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—

‘{ Nos. 27, 29, 31 St.
VoL. XXX, Francis. stReer. [2°%. Gi04890, New York.

 

Uauk

Entered According to Act of Congress, in the. Year 1874,

 

 

 

 

by Street & Smith, _in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, De C.

NEW YORK, JANUARY 12, 1874.

Three Dollars Per Fours}
Two Copies Five Dollars.

    

 

  

rrancs s swore: «= NO, 10, _

 

A ROMANTIC STORY OF COLORADO.

 

The Rangers of Gold Stream

 

*

By Maurice Silingsby,

Author of “BUCKSKIN JOE,” “NOTCHES ON THE STICK,” ete.

 

 

. CHAPTER I.
JUNE AND JANUARY.

Dr. Matthias Wedgwood sat in the library of his palatial
abode in one of the most aristocratic quarters of the new
and flourishing city of Denver.

The doctor was stilla handsome man, of about fifty, of
@ social, convivial turn, with one of those easy, sanguine
temperaments which render this class of men 80 vastly
popular with their fellows.

Aside from a most lucrative practice, he had extensively
engaged in profitable speculations of various Kinds, and
begs now regarded as one of the wealthiest men in Colo-

0.

Everybody liked Dr. Wedgwood, for his character was
above reproach. He was frank, open and genial, with an
even, suuny disposition. — : f

Like most men of his type, he was so confiding, so per-
fectly unsuspicious of fraud or deception in the hearts of
others, as to frequently become a victim to the machina-
tions of the wicked. But he always consoled himseif on
these occasions with the reflection that it was better to be
imposed upon by ninety-nine rogues than to-turn his
back coldly upon one really worthy being. Suct was Dr.
Wedgwood, the accomplished gentleman of the world,
the profound scliolar, the kind physician; and last, but

not least, the soft-hearted, generous-souled philanthro- |

# we have already stated, the cheerful. doctor sat near
. &marble-bedded table, which occupied a central position
in the library, and which was then profusely strewed with
books, papers and periodicals. 4
His young wife, Inez, was leaning over the doctor’s
shoulder attentively listening to some freshly-arrived cor-
_respondence, which he was then reading aloud, and
which, as a matter of vital importance to our story, we
“shall be likely to submit to the reader in its proper turn.
But the peculiar circumstance which led the doctor, at
the advanced age of filty, to marry a girl of twenty, must
be told first.
Like everything else, the idea of his marrying an unpro-
tected and portionless girl at his time of life, must have
-originated in part out of his benevolent impulses—allow-
ing even thatiove might have had no smali share in the
work—as few young ladies were to be found among his
acquaintance who would have compared favorably with
inez Kavanah in grace, beauty, or intellect. Aud yet
she was friendiess aid penniless when the good doctor
first saw her, some twelve months previous to the open-
Me our story.

 
 
  
 

cated in one of the poorer quarters of the town.

When he arrived at the place designated by the mes-
seuger, he was shown into a dingy, cheerless apartment
on the second floor, where he found a fair and delicate
abn g creature of nineteen, tossing in the delirium of

ever. , ;
~ The doctor was strongly interested in his fair patient at
once. It was o critical case, he well knew, for the fever
had been running for several days, so far as he could
udge.
; The girl’s boarding mistress, a stout, matter-of-fact per-
sonage, had followed him up stairs, as though curious to
learn what he would say relative to the case.

‘Haye you called no physician till naw?!’ he inquired,
#turning te the woman. ;

“Why, yes, sir,” replied the landlady, hesitating; “‘we
called in Dr. Skinner, but when. he found we wonidu’t be
responsible for the biil he just stopped a coming right
away. That was two days ago, and she’s been getting

orse ever since. I’d heard of you, and so I said to

junkett if*something ain’t done for Kavanah pretty
soon she'll die—her name’s Inez, sir; Inez Kavanah—
and so you’d better go and ask Dr. Wedgwood to come.”

With a malediction upon all such professional mounte-
banks as Mrs. Plunkett had referred to, the doctor set to
work to do what he could to alleviate the sufferings of his
fair patient. It was early in the evening when he came,
put le did not leave until near morning.

With his characteristic generosity, he made every pro-

- vision in his power for the poor girl’s comfort, promising

the people with whom she boarded that they should be
guitably rewarded for their care and trouble s0 long as
ghe continued under his professional charge.

‘As muclr time a3 could bé spared from his other duties
wvas devoted tohis poor patient. When she had so far
recovered as to be able to sit up and converse, the good
doctor began asking her questions relative to her past
history, and was enabled to elicit the following state-
ment.

She had come to Denver with her father nearly three
years before. Allured by the prospect of acquiring a sud-
den fortune in the new territory, he hud disposed of a
lucrative business in the East, and emigrated to Colorado.

_ Here he had entered into company with a stranger, who
contrived to defraud him out of everything he was worth;
since which time he had:been laboring in the mines, and,
till within the last six orseven months, had been paying
-his daughter’s.board in Denver. Since that time nothing
had. been heard from him} though: the presumption was
he had been murdered by the Indians. From that date
up Lo the time of her illness, Inez had contrived by con-
stant labor to very nearly pay her own expenses. —

She was very grateful to. the doctor, and her innocent,
unobtrusive ways charmed him.- She intuitively under-
stood the doctor's singleness of heart, and to him she was
as artless and confiding as a daughter. Without really
Knowing why, he found more pleasure in Inez’s society,
than he could readily account for. And when she grew
stronger, and the roses again began to blossom in her
cheeks, lier friend and protector would insist on her tak-
ing Jong drives with him about the country, and on one of
these occasions he so far committed himself as to inquire
what he was to do with himself, now that she was so far
recovered as to no longer require his professional atten-
dance,

Can't you
inquired Inez,

comé to see me just the same for all that 2”
speaking in that open manner which she
had acquired in her artless intercourse with him.

“And does my. poor little waif care enough abont me to
wish if??? demanded the doctor, with a slight tremor in
his voice. :

“Of course I dol” replied Inez with simple earnestness,
“and a thousand times more than enough. Haven’t you
saved my life? Are you not the best man living? I think

ou are.”’ ;
7 “J am too great asinner to warrant such flattery as
that, my pet.”? :

“You—a sinner? Then there can’t be any saints in the
world, Dr. Wedgwoot.”’ é

“| fear they are like angels’ visits, few and far be-
treen!’? laughed the doctor. “But seriously, my pretty
one,’? he went on, “did the thought of getting married
and having an establishment of your own, ever occur to

ou?’ 5 ,
, “Why, good Dr. Wedgwood, what an absurd . question
to ask @ poor girl like me, withouta penny in the world,
Who would be foolish enough to haye me?’ F

“Plenty, my pretty Inez,’ said the doctor; “but perhaps
some of them might be too old to suit you.’ ‘

“Dear Dr. Wedg wood,do you think that some hearts can
ever grow old? I know some,who, if they were as old in
years a8 Methuselah, would always appear young to me.”?

The kind-hearted physician was slightly embarrassed

_ by her artless earnestness. She was unguardediy lead-
ing him over dangerous ground, “Where wasit likely to
end??? was the mental question that arose. “Would
there be any sin or impropriety in offering honorable
marriage to o friendless, innocent young creatpre like
her? Mightshe not accept him out of gratitude, or from
@ chivalrous sense of indebtedness, should he’ do so?
And if.gshe did, mightshe not discover at some future time
some one nearer her own age whom she would naturally
love better, and thus be led to repent the folly of her
choice when too late?” But the force and directness of
her last question decided him. *

‘“‘By what system of analogy, my wise little pet, can you
disddver any such immutable law in our natures?) in-
quired the doctor, trying to repress the slight fluttering
at his heart by assuming a gay and bantering tone.

had been taken suddenly ill at her boarding-house, lo-

“J know nothing about systems or laws; but I know
this is true by intuition.’’

“Well,’’ returned the doctor in a graver key, “I admit
there are some hearts whose impuises never seem to
grow old.’

“And yours is one of them, good Dr. Wedgwood.
Nothing in the world could ever make you anything
but young—excepting it might be some great sorrow."*

“For some moments the good doctor remained silent,
without offering any reply—apparently weighing some

*6*Who in the name of

gay youth she had known, it would be very difficult, in-
deed, to sustain with a proper degree of self-possession,
the peculiar relationship which had been established by
her marriage wilh his uncle. She blushed, though she
could hardly repress a smile at the thought of hearing her
old lover addressing her as Aunt Inez.

But the doctor’s kind voiée awakened her out of these
fanciful speculations. ~ i

“IT see, my love. from this portion of his letter,” said
the doctor, affectionately glancing up at his young wile,
as he pointed out the important paragraph, “that Frank
is liable to be here almost as soon as the. letter itself. If
he is as full of life and spirit as he was the last time Isaw
him, five years ago, I1can promise that my little darling
will never have occasion to sufferfromennzi. He will
make the house ring, Pll warrant you. He will take my
pet. to the theater, and to parties, and balls, and what
not,. when I feel more like dozing by the fire or retiring to
bed after my arduous professional duties.”
. The young wife felt extremely queer and

uneasy about
the heart.

She conld not rid herself of her. first impres-

sion, that hér husband’s young kinsman would turn out
to be the identical Frank Murden who had professed such
passionate love for her before she had ever dreamed of the
existence of his kind-hearted relative. ~ 5

The doctor, glancing into the halfstartled, half-abashed

 

face, could not fail to observe the marked change from its
¥-

ordivary expression of unrufiled

 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 

|

;

oe

ali natur are ye ?—and what were ye doing up there, ha ?’?

“Whew! I had no idea——”?

“Won't you walk in, sir, and Ill call her?’ continued
the servant, interrupting the stranger, in what might
have been the middie of a sentence.

“Thank you, miss. You can inform the doctor’s lady
that a gentleman wishes to speak to her.”

‘Yes, sir; step this way, sir, if you please.”

_ And the next moment the handsome visitor was shown
into the parlor.

The girl hurried to the library, where she found her
young mistress deeply pre-oecupied with her favorite
poet, Mrs. Browning:

“What is he like?? inquired Inez, in reply tothe ser-
vant, for she felt a sudden presentiment that the visitor
was the doctor’s nephew—the very person of all others
she most wished and most dreaded to see. The thought
that it might be the one she would avoid shot through her
wildly-throbbing heart like an electric shock.

The girl stood for @ moment as though hardly knowing
how to answer her young mistress’s abrupt interrogatory.

“Are you dumb, Janet?” cried Inez, with trembling im-
patience at the stupid hesitancy of the servant. ‘‘Is the
gentleman young or old, ill or good-looking?”

“Olil he’s good-looking, missus—a very young and
handsome gentleman, and well made, and very splendidly
dressed, with a gold chain, and a cane, and beautiful side

 

  
 

< UY
NYE ES

   

whiskers, And then such a smile and such a voice—oh,

: despair.

It seemed to her, under the strong excitement
of the moment, as if she really had been guilty of some
wicked and willful act of perjury, 50 wrought up were her
feelings, and so magnified had he made the seeming
offense appear to her. :

The emotions of the disappointed and heart-wounded’
young physician, were to a certain extent peculiar and
conflicting. Grief aud pride, anger and pity, strong:
passions, and a pure and exalted sense of honor and right,
each arrayed against the other, and each tenaciousty
struggling for the ascendency. But when he realized how
deeply moved she was by his language, he ‘sprang to her
side, and with wiid, passionate words of endearment, that:
he found it difficult to repress, strove to console her, and’
to subdue the deep anguish he had so thoughitlessly
awakened.

“Oh, Inez, forgive me if I have wronged you, or unwit-
tingly caused you unnecessary pain. I did not intend to-
do that, I could not do itif l werein my right senses: Oh,
Inez! it was so sudden, so unexpected, that I hardly real-
ized what I was saying, or how it might affeet you. I
know you are notto blame. lam fully satisied there is
some motive at the bottom of all this that I don’t quite ub-
derstand. I feel that when I have learned all, I shall be
as ready to condemn myself for the injustice of my rashly
conceived opinions, as | was to censure you, my dear, my
beloved Inezt’’ he tenderly exclaimed, stroking her solt

 

my!’

Le

}
| ling. Can you hdve forgotten the past so utterly—those
| sweet promises you gave me? Oh, Inez! say that yeu still

brown curls, and gently endeavoring to raise her with his:
other hand from that recumbent posture. ‘Ob, Inez! I
cannot but love you still! Imust and will love you in:
spite of this cruel fate which has separated us. And you
love me, do you not? Oh, say that you still love me, dar-

love met!’

For a moment the abruptness, the overwheiming passion:
and earnestness of his appeal paralyzed her, robved her
of all power of articulation. Then the finer instincts of
her moral nature brought about as sudden a reaction. She
threw off the soft clinging hand with the force and energy
.of despair. Then springing to her feet, slie stood before,
him erect and commanding. There were ho signs of scorn
or anger in the intense, reproachful look; but a momen-
tary shiver ran through her slight frame, like one who»
suddenly recoils on the dizzy verge of a precipice. Im that
one moment of firm resistance, of moral courage, rested :
her salvation. ;

There was some thing impressive, even sublime, im the
attitude of Mrs, Wedgwood, as she thus confronted the
abashed and repentant youth. °

 

 

 

_kind physician aud only friend.

“Hold!? she exclaimed, resolutely raising a warning:
hand to him. ‘You must not forget the relationshipthat
now exists between us. Whatever may have been my
fault in your estimation; Fam now your uucle’s wife, and:
his honor is dearer to me than life; and a knowledge of:
this fact should entitle me at least to your forbearance, if
not to your respect. Iam indebted to your kind uncle for:
more than my poor existence ever could be made of value
to him, or, indeed, to any one else. When I was sick and:
suffering, with no living soul‘in the wide, wide world to-
care for me, your generous, warm-hearted uncle, was-m!
He stood by me andsus

 

 

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important or obtruse question in his own mind. Turning
at length, as though he had suddenly been lifted beyond
the confined limits of doubt and indecision, he took the
slender white hand of his fair patient and abruptly said:

“| asked you, Inez, if tne thought of getting married

had ever occurred to you? I will ask you now, my sweet
pet, how it would suit you to marry an oid fellow like me,
with plenty of money, and no disposition to be tyrannical
or exacting ?”?
It was a straightforward, honest question, and Inez
felt that it required an equally straightforward, honest
answer. She was undera thousand obligations to her
kind physician, besides being sensible that she had liked
him very much, but she had not anticipated any such
question from her generous benefactor, and she hardly
Knew what to say, or how to answer him.

The doctor saw her embarrassment, and said, kindly:

“Let no feeling of obligation or personal indebtedness
influence you inthis matter. Ifyou wouldn’t like me as
a husband I can bear up under the knowledge of the fact
very philosophically.”

“But I do like you, my dear, good, kind Dr. Wedgwood,
better than ali the world! And I would like to be your
wife, too, if it would please you to take me, a&d you
wouldn’t regard meas mercenary or designing in say-*
ing it.”

“Heaven forbid, my darling -petl’’ cried the good doc-
tor, passionately, as he drew her toward him, and im-
pressed a loving kiss ou the flushed, happy face. In three
weeks. from tliat day Inez Kavanan and Dr. Matthias
Wedgwood were married.

Of course the gossips of Denver had to have their say of
them, but that was no more than was expected.

Since then the doctor had erected and furnished, in the
most sumptuous style, the splendid residence in which
they now resided, in the library of which, in commencing,
we introduce the owner and his bride.

Inez was leaning over tlre doctor’s shoulder, intently
listening to the mellow tones of his voice as he read aloud
to her the espondence which the morning’s mail had
brought. There was one communication from his over-
seer at Cottonwood Ranch, another from the superin-
tendent of a rich mining claim, in whieh he was a heavy
shareholder; a third from an old college friend of thirty
years’ standing, while the fourth, which he had just open-
ed, was dated at New York. Glancing atthe signature,
the doctor announced, with evident pleasure, that it was
from his nephew, Frank Murden, who was coming to
Denver to set up as @ physician.

But why did the young wife start so at the simple mention
of that name? Had it recalled to her mind a certain young
collegian who had come out to Avondale to spend a vaca-
‘tion. withthe son ofJudge Wheatly?% Had it reminded
herof the first time they had met, on the occasion of a
social gathering in that village? Did it call to her memory
low he had made love to her in the little grape-arbor
back of the judge’s ‘house, on that pleasant moonlight
evening three years ago? Did she remember how violently
her heart throbbed, and the peculiar and intoxicating
sensations she experienced when he folded her to his
bosom, and wrung from her tremulous lips the low whis-
pered acknowledgment that she loved him with all the
ardor of a young and impressible heart? Had-she forgot-
ten that glorious picture he, had drawn of the future,
when. he had promised to: come back to Avondale when
his college days were over and his profession acquired,
there to set up as a physician, and to marry her, his pride,
his joy, his life?

| my profession in Newark, and it wasa hard struggle for

 

Ahi she recalled it all now with atender little sigh,
as she glanced backward into the past, wondering in her
own mind if this Frank Murden, her husband’s nephew,
was the same handsome youth of three years ago.

From the time of their parting she had never once heard
from him. It was only a few weeks subsequently that her
father had disposed of his business interests in Avondale,
and emigrated fo Colorado,

But if, after all, she reflected, this nephew of her hus-
band’s should prove to be the same Frank Murden she had
known, and so warmly admired before her removal to the
West, would it not be placing her in a most delicate and
trying position? She prayed thatthe docters nephew

might turn out in the end to be sone other person, She

 

felt that if this young gentleman’should prove to be the

“Does the idea of such an intruder upon our domestic
quiet disturb our sedate little matron’s ideas of decorum ?””
luughed the doctor, good-humoredly. *

“Oh, nol’? replied the confused young wile, evasively,
and blushing even more Vividly than before. ‘I was
thinking of something else just ther.”

“A penny for your thoughts, then, my pet,’’ said the
doctor, smiling.

“I should hardly say they were worth the investment,”
returned Inez, recovering with a strong effort of the will
her former composure; ‘“‘but what sort of a person is he,
this interesting nephew of ours?”

“As I remember him,’ said the good doctor, musingly,
“he was an impetuous, handsome enthusiast of seven-
teen, seeing only the bright side of life, and believing he
had only to put forth his claim to win the laurel crown of
worldly success. He is the only son—and was, in fact,
the only child—of a sister older than myself, who died
when he was a mere lad of ten er eleven years, leaving
him under my especial charge. His father was a scamp—
Ihave no softer term = for it—who deserted mother and
child, bringing the former to a premature grave, though
he was not worth the wasting of a single true-hearted
woman’s tear. But I never could endure him, nor bear
to hear his vile name mentioned after his abuse of my sis-
ter. It may be that this man’s base conduct was one of
the eauses, if not the principal cause, of my not meet My
sooner in life, though I do not regret that, since then
might never have won the love of my darling; for, after
Join Murden’s unpftincipled desertion of his family, the
support of both mother and child rested upon me."

“And nobly did my good husband do his duty, I know!’
broke in the entiusiastic young wife.

“TI tried my best, darling; and if I fell short of the self-
imposed duty in any particular, it was not because my in-
tentions were not good. Ihad just established myself in

some time to get along.” .

“But what ‘became of the unfeeling wretch who could
thus desert his poor wife and innocent child?” indig-
nantly interposed Inez.

“He may be dead, or he may be alive, for aught I
know,”’ pursued the doctor, somewhat impatiently. ‘*AlL
I know is, he eloped with a disreputable woman, and
came out into the western country somewhere. I have
never heard from him since, nordo I wagt to. The world
would be better off rid of such moral lepers. Well, after
the death of Frankie’s mother, I sent him to school, then
to college; and finally, during the last two years, he has
been studying surgery with my old friend, Dr. Simcoe,
and attending lectures atthe medical college in New
York. He writes in his letter here that he has completed
the course and received his diploma. But we shall prob-
ably see him in Denver in a day or two, when I presume
he will be able and willing to answer his old uncle any
question that may be interesting to my pet.’? .°

And the good doctor tenderly drew the young wile to
his breast, and kissed and caressed her as he would a be-
loved child. And thus they sat till the stroke of ten
warned him that it was time to start on his professional
rounds.

” CUAPTER II.
DR. FRANK'S ARRIVAL.

The doctor's presumption that his nephew would be in
Denver ina day or two proved cerrect; for in Jess than
thirty minutes after his quitting the library to attend to
his patients, a young and exceedingly good-looking gen-
tleman, elaborately made up in strictest accordance with
the arbitrary requirements of the prevailing fashion, ran
up the marble steps of the doctor’s-‘mausion, and without
hesitation jerked away at the bell-kKnob with a freedom
that showed unmistakably that he felt he had an unques-
tionable right to do so.

A moment later and a servant girl made her appearance
in answer tothe peremptory summons. The girl courte-
sied, while the young gentleman twirled his cane in the
most graceful matiner, and inquired, in a deep, rich tone
of voice, if Dr. Wedgwood resided there ?

“Yes, sir,” replied the servant, ‘but the doctor isn’t
ter hum, sir. He went, I reckon, fur ter see his patients,
sir; but the mistress, as is Mrs, Wedgwood, is ter hum, sir,

 

ke

“Go, Janet, and tell the young gentleman I will be down
presently.”

“Oh, dear! how can I meet him?’ she thought. ‘Iam
confident, from Janet’s description, that it is not only Dr.
Wedgwood’s nephew but the very same Frank Murden I
have had so much reason to remember in Avondale. I
have felt a presentiment of this from the first. And, oli,
dear! how shall I meet him??? ‘

But in spite of her trepidation, the young wife did not
sink under these alarming convictions, for she ran hastily
into an adjoining chamber and here she took a long and
critical survey of her beautiful reflection in the dazzling,
full-length mirror before her.

Carefully adjusting her wealth of dark-brown curls, and
affixing a modest white rose in her, bosom—such as she
remembered to have worn on the occasion of her first
meeting with Frank Murden in Avondale, and which she
coquettishly gave him as a souvenir on their parting that
night—and with wild and confticting emotions agitating
her fluttering heart, she descended to the apartment
where Janet liad left the visitor. _ ;

With a trembling hand she turned the knob and opened
the door.

The young gentleman arose on her entrance, advanced
a step, and then recoiled in astonishment. He passed his
hand across his eyes as if to assure himself that the vision
before him was no optical illusion. Then with a flurried
questioning look, he moved a step or two nearer, hesitated
momentarily—no doubt repelled by the peculiar expres-
sion of Inez, who had not moved a step since her first ad-
vance into the room—and then springing forward as
though reassured, he clasped, the passive hand of pale
Mrs. Wedgwood, who stood before him with dreoping
head and downcast eyes, and pressed it rapturously and
with all the glowing, youthful ardor that he had evinced
in younger and more romantic days. The recognition
was mutual,

“Good Heavens! Can it be possible ?—do I really be-
hold—Inez?—my—my—uncle’s wife? Oh, Inez! How
could you abandon me so cruelly? How find it in your
heart to marry another? and that other, of all others, my
good, soft-hearted, unsuspecting uncle? Oh, Inez! is
there no truth in woman’s nature? How coukl you find
it in your heart to carelessly break those solemn pledges
and promises we made, which I, sincerely believe, and
feel, and know, were registered in Heaven? Oh, Inez! to
think that I can never have the right to address you by a
nearer and more endearing title. When I went to Avon-
dale, six months after that first visit, and fouyd that my
beloved Inez had been spirited to the West—what part of
the West no one seemed to know—I had faith to beiieve I
should find her true, the moment my circumstances would
permit of my following and prosecuting my search, for,

have traveled through the world on foot, till I was old and
gray, but I would have found you. I was a dependent on
my kind uncle’s bounty, and for the present could only
toil on, that the expectations he had formed concerning
me might be realized; but the moment I found myself at

liberty I hurried to the man who had succeeded your |
him that you |

father in Avondale, and ascertained through
had gone to Colorado. I communicated with my uncle,
and started at the earliest moment for Pe oe be-
lieving I should soon clasp to my heart the darling object
of my leve. But what do I find? Is it the sweet, angelic
truth I so worshiped and thirsted after? Abt! you are
weeping! You should not weep, Mrs. Wedgwood. You
are my uncie’s wife, now. What cause have you to feel
compassion fer one you could so cruelly stab ?”’

“Oh,, Frank! Frank!’ sobbed the doctor’s wife, unre-
strainedly; and breaking from him, she threw herself
wildly on a sofa near at hand, and buried her agitated but’
still beautiful young face in its friendly concealment.

Up to the moment of this hysterical outbreak of
emotional feeling, Inez had remained immovable, and
seemingly as devoid of passion and the power of volition
as if she had been chiseled out of marble.

“Prank! Frank!’,! They were the first words that had
fallen from her lips since hier entrance into the room; and
they had been wrung from her by the uncontrollable

with my then unshaken faithin woman’s truth, I would |’

y
tained me with his friendly arm, when otherwise I mrust: :
inevitably have perished. Do youthink, Francis Murden,

that Eowe to such a friend as this, nothing? No matter:
‘what may have been the feeling that existed between us -

in other days, a true setse of honor. and forbearance

} (should. prevent you from. upbraiding, Orat least from
abusing ‘vith unwarrantabile liberties, a weak woman's
simple Sasien of duty and! figuor.’!

“Mrs. Wedgwood, I do wot in the least seek to uporaid~

' you, and I ask your forgiveness «for the seeming liberties.

Uhave taken. Iam sensible that you are right—perfectly
right; and I promise you,” he went on, bitterly, ‘that my
offense shall never be repeated. I will not ask why you
broke the solemn promise you gave me, and became-the
wife ef another. You Know best why. Of course yon:
have a. sufficient reason, and 1 will not presume to ask,.’’”

“You certainly have a right toask, and if you did not
feel at liberty to do so, I should consider myself under .ob-
ligationa, in view of the past, to explain to you why I
have done as I have.”’

_ “De not, Mrs. Wedgwood, if it will inconvenienee you:
in the slightest manner by doing it," urged the young
doctor, with frigid politeness, .

“On the contrary, if will be a.pleagure, Mr. Bearden;
for I consider it my duty todo so. In the first place, }
was leffalone in Denver, a year and a-half ago, after my.
father’s unaccountable disappearance from the mines,,
without a friend or protector, wholly dependent wpon -myi
own feeble exertions. You know how lard is the lot-of aa
young girl thus suddenly and unexpectedly thrown. upom

ler Own limited resources in a strange city, wilhont
money or friends, with no prospect of ever rising above-
penury and want. But hard as such a life is, such was.
my condition—and even worse.than that, for 1 was overs
taken with sickness at a time, when to pay my,.expenses,.
however Insignificant they might appear to others witlb
the ability to pay, it would require on my part the most
constant and unwearied exertion—operaling, a. sewing=
machine ten or eleven hours a day, at six. @olgars. per
week, wilh the cheapest obtainable, boarding-house- ac-
commodations at five, exclusive of Pts, fueh and. wash-
ing——

“Forgive me, my poor Inez.. But can it be possible-tiat
you were left iu as destitute a condition as. that?’ cried
the young doctor, aghast. ‘The truth is-breaking. im upon
me. -Lam beginning to realize now how.itwas.. Youwere
virtually driven by your necessities, as it were; to marry
my good uncle. Mrs. Wedgwood, pardon me if you can,
though I do not deserve it.” 7

“Do not misunderstand me, Francis Murdens;, fer I was
not driven by my necessities to marry your uncie. I be-.
eame his wife simpiy because I, honored.and respected
him more thabd anv other person in the world. When I
was tossing in the delirium of fever he came to. me, he saw
my utter loneliness, he took me under his.genenous pro-
tection, he saved my life where another and less interest-
ed physician would have failed, and paid all the expenses.
of my sickness out of his own liberal purse. Do you sup-~
pose that any friendless girl, with a heart not dead to all
noble and generous emotions, could fail to appreciate suck.
a man as that? Never did 1 experience such deep and.
quiet joy, such a perfect and unshakep sense of personal,
security from all those trials and troubles which had pre-
viously assailed me, as. when he kiudly took my thin, ema-
ciated hand in his.and asked. me to be his wile. Do you
think, then, that I answered ‘yes,’ Francis Murden, be-
cause { coveted your uncie’s gold ?—because 1 desired to
raise my humble and aspiring self to.a more exa}ted sta.
tion in life through him? No. 1 would have married him,
with the same grateful heart, and wilh greatly less hesita-
tion, had he been nearer my.equal.. And now, Francis—
Mr. Murden—let us understand each other. It is the wish,
of your uncle that you should become a member of the,
family, and relieve him immediately ef a share of his pro-.
fessional labors. He says.that you are to be his successor,,
and that he shall resign his entire practice into your hands ~
the moment you have fully acquired the confidence of hig;
patients. Now it will be our fate to be thrown almost
constantly in eack other’s society. . You should make it
your purpose to treat me exactly as you woujd. had you
never known, of my existence before this day. I simply
ask, now, a8 & surety for the future peace of all of us, that
the past shall be as irrevocably buried as if it. had never
been. May I trust that it shall be so?’

“You may, Mrs. Wedgwood. I pledge you. my, word of
honor that L will never offend you by the slightest allusion
to the past,’?

“Thank you, Frank. This generous pxomise of forbear-
ance removes all necessity of formality. You may call
me Inez now, if you like, and I will christen. you Dr.
Frank.” <

“Ie i pleases, you, it will be equally agreeable to me,

“Certainly; and now let us adjourn, to the dining-room,
for L know. youmust be famished, Dt. Frank, as all trays
elers are after a journey.”*

“{ think 1 have brought a tolerable appetite with me,’*
responded our young physician, smiling.

The doctor came in shortly after and greeted his nephew
in a most cordial and affectionate manner, asking hima
thousand questions, such as would be most ee to oceur
to him on their reunion after a separation of five or six

years. a
“ OHAPTER, Lif. &
BUFFALO JAKE.

On the prairies, near the more mountainous region
southwest of Denver, a herd of buffaloes might have been
seen grazing, op a pieasant summers morning, & few
days subsequent to the opening of our story.

But what strange object is that to be seen moving cau-
tiously in the rear of that compact moving mass? [tis
not a jaguar, hor a wolf, nora creeping savage. Neither
is it a buffalo. ealf, though it somewhat resembles one in

 

anguish awakened by her lover’s words, which, tike cruel
fire-brands hurled upon her by the remorseless hand of tom

 

in the libra’y—leastwise sue was wlien the doctor left.”

ture, had driven her forthe moment almost to the verge of

its externat appearance. But whatever the nature of the
 bondescript, or whatever might be ils partioular purpose
or design in following thus cautiously, and yet persist-

 

 

 

 

   

 
 

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oy agers F

 

 

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—7

ently, in the wakeotf the herd, does not as yet appear,
though the heavy, stupid creatures themseives do not
seem! to manifest any disquietude or akirm at she Blrange
and suspicious moveinents of the questionable object.

‘To the experienced eye there could have been nothing
in the object or its movemenis that would have appeared
m any degree mysterious or incomprehensible, 1t was
simply one of those conning und deceptive artifices of the
humer whereby he might the more securely approach the
herd and select his intended victim. .

The truth of this was s00n made apparent, for as one of
the fattest of the herd dropped: behind Aheresyas the sud-
den sharp report of a rifle and a bine wreath of smoke
curling np in close proximity to the aforesaid object, The
shot of the disguised hunter. was sure and effective, and
the nnsnspicious animal paid the penalty of its heedless
foily with its life,

earivg the report of the firearm the herd fook the
alarm abd scampered off. The hunter then aroge to his
feet, and divesting himseif of the buffalo hide he had thus
successfully used as a decoy, he strode lastily to te spot
where the animal hid fallen on receivingits death wound,
just oi the Outskirts of the timber.

“Bhister my all-factory blinkers if I didn’t gin -you jest
tke dose the docior ordered on the fust go-off. I did, by
gimminy Jerushy Ann!’ exclaimed the hunter, pushing
the prostrate animal with his heavy foot.

“You conidn’t have done better, my friend, if you’a
been the ablest disciple of Nimrod ever born!” said a
pleasant voice proceeding from the branches of a tree
overhead.

The hunter glanced up with sudden’ surprise, not un-

mixed whir distrust, and quickly brought his trusty ride

once more to bear against his shoulder,

“Hold on, my friend, Ym coming down,’’ said the
stranger, Jaughing good humoredly. ‘Beside, I have no
desire, that 1 know of, to have oo try your skill upon
me,” he added, swinging himself free of the lower limbs
and sliding rapidly down the trunk of the tree to the

round.
. “Gracious goedness!" cried the perplexed hunter, eye-
ing the new arrival with an expression of the most conii-
cal surprise. ‘Whoin the name of all natar’ are ye? and
What were ye doing up there, ha??? ;

“One question at a time, jy friend, and Vl endeavor to
enlighten you. In the first place, in reply to your first
question, I will iuform you by way of introduction, that
ny Name }3s Kavanah. Some montis ago, while out ona
prospective tour, [ was set upon by the Indians and taken
prisoner. About a week ago I succeeded in effecting my
escape, and had got so far on my way to the settlements
when I took alarm at the unexpected prospectof a buffalo
stampede, and hastily sought shelter in the nearest tree.
And now asIhave been obliging enoagh togive youa
detailed account of myself and my recent misfortunes, I
hope you will prove equaily liberal and, accommodating

- as regards your own name and antecedants,””

“Wal, stranger, ldun know’s I’ve any particular ob-
jections to offer agin your proposal. My rightful name’s
Jacob Wiggins, but l’m commonly called Butfalo Jake.
I’ve been heyar on these yere rivers aud peraries thie bet-
ter part ol five-and-twenty years. 1 hunts, traps, and
fishes as. a perfession, and semi-occasionally sculps a red
higger by way of divarsion. Wn sum’at mig’atory in my
gineral habits and dispersishun; but furali that, stranger,
my head ’s as leyel as a sawed plank. Two years agol
built me a shanty a few miles below heyar, in a cane-
brake nigh on to the river. Twenty years ago I took up
with a halfbreed woman of the Sioux persuasion, and
then absquaiulated down heyar into Oolorado, where l’ve
been stayivg purty much ever sense. 1l’ve got a gal, too,
as nice a piece ov caliker stuff as you commonly see.
She’s just seventeen, and can paddle acanoe, or briug
down a deer at two hundred paces with as sure a pop as
any he crittur you can dig up in the territories. Her
name is Winnie, but I call her Sunshine—she’s got such
eyes; stranger, they’d almost dazzle you to look at em.
Theres a young Dagotah chief, named Arrowatha, that
hangs around Boran’s Ranch, that’s been a-trying fer a
long time to shin up to her; but Sunshine don’t like the
pesky red varments overmuch, more’n the Buffalo—thav’s
ine. But after l’ve skinned the buffaler, if you're a mind
to take arun with me down to my shanty, aud help aloug
With the meat, blister my al-lactory blinkers if I don’t
show you @ gal that’s worth seem’, stranger—I will, by
Jimminy Jerushy Ann, for she's a screamer, by—*

Whatever Buifalo Juke’s exclamation might have been,
it was here cub slort in a most abrupt and startling man-
ner. ’

e [TO BE CONTINUED,}

Edith Lyle’s Secret.

By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes.

i Edith Lele’s Secret”? was commenced in No. 33. Back num-
bers eax be ebtained from any News Agent in the United States.)

CHAPTER LX.
EDITH AND GERTIE.

When Gertie wound her arms around Miss Rossiter’s
neck and kissed her so lovingly she touched a chord in
the woman’s heart which had never been touched before
—a chord which, under favorable circumstances, would
have vibrated with a mother’s love, and which now filled
her with so strong a /iking for the helpless gir), Uiat had
there been no Edith in/ the way she would liave adopted
her at once, not as her waiting-maid bus as her own pet-
fed daughter. Duri the days and nights they had
Watched together by \Godfrey’s side Gertie had crepta
long way into Miss Kossiter’s heart by her quiet, gentie
manner, and her kind, unselfish Lhoughtfuluess for her
companion's comfort. More than once when Miss Rossi-
ter looked livid and worn Gertie had made her lie down,
and kneeling beside her had bathed and rubbed her head,
and even her feet, and combed and brushed her still beau-
tifal hair, and had done it all as if it were a favor to her-
self rather than to her companion, whose duty it now
Was to care for her. ;

 

 

 

 

And Miss Rossiter did not shrink from the task imposed .

upon her. True, sue wore a lump of camphor in her
bosom to prevent infection just as she had done in God-
frey’s reo, and she occasionally swallowed a pill of mor-
phine, and kept the house full of chloride of lime, and
used every disinfectant of which sle had ever heard, and
hired a nurse to take care of Gertie, but stood by her all
ihe same, and saw that the doctors orders were obeyed.
The third day Col. Schuyler said to her, When he came to
look at Gertie:

“Christine, you are doing nobly,and I thank you so
muoh, but l must test you stillfurther. Gertie’s mother
ought to be here when her Child is 80 sick. Are you will-
ing I should send forher?" :

*Oertainly,’? Miss Rossiter replied, with alittle darker
shade on her face. ‘‘Seud for her by all means, J had
thought of that myself.”

ft was right, Miss Kogsiter knew, that Edith should
come to her sick duughter, and she gave her consent gra-
ciously, though all the while there was in her heart a leel-
ing of aversion to the woman whé had taken Euly’s
Place, and whom without any reason for it she had al-
ways disliked. She could forgive Gertie for being low-
born and in some sense an intruder in her sister’s family,
but pot Edith. Sullin her own house she must be polite
and courteous, and sie received Mrs. Schuyler kindly,
and nrade her rest awhile and take some refreshment be-
fore she went to Gertie, who was sleeping quietly and
must not be disturbed.

“She will not know you, though she talks of you some-
times,” Miss Rossiter said, ‘‘and you must be very quiet
and stl, and careful not to excite hier in the least.”

Baith knew she was being lectured with regard to the
proper way in which to conduct herself in the sick room,
but she took it aliin good purt and promised to do what-
ever Miss Rossiter thought was proper. t

“Only let me go to her at once,” sie said. “You know
Thave not seen her in nineteen years, aud she iy own
child, too.”?

“Not seen her? What do you mean??? Miss Rossiter
asked, a suspicion of Edith’s sanity crossing her mind.

“I mean | have not seen her, kuowing she was my
daughter,” Edith replied, as she followed tothe room
where Gertie lay so White and still, her bright hair tucked
awuy beneath a silken net, a deep red fever spot on cheek
and lips, and her hands folded upor her bosom just us she
kept them forthe mostof the time while with Godfrey
she went sailing over the golden sea to the country so far
away.

She wason her journey thither when Edith came in,
and, parilug the curtains cautiously, stood looking ather,
whiie in fancy she wus a young girl again in the dreary
room in Dorset street, and the ruin plashed against the
windows, and ran dowu the panes iu dirty streams,
and the roar of the great city sounded in her ears, and
she heard the lodgers’ steps upon the stairs, and ber baby
wasin her arms, cuddled so close to her that she felt the
warm, tender flesh against her own just as she felt that of
the sick girl, Whose Jace, and neck, and lands she touched
so carefully, and yet with sucha world of love and ten-
derness, as slie whispered to herself:

“Little girley;littie baby, little Gertie, my very own
little one, you are changed since that dreadful day so
many years ago, but 1 know that youare mine. They
took you Irom me when Jl was asleep, aud now, when [
see you again, I find you sieeping,; too. Durling litue
child, do you kKuow it is your mother standing here and
talking to youthus? Will you ever kuow, ever open
youreyes on meéeand call me mother? Oh, Father in
Heaven, spare her to ine—spare my eae ehilal”?

This was what the colonel heard Edith say; for, feeling
anxious for her, he stood just outside the door, and, wheu

her yoice ceased and he heard a rustling sound, le went.

swiftly in, and, supporting her with his aro as she sank
into & chair, held her head upon his bosom, and soothed
her tenderly, witile the tears, which did hersomuch good,
began to fail like rain.

Iv was strange the effect Edith’s presence in the sick
rooin had upon Miss Rossiter. She had fully indorsed
Gertie—ay, had in soime sort adopted her in her own
mind, and could not bear that another should share her
wutch, and care, and anxiety for the only sick person in
whom she had ever been so deeply interested. But as
s00u as Bdith's tears were dried, und she was herself
again, and the calm, quiet dignity of the mother asserted
tiself, Mass Rossiter, who was not the mother, was
compelled to stand aside while another took her plaee
aud watched the ebb and flow of the fever which rose so
high, and did the thousand litte things which only a
Ihother coahi have thought to do,

Aud Edith did not grow tired and faint with constant
watching. On the contrary, both strength and flesh came

_ back to her, and, when atlast the fever turmed and the

verdict of safe wus pronounced, she gained faster far
than Gertie, and it seemed to the coloned that she grew
young, and fair, and smooth each day until it was very
hard tu beHeve her the mother ofthe sick girl, who, wilh

 

 

 

—
te rene onerw

 

the marks of disease upon ler face, looked her nineteen
ears.
7 The sea was not 80 placid Rew, the boat was Ltossing on
the waves, and Gertie sataloue on deck, and called in
vain for Godfrey, who had deserted bis post and wus no-
where tobe found, untilone morning, when he came
bodily, the wreck of: Tis former self, und climbing the
stairs to Gertie’s room, bent over her with words of loye,
which penetrated to her dull earj amd must in part have
been comprehended. .
. After that Godirey staid in Miss Rossiter’s honse, which
ed asort of hospitaiand was so distasteful to Miss,
julia Wheu, Wil. her three trunks and hat-box, she came’
from Florida, that sha accepted her Uncle Calvert's invt-
tation, and went to the Por . on Washington
square, Where the Sixth raven 3 side, and the
never-en tiukie of their bel rte \
» Juda had heard évery particular of the ry ans
ler a
told her of Gertie’s iness and Editu’s pr cein]
Rossiter’s house. Thys Julia’s first surprise and indigna-

Universityon the other,nearly drove! her wild with the
came home, for Neem had written it
tion had had time to abate, and now she was in a kind

bewlldered state, incapable of realizing anything to na

full except the fuct that in some sort her aunt had gone
over to the enemy, leaving her alone on thé old vantage
ground of dislike and opposition to (hat woman, through
whom alithis had come uponthem. Fortunately, ho
ever, for Julia, her mind was just then occupied with
thoughts of a Southern bachelor, who had offered himself
and his reported half million for her acceptance, This

‘offer she wus duly consideriug when she came Lome, and

after Seeing how matters were at her Aunt Christine’s,
and staying a day or two in Lhe dark old house in Wash-
ington square, 8ie nearly made up her mind Lo accept it,
though the man was forty aud bored her nearly to death
with his twaddling talk about his horses and dogs. She
had not seen Edith during the one day and night spent at
Miss Rogsiter’s, neither had she mentioned her name or
inquired for Gertie, except to askif the fever was con-
sidered catching, and how her auntliked having her
house turned into a hospital! Of this indifference Edith
Knew nothing and would not have cared if she bad. All
her thoughts were centered in that little, white-faced girl
slowly groping her way back to life and reason, and talk-
ing now far more than she had done at first when the
water Was so still and the boat sailed so steadily. She
Was saved; she would live; there was no question about
that, and Baith had only to wait patiently for the day
when the biue eyes would first look at her with recogui-
tion in their glance and the dear voice call her mother.

Miss Rossiter had given her Gertie’s message and she
knew the words by heart, aud repeated them often to
herself a3 she Kept her tireless vigils aud watched for the
first faint sign of reason. it was on a pleasant April day,
aud the windows of the room were open, admitting the
warm spring air, and the sun shone softly upon [the rare
plants which Miss Rossiter had brought and placed out-
side the windows, where they made quite a liltie garden.

Edith had been up all night and was still sitting across
the room, leaning her tired head upon her hand, when a
sound caught her ear and brought her to her feet, where
she stood listening intently for it to be repeated, wonder-
ing if she could be mistaken, or had she heard the blessed .
name moter, aud was she the mother meaut and Gertie’s
the voice which called her. ;

“Mother, my mother,’? it came again, and then Edith
glided rapidly across the oor, aud parting the silken
hangings to the bed looked eagerly in. i

Gertie was awake, Gertie was sane, and thinking her-
self alone had tried to put things together and remember
where she was, aud what it was sue heard long ago it
seemed which made her so glad. .

“Oh, I kuow I have a mother’? she said to herself, and
it was this word Edith caught.

“Mother, my mother,” Gertie said again, delighted to
repeat the dear name, and then it was that Edith parted
the curtains and Jooked in upon her.

Oh, the rapturous joy, the perfect bliss of that first long
gauze when eye met eye, and told without the aid of words
the mighty love there was between the mother and lhe
child meeting as such for the first time in thefull sense of
‘the relation. My pen cannot describe it, neither should it
if it could, for there are some scenes over which, like the
face of Iphigenia’s father, a vail must be thrown, and this
is one ol hem. Suffice it to say that Edith was perfectly
Satisfied with Gertie’s reception of her, aud when an hour
later Oolonel Schuyler looked into the room he found
them fast asleep, both heads on the same pillow, Edith's
arms around Gertie’s neck, and one of Gertie’s pale, wan
hanes, resting on Edith’s'face. This picture touched the
colonel, and he cried softly to himself as he stood gazing
al the two, 80 like each other in their sleep that he won-
dered he had never seen Lhe strong resemblance before.
Theu he called Miss Rossiter, who came and looked, and
cried a litle, too; but neither spoke a word, and altera
moment’s silence went out together, and closing the door
left them alone together, the mother and her cliild.

, CHAPTER LXI.
GODFREY AND GERTIE. ;

“Howard, come here, I wish to speak toyon,’' Miss Ros-
siter —* in the quick, decided way she had assumed
since so much had been depending upon her, and she had
been drawn out of herself, ‘‘Howard, what do you mean
to do with Gertie? That is;so faras money matters are
ooncerned? Willyou make her really one of your children,
und have her share equally with them 7?

“Really, Christine, Lhave mot thought, I don’t know;
its a litile too soon forthat. Why, yes, J rather think—
she will are with them—yes, if Godfrey marries Alice,
or some Oder girl with money; there would then be more
reason W Hause should shure equally, @s Godirey would
not need 80 inuch.” :

“Howard, don’t bea fool. Godfrey will never marry
Alice, nor anybody else except Gertie Westbrooke, and
you kuow that, or ought toknuowit, Llearned it those
days Ll took care of him when Gertie was with me, aud I
got to liking her inspite of myself. Lam nota deceitful
woman, Howard, and [ will not say that Iam altogether
satisfied with Edith. Mis not in my nature to feel that
people of her rank in life are fully my equals, but I shall
always treut her wellfor Gertie’s suke and Godirey’s. I
crnuot understand it, but that child has grown strangely
into my heart since she has been sick here in my house.
They suy we always love what las cost us trouble and
made us forget ourselves, and I think I love her better
than Il have Joved anything since Charlie died, and I in-
teud io muke her my heir, or at leastto give her the
larger share of my fortune, and if sie only would stay
with me l’d keep her so gladly. I have told you this,
Howard, so that money need not Bland between you and
your consent for Godlrey to make Gertie his wile, as I
know he intends to do.”? e

Colonel Schuyler was astonished, and could hardly believe
thatit was Curistine Rossiter speaking to him,as this
Woman spoxe, and aviually pleading Gertie’s cause, and
AdViIsINg io. Le accept her asthe wile of hisson. In spite
of Miss K..” iter’s talk Of adoption and heirship, he felt a
pang ofrc et when he remembered the Creighton line of.
ancestry, 10st as pure as lus Otvn,; and thougut of Jen-
nie Nesbil, vllo seemed destined to be connected with him
Iu'soimanhy Ways through Edith, and Eimma, aud Godfrey,
But there was no help forit. The Creightous must go—
the star ol the Lyles was in the ascendant, aud when that
afternoon Godirey wet up to see Gertie for the first time
since her return to consciousness he had his. father’s full
consent to claim her for his wile,

The colonel hinfselflad told Godfrey the story of Ger-
tle’s birth, aud Godfrey had urrahed for yery joy, teel-
ing thut in some way Gertie was thus brought nearer to
him. He knew of her coming aione to himin his illness
aud braving the world because she thought herseif his
sister. He had faint reminiscences, too, of soft hands
which cvoled his burning brow, of loving words breathed
into bis ear, aud of firm, though gentle remonstrances
aud threats of leaving him, whem the vessel plunged so
fearfully aud he was plunging with it. Gertie had surely
saved his life, and even when he did not kKuow she was in
the room she had been coustantly in his mindand was
With him in his desperate vayage over the siormy sea,
where he had so nearly been lost. Always, when the
waves were doing their worst and he was upside down,
there wus @ thought in his heart of La Soeur, and he
woudered how she was coming trough, aud if the win-
dow was open in her dingy little stateroom. Hers was
the first name upon his lips when he awoke to couscious-
ness; she was the first he inquired for, and before he was
really able he left his room aud went to Miss Rossiter’s to
be near his darling and see her when he chose. But she
had never Known him when he bent over her with found
words und loving caresses; and she talked of him to his
face, and mourned sadly that he was lost, gone from her
Ship, aud she was left to sail alone oyer the troubled
Waters.

“Tam here, Gertie. I shall never leave you again.
You are mine forever, now,’? he had said to her ounce,
when she could not understand his meaning, and now he
Was going tu say it agaiv, with every obstacle cleared
from his path, and nothing to impede his love, not even>
Alice, who hud made a virtue of necessity, and was toler-
wbly reconciled.

Gertie was sitting up for the third time since her con-
valescence, and expecting him, but she was not prepared
for the rush across the floor, or the impetuosity with
which he gathered her in his arms, as if she had been a
doll, aud hugging her sg close to his bosom that her
breath came in quick gasps, carried her to the mirror,
and laying her white thin fuce beside his own, which, if
possibie, was whiler and thinner, still bade her see what
a& ‘pair of picked chickens they were,’?

** But we weathered it, Gertie,’’ he said, “and now we've
nothing to do but. grow strong and well again, and you
will be more beautiful than ever, while I,—well, Gertie, 1
never was so happy in my life as at this moment when I
hold you thus and kiss you, so—and so! ””

He emphasized his words with kisses, which took
Gertie’s breath away, and when she could speak she said
imploringly, ‘‘ Please, Godfrey, put me down. You tire,
you hurt me.’?

Then he placed her in her chair, and kneeling at her
side, heli her hands in his, and looking auxiousty into
her lace, said, ‘ Forgive me, darling, 1 did not think how
weak you were, andIamso happy, for 1 have father’s
consent for you to tell me yes. 1 reully have, and youare
ny own forever. ‘Tell Gertie,’ father said, ‘that I release
her from her promise and welcome lier as really my
dangiiter,’ The Gov——, father, I mean, is a trum—
splendid, I beg your pardon, but I always run into slang
when Iamvery happy. Will you kiss ufe now, Gertie,
even if Lam nol a periect gentleman???

“You are not deceiving me, Godfrey?!’ Gertie said, her
lip quivering as shethought how terrible it would be to
huve this new cup of joy dashed from her Jips just as she
Was ready to drink it.

“Deceiving youl No. Father did sayso, and Allie
knows if, too; amd fickle, lite all her sex, will not break
her heart for me, who, sue says, looks like a fright with
my shived head, and high cheek bones, and yellow skin,
aud loose clothes, You see the fever has not left me very

 

 

 

 

 

good-looking, and Marks, the rector at Hampstead, is
down at Gucie Oalvert’s, and rode with AlHe yesterday;
and I should not be surpyised if-she were yet to make
aprons for Mrs. Vanu"s babies, and carry soup to the old
lady. Bhe’l be a splendid wife for a minister, if she
mikes up her inind to its" ;

He had rattled on thus yolubly for the sake of giving
Gertie time in which to recover herself alittie, and, when
he. saw that hor breath came more naturaty, and the
color was dying away from her cheeks, he returned to the
matter in question. :

‘Kiss whe, Gertie, genticoman or not, and 1 shall knew
you are my wife.’?

He held his luce close to hers, and Gertie put her arms
around hisneck, aud kissed the lips which kissed her
back s0 many )tiues,

And g0 they were betrothed at last; and when, half-an-

hour jater, Edit’ came in, she found Gertie with her head
resting on Godlrey’s arm dnd an expression of perfect
peace upon her face, witile he talked to her in tones whioh
uo one who had ever Known experimentally the meaning
of Jove could inistake. }
Ah, mother!” he gaid,-as Hdith came up to him.
ouare really my mother now, for Gertie is mine, and
Lyles are pretiy well mixed with the Schuyilers, I
think,

How happy he was, and how he hovered around Gertie,

how- | seeming almost to deyour her with his eyes when his lips

were hot ineeting hers or his hands touchiug her some-
where! And when he told Miss Rossiter the good news,
he Kissed: her, too, and swung her rouna as if she had
been atop, and wanted to kiss his father, and did kiss
Julia aud Alice both when he went to call upon them that
eveuing, and told them he was as good as a married man,
und father of his long-talked of brass band.

Alice had given him up ever since the day Miss Rossiter
drove downto see her, and talked so altfectionately of
Gertie, and said nothing would please her better than to
see her Goufrey’s wife.. There had been - a few tears in
private, a wrench or two,in her heart, and then it was all
over; for Allie’s love had never been yery strong, and
but little more than her pride was wounded when Gertie
was preferred to herself, Alice had one good trait—she
did not long harbor malice or resentment; and she re-
ceived Goudlrey cordially, arid said she hoped he wouid be
happy, aud blushed rather prettily when he joked her
about the parson, and said she might possibly be his
neighbor in Hampstead, and offering, if she were, to
help her run her mission school, and head every subscrip-
tion paper she chose to start.

Two weeks from that day the doors and windows at
Schuyler Hill were opened wide, and Mrs. Tiffe, in a wild
state of excitement and expectancy, was giving the most
contradictory orders to the servants, and flitting from
room to room to see that all was in readiness for the
family, who were coming home and would be.there to
dinner, Everybody in Hampstead knew the story how,
and none liked Euith the less, but rather the more, |
think, while the fact that Gertie was to marry Godirey
filled every one with joy except Tom Barton. Poor Tom,
he came to the Hill that day when’ we were expecting
her, and, handing me a buncl of pansies and English
Violets, said:

“They are for her room. I always associate her with
English violets.’ She is just as sweet as they are, Heaven
bless her|’?

There was a tremor in his voice and his hand shook as
he gave ine the flowers. He was taking it hard, and I
pitied lifin so much when he said:

“There is nothing in the wide world for metolive for
now; butI shall not go back to my cups. She helped
make mea man, and Ll! Keep so fot her sake, but I tell
you, Ettie, it is pretty tough sledding and there is a jump
in my heart as big as.a bass drum. I wish I were dead; 1
do, upon my word.’?

How sweet the perlume of those violets was, and how
eagerly Gertie inhaled it when she came at Jast and I took
her to her room.

“Tom brought them. He says they are like you,” I
said, wWhilea shadow flitted oyer Gertie’s face, for she
knew just how much Tom Barton loved her and felt in
part the burden weighing him down so eee, :

it was curious to watch Edith as she came back to her
home, with somethiug of humility and fear imher manner,
as ifshe,dreaded the ineeting of lier old acquaintance now
that they knew of the deception which had been practiced
80 long, and it-wwas equiully curious to see how the colonel
sustaimed and upheld her, and stood by her, and treated
her with @ cousideration and increased deference and
tenderness which would have precluded any thing
ike coolness or indifference on the part of his friends to-
ward his wife had they felt disposed té manifest it,
pai they were not. Edith was too popular; too much a
favorite with all classes at Hampstead for auy thing ex
cept positive wrong to make a difference now; and the
very first evening of her return many of her old acquain-
tauce Came Lo see her and offer their congratulatious for
the finding of her daughter, and that daughter Gertie,

How happy we were that hight when Edith and Gertie
Sal together upon the sofa, the daughter’s head resting
upon the mother’s shoulder, and the colonel aud Godfrey
standing behind .and bending protectingly over them.
BHven Julia, who had come with the party, was unusually
gracious, und told me confidentiaVy that though she would
have advised secrecy with regard to Gertie’s father, she
was tolerably well satisfied with matters as they were,
especially as Major Camden did not care, and she would
soon be away fron) it all. ges

The next day was Sunday, and Mr. Marks hal no cause
to complain of empty pews, for every place wus filled lou:

    
 

before the bell souiNtied its Jast uole and. ihe. ;
carr ge i up We door.. {i did not matter at
ULUshe Ca yillager#iad seen Eqithh and Gertic and God-

 
   

lrey hundreds of times, there WaS about them now a uew
element of interest, qud the people came even from other
churches lo see the avonderiul sight. ‘But they were im
part doomed to disdppointment, tor Gertie was still too
weak lo venture out, while Godfrey would not go without
her, and so, of the three Jions, only Edith was there; her
beautiful head drooping a lite, her pale cheek flushing,
and her eyes cast timidly down as she walked to her
accustomed pi:.ce and dropped upon her Kuees, where she
remained a loi, loug time, while all through the church
there was asc cin hiush as the people watched her, many
With tearful e: sand all with a leeling that they knew the
nature of her orayers and sympathized with her. Mr.
Marks’ projeci {providing beforelaud ample means for
the sustenance of the parish poor during the coming
wiuter was made asure thing that morning by the bank
bill which Edith Jaid upon the plate, aud which we al)
knew wus a thauk offering for the crowning blessing of
her life; the lifumug of the cloud which had so loug hung
over her,and the finding of her lost child in the person of
sweet liltle Gertie Westbrooke.
[ro BE CONTINUED. }

 

‘  TPEMs oF INTEREST,

4a Recently the medical officers of Wolverhampton,
Eng, reported that a serious outbreak of typhoid fever had oc-
curred—thut there had been no Jess than sixty cases, and that
four of these had terminated fatally. The outvreak was account-
ed for by the quality of the milk supplied from one particular
dairy. Upon testing, however, the composition which had been
sold as milk, it Was found to consist of three parts milk and one
part water, So far there was nothing strange, but unhappily the
one part water had been obtained from a well connected with a
house Where typhoid fever already existed. When the use of the
Water Was pronibited, the milk atouce resumed its original
purity.

&ae-A boarding-house for mill girls has been opened at
Wovdbury, Md., bya Baltimore firm who run a cotton-duck
factory there. All the arrangements are said to be ample and
compiete. {n addition to the sleeping apartments there are four
parlors neatly turnished, and a library aud an organ forthe use
of the inmates. The charge for d, per week, for eae girl,
including washing, 13 $2. Tne building is lighted with gas and
heated by steam, aud contains a steam laundry.

kar Two opium-eating boys were recently sent to the
Soidiers’ Orphans’ Home in Ohjo. As long as the opium lasted

State; but when the drug was exhausted they ran away. Some
time ago the elder brother put the younger in asack, stuffed
paper around and over him, and sold lim for rags, and with the
proceeds of the sale purchased opium enough to satisty their
cravings.

4a Important discoveries are being made by British
cruisers in the Pacific. At New-Hanover, Capt. Simpson found
men and women yery much in astate of mature. Hethinks they
had never before been vised by white men. Whey were ‘iguor-
ant of the use of tobacco, aud any old pieces of paper were taken
by thena in preference to the usual trace articles. They had little
or noting ter barter except spears.

4a The influence of a dream is oftentimes potential.
The site ot the Troy State Sweet M. E. Church was selected by
Dr, John Louden because he dreamed that he saw a flock of white
doves alight om the Jots on the curner of State and Fifth streets,
He fregarded it as » good omen, and his efforts to locate the
chuben as he desired were finally successful.

_ Sap The one hundreth coupie married within the Jast
six years by Rey. Mr. Williams, of Va., drove to his house ia Fair-
tux the day before the Jast Thanksgiving in a common wagon,
were nade happy, bought a pair of winter shoes at the corner
store, and drove out of town as contented as if theirs had- been
the most fashionable wedding of modern times,

kas The late panic has had one good effect. It makes
moneyed men inquire into the particulars of the project they are
solicited tginake a venture on, The new motto of the business
ae is us stated: ‘‘What ever is, is; and whatever isn’t,
isn \

ka An extraordinary affair lately occurred in Edin-
burgh—that of a man named James Tiin who, on being taken to
the Infirmary, in a state of exhaustion from want of food, was
aa and found to have about his person £50. He died the
next day.

Aap The suicide of a young lady in Covington, Va., is
anuounced, Her age wasl7, her name Melmantoller, Her pa-
rents refused their consent to her marriage to a youngster of 18,
The lovers had a meeting, and agreed to hang themselves the
nextday. She fulfilied her part of the contract, but Xe failed.

Ba The A iper Bird’? is the title of the first news-
paper ever published in the Hervey group of islands, in the South
Pacific. Itis entirely inthe native Janguage, comprising four
small folio pages,

Sar The greatest imortality by the late yellow fever epi-
demic in Shreveport, La., occurred between the ages of 20 and 30
years, and the next greatest between 30 and 40. One hundred
died under ten years uf age, aud 13 were above sixty.

Sap Tlie great clock of the Houses of Parliament, Lon-
don, host in November Jast, one second, and was ordered to be
stopped for cleaning. The average variation of this clock does
not amount to a quarter of a second in a year.

Sar A remarkable recovery irom speechlessness is re-
lated. A Miss Unmack, of Lawrence, Mass. bad almost entirely
lost her yoice, when a kerosene lamp exploded in her presence,
causing her to scream, and enabling her to talk ever since.

kay Rejecied contributors form so Jarge a class in Eng-
land that they support two magazines, whose pages contain noth-
ing that has not been declined by the upappreciative editors of
other periodicals, .

&a~ The building of cotton factories in the State of Texas
is kecoming yery general, - :

 

kay All the pictures left by the great painter, Landseer.
will be sold in London the coming season.

they were content to eat and sleep under the guardianship of the

nae ne es

TEE LESSON OF THE HOUR.
BY MRS, M. A, KIDOER,

Chi mothers teach your little ones
That God isa over ali—
That He who rules the universe
Stil heeds the sparrow's fall,
And thisubove all things impress, ¥
That Ile who cives them breal—
Who knows their every act and want, :
Tise King himsel!, lath said: :
“Vengeance is mine—I will repay,” t
So be it understood ;
His just right hand shall recompense
All evil and ali good!
Oh! teach the litthe yielding hearts, | ®
Now like the wostained snow, }
How wrong it is to seek revenge
By bitter word or blow.
Tiow wrong to shed another’s bleed,
Who has the right to liro— ’
The dreadful crime of blotting ent i
A life one cannot give!

SUERTE Anke REE

To CORRESPONDENTS,

We are compelied from want of space and the

large number of letters to be answered, to
make the replies brief, and run them as
close together as possible.

a

2a GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
G. J. Nispel.—This correspondent complains that he has sent two
letters containing money to J. Jay Gould, Boston, Mass., for
goods named in his catalogue, which is advertised in the NEw
YORK WEEKLY to be sent free, and that he has received no re-
turn, although his first letters, containing no money, were an-
swered promptly. Unless J, Jay,Gould can explain the matter
satisfactorily to us his advertisement will be excluded from our
columhs..... Reader.—If the party who writes to us from Syra-
cuse in relation to-being “fooled out of $7” will give us his ad-
dress, Stating circumstances of the case, we will make them pub-
lic, in order that all others may be on their guard...... Mystery.—
Ist. The origin of the Order of the Garter is popularly ascribed to
an incident eT occurred at a ball at which Edward 111. and
tue Countess of Salisbury were present, about 1350, The latter
is said to have dropped her garter while dancing; the king pick-
ing it up, and observing some of the courtiers smiling, restored
it to the countess, with the remark, ‘“ZZont soit qui mul y pense?’
—Evil be to him who evil thinks, He is said to have shortly after-
ward instituted the order, with the above motto, as an incentive
to chivalry among his knights. Another account dates its origin
from the reign of Richard Ceeur de Lion, who, during his battles
in the Holy Land, is said to have ordered his Knights to weara
white garter above the knee, to distinguish them from their Sar-
acen foes, The former is considered to be the most reliable, as
the order is traced to its origin in the reign of Edward HI. The
membership was originally Jimited to the sovereign and twenty-
five knights, but the number has since been increased. 2d, Tie
tare from New York to Philadelphia is $3.25. 3d. No. 4th. The
camera is similar to that used by photographers, by the aid
ot which views of the different points of interest are reflected
on a plane before the observer. 5th. You can obtain board ina
private house for $6 to $8 per week...... G. F, William.—I\st, The
Loudon Times trequently issues twenty-four large pages as a siu-
gle number. 2d. ‘The New YORK WEEKLY has the largest circnu-
lation of any paperjin the United States—350 8u. ‘The origin
of writing cannot be traced. Some writers coutend that alpiia-
betic systeins have always existed. 4th. No oursman or Av’s
crew can claim to be the best inthe world. 5th. The rates of fare
to England or Ireland range from $130, first cabin, tu sleer-
age. The prices vary with the different lines, the figures given
being the highest and lowest......... Autumn.—"The melancholy
days have come, the saddest of the year,” is from William Cullen.
Bryans “Death of the Flowers,”’......Romeo.—The lady referred
to was never connected with a circus company...... Frank Lee.—
¥es.. 55: Tim Gibson.—We do not know the gentieman’s standing
with the profession. .... , Clear Grit.—We can find no work of the
kind........Slippery Dick.—We cannot make transiations......:.
Paiater.—Sam Patch made his last leap at the Genesee Fails,
Friday, Nov. 18, 1829. The staging irom which he jumped was
about one hundred and twenly teet above the water. Atvcer ad-
dressing a few remarks to the large assemblage gathered to wit-
ness the feat, he leaped from the platform, strikjny ‘ic water
with hislegs somewhat apart. After waiting vainly tc his reap-
pearance, the crowd dispersed. He is said to have be . drinking
freely previous to his fooluardy experiment, to wh: . fact Jus
death was partly attributed.......7. C. J. 2t.—Ist. We sainnot say.
2d. Yes. 30. The fare from Harrisburg to Omaha is about $33.
4th. We have no list of the members of the Louisiana Legislature.
_L. B., No Partiality and F. E. Wilson.—Chromos ire sent only
to those who forward $3 to this office lor a year’s subscription to
the NEw YORK WEEKLY. We desire that only those who aro
obliged to receive their paper by mail will take advantage of this
offer, preferring that tuose who can will buy their paper of the
newsdealer..........Falling Hair.—lst. A matter ol individual
opinion. 2J. Sve “Knowledge Box.” ........ Isaac P. Robinson.—
We will send you Mrs. Fleming’s “Guy Earlscourt’s Wife? aud
“A Wondertul Woman,” bound, for $1 75 each........ ohnnie.—
We know nothing of the lottery referred to....... Elinér Hvag.—
Ist. The New YORK WEEKLY prize chromos are three in number,
and are Bent by mail, neatly rolled, to prevent breaking, 2d.
8 a repy te “FEB.” :......- F. Dougal. —ist. An opportunity to
obtain a collegiate education should uot be thrown aside unless a
person has a stronger desire to engage in mercantile pursuits,
and his prospects would be interfered with or lessened by the
length of time occupied in the collegiate course. 2d. Each de-
partment is assigned to a different individual, under the general
supérvision of the proprietors. 34. ‘The beard will grow much
stronger by shaving irequently. 4th. Cigar boxes which have
been used once ure worthless, as they have to be branded and
stam Any attempt to use them asecond time renders the
person 80 doing liable toa fine of not less than one hundred nor
more than oue thousand dollars, or imprisonment for uot less
than six months nor more than two years...,....Remus. rge
Washington was born on the llth ot February, 1732, according to
e Julian si endar. Ou the substi of the Gregorian calen-
Pens leven a wanich-wea ‘thre Sey.
2 e¢ AYR} :
enter the Muh, whieh also makes — date or Washington’s
birthday correspond with (he 22d ot February, in the new style. .
B, Frome.—Apply to the P. O. Department, at Washington, D. C.
ee « Ww. J. Wiliams. —1st. “A Terrible Secret” was commenced
in No. 30, dated June 2, but issued May 19th. 2d. Mach volume of
the Nkw YORK WEEKLY contains 52 pores Wes a's H. rson.—
All our serials are copyrighted, aud nobody 1s allowed to drama-
tize any of them unless specially authorized to do s0..,.A4 Con-
stant Reader.—We are sorry youthink your sex wnabie to bear
the imputation of haying one Miss Slimmens among you. On
the contrary, thousands of that sex have very much eujoyed
making her acquaintance, and have telt none the worse tor it.
To exaggerate human frailties, as well as_excellencies, has been.
the privilege of writers since tae days of Esop’s fables, and long
before. Why cannot a woman bear her fair share of ridicule as
well as a2 man? The dandy, the fop, the parasite, have often
been held up to public view without the author being considered
unmanuly. hy should not Miss Slimmens take hershare? We
can only inter that ‘Constant Reuder’’ has made a personal
matter of it...... Jasper Bradsbury.—The story referred to will be
commenced 5002. ....... Comfort Stone.—We will turnish the Lon-
don Journal tor $3 per volume. The price in currency for Kng-
lish works is at the rate-of $1 tor two suillings English money....
abble.—We do not know where you can get a pair of brass

Hardser
knuckles, unless you apply at Police Headquarters........4f. B.
lat. Candidates for cadetshlp at Annapolis must be between four-
teen and eighteen years of age. There 1s no likeliiood of your
securing the position, 2d, Try and improve both your spelling
ana writing....... 0. @. B.—The papers containing "The Cheated
Bride” will cost $ 56......... Milk’ Punch,—We wi:l send you Be-
ment’s “Rabbit Faucier’? ror 30 cents, which will give you all the

nen

 

 

We wit] send yon “Thtee Years bu a Man Trap” for $2, Lig Kone
of “Mollie Darling” for 85vents and “Down m a Cou! Miw?? for
40 cents, set to music; er we will seix] the wurds, without music,
fer six cents, or just sufiicient to pay postage........4. D. DS.

We know nothing of the merits of the machine referred to. ...-
Western Reader,—lst. No. 2d. The stories are issued in book tori

} Eetgitee Directory, bound In cloth, for $2..... _dorke Nig Ji

 
  

fer $1.75 eagh.., J. A. Swift ce from Louisville to St
Paul, by waiter, nies, ¥ not know what the tage is.

Dichscne SOC Hu { wicapped Recording to their
eharacter for well og age. In the summary of a race
new before us, we three’ titee-year-oluds cniered, respeetive-
dy weigited .Fortier.—We will send

ah SA and Cea (ae tle L
‘the papers contaiving “Wedded, Yee No Wire” on meeps of
“\ys+-A. B.+Not religbie. .. ..Un And.—Sen) a leiter (c
ny 93 Walker street, and they wil for-

ri
V ward iinesl copy, With terms... .F. J. Bischog.—The naval
strani the Weal marithne powers of the wortd 1s as follows =

 
  
  
    
  

 

Gi ritain , ‘steamers of al sizes; 75 puddle-whect
‘al otal, 440 steam yedsels, and 29 efticient suling vessels
ali, 469," OF these, ive efficient for generad service. |
ude I ling-of-battle , 25 iron-cased nipA, 8 frigates
rettes aud 100 sloops sinadler vessels, La addition to. |
xé are 10 sieamers ird ships of coast guard), and 41
38 atenin tenders wid cruisers belonging Ww the coast
¢ ; mor-cliuidl’ fivet consists of more than 40
P floa batteries! The French navy consists of z
iron-clads of the” class, 12 Yron-cluds of the seoond claas,
Jiron-clad gunboats, 8 friga corvettes, 38 dispatch boats, 25
| transport stea and 32 ta. The oa re at
the present time’25 vessels 'y 140 guns, 24 carrying
and 22 carrying 682 guns, There ar@ also 10 transports Ca e of

carrying guns and 50 gunboats with heavy gun each. The nayy
at the United States, according to the report of Secretary Robe-
son, dated Nov. 28,1872, comprised 178 vessels, carrying | 1,378

gans, exclusive of howitzers. Of these, 68 are steamers, with 929
guns; 3) sailing vessels of all classes, with 322 guns; 61 iron-clads,
ayrth 4} ps, and 28 tugs....... Inquirer.—Lecturers who make a

‘tour of the cities with one or more lectures during ‘a season do
Notissue. them in printed form, as ena: persons would read
them instead of paying to hear them delivered, thereby dimin-
ishing the lecturer’s proceeds. The press, for the same reason,
abstain from giving verbatim reports.,...... Ola Subscriber.—The
story named has not been, nor will it be, issued in book form....
J. 8, H.—\ist. We will send you the song of *I'wenmty Years Ago,’?
with notes, for 85 cents; and volumes of Scotch, “English and
Trish songs for $1 each. 3d, Bee Medical Department.”. ....,.,.-
Would-be Booklinder.—We do not know exactly what you want.
Is it binder’s board, or merely paper for the sides? Send full ad-
dress to New YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency......... H. Hw. C.
—The works referred to are published by the American News Co,,
and can be furnished through our Purchasing Agency...... ecole
Carriz.—We will furnish photographs of “Texas Jack” for 25
cents each; the other we cannot get...... Dispute.—lst. They are
two distinct individuals, and each writes under her-own pame.
2d, ‘Mildred, the Child of Adoption,’’ has appeared only in the
columns of the Nyw YorK WEEKLY, nearly fourteen years ago.
It will be republished soomafter the completion of “Edith Lyie’s
MOGI, Bai. F vi W. B. Astor, A. ‘I. Stewart and Coruclius
Vanderbilt are probably the richest wen in New York..........--
Troubled Reader.—There is only one thing for youtodo, under
the circumstances, angyou know what your duty is as well as
we can tell you, You"tan afterward occupy your present posi-
uons until matters take a more favorable turn, when you nay
carry out the plain interfered with by thedoss of your situation
inv . D. K.—We have no vacancies in oe of our departments
at present..,... 0, BZ, Booker.—We know nothing of the expedition
reterred to, consequently can give you none of the details us to
destination, pay, elc...... White Horse Fred.—It you flud that you
cannot obtain employment at your trade, youronly alternative is
to seek it in some oiher channel..... v. E. Howel.—There are com-
panies which jnsure live stock, but there are none in this city....
George.—Ist. No. 2. The Great Eastern is ¢f 20,000 tonsur-
then. 3d. The question gan be decided only by comparison... ....
Cadet,—Capt. Nuthan Hale was bern in Coventry, Conn., June 6,
1755, and was executed a8 & spyin this ity, Sept. 22,1776. He
graduated at Yale College in 1773 with high honors; and was en-
gaged as a teacher at the time of the Lexington’ alarm in 1775.
Le soon afterward entered the army as a lieutenant, and was in
a short time promoted to be captain. In 1776, when in New
York, he; with an associate, planned and effected the eapture of
a British sloop laden with provisions, taking her at midnight
fron under the guus of a frigate, any distribuluing her prize 3
to the American soldiers, Aftér the retreat of the army from
Long Island, Washington applied for a discrect and practiced
otficer to enter the enemy’s lines and procure intelligence, and
Hale volunteered for the service. Me succeeded in making tull
drawings aud memoranda of all the desired information, but was
apprehended while attempting to return, and taken beiore Gen.
Howe, the, British commander, by whom he was ordered to be
hanged the next morning.......... L. Singer,—Ist. Martin Luther
was born in Eisleben, a town of Saxony, on Noy. 10, 1483, and
died at the same place, Feb. 18, 1546. 2d. Your question covers &
range it would take several yolunies to answer. Consult Apple-
ton’s Annual Cyclopedies..........-+- G. A. Bradey.—li the purty
cnlisted during the late war he is entitied to the benefits con-
ferred bythe amended Homestead law, Otherwise he has no
privileges other than those accorded to individuals who have
never been in the urmy.....E. C. Geuet.—See reply to “Numerous
Readers,” in No. 47...... Whiripool.—Write to the gentleman....,
#, P,—The Sarah Sands was an iron serewsteamer. In Au =
1857, she sailed irom Portsmouth, England, for Calcutta, with
soidiers on board. During the yoyage ber cargo took fire, und
after this was subdued she Was nearly wrecked by a storim, but
finally succeeded iu reaching Mauritius, without losing a lile, on
the 2ist of November. She madeher first tripto this port about
ee es Harker.—Invest your money iu real estate. .........!
‘Toe part

Altoona, Pa.—Lhey were undoubtedly the originals, y
hamed has not been with them for several months.... Shasta,
Jim.—The Boy Gladiator” will cost 60 cents.......... QO. Sp.—tist, '
Field-marshal Blucher, of the Prussian army, who participat

in the closing scenes of the battle of Waterloo, was twice mar-

ried, and had two sons, if mot more, the biographical sketch be-

fore us speaking of his being a prisoner on parole at Hamburg; in

1806, in company with his sons. 2d. We will send. you genuine

Turkish tobacco for $4 per pound..... ..Quinine,— Pens like those
descrived will be furnished through the New YORK WEEKLY Pur-
chasing Agency. Send full name and address....... Fort Plain.—

it your wile 1s insane you should have ler placed in an asylum,
If she is merely of an ugly disposition, you may bring her to
terms by retusing to Jive with her;, but you will be obliged to con-
tribute to her maintenance.......... Clara Mary Hathaway.—The
title-page will give you the name of the publisher of the work,
Write to them forthe volume, if itcan be got; if not get the
books in paper cover, and havethem bound ia the same style as
the volunie in your possession......C. 7. Redde.—\We do not know
of any company like that described........J. H. J.—Soldiers and
sailors who were in the U, 8. service for ninety days or more dur-
ing the recent war and were honorably discharged, gre entitled
to receive 160 acres of public Jand valued at $2.50 per acre, by
the payment of merely vominal fees. They must acquire the
litle by actual settlement, as no Jand warrants are issued, but
£4. » é thottbeteterar Or SETVICG [3s Ceducted
{roi the fiye years necessary to perfect the tile. The widjows
or minor children of soldiers who were killed or have died, are
entitled to the same privileges, and to have the full term ot the
deceased’s enlistinent deduct
We have no record of
Persisient,—Select a poem from one of the standard authors. '

The following is a list of articles, the prices Of which have been
asked by correspondents. Want of space compels us Lo give them
in this torm, without the name of the querists: Book of instruc-
tion in Indian club exercise, $2.50. Bouk of instruction on the
flute, 75 cents. American transparent steroscopic views, $3.50
per dozen; French, $12 per dozen. “Boxwood billiard balls, $1

each, :
ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT. ;

railroad construction in Clfina............

 

 

 

Nellie.—Ist. Conversation coucerming contagious diseases such
as fevers, smali-pox, measles, mumps, etc., between young lr
dies and gentlemen, is nut improper, but is not in good taste, 2d.
Your writing and composition are fair,

Inquisitiveness.—lf the hour is not Jate, there is no Impropricty
in your asking your escort to come in tor a little while.
¢ Curiosity.—it the young lady in question is npt well acquaint-
ed with the young man who. invites. her to attend schoul with
him, she had better dectine the invitation.

Louie,—If your parents sanction the young man’s attentions to
you, itis perfectly proper for him to remain after they have re-
tured for the night, H ns *€

Annie M.—Ou no account marry, even if you have been en-
gaged for two years, when you canuot give your heart with your
hand. Marriage is too sacted a culnpact to be entered upon With
only a little liking for one’s husband,

 

information desired.... Paulina.—Ist. MsS. should be written in
a large hand, and on one side of the paper, 2d. About $5. 3d.
We do not desire any....., Holmes’ Story,—ist. ‘Edith Lyie’s Se-
cret’? was commenced in Nu, 33. The papers will be furnished
for six cents each. 2d. In about two years....7.—Out ot print...
W. M. Cowley—We know. nothing of the party..... ist.—
ist. The most direct route from this clty to Washington, D.C.,
is by way of the Penusylvania Central R,, from the foot of
either Desbrosses or Courtlandt street, 2d. Living is quite high
in Washington, $12 per week being the averaxe tor fair board,
3d. Congress meets on the first Monday in December of each
rear, 4th. We have no vacaucies in any of the departments in
n our establishthent..;..7. 8. B—Ist. To secure a copyrignt ot
the drawing, you must forward to A. M, Spotford, Librarian of
Congress, at 7 ‘
will insure the return of Copy of the record of the copyright.
Within ten days alter the publication of the picture, two copies of
it must be forwarded to the same persoD, to be filed in the office.
2d. Apply tothe Jeading publishers for terms of publication, as
more or Jess negotiation will probably be uecessary,....uarnacle
Bil.—Phonography is a system of representing sounds by dis-
tuuctive characters, The idea is embraced in a_system of short-
hand invented by Isaac Pitman, of Bath, Eugiand, in 1837,
which has since been modified by others, and is now 1n genera!
use by reporters..... W. 4. @,—Steamers jeave this port for Rio
Janeiro, Brazil, on the 23d of each month, Tne fare 1s » in
gold; steerage, half price...../. Marsh.—West street, near
Horatio..... Hippocrates.—You are best able to judge whether
you will be likely to buildup a paying practiie in ine locality
you have selected. Itisa matter of time, wherever you may
settle, and thé cases you have already liad may be the means of
increasing your business.....Qliver Ormsley.—The nearest a
roach tu a comiparison between the number of cotton mills in
EXcaeaiipa, England, with those in the states of Massachusetts and
Rhode Island we can get, is the dates of 1850 in the former, anu 1870
ju thelatter: Lancashire, at the time stateu, had 1235 cotton
mills, while at the period named, Massachusetts had 194 and
Rhode Island 139........... Actress Eugene.—lst. — No amount
amount of reading will make an actress. A course of justi uction
and preparation at the hauds of a person familiar with stage
business is what is required. 2d. We have no recollection of the
lady's name. 3d, See “Work-Box.”’.... JV. S. Jr.—Four miles an
hourisa pce walking galt.....J. C. Dana.—Write to the Post-
master at New Bedford, Mass.,....Constant .—See “Work-
Box.”.... Fred Smith.—lst. '"¥he Banker’s ‘Foe; or Claude's In-
heritance” will cost $1.98, 2d. We will furnish Rollin’s Ancient
History, two volumes in one, tor $4 3d, The London Zimes is
owned and conducted by John Walter, It was founded and
issued as a daily paper os grandfather@John Walter, in 1788
who was succeeded by hisson John, who in turn was succeeded
by the present manager in .....Powder.—The service charge
kabeted for the Parrott, gun is as follows: Ten-pounder, one
pound of powder; twenty-pounder, two pounds; thirty-pounder,
three and a quarter pounds; l00pounder, ten pounds; 200-
uider, sixteen pounds; 300-pounder, twenty-five pounds. The
man eight, ten, thirteen, fifteen and twenty inch guns, re-
quireten, eighteen, thirty, fifty and one hundred pounds of
powder respectively... ..Seven.— Bie the time of the building
of the tower of Babel, ‘the whole earth was of one language
and of one speech.” See Genesis xi,, 1, There is no core
the number of tongues which caused the confusion and su
quent abandonment of that enterprise...... aah again,.....
Jat Ovum.—Ist. “Godey’s Lady’s Book’ is published by L. A.
Godey, atthe corner of Sixth and Chestnut streets, Philadelphia.
2d. See “Knowledge Box.’’.....,...J% Frouble.—The couple bemg
well mated in. other respects, the complexion, color of the hair,
etc., is a matter of Jittle or no importance. ..._,. 7. W.—¥es....,.
H. P. Witte.—We do not wish to purchase any MSS. at present...
Inquirer.—\st. The terms ‘*bulls” “bears” were first applied
‘inthe London exchange to speculators in stocks. Two parties
having contracted, the one to deliver and the other to take stocks
at a future time.at-a specified price, itis the interest dfthe deliv-
ering party, in the intervening time, to depress and of the
recciying party to raise them. The former is called a bear, in
allusion to the habit of that animal to pull down with his paws,
and the lattera ball, from the custom of that beast to throw up+
with his horns. ‘The terms are recognized and in use at all stoc
exchanges. 2d. Bullion is the commercial nanve for uncoined
gold or silver, cither when melted and not perfectly refined, or
when retined and melted down in bars or ingots......... 4 GW,
Rooke,—tie young man will have to serve out his term of enlist-
ment..... oat ldron.—Ilst. There is no sueh institution, 2d.
Practice will improve your penmanship. 3d. Nebraska.,.... ove
Russ and Jim.—We wiil send you a parlor billiard table for $®
to $300, according to size, finish, ete., With all the apparatus,

markers, cues, balls, bridges, etc...;.... Maggie Lee.—The keys to
the work referred to will cost 75 cents each........ Stocks.—It the

seller bought and delivered ise stock on the thirtieth day, he
makes five per cent.; but if he bought during the iatervening pe-
riod, When the stock had upprecigted, he loses five.......... tT. BE.
Jones, —Ist, AS a general rule; children net mentioned in a will,
nor iu.any wise provided for thereby, take the share of the es-
tate which wouid come to tliem if the father had died intestate.
The presumption of Jaw in such case is that they had deen for-

 

gotten; but paming them, and refusing te give them anything,

ashington, D. C,, a description uf it, with $1, which |

Jess and Lu.—ist. We kuiow of no way that: foung girls can
cure young men of bashful and do not wonder that your
prescription failed; indeed, were we sin the young man’s bplace,
we should have sent you to,“‘Coventry’® tor your lifetime. 2d.
W e can never approve of hoydenish young girls, or flirtations. .
They deprive a girl of self-respect, and injure her in many ways.

Silly Bidy.—Ist. We should judge tat the young ma had be-
come weury of the young Jady in question, and desired to show
it by giving her the “cold shoulder,” 2d. We can know nothing
of jus intentions at first, not possessing the gilts of a clairvoyant.
a Better not. seek the company ot youny men uutil you are
oider,

Fuivia W.—Ist. Itis proper to say toa visitor: “I should be
happy to see you again,” should you desire him to repeat his‘tall.
2J. No honorable man would urge a young girl toblope with him,
uuless under very Circumstances, By all mewns inform
your parents of the behavior of the gentleman. 3d. A girl of
Ainetven is seldom old enough to assume the cares of matrimony. —
4th. Your writing 18 very handsome. hauks for your apprecia-
tion of the NEW YORK WEEKLY.

S. S.—See answer to Inquisitiveness.”

Snowdrop,—Poor child! we cannot say that we think the drunk-
ard of twenty years liable toreiorm when he is older, Streng
drink s5e8 a wonderful power over its votaries, and it is
a feartul thing to marry & man addicted tosuch a habit. Possibly,
if you use yourinfluence to break him of the habit, it may have
the desired effect. Compel himto chose between your society
and his appetite for drink, and it may bring him to a proper
sense of his duty. . ,

Desbelt.—Ask the young flancee to refuse to receive any more
letters from wie ‘oki beau.’ Do it kindly. Ask her if she would
like to have you correspond with anotlier girl, and thus let her
ee how very unpleasant it would be. -

Lucy Pearl.—tist. See reply to ‘Country Friend.» 2d. Your
writing is very fair.

r(.—Say; ‘‘Miss ——, may I have the pleasure of accompany-
nay ¥.'5) home f” ; , A
ub Lisle.—There is no customary rule in the length of engage-
ments. Tne length of time between an engagement and a mar-
riage depends upon the circumstances of the parties, :
il Indeed, we, could not tell whether a man

mers Tom.—ist. goes
eculd su ta wile country ou per month, and otf
a debt oF: or less; for it would depend so much wipes the

economical habits of beth husband and wile, and the latter's
capacity tor endurance and labor: ‘2d. We do believe in long en-
gagements. Itis very desirable that persons should not marry.
until they know each other’s peculiaritiesand habits. Wecannvot
tell how —. is best to know one another betore becoming en-
paged. 3d. Your writing is very handsome, and well adapted to
<eeping. ;
B. £. Fanning.—\st. Thanks for your advice and information.
We agree wkh oom fully in thinking that the ** ot Etiquette”
tinthe public schools of every State, aud that
swearing aud fighting should be held upto public scorn and de-
rision. Perhaps it is as well for floor managers to ask the gen-
theman who.escorts a lady to a ball, if he will request her per-
mission to be introduced toa gentleman who desires such a favor;
but we do not think it is his to decide whether the Iutro-
duction , take place or not. It would cultivate too much
Jealousy On his part; and we all know that there isenough of that
among young men - Women. Accept our thanks for your
commendations of she YORK WEEKLY. It ik our desire to
promote moral growth wherever its pages are read.
.—Ist. When you ask a lady’s hand in the next dance,

| and there is no space to promenade, offer your arm, and stand

and converse with her onan the next dance.is formed... 2d. When
‘taking tea or diuner at a friend’s house donot leave the table un-
til your friend makes the first move from ; ;
eta Sherman.—Don’'t let the girls play fast and loose in the
Way you.represent. If they do not keep thelr ongagements to
“waik with you, cease visiting them. Uris
Mutual S. J.—The Jady was certainly not polite in her treat-
ntofyou. Ifshe accepted your invitation to the pic-nic she
should have remained at home .until the: hour came, and not
haye Jeft you 1m the lurch. She ought to apologize for the rude-
ness, and “‘make up.” .

Wild Ned or Death Eye.—ist. At a private wedding the bride
and groom enter the parlor, arm in arm, after the family have
assembled. 2d. The bride takes the groom’s left arm. Sd. They
donot join hands until the minister bids them dogo, 4th. The
ring can be given to the minister before the ceremony coim-
meuces, or the groom can keep it in his vest pocket until needed.
The miuister receives the ring from him, and gives it to the bride-
groom. He places it wpon the bride’s finger, saying alter the
Minister: ‘ With this ring [thee wed, etc.” 5th. The bridegroom
kisses the bride alter the minister pronounces them man and
wife, if he pleases to dogo; 6th. The Fos often stays at the
bride’s house the night previous to the eon especially 12
the country, where good hotels. do not abound. ‘7th, Your gram-
mar and writing are very fair, and the latter would do well for
oe We are giad to hear that you haye broken loose >
from your formerJite, and have gained the love of a noble wo-
man, and an honorable name, and that your friends will never
again hear of ‘Reckless Ned.”

Ignorance.—1st. In going into a church with a Iady, where both
are strangers, you should wait until the sexton or usher offers you
aseat. 2. If the lady is not astranger there, she could probably

 

proves tliat they were remembered, and thus deprives them of
the fit of the presumption. 2). We willsend vou Boyd's

take you to a seat.

Genkce Cal, Locomotive Engineer.— -

 

   

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De

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nani Miele Ranges S

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;

“ws

 

 

 

 

CPA, so,

ee
mecancesnccnrentccticteees aT Aten

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_ablest talent in the land, and furalshes the BEST PAP.

aA Af AUTIFUL O11 CHROMO,—Tho Pirotographer's
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PUBLISHED '

UNIFORM WITH “BEAUTIFUL SNOW.”
. A BANDSOME BOLIDAY Book.

The Youug Magdalen;

By Francis S. Smith,

ac of the Proprietors of the New YORK Wrxacy, and Author of
“Breleen Witson,? “@hageio, the Clarity Chitd,”
“Bertha, the BSewing-Machine Girl,”
“Tire Bexton of Baxony,” ete,

THB YOUNG MAGDALEN; anp Orrge Poss. By Francis
5. Smith. Witha lifatike portraltof the author, engraved on
steel, in Rue and stippic, in the highest styte of the art. A
copy of “The Young Magdalen, and Other Poems,” published
and for sale this day, ehould find a ptace in every house in
this country, for the volume possesses great interest, and
appeals directly to the heart and memory, and touches maay
chords of human sympathy. It is rare that a collection of Poems
contain so m@#eh whicl: all wilt be glad to welcome in book form.
It is one of the most appropriate holiday gifts that can be made,
and is suitable fer a young getitieman to'present to a young lady,
& brether to his sister, a parent te his chiid, or vice versa. “The
Young Magdalen” traa received tho most unqualified praise from
the press and the cvities, and’ contains only that which will elevate
and instruct all who may peruse its pages. It ls compicte ia one
large octavo velame ef thveo hundred pages, in uniform styte
with “Beantifal Snow, and Othor Pooms,” published by ua, being
printed on the tinest tinted plate paper, and bound in greon mo-
roces cloth, with gitt top, gtt sides, and beveled boards, price
Three Dollars, er bound In‘maroon merotco etoth, with full gilt
sides, full giitedges, full gilt buek, and weveied boards, price
Four Doltars,

*,* “Tha Young Magdalen, and Other Poems,” i3 for sate dy ail
Booksellers, Quad by all Nees Agents that sell the New Yor«
WEEKLY. Ges your News Agent to get it for you. ’

*,* Copies of cither editten of “The Young Magdalen, and Other
Poems,” 10822 be sent, post-paid, te aity one, to any place, per return

of mat, onany one romlizing the price of the edition they may wir
]

ae the Pwbltshers,

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,
306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa,

STREET & SMITH,
New York Weekly Office, New York.

*," Agents and Canvassers, Male and Female, are wanted every-
where 9 engage in the saleof “The Yourg Magdalen, and otker
Poems.” Large wages can be made by all. Send to 7. B. Peterson
& Brothers, Phttadetpkia, for Canvassers’ Circular.

Wr Shaw’s Moth and Freckle Lotion, removes

eckles, Motis Patches, Sallowuess, Tan, Piniples, &e., in

tcadays. Warranted, Ail druggists. $1, Depot 451 6th Ave., N.Y.
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MUSIC BOOKS FOR HOLIDAY PRESENTS.
Write, by postal card, for Catalogues and Price Lists,
BOOSEY & GO,, 3 East ith street, 3.Y.,
: Publishers of Cheap Masic,
3-2 And Gole Aeents for Distin’s Celebrated Bund Instruments.

0 Sheets of Choice Music $1

Why throw away mney on high-priced Music when you can
select from our Catalogue of 700 pieces? Any 20 Half-Dime, or 10
of Dime Beries, mailed on receipt of One Dollar. Sold by all
booksellers, 2nd can de ordered through any newsdealer. Send
stamp for Qatalogne. Address

; BENJ. W. HWITOHCOCK, Publisher.
9-12, 439 Third Ave., New York.

The Best Paper! Try It !!

The Scientific American fs the cheapest and best Hlus-
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10 to 15 eriginal engravitigs of new machinery, novel inventions,
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Ss reocipts are well worth ten times the subscription price.

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PATEN Ts of new inventions and sketches ex-

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Address for the Paper or concerning Patents,
MUNN & CO., 37 Park Row, New York,
54 Branch Office. oor, F and 7th Sts., Washington, D.C.

 

Jers.

 
 
  

 
 

HERRINGS SAFKS
IN THE FIRE AT WELLSBORO’
AGAIN. PROVE TRUE 10 THEIR TRUST,

.
WELLSBORO', Penn., Oct. 25th, 1878.
Messrs, Herrings & Farrel, N. Y.:

Dear Sirs: On the morning of October 23d our
town witnessed the iargest fire- with which it has
ever been visited, consuming our large Hotel and
eleven business houses, destroying one whole
square. At my place, inthe middle of the block,
and hottest part of the fire, I had one of your Safes,
which proved true to its trust, preserving all my}

 

books in good order. Next door was another make

of Safe, that proved worthless.
: Truly yours,
GEORGE HasTavad:

}

ANOTHER, 6

WRLLSboRO', Penn., Oct. %, 1873,
Herrings & Forrel:

the 23d inst. My books, papers, money, &., were
in the ‘*Herrings” Safe I purchased. of you last year.
Everything was found in perfect order, and entirely
preserved, on its being opened. The building was
a large heavy frame one, and made avery hot fire.
The safe falling into the cellar on top of a large pile
of burning coal.

Iam entirely satisfied with the Safe, as its con-
tents were all saved, my entire stock of goods being
burned. Yours, &e.,

BR. H. Hastings,

 

MANUFACTURED AND SOLD BY

HERRINGS & FARREL,

251 and 252 Broadway, cor. Murray St, N.Y
$07 Chestuut St., Philadelphia, Pa.
60 Sudbury St., Bosion.

 

‘ 46 State St., Chicago, Il.
wot. 53 Camp St., New Orleans.
MONKECY Gave EAlIDLy wih stencil and ey-
? IN i4 Check Outtits. Catalogue, samples, and fulk
paticulurs of the business Frex. S. M. SPENCER, Brattleboro, Vt.

Skin Diseases.

AGSR (Pim plee—Blackheads. Symptoms: Hard, small ia
With black points, most numerous on the cheeks, forehead an

nose.

PRURIGO, (Intense Itching), which begins when the olothing 1s
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‘he above and all Skin Diseases permanently cured. Entire
co# of treatment $1.50 per week, or $5.00 per month.

Address Dr. J. M. VANDYKE,
l0-4eow. 1126 Walnut street, Philadelphia, Pa.

THEGREAT TRANSFORMATION PUZZLE,

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Sead to PUZZLE DEPOT, 755 Broadway, BY
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GENTS WANTED tor tho new book,
LIFK AND ADVENTURES OF

KIT CARSON, |

by his comrade and friend, D. W.C. Peters, Breyet Lt.-
Col. and Surgeon, U.S, A., from facts dictated by himselr. The
only TRUE aud AUTHENTIO life of America’s greatest HUD

T PER, SCOUT aud GUIDE ever published. It contains full
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rellable account of the Modocs andthe Alodec War. As 4 work ot
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MUSTACHE Rahmnus Leaves ws hair

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in 14 days; Deista's Ext. of

 

LARGESTY ARO RRR TIS EST ROC Rena cirontar:
wt. A, J. FISHER, 98 Nassau st., N. Y.
1874. — BETTER THAN EVER! 1874.

 

 

« THE GRBAT ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY

Rural, Literary & Family Paper.

THIS FAMOUS WEEKLY, whieh has been the Leading and
argest Circulating Journal of its Class for over Twenty Years,
not only “still bres,” bur purposes to remler its ensuing (XXTXth)
volume b:tter thanany yet published. MOORE'S RURAL is the
STANDARD AUTHORITY on Agriculture, ortic
and irs “and « Ohoice, High-Tuoned,
aud Popular and Family Paper. No other
journal ip tts sphere bas such a large and. abte corps of Editorg
aud Contributors, and none comprises so Many Departments or
80 great a variety of Subjects, Illustrations, &c. National iv
Character paket, ato and adapted to both Town and Country,
it has ardent admirers in every State, Terrtory, and Province on
the Con nt.. Ever earnestly advocating the Rights and Lnter-
ests of the Industrial Classes, MOORE'S RURAL NEW-YORKER
has jong been the

FARM AND FIRESIDE FAVORITE,

Ballesine ia Tact, Tout, aud the discussion ot suok Timely Topics
ag are of paramount interest to,Produciug People, it em ee the
THE FARMER,
THS HORTICULTURIST,
THE STOCK-GROWER,
THE DAIRYMAN,
THE HOUSEWIFB, &c.

In the fature no pains will bo spared to render the paper indis-
pensabdie to the Raral and Industrial Population of the Country,
and a welcome guest at every fireside it may visit. The Reading
for the Family and Young roe with appropriate Illustrations,
will receive increased care and attention, while none of the Prac-
tical Departments will be neglected—our aim cnt. to EXCEL in’
every and al} featares, and to furnish the best combined RURAL,
LITERARY wnd FAMILY NEWSPAPER obtainable.

f

 

. ‘STYLE, TERMS, ETC.

MOORE'S RURAL NEW-YORKER contains Sixteen Quarto

Pa weekly, finely and profusely Illustrated und neatly Printed.

y BS aw Year—in cinbs of ten or more, $2 a copy. Now

43 the Time to Subscribe for 18°74, Great Premiums or Cash

Commissions to Club Agents, Specimens, Premium Lists, &c:,
Sent FREE to all applicants.

j Address p. D. T. MOORE, New York City.
' w *

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Gentlemen: I was burned out on the morning of

 

 

 

BY MITTIE POINT DAYES.

AN day I rocked tbe cradle,
And sung the cradle-song;

But my anguish coutd not keep her,
Though a mother’s love Is streag.

For tbe angels came at nightfal
From across the jasper sea,

And hovering round invisibie,
They watched the babe with na.

Step soft! she les asleep.
Ne need to rock her now¢
She will not wake nor weep,
‘Tis Heaven upen her brow!
All day she tossed and meaned
In the fever and the strife,
But I ceuld net ease her pain,
Though I would have given my hfe.
And the angels whispered lew
Of a home where ease is given,
And they bore her in their arms
To their btessed rest in Heaven,
Bat early in the mornings,
‘ Iu the rainy, chilly dawns,
Iwaken softly sebbing
_ Fer the’baby lost and genet
For, oh! se soon she faded,
Like a Huy on its stem,
And whea we lose our treasures,
Ouf eur hearts go after them.

 

¢

 

| Marriage
ON THE SCAFFOLD.

By Howard WW, Bacy.

(‘Marriage om the Scaffeid’® was commenced in No. 51. Back
Nos. cau be obtained from any News Ageut in the United States. }}

OHAPTER XXIil.
THE COUNT CONTINUES TO AOF.

Ags has been related, the horses of the count and Man-
fredi were not many paces from the fountain lawn; and
the two men were scen in the saddle again, the count
gaying aloud as he leaped gayly to his seat:

“The father of Sicardo, the brigand will soom be in
prison now, Manfredi.”

“Ay, wy lord, eki Cosmo is doomed. The death of
Borrelli will be fixed upon him!” replied Manfredi, as he
more slowly than his master attained his saddle seat.
But, my lord, what disposal will be made of Signora
Casteltetta, the mother of the brigand?!

“What care I what may be¢ome of her,” said tiie count,
scornfully. ‘“I’ake care, on thy peril, man, not to reveal
without my consent, that Oosino and his wife are the
Duke and Duchess del Arnato.*? :

‘“‘My lips are sealed as to thar, and as to all that may
appertain to thy aifuirs, my Jord,’ replied Manfredl,

 

 

ina Vittoria, tle sister of Sicardo the brigand,
main at liberty to use her beauty and supplicalions to
elfect the release of Oosmot”

Buger to penetrate more deeply the schemes of his
master, Maniredi carelessly asked the above question as
he tarried a moment to adjust his bridle.

‘Stience, fellow! I will tell thee all thowart to do and
to know as we ride hence,” said the count, or] may as
weil tell thee now that which thon hast to do at present,
We wiili leave Borrelli’s horse tied here.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then thou wilt ride with me, say a mHe.’?

“Yes, my lord.”’

‘Then will 1 leave thee and ride on to the grove of the
Gray Rocks, where our party is.. When I shall have been
gone from thee long enough to have joined our men, do
thou ride after me at full speed. Oome charging at head-
long speed among us, shouting, ‘Cosmo hath siain Bor-
relli!’ Then tell this tale in sabstance:—*Lord Alfraseo
didsend Borrelli to fetch a horu of water from the foun-
tain of San Antonio, whichis less than two miles from
the main road. My lord and Lawaited Borrelli’s: retura,
He reinained long away, aud my lord sent me after Bos-
relli to hasten hig return. I rode into the forest, and
not far from the fountain & found Borrelli’s horse tied toa
tree, I then fastened my horse and‘walked to the foun-
tain. Erelcameinto view of any one that might be
there, I belield a man stealing through the thicket away
from the fountain. I was near enough to recognize the
man, The man was Cosme the forester. AS soun as he
was well away I hurried to the fountain. There I found
our late comrade dead—stabbed im the back witha stafy,.
on the shaft-of which is carved the name of Cosmo. Ter-
vified by the sight, I fled to where lhad@left my horse. Ff
mounted him and spurred through the forest to where FP
had Jeft Lord Alfrasco. Hewas gone and I came on.”
This tale thou wilt at Manfredi, with much seeming
; v Tron - .
borate thine. We will all hursy back to Ure fountain,
The cross-bow bolt will be found; then the handkerchies
and in it my gotden drinking horn, from which I drank
in the presence of all my attendants this morning. We
Will then arrest Cosmo and carry him to Atraui. He will
be cast intoa dungeon, there to remain until he shall be
tried, convicted and sentenced. This is all that it Is
necessary for thee toknow at present. Gome, let us be
gone.

The count then departed toward the high-woad, closely
followed by Manfredi. ‘

When both were out of sight, a ferm came quickly into
view near Borrelli’s horse. Instantiy afterward appeared
another form: and these two were Linetta the wife of
Sicardo, and Ahmet the Moorish page.
Both were in the garb of Bohemian gipsies, nor could
any scrutiny, unless very cluse, have detected that they
were not true specimens of that wandering race,
Latent jealousy of Vittoria had prompted Sicarde’s
wife to visit thus secretely the vicinity of the tountain..
’ To herand to Ahmet the brigand had intrusted the
perilous feat ofafixing theearsof Lord Alfrageu to: the
banner staff in the Largo del Mercato, while he pursed
the Greek marauders who lad carried olf his infant son
from Forza. ; : 3 ‘ ;
Linetta and Ahmet had aecomplished the feat, and Linetta
had left that threat of vengeance alrcady mentioned, whose effect
had been to-terrily the queen, and to force the grand constable to
send the child to Sicily. :
Having learned that her child was on the way to Messina, Li-
netta and Albmet had evaded the search made for them in Ba-
les, and turned the course ef their flight toward Del Parso, as
inetta desired to see Vittoria, and question her closely of that
interest which Sicardo had se warmly evinced for the daughser
of the old forester.
She and Ahmet were on their way tothe tountain, and near
the three horses, when the return of Mantredi and the cowat
caused them to halt and Ile motionless and concealed during the
conversation I have just related.

“Oh, my husband, how my unworthy jealousy hath wronged
thee!” sighed Linetta, as she arose trom her ambush.

“And what a base plot we have overheard!’ said Ahmet.
“And Cosmo is the father of my husband! and the ipir girl, of
whose beauty I was so jealous, is my lhusband’s sister!’

“But thatisa secret which my master has not wished usor
any one to know,” said Ahmet, “aod may my tongue fall outif
ever [revealit. But let usto the fountain and see what hath
been done there.”

“Nay, we know that a foul murder hath been done there upon
orrelli, Let us at ouce hasten to alarm Cosmo,’ said Signora
Linetta.

“I know not whero his dwelling is, my lady; and yetit cannot
be tar away.” :
“I know, for my childhood was passed in Del Parso,”’ replied
Signora Linetta. “Come, let us hasten to warn the nobie old
man., Oh, Ahmet, how Ilove that brave old man, now thatI
know he is the father of my husbancl Ay, and my soul jis now
Ee love and pity for the beautiful Vittoria! Come, let us
With eager and rapid steps they ran through the forest, and
were soon in that path which led from the cottage of Cosme to
the fountain,

Meanwhile the hours had been passing wearily and fall of
trouble inthe humble dwelling of Cosmo, Donna Oastelletta,
though ignorant of the vicinity of the dreaded Bastard Caracci-
oli, Knew well the danger that had menaced herself and husband
since her visit, weeks before, to the fountain. Vittoria’s heart
had been as heavy as lead from the moment she had taken that
oath never again to speak with Lord Colonna,

The mind of Cosmo was oppressed witha load of care. His
wife and daughter saw by the £ oom On his face and the nervous-
ness of his movements that he wasawareof some immediate
peril of detection and detention of their intended speedy flight.

They questioned him.

eansil,

e replied: ;
“If perilis near usit may fall upon us. To tell you whatI
eee Sirs guard against the blow. Itmay not fall, Let us be
opeful. ‘
ne threo were silently partaking of their noonday meal.when
a rap at the door at the front of the cottage startled them.

Cosmo placed his fingers on hislips. All remained silent. The
doors and shutters of the windows being closed, the interior of
the cot was dark and obscure. The eyes ot the family, ac-
custom: now to this gloom, however, could readily discern
every object; but oy eye peering in at any of the cracksof the
dwelling could see only darkness,

The rapping was repeated, and violently.

Still Cosino held his finger on hislips. It was his hope that
whoever was without might beledto believe the dwellipg was
deserted, and go away. ;

“Cosmo! Oosmo!”’ called ont a voice ontside.

Cosmo and his family exchanged glances of wonder. The
voice was that of a woman, clear, sweet, and imploring.

Still the cautious old man, suspicious, and knowing the cun-
ning of the Caracciolis, held his finger on his bearded lips. '

~Cogmo, if thou art there,’’. said the voice again, in clear and
ringing tones, "I am ling my own life to warn thee of a great
dangér—oft a and wily plot to convict thee of a murder. I
am thy friend. Iam the wite of Sicardo.”

“The wife of Sicardo!” muttered Cosmo, smiling in his beard
bitterly. "Tis said be hath a hundred wives, like the Turk.”

Then spoke thé voice of Ahmet, though none in the cottage
had ever heard of him. But the speech of Ahmet was in Moor-
ish, a language of which Vittoria knew not a word; yet one with
which Cosmo and his wife were perfeotly acquainted.
ree aoe lord, Prince and Duke Leonato, we are thy friends,

ear us

“Great Heaven! our secret is known!” was the mental ejacu-
lation of both Cosmo and his wife, nnderstanding well the words,
but knowing that it was the voice of a stranger and of a Moor.

No Christian tongue, they knew, could so perfectly articulate
the language of the Infidel.

“Thy.enemy, Alfrasco the Bastard, is not far off,” continued
Ahmet. ‘He and many of his followers will be upon thee within
two hours atleast. Thou art to be ed for the assassination
of Alonzo Borrelti, who lies dead and murdered with thy staff at
the fountain of San Antonio, Thy only hope is in immediate
flight, for ae is cunning, and will undoubtedly be proved

int thee. Fly with us, the wife and page of Rizzio di Sicarde,
aay on out way to Rossano, whence we are to escape to

“One cannot escape from fate,” ee Cosmo, in Moorish, to

“I will speak with thee. they be enemies they will
; without foreing an entranoe, for they belleve I am
ere,

 

 

humbly. “But, my lord, thou dost not intend that Signor- f
shall re-f

He beheld two persons in the garb of Bohemian gipsies.

“Fiy, Cosmo!’ said Signora Linetta.

“iy, Duke del Arnato,” saki Ahmet in his own tongue.

“Te Lbe he whom thou eallest Duke del Arnato, my Nfe Is for-
fefted already in Sicily,” began Oosmo, gazing keenly at tho dark
and youthful face of the Moor. :

“Fly, my lady!” interrupted Ahmet at thisjnstant, and point-
ing to the crest of a hill half-a-mile away, ovef which passed tho
high road to Atrani. i

Gilancing toward the hill Cosmo and Signera Linetta saw the
points ef several lances gleaming 10 the sun.

Those who bore them were riding at full speed, and from a,
statt carried by®ne of the riders fluttered the panner of the Bas-
tard-Oaraccioti. ,

His tieutenant, somewhat alarmed by the long absenee of his
chief, had returned on his course after having halted ‘for long
time at the place called the Grove of the Gray Rocks, As he and

; nee with him>were returning they had met the count, and

ted. Soon after this Manfredi had rejoined them, and told the
tate his master had commanded him to: tell.

The count had dispatched half of his foree under the guidance
of Manfredi to visit the fountain; and placing himself at the head

others, he was now riding at tull speed to arrest Cosma.

“See—he comes!’ exclaimed the siguora “Wilt fy with us,
noble Cosmo ?”

“ty, husband!"

“Fiy, father!’

“And net only desert ye,” replied the unhappy man, “but by
my flight confess a fear of being arrested for the murder of Bor-
rettit’ Nevert I am innocent.”

“They will prove thee guilty,” exclaimed Donna Castelletta,
wringingvher hands,

“phen will I die innocent,” replied Cosmo, calmly,

“Allah bethy aid, noble old man! exclaimed Ahmet. “But
thou art a dead man if thou fallest into the hands of the Bastard
Caraceioli.” ;

“Ay, that I know, Moor; or intothe power of a Caraccioll,
Away, and give this message to thy master. If Cosmo, the For-
ester—for so lam here called—fall ¥ the hand or plot of the Bas-
fard Caraccioli, Sicardo, the brigand, will die under the curse of
Gosmo if Sicardo’s dagger do not pierce the hearts of the whole
Garaccioli race?

“Bicurdo will avenge thee and thine!’ cried Signora Linetta.
“Heaven bless and guard thee, Vittoria, my sister |!

And ere her intention could be suspected the wife of Sicatdo
threw her arms around the neck of Vittoria, and snatohing a fer-
vert kiss from the astonished mutden’s lips, fled trom the cot-
age, followed by the nimble Ahmet. *

At that instant the coming horseman could not see the eot-

as the road they were on crossed a valley and passed
through a wood.

“They would have served us if they could,” sald Cosmo, gazing
after the disap: % pair.

“His wife and bis page! Alas! where and what is he #

“"?was a woman in the garb of a man, was it not, father
asked Vittoria, as the old man aat down, gloomiy.

He did not close the,door, for he knew it woald net serve him
now.

“The one whose voice was like masic {”

“Yes, father, and who kissed me.”

“Ay—she isa woman, and I doubt not Heaven Intended her for
a noble woman—and yet she is the wite of a brigund.”

“And why did she cali me sister ?””

“In that she lied!’ rephied Cosmo, with a fiercenessthat amazed
his daughter. ‘“Uniess,’” he added, more ealmly, she meant that
thou wert her sister as ali women are sisters to each other. But
Say no moreof that. Wifeand child, F see that Lam to be torn
from ye. Thou seest now, Vittoria, what a foo a Curaccioll may

“And but for my illness,’ moaned tie wife, interrupting the
speech of her husband, aad weeping upon his 1, “theu
would’st now be far beyond she power of all thy enemies”

“Nay,” replied Oosmo, soothingly, “reproach not thy illness,
dear wife, for that is to reproach Heaven. Bet all whoare mor-
tal bow their heads to Heaver’s decrees, say, With resigned
hearts, the will of God be done?” ~ :
An hour later beheld Cosmo.om the way te Atrani, Lis arms
bound behind him, his legs tied tothe beast og which the oeunt
had conrmanded he should be carried. ,

The count and others of his trosp accompanied the prisoner;. a
guard of three men were left at the cottage, to see that Cosmo's
wife and dsugiiter did: not leave the province. :

The body of Borrelli, borne on # litter fastened between two
horses, was also tuker. to Atrani,,and near it rode Muanfredi,.
his emaciated. and corpse-iike face more hideoue and repulsive
than that of the dead man whose marderer he was.

Once, on the way to Atrani, Manfredi, in adjusting one of the
straps of the Utter, chanced to grasp the arm of the dead man,
though intending to seme one of the poles of the litter.

With a shudder of horror Manfredi smatched away his hand the
instant he percerved whas he had grasped. With another shud-
der that had nearly euded in a convulsion like that he had had
atthe Oastle of Zapponetta, he saw agreat gush of blood sud-
denly well forth from the mouth of the sorpse.

“Ay! I slew thee!l”? muttered Manfred recoiling fram the lit-
ter. “I will take care not to touch thee again, lest others might
see thy mute accusation and suspect my deed.”

After that Manfredi.rode far in the rear. The cavalcade ar-
rived at Atrani, dhe ancient sext of the extinct Une of she origi-
nal Counts Del Parso,.as the'sun went down, .
The town was excited, and bells were riuging and people shout-

Sivnat mgans this excitement ?” asked the count, who was
riding far in advance of bis prisoner, of one whom he met near
the gate of the old town. .

“The queen hatl sent aroyal herald to Atrani,” ‘replied the
man questioned; “and he hath proclaimed in the market-place
that Lord.Colonna di Caraccioll, Prmce del Greco and Duke di
Vallata hath received for life, and his heirs atter him, the gover-
norship and title thaSused to belong to our ancient lords of this
province.. The people are rejoicing because Colonua the Just
is now OCownt del Parse.” :

“AhI” thought the count, as a devilish gleam flashed fronz his
eyes. ‘My brother must bave been making,tierce love to the old
queen since his return to Naples, or she would not lave had such
proclumation. made.”

“And there is other news, my lord,” said the garrulous citizen
of nee with a bow, for he knew he was speaking to a Carac-
cio

“What is it; my friend?”

“It’s rumored that atter Count Colonna—we give the prinee
that title now—it is whispered at Naples that after Count Colon-
na shali have been regularly installedas our perpetual lord, he is
to wed the queen!” ; ~ ie
“Ah, indeed!’ :

“Ay, my lord, there is little known at Naples that we shrewd
fellows at Atraniido not now,” said-the talkative burgher, wag-
ging his beard. ;

“And whemeomes the new Count Del Parso, friend #”

“‘Tlis lordship is-here,”?

— ‘Ta Atrani i ie \

“Ay, my lord.. He arrived: an howr since, and is to re at
the house of the chief magistrate of the town until the old Palace
Del Parso can be put in erder. The chief magistrate—my sis—
ter’s husband’s fifth cousin’s husband, ahem !—hath indeed vaca--
ted his house, and Jeft all at the dispesal of Count Del Parso.”*

“TI would see the chief magistrate,* said the eoum,. “as Lhave
a prisoner—tbe man thou mayest see-on the mule amid that ad-
vancing party——”

“Holy Saints! Isit not the worthy. Cosmo, I sce ?'” interrupted.
the burgher, in amaze, “Cosmo the Forester!’

“Cosmo the murderer!’ said the count, sternly.

“Cosmo—the good, the generous—the—oh, holy saints! can it
be that he, the admired friend of Father Anselmo——”

“Hold thy tongue, thou fool!’ broke in the count, fiercely.
“Cosns0 di Sicardioli hath committed a most foul murder. He hath.
sialu in cold blood any body servant,.Alonzo BorrelN,.and rebbed
oe of aw golden drinking-horn—at what art thou seotiing, vil-
ain f° :

“Nay, my lord, Rdid not scoff!’

“Thou didst grimin my face!” said. the”count, sternly.

“T meant no discourtesy, my lord. I did but sinik——”

“At what f”

“Atthe charge with which some evil men—who therefore mesit
hanging—have led thy greatness. to. Doses that yon noble okt!
man ceuld be capable ot murder and.robbery. Why, iny lord,
he is honored and beloved, and well nigh acored by ail the. peo-
ple of Atrani. Nay, my lord, ne’er lift thy riding stuff. over me?”
said the stout citizen, @man of mark in the town,and:u n-
tendent or chiet janitor of the town gate. “We of Atrani have a
governor now.”

“Any 1 not the brother of thy new governor?’ sneered the.
count, as his riding-staff smote the citizen in the face. “Am
not a Curaccioli :
“Heaven forbid that our new Count Del Parso be-such a Caras-
cioli,”? muttered the affrighted citizen,.as the fierce bastard rods
into the town.
Lord Alfrasco soon found the mayor of the town, ard having
seen:.Gesmo shut up in a dungeon,rode away to hold an inter:
view. with Lord Oolonna, the new governor of Del. Parso all
its towns and villages; a dignitary ot almost sovereign pow€? by
right ef his authority from the queen,.a vicergy in fact.

lonna recelved his brother alone, in the private study of
the mayor of the town, who had resigned his entire residence.to
the use and occupancy of the new governor and his large train of
attendants,
“Good life!’ exclaimed the prince, as he gazed at his half-bro-
ther.. “The operation of which thou didst tell me ere we parted,
hath been achieved|” :
“As thou seest, Colonna,” replied the count, touching his ears,
“and I dare wear jewelsin them. But why I have earsis asecret.”
“So be it, Alfrasco, Fear not that I shall ever tell it.”
“And those who.saw the combat ?”
“Have sworn never totell that they saw thy ears severed from
thy head; and certainly they will not dare say so when they see
thee wearing ears of flesh and blood still,” replied the prince.

“Ay, these ears will give them the lieif they ever say the
brigand wore my ears, and my sword will give their deaths,”
said the count, scowling. “But thou art thin and pale.”’

“Ab—we need not speak of that,” sighed Lord Colonaa,

“No doubt our father hath made thee a victim on the altar of
ambition.” ;

“Nayv—let us not speak of that, Alfrasco,”

“It is whispered, already, even here, that thou hast sold thy-
self to be the qdeen’s husband.”

Lord Colonna made noreply to this, but heaved a sigh of de-
spair.

“Is it true, Oolonna?”’

“T have obeyed my tather,’’ At length replied the prince, pale
and stern. ‘“l have done so to spare the lives of more than one
from misery,’””

“I donot understand thee, Colonna, though deubtless the
queen would be most miserable without thee.” f
“Thou art here to taunt me!”

“Nay; Lam on my way to Naples.” f
“Phen go on; and mark my words, Alfrasco—never dare to set
thy foot on the soil of Del Parso again.”

‘Ha tes

“Thou didst swear to me at the fountain of San Antonio never
ain to enter this province. I have learned since I saw thee that
thou art, ang hast ever been, my enemy.”

“Nay——

“silence! Hear me, for thou canst not again deceive me. Thy
chamberlain, Urtino, is dead. Ere he died he seut for me.
his death-bed he revealed to me that thou wert the instigator of
those three attempts which were made to slay me in the streets
ot Naples, and which were at the time attribated to the agent of
Sicardo the Brigand.” ;
“Urtino lied!” ed the count.

But the lie wasin his own face.

“And froma stranger, while I was recently in Naples,” con-
tinued the prince, “I réceived this note.”

He gave the count a small letter, and In ft were these words:
“Tlove thee not, Colonna di Caraccioli, nor any of thy name.
Yet I hate thee not, for thou hast much that is nobie in thee. So
heed my warning. ware of thy bastard brother, Alfrasco.
Thou wert never nearer to thy death than thou wast when his
hand was on_his dagger-hilt with an interrupted intent to slay
thee, as thou didst dip water with thy hand from the fountam ot
San Antonio to tere on the face of Oosmo’s daughter. The
coming of thy train saved thy life. I, hia in the thicket, saw all.

. “RIZZ1I0 DI SICARDO,”
“And thou ‘bellevest the word of a brigand?” exclaimedthe
count, scornfully.

“Ay, rather than thine,,’ replied the prince, sternly. “Depart
from Del Parso!”

“Thou art an of the love our father gives me!”

“Not a whit!’

“Thou fearest that if I remain in Del Parso I may yet win the
love of Cosmo’s daaghter.”

“Listen,” said the prince, his anger overcoming his ¥
“T have consented to wed the queen—a womun old eno to be
my mother’s mother. Why? To save my sister from beéoming
the wife of an aged ruffian she abhors. To be Count Del Parso
to protect Cosmo’s cae from thee.” ;

“Thou lovest Vittoria?” ;

“What isthat tothee? I shall protect her. Begonel I detest
thee! Never dare call:me brother agaim! Never dare cross my
path, here or elsewhere! Igive thee one hour in which to depart
See Atrani, are hours more to be beyond the limits of Del

‘arso. one

aap with a gesture of scorn, the angry prince dismissed the
ooun

The prince had not yet heard of the death of Borralli, nor of
the arrest of Cosmo, ; .
“oe et hiding his rage, sought an immediate interview with

D

“He gives mean hour in Atrani,” mused the count, as he left
the presenee of his brother, “In one hour Ican dig a mine He-
neath his new greatness that shall hurl him, and it, and Cosma,
and Vittoria to perdition. All.works well for mot"

 

 

 

n <
So saying the old man arose and opened the door,

(20 BE CONTINUEDS

Ld

3

   

KNOWLEDGE Box.

 

A Few Paragraphs Worth Remembering.

 

BG We take pleasure in responding to every question addressed
to us m tris colurnn, for the answers generally afford information
not only to the parties eapecially seeking it, but alse te the mass
of our readers; but with the increane of our circulation has grown
the number of questivas soliciting answers by mail. These ques
tions are almost unitorniy important ones, costing, te satisfacte-
nly answer them, much time and haber. For this reason all per-
sons in future wishing their queries replied to by mail, will tans
inclose 59 cunts to detray tie expenses necessarily theurred,

 

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AXD INFORMATION. WANTED.—
Peter ”.—l. The water in which rusty nailg have been im-
mersed for a week or two will ald in removing FRECKLES, 2. Wash
your face in bay rum, and rub ot hard with adry towel. Also use
alittie tullet magnesia occasionally, Live temperately, and avoid
the use of rich or greasy food. § Put © litle borax in the oil
which you use for your hair. Also moisten the hair with cam-
phorated spirits. ..... Jos. German.—No recipe of that particular
Rind, 25 cas American Hotel —lO REMOVE GREASY FROM SILK AXD
VELVET.—Rub the spot on the silk or vetvet lightly and rapidly
with a clean, soft, cotton rag diped in ether. Repeat the opera-
tion if necessary. Finish with a clean, dry cloth, Rab lightly
and rapidly, or else a sMght stain will be the result. We have
Known grease epots to be tuken out of the most delicate colored
silks in the way deacribed...... Mary.—i. Apply to an aurist, 2°
Address the Eriquette Department......Constant Reader.—Cas
oil and brandy, or ammonia, enough of either to thin the oj. #
help the harr..... K. Y. B.—For the beat FrENcH Woop Po
see No. 3 of tho present volume......,..2. H. Bradner.—Only
expericnced in the art can give y« u the desired information.
Wrestling Joe. —~Wash your head in diluted spirits of amimon.
An Old Maid.—To WHITEN PIANO KEys see No. 52 of vol. 28......
8S. J.—Have it extracted at once. Youll have no peace tilt the
tooth is out. Decayed teeth affect the breath, oftentimes te the
serious discomfort of those thrown into association with the pos-
sessors of them... . Maggie.—Apply a ttle toilet magneaia.,.,. .
A Friend in Need.—We know nothing concerning them coutents.

i

nae a mu ve,—1. It must be that the galt was not satiicioatly
worked in, ‘Try again. 2, To Dye STRAW BoNxXETS BRowy.—
Take a suticlent quantity of Braztl wood, sumach bark, miudder,

copperas, and sadden, according to the shade requured,

and a
To TAKE ouT

STAINS FROM MAHOGANY FURNITURE.—Stains aud
Spots may be taken out of Mabogany furniture by rubidng then:
with a cork dipped in oxalic ackl and water, After the color is
re use Clean witer, and dry and polish as usaal......, C, a.
H.—POLISH ON FURNITURE.—When the potish on new furniture
becomes dull it can be renewed by the following process. Take
a Boft eponge, Wet with clean cold water, and wash ever the artt-
ele. Then take a solt ehamois skin and wipe it clean. Dry the
skin as well as you can by wringing it in the hands, and wipe the
water off the furniture, being careful to wipe only ene way.
Hever use @ dry chamois on varnished work. If the vernish iy
defaced and shows white marks, take linseed oil and wrpentine
in equal parts; shake them well in a phial and apply a ve
smail quantity on a soft ray until the color is restored; then wit
a clean, solt rag wipe the mixture entirely off In deeply carved
work, the dust cannot be removed with a sponge: Une a still
haired paint brush instead ef a sponge. The cause of varnished
furniture becoming dull, aud the reason why ol aud turpentine
Festore its former polish, it will be appropriate to explain. The
hbunaiidity of the atmosphere and the action of gas cause a binish
white coating tocollect on all furniture, and slows conspicuonsly
on bright polished.surfaces, such as mirrors, pianos, cabinet ware
and potished metal. It is easily removed as previousiy directed.
The white scratches on furniture are caused by bruising the guua
ot whish varnish ie made. Oopal varnish ts eemposed of gum
copal, Hnseed oil. and turpentine or benzine. Copal is not soiuble
in alcobol ag other gums are, but ia dissolved by heat. kt is the
foundation of varnish, as the oil is used only to make the gum
tough, and the turpentine is required only to hoki the other parts
in a Hquid state, and evaporates hn mediately after Ks appiica-
tion tofurniture. The guin then beoomes hard and admits of a
fine polish. Thus, when tie varnish is bruised, it is the gum that
turns white, and the color is restored by applying the oii and tur-
pentine. It the mixture is left on the furniture, i= will amalga-
inate With the varnish and become tough, theretore the necessity
ef wiping it entirely off at once. Te varnish oki furniture, it
should be with pulverized pumice stone and water te tuko
offthe old suriuce, and then varnished with varnish reduced, by
adding turpentine, to the consistency of cream. Apply with a
stiff-Laired brush. lf it does not look wel, repeat the rubbing
with pumice stone, and when dry, ¥arnish it again... w
EM. T.—Te MAKE ALUM BaskKETS.—The framework ef adum
baskets is usually made of thin wire wove in aud out, and wound
‘over with worsted iu every part, to produce a reugh suface.
Dissotve the alum in rather mere than twice the quantity ef water
that will cover the basket, handle ivcluded.. Put imasmuch alum
ae the water will-disselve, and when it will take no more, filter it
through a piece of brown paperintoasaucepan. Hf you wish the
basket to be colered, the dye must be added before the prosess of
filtering. To prednee erimson,. use’ an intusion ef oocuincat and
madider; for bright yelluw, boil gamboge, muriate of wen, or
tumerk, in the solution. blue crysials muy Be obtained by pre
paring sulphate ef-eopper, commonly called Slue vitro), hi the
Baume maner that alum js prepured.. For pale bine,. equal par-
tions of Dine vitroband aluin; aud for green, udd to these Last in-
gredients a few drops of muriate ef trun. The solution betoy fil-
tered, boil it gently until it is reduced to half the ers put it
in a vessel barge enough to admit of ihe basket; suspend. che hat-
ter from a stick laid acrosa the top, so that both basket and ea
die are entirely immersed. It must then be put in a cool place
where there will not be the slightest motion to disturb the torma-
tion of the crystala: It ia.as well to bear hi mind that the colored
baskets-should be kept quite out of the reacn of children, as they
look very tempting,.tike sugar-candy, but are decidedly poisan-
ous......Q. B. L.— RELIEF FROM BuRNS.—To obtain qu reliet
from burua, apply a-layer of commou sult, and saturate it wile
Jaudanum. Hold it-in position a few hours with @ simple wrap-
per. The smarting disappears almost immediately, and the sere
ts well with incredible rapidity...... 4 Comsiant Reader.—A few
ope of tannic acid put dally in the water in which you bathe:
your feet will gradually harden them......D. J. 2—We have pe
receipe for the color you desire, but refer you to No. \. of the pro-
sent volume; in whichyou may find something that will pewve
service......dubscriber.—We have not the space to ge iuie a inl
teal geet, of the process.. We would advise you to pet 2 book em,

 

the su t... ‘Mildew ?—Het chlorine water will take out miiidew. ..
Etigoblin, Fhe Swords-of Sicardo, Red Dick, Adonis, C,.qQ EB B.

George Nispel, R. R. Payson, H. Waterfield, Mad Anthony, AL
©., Sailor Boy, U. No, Bricktop, Minnesota, Highlander, You:

Munuiacturer, Joba F.,.Suequchanua, Alphia, Kitty, Lily az
Willy, Charles Lovell, South Orange Avenue, A Gonstant Feo: o
Reader, Constant Bubscriber, Medic, A.W.—Your kiiem baye
been received, and willbe answered as seo aa possible,

MEDICAL, DEPARTMENT.
At, J.T. and Moceasin Hose.—l. Weecannot recommend aug
particular dector. Consult one who is lin good standing, and a
rular practitioner. Pay no atteution to ciresluss sent
through the muil or otherwise.
Druige and" Asthma»—A high authority says that. Asrmar
has its cause muinly imthe nervous system, The air tabexs uro
encircled with a sericea of. Mstle bundies of fibera, whieh are, in
fact, muscles,.and, like all-ether muacies,. have the power of con-
tracting or shortening. themselves. > Tiese muscies, toe, like afl
others, have nerves distributed to them; and when theso-nerves
become diseased, er irritable, they will become disturbed on cer-
tain.occasiona,. and cause-shese sinall, circular puckeringet
to contract and close upthe air-tubes near their terminations, -
very. much asthe puckering-string closes the mouth of the work
, 80 that very little uir ean pass into the air-oells, and:that fic
tle with great difficulty and slowness, en these contractions
take place, and the air fe-thus shut off, the resultiva fof asth-
ma. . This disease, which has been regarded as extremely difficult
of cure, may he brought emby any of those states of whe atmo-
‘sphere whieh disturb orirritate the bronchial surfaces, on by, any
of the numerous causes. which mysteriously unbalance the nery-
ous system. A fit may be brought on by whatever disturba the
min The following recipe is i Bo dines sood for the dis-
ease described: Etherealtincture of lobelia, two ounces; tincture
of assafetida, ene ounce ;, laudanym, one ounce; iodide of potas-
fa, two ounces; ; siinple sirup, fourounces.. MJk. Dose, trom a
teaspooniul to a tablespeontul, every hour or so. Several other
remedies are used for astlima, with more or lesé success, stich as
eleciro-magnetism, smoking stramonium leaves, burning paper
dipped in a strong solution of nitrate a potash and inhaling tie
sinoke. ‘In grave cases: it is always well to seek the aid of a phy-
sician in good standing.
Troublea Life.—1. Sve No. 61 of Vol. 28 2 Bathe your eyes
night and moruing in salt and water.
Sea-Cart.— Baked my oe will help you.
8. W. Z,—Take the tincture of iron—ten drops in a winegtassfull
of water three tames a day, aster each meal—tile last dese ae
before retiring. Let your diet be plain. but substantial
the remarks addressed to eee coe ” over again,
and Weu- Wisher, Mich. sult a gol family doctor

without delay.

Ola Hurrivane.—Exercise temperance in eating and drinking,
and be regular in the hours of rising and going to bed,
G H. B.—Take the tinetureof iron three times a day—ten drope
in a wineglasstul of water—alter each meal. Takeo the last dose
just before retiring. .

Harman S. and Aggie Small.—We would advise you te consult
& good family docter without deiay.

Harry Hopenel.—Lunar euustic will remove moles, Be careful
not to touch tho skin. y
G P, P.—TREATMENT OF TAPEWORM.—Thé6 seeds of the pumpkin
have, within a few years, obtained in this coun
reputation in the treatment of tapeworm. The employment of
them, however, is not new. The tlesh.of the pumpkin was used
in 1820. The dose of the seeds.is about two ounces, which are to
be taken early in the morning, and sollowed in an hour or two by
& fluid ounce of castor oil. The mode of administration is yari-
ous. Sometimes the seeds, deprived of their oulward covering,
are beaten into a paste with sugar, and thus taken, In other
instances they are tormed into an emulsion, by rubbing them up
thoroughly with water and alitue sugar. ‘The following recipe
is recommended: Tuke ot pumpkin seeda six bundred grape,
sugar one hundred grains, ethereat extract of male fern sixty
grains, water five uid ounces. Bruise the seedsihia marble mom
tar with the sugar, add half a fluid ounce of water, and when a
homogeneous paste has been obtained, add the extract of fern,
and Sak mix in the rest of the water. The emulsion should
be taken without straining, carly in the morning, in four doses,
oe ot fitteen minutes; the bottle being well shaken each

8. .
PRU.—FLESHWORMS.—The black 8 on the faee are not al-
Ways what are called fleshworms. Whit are mistaken for them
are producéd in thisway: Theskin may be eoarse, and the ducts,

large, collect the perspiration, which hardens and blackens,
the common supposition of their being grubs er mag-
gin the skin. The remedy issimple. Clean the part affected

y squeezing out the substance that is ged, and then usea
lotion of diluted spirits of wine several times a day, unlil the
blotches have disappeared. If they are really fleshworma take
something to purity your blcod—sulphur or sarsaparilia,

Jack .—It may take a year to re-establish your health, If
any respectable physician will guarantee te cure you in less time,
put yourself under his treatment at once. The consequences of
the practice referred to sometimes last a life-time.

ZL. O. Cution.—We doubt its efficacy, but it cannot de any harn.
Pirates is a good perfume. ;

Alurmed.— Your deafness is probably caused by an exoessive ac-_
cumulation of waxin theeur. Suaturaie a piece of cotton with
lycerine and insert Hin the ear. This willsotten the wax. Then
nject oP the ear warm soap-suds. ‘The wax can ten bo easily
removed. .

A, C. B.—We doubt our ability to aid you, but suggest that you
take a sitz-bath, night and morping—that is, sit in a tab of cool
water with tho water abeve the hips for at Jeast ten minutea,. Also
take the tincture of iron three tumes a day after each meal—ten
drops im a wineglassiul of water. ‘

S, A.—A little good cayenne-pepper, mixed with your food, wil

bly prevent the pain in the stomach to which you refer, At
any rate it will aid your digestion. Tbe bicarbonate of soda—a
quarter of a teaspoonful ju a winexglassful of peppermint water
will also help yon. But first try the red pepper,

A Reader.—Get at the druggist's the vest liquid preparation of
buchu. Take a teaspoonful turee times a day ubuut two hounm
after each meal. , 5

“ Hansard.”—Use tile sitz-bath, night and morning, for a few

mantha.

‘Greelous.—Take ten drops ot the tincturo of tron, Juss before re
tiring, ia @ wineglassful of water, and continue the cold water
treatment,

Weak Lasnge.—The dose of cod-liver oll is a tablespoonful threo
or four times a day, about an hour, or an hour and a@ half after
each meal, according tothe strength of thostomach, Try it with-
out iron first.

Agnes Demorest.—Wa eannot ald you.

Perseverance.—l. Use the sitz-baul, or in other words sit in a
tub of water, with the water above the ees for about ten minutes,
2 Cokl water will cure it intime. 3.

BE, R. L.—For INGROWING TOzH-NAILS seo No. 1 of the present
yoluine. ‘

Grateful.—l. Bathe your eyes frequently in cood water. 2 Three
or four weeks, amd sometimes bonger.

& R. W,, Index, A. E. Mce., Two Ch Suff J.M., Gea.
Graphy, n, W. R. W., Bammy, ce of the Woous* One
who Necda Help, Diek, Ajax, Anxious Friend, Mark Mc., Whice
Horse Fred, GC. A. P., J.R.B, Sufferer, Gane Owen, ¥-C.,
ST. M., James Oxtord, Smoker, P. L. 0., Ealith Darret, 4
"Cory O’Lanva™—Your letters Lave beeu recetved, and
answered as 3000 85 possible,

 

 

 

ls

 

PERS

is

Sere a hie oe mC tnt eM ne

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Om

NEW YORK, JANUARY 12, 1874,

ees

 

,

 

OOD eee

 

 

SOP ere

f& The circulation of the NEW YORK
WEEELY is the largest of any paper in the
United States; the NEW YORK WEEKLY
sells steadier and more rapidly than any other
paper; it is more eagerly purchased on publi-
cation day, and allits readers anxiously watch
its arrival.. Ask the News Agents, and they
will indofse all we have said.

 

 

 

Fashionable _ Religion.

THE GOSPEL OF SHODDY.

What a farce it is to speak of the fashionable Christianity
of onr day as “the religion of Jesus!’ If we turn from
the contemplation of the ecclesiastical machinery which
we see in operation around us, with its luxuriously
appointed churches and its ten-thousand-dollar preachers,
to the teachings and example of Christ and his apostles,
as recorded in the New Testament, we shall find that
they are two entirely different systems, that have nothing
in common. ie ot

Christ’s mission was especially to the poor; our
modern fashionable Christianity is designed exclusively
for the rich. The apostles proclaimed a gospel ‘without
money and without price.” The gospel of to-day is for
those who pay pew rents and can afford to array them-
selves in costly raiment when they repair to the ‘‘house of
God.’ Christ taught that riches were a hindrance to
piety; now itrequires wealth to obtain “the means of
grace.’? The text about the eye of the needle must be an
awkward one for our prosperous clergymen to expound
to their wealthy congregations. It would seem rather an
anomalous proceeding to call upon a reigning belle or a
leader of fashion to renounce the pomps and. vanities on
becoming a communicant; and the vow to fight under
the banner of Christ, against the world, the flesh, and the
Devil, has in these days a very liberal interpretation.
When we read the narratives of the four evangelists, we

* gee that religion was a very serious thing in the times of
which they write,
adhesion to Christ were mightily in earnest. They al-
most literally “took up their cross;’? whereas, in our
generation, the Cross, instead of being associated with
awful ideas of suffering, sacrifice, and self-renunciation,
is a. graceful ornament or a poetic symbol. We put
crosses on our churches, and sentimental young ladies
and deyout spinsters embroider them on pulpit cushions
and book-marks; but of the tremendous significance
of the symbol scarcely a trace remains in the exist-
ing type of Christianity. There is no place for the sel!-
respecting poor in the costly temples dedicated to Him

“ who knew not where to lay His head. If the Christians
most conspicuous in our aristocratic churches are indeed
the salt of the earth, the salt has most assuredly lost its
bayor. The vital warmth seems to have deserted the re-
ligious body, so that it has become almost a corpse. Mean-
lime skepticism assumes new forms, and, reinforced by
Science, develops new strength. Within the church itself
the most alarming conflicts rage; never was a house more
fiercely divided against itself. Sect denounces sect as
virulently as all combined, seventy years ago, in denounc-
ing Tom Paine. It can no longer be. said, ‘How these
Christians love one another! Love seems turned to
hate, and, if the spirit of the age permitted such atroci-
ties, we might in this generation sce the baleful fires of
persecution relighted. All the signs of the times indicate
that weare approaching a transition period in whicha
Inore fervent spirit of, humanitarianism will be infused
into religion; or in which religion will utterly disappear
from the earih as a power controlling the thoughts and
actions of the masSes of mankind. Religion is at present
xelusive and aristocratic; a luxury to be enjoyed only by
the weaithy and the comfortable—by the sinali minority;
not the vast, toiling, suffering majority of ourrace. It
has ceased to be the gospel taught by Christ in its sim-
plicity and purity; it has developed in some countries inté
avast and complicated ecclesiastical system, and in others
into litle independent cliques or societies, strangely mis-
called churches. Itis outside of these organizations that
the humanitarian elements of the religion of Jesus sur-

_ Vive in their noblest beauty and their greatest strength.
They survive because they appeal to the ineradicabic and
imperishable religious principle in the human soul. They
will continue to survive amid all ecclesiastical corrup-
tions, and they will outlive all existing creeds and
churches.

 

 

= .9 2 e
Our National Exhibit,

According to the President’s Message, delivered to Con-
gress Dec. 2, 1878, the receipis of the Government, from
all sources for the jast fiscal year, were $333,738,204, and
the expenditures, on all accounts, $290,345,.245, showing
an excess of receipts over expenditures Of $43,392,959.

‘Milles of Railroad Bailt.

During the past four yeurs more than 25,000 miles of
Railroad have been built.

Post-Office Operations.

The total length of Railroad mail route at the close of
the year was 63,457 miles, an increase of 5.546 miles over
the year 1872. Fifty-nine Railway Post-office lines were
in operation on June 30, 1873, extending over 14,866 miles
of Railroad routes, and performing an aggregaie service
Of 34,925 miles daily. The total number of Post-offices in
operation on June 30, 1873, was 33,244, a net increase of
1,381 over the number reported the preceding year. The
number of letters exchanged with foreign countries was
27,459,185, an increase Of 3,096,685 over the previous year,
aud the postage thereon amounted to $2,021,310. The
total weight . of correspondence exchanged in the mails
with European countries exceeded 912 tons, an increase
of 921ons over the previous year. The total cost of the
United States ocean mail steamship service, including
$725,000 paid from special appropriations to subsidized
lines of mail Steamers, was $1,047,271.

The Patent Office.
The business of the Patent Office 1s so largely on the in-
crease, anu the aecumulation of material growing out of
patented articles so excessive, as to demand greater ac-

commodations.
Public Land Sales.

There Was been ‘during the last fiscal year a material in-
crease in the business of the General Land Office. During
that time there were disposed of out of the Public Lands,
13,030,606 acres, being an amount greater by 1,165,631 than
Was disposed of the preceding year.

 

Pensions and Pensioners. ,

The sum of $29,185,289 was paid last year for pensions.
At the close of the year there were on the pension rolls
99,804 invalid military pensioners, and 112,068 widows, or-
phans, and dependent relatwes of deceased soldiers,
making a total of that class of 211,892, and 18,266 survi-
vors of the war of 1812,and 56,053 widows of soldiers of
that war, making a -total of 23,819, atotalof navy pen-
sioners of 3,200, and a grand total of pensioners of all
classes of 238,411. i

The Ninth Census Completed.

The Ninth Census having been completed, the working:

force of the bureau has been disbanded, but it is recom-
mended that acensus be taken in 1875, to be completed
and published befere the 100th anniversary of our nation-
alindependence. It is also urged that-a regular census
be taken every five years instead of every ten years as at
present,

improvements in Washington.

Under the management of the Governor and the Board
of Public Works of the District of Columbia, ‘the City of
Washington,” it is Claimed, “is rapidly assuming the ap-
pearance of a capital of which the nation may well be
proud.” it is now one of the “most sightly and best
paved cities in the country,’? and it is questionable
Whether ‘so much has ever been accomplished before
in any American city for the same expenditures,”

The Army and Navy.

The army consists of about 30,000 men, and it ig recom-
mended that Congress prepare for war in time of peace
» by providing pyoper armament for our sea-coast defenses.

The navy during the past year has been depleted by the
sale and condemnation of vessels no longer fit for naval
service, but this has been more than compensated for by
the repairing of six of the old wooden ships, and by the
building of eight new sloops-of-war authorized by the last
Congress. Every availabie ship and every ayniiable man
will be ready to do whatever is requisite for the national
safety and the national honor. ‘

.

and that those who gave in their

MAGIC.

BY FRANCIS 8, SMITH.

 

 

The magi, oh, the magic, in a pair of brilliant eyes!

Nov, twinkling with merriment—now looking very wise—

Now glorious with the love-light that hope and joy impart—

Now beaming with a passion that electrifies the heart!

The magic, oh, the magic, in a pair of pouting lips!

Now dewy with the balmy breath which love exstatie sips—

Now sweetly tantalizing by a gesture grave and coy—

Now wreathed in smiles bewitching and welling o’er with joy! »

The magic, oh, the magic, in a sweet voice, soft and low—
Now thrilling us with rapture—now touching us with woe—
Now uttering insoftest tones heart-satisfving words—

Now warbling notes that far excel the melody of birds.

The magic, oh, the magic in a loyal, loving soul!

What shall its Heayen-born, beatific qualities control?

’Neath its mysterious inflcence we sorrow or rejoice,

It speaks in form and motion, and in eyes and lips and voice.

KEZIAH'S REMEDY.

BY EMMA GARRISON JONES.

 

 

You know where St. Tammany is, of course? In
Southern Louisiana, lying along the northern margin of
Lake Ponchartrain, and at no great distance from the
grand old Crescent City itself. That is St. Tammany,
one of the sweetest, Sunniest spots in the wide world.

At any rate we think so, Charlie and I, for our home is
in St. Tammany—a. lovely little French cottage on the
shore of the Chefonte—and we glorify the quaint, quiet,
old township, quite as much as Boston men glorify the
world-renowned “Hus,” i

Natural and proper, too, that one should love and glori-
fy one’s birth-place! Now I was born in St. Tammany,
and | hope to-be buried here; but Charlie—he is my hus-
band, you know—is a New Yorker, and—dear me! Well,
to hear Charlie talk one would suppose that the world
began and must come to an end in New York! There
are no phrases in his vocabulary strong enough to give
utterance to his admiration for his native city. ‘*Hub”
isn’t anything! So he just looxs his great love of New
York, and his supremecontempt for St. Tammany.

He wouldn’t ever dream of living in St. Tammany, you
see, only my plantations lie here. I was an heiress when
Charlie married me, you know—Colonel Vidalia’s only
child and heir. Vilette Vadalia—that was my maiden
name. Pretty, wasn’t it? Andi was pretty myself too;
at least every one said so, and Charlie fell in love with
me the very first time we met.

That was in New York, you see. Papa sent me to New
York to a boarding-school. Charlie says we didn’t have
any schools worth naming in the South, and that was
papa’s reason forsending me North. JZ don’t believe that,
of course, and I tell Charlie so, and then we quarrel; and
that’s just delicious! -I dearly love to quarrel with Char-
lie, for I always contrive to have the last word, and then
Icry and pout, and he gets repentant, and calis himself
a brute, and pets and kisses me into a good liumor again.

But, dear me, how Ido wander! I suppose it is true
what Charlie says, that the feminine mind can never be
brought to a point; one sort of point holds us though, and
that’s point-lace, and I’ve some that’s a marvel and worth
a litte fortune. Mamma left it to me with her diamonds,
and I wore some of it, the old creamy frill, for my thrvat,
‘and the gossamer armlets when I went to the ball at Ti-
conderoga and met Charlie.

We slipped away from school, some dozen or so of us,
and went down to old Tito the ball. Ah, whata ball it
was! Charlie was there, a young barrister fresh from his
briefs and his Gotham office, and just the very handsomest
man Ieversaw. He is handsome yet, Charlie is!

Well, I wore pink tissue that night, and pearls, and the
old point, and moss-rose buds in my hair. I’m a Spanish
creole, you Know, With askimlike cream, and hair and
eyes like night, and pink is ny color. Charlie said 1
looked divine that night, and fell in love with me on the
Spot.

PWhien i went back to school he managed to come and
see me, and to send me letters, and léng before I returned
home we were engaged.

Well, when he came down to St. Tammany and made
his busiuess known, papa objected to him quile strongly.
Papa was a Southern’ gentleman, you kuow, and I was
his only child, and he wanted me to marry a great planter,
who was old cnough to be my grandfather and who owned
nu hundred slayes,

Of course that was outof the question. I told poor
papa s0 and vowed never to marry, and to break my heart
and die, unless he let me have Charlie. Dear papa, he
never denied me a thing I wafited in all my Jile, and he
soon consented to this.

‘*Have it all your own way, Vilette, my pet,’? he said.

And [I took him at his word. A month later Charlie and
I were married, and half of New York came down to our
wedding, the grandest wedding you can possibly imagine.
My trousseau came all the way from Paris, and 1 was
married in mamina’s old diamonds, and my wedding vail
was worth theusands. Ah me, how Llike to recall that
blissful night!

Out of the sunlight into the shadow! That is the way
this life of ours teuds! A few weeks after my happy mar-
riage poor papa fell ill and died, and Iwas leit sole heir to
all his vast wealth.

Pollowing that saad event came tte war, and Charite {
went off into a New York regiment and was gone for
years. I remained at the old home at St. Tammany; I
Saw all the old servants, and the old plate, and the jewels,
all the old familiar household gods, go one after another, |
till nothing reinalned;.and ia the midst of all this desola-
tion and terror, Heayen made me a mother—the happy
mother of a baby boy. ;

Well, by-and-by, the war came to an end, and Charlie
came home, and the poor, pale, one-armed fellow sat
down and cried like a woman when I put our baby boy in
hisarms. He was so overjoyed to see baby and me. He
kissed us again and again, buf somehow Lfelt that there
was a change in him. The Kisses were not Charlie's old-
time Kisses, the face was not Charlie’s old face. I tried to
find out whdt it was, butin vain. I tried to rouse him
into one of our old quarrels, but. ail his fire was gene; he
could be peevish and querulous, and dull and languid, but
never bold and generous as in days gone by.

We were poor enough now, with nothing but our un-
tilled lands; but our poverty did not trouble me. It was
the change in Charlie; and presently I discovered the
cause. It was ata public dinner given in St. Tammany
that learned the dreadful truth—the war bad made my
husband a drunkard! ,

Ah, me! what bitter days those are to look back upon!
Wine dinners, champagne suppers, brandy parties, and
Charlie always gone uutil late at night; and then many a
lime he was brought home to me in a senseless condition.

“| My pretty boy’s iather!. I thought my heart would break,

and I prayed thatit might. Ilonged for nothing but
death, and was actually meditating taking my boy in my
arms some Siarless midnight, and ending his shame and
my own Crnel sorrow by one swift leap into our silver,
Soutiiern lake, when Heaven sent a good angel to help
and counsel me. .

This angel was Charlie’s maiden sister. Shecamedown
quite unexpectedly to make usa visit. She was a queer,
prim, dignified spinster, and bore the terrible name of
Miss Keziah. I thought my cup had received its last bit-
ter drop. the afternoon she arrived, and decided in my
mind that that starless midnight shouid see the end of life
for baby and me. .

. But. all unconscious of my bitter misery Miss Keziah
seated herself in the midst of her boxes, and took baby
in her arms, and strange to tell, the child went to her
readily enough, though he was always ayerse to Strangers.

“‘l’ve come down to help you, Vilette,"’ she said, serene-
ly, caressing baby’s curls as she spoke. ‘You look pale
and worn out, poor child; you’ve had a hard time of it, I
see, Where’s Charlie? Out drinking, I suppose, as usual?”

If she had stabbed me to the. heart she could not have
hurt ime worse. 1 burstinto a passion of indiguant tears,

head down to her shoulder and clasping me and bab
close together, “i know howitis. Isaw poor Charlie after
the war, and I soon found out what a sadidier’s life had
done for him—sent him homeadrunkard. Haye youever
tried to Cure him, Vilette???

“No, no, indeed,” I sobbed; “I’ve never mentioned it
tohim. It would kill me.”

“No, it wouldn’t; butit will kill him
on. We must cure him, Vilette. I’ve brought the remedy
with me.”?

“The remedy! Why, what can it be?”

“You shall see, my dear, if yowll take the boy a minute.
Ah, here’s the box. See here, this is the cure.*?

he drew forth a package of papers and Jaid them on

my lap. ‘
“You don’t have the New YoRK WEEKLY down here in
St. Tammuny, Vilette? No? Just as I supposed. But
you must have it here and all through the South. Home
literature, temperance literature is what the South needs
how, Vilette, aud here itis. The NEw YORK WEEKLY is
the. champion paper of the age, and it effects: more re-
forms in a twelve-month: than all the lecturers in the
country. Now, you see, I’ve brougiit the back numbers
along, and I’ve ordered a year’s subscription sent down,
and to-niglit-we'll give our patient his first dose. And,
Vilette, if you'll: only promise to be a tender, patient, co-
operative nurse, why we'll have the poor fellow cured of
his malady in a month’s time, you May take my word. for
#.” And Miss Keziah was right. Charliecame home that
night in rather a reeling condition from a dinner at Madi-
souville, but the sight of his sister sobered him; and after
supper We all sat down, with baby in our midst, and the
good work was begin.

“Charlie,” said Miss Keziah, looking at him sharply
over her gold-bowed spectacles, ‘‘you are a father now—
the father of a promising son—and tis high time you began
to lead a steady, upright life. Vilette is fretting herself. to
death over the course you are pursuing. Now, sir, in-
stead of strolling out, sitd@own like a good kusband and
read aloud for our edification from the papers I’ve brought
you; and when you’ve read them you shall lend them to
your neighbors, that the good seed may go forth and pro-
duce abundant fruit. Now, begin where I have marked
and read aloud.” : f '

Charley obeyed; and that evening was the beginning of
our new life. He is my old Charlie again now, free for-
ever, I trust, from the winecup’s spell, arfa we love eacl.
other, and quarrel with each other. just as we did in the
old days of our early married life.

—_———>-2<+-—____—_—_

The admirers of lively sensational incidents and perilous

adventures will be delighted with “Tse RANGERS OF

GOLD STREAM,’? which is eommenced this week, onthe

if we let him go

 

fiirst page.

 

 

“Don’t cry, poor littie mother,” she said, drawing my |

<4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #2=>

 

 

 

 

Our Parlor Dramas.

Again we call the attention of parents and children to
the series of articles under the above head, as peculiarly
adapted to the amusement of old and young within the
limits of the family circle. All of our lead@ing contributors
have been drawn upon to furnish their quota to the gene-
ral fund for the amusement of thé juveniles, in order that
the phases of character and the scenes represented may
take the widest range. After the press of matter incident
to the Holiday season is over, we propose to publish the

dialogues in regular order, alternating them with acting
charades, written especially for theNEW YORK WEEKLY
by our own and other leading authors in this peculiar
line of composition.

MISS SLIMMENS'S WINDOW. .

BY MRS. MARK PEABODY.

NO. XIII.—THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING.

Unroll that bundle, Dora, and see what I bought you
this morning, whenI was a-buying for myself. ‘Ten yards
of real Swiss, lace for the sleeves, and a whole piece of
blue lutestring ribbon for the sash and tucks. Do you
know what for? Well, that dress has got to be made and
fitted by to-morrow night, and you’ve got to wear it and
stand Jor my bridesmaid! I knew you'd be surprised.
It's yather sudden, but you know J always was a believer
in “Jove at first sight; and when two persons of con-

 

 

 
       

or IN
ei

tiguous sentiments meet, and feel that each has met the
pardner of their destination, that they are unanimous in
every respect, what’s the use of puttingit off? As my
sweet Adonis—that’s his synonymous name, Dora—says,
“there’s no use; Jet us not tremble on the verge of bliss,
but plunge instantaneously into the thrilling fountain of
happiness! Let us no longer remain apart—we who have
been Loo !ong strangers upon the same globe, yearning for
each other, yet dissatisfied, we Know not why—knew: not
until we met, and then the mystery was revealed. Let us
become one in the eyes of the tonsorious world, even as in
spirit we arel’?? Those were his very words, Dora, Are
they not beautifal? How could I persist against such
Winning persuasions? I could not! I named the day,
and to-morrow is the day! To-morrow, at eight o'clock
in the eyenine, Alvira Slimmens will be submerged in a
4ieW Capacity. i

Ive had butashort time to mature my plans; but I
think T Siall leave you in the care of the shop at present,
and all the profits of the work to be yours; and if that
uncle that you spoke of, that might help youto buy out
the stock, comes forward with two hundred cash down,
Pil let you have the shop, with good time for your pay-
ments. Come! measure off that skirt, and run up the
breadths; there’s no spare time; yet the time seems end-
less to me, when I reflect that] shall not see him again
until an hour before the ceremony is to be performed. He's
gone back to Boston to perfect Nis arrangements. Qh,
Dora, if you could see him! He’s as handsome as a pic-
ture, and the sweetest biack eyes, and such a lovely scarf
and Ciothes, and a@ ring on his finger, and his hands as
small and white as a woman’s, and do you know I fancy
he resembles Byron, or, at least, Byron’s Corsair! I never
expected to be sosuperlatively happy! Wasn’t-it fortun-
ate I trimmed up them caps and things just before Clara
Brown run away? They’re all ready for an emergency,
and I’ve nothing to do but get this dress made and pack
my trunks. See! low do you like it? I'd a sent to
Lowell, but 1 hadn’t time; and Uris is next te wl
waned: 1 everntod a white raorearac, Ut Tere Wi
a yard in Pennyville, and I considered myself fortunate in
finding this silver brocade. I paid three doliarsa yard for it,
at Curtis's; but a person don’t get married every day, ’spe-
cially Lo a beautiful young student, that writes poetry and
talks the dead languages as fluidly as his mother’s tongue.
} Hand me them scissors, Dora. Dear me, I'm so flurried,
Pm afraid I] shall spoil the set of it. Won't you pull my
corset-laces @ little lighter, till I fit on the lining?

Make your frock as pretty as you can, for the ceremony
is going to be in church Im determined ali Pennyville
shall have a chance of seeing that Alvira Slimmens hasn't.
gone through the woods to put up with a crooked stick at
last—not she? Mehitable Green will burst with envy, to
say nothing of them twin peas, Philista and Philistina
Podd. ve heard of their remarks. I guess somebody
hasn’t been any worse off for a chance to get married than
they have; and if they don’t feel spiteful when they see
the bridegroom, then I miss my guess. ‘There’s nobudy in
Pennyville that will begin to compare with him. Ciara
Brown-that-was’s husband couldn’t hold a candle to my
Adonis.

Snip that down a little lowerin front. There! how does
that set? Yousee, itallcome of my reading the adver-
tisements. He advertised in that Boston paper, al! about
the kind of a wife he wanted, and we’ve been holding an
episculatory correspondence ever since. He’s been to
See me twice, and we were inutually fascinated. The only
fault I can find with him is, he’s almost too pressing. He
was determined I should set the very earliest day I could,
and overcome all my scruples with the persuadingest elo-
quence, which I could, not possibly resist.

. When you come to Boston to buy your millinary goods,
Dora, you must come and see us. Weare going to live iu
the subbubs, in the sweetest spot; he’s described it all to
me—a litle ruslaceous abode—a nest, he called it,. a nest
for his dove!l—half cot, half villain, in the Gothic Style
ofarchetype, standing in the midst of a lawn, empow-
dered in trees, a fountain gambling in the mist, a port-
cullis running round three sides, the road to Boston
just visible, here and there, through the intricacies oi the
foliage, roses,twisted round the piliows, and such a
cunning little China padoga in the back garden! He’s
gone topurchaseit now. ‘That's the business which keeps
him from my side; otherwise, he assures me, he would
not forsake me for an hour—that is, if he still haunted the
vicinity of my abode—till we were onei He’s placed the
most touching confidence in me, as regarding all his pe-
culiary affairs. Iknow-just what his expectations from
his stern old father are, who keeps him on short allow-
ance till he shall settle down into a prudent, stiddy, mar-
ried map. He's going to pay down five hundred on the
cottage, and lay out two hundred more on the furniture,
which is to be in readiness, with a cook in the kitchen,
and the tea-table set out, on our arrival at our home,
when we havecompleted our bridal tower. Isn’t it ro-
mantic? Iwas so pleased with the picture he drew, just
like a novel, of our arriving at home at the twilight hour,
with the lamp lighted in the parlor, and the servant open-
ing the door to the new master and mistress, that J drew
him a check for seven hundred dotiars, to get everything
ready beforehand, though I hadn’t calculated at first on
laying out so much until everything was sure.

What's that? You should have thought I would have
been afraid to trusta stranger? Me and Adonis strangers!
What a ludicrous idea, Dora! It’s plain you don't appre-
ciate Our spirituous relations; nobody but a kindred spirit
could. We've been acquainted millions of ages, in some
spear, Adonis says, and I believehim. Tobe sure; I can’t
exactly recoliect, but when he asked me if I had not some
dim Joreboding of the shadowy past, if I had not always
felt a want never before satisfied, if I had not seen his fea-
turesin my dreams, I answered, yes; and when he pressed
me closer, and wanted to know if that had not been the
undefinable reason why I had rejected all my previous
suitors, I told him that it had. Oh, Dora, if you’d seen
how delighted he looked when I gave him that assurance,
you wouldu’t wonder at my bliss. His face beamed with
a soft smile,

“Like a light within an alabaster vase,” ‘
as Tom Moore says,.and he folded up the check for seven
hundred dollars on the Lowell Bank as carelessly a8 a
piece of newspaper, and put it in his pocket-book

“With a gesture full of grace,”

and squeezed my hands and looked into my eyes. 9h,
Doral He placed this ring on my finger, as an outward
tesiimony of our engagement, It’s a real diamond, of the
first water. Every time it sparkles it puts me in mind of
What's coming; not that-I ever forget it for an instant, but
it seems more bone jido. I was afraid he would be dis-
pleased when he learned I had accumulatea my mouey
in the millinary business; but it didn’t seem to make
a bit of difference with him; he laughed, and said go nice-
ly that a ‘bottle of frangiponi would remove all the odor
of Boquet de‘Brimstone from these precious fingers,” and
then he put the ring on the engagement finger, and kissed
~ and 1 felt in the seventh heaven of rapturous sensa-
ion,

See if you can hook up this lining. IN Nola mIny breath
—now! Oh no, it’s nota bit too tight. It’s going to make
np sweetly, isuw’t it? Istopped ‘at Mother Brusii’s on my
way along, and engaged her to bake me two loaves of
cake, oue of them to be the wedding-loaf. I’m going to.
have oake, avd wine, ana confectionary, and after the cer-
emony such of my acquaintances as I invite are to stop in
and congratulate us. The notes are to be sent out in the
morning. Won’t there be a fintter in Pennyville?—he!
he! I think I see Mehitable Green reading hers. I’ve

 

$ 1

asked her and Miss Sharp on purpose to see how dum-
founded and enviable they will be. Won’t I be polite
and dreadfully civil when Miss Green comes up to wish
me joy!

eit o'clock, a-ready! One day more! twenty-four
hours of ‘anaiden meditation, fancy free,’? and Alvira
Stimmens will be no more. I don’t Know where the time
has flew to. My dress is hardly two-thirds done; and to-
morrow J shall have all my packing, and my dressing,
and a thousand little things todo. We won’t get to bed
before midnight, Dora. Your frock is going to be charm-
ing. Blue is very becoming to your fair complexion. I
inust stop sewing long enough to put my hair in papers.
I don't know but it’s fortunate that my Adonis is going to
be absent all day to-morrow; ’cauSe 1 can leave my hair
rolled up till the Jast thing, and needn’t be bothered with
rigging up, till I dress for the ceremony.

Nine o’clock! I’m glad there’s an hour less.
hand me that trimming for the sleeves,

Ten o’clock! Twenty-two long hours still left!

‘Leven o’clock! Heigh-ho! I wonder if he’s asleep.

Tenet The wedding-dress ts done! Come, Dora, go
to bed.

One o'clock! for the last time!

Two! I wish I could compose myself to slumber.

Three! I hope the stage won’t be delayed, or tip over}

Four o’clock! Will morning never get here?

Five! 1 Hope he doesn’t sn-o-r-r-r-e! rr-r-e! r-h-h-r-e!

ALICE DANE.

A 8TORY OF THE CHRISTMAS TIME.
BY E. NORMAN GUNNISON.

Dora,

 

 

 

“QO, my true love! and my own, own love!

And my love that loved meso;

Is there never a chink in the world above
Where they listen for words from below ?

How. could I tell I should love thee to-day,
When that day I held thee not dear ?

Low could I know I should love thee away
When I loved thee not anear ?” ;

Tt wag a sweet voice that. sung the’words—a voice from
whose low, sad tones all the grace of childhood had not
yet departed. Years ago Alice Dane had ina moment of
jealous doubt cast from her her life’s happiness. She
had associated with Clyde Farrington as a child anda
school-girl, until it seemed as needful that he should be
with her as any other necessity of her daily life. Whether
she Joved him or not, she hardly knew; she certainly had
a strong liking for him, but doubted her own heart. At
this ime that untoward fate which in a greater or less
degree rules us all, decided the question for her. It was
self-evident that however Alice might feel toward him,
Ciyde Farringten’s life was bound up in her; he had
been her protector from earliest childhood, and it was his
firm trust that he should walk with her through life, but
alas! destiny, that ‘*manifest destiny” which so many-of us
have experienced, stepped in and all was changed. It
was a jiltle thing, a very slight circumstance which shift-
ed the weight in the scale, aud diverted the whole cur-
rent of these two lives.

A word of gallantry lightly and thoughtlessly spoken to
another, overheard by Alice; and so on the Christmas
when Clyde Farrington asked the question whose answer
was to make or mar his whole life, he received an answer
which wrecked his hopes and set him adrift upon the
world rudderless, purposeless, at the iwercy of wind and
wave. To remain in his own home, to meet her daily
face to face, perhaps to see her the wife of another, he
could not; she had given him no hope, no anchor by
which to hold, and so when the Allanta on the following
Friday sailed for Liverpool, Clyde Farringion’s name ap-
peared upon the list of passengers. Three weeks subse-
quent came a rumor that the Atlanta was lost; still later
il was confirmed; in a violent north-wester she had been
driven out of her course, strack upon the Inch-Cape
Rock, and out of her whole cargo of human souls one
seaman, With the life nearly drenched out of him by the
salt waves, alone was saved, He reported that when all
hope was Jost, he had caught a glimpse of the captain
and Clyde standing calmly among the terrified women
and chiidren, giving every ueedful direction for their sal-
Vation as boat alter boat was cleared away only to be
swamped in the terrible sea; and so at the Jast, hand
clasped in hand, these t\vo heroic souls had gone down
into the ocean, never more to be seen by mortal eye till
lhe sea gives up its dead. ‘
AIT this had not come to Alice at once, but piece b
piece, and when: the last became known, her woman’s
sireuglli—sitong as womali'’s weakness—had given away:
and for weeks her senses) were steeped in a merciful
oblivion. When she recovered from the long fever which
Jeft her wan and weak, her girlhood had passed from her
forever; and she knew that womanhood, which comes
only to those who have ‘suffered and are strong;’? too
late she knew that her life had gone down with the brave
young life that in darkness and in storin went down into
the ocean. But sometimes a merciful Providence de-
prives us even of the time to mourn our dead, and causes
the struggle forlife, for duily bread, to supersede even
our grieis, At about this time, by a fortunate or unfor-
tunate chain of eveuts—as circumstances might deter-
mine—Alice Was thrown upon ler own resources for a
livelihood, her mother had died while she was yet young,
and her father, becoming involved in his business affairs,
failed, and in a fit of temporary insanity induced by his
misfortunes, ended his life, and passed to the court where

Ls st Judge ever decrees comnevsation to earth’s bart

When all was settled, the ravenous creditors satisfied,
and the sound of the auctioneer’s hammer had ceased to
reverberate through the house of sorrow, Alice found her-
self cast upon the world, poor but not dependeut—that
she resolved she never would be; God had given her
brain, aud she had received an education which she
meant should now stand her in good stead in this hour of
need, but how toemploy this education? that was the
mooted question. In the city of Philadelphia, where her
father had lived and died, it was no easy task to oblain a
Situation even in the humblest capacity in the public
schools, and so after weeks of unavailing effort she ac-
cepted an offerin a country town, passed an examiua-
tion, and found herself iusialied as teacher of the C——
district school.

Here her duties were multifarious. Through the long,
hot summer days, to fan the fainting flame of intelligence
in the minds of wearied urchius, was no easy or accept-
able task. But the litle woman developed a wonderful
capacity for smoothing the paths of knowledge; and long
before suinmer’s sun gave place to wintei’s snows, her
pupils had learned to watch for, and love the childlike
figure always.robed in black, aud as far as might be, her
situation was made comfortable and pleasant. ‘The years
passed and still her unchanging black remained the type
and symbol of her widowhood of heart. To her Clyde
Was @ living presence; she could not think of him as
dead, although at times across her mind would flit a vision
of a fair young head pillowed upon damp seaweed with
the growing coral twining ip its hair. Siill he seemed
around aid about her, almost within reach. At times she
wouid startle herself by turning to address him, then the
vision would vanish as the remembrance came to her tliat
she could only wait.

She had not been without lovers; more than one man
had felt his heartbeat faster before the gazeof those
dark, introversive eyes, and the dimpled, girlish mouth
might have been kissed with passion kisses, but true ever.
to tie memory of its unburied dead, remained the heart
of Alice Dane., The squire had {aid his lands and herds
at her feet, and gone away rejected; and the member of
Congress from‘ the district of M—— had carried his. un-
availing love to Washington with him. And seven years
had nearly passed, and Alice had began to bear the name
of old maid. Still hers was a young old maidenhood, and
a kindly one; little children, the children of others, clung
to the knees which would never bear children of her own.
Time had touched her lightly, and now in her twenty-
seventh year she looked scarcely more than eighteen; and
so it came to pass that on Christmas Eve, seven years
from the day when Clyde Farrington had asked the ques-
tion which.decided the fate of two lives, she sat alone in
the quiet of her Nttle school-room, and as the shadows
darkened around her sang the sad lines of Jean Inglow,
with which 1 have opened this ‘‘o’er true tale.’

But we must leave her for awhile to follow the fortunes
of Clyde Farrington.

When the Atiunta went down he had gone down hana-
in-hand with her Captain, who had stuck to her to the
jast, but as the swirl Caused by the ship subsided he arose,
nearly strangled, to the surface, and with that instinct of
Seli-preservation, which never wholly leaves us, struck
out for life, life, only life! He could have gone down
calmly with another life clasped to his own, with another
heart beating its dead miarch in response to the beatings
‘of,his own, but now, alone on the wide sea, oh, Heaven! it
was too terrible. He thought of allhispast, of his home,
of the one he had loved and lost; perhaps, if lie had been
more patient and waited, he might yet have won her, and
at this thought he struck out with renewed energy. But
all was of no avail—the stars twinkled silently above him
in their orbits, and ihe cruel moon looked coldly down to
see him die.

At Jast his strength gave way, and, with a despairing
cry of agony, he threw up his hands and sank down,
down through interminable darkness into the unfathom-
able depths of the ocean. There was a ringing in his
€ars, 2 Tush as the rush of mighty waters, he was slowly
rising, his hand. struck something hard, grasped it in a
death grip, and for the time being he was saved. As he
drew himself up and cleared his eyes from the blinding
spray he found that he had clung to the cordage of a top-
mast, which had broken clearfromthe ship and risen
with all its running rigging attached toit. After a rest of
afew moments he managed to lash himself to the spar
and so was buffeted about by wind and wave until the
morning breaking showed him his position. Far away
on the distant horizon stretched a blue line of coast, and
here and there, at a distance of six or seven miles, the
sea was flecked with. white specks of sail.

Above, the blue sky hung smilingly. Now and thena
Wwide-winged guli swooped down to see the strange object
floating upon the waves, and then retreated, screaming
forth its hoarse notes. The storm had subsided, and
nothing but the sullen dash of the ocean in its cavernous
depths gave token of the wrecks with which, since yester’-
Morn’, its anger had lined the shores. Surely he could
hot die with land so near, with human help almost within
reach, With ships passing to and fro over the broad ex-
panse! Certainly someone of them must pass within
hail; he must be seen, pickedup, and restored to his
friends. Thank Heaven! he would yet be saved... Still
the ships Came no nearer, the sun mounted slowly up the
nadir, passed the zenith, and commenced its downward
journey on the other side. The shadows of night gather-
ed around him, and with hope and life at ebb-tide, he lay

 

quietly on his spar, past all care, past all anxiety, ut-

 

terly =r out. For him the bitterness of death had
passed, He

Lying thus in that darkest hour which precedes the
dawn, his fading energies were suddenly aroused by the
striking ofa bell close at hand, and he raised himself just
in time to catch the Joom ofa large ship, give one faint
shout, and receive a blow from her prow upon his head,
then all was darkness and a blank; ume passed on to him
avoid. When he at last awoke he found himself lying in
a Cabin bunk, with a faint swash of waters breaking upon
his ears; too weak to rise, he lay quietly content thinking,
inthe childish manner induced by long illness, until a
stout, weather-beaten form entered the door, and a biuff,
hearty voice roared out: “Ahoy, my boy! So -you are
coming to your pins again, are you??? And in this man-
ner Clyde received his introduction to Captain Spicer of
the good ship Albercore, which, as Spicer comically said,
“had in an Irish manner first knocked him down and then
picked him up.” ;

The Albercore was bonnd for the Indian Ocean, and
was already nearing the Cape. Clyde had been six weeks
aboard, tossing in the délirium of fever, and now found
that he was in for a voyage to Bombay.

Time wore slowly on, and as he walked the decks in @
couvalescent state, the past Game vividly back to him,
and—strange anomaly in human nature—he regretted that
the life for which he had fought 80 strougly, and prayed
so earnestly, had not gone out in storm and midnight,
Stillas health came slowly back to his veins, the strong
young nature asserted itself, and would not be crowded
back. What though his life could never again be what i¢
was?, He could sull endure; and soat last he took up
bravely his burden, and when after alohg and stormy
voyage the Albercore safely weathered the Cape and ar-
rived in port, Much against Spicer’s will, bude the oid
ship farewell, and obtained a passage for China, intend-
ing to cross to San Francisco, and so overland to the At-
lantic States. But asthe old proverb has it—*Hombre
proposes, Deo disposes’’—and so Ciyde Farrington fouad
it. 3

Arriving in Hong Kong, he was obliged to wait for a
homeward passage, and here again destiny interposed.
Had he only gone then the whole course of events might
have been changed; but men must go wherever the fates
drive, and, to quote from our friends the Turks, “‘it is
kinsmeet.”” ‘What is to be will be;” and so while ve
was wailing for a ship to sail, he received an offer from a
large tea-house in Fo Chow, accepted it, and remaining
in China the opportunity was lost. There he rose rapidly
fron) a subordinate to a head clerkship, and was finally re-
ceived as a partner in the firm.

And now commenced a struggle in his soul, a wild un-
rest, Which until thistime he lad smothered and kept
down. Was Alice still living? Was she unmarried? He
mnust see her; must know. Anythipg was better than this
suspense. ,

During six years he had carefully avoided hearing from
home, but now he’ must go, and so having straightened
his affairs he set sail, arrived at Philadelphia, hunted
out his old friends, found that Alice was not yet matried,
traced her up,and at the hour when we left her sitting
alone in the little schooi-house, a stalwart, mauly form,
with face bronzed by the sun of foreign lands, walked
briskly up the hill, entered the school-room unheard, and
stood breathlessly listening, and still she sung on;

“ We shall walk no more on the sodden plain, -
Where the black wrack drives o’erhead :
We shall part no more in the wind and the rain,
Where the last farewell was said; - i
But perhaps I shall see thee and know thee again,

When the sea gives up its dead.”

“Alice!’? She sprang to her feet trembling with affright.
Had the sea indeed given up its dead? ‘My darling! my
darling!’ No, it was no apparition that clasped her in the
strong arms, and pressed the bearded lips again and again
to the sweet, unresisting, upturned fuce; and the night
grew older and older, and the stars twinkled out one by
one, and shone down upon them as in olden time the
star shone upon the shepherdsin Bethlehem of Judea;
and still she rested in his arms, never more to go hence,
And the bells of the village stuck up a merry Chrisimas
chime, and into thosetwo hearts, so long divided, the
Christ-Child came down, as truly as more than eighteen
hundred years ago He came down upon this earth; and
so with the morning drawing on apace and & merry
Christmas to all let us leave them.

sae Vie ntti ilies
Srr LAMBTON LORAINE, the commander of the Britisit
ship Niobe, by his timely interference on behalf of tie-pris-
oners captured on the Virginius, prevented the slanghter
of those; who were fortunate enough to escape the first
massacre. The British commander’s courageous act is
the subject of a poem by Nathan D. Urner. It will be
found on the eighth page.

-Demi-TRAINS.

After we got accustomed to thé béantifal convenience
of short dresses for Waiking, didn’t we all congratulate
ourselves ?

‘Didn't we deciare by all we beld most sacred that we
Would never, never, under any Circumstances, wear long
dresses on the sireet again?

Other folks might wear them, for what-we cared, but
we should not. We didn’t care what the fashion was, we
should stick to short dresses]

Such @ saving Or wiashing—so much cleaner—so much
easier to get aboutin! And they took so little material;
and one was not always having to sew on new binding!
Oh, they were altogether delightfall ° :
And we were carelul about our stockings, and we
bought ‘the daintiest of boots, and when we passed the
street corners where all the odious young men about town
were congregated, we were happy in the thought that we
shouldn’t sweep up their tobacco juice with our skirts,
and we passed on serenely, feeling that our feet were
very irim and tidy, and if these loalers wanted. to look at
them, why, let them look/

Now, everything is changed! Fashion, the fickle, ta-
pricious, undecided tyrant, supposed to be of the femi--
nine gender, declares that denii-trains shall be worn. for.
the street.

Everybody goes at once and “ets down’ dress skirts.

Ladies with large feet attend to the letting down busi-
ness first. Girls who wear,a No. 2 boot will keepon the
short skirts as long as possible. and who blames them?
For don’t they know, and don’t we all know, that a
pretty foot is quite as charmiug as a pretty face, and
much less often seen?

Now, we must drag our silks and our cashmeres
through the mud as best we can.

We must do the work which the city fathers have con-
tracted with other parties to perform, and the legitimate
street-sweepers will get the pay, and we shall do the
dirty work.

Just think of it! Mud two or three inches deep. Every-
body putting in coal. Sidewalks smutty and wet. You
put on your delicious new Nile green silk with its demi-
train, and start out to do a -bitofshopping. You step
into Jones’, or Brown’s, and purchase a half dozen hand-
kerchiefs, and a box of gloves. ‘Two packages. You'll
takethem home yourseli—you like to have something in
your hands. ‘ :

You step out upon the muddy pave. Your dress is get-
ting soiled. You make a frantic grasp for the under
skirt with both hands—a package in each hand, and your
parasol dangling uncertainly from between your thumb
and finger. -

You see a lovely bonnet in Madame N.'‘s window across
the street. You take aim at the nearest crossing. Of
course somebody is just driying along with a fast liorse,
and two .or three street cars will be Coming, and some
drays, and furniture wagons, notto mention numerous
small boys and red-eyed dogs. ;

You grasp your dress tighter, and essay the passage.
About half way across you meet that delightful Mr. Smith
sailing along in his layender gloves and his freshly pol-
ished ooots. He is serene and self-possessed—he has no
petticoats to hold out of the mud. He lifts his hat te you
in that delectable way of his, and you try to bow your
prettiest, and you drop one package, and before you can
pick it up the other one goes down in the mud,.and the
carriages are driving close down upon you and you seize
your dress once more and make a frantic rush for the
sidewalk... : '

Very naturally, you. go home cross. Your beautiful
dress is muddy and dingy around the bottom—your white
skirts are shocking, and there is a black streak of mud
and coal dust across your stockings just above your boots;
and, taken altogether, your case is a lamentabie one.

All owing to démi-trains. KATE THORN.

 

 

 

- Historical Ivems,

THE punishment known as “hanging, drawing and
quartering,” is said to have been first inflicted in England, on
William Marise, a nobleman’s son, in 1241, in the rein of Henry
lil. The last execution of this sort in England was that of the
-Cato street conspirators, in 1820,

GEN. JAMES SHIELDS is the only man who ever
represented two States ia the United States Senate. Atone time
he was Senator trom Illinois, and subsequently Senater from
Minnesota, : ~

. MARTIN VAN BUREN was the only man who held the
Offices of President, Vice-President, Minister to England, Govern
or of his own State, and member of both Houses of Congress,

THE great wall of China was erected to prevent
the invasions of the Tartars, who for ages were a troublesome
race to the Celestial humanities,

M. GuizoT was born in 1787, M. Thiers in 1797, M.
Remusat in 1797, M. Saint-Marc Girardin in 1801, M. Victor Hugo
in 1802, M. Dupanioup in 1802, and M. Legouve in 1807. :

THE bronze coinage was first introduced into Great
Britain in 1860. The bronze used iscomposed of ninety-five parts,
by weight, of copper to four of tin and one of zinc.

THE first regular Baptist ‘Church in the State was
organized at Oyster Bay, L, L, in 1748,

RaBE.als, the French poet and satirist, was born
in 1483, and died in 1553. :

Old Body Servants of Washington!
ATTENTION!

All the men now li who at any time have been -BODY
ERVANTS OF WASHINGTON, and all the women who have
coe Nae to og hee ~ * ary. will on eee te

2 antage by sendin: 1eir addresses USH
PERKINS, of Pigeon Holler care of *
‘ : STREET &

 

 

 

SMITH,
New YORK WEEKLY OFF!

CR
Ww. N. Y. City.

 

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 weeott «THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. ee i.

    

BY MICHAEL SCANLON,

Oh, pity the woman sold—
Sold unto death in life—
Wedded to lust and gold—
Married, but not a wife!
Think of the wild unrest
When the sleepless passions rave,
With her head on her jusband’s breast
And her heart in her lover’s grave!

Under the starlight—oki,
Sweet, dim lights of lovel—
The mystic story was told—
First told in Heaven abeve—
Told in the passionate sighs,
The low, rich music of love—
Told by the soul in the eyes—
Told by the voice of the dove.

Oh, the ecstatic night,
Which wrapped as in a dream,
With its dim and delicate light,
And the drowsy croon of the stream?
Why did they ever awake =
From love’s delicious sleep ?
One proud heart to break,
The other to live and weep!

Love has no eyes to see,

No watchfuleartohear; -
Age, with its aches and dree,

Has the eyes and ears of fear;
And thas the stolen hours

Were missed, and the reveling thieves
Were caught in their nuptia? bowers,

Tn the bliss of the dewy eves.
She to her altar doom,

Wedded to age and place;
He toa bloody tomb—

Child of a plebeian race?
Behold her in pallor stand,

And pity the social slave,
Her hand in her husband’s hand,

Her heart in. her lover's gravel

‘ ¢ Gh, hoary wisdom which weighs

- t Hot biood in your icy marts,
Filling your waning days

With the grief of broken hearts!
Love is but merchandise, Z

A thing to be bought and sok,
And the wounded spirit that dies !

You change into godly gold!

Oh, that insatiate things

Can waste up the springs of youth?
That age, with its sunless wings,

Can shroud ali the hopes of youth!
For love Kves only when free,

Dies in a golden cage,
And youth is a headlong sea, *

That breaks on the rocks of age.
Sohi in the social mart—

Wedded to death in life—
Acting the woman’s part

In “marriage without a wife?”
Yet pity the wild unrest,

When the sleepless passions rave,
With her head on her husband's breagt

And her heart in her lover’s grave!

 

THE

Brown Princess.

A TALE oF THE DEATH CANYON.

By Mrs. M. V. Victor,

Author of THE WIFE’S FOE, WHO OWNED
THE JEWELS? THE BEAUTIFUL
TEMPTER, FORGER’S
SISTER, &c., &e.

[The Brown Princess”? was commenced in No.7. Back num-
bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.

CHAPTER VIIL+
UNDER THE BRIDAL VAIL.

Painter Jake held his breath to listen. It was abont an
hour after sunrise of an August morning. The gold of a
gorgeous day struck in almost level arrows beneath the
gloomy brauches of the pines, and against their slender,
straight trunks, glancing off and shivering into rainbow

Se up at Jake's very feet (rom
a beantifal cascade, which dropp: three hundred feet
from the hight above him, and was dashed to piecesin
the gorge just below the ledge on which he stood. A wild,
gloriousiy-lovely spot—hidden, high, remote—a nook in
the mountains as strangely charming as it was Cunningly
Concealed by nature from the eye of man.

Jake thoroughly believed that no white man’s glance
had ever pierced to this wild place except his own and
Bob Clark’s. Men had, indeed, from the plains below
sometimes cauglit sight of the na silver ribbon
streaming -down the bald, bare —the glistening
thread, which never broke, even im the August drought;
= sharp hills aud deep ravines, inaccessible hights and

epths, lay between the explorer and the wonderful cas-
cade—the Bridal Vail, some one had named it who was
not blessed with original ideas—and a path had neyer
been found which led to it.

Never, until about a month previous to this morning,
when Jake and his friend and partner Bob had resolved—
more from the excitement of the daring enterprise than
from any premonition of the royal discovery which they
were to make—upor making their way tothe foot of the
cascade. Well-armed, and with three days’ provisions in
bags strapped across their stioulders, they had set out
upon what they intended as a holiday excursion, Danger
and hardship were to these young fellows what the opera
and the Fifth avenue promenade were to Aleck Grafton—
amere amusement. 4

They knew enough of “mountain climbing to provide
themselves with a short-handled ax each anda stout
walking-stick.

Thus prepared, they plunged boldly into the dark and
rough ravine, rocky aud filled with stunted evergreens,
which lay in frout of the first bluif or spur, high over
which hung, softly fluttering in the morning air, the
Bridal Vail. — :

Many a wild gorge, and smooth, defying cliff, and tor-
tuous canon lay between the adventurers and the misty
hem of that silver vail. Yet by noon of the second day
they had achieved their object. Foot-sore, bruised, their
garments torn and hands bleeding, they had taken oir
their hats and swung th in wild exultation, making
the face of the cliff reverberate with their cheers, as they
found themselves that noon-tide at the foot of the fall, its
cool spray moistening their heated faces, below them—

- the world, as one might say!—above them a sheer ascent

of almost polished rock shooting up, up into the sky, un-
broken by fedge or shrub—nothing to vary its gray im-
meusity except this silver stream dropping direct asa
plummet-line, and breaking into mist on a second ledge
some fifteen feet below the one on which they stood, The
spray continually ascended like smoke, keeping the place
deliciously cool; small shrubs grew from every crevice,
and the loose stones as well as the grand old rock were
here covered with green moss.

With the shadow of the cliff upon them, the cool breath
of the cataract in their faces, and far beneath them moun-
lain-spurs, dark gorges, sunny plateaus, and the plains
nielting into the dim distance, they had flung themselves
down to rest, eating their dried Vénison and crackers with
arelish such as food had never before had for them—
since it was washed down with draughts of water caught
from the edges of that cascade, which had been deemed
unattainable, To attain the unattainable! “This was
a triumph which might well give zest to their hunters?
fare. :

After they had finished their dinner, they still sat, rest-

_ {ng themselves, fascinated by the glorious prospect about

and beneath them.

“It beats mel’ said Jake, under his breath. ‘I feel dred-
fal sinall pertaters in the face an’ eyes of a shew like
this,

“{ had something of the same feeling,’ answered Bob,
smiling, ‘but I couldn’t express it rigntly.”’

“We orter have the credit of the diskivery,’? Jaké had
continued.. ‘They must call it Clark’s Cliff, or suthin’ o’
that kind,’ ,

“No, no, Jake—don’t spoil this splendid old rock by
tacking my name to it—nor yours, either. If Z were to
call it anything it would be—God’s Wonder,”’ ;

“Sho!” said his friend, admiringly, ‘you beat me holler
with your big idees; Bob. Hellot what’s that???

He had kicked.at a bit of loose stone in speaking, and,
as itflew outof place, something glittered in the litue
hollow where it had lain.

“Gold!’? exclaimed Bob, v

“Goldl’’ echoed Jake. ye

Neither of them were greatly excited at first. They were
experienced miners, and had been too frequently disap-
pointed to be caught by the glistening of a few particles of
the precious ore.

But when Jake had pushed about among the pebbles for
some little time with his stick, and had taken up three or
four small lumps and turned them over and over in his
hand, rubbing the outer dust between his thumb and
finger, his black eyes began to shine,

“See here, Bob, thisisa big find. This dirt’l] pan out
nigh about solid.”

Robert began to push about with his stick also; pre-
sently he was down on his hands and knees, hard at
work—and his eyes began to shine and his cheeks to

flush.

“You're right, Jake. This isa big thing!’
_ A big thing! yes, a mighty big thing! The more they
poked about in crevices and turned up rocks the bigger it
grew. Why, gold was here for the lifting! Every cranny
was stuffed withit, The young men worked quietly, but
with eager, intense excitement. They filled their partially

 

 

; emptied provision pouches wigh the handsome, tempting

metal. Their fortunes were made! no doubt of that. Each
thought of the girl he joved best, with awarm thrill of
delight.

Oh, what delicious thoughts Robert had had of Lolly
during that two hours of work!. Lolly, so poor, sewing on
vachelor’s buttons, making shirts, in that miserable
shanty! Lolly, so peerlessly beautiful, dressed in silkand
jewels, led forth by his hand from that shanty, his bride,
=~ er of sucha mansion as Digtown had not yet

held. ‘

Dreams, dreams, dreams! destined toa rndeawakening.

Of what had occurred since, the reader igs aware.
Robertv’s return with the good news only to be made
jealous of the stranger and to feel as if his new-found for-
tune was worse than worthless.

A month had elapsed since the first discovery; and the
two young men had made the difficult journey toand from
the Bridal Vail so many times that custom was rendering
it comparatively easy. ‘They had told no one Of their
ee except what Robert had been stung into telling

Olly.

Meantime, at every visit, the value of their discovery
grew upon them. There appeared to be no limit to the
deposit of gold which had been washed mto the crevices
of the rock and lay there, mostly in the shape of sand, or
coarse dust, with occasional larger particles, and worn so
pure that, as Jake had said, it panned out almost solid
ore.

As yet the partners had conveyed none of their treasure
into the town, for fear of being watched and followed by
others anxious to share in their good luck. When they
had taken outa hundred thousand dollars apiece, they
proposed to sell out their claim foras much more. For
the present they made a depot of a certain little hollow in
the face of the cliff, judging that to be the safest bank of
deposit. ‘

was so miserable, restless, so weak-hearted with jealousy,
that he did not take half the interest im their aifuirs which
he ought.

On the occasion which we are now describing Jake had
been at work all the previous day, and had spent the
night on the spot. The two friends had formed a sort of
camp, so that they could remain several days at a time, if
they desired, and be quite comfortabie. Little by little
they had brought cooking utensils, a couple of buffalo
robes, and mining tools. They had made a very good fire-
}piace of a fissure in the rock, and were not afraid of the
smoke thereof leading to their betrayal, for it was too dis-
tant for the miners in the hills beneath to discern it. They
had their rifles always with them, and a supply of ammu-
nition, prepared to defend themselves in case of danger of
any kind, from wild animals, Indians, or their own white
brethren, although really im tat solitary eerie they feared
nothing. ' ; ;
On this August morning Painter Jake arose before the
sui, kindled a tiny fire, and boiled his coffee, toasted a
slice of ham on the end ofa stick, eat his breakfast, and
went to work gathering gold granules,

it was not the splendor of the morning which had
caused him to desist fyom his task and stand like a statue,
breathless, leaning, listenipg, with an expression of in-
tense surprise on his olive face. Doubtless he felt the
charm of the hour through all his fine, untutored na-
ture, for his heart was light and his thoughts pleasant;
but the gold of the sunrise, though beautiful, flooding the
world with molten glory, was not the genuine stuff, after
all, That jay in the seams of the rock under his feet, and
the young miner had turned from the yellow sunrise to
the yellower sand, when asound struck his ear which

4 gaused him to drop the pick he was using and stand erect,

listening and wondering.

The sound of human voices!

Yes, not so very many feet from him, coming up, it
seemed to him, directly out of the spray of the cataract,
His heart stood still. He and Bob had flattered them-
selves they were the only creatures who ever visited this
spot. Who were these persons? How many? What
were they after? Their claims-might be prior to Bob’s
and his, after all. They might be more familiar with this
wild region than he was. ‘they might be evil-disposed,
and overpower him by superior numbers,

Jake quietly reached back into the sheltered nook where
his rifle jay, ook ii up, and listened again. —~

He made out only tivo voices, and one of these @ wo-
man’s,

The speakers, whoever they might be, were on the low-
er ledge, which we have spoken of as being some fifteen
fect underneath that on which Jake was at work. He
dropped on his hands and knees and looked over. Noth-
ing unusual was to be seen directly beneath him; the per-
sons were evidently on the further side of the cataract,
which hid them completely from his view. Even their
voices sounded muffled through the smoky spray; though
this was more likely altributable to a habit ef repression
into which they might have fallen, a8 Indians and hunters
do. Doubiless they no more suspected the vicinity of one
of their own kind than Re had before hearing then.
Juke’s curiosity was untensely excited. ‘Two persons,
and one of these a Woman, Pe no longer feared; but he
did fear for his secret. He desired no sharers in the rich
spoils until such time as Bob and himself ciiose to form a
company and sell the right to share. Then, too, who
could they be, and what doing?

lt must be they were Indians. No white man and wo-
man wouid be apt to be in that almost inaccessible spot,
at this early fiour, especially. He did wish thata sudden
breeze would blow aside the cloud of spray for a moment;
but not a breath of air stirred.

As he crouched there, listening, in hopes of making out
something of what was said, suddenly the woman spoke
out loudly, as if startled, in a voice clear and sweet:
“Father?? : ,
Perliaps she had slipped on the moist stones, or perhaps
her companion had, tor after the cry of “father,” lollowed
@ little trill of laughter, like a bird’s notes, as if this invisi-
bie girl—it was a young voice—was amused at her pass-
ing fright. It sounded strange and deliciously sweet, that
burst of gay laughter in that lonely place.
As he heard it, Jake's countenance lighted; he peered
more eagerly into the mist, but the Bridal Vail persistent-
ly hid the intruders, © .
“If that wasu’t Lolly Jackson, who was it?’? muttered
Painter Jake. _
Loily Jackson! what an absurd idea! Wp here, in the
clouds, where a man scarcely could climb! He rubbed his
eyes, half believing that he had been asleep and dream-
ing; he looked about him—he Aa@ been up an hour and
eaien his breakfust—ad heard a woman’s voice which
sounded like Lolly's. ;
“Blow me up with a charge o° mining-powder, ef I
don’t get hold o’ the handle o’ this,” said Jake to himself,
aud with that, carefully grasping his rifle so as not to in-
jure it, he slid off the edge of the cliff, ‘and, holding a
moment by his right hand, allowed himself to drop to the
ledge beneath. .He came down on his feet as lightly as a
cat, While the thick moss which covered the rock pre-
vented any serious’ jar.
Unfortunately the caseade poured down detween him
and the speakers. He could no more see them than he
could when on the upper ledge. The water here struck
the rock, after its heroic leap of three hundred feet, where
much of it was pulverized to spray, the remainder dash-
ing down through a crevice in the rock (worn, perhaps,
its own eternal friction) and disappearing entirely
through some underground passage. .

It is not to be supposed that Juke and his partner had
been in the vicinity several weeks without having explored
the environs of the cataract pretty thoroughly. Two or
three times they had passed under the Bridal Vail, which
touched the rock several feet from the face of the cliff.
The feat was not a particularly dangerous one. They had
been wetted by the dripping water, and had fallen on the
slippery masses of green, lichen-covered, loose stones;
but the passage was one which these nimble-footed young
men did not dread, .
Jake resolved to find out abgut these mysterious per-
sons. As the water-proof cover to his rifle lay in the
camp above, he puiled off his jacket and wrapped it about
this tried and trusty friend, Better expose lis own shoul-
ders to the wet than to allow his rifle io catch cold! Then
he worked his way, half blinded by the spray, under the
roaring fail, slowly and cautiously picking his path. Even
in his excessive curiosity a8 Lo whom he should find on
the other side, he could not resist the temptation to pause
and look up over his head at the light green roof of
waters, as glistening, smooth, and apparently as solid as
an arch of polished malachite would have been. This
chamber, walled on one side by the everiasting rock, on
the other by the ever-shifting water, always dim, always
cool, was adelictous retreat on a hot day for a man who
did not mind a little dampness—which Jake minded about
as much as a well-oiled duck would. ‘

In about fifteen minutes he came out from under the
deep shadow of the Bridal Vailand stood among the rain-
bows onthe farther side. Stumbling through these en-
tangling glories, aud wiping the drops of spray from his
eyelashes, Jake looked eagerly in all directions, Nota
soul was to beseen. He ran along the ledge until it nar-
rowed and was lost in the sheer cliff; he peered into the
evergreens, whose tops came nearly on alevel with the
narrow path he trod—but he saw noone. Beneath him
were steep descents, wild gorges, impassible ravines,
gradually melting: into the more accessible foot-hills,
Above, the one stupendous wali of rock. He examined
the ground, foot by fuot, to find some traces of a path out
of the gorge beneath. In one or two places it seemed
just possible that men migit make their way. The dis-

gotten out of sight so soon.

‘forehead, standing bewildered,

deceived -himy >
Or, perhaps it Was an echo!

echoes,
miles away, although sounding so very near.

fail,
this appeared to be a deeper fissure than the most,

selves before itas if with some premeditated purpose 0

the more barren surroundings.
thought Jake. ‘‘Mebbe it leads to a cave.

hem, as it were, of the Bridal Vail, and proceeded wit!
his new exploration,

first whisper as he pulled down the bushes,

 

Jake had gone alone more than once to the “find.” Bob-

appearance had been so sudden it would appear almost
impossible that the climbers had retraced their steps and
Panther Jake rubbed his
Perhaps his fancy had

He recalled marvellous stories which he had heard of
It migiit be that these voices, in reality, were

He had about made up his mind that such was the case
when, still glancing about him with that keen, prying
look which sees everything—and which becomes a char-
acteristic of hunters and men who lead a life of adven-
ture—he noticed:a broken place in the face of the ciilf,
close to the ground, and quite under the shadow of the
The rock was greatly seamed in this vicinity, but
tunt-
ed. bushes, shining with the eternal spray, spread them-

concealment, although the secret of their existeuce might
be traced to the fact thatin such fissures the svil is caught
and held, affording nourishment to vegetation denied by

“Bob wanted to push in thar when we was here afore,”
lll see.”? And
following ont this resolution he passed again under the

“Ha! here’s the tracks of 2 human or animal,” was his"

A brave) had been Jately broken off; so recently that

ed against.
experienced.
“Mebbe they seen meand kivered. J’jl unearth *em!”?
prospect of an out-and-out adventure,
enough suggestion of
ment of the hunt.

to give him something of a squeeze, Jake muttered:
like that.”?

moisture.

rainbows outside. ;
surroundings.

long and six broad.
deal dashed.

There might be a cave beyond this cave.

stooping, peered in.
mer of light at the other end of the passage.
“Now fur it,’? muttered the young miuer.

panful 0’ dust}"?

threaten his brains from obstactes overhead—he feit his
way cautiously along, carrying his rifie close to his side.
Thie floor of the passage was of rock, but tolerably level,
and he was getting along without any great discomfort
when—from ihe dainpness, perhaps, to which he had been
exposed—he sneezed.

A sneeze is a most harmlessand beneficial amusement,
geverally, but this particular sternutation was direful in
its results,

it echoed and reverberated with a power which. sur-
prised and annoyed its author, who had no intention of
thus giving warning of his approach should those he
sought actually be within earshot, — r

“Blast that sneeze! Why couldn’tit hold on a leetle?”
muttered Jake, coming to a stop, wailing for the noise to
subside. ;

At that instant he»saw a flash, as of lightning, and
heard a repori as oft) der. His ears were deafened by
the tumult, which was out of all proportion to its cause;

he never would have dreamed that a revolver had made
all that fuss. had he not heard what a sneeze could do

   
   

after. its; fa.

Ҥnoti? muttered Painter Jake, backing out much
more rapidly than he had previously gone forward.

There was not @ Cowardly atom in the whole of his
lithe frame; but aman stands no chance on his hands
and knees in a dark passage wilh an unseen enemy
firing athim from the opening. To go forward was to
expose himself without chance of making defense. ‘‘Dis-
cretion is the better part of valor’? in such a situation, so
the panther did what he was uotin the habit of doing—he
backed out, literally. , :

He had time to feel as if fifty balls were in him before
he scrambled to his feet in the gloom of the cavern; but
no second shot followed. Feeling somewhat stunned and
dizzy he made his way outinto the open air. The rainbow
spray of the cataract dashing full in his face revived him.
Hie looked at his shirt-sleeve. 1t wasred with biood. As
he stripped up the flannei and Jooked at his arm, his rich,
dark color did not change a shade.

“Good! IVs my left arm, aud only a flesh-wound.
Mought a been serious}?

He dipped his handkerchief in the cascade, wound it
about the injured limb, and pinned it.

“I ain’t a gwine to give it up so,’? he muttered.
“They've marked me, and Vil mark them! Injuus or
white foiks, 1'll find’em out. The hull thing’s about as
curious as ever happened to me. Vd swear that was
Lolly Jackson’s laugh I lieerd,’?

CHAPTER IX.
TEE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

By the side of a tittle Jake, held in the hollow of the
mouniain-side, and made by the melting of the snows far
above, sat old Jue and his daughter. This was noon of
the second day of their flight. That they were weary,
foot-sore and disconsolate, their looks and attitudes con-
fessed. Yet the scene unrolled beneath them was of such
sublime and enchanting beauty, and the cool air of the
hight was so bracing that, ag they sat and rested, their
jaded countenances insensibly brightened, The broad
glare of mid-day, which on the plains below would have
been simply intuierdbie, was here tempered to a pleasant
warmth, Although miany of the hills which they had
climbed had been sandy and barren, this little nook was
one of the sweelest successes of Nature—a bit of paradise,
of heaven, in the midst of steriliiy; so setin dreary sur-
roundings as to make its loveliness the more conspicu-
ous. Que moment the fairy lake would be like a burnish-
ed plate of silver, shining under the zenith san; the uvext
it would break into dark ripples, as some breeze went
flying over it. Small clouds of dazzling whiteness and
brightness, sailing high up in the blue ether, would cast
their shadows deep down in its lipid clearness. On
one side it was mysteriously dim with tle darker shadow
of agray cliffat whose foot it lay. Somber pines grew
from the clefts of this gray rock, and looming down,
looked at their own sad images in the still water. Ever-
greens, almost black iu the intensity of their greenness,
fringed nearly the whole pool, ‘The water was almost
ice-cold. The two travelers sat under ove of the thick
pines, which protected them from the sun. From where
they sat they could see the tops of many hills, and black
places where canons and valleys lay hidden; at the east
the little settlement of Digtown was piainly visible, seated
on a plateau at the foot of a mountain-spur. They could
trace the course of streanis, they could even distinguish
the spots where miners were at Work with machinery—
places where shafis were suuk, or where chimneys of fur-
naces arose. Far, far away Jay the plains, with the air
above them wavering and yellow with the intense heat.
After they had rested a little; Lolly moved close to the
water's edge, and sitting onabit of rock which rose out
of the pool, she took off her slippers—poor little red slip-
pers! there was scarcely enough of them left to removel
and flung her hat in the moss by her side. Stooping, she
bathed her heated face, and then dangled her aching feet
in the delicious water,

' Of all the lovely shapes of stars, or clouds, or trees, or
flowers, or Indian maids that mountain-mirror may have
imaged, never had it reflected anything so beauliful as
the lace and form of this young girl. Carelessly pushed
from her white forehead, her hair hung about her, daz-
zling asa mantel of gold, though some of the crisp little
ringlets about her ears and temples were dark with the
wetting she had given them, and clung to her rosy cheeks
and fair neck. Her dimpled feet swung back and forth
in the silver waves like water-lilies.

Weary and worn assle was, she was young, and her
spirits rose under the enchanting influence of the beauty
around her. Alowripple of Song stole over her lips,
blending with the lapse of water against the rock. Her
eyes wandered Ueliglitedly from heaven to earth.

“You seem to forget that 1’m almost starved,’? snapped
her companion, after watching her for some time.

He loved her, aud hedid not meanto be harsh with
her; but compelled. to endure existence without his ac
customed stimulus, harassed by fears and dreadful mem-
ories aroused to new life by hearing the name which had
caused his flight, the man could not but fret and com-
plain even against his darling. ;
“What shall Ldo??? immediately springing from the
rock and hunting for her ragged shoes. ‘Shall I make
you a cup of coffee, father?”

"Yes, child; fhe sooner the better. These pine-cones
will make a splendid fire without trouble.”

She gathered her apron full of the resinous cones, and
made a heap of themon adry bit ef rock, and applying
amateh, which she took from asmall tin box carried
carefully in her pocket, to a handful of last year's
“needies,’? had immediately a crackling, odorous fire,

 

lake-water,
miserly portion of ground coffee—not a grain more than

The old man, meantime, had been hacking some frag-
ments from a chunk of dried venison which he took from
his wallet.

noticed her abstinence, saying to her:
“Take some of the coffee, child.*’
“No, father; I don’t need it to-day.

cold, or sick, {

cold, sweet water.”

which she drank.

Joe had insisted on instant flight, she had done the best
she could to prepare for the rougli, wild journey. Know-
ing that she would need her hands to assist in climbing
tangled ways, she-had made as much of a package as she
thought she could bear without too much impeding her—
wrapping a pound of tea, which she chanced to purchase
that very day, in a change of undergarments—and
strapped the bundie to her shoulders. To a leather beit,
which she buckled about her slender waist, hung a good
supply of ammunition, which fitted the precious re-
volver which she carried in herbosom. ‘There was &
knife in her belt, too, keen. and. sharp; for Lolly was well
aware that they might encounter enemies, savage as weil
as civilized—a grizzly, perlaps, or an outlawed miner,

The old wallet, which -her father had carried through

many 4 previous wandering, she stuffed with dried meat
and crackers, fastened it to. his back, found his hunting-
Knife and powder-horn, and gave him his rifle.
{ Yhe only loaf of bread in the cabin she took in her
apron, thinking that they would eat it for their breakfast,
an'l then she should be rid of carrying it. Tien she sig-
nified that they were as well-prepared as circumstances
permitted, and they had gone forth trembling, under
cover of the night, .

Loily thought it over, as she sat on her bit of rock, nib-
bling at her dried venison and watching ler father at_his
1} repast. Whatdidit mean? Why must her father flee?
It was so strange, so perplexing, so discouraging! Poor
child! faithfully she had wandered by his side, through
cold and heat, through want and danger, for months and
years. But she was achild no longer. Thoughts and

 

 

 

the leaves had not began to wither, and there were signs
in the moss and lichens of the rock that it had been press-
Simall tokens like these speak volumes to the

“They’ve dodged in ‘here,’”? thought their pursuer.

Painter: Jake’s heart beat a Jittle more quickly at the
There was just
danger to add a thrill to the excite-

Pushing through the bushes into a crevice so narrow as
“Pll be durned if I wouldn’t like my Sallie to hug me

This crack in the rock narrowed rapidly over his head,
closing into @ mere seam not far above; but in front it
opened, something likea narrow door into a vestivule,
into @small, low, dark chamber or cave, dripping with
He boldly entered, but was compelled to wait
ashort time for his sight to fit itself to the glow in which
he found himself after the bright sunrise and dazzling

In two or three minutes he was enabled to make out his
There was no human being and no. -wild
animal in the cavern, which was not more than ten feet
Jake’s expectations were a good

However, a8 he was about to leave the den, he noticed
an opening at one side which promised something farther.
He approached
the dark hole—it was only about four feet in hight—and
He was rewarded by seeing a glim-

_ “ELT ain't
on the track o? that gal’slaughter Vl never wash another

Getting down on his hands and knees—for the place
was too dark for him to, determine what danger might

—and had he not felt something strike his arm as if a hot
wire.had touched it, and jelt something warm. trickling

over which she placed alittle pail haif tull of the clear
When this began to bubble, she stirred in a

she thought would answer, since who could tell how long
it might be before they could replenish their scanty store?

Lolly gave him his coffee gg soon a3 it was
ready, but she had made only about a pint, and fook none
of it herself. As she nibbled at the hard meat, her father

If i were wet, or
would require it. Asit is, I prefer this
And laughingly she scooped it up in her hand, from

In her haste and dismay the night before last, when old

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

feelings had sprung tolife within the last few months
which were new to her,

She felt, with all the keenness of a sensitive woman’s
perceptions, the misery and singularity of her situation.
In her humble home in Digtown she had been compara-
tively happy, for, humble as it was, it was home. She
had been save and at rest.. Now, this aimless wandering
had begun under more terrible circumstances than ever.
Instead-of the life in that farand glorious metropolis—
instead of education, music, dress, society—all that her
delicate, refined nature secretly craved—instead of Mr.
Grafton’s tender flatteries, his delicious stories of that
world into which she longed to be introduced—instead of
the sweet blooming of all these new flowets of fancy and
nous was flight, hardship, desolation, danger, perliaps—

eath.

What would Mr. Grafton think of her?

What would Robert Ciark think and say?

What was to be the end of this secret journeying—this
hiding and prowling, asif they were ashamed to face
their fellows ? :

Lolly’s cheeks grew hot and crimson as she continued
to think. She louged to go back to the shanty; yet, loyal
as she was fond, she could not and would not desert her
father, and he would neither listen to her pleadings to
return nor yvouchsafe an explanation of his conduct.

What could Mr. Grafton know to her parent’s injury?
He had explicitly stated that he had never seen her
father, and that he had sought him out to reveal good
news to him.

The more she puzzled over it the more Lolly believed
that there was no good reason for this strange terror and
excitement under which her companion evidently la-
bored. Watching him as he lifted, with a hand that
trembled like that of an old man, the warm drink to his
bloodless lips, she resolved, for once in hér life, to set her
Will against his, and to inSist upon an explanation of this
new flight. While she hesitated, the words faltering on
their way, there was a sudden rush and scream from the
rock above them, & whirring, sound, a dark shadow over
the lake. It was but the sudden rise of-an immense eagle
from his nest in the cliff, but it startled old Joe out of all
Self-possession; the tin pail fell, rattling, from his hold,
wasting the remainder of the precious coffee on the
ground. Lolly was a little frightened, too, at the sudden-
ness of the clamor after the intense stillness of the place;
but she quickly. recovered herself, and was shocked to no-
tice the ghastly paleness of her companion’s countenance.
and the excessive trembling which came over him. She
Sprang to his side, nestling close to him, and taking his
thin, half-palsied hand in her warm Clasp:

“‘Father,’? she said, half-coaxingly, haif-commandingly,
‘tell your little Lolly what itis that troubles you. You
have a secret, and it is killing you! Tellittome. Per-
haps I can help yon. Atleast iknow, Iam certain, that
you will feel happier for sharing it with your little girl.”
“A secret??? he stammered.

“Yes, father. Else why this flight—this concealment ?
How can Alexander Grafton harm you? Father, what-
ever this long-kept secret may be—even if it be that,
sometime, under some temptation, you may have com-
mitted sone crime—I beg you to share it with me, who
love you So, and will continue to love you, no matter how
you may have erred. For, if you have sinned, father, I
feel that it must have been under the influence of some
passing passion or temptation. You are not bad. You
have a gentle heart—an affectionate nature. Oh, J know
you, to the heart’s core, and that itis not in your nature
to be meaningly wicked. I know this wretched secret
has blasted your life—has made you seek to drown it by
drink—has kept you restless, nervous, unsettled. It has
driven you forth, now, from the only Rome we ever had.
it is wearing upon—killing you. Tell me, is it some crime,
committed in your young days, which still haunts you ?”?
“Crime 2”? he muttered, glaring a5 her suspiciously;
“why should my own child suspect me of a crime???

She smoothed his quivering hand with her velvet palm.
“i think it, because you seem so afraid of something,
You cannot think, dear father, that what yon may tell me
will bring harm upon you? Ionly seek to share your
trouble in the hope that I may lighten it.’

“You cannot—you cannot, No one can,’ he answered,
uneasily.

“It may be that you are only frightened at a shadow,
father. There may haye been danger once; yet it may
have passed entirely. Your nerves are so shaken you
may torment yourself about nothing. Tell me, and let
mejudge—or at least comfort you with my syimpathy.’?
The sweet, wistful tones touched his poor, solitary, long-
tortured heart.

O, if he dazed to share his terrible secret, which he had
borne so long—so Jong! which had ruined his youth and de-
based his manhood—which had made an ulter wreck ofhis
whole life! Daved he lay a part of his burden on this pure
young soul, siniling up at him through eyes so like her
mothers? He groaned—smiting his breast as if he were
suffocating with the weight of some heavy emotion. Lolly
regarded the struggle witha pity like that of an angel,
She had long feared that some act of her father’s youth
had disgraced and disheartened him; but she had only
loved him the more tenderly for this fear. Now she sought
to know what his trouble really was; for she felt that she
might, perhaps, help him, or relieve him from some mor-
bid misery which he cherishee without reason.

“Lolly! he said, smoothing her glistening locks with
his free hand—she was clinging to tlie other—‘tyou love
me now—don’t you, child ?—and 1 fear—ah, Ifear did I
tell you all you would turn away from me.’?

‘“Never!’?

“1 could not bear to have you turn against me. I’ve
givemup all the world, exceptmy child. She is good to
me. Sle never dreams of the black deed which has dark-
ened alimy years!” ;

“Black deed,” she whispered, turning somewhat pale
in spite ol her effort to remain perfectly calin.

“Yes, yes! black and damning, chiid. Was it nota
damning deed’’—he almost shrieked, ls long-pent secret
| bursting from his heart at last, despite his reiuctance to
allow it—‘'to murder a man—my college chum, my own
cousin, My nearest friend—a young man, My own age,
full of hope and health and warm aifections—to murder
him, 1 say, Lolly ?”” *

“QO, father)? ‘
“You do not shrink away—you do not leave me? Thank
Heaven, then, that you know the worst—Know that your
parent ts a murderer)?

““{ will mot desert you, father. You mur—dered him,”’
speaking with intense reluctance—‘‘but ah, I know it
must have been donein @ moment of passion—of upbear-
able provocation.” 3

“You are right, Lolly; Human nature could not en-
dure the trial to which he subjected me. Stull, if} could
have recalled it, the Moment after it was done, 1 would
have given my life more eagerly than 1 had taken his,”?

“Do you care to tell me his name, father?”

“Alexander Grafton.” ;

His listener uttered 3 low cry.

“Yes—and all his race has pursued me ever since. It’s
/a marvel thati have escaped them. They were, and still
are, bound to hang me, though it is five-and-twenty years.
since the deed was done, Lolly, do you wish to hear the’
whole story ??? 4
“Tdo. I must hear it, now thatIl know so much. I
must know why my father, so gentle, so good to me, was
driven tosuch acrime. Tellmeauw.” ‘
There was nosound in air or earth save his low, quavering
voice, and the faint ripple of the water at their feet, while
she listened to his life history. Silent clouds hung in the
gilentether. Those two were far removed from the world
which had been so hard upon them—about them was noth-
‘ing but the sublimity of nature—beauty, grandeur, repose;
but the narrater‘often startled, and listened, and trembled
from the force ofa long-nurtured habit. d

“My real name is not Jackson, Lolly. You have seen

it written in an old book of mine. _ Do you remember ol
asking me about itonce? You said that it was a pretty
name, and you wished it were yours—Capelle. It 7s yours,
but your father has disgraced it and disayowed it—ren-
dered it unfit for his daughter’s claim.
“Henry Capelle was my name in those few sunny years
of youth which seem. now to have belonged to another
than me, It islikea dim and fading dream that 1 have
ever been other than ‘Old Joe Jackson.’ I was an orphan
almost from my infancy; but I had small reason to feel the
loss of my parents—wio were lost on the steamer coming
nome from a pleasure tour through Europe—being adopt-
ed by my aunt and uncle Grafton, who had no children of
their own, were immensely wealthy, and as kind and
generous asthey were rich. I was taken to their house
and brought up as one of their family—in fact, as a petted
only son and heir-expectant, My own little fortune, saved
from the disposal of my father’s business, was placed at
interest. Nota dollar of it was touched in defraying the
expenses of my education in college or my subsequent
travels abroad, where I was sent ‘to finish me,’ as my
uncle laughingly said.

“Never was there a happier, gayer boy than I. I fairly
reveied in the sweetness Of life, like a bee in a honey-flow-
er. My uncle’s goodness was not lavished upon me aloue.
He had a brother, who was but moderately prosperous,
and who was loaded with the expenses of a large family
of girls and boys. Uncle John cheerfully lent him a help-
ing hand with these! Ttie eldest boy, Alexander, he sent
to college along with me. We were close friends in school,
and when we graduated at the same time, he, too, en-
joyed the benefits of a European journey. We found our
travels the more delightful from being shared. We were
like twin-brothers. We were very nearly of an age, both
Siaving been born in the same-year. Our stature was pre-
cisely the same; otherwise we bore little resemblance, -I
was fair, with light-brown curling hair and a fresh com-
plexion; Alexander was dark, with black eyes and
straight black hair.’?

“Like Rim,’? murmured Lolly, thinking of her Mr.
Grafton.

“We were both handsome. Atleast, I Knew he was,
and I frequently heard the same whispered about myself.

I thought a great deal of him, and 1 never distrusted the
for me—that is, not until

truth of his pretended friendshi

afier our return from Europe. We were then twenty-two,
and immediately began to go into a very gay and fashion-
able society: It was now that Aleck (so we called him)
began to make invidious remarks, and to betray ajeal-
ousy which seemed natural to his temperament. I thought
very lightly of it, langhing at him when he avowed tat
he envied me, and sharing with him as freely as circum-
stances permitted every good thing which fell to my lot.
He would say that I was a greater favorite in society than
he, bedause it was well understood that I was to be Jolin
Grafton’s principal heir—that he was ‘nobody’ in the esti-
mation of the young ladies because he had not been adopt-
ed bya rich uncle. This may have had some influence
also—I had a gayer temperament, was fullerof fun and
quicker at repartee, and was accounted a magnificent
singer, all of which, doubtless, caused me to be rather
more sought after. Still we were always together. He
dressed as well—better than I, for he was fonder of dress,
and had mare taste, and whatever jewelry or fopperies

 

 

than a hundred times did he remark to me, in those days:

** I should think Uncie John might adopt me, too.’

‘““T wish he would, dear Aleck,’ 1 would respond. ‘If
he will set me up in a good business you aré welcome to
the rest. For my part, I like an active life, and would
rather work than not.’

** ‘Weill, I would not,’ he would answer with a yawn.

“His indolent, southern temperament indisposed him
to exertion. I used to teaze uncle to put me to some kind
of business, but aunt would not allow it. ‘She could nos
spare me. She was getting to be an old woman, and she —
wanted young company—somebody to keep tlie house
lively, to take her out when She wanted to go, to pay her
compliments, to be her good boy.’ Thus she would play-
fully deny me the privilege of dving fur myself, while, all
the time, Aleck cherished the worm of envy which was
gnawing at his heart, saying constantly to nie, ‘I wish £
stood in your shoes.’ :

“© “We did think of taking Aleck, once, before your pa-
rents were lost,’ aunt said to me confidentially, once. ‘I
am so glad that we had not decided. I feel kind to the
boy, but I never could feel as if he were really my son, as
I do toward you. He is moody, and not always generous.
He doesn’t like to hear anybody praised but himself. ve
actually seen him turn green when forced to listen to the
nice things said about you. Still, he is not a bad young
man, and we shall do much for him.’

“ «T hope you will, auntie; I love him dearly,’ I answer-
ed; and tlten I turned, at a Slight noise, to find that he
had slipped in, in his noiseless way, and had heard all she
had said, for that green tinge to which she had referreé
Was upon his pale face that moment, and his eyes had a
disagreeable smile. Aunt, who was neaf-sighted, did not
discover his presence, and never knew that he had over
heard her. ;

“That first winter of our appearance in the gay worid,
& young lady came from Boston to spend some months
with relatives in New York, who belonged. to ‘our set,’ and
lived near the same square. Aleck and 1 were presented
to her at the same time, on the evening of her debut in our
society. She was very young, and lovely as an angel. £
can always see heraslsaw herthen!’? murmured. this
miserable wreck of manhood, looking dreamily over the
Silver lake at the ‘dim distances”? beyond, as if that
glorious apparition floated there in that calm heaven, as
bright, as pure, as artless, as beautiful, as 1t first dawned
upon his youthful sight. ‘She had golden hair—like
your’s, Lolly—a perfect cloud of it, as bright asif it were
made of gavliered sun-rays, and a dazzling complexion
and dark-blue eyes; but it was thesweeiness of her smile,
thefresh music of her voice—something innocent ang
child-like in her expression—which conquered me it once.
I knew that I was in love with her before I had’ seen her
five minutes. Her name was Laura Clymer; she was of
Boston's ‘blue blood,’ an heiress, surrounded by a halo of
distinguished family,’ ‘splendid advantages,’ ‘great
prospects,’ and allthat, which made her yet more dazzling
to her admirers. As for me, I should have honored her as
highly and Toved her as deeply had she been penniless and
without a name. I paid her.a great deal of atiention that
evening; so much, that remarks were made and knowing
smiles exchanged between our elders, who were pleased
on both sides, to note our evident admiration for each
other. Yes, Laura seemed tolikeme. She endeavored to
treat all alike; but her color was brighter, her smile was
sweeter, when I led her forth to dance orstood by her side,
half-betraying my feelings in my eyes. I danced with her
twice; so did Aleck. 2
“It was toward the close of this happiest evening of my
happy life. I had waited upon Miss Ciymer to supper ang
brought her back to the large room set apart for dancing
—whiere we stood, while the musicians were refreshing
themselves in the dining-room—chatling gayly, uttering
those ‘airy nothings’ wiuch are the bubbles on the rim of
pleasure’s chalice. We were standing quite apart from
any others, and, for the life of me, 1 could not refrain from
betraying some of the admiration which I felt. Her cheeks
burned and her soft eyes sank in shy confusion. At that
instant 1 became aware that some one was standing be-
hind the wiudow-drapery very near us, where he could
overhear eyery word of our conversation. J turned, rather
angrily, at fiuding my pretty speeches thus subjected to
the probably sarcastic criticism of a third persou—and
mét Aleck’s eyes. Never, before or since, have I seen
such an expression on a human countevnance—it was
simply hate concentrated. I saw hiin, revealed as by 2
flash of lightning, and felt that le must have long cherish-
ed this feeling, while pretending love. Isavw, too, that he
had taken a great fancy to Miss Clymer, aud that he was
jealous- I must have looked startled, for he endeavored
—with a laugh—to change the pallid hue and mahgnant
expression of his features——”

Pes da interrupted Lolly, inawhisper, ‘what was
that?

They heard the crackle ofa light step which had snapped
a dry brauch as it came along and up from the hill below;
and had just time to throw themselves prostrate on the
earth, when the head and shoulders of aman appeared.
through the bushes at the farther end of the little lake. He
stood, a full minute, gazing about him with the wary air
of a practised mountaiu-man. - Their hearts were in their
throats. He did not discover them, lying flat and motion-
less beneath the dark pines, nor note the remains of the
tiny fire, which had quite expired. He did somewhat as
Lolly had done—threw his hat to the ground aud dipped
his head in the delicious water, taking along drink and
afterward bathing his face, He even sat down aud leisure-
ly ate a ship-biscuit, which he took from his pocket, and
softened by holding is underneath the water. Evidently,
he thought himself quite alone in that wild eyrie. Thetwo
others heid their breaths as—afler what seemed an inter-
minable while, but which was not over five minutes—le
arose and again threw that eagle glance in every direction.
As before, they escaped detection; au inequality ef the
ground partially covering them,

With a whistle as loud and ciear as that of a blackbird
the intruder continued his way after this brief “nooning.’?
Passing around the lake, by the opposite side, he struck
into a path leading aiong the dangerous edge of a ravine,
and which wound away and up.

“My path,”? murmured Old Joe, cautiously raising his
head and Jooking after him.

“It was Painter Jake,” said Lolly. “I had a mind to
speak to him. He would not harm and migiit help us. He
is Robert’s particular friend, you know, futher.’?

“No, no! Let him pass. We must keep close, I tell you.
What can Painter Jake be doing ’way up here? I thoughs
no one had ever trod this path but myself.” :

(TO BE.CONTINUED.)

 

Jennie Vail’s Mission.

By Annie Ashmore.

 

 

{Jennie Vail’s Mission” was commenced in No. 2. Back Num-

bers can be obtained from

CHAPTER XVItI.—(Continued,)

“Of course you would recognize Mrs. Thorncliff agaim
were she alive??? observed Lord Adderley, politely
covering the baronet’s bewilderment after his own gra-
cious fashion. :

“Oh, certainly I should,” replied Mr. Saunders. ‘‘She
haa been a parishioner of mine for many years.”?

“Will you be so good as to relate the circumstances of
lier death to Sir Marcus?’ continued the suave baron;
‘she does not believe that she is dead.”

“With pleasure, my lord. Unfortunately, Sir Marcus,
there can be no doubt of the decease of your son’s wife,
for 1 was present at her death-bed. She continued to re-
side in Heyhurst after her marriage until the date of her
death. I heard that Mrs. Thorncliff had burst 2 blood
vessel—her lungs were always weak—and I hurvied at
once to her side,’ etc., etc. ;

Mr. Saunders related the dying scene with much deco-
rum; but I fear not one of the four present heard half he
said. By the time the whole:story was told, poor Sir Mar-
cus had first come to the conclusion that -Marian—his Ma-
rian—had in some mysterious way been mistaken fer
some other Marian, and to long for the clergyman’s de-
parture, that lie might utter the condemunatory thoughts
that arose in him. .

“Please observe this lady, Mr. Saunders,’ said my lord,
with a tigerish snarl, as he waved his cole white hand to-
ward Jane. "

Mr. Saunders observed her—and observed to himself
that such.a cold, stern face had seldom been seen so

oung.
th Does she bear any resemblance to the late Mrs, Thorn-
cliff??? demanded my lord.

“No,”? Mr. Saunders, with an air of surprise said, ‘“‘deci-
dedly, no.”? ;

“Because the reason why Sir Marcus discredited the
death of Mrs. Thorncliff was that this lady appeared at
Childerwitch under the name of Marian Thorneliff, wife
of Colonel Thorncliff, showing the certificate of marriage
which you gave into the hands of the lady who died ip
your presence.”’

Mr. Saunders colored violently,
family group. : 2

“JJ had not expected to be involved in anything of
this nature,’? stammered he, atlength. “If I have said
all that is necessary you will oblige me by permitting me
to retire.” ;

He glanced at Sir Marcus as he spoke, almost turning
his back upon the baron. Mr. Saunders ‘was seriously
offended at the use which had been made of him, aifront-
ed for his own sake and ‘indignant for Sir Marcus’s in
whose hard, dark visage he read both grief and amaze-
ment.

The baronet bowed—withont a word the Reverend Mr.
Saunders was permitted to depart.

“Are you satisfied with this ‘proof, my dear sir??? ques-
tioned Lord Adderley, very genily. ‘Are you convinced
thata false Marian has stepped into the dead Marian’s

lace ?”?

Sir Marcus scarcely seemed to hear—he was glaring a%

and. recoiled from the

ane. ;

“We shall now prove who this adyenturess really is,”
continued the baron,as fluently and enjoyably as ifhe really:
relished the scene and had long been preparing for it.
“Miss Ingrave, have the goodness to bring forward Proof:
the First,’? ' Sat a: eeiaanie eat

Miss Ingrave’s pearly hand slipped into her pocket, and
keeping it there she said to Jane, in hersyygetest tones +

“Sf you would only confess all, poot tilig, how hitch
better it would be than this éxposurel”?

Jane turned away with disdain.

Miss Ingrave drew forth her hand and held up Jane
Vail’s note book,

“A servant found this in an old drawer in Marian’s
room, and not knowing what it was brought it to me,”
es) gana the young lady, putting the book in Sir Marcus’s

and.

 

 

 

of the toilet my doting aunt Javished on me I usually turn-
‘ed over to him, he was so eager to possess them. More

Mechanically he turned it over. It was Jane Vail’s note-
pook, and it treated of Jane Vail’s convict father.

any News Agent in the United States.} me

 

 

2

 

 

 
 

aio

ical

 

 

 

 

 

 

The baronet let it drop from his hands and giured again
at Jane. ‘

“Ye—ye gipsy!” he gasped. ‘‘And if that does not
satisfy you who she is,’? resumed my lord, picking up the
note-book and restoring tt to Jane with a bow and a.
stauge look info her eyes, “we shall bring forward Proof
the Second.”

Sir Marcus was stumping about the room. He stopped
before Jane, and‘giowered wistfulty at her, gulping down
something suspiciously like a sob.

_ Marian! said he, in the queerest voice; “ye know well,
ye jade, that you’ve got into.my heart, Tell ine the trath,
girl, is that thing yours?”

She would not answer. ‘
; He seized her shoukier and shook her,

“Bh, ye minx?” shouted the admiring baronet. “Won't
ye say ay or no?, D'yedefy me? Ofcourse ye do. You've
got too much spirit to put up with such an affront, and
serves me rightly for asking sucha hanged, impudent
question!’ :

He released her and stumped about, swearing horribly.
“J don’t know what to think 7” groaned Sir Marcus. ‘‘I
don’t want to think. Oh, dash their eyes all round for
miserable, spying, skulking lubbers!”

“Str Marouws,” observed the quiet voice of my lord, ‘‘re-
Strain yourself. ina few seconds you will blash at your
present folly. You don’t wish to believe this woman an in-

ostor? You don’t wish to be convinced that she is Jane
Pail My esteemed friend, I am sorry for you, but I must
force upon your attention both facts, and supplement
them with a third, which.will astonish you. Miss Ingrave
—the Second Proof, if you please.”?

Miss Ingrave stepped to a curtain which hung over a
portion of the polished wall and drew it aside. ‘

There smiled the lost portrait of Anthony Vall, the con-

vict.
“Wh-what—bless me!’ gasped Sir Marcus, staring with
all his might.

After a moment's interval:

“Do you recollect that face?’ inquired my lord, softly.
* «Of course I do!” growled Sir Marcus. ‘‘How the devil
did it come here? Vail, the marine, who struck you down
on the deck of the ‘Gatnevere’ and was eoart martialed,”

“Quite correct,’’ smiled Lord Adderley. ‘Now oblige
me by observing the very striking and pecullar resem-
blanoe between the face of that portrait and the face of
this woman. Do you see it?”

My tord’s gradually warming manner and his rising ex-
-citement forced Sir Marcus, in spite of himself, to obey
him. He glowered from the portrait to his favorite, and
obviously deteoted the resemblance between the two

’

ces,

“Ig it not a significant coincidence,” resumed Lord Ad-
derley, when this point was gained, ‘that Anthony Vail
should bear such a resemblance to the woman we accuse
of being his daughter? Isit not another significant fact
that she once said to yourself—you cannot have forgotten
it—that her farther once was a sailor, but that now his
occupation was one which, if you knew, you would order
her from your house? Oome, Sir Marcus, really you can
not remain blind to these things.” ;

” Sir Marcus burst into a roar, brought himself up with a
spasmodic gulp, and stamped about, swearing in inuttered
tones:

“Now for our last proof!’ said my lord, his eyes gleam-
ing like basilisks. ‘Proof the Third, that she is Jane
Vail.”

His hand was on the bell, and as he spoke he rang it
twice, evidently a pre-arranged signal.

While Miss Ingrave was dropping the curtain over the
portrait the door opened, and Mr. Horseley, purple and
portentous, bowed himself in, oe .

“Haye you succeeded in coftecting these people?’ de-
manded my lord with a malicious enjoyment of the baron-
et’s helpless look of apprehension.

“All here, your lordship,’ replied the emissary, darting
a quick look of admiring respect at the clever adventuress
who, he understood, wus about to be unmasked.

“Much difficulty in the task?’ demanded my lord, se-
renely.

“gome,” replied Mr. Horseley, with a grin. ‘Was
crossed hunting for the grandfather and the mother by a
parson, who was on the same lay; had to drop ’em.””

“‘FHlal hal’? snarled my lord. ‘1 Know who he was. Our
clerical friend, Mr. Gardiner——”’ this, turning to the bar-
onet—‘who under the same bewitclhment as yourself has
perjured himself to befriend Jane Vail. Worseley, send
them in as I ordered.”

Horseley withdrew.

-*Sir Marcus,’’ said my lord, “I only ask your attention 4

for a few minutes longer; I shall not trouble you to ask a
single question; I will do all that for you. The ‘following
e€cene will explain itself.’?

} Sir Marcus looked and listened as if fascinated. All. his
bluster had forsaken him; he looked wan aud miserable;
and now and again his eye wandered to Jane with a
glance of grief and wonder that was hard to bear. His
spirit having died within him, my tord had it all his own
Way; and didn’t he revel in the feast!

Miss Ingrave found a comfortable arm-chair, and put-
ting her eyeglass to her eye, deliberately amused herself
by Staring at the sad and passive face ot the defeated Jane
Vail

| The door opened, and an old man tottered in; almona-
eyed, aquiline nose, with a white beard flowing to his
Waist, whom Mr. Horseley announced ag Mr. Lucas
Imri,

As he entered Lord Adderley adroitly stepped between
him and June Vail, completely coucealing her by his huge
person.

“Mr. Imri,”? said he, quietly, “be good enough to relate
what you know of an old man called Fairfax, his dangh-
ter Widow Vail, and his granddaughter Jane Vail.”

The old Jew In dignified and fowing language gave a
brief biography of the persons named, ending With the
death of Jane and the removal of her grandlather and
mother to some unknown retirement.

As he finished and stood the personification of venera-
ble meekness with bent head and leaning on his staff
Waiting to be dismissed, my lord changed his position,
saying sharply:

“Look up!’? 7

The old man lifted his eyes. ~

“Jt is Jennie Vail!” whispered he, turning yellow with
frigut, and staggering backward he covered iis eyes with
his hand.

My lord opened the door and gently pushed him out;
Horseley grinningly received him.

fn a inoment the door opened again and there entered
a@ brutal-looking man, with a shock head and a down look.
Him Mr. Horseley presented as Mi. Peter Gurney.

My lord civilly requested the publican to tell them when

he had last seea the girl Jane Vail, keeping her cencealed :

as before. i

Mr. Gurney, divided between slavish submission to the
will of the gentry and savage rebellion against the inqui-
sition of said gentry into his private affairs, gruffly re-
fated how ‘Jennie Wail’? came to his place maybe a week

’ before she was killed on the railway. Urged by my Jord
Lo tellthe substance of that visit—well, she had come
asking after his father. And what, pray, was his father?
Well, then, his father had been a convict} Where?
At Spikelsiand. Enough, Mr. Gurney.

“Look here!??

Mr. Gurney looked.

“By thunder! there she stands—Jennie Wail!

Pass out, Mr. Gurney. j

Again the door opened, and as a small, sallow, lively fa-
male, attired irreproachably ala mode, tripped in, Mr,
Horseley aunounced Madame Stetvel.

» My lord in softer accents implored madame to narrate
to himself and Sir Marcus, his irtend, what she knew of a
young girl called Jane Vail.

Madame executed a Charming reverence to monseigneur
and his friend; and told a very pretty sad little tale about
little Jeanne, her employé, who made flowers so well,
and loved her frail mamma, and went away one day and
was killed, poor child.

i “Very good madame, doubtless you will be delighted
to learn that you have been mistaken. Allow me——?

Ah! madame shrieks, and ‘falls on her Knees and ad-
Jures all the saints to defend her, for behold! the spirit of

.poor Jeanne! Keep calin, madame. Horseley, take
Oharge of this lady. Madame, this fellow will explain
Matters to you. Pass out, Madame Stebel.

. The next entreé was of a giant with knotted hands, a
brown face, and a straw in his mouth, Timothy Morse.

! My lord recailed to Mr. Morse's memory that sad acci-
dent last June by which so many peopie lost their lives by
the collision of two trains at Morley Bridge. Some one
had informed ‘‘us here’’ that a young woman in whom
“twe are deeply interested,’ had been carried in by him
from his own gate in alinost a dying condition, and shel-
tered in his house until she was strong enough to travel.
Was this ali true?

, All true. 4
ig Would Mr. Morse mention the young woman’s name?

| Jane Vail.

| Would Mr. Morse know her again?

& Mr. Morse, grinning, ‘‘thought he would.”

“Is this she???

“Yes, indeed! How are ye, miss? Lor! how pleased
missis °}] be——’?

,, Hnough,Mr. Morse. Pass ont. nt

}. Again. the door opened and a decent, elderly woman,
With a prim, prudish physique, stood modestly just in-
side, Mary MacDonald. .

His lordship merely wished her to say whether, where
and when she had seen this person before.

La, yes! she had seen that person in Mr. Gardiner's
house-at Little Oatesby, when -she was his housekeeper—
last July. Sure that she was not mistaken? Quite sure.
She noticed and remembered the face, it was so white and
sorrowful like. Ditferently. dressed? Yes; there was a
ighy difference. Theu she wore a lilac cotton gown, a

ack silk mantel, and a straw hat trimmed with roses.
Anything like these that the young lady is showing? Yes;
those are the very clothes,

Thanks, good woman. Pass out.

“These are all my witnesses. Are they enough to con-
vince you, Sir Marcus?’ said Lord Adderley.

Sir Marcus sat strangely still. His color had not come
back yet, his gaze was riveted on the floor at hits feet; he
looked like a man who has received a stunning blow.

Jane Vail stood near him white as death; her eyes also
vere fixed on the floor in shame and grief.

The piotters regarded them triumphantly, and passed a
gmile of cruel congratulation.

“There is another disclosure yet,” said Lord Adderley,
insatlably heaping up destruction on his fallen adversary;
it is the Key to Jane Vail’s plot.” Do you ever think of the
insolent boy who stole Lady Annabet's heart and. broke
it; and who afterward disgraced our name and sank into
oblivion ?”?

’ Sir Mareus looked np with @ sudden dark, vindictive
glare ig passion, and a red hot glow touched his bloodless
cheek

“Do you ever think of that scene on the ‘Guinevere’
when Anthony Vail sprang upon me and dashed, me to
the deck? That was what Alhony Adderley had sunk

 

eyes.

to—that was the man who broke your wlife’s heart! Am-
thony Vail is Anthony Adderley!”

Sir Marcus rose slowly and stiffly, and walking up to my
lord and looking at him, eye to eye, while the veins on
his forehead stood out like whipcerds aud his lips grew
white, tremblingly asked:

“What proof have you for this?’

“That portrait!’ said my tord, involuntarily retreating
a step. “Lady Thorncuff tokd Miss Ingrave (that she
painted it with her own hands, in those days you well wot
of. You always were denied admittance to one chamber
in Childerwitcn, were you not? It was the chamber where
Lady Thornellif hud hang the portrait of your rival, the
chamber sacred to her because in it Anthony Adderley
long ago saw her every day; the chamber in which Miss
Ingrave, the night of the fire, came upon Lady Thornetiff
kneeling at Jane Vail’s feet, kissing her hands and calting
her ‘Anthony's daughter!’ We who have Known this alt
along, and sought to prove June Vail’s iImposture by any
other means than the betrayal of your wife’s frailty, sare-
ly deserve your belief now,” and my lord ventured to
place his blood-tipped hand softly on the baronet’s, shoul-
der. Sir Marcas started as if an electric shock had darted
througa him, and stood off glaring like a madman at

Lord Adderley. ’
“How dare ye meddle with my wife’s secrets ?’’ satd he,
hoarsely. “Take care, or by —— I'll cut your liver oat

with my dog-whip! Out of my house this instant, Lord
Adderley! and the first time ye venture to speak to me
ye’ll get my answer In cold steel!” :

“Sir Marcus! Sir Marcus! Bewarel’’. cried my lord,
blenching, but standing ms ground. ed, you don't
Know that you are fusulting your oldest friend?’

“Ont, I suyl’? thundered Sir Mareus; and a convulsive
shadder rau through him, and he stretched out his long,
threatening arm with the sinewy fingers working. ‘Out
this instant, or l’ll choke ye, ye pirate! I'll strangte yel
Will ye—” :

He marched at my lord with cyes ablaze and featares
distorted with the wildest fury—suoh a terror-sirlking ob-
ject that my lord, after a moment's amazed indeoisivn,
gave way and backed two paces at a bound to the door.

“Quick—out of lita way—he does not kuow what he is
doing?’ hissed he, pushing Miss Ingrave out ahead of
him. “Sir Marcus”—here he turned with bared fangs
and raging indignation—“you’re gone too far this time!
This shall not be forgotten!

The door closed. Sir Marcus stood 2 moment glaring
stupidly at sit, then turning round and seelug June, he
flutg himself onachuir, Jaid his arm on the table, and
his face on that, and so remained, disconsolate,

After a long while she came to him, aud, standing off,
humbly whispered: ‘Sir Marens??

He started up with a flerce exclamation,

“Go!” said he, hoarsely, averting his bioodshst eyes
from her gentle, pleading, sorrowtlul fuec. “We sail no
more together.”

_ “Hear my side now—yonu have only heard my enemies!”
pleaded Jane.

“Begone, ye fascinating demon! exclaimed he, bit-
terly. ‘Ill be bewhtohed by ye no more! Not a word, I
82) 99

She flung herself on her knees, she seized his hard,
sun-browned hand, and rained ‘kisses and tears upon it,
and in bitter grief she cried:

“Oh, my dear Sir Marcas, don’t judge me by alf @hat
they say! Oh, let me speak—let me spenk!’

“Silencel’? thundered the baronet, snatching himself
from her and backing with uplitted hands and flashing
“Il be fooled by no ——’’—he used a very rough
epithet—“‘of Anthony Adderiey’s, hang me if I will!

arch?’

She rose with a bursting sob and a binzing cheek. :

“False! false!’ she cried, proudly. “I am his lawfa
daughter!’

He seized her by the arm—mind{ul even in that mo-
ment of theinjuries she had received, and on whose be-
half, and ready to burst wfth misery—and, resolutely
averting his eyes from the face he liked so well, and shut-
ting higearsto the voice of the charmer, he thrust her
into the corridor, and bolted the dour behind hen
CHAPTER XIX,

Poor, defeated Jane Vail went heavily up the grand
Stair-case of Ohilderwitch for the last tline, and her heart
was like to break.

She had come here hating—she must go hence loving,
having outraged the generous heart of a man who would
have stood her friend forever. 1

She must go, cut tothe soul by that edged tool with
which she had rashly attempted to play—deception.

My lady could Qpt speak for her—Sir Marcus was so
outraged by her falsehood that he believed the worst her
father’s enemy could say agaiust her. Where now could
the conviot’s daughter apply?

She put away all the rich dresses, the jewels, and tho
luxuries which had been her portion as Lawry Thorn-
cliffs wife; she donned the plainest traveling-dress she
had, put afew shillings in her purse, that siie might at
least have means to get away from Haythorpe-in-the-
Marsh without scandalizing the dignity of the family,
hid her ill-fated note-book in her pocket, and was ready.

While she was making these hurried preparations, Miss
Ingrave glided into thervom. Jane stopped in what she
was doing, and coldly, haughtily drawing herself up,
said: ‘

“Why do youintrude? Do you suppose that I am so
crushed that 1 will suffer insolence from you 2”?

The glorious flash of the honest eye, and the majesty of
the innocont brow, was irresistible. Mtss lugraye cow-
ered, : ner

“IT mean no insult,’? said she, hastily. ‘L am forced a4
come for appearance sake; the servants need not know
under what circumstances you leave us, need they?’

‘Miss Ingrave,”? answered Jane, very qutetly, “yonand
your friend have succeeded {n depriving me of a shelter
which 1 fraudulently obtained that I might work for my
dear father's release. It was right that 1] should be sharp-
ly punished for doing what I knew was wrong, ree
though my motive was a good one. =

Heaven has permi
ted you to be the instruments of my punisliment; but do
nos think that Heaven will.allow evil to triumph over
good. Henceforth I shall work for my end above-board
—ho subterfuges, no deceptions;’and do you agubt that
God will biess me with success at last? Ahi you have not
crushed ine, you have struck from my limbs the vile
chains with which I foolishly bound myself. Like my
friend, the rector of Little Catesby, at last I uméfree to do
right—my chain is broken.”

‘1 care nothing for your success or your failure,’ said
Annabel, with a dark Jook of hatred, “except in so faras
it affects my interests. Succeed, if you can, by ail means;
but if you wish to be left free to do so, defer the grand
finale until ny marriage with Dimon Adderiey.”’

By the falling eyelids, and the blushing cheeks, andthe
nervous twining of Miss Ingrave’s hands, her heart spoke
then. ;

“Surely you know,” said Jane, ‘that when Anthony
Adderley, the convict, is reprieved, Dimon Adderly must
restore ill to him? Must leave Eywood Chace a ruined
man? Will your love cling to him then?

“You think ine altogether a demon, don’t you?’ said
Anhibel, bitterly. ‘Then youare wrong. I am capable
of dytug for leve of that man. Oh, Jane Vail, you inust
not come between us!"?

She clasped her hands beseechingly, and drew closer to
Jane as if she would throw herself at her feet.
“What do you mean? said Jaue, coldly,

Ido?

“Don’t let Lord Adderley trace your hiding-placel!’
whispered Miss lngrave, impressiveiy. ‘‘Keep out of his
way. :

“| defy Lord Adderly!'’ returned Jane, scornfully.

“If you knew all, you would not,’ whispered Annabel,
& spasm of anguish contracting her lovely countepance—
‘‘he loves you !”)

Jane started back, with a cry of horror. By that flerce
flare from Miss Ingrave’s cyes, as the words came one by
one from her whitening lips, wrung from a@ writhing
heart, Jane believed the truth at Jast.

Satisfied with the effect of her announcement, Miss In-
grave glided tothe door. A servant met her. Sir Murcus
had seut to telk Mrs. Thornclill! that the carriage was
ready.

“Take plenty of wraps with you,’ said Miss Ingrave, for
the benefit of Mrs. Trimm and Susan, who were hovering
near, devoured with curiosity, for, to use their own words,
the ’ouse might ‘a been a’otel, the way it were thrown
open to the public that moruing; scarce a room you could
go into but there was some stranger sitting waiting, with
tnat dog-man coming the chief over ’em all, as if he were
head servant in Ohilderwitch—‘take plenty of wraps with
you; your journey will be a cold one, especially on the
railway, for the train does not reach London until ten
o’clock. Of course the colonel meets you then.”?

“Going away, mav’am?” queried the housckeeper, all
aga “and my Jady this low ?”? ‘ :

“Only for a day or two,’? said Miss Ingrave. suavely.
‘Don’t trouble Mrs. Thorncliff, she has heard bad news
from the colonel, A wife’s first duty is to her husband.’

Going down stairs she glided by Jane’s side, whispering:

“It is there Dimon will luvkK for you fitst—don’t go io
Oolonet Thorncliff.”” i

Jane hesitated a moment by my lady’s door; then love
overcame her, and she stole in.

My lady was still asleep; Mrs. Garnet softly fanning her.
Jape crept in, bent over her and kissed her.*

~“Qoou-by, sweet, good, loving Lady Thorneliff!’ she
ere “Heaven Kuows whetuer I may ever see you
again. é

+ So she passed ont, sore-hearted.

Not a glimpse of the barouet. Evidentiy he was resolved
that the siren who had bewitched him once should have
no chance to try her arts again.

It would have been Judicrous to observe the state which
surrounded the exodus of the penniless Jeunte Vail had
any body been there to lookibeneath the. surface aud tuke
the situation in. Mt s

There stood the vast family coach with its ginger colored
brocade linings and: its crest as big asa plate warmer;
Jones, white-gloved and white-stockinged, holding the
coach door open; Dodge seated iimmovably on the box in
his cape and cockade, solemnly gripping the reins of the
gigantic sleek pair, whioh champed and nodded in their
gilded trappings; a maid withan armful of rugs and
shawls, which a footman was taking from her and running
down the steps with, to dispose inside the coach; and
Miss Ingrave in her pearly robes and sapphire rivoous,
sweetly See Thorneliff a good journey and a safe
return; when the fact was that the pale, preoccupied
young lady in the neat traveling suit, fs just a poor,
duet » bewildered Cinderella afer the clock siruck

welve

“Where to, Mra?” inquired Jones, when she wasseated.,

Where to, indeed! ;

Where would she safe from Dimon. Addertey? How
could she escape from his vigiiant eye?

Miss Ingrave solved the enigma for her. ,

“What can

 

 

“To the railway station,” said she, with a meantng took
as Jans, “aud stay with her untilyou sec her off. 7 - 3

They rumbled away. :

When (hey were beyond: the gates of Ohilderwitch a
horseman passed the window looking in.

It was my Lord Adderley!

Jane grew faint with terror,

Driven from Ohilderwitch, the instant she passed its
gates she fell into this man's handst Horrified and des-
perate she resolved to balk him at all hagards,

She ordered Dodge to drive to the telegraph office,
alighted, and seni off this telegrain to Colonel Thorneliff:

“I have failed and am in extreme danger. QGome if you
can and tell me what to do. I am at the ‘Thorneli
Arms,’

{To BE CONTINUED.

False Champion.

By Mrs, Helen Corwin Pierce.

{“Tho False Champion” was commenced in No. 43. Back num-
bers can be had from any News Ageut in the United States. ]

OHAPTER lL,

A week after, Verner Ruble, who had been—not really
ill, but mostly Kept tn his rooms by lurguor aud dullness
—cime round to see Lord Champion again.

His tordshtp had just dismissed the detective still em-
ployed by himself and Lady Isabel in the search for young
Hugh, who, my ludy woutd have it, was not dead. Lord
Champion was bitterly displeased with the detective in
question at this moment, because he had, instead of fol-
lowing out a@-certain course inarked out for him by his
lordship, gone his own way, and so, my lord maintained,
ruined everything.

In his anger Lord Champton told over the story of his
digappointment to Verner Ruble,

The young man had thrown himself upon a lounge, and
was lying down. He sat up suddenly, Nis fine eyes glow-
ing. :

“Ohampton,”’ he snid, “something to do just now would
keep me from wishing dreadfal things every moment.
Hire me to goin search of this chtld. Plt try not todo
any harm, if I can’t accomplish any good.”

rd Ohampton started, then. looked at him refleotively.
If his wild theory concerning this mrn’s ideutity was cor-
rect, to do as he proposed would be to send the /uther in

 

 

 

 
  

search of the son The thought thrilled him. His face}
tlushed.
“If you are in earnest,’ he said, “you shi Mi
“Lanm—very muoh in earnest. If you wi cust me, I
willdo allthatl can. I should ike to be the one to re-
atore to Lady Isabel Champion her beautiful boy.”

Lord: Champion averted his face to conceal rts excite-
ment. i

For the next two hours the palr discussed the position,
and that night, in spite of every argument Count Rable
could urge tothe contrary, Veruer Ruble departed for
that far northern locality in which Lady Isabel had been
when young Iiugh was stolen from her side. ,

The young man Set forth in high hopes. His beautiful,
pate face had sucha flush as seldom came to its marble
pallor, His deep eyes gieamed more darkly blue than
ever. He was full of the wildest ho

“Tt will be something worth living for to see my lad
smile when I give her back her boy,’® he said to himselt,
with @ rapt idolatry shining in his glance. “Perhaps she
will give me her lily sweet hand to kiss, and forgive me
at last for looking like that lost love of hers, who was so
blest in being loved by her.” a ;

It was a day of bitter rain and wind on which he reached
Dorset. All the way he had studied diligently some papers
which Lord Chumpion.had given him. They were notes
of all that might be of importance to him. Some of them
were in Lidy Isabel’s picturesque yet distinct hand. Over
these last the young man lingered doiingly, and furtiveily
kissed the pretty, delicate hand over aud over again.

Al Dorset he had p long and = consultation with
Luna, at theinn where Lady Isabel had stayed when
poor Oraven had been mardered, and whenoe the boy had
so mysteriously vanished.

Luna had not forgotten the beautiful lady whe had
such flashing black eyes, such a tustrous smile, and guve
her more gold iu one hour than she could earn in a year.
She was slirewd and quick-witted.,

My lady had given Lord Champion elaborate notes of
all poor Oraven had told her, as well as of all she had her-
self guessed concerning Demon Orawley. Tho young man
catied Verner Ruble had these notes with him, and he and
Luna went over them together.

Alterward they sent for young Hasby, whom, the reader
may remember, Lady Isabel had invited to go on that
fateful ride with her and her enemies, when both he and
she had well nigh died by thelr cunning enmity. Finalty,
our amateur deteotive set out by himself for Brenlau, on
that journey which had twice so nearly cost Lady Isabel
her hfe. 0

His heart beat high, his temples throbbed. with almost
unendurably ecstatic imaginings as he proceeded, piek-
ing his way among the chalk-pits, and thinking now of
queenly Ludy Isabel, now of the wretch who had dared
pretend a husband’s right to that pure and lovely Jady,
when——

But it is not for us to anticipate.

Arrived a Brenlau, young Ruble sauntered through the
quiet, dreaming, half sleeping town,

And lo, a8 he went, one and gnother stared at him

strangety, and menu and boys began to gather itt Knots.

and groups, pointing toward him and muttering. They
even followed him. Then, suddenly, from a low miserable
house he was passing, burst a wrinkled and puckered oid
dame, who threw her skinny arms about his neck, and
screained with delight at sight of him, Then, growing
mum and mysterious, she drew him with many a sly nod
and glance and significant whisper, inside the wretched
house she had come out of.

‘They will murder you if they find you,’ the wrinkled
old beldame said, her small eyes, starting with terror,
“They know,——every one in tlie town knows it was you
who——”? ;

She paused—listening acutely, then started ‘wildly to
her feet, crying “Madman, how dare you come here?
The avengers of blood are already after you. Hear them!’!

foung Rabie smiled inan exulling yet terrible man-
ner. ,

Among Lord Ohampion’s queer theories had been one to
account for the resemblance of the impostor to the true
Ralph, Veruer Ruble suspected that ie might be on the
track of that resemblance,

“Madame, he questioned? “whom do you take me for?!’

** Yourself,’ augwered the woman, ‘for Dirok Craw-
ley, son of my son and the daughter.of the actress lady,
Who.is calied Lady Calthorpe now!—-you are he.’?

A strange hum and tamult was growing outside.

“ Fly while there is time, e’re they tear you limb from
limb,’’ the beldame screamed.

The exultant smile had deepened on the crimson lips of
young Ruble. Tie light of a glorious triumph glowed in
his deep biue eyes as the fuk purport of the words she had
just said stoie through his amazed senses,

7 I do not fear theo,’ he said. They can prove noth-
ng.

“«They Know all,’! said the woman in a horrid whisper.
** You left him for dead on the floor, bat he rallied after
you were gone, and told the tale. He lives yet to swear
that you robbed and then tried to murder him, Hark!
They are like wild beasts in their passion,” ste said, her
eyes almost leaping from their sockets in her fright.

Young Ruble listened a moment.

Then he stepped to a window aud looked ont, He could
see a crowd coming that way, aud hear the murmur of
their angry voices,

“Are they comiug for Dirck Crawley, the murderer?’ he
asked, scornfully. ‘*Let them come, lam not he.’’

The beldame stared. 4

“Not Dirck f’ she said, and then crept close again, and
peered into his fuce and eyes eagerly, while her jaw drop-
ped, and her yellow face turned a tallowy white.

She rubbed her Knuckles flercely iu her own sunken
orbs, and luoked again. . '

“You see now that Tam not your grandson, do you
not?’? questioned Ruble.

The woman hesitated a moment, a cruel and treacher-
ous light beginning to glitter in her eyes, auda craity
snaile to distort her parcliment tips. .

“Hefthef? she grinned. “What a joke. If you aint
Dirck who be you? You be him; I'd swear to that, and I
wil,” she added, with a wicked iltonation, as the
crowd outside swarmed up to the very door of lier miser-
able dwelling. : : i

A brief moment Verner Rubie blanched, as ke guessed
the creature's diabolical parpoge to insist upon his identity
at grandson, aud heard the throng screechiug out-
side.

The next, he pulled the door open and stood facing
them, with calm, uuquailing eyes and scornful tip.

“Whom do you take me for’? he demanded sternly, as
they fell back involuntarily before his keen, commanding
glance,

Hisses ani groans, muttered growls, answered him,
growing louder every moment as their rage grew.

He caught the epithets, “Murderer, ‘Villain,’ ‘As-
sassin,”? aud the name Crawley, atid his haudsoine lips
smiled contemptuously.

ion him! Down with him!" shrieked more than twenty
voices.

They made a rush, but quicker even than they young
Ruble flashed out a revolver. 5

“Back? he commanded, ina terrible volee, “I'l trouble

ou to prove I’m Dirck Crawley befure you murder mie.
k at me well if you please, friends,” :

He tossed off his hut with the disengaged ‘hand, and
turned fullupon thent his frank, fearless: face, crowned
with athousand dark bright rings of curling hair. He
drew his slender, lithe form proudly erect; and seemed to
defy them all.

He addressed them again, smiling faintly at the sudden,
breathless hush, their bewildered looks.

“De I look tike him?” he asked.

The crowd stared und said nothing for two minutes
more. Evidently they wetu greatiy confounded. ‘wo or
three Were bold enough to whisper that the young man
waa not Orawley, bat tue others scowled them down.

OHAPTER LI.

“Take htm to the Laird himself,” shouted some one.

‘ay, to Lie Laird with him; el: know,'’ shrieked a
Score or more of voices,

Young Rabie iifted his hand, They were sient {nstantly.

“Promtse that L shall be unharmed till the Laird has
seen ine and I'l go,” he said,

The noisy‘and excited crew had grown comparatively
calm. They solemnly opened their ranks and he as fear-
lessly eutered then, tid bine re Shining with an exuit-
ant gleam none there had the key to. :

“He looks like him ag two-peas,” some muttered among

~~

 

forward. Young Ruble caught his mieani

‘death.

<4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY #$3=— |

A

 

 

 

themseives, stealing furtive glances at the handsome,
dauntiess face. .

“There's a brightness and honesty in Iais look,’ others
sald, perplexedly, ‘which Direk Crawley never had.
Dirck was a thieving sneak and toward. This one looks,
like @ priuce and as bold as a tion.”

“Do you see his hair,’ asked still another. ‘Dirck
hadn't no such curls as them.”

And then they were at Castle Brenlau; and the Laird,
& tall, tottering, While-haired oll man, Wilh blear eyes
and faltering tongue, came forth at their call. This old
man had been a good friend to the villagers and they
idolized every gray hair upon his aged head. He had
been of -as keen intellect and shrewd wits as any, but he
was in his dotage now, and his sense and his sight alike
were terribly dimmed. Dirck Crawley had been his trainer
at one time, and had been exceedingly well treated by the
old gentleman who had a weakuess for horses, and es-
teemed Grawiey as a good hand among his equine pets.
Dirck Orawley had requited this kindness and confidence
by trying to murder him, and indeed nearly accomplish-
ing it. He had left the Laird for dead, and gone olf with
his strong box. d

The Laird of Brenlau had been nursing his wrath
against Dirck Crawley for a number of years. He screamed
with fury at sight of Verner Ruble now, faucyin& from
the resemblance that it was Indeed the cruel ingrate who
had robbed and tried to kill him,

The crowd began to ‘mutter threats again as they beheld
the beloved Laird’s excitement.

Young Ruble laughed scornfully. .

“Let me go nearer to him,’’ he said. ; :

But the chitdish, broken old man spat at him, and his
small eyes ae spiteful fires.

“Oh, you serpent, you viper, you toadr’ the old man
shrieked. ‘Do you think I don’t know you?”

“Tam sure you do not,” calmly answered Verner Ruble.
"T never saw you in my life befure. Look closer, old man,
before you condemn one who would scorn to take advan-
tage of a babe—who was never unjustto one of God's
creatures knowingly.”

At this moment the beldame whe had first accosted him
inthe town came up. Sheseemedto have run all the
way. Her white halr streamed loose on the wind, her
Witch-like. arms were brandishing like fails, aud her
voice rose in an eldritch sliriek as ske Mung herself upon
the horrified poung man, orying:

“Save hit! spare nimi—the only prop of my old age—
may my Dirck, my son’s son??? :

erner Rable broke from that serpent clasp at last, and
put the crone from him sternly.

“Woman, he sald, “how dare you cajl me Direk? You
know lamnothe. Answer before I forget you are a wo-
min and strangle the Ile. in your throat! Am 1 Dirck
Orawley, your grandson ¢”?

The old woman shuddered with terror, but the cruel re-
solve tn her wicked heart did not change. With a dex-
trous tiiat she extricated herself{{rom hts flerce grip, and
at a safe distance stopped to call back: ©

“I thought (hey all Knowed ye, Dirck, or I wonldn’t ha’
peut Anyhow ye didn’t Az the Laird. Mind ’em o’
that, whatever ye set vut to do.’*

Young Rabie’s heart sank within him as the beldame’s
Words care back to hin, and he fell rather than saw the
ominous gloom deepen on the rugged faces of those whe
hemmed him innow on every side, pressing near and
nearer, like half-fumished beasts, hungry for his bivod,
and muttering significatt horribie threats, which made
even his brave biood run oold. For what was he, with
alt his fearlessness and innocence, against so many ? Who
that was human could hope to battle successfully against
such a horde of wolves as these ?

Sill he resolved not to die without a desperate straggle.
He had his good, true revolver sifll in his breast. He
wouki sell his lile dearly if needs must be.’ Every bullet-
laden mouth sould speak its awful message home.

The biaze iu his biue eres sweeping rouud daunted
some of the foremost, and they would have shrank back,
a others behind crowded them forward.

ome half-dozen only stood between the intrepld young
man and the castle wall, on top of which sat the Laird of
Brenlau iu a cushioned chair, surrounded Uy his devoted

servants, ‘

The Laird was speaking, and gesticulating violently as
his iiéarly palsied hands would jet him. He was not cru-
el or blovdthirsty.. He had not anticipated any such fear-
ful result as now threatened from his assertions concern-
ing the identity of this man with his would-be murderer,
The sight of alt those dreadful, vengefully-set fuces, each
speaking one terrible thought and meaning, shocked the
poor old Laird to the verge of mudness,

He shouted in his weak, small voice; he screamed at
the top of his piping tones, eufeebted by age; heshook his
staff at them, and tore his white hair.

In vain. No one heard him.

That frenzy, that hideous and unnatural madness, which
is apt to all mobs soon or late, had taken up its
abode in the heads of these ignorant yet usually slow-tem-
pered people.

They muttered to each other; they growled; the tumult
grew Lo a roar like thunder. Above that how could the
smull, snaking tones of an old mau’s voice be heard?

Young Rubie in his desperation had just pulled out his
revolver aud was wheellug, now this way now that, in
rapid sweep, aud pointing at the breasts of his would-be
inurderers. Suddenly his flashing glance leaped to that
Soene on the topof the wall. Tue throug was. thinnest
near the wall.

One of the Laird's stout servitors caught his eye, and
lousening his heavy plaid, Knotted one end and flung it
‘8 He thrust
the revolver back in his vest, then witha en leap, all
unlooked for by his foes, he broke through the few be-
tween him and the Knotted plaid, caught at it with both

SS Sl

“They'd be better off among wolves and grvztiea than in your
ring So, have done, I gay. The children are not to be sepa-
rated.

La Valiette drew a deep breath, and her eyes blazed like a fu-
ry’s, as, with her back still agninst the tog, see edged her way up
to the corner in whioh Little Cobweb was cowering, with the arm
of Tightrope Tim around her,

Montrose marked her, and, grasping her once more by the
throat, he dragged her into the middle of the cabin.

“Remain where you are, or go to the other cabin,” said he.

But now the robbers themselves, wicked as they were, began te
become demonstratively interested. In the drat place they
grabbed the Italian.

“Hold, gentlemen! hold!’? he whined.
my barrel of whisky 7”

“Come with another barrel, and yon ean give that too,” they
jeered ; and-he jwas presrem opi iaiy hustied out in the rain:

La Vallette fought like a tigress; bat she was thrust ont, and
went roaming up the glen, gnashing ber teeth and howling like
a& madweman—tor, in truth, by this time she was little else,

Montrose resumed his seat by the fire, asif nothing out of the
way had occurred.

He felt some one take his hand, and warm drops falling upon
it. He looked down.

It was Tightrope Tim, kneeling at his side, kissing hia hand and
bedewing it with hds gushing tearg,

“Th-thank you, sir, for not lettung °em part me and Little Cob-
web! Oht Heaven’ll bless you for it,” sobbed the Jad.

For an instant the man of crime quivered like a leaf; his face
was fearfully convulsed; conn Nike a groan seemed to well
up from away deep down In his evil breast; and then, snatching
his hand away, he wasdhimeelf again.

“You shall not be tortured by those fiends again,” said he;
“but expect ne mercy from me. Return to your corner. Simon
will supply you both with plenty of food.”

All that day, and during the succeeding night, the storm not
only raged with unprecedented fury but seemed tbe constantly
on the increase.

The creek, swollen far beyond its Jimits by the continuous tor-
rents of rain, burst over its banks and even threatened to invado
the glen in which the cabin stood. They could hear its furious
roaring, like the billows of the ocean on a rocky shore. ie

Mighty pines that had stood the wear and tear of cycles of
4 sa came crashing down from their rocky perched on the
ignts, They feared even for the safety of the cabin, it swayed
and rocked so violently in the furious blasts.

The robbers passed the time in drinking, smoking, card-play-
ing, and execrati the: tempest. Montrose drank, too, but
sparingly, and paeed the floor iu silence. Tightrope Tim and
atti Oobweb, well-fed, kept to their eorner, and caressed each
other,

On the morning of the third day the storm broke. The wind
fell, the rain drew into a drizzle, und the sun tried to cast a lance
or two through the rolling clouds.

ackson, the robber-clief, came down from the upper end of
thé gorge. Ho was a small man, with a thin, shrill vorce, but
his eye was illuminated with the baleful luster of tho inborn
fiend, Sin and desperation were engraved in every line of his
iron face. Every motion ot his sinewy, compact frame was mm

stinct with the treacherous esa of the panther.

cme are well through wHh it, men,” be said, aa he entered the
cabin.

He had scarcely spoken era.comething came screaming tp tlie
Borge, followed by an explosion Tipechy catsicie,

“By thunder! it’s a bomb-shnell!” exclaimed one of the robbers.

Allstood transfixed; Montrose, with something like a smite
upon his lips. .

A man, sorely wounded, eame limping toward the cabim He
was one of the outposts, :

“Speak, Roberts!” cried the chief.

“They’ve come upon us under cover of the storm,” panted tle

an,
“Upward of fifty men—horses and riders covered with mud—
armed to the teeth, and powder dry.”

“Tsthat all '” .

“No; there’s a batterywf United States ficld artillery.*

Here another shell interrupted him, "

“You see,” gasped the mian, “Pete and I—we was—was—ex-
cuse me, cap—I—I—”’
He tottered forward and fell upon his face, dead,

GHAPTER XVII.
THE ATTACK AND THE RESCUL >

“Simon,” cried the captain, “lead all hands to. the lewer pass
atonce} I will attend to the upper.”

The robber-chief darted awuy hike an arrow.

Five minutes thereafter the robbers, to the number of about a
score, including several Indians, were filing down the Niche, un-
der the leadership of old Bimon. ,

Montrose lingered behind a moment.

‘Remain just where you are,” he added to Tim. “I think you
WHl be sale here.” :

He stopped, as if about to say something more, but concluded
he wouldn't, He buckled his belt, with its knife and pistols,
around him, seized a rifle that stood against the wall, and ran
out of the cabin, tollowing the others.

The robbers were soon ensconsed at the lower passof the Niche,
It was barely thirty feetin width, with abranch of the main
stream brawling down the center. From their powitions bebind
the lesser frocks they could elearly mark the enemy, and remain
coppsradvely invisible themeelves.

"ne rain had ceased entirely, and they coukd clearly dis-
tinguish their assailants, who hud not eome as yet withii easy
ran :

“Didn't I give you all

m

 

ge.

Tne horsemen were dismounting, on account of the broken
ground, and proparing to attack on foot. Direotly behind them
was the portion of the battery, consisting of two thirty-+ix pound-
ers, a3 the survivers afterward learned. kept up acon-
tinuous firing of shells, which, however, bursting far up in the
glen, did no harm.
The attacking party now began to move forward on the double-
quick, firing asthey came. The robbers, suffering no damage
themselves, opened upon them with eonsiderabie etiect. Tire as-
Sailants did not waver, but man after man began to fall in his
tracks as they came within deadly range.
“Now give it to them altogether!” shouted cid Simon.
The robbers got in their first umted volley at short range.
Sevon or eight ot the attacking party fell, aud the rest instautly
beat a retreat, carrying off their wounded.

he robbers raised a deafening shout, and got in anether vol-
ley before their foes were ent of range. :

The river-men formed and waited, while the artillermen seem-
ed to be doing something with the guns,

“T wonder what they’re about now,” muttered Simon,

He was answered a moment later by another shell, which, in-
stead of wasting its fury far upin the glen, burst directly over
their heads, and the bravo at his side tumbled ou his lace, with
the top ot his skull blown off.

The robbera were unused to this sort of warfare. With oaths
and curses they crouched, trembling, under the shelter of the
overhanging rocks as well as sao ees Montrose alone st
erect, alinost needlesely exposed, WS Aud firing his rifle in a
dull, mechanieal way. 2 ;

There came another shell. Twoof the men—one of them an
Indian—fell desperately wounded. Almost at the same instant

 

hauds, held it, and while the Laird’s attendants at his
command braced themselves at one, end, he mounted by
the other Ike a clever gymnast, and in a moment stood
at the top bowing and smiling defiance {nu the discomfited
and gaping faces of his late enemies,

Ata gesture of the shaking Laird they were still now as
At & word from him now they turned slowly but
obediently to depart, and soon not a soul was in sight but
o Laird of the castle, his near retainers, and Verner
Ruble.

The young man’s handsome cheeks glowed now with
grateful and feryentemotion. The aged eyes of the Laird
had softened front thelr former fire as they rested upon
this man who was no longer to his generous soul his ene-
my bat nis forgiven debtor,

erner Rabie might come close now. The malice of
revenge was dead in the Kind old man’s heart.

The young man.came and knelt beside his chair and
touched the wrinkled hand with his lips.

“Towe you my life,’ le said, in his sad voice, thrilled
with emotion, ‘Lookin my face and see if I could ever
have been capable of seeking yours.”

He threw up his handsome, curi-wreathed head. He
showed the old Laird his’ fair, open face, his blue, deep,
fearless eyes, as unlike demon Orawley’s wicked, treach-
erous countenance after all,as the solid green earth is
unlike a quicksand. aS

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

 

Tightrope Tim.
| By Burke Brentford.

(“Tight-Rope Tim” was. commenced in No. 5. Back numbers
can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.)

CHAPTER XVI.
SOMETHING GOOD IN HIM STILL

' Little Tim had heard in a listiess way all that had pass-
ed between Montrose and Simon,,as recorded in the pre-
ceding chapter. : ;

Little Oobweb had fallen asleep in his arms, but he re-
mained awake long alter Montrose had laid down, listen-
ing to the terrific tentpest that whirled and hurtied about
the cabin. Then, rather from mental anguish than physi-
cal exhaustion, he too sank into a doze. ,

When he awoke it was broad daylight, though the
storm still raged with unabated fury. Nearly every one
in the cabin was astir. ‘The men, red and white, were
lounging about smoking pipes, cleaning their weapons,
or looking discontentedly out atthe weather. Old Simon
was boiling something in a pot over the fire. Montrose
had resumed his seat, and was again jookiug meditatively
into the flames.

Little Tim, still folding his companion tenderly in-his arms,
remained very quietly where he was, watching everything.

Presently Signor Brinzski and La Vallette came in to dry them-.
selves at the fire, and our hero shrank still more deeply into his
corner, in the hope that they would fail to observe him,

Dripping with rain, bed led with water and mud, and their
eyes bloodshot from the debauch of the day before, the pair pre-
sented a decidedly woe-begone appearance. -

They staggered up to the fire and stood for some time gazing
ener and hopelessly out at the storm, through the open

oor, :

Pretty soon, however, La Vallette’s bleary gaze wandered to-
ward the corner where the httle pair were nestled away. With
one long howl, which not a red man in the cabin could have
ae in his most demoniac war-whoop, she made a spring for
Little Cobweb.

Tim covered tho blanket about his companion, and drew her to
him protectingly. But in an tnstant the virage had the child by
— ot the head, and was swinging her about like a wax

 

 

“Oh, you wench! you hussy! I ha ‘ou at last!’ she yelled,
fairly crazy with findish delight. of pi

“Have done, tiger-cat!’’ muttered a stern, hard voice.

The next instaut the child-was snatched from her clutch, and
a violent push sent her reeling inst the wall.

Briuzskt-had mado an almost simultaneous and equally enthu-
siastic rush for Tightrope Tim. The latter had long since given
up all hope for anything but death; and he was resolved to die
hard. Thank Heaven! he stlil retained all the physical vigor
and aotivity of his hard training, ee

He leaped to his feet, and as the Italian came on he struck
him asharp, stinging blowin the middle of the face, bringing
the blood coplo' hi

“Hooray! gout, little *aun!'’ roared tho ruffianss

But the next instant Tim was swinging aloit in the tremendous
grip of the Italian.

‘Hold!’ exclaimed the same stern voice; and the same strong
hand tore the boy from Brinzski’s clutch, while the latter was
feat reeling into the doorway from a blow well delivered under

ear.

Both he and his wife stood gazing at the interferer in stupid
wonder, scarcely believing their eyes; for it was none other than

Walter Montrose.

“Why, Mr. Mon—~, I moan, mine good sir, ain't I goin’ to
oe my little boy ft” gasped Brnnzski.

“No,

“And my little girl—my little daughter—didn* yon bring her
for oat pliers fs Valiette, mcr : .

“What did you bring them for, then ? ronred the woman.
“Por captivity, not tor torture—they’ve had enough of that. If
weer one of you lay a hand on those children, you do it at your
peril,
“Bat only want to get rid of the boy; you got nothing to
Ae eet et eeaniaas nym
088 W, ; the ‘ain*
“My tt the ti:

nn
te child go with red men f” howled the

 

there came a volley of bullets, and another man puid his last

debt.

‘Furies!’ exclaimed old Simon, peeping over his rock, “the
river-men are within a hundred yards, and are firing across the
detile slantwire.” :

Just as he spoke another bullet struck off his raocoon-skin cap,
causing him to dodge down with agile prudence. Then cume au-
other shell, this time witho :

But Simon immediately ordere
the goree. .

“We'll all be killed here in ten minutes if we remain,” said he.
“Come, sir, come!” he added, grasping Montrose, who showed
no inclination to retreat.

They almost had to drag him away; and the wholo party, car-
rying their wounded with them, hurried up the Niche.

Upon reaching the center of the broad cavern they halted in
dismay at hearing furious firing from the upper entrance of the
Niche. A few moments later and a score of robbers, with Jack-
son, the chief, at their head, came dashing down the gorge, and
the two parties at once came together in great confusion.

“We're hemmed in at both ends, like rate in a hole,” screamed
Jackson. ‘‘Our only chance is to fight tothe death. Follow me
in a ch through the lower passage. Remember! every man
fights with arope round his neck.” S 7

He formed them three abreast with singular dispatch.

“Knives, men! knives!’ he cried, brandishing his own, “Knives
and revolvers! Now; altogether! ;

Waving their weapons they rushed down the defile im gallant
style, and with desperate cries.

| But befors they reached the crossing of thie brawling brook the
river-men filed iuto the pass and shattered tlieir advance by a
deadly disoharge. Jackson himselt tell mortally wounded.

“Upon them!” he squeaked, in his strange voice, with a pain-
ful oath, gnashing his teeth, “Cut their hearts our!!? With his
last words he fell back a corpse. ‘
el a now & hand-to-hand contest, and though vastly unequal,
it was kept up with desperate corey by the robbers.

Basil Manners, who was one of the attacking party, saw and
recognized Montrose as the ian who had chiorutormed him,
and, cocking his revolver, he made at him with a flerce cry. But
a surge in the combat swept them apart. i

At that moment, Montrose, wiile engaged in a desperate
struggle with one of the hunters—in which he was the victor—
lost his hat, wig and false whiskers, “4

‘Walter Bloutrose!” exclaimed Manners, in supreme astonisi-

&
@ retreat to the upper end of

ment,
“Ay,” said Montrose, who was deathly role and who appeared
to ate man to have grown years vider since he had last
seen

m.

Montrose cast aside his knife and revolver, folded his arms
zo oa breast, and said, calmly, but somewhat wearily,
** Fire!” ;

‘‘Not I!’? said the young man, lowering his weapon; but at
that momenta random bullett reached the heart of him who
seemed to long for death; and Walter Montrose feil dead.

The fight was soon over, but not before nearly all the bandits
were slain. Only a few were taken prisoners.

A wild, joyous cry saluted young Manners trom the door of the
cabin. He turned, and then sprang forward to receive Tightrope
Tim and Little Cobweb in his arms.

They followed the victors up the gorge. A group, assembled
about some object, caused thein to pause.

The object was the corpse of La Valiette, Her body was dis-
gustingly swollen, her tace discolored, with foam upon. its lips,
her whole appearance denoting that she had expired in a At of
delirium tremens. : :

As they turned away in shuddering horror from this spectacte,
another almost equally revelting met their gaze. Jt was that of
a laughing, shouting mob, dragging them two miserabie
wreteues by ropes tied about their necks.

These two wretches were the Italian, Signor Brinzski, and the
renowned contorionist, Mr. Silas Shanks.

The latter appeared to be rendered completely idiotic with | ter-
ror, and paid no attention to either Tim or Lite Cobweb. His
knees knocked togetirer, bis baboon-like countenance was cou-
pletely bloodless, and he bent forward now and then and an-
swered to the tugging rope about his neck wuel: as an unwilling
cur might have done.

But the villainous Brinzski, as soon ashe beheld Tim, rushed
up, at the risk of being choked by his tether, and fell upon his
knees at his feet. *

“Oh, Tim, Tim!” he whined in piteous ‘accents, clasping his
hands and weeping at the same time; “you can save me, my
dear little boy! You cau rescue me from these frightful meu.
Only tell them that I never beat nor hurt you. Do, now! there’s
a@ zood little sh Now, you know I was always good and knaid
to you, wasn’t I, Tim’ You'll swear toit, won’t you? You'll
get Little Cobweb to swear toit, too, won’t you? Teil these good
gentlemen here that you will, that’s a dean jittle Tim {7
_ Tim turned away, white and speechless with horror and loath-
ing. ste wf ae ral ic
Foome, fet up, old greaser!’ cried one of the men, giving the

ajerk.

Brinzski yelled, screamed, and begged until he was black in
the face, but they dwagged him away alter his companion in sin
and wretchedness, ‘

“Come,don’t be downcast, my little friends,” said Basil, tak-
ing up Little Cobweb in his arms. ‘‘We’l go back tothe cabin
and rest, and there you can teli me all about what you have seen
among these wretches,” ; .

“But where is grandpapa—my grandpapa?” said Little Oob-

wed. auf

“He was too old lo attempt the terrible journey we have made,
my dear. He is walting in the town for you.¥

They went to tle cabin, and there Tim related his simple but
eventiul story; and not a littiedid he dwell upon the klndnexs
which Montrose had remorsefully bestowed upon him toward the
close of his captivity.

Basi! then told them of the terrible march they had undergone
during the last night of the storm.

“Luckily,” he added, “we happened to get that battery to ac-
company us. It was on its way to ono ef the interior foris, and,
when we stated the object of our expedition, the captain offered
to lend us a couple of his guns, with the mente man them, al-
though he exceeded his authority in doing so. Without their aid
I fear we should not have succeeded in uvearthing:these rascals,
they were so strongly rant r

“Yes,” sald Tim; “they all bezgan to tremble, even if they did
swear, the moment the first shell burst justover the cabiu. here,
But where is the ‘man who carried me ofl, and who after
seemed to repent of ity” 3 ’

“He is dead, Tim; and pray try and never think of bim again.
Now we had better get out of the gorge, and gy to the camp of

.} our men,”*

Avoiding ag much as possible the hiaeous spectacles of death

 

that Were acattered alinost everywhere througli the glen, Man-

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ners eonducted the chiiiren
had bee made near where fhe cunnen were posted. Many of
the men were upon the battle-tleld burying the dead, bul the

= wese ln camp. ,
é pr ot Tightrope Tim and Little Cobweb was balled
wv rant enthusisam, ’

thing ouly remulned to mar the eheerful and hilarious

scene.

A lone, Hghtning-scarred tree, with But a single branch re-
maining, stood, like a giant obelisk, within less than a stone’s
throw of the cheerful camp. It was some distance from the
Niche, and the enly tree to be seen on the prairie proper.

Aud irom that single branok the ghastly corpses of
Signor Brinzski and Silas Shanks. kh

CHAPTER XVIII.
CONOLUSION,

On a cir#] autumnal cvening, about a month after the events
marrated in the bust chapter, a pleasant party were assembled in
the comfortable drawing-room ef Mrs, Martha NMoutrose’s resi-
dence on Fiith avenue, New York. :

most noticeable figures in the group were Mrs. Montrose
herself, and a sad-eyed thoughtful boy, whe sat upon an ottaman
at her knee,

Whe hatter was Master Thoiias Montrose, heir to Montrose
Hall, and the vast estates pertaining thereto, in England. But,
though perhaps more thoughtful, he is not near so sad-eyed as
when, iu the character of Tightrope Tim, he figured through the
pages of this eventful story. Huis elegant clothes became his
gracelul frame, still showing something of the trained atniete in
in its lithe and vigorous proportions, though gradually filling out
under kind and generous treatment. ; : ;

is mother had little difficulty in establishing his kienthy with
her long-lost chald. Her agents in England had found out the
residence of the old nurse, Rebecca, who was an accessory to his
abduction, and forwarded her to America. The old woman was
almost Jost in imbecility, but her memory served her well
enough to fully establish Tim as the missing heir. Indeed, since

the death of Walter Moutrose, there was no one to dispute it.

+ The y mother but little resembles the poor, sorrow-stricken
creature sie first appeared to our readers. ‘True. the remaius of
sorrow, of jong suffering remain upon her noble brow, but the
rose of bealth has bloomed upon her cheek; her form is robust
and strong, and a quiet air of happiness and contentment liu-
gers upon herlips. And pow and then, when gazes down
-upon the brown-haired head upon whicli her hand’ so caressingly
rests, the light that illuminates. her gentle eyes speaks of that
Mother’s love whose holiness no tongue can express, whose POW.
er no pen can describe. . ri

Opposite to them sits an eccentric-appearing, but withal, ven-
erabie old gentleman, who, from force of habit, however out of
place at present, rests one hand upon a massive, gold-headed
walking-stick. The other rests upon the golden head of an angel-
girl who sits upon his knee.

Little Oobweb—it is scarcely necessary for me to give her real
name—has changed eyen more than her old companion in sutter-
ing. She is still ashy, timid little thing, but with eyes luminous
with growing intelligence, and her little face the incarnation of
childlike loveliness. 4

Mr. Perkins had little difficulty in proving her identity with his
daughter’s child, who was abducted from her mother’s house by
Strolling players, in the north of England, when she was little
More than a babe. He only had to satisfy himself on the iden-
= question, and now she is his heir and his darling forever.

here are only two more in the room—Miss Florence Grayton
pire, Montrose’s young sister it will be remembered) and our
1andsome young friend, of extensive railroad connections, Mr.
Basil Manners. She is the picture of maiden loveliness and hap-
piness, The camelias in her dark hair are not more pure and
white than her tair young brow}; and her pretty lips are of a
dewier, softer tinge than the deep red coral brooch that heaves
upon her bosom.

dndeed, they are a splendid young couple, and are seated near
enough to be deemed true lovers.

Zhey are nothing else but lovers. f

The ehiet topics of the evening have been two approaching
eyents, the one quickly following the other,

First, the marriage of Florence and Basil on the next evening
but one; seeondly, the departure of all for England on the morn-
ing succeeding, -

You might wish me to have Tightrope Tim married to his Little
Cdébweb. Ihope he does do 50; butiny story was of the suffer-
ings and struggles of a boy hero, and’ it surely ceases when the

Heir in 8p: comes to bis own.
(THE END.}
ee
A Day Too Late;
OR, THE

HEIR OF GREYBURN.

. By Carrie Conklin.

{“A Day Too Late’? was commenced in No.1. Back numbers
can be obtained of any News Agentinthe United States}

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE END OF 8USPIOION.

Kate’s letter brought the viscount to London with-
out an hour’s loss of time, and when they met, the first
glance they exchanged told her how she had misjudged
him.

She had written to him very briefly, informing him of
her loss in the few lines, and though she made no direct
appeal to him, he took the earliest train that left for the
metropolis. Such an occurreuce made him feel the pain
of his position,.and he could not help reflecting on its
Strangepess, when the letter was brought to him at the
breaklast table. * 4

He had not forgotten Kate, She was not a woman to be
forgotten easily, and, least of all, by the man who had
Known the glory of her Jove. It was for her sake that he
exiled himself jrom London,.and made the grand old
Hampshire place a splendid hermitage. He was an honor-
able man, and he would not put himself in the way of
temptation. While he was fur away from her he could de-
vote himself to the Lady Isabel with an undivided soul;
but he remembered what a powerful influence his last in-
terview with Kate had upon him for days after it was over,
and he would not risk it again.

They had resigned each other, and he was mentally re-
solyéd to keep his part of the compact faithfully. lf he
could not—and he never could—forget whatshe had been
to him, he had determined never to interfere with her
career, or let that part of his existence make him less
than true to the poor girl who had nursed him through his
jong sickness and given him her purestlove. Of his own
free choice he would never have inet Kate on this side of
eternity, but it became a duty tosee her and to help her
now. >

Edward Musgrave drove from the station in a hansom,
and sent up his card with the ceremony of a stranger.
Kate was alone when she received him; he was calm,
courtly, and self-possessed, and gave her his hand rather
with the manner of an old friend than that of the man
who had been her husband and was the father of her lost
child. Kate noticed with deep regret that the change in
him was growing more marked; the anxious secret was
preying upon hin; he was too sympathetically nervous to’
go through a long life with such a trouble to weigh him
down, :

“To think that we should ever meet like this,’ he said
to himself. "We who loved each other pofive years
ago, and love each other stillin spite of the barrier be-
tweer us. This splendid woinanis mine, linked to me
by Nie strongest link of nature, and yet we meet like
strangers,’”’

Kate had something of the same thought in her mind,
but this was not the timeto entertain it. Between him
and her there only stood her pride, the implacable pride
of & 8trong-natured woman, who would be content with
nothing jess than. a man’s entire love. Between her
and him there stood his love for the woman who

(Was better suited to him, who was by culture, tempera-
ment, and disposition more contented]y and happily his
companion. : . °

That he fell, even at this moment—even while the old
tenderness was upon him, and they were united by the
common sympathy of theirloss; had they never been part-
ed they might have been very happy. Nowit was better
as it was, ;

“T haveto thank you, my lor® for coming so prompt-
ly,’ Kate said, witha reflection of his. own stateliness
inher tone; “though lam almost sorry that I troubled
you now. wrote in the first heat of my fear, when
I did uot know where to look for my boy, or whom to
suspect, I am afraid you can do nothing now to help
me.?? : oy :
. “It would be hard indeed to think that I had lost the
right to help you in a time of trouble,’ he said, with a
melancholy smile. ‘I cannot pretend to grieve as you
do for our jittie one, but I can and do feel deeply for
you. What measures haye you taken toward linding
him?’ ;

Kate told him, described how he was lost and when,
and explained the means instituted for his recovery. His
brow clouded 4 little at her frequent and almost atfection-
ate mention of Mr. Cieveland as Alfred, but the cloud
passed after a little time. ‘

“He is my dearest friend,’ Kato said, simply; ‘‘he is one
of those few true-hearted nen to whom a Woman can give
her hand in pare friendship.”

“Does he know of our marriage 9!”

“Ts that a wise question for you to nsk ???

“Yes,”? was the firm reply; ‘for my future course of

 

action in regard to those I love depends eutirely upon
the knowledge other men may acquire of my private
history.”

“Then he knows everything; but not from me, He and
Mr. Aylmer knew my secret long before I did.”

“It has been said there is uo such thing as a secret, and
I believe it,’ said Edward Musgrave, thoughtfully. ‘I
fear, Kate, we have both been wrong to keep the
truth untold to those who have most interest in knowing
it. I donot see what can be the end of this.’’

“You have nothing to fear from me, my lord. I shall
keep iny part of the compact; but you had better choose
some other time for telling me what tender interest you
have in her Jadyship’s children.” \

There Was a moody bitterness in her tone that troubled

mm. Ae

“Forgive me,” he said, ‘iflseemselfish, Believe me,
Kate, lum anxious to do my duty.”

“Ig it within the scope of possibility?” said Kate, with
an irrepressible flash uf scorn.. ‘That time is past. for
you.» Your duty means an almost yain attempt to keep
the truth hidden from your second wife, whileevery day
there is the chance that the Kuowledge inay come to her
from a stranger. Duty such as yours was, means sublime
moral courage—the very highest stage of heroism—soue-
thing wholly impossible toniman weak in his jove and
selfish in his passions. You have spared the Lady Isabel

-the painful truth so far. You have not told her that she
js not legally your wife. You have gone on strengihen-
ing thetie between you. ‘There are more children born
io bear your hame on sufferance—helpless innocents,
whom any ruthless hand may strip at any moment, and
fend branded down the hill of shame. Duty] why, you
never knew its meaning. The sole nimef yenr life can
only be a Jong endeavor to atone for haying left your duty
undone.’’ :

“There isnot much mercy in a woman,’! said Edward
Musgrave, moodily. ‘Your nature is sadly chauged.?

“There never is much mercy iu the truth. You have
nothing to fear from mie, my Jord. If your father were
dead, und you were free to-morrow, I would not give up
my professiOn and my friends to be your wife and the
Countess of Greybuyn, The man 1 Jovyed was Edward

 

wpon the plain to the eamp ar

OS

Musgrave, the peor secretary to a parvenu judge. Wih
the Viscouut Linveru—the aristoeral who lwartied a
lady of his own proud race—I have nothing to de. LH it
were bos too late, I wouul urge you te have our marriage

 

 

it huldg ines, but have pledged my word to keep our
secret, aud I will.” ‘

He ruse with & heavy heart.

“My soucilors shall have full instrnetions to nssist in
finding your child,” he said; ‘aud I shal @o my duly
to him, Kate, no matter what you may nore My lite wil
not be a long one, and yen de not make ll easier for me
to bear.’?

‘Tl am sorry if I have pained yon.”

“You simply speak she trath, and it is the fault of
our destiny that itshould pain me. Que point in your
story has mystified me exiremely. That of the dark
gentleman wiio uses a broughaom with our cresil. The
Inembers of Our family are so few. We are the only
Musgraves of Linvern or Greybarn. ‘There are the——~’

He paused. Before he could utter the strauge thought
Which had come to Lim, Mr. Cleveland was announced.

*T should like to see him,’ he said, quietly, — :

Alfred came up the stairs, hey hid met before, but
never in Kate's presence, aud an unusual gravily fell upon
both young men when she introduced them. The vis-
count was the first to offer his hand,

“T should like to know that you are my friend as well as
Kate’s,”? he said, with his melancholy smile. ‘Ll am
aware, Mr. Cleveland, that our secret is no secret to you.
The manner in which you intend to use it becomes a seri-
ous question to me,’ - ‘

“Tne manneris that ofthe last four years, Lord Lin-
vern. ‘The secret is not mine. I keptit from this lady
for herown sake. I shall keep it from the world sii, for
luer sake.” el

““A promise which I accept most gratefully. Isee you
understand my position.”

“And pity you from my soul,’ said Alfred, gently.
“The past is beyoud diseussion, my lord. When so
much of our lives is lost, itis goud philosophy to make
the best of whatremains, You have been talking of your
loss 77?

“Yes; and just as you came in, I was saying that I was
mystified by the gentleman who keeps a brougham with
our crest. [do notsee who he can be, unless he is Paul
Greville.”

“The same thought occurred to me, and startled me,”’
said Alfred, ‘for it hows a new light on the case. Yet
it leaves much in mystery. Ifthe child was stolen through
his agency, he must have adeeper purpose than 1 cau
fathom.”? :

“Whut if this man knows our secret, too?? said Kate,
in her deep, sad voice. ‘*Was not my ,thought from the
first that he was taken from ine by some onein whose
way he stands ?”? ;

“That would suggest a very singular hypothesis.

“A mother’s instinctis quicker and surer than any
elaborate process of your reasoning,’’ said Kate,
solemnly. ‘lL understand itajl now. ‘Tnis man knows
our secret—knows that my child is the heir of Grey-
burn—aund ifhe was out of the way forever, who comes
next ???

‘Paul Greville,’ said the viscountina whisper. “Strange
that you should have thought of this.”

“It wouid lave been more strange if I had not. I
have seen the man, and studied him. Ie has insatiable
ambition, iusatiable passion, His nature and intellect
alike are full of wicked power. ~ With my child out of the
way, Who is there between him aud Greyburn? Two menu
—oue growing oid.’? 5

“And the other, who will never live to grow old,’ said
the viscount, quietly. “You are right, Kate. My own
instinct has oiten warned me against Paul Greville, and L
have reproached myseH for whuatl have thought an un-
worthy superstilion., The stealing of Ferdinand is but the
begiuning of a sinister plot to clear nis own way to Grey-
burn. Most bitter thought of all itis that he knows our se-
oret, and so has Isabel at his mercy.’

*“Remeimber,”? said Allred, *‘uhis is but supposition as
yet. We have first to identify himas theijman who has
taken poor Euma Wren away, and, next, to prove
whether the loss of the child is realy due to him, or
Whether {t was but a coincidence, occurring while he was
trifling with the girl. She was pretty euough to tempt an
unprincipled man. Such aman as he would destroy her
in the merest and most wanton pastime. If his purpose
was to steal Ferdinand, he would surely haye tuken more
secret means.’? :

“Uniess he relied upon his yery daring,’? said the vis-
count, “aud thatis what he would do. ‘The taking away
of that poor girl would cover his real design.”

“And ifzyou accused him iu plain terus,’? said Kate,
“he would laugh in your fuce, and ask. you what motive
he could have for stealing the child of an opera singer.
He would pretend to kuow nothing of our secret, aud he
would make the taking away of Euma cover jis real de-
sign, as Lord Linyern said.”

Kate was siigularly quiet now, but she spoke with a
depth of purpose that surprised them both.

“If your conjecture is cyprect,’? said Mr. Cleveland, ‘we

 

Must uot let the slightest suspicion seem Lo attach to him.
if he were pressed Closely he might have recourse lo des-
perate meusures.’’? Kateshuddered

“Yes, he would kill my durling,” she said, “if-he found
we were on the track; bat you will save him, Alfred, 1
place my whole trust in you. You will bring wy Ferdi-
uand back to me 7??? ;

“You have my promise,” was the quietresponse, ‘Your
fears need not point that way, Kate; you beed not shud-
der With sé u thought. his man’s idea at most would
be to keep him out or the way, hide his identity, make
him @ nuimeless waifin the great world, and that you ma.
be sure we shall not let him do.”? .

The viscount sighed yery wearily as he rose to go. Kate’s
direct appeal to Mr. Cleveland smote hini with a sense of

 

hunilliauion, but he shuwed vo sign of it in the couruy
sadness of his udieu. ; ; =

“If we neverimeet again,’’ he said, ‘‘you will believe that
Ihave done my best to fiu@ your child, aud you williry
to think kindly of me to the last.”? j

She looked at him with a calm, and brave, and steady
gaze:

“Tshall always think kindly of you,” she said, giving
him both her hands, ‘i shall always think you have
triedto do your best under the strunge destiny that
has befallen us, and if 1 Lave spoken incousiderateiy, lor-
give me,”’

‘Il never could do otherwise, Kate, for I love you,”?

“}tsis tov jute fur love, but wecan part good iriends,
and it is the simple truth that, whether we meet agaiu or
not, My most fervent wish is for your happiness with
your wife. Jmean no equivocation, Edward Musgrave,
i mean your wile the Lady Isabelj;aud itis my solemn
promise that by no act or word of mine shall mny child in-
terfere with her children.”

‘You are a noble woman,’’ he said, bending to kiss her
hand as he would have tto kiss the haunud of a queen,
‘and in this, that may be our farewell, lsay Heaven biess
you always.”? :

And with along, lingering look, with something like
the old wistful love in his eyes, he went slowly toward
the door, and jt closed upon him, ‘

CHAPTER XXYV.
WHERE FERDINAND WAS.

When Emma Wren left the house of her mistress on
the morning afier Ferdijmand’s disappearance, she stole
out with a wretched sense of shame aud helplessness,
She dared not face Kate again. She conid uot under-
go the brdeal of being questioned and convicted of
ee her own grief and humiliation were Nard enough
to bear. -

‘‘And I wonder what will become of me,”’ she said to
herself, “for I caunot go home—mother would make it so
iniserable for mie.”

Yhe girl had a dread of going home now that this
trouble had come upon her. Her visits to Loek’s-flelds
were pleasant enough when she only went once a-week,
and tuen wus laden with little presents which made the
Sunday evening one of festivity. She stood inthe light
of an honored guest then, and the little woman who ruled
tne Bayiis-terruce houselold Was pleusant to her under
the circumstances.

But to return now, dismissed in disgrace for negligence,
would be to be looked upon as an unworthy addition and
expense to an ulreudy overcumberedhouse. To go back to
the drudgery ot (he work-room, or, worse still, help her
mother in tue domestic duties at home—— Sie shrank
from the thought of the small, stifing rooms, the trouble-
some children, the poverty-stricken neighbors, and all tue
miserable appendages of the life from which the kindness
of Kate had rescued her.

She stole out with nothing but the dress she wore and
the money left in her purse—eight or nine pounds, as it
happened, but not much for a homeless girl to begin
the world with. She felt very miserable aud wicked,
and full of remorse; but her thought of suicide had gone
with the night—perhaps to come again wilh the night;
but she was safe for the present. She passed over
a bridge ofthe Regent’s-canal, and the thought of such
asin seemed more sinful with the light ofthe sunon the
water.

Emma wandered about for some hours, staring vacant-
ly into shop-windows, coutemplatiug mbbens and bon-
nets. and the tempting hues of silks and salius, with no
purpose or knowledge of their shape or color, 1b was
eleven o'clock when she found herself in the park, near
Albert-gate. :

Mr. Stanley had given her an address when they had
their luxurious ride in the broughum on the previous duy.
lt wasin one of the small thoroughfares Jeadiug out of
Curzon street, between patrician Audiey-square and
+ pleveian Shepherd’s market,

“When you want to see ine,”’ he said, “‘shouki I be ab-
sent for atime, a letter will always find me there, aud J
am always at home in the morning.” |

Should she go to him, sue usked herself; shoul she
teli him what had happened, and Jet him advise her
what todo? He had been very kind and gene, aud
she was sure he could be truste!, Emima did not reason
much now that she was so near, She dared not go
home, and she knew not where else to go, and her fovt-
steps turned instinctively toward the man who sald he
loved her,

Jt was a small, unpretending house he lived in. City
gentlemen, accusiumed to the Youmy semi-detachments
of brickwork in the suburbs, would yery wisely have

assed it by in disdain, Mer timiuring at the visitors’
bell was unswered by a sedute gentieman of forty in
black.

“js Mr. Stanley at home?” she asked, in a voice not
much above a whisper.

The sedate gentleman Bail he would see. Ie asked her
name, and left the hall while he went iuto the dining-
room, and she heard the low murmur of Mr. Btanley’s
yoice. Then the gedate one reappeared, and very re-
spectfully asked her to step in.

Mr. Stanley came jorward to receive her. He looked

 

 

very elegant apd graceful in a siik-llued morning robe,

-

set aside, -for | am tired ofthe invisible bondage in which, .

 

 

aml Bmma noticed even then the whileness of his hands
and the suialiness of his feet in their embroidered slippers,
He bed her to a seat before he spoke a word or looped aL
her troubled face. ;

“So you remembered my nadress 2?’ he said, bepding
down te kiss her. ‘Aud whatof our litle truant? He
has returned, of course ??* <

“No, Mr. Stuuley, he has not, and madame was 80

away this morning, and ] shall never go back.”?

He gave her a curious, contemplative smile. Miss
Wren was not lookiag her best this morning, but she was
very pretty. He understood the expression—nhal{ shame,
half supplication—w hich accompanied her determination
never te return.

‘Madame Mesgrey] must have said some very bitter
things befure you thought of Jjeaving her forever,’ he
said, “after your long friendship, aud your kigduess to
her atthe outset, I suppose she forgot that yeu were
quite her equal once. It is the way of the world,
especially wiih women, She might have remembered
that, except for the questionable kindness of a strange
geulleman, and tie discovery that Sle possessed a good
sage voice she wouldhave been a needlewoman !o this

aye

Emma did not fall easily iuto this view of Kate’s injus-
tice, but she found comfort init. Alter all, she Was not go
much to blame. It was not, as she knew, an unusual
thing for nursemaids to leave their charges wilh eaeh
other while they went for delightinl litile strolls with
young men of their acquaintance, or long-legged guards-
neu, Who combined tanartial heroism with a sueaking’
Kindness for seryant-girls in receipt of good wages.

“E teltit yery much when slie was so angry,’? Emma
said. “lam quite as fond of the poor little fellow as she
was, and nothing would have made me leave him fora
moment if 1 had not theught he was quite safe.”

“You need not let that trouble you,’’ said Mr. Stanley.
“Phe child is safe enough, youmay be sure, Let me give
you some breakfast, if anything here will tempt you.’?

There were delicacies in plenty on Mr. Stanley's well-
Spread table, Theservice wus of solid silver and rare old
quaint-colored china. Mr. Paul Peveril Stanley Greville
had it in him to be a villain, with an extra coat of the
deepest dye, but he was a dainty Sybarite and a graceful
gentieman, notwithstanding. ’

Miss Wren Jet him tempt her to some breakfast. It was
something to be helped to delicious morsels and have
her cotfee poured out for her by his small white hands,
Hie made very little.of her flight from Kate's house, and
contrived to give her an liupression that she had been ill-
used. The alarm. was perfectly heedless, Thechild would
be restored in the course of the day—perhaps was home by
this time. | :

‘And if Madame Mesgrevi, a3 she is pleased to call her-
self, had cause to reprouch you,’? Le said, ‘Madame Mes-
grevi Certainly said too much. It was treating you as if
you were a kitchen servant, and & return Lo her is quite
ouvof the question.”

Emma thought so, too, when he said go, yet, since the
Moment when she closed the door upon herself, she had
beem troubled by a vague desire to return.

“Aud I suppose tuere ig NO particular rapture in the
prospect of guing back to the parental roof,” he said, add-
ing some Crean to his own covee. ‘From what I gather-
ed when you have spoken of home matters, Lock’s-fields
is not a fashionable district, aud the manners and customs
of the Datives are not so refined as they might be. You
can look back upon them, aud wonder how you ever en-
dured them, but going back lu them is quite another mat-
ter. Seriously, what do you think of doing?”

Miss Wren thought tne question rather cruel. If he
loved her—and she neyer doubled it—the course was
clear,

“I do not know,’ she said, simply. ‘I did not mean to
come here, Mr. Stanley; but 1 waudered about and found
myself near, aud then————?

He crossed the rvom, and lifted the pretty face to meet
the kiss of his treacherous, bearded lips.

“Like a good girl, yolk came to me. My man shall.

clear the tuble, and then we will discuss ways and means,
Ennna, or better still, come to the drawing-room. You
must not expect much ina bachelor’s drawing-room, I
go into it so rarely that I sliould scarcely recognize my
on furniture if l saw it anywhere else.”
He took her to his drawing-room—an elegant apartment
enough, as Lo its upholstery, aud liberally provided with
louoking-glasses and loylike fables, sprinkled with odds and
ends of quaint ornaments. It was smalland dingy, and
the dull brickwork of the opposite houses sluttit in like a
shadow; but it was within a stone’s throw of Picadilly
and Park-Jane, aud so to Emma’s mind it was a fit abode
fur a duchess. ;

“You are my girl, and I want to be frank with you,”
he said, placing her by his side on a sofa. “Iam very
fond of you, as you kuow, and, if it were possibile, noth-
ing- would delight me more than to make you Mrs. Stan-
jey to-morrow, but there are sume little preliminaries: to
arrange. Asa bachelor 1 can do very much us [ please,
und Lbere are no inquagies made about me; as a married
man wy frieuds and society in general would waut to
know whoaud whatimy wife was. You would like to stay
With nfe always ?? 4

Her eyes asked him what need he had to put the ques-
tion.

“Well, then, my pet, there is nothing in the world to
preveut you, ¢Xcept that you must make sume small sac-
rilice. Do not be alarmed: you shall be my wife by as
mluny ceremonies as you please. You shall have bauns,
and registrution, special aud common licences, and as
many oluer such deyices as have been inveuted Lo secure
the happiness of nrankind, ouly the Wworid must not know
it.- L must study iny relations and my creditors,’ he went
on, as he saw jier lace change. ‘Asa bachelor my rela-
Liovs Will atiend to my banking account, and my credit-
ors Will let me alone to Lhe end of my days, but 1 dare not
risk. the awful responsibilities of the Married state. My
plan is yery simple.’ 7

Simple as it was, he hesitated before putting it in plain
words, . He laid her face upon his shoulder, anu caressed
her soft brown hair, while he fold her what he proposed,
and under his tender lralf-playfal words she felt the alter-
native, aud knew she must either accept or Jeave him for
ever, ‘

“1 will get a license,” he said, ‘‘and we can goto some
lite, quiet place iu the country and be married. When
we return here you must pass as Adamson’s daugiiter,
Adauisun is the person who opened the door to you, and
leis the very soul of respectability. ‘That will remove all
suspicion, aud you Can always be with me, for what does

‘it matier What my friends think you are, 80 long as you

know you are my wile, and that 1 love you?”?

“LT will do anything you wish,’ she said, through some
unshed leurs, ‘*so Laat you never deceive me.””

“Could 1 deceive iny litle girl? You are not selfish
enough, | am sure, to wish me tv give up my position; and
offend me relatives, for the mere sake oI having you know
as Mrs: Stanley; aud, believe me you will be happier as
itis.

Emma did believe him. Such jove as his was an honor
she had no right to expect, and she saw the difficulties
that would stand in the way of her being recognized } aud,
iu truth, so tut sue was his wife she cared very’ little
what his irieuds thought her; this being the only sacrifice
entailed upon her for tie houor of being his wile, aud the
happiness of loving him for ever. ;

Mr. Adumson entered readily into his master’s views
coucerning the adoption of a daughier, as he would have
enlered into auything his master proposed. He had an
excellent siluation, aud if his duties were a little strange
ut Limes they were invariably cousidered in the salary.

“Implicit obedience,’’ said the respectable Mr, Adam-
son, ‘18 the chief duty of a good servant, and I have al-
ways found discretion a recommendation, especially when
my services huve been devoted to a& handsome youug
geultleman with a penchant, which I have always under-
slood to mean young ladies With captivating figures and
inexperienced in the paths of guile.” :

Paul Greville left Miss Wren in safe hands when he
went out early inthe afternoon. He left her perfectly
happy in the jaith he had created by speaking so frankly
aud telling her what sacrifice was required of her. He
had hinted that the secresy was not to Jast for ever,

He took a cab and told ihe man to drive him tothe Sur-
rey side of London-bridge, and on the way he thought of
his simple-hearted dupe, but not with entire satisfaction.
There wus a possibility of unpleasantness. She belouged
to low people—hard-hunded, rough-speaking persons who
lived in Wualworth-comimion, and there yas just a chance
that tbese hard-handed, rough-speaking people might
differ from his view of the matter.

‘The poor little wretch believed every word, and is
ready 10 make any sacrifice for me,” he reflected, ‘‘and
us things have happened 1 must keep her in the Gurk for
au time, The friends of that young gentieman will not
leaye many stones unturned in the search for him, and it
would not do to havesuch a dangerous clue as Miss Wren.
She will be an expense 1 can ill aiford just now, and a
trouble I have not much time to deal with. 1 wish I had
left her out of the affair aliogether.”

He discharged the cab atthe foot of London-bridge, and
walked the rest of the distance—the rest of the distance
lay Ulrough a labyrinth of ill-paved streets leading to the
water-side. He did not seem to know his way perfeetly,
for he paused once or twice to Jook about him, but he
made no inguiries, He went under a gloomy archway
and down ® arrow lane, and stopped finally at the eu-
trance toa warehoyse. He pulled » wooden bell handle
aud the duor was opened,

lt was far froin being dark, but the man who opened
the door carried an oil lamp in his hand, for there wus not
asolilary window im the first Moor or basement of the
whari—no way for the light to struggle in save where the
Wharf was open to the street.ou the one side and the river
onthe other, The mans a rough-looking fellow in a blue
guernsey and corduroys, saluted him withasurly sort of
respect, and Jed. the way up two fights of narrow, ricketty
stairs.

Not & word was spoken till they reached 4 room on the
second story. it wus furnished with more cleanliness and
comfort than night have been expected from the exterior,
and the presence of a simple antimacassar here ani there,

on the gill, slowed the home touches. & wonuu’s hand
Joves to aduiinlister to the humblest dwelling,

Mr, Greville took no uote of these things, His sleepy
dark eyes went straight to the face of the woman who
still Wore her brown merino, and who looked at him with
meek, Subuussive terror, Le turned from her to the cor-
ner where two children were,at play with a pair of card-
board scales, with buttons for weiglits and bird-seed their
artides of trade. Of these two children Jackey was one
and Ferdinand Aylmer Musgrave the other,

The pvuor little fellow knew Greville again, and toddled
toward him as to an old friend, but something in Gre-
ville’s face—a savage impatience and an angry stare—re-
pelled him.

“You did’not have much trouble with him,’’ Greville
said, addressing the woman. “You got him away quict-

 

 

ly, Mrs. Branuou.”?

angry Wilh we thatI dared not see her ngulm 1 ran

 

r

a Jinnet in a cage by the window, ana a few geraniunis |

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. S3e2=-

“Yes, sir.”

“How has le been since f?? ;

“Like a little angel, poor innocent darling. He cried
for bis manuna-beiore-he went to sleep, bus I pacified
ulm by telling Lim he would be fetehed home to-day, and
whem I saw him asleep with his arms round Jackey’s
ee felt myself the most sinful wretch that ever

ved

“You had better stow that,’? suggested her-husband,
with a glance which brutal as it was, scarcely made her
shrink. He had said his worst and done his worst long
since, and she was pussively resigned to her Lot, such as
it was. ‘You can clear out into the next room, and take
the little angei with you, and leave this gentleman and
ine lo talk over business matters,”

Mrs. Brandon obeyed hin without a word. She took
woth the children and did not forget theirtoys. Sheturn-
ed at the door involuntarily, and shaddered at the cruel
face With whluch Paul Greville watched little Ferdinand.

“I do not believe le is the child’s father,’”? she said to
hersel, ‘for a father could not hale his child so bitterly,
Ao matter how the mother may have sinned. I wish I
had not brought him here, but uf I bad not, worse might
have happened to him.

(©O BE CONTINUED.)

 

 

 

PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS.

THE RUGG DOCUMENTS.
BY OLARA AUGUSTA,

Mrs. Limmons behaved beautifully about her hair, and
never scoided a bit, because she was afeerd that Augustus
had gone and nade away with lfisseli—believing that he
had killed his ma.

“I haint a gwine to scold, none to speak of,” sez she,
“till I know how itis with him. If he’s dead, I must try
and forgive him, butif he’s living, won’t he ketch it when
he gits back ???

We sarched and sarched all round over our primises,

and then of our neighbors, but no Augustus was dis-
kivered.
_ Jonathan walked round the goose pond, and the water-
ing trough in the barn yard, to see if there was any hats,
or boots, left on shore; and Mose White went up into the
corn house chamber, to see if anybody was a hanging to
the beams.

But everything was as quiet asa country graveyard at
two o’clock in the morning. :

Mrs. Limmons she got su anxious that she couldn’t eat
no cold beaus for breakfast, and <Arabella’s eyes were
heavy wilh tears,

I writ a notice which was as follers; and Jonathan went
over to the Ridge, and got it printed, aud stuck up on the
fences, and blacksmith’s shops alongside of such adver:
tisements as these: Wigwanr Tonic! JOHNSON'S LINER-
EAMANT! Physicing Patent Pelletis! HIGHPANGANDERAM
PURGATIVE! etc., elec.

NOTICE.

N. B., P. 8.—Know all men by these presents, that
Gerald Augustus Limmons being of sound mind, and in
full possesion of his reasons, but being a very poor
shooltist, and has shot through his found ma’s top knot,
aud in grief and mortification therefor he has goue and
run away! This is to-certify that hisana will pay him five
dollars if he will return, dead or alive, and no questions
asked! : ALMIRA LIMMONS.

Witness J. R. Perkins.

That very night Elder Jones cum over to our’us with a
dredful soilumcoliy countenance on. I ixpected nothing
but his wife was dead, and he was exercisedi about who he
should git foranither one.

“When did it happen ??? sez I.

“Sometime last night!’ sez he—“the Lord help us!’

‘Sudden ?”? sez I,

“Yes,’? sez he—“‘sudden and awful! My wife never shut
her eyes last night on account of itl”?

“Then she’s alive!’ sez I.

“To be sliurel’? sez he. . ‘

“Then, I guess 1 don’t understand!’ sez L

“Shot” sez he, “I thought you had heerd of it!’

“No,’! sez I—"*I expect } haint,”” ,

“Is & most misterious and singular thing!’ sez he;
“which goes to show that the Bible.1s truer thun ever, for
that sez that there shall be many misteries in these latter
days! And it’s in the suller of the red barn!?

“Gracious airt!’ sez I, “what's in the suller of.the red
barn??? ‘

“ITP? sez he.

“What?? sez I.

Ah? what, indeed ??? sez he.

“Do ixplain yourself, elder!’? sezJ. Dor that's a good
man! What’s inthe barn suller?’?

“The Great Adversary !’? sez he, lowering his voice toa
terrible whisper.

“Wall! of all things, Elder Jones!’ sez I, ‘are you go-
ing crazy ??

“Tl guess notl’? sez he. ‘I seeit, and heerd it, and so
wife, and severil others.”

Eider Jones is a grate hand to circumnavigate all round
over creation when he’s a telling anything, and it was
Se eane Sartin, afore I could git hold of what he had
to tell, :

There was something in his barn sullur that looked
white, and roared like @ Jion, and had horns, and a tail
like acomick. And he wanted me to take the ambrill
and go over with him. So me and Jonathan hitched up
the old mare and took the elder iu; and sot sail.

There wag severil of the neighbors gathered in the el-
der’s kitchen, drinking cider, and talking of it over.
After 1d shook hands all round we went out to the red
barn. The sullur was a dreadful deep one, and ihere
warh’t no winders to it, and it was dark as a pocket,

Llooked down, but couldn’t see nothing.

cone there!’ sez I, ‘‘be you down there? or be you
not?’

A sort of grunt answered me.

Ilowered down a lanturn that they’d brung out, but
that only made darkness visible.

“Now, look herel’? sez I, “there’s something down
there, and I'm bound to see what it is! Who'll go wilh
me?

_ Nobody stirred out of their tracts. i

“Come, Eider Jones)? sezI, “l’ve often heern you say
in your sarminis that you warn’t afeerd of the devil his-
self, and now’s yer Chance io prove it! Come on!”

“I—l’ye got a duty to do to my family, sister Perkins,’?
sez the elder, in a trembling voice. “‘l’vye gota wife aud
children) Children, sister Perkins! A large family of
‘em Mt 5.

“Yes,” sez I; ‘nobody disputes that, elder; but that
needn’t count.’

“T have no right to leaye my wife a widder. The Lord
only kuows What would become of her’? sez he, ¥

Deacon Burke would take her,” sez1; ‘he’s had his
eye OF er ever sense you had that spell of the pleurality,
elder. arse”

“Drat him!’? sez the elder, and then he kinder correct-
ed hisself, and sez he: **Bless him! I would have sed.”

Finding that the elder wouldu’t go down with, me, no
how, Linvited Sam Clark to go, aud though Sam haijut. a
pious man, and don’t uever pertend that he could manage
vhe devil, he was reddy to go. | :

We went down the stairs keerfully, and sarched over
the suller; aud there, amongst the piles of rubbish, looking
about as sheepish and nombie-cropped as ever you seed
any mortal critter, was Augustus Limmons, wilh one foot
in a steel trap Lnat would weigh fifteen or twenty pounds,
and wag chained fast to one of the posts of the barn!

Witness the result of advertising!

As SOoD as ever Lhem notices was stuck np, he was
found! I sot down beside him and interyfewed him, ;

He thought he had killed his ma, and he calkerlated for
to run away, he sed, and ouiuckiy he had took his course
through Elder Jones’ water melon patch, which hada trap
set iuto it to catch thievesin, and the trap was chained
to the barn, and when Augustus got ketched jt hurt him
so that he leaped forrud and went duwn through some
straw into the sullur; and he was afeerd to holler Jest he
should be took to jai, and all he could do was to lay there
and groan. Yourn, ever treuly, J. R. PERKINS,

John Brougham’s Shirt.

A reasonable supply of clean linen is never somuch appreciated
as when one hasto lie abed while his only shirt is being put
through the wash. Our story will illustrate this. On a pleasant
day in the summer of 1873, Mr. John Brougham was leisurely
strolling down Broadway, when he met, near tue Astor House,
Mr, Stetson, proprietor of that hotel, and Judge Daly. He learn-
ed that his two friends and Sheridan Shook were to start imme-
diately for Long Branch, for a brief sojourn. ‘‘We are just in
time to catch the boat, and we want you to go with us,” they sald
to Mr. Brougham.

The actor begged to be excused, saying that he could not go on
such short notice.

“You must go with us, old boy,’ said Daly; “I’m coming up
to-morrow, and you may then return for such clothing as you
desire. ,

Remonstrance was unavailing; and when Brougham spoke of
the necessity of a change of linen on the morrow, that excuse
only made his friends more anxious to have his company. They
told him that they would fix that all right—that the need of a
shirt should not trouble him so Jong as they were well er

Much against his will, the actor was politely but forcibly hur-
ried into a waiting carriage, which in ten minutes afterward do-

osited the four worthies ou the wharf, in time to catch the Long

ranch boat.

The next morning, when the actor ‘awoke, in his room at the
West End Hotel, he discovered that his shirt was missing. He
rang tor & servant, and trom him Jearned that Mr, Stetson him-
self had, early that day, taken Mr, Brougham’s shirt, and sent it
tothe laundry. It would be ready in a few minutes, the servant
said, and would be brought to his room. The actor sent his thanks
te the considerate and attentive Mr. Stetson, and proceeded to
wash himself—thinking that by the time this was Jone the shirt
would be placed in his hands, nicely ironed.

Hulf-an-hour passed, and still Brougham sat in his pantaloons
and undergarment, waiting for his shirt. He had become rather
impatient, Again he rang the bell, and another servant answer-

t. ;

“Go to the laundry and get my shirt,” said Brougham. “Bring
it to me at once.”

The servant disappeared, and soon afterward Brougham heard a
rapid hurrying of at least two score of feet on the lobby outside
fis room, and each owner of each pair of feet was shouting at the
top of lus or her voice, remarks sucifas these:

‘Where’s Mary Donovan ? and what has she done with Mr,
Brougham’s shirt ?” ;

“Hunt for Mary Donovan, and make her give you Mr. Brough-
ain’s shirt,’?

“Shure Mr. Brougham has but one shirt, and he’s risin’ the
owld boy becase somebody has made away with it. Bad luck to
Mary Donovan.’

“Where’s the Jaundry maid? Oh, the hussy, for stalin’ Mr.
Brougham’s only shirt.’ ;

“Just think of it—an Irish gintleman med to lic abed all da
because that tricky Mary Donovan has consailed his only shirt.’

As these remarks were intended for the actor’s ears, they were
shouted so loudly that not a single Word escaped him. He
strutted up and down his room like a caged tiger.

When this interesting conversation had continued for about
twenty minutes, the halls and lobbies of that floor were crowded
with boarders, attracted from below by the rumpus, Presently
the voices of Judge Daly, Sheridan Shook and Mr. Stetson himself
were added to the Babel of noise. BS a

“Mr, Broughain’s shirt migsing!?? exclaimed Daly. “This is an

loffer five hundred dollars reward tor the capture ot

 

outrage.
Mary Donovan and the recovery ot my friend Brougham ’s shirt,”

— —————

did Mrs. Jones, and the Widder Peasiee, and Sam Clark’s

Brougham now began to think that his three friends could ap-
pend a tale to that shirt—that they been playing a practical
jokeupon him. He resolved to take it in a friendly way, aud put.
ting his head out of the door, he said, pleasantly:

“Don’t make such a tuss-about that garment, Daly, and don’t
be too severe against Mary Donovan. Tell ber that Pil forgive
her for the loss of my abirt if she’! send me one of hers.”

The garment, nicely ironed, was soon afterward pluced in his
hands, aad Mary Donovan received five dollars from the actor
for the detention of John Brougham’s shirt. ~ 5 4 Ge

A Warrior's Ardor Cooled.

During a congressional debate on the Cuban question, Sunset
Oox uctered some warlike sentiments, and asserted that there
was not “fight” enough in the House to kill a mouse, General
Hawley, of Connecticut, retorted by saying that Mr. Cox knew
not what war was, and that if he did, he might net be so anxious
to fight. The general illustrated this opinion by narrating the
following unique story:

I knew a man once who was extremely anxious to get Into
fight. The war had been progressing about a year and a half,
and he had been assigned to fancy duty at some distant post and
complained that he never saw a fight. We started an expedition,
and gaye this gallant colonel the command of it. He came sud-
denly upon the enemy, and the Confederates opened a terrible
fire upon him. In three minutes’ time he came out of it, and
came out handsomely, but left about eghty men behind him. I
asked him that same evening how he Uked it.

“Well,” said he, “I am satisfied; but when I was in the fight a
minute or two, and saw men falling down all around me, I
thought to myself, can’t this confounded thing be compromised in

some way.”
Cox Put Down.

On Monday, Dec. 8, Sunset Cox was more than usually active,
spurty, and irrepressible in the House. Finally, when the House
came to ab agreement to proceed with the debate on the Salary
bill in twenty minute speeches, Cox dispatched a page with the
caine ees es
_ DEaR MR. SPEAKER: Put meXliown for twenty minutes. S. S.C

Vo which the Speaker replied:

DEAR Cox: I would be delighted if I could keep you poe half

. GB.

that time,
Ghosts.

Ghosts are fellows wrapped in white sheets, Wandering around
after night.. They are the “dead beats’? of the spiritual world,
§0 Coasting around when all respectable spirits are nicely tucked
up in bed and asleep. There is one thing about ghosts that f
never could understand. They always go around the most lonely
places—old deserted graveyards, rufned houses, etc.

Now, if Iam ever compelled to be a ghostess, I would go where
they had warm fires and comfortable parlors. I would not tancy
straying around in the cold when I could just as well enter a
house and sit down by a warm fire, or go to the Torrid Zone and
get used to hot weather, which would be quite a nice preparation
for my after existence, because ghosts are generally considered to
be of anything but religious characters. The question often avises
whether there are any such things as ghosts ?

There is one thing which shakes my faith in them; they always
seem to have spiritual yin

Now, I never heard of the ghosts of clothes, and consequently
do not believe there is any such thing as ghosts; nevertheless, I
don’t want to visit a haunted house or churchyard or anything of
that sort at midnight. Ididtry that once, and got enough of
ghost-seeing to last me the remainder of ny natural life.

The night was dark and fearful, the storm swept wailing by,
and every momént it seemed the house would come down about
our ears. The wind howled like an imprisoned maniac, but oc-
casionally there wag borne upon the blast a sound entirely dis-
tinct, Which seemed more than human. We ail listened; a lull
for an instant, and u strange, wild cry like that of a soul in tor-
ment chilled our blood.

“Tis the spirit of the storm,”? whispered Tom, while his cheek
blanched perceptibly,

Another wild surge of the storm drowned the sound an instant;
but then it arose, iull and clear, with a mild, mournful intonation
that was not human, but which bore such suffering—such ex-
treme of agony to our ears, that it froze the warm life current in
our veins. It was too horrible—human nerves could not endure
it. We rushed by one impulse from’ the room, determined to
find if there was aught forboding evil to us im those ominous
sounds. In the hall we stopped and listened. :

Another wild blast drove the rain in torrents against the win-
dows and made the house trembie; and high and clear about it
rose that awful strain, apparently from the room above us, Up
we went determined to.solve the mystery. The door was thrown
open, and nothing was there.

An instant more and the noise of the rain against the window
Was mingled with that supernatural cry, as if the spirit of the
storm were actually trying to gain admission. A look of bold
determination swept oyer Tom’s countenance; he sprang to the
window, and threw it open. A wild gust of wind and rain swept
in, and along with it halt-drowned came—our cat/

8. S. SzorETARY.

To P. P. ConTRIBUTORS.—The following MSS. are accepted:
“Duck Shooting,” ata a Question,” “Hard Hit.”..... The fol-
lowing are respectfully declined: “I Want tobe a Woman,”
“Smoky Ridge Choir,” “The wo Ducks,” ‘‘Reliable,” “Skip It,’?
“Johnny’s Sarcastic Reply,” ‘Letter Drop,” “Windy,” “P. J.
T.,”? ‘“‘Schlemiel’s Brevities,” “Old Kill,” ‘“A Remarkable Talk-
er,” “The Toper’s Ride,’ “Penn Yan Lie,” “Deaf Irisuman,’*
“Cool Reply,” “The Emperor and the Curate.”

SAVED BY A REDSKIN.

BY DUKE CUYLER.

 

 

 

 

“Now it is your turn, Rob. Gonhead and tellus astory.’?

“Boys,” said Rob, 2 moment after. “Did I ever tell you

how my life was saved by a redskin ?”?

We all answered in the negative.

“He must have had more love for you than most ofthem

have,’ said Tom. ‘I never knew a redskin who was;
partial to you yet.”?

They aint apt to be,’ said Rob, “There aint no love
lost atween us a8 a general thing. After you have heard
the story you can ‘tell how much there was in this case.”’

Rob had carefully knocked the ashes from his pipe, and >
now he Jaid it on the ground beside him, 50 that it might
be close at hand when his story was through. Then he

gan:

“About ten years ago, boys, I was trapping up among
the Wind River Mountains. There were three of us. Paul
King, Cy Smith and myself. It was a small party to be up
in that country alone where the redskins are as thick as
grasshoppers; but we didn’t let that trouble us. Our rifles
were good and true, and we thought that we knew how
to use ’em as well as the most of folks.

‘Uf the redskins went for us, we thought that we could
make it hot for them, for a litle whileat least. We kinder
flattered ourselves ‘that we were good fora score of the
yarmints anytime. Butitaint much use fora chap.to
count on doing too much. He hadbetter roost low and
then if there is a chance for him to go higher, why let him.

“One day we set out to go the rounds of our traps. We
had a good many of ’em, and 80 we divided up the work.
Had we all gone together it would have taken us a long
spell to have got round,

“My part of the work lay up a narrow valley among the
cliffs. A stream came- down through it, choked in many
places by the rocks which for ages lad been scaling olf
and falling down. We had trapped some fair game up
this valley, and it was seldom that the one who weut this
way came back without a goodly lotoffur. _

“Thad gone up the stream, aud had reached the last of

the traps, which was set close up to a pile of rocks which -
would have been hard work to have got over, and which

stopped usin that direction.

“Having attended to thisI was jest on the point of
turning back when I took it into my head to clamber up
onto the cliffs to get a glimpse of what sort of a country
lay beyond. Strapping the bundle of skins I had taken
tomy back, and with my rifle in my hand, I sprang up
over the rocks, and in a few minutes reached the summit. °

“T found that I had not-made much by the operation, as .
there was little to be-seen from there, and I was jest on:
the point of clambering down again, when 1 was startled
by ayell from what seemed at least a score of savage
throats. Turning quickly round, Isaw them within a
dozen rods of me, making the best speed they couldin:
my direction. ;

“T saw in twinkling that this was no place for me, and |
turning quickly, sprang down over the rocks, hoping to
gain a place of shelter before I should be riddled by their
arrows.

“In my haste I took the shortest cut, but before I was
half way down I was brought up all standing. The rock
had been split in two some day and a crevice a dozen feet
across yawned before me, ;

‘There was no Cllance to turn back orgoaround. If I
attempted either the redskins would be upon me. It
seemed that they kuew they had driven me into a trap for
they set up 2 how! of triumph, which plainly told that they
considered me as good as in their hands,

“There was one thing for me to do, and that was to
and spring across the chasm, the bottom of which I could
notsee. i was good at leaping, and thought that 1 could
do it easily. Stepping back for a pace or two I gathered
all my strength and bounded forward.

“Tmissed. My leetstruck the sharp incline of the rock
on the other side and I shot down to the bottem of the
chasm with the rapidity ef lightning.

“T had time to think that should be dashed to pieces,
but as good luck would have it] was not. There was a
moss of soft earth at the bottom, aud 1 landed there with
only a few bruises,

“As soon as [found that I was alive 1 wires up through
the gloom of my prison. ‘Iwo things] saw at a glance.
No mortal, unaided, could ascend these rocks, and those
above could not descend unless they came down in the
way I had. , :

“J was safe from the redskins, and buried in a grave of
granite, from which there seemed no possible way of es-
cape.

“Glancing above me I could see the faces of the savages |
peering down into my prison; but, thanks to the gloom, 1}
was hidden from their sight. ° ‘

“A little later they disappeared and I was left to myself.
They most likely thought that I was dashed to pieces. |
Then came the question of how IL was to escape.
about me, and working my way along toward one end of »
the crevice until 1 was stopped by the sides approaching
so close that I could not wedge myself between them.

‘Then I turned back and made my way along toward
the other.

“Here I was also foiled. A luge boulder had fallen in,
completely choking itup. It was indeed a living tomb
into which I iad fallen.

“In dismay I glanced up itssides, over which a squirrel
could hardly climb. No step that was human could find
a foothold there. ° ;

“An hour went on, and despair had fastened upon me
with a firm grasp.

“There was no hope of my being discovered. My com-
rades would never look formethere. I was eutumbed
alive. To ve sure, the light of Heaven was above me, but
what did that matter?

“Suddenly a sound from above reached myear. I
glanced upward and saw atonce the cause. A savage

was lowering @ long, knotted pole down into the crevice,
hoping to descend thereby and secure my scalp and what
plunder he gould find.

“‘A moment more and the pole touched the bottom, and
he began the descent.

“Long belore he was down Iswas ready for him, and,
‘when he came within reach, I deait hin. a blow that laid
him lifeless at my feet. ‘

“The way of escape was now open to me, but Ff did not
avail myself ofitatonce, I watched and waited until I
judged that the coast was clear. Then 1 clanibered up and
stood upon the rocks a free man. There were no savages
lo be seen, and | made the best of my way to camp. ’

 

“Now, oys, you see how it was thata redskih saved
my life,”

 

 

 

 

I felt .

 

 

 

Cra mennanemet”

 
 

¥
A

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE CAPTAIN OF THE NIOBE.

BY NATHAN D. URNER.

 

 

°Tis something in a sordid age,
When Nations, dealing with each other,
Like Jews at bargains more engage %:
Than as a brother with a brother,
To still record a noble deed,
Wrought by a soul of truth and honor,
Who, in an alien country’s need,
Resents an insult put upon her,
All hail, then, to the Niobe,
The British good ship Niobe,
That sailed the Spanish main! »
Hail to the crew that manned her,
Hail to her brave commander,
Sir Lambton Loraine!

Defenseless the Virginius lay,
A hapless prize in Cuban waters,
While o’er the tranquil azure bay
The musket-vyolleys told of slaughters
Rife in the ranks of men in chains
By brutal hands in horrid manner,
And, trampled under bloody stains,
And mocked at, lay our starry banner.
No ship to call a pause had we,
Until the good ship Niobe
Sailed up the Spanish main;
And outspoke—ne’er debating,
With his shotted guns in waiting,
‘Sir Lambton Loraine:

‘Look that no further crime appears,
Ye murderers without love or pity,
Or ’round about your craven ears
Pll knock the fragments of your city!
if poor Columbia spares no ship
When, s!aughter-stained, her flag is reeling,
Albion can lend her lion’s grip
For liberty and human feeling!”
But four guns had the Niobe,
But skulked beneath her frowning lee
The brutes, like whelps in pain;
Aud laughed at their repinings,
‘ At Butcher Burriel’swhinings,
Sir Lambton Loraine.

Forget we not his name to raise,
Although the war-cloud hath departed,
But sound afar his meed of praise
From a fair nation, grateful-hearted;
Sound it afar o’er land and wave,
From frozen peaks and Arctic highlands
To where the corsair billows rave
On silver shores of tropic islands!
All hail, then, to the Niobe,
Tie British good ship Niobe.
That shielded us from Spaint
Hail to the crew that manned her,
Hail to her brave commander,
Sir Lambton Loraine!

 

LILLA’S
CHRISTMAS PRESENT.

BY MRS. M. V. VICTOR.

 

 

In the beginuing of this very winter—only yesterday, as
it were—a girl sat in her “sky parlor,” gazing drearily
out over the smoky mass of roofs which lay beneath her
eye.- Only one object in that immediate vicinity broke the
‘monotony of the view. That object was a church-steeple,
whose slender spire, glittering even in the somber light of
that dull afternoon, pointed to Heaven.

It pointed to Heaven, but the poor girl could not humble
herself as yet to obey its teaching. She was in trouble,
butshe could not leok up for comfort. The blow had
come too suddenly—she felt too utterly crushed, or, if
anything more than crushed, she felt rebellious. It
seemed to her very hard, and cruel, and unpitying of
Heaven and man that she should have such sorrow—she,
who had never knowna want or.feit a real grief until
Within the last two months,

Her lips trembied, her soft little hands clenched each

other, as she stared at the steeple with tear-dimmed eyes.
Any one seeing her thus would have pitied her—the more
easily that she was very young and very pretty—one of
those little creatures made for sunshine, love, and pet-
ting. Her fair, bright hair, silky as a baby’s, fell about
her shoulders. in the most neglected manner, suggestive
of despair. Her sweet face was pale, and there was asad
droop to the mouth, that was made for dimples only. In
her lap, under the little clenched hands, was a man’s vest
—a coarse garnient, cheaply made—while a bundle of
similar articles lay on the floor at her feet.
_ It looked asif the child had been trying to sew on these
vests. Andsosiie had. Those on the floor were all done,
and titis in her lap was nearly finished; but her strength
had given out a little too soon, and she had dropped her
work to look up at the cold sky and golden spire.

Only two months before the young seamstress had been
one of Fortune's dariings Her father had been a pros-
perous banker. He had followed the fashion of the day,
speculating in all sorts of stocks in order to get richer
than he had any business to be; and he had not seen the
“cloud no bigger than a man’s han@” gathering in the
sky of finance, until the first thunderbolt struck down a
noble house, and every Succeeding flash leveled others,
his own among the number. It was hard for him. to be-
lieve that he was ruined—still more difficult for him to
impress. the unpleasant truth upon the mind of his only
child and daughter, whose seventeen years had been such
a8 most totally to unfit her for such a catastrophe.

When Mr. Greydon first told Lilla the news she was
very heroic, and prepared immediately for retrenchment,

“Never mind, papa, dear,” she had said, bravely, ‘I
shall not mind it much. Inever cared as much for the
luxuries of life as you think. Iam quite willing to econ-
omize.. You must dismiss the butler and footman, papa,
andi willsend away my French maid the very day her
Moonthis up. I am quite certain] cando up my own
hair, papa, dear; so you must not fret about me,” and she
had kissed him lovingly. : A ie

‘But, Lilla,’ he had answergd, in desperation, “it isfar
Worse than you think. This house is already attached,
and this furniture—even your poor mother’s diamonds,
which I was intending to give you.on your eighteenth
birthday. They are in the hands of my creditors now,
and the horses and carriages—everything.”?

“Then what are to do, papa ¢? :

“We must find a few rooms somewhere, where we can
keep house cheaply; and I must get a position as clerk or
cashier.’
> “Onn, papa, at your time of life?’

i “There is nothing else to be done at present, my dar-
ng.”*

Lilla nestled into her father’s arms with her head on
his shoulder. Foralong time she remained silent. She
Was terribly sorry for her father; but she had a horribie
dreud—a secret, fearful doubt of her own, too—and what
she kept asking herself during that long silence was this:

“Will Fred Livingstone like me now? Will he ever
come to see me again?! % :

This young gentleman, of whom she thought so much
at this crisis, was the favorite of all the young men in her
circle of associates. Handsome, accomplished, of wealthy
parentage, his gay spirits and love of society made him
the delight of all the girls in his ‘“‘set..> He had fluttered
about many a fair flower, in his light, harmless way; but
when Lilla Greydon came home from school, and be-
gan togooutas a young lady, his attentions to her be-
came so marked that the fathers had observed and con-
sulted together on the subject. As neither had any objec-
tions to the course matters seemed to be taking, the
young people liad been allowed their own way.

Fred had been so devoted to Lilk, his manuer had been
s0 earnest, and some things he had said had so nearly
amounted to a declaration of love, that she was fully
justified in believing that she would be his choice, and
in allowing herself to become fnterested in return. For

. Weeks before the crash she had not.a doubt that Fred loved

her, aud she had lived in a sweet, happy dream, waiting
for him to speak more openly,

But then, as she drooped on her father’s shoulder, a
dark dread entered hersoul. Fred was so gay, so fond of
enjoyment! He was, she knew, such an admirer of rich
dress, such a lover of luxury. Could he, would he, look
upon her now as he had before?

_Mr. Greydon felt her tremble, and heard her long-drawn
sigh.

“Are you thinking of Frederick Livingstone ?*! he had
asked, very gently.

“Yes, papa.’

_ “My own poor little darling, 1am afraid that he is not
worthy of your thought. His father is one of my creditors,
and he has proved one of the hardest to arrange with. He
puts on the airs of an injured man, while, to ada insult to
injury, he the same as told me that ifany match was con-
templated between our children, he sould insist upon its
being given up. You two are not engaged ?”

“No, papa—not yet,’ sobbed Lilla. ”

“Then, darling, let me be the -first to tell yon that you
never will be. Lilla, my pet, my own little daughter, you
Will not iet this break your heart ??

“No, papa. Not even Fred can break my heart. Ifhe
does hot want me. rest assured I shall not want him.”

She saidit so firmly and proudly, looking full in his
eyes asshe spoke, that her father believed her, and re-
Joiced to think it.was so, since he was convinced that the
elder Livingstone would never consent to thealliance. He
was very fond of his daughter, and the thought of her dis-
Appointment had been the keenest pang of all to bear—
€ven worse than the injury to his pride; but Lilla, from
that hour, behaved with such sweet dignity, with such
noble patience, that he wondered at her, and felt greatly
comforted, :

The weeks that followed brought nothing but new
trouble. The house and furniture and jewels went, and
the two found themselves boarders in a second-rate board-
ing-house, With two small bed-rooms and a snuffy little
parior for their only home. Mr. Greydon’s prediction was
verified—Fred never came near them. He, who had spent
nearly every evening of the last year in their elegant
drawing-room, now gave no token that he was conscious
of their existence, Such meanness ought to have made
Lilla scorn him, and she did try hard to believe that con-
tempt had killed her love,

fe a

 

         

     
   

  

Grief more poignant and
Her father’s efforts to ob-

caused by her.Jover’s neglect.
appalling was in store for her.
tain a situation had all failed. ‘

Clerks, Cashiers and superintendents were being dis-
charged by the score, so that the chance for those nut al-
ready secure of a place was almost nothing.

Mr. Greydon grew old and feeble under the pressure of
anxiety. In vain Lilla clung about him, striving to cheer
him and make light of their trials. She saw, with a cold
and creeping terror, that he was breaking down.

One day, when they had been in their new-living place
—we cannot callit home—abouta month, Mr. Greydon was
brought in from the street, where he had fallen, stricken
down by paralysis,

The sight of that distorted face was an agony to his
child, so much keener than any other she had felt, that
she wondered how she could have thought anything else
trouble. In vain her love, in yain her prayers, in vain
her watching. A few days of suffering was followed by
the coffin and the grave.

When Lilla sat down in her desolate parlor after the
funeral, her first visit was from the laudjady, with a bill
for four weeks’ board and lodging, and a long list of ex-
tras caused by the sickness of the father. Her second
visit was from the undertaker, her third from the doctor.
Knowing her poverty, these people were more anxious
than as if their pay was secured.’ They could not give even

was to beg them to wait until she could sell her father’s
Watch and chain, and her own costly dresses, with Buch
small articles of art and jewelry as were left to her.

When all the claims were settled she had nothing left.
She consulted with the landlady, who kindly advised her
to take in sewing, aud at the same time to find a cheaper
boarding place.

This rude and commonplace advice was the best to be
had, and the young lady tried to followit. By the aid of
the landlady’s recommendation she had secured this poor
room on the top-floor of avery, very cheap lodging-house,
aud here slie was trying to support herself by the needle
—trying to make enough to pay her rent and buy her
bread-and-butter and tea, by making vests for a big Cloth-
ing house, . ; ;

‘ vp ve ask where were her friends, or those of her
ather :

They were busy finding fault with Mr. Greydon for his
rashness iu speculation, his foily in failing, and his shame-
ful heartlessness in dying at a time when that spoiled girl
needed him most! That is all you can expect of frieuds
in a time of need, and Lilla had learned the lesson
thoroughly. ,

She was thinking of it now, as she stared at the church
steeple.
frieuds or alover. Friends, indeed! a lover, indeed! How
the very words mocked her aching heart. It is not strange
that even the blue sky seemed pitiless, and the finger
potnting to Heaven a mockery—even the promises of God
a broken reed! Her loving, tender nature -had been
cruelly scourged aud outraged. It appeared to her ex-
perience, that there was no real love, no unselfish action,
in the whole wide world.

The half-finished vest lay unheeded in her lap. She
was cold and iungry, but she did not realize it. Invol-
unotarily her thoughts went back to the evening before the
day of her father’s failure. Fred had called in to spend
the evening, a8 was his habit. He had brought her a
bouquet—unot a stiff array of flowers, arranged on wires,
but 4 careless bunch of white rose-buds set in heliotrope.
She had met him, wearing a white dress with rose-colored
trimmings, and he had compared her to tlie buds, saying
that the -only difference was that she was a thousand
times sweeter and lovelier than the fairest rose-bud tiat
ever bloomed. He had begged leave to fasten one of the
buds in her hair, and she remembered how the touch of
his hands had thrilled her; and how he had stooped over
her and looked into lier eyes with a fond, glowing look of
love that had made her blush and almost fear him. He
had been very tender in his manner that last evening,
and when he went away he had suddenly bent and kissed
her, for the first time. Was not that kiss at once a decla-
ration and a pledge? She felt that had he been a man of
a fine sense of honor, he would have so considered it, aud
would not have felt himself at liberty to break off his
acquaintance with her without a word of explanation.

Aud for such a@ reason? Because of her poverty! She
Was no longer beautiful, no longer pleasant and charm-
ing to him—no more his sweet rose-bud, because she was
no longer rich! Oh, how heartily she ought to have de-
spised him! Yes, it would have been some comfort to her
if she could have thoroughly despised him for his mean-
ness—iur his heartlessness in not even coming to her
father’s funeral. She believed, at times, that she hated
him. Yet even when she tried hardest to remember his
unworthiness, she would find herself living inthe meinory
of the light of his dark eyes, his princely smile, his gay
manners, sO Careless, yet so Captivating—living in the
memory of tones which had been softened to reach her
ear alone, of words which had been breathed in the

Seeming tenderness of love: Poor, poor, little Lilla!

It was with a sob that she came out of her world of
dreams, and lifted up the thick cloth, trying to set the
stitches neally, awkwardly wielding the coarse needle and
thread, aud constantly wounding lier bleeding, unaccus-
tomed fingers. If she had been a trained seamstress, it
would huve been astonishing if she had succeeded iu

_keeping breath in her body at the wages paid; so that, to

her, all unused to toil, the chance was lessened to noth-.
ing. She sewed on, slowly; her hands were numb; she
never expected to finish her work or take it home.

“I shall be found dead here by to-morrow. I wonder if
he will see itin the papers, and be sorry then?”? she mused,
half stupidly. ‘‘L shail be glad to be dead like poor papa,
and I hope Fred will see it in the papers: ‘Died of want,
Lilla Greydon, aged seventeen.’ At least he cannot think
that 1 died of a broken heart. I wonder if he will feel
any remorse. He used. to praise my eyes, and my hair,
and my siiging, aud my taste in dress. How could |
know that he was only praising papa’s money? In three
weeks it will be Christmas. But I shall be dead long be-
fore that. Last Christmas he sent mea lovely little locket.
I Knew it was he who sent it, though he would never ac-
knowledge it! .I have half a miud to send him a present
this year! Lean get it all ready and direct it to lim, to
be sent on Christmas Day. I will ask the woman below
to send it, and if lam dead she will hardly dare to break
her promise. I willsend him my needle and thread, aud
my thimble, along with the withered rose-buds he gave
me the last timeIlsaw him. Perhaps he will be sorry
when he sees them. Iwill put them up now, for I fear I
Shall not be able to do it to-morrow.” -

Hunger and cold, hardship and heart-break, were doing
their work. © Lilla’s fancies were growing a little strange,
if not delirious.

The folowing morning, the woman who occupied the
room below that of the young seamstress, took note of the
fact that she heard no stir in the room above. After a
time she grew uneasy, and finally took the liberty of go-
ing up to investigate. When her knock received no re-
sponse, she opened the door and went in.

There on the floor lay the bundle of vests, with another,
quite finished, except for the button-holes. There was no
fire in the little stove, nor any sign of life; but her quick
glance detected a form on the narrow bed, lying still as if
lifeless. :

Approaching in great alarm, she found the young girl
alive, but unconscious, Lilla having sank into a deep stu-
por, produced by woe and exhaustion.

In one little clasped hand—so small, and soft, and in-
fantile, that it nade the coarse-grained woman’s tears
start when she observed it—was clutched a small pack-
age. :

Mrs. Nesbit gently removed and examined it. Some-
thing, she could not tell what, was wrapped in a piece of
brown paper, on which was written:

“To be sent to Frederick Livingstone, Jr.,
“No. — Fi(th avenue,
(“Will Mrs. Nesbit be sure to have it sent ?—on Christmas
Day—unot before.”’) f

“That I will, poor dear!’ said the good woman; ‘‘the
first momeut | can attend to it; but now I must send for
the doctor, sure.”

In less tian haif-an-hour the physician tor the poor was
in the room, feeling Lilla’s pulse, and looking grave.
Meantime the woman had kindled a fire to warm the chil-
ly apartment, and was now engaged in holding the pa-
tits little cold feet in her large hands, gently chafing

1em. ;

“It’s a case of exhaustion, ma’am,’? said the doctor—
‘mental trouble and physical want. What I fear is ty-
phoid setting in. But we must nourish her up. She needs
the most carelul nursing and suitable diet.. Are you her
mother???

“You might see 1am not, doctor: I’m only a poor tai-
loress, and she’s a lady, I can tell you. I don’t know what
her misfortunes has been, but I couid see her heart was
breakin’ from day to day. I tried to be a bit kind to her;
but she was so proud and quiet she would never com-
plain. She told me her father died a few weeks ago, and
Ireckon he jeft her.poor, an’ she wasn’t used toit. Do
look at them vests, doctor, andthen at them poor little
baby hands! It’s enough to make a body cry!’? and Mrs,
Nesbit wiped her eyes accordingly, t%

“Too bad! too bad! a burning shame!’? muttered the
physician. ‘‘But who’s going to take care of her?» Will
you ao it, ma’am, if I'll pay you for your time? I much
fear that she will trouble you but for a day or two.”?

“Illdo the best I can, doctor.’?

“Allright. Aud now go to the Dispensary, and get the
articles set down here,’ giving her his written orders,
“Dll stay until you return,’ and. he proceeded to pour a
few drops of some stimulant between the lips of the un-
conscious girl.

When Mrs. Nesbit returned the patient was partly res
stored, but in a wandering state of mind, and very feeble.
Tlie physician gave minute directions, and went away,
promising to call again before night.

“{ can see he don’t expect her to live,’? mused the wo-
wat in Charge; ‘but 1'll do my best to the last.’ And’she

id.

In the intervals of waiting upon Lilla, she sat down to
finish the vest, for she Knew the clothing-house would
send after the work before long, since it had not been re-
turned within the prescribed time.

She had finished the button-holes by noon, and as she
Went to the table to tie up the bundle, her eyes fell again
upon the little parcel, which, in her excitement, she had
entirely forgotten.

‘* ‘Not to be sent until Christmas Day,’ she repeated.
“YT didn’t notice that at first. What can the child be about?
Perliapg she is returning some little gift to the giver, be-
lieving that she is going to die. That must beit. ‘Fi/th
avenue.’ To some rich person, then, perliaps—some one
who does not know of her trouble and danger. Surely
she must have friends. Perhaps she has been foolish, and
ran away from them. Perhaps there are those who would
give their eyes to know where she is. I feel it borne in
upon me that it is my duty to send this off at once—even

 

against the poor little thing’s Wishes. I'll do it, and my
mind’ll be more easy.”’ .

 

Poor child! she had not long to idle over the eon

the usual time; and ail the poor, weeping child could do’

Her trembling lips curled at the very thought of.

a

Frederick Livingstone was idling over the dessert after
the three o'clock dinner athome. After his turtle-soup, his
salmon trout, roast venison and current jelly, his chicken
salad, his iced pudding and California pears, he was
trifling with a stem of black Hamburgs, picking off the
luscious globes one by one, and allowing their pulp to
melt in his mouth the while he listened to his lady
mother in a black velvet dress and diamonds, who was
lecturing him upon his indifference to a certain Miss Pon-
sonby, arich girlfrom Baltimore, whom she had mentally
selected as a Suitable match for her son, but to whom he
persisted in remaining provokingly indifferent.

“Fred! she exclaimed at last, ‘“‘what is the matter
With you? you go on eating grapes and do not answer me
one word,”

“What can I say, mother? You knowI don't care for
the girls.’ :

“Don’t? Indeed! Since. when ?!

Fred could have told her since when; but that was a
sore subject between them, and so he kept quite and took
up another luscious bunch. Just as he was breaking off
the last grape, the footman came in and laid a queer
een little brown paper parcel on the table before
lim.

He took it up with a smile; but the smile fled when he
ees at the handwriting, for he recoguised it at a
glance. j

Fred prided himself on his self-control; nevertheless,
his hands trembled as he untied the string. When he
haa@ done so, and undone the paper a little way, what did
he see? A little brass thimble, @ coarse needle, a black
cotton thread, a few faded rose-buds falling to pieces, and
behind them, written in a weak, wavering hand, ‘A
Christmas gift Jrom Lilla—dead.”’

The young gentleman of fashion arose to his feet. His
face was white, his eyes were wild, and they glowered upon
ns mother with a look that alarmed as well as astonished
ler. :

“See here! your work!’ he said in a broken voice,
pointing to the package. ‘Oh, mother, Lilla is dead!’

He rushed out into the hall, caught his hat, and ran out
upon the pavement. He did not realize what he was
doing. He only felt choked, and an instinct to get Into
the cool open air. But when he reached tiie pavement, a
ragged boy standing there, said to himin the hope of a
reward for bringipg it probably:. ;

“Did yees get the bit package, thin, sir?’

“Did you bring it, boy?”

“That I did, sir, an’ give it to the futman safe.’

‘*Will you take me where it came from?” }

“Certain, 8ure—why not?—for a dime, sir, any day.”

The young gentleman followed the ragged urchin ‘a
good ways from Fifth avenue, into precincts with which
he was unfamiliar, saying occasionally to his guide:

 

 

 

running.

in time they came to ashiabby house, on a shabby but
decent street. :

The boy led the way up three or four flights of narrow
stairs to the door of a room on the top story, when he
said, reaching out his hand for the dime: _

‘Mrs. Nesbit’s in there, sir.’’

Fred gave him a dollar, and Knocked softly. The door
was quietly opened by Mrs. Nesbit, finger on lip. She
Was not all surprised to see this elegant young man De-
fore her—somehow, slie had foreseen his coming—but
she wished no sudden shock to injure her patent, whose
life was trembling in the balance.

“Do not speak,’ was all she said, making way for him
to enter.

The next moment Frederick Livingstone was kneeling
by Lilla Greydon’s bedside. Down on the bare floor, on
his knees, he grovelled, looking with agonized gaze upou
the white face of the blasted ruse-bud whom he had once
‘loved. Once loved!

“They never love who say that they loved onee!”’

“Js she dead ?*’ he whispered; for the girl lay there so
motionless with closed eyes, that he could not teli.

“Nay, not dead, but at deéath’s door,’? was Mrs. Nesbit’s
solemn answer,

“Oh, Heaven,’ murmured Fred, turning his face up-
ward, ‘‘iet her live!”

Such prayers are often heard that He does not see fit
to answer.

Will He answer this?

Althougti ordered not to speak, the young man had, un-
consciously, breathed the prayer aloud, and the sound of
his words pierced the dull ears which had remuined deaf
to the questions of others.

Suddenly the closed eyes flew open, and Lilla’s soul
was looking througit, straight into the soul of her un-
worthy lover.

‘Lilla!’ Lilla!’ he moaned, ‘‘oh, forgive, forgive me! I
have loved youall the time. It has been almost as hard for
me asforyou. My parents have tried to make me believe
that my duty was to them instead of you; but now L know
itisto you. Idefythem! I care for nothing in the world
but you, my own sweet Lilla, iny poor little rosebud!
Oh!” he groaned, with a shivering look about the wretch-
ed room, “to think of me feasting on every luxury and
you—starving! Ah! I did not dream that you were re-
daced to this. They Med to me about you, Lilla!’

“You must come away; you must not excite her, un-
less you wish to fisish her,’’ said the nurse, laying her
hand on his shoulder.

Then the girl spoke, in a faint whisper, and with a
smile: Mg

“It will not hurt me, Mrs, Nesbit.
Yes, Fred, I forgive you.’

Oh, what a villain lic felt as those pure eyes met his so
calmly. : :

“Will you get well, Lilla ?''- .

“T will ury to. And she did try, faithfully, for her
lover's sake.

Hers was a Mature toociinging and affectionate to
treasure up resgntment in the face of Fred’s evident earn-
estness. She could easily believe that tis mother had
made him believe that his first duty was to her.

“And itis still, Fred’ she said, a few days tater, when
she was sitting up in an arm-Chuir, looking more like a
lily than a rosebud. “I shall never marry you, to make
your pareuts unhappy.’?

“You shall: marry me on Christmas Day,’ he said,
eagerly; “and, what is more, you shall be my Christmas
present, and my mother shall give you tome. Ihave told
her all, and she has given her consent. She fouiid that
she had to do it, or destroy my happiness outright; and,
like a good mother, she has givenin. Ah, Lilla, how I
tremble when I think what might have happened had not
the delivery of your Ciristmas present beeu a litle too
soon for the season!" , ‘

“What do you mean, Fred?’

“Why this, darling, which was the means of my finding

o tf

It does me good.

ou. j

And he took from his vest-pocket and looked very ten-
derly at the broken buds, the brass thimble, and the
needie and thread.

‘‘) had forgotten all about them. I thought I was dying
then, Fred, and would be buried long before Christmas,’’

‘Instead of ‘buried,’ read ‘married,’ ’? continued Fred,
with a dazzling smile.

Lilla blushed without saying yes; but we dare say the
young gentleman, now that his character has so suddenly
developed its manly qualities, will have his own way. So
that all our readers who have followed Lilla’s poor little
history—cominug.so near a tragedy—may take it for grant-
ed that about this very time sheis trying on the while
dress and orange flowers in which she is to be arrayed
before Mrs. Livingstone makes a Christmas present of her
to her son.

WHY
He Died for his Mother-in-Law,

DEAR NEw YORK WEEKLy:—I see by yout Golunins
that Kate Thorn is much interested in the young man
who, ‘‘the Western papers say, killed himself because of
the death of his mother-in-law!’ and, asl ‘‘live out West,”’
and have an accommodating spirit, I will volunteer the
particulars in the case.
~ In the first place, this adorable mother-in-law took any
amouut of insults meekly, and when her loving son-in-
law hinted that, ‘‘so many folks in the house kept a man’s
nose pretty close to the grindstone,’’ she said neyera
word of the roasts, and stews, and steaks that she paid
for herself. ° :

It used to be a great relief to his nerves to kick the din-
ner table over, once ina while; but after his mother-in-
law died he could not indulge in that pleasant exercise any
more, for there was no one around to pick up the brokeu
disties, or buy new ones either!

It was mother-in-law who nursed his wife when she
was sick, and watched night and day over the helpless
little waif left to his care! It was mother-in-law that
saved him from hired nurses and servant girls, and it
was mother-in-law that made his coats and pants; and
although he used.to wear his shirts as careléssly as if they
grew on his back, he sometimes did wouder when he
“bought them!’ Ah! poor fellow! After the grave closed
over the “homely form,’ he Knew wellenough when he
bought and paid for many things that, previously, had
seemed to come of themselves! ia

He found, too, that-Susan burned atleast a third more
wood than she had before, and when he questioned her
about it he obtained no satisfactory answer, but he was
often haunted by a specter coming out of the wood lot, or
up the lane, with an.armful of wood. The chips gathered

 

never so plentiful before,

He could hardly understand the reason why Susan
never could go visiting any more, but was forever boil-
ing, baking, or pickling. When he at last recoilected
that mother-in-law had always done that, he was filled
with regret, to think that he had not prized her more.
He feared that he had let a treasure slip through his
grasp, and after the next baby came he wassure of it,
for the nurse, Mrs. Muff, was about as cheeriul as a tomb-
stene.

Once he heard the baby squalling terribly, and, jump-
ing out of bed, found the nurse asleep in the rocking-
chair, warming thebaby’s feet, and the little toes were
almost blistered. Next he caught her peppering baby’s
catnip; she probably intended the pepper for a bow! of
oyster soup that was, unaccountably, made just after Su-
san had taken her dinner.

There was no one then to feed the pigs, and the little.
chickens drowned themselves in the swill pail by the doz-
ens. The cream molded on-the pans, and the butter
spoiled for want of working. The bread was burned, the
meat was raw, and the cat stole his favorite piece of the
chicken! He was calied up at all hours of the night to see
to Tommie, or build fires, and he wondered why folks
would make such a fuss over a baby when mother-in-law
never did! He missed her terribly, for. between the ba-
bies, aud the nurse, and the hired girl in the Kitchen, he
was driven almost crazy, perhaps quite; for who but.a
crazy man would think of committing suicide, just for a

 

mother-in-law ? IE BREE.

“Faster, boy,’ as le strode on, until the child was fairly’

.in the wood yard, -and the trash around the barn was

SMALL FRY.

: THE TROUT.

The trout iz a game fish.

Their game iz to bight a hook quicker, do it sharper,
and hang on harder than enny Osh of their size in all
kreashun.

They inhabit pure water, and wont lie in enny other.
They gro to be four pounds in heft, and are spotted
with ruby and silver.

Whuareever you kan find plenty of kold spring water,
thare yu will find trout, and the little ones are sweeter
than a stik of mollassiss Kandy, and full az brittle.

Lhave katight them by the thousands since I waz 10
years old, and next.to sparking, look back upon the bizz-
ness az the most delishes ov mi arly days.

Take 7 trout, each one weighing 3 ouuces, disembowell
thein tenderly, fry 3 slices ov pork, first lay the trout in
the pork fatt, do them gently to a brown, leave their
heds on, hav sum rye bread and Sliced potatose, a cup oy
old government Java, eat slowly and thank the Lord who
doeth all things well.

This iz the kreed for a good breakfasst.

I caught 48 yesterday in a little brook that runs out ov
the White Mountains.

Yesterday waz the 19th ov June, 1873.

THE BLAK BASS.
Next to the trout, amoug the smail fry for brekfasst or
to ketch, the blak bass iz the most gamey.
They will bite a hook az savage and az sartin az a fox

rap. :

They die hard, and will fite for life to the last minnitt.

They seldom weigh 4 pounds, and are dark coloured
and round shouldered.

They straddle a grid iron with az mufch grace az enny
fiesh, and melt in yure mouth like a dutch cheese. :

Ifi kan hav all the brook trout and black bass that i
want, i never shall mourn for boarding-louse hash, nor
koadfish bawis for a Sunday dinner.

I respekt hash, and reverence kodfish batls, for they
were the platform vitties Ov ni younger days, but i don’t
hanker or pine for them.

Trout and blak bass are both fresh water fish, and will
bight at a-bate, or what looks like it, and not ask enny
phoolish questions!

It takes a live man, with an open eye and a quick nerve,
rto Ketch theze phish, Fools kant do it.

5 THE PICKEREL.

The pickerel iz a long, gauut fish, weighing all the way
from an ouuce to 30 pounds.

They hav a hed like a canvass bak duk, and their bill iz
az phull ov teeth az a hand saw.

They are a game phish, and will bight enny thing that
glitters and moves fast.

They are quicker than ayung ghos¢, but which can foot
the fastest, the pickerel or the trout, i never siiall kuo.

They are fresh water children, but are not so fastidious
az the bass or the trout, for they will liv whare a mud-
turkle Kau, ald will eat all things, irom red flannell toa
striped suaix. : d

They are the best. boiled, but are az far apart froma
troutor a bass az a 9 year old mutton iz from spripvg lam.

I hav kaught pickerel ever since I could repeat the kat-
ekism good, and to ketch them thru the ice in winter iz
the best sport for me.

Thare iz only one science in landing a pickerel after he
haz bit, and that iz to doitjust az thoyu had a gold
Watclon the end ov yure line, and expekted to looze it
every haff minnitt.

A pickerel iz a sharp biter, but hangs on eazy. .

THE BULL HEAD.

The bull head iz a dirty monster who inhabits blak and
still water, and will swallo a hook, and bate, and 10 foot
Ov a line, klean down to the middie ov their stummuks.
They are az eazy Lo ketch az a muskeeter on the bak ov
yure hand, and the best time to do it iz sum hot, blak,
drizzly nite, late in the month ov Juue,

They are blak, ora dirty brown, and, like a calf, hav to
be skinned before they Kan be et.

Their heds are the biggest place in their whole boddys,
and when they open their mouths az far az they kan, yu
Kan see clear thru them.

They hay long horns on the side ov their heds, which
they had just az soon stik into yure hands az not.

Cook a bull hed well to-day, and lay him away till to-
morrow, and hiz meat will turn raw again and hav to be
biled over,

Enny man who iz willing to ketch bull heds with one
hand and fite musketoze with the other, iz just numb
enuff to set on a jury.

I hav fished for buil heds miself, but if i ever do it agin,
and it can be proved aginst me, i want te be sent to an
insane asylum, on bred and water, for 90 daze.

Ketehing bull frogs with a pickrel hook, aud -beating
their branes out with the Weel ov yure boot, iz chaste
amuzenient compared wit miN pound fishing for blak,
tuff, horny headed bull heds.

THE SUCKER.

The sucker iz a lazy loafer, who lives in still waters,
and eats dirt and slime for a bizzness. -—

They are the nearest to kondem plools ov enny phish
that paddles. \

' They look like phools, and move about with their eyes
haff shut, and their boddys just alive with a lazy wiggle.

Their mouths are on the uuder side ov their heds; they

 

suasion, who once ina while makes his appearance in
our Clearing, and preaches to our people, who are ‘not the
most refined population in the world, .

‘A few Sabbaths ago he was about to preach to a gath-
ering of some twenty persons, and took for his text the
following passage of scripture: ‘In my Jather's house
are many mansions.' -

“He had hardly finished the words when a coarse bee
hunter rose some six feet out of his seat, and looking
around upon the congregation, broke out as follows:

“<«That’s a darn lie; 1 know your father like a book; he
lives down thar’ to Swain’s Crossing, on the litle Red
River, in a log house, and thar’ aint but one room in it,’

‘This speech adjourned the meeting sine die.”

BOLLIVAR.*

 

Tae LADIES’ WORK-BOX.

Our New CaTaLoGuE.—The new Illustrated Catalogue of the
New YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, 212 pages, is now ready,
and will be sent to any address, prepaid, on receipt of ten cents,

 

_ “Artisan.’?—We have reason to feel proud of American
industries. Youare right, the glassware made here is
quite as handsome as any we have seen imported. At
the Corning Glass Works a set ot glassware, destined for
the Presidential Mansion, has just been completed.” It
consists of two dozen goblets, which are cut about half
way up the bowl, the remainder of the bow! being richly
engraved, and prominent among it isthe United States
coat ofarms; four dozen champagne glisses aud saucer
bowls, cut and engraved as the goblets; two dozen reg-
ular champagne glasses, engraved as the others; six doz-
en Canary-colored hock glasses; seven dozen ruby-bowl,
filutstein-sauterne glasses. These colored glasses are very
superior. There are also four dozen clafet, six dozen
sherry, and four dozen cordial glasses; twodozen fluger
bowls, which are cut and engraved With the coat of arms;
three dozen punch glasses, with handles; four dozen ice-
cream plates, cut and engraved as the glasses. The value
of this glass Is about $2,000. It isnot a full set, but order-
ed t6 make good the fuil set sent to the White House some
time since. It is all gotten up with the best of taste, and
of most exquisite pattern. The engraving is perfect. We
noticed, besides the above, a large number of entirely new
and beautiful samples of preserve dishes, shell and other
forms; also bottles, decanters, etc., Which far surpass any-
thing we have ever seen. é .

“Norma Deliuio.’’—A very stylish outside sacque or Dol-
mau mantle is No. 2,998, price 30 cents. This cau be
mace of cloth, cashmere, or any desirable material, and
worn with any costume. The front is neatly shaped, and
the back has a center seam that is left open below the
waist-line, while the sleeve portion, being in the drapery
Style, is held to position by straps underneath. If made
of cashmere, this garment can be trimmed with lace and
passementerie; if of cioth, a binding of silk will be suf-
ficieut, or you Can trim with arow of astrachan fur.

«‘Lena.’’—you can make a very stylish hat after the fol-
lowing design: Use black velvet, make a soft crown and
a shirred brim, trim with a coiled band of gros grain rib-
bon and velvet, the latter being edged with a cord of ma-
roon-velvet. Let the tip match tiie velvet edge, and have
flowers to go will the color, You have only joopsin the
back—no long euds—and atthe side front havea dagger
or ornament of steel. You can get up such a hat for about
$10, aud can use handsome material.

“Celeste.’—The braid will cost. you $8; curl, $4 A
good pair of globe corsets may be bought for $2.50.
“Inguirer.’’—A suitable present will be anything of sil-
ver—usually something for table use is given. An extra-
ordinary silver wedding was celebrated in Mansfield,
Ohio, on the 30th of October. Twenty-five years ago, at

same day. They were Mr. and Mrs. E. D. Lindsey, of
Mansfield; Mr. and Mrs. Otho Willet, of Bryan, Ohio, and
Mr. and Mrs. James Havens, of Urbana, Ohio. The three
couples made {heir bridal tour together. and upon their
return separated with the understanding that if they were
living at the expiration of twenty-five years they would
meet and celebrate their silver wedding. The years rolled
around, aud the promised reunion was not forgotten, and
On the day mentioned the three couples metat the resi-
dence of Mr. Lindsey, in Mansfield, and had a joyous
time. The correspondent giving an account of the re-
union, says the bridal attendants and the officiating min-
isters are all still alive, but were too widely scattered to
be gathered together again. Each couple has the same
pumber of children, and there is but one girl in the whole
number, Send address and ten-cent stamp for our Pur-
chasing Agency catalogue, which contains a list of silver
from which you can seiect those you prefer ior your own
use, and aiso to present to your friends.

“Nina.’—The gloves will cost from $1 to $2.25 a pair.
Can get you a very neat hat for the price you name—$s.

“Sadie May.”—We do not think that youare so deeply in love
with the young man but what you can very easily overcome your
affection, for he certainly has behaved very badly toward you.
Treat him-as you would a mere acquaintance; be perfectly polite
when he calls to see you; but give him to understand that you
are not quite desolate, at least not so much so as te require his
company because you cannot getvan escort; rather stay at home
until you can get some friend to accompany you to places of
amusement. The very fact of his smoking when you were ill,
should show that he was neither kind-hearted nor a gentleman;
and his unkind speeches and actions certainly indicate that you
wouldnever be happy as his wife. Let him marry the other gir!
and don’t be discouraged, for your time may come soon, an
perhaps you will care tar more for another than you have ever
cared for the man who has ill-treated you, ‘

“E. ©, W.—Make for baby a little dress of nainsook. Make a

 

are too lazy to bight a Look, and aré either Kaught ina
het, or stabbed with a 3 tined fork, dark niles, bi the
glare oy a torch lite along the shores ov a pond, or from
the bauks ov a stream.

They would eat well enuff if they was the only phish
known to man; but suckers and dirt taste almost alike.

, THE PUNKIN SEED. = -* >:

- The punkin seeds gits hiz name from hiz shape. They
are wu pond phish, and weigt: about 8 ounces, more or less,
accordin to their size. 4

Tliey git mad the eaziest ov enny pliish on rekord, and
when they do git mad the bristles on their baks are like a
hedge hogg. :

I hav fished for them bi the hour, in mi runaway skool
boy daze, and throwed them over the other side ov the
boat into the water az fast az i pulled them in on this
side.

If i had taken a mess ov theze phish home i should hay
been laffed at and sent to bed without enny supper, for mi
mother loved trout, and thought all other kiud oy phish
Waz wuss than the heathen. .

The punkin seed iz kivvered with skales on the outside
and iz as phull ov sharp things on the inside az a paper
ov pins, and taste when they are well cooked like sawdust
and lard.

If yu never hay tasted enny sawdust and lard, do it at
once, aud then yu will know forever how @ punkin seed
tastes,

Sumtimes they are called sunphish, but i dont kare what
yu kall them, they are a kussid low-priced phish enny
how.

The punkin, seed iz az phull oy fite az a rat tarrier, and
if a whale should pitch into one he would hay to swallo
him whole to whip him, with every pricker and fiu staud-
ing on end like the teeth ov a buzz saw.

, ‘THE PERCH.

The perch iz likewize a pond phish, alittle better bred
than the puukin seed, ov a yeller color, and shaped not
unlike the trout. ¢

They are a good deal like a herring to eat, and liay
more bones than meat in their boddys,

It cosis az mutcl to git one reddy for the frieing pan az
he iz worth, and thare iz just about ag mutch gaine in
ketching them az thare iz in Ketehing flies in a sugar hogs-
head, s <

Thdté até pédple who luy perch, and brag on them, so
thare is pholks who dont kno whitch iz the best, liver or
sirloin stake.

I feel sorry for sutch pholks, and are reddy to weep over
them, or not, just az the circumstansis in the Case seem
to demaud. Saat oe ‘

THE HORN DAISE. ; :

The horn daise iz a mongrel creature, not so large wheli
phull grown az the sucker, and seems to hav bin kreated
‘for barefutt skool boys to ketch, and leave on bridges
whare they Ketch thei, and let them spile in the sun,

. Idont kno ov but one thing meaner than a string ov
horn daise, and that-iz a string ov toads, or yung striped
snaix, ; ives

They hay a small bony protuberance just back ov their
eyes, On the top ov their heds, which never gitsenny
longer nor shorter, and only just stiks thru the skin.

Theze kind oy phish are cooked and eaten, but only by
thoze who are ever reddy to eat enything they can
swallo.

Horn daise, bull heds, and suckers, with a punkin seed
thrown into make the lot average, iz az low down aza
man Kan git and eat phish. .

THE EEL:

The eel iz a game phish, but their game iz to swallo a
hook out oy sight, and when you pull him out ov the wa-
ter tiyure line up into 45 hundred nots, and bo nots, in
less than 2 Konsekutiff minnitts. "a

When yu land an eelon the grass the phust thing he
duz iz to go into a fit, and stay in it for 8 hours at least.

eee amma and twisting, sutch backiwg and filling,
sutch rooling overand dubble reakting wriggiing no
phish nor snaik on this earth Kan beat.

An eel will liv out ov water allmost az long az a snaik,
and if they aint snaiks they are the most deceavin kritters
i ever witnessed. .

I don’t want enny better snaik than an eel iz.

Eels are sed to be good eating, buti never conld git mi
mind oph from a striped snaik long enuff to enjoy them.

They liv in fresh water, and in salt water, and never
hay been known to die of old age.

LISTEN! TO THE SPICE BOX.

4 A BAD SPELL.

Please put the following into your spice column, Dear
Josh, and oblige a constant and well-pleased reader of
the New YORK WEEKLY: r Wy
. There came off from the mountains lately a couple of
tall, loose-constructed, and completely verdant young fel-
lows, into the town of Amenia, Duchess County, and loit-
ering about the place their attention was attracted to a
sign, stuck out of a second story window of a building,
which read as follows:

‘Doctor Pancrast, Physician and Surgeon.”

After studying the sign intently, one turned to the other
and said:

“Jake, I have it now, it is Doctor Pankake, Phisicking
Sturgeon.”

“You are wrong now, Dave,” replied the other. ‘It is
Doktor Pancakes fishing for sturgeon.’' BEN BOLT.*

° DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. ‘

We get from the frontier some of our racyest storys.

Here follows one we received yesterday from Texas:

é

 

“There is an itinerant preacher of the Campbellite per-

yoke of tucks and inserting of the material, and finish with an
edge. Have a full skirt, which you can tuck, and have inserting
_let ib, and have on the edge some embroitery to match. Tie this
little dress with a bluesash. Togo with the cloak have a little
knitted cap of sree of white, tufted with blue. You want
white stockings and little drab shoes without heels, for children’s
feet should rest flat on the as

“Florence.”’—Any furrier can clean your furs. ~ :

» “Lula,”’—An elegant double-breasted jacket is No. 3,056; price
of pattern, 30 cents. :
“Old Bore.’—We have always thought that it was intended to
apply only to toe-nails. Be that as it may, we give you the an-

cient bit of deggerel on the subject:
“Cut’em on monday, you cut ’em for health;
Cut *em on Tuesday, you cut em for wealth;

Cut ’em on Wednesday, you cut ’em for news;

Cut’erh on Thursday, a new pair of shoes;

Cut’em on Friday; you cut ’em for sorrow;

Cut ’em-on Saturday, see your true love to-morrow;
Cut ae Sunday, and you'll have the devil with you all the
week, f
If, after this warning you should ever again eut your toe-nails
on a Sunday, you will know what to expect.

“Mrs, L.”—We see no reason why you should not bea clerk in
our husband’s office it he needs your services there, and you
ave nothing to keep you athome. A London paper says: “The
experiment of earns an young ladies as clerks in an insurance
office has been tried and found eminently successful in the case
of the ‘Prudential,’ on Ludgate hill. For more than a year and
a half the little band, beginning with ten, now reaching to thirty-
six in nimber, and intended to be still further reinforced, has
been werking ru and giving entire satisfaction to the man-
agers.. The rooms allotted to them are light and airy, separated
altogether from those occupied by the male clerks in the estab-
lishment, and furnished with convenient chairs and desks. The
ludy clerks, who are of various ages, from eighteen to thirty,
seem to enjoy excellent health and spirits, and are unanimous in
agreeing that regular employment, if moderate, peculiarly

utary. They are exclusively ladies, strictly so-called, the
the daughters of professional men. They arrive from their va-
rious homes at Ludgate hill at 10 A.M., stop work for an hour at 1
o’clock, and leave the office at 5 P. M, veral holidays in the
year are allowed. The work is chiefly a simple kind of copyin
requiring only careful attention, good handwriting, and intelli-
getice to decipher names of persons and places—the Welsh one
especially affording a limitless field for conjecture. The salary of
these ladies is small, beginning (inclusive of certain fees) at £32
per annum, and being raised £10 each year up to £60, It would
appear, however, that there are abundance of candidates to be
found for each chalr; and, of eourse, as the work is as well done
as by male clerks, the Zdyantage to the company must be ver!
great indeed. It should be added that all directions for the work
pass through the hands of a lady Superiutendent.”

“Mother."—Our purchasmg agency can send you the silver cup
to cost from $15 to $25; plated ones from $4to $12. Shoes for
baby will cost $1 50 per pair, stockings 40 cents. The cap we
cannot get for less than ;

“Nina Lee.”—The price of mink furs will be $30—that is such a
Set as you require.

Young Girl,”’—Of course we will answer any question you
may ask with pleasure. So write and ask, ; =

a *
3 GENTLEMEN ‘S AND BOYS’ DEPARTMENT.
Fashions for génilenient até tot subject to feminine caprice;

the styles of the various garments, hats, &c., the one description
is sufficient to last during the season, as it is very seldom that
the make of agarment varies, even from one year to another.
The hats now worn are really very elegant. We are partial to
the soft felt hats, and those are most suitable for business pur-
poses. These have round crowns and curved brims, and ‘cost
from $4 to $6. or opera the hat is soft,sias no pointed or Alpine
crown, and a wide, turned-up brim, price $5 and $6, The dress.
hat has a bell crown, about eight inches deep, with curved brim,
nearly twoinches bread. They cost $10. e caps, or
turbans ot seal skin: the finest of the Shetland seal cost from $16
to $32, Cheaper ones range from $9 to $20. :

“Young To Lover.’’—A strong and sensible writer saysa

‘ood, sharp thing, and a true one, too, for boys who use tobacco.
tends to softening and weakening the brain, the spinal mar-
row and the whole nervous fluid. boy who smokes early and
frequently, orin any way uses large quantities of tobaceo, is never |
known to make aman of much energy, and generally lacks
muscular and physical ag well as mental power. We would par-
ticularly warn boys who want to be anything in the world, to
shun tobacco as a most baneful poison. Itinjures the teeth. It
produces an unhealthy state of the throat and Jungs, hurts the
stomach, and blasts the brain and nerves. {

“Young Mechanic.’’—There is no class of the community upon
whom the future welfare of the country more essentially de-
pends than upon the rising generation of young mechanics. If
they are inteiligent, sober, industrious, and conSequently inde-
pendent, able and accustomed to judge for themselves, and gov-
erned in their conduct by an enlightened view of their own best
interests; if they are men of this sort, the mechanics, and espe-
cially the young mechanics, will form, in conjunction with the
young farmers:of the country, a bulwark against monopolies and
corrupt politicians, and save the republic. If, on the other hand
they are ignorant, idle, dissolute, and, consequently, T,- an
dependent upon tivose who are willing te trust them—if our me-
chanics should beeome such a class—they would soon be conyert-
ed into the mere tools of a few rich men, who, having fjrst strip-
ped them of every sense of self-respect, and eyery feeling proper
to virtuous citizens, would use them as passive instruments for

romotiug their own ambitious objects, and for the enactment of

aws which are beneficial to nobody but the artful few and base
demagogues with whom they originate. Itis true of the mechan-
ical arts as of any other profession that “knowledge is power.”

“Horse Shoes,”—You should wear a full dress suit of broad
cloth, of black material for coat and pants, and a white vest.
Your tie and gloves should be the same color—a delicate pearl or
lavender will be appropriate. Shirts now have plain double
bosoms quite as often as they are tucked. Agood pattern is 82;
price 50 cents.

“Ransom.”—Yes, we can get you the gloves. Those of un-

lucked otter, cost from $16 to $22; plucked otter, fronr$l2 to

15; beaver, frem $5 to $6 per pair; handsome sealskin gloves
with wrists, cost from $10 to $20 per pair. Handsome shirts of
the best material, embroidered tronts, from $5 to $10 each,
Plain shirts with tucked-in corded bosoms, from $2.50 to $3.50

each. s
“Luke,’“—Put your tweed in water prepared after the f Showings
method, and your clothes will be water-proof:—In a bucket o
soft water put half-a-pound of sugar of lead and half-a-pound of
powdered alum; stir this at intervals, until it becomes clear,
then pour it off into another bucket, and put the garment there-
in, and Jet it be in for twenty-four hours, and then hang it up to
dry without wringing it. Two of my party—a lady and a gentle
mun—have worn garments thus tr in the wildest storms of
i he rain hangs upon the

 

wind and rain, without getting wet.
cloth in globules. in short, they are really water-proof,

Marion, Olio, three young couples were married on the ~

therefore, if we, at the commencement of each season describe °

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4
{
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~