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Entered at the Post Office, New York, as Second Class Matter. Office Vol. 41. P.O. Box 2734 N.Y. 31 Rose St. New York, July 17, 1886. Three Dollars Per Year, Two Copies Five Dollars. No. 37. **NO CROSS, NO CROWN !” BY F L. STANTON. I sometimes think when life seems drear, When gloom and darkness gather here, | When Hope’s bright star forsakes my skies, | And sorrow o’er my pathway lies, It would be sweet—it would be best, To fold my tired hands and rest ; But then, God sends an angel down, Who whispers oft—‘‘No Cross, No Crown!” Last night I heard the river moan With sad and melancholy tone ; I saw its waters glancing free And dashing onward tothe sea. - I would have plunged beneath its tide, And on its friendly bosom died, But then, God sent the angel down, Who whispered still—‘‘No Cross, No Crown !” Then turned I from the river shore, To seek the lonely world once more ; With aching heart and burning head, To battle for a crust of bread! But Hunger came who knew me well, And fainting by the way I fell, But still the angel fluttered down, And, weeping, said—‘‘No Cross, No Crown !” «No Cross, No Crown!” As standing there, The cross too heavy seemed to bear ; And for the crown—I could not see That it was ever meant for me! The words I could not understand Even while I clasped the angel’s hand ; But still he looked with pity down, And still he said—‘*No Cross, No. Crown !” Back to the world I turned again, To court life’s joys, to bear its pain ; But all the sweetness that it gave, I followed, weeping, to the grave! And from the cold and quiet sod I lifted my pale hands to God, And saw the angel coming down, And in his hands a golden crown! Then did I laugh at earthly loss, And kneeling, lifted up the cross; Though all that once made life so sweet Slept ‘neath the lilies at my feet! A radiance from the realms of light Flashed for a moment on my sight, ‘A still, small voice’ came fluttering down, The cross had then become the crown! —_—_——_—_——_ > © <«—_—_ (THIS: STORY WILL a BE PUBLISHED IN BOOK-FORM.1 . ‘ . = MARRIED IN JEST: OR, The Heiress of Fernley. ee By MRS. HELEN CORWIN PIERCE, AUTHOR OF “THE CURSE OF EVERLEIGH,” “NAMELESS HAGAR,” “THE UNLOVED WIFE,” ETC, "MARRIED IN JEST” was commenced last w-ek.] CHAPTER IV. A RASH PROMISE. In due process Pen’s sisters all married and left the happy homestead which their brother’s loving care and industry had, till then, secured to them, and only Pen, his mother, and Ina were left. Pen was arising man. He had put the long winter evenings and rainy days to good account, and first he had won his way to the bar, and then his fellow-citizens had sent him to the Legislature of his native State, and there was no telling where he would stop. Ina and his mother looked on with a proud idolatry and faith in him that would have been surprised at nothing. Mrs. Payson had only one trouble. Unlike most mothers similarly. cireumstanced, she longed to see this only and beloved son married, but he always laughed and put her off in a half embarrassed fashion whenever she spoke of it. There came one day to Mrs. Payson’s an Englishman, a sportsman, he called himself, and he asked to board with her a few days. Always ready to turn a penny, Mrs. Payson readily as- sented, and the best bedroom was surrendered to him, with the parlor for a sitting-room. He was something of an artist, too, and he took a fancy to paint Ina. The girl was usually intolerant of strangers, and a request of this sort one would have expected her to re- fuse off-hand. But she did not. On the contrary the Englishman seemed to have a sort of fascination for her. He was not a handsome man, but he had an elegant and distinguished look, and his tongue was extremely enter- taining as it discoursed of so much that was grand, beau- tiful, and strange. Pen looked on displeased. He had taken a dislike to the man from the first, and now when he with almost no effort absorbed so much of Ina’s time, the feeling be- came intensified to something worse than dislike. The days which had been named as the period of Felix Haversham’s stay lengthened into weeks, and Pen knew that he must soon leave home for the session of the Legislature of which hé was a member. How could he go and leave Ina to be bewitched by this stranger ? Pen Payson was something of a coward toward this girl, who was asthe core of his heart. He. had never yet told her that he loved her other than as a brother, and the longer he waited the less encouragement he got from her. He imagined, indeed, that she quite avoided him of late, and when he stumbled upon her one day, crying in the orchard, the fact that he hesitated about asking her what was the matter was an indication of the state of things between these two, who were really so dear to each other. He did ask her, howeyer, and she answered woman tashion, ‘‘“Nothing,” and looked such a wretched contra- diction of the assertion that it made his heart ache. “J wonder it she has fallen in love with the English- man,” he sighed, drearily, to himself. To Ina he said, gently: “Something troubles you, but you need not tell such a russy old chap as I am unless you choose. (Pen was just twenty-eight.) Ina turned upon him indignantly, her lips quivering. _“You must not call yourself such names!” she said. You are not fussy, and you are not old; and maybe some- thing is the matter. People don’t often cry unless there is; but, as likely as any way, they don’t know themselves what it is.” «You do know, Ina.” “Do I?” “Ts it anything about Mr, Haversham ?” Pen asked, a jealous glitter in his eye. Ina could scarcely have told herself the source of the hot blush that mounted to her face, and made Pen turn Sr, eh eM = A> Z No FRO, Basil TO THE JEALOUS WATCHER IT APPEARED THAT HE WAS mS yy hy y We ‘ LZzya white as death. It was certainly as much anger as any- thing else. Haversham in that lordly way? He hadn’t seemed to care what became of her lately. He was probably going to be married, just as his mother wanted him to be. She was about to give him some provoking reply, when she caught sight of his pale face. The impulsive girl softened at once, and held out a little hand, saying, penitently : «JT didn’t mean to vex you, Pen.” “JT am not vexed,” he answered, coldly. ‘Don’t speak so to me, Pen; I can’t bear it,” she said, the tears coming into her dark eyes. It was more than he could bear—the sweet, tearful face so near, the pretty lips pleading in such tender hrase. e Suddenly, to her astonishment—to his own, too—he caught her in his arms, and kissed her twice. “Oh, Pen !” she cried, and hid her face on his shoulder. “Are you sorry that I love you, darling?” he whis- pered. promised——” «You promised ?” a little startled. ‘‘Well, what ?” «“That—that 1 wouldn’t let you—love me.” He’barely caught the words, but his aris dropped from her like broken withes. “To whom did you promise that, Ina?” he demanded, sternly. “T can’t tell you—indeed I can’t, Pen.” “J didn’t think, Ina, you would have made any prom- ise of that sort without first consulting me,” he began, in a deeply offended tone. “Ina, dear!” called Mrs. Payson, making her appear- ance from behind the tall bushes a little way off; “I wish you would come here a moment. Pen glancgl that way angrily, and dropped his voice. «Pity me, Gear,” he said, huskily, ‘‘and tell me who it was.” Ina looked pale and frightened. “T cannot—I cannot!” she said. “TIna, dear!” repeated Mrs. Payson, impatiently. “JT must gotoher. Don’t be angry with me, Pen!” she entreated; but he only flashed her a glance of min- gled anger and agony, as he strode away. With a very agitated face Ina joined Mrs. Payson. Pen’s mother just glanced at her. «J have been listening to you,” she said, quietly. ‘I called only to interrupt a conversation that I saw must be very painful to you. You have behaved nobly,. my son that it was I who drew that promise from you.” «You Said he did not love me—that it was only pity. “J say So still,” responded Mrs. Payson, meekly. ‘He know, he has rather claimed you as his property.” «And so lam,” cried Ina, with indignant fervor. ‘«‘Where should I be to-day but for him? You have been very kind to me, Ma Payson. I owe you more than I can ever pay. But lowe Pen myself, all that is ise. You must, indeed !” The beautiful girl glowed with fond enthusiasm, her dark eyes flashed with loving tears. “No, Ina. Listen to me,” said Mrs. Payson, with a visible effort at composure. ‘You have never guessed that Mr. Haversham was here for anything but his own amusement, have you? count. He knows who you are. He has seen mother and talked with her hundreds of times.” Ina’s face was marble-white. Her eyes blazed like stars. With her lips parted hungrily, she listened for Mrs. Payson’s next words. «He swears that he will never tell you a word except as his wife.” The excited girl drew a deep breath and recoiled in- voluntarily. “It is a conspiracy,” she cried, in accents of bitter re- proach. ‘‘a conspiracy against your own son.” Mrs. Payson flushed and stammered : «Pen would get overit, !amsure. If what this man says is true, you might marry my son, and take him far away from me across the sea, Mr. Haversham says ; and he is all I have.” j Red spots began to glow in Ina’s cheeks. { What right had Pen to ask her about Mr.*| lingly. «JT don’t know,” she murmured, clinging to him—‘*‘I | | “but I cannot be grateful to you without being the bit- | child, and i cannot praise you enough for not telling my | is only jealous of this Englishman, because you have | belonged to Pen so long, because from the first, you in me, all that Iam, You must give me back my prom- | He is here solely on your ac- | your | “You would still have the girls,” she said, tremb- | She stretched out her little hands appealingly ; but | Mrs. Payson turned away and would not see them. | ‘Mr. Haversham will tell you nothing unless you | promise to marry him.” she said. «Pen will finda way tomake him tell,” responded | Ina, in triumphant faith. Mrs. Payson turned angrily and put her hands on the girl’s shoulders. «You must not speak of what 1 have told you to Pen or to Mr. Haversham. Promise me.” «You did not say so at first,” her face clouding. ‘But [ told you in confidence. I insist that you shall | not speak of it. Will you ?” “Certainly not, without your permission. But really, | Mrs. Payson——” «Don’t argue with me, child. Do you suppose I would have tried so hard to be a mother to you all these years, if [had supposed you would reward me by taking my | son from me ?” “You were kind and good to me,” said Ina, feelingly, terest of ingrates to him. You must release me from | that other promise.” ; : “No;” and Mrs. Payson moved sternly toward the 1ouse. Ina followed more slowly, her cheeks still hot with ex- citement. On the way Mr. Haversham joined her. She looked at him with an emotion easy enough of comprehension, chafing terribly at the seal that had been placed. upon her lips. Was it possible that this man had come here with the purpose Mrs. Payson represented ; beautiful far-away home which Pen said was a dream ; that he knew that mother who was so passionately remembered and longed for, who haunted her nightly visions with such vividness? When would he speak to her of all this ? Ina liked Mr. Haversham. She could not believe that he would make her becoming his wife a condition of revealing what he knew. And yet her heart fluttered alittle with gratified pride at the thought that this dis- tinguished-looking gentleman should wish to marry her. She was too young, too guileless and unsuspicious to guess that so fine a gentleman could meanly desire this only because he knew her to be the heiress of immense wealth. Pen, gloomily pacing his chamber, a prey to the most unhappy forebodings, saw Ina and Haversham as they came slowly toward the house, chatting in an absorbed way, it seemed to him. He clenched his teeth as he looked at them, and muttered ? | “For him! For him.who never saw her till a month ago, and I have loved hér more than half her life-time.” Mr. Haversham stood and talked a few moments ; then | he got his gun and sauntered away again through the fields. His blue eyes took a more than usually sinister glance as he went. “She has come to’ some sort of understanding with | that Yankee lover of hers,” he muttered. ‘If she has quarreled with him the fates are on my side, and I sus- | pect she has, if the old lady did her duty.” It was a day in spring when the weather was getting warm, and in the little parlor of the farm-house the curtains were drawn to exclude the sun. This room had been given up to the Englishman since his arrival as a sitting-room, but the family still were urged by him to sit there when they chose, though they seldom did so, except Ina. It always fretted Pen to see her | there, but he had never said so. | Now, as the door stood ajar, it looked to her, in her present mood, very inviting with its shade and solitude. She went in and closed the door softly behind her, and dropping into the rocking-chair, began to sway gently to and fro, and muse upon the events of the morning. Her thoughts were in a confused and troubled state. Gradually the shadow and coolness of the room soothed her, and insensibly her eyelids began to droop. She was asleep when Haversham, somewhat -fa- tigued by the heat of the day, made an earlier return than he had intended. He was one of those smooth- stepping men who never do anything noisily, and when he saw Ina he set down his gun carefully and shut the ' door without a sound. “She is handsome,” he and deliberately surveyed the unconscious girl; ‘‘an LAVISHING FONDEST CARESSES UPON THE GIRL. said, to himself, as he stood ' Sibyl herself might be aristocratic beauty, too. Lady proud of those slender, tapering hands. By George! If I thought there could be any mistake now.” Heran his long white fingers thoughtfully through his scented locks. ‘It can’t be, he continued. ‘I’ve taken up the links one by one, and been extremely lucky about it, too. Let me only win this shy prairie queen, and I shall have more than retrieved the mistakes of a life-time. Somehow [ have been unlucky always before. I believe luck is going to turn now. There’s only this Yankee beau to be circumvented. It’s odd though what an un- cultivated taste will lead a really beautiful girl to. It wouldn’t be an easy matter to convince Lady Sibyl now that any woman could seriously hesitate between a civil- ized gentleman like me and Penryhn Payson, Esq. Humph,” as Ina’s sleeping lips moved over one sweetly uttered word, ‘‘mamma.” Before he saw she was asleep he had taken a step to- ward her, saying : ‘Miss Ina, did you speak to me.” “No; I was talking to mamma, and she won’t answer me. She never does now. She never has since that wo- man stole me away from her,” the girl said, turning to- ward him exactly as though she saw him, though her eyes were closed, the inky lashes lying in vivid contrast against the cheek which was colorless now. An odd pallor came into Haversham’s delicate, high- bred face as he bent nearer tolook ather. Hedrew back again with an amazed countenance. “She is asleep,” he said, in a low voice, ‘‘and yet when I spoke to her she answered me.” Felix Haversham was not a young man. He had had some queer experiences in his day, and at odd times had that he held the mystic clews to that | dabbled in some queer sciences. A curious expression came into his eyes now as he threw a sweeping glance about the room, at the windows where the curtains were swaying slightly in the wind, Then he bent his eyes again upon the sleeping girl with a thrilling, intent gaze, under which she stirred uneasi- ly, as though she were conscious of it. He smiled, and moved his hands, jeweled like some rich beauty’s, slowly to and fro before her. She became quiet again, but the beautiful face had acquired a certain rigidity of look unnatural to it. “She will not wake now,” he said, triumphantly, watching her. ‘They might drive a coach and four through here and it would not stir her.” , He turned and locked the door. Then he laid a hand upon her head lightly, and spoke authoritatively. «‘Where are you ?” te asked. “T am at home,” she whispered, with a dreamy smile. “There are white marble steps leading up to a terrace wreathed with roses.” «Do you remember it ?” «Yes; [remember I played here once when I was a little child.” “Goin. Find something that was yours then.” ‘“*] have.” “Describe it.” “It is a doll, almost as large asI was then. It has a dress of scarlet silk, and a gold chain round its neck. There are wheels inside of it. I used to windit up like a watch, and it played tunes on the little harp it holds. The wheels are rusty now. it was given to me bya Swiss friend of papa’s.” «Where is this doll ?” “Tt is in mamma’s room, in a glass case.” “Ts any one in the room ?” “Mamma is there,” beginning to tremble. “Stop! LIforbid you to be excited. Describe her.” In acalm, passionless voice this.strange sleeper said : “Her face is thin and pale. She has very fair hair, which she wears in braids about her head. Her eyes are blue, very large and sad. She wears a white dress, and she has on her:hands ringss which glitter like stars.” ‘ “Tg she alone ?” “No,” with growing excitement. ‘‘There is a young girl with her, who kneels beside her. She kisses her, and calls her ‘darling’ mamma,” with a low, sharp cry. «She is not your darling; here I am—here |” “Be still,” said Haversham, in the same imperative tone as before, and touching her closed lids with his fingers. ‘‘We willinvestigate this hereafter. I bid you forget all that has passed.” A faint spasm of pain contracted the beautiful face. “JT see my name ina book inthe young girl’s hand. ab, | fore her coffee urn, serene in self respect. | aSked ?” My Own name that I never could think of. Let me re- member that ?” “No ; forget all—everything,” said Haversham, sternly. Again he stepped before her and waved his hands swittly to and fro. ‘‘Sleep,” he said, ‘‘sleep naturally.” The rigid look left Ina’s face, she breathed softly like a slumbering child. But her face was very pale, shadows | lay under her eyes. “J never knew one of Mesmer’s children to be mis- taken,” muttered Haversham, thoughtfully. ‘But this girl’s mother haS been deceived so many times already | by fancied resemblances to her lost child, that it seems | incredible she should have permitted herself to be again | cheated. I must question farther, but not now; it is not safe.” He unlocked the door, and stole softly out, leaving his | unconscious subject to be waked naturally by the sounds from the kitchen which was opposite. She did not awake however till tea was ready when the sound of the bell in Mrs. Payson’s vigorous hand roused her. She looked lovelier than usual as She came to the sup- | per table after a run up stairs toa hasty bath of face and hands, and a hurried smoothing of the tumbled curls. The slumber fiush was still in her cheeks, her dark eyes were liquid still with sleepiness. But Pen who had seen her come out of the parlor, which he persisted in considering Mr. Haversham’s private room, sat down to the table with an angry crimson in his handsome face which had not entirély left it as he quitted the house after supper, without once looking toward Ina, whose glance sought his constantly. The Englishman’s fastidiousness had craved a private table when he first came. But Mrs. Payson’s pride had taken alarm and Haversham had been informed at once that she could not accommodate him unless he ate with the family. The alternative decided him, and he oc- cupied his seat at the table regularly with the rest, honestly endeavoring to subdue his disgust at the close vicinage of the cooking apparatus, and to display as lit- tle as possible of those superior airs which he imagined might embarrass the others. But he need not have been alarmed. Pen felt himself his equal, and was one of nature’s noblemen, besides having unmeasurable con- tempt for the Englishman. Ina had too imperious a spirit to know embarrassment, and Mrs. Payson sat be- As it grew dusk, Ina spying Pen leaning over the low gate by him- } self, joined him. Pen knew who it was, but he did not look round. «Are you angry, Pen ?” she whispered. ssNo.” “Took at me and let me see,” with a little hand tug- ging at his arm. Pen hesitated a moment, and then slowly faced her, “You may not be angry, but you are certainly not in | good humor,’ she said, flushing under his grave, sad “Ig it because I could not tell yeu what you she continwed; <‘because if it is,” drawing near, ‘I want to say that you know ag aell.as i that I ought to keep may. Word. and not.teli Tt promised not Pen made no reply,.and his look was so stern that poor Ina felt as if her heart-was breaking y “Dear Pen,” she said, impetuously, “I never promised I would not love you, and I never will promise it, though you treat me so cruelly.” She hung her head. Pen started and suddenly grew pale. «‘Was I cruel ?” he asked, quickly. «Oh, Ina——” “Pen,” said Mrs. Payson, coming down the walk with her bonnet and shawl on, ‘‘I want you to go to Marian’s with me. 1 promised we would come to-night. You have not been there for more than a week.” Ina drew back. Pen cast a regretful glance toward her, and suffered his mother to bear him away in triumph. It was late when they returned, and ina had retired for the night, as he supposed. She had indeed gone to her chamber early in the even- ing, and, weary with the excitement of the day—over- come, too, with a singular exhaustion which seemed to eyes. | steal her senses from her—she had sunk down upon her | usually did. bed just®as she was and fallen asleep. It lacked half an hour of midnight when she rose, and, opening her chamber-door, passed with the tight, gliding footfall peculiar to her down the little stair-way by Mr. Haversham’s door, and out upon the low, long porch. The day’s excitement had affected her as such days With all her senses locked in slumber, she was treading in imagination the loved halls of that far- away, beautiful home. To her this rustic porch was a marble terrace; and as she left it and floated down the marble walk, she sighed to herself, ‘‘How sweet the lilies are!” though there were no lilies there. The night was warm, and Felix Haversham, who had wandered out to the gate with his cigar, and stood there still, smoking, at half-past eleven, turned with a smoth- ered exclamation to behold this Vision with its dark, floating curls, its white face shining in the moonlight. He saw how it was in an instant. «This will never do,” he murmured. ‘She will betray everything, if she goes wandering about in this fashion talking to herself.” He threw away his cigar, and made half a dozen passes with his hands before the eyes of the sleeping girl. Her features assumed the rigidity they had worn under similar circumstances a few hours before. Chancing to lift his eyes just here, he imagined he saw Penryhn Payson at his window, which overlooked the yard. «He has heard her voice,” he muttered, ‘‘and-if he is human his blood must be on fire now to see her here with me at this hour. Let us see if we cannot add some fuel to that flame.” His lips curved in asneer as he circled the uncon- scious girl with his arm, and drawing her to him, held her so some moments, with her white face upon his shoulder, her long curls streaming down, and his own head bowed over her. To do the Englishman justice, he was too cool-blooded to wish or think of touching his sacrilegious lips to that angelic face. But to the jealous watcher it appeared, as he meant it should—that he was lavishing fondest caresses upon the girl, while he was, in reality, watch- ing that scarcely discernible figure at the window. Some fancied movement there caused him to hastily release his unconscious prisoner, and warned him that it was not wise to stir to too passionate wrath that young athletic Pen Payson. Leading Ina within shadow of the porch, he stood a moment in thought. Then relinquishing his former in- tention, he conducted her to the door of her own cham- ber, opened it, and as she passed over the threshold he touched her shut eyelids lightly with his finger, and spoke some words in a low but commanding tone. She entered, and he closed the door and stood beside ita moment. Then.as some faint sounds arose within, he glided away, saying to himself: “Jt works. She will wake, and never know she has been out of her room. Mesmer, my boy,” he exclaimed, as he entered his own apartment with a triumphant air, «ewhen I am master of Fernley I will erect a monument to thy memory.” Poor Pen did not try to sleep any more that night. He only longed for morning to dawn that he might let Ina know he had seen her, that he might order Havershan to quit the premises. CHAPTER V. IN THE TOILS. About dawn a neighbor cime by for Pen to go with - him to the city twelve miles distant, and Pen was only then reminded of an engagement which could not be put off. He had told his mother of it and then forgotten it him- self. His breakfast awaited him. “T will be home early,” he thought. It was dusk, however, as he sprang from the wagon, and without entering the house hurried to the barn to see that all was right there. As he tossed a bundle-of hay into the manger, Ina came through the broad door-way. “Is that you, Pen?” she called, eagerly, and nearly crying. ‘I thought you would never come.” Pen made no reply, though the pathos of her voice touched him against his will. He went on stabbing his fork into the hay, as though it could feel, and pitching it down fiercely to the horses, till the mangers would hold no more. Ina sank down on a pile of straw, looking pale and ill. Days of more or less exhaustion always succeeded any xt Week|. ° AF -.$She almost pushed him into his room and closed the THE’ LADY’ OF LISBON PLACE. « OLLA PODRIDA. jt was dusk of the day following the night on which he had set out, that Senor Sebastian arrived home, over- wearied in body and miserable in mind. His fiery Span- ish nature burned for revenge upon the destroyer of his son. He could not reconcile himself to the necessity of. letting the murderess escape. . A chilly and death-like depression settled upon his soul as he rode slowly up to the gates of his house. So desolate did that home appear, that it seemed as if he could not enter it. Had he not felt thatit would be cruel to abandon poor Bella in this time of trial, he would have ridden on toward the mines without even halting for the night. Only one object in life now presented it- self to him, and that was to find and bring home for Christian burial the bones of his murdered child. He expected to start for that purpose the very next day, getting from Romeyn such assistance as he could spare ; Harris he supposed to be far on his way to California. Great, then, was his astonishment, to be met by both Harris and Romeyn, as he dismounted wearily, and walked toward the piazza. The two young men ran down the steps to welcome him, like two brothers, seizing his hands, and: Harris actually kissing him on the cheek. “I suppose you thought me off long ago, and so I should have been,” began John, in his hearty manner, “but something occurred to delay our expedition a few days. You will not scold, will you, senor ?” Sebastian found such cheer and comfort in the sight of them and the sound of their voices that he felt little in- clined to find fault, albeit he wondered somewhat at the cause of the delay. “JT cannot tell you, friends, how glad I am to see you. It is worth the sacrifice of the whole million to meet you here to-night. Something terrible has occurred. I felt hardly able to bear it alone.” He appeared so feeble and ill that Harris supported him with his strong arm as they walked up the steps. “Yes,” he said, -‘the slave-woman has told us a few of the particulars. We will talk it over by and by. But not until you have had your supper, senor. I, too, am glad that we came at this time.” «Where is Bella?” asked Sebastian, looking about, as he entered the hall. : “She has been ill all day, from excitement. ButIdare say she will rise when she hears you have come.” “Poor child,” murmured the senor, ‘‘poor, poor girl! I trust that woman_ has had the discretion not to break the worst to her. It was not necessary that she should know all.” “She has been discreet,” said Romeyn. Carlos, the man-in-waiting, stood ready at the door to welcome his master. “Oh, senor, 1am so glad!” he cried; then, checking himself and looking deprecatingly at Harris, added, in a more subdued manner: ‘We were afraid the banditti would get the best of you.” “How are the wounded men, Carlos ?” ‘Doing well, senor—none of them are fatally in- jured.” : “That is good news.” “Will the senor have a warm bath before his sup- per ?” : “Yes, Carlos; I’m dust-begrimed from head to foot.” “Everything is prepared, senor,” said the ready ser- vant, leading off his master to the room, where the warm bath stood ready, with a change of clothing al- ready laid out. chord was touched upon. the valet inoved about; it was good to be home, and to be kindly attended, but all his thoughts were with that little grave at the foot of the pine tree in the wild moun- tains. i : It was an awtul object for a parent’s heart to dwell upon, : ‘Jam so glad the young gentlemen happened here,” he thought, as he left his room somewhat refreshed by his toilet. ‘I do believe I should go mad with this pic- ture before my eyes it they were not here to relieve my mind a little.” , “Supper is served,” was the announcement as soon as he entered the parlor. The three gentlemen walked into the dining-room. ‘i “I have not broken my fast to-day,” observed Sebas- an. i They sat down to asumptuous supper, more like an elaborate dinner. ; , Bella did not make her appearance, but the young men, like two affectionate sons, pressed the senor to eat, While the servants moved about with beaming faces, and the old cook came twice to the door to peep in. At first. there was not much conversation, but when the meal was nearly over, and the dessert was being placed upon the table, Harris remarked to his host: ‘You have not yet inquired what ‘business was of suf- a importance to detain my whole expedition two weeks.’ «True ; but the fact is, Captain Harris, I feel no inter- est in anything.” “Still, if, you care to listen, I would like to explain to you,What, as a partner, you have a right to know.” «Oh, very well,” was the listless reply. “The night before we expected to start I detected a Comanche prowling about our settlement, and, pounc- ing upon him, I brought himin. It turned out that he had a message for me of some importance.” “Did he warn you of an attack to be made if you set out ?” ' “Not exactly; still he was friendly, and came ona friendly errand. He had iniormation to sell, if I chose to buy it. ‘The rascal, as usual, wanted to drive a sharp bargain. . Nothing less than twenty first-class rifles, a whole keg of gunpowder, and alot of blankets would satisfy him.” You did not part with your rifles, Harris 2?” “I offered him a large amount of gold, but he turned up his nose at the dross. He had no use for the article. He wanted covering for the body and weapons to bring down the game.” “Including you and your men, on your trip across the country.” “Just as likely as not. Still, 1 thought the information worth the risk, and I finally came down with the powder and rifles.” “‘TIndiscreet,” murmured the senor, at which the cap- tain did not seem in the least disconcerted. ‘‘Whatwas it, Harris ? a new mine?” “IT wouldn’t take another mine as a gift,” said the’ young man, laughing; ‘‘the one we have is too big a thing for us. No, guess again, friend.” “Indeed, [am dull at your Yankee game of ‘guess- ing,’” answered Sebastian, wearily, pulling the great golden-green grapes one by one from their stem and dropping them untasted upon his plate. «The Comanche told me that a small party of braves who had been ranging over the table-lands at the foot of the mountain, all summer, had a—had a prisoner, whom they were willing to ransom for the price I have named.” “And you, with your accustomed generosity, paid the exorbitant ransom and got the poor devil in return, who will be the first to shirk duty, if you ever get in a pinch, mark that; captain.” gis “¥ don’t think so; but even if I did, I would pay more than that to rescue a young and pining child from these Savages. : ‘ “Child?” queried the senor, looking up; his own dreadiul bereavement made him ‘sympathetic when that _ Harris’ eyes were on his plate; Romeyn peeled an 8 ge diligently. : i _ “Yes,” continued Hgrris, growing a little nervous ag he proceeded, and clearing his throat so often that Se- bastian thought he must have taken cold, ‘the story of the little tellow’s captivity was rather singular. This war-party, it appears, got on the track of some Califor- nians, who were making their way to some gold mines lately discovered; and followed them a at many days, but the whites were so thoroughly. armed and or- ganized that they were afraid to attack them. The Co- manches hovered on their rear, however, until the whites entered the mountains ; when the savages aban- camp in some secure spot where the. resist any attack which might be 1 “T did not know that others Comanche district,” remarke where they located.” “It seems that there were § ad, with the whites,” contin could successfully entured into the nor. “I wonder and a young” in, scratching Mrs. Henderson, alias Jardine, had taken to blot from doned the chase, seeing that each night the Californians, |. | evidently understanding their business, fortitied their the mind of the young child the memory of her own rer and induce her to accept the new one in her place. *T keep her drugged as much as I dare. She was drugged all the time we were in Havana. She made me no trouble at all with Ferraro brothers. I only saw them in the evening, and once in daylight with my vail down. Once away trom Havana, I was not at al! afraid but the deception would be easy thereafter.. When she awakens [ tell her that her mother is dead, and that I am hér mother now. She cries; but she is drowsy, and l easily reconcile her. I shall not tak er to her rela- tives until I have confused the past in mind, so that she will believe that it was Mrs. Henderson who was killed by the cruel soldiers, and her mother who is with her. She is very fond ot me. Of course, I could easily rid myself of her; but, good heavens! one must have something to love in this world. Yes, even this cold-blooded tigress showed a real fondness for the child, From the account jotted down, it was pertectly apparent that she had induced Sebas- tian to allow her to take Anatole to San Francisco that she might get rid of him there. She had plenty of money from the estates whose possession she had usurped to live on comfortably, but she coveted everything for her- self and Bella, and her restless, evil nature could not live without it had some plot on foot to occupy it. It also became apparent from the diary, that she dreaded Elee, who detected her in some of her at- tempts to tamper with Anatole’s food. F “I declare, we owe that ‘heathen Chinee’ an apology,” it, if we ever come across him,” re- sponded Harris. a Jt.was decided to allow Bella to know that the woman she had been brought up to regard as. her mother was an impostor, but not to shock her with the details of the iniquity. Glora was called in to the conference, and instructed what course to pursue in the matter. ‘Laws! I hain’t told her the’truth, nor never shall!” Glora received the heartfelt thanks of Sebastian for the long and tedious journey she had undertaken and ac- complished. “You will remain now, always, with your young mis- tress, will you not ?” “Jest as she says, master. But if I stay, as I'd fancy to above all things, I must. ask her to send tor Sam. Sam’s my husband; he saved me out 0’ the fire, time of the trouble, and we was married atterward. He’s a first-class servant, Sam is, in the house; an’ I’m certain he’d like it here better than in Cuba, these days.” The following day other matters were discussed. Har- ris was anxious to get back to his men, who were impa- tiently awaiting marching orders. But the temptation to remain one more day was irresistible; and then Se- bastian would not hear to his going. ; “Surely we can take a holiday now if ever in our lives!” said the senor. _So feasting and amusements were the order of the day all over the place. Every peon had his time to himself, and a present of something from the muster, that he, too, might rejoice in the raising up from the dead, as it were, of the son and heir. Romeyn kept his chronic heart-ache to himself, while Harris tried bravely to forget that to-morrow he was going off without a word or sign of encouragement from the girl he loved. As the long, bright, dazzling day was slipping to its happy close, Harris, who had for some time missed Bella trom the little group, and who supposed her in her room, perhaps grieving over the woman who had been as a mother to her—growing more and more melancholy with the idea of their long parting, Wandered off along the paths, through beds of flowers, through groves of oranges and nectarines, and on along’ a Single narrow. by the way of Vera Cruz; and, in order to protect him through the first few days of his journey, which alone were dangerous, Sebastian resolved to accompany him with an armed escort; also the bride and groom and Anatole were to go along for company; in short, the whole family decided upon a visit to the United States, which Romeyn immediately seconded by inviting them to his wedding. : . That wedding has ‘come off.” It was a fine affair, and much admired by those friends who understood that Mr. Oscar Averill had much more than redeemed his pecuniary losses by splendid gold-mining operations. in Mexico. A Vane Spaniards among the guests at- tracted universal attention, the fine, aristocratic bear- ing of the senor, the unequaled loveliness daughter—bride of the millionaire John Harris—an the grace of his handsome son. Of one thing we are certain, they were as happy as they were rich and dis- tinguished, which is not always the fortunate fate of beauty, wealth, or even youth. “ (THE END.) —--———--+ > o-~< Pleasant Paragraphs. (Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contrib- uting toward making this cohamn an attractive feature of the NEw YorRK WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for mublication anything which may be deemed of sufficient in- erest for general perusal. It is not necessary that the arti- cles should be pernod in scholarly style; so long as they are pithy aaa likely to afford amusement, minor defects will be remedied. of his youn Funny Men. A dentist is a funny man, By his profession shown, , He works on other people’s teeth To find work for his own. " The surgeon is a funny man, Which all of us must own, Cuts flesh from other people’s bone To put fiesh on his own. A lawyer is a funny man, A “Shylock” he is known. He never fills his client’s purse Until he fills his own. The plumber isafunny man > Who comes to every home. — He mends the bursted pipes And makes the housé his own. The milkman is a funny man, To few he is unknown; He pumps the water into milk, And claims it gives it tone, The teacher is a funny man, With intellectual dome. He puts in other people’s heads What’s been put in his own. He Didn’t Disturb Her. ; Onacertain occasion Ferguson was wending his un- certain way homeward, sorely troubied in his mind over the curtain lecture he knew was in store for him, and casting about for some means of nee it. Suddenly a bright idea was evolved from his befuddled brain. He would slip quietly into the house and get into bed with- out. awaking his wife. Accordingly he carefully un- way which led toward the stately palms, whose clump of | tall plumes formed one of the most picturesque objects | in view from the house. Under these palms he wan-| dered until surprised by a glimpse of Miss Jardine’s | white dress, as She sat on the elastic turf, looking sadly off at the sunset, whose arrows struck under the high, waving foliage and glittered on her golden hair. Hesitating whether or not to retreat he finally went forward. As he drew near he perceived the tears run- ning down her cheeks. Ina moment the generous low forgot his own trouble in compassion for hers. - would have retreated, but she had heard his step and looked around. | * A burning blush dyed her pale cheeks when she saw whoit was’ >”: coe Bi “J never dreamed you were here, or Ishould not have intruded, Miss Jardine.” : “I dare say not,” she answered, with something very like reproach. : : : “Of course, I wished to come,” he went on, not know ing what to make of the accent of reproach; ‘‘b would not have dared. I can’t tell you, it ge me to see yousad. I could go away w light heart, I do left you as gay and as you ought to He,” ‘Oh, yes, I knawyy ain Harris.” — ae of etiquette. ter t i fornian: 3 rock, and went niet as a snake, ning down the a le Oo niles, or when he tethered the b forward on foot. . As he crep up the narrow defile, he saw ass and immediately conc Waeting ledge where the deep hid him effectually. The moop over the plains, giving a fai lurking redskin was aston sparing of language to tell m traveler was a woman, oomne sl let hi nite I his plate with a e senor le Ss ife drop on his plate with a crash which broke the delicate china into fragments. He rose from his chair: his black eyes, burning like coals of fire, rested on Harris’ face, who would not look atghim, but continued, halt choking: “The .Comanche made up his mind to see what was up. The woman passed him,,paused but a few feet away, laid her burden, under which she had been sighing and staggering, on the ground, and began to—to—dig a hole——” Great drops of sweat stood on Sebastian’s face. “Great Heaven, Anatole, stop! not another word! Is my boy alive ?” ‘She went on digging the hole for some time,” con- tinued Harris, giving one swift glance at the excited face in front of him, ‘‘and—and—and—come now, Sebas- tian, be a man!” «Where is my boy ?” «She—she—went on—digging the hole,” floundered Harris, whose mind contained the single idea that it would be dangerous to break the good tidings too sud- ‘denly, and so was staggering on with his story after the swift-darting thought of the parent had comprehend- ed the situation. “Pid he take my boy out alive ?” screamed the senor, stamping his foot. Romeyn and Harris jumped from their chairs and ran round to his side of the table, catching him by the shoul- der and hand. - “Be calm,” said Romeyn. «Be a man,” said Harris. “My boy 2” pleaded Sebastian. : “Yes, he did, Sebastian. He got him oufafter she had gone away. Of course, at first, he supposed it to bea corpse; but hefound the body warm and pliant, the,pulse beating full at the wrist e “Oh, Anatole! Where is he now, Harris? en’s sake tell me that!” «Do you think the information worth twenty rifles ?” laughed the captain, with outrageous delay in his reve- lation. ‘‘For my part I think the Comanche earned it. He had lots of trouble that night and the next two days in concealing himself and his prisoner. He did not ddre to rejoin his war-party until after we had given up the search and gone up the mountain. The Comanches were very fond of the lad—they wished to adopt him— a few bushes For Heav- told such large stories of what his frien: ing to give for his ransom, that—that—that % against time. Perhaps he was; story, his eyes were fixed on the library door which opened into the dining-room. That door now unclosed, and Bella came, pale and smiling, into the frame of the open door-way ; servants were crowding at every door and window. The senor was blind to all this by-play. «You do not tell me where he is!” he cried, sharply. «Miss Bella,” spoke up Romeyn, ‘‘where is the ran- somed captive? Can you produce him ?’ “Father! father! here Tam!” * A pair of arms hugging his neck, a pair of lips pressed to his cheek. Sebastian did not die of joy, although the young men had been so apprehensive of the shock, and had prepared him for it so carefully. Trembling and faint he sank into a chair, holding his treasure to his bosom for afew moments in utter silence. Then he lifted his face, whispering a thanksgiving for the restoration of his child. Then followed the thousand questions and answers, the joyous confusion of tongues, while Bella and Anatole, who had been feasting for hours on the good things the cook kept sending him, trifled with the dessert, for which they had little appetite left. One remark ail his triends kept repeating at intervals : “How well he looks !” . They could not recover from their astonishment at finding Anatole taller, stouter, in every way healthier than he had been for years. Yes, the pure air of the plains, the out-of-doors existence, the plain food, and, more than all, the absence of the subtle poisoner who had so long tampered with his life, had restored him to a fine degree of health. — : Long after ‘‘the children,” as the senor still called them, had retired to 'rest, the gentleman continued up, too excited to Sleep, talking over the particulars, and making out what they could of the strange, wicked diary of the arch-adventuress. Harris was now, of course, certain that this was the woman who had mur- dered H. in New York, and whom he had ‘seen when he was a lad of fifteen. “J was always struggling against conviction when I was in her presence,” he said; 4‘and oh, how relieved I feel to know that Miss Bella Jardine has none of ier blood in her innocent veins !” * Sebastian was too deeply absorbed in his freshly aroused grief to heed the pleasant alacrity with which ' under a pro- | th and kept him allsummer; but he begged so hard, and | would be will- It seemed, for all the world, as if Harris was talking | ae for, a8 he tried to get on with his} ttishly. ‘You must see how )do without you. He does not Romeyn.” s much, Mis ; and I am ody else’s in ‘Are you, t » looking up with a suddey took his breath away, it was 80 unexp pie with us—with Sebastian, I mea _ He sat down on the turf by her side. ie you want me to stay, Bell: 8 es.’ 2 . gaa to my friend “Why ?” ‘ ets , Again that bewitching glance, just one, _ ete a | > “You must guess the reason, Mr. Harris. | He lifted one of the fair, dimpled hands; he kissed it, | and she only blushed without attempting to draw it! away. A sudden hope dawned on ‘him of the meaning of all this. His own face flushed; with his finger under the pretty, rosy chin he turned the eons face up, but the trembling lashes still hid the tell-tale eyes. “Bella, it is not possible—I dare not think—that you have learned to love me—me, after all ?” “If you won't believe it, what am J] to do ?” she asked, shyly. er ‘Assure me of it,” he cried, eagerly. “Ah, not until you have first said that you love me. Girls never make the ayowal, Mr. Harris.” “Bella, you witch, I love you—love you—love you! I never loved any one else; I loved you the first hour saw you; I never would have loved another though I had lived my life out alone. You knew it all. But nowI have said it. Now do you love me ?” “J am afraid I do,” very timidly and faintly. About half an hour later Harris thought to inquire: ‘How long since you began to like me, Bella, my own sweet. sweet, little girl?” “J really cannot define the time. I believe it must have been when those ugly Comanches wounded you. I was So sorry your arm was hurt.” “Ever since then, you little angel? I never dreamed of it. I thought all the time that Oscar was your hero.” «T did admire him very much. I came near tancying myself in love with him, because he was the first young gentleman with whom I had ever associated. I admire him still.” “Oh, admire him as much as you wish,” said John, “But Jove you, Gapitaine.” «You delicious little darling! great awkward, hulking me? It appears incredible to me, éven with your dear ] ee in mine.” “That's it, capitaine; you’re so modest, and so good, SO brave, and so——” e ish, hush, or { shall think you are fooling me.” Sebastian desires it so much.” ’ and then ie I couldn’t live myself if’ you were to go away— that is, forever.” ; - Well, they sat under the Pee which sighed and fluttered overhead, talking the soft folly of youth and romance, until the rosy sunset deepened into twilight. Then they wandered back; and as they came into the lighted parlor every eye which looked upon them could tell that they were plighted lovers. This wished-for denouement crowned the senor’s day with fresh pleasure. pie vay E ‘ “JT wish you, too, were my son,” he said,-as he wrung John’s hand for joy. ey “I shall be a relative by Bl aig tong, I hope.” answered Harris, with a side-glance at Bella’s averted face ’ Romeyn, enthusiastic over the betrothal, at once of- fered to take charge of the expedition to San Francisco, and leave his friend in Mexico, where he could be near his affianced. on But John did not*believe that Romeyn could foil the Comanches, who would be sure to harass, if not destroy, the party. ‘ ; ; “One more venture, darling,” he whispered to Bella; “then I will settle down and never leave you again.” As it was so evidently best that this should be so, all were obliged to consent to the arrangement. In the morning he. bade farewell to his weeping betrothed— and to do it gayly, as hé did, was one of the bravest of his many brave acts. Romeyn returned to the mines; ion Bella and Anatole remained to brighten the senor’s ome. © ‘ Sebastian wrote long letters of explanation to Ferraro Brothers ; he also, at Glora’s request, wrote to the les- sees of Lisbon Place, thanking them for their kindness, Wee them of the slave-girl’s safe arrival, and its op- portune result, and asking them to fogyward Glora’s hus- band to Mexico, and he would pay the expenses. In ten weeks Captain Harris was back trom San Fran- cisco. e brought three mule-loads of ladies’ finery with hifn, including a white satin dress, a wedding vail, and a set of pearls. ‘ He also brought Oscar a long letter from Maude, de- tailing the death of Vance, and dwelling eloquently upon Gracie Delzemar’s truth and constancy, ending by gging him to return aS soon as ible. A'portion of the diary, cult from its age to make out, Which ‘interested ‘them much, rekited to ‘the steps s . When it became known that Romeyn wished to re- ttirn to New York, it was decided, in consultation, to go * . Bs 2 * t to this town from St. Lo came from St. Louis to this town ?” 2 sions.” ence. You don’t hear me make such awkward expres- sions. i the way, Ihave a letter from your father in ™m, . c tak bouquet of flowers in her hand was waiting at the ferry Oot aman of pleasant address approached her, an : brother-in-law.” Cupid on the mantel looked asif he was about to clap his wings and crow. dressed in the lower hall, stole gently up stairs and crept into bed, with his face turned tow altt | the outside. He mentally congratulated himself upon his success thus far, and went to sleep. When he awoke in the morning he dared not look at his wife, and after lying still for a few minutes, and not hearing any noise from her, he concluded she was still asleep. He then deter- mined to arise very quietly, carry his clothes into the hall, dress there, and go do vn town to business without waiting for breakfast. He?was successtul in this, and, ‘Eliza, you can tell your mistress I expect to be very —— A couple of visitors from a rural district in the House gallery were trying to pick out their Congressman on the floor. ‘I can’t distinguish him,” said one, after a hopeless visual observation. «Of course not,” was the honest reply ; ‘‘he can’t even distinguish himself,” A little girl from the city was on her first visit to the country, While riding near Clifton Springs she saw a lot of cat-tails near the road. ‘Oh, auntie!” she ex- claimed, “I never knew before that sausages grew on sticks!” Physician (with his ear to patient’s chest): «There is a curious Swelling over the region of the heart, sir, which must be reduced at once.” Patient (anxiously): “That ‘swelling’ is my pocket-book, doctor; please don’t re- duce it too much,” Fadi Husband fence wants painting badly. I think Tl do it my ife—‘‘Yes, do it yo lf, if yout it wants to be badly.” oe 7 Customer (in restaurant)—‘See here, Mr. Proprietor, this steak is se hi ‘arcely cut it.” Proprietor— “We will mak at. al Mgt sir. Here, Ratio just - bring this ge nan a sharper knife.” “Papa,” said Bobby, sleepily, “can I ask you one more question if it tain’t foolish?” “Ya-as, one more.” “How much older is a ripe old age than a green old age?” A flank movement—Pa with a strap. Motto for persons who preserve fruit—«The , wh think they can,” P y can 0 Never borrow trouble. Of course not ; there is always somebody that will give you all you want. >e~ A COMEDY OF ERRORS. BY MRS. E. BURKE COLLINS, “Oh, dear! Was anybody ever tormented go in all their lives? Here I am with my heart and hands full. Half a dozen boarders coming to-morrow from the city, and not a single, solitary person to help me, and none to be found for love or money; and there’s the baking - and ironing to do, and the sleeping-rooms to see to, and —oh, dear! I’m the most unfortunate woman alive !” And Miss Samantha Primrose, spinster, folded her hands with an air which seemed to inyply that she washed them of all things earthly. «What's the matter, Miss Samantha? You look like the last rose of summer. Tell me all about it, and, perhaps, who knows but I might be able to help you ?” And aslim slip of a girl, in a blue linen dress, witha knot of pansies at her throat and another in her crown of goldefi hair, entered the room swinging a sun-hat by its broad blue ribbons. A pretty girl was Rosamond Orne, fair and blue-eyed, and possessing a spice of mischief in her composition which was liable to ‘‘crop out” at all imaginable and un- expected moments. Sole boarder of the house of ; handsome home in New York to pass a quiet summer with her old friend, Miss Samantha. That lady’s small gray eyes wandered now, with a comprehensive twinkle, from the golden crown of hair down toa tiny bronze_ slippered foot, and the ghost of a derisive smile touched her grim-visaged face for an instant. “You!” (with ineffable scorn). «‘Rosamond Orne, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to make fun of a poor old body in that heartless manner. What headway would you make at ironing and baking? and—good gracious!—I forgot all about it, but there’s the east chamber to be whitewashed before Mr. Grafton comes !” “Mr. Grafton,” ejaculated’ Rosamond, turning a little pale, ‘‘is Sydney Grafton coming here? Miss Samantha, meeting the colored servant-girl down expec he said busy to-day, and therefore I didn’t stop to eat breakfast with her this morning.” ; «Law sakes, Mr. Ferguson!” said Eliza, «missus done gone ’way yesterday morning, and said she wouldn’t be ack till dis evening.” 5 Paes ee A Quarrelsome Woman. iat Professor (to his wife)— dear, I wish you would speak more careiully. Yi Say that Henry Jones came siemens atin Wite—“Yes.” Proft.—‘‘Well, now, wouldn’t it be better to say that he Wife—‘‘I don’t see any difference in the two expres- Prof.—“But there is a differénce—a rhetorical differ- iy s r is not in your pocket. You have, du ypu pocket, a letter trom my of.— ‘There you go with your little quibbl e a delight in eae A me. You are alwa ing up a thread and representing it as a rope.” Wite.—‘‘Representing it to be a rope, you mean.” Prof.—‘‘For goodness sake, hush. Never saw such a quarrelsome woman in my life!” . ’ She Understood. | A woman With a market-basket on her arm, and a big ther “Madam, that is a very fine nosegay.” “Vos, Sir,” “7 think itis the finest one I ever saw, and I have been in twenty-seven different States.” *<¥ és, sir;” oP “There is the pansy hiding itself behind the rose. Ac- cording to the language of flowers the pansy stands for ‘darling, I cannot live without you.’ I likewise observe the rosebud. The language of the rosebud is: ‘’'m looking for a husband.’ Madam, do you understand | the language of flowers ?” “Yes, sir.” | «Then what is the language of that tulip 2” “The tulip says, sir, that if you don’t stump Pinte | with your brazen impudence IJ’ll have you walked into the station-house !” was her firm reply. He stumped. Love and Law. He—‘“‘It was natural, you know, that I should be at- tracted to you.” She (shyly)—‘‘Indeed! Why ?” He—‘‘Well, you know your brother studied lawin the same Office with me, and we were admitted to the bar together.” She—‘‘But what had that to do with me ?” He—‘‘Why, don’t you see, I looked upon him as a She (blushing)—“‘Oh, I see!” Then he slipped the engagement-ring on her psc and their heads came close together; and the Paria : A Bee Line. «Mr. Featherly,” inquired Bobby, ‘‘what is meant by a ‘bee line?” “A ‘bee line,’ Bobby,” explained Featherly, with an air of erudition, “means the manner in which a bee flies to its hive after it has loaded itself with honey.” : Bobby’s face assumed an expression of perplexed amazement. «Then what did pa mean,” he asked, “by saying that he never met you on the street that you weren’t making a bee line for some saloon ?” What Followed. “What! aboy of your years doesn’t know the parts of speech ?” exclaimed the teacher. «“No’m.” “Haven't you ever heard ofanoun?” ©@ “Oh! yes’m.” «Well, what comes next ?” «Don’t know.” “A pronoun. Now please remember that. Then there’s the verb. Now what follows that?” «A proverb.” Petrified Chickens. “Le Diggs, here’s an item I wish you would read to our landlady,” remarked De Wiggs. - “What is it about ?” “Apout a man in Mississippi who sold a petrified chicken for $20.” «What do you want that read to her for ?” “Why, don’t you see, if she finds out she cdn get $20 apiece for petrified chickens, she won’t serve any more up for dinner.” Too Late. “I left a little check for $10.000 among the wedding gifts,” said the girl’s father to his prospective son-in-law, “and after the ceremony is over we will quietly tear it up. See? That’s the style nowadays, George.” “Ye-es,” hesitated George, “that’s the style, but I’m afraid it’s too late to tear it up now.” ‘Why 2” , “Because I went down to the bank and got it cashed.” Living on Them. “J do love pigs’ feet so!” exclaimed a young man ata down-town boarding-house the other day, as he reached over and took the last one from the plate in the middle of the table. ‘I do believe I could live on pigs’ feet.” “Are you sure that you don’t ?” was the sarcastic ques- tion put to him by Crimsonbeak, who was about to help himself to the fast disappearing foot. Hard to Please. Husband (on leaving for the race-course)—‘If selling is prohibited I shall never attend another horse- race.” . ; Wife (on her husband’s return from the race-course)— ‘Were there any pools sold, dear ?” . Husband (bitterly)—‘‘Confound it, yes, and I bought some of ’em. It’s the last horse-race Ill ever attend. ss Mirthful Morsels. “‘Why don’t you mount a clean collar, Brown? I mount one three times aday.” <‘‘Yes,” replied Brown, a to I'm going back to New York on the evening train.” “You'll do nothing of the sort, Rosamond Orne,” snap- ped that lady, irately; «I promised your pa and ma to take care of you while they went gallivanting off to Europe; and I'm going to!” “What? Go to Europe ?” quizzed Rosamond, saucily. ‘You mischief !—no. I meanT’m going to keep my promise and take care of you till they come after you.” “T know all,” sighed Rosamond, dolorously. ‘I see the truth at last. Miss Samantha, I have been a dupe— a dupe of the deepest dye. Papa and mamma are so determined that I shall marry Sydney Grafton, ana were so angry because I refused downright—true, Mr. Grafton hasn’t asked me yet; but he had spoken to papa—that my honored parents sent me off here to rusticate, and now—you see, they have dispatched Mr. Grafton to the same place. He will come,.and declare that he had just pened to hear of this delightful spot and started at . hap) once for its alluring quiet, and—— “There's your litle mistake, my dear,’ man han “Sydney Gra . He ena Bn { pose 0! ing fo hims And Miss Samantha looked ‘delig clever way of turning _ tables. samond s her little foot emphatically. “He will never know that I am stormed. prepare for your boarders, ifit kills me! Tl disguise myself, and he will never think of identifying me with your maid-of-all-work, and will go back as wise as he came. I won’t attack the ironing,” she went on, rue- fully, ‘for I would bh myself to death ; nor the bak- g, for my cooking ld scare your boarders away. But Pll set the tables, and wash dishes, and sweep, and do the chamberwork, and—first of all, Ill whitewash that east chamber.” : «Rosamond !” / «Don’t scold, Miss Samantha; my mind is made up.” «What do you know about whitewashing ?” screamed Miss Samantha. “Try meand see! I am a natural artist, and have quite an affinity for whitewash brushes. Don’t attempt to deter mé, dear Miss Samantha. I'll run away as sure as youdo. Now, 735 dear, good soul, go and prepare the whitewash and brushes, and Ill prepare myseiy.” And darting from the room Rosamond ran up stairs to her own cool, spacious chamber, returning in an increa- ibly short time arrayed in a plain dark calico dress, minus overskirt and ruffles, a white handkerchief knot- ted about her throat, and a pink: dust-cap drawn on her head, completely hiding the rebellious golden cursand shining braids. She had stained her face and hands with Miss Samantha’s hair dye, and was altogether apparently quite a neat-looking mulatto girl as she mounted the step-ladder in the great east cham- ber, and attacked the work at once. Miss Samantha watched her with loving eyes, for in her sight nothing that the girl did could be wrong; and really the way that the whitewash went on the walis showed a verve that pleased the elderly lady, as Rosa- mond worked on with a perseverance worthy of a bet- ter™ cause. Bae Finally Miss Samantha stole out of the room, and went down to the kitchen, where she was soon immersed in preparations for the boarders. Her thoughts were far away as she mixed up her cake and rolled her pie-crust; and when a laughing face peered in at her through the purple morning glories clambering about the kitehen window, and a pair of dark eyes gazed into her face with eer eee glance, she started in astonishment. “Gt gracious!” she ejaculated, ‘‘if it ain’t Mr. Syd- ney. “Right you are, Miss Samantha,” cried the musical voice, and a tall, gracetul figure dashed in at the open door. ‘“Yousee Il got away from business a day sooner than I expected, solcameright on. You are so occu- pied,” he added, as his eyes fell on the spinster’s floury hands, and the. big patch of cough which adorned one cheek, “I'll go right up. The old room I suppose ?” And before she could stop him or explain, he had darted up the stairs—up to the east chamber, and Rosa- mond there, whitewashing! Miss Samantha began to wipe the flour from her hands as though it were poison, and .prepared to follow him; butit was too late. So, remembering Rosamoend’s altered appearance, the good lady comforted herself with the assurance that he would certainly net recog- nize thatjyoung lady, and went back to her baking. In the meantime Rosamond worked away like a hero: She was daubed with whitewash from head to foot, and: there was almost as much upon the bare floor asupen the walls and ceiling; but still she kept on, unh ig. the fact thatthe door just behind her had opened. «There !” she ejaculated, triumphantly ; “that is done, and, I flatter myself, it is well done. Ugh! how my shoulders ache; and all for the comfort of that detest- able Sydney Grafton! I wish he’d stay away.” Ri A suppressed laugh startled her. Turning suddenly, she saw that some one was standing in the door-way. With a low cry of mortification, she stepped backward and—fell! Fell, but not quite to the floor; for Sydney Grafton had caught her in his arms, saving her from severe injury. Of course he believed her to be a mulatto servant girl. Her eyes were closed, and she had nearly fainted. Com- mon humanity prompted him. Heseized a pitcher of water which stood near and dashed it over her. She opened her blue eyes and struggled to sit up. As she did so, off came the pink cap. “Miss Orne!” gasped Sydney Grafton. “Tam not Miss Orne!” she an, indignantly ; but the room. © u may as well own up, Rosamond,” she excla “for the dye is all off your face, and your hair down, and—Mr. Grafton, what/are you laughing : “This comedy of errors!” he cried. that Miss came here to escape me, and : 5 lieving her a coquette and a proud, haughty leader of fashion, had come here to forget her—if 1 could. But I cannot. Rosamond, can’t we bridge the awful chasm, and shake hands and be friends?” ‘ ; And I suppose they did, for [attended their wedding not long after, and they looked just too absurdly happy for anything. _ ; . ae _ UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN. “T have fo jebig Co’s Arnicated Extract of Witch Ha- ze] the moe. sfactory preparation of Witch Hazel, in every respect, of any | gre seen. : “3. G, GILCHRIST, M.D to the swaggering Jones, “but every one’s mother isn’t @ washerwoman.,” . s- ~* “Professor of Surgery, etc.” Cures Piles, Rhéumatism Neuralgia, and Painful Month- and dollar sizes, la rose at present was Miss Orne, who had come from her here, so help me!” she. | | “Miss Samantha, I’m going to help you to; _ a. a . -- na cone | G s { , ; j > & oh i | VOL. 41— a 93 5- No. 37 * er BY THE SEA. SEA, . Last i : 13 year W B e pac i I none tl eh ‘ ac in min ne restles yOune: ; = = : A e you less sea ; ee . ig I tne ote wy clas hands “irae ae “ Th r blu se to “Why - hen vas i a is ohetearee were y t, as 2 to ask — | ; : | we 2 tT hay ask ie tye amy and go, aivou, sald are vere room, the lave said, sort “Th i ; 8 gc oset ?” tha Jew.” , en ?” r as.| Yi “hat is We, t in min t and | “B ‘ t befo : . te a he is Me ‘Because re. Why Th re as kind and I Bes ee drea. ; ‘Out wi J——” y did y is 1ese Wor nd and oe is so a Ee a Seam ee ee eae, We sai paradise to me Wanele be g dream Ts ould have taker nim the. Ma tee ane a . =e r love w e; earth si “Yes.” Wy cen it if nigh yish “That’s 4 , ina and n e dete ating at % ace, Wh | wes Would no abatement Enon ee | aaa o ubken eit Tiigd a @ oh tp rob nim | "Pw Sag 2 Tien a fea aa Tw ould 1 ement k ange. ant me oo thir ? lance.” : will ask li for a repl But 2 atiment, nt ae to Ree is a as just ast—it s now > We to give 1. You h » ‘All ri ask her to reply.” what ab » and ailed tok stly arous apaecrte n 10 eseap : Once one year eems SO cr hat doy ita nam ad ano She ght.” come he out this with a t eep our Stic to escape. The 8 | more ¥ , ago. stran ey eston ga: you mean ? e?” ther cep penned ere.” messa and eam, car appoir gainst me ee Susp ‘e we go. ge very th gasped an ?” object lll se the n age? | h left hi , carried itment 1e delaye eae ny I do aon the the y of hi ought the wo . Do yo went fr e that y ote and T ouse of m. Hee my br¢ . I eae, me s\ suspi- | ly vi Gaps 3 ot hold e sum yellow san ke is past 1 , pur rds. It ah from the you're Trip a my te aman conceal ther to £ erward ¢ so that I ly called a ae ¥ your nmer sea ; ds en-eyed ife w DOSE, and seeme c was room not ec eee str am. to G named ~ ed hims an obse drove jumpi by a ne ne uhel 2 Ido ou do r tiny a 5 Hy , loW-V! ere al the th d to 1 ; clad cir not unti ‘ ested,” : ructin, 0 Grot - Gro mself seure st aus ISSR ee a not pr not eling hands. yjah laid -voiced all bein oughts rim that for Mi rl came ntil af ,” said to be g him t e’S sor te; and one nigh statior Tass, evere,t ee ee . A ess yo ling to mi "2 quietly a one h: man g read 0 and » his ' Miss G e in at th ternoon t Chris, ; n traced oO retur a, Who we returni ght at n, | for y ss Revere Ss, twos eee “polite Wer nd kis u to my e ; “ay nswe 1and wpo r divi Pre Ss} Chri erber. he lad 1 that , as he ame at Gr But nitt vas a gig ing, Is the you.” e, there i ais | ‘ume. cn e stroll Ss yours y heart th mean tl red: upon th ned by es “~PL S was on : ies’ en a grac althou at Grote’ ; I drop o the stab gigantic I gave u “Did | reisage at a haa olite ears veatne For sone twe nowy br ue intenti 1at you e youn this A l show y hand to trance ¢ eful, pla: me i igh it is s hous ped a sli % le, as I di tellow, i Dp “No 1e give ¢ eet ) — ve are nty yards ow— strange on of killi entered g man’s And in you to} 0 see th and ir ainly | th injury IS now se, and I p ot pa id not oe n- | Sai » MISS: ane fo } 4 married apar rand, ; coincid ling I the J arm an ushered another 1er TOO nat ther iquired e aiding This is too late aye tit as is ae fe as 5 [THIS now t, : , and ence, ¢ him yo ew’s da into r mom ms,” | e was cers W ng of ¢ is tay sto > to hay iat it ws ring my ae re went ae ve . STORY a : ‘Hea got ahead came © urself ; apartm the pr ent 1e declar no tre mo ho ar a convict story e the fi was fot ay | self ai evere W 1e'd wait rie oe WILL N o~ break ven hel ead of thither 1 and B ent wi esence pretty R ared. achery. pelied -t re on th ct brothe ont ine aa 2 e a = / LL NOT Bi ak aw p me!’ you.” er updo: ludso th of BL ose OC y. | whic to mai e Wi her to k uly cri g of it she ree w ROU Visltor ae em , : : : = 2 2 ee on the YO keep ¢ ne has do | x ecorniz 1 her visi stairs, 2 the door ‘ly, and ; . ; SHED Cr ay !? ut the d ed the same | 2 oes erber ord Ww agains S not t an ¢ r him lear of lee wa les as os i y f ; IN BOO eston tered tl etective’ young er- CHAPT' . as “fea t me.” Oo be Ww appearé . And yet the offi cM. e famili ould be ine £ : ' K- now ce 1e e’s oras ms ‘ ER That’s J won ance of canes ot - Q wi a : (7 THE ‘ FORM. ] bank ce to struggl ve: ak DP. an, striving to oul ler 2 FLIGHT res ae A me may boy, tl err excited ‘personal guilt 3 x oe are ; < d my “Tam : ere W e. His oice of nd th s the , or we fi ENDED. ist be kindly , that’sso!’ ong suspi ult, | fri Sorry! evere, it i John S ; : eet in y was b terrib comm: sue e tree utter re.” They moving i Taco hy, “t ne _ =a = = a e o “8 at Seid ot ance of tw y ros cif we ypathy aid Buck She] left! Mr. Armit: Amey 4 : e cret was Ther lie R wo eand o e expec er 85 os ckley, his She lookec ere hen | Ad P ark Salis 1 sar Br ate mh Tess. merc in at more to tone tha fone a OM ic oer ee tae Seer he ‘and glanced about i erie Pre handsome fa so pleadin Bae Shen 2) ne 0 He A cire y str of the G erciful aint voi well the s. Lec rminati ne aim O rom. be- _And Ppa ang out si them ar of tk “a “we Ph ace, tha eka 3 = ! fg . Eg umst ruck t rand ha oice a hat t k, th on expr of his side CH. WwW you thi t 1 wa: : emanded ? BY J “Ah.” lal appro ened—it , mnduct nt “ge ter MU VALL S EE, APT We sl nk y as the pr ,ina Heav J. B. chance she sai val tr Aas Ver ats . : ~ ot oo eaven ¢ 7 anced t said, ‘‘y rom his svery pi iter- (“The G Y HILL lait Won oa the mome THE MESS LIX. “Wwe _ g0 act wi up hen is rep Dp ee ee our war os pe ees eet ee we ee See pl The Grand Park Se MYSTERY,” DER,’ oenich ‘Trip -nt that Blancl AGE. UE a wiv 3am ey erect . nose chars wel ay with dteanty ee Se Scat x s e : : c u a = eae - ie 1eer our “hich co: imparts 7 flowers hey e tried t S. an the wi is mornin riends tained of all pon it Martin | n, She u r had “You’ for you propose a last t one of ney con ur fainti ome lik : nam rie sr = s ; of all oe the foll » written i nad sli nrolled closed “ ow’ll hav 1 to retr to do ” resort.” f us.” TO ro ne with vi ing hea iKe vernal lip. n her voi as DRG tt tae re 3 OL Cork in No. “ owing: nm in @ gré pped into the sera and lock “We ean s € to Urea Ja They be each y iolet-toote rts. al showers “Be ice. Mr Nepicaae oe = CHAPT ers.] . 21. | Miss G 5 * aceful, la her hand p of pa .| “You ar stand itd it a long w TD come wl yearning on Seri | 2 on se = , ER X commu ERBER : » lady's h : per | Why, P re a pai it you vhile.” he gola 1en ee Sas 1g; “I agree » is an insi hah tenet XLVI mur micat : I ha andwri looko ll hay air of cap.” And smi en bel ry mins J 3 _ “And y with y signific te a Ferd THE CC IL. urder e—som ve so tine, w kout f ave th dunce 1 smile a lis. of istrels ferr id yet, E you,” ¥ icant Ii ae rd Crest CONFESSI with of you ething methi g, was “T for you.” e who $ to Which > among May s ring rred Sylvit Ella, th respol "Ella io Whe on was ON. mM out da r father. that ¢ ng of im r should UL.” le cou hold ou skillful 1 the tend 5 Ella o1 vius Be’ vere W: nded Eli ee eSB ‘ n sur pushed : e? Pl nger of er. Co oncer port; eady. Y think ntry ar ut in thi Ww il natu er leay: Ella grew ¢ Bellmont’ as onde a tine ae would rounded to the w. this ease publicity uld I ns the ance sue tw You're you y aroused this way here’ re roun ayes That w crims it’s atte tone to whe | «| = bea by reck é wall. whic He vy reply b ity? O see yo myste to two m ea bray had a and 0 ay. Som er we t d them ous tri was bef a ee nue could 0 r the b inet raft vhich I will go t y the m re aioe | ce en.” ave lot, to pretty ¢ n the some flow sey dethivndt ee are ce ma penl runt of ans. Brook ne unde hrough fi essen you he hot ep re des , to turn o1 good Some spiri veret SW willing S. Mr. Ar sand their an e S But 2 iy defy the the co , whom ooklyn Ttakes. M fire o ger wh come ti el hen y perate n outa number : A pirit br weetly bea eyes Miss mitage s ee sions." ow Hind nflict he kn | . s. My ad r wate 0 bri 0 see “You ou hav > customers.’ Db army r al- nits nd eart aS seeental Sg r oe = ae man, W , alone 00 de , the y ew | You dress rt tod ngs y giv’ would e mad ers.” y top And if w h the ri congeni s, Ella,” e’s face ae i Hele sia and f tectiv young | Blan BS ks ee ranean en up i vo male Ora ur- 1d If we 100 nese a) Se eee eerie - inal co very 2 ace to e€. g man | COU che se. onfidence, 28.1 rrand “So w n the fi had an e: Above sur’ k with seems ; ghs, Tow it said, “I w ath the f Oe ts aide hs iol glance face wi | course of a ated he ce, | stre ep would y rst pla n easier Anear urroundi hopeful gé “Wh » would b wonder foldsgp rer thick entirely in abject was suffi ith the | That i ction rself ni «ROSE et, ‘Tm ‘not you, if y ce.” er time of i So some nois ing glo 1 gaze long hether, it e now ? how it w f her thic ERS OF disa fear, © cient t wonderf | must she coul ear a wi CRAWF “Well of that ki ou had a itif y Wi me flow oiseless a oms, scor: and ear [ were nov Laat mndersts eas | “First ppeared , Creston’s d oO make ul | Chri have th d do n ndow to ORD.” Leck p we're n kind.” bandone you had ‘ith love er foreve angel str tk orntully at nestly tees aL ss a, | €0 tell me th F Ss defiant a a crim-| I 8. e help othing al conside sultati woineren’ either.” d the pu To star. and joy rer blooms ays, 1e experi away tro 1 have or ae pala I oe \ mmanded e nam ttitude ts n them of Chri one sh ra A ion wit a mome rsuit.” the dark and beauty S i ct : = 3 | . refuse , in th e of the haa! ™ ith D eanwh s Tobi e reali At last h 1 his co ent, an r ker sce uty rife yet he yo ; ee ea oe ; obedi at terrib murder i Th udley, th ile how in—brav zed. StI “You e said mpanio d then nes of life. ” With an altos ht a truth ! ence le voic rer,” Hy ly e tierce} e cle fared ve, fai whe ag had bett ina ons. held TH —>—® fe. Ella, w unwont laughe ae : i . =Do e to W yjab | youth's blow rk. the y thful good chi etter persuasiv a bri E + call y , Will y nted tr ie a hi aa i not hich haa | th s head v of th yout us mor hase give sive to ef con- ES you my W ou ciy tremble it re ve : The hesi noo | that th , and e lat rin h more shar’ and I w up ti ne : n 8) me my wif give me Te vole e youn tate— ne dar te e latt it Ww iter W: is co But sharply will a é@ battl F - , my OW vife 7 ne the ri ae Yo a trembl mg man and s a fe sitw er elud as only as aim nflict | u the odd y than w dmit th oF RUE And’ wn little aoe lnk ti oi ing if covered speak th Pe tect he w ed its full by th ed strai | up even ot Apparels ae vou Lat hay LO And she 01 Ie Ella?” think you ean 3 : : = : 8 = ae ait aime st saben ae ; = Ww tually. ¢ gainst y ere ever u have e led us BY HE VE “Yes!” ily ans la: x you cé rk for y e voice pen. F ace wi | me in Vv ve fall t stage ce. st su the || 3° e are not and yo you, and er outwi > Outwi ms : z g z | ; = os a Phat sent ggering ppleness | Then y ot ready yu migh you w vitted tted “Mis RREST th: ius Be : arn to lov Speak e Hin mom his h Guin ris q cor it for g acr ss; “é nm you Ww ady might as w 1 wil befor Miss R ~ = z : the doo ent and erec uickly itact, the oss t If y u would f ae rm ey an = : : S . Crest truth !” again enj he was s, | t. ASD y recovere wall w he cor you you hav 1d for the fir 0 it @ to give Mrs e, ma’a et . ston lift ! enjoine silent: Ropers udley ered hi with w ridor, uw have a ve any ce us to m reply now. ve . Hartley vo = i 2 z “The ed his f d: | ed: again a mself hich he “T have lready measur extreme m middle- y rose t the draw Ww: he pars ellow,” h uspicious 7 close murd ace and Hie eep bai dvanced. and on e “] ve sent employ es more 1e mea iv aged I Oo obey awing-r atched ae jnlgt coat ne “Ike Bl erer’s nam huskily } ‘Then birt? toward ce more arr don’t ¢: » for mor yed, you I extrem sures ?” oice wh natron, W y the sur g-room.” looking the door: onto is wl Pap oe mid ight. ing n udsoe, th eis Blud said : “Tf yo get off th him, tl mena tere are oa ia r more men alr hia yetter'| than th baat. 8 incor sana ith pleasai nmons— golden Se ear aaan the w ~ oF See 0 surpri , the forger ? soe.” | don’t a au wish Soe prem 1e youth | 0. re not goi u have SS lor wl is = = e = : : E ; 3 ‘ : = cz : = ap si eful nly wis portuni a thunder evening. uba come The sa ise. Hyjah lengt ttempt t have -1% ises !” or | You : g to gi b tor t . r husb: r drea rom th eyes. , caer ish I I nity sli ider cli sea venta Ss same.” quest a ne? , to strik ne take ‘dered } WR are idi give up ti he Uni nal and h ded to he ger yes, and a | You ar 1ad yot slip by ne Youre let “s «You h ; ioned I thi . e me a nawa the cle hen yo ots!” ll we: ited St ess, wh ad leit f deliver gentleness of a | for y are welc ur inni y, Jack poy. tng the ave k , betra’ with nk I can gain, 0 y call rk. | Leck t uarea are co ates Wiis oO was So di or Mis r ther ne s of her | r your Cubi come t ings.” , my boy i er “JT have.” nown th y-| « out any an tak , or come a cop. | they, urned a greater mpelle quisitio so dilige Ss Reve messag’ Never sean re “i ” bona Is all ¢ ‘T war y outsid e care of within But | ey consul again er one to din n, “eon gently seeki re, the r ge which | inertia betie coo! ie ether ‘mn bc say you did the time 2” | gaan yh Ai alls Be eas f a young ruffian arm’s | ane te eee i os Dis ma the See to do ‘ a Ciaaet tien bakes “Are ertheless, hundred thous ne . . id not b ey br you t ack !” lik Eh really y fir 1 SpOk' Ss, and yj us.” ard. eas: .” but shek ardes | “No.” crazy ” nee rt - saw. | not. Bu witn eliey rand oO 20.” , e you} » And ad y should.” e upd: e. on ant tas 1e kn Sst ac- } cep . or a js , : | S = Po hy y n us ?” ce mo A tall, sli sk, so ew th The er the lists. Crest heard e trage ) angry W youth his pi . a2” ore cri ?” he ask re |; 1, slight gi ’ she we ere was Pyare wetetiai oa to sei on interru the fata gedy ?” | «Sta: with CLri would stol confi “We sh mes to th ced. ion, and ght girl, wit ha . i ae ae aman, him as he subst ts 1 blow struck, a ie ae ourset ores eS ae He did to a hae awk ly in self. ac you have alre sofa, ania nea a lden hair, w | ‘eee es gaged to Miss Rover ed “You me veard substi ane , and | ebody 1 shall | rdered ost bes! he not rer st.” t to arre efen ady ¢ heavy g dreamily -blue ey , wax-like ‘dain. re vt C - a clared mean pr him flee tuted : w terror | The y besides yc stay I . Slowly side hin was so You ar arrest yo se.” Om- | ¢ y black ily out i yes, was si complex | dai riLage tl garvan’s oe ed ha ton k Hyjah recisely W from the seeme | Dud n take th you,” Ch here u y advanci aself. “What ‘e mistak a = = = : | : : Ae new it hi with vhat y e room!’ d | ley € CO ‘hris ntil I 2 cing. | HY tdoy en.’ you h Cia Mrs eemed stree g on a8 au . ‘ detecti it was a conv you mi!” | But aimed msequ stoutly get or s. i You you m ave 1 ofte _ Hartley to w t—a gi the | a Imont saw sr ; tive co: usel iction i started c ; it w anoth ences.” 'y retu rders . | doesn’ are a N ean ?” o righ en heard of a surprise “ ae a : murde continu ess toc in his to sav,’ ould - ree’ as skill er blow at rned from sn’t extend ew YO ight | see rd of Ell Ss a littl own 1 hose | depe Ella Re Peslid ay aes } closet” was ¢ ed: *¥ ontradi tones ay,” de- | tween th over bh fully at his y ; Leck kr end into rk poli so quiet a Rever e surpri ner deli | ar ndent gir evere 18 treasure ie 1 ommi! ou we ict. A that C | ree the ey imselt parried young op new th the S iceman “ey and s e, and sed cate 1d 1 an girl, wo Sines ‘a “ | “No tted—co re in th nd the H res- eived Rcioed. And he rec » and b 5 adver au here ar lis to be tate of Ni , and yo You ar shy a cre had hé . She had more 1 more tl rth ad ae a arsed es The no 1” mnecealed e room W. indoo | knee, and fore. H it was ave ab etore Pr acggae | thority t e local true, but | ew Jers ur auth «Mr. e Miss R sreature. ardly ex “so fully trouble y dan rich in her lo trained sc trem young » perh hen the | “Yo then e whirl chab low s e clerk | “They o take y officers he pro Oy... ority . Hartley w evere ?” xpected t Psa unless ee ae 1er an on ie : ambied man aps, eiu u yo spran ed dizz low as quarely | «Hy y have you.” with mptly to tell y y was 2” she 0 | _Sylvius you wi ie aed 16 foe ee - again, bi so und sprang t : in 2. | pon the ung wre g erect zily, d Ss he had ry be-; ow do y > no war me, a y replied ] you th obliged e began | tion us Bellm oe "keked. — sts x pio pe face ike him th o his fee Chris youth etch!” hi again. , dropped VE never | ‘Becaus you nov rrant.” , and they : to be do at he was to go out. ; hesitati | pro to their i 10nt did : kicked d own sta “tn 4 ; ie F cuilt.” be pict at he im. t. But versa had vot le gas 1pon on |; “Wek e they d Ww 2” y have E ne in hi very sor , but bh ingly omptly as intervie ao Rone. ny st Sd : y | - ee you Ww f ure of mediat his li an yy. All time t sped, ag e| “Th now yol o not k la’s ck s office.” y sorry ther e desir Pr ‘Oh, y as possit 'w, and € pressed ae ~ om ‘ ore D. je were I 5 terror. ely san imbs d do hi he co Oo strik gain spri That isn’ yours.” now 0 | camei reek fi : re wa ed me | Wer 1, Yes, orc oH Da as ce tive nghe roon , dismay k bae possesse Se be uld do e again pringin panion t both ur names.’ bl nto her ushed. S$ no copyi Me ea knig pone ue a i you said ly. af mt? Hy y, and k D 5 st with ) Was to , nor to g | for th , andl a of us. Y¥ * nes.” ed tor th er wistful é and a pying | nire Miss eht-erra .” he said ae ae | yw accusi once that See Ayjab i dis- udley his wir, grapple elude h very e arres ul confide You d “Tam vy e youn eyes look of Ella ss Revere Sra ot fellow, arm if | “ZT sai sing me I wasi LL insisted p my in was mu ‘y limbs with th is ad- | ry shrew St of eit ent that o not k «So very sor g thing . Mts.. disappoi | jolly ¢ Revere meas ne ae — a cong sisted, a shad u n strene’ ch he and wh e latte | capture: d, and w her of you now b ‘am I,” ¥ rry,” she sai artley’ pointme as old Mr. ' was mk much.” w, and LP you alw a mt oe ys 1gth avier at s r, | on e of th woul us. inal er as ,” Ella e said y’s kin ent, | SC@4 W Mr. Tree married tf a Pin sue way os - ase cor cee room. Y¥ J ing, bes is Tobi bs than kill he | the ¢ 1e Gra d win By ; em she ros answe * d heart | havt worth egarvé ied tre 1 sure T ac s oe, as y n the next 1 . You are | ing, besides vv in’s mus¢ the yo lice © ase on y nd Park the rew ployme se to go. | red, foldi art | Jappiest mentioni an to give lke av ee Te deny it.” s you decl apartu oom, ani re| eee hich les wer uth, a ih ‘omuniss your ow murdeé “Eth Eee tate ‘Tamv ine ‘her looked : bride th: 1ing; but ve her ¢ Ae ak : i a = te ¥ re in , and n | ave tri ioner a heo rery in ought y very g her sh i ed as pr yat ever put, nev away, é ley's, W pia reston W , struck the you | ea wer fact he; mor 0 | wil ed to sof t k. Pte gton you w: much awl | «Dye j pretty as over the 8 revertheles nye me } his fa n was sili the f Jew ¥ aid. | gerly e now ‘— e rec Inot be too he cil : ce avenue ? ere li inn around | ¥ e iost Meant ea nv Fa a = : | : : 2 A me eh bs a ed to b smar ty No,” vue ?” ve ving wit eed of s d | an. ‘“‘k >my bes e's OW 1 shone Ss, she w rous- = a ser aw | ke | eral em ing th mbér i more skill uin- crime.” e rew t burder said E ntured vith y some | all put I est. ty vn radi: 1€ ON, ¢ was 6 }e 4 grandee? eu ot andker iped t . Do not! would ploy e nov ar of gu _ SKULL Aas.A Leck * ard : j en an lia. *4 Mrs. your cousi Oras. one cz don’t grud pe-set adiance gies nly | a » oo mise erchie he ot} s hav ees of vel co ests i Penton At utte yous pe small dani I per’ . Hartley ousins | wives an get grudge he ter,” sald old 3 ae re : not ry. ef. H _perspir | side m e interfer the ho mtest. n the i red an You boardi necumbri ceived ley. s, on Lex- | es aren't 8 ee Tle os eee E ; an Hy iz e ae eon ae corrid t WY imp. And thi ing-ho rance at o OX- | n’t So ¢ y ott to yo old Mr ke her. to m at is tru to in the ‘om | aris defen ad they nd on: re wer ior, {3 oh Ou W. ecat a his tr use n: there nce th abundant olerable | u, Armit ges Ate | nie, or § e. Buty culpate picture | seve had n Sse. ney be eor tw re also}: He the a \ marble-f om Ella ow.” . Lhay lat lw { ant in t ale yp thers, te i pes “tae 8 ey myself,” ot | th ral of th ot an en en sure ¢ o of th o | that he n turned eee SEB attend -fronted Rever eoner vas a | eae he mar e-setters, bi After 5 ne?” e doin cons obliged ,” hed | the sympeé em. emy i as to em ad on , and Jam her w pala e, who ‘oom in a | QUNEN . > . — sale | =e res : aie | Bes apathy Flence, nth 0 whi His ce bee seated p! will ce, wi had a | EEN V o~< good c apar s. N state ed. | side 1y of ce, OF e hotel A at cca ; : s 2 I went th :partments Now t the fac | towar es, thos nearly al a the wl , and D nes. panions r rt oj an . a fortun retinue mistre TORIA’S tes = = = 7 ne ee on the W toe. the udley h “Wh remained AAS e almos of serva SS of | The pers A’S HOU use a Chica go int e him.” ew that vhat ir Help. s he Gerb ad witi kers-on. youth ad | long i at is he nes t like nts to | To nous : sa wit? oset fi 0 the cl \ morn- | realize t] ome of y er wer ressed D . had | ae. interv up ton ‘Aladdin’s | ver a tl ae | | 2 0 Who sé or a rece oset to i On that Chri you!” ¢ re not im udley’s ‘He is al of sil ow?” B n’s | ard, ¢ ete mT E = = a : oe a ree Circe harshn “He waiting lence had UC eet ce, ,alLord C persons 1een Victori a a so.” in the om. 2” m? Di stepped 1e yo S getti e clerk in hi ess “ tow many g torr ad ela | witk Char ns. Ite ee y rhat is ( closet.” d Gerb was forwar unger cl ng the b , as:he s favor. | ive.” ny are W eintorce ned, af 1a salary nberialn ster of or - ~~ “You V only a co : er | fav a new ard as tl erks, ¢ etter ot began + | “Have vith hir a =o : = = = so yu will pre: njectu | favor. hand hough , a dude him to; “Y ve any m now 2” The e : 000, wi 0,000: aK ane ors, ns a a You hi sently < ire, and | AS in the | to assis in appe Yes, si ry gone b 3e ef ‘ ow re is a vacan: “oy os vith three eee ie = a) Gee arecep tata |" ate teal opr Mate naa ca cute can Pay Pa, | plish yent the c im, whe you saw ny be glad | with indig eged yo ever, het ied to ¢ e| Tl in their vented B by any the bus me his ee = st te Si ; F - : : ie vi ee sete ei ley we present suckley Mrs. yone wh iness, b addres: 7 Samoa . annum : og rst amberlain.” ach: a TF ’ ‘| Z ‘I had nothi 2 Or did ere you? urdere 0 | ow n’t yer resolve r, whose d himsel city out re silent positio y from : in . Hartley o is reso ut Isu Sr 1d diaiaekeuaaiel : a Gra! the Bus ain.’ a ¢ a Treas- : : cs mn Bue or se smi f co “ law s for On. seein g card y wro solute ppose onotk \ ack Fe ni aIcon Contr L- a You tell ng to di aid i y didn’ | won’ vi Ity p that lall ey nfront IT see sudden ee ap. : as 5 : = 3 : : you we me yo o With it. n its ac nt | t Vt like!” yer tr big loaf yes flash -}| “Ah! their ga: nly excl al mom ir pur- hank y e directi patient.” n be lear praia eioht £10,000 1,73 , each % = of false re. Lh u were , telly com- | ude which cried mete it, Pu— afer, if h ed seiaes JT had me! T aimed : ents, a | Starve ; you,” Elk on on or arn. | uamber Ww res rede pe a n ’ hood in ave as notin th you.” | own nich wa rip Marti TIL giv e can’t We've not tk hey m : , and the | laugh, | and th chee a aol [Fa = = : : ‘g ; | i . 7 = & ue dis Leip ptin, Bob yer hold hi have us got to 10ught of ean to su n the | an ), “is not € latter,” a a er visit | hon 3 fourtee! 1, at $1,50¢ éd-chami we tla Sher of | caped was i ase as m to b t, yet ae his rais venes e mor triking Y somp’ S a sure.” give ’e that.” rroun i So Miss R a pleas: . she ust d ot es or, at $75 en ec 1,500 eachs ere ren 0; tent S ped from i n the the eliev' Ik | Wk aised S. e ridi gapu pn ye Have y . m tl . dus!” | so s Rev asant £ added, wi 0 SO | grooms i $750: € juerries ate ids of ” thing i m itin s closet other ve yo now | nen th a lav culo gilisti ri «Y e you : 1e sli > | many ere ob alterns , Witk methi “ten sek ot a a : \- ee g into < n such that . Bes u utter | cler} e latt igh at us tro: c atti- | Yes anythi p som | AY y dollars tained native.” — 2 a lit ing or | $400 ; 1 waiti lords aie ‘lt ie ises a cont ah morni sides ra} x inter er at the e m th | mak a If wee hing t ehov | nazont rs per W a situs e. tle f : ten sere ing, at $9 Sin we 3,500; € eee | : = an th Pi Sits ig Carty erfered tem expen e lad’s | ke ?e e coul oO sugg v, or | ligh tan, & rwe tuati orced | laure serge: ut $2.0 aitin eight or, at “ eyes sh pretty tl heap. Y that h g—one w now | That won't ¢ pted to se of tl s| “Th m think d only ggest 2” they'll | t ghuy alon: nd day b ek, in tl on as ty | iy eate (Lord ants-at- Te ae entleme i ' ev ut, no 1orougt .. You see e tumbil ho es- | In th n’t god push Tr he dude ghee. atis a we're steal a he air wé g the str y day che offic ype-set | )-ordinary rd Tenr arms, é pe gentl seaas 00; Four rt it verythin r depe shiv, :% I loo. ed ev | Dud e meany own ip asid . And | Let good right I marcel | thick was | street t dae bese ay ee a “Be = : Y gi find nd upo don’t ked thi ery- | idley w nwhile Ch it isn’t f e, an | sort me think idea 1ere.” 10n’e | thick witl nlue-and o her w light be The Week | Surveyor ot i marine Bes fag SF ant Ca n oung m. out upon SO go abo e pr y- | decide as e Chri t fair,” n older | of a nk a . But ° m, a | was 1 fiyi id-gol , work e see t eekly | $3,000; ¢ t pictur painte 500 per é eS poet lies. an, be ee mebody ut wi em- | ided gettin ris w , he rj} ar n In minu can Ww nd y as thick ying sle d wi , no n tri Y\; - 9 pri tures, ¢ nter, < ran vs ir ; ) never cause th ou had be y els with m Ro manner. g the w as impr’ said i id see if ajun trick te. If we puti yet | sciou Ck, and eet. Ell th Febr matter w pping | oute i es < nS =n ie e: t; you were ian throu at can’t tter sti e to tell y | sev und and : orst of oving bi than any yer ean’ on ’em. we could tin pra | ler sness thé so wer a Rever sruary su a hether | one ipal celk in chef a s 0; ane uptor-in- i sige egg ; “é gb tor hurt y ck tot me veral round the con lis tim: K ything t hit . dest only ctice 2” | it roses lat she w e her ti re’s ws nshil Y | ici: hundr ar-mas mene ot at $i ni le ‘As you a tee closet.” rturin you b he tru was second they whi onflict e, and ingsl g we’v on so cud y play o» | TY es to her e was r tiny s aterpr 1e, or: ficial ré red ar aster, ¢ See 0 be oe y, say— , ga ut 0 th, as stre Ba whirled i sina i he w ey gli e play methin’ gel y y some | B 1us mé er cheeks really shoes, ¢ root clog | ot rat-cé 1d thirty ous es, eh nD é I adr man. nee, a the tched nd th edin r most | was sta anced yed on ” n’ that’ your b e | Bell tatters W eks ar y earl , and loak | other -f atcher, ¢ ae a malas fs o . “And ‘4 nit it,” Cres’ " Admit. nd | tri corridor at full l en—thw rapid ey i grew ou nding up at the n ‘em yet ” Vl be cli rains | you mont retr were wh id elastici ring her the con ' ment for Buckir oe Wind or a a an i or a ‘“ ? ¢ r . ac iy ; mh : 7 Teli = |} = a yh é sor. £ ‘ at sti, : Yes you saw Blu ton r that | jumphant, and Chr ength v ack! Dud olutions for | Acti ton a lev He noti massive everer | th bg men urned tro en John ity to her livelihoo | cate Ss, even ingham ee sal ot & ao es dsoe eturned The , stood is To ypon th ley tk or | h ngu vel wit ced a tree behi | e mos who, scz m Eu Armité er step a | xe chers. dow1 Palace a Salary of — re d- Did he escape , des bad elerk w over hi bin, fh he marb’ ne clerk | elmet te’ a sud h his ow short, br ehind w : shri st eager , Scarcel ‘ rope in age and Dp. | of Cor . have to k 1 to the e, at $6 ¥. Of $80 a id a “By the go by tl from th sper- : eome in @ as half m. ished le floor | upon t ich had den tho wn head roken li hich to ne. That worshi yo year the Mir Sylvit | mmons. ~ 0 be sub a ae x ie om a ie > door.” 1e doo! e room 2?” The w conta stun , pantin ot | he brok bee ught h ; . mb that | Mrs. I at was pers at Mi ago, he 10taur— 1S . pmitte Srtte mc EC - | me ee et wit ned by ; g; and | A porti ken br n taken f e too at | ne . Hartley’ the firs Miss Re ad be two | ad every the offi se pay- te 4 a mb) 1 the tioo: his f | and tion of ranch n fro k off I | xt eveni y's © rst re Revere’ en amo i ry year hentia | Be 2 me a wane at an e at had e tioor w all, fo ea toa f the ¢ 1. m Lee nis ca | «QO ning af vind a membré re’s gi mong | year to th rat- , De tat y he co e astir arly bh lasted with no r his he i as th person w ap pr K—and p—the | h, Mr i, fter thei Pate. hem eat . : : or y Dida you k mmitte And ‘ our of but af 10 gent 1éad | I ough t n watchi ‘otruded hung i | She sai . Armit. 1eir arriv: pene bas ey cn an ul- ‘No.” now he \ d the cri an to tho the mo afew m le force | hind the s he wea ing fro: beyond g it ful} aid, eagerly age, La val. em at as ste of i | ae : ri. vas rime ?” incide se who wi rning oments. . | So e shelteri rer of t m a litt the t | Miss Re Phys. 9 m sogi: ibe a ay ry ‘Can you going to ? One nt for ti o witne but few Re it mus ering tr he helm tle dist ree-tru | «The evere—y and you glad you atl soe mae 1e “He we tell me wl do it ?” arm of the old 1em to eee the guests and the y t have a ee. et was p ance it eet | of he le gold-hai you reme , too, Sylvi have return Lee nly Wels , so : = * oF er clerk alk over eonflict the rus young m ppeared peering fr ked | in ?” den ired Cle mber her vius. TY urned,” | i pparently ld stré ” ; a oy Jersey e fled 2” wh S advi and laugh | it w oped an call to Leck g from b jin silen landed opatra * r? rat beauti- | office of Sah cae id erncod ae know ? y City.” ‘ Ch at does anced ¢ ugh a as only Good! ed th k and hi e- | inter ete cs ee = = : = Pape ee 9” ‘ ris b this and took bout. y.| Bu ! That e attenti ise | rest. it with peat fo a - cc ; 3 E =e on fogs mean ?” ook Chris ] ckley ex at‘ll fool ’ ention of ompani | “Why eyes t , while se I do eet, Mo g wholes ed the the sixti “Only a seen ee ae explained, he ask ris by th spot, and claimed 1’em for t his trie ons, | prove iy, the tr hat betrs ‘Armitage li What | 2BCe ri ptreal, evi er amon i oat, 3 n si 6 I am , as fe ed. e | won’ mebt . &N Pore dt end to | ¢ ved recr truste raved ¢ ge liste of all aro , evidently ee vse er W Aap ince 2” boy,” n afraid ar as h F n’t know abbe we Now we’ ttle w | could erst ir , . ns : z S Beets 79 : Vv, . ‘ , can giv ell ste hile ie unders it to thei her : ill de | Im fr iat ae Ww In this was that ?” oy said the cl you have e was at li us, and I da where to give th eal away any how,” | about i erstand ieir ch fortun eper |S from Tr mi re Be : 3 s : sn . _ ee berty t The f on’t believ look fo em the ay from Wir frye it, ldares it, but arge, or e have fai | St. Pav rout River at the: 1 aa . q °. elf i y to | shi ugitive eve they’ r us slip a on thi Jow ror e say— | Mr. Hi somet failed | eee oe = aif Crestor ng since ?” re y to back tif I hav y nto t eld tk es mov ley’re § unless gain gs | some ri omantic org ett wit ae a na ae = : Hitt n hes plied me u ave. I roubl on ev 1emse ved ste shar they cal They ne ricl Hie!” ge she’s let ey can In 1y chang ee nt there : : = = a a ney ea unless y can tre y | Quixot 1 Old un said Be eft witl an tell y ever| ‘“‘Y anges the ne. ‘Ain’ st been d 4 “He. ae his f ,and th all idley soo it come I shall In a fe side. ehind th y awa, gh to do ack eN e will rus cle will limont, li 10ub a you all | pli Yes, ag 1ereabouts 2” ro ee en 8 a > Was ace: en Yr wen nm pick 3S to have their ew m e trees y, taki that.” Not ush to turn , lightly MOT ot ay ae 7 <" : = a a C t fro. ked 1 the w » som eir pur: omen es wi ne care t want.” a bit the res up, or ly. “Of y- | the many ¢ peen ; 5 wt y as aah 5 a: Shri m the c nims vorst,” e- | SO ursuers ts they lich g care to| ant. of it rescue.” , Or SOI Of cour: eS merehant. ee a ; 2 2 i oa fi ‘ ome corrid elf up .” Chris me ti ts: TE ey had grew ti Oo} «Ww . Miss e. ne mod course | ti ve bee lant. nges good | ‘ ine rhe co prt , and t , Ss T me ke len they d gon : 1ickly | Why, W s Revere i ern D¢ | tinue en looki there of ; a a ian orn rae a when w e|D oprietor: rily ex thout ¢ o the hey pt on w hey s e bey y | their y, wher vere is Don | § d the str: oking of 1 while startled ve came t udley ors or pected a WO surpri ler : soon reé without truck yond | their money 6 are t s redt | sold me s Stranger, * Ve ee | # eS : ess Tad ih A again yr a pol him rd. orise of and thei eached ut hal into ¢ earsh \ Sylvi ney in hose r iced t De ne sor ger, “‘t nd dow years,” r in tha 1e retlecte r could ten fort ; jos 800n until m icema to retur Here neir a poi alting. a run, : ot of | ‘ ius Belln the hi ich cousi o actu yalance d ne shirts he last wn tl 2) Fes : t quar d that not be h to tr Chris t as thes 1uch late n. But rn. with we they ha progress w nt where , and fo ‘Ella } mont. ide and isins of I * font ae tue eS ne 1e t a Creston arter, An there far aw Trace the f ow urned » Spectato er in the he d h one of See her alted to was hi e the tr r | gues had to leather lers tl on th the m: hem. oC, and J enue " ai ’ ‘ Ley l. dhe w was way. e fugi- You d to Tri rs of le day id no sea ere, y take br ninder rees wer st of tl what ee os =e e : : : ny “You hav was no no nece fight idn’t s p Marti the cor ay. t see | ye ted eee 6 breath ed by ere sm Mr. Har 10se wl ich self-r siness ?” ade | didn’t eee, “pultain Ae om iz 3t- young 1 ave given t yet meee for I YY after all seem to wa n, who sti nbat had : ye preter a by side ¢ Ty Buckley undergro nal- “Gg artley. 10 regarde -respect t ?” asked Sane want the buildi his stor up 2 bP : : va of i a ugh wit naste ou was ,” he said ant me ll linger departe the co 1d to be JD. a fallei cley exclai wth. | ed SONG out as d her as ¢ o remai tan t have to pay ding. Iw re, up a fli place lc na < ger ery i h Ferd show,” as pluck oH to th to get gered. d, | accus ps? I , Why ir n tree, “ aimed, a: Xo. a a “ : = 5 : : ly ad r, to hold yjah, ta mporta: ped was tl y, and e boy the wor cused don’t b 1 thund ete innocen ‘ a ss “ : s = 5 = fs wil d now - the la apping * ntinfor You : she reply. Iw : orst of esc dof that G elieve it’ er are y wrein ay were NO, she is ss then "| ,” answer 2 | them ¢ 2 store he a Le Thad « Lo : Ly. llet me , if youh tter’s at Creston’ formati «g gave Mi oply. anted y the | y ape fron t Grand : it’s on eye keep nocent & the office o Cae on * ie = _ : . rd “Perhka e goin eke,” a trae tention. n’s knee ith andy I aid.” Gerher yer to hav | yo? it pike the hotel Park mur account aru 80 sl “ot aA 2 ne as = } = 2 * : c srhaps ) ” ¢ . ne Ru H ™ } 7h a der a fy ry of eg type-s y brothe employ y hazard- | How find t a “time ye : ey and ene ps that is e,” said e of hon with sy rou said y a note a e a fa The y ked up when tl ae h as oo ce as fe ! : : = : : e my d the or abo Yer d youl few ir | m oun a paper t re affe ou was eing |e I es er!” Sylvi Mr. Tree as ‘ W 1g ago W place time I eo was : , : : : : 4 - 0 he you tenet per thats air ha as tryin’ g | endur an GOr Sylvius e regarv _a type- sei ell, somew ) was it 2”. 1e I @ uld tak 4 Bool over my ey not to let But I hav u you Does tl binge ict ye tn ib aaow ade no reply overed his pee yin’ to | ti eam oma elevated his i a ee = Fi ay’s TOO! yes. 21 et as ave sev “That 1e lett ve all y messa ene ; vn up,” . his fac ye was.” , wasn’ ing, or silent d Sar bat nd ais ‘| - = . . rl went in room wh ‘o begi mart yi everal iN at ain’ er Call f 1 yer hear.” ge.” pathecti > CoE mihige alae e = : = : = : ; ¢ en gin witl youn . dutie Not *t DOI or a ar. afear c tones nued hi his h ociati out to ds y, but w aristocr: cee Sat — za 0 o i a RS besa 5, ah g rascal Ss, | her , unless 1e of yo reply ?” eard of es, “If y lis con ands oN tions ot LO day’s Ww when i ocracy W ight- ose fron om joi replied t t. ; gout. Y ri ; wer al pull r frie the 1 ur busi ‘ R me. Mé f ye di npanio , and Nonsense !” decay work, i it takes te when it om the lis eae ne sh 7 E i : ee os ey ner pales ady wi siness, i b obert Ki Make a id it. on, in gr at once t se!” sai yed positi , it loses es to ty 1 it Aig listeners. in the ranger z : ea x : as C0 F ithed gs in ay outh’s ¢ particula: shes m » 18 it ?” aggard Leg ngsley li clean b Y there’s gruff but sy that ¢ that VOU dad Mrs. He : on.” es all the ni pe-set- Ww Pies ers. e shouts ’ | ned, £ Ae oset. whe Yo I guess heek r frie ne to k eet ae from pr ifted hi reast on’ no a sym- at she hi Tout ae as st - : Ee aa i “in the eo" u | sk 1ess sh cS. nd,” a now Tami protré is fa on’t, C eed t Th 1as los rt care yy. SW wed THE r i ete it did ruck e Blud d lie d en the |< 1e wan she ain’t , and a 2 But I that nnoce acted ¢ ace, which an’t ye 2” oO be e war st her 1 wet or poo! cs Tt is.” not see a murd soe en own der ts to ’d in lov blush am could nt of th anxiety ea P ace oe i‘ ss s : : eee Rete erou’ tered upon of the y opt 0 ewid man “B not f at cri by and f oked pt a Sly ass parted lit I Toe a sg : 2 And wi So much Ss blow . crept up| Chris youn ne or tw no boy tled | h ut you’y ail to car rime,” 1 fatigue pale and and tho she spok nd Mr se tbe eis = yut Making nen the m is correct, - whict up | fra’ s would gster. wo,” ware of your aven’t y ve beer rry conv Le declared brus' ught thé ke, and WV ay walke a now iately abc Sey cory urder ct, I be 1 yOu ined f have s the r size, ’ “y he you 2?” 1 cuttin’ ictio 7 ared, i que a that really Rate ont turne ot a Pat is te escape.” erer had elieve ?” “Ww rom doi liked cutting re less ‘I have be in’ up a n with it. na to But J nd disag ally Mrs ellmont ahi eae A ah ed “Natu is true r fled yor ‘ b ait her Lg so for to shak g rejoin- unfortuné een doin shine t. ne | teres John Armi ore iste ince his a = : “2 = = a wa . a ack any W e, Tri r the sak e the aw yate wret g what y of so las st. He nitage ne since uley had d very re i AS sign of craft S good tation i all ) ] went ot you we afraid of no tim B y word.” p, and sake of boy u ee hat d’ retch t at you h me sor as mé had ge listen his abs grow ed | of oft, fla crafti on cA senny ; ein lanct . T will prude p, but r The y ye m 0 esce ave ort, | SV an car 7 loved E ed wi absence i Dp very ft pleas ia sos af Wait ¢ out by th re. And h being im seeing " 1e opene see if ence t re- | th le youn ean ?” ape fro1 > done— sweetest 1 love w Ella Rev th the ein Eur ry asure of eae rsp = ve door loc apr VOM door- how did yo plicated.” “Pie Trip she dthe doo she wishes f 1em. Not g man Ca m. his purs assisting witty es smiles a ohms ‘she iad ae “ti = a = a be- quarte cked whe . The u escape ” @ lease co said : r in answ s to send | about tos tor th ast a q uers.” an | was and fasci ae Gy ‘sot a oe ct cs ue ce 3 3 , zu er of ¢ n the » officer’ : She took me in wer to d | fears say ov: e world w uick, fur s but a po natin Sst winso ST eae given het am “ro = a = 7 : : : = = ce :- i | see BERK be poor you g Sylvius me glanc ays give ply | if wardice icates w n shows cates al love it I “No, y > help it if ag pted to ent erk found Th she gave aoe you.’ k, and He drew eccentric f by a livin 1e have wnat abo had planed ti frou Ing argon | aaiinont ce more mat al . - za ca es sm. i You 10. ou can’t; hey did.” er ther the iy hat’s a d hris the to lock th “Have ‘ nearer tl riend bet gsoul. Y¥ at he put tence aced him 1 some @ beginni ; More aes with a w iss he ting chi » Want ot hard natur t 7 : : - : - ie at ing gfe a was | fe , and Lin th istar ng lif over, I a te dimpe hallow, of nisas will ure: § 1 = = ‘ al ea 1ess I !7 he from or be arry aver h ‘ter. and i g hi eh far bey the br & po it al e, Ur 1, He tender pel in v, Of sig ill, power 7 & { v of oor 1 can : prom ‘ kKnoy insta Rose © hind ae y Atkins ? eard of | nd it $ confi adno/s gs on e es = , - 2 : 3 : : a a te ptly ret vas m ntly d e Crawtorc them Cour: ns ?” of th 1 a low Vv dence shines» md hi nt heir on of ¢ entric r re. | Chin the unselfi notes ki ecility silliness, and i . ar , > trut gal, and orted uch ’b ecided ford . | pillar se I hav: e esca voice as e. hi es bey s hur ress bh a hands pda 5 ver Asa t mae Ee = bi ee run 16 atnanas sh abo ber ghe would addi out d . . ar to po ve, Co ped co asked : nad cht eyond the able aspi ad se some ¢ ve, res. A mple iner ature ness a round d, A Crestc do yo th.” scaped by de, tod ut it. , 1 does ouldn’t ig: “R at as y good tae st. I seer ps chas nvict, k : H ranged Sar But no ; mh a ao i vs a r = 3 = : i a oe = i fae ki , known | v e went to e. Bu ns as a prize 1ce and e and mé s the ¢ ery ma evolence, ] = le = oe ve oe ve en e id.” once , hunted vere’s OV to bed tl t now th the dia as determi nassive ¢ juality of ssive do ce, ; each ow, beca e you a the |r | pretty to k, and we some any body S a goo per. A as, and , and if ev him fr gold val fac lat nigt e aspec ¥ mond ned wil earn | ‘stro! = ; of the use so) wizard 2” rich clo look was de good y. 1k d | tor And he I a good yer am from | whi hair e, shadow ght and ts of lif ESS 1. 10WS § nd plese N. ; one near > two wi me one rd?” gas op thes.” at as dil ead brok dinners nows e he col 1as been heart, b sai ma te ee es 3 : : Ha- ed thr rest the ndows e escaped ped | t he boy $ gal, 0 e. And § whet oned.” nmitted a dissipe ut an a | emo shone ¢ ited up by” heavy ed of E HOW ->-@~<+— perse- - : é x f a ait : ed the ¢ pated impulsiv tion, lik and y tho mass Ella I V TO K — ery nearest gh the roo: ; and R natural the ro “y 8. s honest,” e don’t $ jest You ki rime tor fellow usive te Miss R ike jewe cenit the ma 5 = bed, be the ent 1m a littl obert K ‘ally wen om by Je will li st,” said B wear I “Kno cnOW him r which at times m- | tom ss Revere w eled sa at the velous plt ee, ny, you | — : : = E = = Z : i know ht ,eh?” he w s, be- | Sy 1ed early was g ipphires e sligl ue eyes ; are tr LUES ” and he in acu to Miss G r, went y, who e “But Chris er than e,in a he you : as impr Sylvius arly hour Ratio ' a ig c a ae 7 : the did not k rtained : Gerber’ by the w pass- ‘But she s replied a hors a low to makin ng ma is- | fr¢ s Belim r, the her daily vg. | Ball “ioe a ith- street know alcov S apa window to. offers . e can ne | husk g the fi n pau rom his b ont, wl next 1 y work pant = . ured it a little of the’ e, was rtment, ow ig to com: trot if I asky to nal rev sed, as Ella’s i} oardi 10 had sé norning k at the ¢ : e. Inst ee sng es out, anc later. crim not se ae So sh : e here he tal “Barr ne: velati thou he cheek flu ng ho J sauntered SU ne met Ps Bite os = Then and you . Thatis e till he en by I e| Ch e does.” to see Kes a “Barry Atk on. The gh shri 1eld out flushed Se ne a ea iad ae | “i a = : : : | : a e a ough. itt oh eSvly one cott —her tel get an eé ind the ¢ met The blo as, you sl g on th gs trom w g in com ore have ions co ase, as I iton|s Ii the ed his : esire I Buck " ry brother ontinued om Mr. vius! ¢ on-glove ell-tale ey early ne a) corner ines a Be net votes ot amittin ltod nfirm m have fi stayir Hindoo head m ner | Sa; kley sp ner 1” ,ina Mr. Bell Oh, Syl oved hand a ee a eda 5 i a , a a = ‘ing 2” Oo with a y theo g-|y ying righ hadn't editati ying: rang to let, a mont ins vius, h d. arkled : per. canal; 1 shly thr hee ‘lok an = crime th ries.” you. t here [ been so ively “S30 ni his feet. x and put bi nstinctiv Pee oP ae a ee ah fe : : s ig peat it insti vely ret Tam tos , | Clear and od ef y is veins nick ax yourself. Bt Ai But I go to ular abo No, his name is K hen sank and all of ootirsie nds ingl ‘i reated oekaki ut a sis Ah: is = Ce fi You wo must r ose Craw ut. yo other name i s Kingsley pack a ing, ; that, b se—ha: 5° oriously —he color tu }”- smart refore t prisk as i ea ing ps 0 vie ; ght for uldn’t b emain hi ford's 3 ur | me name 0 s Atkins, a ey »” gain g, and——” ut ’mi ppy to mee into his red sear- | ¢ art walk e, to set y newly rping water i you.” e here ere.” with eet my c nly on Ss, and s , Miss I} n somet eet yo S$ pocke car anything on. you se ie a : ; ' » now if I father onvict b comin 0 is mi re zevere d hing of you, Miss ts. soon ¢@ ig that wi maby tf et yar Ris oe hadn’t e havn’ died a y rother, g to.the Gr ne Tt } ptile had rew ba a hurry s Revere 1 cease to alt vt pers ae i a i or aed ri neh T brougt jrand Park ook the naughtily stung it ck her h y this eee. = to have yOu t the per ur pegs ii Try wha ne. ne havnt 1 fie Fels £0; he w 5 16 him Hotel “| Ww y as if sl , and ere and asi rn- your brains rspirat n moti at a qua bee tive as qu nh money to ill no 1e had ected her f so ns line ation, ¢ ou =h : ae be area ney. My PAnaaee Eee oa auld encom Ot uae er on An ol CON enn Cnet: an ee from aced to N love,h ier. He dI| was 1e€ pass nger. Mr m, as ee physi dh: pax n the hot New ¥ im fort has | s only at ssed on, V , Mr. Bell enink hands bya’ Eas esa el sudd rk, a his noble ave lea 1other one vith bur mont. G simple veg mth St E st Ind ae enly: a he w be easii rned tl re of life’s ning cl ood- of Cons getable re oe fag ‘ , and I was pasier. nem al les bitt neeks and sumptio Niwoacht othe a a +. started AS Elle 1, after ¢ er lesso s. After . | Ne Lung A on, Bror ty for the nissional "the r 7: that a: a was f a while ns. Sh all it Reeeors D 4 fection ac hitis, C: > speed af ee a a0 é fterno astenil , and tl She should ented ite yond ae a ae eS : = ue ne feces debility and all N a positi , Asthma ermanent of a st «on the shawl t ould hia it his d rful curati ervous Gon and ra ae oat > edge to leave ing. ed by tk luty to n a tive SOW Jomplai ie other, eon ot the rs the offic ing, t will se 1is motiy: 1ake it cr vers in tec after hha ing th omen | Bak gh “teste ee : % i fall directions recipe clieve humat fellows. cg dre oe de , in Ger 1an suffer- Nowns, 149° with sti prepaiinist ian French, , 149 Powers’ Blot naeedin and usin ock, Tasha thie pi yen hester, we ~~ 4 oocune Bs te <e<____ A RELIABLE MAN. If you are fortunate enough to know a truly reliable man, make him your friend at once, if you can. You can only do so, however, by assimilating his character. The reliable man is aman of good judgment. He does not jump at conclusions. He is not a frivolous man. He is thoughtful. He turns over a subject in his mind, and looks at: it allround. He is not a partial or one-sided man. He sees throughathing. Heis apt to be avery reticent man. He does not have to talk a great deal. He is a moderate man, not only in habits of body, but also of mind. Heis not a passionate man; if so by na- ture, he has overcome it by grace. He is a sincere man, not a plotter or schemer. What he says may be relied on. Heisa trustworthy man. You feel safe with prop- erty or the administration of affairs in his hands. He is a brave man, for his conclusions are logically deduced from the sure basis of truth, and he does not fear to maintain them. Heis a good man, for no one can be thor- oughly honest and truthful without being good. Is such a quality attainable? Mostassuredly so. It is not born —itis made. Character may be formed; of course, then, its compénent parts may be molded to. that formation. To gain the spotless reputation is a prize worth trying SRS iets > o<____—_. FEMALE ACCOMPLISHMENTS. How much in-modern education is calculated, if not intended, rather to prepare our females to dazzle in the circle of fashion and the gay party than to shine in the retirement of home! To polish the exterior by what are called accomplishments seems to be more the object than to give a solid substratum of piety, intelligence, good sense, and social virtue. Never was a subject less understood than education. To store the memory with facts, or to cultivate the taste for music, singing, draw- ing, languages, and needlework, is the ultimatum with many. The use of the intellect in the way of deep re- fiection, sound judgment, accurate discrimination, is not taught as it should be: while the direction of the will, the cultivation of the heart, and the formation of the character are lamentably neglected. We ask not the sacrifice of anything that can add grace, and ele- gance, and ornament to the feminine character; but we do want incorporated with this more of what is mascu- line in wisdom and knowledge. : there wuz an | 9 essins 10 alt | Josh Billings’ Philosophy. THE CURSID MUSKETER. The best musketers now in market are raised near Bergen point, in the dominion oy Nu Jersey. They gro there verry spontaneous, and the market for a iz verry unstiddy—the grate supply injures the de- mand. ’ Two hundred and fifty to the square inch iz konsidersd a paying krop, altho they often beat that. They don’t require eny nussing, and the poorer the land, the bigger the yield. If it want for musketers I don’t kno what sum people would do thare to git a living, for thare iz a grate deal ov kultivated land thare that wont raize ennything else at a profit. ; The musketer iz a short lived bug, but don't waste enny time; they are alwuss az reddy for bizzness az pep- per sass iz, and kan bight 10 minnitts after they are born just az fluently az ever. Thare iz people in this world so kontrary at heart, and so ignorant, that they wont see enny wisdum in having musketers around; I alwus pitty such pholks—their edukashun haz been sorely neglekted and aint level. The musketer iz a soshul insex; they liv verry thick amungst each other, and luv the society ov man also, but don’t kontrakt enny ov hiz vices. Yu never see a musketer that was a defaulter; they never fail tocum ‘to time, altho thousands 1looze their lives in the effort. The philosophers tell us that the musketers who can’t sing won’t bight ; this information may be ov grate use to science, but ain’t worth mutch to a phellow ina hot nite whare musketers are plenty. If thare ain’t but one musketer out ov ten that kan bight good, that iz enuff to sustain their reputashun. The philosophers are alwus a telling us sumthing that iz right smart, but the only plan they kan offer us tew get rid ov our sorrows iz to grin and bear them. They kant rob one single musketer ov hiz stingger by argument. I say bully for the musketer! The musketer iz the child ov circumstansis in one re- spek—he kan be born, or not, and liv, and die a square deth in a lonesum marsh, 1,600 miles from the nearest na- bor, without ever tasting blood, and be happy all the time; or he kan git into sumboddy’s bed-room thru the key-hole, and take hiz rashuns reglar, and sing sams ov praze and glorificashun. It don’t kost a musketer mutch for his board in this world ; if he kan’t find enny boddy to eat he kan set on a blade ov swamp meadow gras and liv himself to deth on the damp fog. ? The musketer is a gray bug and haz 6 leggs, a bright eye, a fine busst, a sharp tooth, and a reddy wit. He don’t waste enny time hunting up hiz customers, and alwus lights onto a baby tust if thare iz one on the premises. I positively fear a musketer. In the dark, still nite, when every thing iz az noizeless az a pair ov empty slippers, to hear one at the further end ov the room slowly but surely working hiz way up to yu, singing that same hot oJd sissing tune ov theirs, and harking to feel the exact spot on yure face whare they intend tew lokate, iz simply premeditated sorrow tew me; i had rather look forward to the time when an elephant waz going tew step onto me. The musketer haz no friends, and but phew associates; even a mule despizes them. But i hav seen human beings who want aktually afraid ov them; I have seen pholks who had rather hav a mus- keter lite onto them than to have a trakt peddlar lite onto them ; I have seen pholks who were so tuff aginst anguish that a musketer mite lite onto them enny whare and plunge their dagger in up tew the hilt in vain. Il envy these people their moral stamina, for next tew being virtewous i would like tew be tuff. This life iz phull ov pesky musketers, who are alwus a looking for a job, alwus reddy tew stik a thissell into yu sum whare, and sing while they are doing it. Ov all things on this arth that travel, or sit still, for deviltry, thare ain’t enny bug, enny beast, or enny beastess, that i dread more, and luv less, than i do this same little gray wretch, called the cursid musketer. THE LITTLE BOOTBLACK, A STORY FROM LIFE, BY EMERSON BENNETT. Some years ago, when going to my Office, I was accus- tomed to pass-a public building, around which congre- gated quite a number of bootblacks, as if the place were a sort of headquarters for them, Unless one’s boots were in a proper shiny order it was a dangerous locality to pass; for the chances were that one would bé besieged py a whole brigade of the ragged, dirty-faced, clamorous, ‘enterprising little fellows, all eager to give the finishiy due consideration. 4 One day I observed a} th clean eleay ‘that other boys made a living by ‘No, sir,” he replied; I’ve been a bad boy, sir—a very bad boy, sir ;” and his voice had the tremulous quiver_of deep emotion. «JT have taken such an interest in you,” I proceeded, “that lam anxious to know more about you. I think you have a story to tell, and I would like to hear it.” He hesitated a little, and then said: ‘TJ don’t much like to talk about my past life, sir; but you’ve been so kind that I feel like telling you some- thing of it, sir. “My first recollection of my father,” he continued, ‘‘is that he was a large, fine-looking man, with very kind ways. “He was a mechanic, a good workman, and always got good wages and employ when any one else did. «We then lived in a neat, comfortable house, had plenty to eat and drink, and decent clothes to wear. “Somehow my father, sir, he fell into bad company, and got to drinking and neglecting his business, and then everything went to the bad, myself along with the rest. “As we got poorer and had to live in a meaner street, among a lower class of people, I got in with bad boys, and soon became as bad as any of them. «Whenever I could I played truant from school, and was off around the river, and wharves, and Sailors’ dens, and got to pilfering and stealing, and thought it would be a fine thing to become a Jack Sheppard. “Well, sir, Pl skip over matters as fast as I can, for these things aren’t pleasant to talk about. “My father he got worse and worse, and didn’t earn enough to support his family, so that my poor mother had to take in sewing and washing, and work at what- ever She could get to do. “One day, when 1 was between ten and eleven years old, 1 happen@d to be rummaging about an old closet in aroom in which we lived, when, finding a board a little loose, I tried to pull it out to make a bat of; but seeing something under it, I reached my hand in and drew out an old box, which, to my great astonishment and de- light, I found to be full of money—bank-notes, gold, and silver—savings to the amount of fifty dollars— which my mother had managed to lay aside and hide for use in some period of want or distress. As no one happened to be about to see me, I took the money and put the empty box back. “Now J was rich, and I resolved to have a good time; and finding a companion as bad as myself, I told’ him of my riches, and invited him to run away with me and be independent. “Well, sir, we left Philadelphia, wandered about through New Jersey, finally reached New York, and of course took lodgings in the worst places, and got among the worst class. ‘Here, about the time that all my money was gone, I got arrested, along with agang of other bad boys, and spent a night in a station-house cell. «The next day I was told that if I couldn’t find any- body to be responsible for me, I would have to be pun- ished as a vagrant. “At this a man, in a kind of sailor dress, came forward a said if I would go to sea with him he would get me off. “This I agreed to do, and was: taken down to a vessel, bound for China, and shipped as a cabin-boy. «T had pretty rough treatment after that, sir, and was often whipped, and sometimes half starved; but I had no means of escape till the vessel, after an absence of a couple of years, again arrived in the port of New York, when one night I jumped overboard and swam ashore, though only after being nearly drowned. «J then set off afoot, and begged my way back to Philadelphia, and began to search for my parents. ‘Alas, sir, my father I never saw—for he was dead and buried—and when I discovered my mother she was living in the worst kind of poverty, and was so altered, so thin and wasted, that I hardly knew her. “My little sister, too, younger than myself, had met with a terrible accident, by falling into the fire, and was disfigured and crippled for life. “Til a over that meeting of affection and remorse. «Td been an awful bad boy, sir—had robbed my poor mother and been badly punished—and I now resolved, with Heaven’s help, that I'd devote the rest of my life to repentance and reform. “TI managed to get some little =e to do; and seeing lacking boots, I saved money enough to buy myself materials for the new work, and entered upon the business about two or three months before I first met you, sir. Correspondence, GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS. 27" Communications addressed to this department will not be noticed unless the names of responsible parties are signed to them as evidence of the good faith of the writers. (We desire to call the attention of our readers to this depart- ment which we intend to make a specialty in our journal, Every question here propounded shall be answered f ully and fairly, even though it take a great deal of research to arrive at the facts.’ No expense or pains sh spared to render the answers to questions absolutely j Mrs. A. A. A., Eng.—ist. To reduce one’s weight, the fol- lowing dietary is recommended : For breakfast, four ounces of beef, mutton, or any kind of broiled fish or cold meat, ex- cept pork, salmon, eels, and herring. A cup of tea with- out milk or sugar, alittle hard biscuit, or an ounce of dry toast. For dinner, five or six ounces of any fish eat (ex- cept those prohibited), any vegetable (oxanee mcr pent ea snips, and beets), one ounce of dry toast, ripe and cooked fruits, and any kind of poultry or game. For tea, two or three ounces of fruit, dry toast, and a cup of tea without milk or sugar. . Food which contains sugar and starch in large proportions, in many persons creates fat quite rapidly, and should be studiously avoided by all who are inclined to cor- polency or obesity. 3d. There is no specific that will achieve Fae seams you wish. Try the dietary we have given and note Beauty Randolph, Flushing, N. Y.—Chloride of sodium (salt) is present in the blood in the proportion of four and a half parts per thousand ; and phosphate of lime exists in the bones and other solid tissues in much greater proportion. Both these substances are also ingredients of t Chloride of sodium is found in muscular fiesh, or Ph Kew in the proportion of two parts per thousand, and we are also in the habit of adding it to the food as a condiment. Breed- ers of sheep, cattle, and horses always find that a liberal st ply of common salt Gopty res atly the condition of the animals. Phosphate of lime exists in the muscular flesh of animals, in fish, oysters, eggs, in the cereal grains, in peas, beans, potatoes, beets, turnips, etc., and even in most of the juicy fruits. A. P. B., Albany, N. ¥.—In cases of ‘jaundice the diet should be plain, wholesome, and nutritious. In their sea- son, fresh vegetables and ripe fruit should be partaken of freely. Cold water should be the principal drink; or drink and medicine may be combined in the shape of five drops of muriatic acid and _ three drops of nitric acid. dissolved in a tumbler of water slightly sweetened. The acid sponge bath, made by mixing three parts of muriatic acid with two parts of nitric acid, and adding as much of this mixture to water as will make it about as sour as weak vinegar, is valuable in donee. RE a of ae - H coped oe suffice. When ap’ wi e sponge, the solution, if of the right will produce a slight Brating of the skin. eee J. L., Jacksonville, Fla.—The followin g is the translation requested: “In the name of God, the President and Faculty greet all who shall see these presents. Since it is just that those who excel their fellows in talent and learning should be rewarded by some well-deserved distincti from the multitude, We, invested with the ithe eee of the Republic to so reward, desire to notify all who may see these presents that —— has been rai y our choice in a regular meeting of the Faculty of Law to the rank of Bachelor of Laws, and that we have granted him every right eae panes Reternine £0 this - In order that all may know this, we issue egree, and give it i our Faculty’s seal, on the — day —— 7 ca ee a Mrs. L. C. D., Corinth, Miss.—It was in the year 1853 that the project of purchasing Mount Vernon by private subscription was first started by Miss Ann Pamela Cunningham, in an adi dress to the women of the United States, under the signature of “A Southern Matron.” Associations of ladies w after formed and funds collected. Among the distin, z0 shed men who took great interest in the project was Edward Everett of Massachusetts, who raised by his writings on the subject (including his great oration on Washinton), over $100,000. The oration was delivered in different places about 150 times. The price paid for Mount Vernon, as stated recently in an- swer to another correspondent, was $200,000. T. C. W., Brooklyn, N. ¥.—The word lough in Ireland, like that of loch in Scotland, is applied equally to salt water inlets et «This is my story, sir—or all at least'I care to tell—ex- cept that my poor mother is pretty bad now, and won't live a great while longer, and my poor sister will never be able to do anything to help herself.” When he had finished his recital I expressed much sympathy for his misfortunes, and my marked approval of his reform. «Continue thus in well doing,” I said, ‘‘and you will atone for the past; and some day, in Heaven’s good time, you will get your reward !” ite He continued his regular visits to my office foramonth or two longer, when he suddenly ceased, and I did not see him again for a week. : Then he came to me, not in his former humble calling, but to bid me good-by, saying that his mother was dead and buried, his sister had been taken charge of by some benevolent institution, and he was now going away to seek his fortune where he was not known. I asked him if there was anything I could do for him, and he replied that there was not; that he was resolved to carve out, unaided, a better future for himself; and then, with many thanks for my kindness and sympathy, he bade me farewell, in a tremulous voice and with tear- rur tool his departure, end ures, black eyes, a plain but with the lads in his vocation. My attention was probably attracted to him by his being different from the others, from his also being a new-comer, and because there was something in his ap- pearance that indicated a certain degree of intellectual gentility. For the first several times that Ipassed him he was engaged in his pedal labors and did not notice me; but one day he came up, with a winning smile, and said, in a pleasant tone: “Black your boots, sir? Shine ’em up, sir? Ill do them right nice, sir, for five cents.” I did not care about stopping in the street to have them done, but there wasacertain attractive magnet- ism about the lad that inclined me to answer him civilly. “Not to-day,” I said, ‘“‘wnless you choose to come to my office.” “Oh, ll do that with great pleasure, sir!” he an- swered. ‘Is it far from here ?” «Some two or three squares, and the job will hardly pay you for your time. “TJ don’t mind that, sir. Its regular custom I want. Tm certain that I can please you; and if you’ll be kind enough to give me your address, I’ll be happy to call.” «Can you read ?” I asked. “Oh, yes, Sir, a little, sir; ve had some schooling, sir.” Being quite pleased with his manners, and thinking that he might be a character of whom I should like to know something more, I handed him my card, with the remark that he might call in at any time during the day. In about an hour he made his appearance, and per- formed his humble work so nicely and thoroughly that I said to him that he might make it a point to call every day until further notice. Prompt at the time he appeared every morning, till a full week had expired, when I handed him thirty cents. “Twenty-five is enough, sir!” he said, and positively declined to take any more. ; Being struck with his promptitude, and his honor- able mode of dealing,-which I fancied exhibited a pleas- ing contrast to many of his kind, I regularly continued his services. One day, after a lapse of a couple of months, he did not appear as early as usual; and, when he did come, I noticed that his face was quite pale, and that his eyes were somewhat red and swelled. “What is the matter, John?” I asked. ‘You are a little late to-day, and do not look quite as well as usual.” “Oh, nothing to trouble you with, sir,” he ahswered. “J couldn’t quite get here on time, and I hope you'll excuse me!” “Certainly,” I replied ; and as he did not seem inclined to talk, I questioned him no further. One day, feeling a little curiosity on the subject, I said to him, respectfully : «John, if you don’t think the question impertinent, how much do you make a week on an average ?” “Well, sir, I s’pose about five dollars—though, on some extra occasions, I've made as high as ten.” “Why then you must be getting rich,” I playfully rejoined. He looked up at me in a very peculiar way; and I could see his face grow pale, his lips quiver, and his eyes fill with tears, as he faltered out: “Ah, sir, out of my little earnings I have a dear mother and sister to keep, and both are now helpless. My poor mother is dying with consumption, sir, and my little sister is a cripple. These words were spoken with so much genuine feel- ing that my sympathies were instantly touched. “Indeed,” I said, ‘I had no idea of your having others depending on you for a living.” “No, sir,” he answered ; ‘I don’t speak of these things except I’m asked.” When he had finished his work, I handed him a dollar, with the remark : «Take this, John, as a present. It may help you along a little’ in your noble struggle of life.” «Excuse me, sir!” he said, drawing back with a sort of innate dignity impossible to describe; ‘I hope Vil not offend you, sir; but I started out with a fixed rule not to take anything that 1 haven’t earned.” ‘i oe even ior the benefit of those you love ?” I ques- oned. “No, sir; ’'d rather not, sir. ward from my own exertions.” “Very well,” I said, pressing him no further; ‘‘you seem to be a noble lad, and [ hope you may be rewarded for your principles and your devotion to those who are depending on you.” He — into tears, and, turning away, quickly, dis- appeared. ‘This little incident raised the lad so high in my esti- mation that 1 felt a deep interest in his future welfare, and resolved, if possible, todraw from him some ac- count of his past life. The next day, when he came, after inquiring about his mother and sister, I said to him: «John, were you always such a good boy ?” Ydrather have my re- saw lint: no mrere. Many years rolied on, and, in the crowding incidents of lite, I had almost forgotten the poor lad. or only oc- casionally recalled his bright, sad face, and his heroic determination, when business led me to a Western city, where, during some leisure, I strolled into a court-house, just as a young lawyer of great promise was about to make a speech in defense of a youth who had been ar- rested for his first theft. I staid to hear the speech, which proved to be one of the most eloquent and pathetic to which it had ever been my fortune to listen. ‘ The advocate did not succeed in clearing his client; but his earnest appeal against utter condemnation for a first. crime made a marked impression upon the jury, whosubsequently returned a verdict of guilty with a re- commendation to mercy. As the counsel in question, who was a bright and handsome man, was about leaving the court, he was warmly congratulated by his friends on his eloquence ; and while I stood looking at him, with a secret feeling of admiration, he caught my eye, and, to my utter sur- prise, immediatel: advanced, took my hand, called me by name, and expressed himself delighted to see me. “You have the advantage of me,” I said. <‘Though happy to greet so talented a gentleman, I was not aware | that we had ever before.” “Ah, my dear friend,” he rejoined, ‘I well remember you and your kindness in former years to the humble lad with the blacking-box.” “Good heavens !” I exclaimed, ‘‘is it possible that you are the poor lad in whom I once took so deep an inter- est ?” “Yes,” he answered, ‘I was that unfortunate lad ; but, with heaven’s help Iam now what I am!” He then told me that he had come West and studied law, and was doing well in his humble profession. He had married a very fine young lady, and was the | father of two little girls, and pressed me to come and visit him in his happy home, which I did. “There is a right way and a wrong way,” was one of | his remarks, which J remember; ‘‘and he who seeks | and pursues the right, may end his life in peace and | happiness, while the wrong will surely lead him to de- | struction. I followed the wrong for a time, was sorely punished, sincerely repented, and have ever since strug- gled to atone for the past.” : Some years still later I received a letter from my hero, John , Which contained the welcome intelligence that he had recently become a judgeof the very court in which I had first heard him address a jury. I have often since reflected on this story of a life, and I thought [ could not do better than to give to the pub- lic as a proof of what great energy, unswerving will, and an honest determination may do to reclaim even suchas have been tempted to enter upon the downward way that leads to worldly ruin and moral death. Words of Wisdom. WomeEN are the poetry of the world in the same sense as the stars are the poetry of heaven. Clear, light-giv- ing, harmonious, they are terrestrial planets that rule the destines of mankind. ; Ir language is the expression of thought, then the speaker must see to it that he has thought to express. The vacant mind and the frivolous character may in- dulge in many words and continual talk, but can never originate fine language, for the very first elements are lacking. What is not worth thinking or feeling can clothe itself only in language not worth hearing. To reprove small faults with undue vehemence. is as absurd as if a man should take a sone hammer because he saw a fiy on a friend’s forehead. MALICE Gdrinketh up the greatest part of its own poison. THOSE with whom we can apparently become well ac- quinted in a few moments are generally the most diffi- cult to rightly know and understand. TO-MORROW May never come tous; we do not live in to-morrow—we cannot find itin any of our title-deeds. The man who owns whole squares of real estate and great ships on the sea does not own a Single minute of to-morrow. To-morrow! It is amysterious possibility not yet born ; it lies under the seal of midnight, behind the vail of glittering constellations. DISCRETION in spéech is more than eloquence. ——_———-_ >- © ~ A DOCTOR WHO CAME TO GRIEF. A physician in Portland, Oregon, who took too much of his own treatment, is now lamenting what may prove a life-long affliction. While practicing what he called magnetic healing, he used to wear shoes with plates on the solesof them, and stand on metallic plates, underneath which there was an electric battery, and as the current passed through him he transmitted it to his Lg gen: by the laying on of hands, claiming, of course, the power was within him and not froma or to inland lakes. No country in Europe possesses so large an area of fresh water lakes, in proportion to its size, as Ireland. Lough Neagh, in the srovines of Ulster, is one of the three largest in Europe, and has an area of over 90,000 acres. The other principal lakes are the Corrib, Erne, Allen, Rec, Derg, Mask, and Killarney. The last named, situated in the mountains of Kerry, are three in number, an Upper, Low- er, and Middle Lake, covering an area of about 6,000 acres, and are highly celebrated for their picturesque scenery. Melville, Osage, Kans.—Orsini, the Italian revolutionist, who went to Paris in 1857 to assassinate Napoleon IIT., had three associates named Pieri, Rudio, and Gomez. On the evening of Jan. 14, 1858, as the emperor and empress were ap- proaching the Grand Opera, three bombs were thrown under their carriage and caplaens killing or wounding a large number of persons, though the intended victims escaped. Orsini, Pieri, and Rudio were sentenced to death and Gomez to hard labor for life. The sentence in rd to Orsini and Pieri was carried out, but the life of Rudio was spared through the intercession of the Empress Eugenie. Mrs. W. T. S., Corinth, N. Y.—1st. To bleach skeletonieaves, mix about one dram of chloride of lithe with one_pint of water, adding sufficient acetic acid to Itberate the ari Steep the leaves in this until they are whitened (about. fe minutes), taking care not to let them stay in , are apt to become brittle. Put them tate cide eee a float them out on pieces of paper or cards. Lastly, remove them from the paper or cards before they are quite dry, and a — = a book od nag ee See oad They are thought to re) when mounted on blac oor Painter's Manual” will cost 60 cents, ©" Paper 2d. “The Jasper, Harlem.—Queen Victoria reigns in her own right, holding the crown both by inheritance and election. Her legal title rests on the statute by which the succession to the crown of Great Britain and Ireland was settled, o of King William and Queen Anne, without issué, on he ban cess Sophia of Hanover, and the “heirs of her body. being protestants.” The inheritance thus limited descended to George I., son and heir of Princess Sophia, she having died before Queen Anne; and it has ever since continued in a reg- ular course of descent. Tully R.—The black spots on the nose or other parts of the face are not always what are called fleshworms. What are mistaken for them are produced in this way: The skin may be coarse, and the ducts being large, collect the perspirati which hardens and blackens, and hence the Sorncn Same sition of there being grubs or m tsintheskin. Therem- edy is simple: Ciean the part ected by pressing out the substance that is iene there, and then apply a little diluted cologne water several times a day, until the blotches have disappeared. Mrs. A.M. F., Sacramento, Cal—To treat gravel, take of queen of the meadow root (also called trumpet weed and gravel root), dwarf elder bark, march-mallow root, and trail- ing arbutus, cack. coarsely bruised, half an ounce; add to them one pint of boiling water, and one pint of Holland gin, and steep by the fire four hours, in_ a closely covered vessel’ Strain, and sweeten with honey. Dose, a wineglassful, with more or less frequency according to the urgency of the case. Letitia, Westchester County.—The principal mineral and ~ medicinal springs in the State of New York are the Salt Springs of Onondaga County ; Saratoga Springs; New Leb- anon and Stockport, Columbia County’: ; Massena, St i rence County ; Richfield, Otsego County ; Avon, Livingston County ; Clifton, Ontario County ; Sharon, Schoharie County; er Madison County; and Alabama, Genesee ounty. ? _ B.P. P..Van Wert, Ohio.—The Hebrews and Greeks used the first nine letters of their alphabet for the numbers 1 to 9; the next_nine letters for 10, 20, &c., to 90; and the others for hundreds; while for thousands they recommenced the alphabet and adde@ to each letter a mark oriota. The Ro- mans followed a similar system, beyond which we cannot enlighten you. C..T. Allaire, Philadelphia.—Insects in the ear may be de- stroyed by pouring a spoonful of warm olive oil, or cam- phorated oil, into the ear over night, keeping it there until the next morning by means of a piece of cotton wool, when it may be washed out with a little toilet soap and water. A. E., Norfolk, Va.—The story named will not be published in book-form, but we acknowledge your generous appreci- ation and praise of it. The writer is familiar with the lo- calities which she so vividly pictures, and sequi 7 i enabled to invest her stories with rare interest. a L., Staten Island.—The swelling caused by the stings of hornets, wasps, bees, and spiders, may be‘ generally arrested by the application of common salt and bi-carbonate of soda (a teaspoonful of each) dissolved in warm water, and well rubbed in on the place bitten or stung. Poultry.—“Wright’s Practical Poultry Keeper” is recom- mended to those who with no previous knowledge of or ex- perience with poultry may become at once successful in pro- ducing eggs, chickens, ete., for market. The book is illus- trated. Price $2. Louis Dunbar, Marietta, Ga.—ist. From $12 to $15 per week’ according to the demand. 2d. The flute is a very difficult in- er on which to learn to play, well. 3d. A teacher is al- mo: 2 always indispensable. 4 Your penmanship is ele- gant. Anzious, El Paso, Texas.—You may possibly get the infor- mation desired from the North Carolina Commissioner of Agriculture, P. M. Wilson, Raleigh, or from William F. Switz- ler, Bureau of Statistics, Washington, D. C. W. H., San Francisco._Judging by the 20,000 men and women weighed in Boston some years ago, the average weight of men is 14144 pounds; women, 12444 pounds. Allan Carew, Gardiner, Me.—ist. Write to the Bureau of Statistics, Washington, D.C. 2d. Lunar caustic will remove warts. Apply it so as not to touch the skin. Lillie C.T., Hudson, N. Y.—A work containing plain and practical directions for the treatment of plantsin the house and garden can be furnished for 50 cents. Cordelia.—To correct an unpleasant breath, rinse the mouth and throat occasionally in a weak solution of the perman- ganate of potassa. James R., Houtzdale, Pa.—‘A Guide to Composition” will cost $1. We know of no other work that would answer your purpose. Sam B., New Haven, Conn.—The pay of clerks to paymas- ters at Navy Yards is from $1,300 to $1,800, a¢cording to location. A. S.—ist. A letter addressed to “The President, Washing- {oo D. C.,” will reach its destination. 2d. Your handwriting is fair. battery. He is at present suffering from paralysis of the feet, the result of an overdose of his own medicine. B. M. C., Fayette City, Pa.—No recipe that we can recom- mend. : » enn = i | A nu . of corré rk, wl astomy onal on ‘inst 4 inn wea THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #2 0 “ SUCH AS IT IS’ BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER. Aunt Betsy had plenty, and something to spare, And her table was spread with the very best fare ; rhe queen of good cooks she was noted to be, And a treat of the rarest her ‘‘Friday-night tea.” But she always disparaged the food to each guest, And wished “it was better,”-though plainly the best. ‘‘Now pray don’t be bashful,” Aunt Betsy would say, But eat all you want, there’s more coming this way— Such as itis!” The guests always thought it a pity and shame That dear, good Aunt Betsy should tarnish her fame By telling such silly and thoughtless white lies About her rare cakes, and her jellies and pies ; But what could they do but offset it with praise, And please her, at heart, with their flattering ways; - To laugh ’mong themselves, and then whisper in glee, **We are glad to be here at this Friday-night tea— Such as it is!” But on one Friday night there was one honored guest, Who while really enjoying of viands the best, Had his mind far beyond the good company’s reach, . Ay! bent on the sermon he soon was to.preach ; And so, absent-minded, while Aunt Betsy plied His plate with the goodies, the old parson cried : “Now don’t make excuses, dear sister, I pray, There’s enough and to spare for this many a day— Such as itis!” 7 eee rebuke struck Aunt Betsy quite umb, That had from the lips of her good pastor come ; The words he had heard her repeat o’er and o’er Now cut like a knife to her very heart’s core. The ts told a stranger, the stranger told me, . That never again at a Friday-night tea Was Aunt Betsy heard to disparage her fare, Or say of her bounty, so dainty and rare, “Such as itis!” : ——_____ > @ «+ [THIS STORY WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED IN BOOK-FORM.] For Another's Sin; > THE BRIDE'S CONQUEST By BERTHA M. CLAF, AUTHOR OF _ “A Fair Mystery,” “Thrown on the World.” “The World Between Them,” “Beyond Pardon,” Ete. [Por ANOTHER’s Sry,” was commenced in No:17. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.]} * CHAPTER LXIX. ANGUISHED EYES LOOKED AT THEM. The following day was one to which Allan Carew had looked forward with an interest which surprised himself. Lady Adelaide’s portrait was finished, and Lord Carew had requested Monsieur Leon to bring it to Brooklands, _ and hang it in the portrait gallery, in the light which he judged most advantageous. A dear lover of art, Allan Carew admired the gifted Frenchman, and had asked him to remain at Brooklands for a day or two. Some little time before breakfast, Lady Adelaide heard her husband’s voice on the terrace, and resolved to join him. It was so seldom she could get a word, or a look, when unsurrounded by guests. She peeped into her glass with pardonable vanity. Was she not going to see him whom alone she loved? The glass reflected a charming form, in a pink cambric dress, and a wide straw hat, a gracious girl-figure,. good to see. Such a figure leaning from the window between two clouds of snowy curtains, caught Lord Carew’s eye. He held out his hand, saying: “Come here, dear! Here are some friends of yours, to a, our hospitality.” r heart bounded. He had called her ‘dear!’ She darted out upon the terrace; there stood Mons. Leon, ae his father, the old French teacher. exclaimed, holding out her hand: i e again a ttle girl, and you come to give me a French lesson, and indeed, I should have to plead ‘not prepared’.” «And the reason for the ‘not prepared.’ when it came, used to be, ‘Oh, I have been playing,’ said the old man. “T was a sad little torment, I am sure,” said Adelaide, taking his arm, rather to aid him than to be aided, as they paced the terrace. A splended figure in a gold-colored India lawn, trim- med audaciously with scarlet geranium, swept upon the terrace, filling the morning with her beauty. : “It is her grace of Ormond!” cried the old man, trem- pling. ‘What hours I have studied her portrait !” «Po you admire her so much ?” asked Lady Adelaide. ‘Lady Carew, she is to me the resurrection of my past. In the sight of her face, my lost youth comes back. Hark? Is that her voice? It is the same voice that The voice that once made music througn all my soul. And her for years, in wakeful nights, I pined to hear. . step, that gliding grace—and yet the step has lost a lit- tle. It has more measured dignity—less of that inde- scribable harmonious glide,” he added as the duchess laid her hand on Lord Carew’s arm, and the gathered party turned to enter the breakfast room. “7 know what you mean,” said Lady Adelaide. “I my- self have seen one step more poetical.” “This day,” said Lord Carew, at the breakfast table, “{ have designed for a little festival. Monsieur Leon has brought to me the portrait of my wife, of which he justly be proud, as awork of art; and I, for its faithfulness to the original. After the portrait is hung in its proper place I shall be pleased if you will all visit the gallery with me, and pronounce on the merit of the acquisition. It isa fitting day, Adelaide, for your pic- ture to be set among your predecessors,*for though you have kept it silent asacrime, this is your birthday. Long may you reign at Brooklands, fair lady !” Adelaide’s lovely face was crimson with joy and sur- “Oh, why did you not tell us!” cried Alice Carr. ‘We should have made high gala for you, Adelaide.” “The truth is,” said Adelaide, hanging her head, “I always forget my birthday.” “Well, I did not,” said Lady Carew. “I thought we should give a ball in your honor, but Ailan preferred th ” “J like this better,” said Lady Adelaide, with a grate- ful took toward Allan; and then the happiness of her heart flowed over into fresh kindness to her old teacher, who had been considerately placed at her side. After breakfast Lord Carew and the Leons repaired to the portrait-gallery, and finally Lord Carew returned to ee ont parlor,” where the guests were assem- da, and, giving his arm to his wife, invited all to come and see the picture. The portrait, hung in admirable light, had placed be- neath it a stand covered with roses and lilies, the gra- grance of which filled the oo The extreme beauty of the execution and the faithfulness of the presenta- tion called forth the warmest praises of all. “Can Monsieur Leon surpass himself?” cried Prince Gadstein. “Leon,” said Beauty Randolph, laying his hand on the artist’s shoulder, ‘remember, I hold you positively en- gaged to paint the next Countess of Shirley as soon as the season commences.” ; Monsieur Leon looked at the piquant, dimpled face of Alice Carr, with its wealth of color,and felt that she, too, was a subject worthy of his art. “T wish,” he said, ‘‘that I haa here beside this picture the portrait of her grace of Ormond, asI had them in my studio. Each was the complement of the other, and made me—may I say it ?—proud of my art.” «Vain wish,” said the duchess, wondering in her heart if ever her portrait should hang beside that of her rival on these Brooklands walls. ‘My portrait has gone up to the cold North, where your triumph, Monsieur Leon, will never be seen by any one, unless the housekeeper and the pipers. Instead of such a festal day as this, in my honor, I suppose the servants unpacked your chef @oeuvre and hung it up.” She spoke flippantly, turned half aside, and, looking over her shoulder, Lord Carew felt glad that the duke was not there tohearand be hurt by the speech. He entered with Lady Carr just as the clear tones of the irritated duchess fell into silence. The coming of new admirers re-awoke the chorus of praises. The wholé affair was gall and wormwood to the jealous duchess. She said to Beauty Randolph : «“Come—this is a presentation of the verse of Tenny- son. How does it run? “ ‘One praised her ankles, one her eyes, One her bright hair and lovesome mien : So sweet a face, such angel In all the land had never “Thank you; how appropriate!” cried Randolph, writing the verse in bold hand on a leaf from his note- book. Then stepping forward, he slipped the paper in the lower corner of the picture-frame, saying: ‘‘Her of Ormond has given us a very apt inscription.” Juanita bit her lip at the turn the affair had taken. a duke looked at his wife with unqualified approba- on. “Thank you, my love. That is a very charming trib- ute from one beauty to another.” The duchess shrugged her shoulders, and stood pet- tishly tapping her little foot on the floor. The whole Ce, en p ” affair annoyed her enormously—the remembrance of Adelaide’s birthday, Allan’s effusive reception of the portrait and the encomiums lavished upsn it. What should she do to revenge herself on Lord Carew? She resolved to agonize him by jealousy. She would bestow marked attentions on the portrait painter. Why not? He was the fashion; he was: a remarkably fascinating man; the duke was pleased to have her reward art. She turned to Allan, who had drawn near her. “Notice Monsieur Leon! he is quite the handsomest man I ever saw !” ‘You know heis called ‘the handsomest of artists’ in half the cities of Europe,” replied Lord Carew. Yes. And, notice again, he is singularly like me.” ‘Positively he is,” cried Lord Carew, surprised, ‘‘he is the male type of your splendid style of beauty.” ‘In him then, I might love and admire my own sweet self,” cried her grace. Adelaide came near, and said to her husband : ‘Allan, I have ordered the phaeton, to take old Mon- sieur n out for a drive in the plantations.” Lord Carew smiled assent, and Adelaide and her former tutor left the gallery. “Well J mean to invite young Leon, for a walk in the Poe said the duchess, fixing challenging eyes on rd Carew’s face. ‘We will be well matched, since he is the handsomest person here—except myself.” . Instead of being agonized by jealousy, Allan Care laughed openly at this petulant sally. The duchess had a naive, childish way of exhibiting her naughtiness, which disarmed condemnation. Her sudden flashes of mischief and bravado, made one inclined to condone in her what was at other times really wrong. This present little wickedness relieved Allan’s mind, concerning some things she had recently done and said. The smile still hung on his lips, as he watched the brilliant figure of the duchess gliding away among shrubs and trees, with the artist by her side. Juanita was doing the honors of Brooklands; she pointed out here a vista, there a clump of varied shades of green—there a statue ‘‘half concealed, half revealed.” She was enchanting. ‘‘Now I am tired, let us sit here on this rustic bench, in the shade, while you talk to me of art,” she said. But at that moment through the shrubbery came a tall, dark figure ; large-anguished eyes were fixed upon them —the dark lady was looking at the two, with out- stretched hands and a wild, low cry. '. CHAPTER LXX. “MY CHILDREN! MY CHILDREN!” The tremulous lips formed at last two distinct words. “Mes Enfants! Mes Enfants!” and the woman fell senseless before the duchess, and the astounded artist. They sprang to her, and Leon raised the fallen head to his knee, while Juanita, bending with unwonted gen- a began torub the soft and slender wrists and ands. “She called for her children,” said Juanita to Leon. “She said ‘My Children! My Children? I wonder who they are, and where they are.” «Who can tell? Poor soul, do you know her ?” . “No—yes—that is, I do not know her name; but I have met her a number of times. I am interested in her, she seemed fond of me, and, though I do not usually like strangers I felt drawn to her. She is very beautiful, mysterious, and unhappy. “She is all that,” said Leon, looking at the prostrate form, and the head he was supporting. ‘There is a fas- cination about her. She should come out of this faint. I wish we had some means to help her.” “T think if you feel in her pocket, you will find a vinaigrette: which I gave her, when once before she fainted in my presence. There is a little spring a few steps from here. If I had something to carry water in, I would go for some.” Leon took from his pocket a little folding metallic cup, and screwing it into shape, handed it to the duchess, who presently brought the water, and kneeling, bathed the unconscious face. At this moment, the duchess had anew and singular charm. It wasso seldom that she forgot herself, or ministered to another. Now she had the loveliness of service. Presently the object of their care sighed deeply, and opened her eyes. She looked from one to the other of the kind, anxious faces. It was a scene to be remembered. The dark, fragrant green wood; the ground, a soft bed of mingled turf, mosses, and pine-needles; the handsome artist, in his pi turesque, half-foreign dress; the lovely.Juanita, ar.Monsieur Leon! This is very pleasant. It quite | ef O§d times. [feel-asif I were a: a} | A) nee RLS” d a Br == 4 tage - => \ ie oy Sy SS ‘ l Nias \ - 1 be Sy) i WE Ae a ae x , ys x MAN Ton Nea PY ANN A a ee ne OS THEY SPRANG TO HER, ge RAISED THE FALLEN brilliant gold and crimson; her face and the artist’s turned toward each other, and near together, not real- izing how like was each to each. The stranger sighed deeply, as with a breath of strange relief. Her hand stole to clasp the hand of the duchess; her eyes were on the eyes of Leon; she spoke | in soft murmurs: «“AmTin heaven? Oh, whatisthis? Oh, joy! Truly God is often very good to sinners !” «She wanders.” whispered the duchess. ‘Madam, are you better ?” asked Leon. “Better? Oh, yes; I am well—quite well. has fallen from me like a dream.” «What can we do for you ?” asked Leon. ‘Nothing. I am better. I must go.my way. In a moment I shall go out of your young lives forever. Yes, there is one thing you can do for me. Will you kiss me —on my forehead ?” Why should I kiss you, madam ?” asked Leon, not as one reluctant, but as one who wonders. “Why, indeed? You owe me nothing—not even a kiss !” A depth of unutterable sorrow grew in the dark, sunk- en eyes, and tears seemed ready to well over. A Leon impulsively lifted his cap, and bending reverent- ly, as one who Offers a prayer, he kissed her brow. A smile grew over thé woman's lovely lips—a smile of exceeding content. “J will kiss you!” cried the duchess, impulsively: ‘I will kiss you on the mouth!” And she gave the woman a kiss whose ready warmth surprised herself. The woman slowly raised herself. She looked at the two who ministered to her. «There is a story,” she said, ‘in that old book, the Bible, of one whom angels fed in the desert—a worn old prophet—and in ‘the strength of that meat he went for forty days and forty nights, to Horeb, the Mount of God.’ Now to me your goodness is as that food of angels, and in the strength of it 1 shall go on my lonely way.” Leon aided her to her feet, and led her to the bench where he and the duchess had been sitting. “I cannot stop here,” she said, uneasily; ‘I must go.” «We will accompany you,” said the duchess, “7 will go and find a conveyance of some kind,” said Leon; ‘‘you cannot walk. Hark! I hear wheels—I will call.” And before the woman could hinder him, he lifted up his voice in a cheery ‘‘Helloa !” The light roll of wheels ore a few paces from them, behind the greenery, and then came a step, and, by the same opening as the recent intruder, old M. Leon appeared. With one glance he embraced the scene. ae is this?” he cried, excitedly. this ?” : His son stepped to him, with his constant, ready atten- tion to every word of the old gentleman. “Only a stranger, my father; I do not know her name, nor where she lives; but she is weak and ill. I called when I heard wheels, so that she might be taken wher- ever she wishes to go.” The dark woman sat passive, with downcast eyes. Now she lifted her gaze tranquilly to old Monsieur My past “Son, who is n. “Do not let me trouble you, good gentlemen and kind lady. Iamonlyastranger. Ihave noclaim on you. 1 am better—quite better; I wish to go my way.” «Lady Adelaide is just by, in the phaeton,” said the old man, eagerly. ‘She will take her wherever she is to ” “| can walk,” protested the woman. Ola Mr. Leon straightened himself, pushed aside his son, stepped to the bench, and offered his arm to the ratively. dark woman. ; “Take my arm,” he said, im “Lady Ade- laide will take you—where you belong.” The woman lowered her eyes and quietly obeyed him. The artist looked on, half pleased, half puzzled at his father’s sudden assertion of himself, Monsieur Leon and the dark lady approached the eek and Lady Adelaide, to her consternation, be- eld the dark enemy of her house, leaning on the arm of her guest. «Tt is a poor lady whom my son has found fainting in your woods. Can you take her to her place, Lady Ade- laide ?” said Monsieur Leon, quietly. ‘It is not far,” said the woman, looking at Lady Ade- laide deprecatingly. ‘Iam sorry. 1 really did not ex- pect to meet any one in the woods.” “My son will take me back to the house,” said Mon- | sieur Leon ; and Lady Adelaide turned her ponies toward the little cottage under the lindens. Monsieur Leon found his son standing alone, in a deep reverie. The duchess had foreseen that the father must join them, and though she was willing to spend a morn- ing in rambling with an artist who was the grand fashion of the hour, she did not choose to accommodate her steps to the slow pace of the aged ex-French teacher. She had or bidden her escort good-by; and al- ready the gold mull gown had disappeared in the green gloom of the nearest avenue. “Tell me about this meeting,” said the old gentleman, briefiy, as he took his son’s arm and they strolled toward the house. . Leon described the meeting. His father sighed—a sigh almostagroan. - “T kissed her,” said his son; “she asked me to—and I did—where she said—on her forehead.” Another deep sigh from the father. “The world is so full of loneliness and misery,” he said presently. RR TO fer ‘FATHER, THAT FACE SEEMS AS IF IT HAD BEEN A MEMORY OF MY CHILDHOOD !” “She must have had her share. Her face is written with sorrows. It has been rarely beautiful. It is strik- ing yet. Itisa haunting _Iean seeit before me now. Father, what is in that » cried the old man, testily. ier eye. Can you not see ce is merely the face of the bu have spent weeks in | woman, aS one foreign- fiten? You have been that this haunting resembi: Duchess of Or ca sh, German, and Scan- danavian faces so long, thatnow alldark Gallic faces are as one.” ft ae “Perhaps 80,” said LaGaghamningly. Their way through the wood was slow, as Monsieur Leon was tremulous, and his son feared to weary him. When they arrived at the house, Lady Adelaide, stand- ing on the lower terrace, 3 « issing her phaeton, and the brilliant duchess, sea on the white marble edge of a fountain basin, was. g some pet fish, that darted and played therein. This occupation did not so absorb her that she had not smiles and sallies to spare for all the numerous gentlemen within sight of her flashing eyes and within sound of her rippling voice. The Brooklands party was reinforced by three car- riages of people from adjacent seats, and the scene was gay. All the gayety did not prevent old Monsieur Leon from making of Lady Adelaide the most careful in- quiries as to where she had taken the woman whom he € Supposing these in- quiries merely the inquisitiveness of increasing age, Lady Adelaide was explicitin her description of Mrs. Denbigh’s cottage. 2 Little did she dream that he meditated a visit there. —e CHAPTER LXXI. “I KNEW YOU WOULD COME.” It was dewy, early morning—fair, sunny. sweet—anGa Brooklands was just wakingup. ‘The housekeeper, Mrs. Carlon, who prided herself on being usually the first one alert, was standing at a door in the rear, that gave upon the gardens, when a slow, light step came down the stair near her, and she turned to see Monsieur Leon, senior. The old Frenchman lifted his wide felt hat with the ready grace of his nation. — , ‘Eh, sir. Yo are early astir, ¥ thought all ang world was asleep,” said Mrs. ‘Carl \«I am off for a little waz, , perm PY , the wood. Mrs. Carlon looked 4 m. “He is like a child running away, and glad to get out of sight,” she said. ‘Old age becomes like childhood in so many of its ways.” ‘ But with every step he made toward attaining his purpose, the old Frenchman’s ardent spirit cast off some- thing of his decrepitude, and gave him courage and vigor. Sooner than one would have believed possible, he passed the woodland and stood on the road-side fac- ing Mrs. Denbigh’s cottage. The window of the wing was open, and on the sill leaned‘a woman, her arms folded, her head and shoul- ders framed in the vine-hung sash. When she saw the Frenchman she made a sign to him to enter, and reach- ing out opened the outer door of her room. “I knew you would come,” she said, as she met him atthe threshold. Then, asif struck with some sudden compunction at seeing how old and frail he looked, she added: ‘‘Here, take this easy-chair. Surely you are very old for your age.” “ITam. Do you forget, Isabeau,‘that all these years I have been bearing the shame and sorrow of your sins, and the burden of my own broken, abandoned heart ?” “I think you really loved me,” she said, curiously. «Heaven knows I did, Isabeau—my wife !” “Do not call me by that name! No one could call me your wife to-day !” «Perhaps not, Isabeau—the mother of my child.” “J saw him,” she cried, eagerly, “yesterday. You know it. I did not know before that I cared for him at all. My first-born had never tugged at my heart-strings as babes are wont to draw the hearts of mothers. Yet, yesterday, when 1 saw him in all his manly beauty, heard the melody of his voice, looked into his dark eyes, my soul owned my child. He is like me—not one whit like you.” : ‘He is like you in person. I saw the likeness for years; and trembled; but it has pleased Heaven to give him my moral nature, my scrupulous conscience. Isabeau, why are you here ?” I WANT YOUR PLEDGE THAT YOU WILL NOT AGAIN SEE MY SON—YOUR SON!” «Not tor anything connected with you; not because I dreamed you, too, were coming. It is for business of my own. Itis cheap, quiet, beautiful here. Why should I not come? Tell me—answer me honestly—did you tell Lady Adelaide Carew, when you saw her again yester- day, who, what I was ?” “Is it likely I should proclaim my shame, Isabeau ?”! A look of profound relief passed over her tace that the old man was too acute toignore. He made use of it at once. He said, earnestly : “Tsabeau, I want your pledge that you will not again see my son—your son—nor reveal yourself to him.” She caught the eagerness in his tone, as he that in her face. She, too, made use of it. She asked: “And why not ?” «Because he believes you dead! Because he thinks he has had a virtuous mother who has gone to heaven. Because, to a man, his mother should ever stand as embod truth, and love, and party. Because Ido not wish to crush his soul with the fact that his mother is none of these. Oh, Isabeau, whenIsaw you there in his presence I realized mare than ever how doubly needful it is for mothers to be good and true. “ISABEAU, The woman who is never a mother can throw away only _ One likes to be alone aek dhetare they think ‘and into¥ one soul and one eternity; but the mother, Isabeau, sins not for herself alone.” She was touched by his passion She remembered how this good, fond, simple-minded man had been both father and mother to their child. “See, now, I deny myself ever again to look upon my son, if you in return promise to go away without tell- ing Lady Adelaide who I am.” “And why ?” he asked, suspiciously. ‘‘What are you to Lady Adelaide? Are you vexing or hurting her in any way? Are you trying totake her husband from her, or what? I love Lady Adelaide as a daughter; she shall not be injured.” “You rave,” said Isabeau. ‘Her husband! I never saw him. But remember, he is young, and for*’me youth is gone, and all men to me are as nothing. I have only one love now, and that is for a woman, a young and lovely woman. -I adore her—for herI have learned to make a sacrifice—for her I love virtue, honor, peace.” «And that woman is Lady Adelaide ?” “No! Itis one whom you will never know. And yet I do like, admire—yes, love Lady Adelaide. She has been very good to me, and to one! love. Ido not wish to be hated by Lady Adelaide, or banished from this refuge by her. Come, now” she drew nearer him—‘‘let us make a compact. I will never hear my son’s voice, nor see his face, or touch upon his life again, if you, on your part, will let me pass to Lady Adelaide as a stran- ger to *you—so I can stay here as long as I like in peice.” Little did Monsieur Leon think of the terrible deceit this woman was practicing on him and Lady Adelaide— little did he dream that he was selling in this simple bargain the peace, the wedded happiness of the gra- cious lady that he loved; he never dreamed that this |: are life had entered the inner circle of Carew life. e 3 “I agree,” and he held out his hand. Then, as her touch met. his, old memories of their wedded days arose in him, and he said: “Isabeau, though I banish you from him, I do not bar you from my own help. Cail on me—rely on me at any time, and I shall always respond to your appeal.” A little, incredulous, scornful expression crept over her mouth. “There are two,” she said, “far readier and abler to help than you. Now let us part forever. Itis not well for us‘to meet.” ; . “We part,” he answered, rising, ‘but it will not be forever.” ' No. The time would come when loneliness, poverty, sickness, despair, would once more cast Isabeau Pierre on the charity of the heart she had abandoned. Back through the wood went Monsieur Leon, his step more feeble, his head bent; he seemed to have grown older in the hour. The breakfast-bell had already rung when he returned, and last of all the group he stole into his place at Lady Adelaide’s left hand. She noticed his downcast look, and devoted herself to cheering him. Lord Carew was inviting Leon to remain for a week, and make studies in the neighborhood. “TI leave it to my father,” said Leon. ‘‘We came up but for these two days, and he may desire to return.” Yes, son,” said the old man. ‘Lord Carew is very good; all our friends are very good; but let me go back to the city, even if you remain, Iam so used now to the sounds of the city that I cannot feel contented away from them.” He spoke eagerly. He was panting to fly this air breathed by the recreant wife and mother, lest if they were too near each other, some catastrophe might ensue. Then he turned to Lady Adelaide: ‘There are sorrows and seasons of sorrow, which nature soothes like a mother—a good mother ; but in old ageI think we find troubles that are only to be dissipated by losing ourselves in the surroundings and lives of men.” “We will go home this evening,” said his son. Turn- ing to resume conversation with Lord Carew, he said in alow tone. ‘My father lost his wife, my mother, in the first years of their marriage; he loved her passionately, and jis sorrow has been abiding, it even grows with How little did he think that that very morning, his father had touched that lost wife’s hand! «What was she like, your mother ?” asked the Duchess of Ormond, who had overheard the remark, as she sat at Lord Carew’s right. “Your grace, my father has a singular fancy, that she was very like yourself. Indeed, he studied your grace’s rtrait for hours, that he might by it retouch a picture e has made of her.” Ye wg oradlibe ‘DID YOU FANCY YOU GOULD EVER FORGET ME, AND THE DAYS OF OUR LOVE?” SHE MURMURED. “Ah,” said the duchess, with great interest, ‘‘then she was dark, a daughter of the South. You see my lord,” and she bent her splendid black eyes on Allan Carew, and lent a direct personal interest to the ‘my lord,’ ‘itis the dark love that finally holds the day. Love for these brunette women with their hearts of fire—the vivid Jacqueminot rose women all flame and fragrance—is the love that lives. The blonde beauties pale into feeble- ness and age—their loveliness goes with youth, and be- comes to their lovers a dream.; but the others are loved with a deathless passion that goes on to depth and strength as years go by.” Lord Carew sighed and bowed, as the party rose from the table. Juanita laid her hand on his arm, and they went out, a little in advance of the others on the terrace. ‘Did you fancy you could ever forget me and the days of our love ?” she murmured, ‘‘in this old man behold your helpless endeavor. Where flight is folly, courage and honor are to yield to worthy steel.” An hour later, old Monsieur Leon, drawn near the duchess, irresistibly as moth to the brilliant flame of a candle, was saying to her: «7 knew one like you, once, lady, whom all men wor- shiped. Ob, be warned by her fate. She wasconsumed in the flame of her own passions.” (T0 BE CONTINUED.) —___>-9 + __—_ MOUNT ETNA’S LATEST ERUPTION. The recent eruption of Mount Etna was by far the most wonderful phenomenon of the kind yet witnessed. The eruption began at the principal crater, a mile south of the government observatory. A few hours. before the lava stream was actually visible there were pre- monitory symptoms in the shape of earthquakes anda violent fall of hot cinders, which were thrown as far as Messina a distance of fully eighty miles. Twenty-four hours afterward streams of lava were seen coming out at seven other points, and a day later these seven new volcanoes all juined the principal crater, so that red-hot lava was poured down simultaneously in a volume nearly two miles in breadth. The rate of descent aver- aged. twenty yards an hour. From time to time great massive stones were cast down, together with a deluge of hot water. The best view of this wonderful scene was obtained from Nicolosi, asmall village of some 4,000 inhabitants, ina valley to the south-east of the amalgamated volcanoes. Nicolosi, up to the time when the late eruption commenced, was the rendezvous of all the Italian and foreign visitors who went to Catania to witness this new calamity. The writer of this account hired a mule and a guide at Nicolosi, and, in company with a dozen other tourists, ascended as far as the Monte Rossi, the nearest prominent position from which the phenomenon could be seenin safety. A splendid sight awaited us. We found ourselves face to face with the downpour of lava. The stream was then fully three feet in depth. Within a few minutes of our arrival the lava came within so short a distance from where we were standing that we were compelled to beat aretreat. The heat was so intense that our straw hats were scorched as though we had put them in an oven. Oe THE MAN WHO LAUGHS, The man who spreads his laughter through his life is the fellow that’s needed. He never tells his neighbor to have faith ; somehow he puts faith into him. He de- livers no homilies; the sight of his beaming face, the sound of his happy voice, and the sight of his blessed daily life carry conviction that words have no power to give. The blues flee before him as the fog before the west wind; he comes into his own home like a flood of sunshine over a meadow of blooming buttercups, and his wife and children blossom in his presence like June roses. His home is redolent with sympathy and love. The neighborhood is better for his life and somebody will learn of him that laughter is better than tears. The world needs this man; why are there so few of him? Can he be created? Can he be evolved? Why is he not in every house, turning rain into shine and winter into summer all round the year, until life is a perpetual season of joy ? ‘delinquencies, where there was plenty of mon THE STONE WELL. BY DALTON STONE. These July. eves that summer crown, I wander through the clover lea, Stirring the tufts of thistledown To float away in wanderings free ; I saunter past those circles green That show us where the fairies dwell ; Cowslips and daisies stroll between, Until I reach the old stone well, Where overhead the woodbine twines, A thickly matted leafy root ; And in between the wild hop vines Make with their web a rustic roof. A grassy bank’s the only seat That nature’s given to this dell, And a large stone, for weary feet, Lieth beside the old stone well, Whose mossy mouth looks sweetly cool, Fringed with the blue forget-me-not, Though yonder green and stagnant pool Seems in the sunset seething hot. Here all around the tangled plants Combine to shade this verdant cell ; Though now and then a sunbeam slants Between the leaves into the well. Here in the cool of summer eve, After the turmoil of the day, I come, my fancy’s web to weave, And dream of loved ones far away. Quenching my thirst in this still spot, The tumult in my breast I quell; The troubles of the day forgot, I slumber by the old stone well. Se ee gS [HIS STORY WILL, NOT BE PUBLISHED IN BOOK-FORM.] FOR LIVING WAGES; OR, 9 LENA DUDLEY’S PERIL. A STORY OF THE GREAT STRIKE, By CLINT. CARPENTER. ” [For Lrvinc WaGEs” was commenced in No. 28 Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.] CHAPTER XXV. THE BLACK ROOM. To say that Augusta Vanvelt had loved Albert Trow- bridge, in the fullest and sweetest sense of the term, would be false. Indeed, it is doubtful if a woman reared as she had been, ever knows what love is, as some women know it—a sentiment which absords all others, and makes her ready to sacrifice fortune, friends, home, and even life itself, for the object of her attachment. Miss Vanvelt knew that women must marry. She had been carefully taught that to maintain social status a woman must be able to write M7vs. on her cards. A hus- band was necessary to her success. e«— AN AMENDED VERDICT. Shortly after the close of the war, a prominent farmer | of Beaufort, $. C., had conclusive evidence that one of )his negro tenants was stealing largely from him. A | warrant was issued for the arrest of the negro, and his ease was brought for trial before a newly appointed ne- gro Justice of the Peace, who Summoned a jury of his own color to pass judgment on the trial. The trial was a brief one, and the evidence was so overwhelming and conclusive against the defendant, that the justice sent the jury out with the statement that the case was so plain that it was not necessary for him to charge them as to their duty. After. a few min- utes’ consultation the jury returned, and the foreman announced that they had agreed. “W’at is your verdic’ ?” ‘We find Mr. Blank guilty.” The announcement was ashock to the room, as Mr. Blank was the plaintiff. “You fools!” exclaimed the indignant justice; ‘go back, and bring in a verdic’ ’greeable wid de fac’s !” The astonished jury witharew, and in a few minutes again returned, with smiling countenances. “Well, is you ready ?” asked the colored judge. ‘Yessir. We fin’ Mr. Blank not guilty, but guilty of accusin’.” > 4 To FIND One who has passed through life without sor- row, you must find one incapable of love, or hatred, or hope, or fear. 3 > o~< | THE young man who spends his money before he | earns it is always a Slave to him who earns it before he spends it. —> o~— : FRETFUL disposition takes the fragrance out of one’s ife. Headache, Pain in the Side and Back, and Cons stipation, indicate that the digestive and excretory organs are in a disordered condition, and that a laxative is needed. For this purpose, Ayer’s Cathartic Pills are the best medicine that can be used. Ayer’s Pills are a never failing rem- edy for Headaches caused by a Dis- ordered Stomach. I suffered for years from this infirmity, and never found any- thing to give me more than temporary relief, until I began taking Ayer’s Pills. This medicine always acts promptly and thoroughly, an occasional dose being all that is required to keep me in? per- fect health.—Mrs. Harriet A. Marble, Poughkeepsie, N. Y. I have found entire relief from Consti- pation, Stomach troubles, and Nervous Headache, by taking Ayer’s Cathartic Pills. I suffered a long time from these complaints, was under medical treat- ment, withous obtaining relief, and a part of the time was unable to work. A friend, who had been similarly aftlict- ed, urged me to take Ayer’s Pills. I commenced. using this remedy, and,, by the time I had taken four boxes, was ecured.—F. L. Dobson, Topeka, Kans. Ayer’s Pills, Prepared by Dr. J.C. Ayer & Go., Lowell, Mass. Sold by all Druggists and Dealers in Medicine. SUNN ¥Y FREE FARMS | “saw Luis: The most Wonderful Agricultural Park in. America, Sur- rounded by prosperous mining and inanufacturing towns. FARMER'S PARADISE! Magnificent crops raised in_ 1885. 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