STREET & SMITH,
Proprietors,

You. XXXII.

A REAL FRIEND.

M. A. EKEIDDEB.

 

BY MRS.

 

No blessing can a man receive,
No good can Ileaven send

So precious in itself, as one,
Qne true and real friend.

In health or sickness, good or ill,
In sunshine or in storm,

The hand is open, and the heart,
The generous heart, is warm.

Though summer friends are pientifal

While Fortune smiles to-day,
* “A friend in need is a friend indeed”
( “ sa When fortune flies away.
ear This real friend may be a wife,

A mother, or a son,

 

Nos: 27, 29, 31 Rose St.,
P.O. Box 4896, New York,

 

Or one in whom the coursing blood
Of kin has never run.

They ask not what our lot may bo=
How lengthy is our purse;

They love us for ourselves, indeed,
For better or for worse.”

No blessing can a man receive,
No good can Heaven bestow,

So precious in itself as one,
One true and real triend.

 

 

A SAILOR
IN SPITE OF HIMSELF

By HARRY CASTLEMON,
Author of “WHITE-HORSE FEED,” Etc.

CHAPTER I.
BEFORE THE RACE.
“Hallo, Blues! What are you doing out here?”
. What are you Whites doing out here?”
‘Wo came out to see you beaten.”
You did? Then we would advise you to go
ashore again immediately, for that is something

youll not see this day.
Won’t we, indeed! You’ll soon tell a different
tale. In tess than -anhour you will pull off those
blue rosettes and throw them overboard.”
Sen Ce cauea ss in —— ‘tity s = the boys
who Wear these blue rosettes wi cheeri
champions of the State,” ¥ wing io

“Ha! tell that to the marines. Perhaps they will

believe it.” j
This conversation. tookYpiace hetween the ocen-
“anks of tyyo little oe ‘s‘the Sunbeam and fine

‘ireily, which had beeii F:cown up into the mid.

and now lay almost motig¢hless side by side, while

the boys who made up their passengers and’ crews
lounged on the thwarts, fanning their flushed faces
with their hats, and ever and anon turning their

 
 
      

 
 

"Oh,

f a a
£ < aa

. 2. ,
clef, ran long races
powers of endurance, €
attended regularly to their school duties and kept)
pace with all their classes. They were favorites
among the students by long odds, as any one could

 

 

eyes toward the shore in an eager, expectant man-
ner, as if they wexe waiting for something.

From the poe in which the little vessels lay
their crews had a good view of the bay for ten miles
each way, and the sight presented to their gaze was |
one worth going miles tosee. The water was dot- |
ted with smoil craft of eyery description—tugs,
skiffs, single/and four-oared shells, and sail-boats, |
the latter all flying the colors of the Lone Star}
Yacht Club/and the shore in front of the academy |
was lined with carriages and people. It was a gala |
dayin Elmwood, and almost every man, woman,
and childin the country for ten miles around had
come ont to witness aneventthat had been the}
principal topic of conversation for weeks past—a |
race between two of the best boat clubs in that pact
of the State.

Elmwood was situated on an extensive bay which
indented the coast of one of our Southern States. |
It was a wealthy, thriving place, and boasted of as |
fine an academy as could be found anywhere. ;
There were two hundred students and more on the |
rolls, and, although you could have picked out |
from_ among them anynumber of lazy. mischiev-
ous boys—such fellows intrude everywhere—you |
could not hayefound one who did not love the |
school and all its surroundings. “It was no wonder |
that the institution stood high in the estimation of |
both scholars and patrons, for the faculty were men
who believed in making it a pleasant place for the
boys under their charge. Innocent sports and |
Y games of every kind were not only tolerated but |
: encouraged, the professors themselves often taking
+ part in them with as much eagerness as the boys
) {| themselves. Just now everything except aquatics |
i was at-a discount, and this state of affairs had been |
brought about by accident.

Among the many boys who spent all their spare
time upon the bay were two crews who were looked |
upto by the rest of the students as authorities on |
all matters pertaining to boats and rowing. The |
head man of one of these crews was Gus Layton, |
and the stroke of the other was _ his cousin, Bob |
Nellis. The former rowed in a shell called the Mist,
and Boband his men took their daily airings in a
beautiful little craft named the Zephyr.

One evening, while the crew of the Mist, who
called themselves the champions of Elmwood, were |
taking @ pull on the bay to exercise their muscles |
and cool their brains after along siege of study in |
the school-room, they fell in with Bob Nellis and |
his mén, who were out for the same purpose, and |
of course @ race ensued. The self-styled cham-|
pions expected to walk away from their opponents |
very easily; but to their intense chagrin, and the.
overwhelming astonishment of fifty or more stu- |
~— dents who stood on the shore watching the contest- |
ants, the Zephyr went ahead rapidly, and rounded
to in front of the academy the winner by more than |
a dozen lengths. Bob and _ his crew were so highly |
elated over the result of the race that they imme-|
diately challenged the erew of the Mist to a contest |
for the championship, which was promptly accept-
oan this particular day had been set for t 8}

« . !

The excitement began to run high directly. The!
students at once declared themselves the adherents
ofone or the other of the riyal clubs, and took to |
wearing rosettes on their jackets. Bob and his |
crew wore a white uniform, and Gus Layton and |}
his men dressed in blue; and by looking at the ro- |
settea student wore one could, tell which side he}
favored without asking any questions.

For weeks nothing but the race had been talked |
of. Tho enthusiasm of the students was so conta- |
gious that even their fathers, older brothers, and /
mothers andsisters became interested. The ladies, |
old and young, took to wearing rosettes and manu-
fuetured them by the dozen—blue or white, as their
faney or their faith dictated.

r, Sprague, the father of one of the Mist’s crew,
purshased a beautiful pitcher and cup, both hear-
he Sitable insziptions, which were to be present-
ed to the winning crew by the prettiest young lady
in Elmwood, so that the young oarsmen had some-
thing beside the championship to work for.

be he Blues were confident, as they had reason to

&. The crew of the Mist handled their oars with a
grace and skill that were surprising, and the way
they made their licht shell dance over the water
when once they settled fairly to their work, fright-
ened all the othenacademy clubs, who had allowed
them to claim andboast of the championship with-
out 2 single contestto prove their superiority. Bob
and his men acknowledged that the odds were
against them,and deyoted every spare moment to

Preparation for the race, Jack Phillips.the cox-
Swain of the Zephyr, who belonged to the elass in
Civil engineering, measured off a two-mile course

 

 

 

 

 

 

at the upper end of the bay, and twice each day his

crew pulled over itin a heavy yawl. They swung |

 

| be seen as ourstory progresses.

Indian clubs and dumb-Bells to harden their mus-:

have told by counting the rosettes. Indeed, it was
whispered about the academy thatif allthe erew
of the Mist were like Gus Layton, its owner, there
would not be a blue rosette to be seen. He was the
most unpopular boy in sechool—so very unpopular,
indeed, that the Blues, when asked why they wore
his colors, felt called upon to explain that it was not
On his account, but for the sake of Sprague, and
Haight, and Bright, other members of his crew,
whom everybody acknowledged to be good fellows.
No one, not even his own particular crony, said that
Gus was a good fellow, and the reason for this will

 

CHAPTER II.
SIMPSON TELLS A SECRET.

“Tsay, Johnny!” exclaimed Tom Thayer, contin-
uing the conversation which we have so unceremo-
niously interrupted, “you don’t want to see Nellis
beaten. Let me pull off that rosette and give you
another that will correctly express your feelings.”

Tom Thayer wore a white rosette. and held the
helm of the Sunbeam, and Johnny Parker wore a
blue, and was seated at the helm of the Firefly.

“T have no sympathy for Gus, that’s a fact,” said
Johnny, raising his arm to shield the colors that
were pinned to his breast. “But there’s Sprague,
you know—he is my chum.”

“Tam aware of it,” replied Tom; “but, with all
due respect to you and him, I must say that he is
reeping, yery bad company. He deserves to be

eaten.

Johnny had noreply to make to this. It had long
been a matter of much wonder and discussion
among the students that so good a fellow as
Sprague should associate so much with such a
scamp as Gus Layton, and as Johnny did not know
what to say in defense of his friend’s conduct, he
brought the Firefly before the wind, and filled away
for the opposite side of the bay.

“LI say, fellows,” continued Tom, as_ soon as the
very light breeze that was blowing had carried the
Firefly a hundred yards or so away, “did you no-
tice how Simpson acted ?”

‘I was just about to ask the same question,” said
one of Tom’s passengers. “He is almost bursting
with some secret or other. Let’s call him back and
find out what itis. Isn’tit strange how that fellow
gets hold of every bit of news that’s floating about ?”

The boy referred to was seated in the Firefly with
Johnny Parker. Next to Gus Layton he was the
most unpopular boy in school. and the reason was
because he was an incorrigible tale-bearer. His
tongue was so unruly that he could never keep a
secret, no matter how damaging it might be to
others, or even to himself. This unfortunate habit
had got him into numberless scrapes, but he never
seemed to learn wisdom by his rough experience.

While the conversation we have reeorded was be-
ing held, Simpson kept twisting about on his seat,
smiling and winking at his companions in a way
that would have excited the astonishment and
mirth of astranger, but which told all the boys
present as plainly as words that he knew some-
thing which he could hardly keep from telling. By.
the time the two boats separated, his secret had 80°
aaa within him that he could contain it no

onger.

“The Whites seem confident,” said he, and as he
spoke, his companions, who had been lounging
about the boat in various attitudes, started up
quickly to hear what was coming; “but I’ll bet the
contents oithe next box Ireceive from home that
the Blues beat. I’ll even bet that the Zephyr isn’t
rowed over two hundred yards of the course,” he
added, with a knowing shake of his head.

“You will ?” exclaimed Johnny.

“Yes, sir. Isuppose we are all friends. We all
wear the same colors.”

“Speak out, Simp,” exclaimed one of Johnny’s

assengers. ‘You know you can’t keep it any

nger,

“Andit is a wonder he has kept it as long as he
has.” said another.

I think I have held my tongue pretty still sinee
you fellows poured that bucket of water over me for
telling the professors who it was that knocked the
pickets off the fence,” replied Simpson, ‘But I'll
tell you this, for it is much too good to keep. Bob’s
oar is cut half in two.”

, As Simpson said this he leaned back on his elbow
in the stern-sheets, and looked from one to the
other of his companions'to see what they thought
about it. To say.that they were astonished would
not half express it. True, they had heard of nu-
merous plots—in all_of which Simpson was impli-
cated—to injure the Zephyr so that she could not be

ulled in the race, but the boat, and everything be-
onging to her, had been so closely watched, that
Bob and his friends were positive that no advan-
tage had been taken of them.

: =
= — é
iia. “Lea Wak. hits 5 =
: ive ee Re 7

now, LT caw'é age out,

 

“Yes, sir,’ repeated Simpson, ‘“Bob’s oar will

Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1877, by Street & Smith. in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.

NEW YORK, MAY 8, 1877.

 

2)

walls ashore, can 1 P72

Sette oe

 

2 a ees
er the road to increase their reak the very first tima, ys out his stréngth
D

and during the whole time] on it.

“Did you cut it?” asked| Johnny, as soon as he
recovered from his astonis#iment. _—

“No, I didn’t, but I know who did. It was Mr.
Layton, Gus’s father.” z :

“Well, now, if that wasnt a pretty piece of busi-
ness for a man to engage in, I wouldn’t say so,”
eried Johnny, indignantly. “Simp, you and the
+o aang you run withare too contemptible for any-

ng.” 4

“Oh, now, what’s the matter with you ?” whined

that worthy.

another word. Don’t you want the Blues to win?”.«

‘How did Mr. Layton get the chance to interferé

in this business ?” inquired Johnny, without an-
swering Simpson’s question. “He is a hundred
miles from here.” Cee

“T know it, but he has interfered with it allthe
same. You see, Gus is aftaid of Bob, and he never
intended to runafair race. His first idea was to
knock a hole in the Zephyr, and we came pretty
near carrying it out, too.”

“Wel” exclaimed Johnny.
in it?” ;

“Of course I did. I watched at the window of the
boat-house while Gus wentin; but just as I handed
him the ax, who should come poking along but one
of the professors, and wehad to take to our heels.
The next morning Bob found the window of the
boat-house open and the ax lyingon the floor, and
knowing in amoment what had been going on, he
set a watch over the building and we couldn’t get
near it afterward.” ;

“Well, what has that got to do with the oar that
was tampered with?” demanded Johnny, almost
flercely. /

“Now I'd just like to know what makes you so
cross,” Whined Simpson, “I believe you want our
fellows to get beaten.”

“Never mind that. Tell me about the oar.”

“Ain’t I coming to itas fast asIcan? The very
morning that Bob found the ax in the boat-house,
he sprung a row-lock while he and his crew were
practicing; and thinking he might as well havea
new rig while he was about it, he sent_to Clifton
after another shell and set of oars. Mr. Layton—he
is Bob’s unelé and guardian, you know—heard of it
through Gus, and countermanded the order as far
as the shell was concerned, but wrote to Bob that
the oars should be forthcoming. When they were
done he wouldn’t let the man who made them send
them to Bob, but took them to his own house, re-
moved the leather from Bob’s oar—he could easily
tellit from the rest because Bob always has his
oars made with a large grip than the others—
sawed it half in two, filled up the erack with putty
or something so that it could not be seen, and put
the leather onagain just asitwas before. Then, in-
stead of sending the oars pede or four days ago,
as he promised te do, Mr. Layton kept them until

“Did you have a hand

the last moment, and they arrived only an hour or’

two ago. so that Bob has had no time to examine
them. Oh, his goose is cooked. [ tell you, and the
Blues are bound towin, Now, what’s the matter
with you fellows? You don’t act as if you were
gladatall.” - f

It was easy enough to see that Johnny and his
friends were anything but, delighted at what they
had heard. If one might judge by the expression
on their facesthey were very much disgusted,

 

CHAPTER IIT.
THE RIVAL STROKES.

“Simp.,” said Johnnie, after trying in vain to find
words strong enough to express his feelings, ‘I’ve
a good notion to duck you for not telling of this be-
fore. Get out of my boat.’

“Oh, now; Iean’t get out and walk ashore, can I?”
whined Simpson.

“That’s so, but I ean soon put, you ashore—and
Simp., don’t you ever speak to me as long as you
remain at this academy,” b

“Now, what’s the matter?” demanded the culprit,
greatly astonished and utterly ata loss to account
for so much feeling on Johnny’s part. i

In his opinion, anything that helped to insure
the defeat of a rival was perfectly fair and honora-

e. He had expected that Johnny and his friends,
after listening to his revelation, would be all enthu-
siasm and admiration for the shrewdness Gus had
exhibited in getting to windward of his opponents;
but instead of that they all appeared to be very in-
dignant, and Johnny had expressed a desire to
throw him overboard. He could not understand it.

“T don’t believe you want our fellows to beat,” re-
peated Simpson.

“Yes, I do, if they can win honorably. But Pll tell
you what’s a fact: Gus Layton shan’t have that sil-
ver pitcher. T’ll blow the whole thing, and in the
presence of all the spectator’s, too.”

“Oh, don’t!” gasped ee almost paralyzed at
the thought; “I wouldn’t have my name mixed up
with this business for anything. Gus would half
kill me if he knew what I have told you.”

“Don’t let that distress you,” replied Johnny.
“From this time forward no one shall ever hear

} ‘son.
“I’ve a good notion not totell you:

 

ie “i

nh more
notice of you and the rest who have had a hand in
this mean business than if you did not exist.”

“I say,” suddenly exclaimed one of Johnny’s com-
panions, all of whom had listened in silence to this
conversation, “Sprague would never row in that
boat if he knew what had been going on.” Y

“That’s a fact,” answered Johnny, an idea strik-
ing him. “Let’s go over there and stop the whole
thing.’

“Oh, it’s no use; you can’t do it,” drawled Simp-
“There they come now.” :
“Five o’clock, the time set for the race, had arrived,
and those of the spectators who had come out in
boats to obtain a fair view of the contest were be-
ginning to grow restless, and to cast frequent and
impatient glances toward the academy grounds.
Even as Simpson spoke there was a commotion
among the crowd gathered about one of the boat
houses on the beach, the door flew oper and a light
shell, propelled by four boys dressed in blue, darted
out and moved rapidly up the bay toward the start-
ing point. It was the Mist.

The Blues were on the alert, and the moment
their favorites came in sight they were greeted with
a clapping of hands, waving of handkerchiefs, and
prolonged cheers. 1] 4

While the Mist was taking her position alongside
the tug, where stood one of the professors, who was
to act as starter, her rival, the Zephyr. eame in
sight, her erew pulling a long sweeping stroke and
feathering their oars as neatly as old man-of-war’s
men. Then another and louder uproar arose
among the spectators, and continued until the
Zephyr came up alongside the Mist and the starter
stepped into view. d 6 i

While he is getting the boats into position and giv-
ing the crews their final instructions, we will glance
rapidly at some scraps of the history of two of the
contestants who have an important part to play in
our story.

First in meanness, treachery, and almost every-
thing that is bad, comes Gus Layton; so we will
ne our attention to him, and be done with

nim,

He is, as we have said, Bob’s own cousin; a fact
that has often given rise to much doubtful specula-
tion in the minds of the students, for they do not see
how two boys, so widely different in dispositions,
tastes, and habits, can possibly be connected by ties
of blood. Heisa eross, sullen-looking boy, with a
hooked nose, a low, retreating forehead, and an
oily, insinuating manner, which, while it draws
some to him, repels a great many more. He is too
lazy to study, and consequently, although he is
sixteen years of age, he is in one of the lowest
classes in school. He pulls a good oar, is a pass-
able gymnast and ball-player, shows a wonderful
faculty for shirking hard work, displays cunning
in getting himself out of the numerous scrapes he
falls into, and these are about all the aecomplish-
ments he possesses, j

During the lifetime of Mr. Nellis, Bob’s father,
Gus had been a sort of protege of that gentleman,
who bestowed upon him more care and attention
than his own father did. By placing him at the
academy Mr. Nellis gave him every advantage for
fitting himself for usefulness in after life; and
more than that, he took care to neglect nothing
which he thought’ would add to his comfort and
pleasure. Was Bob presented with a new shell, a
sail-boat, a uniform, a few books, or asupply of
pocket money, the same boat which brought them
to Elmwood, brought a like present for Gus Layton.
Was Bob sent off during the long summer vacation,
to ramble among the hills of New England, or fish
in the trout streams of the Adirondacks, Gus was
never compelled to remain behind. One would
suppose that undersuch circumstances. Gus would
have been a happy boy, that he would have felt
grateful to his uncle, and that, if he had no affec-
tion for his cousin, he would at. least have treated
him civilly in return for his father’s kindness and
liberality; but such was not the case. His jealousy
made him: morose, cross, and fretful, and he de-
iui and hated his cousin from the bottom of his

neart.

And was this feeling reciprocated by Bob? Not at
all. Although to quote from the students, he did
not ‘‘take much stock” in his cousin, he alwavs
treated him kindly, and was as cordial and friendly
with him as Gus would permit him to be.

Bob’s father was looked, upon as the wealthiest
man in Clifton; but since his death, which occurred
a few months previous to the beginning of our
story, it had been whispered about that he had but
little property, and_ that little had been willed to
his brother-in-law, Mr. Layton, no provision being
made for Bob, who was left as his uncle’s ward.
Many who had refused to believe this story at first,
were beginning to put some faith in it now, for Mr.
Layton’s refusal to allow Bob to purchase a new
shell(athing his father never would have done),
and the advice he had of late so often given him,
that it was high time that he was paying less at-
tention to boating and more to_his studies, as hoe
‘might at no distant day, be obliged to earn his
bread before he could eat it, made it evident that

i
your name pronounced by meé; I shall talter

Zhree Dollars Per Year.
Two Copies Five Dollars.

words heard, hesaw t

 

 

 

 

 

 

peuawors S. STREET.
FRANCIS S. SMITH.

No. 25.

there was some foundation for the reports that had
got abroad. Bob did not know what to make of the
situation, and was only waiting for the close of the
school year to have a plain talk with hisuncle. He
wanted to know just where he stood.

CHAPTER TV.
THE START,

Bob Nellis, the owner and stroke of the Zephyr,
was a splendid fellow in every respect. Every one
said so except Gus Layton and his set. They did
not like him, and the reason was because they were

 

jjealous of him. He always stood among the first

véin his class,and in athletic sports, in which
Gus was particularly anxious to excel, he was as
far ahead of him as he was in his studies.

“Bob had been a changed boy of late. He was al-
most as gloomy as Gus himself. His mother died
when he was too young to remember her, and now
that his father was gone, he was alone in the world.
Besides his uncle, he had not a relative to whom he
could go for advice or assistance, and to apply to
him for either, he had already made up his mind
was quite out of the question. | :

The students all sympathized with Bob in his
troubles; and this was another thing that aroused
theireof Gus Layton, who declared he could not
see what there was in that pauper to draw the fel-
lowstohim. |

This much to introduce our two principal char-
acters, and to show how they stand with regard to
each other and to the world.

While the rival crews were taking their stations
and listening to their final instructions, the Firefly,
with Johnny Parker atthe helm, was making as
good use of her time as she possibly could with the
very light breeze that was blowing, and presently
ran her bow upon the beach. ™

“Now, Simp, make yourself searce about here,
and remember that henceforth I want to see as lit-
tle of you_as possible,” said Johnny, jumping out
and running up the bank, waving his handkerchief
above his head as he went.

Oh, now, he’s going to blow_on me,” whined
Simpson, his face growing white with alarm.
“Come back here, Johnny. Just consider whata
mess you'll get me into.”

“Just consider what a mess Sprague will be in if
he rows in that race,” replied Johnny, plunging
recklessly into the crowd.

The spectators looked after himas he elbowed
them right and left, and wondered if he had taken
leave of his senses.

Johnny was a lively runner for a little fellow, but
he had a good distance to go, and the erowd was so
dense he could scarcely work his way through it.
Still he succeeded in attracting the attention of his
friend, Sprague, who, believing that Johnny was
urging him to do his best to win the race, gave him
a sign of recognition, and he then grasped his oar
eo a firmer hold, as if to show that he understood

im.

While Johbany was oy too far off to make his
; i © eight rowers suddenly
bend their bodies forward, hold their oars poised
in the air for a moment, and then dip them so near-
ly together that they all seemed to strike the water
atthe same instant. Johnny svas too late to stop
the race. With a sigh of regrefl, he worked his way
out of the crowd, and seating himself upon an ele-
vated part of the shore, where he was compnarative-
ly alone, he fixed his eyes upon the Zephyr, and
waited to see Bob’s oar snap in his hand.

The two boats moved away together, and fora
few yards kept_side by side; but it was only fora
few yards, for Bob, who had set outto win, and
could be satisfied with nothing less than taking the
lead at once and keeping it through to the end, put
onadesperate spurt,in which he was faithfully
backed by his crew, and in less time than ittakes
to write it, the Mist was kehind, and falling farther
behind every moment. But why did not Bob’s oar
break? He was rowing with more vigor and de-
termination, than Johnny had ever seen him ex-
hibit before, and although the tough piece of wood
he held in his hand bent like a whip-stock, it never
eracked. Surely no oar that had been cut halfin
two could stand such an outlay of strength. Johnny
was completely bewildered, and so were a score of
other students, all Gus Layton’s friends, who were
waiting with a good deal of arfxiety and impatience
for the catastrophe whieh Johnny so much dreaded.
There was still another who was interested in the
matter and who was just then learning something
about itthat Johnny would have been delighted to
know. It was Simpson.

That young gentleman thought from the expres-
sion on Johnny’s face that he had better take him
at his word and make himself searce about there.
Filled with apprehension, and wondering what
would become of him if Johnny succeeded in stop-
ping the race, he sprang ashore, intending to run
up the bank and station himself where he could see
all that passed. When he saw the boats start off in
spite of Johnny’s frantie signals, he drew along
breath, and once more turned his face toward_the
beach, intending to be on hand to hear what Bob
had to say about his broken oar when he came
back. In order to avoid the erowd he was obliged
to pass close to the academy building, and as he
was hurrying along he heard his name pronounced
in low, cautious tones. oking up, he saw one of
Gus Layton’s right hand men, Seotty, iuike as of-
ten called Friday, for the reason that Gus always
looked to him to do any work he did not feel in-
clined to do himagelty who was leaning half way out
ofa third story window, beckoning eagerly, and at
the same time taking care to be seen by no one but
the boy below.

“Oh, Simp, don’t say a word but come up here di-
rectly,” whispered Scotty, in great excitement. “It’s
all out, and there’s bound to be an awful row when
the boats get back.”

“No!” exclaimed Simpson.

“But I say, yes. Some fellow has let the cat out of
the bag, and if Gus doesn’t havea fight on his hands
before he goes to bed Iam no prophet. Nellis is
just red hot and still heating.”

If Johnny Parker had heard this, he might have
known how to account for Bob’s extra strong pull-
ing.

 

CHAPTER V.
SCOTTY’S PLAN.

“Come up here,” continued Scotty, in the same
earnest, whisper. “We must get Gus out of this
scrape if there is any way to do it.”

Simpson thought no more about the boat race.
Trembling for fear of the exposure that was com-
ing, and the investigation that would be sure to fol-
low close upon the heels of it. in which his name
would bear a prominent part, he darted into the
building and hurried up the stairs to his dormito-
ry. At the door he was met by Scotty, whose usual-
ly stolid face was all aglow with excitement and
yeah. A brilliant thought had just oeeurred to

Lim.

“Simp,” he hurriedly exclaimed, “the only way to
get Gus out of this trouble is to destroy the evidence
agains! iim.”

What evidence is there?” asked Simpson.

“Why, the oar itselfi—the_one Mr. Layton eut for
him. You see,” added Scotty, so eager to get
through with what he had to say that he could
scarcely speak plainly, ‘about half an hour ago I
was going through the hall, when who should come
in but Bob Nellis and three or four of his particular
friends. Bob carried an oar in his hand, and 1 saw
that it was one of the new ones he had just received,
and that the leather had been removed. IfI had
needed any other evidence to convince me that he
knew just what had been going on, I should have
had it in the look his face wore and the words he
uttered. I heard him say as he went up stairs:
“There’s not another boyin school who would have
put up with that Gus Layton’s meanness as long as
LThave,and I’m: not going to do it any longer. If
anything about our boat breaks during the race to-
day, I shall believe itis because he has tampered
with it in spite of all our watehfulness, and I shall
come back here and expose him in the presence of
the professors and all the students.”

b a said Simpson, when Scotty paused to take
reath.

“Well, they went up to their dormitory, and pres-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

a ee
Ae se PERNA UR TOTAL STAD

d and locked. They

ently I heard : 8
have hidden that oar in their closet, and I propose

a door slamme

that, if we can get at it, we take it out and hide it
somewhere else. Then we'll watch our chance to
teli Gus what we have done, and suggest to him
that if there is any row raised, all he has to do is to
deny the whole business, for

against him, eh?

But Gus can’t keep a secret, you know,” said
almost the
very words that one of Johnny Parker’s friends had
perhaps he has told

Simpson, unconsciously making use of

addressed to himself, “and 5,
some of the fellows.that-his father cut the oar,

“T know hon kas, told you,and. meyiand
cir

all the rest of% iénds; but we'll not blow on
. mi)

“T_ah—that isOh, no. Of ¢ourse not,”stammeréd
Simpson, his heagifairly @oming up into his mouth
when he refléeted that he had already committed
the secret to the kéeping of half'a score of boys who
would not countenanes any seh trickery as this of
which Gus and his father had been guilty. id

“See here, Simp.,” Said Scofty, looking suspici-
ously at his friend, “that doesn’t come from the
heart. Are you tam: :

“Certainly not. “Lam so Blue it will rub off.’*9

“Then you had better do something to prove it.
Will you help me get that oar?”

“IT will.” 5

“T have tried all my keys, but none of them will
fitthe lock. Here’s something, however, that will
open a way for us,” said Scotty, producing from
under his jacket a large chisel which jhe, hadab-
stracted from the carpenter’s chest, “If you are
Blue clear through. as you say you are, take this
and burst open the door.” :

Simpson, eager to prove himself true to hig colors,
replied by seizing the chisel and running Out into
the hall, Scotty following closely at his heels. A
few rapid steps carried them up the stairs to Bob’s
dormitory, and a few more tothe closet in which
the.tell-tale oar was hidden. Here Simpson’s cour-
age began to fail him, and he felt the strongest de-
sire to.back out; ‘What will.the. professors say, I
wonder?” said he, making a feeble attempt to force
an entrance into the closet.

We don’t care what they say. They'll never find
out who did it, for I shan’t tell, You'll be more like-
ly to tell yourself.” :

“You don’t give me credit for much sense, do
you?” said Simpson. ‘

“Well, you have done such things before now,
haven’t you? That’s no way to get in there. Cut
the casing around the bolt.”

The casing, which was a thin, pine board, could
not long resist their efforts. A few blows with the
chisel brought off a piece of it, and then the lock
was no longer an obstacle tothem. As the door flew
open Scotty seized the oar and hurried away with
it, while Simpson, anxious to conceal his work as
long as possible, lingered to shut the closet and
pee the piece of casing he had cut off back into its
place. ‘

As all the students, and every one else belonging
to the academy were out watching the race, the
young seapegraces had the building to themselves,
and were in no danger of being discoyered. They
ran quickly down the back stairs and into the car-
penter shop, where the oar was speedily hidden
away under a pile of boards. : ‘4

“Tt will stay there till doomsday,” said Scotty, “for
these boards are never disturbed. They have been
here ever singe I have belonged to this school. Now
the next thing is to. run down to the beach and
whisper a word.of warning in Gus Layton’s ear.”

Scotty and his friend worked to such good advan-
tage that they had plenty of time to do all this which
we have been so long in describing, and to run out
on the bank in season to witness the conclusion of
the race. ; :

[TO BE CONTINUED. ]

—_—_____ > @~<____—_———
THE ROSE OF BALLYHOOLAN.
BY A. ROBINSON, AUTHOR OF “UNION, GOD, AND LIBERTY.”

There’s not a river in the world
With banks of shining green,
But has some angel without wings
To memorize the scene,
The Mohawk has its Eloise,
The Ayr with Mary glows,
The Lugar has its Nannie O,
And Boyne its peerless Rose.

When Freedom shook her banners out
O’er Erin’s lovely bound,

And heroes felt her lightnings leap,
And run along the ground;

When angry thunders muttered low
A nation’s galling woes,

Came forth that ange: ot the heart,
The Ballyhoolan Rose.

The soldier fights for liberty,
Or fills a hero’s grave,

But noble woman gives her all
To wars she cannot brave.

And hers the bitter sacrifice,
And wounds mo hand can close;

So faith and daty glild the name
Of Boll ae Rose. Pa ;
— > -

THE

Forrest House;

OR,

EVERARD'S REPENTANCE.

By MRS. MARY J. HOLMES.
Back num-

 

 

{“The Forrest House” was commenced in No. 12
bers can be obtained from any News Agent.}

 

CHAPTER XXII.
A MIDNIGHT RIDE.

ft was after midnight when Everard  reach-
ed Albany, the second day after he left Roth-
say. There the tram divided, the New York
passengers going one way, and the Boston

assengers. another. Everard was among the
atter, and as several people left the ear where
he was, he felicitated himself upon having an entire
seat for the remainder of his journey, and had set-
tled himself for asleep, or at least a rest, with his
soft traveling hat drawn over his eyes, and his
valise under his head, when the door opened and a

arty of several young people entered,talking and
aughing, and discussing a concert which they had
that evening attended. It seemed that a noted
prima-donnn had been singing in Albany, and as
was customary on such occasions, people fromthe
adjoining towns, accessible by cars, had been to
hear her, and were now on their way home. As
there was plenty of room Everard did not move,
but lay listening to their talk and jokes until another
party of two, came hurrying in just as the train was
moving. The gentleman was fall, fine-looking, and
exceedingly attentive to the lady, a fair blond,
whom he lifted in his arms upon the platform, and
set town inside the door, saying as he did so:

“There, madam, did get you here in. time,
though I almost broke my neck to do it; that last
ice you took came near being our ruin.”

“Tee, indeed! Better say that last glass you took,”
the lady retorted, with a loud ,boisterous laugh,
which made Everard shiver from head to foot, for
he recognized Josephine’s voice, and knew it was
his wife who took the unoccupied seat in front of
him, and dropped down gasping and panting as if
she had nearly lost her breath running for the

rain,

“Almost dead,” she declared herself to be, “ and
almost melted too; whereupon her companion,
who was none other than Dr. Matthewson, fanned
her furiously with his hat, laughing and jesting,
and attracting the attention of everybody in the
car.

For an instant Evererd half rose to his feet, with
an impulse to make himself known, but something
held him back, and resuming his reclining attitude,
with his hat over his eyes in such a manner that he
eould see without being himself seen, hs prepared
to watch the unsuspecting couple infront of him,
and their flirtation, for it seemed to be that insober
earnest.

Josey was all life, and giggle, and fun, and could
seareely keep still a moment, but turned, and twist-
ed, and tossed her head, and coquetted with the
doctor, who, with his arm on the seat behind her,
and half encircling her, bent over her and said his
soft nothings, and looked into her beaming face in
the most lover-like manner.

Just then the door at the other end of. the car
opened andthe conductor appeared with his lan-
ternand demand for tickets.

. i shall haye to pay extra,” Matthewson said.
reas so long that I did not have time to get my
ickets.”

“Nonsense,” Josey answered, in a voice she evi-
dently did not mean to have heard, but which
nevertheless reached Everard’s ear, opened wide
to receive it, “Nonsense, this one,” nodding to-

yards the conductor “never charges me anything;
we have lots of fun together. Pll pass you. So put
up your money and see how I'll manage it.”

And when the conductor reached their seat and
stopped before it and threw the light of his lantern
in Josey’s face, he bowed very blandly, but glanced
suspiciously at her companion, who was making a
feint of getting out his purse.

‘My brother,” Josey said, with a mischievous
twinkle ‘in her blue eyes; and with an expressive
all right,” the conductor passed on and took the
ticket held up to him by the man whose face he
could not see, and at whom Josephine now for the
first time glanced.
But she saw nothing familiar in the outstretched

there is no evidence

| form, and never dreamed who it was lying there so
near to her and watching all she did. So many had

left at Albany and so few taken their places that
i not more than half the seats were oecupied, and
i those in the immediate vicinity of Josey and the
doctor were quite vacant, so the young lady felt
perfectly free to act out herreal nature without re-
straint; and she did act it to the full,daughing, and
flirting, and jesting, and jumping just as Everard
had seen her do manyatime and thought iteharm-
ing and delightful. Now it was simply@reyolting
and immodest, and he glared at her, ffom por
his. hat, with no feeling of jealousy in hisheart, but
disgusted and sorry beyond all, power of deserip-
tion that she was his wife. Rossie had stood boldly
up before him and asked him to marry her, but\in
her innocent face there was no look like this,on
Josey’s—this look of recklessness and passion
Whieh showed so,/plainly even in the dimness of the
cam At last something which the doctor said, and
whieh Everard could not understand, elicited trom
her the exclamation: —

“Arn’t you ashamed of yourself, and J @ married
woman !” a\.

“The more’s the. pity,” the doctor replied, with
amexpression on his face whieh, had Everard cared
for or even respected the woman before him, would
have prompted him to knock the raseal down,
“The more’s the pity—for me at least. Pye called
myself a foola thousand.times for haying cut off
my nose to spite my face.”

“What do you mean?” Josey asked, and he re-

plied:

“Oh, nothing; only.can’t. you get a divorce? I
don’t believe he cares two cents for you.”

“T know he don’t;’-and Josey shrugged her
shoulders significantly; “but so long as he keeps
mein money [ can stand it.”

“And does he do that pretty well nowadays ?”

“Yes, so-so; he is*awfully afraid of his father,
though, and I do not blame him, Such an old cur-
mudgeon. I saw him last'summer, you know.”

“You did. Where?”

“Why.at Amherst; at commencement. I went to
the president’s reception and made Everard intro-
duce me, and tried my best to captivate the old
muff, but.it was.of no use; he took a dreadful dis-
like fo me and expressed himself freely to his son,
who reported to m6é——”

“The mean coward to do that,” the doctor ex-
claimed, and Josephine replied, “No, not mean
at all I made him tell moe just what his
father said. gaye him no_ peace till he
did, for £ wanted the truth so as to know just
how far to press my claim to reeognition, and I
just made up my mind that my best plan was to

eep quiet a while and let matters adjust them-
selves. Maybethe old man will die; he looked apo-
plectie as if he might go off in some of his fits of
temper, and then, says I, won’t I make the money
fly, for no power on earth shall keep me from the
Forrest House then.”

“And you'll ride over everybody I dare say,” the
doctor suggested, and she answered him, “You bet
your head on that,” the slang dropping from her
pretty lips as easily and naturally as if they were
accustomed to it, as indeed they were.

‘Ts Everard greatly improved?” was the next
question, and Josephine replied, “Some would
think so, perhaps, but [ look upon him as a perfect
milksop. I don’t believe I’d fall in love with him
now,” and her nose wrinkled up as it always did
when she wished to express contempt. “Why, he
is just as quiet and solemn as a graveyard; never
laughs, nor jokes, nor smokes, ner anything; he
is fine-looking, though, and I expect to be very
proud of him when I am really his wife.”

‘Which you never shall be, so help me Heaven,”
was Everard’s mental ejaculation as he ground his
teeth together. ,

He had made up his mind, and neither Bee nor
any one else could change it. That woman, co-
quetting so heartlessly with another man and talk-
ing thus of him, should never even be asked to
share his poverty as he had intended doing. He
would never voluntarily go into her pemonee
again. He would return to Rothsay, tell his story
to Bee and see what he could do to help Rossie, and
then go to work like a dog for money with which to
keep his leech quiet. And when tne day came, as
come it must, when his secret was known, there
should be a separation of some kind, for liye with
her a single hour he would not. This was his de-
eision, and he only waited for the train to stop in
order to escape from her hateful presence. But it
was an express and went speeding on.whilethetwo
in front of him kept up their conversation, which
turned at last on Rosamond, the doctor asking “if
that girl who eut off her hair to pay Joe Fleming
still lived at the Forrest House.”

Josephine supposed so, though she had heard
nothing of her lately.

“Why, she must be nearly sixteen,” she said.
“Maybe Ned will fall in love with her.”

When Beatrice called him by the old boy name
Ned, Everard rather liked it, but hearing it from
Josephine simply made him angry, and he clenched
his fists and listened very closely now as the con-
versation flowed on, Dr. Matthewson asking Jose-
phine what disposition she intended to makeof

samond when she was mistress of Forrest

ouse.
“That depends,” Josephine replied, with her fa-
yoriteshfug. “Ifthere is nothing objectionable in

her she dan stay; if she proves troublesome, she
will go.’f j aS
Oh w \Everard longed to shriek out thatthe

girl wh, if she proved troublesome, was to go from
‘orrest House, was the mistress there, with a right
to dictate as to who would go or stay; but he dared
not, for that would be to betray himself; so he kept
quiet, while Josey, growing tired and sleepy, began
to nod her golden head, which drooped lower and
lower, until it rested on the shoulder of Dr. Mat-
thewson, whose arm encircled the sleeping girl and
adjusted the shaw! about her, for it- was growing
cold and damp in the ear,

“T believe he is more than half in love with her
himself; her style suits him. Oh, if he eould take
her off my hands, I’d give him half my fortune!”
Everard thought, remembering instantly, with a
bitter pang, tlfat he had no fortune to give.

Just then they stopped at a way station, and, tak-
ing his valise, all the luggage he had, Everard left
the train, which after a moment went whirling on,
jeaving him standing on the platform alone inthe
November darkness,

There was a little hotel near by, where he passed
a few hours, until the Boston train, bound for Alba-
ny, came along and carried him swiftly back in the
direction of Rothsay and home, feeling much hap-
pier than when traveling the other way. The great
horror and dread, he did not know of what, was
gone, and he breathed free again. He had settled
it forever with regard to Josephine. Support her
he should; but live with her, never for one single
moment, and I think his heart bounded a little be-
cause he was going back to Beatrice and Rossie.
Ah, Rossie! how many times he thought of her as
she looked standing before him with that sweet,
pleading expression on her face, and that musical
ring in her voice, as she asked to be his wife. How
her eyes haunted him—those brilliant black eyes,
so full of truth, and womanly softness and delicacy.
He could see them now as they had confronted kim,
fearlessly, innocently, at first, but changing in their
expression asthe sense of what she had done began
to dawn upon her, and bringing the blushes of
shame to her tear-stained face.

“Dear little Rossie!” he thought; “if I were free I
believe ’d say yes—not for the money, but for all
she will be when she gets older.” And then there
crept over him again an undefinable sense of
something lost,such as he had felt when Rossie
said to him, “I would not marry you now fora
thousand times the money.”

Of course she would not marry him, nor would
he marry her, if he eould—a child, whom he had al-
ways regarded asa sister. The thing was prepos-
terous; and yet he wished she had not asserted so
strongly that she did not love him, and never could,
and would not marry him for a thousand times the
money. He was growing greatly interested in Ros-
sie, and found himself very impatient during the
last few hours of his journey. What had been done
in his absence, he wondered, and was she more
reconciled to_ the fortune which had been thrust
upon her, and how would she receive him, and how
would she look ?. She was not. handsome, he knew,
and yet the face which had looked at him so earn-
estly was very, very sweet, with an attractiveness
about it better than mere dolish beauty like that he
had left sleeping on Dr, Matthewson’s shoulder in
the railway ear. Theeyes were beautiful, and so
was the wavy, nut-brown hair, which she wore so
becomingly in her neck, and at the thought of that
hair there came a great’ lump in Everard’s throat
as he remembered the saerifiee the unselfish girl
had made for him two years before.

_ In ail the world there is no one quite like Ros-
sie.” he said to himself, and felt his heart beat
faster witha thrill of. anticipation as the train
neared Rothsay and stopped at last at the station.

Taking his valise, which was not heavy, he start-
ed at once for the Forrest House, which he reached
just as it was growing dark, and the gas was light-
ed in the dining-room.

CHAPTER XXIII.
AT HOME,

His first impulso was to ring like any stranger at
a door not hisown, but thinking to himself, **I will
not wound her unnecessarily,” he walked into the
hall, and, depositing his satchel and hat upon tho
rack, went to the dining-room, the door of which
was ajar, 80 that tha first object which met his view
as he entered was Rossie standing under the chan-
delier, but so transformed from what she was when
he last saw her, that he stood for an instant looking
at her, and wondering what she had done to her-
self. She had done very little, but. the little had
changed her materially, and instead of a child in
short frock, frills, and white aprons, and loose flow-
ing hair, he found a young woman in long black
dress and linen collar and_ cuffs, with her hair
ps ay into a large, flat coil, and fastened with a

omb.

The morning after Everard’s departure Rossie
had gone with Beatrice to her dressmakers to order

 

oo

 

ablack dress, which she needed for the autumn,
Cashmere was the material chosen, though Rossie’s
preference was for alpaca, as being much less ex-
pensive, but Beatrice overruled her, and selecting
a fine soft fabric, asked Rossie how it should be
made, and if she would have it just.to the top of her
boots, as she usually wore her dresses, or a little
longer. ;

“Oh, longer: quite to the floor, like yours,” Rossie
said. “Lam through with short clothes, now,” and
sheinsistedaypon carrying her point. “You see,”
she said to Béatrice. “I feelso old since I did that
shameful thing, that for me to dress like a child
would beas absurd as foiyoueto do it.cdmam noha
child. Lam at leasta hundred years old, and then,
you. know, it would never do for an‘ heiress to be
dressed like a little girl. How could [discuss busi-
‘ness with my lawyer Im short clothes and bibs,”
andshe laughed hysterieally as she tried. to force
back her tears, a ; :

She had become convinced that forsa few years
she must submit to bethe nominal owner at least of
the Forrest. property, and she had made up her
mind to certain things from which she could not be
turned, One was long dresses, and she carried her
point and gave ordérs. concerning some minor de-
tails with a quiet determination which astonished
Bee, whe had hitherto found her the most pliable
and yielding of girls. The dressehad been sent
home on the very afternoon of Everard’s arrival,
and without a thought of his coming, Rossie shut
herself in her room, and began the work of trans-
formation, first by twisting up her flowing hair,
which added, she thought. at least two years to her
appearance, thoughshe did not quite like the effect,
it was so unlike herself. But the long, soft dress
with its close-fitting basque and pretty overskirt,
was asuceess, and she was pleased with herself in
it, especially after she had added the collar and
cuffs; she liked the sound of the trailing skirt on
the carpet, and [voked at herself in the glass more
than she had ever done before in, her Jife at one
time, and felt quite satisfied with the-toué ensemble
when she at last went down to the dining-room,
where her simple supper of bread and btitter and
tea was laid for hergand where Aunt Axie held up
her hands in wonder at the change.

“For the dear Lor’ sakes, what has ds chile been
doin’ to transmoggity~ her so?” she exclaimed.
“Well, I never, ef détail of her gown ain’t moppin’
de flo’ like Miss Beatrice, and you not woman
growd. What has you done it for?”

‘Because, Aunt Axio,” Rosamond answered,

laughingly, as she Jaid her hand caressingly on the
old woman’s arm, “I cam order you round better if

I have on a long dress than I could in a short one,
and you know they will insist that I am mistress
now.”

“Yes, honey, I ’gins to understand; de paltry
niggers think you no ’eount, an’ like ’nough sass
you wid yer close up to yer knees, an’ the long
gownd mighty becomin’, I thinks. You look like
young woman, shu. I wish Mas’r Everard see you
now. Mebby it set somethin’knockin’ in his heart,
an’ L do so want him to live here jes’ desame. You
allus like Mas’r Everard a heap.” and Aunt Axie
looked curiously at Rosamond, who, knowing per-
fectly well what the negress meant, colored scarlet
as she remembered the scene in Judge Forrest’s
room, which she wished so much had neyer been,

“Ves, I like Mr. Eyerard very much,” she said,
“but not. in the way youmean, and you must never
hint such athing to him; it would make me very
angry to know you did,” ;

“Yes, miss, but ef I’s not mistaken he’ll think it
hisself, see ifhe donee ef he do, don’t you go for
to tell him no;thar ain tmany young men like Mas’r
Everard, an’ dis house be mighty lonesome wid him
gone away for good,I ean tell you.”

There was @eéall for Aunt Axie from the kitchen,
and she went out, leaying Rosamond alone with
her last words ringing in her ears:

“Mighty lonesome with Mas’r Everard gone away
for good.”

Yes, it would be lonesome, for during the last
three or four days of his absenée the house had
been dreary and desolate, and more than once for-
getting that he was gone, she had caught herself
Law for his footsteps in the hall or upon the
stairs. 7

She had been accustomed to his absence, itis

La

iow hetold the story of the midnight ride from
any.

“After seeing and hearing all I did, I cannot ask
her to live with’ me lest she,should consent, and
such a living together would be an open violation
of Heaven’s law-—a terrible sin,” he said, and Bea-
trice could not dispute him or find it in her heart
to say a wordin Josephine’s ‘defense, except that
“she perhaps owed what she was wholly to her
training, or rather want of it; there might be some
innate delicacysund,goodein- her.after all, if only
one could find i? 9%) ©

“But Ido not choose to seareh for it,” was Ever-
ard’s reply, and then the conversation drifted away.
from Jos*phine to Hyerard’s future,» UES / Oe

What did he propose to do, and where was he
going, or would he rémain in Rothsay?\A few days:
ago Everard would haye answered y..

prom ptly, “‘No
any where but here inthe place so fullof unpleas=
aut memories;” but mow things had. somehow |
changed. ‘Bhat coming home the previous night;
thatbright fire on the hearth, and more than all the
sweet young face on whieh the firelight hone, and
the bright eyes which had looked so_miodestly at
him had produced a strange effect on Everard and
made him loth to leave Rothsay and go away from)
the shadowy firelight and the young girl with the
new character upon hersface and in her every
action. He might have Jeft the child Rossic in the
hands of Beatrice and Lawyer Russell, knowing
she wouid be_well cared for, but to Jeave Rosa-
mond—Miss Hastings—-was quite another thing,
and when Bee questioned him of his intentions, he
hesitated a moment _andewas glad when in her
usual impetuous, helpful way, she sald:

Let me adyise you before you decide. I ‘saw
Lawyer Russell-in your,absence and had a long
talk with him, and he thinks, and so do I, that the
best thing you can dois to stay in the office where
you are and accept the guardianship of Rossie and
the administration of the estate, That will bring
yousome money, which yowcertainly can have no
scruples.in taking.as itsvillbe honestly earned and
must go tosome one. You can stillgoon with your
study of law and write your essays and. reviews
nd so have plenty of means to satisfy. Josephine,
if money will doit. Ido notsuppose you will live
at the Forrest: House; that might not be best, but
you will be in the village near by and can have a
general oversight of Rossie herself as well as her
affairs. What do you think of my plan?”

“It sounds well as_you put it,” Everard an-

swered, “but perhaps Rosamond may choose some
one else for guardian, Lawyer Russell, for in-
stance; that would be natural,”
_ Nonsense! Tye sounded her, too, on the sub-
ject,” Bee said. “‘Sounded her rather eautiously of
course, because I was not sure what you might do
about Josephine, and I am certain she will) be only
too happy todo anything by which a part of the
money can come to youat once: so, do not let any
foolish pride stand between _you and areal good.”

The idea of remaining at Rothsay and having an
oversight of 'Rosamond was not distasteful to the
young man. Nay, Lalmost think, that though he
did not know it himself, he would have sacrificed a
good deal of pride for the sake of seeing Rossie
every day, and so he promised to consider the mat-
ter if the offer.were made to him, Then, by way of
diverting his mind and making him laugh, Bee told
him of another erusade expedition in which she

 
 
 
   
  
 

mss THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. 22>

 

ee ae

But, Mr. Everard, I want you to sell the horses
and carriage, too; I shall never use them, and
mores cost so much to keep, I know; Iasked Unele
| Abe, and he said, at the least, six dollars a week, and

that is three hundred a year, and I ean’t afford it, J

like to walk, and have good strong feet and ankles—
great, big ones, you used to say,” and she tried to
smile, but there was a tear on her long eyelashes
as she referred to a past which had been so pleas<
ant and free from care. “A part-o 6 land is a

 

 

 

   
    
  
  
 

park,” she went onj OCS at-
tention except to piek! ip and DE Pad ont i.
grass occasionally. Unele Abel teld he so. I have

n h, aud says if I give

     
  
 
  
    
 

    

‘ked-with-him everso g
iio: A dollars mrore @ ‘he eah.do all there
isto b nds, if he does not have the

: him and his
avait on the

door, an! jui-the house,

, to
and send the pest hi hd
! sen rest away.” :
"Wh ne | ry Boat

   
 
   
  

. y, Rosamond,” Everard said, staring at h

In amazement, “you dot know what pou a talke

ing about; Aunt Axie can do‘the Worly of three?
Nor will she? Rossie said; “Ta ing to shut

 
 
 

up most abl-thes h

Sept one for ea

‘the dining-room down stairs, and )ittlesitting-r

off for any calls I may have. I camte 3 ey of ae

own room and the tea¢her’s, too,gf SheVikes, and
8 now,

iteacher,

   
    
      

Axie will nothave moreto'do th nedoes

and she is willing to try; I haye ) wit

abou 1 wi 8 vi Vv talked with
)She jad settled everything as she wanted to have
it, and it onlyremained for Everard, as her guar-
dian, to acquiesce in heravishes when he found that
nothin which he could.say had power to change
her.mind, She, had “developed great decision of
character, and so cleara head for business in all its
details, that Everard told her, laughingly, that it
would be impossible for him to cheat her in so
much asa penny without being detected. He was
intensely interested in this queer girl, as he styled
her to himself, and so far as.was consistent with
her good, did everything she asked, proving him-
self the most indulgent of guardians and faithful of
administratorsi9 Together with’ Beatrice: he i-
quired for and found, in Cincinnati, a Mrs. Mark-
ham, a lady, andthe widow of an English curate,
who seemed exactly fitted for the situation at For-
rest House as Rossie’s teacherand companion. All
Rossie’s wishes with regard to reducing the ex-
penditures of the household were carried out, with
one exception. Everard and Beatrice both insisted
that she should keep one of the horses, the gentlest,
which she could drive, and _the light, covered ear-
riage which had been Mrs. Forrest’s. "Po this Ros-
sie finally consented; but sent awaythree of the ne-
groes, Chloe, Susie, and John, and shut up all the
rooms not absolutely essential to her own and Mrs.
Markham’s comfort. . In this way she would save
both fuel and lights, and the wear of furniture, she
said, and to save for Everard had become a sort of
mania with her. And Wwhen_he saw he could not
move her, Everard humored her whims and suf-
fered her in most things to have her way. He had
i cheap, quiet boarding-house in town, where he
was made very comfortable by ‘his landlady, who
felt a little proud of having Judge Forrest’s son in
her family, even if he were disowned and poor.
Blood was better than money any day, and lasted

longer, she said, and as Everard had the bluest A

 

 

had joined, and which had not been so successful
as the first. Nobody had offered to sell their
whisky to her orto abandon its sale. One proprie-
tor of a saloon had offered Granny Ricketts a glass
of toddy, telling her it was the kind she used to
drink, and would do her old_soul good, and when
Rhoda Ann knelt upon the floor and ealled Heaven
to send down fire and hailstones that minute to de-
vour the wicked, a constable had tapped her on the
shoulder and threatened to arrest her as a dis-
orderly person, and for creating a mob on the
street, but nothing intimidated Rhoda had prayed
the louder, until Beatrice herself made her get up,
and go away.

Nobody_had been particularly discourteous, with
the exception of one man, who was so drunk he
couldonly keep himself up by leaning against a
barrel. He had called them a Jot of grass widders
and old maids, and advised them to go home and
attend to’their business, if they hadany, and if they

 

true, and very happy without him, but he had been
so much to her since his return from college,,and
had filled the house so full of life and sunshine-that
i ) orn to lose him now, espe-
cially as the judge ¢$dead and gone. She could
never look at alk to him easily and naturaily
as she used to do, but it would be a satisfaction to
have him there, even if she only saw him atmeal-
time, she thought, and she. was. wondering where
he had gone, apd when he would return, when the
pocr in the hall Opemed, oat owas there before
er. % "4
For a momentshe stood
was studving her; then,

   
   
   

 
 

ardipg him just ashe
eilting everything ex-

   
     
  
      
   
   
  
   
   

cept that he was theréon@ more, she went forward
to meet hi vingetim boti: her hands, while
a beautiful ‘Eheeks, said to him:
“Tam so gla backsgdt was solone-
some. here king ‘ou,”
H } have been
buii diekthan Everard had
expé y, and he kept
he 5 ner, with a
su from him, put
dropped. But»
ress, and Ey-

he ly at her, puz-

Was which had changed
He; ii that she was thinking
of that scene in his fati@#’s réom, but he meant to

zled to know just wha
herso'muech. He guess

 
 
  
 
 

hadn’t to get some husbands if they could find any
one tothave them, which he doubted; he wouldn’t
have one of themthey might be sure, he said between
his hiccoughs. and then, with a_ wicked leer on his
bloated face, he asked Granny Ricketts where her
oldest’Son was, whose name was not Ricketts, and
who never had a father! -

This had so enraged Rhoda Ann that she flew
at the man like a tigress, and shook him till he
was purple in the face, and a constable was about
to arrest her in earnest when Beatrice again inter-
fered, and persuaded the excited woman to go

ome.

On the whole Bee did not think much of cru-
sading, as it was conducted in Rothsay, and did not
believe she should go out again. If any goow was
accomplished it must be done in some other way.
Men were not to be driven into abandoning the busi-

blood, she madeamucheof’ himy andepetted hi

he had never been petted. in his: life, even ang hin

fo Fr aetna renee! re Pe auspices,
ifeobegan with. the ree. pérs ith |

whom this story has most to.do, Ae: eam

[TO BE CONTINUED,}

+ «4
“FAITHFUL MARGARET.”

The third"book of ‘the “NEW, YORK WEEKLY” series, “FarrH.
FUL MARGARET,” by ANNIE ASHMORR, , exhibits the gifted '
author’s skill to the best adyantage. The story is not only ex-
citing and extremely -interestingybat the characters are artist-
ically drawn, and at.once enchain the reader’s attention. The
plot is a masterpiece of ingenuity, and one which keeps curiosity
and expectation constantly onthe alert. The book is uniform
in style with ‘‘Peerless. Cathleen” and “Thrown on the-World.”
Copies of either of these stories sent by mail from this office,
postage free, on receipt of $1 50. The trade supplied by the pub-
hshers, G. W. CARLETON & Co. Every bookseller and news |
agent in the United States has the book for sale.

 

Our Knowleage Box.

’ QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED

Emile 0.—l. Prepared chalk and orris root will make a good and
fragrant dentrifice. 2. Sulphur will remove dandruff from the
hair—an ounce of sulphur to a quart of water. Wash the hair
with the mixture about twice a week, cleansing the hair imme-
diately afterward with water alone....Adelphi,—MOCKING BIRD
Foop.—Mix together two parts of corm meal; tivo parts of oy
meal, and one part of moss meal; add alittle melted lard, but
not sufficient to make the mixture too greasy, and sweeten with
molases.. Fry in. a frying-pan. dor balf an hour, stirring con-

 

 
 
 

 

ness which brough them so roel money, as longas

the law of the place made the traffic legal, and the

very best men in the town looked quietly on and

did not offer to help the few women trying so hard
stem the tide. ;

ow about the groceries at Ike Catchem’s? Do

 
   
 
   
 

‘trade there altogether?” Bverard. asked, and |
re ioe 5 ‘ an : oa Soe
“No, but ho says Pm his best customer, Tige

ought lots of tea, and coffee, Suga: and give |
to the poor who had none, and f you believe me, |
they have the impudence, some.of them to complain

 

ignore it altogether, an@,if possible, put. heron
her old familiag footing {ith himself; so, looking
at her from headto foot, Me said:

“What is it, Rossie?: What havo you done to
yourself? Pieced down your gown, or what, that
youseem so mueh tallercand grander every way.
quite like Be@,in faet? Yes, you have got ona
train, sure as @umsand your hair upinacomb;
that part I don’t like; the other change is rather
becoming, but I’d rather see. you so;” and playfully

wlling the comb from her head, he let the wavy
air fallin heavy, curling masses upon her neck
and shouiders. “There, that’s better; it gives me
tittle Rossie again, and I donot wish to lose my
sister.’

He was trying to reassure her, and she knew it,
and was very grateful to him for the kindness, and
let herself thaw out, and said, langhingly, that she
put up her hair because she thought it suited the
long dresses which she meant to wear now thatshe
was & woman of business, butif he liked it in her
neck if sShoukl be worn so; and then she asked him
of his journey, andif he was not cold, and tired,
and hungry.

“Dired? No: buteold as afrogand hungry asa
bear. What have we for dinner?’ And he turned
to inspect the little round tablelaidforone. ‘Noth-
ing but toast and tea. Why that would starvea
eat. Did you dine inthe middle of the day?”

Rosamond colored painfully, but answered:

“T had lanch, as usual. I was not BeneNy Tam
never hungry now. and just have tea at night.”

“Rossie,” and Everard laid both hands on her
shoulders and looked her squarely in her eyes.
*“Rossie, are you practicing economy, so asnot to
use the money you wrongfully think belongs to
mer

He had divined her motive, for it was just that
and nothing else—the fear of using the Forrest
money needlessly, which was beginning to rule her
life and had prompted her to omit the usual dinner,
the most expensive meal of the day, and have, in-
stead, plain bread and butter, or toast and tea, and
an hp read the truth in her tell-tale face and
said:

“That will never do, and will displease me very
much; I want you tolive as you ought and as be-
comes the mistress ofthe place; besides that, if it is
on my account you are trying the bread and water
system, Iam here now and hungry as a fish, so you
can indulge for once and order on everything there

  
  
  

There was not mueh, but.a slice of cold ham was
found and some cheese and jam,and jelly and pick-
les,and Axie made a delicious cup of coffee and
brought more bread and butter, and offered to bake
him a hoe cake if he would wait for it; but he would
not; he was too nearly starved to wait for hoe cakes,
he said, and he took his father’s place at the table,
and was conscious of a great degree of comfort in
and satisfaction with his surroundings, especially
the sight of the young girl who sat opposite to him
and poured his coffee, and once or twice laughed
heartily at some of his funny remarks. He seemed
in exeellent spirits, and though much of it was
foreed for Rossie’s sake. he really was happier than
he had heen sinee his father’s death. His future, so
far as Josephine was concerned, was settled. He
should never attempt tolive with her now; there
eould be no question of duty about it, and he was
so glad to be relieved that poverty and disinherit-
ance seemed very trifling matters. He should work
and earn money and send it to Holburton and keep
the young lady quiet as long as possible, and then,
when the worst came and the thing must be known,
he’d get. a separation, or perhaps a divorce, and so
be free at last. Free! How his pulse bounded at
the very thought, while following close upon it was
the memory of the words, “I would not marry you
now for athousand times the money.” though why
should he think of that and experience a little dis-
agreeable sensation in the thought he could not tell.
The girl who had said so to him was there with
him, sweet, dignified, and womanly, but so unlike
the little Rossie that he hardly knew het in her new
character, which, nevertheless, suited well the heir-
ess of Forrest House.

All the evening hesat with her and piled the wood
upon the fire until the flames leaped merrily up the
chimney, und infused a general warmth through
the large room. And Rosamond enjoyed it thor-
oughly because it was done for him. She would
never have added asingle superfluous chip for her-
self, lest it should diminish what was one day to go
back to him; but for him she would almost have
pene the house itself and felt she was doing her
duty.

{ fhe next morning he spent with Beatriee, who

 

 

 

 

1 was surprised to seo him back so soon, and to

of the quality, and say if they were going to do a
nice thing they'd do it, especially if they were worth
as much as Iam. Such ingratitude! .1 am dis-

usted with everything and everybody, and mean
nereafter to take Mike O’Hara’s advice, and stay at
home and mind my business,”

Everard langhed heartily at her and told her he
thought she had decided wisely, but knew per-
fectly well that she would plunge head first into
the first scheme which came up, and that if there
was to bea reform of any kind in town she would
be the chief leader and retain her great popular-
ity through all because of her sweet graciousness
of manner andthe genuine kindness of her heart
which showed itself in every action. Awhile lon-
ger he talked with her, and when he left her he went
at once to his father’s office where he found Law-
yer Russell, who made to him the same suggestion
with regard to the guardianship and administra-
tion of the estate which Beatrice had done. Of
course it was necessary that Rosamond herself
should be seen and the two men went to the For-
rest House to consult with her on the subject.

They found her more than willing. She was
very glad, she said, andsoin duetime Everard was
regularly installed as guardian to, Rosamond and
administrator of the estate. And then began a

stantly, and taking care not to let itburn. This makes it keep
well. Put it in a covered ‘jar.. The moss Meal is prepared by
drying and grinding: the iinported German moss seed...-. Pan-
ther.—No recipe for that particular color......dAn Old Reader.—
To MAKE A LOOKING-GEASS — eada sheet ot tinfoil on a flat
surface, and on the top pour .
with a hair’s,foot. The, mere

em becomes very 8
A plate of glaa

          
 
       

ere Sfirna r : ghts may be re-

vithout any dang be glass thus
red is acommon looking# ut two ounces of mer-
cury are sufficient to cover thy feet of ‘The suc-
cess of this operation depend the clearness of the
glass; adhesion of the ama Ne rorrer should the
Yeast dust or dirt be on thé surf the plate. 2. CHRowo
VARNISH.—A coating of eee parts of white copal varnish and
alcohol will be found excellent....L. S. F. B—We know of noth-
ing that will prevent, as you express it, the eyebrows from meet-
ing. If you should use a depilatory the hair would come out
again and become coarser than efore.. Let your eyebrows
alone.... .Gertruge.—Outdoor exercise will improve the com-
plexion and_ brighten the eyes. Do not resort to artificial
means.....: Rocky Mountain Sam.—PIMPLES —Pimples are some-
times got rid of by bathing the face in @ solution of borax and
water—half a teaspoontui of powdered borax toa pint of water.
Try} Ata .a:. ..Tamar.—l, To MAKE HOREHOUND Caxpy,—First
prepare a strong decoction by boiling tvo ounces ofthe dried
herb in a pint and a half of water for about half an hour. This
decoction ia then strained'and added to three and a half pounds
of brown sugar. Boil overa hot fire until it reaches the requi-
site degree of hardness, when it may be poured out in flat tin
trays, previously well greased and marked into sticks or smail
squares with a knife as it becomes cool enough to retain its
shape. 2. You_must trust to time to cure you of the habit of
blushing....-- Ww. L.—1. Apply a little glycerine and bay-rum to
your eyebrows occasionally. “This recipe will help them 2f any-
thing will. 2. Strong tea will sometimes make @ person wakelul.
If you are in the habit of taking it abstain tor afew nights,....,
Inez Oates.—1. Castor oil and bay-rum will promote the growth
of the hair. 2. We would not advise you to clip the eyebrows.
When they are well grown and well shaped, it is better to set
them with the towel after washing the face, as combing some-
times tends to spread them. Use occasionally the oil and liquid

   
  
 
  
    

 

     
  
 

 

    
 

  
 
    
  
  
 

    
  
 
 
      
  
 

 

conflict with the girl, who assumed a decision of
character and dignity of manner with which Ever-
ard found it difficult to cope.. She insisted upon
knowing exaetly how much the Forrest property
was. estimated at, where the money was invested
and how, and when interest on each investment
was due. This she wrote down in a book of her
own, and then she made an_estimate of the annual
expenses of the household as it was at present
kept up.

“Don’t you think that a great deal to pay out for
one girl, and six negroes a great many seryants to
wait on her?” 3

“Father did not find it too much, and he was as
close about expenditures as one need to be,” Ever-
ard replied, and Rosamond continued: 1

“Yes, but he is dead, and I do not mean to live
just,as he did. I propose.to reduce everything.”

“What do you mean, Rossie?” Everard asked,
greatly puzzled to understand this gurl who seemed
so self-poseessed and assured in her long dress,
to which he charged everything new or startling in
her conduct. }

Rosamond hesitated a moment, and then said:

“You have convinced me against my will that I
am at present the lawtul heir of your father’s pro-
perty, and that I eannot. dispose of it until I am
twenty-one. I have tried hard not to accept that
as a fact, but I am compelled to do so. You say
that I am really and truly the mistress of Forrest
House, don’t you?” was

“Yes, really and truly, all the mistress there is.

“And don’t mistresses of houses generally do as
they like about the arrangement of matters in the
house ?” was the next qrestion. put squarely and
plainly, and Everard replied: “Generally, yes.”

“Well, then, this is what, £ mean to do. First, I
shall keep a strict account of the income and a
strict account of the outgo,so far as that outgo is
for me personally.. You, know I haye two thousand
dollars of my own and I shall use that first, and by
that time L hope to be ableto take careof myself.
I regret now so much that when I had every chance
to study, 1 did not improve it, instead of playing
with the cats and romping withthe dogs.. T might
have had education sufficient to teach little child-
ren now, but I believe [ am a perfect ignoramus,
especially in arithmetic, for I do not quite. know
all the multiplication table, and fractions. puzzle
me dreadfully; but Lam going to haye some nice,
middle-aged lady to come into the house as com-
panion and teacher, and shall/study so hard that
in a year or tivo at. most I shall be able to. go out
as governess or teacher in’ some school, and so
not touch any more of your money.” ‘

“But, Rossie, I—-” Everard, began, but she said,
“Don’t interrupt me, please. My mind is quite
made up, "There are some things cannot do, and
there are some things I can, and this is ong of them,
I shall have the teacher and get an education, and
meanwhile shalllive as economically.as possible,
There are three aeres in the grounds about the
honse—Lawyer Russell told me so, and L have
walked all over it several times to see what and how
much must be done to keep_it up as your father
kept it. Lwant it always to look well, for your sake,
as you will see if you stay in, Rothsay, but I think
Unele Abel ean manage it all, with hiring a day or
two occasionally.” r

“Rossie,are youerazy? Uncle Abe taxes care of
the horses,” Everard exclaimed, and Rosamond an-

recommended tor the jhair. 3. Round-shouldered persons have
been aided by walking with the hands clasped or arms inter-
locked behind them, When sitting strive to keep in as uprighta

osition as possible. A. B. C.—1, In KALSOMINING the aim should
be to apply a thin layer of sizing that cannot be brushed off with
a broom or dry clotli., A thin coat is best, for at too much glue
be added, the kalsomine cannot be Jaid on smoothly, and will be
liable to crack. 2. If the smoke or grease shows through apply
a second thin ¢coat.... Knowledge Box.—We would recommend
your obtaining a practical work on the subject of paintmg and
other matters pertaining to the art. If you wish one write direct
to the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency. ...Cayote Jack
and Forest City.—INY1SIBLE INKs.—The following are the most
common invisible inks: 1. Sulphateof copper and sal ammoniac,
equal parts, dissolved in water, writes colorless, but turns yellow
when heated. 2. Onion juice, like the last. 3. weak infusion
of galls; turns black when moistened with weak copperas water.
4. A weak solution of sulphate of iron; turns blue when mois-
tened with a weak solution of prussiate of potash, and black
with infusion of galls, 5. The diluted solutions of nitrate ot
silver and terchloride ofgold darken when exposed tothe sunlight.
6. Aquafortis, spirits of salt, oil of vitriol, common salt or salt-

éter, dissolved in a large quantity of water; turns yellow or
brown when heated, 7. Solution of nitromuriate of cobalt turns
green when heated, and disappears again on cooling. 8. Solu-
tion of acetate ot cobalt, to which a little niter has been added,
becomes rose-colored when heated, and disappears on cooling...
H. W. G. writes: “You will oblige a constant reader of the NEw
YORK WEEKLY—a paper which I think goes ahead of every other
—by giving him a reliable recipe for PRESERVING EGGS IN S8UM-
MER.» Dip them in melted suet, olive oil, milk of lime, solution
of sum-arabic, or cover them with any air-proof varnish, Then
pack them in bran, oats, meal, salt, ashes, or charcoal powder...
H. J. writes: “Can you tell me what causes DARK CIRCLES UNDER
THE EYES, and what will remove them?” Loss ot sleep, mental
distress, anxiety, irregular habits, bodily pain, etc., will produce
the dark circles to which you refer: We suggest that you bathe

 
 
 
 
 

early, and avoid excesses ofevery kind......D. preceding
answer......Katrina Schweitzermeyer.—We CANNOL S8Ya....ee00

MEDICAL DEPARTMENT.

An Unfortunate, B. B., Headtong Youth.—The adyice we give
you on the subject ot the disease or weakness with which you
are afflicted, cannot fail to benetit-you: provided you follow it
strictly, Bathe or wash in cold water night and morning, or use
the sitz-bath—that is, sitting in a tub of water, with the water up
to the hips, for about ten minutes each time. Ifyou have no
bathing conveniences use the sponge or towel freely. Keep your
thoughts off the subject. Do not indulge in late suppers. Avoid
all stimulating liquors. If chewing or smoking affects your
nerves abandon the practice. Highly-spiced food should not be
partaken of. Take as much exercise as you can during the d
and evening. Retire to bed ata regular hour. Lie on your right
side—never on your back. The bed-covering should be light, and
the apartment cool or well-ventilated. Rise early, Do not allow
vourselfto take what is called ‘a second nap.” Commence your
bathing operations at once. Continue them, as directed. at least
ten minutes. Wipe dry, and then rub briskly until you get your-
selfinto aglow. Medicines in your case seldom do good, but if
employed at all they should be of the simplest kind. Put notaith
in advertised specities. Tf you conclude to seek the counsel of a
physician, consult, a regular practitioner, One word more, Do
not get discouraged if you fail to mend at onee. Bear in mind
that-a trouble of long standing, such as yours, cannot be got rid
ofin a week or ina month. A year may elapse before your
health is fully restored. But be this as it may, stiek to the cold
water treatnient, even after you think you are entirely wel} it
may prevent a relapse. Cold water 1s a wonderful tonic, and if
more generally used there would be less disease in the lad.

. G. Maun writes: “T have ronan paper for gver four
years, and find it the best published. ill you be so kind as to
inform me whether eggs will cause fleshworms to appear on
one’s face?” We have been asked this question before. We re-
ply that we do not know of anything in an ecg to produce such
aneffect. It is possible that the grease in whith eggs are cook-
ed when fried—tried eggs being a favorite dish with many— mig
in time produce’ pimples, they often being caused by greasy toed,
but there is nothing In an egg itself to develop them. Some per-
sons, we may say in this connection, like butter with even a boil-
ed egg, when a little salt is all thatis necessary to make the Maid
palatable. Now, excess in the use of butter in any kind of nutri-
ment is to be avoided; and grease, if so used, with even the most

 

 

 

 

swered him;

harmless food known, cannot fail ta be injurious.

 

 

is?

her

your eyes night and morning in tepid water, riseearly and retire ~

 

 

 

 

 

 

seen
PS,

_

“eam ee tite a panennee oe 6 6

=

be

nated OCS

 

met Ri

eee

eer

 

Price One. Dollar,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

d

 

 

How to Learn to Write a Rapid and Ele- | 95 Extra Fine Mixed Cards, win

gant Hand withont a Téacher.

“The art of elegant writing is here given fn a nutshell. Any
young man or woman can become a handsome writer if the di-
rections as given are followed out.”— (Hass.) Courier.

“Consists specimens of handwriti of the cele-
brated ate ee meee Gaskell. By means of it wonderful im-
er ou can be made.’ Christian Weekly, New

‘GASKELL'S COMPENDIUM,

  
  

"pred-qs0g Wey Ad

Designed for Self-Instruction in Penmanship for both Gentlemen

and Ladies, and all ages, is a Combimafionsin Four Parts, viz: I.

Copy-Slips; II. Ornamental Sheet; III. Book of Instructions;

IV. Case. Price One Dollar, post-paid. .

Among the models for practice and imitation, it gives:
BOLD BUSINESS WRITING,

conendnn of Movement Exerctses, Ledger:Headings, Invoices,
Notes, Bills o th , Receipts, Model Signatures, Superscrip-
tions, &c.,.dc., &c. - et ae a8 Bae

LADIES’ PENMANSHIP
in all the most fashionable varieties as used in. the writing of

ee invitations, &c., &c., with which every Jadyshould

liar. ; . :
ORNAMENTAL WORK,

owish to attam the highest SOspere profictency—
ead ‘of Birds, Swans, Quills, Seroljs, &c., and
German Text, Ol lish, and other Lettering. ‘> -

e Bi -Instrnactions isa reli: printed and neatly-
illustrated Manual, entirely separate from ;the aboye, but sent
with it, containing full directions,for acquiring perfect control of

—for those w
Off-hand

the and. correctness in form.
Al her it is the handsomest work on Penmanghip ever.
published, and its sale (Fifty Thousand Copies) has exceeded that
any other. 200) poye. f .Wige |
ean following briet sien co a popeiige Aes a the
outh’s Companion of Boston, twe years ago, written by Geor,
B. Griffith, the we tenes Phere Se tpooiby Bdizais mid

| ~~entitled “Tak GREATEST PENMAN OF THE AGE,” will show the

estimation in which this Combination is held by the’ best people
of New England: {| ; ol mi eanod aleaT -.

“The master-stroke of his..career has been in or! ting and
publishing elegant © i toh @ eombin n for self-
nstruction | qouear eS i nsistin® of exquisite copy-slips,
the execution of whieh )be seen to be full ; appreckated a
beautiful pen-design for framing; also a tastily-printed book,
containing the rules for study, presented in a style and manner
that none can fail of un rstanding. ‘The, frst edition was pub-
lished in the early m of! “anhdtat once became exceed-
‘ingly popular. In_ two years it reached a sale of over 24,000
copies. Edition after edition, each having some new feature ex-
oon the former; hasobeen exhansted. » A ore Reith sete

ngly as_ne: on, man’s.art can, make it, has
just Sneek Pen sees tes Gaal its sale: that at the time ot
Writing awpokiahht tect earance: enothen edition withother
additions is. tne repared tor Fane: € predict that within
a year sd/great will bé the i “or his work that ‘it will be
inte e among the firstclasses of Europe, as well, as in this
country.” tagger ir ie rae ee aa

IMPROVEMENT OF THOSE USING IT.

“We elaiin thatno‘onevean fail to bevoine van’ elegant writer ff
the rules, as piven are finial sfolomed out, The following
specimens sie ythat any one who enters upon the work witn
aoe , to jingprove will su They sori wy ne neraas
exceptiona § aye many othe! ally. , and give
these withou Peja eldesiane” Porte: bened of the very in-
eredulons, iyeowill say tall thes r6 genuine; the parties.are
well known, and we have taken Tar to give name and full ad-

 

dvess of each: |
\Old styles |) pol

    
   

,

© Bir 2AaFequested, I send you my namé written before asing
ium, and as I syrite it now, Yours truly,
e _ E. C. BosworrH, North Grantham, N. H.

  

Dear Str$.~Your postal card came'tothand this morning. | En-
closed you will find two specimens of my writing—betore and
anter pale sou ao 1 bay foun i? my benefit

¥ 4 with m more than i
3 gan eit yours, ° aa Wr.raM BP! oe.

x B, Salt Lake City, Utah.

Oli style: §

        
  

7 en 64,

 

Dear Sirs —] jose you two samples of my penmanship, one
wriehhoht te Lamb ribetore prnopelag (ttpid ate Caupen-
ae ; rene oC er now. ete chick Lakh ie ee is, is due
wholly to Compendium, which think. is splendid, M

“age is Serontebntet AE AY 6u8R very reapectiully, % 7

A: @& WALLIBAN, -Foatyille, Rock Oo.,"Wis.
Old style: .

  

Dear Sirs.—Enclosed 1 send you two specimens of my hand-
writing, the first before using ion Compendium, and the
Other after six mouths’ practice from it. I have lately been at
work on several large spécimens, two of which together with Mr.
Chas. 8. Mack’s (another young, man who has learned from the
Compendium), have lakea the first premium at the State Fair.
Am now teaching writing aad. am doing well.

Yours very truly, ~ W. E. DENNIs, Chester, N. H.

In this day, every young person must have agood handwrit-
ing, and it rests with them to decide whether to learn at home
from the Compendium at small cost,.or to try some other

, ’ : 4 cf

. method,

The Compendium complete, 8 above, 18 mailed, prepaid,
for ke is not 2 sale at any book store, . Teachers and others

| \shonid write for agency rates when they order the Compendium.
; ee cen eae d money orders may be sent at our risk.
eaUUreSH SICRTLS COMPENDIUM CO.,

Cor. Elin Manchester Streets., Manchester, N. H,
Remember ali letters are promptly answered. If you do not
get returns within ten days at the farthest, write again and let
us know the facts, and we will inquire into the matter, Hand-
somely illustrated circulars free,

name, 10 ets,
ry. 22-4.

post-paid. L. JONES &. CO., Nassau, N. Y

 

25 Fine Mixed Cards, no tio alike, with name, postpaid 10ec.
NASSAU CARD 00., Box 50, Nassau, N. Y, w22-4

 

OUR NAME PRINTED on 40 Mixed Cards
allt 10 cents. CLINTON BROTHERS, Clintonville, Ct.
Agents selling our

2 a day sure made b
10 S $25 Chromos, Crayons, Picture and Chromo
125 samples, worth $5, sent, post-paid, for 85 Cents.

ar’
Illustrated Catal e free.
43-52 J. H, BUFFORD’S SONS, BOSTON, Mass. [Estab'd 1830.)

& r day at home. Samples worth $5 free.
$5 o $20 ETINSON & CO., Portland, Maine. 8-26

SUFFERERS FROM NERVOUS DEBILIEY
who have tried in vain every advertised remedy, will learn
of a simple cure by addressing ~
52-26 AVIDSON. & CO., 86 Nassau st., New York.

Sioie § SIF Bere eee oe
$12

Rf) Mixed Cards, with name, for10cts and stamp. Agents’
OY Outiit, ets. DOWD & CO., Bristol, Conn. B52

Made by 41% Agents in January, °77, with
O3 my 13 New Articles. Samples free. Address
©. M. Linington, Chicago. 17-13

50 Visiting Cards, with name, 10e. and stamp. Agents
Outfitl@e. L. C. COE & CO., Bristol, Ct. ; 19-13

YW O@UR NAME neatly printed on 50 Nice Tinted Bristol
Cards for 15¢.3 50 Granite, 20e.3 30 Acquaintance, 15e. 5
25 Transparent Cards, 2Q0c. Elegant Card-Cases 10 & lic.

w20-8 STANDARD CARD FACTORY, Brockton, Mass.

WHA ES MEN to trayel and ‘sell to Dealers our un-

breakable glass chimneys and lamp goods. No_pediling.

Hotel and traveling ex ceny paid. pepe
io. row

 

 

a week m your own town. Terms and $5, outfit. free.
H. HALLETT & CO. Portland, Maine. 8-26

 

 

 

 

a day at home. Agents wanted. Outfit'and terms
free. “TRUE & CO., Augusta, Maine 8-26

 

 

 

 

ae liberal. ave €
LAMP CO., 264 Main St., Cincinnati,

‘ / ‘ Freckles and
FOR MOTH PATCHKS Piven
only reliable remedy is PERRY'S MOTH AND FRECKLE LO
TION. For Pimples on the tace, blackheads or Fleshworms. Ask

our druggist for PERRY’S COMEDONE AND PIMPLE REMEDY, the
infajlible skin medicine, or consult

R. B. C. PERRY, Dermatologist,
w21-13 4v Bonz street, New York.

 

 

 

 

J 10c. ATWATER BROS., Forestville. Conn.

] VET { <)—Cheapest in the known world
fa Cane en

 

$2500

 

ayearto agents. Outfitanda 825 Shot-
Gun free. For terms address J. WORTH &
CO., St. Louis, Mo. 24-2

 

 

 

A EXTRA MIXED CARDS, with Name, for 25
cents, W. AUSTIN, Durham, Conn. 24-4

= MIXED CARDS, name in Geld, 25 cents; 15 for
oe 10 cts. J. F. MOORE, ‘11 Paine st., Providence, R. I.

> Snow-flake, Marble, and Embossed Cards,
are with name, 20¢. DAVIS & CO., Fishkill Landing, N. Y

 

Gr alone of Rare Novelties, 3 cents,

C. QUEEN, Stoneham, Muss.
OPIUM and Morphine habit cured painless. No
Publicity. Dr. Carlton, 187 Mess

ington St., Chicago, Ill.

REV OLV ERS Faigestss tesco. tonstes,

Cat. for Be. stamp, Western Gun Works, Chicago, Ill.)

95 MIXED CARDS, no two alike, with me, 10 cents.
| Ze) T. R. HUDSON, Chatham, N, Y. oe 25-2
{

STEINWAY'S
DOUBLE VICTORY!

Srernway & Sons haye been decreed the stipreme
| recompense. viz.: TWO MEDALS OF HONOR and
| TWO DIPLOMAS OF MERIT. being incontestably
‘the highest honors bestowed upon any piano dis-
| play at the Centennial Exhibition, no other piano ex-
| Ribitor having received more than one Medal and one
{ Diploma. To the Messrs. STEINWAY only has been
accorded, by the unanimous verdict of the Judges,

If you love fun, read it.
w23-4.

 

 

 

a ee

  
    
  
  

 
  

| ‘the highest degree of - llence in all their styles,” as
' Showmby the raw = official report on the STEIN-

iar ibit of Grand, Square, and Upright Pianos,
viz.: ;

: | “For greatest concert capacity in Grand pianos, as
D Pieea about also highest. degree of exce in all their styles of
present style. I pi , viz; “gest rity and duration

te. ws t : rdina Sef ty, u h precis-
\ion and durability Lai

ism; a lso, ‘
sition of the strings, and construction and bracing of

| the metal frame’? « ;

| . After this the report. minutely deseribes and in-

| dorses the six principal and most valuable of Srern-
way’s patented inventions, which have made “Tu

STEINWAY” ‘

The Standard Pianos of the World.

Steinway & Sons, being the only piano-makers
who manufacture “eyery portion” of the instru-
ment, including all the metal wie: were honored
with an additional Medal and Diploma of Merit for
“the sue pene ne excellence” of their Machinery
Hall exhibit, upon the following unanimous official
report of the same judges:

“These articles of composite metal show the highest
perfection of finish and workmanship and the greatest
firmness and uniformity of metal structure, a steel-like
and sounding quality, with a tensile strength exceeding
5,000 lbs. per wep centimeter, as demonstrated by
actual tests. full metal frames of cupola shape,
possess an nineie degree of resistance, permitting a
vasily increased tension of strings without the slightest
danger of break or crack in said metal frames, thereby
considerably increasing the vibratorypower and aug-
menting the lasting qualities of their instruments.”

FIRST GOLD MEDAL OF HONOR, PARIS 1857.

FIRST PRIZE MEDAL, LONDON EXHIBITION, 1862.

EVERY PIANO WARRANTED FOR FIVE- YEARS,
bapr-llustrated Catalogues mailed free on application.

Steinway & Sons’ Warerooms,

STEINWAY HALL,
Nos. 109 and 111 East Fourteenth st., New York.

,

19-10

 

HISTORY OF A PICTURE. .

Two of the most celebrated artists the world
has ever known dwelt in the same city. One de-
lighted in delineating beauty in all its graces of
tint; form, and motion. His portraits were in-
stinct. with the charm of paysicn vigor, The
erecenil, half-voluptuous outline of form and

eature hartecnind with delicately-blended tints.
On his canvas the homeliest faces had_an almost
irresistible charm. The other found pleasure
onty in depicting weird and gloomy subjects.
Above all did he excel in painting the portraits of
the dying. The agonizing death-throe, the
ghastly face and form, were all depicted with
marvelous fidelity, There existed between these
artists the most intense dislike. At length this
dislike culminated. The beauty-loving artist had
been engaged in painting the portrait of a beauti-
ful woman. Connoisseurs pronounced it the most
wonderful piece of art that ‘had ever been! pro-
‘duced. His brother artist was jealous of his
fame and sought revenge. By bribing the keeper
of the studio he gained acecess.to the picture each
night. At first he was content to only deaden the
brilliancy of the complexion and eyes, efface the
bloom from cheek and: lip, and paint a shadow on
either cheek. Later, his strokes grew bolder and
freer, and ‘one morning'the artist awoke to. find
the entire outline of the portrait changed. He
could searcely recognize in the emaciated form
and haggard countenance the glowing conception
he had embodied. The pallid face and expres-
sionless eyes he had attributed to a lack of genu-
ineness in his materials; but when the outlines
were changed, he suspected the cause and indig-
nantly dismissed the keeper. What the revenge-
ful artist marred by afew rapid strokes of his
skillful brush was only restored by years:of pa-
tient industry. Reader, need we name the artists?
—Health, who paints the flowers and “grassy
carpet” no less than the human torm divine; Dis-

ease, the dreaded artist who revels among the
ruins both of nature. and: humanity; and Care-
lessness, the keeper to whom Health often in-

trusts his portraits. And is it not. the beauty of
woman, the most admired of all the works which
adorn the studio of Health, that Disease oftenest
seeks tomar. The slightest stroke of his brush
upon the delicate organization leaves an imprint
that requires much skill and patience to efface.
Restoration must beprompt. Carelessness must
be dismissed... Let. suffering. women heed the
warning ere Disease has marred their chief beau-
ty—Health—beyond reparation. Dr. Pierce’s Fa-
vorite Prescription has been used by thousands
of these sufferers, and they are unanimous in
their praise of its exeellence. If you would be
transformed from the pallid, nervous invalid into
a happy, vigorous woman, try it.

 

 

a

| RICHARD MEA

Mixed cards, with name, for 10c, and stamp. SRS nent
Ww

      
 
  
 

Samples for 3
)., Nassau, N. Y.

  

3 MIXED Cards, with name, 10

‘FY cent stamp. J. MINKLER
w25-2

t

95 ELEGANT CARDS, 20 styles, with name, 10¢.,
O post-paid. GEO. T. REED & CO., Nassau, N. Y.

WE ARE NOW OFFERING
Decided Bargains

In Ladies’, Children’s and ts?

UNDERWEAR,

In Cambric, Lawn and Linen,

Embroidery, Valenciennes

In every quality and style. Also

LACES
And novelties in made up lace goods, to wl
your attention.

LS, cor. 6th

DRUNKARD
Cc. Cc. BEERS, M.D. (ormerly of B

cure for INT XE MPHRANCH, which
the knowledge of the patient. Also one to

 

 

hly \Trimmed with

% Linen Laces,

    
  
 
   
 
  
    
  
  
  
   
 
    
    
   
 
  

 

on) has @ harmless
be given: without

r

: s ey
Send stamp for eyi-

Permanent cures guaranteed in both,
dence, Ask duggists tor it, Address ye
25-4 BEERS & CO, Birmingham, Conn.

=f
© - FANCY CARDS, all styles, with hatne, 10c. ; post-paid*
25 . B. HUSTED, Nassau, Renss. Go, N. 4.

7) ? . 1—MaGic,
FUN ALIVE! cox
Darkies, Sambo and Dinah, each U1 inc
gorgeous costumes. They will dance
together, fall down, risé, bow, &c,, &€&
ing detection. Nothing like them betore
for 25 cts., by mail, postpaid. Address E
NOVELTY CO., Box 4614, 3 Ann Stig

 

RTH AND MYSTERY
The Performing
n height, arrayed in
‘Music separately or
as requested; defy-
5 cents each, or both
REKA TRICK AND
, New York. 25-4

UST ISSUED—‘THE ANALYSIS OF RELIGIOUS
BELIEF,” by Viscount Amberley, of Lord John Rus-
sell, late Premier of England. A work of profound research, and
just the thing ior inquiring, thinking people. The lengthy and
able articles on “Jesus Christ’ is alone worth four times the
»sice of the work. Republished completein one volume trom the
ondon edition @ vols. 8vo.), and at oné-tith the price, Cloth,
$3; leather, $4; morocego, gilt edge, $4.50.. Sent by mail at these
prices. D. M. BENNETT, Publisher, 141 Eighth Street, N.Y.

THE WONDER BOX

Contains 24 sheets of paper, 25 envelopes, 105 decaleomanie pic-
tures, 132 embossed pictures, 3 sheets colored paper, 1 floral card,
1 lead pencil, 1 pen holder, 6 pens, 2 bookmarks, 1 motto, 25
colored wood strips, 12 Komik Kerds, 10 tags, 10 flags, 66 silhouet-
tes, 50 scrap-book pictures. Allinaneat box. 531 articles for 42
cents (by mail for 48 cents), it secre retail to $1.45. A

 

 

pretty scrap-book, with 150 serap pictu given to any one get-

ting up a clubof six andremitting $ with order. Agents

60-page catalogue free.

J. JAY GOULD, 16 Bromfield Street, Boston, Mass.
{This will appear one time only. Pin it up. Send any time.

Postage stamps taken.} c

@S Unique, Artistic Car
paid. “ALERT”? PRINTING Co.

Verdant Green.

By CuTnperT BEDE. _Irresistibly funny from first to last.
VERDANT has more “adventures” an nnier ones, than ever
before befell mortal man. If ‘every! _pulls a nail from one’s
cotfin,” read this’ book and laugh | seuse, death, and the
doctor. With 150 humorous engra Ss. Price only cos
by mail, 25e. (ordinary price, $1.75). | ld by all newsdealers,

t t-paid b.
or sent post-p: v RONNELLY LOYD & CO.,

wanted.

        
 
 
   
   

 

ith name, 10c. st-
est Stockbridge, vias,

 

Publishers, Chicago.

a
+

    
   
  
    
 

No medicine.

\NESS RELIEVE
: Madison, Ind.

free. G. J. WOO )

if

DHA ot

2. Snowflake, Hardpan, Floral,
name, lOc. NATION'S | JSARD
ne! or

Cards, no 2 alike, with
Northford, Conn. 23-10

"Ss

r Cure.

Tv aaAGul USE. ;
li kind ase feito I

. ‘and all dibeasal ‘the

to cure all cases of Piles.

amors. Price, $3 a Bottle.
H. D. FOWLE € Soy
: "25-4

 

FOR INTERNAL AND
Warranted a sure and perfect cu
rosy, Serofula, Ring-Worm, Salt Rh
skin and blood. One Bottle warrani
From one to tour bottles al! cases of Hy
Sold everywhere Send for Pamphlet
Montreal and Boston. .

 

5 ;
30 Mixed Cards, i0c.; Samples, 3c. We have 300 styles,
B. E. STRONG & CQ., Gerry, N. Y. 254

r either SEX.

 

 

who does not like to go to school.
run away and play around town. He would rather work hard all
day at home than go to school. I have talked with him and pun-
ishéd him severely, but with no effect. What must I do with

him ?) What name does a divorced woman use? In a discussion
with.a friend I claimed that she had no right to use her tormer
husband’s name, but should assume her maiden name ?’ Ist.
If, as you say, your efforts to keep your boy at school have been
unavailing, and he does not* dislike work, we advise yeu to
secure a place for him where will haye steady employment. A
firm, kind employer may do more to shape his course than
overs and punishments at your hands. After a year or two
1¢ may become settled in his habits, and appreciating the bene-
fits of a good school education. will try and make up for his
neglect of past.opportunities. 2d. A divorced woman adopts her
maiden name, having no right to that of her former husband.
When she is the party who peotared the divorce, she is not
anxious to retain it. She usually retains the pretix Mrs. when
there are children, for obvious reasons.

St. Elmo.—Please tell the best species of rose-bush to buy for a
grave. I want one thatwill grow sturdy and strong, and bud
out each year. I would like a monthly rose, but would be very
thanktul for your advice in the matter. I do not care what-color
it is, but would like a large, full rose. The grave is situated in
one of the sunniest parts of Greenwood. with no shade whatever.
Also tell me the best time to setit out and where to buy it?” The
best class of rose to purchase would be a hybrid perpetual. They
blossom freely in June, and again to some extent in the fall. By
carefully cu off the flowers as they develop. in ‘June, flowers
may also be for op the interval, but they will be very few.
There are some varieties of monthly roses which are said to be
hardy, but ay cannot be depended on to keep during the winter
unless they are bent over and covered with earth, and then only
in adry, sandy soil. Your best plan is to go to a florist and select

= pabehe: af Dar didacne color desired. You may plant
_ Jennie.—Yes, we have a book that is the size and style of the
“Ladies? Fancy Work,” entitled ‘Household Elegancies,”” by the
same author, price $1.50. It is a beautiful work, and every lady
should haye it for herwork basket or parlor. Asa present toa
lady nothing could be more appropriate. It contains a multi-
tude of topics interesting to ladies everywhere. Transparencies

on glass for windows, lamps, halls, etc., diaphanie vitremanie—
18 engravings. Fancy work with leaves, flowers, and grasses
phantom leaves, autumn leaves and mosses—23 engravings.
Spray work. or spatter work—23 engravings. Bracket shelves,
mantels, etc.—27 engravings. Picture trames—i7 engravings,
Fancy leather work—29 engravings, Wall brackets—18 engray-
ings. Work-boxes and baskets—l7 engravings. Wax flowers
fruit, ete.—21 engravings. Indian painting in imitation of ebony
and ivory—l4 engravings. Cane, spruce, and seed work—35 en-
gravings. Miscellaneous fancy work—46 engravings. The book
contains 300 pages, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt
of price. Address NEW YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency,

J. C., Connelisville.—“Will you inform me of the quantity (in
cubic feet) of air that a man will inhale inten hours? Iam
working in a coal bank, and write to you as authority to settie
an argument. Also what a horse requires for the same time ?”
the lowest estimate we find assumegyags an average {that there are
twenty respirations in a minute, and at each respiration sixteen
cubic inches of air pass in and out of the lungs. This is equai to
320 cubic inches per minute, 19,200 per hour, or about 112 cubic
feet in ten hours. Other estimates vary as high as 150 cubic feet
in the same time. The calculation as to the amount of air
vitiated by breathing and emanations from one person, and
which requires removal, to be supplied by tresh air, is variously
estimated at three and a half to ten cubic feet per minute. We
are unable to give the figures as to the quantity of air breathed
by a horse during the same length of time.

Heartsick writes: “I have been married twelve years, and my
husband has been drinking more or less all that time, but the
last four years he has got to calling me all the vile names he
can think of, and using the filthiest language in his conversation
We have a good home, which I helped 'to earn, and we might be
much better off if it were not tor his drinking. I have tried to
get alongwith him until I am sick of trying. I have asked him
time and time again to give me my share of the property and I
would trouble him no longer, but he only swears at and abuses
me all the more.”’? There seems only one thing to do in a case of
this kind. Jfafter years of torbearance and endeavor you are
unable to reform him, but instead he gets worse, you have done
your duty to him. Injustice to yourself you should apply to the
courts tor a bill of separation, with alimony.

Often when I send him he will

 

W. F. B., New York.—“I wish to join a good gymnasium; can
you give me the address of any, and the terms?” Ist. Wood's
Gymnasium, is at No. 6, East Twentieth street. We do not know
phe rates. 2d. You may connect yourself with the Young Men’s
Christian Association on presentation ot satisfactory evidence
that you are a young man of good moral character. and by the
payment of five dollars annually, in advance. This will give you
the use of the reading-room, library, gymnasium and bowling
alley, a seat at the evening classes in German, French, Spanish,
book-keeping, penmanship, vocal music and gymnastics, the
privilege of bringing a lady without charge, to the monthly re-
ceptions and the members’ lectures on Friday evenings.

Young Housekeeper.—“What roses bloom in August and Sep-
tember, and are they hardy? Is tapestry Brussels as good as
body Brussels for parlors? Does it give as good wear, and does

it come in as fashionable shades and colors? Is carpet 3-4 wide too
wide tor stairs of two teet six inches ?” Ist. Some ot the varieties
known as hybrid perpetuals bloom quite freely in August and
September. They wee hardy, but the monthlies are not. The
latter may be grown.during the season, and. slipped for next

 
    
 
       

 

BAY & CO., Chicago. 26-5 |

   

 

 

 

, To Corres :
\ sar Gossie wiTH Rapa

»L. A, R. writes: “A ticle in Gag
¥,in reply to ‘Ella R.,’ attracted

  

   

bol tho New York Wegk-
Btt his evening.

is legalsand yatid, and that

parties to re-marry, ete.
#kstone’ to controvert the
: law of New York is that

(Please aliow me as a ‘disciple of B|
error you unintentionally make.
marriage is a ‘civil contract’ and ats it to be valid under five

conditions, of which the tirst is ‘conskal of the parties to a legal
marriage.’ ‘Consensus non concubitus facit nuptias,’ is the
maxim of the civil law. Again, ‘A marriage ceremony legally
performed, when in fest, and not intended to be a contract of
marriage, and so understood by the parties, is not a contract of
marriagze,’—2l N. J. Equity 225, Professor G. Chaze’s ‘American
Student’s,Blackstone,’ page 142—New York Statute on ‘Domestic
Relations’ Qd Revised Statutes). If youinvestigate you will flnd
I am right, and will I hope excuse this note, intended only tor
the public good and welfare.” We are indebted to our corres-
pondent tor his correction of our statement, and the authorities
‘quoted apparently prove that we were wrong. Probably we can
best illustrate our position by the story or the man who had his
trunk Seized and was himself locked up by his landlord. On send-
ing for a lawyer, he Was told by the latterthat his trunk could not
be taken nor could he be arrested—that no official would assume
such a responsibility, it was Mlega!, ete. ‘‘Well,” replied the
Client, “this may bethe legal view of the case, but nevertheless,
they have taken my trunk and they have locked me up, and here

 

 

 

Iam.” ‘Our opinion was based on the tact that cases of this
kind frequentiy come up in the courts. On the receipt of the
above letter, we consulted the member of a legal firm in this
city, who informed us that within the past year they had hada
ease of this kind, in which the couple were married by a clergy-
man, supposably in jest, but afterward ascertaining that the
marriage was legal, Application was made to the Supreme Court
through the firm referred to tohave the marriage annulled, but
tue court denied the application, and the parties were compelled

to go to Illinois and commence proceedings for divorce.

O. M.—‘Has Jefferson Davisa right to vote and aecept an of-
fice? Have any other ex-Confederates been disfranchised? Are
either Tilden, Hendricks, Hayes, or Wheeler Catholics? Is there
any apprehension of Catholic predominaey? Do you think it ad~
visable to go north to school? Is schooling cheaper in the north
than in the west? What does Webster mean by plurality? How
can it be greater than any other number, yet less than half the
aggregate, when aggregate means the whole?” Ist. Jefferson
Davis may yote, but cannot held office, civil or military, under
the United States or any State, his political disabilities not hav-
ing been removed. The bill by Gongress in 1872 removed
legal and political disabilitiestrom al cept Senators and rep-
resentatives of the XXXVIith and XXXVUIth Conzresses, otticers
ot the judicial, military and naval service, heads of departments,
and foreign ministers of the United States, who tit fei posts
and aided the rebellion. The number disqualified under this bill
is very small—we have seen it stated as twenty-three. 2d. Nei-
ther of the gentleman named are Roman Catholics 3d.No. 4th.
It is immaterial. Good schools are not confined to any one sec-
tion. 5th You have misquoted Webster's definition of plurality.
We can best define it by illustration. Suppose there are three or
more candidates for an office, tor which the total vote cast is
11,000; suppose A gets 5,000 votes, B cets 3,500, and the remaining
2,500 are given to one or more candidates, A gets more than any
other candidate, but. leas than half eee aggregate vote, He is
consequently elected by a pluralitf’ If he had received more
than half the total vote, he would have had a majority.

Amy.—‘Ii, in getting married, the gentlem:n does not. say
“yes’’ to the questions propounded by the party officiating, is he
married to her or not? Ifhehates his wife, should he live with
her because she loves him more than all else in the world, or go
away from her, treat her rudely and break her heart? Has a
wife the right to know where her husband spends his time when
he stays out very late at night, and sometimes all night, or is it
none of her business?”’ . Ist. If the gentleman gives his assent by
standing up with the lady and allowing the ceremony to proceed
unto the end, heisas lawfully married as if he articulated the
responses distinctly. He is also lecally and morally bound to
cherish and protect her, of he shonid never have married her. A
man will not abuse a dumb beast that loves bim; how much less
should he doso with » woman who has literally placed her heart
and ,-soul in his keeping? 3d. The wife undoubtedly has a right
to know where her husband spends every hour of his time when
he is out of her company, particularly if she has reason to think
he is with improper associates and at improper places. 4th. No
charge is made for answering questions in the columns of the
NEW YORK WBREKLY. ,

Minnie M. writes: ‘‘I am a young lady eighteen years of age.
and have been keeping company with a young man ever since
last July, and he has now asked me to be his wife. My parents
do not want me to marry him, because they say there is too
much difference in our ages. Ihave never asked him his age,
but judging from his looks he 1s about thirty or thirty-one years
old. Is there too much difference? Would it be improper to ask
him hisage? Ts eighteen too young for a girl to marry? Lastly,
my love is agentleman in every sense, and is liked by all who
know him.’ The disparity in age is not an objection, to our
mind, We have always contended thaf the husband should be
the senior of his wife by at least five or six years, and even twelve
years is not too great a difference. As you advance in years, the
difference will become less and less apparent. However, your
parents should be the jadges of your wellare, and they may have
other reasons for objecting to theamarriage than those stated. It
certainly would be better for you to remain single until you are
at least twenty. There is no, harm'in asking the gentleman.
Woman’s wit, however, should enable youto find out without
asking the direct question, — ;

Nicodemus, Chicago.—“In New York State, if a woman mar-
ries a rich man, and he dies withott making a will, and leaving
no children, can she get one-third or any part of his wealth ?
Can she, under those circumstances, hold one-third of the prop-
erty in'any State?’ In this State the widow has a one-third in-
terest in all real property left by her husband, whether there be
children or not. When there are no children she also has an
absolute right to one-half of the personal property. There 1s no
uniformity in the laws of the States as to what are the dower
rights ot a widow, or her share of the personal property. It will
be necessary, therefore, to consult the laws of the State of which
the party was a resident at the time of his death, to ascertain to

 

what his widow is entitled.

   

| through the season. ‘
, )

        
      
   
    

_j taining apelin Cazes Peru; and I should be hi
ceive any inform in regard to climate, cost of liv

year’s plants. Many do this who wish to have blossoming plants
2d y Brussels is the best carpet for

portionately. The tapestry Brussels
hades and colors as the other. 3d.
too wide.

‘J >
d Have an opportun

       
       

    

‘We would not advise our correspondent to go to Ca The
heat is very intense, and natives and foreigners alike suvfer from

the ague. Miasmatic affections are also very common, the out-

skirts of the town being covered mE a coarse grass. with here

and there pools of stagnant water. The city hasa population of
25,000, about 10,000 of whom are foreigners, mostly Europeans.

In 1625 and again in 1866 the city was aimost entirely submerged

by a voleanic upheaval of the ocean.

May August.—Will Prof. Rudolph’s “Wonders of Nature” be
published in book form? What was the cause of the May-Ben-
nett duel? Has it ever been discovered who committed the Na-
than murder?’ Ist. We cannot say. They may be in course of
time. 2d. The challenge to fight a duel grew out of an encounter
the parties had in the street in front ot the club-room, the result
of some disagreement in family matters. 3d. No clew to the
Nathan murderer has ever been discovered. 4th. As to your
other queries we do not know whether the gentleman left any
ehildren nor whether his widow has remarried. The where-
abouts of the other party 1s no secret.

Joe Fleming asks: “It telegraphy can be learned by anybody,
or must one have a gift for it? Where can it be Jearned’ and are
good operators alwaysin demand? What will an apparatus with
400 feet of line cost 9’? «Ist. bea, Pt may be learned by any
one of ordinary intelligence. f course some operators can
transmit me: es more rapidly than others, 2d. Persons are
taught at the office ot the Western Union Telegrapii Co., corner
ot Broadway and Dey Street. Any operacor can instruct you,
for that matter. 3d. The supply of operators is always in excess
of the demand. 4th, A complete telegraphic apparatus, with
book of instruction, for $5. Galvanized wire will be furnished at
the rate of $4 per quarter mile.

Marmaduke.—“‘Suppose Mrs. A, a widow, with a daughter
should be married to Mr. B., a widower, with a son. What would
be the relation between Miss A. and the young Mr. B., and could
they marry ? Is the importation of imitation precious stones a
ood business, and-is there anybody in New York engaged in it?”
Ist. The young folks are in no way related by blood, and are at
liberty to marry. They would be called step-brother and step-sis-
ter, as each is the step-child of the other’s parent. 2d. Dealers in
cheap jewelry import imitation gems. We presume it pays those
engaged in it, but the market is necessarily limited.

Etta.—“Will you inform me when to use bring and fetch?
Which are the most cultivated authors for a young lady to read?”
ist. Bring refers'to motion toward the place where the agent or
speaker resides, while fetch means more properly to go to a place
and then bring the thing away—a motion in both directions.
2d. Read the works of Washington Irving, Prescott, Hawthorne,
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Shakespeare, Longfellow, Bryant, Pope,
and other standard writers in prose and verse. 3d. See “Work
Box,” for directions how to clean chip hat.

L, P. Z.—Mount Washington is the highest of the White Moun-
tains, in New Hampshire,-and a favorite summer resort. The
principal hotels are the Tip-top and Summit houses;" there are
vesides these several other buildings, including the meteorologi-
cal station, connected with the U.S. signaliservice. The summit
of ig mountain is reached by a railroad as well as a carriage
road.

F. G. M. T.—“Can you tell me how to gain Information of my
brother, who enlisted in 1871, and was at that time in Co. L,
Fourth Artillery, at ort Macon, N. C.? We have not heard
from. him. since, although I have written several times. How
can I find out where his company is?” Address a letter to the
“Adjutant General's Office, War Department, Washington, D.C.,”
giving your brother’s name, with the other iacts in the case, and
you will be informed ot his whereabouts il he isstill in the army.

Consiant Reader.—“What relation are the proprietors of the
Ngw YorK WEEKLY, Francis 8. Street and Francis 8. Smith? I
have always imagined they were cousins, and named for their
grandtather.”” The parties are not related, the similarity of ini-
tials being merely a coincidence. The full namés are Francis
Scott Street and. Francis Shubael Smith,

A. B. C.—In New York a peddier’s license is required by'those
who travel from place to place, for the purpose of selling wares,

goods, or merchandise of the gayi. produce or manutacture of
a foreign country. If traveling on foot, twenty dollars for a
years’ license; vehicle drawn by one horse, thirty dollars; two
horses, fifty dollars. ‘

Fair Dale.—‘‘Rinaldo Rinaldini,” is the title of an old Italian
sensational novel. It has been outof print for many years. A
copy may occasionally be procured of a dealer in old and second
hand books.

M,, Aberden.—“What date di. the Grand Duke Alexis arrive
m this country on his former visit ?” The Grand Duke Alexis
aah in New York harbor, on the frigate Syetlana, Nov. 19,
1871,

Nelson T., Spencer.—‘What is the distance from New York to
San Francisco by the longest and shortest routes?” From New
York to San Francisco, by rail, the distance is 3,310 miles, By
water, around Cape Horn, the distance is 18,850 miles.

Garrison.—Ist. The fare to Silver City, Nevada, is about $140.
2a. We cannot tell you any place where money is to be made
very easily at present. The U.S. mint and. branches, are the
only places we can ca]l to mind just now,

Regular Reader.—A person is not expected to.write much
sentiment on the fly-leaf of a book, even if the recipient is his
betrothed. He should do that in letters which are intended for
her eye only, A token of regard or friendship is, sufficient.

Marcus, Portsmouth—“‘Has ‘Jennie Vail’s Mission’? been pub-
lished in book form? If not, ean you furnish the papers?”
“Jennie Vail’s Mission” has not been issued in book form, but-
will be published by G,.W. Carleton & Co. in the course of the.
year.

Constant, Reader, Bridgeport.—You can stock a small confec-
tionery and news depot for $100 and upward. We cannot sug-
gest a good location.

Subecriver.—W e do not know of any work composed entirely of

selections from dramas, There are a number oi books of recita-
tions of various kinds.

Mrs. E. E. H., Nevada.—‘‘l have a boy fourteen years of age

 

  
  
     

amend

Jennie Beu.—lat. The original matter in the Mammoth Monthly
Reader is tor the most part gratuitously contributed. 2d. See
reply to “A, W. McDonald,” in No. 21.

Joel T, Suite.—‘Nick Whiffies)?, hasbeen published in book
form by G. W. Carleton &Co., uniform in style with “Thrown on
the World,” “Peerless Cathleen,” and “Faithful Margaret,” and
is for sale by all news agents and booksellers, at $1.50.

Parliamentary.—‘Will you tell me where Lean get a book con-
taining parliamentary rules? We will send you Jefferson’s

 

* “Manual” of parliamentary usage for $1.

4. A. M., ana L. Shears.—See reply to “Disgusted,” in No. 24.
The address of the firm is W. W. Bostwick & Co., 179 West Fourth
street, Cincinnati.

M. F., Tremont.—lst. Dressmaking is a very good employment
for one who is deft with the needle. 2d..See “Knowledge Box.”
3d. A woman with a fair complexion, and ‘dark eyes and hair is
called a blondine. 4th. We do not desire the MS.

Lis.—Ist. Station D isa branch ot the |New York Post Office,
and isin the ground fioor of the Cooper Union. 2d. We do not
know the lady’s address.

__@. R.—We cannot recommend lotteries of any kind. We doubt
if any of them are “squarely” conducted.

A, I. M., Troy.—We will send you “Edith Lyle’s Secret,” in
book form, tor $1 50.

Tousey.—Dio Lewis has never been a contrivutor to the col-
umns of the NEW YORK WEEKLY.

Niz.—If the parties are householders the name will probably
be found in the City Directory.

£&. &. S.—Send us the dimensions of the lens desired, and we
will tell you the price.

Anxious Inquirer.—We do not know the nativity of the va-
rious New York photographers.

John Anderson, Disgusted ana A. C. Gareity.—See reply to “A.
W. McDonald,” in No. 22.

Lewis N.—The stories named have been published in book form,
at $1.75 and $1.50.

R. M. W., Corinth.—The party named is an Irish refugee.
H. W. Waldeboro.—The work will cost $1.50.

_ The following MSS. have been accepted: “Struggling for a Po-
sition,” “Home,” “Bleeding Heart,” “Mogg Megone.” The fol-
lowing will appear in the Mammoth Monthly Reader: ‘After
Death,” “Beauty,” “Dead,” “Luck Seeks its Man,” “Truant
May,” ‘‘Marriage,” ‘‘The Old Clock at Home,” “Nelie and Joe.”
The following are respectfully declined: ‘Allie Lee,” ‘His
Sweetheart’s Lament,” “My Friend Rebecca,” *‘His Own Again,”
“Aunt Melissa’s Story,” “The Dying Child,” “Morning Hymn for
a Child,” ‘Life is bat a Dream,” ‘The Harp of Innisiail,” “Get-
ting a Start.” -

 

ETIQUETTE.

G. B. asks ‘of it is proper to allow a gentlemah that a lady meets
ata ball to call upon her and take her out? If she shoukd ask
him to come into the house when they return? If he refuses
should she ask him to call some other time? If, in. two or three
weeks atter, she should getanote from him, in which he ad,
dresses her as friend, and signs himself her true friend, should
she answer his letter’and how should she address him? When a
gentleman takes a lady to a theatre should she thank him when

she gets home? If he tells her about an entertainment that he
is going to, and that it willbe much better than the one they
have just attended, that he will act a part, and a great man

more things, don’t you think, after telling her all this, he shoul

ask her togo? When a gentleman asks a lady to kee company
with him what should she say if she likes him and is willing?
When two a engaged and get angry, and after a year and a half

    
 
 
  
  
   
   

    

the lady n him again for the first time, and he says ‘good
evening e,’ is it wrong if she answers and ealls him M——?
Ifshen r that, and he does not say anything about
the en; id she send him back tthe engagement ring
and until it suits him to send back
what belonging to her?’ Ist. A young lady
could ypriety allow a gentleman to escort her
home if she has met him for the first time
that ev some friend of hers and his also asks him
to do s0 2 and asks her to allow himtodoso. She
should no: im in upon such an occasion, but should thank
him for h jon. She may ask him to call ifshe has the as-

a is a gentleman whom she may be allowed to
associate with. 2d. If he calls and asks her to ea out with him,
and she accepts, she may, when they return, ask himin. 3d. If
he writes her a letter and signs himself friend, there wil! be no
impropriety in addressing him as triend, providing she is willing
to accept him as such, 4th. If a-lady goes to the theater with a
gentleman, she may thank him for the pleasure she has received
at his hands. Heshould also thank her for favoring him with
her society. 5th. Ordinarily a gentleman would ask a lady to
attend an entertainment where he expected to act a part. They
are usually vain enough to think’much would be Jost if one did
not behold them in any character that they assumed. 6th. A
Jady may merely answer yes. 7th. If lovers quarrel and part,
they should return ring, letters, or any token they may have in
their posscedion, The lady 1s the first to return such gifts. They
may meet as friends afterward, and should endeavor to be ag
careful of wounding each other’s feelings as possible.

D. S.J., says: “I want you to answer the questions I am about
toask. Iam a young man, seventeen years of age. I went with
a girl a fewtimes and got the mitten. I love that girl very
much. Can you tell me what te do to regain her love? Would
it be proper for me to ask her again? She looks and smiles just
as sweetly as ever. When introduced to a girl wouldzit be prope-
to bow and shake hands with her? When takinga gir! home
would it be proper to kiss her?_ If so, what way would be proper
to ask her for_a kiss?” Ist. We admire frankness in making
confessions. The mitten, is an expression young men sejdom
apply to themselves. The fact that the young lady gave you “the
raitten’’ is proof positive that you had failed to win her love.
That she recognizes you whenever you ‘meet her, signifies that
she has friendly feelings toward you. We donot think your suit
would meet with success were you to ask her again tor her com-
pany. While you may always be the best of friends, we advise

"| you to desist from asking hei tor her company ? 2d.. When bemg

roduced to a Jady It is prone to acknowledge the introduc-
‘ion by a bow, but not to shake hands, unless she first offers her
hand to you, or ny yoee some motion as if intending to shake
hands. 3d. When accompanying a lady home trom church or

kiss.

should. the gentleman wait for the lady to bow first when they
meet onthe street? Is it proper for a gentleman to remain after
twelve o’clock in the evening, when calling upon a lady, whether
they are engaged or not? Tfa lady attends any place of afiuse-
ment, and a gentleman is there who is in the habit of waiting on
her, is it proper for him to escort her home if he did not accom:
pany her there?” Ist. It would be impossible to fix rules for loy-
ers to observe toward each other, but etiquette remains the
same, whether persons are engaged or otherwise, as far as bow-
ing when they meet. It is the lady’s place to first recognize a
gentleman, but they may if they choose set aside such formality
without a breach of etiquette, if engaged or very intimate
friends. 2d. When agent eman calls upon a lady in the even-
ing, he should not prolong his visit until after twelve o’clock
under any circumstance. 3d. Whena lady goes to a place of
amusement with a gentieman, she should allow him to accom-
pany her home. Ifstie meets another gentleman there, she may
treat him politely, and, it opportumity offers, may introduce
thea, but she could not with propriety allow ‘him to escort her
nome.

Bulah Berton writes: “I am engaged to a most exemplary
young man, and I Jove him very dearly, and have every reason
to believe that he is truly devoted to me. He visits me often
and upon leaving he always pleads so earnestly for a kiss that I
find it very hard to retuse him. He believes I have not suffi-
cient confidence in him, and do not love himasI should. I have
always been aoe to ladies kissing gentlemen—even a be-
trothed. Now what shaltI do? Tender your true. sentiments
and oblige a reader.” When a lady and gentleman are be-
trothed they are generally allowed those little attentions and
tokens oi affection that would be wrong under other circum-
stances, We think you can allow him to kiss you also that you
can kiss him without seeming unmaidenly or bold. We always
encourage modesty and reserve in young ladies, because we
think there is nothing more beautiful than a modest, pure-
minded young lady. y

Constant Reader.—The young lady did very wrong in reeeivin
presents from other gentlemen if she knew you wished her:no
to. Wethink you wonld be justified in asking her to give up all
other gentlemen if she expects you to marry her,

 

THE GREAT STORY

NICK WHIFFLES.

NOW PUBLISHED IN BOOK-FORM.

 

Beautifully printed and bound in cloth. Price, $1.50.

Nick Whiffles,

THE TRAPPER GUIDE.

This is a story of Indian and border life, written by the
famous author, Dr. J. H. Robinson. To say that itis an extraor-
dinary production is to keep within the strict letter of the truth.
Dr. Robinson had all the graphic power of Fennimore Cooper,
with a decidedly avider range of taney, and the manner in whieh
he describes the eccentricities of Nick Whiffles and his doe Cal-
amity is enough “to make.a horse laugh.” His ingenuity in
weaving a plot, also, 18 something wonderful. To read the stor
is like witnessinga play. The scenes and incidents through
which Nick Whiffies, the Red Raven, and the Quaker Hammond
pass, are brimfal of interest, and the reader’s attention is rivy-
eted from the opening to the close.

 

 

 

  
 

 
   

 

 

READ
THE TABLE OF CONTENTS.

CHAPTER. 24.-~Matters take a New. Turn..
1.—Kenneth Iverson,........... 25.—Saul Vander........ ab hee
2.—-Saul Vander, .... us esss peugsie TG a saan ths keke meeeebie
3.—Mark Morrow.........5 ebaus 7.—-A Nocturnal Thief....... gbe
MieTHe Diet... eh OLishien. BBE A WPA GS hea os ae
5.—The Mystery of the Rock and | 29.—Nick’s Last “Diffikilty”....

FeWRG 2/5 25 eb shpleoe -... | 80.—A Chapter of “Diffikiities,
6.—A Fearful Dilemma,..... »--. | 3l.—Sylveen and Le Loup inthe
7.—Abram Hammet.,....... pase Riv OP inc RL naa sg
8.—On the March...........0065 32.—The Raven Caws to Some
9.—The Timber..... reir Purposes ig NOs
1U.—The Bivouac ..|383—The Trapper and the
1l.—Le Loup......... QvaAker. 45. 6 biases oes as
12.—The Secret Slaye 34.—The Whisky Trader. .....
13.—The Wolf shows his Teeth.. | 35.—A Meeting of Friends......
14.—The Raven of Red River.... | 36.—Waiting for Night.........5
15.—The ‘‘Raven’s”’ Nest..... ... | 37.—Kenneth Visits the Oave..
16.—Sylveen in the Cavern, .., | 38.—Le Loup and Sylveen..... re
17.—“In Diffikilty”..... oS da 39.—Good Night to the Wolf.....
18.—Le Loup Pays His Debt..,.. | 40.—At Fort Garry.............,
19.—Flight and Pursuit......... 41.—Nick Leaves the Fort..... ‘
2.—The Missionary and His | 42.—Nick and Calamity........ .

Converts 43,—The Dumb Squaw.......

21.—Underground Hospitality... 44.—Meeting on the Prairie....

 

22.—The Indian and the Priest., | 46.—Nick Whifile’s Last Ap-
23,--The Meeting in the Cavern. PORTANCE, «fay dhe op beces .

It is beautifully printed, and handsomely bound in cloth.
Price $2 50. Sold by Booksellers everywhere, and sent by
mal free of postage, on receipt of price, 8 L 50. by

STREET & SMUTH, Publishers of the New York
WEEKLY, or :

G, W. CARLETON & CO., Publishers,

Madison Square, New York.

 

 

"
2

any place, it would. not be proper to kiss her, or to ask for a:

Curiosity asks: “When a lady and gentleman are engaged,’

 

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NEW YORK, MAY 8, 1877.

Make a Beginning.

How often men are heard to say, “Well, next year
I shall begin to save,” or, “Next year I intend to
lead a better life.” They are constantly deferring
the time for practically enforcing their good res-
olutions. There is no time like the present to
degin to do well. If your habits need reforming,
begin their reformation now; if you are extrav-
agant, this very day is the proper time to begin
to save money; if your companions are dissolute,
and their example bad, shun them from this mo-
ment; if you are anxious to succeed in life, to ac-
cumulate wealth, decide upon a feasible plan which
promises success, and make a beginning. Industry
and perseverance will enable you to overcome
many obstacles which now appear almost insur-
mountable. From small beginnings many of the
grandest enterprises of the world have sprung,
and mast of the wealthy men of the age owe their
fortunes chiefly to the fact that they made a begin-
ning. The founder of 8t. Luke’s Hospital, the late
Rey. Wm. Augustus Muhlenberg, author of the
hymn, “I Would Not Live Alway,” suggested from
his pulpit, in 1846, the necessity of such an institu-
tion for the relief of the sick. The first collection
for the purpose was made, and it amounted to the
insignificant sum of $31. “Whendo you expect to
complete your hospital?” a friend asked, smiling
atthe smallsum. ‘Never! promptly answered Dr.
Muhlenberg; “never, if I do not make a _ begin-
ning.” Eight years afterward the foundation-stone
of St. Luke’s Hospital was laid; in 1857 the chapel
was opened for diyine service, and patients were
admitted May 13, 1858. In 1867 Dr. Muhlenberg be-
came its superintendent and pastor, and held this
position at the time of his death, April 8,1877. From
that little sum of $3i—that small beginning—there
came in due time one of the best managed institu-
tions of the kind in the country, acreditto the city
of New York, and an enduring monument to the
memory of its founder.

OUR ENEMIES.

Everybody of any account in the world has ene-
m

 

 

 

 

 

ies,

if there is such a thing upon the face of the
earth as a man without enemies, he must be a
nonentity so insignificant that his birth is not re-
gistered above or below, and he can “‘shuffle off this
mortal coil” whenever he chooses, and nobody will
be the wiser for it. Sle

As a general thing the more distinguished an in-
dividual isthe more enemies he has. People are
jealous of successful men, and they are tickled to
death when they hear anything to their discredit.
Why this is so, only the original doctrine of total
depravity can explain. :

Plain John Smith the cobbler, hasfriends in plenty,
and John is instanced as a model husband—''so
kind to his wife.” and so thoughtful about the
ego and washing the potatoes, cold morn-

ngs.”

Now let John, bya turn of fortune’s wheel, be
elected to Congress, with all the perquisites which
goto make rich men of paupers in a few years, and
behold the change!

It will not be a month before it is noised round
that John drinks, and swears, and cheats at cards,
and likes the wife of the Hon. Mr. Brown more than
he ought to! i

And why is it? |

Simply this—his popularity has brought him
enemies. ,

The higher we rise in the social sphere, and the
more the world thinks of us, the more enemies We
shall have.

Whenever we see, as we sometimes do, a glowing
obituary notice end in this wise: “He died without
an enemy in the world,” we are satisfied that either
the aubiect of the notice was an idiot.or his eulo-

gizer was mistaken, to speak mildly. .

People who are envious soon become enemies.
They would be glad to hear of any misfortune
whieh had happened to us. a Shee

They would be mean enough to rejoice if the
feather on our new hat should be ruined in a sud-
den shower, and they would be pleased if our pet
dog got his tail curtailed in atrap. We have heard
such people congratulate themselves because a
toad had died in the well of some one they were
envious of; and we have no doubt that they would
be tickled to learn that the family suffered from the
dysentery by drinking the water. ;

We have got hosts of enemies, and we particularly
pride ourselves upon them. It convinces us that
we are of some importance. Many of them
were made in ways of which we are proud, and
though they should rise up around us numerous
and annoying as the plagues of Egypt, we should
go right on in spite of them. TE THORN.

VM GLAD I AM NOT A MAN.

BY MIRIAM,

.

 

 

I’m glad I’m not a man for just twelve months, or
even one. : , :

Tshouldn’t like to get up in the morning with a
hypocritical smile on my face, and give a deceitful
kiss to my wife, and go right off to meet some other
woman and take her out riding, and spend the day
and my money twenty miles away from home, for
fear of being found out. My conscience wouldn’t

et me.

I shouldn’t like to bea man for twelve months,
and stand before the glass every day and spend half
an hour trying to part my hairin the middle, and
another half in waxing my mustache. I couldn’t
stand that a dozen times a day, for one year. |

I wouldn’t like to be a man, and go to the tailor’s
to buy a suit of clothes, and try on twenty different
styles, and provoke the poor salesman to wrath,
and make him wish I was in Jericho; and in the
end take asuit I didn’t like and be cross for six
weeks because I didn’t pay enough for it, and offer
to sell it at half-price to get rid of it.

I shouldn’t like to-go down town and have a
grand time with the ‘ boys”—oysters, champugne,
cigars, &c.—and then go home, and when my wife
asked me for a dollar to pay thewasherwoman,growl
and swear, and tell her it took ali I could earn to
pay. her bills. I wouldn’t like to be so mean for
twelve months. But then all men are not alike.
Some are angels, of course; only we are waiting for
their wings to sprout.

I wouldn’t like to be a man for twelve months,
and be obliged to stand around onthe street corners
to give people the impression I could live without
work, or stand in the front of some eating-saloon,
picking my teeth to make people believe I had had
a Square meal, when the truth was I had to fast half
the day to buy cigars and that toothpick to play the
the dandy with. I couldn’t stand that for twelve
months. ;

I wouldn’t like to be a man, and go into some
business and make a grand dash for a year or two,
and then fail with plenty of money in my pocket
and plenty of bad friends behind me, whom I had
ruined with my meanness. I couldn’t stand that.

And to cap the climax, I should hate to be a man,
and meet an acquaintance of the “softer sex,” and
have her stop me in the street and talk halfan hour,
and I be obliged to look before and behind me, for
fear some one would see me and go tell my wife
they saw me talking to that woman. No;Iwouldn’t
like that.

..¢ Should hate to be a man, and have to toil for the

fair, frail, sweet, touch-me-nots,” even if that
sweet creature was my wife, and be obliged to give
her fifty cents, Saturday night, for luxuries, for I
could spend it at so much better advantage myself,
and it would be so foolish to allow her anything she
could get along without.

Yes, should hate to be a man, for reasons too nu-
merous to mention, even for twelve months, I
should hate to lose that year out of my life.

{Next week will be published “I Wish I Were a
Man ;” by Ora Hill.]

—__. + +4
THE GREAT TRAPPER.

The best border story ever written, “NICK WHIFFLES, THE
TRAPPER GUIDE,” is now ready in book-form, and for sale by
every news agent in the country. Asan evidence ofits remark-
able popularity, itis only necessary to state that it was pub-
lished three times in the New YORK WEEKLY, and on each occa-
sion proved agreat success. Nearly ali the border stories since
written have been modeled after “NicK WHIFFLES.’”’ This is

the fourth book of the “NEW YORK WEEKLY” series, published
nS, W. Caniarox & Co. Price $150. Orders by mail filled
at this office,

 

 

Biitorial Salad.

A prisoner in a Western court tried to make the
judge believe that the indigo-colored marks around
his eye were duetothe effects of experimenting
with the blue glass ray.

The new style of spring bonnet looks like a gor-
geous insect clasping the crown of a woman’s head
with its claws, and trying to craw! forward and take
a front seat.

Butter still maintains its old ascendency; but in
some parts of Connecticut you can tell that oleo-
margarine is coming into use by the peculiar odor
that arises from the country swain’s hair.

A Chicago belle hates Longfellow, from a vague
impression that he meant something personal in
his lines suggesting that we might all leave our
“foot-prints in the sands of time.”

It is suggestive to see a great statesman who has
learned “The applause of list’ning senates to com-
mand,” standing before a $2 50 looking-glass trying
to coax afractious spit-curl ‘round his massive
temple,

Julius Casar, in his idle moments, had a way of
putting a piece of paper over a fine-tooth comb,
and making Calphurnia wish that there was no
such thing in the world as human hair.

According to California law, a father can’t oblige
asontosupport him. This falls with great sever-
ity on the father when his daughters are too sick to
saw wood.

More great thoughts are born of a reporter’s put-
ting on aclean shirt than the world gives credit
for. The world is always grumbling over its wash-
bill.

The San Francisco boy is such an expert witha
cobble-stone that he can hit a Chinaman, around
the corner, nineteen times out of twenty. On this
account most San Francisco boys wear medals.

A poet writes, pathetically:

“That woman’s life, I know,
Has been all famine.”’

Pity indeed that she could never look upon a pot
of Boston beans and draw it to her by the magnet-
ism of her sweet, sad eyes.

When a boy with red eyelids rises to tell what he
has been crying about, the extreme caution with
which he gathers the sagof his pantaloons gen-
erally obviates the necessity of any verbal explan-
ation. °

A Duluth girl dropped one of her back teethina
vacant lot in that city last fall, and this spring some
workmen, who were making an excavation on the
premises, foundit. The next day several leading
Eastern newspapers published a telegraphic dis-
patch stating that the remains of a mastodon had
been discovered in Duluth.

Those people who carefully calculate the proba-
ble effects of any important change in our mode of
doing things, are alarmed at the growth of the cre-
mation theory, and gravely look forward to the
time when the sorrowing but practical widow will
sprinkle her lamented husband’s ashes with berga-
mot and use them to fill her sachet-bag.

A Kansas lawyer, who had successfully prose-
cuted asuit for divorcein behalf of the husband,
was taken out in the public square and bounced on
a blanket by the women of the place. To relieve
the monotony of his movement, they sang to him,
sweetly:

“Now we go up, up, up,
Now we go down, down, down.”

But as tha lawyer had never been to the opera, and
didn’t seem to care for music, he slid through a
hole in the blanket before the serenade was over,
and lit out for the prairie. Parties whotimed him
think he must have overtaken the Pacific express,
which started several hours before.

Canadian beayers are removing the weather-
strips from their dwellings earlier than usual this
séason.~@his is considered a very cheering sign
by peogle who commenced patching their flannel
wnGérwear last January.

f ed

I WISH I WAS A FAIRY.

I wish I was a fairy, for just twelve months—no
longer. I_should like to be a fairy, just to grant
Dorothy Dart and Charles Oliver their wish.
think Dorothy would find that there was some sen-
sible, good, noble men in the world who are not so
silly as she would make them. Dorothy must re-
inane that only for man the world would not get
along.

I would like to be a fairy to let Charles Oliver
know that all women do not Peers a dog for a
eompanion, nor a red-faced baby. Does Charles
remember when he was a baby himself, and if his
mother loved to have him praised? I would also
like to let him know that all women do not powder
their faces and wear false hair on their heads. Of
course, we are all willing to admit that there are
some weak-minded men and women, silly enough
to do all these things, that Dorothy and Charles
wrote about, but on the contrary there are some
true and sensible women and noble men that would
not be guilty of one of the acts mentioned. Now,1I
hope Dorothy and Charles will please excuse my
interfering with them, but [think the three of us will
not get our wishes; so I will conclude by hoping we
will be contented with our sex, and never slander
the opposite, as we could never get along without
each other. ANNIE FLASH.

 

eB Se

REQUIESCAT IN PACE.

ALTA M. HULETT.

About three years since, the State of Illinois was
a trifle startled by the application of a young lady
for admittance to the bar. She had applied herself

 

 

diligently to the oo of law in the office of the
Hon. Mr. Latrop of Rockford, only to receive an
emphatic refusal to practice in the courts of that
district, or even to pass an examination. This
young girl—sinee she was scarcely eighteen years
of age—obtained, through the intercession of Mr.
Latrop, permission to sit in a prominent office in
Chicago one summer-time, that she might merit an
application in that district. Boarding in a third-
rate house: walking some distance each day to save
ear-fare; given a desk behind a door in order to
keep her as far as possible from getting out of her
own sphere; scarcely receiving a good-morning
nod, and never a penny for her time—thus she en-
dured those lonely days. Every night her pillow
was wet with tears, but she wrote the widowed
mother, and sister, cheerful letters, and kept stead-

 

ily at her purpose.

One day the chief of the office missed his efficient
right-hand man—otherwise engaged. A profound
and valuable paper must be made out speedily.
There was dire consternation. What was to be
done? Then the quiet, brave voice behind the door
ares the privilege of perfecting the legal docu-
ment.

_ You! you! you |” came the answer, With ring-
ing scorn.

“Yes, I can do it,”—smilingly.

“Well, there’s nothing to be lost. You may try.”

The result was, the little lady after that day was
set about the most intricate papers, and won a
complete victory. :

Her name being peculiar—Alta M. Hulett—her sex
was mistaken, and when she passed_ examination
at Mt. Vernon, not a single lady bore her company.
She had expected otherwise. Sixty gentlemen were
awarded legal authority the same day, but.Miss Hu-
lett received the laurel crown, and carried away
ere highest honors, and sat in state at the grand

inner,

She immediately opened her own law office in
Chicago. Many predicted a failure, but this girl of
nineteen began her career steadily, understanding-
ly. How quietly and earnestly she worked! Suc-
cess rewarded her on all sides. Last November she
was taken with bleeding at the lungs. Her physi-
cians recommended a sojourn in California, She
went there “‘to die,” as she expressed it. On March
28th, 1877, she breathed her last pure breath, in the
twenty-third year of her age. Her death produced
a shock in Chicago, especially in legal circles, sel-
dom felt. -A meeting was at once called by the bar,
and the most tender tributes paid, resolutions
adopted, and events of her useful and good life re-
corded. She was inspired in the court-room. She
never lost a case before a jury. She proved her
depth of rare knowledge in more than one chan-
cery suit. Never in one instance was she bold, for-
ward, or assuming. She abounded in womanly
graces, symrathies, and impulses. At the meeting
of the bar, the wisest and best men of Chicago
agreed that she had been an ornament to their pro-
fession, and had she been spared, she must have
attained a high and honored seat in their midst,

 

I | there.”

and would have occupied it with honor to herself
andthem. They declared she had convinced them
that a woman may enter their profession, and still
retain her womanly nature; and all such as Alta M.
Hulett they would gladly welcome.

Personally, she was winsome, bonnie, and cheer-
ful, without a tinge of a “manish” air. To know
her was to esteem her, and listen to every pure
word from her lips. The writer remembers, her
rare smile, and the light in her eyes. as she said in
conversation, not a year ago 5

“Only wait. If I live, I shall earn my way up and
up. I shall make no noise about it, for] am not
extreme in anything. AndIthink they will all rec-
ognize and help me. Do you know these men are
sometimes misjudged? Why,I have never been in-
sulted, or eyen offended, by a judge ora lawyer,
and I have been in every court in this city, from the
hight to the lowest.”

h—"‘if I live?” pat

Socially, she was brilliant. Her understanding of
the world, theories, and her own. original ideas
could but enhan¢e the enjoyment of all her friends,

Small wonder, then, that Chicago grieves with the
mother and sister, who depended upon the life that
has perhaps hastened death through study,

——_—__ > 0<+___—_
TEACH ME TO LOVE THES.

BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH.

Teach me to love thee! Oh, lead me aright!

My heart is a chaos—the tempest at night,

And the dread sounds that through the black firmament roll,
Are typical all of the storm in my soul.

I love thee too wildly! Oh, let fall the balm

Of thy purified spirit my passion to calm};

Let thy pure heart assert its sweet power o’er mine,

Till my love is as chaste and as placid as thine.

Teach me to love thee with wisdom, oh, sweet!

To fall down refined and contrite at thy feet!
Entranced by thy radiant virtue alone,

With a spirit as chaste and as pure as thine own.

To gaze on thy beauty—to cherish thy worth—

With a sweet passion born of both Heaven and earth,
Neither forward nor feeble, but steady and sure—
Such a love as must always delight and endure.

Teach me to love thee! I need the restraint,
Which only can come ot thy teaching, sweet saint!
The fire which burns fiercest will soonest die out,
And the love born of passion alone I should doubt.
Then let thy pure breath o’er my wild pulses sweep,
And like a charm lull all my passions to sleep.
With thee for my tutor I’ve nothing to fear,

For Passion is vassal when Purity’s near.

BLUNDERS OF A BASHFUL MAN.

NO, XVI—AT LAST HE SECURES A TREASURE.

 

 

 

 

T had to pawn my watch to get away from Chica-
go, for the police failed to find my pretty widow.
The thought of getting again under my mother’s
wing was as welcome as my desire to get away from
it had been eager. Atnight my dreams were haunt-
ed by all sorts of horrible fireworks, where old gen-
tlemen sat down on powder kegs, etc. Oh, for
home! I knew there wereno widows in my native
village, except Widow Green, and I was not afraid
of her. Well, I took the cars once more, and I had
been riding two days and a night, and was not oyer
forty miles from my destination, when the little in-
cident oeeurred which proved to lead me into one
of the worst blunders of all. It’s awful to be a bash-
ful young man! Everybody takes advantage of
ou. You are the victim of practical jokes—folks
augh if you do nothing on earth but enter a room.
If you happen to hit your foot against a stool, or
trip over a rug, or call alady “sir,” the girls giggle
and the boys nudge each other, asif it were ex-
tremely amusing. But to blow up a confiding Wall
street speculator, and to be swindled out of all your
money by a pretty widow, is enough to makea sen-
sitive man a raving lunatic. I had all this to think
of as I was whirled along toward home. So absorb-
ed was I in melancholy reflection, that I did not no-
tice what was going on, until a sudden shrill
squawk close in my ear caused me to turn, when I
found that a very common-looking young woman,
with a by no means interesting infant of six
months, had taken the yacant half of my seat. I
was annoyed. There were plenty of unoccupied
seats in the car, and I saw no reason why she
should intrude upon_my comfort. The infant
shrieked wildly when I looked at it; but its mother
stopped its mouth with one’of those what-do-you-
call-’ems that are stegk on the end of.a flat bottle
containing sweetened fmilk, and after sputtering
and gurgling in a yainyattempt to keep on squall-
it subsided and t vigorously to work.
eemed after a time togemgome more accustomed to
y harmless visage, a, 4 Stared at me stolidly with
round, unwinking ey fter it had ex ted the,

paptonss of the buttie ; ix:
about halfan hggimthe train stopped at a cer-/

tain station ; the con r yelléd out “ten minut
,cating-house man eo

 
    
   
 
 
    
   
  
  
 

ene a: t
rs, many of thém, hurrie

bell, and the passen

out, Thén the trecklopfaced woman leaned towar
says she.

2p “Tam not far from
ng for my lunch untill get

T.is complete,”

notice she hadn’t her baby with her.
at the next station; that’s all thatcan be done now.”

This capped the climax of all my previous blun-
ders! Why had I blindly consented to care for that
woman’s progeny?, Why? why? Here wasI, John
Flutter, a young, innocent, unmarried man, ap-

roaching the home of my childhood with an in-

antin my arms! The horror of my situation
turned me red and pale by turns as if I had apo-
plexy or heart disease.

There was always a crowd of young people down
at the depot of our village; what would they think
to see me emerge from the cars carrying that baby?
Even the child seemed astonished, ceasing to cry,
and staring around upon the passengers as if in
wonder and amazement at our predicament. Yet
not one of those heartless travelers seemed to pity
me; every mouth was stretched in a broad grin;
nota woman came forward and offered to relieve
me of my burden; and thus, in the midst of my
embarassment and horror, the train rolled up to
the well-known station, and I saw my father and
mother and half the boys and girls of the village
cromcing the platform and waiting to welcome my
arrival.

SOME SOBER THOUGHTS.

Girls are chided for their extravagance in dress
and costly, ornaments. Young men make this
their favorite excuse for never marrying. They
forbear to solicit a lady’s hand in marriage when
their income will barely buy the diamond to grace
it or the kids to_cover it.

And so itis. But I will never concede that girls
are to bear the burden of blame. Let it rest where
it belongs—upon the broad shoulders of the other
sex. We have eyes, and sometimes use them to our
own advantage. We see a young man’s eyes turn
most Se aaa, to the best dressed lady in the
house; we see how the glimmer of her “silken
attire” attracts him to her side, and behold him do
reverence to the “charms that strike the sight” but
never “win the soul.” She is invited to a ride in
the elegant new phaeton, while we sit at home neg-
lected and “forlorn.” What wonder, then, that we
strive to excel in “adorning the person” and make
the “putting on of apparel” the first and highest
aim of our existence? Such gentlemen are in dan-
ger of forgetting the advice of inspiration as given
in the last chapter of Proverbs, and should refresh
their minds a little now and then.

Dress adds much toa woman’s charms, but sé
often it is gained by the sacrifices of a_toiling
father or tender, overworked mother. Much of her
softness and fineness of demeanor, too, is but a
gilded falsehood. She is a perfect angel abroad,
and a spirit of discord at the hearthside. Gentle-
men in search of a wife must look beyond external
show. Agirl who would make a dear, tender help-
meet fora man never beckons him on. He must
search for her, for she will never go to meet him,
nor stopto lure himon. Her true worth is an en-
dowment from heaven, a gem above price—indeed,
she is the ‘“‘woman with a price above rubies.” A
coral lip, asoft cheek, or star-like eyes, wiil never
avail him in the hours of deep sorrow when his
head is bowed low. A good wife will lead toward
paradise and away from the pit of earth.
Above all never marry a wife for her money. Go
forth, rather, and win your bread by the sweat of
your fair white brow, as God willed you, for it will
taste far. sweeter. Some day, when the wild ro-
mance of love is dimmed, she whose gold so eleva-
ted you, will rise up and reproach you in words less
melodious than the murmuring of the summer
winds playing over the strings of an Aolian harp.
And you, fair lady, whose dreams soar skyward,
who would be content with nothing save a crown
prince for a husband, lower your lofty ideal some-
what. Stay at home and help your mother to wash
and to bake, before you redeem your life from pov-
erty by marrying for gold.
any a fair girl has gazed upon the stars above
and trampled the flowers at her feet. A good man,
with a great_noble,tender heart that might have
graced the days of chivalry, is spurned by them
for some soft-brained fop who counts his dollars
by the thousand, Qh! let it not be thus! When it
comes to the choice betw3en
“Tents with love and thrones without,”

falter not in the choosing, but accept the love and
the tent forever. i

You may not find life’s pathway strewed with
roses; you will gather its fruits by suffering and
toil, but if you have won a good man’s honest love,
then you have achieved something to be proud of
allthe days of your life. Let him trust safely in
your honor. He will cherish and worship you for
a life-time, and his children will rise up to bless the
sweet and holy name of mother.

Your brow shall never wear the golden crown of
Britain; you may never owna royal purple robe
as long as you live, but you can say, as Queen_ Vic-
toria once truly affirmed, wy domestic happiness

Mrs. WILLIE WILMINGTON.

FLINT AND STEEL;

K A GEs.

BY LOUIEGLENN.
“The present generation is hardly aware of the
trials and difficulties of their ancestors, when the

 

 

gianigr:

 

 

“Then,” said she, very earnestly, ‘would you hold
my baby while I run in an’ get a cup o’ tea? Indeed,
sir, ’m half famished, riding over twenty-four
hours, and only a bis@uit or two in my bag, and I
must get some milk for baby’s bottle or she'll
starve.”

It was impossible, under such circumstances, for
one to refuse, though I would have preferred to
head a regiment going into battle, for there were
three young ladies, about six seats behind me, who
were eating their lunch in the car, and I knew they
would laugh at me; besides, the woman gave me no
chance to decline. for she thurst the wide-eyed ter-
ror into my awkward arms, and rushed quickly out
to obtain her cup of tea,

Did you ever see a bashful young man hold a
strange baby? I expeet I furnished—I and the baby
—a comic opera, music and all, for the entertain-
ment of the three girls, as they nibbled their cold
chicken and pound-cake. For the mother had not
been gone over fifteenseconds when that confound-
ed young one began toery. Isat her down on my
knee and trotted her. She screamed with indigna-
tion and grew so purple in the face I thought she
was strangling, and I patted heron the back. This
liberty she resented by going into asort of spasm,
legs and arms flying in every direction, worse than
a wind-mill in a gale. :

“This will never do,” I thought; at the same time
I was positive I heard asuppressed giggle in my

rear.

A happy thought occurred to me—infants were
always tickled with watches! But alas! I had
pawned mine. However, I hada gold locket in my
pocket, with my picture in it, which I had bought
in Chieago, to present to the widow, and didn’t pre-
sent; this 1 drew forth and dangled before the eyes
of the little infernai threshing machine,

The legs and arms quieted down; the fat hands
grabbed the glittering trinket. 00—g00—g00—
goo,” said baby, and thrust the locket in her mouth,
Ithink she must havebeen going through the in-
teresting process of teething, for she made so many
dents in the handsome face, that it was rendered
useless as a future gift to some fortunate girl, while
the way she slobbered over it was disgusting. I
scarcely regretted He ruin of the locket I was so
delighted to have her Reep quiet, but alas, the little
wretch soon dropped it and began howling like ten
thousand midnight eats. I trotted her again—I
tossed her—I laid herover my knees on her stom-
ach--I said “Ssh—ssh—ssssh—sssssh!” all in vain.
Tnstead of ten minutes for refreshments it seemed
to me that they gave hours.

In desperation I raised her and hung her over
my shoulder, rising atthe same time and walking
up and down the aisle. The howling ceased; but
now the three young ladies, after choking with
suppressed laughter, finally broke into a scream of
delight. Something must be up! I took the baby
down and looked over my shoulder—the little rip
had opened her mouth and sent a stream of white,
curdy milk down the back of my new overcoat.
Kor one instant the fate of that child hung in the
balanee. I walked tothe door, and made a movye-
ment to throw her tothe dogs; but humanity gain-
ed the day, and I refrained.

I felt that my face was redder than the baby’s;
every passenger remaining in the car was smiling.
I went calmly back, and laid her down on the seat,
while I took off my coat and made an attempt to
remove the odious matters with my handkerchief,
which ended by my throwing thecoat over the back
of the seat in disgust resolving that mother would
have to finish the job with her “Renovator.” My
handkerchief I threw out of the window. ,

Thank goodness! the engine bell was ringing at
last and the people crowding back into the train.

I drew a long breath of relief, snatched the
shrieking infant up again, for fear the mother
eouid blame me for neglecting her ugly brat—and
waited.

“All aboard! shouted the conductor; the bell
ceased to ring, the wheels began to revolve, the
train was in motion. '

“Great Jupiter Ammen!” I thought, while a cold
sweat started out all over me, “she will be left!’

The ears moved faster and more mercilessly fast;
the conductor appeared at the door; I arose and
rushed toward him, the baby in my arms, crying:

‘For Heaven’s sake, conductor, stop the cars!”

““What’s vp?” he asked.

“What’s up? Stop the cars, I say! Back down to
the station again! This baby’s mother’s left!”

“Then she left on purpose,” he answered, coolly;
“she never went into theeating-house atall. Isaw
her making tall tracks for the train that goes the

 

 

last spark of fire ee on the hearth, and could
only be replenished by striking sparks by flint and
steel intoa bunch of burntrags. If the weather
was damp, then also, damp was the tinder, and
though a_ perfect shower of sparks were struck
upon it, the tinder would utterly refuse to burn,
and then, alas! some one must go to the nearest
neighbors to borrow fire. ; :

Once upon atime, on a certain evening in the
summer of 1798. Mrs. Farmer Jones’ fire “went out.”
There was nothing to burn but chestnut wood, and,
be there ever so large a heap of coals at night, and
cover as carefully and as deep with ashes as she
could, ten chances to one it died out before morn-
ing, and hence occurred the sad chapter of acci-
dents we are about to relate,

Katie Jones had a beau!

Who was Katie?

b Why, ‘eh old Deacon Jones’ only daughter, to

e sure
Mrs. Jones had scolded, worried, and fretted for
ever so long, at the deacon, for not providing bet-
ter wood than chestnut for her to boil, bake, cook,
and stew, for himself, wife, daughter, two sons, and
a hired man,

“There was no end of trouble,” Mrs. J. declared,
“in getting fires started every morning.”

Had the deacen only thrown in a few hickory logs
among his huge pile of wood, this story had not
been written. : :

But to return to Katie and her beau. This un-
moon-lit evening in summer they had become so
deeply engaged in discussing (our readers can
guess what) matters and things in general, also,

articular, that the tallow candle was quite neg-

ected—had grown very short, indeed. Presently a
little gutter ran down theside—ran in alittle stream
over the bright, brass candlestick ; the wick sank in
the preted tallow, gave a faint glimmer, and ex-
pired.

“Mercy, me! what. carelessness,” cried Katie.
“Td no idea that candle was burned out already.
It’s near twelve o’clock. Sit still, Will; PH run
down to the kitchen and light another.”

She groped her way to the kitchen fire-place,
raked over the ashes, but ah! that chestnut wood!
Not a solitary live coal was there—not even a

spark, ;

Then came the dernier resort, the flint, steel, and
tinder-box. s

Alas! alas! the air was damp and the tinder
wouldn’t catch under the shower of sparks Katie
struckuponit. |

William Ray waited what seemed to him a long
time,which was,in reality, only a quarter of an hour.
He thought it ungallant to let Katie conquer the dif-
ficulty alone, and then feeling his way carefully, fol-
lowed the direction of the sound where his sweet-
heart was still making frantic efforts to ignite the
refractory tinder. fi

Not being acquainted with the way to the base-
ment, which by the by was reached by passing
through a small buttery, he missed his footing,
stepped off the stair, which was minus banisters,
and plunged feet-foremost into the huge churn of
cream that was to be converted into at least ten
pounds of butter the next morning.

In his struggle to get outhe upsetthe churn, and,
of course, the buttery was flooded an inch deep with
cream,

Katie heard the melee, rushed to the spot, heard
something spitting, sputtering, and struggling on
the floor, and,*not knowing what else to do. set up a
succession of screams. :

Choked, blinded, and covered with cream, he
could not explain the situation; so he sat still in
despair.

And now came the deacon.

He was sure his beloved daughter, Katie, was
being abducted or murdered; so he was in a hurry
bo teen her, and didn’t take time for an elaborate

oile

As might be anticipated, the slippery cream
floored the deacon, who caught, as he fell, a small
shelf, whereon was all his good wife’s sweetmeats.

Crash! came the shelf, jars, and preserves. There
was a heterogeneous mess of plums, peaches, cher-
ries, and deacon. :

Now the deacon was a pious man; but, he didn’t
believe in kneeling on a lot of broken glass, in pen-
ance or otherwise, 80 he called “Katie,” at the top
of his voice, _

Before Katie could respond, her mother came
upon the scene of action.

Hearing her husband groan, and Will Ray beg-
ging for a light—Katie calling for help, what could

 

 

 

 

 

other way. I thought it was all right. I didn’t)

 

she do but join in the general din, so she set up a
succession of yells that could not have been bettered

Ill telegraph

This brought down the deacon’s sons, and also
the hired man,

Rushing as fast as possible in the darkness they
premesemed themselves, together with the old lad

own in aheap upon the deacon. They were all
barefoot, and the broken glass cut them fearfully.

During the melee, Katie put off in haste to the
nearest neighbors, rousing them instanter, and
doing the mischief of scaring a lady into hysterics
and fainting fits, for which the doctor had to be
called for a week or moré.

Happily, there was fire on the hearth, and obtain-
ing a lantern, she hastened back to her distressed

family.

Bit ngina corner of the buttery, where he had
crawled from the etragaling pie was the deacon.
His knees were scratched and bleeding from his fall

among the et
Will Ray lay at full length in the white flood, held
there by the deacon’s sons, who were quite sure

they had captured the burglar, or murderer per-

naps.
he hired man saton thestair nursing his foot,
which had been eruelly cut by the broken glass,

Katie, who was accompanied by the neighbor,
took inthe situation ata glance. Hardly able to
corceal a smile atthe Judicious scene before her,
she proceeded to bind up _the wounds, which were
but small cuts after all. With towels and plenty of
water she restored the besmeared crowd to a less
unearthly appearance,

Fearing that all this loss of cream and sweetmeat,
added to the bodily injury of the deacon and family
might mar his prospects of getting a wife, Will
thought best to forestall their indignation by taking
all the blame on himself.

I don’t see how I came to step into that churn—
but you see I heard Katie so long trying to strike a
light, without success, that I concluded to go and
help her. Iam sorry for all the loss, but I’m sorrier
for the hurts. I'll make it up to you, Mrs. Jones—
indeed I will—and as the old gentleman won’t feel
like raking hay fora few days, I’llcome over and
Rep in his pare,” es a

us was quiet restored, wounds bound up, and
ruffled feelings soothed and mollified by Will Ray's
judicious soothing over of the cane of disasters.
rs. Jones sat cogitating awhile, when she “up
and spoke right out.”

Turning upon the deacon and giving him a with-
ering look, she said:

It’s allowing to that miserable chestnut wood
that we’re obliged to burn. There’s cords and
cords of good hickory wood, all ready cut and
dried, but we can’t use it; that must all go to mar-
ket. You ain’t to blame, Will; and, father, let your
cut face, knees, and fingers be a lesson to you.”
The deacon, I am happy. to say, profited by the
lesson, and ever after provided his better half with
good wood, cautioning her, however, to only use it
o’ nights to keep fire.

Will Ray’s assistance at haying greatly pleased
the deacon, and when, in due time, after the usual
courtship, he asked for the hand of Katie, the good

old man. said, “Yea,
Cniidne ea, and Heaven bless you, my

The deacon _and his wife lie side by side in their
last sleep. William Ray and Katie, his wife, are
grandparents, and their heads are. silvered o’er
with age. Their house in town is lighted by gas
from cellar to attic,and they snuRn ney refer tc
the time when they were a , and friction
matches were not yet invented, as the “Dark Ages.”

The Telephone.

The telephone is an ingenious and recently in-
vented electrical instrument, by means of which
sound can be conveyed to great distances, and
there heard almost as distinctly as at the spot
where the sound is originally produced. A lec-
turer, for example, speaking in Milwaukee, can be
heard by an audience in Chicago; or a concert
given in Detroit need not be confined toan assem-
blage in that city, but may be appreciated by
several audiences in concert rooms at remote dis-
tances. It is proposed to utilize the telephone by
making it the disseminator of good sermons.
Thus, a church which hasan eloquent pastor may
be electrically connected with other churches not
equally fortunate; and the congregations who are
now forced to listen to the sleepy sermons of dull
pastors, could be kept awake by the spirited
preaching of the eloquent divine, who, by means of
the telephone, could as readily entertain a dozen
congregations as the cne before which he person-
ally appears.

Four New Stories.

The constant craving for novelty by the public is
always anticipated bythe publishers of the NEw
‘Yoru WEEKLY. New stories and fresh attractions
are presented week after week, and our columns
are seldom searched in vain for some novel feature,
While other literary papers offer almost the same
unvarying list of contents, the same. stereotyped
bill of fare, each issue of the NEw YorK WEEKLY
contains some gem; it may be an unusually merito-
rious poem, asketch which deserves and is sure to
elicit both praise and comment, a pungent essay
that at once arouses public attention, or a serial so
absorbingly interesting that its scenes and charaé-
ters become themes for general discussion at hun-
dreds of thousands of firesides. The millions of
readers at these homes are ever onthe watch for
novelties, and their expectations are not often dis-
appointed when they search for them in the New
Yorr Wsexrny. In this number is begun avery
spirited story for young fodks, entitled

A SAILOR IN SPITE OF HIMSELF,

By HARRY CASTLEMON,
Author of “WHITE-HORSE FRED,” ete.

 

 

 

 

 

Week after next,another charming serial, by a
popular author, will be commenced.

The Curse of the Galbraiths;

A STORY OF PLOT AND PASSION.
By RETT WINWOOD.

 

 

This will be succeeded by an exciting sensational
story, teeming with dramatic incidents. It is
called

CAST-IRON BILL;

OR, THE

BRAVO OF THE MINES.
By LIEUT. PRESTON GRAHAM,

Author of “THE BOY EXILE; or, BRANDED
BY A CURSE.”

Next in order comes a story of especial interest
to lady readers, although it will also prove exceed-
ingly entertaining to the other sex. The title is
suggestive, and indicates the character of the plot:

LURED TO HIS RUIN;

OR, THE

By FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE,

Author of “CONRAD THE CONVICT,” “THE
LITTLE OLD MAN OF THE BATIG-
NOLLES,” etc., ete.

 

Surely this is novelty sufficient to satisfy the most
exacting of story readers.
——_——__>-9<—___—-

“PEERLESS CATHLEEN.”

This delichtful story is everywhere winning well-merited popu-
larity. The scenesare ably depicted, the plot is intricate, but
not too mystifying, and the characters well contrasted. Those
who admire a gracetully. written story should invest $1 50 in the
purchase of “PEERLESS CATHLEEN.” Copies mailed trom this
office, postage free. Wherever the New YORK WEEKLY is sold
the book ean be procured. The trade supplied by the publishers,

 

 

by a veritable Indian.

 

G. W. CARLETON & Co.

 

 

 

BEAUTIFUL BETRAYER.

 

Tees

7

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

+®

"eae

 

meted Mate nena

iL ;
oo .

A % ;
we ye

 

 

 

 

° ~~

‘THE GAY CAPTAIN.

_of the drives; the shrubberies wanted pruning—

 

 

 

 

‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

e
AN APRIL TRYST “T hope there are still gayer ones in store.now| " CHAPTER IV , iy i ; ? —=
, 1 : Di ; o take Miss Marsh into my own house for the win- | b i i
BY NATHAN D. URNER. aad aagat Liwellyn and Mr. Moore are coming FIRST LESSONS. pe It io eeaval for me to do this; and, as Son Pare eor he bial cri ee Toe See
Sabo. slbeexich Gil kan’ The soft color in Olivia’s cheeks deepened; she} A troop of armed terrors besieged Elizabeth as Be clcane oer iter Seer aroud 9 CIB 0 OFFA 9G, pas oh ove! You know I
» all pear tears, could not hear acertain name pronounced without | she saw herself hurried far from the place which} “You delight me, madam. I can now sail for | to wy ortitteen wane cite rae prio had turned
The heavy hemlocks stand, ane emotion. Alice laughed lightly. declaring she | had, thus far, made her little world. She battled | England with no care on my mind as to the young | was dying of worse than Mid er Z hands, and
oe e a voice unchilled by years, ca f spartan apy ber dom 9 due enjoy herself any bet- pravely 10 ee hee yoarsipyng hor Peer lady's fanny. ae long as she is with you, no harm | touch turned everything to gold nat how aie
os nmaied hand rx than. ng. 3 , ‘ e front; but for} can be er inexperience. Name your own price | man, Mildred, I h ‘ j : ‘

This is such a charming, dear old place, Lord | hours the enemy threatened to overcome her. for her it wi x id. 3 » Mildred, I had never dared approach you. A
= eG their sibyl song, Aneeieeo Mare ye from bana’s eee se ie tere Re the me had. La ona entirel pce wawee’ Pas oareenints RT r atoan ° iiss eee me Oe, Os aie nae
‘ at ; . L en F e could never go back. i ao : e
As once again I stroll along here without any company. With you and Olivia I | no matter what wretchedness she found in the new Muted. re Beene total airs Vanderhott 29 Race can eee 7 to “ me hear one “farewell”
The allremembeted rt am altogainor sontont, You sce, Giiva ls my frst | ono awaiting her,” Aunt Mignins would never fo-| exolaimod Blizabeck with araqsful sincerity." Tama |tima"”) 0° 0 © 2 ANY TSE UO
birds , an ight—worse, she would, no | perfect : : Ds f : ' :
ehinsare er owit covey ton fathers, Dub oven tat has | pub conetdnr few agra! bythe cour ot| Eig meg industrious pupliycn, lure crac hat, ~ {man of to tla thorkeahe anid anu eaosd

: 0 . : > . rs. Higgins’ view r. Savage soo i i i i hale ¢ ; ene
And overhead the patch of blue, ve ro aera ou Ol a wrongly. I am in- it woman have been no worse for Elizabeth to have | to call at four the ee An scrt hor he added: bat ee hee Rad oon back aviths th sae fat fortune
But ae and fair Peon on att Seer ent ore saathe eaeat a eto ae ew apithoe, t prophesy that Miss March will be occu: | he had made, and now—going away—and penni-
pT oe beeen ei . ; ; ied until then i i ‘ foes i u Ps

* 7 iibdne shiaitin when slaien The gay young things laughed, and Lord Angell}, We, who know more of the worldthan poor Eliza- ping. cushindbonatbes> «:jenietesamamramslaal ot me anayeus (as Guam in her eyes:

They blossomed once, is passed and dead,
, And youth and beauty flown.
Still her sweet image shines from out
That little darkling pool, ’
Her rustling robes seen blown about
By every zephyr cool;
The iris ’neath yon violet’s hood
' Seems like her laughing eye,
Soft, velvet whispers fill the wood,
And through the copses sigh.
. But still they are but phantom sounds,
But dim illusions they, »
That only serve to haunt my rounds
_ With longings far away,
And still my soul from out the grot
Strains forth its yearning sight
For the vanished and the unforgot
Beyond the coasts of night.
Moan, solemn pines, through all the years
Your strange and sibyl song,
Still gem the boughs with April tears,
Oh, spring-tide, full and strong!
But never more my steps may stir
This tryst with joyous tread—_
With my thoughts among the things that were
A part of one that’s dead.

 

BY MRS. M. V. VICTOR,

Author of “WHO OWNED THE JEWELS,”
“THE PHANTOM WIFE,” Etc.

n” was commenced last week. Ask your News
and you will obtain the opening chapters.

CHAPTER III.
THE LORD OF THE MANOR.

Woodmere was the name of Lord Angelil’s coun-
bry-seat—a significant title, which implied the
lovely lake which edged the park on the south, and
the ten miles of fpoiene oF woods that stretched
away to the north and west behind the pleasure-

ronds—woods where the deer sported almost as

ree trom fear as in one of our western forests—

“Oh, the blessed woods of Sussex, I can hear them still around
me
With their leafy tide of greenery still rippling up the wind.”

‘The house was of stone and brick, immense in
size, bearing marks of on an ancient structure
modernized, and increased by innumerable addi-
tions, until, as its towers and turrets, its chim-
neys and battlements, its porches and windows

listened in the sunlight, it seemed hardly possi-

le they should all belong to one building. The
stables stood at some distance from the house; cold

raperies and hot-houses glittered near it; escay

ower-gardens nearly surrounded it; a noble par
lay in front and to the north of it; there were

lim pses of the lake from all the south windows;
9 streamers of ivy, having climed to their last
foothold, waved from the main tower.

Yet there were signs of neglect to be seen. The
place was not kept upto the point of perfection;
gins was gone from the conservatories, the gar-

ens were a fragrant jungle of hardy-roses and per-
ennial flowers which had bloomed there year after
year with but little attention; grass grewin many

(“The Gey
Agent for No.

in faet Lord Angell had been away for more than
five years, leaving only servants enough to watch
the place and keep the house aired,

On this sunny October afternoon he had been
home two months to a day; a new stud of horses
filled the emapty stables; new carriages shown in
the earriage-houses; there was new furniture in

ome of the rooms at Woodmere, and new faces,
oo. Again the butler frowned in all his state in the
great dining-room, whose dark panels would have
‘aan it gloomy, were it not for the glitter of silver

.d glass and the cheering influence of good din-
ners | ood wines. ain the housekeeper went
in all her glory of gold watch and black silk,
d rf ed and occu “out
orders to a di are ds, and occasion: en
consulting with his ordship about the rooms as-
signed to guests. Again the fresh air came in at
open windows, and sweet voices rang in the lofty
hall and tangled flower-gardens. Thegrand piano
was in tune; there were croquet rings set on the
lawn, and the dressing-bell rang at half-past six
in the afternoon. {

On this particular day Lord Angell was in the
library with his attorney, who had just come out
ndon on some small business

  
  
  

ot

thought what a pretty contrast the hair all dusk
made to the hair allsunshine. They laughed, and
he sighed—sighed because he was old at heart, sick
and weary, and saw nothing before him which these
fair girls saw. His lifelay in the past, and it was
not a happy one; their lives lay in the future, and
4to their eyes was one dazzle of pleasure.

niece had notso early given away the treasure of
her woman’s love, as he was afraid she had done.
He was not satisfied with what he hadseen or heard
of Captain Llewellyn, who was a great favorite
with ladies, old and young, whose society was wel-
come in the best houses, whose family was ancient
and honorable, whose means were liberal, whose
good looks were undoubted, but who had a whis-
ered reputation, under his more apparent one, of
ing too fond of play, and given to making mad
bets on his favorite at the Derby. Prudent mammas
had sometimes been warned that this darling of s0-
ciety had associates whom he could not introduce
to his aristocratic friends—sporting men, and also
the belles of the green-room, Not that the young
man was immoral, but that he had a taste for the
aaa bubble of these exhilarating champagne
spirits.
“There is the phaston now, making its leisurely
approach,” cried Alice.

And there is the dressing-bell,” added Lord An-
gell. “Go, my pretty butterflies, and don a new
air of wings before the new arrivals reach the
ouse. Thetrain must be in by this time.”

The young ladies flew out to meet the elder ones,
and the four went up stairs together. Lady Clyde
went to her rocm, the others to theirs. Mrs. Angell
and Olivia had a suite of apartments comprising
arlor, sleeping, and dressing-rooms; Miss Barns-
ee a bedroom near at hand, with a communicating
door, so that she was under Mrs. Angell’s wing.

Mamma, what shall we wear ?”

The mother looked at her bright, eager child. For
the world Olivia would not have acknowledged that
she was anxious to appear her yery best; butthe
parent knew it quite as well as she did herself, and
was willing to humor the wish. é

Wear your white grenadine, with
corals, my dear.”

The white grenadine was what young ladies call
a “lovely” dress, being trimmed with ever so much
guipure lace; and Olivia, with her, dark, brilliant
complexion, always looked better in white than in
colors.

“Twi

tically. ‘ :
“Thaye so little choice,” murmured Alice, with a
sigh. “Only think, Mrs. Angell, of having to get
along a whole season with three evening dresses!
It is my India muslin, my blue silk, or my violet
silk, from one night’s end to another.”
“But you are exquisite in anything, Alice” cried
Olivia. ‘I don’t know which I admire you in most.
You look like a little saint in your white muslin,
likea fairy in your violet silk—a color Jcannot wear,
my pet—and like the loveliest love that ever was, in
your blue. I am sure your pearls are ornaments
fit for a duchess.”

Yes; aunt was very good to leave them to me.
They have enriched my meager toilet many a time.
But_one grows tired even of pearls.”

Here, Alice, are some gold-and-turguois orna-
ments my uncle gave me, last week. have not
worn them yet. No one will know but that they be-
ian to you. You shall have them all the time you
are here.”

“Your uncle would not like it. Indeed, I cannot

your pink

Hi, mamma, dear,” she answered, enthusias-

Oda

onsense! Uncle was insane to get me those
blue things. Ishould look like a fright in them.
I would give them to you ina moment were it not
that they were a present.”

Little Alice looked pleadingly at Mrs. Angell, who
said, in response, very graciously:

Wear them, my dear, as long as you please. I
am quite certain: Olivia will never once put them
on.

“Oh, thank you!” cried Alice, running into her
own room with the box containin the new jewel-
Lean’t r my violet now—they are tl

Lord Angell could not help wishing. too, that his | tect h

 

beth did, know that Mrs. Higgins would not be far
wrong in this view of the matter; not one girl in
ten thousand could have taken such a step, under
the patronage of a stranger, with the excitement
and temptation of a theatrical career, without book-
ing herself for perdition—but with this girl went
cape hing which might, perhaps, effectually pro-

re, which had

ra
This was a deeply religious |
all her joys and

fixed upon her the habit of layir
troubles at God’s feet in prayer.

She had, too, a real an tepate for her
chosen profession, which did not originate, as so
much of the inclination for the sta , in per-
sonal vanity, and desire for adm Meh ay

As the hours whirled by, the . traveler turn-
ed from gazing out of the win sur lifted the bitter-

i
sweet from her lap, and pressed it to her bosom
with a wild, homesick longing, but with no thought
of turning back in the course she had chosen.

The afternoon sun declined behind high moun-
tains, whose sides were magnifled with
tinted foliage, rivers sparkled attheir base, white
villages were approached and left behind.

Elizaheth wondered who was doing her homely
work at the farm-house, pitying the hard and
tyrannical aunt who had‘for years laid so many bur-
dens on her young shoulders... .—
_.“Ifshe would only press Joshua into her service,
it would be better for both of them,” she thought.

She ground the life out of me only to fatten and
pamper him. Poor aunt! he is her only child, and
she cannot help being partial to his faults. I for-
give you all, Aunt Higgins, and I almost wish I
could wash the dishes for you this evening.”

The sun set, anda chill and melancholy twilight
came down. She knew, by the remarks of the pas-
sengers near her, that they were approaching the
city. In alittle while her heart began to beat swift-
lyand strangely as the innumerable lamps of the
yast metropolis and its suburbs commenced to
dance before her eyes. Her face flushed and paled.
er expectation alternated with love and fear,
and all the unspeakable sensations which the first
approach to a great city givesan impressible per-

   
 

son.

She leaned her face against the glass of the car-
window, and looked eagerly at everything. They
had gone through street after street of tall and
crowding buildings, and the train began to slacken
speed, and the peonle to take down their bags from
the racks, and make those little preparations which
announced the termination of their journey.
Suddenly the fear shot through Elizabeth’s heart
that Mr. Savage might not. waiting her. What
could she do in such a case? He had given her the
address of the lady whom hehad promised to se-
cure as her instructor. She knew that she could
take a carriage and go to her, But she was dread-
fully frightened forall that. What if the driver of
the carriage should be ia of those villainous

 
  
  
  
  

drivers of whom she had re What if the police-
manto whom she appealed should be a wicked
paeenan in league with thieves and other ras-
8
Elizabeth was but little over sixteen, and had
never traveled alone heforeto-day.
brave, too. She had that highcourage of which she
was so often to stand in need, and which was one
of the noble traits of her character.
Before the cars stopped she had composed her-
self—had conquered her fright—and_resolved upon
what she would do in case Mr. Savage was not
there to meet her. Co
h not have giv
Almost before the train.
rentleman appeared, loo
ine of passengers until h
of whom he was insearch, Soon he was by her side
and had her rural looking bundle in his hand.
Elizabetia had, early in the day, compared her attire
with that of the lady travelers about her and had
reeiyed, with feminine od pa that her own

  
     
   
      
  
  
 
    
    
    
      
   
  
 
      
     
  
 

  

herself any anxiety.
e to astand-still, that
sharply along the
eyes rested on the one

nd plain. The green
her

ping.’

vOh f abt bee laughing and blushing,
a glance at her green merino, “you ma

certain of that.” . z pias

When he had gone orders were given to have her
room putin order, and shortly after nine o’clock
Elizabeth had turned the key and locked herself in
this new shelter of hers, to creep wearily into asoft
white bed, there to lie for hours listening to the un-
accustomed noises in the street below, and think-
ing—thinking—thinking until her brain ached.

God has been yery good to me,” she murmured
over and over. ‘I must me and deserve some of
these good things,” and she resolved to keep her
truth and her purity high out of reach of the world,
to, work hard, to exalt the gifts given her.

But it is so strange,” her thoughts ran on, “that
a stranger should doso much forme. There is a
great mystery aboutit. Of course my father, dead
or alive, has something to do with the matter.
how Llong to know. How hard, hard it will be to
wait two years before I learn thissecret. I must
not allow myself to brood over it or it will make me
unhappy. I must keep itout of my thoughts and
only try to make the fullest use of my present ad-
vantages. If study and earnest endeavor will do it,
I will never cease to press on until I have become
as great an actress as there isin the world, Or,ifI
have not the genius to make me a Siddons ora
Cushman, I will at least be all that itis in me to be.”
And so at last, with strange walls about her and
strange noises murmuring in her ear, our youthful
adventurer fell into a sound, refreshing sleep.
_Elizabeth was an early riser, hitherto from neces-
sity and now from habit. She had been up and
dressed two hours before aservant tapped at her
door to call her down to breakfast. In that time
she had committed to memory several pages of

King Lear,” and she followed the servant down
stairs so full of the play that she forgot to be timid
until she was actually in the breakfast-room con-
fronting several strange people.

These persons might have smiled at the ill-dress-
ed figure of the new inmate; but her face and ex-
pression inspired instant respect. Such sweetness
and innocence were rarely seen combined with such
intellectual power. Then, too, although shy, she
had such pretty manners and graceful moyements.
It was as if a queen, instead of a green country
damsel, had come among them. All felt the spell
which was destined ere many months to be laid up-
on admiring thousands.

Mrs. Vanderhoff felt so curious to see what
aims and ideas-this eeenee sf rey and peculiar
young person could have that she took her directly
after breakfast to a large front room on the second
floor, when, locking the door, she asked Miss
arch to recite a scene or two of some play, if she
knew any.

This was the hour of greatest trial and excite-
ment to the aspirant. Supposing she should fail—
fail disgracefully—and be laughed at? For a few
moments she felt herself to be only anignorant,
ill-used country girl, the drudge of heartless rela-
tives, who was mad, and worse than mad, to come
here amid such people with the expectation of dis-
ppeolsbing herself. She grew white, her lips trem-

-

But she was | bl

Do you know anything from ‘Romeo and Ju-
a > her teacher kindly inquired, pitying her ag-
itation.

volume in her pupil’s hand. One look at the famil-

iar pages restored Elizabeth to her equanimity. She

forgot herself—forgot that such a person lived as

oor Elizabeth Marsh—and only knew that she was

uliet, the lovely, fond, foolish, devoted Italian girl

whom Romeo adored.

“Will you be Romeo?” she asked.

“Yes, What scene shall we take?”

ol ‘We can begin with the balcony scene, if you
ease.

They began, and went through that and the cham-

ber-scene. The lady, astonished and delighted, car-

ried on her part with increasing enthusiasm, fired

by the contagion of the young girl’s feeling. Tosee

    

 

timation to avery low
place indeed. ieee
But Mr. Savage she had been one of those

princesses whose

 

Feo.
shade as my blue—I will wear that!
This important question settled
work of the toilet began
engaged we will take ag
who has already been dre
standing in an oriel win

rtments, looking over
q Speers 3

he red glory of an.
quiet lake and the quiet
even on the pale face of th
is not more than forty y
fine-looking; but he stoo
hair is already sprinkled Q
weary,

  

 
   
 

   

listless air, which is alwa ;
when talking to some one he particularly fancies
and which is the result of illness and of a mental
condition not to be envied. He is the victim of a

 

   

 

 

 

“By they way, es,’ said his lordship, when
that matter was attended to, “I have not heard
from Sir Henry Hawkes since my return, Is he tra-
qaling. on the Gontinent? What has become of

m

“Upon my word, I do not know, Lord Angell. He
cannot be in London, or I should know it. I dare
say heis in Paris, amusing himself.”

“My brother’s daughter refused him, I believe Ee

“They say so, your toagaiin. @ was very de-
spondent for a few months. But he will recover,
and he was quite too old for a young lady like Miss
Angell. Miss Angell will do a thousand times bet-

than that.”

‘Bates was deep in Lord Angell’s confidence in all
family matters, or he would not have ventured to
say so much. He knewthat his advice was wanted,
and he gave it. i

“You are aware that Captain Llewellyn seems to

disease which must prove fatal within a few years,
and which may at any time become more active
from any disturbance of the system. He has one
chance to live to become an old man—the chance of
soe to. an operation involving danger of im-
mediate death, but_which, if successful, would re-
move the disease. Of course he does not expect to
try this uncertain remedy as long as he can strug-
gle on with a tolerable degree of health and com-
fort. Perhaps he is thinking of this and of how lit-
tle his immense wealth can do for him as he looks
out of the oriel window. Perhaps he is regretting
that his life has amounted to solittle. Who is there
living who has not something to regret? Not Lord
Angell. There is a record in his life’s book which
he has blotted with tears of blood, but he cannot
blot it out. It is there, and it will be there forever.
Once written, nothing can obliterate it. If he could
have erased it would he not have paid a heavy price

 
 
 

 

 
 

 

 

admire my niece. I have heard, vaguely, that he is
too fond of play. Ihopeitis notso. Do you know
the truth, Bates ?”

“Thave heard that he plays. But so does every

young man, your lordship. He will tire of it after |p

a time.
“Well, Bates, I desire you to make every possible
inquiry about him—cautiously, of course. fou can
do it batterthan I. I wantto know all about him
before an engagement takes place.”

“You shall haye all the information you desire
within a fortnight, Lord Angell.” ;

“T cannot receive it too soon, if I may judge from
what I see. Captain Llewellyn arrives here this af-
ternoon, tospend a month at Woodmere. By the

todoso? Ay. Butthere the characters stand, un-
read by any mortal eye saye his own. Even Mr.
Bates, still diligently at work on the papers, giving
himself but ten minutes to dress for dinner—Mr.
ates, who would swear that he was as familiar
with the incidents of Lord Angell’s life as Lord An-
gell himself was—Bates had never had the faintest
glimpse at this important record.
“We are spirits, clad in vails:

Man by man was never seen,
All our deep communion fails

To remoye the shadowy screen.”

No one knew the mind of the heart of this man,
Lord Angell had been abtoad, as we have said, for

  

 
 

 

way, I must dispatch Thomas tothe station—the
train will be inin half-an-hour. You will remain
over night, , if you have the time.”

“T have the time, your lordship.” z

“T have been away so long there are still some
cdds and ends to be straightened out. Will you look
over the papers, please?” and Lord Angell went out
ontiile the attorney enough to do until dinner-

1
time. ae

Giving his orders for Thomas to a servant ip the
hall, the master of Woo © passed into a large
drawing-room, where two ladies,who had just come
in froma game of croquet, were walking up and
down, arm-in-arm, talking together confidentially,
after the manner of girls. For neither of them was
over tiventy. Both were pretty and graceful, with
bright faces aad all the tangible and intangible
charms of their age, sex, and station. One was more
than pretty—she was strikingly handsome. Dark,
smiling eyes, that would have been dazzling but for
the shadow of the long lashes; a fresh young
mouth, coral tinted and dimpled about the corners;
Cy, girlish, bright, artless expression made her

e fascinating. Her complexion was dark, but
pi r and smooth; her cheeks had the bloom of
th; her figure was slender and supple. Her
uncle’s eyes rested fondly on her as he came in, for
this was his niece, of whom he had been speaking
to his lawyer, and Lord Angell liked her and was
proud of her. ,

Her companion was pretty and petite, with blue
eyes like violets, and pale gold hair, and a complex-
ion which would almost of itself have made her
lovely, it was so fair. She wasa Miss Alice Barns-
lee, second daughter of Sir Richard Barnslee, and
had been Miss Angell’s chum at school, and was her
invited guest at Woodmere. Her father was an im-
pecunious gentleman, who had more than enough
exercise for his talents in the endeavor to bring the
expenses of his family within his income—but Alice
was so vory prety it was expected she would make
a good match, despite of her very small fortune—
eeoote pounds a year bequeathed her by her

“Well, my dears, what has become of your devo-

“They declared theirintention of walking to the
station to meet Captain Liewellyn, Lord Angell,” an-
swered the fair Alice.

And Lady Clyde, and your mother, Olivia?”

They drove off by themselves in the phaeton two
hours ago. They went to the village for some Jap-
anese canvas, I believe, uncle.”

“And our shy friend, the artist?”

Oh, Mr. Francitelli is down by the lake, painting
that oak tree, and the rock,and the water beneath.
The tree is a glorious color now, since the frost.”

Have you had a pleasant day, my dears?”

the last five years, living more than half of that time
in Italy. During te absence his only and younger
prother bad died, joaving his wife and daughter to
Lord Angell’s care, who had always been liberal to
them a now became more so than ever. i

Upon his brother’s daughter now fell the heirship
of his large estates. Olivia would be the sole inher-
itor of the entail and probably of all his other prop-
erty. For Lord Angell had never married and ap-
parently never intended to marry.

It was two years after his brother’s decease before
he returned to England. The little girl whom he
recalled to memory as a bread-and-butter school-
gt had grown into a charming young lady, She

ad the good fortune to please her uncle, not by
any of the set speeches and _ attentions which her
worldly mother had drilled her in previously, but
by her own sweet sincerity, her fresh young beauty
and innocent gayety. , ¥

It was entirely owing to Olivia’s cheerful influ-
ence that Lord Angell had invited the widow an
her child to make Woodmere their home. Other-
wise he would have done as he intended—giyen
them a house of their own and kept them at a dis-
tance. But Olivia had crept into his cold heart and
warmed it; he could not live without her: for her
sake he was willing to have his quiet invaded by
cuests, for the girl was young and fullof life and
must have company.

As he looks out the window now Lord Angell says
half aloud:

“Tf T do not like the man I will break the match
square off. My little Olivia shall not throw herself

away.

Then his thoughts went back to the first engross-
ing subject, and with a bitter sigh, he muttered:

“Tf I only knew. There is just a possibility, and
itis the possibility that tortures me. I dare say I
am a fool to anticipate trouble in that direction ;
but at times—only at times—it obtains mastery of
mefora while. If I had a trusted messenger I
sometimes think I would send, Bates, now—he
would be as secret as the grave. But I can never
serew my courage to the BR ut, The truth
might be worse than the doubt. No, no, no! I must
let italone. I am morbid
morbid—or I should not be troubled with such
fancies. It’s the penalty I pay,”

He turned gloomily from the rosy sunset.

“At least, Lhope I shall like Captain Llewellyn.
My little girl deserves a good and honest man.
is an absolute misfortune to her that she has such
prospects. They attract every fool and every villain
that runs loose in society. It ishard alwaystojudge
correctly of these young fellows. They take to love-
making like ducks to water. I shall. use my own
eyes, that iscertain. Olivia must be guided by me.”
—and in that last remark, Lord Angell betrayed

ow little he knew of a girl’s nature, or the task be-

 

“Oh, delightful!” cried both, with emphasis—they
were young enough still to be easily pleased,

s on him except | Boxe

d | handed out and walked mechanically up the brown-

—my disease makes me}e

ture, too. would sometime be

~ jy assume, could no

nner or more a

  
 

  
   
   
  
   
      
  
    
   
     

t tak rhoff’s until
you have dined. Pare © Delmonico’s
now,” and he signaled the coach man to stop. :
Assisting her to alight he led her into a bril-
liantly lighted saloon, where dozens of people were
sitting at small tables, eating, drinking, smiling,
chatting. Many a curious glance lingered on the
country girl as she walked up the room; but those
who met the cool gaze of the gentleman who ac-
companied her did not venture to laugh. |

Mr. Savage selected a table and gave his orders.
The waiters were very attentive—there was some-
thing in his air which made him their master at
once, As the savory turtle-soup was placed before
her, Elizabeth discoyered that she was ravinously

ry

elegant dinner followed the soup, ending with ices
and coffee. It was to the girt as if she had been
transported to fairy-land, Her cheeks regained
their vivid color; her eyes enlarged and shone with
a dreamy splendor, such as we sometimes see in
children’s eyes when they are looking at some en-
chanting spectacle. Her companion, while con-
cealing his interest, watched her closely. It was a
new and agreeable study to him—this unfolding of
arare bud under his very eyes. He chatted care-
lessly and easily on many topics, continuing to give
her much useful information without seeming to
intend it. They had sat at table over an hour when
he looked at his wateh:

“It is now half-past seven, I assured Mrs, Van-
derhoff that we would arrive at her house at eight.
Shall we go?”

- “Oh, certainly, sir, if you are ready.” :

‘I almost wish that you had an opportunity of
replenishing your wardrobe before appearing amid
strangers, Butit cannot be helped to-night. To-
morrow you must go shopping, and buy everything
prey which you imagine necessary. Mrs. Vander-

off isa lady of great good sense, and will think
none the less of your talent—if you prove to have
talent—because youare not—not——”

“The glass of fashion and the mold of form,”
added Elizabeth, with a little laugh, as he hesitated.
“Precisely, precisely. But we will soon make you
that,” and he smiled, much relieved by her good-
tempered way of receiying an unpleasant hint.
he driver was nodding on his box, awaiting their
re-appearance. The were soon being jolted over
the noisy pavements, and Elizabeth sank into the
silence of intense expectation and apprehension.
Oh. if the lady to whom she was going should
tell her that she had mistaken her vocation—that
she had no dramatic genius! Would life be worth
living after that? ;

This question still trembled in her heart when
the carriage stopped; it was there when she was

  
    

stone steps of a handsome house, It was this ab-
sorbing hope and fear which made her forget all
lesser embarrassments—her clothes, her looks, her
manners, the greatness and elegance of those about
her—as she followed Mr. Savage into a_ hall, and
from thence into asmall reception-room, beautiful-
ly furnished, where they did not wait two minutes
until Mrs. Vanderhoff came in.

This lady shook hands with Mr. Savage, and then
turned with a kind, motherly air to the country-
girl, standing there under the glittering chandelier,
in her old-fashioned green merino frock and out-
landish bonnet. The lady scarcely saw these—she
could see nothiene else for the splendid speaking
eyes fixed upon her with such a look of longing,
hope, joy, and determination. _

Mrs. Vanderhoff had discouraged Mr. Savage in
the idea that this rural protegee of his might prove
a great genius. She had been disappointed too
often in young aspirants to fame, to hope much

    
 
   
   
 
   
 
    
    
  
 
    
    
   
  

elegant eyes, fixed on her with a power that almost
overcame her prejudices, caused her to think.
“There are fireand heauty there, if nothing great-

r.

Indeed, the whole face of the young student was
a most interesting one; the glory of genius illumi-
nated it. If notso lovely as it would be in a year or
two, it promised everything; and the tall, slim fig-
magnificent.

Mrs. Vanderhoff led her pupil toa sofa and sat
down by her. She asked plenty of questions and
liked the answers she received, But she was sur-
prised to learn that Miss Marsh had never witnessed
a play.of any
the gentleman. ‘

“Mr. Savage, Ihave an unoccupied room on the
third floor—a large, airy room, quite pleasant—and

hungry, although she had not suspected it. An}

this time. But the first look into those soul-lighted | |

kind. In afew minutes she turned to

that face glow with passion and soften with tender-

  
    
 
 
   
 
    
 
     
    
 
    
 
 

ch completely uncon-

nda revelation!” she
awe,-as they went

Ophelia?” Elizabeth

é@ first trial. |

elady looked at her in deep surprise. The
rich, sweet, honeyed voice of Juliet had grown thin
and plaintive just in suggesting the character o
Ophelia, the impassioned face had paled and grown
thinner and older—it was Ophelia herself, with mel-
ancholy eyes and drooping figure, who asked her
the question. ‘

“Why, she could no more help bette an actress
than the sun could help shining,” was the way Mrs.
Vanderhoft expressed herself to her husband, when
they spoke of it. “I assure you she brought the
tears to my eyes in the part of forlorn, ill-used
Ophelia. Such a pupil will be a pleasure to me.”
After an hour spent in the studio, the preceptress
proposed taking her protegee out shopping. What
a day that first day of her new life was to Elizabeth!
It seemed to her that she had not senses enough to
sufficiently enjoy all that was crowded into that one
day, which Mrs. Vanderhoff had told her should be
a holiday—‘‘no studying until to-morrow.”
Elizabeth took fifty dollars from her five hundred
with whieh to purchase herself an outfit.

“T know you are ashamed of my dress,” she told
her new friend, ‘and I shall change it as soon as
possible.” ;

So their first visit was paid to a large establish-
ment, a wonderful place, where every thing ap-
peared as soon as she wished for it, as if her fairy-
godmother stood by, waving an invisible wand.
Three lovely dresses, comprising a black silk walk-
ing-suit, a gray morning robe, and an afternoon
poplin—a cloak, a shawl, boxes of lingerie, acharm-
ing hat, with a rich, long feather, gloves, slippers,
and boots. Ah! thereis but one name for sucha
fairy godmother in these sordid days, and that is
Money. Elizabeth, half frightened, and wholly de-
lighted, found that the bills footed up over four
hundred dollars! , ;

“T have been wickedly extravagant. What will
Mr. Savage say ?”

“You must wear some of your prett
ou tell him the sad story,” answere
on, With a smile.

[0 BE CONTINUED.]

POVERTY’S REWARD.

BY C. V. MAITLAND.

“Mildred—Mildred!”

She is sitting dreaming over the wood fire, the
flicker touching into bronze her rich brown hair,
and seeming to bring smiles about the soft curves
of her red mouth. So young she looks, so fair,
so unharmed by the ten long years that have gone
by since he last saw her. This is what he saysto
himself as he stands in her open doorway, unan-
nounced, and watches her. And then he speaks
her name aloud:

“Mildred! Mildred!”

She starts—a cold shudder passes over her frame ;
then she lifts her head, and their eyes meet. Col
and very pale, she rises sloWly, putting her two
hands on the back of her chair, heavily.

“Stephen Morris!” ‘

Not a word of welcome, not a tone of welcome in
that name of his as she now utters it. He looks a
her with a start. Her beautiful face is unchanged;
or if changed, only such a change as the, queenlily
knows from bud to blossom. But that voice of hers
—could that be the same which once had told him
she loyed him? ‘

Yet even that he must hear once again—better
even that than silence from her lips. He closes
the door and advances a few paces, till he stands
opposite her upon the hearth.

“Tt is ten years since we have spoken to each
other, Mildred.

       
    
   
   
     
 
  
     
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 

things when
her compan-

 

 

 

You said good-by to me then;
will you not say it again to-night?” ;
She lifts her guttering eyes straightway to his.
“Why should I repeat the word?” she asks, quiet-
. “It was good-by for a life-time. Oh, I remem-
ber it well, Stephen Morris! My father had failed.
Ttold you the news that night, and then and there
you agreed with me—of course, for what else was
there to be done?—that, penniless as we both were,
it was best to part, and not tie you down, a strug-
gling young barrister, with a wife who knew
nothing more useful than a rich man’s daughter
should. Why do Ispeak of this to-night? Only to
tell you, if youdo not know it already, that no
meeting can come after such a parting as that.’

The man has leaned his elbow on the mantel-
piece, and his hand is covering his eyes. He stands
thus silent for a moment before he says, huskily,
not looking at her;

“T do know it, and Ihave not dared to attempt a
meeting, after having let you go from me that
night. L was away for years, When I came back a

 

 

ore him.

if it will be any more satisfactory to you, I willagree

rich man, Mildred, did I ever dare insult you by

ec

As the lady asked the question she placed a little |.

 

“My whole fortune is swept away. I have linger-
ed here for these two years for just the pain of
seeing you pass me on the street sometimes: of
hearing some tone of your voice now and then in the
vespers at church. Now,I may not linger any more.
t re and work. Will you not say good-

She catches her breath quickly.

“It has pained you, then——”

You are glad to hurt me,” hesays, letting fail his
hand, andlookingather. “If my pain can afford
you pleasure, Mildred, know, that to see you no
more isan anguish far keener than any scornful
look of yours can give.”

He is turning away; his hand is on the lock of
the door to open it, when—

“Stephen——”

He turns back. |

Her face is glowing, her two shaking hands out-
stretched, z

When, some moments later, she lifts up her face
eqain. it is eee f 8

_ will not let you go free now; Stephen, nev

again; rich or poor, never again.” = a)

UNDER A SHADOW;

OR,
THE BEAUTIFUL GOVERNESS.

 

By BERTHA M. CLAY.

Author of “BETWEEN TWO LOVES;” “A
BITTER ATONEMENT: “LADY EVE-
LYN’S FOLLY; etc., etc.

 

(“Under a Shadow” was commenced in No. 23. Back Nos. can
be obtained of any News Agent.]

CHAPTER VI.
THE NEW DRESS—A DISAPPOINTMENT.

Lady Bleseaton had not fhany instructions for
her new governess; the children were young, and
required at present but little tuition; a few words
about their lessons, then the countess turned to
Alison with a bland smile—a smile that if the
young governess had known her better would
have betokened mischief.

“You will havea great abundance of spare time,
Miss Trente,” she said; “I should like you to fill
it up by making some point lace.”

Alison said how pleased she should be; then the
countess, considering that she had duly installed
her, went away.

_ Alison looked round her with a smile of unut-
terable content. The school-room was a light

bright, cheerful apartment, very different from
the darkened gloomy room where so much of her
young life had been spent. The windows looked
over the beautiful old trees in the park; the odor
of the hawthorn, the song of the birds came float-
ing through them. A few excellent engravings
hung round the walls, there was a large stand of
flowers, a well-filled book-case.

“How happy 1 shall be,” said Alison.

She did not realize just then that the artist soul
once awakened was insatiable in its longings, and
never to be content.

It was at first a peaceable life. She rose with
the sun in order to have plenty of time for her be-
loved art; she had but to open the window of her

room and such a panorama of earth and sky was
before her, no need of search for subjects. She
spent the happiest hours of her life there, making
studies of groops of trees, with antlered deer rest-

 

¢|ing under them; studies of the lake, the color of

which was ever changing. Then the breakfast
bell rung, her romance ended, and she began the
work of the day, teaching, walking with the child-
ren, and unlimited point lace.

She was a true artist—to everything she did she
lent a certain picturesque grace. Lady Blanche
was quick to diszover that, and quick to avail her-
self of it. She discovered it in this fashion—by
Lady Bleseaton’s wish the lunch formed the chil-
dren’s dinner, and unless visitors were present,
which did not often happen, Alison and her little
charges went down tothe dining-room to share
the repast.

On oneof these days Lady Blanche was looking
unusually cross; the little Lady Eva asked her
what was the matter. For once the elder sister
vouchsafed a kindly answer.

“T am vexed, little Eva,’’ she said. “We are
going to Waden Park this evening, and the dress
thatI had ordered for the occasion I do not
like.”

“Whatis the matter with it?’ asken Lady Bles-
eaton.

“Tt is quite spoiled, mamma. I ordered a gray
velvet, and it looks so plain, so old-fashioned, I
do not like it.”

“You have plenty of others,’ said my lady,
shortly.

She was always trying to curb this discontented
spirit.

“Yes, I have others, but I have worn them all;
T had set my heart on wearing this—Colonel Mon-
tague will be there, mamma—but, of course, no
one has any sympathy with me.”

The countess did not reply. But when they
rose from the table, Alison followed Lady Blanche
to her room.

“What do you want?” asked her ladyship, more
sharply than kindly, when she saw the beautiful,
blushing face at the door.

“Lady Blanche, pray do not think that I am

d | taking a liberty, but if you would allow me to see

your dress, I think that I could make it more
what you want; gray velvet ought to make beau-
tiful lights and shades.”

“Lights and shades!” replied the lady, scorn-
fully; “what good will they do? Iam not sup-
posed to dress in lights and shades.”

“But many people admire such contrasts,”
cried Alison, eagerly; “the deeper the shades the
brighter the lights, the more a dress resembles
a picture.”

“You consider, then, that the end or aim of a
dress is to resemble a picture?” said Lady
Blanche.

“Yes, indeed, Ido. The worldis full of pictures;
a beautiful woman ina beautiful dress is one of
the finest.’’

Alison had not the faintest idea of alluding to
Lady Blanche, but she took. the words as a com-
pliment to herself. Her face relaxed; she smiled
most greiously. After all, perhaps this strange
girl, with her wild, queer notions, was right.

“You shall look at it, with pleasure,’ she said ;
“but I fear it is hopeless.”

A little cry of delight came from Alison’s lips
when she saw the rich velvet spread before her.
“Tt is beautiful,” she said.

 

  
 

ane
sia ctlinnttensnciante ich sag cist iptivatanees a

4

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

«<4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. +=

4

 

“Yas, the material is beautiful enough, but itis
all gray, you see—nothing but gray, I shall look
like a quakeress.”’ ;

“TI ean remedy it,” said Alison, “if you will give
me some scarlet ribbons and searlet flowers.’

The result was a perfeet. triumph, an artistic
triumph! the BtAy dress that had seemed so
plain, was one of the most picturesge of costumes
—with dashes of scarlet, bouquets of flowers, it
was something worth seeing. -Lady Blanche was
so delighted with it that she sent for the countess
to see it. Lady Bleseaton smiled approvingly.

“You have exquisite, taste, Miss Trente,’’ she
eaie ; “no dressmaker in England could have done

ter.”

‘No dressmaker could have done it atall,”’ said
Lady Louisa; “this is the work of an artist. I
aha ., know where to go when I want to look
well.

Lady Blanche was most gracious.

“You say, Miss Trente, that a beautiful woman
should look like.apicture.. Will you help me to
dress so that I may look like a picture to-night?”

Alison was ‘delighted, and the result was won-
derful.- Lady Blanche looked quite handsome;
the gray, with its picturesque dashes of scarlet,
with its rich Tights and shades, fell round her in
graceful folds; her hair was carelessly arranged,
and a scarlet geranium fastened in it.. Ordinary

eople would have suggested rubies with such a

oilet—Alison, with the true instinct of. taste,
chose diamonds. |. 25.5 ¢

“When colors,qwill not harmonize well, they
should always contrast,” she said; “the fire of
rubies is not the scarlet of flowers.”

Lady Blanche was delighted; the countess
looked up in surprise ‘when her daughter entered
the room.

‘T have never. seen. you look so well in my life,”
she said, and Lady Blanche said to herself that
perhaps now Colonel Montague would come to
the point. ”

Her evening at Waden Park was a great suc-
cess; the colonel had been most attentive, most
assiduous; he had done everything, in faet, but
propose. ;

From that time Alisom had little rest or peace;
nothing could be done without her. Blanche and
Louisa forgave her her’ béauty, because she was
so useful; with afew flowers and a little rib-
bon she could preduee effects that were at once
charming and picturesque.

‘You would make a fortune at dressmaking,
Miss Trente, said the countess, benignly.

Alison opened her beautiful eyes.

“T beg your pardon,”’ she said; coldly; “I do not
understand you.”

The countess, slightly startled, repeated the
words. be

‘IT am, an artist,’’ said Alison, and Lady Bles-
eaton knew from that. time that she must never
make another allusion of that kind.

She worked very hard, harder than any servant
in the house; but she avas tolerably happy. The
noyelty and. excitement had not -passed yet; the
beauty of form and color that surrounded her
still wrapped her in a dream. She had yet to
wake and find herself.a dependent, whose entire
time was at the disposal of those who employed
her. Perhaps one of the first things that roused
her to a sense of something wanting in her own
life, was a ball given by Lady Bleseaton. As usual,
Alison Trente was consulted about the decora-
tions; it was her idea that the beautiful ball-
room was decorated in the most novel fashion, to
represent a fairy sea-cave. The countess was de-
lighted. Such.a, novelty in, entertainments had
never been known; every one would, she was
sure, be delighted. Blanche and Louisa’ were
purposely requested to do some little toward it,
so that they might speak of it as “our idea.”
Flowers were no novelty, but this was.

It was the most perfect thing of its kind that
had ever been seen. No one knew how. Alison
Trente worked to secure the magnificent effects,
and that work was done not. for praise, not to
secure good-will, but for love of the artistic effects,
produced. Lady Blanche had resolved upon
winning a proposal from Colonel Montague—he
was to be present at the ball. Surely, midst all
that fascination, she would be able to win her
way through his armor of reserve. She secured
the assistance of Alison; she did not oxagtiy gon.
fide her love story to her, but she spoke of

Jolonel
Montague; and Alison, with that quick tact’
which was like a second sense, understood at
oree. ~~ ‘
“J should like to be in harmony with the beau-
tiful decorations,” said Lady Blanche. “TI will
have a sea-nymph’s ress, white and green.” —

Alison looked at her with something like horror.

“Green for you, Lady Blanche!” she said. ‘If
you wear it you will really not look nice. Only
very fair people, with pale golden hair, should
wear green. You must have white and coral.
could design a beautiful costume—-white silk, with
coral fungus, sea-weed and coral mixed with tiny
pink or eae EPs shells for the hair. If you
will allow me, I will make the design.”

Again the countess was delighted beyond
measure.

“Itis like fairy-land,’’ she repeated. “I have
indeed found a treasure.”

There was a long and anxious consultation be-
tween the ladies asto the propriety of allowing

| JT should have liked it,’’ she said to herself; “T
have never seen a ball, I can only guess what it is
like. They might have asked me.”

For the first time she felt something like rebel-
lion against her fate—against these ladies who
thought so much of themselves, so little of her;
against the lot that condemned her to obscurity
where she felt that she could shine. She was not
soothed by hearing the surprise expressed by the
lady’s maid, who offered to assist her in dressing
for the ball.

“T am not going,”’ said Alison, coldly.

“Not going!” repeated the maid, “show strange!
“T lived with the Duchess of Maybury before I
came here. She hada French and English goy-
erness, and they were always asked to the balls
in the house.”

Alison had her own ideas of dignity. She would
not. compromise them by discussing the countess
with her servants. ‘

“Lady Bleseaton knows hest,” she said; but she
rebelled hotly against her fate. She had brought
all her skill and her talent to bear on the pictu-
resque decoration of the room she was not even
trusted to enter; she could not see it in its beau-
ty, she would not hear the admiring comments
on it.. She was graciously permitted to stand on
the staircase, and the servants were told to take
some supper to her room. Hitherto her life had
been so tranquil, that she did not know herself
what passions slept in her heart. A brooding
sense of discontent had always been with her;
there was something more than that now—a
longing for her own share in the bright, beautiful
world—enyvy of those who seemed to take every-
thing as their own by right, and a fierce rebellion
against her destiny. She said to herself at first
that she would not watch the procession—why
should she? Then she thought of the fair faces,
the bright dresses, the gleaming jewels, contrast-
ing with the dark, oaken furniture, the ancient
armor of the grand hall. Yes, she must see it.

ady Blanehe sent to ask her if she would come
to give the finishing touch to her toilet.

‘*No one has your taste, Miss Trent,” she said.

Alison complied. The sisters conversed very
freely in her presence.

“Colonel Montague is sure to take me down to
supper,”’ said Lady Blanche.

nd Alison resolved that she would see for her-
self what he was like, this gentleman for whom
the eldest daughter of the Countess of Bleaseaton
sighed in vain. She looked at the beautiful cos-
tume, the white silk and coral so artistically con-
trived, and she thought to herself that if the
wearer were but as beautiful as the dress, there
would be little difficulty in winning Colonel Mon-
tague. :

From her room she heard allthe confusion—the
roll of carriages, then the soft, sweet strains of
the music. The countess had not forgotten her;
there were grapes, jelly, and cold chicken, with a
glass of Lady Bleseaton’s choicest wine. Alison
laughed when she saw it—food for a girl»whose
heart was beating, whose very pulse was throb-
bing, whose brain was whirling, as she listened
for the first time tothe delicious music of the
“Blue Danube.”’

“T must dance,” she thought, “even if I dance by
myself. Oh, life, life, how beautiful you are!”

She listened fora few minutes. longer, then a
smile came over her face. ‘

“T know now,” she said, “what the Peri felt—
the Peri that one morn stood outside the gates of
Paradise. Perhaps she could hear the music, the
flashes of wondrous colors, gleams of jasper and
pearl, hear strange, sweet melodies, qual as I do
now, and as far from them. Will the mystical
door ever open for me?” i

So she listened and longed until it was time for
the grand banquet, and then she took up her sta-
tion behind the great statue of Flora with the
group of crimson flowers. . Ah; what a picture it
made—beautiful faces, flashing jewels, the gleam
of satins and silks, tall men and fair-faced women
— how the light fell on them, how the warm, per-
fumed air stirred gently as they passed. To

be
one of those, to share in the light, the fragrance,
the jewels, the silvery laughter; to see the hand-
some faces of men brighten at her smile, to know
their strong hands trembled at her touch.
“One morma Peri at the gate
(1 cite vy OL Mean ep seme ne R TOR a A
“Was the Peri moxe disconsolate than herself?
left out there all alone in
cold. In all that erawd of women’s faces, there
was none so fair as fier own, Her lips, like scarlet:
poe Bs Saat as ony saw
ady Dbiancne leant L y l-De Se a=
ti alr on oe n of a har c Seen ne
“That is Colonel Montague,” thought Alison;
and with all her silk and coral, with all her pur-
suit of him, he was no more likely to marry her
than he was to eenst if his face spoke truth;
there was poetry init. And, unless Allison were
mistaken, there was a curl of amusement round
his mustached lips. So they passed on, the
beautiful women and brave men; the light of the
jewels, the color of the dresses, the graceful
grouping, they passed on, leaving Alison Trente
alone. en
Alone with her heart on fire. Was it right, was
it just, that she should be so near, yet sofar?, The
artist soul, the warm, sensitive, pleasure-seeking
nature, was aroused; her heart was still beating

    
  
 

 

Alison to attend the ball.

*She has worked so hard for it,’’ said my lady, ;
“T do not see how we can refuse. She will natu- |

rally expect it; all governesses do.” ¢:

“But she knows nothing of other governesses,””
said Lady Blanche—‘‘how should she? If she is
to go, you may, as far as our benefit is concerned,
save yourself the expensa of the ball, mamma.”

“She would certainly lock very beautiful in a
ball-dress,”’ said the countess, musingly.

“So beautiful, mamma,’’ said Lady Louisa,

uickly, “that there would be no chance for us.

ou know how weak men are—they will sacrifice
anything for a beautiful face. If Alison Trente
goes to the ball, rely upon it she will be queen of
it. Whether itis worth your while to go to all this
expense and trouble for the sake of bringing her
out, I leave you to decide.”

“T never thought of such a thing as bringing
her out,” said the countess, angrily. ‘‘I merely
say what I think, that after she has worked so
hard for us, it seems ungenerous not to invite

to the echo of that dreamy music. Why, oh!
why, was she shut out from all this?

She stood alone on the large landing that was
covered with crimson velvet; below her was a sea
of warm, bright light; above her the walls cover-
ed with pictures, towered. tall and, stately; a
large mirror was in one of the panels of the wall;
she stepped aside and looked into its depths.

A ripe, lovely, glowing face, scarlet lips, cheeks
with soft, pearly bloom, eyes dark as night, with
a golden light in their depths, masses of dark
hair, and a neck white as dazzling snow. She
raised her white arms; the wide sleeves fell back
from them, so round, so white, so perfect—no girl,
no woman had passed by. there more fair than
she. She was not. proud of her beauty; it was
rather.an artistic love for it that possessed her.

“Tf I had diamonds in my hair, anda velvet
train, I should look better than they do,” she said
to herself.

Would that wonderful beauty of hers ever do
anything for her? She had no suspicion that it

 

her,”

Lady Blanche, with an air of resignation, and a
shrug of her white shoulders, said:

“You must choose between two evils, mamma.
I know which seems to me the least. If Alison
Trente is allowed to enter the ball-room, I shall
decline doing so. Ihave no more to say on the
subject.’’

“You had better Say, mamma, that we shall be
so crowded there will be no room,” said Lady
Louisa. “I quite agrees with Blanche. You have
had the misfortune to bring a most beautiful
young girl into the house, and there is no deny-
ing the fact that she would quite eclipse us if we
were foolish enough to allow her to appear. Men
always run after a beautiful face. It would be

had kept her from the ball.. Would it ever open the
mystic gates of this bright fairy-land? Would it
bring her the love of women, the worship of men?
Would she always remain poor, unknown—the
servant of others? She who loved beauty and
luxury so.well. :
Then, from the window of the large corridor,
she saw the moonlight lying clear and soft on the
ground, bright and silvery, casting quaint shad-
ows on the grass, while the sky above was clear
and blue. e branches of the great trees seemed
like giant hands waving to her. There was some-
thing weird about her. She smiled in response;
the broad, white patches of moonlight, the grace-
ful, mystical shadows, the moying boughs, had a
strange attraction for her. Her heart was beat-

 

eruelty to herself to ask her.”

So the countess decided.

That same afternoon, when Lady Blanche had
gone into the school-room. to seek for a design,
the little Lady Eva asked:

“Are you going to the ball, Miss Trente ?”

Before Alison had time to answer, Lady Blanche
turned to her, with a smile.

“You do not know,’’ she said, “how sorry we
are; there will be such a crowd, mamma, finds it
impossible to ask you.”

“{ did not expect it,” said Alison, quietly; but
she was bitterly disappointed. At eighteen a ball
seems like a glimpse of Paradise; at thirty-eight
it is not worth dressing for.

CHAPTER VII.
A VICTORY FOR SOME ONE.

It was hard. For the first time Alison Trente
realized her position—knéw that she was of legs
account even than the servants—knew that
neither talent nor beauty were open sesames, to
rank. What did it matter that she had a facelike
Clytie, a figure of perfect grace, that she was full
of genius, her heart and soul full of the fire of tal-
ent? All this mattered little. She was not asked
to go to the ball. Why should life be so different
for her, and for these plain-faced women, so eager
to avail thomselves of her skill, seeking her with
kind, even flattering words, when she was need-
ful to them, but not deigning to invite her to
share their pleasures.

“Miss Trente,’’ said the countess, blandly, “‘you
have been very kind in assisting us. If youwould
like to see the procession into the supper-room,

ou can do so from the grand-stairease. It will

well worth seeing. Iwill tell the housekeeper
to see that you have a nice supper sent to your
room.’

Alison thanked her briefly. For the moment
she almost hated the bland, serene, worldly wo-

ing, the thrill of the music had passed like the
fire of fever through her veins.

“J will go out,’ she said, “that will cool my
head and bring me to my senses.”’

There was no one to see her or notice what she
did; she went down the broad staircase, through
the hall, and out of the side door that led to the
gardens. The cool, sweet night air played around
her, cooled the fever of her heart and brain,
brought her sweet messages from the far-off pine
woods, and gladdened her whole soul with its soft,
low music. It was something to be free; from
those grounds it was beautiful to see the Abbey—
the flood of light streaming from the windows on
to the moonlit ground. Again she heard the sweets
dancesmusic floating through the night air. She
felt alone—so terribly alone; it seemed almost
wonderful to her that, within so short a distance,
girls of her own age were enjoying themselves,
were laughing, happily followed by admiring
glances, and sweet, whispered words. :

“fam like a pariah,’ she said, to herself; ‘fin
this wide world I have no place.” ;

She went down to the rose garden, and sat
where the falling spray of a fountain mixed with
the music of the waltz. She laid her head against
the gnarled trunk of an old chestnut tree; the
moon shone on her beautiful face, showing the
searlet lips and the dark eyes.

Suddenly it seemed to her that there was a pe-
culiar fragrance surging with the night wind. It
was a cigar; the smoker, in all probability, was
one of the guests seeking comfort and consolation
in a superb regalia.

ment a tall figure came out, as it were, fromm the
moonlight and sat down in the old garden chair
close to her—so close that in the sweet, perfume

silence she could almost hear him breathing. Cau-
tiously enough she peeped from between the green
boughs. She saw before her a dark, handsome
face that was, to her still greater surprise, full of

 

man, who treated her with such coldness,

laughter,

the twilight and the}

Moray sprangto the covgr of a tree fronting t
Bit Ay theic fire, and, Sr
eryss shot down the iour@ey, Dut! before -he coul
adwance a step, another riMging shout, a shot, and

To Alison’s horror and dismay, the next mo- |

Then Colonel Montague took his cigar from be-
tween his lips and laughed aloud. It was such a
genial, hearty laugh that Alison smiled too. His
laughter was soon stopped, for a sudden and

brighter gleam of moonlight showed him, peep-
ing from the trees, the loveliest face he had ever

seen in his life. He sprang to his feet with a little
cry.

Alison came from her hiding-place, with her
hands clasped most imploringly.

“Tam sorry,” she said, “I hope I did not fright-

en you?”
“Are you alive—and mortal?’ asked the col-
onel, “y ¢

She took the question uite seriously.
“Ves, I.am very much alive, indeed,” she re-
plied. » “Tam so sorry. I only came out because

Then she was silent.

“Because —?” he said, inquiringiy. ;

“The moon was shining brightly and the great,
ing bows sesmed to beckon me.”
He looked at her in graye wonderment. Who
‘is beautiful girl with her face all
radiant? ooked at her dress—it was simple
and plain; she could hardly be a visitor.

“Are you,” he said, “visiting at the Abbey?”

*‘No,”’ replied Alison, briefly, “I am not a visit-+
or. Tam governess to Lady Bleseaton’s children.
My name is Alison Trente.

{T0 BE CONTINUED.}

—r@—+

Dramatic Copyright: Secured by Col, E.. ZG, Judson,
Beguiled and Trapped.

A Tragic Story of New York Life.
By NED BUNTLINE.

    
    
   

 

 

[“Beguiled_ and Trapped’? was commenced in No. 19. Back

Nos. can be had of all News Agents in the United States, }

OHAPTER XXXII.—(Continued.)

“You have a select band of ruffians, IT see. I re-
cognize one Harry Hotspur Moray there, once a
gentleman, but now a——’”

“Why do you waste time, Snodgrass?” eried Mo-
ray, maddened by the sight of her flushed face and
flashing eyes, her cool, taunting tones.

“Why? Because itis my will. I command here.
But since you arein such a hurry, break in the
front door, and we will soon haye the party in our
hands.”

“Hold! -Advanee but 2 single step, and you die!”
eried the heroine, and Moray saw a gleaming pis-
tol barrel leveled at his head.

Be paused, though he had taken one step for-
ward.

“Coward! She dare not fire!” cried Snodgrass.
“Forward all!” e

He took the lead; but a ringing pistol-shot told
his error, and he staggered on out of her range with
a bullet in his shoulder.

The next instant the battle opened, for one of thé
servants or disguised guards near the stables fired,
and the three regular brigands, taking cover, fired
on them with deadly effect, killing two, and foreing
the others to take shelter in the stables,

Shrieks and cries told of terror inside the inn;
but the stern voice of Mr. Burnell commanding si-
lence, and the bugle-like tones of his brave, deflant
wife, were heard, and Snodgrass knéwhe had more
before him than he had bargained for; and_ the la-
dy’s maid, Mary Ann Townley, raised her. voice
and.cried out: re 0s
. “Dearest 'Timothy,I “ak In Heaven’s name,

 

sayé me, and my poor master and dear mistress!”

A'shrill laugh fell'from the lips of Alice Burnell
as she heard this appeal § oo) ofa,

“Tell your ‘dearest Timothy’ to keep out of range
of my pistol, or its next. shot shall penetrate his
black heart!” she cried. Then eo eee added:
“There are but six ofithemin all. Open the doors,
sally out, guards, and slay them every one,

“Guards? Doubly fooled!” cried Shelby, as he
heard this order. ie ,

“ois but a ruse. Dash in that door!” eried Snod-
grass, maddened with pain, as well as at her taunt-
ing words. . T0308 BY Y 7i
_ They had neither time norineed to force the door;
it flew open, and four well-armed men sprang,over
the threshold. The three bandits saw phew. and
poured in a volley from their pistols, as Shelby and

 
     
   
    
  

  

this | Airom Alice Burnell’s re-
volver in his body. 2
The servants in thes

had mado a rush for
fhe rear of the inn, and

. with Snodgrass dyin,
ere yet confronted by

elp!” eried one of the
- Y

n € oy Ww :
more than armed odds.” ¥

“To the mountains for
brigands, in his own ton

“No, no!” eried Snodg
Charge, and take the hou

‘The three bandits mad@the attempt. .Two fell
half-way between their cover and the door, the oth-
er fled toward the hills. :

Moray and Shelby were yet behind their tree,
But now the former spoke; he eried out:

“Mr. and Mrs. Burnell, L am sick of this! For
Heaven’s sake. escape while you.can. One of the
brigands has fled toward the mountain, where we
left fully a thousand desperate robbers, Snodgrass,
who led this attack, 1s dying. The other men, with
the exception of the one who has fled, are. dead or
disabled. [and one manonly are left, and we will
raise no hand against you, but aid you to escape, if
eeoape is possible.” eS

“He speaks sense, even if it comes late,”’ cried
Mrs. Burnell. “Double the teams to a single coach,
and make it ready for a aot start. e must
abandon the baggage. My ewels and our money I
have ,, With me. Mary Ann, traitress, where are
you ?’ at
_ She was weeping over Snodgrass, who lay gasp-
ing in the death agony. had heard her elear,
calm orders, but he had no thought. she should es-
cape. Vengance was in his heart,

“Tell your mistress to eome and hear one word
from a dying man!” he gasped.

“Come, come now, dear mistress; speak one word
to him; he is dying,” shrieked the girl, “He has
something to tell you.”

“What is it?’ cried Mrs, Burnell, stepping fear-
lessly toward the spot.

j Lee You shall not liye to triumph over my
a re

And he raised the pistol in his hand, quick as
thought, and fired. But Mary Ann Townley had
seen the movement; she sprang to prevent it and
the bullet meant for her mistress went throush her

“Tam not dead.

  
  
    
 

a

ody.

With a wild shrick she fell dying upon his body,
fas he, with one gasping groan, knew no more of
ife, .

Moray and Shelby, with_no arms in view, now
seemed to realize the fearful position they were all
in, and aided the remaining servants in getting the
horses ready for instant and rapid flight

Addressing Mr. Burnell, Moray said:

“IT shall make no attempt to defend my past—I will
not intrude myself on your company a moment
longer than to try to see youin safety, but I know
the terrible danger behinds; let me and my friend
help you away from it if wecan.”

“He is right. Do your best. Harr
past may be forgiven.” cried Mrs.

Not a second was now lost. Two coaches only
were taken, and no bageage. To these six horses
each were hitched, and Moray and Shelby mounted
two of the best that remained; while one guard and
one coachman mounted two more,

The others. were dead. Mr. and Mrs. Burnell, with
their money, jewels,and asmall trank of clothing
were in the first coaech—in the seeond the valet and
two wounded guards.

Searee ten minutes had elapsed after the death of
Snodgrass before the coaches were turned’ back
over the road by whieh they came, and the horses
put to a swift trot, as fast a gait as could be taken
and kept up. tia

Shelby, Moray, and the othertwo mounted men,
allfully armed, brought upthe rear, guarding those
whom they had vowed to destroy, strangely
edit by the fearfully thrilling events of the last

nour,

The heroism of that one brave woman had in-
stilled into the hear of both'a reverential respect,
which true courage ever inspires in a heart which
has one spark of manhood left within its retesses,
no matter how dark the rast may be.

Neither Shelby nor Moray spoke, though they
frequently rode soelose to the coaches that they
could see the brave little woman, who seemed to
cheer up her husband upon whom fatigue seemed
to tell, but all kept on silently and steadily until
near noon, i %

Then they halted to water the animals in a stream
which they had ford before ascending quite a
long. and rather steep hill.

ere, Moray, with a deferential salute, offered
Mr. Burnell, for the use of himself and lady, a flask
of wine which he had kept for his own use.

“We must still ride far and fast, for Snodgrass
was a sworn foster-brother to the chief of the rob-
ber band. When he knows of his death he will fol-
low you for revenge as well as plunder!” he said.

Mr. Burnell took the flask, drank a little, and
offered some to his wife.. She refused, but dipped a
silver cup in the clear stream, and drank. Then
Mr. B. returned the flask to Moray with thanks.

Drive on—drive on! We are followed!” shouted
Shelby, from a small eminence a little way back,
where he had halted on the lookout,

In a second the coaches were in motion, moving
up the hillata rapid walk. It was so steep the

Morry, and the
urnell.

 

   
 
  

with p
| try ta surprise

oe gained their pursuers, abody of not less than
fty mounted men, were seen riding at a gallop not
more than a mile or even less in their rear.

“Speed on! speed on, and do your best!” shouted
Moray to the coachmen, “We will do all we can to
impede them here; gain all you can.”

And he and Shelby dismounted with the other
two, and drew old logs and rocks into the narrow
road, while the coaches thundered forward, the
poor horses now ata gallop.

The barricade finished quickly, and as well as it
could be done for a sudden job, Shelby and Moray
fired a wun of carbine shots at long range, hop-
ing to check the brigands with a belief that the
fugitives had halted to fight, and then resuming
pins saddles rode furiously down the hill after, the
coaches,

far rejoined them once more on the plain at the
foot of the hill, and saw with many misgivings that
the coach horses began to labor and pant under the
terrible strain. Sy ; :

At the same moment a wild: shout in their rear
told that the brigands had passed the barricade and
were thundering down the mountain, their giant
leader at the front. ; Os 6701

“Alice, once we loved! Now Tean die incon de-
fense!” said Moray, with a pale cheek, set lips, and
a deflant glance. back at the vultures in their rear.

CHAPTER XXXITI.

Neither Alice nor Mr, Burnell reprovyed Moray
for his daring, desperate words. Both had risen
and were looking back upon the bandit horde, who
came shouting on, while the poor coach horses,
lashed to madness, were struggling on, covered
with foam, and staggering with a weakness which
wonld soon check their flight. ie

“Halt, Shelby, halt men! We can’ delay the
wretches. Isee spires ahead; we are near a town.
Drive on Mr. Burnell, drive on!” shouted Moray.

“Halt! Prop They shall not fight. for us all
alone!” cried Mrs. Burnell, and she took two car-
bines from the front of the carriage, pleced one in
the hands of Mr. Burnell, and cocked the other for
her own use,

The word halt had been unnecessary. Two horses
had fallen in their traces, and the coach was stop-
ped, per force.

Pale, but with a blazing, fearless eye, the brave
little woman sprang from the eoach—her revolver
and dagger shining inher belt, for she had thrown
her cloak aside, and Mr. Burnell, armed well,
stepped to her side, while Moray, Shelby, and the
other-men formed in line, ready to fire the verry
moment that their shots would have sure effect, for
they felt they could expect no mercy at the bandit
leader’s hands.

Nearer, stillnearer every second, galloped the
yelling fiends, now sure of their victims.

“Ready,” cried Moray, who seemed to take the
lead in brave readiness for defense. “A minute
more and we can begin to tumble themover. Shel-
by, you are the best shot, aim for the giant chief.
If he is killed it may check the rest.”

“What does that mean? They halt! They turn!”
cried Shelby.

A wild burst of bugles rose on the air at thatin-
stant, and Moray glanced toward the distant spires
he had seen. ¥

His heart bounded wildly, for he saw a full regi-
ment of uniformed cavalry coming over the plain
at headlong speed. .

“The brigands had seen the troops even before
the helpless fugitives, and knew their own safety
demanded a sudden retreat

“Saved! Thank Heaven, saved.”

This was all the “little woman” said, as she sunk
back fainting in: the carriage, her strength and
courage gone, only when they were no longer
needed. 62.0 Guu. f

The banditti retired as switly as they came, and
the commanler of the troops only halting to say, he’
had heard of an American prince passing through
the country, which he knew to be dangerous, had
sallied out to aid him if necessary, left an escort
with the coaches, and dashed forward to pursue
}the banditti, and te recover the baggage of the

party tarnishing Moray and Shelby iresh horses
that they might act as his guides to the spot.

Mr, Burnell, as Boon as he could proceeded with his
two coaches to the village, a half league away, and
there, in a neat little inn, had his wife put to.bed,
for she was really very ill now that the excitement
was over.

Four hours later the troops came back with all the
baggage safe; for the brigands-had not time ,to pil-
lage it. They had pursued Don Ricardo to the foot
of the mountain, on which his band was posted, but
Moray told the officers in command that he knew
he had a force double the number of thetroops, well
posted, and the latter decided not to beard the
a ee
> | roops n voucked in the village |

ware, with r veutiest tha: rigends might’

2 weer ht. In the ,
the officer in charge offered Mr. Burne}! an ‘eseor
all the way to Rome, by an easier and safer route,
-and the millionaire gladly accepted it. He sent for
ray and eae, to thank them for their services, |

 

   

C6 as

as they did, on the right side, but
to befound. They had
oray left & note, cou

 
 

ae ts Pe he
the night.
words: ‘
“Mrs. and Mr. Burnell, before this note is in your
hands, my friend and myself will have started, bona
Jideligon our return to America. Led on by Snod-
grass, who was our spy, While he was your secre-
tary,;we were induced to enter upon a mad scheme of
revenge, Which he assured us should not end in
anything more than a fright, and_ashort eaptivity
of your persons and servants. We saw our folly
almost too late to repair any of it, bat we tried our
best to help you when help was needed mcst.
Should my conduct in America ever merit your re-
spect and recognition after your return to the
nited States, you will find, I hope 9nd believe, an
altered and better man, in yours respectfully,
H. Moray.”

“There was some good in poor Harry, after all,”

murmured Alice Burnell, when her husband

finished reading the letter. ““He stood up bravely

when it seemed that nothing but death was before
“Yes, he acted well,” said her husband,

 
  

ne away in
ed in these

2 + + - 5 —

 

/band into Germanys, Bho went to Baden Baden—
saw princesses ga away their yewels and
men their last thaler. But her husband never gam-
bled—except in stocks and in them he'played a
sure and knowing. hand. pad sailed dawn the
Rhine. She counted castles by the hundred—not in
the air, but perched on moun peaks. .,

She did not like Germany. There were clouds of
tobacco smoke all around, oceans of beer, and the
air was redolent of krout and sausage! . ‘Phe men
were ponderous and slow—the women fat and
azy che

“Oh let_ me once get back to my own dear native
state!” she cried, ‘I will never ask to trave again!

I will ask you to take but one more trip!” said
Mr. Burnell. “And that youcan take from ocean
to ocean inahotel palace-car and feel, except in
the motion, as ifyou had never left your own house
all the time!” ii
. "You mean atrip to California?”

*Yes—to the paradise, of the world, AJ
gan the delicious climate of, Ii
the grand mountain scenery of 8

itful, delicious, and peopled by men’
with hearts as warm as their summer: san‘ and as
noble as their stately Sierras. You visit California
aya zou have seen heaven on earth!) 9
» {We will gol” said Alice Burnell,

Yes—dearest and if our new house is not all
ready for ourreception we wilk go before We settle
down. For once down, with home:comforts and
luxuries all your own, and all too, my precious lit-
tle woman can ask for, I fear yoa will, not want to
change, even to pres The ee

“How ungratefal would I be not to pleaSé you in
your ore, desire !” + AGIOS BE B'Ls<

* Blessed little woman!” | Lodiinay oud 10'S

A week to aday from the day -of thatconversa-
tion, they were on board the cunard steamer Asia,
homeward bound. No sea-sickness how for the
“little woman,” she had become inured to travel,
she almost “knew ‘the ropes” which she saw the
sailors handle, and. she could face a nor’ west gale
with the best of them, ah

_ CHAPTER X¥XV,

And now comes a chango in our story—such a
change as only a lapse of years upon years can
bring in all its characters, for we follow truth, nat
fancy, though we may color web and woof, where
we think that color will make if more attractive...

The-“little woman” has seen. ornia—she has
wondered before the .Geysers, been wet with the
gauze-like spray of ie Vernal Fall, wandered over
the grassy glades of thé cold and crystal Mer
beneath the mighty walls of the vast iaperniior anh ’
in the shades of Colevereiy Too watched the sea
lions at play on Point Rock, She has killed buffalo
on the plains, seen the wild Pawnee chase the red-
handed. Sioux from Me chamilia
Platte, and finally sick of all travel has settled down
in her palace-like home oe # taid matron. For the
little woman has borne dren. and now she is at
the head of a grand household with eign? SGt ante
at her bode a very queen in the society which liter-
ally look§ to her asa head. Carriages and horses
fill the vast stables, her house is a model of beauty.

 
 
  
 

 

eannot be found far or near. i

ow on her brow when she is alone—lines of care or.
vexation, it is hard to tell which, begin to mark her

days has :lostits luster,and comes only as sun-
light comes in flecks through wintry clouds on a
frozen scene, | cdi nO
Mr. Burnell, wrapped in vast Ananciy enter-
prises, is often away, though he loves. the liftle
womanallthe more forthe long life of. jo they
have led together and the children she lias
him, yet he does not seem to her as'demo
as when she gave him her youth and bea
ing coldly on her first love to make hi
Has that first love—Harry Hotspur
forgotten? He surely has been for,
husband and wife for years back, for he has been
frequent visitor at theit home in town and count .
He has grown older and more. sedate—more hand-
some, because more manly and less dissipated, and.
Be mas married Alice Burnell’s nearest, dearest
riend, "aged eee.
Would the, reader liketosee him again? His
friend, Shelby, is dead. Ho went to Calitoynia, be-
came very rich, married a widow, and dia . She is
nota Shelby, now, Her riches won a younger hus-
band andaless honored name. She mar a—
ut J forgot—you want to see Harry Moray again.
It is ten in the ao Mr. B Ee nS been
gone these two hours back to business. He break-
ie lone—no, with his daughter, at seven, and
at eig :

   
 

Dp
»)

    

took the train

fasted alone at n vy atten, inae¢ er
|robe, she. sits by her frone window looking out at
the street, witha paper in her hand, which she
does not seem to care to . altho it contains ~
the latest news, and hasafashion column, =

Amanin the prime of life, tall, bearded, fashion- —
ably- ed, saunters up the street onthe oppo-
‘site side, but visible from the window where she
sits. Heis looking wistfully that way. She raises
her paper, not even yet to read it, but it is waved
quickly before the window, and _ her hand, every
finger closed but one, is placed against the window-
pane.

Is that asignal? Does the one finger: mean that
she isalone? At any rate hecrosses overthe street,
he enters the unlocked door without ringing the
bell, doubtless thinking it needless to trouble aser- —
vant to admit him. He even enters'the room with- |
out knocking. ,'

She smiles—it looks like the old sunny smile of
years agone, and rises. Tit 0%

“Oh, uarry, lamsogilad you have come. Iam
terribly lonesome this morning, B. came home |
cross and peevisn last night,and I went to bed with
a heartache and got up with a headache.”

And she grasps his hands warmly. He raises _
hers to his lips and kisses them.

“Oh, Harry, you should not!”

But the rebukeis very faint. 8G gat

“Poor Alice! how I pity you,’ hesays,in alow,
gentle voice,as he seats himself on asofa, back

 

“But to
think what a wretch that Snodgrass was.”
“You do not know half his wickedness, my hus-
band,” said Alice, ‘I concealed it to saye you heart
pain.”

And she related the scene that occurred in Paris
on the day he left the service of Mr. Burnell, and
how she had indignantly and successfully repulsed
his infamous advances,

“Brave little woman. . Every day brings out more

newand noble traits in your character. But the

villain is dead. Hehad even drawn your maid into

his toils and made her a spy in his employ. Butshe

has perished, and by the hand of her recreant lover,

ae he aimed to destroy you, my treasure, my
ife

“The hand of God was in it all,” said Alice. ‘‘But,
dear husband, let us go on as s00n as wecan. AS
soon as we have visited Rome I want to go back, for
coy sick of travel. I want the quiet of our own
1ome,” :

‘Dear little woman, you speak my own thoughts,
my own.desires. We will not linger long in the old
world, I want to purchase some fine paletings and
statuary, and some yases, and tables of mosaic
work for our new home, and then I will beas ready
as you to return.”

“Thanks, dear husband. I feel weak, but I am |
am able. to travel, Set out for Rome as soon as you
can replace our dead servants. Never mind trying
to get . maid for me, I will do without one for the
present.”

©

CHAPTER XXXIV. —

The journey to Rome under escort, was not mar-
red with any unpleasent episodes. r. Burnell on
arriving paid his escort all their leader would
accept, asmall gratuity for wine for his. men, and
after being settled at his hotel, he sold off all his
eee but one, and kept but a single team of

orses.

He had traveled en prince, until he was satisfied.

was his princess, his “‘precious little woman.”

For three weeks Alice Burnell and her husband
quietly saw the sights which Rome and the Romans
had to offer. Many really fine paintings were pur-
chased, for Mr. Burnell, knew. several American
artists there who aided him and Mrs. Burnell with
their judgment, and prevented extortion. Some
fine vases, mosaics, statues and statuettes were
purchased and all were carefully boxed and ship-
ped home.

And during all these weeks Alice had no adven-
tures: Life was getting tame, after all she had gone
through within the few months of her marriage,
She wer almost to long for some new excite-
ment. ;

At last, she said wearily:

‘Dear husband, let. us turn our faces homeward.
Tam sick of Rome. I have seen more beggars here
in a day, than Lever saw before in all my life. More
eripples and horrible creatures, and_fewer. real
beauties, even if this is sunny Italy... There seems
tome ao reallife here. Evenartis bsrasy. Weare
to go through Switzerland and Germany. I can, at
least, find something new there,”

“My dear littke woman, you shall be gratified,”
hesaid. “Tamalsosick of these lazzaroni.. Sick of
maearoni and vermicelli. Wewill go to-morrow,
and go by public conyeyance, Ishall not travel en
prince again. Itnearly cost us our lives before.”

And on the morrow they departed. They went
by. rail. They passed through the Mount. Cenis
tunnel, they emerged. amid Alpine glories_which
almost enchanted Alice Burnell... She loved Nature
when seen in her grandest: moods. The moun-
tains, the glaciers, the torrents of Switzerland de-
lighted her. Even the coarse but ruddy peasants
received her praise. . There were no beggars there.

Switzerland with her walled in lakes, was a delight
for three long happy weeks. She drank ‘goats’
milk, ate brown bread and strong cheese and did
not grumble.

 

horses could go no faster. Before the hill-top was ; with rosy cheeks, she went on with her loving hus-

But the end of all this came and strong of frame,

from the window, and she draws her chair close to
him, also away from the window.

“Chained to an iceberg, your fate could not be
more wintry,” he continued.. “I cannot forget
when we were young and so happy in each other’s
love, nor the hour when this rude barrier was
raised between us by your mercenary parents and >
this man whom Iso hate that Leould murder him,
were it not for the penalty.” ; it

‘Harry, you ought not to talk So. He is my hus-
band, the father of my childrem” «© 0.

“Bah! he is the father of more children than .
yours. He pretends that he is engrossed in busi-
néss, butif you could see what J have seen, you
would not wonder at his neglect, his peevishness

to you.

“Harry, what have you seen ?”
“Alice, I do not like, to. say.
enough without my udding to it. uld not have
spoken. In my deep regard for your welfare, I did
80 without thinking.” ) ; z ’
‘But, Harry, I know you mean someting serious
—something that I owg/it to know.” (

“Perhaps you ought; but itis better not. In this
case, ignorance will be bliss, for knowledge would
bring trouble, ifnot misery,” sung 1"

“Harry Moray, i demand that youtell me. Ifyou
ever did love me se tell me.’

“If Lever loved? .Oh, Alice, you know I. fairly
worshiped you, and that love has never died out
{RET Ss you must. not say. so—we are both mar-
ried.” ois

“AS i I did not realize the melancholy fact!” he

sighed.

“But you have evaded the question Iasked. What
have you seen. in my husband’s. conduct that I
ought to know ?”’. :

_.Thave seen that which you ought not to knéw,
if you would not be unhappy.” .

“Heavens! Where is my happiness? TI live al-
most like a hermit. He neyer takes me anywhere
now. I can drive over these dusty country roads if
{ tpeh like it, but I drive alone, or with the chil-

ren.” panaee

“He is fond of driving, Isaw him out in Jersey
City the other day, holding the reins over a thou-
sand-dollar pair of bays, spinning off toward Pat-
erson at a three-minute gait.” een i

*“Was he alone ?” f

“Not without I saw double, [thought Isaw a at
pretty girl, with blonde ringlets, by his side.
think I haye seen thesame beauty on thestage in
the Black Crook.” apy aC

“Harry Moray, do you really say you saw this?”

“Yes, Alice. Since then I happened in at Del-
monico’s to take coffee, and I saw the same-happy
couple enjoying their champagne.”

“DPilbe revenged. Harry, Pil ‘tnd very prope

ou see trouble
1oto

**Allthat would be very well and very proper, if
you could feather a new nest as well asthe old one
is provided. If you could arm yourself with some
of his millions, or even get a decree, with a munifi-
cent sum foralimony, A divorce without yoa made
money by it, Would perhaps suit him better than
you. He is evidently tired-of you.”

“Oh, Harry, I could tear his eyes out!” .

“Teould rend his heart out, were if not for the

penalty. . But Alice, dearest, [have put you on your
guard. Say nothing, but watch for yourself. ° Twill

find out, if Ican, when he has an appointment on
hand, and let you know. Then you ean confront
him in his perfidy.” sh

‘ a aPs do, do, dear Harry, and I will bless you
Orit

“Did you say dear. Harry ?” A

“Yes, yes. and I meant it, and Idon’t care who
knows it.. I love you, and I always did.” }

“Alice, darling Alice!’

His arm was around her waist, their-lips were ~
very close: but a step was heard in the entry, and
they were ten feet apart when an old woman en-
tered the room. ih

“Oh, aunty, is it you?” eried Mrs. Burnell, com-

 

posedly. “Have you any errand to the city ? Harry

 

 

_grounds on the

and grandeur; its equal in furnish and adornment

With her beautiful children growing up, she >
should be happy—very happy. Yet there isa'shad-

face—the sweet, ever-ready smile of her. younger |

stfatle

.. oDY. enh li
iven by Both 3

Mrs Buenell dia hoe Tiss Vil eights: dhs Pregl. <
SE DR EMO OAN BO nt toe 1a eee

 

ene ee

 

ers

 

nd >

 

 

acer

CS aE nT

,
t
'
}
'

 

 
 

 

 

 

6 ROMAP AE, Ss

 

 

4

ie *

x

ih

he

ae nee
4.

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

  
 

 

nell since his

'

-) on himand her. She jilted me for him—she shall

* oe

 

 

 

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

———

is going down in the noon train, and called to seeif
we bas any message to send.”

eary,” said the old lady. “I was kind 0”
chile up in my oe, and [thought I a come
down here. wher en could face the sunshine.’ ..

So Harry coul = aa er Soy his tete-a-tete,
and he rose ee as ‘Nat e had plan ed-the bitter root
of jea sy under
a new p plan of ane hoster: ate and revenge, and
1e Meant fo carr
*T have got the: we started,” he muttered, ag he
» walked oe from: the house. “Now I must find

some bold, dashing, brazen | girl to thrust ‘herself

 
    
   
 
   
 
 
  
   
 

a sae i np the ecars—to ask his protection

1 nsult on the street—to call on him on
D' rip: ieee at his office—so work matters as to
ave itseen and noticed by others,so thatit reaches

s. Bs ears. It will drive her to frenzy,and she
will kill him, or—well, Iwill — andsee what she
‘does. My revenge shall vet: be full and complete

 
  

come back to me on h
from him, I will jiléher

(CHAPTER TER XXXVI

ve dealt very kindly with Mr. Bur-
ae ppoan bet bridal trip; but age, and
usiness cares, and rhaps a shadow at home,
amade new wrink és on his face, and his hair,
len scarce more ae an iron gray, is now as white
s driven s1 wd wie is fone 7 still straight, and’
step quic strong, while his piercing eye
busine, as. ea as it ever did.
Vem

a hee knees, and then—divoreed

 

hé*yoars”

6 office of General Stacy, his
ntimate friend, one whom

fs on his law business, but to
ae rivate’ Pe dal The time—
"peal en and restored-to-favor
interview de described in our

. rs. Burne

rane ve » said Mr. Burneli to his friend and
legal adviser, “I feel as if some dreadful calamity
“was Hoar ae ‘Iam very unhappy. My

 

 

little gely. She has Bren
Oald, a -limogt gontomn nous for weeks; b
» Teoul have borne i, hoping ra change, ‘But! t
. night when I went 18,” eeeiat cL assigning any
reason, oh said ‘eoneeke we must live apa

~ joek

i teal ie tha it to keep out of court
forme? impressed with his honor i in. the trans-

oth, he has. ‘faults, .donbtless, but still I think

 

 

_ cannot see,” said tea
- estimation?’’’

oe under tet ane I ita so shocked I
e she. withdrew .from

ie d Rob spears er, and thatis the last
I tS seen of her, for she never rises until I

have left home to come office.
_upve you done ene to offend or estrange

othing that I know of, neral.. I am temper-
‘ne hing that Tk you ane I never use hasty or
Taccoune oun poee ok her everything a wo-
ror desire; she has access tomy
all times. at hor and. gets all the money
~~ Be 3 nO ‘or personal.want .is left
i + lied. Mane in: Mievoded ht yt to on. myself
ce on < Vv
oe eal I eT all il is which we

ere is some
tedawyer, “Have you not

whois striying to injure you in her

S Hea ig “

some eénem

“None that 1 know of, |
the recipients of my i
of an enemy who
onee a ly
Lthink I pave completely disarmed * his enmity by
kindness. I ae Poeenerar daily, and he always
_ seems Overjoye
hp oh with a Kiss, P 7 ‘dryly remarked the
“Who is this man?”
area Hots pur Moray. You must know him,”
a case against him eaes alms ago. He
but LT was not

bounty, I
any cause to injure me. a

udas b
law yer.

Harry means to do rig
‘“Does he visit at your house often?” hs
“Yes. His wifeand mine are bosom friends.”) ,
“And does his wife seem friendly to-you?” |
“Well, as friendly as most visitors: But I do: not
see her often. L am away. mostly in the day-time,
yoy ke know, and her visits © are. mostly made in my
sen
“Then cnt weal: these two. friends, if friends
they are. Some one is poisoning the. mind of your
wife against you, or = could not act as she does
when you are SO g00: her. Dhave seen with my

own eyes how well she is supplied with all cues
ere
nes

heart Gan’ desire. There is askeleton some
wee we must unearth, even if we make dry
rattle!

“With your aid, general. it may be done. T feel
as I said, as if some terrible calamity hung over
I shall make a new will—I will draw upa
memorandum and you can draw the testament le-

me,

 
 
 
    
 
 
 
  
  

gally from it.”

ee All right, Mr. Burnell.
dum and the document shall be drawn. Itis well
for ne of your age, especially, to be fully cognizant
“tat such ;? vast property as yours shal go. ?
“Tk ae oe oe

proach,

derness eee she used to.

That too I will do.
as well as ever I did, and it
be estran from her. I dislike to pu

el. heartless: work, whoever

ot De t good-day, I must go to my offic
Ne Good any. Mr. Burnell.
id ee with ‘all my heart.”
As Mr

  
 
 
  

  

|

  

Pes Moray.

sone rr tide and hearty, so lively and happ
I; Harry? Well, my looks belie my festingcs:
I am anything ee happy. I may tell you why,
sometime; I can’t to-day. Ihave an important pa-
per to draw up, and I must hasten to do it.”

“An important paper,’ muttered the other; “Pll
stake my life he is going to make a new will,

new one

[have made up my mind to that.
4 L {TO BE CONTINUED. }
- at

tras of Interest.
Mae A des esperate fight with, a wolf oceurred

lateiyat Vergt, France. The animal had» tre ‘a @ young girl,
and hearing her cries, an old soldier named Moreau, who with
his daughter was sneaged in cu thing ‘wood near by, suspended
his work to see wi was the matter.

thicket, he found himselftace to tace with the wolt, which iimme-
diately sprang at his throat.
the anual around the body) and they both fell together, rollin
over each other. After a protracted struggle, Moreau mana,

to get the beast beneath Bi and hold it firmly, by the throat.

 

 

He then shouted to his toes er, who tame and. dispatched the

oman blows from a pit Moreau was ‘much exhausted
by t t, at arte: escaped with only a wound on the
eth ab was found to measire nearly five feet

 

trom the) Tose to tiie end ot the tail.
nar AL discovery has just been madéin the en-

virons of Pont Anthou, France, of ayoung woman whom her
veparents’ have ys f santacs ine a: cavern for 1G 9 years, They fed’
rer on the r vegeta Wier and bread, The unfortun-
e tirathie ae ost al resemblance to the human being.
ne nails of the: toes had
h, and eurying

   
 

, liad penetrated into the flesb

 

thorough]

aa A child was mis ened from instant death the

by a fireman ont!

Burlington, and’ Quince
vpie, was walking a) thet Remeis

ic
ong the track, apparently | uncon-

sh her by Her ot eaa as and a nto, pe ee ci PG , Fie
10 Was es o her reseue 80 he slightly lost
tha Waleed abd was acrobé leigh tain approaching
in ef tes peite direction.© The arm was en, and amputa-

tion of the hand was rendered necessary, ‘be name of the gal-
lant fireman is Edward R. Hurst. * '

aa To avoid tampering with, letters, a safety
envelope has been invented. On the flap ofthe eny elope thiewvor Ris
“Attempt to open” are printed, witha doubleset of chemicals,
the ‘iret it ines a Gonteining nut-galls and the second..green
Yitriol. be steamed or: Ago istened inany way the
magic Se i appear, to betray the attempt to open.

a@- Though the pages of: history. embalm the

memory of Richard Caswell, the first Goyernor of North Caro-

<— lina, as an incorruptible patriot, wise statesman, and intrepid

soldier, yet his grave,near Kinston, is unmarked by a single
‘stone or tablet, aadhis posterity is lett to find shelter in Monbiis

charity,
& Two centenarians ‘have died recently in.
is State; one, Mrs. Mary’ Dunham
| 105 years, and the other, Mr. Abner Huntley, at Cuba, Allegany
Conntty, aged 109 years. ‘The last name
his death, was strong, physically, and. ver, y bright, mentally.
iding.,

  

~~His chiefdelight was horseback ridi

far itis now suggested to establish watering-’
It being understobd: that in many

p! aces for vessels at sea,
laces sptings of fresh water arise from th
it is proposed to utilize. them by IneAnn oe,
the surface by suitable buoys,

aa Lo

OF esate of tlie ocean,

over four feet in length, and ‘still growing. Its great length
has been attaihed within seven years, it previously haying been
kept trimmed to about twenty inclies.

Mrs. Margaret Sargent Evans died recently
concord, N. H., i nearly ho hundred and two years. Slice
i believed to have been the oldest. person inthe State.| She
maintained an extraordinary vitality up to the time of her
death, taking @ great interest in’ current events.
st - ges Watchman, on going his round, found the bod
a well-dressed lady in one ofthe private boxes, She had been

feabbed, oun whethe| her death was due to suicide or murder is

Not sta

Gy ThE wi

t@- A brother and ister in Ulster County, N.

+» Were lately reunited’ after a separation of 33 years, They

had lived not many tiles Spar, but had believed each other

children. ‘were recently born at one

aa Four
birth id eater California,
i36 to bs ng and health iy. All survive, save one, and prom-

om his first step in|

 

‘Her relatives haye all been
doinot know}

enemy—a former suitor of hers—but

 

 

Hand in your memoran-

-pwould

uy.”?

me, ampeonthi your

; her, without re-
your constant love and. faithfulness;

speak of your children, and try, towin back theten-

oF ove the little. woman
the heart to |" "yj

Call fin; and I will

Burnell passed from the office of his friend
and lawyer he was met, it seemed accidentally, by

r. Burnell. how glad I am to sea you. You

must post Alice on that.: [know the contents of his
lastone. It left her the bulk of his property. The

be got hold of and destroyed, if it is
changed hat respect. For he will not live long!

; ‘BE PROMPT.

BY GATH WoPRITTEY.

Old Mother Schmidt! What wealth of wit
Her daily speech displayed;

What radiant gems of wisdom shone

In the homely words she said!.

What though her garb was quaint and queer,
And her broken English, too!

A wiser housewife ne’er was seen,
And never a friend more true.

Her cheeks were marked with wrinkles deep,
The work of age and care;
But her heart was sound, for time and grief
_ Gould plow no furrows there,
One morning when the sun was high,
And all had broken fast,
Icame to share the dainty meal,
I, laziest and last.
But Mother Schmidt, with laughing eye,
And half repelling hand,
Said, “Who come not to right a-time
Shall eat vot overshtand.””
. There's solid wisdom, Mother Nurse,
In thy simple, homely phrase;
Experience proves it, as I’ve learned,
Throughout my length of days.
“Who come not to right a-time,
When work is to be done, _ d.
When duty, calls, or when the prize
For skill is to be won,

  

eaeye

Wil fail‘to gain the rich reward ©)”
That waits the ready hand; = ~*~

He must depart as when he cami6,
Or “eat yot overshtand.”

"The feast is for the early caoen
The tardy one must wait;
And oft ’tis better ne’er to come,
Mayhap, than come too late.

For all the good things of this life
\Are ever in demand;

And the last to come wil! often find
There’s naught ‘‘yot overshtand.”’ ~

BOLD BERTIE

WILD BOY OF THE WOODS.

BY EDWIN NW HARGOURT,
‘Anthor of THE TROUBLESOME TWINS, ete.

{Bold Bertie” was commenced in No, 23. Back Nos. can be
be obtained from any News Agent.]

CHAPTER XIV.
STILL MISSING.

The morning came, and-Captain Grit did not re-
turn. Then other messengers were sent out, and
anon brought him back, pale, weary and dejected.

sing brought back is net coming back, is it, my
lady??? che said, eagerly; }
wanted me par ticularly.” »
“There has been life enough sacrificed already,”
replied Lady Forrester, who spoke with the inten-
sity of onewhose language came from an aggrieved
heart, “you have beén out in the woods aM night?’’

“All night, Lady Forrester; and I ‘have been
shouting here and there without an answer.”

“You are agoodand braye man, and [thank you
from my heart. You are almost dead with cold and
eee Come in, and have something to eat and

ri

 
 

hey told me that you

te ad a3,

yi

“TE you would, really serve me, you must ips ru-
tional. Come in.”

The demands of nature aided her ladyship, and
Captain Grit went into the housekeeper’s room,
where he found a substantial breakfast prepared.
As soon as he was gone, Lady Forrester said to
one os the seryants: «

repare Master Howard’s room.”
“Shall [ light the fire, my lady?”
“No,” she answered, “he, poor boy, will ah no
as when he is brought back.”
he had no hope—her boy must be dead, or how
i it that he had not returned.
Traveling ot slow work in those days, ‘and the
a had yet to be invent
2B

    
 
     
   
  
 
   

 
   

 

  
 
  
  
  
   

aid at once. |
“This body was limited, and the men were gener-
ally called. “Bow Street Runners,” as we beve bint:
ed before, or in breasts’ E mee nam ved
from the red waisteoats they. wore;
from iat direction could not haat under a wee
rrester resolved not to send for it
trust to those about. me,” she sai
ro rust | eal: sgsc ks ili

\so ht bs yx their zeal to
ice, and, as. is often the case, their zeal got the better
of their discretion.

I. should require volumes for a just and true de-
scription of what the chuckle-headed sinners did
in their search after the missing Howard Forrester,
and the supposed murderer of Sir Hugh.

his person they one and.all settle mn was the wild
boy, for Tubbs came forward and declared that he
had witnessed the deed, and each man, armed with
a gun, vowed to shoot ‘him without mercy if ever
they met,

This reaolne led to disastrous results in the case
of one of Sir, Hugh’s keepers, who was in the habit
of Rataine Otbda onally in.a pond near his house.
Emerging one morning from his -batb, he was
espied by Roger Cracks and old Broom, who were
about eighty yards away.

These worthies were /both armed, and beholding
a nude form they at once concluded that it was the
wild boy, and taking deadly aim, eee fired,

The keeper shrieked and fell, and his loving wife
rushed forth to behoid her spouse peppered hand-
somely, and groveling in the mud in awful ago-

 

 

 

Emerging from the

He had no weapon, 80 herclasped

grown to'an fea eS

completely Tost te {uoulty of speech, and only utteredgroans |
eries nrost horrible tohear. Great precautions had to be
nin are Ide her from ved den ‘into the light... The case is

approaching train, : when he discovered her. He

ing, an

at Glenville, at the age of

d, up to within a week of

exible tubes held at

ng beards are common ‘out West, but a
Tesident of Silver City, Nevada, hasavéry remarkable one. It

wa@~ In Paris) lately, at the close of a ball at an

nies

“Knock 7im on the head,’?-cried Roger Cracks,

rushing forward in a frenzy, ‘“takeastone, misses.”

“Oh! you brute, you have murdered my hus-
band,” returned the wife, and Roger Cracks fell in-
to the arms of old Broom, who in his turn gave way,
and the pair rolled. upon the ground.

The keeper, who was only damaged, and not fa;
tally injured, rushed “all unaccoutered as he was.’
upon the conscience-stricken men, and selecting
‘Roger Cracks to operate. upon, speedil y_ knocked
his jajy.out of shape, and his wife, with her nails,
ruled old Broom’s face like a musie book.

This done, the injured man and his wife retired
and sent for the doetor—he also sent for a lawyer.
who, a little later on, got very handsome damages
out of the two farmers.

But to, return. '

The excitement was great—every man, woman,
and child for miles around was in a state of intense
excitement. The wildest stories were afloat, and
Lady Forrester was reported to be murdered twen-
ty times a day.

‘Some said that there was a band of. wild men,
each of whom had solemnly sworn to murder every
creature, around, and when all were gone to take
possession. of the ground; others. epaaaten tly
affirmed that distant parts of the land were already
green alee: and wild men, or wild beasts, masters
over a

In fact tlieto Was" nothing too wild, nothing too
wonderful for the gossip, and save in broad day-
light when some had the courage to wander about,
the reign of terror was supreme,

The beadles of the different. parishes were per-
haps the greatest sufferers of all, for they were sent
hither and thither in search of the terrible foe, and
upbraided for not catching that which they never
sayy.

bags Howard's BHiag was found quietly graz-

a pistol ho w: oy n to have had in his
DaSseRSIGE was pickec n the forest—but that
was a

Poor old Captain Grit went about like.a demented
man—noy with this searching party and anon with
that, working like ten people and feeling the grief
of twenty.

A week. passed thus, and the ‘day came for the
burial of Sir Hugh Forrester; An inquest had been
held, andthe doctor gaye evidence to the effect that
his head had been beaten in. -

“By some, man?” asked fhe Goroner,

“Whoever it was m ust have possessed the strength
ofa dozen men,” replied the doctor,

“Oan you point to any likely person?”

“Nobody that I know personally.”

“But you have heard of the wild boy?” — -

“Heating is not evidences,” replied’ the doetor,
calmly, and the coroner collapsed,

The jury, however, on Tubbs’ evidence, brought
in a verdict. of “twillful murder by some person or
persons unknown,” inside the eourt,and one and
all, when outside, declared that the wild boy did it,

Two days afterward Sir‘ Hugh Forrester was
buried, and every tenant followed him to his grave.

But such was the terror. aroused by, Jate events
a every man went armed and pr epared to meet a

Ppa the hall to the church they saw nothing, but
just as the coffin was about to be lowered into the
yault, shrieks. were heard outside, and the yeomen,
forgetting all decency, rushed out.

Thereupon the wall sat the wild boy, tossing his
arms and beckoning toagroup of frightened women
and children huddled against the porch.

 

 

 

A dozen sims were aimed at- him’ and the fire
belched forth
Bold Bertie fell from the wall, and those who had

or Lady Forrester
ve summoned the ‘Londots police to her |’

  
 

 
 
    

ary pe te

 

gees rushed lordami to secure im, hut they. were
omed to disappointment, —

He had ‘run along close ander the wall tothe other
end, and was speeding across the meadow toward
the W god. apparently unhurt.

“Tt’s not a human being,” said oneof the yeomen,
“it’s a devil.”

In this opinion they all,.coincided, and: returned
to the church to attend the rest of the funeral cere-
mony. °

That night,as Lady Forrester was undressing,
her maid; turning to the Window, beheld, a face
pressed closely against the panes—she shrieked out
angie fainted.

ady Forrester, pale but determined, went to the
mantel- -piece and. took down a gun, and alter exam-
ining the priming, took aim
ii The face disappeared and ‘her Jadyship put back
ne gun.

“Wild or mad, or both,” she. said,
when his life is in danger. Can the stories of these
sountry people be true, and are we, one and all,
doomed to die?”

She rang the bell and bade those who came attend
to. her maid.

“She is heryous,” said her ladyship, ‘‘and fancied
she saw a face atthe window. Are the dog | oose?”

“Yes, my lady.”
“If anybody had been there they would have
barked—Carlo never fails.”

The maid was helped toa ehair.and restored, and
the servants went out. A few minutes afterward « nee
of the men hastily returned to tell his mistress that
Masi had been found stretched upon the.terrace.

e ‘

“he know Ss

pass my lady, but only stunned by some | violent
ow

“Even the flonge blood-hounds éannot save us,”
muttered Lady Forrester. “Heneeforth I suppose
we must give up sleep lest it it shoul d end in death.”

‘CHAPTER ae
(IN THE CAVE, .°

The writer of the epreacnt story scorns to take ref-
uge in the arts practiced by Benes ofthe day,
EnGy is, of making a my
ought to be, and he will, th
to declare what had become of Howard Forrester.

In the cave of the wild boy we him lying upon
@ eouch of fern, and by his side sits Bold Bertie, care-.
fully tending him, fearing to either move or breath,
too loudly lest he should awaken him.

The cave is muchas it was when last we saw it;
‘there are the skins, the curiously carved clubs, the
rough pipkin, the fire, and the: spring murmuring
as it falls in the far corner—all the same, and the
only change visible is a rough attempt to create
more order and comfort.

oward Forrester lies sleeping peaeefully. His
face is pale and there is a scar upon his forehead
just healing, from which the wild boy raises a band-
age of cooling leaves, with so light a touch that a fly
would seareely have been distur

He looks at the wound anxious! y and replaces
the bandage, murmuring:

“Bet—ter—he—much— —bet—ter”

He speaks slowly and with amenity, as if the ut-
teranee of words was a new thing to him. Repeat-
ing the words, he smiles like one gratified by the

  
  

ere no myste:
. proceed at once

 

   
    
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
    
  
  
   
  
 
  

performance

With wondrous Mi htness and care he attends to
the fire, gatherin e ashes together and putting
in fres Hood wit oer making the slightest sound;

but as he resumes his seat Howard Forrester wakes

“Raratto, Bertie!” he said. ; ;

“Bet-ter,” returns the other, with a delighted

00 =

“Getting on famously,” repli¢

hungry as ten people—” ae
‘‘Hungry—eat,” said Bold Bertic. :

“You begin to talk like a book,” said Howard,
aughing, “when a fellow i is hungry, the next thing
is to eat—that is if thee is any rub han J;
“Grub?” repeated Bertie, pe ing puzzled
“Grub—slang for food,” ex ined Howard.”

“Oh! grub—slack fo peo
“Yes, that’s near enc present—what have
Teed pretty enter 7 s
< ‘Pheasant—good!” said Howard, smacking his
lips,” bring it out.” 4
ertie brought Hoy yard.
which had been ite

 

Howard, “and as

   
       
 
 
 

    
 
   
    
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
   
 
 
   
  

6 earthen pipkin
se to the fireand put
ate heartily, Bold

as”, said Howard,

it before his gu
Bertie looking on
“You cook like a professi
when he had eaten his fill, ““w
Bold Bertie shook his head:
“Well—it doesn’t matter,”
down again, ‘and by the wa
hot again; give me a few fresh.
Bertie fetched some from
a heap was lying, and firs
cool water laid them upon
linens fetched me a n
ppraitin $
et Roraive! 1” said Bertie,
“Forgive ey what ha
Howard, I not_try
bla euard is
ell,” said Bertie, p
as a plucky th}

   
    

  

is getting

ves, old: fellow.”
van spring where
them into the

Aid .Howard,
1

  
  
 
 
  
  
 

  

 

    
  
   

    
  
 
 
    
 

ee the big
1d?

ly, “laugh with

him

aaah a at it, Bertie; ¥ i
“Laugh at, it, ” Te ee e
“That's it,” said.

like smoke. So oes ;
that night ?”

“Yes,” said Bertie,

“And after being o
not kill him—are you 81

“No
“All right—after stunning him you tried to get an
interview with my mother who took down a gun
and would have shot your head off if you had not
bolted—well, it was plucky of her,”

“Not pleasant,’ said Bertie. |

“No—not for you, old fellow—but you see they do
not understand you. Wait until lamstrong enough
to go back and see if I do not make everything
right for you.”

“Live with you,’

“Yes, of course,
Bertie uttered a wild ory of joy.

“But before you go,” said Howard, “I must get
ou to moderate your transports a bit when you
ear any good news.

“Moderate—m y—trans—w hat?” asked Bertie.
“Not to make sueh a jolly row when you are
pleased,” explained Howard, “draw it mild, you

know, keep, quieter, You understand w:

“Ves, yes,” said Bertie. ‘Feel joy—look solid.”

“No—look solemn—and now for your lesson in
English.”

The lesson consisted of an exchange of words,
Howard giving the pronunciation and explaining
the meaning, and Bertie taking up and absorbing
all. with marvelous accuracy.

He was so sharp-witted that Howard often paused
to compliment him and when he did so the face of
the other was in a glow—his admiration for How-
ard was unlimited andhis devotion boundless.

Tt was a long lesson and neither grew weary of‘it
until the fire- had burned low; then Bertie rose and
signified that it was time for both to sleep.

“Night coming on,” he said, ‘Bertie set snares
for—for—grub, and then he laughed heartily as if
he had said a very clever thing.

Howard laughed. too, but he looked a little anx-
ae - Bertie left the caye and went out to set his
sna

“hey are always on the lookout for him,” he
muttered, “and although half the yeomen cah’t
shook a it Iam afraid they will bring him down
some

Bertie; Perey er soon returned,’and piling up a
good fire lay down near the other, first covering
Howard’ s legs with a lot of loose leaves.

“Keep warm,” he said.

“Thank you,” replie the other. “You are a jolly
Bert fe) low and LT like you very much—and I say,

ert ie,” f

  
  
 
    

2atch up a athing
my lady mother

   
            
       
 
    
  
  
 

 
 

Carlo—you did

<i]]I—”

 

’ said Bertie, eagerly.

“Yes.” BF:
“Can you Poon my name ?”
*“Ho- Hane said Bertie.

“Not-bad, but not quite right; you have an aitch
too many—but i ean tell you one thing.”
“What tha
“Ina meth you will talk well enough to tell me
the story of your life,”
“Not know much,” said Bertie, sadly. ©
“At. all.events you can tell mo what ‘you know.
Good-night, Bertie, old fellow.”
“Good- night, Ho-hard.”
“Hard,” murmured Howard. “I feel precious
soft when I look at your noble face, 1 w mncler how
IT could have been brute > enough to blaze a byou.’

- OHAPTER XVI.
GAPTAIN GRIT ponent’ a STTER- CARRIER.

The mystery of Howard ‘rester’s disappear-
ance remuined for weeks i vealed, and Captain
Grit was worn to a shadow by lis incessant seareh-
ings after the missing boy,.

Sometimes he would bea
days at atime, and when li
Forrester his wan face ande
the fact that he had known
been aavay, i

Oceasionally one or more of the keepe
antry accompanied him, but heavas more frequent-
ly alone, and often spent the nights in the wood,
watching: and waiting for some clew of what was to
him and others a mystery,

But the woods: were so yast nt he might have
spent allthe days and mente of his life without
droppii ng upon the hiding-placeo 1d Bertie, and
the weight of disappointment $00n1 began to bow
him down.

He was often overcome by fatigue.and frequently
slept under the shadow of some tree when the sun
was high; and upon one of theso occasions an ad-
yenture befell him, :

He dreamed that ha was wandering in the depths

  
  
  
        

; int for uid or three
© came back to Lady
ciated form revealed
io rest while he had

_~ .

  

r ten-

 

 

Ty am not ehildless!”’

TY | one who knew all

ve?” returned

ads: he ad it then, itslipped from him on th

much against his will, he lay down to sleep.

While lying there, a fairy came and tweaked his
nose,andthe notion of afairy doing anything of
that sort was so ridiculous that he laughed, and
laughing awoke him.

His nose was. still smarting, and satisfied that
somebody must really, haye touched his nasal or-
gan, hesprang up, and as he did so, a packet fell
from his breast,

It. wasin rough pieces of gray linen, torn appa-
rently from the inside of a waistcoat, or coat, and
ou the outside was inscribed, in charcoal:

“Lady Forrester.

“it’s a rum- -looking letter,” said the old sailor;

“put I will gladly be the postman.”

It was neither tastened nor sealed, but. Captain
Grit never even so much as thought of looking into
it: Hewasone of nature’s gentlemen, and there-
fore incapable of anything mean.

He bore the missive to Lady Forrester, who
opened it with trembling hands,

‘Itis From Howard,” “she said. “Thank Heaven
ane words were few, but reassuring. They ran

us:

‘Tam safe and well, dear mother, and. witha
iron te, e gael return one day. Love to iather and

yourself, OWARD,”’

He Ades not know of his father’s death,”
murmured, “poor boy! but who is this friend?”

‘Captain Grit had not a notion, neither had Doc-
tor Banks, and the former returned to the Griffin
with quite pails aching of the heart remaining, for
he wondered who this friend eould be to whom
Homer f panee suddenly become attached,

dlord, Mr. Charles Tubbs, was sitting in
ie ‘itthe parlor in company with a bluff man
dressed in agray coat, which was buttoned quite
up to the throat.

A friend of mine, captain,’ said Tubbs. “‘Mr.
Rawson,”

Captain Grit bowed, and they shook hands... Mr.
Rawson had all the confidence of aman who knew
his way about the world, and after the first glance
atthe captain, he settled quietly into a chair like
about him,

“Been, up to the hall?” said Tubbs, casually.

SOS replied Captain Grit.

“Any news?”

““Yes., Young Howard is found.”

“Found!” ejaculated Tubbs; and the stranger,
Rawson, turned in his chair.

Captain Grit favored them with an epitome of
what had occurred, which they listened to with
quiet but intense interest.

‘he only question is,” said the old captain, *
is this: friend?”

“Ah, that’s it,” said Tubbs, nodding.

“Tt seems so eurious that he should have found a
friend that nobody know $s anything about.’

“So it does—so it does.”

“One of the farmers, perhaps.”

“Most likely

A silence fons ensued, which was broken by the
footfall of ‘Captain Grit, as he leftthe room. Raw-
son and Tubbs drew nearer to each other.

*Well?” said Tubbs

“Ts it well?” Uartrnbet the other.

“1,6 don’t know, Rawson. What do you make
of it?”

“The boy is alive, no doubt.”

“Oh, yes; [never thought otherwise.’

“I give you credit for that, Tubbs; at the friend,
who is he?”

“The wild boy, whoever he is,”

“You are a keen ’un, Tubbs. .

“T’ve got the old instinct in me still,” replied
Tubbs; “and I tell you, Rawson, that I want this to
be fathomed, and that was why i sent for you.”

“Let me understand what you want to know?”

“First, then, Rawson, I want to “NOW for certain
who this me yetentous youngster is.”

‘Some gipsy ehap, I should say.”

“Mr. Rawson, you are wrong; heis more than
that. Gipsies are good-looking fellows enough, but
they have not a face like his.”

“But why are you so curious, Charley ?”

“That’s my affair, Rawson.”

“Allright. And what is the next point?”

“I want to find out the murderer of Sir Hugh.”

ane ies easily done, when you’ve got the same
wi ( evi

“Is it?” said Tubbs, “But whether he is or not, he
must swing for it.” :

a ee 2788 ?? asked Rawson..

“Nothing but what hinges on these two points.
Now, Rawson, you have a chance of distinguishing
yourself, By this time ait England. knows of the
murder of Sir Hugh, and but for the lack of en-
ecouragement from Lady Forrester we should have
had aswarm of red- breasts down. As it is, you have
it all your own wee

“T think I have, Charley. Mix me a little more
i seamen -water while I Land We 1

O Ku as repare: son sat dow
think oot lac be .
aked t tor meditation, iar the ¢ Griffin, in the 4 Vo

she

‘who

Feet

thi he said at five o’clock; ‘but if
e morrow,
'and many weeks passed away without eyen aclew
hee to that which he sought.

| CHAPTER XVI. a
A STORY.

A month later, and onee more we stand in the
eave with Howard Forrester and Bold Bertie, and
now we find the change greater than before.

The air of civilization has increased, but the great
change is in Bertie himself, who has lost all that
wild look which formerly distinguished him, and
naught but the fire of a courageous spirit re-
mained.

He had madesome attempts to improve his dress,
too, principally from the eontents of the peddler’s
pack; but as this contained materials for women
only, the effect was not all that could be desired.
And yetit was picturesque.

His limbs he had covered with silk and bound
with the colored tapes he found, so that he looked
thus far like a brigand; his body was completely
eovered with a garb of skins, and his head orna-
mented by a fairly shaped cap.

Howard, who sat facing him, seemed to be rather
amused at the incongruity of the attire, but he said
nothing, fearing lest he should offend his com-
panion.

v4 am, dressed now,” said Bold Bertie.

“Yes,” said Howard; “and.as you have now got
on far ‘enough with your language to speak freely,
I must have your story.”

“There is not much to tell, ” returned Bold Bertie,
shrugging his shoulders, “for I knew. nothing of
days, months, and years until you told me. I ean
give you no idea of the time.”

He spoke with tolerable freedom, pausing now
and then to grasp a word. We will not, however,
‘ene our readers any further with his little de-

ects.

“What do you remember as the earliest ineident
of your life, Bertie ?” asked Howard.

“I hayea ‘remembrance of a lovely face,” replied
Bertie, “‘and what you calla room, and some cur-
tains’; then i call to mind a ride in acart with atall,
handsome man, and somebody sprang up behind.
and the tall, handsome man fell out, and lay quiet
on ane ground, and—and—I think there was

ood,

“That was a murder,” said Howard, shivering.

“Tsup POSE SO; but it is all nothing more thana
dream,” re lied Bore e ‘and I eannot_ remember
them clearly enough to be certain, How odd it
seems to me to be talking to you

“It would be mane odd if you could not; but go
on; What followed ?”

“Tecannot tell. The next thing I ean think of is
this eave, where I was walking about and playing
with some pieces of rag and stick; a man was sit-
ting in the corner—the same whose face I have cut
upon these clubs here.”

“What a strange faney!”

“It first came upon me about two years ago—I
suppose it was two years, but am not certain—I was
always cutting about with a knife, and trying to
shane something. I shaped his face.”

**He was dead then ?”

“Oh, yes::-he had died long before, when I was
anes a little fellow. But I knew nothing about

eath, and used to wonder why he did not wake
up. It was only when he began to decay——”

“How awful!”

“Only then that I knew what was the matter, and
Iseraped away ahole just under the spring, and
buried him there.”

Howard ljooked in that direction, almost expect-
ing to see the ghost of the dead rise.

“How did you live ?”

“Oh, he had taught me to snare rabbits and birds,”
replied Bertie, ‘with some bits of wire, which I
have still, and I had taught myself to throw what
you call a spear.”

“You throw it with wonder ful accuraey.”

“Lean hit anything with it,” replied Bertie; “but
so Tought; IT have done nothing else all my life.”

“Who taught you to ride?”

‘taught myself that, too. Ifound a young colt
on raying in the wood one day, and I got upon its

ave I

 

Be ee: bs

“Tnstinetively ide

“Phat is the word, I suppose. Yes;I got upon his
back, and hethrew me. .This put my blood up, and
I being as active as you see, got on again, and stuck
to him like aleech. We hada hard struggle, but L
was master, and from that time we beeame friends.
He never strays far away, and comes at the sound
of my voice.”

“But your companion, did he never ride ?”

“Not r speak ?”?
“No,

“Ho must have been dumb.

“T am sure he was,” said Bertie,‘ ‘and deaf too,
for he never heard anything, but he could see; ab,
he could see.’

Have you any idea who he was ?”

¢

 

 

"Did he leave nothing—no writing.”

ofadark wood, worn out by tatieue, am at leat.

“What i is wivitine 7 2
a Like what I sent to Lady Forrester some weeks
c on

‘Oh, no; he could not do that. He did nothing
but snare things and eat them.”

“How was it youdid not run away ?”

“T never dreamt,ot it.. -This was my home, like
that great place you eall yours is to you, and when
I made signs to him that [ should like to go farther
away, he used to make signs tome that I must not
do it, and I obeyed him.”’

“Had you ever seen any nen jor women ?”

“Not until about. a year ago.’

“That was strange,’ said Howard. “I know these
woods are lonely, but for so,many years to pass
without tumbling over somebody. was marvelous,”

“But other people walk about in the day time, and
Twas taught only to go out at night.”

, that explains it a little—but now!one ques-
tion mor e—why did you always shout ‘Bertie ? ”

“It is a word which has rung in my ears for
a long time; sleéping or waking it never left
me, and I have often traced it back to the time when
Iwas riding withthe handsome man i inthe cart, and
I think he must have uttered it.”

“You are the greatest puzzle I eyer.met with,”

said Howard; “and w hen you did meet with any-
body what did you do?”

“T did not’ know what to veh of them,” replied
Bertie, laughing: "they looked so! funny to me,
with their coats and waistcoats, and—i ot ae

“Trousers.”

“Yes, trousers; and I used to hide iehind the
fenees and wat h them as they went by; though
many,a.time I have felt lentes to. pounce upon
some of them and tear off their ¢ othes,””.

me last you did pounce upon one. ;

s, T was riding that night, and T took his bun-
diestneds it is, withsome money in it.

“It belongs to young Broom,’ said Howard,
must have it again.’

did not care about it when [had vot it,” said
Bertie, indifferently.
Tf you had cared about it—you had né right to it.”

“Why not ?”

“Because it was stealing. Pp egsenr %

“Whatis stealing ?” :

It:took: some time to. make nih epmurehend the
nature of this crime, but when he did so, he began
at once. to tear off the silk Bad Fane about his legs.

“Oh, you need not mind that.r ubbish,”
ard Forrester; ; “We can pay, for it.”

“Pay; what is that ?7

Howard explained the act, of paying to him.

“Oh; yes,” said Bertie, * “we can pay for it with
young Broom’s money,’

That won’t do,” cried Howard laughing; and
then there was another explanation.

“ah will take you a long time to learn all these
things,” said Howard; “ but you are very perseyer-
ing, and will turn out as good a man as any of us.
Now, I am going to tell you one thing—I am quite

well now.’
“Yes, yes,” cried. Bertie,

 

time, fox pdnring phe day a footiallseldon resoun ed

“And I must tell you another, I am going away
trom. here,”
“Going away!
here alone again.’
“No more you shall, for youshallgo with me.”
“Go with you, How: ard? oh, how happy Lam,’
‘Yes, you shall, old fellow, and live with me Sat
Burnley Hall, and [ will show everybody what a
handsome fellow the wild boy is.’
“But am I really handsome, Howard?”
“You are the handsomest fellow L ever saw.’
I am glad. of that,” said Bertie, eee, rt
people will like me,’
“My mother will love you,” said Howard. “and
to-morrow we. will go and.see her.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)

HOW HE FOOLED HER.

MAX. ADELER,

Oh, Howard, I could never live

+

“for

 

 

Bungay, the real estate agent over at Pencader,
suspected that Mrs. Bungay didn’t eare as much for
him as she ought to.. So one day hb went up to the
city after leaving word that he would be gone two
or three days. While there he arranged with a
friend to send a telegram to his wife at a certain
hour announcing that he had been run over on the
railroad and killed. Then Bungay cume home, and
slipping into the house unperceived, he secreted
himself in the closet in the sitting-room to await
the arrival of the telegram and to see how Mrs.
Bungay took it. After awhile it. came, and he saw
the servant-girl give it to his wife. She opened it,
and as she read it she gave one little start. Then
Bungay saw a smile gradually overspread her fea-
tures.. She rang for the girl, and when the servant
came Mrs. Bungay said to her:.

 
 
 
       
  
 
  
    
    
  
   
   
     
  

Til have to. put on black for
him, though I hate ta give up my new bonnet for
mourning. You just go roundtothe milliner’s and.
ask her to fetch me up some of the latest styles of

the news. I reckon

door, and then bring the undertaker

While Mrs. Bungay was waiting
tinually, and once or twice she dam
room, and stood in front of the look
Bungay poets bee murmur to herself:,”

ain pggch had looking woman

der-what Fame: wit think of me?”

ryainies |” thought Bungay, as his wid
seat and sang softly, as; if
happy. “ Who’n the thunder’s James? -
tainly can’t mean that infamous old x
Toombs? His name’s James and he’s: at ‘widower;
but it’s preposterous to suppose that she cares for
him, or is going to prowl alter any man for a hus-
band as quick as this.”
While he brooded in horror ov er ught, Mr.
Toombs arrived. The widow sai ; f

“Mr. Toombs, Bungay is dead; over by a
locomotive and chopped all up.’ a.

“Very sorry to hear it, madam; I symitithizo with
you in your affliction.”

“Thank you; it is prettysad. But I don’ t worry
much. Bungay was a poor sort of a min to get
along with,and nowthat he’s gone I’ny going to
stand it witbout erying my eyes out. We’ have to
bury him, Is’pose, though?’

“That is the usual thing to do in such eases.”

“Well, [want you to ’tend to itforme. I Sieh
the coroner ‘ILhaveto sit on him first. Buts»vhen
they get through,if you’ll just collect the pieces
and shake him into some kind, of a bag and: -back
him into a coffin, I’jl be obliged.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Bungay. When do you want the
funeral to occur?”

“Oh,’most any day. P’rhaps the sooner the bet-
ter,so’s we can have it over. It’ll save expense,
too, by taking less iee...I don’t want to spend.much
money onit, Mr. Toombs. Rig him up some kind
of a cheap coffin, and mark his name on it with a
brush, and bury him with as little fuss as possible,
Pll come along with a couple of friends; and we'll
walk. No carriages, Times are too hard.

‘I will attend to it.”

“And, Mr. Toombs, there is another matter. Mr.
Bungay’ s life was insured for about twenty thous-
and dollars, and I want to get it as soon as possible
and when I get itI shall think of marrying again.’

“Indeed, madam!”

ane? and can you think of anybody who'll suit
me

“f dunno. I might, Twentythousand you say
he left ?”

Twenty thousand; yes... Now, Mr. Toombs,
you'll think me bold, ut I onlytell the honest
truth when I say that’ I prefer a widower, and a
man who is about middle-age. and in some busi-
ness connected with cemeteries.”

How would an SRE Ti suit you?”

“T think very well, if I could find one. I often
told Bungay that I wished he was an undertaker.”

ell, Mrs. Bungay, it’s a little kindersudden; I
haven’t thought much about it; and old Bungay’s
hardly got fairly settled in the ‘world of the here-
after; but business is business, and if you must

   

life insurance money, it appears to me that I am
just about that kind of aman. — Will you take me?”
“Oh, James! fold me to your bosom!”
James was just about to fold her, when Bungay. |
white with rage, burst from the "closet, and ex

claimed:
“Unhand her, villain! Touéh that punks and
you die! Leavethis house at once, or Lil brain you

with the poker! And as for you, Mrs. Bungay, you
ean pack up your duds and quit. [ve done with
you: I know now. that you are a ecold-hearted,
faithless, abominable wretch! Go, and go at oncel
I did this to try you, and my eyes are opened.”
“T know you did, and I coneluded to pay you in
your own coin.’

“That’s too awful thin. Itwon’t hold water.”

“Tt’s true anyhow. You told Mr. Magill you were
going to do it, and he told me.’

“He did, hey? Pil bust the head off of him.”

“When you are really dead I will be a good deal
more sorry, provided you don’ it make such a fool
of, vourself while you’re alive.

“You will? You will really be sorry?”
“Of course!”
“And you won’t marry Toombs? Where is that
man Toomhs? By George, V1 go for him now! He
Was mighty hungry for that life insurance money f
‘Il step around and kick him at onee while I’m
a s » Ve’ ll talk this matter oyer when I eome
ack.

Then Bungay left to. call upon Toombs, and when
he returned he dropped thesubject. He has drawn
up his will so that his wife is cut off with a shilling
if she employs Toombs as the undertaker.

coer tr ert

“THROWN ON THE WORLD.”

The popularity of this touching story still continues undimin-
ished, and édition after ¢dition have been rapidly sold. All who
have read it praise itim the highest terms as one of the most
artistic std@ries ever written.: Published by. G. W. CARLETON &

 

 

 

Co., and for sale by every bookseller and news ee tho

United States, Copies mailed to any eae postage tree, by
STREET & SMITH, on receipt of price, $1 50

@

 

*he f

said Hew- |

 

 

“Mary, Mr. Bungay’s_ been killed. I’ve just got’

widow’s bonnets, and tie a bunch of SFape 08 Sai

have an undertaker to love you and look after that

isin tea intinaeston. sn tineaatnellm ES II

 

 

 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8 x<aat THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. 28>

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AN APRIL ORATION.

BY EB. NOBMAN GUNNISON.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
  
  
 
    
      
   
 
 
  
  
   
 
    
  
 
   
  
    
  
    
  
  
  
 
 
    
   
   
     
    
 
 
 
  
     
     
   
     
    
 
  
   
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
       
  
   
   
  
 
  
  
  
    
  
   
  
 
   
       
  
   
    
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
     
 
   
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
     
   
 
  
       
  
  
 
 
 
  
     
    
    
    
  
  
 

 

 

6 tyr re ge

Sei iie ct 5

te

 

   
    
 
  
  
  
  
  
  

    

 

In his leafy chamber belore my door,
The robin sings in the early morn,
And up from his mate there comes encore
From her lowly perch on the garden lawn.
He trills and warbles his liquid notes,
As if the strains of the songs he sings
Were poured from the depths of a thousand throats,
In the melodies of a thousand springs.

Up from his mate there comes encore.
Cheerily flitting to aad fro,
Robin calls to her o’er and o’er,
From his leafy perch to her perch below.
Bud and blossom are strewn around,
Chirp, and warble, and liquid tone,
Leafy branches and flower decked ground,
Bud and blossom, are all his own.

Oh, happy robin! oh, happy matet

So tenderly kept in His loving care,
As I lean to listen beside my gate,

I, too, in your spring-time joy would share;
I, too, would gather from flower and leaf

The loving lessons which haunt the spring,
A deathless trusting, a strong beliof,

Deep.as the tender songs you sing.

—_—

CLARIBEL’S LOVER.

BY EMMA GARRISON JONES.

“Claribel, Claribel, have you come at last ?”

“Yes, mother.” ;

The girl’s voice was full of an enduring patience,
as she answered the petulant call. She put aside
her wraps, and passed into the chamber where the
invalid mother ey :

“Yes, mother, [havecome. Are you very tired of
waiting for me?”

“Tshould think I was. Why, you have been gone
an age, Claribel. I don’t see how you have the heart
to leave me alone solong.” |.

“Poor mother,”—and Claribel went to the low
couch, and stooping down kissed her mother’s
thin, white cheeks—‘it must be tiresome lying here
day. after day. I don’t wonder that you get im-
yes but 1 wasn’t away one minute longer than

could help. I had to wait to see Mr. Semper.”

“You got the money, of course ?”

“No, mother; he can’t pay it until next week.”

The invalid threw Up her hands with a shrill ery
of despair. ;

“You didn’t get it, Claribel ? What are we to do,
then? Not a lump of coal, nor a drawing of tea in
the house, and my medicine out, too; and I shall
die without my medicine. Andthere’s the rent due
2s, SP aRPROY have. you forgotten that, Clari-

e ”?

 

No, mother.”
Then why didn’t you get the money ?”
“T tried mother, but Mr. Semper said he could

”?

.
se

not pay.

“Well, then, I am sure I can’t see what we are
to do—starve—I suppose. Dear, dear, a woman
raised as I was, to be brought to this,” and Mrs.
Rutherford covered her eyes, and began to sob
hysterically.

“Don’t ery, mother; you'll make your head ache,”

said Claribel, soothingly, in the tone one uses to
afretful child. “We'll try and manage somehow;
there’s tea enough for your supper. I'll set it to
draw, and then I’Ll finish that other sewing; I may
get the money for that.”
. “Tdoubtit, You’re eternally sewing aad manag-
ing, Claribel, but it all amounts to nothing in the
end. You,take after your poor father; that was
always his way.”

Claribel said not a word in answer. Sheset the
tea to draw, and then she took her sewing to the
window, and stitched away in silence.

Her young face had a white, worn look, and her
soft brown eyes were fullof an unutterable sadness,
For years she had led this life of drudgery to sup-
port her invalid mother. A sad life for one so fair
end young; yet she uttered no word of com-
plaint.

She stitched away, while the embers smoldered
on the hearth, and the little brown tea-pot sim-
mered, and the wintry afternoon waned, her
thoughts wandering back to the g days of her
vanished girlhood—such blissfu , When she
lived in the old howe P the river, and Luke Hin-
ton was herlover. But Luke was poor, ' :
ing in the world to offer he

nA illing hands; and her mother forbade his

oamanded OClarabel never to give him

x

    

  
 
  
  

      
 

 

         
  
 
   

1 never marry him, Claribel, with my

( k my ihe poiigie :
mother, your will is my law.-said Clari-

y parted, and Luke went away over the sea,
and one spring day, a year thereafter, news came
that his ship was wrecked, and Claribel’s first love
dream was ended.

She took it quietly enough, but she wore Luke’s
picture in her bosom, and had no smiles for the

continu ile Olaribel sewed. “‘He had no
thought of me. He must always please himself,
and our poyerty is the result. You are just like
him, Claribel. Butfor your silly self-will, we might
be out of this hovel, andin adecent house before

young ho sought her favor,
: ae our poor father,” her mother

‘the month ends; but you must have your way.

Why couldn’t you have accepted Charles Redmond
when he proposed ?” ?

“The girl shivered, as she put the last stitches in
her work.

“Oh, mother. you know I could not,” she faltered.
“Why do you speak of it?” |

“Because I am sure he will ask you again,” her
mother continued. “And, Claribel, you must not
refuse him a second time! Here I am actually
dying for the common comforts of life, and for a
girlish whim you refuse a fortune! Charles Red-
mond is the richest man in Greenfield, and when
e asks you again, as he will, you must accept

ns

“Oh, mother, I cannot! I will work for you day
and night, but do not ask me to do this.”

“Yes, work, and wear yourself into the grave,
while [ lie here and starve, when you might be
mistress of the finest mansion in Greenfield. I do
ask you—more, I command you; and Claribel, if
you disobey me, you will break my heart.”

The girl made no answer; she only folded up the
work she had finished, and putting on her wraps
again hurried out, At the very doorshe met ames-
senger from the Golden Lion. Charles Redmond,
the landlord, had sent her a letter. .

She opened it and read it by the waning, winter
light. It contained a second offer of marriage and
a ponderous ring, as brazen and massive as the
leonine sign that swung above the door of Mr. Red-
mond’s inn. He offered Claribel his heart and hand
once more, and for the last time. She could accept
if she saw fit, and keep the ring in token; or she
could refuse and vacate his house, which she and
her mother occupied, before the end of the month.
And the month ended and the rent was due on
Thursday.

Glaribel looked up at the lowering sky, and
thought of her mother. Where should she go with
her? Who would give her shelter ?

“Tt would kill her,” she whispered under her
Drees , iean’t doit, Better that Ishould besac-
rificed!’

Then, her very lips growing white, she crushed
the letter into her pocket and slipped the ring on
her finger. | ‘

**T have failed a second time, mother,” she said
on her return, “I could not get my money; but we
shall soon have money enough—I have accepted
Mr. Redmond.” ;

“My good girl, my darling Claribel, come here
and kiss me,” eried the delighted invalid. “‘I knew
you would do it for your poor mother’s sake.”

And Claribel kissed her with white, sil lent lips.

Claribel’s wedding morn had come.

_ “My love,” said her mother, sitting by the hearth
in her best gown, with a look of serene delight on
her face, “ why, didn’t you put your hair in crimps
last night? Itisso becoming. You look wretched
this morning. I’m afraid Mr. Redmond will be dis-
appointed when he sees you. Dotry to brighten
yourself up_a little, Claribel. There’s a box of
rouge in my bottom drawer. I used to use it once in
a while in your poor father’s time; my complexion
was always changing. Suppose you just puta mite
on for this once, my dear ?”

But Claribel shook her head.

“No, mother; Mr. Redmond must take me as I
am,” she said, with a bitter sort of smile, ‘and get
used to my bad looks.” ;

The mother frowned, and continued quite sharp-

y:

. You’re such a provoking child, Claribel. Most
girls like to look their best upon their wedding-day,
butI don’t believe you care a pin; and I don’t see
why you shouldn’t. You’re making asplendid mar-
riage and Mr. Redmond has acted quite handsome-
ly: Only look at the presents he has ‘made you..
PS diamonds he sent yesterday are worth a little
fortune,”

“Mother, for pity’s sake, don’t torture me so,”
gasped _Claribel, rising to her feet. ‘Don’t talk to
me, or i shall never get through this.”

_ Don’t talk to you,” repeated the invalid,in an
injured tone. “I won't, then; I should think, how-
ever, you’d like meto talk to you, since we are to
pa

so soon. But you've no throught of your poor
a and your father was just like you, Clar-
ibel.

The girlsobbed outright a dry, tearless sob, as
she turned to the window. The morning sunshine
lay like gold on the white snow, the sky arched blue
and cloudless overhead. The strects were all alive

tnt
r but Tis honest Hewett

      

  
  
  
    
 
 
 

 

with bustle and gayety, and presently the bell in the
village steeple began to ring. Her wedding chimes!
Down the high street came a flaunting sleigh, all
scarlet and silver, its horses prancing, its bells
jingling, the master of the golden lion on the front
seat. He was BO ta lag Ue make her his wife.

a aline ewan avore her eyes, and her heart
stood still in her breast.

“Oh, if I could die! Luke, Luke, if I could die and
come to you!” she moaned, and then her overtaxed
nerves gaye way, and she slid down to the floor, and
lay there in an unconscious heap.

The sound of loud, contending voices, and her
mother’s fretful weeping, recalled her to her senses
some minutes after. e was lying on the couch,
and two men stood near. pa

“Stand back,” cried one of them; zou shall not
touch her—she belongs to me, and I'll not resign
her to any man living tillshe bids me do it with her
own, lips. Stand back; she is recovering. Clar-

e »

The resolute, resonant voice thrilled her through
and through. She opened her eyes and looked up
at the bronzed, bearded face,

“Oh, Luke, Luke!” she cried out, extending both
her hands, “itis you! Are we in Heaven?”

He caught the fluttering hands and held them
close, his dark eyes meeting her imploring gaze,
full of old-time love.

“Yes, Claribel, itis I; but we are not in Heaven.
Iam alive, and I have come back to claim you for
my wife. I’ve plenty of money now, and your
mother won’t object.” :

“She is mine—my promised wife!” stormed the
master of the Golden Lion.

“Silence!” cried Luke, “She shall speak for her-
self. What do you say, Claribel? Do you love this
man you are about to mary! MustIstand aside
and let him make you his wife?”

The hands he held clasped his own.

“Oh, Luke, no! Save me! save me! Iloved you
dead and buried in the sea a thousand times better
than any living man. Ionly consented for my
mother’s sake.” A z

“Stand back, then!” said Luke, solemnly; “she is
mine. What God has joined together no man shall
put asunder.”

And the master of the Golden Lion went away
without his bride; and one night,a month later,
when a young moon hung like a silver crescent in
the west, and the stars shone like jewels, Clarabel
wedded Luke, her first and only love.

HISTORICAL SKETCHES.

BY BENSON J. LOSSING, LL. D.

The Negro Plot in New York.

Slavery, everywhere, is a perpetual menace of the
eace of the master class. It inspires an indefina-
le dread because of conscious injustice and wrong
on the part of the oppressor. “I speak from facts,”
said John Randolph, in debate in the National
House of Representatives, in 1811, “when I say that
the night-bell never tolls for a fire in Richmond,
that the frightened mother does not hug her infant
the more closely to her bosom, not knowing what
may have happened. I have myself witnessed some
of these alarms in the eapital of Virginia.” Hap-
ily this dreadful disturber is banished from our
and forever. i :

Before the old war for independence there were
enslaved Africans in every Euglish-American colo-
ny, but nowhere was slavery seen in a milder form
than among the rural Dutch population of New
York. The number of slaves was few, at an early
period; but toward the middle of the last century
there was a considerable increase, especially in vil-
lages. It was notably so in the City of New York,
and the impassability of the gulf between the mas-
ter and slave became more and more apparent.
The slave showed signs of discontent, and the white
inhabitants began to have a growing apprehension
of some violent effort for freedom on the part of the
people who were held in bondage. In this state of
the prevailing feeling, it needs only a breath of ru-
mor to startle the people with anxiety, and the idea
of a plot, to create a panic. Such a rumor and such
an idea produced a fearful panic in the City of New
York, early inthe year 1741, which was eminently
disgraceful in its results to the public authorities,
and an outrage upon justice and humanity. The
story, in brief outline, is as follows:

In the middle of March, 1741, the Province House

in the “nde at the foot of Broadway, took fire, an
with the chapel and adjacent buildings was con-
: or of the colony.
; the fire to have
ess of a plumber, but
veral ons in different parts. of
the city, at abo he anre Qe eucot a belief
that they were incendiary. Ap burn the sy
was spoken of, when apanie arose. To the ques-
tion, Who are the plotters? the ready answer sug-
gested by the prevailing feelings of the inhabitants,

 

 

  
 
 
  
     
    
 
  
    
   
   
  

 
  

  
   
  

  

   

into New

I hardly think you are the girl to dis- , the negroes. Itso happened that some time

,a@ Spanish sh
crew of which were negroes. The A
condemned them as slaves. and they were sold as
such at auction. They had been freemen at home,
and they complained of this cruel treatment; and
because they made an occasional show of resent-
ment, they were suspected of stirring up the slaves
of New York to burn the city and destroy the white
inhabitants. This belief roused acry of “take up
the Spanish negroes!”

At that time a low tavern and a resort for negroes
in defiance of law, was kept not far from the fort, by
aman named John Hughson, who had an indented
white servant named Mary Burton, He also had as
a boarder, an abandoded young Irish girl named
Peggy Carey. Hughscn was suspected of being a
receiver of stolen goods. A merchant on Broad
street had some dry-goods, coin, and silver-plate,
and bullion stolen. Mary Burton told a neighbor
Saat, goods had been brought to Hughson’s, but
said: ,

“Don’t tell anybody, for he would kill meif he
should find it out.” ;

Information of her assertion was given to the
under-sheriff, when Mary was taken from Hugh-
son’s to the house ofan alderman, and having been
promised her fredom from her master as a reward
for testimony she might give, she was imprisoned
in a room in the City Hall.

On the 4th of March, 1741, an absurb and outrage-
ous melodrama began by the assembling of the jus-
tices, and bringing before them Hughson and his
wife, and Mary Burton.

Mary perceived thattosecure her freedom she
must testify to something; soshe declared thata
negro named

an English privateer h broug
arbor aan Eee , Spa ze
m

     

ar was intimate with Peggy Ca-
rey; that she saw in Peggy’s room some linen
which Hughson and his wife hid away, and that
Oasar paid Hughson alump of silver for a pair of
stockings. ;

Cesar and Peggy denied everything, but were
committed to jail; and someof thethings stolen
from the merchant were found under the kitchen
floor of Cesar’s master. Huglison admitted the
story of the linen and lump of silver to be true.

It was a fortnizht after this that the buildings in
the fort were burned; the other fires occurred, and
the panic began, in consequence of the alleged in-
solent reply of one of the Spanish negroes when
questioned about the conflagrations. The negro
was sent to jail, and the assembled magistrates or-
dered the arrest of all the Spanish slaves, together
with others of the city. These were all lodged in
i with Hughson and his wife, Mary Burton, and

eggy Carey. The people were almost wild with
terror, and the public authorities were nearly as
wild as the people. They encouraged the panic by
daily sitting in council, and many inhabitants fled
from the city with their household goods, and gave
any prices for vehicles and assistants, while they
were plundered by thieves. A seach for strangers
was ordered; the aldermen and constables searched
their respective wards; the militia were called out
and sentries were posted to guard all avenues. The
city authorities induced the lieutenant-governor to
offer high rewards for the discovery of the incen-
diaries and their associates, and the diabolical
plotters,

Their offer of rewards was the cause of the
dreadful tragedy that ensued. They promised
money and pardon to the free, and money, pardon,
and liberty to the enslaved. When Mary Burton
was brought before the grand jury, she remained
silent until she was offered $250, with pardon pro-
tection, if she would reveal all she knew. Then
her tongue was unloosed, and in her eagerness to
secure the rewards, she gave coustantly cumulative
evidence. At first she declared that Hughson’s
family and Peggy Carey were simply receivers of
stolen goods; then she averred, on being pressed
to reveal conspirators, that Ozsar and two. other
negroes had talked with Hughson and his family
and Peggy Carey about burning the fort and
the town and destroying the white inhabitants;
that her master and mistress had agreed _ to
help them, and that when the horrid work shouldbe
accomplished, Hughson was to be made king,
Cesar was to be governor, and Prince and Cuffey
(two other slaves), were to share in the honors and
riches that were to follow. It seems marvelous
that a story so absurdas that of a low tavern-
keeper and his wife, a lewd Irish girl, and three ig-
norant. negro slaves, had conspired to destroy a
town with several thousand inhabitants, should be
believed by the public authorities and sensible
denizens ofthe city. Butthe authorities and citi-
zens were temporarily crazed; and the equally
crazyegrand jury, “astonished” by the evidence,
prosecuted these inquiries with greatzeal. _

Peggy Carey, impeached as a conspirator in the
testimony of Mary Burton, was promised pardon if
if she would disclose her confederates. At first she
said she could not name any or she would accuse
innocent persons. She denied all knowledge of the
fires; but when she was threatened with the gallows
and with hell-fire afterward, hoping to save her
own life she accused several negroes as having
been. sworn by ashoemaker living not far from
Huchson’s, to burn the fort andtown. She did not
name Cesar, her paramour, and shifted the scene

=

of oath-taking from Hugkson’s, where Mary Bur-
ton laid it, to the shoemaker’s. The accused slaves
were brought before Peggy, when se identified
them. Then they were taken before Mary Burton,
who did_not recgnize them as the gang she had ac-
cused. Notwithstanding this prima facie evidence
of perjury, the slaves were all sent to prison.

he poor, frightened negroes, fame pe ed with by
unscrupulous agents of the magistrates, hearing of
the pardons offered to those who would give infor-
mation, and hoping to save themselves, accused
each other ules language that had been put into
their mouths. n their information many other
ROSTOSS, were arrested, and the jail soon became
crowded. :

It was now late in April, News came that seven

barns had been burned at Hackensack, N.J., an
the panic was greatly increased. The accused were
speedily tried. Many were condemned, and the ex-
ecution Olnogeo cs by burning alive and hanging
was begun. ar and Prince, acoused by Mary
Burton, were the first victims, protesting their in-
nocence to the last. ey, and negro witnesses in
their favor, were not allowed to take an oath, be-
cause, as crown lawyers affirmed, it ‘ would be
prepostes us to administer it to a heathen in legal
orm.” The magistrates employed a known thief to
take liquor to the jails, and when the negro prison-
ers were under its influence, to obtain testimony
from them. This miscreant of course repo just
what the magistrates wanted to hear; and it was
upon such testimony, and that of the perjured girl,
Burton, that Hughson and his wife were con-
demned and hung. Their daughter received the
same sentence, but after giving testimony and then
recanting several times, she was reprieved, and
finally released. Peggy Carey. condemned on the
testimony of the arch-accuser; Mary Burton, was
hanged also. The allegations of terrified negroes
bound to a stake, and ready to be burned alive, was
sufficient to cause the arrest of many persons; and
the greater part of the spring and summer of 1741,
was employed by the magistrates in seeking for
Paneer otoay and executing supposed conspira-
ors,

An Irish schoolmaster, named Ury, suspected
of being a Jesuit priest, was, on the testimony of
a worthless wretch, condemned and hanged as a
conspirator, notwithstanding there was competent
evidence of his purity oflife. =

While the panic prevailed, and justice was clearly
blindfolded, all of the Spanish negro captives were
executed, though not a particle of reliable testi-,
mony convicted them of anycrime. During that
fearful time four white persons died on the scaf-
fold; eleven negroes were burned alive, eighteen
were hanged, and frty were sent away and sold
into slavery, chiefly in the West Indies.

The most prominent act in this tragedy were
the chief-justice and attorney-general of the prov-
ince, the mayor and recorder of the city of. New
York, and the leading lawyers in the colony. These
were all arrayed in legal and political strength
against a few ignorant and weak negro slaves, and
without a shadow of positive evidenea of the crim-
inality of the latter, they consigned to an ignomin-
ious death, thirty-three persons. The victims were,
evidently, all innocent of the crime of ‘which they
were accused, for it is thesober verdict of posterity
that no “‘negro plot” to destroy the ily ond the in-
habitants of New York, eyer existed. The authori-
ties ceased their unholy work when, asin the case
of the “Salem Witchcraft,” accusations of persons
of their own social class began to be made by their
principal witness, Mary Burton. 7

Itis clear that the istrates, carried along by
the general panic at first, and thoroughly alarmed,
found themselves, on sober reflection, in a most re-
diculous position, and their pride or cowardice get-
ting the better of their sense of justice, impelled
them to seek to prove that they had cause to be
alarmed. The whole ir presents one of the most
forbidding chapters in our history. Undoubtedly
bigotry and injustice had more to do with the cruel
result of the panic than anything else. May was
undoubtedly hanged because he was suspected of
being a jesuit priest, rather than asa conspirator,
and the slaves ered the effects of a dreadful sus-
picion because there was a consciousness in the
public mind that the Paces had a moral right to
conspire to obtain their freedom.

The Ladies’ ‘Work-Box.

(The ie Catalogue of Patterns now ready; price 6 cents.
Send to the New YOR« WEEKLY Purchasing Agency.)

 

 

SPRING OPZNING AT RICHARD MEARES’,

Richard Meares’ grjid exhibition ot spring novelties had very
large amd fushionabi®ittendance. The display was substantial
and inviting, for ba 4 M@neral Stock comprised a superior class of

Laces, ribbotls, Gowers, kid gloves, parasols, re »and
other fancy articles proved most attractive to the ladies, while

I were charmed wit®the handsome hats and bonnets. Among
hem we noticed miny decidedly unique and novel, both in
shape and garniture}

A stylish imported/ponnet wag faced inside brim with dark

t
claret-coiored velvetgfiajn illusion ruching. The outside was of
pale blue silk, with egfborate garniture ot -faced ribbon ar-
ranged in large bow#§nd knots, also a large _claret-
) bridle o: a

      
  
   
  
 
    
 

throat, and was attaghed to the other side. : =
A dainty bonnes!in white chip, with coronet front, was
trimmed with an exguisite cream-tinted ribbon and Valenciennes

ect leaves; a onette an 3
nded front trom top of bonnet Gina | t

re

may require stronger food. You can regulate the child’s bowels
by the milk. Iftroubled with constipation, give new milk with
one-quarter water, and sweeten with brown sugar. Ifthe con-

‘ boil the milk, dilute in the same roportion, and sweeten
with loaf or crush-sugar. Oatmeal, boiled rice, milk thickened
with egg, and barley, are all better than arrowroot, which is
said to contain less nourishment than any of the above-men-
tioned articles.

‘Mrs. H. Walker’ writes: “I have been a reader of the New
YORK WEELKY for nearly nine years. I have a black alapaca
skirt made plain, and I also have ten yards of new material.
How shall I make and trima suit? Ihave several basques now,
but do not like them.” Perhaps you will like a polonaise better,
if so No. 4,775, price 35 cts. is a very stylish garment and requires
but little trimming, and you can fini r plain skirt with a
flounce of side-plaitings and spaces, For ittle girl, aged
four, use pattern No, 4,810, price 25 cts., which is suitable for linen
and pique, and comes in seven sizes for girls from three to nine

years ot age;
“Netta G.”’ asks: “What advantage does the cork corset pos-
sess over the ordinary bone corset?” It fits the term gracefully,
gree good support, but is pliable, therefore the wearer can
end more easily in any direction without fearing to break the
cork. Again the bones of corsets otttimes work through at the
top and bottom. Cork does not. They are light, healthful, good-
fitting, of superior material, and well made. We can furnish
them in different grades costing from $2 to $3. The Brides’ own
corsets are in piuk and blue, and neatly trimmed, price $3.
“Esther.’—The new mosaic sets in rolled gold are very pretty.
They consist of cuff buttons, ear-rings, and long pin in Etr:
color, with white and blue mosaic. handsome set will cost

 

 

Pleasant Paragraphs.

They Met—They Parted.

U the sofa, as they sat,
“he lovers talked in pleasant chat,
that and this, and this and that,
But of their wedding mainly;
Their eeeenn ee was soon to be,
And Sue and Gus did quite agree;
He said ‘“‘yes yes,” to all that she
Thought, in her judgment, best would be.
“One thing, dear Gus, I think, should be
Understood now, quite plainly.”

“Go on,” said Gus, “just speak it out,’

I’ve not the faintest shade of doubt

That still in all things we’ll agree,
And end as we’ve n—

 

‘Two souls with but a single th f,
) Two hearts that beat as one!’ ”
A loving Enis, a tender squeeze,

ed to his language;
Then Sue these soitly spoken wo:
Between his hugs did sandwich:

“Of course, mamma will live with us,
And ‘rule roost? my gue Gat I
For that, you know, cilbianacthsdt.*

“Not much,” cried Gus, in temper high,
And gras: his hat, and cried, “G -by,
That settles ’twixt you and I!

is my vow on high;
No mother-in-law, with threatening eye,
And tongue all peace to crucify,

all ever rule this rooster!’

An Immovable Nose.

_, Monsieur Arago, the French atateg sman, and
nephew of the astronomer, is, in spite o 7 sixty-
five years,a very handsome man. He has a large
nose, of which he issomewhat proud. Ashort time
ago he was traveling by train to Versailles, when a
child who was in the same carriage, and_who .had
watched Arago for some time with dilated eyes, be-
gan tocry. In vain did the child’s mother, Arago,
and another senator endeavor to calm the per-
turbed juvenile. The poor mother was in despair,
and as the shrieks grew more and more piercing,
Arago felt bound to interfere and see what he could
do. Hesaid to the child: “What ails you my dear?
Are poy afraid of me? Idon’t look very naughty,
do I?” Thus addressed, the child sobbed out, “Take
off your nose.” Arago looked at the mother, who
grew very confused and said, “Ah, monsieur! ex-
cuse me; excuse my son.” “But madam,” said
Arago, “what does he mean?” The mother then
explained that she had during the carnival taken
her child to see a number of persons in masks and
with false noses, and he had got_so excited that he
could think of nothing else. “By an unfortunate
occurrence,” she added, “we got into the same car-
riage as you, who, no doubt, for some good reason,
are prolonging the carnival. But you see what a
deplorable result has followed. Let methen beg of
you to have pity on a poor mother, and take off
your nose.” “But, madam,” said Arago, stupefied.
‘A little more and my ehild will have convulsions,”
shrieked the mother. “Take off your false nose.”
“But, madam,” said Arago in despair, “that is im-
possible; this is not a false nose, but my own!”
‘Impossible! papeessiet? eried the agonized lady.
“Touch it,” said Arago. The lady gave a pull at
the senator’s nose, but it did not come off in her
hand as she had expected. “A thousand pardons,”
she said but pray, oh! pray, hide it with your
hat.”. So Arago continued his journey with his
nose in his hat, and the- child’s sereams cee
aterm, Arago himself tells the story with much
ee. . : 4
° _ How He Retaliated.

a

iat SSS
A Queer Order in Church.

A portly Teuton in Wilkesbarre, fills the twofol:
position in the community of saloon-keeper i:
week days, and o ist of a church on Sundays, ,
short time ago he had been up pretty late on 1
day night, waiting on customers, and next da)
while presiding at the organ, found it difficult t
keep his eyes open. The preacher proceeded wit
his sermon to the end, a t its conclusion the 01
ganist was fast asleep and snoring loudly. Th
choir being in readiness commence singin
some one shook the sleeping musician from hi
slumbers to play the accompaniment. He awok
with a start, and electrified the congregation b
shouting at the top of his voice, “Rosey, fife gloe

pier.”
Two Liars.

Some years ago there resided in Jerse :
Ill., two notorious yarn-spinners, naman iene
and Cooper, who sincerely hated each other. Whil
in the blacksmith Bhop, one day, waiting for wor
which he had ordered, Reddish discover m
unfinished work which interested him, and a
be aanith ke whom it belonged. He was told th

elonge rT.

NOPE? onelkened Reddish; What! bic. ‘Iyth
Cooper, who lives out here ?”

The next day Ppoper was at thes
work left by Reddish to be repaired. |

tive, he asked about the owner of it. ©
the information, he ex Wen

“What! not that big,

  
  

and saw tk
ing inqui
receivin

med:
1 Reddish
fiture of bot
To P. P. ConTRIBUTORS.—The following
“A Magical Hat and Stick)” “A MOS, $0 Aanante
Book weer ae raigeon ang ed,” “Ji cs
+“ le. » ;
Lobsters,” Rites Recollections.”...... Reo are”
- Soft”—old

5 ‘ully declined: ‘Somethi Very ‘
Boobies “I Dondt Lake,” “Hadmt Seen Any,” “Of
Mistake,” “A

The joke was too go eep, and in a few day
it leaked out, to the h parties.

 

 

Bloomer’s Small Horning, al One. _
Josh Billings’ Philosophy.
PIN FEATHERS.

If i kan’t hav honesty, and kapasity, giv me t)
Sonne: i prefer an honest fool, to a eapab
Vili. tk
It iz eazy enuff to play the monkey, but to play
well, is the most difficult ov all profeshuns,

When a phellow feels an inward itching 1 bp
sumthing for the nuzepapers, and kan’t think «
no good subjekt to write on, he haz mistook u
cauze of his itching—sawing wood iz what's h
itch meant. e

Pride kosts the world more than all other eon
moditys hove together.

I kno lots ov people whose only reckomend
shun iz, that they are helthy—so iz an onion.

Employment is the grate kure, it heals the blue
blisters the spleen, phisicks ennui, bleeds luv sic
ness, narkoticks the imaginashun, takes the ta
feathers out of atherialism, and brings a hum:
being level down onto the tops ov his boots.

_ it iz no big effort to preach the gospel, but_to do

iz just what’s the matter with Gabriel, and Hannz
both. A doubtful preventative iz wuth more than
possible kure. |

When yu git sik, hire a fust klass doktor, but

prevent gitting sik, keep yure hed cool. and we

 

combed, yure feet clothed with well shined boot
and wollen stockings, yure mouth shut, ai
breathe through yure noze.

Az an average thing, all the full powered enthus
asts lak asteam gage; like a kite, with too small
tale into it, they mount the Heavens clandestine]
perform sum startling trapeeze pizznes, and the
all ov a suddint, dive down hill, and don’t stop u
till they havstabbed the ground with themselfs, h«
fust, klean up to their ankles.

Whenever a man kan tell a sour BDpe from
sweet one, by looking atthe blows on the tree, |
will do to go into the allminax, and promisku
provesying bizzness.

The man who has no physikal courage hazb
very. little moral courage.

8

charity, than from the satisfacshun, that it air

the dissekting room, both have disgusting scenes

them.

It iztruly wonderphull how mutch more a man
opinyun is wuth in market, after he haz got sev«
or eight thousand dollars at interest, than what .
wuz when he wuz at work at 9 dollars a w

Humility iz the strongest kard that virteu, 0
vice, kan play, ee
Luv, and buty. are two hard things to defin

   
   

 

 

Brown’s boy_has eee the bad habit of chew-
ing tobacco. His father being cognizant of this
fact, often enters the boy’s room after he has retired
for the night, searches his clothing, and_appropri-
ates to his own use all the tobacco to be found. The
boy endured this as long as he thought proper, and
hen ‘esolved to “fx” the old man. égees

e night he mixer ~tobaceo with a large

quantity of cayenne pepper, retired to hin'ang ul

Ss,

 

 

lace, a ruching of thilace being around the outside of the front,
and headed by a w h of pansies with soft, graceful leaves.
Long ribbon strings 2t sides, to be tied under the chin or fast-
ened with long pin. |

For young ladies we notice some most desirable hats after the
model Danicheff, but with rather lower crowns and more youth-
ful appearance. nese hats have rims faced inside, and knots of
ribbon on left side, a band of ribbon around crown, surmounted
by or of flowers, secured by ribbon bow with long ends in the

ack.

The costumes were very elegant, and in judiciously chosen
variety, from handsome black silk suits to stylish evening dress-
es with floral garniture. A reception and carriage costume in
plain navy-blue silk, was combined with rich brocade in blue
and gold. The trai skirt in plain colors was trimmed with
pox-plaited ruffies, The princess polonaise was of the damasse
and had plaited ec y placed across the front, and
trimmed with tassel andchenille fringe, which also surrounds
the entire polonaise. Sleeves of plain blue, with trimmings of
the brocade, : ‘

Another elegant costume was of brown, also in plain and bro-
caded silk, and had deep box-plaiting upon silk skirt. The bro-
caded polonaise, in two handsome sliades of brown, had deep
fringe around the bottom in the same tints, while the pockets,
sashes, sleeves, and portions of the waist were of the plain silk.

A Bunting suit, in cream shade, made with apron overskirt,
and half-fitting basque, was very prettily trimmed with embroi-
dered ribbon in the new bright colors. ‘

Among the wraps, which were in all shapes and colors, we no-
tice a Breton riding-jacket of light cloth, of most gracefal con-
struction, the back a halffitting sacque, and the front a Breton
vest. The garment was embroidered in colored worsted, in
bright shades. .

We notice that the newest costumes have more fullness in the
skirts, and that they are draped over small wire extenders, on
small hoop skirts, with diminutive bustles, made after new and
approved designs, Our ladies will rejoice to hear this, for many
of them are beginning to feel the result of wearing the heavy
fashionable skirts without an artificial support.

“J. T.’—The new parasols are in the brocaded silk, trimmed
around with loops of ribbon. They are very handsome and sub-
stantial looking, and we fancv will greatly outlast those in the
cheaper silks which were so popular last year.

“A Friend.”—Such books as you mention costa great deal,
and then do not give you the desired information, One bvok,with
one dozen illustrations, is priced $30.

“FW. M.”’ of Corsican, Texas, writes: “It has been about six
years since I last wrote toyou; then I was a Georgia schoolgirl,
now I am married and living in Texas, Your answer to my let-
ter was so kind and encoutaging that I am going to tax a pa-
tience again. I would liketotell you how much I think of the
New YORK WEEKLY, but I cannot—suffice it to say, I cannot get
along without it.”’ Yes, and maize colors are very fashiona-
ble this season, so are allyellow or golden shades. Make your
costume after the princess suit No. 4,761, price, 50 cents, which is
cut very much like a polonaise. With this dress you can wear a
petticoat cut after pattern No. 4,702, price, 35 cents. Can’t you
match your material? Ifnot, get gray, in some plain, thin goods,
and trim with bine silk. For other intormation see answers to

 

eouch, and awaited events. In the morning the
tobacco was missing, and with ill-concealed glee
the boy passed the day wishing the while he could
oe the parent’s grimaces upon taking his first
chew.

Night at last Sppraate?, and with it the old man.
There was a look on his face that boded evil to
some one. The boy recognized that look as his
father opened the door, and was immediately at-
tacked with a fit of ague. ‘

Pulling the adulterated tobacco from his pocket,
the old man caused his heir to partake of an im-
mense mouthful of the weed, which he compelled
him to masticate for half an hour, meanwhile in-
terrogating him in this manner:

“Would play a trick on your old father, would
you? Would make him hop around, and tear his
hair, and think he’d swallowed a yolcano, would
you? Would make him think he was a light-house,
With all the lamps busted inside him, would you?
Til learn you to play tricks on your old father. Ill
eee a tobacco clear after this, do you under-
stand?”

_For a week afterward the boy took his food in a
liquid state, and will hereafter season his tobacco
with some other ingredient more congenial to the
old man’s taste. MAckK STRUSS,

The Parrot and the Drunkard.

Some years ago the proprietor of a Philadelphia
beer saloon prided himself upon the possession of
avery fine and very talkative parrot, which, in fair
weather, occupied a cage that was hung atthe front
door, to attract custom, One day, some customers
on leaving the saloon, remarked, one to another,
that the beer was sour. Poll heard them, and com-
menced crying to every pssser-by: “our beer sour!
our beer sour!” Business soon getting dull inside
the proprietor came to the door to ascertain the
reason, and was gieeted with: ‘Our beer sour.”
Finding that Poll, was the cause of his diminishing
custom, and that to silence her would be the first
step toward reclaiming his business, he removed the
parrot from the cage, rolled her a few times in the
muddy street and then réplaced her in the cage. This
quieted Poll for some time: to get the mud from
her feathers seemed to occupy her whole attention.
While Poll was thus engaged aman passed by much
the worse for liquor, and looking as if some one
had rolled himinthe mud, This roused Poll from
her occupation, and she called after him: “Is your

 

 

“L. 8.” and “Daisy B.”

“L. 8.°—We can get beautiful calicoes now for 12 1-2 cts. a yard.
They are American makeinall the English designs, soft and easy
to see, nice and wide, andin fresh colors. Make a calico percale,
or any wash fabric, atter the following patterns: Skirt No. 4,408,
price, 35 cents; overskirt No. 4,805, price, 25 cents, and the half-
fitting ue, No. 4,798, price, 30 cents, All of these garments
can be easily laundried.

“Daisy B.”—The new ties are in brocaded silk, with fringed
ends, soft, solid silk, and in gauze, illusion, and lace. They come
in all colors. Get astrawhat either in Normandy shape, or to
— over the forehead, and trim with flower wreathand knot of

silk. i n 4

“Mrs, Youne.’’—The Persian Khenna for the hair is a tonic and
restorative, without lead, Jac sulphur, or nitrate of silver. Price
$1.50 a Can only be sent by express.. Creme Blanche is the
name ofa magic beautifier for the complexion, which makes the
skin white, soit, and smooth, imparts a beautiful transparency,
1S dela. cooling, and warranted to be absolutely harmless.
Price $1 a box.

“Many friends” ask many questions. You can procure cata-
logue o} hions by sending name and address in full, also six
cents to the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency. 2d. The
party you reter tois reliable. Seal-brown and navy-blue can be
worn until abontthe middle of June. Light blue will combine
with navy-blue. If your material is of cashmere get basket
cloth © with itfor polonaise and skirt trimming. Summer
silk make a very pretty and inexpensive suit for either
church, yisiting, or reception purp«ses. For reply to other ques-
tions seé answer to Sarah B. Lenox. 4

“Cara.’—For information about hair tonics see answer to Mrs.
Young, We cansend you celluloid coral crosses in all sizes and
all prices ranging from 50 cents to $2. The cheaper ones are
einai nd plain. Those costing from $1.25 to $2, are in medium
and larg
and ros .

“Sarah B. Lenox.”—tTrim a hat to wear with a silk or woolen
nayy-blue suit with maize colored silk, plumes to match, and
pale pink blossoms. Have the inside rim shirred, and face
trimmings of lace, loops of ribbons, and a spray of flowers.
Young ladies wear their hair crimped or waved in front, combed

sizes, both round and square, and carved in oak leaves
They are very pretty ornaments.

bac the face, tied high up on top of back head, braided and
looped in the back—sometimes curls are allowed to hang over, or
down with the looped braid; others have two braids in the back,
both hanging and pinned together with fancy pin, or one looped
and the other arranged as a coronet.

“Country Merchant."—Your information is correct. Small
hoops or wire panniers are now worn by many of our fashionable

ladi whiose dresses are trained, and so elaborately trimmed
that they re e other support than the dress lining and under-
skirts. . NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency will fill

your Brace We poo. and will select the new and most approved
shapes in either hoops, extenders, or the new panniers. oo

“EK. Y. and D. D.”—We can get the gold watch and chain for
you, to cost from $100 up. Yes; in some of the fashionable suits
two or more colors are used. On garments made in plain colors
we often see trimmings of embroidered ribbon, which comes in
rainbow hues, and is very elegant and effective.

“E. Goldberg, Kalamazoo, Mich.”—Infants should have a full.
bath at least once a day, and some children will be all the better
fortwo. Do not bathea child in the morning until an hour after
it has eaten its early meal. At night the bath should only last a
tew moments, just at the baby’s bed-time. Let the water be flesh-
warm. Air baths are also very beneficial, and it the little one is
accustomed to run around a few moments, night and morning,
in a comfortable room, before taking its bath, it will increase in

 

strength, Milk is better for the child than anything else, but it

beer sour? is your beer sour?” The bird, no doubt,
thought he had been rolled in the mud for saying
the beer was sour, S: No ST

A Bit of Irish Enterprise.

“Mike,” said Dennis, “Mike, d’ye see that? I'll
fall overboard and you'll jumpin and rescue me,
and we will divide the reward, which will be a
pound apiece.” “Agreed,” said Mike; “here goes,”
and a minute later he was floundering in the river
Thames. - But no sooner had he fallen in than
Dennis, to his inexpressible horror, remembered
that he didn’t know how to swim, and so, instead of
springing in and reseuing the drowning man, he
stood leaning over the rail, staring at the bubbles
where Mike had sunk. Once Mike came up, but
Dennis gave nosign. Twice he came up, but Dennis
could neither move nor utter a word. For the fatal
third time he came to the surface, and faintly ex-
claimed: ‘Denny, ay ye ain’t moighty quick it’s only
fifteen shillings aich we'll get for recoverin’ the

body! ;
A Hint to Choirs.

A Methodist paper requests all who have any sort
of patience in listening to the slow, dragging sing-
ing in some of the church services, to sing the fol-
lowing stanza, written by Alfred Taylor, to the tune
“Joyfully:”

“Dismally, dolefully, downward we drag,

Making our music most mournfully lag;

Singing the songs of salvation so slow,

Groaning and grunting along as we go;

Painfully poking o’er pious old poem,

Weary, the worshipers want to go home;

Droning so dull they don’t know what todo;
Pleased when the plodding performance is through.

Questions.

How long would it take a tailor to make a pocket
in a coat of paint? :

How much cloth would it take tomake a law suit?

Did you ever see ashoemaker who could make a
boot for a foot of lumber?

Did you ever see.a wig for the head of a river?

Was the mana thief who went out in the night
and took a cold. : J. PAINER.

Not Painted.

A darkey, named Sam, who was in the habit of
getting credit at a country sture, one day asked
‘to see his account. The storekeeper opened the
book at the page where the account was kept,
and Sam saw over it the words, “Sam, Colored.”
This discovery seemed to annoy the darkey, who
said to his creditor:

“You are not telling the truth when you say Tam
colored; I was born so.” A BEAR.

 

 

       

pleased aes 8: 2
Soloman must hav been a ver

as a wize one, to hay undertoo

s0 menny femail fixtures in it.

         

  
  
  
   

The mo do the
a hain

  
    

If a woman ain’t coquetish, she iz prudish, :
for me,i prefer to see her adorned with red ri
an ndylions, than hung about with gar
kan ellsy si. a4

It s a great deal of takt not to.

I rather make a man think,

=
him laff, but i would prefer to make him d
The only way to hit the bull’s eye, iz to hol
ane it, and then besides, our misses are rex
able.
We all ov us seem to be more proud ov our var
than our virteus. ;

 

tys
All the piktures on the devil that i hay ever see
hay been hideous; what a burlesque that we shou
allow sutch a revolting looking kuss to deceive us

Thare are but fu men who kno the full extent :
on power, bekause thareare but fu who evere
ert it. ;

If a man allwuss knoze what a thing iz aktual
worth, yu kant phool him with mollasiss kandy,
net ticket, nor a nominashun for the pres

ency. sa

The phools are allwus a telling us more than th
kno, the wize are allwuss a knowing more thanth
are willing to tell us. Bach

Tam delighted that the majority of mankind a
so fullov gab, if they held their tungs we might
giving them kredit for more wisdum than th:
possess. ret

The man who kan slip down on the ice, wha
the water iz about an inch, and a haff deep, ande
joy the joke, equal to the bistanders, iz either
a phool, or a philosopher, i dont kare which.

hare iz no misfortune that happens toman th
grieves hiz spirit like ridikule, and ridikule iz
qroks emt harder to forgit or forgiv than ‘
a mule,

been sed ov them, are most allwuss tainted wi
selphishness, if a man withholds from us @ sekr
we withhold our friendship.

Thare seems to be 2 kinds ov pride, one th
blows itself up with wind, and the other that fi
itself up with sawdust, and i think the sawdu
kind iz not only the meanest but the most dange
ous. ; e7
Thare iz eloquence in most things ; i hay e
seen men take a chaw ov tobacko out oy their
and putitintotheir mouth eloquently. =

The man who kan ewrop Horses and a the tr
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, haz
safely over one ov the worst spots on the road,
tween here and the kingdum oy heaven. |

It iz so easy and natural to lie, that it all
seems az tho aman hadarighttodoit. _

The severity ov sum peoples virtews iz like su
vinegar that 1 hav seen, too sharp for use.
. Manner iz sumthing to every one, butto amonk
it iz all important and absolute. _ =

Grate gravity iz generally kultivated, and iz on
worn bi thoze who hay the most use ov it; g
iz a defensiv armor.

I hay allwuss notissed that the very talkatiy
= : very grave are two ignoramuses, jealous
other. ;

**Beware ov the man ov one book.” The man
reads everything, and remembers all he rea
git so full after a while that he don’t kno enn
in partikular. nak

A mere deskriptive book interests me just
slang ov an auctioneer duz, or the man who
at the door ov aside show and relates to the
ing krowd outside the wonders oy the learn
inside. y

If thare waz no flatterers in the world thare wou
be just az mutch yanity az thareiznow. Vanity
a self-sustaining institushun.

Wisdum iz intuitive. Long before thare wazen!
larning thare waz wisdum. :

Politeness iz a powerful art. I would sooner
dertake to get a mountain to step one side bi p
liteness than brute foree. .

The most diffikult thing to kultivate in a child
@ propper pride, and the eazyest thing iz to indw
them to eat breakfasst without washing their fa
and hands, - i :

Pitty iz the cheapest ov all the virtews, and it hi
its pride, too—it iz not uncommon to hear one pa
per pittying another. 4

Men who kno they re right areseldum obstinat
thoy kan afford to let the other phellow buck ag
their stun wall untill he gits tire
True bravery iz allwuss aimable and eazy. Tl
most terribly brave men ifav ever met wou
yield nine points gracefully, but lay down the
lives on the tenth one.

The only way to konker bad luk iz inastandt
fite. Bad luk never listens to the kry ov ‘quarter
but pelts its viktims allthe harder when they &
down. :

——-—___ > 6+
DIED.

On March, 22d, John Cannon, aged 32 years. Mr. Cannon w
for many years an employee in the office of the United Stat
Express Co. He was a man always taithful to ever, trust 1

 
  
  

     
  
  

 

 

sed in him, and not only earned the confidence and g w
Pr his employers but the love and esteem of all who knew hin

Honest and upright was his course,
Though his estate was poor;
He did the best he could in life,

 

 

And kings could do no more.

 

 

 

 

pity the misfortunes ov others, no more fro —

us. ;
The studdy ov human natur, iz like the studdy «

Friendships, after all the butiful things that h: te

 

peer mee