. 4

 

 

 

 

 

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Enterea According to Act of Congress, in the Fear 1814, by Street & Smith. in the Office of the Librarian of Conoress. Washington, D C.

 

 

MEL

 

 

 

————
ieee en oe

 

 

 

 

VoL, XXX,

Proprietors.

 

 

 

MEZZONI THE BRIGAND:

STREET & SMITH } Nos. 27, 29, 31 Rose St.,
P.O. Box 4896, New York.

 

NEW YORK, NOVEMBER

93. 1874,

 

eum OR, ee»

Three Dollars Per Year. { FRANCIS S. STREET,
Two Copies Five Dollars.

No. 3.

FRANCIS S. SMITH.

 

KING OF THE MOUNTAINS.
By LIEUTENANT MURRAY,

Author of Fanny Campbell the Female Pirate—Red Rupert the Arkansas Ranger—Spanish Musketeer—Scarlet Flag—The Italian Contrabandist—Child of the Sea—Tke Bucoaners, ete.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER I.
KING OF THE MOUNTAINS.

Until quite lately the mountain re-
gion nearest to Naples, in the neigh-
borhood of Salerno, Amalfi, and be-
yond, has been the most famous re-
sort for brigands anywhere out of
Spain. |

 

 

Te 10 laca tha z Mm 7 a

rich Englishman was seized, be-
tween Salerno and the plains, of|
Peesturn, and-held for ransom in a
heavy sum, which was finally paid
according to the terms dictated by |
these Italian banditti. The govern-

ment has been compelled for years to |

virtually admit its inability to cope |

with these active and dangerous |

|
The local peasantry of |

mountaineers, whose guerrilla war-
fare baffles all legitimate military
operations.
the dangerous districts are nearly
always in league with the robbers,
and being faithful to their interests,
form in one sense part of the organ-
ization.

[t is almost impossible to obtain |
any information as to the haunts of |
the brigands, or to procure the ser- |
vices of capable guides to lead any |
expedition against them. Were the
poor peasants inclined to actin this|
capacity, they dare not, as the sav-|
age. revenge ef the outlaws would |
be sure to follow. Thus the gov-|

qi We : . }
ernment is in the worst possible sit- |

|

uation as it regards protecting trav-
elers from abroad, who are attract-

erable numbers annually.
Untiltheadvent of Victor Emman- |
uel, the boldness of the banditti in |

very streets of Naples, and robbe-
ries were frequent under the very

shadow of the King’s palace, while| &

a passage at night through the long |
and lofty grotto of Posilipo, near
the heart of the city, was a risk that
few travelers cared to encounter.
To reach the beautiful shores of|
Baiz, or to return from thence, the
Posilipo passage is the direct route,
so that great inconvenience was

 

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MEZZONI THE BRIGAND.

 

 

realized by the visitors to Naples.

This standing disgrace upon the
government has been a great source
of mortification in Italy, and the ag-
gravating cases of complaint arising
therefrom has caused more than one
foreign nation to make it the sub-
ject of official reproach through the
Though

thia neat ig not wet even entirely
r= 2 ee ae

VEL Ew ~~ (6 yewe vy ee ~

medium of its local consul.

removed, still comparative safety is
insured to ordinary travel.

How well we remember visiting
the beautiful Baize region so late as
last spring, when our party dined
on the terrace of an Italian inn,
looking down upon the loveliest bay
In the
distance was purple Vesuvius, emit-

the sun ever shone upon.

ting the only smoke wreaths that
dimmed the transparent atmos-
phere, with Procida and Ischia ris-
ing through a golden mist in the
west. ‘A couple of Italian men-of-
war and numerous coasting ves-
sels, lay at our feet, with every
spar and line of cordage duplicated
in the blue waters, the whole backed
by the craggy, indented shore, with
its stern, confused, voleanic rocks,
its gay villages and its low fishing
huts, hiding and displaying. ruins
which dated from the earliest steps
of civilization.

What an accumulation of won-
ders we had seen that eventful day
since our three black horses abreast,

decorated with plumes and_ bells,

ihad swept along the gay Chiaja in

the morning. Through that famous

‘grotto of Posilipo, a passage which
had echoed to the tramp of Roman

legions, away to the half-extinct
crata of Solfatara, and to the neigh-
boring grand amphitheater, with
its wild beasts’ dens, the quarters
of the gladiators, and'the main walls
extant.

Here thirty thousand spectators
sometimes assembled to see men in
the prime and vigor of life ‘‘butch-
ered to make a Roman holiday.”

Classic ground indeed!

And there, too, was the temple

 

 

 

 
 

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“command the vest effurts to accomplish his arrest.

 

 

 

2

we : os

of Serapis Cicero's villa, and the temple of Venus, ail in
partial ruins, as they stiould be after a thousand years
and more. In the temple dedicated to Mercury, the
Neapolitan peasant girls had danced with bare feet, for
our amusement, the Tarantella, to tue accompaniment of
their tambourines.

Altogether it was aday to be long remembered, that
delightful experience in the environs of Naples. But to

wine Drigands. ky

 

ow

   
  

   

Bula, Lius maklug perfeeh
and completing the @
woukl have enuob
baldi, however,
reliriug quietly.to his MOL
It was at this period™
distracted conditions

=

 
 
 
  

     
 

 

Might made rignt. rospered. — :
aud streets were dangerous even at broad day. The local
authorities were weak and {ueflicient, and little less than
@ reigu of terror existed all over Soutuern italy. Tue
energetic monarch took in the position at ouce—the
remedy was patent. 7

The strong arm was required and applied with earnest
purpose, untilin the cities and large towns something
like order was at tength established, in place Of the
reigning Chaos, The wmost daring characters, who had
long lived by defytug the laws, now fled to the mountains,
aud here in isolated bands still defied the government.
The wild region which they made their home was almost
inaccessible to those not familiar with the ways, aud thus
afforded a natural protection to the oullaws,

Though comparatively isolated, these resurts were yet
sufficiently near to populous districts, aud especially to
the well-known routes of travel, to enuble the banditti to
makea lasty descent at any time, and to Telreat with
either prisoners or valuable booty, so that the rigor of the
goverument in €xpelling tle outlaws fron the citfes and
large towns simply changed their field of operation,

Among the notorious characters who had successfully

    
     
  
   
         
    

 

   
  

   
 

wee er entatoe

with his face tothe ground. The terrifigd man obeyed
instantly. The door of the vehicle was then thrown
open, aud the travaler wag coolly ordered to get out by a
man who presented himself before him, armed to the
teeth, :

n of

     
 
   

   
  
 
 
 

to seize one of the pistols, a small single bar
he 8 which. Vis in

  
  

the

Me et i pocket, and

    
 
 

    
 
 
  

nee outside of

   

:

Y ble. you ap nave here,
and We will Send CK ae ithe city, W
Will be so good us to forward money for your release.*’

“How much 9?

“They will know,’? was the reply.

“Supposing 1 refuse?’

“You will not be go foolish.’

“Why not?!

“Because it will cost your life,’

“You are very confident.”

“itis ny aie! was the cool rejoinder,

The brigand stooped down, and placiug the paper upon
his knee, was filling in a date and preparing it for signa-
ture, When the traveler thought this was his chance, so
steppiug back a couple of paces, he aimed and fired his
pistol at the robber’s headt ‘The manu did not even raise
his face, but coolly Guished his penciled writing, then
turning tothe Euglishiumau, he said, without the least
enlotion:

‘Perhaps you would liketo try your other pistol, as you
have failed with this!? :

~“}6 seems thut you are bullet proof,” said the traveler,
in amazement,

“Nut exactly. When you next have occasion to dine

    
   
 

   
  
   

mocked the authorities for a series of years, was a man fat a country inun—"”

who bore Lhe name of Mezzoni, the dariug leader of the

most successful baud that existed in the mountains. This
man had a fume extending all over Southern Europe, aud

had been the terror of eitizeus aud travelers for a number} 8
of years. He was reputed to have amassed great wealth, |

to be very shrewd and Cunning, and that he was able to
outwit the government at all poiuts, had beet proven for
years by his successful operations, especially in abd about
the envirous of Naples.

Mezzoni was thoroughly informed of all matters that it
interested him to know, and had nicaus of gaining intelli-
gence which was perfectly inexplicable to the authorities,
It wus believed that he always acted as his own spy, and
his facilities for disguise and the assuming of any charac-
ter which he chose.to persouate, rendered him one of the
most dangerous Villaingof the time, —

Fopalong while the officials believed that they must have
sone traiton among se, aie 28 it Was LMpossible Lo
make wnrdvement againstthe bandittiwhich Was not an-
ticipated by them,

This famous brivo had been Knowh to penetrate into
the city hotels of Naples, in female attire, where, under
preiense of being # vendor of coral ornaments, or some
other local specialty, ke gained the information which he
sought, ind retired unsuspected, Aud yet uo description
of his person existed which was considered at all reliable;
he had somehow succeeded in frustrating all attempts at
such exposure.

i 9

beiug of a hideous aspect of countenance, a man ol maine
Mott proportions, and bloodthirsty to the last degree.

Persons who had been kidnapped upon the read and
bela fur ransom had never been permitted tosee him per-

ually, or if they had met him it was uuder such cunning
disguise that they knew him not. Eveu the police de-
A£livedthat-his person wis so entirely unknown to them
that they might be brotght into daily coutace with him
and yel.uot know it.

Aunong the Neapolitan peasautry he was called the King
of te Mountains,

Suill, even-these people had never seen Mezzoni to kuow
him; ihe had ever appeared among them it was hot in
his true character. When the police, therefore, tried cun-
mingly to bribe Laem, or to ovtaltany inforaiation through
these simple people, they honestly shouk their heads and
declared that they knew nothing of the famous leader—of
course, ney would mot have betrayed linvif ithad been in
their power—butl, douptiess, they spoke the truth.

Mezzoui had adopted an ingenious system of secrecy as
it concerned himself, which was of great advantage fo his
varigus plans, enabling him to command success whigh in
any Ootlier instance would fave beon imipussible. If wis
universally admitted thatavithoutsome very extraordinary
Means at his command, quite beyoud the knowledge of the
Police, such good fortune could not have attended the rob-
ber’s career, and superstitious people talked about a
league with evil spirits, 5
‘Phe usual stories which circulate through an excited
COMMuntsy WETE THUS LO TS Uiuge. Comme; Ut COUTSE,
were untrue, but more were born Of the florid imagina-
tions of those who Circulated them. By some of these he
was represented to be Hille less than a hero, by others a
fiend incarnate, while there were occurrences alinost daily,
quite authentic, which served to give an air of reality to
those stories which were purely inventions, as it regarded

the famous leader of the banditti.

The demand of a very heuvy ratisom andits payment to
Mezzoni througtt the tiands of his agents, also a daring
robbery of diamonds from a French traveling partly, had
together aroased the government lo aSstate of great irri-
tation, and the long-standing reward which had been
offered for the briganud leader was. doubled by a
formal proclamation, beside a freo pardon being prom-
ised id any of his-comrades wito should betray him to the
authorities. :

This offer was posted in all public places, upon the
roads, upon the recks of the mountain sides, upon the
trees, and at all of the wayside inns, Indeed, every pub-
licily possible was given to the great government reward
as doubled in its former auiount, and to be freely paid for
the person of Mezzoui, or failing that, for his head. Goy-
ernment was atfast tr earnest, and every possible. re-
source was brought to bear iu order to get pusession of
the famous outlaw. . ;

The price set upon thé robber’s head by this last in-
crease now amounted to the extraordinary sum of filly
thousaud doliars—a premium certainly large ee

en
Oo! intelligence, Who had never engaged in the detection
of rougues’as « business, were led to consider the matter,
aud Mezzoni found himself pursued with a vigor and re-
solve transcending that of any previous period of his
eventfal career. Ouly a brief quiet was caused by this of-
ficial activity, and secu after the bravo was at work again
as successfully as ever, ,

it was noticeable that no large band seemed to be op-
erating together upon the roads or elsewhere, as most of
the robberies which came to the knowledge of the author-
ities were committed by two or three banditti at a time.
A large number of men never showed themselves ou these
occasiuns, though it was believed that, if necessary, & sig-
nal would have sutimohed any requited humber where
resistance was offered. : :

In the instance ef the robbery of the Frenclt traveling
party, before referred to, tle travelers testified before the
authorities that there was but one mun visible when they
were stopped upou the road. He, however, was armed
atevery point, and when the driver of the vehicle was or-
dered to Halt, it was with a revolver pointed: at his head.
He was told, sternly, that if he obeyed he would not be
harmed, but that if tie-offered to move from his seat or to
start his horses until the robber bade lilin to do so, a bul-
let would ve sent through his head.

‘The brigand then addressed the party within the coach,
composed of a gentleman, his wile, and a maid servaut,
sull holding his revolver cocked and ready for instant use.
He told them that he did not desire to summon otliers of
the band—raising silver call which hung about Iris neck
as significant of the manner in which he could do so—but
that they had only to comply with his demands quietly aud

here need be no alarm.

‘The robber was véry cool through all this; he was in no
hurry; indeed, it was imposs.ble, as the French geutie-
mau said, not te admire his perfect sang-jroid.

His first demand was for a cusket of dianonds belong-
ing to the lady; and it was perfectly plaiu to them that he
Knew their number, their value, and evtu their style of
selling, He also designated, very understandingly, some
other valuables which he desired, and which, of course,
under the circumstances, it was thought best to give up

uletlly,

: “Ware you armed?’ asked the examining officer.

‘*T was not.’

“Tt would have been better, perhaps.’?

But the geutleman freely admitted that if he had pos-
sessed 2 revolver he should have hesitated to risk the
lives of the rest of the party, being ladies only, by the use
of a Ueadly weapon. He should have paused, however
well armed, before provoking retaliation from one wlio was
not only himself fully armed, but who could doubtless
call any meeded number to his aid incase of a struggle.
With a mate friend to help him, both armed, the Freuch-
man said he would have resisted, but not with two
women dependent upon him alone. The robber liad ad-
dressed them in excellent French, and was not by any
meaus vulgar,

When asked to describe this man all were puzzled to do
so. ‘They could only say that le seemed to be a tail, stout-
built, man, With a heavy beard, aud a disfiguring wound
was also remembered as being conspicuous upon his left
cheek just under the eye. But disguised, as he Peenan
was, the description of his figure was not lo relied
upon, though @ s¢ar upon the face might have been im-
movable, ;

When under such an excitement as attends upon an
experience of this sort, few persons can trust to their
memory to describe a figure seen but for four or five min-
ules, at most, and never before tor since.

The instance, before mentioned, when the heavy ran-
som was demanded and paid, wus also So peculiar as to re-
quire mention in this counection, and as familiariaing the
reader with the doings of these brigands who will enact
80 important a part inthe coming Chapters,

An Buglishman had come to Suleruo by cars, and had
there taken a vellicie for, Pastum, some twenty miles dis-
tant, to visié the famous temples there, and which are
more than two thousand years old. He had stopped and
breakfasted at 0 little tun by the roadside in Salerno, and
was to return to Naples by a more direct route, 80 ag to
reach his hotel the same night.

lt is a lonely and dreary road, and the traveler had put
a pair of pocket pistols iu his overcoat, though lie scarcely

thought it worth while to do so. But the Englishman
was not destined to reach Pastum on that occasion.

‘ag péssessiti prodigious sfrength, ana}

“All, Lunderstand, I will take better care not to leave
my pistols iu my outside coat pocket.’

el i Wunderstand tae hint which may be of future
Serviceto you. ne of ‘ bi

‘The terrified driver was now ordered to mount his horse
cays aud to preasy bie course as direcied. The
Englishinan was offered’ the one alternative—to sign ule
paper or be shot, and he saw very plainly that the brigand
meant exactly what he threatened. Indeed the man’s
imperturbabie Coolness astonished him, aud he saw that
he was entirely ut his mercy. The sui demanded for hia
ransom Was left blank, but there was uo use to hesitate,
and he absolutely signed the paper to save his life. He
then took his seat in the vehicle as directed, and it pro-
ceeded on a different road from that wheuce it liad come.

After reachiug a ‘mountiin path, the driver was dis-
paiched wih tie paper, addressed to the friends of the
captured nan, and he wag paid to hand it to the landlord
of Lhe inu at Salerno, who would forward it. They. were
soou joined by & couple of men armed like the first, and
from him they received certain orders relating to the
prisoner, Who-was couducted by tuem to a secret cave
biuny miles juto the mountains. Here after three weeks’
cuntinement the heavy ransom of five thousand pounds
sterling was paid, aud he was reiedsedy fF ‘
‘These were two cveuls which had 86 lately aroused the
government and icd to tue doublmg of the reward hereto-
fore set upon the head of Mezzoui.

Sulit: hone of'uis comrades seemed tempted to betray
him, though by doing so they Could liave secured pardon
aud independence for ile. The same mystery remained.
Sometimes for weeks there would be no overt act brougiat
to Lue uolice of the goverument, It was observable that
ho mistakes were made as to allacking Lhe Wrong partes,
butallthat were laid under coutribution were attacked
awithe right time and place, aud were called upon for
valuables which showed a previous Kuowledge of the vic-
tuts, on tie part of the brigands,

Every stranger who came to Naples was watched, and
iffuund to be a desirable victim, he was sure to be met
at pete hte time und place, and relieved of his valu-
ables. oO petty thieving was indulged in, Tue game
must be worth Lue trouble it would Cost, or it was QOt in-

tevfered with,
CHAPTER Il.
STAND AND DELIVER.

Just where the Strada dt Toledo enters the great square
of Naples, 6u which is situated the royal palace, aud the
St. Carlo Theater, was located a large jeweiry estabiish-
iment, the brauch of a London Jewish house, and forming

ie iO CN re? ie
. This store was the daily resort of the better classes, and

ee

stones of ail descriptions. It was located uuder the very
Shaduw of the royal palace, aud iu the heart of Naples,
Que morning, about a monih after the reward set upon

MZ ZO Mad Loom deubi« He prapriotoy¢sf
the Ugh Stent reterreu” to caine to hia Vglore ab the
usual hour, to fiud the watchful man, who slept mside,
gagged and tied, while the most valuable goods had been
quletly abstracted,

Of course, the first thing to be done was to release the
poor watchman from his patuful situation. k

It was noticeable that nearly the entire stock in the store
had been overhauled aud examined, ouly the cichest
goods, aud those most portable, having taken, While
the heavy articies were left uudisturbed,

The watchman's story was soon told,
U had been awakened from sleep, while he was lying
upon the small cot, placed uightly for his use in the center
of the shop, and a gag was placed in his mouth at once,
so that he Could make nouvise by way of giving an alarm,
He was then tied securely to the bed in a recumbent posi-
lion, aud & sheet was thrown over his face. Here he had
been obliged tu lie, unable LO move Or speak, aud hear the
operations of the rogues,
Of course, he Could not see, and indeed he could hardly
breathe, uutil the gag was removed iu the morning. He
could not say certainly, but believed that there were onl
two robbers engaged In the wifair, They seemed to Knov
everything about the establisiment, and to have keys
that Opeued all places which were secured by locks,
‘There appeared to have been no hurry about the robbery;
all was accomplished quietly, and with very few wo
spoken, as the watchman testified, +
Tuis Vold aud successful burglary created the greatest
consternation 11 Naples, Peopie began to ask each other
What use Uhere Was in supporting an elaborate and ex-
pensive system of police it they were not able to prevent
outrages 50 gross aud damaging to the public interest as
tis robbery, Within sight of their very headquarters, It
was true that the Jewish house which had suifered re-
ceived little sympathy from the trade generaliy in their
line, as they Were looked upon by the Italian jewelers as
innovators aud rivals to a Cousiderable degree. But still
(he principle Was the same, and who migtt be the next
victim? was the natural query which merchants asked
euch other with Cousternation depicted in their faces,
Of course this robbery was attributed to Mezzoni, and
seemed to be a sort of deflant stroke in answer to the
doubling of the reward offered by the government,
‘The value of the goods abstracted wus estimated at one
hundred thousand dollars as the very lowest amount to be
named. ‘There was not the first clew as Lo where they had
been conveyed, or indeed how the robbers had entered or
left the store. Everything inthe shape of windows and
doors was found securely locked, and in the usual condi-
tion in the morning. Even the iron safe, which had been
opened, was found to be locked after the valuables had
been abstracted, and sv wilh various drawers aud small
cases about the establishment,
The mystery ouly deepened on examination.
bor had heard any unusual noise in the night.
In twenty-four hours after the event, special rewards
were offered through every available Channel, promising
most liberally for any iuformation. Tue police were set
to work, and uo sleps were untried in the endeavor to
discover the perpetrators of the bold and dheavy robbery,
Woolf & Co., the firm who had been the sufferers iu this
instauce, telegraphed to London, and sent also a special
messeuger to consult with the head of the house, suggest-
ing that a thorough and careful English detective be sent
at once to Naples to ferret out the guilty parties.
Nothing was talked of at the clubs and in public places
but the greut robbery of Woolf & Co. It was more than a
niné days’ wouder, aiid seem destined to be a lasting
mystery. :
Diamonds are always ‘marketable and difficult to iden-
tify, especially when removed from their settings, but if
any of the uther articles were to be offered for sale, in
their original shape, such careful description had been
printed of them aud distributed, as to lead, 1b Was hoped,
to the detection of those concerned iu their abstraction,
A young Italian clerk, engaged in the store, had been
arrested ou suspicion, but was finally released. Feeling
jusily aggrieved at his treatment, the youth at once
brought au action for damages against the foreign firm,
and having the sympathy of his countrymen with him,
was «warded a handsome compensation fur what he con-
Sidered his injured honor,
“Will Woolf & Co. keep open?’ asked one young
a of another at a club-house lu the Strada di
oledo,

“Oh, yes, they are rich,’? was the answer, “and have
only to draw on the London house for any amouut.”

“Every oue agrees that it must have been Mezzoni to
have accomplished such a job.’

“Undoubtedly, Aud do'you see again, this is a for-
eigner who suffers? Italians are not rubbed.”

“True, nor are they disturbed upon the roads, It is the
French, English aud Americans who lose,’’

“Not always; but it is thought that wherever Mezzoni’s
hand ig seen, his countrymen are spared,”

: “Alter all, the rascal robs where lhe can realize the most,

Suspect,

“Tiere was that diamond robbery from the French
party, and the heavy ransom from the Englishman, and
as we see the jewelers, Wool! & Co., are foreigners again.”

“Yes, these three jobs may be safely put down to the
charge of Mezzoni.??”

“The rascal is intelligent. The Frenchman testified that
he spoke to him in his own language.”?

“*Ays and the — testified that he spoke to him
in excellent English.”

There certainly was this peculiarity, ag it regarded the
operations of the King of the Mountains, that ltalians did
not seem to be put under Contributions to supply his
purse; it was fureiguers omty who were conipelled to re-
plenish his exchequer.” Tais was undoybtedly one reason
why the Neapolitans were not more restive under his
depredatious—they were not the immediate sufferers.

The activity of the @overnmeut even was more the re-
sult of foreigu pressure brought to bear upon it than from

No neigi-

 

 

About one league beyoud Salerno, the vehicle was sud-
denly brought to a stund still, the driver ordered to dis-

any sense Of self-respect or regard for the sacreduess of
the law. They assumed a virtue if they had it not, and

mount, a8 he was riding one of the two Horses, and to lie

As the Englishman got out of the vehicle ri dager
up

one of the riciiest collecuions of goods of that description ia

commanded a heavy (rade in -diamionds “and = precidus |

  
   
   
        
     

outlaw, tle officials seemed to think they had performed
iheir duty.

About a month hadstranspired since the robbery of the
Store of Woolf & Co., when a party of Americans, consist-

Biot two 8 aud two geutiemen, who had been pass-
ig the day in exaimtning that unequaled curiosity, the ex-
tiamed ci f Pompeii, were just starting atetwilight Lo
return to Naples. They were all seated Logether in a two-

16 e, driven by an Italian coach, £883 %
y lad they got fairly under Way ~u | the

      
  

ssing a very thin

us suddenly stop
ting Wis pistol ap |
he radved from

 
      

at icle
elle ia the
t PAL

a Ws iustantly fired
t “uli Lo drop to the
ground beside the fallen robber. The highwayman rose
at once from the earth, and without seeming to notice par-
ticularly the blow and fall which he had experienced, still
retaining his revolver, preseuted it at the other American,
who was now hastening lo assist his friend, aud said iu
good English; :

“You will simplify this affair very mach by handing me
your purses aud watches at once. Lhave no desire to
shoot you.’? .

“Let them have them,’’ exclaimed the terrified ladies,
holding out their own, as the second robber now came to
the side of the vehicle, .

“Tam uuarmed, orl would shoot you first,’ sald the
American. “Have you murdered hint?’ pointing to his
insensible friend, Who still lay upon the ground.

“Your purses “aud watches first—tuere Will be time
enougli to attend to your friend afierward," was the an-
swer,

While the second robber rifled the person of the insensi-
ble man, those in the veliicle gave up their valuables, and
in five minutes more bottrof the higtw, ep had lett
them and disappeared iu the fuat-lncreasing. darkness,
Fortunately the American who had saluted the first rob-
ber with such a blow had only been stunned by a scalp
wound from the other’s pistol, but which came within an
inch of taking his fe,

Congratulating each other that they had only lost that
which could ea
soon on their way to the cily. ;

“That was a splendid Kuock-down argument of yours,”
said the American, who had not been injured, to his com-

: a been i by:
ture the feilow at the horses’ he
hich in turn caused the Americ

 

anion. kgs

“Ay; but fists against pistols stand no chance at all. If
we had been armed there would have been a different
euding to this affair.”

“Should you kuow that fellow you knocked down if you
Were to see lim again? asked tire first speaker, :

“Hardly; yet lsaw one singular mark, 1 think. It was
a long cut woul under the left eye. : }
ae that; sucha wouud asa saber cut. might have

e

“The fellow had wonderfully bright eyes also.*?

“Like a liger’s,” said One of the ladies.

The ladies, however, had been too much frightened at
the sudden and unexpecied assault to mark any personal
peculiarities in the attacking pariiés,” But iow, quite’re-
ussured, they were devoting themselves to stauciiing the
blood which still owed from the’scalp-wound.

“Ig it nol Outrageous, aud almost beyond belief, that
such an occurrence could lhappew so néar the city?” said
one of Lie ladies.

“If it were uot for this wound,’ said ler companion,
“T should not caremuch. It is our first real adventure ou
this side of the Atlantic,” :

“It was ae foolish to show fight,” said he who
had been wounded; “but then oue doesuit always stop tu
be prudent.””

“There was some satisfaction in the blow you gave that
Villain. He fell as though he was dead.”

There was the usual official ceremony gone through
With by the police, and a grand flourish of pretended in-
dignhation and effort to arrest somebudy, bul as usual the
activity blazed up for a moment, then ended in suuke.

“How much did you lose?” asked an official of the gen-
tlemiau who entered the complaint, ;

“Four gold watches und wvout turee hundred dollars in
money,"? was the answer. E

“Auything more ?”?

“A dangerous scalp wound was recelived.’?

“Al, yes, that is recorded.”

All being booked by the official, there the matter ended.

» CHAPTER IIT.
A GALLANT AcT.

The small steamer whiclt plies between Naples and the
Island of Capri every other day during the summer
months, is sure to be well filled with tourists who desire
to see that marine marvel, the Blue Grotto, and visit the
ruins of Tiberius’ aetaR villeg, crested ta touur uf Uke

8. The boat starts early in tle morning, so as to
touch at Sorrento both going and coming, and returns to
Naples before night,
It was ou a bright April morning when the steamer left
the city, well filled with American and English travelers,
to make the usual round trip, that Walter Hammond, a
young American, fouud hinselfjon bourd. Tue oat was

 

afier offering a heavy reward for the head of the famous

‘| tiouable intercourse.
y be replaced, the party were ouce more”

««ws4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. =~

 

her black eyebrows and long black eye-lushes.

and graceful.

and be girl,

ature in his life, and

    
 
   
 

those of the Diash

he had never seen u 2
Mm liippy to gi

rougli Wivk

   

     

as e K

led to make the niost of their
aboutithe Neapolitan capital.
Walter Hammond ‘wis gaged in mercantile life, and
his present visit lo Naples wus in the interests of the
house in New York, of whieh bis father was the senior
‘partner. He wag just twetty-fuar yenrs_of age, and al-
ready & junior partucr in thevoncern. “His, prospecis in
life were excellent, but iiis present possessions were: Lot
by any meanslarge. He had two sisters and a anotizver in
America, and his father, after whom he was hamed, was
a very wealthy citizen. 7

He was in the possession of robust health, was exceed-
ingly strong and well-developed, and in college, where he
had graduated at eighteen, had always led lis class in all
atnletic sports. Le was an excellent shot with either ride
or pistol, und, 28 was~the college custom, had carefuily
practiced the art of self-defense or pugilism. ‘laus, in
matters of physical training, Walter Hammond had re-
ceived as caretul instruction us he had in mental culture,
Few protessivonal athietes were his equa).
His intercourse with Murion Bray had been a source of
infinite pleasure to him; and after attending to his busi-
ueSs Walters at the usual hours, he was sure to be by hex
side, They hadread the same books, and were fond of
the same authors, and indeed were. in consonance in
nearly every mitler of taste and refinement... The old
soldier looked on with satisfaction at their most unobjec-

He had never seen, lie thoughi, a

hore mauly and less affecte ao
Where is Mr. Hammond to-day
his daughter one afternoon, when the-young American
had uot made his appearance as usual,
‘He said he should be busy all day to-day. You know
he is despatching aship to America, aud she is neurly
ready to sail.
“Thavs right; he shouldn't neglect business that has
been intrusted to him.”
‘He seems very conscientious about it.”
“T like th@ man,’? said/ the colonel, pleasantly, as he
blew the smoke of his Havana upward. '
_ ‘We have reason to be grateful to him,’’ said Marion,
earnestly.
‘‘Iudeed we have; I should have lost you, my child, but
for his daring and manly rescue.”
“It wae nearly the eud of your Marion, that is a fact,
papa,
“Such an act in France would have commanded the
insignia of the Legiomof Honor,” said the father.

“dt was bravely done,” she murmured to herself, in a
thougltiul mood, éds
“Dues he ever speak of his family at home.
“Oh, yes. -He has wimotier and father living and tivo
Sisters. He descrives his mother so tenderly that 1 have
fallen in love with her.”
“I shall be jealous, Marion,”
“No fear, pupa.”
And the fair young girl came to his side, parted the thin
gray locks from his forehead and kissed him lovingly. He
paited her cheek as he gazed proudly at ins daugiter. A
carriage Was culled, aud they drove out to watch the
queer slreel scenes,
‘-Cieanliness and the free use of water are among the
lost arts of Naples,’ suid the colonel.
“And drainage a myth,’ suggested Marion.
“Ay; tne city smells rauk to heaven.”
“Mr. Hamimond calls it dear, delightful, dirty Naples,”
said Marion,
“Very good, itis both dirty and attractive,” said the
colonel, ‘A sort of beggar’s paradise.”
The old soldier spoke truly; there is no quarter free
from béggary. Murillo’s Beggar Boy” is repeated every
hour of the day. Lazarus aud Dives jostle each other

4 eS G a

8 within the cily.
Itahan, and were thus
visits and excursi

   

  

 

She was
above the medium hight, and her figure was well-rounded

We need not here record the profuse words of gratitude

expressed by the old soldier to young Hammond, nor
iful Waiter thought

fellow.
7 asked the colonel of |

would be resented, and any legal or military interference
Would cost lis daughter's life. This might be depended

upon. In vain were all pleadings and protestations of the
Old officer. ,

 
   
  

“We make no other 3?
“Take me and rel eo!

     
 
    
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
       

ny at thus being
fnger now, aud tears
uly realize the state
Hromy lint before his
‘onbied dream than
lun as though he

feliioie, and though
Wave the spot, until

bAHIONS, ud Came
budy hull a league

e brigunds had
pariy, aud turn-
iu ho uppareut
Sedan chair

     
 
 
    

 

   
        
       

During ti they
quietly pocketed the booty
lug tueir horses’ heads had walked as
hurry, following the direcuon luken” byw
contaming Marion,
The colonel could not be pacified, but Ganaca to re-
gret the waul of “firearms tu fight tnese devils with,” as
he said, j

“Even ifwe liad weapons, you see how easily they could
have suamioned sany Huniber they had required (v0 assist
them,’? said the other geutieman,
“Ishould Kuow the spokesman were I to meet him
again,’? said the colonel, “Luough the viliain’s face was
evidently disguised,’
“How ?*? asked his companion,
“By a-heavy scar under his left: eye, caused by a sabre
cut, {should say, It was an ugly wound and ik a very
conspicuous place?
“I saw that,’ sajd the other. :
“I wonder if our driver was in league with the rascals 2”
said the clonel, ma luw yoice.
“I do-not think so—he was too thoroughly frightened.
There'was no pretense about that. Even when tie started

again he could hardly hota tis reins.”
4 Yeader must Hob think that the situation was an

for Colonel Bray. What could he do’ If he went
authorities and demanded their aid, and troops
SEL into the mountains to huutup tie robbers, he
Simply imperil his child’s lite, but be could not hope
| her by such means. Tt was not adesire to puu-
ish Lhe Villains that now actuated him. 1k was to obtain
possession of his child, alive and unharmed, that he must
strive. He knew cuough of the sysiem pursued by the
brigands to beheve that Marion would be sale im all
respecis so long as there Was uw reasonabie prospect of the
payment of the ransom. Lis policy was then ctear,
Aulagouistic Means were to be avoided.
But the matier of the ransom was a serious one to him.
He wasnos worth Spo umapeor thesum d
)

ing obly an cer on hi 4h ot and Of very limited means

olher wise, e began al onée tu see tiie uwk watt of
lis situation, He would give liis very ite a eave his
child, but that would not aecomplisin’ it, ‘Pies !
would have nothing short of the suum demauded—argu-
ment was of no avail. :

Let those who think it so easy to bring the law to bear
upon such a@ Case, and to recover a‘dost one under such
circumstauces, recail the facis in the abduction of the
Ross child, which so Jately took place even in the very
streets of aw populous American City, and they will realize
how difficult it is for justice, at times, to Luwartintelhigent
wnd organized villausy.e we ;

Colonel Bray commenced tmmediately fo fook about
hint on his. returu to Naples. He exericd himsell to his
ulmost, but he found that the prospect Was hot encourag-
ing. It was next lu impossivve for hintto raise the sunt
of twenly-five thousand dollars for) tlie, rausom. People
sympathized freely with the stiuation of the father, but
wheu ll came lo pulling one's haud into oue’s pocket, o£
that was quile auother thing. People shivok the heads.
If head been at home in England it mghtdtave been
an easier matter to bring aboul, Where he was known
and respected he might be. [rusted will a low, especially
for Such a peculiar and imperative object. He soon saw
that ere in luuly he could do nothing, or at least uot of
sufficient amount to be of any real service,

Lu this condition of affairs he turned tor advice to his
young American fricnd, Waiter Hammond. He could
only offer the auxious father one thousaud dollars, that
being the extent of the leiter of credit which he held for
personal expeuses duriug his absence frou home.

He had a long und sympatmzging conversation with the

   

 

everywhere. The palace and the hovel are contiguous,
Starvation and abundance, elegance aud rags, are here in
juxtapositiou..-.Tuere is no ‘West End’hr Naples. .

CHAPTER IV.
: ‘ HELD FOR RANSOM.
yea traveler would care to visit Peestum but for the sake
oO . pity cf Bers 28,
Sea at ee ale Here: St) Ge UU ie eeRtty now
contains but one miserable tavern, the grounds being coy-
ered with thorns and weeds, and infested by snakes. A
straggling, ee population, eaten up by the local fever
aud ied by malaria, is asad sight ‘to behold. Even in
aucient times, when Pestum was rich and populous, it
was holed for the unwholesome atniesphere which pre-
yailed there. as

 

rather overluden wilh passeng aliracted by the pro-
Inise ot fine weather, but the entire trip being in-shore,
smooth water was preily sure to prevail, and litt'e was
thought about the matter, The steamer sped on her way
safely, and all was as merry as possible on board.
By-and-by the steamer from Genoa hove in sight by the
western entrance of the bay, aud the Capri steamer turned
cousiderably out of lier course to give the passengers an
opportunity to see the larger vessel come into the harbor
under a full head of sleam, each craft saluting the other,
by dipping its flag.

Tie two steamers were now 8o near together that the cap-
tains hailed each other, and were about to separate, when
the orders to the respective helimsmen were misunder-
stood, and the helm of oue or both wrongly set. “As both
were under headway, & Collision was the inevitable result,
culling the suialler vessel open at her starboard quarter
80 as bo endanger Wie lives ofall on board,

The Capri steanief began to at once, the breakage
being beiow the water line, and with the utmost skill and
activity in launching boats from both vessels, it seemed
nearly impossible to save all the passengers. Waller
Hammond had been to sea as supercargo to India- ajd
elsewhere, besides being naturally prompt and energetic
inanemergenucy. To his activity and knowledge of the
proper management of a boat, many persons owed their
lives on that occasion, The great requisite in such a
catastrophe is cogiuess and self-possession which qualities
he cleariy exhibited. : :

Especially was this the case in the instance of a young
English girl, who, after being piaced in one of the rescu-
ing boats, will her father, was by some singular accident
crowded over the side and iuto the sea. The boat was
loaded with human beings to the very water’s edge, and
could not be turned about to pick her up, as she was
swept away by thetide. Young Hammond was steering
the boat, which had nearly reached the side of the large
Steamer when the accideut occurred. Turning to the two
oarsmen, he said: |

“Pull to the steamer and get these peopie on board—
be lively about it—then come rime,’!

“Ay, ay, sir,”? respouded the seamen, redoubling their
efforis at the oars,

While he spoke he had thrown off his coat, yest, and
shoes, and now plunged into the sea, swimming boldly
after the girl, who was already some two hundred feet
away, but still buoyed up by her dress, which was fast
losing its sustaining power.

He called out to her: ,

“Spread out your hands flat upon the water, and keep
them in motion.”? ;
“IT shall drown!” she cried.
“No, you won't!? he shouted—“nothing of the kind.
Keep a arms in motion.”

“L shall drown!” was her only answer.

Tie young A L was nearing the girl very fast, and
all eyes were turned toward them}; but the buoyancy of
her clothes was gone, and at that moment siie threw up
her arms, and was indeed sinking.

Two more stout strokes and Walter Hammond had
seized a scrap of her floating dress, and after a briel strug-
gle, in which he was himself more Ulan once submerged,
he succeeded in getting her head fairly above the water,
aud struck out again for the steamer.

It was a hard struggle, for the stout swimmer was

tly impeded by his own clothing. But the small boat
he had left having now got its load of .people all upon tie
steamer’s deck, was just turning to come to him, with the
girl’s father in the stern, The swimmer was pediioren it
bravely, holding the girl’s head above the waves, fre-
quently at the cust of his. own head going under for the
moment, ;
_ On came the boat, now driven wildly in the fran-
tic effurts of the seamen to reach them before boti: should
sink.

Walter Hammond could no longer make any headway,
he could only sustain his burthen and his own head above
the waves by his steady but very moderate action of tread-
ing water. The fact was, his strength was failing him
rapidly, but the boat had reached them at last. One
brave effort he made to help the girl as they seized her
and drew her into the boat, and then he sank back into
the sea, too weak and exhausted for further effort.

His own life came very near being sacrificed; bunt a
boat-hook was thrust into his clothes, by which means
he was drawn to the side of the little craft and takén in
by the strong arms of the two sailors. Here he sank insen-
sible upon the bottom of the boat, and was pulled rapidly
to the side of the sleamer, where he was soon resuscita-
ted, and in an hour was quite himself again.

This was the singular and romantic introduction of
Marion Bray and Walter Hammond.

Colonel Manlius Bray was a retired English officer, who
had come to Italy with his daughter at the close of her
boarding-school career. The father was himself rather
an invald, suffering severely from chronic rheumatism,
and had hoped toreap some healthful advautages from
this summer trip in thern Italy. He was a widower,
and Marion was his only d, the relationship between
them being one of the tenderest affection. The English
girl wags not yet twenty; bat having lost her mother in
early childhood, she had grown up self-reliant to a degree
unusual in one of her age. She had enjoyed excellent
educational advantages, "and Was very mature both in
mind and in person for one so youthful.

Marion would have been prouounced handsome in any
company. Hereyes were bine and large, with a natural
tenderness in them that nothing could drive away. The
face was Oval and tinted with the color of health. Her
hair Was marvelously luxurant and ofa soft and delicate

 

golden hue, presenting a rather striking contrast with

However, to the student of history, it is a favorite re-
sort fora brief hour or so, no traveler preteuding to sleep
tuere or in its immediaie vicinity. To those who can ap-
preciate the simple majesty of Greek architecture, Pes-
{um is a positive revelation, however pestilential wud
difficult of access. Six huudred years before Cirist, this
city of Neptune, as ils originai Greek name signifies, was
acapital of wealth and grandeur, where art aud arms
flourished, and its citizens reveled in the pride of life.

A party had been made up with a purpose of visiting
the temples, Composed of Colonel Bray, Marion, and au
American lady and gentleman, who were to be joined by
Walter Hammond—nakiug a company of five persons,
They were to proceed by railroad to Salerno, and thence
to go by carriaze to the locality of the tumpies. Baton
the morning setected for the excursion, Colonel Bray lad
received a note from young Hammond, stating that he
found himself compelled to remain in the city, #8 his ves-
sel was expected to sail that day, aud-tre must be present
to properly dispatch her atthe custom house, at the same
time expressing his disappointment at not being able to
juin the party as p sud. ;

The colouel and rion would have been glad to re-
linguish the trip, under the circumstances, were it not
that the other members of the party had made their ar-
rangements to go, and it would seriously interfere with
their plans to defer it. So they all started at the usual
hour, and left young Hammond to dispatch his ship for
America, and which he had been engaged for some weeks
past in freighting. It was most delightful weather, aud
the travelers were in fine spiri:s.

“lam very sorry to leave Mr. Hammond behind,’ said
the colonel to his daughter. “There seems always to be
oue drawback to every excursion.’

“He is so well informed about these regions,’ said
Marion, “that through his intelligence one sees with in-
creased interest and understanding.”

“He is the very best of company, anywhere,’ added the
colonel, who had become very foud of the gallant pre-
server of his daughter,

“He has promised to go with us to Baix.Y
“Tu-morrow??

“Yes!

“His ship will have sailed then, I suppose.’? .

- The party having reached the temples after a long and
lonely drive, had passed two or three hours in their care-
ful eXaminuation, wud were on their return without hav-
ing met with any important experience, when they
chanced to meet another party of tourisis. From them
they learned that brigands had been seen upon the road
on the previous day, aud one pariy had been stupped and
robbed by them, between Pesiuim and Salerno,

Tis Was not very pleasaut news to our party; it was
already near nightfal!, and a sense of undefined uneasi-
ness gradually caine over them. They Knew of the occa-
sional raids of the bauditti, but the present was thought
to be a perfectly safe time for their trip. While they were
briefly discussing the matter they descried a couple of
horsemen, just in advance of them, drawn up by the side
of the road. '
“Those men are waiting for us,’ said the colonel.

“Are you armed ?”’ asked the other geutleman.

“No, L had no idea that it was necessary.”?

“Lum in the same situation.”

The suspense of the party was soon over, for as they
came up abreast of the horsemen the two riders, after or-
dering tue driver to stop and not dare to move on pain of
being instantly shot, appeared one ateach side of the
coaci, revoiverin hand. Oue, who seemed to be. the
leader, said in very good Euglish: ;

“Your valuables instautly—watches and purses, Time
precious.”

“Who are you ?? demanded the colonel.

“Masters of this road.”

“Lucky for you we are unarmed," replied the English-
man, but, iu common with the restof the party, at the
same time delivering up his watch,

“Take off your gloves, ladies,’ said the leading robber.
“{ will trouble you to make haste.”

“What is that for?” asked the colonel.

“We will relieve them of further care of those diamond
rings,’ suid the robber. “Not the gold ones, ladies, only
those precious stones.”’ °*
_ This part of the business having been accomplished, the
leader blew a shrill whistle upon a silver call hanging at
his breast, and four meu, bearing a Sedan chair, made
their appearance from beiiud the rocky hillside, where
they had been waiting. ;

“You willail please get out of the carriage,’t con-
tinued he who had acted as spokesman, “except you, sir,’
designating the colonel; “you are lame, anditis of no
consequence in your instance.” ,

“How did he know that?’ thought the colonel.

Of course, there was nothing for them to do but to obey
under the circumstances. 3

The moment that Marion stepped upon the ground she
was instantly seized and placed in the Sedan chair, the
dvor of which having been quickly locked, the four men
took the poles and disappeared with their burden so
rapidly that the whole was accomplished before any one
could have anticipated itor have interfered fora moment.
Colonel Bray was frantic with rage, but le could do noth-
ing against these armed men.

He was told, by the way of pacifying him, that his
daughter would be respected and carefully atiended by
one of her own sex, until ransomed by the payment of
five thousand pounds, Thetime and place of payment
would be duly designated, and in-the meantime the Col-
onel was told he might rest assured of the entire safety of
his child provided he kept good faith with the brigauds,

 

colonel, He was himse'l very grave in this emergency,
for le had that day received v cabie dispatci sunimouing

*} bin to America, and bidding him to start on the very hour
| that the vessel should sail, lo freight which he had been

sent tv Naples, ;
“Read tuis, Colonel Bray,’? he said, showing him the
na. “Lt would remain and try to ussist you if it
were n re call’?

Sorbie neo Or hey ts uo. Stews ~vegtipned
you in such words,” he said.
“It must be s0,’? said Walter, ‘‘but I-cannot say how
Inuch I shouldlike to serve you.”
“Thank you,” said the hulGdiscouraged father.
miust obey your orders.’?
“You say that no violence was offered to Miss Bray ??
asked Walter. ™
“No, sie was simply hurried into the Sedan chair, and
borne away with all speed.”
“The scoundreis,”? suid Walter to himself, as ho walked
excitedly up and down the room.
“You spoke of # paper ???
“Yes, here it is,"? replied the colonel.
“A printed form ??
“Ves. s
“This is systematizing villainy with a vengeance," said
young Hammond us he read the elaborate aud carefully
prepared document,
Here the amount of ransom, the mode of final payment,
the ume allowed to Collect the sum, and various other
Conditions were Carefully detaiied. It was evident that
cousumiate skill aud care, doubiless the result of long
experience, had been taken loso hedge the brigauds
avout, tat nothing short of compliunce withthe demand
could possibly be contemplated by Lue interested parties.
“Whiut do you propose to do, wy dear sir Pask youug
Hammond of the colouel.
‘Pay the ransom.’?
“Of course,’? é
“That paper names six weeks as the longest period of
delay recoguized by the brigands, which means that after
that period, the ransom not being paid, Marivu’s dishon-
or aud death may follow.” ?
“Horribiel” said Walter, nearly biting his lips through
in the bitterness of his feelings.
“ZL will start, L think for Eugland immediately,” said the
colonel, ‘‘where, of course, iu time, 1 liope to be able to
get the necessary oe

“It Seems to be the only thing for you to do,” said young
Hammond,
_ “Lam told that these ontlaws religiously keep their
promises, so we know what to depeud upon,” coutinued
the father. .
“Thauk Heaven, she is safe then for the present,’ was
the hearty reply.
“When do you leave?’ asked the colonel.
“By steainer to Marseilles this evening.”
‘Z should have been glad of your company ag far as
England.”
“L must improve the quickest route, and travel night
and day fo Havre,” sud Walter. ‘May I transier this
bill of credit to your name?”
“I cannot consent even to the loan of such asum from
one whom Escarcely know at all, aud yet to whom Lowe
so much of heartfelt gratitude.” :

“You

“Take it, sir,?? urged young Hammond. “I have quite
sufficient ready meuns for present use.”

“In such an emergency——

“You will take the loun. Very good,” said Walter, as

he indorsed the bill over to the colonel.
“A thousand thanks,’ said the Englishman, with a
trembling voice. :

“Good-by, colonel, and may every success await your
endeavors.”?

The two men shook hands and parted, the elder with a
dejected look, the younger with a hopelul expression, and
the elasticity of youth in every moment. ‘

After Walter had withdrawn from his presence, the old
officer leaued back in his chair aud mused to himself
thoughtfully. He seemed to have lost support by this
separation, though he could not exactly suy how. Sym-
pathy is a growing necessity with increase of years, and
that of the young always carries with it a seuse of geuu-
ineness and strengtii.

**He is very en tg to leave me his money,” said the
father to himself, “but when I was of his age, if I had
been as intimate as he has been with Marion,,] could not
have dismissed the matcer of her present danger so easily
ashe has done. Why, had a lady of my acquaintance
been thus unfortunate, nothing could have separated me
from her interests until | saw her safe again. Yet, young
Hammond is every inch & man—that he has mere than
proven to us already by his gallant deed at Capri, when
he saved dear Marion’s life at the risk of his own.

“Well, well, I will not reflect upon. him. Those who
have summoned him home to America have & right to his
time, and he is bound to obey them; but still lam a little
disappointed to see him depart at such a time.”

The fact was, that Colonel Bray had seen so many fine
qualities in the young American, and had also observed
so plainly that Marion admired him—almost at first sight
—that he had secretly indulged in a iittle casule-building
in his active imagination, wherein he bad. united, in his
anticipations, the lives of these two together. ’
Perhaps the romantic character of their introduction
had produced quite as strong an effect ,upon the old gol-
dier ag it had done upon the minds of the parties them-
selves, Having been a brave and gallant soidier himself,
he worshiped these qualities in others, and in young
Hammond he had found a sort of beau ideal of his imagi-
nation.

The acuteness of the colonel’s own feelings relative to
his daughter's situation at the present moment no doubt
made him more selfish than he would otherwise have
been, and therefore his disappointment was but natural.
This he would not have acknowledged save to himself,
for ie Was & proud old man at heart,

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

Mammoth Monthly Reader.

The MAMMOTH MONTHLY READER for November (No. 9)
is now ready, It contains 56 large columns of choice
reading matter, Terms: 50 cents per year; single copy,

 

 

 

Any attemp: to ferret out the hiding place of the bunditti

8 cents. .

  

 

 

 

 

 

net PIDNLINS et ag, ti daanesamieeate
 

 

 

Se

 

 

 

 

 

 

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OE nee tn

 

 

 

 

‘AY DAYBREAK,

BY CLIO STANLEY.

 

Tee ‘
now the strife begins! Low-lying winds
nd theisweel Lrumpels down the shadowy slopes,
. And earih awakens to Uv eestalic call.

The birds, in merry Ghoirs, the chorus join,’
Aud send sweel uusic stirring through the trees;
Clouds write their gracioas fegends on the sky,
Jn red and gold, eublageuing the blue scroll;
Shim breoks Licir lauees Saow, und spears of grass
Are lifted on the dun, sweet-featured plain.
What mighty Land was stretched out through the dark
To guide Lbese Wanoering forces to the field ?
To wake earth, dreaming ina moonlit calin,
Aud light huug, like a gerland, round her brow ?
What loving Hand? For, sweet as breath of May,
Prue wihds come Unilling from their hiding spots,
Birds sing, weods rug, brooks shihe, aud grasses stir,
And Nature stauds Heaven's own tuterpretert
Behold, Nigtt tees reluctefft down the world, 3
Aud Day is qiceu Upou yon golden hghts;
Winie vbly as bright memories of the past
Slug Ve siac pwlaces of i autumual uightst

The Accused Wife.

By the Author of “Drifted Asunder.”’

[The Accused Wife”? was commenced in 45, Back Nos. anc
be obtalued of any News Agent in tue United States]

s oOlia:
CHAPYER XXX.
VENUS, BY DEPUTY.

Mr. Ardlew dower loug-aud earnestly on what his sick
friend lad saidqiid resvived ia await lis wakiug aud hear
more. He would wake beiler and Clear in all his mtellects
in ali probavitity, the doctor said, suv the rector sent a
telegrain to fis wile aud remained in the hospital. It wus
far into Lie night before tie invalid roused again, quite
himself this ume, thhougi very weak.

“J must speak,’ lic persisted, when the nurse prayed
him to be quiet. “Previous tiae has been Jost white: I
have been lying here. cil me, old friend, how long is it
since tual night when the last Ung Thaveany knowledge
of wus a Lorse’s livols ?”?

*That was close upon Christmas,’? Mr. Arden said;
“only tivo «ays alter Gertie was murried, abd we are in

are now.”? ;

“More than two months? gasped Mr. Witham, in dis-
may; “she may lave goue, Heaven knows where, in this
time.”? de . 1

Meaning our poor Mabel?’?

“Meaniig Mrs. Latta.’

‘“Poen ib was no faucy of mine that you spoke of her?”

“No, it was uo fancy. 1] wasu’t quite sure wiere 1 was
then, and im not very Clear now, but Vin quite sure
about that. Lsaw her, and she knew that 1 saw. her, for
she fainted at the sight of mte,"?

“And tint was——" .

“Rising out of the waves ina pantomime tableau. She
was Veuns, and :be looked the part to perfection. Mrs.
Latta is playing in the pantomime at Drury lane, under
the name of Currie Vaughan.”

“Are you sure ?!? ‘

“Quite! Ask Cooper, the scene painter; he recognized
her ut ounce, He saw her atthe police slation when she
was taken up, poor Ching.”

 

 

 

“Dit go to lier the first thing, in the morning, poor
child. [thik sie will Come back with me. 1 hope she
will, Wisata ivel dear, dearl?

“Go to Guuper firsi: she wiiltake fright at your name.
he eyidently watts lo keep away from every one. Cooper
iN help yout © .!

Mr, Arden took the Jawyer’s advice, and asked for Mr.
Cooper at tie theater, but was toid that that gentieman
was Out df Town and would uot be back till the Saturday
following. . ‘

“1 risk it,’? he said to himseif. “I°ll come back at
night and see the poor girl herself. Tli send in no pame,
nd she wou’t have time to hide herself from me, What
could have induced her to come here?”

Mr. Arden was no narrow-minded bigot who denounced
all theaters as perdition, and all things connected with
the stage as devices of Sutan. He allowed his family

considerable latitude in the matter of amusements, and,

Nad gone with his little ones Lo @ day performance of a
Pantomime more than once,

* He was very liberal iu his views; but this was his first
Acquaintance with the stage door of a theater, and he
Tound the purlieus of Old Drury, to say the least of it, uu-
Savory, aud the people hanging about the door more free
and easy and seedy, luan elegant aud refined.

“Let me mike quite sure,’? he sald to himself, as he
turned away [romaiie door, and pulling out his spectacies
he perused the bill which hung there attentively, No, he
had made no mistake; there was tle name:

“Venus, Goddess of Beauty—Miss Carrie Vaughan.”

He went bome and got through his daily duties as best
he could, aud at night tie went to the theater again, and
Inquired at the stage door for Miss Vaughan.

He was disappoiuted. He Jearned that althonglr the
name of Miss Carrie Vaughan was still permitted to re-

main on the bills, she had given up her engagement, aud }-

gone eff witha traveling troupe—where, his informant
coud notstate. Ou the followiug Saturday, Mr. Arden
Called on Mr. Cooper, explained his business, and together
they visited Mrs. Moriarty, the keeper of the lodging
hhouse where Carrie had stupped.. 2

Mrs. Moriarty told all ste kuew of Carrie’s advent, and
directed them to the woman who had had charge of the
baby, who was quite as ready to relate all her experi-
ences.

“On, it was quite true. She came from the country,’’
she said. “Her mother was here one day to see tle baby,
aud cried oyer it like anything.” f

“Her motuer!’? Mr. Arden exclaimed; “sue had no
mother, poor giril”?

“On, yes slie had, sir,’ the woman re lied; “and a
decent, quiet body she seemed; 80 did Miss Vaughan her-
self, for that matter, thougi she had gone & bit wrong,

poor thing.’’ ———
. , CHAPTER XXXI,
A LOST LINE,

The two gentlemen were quite taken aback by the
wWoman’s declaration, and assured her that there must be
some mistake—that the Miss Vaughan of whom they
were in searcli had certuinly no mother, nor any friends
in London, except those who were'so anxious to find her,

“7m quite sure the old lady was her mother,’ the woman

ersisied. “She gave her name ‘Vaughan,’ and called

er daughter by hers, ‘Carrie.’ I never heard of any
Other person of the same name.’

«There’s a blunder somewhiere,’’ Mr. Arden said. “We
must find out where. You aresure you are describing the
right person?’
~ Yes,”? the woman replied, and they could see that her
story was true. Wherever the mistake was, it was not
hersy ‘Lam talking of Miss Vaughan, that came from
Paddington station, with her boxes labelled Windsor, aud
felt a baby with me to mind. A quiel-spoken young lady
she was. She was a governess first, and then she was on
the stage. She’s gone to Russia—at least that’s what she
told me when sire took the baby away.’?

“ds ht gone with her??

- Yes, sir, Lasked her how she was going to manage,
and she said a dear friend was going with her who would
help to take care of it, She came with her to fetch it—a
Sharp-spokeu, quick sort of person, but very pleasant.’?

“Ah, Lottie Cuatteris,’’ said Mr. Cooper, ‘“The descrip-
tion tallies, Mr. Arden. Itis Mrs, Latia, without a doubt.
Did Miss Vaughan ever speak to you of her mother,
madame?’?

“Weil, sir, she was never one to talk much about her-
self, but I gathered from one ortwo things she said that
she had run away from home. She toid me plainly sie
lhad never been married. i think she had been deceived
and deserted, poor thing; but Iam sure was going on all
right when she weutaway. She wouldn’t wear a wed-
ding ring, or be called Mrs. Anything, She said she had
mo right, and she must take lier cliance,””

+} cannot understand if,?? Mr, Arden sald... “The young
lady is certainly the person who was at the theater!’

“And IN stake ny existence that that person is Mrs.
Latta,” Mr. Cooper said.

“If you knew her, gentlemen, you'll know her picture,”’
the woman said, producing acarte. ‘She gave it tome
the day she fetched the child.”

<‘] didn’t know slie’d ever been taken,” the scene-paint-
er said. “here, Mr. Arden, was lmistaken?”?

Mistaken! No, indeed. In spite of the fair hair, which
fell in feathery masses on tlie shoulders, so different from
the trim arrangement of Mabel’s smooth, dark locks, it
was Mabe lherseif,

«We'll track, her to where she came from,’! Mr. Cooper
said, ‘Aud find out the mystery of this mother who has so
suddenly turned up. Where did the old lady say she came
from, ma’ain ??

<‘Somewhere Windsor way—Datchet, I think. She cried
over the baby, and would like to have taken it away with
her; but I couldn’t let her, of course.’ .

“Miss Vaughan wasn’t williug, 1 suppose—eh ?”

“Miss Vaughan wasn’t here, sir; aud when I told her a
lady had been here and called her ter dear child and cried
over the baby, she cried, too, fitto break her heart, and
said she must hide Nerself again; and the next time she
penn fen was just to:take the Jittle dear away, and bid me

od-by. he

Straiglit to Windsor the two gentlemen repaired, and

“after many inguiries after the name of Vaughan, -they

found the person they came to seek in aneat little cottage

at Datchet. A frightened, feeble-looking woman, in a

‘widow's cap, was Mrs. Vaughan, with whitened hair that

had once been flaxeu, neatly braided on her forehead, and

vig. tremulous blue eyes that Jooked overcharged with
rg,

The two gentlemen hardly knew how to introduce their
business; it was rather awkward, for Mrs. Vaughan was
evidently a gentiewoman, in spite of her worn attire and
Taded surroundings; but Mr. Arden managed at length to
Aantimate that they wished to make some inquiries respect-

her daughter,

‘hename was enough. The poor lady burst into tears,
and begged them to tell her if they knew anything about
her—whiether she was well and happy.

“She’s goue to Russia,’ she sobbed; “all the way to St.
Petersburg, and i shall never see her again—never,
never!”

She wept so pitifully that they were obliged to try and
Boothe her before they could ask any more questions.

Preseully she apolugized, and wiped her eyes, aud pre-
pared to listen to what they had come to say.

“Ihave had sue heavy trouble,’ she said. ‘You
wens forgive me if you knew what I haye gone

ough.

 

 

 

 

 

“We would not saya word to add to it, Mr. Arden
said, “not for the world. We would not allude to tt, if
possible; but you can clear up some very paintul doubts
for us. isthe young lady Who was at Drury Lane—the
Miss Vaughan who is gone to Russia—really your daugh-
tec???

“Really my daughter? Of course, she is. My own
child, my dear Carrie.”

And the widow’s tears flowed afresh at the mention of
her name, ‘

They were yery gentle with her, but they felt they must
have the mystery solved somehow; aud Mr. Cooper luold
her of the dilemma they were in, and how they had recog-
nized the young lady she Claiuned as her daughter as some
one else whom they were most anxious to find,

“You are mistaken, gentlemen, indeed you are,” the
widuw returned. “The young lady is my poor child. 1
kuow it for a certainty.”

Toassure themof what she said, she told them her
daugiter’s story, Sle had been a music teacher in Read-
ing, though very youug, aad had been seduced by a gen-
Hemaninu whose house she had taughh It had beena
very sad case; the girl had been spirited away and kept
out of sight, and. nearly broken-hearted the mother
had Ieft the place aud gone to Datehet, where a friend
had offered her Lhe cottage she tenunted at almost & lom-
inal rent,

She had never been able to gain any tidings of her
daughier tili one night, Cie very night before Carrie
Vaughat’s appearance at Highgate with her baby, she
had suddenly come to her mother’s house with a clild in
her arms, aud announced that she had come to bid her
good-by. ~

Her tiiother should never see her any more, slice said,
nor any one else whom she had disgraced; but she refused
Lo say What she was going to do. Ste remained with her
mother during the might, and the next day siie vanished
us suddenly as she had come, while Mrs, Vaugha was
out upon sone business.

Nething could be heard of her, but that she ad gone
by an alteruvon train to London, und there all trace of
her was fost. The widow had not the means to put the
nlatter in te hands of any one wno would bave Kuown
how lo seek properly for the missing girl, aud she had
heard to more til Some one told her they Pad seen her
daughter ow te stage at Drury Lane Theater.” :

“Lt couldn’l go tu town directly, genUlemen,” she said,
in conclusion, “for, sumailas the IMoney was,*l hadn't got
it; and when Ldid go I got the address at the theater and
went to where ste tryed. She was out of town; butl
heard from the landlady all about her, and where the
baby Was, and I went to see it, the darling! and the
woman (old me huw anxious she was to hide herseif from
all her friends, and Lthuught Pd better not frighten her,
as she Was-quite safe aud comfortable, so Pcame back, and
thought L would write first; but she hever got the tetler,
She was gone, gentlemen—gone all that way, and Pd
never seen lier to wish her good-by and bid Heaveu bless
her? :

Aud the widow wept again like one who lias no com-
fort left upon earth, and they pitied her from their very
hearts; butthey had more questions yet to ask her.

“Have you any portraitof your daughter?” asked Mr.
Cooper. :

~Ouly that, sir.'?

he pointed to a faded little picture in water colors
Which hung over the mantlepiece—a little sketch of a girl
with her apron full of fowers—a pretly but meaningless
face, but covered with a wealth of fair hair, remarkuble
for Its beauty and luxuriauce, and with a pair of large,
darx eyes that presented a strange contrast to the flaxen
locks,

“She was thought pretty,’? the mother said, with sor-
rowful pride, ** aud she grew up 80; but [ have no picture
of her as she looked when she leit Reading. She was
always going to be photographed, poor dear, but it never
was done,”

The miniature had the sort of face that might alter into
anything, aud Mr..Cooper took the photograph of Carrie
Vuuglian he had borrowed from the baby’s nurse out of
of his pocket-buvk aud showed it to Lie widow.

‘13 Uhatyour daughter?” he asked, anxiously, watch-
ing her face keenly as she, looked at the portrait, which
she did long and earnestly.

“Yes, sue repiied; “that's my girl—that’s Carrie. I
don't know that I’ve ever seen her look quite like that,
butiv’s she. ‘Ti.ere’s her father’s dark eyes, aid her own
pretty hair; but tlere’s a sorrowful look upon her face
that didn’t use to be there. On, yes, it’s she.’*

There was nothiug for it but for the two gentlemen to
go back to town with the mystery uusoived. Some one
was mistaken, Could it be possible thut the mother could
be? Mr, Cooper was certain that the Carrie Vaughan of
Drury Lane was Mabel Latta. Mr. Witham was equally
so. It was not likely that a girl should faint at the sight
of a man she had never seen or heard of, as this young
lady seemed to lave, and yet they had the whole listory
of Carrie Vaughan from her mother, who would only
have been too glad Lo have found her child again, and who
could have no possible motive for conceallug the truth
about her,

From the ballet-master Mr. Arden ascertained that Lot-
tie Chatteris had gone with Carrie to Russia, 80 he wrote
to the manager of the theater at St. Petersburgh, {ncios-
ing @ letter for Lottie Chatteris, in which he begged that
young lady to fiud out, if possible, the antecedents of her
companion, Miss Clara Vaughan, aud let him kuow if she
were indeed Mabvei Latta,

For six weeks he waited for a reply, and at length one
moruiug a foreign letter was put into his hand,

“Now we sliall know,’ he suid to his wife, hastily tear-
ing it open,

But, alas! it was only his own letter returned, with a
note fromthe manager to the effect that no-such person
us Mile. Chatteris was a member of his company.

CHAPTER XXXII.
e OVER THE SEA.

And so it came to pass that the search for Carrie
Vaughan, or Mabel Latta, or-both, whichever the missing
girl might be, was given up.

‘he rectory was very quiet now. With Frederic gone
and Gerue married, tne lather and mother felt very lone-
some sulmetimes. There were young Cues growing up,
but none of them of an uge to be companions yet to their
parents, for there was a gap of three baby graves between
tie two elder ones aud the younger branches of the
family.

They were growing reconciled now to the absence of
thelr eldest sou, for the restlesg fever that had carried
him hither and thither about the world, aad well nigh
out of it, in bis heart sickness, had passed over at lust,
and he had settled down in Australia, not very far from
Melbourne. .

At the time that his father was hunting for the lost Ma-
bel, he was negotiating for a partuership in a merciaul’s
firm which was making money at arapid rate. His let-
ters home were cheerful and-eucouraging. He had uo in-
tention of remaining an exile all his life, and lus father
aud mother were not so old that he had any fear, unless
sumething unforeseen happened, of not seeiug them
again, Wi

In the July after the events narrated in the last chapter
a letter irom him caine to the rectory, “

“1 am growing quite aman of business,’ he wrote.
“My mother would open her eyes very wide if she could
see hier dandy of a son—for 1 was growing terribiy dandi-
fied before I came away, I know—in a big warehouse,
stuffed with wool aud skins, chaffering with all sorts.of
people, and driving a bargain that would charm Mr.
Witham’s heart. .1’m more sorry than I can tell to hear
of what has happened to him. Lhope your fears have not
been realized, aud that mydear old godfather has re-
covered,"? “iA :

“lve a great mind to go out by the first ship, and let
him: see,’? said the lawyer, Who was at the rectory when
the letter reached it; ‘l’d teach him what a bargain
meant. He make a bargain, indeed! Ugh! he couldn’t—
it isu’t in him?

But it wasin him, if Mr. Witham had only known. He
lad driven a-very siitarp one in securing his share of the
business. But we are digressing from the letter, which
the lawyer bade Mr. Arden go on with. t

“430 you have no tidings of Ren, and you bid me try and
forget her? I do try, but it is impossible. Her image
comes between me and everything 1 try todo; but not us
it did, thank Heaven! . I don’t know how itis, but 1 feel,
somehow, that we shall meet again, and while the hope
is leftto me I can work. I dream of my Mabel, and 1
wake to fresh energy and new endurance. Every pound
Learn, every fresh onward step I take, seems to be for
her. Someiiow, i cannot think that Providence will deal
so hardly witiv me as to let me work and hope in vain.’”?

“As sanguiue as ever,’’ said Mr. Arden.

‘Ando as sentimental,’ growled the lawyer. ‘Will
nothing ever drive the nonsense out of boy’s heads?”

“Nothing, when a woman has put it there. Ah, you
one were you never in love yoursel{?” ‘

“Yes,

The answer came out like the snap of a wounded dog,
and Mr. Arden thouglt he had touched a tender chord,

‘‘Forgive me,” he said; “{ sliould not lave asked.”

“Ol, yes, you should,’ the lawyer replied. “f hada
love passage ouce—tlie only one in my lite, thank Heaven!
Lloved a girl—well, like a fool, an idiot, like every body eise,
l suppose, for every man in love is mad for the time—aud

- ‘} TL thought (Heaven save the mark!) that-she loved me. 1

was made much of by her friends—for though not rich
then, I was a good match for her, and it came alinost to
the eve of our wedding. I went to the house to make
some arrangements, and was shown into the parlor unan-
nounced. in the next room, with folding doors between
us, my wife that was to be was talking to her sister, and
her yoice gave me a palpitation of the heart only to hear
‘itlike that. She raised it after a bit, and I heard her tell
whoever she was talking to that nothing would have
temptec her to marry me but my money and position,
and that she loved some one else she named a thousand
times better than me,”)

“What did you dof

“Dol Took‘up my hat and left the house, and never
looked upon her face again. I was very much down for
a few days, butit blew over, I neither upbraided her
nor called her lover out. She married him afterward, and
a nice life they led; but I eschewed all matrimony for the
restof{my life. Bah! Cut the woman, and read anything
See TG says. Are all those sheets nothing but senti-
ments 2

“Oh, I think there’s something else, H’m! let me see,
There’s nothing more about his love at present.’?

‘+ Setting my hope aside, I’m beginning to like business
for its own sake. There’s excitement in the speculation
of it, and interest in the various people you meet. I go
out for miles and miles into the country sometimes to
outlying settlements to bargain with the settlers for wool,
By the way, I had an adventure jast week, a few miles
from here, that had very nearly been my last. Wim all
right again now except a few bruises. ‘Tell mother not
to be frightened about it—it’s all over.’

 

 

Mrs. Arden was terribly frightened, a3 her pale face

nna

 

 

 

—=

 

 

 

testified, at the thought of anything having happened to
her boy. But, as Fred declared, it was all over, though
it had been 2 queer accident.

‘““] had been out on ove of those expeditions,’ he
wrote, ‘aud was riding home (we half live in the saddle
out here), when I came to a creek Which 1 have often
crossed. I had never been at Unat parucular spot before,
but lL could see the pebbles gleamiug under the water,
aud knew it must be yery shallow, so iu Lwent. I had
gotabout half-way across when, Without the. slightest
warning or hesitation on his part, down went my horse
head first intu a water hole. It was an awkward plunge,
for got my leg twisted iu my stirrup-leatier, and I can tell
youit Was touch and go wiih mie, for 1 was partially un-
der the brute, and he was kicking and. floundering at a
tremendous: rate. My peril, seemed to last for hours,
though it could only have been a very few seconds, and I
seemed to be going down, down, Heaven kaows where,
When suddenly above all the splashing and roaring of wa-
ters in my ears, I heard a human shou, and & man came
dashing into the Water on the top ofine. Ina moment
he had my head up. ‘Where are you fast? he said.
“My leg,’? | said; aud witha wrench that seemed to dis-
locate ali my bones und sent me under water again, he
pieked inydeg up and cubthe leather,

“I wus freed, and sank; bathe pulled me up and dis-
engaged me out of the hole on to the siones, where the
water wasu’tabove a foot deep. I couldu’t move—1 could
only sit iu the water, for my ankle was sprained, aud he
went at the horse as he had dove atime, and puiled and
tugged, and swore ail the vaths that could be spoken, I
think, aud fhurally got himouttoo. ‘‘Get across, you dun-
deriead brute,” lie Said, and gave hima smart switch
with my wip, Which he-had picked up. And would you
believe it, the anal picked lis way to the shore without
ufalse siep, “You're hurt,’? the min said, stooping over
me where L sat like’! river god with te water Mowing all
round me and over me.

“Yes, Lreplied; ‘i've sprained my ankle.’

‘e+At 1 daresay 1 did,’ he auswered, With a queer
smile. ‘Betlerasprained ankle than be drowned ina
water-hole. Gan you stand? Wit help you to the shore,’

“IT got up aud stoud on one Jeg, but l was weak with
pain, atid fell down again witha big splash, and he picked
ine up and half-carrted, halfdragged me to the bank.

*€-You fell into the only’ hole there isin the ford,’ he
said. ‘1 can’t think wuat yonr horse was about.’

“Ile gave ime sume brandy he trad in a little wagon
close to the shore, where he had been sketching, - He had
two men With him, one a black fellow, aud looked a well-
to-do sort of person himself. He was a tall wan, with
yellow hair, thick, curiy and long, and a beard andinus-
tache, the like of which lmever suw. lt covered the
whole of the Jower part of his face, and what there was
left of his features visible were the most beautiful I ever
saw. But fur his adjurations to my horse, | should have
deemed him an angel. No painter ever portrayed a
purer-looking saint. icant get him out of my head, for
there was sometuing in his face that sent me home to
you and the dear oid rectory like a flush of lightning. I
dou't Kuow why—the mau wasn’t like any one I know;
but when he was looking at me with his big biue eyes 1
seemed to see you all, and hear your yoices in his oaths,
holwilhstanding., asked him whom] should remember
as my preserver, aud he told ine his name was Rupert
Gladdys, a theatrical manager, vut fora holiday.

“‘Llike to take a sketching ramble sometimes,’ he
said. ‘May Llask wholhave been so fortunate as to as-
sist?’

*««T told him I was Frederic Arden, of Montserrat, and
he started up and stared at me as tYough he had seen a
specier. “From Bugiand?”? he asked. ‘Yes,’’ I said.
And then, as he stared at me, stiil*turning very whiite,
and literally gasping for words, | told him I was the sou
ofa Cuureh of Euglaud clergyman, who re8ided in Lon-
don, and asked him if he knew me, “No,” he said, look-
ing at me very earnestly. ‘*l’ve heard the name of Arden
somewhere, ind Lrespectit, thavgall, ‘There’s hota man
in all the world I would have wisied 80 much to render a
service to as yourself, unless it were your father,”

* ¢And then he muttered sometiinug about atonement,
in such aqueer Way thatT really tnought hemust bea
little mad. Well, to make a loug story short, he took ine
liome, Made his black fellow catch my horse aud bring
him, and seemed so wouderfully interested in me that
asked himif he knew you, or had ever been in England.
He said no. He was Australian born and bred, and never
meant to leave the country. The Southern Cross was lis
guiding star, 2ud he meant to die under it, or something
to thateffect. Did you ever hear of such a person as {
have described? If he is not a little nad I caynol under-
staud the strange interest he takes in me,.’??

‘Rupert Giaddys?? said Mr. Arden, “No, I never heard
the name. Did you, Witham ?”?

“No—it souuds Welsh. You'll hear more about the
gentieman by aud by, I fancy.”

They did—a good deal more; but not yet awhile. They
came in theaftertime te kuow pretty much ail there was
Lo be Luid about Rupert Gladys.

Tire receipt of Fred's letters were days marked with a
white stone at the rectory; but the arrival of that one was
loug remembered as the day on which there began a
mystery in Brixton which was not solved for many a long
day. Tne rector had hardly laid the Jetters out of his
hand when he was suminoued to his study to see a lady,
and repairing thither found Mrs, Dobbs, the mistress 01
Holly Lodge. ;

He knew her but slightly. She was & woman without a
trace of sentiuient or Imagination about her; but she was
in astrange state of agitation low.

“7 trust Nothing is the matter,”? Mr, Arden said, seeing

‘her trying lo fau her face nto Something, like coulness,

“Well, L hardly kuow how to tell you, Mr. Arden, and
that’s a fact,?? the lady replied. “And Dobbs, he laughed
at me when I said 1 sould come; but} don’t kuow what
to do, nor who toask-for a bit of advice, unless 1 came to
you. Wy a

“I shall be happy to give it, my dearmadame. What
can I advise you iu?”

“TVs about the house, Mr. Arden.” :

Aud the good. lady’s lips quivered, and she burst into
very unromantic tears,

‘The housel’?

Mr. Ardeu hardly Knew what she meant.

“Yes, sir—Holly Lodge. Everybody said we should
never be abie to live mitafter what had happened, and
we just laughed atthem, and told everybody what was
gone Was gone, and we should never be uuy the worse for
the poor man’s having died in that dreadful way; but
now, oh, dear—oh, dear! * ,

Aud the worthy lady rocked herself, and groaned pite-

ously.

“Dear me, I hope there is nothing wrong,’’ the rector
said, iu amaZement. ‘Did not the authorilies search pro-
per? Haye you discovered anything?”

*Yes—oh, yes’?

“Wul you leil me what? I may be able to advise you.’?

“No oue else can—nobody buta clergyman can do it
any Boodl” *

SHY 44

“Yes! Oh, Mr. Arden, I think I shall die of fright! The
house is haunted!”

“Haunted?
Mr. Arden did not laugh. Mrs. Dobbs fear was too real
for ridicule. ‘

“Does any one fancy they see that wretched man?’ he
asked, ‘Is that it?”
“Not him,’? said Mrs, Dobbs, with a shudder. “That's
the queer part of it. It’s iis wile. Slie’s been seen twice’?
[TO BE CONTINUED.)

Marlin Marduke; ,

cip—oos GRRE

GROWN GRAY IN GRIEF.

By Prof. Wm, Henry Peck,

(‘Marlin Marduke” was commenced in No. 48, Back numbers
can be obtained from any News Agent in the United states.)

CHAPTER XIII.
THE MAN WITH THE FACE OF ‘A RAT.

Blena’s feeling of mysterious. terror lasted but for an
instant. It was true that she was not intimately
acquainted with this girl, Zona Vultree, for Elena’s natu-
rally refined, proud and reserved mind always made her
stand aloof from becoming intimately acquainted with
any of those with whom necessity aud not choice forced

 

 

‘her into- contact; yet Zona was by nv means a stranger to

her.

Paul Vultree, the father of Zona, had amassed what he
aud his assvciates considered quite a fortune, amassed it
by smuggling and perhaps by courses far darker than
simple defrauding of the king’s exchequer—and Zona
was his only cluld—a belle of Langfleay, the acknowl-
edged queen of tlie society in wilich she moved,

All this Elena kuew yery well. She had kuown, too,
for along time that Captain Herod and Zona were upon
terms approaching the intimacy of declared lovers. Be-
yond these facts she Knew very little of Zona Vultree,
except that she was bold and passionate—not bolder
than was customary among the muidens and wives of
Langfleay, but toa mind so pore and modest as that of
Elena exceedingly bold, and, therefore the latter had
carefully avoided the acquaintance of the former,

Tlius there existed nothing that could be called an ap-
proach to intimacy between these beautiful and totally
dissimilar girls, the rival beauties of Langfleay, and yet as
they stood there upon the piazza of the Stuart Arms, It,
for the moment, seemed to them as if they had been
acquainted for years.

Hlena’s feeling of dread passed away with a breath,
and remembering only her lover, she exclaimed; sm,

“Oh, then you will save Marlin!’ ‘

Zona’s large but exquisitely-shaped hand still tightly
clutched the wrist of her lovely companion, clutched 1t
with a severe, firm, unrelaxing grip, as if some spasin of
the heart had stiffeued lier fingers. But as Elena spoke
Zona let go of her wrist and grasped her hands, saying:

“You swear you do not love Herod Marduke?”?’

“T swear that I detest him,’? replied Elena, promptly;
and then remembering that Zona had declared her love
for him, and generously fearing lest her words might
have wounded the passionate girl’s heart, she added:

“[T mean, Zona, that Ido not love him—1 mean thatI
love another so deeply that my sentiments toward Captain
Herod are those of positive dislike. Ido not mean to
offend you——”’

“You do not offend me when you say that you detest
Captain Herod,” interrupted Zona,

“And yet she says she Joves him,’ thought Elena; ‘‘and,

indeed I think she madly loves him, But were any one
to tell me that he or she regarded Marlin with detestation
1 would hate the speaker from that instant—eyen though
that speaker were to be my dearest friend,”

 

 

 

 

 -weaatee THE NEW YORE. WEEKLY. +>

 

 

 

“It does not offend me,’? continued Zona, ‘to hear you say
that you detest Captain Herod, for he loves you.”

“Zona, he does not love me,’? said Elena, impatiently. “Did
he love me he would show some respect for my feelings.”

“We have not time to speak of that now,” replied Zona, coldly.
“T only Know that he and his tither desire to see Elena Rhein-
hand the wife of Captain Herod Marduke. I cannot imagine
why Garvin Marduke should prefer you to me as his daughter-
in-law—for if I be not so handsome at Jeast I am not homely—
and I am the only child of Paul Vultree, who is twice as rich as
Kaspar Rheinhand, who is pot your father, and who may not
leave you a single tarthing. But Isee my father and Captain
Herod coming toward us—as soon as you can, seek me again, and
ir I can do anything to rescue the commandant I will do it.”

“Thanks—ten thousand thanks, Zona,” cried Elena, ‘bounding
away and darting into the air, her very brain on fire with anxiety
for the welfare of her unfortunate lover,

_Zona Vultree gazed after Elena fur an instant with an expres-
sion upon her face which seemed to declare her desire to speak
more With her. — But the rapidity of Etena’s movements baffled
her desire and she turned, to be accosted by Cuptain Herod, wo,
with her father, at that moment caine up,

The reader must not suppuse that the front yard, or rather the
space before the inn, was a scene of quiet during the conversation
between Elena and Zona. That many-headed monster, the mob,
was still tierce and frantic; barrels of ale and kegs ot spirits had
been procured, and men-and women, and in many iustances
ebildren were rapidly becoming intoxicated.

But drunkenness might be cailed one of the chief embellish-
ments of miserable Langfleay, that little Smuggling town by the
sea. . -

Large bonfires were being kindled, and around them in mad
whiris of ferocious glee and savage merriment flew men, women
and children, singing and yelling.

Here and there sume wiie, newly made a widow by the late
struggle, knelt near her dead husband, sumeumes raising ber
snrill voice to ashriek asshe Called tor assistance to. bear the
corpse to her home, and then ceasing her wolul cries of grief to
drink deeply of tueJiquor held to her lips by the crones of the
place, who be.ieved Aud taught that the only solace tor sorrow of
any kind was @runkenness,

Here and there it group conld be seen seen bearing away &
dead man, or carryiugea Wottnded man ite the inn.

Here and there, too, couid be seen the corpse of some friend-
less desperado, over whom, now that his strong hand could never
strike for its owner again, the revelers leuped and danced.

“Zona,” said Captain Herod, as-he came up, “the body of the
spy Obel Ling isnot to be found. Do you think he cin have
sought refuge in the inn ¢?

Sue made no reply, for she was angry with him, but taking
her fatner’s arm, drew him aside.

“So! in the sulksl”? laughed Captain Herod, with the harsh
laugh he could inake se bitter and scorntuL “You may stay in
ine sulks, for all Lcare, my proud lady.”

Zona did not hear the words, but she heard the loud, harsh
laugh—ah, she had had it darted into her tieart very often of
late, and knew its insulting meannig well.

She did not hear the words, but she saw the glance of exultant
scurn—a scorn nearly fully blown into a hate, gleaming from his
dark, deep-set eyes as the flames of the rapiddy kindling buutires
flasned in his handsome though evil face.

The young smugzler captain, strode on—he had & stride like
that of chieftain of thousands rather that the step of a simpie
meee a fo 2 band of smuggilers—he strode on and disappeared in-

o the inn,

“Which way, Zona?” growled oki Paul Vultree, as his daugh-
ter drew him aside. *‘You should be home, yirl. Have T not al-
ways asked ye to hold yer head above such as these ?’?

The old smuggler waved one of hisshort, withered arins around
him so.as to designate the whole of Langfleav.

“And I would have been at home but for the great excitement,
father,” said Zona.

“Phen get you home now, Zona; for there’ll be a drunken mob
here ere long, As for me, I inteud to be well out of it in time,”

Hie was au old man, not so old in years by two score as he
looked; for he seemed to be a hundred in the withered, wrinkled,
shrunken face—a face so small, s0 Darrow, sv sharp, that one
thought of rats and foxes, and of the siy, cunning habits of rats
and loxes, as one gazed at it for the first time, and thought of
rats and toxes ever after when the image of tat face arose in
the memory—a face that ran dut irom the forehead with along
slant to the end of the thin, sharp nose, and then ran in with an-
other longslantto the end of his chin, or to where his chin
might be expected to be; for he had no chin, nor apology fora
chin, so far as eye of man could see. This long, sharp-muzzled
face, with its great black, brilliant eyes—eyes large, round, halt-
setin his head, as much out of the socket as in it—eyes that
seemed ready to pop out and fall from their sockets, as if some
ruthless hand had hall strangled him in hiscradile, and this hor-
rible agony of half-strangulution liad never faded from these re-
pulsive features—eyes great and restless, black, keen, avaricious,
behind which arose @ pair of ears preposterousiy large,) wich
stood out and up from his triangular-shaped head like the ears of
a jerboa,

‘All in all, the face of old Paul Vultree was that to which the
eye had to become used by seeing many times before the gazer
could whisper to himselt:

i om then, I can look at this face and not shudder nor

augh.

But there was not between this yisage of an ogre and the mag-
nificent countenance of Zona the slightest shade of a shade of
resemblance, though all ia Langfteay said Paul was the lather
of Zona. Nor in their forms was there more resemblance than
in their faces, 4

1 have stated that Zona was su che tall and well-shaped.

Ihave compared the ears of Paul Vultree to the ears of a jer-
boa; nor did his resemblance to that quadruped end in his ears.
His arms were ridiculously short, almost to deformity; his legs
were Very long, avd in comparison with his arms were a deform-
ity. He nad a habit of carrying his hands aud arms drawn up
and curved downward, He always walked or stood with his
long, slender legs much bent at the knees, as if, like that Jerboa,
he was always ready and anxious to make a juap that should
astonish the world of kangaroos, and beholders 1 general,

Such was the personal appearance of old Puul Vultree, the
father of the beautiful Zona; aad to this description I will only
add that his hair had originally been red and course, and what
remained was still red and coarse and grizzled, though time had
snatched Dearly all of nature’s covering from his thead—a head
nearly always buried ina huge sealskin cap, so that his thin,
sharp face, with its great, round, black eyes und large ears looked
re like the face of that rat peeping trom under a bale
of. fur.

People could remember nothing of the motherof Zona. It was
very comma thatthe mother of Zona had never lived in Lang-
fleay. .It was just as certuin also that Paul Vultree had never
had a wife in Langfleay, Not but that he, being as it were, a
man ot wealth, couid have married, for all his hideous ugliness,
whom he pleased, But it had not suited him to marry.

Report, whichis generally a consummate liar and the mother of
lies, Suid that Paul Vultree had bad a wife, somewhere, years
ago—who knows where or when ?—and that he Jed her sucha
dog’s life, or rather such a life of a whole pack of curs, that she
had died, or had drowned or hanged herself, or run away—who
could Say ? - sok

Paul might, of course, but Paul never had, and it was not be-
lieved that Paul ever would.

Having decided and asserted that Paul had had such a partner
somewhere and at sometime, report as boldly avowed: that the
beautiful Zona was the child of that drowned, hanged or run-
away wife, and that Paul was beyond doubt her father, ashe
swore he was,

As I have stated report had nothing tangible upon which to
found these assertious except the sweuring of Paul Vultree.

“Come,” said he, iu a voice which nature had pertectly fitted
to his face, “let us go home. As for me, may I die a begyar if I
would have leftiny chair and pipe, only thut ag two strangers
rode past my door just before sunset I cuught a fair and square
yiew of the face of one, and there was something in it that made
my heart flutter. I beard the two strangers liad directed their
course toward the inn—so I dropped my pipe and hurried up.
You were here betore I came, Zona—did you see the strangers—
both man and master were of more noble inien than such as
usually venture to tarry at or even ride througn Langfleay——”

“You must be speaking of the two travelers whom Sir Gurvin
has ordered to be captured, dead or alive,’ eeprom Zona,

They were still standing not far from the inn, and immediately
before it, for Zona had evinced not the sligntest inclination to
obey the command of her tather—her dark and brilliant eyes
rest ne bravely upon that door through which Captain Marduke

had poeareds —-
; CHAPYER XIV.
THE REVELATION OF ZONA’S BUSPICIONS.

Paul Vultree started violently as his daughter uttered those
simple worus:

“You must be speaking of the'two travelers whom Sir Garvin
has ordered to be captured, dead or alive.”

“Oh,” cried Paul, shivering, “has he done that!”

It was oue of the peculiarities of this strangely-fashioned man
that when startled he did not, in the genuine signification of the
words, tremble, nor quake, nor sluudder—he shivered.

That is, his whole trame seemed to break up into continuons,
minute, scurceiy perceptible agitations, It was ‘not a shudder}
for one shudders andin an instant is culm and ¢om d again.
It was a shiver; ior having fastened upou him it held his blood
in its icy, vibratory embrace like a chill that must torture for an
hour at least before a fever heats the blood again,

It was scarcely perceptible tothe eye. But that it seized his
thin and colorless Nps, making them quiver, and touched the
ligaments of his jaws, making his long, rat-like teeth chatter,
one might not have noticed this muscular tremor—a tremor too
slight to be seen, though galvanizing every limb, sinew and

erve.

But Zona’s head was upon the arm of her father, and her ex-
quisite sense of touch and perception erceiyed the_ powerful
emotion which sudden fear: had clumped upon’ the very soul of
Paul Vultree. ORS

“On,” repeated Paul, shivering, ‘thas he done that 1!”

To save his lite, or to save his gold, which In his eyes was more
than his life, or the lives of all the world, old Paul Vultree conld
not have said anytuing more than he said again, and for the
third time, still shivering: :

"Oh, has he done thati?

Zona turned and stared at him jin surprise. There was not
even a tinge of love in her neart for him. Rature may have been
in fault, but she far from loving him, scarcely reverenced him,
She had forced herself to somewhat respect him, and it was
strange that with the habits, the customs, the examples of Lang-
fleay around her, Zona Vultree, by nature fiery and impulsive,
had bent her proud spirit to respect anything, or any one, least
ofall Paul Vultree—at whom all, even the meanest of mean
Langfieay levelled sneers as boys throw stones at a mangy cur,

Havit bad taught Zona to pay, if she did not. feel respect.
Héaven knows where this wild-hearted girl Jearned that it was
her duty asa daughter to show respect to her father—had he
been 1 tact as he wus in face, a base vermin, Certainly she had
never been taught it by thegeneral behavior of the young in this
vile and contaminating little Langfleay, i

“You are cold, father,” she said, as she tossed off with her
queenly grace herrich, heavy shaw! aud threw it around his
bent and mengre shoulders. “You are shivering with cold, tather,
Yaké my shawl.”

“Not all the shawls in all the world could make my heart
warm just yet,” chattered oid Paul, as he drew tne shaw! closely
around his trembling trame, and shot a glance of terror toward
theinun. ‘Did you see the two strangers, Zona ?””

“You are very cold, father,” siid Zona, endeavoring to lead
him toward one of the many high-flamtng boutires, ‘Your teeth
chatter so that I can scarcely understand what you say. Come
—let’s go near that fire.” 2 j
-“Not all the fire on the surface of the earth could warm
my heart just yet,” chattered old: Paul. “Whiie the heart is ice
there will be a chill upon the blood, Oh, itis very coll! How
strange Lieel! Did you gee the two strangers, Zona ?”

**No, I did not, except ata distance. Why? ;

“Don’t ask me!’ cried Paul, testily, that childish testiness so
repulsive and yetso often seen im the speech and gestures of
peevish old men, “Don’t say why to me. I hate that. You
know I do. Do youthink Garyin Marduke knows who the
strangers are ?’’ ,

“Why not? Whoshould know if he does not? Why should

he have given orders for their capture, dead or alive, especially

of the white-haired, white-beardeu one, if he did not Know very
well who they were??? i

“Very true—and sent uy the white-haired,and white-bearded
one, you say ?” asked old Paul, eagerly. :

‘Yes. Iheard the word given and scattered that Sic Garvin
Marduke would give a thousand pounds——”

“Oh! thousand pound isan immense deal of monoy! I
wish now [I could find a thousand pound somewhere,” interrupt-
ed old Valtree, smacking his lips,

Zona flashed a glance of contempt upon the withered, wrinkled,
battered, shriveled old face, so suddenly, so strongly made hawk-
like, greedy, voracious, by the imagining of a thousand pounds.
It was buta glance. The glance was Jike a.blow from her
hand. Sudden, uncontrollable, No sooner dgalt than repented.
This girl, whose heart was fierier, stronger @an the heart ot
many a Man with a forest of beard on chin and breast, this girl
who would have been a savage but from some inherent purity ot
soul; this girl who could not sin if she knew she was committing
asin; this girl, strong, tail, almost masculine, flerce, daring,
bold because she had never been taught to be modest—and yet
never immodest, ones in her free, trank, proud style of eddress
this handsome, sunburnt beauty ot contemptible Langfleay,
unless angry, would sooner have bitten off her tongue than ut-
tered a word of scorn or Sead ae for her father.

T said unless she were angry. hen angry, Zona cared for no-
body, for nothing—she was the sea in the grasp of a tornado,
Then she spared nothing—~she regarded nobody—she raved.
hina she said, "let me finish, ang then do you hasten

ome,

 

 

 

d

“And you, too,” snapped the ola man.

“Perhups,” she replied, evasively. “Well, Garvin Marduke
has offered a thousand pounds for the capture, dead or alive, of
the white-haired, white-bea 1 stranger——”

“T wonder now,” said old Paul, with a kind of a gasp, as if the
idea had clutched his heart-strings suddenly, like a spasin, and
speaking when he only intended think, “I wonder: now if he
woukt torgive the past, aud give for the future if I saved hunt’

“Saved whom, tuther?”? asked Zona.

“Come, let us hurry into the inn,” replied old Paul, with akind
a ? toward the dour, “You say the strangers are in the
10useé

“Tudeed, father, cannot say that they are, but I will goin
with you—nay, I say I will, father, so do not attempt to forbid
ine. But wait onemoment, Promise to aid me in rescuing the ©
commandant from the fate you know they intend for him.”

“En!” shrieked old Pani, at once stopping and urawing his
long legs, his short arms, his bad neck into his body, as a terra-
pin shuts himself up in his shell when suddenly assaiied. “Eht
what did you say?” .

“I will whisp~r it, replied Zona, “though there is no danger of
being overheard in all this clamor and contusion.”

The oll man bad heard her words, and their significance was
beginning to dawn upon him; even as, to return to my terrapin,
the heat of a fire-coal on hisshell gradually penetrated his armor
stirs him up.

Thus, as the full meaning of his daughter’s words began to
penetrate through his calmness, old Paul stretched out his ugly
head, | his ungainty neck seeming to grow longer and louger
each instant, his great eyes seeming to bave nosockets at all,
but to be resting upon his flat cheeks, upheld only by his wrinkies
and pimples, until Zona recoiled, hah’ in terror, halt in merri-
ment,

“Do not distort your face so, father,”? she said.

“But what was it you said, Zona? I don’t thakIam in my
dotage just yet.”

“Lf asked you to promise to aid meto rescue Marlin Marduke
from the fate you and I know has been decreed to iim by every
gang along the coast.”

“My Heaven!? exclaimed old Paul, ‘The girl is mad—as mad
as a tien with her head just cut off? .

With these words Paul made three or four leaps into the alr,
wagging his long peck, aud fhipping his short arms as it giving a
forcible and exceeviugly graphic illustration of the maduess of a
hen with her head just cut off.

“No, Lam not mad, ’?said Zona. “I mean whatIsay. Ihave
promised Eiena Rheinhand tosave the commandant, and 1 de-
mand your aid.” }

“Oh, you demand my aid! Why, I thought you hated Elena
Rhejnhand,’?

“IT did hate her while I thought she loved Captain Herod.”

“Do you know what you are asking me to do, Zona?”

“Oh, [know it is a very dangerous business, and if we are de-
tected we will beshot, or hanged or drowned, or put to death in
suine way,’ she replied; “*but that is nothmg,”?

“Ob, by the devil,” screeched oki Panl, “it is nothing to be
shot or hanged, or drowned, or put to death in some way. Oh,
no, Nothing iu the workd, On the contrary, it $s decidedly ag ree-
able tomany people to be shot, or hanged, or drowned, or pué
to death in any way. Oh, thunders! but do you know, my deur
infant, that to me, your venerated tather, all thisis absurd. Ob,
no, 1t is nothing! Nothing—not a pinch of snuff—hal hal devils
in the airl it is nothing to be put to death, especially by Garvin
Marduke—it is really pleasant—ho! hol?

Here his flurry otf alarm and his fever of angry sarcasm cul-
minated into alaugh which threatened to choke him to deusth
ou that very spot. 4

He was decidedly a pillable and pitiful sight to behold while
that cough bad hold of his oki carcas:. It throttled nim, itshook
him, it made hina stainp, and kick, and bend nearly double, and
beat the air, while bis cadaverous face became blood-red and his
ugly eyes—oh, nobovy would have ventured to wager a shilling
that his eyes would not fall trom his head every second.

Zona turned away while this spasm of asthma was upon him,
andinamoment or two the old fellow wasall right again,
though he panted like alean hound atter abot chase as he re-
gained his wiad. .

“Listen,’? she whispered Into hisear. "Do you know that
what I told you this moriing is true? -Captain Herod does not
luve me!”

“Banl? said old Paul; and really at that moment it was all he
coukl say.

His wind had gotten such a start of him that he found it any-
thing but a joke to get it into his lungs again.
ae ij rue,” insisted Zona, firmly. ‘Again he intends to marry

Elena,

“abl bah? said old Paul.

He was catching up with that wind, and yentured on “bahing”

twice.

“Itis true. Ihave suspeeted it avery Jong time,” rsisted
Zona. “I bave oiten accused him of it too, and he has denied it,
sometimes with a laugh. and sometimes with anger. But he has
always denied.”?

“Bah! bah! bah !? . :

He was now decidedly in trim again; he had caught his wind
and bad wind to spare, 80 went on bravely:

“Icis all very absurd, Zona, tor you knew Herod Marduke can-
not. marry Elena Rheinhand.”

“IT know that I may claim him as my husband,” she replied;
and yet there was so littke confidence in her tone that old Paul
stured at her.

“What do you mean by using that tone??? heasked. “He ie
your husband. Iwas present when you and he were pronounced
husband and wife, was I not???

“Yes, you were present,’? she sail, lowering her eyes, and in a
gloomy tone, ,

“Come,” said old Paul, while those terrible eyes of his began
to glitter. ‘“Tnere is something upon your mind. What is itt’?

She did not reply. That fierceness of eye and arrogance of
bearing which had made her a marked character In Langfleay
seemed te have vanisned, for, leaning upon the balustrade of
the portico, she appeared todrop aud wither; her tall, elastic, ©
geacetul and haughty form sank into a posture of utter weak-
pene eng tears welled from her eyesasthey gazed upon the
ground,

“Now, then,” cried Paul, in asharp and apprehensive tone,
‘what does all this mean?” ; ,

“It means,’ rephed Zona, ina husky yoke, “that I fear the
marriage was a sham,” : ¢
_ “Eb! screeched the old man, contracting his -ill-proportioned
limbs as he had betore. .'*What did yousay?? sid
5 “fsaid that I believe the marriages was a sham,” repeated

ona, f ¥ t

“A sham! Why, Iwas present,” said Paul. “My lifel no! I
gave you away. A sham? Ikpow that you unlike most of
the women of Langfleay, young and old, never toucn wine, nor
anything that smeils of wine. So, I know that you are in your
right mind, so fur as that is concerned. Now your eye and your
yolce are too steady tomake me imagine that you are at all
crazy, but, devilS in the air! what does all this mean?”

“rather,” she said—and let it be remembered that she never
used the word father with any accent of affection, but simply as
one might say “Sir,” to another—'‘Father, why is Captalu, Herod
so eager to flud the body of Obel Ling?”

“Simply because he was a spy, and because Capiain Herod and
all of us desire to know that the rascal is dead.”

“Have you never suspected that this man, Obel Ling, as he is
called, was the pretended priest who married, or rather, who
feigned te marry me to Herod Marduke?”?

“Pretended priest! Feigned to marry! You certain!
gone stark mad,” said old Paul. ‘Come, Jet us go home,
woukl like very much: to see what becomes of the two strangers,
but the excitement of the Sven bas been too much for you.”’

“T tell you, father ’’ she replied firmly, as she resisted his effort
to lead her away “that my mindisas clear and as strong as it
ever was.” & *

“Then why do yon talk such nonsense?” persisted Paul.” “A
sham marriage—bah! A a priest—bosht

“No, Iam right,’ said Zona, regaining her usual queenly part,
and turning her flashing eyesupon Paul. “Even while the cere-
mony was being performed I thought I detected something famil-
jar to my ear in the voice of the priest,. But—but—well, T oa 580
wild with delight with the belief that I was being made the wite
of the man I loved, that I.could mind upon pothing else then,
nor for weeks afterward,”

“Nor for weeks afterward,” echoed Paul, while he fixed his
keen eyes upon hers. “Well, when did you begin to have time
to reflect upon that familiurity of tone of which you speak?”

“As soon us Herod gave me cause to believe that be did not
love me any longer.’? Le ee /

“And when was that?” §

“We had not been married three months, father, when he
began to treat me es To sneer, When if he loved me he
would have caressed; toinsult, when he shoukKi have kissed; to
frown, when he should have smiled.”

“Oh,” said Paul, shrugging his shoulders, ‘you have been mar-

ried but four months, and a& young wives, all newly married
people are very exacting, very jealous, dusediy suspicious and
exceedingly ready to find tault with each other.”?
_ “That may be, tatber, but of some things I am sure, and that
is that the marriage was a sham, that this spy, Ovel Ling, was
the pretended “priest; that I was deceived; that Ling und Cup-
tain Herod haye disagreed; that Captain Herod fears that Obel
Ling will betray the treachery to me; that Captain Herod Is ex-
eeedingly desirous that Ovel Ling’s body shall be found, not
becuuss Ling was a government spy, but. because he fears his
tongue; that he dreads the anger of his father, should the latter
hear ot the deceit practiced upon me; and that he intends and
most earnestly desires to wed Elena Rieinhand.”

“And why should Captain Herod, who is of age and inde-
pendent, fear the anger of his father—that 1s, were all that you
say true?? asked Paul.

“Why? Can you not guess??

“NotI. Devils in the air! Inever was worth a pinch of snuff
at solving riddles,” replied Paul. ‘Come, why: should Guryin
Marduke care the weight of a hair forany deceit that Captain
Herod might be pleased to. pat upon Zona Vultree?”” Ata

There was an eagerness in the tone of the questioner which did
not escape the keenly sensitive ear of the listener—an eagerness
that was too closely akiutoanxiety and bot tobe correctly ap-
preciated by Zona, :

“Because,” she replied, with that ¢alm, deliberate tone ‘which
i that, the speaker is in earnest, “because Garvin Marduke

oves me, f :

“My God!) wag. allthat Paul could say; and as he said it his
cadaverous face became livid.
bene his face became livid with rage or terror remains to

 

 

[TO BE CONTINUED.] |

 

 

ITEMS OF INTEREST.

ka A more agonizing situation can scarcely be
imagined than that of Cyrus butkin of Peabody, Mass., wuo re-
cently bad his foot caught ina railroad track near Boston, and
only saved his life, when a train came thundering along, by
throwing himself on one side, the cars ranning Over and cutting
off his toot, —. ; .

aa A verdict was recently rendered in this. city
in favor of alady of Brooklyn—Mrs, Bronson—who some time
ago, while passing along the sidewalk was run at, knocked down ,
and severely injured by a vicious horse, which the owner—C, E,

 

. Decker—had allowed to be on the public street unmuzzled and

uaresirained, ‘hei verdict was for $500.

ga@> ‘The largest and most valuable cargo of cotton
ever shipped from Galveston, Texas, was taken outlately in the
steamship Australian for Liverpool. The number of bales was
5,539, and the value $370,000, :

x4asx> In Colorado pianos are either high-priced or
houses and lots very low, for in a Georgetown paper there is an
advertisement, which reads: “For sale—or exchange fora house
and lot—a first-class piano, nearly new. Inquire at this office,”

ya A movement is on foot in England, backed by
ample funds, for thé purpose of securing to farm laborers an
interest in the land. it has become extremely popular, and is
supported by capitalists and influential Jandlords.

na A ranch in California of 2,000 acres has re-
cently been sold tor $50,000 that.two years ago cost $24,000. In
the as years of proprietorship $40,000 worth of wheat was raised
upon it, ;

xa A man who lately died. in Warsaw, Ind., had
had six wives, One of the number died, the others. he was di-
yorced from. To his last wife he was married twice.

Sa Pennsylvania claims to have given the United
States the first turnpike roau, railroad, water-works, locomotive,
hospital, law school, public museum, music hall, and free library.

kas The heaviest individual for his. years ever
seen in St- Paul, Minnésoto, visited that city lately. Though only
18 years of age he weighs 500 pounds. Hight 7 feet.

aa At a recent cat exhibition in the London Crys-
tal Palace, the heaviest cat weighed filteen and three-fourth
pounds.

gar A man and his wife, he 87 years old, and she
95, were fined for drunkenness in Oakland, Cal, the other day.
Will they ever reach years of discretion?

aa The spots on the sun at the present time
cover an area of nearly 78,000 miles,

kar Milwaukee’s census shows a population of
94,405, an increase of 22,955 since 1870. ‘

 

  

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 
   

 

  

  

 

SOLD OOO aeaeeeemms>»sv.

NEW YORK, NOVEMBER 23, 1874,

eee

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aaa

 

 

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Justice To Jenkins.

We wish to say a word in behalf of a much-
abused class of writers—those whose business it is
sometimes to describe the marriages, the receptions,
and other personal concerns of people who happen
to hold a conspicuous position, by reason of their
official associations or their wealth, or from any
other cause. Although this class has many mem-
bers, not one of them is treated even with the
courtesy of being called by his own name. He is
always designated as “Jenkins.” And for every
breach oi good taste in the affairs of which we have
spoken, he is abused. If a couple are married with
great ostentation, if a parade is made of the dresses
of the bride and bridesmaids, of the wedding pres-
ents, and of such private matters as the articles of
the trousseau, what they cost and where they were
made, at once a great outcry is raised against Jen-
kins, and Jenkins is blamed for the indelicate exhi-
bition.. If a private party is given on the avenue
and an account of it is printed, with particulars of
the furniture and the supper, and the guests’ initials,
Jenkins is again taken to task. We think this is
ulfair.- In the first’place, many newspapers delight
to publish such things. The New York. WEEKLY
was never addicted to sich journalism; and never
Will be, but some of the daily papers are. In the
second place, people must like to'read such things or
the papers would not print them. The Herald would
not give a page of its valuable space to a report ofa
marriage if there was not a demand for such reading.
Probably few things are more read than ‘personal
movements” and ‘society news.” In the third place,
the people about whom such’ things are’ published,
are quite willing, even anxious, to get in print. They
supply the reporters with information which other-
wise could not be had. Now, is it not both absurd
‘and unjust to blame Jenkins for that which others
are responsible for? Very often the man who de-
scribes the affair in performance, of the duty by
which he gets a living, and is called “Jenkins” for
doing it, despises the whole exhibition more heartily
than anybody else present atit. Ifpeople did not de-
mand such news it would not be provided, and those
who want to keep their affairs private can always do
it. Let us do justice to Jenkins, and blame those
who really are guilty of ostentation at weddings and
other private ceremonies.

High Taxes.

The New York WEEKLY has never been a political
journal, and it is extremely improbable that it ever
will be: but there are certain matters of which we
may speak without compromising our neutrality.
When we take up a Republican newspaper and find
it saying that the taxes are high, we agree with it.
When read in a Democratic newspaper that the taxes
are high, we agree with it. When a ‘hard money”
man tells us that the taxes are high, we at once
acquiesce. When an inflationist remarks that the
taxes are high, we never think of disputing the
statement. When a “Granger” affirms that the
taxes are high, we either reply,.‘‘ Yes, they are,” or
by silence give, consent to the assertion. When a
railroad monopoly man passingly observes that the
taxes are high, we say, * That’s a fact,” or else we
look it. And that is just what all these parties do
say. It is astonishing what unanimity there is as to
the heavy burden of taxation. We accept the pro-
position without qualification. Nobody can help
doing 80 who owns any property, or who pays any
rent or any boatd. The figures on the tax lists of
this city are enormous. One citizen’s tax bill for his
dwelling house is over $16,000 a year. Some single
buildings pay more than a block used to pay not
Many years ago—almost as much as award used to
pay. The New York WEEKLY, then, without be-
coming a political paper, may say that it agrees
with all parties that taxes are high. Since parties
are unanimous on this, it isa pity they were not
unanimous on some plan for making taxes lower.

—————__+>-9~<_____

OUR TWO NEW CONTRIBUTORS.
Lieut. Murray and Grace Gordon.

The readers of the NEw YORK WEEKLY are much
pleased with the productions of our two new contributors,
GRACE GORDON and LIEUTENANT MURRAY. This is pre-
cisely what we anticipated, and we are correspondingly
gratified that our expectations have been realized. Both
are experienced, pains-taking authors, and their first
seriala ior the NEW YORK WEEKLY, both of which are
now being published, are unsurpassabie. ‘Their dramatic
incident, ingenuity of plot, and the motives which impel
the characters lo action, are delineated with spirit and
vigor. In “SavED BY HER BLOOD’ the most exciting
scenes succeed each other witha natural sequence that
exhibits the wonderful. skill. of the gifted author; and
LIEUTENANT MURRAY, by the accuracy of his descriptions
of Italian scenery, and the truthful presentation of bandit
life in its Various phases, as pictured in his story of “Mxrz-
ZONI THE BRIGAND,’? demonstrates how personal ob-
servation, during his recent visit to Italy, aided his active
imagination.

Two better stories than “SavED BY HER BLOOD’’ atid
“MEZZONI THE BRIGAND” are seldom published simul-
taneously in any paper; yet the New YORK WEEKLY
cheerfully presenis these double attractions, because in
pleasing our readers we please ourselves,

“MEZZONI THE BRIGAND” is commenced this week,
and of course will be perused by all our readers, it being
(he first story written for the NEw YorK WEEKLY by
LIEUTENANT MURRAY, Whose entertaining sketches in
our.columns for the past two months -have been. univer-
sally admired. “SAVED BY HER BLOOD” has been a few
weeks in course of publication, and those who have
“neglected to read it showld secure back numbers and do
So at once,

 

»

 

——___+>©~<+______
Will Misa J. BR. HADERMAN please send us her address,

| any end, is most insinuating aud personal.

ONLY.

BY GEORGE ANDERSON.

 

Only a little word
Whispered half sobbingly under the breath--
But an echoed sweetness to lull my soul
When I pass the valley, Death.

Only a trusting heert,
Beating an instant against my own—
But a lasting joy that will throb and thrill
When the years are dead and gone.
Only an upturned tace
With Love’s own holy light imbued—
But a picture to float before my eyes
And make the world rose-hued.
Only a tender glance
From eyes that are wet with sudden tears—
But a light to gild the clouds of care,
And brighten the toil of years.
Only a single kiss,
Beneath the moonlight’s silver bars—
But a memory lo swell the joy
Of the world beyond the stars,

ON GOSSIP,
SCANDAL AND SCANDAL-MONGERS.

BY REV. DR. GEO. B, PORTEOUS.

 

 

 

This is an age of talk. Speechis enthroned! The pro-
gress of the age is that of the gift of Speech; the nations
are infected with an epidemic of Bossip. Sociology, theol-
ogy and science—not to omit politics—fill the worid with a
discordant din; men must speak, Women will Chatter! In
short, we live in highly ridiculous times, and have fallen
upon an era of gigantic swagger, exaggerated pretense,
aud loud-sounding puffery. The culture and intellect of
this epoch run to waste in the effervescence of prattle. It
is not the ‘Golden Age”? of which poets have sung—or of
which the sour, though brilliant aud prophetic Carlyle has
written, ‘Speech is silvern, and silence is golden’’—so we
must conclude this is a silvern time—tiie age of ‘‘speech.”
Silence, the meditative mistress of profound cogitation,
the conservative incubator of great thoughts is mistaken
for stupidity and sullenness, and everywhere the many-
tongued is acknowledged the goddess of the hour! It.is
refreshing to think of other times when large thoughtful-
ness and chastened conversation took the place of silly and
most superficial conversation. We wish, but we suppose
in vain, for a return to staid old times and quiet, seasoned
talk. Nevertheless we must say that but for the rational
and useful purpose for which the tongue was given—it
would have been better to have denied speech to the hu-
man race altogether. Aun intensification and enlargement
of man’s other orgaus might have been more serviceable.
Ifspeech had been confided to the wise our rumble wouid
have been milder, but, alas! our wish is as useless as the
speech of the babbler which we despise.

As it is impossible to confine the use of speech to the
wise, we.are necessitated to resignation, and while we of-
fer one or two remarks upon its misuse, we do not think
we are able to do more than protest against the mischief
of its misapplication. Our attempt shall be simply to de-
scribe the gradations through which easy, free and truth-
ful speech, passes into gossip and scandal.

lt must be admitted that the mere jove of talking lies at
the bottom of all the various forms of gossip. Talkative-
hess—tle propensity to talk, independently of what is to be
said, and apart from the results to follow from a spoken
word, is the Cause, of which the. innumerable misrepre-
sentations, scandals and falsehoods are effects.

The genus gossip, Wilh its large number of species comes
first under our notice.

Almost all classes of men and all sortsof women are fit-

ly represented in this genus. Here are the literary gos-
sips, Who skim the surface of reviews and sneak through
cieap literature to pick up items of‘news”’ about the pop-
ular Writers of the hour—who do this to gloat over the
tuilures and moral delinquencies of men of letters. These
nen are generally of thin brain and conceited manners—
they affect to know ail that is worth kuowing in science
and history. They have large memories, cunning faces,
and spacious mouths. The modern “interviewer” is a de-
graded specimen of this Class. We Know of several such
on both sides of the Atlantic.
The next powerlul class of gossips, perhaps we ought
to add pernicious, is the ever-present, and memorable,
and motley sort—the ‘Political Gossips.» In clubs and
hotels, and in the lobby—at the corners of streets, and in
the flutter of the drawing-room, they are sure to be found;
full of sagacity, retailing secrets and adventures of Sena-
tors and Congressmen; exciting their hearer’s minds by
suggestions of complications, financial troubles, an immi-
nent political crisis, or an impending war. They have
heard the faintest whisper of political intrigue and the
undertone of commercial factions; they are the wiseacres
of the country, and see farthest through astone wali aud
deepest into a ditch! They are calied ‘‘acute.’? They re-
semble a worthy though stupid man called “Cruden,Y—
they are as imbecile outside gogsip as he was outside his
texis—indeed, like him, they are bores. They are a mis-
leading lot, full of flue sentiment, lofty aspirations, aud
large love of dollars! How rampant they are in—well,
better pot name it!

Nexi come tne Social Gossips, a tribe more easily named
than described. They are the “‘busy bodies,’’ piously
anxious to mend every tear and patch up every rent in
their dear neighbor's robe! They loom eternally on the
horizon of the social sky—they have a word to “say? on
everyting and everybody—they must give their “serious
and honest opinion” about everybody and his wife—of
their clothes, furniture, debts, amusemenis—house rent
and taxes—they know Mr. and Mrs, ——’s affairs—they
are no “green horns”?—oh! no! but then their hearts are
overflowing with tenderness, with pity for their unfortu-
nate friends, and they weep as readily as they laugh!
They lack nothing of Christian perfection, and all is ready
at hand! They are harmless—they have uo end to serve,
no ulterior purpose to gain; they simply love to talk and
like to hear their own voices. Phrenologists would say
that the largest ‘bump’ in their cranium was ‘“Talka-
liveness,’? and this too in its mildest and most innocent
form. These are the creatures who unconsciously, and
often without any purpose or idea of “calling evil good or
good evil,” or of magnifying the lesser, yet really make
good evil, and ‘‘the worse appear the better reason.’? The
temptation to talk for talking’s sake, without regard to
From a love
of hearing their own voices they hurry on almost uncon-
sciously, contradicting themselves most amusingly, eat-
ing their own words, and appear happy even in their ab-
surd contradictions, When liberty is once given to the
inhabitant of the ‘Coral Cave,” there is little power Lo
crub its motion; words rush ont and on like torrents,
and leave wrecks and desolatious in their track, and
this too often to the great surprise and pain of the
silly speaker. It ought to be remarked that this class
of gossips has no care whether their scandal be believed
or uot. They simply disburden their minds of a quan-
tity.of superfluous matter, not for the amusement or
instruction of their hearers, but simply because the des-
tiny Of speaking is upon them, and they must be oracles.

There is a ditferent sort of gossip-monger, who, if the
subject matter which Is retailed is not of a sufficiently pun-
geut and stimulative nature to arrest and keep the atten-
tion of others, creates. an appetite in the listener by in-
venting harrowing aud exciting interests and incidenis,
in divulging so caliéd ‘‘family secrets’? and confidences,
aud they resort to any mieaus, however doubtful and devil-
ish, to Win the credulity of their auditors. These gossips
are generally people who, being born dull, go on through
a life-time achieving dullness, and who are quile incapable
of seriously damaging any decent man’s reputation or a
woinan’s Character.

But we hasten to catalogue another class—“the would-
be-respectabie”’ class. In detailing a conversation with a
persou of eminence they conceitedly aifect to make them-
selves the center of it—they make all their geese swans!
They stilt themselves to a factitious importance; they ridi-
cule the talents and value of those who have favored them
with au hour’s Conversation—they are unconscious of the
axiom that “Evil communications corrupt good man-
ners.”” These gossips never can givea faithful report of
a conversation, interview, or social chat. They are always
on the outlook for some new occasion, for the display of
their vocal powers, With “large discourse of reason Jook-
ing before and alter” they constantly tell everybody at all
on speaking terins of the fulfillment of some prophecy ut-
tered by their lips. They never speak on matters of fact
—this would tire and fatigue their hearers. They expatiate
upon events which never transpired; flatter to men’s
faces with unbounded flatteries, and behind the back de-
Clare.with eqnal volubilily that they Know nothing good
ofyou. They have athorough mastery of all uncouth
tones aud ouuandish gestures—they have the manners of
clowns and the behavior of hoydens—and in turns can
aim at vulgarity as successfully as their betters at gentility.
All this comes ofa certain cross-grained and uusociabie
siate of mind. Geuerally with female gossips it is the out-
come of iow-birth and softening of the brain. At once
you Can detect a woman of this order; her eyes sparkle
with a pious twinkle and dazzle with the glare of a mor-
bid and vulgar stare. She patronizes everybody and
makes believe she knows every one. At lier neighbdor’s
house, in the company of friends, at church or chapel, she
is foremost with her smiles and first with her speech.

We might, had time been allowed, have gianced at the
medical gossip, whose practice lies principally among
elderly maidens and married jadies—the latter of the gin-
gery sort. The medical gossip is extremely polite, and
most soft and sweet in aspect and talk. He sits persuas-
ively by his patient’s couch—lis sympathy is superior to
his salis—hig words better than pilis and plasters! He
generally atiends persons who have no disease, and his
success is immense! But a truce to’ our description! We
pass over the legal and lawyery gossip, for fear of an ac-
tign for libel, and venture to saya word or two about a
notorious set of gossips—the clerical.

A clerical gossip is usually profoundly acquaintea—so
he wold have you believe—with human nature. He has
had painful experience of it in all its phases, Has he not
had the confiaence of many hearts, and must he not there-
fore know pretiy well all sorts and divers kinds of gainis
and sinners? Of course he does. And he gfood-naturedly
means that what he has learned you shall kuow. If he
speaks of the family trials and behavior of Mrs. So-and-
So, itis to warn aud instruct his hearers. This clerical
gossip is the foulest creature among creatures. He retails
sad secrets given him to sympathize with and pray over,
and he deliberately vends them as wares of common talk.
The number of such pests is larger than the public know

 

or even suspect. Lately in a neighboring city very large

>

 

illustration was given to the charge we make. No class
of men speak more against others than the clergy do
against their brethren. This has become notorious. Meal.
cal men usually ‘‘back up” a brother’s supposed imper-
fect diaguosis. Tiere is scarcely a score of clergymen who
would say a kind word fora brother who iad committed
the least fault. On public occasions the clerical gossip
Says ke is extremely pleased to meet his brother—“his
dear brother in Christ’\—and invariably after the meeting
Say8 to his choice friends that the aforesaid brother is a
bore! ‘Like priest like people,” and this is bitterly true.
The peopie who belong to the churches, presided over by
clerigal gossips, learu the art and become adepts. Let the
clouds of darkness hide both alike—a souud public opinion
visit them with its rebuke.

Scandal is maliciousness in its concrete form. It is a
direct lie, and is tenfold more dangerous than alie. From
some ill-arranged combination of social conditions and
total want of a sense of propriety and truth, the scandal-
mougers of the hour have a thriving business. The press
as a large responsibility to answer for on this score, but
instead of exerting itself to chastise the scandal-monger
and keep the public mind chaste and charitable, it does,
in some localities, its lustiest and best to ferret out and
give enormous spread and publicity to scandal. We need

 

r

not specify; our readers will draw their own inferences.
“Every dog must have its day.” Be it so. The world
can afford to allow both scandal-mongers and scandal-
spreaders a little further respite. Heayen pity them when
public opinion is roused against them,

Crees ly all deepens

A SIMPLE STORY.

BY HERO sTRONG.

 

Royal Moore was Rachel Heath’s first love, and she had
reached the age of twenty-nine before she met him—quite
an old maid; and yet at that age a woman knows ‘her own
mind, and her love is much more likely to be lasting and
true than the ardent passion of eighteen.

Rachel's life had been such that she had never any
chance for what is called falling inlove. Her mother had
died when she was very young, and the care of an old
and sickly father had come upon Rachel. She had fulfillea
the trust faithfully. She had ‘borne all the old man’s
querelous fault-finding with gentle patience; she had sub-
mitted without a murmur to being kept in the sick room
while her young acquaintances were gathered together
enjoying themselves; and though,Mr, Heath might have
spared her as well as not, she never called him selfish
even in her thoughts. He was her father, and to him she
owed every duty,

So her sweet youth wore away, and woman’s crowning
blessing was denied her; and her cheek lost its sea-shell
bloom, and her dark eyes gathered shadows of thought
and saduess which should never come to young eyes.

At last old Mr, Heath died at the age of eighty-nine, and
Rachel was leit all alone.

It-was then that Royal Moore came into her life. He
Was a physician, and liad attended her father for the last
few weeks of his existence.

Something about the girl’s calm, quiet endurance—
something in the self-reliant strength of her character—
touched Dr. Moore’s interest before he had even noticed
that she had aclearly cut face, rather pale and a little
sad, with large hazel eyes, and a wealth of curling brown
hair. Her figure was perfect; and, after all, there is no
pharm. of beauty More spotentin a mau’s eye than a fine

gure.

After Mr. Heath died and Rachel was left in the house
With only her Aunt Edith fora companion, Dr. Moore ap-
plied to Miss Heath for rooms and board. Rachel would
hardly have taken him, so accustomed had she become to
loneliness, aud so much did she dread avy breaking up of

‘old habits, but Aunt Edith was strongly in his favor, and

soit happened that a fortnight after Mr. Heath’s death
Dr. Moore was conifortably eslablished in the south cham-
ber of Rachel’s house, aud was takiug his meals oppo-
site her at table.

It was not more than a month before thie old, old story
was told, and listened to witha strange and sweet de-
light. This love of Dr. Moore’s was so unlike anything
poor Rachel had ever had shown her before that she hardly
dared be happy in it, lest it might elude her grasp and
leuve her more desolate than before.

Hitherto she had always had to think and care for every-
body—al! the planning, and calculating, and “ooking
out” Came upon her—but now all was Changed. Que
whose constant aim was to make her happy was near her
continually, aud upon his strength her weakness relied,
aud her mind rested from care and perplexity.

A couple of months they had been engaged when Laura
Sayres, a distant cousin of Racheil’s, took it into her head
that she needed the sea air. Rachel lived in the little sea-
girt town of Beauview, and to ‘dear Cousin Rachel?
Laura wrote she was coming.

Rachel remembered her as a child—golden-haired, blue-
eyed, and waxen-fuced—and of late years she had beard
something of her wouderful beauly, which had made her
the belie of Washington the past season, for her father
held an important office at the Capital, and during the
winter his family were with him.

To teH the truth, Rachel was hardly pleased at the pros-
pect of Laura’s coming. Perhaps she dreaded the bustle
aud excitement which this woman of fashion would bring
With her, aud perhaps she shrauk {rom any intrusion upon
sweet and tender relation between herself and Dr.

oore.

But one cannot insinuate to one’s cousins that their
proposed visits are uuwelcome—which is one of the dis-
advautages of having cousins—and Rachel wrote Miss
Laura a very kind letter, saying her house was at her ser-
vice. ‘

Dr. Moore was not over-pleased at the prospect, for he
detested fashionabie ladies, he said, and he had no doubt
my Lady Laura was frivolous and vain as the majority of
them were, He had so much rather have his little Rachel
all to himself. Then he kissed her forehead, and slid his
arm around her waist and drew her to his side, and they
stood silenuly together and heard the sea-waves beat ou
the shore, aud the crickets Chirp in the grass, aud neither
of them dreamed of the cloud which was even then gath-
ering in the calm sky of their felicity.

The next day Laura Sayrescame. Just twenty—a slight,
graceful girl, with hands like sgulptured marbie, and feet
whose rare perfection of shape and tininess were adinir-
ably shown off by the exquisite Paris boots she wore; an
arch rosebud of a face, framed ina mass of crinkly golden
hair, tied up will azure ribbon, and falling in a shower of
curls down her shoulders, Yes, there was no gainsaying
the fact that Laura Sayres was a beauty, aud Dr. Moore,
being a man, Could not help admiring her,

She played and sang finely, too, and he was fond of
music. Rachel foresaw that which was to come, but she
bore up bravely against it, and Was always kind and sweet
to Laura, and gentle with Royal Moore.

Laura, accustomed as slie was to being admired and
flattered, appropriated Dr. Moore without hesitation,
Aunt Edith had mentioned his engagement with Rachel
to her, but Laura had lived in the world where engage-
meuts are formed and broken to suit the convenieuce of
the parties, and she attached no importance to the com-
munication. She had only said:

“Why, Aunt Editht engaged to that old maid! It is too
bad! Why, Dr. Moore is one of the most splendid men I
ever met!”

“Laura,” said Aunt Edith, severely, “no man can be

too goud for Rachel Heath. She is the noblest and truest
woman I ever knew.”’
“Oh, yes, auntie,” returned Laura, “I know she is a
perfect saint; but then she is so grave and old, aud she
Wears her hair in such horrid style! Not a puff, nora
friz, and ijl venture to say not a thread of false hair!’

“No,” said Aunt Edith, ‘*Rachel’s head is too full of
g00d sense to allow itseif to be done upin hair from the
Scalp of any lunatic or criminal.”

Laura flounced out of the room in a pet, and revenged
herself by hunting up Dr. Moore and coaxing him to take
her out in his boat. It was twilight when they returned,
and Rachel sat on the piazza and watched them come up
the shell-paved walk with an odd pain at her heart. She
did not understand Dr. Moore. Suddenly something
seemed to have come between them, aud to have changed
the genial, happy young man into a restless and capricious
trifler.

Rachel felt curiously afraid of him in these days; she
avoided being left alone with him, and shrank into her-
sell more persistently than ever. Sometimes she caught
his dark eyes fixed upon her face with an expression of
anxious doubt, and ouce he had detained her in the hall
and asked her what was the matter.

And she: had answered “nothing,” bravely repressing
the tears which were ready to fall over this wreck of her
brief happiness,

All the bright summer Laura lingered at Beauview, and
Dr. Moore was ever her most devoted cavalier. Riding,
walking, or boating, the two were always Logether, and
though Dr. Moore used at first to ask Rachel to come with
them she always declined, and after atime he ceased to
ask her. ;

Laura confided her hopes to Rachel one night after the
girls had gone to their rooms.

She should marry Dr. Moore, for she liked him yastly,
aud then he was rich and of a good family.

“I did think he was engaged to you,” went on the sel-
fish girl, ‘‘but, of course, that is allover. No man joves
and neglecis a woinan at the sametime. And then you
must be ages older than him!’

“Tam twenty-nine—Dr. Moore is thirty,’ said Rachel,
in a cold, hard voice, which surprised herself, ‘aud if he
loves you, I should advise you to marry him.”

“You are such a dear, good creature,’’ cried Laura,
kissing her, ‘and Jam se glad that you do not gure any-
thing about him. It would be so awkward, you know, if
you did. ButI hear him coming to his room, and we
must be quiet. - So geod-night and pleasant dreams,??

Pleasaut dreams indeed! Poor Raciiel never closed her
Weary eyes that night, and the next morning she looked
so worn and ill that even selfish Laura insisted on bathing
her head and coddling her to sleep on the sofa,

It was early autumn now, and the evenings were grow-
ing chilly...Rachel hada fire ligaped that night on the
Silting-room hearth, i

Laura, allin a diaphanous cloud of white muslin and
azure .ribbons, sailed in just before it was time for Dr.
Moore to come from his office. —~

“A fire! a wood fire!” she cried gayly; “how charming!
Royal and I are to practice that new song together, and
really, it would have been chilly here without the fre. You
are very thoughtful, Cousin Rachel. I wonder if 1 will be
as good when I am as old ?”?

She went close tothe fire, and held her small, white
Hands out to the ruddy blaze. Her sweeping skiris trail-
ed over the hearth—a breath of air from the opening door
as Aunt Edith came in swayed them a little nearer, a
tongue of flame seized upon the flimsy fabric, and in an

 

—* the unfortunate girl was wrapped in a cloud of
'Ge

4 <4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. toe

A fearful temptation beset Racnel. Do not tempations,
at times—temptations dark, and evil, and deyilish—
beset the best ofus? lf Laura perished, Royal Moore
would be hers once more. The thought weit through
her brain like lightning, but she cast it behind her with
impatient scorn.

The next moment she had torn up the hearth-rag and
Wrapped it around Laura, and forcing the screaming girl
down to the floor, she succeeded in smothering the fiames,
just as Dr. Moore entered the room.

She thought it very strange that he should spring to her
side, and ask ifshe were burned, before he even looked
at Laura; but afterward he lifted the poor young girl in
his arms and carried her up to her room and dressed her
wounds, and soothed her as best lie could,

By-and-by he came down, and found Rachel out in the
moonlight under the yellow maples. She had bandaged
both her hands, for they were fearfully burned, and she
had told Dr. Moore she was not hurt.

“My dear littie girl! he said, drawing her into the sit-
ting-room, *‘you have deceived me—you are burned. I
must see after this myself.” And he took off the wrap-
pings, and grew pale and grave at siglit of the poor scarred
and blistered hands,

She submitted to him quietly. His touch brought back
to her some of the sweetness of the old time. And sie
had made up her mind to tell him this very evening that
he was free.

“Rachel,” said he, when he had finished dressing the
burns, “I want to talk to you a little while. You have
given me no chance lately, and I have been very unhap-
py overit. Ihave at times almost begun to fear that
alter all you did not care for me as | thought you did!”

“I desire your happiness above anything else,” began
Rachel, bravely; ‘‘aud when I saw that you were pleased
with Laura, and indeed it is not strange, for she is young
and handsome ”

“Pleased” with Laura,” said Dr. Moore. “I was never
pleased with her, dear. Ihave been playing, you will
think,’a very mean and dastardly game, but my con-
science approves me! Two yeurs ago, Rachel, that girl
flirted with my brother Henry, and broke his heart! He
Was young, romantic, and very susceptible! Her beauty
enthralled him. She, like the heartless flirt she is, led
him on until he kuew no rest nor joy away from her.
Then, when his devotion became troublesome—for there
Was another suitor on hand—she laughed at him for an
idiot, and frankly told him she had never thought of mur-
rying him. She had only been amusing herself, and had
supposed he was doing the same. It was so ridiculous
for people to get iu love. Henry went to his lodgings,
entered his room, locked the door, and blew out his
brains! And when this girl, who had caused his death
just as surely as though her own white hauds had held
the fatal pistol—when she heard ofit, she cried out: *What
a fooll But thevel I always thought he was rather weak
somehow! and he was so iond of me! Dear me! how dis-
agreeable it is to have men falling in love with one?’ By
the side of my poor brother’s dead body I made a yow
that if ever destiny threw this false and treacherous girl
in my way, I would punish her for her sin against him,
and | have kept my word. Perhaps it is hot noble or gen-
erous for me (0 say it, but] believe she lovesme. And,
Rachel, darling, I love only youl”?

Despite poor Rachel's involuntary shrinking back, he
took her into his arms aud kissed her iv the old slow,
sweet way.

So her Jost happiness came back.

Laura Sayres was not abie to leave her chamber when
Rachel and Dr. Moore went quietly to the village chapel
one mornivg and were married. fi

And wien Aunt Hdith told Laura of what was going
on—and Aunt Edith had a wicked sort of enjoyment in
telling her—you muy wel! believe there was a scene,

The next day Laura went home. : :

A month afterward she married old Goldbrim, who was
Seventy years old, and worth @ million; and the old fellow
Sull lives, aud leads her a life of it.

Dr. Moore und his wile are living their contented, quiet,
country life, all the happier, maybe, for the cloud which
ouce Cume across the heaveu of their love.

 

 

IN A HURRY.

Suppose you area woman. Suppose you have promised
to ride at eleven, with dear Fiigzierbert. :

He has been atientive so iong, it must be that matters
are Coming to a point at last. You feel pretty sure that he
Will propose to-day.

Of course you feel a great anxiety to look well on this
momentous occasion? That is perfectly proper. Every
woman who expects to be proposed to belore night by a
young man who has ten thousand a year, aud elegant side
whiskers, wants to look well.

You rise early in the morning, and begin the day witha
will. Breakfastis late, It always is on all great days. Why,
we don’t know. We are no bogician, aud only state facts,
without trying to explain them.

Nobody about the house seenis to realize that there is

anything remarkable or important on hand... Nobody
divines that the grand crisis of your life is so near!
Bob, your youngest brother, compliments you on how
becoming horns are to your head—relerring to your curl
papers, Which you have keptin your hair, that it might curi
the better; and mamma gently reminds you that your face
is not Cleun—referring lo the cold cream aud giycerine
which you have not yet wushed off.

Papa has got cold in his head, and ‘his eyes are weak,
and he wanls you Lo.read the market reports in the morn-
ing paper. You comply in neryous haste, and miscall
haif the words, and coufound the price of potash with the
price of indigo, and get molasses aud gunny bags, and
white lead, and green meats, mixed up in inextricable
confusion. _ Papa looks surprised, and takes off his
speciacles and wipes them, to make sure he has heard cor-
recy. What possible connection there is between a pair
of spectacles and the hearing of the person who wears
them we are ata joss to conceive, but we have observed
that when a wearer of glasses is not quite certain as to
whether he has heard aright, he invariably takes off his
Spectacles for a polish.

» You get throngh with the markets, and then you are
in for the column of Financial. You blunder through it
somehow, and are released with the information that you
don’t read nearly as weil ag you did tliree years ago!

Mamma detains you to help about cutting out Bob’s
new jacket, and Sally the housemaid wants you to writea
letter for her to the ‘ould mither,” who is bed-ridden,
over the sea. :

When you get to your chamber it is half-past nine
o’clock, and you are iu such a State of nervous anxiety
that you hardly know what to do first. You must be
ready by eleven, for yOu have heard Fitzherbert say, over
and over again, that if there was anything he detested it
Was an unpunciual person.

You Jet Out your hair, and wash the cold cream off your
face, and put up your chignon, and by that time you find
that the morning dampness has straigthened out three of
your preitiest curls, and you get an iron hot, and burn
your fingers, just where’you feel sure he will be likely to
kiss them, and you singe your hair so. that it smelis bhorri-
bly, and you resort to heliotrope, and wish you had been
born of the other sex, so that you could say some big
words over your difficulties.

You puton your new spring suit, with its delicate rufies
and its pale blue trimmings—so becoming! and before you
fasten the basque you bution your boots. Off comes the
buttons, spup! snap! as fast as you try to pull them into
the button holes, They must be sewed on, for Fitgzierbert
greatly admires a neal fool! You have heard him say so
more than once,

You get a needle, and it isn’t big enough, a you get
another, and it is too big—and when you have piiched
upou the right size at last, aud the buttons are about half
sewed on, the needle breuks, and the sharp point goes
uundér your thunib, and out spuris the blood, and makes
au ugly red spot on your exquisile overskirt,- and you
wast il outin the wash bowl], and find that your dress
Materialy shrinks and cockles horridly! and that treach-
erous dry goois clerk, of whom you bought it, assured you
with his hand upon his mauly breast, that it would wash
like. a piece of white muslin!

But then, perhaps bis ideas of the way in which a
piece of white muslin should wash may differ from yours.

You wy,to pin on your ruff—ruffs are so stylistil—and
the pin refuses to.go through the many thicknesses. You
give. iva forcible push, and it breaks, and down goes the
chain, With which it is connected, and your watch along
with it, and. strikes on the floor, and dashes out the crys-
tal, and breaks the mainspring!

You are vexed enough tocry, but you reflect that crying
makes your nose red; and that elegant Fitzherbert would
ever prupuse toa Woman willl ared nose, aud you swal-
low down your lachrymose inclinations.

About this time you discover that the draping is out of
your overskirt, and-a bow on the corsage is just dropping
off, You remedy these defects and are putting on your
bonnet just as you hear the rumbling of wheels on the
gravel below. Your heart beats like a trip-hammer, and
you are in such a hurry tliat. you get the wonderful struc-
ture of lace flounces, and French imagination, on hind
part before, and never discover it until you have got the
bow all nicely arranged, aud three or four of your best
curis sweetly mixed up with the blonde lace, and velvet,
and ostrich tips, and other things, over your foreheas,

The door-beil rings impatiently, and Sally comes to tell

‘ou that:

, “Misther Fitz is foreninst the door, and would you plaze
cum down quick, for Lhe basies is uuaisy, and a chawing
their Own leads off, to be shure.’

You hurry your bonnet on as it should be, snatch up
your gloves and parasol, and then discover that you have
not put on your cuffs. You look for them in frantic haste
—stimulated by the sounds of pawing gravel by the horses,
and impatient “Whoa’s” from their master.

Your face is burning crimson, and Fitzherbert admires
pale beauties. Oh, those cuffs!. You puunceupon them
at last—one on ihe bed, and the other under it—but the
sleeve butions are missing! No time to look four them—
you must wear your old ones—and your only consolation
therefor is the thought that it will make it easier for the
horses,

You t&ke a final look in the glass. Mercy! what a red
facel You dust on a little powder, in too much of a hurry
to see whiellrer it shows or not,

Down Stairs you hurry, to finda small well dug at your
front door by those impatient horses, and Filzherbert a
‘litle cold and distiatl, Which makes you a good deal more

SO.

You take only a short ride, and talk principally about
the weather.

You part at the door with a cold adieu.

You rush up to your chamber to have a good cry, bai
first you look in the glass, Heavens! there is a plain
sireak of that abominable chalk right down your left
Cheek! The side which was next to him! and you saw

 

 

 

 

Next day you seehim riding by with EvaGore. A week
afterward, an ill-natured gossip tells you that she heard
her brother's wife’s sister’s aun\’s oldest son sa that he
heard Fitzherbert’s mother say that her son said ite never,

Spey never would marry a woman who paintedt So
ere : * ;

And you know that Fitzherbert colors his whiskers and
touches up his eyebrows with India ink, but then he is a |
mau, and men have a right to do as they have a mind to!
It is Ouly Women wlio are expected to be true to naturel

KaTE THORN.

PASSING PARAGRAPHS,

— The late farewell engagement at Booth’s Theater
was remarkable financially as well as artistically.. It was
@ success both for the Cushman and the cash man,

— They had a Grant time in Chicago lately, when one
of the beauties of the city became an Honoré-ry member
of the President's family.

— The following conundrum wag propounded by a
Brooklynite, who had hastily risen from his bed, andin a
somewhat dishevelied condition was looking out of the
window at two o'clock on the morning of the 25th of Octo-
ber: “Why is the moon like one of our most eminent
citizens? Because it’s under an eclipse just now.”,

— A heavy gun—the new Episcopal canon against light
music in church. :

— There is a new order in Germany—the Order of the
Lyre, for people eminent in music and the drama. The
order of the liar ought to have been freely distributed in
Brooklyn the last three months, but not among musicians
and actors.

— Recently ladies went for the first time to the bottom
of the crater of Popocatepetl. The “crater” is no new
thing to New York women,

— A newspaper item says that a $400 lump of gold has
been taken out of the Dodge mine at Lisbon, N. H. Isn't
that an artful Dodge to increase the population of Lisbon ?

— The French have given six thousand francs to the
fund for the memorial of William the Conqueror at
Falaise. What sort of a memorial would the- Frencli like
to have of William, the conqueror at Sedan?

— Some discussion is going on as to the proper postal
rate for authors’ manuscripts. It ought to depend upon
whether they are going to the publishers or the paper-
makers,

— The World heads a long political article, “Grant's
Knell.” Ste is Sartoris’ Nell now.

— The Prospect, Park east side land is not to be sold
just yet; but people who bought lots expecting that land
to be included in the Park were sold loug ago.

— Navigating Long Island sound by kite power ts
rather dangerous sport. Some day there will be a melan-
choly tale to one of those kites.

— Every Saturday is dead, but the Age, with which it ‘
has been incorporated, is still Living.

— Rev. Dr. Tiffany, of Washington, preaches for the
President, but the President practices for himseif. ;
— Midas is Treasurer of the Brooklyn Charity Commis-
sion. Does he find everything turn to gold?

— Old folks and young folks will miss the Vokes, who
have gone to England.

— There are in this country nine million horses, and
fifty of Bergh’s societies to prevent cruelty to them.

— Dr. Ayer, of Lowell, is worth two millions, and his
sole ayer is a daughter.

— Jewell has a black diamond in his department—the
son of Fred. Douglass, whom he has lately appointed a
special postal agent. »

— Edmund About is said to be a restless man. Nat-
urally enough he is always about,

— The newest dwarf is General Dot, lately arrived at
Paris. ‘As Dot only weighs eighteen pounds and is small
in proportion, it would uot be surprising if he were under
Barnuw’s Thumb.

— There is in South End, Massachusetts, an umbrella

107 years old. It was made in the reign uf George IIL,
and has passed through many rains since. :

 

 

 

NEXT WEEK.
Glorious News for Our Juvenile Readers!
A LIVE STORY FOR THE BOYS!

BARE-BACK BILL;

es OR LE

THE FREAKS AND FORTUNES

OF A TOW-BOY.

By John F. Cowan,

Author of O’CONNOR’S CHILD; CHARLEY
GALE’S PLUCK; KANSAS KIT, ete.

 

 

Our juvenile readers should take note that next week,
in No. 4 of the NEw YoRK WEEKLY, will be commenced
a dashing story of canal life, entitled

Bare-Back Bill;

won LOR ae
The Freaks and Fortunes of a Tow-Boy.

In this story the young patrons or the NEw YORK WEEKLY
will find a sparkling, racy, and exciting description of a

Peculiar Phase of Boy Life,

in which the “coming man’ is foreshadowed in all his
eccentricities, with all

Elis Recklessness of Consequences,

 

His Pun and Frivolity,
His Jokes and Jollity,

and withal the pathos that is truly said to go hand in hand
with mirth.
All boys who ever drove a team, or saw one driven on

 

 

the tow-path, who ever sighed for the repose of the

Unfrequented Heel-path,

or dared the

Many Dangers of the Raging Canal,
should read Oak

Bare-Back Bill,

in which he wil find a
True and Lively Picture
of life in that school of character where nature is not

siraight-waistcoated, and good and bad are equally allowed
development, and appear in their true colors, showing

The Force of Malice and
the Strength of Truth,

setting bravery and cowardice in powerful coutrast, and
showing how a strong heart will be true to itself even
under the most adverse circumstances.

Tne gymnastic feats of Bare-Back Bill, the musical
vagaries of Little Rhodie, the theatrical schemes of Ar-
mand Montcalm, the fate of Mother Mint, and the vivid
portrayal of the scenes in the Gipsy Camp, taken together
with all the humors and excitement of the source from
which many of our gallant ocean traversers are derived,
will make

. Bare-Back Bill

a pleasing and instructive story for the readers of the

New York Weekly.

 

 

him looking lard at your face more than once!
Ou, dear! dear! it all comes of being in a hurry!

It will be cqgmmenced next week.

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

THE TWO PATHE.

 

BY NATHAN D. URNER.
At a point where the path branched into twain
We came, sweet Marion Grey and I,
And were fairly puzzled which one to choose,
For both were bright in the early dew,
With the little brook murmuring nigh.

One passed through the meadows, one plunged in the wood.
“We will take the shady one,” Marion said;

And on through many a leafy mile

We loitered; and ever at hand the while
The little brook laughed in ils bed.

The emerald June, with wild festoon,
Whispered of love as we strayed along;
And we could not but note in the noontide’s beam
That the brook had swelled to a potent stream,
With breadth and depth to its song.

But at last we came to an Autumn Jand,

Where our pathway stopped at a silent town,
While the path of the meadows, which we forsook,
There also closed; and the babbling Brook

To a mighty River was grown.

A City or Silence, the home of the dead,

Its marble houses rose* spectrally ;
And on through the fading and twilight land,
With organ-voices hollow and grand,

The River rolled to the Sea.

With heavy sadness I drooped and pined;

But good, kind Marion—friend in need—
Embraced me, and sighed in the voice so blest:
“And is not this the City of Rest, —~

To which all pathways lead ?

“Type of our lives is the tiny Brook
That first to Stream, then to River expands.
Is it less of a Stream that it finds a home
At last in the world of illimitable foam—
' The offspring of many lands ?””

Sweet Marion Grey! with her white hand
O’er the City of Rest she directed me;

And beyond, in the moonlight fairily bright,

Starred with islands and bridged with light,
1 beheld the beautiful Sea. :

Saved by Her Blood;

OR, THE

DUNGEON OF TREVYLIAN CASTLE.
By Grace Gordon.

(“Saved by Her Blood”’ was commenced in No. 51. Back Nos.
can be obtained of any News Agent in the United States.j

CHAPTER XI.

The beautiful bay of Naples was lying in its still beauty
beneath the full moon of a jovely summer evening,

The Qountess Ramouski was standing inside the open
balcony window in an upper apartment of the cottage de-
scribed in a former chapter.

The roomin which she stood was a boudoir, inside
which was her dressing-room. s

The boudoir was furnished with the same beantifal sim-
plicity which marked the rest of the cottage. A richiy-
toned cabinet piano, in an ormolu and gold case; a harp,
the frame of which was a marvel of chaste gilding; mur-
rors, fine pictures, dark-blue and gold furniture of the
richest veivet; crystal chandeliers glittering with hun-
dreds of rose-cut pendants, reflecting back the softened,
Juxurious light of the pink wax candies with which the
room was lighted.

The countess stood inside the apariment, looking over
from the open balcony wiudow on the fair scene, below,
above, where sea and sky seemed to be one.

She was dressed in full ball costume. If she had had
her own will she would have speut the evening alone, and
in the quiet repose of her own room. But in the morning
she had promised her husband before his departure that
she would attend the bali at the house of the British em-
bassy, and she dressed early, so that she could rest pre-
vious lo the time she expecied her cousin, Lord Colambre,
to accompany her in place of her absent lord.

Sle was thinking of the events of the morning, and said
to herself:

“Can lever expect.my heart to beat quietly again?
Can 1 ever know the happiness of my past iife? To what
a hfe of deceit and unrest hus the sight I saw, the words
1] heard this morning, cousigued me? How strange that
the oue I loved so dearly, mourned for with such persist-
eut sorrow foreight long years, Ishould now dread and

~joath as the evil star of my destiny. And yet it is not
Sirfange. The love of my girlhood was-hondsome, gay,
and gentienanty, his words sounded like sweet music;
this terrible.man is coarse and low, his words conched in
language as Common as Lie clothes he wears. Yet, alas!
alas! he las the face and ‘features of my girlhood’s love;
it 18 impossible there could be any mistake. My eyes, my
ears, every sense but my poor fluttering heart tells
meitis he. Before he spoke one word l knew. him; |
could have told my doom as surely at that moment as I
can now, There is but one way in wWhichitcanend. It
may be lengthened out—he may be bought off for months,
or perhaps for years, but the end must cume at last. And
between this time and the day that is to end it all 1am to
Jead a life of deceit the most horrible, because I ain of my
own will deceiving one whio is dearer to me than life.
And when the denouement comes, and he will Know all,
he will despise and hate me for this last act of deceit, this
living day by day as his wife, knowing that I am bound to
that low, Coarse man, more than for the past long false-
hood to which I gave iny tacit acknowledgment. Oh, it
is too terrible to think of it. Surety it would be better far
to go away to some foreign laud, wliere the sight of his
hhaudsome face, the sound of his dear voice could never
come to haunt me with the memory of the happiness I
Lave lost.” ; ia

A click of the garden gate drew her eyes from the sea
and sky they had rested ou for the last quarter of an hour,
to the garden under the balcony.

And there, coming up the drive with the same lounging
-8tep he had used in tue moruing, was the sailor who had
turned all the happiness of her ljifeinto gall and worm-
wood.

“Merciful Heaven!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands
in agony. ‘There he is. cometotorment me before the
time. Oh, my Heavenly Father!” she said, closing her
eyes abshie apeke the words, ‘give me strength to choose
the right path, however full of thorns it may seem; for-
gelling my own mean self seeking, may Lat all hazard act
worthy of Adolph Ramouski’s wile.”

Standing as she did in front of the lighted chandelier,
her figure appeared in full relief to the gaze of the man
Who looked upon her asif she were a vision of beauly.
Her trailing white satin dress with its costly flounces of
antique lace, looped willl long wreaths of purple and
crimson woruing glories, was suci as he had never befure
looked on. Her tiara of diamouds, her necklace and
bracelets of the same priceless gems, which had been in
the Ramouski family for centuries, made the man’s avari-
cious uature leap within him. :

“Ha, hat? Baid he, almost aloud. “It is as old Ludovick
said. The Ramouskies are rich in jewels. If every one of
these diamonds dou’t find their way into my hands before
jong, I deserve to be whipped fur my stupidity, that’s
ail.’ ’

lie saw her clasp her hands in agony, saw her elose her
eyes during her silent prayer, knew well the look of
horror on cheek and brow; and he felt no pity, had no
mercy on the poor, stricken woman, from whose life he
had blotted out every ray of peuce,

lie turned the knob of the door, It yielded to his touch,
and walking into the lighted hall, he quickly made his way
up to the room where the unfortunate countess stood in
her despair.

Her very misery gave her a strength not her own as she
turned to him wita all the hauteur she was mistress of,
and said:

**What brings you here ?’?

“I came to see you, my dear,’? was the sailor’s cool re-
ply. ‘i heard your count woulda’t be back till to-morrow,
aud I thought you might be lonesome without one or
other of us.”

The man chuckled as he spoke, while Eugenie’s eyes
flashed fire with the rage which was fast taking place of
the fear and despair she felt a few minutes before.

**] desire that you leave this house’ instantly, and that
you no more trouble me with your hateful presence.”

“Hoity, toity; we’re on our high horse, are we? Well,
Til not Jeave this house till you come with me, or you
give me some of the jewels you have on,’?

“The jewels are my nobie husband’s, and you shall
never touch one of thein; I desire-——”

He interrupted her with:

“Faith, Ul touch them and take them too,”’ seizing her
arm as he spoke.

She twisted her arm from his grasp, and darting across
the room to where the bell pull hung, exclaimed in a de-
termined voice:

‘If you don’t leave me instantly, I shall haye every man
in the house round you in a moment, and in half au. hour
you shall be in prison for robbing.”

“Not if I kuow it,” was his reply.** It’s not robbing for
& Man to lake Off the jewels his wile wears,’’

He aguin approached her, when she laid hold of the bell
rope, and said in a deliberate tone:

“I have made up my mind to leave this house; itis the
Bame to me if 1 go now or to-morrow. Move’ but a step
Sud you shall be in firm keeping to-night)?

“A very pretty paragrapli for the morning’s paper that
would make. No, I don’t want that, let’s make a com-
pact. You give me the diamonds, the whole lot of them,
&n’ I'll never come near you again. You can scream aud
make a row when in off, and say you’ve been robbed,”

She stood with bated breath, looking on the wretch who
Was tempting her to become a felon.

Be wisunuderstood her silence, construing it into hesi-
tation, and said: ,

‘Ill take any oath you like never to come near you
again. 1] even take another name aud Jet Neville slide.”

“Sitence, wretch) she cried, as she shook with passion
and _self-detestation that she could ever have done in the
past what would expose her to the degradation’of such a
Proposition. “My cousin, Lord OColambre, will be here
shortly, He shall know all; and this nigtit you will be
cousigued by him, at my instauce, to the jail of Naples,”

 

 

 

 

{the sound of approaching wheels was heard in the dis-

“Hal There he is,” she exclaimed in glad tones, as

tance. “Thank Heaven, he will end this.
can have no power over me.’ *

She flew past him, out on the balcony, stretching out
her arms to the approaching vehicle, and as she did 80,
calling aloud, ‘“Colambre, Colambre !?

“Ye needn’t make such a divi) of a noise,” said the
sailor; ‘I’m off, and perhaps I won’t come near ye again
unless my wife dies,” 4 ;

As he spoke he left the house ata much quieker pace
than that he had used in entering it, saying to himself:

“What a she-divil she is. I woutdn’t take a bargain of her,
silk and flounces and all. I wish I mayn’t have spoilt my
good fortune; that rampagin’ woman would as soon throw
herself in the sea just now as not.’ I’m afraid my cursed
greed has killed the goose wi’ the golden eggs. By golly,
thavs not Lord Colambre’s coach after all. ‘That’s a good
thought,” said he with a hoarse laugh, “Il! take a small
message from her ladyship to Lord Colambre; and tell
him he’s not wanted, and she’ll have time to cool her
coppers before to-morrow morning. Gad, she’ll not tell a
word of it. By taking it easy 1 can tap the cask at odd
times ali the term of my natural life.’

Eugenie saw the carriage pass, and looking at the clock
on the mantieshelf, knew that Lord Golambre would not
come for overan hour. She did not take an instant for4
refiection, but ringing for her maid, said:

“Write a note in my name to Lord Colambre, saying I
am too unwell to go to» the ball to-night, aud have it sent
at once.”?

‘lam glad, my lady, you are not to go out; your cheeks
and lips are like scarlet, and when | was dressing you,
you trembled as if you was going to take a fever. Won't
I wait to undress you first?”

“No, I shall undress without your help. You need not
come up again till I ring for you.”

‘Whatever is the matter ?? asked the girl of herself, as
she went off to write the note. “I have been with her for
fourteen years, and I never saw her like this before.”

Eugenie removed the jewels with trembling haste, and
putting them into her jewel case, locked and Jaid it on her
dressing table, her dress was next taken off as quickly as
the tremor in her heart would permit her hands to work.
When off, the beautiful satin robe, fit garb for a princess,
was Cast aside as if it had been a thing of naught. The
flowers she had worn in her bosom, a bunch of moss
roses, she laid on her husband’s dressing table, first wind-
ing round the stems a slip of white paper, on wiich was

A bigamist

 

wrilten: “For my darling Adoiph.”

“These will be withered and dead by the time he sees
them,’’-said she, great tears falling down on the flowers
as she spoke, ‘‘fit emblem of the lost, wrung heart which
will beat for iim while it has life.’ .

She dressed herself in the simplest dress she had—a black
silk wilh very little trimming, and putting a change of
linep in a small yalise, she went to the room where the
children slept, :

Bending over each fair face, she kissed the sleeping girls
Many times, her tears falling down like rain.

Her sleeping children, lying in her sight, were fast tak-
ing away her resolution.

“Ohl? she exclalined, clasping her hands iu agony of
sou, ‘how can I leave them—my happy home, my dar-
ling iusband, all 1 have loved so dearly—to wander alone
among strangers, perhaps in bitter poverty unto my life’s
end? And yet how can | tell him that I have beew a false
deceiver from the first hour | saw him—that Eugenie Fitz-
gerald was a wife and a mother years before she ever saw
his face. Alas! he with his high temper, his hatred of
everything false and low, would spurn ine from him. No,
there is but one path left for me to tread, my life must.
end in the poverty and toil 1 made choice of the night 1
left Colambre Castle. 1t is not possible that Count
Ramouski could permit a woman to live with him as his
wife whose first husband is alive—a man low enough to
become a felon.’?

She kneit at the bedside of her children, and prayed to
her Father in Heaven to keep them from the terrible fate
which had been hers,

She kissed them again, with closed eyes, and hurried
from the room. She could not trust herself to look again
on what she held so dear, and must never see again, until
the ume of the restitution of all things.

A moment more she wasin her boudoir, her hat and
Sealskin jacket on, speaking to Lovell.

The nan wore a face whiter and of deeper dejection than
her own, as he replied to what she had told.him:

“‘My dear lady, think of what you are doing. You can-
not. work for yourself; you do not know the meaning of
such a life—your heart would burst first. For mercy’s
Sake let me go with you. Ican work, but you—never,”

“it must be all just as I say,’? replied the countess, with
& calmuess Of demeanor strangely in contrast with the
passionate beating of her heart. “You have sworn aud
called the holy saints to witness, that you will do my bid-
ding. Will you break your oath already ?”?

“Lt will never break it; 1 wiliserve you wiiile I have life
and breath. I carried yein my arms when ye was bita
yearling; | foilowed ye when ye was a Slip ofa girl, ri-
ding the woods an’ hilis on your pony, an’ {followed ye
whin ye wint wid him ’at the whole world widu’t Keep
ye from, an’ if ye'll no Jet me go wid ye now to be your
servant till ye die, yell make me the sorrowfulest man
that ever walked on green grass,”’

The old man generally spoke as good English as his
Vetters, bUL in WIS distress at the prospect of being sepa-
rated from one whom he had almost Worshiped since the
day she was born, his tongue went back to the language
of a youtli—the Janguage of his own and Eugeuie’s loved
land. ; ;

“You cannot come with me now, Lovell. You have to
wait and watca over my children, and by your oath and
the love you bear to me, I conjure you to guard them
well. And when each girl reaches her fifteenth year,
aud a Saxon lover comes to woo them, with the Saxon’s
fair face and smooth speech, as he did to me, and they
will not heed their futher, but would go to their destruc-
tion even as their poor lost mother, then——”

She paused for a moment, and looking the old man full
in the face, said:

“I bid you thiuk on Gern’s steel.”

The old man sank on his knees before her, and said in
a clear, solemn tone which rang through the apartment:

‘1 will do your bidding unto blood’?

Eugenie sat silent for some moments, her hands cover-
ing her face. It was the last Slruggie; she rose with a
face whiter than many go to the grave with, and follow.
ed by the old man, left her beautiful home by the bay of
Naples, never to enter its doors again. '

When outside the gate she turned round to look once
nore on the home where she was so beloved and honored.

Her children had wakened up as she left their room,
aroused probably by her Kisses. They were both at the
window in their night-gowns, looking out on the moonlit
lawn.

They saw their mother’s face as she looked up, and
smiling they ki:sed their hands, and nodded their little fair
heads,

The next sight was almost too much for the poor
mother, and she hurried on, shrinking with dread of the
unknown future. Que only part of her Weary lot slie re-
alized now-as surely as sie would on the day when she
laid down to die, In storm orshine—in weal or woe—she
must never look into Adoiph Ramouski’s eyes, never
touch his hand again. Ald she cries'aloud in her great
despair:

“Adolph! Adolph—adieu forever more!’

CHAPTER XII.

“It will be twenty minutes before the train starts for
Broughton?” said Sir Ralph Trevyliau, addressing the
ucket clerk at the railway station of St. Armand’s.

“Yes, sir; full twenty minutes,”

“Gan you allow me to sit and smoke my cigar by your
fire? The night is cold, and I hate to sit among those
fellows in whut you call the gentlemen's Waiting-room.”’

As Sir Raiph spoke he threw his card down on the tick-
et clerk’s desk, The young man looked at it, and imme-
diately placed a chair vy the stove, replying in a manner
befitting the rank of his visitor.

Sir Ralph was in no very good humor. His interview
with tne doctor’s wife had resulted in her threatening
him with exposure, as having desired her husband to put
“save woman in irons, and also to lash her until she con-
sented tO an uunatural and unlawful marriage, ending
up by bidding him séarch for Ethel himself if he wanted
her; she could not trouble herself avout any one but her
husband, a*

Now Sir Ralph had searched in every direction for
twenty intles round, and could obtain no tidings of the
one he so earnestly desired to have in his power,

He was now on his way home to Trevylian, thinking
that most likely Eihel had preceded him ihere in search
of her child, and that probably he would come in contact
With her, or, at all events, learn something by which he
could get ou her track.

He sat smoking his cigar there in anything but a pleas-
ant mood, when suddenly he was attracted by some one
talking to the ticket clerk, in a voice very like that of the
one he sought. The voice came from the ladies? Waiting-
room, the person speaking to the clerk through a window
iv the ticket office which opened into the ladies’ room.

“I want a ticket for Broughton,” were the first words
that fell on his ear.

‘First-class ?? asked the. clerk.

“Oh, yes. When will the train arrive at Broughton ???

‘About four o’clock in the morning.”

The voice to which Sir Ralph listened with such rapt
attention, said iu a lower tone, as if speaking to a friend
outside the ticket office window:

“Oh, that is such a good time. I can easily walk up to
tie porter’s lodge by five o'clock, and the woman at the
lodge will go up to the castle and find out about the
child before Sir Ralph is awake, 1 have no fear of getting
him off with me.” ‘

“Well, (i not so sure about that,’ said another femaie
voice, which Sir Ralph at once recognized ag that of the

peasant’s wife, Whose cottage he had searched in vain for

thel in the morning; “but at any rate you'll be more sat-
isfled after ye have seen the little fellow, if it were only at
a distance; an’ if ye cannot get him with you,. you can
chi go straight to London au’ take the law on'the old
Villain.

Sir Ralph smiled in fleudish triumph as he listened to
their words, é

The ticket clerk, who had been absent getting the tick-
et while Ethel and Dolly spoke of the child, how returned,
and Sir Ralph sigued to him not to close the window.

‘I. must go now,’ suid Dolly; “it will take me all my
time to be back before Bill comes home. * Good-by, and
Heaven speed you. Wll be sure to be here to meet you the
night after to-morrow, an’ 1’ll keep your child, an’ be real
good to him.* ,

“I know you'll be good to him, and you must take this
Wate and chain. I wish I had something better to give
you.” .

“Indeed, I won't take your breautiful watch and chain;
it’s too fine for tre like o? me.”

 

 

my life. You'll offend me very much if you don’t. So
good-by, and be sure to meet me here again.”?

“Well, it’s too bad to take your pretty watch from you.
Ill give it to Bill, an’ tell him whatI did, an’ he’ll_ see it
was for the best. He had a silver watch once, but he was
forced to sell it the winter we was so ill off.”

“Good-by!””

“Good-by!”

The earl’s daughter and the peasant woman kissed one
another, and the former sat Watching with tearful eyes
the figure of her humble friend, as it disappeared in the
distance.

‘The whistle sounded, the train had come, and in a few
minutes Ethel was comfortably seated in the car, congra-
tulating herself that in a short time she would be in the
porter’s lodge, and insall probability before another night
closed, she would have her child in her arm.

The railway officials were busy lighting the lamps. The
compartment Ethel satin was still enveloped in darkness,
and she sat with closed eyes enjoying the repose and ease
offered by the cushioned seat.

Some one came in; she heard low talking to the con-
ductor, and then in the same moment the train Started,
and the lamp in the passage was turned up, flooding the
compartment she sat in with light.

Sir Raiph Trevylian was seated opposite to her, his eyes
fixed on her face!

Her eyes fora moment lost the power of sight, her
heart stopped its beating, and she jooked around her to
see if there was any possibility of escape. If at that mo-
ment she could have thrown herself uuder the wheels of
the car, she would have done so.

“Compose yourself, my love,” said Sir Ralph, in a soft
voice, as ifaddressing one who had been bis life com-
panion—one whom he had never injured.

And as he spoke he seated himself closely beside the
poor frightened girl, encircling her waist with his arm.

Ethel shrieked aloud for help, but in vain. Her strug-
gles only served to make her tormentor clasp her more
closely to his bosom, and eudeavor to smother her cries
with his hated kisses,

It seemed to Ethel that by this gross insolence he was
endeavoring to drive her mad in reality, so that he might

with impunity consign her toa madhouse, and thus glut
his feelings of revenge for her scorn.

She was mistaken. The man was passionately in love
with her, was determined to possess her at all risks, on
any terms, if by fair means; well, if not, he would try
foul—more foul than even those he had already had re-
course to, .

Twice during the night the door of the compartment
in which they sat was opened by the conductor. Each
time Ethel prayed to the man in beseeching words to
rescue her from the embrace of the hated man who held
her so firmly in his strong arms.

Sir Ralph merely touched his forehead Significantly with
his forefinger, pointing to her soiled and crushed dress,
and muttering some indistinct words. It was sufiicient.
The man quietly withdrew, giving Sir Ralph a look ol
respectful sympathy.

Ou the second occasion Ethel thought she distinguished
the words “‘my daughter” as what her tormentor said to
the conductor.

“I am not his daughter!’ she exclaimed, with earnest
vehemence. “I am the wife of his son, wJiom he has
perliaps murdered, and he wants me to marry him. For
the love of Heaven, rescue me from him.”

The conductor made no reply, only lwoked on her with
an air of commiseration. §

Sir Ralph sighed deeply, and as the conductor closed
the door, they heard him) say to some one outside:

“There’s a good-lookin’ woman in there that’s as mad
asa March hare. Shesays her father has-killed her hus-
band, and wants to marry her himself.

“Ha, hal? laughed his companion; “that would be a
grand marriage! Isu’t it curious, when women go mad
their thoughts mostly run on love and matrimony ??

It was the same at Broughton station. While going
from the railway Cars to Sir Ralph’s carriage, Ethel en-
deavored wilh all her strength to resist being taken to the
carriage or entering it, piteously imploring the bystanders
to be merciful and rescue her. Several of these she knew
as tradespeople whom she and her husband used to em-
ploy.

Her applications were in vain. Sir Ralph haa only to
signify she was mad, and all looked on with pitying iaces
—none wouid dare to interfere.

Ou their arrival at the castle they were met in the hal)
by a pretty-looking woman, apparently about forty years
of age, who greeted Sir Ralph with familiarity, almost
With affection.

“Mrs. Nugent,”? said Sir Ralph, addressing her, “I have
brought home this lady, the widow of the late Mr. Regi-
nald Trevylian. She is weak in body and mind. 1 trust
to you for her being taken care of. “Let her be taken to
One of the rooms she formerly occupied, and every atten-
tion paid her.”

* * * * * * *

It is well, before we go farther, tosee what Sir Regi-
nald, or, we should say, plain Reginald Trevylian—you
See he has lost his tide—is duing and thinking down in
his dungeon.

He felt uis situation as keenly as it is possible for human
nature to feel the utmost point of degradation and misery.
His temperament was sensitive in the extreme, so per-
haps he mourned the loss of air, light, liberty, more than
liost men would.

But Reginald Trevylian was not a selfish man, on the
conirary, instead of me, my and mine, his thoughts were
bent, in his prosperity, on they, you, yours. And now, in
such dire.misforiune as, thank Heaven, falls to the lot of
Ouly one in @ huudred thousand; his own hard fate, per-
soually, was not his worst trouble.

His prison tife, his bed of skins, his hard fare, the star-
vation he was threatened with, occurred not to him for a
moment. He thought day and night of his wife, one
whom he had wooed and won from poverty, one who,
Dy ithstanding her highbirth, would have liad to teach
for her bread but for him. Of his little son, who, together
with his mother, might have to endure the hardest fate
this world has in store for the 1elpiess, if it would be im-
possible for him, the father dud husband, to go to the
rescue of mother and child.

Aud so he set himself to devise means by which he
might escape from his dungeon, and save his loved ones
froin a fate worse than death. With his penknife he tried
if it were possible to make an impression on the walls.
If this could be done, then by patience and hard work he
might make holes in the wall large enough for his feet
and hands to climb up Lo the open space which let in air
and light. If he could effect this he had no fear of some
day being able to make kuown his situation to those who
would give him liberty within the hour,

True, the dungeon wall was twenty feet high, but this
was nothing. If he could only make one Impression, he
would Make every one up to the top. When this was
was done, he wouid have to climb up there, and so re-
main, day after day, watching and waiting for boat or
yacht, sail or oar. He conld do that also. Weeks and
months were spentin ying over and over again to cut
one inch into the wall. :

Alas! alas! the walls were built of solid stone, cemented
With a cement so hard, ag to be almost more compact,
more Solid, than the stone itself. He had failed once; he
Weald try again, this time ve brain and hands both.

se

“Come, and get your dose of bread and water,” Sir
Raiph called out in surly tones, addressng his son from
the top of the ladder, while he spoke letting down the
water-flask, together with a loaf of-stale bread.

The gray dawn was just beginning to give light to the
dungeon, such light as conld come through the narrow
opening, high up in the wall already spoken of, at five of
the sides which formed the octagon of the tower.

The captive was walking back and forth between the
pillars, He Came al once to ihe side wall, took the flask.
and bread, Jayiug both on the floor.

“You must be very abstemious if you do not want to
drink after a three days’ fast,” Sir Ralph said in a jarring
tone of voice,

“I would rather hear something about my wife, if I can
believe what you say. You told me when you were here
last that you were going to see her in the madhouse to
which you had consigned her.”

“Dil tell you whatl know about her, and you can be-
lieve itor not, just as you please. Sheisin the castle,
arrived here with me within the hour She is just as
much @ prisoner as yourself, but her surroundings are
different. She will never leave this castle, not for one
hour, except as my wife, I have already told you that
you are not my son, and the world knows it now—1 have
pul it through the Jength and breadth of the jand. And
1 shall marry her, or perhaps I will Jeaye the mere cere-
mony until she sues to me.”

The young man answered not. He walked up and
down between the pillars in untold agony of soul, but he
mastered himself to utter no word, give no sign.

‘Don’t you wish you could get out?” inquired his tor-
mentor,

“I hope I shall get out some day.”

“Hal hal? Jaughed the wicked old man, as he looked
exullingly on the long strides and quickened pace of the
captive, the only outward token of the storm which raged
in his soul. “Didn't 1 tell you it couldnt be done? I told
you to save you the trouble I had in trying. There is
only. one way, witich is through that gate,”—uas he spoke
Sir Ralph pointed with his bony hand iu the direction of
the iron gate—** and through it you shall never go.”

“I will never cease trying while | have life.??

“Long life to ye; ] hope ye won't tire. Your spirits
will escape, if what the churchman tells us is true, but
your body never!”

Could Sir Ralph have descended into that dangeon and
lifted the skins on witich he himself had Jain 80 Inany
weary years he would have seen there evidence of the
(Wath of what the young man said.

Piles on piles of work, wrought with close toil, and
guarded with zZeaious care from the dungeon’s damp,
work which Reginald Trevylian hoped would one day
bring about his release.

Could Sir Ralph Trevylian watch his captive during the
hours of dim daylight which visited the dungeon from
morn to night, he would there see the young man seated
on the damp floor, in the focus of light made by the rays
sent from the five apertures in the wall, untiringly work-
ing from the first glimpse of dawn until’ the darkness came
to stop his labors,

Aud could he look into the future would see there that
the work so earnestly pursued was to be one link in the
complicated chain which destiny was already weaving to
free the captive and bring upon himself a fate the bravest
would shudder to centemplate.

Weil, the wise and good of us cannot tell what a day
may bring forth. A

It was not possible that a man whose IMe had been spent
in evil continually would see beyond the passing jour,

* * * oe * * oe

Ethel was now a second timea prisoner in the same

 

 

 

“You must take it, lowe mny liberty to you—perhaps

rooms, next to the dressing-room, where her child and
she had seen Sir Ralph come frou the wardrobe.

<s THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. se

 

The woman into whose care she was consigned did not
by any means like the idea of Sir Ralph bringing a young,
beautiful woman to the-castle.

She herself, twelve years before, had been a flame of
Sir Ralph’s, an humble one, it is true, but nevertheless
one whom he was on the point of marrying, had made up
his miud to marry the very day he became an inmate of
the dungeon. ;

A lew days after Ethel was sent to the asylum at Beth-
any, Sir Ralph met Mrs. Nugent, and recognized in her
his old flame, Miss Allison.

She had been a wife anda widow gince she had last
seen him, and it required but little persuasion to induce
i = accept the situation of housekeeper at Trevylian

astle,

Since her arrival there she had always sat at the same
table with Sir Ralph, had several times been reminded of
their old love passages, and not unfrequently had to re-
prove him for pressing his withered lips to her fresh, rosy
cheek and lip.

Now these gallantries of his were all meant as mere at-
tentions to his old love—on his part, attentions which he
hoped would make his housekeeper more interested in
himself, more devoted to his service. Atfd so they did.
But you see Mrs. Nugent had come to Trevylian on pur-
pose to get Sir Ralpli’s heart back again, and so become
Lady Trevylian, and she had no fancy for another woman
there younger and more beautiful than herself, no matter
What relationship she claimed to Sir Ralph.

Besides, had Sir Ralph not told her and many more that
Sir Reginald was not his son, only a child he had adopted ?
And had not the female servants told her weeks before
or pg Ralph was dying in love with his adopted son’s
wife

No, she did not like Ethel being there one bit, and
while she was yet speaking to her iu the hall she had de-
termined as soon as possible to get rid of her.

So she was suave and kind to Ethel, and tried to win
her confidence. And when she found that Ethel hated
Sir Ralph, and would kill herself rather than marry him,
she at once formed a friendship for her, and promised all
the assistance in making her escape she could possibly
give, without compromising herself with Sir Ralph.

“Will you bring me my little boy?” asked Ethel. Im-
mediately on entering her rooms she had expected to find
him there, and gone to his little cot, fancying he would be
lying there in his rosy sleep. ,

“Your little boy! replied Mrs, Nugent, in dismay. She
had heard of her child’s being lost after his mother’s de-
parture from the castle, but in. her anxiety for the safe
proaxcee of her own love affair, had forgotten all about

iin, :

And the good-natufed woman thought ofa little child
of ier own, lying asleep down in Broughton churchyara,
and dreaded to tell this poor mother that her boy was
inost likely lving under the waters of the lake.

But Ethel had to be told that her boy was gone, that she
should never see his face, never hear his voice again, un-
til the archangel would come and place one foot on tlie
land and one foot on the sea, and sound the trumpet, and
summon the living and the dead, small and great, to stand
before God. ;

And so Ethel wept and would not be comforted, because
her son was not. ;

Well, there are lost children and weeping mothers every
day and everywhere on this sin-stained earth. Ouly other
mothers have strong mento come beside them, and to
put their hands lovingly on their shoulders aud speak
words of consolation in their ears. And so they are com-
forted ‘‘even as one whom his mother comforteth,”?

But Ethel, poor Ethel, her husband gone, lier child gone
—alone—alone.

She bowed her head in her great despair, her lips mute,
her heart uttering a wild cry: i

‘All Thy billOws and waves are gone over me!? My
burden is greater thau i can bear!? :

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

A Mad Marriage.

“SUCH A MAD MARRIAGE NEVER WAS BEFORE.”
: Taming of the Shrew

 

By Mrs. May Agnes Fleming,

Author of WEDDED, YET NO WIFE, A WON-
DERFUL WOMAN, A TERRIBLE SECRET,
NORINE’S REVENGE, etc., etc.

 

[A Mad Marriage” was commenced in No. 39: Back Nos. can
be had of News Dealers in the United States and the Cauadas.]

PART THIRD.

CHAPTER V.
WHAT LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM SOMETIMES COMES TO.
It is twelve o’clock, more or less, by all the clocks

 

 

 

and watches of Paris—high noon by the broad
brightness which is pouring a flood of golden light
through the blue silk curtains, over the glass, and
silver, and china of a dainty breakfast-table set for
two, over two blonde English heads—Lord and Lady
Dynely. e

They are breakfasting tete-a-tete, and in profound
silence. His lordship hides a very sulky, dissatisfied
and conscious face; behind that day’s Moniteur. Her
ladyship, on the other side of the big shining urn,
droops over her teacup, pale as:the dainty cashmere
robe she wears, with blue eyes that look jaded and
dull from want of sleep. She has not slept all night,
and it tells upon her not used to “tears 0’ nights in-
stead of slumber.” In the garish, pitiless morning
sunshine, the pretty little face looks wofully wan
and piteous, poor child, and he seesit: how can he
fail to see it, and is in a fine rage with her and with
himself in consequence. No words have passed be-
tween them Poe last night—no words as yet.
That pleasant conjugal debate is still to come. “He
had found her feigning sleep, the tears undried upon
her thin cheeks—so peachily plump only five weeks
ago—then like the heart of a blush rose—now paler
than the palest lily. This morning only monysyllables
have been exchanged, but the tug of war is to come,
and although he dréads it horribly—as he dreads
and hates all things unpleasant to his own super-fas-
tidious selfishness—his lordship throws down the
paper at last and begins.

“I suppose,” he says, in avoice he tries not to
render harsh, but which is. “I suppose you know
Dennison came last night? Confounded meddling
prig! Isuppose you know, or will know, he followed
me, and tried to play parson for my benefit. I won-
der now I did not knock him down for his imperti-
nence—I will, by Jove, if he tries it again. I hope,
Crystal, you did not send him ?”

She shrinks and shivers away at his tone—at his
words. He sees it, and the sting of remorse that
follows and tells him he is a brute; hardly tends to
add to his good humor.

“Did you send him ?” he angrily repeats.

She lifts her eyes for an instant to his irritated
face, then drops them, shrinking into herself more
and more.

“I sent no one,” she answers, in a voice so low as
to be hardly audible.

“Oh,” Eric says, in a grumbling tone.
him though. He was here ?”

“He was here—yes,”

‘How did he know so well where to find me then?
I told you I was going to dine with some fellows at
the Cafe de Paris,”

“Yes, ou told me,” she repeats, in the same faint
voice.. Then she looks suddenly up at him and her
blue eyes flash. ‘We went to the theater, Eric,”
she says, boldly.

“To the ——,” so astounded is’ Lord Dynely that
the last word fails on his lips.

“To the theater—yes,” Crystal goes on quickly
and gaspingly. ‘I wanted to go—it wasn’t his fault,
poor fellow—I asked him to take me—I made him
take me.” ?

“And may I ask,” says his lordship, with labored
politeness, and turning quite white with anger,
“which theater you honored with your preference ?
Les Italiens, no doubt ?”

“We went to the Varieties. We saw that woman.
We saw you,” she answers in the same gasping tone.

His lips set themselves with slow, intense anger—
his blue eyes gleam with a dangerous light,

“You saw that woman! Be more explicit, if you
please, Lady Dynely. You saw what woman ?”

“That actress. That wicked, painted, dancing
woman, And we saw you. You threw her the
flowers I gave you. She wore them in her hair,
And then you were in the box with her—as if—ag

ff stiles

“You saw

7

But Crystal can say no more. At the recollection
of his looks, as he bent over that woman, she
breaks utterly down, covers her face and bursts into
passionate weeping.

He is white to the lips now—white with an anger
that has something quite deadly in it. She is his
bride of but six weeks, and she sits yonder sobbing
her heart out, but he never softens or relents. Who
is to gauge for us of the capabilities of evil that are
within us? All his life Lord Dynely had been taken
by superficial observers for a kind-hearted gentle-
man, free of hand and large of heart, who would not
willingly injure a worm—all his life he had taken
himself to be a good-natured fellow—tender-hearted,
indeed, to a fault; and now he sits watching his
wife with a glance that is absolutely murderous.
With it all he is so astounded that it is a moment be-
fore he can spéak.

“You did this?” he says at last, ina slow, cruel,
Suppressed sort. of voice. ‘You played the spy upon
me—you! You A your old lover the cue, did
you—you dragged him after me to the theater to
Bpy ae me, You're a fool, Crystal; and, by Heaven,
yow'll live to repent it!” ‘

She gave a gasping cry. “He arose from his seat,
flung down his paper, and stood before her, white
with rage.

 

—— —

i se
“It is a thousand pities,” he says witha sneer, that

for the moment blots out all the fair Greek beauty
of his face, “that I did not let you marry Dennison.

He’s in love with you yet—no doubt your old pen-
chant too is as strong as ever. Jt was not his fault,
poor fellow.. May I ask where you and Mr.’Dennison
are going together to-night 2”:

She looks up.at him—her eyes all wide and wild,
with a bewildered sort of horror. Eric has insulted
her—insulted her. She tries to speak, but only a
gasping sound comes. Something in her eyes—in
her face frightens even him, in his blind fury, into
remorse and relenting.

‘Don’t look like that,” he says with a strident sort
of laugh. “I didn’t quite mean what I said; but
when a man finds his wife running about to theaters
in his absence, with her old lover.—Well, sir! what
do you want 2”

Foraservant has entered with a card upon a
salver,and presents it with abow. Lord Dynely
takes it up and utters an exclamation.

‘Miss France Forrester!” he exclaims.
thickens. They're here, too, are they ?
the lady ?” he demands of the man.

“In the salon, my lord.”

“Very well, tell her we will be there ina moment.”
The man salaams and departs. ‘Go to your room,
Crystal,” he says, less harshly; “and, for Heaven's
sake try and get rid of that face. You look like a
galvanized corpse. You will have them thinking
here I adopt the good old British -custom of beating
my wife. Put on rouge—anything—get your-maid
to do it, only don’t fetch that woe-begone counten-
ance to France Forrester’s sharp eyes.”

With this pleasant and bridegroom-like adjuration
he leaves her and goes to the salon to receive their
guest. He is humming a popular Parisian street
song as he goes, a half smile on_ his lips, all his old
sunny debonaire self once more:

“Ma mere est a Paris,
Mon pere est a Versailles,

Et moi je suis ici,
Pour chanter sur la paille——”

he sings as he enters. France sits in a great ruby
velvet chair. charmingly dressed, looking fresher,
fairer, more brightly, saucily handsome, Eric thinks,
than he has ever seen her. *‘How blessings brighten
as they take their flight.” What did he see in his
faded, passee, pallid little wife, to prefer her to this
brilliant, dark beauty? For my lord’s taste has
changed, and ‘black beauties” are decidedly in the
ascendant again.

“My dear France,” he says, holding both her
hands, ‘this is an astounder. We knew you were
coming, but not so soon. When did you arrive, and
where are you located ?”

“We arrived late last night, and have apartments
in the Faubourg St. Honore, near the British Em-
bassy. And with my usual impetuosity, and my

“The plot
Where is

after breakfast. Youare up, I see, for which, oh be
thankful. And now where is Crystal ?”

‘Crystal will be herein amoment. How well you
are looking, France,” he says, half-regreifully; ‘‘be-
ing in love must be a great beautifier—bettér than
all Madame Rachel’s cosmetics.”

*‘Must be!” she laughs; ‘tyou don’t know from ex-
perience then? Ican return the compliment—you
are looking’ as if life went well with you—

“His ’and was free, his means was easy,
A finer, nobler gent than he, ;
Ne’er rode along the shons Eleesy,
Or paced the Roo de Rivolee! »

spouts France, after her old fashion; *‘but then, of
course, we are in the hight of our honeymoon, and
See all things through spectacles coleur de rose.”
Eric laughs, but rather grimly. He is thinking of
the honeymoon-like tele-a-tete her coming ended.
“And how are they all ?” he inquires—‘'the Madre
and Mrs. Caryll? Mrs. Caryll is here, I suppose ?”
“Grandmamma ishere-—yes. And better than you
ever saw her. And your mother is well and dying
to see you. And how matrimony agrees with you!
Do you know, Eric,” laughing, “I cant fancy you in
the role of Benedick the married man.”
He laughs too, but it is not a very mirthful laugh.
‘“Caryll is with you ?” he says, keeping wide of his
own conjugal bliss; ‘‘of course he is, though—lucky
fellow! I needn’t ask if he is well 2”

 

 

“You need not, indeed,” France says, and into her
face a lovely rose light comes; ‘but you will soon
see for yourself—they will all call later.: What does
Keep Crystal—I hope she is not so silly as to stay
and make an elaborate toilet for me 2”

‘No, no—she will be down ina moment. She has
a headache—is rather seedy this morning—late
hours and dissipation will tell on rustic beauty, you

know. By the by, apropos of nothing, do you know —

Terry Dennison is here—at this hotel? Weéare quite
a family party, you see,” he laughs again, rather
grimly.

“Terry here! dear old Terry! how giad I shall be
to see him. When did he get over ?”

“Last night also. It appears to have beena night
of arrivals. Ah, here is Crystal now.”

He looks rather anxiously as he says it. He knows
of old how keen Miss Forrester’s hazel eyes are—he
feels that she has already perceived something to be
wrong. That she has heard nothing he is quite
sure. Her manner would certainly not be so frankly
natural and cordial if one whisper of the truth had
reached her.

Crystal has done her best. She has exchanged her
white wrapper for a pink one that lends a faint,
fictitious glow to her face. The suggestion about
rouge she has not adopted—rouge, Crystal looks
upon as a device of the evil one. Something almost
akin to gladness lights her sad ‘eyes as she comes
forward and into France's wide, open arms.

“My dear Lady Dynely! My dear little Crystal!”
and then France stops and sends one quick glance
from her face to Eric’s, and reads trouble without a
second look. She is honestly shocked, and takes no
pains to hide it.

Eric winces. Has Crystal so greatly changed then
for the worse? All his selfish, unreasoning anger
stirs again within him.

‘You have not been ill” she says, blankly. “You
—you look wretched.” ;

“I told you she had a headache,” Eric interrupts,
irritably. ‘I told you late hours and Paris dissipa-
tion will tell upon rustic beauty. There is nothing
the matter. Open your lips, oh silent Crystal! and
reassure Miss Forrester.”

“Iam quite well, thank you,” Crystal says, but no

effort. can make the words ,other than faint and -

mournful, Then she sits down with her face from
the light, and leans back in her great carved and
gilded chair, looking so small, and fragile, and child-
ish, and colorless that a great compassion for her,
and a great, vague wrath against him fills France’s
heart. She does not know what he has done, but
she knows he has done something, and is wroth ac-
cordingly. Why, the child has gone toa shadow—
looks utterly crushed and heart-broken. Is he tired
of her already ?—is he—but no, that is too bad to
think even of fickle Eric—he cannot be neglecting
her for a rival.

Her cordial manner changes at once—a constraint
has fallen upon them. All Eric’s attempts at
badinage, at society small talk, fall flat. He rises at
last, looks at his watch, pleads an engagement, and
prepares to go.

“I know you and Crystal are dying to compare
notes,” he says, gayly, ‘‘and that I amin the way.
Only Crystal’s notes will be brief, I warn you—
France, she has not your gift of tongue. Lady Dyne-
ly is the living exemplification of the adage that
speech is silver, and silence is gold.”

“Shall you be in when your mother and Gordon
call, Eric?” France asks, rather coldly. “If not, I
am commissioned to tender animpromptu invitation
to dine with Mrs. Caryll.”

‘““Awfully sorry,” Eric answers, “but we stand
pledged to dine at the Embassy. Z must putin an
appearance, whether or no, and Crystal: will also—
headache permitting. Crystal rather shrinks trom
heavy dinner parties and goes nowhere.”

“I thought late hours and Paris dissipation were
telling on her,” retorts France, still coldly. And Eric
laughs and goes, with a last severe, warning glance
at his wife—a glance which says in its quick blue
flash: -- °

‘Tell, if you dare!”

It'is a needless warning—Crystal has no thought
ot eee complaining of him to any one on
earth. She lies back in her big chair, her little
hands folded, silent and pale, while the sounds of
ringing life reach them from the bright, gay boule-
vard below, and the jubilant yellow sunlight fills the
room.

“How thin you have grown, Crystal,” France says
at last, very gently. ‘Paris does not agree with you
Ithink. We must make Eric take you home to Dy-
nely.”

Her eyes light eagerly—something like color
comes into the colorless face. She catches her
breath hard.

“Oh!” she says, “if he only would!”

France is watching her intently.

**You don’t like Paris, then 2”

‘Like it!” the gentle eyes for an instant flash. “I

hate it.”

There is a pause. France’s heart is hot within her.
Fickle, unstable, she hadalways known Eric to be;
selfish to the core and cruel in his seltishness; but
an absolute brute, never before.

usual disregard of les convenances, L ran the risk of’
finding you still asleep, and rushed away immediatel Vir

 

 

sue

 

 

 
 

 

 

  

 

  

 

 

 

 

‘Do you go out much ?” she asks,

“No—yes.” Crystal falters. She hardly knows
whieh answer to make in her fear of committing
Eric. *I don’t care to go out—dinner parties. are
a bore—I never was used to much society, you
know, at home.”

“T am afraid you must be very lonely.”

“Oh, no! that is—not very. I read and play—a
litthe—and then, Eric———” |

But her voice breaks; it is not trained to the tell-
ing of falsehoods, and the truth she cannot tell.

**Yes,” France says quictly, ‘Eric is out a great
deal naturally—he is not a domestic man; but once
you return to Dynely alkthat willbe changed. We
must try and prevail upon him to take you home at
once,”

The sad blue eyes give hera grateful glance. Then
a troubled, frightened look comes into them.

**Perhaps—perhaps you had better not,” she says;
“the will think you are dictating to him, and he can-
not bear to be dictated to. He likes Paris—I am
sure he will be angry if he is urged to go.”

*“We'can survive that calamity,” Miss ‘Forrester
answers, cynically; ‘‘and your health—and, yes, I
will say it—happiness, are the things to be consid-
ered first.”

‘But Lam. happy,” cries Crystal, in still increasing
alarm; ‘indeed lam. How could I be otherwise so
soon?”

Her traitor voice breaks again. France looks at
her in unutterable compassion.

**Ah, how indeed!” she answers, ‘tyou poor little
pale child! Well, I must go—they really don’t know
where Lam away to, and we are all to go sight-see-
ing to the Luxembourg. Do come with us, Crystal;
you look as though you needed it.”

But Lady Dynely shakes her small, fair head,

“T cannot,” she says. ‘‘Hric may return, apd be
vexed to find me out.”

“Bric! Eric!’ thinks Franco, intolerantly; ‘I
should like to box Eric’s ears !”

“‘Besides, sight-seeing tires me,” Crystal goes on,
with a wan little smile, ‘‘and I don’t think I care
for pictures. We visited the Luxembourg, and the
Louvre, and the Tuileries, and all the rest of, the

‘show places, when we first came, and I remember I

was ill all day with headache after them. I like best
to stay at home and read—indeed I do.”

France sighs,

*'My little Crystal! But you will be lonely.”

“Oh, no. Eric may come to, luncheon—he often
does—and Terry will drop in, I daresay, by and by.
You know Terry is here ?” interrogatively.

**Yes; Eric told me. I wish I could take you with
me all the same, little one. [ hate to leave you here
in this big hotel alone.’ It is a shame !—a shame!”

s France, in her hot indignation.
t Crystal lifts a pained, piteous face up to her.

**Please don’t speak like that, France. It is all
right,” she says, with a little gasp;.‘‘I—I prefer it.”

“Do come!” France persists, unheedingly. ‘*We
will leave you at home with Grandmama Caryll, while
we do the sight-seeing. You will love her, Crystal—
she is the dearest, best old lady in Burope. Then
we will dine comfortably together, en famille, and

‘0 to the Varieties in the evening, to see this popu-
ar actress Paris raves about—Madame Felicia.”

But, to France’s surprise, Crystal suddenly with-
draws her hands and looks up at her with eyes that
absolutely flash. ; M

“7 will never go to the Varieties!’ she'cries; “I
will never go to see Madame Felicia! She isa wick-
ed, wicked woman, and I hate her !”

she is trembling from head to foot with nervous

assion as she says it. France stands petrified.
Then all in an instant Crystal recollects herself, and
Piteously clasps her hands,

“J did not mean to say that!" she cries; “it is
very wrong ofme. Please don’t think anything of
any angry words—I did not mean anything by them
—indeed I did not.”

France stoops and kisses her as a sister might,
holding her close for a moment; and a little sob she
cannot wholly repress breaks from the poor, jealous
child, as she lays her head on France’s breast.

“My darling,” France whispers, in that warm kiss,
‘keep up heart, Eric shall take you out of this
wicked, tiresome Paris before the week ends, or I
will know the reason why,” .

Then, with profoundest pity for this poor little
girl bride, she goes, her own day’s pleasuring totally

“This is what Eric's love-match comes to,” she
thinks, sadly. ‘Ah, poor little Crystal!

“**T have lived and loved—but that was to-day;
Go bring me my grave-clothes to-morrow.’ ?

a CHAPTER VI.
P AT THE VARIETIES,

It is close upon luncheon hour when Miss Forres-
ter returns to the Faubourg St. Honore. As she
enters the drawing-room, stillin her street dress,
she sees her lover sitting in an arm-chair by the
ppen window, smoking a cigar, and immersed in the
art criticisms of the Revue des Dieux Mondes. He
throws down the paper and looks at her with lazily
loving eyes. Happiness and prosperity certainly
agree With him—as Gordon Caryll, the accepted
suitor of Miss Forrester, he looks ten years younger
than did Mr.. Locksley, the impecunious portrait
ainter. Handsomer, nobler, France thinks, than
r. Locksley looked, it is impossible for mortal man

to ay

“Well,” he says, “you have returned. My thoughts
were just turning seriously to the idea of having out
the detective police, and offering a reward for your
recovery. Is itadmissible to ask, my child, where
you have been ?”

She comes behind him, lays her little gloved hands
on his shoulders, and looks down into the gravely
smiling face resting against the chair back. They
are not demonstrative lovers those two, but now,
rather to Mr. Caryll’s stirprise, Miss Forrester im-
= stoops down and Jeaves a kiss on his fore-

ead,

‘And to think,” she says, drawing a tense sort of
breath, ‘‘that I might have married him!”

Mr. Caryll opens his handsome gray eyes. Both
the kiss and the irrelevant exclamation take him
rather aback.

**You might have married him! You might have
married whom? You have not been out proposing
to any one this morning, have you? What are you
talking about, France? ;

“About Eric,” she answers, absently.

“And with the. most. woe-begone of’ faces,
Welancholy has evidently marked yoti for her own
this morning. You are regretting you threw Hric
pver for me—is that it, my dear ?” :

“‘Nonsense!”is France's energetic answer. “I hate
to have you say such things, even in jest, Gordon.
Thank Heaven, no! I liked Eric, certainly—one
could hardly fail to do that; but I always had a most
thorough-paced contempt for him all the same. And
if I had married him—but no, I never would, I never
could, if there had been no Crystal Higgins, no Mr.
Locksley, in the scheme of the universe. Gordon, I
have been to see them this morning.”

“So I inferred, my dear, from your very energetic
language. And you found them well, I hope 2”

“ric is well,” France says, resentfully; “he will
be, to the end of the chapter. But, Crystal——”

**Yes ?” Mr. Caryll says, interrogatively. ‘Crystal
is well also, no doubt ?” i

“Well!” France cries, and then stops. ‘‘Ah! you
should see her—wait until you do! I neversaw any
one 80 changed in my life.”

*-For the better ?”

“For the worse. She_is the shadow of herself—
poor little soul! Her sad, heart-breken face and
voice haunt me like a’ghost. Ericisa brute!”

“‘Indeed! Husbands invariably are, are they not ?
What has Eric done ?” :

‘‘T don’t know what he has done,” Miss Forrester
answers, indignantly. ‘I only know he is breaking
his wife’s heart. Why don’t you say ‘husbands in-
variably do? I daresay it is true enongh.”

Mr. Caryll takes one of the gloved handsand gives
it an affectionate little squeeze.

“My dear child, don't excite yourself. Eintend to
prove an exception. Seriously, though, I am very
sorry for little Lady Dynely. I am afraid the rumors
I have been hearing must be true.”

“Rumors? Whatrumors? Inever heard you al-
lude to them.”

‘No; one does not care to talk about that sort of
thing, and I knew it would annoy you, and make his
motherunhappy. But as you seem to be finding out
for yourself, well they do say he neglects the little
one, and runs about with &

“With Felicia, the actress! Gordon, I am sure of
It! With Felicia the dancer!”

'_ “With Felicia, the dancer! But, take it calmly, my
love. How do you knowit?”

“TI know it from Crystal herself. That is what she
meant when I asked her to come with us to the Va-
rieties to see Felicia.”

“Ah! what did she mean ?” ‘

“She said she hated the Varieties, She hated
Madame Felicia; thatshe was a wicked, painted wo-
man. And you should have seen those dove-eyes of
hers flash! My poor, dear little Crystal!” The dark,
impetuous eyes fill with tears and fire with indigna-
tion. ‘Only six weeks married!” she says, passion-
ately. ‘‘Gordon, I hate Hric!’

 

 

 

ourself, don’t make yourself unhappy about this.
Lind Dynely must have known she ran no ordinary
risk in marrying Dynely—the most notorious male
flirtin Europe. If she had had one grain of sense in
that pretty flaxen head of hers she must have
known that matrimony would work no miracles. <A
flirt he is by nature—there is not a grain of consis-
tency in his whole composition; and as she has taken
him, so she must abide by her bargain,”

‘He is a brute!” 4

“So you said before,” answers Mr. Caryll, a half-
smile breaking up the gravity of hisface. ‘Still, al-
lewance must be madcfor him. He has beenspoiled
all his life—he has never been thwarted—to wish
has been to have, and ladies have petted and made
much of him for his azure eyes, and golden curls, and
Greek profile, all his lifelong, Time may cure him,
meanwhile, Well, neither you nor I, Miss Forrester,
can help Crystal. And they say this Felicia plays
the duse with her victims.”
“Have you ever seen her, Gordon ?”
“Never, Iwas too busy last year when she was at
the ate and,’ besides, I had an aversion to theaters
and theater going, I shall see her to-night, how-
ever.”
“She bought your picture, ‘How the Night Fell,’
didn’t she ?””
“Yes. Diventurini purchased it for her. By the
by, I promised at the time a companion picture.
They say she’s to marry Diventurini immediately
upon his return from Italy.”
“Marry him! Zhat woman!’
“My dear France,” Caryil says, laughing, ‘with
what stinging scorn you bring out that woman!
There is nothing said against ‘that woman’ except
that she is a most outrageous coquette,”
‘‘But she is a dancer, and he is a prince.”
“That goes for nothing. The best blood of the
realm takes its wife from the stage in these days, I
shouldn't fancy it myself, but you know the adage,
‘A burnt child dreads the fire.’ ”
“Poor little Crystal!” sighs France,
“Poor little Crystal, indeed, Rumor says he is
altogether infatuated. Let us hope rumor, for once,
is wrong. Are they coming to dinner ?”
‘No. Eric pleads a prior engagement, and she

does not seem to have heart enough left to go any-
Where. Here is Lady Dynely. By the by, I forgot

to tell you, Terry is in Paris.”

“Terry? Terry Dennison?” cries Lady Dynely,
eagerly; “is he, really? Where,.France ?”

“At the Hotel du Louvre. I stole a march upon you

{ this morning, and made an early call upon the happy

pair.” ; i

Her ladyship’s eyes light eagerly.

“And you sawthem? You saw Eric?”

“T saw Eric, mamma.”

‘How is he looking? Will they dine with us”
“Eric ‘is looking well—never better, And they
dine at the Embassy this evening. No doubt, though,
Eric will call.”

“Here he is now,” Caryll interrupts, looking from
the window, and France disappears like a fiash. She
feels in no mood at present to meet and exchange
pleasant commonplaces with the Right Honorabie
the Lord Viscount Dynely.

She goes to her room, throws off her bonnet and
seal jacket, and pays, a visitto Grandmamma Caryll,
in her own apartments, Paralysis has deprived her
of the use of her limbs. She sits in her great invalid
chair the long days through, _ But in her handsome
old face a look of great, serene content reigns.

The restless, longing, impatient light that for
years looked at you out of her. eyes has gone—she
has found-what she waited and watched -for. Her
son is with her—France is to be his wife—she asks
no more of earth.

The luncheon bell rings. Mrs. Caryll’s is brought
in, and France descends. .To her great relief, Eric
is gone, and Terry is in his place. Terry, who is
chan too, and who looks grave and preoccupied.
“You were at the Louyre this morning, France,”
he says to her as they sit side by side. ‘*‘You saw
her?”

“Yes, Terry,” and France's compassionate cyes
look at him very gently. ‘‘I saw her.”
‘And you have heard ——”
“Everything—poor little Crystal! Terry, Eric
must take her to England, and at once.” '
“Ah, if he only*would,” Terry says with a sort of
groan, ‘“‘but he will not. That is past hoping for.
He is killing her—as surely as ever man killed wo-
man. And wlien he does,” Terry sets his teeth like
a bull dog, ‘*my time of reckoning will come!” —
“You must accompany us this afternoon, Terry,”
Lady Dynely says, after the old imperious fashion.
“France is quite as much as Gordon is capable of
taking care of. JZ want you.”

Terry falls into the old groovoatonce. Inhissecret
heart he is longing to be at the hotel with Crystal,
to cheer her in her loneliness, but that may not be,
may never be again. So he,sighs and goes. They
spend the long, sunny, spring-like afternoon amid
the lions of Paris, and return to dine and dress for
the theater.

“The whole duty of family escort will fall upon
our victimized shoulders, Dennison,” says Mr.
Caryll, looking up from a letter that the post has
brought him. ‘‘Thisis a note from General McLaren
—I served under him at the beginning of the Ameri-
can civil war. Heis atthe Hotel Mirabeau; and as
he leaves Paris to-morrow, Poy" me to call upon him
to-night. You won’t mind, I suppose;and I will
look in upon you about the second act.”
“Talways told Terry he was born to be a social
martyr,” France says. “The fetch-and-carry, go-
and-come, do this and that role, has been yours from
your birth, my poor, victimized boy!”

So it chances that when the curtain goes up, and
the “Golden Witch” begins, Gordon Caryll does not
make one of the party of three who look down from
the front of their box, amid all the glittering ‘thorse
shoe” of gaslight and human faces. The pretty,
bright theater is very full, there is an odor of pas-
tilles, a flutter of fans, asparkle of jewelry. Felicia
is in great form to-night—she has heard from Lord
Dynely himself of the family party coming to view
her with coldly-critical, British eyes. They have
laughed together oyer it in her little dusk-shaded,
periumed, luxurious drawing-room, where his’ lord-
ship has madé a much longer morning call than he
made immediately before in the Faubourg St. Ho-
nore.

She glances up now, swiftly and eagerly, as she
comes forward to the footlights, a golden goblet in
her hand, her long hair floating loosely over her
shoulders, singing some wild bacchanalian, Theresa-
like ditty. She is gloriously beautiful in her scant
drapery, and her rich voice fills the theater superb-
ly. But as she tosses off her goblet,.at the end of
her drinking song, she sees that the man she looks
for is not in the box.

Willhe know her? He has never seen her since
that long, far-off night when they parted in the
darkening day by the shore of the lonely Canadian
river. He thinks her dead. Will he know her?
A wild, fierce delight fills her soul, flames up in her
eyes, and burns in her cheeks. Will he know her?
She will sing to-night (if he comes) the first song
she ever sang for him, that first evening in the cot-
tage of Major Lovell. It will run very well with
this play—that is much more song and dance than
drama. If he doubts her identity, surely, surely, he
will remember that.

She is wild with excitement, she surpasses herself.
The audience applaud to the echo—she flings herself
into her part with a wild, reckless abandon that
sweeps her listeners along with her. And still she
watches that box, and stillhe does not come. Will
he not come atall? Amida storm of excited ap-
plause, amid a shower of bouquets, the curtain falls
upon the first act. .

‘““How well she plays!” ‘‘How magnificently she
islooking!” ‘Never saw her dance half a quarter
so well in my life before!” ‘By Jove! you know,
whatavoice Felicia has!” These and a hundred
such exclamations run the round of the theater.

“She is beautiful!’ France exclaims, “with a
beaule du diable I never saw equaled. And she
dances and sings like a very Bacchante.”

‘*Wish to Heaven they would burn her asa witch,”
growls Terry, under his ruddy beard. ‘Such a wo-
man should no more be let run loose than a leopard-
ess,

“She sings very well,” Lady Dynely says, languid-
ly; ‘‘but there is something fierce and outre ut
her, is there not? Idon’t like this sort of exhibi-

positively indelicate. Whatisshe looking at our
box for? I caught her more than once.”

“She is looking for what she does not see. There
is Eric yonder in the stalls,” says Miss Forrester, in
a tone of stony resentment,

“Is he, really?” Eric’s mother puts up her glass
and leans forward. “So he is,and quite alone.
Where is Crystal, I wonder ?”

“Crystal is at home, and quite alone also, you may
be very sure,” answers France, still in that tone of
strong, suppressed indignation.

“I wonder if he sees us? Oh, yes he does. There
he is rising. No doubt he will call upon us directly.
France, why don’t you look? He is bowing to
you.”

But France’s bright, angry eyes are fixed stead-
fastly upon the rising curtain—she will not see Lord

 

“Now, France.” he says gravely, ‘don’t trouble

Dynely, And Lord Dynely looks away from her,

tion, A ballet is bad enough—this kind of thing is,

feeling he has been snubbed, and knowing very well
the reason why.

He has come tothe theater to-night partly be-
cause he cannot stay away, partly out of sheer
bravado.

What! shall he stay 1. because he is afraid of
Terry Dennison and France Forrester? Is he stilla
child in leading strings to be dictated to? Notif
he knows it. So he leaves early the ambassador’s
salon, and goes to the Varieties, and sits out all the
second act directly under the lorgnettes of the Gor-
don Caryl! party. A

Again madame surpasses herself—again the whole
house rings with applause—again bouquets are
showered upon her. Lord Dynely adds his mite to
the rest—a bouquet of scarlet and white camellias.
Again and again the black, fierce, restless eyes flash
their feverish light to that one box. ‘And still the
man for whom she looks does not come,

He comes as the curtain falls for the second time,
and France’s eyes and smile welcome him,

“Am I very late?*he asks. “ifcLaren and I hada
thousand things tosay, and time flew. I say, France,
how do you like it?” ;

“Not at all! She fascinates one, but it is a horrible
and unhealthy sort of fascination, Hermad singing
and dancing throw me into a fever.”

“Is there much more of it?” he says, standing be-
hind her chair. ‘Is it all over?”

“There is one more act. She is to be burned alive,
Terry tells me, and I want to wait and’see her. I
shall try to fancy the burning real, and enjoy it ac-
cordingly.”

“By Jove!” he says, and laughs, ‘what a blood-
piney spirit we are developing! Ah! Dynely, you
here ?

For the door opens, and Eric, languid and hand-
some, saunters in.

“How do, Caryll? Late, ar’n’tyou? Well, France
—well mamere, how do you like it? Superb actress,
isn’t she ?”

He looks at France.
sees and accepts.

“If dancing mad jigs, singing drinking songs, and
capering about like a bedlamite goto constitute a
fine actress, then, yes. A little of Madame Felicia
goes a long way.” ;

His eyes flash, but he langhs.
“There is no accounting for tastes.
please her audience, at least.”
“Where is Crystal?” France abruptly asks, “I
thought you were to dine at the Embassy.”

“Crystal is at home. And you thought quite right;
we were to dine at the Embassy.” The defiant ring
is more marked than ever. “I have dined there,
and on my way home dropped here, knowing 1
would have the pleasure of being in the bosom of
my family.”

He looks at her steadfastly, and France turns her
white shoulder deliberately upon him. Her lover
is leaning over the back of her chair—ah! how she
loves him, how she,trusts him—how different he is
from this shallow-brained young dandy, with his
Greek beauty and callous heart! How differently
her life will be ordered from Crystal’s when she is
his wife! ;

As she thinks it, the curtain goes up for the third
time, and the ‘Golden Witch” bounds on the stage.

She is singing as she springs to the footlights—a
gleeful hunting chorus this time. A troop of followers
in green and gold come atter, and join in the chorus.
Her costume is of green and gold also; a green hunt-
ing cap with a long white plume isset jauntily on her
raven tresses. She is dazzling in the dress—she is
radiant as she sings. Again her sweet, high voice
rings to the domed roof. And it is the very song
Rosamond Lovell sang for Gordon Caryll seventeen
years ago in the Toronto cottage.

She flashes one fierce electric look up at their
box, >
Yes, he is there at last—at last. Thank Heaven
for that! if she can thank Heaven for anything.

He hears her, he sees her; recognizes the song.
He knows her!

Her hour of triumph is complete.
ment reaches its climax. Asshe never played be-
fore she plays to-night. She holds the multitude
breathless, spellbound. She sings her own death-
song, wild, wailing, weird, ee so ghastly in
its tortured agony that France shu ders and turns
pale. The mimic flames arise—surround her, her
uplifted face is seen above them as the curtain falls
down, her ghastly death-song dies wailing away.
For a moment, se wrapt and petrified are the au-
dience that they cannot applaud. Then—such a
storm of clapping, of calling, shakes the walls ot
the theater as never shook it before. ‘Felicia!
Felicia!” they shout as with one voice.

She comes out smiling and Kissing hands.
Another tempest of applause and delight “breaks
forth. Then flashing up one last look straight into
Gordon Caryll’s face she disappears for good,

There isastirand commotion,an uprising and
shawling of ladies. \

“Ugh!” France says with a shudder; “it is diabol-
ical! itis like the nightmare. Ishall never come
to see this owre spectacle again. Do you like it,
Gordon ?”

She leans back and looks up at him. He does not
seem to hear her, he does not seem to see her—he
is staring at the stage like a man stupefied.
“Gordon!” she cries.
His eyes turn slowly from the blank, green cur-
tain to her, but his face still keeps that dazed,
stunned look. His bronzed skin too has turned ofa
dead, ashen gray.
“Gordon,” France says once more, this time in ter-
ror, ‘what is it ?” ;
Her question seems to break the spell. He makes
an effort—a mighty effort, she can see, and answers
her,
“Nothing. Will you come ?”
His very voice is changed—-it is hoarse and low.
He offers her his arm mechanically, and watches her
arranging her opera-wrap without trying to help
her, She takes his arm and goes with him out,
and all the while he keeps the dazed look of a man
who is walking in his sleep,
‘Oh, Gordon!” she cries out, ‘zohat is it?
know that woman ?”
He wakes then—wakes to the whole horrid truth.
“For Heaven’s sake, don’t ask me,” he says, *‘to-
night, Wait—wait until to-morrow.”

er eyes dilate. They are out under the frosty,
February stars. He putsthem into the carriage—
Lady Dynely and France—but he makes no effort to
follow them. Eric and Terry make their adieux
and turn away.

*‘Are you not coming, Gordon ?” Lady Dynely asks
in surprise. ,

“No,” he answers, still in that low, hoarse tone.
‘““Home,” he says to the coachman. And as they
whirl away France leans yearningly forward and
ee him standing under the street lamps quite

one. .

With a certain deflance she

She seems to

Her excite-

Do you

[TO BE, CONTINUED.]}

_ THE WICKEDEST
Man in the Mines.

{The Wickedest Man,” was commenced in No. 50, Back num-
bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States. ]

CHAPTER XT.
THE STRONGHOLD STORMED.

It was between 3 and 4 o’clock in the afternoon -yhen
the party arrived atthe roadside cabin occupied by the
Skeleton. That sinister-looking individual was standing
at his door, Smoking his pipe.

Having alighted and fastened their horses the three
men advanced to the gate and Seaswold demanded ad-
mittance.

*O no, I guess not. Don’t you think there’s some mis-
take, young man?’’ said the hideous porter, with an in-
sulling grin. :

“There’s no mistake at all, as you'll find presently,’! re-
turned Seaswold ina tone so cvolly resolute that it did
not failto make an impression. ‘We come on business
that admits no delay, and I seriously assure you thut
we will take no denial.’?

The Skeleton disappeared into his cabin for a second
and returned without his pipe. a

“Keep an eye on the varmint!? said Gaston, ‘he’s
changed his pipe for his revolver.”

 

 

1 yee don’t open that gate we shall have to foroe it,’’ said
aswold,
“Oh, I not,”” returned the Skeleton, pleasantly. “I don’t

believe you'll go to attempt any unlawful act of violence that
will justify a peaceable man and faithful servant in shooting you
in the discharge of his duty, anc that’llL result on a jury trial ina
verdict of ‘justifiable homicide.’ I don’t take you to be such a
fool as that, my young friend. Take my advice, and think it
over prayerfully before you begin to tear down that gate,”

“You jest cover him with a Derringer,” said the blacksmith
vA Seaswold, “and I'll have the gate open without much loss of

me.’

“Wait a mee returned Seaswold; “the fellow seems to
have some idea of the power of Jaw, and it may have an effect
upon him te know that the lawison our side, At any rate I'll
try Lhe experiment.”

Drawing the legal documents from his breast pocket he held
them up in his hand, and said:

__ “We come here in the name of the law, armed with its author-
ity, and you will resist us at your peril. I represent the sheriff
of this county; I hold here a writ under the seal of the court to
be served upon Mr. Gormsby, and here on the back of it is an
indorsement in the.handwriting of the sheriff and signed by him,
making mea special deputy for the- service of the writ. In re-
sisting me you resist the law. Any violence attempted toward
me is the same as violence against the sheriff, and I have pre-

 

cisely the same right to shoot you that he would have if resist
by you in the discharge of his duty,” : "

~<e4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY, 3=—_

 

ow do I know that you are not lying, and that your documerts
are not forged ? Why don’t the sheriff come to serve his own

rocess, or send one of his deputies who are Known asysuch? I

now yow for a suspicious individual who has been prowling
around this neighborhood five or six weeks past, at all hours of
the day and night like a burglar prospecting fur a job.”

Before the last word was fairly uttered Seuswold had covered
the speaker with his pistol, and the uction was so sudden and
pemenes with such address that the potter was evidenwy taken

y surprise. :

“Now then, Gaston, open the gate,” said the young man, “You
will be in no danger.”’

The blacksmith picked up a large stone, and with three blows
broke the lock.

Atasign from Seaswold the two others entered the premises,
awn then faced about, and leveling his revolver ut the porter,
said:

“Come on, Mr. Deputy Sheriff, I've got the pritty creature
under iny fire now, and as you've got the dukyments we can’t
leave yoo behind.’ :

The Skeleton then turned his back toward his enemies, and
pointing his pistol .1 the air fired three shots in rapid saccession,
is “Thavs a signal,” excluimed the blacksmith. “We had better

urry up.” *
shan down your. revolver!’’ said Seaswold, addressing the
Skeleton,

The latter complied. “The mischiefis done,” he said, with a
grim smile. “Go on and serve your process. Yvuu’ll never trouble
ine to let you out,”

Seaswold picked up the weapon and followed his companions.
The three proceeded directly toward the house. Ou arriving at
the second inclosure, Seaswold tried the entrance, which was
locked and bolted on the inside.

“It's too strong to burst open withoat a battering ram,” said
the blacksmith, “We'll have to climb the fence.”

Seaswold sprang into a tree, the branches of which extended
several feet over the gate, and dropped lightly upon the other
site, Ina moment more he was joined by Gaston and Dawne,
the latter evincing a degree of agility that could searcely nave
been expected trom a@imanof his years and apparently iveble
traine,

They now found themselves in asmall but beautiful and well-
kept garden surrounding the house, the main entrance of which
was just before them, not a hundred feet distant.

As they approached the low, broad flight of steps leading to the
frout door, a tall, swange-looking figure appeared at the top, and
With an impressive gesture warned tuem back,

This individual was over six feet in bight. His Jong, sron-
gray hair streamed over bis shoulders; his face and forehead
were a network of wrinkles, But his eyes were lirge, luminous,
and youthful in their expression. When he spoke it wusin a
voice deep and singularly musical.

“What is the meauing of this trespass upon my premises ?? he
said in atone and withiuflections worthy of a great tragedian,
“What is it you seek 2” i

“We come in the name of the law,” said Seaswold, advancing
to the foot of the steps, “I am legally authorized to serve upon
you this paper, requiring you to produce before the court at Go-
morrah wy cousip, Alice Gormsby, now held by you under un-
lawful restraint.” ;
ks he spoke he produced the writ and began to ascend toward

ormsby.

“Stand back! Not a step farther, on your life!” cried the lat-
ter. “Go back, young man, while ip is yet possible, I would not
have your blood upon my head.”

At this moment the blacksmith was seized. with a strange fit of
merriment, and indulged in one of his low, peculiar laughs,
which fell like a jarring discord upon the ears of all present,
under circunrstanccs so threateting of tragic results. ~

“Look behind you, Gormsby,” he said; “there’s Hank Bum;
Stead’s ghost at your elbow. @ luoks us though he was say:
ing that your time has come.” :

“Fool! It is you that your friend has come to welcome,” re-
torted Gormsby, as McBeuter, followed by a half a dozen ruffian-
looking men, all armed tothe teeth, mide their appearance in
the garden. ‘Retire while you can with saiety,” he added,
addressing Seaswold. “You see that you cannot serve your pro-
cess Without «a posse comitatus.”

“Let me see who will dare hinder me,” returned the latter, and
with three strides he stood face to face with Gormsby, with thes
copy ot the writ in his outstretched hand,

Attue same time there was u movement among the men ac-
companying McBinter, as though they were about to attack the
intruders, when Dawne, advancing in front of them, brandish-
ing his wulking-stick, shouted:

“Run, you rascals, if you would escape the gallows! Save
yourselves while youcan! Your master’s time is up, and If you
siay you will every one of you swiug with him!”

“fhav's so, bags,” cried Gaston, placmg himself beside the old
gentleman. “Wecome here with the sherifs Warrant, and ef
you fight us you fight the Jaw. Your master hus-got to tiie end
of his rope, and if you don’t want to go to the gallows with him
you'd better make gyod. time out of this. The sheriff wiin
tweuly men at his buck will be here in flye_ minutes, aud every
soul on the premixes will sleep to-night iu Gomorry jail. Hillo!
MeBinter, youilrow up your hands!”

This last demand was caused by a movementon the part of
the person addressed, as it he were about to draw a weapon.

“That's a trick 1 never learned,” returned McBinter, “but I
know one worth two of it.”

As he spoke he discharged a Derringer, firing through his
pocket without drawing, and the blacksmith staggered back-
ward a step and clutched the trunk of a scrub oak tor support.
Steadying himselt, he returned the fire with his revolver, and
when Boasicadl ‘tendetvn: Hi

Men aswold tendered the paper to Gormsby, the latter
snatched it from his hand and tore it to pieces, ‘Then, suddenly
svized by an ungovernable paroxysm of fury, ho uttered a feartal
oath, aud precipitated himself upon the young man so suddenly
that the latter, wholly unprepared for the attuck, was hurlec
headlong down the steps, falling at the feet of Gaston just us he
discharged the shot that had taken effect on McBunter.

The biacksinith, supposing that his companion had been shot
en leveled his weapon at Gormsby and. fired, with fatal
effec

At the sight of their master’s fall, the group of his retainers
who had followed McBinter siunk away and disa red, '

As Seaswold gathered himself up from his fall, Gaston stag-
gered toward the house and seated himself at the foot of the
Steps.

“Are you badly hurt?’ asked tne former.

“Pm not doctor enough to knew for certain,” answered the
blacksmith, ‘but I suspicion that P've got my dose. I’m afraid I
shan’t ever finisi my ‘Idees on Religion and Phrenology.’ But I
don’t s’pose ivil be much Joss tothe world, Some one else’ll
have the saime idees one day or another, and will write’em out
clearer than I can.’

“Let me Jook at your wound,” said Dawne, “I'm sometmng of
a parEeR, t Is there no one here to briug me’a sponge and a busin
of water?

A young Mexican woman, whose frightened face a peered in
the doorway, signitied that she would get what he Toael red.

In a moment she returned with a course towel and some water
i. pees earthen an of in
‘Can I leave you in charge m & moment?” asked Seas-
wold, addressing Dawne, “while Eseek Alice? I will return in-

tantly.”?
‘The young woman can render me what help I need,” an-
swered Dawne, ‘but lose no time.”

Dashing up the aon and through the hall, the young man en-
tered, successively, all the rooms on the first floor.” Finding them
vacant, he ascended a flight of stairs to the rightand pursued his
search through the second story. Trying the door of the front
pecen ga the hall he found it secured, but there was no key in
the lock.

“Alice! he called, ‘‘where are you?”

There was a stir and arustleon the other side of the door;
then a faint, scared voice replied:

“Who is ic that speaks and culls me by my name, intones that
pea jong been Strange, and that yet sound as if they were once

amiliar

a is I, Edward Seaswold, your cousin, your betrothed hus-

nd,

eae there was a half-suppressed scream, and silence for a few
seconds.
“Why do you not speak to me, Alice ?”’ cried Seaswold; “I have
come to rescue you,’

“O, Edward ! and have you Indeed come at last ?” answered
the voice from within. “ButI am a prisoner; 1 cannot open the
doo

“Stand aside, then,” said Seaswold; “I will burst it open.”

Placing his shoulder against the door, he hurled it into the
middle of the room, and received a fainting form in his arms.

Placing her in a large arm-chair which stood near the wiudow,
he dashed some water in her face. In a few seconds her eyes
opened slowly and wide, aad rested with a wondering look upon
his countenance. 1

“And you have come allthis way to seek and to save me?”
she murmured. ;

“Ihave; and you aresafe. Fear nothing. Do you feel strong
enough to come with me? There are old friends not far off,
ready to welcome and protect you.”

“But ny uncle!” she said, in a low, frightened yoice, looking
around her, with a shudder—“he will\kill-us both! Oh, fly, and
save yourself! He will never let me leave my prison alive,”

“His power to Linder or to harm is past forever; we have noth-
ing to tear from him,” replied Seaswold, solemuly. “But we
have no time to lose. Make your preparations to go with me as
speedily as possible, I will await you 1m the hall.”

It was scarcely a miauie before she joined him, pale and trem-
bling, She had simply tied on a straw hat and thrown asbawl
about her shoulders. ;

“I cannot believe that Lam indeed free to leave this place,” she
said, ‘and I ow - ae ee gone that I would not stay an un-
necessary minu 10 were compelled to leave ali the
wealth of the Indies behind me.”

a

 

CHAPTER XIL
-THE FINALE,

As the two reached the foot of the front steps, Seaswold felt his
companion, who was leaning heavily on his arm, start nervous-
Is. Following the direction of ber eyes, he saw a deformed and

warfish Agate attempting to raise Gormsby from his recumbent
position. He had partially succeeded, and the wounded man’s
head and back were resting against the trunk of a tree. His
eyes were fixed with a strange expression upon the youthful pair
as they issued from the house.

“Oh, Heaven !’ he gasped; “I am dying, and ‘is there no one
to bring me a cup of water? No, Jackson,” he added, “not you;
I need your support. Oh, Alice! I have indeed been'a monster
of wickeinen. ae ee nape erpneen above all others; bring
me a cup of co okea of your forgiveness
die-the easier for it.” r 7 each sie

The Mexican woman who had been assisting Dawne in attend-
ing to the wounded blacksmith, at thls moment made her ap-
pearance from the kitchen bearing a wooden pail full’ of water,
and in it a cocoanut-shell dipper.

Relingaishing her hold upon Seasold’s arm, Alice filled the
dipper, and approaching tle dying man held it to his lips,

_ His eyes suddenly lighted up with a gleam of fiendish exnita-
tion. e@ stretched out his lett hand as if to receive the proffered
draught, but instead of doing s0, clutched the arm of his niece
above the elbow, and drew her toward him. Atthesame instant
$ tous, lean knife was raised in his right hand, poiuted at her

reast.

“Oh, my Master!" he cried, “this is the sweetest morsel of re-
venge I have ever tasted. It is enough tomakethe hell to which
I go more blissful than a heaven of eternal sing-song!”?
ee paralyzed for a moment, sprang. forward, but too

te! .

The biow descended, and the fatal weapon was buried to the
hatt in the heart of the deformed and dwarfish creature, wio
had been supporting Gormsby, and who had thrown himself be-
fore the girl just in time to receive the blow designed for her,

“Oh, father!” he gasped, and expired without another word.

‘‘Juggled, and cheated to the last!’ shrieked the dymg man.
“Where are my retainers who have lived riotously at my expense
all these years? Where are McBinter and the Skeleton? Is
there none will avenge me by a pistol shot or a knife-thrust?” °

There was no response, for there were none to respond, and
with a fearful cry the old man threw himself prone upon the
earth, When Dawne and Seaswold undertook to raise him up,
life was already extinct.

In some marvelous manner the news of the tragic doings at
Gormsby’s Ranch had reached Dicers’ before the tragedy was
fairly over, and the whole camp was astir.

In less than an hour after the events just narrated the grounds
were full of curious persons, and even the house itself was in-

aded.
The forms of a legal investigation of the circumstances were
= through with. But Gormsby had gone where he could no
onger reward his triends or punish his enemies, and he as well
as McBinter were adjudged to have come to their deaths by “yus-
tifiable homicide.”

_. Gaston recovered from his wound, and is at this present writ-
ing making a “delineating tour” through the Western States,
~— Sata a series Of popular lectures on “A New System of
Phrenology.

As soon as the formalities of the inquests on the bodies of those
killed at the storming of Gormsby’s stronghold and the judicial
investigation were concluded, the Dawnes, accompanied by
Seaswold and his bride, repaired to San Francisco, where they
took the steamer for New York. On the banks of the Hudson, a
few miles north of the site of the thriving town of the same
name, stands a handsome residence perched upon a wooded
bluff overlooking the river. Back of the house is a park-like
expanse of some sixty acres of land sloping gently down to the
Albany road. A romantic stream with frequent tiny waterfalls

<

 

i§ the worthern boundary of thissyivan domain. Not an aere of

 

h “A pretty speech,” said the Skeleton, ‘and well spoke; but

 

itis under cultivation, for Mr, Seaswold, the proprictor, has no.

taste gor agriculture, and his charming wife prefers the tame
decr That range the park in fearless security to the finest of
Durhanis or *short-horns.” Bat fpr persons in whom the ro-
mantic element predominates over the practical, it is a detight-
ful place to visil. There 18 a pleasant, sunny room at the South.
ern extremity of the house overlooking the river, to which Mrs,

present summer aud autumn it has been set apart for Guston,
the blacksmith, who proposes to devote the leisure hours of his
visit to the completion of his great work, “My Idees on Religion
and Phrenology.” *

(THE END.)

BQ Next Woh We shall commence “BAREBAGK BILL; or,
The Freaks and unes of a Tow-Boy by Jol F, Cowan.

 

DREAM-WOMAN.

A Mystery in Four Narratives,
By Wilkie Collins,

{The Dream Woman” was commenced in No. tL. - Back num-
bers can be obtained of any News Agent in the United States. }

 

 

THE THIRD NARRATIVE. :
THE STORY CONTINUED BY PERCY FAIRBANK.

We took leave of Francis Raven at the door of, Farleigh
ffall, with the understanding that he might eXpect lo hear
from us ayain. ;

The same night Mrs. Fairbank and I had a discussion in
the sauctuary of our own room. The topic was “Phe
Ostier’s Story;’? and the question in dispute between us
turned on the measure of Charitable duly that we owed
to the ostler himself.

The view that I took of the man’s narrative was of the
purely matter-of-fact kind. Franeis Raven had, in my
opinion, brooded over the misty Conuceiion between. his
strange dream and his vile wife, until is mind wasin a@
state of partial delusion On that subject.’ 1 was quite
Willing to heip him with a trifle of miouey, and to recom-
mend him to the kindness of niy lawyer, uw he was really
sin any danger and wante. advice, There my idéa of my
duty toward this afflicted person began and ende

Confronted with this sensible yiew of the matter, Mrs.
Fairbank’s romanule temperment rusicd as usual into
extremes, i mina

‘IT should no more think of losing sight of Francis Raven
When his next birthday comes round,’ says my wife,
“than I should think of layingdown a good story with the
Jast Chapters uuread, Jam positively determined, Percy,
to lake hii back with us, wheu we return to France, in
the capacity of groom. What does one man more or less
wnong the horses mailer to peopic as rich us we are 2”?

In this strain the parmer.of iuy joys and sorrows ran
on; perfectly impenetrable to everything that 1 could say
on the side of Common sense. Need | tell my married
Urethren how it ended? Of course | allowed. my wife to
irritate ine, and spoke to ler sharply. Of course, my wife
turned her face away indignantly on the conjugal pillow,
aud burst into tears, Of cuurse, upon that, “Mr? made
his excuses, and ‘Mrs.”? had her uw way.

Before the week was out we rode over fo Underbridge,
and duly offered to Fiancis Raveu a place in our service
as supernumerary groom. ; :

At first the poor fellow seenied hardly able to realize his
own extraordinary good fortune. Recovering tumseilf, he
expressed his gratitude modestly und becomingly. Mrs,
Fairbank’s ready sympatiies overflowed -as usual at her
lips. She talked tu @iin about our houe in Frauce, as if
the worn, gray-headed osiler had been a child.

“Such a dear old louse, Francis; aud such pretty gar-
dens! Stables ten tines as big as your stables here—quite
a choice of rooms foryou. You must learn the name ef
our house—itis called Maisuu Rouge. Our nearest town
is Metz. We are within a waik of the beautulul river
Moselie. Aud when we want a change we have only to
drive to the frontier, and find ourseives in Germany.
Listening, so far, with a very bewildered face, Francis started
se lemnaee color, When my wife reached the eud of her last
sentence,

“Germany?” he repeated. ,

“Yes. Does Germany remind you of anything?”

The ostler’s eyes looked down Badly on the ground.

“Germany reminds me of my wile,” he replied.

“Indeed? How?

“She once told me she had lived in Germany—teng before I
knew her—in the time when she wasa youns girl”

“Was she living with relations or friends?

“She was living as governess in a foreign family,¥

“Tn what part of Germany?”

“IT don't remember, ma’am; I doubt if she told me.*

“Did she tell you the name of the taimily?”

“Yes, ma’um, Itwas @ foreign name, and it has slipped my
memory long since, The head of the family Was a wine-grower
in a Jarge way of business—I remember that.”

“Did you hear what sort of wine le grew? There are wine-
sTowers in our neighborhood. Was it Moselle wine?’

*T couldn’t say, ma’am; I doubt if I ever hearu.’”?

There the conyersation dropped. We engaged to cemmuni-
cate with Francis Rayen beltore we left England, and took our

eave,

Thad made my arrangements to pay our round ef visits to
English triends, and to return to Maison Rouge in the summer-
On the eve of departure, certain difficulties in conection with
the management of some landed property of mine in Ireland,

wA10.ulter aur. plang, lustend 4 oF getting back to our
house in France In the summer, we only returnes «week or two
before Christmas. Francis Raven accompauied us, apd was duly
established, in the nominul capacity of siuble-helper, amung the

| Servants at Maison Rou,

fore long, some ct the objections ta taking him Into our em-
ployment, which I had foreseen and had vainly mentioned to my
Wite, forced themselves On our attention im no very agreeable
form. .
Francis Raven failed—as I had feared he would—to om
smoothly with his fellow-servants. They were all French, and
notone of them understood English. ancis, on his side, was
equally ignorantof French. His reserved munners, his melan—
choly temperament, his solitary ways—uall told against him. Our
servants called him ‘the English bear.” He grew widely known
in the neighborh under his nickname.

rrels took piace, ending once or twice in blows. 1t became
lain, even to Mrs, Fairbank hersell, that sowe wise change must

e made, :
While we werestill considering what the change-was to be, the
unfortunate osler wasthrown on our hands for some time to
come by an accident in the stables, ‘a pursued bis pro-
pein ilj-luck, the poor wretch’s leg broken by a Kick om
a horse,
He was attended to by our own su: » in his comfortable
bedroom at the stubles. As the date of his birthday drew near he
was still confined to his bed.
_ Physically speaking, he was d ing ‘very, well, Morally speak-
ing, the surgeon was not astisfie ‘ancis Raven was suffering
under some unackwowledged mental disturbance, which inter-
tered seriously with his rest at night. Hearing this, I thought it
my duty to tell the medical attendant whut was preying on the
patienv’s mind. Asa practical man, he sa my opinion that
the ostler was in a state of delusion on the subject of his Wile
and,his Dream,
“‘Curable delusion, in my opinion,” the surgeon added, “if the
experiment could be tairly tried.”
“How can it be tried?” I asked.
jianend of replying, the surgeon pnt a question to me, on his
side,
aioe you happen to know,” he said, “that this year is Leap
“Mrs. Fairbank reminded me of it yesterday,” 1 answered.
“Otherwise I might not have known in? Y
wore think Francis Raven knows that this year ig Leap
ear 7 —,
I began to see dimly what my friend was driving at,
“Tt depends,” I answered, “ton whether he has got an
almanac. Suppose he has not got the almunac—what then
“In that case,” pursued the surgeon, ‘Francis Raven is inne-
ceut of all suspicion that thereis a twenty-ninth day in Febru-
ruary this year. Asa necessary consequence—what will he do2
at twoo in the morning on the tweaty-ninth of Febru
instead 6P the first of March. Let him suffer all his spperstitions
terrors ‘wrong day. Leave him, on the day that is reall:
his birthday, to pass a perfectly quiet nignt, and to be as sonn
pat oe coe two = Ne morning. And then, when
€ wakes comfortably in time for his breakfast, shame him
mig foanye by nk him ps er aim ae anos
agreed to try the experiment, aving the surgeon to cau-
tion Mrs. Fairbank on the subject of Leap Year, I
oy oe — eat . . ice: Poe
The poor fellow was full of forebodings of the fate in store ft
him on the ominious first of March. He weer catreated.ime
to order one of the meu-servants to sit up wi on the birth-
day morning. In granting his request, I asked him to tell me

days on his fingers; and proved his innocence of all a tena
that it was Leap Year by fixing on the twenty-ninth of rae
ary, in the tull persuasion that it was the first of March,

to try the surgeon’s experiment, I left his errer uncorrect:

act dg hg See +! the ae ee e m. ;
ve Next day brought with it a little domestic difficulty, whick
indirectly and strangely associated itselt with the come end.

My wile received a letter, inviting us to assist in celebrating the
‘Silver. Wedding” of two worthy German neighbors—Mr, and
Mrs. Beidheimer. Mr. Beldheimer Was alarge wine-grower om
the banks of the Moselle. His house was situated over the fron-
tier line of France and Germany; and the distance from our
house was sufficiently considerable to make it necessary for us ta
sleep under our host’s roof. Under these circumstances, if we
accepted the invitation, a comparison of dates showed that we
should be away from home ou the first of March, Mrs. Faix-
bank—holding to her absurd resolution to see with her own
eyes what might, or might not, happen to Francis Raven on
his birthday—flatly declined to leave Maison Rouge. “It’g
easy to send anexcuse,” she said, in her off-hand manner. *

I failed, for my part, tosee any easy way out of the difficulty:
The celebration of a ‘‘Silver Wedding” in Germany is the cele:
bration ot twenty-five years of happy married lite; and the
host’s claim upon the consideration of ‘his friends on such an of
casion, is something in the nature of a Royal “commandi
After considerable discussion, filDuing my wife's obstinacy im
vincible, and feeling that the absence ot both of us from tha
festival wonld certainly offend our friends, I left Mrs. Pairbanl
tomake her excuse for herself; and directed her to accept the
invitation so far asT was concerned. In ‘so doiug, I took my
second step, blindfolded, toward the last act in the drama of the
re Or sepa the last 4 F

week elapsed; the last days of February were at h
Another domestic difficulty happened; and, ace, this ek
also proved to be strangeiy associated with the coming end.

My head groom at the stable was one Jose igobert. He
was an ill-conditioned fellow, inordinately vain of h personal
appearance, and by no means scrupu in bis conduct wi
womea, His one virtue consisted in his fondness for horses an
in the care he took of the animals under his Ina word,
he was too good a groom to be easily repl or he would have
quitted my service long since. On the m of which lam
now writing, he was reported tome by my steward as growin
idle and disorderly in his habits. The princi offense alleged

inst him was, that he had seen that day, in the city of
etz, inthe company of @ woman (su to be an English-
woman), whom he was entertaiming at a tavern, when he ought
to have been on his way back to Muison u The man’s de
fense was that ‘‘the lady” (as he called het) was an English
stranger, unacquainted with the ways of the place, and that he
had only shown her where she could n some refreshments,
at her own request. I administered the tients reprimand—
without troubling myself to inquire further into the matter. In.
failing todo this I took my third step, blindfolded, toward the
last act im the drama of the Ostler’s Dream.

On the evening of the twenty-eighth I informed the servants
at the stables that one of them must watch through the night
by the Englishman’s bedside. Joseph Rigobert immediately vol-
unteered for the duty—as a means, no doubt, of winning his way
back to my favor, I accepted his proposal.

That day the surgeon dined with us. Toward midnight he and
Tleft the smoking-room and repaired to Francis Rayen’s bed-
side. Rigobert was at his post, with no very agreeable Beret

 

 

 

sion on his face, The Frenéhmay and the Englishman had evi-
dently not got on well together so far. Francis Raven lay help-

Seaswold’s most favored summer guests are assigned. For the.

He will anticipate the appearance of tue Woman with the Knife

on which day of the week his birthday tell. He reckoned the

 

 

course. In s0 doing, I took my first step blindfolded toward tne
Y b

‘

 

 

 

 

ate... LE eee

+
 

7
;

ena

  

 

 

a

mem

eee

—

LY

 

+ .In the course of the eveniug I spoke to

;

 

 

 

   

less on his bed, waiting silently for two in the morning, and the
Dream-Woman. ‘ a

“T have come, Francis, to bid you good-night,” I said, cheer-
futy. ‘*fe-morrow imorning I shalt look iu at breakfast time,
before Ileaye home onajourney.”  _ ‘

“Thank you for all your kindness, sir. You will not see me
altve to-morrow morning. She will find methistime, Mark my
we will flud me this time.”

“My good fellow, she couldn’t find youin England. How in
the is stie to find you iu France?” :

“It’s berne in on my mind, sir, that she will find me here. At
two in the morning on my birthday Ishall see her again, and
wees oe eye ee ill kill you?”

a ou mean she w

” mean to sir. She will kill me—with the knife.”

“And with Rigobert in the roum to protect you?”

“I - & man. Fifty ae conte meeoteel me.”
A you w. somebody to sit up with you?’
“Mere we ness, sir. I don’t like to be left alone on my death-

bed.

Tiooked at fhe surgeon. If he had encouraged me I should
certainly, out of sheer compassion, have confessed to Francis
Raven the trick that we were playing hun. The surgeon heid to
his experiment; the surgeon’s face plainly said, “No.”

The next-day (the twenty-ninth of February) was the day of
the silver- ing. e. first t in the morning I went to
Francis —— room. oe se at the door.

“How ne passed the urght?’ .

“Saying his pares and looking tor ghosts,” Rigobert an-
swered. “A -_ asylum is tiie only proper place for him.”
e

; Lap bedside. . 4
“Well, Francis, here you are, safe and sound, in spiteof what
you said to me last night.” Fy
His eyes rested on miue with a vacant, wondering look.
} “T don’t understand it,” he said.
7 a you see anything of your wife when the clock struck
wo

/

‘No, sir.” ”

“Did anything happen?”
= ‘‘Notuing happened, sir.”

' “Doesn’t tis satisiy you that you were wrong?”

His eyes still kept tneir vacaut, wondering look.
peated the words he had spoken already:

{don’t understand it.”

I made a bast attempt to cheer him:

“Come, come, Francis, keep a good heart You will be out of
bed in a fortnight.”

; He shook his nead on the pillow.

“Tiere’s something wrong,” -he said. “I don’t expect you to
believe ine, sir. Lonly say tuere’s something wrong—and time
Will show it.”

Lleftthe room. Half-an-hour later I started for Mr. Beldhei-
mer’s house, Jeavinog the arrangements for the morning of the

of Maren in the hands ot the doctor aud my wite.
e one thing which principally “the me when I joined the

He only re-

at the silver weddiug is also the e@ thins which it is’
ry to mention here. On this joyful ion & noticeable
lady present was out of spirits. Tat lady was no other than the
heroine of the festival, the mistress of the, se.

 

  

 

    
   
  
 

Beidheimer’s eldest
friend of the family,

the subject of his mother.
i Z mau willingly

80n Ou As ano
IThada ae en his confidence, which th

“We have had a very disagreeable mai
; “and my mother has not recovert

 

lefton her mind, Many years " my 8
dren, we had an English goyerness iu the house.
we then unde: ; married. We vane. n re of her
until a week or ten days since—when my er received 2 let-

ter, in which our ex-governess described herself as being in a
condition of great poverty and distress. After much hesitation
she had ventured—at tue sugzestion of a lady who had been kind
to her—to write to her foriher employers, aud to appeal Lo their
remembrance times) You know my mother; she is not
ofily the most k! edrted, but the most innocent of women—it
is im possi 8 her of the wickedvess that there is in

under the fearless lead of their fiery chiettain, still continued to
ford the stream und press up toward the temporary breastworks,
whence the hunters and soldiers, quickly recovering from the
stunning effects of the explosion and seeing the devastation it
had wrought ao the foe, continued to pour upon them volley
after voliey with their revolvers and breechloaders.

“Now we will go down among them, Big Horn,” said the pro-
fessor, smiling blandly, and seizing the valve-line. “Sam, you
and Teddy look well to the seythes, for betore Big Horn jumps.in
among the redskins, we'll just take a ran or two through their
rauks, beginning with those cowardly fellows at ble top of the
slope. Hvuid hard!”

The flying Iudians who were pressing in dense masses toward
the summit of the slope, paused aghast as they Were suddenly
contronted by the Many-bladed car, and begat to run in various
directions, giving expression to their terror by wild and lumeant-
ing cries, in strange contrast with the flerce war-whoops to whic.
their lips were mosUy aceus.omed. But the next instant the car
was upon them, sweeping and tearing through their solid ranks
with tremendous effect, while, behind the terrible blades that
lopped and cut thent down like sheaves ef grain at haryest time,
the baliooulte kept up an incessant and unerring fire with their
revolvers.

Down to the very marge of the river it hewed and reaped its
“way, then up the hill again as the wind changed, until the lons
scythes were red and dripping to their hatts, and the ground
was literally packed with bleediug forms, and then back once
more to the river’s bank, the yet umstricken redskins flying be-
fore itand away from if like frigntened sheep, fllagiug away
their weapons and filling the air with their terrilied yells.

Here the bailoon came to atemporary puuse in its fell career,
chiefly on account of the scythe-biades being so clotted with
blood.aud fragments of flesh as to require some cleaning; aud
here Big Horu requested to be conveyed to the oppusite side of
the stream and “tossed out,” to use his own cxpression, The
renegade had succeedéd in fording the Murias with four or five
hundred braves, who, either desperate or regardless of the
slaughter that had gone on in their rear, were already engaging
the whites in a hand-to-hand fight over the low earthworks,
which threatened tu yield Lo the ussault at any moment

“All right!’ suid the professor, as the balloon passed slowly
Over the stream. ‘And by the time you begin to get tired, Bix
‘Horn, I may come to your reliet with another littie tin-can, or
with something equally effective.”

A cheer arose frou the mei in the works, and the Indians as-
saulting them for a few momen reeled back as the great cur
swung li amoug them.

Then Big Horn sprang out in their very midst—the balloon at
the same ti.we shooting up several hundred feet as Teddy threw
out two or three heavy sucks of ballast—striking out wits hands
and elbows, feet aud Knees, and tossing up an Indian on his ead
much as an infuriated bull would an urchin upou his horus, the
luckless warrier coming dowa upon the bladed head-piece to be
ripped up trun belly to ribs,dike a porker in a slaugiiter-louse.

Down they went in every direction before his terrible advance,
Tels cnt otherwise tried und brave giving Way betore him like
, ‘children, and seeming tcapabie ot offering any stable re-
sistance; while the fighters behind the eartuworks reuewed

      
  
 
 

iacir volleys with leuing cheers. :

“Fools! Cowards!” roared the renegade, bursting through the
reeling ranks ot his, Indiaus upon his spleadid roan. ‘is one
man a match for iindred ? ake way, you ruscals|’*

He clapped the 1 je of -his revolver aimo_t agaiust the head
of Big Murn and pulled the trigger.

_. The weapo fire. The next mstant, and in the twink-
ling ot » the splendid roan went thundering upon his head,

row tto flank by @single sweep vot One of the
sasius, aud his rider was locked iu the hunter’s terri-

euibridce,
_. Firetoot’s. followers reeled back in blank dismay, expecting
the next moment to see their leader literally cut tu pieces. But

 
   
 

 

to Feta iment, ws well as Uiat of their enemies, Big Horn
spoke to his«aphive lia low voice which no one else could Lear,
aud n, Witla scarcely un effort, tossed him far away, unhurt,
into thé ver. ist or this followers,

‘y of in ion arose from the whites, who had witnessed

 

ble to per
the work. eo return of post, inviting the governess
to come and see her, and inclosing the money for her traveling
expenses. When my father came home, and heard what had
been done, he wrote at once to iis ageat in Lon o make in-
quiries, inclosing the address on the eyeeenaee ‘letter. Before

  
  
 

he could receive the agent's reply Vverness art Sne
roduced the worst possible impres min ne agenvU’s
etter, arriving a few days later, conti jis suspicions. Since
d lost sight of her, the woman had most disreputable

we

lite. My father spoke to her privately.- He offered—on condition
of her Ving the Louse—a sum of m to take her back’to
England. Ifshe refused, the alternative \ be an appeal to.
the authorities and a public scandal. ted the money,
and lett the house. Ou her way buck to England she appears Lo
have stopped at Metz. You will understund what sort of a wo-
man she is, when [ tell you that was seen the other day in a
tavern with your liandsome groom, Joseph Rigobert.”

While my informant was relutiug these circumstances my
memory was at work. I recalled what Fraucis Raven had
vaguely teld of his wite’s experience in former days, as gover-
ness ina German family. A suspicion of the truth suddenly
flushed across iny niind.

“What was the wuman’s name ?” I asked.

Mr. Beldheéimer’s sun answered: .

“Alicia Warlock.” :

I had bat one idea when I heard that reply—to get back to my
house without a moment’s needless delay. It was then teti
o’clock at night—the lasc train tu Metz had left long since. I ur-
ranged with my young trieund—aftwr duly intormiug him of the
circuinstances—that 1 should go by the first train ip the morning,
instead of Stayiug to breaktast with tue other guests who sieps

in ny house. , eee

At intervals a the night I wondered uneasily how things
eee omat Maison Rouge. Again and n, the same
q occurred to me, on Iny journey home in the early morn-
ing—the moruing of the first of March. As the event proved, but
one personiu my house knew what really happened -at the.
stables, on Francis Raven’s birthday. Let Joseph obert take
ie place as narrator, and tell the story of the end te you—aa he

it, in times past, to his lawyer and tome.

Rocky Mountain Sam.

By Burke Brentford.

("Rocky Mountain Sam’ was commenced in No. 2. Back
numbers can be procured of any News Agent in the United States.]

CHAPTER XXXII
THE LAST BATTLE,

On the following moruing, at the first streak of dawn,
the aeronauts Were agalu il the air, alter having passed
the night in a canyon well suited to their purpose, where
they had slept reireshiugly and obtained an excellent
supply of gas.

ne wind was due south, and the balloon made such
excellent progress that in two hours Lieutenant Dulton’s
camp came in sight. Teddy was the first to observe it.

**Be jabbers! Luere they are jist where we left them,’ he
cried; ‘and, howly smokel louk at the haythen redskins.
The lreuteuant’s besayged!”’

“It certainly looks like it,’? said old Max, bringing his
glass Lo bear, while the others also looked auXiously over,
“There appears to huve been a fight already—yesterday,
Pperliaps—and now the brave fellows are preparing to hola
their own, at the fork of the streams, against enormous
odds. Why, there must be upward of tivo thousand Iu-
dians in ali.’?

‘We'll be just in the niok of time,’ said Big Horn, with
@ smile that jooked grim enough, for he had domned his
“*Figuter-of-tlie-Period’’ costume, and was fairly bristling
from head to foot.

“There’s fully two th nd of them,” said Sam. “But our
fellows have iortified themselves well there. {f they’ve only
got yore to eal, they cau hold out forever.

“| think they must have provisious,” said the professor, “for
those little houses which they have built at the rear ot their
@arthworks look as if intended as sture-louses.”

“Purtessor, jist ict me have that ere squint glass a minute,”
said Big Horn; ani, it being hauded to him, he directed it
gearchingly upon tie hills below, which were crowded with Iu-

some of them hiving builc their camps thereon, while the

y of them were moving swiftly about, on foot and horse-

back, as though prepariog tur another attack upon the devoted
ttle buad at the river forks.

“Jist as Lexpected,” suid the great hunter, passing back the
glass after a prolonged gaze.

“What is it ft

“Pirefoot’s afore us, as I said he’d be. Thar he isdown thar on
his big roan. That accounts, purfessor, fur 80 many redykins,
He's skinned the hull North fur recruits. Arter we've licked em
this time, they’il be done fur.”

It was now evident that both the whites and the Indians had
noticed the approaching balloou. The latter could be perceived
running hither and thicheria great excitement, while the wel-
coming cheers of the hunters and soldiers urose clearly and en-
couragingiy upon the (resh moraing air. -

When directly over the little camp, the throttle-valve was
opened, and the balloon began to rapidly descend. Among those
who crowded ubout the car as it neared the earth, was old Colo-
nel Chapman, as well as Dutton; and their countenauces tell
wonderiully when they perceived that the car only contaiued its
original occupants. s

But, anchor being cast, the professor sprung out, and their
disappointment was svon Chauged to rejviciug when, in brief
words, he explained everything. The news of the rescue of Miss
Mollie, upon being communicated tu the men, was received with
tremendous cheering.

“We can now fight with an energy greater than we have yet
displayed,” cried the young lieutenant, grasplug the old aero-
nauts hand, while the other ballcouists sprang out to share in
the general congratulations, d

“And there’s no tearot the result now,” said Chapman. “And,
after the fight, thea hey tor Fort Benton!’

*How mangy men lave you?” asked Sam.

! Que hundred and teu, including those the colonel brought
from the ranch shurty utter you parted from us,” replied
Dutton. “They attacked us neurly all day yesterday, without
making any serious impression on our works. But you are just
iu time, a8 we are about oul of provisions, See! tuey are about
toresume theattack. Good heavens! just look at tire ludiaus,”

e@ d, as the suvages began to descend the slopes on. tne
opposite skle of the narrow stream in solid columns.

“Al aboard!” shouted the professor. ‘Weve got some little

now that will make them sick. Cast off ihe

 

 

arrang
anchor

In a few minutes the balloon was once more afloat, and the
occupants of the car began to open operations by raiming down
stones upon the heads of the advaucing toe, who were also
encountered by weill-directed volleys irom the hunters aud sol-

diera.

But the renegade himself Ied the attack, and it soon became
evident that the “Buoogivbooby” lad Jost the superstitious terrors
which had atone time invested it, whatever night be the physical
fear in which it was still held bythe savages, The latter main-
tained their ranks well, covering the eutire side of the rugged
slope, and advancing directly through the shallow waters of the
streum so persistently thatit was evident the white men would
soon be overpowered, unless reheved by sume unforeseen inter-

ference. :

s “Ar’n’t you goin’? down among ’em t’’ demanded Big Horn,
with an oath. : F

' Rigged up as he was in his favorite fighting costume, he was
already impatient to participate in the tray,

“Wait a bit,” said Mux, cuvlly.

\ The balloon was directly above the Indian center, and about
two hundred (feet high. The old man had in his hands a smail,
round can, on either end of which he was tying a heavy stoue.
td ig that ere?”

| “Nitro-glycerine; Just wait till 1 drop ft, thus weighted, upon
one ue big rocas down there, and you'll see some tun. Look
out now

{ They all looked below as ho leaned over the car, and, poising
the can for an instant in his hand, suddenly jec it fall. ‘The In-
dians, seeing it coming, aud doubtiess deeming it but an ordimary
missile, eave way to let it fall through their ranks, und it iairly
struck # broad siab of rock with great force.

The result was an explosion so terrible as Barly appall even
the mid-air Mn ah themselves. For an fistant tue very air
seemed stagnated by the sound; the balloon and car paused and
shivered as if about to tall to pieces, andthe occupants of the
latter could see that even the majority of the men in tue camp
were momentarily prostrated by the explosion,

But the scene upon the crowded p!ain directly below, and for a
hundred yards surrounding the spot where the can had burst,
was indescribable. It was much as if a devastating earthquake
had suddenly torn the earth into tragments. The ground was
strewn with dead anu dying Indians, with nven blasted and man-

gled out of all semblance to humanity, ponies mutilated into
mere bleeding masses, and even Indians otherwise unhurt Bie
trated in every direc Fully one half of those remaining
were fleeing panic-stricken up the slopes; while some of them,

 

Kable Scene, forthe Indiaus instantly resumed their

. But Big Horn paid neo attention to them, but coutinued
to hew and cut his way toward the works. At last he reached
them, aud by 2 tying leap, lauded in the midst of Lue defenders.

Ife was at ouce surrounded by a hundred angry quesuvners,
but he waved them off with an oath. , ;

"Til tight tur you 1 claims the right to do us I please with one
prisoner,’”? he cried, hourse.y. ;
_y'But, ny dear fellow,” suid the colonel, forgetting in the heas
‘olthe moment the grave obligations he was under lo the man
he was speaking to, “would not tie capture or the death of Rov-
[ert Seatlet have ended this accursed ludian war at once aud tor-

r? :

 

~ ts he in the fight now?” cried Big Horn. “Look aroun’ an’
telk ne if any ou you sees hiim.”’

They did so;and iuvery truth the renegade had vanished
from the scene; although his toilowers, probubly unaware of his
desertion, were again pressing forward to storm the Works ui-
der cover of a cloud of arrows and arain of bullets as they
cume, ¢ :

“No, you don’t see him, an’ you won’t agin till I git ready to
surrender hia into yuur hauas,” continued big orn, “ies
my prisouer on purole. Now lev’s goon with tuis ere. serim-
mage.

‘Tuey soon had all they could do to repel the assault of the In-
diaus, Wich Was made Wilh more vigor thairavy Ulat had pre-
ceded it, aud the redskinus were lurthermore eucouraged—witic
their oppouents were relatively discouraged—by pergei ving Lat
tue panic-stricken hordes were reforming on tie bloody sh
on tue other side of the stream preparatory to sustaining’ their
brethren. .

“Why the duse doesn’t the balloon do something?’ exclaimed
Datton, weurlly staggering back {rom the. ironttoleau tera
moment upon his sword.

The air-ship was poised almost motionless directly above the
hill-tops on the opposite side, at au altitude of perhaps one thou-
Sand teet, and save that two figures—probubly those of Sam and
Teddy—could be seen leaning out and cieaning the scythes at
the sides ot the car, there were uo preparations Making in it to-
ward the renderiug of further assisiance,

“He'll chuck out another of them tin cans as bust up, may-
be,” said Big Horn, who was standing near him, aiso breatning
hard after his great exertions. “If he should, cup, jist take my
advice, an’ as s00n as your own men git over the stuunin’ etfects,
give the word tur acharge, bounce over these ere dirt-heaps,
ed it ‘em have cold steel. My word for it, iv’ll prove tle
wind-up.

“Tuat is your advice?”

“Sartuin—an’ Pil be thar, cap.”

“Then I snali tollow it. By Heaven!’? added Dutton, with
considerable excitement, ‘I believe the professor is about tu drop
another can nuw. dee, ne is leaning out with someting in is
hands. Down upon your faces, men, and be ready to spring up
and charge at the word! There it comes!” i

Most of his men, who understood the meaning of the warning,
obeyed him ut ouce, mucii tu the surprise of the Indians, wu
drew back, ataloss tocompreiiend the nature of such a mia-
neuver.

Certuinly there was no time for them take advantage of it, for
only a second tater the can of nitro-giyceriue, which had been
pucked between two heavy stones as betore struck the earth ata
rocky pointa littie nearer the river, and one which was aise
crowded wita the reformed ranks of tho redmen,

The etfect was even more terrible and disastrous than before.

*.

 

 

 

: CHAPTER XXXII.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END,

The explosion seemed to tear and rend everything in its path.
Not only were the ludians among whom it jell scattered like
chatf before the wind, and destroyed and mutilated in great
numbers, but great rocks were split asunder, cottonwood trees
turn from their ruots like the merest reeds, und inasses of water
torn up froin the bed of the sfream to iall upou the general
wreck in duzzling showers.

The effect upon the ludians immediately engaged in assault-
ing the works was ulmostas disastrous. Mauy of them were
dusued inio the river, there to drown before recovering (rum tue
stunning shock; others were seut hurtling througi the air as
though discharged irom catapults; while all of tle remainder
were prpstrated and overcome by fear quite as much as vy uny-
thing else.

The hunters and troops were s00n upon their feet again, but
little the worse tur the suock, Which hud swept over their re-
cumbeut furms in an oppressive but not hurtiul wave, and the
next instant Dutton’s clear voice gave the command to Cliarge.

*“Opand at them!” he yelled, ‘Don’t give tuem a chance to
get ou their feet again!”

Cooped, us tuey ad been for so long, in their close quarters

whi.e compelled to act solely upon the defensive, they obeyed
the order with a deateniug cheer. The next momentthe muajor-
iiy were over the Jow intreuciments and in amoug the lalt-
dazed savages with: bullet aud sceel; while about forty of tue cay-
alry meu, a tew mowents’ later, made their appearance in We
saddie—the horses huving been tethered out ot reacn of the e.-
tects of the explosion—uud began to use tueir long sabers with
telling effect.
The Iadians, in spite of their great numbers, were completely
cowed, and mude but a feeble suow of resistance; the sight of
the ruin and panic which iad overwhelmed theic comrades on
the other side of the river coutributing not a little, to their de-
moralization, ;

‘They were ridden, trampled and cut down by the score, and
the remainder forced in huddliug crowds into the river, where,
notwithstandiug ite being furdabie, mauy of them were berne
down and drowned.

This was tne tinal brehking up of the power of the redmen, and
one more can of nitrowiycerine completed the desiructivon of
their force. Leaving wore than halt of their number dead and
dyiug upon tie tleld, and casting their Weupons away, Ultey tled
in every direction, aud the Bluckieet war was virtually at au
end.

The fight had lasted about four hours. An hour or so after its
conclusion the victors had formed their camp upon a little green
knoll about « mile turther up the stream, ia ordec to get rid of
the sight of the field which their prowess had rendered so ghasi-
ly, Soldicrs aad lunters were lying upou, the grass ia every at-
litude of exhaustion or extreme tatigue.

Tue balivon was anchored bear ut hand, and the aeronauts
Were gathered with Colonel Chapman anu Lieuteuant Duttoa a
httle apart from the rest, when Big Horn, Wao had mysteriously
disappeared at the Close of the affair, camo riding in on an ex-
celleut pony which he had made w prize ot somewhere. He had
discarded lis “*period” dress aud was now attired a3 usual; but his
fuce Was cvyen sterner than was his wout, and there was a pecu-
liar caluiness in his deep-set eyes which no one had ever noticed
there betore.

“Gentlemen,” said he, bringing his steed to a rest beside the
group, but speaking ia such distinct and deliberate tones that he
was uéad by nearly every ouc in the cauip, “you was’ summut
surprised at my line of action with Bob Scarlet, the reuegade,
durin’ the scrimmage as has jist dried up, an’ [ come fur tu make
anexpianation. You all Knuw whar my cabin is, on the lower
side of Grizzly Bear Lake, among the fovt-hiils. Dm goim thar
now, to meet that man, whose got an old-stundiu’ account to
setily wiih me. If you send a detachment there to-morrow, Fire-
fuvil be guy up inter your hands, alive or ded; au’ Di jist men-
tion, as it ain’c my intention to killhim. Gentlemen, youve asked
my advice atore, an’ never regretted having tuk it, as fur as I
kuow; suppose you take it now, This lojun war is over. ‘To-
morrow, arter tie purfessor has swelied up the gus-bag agin, the
colonel an’ lieutenant here had better go with him to tie fort, to
sev the gals; the rest of you, as wants to, kin come down to my
cabin, it tie foothills.”

He waved his hand, turned his pony’s head, and, without an-
other word, rode swiltly away.

“Big Horn’s 4 queer character,” commented Colonel Chap-
man; “but I think his parting advice was most excellent.” «

“So say I, and we will follow it,” said Datjon, whose heart was
buoyant at the thought of meetiug Mollie s0 soon,

In the meantine Big Horn rode on, The day waned and the
night came down, but he did not pause. Dawn was just breaking
over the rugged tovt-hiils aud the towering peaks around them
When he approached his rude cabin, Which was set in a wild and

onely glen, at the edge of a little brook that dashed noiselessly
through a ravine into the lake.

He dismounted and entered the cabin. It had but a single
apartment, which already contained an occupant, who was re-
cliniug in One corner, bat who at once arose, aud advanced to
meet him ag he entered,

It was the renegade.

The early moruing’s ruddy light that fell upon his features
showed them to be greatly altered. Ten years seemed to have
been added to his life in as many hours, and his sunken eyes had
a wild, restless glare, liko that of one whose reason is tottering
upon its throne,

“LT have kept my word, Big Horn; I am here,’ said he, in a
strangely wearied voice.

“{t is well; sitdown,” said the hunter,

As the other obeyed him, he took a seat himself, leaving the
dovr of the Cabin open, so that the steadily increasing light of
the morning flowed in upon them, A wondertul change seemed
to have invested Big Horn during that long and lonely ride.
There was a quiet dignity about him which he had never dis-
played before, and his language was no Jonger uncouth, but
respectable aud Well chosen,

He suddenly suatched off his cap, placed his rugged face close
to the renegade’s and exclaimed, 1 a low, deep voice:

“Robert scarlet, is it possible you don’t reeognize me?”

The other shook his bead doubtingly.

“I know you as my enemy—as one whom I haye had great
cause to fear,” was the reply. “But that is all.” :

“Have the scars of battle and the impress of a savage life,
then, left no vestiges of the once comely features of him whom

 

Horn, bitterly. “Ofhim whom you so cruelly betrayed, whom
yourobbed of the only woman's heart that ever throbbed in
untson with his ???

Scarlet turned deathly pale, and started back us if he had re-
ceived a blow. \ }

“Great Heaven! Roger Blake! is it possible? he gasped, with
a shudder. , .

He sank back in his seat, completely overcome. Big Horn re-
garded him for some moments with a terrible smile; but his
voice was not sv harsh when he spoke again.

“Robert Scariet,” said he, ‘that’s overanddone, Let by-gones
be by-gones,”? ;

“You dou’t mean to say that you forgive me?” said Scarlet, in-
credulously.

“Be that as it may, I have Jong had in my mind the mode of
punishing yous for, in spite of your talseness to me, I have re-
specied the devotion with which you have sought for your cap-
tive mother; and I have also had reason to believe that you are
not allogether sane; at least, that you were not wholly respon-
sible por what you have done.”

At Be mention of his mother’s name, the renegade liad drop-
ped his face in his hands with a holiow groan.

“Robert Scarlet,” went on the hunters “yearsago, I rescued
your poor mother from the hands ot the northern Blackfeet; she
hag been in my keeping ever since—she is in my keeping now.”’

The renegade’s lace was terrible to behold, as he sprang to his

eet. .
“What! he almost screamed. “You mean to say that you

have known this for years, and yet kept the knowledge irom

me—hef son?” ;

The hunter nodded his head, and smiled, though there was
nothing of vulgar exultation in his smile.

“That was your puuishment, Rovert Scarlet.”

The unhappy man staggered back, and again sank down. -Tt
Was some minates before he could speak; and, when he did, his
yuice Wus Lullow, as if issuing from Che tomb, Sie

“Perchunce 1t wus but just, suid he, .‘eut,O man, man!” he
cried, stretching vut l.s hands with trembling eagerness; ‘am [
notto see her now? Will you not yvouchsate me une caress of
my poor—poor mother cre I dic - ;

“Yes; itistor this tuat I lave brdught or sent you here. My
vengeance is satisfied; [ pityyeou. But listen. It is useless tu
go lute the details of my rescue of your hapless mother. But
even at thatime her mid was a wreck, and her caplors would
doubtless have soon puc her out of the way‘as a Useless incum-
brance, had I not etfee:ed her release. As svonas 1 did so, I bore
her to a little cabin inthe very heart of Luese Lills—so lonely and
remote that its existence is known to no other mun, white or
red, than myself, Heve I placed ber uuder tue care of an old
Shoshone squaw, who was iudebied to me for ber lile, aud who,
strange to say of the Iudian, was gratetul, In the Charge of that
Woman, aud supplied with every comfort 1 have been able to
provide for her—she cid not need many, poor thing—she has
lived ever since, but iu almost hopeiess imvecility, alurost un-
conscious of her ownexistence. 1 tell you tls in order to pre-
pare you for the wreck yuu must ¢ncounter. Come!”

[TO BE CONCLUDED N&XT WEKK.]}
a OO

- PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS,

[Most of our readersare undoubtedly capable of contributing; to
ward making this columu an attractive feature of the NEW YORK
WEEKLY, and they wiil oblige us by sending for publication any-
thing which may be deemed of suflicient interest for general pe-
rusul, tis not necessary that the articles should be penned in
scholarlystyle; so long us they are pithy, and likely toatiord
amusement, minor defects wilt be remedied.]

 

THE BACKSNAPPER PAPERS.—No, 14.

 

Scientigic Doolittle Again—A Caloric Experiment —
Scientific Toolh- Pulling. e

 

wi

Afore Mr. Puddles, the **Coocumber!/Deacon,’’ moved to
Four-Mile Creek, I run overtu borrer Mrs. Puddles’ bussel
patern.) Tuere L foun’ the Coocuuber Deacon settiu’ by
tue kitchen fice & nussin’ a Lovet.

“Deacou, wot sort of a tootl is it that is a botherin’ of
-yeh?? Last. | £ i

He stillel’ his face to the fire, but in about a minute he
saidg! ;
. “A tavibble leggeder.’? ‘

Tuen Ltiowed 1 would comfort hima little; so I said
the tovllmache was the gosu derndest meanest Company
to heV imthe worl’, meticularly the: jumpin? toothache,
Why, aman kin set with just asaiuch comfort overa
half-a-bushel of bumble-bees. iv

My vile au is the singuiarest ole coon wen he gits the
touvthucne of any mau lever seed. Sometimes heats jist
like aw blue rooster in a fence-coraer, with oue leg up ant
head a dreopin'; bat as gen’) thing he giis duwn the Bible
an? reads abuul Jub; then all eb woust he'll jump up an?
say he’ Hebedarn if he kim stan’ it any longer, aud makes a
slraight shot fur the doctor's. cs

I've tried everything fur it, sich as cloves, camtire, Doc:
tor Hurnblower’s intment, au? so forty but tie bes’ stops
per Lever tried furit was the duc’s puilecums. Deacon,
why don’t yer hey it jerkt? : wa}

liurts, hey? Wal, it should say so. The last un thet
ed, the doctor dragged ime clean out of Lue
cheer, un’ Ljist up aw’ yelled bivody murder.

Weu ft gut this Jur aloug, wlio should pop in but Scien-
tifle Doolitile,

**Moruin’,’? said Dooiittle.

“Mornin’,’? said tle Coocumber Deacon.

“Moruin’,*? said we aliin chorus,

1 kim over this mornin’, deacon,” said Scientific Doo-
little, ‘tu hev a litte talc with yele en the scieuce of Ka-
lore-ic. Tuothache, bey?”

“Ya-ah,” said the Cuoocumber Deacon,

“Wal, now, thet’s bad.’ said Scleutific Doolittle, ‘but
seems tu me Lict yelt aur Adon’ jist Wot maLur’ Kackelates
yeli should do, an’? thet is tryin’ the goud of Ka-lore-ic.
Ka-lore-ic, you know, is heat. Now, deacoa, did yeh ever
study heat, or rather ka-lore-ic, scientifically? Yer didn’t,
hey? Wal, now, It’s ohne of the mose inuerestin’ subjicis
tliet A ma-an kil gin his etleution to,

“Now, friustance, | set some kin’in wood on fire—wot
does itdo? Wy, it combusis! Now, inthe combustifica-
tiou of this yer kKiu’lin wood, wot does it ‘liuiuate, as
scientific meu say? Wy, it lim’nates Ka-lore-ic, ”

“Wen iron, or mose anything, giis Kaloriited, it ex-
pan’s, of swells, 80 lo speak, in a Comiperhensive way.

“Now, frinstunce, jist im your case, yelh see thet the
narve of thet blamed tootho’ yourn is kKalortated, an? it
jez Kuloriuted the jaw. Wotis the result?) Wy, um’t yer
jaw an’ gums sweil? Huin! Auybody would suy sv, to
iook at yet.

“Now, deacon, jus’ lemme see thet tooth, W'y, i’s a
stan’iw all by ise, Wol, now, deacon, lil tell yelt wot
Pildo; Vil try ka-lore-ic on thet loot, an’ get is out su
suddent thet bwont hurt.’

“Ar tet so? Kin yeh pos’tively git it out without a
hurtin’??? said the Couocuuber,

**Yaas,’”? suid Doulittie, ‘yeh see, dencon, I b’lieve in the
suddentuess of auy thing, Wen a thing is doue suddent,
the feelin’ isu’t thar,  F’riustance, a iman is) suddently
Kaloriated by the ’bustion of a kag of powdelr—jist as
%was with Jereboum Ripslusher—yeh see the suddent-
hess wilh Wich lis sperit Suuck itself Oulovse trom his
carcorial Carcass, Was lot companied by any patu; sv
usin smaller matters; as iu Loutiache, were Ka-lore-ic,
if managed properly, mind yell, kin wuek wouners.”

*Perceed,’”? said tie Coocumber deucon.

*“Nuw, Misses Puddles,” said Scientific Doolittle, ‘wiil
yeh obivege me with a couple o’ wax-en’s? Now, ye
see, deacou, 1 double an’ twist these Wax-eu’s, un’ wax
tem over agin. Now opin yer mouth.”

“Wat in thunder ar? yelt goin’ to do?’ said the dea-
oon *Goin’ to tie thet On an’ jerk it? On, no, uut on
me,

“Aw, shaw! said Dooiitile; ‘will people never larn
nothin’? W’y, Vil teil yelh wot L want. I want to tle
Llis Jere striug onto the Loot; them you stan’ up an’
Vil tie tother eend to thet spike above the fireplace. Nen
L want yelt to stan’ an’ thiuck how mauy tines 3 1-2 wiil
go into 13 1-2, The main pint is to divart yer mind,
whilst Let won spike, Wich 1s a guod Caneductor of Ka-
lore-ic, Will drawer suddent on this yer toot o’? yourn
ontil 16 Comes & Sashayin’? out unbeknuwnst,’?

Theu scientific Duolittle perceeded to tie the string onto
the touth; tuen the deacon stood up and he of hisown
accord tied a sailor’s Kuot onto the spike.

“Thav’s buncome!l? suid Doolittle; the communica-
tion utwixt Lhe tooth and the spike is su-perlauively bully.
Now, dsacon, just think how many times 31-2 will go
mto 181-2. Now, Misses Puddles, will yeli obleege us
with a hyma, for somethin’ must be done to divari his
mind-ali.??

Misses Puddles hez the fearfulest yoice of any woman I
ever hearn; it’s a sort of a gush dern cracked nose miuor.
Why, 1 seea the flys drop dead orf of the wails im meetin’
when she’d commence, Then she had a way of lappin’
her lower jaw aroun? as though she had hot mush in her
mouth; sumetimes her jaw would twist out a good deal
like a yawning’ dorg. Wal, she Commenced, as rekested,
an’ it ruu somethin’ like this, thougu I disremember all:

+» Oh would thet my sperit was et heaven's gate;
My carcorial carcass laid ¢t rest—
Au, ny buzzom heaves an’ hoves,
Ter be amongst the blest,
CHORUS: ‘
Then, oh then, let us wish tur the tomb,
Thet our sperits nay have elbow room.

Wile Mrs. Puddles was @ rockin’ an’ singin’, scientific
Doolittle kep’ playin? un’ foolim’? with the poker onul it
wut red hot in the stove; them all of a suddent he whirld
uroum’ with this yer Kaloricated poker, an’ tetched the
Cvoocumber Deacon onto the end of 1118 nose.

The Coucumber Deacon gin a fearful jerke, but the dern
tooth didn’t Kim the fust lick, Then Doolittle kep a pintin
au’ tetchin’ the deacon onto the nose, who kep upa
howlin’ an’ yelliu’ loud eneough fur forty sets of lungs,
Then fin’ly the deacon jest settled down to it like a hoss
tryim’ to break his holter; then all et woust the tooth kim
oul an’ the deacon sot ou the floor, .

Then fur wonst in his life, he broke over his usual cool-
ness. He scrammeled to his feet an’ calmly knocked
scientific Doolittle down, Doolittle started to run, but
the deucon hed jest lime to plaut a number 14 where Dov
little couldn’t set down if he hed a bile; then tle Coocum-
ber Deacon yelled after him:

“To blazes with yer dod blasted scientific k-lore-ic
foolery!” DAN'L BARBERRY.

Female Critics,

Not long ago, a lady, ® graduate of one of the most fa-
mous schvols in the land, upon an anniversary, Was ask-
ed to return to the school for a day aud read an essay up-
on an important topic, The essay was rarely beautilul
and inspiring. Ou their way from the hall oue of the wit-
hesses usked another: ‘Was not that fine?’ ‘Yes,’ re-
plied her friend, “but what a mean little trail she wore.”’
Fancy 2 man remarking, at the close of a lecture by Wen-
dell Phillips, “1¢ was fine, but his Coat-tail was too short
by au inch and @ half.’?

A Rat Joke. ‘

Rats greatly infest ships, and are by them carried to
every part of the world. Sv industriously do they make
homes for themselves in the numerous ¢Craunies aud cor-
ners in the hull of a ship that it is almost impossible to
get ridof them, Ships take out rats as well us passen-
gers and cargo every voyage; whether the former remain
in the ship when in portis best known to themselves. A
captain of an American merchantship is credited (or dis-

 

credited) with an ingenious bit of sharp practice as a

you once called a iriend in Montreal in the olu days?” said Big | means Of Clearing his ship from rats, Having discharged

 

on THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. @=

 

cargo at a& port in Holland, he found his ship in fuxtapo-
sition to another whish had jast taken in a cargo of Datch
cheeses. He laid a plank at night from the one vessel to
the other; the rats, tempted by the odor, trooped along
the plank, and began their feast. He took care that the
plank Shouid not be there to serve (hem as a pathway
buck again; and so the cheese-laden ship lad a cruel ad-
dition to its vutward cargo.

An Ingenious Poet.

When visiting an oid acquaiuiauce, an English farmer,
atatime when alums were all the rage, a well-kKuown
wit was hauded by the daughter a superanuuated account
book, ruled. for pounds, shillings, aud: pence, in which le
Was requested to write something pretty for her; with
which request he complied in the following manner:

; f 3. da.
This world's a Scene as dark as Styx,

Where hope is scureely worth - 2 6
Our joys ure borne so fleeting hence

That they are dear at 18

Aud yet to stay here many are wiiling,
Although they may: hot have

| a
A Perplexed Boy.

The following droll story is related by a physician of
Milwaukee: A boy, four years of age, sun of w prominent
citizen, Came with his grandmother into our» office,
one room of which is decorated with a series of anatem-
ical plates representing the human body i all stages of
dissection, «own tu the bare bones, The little. fellow
placed himself before then and commenced & scrulinizing
exauunation of each. . It must be said that they were not
very attractive except to the anatomist, and the little fel-
low’s expression indicated that they were rather repul-
sive to limi. At length, turmiug round, while pointing to
one of the most repulsive Jooking plates, he said: ‘“@rand-
ma, is then. Democrats 2°?

A Three-Legged Angel.

A one-legged suidier, a Mormon, recently asked Brig-
ham: Young tosupply, by a miracle, the amissing limb;
but the upustie, nol to be caught, made this reply: “1 can
iu an instant produce a new ieg in the piace ofthe gid
one; bul then you see, if do, it will cause great incon-
venieuce to youin Heaven; for after your exaltation to
glory, the original leg will come buck to the spiritual
body; mine also being of divine origin, becomes immor-
tal, and, in this case, observe how very awkward 2 three-
legged angel from Utah would appear among the inhabit-
ants of Lhe eternal world I?

The Rock of Ages.

The good people of the town of E——, were talking of
movilg their meetintg-house to a more agreeable locality.
Among, the advocates of the movement noue were more
earnest tlian old Deacon A——, whio, by the way, had an
uncontrollable habits of sleeping iu church. No matter how
interesung the discourse, the old deacon Was sure to
“drop off”? atabout such atime. On the Sabbath preced-
iug the day appointed for moving the house, the pastor
preached an lteresting sermon on “The Rock of Ages,”
Growing eloquettt in his renlarkS the good minister finally
asked with great emphasis;

“Who can move It???

The deacon, having
in time to catch the
ferred to the meetin
claimed: . ,

“Ill bring over my oke of steers, They'll jerk it along
the whole distance youl keep plenty of hard-wood
rojlers under it.) © ©! ?

The deacon heyer slept in meeting after that.

: ie : ; GiB SOULE.
—e* “A Sharp Waiter.
A Boston man ay Virginians sat at a hotel table in Rich.
mond, Va.’ The B ‘man was shockeé to hear the Virginiaus
call the colored waite black rascal” and “nigger.” Surely, he
thiol ngti@ spivit of slavery is strongly upon this people. He was
careiul to call the walter ‘his {riend,” when ordering dishes, and
to speak to him, in the kimtlest and most polite manner, Notwith-
standing his honey speeches and bland smiles, he noticed that the
Waiter brought ithe Virginians altogether the best dinner,

Upon retiection die ascribed it to the terror awakened in the
poor waiter’s mind Ly the rough speech and overbearing conduct
of these Southeruers, No doubt, be thought, they would shoot
Uusaniserable creature deadsin his (racks if he did not bring them
just whatthey wanted, aud in good style.

hen the Virginians left the table the sympathetic but rather
y-ted Boston inan hastened to get the ear of the waiter.
sting for evidence of Southern barbarism, as well as fur a good
cup ot coffee, he said ta the waiter:- ,
. “ifere werethose men, who insulted you, and swore at you,
anu talked rough, yet you brought them a much better dinner
chap nie, Who spoke to you most kindly and politely. How is
this , ,

   
  
  

een asleep 18 usual, woke up just
ery, and thinking the pastor re-
louse, rose Up in jiis seat, aud ex-

Well,’ replied the African, ashe cast a sly glance around and
wiped the perspiration trom his bluck forehend with the corner
of a napkin, “i know these men tajJk sorter rough like, but they
gives me money, and you don't!” ‘

‘The Bostoi man retired with a slight feeling of disgust for his
colured brother.

_QontRIBtTORS.—The following M8S-“ate accepted:

To P. TB!
“Let re Males” “Gossip;’? “Luve-Letter;” ‘Coming Womau;”
“A Laugh at the Wrong Place; * Tunid Terry ;” “Both at Fuult;”
“Saily’s Dilemma”... .. Toe fullowiug are respecifully declined:
“The Rooster Straying;” “Phe its “Letter trom the Coun-
7? “Quiltin:

try;” “The Knowle os) “Two Country Boys;”
“Sainbo’s Sermon,” “What's in a Name."?

THE LADIES WORK-BOX. ...

THRE PURCHASING AGENCY CaATALOGUE.—Owing to many
changes and reductions 1m prices, we have been forced to defer
the publication of our New Purchasing Agency Catalogue unti]
the present time. All orders now received wiil be fliled at once.
It Will be sent Lo any address, prepaid, ou receipt of ten cents,

 

 

 

“Gertie C.'—It is not at ull necessary to Change the
shape of yout overgarment fur’ sucques and capes are
fashionable this wiuter, Dolman. siveves are worn, but
don't cul up your Cape to muke them, for Cout sleeves are
more Worn, aud certainly are far more comfortavle than
those bv open. .Jf you want a slignt change in the gur-
ment why not trim it with a narrow bias baud of heavy
gros-grain silk, Which you cau stitch on three rows on
each side and tn the mitdie, A’very siylish polonaise,
and vue suitable for your material—alpaca—is the polo-
naise with side-revers, No. 3,496, price 35 cents, This gar-
ment hus around apron frout closed with buttons aud
butiou-hvules, or With loups and buttons, while the back is
potted, and forms iu is draping tue side-revers. The
Waist is trimmed both back and front with bands and
platting, or, if desired, it can be perfecily plain.

“Tithan.’—The basque you reter to ts very fashionable.
It is called the double-breasted, plaited busque, with side-
t.bs. ‘The No, 1s 3,502, price 30 cents, A pretty overskirt
to go Wilh tts basque is No. 3.520, price 25cents. It is
long, full, ancl only slightly draped in the back, and haga
plain poitited frout,

“Marion.’’—Youcan get a beautiful quality of thestriped-
silk in New Yorkf r $1.50 per yard, but plain or solid
cvlors Cust Higher, and We Cannot recommend a silk whic
custs less tan $2ayard. Take theoverskirt you describe
aud use the ttiumming upon i for your underskirt, then
with either black or any shade that looks well with your
material make a plailed busque above described. Pertiaps
you may be wble to make oue by using your old basque
and the overskirt, Tue piecing will not show under the
plaits, aud it requires litte or no trimmiug except the
cording or a bias band.

“Mrs. D. A. L.''—Certainly the New York WEEKLY
Purciasiug Agency cau buy Lhe articies for you. A water-
proof clouk, made in long sacque with sleeves and large
cape, Wiil cost you, if trimined with braid, $18 or $20; one
trunmed With plaitings of siik on the cape, aud ut fine
quality waterproof comes as high as $22. The suit can
range in price from $20 to $50, the price of course depena-
ing upon the quality of the material, trimming, and the
work upon the suit. Tne average price for a suit of Em-
press cloth, alpaca, serge, and such grades of cloth is
about $35, aud for tat price we can send you a neally-
made garment of good material.

“KE. M. A. F.’’—Yes, if you want hair, even though it is
naturally curly, to Continue go, do not plait it, for that de-
stroys the tendencytocurl. Do not use either oil or
water on your hair, aud in lime, if you brush your hair
Well, the secretion or oiliuthe head, or scalp under the
roots of tne hair, Will moisien the hair quite enough. -

“Mrs, F, Edinoudson Ave.’—We think another shade
of the brown silk will make your suil far more stylish than
if you used passementerie and guipurelace. The silk is
pretty, aud you Can use either a darker or lighter shade of
the sume tint of browuwithit, The trimming can be put
on either in folds, plaits, or ruffles, If you wish to trun
With the guipure lace you can du so, but head the lace
With either the silk like the dress, or another shade, Some
of the most stylish suils we have are the combination
suits of the ditferent siiades of brown, gray aud blue,

“Polly Webb.’ —Gel a darker shade of brown, aud make
acombination suil. You cu use your material for the
foundation and trim with a coffee brown, or you can trim
with yours, either way will bestylish. . Yuu could combine
gray with the brown, but you will find different shadesof
the same color look the best, only be careful in making
your selection not to get tints that kill each other, This is
done so often by inexperienced persons. As you did not
mention your State, we can scarcely decide what you will
need to iuake you comfortable in your new home outside
of what you now have, Theclunate of the place to which
you are going is mild and pleasant,

‘Henrietta.’’—We have not been able to find theshuttle
youdescribe. Is the pin on the outside or in the shuttle?

“Mollie.’—The catalogue of fall and winter slyles las
been out some time. Send your address in full, and six
cents, und we will send you one with pleasure. We have
all the new stylesin basques, overskirts, polonuises, skirts,
and all other garments, which we Caunotspare time to de-
scribe, The illustrations in the Catalogue will tell you
how they look. The watteau plaits or fulds are used how
on all kinds of garments, wrappers, busques, polonaises,
and skiris, Do not buy a dress like the inciosed sample,
it will rumple too easily. Get something softer,

“Flora.’—Glad you were. pleased with the, catalogue,
and that you appreciate tle NEw YORK WEEKLY, ake
your polonaise after patterty No. 3,497, price 30 cents, This
gurmeut is opened inthe buck, and has basque skirt over
the looping of the polonaise. You cantrim it stylishly
with a shirred ruffleof the material, The neck is finished
with a fraise, sheil trimmiug, and a shirring. Itis very
Stylish for young ladies,

“M. B. W.??—You can make your suit of cashmere, me-
rino, Henrietta cloth, drap d’ete, crape cloth, alpaca, or
bombuzine., Ail these materials are used for mourning
purposes, those without luster being selected for the deep-
est mourning, witile those with rich fiuish are reserved
for the second or third year. You need not be confined to
the above fabrics, because any black cloth may be used,
sucli as serge, Empress cloth, camel’s hair, and silk, To
tell the truth itis most difficult now to distinguish a
mourning costume from any stylish black suit, as they are
made and trimmed alike, aud crepe lisse and illusion are
worn by all in and out of mourning. The ouly material
reully reserved to indicate the deepest grief is crape, and
afler afew wonths that trimming is changed tur folds,

- ca ner

{to us in this column, for the answers ge

 

 

A ee scott

bias bands, and in some instances ruffles and plaitings of
the material or of the Justerless silks, ‘he beauty of the
wattau fold isin its perfect ease and grace, therefore if
you belt itin there is no use in having it. You may beit
your wrapper by passing the belt through an opening
made under the wattau jold, but it wiil hang more grace-
fully if the garment is made slightly fitted! to the figure
and is entirely unconfined. Make your calico with a skirt
walking length, trimmed with one deep flowiice, and a
loose polonaise, or, if you like better, an apron overskirt
and a French waist, or perhaps. you might prefer one of
the pretty plalted waists which are now so fashionable.

“Miss E. N.”’—Trim yourskirt with a deep side-plaiting,
which you can, if you wish, let extend half way up the
skirt, or so that the polonaise can come a little below it.
If you have not enough of the material, you can trim the
skirt with black and your polonaise cau be miude to cor-
respond by simply adding pockets and collar, or revers of
lhe black.

“Inez Saint Denis.\—You must let your conduct be
regulated by the section in which you live, as what is pro-
per in one place, is decidedly wrong in another. A valu-
able work on the subject is the “Manual of Etiquette,”
which we can furnish you for 75 cents.

“Guileless Nel.’—Curls are worn. We ean send youa
very pretty set of waterfall curls for $15. Long curls cost
according to length and thickness, «aud range in prices
from $2 lo $7. These prices are for naturalty curly. lair.
The braid size you desire will cost you $12. In cutting
sample of hair, be sure and take it from near the top of
the head and underneath the surface hair, for sometimes
our friends have sent the: faded ends of their hair, and
lave been sadly disappoiuted to find that the braid was of
a jighter shade than the hair on their own heads. -This
would have caused trouble, but for tlie fact of our keeping
the sample of hair seut us, and our selection las always
been found to correspond with the saniple.

“Mrs. P. O.2-—-Will send you a really neat pair of Globe
corsets for $2.50. Yes, they are weli made and neatly
filting. Your shoes can be bought for $5, and gloves for
$2.25. We can get clieaper articies,, but ‘suppose you de-
sire really good siioes and gloves.

[3 —_——_———_—_>-0-+-__—_

THE POPE’S
Chamberlain Captured by Brigands.

On the evening of the 8th of October, the alarming in-
telligence was circulated in Rome that Monsignor Theo-
dali, oue of the Pope’s chamberiains, had been captured
by brigands near Frosinone, and that 50,000 francs had
been demanded forhisransom. Monsiguor Tueodati, who
is a member of one of the most aristocratic families in the
city, was temporarily sojourning at Trivoitu, a vasteand
picturesque abbey near Frusinone. He was there for the
benefit of his heaith. It was his custom, every day after
dinner, to walk through the woods surrounding the abbey,
toa spot where a small Chapel to tie. Virgin’ Jiag ‘been
built. On the 4th of October he ventured ‘to pass the
chapel, and had not walked five minutes in the wood when
five rufflans, armed with guus, stopped him, saying, in the
Neapolitan dialect, ‘‘We’ve beer waiting for you for the
last ten days; now, then, follow us.*?: Jt may ‘easily be
imagined in what state poor Monsignor Th iv found
himself, There was, however, no help for it, He kuew
thatany resistance would be useless, and he followed the
brigands to thetop of ahill. The servants and the monks
at the abbey who at the usual hour saw po Monsignor re-
turn became rather frightened, and walked througt: the
wood to see what had happened to the old prelate, Their
fright soon changed into terror; when, meeting a young
lad, they received from him a scroll of paper on which
Monsignor Theodali in his own hand had written:

“Tam captured by the brigands, who demand 50,000
francs for my ransom. Get. the money at ouce, aud be
prudent.”? 7

The servant and the monks ran back to the abbey, mus-
tered some 20,000 frances, aud carried them to the top of a
hill where, surrounded by brigands, they found Monsignor
‘Theodali seated under a Lree, wilh lns Coat tern to pieces,
and crying like achild. ‘She brigands refused the money,
saying that a monsignor was not worth a farthing less
than 50,000 francs, and refused to liberate the prelate.
Monsiguor Theodali, followed by his servant, and, of
course, the brigands, was dragged abont for two days and
two nights from hill to hill, from forest to forest, until at
last the enlire sum demanded made itsappearance. ‘Then
he was set free.

The family and servants of Monsignor Theodali, in order
not to compromise the life of the prisoner, Made no men-
tion of the fact to the authorities util the captured pre-
late had been set at liberty. Now troops and pelicemen
are searching every hole aud corner, and there is no doubt |
that the rofflans will fall into the hands of the law, Four
years ago aggressions of this nature were common, not
only in the province of Rome, but in Rome itself, They
ure not, however, common now. Hence the deep impres-
sion the news has created,

QUR KNOWLEDGE Box.

A Few Paragraphs Worth Remembertlug.

Bam We take pleasure in responding to every question addressed
Uy afford information
not onl the parties especially seeking it, but
of our readers; but with the increase of our cireu P
the number of questions soliciting answers by mail. ese
tions are almost unilormly important ones, costing, to satisfa
rily answer them, much time and labor, For this reason all per-
sons in future wishing their queries replied to by mail, will please
iuclose 50 cents to deiray the expenses necessarily incurred.

 

 

 

 

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WAXTED.—
0. C. W.—To MAKE A LOOKING GLASS.—Spread a sheet of tin-
toil on a flat surface, and on the tup pour mercury, and then rub
the latter with a hare’s foot, The mercury soom unites itself
With the tin, which then becomes very splendid, or, as it is tech-
nically termed, quickened, A plate of glass is then to be cautious-
ly slid upon the tin leaf, in such 2 manner as to sweep off the re-
dundant mercury which is not incorporated with the tia. Leaden
weights are then to be placed on the glass, and in a little time
the quicksilver tin-foil will adhere so firmiy to the glass that the
weigiits may be removed wiihout any danger of its talling off.
The glass thus coated is a common looking glass. About two
ounces of Mercury are sifficient to cover three square feet of
glass. The success of this operation depends much upon the clear-
hess of the glass; adhesion of the amalgam will be prevented
should the least dust or dirt be on the surface of the plate. ..... le
7. G. T.—APPLE BREAD.—Weigh one pound of fresh juicy apples;
reel, core and stew tiem into a pulp, being earetul tu use a porce-
ain Kettle or a stone jar, placed inside a Kettle of boiling water;
mix the pulp with two pounds of the best flour; put in the same
quantity of yeast you Would use for commun bread, and as much
water as Will mane it a fine, smooth dough; put it ina pan and
place itina warm plac to rise, and let it remain for twelve
hours at least. Form it into rather Jong-shaped loaves, and bake
it in a quick oven........ T.S.—See No. 19 of volume 29......... .
L. B. C.—ToO Kexr EGGs FRESH.—This is the latest recipe we have
received: Take an old tin pail, and punch numerous holes in its
bottom und sides, and after filling it with fresh eggs, lower it into
i keitle of melted tallow, as hot as can be, without burning one’s
fingers when thrust into it; then lift the per out quickly, and the
melted tallow will flow out, leaving a thin coating on every egg.
Remove the eggs from the pail. and pack them on tneir euds in
a keg or barrel; place in a cool cellar until wanted for use.
have been kept thus more than 1x months—so !resh that expert
judges supposed they were fresh, The eggs being somuch covler
than the melted tatiow, a thin coveriug of taHuw wil be formed
almost instantly, which will render the shell impervious to the air.
J. &, S.—SYMPATHETIC OR INVISIBLE INKS.—A solution of chlo-
ride or nitro muriate of cobalt turns green when heated, and
disappears again on cooling. A solution ot acetate of cobalt with
a little muriute added to it, turns rose-colored by heat, and dis-
appears again When cold...... “ Wrestling Joe.”.—HARMLESS COs-
METIC FOR THE COMPLEXION.—Mix glycerine wih water, togeth-
er With a small quantity of alcohol; add cologne or ether per-
fume, and you huve a preparation closely resembling the cele-
brated Email de Paris.......06...7¢ B.—Try tannic acid..........

uffalo.—l. Equal quantities of boiled molasses and glue will
mMuke an excellent tly paper. 2. For pimples see NY. Bor vol-
ume 29. 3. The oil of cloves will cure any ordinary tovthache.
Put a little on a piece of cotton and insert it in tue hollow ot the
tooth. Sometimes strong hartshorn, used in the same way, will
effect acure. Se careful not to touch the gum...... Garrie and
Annie.—To dye feathers blue, first steep them for a few Rours in
warm water, and then use extract of indigo and boiling’ water.
Only an experienced person can dye feathers nicely. You had
better take them to an establishment where they do such work,
Mrs. J. 7, B.—i. Write direct to the NEw YORK WEEKLY Pur-
chasiug Axency. 2. Wecannot tell you........ L, KE. K.—For
GINGER PoP see No, 50 of volume 29...... U. ¢. F.—How To Ger
THIN.—The ote which Banting observed to reduced his
weight from 202 pounds to 150 was this: For breakfast four
ounces of beef, mutton, or any kind of broiled fish or coid meat,
excepting pork, salmon, eels and herring. A jarge cup of tea
without milk or sugar, a little biscuit or an ounce of dry toast.
For dinner, five or six ounces of any fish or meat (except thoso
prohibited, any vegetable cxcept potatoes, parsuips, aud’ beets),
one ounce of dry toast, ripe and cooked fruits, aud any kind of
poultry and game. For tea, two or three ounces of fruit, dry
loust and a cup of tea without milk or sugar. And for supper
three or four ounces of meat or fish, with a cup er two of weak
black tea.. Food which contains sugar and stare’ in large pro-
portions rapidly creates fat, and must be avoided by those who
have @ horror of corpulency...... F. C. Jumble, F. P. *Pugilist,”
J. 0. P., A. F.S., P. Ray, M. F. S., W. H. W., Mouongahela, J.
il. M., Mass., E. J. L.—Your letters have been received, and will
be answered as s00n as possible.

MEDICAL DEPARTMENT.

B. R. L.—The common names for HYPOCHONDRIA are “Low
Spiris,” “Spleen,” “Vapors,” “Hypo,” and ‘fhe Blues.’ It
produces coustant fear, auxiety, and gloom. The victim becomes
changed in his moral disposition. He is jealous, takes a joke ag
an affront, and is unstable, tretful, peevisti, and fickle. The seat
of the disease is in the brain and nerves, ynd is caused by de-
rangements of the stomach and liver, und vafious bodily excesses,
Some hypocnondriacs are very large eaters, and they are con-
stantly aggravating their malady by indulging their appetites,
Our advice to you, as it has been to others, is to be very temper-
ste both in eating and drinking. Mingle in cheertul company,
and throw otf the mind all cares and troubles. Goto early
ahd rise betimes in the inorning. Sponge yourself freely with
cold water every night and morning; don ¢ touch liquors, or fate,
or acids, or coffee. Weak black tea will not hurt you, but it you
can get along on cold water alone, do so, Your toud should be
light but nutricious, Always rise from the table a little uusatis-

fled.

L. U. Natic.—1.-You ought to know more about your mental
conditiou than anybody else. Lf you do not it is proof positive
that the practice referred to has injured you irreparably, 2. We
know of noformulato make men grow taller. 3. Ii doves not
color; itonly darkens the hair gradually. Bay rum should also
be added to it.

C. C.—A FINE DISINFECTANT.—Permanganmate of potassa is one
of the most efficient and elegant of all disinteetants, fwenty-
five grains will be ample tor two quarts of water, and a tuble-
spoontul in a soup plate of water, expused in a room of ordinary
dimensions, quickly removes any ordinary smell When the
pink color disappears more must be addéd. It is frequently used
to remove the smell of bilge-water and guano trom ships. It
speedily cleanses foul water and makes it drinkable. A table-
spoonful to a hogshead is generally enoughbut more may be
added until the water retains “¢ slightepinkish tint, This will
disappear by putting 4 stick inwtig water, for 1 lew minutes, No
sick room—especially one inWhich ananfectious disease 1s pre-
vatling—should be without this invaluable disinfectant,

¥. B. N.—NEURALGIA.—One who lias tried it recommends the
following re@ipe tor neuraigia: An ounce and a halt of gum
guaiacuin dissolved in halt # pint of alcohot, Take one teaspoot-
ful three times a day before inegls. Another remedy is two tea-
spoonstul of magnesia and charcoal mixed together in a little
water, and taken night aud moruing. Usually two doses will
effect a cure. : ? ‘
Anxious, E, A. K., Nervousness, Joseph L., Strathmore. Your
gi haye been received, and will be answered as soon as possi-

“e

 

 

 

ne ane

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IN SANCTUARY.

BY DIANA MARCH.

 

 

In endless, undulating tides
The rolling mist and moonlight shine;
Aloft serene Arcturus rides,
Anchored in crystal calm divine;
The leafless woods, like warders grim,
In wild and somber panoply,
Loom on the vague horizon’s rim,
And guard the gateways of the sea.
Far off, the lonely mountain peaks
Upheave their glorious altitudes;
Beneath, the snow-cloud storms and breaksi—
Above, eternal quiet broods;
‘They stand with lifted foreheads, broad,
Benign, and crowned with mystery; ,
Stilled by the nearness of their God,
And tranced in awful ecstacy!

Thro’ the vast pipes of mountain caves
The organ winds tumultuous roll;
The restless sea in gusty staves
Chants her hoarse march from pole to pole;
The shocks of grappling breakers hurled
Across the reef in spume and surge,
Like echoes of another world,
Throb on the night’s remotest verge.

But here, where Winter’s reverent hands
Her robes of spotiess ermine spread,
God's vast and visible glory stands,
And Nature waits in sacred dread,
With bated breath, and bows discrowned,
As if the holy hermit prayer,
His inmost sanctuary found,
Had knelt in awful homage there!

‘MARRIED AT SIGHT.

- ‘By ‘LIEUTENANT MURRAY.

 

We had been upon:the Mediterranean station for about
© year, when our commander ordered the ship to head for
Marseilles. The excelient. and safe harbor of this Liver-
pool of France invites with open arms, as it were, the va-
rious nations whose tonnage makes a highway of this
famous inland sea. Here the flags of Italy, Portugal,
‘England and America, mingle with those of the far East,
forming a most interesting maritime picture.

In the busy streets of Marseilles one is jostied by Turks,
Arabs, Spaniards, and the queer-lookiug sailors of the
Grecian Archipelago, while jolly Yankee and British tars
are equally conspicuous. Indeed, there is a perfect Babel
‘of tongues saluting one’s ears everywhere, owing to the
heterogeneous mingling of nationalities, while the eye is
dazzled by costumes as varied as a picture of the Roman
carnival. The city is a sort of miniature Paris with an
Oriental dash added.

I was then a young midshipman, and enjoyed the leave
on shore in a foreign port with boyish delight. There
were six in our mess, and we managed to get shore leave
so as to be together when it was pussible to do so, This
was the case one fine Sunday in the month of December,
as mild.and summer-like in the south of Frauce as a New
‘Engiand May day. j

The singular experience of one of our number [ have
often told since about the mess table or the camp fire, but
have never put if into print. :

We were strolling on the square known as Le Cours St.
Louis, a sort of per:nanent flower market, where the wo-
men sit enthroned in tent-like stalls of wood, encircled by
their bright, beautiful, and fragrant wares, while the
manner of arranging the stalls, so that the vender sits
raised some six feet in the air, gave a novel effect to the
scene.

We watched with special delight these black-eyed,
black-haired, and rosy-cheeked girls, the blush of health
in their faces fairly rivalling that of their scarlet flowers.
With busy tingers they arranged in dainty combinations
the vivid and delicate colors, relieved by fresh green leaves
and trailing vines of smilux, while we young middies
joked pleasantiy with them and bought fubulous quanti-

ties of bouquets.

While we were idling away the hour in Le Cours St.

Louis with these ish and preity flower venders, we

_ were all thrown into astate of amazement and curiosity by

the ppearanee of & young girl of about seventeen, who
ushed among us With a siarliing speed, and who, hardly

pausing to regain her breath, said, in excellent English:

“You are Americans, and, I trust, geutiemen. Is there
one aivong you who will marry me??? . ,

“We will all marry you,”? was the instant response, ac-
companied by hearty laughter,

“Ah, you are in sport, but lL am in earnest.
marry me?

‘There seemed to be no joke after all. The girl was pos-
itively in earnest, and looked at one and all of us as cool-
ly yet earnestly as possible.

“Here, Hurry,’”? suid one who was rather a leader

mo is,aud addressing Harry B——, “you wanéta wile,”?

ieee our comrade a slight push toward the girl.
or some Singular reason, Harry took the matter much
ore in earnest than the rest of us, and regarded the new-
comer’with a most searching but respectful glance. Ap-
proaching her, he said:

“I do not know exactly what you mean, but I can un-
derstand by your expression of face that you are quite in
earnest. Wul you take my arm, and let us walk Lo one
side?’ i ‘

“Yes; but [have no time to lose,’’ and, taking his arm,
they walked away together.

We looked upon the affair as some well-prepared joke,
but were a little annoyed at the non-appearance of Harry
-at-our rendezvous on the quay. Our leave expired at sun-
get, and we dared not wait for him, as Captain D—— was
athorough disciplinarian, and we didn’t care to provoke
him and thus endanger our next Sunday’s leave.

On board we went, therefore, leaving Harry on shore.
When we reported, the question was of course asked
where Midshipman B—— was, to which query we could
return no proper answer, as we really did not know. He
knew perfectly weil that we must all be at the boat-land-
ing just Vefore sunset. It was plain enough to us all that
there was trouble brewing for our messmate,

Harry did not make his appearance until the next day
at noon, when he pulled to the ship:in a shore boat, and,
coming on board, reported at once to the captain, who
stood upon the quurter-deck, aud asked the privilege of a
private interview.

The circumstances connected with the absence of Harry
were very peculiar, and as he was one of the most correct
fellows on bvuard, his request. was granted by the cap-
tain, who retired to his cabin, followed by the delinquent.
After remaining with the commander for nearly au
hour he camé out and joined us.

“What is the upshot of it, Harry ?? we asked.

“Well, lads, lm married—that’s all.”

“Married ?” asked the mess, in one voice.

*Tied for lifel’? was the answer, ‘i

“Hard and fast???

“Irrevocably.’?

“To that little craft you scudded away with?’

“Exactly. As good and pure a girl as ever lived,’’ said
Harry, earnestly.

“*W-h-e-w 1’? whistled one and all.

“How did Ola Neptune let you off? we all eageriy in-
quired—that being the name the captain went by on
board.

“He is hard on me,’ said Harry, seriously. ‘What do
you think he demands, lads ??

“Oan’t say, what is it ?”? ,

“If I don’t resign he will send me home in disgrace.
Tha’s his ultimatum.’?

“W-h-e-wl’? again from all hands.

‘Let's get up.a petition for Harry,” suggested one.

“IVs of no use, lads, 1 Know he means what he says,
He ivas given me a while to think it over.”

it was all up with Harry,

Captain D Was a severe but an excellent officer,
and he had only given the delinquent the alternative of
fesigning or being sent home in disgrace. The fact that
Nye Aud got married, in the manner he described, in piace
‘of pailiating matters, only aggravated the captain beyond
measure, He declared it Wasa disgrace to the service,
and a breach of propriety not to be overlooked.

Harry told us his story in a desultory manner,’ inter-
rupted by many questions and ejaculations, but which we
ees into a ‘suaple form for the convenience of the
reader. ,

Julie Meurice was the orphan eliid of a merchant, who
had been of high-standing during his life, and who left a
handsome fortune to endow his daughter on her wedding
day, or if not married before, she was to receive the prop-
erty on coming tv the age of twenty years. Her mother
had died 4n her infancy, and the father, when she was ten
years of age, plated her in a convent to be educated,
where she remained uutil his death, which occurred sud-
deuly, six months*previous to the period of our sketeh.

Alter his death, Julie became the ward of her uncle, by
the tenor of her father’s will, and the period of her educa-
tional-course having just closed af the convent. Hubert
Meurice, the uncle, brought her home to his family circle.
Madaine Meurice, it appears, was a seheming, calculating
woman, aud Knowing that Julie would be an heiress, she
tried every way to promote her intimacy with her own
son, Who Was an uncouth and ignorant youth of eighteen
years, without one attractive point in his character.

Hubert Meurice, the uncle of Julie, was a sea captain,
whose calling carried him much away from hishome. Dur-
ing his absence, his wife treated Julie with the utmost
tyranny, even Keeping her locked up in her room for days
together, telling her that when she would consent to mar-
ry her son, Hubert, she would release her, and do all she
could to make her happy. But to this Julie could not con-
Sent. Imprisonment even was preferable to accepting
her awkward and repulsive cousin.

One day she overheard a conversation between her aunt
and her hopeful son, wherein the mystery of her treat-
ment Was solved.

_ The boy asked his mother what was the use of bother-
ing and importuning Julie so.

“if she doesn’t wanwto marry me, mother, drop the
matter. I like Julie, and she would make mea nice little
wife, but I don’t want her against her will,’

“You are a fool,” saidthe mother. ‘You know nothing
about the matter, Her father’s will endows her witha
fortune.at her marriage, even if it be’ at seventeen, just
her present age. At twenty she receives the fortune at
any rate. Now don’t you see that if you marry her we
are all fixed for life???

“Does Julie know about the money ?’? he asked.

Who will

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“No, of course not.”’

“Tug a littie sharp on her,’’ said the boy.

“Pm looking out for you,’’ said the mother.

“Just so,’ mused the hopeful.

“Tam resolved that she shall marry you, and that is
why I keep her locked up, so that she may not see some
one she would like better.’’

“Lots of money, ei? Well, mother, let’s go in and win.
When shal! it be ?”?

‘Jt must be at once.”?

“The sooner the better.”

“Your father is expected home next week. I want you
to be married before he returns. He approves of it, but
is @ little too delicate about pressing matters s0 quickly.
I know that notimeis like the present time, so I have
been making arrangements to bring this about imme-
diately, Ihave gol a Protestant clergyman in my inter-
eat, who will perform the ceremony first, and then you
can be married atany time afterward in the Catholic
church, to make it valid on her side, for her father was a
Catholic.” :

This was enough for Julie. She understood the situa-
tion fully now, and saw that her aunt would hesitate at
nothing.- The poor child feared her beyond description,
and had yielded to her in everything, save this one pur-
pose of her marriage with Hubert.

Julie wasa very gentle girl; one upon whom her aunt
could impose with impunity. She had no idea of assert-
ing her rights, much less of standing up for them. But
she was thoroughly frightened now, and resolved to
escape atany cost from the tyranny which bound her.
No fate could be worse, she thought, than to be compelled
Lo marry that coarse, vulgar aud repulsive creature,

Yes, she would run away at once. . The poor child—for
she was little more—hud not asked herself where she
should go. She had n» other relations that she knew of
in the world, and the isolated life she had always led had
caused her to form noiutimacies, or even to make friends
with those of her own xge. Indeed, with this prospective
fortune, yet she was virvually alone aud unprotected, and
without arelation whom sue cid not look upon as her
enemy.

The. next day after Julie bad heard this information
was Sunday, the gayest day «f the week in Marseiiles,
and, fortunately, Julie succeeucd in making her escape
from her aunt’s house. Still undecided where fo go, andi n
her desperation fearing that at any moment she might be
seized and carried back, she had wandered into the ower
market, where sie came upon us, already described.

As she explained to Harry afterward, she was intent

Only upon escape, and believed this to be her last chance, [|

When ste saw a half-dozen ‘young Americans, who
seemed perfectly respectable, the idea Lhat positive safety
lay only in marriage dawned upon her, and she actually
ran toward us,as we have related, the moment the
thought developed itself. ;

Harry became more and more impressed with Julie’s
story as they walked along, while he was delighted by
her innocent beauty and manifest refinement. It was all
like a dream, almost too romantic for truth. Our ‘fate’
sometimes cones to us in this singular fashion, he
thought. ‘There is a tide in the ‘airs of. men which,
taken atthe flood, leads on to fortune.” Suddenly he
turned to her and said: a

“Dare you trust me with your happiness?"

She looked. at him thoughifully, with her soft, pleading
eyes. Her brain was very busy; she remembered what
awaited her at home, what had driven her thence, and
then, in reply to his sober question, she put bothof her
hands into his with child-like trust. ‘

They wandered on.” Julie had always plenty of money
in her purse, and they strolled into & little chapel on their

way, where they found a young rgyman, who could
not resist their request to Murry tte,” backed by ten
golden Napoleo and sg, thou ctantly and ad-

vising.proper delay, he performed th arriage cere
ny, okie by the sexton aud his wife, who each réeelved a
apoleon. a)” ; ug wien 3 fa
As ari inducement, Harry had also told the cle an
that he was just ng to sea, pa 8 om he must are
ried before he sailed, that not even o hour was to be
lost. ,
“Perhaps Lam saving the girl’s honor,”’ said the youn
clergyman, as he finally consented, :
Julie came Out of the chapel the wife of Harry B., who
weut with hertothe Hotel du Louvre. From here he
sent a pressing note to the American consul, who came to
him early the next morning, and by the earnest persi
sion of Harry, the consul agreed to take the young 1
Lo his Own house, until matters should be settled as it
garded their future course. In the consui’s house Julie
found a pleasant and safe retreat for the time being.
Wiiateéver might be suid witlt regard to the propriety of
the young folks’ conduct, it could not be undone. They
were irreyocably united as husband and wife. -Harry was
forced, however, to resign his commission. By the aid
of the cousul, Julie’s rights in relation to her fortune un-
der her father’s will were fully realized, and she came
almost immediately with her young husband to America.
Harry B., by means of proper influence, once more en-
tered the navy, the second time as lieutenant, and now
wears @ Captaiu’s epaulets,

Il know of no more happy tic circle than that
which resulted from this marriage at sight.

RESCUED FROM CAPTIVITY.

A LOVE ADVENTURE.
BY M. SILINGSBY.

 

Without exception Mark Trafton was the handsomest
man Lever saw. He joined our party at Council Bluffs on
our overland journey to California, in the spring of 1851.
There were seven of us, ali told, and three horses and five
mules madeupthe sum total of our animals, with the
exception of a long, lean, hungry-looking wolf-dog, the
property and especial favorite of Zebulon Jinks, the
guide. .

Two of the mules were driven in harness, and were at-
tached to a light wagon, buut high in the body, and made,
water-tight by caulking. In this we conveyed our pro-
visions, trunks, and a shelter-tent large ahi to accom-
modate our entire party.

On our arrival in Sait Lake we camped for a week in an
open field just outside the limits of the city. After our
tent was pitched and everything arranged for our com-
5 ei Trafton proposed that we should take a cruise through
the city.

We accordingly had recourse to our trunks, and eaeh
playing the part of barber for the benefit of the other, we
soon succeeded in making up au unexceptionable toilet.
It wasa little after noon. when we started on our expe-
dition, and a half-an-hour later found us promenading

-arm-in-arm through the principal street of the Mormon

capital,

Tralton was attired in a fashionably-cut frock-coat of
the finest German texture, with white duck pants and
vestto matcu. Each article of his apparel fitted him like
a duck’s footin the mud. A neat Panama hat and patent
leather slioes, with a profusion of costly jewelry to match,
completed his neat and somewhat showy attire. His ex-
quisite make-up attracted nniversal attention. Slipshod
woinen anc slatteruly girls—for a well-dressed female was
of rare occurrence inthe saintly city—rarely failed to
turn and gaze with*admiring eyes at the handsome
Stranger, I knew it was my companion who claimed
their attention, for I was always a very ordiuvary, plain-
looking man, with not the slightest. pretension to beauty.
There are some people so attractive in their appearance
as to Cause others to turn in order to obtain a second
look at them. (It is the universal tribute that beauty ex-
acts everywhere, and Mark Trafton was by no means in-
sensible to the admiration which his fiue personal appear-
ance excited.

As we gauntered along through the principal street of
the Lown. we noticed two female equestrians, who seemed
just then to divide public attention about equally with the
gay Lothario at my side. The eidest was a hard-featured,
rather good-looking duenna, of perhaps forty or forty-
five, mounted on a beautiful dark roan mare, with a coat
so smooth and glossy that you could almost see your face
in it.. She was attired in a black serge riding-dress, with-
white nnderskirts, and she managed the fine-looking
animal she rode with that graceful ease and perfect self-
possession, whichis acquired only through long experi-
euce in equestrian exercises.

Her companion was young, and one of the most be-
witchingly lovely creatures it had ever been my lot to en-
counter. The skirts of her riding-dress were of lilac-
colored silk, with @ waist or bodice of orange-colored
satin. Her hat was a dark purple velvet, studded in front
with a variety of brilliant gems, and ornamented with a
collection of drooping white ostrich plumes, Her jetty
hair fell in graceful ringlets over her exquisite neck and
shoulders, A more iaultless face it would have been diffi-
cult to Conceive, or a form more luscious and inviting.
She was mounted on a beantiful cream-colored Spanish
genet, and as they drew nearer, her large, languishing
orbs suddenly rested upon Trafton with undisguised ad-
miration. : ; ,

He had chained her with ove of those mesmeric looks,
which would now aud anon dart like flashes of summer
lighting from the depths of his dark eyes, adding a
transitory charm. to his marvellous beauty, which was
quite intoxicating to the senses. In her extreme confus-
ion at tlie Moment she dropped her handkerchief, and
with that gallantry which was a leading characteristic of
Trafton’s, he sprang gracefully forward, and with a bow
and smile that made his conquest a certainty, he picked
up and handed her the exquisitely embroidered article in
question.

“a an most happy to be of. service to you, beautiful
lady,*? he said, in dulcet tones, and bestowing upon her a
parting smile which was perfecily ravishing.

The fair equestrienne acknowledged the favor with a
‘genuine look of pleasure, while the liard-featured duenna
looked on with a frown,

“Isn't she a beauty ?’’ cried Mark, as he joined me, on
the departure of the ladies. “I wonder who she is???

‘That,’ said a bystander, in answer to the inquiry, “‘is
Belle Acherman, Elder Acherman’s daughter from Illi-
nois, aNd Who is said Lo be already selected by the great
Brigham for his forty-fourth wife.’ :

“And.the other lady ?? I inquired carelessly.

“Oh, she is the senior stepmother of the young lady,
and the director-general of old Acherman’s harem of sev-
enteen wives. Heis arichold nob, and bestows upon
old Brig., with his daughter, @ marriage-portion of five
thousand dollars. He is fishing, you see, for an appoint-
ment to the ‘Council of Ten’ next year.”

We saw that our informant was radical in his ideas, and
we took him to a neighboring saloon and treated him.
He told us @ great many novel things about the saintly
city before we separated, and walked with as to the street
where Acherman’s residence was situated.

Betimes the next morning, Mark Trafton cleaned up

 

his saddle and bridie, and after currying down the splen-

 

 

did black stallion he had ridden all the way from Council
Bluffs, till not aspeck of dirt could be found upon his
highly-polished coat, he mounted him and rode forth into
the city. He was absent till nearly noon, and after dinuer
he sallied out again, This he repeated the next day, and
for the four days following; but trom our conversations iu
the evening f found eut what he was up to.

He had already met Miss Acherman three or four times
clandestinely, and she had expressed her repugnance. of
Brigiiam in no very guarded or respectful language. She
pronounced him an old beast without hesitation, and de-
clared she would die sooner than she would be lis forty-
fourth wife, and Trafton eagerly encouraged lier in this
resolution, :

The last. time they had met he proposed an elopement,
and she had given her consent. She was ready to accom-
pany her handsome lover to California, or anywhere else,
to avoid the cruel fate that awaited her at home, They
had kaid all their plans for departure that night, intend-
ing to make their way beyond Bear River to the foot of
the mountains, where they proposed to remain concealed
till our party came up.

Their plan was to meet that night somewhere between
ten, and midnight, just beyond the northern limits of the
city proper, where they were to take the traveled road
leading to Bear River and ride all night. :

»“Now, what i want, Sil,’? said Mark, in an elated tone,
“ig to borrow your mare for Belle. I thought you might
ride as far as the mountains in the mule-team with Jug-
gers, and then when you overtake us you might exchange
places.”

I gave my consent, and in order to cover up suspicion
even from our own party, Lrode into the city with Mark
in the afiernoon, and left my mare ata livery-stabie, to
be called for by Trafton at nine o’clock that evening. We
then visited a saddler’s aud purchased a side-saddle and
asmall panier suitable Lo be attached to his own saddle,
In this he intended to stow away provisions enough to
last three or four days, 2ud such selections from the young
lady’s ample wardrobe as would be absolutely uecessary
in the undertaking of so lgng ajourney. 1 was to call for
the side-saddie and paniefin the evening and transfer
them to the place of meeting, which we lad driven to be-
fore stabling my horse.

On our return to camp we gave out the story to our
companions that I had sold my horse for a round sum to
aMormon. This was satisfactory to our fellows, who
had no particularly good reason for disbelieving the
story when they saw that we had not brought the animal
back with us.

A little after dark I started into the city in advance of
Trafton, and securing (he side-saddle and panier, | made
my way to the nt previously designated, [had not
long to wait before Mark appeared, mounted on his own
horse, with mine in lead.

It was a little past nine o’clock at this time, and a beau-
tiful starlight night. We exchanged the saddles and atl-

which he had broughtiuabag thus far were carefully
transferred to the panier, so as Lo Make room for the re-
ception of such articles ag the young lady might think
proper to take along with her. ‘

It was understood that she was to slip out of the house
the moment the family had retired and everything was
quiet about the premises, and meet: Mark, who was to
await her near at hand, while I remained as sentinel over
the horses, which were concealed from observation by a
clunip of bushes not fur froin the ruadside.

How long I should be. required to wait was uneer a
for no one could tell how Jong the family mightremain up.
Time always seems loug to those who are awaiting an ex-
pected eveut. i dO ghee

The two hours and a half that I remained behind that
clump of bushes, holding the two horses by!the bridle, be-
fore the arrival of the fugitives, seemed to me, in my im.
} patient mood, to be fully double that lengilt of time! But
they Camevat last, and the sinall bundle. of things which
the beautiful girt had smuggled [rom the: house, were
stowed snugly away im the opposite side of the panier
from avhere the provisions had previou been placed.
When all were ready, Mark vauited into the saddle, while
Tassisted his companton to hers, iF as

In @ few minutes ee dae te side by.
side-over the northern road, waving their gooud-bys to me
aS they passed out of sight. Whengl could perceive no
farther trace of them, I picked up the old, saddie which
had made room for the new one, and started on my return
to camp, where I arrived a few minutes afier twelve. All
of the party had retired, and were sleeping so soundly
that not one of them knew at what hour | arrived.

. The next morning about nine o’clock I took a stro}l into

the city aud found it alive with excitement and flying ru-
mors of the mysterious disappearance of t uliful
Miss Belle Acherman, the latest flancee of t Brig-

ham. Detectives and post-riders were sent 0 every
direction from the city, and the ‘Council of Teu,’? backed
up by the local police force, instituted a most thorough
and vigilant search throughout every part of the town,
Our own lent did not escape their scrutiny, for rumor
aud conjecture had been busy, as Trafton and Miss Acher-
man had been seen several times together during the past
three or four days. But as ali but myself had been pro-
foundly ignorant of this circumstance till now, they could
only express their astouisuinent at the cleverness of their
companion,

“As for myself, 1 was in a fever of excitement during the

remaining two days.of our stay in the city, lest my fugi-
tive [riends should be overtaken, or some accident eccur

 

to them in their perilous flight to the mountains,

But the two days passed, and the fugitives were not
overtaken—at least no news to that effect had yet reached
the city; but there were flying rumors that they had been
Seen fleeing northward by several persons, and Ule flat-
boatman who transported passengers aud freight across
the river (Bear River) remembered to have seen them at
the time of their crossing in his barge. He particulariy
remembered them on account of the remarkable beauty of
both. He had never seen so handsome a conple together
before, nor two fluer-looking horses; but alter this all
trace of them was lost, nor could any further clew be ob-
tained as to the precise direction they had taken.

Two days after their departure we broke camp in Salt
Lake and started for Bear River. We met several parties
returning who had been out in pursuit of the fugitives;
but all gave the same answer lo our inquiry, that no trace’
of them had been found beyond the river. Various were
the conjectures we now formed regarding them. Zebulon
Jinks gave it as his opinion that they had pushed on to
the mountains, and were now laying in wait for our arri-
val. Some thought they might have overtaken and joined
a party who had left Salt Luke aday or two before our
arrival, while others imagiued they might have been
captured by Diggers, or destroyed by wild beasts. But
the great probiem was solved four days aller in a most
curious and providential manner.

We had camped for tie night among the foot-hills of the
Utah, selecting a small ravine or valiey, which presented
an unusual show of vegetation, and hampering our ani-
mals so that they might not wander far from the eucamp-
ment during the night. We had not as yet taken the
precaution to station a guard over property, not appre-
hending any danger from the hostile Diggers at so short.a
distance from the. Mormon country. Butinu this fancied
dream ol present security we were destined to be mis-
| taken, for a little past midnight we were awakened by
demonstrations of unusual excitement and terror on the
part of the animals. The dog aroused the camp by his
loud and vociferous barking, while the horses and two of
the mules huddled around the tent as if to ask protection
from some impending danger. The other three mules
were missing.

We looked for them in every direction, but they were
nowhere to be found. We naturally came to the conclu-
sion after this that we had received a nocturnal visit from
the Diggers; and the discovery the next morning of a
trail leading up the mountain fully corroborated our fears.
We left two of the party in cllarge of the camp, while the
remaiuing four started up the mountain in pursuit of the
cowardly black rascals who were putting us to all this un-

way, and we made rapid progress.

From previous accounts we had read, we knew that
these barbarous and degraded creatures—the-most ignor-
ant and debased, the nearest approach to the animal of
aby of the aboriginal tribes on the continent—inhabited
‘the rocky dens aud caverns of the mountains, disputing
the right of occupancy with the grizzly bear or the gaunt
wolf. We knew that by persevering we should ultimately
track them to some of their numerous haunts, and that
ordinarily one well-armed white man was able to cope
with a dozen of them. If we succeeded in overhauling
them, a few well-directed rific-shots would put them to
flight, and leave us once more in possession of our pro-
perty. For three hours we toiled on and upward, Climbing
hight above hight, tiliitseemed that we must have already
reached the highest apex of the mountain, but still there
was a higher hight. Suddenly we observed the dog
throw up his head and sniff the air. There was soine-
thing in the wind it was plain. ‘

“What is it, Hawk Eye?” said the guide.
sméli the red-skinned hyenas, boy ??

The dog gave a low, admonitory yelp, but still kept
sniffing the air, Presently Zebulon himself, who was a
few steps in advatiee of the rest, suddenly stopped, and,
like the dog, seemed tobe sniffing the air. At length, as
if satisfied, he exclaimed:

“Roasting meat, by gingo! apd a little burnt at that.
The pesky varmints ain’t fur off. Hawk Eye, keep quiet.
Now let us as all move cautious.’ ;

There was still another elevation to aséehd In advance
of us, of perhaps twoor three hundred feet, and we com-
menced climbing it ag mule as so many mummies. The
odor of the burning meat grew stronger and stronger as
we ascended, till we reached a level, which seemed to be
the crowing point of the mountain. :

We advanced cautiously a short distance, dodging in
and out among the rocks, till we came to a circular jedge
Surrounding a deep basin or hollow in the mountain.

. Here the confused clamor of human voices became aud-
ible, and peering out through a jagged opening among
the rocks, a lively and a novel spectacle met the eye.

In the center of the basin-like valley, a large crowd of
diminutive savages, men, women and children, were
dancing around a full-grown ox in process of barbecite.
There was evidently soon to be a season of feasting among
these black, replile-eating litle savages. Our missiug
mules were quietly grazing at a little distance, while Tratf-
ton and Miss Acherman, securely bound, were seated un-
der the shadow of an overhanging rock.

We ranged ourselves along the cliff in such a manner as
to obtain a safe'shot at them, and at @ signal from the
guide we covered four of the largest and most important- |
looking savages among the crowd, and fired upon them.
Three of them dropped like stones, and the fourth ran
screeching and limping away toward a vast ledge of rocks
at the upper end of the valley, followed by all the rest of
the terror-stricken crew. Quickly reloading our rifies,
we made a hurried descent into the valley by one of the
numerous paths that wound down among the roeks, and

“Do you

 

releasing the overjoyed prisoners, and securing our three

tached the panier 1 iad brought to Mark’s. The provisions |

Sere: trouble. The trail was very plain most of the }

mules, we hastily made our way back again without meet-
ing with the slightest opposition from the thoroughly van-
quished savages. ;

We Jearned from Trafton and his beautiful companion,
who subsequently arrived safely in Califurnia, and were
duly married in the presence of our little party, that at
the time of their rescue they liad been for three days pris-
oners in the hands of the Diggers. They had (alien upon
them while asleep the third night after their departure
from Salt Lake. I omitted to mention that we recovered
the horses along with the mules,

THE JOSH BILLINGS SPICE-Box.
LITTLE LETTERS.

Matilda.—Good husbands are skarse—so are good wives
—uand it4ooks to me just now ag tho they waz going to be
more skarser, pee 7

Yu kant ketch good husbands bi fishing too mutch for,
them; they are a game fish, and are very pertikerlar about
the bait, and how it iz handled,

Thare is grate skill too im reeling them in after they are
fately er Menpy a fine fish haz been lost by kareless
reeling in.

Obadiah.—My opinyun ov ‘Free Love’ and free lovers
haz been too often stated to be mistaken.

If yu had read the NEW YORK WEEKLY az mutch az yu
ouglit for the last ten years yu would uct now ask me for
my opinyun. ‘

For yure informashun, I will reiterate, that i konsider
free love the most infamous doktrine ever advokated by
os eet being; it iz az low down as prostitushan
can git.

Morris.—I am an advokate ov Fashion, not bekauz i luv
it for itself, but bekauze i kno its power, aud am auxious
to hav it Kept az hi toned az possible.

Fashion controls the acktions ov more people to-day
than religion duz, 1

Butler.—I liv in a boarding-house, and do it from neces-
sity and choice, both. ‘
would not take the best brown stone front in New
York and be obliged to keep hous in it.

New York hous Keepers are slaves to their servants.

The cook, laundress, table waiter and chambermaid run
the concern, and Mr. and Mrs, George K. Brown Egqr are
expekied to look on quietly, see how the tuing is did, and
pay all bills prompuy. . . :

Mr. and Mrs. Brown may call it kouse keeping if they
please, but 1 know they are keeping a bread and butter
conservatory for Bridget, Honorah, Mike, Elien and
Susan, with a Sunday night influx ov Irish cuzzins ov
both genders. ~ ,

Harrold.—The usual substitute for a baby in the hous-
hoid iz a jap dog, and I hav allwuss pittyed the dog.

Dogs luy to run around out doors nights, sleep in the
coal box, hava skirmish pow and then with sum other
purp in the naborhood, hunt for fleas, and burry and dig
up bones On their own account.

lt iz tuff on a dog to be held in the lap all the time, to be
fed with a spoon, and hav hiz ears put up in Kuril papers,
and hiz tail braided, it iz mortal tuff on the dog I tell yu.

Gertrude.—Yu tell me that yu hav been 5 years at a
boarding skool, and hav just finished yure edakaslup, and
want to kno what yu shall do next, ;

Listen, mi gushing Gertrude, and 1 will tet! ya.

Git up in the morning in good season, go down into the
kitchen, seize a potatoe by the throat with one hand and
a knife with the other, skin the potato, and a dozen more
just like it, stir up the buckwheat batter, look in the oven
and see how the biskitt are doing, bustie around generally,
step on the cat’s tail, and help yure good oid mother git
brekfast, %

Afler brekfasst put up the yung children’s luncheon for
skool, helpswasl up the dishes, sweep sum, put things iu
order, and sumtime during the day, nit at least two incti-
es and’ a-haff on sum one ov yure brother's little biue
wollen stockings for next winter.

In Other words goto work and make yureself usefull now
that yu hav bekum ornamental, and if yu hav euny time
left, after the beds are all made, and the duks hav been
fed, pitch into the piauna, and make the old rate box
skream with musik.

Do this for one year, and sum likely yung fellow in the
naborhood will hear ov it, and will begiu to hang around
ya, and say sweeter things than yu ever heard before, and
fiually will give yua chanee lo keep hous on yure own

 

hook.
yi follow mi advice, Gerty, and see if he dont.

Amos.—Puper collars are one oy the moral triumphs ov
the 19ih century.

They are equal in importance to John Syivester, Esqr’s
truly selebrated cockroach powders, watranted to make
cockroaches krazy, and commit suiside in four hours after
they imbibe the powder.

Paper collars are made out ov the dirty old rags gath-
ered from garbage barrills, and are stiffened up for use
with Spalding’s glue, :

They are az stiff and az sharp ag the rim off from a bro-
ken wasli-boul, aud are reddy to kut a man’s thrat at en-
ny time. 5

Yu will find their dirty remains ali over the kuntry, in
every drawer ov the bureaus at the provincial liotels, out
on the roofs of the verandahs, thrown over the garden
fences, aid floating along the guiters with the other de-
bris.

Thare iz oné thing in their favor—they willmakea man
look Klean at the thrut for a fu minnitts, and they save
the washwimmil menny an hour ov svap aud elbo gim-
nastics.

Paper collars will wash well enuff, but they dry
irregular, }

Benedickt.—Amung mi essays in natral history yu will
find mi views ov the Poll Parrot fully paraded, and it
only remains for me to tell yu here, confidenshally, not to
buy one, nor let enny boddy, in one oy yure weak mo-
ments, giv yu one.

They are wuss than a tame krow for noize and general,
confushion; but they kant match the krow iu a pure
game ov deyiltry. ;

Thare iz one thing about the parrot that iz not objeck-
shiouable—they travel arouud sluw.

If yu must hav a pet, dear Benedikt, jam yure thum in
the krack oy the door, and carry it round in a@ sling,
rather than invest in a Pull Parrott.

Rockwell.—Next to the brindle cow the horse iz without
doubt the most noble and the most usefull gift ov Provi-
dence iu the whole animal kingdom.

They vary in price from 3 dollars to 30 thousand, and
innocently on their part hay more decepshun in them
than enny other ov the instinkt Kreatures. :

It iz possible to judge ov a man quite. clussly or even
reduse the lazy .aktivity Ov a pissmire to a scieuce, but
no man living, uor no mun Who ever haz lived, nor no
man who iz to be bora yet, ever haz or ever will buy five
horses withoul gitting cheated or disappointed in three
ov them,

But the horse ain‘t to blame for this, the reason iz men
allwuss let their faucy do their horse-trading rather than
their judgment.

The reazon whi horses are hit upon bi the jockeys to
cheat with iz bekauze the natral kKtud-harteduess ev the
horse, together will fiz vanity for pomp and parade
acktuaily seem to make hiin a willing party to a fraud.

A horse carefully broke aud kindly used will liv to be
thirty years old aud never be guilty. ov a mean thing du-
ring hiz whole life.

Peck.—Mi opinyun ov the lottery bizzness iz very well
developed, andihay notissed that putting « very litue
money to ketch a good deai with haz aliwuss been the
plan Ov very Cunniug men, but not the plan oy very wize
men, \ ’

Thare iz plenty ov folks in this world, who, if they buy
500 dollars’ worth ov lottery tickets and draw 375 dollars
back, think they are on the snre road to suckcess, and this
iZ just What makes the lottery ritch, and. Keeps the fellow
who invests in it allwuss gryuiug poorer. '

The chances ov drawing a large prize ina lottery iz just
about az Certain az the north pole gittiug struk with lite-
ning. 4

Lotterys are legalized in stim States, but they are the
‘very wust Kind oy gambling, beKuuze they are so sekret,

A man better thro the money into the fire that he in-
vests in lotlerys, for he mite git sik ev that after a while,
and quit. ;

Palmer.—Life iz a simple matter, tho most people make
@ grate fuss about it.

Labor with yure hands or branes; eat honest bread and
sweet butter, wear honest clothes that fit well, and are
paid for, luy yure nabor aZ well az he deserves, worship
God bi keeping his commands, let spiritualism, dogmas
ov every kind, cheap whisky, vain longings, strange wim-
min, aud hopeless resarches go te the devil, whare they
belong. , , ;

This iz the best advice i kan think ov now to giv yu, mi
dear Palmer,

Mrs. Tucker.—Neatness iz one ov the virtews, and it
ain’t one oy the least ones neither.

But thare iz a’certain kind ov hail Columbia! neatness
that makes the possessor ov if, aud everyboddy else
around them mizerable.

I hav seen good square Christiah Wittimin, who would
skrub sumthing from “fan. Ist 1872, to Jan. ist 1872, and
deviate all the time, ‘that things waz loo filthy for enny

hing.”

1 hav Known them to git up at 4 o'clock in the-morning,

and hunt for dirt bi kKandie lite, and Keep hunting untili
bed time, and thenehav a cockroach nite mare, or dream
haff the nite, that the old hous kat wazin sum kind ov
mischief. i ‘
_ H these kind of wimmin have enny children, they wear
themseHs out, and the children too, trieing to Keep the
motassis off from their bibs, and following them around
tosee if they brought enny mud into the hous on their
shaze.

Thare iz no peace and quietness in a houshold ov this
kind, every boddy iz oneazy, and the kat iz on the jump
all the time.

Mr. Sprauge.—I don't belong to enny religious sekt,
not bekauze i am unirieudly, but bekauze there iz so
menny ov them i don’t know which to jine.

I wish thar waz more oy them, instead ov less, and

each one waz determined to outsirine the other in charity,
and well doing.
_ ido mi worshipping az i take mi daily walks thru the
crowded city, and never am more reverent than wheni
am all alone in the fields, up the gorges in the mountains,
or loafing along the side ov a noisy brook.

I don’t advise enny boddy to adopt mi style of worship,
bekauze thareizso menny folks who couldn’t go even
akross lots to church on Sunday, and see a rabbit run
into a hole, withhout feeling mizerable ali the rest ov the
‘day beKauze they didn’t stop and dig out the rabbit.
—The trotting horse iz an Amerikan institu-

 

shun. ;
No people on earth hav been able to make a horse trot
az fast az we Kan,

 

cme THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3 =

 

 

 

set Ov natives, and make better time at enny thing we
undertake than the rest ov the world.

Our style ov driving iz unique, our wagons and harness

are perfekt, and we hav given more attenshun to devel-
oping trotting speed than enny other horseman hav.
' A horse once learnt low to trot never forgets it, and after
he haz passed all through the yarious epocks ov hiz his-
tory, and gits klean down to hauling around a load oy
lemons, or haff ripe banannas, for sui itinerant vender,
a few broadsides from a barrell stave, and a science lifting
up with the iron in hiz mouth, sets him to bileiug agin
with mutch Ov the trotting fury ov his palmy days,

Old trotters are sumthing like what waz left for dinner
yesierday, warm them up‘and they go allmost az good az
ever, :

PEARLY BELOVED CONTRIBUTORS. ;

Our space at some fulure time will enable us to give a

| place to Rosebud, Bureka, Flatbush.

We geutly decline Mush, Harness, Opal, Turnip, Gauze,
Candle, Big Billi, Corucob, Shovel. ~

ne
An Italian Brigand in New York.

Anfelo Antonio, who is charged with the murder of
Guiseppe Abigliano, a resident of San Simeone, Italy, was
arrested on Friday, Oct. 23, by Oaptain Williams, of the
Eighth ward police, at No. 67 Sullivan street, New York.
Signor Abigliano was murdered and stabbed at his resi-.
dence in San Simeone by a party of brigands from the
neighborhood in the year 1867, aud the locat police were
for a long time unable to discover the perpetrators of the
crime. News that Antonio was the murderer, and that tre
had fled to America, was telegraplied to the Italian Con-
Sulat this port and instructions forwarded to cause his
arrest. Antonio is charged with being concerned iu six
other murders in Italy,

——_—__-_>6~<____

To CORRESPONDENTS, )

To BuyEeRs.—All communications in regard to the prices or the
urchasing of various articles must be addr to th: NEW
ORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, contain the full address of
the writers, and specity the size, quantity or quality of the gouds
desired, Those requiring an answer must have two thre:-ceng.
Stamps enclosed. wing to the large increase of letters to ae
ry ’ wv

 

swered in this column, a delay of several weeks must neces:
ensue before the answ

THE PuURCHASID

rs appear in print.
GENCY CATALOGUE.—The new and

   
   
 
  

en-
Ew YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency
, and all orders ere will be filled at

once. It will be to any address, prepaid, on receipt of
ten cents,

NOTICE.—With eve ail we receive a number of ‘letters on
various su in which the writers request an answer by mail
instead of ugh the ous departments, To do this we are

cores to employ ad ual help, beside being put to consid-
erable trouble: and- expense to obtain the information. ~ This we
will cheerfully submit to when the questions are answered
through our columns, as the knowledge thus impart ed will inter-
est and benefit the mass of our readers; but inthe future, to se-
cure an answer by mail, persons desiring it must inclose a FIrTr-
CENT STAMP, to pay us for our trowlle and expense,

 

Sar GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
A, W. and Thos. R. P. B.—ist. The fare to Atlanta, Ga, via
Chari-ston, by steamer, is $27.50; to Savannah, $22; to Charles-
ton, $20; to Jacksonville, Fla, $27.75. Passengers have the privi-
lege of taking either railroad or steamboat to Florida ports
St. John’s river landings....F. 3f£—We do not know the party...
J. L. Cornet.—We do not Wish to purchase any MSS, at present.
Py Ae & .—lst. We will send you “The Sociable; or,
One Thousand and One Home Amusements,” for $1 50, and Mar:
tine’s “Sensible Letter-Writer” for 75 cents. 2d. See “Etiquette
Department” and ‘“Knowledge-Box” for answers to other ques-
tions......H. W. LZ. P.—Applications for posilions as teachers
must be made to the local school boards........J. W. Reding.—
Write to the register or clerk of the county........B Patter-
son.—Ist. We will send you the game of parchesi, with dice, etc.,
for $1 50 to $3 per set. 2d. See “Know e-Box.”..... =
lst. We will send you a meiodeon for $100 to $1,000. 2d. Ita

nds on your aptitude as ascholar and opporiunities you bave

‘or practice......Sat Slocum.—Ist. Vernon's “Railroad Manual,’
earariets, will cost $750; and a watch such as described
2d. Tiere is no work which will give you an idea of the different

hases of city life...... nderer.—Iist, We will furnish ‘The

oys of England for $1 per volume. 2d. The time has not been
fixed as yet. The postage on books to Bugland 1s six cents
for each four ounces or fraction thereof. 4th. See ‘‘Knowledge-
Box.”’...... Me,—tst. The Deaf and Dumb Asylum is on Washing-
ton Hights, near the Carmausvilie station of the Hudson River
RR. Indigent deaf mutes are supported here at the expeuse of
the State, while others pay a moderate sum for board and tui-
tion, 2d. The formation of anchor ice, which is often seen in
cold weuther attached to objects at the bottom of streams, is
explained by Prof. Dewey on the supposition that the whole
body of water is cooled below the freeziug point, but under con-
ditions of quietness opposed to the tormation of ice. The sub-
stances at the bottom serve as points of congelation, like those
introduced into saline solutions to cause crystalization to take
piace, and ice forms upon them, The layecs of ice are some-
times three inches thick, and as soon as they are detached from
the bodies which hoid Uem down they rise to the suriace, 3d.
The eel, with a few other fishes of the whale and shark species,,
which are called viviparous, from bringing forth their young
alive, are said to have sexual union. Most fish deposit thespawn
in the water, and the eges are fecundated by the mill from the
mate, a We cannot answer geometrical problems. 5th.
Vich Alpine ineans a aeseenaant of Atpine. st-wr be Tuna
in Walter Scoit’s “Lady ot Lake.”.... Wiliam.—Very ott

Anxlous Inquirer.—ist. The most rigid economy wiil have to be
eXereised to live comfortably on $15a week in this city, 2d.

Oul ueut shaving will stimulate the growth of the beard.
3d, Sas inlesaite Department.”...... 4f.—dee “Work-Box.”’.....
Xit.—ist. Meg Merrilies is achuracter in the drama of “Guy

Mannering,” which we willsend you for 15 cents. The others
Cannot be pr ed in printed form. 2d. A knowledge of stage
business is essential to one e ed in dramatizing a story. There
is no work on the subject. . We will send you a catalogue of
ays and dramatic works on the receipt of a three-cent stump.
th. We would suggest a more remunerative employment, 5th.
The music and MS. are worth just what a publisher will give you
for them....Zlliott,—We know nothing of the firm. . Alex. Fraser.
—We have repeatedly stated that we would advise no person to
invest his money in real estate without seeing the preperty and
selecting a location, as there must of necessity be a choice as to
elevation, frontage, nearness to the main thoroughfares. .S.H. W.
—The two villages should be able to support a news depot,
which could be started for. a comparatively few dollars. You
should canvass the district in order to obtain an idea ag to how
Many aud what papers you would be likely to dispose of, and
attcr the first week you can regulate your orders by the demanu.
If the business will not in itself give you a living, combine it
with cigars and tobacco, stationery, fruit, confectionery, etc.
Write to the nearest wholesale news agent, and ask them to send
you alist of periodicals, with prices. You will lave to pay cash.
....Patsey Bolivar.—lst. ‘‘A Strange precy was written by Bul-
wer. We will send it to you for $1.75. . We will send you the
papers desired for $2.16. 3d. The original draft of the lara-
tion of Independence 1s not in existence. A parcliment copy is
reserved in Washington...... Louis Rice.—ist. Hardly. &d.
rite to J. W. Scott, 77 Nassau street. 3d. There is about three
or four cents difference on the dollar. . 4th. Write to the Post-
master at Baltimore. 5th. We cannot control the retail price of
the NEW YORK WEEKLY.... Reader.—The papers containi
“aikenside” are out ot print. It has not been published in boo
form..... . Miles Standish.—ist. Henry W. Longtellow, the poet,
is alive, and resides at Cambridge, Mass. 2. There is no other..
Henry Blake,—Parian marble is of a beautiful white color, and
comes trom the island of Paros, from which it derives its name.
The substance called ian, from its resemblance to Parian
marble, and of which statuettes and various ornaments are
made, is a five quality of white porcelain clay. In the manu-
facture of parian ware, this clay is mixed with flint, and
ware is molded, cried and fired... Okie,Write a sketch.........
Song and Dance.—Apply to a musician, We cannot get the parts
arranged...... ZL. L. £.—The o in to is sounded asin food when
émphasized; when not emphasized, as in toot..... M.—As far ag
our knowledge extends. the coins are not of rare date.. . . Silver
Wing.—Ist. See Nos. 36 and 49, Vol. XXVIII. 2d. We cannot obtain
a work of the construction and Management of balloons. 3d.
We will send you Kustel’s ‘Nevada and California Processes of
Silver and Gold Extraction,” a book for miners, for $5, anda
work ou “¥achts and Yacht Building” for $5. There is no work
on the construction of smaller craft... .George .—The offen-
sive weapon referred to ‘is said to have beén used by the Chinese,
cask ita Ella a hon.—1st. We will send you Munson’s
“Complete Phonographer,” a self-instructor, for It will take
from eigut months to a year to be able to write sufficiently fast to
follow an ordinary speaker...... Luiden G.—We know nothing of
the concern......4fike Glynn.—Consult a good plysician...... ka
W. W. W.. Mrs. F. HW. Smith and P, Anderson.—We do not wish to
purchase any MSS. at present........Jas. P. Duffy.—lst. We will
send you a book containing the whole system of phonography
for $2. 2d. Glass.mirrors were first known in the latter part of
the thirteenth century. Previous to this, and in fact for some
three hundred years afterward, mirrors were made of plates of
polished metal. During the sixteenth century mirrors were
made in Venice by coating glass with an amaigam of tin-foil and
mercury, and this method is generally preterred at the present
day to uny of the more recent inventions. We know of no work
on the subject...... Fred. Thoruton.—W here only the name of the
tirm is painted on the sign, as Brown & Sous, no apostrophe
should be used in Sons, either before or atter thes. If it should
read *‘Brown & Son’s Grocery,” and there is but one son m the
firm, the apostrophe should be before the s; if two or more, af-
ter il.....+........ Westernpert.—tst. Most all of the practical
sewing-machines are manufactured under a license from Blias
Howe, Jr., the original inventor. Each manufacturer has pa-
tented certain improvements, and other firms using them are
obliged to pay a royalty to the inventor. 2d. We cannot turnish
a list of the manutacturers who are obliged to pay a royalty to
other companies. ...Drift.—We know nothing of the gentieman’s
professional standing...... James W. Wilten.—Which is the most
delicate tropical fruit is a matter of individual taste. Some pre-
fer one and some another. We presume a lover of bananas
would claim that they were, but the writer would disagree with
him. The same rule will apply to flowers. Some admire showy
flowers, like the Japanese lily or the passion flower, others pre-
fer a pure white and waxy fiower, like the calla or tabe-rose,
while still others the low flowering plants like the violet, lily of
the valley, etc. In fact, almost every person has some favorite
flower, which he-or she thinks unequaled by any other variety.

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.

A Constant Reader, 6. D.—The difference in your ages would be
No obstacle to a happy union, if the young man were fully aware
of the discrepancy. If you are five years his senior he may really
be as old as you in maturity of thought and education.

Fanchet, the Fawn.—If you love the young man as a brother,
there would be no harm in allowing him the privileges of a
brother; yet young ladies of twenty years cannot be too particu-
lar; as a general rule, in their behavior toward young men of
eighteen years.

Mildred.~Your case is a hard one, truly, and shows what
trouble a meéddlesome tongue will entail upon innocent girls.
Yet we cannot see that you can do anything but pursue the even-
tenor of your way, quietly and patiently, until some opportunity
occurs when you can refute the scandal.

Millie C.—There surely should be no room for doubt in your
mind as to the course’'you should pursue. By all means give
your hand to the one whom your heart selects, without any ref-
erence to the length of purse or the position maintained by the
other.

A. H.—We see no other course for you to pursue but to makea
straightforward declaration of your devoted love, and desire to
marry the lady in question. Then she will have to decide the
case, and no longer be forced to debate the propriety of receiving
your visits. .

Fergus MacIvor.—ist. Go to the clerk’s offics, and say, ‘What
is the price of a marriage license? I should like to have one
made out.” 2d. Show the license to the clergyman before the
ceremony is perforined. 3d. Put the money, in gold if possible,
into a neat littié pocket-book, and slip it into his hand after the
ceremony, but if yop have a groomsman he will hand the fee to
him for you. Send a carriage for the clergyman a little while
before the appointed hour,

No, 1.—Ist. If your heart does not prompt you to orivhineet

tell her so, kindly yet firmly, and give her the privi of
breaking off the engagement. That is the least you can co to
soften the announcement of your forfeiting your pledge to’ her.
2d. If a gentleman likes to dance and his flarcee does not, he
might escort another lady to a dance, with her approval; yet it
would tend more to keep the pet if he went alone.

Kit Carson.—ist. There would be no das your giving
the young lady a ring—either a heavy chased ring, or one
with a handsome jewel. 2d. Read histories, biographies, and
tales of travel, and write pages from such books fo strengthen

 

 

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