always tends
To make them firm friends
Whose hearts are with sorrow united.

Their love was most true,
So firmly it grew,
That nothing on earth could them sever.
Thus years rolled away,
At least, so they say,
And still they remained just as ever.
At last, one sad day,
God took him away
From her, who so long was her blessing.
> His loss she bereaved,
She sorrowed and grieved,
And ied new a life most distressing.
And now in a room
Of sadness and gloom,
She lives all alone and unfriended ;
With thoughts of the past,
And thoughts that at last
She'll meet with the rest when life’s ended.

MOLLY MAGUIRE,

THE
TERROR OF THE COAL FIELDS.

By DANIEL DOYLE
A Mine Boss.

 

{Moll
ean be

Maguire” was commenced in No. 17. Back nambers
tained from any News Agent.)

CHAPTER XVI.
OPENING A COFFIN—A REDUCTION OF TEN PER CENT.

““What’s the meaning of that ghastly coffin, and
why is it standing there ?” said the general super-
intendent of the Black Diamond Goal Company,
addressing Harry Morgan as the latter came out of
the mine in response to his summons.

“That,” said Morgan, “is a message I received
this morning.”

“Rather agrim envelope,” said the superinten-

 

lent.

“Yes, but one that is used very largely, though,
by 2 certain class of the people around here.”

“There stationery is somewhat expensive,”
the superintendent, smiling.
the missive.”

“Well, no; I haven’t touched it any more than to
move it from the mouth of the mine, and then I had
some assistance, It seemed rather heavy, but I
presume that.is owing to the rude material of
which it is composed.” 3

‘T think you’d better look in it, Morgan; it ma
contain some combustible or explosive material,
and in that case would_ not a very safe
thing to have here in the Black Diamond Shaft.
One thing is certain, however, that if this place
@atches fire while the fellows are at work they’ll be
the sufferers for there is no other way of escape.”

“L see there is alaw about to be introduced; com-
pelling the companies to have two ways of ingress
and egress at all their mines,” said Morgan.

“A dused expense,” replied the other. “It will
never pass, and I hope it never will. There is no

necessity for such a law, and it will only increase
the cost of coalmining, and consequently lessen
profits a good deal.”
a on that I differ with you, Mr. Carr,” said Harry.

There is in my opinion a necessity for such a pro-
vision. Think of it; if this shaft caught fire to-day
with two hundred and fifty men in the mine, what
havoc it would make.”

“Care is all that is needed _to
dents,” replied Mr. Carr. “But, Morgan, you have
not opened yonder letter yet. Just see what it
holds, and then I want to have a private chat with
you in the office.”

Harry Morgan was not a coward, but it must be
@onfessed, he approached the coffin with a degree
$f trepidation, such as he had never before experi-
need even in his most trying moments of fear or
anxiety. What was it that made him hesitate, and
start back involuntarily as he was about to place

his hand on the coffin? Was it the fear that it
would reveal some ghastly picture or the conscious-
mess that he might occupy it that very day, and be
carried to his home in it.

It is difficult to say; nevertheless, certain it is
tiaat Morgan’s hand trembled as he touched the lid.
7‘he coffin had been leaned up against the wall, and
&) open it, it was necessary that it should lie hori-
zontally.

Accordingly, Harry in trying to place it in that
position found he had considerable difficulty in do-
ing so, and not thinking it was so heavy, he caught
it lightly, anditfellfrom his grasp with a dull,
heavy sound.

Somewhat heavy,” said superintendent Carr.

_ Harry Morgan proceeded with the work of open-
ing it, and soon took off the lid.

The sight his eyes rested upon made him start
back with horror.

Oh, jook—look, Mr. Carr!” he cried. “See that
a oy a eh

e superintendent, a man of iron will, ad #
pqpgad one into me coffin. a ies.

es, it’s a horrid face,” he said. “That man met
4n awful death. Do you know who he is?”

Itis very hard to tell, and yet the face seems to
me like that of Miles Murphy.”

What! the man they had you arrested for kill-
ing. This is, indeed, astrange business,” said the
eres ernoont. who notwithstanding his indom-
itable will, and_ well-known courage, felt his spir-
its a hy deai dashed at sight of the revolting

a said
Have you opened

revent such acci-

le.

“They will not let even thedead rest, when they
Want to use them for the purpose of persecutin
the living. What strange sorcery; what wicke
Spell is it thatso warps the mind of man that he
will do deeds so awful as to make angels shudder?”

rry Morgan restored the lid to the coffin, and
turned away, with feelings of fear and disgust.
This one sight and the experience of that day had
affected him more than any previous persecution
he hadendured from the same source.

How shall I dispose of that body?” he said, ad-
dressing the superintendent.

I think you had better have the matter reported
to the poor directors of the district,” replied the
Other. ‘I willsend a man atonce.” Andso saying
he dispatched a clerk from the office on theerrand.

hen calling Harry Morgan into a private room, he
bade him sit down.

Mine is not a very pleasant task to-day, Morgan,
borhning the state of affairs existing in the neigh-

orhood just now,” he said. ‘Yet it is my duty and
must be attended to. The company has decided to
reduce the wages of the workmen ten per cent.”

at’s very bad news indeed,” said Morgan;

 

 

 

 

 

STREET & oo) Nos. 27, 29, 31 Rose St.,
Proprietors.

P.O. Bow 4896, New York.

 

 

 

 

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Ellen sought to run jorward, bul wus precipitated into the cave-hole.

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“very bad. Why,the men can hardly keep them-
selves even at the rate of wages they now earn, and
with full time.”

“Why is it that they have money to spend on cof-
fins, and_maintaining secret societies?” said the
other. “Why is it that we see so much drinking
and rioting every pay-day if the men are so poor?”

Ah, but they pay dearly for such indiscretions
as you speak of. The revelry of a pay-day brings
in its train a whole month of want and misery.”

We can’t help that,” said Robert Carr, in a deter-
mined tone of voice. “The reduction has been
agreed upon and must be carried out.”

I’m confident the men won’t put up with it,” said
Harry Morgan, “andthe result will be astrike;
mark my words.”

‘Well, let them strike. We'll speedily find men
to fill their places. hy, the country is full of idle
o_o who would gladly go in for the prices we
offer. *

, that may be, but I_ don’t think it a sound prin-
ciple to work upon. However, if the reduction has
been decided on, all I can say won’t prevent it now,
so I suppose it will go into effect.”

Yes, and here are afew notices to be posted
around the entrance tothe mine. I want you to
keep your eyes and ears open, and see what effect
this thing will have. Also keep a sharp look out
around the breaker; these desperate men might
commit some depredation if they are not closely
looked after.” And so saying the superintendent
entered his buggy and drove off, leaving the no-
tices with Harry Morgan to be posted up on the
breaker.

It was a most distasteful task for the mine boss.
He looked at the notices several times before pro-
ont to putthem up, and while wondering to
himself what effect this would have, a man, sent by
the order of one of the poor directors, drove up
with a wagon, and took away the obnoxious coffin
that had been the source of so much annoyance
to him during the day. It was a great relief to
Morgan’s mind that it was gone at last, and so he
eae to the work of putting up the notices with
all speed.

Later inthe afternoon, when the men came out
from their work, they were confronted at every
prominent part of the coal breaker with the follow-

ing:
NOTICE.

On and after the 20th inst., a reduction of ten per
cent will take effect in all wages paid at the Black
Diamond Coal Shaft.

May 15th. Rosert CARR, SUPERINTENDENT.

The men gathered in groups around the notices
and seemed perfectly astonished. The company
was heartily denounced for this oppressive mea-
sure. Superintendent Carr came in for his share
of the curses, and many of the men strongly cen-
sured Harry Morgan for being a party to the reduc-

ion,

“Ah, boys, this is awful,” said Rory Regan. ‘‘They
are cuttin’ us down every day more an’ more, until
they starve us out altogether. For my part I won’t
do aturn undher that price.”

Neither will I,” ‘““Nor wilt I,” cried another and
another, until near the entire party had expressed
themselves firmly in favor of no work under the
reduction.

Arrah, what do they care for the min?” said
Thady Hooligan. ‘Shure we might stharve an’ die
like dogs, an’ they’d think no more about us.”

“It’s me own opinion,” said Regan, “an’ I am not
much mistaken ayther, that Morgan, the mine boss,
is the cause o’ that. It’s a pity the murdherin’ vil-
lain wasn’t hung for killin’ Miles Murphy.”

““Mebbe a piece 0’ lead ud putasthop to him one
0’ these days,” said Hooligan.

“You had better be careful what you say,” said
Charlie Blake, speaking up. “I think you are too

 

ready to aceuse Morgan of everything. Now I

 

 

 

 

 

NEW YORK, APRIL 17, 1876.

Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1876, by Street & Smith, in the Ufice of the Librarian of Conoress. Washington, D. C.

 

 

 

WY NIM

know there isn’t a man in the mine more sorry for
the reduction than he is, but he can’t help it.”

“Ah, thin, Charlie, avick,” said Regan, “fot’s kem
over you of late. Oneudthink you were in ‘Co.’
wid the mine boss be how you are goin’ back on yer
own counthrymen.”

“You know it’s false, Regan,”’ the young man re-
plied. “I have no interest in Morgan, but I like to
see men have common sense, and _not accuse and
foe teee aman in the wrong. I have not gone

ack on my countrymen, but some of them, I’m
sorry to say, are going back on themselves, and on
their manhood, by their cowardly conduct. Now I
won’t work under the reduction, and won’t accept
it no more than any of you, but let us put the blame
of this thing where it belongs, not on an innocent
man.”

“Begorra, you’re right, Charlie. Them is manly
sintiments, abouchal,” said several in the party.
“‘An’ nayther will we work ayther,an’the Black
Diamond Shaft can go tothe divil.” :

It was then decided to hold a meeting of the mi-
ners’ and laborers’ society that evening, to take de-
finate action relative tothe reduction, after which
the men sought their respective homes.

The news of the reduction of ten per cent. in the
wages of the men at the Black Diamond Shaft,
spread like wild-fire throughout Shanty Hill, and
in a short timeit was the theme of discussion in
every miner’s hut and onthestreetcorners. Groups
of angry men stopped and talked.oyer it every-
where—in the stores, atthe safoons, and in the
streets, and the very bitterest state of feeling was
ealled forth against the company and its officials.
It was the second reduction that had been promul-
gated at the place within six months, and this, too,
at atime when coal commanded high prices, and
when the Black Diamond Coal Company was enjcy-
ing an unusual degree of prosperity, and declaring
bigger dividends than it had ever paid before since
its organization.

It was no wonder then that the spirit of discon-
tent, so rife throughout the village during the af-
ternoon and evening, made itself felt at the meet-
ing of the workmen held in the public hall that
night. The hall was crowded, and so indignant
were the men that each wanted to express his indi-
vidual sentiments on the subject, in forcible terms.
For a short time there was a considerable hubbub
prior to the openingof the meeting, but this was
silenced as soon as Dan Davis, the president of the
organization, mounted the rostrum. He denounced
in strong invectives the conduct of the company,
and took especial pains to poison the minds of his
hearers against Harry Morgan,the mine boss, who,
he said, was doubtless the principal canse of the
reduction, and took this method of being revenged
on the men for what he had suffered at the hands
of one or two personal enemies.

“But,” he said, “the men at the Black Diamond
shaft ate not to be beaten by such reptiles, and if
they have aspark of manhood, they won’t accept
the reduction.”

“More power to you, Dan!” “That's the talk!’
and similar expressions, greeted Davis when he
took the chair.

He was followed by several speakers. Some were
in favor of $e a committee to wait on Su-
perintendent Carr, and ask a reconsideration of the
reduction; but this action was deemed utterly fool-
ish by the majority.

At length a resolution was submitted, to the effect
that the proposed reduction of the company would
not be aecepted, and the entire body of men and
boys employed at the Black Diamond shaft would
suspend work on the afternoon of the 19th, unless
the company in the meantime took down the no-
tices, and centinued to pay present prices. :

This was carried, amid the wildest enthusiam,
and the meeting dispersed, every man’s mind being

 

     

waAn~

| of the coal fields, whether precipitated by employer

or employed.

 

CHAPTER XVII.
THE SLATE-PICKER’S FATE—FATHER JOHN’S BLESSING.

Widow Keegan’s heart seemed to stand still in

oe ae a with the wagon that suddenly halted at
the door of her hut.
_ She saw, through the narrow window, that
in the wagon an oil-cloth covering was thrown
carelessly over what appeared to be a boyish form,
and with all the acute anxiety of .a mother’s love—
always on the rack lest anything might befall her
boy, who already had a narrow escape from being
crushed to death in the machimery of the breaker—
she divined that the little heap of throbbing hu-
manity beneath the cover was her lad, and, with a
low ery of pain proceeding from her lips, she rush-
ed to the door and flung it wide open, pase as the
driver was in the act of lifting the poor fellow from
the vehicle.

“Oh! is my darling dead ?” she cried, as she saw
his swollen and bleeding face, and heard the heavy
sobs that came from his heart.

“Tm not much hurt, mammy. Don’t be afeared,”
was the reply of the little hero, who still sobbed
convulsively, and struggled to suppress such out-
ward expression of his violent suffering, lest it
might give his mother pain.

But his appearance, and the fact that he was too
weak to stand up, plainly showed ‘this mother that
the cracker-boy had endured some terrible suffer-

ing.

“My poor, poor Owny! Oh, alannamachree! what
ee oif you die from me?” said the distracted
mother.

“Oh, sir,” she added, addressing the driver, “is
oa bones broke, and how did my boy get

urt ?

The driver replied that he did not know what had
happened, as he had been called to carry the boy
away, and did not obtain anv information, but he
should say there were no bones broken.

“Thank Heayen for that same!’ Then maybe my
boy won’t die.”

“"No fear, mammy. No bones broken. I'll tell you
what happened when I’m able,” said Owney; “but
I’m very sick, and I’m weak, and, oh, sotired now!”

The mother kissed him tenderly, and wept, and
even the rude driver was touched to the heart by
the affecting picture, as he turned away.

“What are those scars on your face, Owney, oh!
and what are those cuts on your shoulders, avour-
neen machree ?” said the mother, as she washed the
blood and dust from the boy’s face and neck.

“It was the cracker-boss, mammy,” said the suf-
ferer—‘“‘it was Mick Moran that did it. I was tellin’
the boys about how I saw Miles Murphy murdher-
ed, an’ I didn’t know Moran was listenin’ to me;
but he was, an’ he bate me with the rawhide until
I feli down, an’ I didn’t know anything agin until I
was in the wagon. Oh, mammy, mammy, my head
is so sore, So sore!”’

“May the divil cut the hands o’ the cracker-boss
asthore, for his day’s work, an’ for the pain he has
given you and me this minit. But Owney alanna,
didn’t I tell you often and often, not to say a word
about that murdher, for your life ?”

“You did mammy; but I forgot about that, an’ the
boys wanted me to tell so bad that I couldn’t ox
it. Don’t cry mammy. I'll be able to goto wor
to-morrow,” and then as if exhausted with this ef-
fort the little fellow ceased speaking while his
tears flowed freely on the coarse Dew niga upon
which his nine head lay. He closed his eyes at
last, and his mother hoping fondly that he would
g0 to sleep, did not speak to him again, and moved
as softly around the narrow room,as though the
floor were paved with barbed arrows, that would
pierce her to the heart should she step too heavily,
while she struggled to repress eyery sob that arose
to her lips, lest a sigh might awake him whom she
turned to look at every minute.

Widow Keegan was once the wife of a miner who
during the war earned large sums of money, when
labor was scarce in the coal fields, and lived hap-
pily. In her young days she enjoyed the benefit of
a fair education, her parents having been in good
circumstances, and in common with a custom then
popular in Ireland among the “‘quality”—as the
middle classes were respectfully designated by
those in an humbler sphere—her father kept a tea-
cher in the house to instruct the family. That tea-
cher was William Keegan, with whom the lady at

resent under notice, eloped from her home and
its comforts,and came to America. They located
in one of the most stirring districts-ef the coal
fields. For atime Keegan taugh night school
and so maintained on a scanty pittance himself
and his young wife. He frequently tried to obtain
& position as teacher in one‘of the public schools,
but the system of educaeton. being different to that
in which he had been trained, he found it impossi-
ble to pass an examination. and so baffled in that
which he had h@ped for, and stimulated by the
high rate of woes earned by his neighbors, as well
as by the desiré to make her happy who had linked
her life with his, he finally decided to go to work in
the mines. Jt was with a very reluctant heart that
his wife said “Yes,” after he laid his plans before
her, and painted in glowing terms how they would

fully made up for a strike—one of the greatest evils { become rapidly rich and prosperous. All the min-

 

 

 

 

 

Three Dollars Per Year.
Two Copies Five Dollars.

 
    

 

 

 

 

 

FRANCIS S. STREET.
FRANCIS S. SMITH.

Wo. 22.

 
   

ers around them were earning ten es a Mey
each at the time, and at that rate he sai woul
ony have to work a few short years ee.
and they could go back to Ireland and purchase a
little farm for his earnings. So he went to work
as a laborer; then becom acquainted with the
modus operandi of | ae e speedily obtained a
chamber in the mine, and for some time did yery
well. But one dark day, while engaged blaine
coal, the roof of the chamber where he stood fe
upon him, crushing his life out, and so he was ¢ar-
ried home a corpse to his young wife and ¢hild.. Of
their struggles after his death it is searcely neces-
sory, tosay much. They were severe struggies for
Widow Keegan. She worked hard, and. wept bit-
terlythe first day her son Owney went to the coal-
breaker as a slate-picker. But the boy was a cheer-
ful and a willing lad, anxious only toaid his mo-
ther, and glad that he was the means of doing so
even by working in the breaker.

Now that it seemed he was about to die, the tired
mother sat. musing as to what course she should
take next if left alone inthe world Often and of-
ten, she thought she would write to her parents;
but no, they were too proud to aid her. They felt
that she had disgraced them by “running away”
with a “schoolmaster,” and were content to think
that she was dead and forgotten. It would not do
then to write to them, she thought; better meet dif-
ficulty and death bravely even in astrange land,
than give callous-hearted friends the opportunity
of inflicting their sting of pride upon her.

The lengthening shadows of the afternoon fell
aslant the cottage floor, as she satin their midst
weaving reveries, and occasionally sobbing, and
casting an anxious glance at the boy in bed.

“Poor Owney!” she said, “he has not said a word
to me for some time. I must see if he sleeps yet.”

Then stealing sc“tly to his side, she kissed him.
He opened his eyes wide.

“You, mammy?” he said.

“Have you slept any asthore?” she asked.

“Oh, no; but I kept my eyes closed for fear ’dsee
you cryin’,” was the pathetic response. |
_. Oh, you must not mind me if I cry a little, agra;
it is a relief to me, because it will aise my head.” |

“Mammy, if any one was goin’ to die wouldn’t it
be right for them to see the priest first?” | :

“To be sure, Owney; but you are not goin’ to die,
achorra.” :

“I don’t know, indeed,” said the boy ; ‘but I think
Td like to see Father J ohn.”

h, my son, you can’t see him; he’s worse off
than yourself, and Uney nam he’s at death’s door.”

“Well, re won't you _go and see him for
me? I think I’d liketo have Father John’s blessing
before I die.”

The cracker-boy’s great affection for Father John
O’Neill will be easily understood when we state
that he was one of the altar-boys at St. Joseph’s
church, and being a dutiful, gentle lad, succeeded
in becoming the priest’s favorite. Often after mass
Father John detained Owney for breakfast, and
made him sit at the table near his side and tell him
allabout the kind ofa life that he led inthe coal-
breaker, and how he,in common with other chil-
dren of equally tender years, was chastised for the
least infraction of the rigid rules governing the
coal-cracker.

Widow Keegan was somewhat ote by the
nature of the little fellow’s wish, and she said:

“How can you get Father John’s blessing, Owney,
whep he is too sick himself to lave his ie

“Well, go.an’see him, mammy, an’ tell him to
send it to me, any way,” was the reply.

‘‘I cannot leave you alone,” she sai

“T’'ll be quiet until you come back.”

“Well, if you wish it, Pll go; I won’t be long away
at any rate,” she said, rising and throwing a shawl
gasune her shoulders. “I won’t be long away,

whey.”

And she kissed him tenderly.

“Tl be very, very quiet till you come.”

And the little fellow closed his eyes as she left the
cottage.

The servant who answered the bell at the house
of the Rev. John O’Neill told Widow Keegan that
she could not possibly see the priest, no matter how
pressing her business.

“But,” entreated the widow, “‘it is a case of life
an’ death, an’I only want to speak just a word or
two with him.” f :

“Pll go an’ see him,” the servant finally said,
moved by the tears of the visitor. :

In ashort timeshe returned,and beckoning to
Widow Keegan, whispered, “Follow me,” as she
led the way into the room of the sick man.

Father John O’Neill was in great pain. The bul-
let fired athim from the revolver of the assassin
was still lodgedin his right breast, the doctors
deeming it dangerous to attempt to extract it.

“Indeed, indeed, Father John,” said Mrs. Keegan,
“T’m sorrow to see you so low.”

His quick eye saw at a glance that she was in sor-
row, and he hastily said:

“You seem in great distress, Mrs. Keegan. What
has pone ee to you?” —

“My boy, Owney, is dyin’, Father, an’ he wouldn’t
rest aisy until ’d come an’ get your blessin’ for

im.
“Ah, poor Owney!” hesaid, “my poor little fel-
low! Was he injured at his work?
_ Mrs. Keegan then related the story as she heard
it from Owney, and its recital made the priegt for-
get his own sufferings for the time being, while his
eye kindled with anger at the brutal conduct of the
cracker boss.

“Oh, as must not despair, Mrs. Keegan, your
boy will not die. Have you had a doctor to see him
yet ?”

“No, thin, father, for I could not afford it.”

“Well, when my doctor comes here this ee
T’ll send him up to see the boy. Tell Owney that
send him my blessing, and that I hope he will soon
be well again. That will er him courage.”

The priest then touched a little bell by his side
and the housekeeper, a matronly-looking indivi-
dual, entered. aR :

“Mrs. Carson,” said the priest, “give this lady
twenty dollars.” : Y

“Oh! Father O’Neill, I won’t take a penny,” said
the widow. ;

“But it is for Owney, to help him through his
sickness, and I insist on your taking it.” |

Mrs. Keegan at length yielded to the kind offer,
and with many prayers for Father John’s speedy
recovery she set out for her home with a lighter
heart, wondering to herself how happy her boy
would be when he learned of his reverend benefac-
tor’s great kindness. She opened the door of her
hut with a hopeful heart, and hastened to the bed-
side of her child. A sunbeam stealing through the
window fell upon his quiet face. | f

“He’s asleep,” she said; “I will not wake him
now.”

Then she paused and looked at him a few min-
utes. The very silence. made her start with fear.
She could not hear the breathing of her child. She
bent down close to his face, but no sound came.
from his lips. She lifted his head upon her arm,
and laid it ovingly upon her breast. Still he moved
not. She called his name sh pny 4 Dag vain. Lit-
tle Owney Keegan, the cracker-boy, was dead, and
the broken-hearted mother realizing the awful fact,
flung herself across his lifeless form and gave her-
self up to the wild excess of her unutterable woe.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
A LIFE-FOR-LIFE ADVENTURE.

For several days Ellen Sefton seemed to linger in
the balance between life and death. The shock she
sustained in that awful night when she was. borne
from the burning building in a state of semi-suffo-
eation, threatened her life, and her friends feared
she would die of it. But even a greater calamity
than this was dreaded, and that was the loss.of the
fair girl’s reason. At times she raved and talked
incoherently, and struggled as if endeavoring to
escape the flames which she fancied in such mo-
ments were raging around her. These spelis gen-
erally seized her during sleep, aad tortured her for
along time after she awoke, so that she actuall ;
dreaded to fallasleep. “Nature’s sweet restorer
was often a torment to her, and her parents’ hearts
were breaking day by day as they watched the sad

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
      
 
 
      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
   
 
 
 

 

      

 

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4 2 } ‘
; } 4 eas a ee <A cenn = SS
gee a ee ae ee ee a Eee te oer in Rar ‘6 : ay a Se rn”? ani 7 ly, but if he is the right ki i f he wil i 7
or : . irl’s lips. s But Sir Roden came to her and looked gently at You mind my words, Lisburn,” said the old wo- | Pensively, but if he isthe mght kind of aman, he will want his
eondition of the daughter whom they loved so ten- gueh.facabes irom Ps meet ei) clive. she Sruert | oot « ‘ man, “something is going to happen to the Ches- vk Beieeliee ee oo ey, Work ia:
ek 2 ‘ipi ~ ; a rs al L . Y A Subser > M1 s. : y BOX 18 2
deny strange,” she saidto her mother, one night, | into the cave-hole, a yawning abyss full fitty feet Eyelyn, what has changed you so ere prlolaes good thing for me, fo ther much valuable information from
in her moments of quietude, “that Harry Morgan | deep. Her lover terrified by her fate, uttered a cry|he said; “what has been done to you m wa to-day than it has ki

 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  

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; ry Pe ié erto me for|she went to-day than it has . Excuse this let- pS
or his mother neyer come to see me. I would | of horror as she fell, and maddened byt e desire mane Pr oe teak lan aie ter, please, asI hav Ghd in my lap»
scarcely believe that they could be so ungrateful.” | to save her life, flung himself in after her, “Vou had rnot i ere e, said; a if that’s the case y fou write at all, for the
BGR. a. joan) gk. Ee ea “papa is: the proper person to ABht mysisier's of Ce Bueee at? ie
mother, never told her how she’ he At . Ba > tae @ battles.” ee Se {ies grok: he, the office of the NEw 4
her lover, ok how on #wo occasions she had-openly oe ; t Tach she switke col y, the tears shone warm | fe ind ask to pee one of
and cruetly offended Widow Morgan in the'store ASLEEP IN HER CHAIR. ang right in her eyes ; she was mot yery quick to] “‘N Agency, they will be
wher the lattor inquired after Ellen’s health. 2S As ;  |feel, but something in the white, wan’ face and | stores, dressmakers,
owe all this Goring to them, and to your fool y (BY FRANKIE HOUGHTON. weary eyes touched her inex pressibly. 3 : i a they ma ane
desire to assist them in their ress. Besides,| Soe he — ae “ ‘oto ant ady Evelyn, shall never go a ee a ~
several of our customers have fallen away through | ~ Nellie has fallen asleep in the twilight, ia Bons a : nae evi ng appeal mane (ney ie or
your unlucky aifachmentifor Morgan, who (iso }) Fallen samp in her phair, ; ‘ances, or anything of that kind Ruitee fone. I
sincerely detested in this Behborigod. idiebid And the crimson flashes of firelight— ld not go baek to saye my life; and Lam quit
eter he! aE eee Bold lovers to do and to daro— ) erent what people say. If you will give me a -
di that I should have | ; 1 der your roof, so much the better for me
1d ; sorrow: whatsac-| Kiss her lips, and cheeks, and brow, sheiver under ze ur onan Ita © Ape ‘ ; .
see u ha py again?” ’ cr play in her rippling hair; iL refuse i > Tean e alone. bee cf matt oat Bd b a d such hues seem to a
a a 7 eg needless} es pe ais ieht ‘|. “There can be no question about it,” said Sir Ro- ok,” I ed, a4 e those worn in the past
“I think, Elle: rry your mind needlessly For Nellie has fallen asleep in the twilight, de erly; and again his wife interrupted him: | my wife, and shall submit to my mother? Nothing | sea vay and shape with flowers, — J
thinking of that worthless fellow. He Svidenie Bose Fallen asleep in her chair, “Let me talk this matter over with my sister, Ro- | of the kind; leave that bottle free!” ia anon bce ee oe Oe a on
atk core Seer en , eee mow that z aes i et iy Fe den. . Would not papa’s house be a better home for eden forget there are servants present,” said my | wool stuils have just been iamertea eee Se cba oe ;
men ‘Dp ) zi pees reathless, fe ‘ , ou, Evelyn?” , haughtily, i ‘ colors as violet, with its tenderer shades of mauve, dark myrtl F :
than anything else. as under the imprceston I gaze on the picture fair, ye 0,” she replied; “I will never ask his help or| ‘No, I ndu Why should you keep me from | green and dark’ blues chestnut brown, ‘and also black ve cok. +
that you gam epee Fg ye, And he And wonder what Nellie is dreaming, his protection again.” 13 fi drinking? How should Ispend my timeif Ldid a Poss! Bee aes encerskirt will be permit- : ;
loyed your mon yy M Wwoakl b Fast asleep in her chair— hall remain here,” said Sir Roden, author- | not drink? Iam driven mad. What is there for it | facefully hang in artistic drapery, thecos- i
i eels Reeve pore “ae Gros, d 5 ou Wonder of what she is dreaming, - itatively. “You shall not leave us again; and Iam_| except drink? You shOuld have though of that be- hanging pocket and cirdle on |
ase, You liked him at one ti inite. Were e, Nhe ite lly will ‘ pleased to be able to help you in any way, no mat- | fore you brought me-here,”» 3 ¢ ‘7 1
one your opinion or him should ‘change 80 eee i ee ig ear dl is leaning ter weet is said after this, Evelyn; you are at home . Pantone . uy P ets 4 did for your benefit, .
; , 1en she wak f e with us.” sne said; at is like @ man. gre ig ng asmany designs ag
eniy?” L: aah Leaning over her chair, She kissed his hand gratefully, Lady Courteney} ‘So is drinkin brandy like aman,” he retorted. sible. aré Mad@~of side ngs, others of tine knife
y dear, we not know Ben: bbe do now. ene standing by to see that no further amenities were} And in spite of his’ mother’s remonstrances, he Bia ting ol re near! ee oe forage reticules, a’ Bs
h een the cause, hroug ice ubborn con- The ring 1 gave"Her at parting, exchanged. Looking at her, they both felt that un-| half-filled a tumbler» with brandy and emptied it. | 7am at s dainty bows upon them. or the
g this fearé ee Shak date what The ring she promised to wear, less she changed, she would not Jong require a|Then he turned to Lisburn with a leering smile. ng dress, make them’ all the
c enily Hislikod and Gleams on her hand, so soft and white, hones d hit ith t d : kl t ror: he sare mA mere ene that little mat- S led ““dog-coll rs:??
43 . ae a Et atone en the: i e, With great, dark ter, let me ask her what she says. ars ;? bE
ie unless Morgan dis- As she sits fast asleep in her chair. Her face was wan and white, - r : : : Well’ 4s under the | o +
d ® would not be 1 tells me ahe has not forgotten the one sholiphsligmieat-ontibs day sho ld been wansne Lael ocaial Caesar St oe |
i : 2 ’ ’ ye bbon, ho a ie
ts Cea ay" Whose fortunes she promised MAYS, .ing for something she had not found; so ill, so| The dowager looked up quickly; the earl mut- Sion; theta ao.
ai thatthe, aie ia. And of whom, perhaps, she is dreaming to-night fragile, so delicate, that as she watched her, tered an oath between his teeth. ; es, the necklace in a we
¥ nat De . ert While fast asleep in her chair. ady Georgie forgot everything but that unless she She would do it, too, if she thought it would an- color like that Of fe & £
: oh eons. Bee : altered she must die; and Sir Roden speculated | noy us,” said the dowager. ‘ er nches Of
roe they mada, thelr At last two white lids slowly open, how much could be done. toward killing a wife} But her son moved uneasily on his seat. ii “A. L.—Paaserial
ig ne eee it was only Two brown eyes frightened stare, without falling under the absolute penalty of the ig epog mother, hangs AL come to that,” he | designs, and entirely wit , )
" ’, , 7 , rest on the tall, dark figure, aw. ' sald; should not like that. , J are worn by ladies)
eir petty craving, for re ee ial a ne Then, after atime, she told them her story—all It would not be my fault,” she replied, angrily. | in the height of pop of
Pihink him. BO ama eae + ° ones @arling n : about the jewels and her refusal to write an = = rt going fo - mars os She chooses oe Sendine th r handsome fringe eppaldenaihy a
1@ Vil ) Then a glad ery rs : apology. ae erself, how can I help it erhaps you wish to | ¢§ a range. 10h" canine Or
% re fond my father baliaye ope Startles the still air, For a great wonder, Lady Georgie thought that | give in'to her; if so, go and tell her 8o—it sine | Bese ee eee ee eee ed i comeee ch, eee . ‘
; me Baw. pe Na Ne And Nellie is no longer asleep— her sister had done well, had acted rightly, had pleasure to me to remain here, I am sure. », | Come as popular as were the Spanish peants, E.two or three sea-
oe Vito mn a Oh’ he must be Fast asleep in her chair, maintained her dignity; Sir Roden loudly applaud- I bike pe were no women in the world, sons gt a enand. alan
= § . » UO, 0 . e er. $ a s groane e earl, ~ ee ~ , , SS a ow S wt y et e 4
d moe eet, eae A sudden swish of garments, “You will take proceedings against him?” he aut Rae nce — Need Oe One was elgnema aie Bith or March ay 4 *
; 733 os Two white arms around me thrown, id. *> soi rejoin © : a : © 10th of January. Hownear do the dates.comé'to yo m ages?
it he Seetcete secuted a great deal And Tein that Nellie has not ehanged, “I shall appeal to his pride first.” she replied, | Lisburn here.” e You are both blondes; the others are blonde and brunette, “fou
} r, after all, hasn't he? These bad men seem That Nellie is still my own “not myself, ut through my solicitor. If he con-| (‘Is'that all she said?” he asked. can take your choice of materials from camel’s-hairs, either in ;
; er, afte . Lhese b at Ne er. sents to my living away from him on the plea of in- , Yes, my lord. She cried out that she would never | plain, striped, and plaided patterns: These come in but few 3 ie
on taking the poor fellow’s life. But of what were you dreaming, I ask, ill be - if E uld rather kill herself.” colors; @ bluish gray ora grayish blue is ntuch admired. Invis- . {
aes h child,” said Mrs. Sefton, whose 4 compatibility of temper, all w well; if not, we | give in—she would rathe : F : ible shades of green, navy-blue, plum, drab, brown and drab are i ey
p Hien dowhtle ote her for her misrepre- Digan ea ancer over there, must go through the dreary drag of the Divorce | Then, thinking she had said enough, Lisburn in demand. Then theré-are the Khickerbocker ¢cloths, cash- ae ee
_ 0! See foot ethos sae ee BS think ne And, blushing, she answered, “Don’t ask what 1} Court. Oh, Georgie! Iam so tired! Let me rest.” | turned away. . meres, pongees,, Empress; cloths, tamise, brilliantines, and “wi Heo: fi
Transl GNOO kt Y ui t y tainks Ba t6 dteain They took her her room, and Lady Evelyn twas growing dark then, and agray shade lay | other such fabries. The summer Silks are xery pretty and ex- ih ths
jnore of it to-night. You must certainly be very : se thes d found somethie® like rest at last. over the sea; the sunbeams had long since died in | ceedingly cheap. Youcan get-very good silks ior 7 cts and $1 :
tired. You know you slept none last night. 3 When I fall asleep in my chair.” = 3) Onteeing daliedy Gourtendy wrote to |tha welt Mareold treok tind os blowing, and the | ayard. Now as tomaking the suita; you will see the new oat
“How, I do dread going to sleep,” the poor girl a ae Lord Knoban and told him what had happened. | waves ‘broke into great sheets/of foam on the destens yee Sa eRe Of Sbring tashions; and by looking at the
said, “That Dorie I fool tly “aan Sebo poart 4 aes His lordship had a great idea of his eldest daughter | shore; the night promised to be cold, dark, and | prief description which Gur @yideeWittalowaTR bicker ‘ 2
ae rane, oe ve Mile b a f bad on . tr to b a E ] ’ Fo —her worldly knowledge and tact rather awed him | stormy. Lisburn heard the wind sailing round | suit will be very pretty for the elder sister, and exceedingly use-
and scorching me, while a band of ba @ y a V ve yn Ss ll ¢  |—and when she wrote that: “After this Evelyn | the old gray walls, sobbing and ery ike a child | faf; but such :a suit ‘is expensive, tnless you have an old silk ,
hold me down lest I might escape. ~ | could not possibly return to her husband,” he knew | in pain. er i dress to make the grenadine over: For $1 yard you can get a
What you imagine a band of bad men at sucha oatiaes ee Chesterleich alli ah k Heaven,” she said to herself, “that good quality.of inon-mesh grenadine. Woolen, the silk and
Rare : ; RP erg: _° | that all the advantages of the Chesterleigh alliance an eaven,’ she saic herself, ‘‘that my f { ; _ Silk |
time isno other than your father, my dear, who , BY THE AUTHOR OF sgt SN lady is safe out of this. I will wait until it is quite | YOO! tange in_ price from $2'to'$t a'yard. ‘The new stylesof | ¢ .
; h f tti t of bed ; % were at an end. ? ; ady out o Ss. 1 qa grenadine are striped and cross- lace stripes alternatin ‘| ‘
has to come and hold you from getting out of bed, A WOMAN’S TEMPTATION, He told Rex, who listened attentively; and then | dark.” with plain stripes, small, thick checks and ie |
inyariably try to do. Try and remember Van : vex, Hi VERY 5 & : * .y i , ith plain stripes, small, thi § and. open lace-work be-| |
as you 1 : to ne ei it struck him with wonder. They all Knew that she All unconscious of the tr edy Was SO SOON | tween. Damask and brocaded grenadines pra very elegant, and }
that, if such foolish fears ever come 4 epee or (“Lady Byelyn’s Folly” was commeneed:in No. 53. “Back Nos. | had been ina kind of prison, yet not one among |to be enacted in those walls, ish Stood by one | can be combined with plainer styles. We-also find the yélvet. |
again. But'I hope they won’t. The doctor or can be obtained from any News Agent], had t asked or eyen seemed to wonder how she had | of the corridor windows, watehi the last gleam barred pas — srenadines, imens, Cambrics,and muslins
your mind had grown strong none now to be i ___. Wet ica ped: of light die over the waters. d carried out | *"° alrea yin demand.
nig fem ee Pet attae ae ami, walle CHAPTER LXIx, <a Lord Knoban was greatly annoyed. her maneuver EO. cleverty pa no ie suspected 4% Fe
“ ‘ 2 . in life-when life itself seems] “No man can manage a houseful of daughters,” | her. Noone ha e faintest idea that there w: ta
' ne mother bat anx thant bias orcinalee dee hours to stone ieee @ boatman rests on-his oars, | he said. “If my children had been boys, 1 should | anything Wrong, but devoutly believed that Lady [ Our Knowledge Box.’
wore on tediously. Neither spoke a word. One by | Such a time came now to Lady Evelyn and Rex; /| not have had any nonsense ofthis kind.” » | Svelyn was still in her room, .¢ Sie
one the sounds without died away. The voices of | they entered the boat, and the keen, swift strokes ‘Lady Courteney never gaye you any trouble, The last lin ring aloan died over the sea, and A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.
the belated miners, the hedvy tread of their feet | of the rowers soon took them from the shore. The | said Rex: “nor would Lady Evelyn have done so if | she knew the time ha come, alking quickly to

ayeme indicati sea, was, dark, with a line of light in the crest of | she had married for loveinstead of wealth.” | give herself an appearance of he S
ile tight wocroneha en ee Sul. | each. wave, The sky was dark with white, fleecy| “Whatever she married for,” was the fretful’ re-|she went Cow the long tek mation not only to'the parties especially seeking it, but als
ferer could not rest iveelinuns rew more pain- | clouds sailing over its face;.the wind seemed to | ply, ‘‘it is all over now—such an alliance, too! Any | burst open thaigeor of the room where mother and tiie aude Gh oe come DULnith foe ren eek a
ful at last than sound. Eleyen oP otosie came, and | lull the waves; rather than’ lash them into fury. | girl in England would have been proud of it. It is son were still sitting. eae 2 ee tne nites artes Ohotne Gatat vation
found Mrs. Sefton fast asleep. She was tired’ and | They rose high, but Lady Evelyn felt no fear. So | all thrown away upon her.” F My lord!” she cried, “come quickly; my lady These questions are almost uniformly important ones, Sostite,
almost worn out watching at her daughtea’s bed- | the land receeded, and they were alone onthe wide| ‘I yenture to think,” said Rex, “that sheis thrown | has el" i Li + | SC Satistactorily answer.them, much time and labir." For this
side every night since the anf ort aeteetasn cs waste of waters. . ¢ aay. my ord”? os OR * an Wi was the irst to start from her seat | reason persons in future wishing thelr queries replied to by
took place, and her eyes yielding tothe subtle in-| They sat together at the end of the boat, and Rex th’a little she might have managed ; ho

® and agitation,| _sg~ We take pleasure in responding to every question address-
s, and suddenly | ed to us im this column, for the anaw oes generally afford infor-

  
 

mail, will please inclose 50 cents to @rhy the expenses

  
 
 

  
   

 
  

 

+7. ; , Thea? necessarily incurred.
fluence, closed at lastin a profound slumber. The | said but little. ; I Sm Sore ; ; d- ane He od ee d ' ee Sf }
atient saw her dozing to sleep, and her spirit, too,|. “Give me your hand,” Would you have liked her to apologize to Mad- oe Meihow is oven Pet tn | Ungt c IN c ;
pa ates te akenn g ates exe a ed Og os dahon I : sked at ndow is open, but my tae TONS ANS WE ED AND INFORMATION WANTED. |

 
 

dered into the land of dreams. Toward midnight He held her hand; the bo
mother and daughter, nurse and patient, were | rise high, the wind wail an

 
   
  

1 f
Rex, with rem em is quite empty,
ba at and Giura te ase od ork “on, the subject, entitled “A
i his lordship. What is to-day? y Chesterleigh again; “were | Complete Guide for Coach-Painters.” Price $125. It you wish

 
 
 
   
   
   
  

  
 

 

 
     

t, write direct to the NEW YORK WE Purchasi 7

soundly asleep. fall, yet, polding his hand, pom or mae. ote uae pgoor S tea Ie to WARM: Bectine ae R P-L. No, 2. A little work, entitied “Painters ‘Mand
Then, hous id t] -|things. They werealone c upon wora, ; rang \ : nh : ual,’ will zive you e information you request. Price 75
rid viele CDInGruntarsute licens baie A: and Soon it might be ‘the at to say.” __.__ | a8,S00n as I found out what was the matter.” —_- | cents. | We have not the space for all the directions... . Myrtle.—
first she thought the house. where she slept was{|more. Every moment of t. ; paragrayh. in the fashionable By Heaven!” cried the earl, “she has throw — ae = Se Se Con Nes Woaeeee >: 4
Harry Morgan’s. A band of masked men stole | sical fear, was as nothi lect that the Countess of r- | herself out of the yw.” : at ale aires erkaiae tomee freely than water. 3. VARNISH
stealthily around it, applied the torch to it, and an | being touched with her ¢ ike | : at Lady Courteney’s. The earl He start rom air, followed by his terrified | $5%"hy. AWINGS, ETC.—Take of dextrine, two parts: alcohol, halt
instant later, the flames leaped up around her like| ‘Must you leave me, Rex he Re oe i nd. No one who read itseemed | mother and Lisburn. He hastened to the western | a part; water, two parts........ W. 0. H.—Ick&-CREAM WITHOUT
fiery serpents, each bending over her breast with| “Yes; this same boat wil ig x A i, One vivacious lady remarked that | tower, There stood old Andrew holding the use- | Ecas.—Mix a little milk and four teaspoonfuls of arrowroot;
his forked tongue of flame, while she, overawed by | and I shall make my way over the cliffs fagihe Lady Evelyn was glad enough | less keys in hishand; there wre, surely enough, | boll two quasts of milky, and attr toe arrowroot into it; thea add

 
  

  

i i j ) i , ‘ of cold milk, the sugar, and the fiavoring you preter,
h f at ? est town.” to leave Scotland, it must be very lonely there. But the empty rooms. 2 4 : ys >
migra) —rsippieorycan meget oye yy eT ey hope the yacht is a long way distant yet,” she | Ro one understood all that was comprised in those | “She is hiding!” he cried, and great drops of per- | A qatt of When bhir Haas eee Dot Ente
She struggled desperately to break away, and at| said; and then she told him the story of her im- | few lines. spiration started on his brow. he is hiding. My | wiu scudder.—PHAROAH’s SeRPENTS’ EGGS.—A substitute nearly
length, by a supreme effort, seemed to shake off the | prisonment, the mother’s stern cruelty, the son’s|. Lady ou refused for the first two days to leave | wife, ny REE young wife, has not killed herself! | as gooa as the original mereury compound, and su
D

; mor in not
spell, and rushed to the window of the. burning | meanness and threats. her room.

 

 

7 2 AG phe aes pagerecne, the pain, | She Ai ae to tease me, to frighten me. Evelyn, pete ppconoats ig. propered in. ihe Slowing wey spew pichro-
room. This sh u ° i i , an His face darkened, his eyes flashed fire, his heart © suspense, had all been terrible, she was pros- | come here ‘ 2 Sa, arts ; otassia rt; white su-
Teaph through it: found herself im gern air, beat with indignation. trated, It seemed to her then that she could never His voice, rising to a hoarse shriek, seemed to_| ee eee eee ev enia. Seaedbanthsertadtentet
and ran away [rom the dreaded spot with all the|, “Hethreatened to throw you from the window | care about anything again. Lady Georgie, in her | fill the old tower with untold horrors, _He trembled | size, and press the mixture into them. They are now ready for use,
energies of which she was capable, while she cried | into the sea, unless you wrote the apology, you stately way, was very kind to her. | in every limb, his face was ghastly white, his hands but must.be kept from moisture and light...Del—We cannot
aloud for assistance. :; . | say; then, Lady Evelyn, you are quite justified in|,,l always knew, eee. she said to her calmly, | shoo a ERS Se inform You... :-s,-.Josephus.—Take a trip to Florida....:.. oath

Mrs. Sefton, sleeping by the fire. was suddenly eatasing ever to return to him; your life is in dan- | “that in some way or other you would make a ship- ‘Eyelyn!” he cried, “Evelyn, I did not mean | Wm. J.4. ¥.—1. A cold in the head may often be relieved by in.

‘ ; i . haling through the nose the emanations of ammonia contained
startled by the fearful cry. She rubbed her eyes, | ger with him. : wreck of your own life. You never would be guided | thi Soa a aaaling Waits. & So wake ine-crécot-aume arene '
turned on the light which had been burning low, | “What a wasted life it will have been, Rex. Isold | by,common sense.” .,. | «eqgut iSuseless calling her,” said hismother sternly. | 47 “of volume 30. 3, To Mus Burren ScoTey — Take’ three
and looking into the bed where her daughter had | myself for the advantages that would ‘acerue to me|. “NO,” replied the young countess, a dreary smile | “Her death is worthy of her life-she was willful | pounds of best brown sugar, and boil with one and a halt pints of
beem, saw to her horror that it was empty. The|as Countess of Chesterleigh; now I have none of | brightening up the pale, beautiful face. o;_in | and defiant to the very last. ae water until the candy hardens in cold water. Then add halt a
window too was wide open, and in an instant the | them left, but the burden and weight of the chain | my case, you see, Georgie, I have been cursed with Where is she—where has she gone?” he cried pou Wiretien Coniienn puter Sen Ww ul voftetrthe candy.
truth flashed across the mind of the distracted | that binds me will be with me until I die. Icannot | feelings, and my feelings and failings have been one anes A thousand voices in the darkened air were incest aaiae oR ee ees Saker ERE ge LLAYS.

 

, ; ; Fl ith | if desired. So itute mol
mother, and she realized that her daughter in the | see that life has any charm for me; this deep water | and the same.’ ng him, a thousand spirits wae for him, on simp for: the water. “4. To MAKE ors WATERPROOF.—-Beet
midst of one of her wild and torturing visions had | has; there is rest in its depths.” Prey death and judgment were close at d; yet he | tallow, four ounces; resin, one ounce; beeswax, one ounce; melt
fled into the night, and gone Heayen only knows] ‘‘Rest for the body,” said Rex, “but never for the CHAPTER LXX. knew nothing of it; the very air around him trem- | together. Add, when cold, a quantity of neat’sfoot oil equal to
»% bled the mystery of the life that was so soon | the mass. Apply with a rag, warming the boots before a fire, to
where. soul. Only cowards seek such rest as that, How cleverly Lisburn managed could hardly be : Lat W
She heard her agonizing cry as sho ran off across|_ Then they came to the yacht, and Rex held out | described, Her one object was to give the unhappy | t0 Close; but he knew nothing of it. “Where has Gpplicenionswullmanton the booty thoroughly, waterprodt aug
the village; she peered into the night in all direc- his hand in farewell. lady ample e for escape; when that was done |She gone?” he eried again, turning to his mo- sail keep them soft. 6. SUPERIOR RECIPE FOR Ich CREAM

tions, but nowhere could she catch a glimpse of the It must be so,” she said, and he saw bitter tears|the discovery m made as soon as the SB . One gallon of cream, two pounds ef rolied loaf sugar, one tea-
sufferer. Then hastening to her room, she cried: |fallfrom her eyes. “Oh! Rex,how am I to say pleased ; it wonld not matter, She was not an ex. |, The wild, dazed, mad eyes frightened her: With epoefelot lot iemnen. oa SARAIA ROG, Feb 8 beaten, and

“For Heaven’s sake hurry up and come with me; | good-by ?” ‘ y act theologian, but it is due to her to say that she TOES ORSEEE ed pang pre pepyed. el tof thor | tneds malt Welle Newco ee thoseen vas ehe natig tee
Ellen has escaped from her room, andI don’t know| There was some few minutes’ parley when the shrank from telling alt the falsehoods that. she fore- | Ih vans MST wDy Seay, “no Geeuh-warrant Of Mer noshd be web Gaakdiatin eae eusaateenace Gite ee
where she is gone. Let us hasten in search of her boat reached the yacht. Rex had need to summon saw herself compelled, as it were, to tell. It was for

son r
g P “a cream; by this means the cream will all be flavored alike........
or she is lost,” all his courage then, for it was the moment of part- | her lady’s sake, and though Lisburn could not ex- She has gone there,” said the dowager, sol- | Towis stock Kerosene oll witiremene rust....S. E. B.—For

AS : oe pop-
George Sefton alarmed ~ this startling news,]}ing. Captain Blake and Frank Thane were both press herself so elegantly as Lawrence Sterne, she |@™nly, “and human eyes will behold her no | corn balls, see No. 12 of volume 31....D..N.L.andJ. TS

 

»s.—We
hastened out of bed, and haif-dressing himself ran | there to receive her, and they promised him once | had agreat.idea that the recording angel might | Ore.” : cannot inform you... -N. S.—Castor oil and brandy used regular-
from the house together with his wife to seek for | more never to. lose sight of her until she was safe | “blot out the sin with a tear.” With a cry that was like no human cry, he rushed aay bred wal help thie he ke hair... Sam Paton ar

the wanderer. They were fairly bewildered at first | under the shelter of Lady Courteney’s roof. He} The first thing after the doors were opened, and |t© the window where his helpless young wife had destroy warts. Apply it very carefully so as not to touch th
not knowing which way toturn. A short distance| bent over her withagrave tenderness that was Lady Evelyn’s breakfast had been takeean, was to | Spent so many weary hours. There, below, in the | sx; C rusaan . Tig id

 

¢ ; Ui as Sealey, the Rusher.—We advise you to go to Florida...
from where their house stood the place was full of | beautiful to see. tothe dowager, and tell her that the young | ‘Hick darkness, lay the heaving sea; there stood | Rose Danton,—Care or CANARTES,—A lady thus tells how ‘sie
,cave-holes,” where the surface of the earth had| “Good-by, dear Lady Evelyn; may Heayen bless Batintess was ot well, and did not care to get up. Seen Fr poe of ee pan and my ee hag “erent | Gok Witt Bes, ore ss ba a PY Prine the birds
fallen in over some deep-sunk and worked out | you, and send you safely home.” “You. seem better yourself, Lisburn,” said my la- iL. Bar Cy eh or the oo Fs en OTS SEOPD | Vad Cee ciuehh Grintreds eotid tc tes ahepdhers Mate by iheuston-
mine, and should Ellen Sefton wander ino one of |. She made no answer. but turned from him with a dy. “How award. and clumsy you were last eve- | Heaven! if she were there! : ied | ing them to plenty of light, and air, and company, rather than,
those she was lost. Some of them were twenty or | little cry of despair, and that cry was, to both gen- | ning.” ’ Evelyn! he oo tend hs hoarse ‘yoice died | as'sometimes recommended keeping the cage ina dark room, for
thirty feet, some fifty feet deep, and nearly all were |tlemen who heard it,a compiete reyelation ; they am better, my lady,” replied the maid, meekly, | ®W@y over the waters; “Evelyn!” he cried again; | fear of frightening the birds. Make just half the fuss generally
half-filled—or filled with water.” understood then why Rex had longed so intensely | wondering to what the dowager alluded. and his mother hastened to him. | Bea te alttok Ute MES Pete Cee TERE: ares, OE
The thought of their daughter meeting death in | to save her, and yet would not join the yacht. “And what isthe matter with your mistress? An Take care, Talbot ” she said; “do not lean out so | cess in raisin 8. gar,

* 7 oth ‘ i . 7 » 9? they willeat. Itisthe bestthing for them. And if your
such a way set the broken-hearted parents almost| Captain Blake looked at his friend with an ex- | attack of bad mper, I suppose.” far. You will fall; you cannot save her.” »» Bird feels hoarse at an time, put a piece of fat salt pork in the
Out of their wits. They knew not which way to | pression of pity in his eyes, She turned awayin| “It may bo that, my lady; Icannot say. She does eau to eed oe aman: ing laugh ii 1
turn or where to look for her. At last they aroused | silence, and went to the little cabin that had been | not wish to getup. or see any one” iaaiama lite sincon ora ima eink 1 if ;

. afew of the neighbors, and some went in different ent forher, and there she fought her battle,| “I think weall return the compliment,” said the | * Shei there,” he cried, “olit on the waves! Look a sey “ aretaee eee eer ce TCHR FOLD. soon
~ directions. he , unaided and alone, The temptation of suicide was | dowager, witha grim smile. “Iam not aware that uilier Mette whtts hands.) -Bhe dd ollie: Sor they. ell cond at yoehenieahd Ay to nisee SREGeners: your
‘The May moon was shining; the night was calm, | strong upon her, and terrible to bear. She loathed any one wishesto see her. If there is anything she % or Yas t h a ial “ hitet Lar ae tt, | voice is heard. I had one who came regulatly to my deck ‘ast
bright ae pena ; fer poset St ie thenghits of are help cena San et wants, let nome ie a eye ani if she ies mo ok at her face—all white! Iam coming, | f°? writing each day, and disputed with flutteri wing and open
arry Morgan lay dozing in bed. Suddenly he e who always been so proud, who h efied | wants.a doctor, though. Perhaps Ihad better come c beak. my humble right tothe inkstand. He would take his bath
heard athrilling cry. It was a wild, unnatural|her sister, who had laughed at hee warnings, | myself, and §eé how sho is going on.” - | avhether ‘he was mad or intoxicated—whether he | as I held the cup jn may hand, and coolly Gry hitgeelf on my heai.¢

i h ine i i i ; “ ; ee Ki 8 “ leaned out too far—will never be known until the | Another would fy down or up stairs to me whenever T ¢

yolva, vet t ere was something its weird tone that| slighted her advice. Why should she live? It| “The very thing,” thought Lisburn, “that you |? rag Thi Lady Chester-| him, and many a time, when'T have been out he has wela
seemed familiar. It was repeated again and again, | seemed to her as though the whole fabric of her | must not do.” Still, she was too wise and wary to 1 rd h ahs 8 ont Se y q nt th. , | my return by flying down the stairs, and singing at the top
growing nearer each time, until at last itseemed to | life had suddenly fallen to pieces. At Glencairne | contradict the dowager. “Perhaps,” she said, di- | (7/87 010) Aor font th a terri She Docks into the | Yolce all the while, until at last, perehed on my shoulde

Sweep past his window like the wailing of a winter | she had longed only for liberty; it had seemed to lomatically, “that my lady wants to see you, and | Silence of the night, he fell down the rocks in © | would accompany me to my r Smi

cage, and see how the little fellow will enjoy it. Give him flax-
ng nd to | seed’once in a while, and if he appears dumpy occasionally give

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

oom.” ,,....Smithy.—Ot cou
blast. He hurriedly pulled on a portion of his| her that, if she could be free, all else would come feols sure you Will come if you think she is ill.” seal é
clothing, and looking out saw a female form in| with freedom; now she was indifferent to it. What] “Ah! yea! Isee.' You think it is a sham, then? Cee MEDICAL DEPARTMENT.
white and with eveled hair rushing as if fleeing | could freedom—what could life offer hernow? So|So do I,” said the dowager, with more foreé than , ‘ A.C. 0.—Nutertive Foop.—Try this remedy. One ofo
from some awful fate across the village. | she lay on the little sofa in the cabin, and but for| eloquence. “Then. my good Lisburn, I will disap- | wits respondents—suffering from ‘constisiton, dyapepata, ey
She is in great distress,” he said, “and it would | deep sighs that came from her lips, one might have point her; I will not go tosee her. You area very The Ladies’ Work-Box. ral nervous prostration—to whom we recommended it. w
be a cowardly thing for me to remain here while | thought her dead. She did not eat or sleep more | sensible girl for giving me the hint.” aa tae us that it helped him a great deal. It is, indeed, a valuab
she munere. I'll follow her.” than once during that long journey. The friends! And so simply did Lisburn manage matters, that

L I : , C Catalogue of Patterns now ready, price 6 cents, | Paration, tor, while it acts asa cathartic, it has often the
ia ily catching up his revolver, and pulling on | grew anxious over her, and talked to each other in |the whole Rousehold very soon understood the send ote EW YORK WEEKLY Purchasing ieuacet . of increasing flesh: “Take two teaspoonfuls of tump mis
is ing

oots he ran out just in time to catch a glimpse | grave tones about her. young countess was not well, and was unable to get one teaspoonful of saleratus, Pentti or ee

of the white apparition as it was about to disap-| The end of the journey came at last, and once up. For two days it passed’ off very well, and by : ma - Foto Tale ere dy belt a eee Pe ik, and-one pis key
€ s ’ . : “ Bel De an hers.—Man -{t ik and water united over the fire, and rub t
pear beyond a slight eminence. He followed swift- | more Lady Evelyn found herself safe and free on | that time Lisburn began. to hope that her mistress | poetic Bell. ute Hintatien:? hd ot eee ae: | we onl exied ote

: . : . rted walking suits are made of cambric, and other wash fa- | with a little cold water to ‘make a thin paste. (Just wh
and soon came in Sight of her again, and heard | English ground. The gentlemen: lost no time in | was safe. On the third day Lord Chesterleigh sent | brics. The followinigy model is particularly pretty and appropriate | milk and water begin to ged etiin the paste. This will
her heart-rending cries. She seemed as swift as a attending to her. They drove at once to Lady|forher. From the red, swollen face, she felt sure | for such a purpose; The suit consists of two ents, skirt and | thin porridge, which should

oil about five minutes, Att
deer, and bounded off in the direction of the mines. Courteney’s, taking her with them. It was only |that he had been drinking heavi

 

 

  
 
 
 
   
   
   

 

 
   
         
   
 
 
    
  
 

 

 
    
  
  
 
  
 
   
 

 

 
    
      
     

 
 
 

   
 
  
  

 

   
  
   
 

     

     
      
  

 

 

    
  
  
 
 
  
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

iy Falking lengeh thin oust of sie’ yor ncading the tack | Satie magnesia patesca aad nea eee ete
: 3 : . Ss : cn * ’ walking len is cons six gores wi e bac li £ sia, pl 3
mere roomie: peeetnad his speeds sae when sa sat in the .carriage with them that she What is the matter with Lady Chésterleigh ?” he breadth, which is: also gored. All the fullness is thrown back-| salt. Sweeten to suit the taste. This may be drank thre
_ if the p oncr goes much farther in that} seemed to remember. how. much she owed to|asked, in a thick voice. 1, | Ward by the gathering at the top of the skirt, A flounce about | four times a day, especially in cases of dyspepsia atteniie
direction,” he said, ‘she cannot escape the cave- them; then she held out her hands to them. “I do not know, my lord, except that she seems ill | three-eighths of a yara deep, ishemmed at the bottom and acidity of the stomach, or in eases where there is a tendé:
holes andshe is lost. “How am I to thank: you?” she said. “The ti " athered at the top, and set on as decoration, the heading being | lose fies!1, arising from a debilitated condition of the system
i i : ee eee ed band ful E| SSS. & CO,, Myself, J. B.C, A. RB. Johnny Care
The race was long and tiresome, but Harry was | may come when you will know all you have done} “Ill! then why does she not try to get away from | formed aa oer erate aes ere, aon tent eee * Oy Mame a, Hn A. 2 Ate y
swift and strong. Yet he wondered how a woman|forme. You cannot know now; and the time may | this yas Unhappy! then why does she not do shee: iy When tea eaten beboneteh ae The Saleneting! and ‘B.C. L.. A Boy of the World, and L. L. D.—I8-GRowIN
Could possibly maintain such a rate of speed. » ©} come when I shall be ableto prove to you my grati- what I want her ?” after pattern No. 4,220, price 40 cents. Any suit material makes | —This most painful disease of the nails is caused by the in
t must be some spirit,” he thought, ‘‘some evil} tude. f Lisburn knew betterthan to reply. With the earl up pretty by this pattern, and the garment may be trimmedin a | manner of cutting the nail (generally of the great toe), and | i
spirit perhaps leading me to destruction and to} They made some answer about the pleasure it|she never assumed any part,and he knew her to be | variety of Ways according to the taste of the wearer. Each side | wearing a narrow, badly-made shoe. The nail, beginn
death. TNE : had been to them to help her. She did not ask | devoted to his wife. of the front is Atted by a single dart, and by curved édges|whieb ERE SO ONE Ee cited tate ete,
Again that piercing ery fell on his ear, and made|them to enter Lady Courteney’s house—it was| “Look here, Lisburn,” he said, in a half-reckless, ae a ee Be ee een to the Dott aeaNeE eT gins to grow wider in the aide where it was ent’ of, and,
his heart ache. ‘ fe getting late in the evening when they arrived—|half-tyrannical manner, “go and argue with my attached to the back edges of the fronts, and after Pelien laid in | Shoe pressés the flesh against the corner, the nail cuts more 4 2
<Ah, that can be no evil spirit he thought. - {and they stood on the pavement while the great aan I want something—some writing from her, | plaits are fastened to the back skirt below the waistline under | more into the raw flesh, which becomes excessively tender a
tis some poor creature in distress, and I am | hall door opened for her. They never forgot the}and she will not give it tome. Argue with her. If1 | large bow of the material. Under-arm gores and side-back'ad- } irtitable>- If this state continue long, the toe becomes’more an
bound to overtake her now if iteosts me my life.” ale, beautiful face turned to them. She held out} can get it E will give you—let me see—I will give \just the back, no additional fitting being required. The skirt of | more painful and pate fapaas (grand ces Poon
fie ran rapidly forward and was. fast gaining | her hand. you fifty pounds the very moment you bring it to | the back is long and square, and falls in many folds over the top from the sorest points... Walking greatly pacreases ae nil ing . «
round the fleet-footed head of hi $f -by,” id; ‘ ” ry + of the flounce on the dress-skirt, All of the skirt edges are bor- | till positive rest becomes indispensable. Begin the effort at cure —
£ upon the ooted woman ahead of him. Good-by,” she said, ‘and thank you. ‘me. Fifty pounds! now is not that worth some dered with a wide band of cambric, cut in slashes and bound. A | by the application to the tender of a) small quantity of the
I he was now but a fow yards before him,and.so| That was Thursday evening; they remembered | trouble ?” square pocket, also slashed and bound, decorates the front at | tincture of perchloride of iron, There is immediately a moder-
absorbed was he in the rae ques, that henever | the date afterward. “It is indeed, my lord,” said Lisburn, humbly. each side. The sleeves are in plain coat-shape’ without trim- | ate sensation of pain—constriction or burning. In a few min-
realized where they were until both’found them-| Then. Lady Evelyn stood alone in the superb} “I will not go near her: the very sight of her pale | mig, and linen cuffs edged with ruffies turn up over the wrists, } utes the tender surface is felt to be dried up, and it ceases to be > «
Selves almost hemmed in by deep and dangerous | entrance-hall of her sister's house. She noticed | face and worn eyes madden me, but you tell her for | While a collar to correspond surrounds the neck and falls over a Riot, now Gabe that he coc oamapon tc eaetoat cr ge
Caye-holes, the strange glances of the servants, how curiously | me, Lisburn, that I will have it: she shall live ada ey ae ee, i i ntti ed like flesh t infor two or three
i or Heaven’ ke, halt. d ” i 44 ; wos ;. 2 : Lina S.”—As your friend was so successful in preparing the | mitting the hardened, wood-like flesh to remain for two or
; irae gn's sake, halt, madame,” he cried, “or | they looked ather. She did not know that she her-| die in the old stone walls if she does ‘not send it to dye, perhaps she will tell you how it is done. We are sorry we | weeks, it can easily be removed by soaking the feet in warm wa-
*. you are lost,” as he saw how recklessly the woman | self had changed so completely it was hard to ree- pt? t do not know, for we wonkt like to give any information in our] ter. Anew and healthy structure is formed, firm and solid be- ° *
1g Mashed on, defying death and danger, and giving ognize her. “Perhaps that message will frighten her to death,” power to one who considers the “New YORK WEEKLY one of the | low. If, thereafter, the nails be no more cut around the cor-
Vi utterance every few minnieseto=that am: ‘ ourteney at home ?’” she asked; and it} said Lisburn. est papers ever published.” Wear the skirt of your stone-col-.| ners or sides, but always curved in across the front, they will in
\ cry. ee : } 7 er that her voice had a strange, un “So much the better; then I : ” but ored silk just as it is if not too long for a walking skirt; if so cut | future only grow straightforward. and, by wearing a. shoe of
\ 7 ; ‘ Fi 6°, _ 9 much the er; then’ can marry——,” but | it of until it just escapes touching the ground. Make either a| reasonably good size and shape, all further trouble will Be
1 At Boer in Harry , , a sudden sense of what was becoming came to him polonaise or an overskirt and basque of pour checked silk, and | avoided. , .
ength of her, but she brok awa i yhad not returned; she was and stopped him. “You tell her that, and see what | you can wear the overgarment, or garments, over your stone-| J. S. C.—Only a regular practitionercan aid you.
iad eeu aith y h Le . ee 7 velyn went into the draw. impression it makes upon your lady,” he added. aren skirt, a if = lave any baa skirts ay checks will go 2 RE 2, Gee Gitta Cadet eltaour cna.
ou used to the ing- h r siste rrival. 4: i i a ‘ i 2 i is- | With them nicely. ne waist you will not need. of water will generally cure a he é § -
found his dexterit Ute t the test i Sones | SDS -ee ; NG sters arrival. She Uppose it drives her to desperation, said Lis “Susie M, C.”—Yes, we will purchase any article you may de-| ach. 3. DysENTERY.—Half a pint of milk that has been scalded,
p 0 the test in trying to | lay dow d,for the first time | burn, seeing a way out of her difficulties : Y } ;
’ evade th hil hi th : r : 2 oT es : Pr : PP ee sire. The Cellerloid coral sets are quite pretty from the low | not boiled, taken at every meal, will generally eure, gradually >
5 ed mu ips y ile ne ought she whom he pursu- | since the rst bable escape reached tit drive her,” he replied, brutally; “you go rices to the highest. Those costing $3.25 are quite in demand. | but surely, severe cases of dysentery or diarrhea. A correspon- 4
. ee ead acharmed existence or she would | her, she cl her as rest indeed not to| now, Lisburn, and tell her what I say; then I shall Ves, Ulster overcoats are worn by little boys, and make the little | dent writes: “I have given warm milk to persons who had had
ave been lost long before... : see the cold ston: ay the surging of | see you to-night and know what she has to say.” fellows feel very manly. the dysentery for months, and in two days it was gone.’ 4. A
Vor Heaven’s sake stop!” he eried, “no harm the sea—rest, b Gradually the} “Iwill go at once,’ she replied, “and Twill tell | , “hillie.”"—We could hardly tell you exactly how many clothes | tolerably strong solution of salt and water makes a good gargle
‘ will befall you; but if you rush on you cannot es- | pictures and the here fell over | her every word.” to get for your bridal outfit, unless we knew how many you al- | for a slight sore throat. d , ; J F
t cape death.” " t.d : She heard him Havel hi h ready have. You will need a half-dozen each of undergarments, | F. 4. Z.—DRopsy.—It is said that obstinate cases of dropsy .
4 hestood on the bri k of 7e-hol Or a sweet, dream ; . i © heard him muttering to himself as she went night-dresses, stockings, etc. One or two walking suits, arecep- | have been euredina short time bya tea made of chestnut
rink Ol @ cave-hole, and looked | How long she had lain’ new ; but | along, but Lisburn was indifferent; she saw a Wy | tion dress, and one for morning home wear, and if you expect to | leaves, and drank in place of water.
4 ddenl : : ‘ , g 7 pec :
a eur enly around. f : when she roused at last, La rte! s bend-| out of her difficulties now, and away to frighten | attend parties, you must have one or two for evening purposes. | Penitent and ‘A Sufferer,’’—Not reliable. Consult a regular
uy H he spamesamne of the face thrilled and awed | ing over her, and the two si r him. She kept up herassumed part until evening; | Of course a trowsseau should be regulated entirely by your | physician, or read No. 12 of volume 31. b vende. 5 i
4 “yl organ, and he seemed transfixed where he into each other’s eyes. . " og she never forgot that evening, fox she had been pont ei tae in Sys If Se Satta er ee coat For costiveness, see No.3 of yolume3L. or
; . “Groat H it is El rin 899 : Evelyn,” said Lady Courte , down in the kitchen with old Elspie, who had made clothes, and let them’ be such ag will conipare well with those va Nine Years? Reader.—For dyspepsia. see No: J20f volume 3i.
/ fire he i od teens ae pear ia neat pa pened, Why doT find you here, ee L wen tee the terrible tales of ghosts, | you can afford to wear after marriage, We do not by any means Rose erie Wed kare nothing concerning them. 2 Cop-
. a. y « on ird voices, and strange warnings. suggert that because your husband is rich you are to ex- | sult only r pr ets.
me

 

 

 

 

 
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TERT SLA EAE A TS REE LIL E EELS LAO

$10

o ¢ = perday. Send for Chromo Catalogue. J
= $25 H. BURFORD’S SONS, Boston, Mass.

! SEVEN SHOT NEW Qe
with 100 Cartrid 3.0
Satisfaction guaranteed. Hlus-

 

 

 

EVOLVERS!
Buffalo Bill Revolver sent,

ges, for $3... Full Nickel Plate.
trated Catalogue Free., Address 4 :
1@13 WESTERN GUN WORKS, Chicago, Ill.

 

 

UFFERERS FROM NERVOUS DEBILITY

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aa A MONTH.-AGENTS WANTED. 24
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BO Y \— You can make MONEY in your Village or
»S School. ents ‘make $5 per day. 66
J. JAY GOULD, Boston, Mass. 13-6e.0.W.

 

ROSHS.

B@ Mailing Plants a Specialty.
Btcow. Ee ¥. TEA

 

Catalogue 6 cents.

 

HOTO Copying Agents, send for our new Catalogue of

Plain Copies, and fine India Ink, Water Colored and Oil
Portraits. The prices will astonish you; oldest and largest Copy-
ing house in America. Address TEN ExcK & Co., SO

*

NEW STYLE

DIAMOND VISITING CARDS.
The Latest and Nicest Thing Out.
~ \ Assorted (19 different kinds, including Snowflake, Marble,
50
Samples for 3 cent stamp.

 

 

 

EW YORK WEEKLY.

 

i
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7

2 mD C)

 

 

 

 

‘torches lap old cottage roofs!
1e8 that to the angels teil

y virtue dies ‘neath crimson hoofs,

‘Glory, from his brazen lungs,

vis down o’er all the lands afar,

From East to West, from North to South,
'*Long flourish devastating War!”

nd all her mad, barbaric brood

‘ake up the cry of fire and blood?

Thank God that from our crescive souls
This devil’s idol shall be huried,
This wolf which set the blood aflame,
And sent men howling thro’ the world;
For tho’ his shadow o’er us falls,
He’s but a substance of the past,
And fading down its murky skies,
He’ll reach forgetfulness at last;
And man will sing above his grave:
“Red War destroyed, but Peace doth save!”

So catching the prelude to that song

Which in the future shall have birth—
For War’s barbaric pans die

In rumbling dirges o’er the earth—
Whose inspiration will not spring

From bloody fields and cracking roofs,
Whose roMing rhythm shall not be

The echo of the chargers’ hoofs—
The song of Peace, I strike the lyre
With weak but with prophetic fire:
His faith is highest, as *tis best,

Whose love o*ertops the narrow creeds;
His fame is surest that is built

Upon the rock of gracious deeds,
Which shall outlast the brazen pile

Heaped from a handred bloody fields,
For everlasting victories

Are grayed on hearts, not flaming shieldss
For hate shall die of its own wild rage,
But the future is love’s heritage!

Placed in the front of jarring days,
O, thou hast chosen: the better part!
Turned from the empire of the sword
Unto the empire ofthe heart;
Sown the red wilderness of strife
With kindly deeds, until thy ways
Bloom fair with fragrant gratitudes,
Sound eloquent with songs of praise;
And this is sweeter than to be

 

Set in blood-ringed victory.

So shalt thou live and rule in love,
A love not born of thrift or place,
But the flowering of the grateful heart
So noted for-its quiet grace ; t
And while thy grim compeer doth sit
In self-made gloom, go forth and sow
This untilled earth with light and smiles—
Go boldly forth. for all men know
How Joyal worth has been misused,
And thou must heal where he has bruised!

 

Pleasant Paragraph

S.

 

 

 

&c.,) with your name on them, for 25 cents. Address
SP EAR, Medfield, Mass.
REE BY MAIL.—Send 75 cents for LAKE GEORGE
DIAMOND SHIRT STUDS. Money refunded if not satis-
factory. H. FORD & CO., Rochester, N. Y.

 

GENTS.—Twenty 9x11 Mounted Chromos for $1. Largest
assortment. Two samples free. by mail, 20cents. CONTI-
NENTAL CHROMO 00., 37 Nassau St., New York, 22-4
TO TAKE ORDERS

AGEN'TS eee eco oO
WANTED Secu ana pie rise,
PEARSON & PREDES, ie

Lilies, Roses, Violets, Carnations, Geraniums, &c,

The Greenbrook & Paterson City Nurseries mail 12 choice

 

 

varieties for $1.00, or 5 for 50 cts., with 3 Album Chromos or a

Fine Liliura Gratis. Samples 25 cts. Address J. GREIVES, Sec’y,
Box 837, Paterson, N. J. j

5 SPLENDID CALLING CARDS SENT FOR
25 cents. Agents wanted. Send stamp tor samples and
price list. Address M. D. MIX, Batavia, N. Y.

 

 

AGENTS WANTED for the new Book
NGS

by BRIGHAM U2 WIRKK
ER 1 ; I Z, A N o. 19. 25,000 already sold. Illustrated
renlars sent free. DUSTIN, GILMAN,

& CO., Hartford, Ct.; Chicago, Ills; Soe

YOUNG. nati, Ohio; Richmond, Va.
TRICKS ! can instantly thrust your finger through the
ug!

crown of a borrowed hat. The finger moves, and is .distinctly
seen. Suddenly it disappears. and the hatis returned to its owner
uninjured. Price 15 cents. The Enchanted Bottle, a
beautiful little bottle, which will continually stand erect when
laid down by any one except the performer, who can cause it to
lay in any position that he chooses. Price 15 cts. Both for 25
cts. ; $1.25 adozen by mail post-paid. Address EUREKA TRICK and
NOVELTY Oo., P.O. Box 4614, New York City.

“WHO WLLL SUFFER?’

It is now 28 years since DR. TOBIAS’ VENETIAN LINIMENT
was put before the public; warranting it tocure Chronic Rheu-
matism, Headache, Cuts, Burns, Bruises, Old Sores, Pains in the
Limbs, Back, and Chest; and 1t never has failed. Sold by Drug-

‘ gists. Depot, 10 Park Place, New York.

y ’ IN; 4 7 YH
TO OWNERS OF HORSKS.
TIO ONE WHO HAS EVER USED DR.

Tobias’ Horse Venetian Liniment will ever be without it;
it is a certain cure for Colic, Sore Throat, Cuts, Bruises, Ol
Sores. Warranted superior to any other; in pint bottles, at $1.
Sold by the Druggists. Depot, 10 Park Place, New York.

PIMPLES, ERUPTIONS, ROUGH SKIN.
The system being put under the influence of
Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Dicovery for a few
weeks, the skin becomes smooth, clear, soft, and
velvety, and being illuminated with the glow of
eck health from within, true beauty stands
‘orth inallits glory. The effects of all medicines
which operate upon the system through the me-
dium of the blood are necessarily somewhat slow,
no matter how good the remedy employed. While
one to three bottles clear the skin of pimples,
blotches, eruptions, yellow spots, comedones, or
“grubs,’ a dozen may possibly be required to
cure some cases where the system is rotten with
scrofulous or virulent blood poisons. The cure of
all these diseases, however, from the common
imple to the worst scrofula, is with the use of
is most poo agent only amatter of time.
Sold by dealers in medicines.

 

The Phantom Finger, with which you

 

 

 

   

 

A MATCH AT LAST.

A French connoisseur lately entered .a Paris
“curiosity: shop,” and saw a beautiful Dresden
vase. Asking the price, he was told £40, “‘And,”
said the dealer, “if I had the pair, they would be
worth £200.” M.A. offered £20, and came several
days running to renew his: proposal, but in vain.
Ono day a man came to M. A.’s appara to
showhim some old china _plates, and induced him
te visit his shop in the Batignolles. To his sur-
prise and delight, M. A. saw. in an obscure corner
of the shop, a vase exactly similar to the coveted
Dresden, and eagerly secured it for £48, with the
assurance that the pair, if forthcoming, would be
worth £400. M. A. rushed off to the first dealer, and
offered him his own price for the vase. “Ah, sir,”
said he, ‘you come too late; I sold it yesterday to a
dealer at the Batignolles!”

 

 

oR
od
Send for

 

 

 

YORK WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for publica-
tion anything whieh may be deemed of pafigient Saikeeet for
general perusal. It is not necessary that the articles should be

penned in scholarly style; so long as they are pithy, and likely

to afford amusement, minor defects will be remedied. ]
Sa, hh Mad at You.”
I’m mad at you, indeed I am,

You needn’t look so goods

Why don’t you ask my pardon, sir!
You know, you know on should,

That air of injured innocence
Is not for you to wear;

To think that you should take my hand,
Why, sir, how did you dare?

I’m mad at you, you horrid man,
What are you smiling at?

You know Iso detest a man
That does such things as that.

T really thought we’d be goed friends;
But now, I greatly fear,

Tl have to say I’m not at home
Next time that you call here.

I’m mad at you, and sorry too;
But still, why should I grieve?

Next time you’d be a kissing me,
I verily believe.

Go ee go way, you horrid thing!
This is too much to bear!

Now that will do. Why don’t you stop!
Do please go ’way. Now, there!

I’m mad at you; ’'m awful mad;
I’m mad as I can be! -

The curtain’s up, the shutters wide,

_ And every one can see!

You are thé most peo man;
I hate you now, I do;

Tl never let you come again—

Pm awful mad at you! C.''G.) L,
A. Bungling Braggart.
A carpenter, who is something of a braggart, was

telling us of ascouting adventure he ha
the late war.

Before starting out,” he said, “I put ona pair of
closely-fitting Rue ers, So that I could run weil if it
was et Ve had accomplished the object of
our mission, but just as we were returning, the
many opened upon us from‘an ambuseade. A shell
struck mein the leg; but though suffering the
keenest pain I still ran on. When I reached camp,
my boots, and found them filled with

during

“Boots! boots!” said one of his listeners, “why I
thought you said ae wore slippers ?”

This nonplussed him, and he could only answer
that “His hearers were to derned BROT DS i

Never Read the Bible. aT.

A certain clerk in a Western village recently made
the following comment on Pocahontas. Said he:

“Pacahontas was a great man; Pocahontas was a
kind-hearted man.” _

“Hold on!” eried his champion; ‘“Pocahontas was
a woman.” i

“She was, eh?” said he. “‘Well, that’s just my luck.
How am I expected to know? I never read the

Bible.”
A Pickled Egg.

Somebody gaye Paddy McGrath a pickled e
yesterday. Paddy bit it in two, opened his mut.
made a face, and said: :

“Be me sowl, I’d go before ony jedge or jury in
the wurreled an’ take me oath dhat the hin that led
that egg had the dyspipsy or heartburn, I dunno,”
and he made a dive for the pump.

The Yankee Ahead.

An Englishman was boasting to a Yankee that
they had a book in the British museum which was
once owned by Cicero,

“Oh, that ain’t nothin’,” retorted the Yankee; ‘‘in
the museum in Bosting they’ve got the lead pencil
that Noah used to check off the animals that went

into the ark.
What Girls Can Do.

George Eliot thinks that “girls are delicate ves-
sels.” That may be true of the sort George associ-
ates with, but the Brooklyn girl will make storage
room for fifteen or twenty buckwheat cakes every
morning, and carry them off without uttering a

groan.
A Bogue Punished.

A country grocer had frequently missed eggs, and
could not account for their mysterious disappear-
ance. The other day, while in the rear room. con-
necting with the store, his back turned to the store,
inthe mirror before him he saw the reflection of a
woman in the act of stealing some of his eggs and

lacing them in her bosom. He passed out atthe

ack door, and walking around to the front en-
trance, entered the store. Coming suddenly upon
the woman, he placed his arms around her waist,
and gern per an affectionate and prolonged hug,
he said, “Why, ae how delighted I am to see

ou!” She at last released herself from, his en-
wined arms, and scolding him for his imperti-
nence, hurried from the store, and homeward, to
relieve herself of the eggs, which the grocer’s ca-
ress had transformed into a disgusting mess.

Bitu Burtons.

Cornered Him at Last,

A Georgia miller, in a recent conversation with a
Chicago grain merchant, incidentally remarked
that dealers in his section wouldn’t need any Illi-
nois corn this year. ; j

“Well, we have raised it for you,” replied the
merchant, “and you are bound to take it.’

“No, we are independent now. Georgia will have
enough corn of her own,” retorted the miller.

  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

a sidieesiligtamniagatianagainanmameistiealeaaaraatten SS —— Rbk
‘“ 3 : : *, ; ra Teme Se ie CER th een
Well, we will feed it to hogs andsell youthe | 2quirer.—Copper cents were first issued from the U.S. Mint | n aVE 1 hin
: f t Ss ands F Copper cents were first iss 1 he U. 8. Mi nent, 8 never w sha j self a
meat.” = at Philadelphia in 1793. Their coinage was discontinued in 1857, sack we big or eae Pe a papal guyrwhgee
‘ the smaller cents, composed of copper and nickel being substi- re e was refused admission to the house, he

“Weare safe there, too,” continued the miller.
“Our people will furnish their own pork.”

Nothing daunted, the merchant d*scharged his
last retort:

“Well, we’ll make our corn into whisky, and you
ean’t get around buying that.” i

Georgia admitted that the grain merchant had
him there, MonTREAL, C. E,

The Lawyer and the Farmer.

_ Lawyer J., who lives in a flourishing little town
in Pennsylvania, while out g inhis neighbor-
hood one day, came suddenly upon Farmer H., who
was strolling leisurely through his cornfield with
his head bowed as if in deep thought. LawyerJ.
glanced at him, stopped his horse and cried out:
Hello, Mr. H., what is the matter with you?”
‘Oh, nothing,” answered Farmer H,, looking sur-

prised.

“Well, then,” said the lawyer, ‘why not hold up
your head and walk boldly and erect, like aman
should walk—like me, for instance?” said the law-
yer, and slipping from his horse he gaye an exam-
co standing beside his animal with head erect and

is form as straight as a liberty pole. ‘“‘That’s the
way to carry yourself,” said the lawyer.

A smile stole over the farmer’s face as he pointed
to two particular ears of corn in his field:

_ “See,” said the farmer, “that ear of corn which
is well laden bends down, and behold that ear which
has little on it stands up straight.”

The lawyer feeling that he was nonplussed by the
farmer, mounted his horse in silence and drove on.

A New Discoverer of America. :

Thé mother of a seyen-year-old boy, wanting to

show how smart her offspring was, asked him in

{ the resence of some yisitors:

0 discovered America?” : :
She and her visitors were astonished alike by the
answer:
“Bill Tweed.”
_ The same hopeful was asked in Sunday-school:
“What was the first living thing ereated?”
The answer came promptly: /
Grasshoppers.”

Reforming a Husband.

Mr. John Moretown was in the habit of staying
out late, much against his wife’s will. At last,
coaxing proving useless,she determined to teach
him a lesson. One evening, just aiter leaving home.
he returned for something he had forgotten. To
his surprise, he found the door locked, and knock-
ed for admittance. Ss wife, in anxious and en-
dearing tones, asked, without opening the door:

“Dear Willie, is it you?” “0

He was so astonished that for a moment he was
speechless; then he answered:

5 ee it’s not Willie; it is. John, your devoted hus;
and.”

He doesn’t absent himself from home now as
much as formerly, and often returns at an unusu-
ally early hour, but has failed to find Willie there.

) Lovis WIPPLER.
: An Indian Barber.

An Indian openeda barber shop ina Kansas
town, but he is not making a fortune. One day
while shaving a white man, he permitted his mind

HOLDREN.

 

(Most of our réaders are undoubtedly ca: able of contributin.
toward making this column an attractive feature of the he

 

ject, but she

rine Howa

to wander back to the happy days of his childhood,
and before you could repeat the multiplication
table backward, he had his customer’s gory scalp
dangling at his belt. Ofcourse he apologized when
fully realized the consequence of his absent-
mindedness, and offered to glue thescalp on at his
own expense; but this white man wouldn’t listen
to reason and
never go back there to get shaved. And he has kept

his word. )
, A Fugitive.

Occasionally, as a boat passes St. Louis, down-
ward bound, a red-nosed man, lost in deep thought,
may be seen standing in the bows. One hand rests
caressingly on a bulge gesembiiEe a flask in the
left breast of hig outer garment, and the other hand
resposes in a dignified way beneath his coat-tails.
His gaze is fixed earnestly on the infinite future.
He is a Chicago whisky man under bond fleeing to
South America, ~ ;

He Didn't Do Anything.

A man having two sons, told them one evening as
Aer were retiring: \ :

“Charles, I want you to go to Brookline, and
Henry, I want you to go to Medford the first thing
in the morning.”

In the morning the father sent for his sons, and
turning to Henry explained the business he want-
ed him to do in Medford. Then turning to
Charlies, he said: tai
is “And you, Charles, I want you to go to ‘Brook-

ine an
“But father,” said Charles, “I have been there!”
“What did you do there ?” asked the father. __
“T didn’t do. anything,” said Charles, “you dian’t
tell me to. ; F. W. HERCHENRODER.

 

 

Se

To Corresvondents.

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

urchasing of various articles must be addressed to the NEW
Fork WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, contain the full address .of
the writers, and specify the size, quantity or quality. of the goods
desired. Those requiring an answer must have two three-cent
stamps inclosed. Owing to the large increase of letters to be an-
swered in this column, a delay of several weeks must necessarily
ensue before the answers eppear in print.

NOTICE.—With every mail we rec@ive a number of letters on
various subjects, in which the writers request an answer by mail
instead of through the yarious departments. Todothis we are
compelled to employ additional help, beside being put to consid-
stable trouble and expense to obtain the information. This we
will cheerfully submit to when the questions are answered
through our columns, as the knowledge thus imparted will inter-
est and benefit the mass of our readers; but in the future, to se-
eure an answer by mail, persons desiring it must inclose a FIFTY

| CENT STAMP, topay Us for our trouble wes expense.

nay GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
Willie Grey writes: “Iam aregular reader of your valuable
paper, and I like it very much, and for the first time in my life I
come to youto ask afayor. I[amayoung manof twenty. I
live ‘with my parents, who have advanced pretty far in years.
In the last six or seven years father has been rather unfortunate
in money matters, and that has made him so discontented and
so impatient, itis miserable to be in the same place with him.
Now, Lwant your advice what it is best for metodo. Ihave
been thinking of going away, and of leaving him altogether.
But I think so much of my mother and sisters, it would make it
pretty hard for me to leave, because they have lost a good deal
of their money, and I should like to see them getting everything
that is necessary for a living. Butif Imake up my mind to go
away, there is nothing in the world that will stop me. Another
thing that troubles me very much is:_ A beautiful ‘pear | lady
of eighteen has won my love entirely. Ihave spent a good deal
of my time with her, and she seems yery well pleased with my
visits, But whenever I start to talk love with her, she don’t
seem to ongy it very well. Very often she will change the sub-
s never tired of my company, because whenever I

sit with her until nine or ten o’clock she comes with me to the
door or gate and lets me kiss and hug her ali I want. And when
I part with her she reaches her little head over the gate and
gives me sucha sweet parting kiss it makes me think there is
nobody like her in the world, and she always invites me to call
again. On one occasion she toldmeshe didn’t care to make
any etapa for the present, and at the same time
she tells me to cali again. There is another young
lady here who is not quite so good looking as
No.1, who has sent me a word several times.. On one or two
occasions I took a promenade with her, and she takes.great in-
terest in everything I say. She wants me to make engagements
with her, and she will do most anything to please me. ButTI
never could think of turning my back on No. 1, and keep compa-
ny with No. 2.. But I know that No.2 loves me as deeply asI
love No. l. Now, Mr. Editor, would you please be so kind as to

give me a little information as to what way is the best for me to

pursue in regard to this family and love affairs? My letter, on
account of its being the first, may be long and disordered, but I
hope you will be kind enough to publish it, and relieve me of my
trouble.” Children should not be too ready to flee from their
homes—it is a great mistake, With a loving mother and sisters
(even if your father is harsh and discontented), you will find that
there is no place like home. Beside, you owe it to your parents
to stand by them at least until you are twenty-one, Again, it
will be weil for you to remember the authority which says: “Tt
is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth.” Ifyou
cultivate kindness, love and patience amid your trials, it will
prove far better to youthan evena college education, cultivating
your manhood, and fitting you for the trials of your future life.
The condition of your mother and sisters ought to settle the mat-
ter, and decide you toremain at home. Your remarks about No.2
make it appear that you hardly yet know your own mind. But
if you are certain you love No. 1 enough to choose her before all
others, you should ask her, plump and plain, what objection she
has to engaging herself now. e very highest compliment a
man can pay @ woman is to offer himself, body and soul,
to her, and he has a right to know the reason, if she,
while professing foy word or act, as she certainly
does) to prefer him, really loves him, yet declines
to engage herself. The familiar love tokens, which she
is so oe to receive from you proves that she really loves kan
It is a very bad principlefor any man to make a woman’s love
for him the basis of attention toward her. If she is so unfortun-
ate as to fall in love with him before he has declared any love for
her or even intimated it distinctly by his attentions, it is her mis-
fortune and not his fault, and he will secure happiness neither
to her nor to himself by permitting himself to be betrayed by
such flattery. Noman ought tothink of marrying a woman if
he does not clearly prefer her to all others. : :
Morman.—ist. Henry VIII, of England, had six wives—Cather-
ine, of Aragon, from whom he divorced himself; Anne Boleyn,
whom he sent to the scaffold; Lady Jane Seymour, who died in
childbed; Anne, of Cleve, whom he tired of and put away; Cath-

, who was beheaded for adultery: and Catharine
Parr, who survived him, 2d. No. 3d. Napoleon I. landed on the
shore of St. Helena, where he had been sent by the British goy-
ernment as @ prisoner, Oct. 16, 1815, where he remained until his
death, May 5, 1821, of an ulcer of the stomach. In 1840 Louis
Philippe, king of France, procured the removal of the ashes to
France, where, on Dec. 15, they were deposited p@neath a mag-
n'ficent monument in the Hotel des Invalides.

K.—The idea of steam ferryboats was first suggested by
Fulton in 1811, and a company was immediately formed to estab-
lish a steamboat ferry from the foot of Cortlandt Street to Pau-
lus Hook, now Jersey City. In that and the following year (1812)
two boats, the York and the Jersey, were built under Fulton’s di-
rection and placed on the line. During the latter year Fulton
also built steam ferryboats to run between New York and Brook-
lyn, and whitedelppia and Camden. In consideration of the
above facts, it would seem that your statement in regard to
horse ferryboats must be a mistake. We have no definite infor-
mation as to the date at which the latter were discontinued, but
it was certainly longer than twenty-seven years ago.

. E. Foster.—We cannot reprint the sketches.

J. B.—P. G. loses. He could not win on a “catch.” j
W. B. S.—No prize has been offered for the discovery or inven-
tion of perpetual motion; if there were, no one would earn it, as
the thing is impossible.

lexander Dumas.—ist. Dumas’ ‘Homme-Femme” ote
Woman”) has been translated by George Vandenhoff. His
“Dame aux Camelias,” English version “Camille.” is the his-
tory, slightly embellished, of, Marie Duplessis, a woman of the
town, with whom Dumas had been on intimate terms, and who
died of consumption. 2d. Booth’s and Daly’s are both hand,

 

 

 

some theatres,

Infelice Iacans unhappy.

left the shop swearing that he would

tuted. The cents of 1787 were issued at the New Haven mint,
under a contract made by Congress with Nathaniel Jarvis.

H, J; W.—Apply to the Commissioner of Patents, at Washing-
ton, D.C. We do not know the charges for a duplicate ofthe
certificate.
_ J. R. W.—Works on natural philosophy tell us that when a ball
is thrown upward, every instant it loses a part, of its velocity,
until having arrived at the highest point, it ae remain norte
stationary for an instant, and in returning wou te 8 through
exactly the same spaces in the same time, and hence will fall
with the same force that it rises. Therefore, a ball shot out of a
rifle, with a force sufficient to overcome a certain impediment,
on returning would overcome the same impediment.

W. U. C.—The only way to break off a habit of any kind is to
resist the desire to indulge in it. Probably if you get pretty
thoroughly “polished off”? once or twice, your desire to test the
combative qualities of persons whose phrenological development
mee a disposition similar to your own, will receive a healthy
check.

Dinks.—The Mardi Gras _ festival which take place annually
on Shrove Tuesday in our Southern cities the day before the
commencement of Lent, isan outgrowth of the carnival which
takes place in Paris and the principal Italian cities at the same
season. In the European cities the festival extends over several
re or weeks, concluding with a grand procession and masque-
rade, in which the participants wear grotesque costumes of
every conceivable form and masks. After parading the street,
the masks repair for the night to the various masked balls of
every description. In this country the festival consists of merel
the procession and masquerade on the day preceding Ash Wed-
nesday. It was first celebrated in this country in New Orleans
by the French residents and creoles, Mardi Gras meaning literally
fat Tuesday. For the past few years the festival has been ob-
served in Memphis, Cincinnati, and other cities where the cli-
mate will permit out-door festivities early in the season.

Sebago.—Sebago Pond or ‘ake is in Cumberland county,
Maine. It is about twelve mi.¢s long and seven to eight miles in
breadth at its widest part, and 1s connected with Portland by the
Cumberland and Oxford canal, about twenty miles long. We
know of no book which will give further information. The aboye
is all we can find in regard toit. You might write to somebody
in Portland for such facts as you desire.

J. A. K.—We can find no biographical sketch of Gen. Helfer-

ich.

Little Oyster.—We prefer problems which may be solved by
arithmetical rules, as many of our readers do not understand
algebra.

Blanche Montrose.—ist. Charlotte Temple’s remains still re-
pose in Trinity churchyard. 2d. Any other person’s opinion is
entitled to as much weight.

S. MH. Douglas.—Old coins, autographs, relics, etc., haye only a
Sessions value, which varies with the competition of purchas-

Constant Reader.—The Queen of England receives for her
Bue and the expenses of her household about $2,000,000

F. Thompson.—We do not know to whom the land‘was donated,
nor where itis located. The paragraph is evidently cut trom an
old paper.

Ollie H.—There are no such appliances.
they may be set down as a fraud.

Archie C.—Apply at the office of the company. *

Well-wisher,.—It you have any employment at present, we sug-
gest that you remain away from this city, as there is little doing
in any branches of trade, and living 1s high.

Broemer.—ist. The top of a wheel moves at the same rate of
speed as the bottom. 2d. It did not appear in the NEw YORK
WEEKLY, 3d. Write to the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing
Agency for prices of printing presses. 4th. The five-cent nickel!
coins were issued in 1866.

H——d.—\st. Mrs. Miriam C. Harris is the author of “Rut-
ledge,” “The Sutherlands,” etc. 2d. A cipher placed before a
figure is a superfiuity, and does not increase it. Placed after it,
it is equivalent to multiplying the sum by ten. 3d. Manton Mar-
ble is the editor of the New York World. 4th. None appointed at
the present writing.

V. £. Z.—If you pay your agent one-third of the gross receipts
you will have to allow yourself considerable of a margin in the
~~ of profits to realize anything.

_Friend.—We are much pleased with your good opinion of the
‘NEW YORK WEEKLY, and hope to merit. a continuance of it.
Reading will not make an author, but will improve his style.

Capt. Mulligan Guards.—lst. Hamburg steamers leave Hobo-
ken every Thursday. The cabin passage is $100 and $60, gold,
upper and lower saloons, and steerag , $30 currency. 2d. The
railroad fare between New York and New Orleans is $42.50; time
of journey, seventy-six hours, or a trifle over three days. 3d. The
post office employees who deliver letters are called letter carriers.
4th. See a tourists’ guide for description of foreign cities and
their attractions.

. E. C.—The Chicago Legal News, Commercial Advertiser and
Real Estate Journal are all weekly journals devoted to the inter-
ests represented by their titles.

Granger.—Consult a lawyer in your own State.
copy of the statutes of Illinois.

Young Poet.—The sentiment of the verses is good, but they are
yery crudely constructed. Some of the stanzas would have to be
pups rewritten. As we have no time to do this, the MS. is de-
clined.

J. M., Toronto.—Stanford is a post village of Lincoln county,
Ky. There was no battle fought there during the late war, but
it was successively occupied by the Confederate and Union
troops, the latter encamping there on the 13th of October, 1862,

If any are advertised,

We have no

 

during the pursuit of Gen. Bragg’s army by Gen. Buell after the
battle of Berryville.

John Wild.—Ask the young lady for an explanation of her con-
duct, and if she admits that she has tired of your society, dis-
continue your visits.. Concerning the ring, if she refuses to give
it up, Enate is no way tocompel her to do so, as it is her own
property. : ‘

_ Clarksville.—1st. Whether a man can lay up money after pay-
ing for his board and clothes, in California, or anywhere else
depends on the amount of his salary and what he pays for boar
and clothes. . Without the figures we confess our inability to an-
swer the question. 2d, The rate of passage from New Orleans to
Panama we do not know. We presume there are no regular pas-
senger lines, and special rates would have to be made with ship-
ping merchants. .

Baltimore, M. D.—1st. Steamers leaye this port for Jamaica
and ,Hayti every two weeks. There is no line between Florida
and those points. 2d, A person who cannot make a living in the,
United States is not likely to better himself in a country possess-
ing less advantages and fewer opportunities. 3d. No.

". R. K.—Packages ot mail matter of the first and third class
are limited to four pounds. On the former the postage is three’
cents for each half ounce, and on the latter one cent per ounce.
Second class matter consists of papers and periodicals issued
from regular offices of publication and addressed to regular sub-
scribers, those issued weekly and oftener paying two cents per

pound; those issued less frequently than once a week, three,

cents per pound.

A. J.—Yes.

Ariel No. 2.—1st. Multiplication is merely a shorter method of
finding the amount of a number added to itself a given number
of times. 2d. There is little probability of your securing a cadet-
ship at Annapolis. ‘ ;

Steve.—The dramas cannot be procured in printed form.

Hobocom.—ist. We know of no work containing popular lec-
tures on various subjects. 2d. In Iowa there are some 35,000,000
acres, and in Ohio 25,000,000 acres of public lands. Write to the
Commissioner, General Land Office, Washington, D. C. 3d. Par-
ties who served in the Union army during the late war have
their term of service deducted from the five years required of
other settlers to perfect title to lands entered under the proyis-
1ons of the Homestead act. No land warrants are granted them.

Harness.—We do not know where you can find a purchaser for
scrap leather.

Jeanie B.—The fare to Montreal is about $13, You can F° by way
of New York Central or New York and New Havenroad. Either
route you will have to change cars. The temperature in sum-
mer is about the same as in this latitude.

The following MSS. have been accepted: “A Strange Deliver-
ance,” “Not Forsaken.”..... The following will appear in the
Mammoth Monthly Reader: “Blissful Days,” ‘Beautiful Age,’’.
“Faithful Love,” ‘Don’t be Angry, Darling,” ‘Bachelor Jones
on Babies.”’..... The following are respectfully declined: ‘“‘The
Beauties of the Season,” ‘‘The Repentant Sinner,” ““The Changed
Cross,” ‘John Maynard.”? i

TO PURCHASING AGENCY CORRESPONDENTS.

{In response to,the queries of our correspondents who send no
address, we give the prices at which the following articles may
be procured through the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasin; en-
cy: Moceasins, $2 per pair; “Steam and the Marine Engine,”
$2.50; “The Marine Steam-Engine,”’ $5,

——___—_>-9~+___—_—.

OUR LAST DOG.

BY MAX ADELER.

 

I bought a new dog in September. He was
recommended to me not only as a good watch dog,
but as a first-rate hunter and fighter, and the man
who sold him said that he only had one fault, and
that was that he was too brave. There isa stuffed
tiger in front of Yerke’s fur store in our village and
the first time I went down that way with the dog he
appeared to get excited when he saw the tiger. He
stopped and growled, and fluffed up the hair on his
back, and then all of a sudden he flew at the tiger
inthe most ferocious manner and fought with it

with such energy that the sawdust began to run,

out. I called him off, and while I was arguing with
Yerker about the amount of damage done, a very
small terrier came up and snarled at my dog,
whereupon my dog immediately put his tail be-
tween his legs and slid off toward home in a singu-
larly rapid manner. I began to have doubts if he
would have tackled that tiger if it had been alive.

He was only partially successful as a watch dog.
One night I came home rather nes penvealy from a
journey, and as I could not make the folks hear the

ell, [went around and made an attempt to get in
through the back window. While I was at it the
dog flew at me, and bit me ‘three times in the leg,
besides tearing my trousers, before I could con-
vince him that he was mistaken. But two weeks
afterward I discovered burglarsin the house early
in the morning, and after firing at them two or
three times with my revolver they fied. Then IL
thought I would go out and see what my watch dog
thought of it. He was fast asleep on the porch, and
when I shook him up he yawned lazily, winked at
mea couple of times and turned over for a fresh
nap. That was the only night since I bought. him
that he has not howled and barked from sundown
to sunrise.

He was asingular dog upon ahunt. I went out
with him in October after partridges. Every now
and then he would stop and point and I would
ereep up softly and raise the birds, but none would
rise. Then the dog would go ahead a piece, and
would point again; and I would make another
effort to flush the birds, but without avail. Mean-
while partridges were re thick a quarter of a
mile off on each side of us. At last the dog followed
the scent that he was on until he reached a tree and
there he stopped short and pointed persistently up
that tree. Creeping softly pat examined the bran-
ches carefully, and after a while I discovered out on
a limb a black and white house cat, which was out
on a bird hunting spree and which had been track-
edup by my dog for about foar miles.

He was aterrible dog for cats. He treed a cat
once over in Pitman’s yard, and sat down in front
of the tree to catch it when it descended. Mean-
while the cat jumped over into the next tree and
came safely down and got off. But my dog sat there
conscientiously for a day and two nights. And
when I picked him up by thescruff of the neck and
carried him home he looked at me with the air of a
dog that knew he had a poor ignorant master who
threw away splendid chances in the most reckless
and idiotic manner.

Ho was very fond ef the water, and Grete, aes he
went down to takeaswim in theriver. When he
came out he always used to decHne to shake the
water off of him until he could get into our parlor.
Then he would take a good one, and sprinkle the
furniture and wall paper until it looked asif a

 

} north-east storm had been ragmeg through the apart~

’

 

 

would go and Jie down somewhere, soaking wet,
and save up that shake until he could sneak into
the parlor. { hoped it would give him consump-
tion, but it never did. He grew fat on it.

He was not an easy dog to get rid of. I gaye him
to aman who was going West, and he took him out
to Colorado to mind sheep. But in a couple of
months he arrived home again, looking thin and
hungry, but as anxious as ever to howl at nights
and to sprinkle the parlor furniture. I tried to
start himoff by tying atin kettle to his tail, but
when the job was done he looked up at me and
smiled, and he walked about for over, a week with
that kettle affixed to his tail, treating it as if he had
been born with it there, and as if he would be mis-
erable if it should happen to drop off. We fed poi-
son tohim on his meat for two or three days, but
as it only seemed to make him more
fatten him up, we discontinued the

  
  
  
 
  
 
 

 

  
       
   

Finally I decided to shoot him. at him
seventeen times. Each time he would lie perfec
still until I pulled thetrigger, and thenall of a sud-
den he would move a few yards, esgape the
shot. Finally I puta load into then he
jumped up and went in to lie down ing=
room carpet to bleed. He was well ple of
days, andthen Itook him over to the pand
paid two dollars tothe man to feed him: ena.
He has not turned up since; and I an ooking

for another dog. Ithink we shall try to be happy |
without one. 7

 

PROBLEMS FOR THE PEOPLE.

THE MONEY SPENDER.

A. and B. meetin a saloon. Says A. to B.: “Give
me as much money as I have, and I will spend $10.”
B. agrees. A. prefers the same request a second
and a third time, and it is agreed to.. Then they
find they have no money left, How much had each ?

: A. CG, BAGNALL.

 

r \

 

THE DROVERS.

Two droyers (James and John) met upon a high
way, traveling in opposite directions, each with a
drove of shoepar gar oupon the following conversa-
tion ensued: John inquires of James the number
of the latter’s droye, and James replies: ‘Sell me
one of yours and my drove will equal twice yours.
But buy_one of mine and*sour numbers will be
equal.” How many had each ? C. A. M.

 

WHAT IS IT? =.

Iam a compound word composed of eight letters.
My first is frequently used in m nism ; my sec-
ond is used in a very POPs sone. and my whole

hatismy whole?

is half of my first. “V h
- Anpkew T. HoTcHKIss. y

 

oa, ae

Answers to the above will anabhk in No. 22, @

  

3 who can send us inge-"
s for publication, will fa-
er must in each oaso

A REquest.—Our r
nious or curious |
vor us by so doin :
accompany the p n.
‘ eX aiid

Answers to puzzles in No, 20:

Tur MarTrimMonrat Porm.
and the wife 15 when they we

THE Beaaars.—There were 16

Ae bitte eget
Aen “PR Rie A es ae : *
THE DELIVERANCE OF BOSTON.

_Next after the battle of Bunker Hill, the evacua-
tion of Boston, which took place March 11, 1776, was
the most conspicuous military event of the open-|
ing of the Revolution. Indeed, the flight of the
British army was the -first. notable victory for the
Revolutionists. Bunker. Hill was almost an acci-
dental episode. No flag was carried by the rebels,
andthe end to be gained by their resistance was
only vaguely understood by the brave men who
stood shoulder to shoulder on that blood-stained.
hill. But the Continental army on Dorchester
Heights was commanded by. Washington, and what
he had called the ‘“Union flag,” a banner of red and
white stripes, with the crosses of St. George and
St. Andrew, was hoisted over the works, Concord,
Lexington, and Bunker Hill were the opening sig-
nals of a Aur phone Bancroft says the forced
evacuation of Boston “was the first decisive victory
ofthe industrious middling class over the most
powerful representative of the medieval aristoc-

racy.”

When Washington began to complete the line
which-was to invest Boston, he had about nine
thousand men. Lord Howe, commanding the Brit-
ish forces, was in town, with eight thousand men,
and a powerful fleet, under Admiral Shuldham, was
riding at anchor inthe harbor. The British were
strongly intrenched, well-proyisioned, and amply
supplied with ammunition. . The patriots were
short of powder, ill paid, and short of rations.
Howe had delayed his proposed attack on New York
for the reason'‘that he had not transports enough
to moye hisarmy. Through the winter he had re-
mained shut up in Boston, the wretched inhabit-
ants of which town, harried and pinched though
they. wére, remained defiant, hostile, and resentful.
The Tories of allthe region around had gathered
there for protection from the angry patriots; and
it was not always possible for Howe to preserve the

eace when these loyalists met their indignant

ellow-countrymen in the streets of Boston,
_ The British ministry had urged the most crush-
ing and severe measures toward the rebels. New
England, earliest-in the rebellion, was to be con-
dignly punished. The resistance of the colonists
was to be ended there. Twenty thousand German
mercenaries and recruits had been secured, and
the ministers laughed at any suggestion of this
being a long Wet: with a disastrous ending for
Great Britain. Harmonious counsels did not pre-
vail among the American colonies, and_many of
the volunteers had left the little army. Dunmore
had proclaimed martial law in Virginia, and had
burned Norfolk, and Maryland was hesitating over
propositions looking toward a declaration of inde-
pendence. It was high time that the “British nest”
in Boston, as Washington called it, should be bro-
ken up, if possible. In asingle night, while a can-
nonade diverted the attention of the royal forces in
the town, Washington threw up_on Dorchester
Heights a fortification on which Howe next day
gazed with consternation. The ground was frozen,
and the patrints had made shift with bales of hay,
barrels filled with stones, and with as much of the
stiff earth as could be dislodged with pick and
shoyelin the night. These heights commanded the
town, andthe British admiral made haste to inform
General Howe that his ships could not stay in the
harbor if the rebels were to keep their new posi-
tion. Powder being scarce, the Americans held
their fire. A few days after, an attacking column,
under Lord Percy, moved out of the town, crossing
the bay to whatis now South Boston, under the
heights, in transports: The. assault was deferred
until next day, and that night a violent storm burst
on the harbor, drove some of the fleet ashore, and
so damaged the British flotilla that Percy and his
men returned to Boston. Howe called a council of
war, and immediate evacuation was ordered.
he embarkation _began before dawn, March 17,
and by night not a British soldier remained in the
town. The fleet anchored in the lower bay, out of
the reach of the cannon of the triumphant Ameri-
cans, and the few hundred Tories who had taken
assage for Halifax looked gloomily on the shores
rom which end were to_be exiles. One of these
wrote that ‘neither Hell, Hull, nor Halifax could
afford worse shelter than Boston.” ington’s
troops entered the town on the day after the evacu-
ation, though the main’ body did not move in until
March 20. The beloved Commander-in-Chief was
overwhelmed. with congratulations, thanks, and
praise by the delivered inhabitants. The news of
the Aight of the British flew fast and far. It wasa
sad blowto the Tories here; it confirmed many
who were halting betwixt two opinions, and it as-
tonished and dismayed the ministers, who had an-
ticipated the speedy crushing of the rebellion in
New England. From this time the seat of war was
transferred to other colonies. New England was
spared the presence of the oppressor. The eventis
one worthy to be commemorated with much enthu-
siasm. It marked an important era in the war of
the Revolution. It gave new hopes to the strug-
gling colonists, and it shed new luster on the name
of the military chieftain whose admirable strategy
had accomplished this result.—. Y. Times.

 

husband was 45
‘ried,

rs

 
 
      

‘ it

 

—__—_—_—__-+-e~__—_
THE LETTER M.

Much has been said lately about the fatality of the
letter B, but in the South-west M seems to be bear-
ing a prejudice, . The eckshurg Herald ort
that while the steamer Mary Bell was wrapped in
flames, Captain Hicks, who stood looking on with
an air of mingled sorrow and admiration, exclaim-
ed; “Never, never; will I give another steamboat @
name commencing with an M. Iam not supersti-
tious,” he added, “but a strange fatality seems t
follow boats whose, names begin within an M,
Tl never do so again.” The papers give alist
of the many packets that haye sunk, blown up, and
burned during the past quarter of a century, whose
mames commence with the letter M. They are as
follows: Moselle, Monsoon, Morovian, Mound city.
Maid of Orleans, Modoe, Mary, Agnes, Montauk,
Mail, two Magentas, Monarch, Metamora, Maggie
Hays, Maggie, Maria, Memphis, two Mohawks, May-
flower; Michigan, two Mountaineers, two Moguls,
Martha Jewett, oranotte, Hisoisel DPA Missouri,
Mail Boy, Mermaid, Mandern, Monarch No. 2, M
soon No. 2, Martha Washington, Mohican,
Denning, Mamejuke, Bagnota. Mittie Stephens,
May Lowry, an@ Mary Bell, }

 

 

=

 

YAY > gee

 

 

 
 

Pe inagth ea oo Salt sath eS lic

 

 

 

4

é
7

> < . t

 

 

 

 

 

  

NEW YORK, APRIL 17, 1876.

~

 

_  —eaeore—enrererem

 

 

-

Terms to Subscribers :
One month, (postage free) 25c. | One Year—1 copy (postage free) $3
Two months.............. 50c. 6. "8s SGOOIGE ss esh ines os 5
Three months ............ 75¢c. ee oe
Four nionths.......°..... $1.00

 

AG LR ARO Se ens 20

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

IN MAKING REMITTANCES FOR SUBSCRIPTIONS, always procure
a draft on New York, or a Post-Office —, Order, if possible.
Where neithtr of these can be procured, send the money, but al-
ways in @ REGISTERED letter. The registration fee has been re-
duced to ten cents, and the present registration system has been
found by the postal authorities to be virtually an absolute pro-
tection against losses by mail. AW Postmasters are obliged to
register letters whenever requested to do so.

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

Jia To SUBSCRIBERS.—When changing your address, please
give former, as well as present address, with County and State;
also, be certain to name the paper for which you subscribe. <6y

ALL LETTERS SHOULD BE ADDRESSED TO
STREET & SMITH, Proprietors.
25, 27, ZV und Bi Rose St., N.Y. P.O. Box 4896

 

 

In a Coal Mine.

Those who use coal will contemplate it with
awakened interest after reading how it is mined
and prepared for transportation, Few people,
comparatively, are aware of the difficulties and
dangers encountered by the poor miners who labor
sometimes two thousand feet beneath the surface of
the earth, “digging dusky diamonds.” Graphic
descriptions of the various duties of the miners
are incidentally given by DANIEL Doyt, in his in-
tensely interesting story of ““Monmuy MaGuriRe, THE
TERROR OF THE Coan Fieups.” Persons who have
entered a colliery and seen the laborers at work
there, need not be told, after reading this instruc-
tive story, that the author is a practical miner. He
thoroughly understands his subject. So vividly
has he illuminated the dismal caverns of the anthra-
cite regions that his readers will fancy themselves
actual witnesses of the entertaining scenes he has
so ably pictured.

TELLING TALES.

We hate tattlers, and we don’t care who knows it.
the scheme of creation had not included them,
we should neyer have shed a tear on account of it.
Tattlers grow fat on the failings of other people,
when they might easily get to tip the scales at three
hundred on their own jallings.
Communities abound in tattlers, and they make
more trouble in the world than small-pox, and

 

 

. Ieasles, and musquitoes thrown in, to say nothing

of fleas and cockroaches.

Just as soon as Mrs. A. says something a little
against Mrs. B., your miserable tattler starts out
and tells it to Mrs. B.. with variations. ‘‘She feels it
her duty todo so! She feels as if Mrs. B. ought to
know about it, for her good!”

Then Mrs. B. flares up, and says something se-
vere about Mrs. A., andthe delighted tattler runs
back to Mrs. A., and tells her about it, for her good!

And the thing goes on, and a life-long feud is the
result, involving a half-dozen other parties who are
foolish nvr to take sides.

Itisa rule for every one to make on starting
out in life—never to listen to any one who comes to
tell you the evil some one has said of you.

Poeesple will talk—there is no help for it; but no-per-
son Gan be sincerely your friend who comes to you
with the idle tales of popular gossip. It does not
matter if Mrs. C. says you are stingy, or Mrs. D.
thinks your cheek bones are too prominent. If any
body does not like you, it will do you no good to
know it. You will live just as long, probably, as you
would if they worshiped you.

The time spent In listening to such things is
worse than lost. You had better be reading last
year’s almanac, and finding out where the “sign”
was & year ago at this time.

hen you make up your mind to have nothing to
do with tattlers, they will let you alone; but if you
liston to them, they will make your life unhappy,
and who is benefited? Nobody.
Kare THORN.

 

A Miner’s Complaint.

Lancaster, O., March 18, 1876.
Messrs. Street & Smith:

GENTLEMEN—I was a few days ago_shown a copy
of the Nsw York WEEKLY, in which I saw a notice
warning you that if any of the seorets of the Order
were divulged in the story you are publishing en-
titled “Molly Maguire,” you would be “marked
men.” I came to this country about fifteen years
ago,and went to work in the mines of Pennsylva-
nia, where I remained five or six years. I joined
an Order similar to that of the Molly Maguires, and
believed then, and do now, that I was right in be-
coming a member of the Union. Those organiza-
tions are not for the commission of crime, but for
the protection of the miners from the monopolies
of the operators. All other tradesmen have Unions,
why should not miners? In conclusion I will just
say that youshould pay some attention to the no-
tice you received from the Mollies, °

ours, &.,
A MINER OF THE HocKING VALLEY.

There can be no objections to trade organizations
if formed for lawful purposes—to secure fair wages
fer labor, and to resist the tyranny of selfish
and conscienceless employers, who would coin gold
out of the life-blood of their drudges, whom they
treat as slaves. In fact, no effective opposition can
be made by workmen against capital unless by
union. There is objection, however, to combina-
tions of workmen who go beyond argument and
moral suasion, and. by force and brutality prevent
other men from attending to their employment.
Justice condemns such combinations, and they
should be suppressed by the heavy hand of the law.
—Ep. New YoRK WEEKLY.
>

WOMEN AS UNDERTAKERS.

Why not? The duties of an undertaker are not
arduous, nor is any extraordinary amount of talent
required to make the business a success. And it is
the kind of work that a woman can easily perform.
The details of it are so similar that it should not
longer be a monopoly. :

The occupation may be objected to on the ground
that it is an exceptionally sad one, but people soon
get acoustomed to any regular task, if it is remune-
rative, and follow it with zeal if it pays well.

Tt certainly is not a cheerful calling, but it is one
that must exist, and one that will net be governed
by any of the fluctuations and changes that affect
other kinds of business. As a means of support,
it is always sure. Then why not let women have a
chance in itto build up for herself a business which

 

 

may be good or bad, just as she determines to|h

make it hundreds of instances the under-

.taker’s work is now shared by women; why should

not the place be theirs, and they be in it i
more than hired workers? eer

hat if some of the duties are severe, cannot
help be had when any emergency arises in which
it 1s required? And what if the avocation is a
mournful one? Is not theirs the mourner’s place
inthe world, and since the days of the Saviour
have they not been the first at thetomb, and the
last to leave it? But it is not the undertaker’s place
to weep, nor is it possible that in a mere business
transaction a manor a woman either, will take
more interest than is needful to perfect a bargain
and pupa perform his or her part of the agree-
men omanly hands are the proper hands to
perform the last sad rights for women, and the
same may be said as to little children.

The preparation of a woman’s remains for burial
by mon is shocking to sentiment and ropriety,
and yet there are many circumstances that do occur
which render it necessary, and until women enter
ae business there will be no escape

It is something to be able to move human hearts
to gratitude, and I know of nothing that awakens
80 much wealth of emotion as a service feeling!
extended to those in such affliction asI have named.

And there are many similar circumstances in
caooti it ro almost barbarous that women

not be the chief actors inthe peculiar duti
gag haa ca
raicht forward is the only way for the earnest
of the sex to walk, and if it oane many,or any of
them, to an undertaker’s shop, let there be no gain-

 

saying their right to enter in and take up the du-
ties that await them. Besure they will be all the
better for their labors, and the world more benefit-
ted by their effort than by their inactivity. 4

As to its desirableness as a calling for women, in-
dividuals must be a law unto themselves; but oun,
employment isan honorable one that calls fort
the self-respect and pride of the worker, and I think
there is no trade requiring a greater amount of
both these attributes than the undertaker’s, |

A natural adaptation for the employment is the
only qualification demanded to make it a success,
and many women are already successful in it in all
save the amount they have made out of it; and if
they are urged to become something more than sub-
ordinates, it is in order that they and the public
they will serve may be all the better off for the en-
terprise. Ne

If no woman has yet hung out her sign, itis only
the more reason why many should now. The hearts
of the masses will be with the new tradeswomen,
and the verdict of humanity will be for those who
ask no favors but work, and who are ready to per-
form that work in every particular.

Laura ©. HouLoway.
a oe a

A Knotty Question.

The following knotty question has been referred
to us for decision. Will our readers give us their
views on the subject ?

WASHINGTON, D. C., March 15, 1876.

Epitok NEw YoRK WEEKLY.—Dear Sir: A ques-
tion has been raised among a party of gon temo.
which no one can decide satisfactorily. It is this:

A, B,C, and D make up a pool of money to be
given to the one who makes the nearest guess at
the result of a State eee, or, as they say, “who
guesses nearest how the State will go.”

‘ bets the State will give 7 Rep. majority.
aeiicn ; ie
Pecan hn anseeat 2

The State goes 10 Republican majority. Who wins
the pool? ; .

C claims the pool on the ground that his estimate
of 10 Dem. is the nearest in figures to the majority
declared, arguing that such a bet is decided in the
form of a scale as follows:

 

3
ae
ray

2 Dem.
3

Take O as the dividing line between the two par-
ties (Rep. and Dem.), and the position of the win-
ning majority will be asin the scale, so that his
estimate of 10 Dem. would be nearer the electin,
majority by 30, than B’s Rep. estimate of 50is, an
so win the age sig :

B contends that a Rep. majority of 10 being de-
clared, he wins the pool, as his estimate is the near-
est to the electing majority, both being on the Rep.
side, and that C and D are not entitled to any voice
in =e matter, having lost their say by voting Dem-
ocratic.

The parties were not betting on the mere figures
ofa majority on either side, but “on the way the
State goes.” either Rep. or Dem., consequently
Po ote a party majority of either complexion in

eir be

While I partly hold with C in his views so far as
figures are concerned, I cannot see any justice in
fixing the votes on a scale as to which comes near-
est the numerical majority of either party, nor any
justice in this method of settling a bet_on party.
He also claims that had all bet on the Rep. ticket
andthe State went Dem., the one who had placed
the lowest figure on the Rep. side would be en-
titled to the pool, on the ground that he was near-
est to the Dem. majority, declared (vide scale.)

I contend that B is entitled to the poolon a purely
party bet. He bet on the Rep. party for a majority,
and the State declared a Rep. oe of 10, those
betting on the Dem. side being as completely thrown
out of the pool as though they had bet on 10,000
Dem. majority, or as the men who ran on the Dem.
ticket in the State were thrown out of office. ‘

Kindly answer this, if possible, in your rext is-
sue, a8 we await your decision to determine who is
entitled to this pool on the question raised.

With many excuses for forcing this trouble on
you, and best wishes,

Iam, sir, yours most truly,
A. B.C. D.

 

JENNIE’S RUSE.

BY CARL BRENT.

The recent death of Bill McWaters, who_was shot
by a guard while heading a revolt in the Nebraska
penitentiary, brings to mind a number of wilc
scenes and adventures in his brief but eventful life,
one of which I will proceed to relate.

I must premise by remarking that young McWa-
ters, before he was out of his teens, had enlisted as
a Confederate soldier under the banner of General
Price. Returning, after a six months’ campaign, to

 

 

his home at Bee Creek, in Platte county, he discov-
ered that the homestead had been burned by the
militia, his father and brother killed, and the rest
of the family driven out of the country. Anger at
these outrages drove him to guerrilla-raiding and
bushwhacking. Thereafter, and until the elose of
the war, he was one of the most daring of the wild
and fierce men who followed Quantreli and Bill
Anderson, and it is probable that he was amply
satisfied withthe revenge he took for the deaths of
his father and brother.
fter the separation of Quantrell and Anderson,
oung McWaters’ exploits were mostly in North
issouri, which was then debatable ground,
swept alternately with fire and sword by the sol-
diers of the Union, and the guerrillas and bush-
whackers of the other side. He was often hunted,
and had many narrow escapes, being preserved
from caplitee by his own adroitness and the assist-
ance of his friends. j

One of the latter was a girl named Jennie May-
field, who lived with her father and mother, or with
her uncle and aunt—I have forgotten in what rela-
tion to her the old folks stood. She was a pretty
girl, brave and high-spirited, who was infatuated
with Bill McWaters, and had helped him out of
several scrapes. She would have gone to her death
for the sake of the daring young guerrilla, and he
loved her after his fashion, but not with a devotion

ual to her own, hens

eWaters had been foraging in Glay county, and
on his return westward he stopped at Jennie’s
home to rest and to havea pleasant talk with his
fair friend. The old folks were absent, but their
absence was not atall objectionable to the young
pega: who proceeded to make themselves com-
ortable and to enjoy the society of each other.
Jennie provided a good supper for her soldier
lover, and, when he had satisfied his hunger, they
settled down to a good, old-fashioned talk—McWa-
ters to relate the exciting scenes he had passed
through since they had met, and Jennie to tell him
of her love and trust. —

They were startled inthe midst of this interest-
ing conversation by the barking of the house-dog,
which told them that strangers were in the vicinity,

It was too early for the return of the old folks,
and Jennie, suspecting danger, was the first to rush
toa window and reconnoiter. She sawa number
of men, mounted and armed, approaching the
house, and knew them to be Union soldiers or mili-
tiamen, who had probably tracked McWaters to the
farm-house.

He understood her withouta word when she look-
ed back at him. The expression of her countenance
told him what had happened, and he was perplex-
ed, as he saw no way of escape.

“I don’t know what to do, Jennie,” he said. “TI
can’t get_to my horse, as I left himin front of the
house. If I try to escape on foot, they will overtake
me or shoot me down.”

The girl’s quick wits had already been at work,
and she was prepared for the emergency.

I will manage it,” she said, “if you will mind me.
Get down in that corner.”
He instantly obeyed, and she threw a quilt over

im.
“All you’ve to do is to keep quiet,” said she.

Then she held her apron to her face, opened the
front door, and walked out, crying as if her heart
would break.

The soldiers had dismounted. Part of them were
seattering for the purpose of surrounding the
house, and part were advancing toward the front
door. These noticed the attitude and heard the
cries of Jennie, and their commander, having satis-
fied himself that his men were so disposed that no
one could escape from the house, went to the girl,
and kindly asked her what was the matter.

.‘Boo-ho0-00-00! Boo-hoo-00-00!” - bawled Jen-
nie, ae ge increasing at the prospect of a little
sympathy.

‘Don’t take on so, my girl,” said the officer; “but
tell me what is the matter.”

Jennie only covered her face closer, and howled
the louder in the agony of her grief.

.., What isthe matter, little one? Has anybody been
ill-treating you? Anybody in the house there?”

It’s that nasty, mean, horrid Bill McWaters,”
sobbed Jennie. “Oh. how I hate him!”

It seemed tothe officer that he had discovered
something, and that he had gained an ally from the
camp ofthe enemy. By the use ofa little tact he
could secure his advantage.

Tell me all about it, my dear,” he said, sooth-
ingly, ‘“What has he done? If he has abused you,
we will make him pay for it.”

little pressing was needed, but Jennie was
finally persuaded to tell her story. She dropped
her apron, disclosing a countenance discolored’ hy
crying and distorted by anger, and proceeded with

 

her complaint, which was every now and then in-

Fezmaptest by sobs and exclamations of indigna-
ion.

“He has been going with another girl, and I
know it. When he came to see me this eyening, I
accused him of it, and he couldn’t deny it. But he
abused me as if Iwas a dog. Just as you were
coming up, he flew into a fury, and struck me in
the face. Yes, he struck me, and I hate him for it.
phe me? mean, wicked wretch! I wish Icould kill

im ”»

Up went the apron again, and Jennie burst into a
torrent of tears, 4 :;

“Just let us get hold of him,” said the officer,
“and you shall be revenged. He will never go with
any more girls. Won’t you tell me where he
is?’

“Yes, I will,” replied the girl. “I am done with
him forever,and I want to see him killed. Come
with me, and you can catch him.” 3

Jennie opened the front door, and went into the
house, followed by the officer and the four soldiers
who were with him. They passed through the
room in which McWaters was concealed under the
aa Jennie walking rapidly, and talking as she
wen

“Come on!” she said. “Oh, yes, I will show you
how to catch him. I will teach him what it is to in-
sult me and tostrikeme. You needn’t fear that he
will get away. As soon as he caught sight of you,
he ran and hid in the smoke-house, and there you
will find him, like a rat in a trap.”

The smoke-house was just in the rear of the
house, and acovered way led toit from the back

orch. On the porch Jennie stopped, and spoke

ow and cautiously. i

“When I ope the door, you must all rush in and
grab him. I daren’t go in, as he would kill me
sure. Heis a desperate fellow,as you know, an
you must all jump on him at once, or he will be too
much for you.” t i

The officer promised to obey her directions, and
arranged his men for a rush.

ennie threw open the door of the smoke-
house, there was just light enough to render visible
the darkness of the interior. The soldiers jumped
in, but the foremost stumbled over something at the
entrance, and the others fell over them, piling on
top of them. } ;
ust then the girl closed the door, and as quick as
gaght turned the key that had been left in the
ock.

“Hope you will have a good time!” she said,
speaking merrily enough now, and with her lips at
the keyhole. “Bill an have made it up already,
and we can’t stop to attend to you.”

She ran back into the house, snatched away the
geile that covered McWaters, and bade him follow

er.

They hastened to his horse, and mounted, he in
the saddle, and she behind him, and rode rapidly
away.

The outlying soldiers had not been near enough
to understand what was going on at the house; but
they suspected that something was wrong when
they heard the horse’s hoofs clattering down the
road, and soon they heard their comrades in the
smoke-house cursing and calling for help.

It was first necessary to release the captives, and
this was easily done, as Jennie had left the key in
the door; but by the time they could reach their
horses, the guerrilla and the girl were so far away
that pursuit was useless. | ]

While they were discussing the matter, and piling
epithets upon the young vixen who had deceive
and entrapped them so neatly, the old folks é¢ame

ome.

_As the soldiers could not, with any show of jus-
tice, vent their rage upon these people and t leir
house, they contented themselves with oe ee
them to prepare asupper, which they ate, and sadly
returned to their camp, to report progress of a very
unsatisfactory nature.

 

IN HER OWN WORDS.

BY CLIO STANLEY.

 

 

, Hr Farm, September 2.

He will keep his word with me. At last I havethe
letter, in his own well-known handwriting, telling
me that in one week more he will be with me. Seven
short, sweet days—for every one will be filled with
thoughts of my lover!

My lover!’ How I say the words over and over to
myself, trying to satisfy my hungry heart with the
sound of them. Since when has he not been my
lover? Since the days when we were boy and girl
together, playing in my father’s garden, tossing
roses in the air,or making garlands of them for
the bright June days that slipped so sweetly away
from us; or, since, youth and maiden, we first found
that there were sweeter’ paths in this world of ours
than those strewed with roses! Never once has my
heart wandered, never has he broken faith, except
in this last fatal summer, when Kate Varley came
to his mother’s house, and won his thoughts from
me with her bold, brig eyes. It would be foolish
in me, here in the silence of my own chamber, to
deny that she is beautiful (and what man does not
love to look at a beautiful woman if she puts her-
self in his way?) Just as certainly I know that my
loveliness is not eee eer tea know he loves
me best. Ishould be crazy indeed not to know it,
when in seven days more, he has said, I shall be his
beloved and honored wife.

September 3.

Another long letter, full of tender messages, has
made this day bright. The day, and the world, and
life, and seein this little corner of the world,
where I am quietly
bright days of my maiden life. How bright those
other days will be which I am approaching, I know
not; but Ihave faith that they will be all that heart

can desire. ’ ,
This is a beatiful spot—this' old-fashioned farm,
though the hill-sidb is steep and rugged. There
are patches of pine woods half way down—we are
quite at the top of the hill—dotting the light-green
land; meadows where quiet cattle are grazing,
looking, with their great, tender, brown eyes, as if
they too could discern the change on the face of
the earth, in these days that, though sober, are yet
brightly bound. ae

What a genial day itis! The cool air is blowing
about the few fallen leaves,and bringing hints of
delicious fragrance somewhere near me, while the
golden rod liits its bright head along by the fence
awaiting recognition. Be ;
. And what a pleasant earthitis! Itis likea rare
bound volume, each leaf hiding away some fair
pictu ;e of spring, or summer, or harvest time; and
what happy memories each scene oe up! For
I will not think of anything that isn’t P easant and
beautiful to-day. This day shall be a glad one even
down to its last faint twilight gleam!

: eat 4,

And it was. Not one miserable thought intruded
itself while the sunlight lasted; but when the gray
curtains of the night fell around me my courage
was somehow pone Faith and Hope deserted me
at once, and I had the very blackest of dreams.

I try to comfort myself by sayin, “dreams ae
4 by contraries,”—a wretched little line that

ave somewhere heard—but it isof no use, the
dream haunts me still. ; }

I thought I was walking with Owen by the side of
a beautiful river, our feet sinking in the green
grass and daisies at every step. His arm was
around me, and he was oe me over and over
the sweet love story to which I have listened a thou-
sand times, when, suddenly,from behind an elm
that grew close to the river, stepped woman.
She fixed her shining, cruel eyes on my face, and
Owen’s arm fell away. Then she turned to him
with a radiant smile, and put out her slender white
5% with the wedding-ring on it, and he went with

With her, and left me standing like a poor white
eae among the trees that only a moment before

ad seemed so beautiful. Where they-went I did
not know, but I was left alone. and they were to-
gether, she with the golden wedding-ring which I
was to have worn on her rosy, re py finger.

It is only a dream, of course, but I cannot rid my-
self of its bad impressions. God forgiveme; but I
hate that beautiful girk I cannot quite forgive her,
even though Owen has come back to me and has
forgotten to think of her.

But doesaman ever quite forget when he has
kissed a woman’s lips and _ held her caressingly in
his arms? Iwill not think of it,orIshall grow
mad again. He is all mine now—my lover, as he
was before he saw her vivid beauty—and I will not
believe that he can forsake me now, when our wed-
ding-day is almost here.

September 5.

Almost here—I have written, and yet for two days
no letter has come. Can he be so careless of my
happiness after all, or does he mean to come a day
earlier, and give meajoyful surprise? I wish to-
morrow were here, and this anxious uncertainty
gone. I feel such a horror of foreboding; and yet
the world is as bright and sunshine just as sweet
as it was two days ago. But life—ah, life has lost
something; how canI find out what itis? Is my
love wavering? No. Athousand times no! Is my
faith shaken? I cannot tell. I feel bewildered;
vague fears oppress me and darken the very air
around me. IbelieveI have been too long in the
house. I wiil go out,and down the hill, and walk
by the oar river. It may be it will sing mea
song of hope. It may be the musicof its waters
will charm away this dull pain.

* * * * * + *

_itisten years since that last sorrowful, blotted
line was written. Itisjust ten years to-day since
my niece, Margaret, died. They said she was in-
sane, and took her own life, but I have never fora
moment believed it. This yellow, time-stained
diary, which I found last night tucked away among
the folds of her wedding-dress,in the trunk up
stairs, reassures me. Iknow absolutely nothing
but I believe Katharine Varley murdered her. 1
betieve she met her there by the river and pushed
her into the dark waters which hide so many se-

 

crets. She has been his wife eight years now, but

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #35—

people say that ashadow of something evil seems
to haunt their home. I cannot tell—God only
knows, or maybe herown heart. But some day the
secret will be brought to light, with every deed of
life, though Imay neverinthis world know the
story of niece Margaret’s cruel death.

———— ><

FLAPPERS
GREAT REDUCTION SALE.

BY DOOFALLEE.

 

 

Nicholtown is a small city numbering aboutseven
or eight thousand inhabitants. It possesses all the
style of a larger city, and the country surrounding
it supports it handsomely. Be

Two or three days in the week the city is chock-
full of farmers, making their purchases in the va-
rious business houses, and se ye ene r produce to
the inhabitants and grocers. e farmers were
thrifty, and spent large sums of money every year
for the luxuries and necessaries of life. The mer-
chants were each anxious to secure the most of
their trade, as well as that of the residents of the
city. They advertised extensively, and supported
well the morning and weekly Hunkidori.

Mr, Flapper, who owned one of the largest dry-
goods stores in the city, conceived the idea of rais-
ing a stir among the people of the community, the
immediate syetE DOEHOOR, and the PREpporin vil-
lages. He rushed to the Hunkidori office, and had
inserted in both the weekly and daily a lengthy lo-
cal notice, announcing, with flaming heads and
high-sounding words, the gladdening intelligence
that on a certain day he would commence selling
his immense stock of dry-goods, notions, &c., at fig-
ures so low that every little boy and girl would be
surprised at what he or she could purchase for a
nickel, and that the poorest denizen could lay ina
large stock of goods for family use for a mere pit-

nce.

Several hundred extra copies of the paper were
printed, and a man engaged to distribute them
among the city folks who were not subscribers to
the Hunkidori, and the people in the country; also,
several thousand hand-bills were scattered
throughout the country, telling people to remem-
ber the day, and that the first who came would be
first served. This remark put each one into a de-
termination to get to Mr. Flapper’s store, and take
the first choice of fine articles.

The whole country was excited over the great
bargains they were to get as soon as the great day
would arrive, and the conversation was about noth-
ing else but those good bargains at Flapper’s on

 

peng farewell to the last] th

that great day appointed for the disposition, at the
very lowest figures, of the finest goods ever offered
to an admiring American public. :

The Morning Hunkidori urged the poopie daily to
be on hand early, and get the first choice of goods.
It exhorted and entreated them to do so much that
they fairly bordered on the verge of lunacy, and
yearned and were impatient waiting for the day on
which the finest selection of goods ever brought to
Nicholtown would be sold at reduced rates. The
girls and boys flew around as if half crazy, and
the old maids just held up their hands and liter-
hally owled, wishing from the inmost recesses of
their heavy hearts that the day of sale would soon
come, and relieve them of an intolerable impatience
and restlessness, or they would be doomed unmar-
ried to an untimely grave. §

While the people were almost going crazy, Mr.
Flapper and his corps of clerks were busily en-
gaged in arranging their goods in such a manner
that greater access to them could be had on the day
of sale. The corps was increased and drilled every
day; that is, they were stationed in various parts
of the rooms, and at a given aighe by Mr. Dray,
the head clerk, they tore down the goods and dea
with imaginary customers, ;

Mr, Flapper was the originator of this novel pro-
ceeding, and said that it gave “the boys” practice,
and kept them on the go; and that he didn’t hire
clerks to play in the back yard, and throw apple-
cores and cigar-stumps at each other for muscular
exercise.

As soon as the goods were well scattered over the
counters, the clerks were assembled, armed with
yard-sticks, with the head clerk at the head of the
procession, and they marched with a military air
up and down the room several times, whistling and
brandishing their yard-sticks in the air. Mr. Be
per made “‘the boys” whistle as an exercise for the
mouth, for he knew there would have to be a great
deal of talking done on the day of sale.

After the boys were through marching, they were
told to go to their respective places, and fold up
the goods and place them upon the shelves, an
give them a neat arranging. Some of the clerks
called old Flapper a‘‘brainless loon,” and that
there was no sense in tearing down goods every
half hour, and then march around the room ever
now andthen. A few of the clerks were very m
and cursed him—to his back—and when he would
come back they would back out, and smirk, and
have something pleasant to say. :

Mr. Flapper was getting to be notorious, and was
the subject of the gossip of the town. While walk-
ing the streets, the passing pedestrian would take
a second glance at him, and the ladies would get
their noses out of shape against the window pane
for looking so intently at the notorious Flapper.
He was 80 much the cynosure for all eyes, that he
finally went around the back way to his place of
business to avoid the gaze of the people. :

The great day had now arrived. The Morning
Hunkidori contained a column of local notices, ad-
vising the people to call early and secure some of
ose choice goods at Mr. Flapper’s. As early as 5
A. M., the people began moving down toward the
eh emporium of fashion in squads of three and

our. They did not go leisurely, but hurriedly,
fearing that some one might get ahead of them.

The women cast ugly glances at each other, and
were mad because they hadn’t had any breakfast,
and their husbands had given them a scolding for
being crazy after calico, whereupon one of the
women told her husband he needn’t talk, as she
knew the time once when he was as crazy as a luna-
tic after calico. :

On and on they came, the women and children,
and big men and little men, bearing down toward
Fiapper’s from all parts of the city. It appeared
that every house in Nicholtown had emptied its oc-
cupants upon the thoroughfares, as every street
was thronged with human beings. : i
It was now 8 o’clock A. M. when the ingenious
Por closed the gate of his residence in the su-
burbs and en D eS upon the scene with that im-
perial pomp which he was wont to assume upon
extra occasions. ‘

He was Shine to see the people so infatuated
over a small reduction on goods, and actually
wished they were in Hades, as he couldn’t dispose
of all his goods at the low prices he advertised them
ro He was very uneasy, and felt that he was a ruin-

man.

He made his way with difficulty to the store, and
told the clerks to fall in a line, with their yard-
none and take a little march before he would open
the door.

After they had drilled and whistled “Yankee Doo-
dle” a few times, Mr. Drally directed the clerks to
their places, and he wentto the front and opened
the folding doors, and informed the mob they were
now prepared to wait upon theni.

As soon as this announcement was made, abouta
dozen women were violently pushed _ forward into
the store, and ran against the genial Flapper, caus-
ing that gentleman to fall prostrate upon the floor,
and three or four women of a tremendous size fell
upon him, and a few more came tumbling after,
who were hurried forward by the surging mass of
humanity that came rolling in. | ;

After a severe struggle, the infuriated Flapper
extricated himself, amid the horrible screaming of
the women upon the floor. In his attempt to gain
the rear door, that gentleman ran against a huge
pile of calico that was heaped upon the counter,
and the whole thing fell down upon him, burying
him beneath the stuff. c

The eagie eye of the clerk, Drally, saw the whoie
proceeding, and he gathered the corps of clerks,
and they rushed to the rescue. The calico was soon
replaced upon the counter, and their chief liber-
ated. Mr. Flapper, glancing along the line, saw
several piles of goods lying upon the floor, and im-
mediately the force were engaged in putting them
into their places. At this trying juncture the dexter
agniling optic of Mr. Drally discovered a large pile
of goods on the floor in the other end of the room,
and the poor, worn-out clerks were marched up to
them, and commenced fixing them up. One of them
said to his chum: p

__Dhis is spreading it on a little too thick.”
wie, bet,” wasthereply. “Iam getting sick of

is job.”’

. Let's all quit, and tell Flapper to go to thunder
with his great reduction sale,” said a big clerk, as
he pee up a big bolt of goods on the counter.

“Oh, pshaw, let.us stick it out now,” said a little
clerk, who was taking long breaths, and almost fa-
tigued beyond endurance.

hestore rooms were now so full that the cus-
tomers were forced behind the counters, and old
Flapper was compelled to mount the counter. For
several hundred yards in front of the store there
was one literal jam, and those moons desirous of
securing cheap goods, continued to push in the di-
rection of the door, and the consequence was that
those within the dry-goods palace were shoved
against the goods and, the counters, and so dry-
goods were fluctuating—first up and then down.
Here Mr. Flapper burst into a passion of a violent
nature; he was going to take his spite out of his
employees. He screamed at the top of his voice to
his clerical corps:

“You counter-hopping scoundrels! hop around
here lively now, and ‘put up those goods that were
knocked down by these lunatics that are infesting
this institution at present.”

Here he spit two or three times excitedly, and
turned ae r. Drally and said:

“You elongated upstart, take your hands out of

 

 

your pockets, and show these good and quiet people
our goods.”

i er rere CE

“You infernal old fool, how can I sell them any-
thing when our time is busily occupied _In picking
up goods off the floor that your kind Gionde have
knocked down?” quickly retorted Mr. Drally.

Another lot of goods were thrown upon the floor,
and Mr. Flapper shrieked to the clerks:

You lazy rascals, is that the way you pile u
goods? The next time tie them to the counter with
a cable, you half-crazed idiots.”

He emphasized the above remark by throwing a
yard-stick at Mr. Drally, but missed that gentleman
and struck a boy with a mouth as big as that of Kit
in the “Old Curiosity Shop.” The boy raised such
a yell that the mob cried:

‘Put him out! Put him out!”

“TI would just like toput you all out, you infernal
set of lunatics,” rejoined Mr. Flapper.

“Shoot him! shoot him!” cried the mob,

“Tl shoot him one under the ear, if he'll only
step this way a minute,” shouted a big man, as he
ogled at Mr. Flapper,

‘Angels and ministers of grace defend us!”

Here was a scene that made the hairs of Mr. Flap-

er stand on end. He heard some one say the
armers were just beginning to come in to the great
reduction sale, and it was but too true. The four
roads that led to the city had each a procession a
mile in length, and there was also about a regi-
ment of horsemen seen galloping toward the city
from all directions, headed for the store of Mr.

apper.

, Soon hundreds of teams were jumbled together
in the streets, and hundreds of horses were hitched
to the fences inthe suburbs. The farmers, seeing
the vast crowd in front of Flapper’s store, tried to
gain an entrance through the rear door, but the
crowd was as large there as at the front, and so the
farmers pracused a ladder, and entered the win-
dows inthe second story, and took the stairs that
led to the first story.

As soon _as the ean Gors came pouring in from
the second story, Flapper’s customers (?) raised a
shout that shook the goods from the shelves, and
they in turn shook the house with their cheers and
inquiries of “How’s calico!” No sooner was the
remark made, when a shower of bolts of calico flew
across the room after the Grangers.

r. Flapper was in a quandary. He did not know
how to get the people out of the store. At last he
concluded to tell them that the reduction sale would
be postponed until next week. He commenced

ta ing to them:

“Ladies and gentlemen——”

“Put him out! Put him out!” shouted the crowd.
I have concluded to t—”?

“Shoot him! Shoot him!” they rejoined.

ere Mr. Flapper was pushed off the counter,
and then he proceeded to crawl out. A novel idea
ye him while engaged in making his way out of

e house.

It was late in the afternoon, and the vast con-
course had had no dinner yet, and some were with-
out breakfast. Mr. Flapper was aware of the fact.
He told about a dozen persons in front of his store
that a free dinner was be ven up on Murray
street, about seven blocks distant. No sooner was
this announced than'they put off in that direction.

Where are they going so rapidly?” inquired
seyeral of the crowd.
is. to that big dinner on Murray street,” re-
plied the shrewd Flapper. .

Alarge number heard this,and placing their
hands ape. their stomachs and running, they
shouted, in stentorian tones, “Free dinner!”

The street in front of the store was soon cleared,
and the people in the store caught the infection and
ran out so fast that they knocked down counters,
goods and the stove.

“Where is that dinner ?” they cried.
“Up on Murray street,” said Flapper.
on dinner!” they ejaculated, as they rushed

off.

Mr. Flapper rushed into his store and locked the
doors. He told his clerks to Put up the goods in as
good shape as possible, and advertise those that
were damaged, for he would not be with them for a
week, as he was going East to replenish his stock.
He told Mr. Drally that he guessed he would have
no more reduction sales, and that he would sell at
the same price his brother merchants dig. After
begging the pardon of ail his employees for hard
words used in a sudden heat and passion, he bowed
himself out of the store, and took the train for the

i

.

 

A how! was heard on Murray street. ‘‘Where, oh,
where is Flapper ?” they shouted. He had fooled
them—there was no dinner there.

soon as the vast crowd were wearied with
abusing Senper, they dispersed rapidly. The
farmers were hungry, and ey fairly flew over the
road, The horsemen spurred their horses and
made them run with alltheir might. At alate hour
of the night the rumbling noise of wagons could be
heard leaving the city.

The clerks of the other stores engaged in a gen-
eral guffaw of laughter whenever Flapper’s great
reduction sale was mentioned.

 

 

ROMANCE OF BATTLES IN ’76.

FOR OUR CENTENNIAL YEAR.
BY NED BUNTLINE.
No. 9.-WOMAN’S DEVOTION.

In those dark days of the Revolution, when Corn-
wallis, with a large force of British and Hessians,
backed by many virulent Tories, was ravaging the
Carolinas, General Greene had retreated from
point to point, with a feeble, half-starved, ill-ciad,
ee unpaid army, until he was utterly disheart-
ened.

Halting near the banks of the Catawba for a singie
night to give his exhausted men food and rest, he
took quarters in the town of Salisbury at the house
of a patriotic widow, named Elizabeth Steele.

She extended to him the kindest hospitality, and
urged upon him every comfort it was in her power
to_afford.

But General Greene, worn down in body and sick
at heart, had no relish for food, no appetite for any
of the Juxuries she laid before him. When she
pressed him again and again to eat, heturned sadly
and said:

Madame, Ithank you from my heart for your
well-meant kindness. But food chokes me while I
think of my half-famished men, who are fightin
for liberty, half-clad, unpaid for months, with bu
little hope but death before them.”

The noble widow said no more then. Her eyes
were full of tears when she left the room. But she
soon returned and brought with her two bags of
specie, the proceeds of her pispkation for many
years. Placing these upon the table before the
astonished general, she said: |

“Sir, as far as this money will go toward paying
your troops or ovens them with necessaries,
use it freely. It is the widow’s mite. I would
rather be penniless and see my country free, than
have a kingdom’s wealth and be a tyrant’s slave.”

General Greene : Pert the hand of the noble
woman and pressed it to his lips.

“When women show such devotion, the man who
despairs is a rebel to his God!” he cried. ‘I accept
this money, forthe country needs it. I hope the
day willcome when the country can amply repay
the donor.”

Women of 1876, do not forget the heroines of one
hundred yearsago. Let their heroism and their
virtues be the theme of thought and song during
this our glad Centennial year.

A BEAUTIFUL EXPERIMENT.

A French horticulturist, in studying the physiol-
ogy of the vegetable kingdom, conceived that the
smallness of certain plants—the violet, for example
—was owing to an atmospheric pressure too great
for its delicate organs. Having carefully resolved
this idea into form, he determined to test the ecor-
rectness of it by some satisfactory experiment.
After not a little calculation, he at last hit upon the

possible and probably only means by which he
might illustrate his new theory. He prepared a
small balloon of as light material as was consistent
with the necessary quality of durability, and this
he made perfeetly tight, so as to prevent the escape
of any gas, with which he filled it. To this he at-
tached a strong silken cord twelve hundred meters
long, or say four thousand feet. Attached to the
balloon, in place of a basket, was a pot of earth, in
which were planted Parma violets just springing
from the root.

The result has been wonderful. In the thin air
which the delicate violets breathed at that height—
for flowers do breathe in their own delicate way—
they throve marvelously, the blossoms enlarging to
five times the size attained at the level of the earth’s
surface. This beautiful experiment, after about
two months of judicious trial, rewarded the inge-
nious and scientific horticulturist by presenting
him with violets as large as Bengal roses, some-
thing probably never before seen on earth. The
idea naturally suggests itself of sending up some
of our human baby violéts. Might not our chil-
dren be thus transformed into giants?

——_—___ + @<—_—.
Two New Stories,

 

 

Week after next we will commence the publica-
tion of a new story by NED BuNTLINE, entitied
“NAVIGATOR NED; OR, HE WounD BE A CAPTAIN.”
On the following week we will begin a new story
by Karu DRuRY, a new author, entitled ‘Tur THRez
Biows; or, THE WaGEs or Sin.” Both of these
stories have been written exclusively for the Nsw

 

YorK WEEKLY.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

or
a

>

t.

 

 

 

 

 

_ just as my dear mamma was, for Jesus’ sake, Ame’

 

 

 

 

‘elegant morni

 

 

 

LET THE LITTLE CHILDREN PRAY.
A Missionary’s Touching Story.

BY MRS. M A. KIDDER.

 

I was this one time in a meeting in America, and an
old man got up at the close and said: ‘“I want to indorse every
word that has been said. I believe in the conversion of little
children. Sixteen years agoI was ina heathen country labor-
ing as a missionary, and my wite died and left me with three
little motherless children. On the Sabbath after her death m
eldest girl, ten years old, came to me, and said: Papa, shall
take the children into the bedroom ey with them as moth-

2?» That is the power of exafhple; the mother was
dead and gone, and little Nellie, ten years old, wanted to follow
in her footsteps. The father said yes, she might if she liked, and
she led them off to the chamber to pray.
came out he noticed that they had all been weeping, and ask
what they had been weeping about. “Well, father,’ said the
little girl, “I prayed tba as mother taught me to pray, and
then’’—naming her little brother—‘“‘he prayed the prayer that
mother taught him to pray; but little Susie, she was too young;
mother not ae er a prayer, and so she made a prayer
of her own, andI could not he iE ut weep to hear her pray.”
“Why,” said the father, “what did she say?” ‘Why, she put up
her little hands, and closed her eyes, and said: h, God, you

esaid when they

have come and taken away my dear mamma, and I have no | q

mamma to pray for me now; won’t you please make me 7
nD; “and,
said the old missionary, “God heard that prayer.”—Mr. Moody’s
Lonaon Sermon.

Jesus, once a little child,
Innocent and undefiled,

From the happy household band
Took a wee lamb by the hand.
Of such shall my kingdom be;
Suffer them to come to me—

To this Saviour day by day

Let the little children pray.

When the morning sun shines bright,
When the clear stars burn at night,
Teach them to expect His grace,

And to seek His shining face;

When their tender hearts are sore,
Tell them what the Sayiour bore;
Lead them in the heavenly way—
Let the little children pray.

Point them to the Lamb of God,
And the blessed way He trod;

Tell them Jesus went before,
Opening wide the pearly door,
That poor mortals cleansed of sin
Through His blood might enter in.
To this Saviour, day by day,

Let the little children pray.

CHATEAU D’OR.
By Mire. Mary J. Holnies.

(“Chateau @’Or” was commenced in No. 19. Back Nos. can
be had of all News Agents in the United States.]

CHAPTER VII.
EUGENIE AND ANNA.

“It had been Anna’s daily custom to steal away af-
ter lunch to her favorite resort, the little yard where
Agatha was buried, and where one of the servants
had built her a rustic seat beneath the trees, and
here Eugenie found her one afternoon, and lean-
ing over the iren fence asked firstif she might
come in, and next whosé'grave it was. From where
she stood she could not see the name upon the
headstone, but when Anna answered, “It is the
graye of the young girl who is said to haunt the
chateau ; os have ‘heard the absurd story, of
course,” she was interes at once, for she had
heard from her maid something of a ghost whose
plaintive cry for home was heard wailing through
the jong dark corridors and in the lonely rooms,
especially on stormy nights when the wind was
high and shook even the massive walls of the cha-
teau. Eugenie was not at all superstitious, and
knowing that nearly every old place like Chateau
D’Or had its ghost and ghost-room, she had paid
no attention to the tale as told her by Elise, but
when it assumed a tangible form in the shape of a
real grave, her curiosity was roused, and without
waiting for Anna’s permission she passed through
the gate, and going round to the seat where Anna

 

 

, said:

““Then there was a girl who died and was buried
here? Who wasshe? Do you know?’

“ “It was before I came,’ Anna answered, ‘and I
only know that she was cee eat said, from
some great wrong done to her, and quite up to her
death she kept singing of herhome in Normandy.’

“ “Normandy! Did you say she came from Nor-
mandy? What was her name?’ Eugenie asked,
but before Anna could answer she had bent down
and eee aged 20.” . ie

Agatha!’ she re , a8 she grasped the head-
stone and stood with her back to Anna, who thus
did not see the corpse-like pallor which spread ail
over her face as a horrible suspicion through
her mind. ‘Agatha what? Had she no other name?’

she asked, at last, when she had mastered her emo- | f

tion sufficiently to speak in her natural voice.
Yes. Agatha Wynde,’ Anna replied, and was
instantly startled by a 1
eae who laid her hand upon her side, ex-:
claiming:
““Tt’s my heart. I’m subject to it; but don’t eall
any one; let me sit here until ’'m better. Anything
like a fuss around me disturbs me so much.’

She was very white, and shivering like one with
an ague chill, and though Anna did not call any
one, she was glad to see her own maid, Celine, com-
ing toward them. Eugenie did not object to her
but suffered her to rub her head and hands until
she was Pee and the violent beating of her heart

d ceased.
**“Now let me sit here in ae: and do you tell me
about this Agatha, whose ghost is said to haunt the
chateau. Was she pretty, and when did she die ?
This she said to Celine, who always ready and
giad to talk, began the story of Agatha so far as
she knew it, telling of her arrival at the chateau
one wild rainy night, of her deep melancholy and
sweet, quiet ways, ot her lapse into insanity, her
pleadings to go home to Normandy, and of hersub-
sequent death with the words upon her lips, “Je

vais revoir ma Nor E
“She was not like you, madame,’ Celine said.

‘She was the people like me, and so she talked with | M

me more than ladies might. There was no real
marriage, only asham, a fraud she said; but she
was innocent, and I believe she told the truth; but,
Mon Dieu, what must such girls expect when gen-
tlemen like monsieur entice them away from home,’
and Celine shrugged her shoulders meaningly, as
if to say that the poor dead girl beneath the grass
had received only her due in betrayal and ruin.

Yes, don’t talk any more, oo he pain has
come back, and I believe I’m dying,’ Eugenie gasp-
ed, while both Anna and Geline knelt by her, rup-
bing her again, and loosening her dress until the
color came back to her face and she declared herself
able to return to the chateau. ‘Don’t talk of my ill-
ness and bring eyery body around me,’ she, said to
her attendants. ‘I cannot bear people when I’m so.
Send me Elise, aud leave me alone. She knows
what to do.’

They got her to her room, and called her maid,
who said she had seen her thus a hundred times,
and so Anna felt no particular alarm at the sudden
illness, and did not. think to connect it in any way
with that lonely grave in the yard, or dream of the
agony and remorse of the proud woman who lay
upon her face writhing in pain and moaning bit-

terly:
ig ae ete oh, oe Petite. I eave Wee — +
, sen y early grave by me—by me. as,i

T teo could die and be buried ere beside thee.’
genie did not appear at dinner that ore

She was suffering from a severe nervous

Elise said, and the attack kept her in her room for

three gers during which time she saw no one but

her maid, who reported her to the servants as be-

ing in a dreadful way, walking her room day and

night pone nothing, but wringing her hands con-

tinually, and moaning:

tk Oh, how can I bear it—how can I bear it, and

ve?
“Once Mr. Haverleigh attempted to see her, but
she repulsed him angrily. .

No, no, tell him to go away. I cannot, and will
not see him,’ she said; and her eyes glared savage-
ly at the deor outside which he was standing.

After afew days, however, she grew more quiet,
and asked for Anna, who went to her immediately
feeling shocked at the great changea few days had
wrought in the brilliant woman whom so many ac-
counted handsome. True to her instincts as a
French woman she was becomingly dressed in an
wrapper, with a tasteful cap upon
hor yes warsbunken ait plas. Sa her ees

en an assy, and she looke
rele. aan ee: and old as she reclined in her
a en oka a Bo
" rry,*Anna said, er,
and offering her hand, aes

But Eugenie would not take it, and motioning
her away, said:

It is not for you to touch such as I, butsit down.

I want to talk much with roe There is something
must tell somebody, and you are the only true,
pure woman here, unless it may be Madame Ver-
west, who hates me. I’das soon talk to an icicle
and expect sympathy astoher. I liked you when

_ [saw you, though I came prepared to hate, and do

you harm,’
“ ‘Hate me, and wished to do me harm? Why?’
fa zs ae her great blue eyes fullof wonder and
“Don’t you know? Can’t you guess some reason
why I should hate you? Eugenie said; and Anna,
into whose mind a suspicion of what this woman
re, was, had never entered, answered:
do not know why any one should hate me,
when I am so desolate, and wretched, and home-

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. tae

 

 

 

 

 

sick here, but not crazy. Oh, madame, surely you

do not believe me crazy ?

““Crazy! No, not half as much so as the man
who keeps you here, and Eugenie spoke impet-
uously, while her black eyes flashed, and there
came a deep red flush to her face. “What age have
you, girl? You look too young to be madame.’.

“ “Not quite nineteen.’

“Neither was she when I saw her last, and you
are like her in yoice and manner, and so many
things, and that’s why I cannot hate you. Oh, Mon
Dieu, that she should die and Llive on. Let me tell
you about her, the sweetest child that ever drew
breath; not high or noble, but lowly born, a coun-
try lass, as innocent and happy as the birds which
sang by that cottage door, and I loved her, oh, how

ed | Lloved her from the hour her dying mother, who

was not my mother, but my father’s wife, put her in
myarms. I am almostthirty-eight. She, if living,
would be twenty-three; so you see my arms were
young and _ strong, and they kept her so_tenderly
and lovingly. Howlecared for her and watched
over her as she grewinto the sweetest rose that
ever bloomed in fair Normandy. How I toiled and
rudged for her, going without myself that Petite
might be fed, that hers might be the dainty food,
the pretty peasant’s dress in which she was so love-
ly. HowI meant to educateand bring herupa
lady, so that no soil should come to her soft white
hands, no tire to her little feet. When she was fif-
teen I went to Paris, hoping to get money and a
home for her. I was a milliner first, then I recited.
Isang, I acted, and attracted much attention, and
neue myself good and pure for her, till there came
a chance of earning money faster, and woe is me, I
took it. You are Anglaise or Americaine, which
amounts to the same thing. You do not understand
how a woman may think herself respectable and
do these things, but I am French, educated differ-
ently. Half of my countrywomen havetheir grande

—* their liaison, their what you call it in Eng-
ish?

_ ‘I know, I understand,’ Anna said, feeling an
involuntary shrinking from the woman, who went

on: t :
_ “‘T sent her money and such lovely dresses, and
meant to leave my own bad life and make a home
where she could come and keep herself unspotted;
but, alas! the wolf entered the fold. and the news
came startingly, one day, that she had fled from
Normandy with an Englishman, who promised her
marriage, and she believed him, and left these lines

for me:
““*Darling sister, I go for good, not forbad. He

 

{and I grew desper:

will marry mein Paris, and he is so noble and
kind, but for a time it must be secret, his relatives
are so grand, and will be angry at first.

“‘Then I believe I went mad,and for weeks I
scoured Paris in quest of her, but found her not,
‘ , for I knew theeworld better
than she did, and knew he would not marry her,
and so the wretched months dragged on and grew

father wrote me our darling was dead, where, or
how, or when he did not know, only she was dead
with a blight on her name I was sure, and I think I
was glad ore gone before she grew to be what I
was. I folded away all the prett es and trin-
kets I had saved for her; I put them in a chest and
turned the key, and ed it Petite’s grave, and
made another grave in my heart, and buried there
every womanly instinct and feeling, and stamped
them down and said I did not care to what lengths

 

ne

I went, now that Petite was gone. Then I painted
my brazen face, and_ braided my hair, and put on
all my diamonds, ahd went to the opera that very
night and was stared at and commented upon, and
led the best dressed woman there, and I had a
petit souper after at my home, and was admired and
complimented by the men who peter of my hos-
pitality, and whom [I hated so bitterly because they
rors men, and through such as they ma Petite was
in her grave.’ i
“And did you never hear how she died, or
where?’ Anna asked, without a shadow of suspicion
as to the truth.
‘Yes,’ Eugenie replied. ‘After years—three
years, I believe, though they seemed a hundred to
me—I heard that my darling was pure and white as
the early snow which falls on the fields in the coun-
try. The wretch could not possess her without the
marriage tie, and so entangled was he with another
woman, who had great power over him, that he
dared not make her his wife; and so there was a
form, which would not stand and was no marriage
all, and when she found it out ske went mad,
and died with asong of home on herlips. Yes,
went mad—mad, my darling. You know whom I

 

 

ow, sharp cry from her|I

mean.

“She hissed out the two words, ‘mad, mad,’ and
rocked to and fro in her anguish, while Anna, with
a face as white as the dead girl’s in her grave, whis-
pered back:

“*You mean tha.’

“ “Yes, I mean Agatha—Agatha—my pet, my pride,
my idol. Agatha, jured, deceived, betrayed, ruined,
murdered by the man on whom! who would have
given my heart’s blood to save her, was even then
wasting my blandishments, and folng ali I could
to keep him froma new love, while I never had

ion of him. Oh, Agatha, if you could but

now the grief I am enduring for my sin. No Mag-
dalen ever Fonenion more bitterly than do I, but
or me there no voice bidding me sin no more
and Ishall go on and on, deeper and deeper, til!
the horror of the pit overtakes me, and Ag: and
will never meet again—never, never.’
“Oh, how Anna pitied the poor, repentant wo-
man, writhing with pain and remorse, and how she
loathed the man who stood revealed to her hag by.
he never had been before—the monster who
wrought such misery. And she shrank from EKu-
genie, too; but pitied her as. well, for there was
much of the true woman left in her still, and Anna
forced herself to lay her hands on the bowed head
of the sorrowing woman, to whom the touch of

ing, for there was astorm of sobs, and tears, and
fierce ticulations, and then the im:

 

 

 

exci Frenchwoman grew calm, a
of her old self was on her face as sheshrugged her
shoulders significantly, and said: ;

“‘Oh, Mon Dieu! such ascene as I’ve made, and
frightened you, child. How monsieur would have
enjoyed that; he would call it my high artin acting.
Curse him! [li act for him no more;’ and the hard,
bitter look of hatred came back to her face for an
instant, then left it again as she said: ‘I’ve told you
rat story, little one, who seems like Agatha. Now
tell me yours; where you met him; why you. mar-.
ried, and how you came here shut up, a_ prisoner.
aybeI can help you. Who knows? I owe him
something for his wrong to Agatha.’ : ‘

‘But for this hint that possibly Eugenie could

p her, Anna might have shrank from confiding
her story to her, but this new revelation of her hus-
band’s character had so increased her horror and
dislike of him that she readily seized upon any-
thing which offered the shadow of a chance to es-
cape from a lifeshe hated; and conquering all feel-
ings of distrust and aversion for one who had
openly confessed herself a bad woman, she began
the story, and told first of her New England home,
her poverty, and her life in the dingy shoe-shop,
with the to her sickening smell of leather and wax.
Atthis point Eugenie started ee ee
joxtnlly, and this time in her broken English:

 

forgotten hi

hen you not be no-bil-i-te. You be very peapis
asme. J’en suis bien aise. I hate no-bil-i-te, who
will trample suchas we. Iam pleased you are
much the people. I will help you more.’

“You mistake,’ Anna cried, eagerly, “I am no-
bility, as you callit. Weare alinobility in America,
orcanbe. We are all sovereigns by right. No mat-
ter what we do, we can rise.’

“Anna grew very warm with this flash of national
and personal pride, while Eugenie looked at her
curiously, wondering no doubt how a born sove-
reign could work in wax and leather, but she was
too good-natured and polite to dispute the point,
and answered, laughingly:

Pardonnez moi, madame. Je me trompe. En
Amerique vous—vous—what you call it? You all ex-
pect to marry kings and emperors, and be mi-lady
some time—oui—oui—je aime beaucoup, but on, I
wait to hear of la mere, la souer, and le petit frere,
and how monsieur came—’ ;

Then Anna told her of Haverleigh’s visit to Mill-
field; of his admiration for herself; of her desire
for menor bud position; of the marriage in the
church, which was a real marriage; of the foolish
words spoken and overheard in New York; of Ha-
yerleigh’s jealousy and rage; of the punishment
finally inflicted upon her, and of her husband’s
different moods since, sometimes so loving as to fill
her with disgust, and again revengeful and savage
to a degree which made her dread him asa mad-

man.

““Ah, ma Petite,’ Eugenie cried, ‘and he is a mad-
man, at times—much_ mad; but, tell me, was there
no other one whom Petite cared for at home, in that
quiet small town ? No grande passion to make mon-
sieur jealous ?’

“So much had happened since the days when
Anna walked home from church with Hal Morton,
and sang to him in the t\vilight, that she had almost
m, but thoughts of him came back to
her now, and by the sudden heaving of her chest,
and the flush which rose to her forehead, Eugenie
guessed that there was some grande passion, as she
named it,and very adroitly drew from Anna that
somebody was perhaps .sadder for her marriage,

though Inever should have married him,’ she
said. “We were both too poor, and Mr. Morton’s
roy were the first in Boston.’

“\ Mon Dieu. Quel difference,’ Eugenie exclaimed,
with ashrug. ‘Are you not all born—what you call
it in English—governors! Non, pardonnez—sove-
reigns! Idoso have things mixed.’

‘Anna laughed at the mistake, the first real,
hearty laugh in which she had indulged since she
came to Chateau D’Or. and said:

“ “Yes, but sometimes there’s a, difference in sove-
reigns, you know.’

“Oh, ciel, but it’s to me very strange. Ithink I
should like votre republique, but goon. You never
think to marry Monsieur Morton, but you like him

 

much,and Monsieur Haverleigh find it out, and
trust me, child, that broil—bake—fry; what you call

into a year and a half, and then the white-haired | P.

those hands seemed to be life-giving and reassur- | begi

and. |
something

 

it, rankle in his jealous brain tout le temps, for how-
ever many passions he have, he want you to own
but one. Mecomprenez vous? Bien! Je commence a
compendre Vaffaire; but I can help la petite madame,
and I will. And la mere, does she never know where
you stay all these time ?’

“There was then a rain of tears as Anna told of

her mother’s, death, and her sister’s removal to
some place ii? the far West, whose name she did
not even know, and how, latterly, the sister had
ceased to write at all, Mr. Haverleigh said.
_ ‘And they think Iam in a mad-house, and that
is the worst of all. Oh, I wish I were dead like
mother, for [ve given up all hope of leaving
Chateau D’Or, and when baby is born I hope Pil
die, Anna said, amid her tears.

“*Die! Jamais! Youshall go home—back to the
leetle house, and the wax, and the leather, and the
smell-bad, and the mother who is not dead. I not
believe that, jamais; it is one part of the great
whole; la mere not dead, and you shall see her yet.
Give me the—the-what you say—poste restante—
Vaddresse of the little village, and I write toute-de-
suite. Trust me, ma petite enfant. Trust Eugenie,
for the sake of Agatha.’ ‘

“It seemed to Anna that when Eugenie attempted
English she was softer and more womanly in her
way of expressing herself; was very pretty and
sweet, and Anna began to feel a degree of trust in
and dependence upon her which astonished her-
self Eugenie remained at the chateau_a week
longer, but never again took any part in the gaye-
ties which, without her suggestive and ruling
spirit, were inexpressibly flat and stale. To Havy-
erleigh she was cold and distant to a degree, which
angered him sorely and made him cross, and irrit-
able, and moody; but he was far from suspecti
the cause of Eugenie’s changed demeanor, an
never dreamed of connecting it in any way with
Agatha, or suspected the intimacy springing up be-
tween his wife and Eugenie,

“Tt was no part of Eugenie’s plan that he should
do so, and though she saw Anna often in the pri-
vacy of her apartment, where she spent much of
her time, she scarcely ever spoke to her in the pres-
ence of Haverleigh, except to pass the compliments
of the day, and when at last she left the chateau for
gon. there was a simple hand-shake and au revoir

etween herself and Anna, who, nevertheless, grew
more cheerful and happy, but kept, even from

adame Verwest, the hope she had of a release, or
at least of hearing once more from home. How
this would be accomplished she did not know, but
she trusted to Eugenie’s ree wit and ingenuity
in deceiving Haverleigh, who lingered at the
chateau until November, and who grew so moody,
and unreasonable, and tyrannical that, popular as
he usually was with his servants, every one hailed
his final departure with delight. |

“When next Anna heard from him he told her of
a dangerous Ane neccau niece illness which
had come upon Eugenie the very day she reached

aris.

“She did not go straight home,’ he wrote, ‘but
took a roundabout way through Normandy, where,
in some obscure place, she spent a week with her
father, who, it seems, died whileshe was there. His
death or something upset her terribly, and she has
suffered, and is still suffering, with a nervous fever
which makes her perfectly dreadful at times—out
of her head in fact—and she will not see one of her
old friends. Even I, who have known her.so long,
am forbidden the house, her nurse telling me that
she actually knows when I aor on the stair and in-
stantly grows fearfully excited. So, lest I make her
worse, I only send now twice a day to Pigiire how
sheis. They say she talks a et deal of La Petite,
and Anna when delirious. you, of

 

 

 

e Auna is
course, but who is Petite? Doyouknow? |

“Anna thought she did, but did not deem it ad-
visable to enlighten her husband, whose letter she
only answe bespaee of her anxiety to hear again
from Eugenie. her hopes for the future were
centered upon that woman, for whose recovery she

rayed many times'a day, wondering if any letter
had i" gone across the water, and waiting so anx-
iously for the response it was sure to bring.

CHAPTER VIII.
MORE NEWS WHICH CAME TO MILLFIELD.

“It was generally known all over Millfield that
poor Anna Btroae was a lunatic. “Hopelessly in-
sane,’ was the last message from the disconsolate
husband, who wrote regularly and affectionately to
the sorrowing family, which still occupied the

 

 

 

  
    
  
  
 
  

small red house by the x pond ; for Mrs. Stron
was not dead, though he air had all turne
gray, and her fae sa look of sor-
row and anxiet; 2

weighed heavyi
herself of a p
behind

were far better off in
came to ,

Sophomore class in college; Mrs. Stro.

‘Dressmaking’ was taken down, and Mary only

taught aselect class of young adies who came to

her to recite. | : Pi

“In a pecuniary and social point of view the
Strongs had been gainers by Anna’s marriage; but
they missed her terribly, and mourned for her as
for one worse even than dead. Very eagerly they

ed for Mr. Haverleigh’s letters, which at first
were frequent and regular. rly, however, they
had been far between, and it was now sometime
since Mrs. owen had heard frem him, and she was
beginning to get pepctioat and anxious, when one
gay. 6 last of February, there came to her two
letters bearing the: foreign post-mark. Both were
from Paris, and onein Mr. Haverleigh’s well-known
pandwriiiag. This was opened first, and said that

Anna was ,and had recognized and talked

with her husband the last time he saw her, and was

nning to manifest some little interest in what
was ane round her.

} My 4 fo? that, was Mrs. Strong’s fer-
vent reenter as she folded the short letter and
turned to Fred, who was studying the superscrip-
tion of the other envelope, which he had not no-
ticed pacticulariy before. : bas

“It was in his mother’s box, and had been hand-
ed to him with Haverleigh’s, which, as the more
important, had received the first attention.

“What does this mean, and who can it be from?’
he said, reading aloud the novel direction, which
was written in that small, peculiar hand common
tothe French. ; :

‘““To the friends of Madame Ernest Hayerileigh,

Mademoiselle Anna Strong, Millfield, Wooster

unty, Massachusetts, United States of Amerique,

in New land. P.8S. If the friends may be gone,
forward where they may be.’ ;

“So much writing covered nearly the entire side
of the envelope, which looked soiled and worn
as if it had been long upon the road, which in fact
was the case.

After leaving Chateau d’Or, Eugenie had gone
straight to her father, to whom she confessed the
whole shameful story of her life, and told what she
knew of poor Agatha’s fate. Such news was too
much for the old man, who the day following was
stricken with paralysis and died. Doubly and treb-
ly steeped in remorse, and accusing herself as the
murderer of both father and sister, Eugenie re-
turned to Paris, and before she could collect her
senses sufficiently to write to Anna’s friends, she
sank into that nervous, half delirious state of mind
in which she continued until January was nearly
gone, when she began torally. But her improve-
ment was so slow, and she was so weak, that it was
some time before she had the power to write, as
she had promised, to the friends in Millfield. This
was quite atask for her, as she could write English
ver Mp on ah and mixed it up with a good
deal of French. But she accomplished it at last
and man pretty accurately and fully to tell
what she had heard from Anna, to propose a plan
for action, in which she was to be one of the prin-

or the
’s sign of

 

 

cipals.

Tt would be impossible to describe the surprise
and consternation, amounting almost to increduli-
ty, with which Mrs, Strong listened to this letter
which Mary contrived to read with the help of the
dictionary and Fred, who knew alittle French. At
first it did not seem to her possible that any man
could be so deliberately cruel and treacherous, but
the facts were there, and when she recalled many
things which had appeared strange in Mr. Haver-
leigh’s letters, she could not doubt the truth of what
Eugenie had written. Fred did not doubt it fora
moment, He had always distrusted Haverleigh ;
always thought it strange that notwithstanding the
many times they had asked where Anna was they
had never receiveda reply. They knew now where
she was, but for a few moments sat staring blankly
at each other, too much benumbed and bewildered
to speak. Fred was the first to rally, and with quiv-
ering lip and clenched fist, exclaimed:

“Tf he was here Pd kill him.’

“That broke the spell at once; the tongues were
loosened, and they talked long and earnestly to-
gether of the best course to be pursued, and decid-
ing finally to follow Eugenie’s directions. But in
order to do this it was necessary to write to her
first, and this Fred did that very day, sending his
letter bythe next mail which left Millfield, and
then, during the interval of waiting, devoted him-
self assiduously to acquiring aspeaking knowledge
of the French language. Fortunately for him there
was in Millfield a native teacher, and to him Fred
went for instruction, studying night and day, and
working so industriously that by the time Eugenie’s
second letter was received,and he was ready to
start on his journey, he felt certain of at least mak-
ing himself understood in whatever part of Franco

e mien be.

“Both Mrs. Strong and her daughter thought it
better to say nothing of Eugenie’s letters and the
information they contained for the present, but
rather to wait for the result of Fred’s adventure.
Consequently all the people knew was that Fred
was going to see his sister, and it was generally sup-
posed that Mr. Haverleigh had forwarded the mo-
ney for the voyage, and his kindness and generosi-
ty to his wife’s family was the subject of much com-
ment and praise. Little did the people of Millfield

 

dream of the truth, or suspect that when at last the
Oceanic sailed down the harbor of New York with

red Strong on board, he was there with the steer-
age passengers and under the name of Charles Pat-
terson. He was not able to take a first-class pas-
sage, and he was afraid to bear his_own name lest
by some chance it reach the eye of Mr. Haverleigh,
who would thus be put on thealert. So he bore
cheerfully all the annoyances and discomforts of a
steerage passage, kept himself very quiet, and
mostly aloof from all his companions but one, a
Swiss lad whospoke French, and who willingly
taught and talked with the young American so anx-
ious to learn.

 

CHAPTER IX.
EUGENIE’S WAITING MAID.

“Charles Patterson, London,’ was the name of
the occupant of No. 512, Hotel du Louvre, Paris, and
512 was a small bedroom on the_fifth floor, and
looked down upon the busy Rue St. Honore.
Charles was a very fair, girlish-looking boy, who,
from the night he took possession of No. 512, kept
his room entirely, and was served in his apartment
daily with ‘cafe complet’ and two eggs in the morn-
ing, and with ‘bif-tek au pommes’ and haricots verts
for dinner in the afternoon. At first the waiter had
pointed significantly to the printed notice that hay-
ing his meals thus served would cost an extra
franc, but Charles had answered promptly, ‘Je le
sais,’ and that had ended it, and he was free to eat
where he liked. Nobody noticed or thought of him
again until the close of the second day, when, as he
stood looking down upon the street below, and
oniog the strange names on the signs, there came
a knock at the door, and a servant handed in acard
bearing the name of “Eugenie Archinard.’ The la-
dy herself was in the hall near the door, and in a
moment was in the room alone with the young boy.
whom she addressed as ‘Monsieur Sharles,’ an
whom she regarded intently as he brought her a
chair and then proceeded to light the one candle
which the room possessed.

“Mon Dieu!’ she began, in her pretty half-
French, half-English style ; ‘vous etes un petit garcon!

fais v’importe. You make avery joli—what you call
him ?—waiting-maid pour moi. but you very
like votre seur. Poor leetle madame!’

Oh, tell me of Anna, pispee! Tell me all you
know, and what I am to do,’ Fred said, speaking in
a whisper, as she had done, lest the occupants of
the adjoining rooms should hear what it was ne-
cessary to be kept secret. ,

“*Madame has a leetle babee,’ Eugenie said, and
as Fred uttered an exclamation of surprise, she
continued: ‘Itis so, veritable, but I it not write, for
fear to worry lamere. Both doing well, petite moth-
er and babee, which makes a boy, and monsieur is
—what you call it?—very much up; owt, very much;
but I hasten. Monsieur comes to find me to-night,
a diner. I tell you all toute de suite.’

“Then very rapidly she communicated her plan
for future action, interspersing her talk frequently
with ‘Mon Dieu! you make so pretty girl Anglaise,
with that fair hair and those blue eyes. Nobody

can saree.

nd Fred followed her closely, and understood
what he was to do, and, r she was gone, wrote
to his mother a full account of his adventures thus
far, and then waited with what patience he could
command for what was to follow.

* * * * * * *

“As will have been inferred, Eugenie was better.
The neryous depression and weakness had passed
away, and stimulated with this new excitement, she
had never looked: handsomer than when she con-
sented at last to receive Haverleigh as a guest at
her house. He had not seen her for weeks, or rath-
er months; for since the time she left Chateau d’Or
until the day she visited Fred at the Louvre, he
had notso much as heard the sound of her voice,
and this long separation from her, and seeming
indifference on her aes had revived his old pas-
sion for her ten-fold, and when at last she wrote,
‘Come and dine with me this evening,’ he felt as
elated and delighted as the bashful lover who goes
for his first visit to his fiancee. | ‘

“He found her waiting for him, dressed with ele-

ant simplicity, and iooking so fresh and young
that he went forward eagerly to meet her, with his
usual gush of tenderness, but she stepped back-
ward from _ him, with er in her manner
which kept him in check so that he only raised her

 

hand to his lips, and then stood looking at her and
marveling at her changed demeanor. And yet in
most points she was not changed; she would not
suffer him to touch her, and she compelled him to
treat her with a respect he had not been accustomed
to pay her in private; but otherwise she was the

{same brilliant, fascinating woman, bewildering

him with her beauty, and intoxicating him with her

and | wit and sharp repartees.

“For the la petite madame and le petit garcon she

)imade many inquiries, expressing a strong desire

to see them, and telling him that as soon as the
weather was more favorable she meant to go down
to Chateau D’Or for a little visit. To this Haver-
leigh assented, for he was perfectly willing that Eu-
genie and Anna should be on terms of intimacy,
especially as the former pretended to believe in the
lunacy of the latter, and inquired now very anx-
iously how she was in her mind since the birth of

her child. 3 ;

“A little better,’ Haverleigh hoped, and Eugenie
continued: 4 ‘ k

*““T mean some time this summer, say in June, to
have her here at my house for a little; the change
will do her great good. You are willing, of course,
when it will please me so much.’

“The eyes which looked at him were very soft and
pleading, and meeeleh could not resist them
and answered readily that Madame Anna should
ne come up to Paris; that he should be glad
to have her come; especially as Madame Archinard
was so kind as to ask her. Then Eugenie grew
more gracious and captivating, and told him of her
strange sickness, which made her so nervous that
she could not see her dearest friends, but she was
so much better now, and glad to have monsieur to
dine just as he used to do; then she told him asa
great misfortune that Elise, her waiting-maid, had
ieft her, and that she had made up her. mind to ad-
vertise for an English girl to fill her place. She was
so tired of the trickery of her own countrywomen
that she wanted to try some other nation; did mon-
sieur think an English girl would suit her? Ha-
yerleigh did not know, but advised her to try, and
then the conversation drifted into other channels
until the elegant little dinner was served.

“After dinner they drove to the opera, where Eu-

genie’s face was welcomed back again by a score or
more of lorgnettes leveled at her as she sat smil-
ingly unconscious of the attention she was attract-
ing, and with her mind far more occupied with the
boy sleeping quietly in No. 512than with the gay
scene around her. :
_ “The next morning there appeared in the French
journals an advertisement for_a young English
maid, who could speak a little French, and before
night Eugenie had been interviewed by at least a
dozen girls, of allages and sizes, wanting the place,
but none of them quite suited. She would wait a
little longer, she said, hoping to get just what she
desired. The next day, at a very unfashionable
hour, she drove to the picture gallery at the Louvre,
and bidding her coachman leave her there, sta-
tioned herself in one of the halls of statuary, which
she knew to be less frequented than some others,
especially at that hour of the morning. And there
she waited anxiously, now glancing through the
open door as a new comer entered, and again pre-
tending to be very busy with some broken-nosed
or armless block of marble. :

“Meanwhile Charles Patterson had settled his bill
at the Louvre, and with his traveling-bag, the only
proce of luggage brought from home, he passed

rom the court into the Rue de Rivoli, and crossing
the street walked rapidly to the gallery of the
Louvre, where madame was waiting for him. There
were a few words spoken between them, and then
both walked across the grounds to the street which
skirts the river, whore Eugenie called a carriage,
and bade the coachman drive to a second-rate
furnishing house in an obscure: part of the city,
with which she had once been more familiar than
she was now. It was a tolerably large establish-
ment and supplied her with what she wanted, an
entire outfit of a good substantial kind for a young
English girl serving in the ca smi of waiting-
maid. There were several bundles, but Fred’s oe
held them all, except the round straw hat whic
Eugenie carried herself, closely wrapped in paper.

““Drive us to the Station 8t. Lazare,’ she said to
the coachman, and in the course of half an hour
Fred found himself alone with his companion in a
ee aes carriage, speeding along toward Ver-
sailles.

“Eugenie had spoken to the conductor, and thus
secured the carriage to herself and Fred so that
there was no one to see them when they opened the
bag, and brought out one by one the different ar-
ticles which were to transform the boy Frederic
Strong into the girl Fanny Shader, who was to be
Kugenie’s waiting-maid. For that was the plan,
and with a little shrug of her shoulders and a sig-
nificant laugh, Eugenie said: f

* “Now I go to sleep—very much asleep—while you
make the grand toilet,’ and closing her eyes she
leaned back in her seat, and to all human appear-
ance slept So while Fred arrayed himself in
his feminine habiliments, which fitted him admir-
ably and became him remarkably well. Fair-hair-
ed, pale-faced, blue-eyed and small, he had fre-
quently been a girlin the little plays his school
companions were always getting up in Millfield, so
he was neither strange nor awkward in his new
dress and character, but assumed both easily and
naturally as if they had belonged to him all his life,
and when at last he said:

““Tam ready; you can wake up now,” and Eu-
genie opened her eyes; she started in astonish-
ment and wonder, for instead of the delicate boy
who had been her companion, there sat a good-sized
girl, in a noatly-fitting brown stuff dress and
sacque, with bands of white linen at the throat and
wrists, and a dark straw hat perched jauntily upon

 

the hair parted in the middle and curling naturally.

 

The disguise was perfect, and Eugenie exclaimed,
delightedly:

‘Oh, Mon Dieu, c’est une grande success. You make
such jolt girl. Nobody suspect ever. Now you
must be bien attentif tome. You carry my shawl;
you pick up my inouchoir—so; and she dropped
her handkerchief to see how adroitly the new maid.
would stoop and hand itto her. It was well done,
and Engenie continued:

“*You act perfectly—perfectly. Now you not for-
get, but walk behind me always with the parcels.
and not talk much with the other domestiques. Ah,
ciel, but you cannot, you cannot speak much French
to them, and that be. good; but to me you speak
French toujours; you learn it, which must be better
by-and-by when the great trial comes.’

“They were now near to Versailles, and, when
the long train stopped, Eugenie and her maid
stepped out unobserved by any one; and as there
was an interval of two hours or more before they
could return to Paris, Eugenie spent it in showing
her companion the beauties of the old Palace aud
its charming grounds. And Fanny was very atten-
tive and very respectful to her mistress, and acted
the role of waiting-maid to perfection, though oc-
casionally there was a gleam of mischief in the
blue eyes, and acomical smile lurking about the
corners of the mouth as Fred answered to the new
name, or held up his skirts as they walked over a
wet piece of ground, ;

‘Mon Dieu, but your feet are much large for the
rest of you, Eugenie said, as she omen sight of
his boots. “You not show them so much,’

. So Fred kept his dress down, and wondered how
girls managed to walk so well with a lot of petti-
coats dangling around their ankles, but behaved
himself on the whole with perfect propriety, and
by the time Eugenie’s residence in Paris was
reached had completely won his mistress’s heart.
It was past the luncheon hour, but Eugenie had
chocolate and rolls in her room, and Fanny served
her with the utmost deference, and moved so quiet-
ly and gently among her fellow servants that she
came into favor at once, and la jeune Anglaise was
toasted at dinner by one of the footmen, who
bat a the new girl did not understand a word he
said.

“Tt was two days before Haverleigh came_ to sto
any length of time, and then he came to dine, an
by, eo :

‘I shall ring for you to do something for me af-
ter dinner, and you will be much careful,’ Eugenie
said to Fred, who had never been so nervous and

| excited as he was in view of the approaching or-

eal.

“The stuff dress had been exchanged for a pretty
calico, and the white fluted apron which he wore
had been bought at the ‘Bon Marche. The light,
abundant hair was covered witha bit of muslin
called a cap, with smart blue ribbons streaming be-
hind, and this more than anything else made Fred
into a girl—a tidy-looking maid, who stood with
beating heart in the upper hall listening to the
tones of Haverleigh’s voice as they came from the
salon below. How well Fred remembered that
voice, and how his young blood boiled as he longed
to rush upon the man and with all his feeble
strength avenge his sister’s wrongs. But he must
bide his time, and he waited till his mistress’s bell
should summon him to her presence, and that o:
his detestable brother-in-law.

[TO BE CONTINUED. ]

CAPTAIN
Danton’s Daughters.

By May Agnes Fleming.

 

 

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

CHAPTER IX.
A GAME FOR TWO TO PLAY AT.

A cold, raw, rainy, dismal morning—the sky
black and hopeless of sunshine, the long bleak
blasts complaining around the old house, and rat-
tling ghostlily the skeleton-trees. The rain was —
more sleet than rain; for it froze as it fell, and clat-_
tered noisily agrinst the blurred window-glass. A
morning tor hot coffee and muffins, and roaring
fires and newspapers, and easy-chairs, and in which
you would not have the heart’ to turn your enemy’s
dog from the door.

Doctor Danton stood this wild and wintry Febru-
ary morning at his chamber-window, looking out ab-
sently at the slanting sleet, not thinking of it—not
thinking of the pale blank of wet mist shrouding the
distant flelds and marshes, and village and river,
but of something that made him knit his browsin
perplexed reflection.

“What was it she saw last night?” he mused.
“No specter of the imagination, and no bona fide
ghost. Old Margery saw something, and now
Agnes. I wonder—” :

estopped. There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said, and Grace entered.

“TI did not know you were up,” said Grace, “but it
is very fortunate as it happens. I have just been to
Miss Darling’s room, and she is crying out tor
you in the wildest manner.”

“Ah!” said her brother, rising, ‘thas she been
awake long ?”

‘Nearly an hour, Babette tells me, and all that
time she has been frantically calling for you. Her
manner is quite frenzied, and I tear—”

“What do you fear ?”

“That last nighl’s fright has disordered her rea-
son.”

‘‘Heaven forbid! I will go to herat once.”

He left the room as he spoke, and ran up stairs to
the chamber of the seamstress. The gray morning
twilight stole drearily through the closed shutter,
and the lamp burned dim and dismal still. Babette
sat by the bedside trying to soothe her charge in
very bad English, and evidently but with little suc-
cess. The bed-ciothes had been tossed off—the little
thin hands closed and unclosed in them—the great
dark eyes were wide and wild—the black hair all
tossed and disordered on the pillow.

Babette rose precipitately at the doctor’s en-
trance.

‘-Here’s the doctor Mees Darling.
monsieur ?”

“Yes, you may go; but remain outside, in case I
should want you.”

He shut the door on Babette, and took her place
by the sick girl’s bedside.

Babette lingered in the passage, staring at the
stormy morning, and gaping forlornly.

“Thope he won’t be long,” she thought.
to go go to bed.”

Doctor Frank however, was long. Hight struck
somewhere in the house; that was half an hour, and
there was no sign of his coming. Babette shivered.
under her shawl, and looked more drearily than
ever at the ete sleet.

Nine—another hour and no sign from the sick-
room yet. Babette rose up in desperation, but just
at that moment Grace came up stairs.

‘**You here, Babette!” she said, surprised. ‘*Who
is with Agnes ?”

“The doctor, mademoiselle! he told me to wait
until he came out, and I have waited, and I am too
sleepy to wait any longer. May I go, mademois-
elle ?

“Yes, go,” said Grace. ‘I will take your place.”

Babette departed’ with alacrity, and Grace sat
down by the storm-beaten window. She listened
for some sound from the sick-room, but none re-
warded her. Nothing was to be heard but the
storm without, and now and then the opening and
shutting of some door within.

Another half-hour—then the door of the seam-
stress’s room opened, and her brother came out.
How pale he was—paler and graver than his sister
ever remembered seeing him before.

“Well,” she said, rising, ‘how is your patient ?”

: “Better,” he briefly answered, ‘very much bet-
en;

“T thought she was worse, you look so pale.”

“Pale, do I! This dismal morning, I suppose.
Grace,” he said, lowering his tone, and looking at
her fixedly ‘Whose ghost did old Margery say she
saw ?

‘‘Whose ghost! What a question !”

‘“‘Answer it !”

‘Don’t be so imperative please. Master Harry’s
ghost, she said.”

‘‘And Master Harry is Captain Danton’s son ?”

“‘Was—he is dead now.”

“Yes, yes! He was killed in New York, I be-
lieve ?”

“So they say. The family never speak of him. He
was the black sheep of the flock, you know. But
why do youask? Wasit his ghost Agnes saw ?”

‘Nonsense! Of course not! What should she
know of Captain Danton’s son? Some one—one of
the servants probably—came up the stairs and frigh-
tened her out of her nervous wits. I have been try-
ing to talk a little sense into her foolish head these
two hours.”

“And have you succeeded ?”

“Partly. But don’t ask her any questions on the
subject; and don’t let- Miss Danton, or any one who
may visit her, ask any questions. It upsets her, and
I won’t be answerable for the consequences.”

“It is very strange,” said Grace, looking at her
brother intently, *‘very strange that old Margery
and Agnes Darling should both see an apparition in
this house. There must be something in it.”

 

May I go now,

“T want

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

‘sOf course, there is-—didn’t I tell you so—an over-
heated imagination. I have known more extraor- |
dinary optical illusions than that in my time. How}
is Margery—better again ?”

‘No indeed. She wili never get over her scare in
this world. She keeps a light in her room all night,
and makes one of the maids sleep with her, and

‘won’t be alone a moment, night or day.”

Frank, with professional
She is an old woman, and
Does she

‘Ah !? said Doctor
phlegm. ‘Of course!
we could hardly expect anything else.
talk much of the ghost ?”

“No. The slightest allusion to the subject agi-
tates her for the whole day. Noone dare mention
ghosts in Margery’s presence.” ;

“T hope you will all be equally discreet with Miss
Darling. Time will wear away the hallucination, if
you women only hold your tongues. I must caution
Rose, who has an unfortunate habit of letting out
whatever comes uppermost. Ah! hefe she is!”

‘‘Were you talking of me?” inquired Miss Rose,
tripping up stairs, fresh and pretty, in a blue merino
morning dress, with soft white trimmings.

‘Do I ever talk of any one else ?” said Doctor
Frank.

‘Pooh! How is Agnes Darling ?” :

‘As well as can be expected, after seeing a
ghost !”,

“Did she see a ghost, though ?” asked Rose, open-
ing her hazel eyes, ,

“Of course she did; and my advice to you, Miss
Rose, is to goto bed every night at dark, and to
sleep immediately, with your head covered up in
the bedclothes, or you may happen to see one,
too.”

“Thank you for your advice, which I don’t want
and won’t take, Whose ghost did she see?”

“The ghost. of Hamlet’s father, perhaps—-she
doesn’t know; before she could take a second look
it vanished ia a cloud of blue flame, and she swoon-
ed away !”

‘Doctor Danton,” said Rose, sharply, “I wish you
would talk sense. Ill go and ask Agnes herself
about it. I want to get at the bottom of this
affair.” :

‘‘A very laubable desire, which I regret being
obliged to frustrate,” said Doctor Danton, placing
himself between her andthe door.

‘You!’ cried Rose, drawing herself up. ‘‘What
do you mean, sir ?”

‘*As Miss Agnes Darling’s medical attendant, my
dear Miss Rose—deeply as it wounds me to refuse
your slightest request—I really must forbid any step
of the kind. The consequences might be seri-
ous.”

‘*And I am not to see her if] choose ?”
Rose, her eyes quite flashing.

“Certainly you are to see her, and to fetch her
jélly, and chicken, and toast, and tea, if you. will;
bat you are not to speak of the ghost. That blood-
curdling subject is absolutely tabooed in the sick-
room, unless——~” s

‘Unless what ?” inquired Rose, angrily.

“Unless you want to make a maniac of her. Iam
serious in this; you must not allude in the remotest
way to the cause of her illness when you visit her, or
you may regret your indiscretion while you live.”

He spoke with a gravity that showed he was in ear-
nest. Rose shrugged her shoulders impatiently, and
walked to Agnes’ door. Grace followed at a sign
from her brother, who ran down stairs.

The sick girl was not asleep—she lay with her eyes
wide open, staring vacantly at the white wall. She
looked at them, when they entered, with. a half-
frightened, half-inquiring gaze.

‘Are you better, Agnes?” asked Rose, looking
down at the colorless tace. i

‘Oh yes !” :

She answered nervously, her fingers twisting in
and out of her .bed-clothes; her eyes wandering un-

easily from one tothe other,

*‘Wouldn’t you like something to eat ?” inquired

demanded

- Rose, not knowing whaé else to say.

“Oh no!”

**You had better have some tea,” said. Grace, de-
cisively, “it will do you good, [ will fetch you up
-° presently. Rose, there is the breakfast-
bell. i

Rose, with a parting nod to Agnes, went off, very
much disappointed, and in high dudgeon with Doc-
tor Frank for not letting her cross-examine the
seamstress on the subject of the ghost.

“The ghost she saw must have been Mr. Richards
returning from his midnight-stroll,” thought Rose,
shrewdly. ‘My opinion is, he is the only ghost in
Danton Hall.”

There was very little allusion made to the affair of
last night, at the breakfast-table. It-seemed to be
tactly understood that the subject was disagreea-
ble; and beyond an inquiry of the doctor, ‘‘How is
your eee this morning ?” nothing was said, But
all felt vaguely there was some mystery. Doctor
Frank’s theory of optical illusion satisfied no one—
there was something at the bottom that they did not
understand. yt

The stormy day grew stormier as it wore on.
Rose sat down at the drawing-room, piano after
breakfast, and tried to while away the forlorn morn-
ing with music. Kate was there, trying to work off
abad headache witha complicated piece of em-
broidery and a conversation with Mr. .Reginald
Stanford. That gentleman sat onan ottoman at her

‘ soni A07 eo
~G lS =z
TORRES sec

- ee — es ay — — 5 = = —— rn
could say what still might be? She had been such a |

spoiled child all her life, getting whatever she
wanted for the asking, that it was very hard she
should be refused now, the highest boon she had
ever craved—Mr. Reginald Stanford.

Did some mesmeric rapport tell him in his sleep
she was there? Perhaps so, for without noise, or
cause, his eyes opened and fixed on Rose’s flushed
and troubled face, She started away with a con-
fused exclamation, but Stanford, stretching out his
arm, caught and held her fast. ;

**Don’t run away, Rose,” he said, ‘Show long have
you been here? How long have I been asleep?”

“T don’t know,” said Rose, confusedly. ‘I came
here for abook a moment ago only. Let me go,
Mr, Stanford.”

‘Tet you go? Surely not. Come sit down here
beside me, Rose. I have fitty things to say to you.”

‘You have nothing to say to me—nothing I wish
to hear. Please let me go.”

‘‘On your dignity again, Rose?” he said, smiling,
and mesmerizing her with his dark eyes; “when
will you have done wearing your mask?”

*‘My mask!”. Rose echoed, flushing; ‘“‘what do you
mean, Mr. Stanford?” sngit

“Treating me like this! You don’t want to leave
me now, doyou? Youdon’t hate meas much as you
pretend. You act very well, my pretty little Rose;
but you don’t mean it—you know you don’t!”

“Will you let me go, Mr. Stanford?” haughtily.

“No, my dear; certainly not! I don’t get the
chance of a tete-a-tete with you so often that I
should resign the priceless privilege at a word. We
used to be good friends, Rose; why can’t we be
good friends again?”

‘Used to be!” Rose echoed; and then her voice
failedher. All her loye and her wounded pride
rose in her throat and choked her. a

Reginald Stanford drew her closer to ‘him, and
tried to see the averted face.

“Won't you forgive me, Rose? I didn’t behave
well, [know; but I liked you so'much. Won’t you
forgive me?”

A passionate outburst of tears, that would no
longer be restrained, answered him.

‘Oh! how could you do it! How could you do it!
How could you deceive me so!” sobbed Rose.

Stanford drew her closer still.

*‘Deceive you, my darling! How did I deceive
you? Tell me, Rose, and don’t cry!” i
‘*You said—you said your name was Reinecourt,
and it wasn’t; and I didn’t know you were Kate’s
lover, or I never would have—would have—oh! how
could you: do it?”

‘‘My dear little girl, I told you the truth. My
name is Reinecourt.”

Rose looked up indignantly.

, “Reginald Reinecourt Stanford is my name; and
the reason I only gave youa third of it was, as I
said before, because I liked you so much. You
know, my dear little Rose, if I had told you that
day on the ice myname was Reginald Stanford, you
would have gone straight to the hall, told the news,
and had me brought here at once. By that pro-
ceeding I should have seen very little of you, of
course. Don’t you see?”

‘*Ye-e-e-s,” very falteringly.

‘“Tlooked up that day from the ice,” continued
Stanford, ‘and saw such a dear little curly-headed,
bright-eyed, rose-cheeked fairy, that—no, I can’t
tell you how I felt at the sight. I gave you my mid-
dle name, and you acted the Good Samaritan to the
wounded stranger—came to see me every day, and
made that sprained ankle the greatest boon of my
life!”

“Mr, Stanford—”

“Call me Reginald.”

“J cannot. Let me go! What would Kate‘say?”

. “She will like it. She doesn’t understand why
you dislike me so much.”

He laughed as he said it. The laugh implied so
much, that Rose started up, coloring vividly.

“This is wrong! I must go. Don’t hold me, Mr.
Stanford.”

‘Reginald, if you please!”

“T have no right to say Reginald!”

“Yes, you have a sister’s right!”

“Tet me go!" said Rose, imperiously. “I ought
not to be here.” us

here.
me.” ‘

“Of course, I forgive you. It’s of no consequence.
Will you iet me go, Mr. Stanford?” ots

‘Don’t be in such a hurry. I told you I had fifty
things to—”

He stopped short. The drawing-room door had
opened, and Captain Danton’s voice could be heard
talking to his two companions at billiards.

‘All deserted,” said the captain; ‘‘I thought we
should find the girls here. Come in. I dare say
somebody will be along presently.”

“Oh, let me go!” cried Rose, in dire alarm. ‘‘Papa
may comeinhere. Oh, pray—pray let me go!”

“If I do, will you promise to be good friends with
me in the future?” ;

‘Yes, yes! Let me go!”

“And you forget and forgive the past?”

**Yes—yes—yes! Anything, anything.”

Stanford, who had no more desire than Rose her-
self to be caught just then by papa-in-law, released
his captive, and Rose flew. out into the hall and up
stairs faster than she had ever done before.

 

feet, sorting silks, and beads, and Berlin wool, and
Rose was above casting even a glance at them,
Captain Danton, Sir Ronald, and the doctor were
playing billiards at the other end of the rambling
old house. And up stairs poor Agnes Darling tossed
feverishly on her hot pillow, and moaned, and slept
fitfully, and murmured a name in her troubled sleep,
and Grace watching her, and listening, heard the
name ‘*‘Harry.”

Some of the gloom of the wretched day seemed to.

play on Rose’s spirits. She sang all the melancholy
Songs she knew, in a mournful, minor key, until the
conversation of the other two ceased, and they felt
as dismal as herself. .

**Rose, don’t !” Kate cried out in desperation at

length. ‘Your songs are enough to give one the
horrors. Here is Reginald with a face as gloomy as
the day.”

*‘Don’t mind me,” said Stanford, looking up from
the silks; ‘‘I can stand it. Finish off with the ‘Sta-
bat Mater Dolorosa.’ [ don’t know anything more
delightiully melancholy than that.”

Bose got up in displeased silence, closed the piano,
and walked to the door.

“Pray don’t!” said Stanford; ‘‘don’t leave us.
Kate andI have nothing more tosayto one an-
other, and I have a thousand things to say to you.”

“You must defer them,I fear,” replied Rose.
“Kate will raise your spirits with more enlivening
music when I am gone.”

*‘A good idea,” said Kate's lover, when the door
closed; “‘come,my dear girl, give us something a
little less depressing than that we have just been
favored with.”

“How odd,” said Kate, languidly, “that Rose will
notlike you. I cannot understand it.”

“Neither can I,” replied Mr. Stanford; ‘but since
the gods have willed it so, why there is nothing for
it but resignation.
through the woods, follow and find me.’
that.’

Kate essayed, but failed. Her headache was worse,
and singing an impossibility.

“Tam afraid I must lie down,” she said. “I am
half blind with the pain. You must seek refuge in
the billiard-room, Reginald, while I go up stairs,”

Mr. Stanford expressed his regrets, kissed her
hand—he was very calm and decorous with his
stately lady-love, and let her go.

“T wish Rose had staid,” he thought; ‘poor lit-
tle girl! how miserable she does look sometimes. I
am afraid [have not acted quite right; and Idon’t
know thatIlam not going to make a scoundrel ot
myself; but how is a fellow to help it?) Kate's too
beautiful and too perfect fer mortal man; and I am
very mortal, indeed, and should feel uncomfortable
married to perfection.”

He walked to the curtained recess of the drawing-
room, where Rose had one morning battled with
her despair, and threw himself down among the pil-
lows of the lounge. Those very pillows whereon
his handsome head rested had been soaked in Rose’s
tears, shed for his sweet sake—but how was he to
know that? It was sucha cozy little nook, so still
and dusky, and shut in, that Mr. Stanford, whose
troubles did not prey on him very profoundly,
closed his dark eyes, and went asleep in five
minutes. :

And sleeping, Rosefoundhim. Going to her room
to read, she remembered she had lett her book on
the sofa in the recess, and ran down stairs again to
getit. Entering the little room fromthe hall, she
beheld Mr. Stanford asleep, his head on his arm, his
handsome fave as perfect as something carved in
marble, in its deep repose,

Rose stood still—any one might have stood and
lcoked, and admired that picture, but not as she
admired. Rose wasin love with him—hopelessly,
you know, therefore the more deeply. All the love
that pride had tried, and tried in vain, to crush,
rose in desperation stronger than ever within. her.
If he had not been her sister’s betrothed, who could
say what might not have been? If that sister was
one degree iess beautiful and accomplished, who

Sing

ety

Here is ‘Through the woods, .

How the four gentlemen got on alone in the draw-
ing-room she never knew. She kept her room all
day, and took uncommon pains with her dinner-
toilet. She wore the blue glace, in which she looked
so charming, and twisted some jeweled stars in her
brightauburn hair. She looked at herself in the
glass, her eyes dancing, her cheeks flushed, her
rosy lips apart.

“Tam pretty,” thought Rose. “I like my own
looks better than I do Kate’s, and every one calls
her beautiful. I suppose her eyes are larger, and
her nose more perfect, and her forehead higher;
but she is too pale and cold. Oh, if Reginald would
only love me better than Kate!” '

She ran down stairs as the last bell rang, eager
and expectant, but only to be disappeinted. Grace
was there; Eeny and Kate were there, and Sir
Ronald Keith; but where were the rest?

‘*Where’s papa?” said Rose, taking her seat.

‘‘Dining out,” replied Kate, who looked pale and
ill. ‘‘And Reginald and Doctor Danton are with
him. It is at Mr. Howard’s, They drove off over an
nour ago.”

Rose’s eyes fell and her color faded. Until the
meal was over, she hardly opened her lips; and
when it was concluded, she went back immediately
to herroom. Where was the useof waiting when
he would not be there?

 

CHAPTER X,
THE REVELATION;

Next morning, at breaktast, Captain Danton was
back; but Reginald’s handsome face, and easy flow
of conversation, were missing. George Howard, it
appeared, was going on a skating excursion some
miles off, that day, and had prevailed on Mr. Stan-
ford to remain and accompany him.

Rose felt about as desolate as if she had been ship-
wrecked on a desert island. There was a pang of
jealousy mingled with the desolation, too, Emily
Howard was a sparkling brunette, a coquette, an
heiress, and a belle. Was it the skating excursion
or Emily's big black eyes that had tempted him to
linger? _ Perhaps Emily would go with them skating,
and Rose knew how charming piquant little Miss
Howard was on skates.

. It'was a miserable morning altogether, and Rose
tormented herself in true orthodox loyer-like style.
She roamed about the house aimlessly, pulling out
her watch perpetually to look at the hour, and sigh-
ing drearily. She wondered at Kate, who sat so
visser playing some song without words, with the
cotch baronet standing by the piano, absorbed.

“What does she: know of love?” thought Rose,
contemptuously. ‘‘She is as cold as a polar iceberg.
She ought to marry that knight of the woful counte-
nance beside her, and be my lady. and live ina cas-
tle, and eat andsleep in velvet and rubies. It would
just suit her.”

Doctor Danton came up in the eourse of the fore-
noon, to make a professional call. His patient was
better, calmer, less nervous, and able to sit up ina
Tocking-chair, wrapped in a great shawl. Grace
persuaded him to stay to luncheon, and he did; and
tried to win Miss Rose out of the dismals, and got
incontinently snubbed for his pains.

But there was balm in Gilead for Rose. Just after
luncheon a littie shell-like sleigh, with prancing po-
nies and jingling bells, whirled musically up to the
door. A pretty, blooming, black-eyed girl was its
sole occupant; and Rose, at the drawing-room win-
dow, ran out to meet her.

“My darling Emily!” cried Rose, kissing the young
lady she had been wishing at Jericho all'day, ‘Show
glad I am to see you! Come in! You will stay to
dinner, won’t you?”

“No, dear,” said Miss Howard, “I can’t, I just
came over for you; I am alone, and want you to
spend the evening. Don’t say no; Mr. Stanford will
be home. to dinner witn George, and he will escort
you back.”

 

“You pet!” cried Rose, with another rapturous

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

kiss. ‘Just wait five minutes while I run up and
dress.”

Miss Howard was not very long detained.
was back, all ready, in half an hour.

‘*Would your sister come?” inquired Miss Howard,
doubtfully, for she was agood deal in awe of that
tall, majestic sister. ¢ :
“Who? Kate? Oh, she is out riding with Sir
Ronald Keith. Never mind her; we can have a bet-
ter time by ourselves.”

The tiny sleigh dashed off with its fair occupants,
and Rose’s depressed spirits went up to fever-heat,
It was the first of March, and March had come inlike
a lamb—balmy, sunshiny, brilliant. Everybody look-
ed at them admiringly as the fairy sleigh and the
two pretty girls flew through the village, and
thought, perhaps, what.a fine thing it was to be
rich, and young, and handsome, and* happy, like
that.

Miss Howard’s home was about half a mile off,
and a few minutes brought them to it,

The two girls passed the afternoon agreeably
enough at the piano and over new books, but both
were longing for evening and the return of the gen-
tlemen. Miss Howard was only sixteen, and couldn’t
help admiring Mr. Stantord, or wishing she were her
brother George, and with him all day.

The March day darkened slowly down. The sun
fell low and dropped out of sight behind the bright,
trozen river, in a glory of crimson and purple. The
hues of the sunset died, the evening star shone steel-
blue and bright in the night-sky, and the twe girls
stood by the window watching when the gentlemen
returned. There was just light enough left to see
them plainly as they drew near the house, their
skates slung over theirarms, but Mr, George How-
ard came in for very little of their regards.

‘Handsome fellow!” said Miss Howard, her eyes
sparkling.

‘““Who?” said Rose, carelessly, as if her heart was
not beating time to the word. ‘'Reginald?”’

‘Yes; he is the handsomest man I ever saw.”

Rose laughed—a rather forced laugh, though.

“Don’t fall in love with my handsome brother-in-
law, Em. Kate won’t like it.”

“They are to be married next June, are they not?”
asked Emily, not noticing the insinuation, save bya
slight color, which the twilight hid.

“So they say.”

“They will be a splendid-looking pair. George
and all the gentlemen say that she is the only really
beautiful woman they ever saw.”

“Tastes differ,” said Rose, with ashrug. ‘I don’t
think so. She is too pale, and proud, and cold, and
too far up in the clouds altogether. She ought.to
go and be a nun; she would make a splendid lady-
abbess.”

‘She will make a splendid Mrs. Stanford.”

*‘Who?” said Mr. Stanford himself, sauntering in,
‘You, Miss Howard?”

*‘No; another lady I know of. What kind of a
time had you, skating?”

“Capital,” replied her brother; ‘for an English-
man, Stanford knocks everything. Hallo, Rose!
who’d have thought it?”

Rose emerged from the shadow of the window
curtains, and shook hands carelessly with Master
George.

“J drove over for her after you went,” said his
sister. ‘‘Come, there’s the dinner-dell, and Mr.
Stanford looks hungry.”

“And is hungry,” said Mr. Stanford, giving her
his arm. “I shall astonish Mrs. Howard by my per-
formance this evening.”

They were, not a very large party—Mr. and Mrs;
Howard, their son and daughter, Mr. Stanford and
Rose—but they were a very merry one. Mr. Stan-
ford had been in India once, three years ago, and
told them wonderful stories.of tiger hunts, and Hin-
doo girls, and jungle adventures, and Sepoy warfare,
until he carried his audience away from the frozen
Canadian land to the burning sun and tropical splen-
dors and perils of far-off India. Then, after dinner,
when Mr. Howard, Senior, went to his library to
write letters, and Mrs. Howard dozedin an easy-
chair by the. fire ere was music, and sparkling
chit-chat, rac it Moselle at dinner, and

Ce telling by Mr. Howard,

Rose

   
  

ames at cards, and fortune
ae ‘ei or; and it was twelve before Rose thought it
*“T don’tsee why. It is very pleasant to have you | half-past k cette
Yow haven’t told me yet that you forgive |

Cath Ci at 5

_“T must go,” said Rose, starting up. “I had né
id it was 80 late. I must go at once.”

So OU aa. ‘up stairs for Miss Dan-

yrap Vhen they ended the sleigh was

: out to; The bright

       
     

 

il went gether,

ad ended in a frosty, starlit, windless
night. A tiny moon glitéered sparkling overhead,
and silvering the snowy ground.

“Oh, what a night!” cried Emily Howard. ‘You
may talk about your blazing India, Mr. Stanford, but
I would not give our own dear snow-clad Canada for
the wealth of a thousand Indies. ‘Good night, dar-
ling Rose, and pleasant dreams.” —

Miss Howard kissed her. Mr. Howard came over
and made an attempt to do the same.

“Good night, darling Rose, and dream of me.”

Rose’s answer was a slap, and then Reginald was
beside her, and they were driving through the lu-
minous dusk of the winter moonlight,

“You may stop at the gate, my good fellow,” said
Mr, Stanford, to the driver; “the night is fine—we
will walk the rest of the way—eh, Rose?”

Rose’s answer was a smile, and they were at the

 
 

 

Ene almost. immediately.
and within his arm, atid they sauntered slowly,
very slowly, up the dark, tree-shaded avenue. '

“How gloomy it is here!” said Rose, clinging to
his arm with a delicious littie shiver; ‘‘and itis mid-
night, too. How frightened I should be alone!”

‘*‘Which means you are not frightened, being with
me. Miss Rose, you are delightful!”

“Interpret it as you please. What would you say
if the ghost were to start out from these grim black
trees and confront us?” ~~

“Say? Nothing. I would quietly faint in your
arms. But this is not the ghost’s walk. Wasn’t it
in the tamarac avenue old: Margery saw it? Let us
go there.”

“Tt is too late,” said Rose.

“No, it is not.
novel in promenading with a young lady at the
witching hour of midnight, when graveyards yawn,
and ‘gibbering ghosts in winding sheets cut up can-
trips before high heaven. Come.”

“But Mr. Stanford——”

“Reginald, I tell you. You promised, you know.”

“But really, Reginald, it is too late. What if we
were seen?” 5

“Nonsense! Who is to see us? And if they do,
haven't brothers and sisters a right to walk at mid-
night as well as noonday if they choose? Besides,
we may see the specter of Danton Hall, andI would
giye a month’s nav forthe sight any time,” *

They éfiitered the tamard¢é walk as he speke—
bright enough at tlie entrance, where the starlight
streamed in, but in the very blackness of darkness
farther down.

‘How horribly dismal!” cried Rose, clinging to
him more closely thanever, ‘A murder might be
committed here and noone be the wiser.”

+A fit’ place for a ghostly promenade.
Danton appear! Hist! What is that?”

Rose barely suppresseda shriek. He puf- his hand
over her mouth, and drew her silently into the
shadow.

As if his mocking words had evoked them, two
figures entered the tamarac walk as he spoke.

The starlight showed them plainly—a man and a
woman; the wonfan wrapped in a shawl, leaning on
the man’s arm, and both walking very slowly, talk-
ing earnestly.

‘No ghosts those,” whispered Reginald Stanford.
‘*Be quiet, Rose; we are in for an adventure.”

‘T ought to know that woman’s figure,” said Rose,
in the same low tone, ‘‘Look! Don’t you?”

‘By—George!. It can’tbe. It can’t be—Kate!”

‘Tf is Kate; and who is the man, and what does it
mean?”

Now Rose, maliciously asking the question, knew
in her heart the man was Mr. Richards, She did not
comprehend, of course, but she knew it must be all
right; for Kate walked with him there under her
father’s sanction.

Mr. Stanford made no reply; he was staring like
one who cannot believe his eyes.

Kate’s face shown in profile was plainly visible as
they drew. nearer. The man’s, shrouded by coat-
collar and peaked cap, was all hidden, save a well-
shaped hose. of Speier Fk

“It is Kate,” repeated Mr. Stanford,’ blankly.
‘*And what does it mean?”

‘‘Hush-sh!” whispered Rose;
you.”

She drew him back softly. The two advancing
figures were so very near now that their: words
could be heard. It was Kate’s soft voice that was
speaking.

‘Patience, dear,” she was saying; ‘‘patience a
little longer yet.”

‘*Patience!” cried the man, passionately. ‘‘Haven’t
I been patieut? Haven't I waited and waited, eat-
ing my heart ont in solitude, and loneliness, and
misery? But for yourloye, Kate—your undying love
ota faith in me—I should long ago have gone
mad!

Specter of

“they will hear

 

‘hey passed out of hearing with the last words.

Reginald Stanford stood petrified; even Rose was

desperately startled by the desperate words.
‘Oh, let us go before they come back.”

her with a face as white as the frozen snow.
‘You heard him?” he said, ‘‘You heard her?
What does it mean?”
‘I don’t know. Iam frightened. Oh, let us go!”
Too late! Kate and her companion had reached
the end of the tamarac walk.and were returning.
As they drew near, she was speaking; again the two
listeners in the darkness heard her words.
‘Don’t despair,” she said, earnestly. ‘Oh, my
darling, never despair! Come what will, I shall al-
ways love you—always trust you—always——”
They passed out of hearing again—out of the dark
into the lighted end of the walk, and did not
return.
Reginald and Rose waited for a quarter of an
hour, but they had disappeared as suddenly as they
had appeared.
‘Take me in,” reiterated Rose, shivering.
nearly frozen.” i
He turned with her up the walk, never speaking
a word, very pale in the light of the stars. No one
was visible as they left the walk; all around the
house and grounds was hushed and still. The house
door was “locked, but not bolted. Mr. Stanford
opened it with a night-key, and they entered, and
went up stairs, still in silence. Rose reached her
room first, and paused with her hand on the handle
of the door.
“Good night,” she said, shyly and wistfully.
‘Good night,” he answered, briefly, and was
gone.

‘“T am

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
+: Soe eet

SONG—ROSE, LILY, AND MARY.

BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE.

 

 

Tleaned above a lovely rose,
Gem/’d with the bright dews of the morn,
That waved in love unto the breeze,
As if they both were just then born.
“O, rose, no beauty’s great as thine!”’
Some raptured spirit seemed to say,
When that true breeze melodious sung,
Like lutes to Heavenly music strung,
“Such beauty beams on Mary Ray!”’
» 1 leaned above a lily fair,
Lit with the radiance of June,
That looked as if it shone to greet
The rising of the spotless moon.
“Lily, no innocence like thine !””
Another spirit seemed to say,
When that true breeze ecstatic sung,
Like lutes to Heavenly music strung,
“As innocent as Mary Ray!”
Yes, gentle breeze, thy voice is true,
For after I had heard your song
That would not to the peerless girl,
Without rebuke, behold such wrong,
I went and on fer splendor gazed;
And since with wedded heart I say:
“‘Ah, rose and lily, ye were made
By river-side, in sunny glade,
To type a Heaven with Mary Ray!’

DANIEL BOONE,

THE
THUNDERBOLT OF THE BORDER.

By BURKE SRENTFORD,

Author of “SQUIRREL CAP,” “THE STEEL
CASKET,” ete.

 

 

{Daniel Boone” was commenced in No. 17. .Back numbers
can be obtained from all News Agents. }

CHAPTER XIII.

CAPTAIN DUQUESNE IS ASTONISHED.
uquegne, restraining himself with difficulty,
ate int ke the risk of seeing his captive again
that day or night.. Bold.and reckless as he
was, he was shrewd and politic enough never to
pluck fruit until it was ripe; and now that the dear-
est object of his euiey, soul was ripening slowly

but surely, he had not the remotest doubt.
“Sorrow and despair are slow poisons in awo-
man, but they are deadly sure,” he muttered to
himself, rubbing his hands. ‘‘How quick ‘the bait

 

 

r. Stanford drew her }.

There is something delightfully | N

was taken.’ Ha! ha! three or four days will suffice,
oe nt Be tt or ddel
e sent Bettie some wine and delicacies, and eom-
manded the half-breed girl to be doubly respectful
MEET AEE ND, in her. SESH ORS, {apis
at nig 6 received a strange-looking visitor
in his tent. .It was no other than the SUan. aunt
savage who had led the band from whom Bettie
had made her escape. Duquesne pretended to
know nothing of Bettie, and asked the chieftain if
he had secured the maiden. :
‘You know, Wakama,” said he, “I promised: you
a large reward if you secured her for me, and placed
the utmost confidence in your capacity. Of course,
yosmeye the girl with you, or know where to find
er.
Then the lanky aborigine went into a long and
eloquent harangue how the capture had been made,
dwelling upon details at sree length, in order to
ayoid the final catastrophe. But at last it came,
and he told how the “water-squaw,” as he called
the captive, had upset the raft, by which accident
she had escaped in the most extraordinary manner,
and by which several of his warriors had found a
watery graye. : ;

“But,” said Wakama, with a conselatory shake of
his head, and a twinkle of his cunning eyes, “white
witch be drown too. That good! Much good!”

_ “Good!” thundered Duquesue, pretending to be
in agreat fury. ‘What did you think I wanted the
girl for, you copper-skinned old anatomy?”

The savage held up his hands in dismay.

No!” he exclaimed. “Wakama say, you no
wantee water-squaw, then let water-squaw drown.

°

The ‘captain burst into a fit of immoderate laugh-

Te
“Wakama,” said he, “you’re an infernal fool, eyen
for a redskin.” ;
“Then,” said Wakama, xubbing his nose thought-
fully a lugubriously; “then Wakama no gettee
reward?’

not a drop of fire-water,” sneered Duquesne.

Wakama’s brows knotted, and his little. eyes
gleamed with savage fire.
zi “Why, you infernal fool,” laughed the Britisher,

Idid the work myself. My pretty bird is here in
my camp, and already caged. Quit my tent, and
learn to serve me next time with more zeal.”

The lean savage withdrew, but the cloud on his
brow grew darker, and his little eyes flashed still
flercer ashe didso. Cheat an Indian out of his
fields. his forests, his happy hunting grounds, and

é Will sgmetimes stand the oppression, though
with scowls and menaces; but cheat him out of his
fire-water, and a voleano of vengeance springs
withinhis noble breast. :

Bettie passed the night with physical comfort, for
her sorrows, combined with the great fatigue she
had undergone, proved eyen too much for her
hardy, robust frame, and she passed into a deep
sleep, which lasted for many hours with her ever-
watchful attendant at her side.

She was awakened early in the morning by her
attendant, who placed her finger across her lips, as
a sign of silence, and bade her to rise. Consider-
ably mystified at this on the part of one whom she

come to look upon as the creature of her eaptor,
Seer and dressed herself without saying
an ng. .
Phe half-breed girl approached, and said, in a low
voice:

“White maiden, must promise never to tell cap-
tain. Tam Makutah. I the slave of eaptain. But
I Shawnee. Makutah love Shawnee ‘more than
eaptain.. I my chief, Wakama last night fall. Wak-
Wakama great chief—chief of Upper Shawnee tribe.
Wakama say: ‘Makutah, red-coat captain treat me
bad. He promise me great things; now he give me
nothing—no fire-water. Wakama get no fire-water,
Wakama get mad. Let. Wakamasee white maiden
atthe eye of the morning. Wakama ‘will tell her
what will make her heart jump for joy. Captain
tell white maiden many big lie. Wakama hate eap-
tain. Wakama tell white maiden no lie, only truth,
White maiden,” continued the half-breed, “if I let

akama into tent, you no tell poeire e

sounded very strange to Bettie. She remem-
bered Wakama as the cadaverous chief of the party
she had so unceremoniously ducked in the Lickin
river, but that he, in remembrance of that, should
wish to impart agreeable intelligence to her, sim-
ply out of revenge at not getting whisky from Du-
quesne, she could hardly believe. If she had
known that the laney Wakama was notorious even
among his own people, for an inordinate thirst for
the alcoholic fluid, she would have thought other-
wise, She considered, however, that no harm could
come of it, so she gaye her attendant the necessary
promise. . )
Makutah went out, and soon returned, fellowed
by the wily Wakama, who eame crouching almost
on all fours, so fearful was he of being detected by
one of the redcoats on guard. :

He looked at the prisoner intently for some mo-
ments, as if to make sure that she was the same as
the one he had had under his charge, and who had

 

 

escaped from the raft,

‘‘Her voice aroused him, and he looked down at |

“Take me away, Reginald,” she said, trembling. |

 

 

ny

“Yes,” he grunted; “white maiden and water-

| Squaw same Squaws. Water-squaw,” he continued,

“‘eaptain say big lie—big lie to water-squaw, big lie
to Wakama. Wakama gettee no fire-water, Waka-
ma much mad.”

There were two bottles of Port wine in the tent, a
present from Duquesne on the previous day, one
of them.open, and half-empty. Th order to get at
what Wakama had to communicate as quickly as
‘sheen Bettie produced the unsealed bottle, and
1anded it to him, :

It did not leave his lips ti drained to the dregs.

“Goodee much goodee!” he exclaimed, clapping
his hand to his stomach and smacking his lips en-
thusiastically.

“Well, what has Wakama to tell the white maid-
en?” said Bettie, impatiently,

“Captain tell water-squaw great chief, Boone, be
Be by Shawnee—no?”

es

wie big lie! Big chief makee escape, and go
north.

_ Bettie fell upon her knees, and fairly sobbed for
joy_and gratitude. f :

Big chief, Boone, given upto Shawnee. just to
haye him killed. Captain go up river. Hear bi
white chief run away. Muchee mad. Captain tell
water-squaw big lie. Hi!. Wakama want more
fire-water.,”

In her gratitude for what hehad told her she
would have given him gallons had it been in her
power. She handed him the remaining bottle. He
Enoeher the top off with his tomahawk, and sucked
it dry.

By this time Wakama was grossly intoxicated.
Though his instinctive fear of Duquesne kept his
utterances in atolerably low key, he Gok up an im-
promptu war-dance, which threatened destruction
to the few articles of furniture in the tent. After
he had stumbled over pretty much everything, Ma-
kutah managed to lead him off,

Captain, Duquesne entered the tent of his captive,
with something .of the grave and sorrowful air he

 

 

had assumed on quitting it the previous evening,
He had expected to find Bettie still prostrated by
mental anguish; he even hoped still more pliable
and willing to receive his advances.

He was therefore considerably surprised at the
eold complacency with which she received him,
She was just finishing the cup of eoffee that Maku-
tah had brought her, and appeared to have enjoyed
the repast which had preceded it.

“My dear young lady,” said Duquesne, in a con-
gratulatory tone, “I am delighted to see that you
have _so thoroughly recovered your spirits. Sor-
row does not seem to weigh long upon your buoy-
ant nature.” /

“My heart still bleeds for the memory of my poor
murdered lover, sir, whatever may be my outward
seeming,” said Bettie, quietly.

 

“Nota blanket, not a gun, not a pound of shot, |

“But the more recent shock you received—your
poor father?”

“Oh. I guess he is all right.”

“In Heaven, most likely. But——”

“He, will certainly see Heaven before you ever
will, Captain Duquesne.. But he will have to die
first, and I don’t believe he is dead.”

“My poor child, you. shock me. I left you last
evening prostrated with grief at his death.”

“Very likely; but I’ve been asleep since then, and
had a dream which opened my eyés.”

“A dream!” laughed the eaptain.
what did your dream inform you?”

It informed me, sir,” Bettie burst out, turning
upon him with flashing eyes, “that all you told me
respecting my father was a tissue of lies—that you
are even a worse liar, villain, and reprobate than I
always knew you to be, It informed me that my
father was giyen into the hands of the sayages by
yourself, on purpose to compass his death. It in-

ormed me that you went up the river on purpose
to witness his torture at the stake, and that you
only reached the Shawnee village to learn that he
ad succeeded in making his escape. For what
end you tortured me with the cruel falsehood of
ne death, your conscience can best tell you.
ere!”

“And pray

 

Fora moment, Duquesne was almost paralyzed ;
then he cast a look of thunder at Makutah, who,
much as she feared him, met it with an unmoved
Conprendnes.

., Who has been here, telling the young lady these
ridiculous falsehoods ?” he roared,

Nobody, captain, has been here but me,” said
Makutah ; “and I know not what she speaks of. I
have heard of the big chief, Boone, but do not know
is he alive, or is he dead.”

It’s a cursed lie!
where!”

There always is in your eyil heart. Itold you I
dreame it,” said Bettie, with cutting scorn.

uit the tent!” exclaimed the captain to Maku-
tah; and she obeyed him at onee.

My dear girl,” said he, turning to Bettie, and re-
suming, with an effort, his customary suavity of
address, “believe me, what you have told me was
but a dream,.and nothing more. Well, it’s
no use of my asking you who putthis nonsenseinto
your head, for, of course, you wouldn’t be fook
enough to tell me; but, [assure you, it’s an infernal
lie. What I told you was the truth.”

You might as well save your breath, for I shall
never believe a word you say.”

Well, if you won’t, you won’t, and we’dbetter let
the subject of Colonel Boone’s death drop. I have
come to renew my suit—to repeat the avowals of
love I have so often made.”

*And which I have as often listened to with con-
tempt and hatred. Iam in your power as your
captive, and nothing more.”

Girl, beware! I offer you everything—a home of
luxury, the devotion of a passionate love, ladies for
friends, gentlemen for admirers, wealth, pleas-

 

There’s treachery some-

FR eli pee
a

 

 

ur

“And everlasting disgrace,” said the you irl
ey: She continued, with Sdinvaree “Do eat
think that because I am a simple, half-educated
border-girl, lam necessarily devoid of the intui-
tions of my sex. It well becomes you, sir—you,
with at least the polish and education of a fine gen-
tleman, if with the heart of a rascal—to attempt the
destruction of one like me, to gratify a moment’s
caprice.” - Or ,

It is not a caprice; itis the first, last, and only
love of a life-time,” exclaimed Duquesne, who had
been something taken aback by her energy and
common sense. “Oh, Bettie, wii you not give me
eee little hope that you may yet come to love

e

“Not one, sir. IfI should live a thousand years,
| should hate and loathe you at the end of that time
just as much as Ido now.”
“Have a eare!” cried Duquesne, his anger getting
the upperhand. Beware! you are utterly in my
power!
“You cannot harm me.”
ees hy, by Heaven! I can do what I please with
“You cannot.”
Who are your protectors, my pretty dear?” said
he, sarcastically.
She thought a moment, and then said:
[have seen upwards of fifty white men in your
; command since Ihave been here. True, they are
| soldiers, and they have red coats on their backs:
| but I have always heard, and I have believed, that
-there was'a general principle of manliness and
fair-play in the English character. Despotic as
| may be the power and authority, which you ex-
| ercise over. your men, I believe, if Ishoula appeal
| to them, they would not permit a : innocent
girlto be cruelly wronged, even by their command-
ing officer.”

rroneous as may have been her premises, Battie.

was Seyieying an amount of brains which Du-
uesne had never given her credit for. He saw
there was some forcein what she said, however,
though he laughed it off.

T really pity Ma" ignorance of discipline in our
army, my dear,” sdid he. ‘“‘There’s not one of my
ey who would dare raise a finger in your be-

a Ley,

“They. might not in a fort, or barracks,” said the
young girl, simply; “but this is a wild, free coun-
try, and what could be construed into mutiny
could not easily be punished, if the offender had a
mind to take to the woods. Beside, I have heard
that your governor at Detroit, General Hamilton, is
agentleman of honor. I could ee to him.”

_ We are far frem Detroit,” said Duquesne, laugh-

ing.

“Yes, now, but you are ordered to Grosse Point,
within a few miles of Detroit, with your entire com-
mand next week.” F

‘Who told you that ?” F

“Oh, I dreamed that also, of course, said Bettie,
mockingly. : i

She had in reality learned it from overhearing two
ot vie guard in eonversation just outside of the

n

Duquesne scowled, and then paced up and down
the floor, engaged in reflection. a

“Well, at any rate,” said he, suddenly, “my men
won’t mutiny against me, if I simply attempt to*
snatch a kiss from a pretty girl,”

And he threw his arm around her waist.

The next moment, he recoiled under the force of
atremendous box on the ear, given with all the.
force that the pithy arm of ahunter’s daughter
could bring to bear. ; :

““Love-taps!” said he, advancing again.

_ But Bettie’s brothers had not neglected her phys-
ical education in another direction. :

She now struck out from the shoulder, like a
man, and her little brown fist struck Duquesne in
the eye with such a will as to send him reeling
against the side of the tent. 4 :

He wheeled upon her, with a curse, and with his
brow black with passion. He half-drew his sword,
shoved it back in_.its scabbard, and, muttering
aaa she could not make out, strode out of the
ent.

 

. © CHAPTER XIV.

THE VENGEANCE OF DANIEL BOONE.

When Daniel Boone plunged into the forest north
of the Ohio, after his little less than miraculous es-
cape from a dreadful fate on the other side of the
river, he knew that a hot pursuit would at once b

 

 

 

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 impossibl i
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carcasses

taken up by the savages who had followed him. so
mn | in their canoes.) |): “Es
had no time'to attempt to cover up his tracks
as he fled through the deep woods, and so he busied
his brain as the best. means for eluding or de-
stroying his pursuers. Ordinarily he would have
had no apprehension as to.the result of a fair race
for it. Probably withthe singleexception of Simon
Kenton, the celebrated ranger of the great _Kanaw-
he, there was no fleeter runner than Boone through-
out the wide border; but he was weakened by con-
finement and many hardships, and’ doubted the
powers which had stood him in such good stead
many atime before. sug {

They had landed, and were gaining upon, him.
He conld already hear their far-away yells in his
rear.

Suddenly he came upon a little clearing, which
some enterprising pioneer had started in the deep
woods. He evidently been driven away, or
killed, for a half-built cabin stood in the center of
the clearing, and, just at its entrance,an ax had
been left sticking in a tree, the trunk of which was
half-cut through.

Now, the way by which Boone had entered the
clearing was a long, straight, natural lane among
the trees, about ten feet in width. This lane was
hedged in on both sides by timber so thickly inter-
spersed with brush as to be impenetrable to any-
thing larger than a snake or a squirrel. The tree,
which was so deeply cut, was a bare, lightning-
searred trunk of great girth, and it inclined direct-
ly down this narrow, natural aisle in the woods—a
path which the Indians would not fail to pursue.

As Boone paus to take breath,and his keen
glance took in everything, itsuddenly struck him
that, if he could cause that great branchless trunk

   
     
  
  

0 re st lane when it was
he could either kill them all
sternation among them
allow him to proceed on

Gampel them to ¢
unmolested: 9 . ;

With the Thunderbolt of the Wilderness to think
was to resolve, and to resolve was to act. ;

Laying down his rifle (with which, as well as with
a scalping-knife, the thoughtful. gratitude of Meto-
nom ad: proyided him), he seized the ax and
went to work with a will.

The ax was old and rusty, but there was no bet-
ter wood-chopper in Kentucky than Boone. Be-
neath his vigorous strokes the chips flew out as big
as a man’s head, and the gap ‘rapidly widened.
But just as rapidly neared the yells of his pursuers.

Boone redoubled his strokes until the sweat stood
in great drops upon his massive brow. At jst the

ntly.

  

 
 

way

   

_ great column yerreren. and then swayéd sé
i

It was tremb upon its fall. Just then the first
savage bounded into the upper end of the lane with
: whoop. Ten; twenty, thirty, or more, followed

Fac i
ne struck the final blow, seized his rifle, and
sprang out of sight. The Indians saw their peril,
e mighty tree fell along the lane
with a noise of thunder. The lane was crowded
with yelling redskins. Escape on either side was
e. They were crushed and mangled like

air,
Six savages, who had not entered the passage,
and had ‘therelore es ed the fate of their com-
rades, spran Upon ber pt oe and running
along its surface, leaped, in e clearing.
Boone shot the foremost through the head. Then

; springing among the others with his ax, before

ey could use their guns,he dealt death and de-

struction around him. ‘The ax being a long-han-

- dled tomahawk:’to which they were little accustom-

ed, the Indians were taken ee Let surprise.
Only one escaped, and he dropped his gun, and
with a yell of dismay sprang into the woods and
disappeared, Me satay :

Distant and fast-approaching cries, coming from
another direction, warned Boone that the Hore? Ba
ursuit.
ng all the rifles of the fallen Indians, he
chose ie best nen baead< he could find in the near
timber, and waited. ;

Yes, they were coming through the thick woods

from the south-west. A huge Indian bounded into

‘the Glearing. He was followed by another, and an-
other; until fully.a score stood together peering
sautiously around in every direction.

Boone reserved his fire, waiting to see what effect
the result of the fallen tree would have upon them.

They didn’t understand it at first. At last one of
them Glambered upon it. He walked along it fora
few paces, and
side with a whoop of dismay,

They clambered one after, another upon the
trunk. Presently all returned into the clearing.
Superstitious horror was depicted Bpen their paint-
ed faces, and, from what Boone could hear of their
clamorous remarks to each other, he judged that
they assigned the fallen tree and the horrible fate
of their comrades to their Great. Spirit. Now or
never was the time to make his attack. _ P

Boone fired his seven guns in succession, bring-
ing down a redskin at each shot. :

The remainder, satisfied at least that this attack
had nothing supernatural in it, sprang behind
trees on the other side of the clearing, and set iis
nee firing against the position oecupied by

oone.

The hunter, with agrim smile of satisfaction at
what he had thus far effected, changed his position
a little, and carefully reloaded his seven guns.

These, with the ax-which had done him such ex-
eellent seryice,he nowtook with him, crouching
almost to the ground, and skirting the clearing so

as to flank the enemy’s position. | :

The stupid Indians in the meantime kept blazing
away at the spot where they thought their secret
foe must still be concealed. ;

Boone got into an excellent position, whence, un-
seen himself, he commanded their entire flank, as
they were peering behind the trees. ee

Wishing to economize his advantages, and havin
his Indian fighting blood now thoroughly aroused,
Boone waited his opportunity. At length, he saw
two Indians, very close together, with their heads
bent at pretty nearly the same horizontal line.
Bringing the two dusky heads in perfect range,
Boone took deliberate aim, and fired.

. The first savage—the one nearest to the hunter—
jumped in the air a yard or two, and fell dead, shot
from ear to ear, without acry. The other, smitten
in the temple by the same ball that had passed
through his comrade’s head, gave a terrific yell,
and also staggered to the earth, either dead or mor-
tally wounded. : ; :

Before the remaining Indians could twist them-
selves out of range around their respective trees,

the intrepid hunter, firingin quick succession,
brought two more of them down. ;

The remainder, utterly astonished at this tre-
mendous fighting, fled across the little clearing,
and See aber in the timber on the opposite side,
uiering ¢ rieks and yells of terror and dismay.

; De rimminy! that. scrimmage was like the
handle of a jug—all to one side,” said the Thunder-
bolt of the Border. ‘I scarcely think them redskins
will bother me again, so far as things look.”

He came out into the clearing, to take a general
survey of the field, ; .

Passing, with little notice, the bodies which
atrewed the open gvound, he clambered on the
trunk of the fallen tree. As he walked along, look-
ing down on either side, sights of horror were pre-
sented to him which were novel and awful even to
areide and thrilling experience.

n either side, at irregular intervals, protruded
the limbs .and bodies of the redskins, crushed like
flies beneath the fallen tree. Here, a pair of moc-
casined feet were alone to be seen; there an arm,
with iis hand still clutching a rifle, tomahawk, or
some other weapon of savage warfare; then, again,
only the face could be seen, the wide-star-
ing, protruding eyeballs and distorted features
telling of the agonies the victim must have under-

one befere the life was wholly crushed ‘out of the

usky frame. ;

Boone turned away, half sick with horror, accus-
tomed as he was to scenes of violence and death.

He raised his hand to Heaven,

“I call upon Thee, great_All-Father,” said he,
poten nly ‘to witness that I wrought thedestruc-
tion of these heathens only to save my own life, and
in the serviee of my emcee with which they were
at war, as the murderous allies of our British foe.”
“~“Hebowed his upon his breast for some mo-
ments, as though engaged in solemn prayer.

Then he returned to the clearing. He made no
estimate as to how many Shawnees had been slain.
The very thought of the number appalled him.

Thin £ ita pity, however, that so many guns
should be left to waste and rust in the weather, he
collected afl hecould find, eighteen in number.
These he hid carefully away under dry leaves, blaz-
oe trees in the immediate vicinity, to mark the

spot,

He was almost naked, so he chose a hunting-suit
from the bodies scattered about the clearing. He
made out sapitally, and soon found himself pretty
well rigged from top to tee—some of the savages
having been attired in brand-new hunting-shi-ts,
peines, and meececasins of deer-skin and buffalo-

e.

He then exchanged his own rifle, which was a
fe one, for the best one he could find, supra

imself with ammunition, stuck a good knife and
tomahawk into his belt, and struck into the forest
in a north-westerly direction, leant behind him
the little clearing, with its unburied dead to bleach
and fester in the sun, wind, and rain.

For years afterward the spot was serupulously
shunned by all men, white and red, hunter and pi-
oneer, as a terrible and haunted place.

The whites called it “The Hand of Daniel Boone.”
Among the Indians it was known as “Kawatchie
Mantegoorah,” which. interpreted from the origin-
al Shawnee, means: “The Bones of a Tribe.”

 

CHAPTER XY.
SNAKES IN THE GRASS.

When the reader will reflect upon the distance, in
a bee-line, from, say the mouth of the Sciota river
ip Detroit, and then consider what must have been

the toil, danger, and privation of such a journey

 

then summoned his comrades to his | g

 

 

ott THE NEW YORK WEEKLY, tom

6

 

naan a —

one hundred years ago, notin a straight line, but

by many devious windings, for the purpose of ob-|

taining a suitable crossing of swollen streams, or
to ayoid.an Indian encampment, and all this
through trackless forests or over spreading prai-
rie and morass, many of them never trodden by
human foot, red or white, he will have some faint
conception of the journey which our fearless hero
had resolved to undertake, mainly in the interest
of his beloved country, then in the throes of its
death-grapple for human liberty.

Boone was now yery cautious as he proceeded.
He knew that the Shawnees, being very numerous,
would institute another pursuit at once; so he coy-
ered up his tracks as fast as he made them, with all
the skill of his consummate wood-craft. .

Sometimes, when the ground would permit, he
would walk backward for over a mile; and then, in
facing about, would cover up the movement so
adroitly with carelessly scattered twigs and leaves,
as to render it undiscernible. to the most lynx-eyed
pursuer. He would wade up or down a brook for
many yards, thus effectually severing his trail. |

In short, he used all his skill to render pursuit
absolutely impossible.

When it was late in the afternoon, and he caleula-
ted that he had made about twenty miles, he halted
for rest and food. He shot a couple of squirrels
without any trouble, cooked them, and satisfied his
hunger, drinking antieutly from a little brook
that murmured by his fire.

He was not. content with this. Though the first
shadows of twilight were falling around him, he
carefully extinguished his fire, and concealed all
indications of it. Then, by the light of thestars, he

ursued his way about five miles farther. At length,

e came to a delightful little knoll, surrounded by
beach trees and oaks a :

“T reckon I’m entitled to a little snooze now,” he
pert Rete spreading his blanket upon the choicest
spot. . .

He threw himself upon it, made a pillow of his
trusty rifle, and instantly fell into a sleep, whose
depth and sweetness he had not experienced for a
tO long time. , 5 :

The next morning, being unable to discover any

ame, he went on his way without any breakfast. He
did not know what stream it was, but judged it to
be the Little Miami. At any rate he availed himself
of its sandy shallows to take a bath, which refresh-
ed him oxoeoaely- ,

The next difflonlty that presented itself was how
to get across the stream; for Boone, unlike his
daughter, was a very indifferent swimmer. At last
he managed to lash three logs together with a
grape-vine, and, procuring a dry branch for a pad-
dle, he got astride of his wretched raft, with his
gun before him, and pushed out. The current was
a sluggish one, yet it carried him two miles down
the stream before he could effect a landing.

“TYdadarned sight rather make a day’s. march
than do’that river over again,” growled the hunter,
as he tossed his gun upon a mossy bank, and man-
aged to follow it, after a great deal of trouble. |.

“The bank proved to be the edge of a fine prairie,
several miles in extent,and covered with grass
higher than a tall man’s breast. é vay

“Looks a good deal like buffalo meat around
here,”’ muttered the hunter, shading his, eyes with
his hand, and looking away over the sea of waving
grass-ap ravingly. see

He had scarcely spoken ere there was a whizzing,
rushing sound in the air, and something darted
overhishead. — ata v

“Hullo! Partridges at this time of the year!” ex-
claimed Boone. ‘

There was another whizzing, rushing sound, and|

another “something” caused Boone to drop into
the high grass as though he had been shot. ;

“Blast my eyes!’ he muttered; “have I got to my

e tonot know an Indian arrow froma Derr hee!
“ie advanced his head as Hh Be be ared, peer-
ing through the grass-tops in the direction whence
the arrow had proceeded, but could see nothing.

“T’ll try a little strategy on you, then,” muttered

ne, :

He put his cap on the muzzle of his rifle cautious-
ly aboye the grass, made it bob up and down as the
head of a man would do if taking careful observa-
tions.

In an instant it was pierced by an arrow. The
arrow was still quivering in the cap when Boone
sprang to his feet, and threw his eagle-glance in
the direction from whence it was discharged. He
was just intime to catch a glimpse of two shaven,
dusky heads disappearing below the surface of the

rass, oo)

“So, so, itll be my turn next time, you murderous
vagabonds!” muttered the hunter, creeping steadi-
ly toward the point indicated. . “But what am I do-
ing?” he continued, speaking to himself, ““They’re
not such infernal fools as to stick in the same spot.
Best to lie low and keep dark awhile, I reckon.” _.

“He did so, all eyes and ears, for along time. At
length, becoming moe he suddenly sprang to’
his feet, and threw a urried glance over the whole
prairie. S

It was a brief glance, but a comprehensive one,
and lasting long enough to enable him to notice,
two wavy furrows in that grassy sea adyancing
slowly toward his position. ; Q

“Guess [ll change around a little just for the
good of my health, thought Boone; so he altered
his position, going off about fifty Aree or more,

He placed his ear to the ground, but could hear
ee more for some time than the musical rus-
tle of the grass-tops. Pretty soon, however, he did
hear something like a cough. He threw himself
flat up on his belly, and fastened : his eyes in the di-
rection whence it had proceeded.

Pretty soon, he perceived the outline of a dusky
figure on all fours, about forty feet away.

ithout a moment’s hesitation he leveled his
rifle and fired.:

A yell followed the report. The dusky re
bounded upright, and then fell prostrate, with a
crash, in the grass. ¢

“Wonder where the other critter is?” thought
Boone again rising, crouchingly, to his feet.

At that very instant, an arrow pierced his arm
from behind, and_an Indian sprang upon his back,
like a panther. The hunter felt intu valy: that a

d his head to

 

 

knife was about to descend, and dodge

the left. At that. instant, the knife of the savage

fell, wounding him in the right breast. 3
Boone grasped the hand that clutched the knife,

and, with a single wrench, broke the wrist like a

pipe-stem. Then he castthe sayage from his back,

as a lion would shake off a wildeat; and the two

men, red and white, were face to face, engaged in |:

the grapple of death. 5 y '

In his excitement, Boone did not heed the arrow
in his arm; and his opponent, though of powerful
eon was but a child in his herculean em-

race.

In an instant, the hunter had him down.- His
knee was on his breast; his keen and glittering
knife at his throat. BS

“Mercy!” groaned the prostrate man, speaking
good English. ;

Boone now noticed for the first time that he was
a half-breed. .

“You attacked me from behind, your murderous
arrow yet sticks in my arm. hat right have
ron . ask for merey ?” demanded ‘the hunter,
sternly.

‘“Merey!” again gasped the half-breed.

Boone hesitated ; but his better nature carried the

point.

“Take it!” he said, somewhat contemptuously,

and at the same time rising to his feet. ““Getup,
and tell meof what tribe you are. Half-breeds
mostly carry guns, yet you have merely a bow and
arrow. How is this ?”
_. Pl tell you, pale-face,” replied the other, groan-
ing, rising slowly, and pressing his hand to his side,
as if suffering excruciating pain. “Itis because,” he
added, suddenly springing upon the hunter, with
upraised knife, “because when the arrow fails, we
find the knife is sure!”

So utterly unprepared was Boone for this treach-
erous assault,and with such force did the half-
breed cast himself upon his breast, that he stag-
gered back a few paces, caught his heel in a tuft of
grass, and fell flat upon his back.

This alone saved him. The knife of the half-
breed grazed his shoulder, and was buried to the
hilt in the turf.

‘The next instant Boone had whirled his antago-
nist underneath him as easily as he would.a kitten.
His knee was again on his breast, his knife again
at his throat.

There was no more begging for mercy. There
was nothing but sullen hate and resignation in the

-half-breed’s eyes asthe knife of the hunter glittered

aloft, and then cleft his perfidious heart_in twain.

‘Catch me trusting a redskin again. The older I
grow the softer-hearted I get, it seems to me,’’ mut-
tered Boone, zoe ae

He had just arisen, when another arrow, very
feebly shot, as if by the hand of a young girl, smote
him on the breast, inflicting a very slight wound.

It came from the comrade of the half-breed.
Though mortally wounded by the bullet he had re-
ceived, he had crawled within afew yards of the
hunter, and flred a final arrow inthe hope of de-
ee ing him.

ell, you infernal eat,’ said Boone, “you can’t
do much harm any way; but I’m charitable enough
to put you out of misery. You’d do the same by
me, and lift my hair in the bargain.” ‘

He carelessly cast his tomahawk, and the Indian
was beyond the exercise of earthly archery for
ever more, ; ;

Boone, after taking care to reload his gun, went
back to the river to extract the arrow from his arm,
and wash his wound. He had to break the shaft in
two, and draw it through the wound, which was in
the fleshy part of the fore-arm.:

Tt caused him intense pain, but after satisfying
himself that the point of the arrow was not pois-
soned, he washed and bandaged the wound as well
as he could, and began to consider the adventure
in which he had just participated.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

ed |
Navigator Nep, by NED BuNTLINE, will soon on
commenced fn the New YoRR WEErKLY.

 

‘TANNHAUSER,

BY NATHAN D. URNER.

 

‘What crime has stained thy noble brows,
Sir knight, that thou dost lie

Within thy shining prison-ouse,
Away fgom the blue sky? +»

Thy casement bars are ruddy gold,

Thy cellis fitted fair,
Thy baldric gleams with gems untold;
But art thou happy r Bf?

“Oh, pitying Monk!” rep ‘ied the knight,
“No orime my forehead stains; ee
Love reared this prison-fortress bright, ‘,
And forged these precious chains. we
The Queen of Love enthralls me so—
A bright enchantress she!
Happy! Alas! I hardly know ~
IfI am bound or free!” wn
“Yet, all in gleaming cap-a-pie,
Sir knight, hast thou not won
A name renowned in chivalry
For deeds of daring done?
Or thou, perchance, (so sweet thy tongue),
Wast a famed troubadour;
And yearnst not thou to move among
Gay, thronging courts once more?”
“Yea )? quoth the knight.
And in loye’s dalkiance furled,
Within my bosom swells a void
_ That hungers for the world.
My falcon-fancy tugs the jess,
And shakes her bells and hood,
For heron haunt the marsh, I guess,
And pheasants fill the wood.

“Within the pallidsunshine throng
The ghosts oi joys long dead, -
And echoes of long-silent song -
Moan in the winds o’erhead.
I would be free—but it were death! _
Hark! Hearst the song so free?
She comes!” The Palmer held his breath
For yery ecstasy.
The knight a warning finger raised
As the music filled the cell Bit ;
“Oh, Palmer! be thou not amazed
I only feel the spell !”” . ae
There came glimpse, @ rustling stir
Of doves in fairy gear. :
“She comes! she comes! Oh; wanderer! ~~
« The Queen of Loye is here!”

The Palmer close his eye-balls pressed :
Lest they should see the queen.

He cried, in hely spleen.
“Ply from the witch—avoid her kiss!
Perdition is the cost!
But, Mary Mother! what is this?
Have I in dreams been lost?”
Prison and knight were gone; ‘alone
The Palmer stood; around,
With goblin shapes of tree and stone,
The'weird Hartz Mountains frowned.
The good monk tied his cowl, and roused
its for fear of ill. }

       
  

“Pray ? said he; “‘but I have drowsed
‘All Venus ran.
““Tannhauser was the captive knight;
God rest him evermore!”

Then, as he took his staff, despite
Ten ayes mumbled o’er,

The holy Palmer cursed the cold
That snapped his dreams; but who

Can say but that he might have sold
His soul to Venus, too?

_ SILVER-SWORD ;

OR,

 

CHAPTER XIII.
THE MENAGERIE OF THE BEAST-TAMER,

ed trader, “that I purcha this’ brooch

ree

“Though passion-cloyed

~

_ | breast andshoulders. “By my beard, trader, if thy

“For shame! for shame! thou fiend-possessed !”

 
 
 

TEOv ee i‘ me the
eanwhile I will pla

‘| Single sequin.’

itwo hundred feet in diameter. This space was in-

————

whom thou didst buy this bauble—tell thee that she

to whom a lover, a betrothed, or a husband should |
ive it might gain for him thereafter and wholly
ecause of euch gift, a’ crown? Ha! the rank and

the power of a fates

" “So averred the Moorish woman, and as she was

dying when she sold it to me, I can not doubt that

she hath faith in her own statement-——”

« “Stop there!” exclaimed the beast-tamer. “Ifsh

washers! Hol! of what use could gold be to her!
Ha! thy story lacks common sense,’ ‘

“Nay, Captain Ercole. The woman was indeed
dying, and in such poverty that she had not where-
with to peo for the decent burial of her yet
chanced to be passing through;a Spanish village,
and as I rode through thesinglestreet on my mule,
[heard one woman say to another, ‘The old Infidel
Princess is surely dying. and yet see whatjan im-
mense spree she demands for an old brooch that
may indeed be gold, and yet is not worth, ten se-

uins, except to an antiquary.’ My curiosity bein

lus excited I made sundry inquiries, and Jearned
that an aged Moorish woman was dying in a hut not
far off, and that she possessed nothing inthe world
except an antique golden brooch, for whieh she
asked the apparently enormous price of three
oe oa mange : : *

“I hope thou dost not expect to receive any such

price from me for this trifle/*said Ercole, jntacenp4

ing the story of the supposed trader, from mere
habit of depreciating the value of anything othérs
offered to sell to him.

Patience, Cantain Ercole,” replied Silver-Sword.
Thou shalt soon hear what price I put upon the
brooch. I visited ‘the old: Moorish: woman;: and
heard her story from her.own lips. : have not time
to repeat it tothee now. Suffice to say that planed
gorte. pi, in what she said, and‘ purchased the

rooch——

And paid three thousand sequins fon dt.’0 fi »
it does not matter, Captain Ercole, what price I
paid for it. Wilt buy it of me?” , ey
*Twould serve to fasten the braids of my hair
under my helmet when I perform as the Princess
of Lions,”. remarked Thyra.
.the remark pleased the beast-tamer; and, be-
eee eo had some superstition in his nature. He
replied: (

e what price dost offer the brooch to me, Herr
Durldorf?—though I will not promise to pay any
price for the bauble until after thou shalt haye

potency of the oil in thy vial,
ce it here,” he added, and fast-
ening the brooch to the scarf that crossed his broad

   
   
  
 
   
 
 

 

 
   
   

 

oil hath power to save thee unharmed from the
teeth and claws of Wrathsfoot, Ishall have confi-
dence in the boasted virtues of thy brooch: Come,
let us now to the den of Wrathsfoot.”

He then whispered to Orsola: -

“T suspect this trader is aware of his peril. He
hath, perhaps, scented danger in the air. He came
tous three days ago, and bargained ‘to teach me
certain rare secrets of our art, boasting much of
his skill, and demanding a large price; and as she
would not abate even a sequin, I knew he was in-
deed a genuine trader, well aware of the valueof
that which he offered to sell. So Iadmitted him,
agreed to his terms, and resolved not to pay him a

 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
   
 

rue. I told t
that he had to teach, and then serve him as thou,
didst the Hungarian beast-tamer and the others,”
replied Orsola, in. the same tone, and glancing to-
ward the supposed trader, who was at the moment:
forewing them beyond ear-shot as they led the way
toward that‘part of the menagerie in which the fe-
rocious Bengal tiger, Wrathsfoot, was confined.
_ Thyra remained where the party had been stand-
ing near the den of the lioness, Gulpa, and the
young lions, Victor and Vulcan. l
Fearful that her unknown and suddenly found
friend had boasted of more than he could do, she
lingered behind, unwilling to witness the terrible
test which she knew the merciless .beast-tamer was
about to thrust upon the daring stranger.
As during the course of this story I may have oc-
casion again to conduct the reader into the mena-
gerie of Ercole del Zoccolo, I will not pause to de-
scribe it now, more than to say that its center was
a large, circular, and unroofed’ space more than

closed by two walls—one between the space or are-
na and that portion of Zogcolo’s premises occupied
by the dwellings of himself and slaves and the dens
and abodes of his many and various beasts; and
the second wall an outer one of great strength and
height, which inclosed these dwellings, dens, and
the entire menagerie, and of course the first-men-

 
  
 

 

was dying, why should she desire to sell aught that | h

hee to agree to. his terms, learn all

 

 

ar = — wz 5

———

Phich was 4 ereet cage’ formed of many iron
pars.

In this eage, whose _~et-like construction permit-
ted the eye to see cleavly into it and through it
from every side, was tho unforfunate slave who
had recently offended Ercole, and who was there
imprisoned to await his doon

he man was an African: a: were nearly all the

Slaves of the beast-tamer; and sve his loin-scarf
6 was naked.
An iron grating about three feet zquare, served
as a door to adark eave or cell built 1:¢o the wall at
one side of this yard. A narrow gallei. built high
up on the waHs, ran around the: sides of she yard,
and the stairway that led to the gallery wa: not in
the yard, but was attained by means of an en:rance
in the corridor which led to the yard.

Within the cave and behind the grating first
mentioned, was the ferocious tiger Wrathsfoox,
and his eyes flamed through the spaces of the grat-
ing like balls of living green fire ashis attention
was aroused by the arrival of the party at that tall
and powerful gate of crossed and perpendicular
iron rods which separated the yard from the corri-

or. ‘

The man in the cage was crouching in the corner
most remote.from’ the tiger as Ereole and those
with him Sppepzed at the corridor gate.

Recognizing his master the man thrust his hands
and arms through the bars of his cage, clasped his
hands beseechingly together toward the cruel
beast-tamer, and groaned in broken Italian:

Mercy, dread master! Mercy for Ahabbo! Never

ean will he offend his noble lord! Merey!”
. The tiger, infuriated with hunger, roared and
overpowered the cries of the man.

-Thou hearest thesong of Wrathsfoot, trader,”
said Ercole, Ami ng grimly. “Silence, Ahabbo!
Thy life is not worth a drop of the blood of Ercole
del Zoccolo, and.bee of thy neglect and cowa-
dice the lion Mo d tearmyarm. Peace—and
Im spare , ce

Allah bless thee for thy words!” cried Ahabbo,
who then remained silent.

Theu mayest, then; spare this man’s life?” ask-
ed Silver Sword, f

Nay,” replied Ercole in a voice too low to be
heard by the man in theeage. “But did I not hold
such hope out'to him despair would cause him to
beat out his brains against the bars of his cage.
Sometimes I am satisfied to pune such as offend
me by merely terrifying them with threatened
death at the fangs of the tiger. Ahabbo knows this
and he- hath hope that I may forgive him. But 1
have decided to make an example of him. The
tiger will be let loose upon ‘him at midnight, in

resence of ail my slaves; and they will witness

rom that Oo how Ercole del Zoccolo punishes
those whose neglect or. cowadice permits a beast to
wound him.”

May I see the wound that demands so dread a
punishment?”asked the pretended trader.

A mere scrateh/of Moloch’s, tooth,” replied the
beast-tamer,as he displayed a small and nearly
healed hurt on his leftarm. “But the slave was
cowardly in aiding me, and but for my own quick-
ness, I might have lost my arm, or even my life.”

“How long has the slavé been in the cage, Cap-
tain Ercole ?”

“Since yesterday. At the end of every three
-bours the grating of the tiger’s den is raised by a
slave, who stands in the gallery above, by means of
that.chain which reaches from the gallery to the
ae on seest attached to’ the upper bar. of the
grating. The beast flies at the'cage, and makes fu-
rious efforts to get at the imprisoned man. When
the time comes for Ahabbo to die, aslave will ap-
proach the cage and so loosen some of its bars that
-the-next attack of the tiger shall enable the beast to
enter the cage and devour the man.” i

And how is the beast forced back into his den,
Captain Ercole?” — ;

y means of Chinese fireworks—packs of which
are set aglow, and tossed into the yard from the
gallery. The tiger retreats from the noise, smell,
and fire, rushes into his den, and the grating be-
fore it is let fall to its place. The beast cannot climb
these walls of polished stone, and thus the gallery
is beyond his reach. It is now three hours since the
tiger has charged upon the cage, and as some of niy
slaves must always be present, thou mayst hear
ihe wain of those whose turn it now is to enter the
gallery.”

The tread of approaching feet heralded the ad-
vance of six or eight slaves of the menagerie, as
they entered the corridor which led from the main
arena to this smaller arena in which Ahabbo was

caged,
“Bhese men saluted the beast-tamer as they ap-
peared, and opening that corridor of which I have

 

pores -and inner wail jealously separating the
coli premises from that part of Segna in which

_-} they were situated.

numbers

“T had the honorto say to yous said the pretend-

from

some of the descendants of the ancient Moors in

Spain.”
RA I re
Moors may haye worn it.” >

wear it,for so says

the brooch

the man or woman who giveth it to her.”
“By my beard!” roared the beast-tamer,

cease to love the
eternal fidelity of love.”
“Bravo! Fidelt

ber that,” remarked the beast-ta-
mer; “and it is of so ancient a fashion that some of
the great-grandmothers of those same ancient

“Doubtless Moorish ladies even of royal.rank did
; authentic tradition,” replied
the disguised magician. “I purchased it of an aged
woman, the last living descendant of a royal Moor-
ish line, and she, nearly in her grave, averred that
ossessed these virtues: first, it compels
the woman to whom it is given to love passionately

“Gf it

ov
hath that virtue it is indeed valuable to all lovers.”
“Secondly, she to whom it is given will never
iver; for it confers spotless and

is said to be a rare virtue.”
“Thirdly, she who receives it will ever yield in-
stant obedience to the giyer—if a lover giveth it to

his betrothed she will, when his wife, obey him in

all thi
“Hols

him in more than pleased her!
in obtaining
be quickly tiger’s meat if she obeyed me not.
knowest thae Thyra.”

maiden smiled calmly and replied:

“To hear Lord Ercole is to obey him.”
dience, Thyra,’ remarked the beast-tamer,
‘Princess of the Lions’ before the people.
must oyercome it,orsome day I may strike

even to the breaking of thy bones.
thou. hast now upon th

said the beast-tamer, laughing hoarsely.
“T doubt if Saraceno were to give this magic bau-
ble to my sister Orbetta, whether she should obey
hy _ As forme,I ask no
aid from the genii of the Moorish brooch to aid me
rompt and implicit obedience from
any wife of mine. Marrow of my bones! she should

Thou

True to that potent discipline which alone en-
abled her to conceal her loathing for the man, the

And in all things thou _yieldest prompt obe-

“save

inone. Thou art ever. reluctant to perform as

Thou

ast a false modesty in that reluctance, and thou

thee

I doubt not that
shoulders the black and

the blue Rane of my lott hand from the slaps I

gave thee

ve days ago when thou didst. anger me

with thy childish pleading not to be made to per-

form as ‘the Princess of Lions.’ I would
lap ed thy dainty shoulders with my right
had f not feared I might cripple thee, and so
my show. Take care, girl, for thou art the

have
hand
spoil
only

living thing, beast or huma™.—my motherand sister
excepted—that feels not tie full weight of my fist

when [I am angered by disobedience.”
“Then, Lord

men be ready to obey thee in all things.”

Peace!

Orsola, sharply. ‘
“T. say no moreof him,” replied Ercole.

brooch, trader

€

 

him great riches 7
“Brayo!
tal love,” said Ercole.
“Great hohor—’”
“Bravo! Goon.”
“Brave sons and fair daughters——”
“Bah!
“And perhaps a crown——

mother.
keenly an observant man not to detect thi

tone in which the beast-tamer exclaimed:
“Ha! perhaps a crown!’ «

suade the beast-tamerto purchase t

when they were undisguised.

 

Moorish witch—for such Isuppose she was

’

Ercole,” replied Thyra, with an air
of profound respect, “since T fear this. foolish re-
luctance or shame, or false modesty of mine, may
not be easily overcome by any unaided or unforeed
effort of mine, I pray theo purchase this magic
brooch of the old Austrian, and give it to me that I

rue,’ said Orsola, “if the brooch hath such
wonderful virtues.”
‘““Ho! ho!” laughed the beast-tamer. ‘I doubt

whether if either of thy three dead husbands—my
father not excepted—would have found thee a very
obedient wife had he given thee such a brooch.”

5 In all things I obeyed thy father, Ereole
—and becauselI loved him,and he me,” retorted

“But

what further wonderful virtues hath thy Moorish
She to whom her betrothed shall give the
brooch,” continued Silver-Sword, “shall not. die
‘before her alliance with him shall have gained for

a8
I prefer that to mawkish and sentimen-

Sons I may desire, but daughters none.”

“Ha! perhaps a crown!” exclaimed the beast-
tamer, exchanging a significant glance with his

The disguised magician, at this time wholly un-
suspicious of the royal lineage of Thyra, was too

8 ex-

change of significent glances; nor did his acute
ear fail to take sharp note of the eagerness of that

Silver-Sword’s only object in clothing the brooch
with remarkable yirtues was to ene ey per-
¢ © ornament,

and give it to the maiden: for he hoped that Thyra
would jearn to love the concealed, picture, which
was in truth a perfect portrait of his own’ features

“Ha!” continued the beast-tamer, ‘‘did the old

from

  
 
 
 
  
     
  
  

Narrow gateways gave access into the arena

jthrough the inner wall, and against this wall for
j} nearly all its inner circumference, were strong and

}rudé seats for the use of spectators at such times
as it pleased Ercole to exhibit his trained beasts
within his walls. ’

But where Thyra was standing there were no
seats, but several separate apartments of stone,

brick and mortar occupied by yarious animals.

And Ercole and Orsola, as they whispered as I
have just gates were crossing the great, circular
arena, and going toward_one of the gateways di-
rectly opposite to where Thyra and the pretended
trader had been conversing. “Yes,” whispered,
or rather lowly growled, the beast-tamer, in
reply to his mother’s last remark, “so thou didst
advise me, and so I intended to do, though the old
fellow hath an Austrian passport or protection pa-
per with -him, which may give me. some trouble
were Itoserve himas I served the Hungarian—
that is, smite him dead in a pretended quarrel. Old
Sibeck, of the Austrian garrison, though he seldom
if ever concerns himself with the affairs of the
Uscocchi, might inquire too narrowly into all that
should concern the disappearance of this country-
man of his—and yet I must escape paying | Herr
Durldorf the thousand sequins I promised him. I
knew not when I admitted him to my menagerie
that he had —_ of protection from the Austrian
emperor.” (rl e reader will please remember that
this conversation took place prior tothe arrival of
Paolo Lazzaro at Segna.) Beas

“The trader has boasted of the potency of his oil,
Ercole,” replied Orsola, who was as merciless and
unscrupulous as her son, “and agreed to prove its
power himself. Before he does so, see that he gives
us a writing in which he shall set forth plainly that
he of his own free will doth enter the den of our
biger Wrathfoot to prove to us the value of this oil
of his. If the tiger slay him—as I haye no doubt
the beast will—we shall know that his oil is useless,
aod there will be an end of him and our debt to

him.”

“But if he proves his oil to be as he boasts ?”

“We will put him off as regards the paying of the
thousand sequins. Weshall demand the secret of
making the oil for ourselves, as for a thousand se-
quins he agreed—we have his written agreement to
teach us all he knew of beast-taming. We will per-
mit him to depart, but will tell him that we shall
not pay him anything until he returns with much
of this wonderful oil, and a certain quantity of the
things wherefrom it can be made. If he refuse-to
enter Wrathfoot’s den we can justly refuse to pay
him the thousand sequins, since he hath boasted he
can tame tigers. If we permit him to Gee. and
he returns not with the oil, orthe means of making
it, we shall have learned all that he hath taught us
and paid nothing.”

“Bravo! And this brooch ?” ; :

“Thou hast it. Keep it, should he prove his oil to
be of value, as a pledge for his return. If he really
peneart the brooch to be of great worth, he will re-

urn.”

“So_be it,” said the beast-tamer. and here they
aaa and beckoned to the suppoeed trader to ap-
proach,

They were now near one of those narrow Pa
ways already mentioned, and this gateway led into
a corridor which passed before the dens or abodes
of several beasts.

Before entering the gateway the beast-tamer said
to the stranger:

“Before thou enterest the den of Wrathsfoot, Herr
Durldorf, thou must five to me a writing. stating
that of thy own free will thou art about to dare the
perils therein. Write, therefore—thou art a trader,
and provided with all that a scribe may need—write
thus: ‘I, Herr Hendrie Durldorf, Austrian trader,
of my own free will, and to prove the efficacy of a
certain oil which I desire to sell to Ercole del Zoc-
colo, am about to enter the den of his Bengal tiger,
by name Wrathsfoot, andI do by this writing de-
clare that Ercole del Zoecolo is in no wise respon-
sible nor to be blamed for any hurt that may befall
me in said tiger’s den.’ Write thus, trader, if thou
art still willing to prove the boasted power of thy

  

“Tam still willing,” replied the disguised magi-
cian, calmly, as he produced from his bosom writ-
ing materials and wrote the above dictated words
of the beast-tamer. “And when I return to Segna
[trust [may makeagood bargain with thee for
teaching thee, or thy mother, or the maiden who is
to be thy wife, the secret of distilling this oi]—the
component parts of which I cannot obtain save in
Vienna. Here is my surety of writing for thee, in
case harm come to me,” and as he spoke he gaye to
the beast-tamer that which he had written.

“Nay, can not read writing,” remarked Ercole,
and giving the leaf which Silver-Sword had torn
from his tablets to Orsola. !

“Nor ean I,” said the latter, “unless it be in Ital-

fate
2

“That is in German,” remarked Silver-Sword.
‘Then Thyra may read it,” said Ercole; “as the

old priest Angolo of whom we spoke just now, did
instruct the maiden in several tongues.”’ }

Ercole then called out to Thyra to come to him,
and she obeyed. cake

“Canst read this, Thyra,” he said, giving her the
leaf. “Ifso, read italoud.”

Thyra obeyed, and as the writing was exactly the
dictation of the beast-tamer, he was satisfied, and
bade all follow him.

spoken, ascended a narrow stairway, and soon re-
pBeatet in the gallery which overlooked the
yard.

“The tiger cannot reach us where we are,” re-
marked the beast-tamer, “for this gate is as strong
as rock itself; and from this spot we can see as well
as those in the gallery.”

There was no roof over the yard save the clear
sky, and the sun had not yet set, though it was far
on its pee :

“Thou shalt see the beast which thou hast agreed
to tame, Herr Durldorf,” said Ercole, as one of the
slaves in the gallery drew heavily upon the chain
by which the grating before the den of the tiger
was raised; and as Ercole uttered these words, the
grating slid upward in its well-oiled grooves, and
the terrible Bengal tiger, Wrathsfoot, rushed, roar-
ing, from his cavern-like den, and sprang furious-
ly at the cage of the slaye, Ahabbo.

[TO BE CONTINUED. |

> +

Items of Interest.

aay A deed of extraordinary heroism is reported
from Liverpool. An American ship, called the William H.
Keeney, was towed out of the River Mersey, and was cast off by
the tug-boat about ten miles to the north-west of the bar light-
ship. The wind was blowing almost a gale, and orders were
given for sail to be shortened. One of the seamen. who went
aloft was blown from the yard into the sea. Another seaman,
named Uphoff, cast off one of the ship’s boats, and seizing a pair
of sculls, jumped into it and pulled toward the drowning man.
For several minutes he battled against the wayes, and just as he
was reaching his drowning companion, the latter disappeared.
Uphoff was by this time a great distance from the ship, which
had been hove to, and giving up all hope of saving the life of his
shipmate, he turned back and did his best to'reach the vessel.
At length he got sufficiently near to the ship for those on board
to throw him aline over the stern, and as he stood up to catch
the rope, he overbalanced himself and fell into the water. It
would have beena La ape task for those on board to. have at-
tempted a rescue, and the ship haying lost two of her hands, was
put back to port. rs

xa Some of the flesh which lately fell in large
gusnntics in Bath county, Ky., has been analyzed by Prof. J.
awrence Smith, who pronounces it “the dried spawn of the frog.
It has been transported from the ponds and swampy grounds b:
currents of winds, and has ultimately fallen on the spot where it
was found.” “This,” he says, ‘is no isolated occurrence of the
kind. Ihave come across several in the course of my reading-
The only oneI can now fix the date of is recorded as occurrini
in Ireland in 1675.” But, unfortunately for the theory of Prof
Smith, frogs’ eggs do not contain blood. The flesh which fell
and which eoyered two acres of ground, resembled mutton, and
left traces of blood on the trees and fences which were touched
by the falling flakes. Chickens and hogs: deyoured it with evt-
dent relish. The heavens were clear, the sun shone, and only a
few floating clouds were visible at the time the shower occurred,
2 P. M., March 3.

aay The sixtieth anniversary of the wedding of
Mr. and Mrs. James McDermot, of Wheeling, West Va., was cel-
ebrated on the Ist of March last. They were married in 1816, at
Somerset, Pa. She was just twenty years of age, and he wasin his
twenty-second year. r. McDermot seryed in the army in the
war of 1812, and was with Gen. Scott at the battle of Lundy’s
Lane. He is now in his eighty-second year, and bids fair to live
many years. His father was born in 1725, and was seventy years
of age when James was born. He was born in Ireland, but came
to this country and served seven years in the American army
during the Revolutionary struggle. They are a long-lived fam-
ily, and here are two men—father and son—covering a period ia
their joint lives of over one hundred and fifty one years.

xa A large cougar was lately killed near Bea-
ver Valley, Oregon, by a Mr. Hudson, who was hunting for his
cattle with hisdogs. The animal had taken to a tree, and Mr.
H., being armed with an old musket and fine bird-shot, com-
menced war on him, and after the fifth discharge the cougar
came down with the evident intention of whipping his enemieg.
He first attacked the dogs, and got one under him, when Mr.
Hudson clubbed his gun, and after breaking the breech off, suc-
ceeded in killing him with the barrel. When measured, he was
found to be nine feet from tip to tip.

ka The oldest man in the U.S.N avy, though
not the longest in the service, is said to be Richards éncVoorhia
He was born in what was then cailed Hanover Square, New York
City, on March 5th, 1783, and was consequently 93 years old on
the 5th of March last. He entered the U. ri Nayy asa sail maker
on the 8th of February, 1834, and is now second on the list of
sail makers. He resides in Washington, D. ©., and enjoys ex-
cellent health. His eyesight is remarkable. About two years
ago he conducted an examination of sail makers at the Wash-
ington Navy-yard.

aw There is a child, aged six years, named
Vanfleming Colgroye, living with his father and mother at Stam-
ford, Conn., who has one great-grandfather, two great-grand-
mothers, and two grandfathers and grandmothers. Six months
ago he had two great-grandfathers and. three great-grandmoth-
ers. The three great-grandparents who are living are aged re-
spectively 85,.79, and 85. Those who died were aged 82 and 7%
The united ages of all were 692. The same child has a greats
great-aunt, who, at the age of 92 years, enjoys good health.

aa- The destruction of small birds has been so
merciless in the North of Italy, and in parts of the Tyrol, that
their protection has been made the subject of a diplomatic treaty
between Austria and Italy, and these countries are also endeay-
oring to persuade France and Switzerland to pass a law forbid-
ding the destruction of all insectivorous birds. Since the whole-
sale destruction of swallows, nightingales, &c., caterpillars and
insects have increased so numerously as to be a most mischiey-
ous enemy to agriculture.

xa@- A Chicago paper strives to show that that
city is not deserving of its notoriety as a convenient place for
easy divorces. _ it presents statistics of last year’s “business” in
this line, showing that the total number of cases begun was 526
and of decrees granted, 285. The number of decrees denied was
70. Of the causes, 174 were for desertion, 157 for cruelty, 111 for
adultery, and 69 for drunkenness. During the year, 5,004 mar-
riage licenses were granted.

ag Mrs. Elizabeth Jacobs, residing in South
Baltimore, Md., recently gave birth to a bouricing Bey. weighing
twenty-four hours after its birth, twenty pounds. ‘This is the
twelfth boy that has gladdened the Jacobs household, which also
boasts of three girls. All the fifteen children are thriving.

aa Among the distinguished persons who have
signified their intention to visit the Philadelphia Exhibition on

 

 

 

Having passed through the corridor the party en-
tered asmall and unpaved yard,in the center of

~~ ~~

r

the Fourth of July, is prince Oscar, the second son of the Kin:
of Sweden, a lad ob. ahout 16. He is a navy cadet, came

“Shel

ui

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

deer rn ai mre na tar

BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH.

The shades of night were falling fast,
When through New York a tradesman passed,
Bearing a banner overhead,
Inscribed on which the curious read:
“Come Down!’

His look was firm, his step was light,

His voice was clear, his eyes were bright,

And as he hurried through the crowd

He smote his breast and cried aloud:
“Come Down!”

He saw the gas-jets burning bright,
And murmured of a better light,
And as a gas-man passed him by,
Again arose that earnest cry:

“Come Down!"

“Use gas!’ the old stockholder said,

‘‘And blessings rest upon thy head!

Now we have nothing to divide!”

But still that earnest voice replied:
“Come Down!”

“Oh, stay!’’ the old man’s daughter cried,

As she the youngster sweetly eyed;

“Oh, stay, fair youth, and rest a while!"

He answered, with a knowing smile:
“Come Down!"’

“Beware that horrid kerosene—

It is not sweet—it is not clean—

It will not give a proper light.”

The youth exclaimed, with all his might:
“Come Down!”

Next morning meters, old and new,

In each gas-office met the view,

While clerks looked on with wild dismay,

And heard a loud-voiced youngster say:
“Come Down!”

. A stockholder just then arrived,
Andcried: “Can’t something be contrived
To stop this rush? Alas! alas!’’

A voice broke on his ear—“‘Oh, gast
Come Down!"
“Keep up your prices six months more,
There'll be oil-lamps in every store;
Curse, groan, and rant till all is blue,
You'll meet with no relief till you
“Come Down!’’
——__>-4+____——_

MRS. DENVER’S LODGER.

BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

 

 

“Now, Josie, I do wish you would listen to rea-
son.”

Mrs. Denver, a plump, spectacled matron of some
five-and-forty autumns, looked witha glance of ad-
monishing reproof at her niece, who sat on a low.
divan, with drooping brown curls, velvety dark
eyes humid with tears, and a cherry lip pouted om-

jnously.

Josie Denver was very pretty, with the fresh,
sparkling beauty of eighteen, and Josie Denver
was in love, and, as all the world knows, the cur-
rent of true love never does run smooth; hence the
tears, and the crimson flush on the cheeks, and the
trembling of the pouted lip.

I love him, aunt.” j

“Love! what nonsense! There isn’t any such
feeling, except in story-papers and sensational
novels. It’s all simple respect and esteem.”

But Josie knew better; she only bit, her lip, and
thought of Frank Ellington’s last impassioned
words. What did Aunt Denver know of love?

“He’s a poor lawyer,” went on Aunt Denver,
“with not practice enough to starve on, and I can’t
let you enter on alife of care and drudgery, with

our pretty face and boarding-school education.

’m astonisned at Frank Ellington’s presumption,
and still more astonished at you for allowing it. So
now get your embroidery, and think no more about
this child’s play.” :

Josie took up her embroidery, according to or-
ders, but as for the rest of Aunt Denver’s com-
mands, she internally resolved to take her own way
aboutit. She had confided to Frank Ellington her
trials on the subject of Aunt Denver's systematic
aoysiion, and Frank had bidden her “cheer up
= never mind the old Turk.” But it was so easy
o

talk.

“Hush!” cried Mrs. Denyer, suddenly starting up
and cee ping her inevitable stocking-darning.
“Wasn’t that a ring at the door-bell? As true as
live and breathe it was, and I wouldn’t a bit wonder
if it was alodger for our best front room.” :

A lodger it was; a brisk old gentleman, witha
shining brown wig, and blue spectacles, and a yel-
low silk handkerchief tied in multitudinous folds
round his throat, August weather though it was,
while in his two hands he held respectively a colos-
gal silk umbrella and an apoplectic cdarpet-bag.

“T see you have rooms to let, ma’am,” said the
old gentleman, nodding toward the pepsred notice
to that effect which adorned the left hand side of

CISD THE

“Qhild!” cried the dismayed aunt, “you are ray-
ing. There—wipe your eyes, quick, and smooth
your hair; he’s coming gown stairs.’

Apparently, in Mr. Wiggleton’s idea of things,
the process of “breaking the ice” was not a pro-
tracted one, for his step was now heard, deliberate-
ly stamping down the stairs. ;

“Hey Phe loa! Miss Josie crying! My, what’s the
matter?” cried Mr. Wiggleton.

“T won’t! There’s no use asking me!” sobbed

’
?

osie.
“She don’t mean it, sir,” apologized Mrs. Denver.
“She'll sulk yuna differently presently.

“Will you
quested the ancient suitor. y

“No—don’t, aunty! Please don’t!” cried Josie.

“Certainly, sir, by all means,” And Mrs, Denver
whisked out of the room.

She went down stairs and sat by the window, try-
ing to knit, butsecretly worrying in her min
about the willful lassie upstairs, Surely she would
never beso crazy as to refuse Mr. Wiggleton. Yet
girls were so unaccountable sometimes. She wish-
ed now that she had insisted upon it, threatened to
turn her out of doors, else—been imperative. But,
oh, dear!” sighed Mrs, Denver. “wisdom always
comes too late.”

Presently the door opened. £

“Mrs. Denver!” called out the voice of Mr. Wig-
gleton—a jocund, complacent voice, like anything
in the world but the accents of a discarded lover,

Mrs. Denver hastened my stairs with throbbing
heart, and eager, questioning countenance. Josie
sat smiling and blushing on the sofa with one or
two tear-drops sparkling on her eyelashes, while

wi wigan. th brown. wig somewhat dishevel-
ed, bent chivalrously over her.

Is it all right ?” asked Mrs. Denver, faintly, lay-
Ang Oot hand on her heart. '

' t's all right, ma’am—she has promised to be
mine.”

“And when ?”

‘Next week.”

“Oh, not so soon!” pleaden Josie.

. Dearest!” cried Mr. Wigaiston. l

true love brooks no delay. Next week it must

Don’t be foolish, my dear,” said Mrs. Denver to
her niece. ‘The sooner the better.”

So Josie, overborne by the majority, was forced

laughingly,
2, >

to, wield. i

‘My dear,” said her aunt, approvingly, “I never
gave you credit for half the goodsense you have
shown to-day.”

Didn’t you, aunty ?” be

But I’m deli hted with you; and you shall have
the nicest wardrobe money can buy,’ }
The wedding day arrived, and Josie, looking very
lovely in a lustrous white silk, shadowed by the
snowy cloud of a tulle vail, was duly married to
Mr. Wiggleton in a new brown wig and a suit of the
choicest broadcloth. Y .

Mrs. Denver, who had remained behind to super-
intend the preparation of the jyvedding breakfast,
was at the door to welcome her hew nephew-in-law
ae his bride. She led the way up stairs to the
parlor.

“A—hem—m-—,” said Mr. Wiggleton. “Now that
we are safely married, my dear Josie, Ido not see
the necessity for keeping up these absurd appear-
ances any longer.”. j é

He calmly removed his wig, displaying profuse
brown. curls, and took the blue spectacles from a
pair of brilliant hazel eyes. A pair of iron-gray
side-whiskers were coolly drawn from his face, and
the luxuriant folds of the white neckcloth suddenly
revealed a very handsome throat. While instanta-
neously recovering from a_ chronic stoop and
straightening himself, Mr. Wiggleton altered, as
if from the touch of an enchanter’s wand, to Mr.
Frank Ellington. ?

Mrs. Denyer uttered:a hysteric scream.

“Frank Ellington!”

“At your service, my dear aunt!”

‘Are you Mr. Wiggleton ?”

“I was, five minutes ago.” 5

‘But you—you are not married to my Josie?”

‘So the clergyman says,ma’am,”

“You are a—a deceiving wretch!” cried the aunt,
sinking upon achair. “Josie. how dared you?”

“You asked me to marry Mr. Wiggleton, aunt,
and I married him.”

“But [never dreamed of the base trick that was
being played upon me.”

“Oh, well, you see I couldn’t help that,” said Jo-
sie, demurely.

“Stop a moment,” said the bridegroom, with a
commanding air that even Mrs. Denver could not
resist ; “let me explain matters. Iam ng longer the
penniless suitor to whom you obj , madame.
The day previous to my 6 your rooms, I
received a bequest from an u rendering me
independent for life. Ihad no doubt but that you
would immediately withdraw your objections to
my marriage with your niece, but I preterred, re-
membering the obstacles you had always interposed
in our path, to woo and win her in my own way.
think we are quits now, Mrs. Denevr; shall we be
friends henceforward?”

He laughingly extended his hand. Mrs. Denner
took it and pressed it, half ere half vexed. |

“Quits, then, Frank. And you will keep the suite
of rooms?”

“Ishall duly comply with all that Mr. Wiggleton
promised.”

So, instead of one lodger, Mrs. Denver had two.
And Josie and her aunt were both suited.

 

 

the door. :

“Yes, sir; asitting-room and bedroom.”

“Can I look at them?”

“Oh, certainly, sir. Come
and show the rooms.” ; ;

Josie obeyed, unwillingly enough, while the oid
See trotted after her like an overgrown
spaniel.

ay hope your rooms front to the south,” said the
old gentleman. “I couldn’t think of any other as-
pect, on account of my rheumatism.” Z|

“Due south, sir,” said Mrs. Denver. “A bedroom
and a sitting-room.” a

“Ves, yes,’ commented the lodger-elect, “and
yery nice rooms they seem to be. I hope you don’t
keep a cat, ma’am—l’ve an antipathy to cats.”

“No, sir.’ :

“No public school in the neighborhood, with
bawling children ? Nor engine-house ?”
SEs Le .
““What’s your price ?” ines
“Twelve dollars a week, sir, including gas and

Josie! here, Josie!

”

ire.

“Tll take the rooms; and here’s a month’s pay
in_advance,” said the old gentleman, promptly.
“My trunks shall. be sent to-night. Is this your
daughter, ma’am ?”

“My niece, sir.”

“A nice girl!” was the approving answer. Lots
of beaus, I’ll go bail.” :

Mrs, Denver pursed up her lips primly.

“No, sir; my niece is too sensible for any such

folly.”

While Josie only pouted and blushed. bf

The new lodger was Baily installed in the ates.
room and bedroom, and Mrs. Denver rejoiced in
spirit. : ;

“It’s so much better than if he were a silly, senti-
mental young spark, putting all sorts of nonsense
in that feather-head of Josie’s” she thought.

The weeks crept on, and the old gentleman read
his newspaper, and puffed away at his meerschaum,
and went toddling off daily to “business,” and paid
his bills with a regularity which filled Mrs. Den-
ver’s heart with delight. :

There's a lodger for you!” she said, exultantly.
“I just wish he’d keep the rooms forever!” .

Tt was a bright, October evening when Mr. Wig-
gieton sent for Mrs. Denver to come up to his
room.

“Dear me!” thought the fluttered housekeeper;
“whatever can the matter be? It’s too bad. I be-
lieve he’s going to find fault with your guitar prac-
tice, Josie.” 3 : 2 a

“T can’t help it,” said Josie, piteously; “I must
get on with my. guitar lessons.’

Mrs. Denver obeyed the unwonted summons.
Mr. Wiggleton, who was sitting in a big chair, clean-
ing his meerschaum with a bit of chamois leather,
laid down his work, and solemnly adjusted his blue
spectacles. eas tia es

“Mrs. Denver,” he said, ‘I’m thinking of being
married.” . ;

“And leaving me, sir?” ejaculated the house-
ke2 er, with failing heart.

“tt won’t be necessary, ma’am, to leave you.”
ae indeed, sir! Then you will bring your wife

ere ?”

: “My bride will be here already, ma’am. It’s Miss

osie.””

“My Josie!”

“Yes, ma’am, your Josie.” :

Mrs. Denyer’s heart thrilled with pride and grati-
fication. ‘ 30 oF

“I’m sure, sir, Josie will be very much flattered.”

_ “Would you kindly speak to her, ma’am, and, as
it were, break the ice for me? Yousee I’m rather
ie ia in years, and I’m not used to this sort of

ing.

“Certainly, sir—oh, certainly,” cried Mrs. Denner,
smoothing her apron. ‘I shall be honored.”

She went down stairs as fast asif there were no
such thing as neuralgie pains, or stiff.old bones, in

all the world, to where Josie sat reading in the lit-

tle parlor.
What do you think, Josie?” she cried, exultantly.
‘“Here’s good luck for us! Mr. Wiggleton has fallen
in love with you.”
With me, aunty!”
Yes, and he’s willing to marry you, if you will be
a good girl. Now isn’t that good news!”
But to Mrs. Denver’s amazement Josie burst into
a passion of tears, and flung her book upon the
10o0r,
“Twon’t marry him. An old bundle of flannel
and rheumatism. No, I won’t.”
Josie!”
IT wonder you dare ask me such a thing, aunty;
and poor Frank, too! Never! Ill go out to service

first.

A NARROW ESCAPE.

BY CAPTAIN BARCLEY.

The intense excitement of 1847 and 748, caused by
the discovery of ec in California, will be remem-
bered by many of our older readers. The excite-
ment was at fever heat in ’48. Mechanics dropped
their tools in the work-shop, farmers left the plow
in the furrow, clerks left the counting-room, an
clergymen deserted their flocks. Adventurers of
all classes swarmed like bees upon the deck of each
departing vessel. An equal conglomeration of
thieves, gamblers, and cut-throats mingled with
reachers of the gospel, d rs of medicine,
earned professors, effeminate clerks, ete,, all bent
upon the same errand, never betore or since min-
gled upon a ship’sdeck. A trip around the Horn
was the popular route at that time, and from four
to six months were usually occupied in reaching
the land of gold. . :
Among the number who caught the infection was
Charles 0.,a clerk in a large wholesale dry-goods
house in New York. He was but twenty years of
age, had a good situation, was trusted by his em-
Pp hie and had a fair prospect of advancement.
® was of an adventurous nature, and hated the
slow and dry details of commercial life. The gla-
mour of adventure and riches shadowed his reason,
and he gave up his situation, and in spite of the
entreaties of parents and sisters he bade them fare-
well and set sail for San Francisco. __ c
We will pags over two years of his life. The bitter
disappointment of many aspirants for wealth who
left New York with high hopes and expectations, is
well known now. Disaster, Sneppetnimont, and
poverty were followed by reckless dissipation,
crime and murder. Persons detected in the crime
of murder or theft were tried by the Vigilance Com-
mittee and hung to the nearest tree. No testimony
was written down in a trial, but quick and sharp
work was the “order of the court.” And yet it is
safe to assert that the innocent were as safe from
unishment as in the States where trials were pro-

 

 

eave us alone together, ma’am?” re-|f

>| T can see by t.

 

.

NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

of the murderer, for whom a mob of desperate men
were hunting. :

Charles C., was found, and a rope fastened to his
neck, and with yells the infuriated mob cried out:

“Hang him to the nearest lamp-post!”

Fright had pa F: the tongue of the poor fel-
low, and rendered him speechless.

Nearing a tree, the rope was thfown oyer one of
its branches, and he was asked “what he had to say
before being swung up.” He uttered not a word in
reply, for he seemed tongueless and speechless.

“Swing him!” came from a hundred throats; and
the mob umeled atthe rope,and the poor fellow’s
eet most left the ground.

“Hold!” cried a voice. ‘Hold!’

Andaman with one plunge parted the crowd,
and with a spring, grasped the rope with one hand,
while a sheath-knife cut its strands with the other.
The poor fellow fell to the earth asif dead.

“Kill him!” “Knife him!” “Hang him!” yelled
the maddened crowd. ue

“Stand back!” was the calm reply. “The first
man that approaches me dies!”

One hand held acocked pistol, the other the knife
that had cut the Hope. He was cool, but there was
determination in his eye and face. :

“Listen to reason, gentlemen,” he said. “This
man is nomurderer. He took the life of another to
save hisown. What maninthis crowd but would
do the same? I was at the table when Slippery
Dick was killed. He drew his pistol in rage, and
was about to fire atthe heart of that young man,
who killed him to save his own life. [appeal for
justice only. I have proofof whatI say. Jim, walk
forward, coward that you are. You were at the
same table with us. Speak the truth, or you are a
dead man. You are a relative of Sli ry Dick, I
well know, but if you liea bullet go through
your brain.” ‘i

Jim walked forward and substantiated all that
his companion had said, and the leader of the mob
coiled his rope, and the rough crowd dispersed.

“Young man,” said the fellow who saved Charles
C.’s life, “you had about played your last card
here. The ae business does not agree with you,

e color.of your faee. ‘vessel leaves
this port for New York to-morrow, part with it,
for San Ee aL, not prove a healthy place
for you to livein in the future. Take my advice.
Rum and ecards nearly cost you your life. Let them

pet: the future.”
ie ©. took his advice. He departed for

ew Yo k the following day, and_has never tasted
liquor or handled a card since. He is to-day one of
dhe @ ; nts in the

Ps 5 lig gd and prosperous mere
ew York.

 

THE BAFFLED BURGLAR.

BY ROGER STARBUCK.

 

 

In 18—, Henry Borden, a fine young man, was a
traveling agent for the firm of Barnes & Co., New

States, and was on his way home, with a large sum
of money in his portmanteau. » ¢

One afternoon he found himself on the road
toward Terre Haute, Indiana, whence he was to
take the stage for the nearest oad station.

 
     
  

 

He had traveled along distance on foot, and felt
weary and sleepy—so much so, that he was several
times tempted to throw himself down under one of
the trees néar the road and go to sleep.

  
 
  
   
   

however, he feared that he might
sleep by some unprincipled s
ly, he kept on until, about an
saw ahead of himas one
roof so dilapidated that it look
ble every moment.
It was, in fact, agloomy-looking house, the bricks
being time-stained, and the windows small enough
for a prison. “3 ;

Here, however, Henry Borden resolved to pass
the night, feeling himself unable to travel farther
until coer’

He knocked at the door, which was at. le
opened by a man of forbidding aspect—a fellow
with low forehead, straggling, coarse_black hair,
and small eyes, set deep. in his head. He looked as
ifa comb and brush were articles he had never
seen, much less . In person he was short and
thickset, and aitired ina coat and trousers of dirty

gray.

Behind him loomed a woman—one whose height
far exceeded that of her sex in géneral, being about
oy feet ten. . ; wr. :

er jaws were. mass on denided! mas-
culine, with a flat nose.an ona ieee toeth—the
latter from an ugly curve of the upper lip, being
always in sight. rt :
Borden briefly explained that hs tamé for anight’s

I lodging, and would pay for it.

_ “Oh, no,” answered the man; “yer need do noth-
in’ of the kind, as we ain’t folks .co. take money for
houperianne: Welcome! welcome, sir, to such as
we hey.”
“Thank you,” answered Borden, with a sigh of
relief, thinking that appearances were often de-
ceiving, and believing such to be the case in the
present instance. ss
“P’raps you’d like a morsel toeat.. We ain’t got
much, at your service, but. such as it is you’re hear-
oy, welcome to.” :
twas the man who again spoke, and Borden’s,
impression of him would have yet more fa-
vorable from this speech, had he not thought he de-
a quick glance between the man and the wo-

man.

As he had eaten at a tavern, some thirty miles’
distant, a hearty meal, he had little relish for food
at resort } ; a, f

“JT would like to go to bed,” hesaid, “and geta.
ne sleep, as I need rest more than an ng
else.” ;

“Very well, sir,” said the woman, who had hith-
erto remained silent, and whose voice Borden
thought had a singularly disa able nasal twang,
“there’s a good pod up st , which we keep for
our daughter Ellen, when she’s to home, but she
not being here now, it is at your service.”

Just as the woman spoke there asa timid knock
at the door, and the man one it to admit a wo-
man, young and beautiful, although she was attired
in a coarse, faded dress. , &
She had long, dark hair, which fell in rippling
masses about a face of the rich pene complex-
ion, and matched well with thelarge, soft brown

eyes.

On first entering, her face had a timid, scared ex-
pression; then her glance tne apr the stran-
ger, who was watchi her wit miration, she
started and turned pale.

The man made asign to the woman, who at once
showed sore toasmall garret room,in which
was a cot-

The under side of the roof looked as perilous as
the outside, the rafters seeming loose and decayed,

 
 
 
 
    
  

  

 

rents. While thus reflecting, he heard-the angry
voice of the man below.

. .Yougo back where you came from, you lazy
jade. D’ye think we’re goin’ to support and take
eare of you?”

“T can do the housework, as I have always done,”

 

onged by tedious ceremony and _ labored summing
up. The testimony against a miner to conyict him
of acrime had to be positive and conclusive. He
was permitted to testify in his own behalf, and if
he failed to satisfy his judges of his innocence his
punishment wasswiftandsure. :

Charles: Grae met with nothing but disap-

ointment since oT ne the shores of California.
Claim after claim had been worked and abandon-
ed, and his dreath of sudden wealth had fled from
his brain. In the ore ot disappointment came
dissipation and a reckless spirit, but crime he
scorned. t

San Francisco, in the year 1850, contained but a
small population. It was the resort for the lucky
miner with his gold. dust, and the home for the
gambler and desperate characters in general, who
always managed to strip the toilers of the gulch of
their earnings.

One of the most noted gambling hells at that time
was kept in S— street, kept by a gambler nam
Dick P., notoriously known by the cognomen of
“Slippery Dick.” He was an expert gambler and a
villain of the first water. One night in December a
table in his den was surrounded by four men, and
one of the four was Charles C. He had made a
lucky strike at the mines, and having learned card-
playing among his associates, had_ returned to San

rancisco to enjoy it. Midnight had passed, andy
they were evidently playing for “high stakes.
The gold dust lay heaped high upon the table.
Siippery Dick had lost heavily cor ee night,
an Ye had staked his last pile upon the turn ofa
single hand. He lost,and with blanched cheek and
in a fury of rage he accused Charles C., of cheat-
ing at the game,

You are a liar!” was the firm and quick re-
sponse.

Slippery Dick’s eyes flared and burned with rage.
His losses, coupled with the indignity offered him,
were two greatto be borne. He drew his pistol,
cocked it, and was ready to fire at the breast of his
antagonist.

Quick as thought Charles C., drew his knife from
his belt, and striking the arm of the gambler, cast
it aside, and plunged the knife to the hilt in his
bosom. Hereeled and fellacorpse at the table.
The lights were extinguished in the melee and
Charles escaped in the darkness.

The news of the murder of Slippery Dick spread
with the morning sun, and the gamblers o San
Franciseo were frantic with rage. His death was
heclarrs to be a murder of the most cowardly na-

ure.

is companions in the game had fled, and the

 

H
knife which had executed the work bore the name | eff

was the answer.

“No. We sent youtoagood place, and would
rather you’d. work your own way, makin’ presents
to us now and then, of course, for the trouble we’ve
had of takin’ care of you.”

“T do not like the place you sent me to,” answered
the young woman; “they are rough tome; oe
scold me, and the son of Mrs Brener insults me.
will never go back there again.”

“Very. well, Ellen,” answered the woman, “but
you ain’t gore to stay here, as times is hard and
we have all we can do to support ourselves.”

At least, ye will permit me to remain here for
the night. You will not turn me out of doors.”

We don’t wan’t you, I say,” answered the man,
sharply. ‘‘We’yeno room for you. The bed is taken
up yy another lodger.”

I hope,” said Ellen, ‘“‘you mean him no——”

The rest of her utterance was suddenly checked
as if a hand had been hastily put over her mouth.

Borden’s suspicions were aroused.

The yobng girs it was evident, had meant to say,

“You mean him noi :

“T believe it is always best to go by the first im-
pressions,” thought Borden. “I was, from the first.
repelled by the appearance of these people.” re

e carefully puiled his pistol from an inside
pocket of his coat, and examined it. es

To his mortification he discovered that the nipple
was broken, caused by a recent discharge of the
weapon, while it was rusty.

A brief scuffle in the room below, with half
smothered ejaculations from Ellen, betokened that
force was being resorted to to prevent the young
oe from screaming outa warning to the tra-
veler.

The latter rushed to fight his way out of the
house; but he found that the door had been se-
curely fastened on the outside. He had previously
examined the windows, but these were too small to
permit his exit from the place. ;

Meanwhile the sounds down stairs were now

from oe betokening that she had been partially
gagged.

Borden stood at the door listening, until he soon
heard the heavy footsteps of the man and woman
as theycame up. He grasped_his pistol by the
stock, determined to sell his life dearly.

His enemies were soon at the door.

“Back!” shouted Borden, hoping to intimidate
them, “‘or I fire.”

There was at first no reply; then came the sharp
report of a pistol, and Borden feeling a twinge in
his * glam knew that the bullet had there taken

 

.

ork. sta
He had been through several of the Western

“4 Or =

Ou dusk, he
apse with a |
as if it would tum-

hushed, with the exception of a half-stifled noise | ter

His arm dropped powerless by his side, thus leay-
ing him utterly defenseless against his antagonists,
both of whom, doubtless, were armed.

There was a moment’s pause outside, as if the
ir were waiting to ascertain if they had hit their

odger.
The evil-looking eye of the woman soon appeared
ata knot-hole in the door, when she discovered
that the young man had been wounded.

that in asecond the two would be upon him.

At that critical instant a thought, which he won-
sere. nad not occurred to him before, flashed upon

s mind.

He glanced up at the scuttle, which, the room
having a low ceiling, was within easy reach of his
shoulders, if he should stand upon a chair.

He therefore quickly jumped upon one, dislodged
the scuttle from its place with one jam of his head,
and threw his portmanteau mpon the roof just as
the couple below dashed into the room.

With his unwounded arm, and at the expense of
much suffering from the other, he contrived to
squeeze himself quickly through upon the top of
the house,

From this he was meditating to leap to the ground
—a distance of about twenty feet—-when he heard
the voice of his ‘‘hospitable”’ landlord behind him.

Stand where you are or I fire.”

Borden turned, to behold the outline of a musket
pointed at him through the scuttle.

The muzzle of the weapon was not three feet from

m.
Mepat eh omg he do? ime a his
oot him! shoot him!” screame amiable
hostess from below.
_ The lock of the musket clicked, and Borden, be-
ipving the man was about to fire, fell flat upon his
reast.

Instantly there was a creaking sound, followed
a a tremendous crash, as the entire roof gave

A
Borden was uninjured, while the shouts of the
man and woman proclaimed that they also were
not much hurt, although completely covered, so
that they could not escape.

The young man instantly sprang tothe ground
and entered the house, by way of the outside door.
He found Ellen seated, half gagged, upon the floor,
tied to a heavy table so that she could not escape.

nape Heaven, you are safe, sir!” she cried, on
Ss m.
. Borden, as quickly as he could do so with his in-
jured arm, released her.

Then he went partly up stairs, and peered through
the crevice left by the falling roof.

There, by means of a Ment brought by Ellen, he
beheld the burglar and his worthy spouse as com-
pletely as a couple of menagerie beasts.

_ They were obliged to remain in a prostrate posi-
tion, as the space between the floor and,the roof
was not more than a foot high.

He heard the bolt quickly withdrawn, and knew a

It was Saturday. Strat drove down to the depot
in a carriage hired es ly for the occasion; and
Elder Van H. was with him, engaged to perform the
service which would follow the meeting.

rat was not astonished to find Lina there—he had
erbey souneiin in the elinge tere Bian
rl in t. e there ressed in

their best, and all looking at him in the most mys-

“T’ll_never trusta woman with another secret
while I live,” said Strat to himself, when he heard
some of the girls giggling.

And as the train had not yet arrived, he called
Lina one side and said, reproachfully:

upon’ told may seeret.” a

m my wor never pass ips!” sai
Lina, and she spoke the truth. mule s

But now the whistle of the locomotive was heard,
and in thundered the train. There were but few
passengers on board, and only one sto at that

epot. She was of African descent, weighed every
peers: of two hundred, and behind her came three

ittle woolly-headed {onus ones.

Whar’s dat man dat wanted a cook and house-
keeper?” she exclaimed. ‘He was to meet me at
the depot, an’ I’se here!”

Talk of a Comanche’s ye ! A band of fifty
never could outscream that of young girls,
who looked at the woman first an Strat next.

The latter smelt a mouse larger than a mountain.
He loo around one minute, and if he had seen
aman laughing that man would haye gone down
like an ox beneath the butcher’s mallet.

Some one had played the poor bachelor a rascall
triek, but who it was knew not. Something le
his lips which so shoeked the elder that he turned
away without a word, and left the depot.

Strat jumped into his hired oe and told the
driver to whip up his horses and drive to——a very
hot place was named,

The last thing Strat heard was:

har’s dat man datwes to meet me at de depot?”

A peal of ringing laughter, with Lina’s voice the
loudest and merriest of all, was the refrain that
followed.

Poor Strat isn’t married yet.
Moral.—Don’t. answer
ments, or you may rue it.

—____+- e+
HARRY’S PROMISE.

BY EMMA GARRISON JONES.

_ “Come, lads, T’ll tell you what we'll do; we'll drop
into the ‘Reindeer,’ and order hot punch and pipes.
What do you say? All in fayor sing out ay!”
4 ay!” shouted half a dozen youthful voices;
but Harry Hilton stood silent.
His comrades turned upon him simultaneously.
What’s up, old fellow? Why don’t you s

monial advertise-

 

 

Borden did not wait to see more; but, hurrying
off to the nearest town—five miles distant—he in-
formed the magistrate at that place of the circum-

nee.
With a force of Race they rode to the spot, and
in an hour, with the help of axes and crowbars, the
man and his wife were taken out, and eventually
lodged in jail. ;

tis all the fault of this jade!” said the woman.
when she was taken out from under the roof, glanc-
ing at Ellen, “such is the reward people gets for
takin’ care of other’s childer!” :
It turned out, however, that poor Ellen had never
been properly taken care of.
She had been found by the man who adopted her,
lost on the Pa while a child, and he had made
a drudge of her the moment she was able to be of

ny use.
She had been scolded and beaten; but havin
naturally a BtrOng moral character, she had resiste:
the usu: effects of such treatment, and had
grown up an intelligent, beautiful and virtuous
young woman.
Her adopted parents then thinking they could
6 better use of her than she was to them at
home, sent her to live as a housekeeper, with a
ene in the neighborhood—a farmer and
s wife. ;
These people, however, treated her worse than
thers had done; overwor and_ continually
ault. She might have put up with this; but
BOO dent G fellow, who finding that
h

 
 
 

go on to :

As er 4 ts, though she knew they
wereoet an 3st, she had not dreamed the
would commit ae , until on the night to which
we have alluded, when certain expressions made
by the man at once convinced her that he meditated
ee himself, at all odds, of the stranger’s

y-
She had, as shown, endeavored, and been pre-
ted, from giving the alarm.

rden, much interested in the young girl, pro-
posed to take her to live with his mother and aunt,
where, he promised, she would be kindly treated.
he consented, and they went home together in the
rst train from Terre Haute.

ey ha

Bion ¥ rent to his boobyish attentions,
nally er. Aw
a ants at once, determined never to |*

out? You’ve made fifteen shillings clear o’ your
wages; you're nottoo miserly to have a pot ©’
punch, and a social pipe, are you?”

No’ I; I’m no more miserly than the rest of you,
I take it,” answered the yuna man, stoutly.

Then, why do you hold back? I say, comrades,
come on; the exoning’s chill, and we’ve had a hard
day’s work, and a pot o’ hot punch won’t go down
1d. Here we go, all of us, to a man!”

No, we don’t,” responded aad
He was a tall, handsome young fellow, ahead and
shoulders aboye the tallest of his fellow workmen,
and foreman in the iron manufactory of Messrs.
Wee & Beet, where the whole party found em-
ploymen
They gathered about him him in the chill twi-

t.
e What's hold o’ the chap ?” they_eried. “I say,
Harry, what’s come over you? Why don’t you
come on? We’rein for a carouse, and maybe a
dance to wind up with. Aren’t you going along ?”

“Then give us your reason? Are ye going to
turn parson all on a sudden, or do ye hate to spend
your extra vee ? Come, lads, we'll club to-
gether and let him drink free.”

So we will,” answered half a dozen voices.
Harry’s swarthy cheek began to flush.

Ye know me too well to talk like that, lads,” he
said. “I’m not close-fisted with my spare shillings,
as you shall see, if you’ll mention anything else
Dus wae public-house and drink; I can’t agree to

a

“And your reasons; let’s have ’em. Be ye turn-

on?
No, but I’ve made a promise to my mother, too,
she’s a widow, and I her only 80 ye given
per my word never to drink in a public-house, and
shan’t break it. That’s my reason, lads, and
good-night to ye!”
And the worst of them were not bad enough to
gainsay such a promise as that.
A year went by, and a dozen of the picked hands
were up for promotion.
Messrs. Kirby & Keith had an office of t re-
sponsibility, and one that brought excellent pay,
to give out. When the minor promotions were all
made just five young men were left, and to one of
these the lucrative office was to go, Stalwart, hon-
est, upright young fellows, the whole five of them.
The senior partner of the firm pushed u

 

 

Eventually the young woman became the wife of
regretted e

 

Borden, who never his th t
. non marriage with the
STRAT’S LUCK.
BY EDWARD MINTURN.

 

Strat wasn’t handsome. His mutton-chop whis-
kers were as. yellow as the tail of a superannu
fox, and a fly couldn’t stick on the top of his bare-
footed head, it was.so smooth and shiny; but Strat
was a treasure in the neighborhood where he lived,
at least among the girls; for, though no single one
of them held: him in her silken cords, if one hap-
pened to be without a beau, and wanted to gotoa
party, or to take a moonlight ride, Strat was ea
on hand and ready tosupply the vacant place. The
girls liked to ride out with him, for he was “death”
on warm suppers, and couldsmell a broiled chicken
and hot waffles a mile any time.
Strat was of a very uncertain age. No one could
eall him old, yet he was by no means young.
“Why don't you get married, Strat?” asked Lina
, whose beau ent over the hills and far away,”
Br ne tees ae wine a moonlight ‘dg in
a party from the v. e were participating.
ou’d mak asband.”

 

¢ a first-class hus
“Why didn’t ye think soa while ago, wien
bre on to you?” asked Strat, in rather a melan-
cho ne.

“Oh, you know that Ithink asthe Scottish poet
wrote:

, “Dm o’er young to marry yet.’

‘And my parents think so too,” laughed the young
beauty. “But seriously, Strat, I ask again, why

with great chinks in the scuttle, which had no hook | don’t you marry. You are so good-natured, and so
to it, and was consequently unfastened. _ obli
When the woman left him, Borden down a | hus
moment ere making preparations to bed. | “I am going to be married,” said Strat; and_his
The beauty the young woman he seen had | voice sounded as solemn asif he had said: “M
‘made upon astrong impression, and he mar- | dearest hopes are dead, and Iam going to their
veled that such a could come of her rough pa- eral.”

‘Who to? Tell me, Strat—in confidence, you
know—who to?” cried the merry girl.

“Tf I tell you, Anna M. will know it in an hour.”
“No—honor bright!”

. ae other Anna, the pretty blonde in Rox-
ur

“No, never!”

“Or the still other Anna—the bright brunette at
the head of the river?”

“Oh, Strat, can’t you trust me with a secret ?”
Strat could not stand that tone of reproach.
“Tlitell you,” sighed he; “but it must never go
any further until it is all over and I am married.’

“The secret shall not pass my lips,” said Lina.
But she thought how her favorite Anna could
share that secret and yet her word remain unbro-
ken. She and Anna understood the deaf and dumb
alphabet, and could talk with their fingers. _

‘Now tell me, Strat you are such a good fellow!”

“She’s a widow!” sighed Strat.

young and handsome. ‘ aa

“She isn’t handsome,” sighed Strat. “I’ve got
her picture—and she has three children!”

Strat sighed lugrubiousiy, and Lina laughed
till the woods through which the road led rung

again.
‘But she is rich. She is worth one hundred thou-
sand dollars!” said Strat, and his face was all aglow.
*“Won’t that do to makeas lurge on? Fast horses,
hot suppers, and all that, " ?

“Suppose she holds on to the cash while she hal-
ters ee ?” said Lina.

“Oh, she is to settle her whole fortune on me!”
said Strat. ¢

“How did you find your treasure?” asked Lina,
with a merry twinkle in her eyes. wet}

“By an advertisement,” said Strat. “Isawitina
New York paper. A smart, energetic ng man
of good moral character was wanted— Tam all
that, you know.” :

“Ves,” said Lina, biting her lip to keep from

laughing, y
“And when is it to be? Where is she?”
“Tt is to come off here. She is coming here from
Boston, and I am to meet her at the depot.”
“Not at the water-tank, though?”
“Stop your teasing, Lina. This is a serious mat-

“Well, some widows are

“Teuess you'll think so before it is over,” said
Lina. “When willshe come?”

“Next Saturday, in the noon train.”

“Good! I'll be there to see how she looks, and
how you endure the meeting,” said Lina. “What a
blessing. You’ll become a husband and a father in
the same happy hour.” ;

“Now, Lina, you are laughing at me.”

“Oh, no, Strat. Matrimony is not to be laughed
at. Itremble whenever I think of it. Ah, here we
are; the ride is over, and it has been so pleasant.
am ever so much obliged to you, Strat; you are the
prince of good fellows.”

 

 

spoctnelny and looked about him in some indecis-
on. f
“Really, my good fellows,” he said, “I’m sorely
pom ow to proceed. I’ve only the one office to
w, and here you are, five in number, and equal
in deserving merit. How am I to decide ?”
Cast lots, boss.” suggested one.
The boss smiled, and seemed fora minute or two
to favor the idea, then all of a sudden his eye lit.
better thought than that has struck me,” he
said. “See here, my lads, whieh one of you now
ean say he never took a glass in a public-house?
Ah! here’s a test for you! Speak out now like

.T can say it, sir,” spoke out Harry Hilton, in his
ringing voice; ‘I never took adrink in a public-
house in my life.”

me, Mr. Hilton, honor bright; you’re sure of
what you say ?” said Kirby.

‘Tl'm sure, sir, or [should not have said so,” re-
plied the young man, proudly.

‘Ay, boss, and we can back him in what he says,”
chimed in his comrades. “We’ve no more to say;
the game is his.” 5

And so it was. ‘

Harry Hilton was appointed to this trustworthy
office; and it transpired thatin a few years more
he was taken into the firm as a partner; and he
won and wedded for his wife, pretty Lizzie, the onl
child and heiress of Mr. Kirby. And all this preak.
good fortune came of his keeping his promise.

NOT FORSAKEN.

Ayoung man walked sadly along the streets.
Trouble, perplexity, and disappointment were his,
as they are to-day the portion of so many. The

 

 

. 1 know you would make one of the best of ‘ immediate future looked very dark—dark enough,

indeed, to justify and explain his sadness and des-
pondency. Unfaltering courage had carried him

y | through many a difficulty—through one only to en-

counter another. Would they never end? Must
all the best years of his life be wasted in an unend-
ing struggle against adverse fate ? ;
e reached the brow of a hill, and looked toward
the western sky. erhead the heavens were hid-
den by dense clouds, like those overshadowing his
own life. But down close to the horizon, where the
sun had just sunk to rest, there was a break, and

 

FaEovan the cpening the golden light was still pour-
ing. The saddened heart saw it, as though the door
of the unseen world had been opened and a beam
from the celestial radiance of the great white throne
winged its way to his soul.

“My God has never forsaken me!” he exclaimed;
and as the words fell from his lips a new life came
to him,. The heavy heart became light, the falter-
ing step became strong and buoyant, the sorrow of
the present was vailed and illuminated by Hope
and Faith. Oh, sweet, holy trust in God! over how
many ashadowed life does it throw beams of eter-
nal light; to how many asorrowing one does it
come with healing. How grand, how sweet, how
sacred its influence! Jas. L. BowEn.

The Boys of the World
No. 24, Now Ready,

Contains the opening part of astory which abounds
in exciting events and deeply interesting adven-
tures. It is entitled

Long Lije and His Pets;

 

 

 

OR,
THE BOY MINERS.
Tur Boys OF THE WORLD also contains three other
long stories, “Bouncer Brown,” “Sure Shot, the

Hunter Chief,” “Nimble Nip,” as well as a great va-

puzzles, enigmas, rebuses, achecker column, funny
yarns, etc., ete. ;

 

Don’t failte read No. #4 of the Boys oF THE WORLD,
containing the charming story of

 

LONG LIJE AND HIS PETS.

 

 

 

 

 

 

riety of: entertaining short sketches and anecdotes, ©

 

 

I