. mene rm ’ tie : AJovR™ Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1873, by Street & Smith, tn the Ofice of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C, VOL. XXIX, AK “GF ES “tf User Nos. 27, 29, 31 Rose St., P.O Box 4896, New York. NEW YORK, DECEMBER 29, 1878. Three Dollars Per Year. FRANCIS S. SMITH. {Teco Copies Five Dollars, ner fs eee No. 8. A MESSAGE FROM ST. NICHOLAS. BY MARY E. LAMBERT. Dark was the dreary winter night, Bieak and cold did the north wind blow— Out in the storm was no gleam of light, To shine on the fallen snow. Dreaming, I sat by my glowing fire, But I shivered to hear the storm That merciless raged around the poor, Who had nothing to keep them warm. Then I thought that the Holy Christmas time, The joyous feast of the year, With its scenes of gladnessand of mirth, Was rapidly drawing near. When methought I heard a sigh, deep drawn, And I glanced from the burning wood To the form of the good old Christmas King, Who before me, life-like, stood. There were tears in good St. Nicholas’ eyes, There was sorrow in his face; On his royal robes, and his kingly form Had the “panic” left its trace. * You see,” he said, “that my robe of fur Is the same that I wore last year; 4nd Til have to travel Christmas Eve, Without even one new reindeer, * And my sled, too, is not half so large As the one you used to see; And Pll have to pass by many a home, Where children are waiting for me. “ Will yousee my scanty Christmas store ?” And he sadly opened his pack, *T was smail, and oh, to my eager eyes, It many things seemed to lack. It is true, for the children of the rich There were costly gifts, yea, more, Of the jewels rare and the golden toys, Than ever I saw before, There was lack for the children of the poor— No shoes nor hats for the boys; Not a single suit of the cheaper clothes, And none of the low-priced toys. My heart grew sad, for so well I knew How the eager, gladsome eyes Would turn away from the empty socks, And grow tearful in surp ise. “O, wait!” he said, and his good old face With the radiant thought grew brght; * T guess, with little ontside help, We will set this thing ali right!" And, then in te® twinkling of an eye, thong. the snow and rain, And brouglt etother pack from his sled, And before me stood again. r. VJaatred e opened it. “See! and before me placed Countless garments, half-worn, some new— And toys by the wholesale, some for the boys, And some for the sweet girls, too. “ Where did I get them ?”” “Why,” said he, “They are some of the last year’s store, That are sent by the children of the rich, To the children of the poor!” Thus we learn from the good old Christmas King A sweet lesson of charity— And I trust that the children near and far Will his message take from me. JUST COMMENCED. THE. Brown Princess. A TALE OF THE DEATH CANYON. By Mrs. mM. WV. Victor, Author of THE WIFE’S FOE, WHO OWNED THE JEWELS? THE BEAUTIFUL TEMPTER, FORGER’S SISTER, &Kc., d&ec. {The Brown Princess’? was commenced last week. Ask your News Agent for No. 7, and you will get the first chapters.] CHAPTER Iil.—(Continued.) Bob put his hand in his breast and drew forth a small revolver, éxquisitely finished as a toy, mounted in gold, polished and dainty enough for a lady’s hand. They had taken his knife, powder-horn and rifleaway from him nnder the tree, but this pretty weapon had passed unde- dected. ‘Lolly, take this asa present from me. I bought it for you froma Californian whom I met at Dustville yester- day. I was going to give it to you more as a joke than in earnest. But you may need it in place of a father or— brother. Keep it loaded and hidden in your bosom when you are alone.”’ She was about to take it when she drew back her hand, saying: it may stand youin good stead this evening, Bob. Keep it until to-morrow. If they threaten you too hard it may be the meaus of saving you. You could keep off the whole mob with this,if the worst comes tothe worst.” “That might be. ammunition.”’ “Give it to me then,’’? she cried, her eyes shining. ‘I willgo home and load every barrel. Father has cart- ridges and balls just right for this, 1 do believe. 1 will be pack in half-an-hour, Robert, and give it to you, fitted for use, No one willsuspect me of conveying arms to a pris- oneér,” laughing. She hid the weaponin the bosom of her dress, and taking up her basket, knocked on the door for its guard- jan to allow her to pass, The room seemed dreadfully stifling and gloomy to Bob after she had gone; but she had promised to be back in half-an-hour, and he waited patiently. He had enough to do thinking of her danger and his own, and resolving how he would take the vileness out of Bar Higgleson when the opportunity came. Halfan-hour—an hour—two hours passed and Lolly did not appear, Straggilers fromthe pursuing party began to ride into the village, heated, tired, hungry and out of temper, one and allcursing Bob Clark forthe trouble he had given them, And one and all were made welcome by Bar Higgieson to all the whisky they craved, so that before the sun set on that long, hot, July afternoon a crowd more restless, noisy and excited than that of the previous night was gathered about Bar’s tavern—notastone’s throw from the jail—so that Robert, as he walked up and down the dingy room, plainly heard the loud talk, the screeching, Swearing and occasional squabbling. In vain he looked hungrily through ‘the narrow window for Lolly’s light figure to approach up the one straggling street; she did not come, and the sun sank lower and lower until in fif. teen minutes it would touch the horizon. The ctowd began to roar like a caged lion poked with a atick. Looking anxiously in that direction Robert saw that Bar had mounted a barrei and washaranguing his patrons with great fervor, his cinnamon-colored hair thrust Riraight up above his red face, and the pistol and knife which he brandished in either hand giving emphasis to his persuasions. Only two or three members of the Vigi- lance Committee were visible, but it seemed as if the mob Was about to extemporize a committee of its own without awaiting the action of the former authority. Robert-conld not but wonder—vaguely, and feeling like & person im a nightmare—what Bar could have to say to set his fellow-citizems so wild with excitement, But itis not loaded, and I have ne Kobert got his back against the tree. Loliy sprung The following is in part what Bar did say, showing the cunning of he man, the dangerous cannilg and treach- ery, Which when bold enough, has sometimes more than the andacity of truth: “Feller-citizens, friends, and folks-in-general,”’ said he— Bar prided himself on his oratory—“‘some of you is in fa- vor of lettin’ this hull matter drop. 1 AIN’T. Two of our dearest friends and most respected members of this com- munity was murdered last Thursday evening a week—for ey r Bekose they was uniacky enough to have had good uck. = pause to give his audience a chance to laugh at this sally. “Now, if nobody ain’t punished not one of us wili dar’ arter this to pick up a big nugget, even if we see it wait- ing like @ coaxing bubby to be took up. How do you like that prospect, boys ?’’ The question was answered by growls an@ yells. ‘Now, time is short. The sun ain’t many minutes high. Afore it sets entirely out o’ sight 1 hope its last rays will fall on the grave of that TRAITOR yunder in that ar’ jail!’ (Cheers and hisses.) ‘Yis, on his grave, and he, dead an’ warm, inside of it. It’s the only safe course. Mind you, I don’t perpose this solely on account o’ his lettin’ off the old man. I perpose it for that an’ for suthin’ still worse. I'll tell ye—be quiet, friends, a minute—what J believe, not to say know. I have my reasons for believin’ and knowin’ that Bod Clark wasa party to them murders—ay, the very one that did the deed! Hair’t you said, a good many of you, that Old Joe never had the strength to fell those two men by blows of a pick from behind? Of course he couldn’t do it alone. What man in this town is stronger than Bob Clark? Didn’t he come down from the dig- gin’sthatsame night? Ain’t he courtin’ the old man’s darter? You heerd what he said hisself, in our very face an’ eyes, this mornin’. When we began to search sharp for the murderer didn’t he make hisself skase? What he dare come back for beats me; but it’s only a piece of his impudence, ruling it over better men. I kin see it all as plain as the nose on yer face. The two was to go cahoots with the plunder, and Miss Lolly was to. set up house- keepin’ in tip-top style. Not that she knew how the money Came, poor gal. She's innercent as a rose, she is. Mind, I don’t biame her. I leave it to you, feller citizens, if Bob Clark hasn’t allers hed more rocks to spend than le ’arned. Whar did they come from? Thar’s only one way to get money a man don’t ’arn—that is to steal it, and a robber never stops ata human life when it stands in his way. Bob Clark is a dangerous man. He must be put out o’ this community, but he mustn’t be turned onto some other. Thar ain't no good place for him in this world—except underground. I put it to the vote, feller citizens, shall our hard-working friends—men with fami- lies, too—be crept on by the cowardly assassin and struck dead in their tracks, and he be allowed to go about and enjoy hisself{? Is that fair? Are we fair-dealers or are we not? Shall Digtown be a nest of robbers an’ murder- ers, or & peaceable, prosperous, thrivin’ town, where dust is plenty and good liquor dog cheap? Take another drink all ’round, friends, free gratis, and then yote on the ques- tion mighty quick, fur it’s giltin’ late.’ This little speech had been accompanied by @ runniug commentary of remarks, mostly of approval, All of a sudden, to this whisky-infuriated throng, their most tem- perate, respected, and law-abiding young man had be- come their enemy—a dangerous, treacherous feilow, whom it was their plain duty to hang as quickly as pos- sible. Some with low curses, others with noisy execra- tions, fingered their knives and looked to their fire-arms, while all accepted Bar’s liberal invitation to take another drink at his expense. None of them were sober enough to inquire the meaning of this generosity on the part of the hotel-keeper, or to suspect the motive of such aston- ishing prodigality. A few of the more intelligent men of the place, who had held aloof during the day—the “storekeeper,” the doc- tor, and a lawyer or two—hearing of the turn the affair } was about to take, hastened to the tavern to remonstrate with their neighbors. But they were too late with those ‘‘good intentions” which ‘‘pave hell.’? Earlier they would have had perhaps @ prevailing influence; but when they appeared on the scene whisky ruled the demoralized miners. They were beyond the point where an appeal to their judgment or their compassion would have any ef- fect. They wanted a spree, and they wanted to hang Bob Clark, and they were bound to have what they wanted. The remonstrance of the better few was met with hoots of derision. Another drink, a cheer all round, and then the armed, demoniac mob, with Bar Higgleson ‘‘to the fore,’’ made a dash upon the jail. Robert saw the maneuver from within. Caged, un- armed, helpless—why had Lolly failed with the weapon she had promised? CHAPTER IV. LOLLY AND HER GUEST. Three years before the opening of our story Digtown was not. It had sprung up in a season, the outgrowth of the needs of a body of miners and speculators who had found an excellent vein of gold in the rocky mountains which shadowed the plateau on which the village grew. This fertile bit of table-land was just the place to “plant” their homes, being far more inviting than the sterile hills in which they worked. Except such as were needed to supply the wants of the main body—the tradesman, blacksmith, tavern-keeper, doctor, etc.—all the male in- habitants were gold-miners. Some came down from the mountains every night, some but oncea week. On Satur- day nights Bar Higgleson’s was always a lively spot. The people were, many of them, wild and rough, and some of them were wicked; but there were but few f LL A J i y cL ling-saloon was 4 ® In fact the only real ime oid Joe Jackson. « He had come to Digtows in the fall of its first year—the town having been born and christened in the spring— bringing with him his pretty daughter, about fifteen years of age. None knew his previous history nor from whence the ill-assorted pair came. They just strayed into Dig- town like a couple of lost children—he besotted, aimless, almost imbecile; she, bright, modest, lovely and spotless as a lily, anxious to do something for herself and her poor old father. People pitied and liked her; so, after the two had rested at Bar’s hotel two or three days, and had paid out their very last dollar for that needed rest, moved by this pity and liking, the inhabitants offered to put up a shanty for tnem, and to furnish the man withemployment. The little cabin we have mentioned was the result of their la- bors and a free gift to the new-comers. Out of her own sparse stores one housekeeper sent in a dish, and another acup, and a third a kettle, until the little family was sup- plied with the bare necessities of life. Urged by hischild, perhaps aroused by the kindness which had been showered upon him, Joe Jackson made a couple of three-legged stools and two little wooden frames for bedsteads, and put up some shelves against the wall. With this spasmo- dic effort his industry died out; and in the two years which had since elapsed he had seidom done @ day’s work. Lounging about the saloon, the store or the tavern, he waited for someone to give him an odd job, while the money thus earned was invariably spent for liquor, until his neighbors grew to despise him, and old Joe, although harmless, was esteemed the most worthless character in the community. Yet it was evident, even to the rude mi- ners, that he had ‘seen better days.’? Traces of refine- ment lingered about him, and his language was that of an educated man. The doctor and lawyer had tried, more than’ once, to draw from him some hints as to his past life; for there was an air of sadness about him which ex- cited their interest. He had the appearance of one whose hope and ambition had been suddenly crushed out of him by some fatal blow. Indeed, the doctor was quite certain thatit was not the stupefying effects of poison whisky alone which gave that nerveless, dejected air to the young- oldman. Yet, apathetic, dull, stupid as he was, old Joe was never so steeped in liquor that one word could be got from him which would enlighten his neighbors as to his past experience. As the contempt for old Joe grew the respect for his daughter increased. So sweet, so good-tempered, so strangely innocent and pure-minded, the coarsest men were modest in her presence, treating her as if she were some girl-queen. Poor child! she struggled hard to earn her daily bread. About the only thing she could do to ad- vantage was to imake the coarse shirts and overalls of such miners as had no women of their own fo do their sewing, and to mend their torn garments. This she did so readily and neatly that it was a great pleasure to over- pay her for her work. A New York seamstress of the same class would open her eyes in astonishment at the “nuggets,’? and eflittle heaps of ‘‘dust,’? and occasional greenbacks: that were sometimes left in Lolly’s sewing- basket in return for sewing on a few buttons or patching agarment. The merchant always sold her things under price, the doctor made no bill for attending her father when he had a month’s sickness; an enthusiastic, retired shoemaker brought forth his implements and bought a piece of fancy morocco for the sole purpose of keeping her in slippers. More than once Lolly had asked herself, with a sigh and a smile: ‘‘Why are people so good to me?”’ Alas! she was doomed, before long, to find that these same kind friends could be cruel 98 the grave. She kept house in the donated shanty as well as her in- experience and herscant resources would permit. Her instincts were all toward neatness and refinement. The one miserable room had an air about it, afterall, of home. There were always flowers in the summer and evergreens in the winter. Lolly’s sewing-basket was a pretty little affair, cunning- ly constructed of small pine cones. She had no ‘Miss Leslie’s Cook-book”’ to refer to, no traditionary culinary lore of a Mother to recall, and her cooking was certainly not epicurean, yet she always did the very best she could. What more could be asked of a motherless little thing? It was this cheery, ambitious spirit of Lolly’s, her in- dustry, her pleasant words and looks for all, which had guined her universal good will. Then, her beauty! so dainty, so delicate, such a contrast to her surroundings! It was @ constant wonder to Digtown, and its pride as well. The Digtown fellows were ready to swear, without fear of perjuring themselves, that from Maine to Galifor- nia there could not be found a match for Lolly Jackson. From the glitter of her golden crown to the arch of her tiny foot, she was perfect. No common prettiness, either! A fair, high-bred beauty, as different from an ordinary handsome girl’s as a tea-rose is different from a peony. Her voice was clear and silvery—she did not speak loud- ly, yet you heard every syllable, aud her language was not the dialect of the West—the doctor had noticed that, and accounted for it by the fact that her father usually spoke with correctness, Sometimes Lolly and her father were heard conversing together in a ‘‘strange jargon” as the neighbors called it. Actually, they were talking in French. Lolly could readq, could write a fair hand, and keep simple accounts cor- rectly. Beyond this she was not educated, saving such education as she gleaned from long conversations with her parent when, in some rare intervals of sobriety, she coaxed him into answering the innumerable eager ques- tions which leaped to her lips. san@atter hisfatylie of bus 3. Trig le was ye ; drones in ihe commun af the kegper of the Kamb- toafey of the pla He had given her 2 good deal of oral instruction in as- trononly, So that she ‘did not} like some of the Digtown ladies{ think the world was flat and that the sun went round it every day; also, in their long and lonely wander- ingsie had taught her the names of trees and plants, their virtues, vices, and characteristics—how to classily plants, and much other botanical knowledge. ~ Yt was in these more agreeable moods of his, when he seemed to revive and become alive, as it were, from his death of inebriation, that the child had learned to ten- deriy regard her father, and to respect him as a person who knew more than any one else she had ever met. In such hours she would receive impressions which no after sottishness could destroy. “No one knows poor father but me,’”? she would say to herself. Oertainly, Joseph Jackson wasa strangely reti- cent man, Not even to Lolly, in their most: confidential moments, would he speak of lis life when he was a young man, nor even of her mother, whom the child did not at allremember. She did not know what was her father’s native place, nor, indeed, where she was born. It was only by unintentional revelations, made in chance slips of the tongue, that she made out that he must be familiar with the great city of New York, and that he had been far in lands on the other side of the globe. All this mystery had sown a strange flower of hope and aspiration inthe young girl’s heart. She Jelé that she was not as the people about her—that her life was an alien one—and often, in sweet, dreamy twilight musings she strove to picture forth what manner of life might yet open before her. Yet did she not hold herself aloof from the plain people about her; she liked them, they were so good to her; her sympathy was always ready; ler bright smile never with- held; while she felt still, as if she Kept something apart from them. The only person who had seemed to her really like a companion was Robert Clark. Her young heart craved young company. And he was so earnest and upright, and comparatively refined, with all the glamour of youth and good looks about him, that gradually, and unsuspected of herself, she had introduced him also into those shadowy dreams of the future in which she was to figure! As for Robert, for more than a year he had worshiped her as something too good and beautiful for him, but which it was a joy and rapture to be permitted to serve at a distance, And frequent had been his opportunities of serving Lolly. All that her father should have done, and did not, Robert soughtto do. He kept Lolly “in kindling wood;”’ he did her errands for her in. the rainy season— more, and best of all to her, he kepta watcliful eye on her father, rescuing him from many a brawl in which the poor drunkard, without fault of his own, would become in- volved; bringing him home safe on dark and stormy nights, and otherwise protecting him. He had never told Lolly what his feeling was for her, and she had never asked herself what her feeling was for him. Thus time had glided onto that haplessJuly in which Digtown had been startled by the bold murder of two of her citizens, returning home, after a remarkably lucky ‘‘find’—which had been much noised about and talked of —with their spoils, only to fall victims to their own good fortune! Since the first year of the settlement there had not been much violence or bloodshed—beyond an occasional “fair fight?’—and the event had shocked the growing civilization of the community. Ii tot only shocked the miners, who were beginning to settle down into decent citizens, but it aroused their bad passions and drove them into unreason- ing excitement. The disbanded Vigilance Committee re- organized; a thorough search was made for some clew to the murderer or murderess, resulting, as we Know in the finding of a portion of the spoils under the floor of old Joe’s shanty, and his arrest as the assassin. Then, not even liking for Lolly, could restrain the fury of the people. Poor Joe had nothing but his daughter in his favor. He was worthless, lazy, drunken, shiftless, as they said—he Aad no visible means of support—prejudices and appearances were against him! The outraged public sentiment could not be appeased without a sacrifice, and what more likely victim than miserable old Joe? His arrest, trial and sentence was made quick work Of; it was only Lolly’s agonized pleading which had secured for him a night’s grace. *Don't—don’t—don’t kill him until he comes to his senses! He would like tosay a prayer—I Know he would, if he was himself,’’ she screamed, in her fright and anguish, and one of the committee had roughly responded: “Tis a leetie too bad to send him to the d——, dead drunk,’’ and they had thrust. him into the jail, not repul- sing her when she begged to be allowed to remain with him, You can imagine what a night that must have been for her. She kept whispering Robert’s name and saying to herself that if he were home this thing would not have happened. After the scene in the morning under the Gallows Tree and after the breakfast in the shanty, while Lolly gathered her berries, baked her pies and prepared Robert’s dinner, the stranger—who had arrived socuriously upon the stage inthis hour of action and excitement—improved the op- portunity to question the young girl about her past life, her father’s past life—if she had friends, relatives ’—and LO give a vague hint, now and then, that better fortunes might be in store for her—the whole spiced with delicate flatteries which fell upon her sorrowful, shrinking spirit like perfumed dew. “There is something very mysterious about father,’’ the child said. ‘He loves me, but he never telis me how he lived when he was a young man. My motherdied whenI was but two years old. Ido notrememberher, She was buried in the graveyard of a littie settlement somewhere in illinois. Ihave nothing to fell you, Mr. Grafton, about myseli. I have never done anything, since I can recollect, but just follow father frem one rough place to another—we trudged, once, alithe way,to California, with aparty of einigrants—doing the best I could to take care of him and keep him straight.*’ And she looked up with such a sad smile, her eyes.full of tears, that her listener felt some real emotion moving him in response. If Mr. Alexander Clymer Grafton’ liad come there with some special errand to her father, as Ne had at first hinted, he said very iittie about it. The doubl as to whether Old Joe would ever re-appear, or whether, if he did, he was not doomed to. a speedy death—along with some newly- awakened ideas as to old Joe’s daughter—kept him silent as to his object. He only told Lolly that his health de- nanding a change of air, and his physician recommend- ing the ary air of Denver, and the hard exercise of ‘coach and horse-back travel, he had come out by his advice— that, just before starting, his father had told hint that an ancle of his had emigrated to lilinois, years ago, and that he had recently chanced to hear that he was now sonie- where in Denver—that this uncie’s name was Joseph Jackson, but, as to his family or circumstances he could tell very little, If the son went. to Denver he might as well make some inquiries after this long-missing relative, who had been a young man.of great promise—ilhad been educated in France and Germany, and had started in life in the great city of New York with the finest prospects. j “And that young man is my father!” said Lolly, mourn- ully. “Jt seems so. By the way, I have a sister, Lolly—a young lady of nineteen, quite a belle on Murray Hill. You don’t know where that is, I dare say! What do youthink she would say if I should bring you to her and ask her to receive aud cherish you, and have you take French les- sons, and dress you up in silks and laces, and make a Delle of you, too??? He Jaughed pleasantly as he put the question, face burned as she answered in a low voice: ‘She would. be horrified, Mr. Grafton. I know, very well, that Ido not belong to such a place. TF could not bear to be laughed at,*? and she looked proud, almost de- flant, as she stood back from the table, the roller in her litte hands, and streaks of flouron her blue gingham apron, “By Jove, she would set the whole avenue crazy after six months of polishing!” thought Aleck, admiring” her with a zeal which would have astonished his sister, Miss Flora Grafton, who knew how cool, critical and unim- pressible he was wont to.be. He said gome pretty thing to which the maiden gave little heed, . She had been so thrilled with the hope of learning something of her family and her father’s anteced- ents that she had listened ‘with eager Interest despite the fears which. tore at her heart.every inoment—fears for her parent and for Robert Clark. As she listened with .one ear to her visitor’s revelations, the other was painfully. Strained to catch every sound on the road or _in the yil- lage. He noticedit, and how dreadfully worn and wer- ried she was. “The quicker she is rid of that incubus in the shape ofa father, the better for her,’’ he secretly mused. ‘While, as for that red-shirted admirer of her’s, I fancy she can be taught to forget him!’? and his lip curled under its silken mustache. elicate and cultivated as he was, there was more of a savage in the nature of this city fop than in that Lolly’s offmany a rough miner now howling for the sacrifice of a victim on the altar of *justice;”’ for, in his heart of hearts, Aleck Grafton would have been pleased that both Joe Jackson and Bob Clark should meet the threatened ceath; and he had no reason for this cruel wish beside some pri- vate, selfish motive of hisown. Of course he hid this secret desire under an appearance of great anxiety, which wouLolly’s unsuspecting gratitude. When she had the little meal in the basket ready to carry to the jail, Aleck walked by her side as far as Bar Higgleson’s, where he left her to make inquiries after the news, and to ascertain the present feeling and purpose of the Digtown people. Lolly went on, as we know, to visit Robert, and the stran- ger walked into the bar-room of the hotel. A score of curious eyes were turned upon him as he entered; the loud talking suddenly ceased; they were not embarrassed by the presence of the fine gentleman in his cloth coat, with his diamond shirt-buttons and gold watch chain— not at ail—they were only absorbed in scrutiny. As for him, he bore the scrutiny with the utmost nonchalance. He was cool and seif-possessed, but he put on no “airs?— oon would instantly have given offense, and he felt it by ustinet, Bar leaned over his rude counter, and taking his ease- on his elbow, after about three minutes, asked: “Want anything, stranger? Yer welcome to the best I’ve got, provided you pay for it,” with a wink to the others. “I shall want aroom and a bed for a week or two— mind, a clean bed, landlord—and an occasional meal, 5 suppose.”’ “Oh, yis; you Eastern big-bugs allers wants beds with- out enny little bugs in ‘em, All mght. I’ve got a room, and @ spic-span bnew bed only sot up last week. You kia have it as long as you pay for it, as I said.” The stranger took out his wallet and handed the host a ten-dollar greenback, “What are you going to do with the young man, provi- ded Joseph Juckson is not found?” he inquired as he did 80. “Hang him at sunset,” said Bar, viciously. “I suppose such decision and swift vengeance are neces- sary for the protection of the community, in these out-of- the-way places,’’ remarked the young gentleman, smooth- ly, instead of remonstrating indignantly against such law- less work. He then swung himself lightly to a seat on the counter, and began questioning those about him with regard to all the circumstances of the “little affair,’’ as well as about Joe’s previous conduct and history. When the story had got as far as the finding of the sto- len “big nugget’'under Joe’s floor, Mr. Grafton easily in- quired, looking straight in his host’s red face, and hold- ing that personage by the eyes: “Who suggested the search under the shanty floor ?”? “Wa'al, I did,’? answered Bar, his eyes. wavering, but still held by his questioner’s. ‘‘Yer see, stranger, 1 was in thar on @ errand of some kind—I forgit jist what—and I noticed that a couple of plank had been: lifted and put back sence I was thar afore. I didn’t say nuthin’, but it set me to thinkin’; and when some other matters came to my knowledge, I put this and that together, an’ I final- ly talked with the Vigilance Committee, and we got a crowd together yisterday, an’ went an’ tuk up them plank, and thar the stolen property was, sure enough. We didu’t want no more proof arter t/at.”’ “No-05 certainly not,’ slowly, responded his guest, still looking him in the face in a way whiel: Bar could not un- derstand, and did not like. In fact, Bar did not recover his equanimity while Mr. Grafton remained, who stayed about an hour and then wandered off, Saying that he should ¢laim his lodgings that night. “That chap's got 4 keen eye—like a needle,” said the tavern-keeper, when he was gone. “He’s sharp, £ tell yeou. Come, boys, what ye goin’ to do about Bob @tark ? It’s time we settled it. Takea drink, and consider the matter.” And from that time on for the next four hours he used all his cunning, all his eloquence, and all his bud liquor, to fire the hearts of his listeners to red heat—murder-heat. So that, before the sun set, they went, roaring and furi- ous, up the street, and closed about the little jail, beating down the door, which a member of the true Vigilance Com- mittee sought to guard, and rushed in upon their prey. Robert Ciark was brave and powerful, but his.prowess availed him little against such odds. Even Lolla Jackson had failed him in his hour of need. CHAPTER VY. HOW THE. MURDERER MET HIS END, Whooping and yelling like Indians the mob.dragged forth the prisoner, placing him on his own horse, poor Whirlwind, who neighed with joy to see his master, little foreboding, in his brute ignorance, the cruel way in which he was to be made to serve that master. The doctor and half-a-dozen others had armed them- selves and rode up.in a compact band to attempt the res- cue of Clark, for they did not believe him guilty, and were determined to protect him from the Grunken vengeance of the miners. They should have made their attempt by taking him from the jail some hours earlier-and conceal- ing him until the men grew sober, but they had not really believed that things would. come to.such a pass. Now their brave interference came toolate. There were fifty or more to their six, and they were met, as they attempted to dash through and bring out Robert and his horse, with a sudden, merciless fire from twenty rifles. | — 6 9S era atehamnbadadea Te seme mee nn on ee The miners were tn fora fight; in thear present state they were as reckiess as they were ugty. They would _ have killed the only docter in the settiement and all his friends tind they continued to interfere. Seeing this, and that they were net strong enough to accomplish the res- cue even by the sacrifice of their own lives, Lhe brave li- tle band retreated, fortunately, only one of their number beg woundes he Rob Le xcite- ment the rioter indiscriminate heen. They retred wounded man, follo it staggered down th ward the Gallows T Dridal, twenty men,’ in the advance, the olf haughitily, his pale fie sive. of any other emouienhOny e ture ead, and that was after leaving the more Crowded part of the vil- lage, witen they passed a certain cabin. Oue wistful, lin- gering look he turned on window and door. Both were closed; no face appeared. ee “Good-by, Lolly, furever!’’ he cried in his soul. “You have failed me, 1 do not. blame you. She is only a child,’ he thought, apologizing for her to his.own grieved feelings. ; — AS they were about toturn from the main road on to the straggling path which ied to the Gallows Tree Robert Made one tremendous effort, burst the cord which bound his wrists, seized the rein and whistied to Whirlwind ashe was went when he wished him to make extra effort. #ne gallant horse sprang. forward, trampling twe or three i 5 2 / siriving to his muster, rearing aad leaping when lie found dis way diapeded—bpl the brief struggle availed nothing. Wh louder curses atid fiercér yelis the animal Was turned toward the tree, uuder which he stood, punt- ing and wembitng, five minntes Jater. A ring four deep was formed abvut the Victim. His: hatids were again bound aud the halter placed’ about his néek, while every yo -weapon was pointed inward to One cébter, aud Bar Hig-} glesol. anv one other: heid the restive’ erse by the bit, The lower edge of the sun touched tlie far hiil-tops. — “Say a prayerif you Know ote. 1 give you'two min: utes,” said Bar, holding tke animal with one land aud taking out his watch withthe other.) Hil 4 ““Sualll ask God to forgive you your sins?” asked Rob- ert;, and then his clear, lronest eyes looked earnestly into the glorious sunset, It was as if golden gates Wwere-opel- ing to usher his soul into a strange and iovely land. ~The Sunset comforted him, and yet he yearned for Lolly. °° "Ab ilat Insiant, wien just one sole, small minute re-} | mained to him, ke heard her voice, With cfy after ery, like that of a wounded pantheress, sifé came flying along the path, tussing up her arms, her bright hair streaming, 89 Wild, 80 terrible a sight that even this infuriated rab- bie paused 1m the deed they were about to consummate to Jook at hur. Swift as an arrow. she: darted ‘through the dividing mass until she confronted Bar, . “Kili me?s kili mel? she cried; “Bar Higgleson, this is your work, ili duneto spite me! If you waut your re- yenge on jae, kill me! You shall not kill him?* “O, ho, muss,’? began the hotel-Keeper, with a malicious ;. “big words irom Jitle lips. Time's up, boys! 79 _The crow in front of the horse parted to give him way, and Bar cut himon the flank’ with a shurp blow. At thatmoment Lolly threw her arms about Whiriwind’s neck! it Was but the aimless impulse of. despair, tor What Gag Leis girlish, arms do in restraining that res- tive cteature? ; Buy Wie nnimal trembled and whinnied and would not shir. D dihe clasp of those soft arms maguetize lim, er bad hé sonle dim couSciousness of his masier’s danger? Ww er ; “Ss fa a curse, Bar struck him a more stinging ee orca aud quivered, but he would not stir. ‘Lolly clung to hin, kissed his neck, called him *good hors r fellow!” During this brief delay the stranger, who had followea after Lolly, came quietly Close to the prisoner, and siyly, with lis pocket knife, cut the cords which vLound lis Trista. ae in their astonishment at the'conduet of the horse no one noticed this littie maneuyer, but Robert felt thateome one had freed his hands, und witli a movement like ligiit- ing he flung the halter from his neck. Stand off, Lolly,?? he shouted. She'drew back. He gave the sigual to his‘horse, and Whirlwind bounded ‘for- ward with maddened speed. Perliaps he was izzy with the suddenness of his reprieve or faint from Jong-coutin- wed excitement, for as tle horse swayed in ‘going by tlie trunk ef the tree his rider fell, and imstautly the pack Were upon him, ah AA x Bheltpege ted con byes a0 Rohert struggied to his feét and got his “back against but he had no weapous, and he inade an excel- rte fire of his enemies, Loily sprang be- ul, covering his broad breast as well us’ She could whl hersiendérdigures ©” “ smiles, For when yo? rer was thinking of what I Would d “Up town, near the park, a fine mansion should rise, - Of marble, or brown-stone, I couldn't tell which, But the one that cost most, for I should be so rich! Four storics, at least, it should climb taward the skies, And the columns in front the whole world, shonid surprise! Itshouldhave splendid parlors, and the grandest of halls, “And the richest ef paintings should hang on its walls! ; “And my wife—but there, I was puzzled, I own; * “KA bachelor’s life seemed quite too forlorn, ' But no girl that I knew was just right to adorn Such a home, and I feared I must live there alone, And be as unhappy as a king on a throne!’ For I never have thought a king was so nice, ©) But av yesidentsthapTwould be, once or twieel. p “Then I'd have some fine horses—two chestnuts, one tray, 7 A done, black as night, with-Dast’ for hisname; His trotting should put e’en the fleetest to shame! And when on the road, all the knowing would say: ‘Dash can trot in two-ten almost any fine day!——’” “ah! hold up, my son; you are going too fast! If wishes had wings, even ‘Dash’ might be passed!” ee 4 pi ke Ee alse Champion. By Mrs. Helen Corwin Pierce. (“The False Champion” was commenced in No. 43. Back num- vers can be had irom any News Agent in the United States.} : CHAPTER XLIV. “a : ' Esther Mount’s haudsome face darkened, but site con- trolled herseif. Smiling iu a torced aud unnatural manner she said, sarcastically: “You honorme. Thanks!" bending her graceful head mockiugly, tien will velwemence, lt was ?0¢ ny doing. i distinciy ordered theut not to use any personal violence tuward you. Shalil summon Doctor Mentis, aud prove my assertion?” Mr. Elan shook his head. His deep eye watched her. “{ presume the man. is well paid te substantiate any story you lay please to teli.’’ Miss Mouut bit ler red Jip—then she shook out the rich folds of her dress impatiently. “Ifyou Will promise tue not to try to escape on the way, { will take you from here to some rooms | have had pre- pared for you, Were you Will be comfortable, and not sub- jected either to the cruelty of Doctor Mentis or to hearing these mad people stream,”? He smiled sarcastically. “Yuu are Very kind. I would not think of troubling you, but really these quarters are very bud. I will promise hot to try to escape on the way, at any rate.” Miss Mount bowed. Her durk eyes shone with furtive confidence and satisfacrion. “You will have to be blinded,” she said. Mr. Ejan started a jittlethen. The same sarcastic smile curved his molded.lips as he said: “Anything to get away from here.’? The carriage in which she had come was still at the Joor. Miss Mount bound up hiseyes. The she took the cey she had received from Doctor Mentis out of her silken pocket, and wolocked his prison. Taking his cold hand in ler burning one, she led him orwerd, the long, bare passages, and out to the carriage which waited in a covered gateway at one side of the establishment. “Entering, she seated herself beside him, and they were driven off, ‘ $ Mr. Elan, folding his arms across his palpitating chest, leaned back im the carriage with shut teeth, and rigid lips. TRsther Mount’s passionateeyes scarcely left his face, and her gloved hand never unclenched during the entire drive of half-an-hour or more. All Mr. Elan’s attention was riveted om «the course they were taking. He could not look, but he couid listen.” « , e ' They. seemed to himto go from Ilampstead into the more thronged and noisy parts of London, to traverse these, and then to enter a portion similarly situated to Hampstead. He fancied eyen the niuffled sound of the wheels in crossing a turfy court-yard were a reproduction rt of the Louderdale Retreat. Was he about to eter a - ‘Har establishment of that moustér Dr. Mentis at th op- posite extremity efLondon?_, ; ; He Hsther Mount took, luis haud again. ‘ She. led tim over the grass, up Some stone steps, iuto a carpeted corridor, and along & passage. Covered willl matting. : : Then she unlecked and opened a door, led him through, | and shut and secured..it again before she removed his mutter. t esta Mr, Kian looked avout him eagerly. : He was in an octagonal apartment, Juxurionsly fitted up willy yelvet.carpeting aud.silken draperies, The walls were covered itl .a blue velyet clot that seemed to be, stuffed, and, was caught dewn at intervals with wails of biue enamel. . The carpet was in two shades of, blue; the curtains were blue silk, with lace. aver them; the chairs and lounges were o! blue veivet, low, soft, luxurious, und imyiting.. A. dressing-room, as haudsouely fitted up, opened beyond, and afier that a bedroom. /Mr. Elan saw nothing of all but the window, to which he darted thednstant the mufler.was removed from his eyes. A cry of rage broke from his lips as he did so. Only a blank wal met, ‘his sight—a blank, paved yard below, the brazen sky above, and a lattice of stout; irou bars be- tween him and even these, Miss Mount paled again to her very lips as he turned and looked at her. . His eyes were two. blue flames, his beauliful face was convulsed with loathing and. con- tempt. “You have deceived me,” he said... ‘Did you imagine I. would not discover it?. lamin Doctor Mentis’ abom- inable den still, You have taken me away and bronght me back again. Do not deny it. Iam in another part of the building, but.L have a fine ear and I.can hear the doc- tor’s lost spirits wailing like damned souls even here.’ ‘Impossible,’ Miss Mount stammered; but she did not deny the charge, that she had only taken him away, and then by @ circuitous route brought him back again, These rooms had been originally fitted up for a lady pa- tient of the immaculate doctor’s, , A thick wall separated them from that portion of the building devoted to the noisier, madder patients, and it Was moreover in anew art. : “It ig well-contrived,”? Mr. Elan said, bitterly. lacks one thing—to enjoy it all 1 must be alone.’ His flashing eyes dilated, his quivering white finger pointed to the door, he towered in his indignant wrath iike some beautiful, menacing demon, Miss Mouut;shrank as though his looks were flames in- “Tt only. The door opened withaconcealed spring. Touching this as quickly as she ¢euldin haste and agitation, she darted through and it closed, behind her. That night this woman gat in the stately apartment ap- propriated to her in the mansion in Piantagenet Square, Tis woman, Whose yery presence in that lo{ty some was an outrage on its pure, tue mistress, Sat and communed with her own defiant, passionate .and. ambitious spirit. Her plans, daringly as they tad been, conceived, boldly as they bad) been, carried out, had not succeeded. The noble pair 80 cruelly separated, so horribly outraged by the dmachinations of sir Robert, Crawley,andherself, heid true to-ench, other in spite, it would almost seem, of the very decrees OfJdate. Miss Mount, as she satand pondered this mighty prob- lem, was tempted—hard unbelieyer though she was—io believe in an Over-ruling Providence, beside whose decree all aman or devilish agencies, however daring, clever and diabolic, fade into nothingness. As she sat, with her, gloomy, anxious eyes gazing straight before her the door ef her apartment, opened noiselessly and Lady Isabel came in, pale, Wasted, ghost- like, butstiil matchiess indoveliness, her black eyes star- ry-bright, her soft, black curls flowing about her white shoulders like arain.of glistening ebony. She was in white as when Esther saw herlast. Esther Mount Jooked up, and hated her again the more for the transcendent beauty which even such ;grief and wrong as liers could not impair. | ; . Lady Isabel, stood and looked, at her with an air half Majesty, half appealing. ; ; ‘7 hoped I should find you here,” she said, gently, her voice sweet and sad as the vibrations of au swolian: ‘Will you tel! me how 1 ever injured you, Esther? } ‘Miss Mount’s white teeth shut with a clicks . ; ‘Please to. go back to your own apartments, Lady Isa- bel,’ she ‘saidj sharply. “lam here as the guest of Sir Robert and Lady Calihorpe. itis extremely disagreeable to me to meet'you.”” ud “Because you have wronged me go, Esther,’? said Lady Isabel, with firm Sweetness. “Will you tell me how J in- curred your enmity. 1 did not know I had an enemy in whe work, except Sir Robert, who’ wants my money. What did J ever do to you that you should league yourself agdinst nie?’ glance. 5 “You were rich, and bought the man I mighthave won witl) your mower” ) she said, passionately, lifting her stormy eyes. 77M ; “If Lhad guessed that my riches had aught to do with it," Lady Isabel said, shivering slightly, “if you and he’ had trusted me, I would gladly have given you: part of what was mine, I would ‘have given you hal—or even all, sooner than have lived to such. awful betrayal as I have. But no matter,” averting her lovely, rigid’ face a moment, “if thatis all the wrong Ihave done you, you can Well afford to forgive ‘me, now you: have won‘hiny at | closemy eyes but I h }pectantly. BEKLY. : 7 “{T could not if I would. I know no more where he is than you,”? Miss Mount gaid, with a half gasp. ' Lady Isabeli extended Her little supplicating hands. Her sweet, proud face was wan and snowy With anguish. “Have merey upou me, Esther,” shewailed; “you are : inyuehemies, you are in all their’ plans, you boy and | alone stand between them and wicked vet, 'T May. take alblf t dy wha give Kt ra false name and oo at they May “ha so unused to D ‘away fr knew how his li ane, h call ine aie } ‘Mamma, mamma, Li Lhear him says , and I cannot & go for him.’ ady Isabel's voice broke in sobs. With her hands and cried aloud. Esther Mount was moved against her will. She hated Lady Isabel -for her beauty, for her unconscious suprem- vacy Still over the heart of the man whose very brain had been so horribly violated to makeyhim forgét her. -But Sue had no enmity toward the clild, but rather a gécret tenderness, perhaps. \ In. the old days at Kirston, when- she was wth et a good and “pure-weman, sh¢@ had loved yOung Hugh for-his father’s looks, aud had won the child toieve her. Esther Mount» was not all bad. The thought of the little bright manly boy, whose beaming, ‘cheery face Was mere, like his father’s than that father’s was now, smote her with & pang that surprised herself. ee of remorse touched her. Shewent toward Lady Sabel, ’ cy} marry : ‘ 3s » ‘Isabel, *tshe said, faiteringly, “IL uad no hana in steal ing your beautiful boy from you. [don’t know where he “She eovered her face 7 is, oreven-ifhe lives; but if he does, and J can reach him, you shall have him back again unharmed. Bad asl am, you may trust me for that.” Lady Isabel iooked up mildly. .-She could not believe the evidence of her seuses. Wus it indeed this false, cruel, treacherous, jying enemy of hers, who spokessuch unexpected words, and spoke them aSif she meant them too? Esther Mount understood that half amazed, half incredulous look. She was sneering at herself already for having spoken or felt asshe just had. Her face hard- ened again. She drew back siguificantly, as Lady Isabel Weuld have spoken, “Please to go now,” she said; ‘‘I cannot answer for my- Self with you near. If you want me to keep my word about the child go, and let me try to forget, if I can, who is hig mother.” With a heavy sigh, but a heart somewhat lightened by Esther’s strange promise in spite of her doubts, Lady Isa- bel retu ed to Ler own apartments, CHAPTER XLY. He whom for convenience we have called for the time Mr. Elan, as he called himself, lay one. sultry night toss- ing upon one*of the blue veivet couches in those rooms to which Miss Mount with suci careful pretense had con- ducted him. The night was very warm. Scarce a breath of air came through the one bowed wiudow of his apart- ment. Miss Mount had not come near him for three days, She had not been able to muster courage to face him. Mr. Elan lay and thought of Lady Isabel. Ignorant of the truth thouglt he was, his heart yet turued to her with _passtonate and irrepressible longing. More utterly, more inadly and recklessly, because to his consciousness it was so hopeless, did Mr. Eian love that glorious vision which lad dawned upon lim as Bertrand Trevor only twice— once in the Park, once at ‘Trevor House. He lay now re- Calling every item of it all, the astonisuing words she had said, ‘the soit brilliance ef her great black eyes, the ebon luster of her hair, the creanly whitness of her dark, re- spleudent face, the snowy fragility of the little hands, the tender, willowy grace of her drooping figure. It all came back, and over him likeaspell. Heliked tolie and dream it over, it was like balm to his outraged soul, it soothed even the miserable bitterness of his present situation. Suddenly there came a low faint tap upon his door. He started, and listened, thinking he migittve mistaken. It came again. He rose and went toward the door. “Who Is there??? he asked. There was ho respouse, but as he cast his eyes down- ward lie saw a tiny folded slip of paper pushed under the door. Drawing it out quickly, he saw it was written on, and*® eet, in a cramped, irregular but singularly emphatic Land : “Your door opens with a conceaied spring. I heard them say so.. Look for it on your side, while I look on this.’? : Mr. Elan’s face went ghastly white as he read the words, : “I can’t find any spring,” he said aloud, mechanically. “T have tried before.” ; Then his eyes weut over the mysterious paper again in a rapid, startled way. “Can it be another trick??? he muttered.to himself. ‘I ought to know this writing. . Cah it bée anether-. forgery?” Suddenly, noiselessly, the dvor swung back, and a man faced him, tall—immensely so-}broad of shonider-and long off limb, a sSWhrthy-gight wy pale brown eyes, .a beard, ke an arm@u Of red Garze samc a lead of bristling hair. tg correspond. ; * Fad “He feld out t rs hands /big \}nd muscular the big, honest\face glowe(yith, eagerness and a dumb, animal like pleasure, the lohg, strong aris caugutthe young man in their fold.and clasped him in a strange, exultiug em- brace. . Mr. Elan yielded to it,ags a long Jost son might haye done im the arms of the father at last found, His seusi- tive, finely-uolded lips were quivering as he drew him- Self out of that Clasp, aud then putling his. womauish white hands one each side Of te giants browh face, looked. hiimin the eyes almost wildly. “Ibis really you,” le suid at last, Kissing him on either cheek as foreiguers do, and then. in 2. burst of emotion dropping his vwn handsome head. as &@ woman might on the giant’s shoulder. ‘ : The giant patted his. cheek softly, and smoothed his curling hair with his big, muscular hand. Then he gently lifted Lhe young man’s Jace, and made a rapid sigu with his. hand, Young Klan seemed to comprehend him instantly. He laughed softly, as he brought his Nat, and the two weut out together into the carpetted corridor, Young Elau started as he saw just beyond the door a man lying on the floor, fast bound with cords, and the giant made a significant gesture with liis clenched, ham- mer-like first, The man had a gag in his mouth go he could not.speak, but his eyes looked wicked aud angry, No one else was on that fluor, and no one on the hext. Something lay in a heap near the outer door, and look- ing close, Mr, Elan saw it was Lie Keeper, who knocked him down the first night of his comiug to this horribie. place. He was bound and gagged like the other. ‘The giant stooped over him, aud took away some keys. Selecting one, lle opened the onter door, a Tuere were those wlio looked on at this uncie and nephew with something more than wonder and curiosity, , ‘there were some in London that season who “watched the Ceunt Ruble and his handsome nephew .inw sort “of fascinated terror.’ It the Count Ruble and his inserutable nephew could have been reached by any of the clever devices for Shortening lite which were at the command of Sir Robert, Crawley and Co,, they would Very soon have slept under six: feet of earth. But the count and his nepliew seemed always to be surrounded, guarded and watched by an impenetrable cordon of faithful ad- herenis who could not be corrupted, Nearly all the aud opinions were divided as to CHAPTER XLVII. On the day succeeding that on which he whom Niss Mount had contrived such pleasant quarters for in the Retreat of Doctor Mentis: was rescued thereirom, a man‘ of giganti¢ stature and make, with a beard like a bundle of yellow turze, and bristling yellow hair, had waited upon Sir Robert Calthorpe, and, been ac- corded an interview in the most private place Sir Robert could find in'the great house in which he was sojourning. He took hint to his own apartments, to a room whic. had others on either side, whiclt be locked, and then spoke with thisman in whispers, so fearful was he of others hearing. *T thought -you were dead,” he said, in a tone of rage and tright—he added under his breath, “J wish you were.” Klan, for it was he, prodhced paper and pencil, and wrote: “T repent having served you so blindly, Sir Robert. « The debt I owed you ought not to be cancelled with wrong. Iam sorry for my part in wronging a noble lady, in outraging a noble gentle- man. “Who taught you to write ? demanded the baronet, in a fury of surprise. . ‘A cloud saddened the pale, kind brown eyes as Elan wrote: “The man from whom I deserved such patient teaching least. Will you do him justice now ?” Sit Robert fairly foamed at the mouth, “Ave you afool ?” helissed. “Do you imagine that after all I have been through, I will give everything up so? ‘Never! Ihave repented a thousand times that I did not mix his dose with poison instead of whatI did. But no one knows the truth, no one can prove him to le himself, save you, and you cannot without my aid. Zwould murder you here in this roomif I thought you were in avy danger of betraying me.” , Elan looked at hina moment. He saw that Sir Robert was horribly in earnest. His weak, small eyes glowed with desperate fires, his. womanish face had a hard and relentless look that chilled Elan in spite of himself. The baronet, too, spoke with an air of settled conviction, like one who knew that he could: ae- complish what he threatened, , Elan glanced furtively about him In vague alarin, as if im. search of, what. diabolical, engine Sir Robert would make use Of to be rid of him. Sir ‘Robert's “white lips twitched neryously, He forced and unnatural manner. “Come, he suid, in hypocritical tones, “shall not we be friends? ave you forgotten all that yolwowe me?” The calm, sad, browm eves surveyed him «moment again. Thew Elan wrote once more: “I vowed to keep your secret, and, though Tlose my own. soul in doing so, I shall not betray you Bp lobe a8 you keep your side of the covenant. to touch his life.” smiled ina You swore hot ~The baronet gave a sigh of miugled relief aud fury. . “ave I not kept my oath?” he hissed through his teeth, with scowling brows. *‘The move fool LY? oty.« if You have wronged him 9°98 almost than though you had taken his life,” wrote Elan, “Give him back all, aids if itis Money you covet, you shall haye more by doing the right than you could possibly gain the other way.” ‘ Sir Roberi’s lip curled in scorn, Be. “Have you learned to make gould, Elan?” he asked; contemptu- ously. bs ‘ “have worked in the gold mines of Australia, and been more fortunate than most,” wrote Elan. . “Humph |? sneered Sir Robert. ‘Do you know what the mere rental of the Champion estates is ?” Elan shook his head. “Do right,’ he wrote, ‘and I will secure you a clear income of torty thousand pounds a year,” That evil sneer distorted Sir Robert’s countenance once more. He did not believe him. ' He thought it was simply impossible. “See that you keep your oath to me,’ he said. “I will take care of the rest.” ; 4 : “And you refuse my offer?” Elan asked with his pencil, a sol- emn sorrow in his glance. Sir Robert fae in his face. ee I retuse it.” lan rose to go. ; “You will keep your oath to me?” Sir Robert asked. ' “Till you release me from it,” Elan wrote sadly, but with a stern aud solemn earnestness that the baronet did not think of questioning. Sir Robert imagined that he had no more to fear irom his once serf Elan, So tar as that conscientious and grate- ful old servitor was concerned he thought he was safe. The tale of his wealth obtained in the gold mines, he did not for a moment credit. He thought the man had made some money, a few thousand pounds perhaps, and in his ignorance and exulta- tion imagined 1b to be an inexhaustible fortune, Sir Robert’s amazement, i and terror when he'first met Count Ruble were beyond description, Count Ruble met him like an utter stranger. He had black hair and no beard, and a complexion as dark asa Spaniard’s. He had always a pair of gold eye-glasses stuck on his eyes,. and he used a gold-headed cane and had a pompous air, and behaved like a man of wonderful wealth and distinction. He dressed with exceeding richness and taste, and had the bearing of a man ‘accustomed to the life of a gentleman. He was not like poor, uncouth, ill dressed, dumb Elan except in his size, and his silence. ‘ 98th as he was to believe such a thing, impossible as it seem- ed, Sir Robert could not get rid of an funcomfortable fancy that Elan and Count Ruble were one, and that somehow his downfall and ruin were on the way. Tins, then, was the secret of Lady Isabel's return to society. This was why she dressed and rode and danced and went every- where that she was asked when her heart was breaking—that she |, There was one more upon whoxiCount Ruble made a profound lappy Craven, other and sad» icters Of ry were ‘ aS | and terrible impression—that was had @ solitary possession here, his only wealth iu his own , ; , | count and his néphew might between them iManage that destruc- ancestral possession of his was an ancient, tamble . He s o gues } was no longer possible. might wateh the mysterious, handsome nephew of Gount Ruble Miss Mount was in society also. Sie had gone baek to her aunt, Lady Trevor, and was inviled with the Prevors. Sie looked somewhat pale and strange,an odd glitter had grown in the hard gray eyes, and an odd hectic in the fuce, which was as hand- some as ever, She and Count Ruble's nephew Never ‘spoke or exchanged the smallest courtesies. Count Rable’s bephew had a yivid recollec- tion of what she bad caused him to endure; and a vivid imegzina- tion concerning what might haye been his fate had not Lis old friend come to his rescue.so unexpectedly. c } Sir Bertrand Trevor. He was haunted with ne such fancies ag dist wae Robert Calthorpe. He had no suspicion that the man hé hadtBiéd to murder had eseaped him alter all, What be diddearwasthat this mysterious tion, Which he Knew he deserved. He strovéddyain to guess the troth jn the nephew's blues deep, fathomlésseyes. But he might as well have lookéd imto the soundless sew fdr information. Coupt Ruble’s/nephey had been ecremenio Lady, Tsabel. They met ys strangers meat ou bel Was ablé—tor she had \steclect berself—to meet bim with cold hauteur, and smiles so eliiling that it was lik€ the sunlizit on an iceberg. “However, ber torn aud outraged aeart leaped at sight or sound of him she still firmly believed t@ b@her husband, no one would have guessed it, mene at her De ful, ice-cold face, mecting the flashing and éisdaihiul radiunee Of her great black eyes as she encountered him. — <,\, The two exchanged few courtesies, but wherever she moved Lady Tsabel knew that his glance tollowed her as if without his will, and in spite of her despair and resenttul anguish the con- sciousness thriijled hePeyer into a more brilliant loveliness, and Glad her proud, sweeteyes with a more dazzling yet softened eharm, “He foves me still, shamefully ashe has wronged me,’ she said to herself jit such “moments, aud more than once was on the poinbof seeking him and once more appealing to him. But pride, a natural und justitiabie pride and resentment, with- held her. She looked upon herself as deserted, scorned, outraged, denied and defied by the husband she had worsiiped so blindly. She who had half London at her feet, and might have wedded the proudest among them had she. been irce 10 give herself_to any. ? : More than that he left her tothe infamous companionship and owning of another, looked on coolly while the Vile thiet who had stolen his name and positiom'forced his eutrageous preséeneé dpom her. Lord’ Champion—that chronic invalid—had wonderfully im-s proved in health from the period of his first is treduction fo the reader, Pephaps excitement was good for his lordship. i ly, since he had begun to take such an interest in the dffairs of Lady Isabel, he had constantly gained in strepgth and looks, and had nearly forgotten to‘dose himselt constatitly with the various nostrums preseribed by his. physicians. He watclied, the events about himin a strange state ef wonder ald bewilderment. He could not appreveanuch that Lady Isabel did, and stroye often to dissuade her, especially as to remaining under the same roof with the impostor Crawley, and outwardly acknowledging his claim by appearing in public with.him, but he did net conden her as he had once for a similar course. He was her tast friend, not to be changed now by any course of hers, or through ‘any treakish- ness of his own variable and peevish temper. {TO BE CONTINUED.) Marriage ON THE SCAFFOLD. By Howard W. Afhacy. i (“Marriage on the Seaffolu was.commencediin No Sl. Back Nos. can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States. | CHAPTER XVIil. THE PARTING OF THE LOVERS. Vittoria knew the sternness of‘ her fathers ¢haracter tou well to dare disobey. During» tre stormy. cotleguy I have sttempted to describe, she had twice whispered to the prince: ‘Make no attempt to resist my father. With thy dagger thou‘art no match for him, for “his*aim is deadiy.”’ In her heart she, had. shuddered, fearing lest a combat might begin between these two dear cues, the result of which could not but be most agonizing to her, Nor was it fear of death that held the Son of Gianni Car- accioli So inert toward the haughty and insulting bearing of Cosmo; but dis Jove for Oosmo's. daughter and his, high sense of justice, which ,bade him not to be angry’ with a man who believed hiutself betrayed by his daughter and injured by her love. Vittoria, obeying her father, kKunelt near the vase. “Now swear, girl, said Cosmo) ina stern and terrible yoice, but with his eyes on Lord Golouna, “‘swear by the life of thy father and thy uiother, and by all thy hopes of peace in the world hereafier, aud in tiie life that’ may be youchsafed to thee, aud by all that thon dost deem holy, and by the Great Judge of all hearts, never again to meet Colonna, or any other Caraecioli, nor to write to him, nor to speak to him, nor to exchangeia glance with him.” “Not to save a thousand lives, had 1 so many,” replied Vittoria, firmly, “would { take such an oath.’ ' “Foolish girl, itis not to save thy life that I demand of thee the oath,” exclaimed Cosme,” “My bow is aimed at the Caraccioll anu.not at thee: «To save his life thou must take the oath. Swear, and. ere thon. risest from thy knees—ay, ere I siiall count. five, or by the soulof my father, this Caraccioli dies by my bolt. “If he miove hand or foot he dies on the instant.» “I swear—cruel, cruel father!?’. cried Vittoria, eve the prince coald utter a word, and. fearmg he might by even the slightest gesture cause her MeXorable father to let fly that bolt} which, winged by the aini Mind will of Cosmo ralked to the fountain and ofher lover. ‘i swear, ohh, my, fath a scream, for she knew well how stant was to Colonua di Caraccioli. “Save by thedesire of thy father or mother,’ said Cos- mo. ‘Thou art in tou greatidiaste to swear. J will leave for thee this opening in thy oath—ifever I or thy mother bid thee ask a favor of a Caraccioli, then and only theb—swear now—then and only then wilt thou hold any commuuica- tion whatsoever, by tongue, lip, hand or eye with Gelonna Caraccioli or any of -his mame. Swear—and by the lives of thy father and mother,’ “I swear!’ sobbed Vittoria, and then feil forward upon her face in a swoon. “Halt? shouted Cosmo, in a fierce shout, asithe prince was about to spring to Vittoria’s aid. ‘Put not thy hand upon my daughter. But rather betake thyself. to flight aud concealment. All is now forever at an end between thee and my daughter.” The stern father Knew not that:his child was in aswoon or he would have bounded to her side, His,eyes were fixed upon the prince, at whose head his weapou was still aimed. ; “Think not that she, thongh she loves thee, will“ever violate thatoath. Dream not that her father oramether cau ever bid her ask a favor of a Caracciolig” Thou art in disguise, and yetl recognized “thee in that Yawyer-garb. So will those who are in pursuit of thee.’ “Tu pursuit of me ?’? “Ay. IkKnow notin what manner, young man, thou hast given thy father offense—perhaps thou, being not so evil as those of thy racé usuaily are, Nast. refused to do some base act at his command,” continued Cosmo. “But this morning ] was in Atrani——” AL 7% “And there I saw many in the Jivery-of the Grand Con- stable.” “So,” said the prince, “‘my flight has been followed.”? ‘And I heard some say that the queen had revoked her grant of the countship of Del Parso until such time as she might place it in thine own hands; and in the meanwhile the Grand Constable “wus taking meagures to effect thy capture, What offense hast thou. given Gianni Carac- cioli?”? “He would have me betroth myself to the queen.”* “What! ‘Thou, a youth yet, wed the wrinkled queen of Naples! She is old enouglrto be thy mother’s mother.” “Very true; and, since I have seen thy daughter, I swear never » to wed the queen.” “What is iy daughter,but a peasant maid?” ‘She is beautiful and chaste, and I Jove her.? “And thou, the son of agreat noble, and thywelf already a’ prince, wouldst throw away a crown to wed the daughter of a peasant??? “I would throw away the jvorld to wed an angel,”-replied Lord Colonna, proudly, _ Cosmo gaged long. and_ steadily into. the noble and handsome face, whose bold, frank ‘blue eyes squarely met his keen scrutiny, and then said: “Thou art unlike any Caracciéli ‘I have ‘ever known=that is, thou art as yet. But still thon artthe son of Gianni Caraccioli, and for that misfortune J pity thee. Know that. rather than see my daughter the wife of a Garaccioli I would slay her at my feet. . She is my daughter, and, though'she hath ‘in a ‘manner been be-' witched by thee, she, will die ere she yiolate that oath. Now be- gone, or tis eiissaries of thy father will be&apon thee. I wish thee well, for there is much that is noble in thee; butmever hope,y Golonna di Caracciali, to wed my daughter. Hat thou. hast de- layed too long!” added Cosmo, as three men emerged hurriedly from the thicket on the Jett and bounded toward the prince, —* The latter turned, and recognized these three at a glance. He knew them (ell. They were three of the chiet officers of the de-! teciive police of Naples,and, as he well knew, in the service of the grand constable. ; ' The prince, thinking of flight, and conscious of. his great fleet- ness of foot, glanced around... He saw men jn the livery ot his, father emergiug from the forest on every'side. Escape by flight To attempt resistance would be folly,: which would result only in personal indignity if not injary; for among these new-comers were. severul Whose hate the young, Jaraccioli had incurred by severe reprimands of their lawless- ness. The first three, howeyer, were respecttul though firm in their demeanor, and one of them bowed low as he presented a folded paper to Lord Colonna. “I will, return, with you to. Naples,’’ said the prince, calmly, after he had read the paper. It was @ letter fromthe grand constable, warning the prince that if he did not’ immediately return to Naples and enter into his ambitious views, the grand constable would at once avenge himself by'foreing the Princess Estella Colonna, tle beloved and only sister of Lord Colonna, to wed Sr Giovanm del Alta, a base old lord, detested both by the princess and her brother, Lord Colonna, devotedly attached to. his sister, aud aware of the ruthless vindictiveness of his father, and hopeless now of 2 union with Vittoria, said to Cosmo, in a sad, grave voice, while his éyes gazed despairingly on the pale face of Vittoria—now rest- ing on her father’s bosom. “Farewell, Cosmo, I do believe that thou art-—” “Cosmo the Forester, and no more, my lord,’ interrupted Cos- mo, sate: “There would be peril to my daughter were I not a peasant. The prince understood this hint, It ¢onfirmed him In his sus- picion that Cosino was some noble, who sought safety in disguise trom the hate of Gianni Caraccioli. “Farewell, Cosmo the Forester,” he gontinued. ‘Atleast let her.think well.of me,” “Shie shall forget thee, even as thou must forget her,” replied Cosmo. “Get thee home, Vittoria, and remember thy oath—not even a glance for a Caraccioli.”’ . Vittoria;$weak and appalled; not, daring to cast her eyes to- ward those loving blue eyes, which her heart teld her were pour- ing forth a fathomless though hopeless love toward her, hurried away with quick and faltering steps, Sait Tefilled the vase, poised it on his shoulder, and said, aiond? “He who strolls to this fountain again must expect no maiden’s kiss, but a bolt from the:erossbow of Cosmo the Forester, This said, he departed, and in a moment after was lost to view in the foliage of the forest. Others than Lord Colonna heard these words of Cosmo, and remembered them. “A surly old knave, my lord,” remarked the officer who had ziven the letter tothe prince, “Some trifle of a flirtation with Y? she repeated, in ar death at that in- is fair daughter, of course, He and she should rejoice im being diSicardpii, she knew would--unerriigty pierce (ie@srqih—s a te, a r- wet pe wv. Pe tee Pi il ™ wey NY , honor t peak the word and his } conteniptud Vea St. Stephen! Tre-} me 1 Fused to have ‘sueb old | peasa’ Ires he carried off the daugh- | ters... 1 doubt not ye “handisorme—_——”” Y i jin “( fist of the indignant prince struck the | t ere a biow froin the’ fis mouth oP the lawless 6ld ruffian, and hurled him backward to the cround. : { “Ready ruffians like thee have too often aided to make the | name of Garaccioli infamous!” exclaimed the prince, as the | chastised rsan scrambled to his feet. “We are’ commanded to bind him if he resists!” roared the officer, with bloody lips. ‘He hath struck an officer of the Grand } Constable! Seizeand bind him!” ) “The first if no mere—that, offers to lay a hand on me, diesi” said the prince, calmly, as he dréw bis dagger: “I do not refuse to obey the command of the Grand Constable, though I will ever punish insolence,”’ , re ‘ “Beware jesting with the devil or a Caraccioli,”’ whispered one of the officers to the man who had been struck, and quoting one of the Neapolitan proverbsof the day. “Aud T think there is here’ ne” attempt to resist the commands of the Graud Consta- ble.” ae, “None,” said Lord Colonna, who overheard the last words of the speaker. “Forward, lam with you.” M “To Atrani first, my lord, and thence with speed to Naples,’’ re marked the officer, asthe agents of the Grand Constable, in number a score, encircled the prince. me “Not as your prisoner,” said Colonua di Caraccioli, as he swept a haughty and defiant glance over the faces around him, “but as your jeader, fur 1 pledge my word not to attempt to part com- pany with ye.” , “As our leader be it,” replied the officer. “The Grand Consta- ble bade us not be harsh unless——” y “Enough! My father was most generous and considerate, no doubt,’ interrupted the prince, smiling bitterly. » No more was said, and the party left the spot, where imme- diately after was, for a time, only silence and yacaucy, broken only by the splash and play of the water as it flowed trom the urn of the stone statue. . And thus resulted the fourth meeting of Vittoria and Colonna di Caraccioii, with the latter going away as a captive, to be be- trothed to Joanna of Naples, and with. the former bound by an oath which she would not have violated even to become the wife of Lord Colonna, : +e The quiet little green before the fountain did not retain its va- eancy long, for the prince and the party with him had not been gone more than ten minutes when a man emerged, orrather crawled from the fohage which hid the great hollow made by ' that tree among whose upturned roots Vittoria had found the golden band, Sat pele to his feet stalked out upon the grass. This man was Borrelli. He was immediately followed by an- other, a pale, gaunt, and emaciated man, with thin and haggard featur nd garments a world too larze for him then, however *plumply his limbs and frame might once have filled them. ; is man was Manfredi. The viper-venom had been busy in . oe tom since the reader saw him. He had wasted away until “his frame was thatof a living skeleton. His eyes, sunk and shrunken, flamed in their bony sockets like red hot coals, The , Miserable wretch was in almost incessant agony. Bor eli, after a quick glauce on every side, seated himself on edi 1. ered rather than walked to the great basin, and oping over it ‘swallowed mighty draughts of the cool water. : i intense thirst was ever preylug upon the vitals of this wretch- man “Oh, drink thy fill,” said Borrelli, with a Jaugh. “I wonder now—seeing thee gulp it down Jike a camel five days without water—that thou hadst the fortitude to refrain from at least a ' groan—’tis true thou didst grimace and gnash thy teeth likea man on the rack of Black Sforza—all the time we were hidden in the hollow——” “J wasall the time drinking,” replied Manfredi, reeling to the other end of the bench, and sinking down upon it with a groan. “Drinking whai ?”” “Dreams of vengeance!l’? smiled Manfredi. “Hol hot an airy; frothy tipple,’’ laughed Borrelli. ‘But doubtless very potent, since then dost reel in thy gait like a beg- gar drunk on strong wine. Drinking dreams ot vengeance wert tnou ?”? “Ay! and bloody ones!” “Vengeance on Cosmo ?” “On Cosmo—and his daughter,” groaned Manfredi. “Come! We are upon this lurking business to serve the desire of our lord, Count Alfrasco,’’ said Borrelli! “‘He left thee near Pisata, with his eominand, to piay spy on Cosmo, I went with him to Zapponetio. Four days ago he’ bade me seek thee, and return with thee to Zapponetto, with thy news, if any thou hast. (met thee near the cottage of Cosmo at noon, and thou told the that Lord Golouna was at Atrani; that thou hadst seen Cosmo depart at daylicht as if te go te that town; and that thou hadst just seen Cosme's daugiiter leave the cottage with the vase, and take the way toward this fountain, and so [I came with thee, and we hid in yonder hollow—’twas there I hid when our lord of Zapponette failed to carry off the muiden—and there concealed, we have seen that whie& hath passed and whicli will add mightily tothy budget of news for Count Alfrasco. When the fierce olu forester trod so wear us, ere he ended the wooing of Lord Colonna, { was in a sweat of terror lést the old fellow. might spy. us, or even sme) us, for there is no Dleodhound in all Italy that hath so keen a nose as old Cosmo. And I doubt uot that thou didst sweat in terror also then, Manfredi?” “Ay, did L He would have made an end of one or both of us had he seen us.” “And ie & because of that terror that thou didst drink dreams of vengeance against Cosmo ?”’ “Nay, but tor the viper’s poison that isin my veins, and which hath made my death sure,’ replied Manfredi, with a howl so keen that Borrelli sprang to his feet and, with an oath, bade him remember where hé was, and that Cosmo might return. “Not he, curse him!” replied Manfredi. “He hath, as [ told thee, a very sick wife, and rarely leaves her bedside. He bath not been here, and scarcely out of the cottage since Lord Alfrasco was here——” 7 ‘ “But what about that viper’s poison thou didst begin to speak ef “Dost remember the haudkerchief I foundin the wood, where the old villain of a forester——” .E<* “Ay—thou didst snatch it from a hanging limb and didst bind it about thy face where Cosmo had wounded thee with the staff.” “Wilt listen ? Lurking under the cottage, some two days after that I heard the maiden relate to Cosmo; he asked her to tell the tale again how she had slain a viper as she wentto the fountain, how she cleansed the venom of the reptile trom her head, piece with the handkerchief she had; how she tossed it into the bushes; how she slew the = with a staff, and threw thestaff away; how with a bodkin she picked out the broken fangs from the golden head piece that had saved her, and tossed the bodkin away—and much more I-heard, which I keep to tell Count Alfras- co,” added Mantredi, grinding iis teeth with rage and pain, ZI ask not thy gain of eaves-dropping,” said Borrelli. “But what hath all this to de with ‘drinking dreams ot vengeance’ upon Cosmo and his daughter 7” % “Ass! The staff with which Cosmo wounded me was that with which Vittoria slew the viper!” “Oh!” «And the bodkin that I did tread upon to the utter piercing of my foot, was that with which she dil pick out from her gold band the points of the viper’s fangs!” “Aha?” “‘and the handkerchief that found on the bongh, and with which I did bind up my hurts was that with which she did. wipe } off, and soak up the splashes of yiper’s venom from her head- piece. not an hour, not half-an-hour ere Lhad it over my fresh wound, Oh! Curse her! *Then thou art poisoned!” “Ay, even to my marrow |’? ( “Z wonder that thou hast lived till now, Manfredi.” “J felt not any of the effects of the venom,” replied the miser- able man, “until I had overheard Coamo’s daughter telling him of how she had slain the viper. From that instant hell’s agony hath been runna riot in my veins, in my bones, in my marrow! Look at me! Do I not look like the plague-spotted’ corpse of a beggar’s hoveli Ay, draw away from me, or 1 may bite thee!” “Gial’ cried Borre¥i, alarmed, and drawing his dagger. “‘Pish! and that for thy dagger!” said the writhing Manfredi, snapping bis fingersin rage, pain and despair. “I would beg thee, Alonzo Borrelli, to stab me tothe heart this instant, were it not that I hope to live to be avenged upon Cosmo and his dainty daughter!” 3 *Dhou hast ever had much malice in thee, man,’ said Borrelli, with a wary eye on his companion, as if he feared the poisoned wretch might grow suddenly rabid and bite him. Yet I see not why thou hast so flerce @ desire to destroy the daughter of Cos- mo. She didnot intend to harm thee; and, as for that, hadst thou been in Cosmo’s place wouldst thou not have fought as he ae os «What! of revenge! ‘ : “Bah! hate the viper that did fall in the way of the maid——” ‘And why not, Count Alfraseo ?”’ “‘Ho!”” was the reply of Borrelli. “And why him 2" Because had he not conceived a passion for the maid he would not have forced me to aid at the intended abduction, and then I should not have been poisoned,” “But had he not seen the maid Count Alfrasco would not have attempted the abduction.” . “True, Borrelli, and the maid would neyer have existed but for Cosmo, and sol hate him andher. Ihate Lord Colonna too, for but for his command not toharm Cosmo as we arrested the man, Cosmo would have been cut down ere he had a chance to wound me. Oh, I hate all. But now Jet me quench my thirst again and then we will set out for Zapponetto. The schemé of Count Alfrasco is working well,” “‘And what is that scheme, Manfredi?’ asked Borrelli, with more show of eagerness than he intended. : To this Manfredi made no reply, ashe was again swallowing water with the thirst of a starved camel, CHAPTER XIX, THE SPIES OF ALFRASGO. As the reader has been told, Borrelli. was desirous to serve Si- cardo, the brigand, as to aid the purposes of Count Alfrasco. Thou wouldst attempt to persuade me from my desire ” ad expected atthe castle of the latter at Zapponetto to hear “the bark of fox,” for he had not for an instant forgot- ten the shiaparee war of the brigaud as they parted. But no signal from Sicardo had he received or perovkvens fet he re: ema bared, that he held his life only at.the pleasure of the powerful. bri , Whose dagger he feared might reach him if he ce to be rrelli feared of use to him; or, more truly, not Binet tarpaefnstion at the hands of the agents of the chief so much as a death by fearful and lingering torture if he failed A oe it in his, power to afford some important information to ic ardo, He also greatly feared Count Alfrasco, and dared show no re- luctance to n yisit Del Parso when Lord Alfrasco bade him go seek Manfredi. ‘ He had less fear of meeting Sicardo in Del Parso after he had heard that the brigand’s fortress at Forza had been captured by a band of Greek: pirates, who had carried away lo Greece Si- paw Infant son, and that Sicardo had gone in pursuit of the idnappers. Yet so great was the fear of Sicardo in Borrelli’s heart that he ceased not to act as aspy upon the designs of Count Alfrasco; nor could he cease to gear Sicardo’s future movements long as he was not sure that the great brigand was not dead. 24 no bet- ter way could he gain a claim upon the gratitude of § © than by foiling all schemes which any one might be plottit e oT the injury of Cosmo and Vittoria, for he khew that the twas the father and the latter the sister of Sicardo, : Hence his eagerness to discover the designs of Lord Alfrageb, those of which he had just heard Mantredi speak. ile Ss “Now then,” he said, coaxingly, as Manfredi finished his quatt-" ing, ‘what is the plan of the noble count ” : “He has not told me,” replied Mautredi, with a glance of. sus- picion at his companion, “But thou Knowest the plan 2?” Sea ; “Thave imagined it. Did not the count say, in thy presence that I had more sense in my little tinger than thou hadst in thy whole body ¥”” ; “So he did, and thou hast.” “Theretore will I not tell fo thee my thoughts. Now let us be- gone, for it will be far into the night ere wean walk to where thou hast the horses. Ha! this pain in my veins! groaned Man- fredi, ‘‘May Llive to see him on the scaffold!” “Who? Cosmo ?’ J “Ay, and his daughter, di Caracciolly? “Ho! Lord Colonna!” ; “I meant not that—the name of the noble prince slipped from me! Pester not me with thy knavish questions, Borrelli! The venom in iny veins drives me to say mad things.” “There is a leech at Zapponetto, a learued Greek, who may be able to drive the yiper’s venom from thy blood,” “Nay, I am a doomed man, I have felt that as I crouched and crawled amid these woods, andlurked. near the cottage of Cos- mo, Buti haye learned enough now to avenge me. Nay, so 1 may live long enough to see—well, I say 10 more,” ; ' ithe Greek may Lea! thee.” aw hy, What great cure hath he done at Z soee hath given Conut Al€rasco a pair of new eats,” me hou art lying to me.” Nay. When thou seest Count Alfraseo thou wilt say—I have dreamed that Sicardo cut off the ears of my lord.” Bali! I Baw the combat, and I saw an old brigand roll up the severed ears ina piece of Lord Zerro’s silk scarf; and I doubt not , Sicarco will try to nail those ears to the great banner staff) of the and lis wite, and his son, and Celonna ipponetto 2? Largo del Mercato in Naples.” “It he lives, done,” he will try to do it, If he try to do it, it will be OO tt LR SI Ce Said Bort | Constantinople, who. for a year hath lived on the bounty of our lord at Zapponetto, did make fresh with his knite the ear wounds of ovr jord and instantly fix thereon two human ears the same instant severed from the head of one who did right willingly of- SC. fo “Bat the-ven *n what nonsense is this ?” : 7; the count hus a pair of new ears—ecars,of flesh, and At this assertion Manfredi, despite his incessant inward pain, langhed aloud in seurn, ‘Oh thou wilt live: some time yet, since thou cafist laugh,” eli) “Now hark ye. Castano, the Gréek leech: trom fer sucly service of ears to Connt Alfrasco. And these ears did uot wither, but by the art of the Geeek were made to unite with where the ears of the count had been; and when: I left. Zappo- netto the count had uo sign that he had lost his;own ears and was wearing tie ears of another, save the scarcely perceptible scars where they had united with his own fiesh.’’* Manfredi stared in wonder at his companion for a moment, and then exclaimed: “Thow art lying! ‘TI will agree to give thee twenty ducats, if thou wilt promise me as many, if allis not true,” replied Borrelli. “And who right willingly offered his ears to our Jord ?”” “See—inine are gone,” said Borrelli, lifting his long, thick and shaggy locks froni his temples. He was earless. “Out upon thee!” cried: Manfredi, scornrually, “Does, not ail Napies know that thy ears were cut off by Black Sforza to punish thee for stealing a silverchalice from achurch! And e¥en hadst thou had thy lost ears to offer to our lord, dost think he would have worn ears of whicli Black Sforza said: *Behold ‘ears more like the @ars of an ass than the ears of a nan!’ ” “Some day I may see the ears of Black Sforza cut off,’ growled Borrelli, ‘I heard Sieardo say he had the deed in mind.’ “But meanwhile tell me who gave his ears to our lord’s ser- vice?’ “All we who do serve Alfrasco of Zapponetto may answer ‘I’ to that,” Jaughed Borrelii, “since we often risk our necks in hisSer- vice. Hot thou didst: have an ear slashed for him the other ayl? “Ay, by the javelin of Lord Colonna. I have not forgotten it,’ replied Manffedi, with a scow). “But, answer my question.” “Why, when the Greek Castano did tell: our lord, who had an idea that the thing might be done—that it could be done, our lord asked the Greek to sell him his own ears.’? “Hot and the Greek did ?” ‘““Nay—for the Greek had none.”* “St. Peter! “He had lost them at Constantinople, and nearly lost his head atthe same time. He hides the loss with a cap, a Greek turban, and his hair.” “Well 2 “Now I would have sold my ears—hadI had any—for half the sum the count offered to old Madjara, the steward of the castle,” continued Borrelli. “Ah, thes,our_ lord listened at keyholes——' “Nay, old Madjara’s ears were too valuable to his wife, who uses them as-handles when she beats him with herslippers. And the Greek said Madjara’s ears were too old. The earsof a young, healthy spgwigor ous person were vitally necessary. Then came forward one who said: ‘Take my ears, and my heart if need be, tor service of my lord.’ ” : “Oh Pray tell me the name of that fool?” cried Manfredi. “Ergivetta di Vampa—or as she is Sometimes called, Gulpa the now wears the ears that have so often ” age.”? ah! I had forgotten her and her devotion to our lord!” said Manfredi; in great wonder. “Poor! we “Happy lady!” said Borrelli, with a bitter smile, “since our Jord doth seem to love her now more than ever, and doth speak of making the fond creature his lawful wife. His ears, thou knowest, were snsall for a man of his stature, and her’s large for & woman. Well, our lord wears the ears of Ergivetta di Vampa now, and only close scratiuy can detect that they were not born with him. Oh, he is a noble lord) is he not, to accept such a gift from the lady! What princely condescension in a Caraccioli! I mean that—so old Cosino would phrase it.” “and wity should she orany one not ‘esteem asa great honor our lord’s acceptance of such a service ?”’ asked Mantredi, with a covert glance at his ey ai who was garrulously drunk. “Ob, of course—but still, Ff, not being a noble, and onlya fellow of no repute, would go without my ears all my life: rather than depriye my lady-love of eyen the tip of hers—hal why dost eye me mM that fox-like manner 7” ae ““‘Nay—go on.” “That thou mayest report my speech to our lord! Thow arte sly devil, Manfredi, but I stand well in the favor of our Jord, and thou canst not set him against me, envious as thou art: Still, T will say no more, Come, let us beyone, But speak not of what I have said.” So saying Borrelli stalked away, followed by Manfredi, whose strength had greatly revived since’he had twice quenched his thirst. : , “Thou needst say no more,” mused Manfredi, as. he followed the other throngh the forest, on their way to where Borrelli had horses to bear them to Zapponetio.. “Thou hast said enough. I read traitor to car lordiu thy eye; and if my lord’s plan be, be- trayed, or be known too soon, it may never come toa head; and if it never come to a head; I shall pot be avenged. at one grand swoop, by means of our lord, upon Cosmo, Vittorra, Sicardo, Lord Colonna and our lord—for I do hate them all. Cosmo wounded me in my face; his daughter poisoned the rag that did peisou me; the prince ‘splitmy ear, and afterward struck me down with the stafi—and I hate his reputed goodness; Sicardo slew my brother whéu the brigand rescued his betrothed from those who were carrying her off; and Count Alfraseo hath grouud me to the dust with a thousand insults. Ah, his plot is a good one to gratify his hate of those I hate, and to destroy himseli; for, if it succeed, then wili Sicardo slay him, though the lite of the brigand pay tor- feit the next instant.” Five days after this Manfredi was closeted with Count Alfrasco at Castle Zapponetto. Borrelli had accompanied Manfredi to the presence of the count; but the latter, wishing to be alone with Mantredi, bade Borelli retire, The count, unaware that Manfredi’s veins were tainted with viper’s venom, stared in amazement at his changed appearance. Manfredi, remembering the combat before the fountain of St. Anthony, gazed curiously at the count. Borrelli had not lied. The count had ears-perfect ears. Man- fredi, however, who was a nan of memory and observation, no- ticed one new thing in regard to the ears—the count Wore jewels inthem. It was not uncommon among efleiminate mule Italians to copy a custom of their females and sport ear-rings, but never before had Manfredi sewn ear-riugs in the ears of Count Alfrasco. “They are indeed the ears of Signorina Ergivetta,” thought Manfredi; “at least, they were, and as it would have been impos- sible to conceal the fact that they have been pierced aud used to wearing weighty ear-rings, the couut must per necessity wear such baubles.” 5 “So thy eyes are fixed on my ears, Mantredi!” said the count, grimly. “Ay, my lord.”* “They were not smitten off by the brigand.”’ “Of course not, my lord.” “And he who dares say tho ears of Alfrasco of lost in a combat with Sicardo, the Brigand, is a **A most base liar, my lord,’ “And if the brigand or any one elsedoth succeed in nailing a pair ot ears to the great banner-staif in the Largo del Mercato, andit be declared that said ears were the ears of Alfrasco of Zap- ponetto, the assertion will be a lie.” “Of course, my lord; and all will Know it to be a lie, for, behold! my lord still has ears! and ears of man are not like the claws ot acrab, to grow again after being lost,” replied Manfredi, bow- ‘ing. “It need not be denied that the rascally brigand made the at- tempt, as these scars may prove,’ said the count, touching his ears; ‘but he failed.” » “Most assuredly he failed. The man hath not been born that can cut off the ears of my lord.” ‘And that all may east their eyesupon my ears, and at the same time see that they are not false ears—ears of wax, like the false nose of old Ser Giovanni del Alta—I wear 1m my ears these weighty baubles of gold and diamonas,” “A most cunning and wise device, my lord.” “And now, us this is all understood, Manfredi, tell me, In the devil’s name, what hath chanced to thee since I saw thee! Thou artas lean and cadaverous as the corpse of a starved beggar; and had not Borrelli said, ‘Here is Manfredi, my Jord,? I stiould not have recognized thee, A life in the forest of Del Parso doth not fatten thee,” ’ Manfredi then informed the count of how the poison of a viper had gotten into his veins, and how he had discovered the fact by overhearing a conversation between Cosmo and Vittoria. “hen thouart a doomed man, Mauiredi,’’. said the, count, when he had heard of this matter. r “T hope to live to see the end of Leonato di panda snubbed are ee lord,’ #eplied Manfredi, with a fvrithe of pain anda mut malediction. : “The yenom hath mounted to thy brain, man,’ said the count, staring at the tortured wretch. “Leonat: di Chiaramonti, Prince del Arnato, is dead, I know not how many years.” ost “My lord, hast never heard a. rumor that Sicardo the, Brigand is a son of Duke Leonato ~” “TL bave heard it, and placed:no faith in its; and, ftom what we learned at the fountain, we now know that Sicardo is the son ot Cosmo, the Forester of Del Parso.”’ “True, my lord; and Cosmo, tlie Forester, is Leonato de Chia- ramonti, of Sicily.” “It cannot be,” exclaimed the count, his eyes dilating with sur- prise and delight. If the assertion of his servant was true, the count would be in possession of a secret which he could use against the queen, whom he secretly hated because of her fondness for his halt- brother, { “My lord,’? continued Manfredi, ‘‘as is well Known in all Italy, Duke Leonato and thy noble father, the Grand Constabie, were intheir youths rivals in arms and in Jove, and also in manly Ty 4 Zapponetto were liar.” ‘| beauty and all manly and warlike excellencies.” “T have heard something of this, but go on,” “During the reign of Ladislaus, late King of Naples, and late brother of Queen Joanna, Duke Leonato and_ his bride were at the'royal court in Naples. The bride of the duke was a daughter of Queen Eleanor of Aragon and John I. King of Castile—a lady of great beauty and nobleness. Her name was Maria Christiani, and she had rejected the hand of thy father, Gianni di Caraccioli, ere she w Duke Leonato. She had also rejected the hand ot Prince del Alberti of Rome. During the bridal visit at Naples the duke ee an arquebuse, shot Prince del Alberti. The rince died. When he was shot no one was present except Duke onato. The report got abroad that the duke had purposely slain the prince, because the latter, had loyed the wife of the duke. It was known that the prince lived several days after he was shot, as the surgeon of Gianni Caraccioli attended him in the palace ot his father, and thy father asserted that the prince, with is dying breath, declared that Duke Leonato had deliberately assassinated him. Indeed, a paper, signed by the prince, to that effect, was shown to the court by Giannidi Caraccioli, An at- tempt to arrest the duke was made, but he escaped to his native Sicily, his wife having warned him that Gianni di Caraccioli had privately threatened to destroy the duke if she, the duchess, re- iused any longer to receive Ser Gianni as her lover.” “My excellent. father was never a saint,” said the count, with alaugh. ‘‘He was a man to quickly ayail himself of achance to be rid of two rivals-the duke, who was the husband, and del Alberti, who. stood er in. the esteem of the duchess than Gianni di Caraccioli. Did he obtain the desired prize ?? “Nay, myiord, forthe duchess escaped from) Naples with her husband,” “Atleastamy father had revenge,” langhed the wicked count. “The reputation of the duke was. destroyed, and del Alberti was slains) Rroceed.”? zeance of Gianni di Caraccioli did not end speedi- ly,’ resumed Manfredi. ‘His hate tor the duke, who soou aiter- ward received the title of prince in Sicily, increased, and his love for Maria Christina became hatred and desire for her ruin. Del Alverti was a near relative of powerful officers of the Papal court, and by: working upon their family pride, and by continued exertions, extending through several years, Duke Leonato was at last placed under the awful ban of the church,” “Ay, the desire of a Caraccioli for vengeance upon an enemy is sleepless as the fives of Vesuvius,’? remarked the count, twisting ihe ends of his mustache, and proud of his Caraccioli blood, though it was illegitimate. “Thy father’s hatred of the duke had meanwhile been at work in Sicily, and_by his means the mind of the late King of Siciiy and Aragon, Ferdinand the Just—the father of the present king, Alfonso V. the Magnanimous—was bitterly inflamed againat the dake; his sister’s husband, and Ferdinand was led at;last to be- lieve that the duke and the duchess were conspiring to slay him, or at least to wrest the throne from him.” _ “Ay, Ihave heard that: Duke Leonato aimed to be king: of Sicily and Naples.’? “Yes, my lord; and so sentence of death was decreed by Ferdi- nand upow Duke Leonato and his wife, the Duchess Maria Chris- tina. But they escaped just as they were about to be arrested—” “And perished at sea,” interrupted the count, “So all the world believes, my lord. But: tliey still live, as I will proye ‘to, thee presently. The wife of Cosmo. the Forester; how called, in Del Parso, Donna Castelletta——” “Ay—I saw her that day at the fountain,” “She hath been very itl and delirious since that day, my lord, and I, concealed beneath the floor of the cottage of Cosm9d, lave 4 *In our day this feat of surgery would searcely, be n° wonder; for it is on authentie surgical record that within the last five years even the whole lower jaw of a sufferer from diseased bone has been cut out, and new. artificial ‘one, substituted, of excel. lent use, arid no disfigurement to the woman, for the patient in this Case was Mrs, ——, of Illinois, outlawed and appnore. dead Duke etsettery. piather,’? } mother of the’ assaulted youngster, Mra. Ayers,’ who whip } Eddie and sent him bellowing home. gathered enough from her ravings and her sometimes lucid con” versautions with Gosmo, tobe pertectly assured that Cosmo isthe onato, aud to know that Donna Castelletta is the’ outlawed and supposed dead Duchess Maria Christina,’ ' “Hal? exclaimed thejcount. “My lord will remember that Cosmo said,he had a firm, plea whereby he was .entitled by the ancieut law of Del Parse to claim thy head, and that he anddenly declined to advance that plea, hiswife having said sometiiing to‘him whictr we did not ar?’ \ ? “J remem ber it well, and/hence I suspected that he was indeed ofmoble birth, and-so Lteld Lord Colonna, for. reasons of my own, But I had no suspi¢ion that Cosmo wis Duke Leonato di Chiaramonti.”’ : “He is; and he made not the plea; and only because he knew that in doing so he would place his neck and that of his wife un- Uernthe ax of Blaek Sforza,” > And under that ax will Tplace their necks, an@ the-neck of another, ere I be a month older,” : “The other is Lord Colonna,” thought Manfredi. : (TO BE CONTINUED.) _ PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS. Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributiny; to ward making this column an attractive feature of the NEw YORK WKEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for publication any- thing which may be deemed of sutticient imterest tor general pe- rnsal. Itis not mecessary that the articles should be penned in scholarlystyle; so long as they are pithy, and likely toafford ainusement, minor defects will be remedied. } THE RUGG DOCUMENTS. BY CLARA AUGUSTA, The screams grew louder and londer the nigher I cum to the scene of the catastrophus, I flung open the door aud rushed in., What a sight met my. eyes! Mrs. De Limmons was a standing on the pianny forty, with her skirts all gathered in round her, a yelling wt the top of her voice; Augustus had clim up in a cheer, and was a gasping for breath; the maid, which her name it was Idy Cory, was a making a vain atlempt to git out of the winder, but her bustle had) ketched onthe sash spring and hild her fast; aud Arabella she was a trayel- ing round the room ate 2:40 rate, screeching, and hold- ing onto the skirt of her gound withthe grip of despair. Both the dogs had rnu under the sofy, and was howling as if they’d betted fifty dollars that one could howl louder than UVother. ‘Creation of Avam! sez I. “What on airth is the mat- ter 2°? “Oh! I’m lost andundone!!’ sez Arabella. “Who's did it! sez I. “Oh, that we'd never left Feledelphy!’’ sez Mrs, Limmons, “Wow! wow! wow! wowl?? sez the poodle, sticking his nose out from under tlic sofy. “Bow! wow! wow! wow!” sez the rat and tan, doing his best to dig a lole in the carpet to bury hisself. “Oh, Hevings! Ishall die!’ cried Arabella. “Bury me in Feiedelphy!? ‘Now look here!’ sez 1; “do stop yelling a minnit, and tell me what’s the matter? Is it cholery? or spinai men’s gaiters?” ‘A reptile,’ sez Arabella; ‘ta poisonous reptile, Oh, lordy! landy! deary met"! And she danced of round the reom again, upsetting cheers, and shelves of chany, and fortygraplis, etsettery, De “Where and what?’ <> “A reptile?’ sez I ¢ “On, Heavens! I felt his fatal “In my skirts!’ sez shie. fangs!” “A cobral’ sez Augustus. Feledephy!”” ‘a fe “And il iver see me own Feledepky agin may the saints blast the eyes of me if ever | sit me foot outside of that same!’? sez Idy Cory with her lead out of the winder and tother ixtremity luside, which is the French maid of Mrs. De Simmons. “Stop rite where you be!’ sez I, ‘‘aud Dil fix the erit- ter for ye. Jist let me git my amwbrillin range and I'll deal deatli and dustricktiou to all within its reach. Now onbutton your skirts,’ sez J, ‘and le6’em drap when I give the word.” i The poor girl was eanamost done for, but she obeyed with chattering teeth and trembling fingers. ; “One! two! threel Fire!’ sez I, and she dropped %em, and out bounced one of the liveliest green grasshoppers that I have seen for sometime and lighted on the looking- glass, where he went to combing his hair with his hind legs and -making his toilet generally. 1 Suppose he was kinder mussed up with the performance he’d been through. Amost anybody would have been. _ ‘Ys the bite very, fataiY’? sez Mrs. De Simmons, tremb- lingly. ‘Because if itis I must telegraph for Dr. Spoon- drift, of Feledephy, at once.’ ° we: 5 ee “Fatal? sez I. *The landsakel Bets Coolbroth, don’t you that was brung up over to the Ridge wlieré millions of’em was hatched out every year, don’t you know tliat a grasshopper is as harmless as @ fly? Why, Il should think living in Feledelphy had bust up what little wit you had naterally.” ‘‘Are you sure that he won’t—ah—bite—ah? asked Augustus, putting one leg down on the floor, and the drawing it back. “Yes,’? sez I, “do come down off from that cheer! You'll squat the stuffing all down!” And alter 1 had Ketehed the grasshopper, and throwed hint out door, and onhitched Idy Gory out of tlie winder, aud shut that down, they all consented to cum down from their roosts, and (he d@gs was coaxed out frourunder the soly, and fed with suggeplums, and Arabella tdok a iitile wine, and laid down (recruit her nurves. es Poor gal! : , I went back to my kitchen—and the dear land! T guess you never seed anything like that stove! Tlie bacou, and eggs, and gravy, had all burnt on, and the rovm was so full of smoke that you couldn’t lave told your grandfather from the man in the moon half way acrost it! I tlung open the doors, and went to scraping the stove; and while scraped I composed this poem. If it should remind you of bacon you needu’t be surprised. It was the month of August In eighteen seventy-three, A gitting nigh September, * And the wind a blowing free, That from far wenaly, The city of good morrills Quakers, “Oh, that we were back in Where the folks is honest And never, never quarreis. There cum to Pigeon Holler, Allin the hom-ni-bus, A cousin to Jerushy Perkins, And her son, named Au-gus-tus! Likewise two dogs, one maid, two bobbylinks, And a parrot! And her darter, Arabella, With a head red as a carrot! Arabella was so, delikit She could skeercely. breathe for fainting; ah! the graces of the girl, . y pen, why wilt be oe Almost as soon as she had reached The shades of Pigeon Holler She met with asad eppersode, he account of which is briefiy and substantially to foller, ; A deadly reptile she did think Had fastened hisself to her; Beneath her well-starched petticoats That monster clung unto her! With awful rage he struck his fangs Tuto hershrinking boddy, And her affrighted, trembling mar, And Augustus, and Idy Cory, and the two dogs— they clim the piannet forty, and so forth, and shouted, “Ob, Lordy! Lordy!” Then to the scene Jerushy.cum, ambriller— Armed with her strong In time of trouble it has proved Buckler, and shield, and piller! She seized upon them raffled skirts, And yanked—ah! who'd dare stop her ? And out there cum full into view— The very biggest kind of a green grasshopper! Yours, truly, J, R. PERKINS A Droll Epitaph. A contributor, who is evidently envious of the prosperity of the Quaker city, informs us that thé appended epitaph was copied trom a stoue in a Philadelphia cemetery: “QO! am she went ? and be she gone ? And have she left I all alone? QO! crool fate, to be so blind, i To take she fust and leave I *hind! f Her will never come back to wee, But us will sartinly go to shee.” Words to be Avoided. John,—Are the words “this here” and “that ere” proper ? Teacher,—No; they are improper, and should be avoided. " A, E, Woop, John.-I say they are correct. The other eyening, while lying on my bed, I caught cold in this ear from that air which came in through the open window, ED Sr, A Smart Boy. “James, what are the olfactory organs ?” asked a teacher. We the machinery in factories where oil is made,” was the eply. ; : f i, The master lifted his cowhide, but the next instant went into spasms, A Model Order, The following is an exact copy of an order which your contrib- utor, a storekeeper, received from a customer: “DEER SUR—Yew wil pleze send mea bottel of lodnum Sally tuck @ toothache Jas nite also 8ix boxes of pills an too bottels of Kastor oil an Send nee thre pounds of. kaughphy [coffee] the ole wonian issick. for which dowil payew the kash urprojuce on site ef I doantse yew befoar yore friend URIAH COLEMAN,”? The reader, can, punctuate the above to suit his fancy, bul he will perhaps be surprised at the quantity and qualify of medi- cine which it appears Sally took for the tootiache, JouN OLIVER: ’ “ike Its Father.” A chatty young lady, who was in the habit of praising every: thing that delighted her, by the use of such words ag, “dear”? “sweet,” etc., ouce called on a married friend. She was met at the door by the Jady’s husband, who escorted her to the. parlor, where he o¢¢upied her in conversation, a few momenta, Thien he suddenly remarked: “By the way, Bntma, I didn’t tell you of our baby.” He conducted her to ua back room, and advaticed to a neat cradle, from which he lifted a bundle of flannel and cambric. Emma uttered the old words, "the sweet little thing, the, dear darling,” etc. Mr. J. was mucu amused. Emma now looked sharply at the object in Mr. Je armis, and to her horror she beheld @ big Thomas cat, aged eight years. She at once turned the joke on Mv, J. by saying, “Well, John, Imiust con- gratulate you on this handsome child, for it’s the image of its FLORIAN SYLVESTER, A Praying Child. Our Eddie, aged five, while playing will a comrade of his own years, struck lim in the face. Lhe action was observed by the sd Ile narratéd lis sorrowful tale to his mother, whose verdict was: “Served youright, It was wrong for you to strike your little playfellow.” This was not solacing to Eddie,-and, blubbering anew, he threw himself upon the sofa, face downward. In a few moments his mother heard him muttering t@ himself, and asked him what he was doing, whe1 he replied: ‘Ise been praying to de Lord to take all dis family, (meaning his own) to heaven, and take Mrs, Ayers and Eddie to de debil,? y LL, TERHUNY, The Pun-ic Wari A couple of weeksago, in a well-known newspaper office of this cily, there, were some desperate, attempts at punning among a party of five—the three editors of the paper, an author and his son. The latter accidentally upset a bottle of ink ou the floor, and the author began the round by: “He had no ink-ling that there was anything behind him. 2d, Ed.: “He was ive-apable, of doing better.” 1st. Ka. (with assumed severity): ‘My boy you were very inc- autious.’ 3d. £d.: “Oh, now Gon’t be hard on the poor bey—he is very ine-oxious” (inmoxious). Ist, Hd.: “Hawt haw! haw! that’ shows your ime-apacity at making puns.” Retirel Author: “Yes, leave! you flend ince-arnate!” Exit third editor, disheartened, and mad as a hatter amid rounds of laughten Fiye o’clock comes, the. office is about to be closed, and the punsters disperse to their homes. Author and son discovered at supper. Son: “Father, I could have made a pun this afternoon too.” Author: “What was it 9” Son: “Well Twas going to say that there was a great dist-inc- tiom between the ink and the floor.” Author: “Very good—very goc Why didn’t you. You were inc-ulpable—the Upsetting was purely accidental.” You ought to chime in when ever you see a chance, asido. But it was ine- agitancy at the time Isuppose.” FLETCHER COWAN. Let Go of My Ears. In the little village of P——, in New Brunswick, the people were greatly alarmed the other day by seeing a large hog with a young man‘on his, back, holding the animal by the ears. The hog came at full speed along the road, and the ‘observers thought surely ihe pig was possessed by the Old Boy himself, for at every step the animal would yell out: “Let go of my ears} Let go of my ears!?? But their fears was greatly subdued Jater in the day when they learned that the young man was a ventriloquist. WiLL E. J. W. Eating in German. Our Julia, aged nine, on returning from school, last Monday, informed ler parents that a new assistant had been added to the stat of, teachers—a German lady, who had been engaged to in- Struct the pupils in sewing and embroidering. ‘A rman ?” aske@ the father. wha papa; but—buat she teaches embroidery and sewing in 1s » This reply amused Julian's fourteen-year-old brother, who quizzingly said: ‘ “In what language does she eat?” “Eat ¥ Oh, I think she eats in German,” answered Julia; ‘for when alittle German girl, at noon, threw a piece of bread onthe oor, the new teacher told her in German to pick it upand eat t. j O'’CoNNOR’S, CHILD, A Wise Girl. A thin, consumptive-looking little girl, with a bundle of books under each arm, und her breast adorned with medals, the re- wards for proficiency in her studies, meets a healihy, rosy- cheeked girl of her own age, playing with a hoop. The following conversation ensues: Hot- House’ Plant, 1cith Medals,—“T can’t come out to. play. ‘I have to study hy philosophy and my Greek, and Iywant to keep the medals.’ ; Out-of-door Plant, with Hoop.— ‘Fiddle! you'll need your health soon more than your philosophy, Besides, my papa’ says there are too many Greeks in this country now.” 1 AN enthusiastic electionecrist who fell early in the battle at Pe- oria was seen about noon trying to cuax the Indian in front ofa cigar store to come up and yote. To P. P. CoNTRIZUTORS.—The following MSS. are accepted: ‘Torchlight) Procession,’ ‘Push and Pull;’ St. Joe’s Brevities;> ‘Model Trial, ‘Brevities,’? from Lunar Caustic; ‘Brooms; ‘Nan- ny’s Error; ‘A Jolly Wedding.’...... -The, following are respect- fully decliued: ‘The Lord Sat ‘on It;’ ‘Johuson’s Speech’? ‘What Could it Be ? ‘Questionable; Well Auswered ;’ ‘Adventure Among the Highlands ;’ ‘Letier-Carrier.’ HO OUR KNOWLEDGE ‘Box. A Few Paragraphs Worth Remembering, We take pleasure in responding to every question addressed to.us in this column, for the answers generally afford information not only to the parties especially seeking it, but alsoto'the mass of our readers; but with the increase of our circulation has grown the number of questions soliciting answers by mail. These ques- tions are almost uniformly important ones, costing, to satisfacto- rily Answer them, much time and labor. For this reason all per- sons in future wishing their queries replied to by mail, will please inclose 50 cents to detray the expenses necessarily incurred. QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED,.— Captain Jack.—We cannot aid you:.....J. K.—1, Put alittle gum- arabic in yourstarch. 2, He has been estimated as hich as $100,000,000, but it isalla matter of conjecture...,..£Zngraver.— We cannot tell you......R, B. Z.—1. €astor oil, thinned witha little spirits of ammonia, will promote the growth of the hair. 2 Yes..,...£a: Hunter.—We cannot tell you... .Xdith.—Try brandy. Administer about a tablespoontul in a saucerful of milk three or tour times a day...... Louisa W.—Oxalic acid and cyanide of po- tassium will remoye. ink from paper. Use a camel-hair pencil, and apply them alternately........“\Expectant Reader.”—1. ‘As stated to other correspondents again and again, castor oil, thin- ned with brandy or the spirits ot ammonia, will help the hair if anything will. Loss of hair seems to have become geueral all over the country. 2. For INFLAMED EYELIDS see No, lof the present volume. 3. In our opinion it is....4 Young Housekeeper. —l. to CLEAN CHROMOS8.—If yours is a genuine chromorub the dirt spots off with soap and water. Afterward use clear water, 2, PLAIN OR HarD Satce FoR PUDDING.—Stir together (as in making pound cake) about equal quantities of fresh butter and white sugar. Grate in some nutmeg, and the yellow rinds of a fresh lemon, and send it to table heaped on asmall, plate, with a teaspoon nearit. This butter and. sugar sauce is yery nice when flayored and colored with the juice of strawber: ries or raspberries. 3. Brown’s Grammar. 4. Yes, buta teach- er would help you very’ much............ Weak Voice.—To Ix- PROVE THE VOICE see No. 48 of volume 28........ Zuragoza,—1, If you use cold water on your hair, be sure to rab the head dry. Many think that water helps the hair, but there is a great differ- ence of opinion onthe subject. 2. To prevent your face from looking shiny pass a towel, slightly wetted with alcohol, over it, or apply toilet magnesia. ...L, B,—WATERING PLANTS.—A writer onjthe subject of watering plants says that tliere is One universal lujy as to watering plants, which a great many people entirely négiect. The neglect of this oneduty causes more blights and more unhealthy plants than, perhaps, any single thing that.could be named besides. We mean the excellent rule of watering them with warm water—always rather warmer than the soil the plants are growing in. People must see the check and injury it must be to plants alwaysto get cold food. The organs of ten- der plants are extremely delicate;and when they are wanted to digest their food, it is a bad plan, surely, to paralyze them with cold. If we feed them, on the other hand, with food a little warm, they are stimulated at once to make the most of their meal, An- other important part of the watering branch consists in the wash- ing that all house plants require. ....Peto F. M.—To BROWN GuN- BARRELS.—The gun. barrel to be browned must be first cleaned and polished, and rubbed with whiting to remove all oily matter, Its two ends should be stopped with wooden r which serve as handles, and the touch-hole filled with wax. Then rub on the following solution: Equal parts of butter of antimony and sweet oil. Apply with a Hnen rag or sponge till the whole surface is oan moistened. Let it remain till the next day; then rub it off with a stiff brush. The siquid may be again applied until a i When this is the case, wash in proper color is produ arlash water, and afterward in clean water, and then polish either with the burnisher or with bees? wax; or apply a coat of shellac varn- ish..,..,#. P, W.—1. There is no “cheap” way ot making the es- sences to which you refer. They must be made ot good materials or else they will be worthless. The genuine bay rum is made by digesting leaves of the bay piant (an aromatic plant which grows in the West Indias) in rum, and subsequent distillation. The best imitation is.as follows; Ten fluid drams of oil of bay,,one fiuid dram of oil of pimento, two fluid ounces of acetic ether, three gallons of alcoliol, and two and: a half gallons of water. Mix, and after two weeks’ repose filter...... Constant Reader, Washing- ton, D, C—1. Yes. We will send them by Expressif you say -so. 2. The-book will cost 40 cents, the gloves, $1.25, . They are num: vered......BAKED APPLES.—While the sweet apples are on hand, do pot iorget to have some baked. cnt make a delicious break- fast dish, go charmingly with bread and milk, and are not to be despised for dessert. Select those which are undoubtedlysound, for it isan awkward thing to cut into a worm-hole, and still more so to have its occupant tall out upon the plate. ‘Wash or wipe clean, take out the core with a corer, and bake ona pie plate, neyer on tin. This direction is still more important for tart ap- ples, but should be observed for the sweet ones also. The oven should be hotter for sweet than for sour apples, but moderate for both. They are often spoiled by too much baking. Yet they must be cooked tender, and, there is no absolute “rule” to be given. So much depeuds on the heat of the oven, and on the va- riety of apple, that the judgment of the cook alone, in thisas in many other cases, must decide the matter. Those who doubt that skill and judgment are’ necessary even to bake an apple proper- ly, have yet to Jearn some important’ principles in cookery,..... G. A, S.—TO MAKE TIN SOLDER.—Take four parts of pewter, one part of tin, and one part of bismuth. When soldering use pew- dered resin.,..4/. 4. D.—1l, SOLDER FOR LkAD.—Take two parts of lead and one of tin. When soldering with this use powdered resin. 2. Bathe your eyes occasionally in a tolerably strong solu- tion of salt and water. 3. Take a duse of castor oil oncein a while. It willhelp you both in regard to complexion and pimples, ..... A Ruraler,—PATCHING A RUBBER Boot.—Get a piece of pure rub- ber—an old shoe tor instance—cut it into small bits, put in a bot- tle and cover to twice its depth with spirits of turpentine or re- fined coal tar naptha—not petroleum naptha. Stop the bottle and set one side, shaking frequently. The rubber will soon dis- solve, Then take the shoe or boot and press the rip, rent or cut close together'and put ou the solution with a camel-hair brash; continue to appiy as fastas itdries untila thorough coating is formed...... erty Reader.—RUMEDY FOR BKK STINGS. —Get a small, heavy glass phial, with a ground glass stopper; have it fill- ed with “Tinc. of Iodine.” To use: shake well, then romove stopper, applying what adheres to it to the wound, belng careful not to drop any on the clothing, as it leaves.a bud stain. A half- ounce phial is large meen -»...Cassandra, MH. R., Phil Mor- ton, Charles, Daisy Doon, J. B. C., Jr., A-Constant Reader, Fourth Ward, Anxious Blonde, Chas. R., Remember, Clara Morgan, G. W. Taylor, Beefalo Ball, E. S. Durand, Mrs. R. H.—Your letters have been received, aud will be answered as soon as possible, MEDICAL DEPARTMENT, B. C. L,—ANEURISMS.—An aneurism is a tumor formed by arte- rial blood, and communicating with an artery, Dr. Warren says that a “true aneurism is formed by the coats of an artery getting weukened by some Cause, and swelling out so as to form! a pouch or ‘sac,”?) SYMPTOMS.—An aneurism may be felt as a tumor some Where along the course of an artery, and it beats under the finger like the pulse. The beating is caused by a fresh quantity of. blood being pushed into this sac with every alroke of the heart, Jfit besmall, pressure on the artery above it will so far shut off the blood from it, that it will be flaccid, or solt. The pa- tient will often say that the tumor began to appear after some violent strain, when something appeared to give way. In the chest, aneurism will produce an unnatural pulsation felt by the patient, | Ln the belly it may generally be felt as a tumor through the abdominal walls. Lo cure aueurisms, the circulation through them must be stopped; and this, in some cases, thay be done by compression. The aid of a competent physician is indispensable in thisaind wil Kindred troubles, B.C. Low.--Rub your side with a coarse towel; saturated with a strong solution of salt aud water, Do this night ‘aud morning, till the “stitch” troubles you no more, ; “A, HW. C2'—1, See answer to “A Sufferer” in No. 61 of voluine 28; or, if nore convenient, read Nod ot the present volume, 2, We know nothing concerning: the Institution named. Our ad- i sto consult a regular family physician, Any respectable ish cun give you the names of a number of doctorsin good standing. Echo.—Only a regular practitioner ¢an ajd you, W. Kennington and P. F.S.—Bathe it night’ and morning in tepid water, and rub it well with a fie towel. Avoid all acids, and eat nothing that is not easy of digestion. R. B. S.—For BRONCHITIS see No. 450f Vol, 28. M. M.M.—l. See No. 51 of Vol. 28 in’ reply to A Sufferer. 2, We know nothing concerning it, 9 Beware of quacks.” “Scotty,’? Buffalo.—Bathe the parts affected in cold water night and morning, The Child's Friend.—Box1n@ Ears,—“Chiluten’s ears should never be boxed,” so writes an eminent surgeon. Though the slatement will doubtless be. received by many a juvenile reader in the light of a self-evident, proposition, there may yet remain a few, parents and rural pedagogues to whom the reasons for the abolition of this form of rebuke may be ot interest. We have seen, writes Professor Hinton, that the passage of the ear’ is closed by a thin membrane especially adapted to be influenced by every impulse of the air’, and with nothing but’ the air to support it in- ternally. What, then, canbe more likely ‘to: injure this mem- brane than a sudden and forcible compressing of the airin front ofit? If any one designed to break or _overstretch the mem- brane, he eould scarcely devise a, more effective mean au to bring the hand suddenly and forcibly down upob tho passage of the ear, thus driving the air violently before it, with no possibility” lor its ese but by the membrane giving way. So reasonable} are thes N@hisions that there was not needed even the high: auchority of the writer for the subsequent statement that many. children are made deaf by boxes on the eur, It is aniortunate, however, that thisand many Other rebukes of the same order precede the reason, and heéneea safer general order may De is-, sued to the intent that po chil@ should ever reccive any form of. corporal punishment until the parent or preceptor has stopped to! reason—firstwith the childeand then with himiselt, « Hospital Putient —LEAD PALSY.=-In this disease the the forearm are palsied, so that, the Wrists “drop,” as it ss said, amd the hands hang down when the arms are stretched out. Itis” caused by the gradual introduction of iead into the system through the Jungs, the stomach or the skin, It is a disease pecu- har to’ those who use or work in white lead. For lead palsy the best remedies are iodide of potassium, or sulphuret of potassium, - The dose of either of these is from three to ten grains, a muscles of times a day, dissolved in water, one ounce of the best salt to six: ounces of water, and taken in simple sirup. The affeeted limb should also be souked an hour each day f a gallon of water, with half an ounce of sulphuret of potassium dissolved ‘in it. There haye recently been in the cit y hospitals a, number of cases; of lead palsy, produced by working in white lead manufactories, | and by drinking water which had been allowed. to stand tod long in lead pipes. Cosmeticscontaining, lead also preduce a para- Jysis called “wrist-drop.? Dr. Warren says thata sudden an severe attack of Jead palsy requires the same renin AS, apo plexy. .When the bowels are obstinately cost od, eroton oil must be usec, Afterward stimulating baths and liniments ma be employed. It is stated that duridg the spring of tw hundred and thirteen cases of lead poisoning’ occurred almost si multaneously in the Walkill Valley, Orange County, New York, Alter considerable research it was ascertained that iead was co: tained in the flour and meal used in that part of the county. The source of the lead was found to be thé stones employed grinding the meal and the flonr. The stones. were old, in con- Stant need of repair, lurge cavities frequently being made, which, instead of being filled up with cement, were stopped with com. mon lead. ‘ a ce C.T. L. and Paul Jones.—Dysprrsis.—The symptoms of dy pepsiaor indigestion are multifarious—such as an unpleasan feeling of fullness after eating, a burning sensation in the pit o the stomach, belehing, heartburn, want of appetite and loy spirits, Po cure it, the greatest care must be observed in eatingy ich food should go untasted, especially rich food and pastry. Eschew warm bread, masticate your food thoroughly and ext, 1 peaie, at regularhours, rising irom the table a litile unsatistied. y pursuing this plan you will havea good uappeétite for your next meal, and be exempt irom. the ils resulting irom. an @ppa- site course. Also see No. 45 of Vol. 28. s : B, A. A.—NeERVOUS DEBILITY is often’ the resulb “of ‘too much study, or intense application of any kind. I+ is also produced by, various unpardonable excesses, though grief and anxiecy are sem times the cause of it.. It is much too common among the youn menof the present day, and if not. attended to in time leads t consequences Which it may take years to overcome. ‘Lassitude or joss of energy 13 one of the effects of the abuses of the peryous system. > A, B.—We know nothing of the specific referred to, y W..4, CA Good Boy, D. W., Miserable, but Repentun:, CB. 3. M,. M., Yours Respectfully, Sinner, A. T. WL. U.N ee RS. Johnny, Ac X.,Zantippe, Fi J. W., SKS, Rusty Pen Vaiet © Spider, 4, Long sufferer, Frank Edwards, Abner Holiien.—See ) Waianae! 51 of Voluine 28, or No, 5 of the present volume. - . Jacob Fuithful,—1, Consult yeur family physician. 2. nothing concerning him. Olivery Devere.— We cannot aid you. Economicel.—Eat as many apples as you may haro.a desire for. Figs are also good tor costiveness. Also oranges. Boiled hominy for breakfast will help you; ; ‘ “Scotty,” Buffalo, Asthma, P. F. S., Operator, W. G. R., Phila., . DOK, 3.8. H.,’ Knickerbocker, Lily A., Bo J) i, Gl Henry W. D.—Your letters have been received; and will ve answered ag $00R US possible. innnod We knox a | : | a ITEMS OF INTEREST, Sa Eight persons were killed in London recently by # terrible fire-work explosion. The) mManutacturer, named Fens wick, had taken,some of his fireworks home, his house being oe- cupied by others besides his own tamily. ‘The cause of the explo- siomis not stated.) When discovered Fenwick lay a corpse witle every rag. of clothing burned (off his blackened body. The ate titude of the figure was remarkable, the arms being extended, and almost erect, .Itis supposed that both be and tis wite were in bed at the moment of the explosion, and it is probable that they were both killed at onceé The house was ina biaze, wiiile af the windows of the second floor a Mra. Wood, with her two grand- children, were seen shrieking for help, Below them, at the first- floor window, were a Mrs. Lewis and her: two: children; cry- iugfor assistance. Nothing could be done for them, and the people in the ‘street called to them te jump out of the window: into the outstretched arms of many a ready bystander. The poor creatures seemed to be undecided What to do, and that me- ment’s hesitation proved fatal. They seemed hult-afraid to ap- proach too. near the window, in consequence of the smoke and lame, andin the next instant the whole interior of the house seemed to collapse utterly. A minute ‘afterward hali-adezen human beings were writhing and struggling in a contused heap of burning furniture. : kag~ The new Masonic Hall, at New Brunswiek N. J, one of the finest public buildings in the State, was formally Spens” ed on the 24th ult., by a concert in the hall connected therewith. This portion of the building is fitted up in the style of an amphi- theater, with | parquette and parquette circle, and two galleries, and has a seating capacity of about 1,200. Allof the appoiutments are first-class; and the’ stage, which is sixty-one feet six inches wide by thirty-three feet deep, is provided with all the latest an most ingenious methods for the rapid changing of scenes, ete. Th building, now nearly completed, has.a frontage on George stree ot 72 eet, and on Albany strect of 166 feet. It is built of iron an@ brick, in the renaissance style of architecture, is five stories high, and is surmounted by a quadrangular dome, the extreme hight from the pavement being 115feet. The first floor will be occupied as stores and offices, the second wiil have a large room for balls, Jectures, etc., the third is diyided into club rooms, the fourth an fifth floors being arranged for lodge purposes. ‘The basement is to be fitted up for dining and Dilliard saloons, bath-room, etc. ; 4a; The explosion of a boiler at a pianing mill near Keokuk, Iowa, lately, was occasioned in this way: In the absenee of the engineer, one of the proprietors of the mill took upon him- self the responsibility of running the ones, having had. no ex- perience in that capacity. He allowed the water to get too low, and the explosion was the result. The building was partially blown down, and the machinery rendered worthiess,~the dam- ages are reported to be abou explosion, that the entire building was meved a distance of sever- ai inches from its former position. Four men and a boy were\n the millatthe time. All of them were injured to some extent Say A good temperance story is alwaygin order. Let all burglars, therefore, who would be prosperous, listen to the tale of one of their breaking and entering brethren in Iowa. He had neatly “cracked” a gentieman’s house. He had collected a * fine amount of booty, Then he observed some ehcice ardent Spirits, and forgetting the serpent coiled within, perhaps fatigued by his exertions, he partook of those spirits until. he fell into % gentle slumber upon the parlor sofa. In consequence of this un- timely nap, his residence for several years to come will be in the lowa Penitentary. - | Aa The body of Captain Jack, the Modoc Chief, it is as! serted, was dug up before midnight of the day he was lung, by, soldiers detailed fur that purpose, who filled up the grave ‘and left itas though it had never been disturbed. The iy was imme- diately carried to the fort and the head taken off and put up for shipment cast. A few days after this the remainder of the body was placed in a barre), and started for. the same city for which the head was intended—Washington, D. C. ¥ ; 4a~ A harrowing story of privation and suffering comes from Iowa. Itappears that in the northwestern portion of tha State there are hundreds of families who have not sufficient clothing, and who know not where food or fuel will come trom ten days hence, An appeal is made toother portions of the State for immediate relief. A general failure of the smail grain crops | in that section is assigned as a cause of the destitution, t) 4g A curious friendship exists in Peoria between @ dog and ahog. The interesting couple are to be seen continually together in the streets, and‘if anybody troubles the hog the dog at once becomes savagely belligerent. Yet it is surmised that ft the hog were killed and nicely roasted the quondam friendwoul be immensely consoled by a bit of the pork, just as men are ofte ais bravely to bear bereavement when it is accompanied by egacy. Sar Among the passengers lost.by the terrible disaster to the steamship Ville du Hayre on the the 22d of November, was the wife of Mr, A. Bininger, of this city. Her daughter was wit her and saved. Mr. Bininger mentions it as a singular circum? stance that on the evening of the 22d, when thedisaster occurred, he saw & flower which his wife had left at home moye, and he immediately had eyil forebodings, which he expressed to several friends, His worst fears haye been confirmed. ; Say A very strange fatality has attended the family of David Sublett, of Indiana. In 1857 a daughter was murdered by her husband, for which the son-in-law was hung. Two years ago % Shortly after a son-in-law was killed in the same way, A y: son, George, was killed by the cars while lying drunk on thetrac’ ago another son-in-law was shot and killed; and now, lastiof a! afew days ago, ason was found murdered.a short distance frona the family residence, ‘ : Xap There is a singular natural curiosity in a lake j ‘ Vermont, consisting of one hundred and fifty acres of land floa ing om the surface of the water. The tract is covered with cran- berries, and there are trees fifteen feet high. When the water is raised or lowered at the dam of the pond, the island rises and ae : with it. It affords a fine shelter for fish, large numbers of whic are caught by boring a hole and fishing the ice in winter, Kay A fourteen-year-old boy killed his grandfather lately, in Kansas, to gratify his grandmother. The boy made a full con— fession.. The old couple had long been on bad terms, and the wa- man had been plotting the murder of her lusband for six months previous tothe fatal deed. She had persuaded the boy to aoe ; down through, as through several light wounds upon her personto make it appear the had been a struggle between her husband and herself, kas The “honest Chinese,’ it is said, have discovered that tea leaves, mixed with all imaginable substances, “powder- ed fine,” suit the English market, and they are now sending their nice compounds over in huge masses, i Se ee an THE author of ‘Peerless Cathleen’ will soon begin an- other story in the New YORK WEEKLY, entitled “A Dr- SIGNING WOMAN,”’ Siva j RECENT PUBLICATIONS. : THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOyAL Brive. By M.A. Avery. Pub- lishers, W. J. Holland’& Co., Springfield, Mass. This novel pur- ports to present ‘‘a true picture of scenes in the late civil war,?? and, as a whole, is an interesting as well as well-written produe- tion, The characters are drawn from life, and the incidents with whieh it abounds are, if not sensational, sufficiently well depicted to enchain the attention of the reader. As everybody will at once comprehend from the title, the heroine, who has from the first espoused the cause of the North, becomes the wile of a gen- eral in the service of ths South, It is sometime ere she consents to'be “A Rebel General’s: Loyal Bride,” for reasons which are made known to the reader during the progress of the work, buf her scruples are finally overcome, and the words are spoken tha6 bind them together tor life, Many.a time afterward she has opportunities of dving good to Union [soldiers made prisoners of war, and she is duly thankful that, through her marriage,with a “rebel general,’? she has power to help her Northern country- men without compromising her husband,’ But we will not an- ticipate any one’s perusal of thé story. It is compiete in ous yolume, which is very handsomely printed and bound, t § i WEBSTEN’S PRACTICAL LETTER-WRITzR. Publisher, Robert M. De Witt, No, 33 Rose Street, New York, This is a very useful little work of abont 200 pages, It contains a great deal of practical in- formation, besides general directions for writing. The letters 4 which are given as models are on various subjects and will be of great aid to those who desire to be easy and graceful writers. | The work also contains Bible quotations, choice prose sentiments, select poetical quotations, a collection of Latin, French, Spanish and Italian words and phrases, and a@ model of printers’ proof corrections. Price, (i/luminated cover) 50 cents, For copy bouad ; in cloth and lettered In guilt,'75 cents, AAPL PI i” TRE, OAR) TEAR ON roe tear ep & “sapien it $9,000. So great WASPME force Of LHR the va os r P ey <-0<__—_—_ THE admirers of ‘Lady Juliette’s Secret? will soon have the pleasure of reading a new story by the “Peerless Author,” entitled ‘“A DESIGNING WOMAN.” a rns FLOWERS AND THOUGHTS. The double flower Hath greater power ‘Eo please, than hath the single; And yet we know That doubles grow No seed with earth to mingle. The double thought, With sweetness fraught, Doth doubly charm the mind, And yet we know That doubles grow, Yet Jeave no seed behind. —_—_—__ > 4+ WILLIE GREY’S TRIALS. A TRUE STORY OFTHE PANIC, BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH. “You are late again this morning, Willie,’? said Mr. Primrose, Principal of the Primrose Academy, to a pale, intelligent looking boy about thirteen years of age; *‘you have been late every morning this week, and my patience is about exhausted. You are growing more and more negligent every day, and if you do not alter speedily I shall be obliged to turn you out of school, much as 1 should hate to take such a course, for 1 know it would greatly distress your poor mother, who has trouble enough to bear already. You ought to think of that!’ Willie Grey had been a pupil at the Primrose Academy for three years. When he first entered the institution his father was a merchant doing a fine business, and the fu- ture looked very brightto him, But the panic came, and he, like many others, was forced into bankruptcy. He was not a strong man, and the blow proved too much for him; he was found dead in his bed one morning, shortly after his great misfortune, he having died during the night of heart disease. It was crushing blow to his widow—a refined, delicate little woman—who was left entirely without means, with three children to care for, of whom Willie was the eldest. He was an unusually bright boy, and she greatly desired that he should receive a proper education; but she was unable to pay for his tuition alter his father’s death, and but for the kindness of Mr. Primrose she would have been obliged to remove him from school. That gentieman, however, §, mpathized deeply with the bereaved lady, and agreed that her son should be allowed to attend school as usual, and that he would wait for his pay till the widow was able to settle the account, and that if she was never able it would muke no difference. Willie Grey’s eyes filled with tears at the allusion which his tutor made to his mother, and he said, earnestly: “J do think of my mother, Mr. Primrose! Indeed, in- deed 1do. But I cannot get to school any earlier now.” “Why not??? asked the principal, somewhat sharply. “When your father was living there was not a more purc- tual boy in the whole acadeiny than yourself, but how you are the most dilatory.’? sees 1 alwayg have my lessons, Mr. Primrose,” pleaded the boy. “] know that,?? was the rejoinder; ‘‘but your tardiness isa bad example for the rest of the boys. cannot per- mit any breach of discipline. Discipline is, of all things, most important in any educational establishment. Be- side, I have aright to know how you spend your time, and why you cannot be here punctually at the opening of school. Up to this time you have refused steadily to give any account of your time either to your mother or to myself, and now I must insist on knowing how eee spend the hours which should be devoted to study. will not tolerate silence in this matter any longer. You must either give me the information I desire or leave the acade- my at once.?? - “Then I must go, Mr. Primrose,” replied the boy, weep- ing bitterly, “for L cannot tell you: what you wish to know.’ “Very well, then,’? said Mr. Primrose, sternly; “you will return home atonce, and tell your mother that you cannot attend school any jonger, Iregret, for your moth- er’s sake, that yon have forced me into this action. My heart bleeds for her, for I know. she already has more trouble than she can bear; but I cannot have the rules of this institution set at defiance.” “Oh, Mr. Primrose,” pleaded the boy, ‘please let me attend school! 1 cannot get here at nme o’clock, and 1 cannot tell:you why, but please let me come! l shall ney- er be behindhand in my lessons.” “My decision 1g made and is irrevocable,” replied the principal, firmly, and’ turning on his heel he proceeded with the busiuess of his school, while Willie Grey, sobbing bitterly, took his way homeward, there to go through a scene still more painful than the one above detailed, for his mother, though she loved him tenderly, and nad never known hini to be guilty of an act of disobedience before, could not help ‘thinking him obdurate and somewhat de- void of feeliug in his present action, and this was very bitter to him, for he loved his mother with a depth of de- yotion seldom equaled. * * * * * * Some weeks passed away, and one Saturday morning Mr. Primrose started on @ trip up the North River to visit aninvalid mother. He had left home ina great\hurry, and desiring to get his boots blackened before going on board the ferry-boat, he called to a Sey who stood on the sidewalk awailing customers, and said? “Here, boy, ] want youto blacken my boots—and be quick about it, foram ina great hurry.’? He noticed that the little fellow started at the sound of his voice and seemed inclined at first torun away. Then suddenly he seemed to change his mind, and pulling his cap down over his eyes, placed his box on the sidewalk for the genUeman to rest his foot upon and fell vigorously to brushing the dirt from his customer’s boot, The curiosity of Mr. Primrose was excited by this sin- gular actionon the partof the urchin, and he could not help saying: “Look up here, boy, and tell me what your name is.*? The boy made no reply to this request. He only worked the harder with his brush and pretended not to hear, a proceeding on his part which only increased the curios- ity of Mr. Primrose, who now determined to sce the boot- black’s face. “Bither you are very hard of hearing or afflicted with a bashfuluess not: common to boys of your Class,’ contin- ued the schoolmaster; ‘but lam determined to have a look at you.”? + And as he spoke he, suddenly placed his hand on the boy’s head, forced it, back and gazed down upon his face. In it, to his utter astonishment, in spite of the unkempt hair and the streaks of dirt which begrimed it, he recog- nized the features of his former pupil, Willie Grey. “Why, Willie!’ he exclaimed, in utter amazement, “is this really you? What,in the name of Heaven, has brought you to this pass ?? Willie stood abashed, with head bowed down, unable to speak, and Mr. Primrose became aware now for the first time that another witness of the scene was present. This wus @ stout, ruddy-faced Irish woman about forty-five years of age, who, although her countenance was by no iIneans an unprepossessing one, now glared augrily at the schoolmaster, a8 she exclaimed: “Bad cess to ye, fhat are ye throublin the poor bye for? Ye have the appearance iv a gentleman, but it’s the quare gintleman ye are to be afther layin’ a rough hand on a poor bye who is sthrivin’ honestly to earn the bit and the sup. Ihold ye for thrippence ye’re Dot fit to black his father’s boots whin he was livin’, soit be his bed in Heaven this day. Away out 0’ this, or-J’ll skelp ye, 80 Il will. Gwan, now! G’wan!” And the woman advanced threateningly toward him. “Please douw’t speak cross to him, Mrs. McGtunis,” pleaded Willie Grey, now for the first time venturing to speak. ‘Please don’t. Heis oneof the best friends I ever had,’ And then placing his mouth to the woman’s ear he added, in an undertone: ‘That is Mr. Primrose, my schoolmaster, of whom I spoke to you.” “Och, whirral whirral Js it the schoolmasther?’? ex- claimed Mrs. McGinnis, in a tone of self-reproach. ‘I beg yer pardon, sir! Sure, if Pd known it was yersilf Pd cut the topgue out o’ me before it should speak cross to ye.”? “Jt is all right, my good woman,” replied Mr. Prinirose, with asmile, “there is no harm done, but I would like to know how it is that I find Willie Grey, the son of a gentie- man, working as a bootblack on the public streets. Ican- not believe that his mother is aware of the fact. Can you and will you explain, Willie?’ si “f can do it better nor him, sur,” interposed Mrs. McGinnis—‘“‘let me tell the story, sur.”? And then without waiting for permission the garrulous Irish woman pro- ceeded: “Ye see, sur, before the panic—big bad luck to the panic, anyhow—I was workin’ for Mrs. Grey—Willie’s mother—and, by the same token, she’s the swatest lady me two eyes iver rested on—I was her washerwoman, dye see—but the panic come, and Mr. Grey—that he may live in glory for iver and iver!—took sick and died. He couldn’t sthand the panic, poor man—may the divil fly away wid that panic, anyhow—and afther he was dead Mrs. Grey couldn’t employ me any longer, so [ be to lave and find another place. Well, sur, it wasn’t more nor four months afther Mr. Grey’s death, whin wan day who should come to my room in the tenement house beyant, put the bye, Willie. I knew from his looks that something had gone cross wid him, for I cud see that he had been crying. ‘God save ye kindly, Willie,’ ses IJ, ‘fhat’s the matter wid ye?? ‘Oh, Mrs. McGinnis,’ ses he, ‘me heart’s broke,’ ses he, ‘wid the throuble at home,’ ses he. ‘Fhat’s the matter?? ses I. ‘Well, Mrs. Ginnis,’ ses he, ‘me mother and the children is dyin’ wid the hunger,’ ses he— ‘she’s beginnin’ to pawn her things,’ ses he, ‘and 1 know iv’s breaking her heart,’ ses he. ‘and I wan’t ye to help me sthop it,’ ses he, ‘God help ye, me poor bye,’ ses I, ‘I’m as poor as a church mouse,’ sesI, ‘and fhat can I do? ses I. ‘Sure, if I had a house full 0’ gould,’ ses I, ‘ye could have it,’ sesI. ‘Sure, know ye’ve no money,’ ses he, ‘and I wouldn't take it if ye had,’ ses he, as proud as a born prince—‘I only want ye to help me carry out me pian,’ ses he. ‘An’ fhat is yer plan? sesI. ‘I want ye to lend me the loan of an ould ragged suit of clothes,’ ses he, ‘l’ve money enough to buy a box and a brush, ses he, ‘and I want to turn bootblack for an hour each morn- in’, seshe. ‘God be good to us,’ ses I, ‘have ye taken lave of yer sinsis, Willie Grey ?’ ses I, and then I thried to talk him out o’ the notion, but it was no.use. He was bent on it and sol had to help him. Well, sur, I gare him an old, worn-out suit of my little Patsy’s clothes, and he got a box and brush, and tumbled his purty hair and streaked his face wid dirt ’till his own mother wouldn’t know him, and then he started out, and mesilf went wid him the way the other boys shouldn’t inéerfere wid him, for sure, sur, the likes o’ him can’t fight like the rest 0’ thim. Well, sur, the first mornin’ he made fifty cents be- fore his hour was up, and thin he wint home wid me and washed himself and combed his hair and away off to school—and so he kept doin’ ivery day, and his poor mother thinkin’ all the time that it was from the pawn- broker he got the money whin | have all the things he was sent to pawn safe and sound in my house, And that’s how it was, if you plaze, sur!’ It is almost needless to say that Mr. Primrose at once interested himself in Willie’s behalf. With the assistance of certain gentlemen who had been friendly to the de- ceased merchant he procured for Willie a position ina mercantile establishment at fair wages, and instructed him at night instead of in the day time, and Mrs. Grey was never aware of the fact that her son had once been a bootblack. Reader, this is not altogether a fancy sketch. It is founded on anincident which actualiy occurred recently, and it serves to show that there are many persons suffer- ing from extreme poverty all over the land, who not long since were living in comfort if not in affluence—persons who would die of starvation rather than make their wants known. It should be the duty of those who are engaged in the good work of distributing charity to look after cases of tliis character and to give that relief which, but for their kind ministrations, would remain unbestowed. MISS SLIMMENS'S WINDOW. BY MRS. MARK PEABODY. NO. XII.—SHE IS EDIFIED BY THE THANKSGIVING SERMON. This isa sweet day for Thanksgiving; the sky’s as blue as indigo! I was very much edified by Parson Higgins’s sermon this morning. You ought to have went, Dora, in- stead of spending the time flirting around, as l’ve no doubt you did. He’s a powerlul preacher, the parson is, when he’s a mind to. His subject, this forenoon, was charity; he Givided it into nine heads, and every one of Yen) was Worth listening to. Some people inside of the meeting-louse must have felt hit, ifthey’d a particle of conscience left. I declare 1 don’t see how he dared be so personal, as | knew he was. I should have thought them that the coat fitted would have got awful mad. He said there was other kind of charities than giving things away to the poor; he said that backbiters, slanderers, and evil- speakers must all of them answer for their want of charity —that putting wrong constructions on people, and getting up trouble in families and churches, and always looking on the dark side of things, was a great and crying sin. I declare he might have just as well spoke Miss Sharp’s name and Mehitable Green’s right out! He described ’em exactly; and I couldn’t help looking over to see how they took it. I expected to see their faces as red as fire, with a guilty conscience; but la! they were looking as cool and unconcerned as could be, and that Miss Shurp was turn- J BELELELLL A ny Lyfe, Z é iy / Png _ ane RK SK AL , > aide : not Sew a)! & ing her head to Jook at me, when she ought to be hanging it for shame. But when the parson said that some folks took credit-t0 themselves for being very benevolent and all that, because they ground the faces of the poor in se- cret, and put a penny in the contribution-platter in pub- lic, I jest wanted to smile, for IT knew everybody must xp- ply itto Miss Tucker, who always heads the missionary paper with firty cents, and who pays her washerwoman in cold victuals and old clothes. Why, I heerd from some- body that had it from the woman herself, that. the Jast time she washed there—and she had such a big washing she never got done till seven in the evening, and her three children waiting at home for their sappers, poor things! —she asked Miss Tucker fer a littie money, for that once, asshe wanted some very muehto buy her some wood with; but Miss Tucker said se could get plenty to do it without paying’cash; howeyélpas she'd hada nard day’s work she’d pay her nice and liberal in what would be bet- ter than money; so she gave jier & little bag with nigh about a peck of corn-menl init, and a ham-bone, and a two-qnart basin of broken victuals, and a great bundle of old clothes to make over for the children. So, when Miss Smitk got home, she kindled a fire with some sticks she’d picked up on the way, and put the potover, and madea good lot of mush, for the young ones was hungry, having Went without their dinners; and when it was done, the meal turned out to be so awful sour and musty that the children cried and said it was nasty, and wouidp’t have touched it if they hadn’t been half starved. There wasn’t meat enough on the ham-bone for a dog to pick;and as for the rest of the stuff, it was just fitfor the sw ill-pail—Z guess itcomeout of it. So after she’d got the young ones to bed, she thought she’d 1ook over the bundle, and see if she could find something to run up a frock for Mary, be- fore she went tosleep, for the child needed it dreadfully; and would you believe it? there wasn’t a rag in the whole mess fit foranything but paper-rags. She said they wasn’t worth the thread and the time she’d have to putin the rotten old duds. The whole stuff she brought home wasn't worth twenty-five cents, and she’d done full six shillings’ worth of washing. I wonder if Miss Tucker didn’t think of that when the minister was speaking. Who’s that? Open the door, Dora. No! clear out, you begging little brat you! I’ve got no old shoes nor noth- ing else to spare. Oh, yes! ‘Sather’s drunk and mother’s dead!’ they always are. Shet the door, Dora; I’m cold, with that air rushing in here a perfect stream. Didu’t I see you giving that little beggar a five-cent piece? Don’t ever do that again, encouraging the little thieves to come around my shop. No doubt, he was an impostor. He'd have stole that piece of crape there, if he could have reach- ed it, when our eyes was turned. I believe in giving to the poor, when you’ve anything to spare, but not to these street beggars; they’re al? impostors, every one of’em! I might have given him that pair of blue woollen stockings that 1 said I'd never darn again, his toes stuck out 80, if Vd believed the little rascal, but I didn’t; besides, I’ve saved them stockings to give to that old woman that does my scrubbing for me, She’s thankful to get anything! it’s a real charity to give her work; and she’s willing to take most anything in pay she’s so bad off. Dear! dear! Pa@ have got rightupand walked out of chureh, if the minister had hit meas plainly as he did Miss Tucker. “Charity doth not beliave itself unseemly,’’ said Parson Higgins, and I know he was thinking of Miss Grant and them Podd girls. Did you ever see girls take on 6&0, us them Podds do?—so fond of the gentlemen! Anybody could see they are crazy to get married; and the way they giggle, and blush, apd flirt round onthe very church steps, to sey nothing of their parading themselves past Jim Mil- ler’s store every day of their lives. There they go, how, in their pea-green merinoes and pink bunnits, sailing by, making an errand, I'll Warrant you, at the store, to buy a row of pilis, as like asnot. 1 should think, after the re- proof they got from their minister, they mightstay in the house for one day. “Charity isnot puffed up.” I believe Parson Higgins looked straight at Miss Dawson’s new bunnit and velvet cloak when he said that. She’sgetting so mighty fine she can’t put up with Pennyville fashions. She sent off to Lowell to git her bunnit, instid of patternizing me, as she used to. I’m glad to give her a hit. That unpudent Miss Sharp nodded over to me, as much as to say he was a-hint- ing at my marabout feather and white terry velvet; but if a milltner can’t afford an occasional good bunuit who can ? ; I declare, the minister didn’t spare people's faults, and he hadn’t ought to; it’s a preacher’s place to wari and instruct his parishingers. If he’da hit me, Ishould have said just the same. It was as good asa play to me, to set and see people squirm that had their toes trod on. I guess Miss Green felt mean about all she’d said to in- jure Miss Wilson. I do believe she wanted to catch Mr. Hartly herself. I don’t see any other reason for her slan- ders and the trouble she made. There goes the parson and his wife now, on their way to Squire Lawson’s to dinner. I expected to be invited to meet them myself. Mrs. Lawson must be getting rather stingy in her invitations, Howsomever, I couldu’t go, for I’m expecting company myself to tea, a friend mine, from Boston, the same who called here last even- ing, when you was home. You may set the table, Dora, and start the fire in the kitchen stove, a put that chick- en on I picked this morning, and the tea- ittie. Putsome peach-preserves on the table, and that eake you baked for me yesterday, and a mince-pie, and them biscuits. When you’ye got everything done, you can ruD home and spend the rest of the day with your mother, I would ask youto stay to supper, but I know it would be more of a treat to you to be to home, and you can take one oi them pies, and a bowlful of that quince-sass, and that other fowl, as a present from me to your mother. Ifthere’s anything else you want, take it, for I’d like to feel you’d just have as good a meal asI have. The Lord has been very merciful to me this year, and [don’t want to de stingy of His bounties, ] feel to thank Him for all His providencies, especially His throwing that Boston paper in my way. I’ve reasons that you don’t know of, Dora, but will soon, for regarding it as the most circumstantial providence that ever 0c- curred tome. Bon’t you be too curious, and you'll know all before a week. Ihaven’t seen any one going to Peters’s to dinner. I don’t believe they’ve asked a soul out of their own family; and with nine young ones to feed, I shouldn’t think they’d want to. There’s a whole carriage-load of foiks drove up to Steb- bins’s. Run, Dora, come here! Do you know any of ’em? Neither dol. It must be her relations, coming to keep Thanksgiving. They’re some of ’em there the most ofthe time. !t must go rather against the grain with that stingy Stebbins. Serves him right! nee@u’t have married a wo- man who brought him nothing but an army of relations. Do see how she flies out the door, and hugs and kisses ’em! Hope her soda biscuits will be as good as they were the night I wasthere to.tea. People call her a go cook! Why, them biscuits was as green as grass and as heavy as lead. Thank the Lord, Stebbins got the wool pulled over his eyes that time. There’s Stebbins himself come out, now, and purtending to be so tickled, laughing and shak- ing hands; but he needn’t purtend. I know that man better’n most folks do, and I know he is sorry for some things he didn’t do, as well as for some he did; but it’s too late for repentance, and Jshan’t be the one to say he isn’tas happy ashe might be. If hecould have got the woman he wanted he’d have been a different man. Hurry up, Dora, or you won’t get home in time to cook that fowl for your supper. I want an hour or two for quiet retrospection before my company arrives, A media- live mind like mine is always fond of solicitude and reflec- tion. Ishouldn’t ever write any poetry if I didn’t in- dulge in these reverential moods. Ireally believe I could compose a piece this afternoon, if I wasn’t agitated by an- ticipatory sensations. Besides, as it’s Thanksgiving, I suppose it will be perfectly approbious for me to sing a few hymns. I don’t know when I’ve felt the approbious- ness ofa hymn asIdid one of them that was sung this morning. When I reflected upon what might have been and what was to be, upon the past, the fearful past, and the future, the transcending future, upon Clara Brown's running away and my picking up that Boston paper, I felt my heart pouring out in the lines: *« Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust Him tor His grace; Behind a trowning Providence, He hides a smiling face.” ‘ Since I come home I’ve composed and added these few nes: “ There’s better fish within the sea Than ever yet was caught; The Lord has spread thy net for thee, Then trust Him as thou ought. “ He filled the fishers’ nets of old, Do thou prepare the bait, Nor let thy faith and hope grow cok, Alvira, work and wait!” TO CORRESPONDENTS. To BUYERS.—All communications in regard to the prices or the urchasing of various articles must be addressed to the New ORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, contain the full address of the writers, and specity the size, quantity or quality of the goods desired. Those requiring an answer must have two three-cent stamps enclosed. Owing to the large increase of letters to be an- swered in this column, a delay of several weeks must necesrarily ensue before the answers appear in print, To PUROHASERS.—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. Sar GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.— Patrols.—1st. In the absence of an international copyright law, American publishers may reissue foreign copyrighted works, and vice versa, but the foreign editions are liable to confiscation if at- tempted to be sold within the limits of the copyright. 2d. The holder of a copyright has the exclusive use of his work in any A work may be copyrighted and is- plume. 4th. Yes. 5th. An application fora patent must be accompanied by a petition, specification, oath of the inventor, two drawings of the invention, models or specimens, and a preliminary fee of $15. If it 1s decides, on examination, that the invention is new and uselul, the applicant is so informed, and the patent is issued on the payment of an additional fee of Bovolink.—Quixote is pronounced ke-ho-ta; Juan, hoo-an in Spanish, or Ju-an, in English. a Godiva Indien is pronounced ind-yan. P. Sland.—We willsend you a small - shooter for $10; Dicken’s “Mutual Friend” “Jack Harold” series for 25 centseach, WW. Evans.—We will send you a machine for making leather shoe-strings for $6 to $8. am ‘Mouse Trap.—We Will send you a clarionet. for $6 to $38; ‘Par. lor Tricks with Cards,” 50 cents; “Gamoplers’ Tricks with Gards,” 50 cents; “Hartz’s Tricks,” $1 10; Ryan’s “Clarionet Instructor,” 75 cents. '¥ Head.—We will send you a new edition of the “Arabian Nights” for $1 50. 2 ‘Slim Jim.—The work referred to in a former number, as used by tailors and cutters, is called the “Grand Edition,” and gives explicit directions in regard to cutting by measurement, beside containing general information on all subjects connected with the tailoring business. We will send it to you for $10. H. 2. Bliss.—Write to Redpath & Fall, 36 Bromfield street, Bos- ton, Mass. La Monte.—A murderer can be, and frequently is, convicted on purely circumstantial evidence. W. H. Msyer.—The annual tee to enable one to take books from the Mercantile Library is $3 for clerks, and $5 tor others. The Astor Library is open to all persons over sixteen years of age, but no one is allowed to take the books from the reading-room, AL the Apprentices’ Library, 472 Broadway, which is open until9 P, M., apprentices and females employed by inechanics and trades- men are allowed to receive books gratis, J. C. Johnson.—The address is 363 Broadway. W. W. K.—ist. We can procure the picture, 2d. We know nothing ot the concern. 3 ‘Barnacle Bil.—We will send you the “Life of Dick Turpin,” for 50 cents, and fine shirts for $3 each. ; Skater.—The NEw YORK WEKKLY Purchasing Agency catalogue contains only the retail prices of goods. Send us full address for trade rates. i j - Charles one cannot criticise MSS. either in this department or by mail. S. Co. Hen.—We will furnish foreign postage stamps of all kinds denominations. Address NEW YORK WEEKLY Purchasing ency. ° HeD.—Ist. To reach San Antonio, Texas, from Dlinois, you can go by boat or rail, via New Orleans. The Mississippi is open to St. Louis all winter. 2d, “tbe Exile of Erin” was written by Thomas Campbell. 3d. Thiers is pronounced te-er. J. J. M.—We do not know of an organization 1 this city called a checker club. The game is played more or less at most club roows. Buckshot.—We will send you an English laminated steel double barreled shot-gun for $25 to i ' New House.—See “Work-Box.” Y ‘Arrow.—The best bows are made of lancewood. For ordinary purposes, hickory or ash is just as good, and can always be pro- cured, If not in the vicinity of a wood, whore you can cut &@ sap- ling, you can purchase & suitable piece from a wheelwright. To render the wood springy and flexible, keep it well greased. In the New YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency catalogue, which we will send you tor ten cents, will be round a list of bows, varying in price trom 15 cents to $16. Reader.—To procure the information desired, read sketches of Australia in a gazeteer or encyclopedia, or works of travel. Our space is too limited to give even the most meagre details. The fure, at the lowest rates, with living expenses during the journey, will amount to nearly y Rochester.—Write to the war office, Pall Mall, London, Eng- ith & Wesson seven- r 35 cents, and the land. C. B. Dart.—1st. We do not know the party’s name or address. 2d. We wiil send you **The Coin Book,” comprising a history of coinage, with a synopsis of the mint laws ot the United States, statistics of the coinage from 1792 to 1870, and a list of all coins, ancient and modern, with their values, for $2.50, Dickeson’s American Numismatical Manual for $10. Luella.—Your MB. is declined, with scores of others, for the rea- son that our regular contributors keep us more than supplied at resent, " Varden.—We do not know where you can purchase autumn leaves for boquets, etc. We should think you could gather them et oy? vicinity. c S. K. Baker. f all the ancient names in your letter, but two appear in the list of American towns or villages—Damascus and Mendoza. There no less than eleven places of the former name in ee parts of the country, and one of the latter in Nevada count al. W. . F.—A peasant boy is an appropriate character, and one you can readily fill. ae? Inquisitive.—The error is in the design. 7. F. S.—We will send you “The Perfect Gentleman” for $1.50, and “The Habits of Good Society” for $1.75. 3 ; Forceps.—Ii you will send us 2 list of | the articles desired, di- rected to the NEw YORK WKEKLY Purchasing Ageney, with full address, we Will ascertain the prices, aud commuuicate with you by mail. Everett Club.—We cannot republish the story named for some time, owing to the arrangements made for issuing a Number of new serials. Charley Gale.—It is not known whe was the author of “Con- sistency, thou art a jewel.” - R. S.—From what we haye read of the case, we judge the whole thing te be a myth. G. RK. S.—it isnot known who was the original discoverer of the Mammoth Gave of Kentucky. C. E. Fagin.—Naturalization as a citizen of the United States will not prevent a deserter from the English army from being arrested and punished should he return to bis own country. Subscriber.—We cannot give the names of the stockholders of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Compary from Write to the office of the company, at Georgetown, D. C. Babe of the Woods.—See reply to “Kate and Ella,” in No. 52, Maim.—Wedding anniversaries are celebrated as follows: The fifth is calied the wooden wedding, the tenth tim, the fitteenth crystal, tne twenty-fifth silver, the fiftieth golden, and the sey- enty-filtth diamond. Beside these there are the paper wedding. on the second anniversary, the straw wedding on the third, an the linen wedding on the twentieth. They are not observed so generally, however, as the anniversaries first n f° William.—Marble cutting isa good trade, You would have as little difficulty securing an apprenticeship as at most trades, The wages vary with the skill of the workman, L.N. C.—We cannot ascertain whether the person is on our subscription list without going over several thousand names. ire Bug.—The concerp has a good reputation. Operator.—We Will furnish Patnam’s work on telegraphy for to 1845. 1.75. . Violinist.—The strings are probably of an inferior quality. We will send you aa first rate set for $1.50, and “Maza’s duets for two violins” for $2.25. i Ralph B.—The difficulty with you is that you are too self-con- scious. If you will allow your mind to be diverted from your- self tothe subject of conversation or to your surroundings, your troubles, which are toa certain extent imaginary, and not so noticeable as you apprehend, will disappear en . Me L.—The fare to California, by rail, rst class, is $140; emigrant train, $69. By steamer, ca in passage, $125 and $150; steerage, $60. i B. B. L.—No individual can lay claim to being the best shot in the United States or in the world, T. W. P. Carey.—Send a post office money order, or the amount in a registered letter, and the book will be forwarded by mail. BE. C. Gardner.—ist. We will send you Manstield Tracy Wal- worth’s works, five in number, for $1.75 euch, 2d. “The Vaga- bond King.” 3d. No definite period has been assigned for its issue. Sailor.—We will send you Comer’s “Navigation Simplified,” a manual of instruction in navigation as practiced at sea, for $2.50. W. Thomas.—We will send you gelatine card board, 14 by 20 in- ches, tor $35 per hundred sheets, or cut to regular card sizes, for $7 per 1,000, and upward. ’ W.I. R.—In New York and several other States, where laws have been Ptce: inthe interest of married women, they are given the sole and exclusive use of all property, both real and personal, which may come to them by descent, devise, bequest, gift or grant, or which may be acquired by them in business, la- bor or services performed On their separate account. They may sell and convey such property and enter into any contract with reference to the same in all respects as if they were unmarried. If a husband deeds property to his wife, he relinquishes all title toit, and has no more claim to it than other property she may possess. A married woman may also dispose of her property by will. If she die without making a will, her realestate in her own name goes to her children, if she have any, but the husband has a lite interest in it; if not, it goes to the heirs, at law, of whom the husband is not one. Claude Duval.—We cannot announce the number of the paper in which the serial will be completed. D. J. K.—A. T. Stewart is not dead, He has recently returned from Europe, reinvigorated in health. F. 0. Martin.—Ist. The assessed value of the rea) and personal property in the city ot New York is about $1,100,000,000, but the actual value is much higher, 24. James Fisk, Jr.’s, surname was spelled Fisk, 3d, There is no building in this city worth Capi the wealth of N Sydeahey ‘ W. E. Noswore.—The publication has pend re Colonel and C. L. K.—The first cents issued by authority of the U. 8. Government were coined at New Haven in 1787, and are of the following description: On one side, thirteen circles linked to- gether, a small circle in. the middle, with the words “United States” around it, and in thecenter the words “We are one.” On the other side, a sun-dial, with the sun above it, and “Fugis,” “1787,” on the opposite sides, and below the dial, “Mind Your Business.” Gents were first issued from the U, 8, Mint at Phila- delphia in 1798, and have been coined each year since with the Cae eere We will send you "The Ei *s, Mill gineer.— We will send you e Engineer’s, wright’s and Mechanic’s Pocket Companion” for , is . A,, Jr.—lst, As far as we can judge, they are. 2d. Nothing but frequent shaving will develop and strengthen the beard. J. H. Wentworth.—Ist. Yes. 2d. We would not advise you to invest in land in any locality without first ascertaining from per- sonal obaec veep its advantages and disadvantages. 3d, We cannot say. ‘Nimrod.—I|st. We do not know of any book of instruction for the harmonica or mouth organ. 2d. See “Knowledge Box.” Tide Wynn.—Ist. The letter should be addressed to the lady by her full title, at London, England. The probability is that it would never be answered. 2d, It would be useless to send the MS., as we have more in hand already than we can find space for. 3d. Your other letter was answered last week, J. C—The concern isa swindle. Inquirer.—Address John Wood, 6 East Twenty-eighth street. Constant Reader.—The story referred to is entitled “Married in i op papers containing which will be forwarded to you on receipt o . Young Vet.—We will send you Dr. Dodd’s “Modern Horse Doc- tor” for $1 50. J. A. L.—During and after the recent war a large number of the officers of the regular army were taken from the ranks and from the volunteer troops. In time of peace, however, the grad- uates of the Military Academy at West Point are in excess of the vacancies, and commissions are rarely issued to non-graduates, H. Dankwardt.—If you can prove to the satisfaction of the court that your employer abuses or ill treats you, and otherwise fails in his duty to you, your indentures will canceled. H. V.1.—To secure your preparation against imitation, you may have a label patented, with such a trade mark as you may select. The fee depends upon the length of time for which the patent is secured—$10 for three anda half years; $15 tor seven years, and $30 tor tourteen years, Lover of Art.—Ist. We will forward “The Elements of Perspec- ive a work on Greets rs. 75 pee a nee S ieee ee $l; mathematical instruments, $3; T-square, $1; triangle, 75 cents. We will also furnish the box of colors desired. P. R. P.—Ist. Messrs. is a contraction of Messieurs. 24. To obtain a situation as a clerk in this city you should make A a> sonal applications at stores where such tance is needed, or get some friend who is in business to use bis half. 3d. Your penmanship admits of much improvement. 4th. See “Etiquette Department.” B.S. H.—The common law in regard to a contract made by or with minors is that where it is to his or her injury it is void, but where it is to his or her benefit it is good; and any contract that is uncertain, whether injurious or beneficial, is voidable or not, as he or she may choose. bere money is paid or property delivered, a minor cannot disaffirm such con- tract and recover the money or property unless he restores the consideration received. | J. R. S,—The Canadian insurrection of 1837 and 1838, was under the leadership of Louis J. Papineau in Lower Canada, and Wil- liam Lyon Mackenzie in Upper Canada. Several engagements took place between the Government troops and the insurgents, the latter being finally worsted. Two prominent individnals in the movement, Lount and Matthews, were executed, several were banished to Bermuda, and many fied to the United States. What subsequently became of the individuals named in your letter we do not know: In 1849.4 general amnesty was passed. Genevieve.—The only quotation wecan find embodying the idea suggested 1n your letter, and the one you probably refer to isfrom “King Lear,’? act four, scene three, and reads: “The ame are Just, and of our pleasant vices make instruments to plague us. L. C. D.—Ist. Youand your friend are both mistaken, Capt. Mayne Reid, the novelist, is still living. He is the son of a Pres-— byterian minister, was born in the north of Ireland, iu the year 1818, and was educated for the church, but his love of adventure led him to America in 1838, and ror several years he was engaged in hunting aud trading in the West. He subsequently settled in Philadelphia, and engaged in literary pursuits until the breaking out of the Mexican war, when he joined the army, was nt in several engagements, and was seriously wounded at the storming: of Chapultepec, where he ied the forlorn hope. He has tor sev- eral years divided his time between the United States and Eng- jand, and is at present residing in the latter country. 2d. We will send you the New YORK WEBELY for two years for $5. W. C. S.~We will forward Wyman’s “ of Magic’ for 50 cents. G. S. B.—We know nothing of the scheme. | Jo E. and L. M. S.—Candidates for cadetship at Ann His must be between fourteen and eighteen years of age, physically sound, and must pass an examination in readivg, writing, spelling, arithmetic, geography and English grammat, Appointments are made by the President and Members of Congress. ‘Architect.—We Wil send youaset of brass drawing instru- ments, such as used by architects, for $250to $10; German sit- ver, $4 to $40. 4 R. G. B.—Ist. We will furmsh the game called the sociable snake for 30cents, 2d. Carmine is a lake pigment of a brilliant crimson, formed by a combination of finely pulverized cochineal, alumina and oxide of tin. Liquid carmine isa solution of car- mine in water of ammonia. Two Euchre-Players.—\n euchre, the same number of cards must be dealt to each player on each round, not three to one and two to another. When this rule 3s violated the opposite side may claim a new deal, provided neither of them have looked at their hands. ‘ ‘ Blotter.—You must select your Christmas presents with a re- gard for the tastes, needs and circumstances of the recipients, articles which combine the useful with the ornamental being the most welcome. j Donala jicKay.—I1st, The Commissioners of Emigration have a general supervision of the landing and forwarding of emigrants, collecting commutation fees, and taking care of thesick, The depot is at Case Garden, and every tucility is afforded for the protection of the emigrants, and for communicating with their friends, but none are detained against their will. . 2d. The par- ties named are traveling on their own account. 34d. We will send you a Bible such as described for $7 50 to $12, ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT. — gentleman should change his step to that of the *"B.—Your case is really lamentable, and we heartily sympa- thize with you. Many boysare gourmands, but gluttony is as much of a crime as drinking, and in many cases It uncermines the constitution quite as much. Conld not you put a small por- tion of some emetic into a cake, and let him help himself to it and bear the consequences of his foraging m pantry and cup- board? A druggist would put you up a small dose, and if eaten of a Saturday night, a “Sunday headache” might be produced, The brutal treatinent of the sister is outrageous, and not to be en- dured any longer. “Send the young man to Coventry,” as the saying is—i.e., keep perfect silence in his company. Neither speak to him nor look at him; ignore his presence utterly for a day or so, Perhaps such a course might teach him the errors of his ways. Strike a girl! What a brutal husband such a man would make! No girl should ever be allowed to marry one who is capable of sueh barbarity, and it does not seem that such acts ric be PAPO N IY in this nineteenth century. He is a disgrace o sex C. W. Adams.—If you possess the spirit of a man you will wed to please yourself and not your “folks.” Let them see that it 1g not in their power to coerce you into a distasteful marriage, if you are in a position to support a wife. _K. N. Pepper.—Iist. The sign probably is that the gloves are tight. 2d. If a young man is forced to leave the church, and re- turning, takes a wrong seat, there is no reason to blame him, 3d. A lady or gentleman wears an engagement ring on the first or third finger of the lef{ hand. 4th. The proper spelling is **pro- gramme.” 5th. If the hour is not late there is no impropriety in . oa inviting her escort into the house on returning from church. Hart S. 0. S.—1st. No; we would not advise “the caustic letter,” but if the lady has failed to reply to your two letters, better let her entirely alone. Written rebukes are often bitterly regretted. 2d. We will send you “Parlor Tricks with Cards,” tor 50-cents. 3d. Ecru is a shade of light buff, 4th. Certainly. 5th.. Your writ- ing is far above the average. 6th. Yes; itis proper to use initial paper if one fancies it. 7th. If you felt yourself “insulted” in the person of your cousin, it was no breach of etiquette in you toresent it, and refuse to visit at the lady’s house. But as a general thing it is better to Jet one’s relations fignt their own battles, and be friends with everybody. 8th. Give your friend books and pietures, ora pipe, cigars, etc., fora Christmas present. 9th.Weare always happy to answer all questions which our readers desire to ask. Annie.—There is no impropriety in your renewing your intimacy with the young gentleman, it desirable to both parties, Country Friend.—You must educate yourself in the art ot con- versation by agreeing with a friend to read books together, and then converse upon them; also read the daily or weekly papers, and converse upon the various topics they contain. Take the New YORK WEEKLY, for example, and use that as a medium for conversation. To acquire a facility in expression, —— daily, several pages of colloquial reading. Take Washington rving’s “Sketch Book,” for instance, as it contains the purest English that our authors afford, and copy off whole pages of it, thus learn- ing the charm of gracelul language. We delight to aid our young friends in self-improvement, and it is a great pleasure to us to influence in your strive to elevate the youth of both sexes in our Jand. 2d. Its not needtul to bid every one good-by when taking leave at a ands small entertainment, Shake with the family, bid adieu te those nearest, and when at the door simply say “ ning,” or “Good night.” _ May L. W.—Ist. When introduced to a lady or gentleman, if de- sirable, you can say, “I am happy. t0 meet 3” then speak upon local subjects, The weather is always at hand to be dis- cussed. 2d. For a pbilopena present to a gentleman, a cravat, handkerchief embroidered with mon or simple initials, pictures, or books, are appropriate, 3d. Gentlemen and ladies can exchange photographs without impropriety. 4th. There is no impropriety in riding with young men of known respectability. 5th. Your writing requires much practice to make It good. Twin Sisters Ella and Lilie.—Give the Christmas presents to the young friends by all means. Your own handiwerk would, doubtless, be more appreciated than any gifts you could buy; so work their initials in half-a-dozen pocket-handkerchiefs, or make some pretty cravats or ties; or work toilet cushions and mats for cologne stands. Slippers are always appreciated, and smoking caps are often convenient. Ss F. R. H—In strict etiquette it ‘is the lady’s place to reply to our last letter, even if you bad met in the imterval at some per- ormance, Yet, perhaps it is best for you to humor the young irl’s whim, and write again if it pleases her to request you to 0 80. .—If the lady holds your right arm, and the turn- eve- A. H. ing of the streets bring her outside the walk, there is no need in changing positions. Spice Box.—You are none too young to do escort duty whenever you feel inclined. There would be no impropriety in your paying the young !ady some attentions. 3d. Give the lady a book of poems, or a chromo, or some little article of bé Midnight Serenaders.—We have never known of the custom of turning down the corners of a note addressed to young men or any one else, The custom prevails regarding cards, the right hand corner or the whole side signitying that all the family are called upon, and the left hand corner that the call is made in prepria persone, 2d. Your writing is very handsome. Bessie Benton.—Ist. Under some circumstances it is perfect proper for a young lady tosend flowers to a gentleman frien with her compliments; but it is paying him a decided attention, 2d. It is not customary for young ladies to invite young gentle- men to promenade with them, but vice versa, No, a young girl of eighteen will often practice more assiduously upon the piano than one of less age, although her fingers will not be so limber, yet she may attain proficiency in the study of music, 4th. Plumpers cannot be worn without being attached to an up- set of false teeth. Better eat food which serves to increase the tendency to flesh, such as oat-meal pudding, crushed wheat, and similar farinaceous preparations, and let mechanical -E ances alone. ila Rose.—ist. “Circumstances alter cases.” If engaged to one young man, it is not proper to go with another without his consent; but if not, several escorts are not improper, unless one accepts of one for the season. 2d. No, it is not proper, to dance with a person to whom you have not been in uced. 3d. We do not approve of “handkerchief flirtations,” and therefore cannot lend our aid to promoting your knowledge of them. Odelle.—Yes; there are several books which give minute direc- tions upon the minor points of etiquette to which you refer. We can send you “The Manual of Etiquette” for 75 cents, Hale.—The lady can either leave her knife and fork on her plate, when sending it to be filled, or rest them upon the “‘salt” or a bitot bread, It matters little which course is pursued; but when the waiter removes the plate for another course, they should be placed on the plate. ‘Ne Plus Ultra.—ist. Otfer the unoccupied seat to the lady ac- quaintance who enters the car, but keep your own seat, er than offer it to the young man with whom you are slightly ac-. quainted. 2d. Perhaps the Jady’s letter was’ so heavy that two stamps were required. You need not use them unless the post- $100,000,000, master asks for double postage. . ~~ 4 45 LITTLE IRENE BELLETIER. BY NATHAN D. URNER. “One of the saddest incidents of the tragedy attending the boiler explosion in the railway excavation, corner of 128th street and Madison Avenue, was the death of Irene Belletier, an Italian street-musician, about twelve years of age. She was carrying her harp across the temporary bridge at the time the e: oc- curred, and was killed instantly, still clinging to her in- strument as she sank to the earth. In spite of ber rags, she was a picturesque little beauty, with la ack as and a wonderful profusion of glossy, dar r for one so young. The grief of her old i Tr. 10 Be x, when he sank upon his knees by the m ye was heart-rending in the ex- treme.”— New York "oper, Nov. 13, 1873, 4 Little Irene Belletier, With ler humble harp, at the close of day, Was crossing the bridge, without a fear, Wheréunder the workmen were digging their way— Blasting the rocks and hewing a road, With a fierce little engine puffing at hand, For the tramway trains, with which ‘tis the mode To cross-bar and honeycomb half the land; And never a thought of danger or fear Had little Irene Belletier. There were many on-lookers—the day had searce waned— Passers and idlers about the scene, While the fierce little engine panted and strained, And the workmen wrought in the rough ravine; And, pausing above, she did not refrain To think, perchance, of the wealth outlaid On giant schemes of the hand and brain, While she toiled on, and the old tunes played, For the pittance that ever is earned so dear By such waifs as Irene Belletier. A crash, a scream, and a cloud of steam— A flurry of fire and blinding smoke! And rock, earth, iron and binding-beam Were rent and ripped, as by thunder-stroke! Like dead leaves in autumn, torn, trampled and bare, When the tempest stalks over field, forest and ridge, The dead and the dying were everywhere; And there, on the jags of the black, broken ‘bridge, With ber life-blood staining her harp, fallen near, Lay little Irene Belletier. They drew out thestark dead, one by one, And drearily laid them side by side; And the chill air throbbed, as tlie day was done, With shrieks and groans; and thitherward hied Wife, mother and father—a ghastly crowd— With parted lips and wild, haggard air, Over this or that figure, to raise aloud The dirge tuat is born of dire despair; But none were too ready to drop the tear _ Over little Irene Belletier. The hand still Jay on the battered harp, The coal-black eyes by their lids were vailed, The features—by hunger and cold made sharp— And the thin-clad form, whence the spirit had failed, Were half-concealed by the tangled toss Of long hair, dark as the raven’s wing, While blood-stained, and broken, a hard-wood cross Still laid on her bosom, and clung to its string. With few to pity, and no friend near, Lay little Irene Belletier. Till suddenly, piercing the gathering gloom, A shrill cry, over the crush and din, Swelled afar, and the crowd made room For a tattered figure that faltered in— The tattered form of a man with wild eyes, Who cast himself by the body stark, Clasped it, caressed it, with piteous cries, Aud pressed his lips to each sad blood-mark, And tius did the old man, shattered and sere, Meet his daughter, Irene Belletier. QO! there were others bere(t that day— Wives and parents, ay! many a one! And a fairer than she, too, passed away— A bright young miss, who was stricken down— The pride of a rich, luxurious home, Whose parents with horror turned pallid and wild; But a sadder sight out there in the nigh’ Was the old Itahan alone with his child— Still calling to ears that no more could hear: “My daughter! Irene Belletier!”’ Jennie Vail’s Mission Hkaiely IO Rg 1 mente DOOMED FOR LIFE. By Annie Ashmore, Author of FAITHFUL MARGARET, HERE WARD AND LA MORT, etc., etc. {Jennie Vail’s Mission” was commenced in No. 2. Back Num- bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.]} CHAPTER XV. A London hansom is dashing through the streets at eleven o’clock at night. It draws up before a tall tenement house in Angel Court, under the shadow of St. Paul’s. An elderly gentle- man alights, and carefully assisis a lady, deeply muffled and vailed, to the ground. In they go througi: the black throat of the tenement pas- sage, Cabby thinking, sagely: *“Meddlesome missionary lugging home some misfort- nate to be well whaled by her joovin’ parients.”? Up they go the dim, stone stairs, and pause before a door we have, often entered. before; and now the lady hangs back out of sight. The gentleman knocks loudly on the door, It is late, and working people are weary and sleep soundly, Anon the bolts are withdrawn, the door is opened, and a face looks out, illumined by a.tallow candle. Not the venerable, bright old face, nor the soft, tender, frail — not @ face that should look out of that door— ah, no i “Mr. Fairfax?” says the elderly gentleman, experi- mentally. “Pairfax ?? says he of the stranger face. ‘Nobody call- ed ae here,’? and the door slowly closes. easel? gasps the lady, coming into view. ‘‘Where “Ohi, p have they gone? They lived here last June—Mr. Fairfax aud Mrs. Vail.” “Dunno,” says the man, yawning fearfully. ‘(Ask the landlord, fust floor,” and the door is definitely closed. Down they go to the door of Mr. Lucas Imri’s single room, where he lives the life of @ rat, except when he Javing his hands in the coffers of gold he has hidden rere, Repeated knocking calls forth an apparition with a hooked nose, a beard to the girdle, and ared night-cap towering high. “Where have Mr, Fairfax and Mrs. Vail removed to??? inquires the gentleman. Mr. Imri, only illumined by the street-lamp which shines across his door (candles are too dear for his use), shakes his filthy, picturesque head mournfully, “Al, I Know not where these afflicted souls have taken refuge,” Says he, with touching pity. (Jennie Vail could have enlightened the gentleman as to its sincerity, from old experiences of the Jew’s griping proclivities.) ‘They were a worthy pair, but Heaven sent them many calami- lies. The granddaugliter went out one day a pleasuring, and never came back—killed, sir, on the railway. When they heard of it, the aged man was struck with paralysis on the instant, and the smitten widow—— Good sir, the lady is ill, is she not?” “No,” gasps the lady, hastily sitting down on the stone stair Opposite the door. ‘Go on,” “fhe widow,” resumes Mr. Imri, after wiping an im- aginary tear from his almond eye, “being left in one hour, as it were, fatherless and childless, and having not the wherewithal to subsist on, accepted public charity for her aged father, placed him in some hospital, aud went else- where to bé near him. Whether the poor paralytic is dead or recovered, I know not. They went away, leaving no trace behind. The very dog, long beloyed by tle mother and child, was sold in their extremity.” The gentleman turns hastily from the old man’s sorrow- Tul tale, for the lady hag fallen back on the cold, hard Stairs, as if dead. And he carries her tenderly, tenderly out in his arms, poor Jennie Vail!—and so farewell io the old home! * * * “What can I do for you?’ asks Mr. Gardiner, starting up from his cheerless cup of coffee, in the cavernous, echo- ing coffee-room of the ‘‘Castle and Falcon,” as Jane creeps in, wan as the morn that is now breaking. “Find them!’ wails she—“find my darlings!’? “And what will you do?” Her eyes flash, her form dilates; she turns on him stern- ly firm. aq will go back to Childerwitch.” The rector draws a long sigh. “Thank Heaven!” he mutters, but she does not hear him: “my chain is broken!’ CHAPTER XVI. Lady Thorncliff awoke from her stupor one day deliri- ous. The experienced nurse who had attended her ever since her accident sought Sir Marcus in great disquietude. “She has a fancy that Mrs. Thorncliil’s life is in dauger. I can’t quiet her,’ said the nurse, Sir Marcus went for Marian. Mrs. Thorncliff was sleeping late that morning; Flora, peculiarly red-eyed, hupg near the door with her bonnet and shawl on, “Why isn’t your mistress in Lady Thornecliit’s room yet?’ growled the baronet. “She—she fSn’t welll’? stammered the waiting-maid, who, with all the domestic force at Childerwitch, stood in mortal dread of Sir Marcus. ‘Not well! not well! What’s the matter with her? and what’s the matter with you that you're bowling likea baby?’ blustered Sir Marcus. Flora nearly fainted. “Nothing, sir, is the matter with me,” said she, witha desperate atiempt at surprise; ‘‘sure’n I’m allright. But me good; kind mistress, sure’n she frightens me intirely; she'll neither eat nor speak, so she won’t.”? Sir. Marcus stumped to Jane’s door. Bump! “Halloa, youl’? Flora.—“On, whisht! Sure she'll jump out of her seven senses,’? Bump! bump! Sir Marcus.—‘‘Marian!’ roaring. A voice inside.—‘*'Flora, open the deor!?? Flora took the key from her pocket and unlocked the door, the baronet gloweriug over his nose at the proceed- ing. : Jane appeared atthe aperture, shockingly white and heavy-eyed, and evidently just risen from her bed, ‘“‘Are ye sick?’ queried Sir Marcus, hushing his tones to a miid growl. “I have slept none last night, that’s all,”? said Jane, “And why didn’t ye sleep?” “JT couldn’t.”? ‘Humph! none o’ your business, says you. I say, why d’ye keep your door locked ?”” **I feel more comfortable with it locked.”’ “What the duse! are we a set of pirates here ?”? “Flora, come in and dress me.” “Humpnh! off at a tangent. Lady Thorncliff’s in a high fever—siie’s rattling away like sixty. quiet her—perhaps you can.” ; “im coming, Sir Marcus! Haste, Flora! I will not be ong. ; “All right; don’t break your neck, though.” And off the baronet stumped. : ‘Flora, why are you crying?’? asked Jane, anxiously, when she roticed her eyes. “Oh, ma’am, me heart’s broke intirely! I’m ordered to leave your service, so I am!’ sobbed the girl. “By whom?” cried Jane. “By Miss Ingrave. Ah! but maybeshe haven’‘t: the black heart toward you, my sweet lady! She saw you coming in from the little side gate in the dawn this morn- ing—sure but mustn’tshe have the sharp eyes and the oe up ears, too; and she got at me to say where you iad been, aud, because I wouldn’t nor couldn’t say, it’s dismissed Iam; and if I complain a word’ to the master, sure’n isn’t he to hear the whole of it ?”” Jane was in too deepafflictionto quiver much under this pin’s prick, but she felt it. j “My poor Flora!’ said she, sadly, ‘‘your faithfulness to me has cost you your place. I dare not gainsay Miss In- grave. How Iam to geton without you Heaven knows. I have few friends, bull believe you are one of them.”? “Indeed and you may say that, ma’am!’’ sobbed Flora; ‘and it’s the sweet lady ye always wasto me. But since I goes, and Miss Annabel puts Fauny’s sister Susan in my place, which maybe she isu’t a spy and: a gossip just like Fan—the reason why she’s set in my shoes—good-by, my poor, sweet, dear mistress”? 1 ; And Flora was gone. caine and went, marked by some small yet significant events, Qne morning it was related by one of the doctors that. the Reverend Octavius Gardiner, Rector of Little Catesby, had resigned the living. The chain that he had spoken of which had bound him for seventeem years was broken at last. Free of Baron jn benefuctiou, he was free to befriend Jane ai Once and again my lord, meeting Jane Vail in the hall or walking in the garden, stuck to her witha quiet, tence, aud tauiked to her with a peculiar manner on him that would have puzzled her completely - she not had tle felicity of overliearing his opinion of ner, Atsuch times Miss Annabel wassure tocome down upon the ilil-assorted pair, and with asaccharine bland- ness aud an imp of fury in her eye ingeniously put an end to the lete-a-tele. Through all the phases of Lady Thornecliff’s feyer she .} liked to have Jane Vail beside her. Did she rave, as she too often did, of the white flame leaping toward her, flashing into her eyes, shooting high above her head, and wrapping her round in its. mad em- brace, and shriek for help, the soft yoice of Jane Vuil fell on herear like a voice from Heayen and stlilled her ina monent. Other voices she never heeded; she hushed her breath to listen to Jane’s. Did she wail and weep under the cruel agony of the daily dressing of her wounds, Jane’s head upon the pil- low beside hers, Jane’s cheek pressed to hers, Jane’s loy- ing eyes looking into hers would hush her wailing and charm her pail away so that she would smile softly as at some iovely dream of bygone biiss. Other faces she could not see; she sought out Jane’s as fit had been a Star. Observing these signs, Sir Hastings Vavasour said to Jane in Miss Ingrave’s presence: “When the fever leaves the patient in that first moment of consciousness let yours be the face her eyes first rest on; Jet yours be the voice that welcomes her tolife. A shock of disappointment and she sinks from that mo- ment; a start of pleasure and her life is saved. I may al- most say that upon your presence hangs Lady Thornciifi’s only chance for recovery.” Mrs. Garnet, the nurse, and Miss Ingrave were both preseut when this was said. Involuntarily Jane cast a keen look at Miss Ingrave. Kuowing that with Lady Thorncliff’s recovery came An- nabel’s downfall, she looked with Considerable anxiety for some hint which course that lady's thoughts took. Aunabel’s large, innocent-seeming eyes were fixed on yacancy; only asuspicious observer (like Jane) could have detected the quivering of the fine muscles round the mouth and the veat in the hollow of the milk-white throat which witnessed to the profound interest with which she was taking in this intelligence. Sir Hastings was leaving the room before she found piparh to ask when that important moment miglit be ex- pected. “it may come In forty-eight hours—it will be preceded by a deep, calm slumber.” ; With this the doctor left, Mrs. Garnet following him out to ask some professional question, Miss Ingrave darted a singular glance at Jane, who was narrowly scrutinizing her still, Dread, fary, revenge, all struggled to express themselvesin that swift glance. Then she cast. down her eyes and appeared to ponder anxiously. len she started up and approached Jane. “You know whati think ol you,’’ said she, in Jane’s ear. “You never saw Colonel Thorncliff iu your life, You happened to be traveling in the same train by which he came to hisend. You stole his papers and came here as his widow, You are Jane Vail in disguise; you are an impostor, A whisper {rom the right quarter can expose you. Fly! fly! wile you have time!” “Miss Ingrave,” answered Jane, with cold disdain, “you know what I think of you. You are not Anthony's daughter; you were placed in her place seventeen years ago to prevent Lady Thorncliff from searching for the true child; you attempted my life on the night of the so- called accident, and again by poison. You are an impos- tor and a would-be murderess. Whenever Lady Thornciiff is restored to consciousness you will be exposed. Why, then, not take the adyice you are pleased to offer me, and fly while you have time?’’ Miss Ingrave drew off with a glare of rage, “Very good!"’ said she, fiercely, ‘‘weshali sée. In forty- eight hours much may happen Please yourself; but meantime remember that the world is turuiug round, my dear, the world is turning round!? The nurse re-entering put a stop to this animated collo- quy. Well, the two days wore out and sure enough my lady fell into & quiet, sound sleep, Then the nurse rose in her mightand put both the young ladies out (they had each resolved to dic rather than desert the post). Sir Hastings had vowed that not a soul was to stay in the room but the nurse. There would be inevitable rust- ling of muslin gowns, sighing of weary people, smother- ing of spasmodic coughs. The patient would be disturbed, would relapse—wouid never sleep out of a coffin again, The nurse’s last words to Jane were: ‘“She’s sale tilltwelve o’clock, noon, At the first stir Ill call you.’? Her last words to Annabel were: “The. first minute she’s fitforit you shall have your turn, miss.’? Jane went up to her room, and feeling exhausted for waut of sleep lay down on her bed, Miss Ingrave went. down stairs to Lord Adderley, whose diurnal visit had occurred even earlier than usual this morning. : And Jane dreamed; and, oh, it was a sweet dream to break . on all her trouble—it was like fairy music heard in pain due thought that she had gone home again to look for her darlings; that she opened the door without kuocking; that looking in she saw them both; he bending over his vases and colors and glittering packets of gold dust—she twining the roses, and silver wheat, and Jily-buds; and The nurse can’t { Jane resumed her place by my lady's couch, and days}: they looked up at her and smiled just as of old—just as of old! And suddenly big Snath jumped up from his mat with a great bark, and leaped upon her, and licked her face, and so she awoke sobbing, with tears on her eyelids. And it was so dark that at first she thought night had come, and sprang from her bed with her heart in her mouth, thinking that the fateful moment of my lady’s awakening had lopg passed by; but anon she found that it was but eleven o’clock of the morning yet, and that the sky was black with thunder clouds, “There must have been a clap of thunder and I thought it was Snath’s bark,’? mused Jane. She rang for her new maid Susan, so evidently a crea- ture of Miss Ingrave’s that she was always aware of her and never gave lier anything to report. She made her dress her prettily, and arrange her hair gracefully. “My lady willknow me when she wakes, I wonld like to look my best,’? said Jane. When she had her crisp, white morning robe on, bound about the slight waist with a black cord, her soft hair wreathed above her clever brow, and her wounded hands supported by a white silk scarf passed round her neck, she made a very ladylike and interesting lady, She went down to the parlor, opposite my lady’s door, to wait there within sight for the nurse’s summons, It was but.a few minutes afterward that a servant came with a message from Sir Marcus. Would she step down stairs and look at some hounds he was buying? ; Reluctantly enough Jane went down stairs, intending to excuse herself to Sir Marcus and hasten back again. The front door was wide open; agroup stood init, and a dog-cart was drawn up before it. Sir Marcus was there rubbing his hands and growling away in a cheerful double G. Lord Adderley was there lounging against the hoary hlouse-wall, with his red-tipped fingers at his cray lips, Miss Ingrave was there in her delicate pale gray robes, with flame-hued ribbonsin her gold hair, sitting prettily on one of the time-worn dragons couchant which flanked the portal. And a little wan stood bythe dog-cart—a lit- tle manin a tight blue sporting jacket, with pee a neck, bullet-head and bulging eyes, lugging out dog after dog from the repository at his elbow. ‘Jove! there’s breed!”? exclaimed the baronet. ‘Come out, ye beauties; show yourselves. Splendid pups, all ready for their maiden chase, hey, Horseley? But show us the surly old brute I heard barking. A deerhound, eh? Whatare ye staring at, man? Ol—oh—come along, my dear. By George! man, ye 100k as if ye never saw a lady before.? ; ‘‘Horseley, did you ever see this lady before?” inter- — . the melodious yoice of Lord Adderley, h Pale as death Jane Vail looked at Mr. Horseley; breath- less to suffocation Mr. Horseley looked at her. He had a dog hanging meekly by the ear waiting its turn to be dropped on the ground beside # pair that were already slinking about side by side with their noses on the gravel. He forgot te drop the dog; he omitted to auswer my lord; the beads of perspiration started out upon his forehead; his eyes seemed ready to start from their sockets; in fact, the whole of Mr. Horseley’s faculties were absorbed in the effort of gazing. Bist | My lora drew closer to Jane Vail, a tigerish flare in the pale green orbs; his fingers at his moistened Ii as il he were about to eat some delicious morsel. .. i Miss Ingrave’s creamy cheeks glowed asif a red hot palm had been laid on each, cs : Sir Marcus woke up. ‘ ‘ “The devil! roared he. “Is this another of your— tricks to annoy my daughter-in-law? Whiat dtye mean, Horseley, ye ass, by slaring at Mrs, Thorncliff that way? What d@’ye mean, 1 say?” mA “Speak out, my good fellow,’ said Lord Adderley, en- couragingly. 8 i The dog fancier at Jast drew breath and wiped his fore- lead. oie : “Sir Marcus,’ said he, in fear and trembling, but not of the baronet, “if you will please to forgive the. impidence I will say what I meant by Starin’ at this good as if t were agoin’ out of my head. 1 could have. taken oath in any court in the country, if you hadu’t said she was your daughter-in-law, that she was a& person as was killed more’n. three months ago on the railway, or-her very image. King alive! the morellooks the moret’m sure: on’t.” And he rubbed his eyes so as to see her beter. “Well, what the duse has that to do with Mrs, Thorn- cliff?’ said Sir.Marcus, in his most turbulent tones; she wasn't killed, so ye don’t see a ghost, and t 3 an end ou’t. ? F I eri “Ah, but what was that person’s name whom. rai Sem more than three months’ ago?’ softly quel my.Jord. Mr. Horseley fluug the quivering pup among ie sinooin- hided comveres and retreated into the recesses of his dog- cart. mio. Ef . } od “I can’t trust: “Why don’t you advertise for Marian Brace’s friends to come and identify her??? pursued Jane, mockiugly, re- turning to my lori and his lJady-love. ‘*Why persist in making me out somebody else before you have satisfied anybody thatiam not sie? Prove that! prove that! Ha, hal you can’t!? Sir Marcus’s brow grew bright as the sun; his arm slipped round her waist; he gave her a little hug. ‘Hang ’em all, I say!?? swore the baronet, with fervor. ‘Let ’em prove that, and be —— to ’em! before they come pestering and bothering us. Yes, my dear, just let ’em dare to meddle with us again, and—humpnh! they’ll have me to deal with, that’s all. We'll keep our own counsel, too, my dear, about who you were before Lawry was ass enough to marry you. No offense to you, my dear. You know what I think of you for a woman’’—another hug— “quite another affair from you fora match. Confounded idiots! they’ve got one idea in their heads, and that’s Jane Vail. Can't ye waittill your Jane Vail betrays herself— poor lass! I fancy she’s as frightened of you as you are of her—and not outrage and insult my son’s widow ? Horse- ley, you donkey, you might have had better sense than to pul your finger in the pie. Be olf to the kennels with ee , brutes ol yours. 1’) have another look at ’em ere. “Yes, sir? muttered the dog-fancier, scratching his bristly head wildly. ‘I see the advertisement askin’ Jane Vail’s friends to communicate with Lawyer Grayley down at the village yonder, and I come aloug for to tell thatshe were killed; and were sent up hére; and here—bless my bones! the colonel’s widow / oh, lud!?? and Mr. Horseley once more barked out laughing, and sirangled the impro- priety in a red-spotted handkerchief. Lord Adderley and Miss Ingrave had drawn close to- sour, and were silently taking each other’s opinion of all this. Baffled fury darkened each visage as the dun. storm clouds darkened the heavens; for now the first drops of the tempest were falling. Foiled by Jane Vail’s audacity and Sir Marcus’s obstinate incredulity, iheir case, proven as it was, fellto pieces. They were ulteriy routed. ' “Yes, the colonel’s widow!’ eclloed Jane Vail,. facing round on the cowering Horseley. ‘‘Go and find your proofs that Lam not she, and then I will admit thatl am Jane Vail.. Ha, ha; ha!’ and, in her mad excitement, she Durst into a riuging peal of laughter, in which Sir Marcus joined with a roar of boisterous merriment, pattiug her on the cheek to mark his approvalof her spirit. _ As if that laugh of mingled brassy defiance and simple cerednlity had, reac! the Heavens and challenged the supernal powers, a flash smote their eye-balls, a thunder- clap deafened their ears aud & mighty turmoil of all the elements broke loose. The tremendous roll overhead asif all the artillery of Heaven were thundering across the Heavenly floors; the slashing of. the aerial canopy here and there and every- where as if by the sword of Divine wrath; the wild out- rush of the blast, and the torrent, and the distinct sul- phurous odor seenied to menace the hardy impostor with instant annihilation. They all turned to look at the sudden convulsion of na- ture. And when they saw the biack, holiow clouds belch- ing forth flames, and the strong trees bending and crouch. ing to the ground under the panther leap of the gale, and the sheeted rain whistling by, @ crystal simoon, they forgot the mental tornado whic lute had absorbed each soul and trembled before the weird spirit of the storm. The dog-tancier’s horse made one frantic leap and dis- appeared round the house, the hounds cowered Jow and seemed as if they would worm themselves into the earth, and old Snath pressed close against his mistress with a leng, eldritch howl. “Come in, all,’”? shouted the baronet, backing into the ancient hall where the arms of his ancestors glimmered in the Jightning’s ray as if the ghosts of the dead grasped them. Lord Adderley and Miss Ingrave stepped hastily after him. ‘ Miss Ingrave was white with fear, and flinging her- selfon the nearest chair, slieshut her eyes, stopped her ears and shook convulsively. Lord Adderley turned from this pitiable sight with the impulse of vivid curiosity to-see how Jane looked. She was still stundingin the doorway, a tali, white, statuesque figure apparently intent on the passage of the storm. * ; A half-flerce, half-enraptured smile curled. my lord’s terrible mouth, «| © 4 i ' He softly stepped to her side—she did not see him—and gloated over her entrauced pose, on the rapt gaze of her wide,‘electric eyes; on the abandon of the wolman’s soul to the passing demon of destruction. . “Grand, reckless creature,’’ whispered Lord Adderley— the wictory.??~ flo opal : Intent om her, he did not observe that she was intenton something far more awful than the wildest tempest that ever raged. ‘ ' That something was a man. . ' » He was toiling up the avenue against the roaring gale, now.snatched froin sight im the murk of a lowering cloud, now ‘projected into : brilliant distinctness by a glare of lightning, like # figureiu a magic lanterL, | Do tlie dead indeed rise? a Has he come from his grave—an awlul apparition curd- ling the blood and ‘turning the brain. God’s most terrific instrument to punish her for her lie, ou the spot where it was uttered ? “Prove,’? she had said, with mad laughter, ‘that lam not the colonel’s widow.” i 2 Et . Here then, with tempest. and fire, approaches a ‘specter of the dead to anewer ibe chal Say eat Her senses reeled, a frenzy of terror seized her, she ut- tered a piercing shriek—it was heard above all the din of the hurricane—and staggered back from the door. She would have falles inaswoeon had not Lord Adderley caught her in his arms, and with that strange mingling ol Savage admiration and a ferocious desire to tear her to pieces, gazed green-eyed into her ghastly face. ‘Aha’? muttered he, with hLorrible zest; *‘the brave im- postor wears & woman’s heart, does she? Wait awhile, Jane Vail, Dimon Adderley has sworn to have the hand- ling of that heart yet!” And his craving fingers hovered over her heart, as if my lord, ghoul-like, would tear 1b Out then and there and drain it with his crimson lips, That touch sent ashock ot life through her. Had she been clasped in the toothed arms of the Inquisitorial “Maiden,’? she could not have torn herself free with more supernatural strength. % i Sir Marcus received her in his arms, cursing and'swear- ing lustily at my Jord’s impudence—in pantomime, of course, for in the wild wrack little could be heard, Jane did not faint; on the contrary, a curious reaction took possession of her, From swooning fear to despairing strength %tis but a little step. For the second time within the hour she paused on the brink of the abyss and bethought herself. Her brain suddenly cleared. In a flask of inconceivable brilliancy she saw and comprehended her position, even down to its minutest details. In the excited and exalted state of her mind, she there- fore instantly realized that since there are no ghosts of dead men walking the earth, the apparition she had seen was COLONEL THORNCLIFF HIMSELF! : However inexplicable that the mau whom she believed dead when she laid down his head on Morley Moor should be yet alive, such, her sharpened intellectual fuculties as- sured her, was the fact. Colonel Thorncliff was coming up the avenue of Chil- derwitch; Colonel Thornciliff had but to cross that thresh- old, and in one word speak her doom. ‘ Stay! j Mercy was shown her once—(her mind seized and sketched with lightning rapidity the scene in the rectory of Little Catesby)—there scarce cuuld be two devils on earth as cruel as Dimon Adderley—(again her mind flashi- ed out the picture of my lord in the glsom at the summer- house, tempting Annabel Ingrave to murder her)—imight not merey be shown her again? (the picture of Morley Moor, with the colonel telling how he loved his stepmoth- er, shifting into the picture of the fire scene, and my lady in flames in her arms;) and if not, was it not better to fall into the hands of the:man she had injured (the scene in the sumimer-house, where she destroyed the colonel’s trust) than the man who had sworn to injure her? » Her case canuot be made worse; it may by a miracle be made better. , Haste then, haste, Jane Vail! clutch the passing straw! She stepped to the door, There he was, thirty or forty paces from the door, toil- ing up against the wind— Colonel Thorncliff’s very self. She darted out into the storm and flew down to meet him; and, oli, laughable jugongruity, Suath trotted at her heels! ari tr een Sir Marcus and Lord Adderley sprang, together, to see where she was going. “Why, what the y? ; ‘Heavens! who is that??? ; ‘Doesn't it look like—— but pshaw! impossible!” “Astonishing! Colonel Thornclift!! She flies to greet him!!! etc., ete. ‘ The gale swept her on; the rain drifted her faster. The man, with his head on his breast and his shoulders to the blast, saw something white flasu up to him and bar the way. He stood still. A woman, white as death, bare-headed to the storm, her white garments streaming in the wind, her wild, be- seeching eyes riveted upon his, and her ashy lips gasping out something—amazing vision! Colonel Thorncliff stared all agog. She plucked her hands out of a white silk scarf in which they were folded, and clasped his arm. Then he heard what she was saying. “Colonel Thorncliff, for Heaven’s sake, say I am your wife, Marian, only for an nour!—one short hour!—my very life depends on it!” Colonel Thorneliff actually staggered back. “They are watching us from the door,’ panted the wild vision, clutching him again—“they have their suspicions of me. Oh, have mercy! have mercy, and save me from the consequences of the maddest thing that ever poor girl attempted; and Heaven knowsI did it in a good causel’? ‘ “Wha—what does the woman meau?’’ stammered the astounded soldier, : “I dare not stop to explain!’ cried she, pressing his arm and gazing up with headlong urgency and yehemence “give me but breathing space; save me for an hour anc you shall know all whenever we are alone. Will you call me your wife for an hour, Colonel Thorncliff? Will you? will you? will you?” “You—you—positiveiy you are mad!’ gasped the col- onel. ‘Who in the world are you? Arn’s you the girl that I saw on Morley Moor? Yes, you are. There’s your dog. Isent you——” “Willyou?”? shrieked Jane, clinging frantically to him. “Sir Marcus is coming—save my life, will you?” but sle.did: not hear him.» ‘Upou my soul you deserve |. ‘rugged, boisterous humanity. Yes, Sir Marcus was indeed stumping down the avenue, Le with eyes bursting from their sockets, and my lord was slinking softly at his heels, _ “I—by George!’ gasped the colonel, stupefied inta star- ing at her, and twisting his dripping gold mustache. She gave him a look of anguished reproach, and dropped is arm. “Ou?? wailed she, in a voice of thrilling despair, “he won’t; I am lost.’? She turned dizzily to walk away. Earth and sky reeled before her, then grew black, She staggered and threw up her hands wildly. Suddenly she felt a pair of arms seize her, and sustain: her, while a voice said in her ear: “All right, girl—for an hour you are my wife, Marian—. for the sake of that day on Morley Moor.” (TO BE CONTINUED. } { Tightrope Tim; i ORE: Litem THE HEIR IN SPANGLES. By Burke Brentford, [“Tight-Rope Tim”? was commenced in No. 5. Back numbers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United Siates.} CHAPTER XI. FRIEND AND FOE. The passengers were eagerforthe captain to put the steamer back at once and apprise the inhabitants of the town where Montrose had made his escape, of what had happened, and have the villain hunted down. The skipper turned the matter over in his mind for some time, but finally refused. Good-hearted as he was, busi-+ ness duties to his employers gained the victory over his sense of humanity. There was one passenger who took no part in all the entreaties to the captain. It was Bringski. ‘ Of course he knew, even oefore the examination had been gone through with, that Momtrose was the authoPof the atlempted murder of Tightrope Tim. He had guessed it from the first, and his noticing the absence of that wor: thy from among the other. passengers had at ouce con- \ firmed his more than suspicion. He now brooded over the affair all alone. He had not even told his wife of Montrose’s presence’on the boat, apd did not purpose to make her any. the wiser now. Aud yet the incident that had occurred. filled him with resent- ment against Walter Montrose. He felt grieved, aud, as he thought, virtuously indignant. 4 It was not the cowardice and cruelty of the attempted murder that excited his reprehension; but the thought that his confederate had undertaken. to perform upon his. own account the “job” which, according to contract, was- to be performed by him (Brinzski), and duly paid for, thus. cheating him out of what he cousidered his just dues, ran- kied i his breast. Montrose, in order to save money, had meanly, underhandedly, dishouorably attempted to cozen him; and the lialian secretly raged as he thought how near the plot had succeeded. Still, ad he not ever there- after this sleek, gentlemanly rascal, this cunning, well- born, sinister Montrose completely in his power? It was not likely that the latter, having waded thus deep in the actual commission of crime, would give up his evil purposes regarding Tightrope Tim. Yet, turn up again im whatever disguise he might, for the carrying outof such purposes, was he not stiil in the Italian’s power? A word froin the latter could at any moment consign his coniedere ate to justice, or, still more dreadful, to the ruthless min- istrations of Judge Lynch. Briuzski hugged himself with this idea, which served to keep him very quiet during the remuinder of the’ trip. Tim recovered so rapidly that, with the assistance of much cold water, the bump on his forehead had almost disappeared when, toward the close ofthe day, they reached their destination. bats eo Rumtown was larger and evem more: border-iike in its characteristics than the town at which Brinzski’s show ‘had last performed. E Every other house in the place seemed to be a liquo: lie gambliug saloon, or both combined. Mts business ap- peared chiefly to consist in fleecing the emigrants and teamsters setting out forthe ‘plains,’ or returning to the States, disgusted with an unsuccessful experience in pioneeriug. f Ruffiaus, armed to the teeth, swaggered and staggered through the streets in every stage of Intoxication. . It was at the worst tavern which this disreputable place contained that Bringzski and his galaxy of talent pat up, On the following morning his show-tent was erected. — . And at the first performance, which took place in the afiernodn, the Ruintonians flocked under the canvas, re- gardiess ofexpense. Every seat was filled with rough, They gave evidence to their enthusiasm, as the performance proceeded, by discordant yells, shouts and Apache howls, with now and then & knife or revolver brandished alott, as an additional em~ phasis, that at first caused Brinzski to lurn paleand trem- ble in his tights and spangles. But he had only to recalk. the financial success of the affair to reassure hinrself. The equestrian exercise of Brinzski and Tightyope called forth thunders.of applause. vied with each otherin inventing sobrigwets, meant lo be complimentary for both nan and boy, — « ~Old Drake, in his stripes and cockscomb, and with his dreary puus, was designated as “Old Snoozer,? with shouis of real mirth, for half the audience had seen him drunk in the gutter on the previous evening. Tne contortions of Silas Shanks proved especially enter~ taining. He was encouragingly exhorted to “turn him. self inside-out for the benefit of his old gizzard.” Little Tim’s feats on the slackrope clicited gennine bursts of admiration. But when La Vullette brought ont Little Cobweb on her ‘flying Arabian steed,” the mulli- tude, as if suddenly possessed by a kindred feeling of pity were fur some time silent.. This was followed by disupe | proving mutterings, which rapidly swelled to roars of die i approvation, ~“Put that little baby’ to bed, you mean old hag?P? “We've got our Midney’s worth, without that cruel SighLP? — and similar cries rang out over the ring. $ Even La Valiette, bold and brazen as she was, felt — frightened, and drew up her horse ilito a mild trot. But Signor Brinzski sprapg into the ring, and made an uuctious address to the crowd, averring that Little Cob- web couldn’t be induced to give up her share in the per- formance. She was their own child; and they had fre- quently endeavored to do without her assistance, on ac- count of her tender years; but the little thing wept and moaned so much at this deprivation that they feared she would break her heart, and concluded to let her have her own way. The pressure of La Vallette’s iron hand upon the “little thing’s’? shoulder caused Little Cob- web to smile and courtsey in confirmation of the lie, and the performance went on; but if tie rude spectators re- frained from any further expressions of disapprobation, they at any rate did not applaud. The show broke up in a tree fight at the door, in which several of the participants were more or Jess carved, and there were a few other mishaps, equaNy trifling; put the proprietor of the show was filled with delight at the general success of the entertaininent, A Never before had he realized such profits from a single performance, Both he and his wife were so pleased that they even satisfied themselves with bestowing a few light cuffs on Tim and Cobweb; and opened their hearts to-Old-~ Drake to the extent of a week’s wages in advance, which al Once sent that iNustrious artist capering to the nearest groggery ina merrier way than he iad ever capered on the sawdust. The next day, Brinzski and hi$ wife were the lion and lioness in their tavern. u Tim and Little Cobweb were regarded as predigies, patted.on the head by the ladies, and given small’ stamps. by the men. Tim, still full of his desire to escape, looked in vain for a friendly face, as indicative of a heart to con- fide hissorrow, He saw none in which he dared place his trust, but hoped he would in time. The time came. Even Mr. Shanks, despite his unprepossessing appear- ance, cause in for ashare of the general Jionizing; while Dismal Drake, careless of fume, contented himself with is bottle aud meditative solitude. : CHAPTER XI, FRIENDS IN NEED. Brinzski, expecting to reap a golden harvest on the day following his first success, announced to the Rum- tonians, through their newspaper organ, an indefinate ex= tension of his engagement in ‘that future Metropolis of the Great West,’’ as he worded it. But upon that very afternoon his hopes were destined to be seriously dashed. The tent was again crowded with an enthusiastic throng. Everything appeared to be going as smootiily as before, when suddenly, as Little Cobweb was careering around the ring on the shoulders ol La Vallette, a gentleman sud denly sprang into the ring, in a state of great excitement, He wis a neatly-dressed, elderly, gray-haired old gentle- . man, and he flourisued a gold-headed wailking-stick with much emphasis, as he spoke, loudly and angrily, but to the purpose. “Gentlemen!"? he shouted, addressing himself to the gpectniors, “T call upon you, as men, to assist me in. re- ar essing a great and infamous wrong by demanding thas. this performance stop at once.’? There was great contusion instantly. The spectators, though many of them were amused by the old gentieman’s eccentric manner, pressed over the boundaries of the ying with great curiosity. La Vallette stopped her horse hesitatingly, and Dismal Drake scratched his red-flannel cockscomb in bewilder~ ment. But Brinzski had taken in everything at a glance-and stepped boldly forward. “Gentlemen! he cried, “this man is the same old lu- Natic that once before broke up our show in Massachu- setts. Take no heed of him and I shall have him put out.’? ‘It’s a lie, you rascal!’ roared the old gentieinan, shak~ ing his stick within an inch of the signor’s nose; “and E won't be pnt out until Ilet this rough, but honest crowd. know what I want, and know of your villainy, sir!” “Well, welll” sneered Brinzski, still retaining his pree- sence of mind, ‘what is it, then, my old friend? The: same illusion as before, I suppose.” “Gentlemen, hear mel” cried the other. ‘*Phis poor little girl is a stolen child, as I can prove, if perinitted to take her to the proper place. The same is true respecting the little boy, her companion in misery. I can prove that this old rascal and wife, who is worse than himself, if that were possible, broke their engagement in Worcester, Massachusetts, and fled under cover of the night and ale. Many of the spectators? oy Te : TPT Ste GAO Rei - Be i Ca Ret hcp ow wegen oe aR me crt ee ee, “aiding tis oo hein = ee “them a lot of lies about the boy being cruel to the girl, and » friewa andeI simply demand that the children) be placed _ here as long as your authorities may desire.”’ , in hopeless, dejection, he. leaped forward as though im- 8 pecan oe = . Ss tie RSC HE NEW YORK WE DSO es ; pe e+ By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes, Secret. | me,” sneered Brinzski; “but it won't do. We had signs of having’ been severely bitten in the left hand.” his brows and biting his lips. you're in my power. ment’s purciase.’? be spoken by you for two reasons.” ; “Why ??? town without being lynched. liere.?? pointed it 'at'the Italian as he spoke. fell. breast. supposition. you the loss sustained through his death.” Brinzski, in a deeply-injared tone. at all, and be paid forit. otherwise have had to give me??? ; of this harangue. that is, if my supposition were a reality, which it isn’t. Had nothing to do withthe: i eyes flashed eee he spoke. in getting off the boa’ not yours,’’ he added. cided change you see.on the road. hundreds. you. to work you harm.” ‘What do you-mean to do?! said Brinzski. Montrose. ‘Jt must be done at all hazards.” having Tim once more in his talons. “Oh, you can use great words out here, and alone with regular examination of all the passengers on the boat, and you were spotted as the only individual who had qnitted the landing we made very soon’ after Tim’s rescue. Beside, there wasn’t one Jeft on the boat who showed “Jt is my pleasure to do 80,” replied the other, knitting ‘Precisely!’ mocked the Italian, growing bolder as he marked the effect of his words; “and ‘you kuow that A word from me in the wild town there, and, despite your cunning disguise, your florid face, red wig and whiskers, your life wouldn’t be worth a mo- “Precisely, iy dear Brinzski, but that word will never “Because, in the’ first’ ‘place, you daren't go into the In the next) place, if) I sus- pected you capable of doing as you. boasted, Dshouldat once putit out of your power with this’ littie document He drew-a'small revolver from his breast, and playfully Brinzski’s: face “You see, if wont do for you to. attempt to bully me,”’ laughingly said Montrose, returning the weapon tg his “So, hadn’t we better be friends? ll give youa Suppose it was I who made the attempt to niurder the boy, and suppose-T had’ ‘succeeded, what dif- ference could it have made to you, if 1 had. made good to “It was mean in you—it was unbusiness-like,” ‘said «The contract was as good as made between us that I was todo the job, if done Now I appeal to your sense of justice—of common business honor between man and man—if it was fair or honorable in you to undertake the little affair yourself in order to save the money you would The other burst into extravagant laughter at the oddity “No, I can’t say it wouldv have been fair and square— attempted murder, so please don’t allude to it. again,’ His’) brow darkened, and his “If I hadan object ae ae — is my per eine ‘Do ‘you imagine. that. after m age : ; he’ i : helping you @ut of your scrape down below, and mbking manage him; he is just awful; he’s gotitin his head that the acquaintance of half the passengers on the boat, that I was such’ @fool as not fo come here ta-co-operate with you ina different disguise? The loneliness anv obscurity of the landing suited my purpose, and I got off. 1 had several disguises in my portmanteau, and made the de- I soon entered quitea large town without attracting undue attention.» In addi- tion to the»*money I had with me, I soon got togethera group of old poker players, out of whom I scooped a few: 1 bougiit this horse, and. got to Rumtown. There Llearned of the misfortune which had happened to both of us, and. here Iam at this early hour to confer with You're surely not such a fool as to suppose I came “To get the boy outof Basil Manners’ custody,”’ replied “How?” exclaimed theltalian, his countenance flaming with a sortof ghastly delight at the mere possibility of “Edith Lyle’s Secret’, was commenced in No, 33. Back num- bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.) CHAPTER LVIEL IN NEW YORK, Godfrey was very sick, and had been so for some days, though it was not until the morning when the telegram was forwarded that hisfever had assumed the typhoid torm and danger was apprehended. A message had been ‘sent to his Aunt Rossiter when lie first became ill, but she was in Washington with Miss Creighton, and as the Jand- lady knew nothing of the Calverts, her only alternative was to telegraph to Schuyler Hill, when the ‘matter be- came alarming and her boarder delirions,, Oh, how he tossed, and rolled, and raved, and talked, fancying him- self On the sea, und twice throwing himself out of bed because that was the proper thing todo when the ship gave a great larch as the waves broke overit, Then he was sea-sick ahd tried to vomit, and wore himself out in his efforts, and screamed to a fancied Bob in the upper berth, to know how he was coming through, and if he found hig ruffled night shirts, buttoned behind, a comfort to him ow! ‘'THen he stormed at Dan for bringing him sea-water ‘to drink, and when the ship began ‘to: pitch again he tried to stand upon his head, and then sprang back upon his feet to preserve his equilibrium, he said to the scandilized and horrified Mrs. Wilson, who fled! from him in dismay as the worst-behaved sick man she had everseen. Then as the vessel-ceased to pitel he grew more quiet, and only rolled with the imaginary ship, and talked about “La Soeur,’ and begged his landlady, to bring her to. him, and promised te stop rolling if she would. But she was not to let inthe girl with the pug nose and the tremendous Grecian bend, “because you know,”! he said, “‘she’d Nave a fit, and cry over me, and call me her dear boyand I’m not her boy. U’maman, and I want La Soeu?*; and I won’t lave anybody but La Soeur; bring her to me, quick.’’ “a Utterly at her wit's end to know what he meant by La Soeur, oy what to do with hint, Mrs. Wilson was waiting impatiently for some’ response to her telegram, when the bellrang and a little, white-faced girl stepped into the | hall and announced herseif-as having come to take care ot Mr. Schuyler. : L| “you, take care of him?” Mrs, Wilson exclaimed, when she had recovered from her first astonisliment and surprise at the beautiful young face which the throwing back of the vail had revealed to-lher, ‘You take care of him? It is impossible. Whiy, it needs a strong man to a he. is sea-sick, and roils and pitches with the boat and calls to Bob in the upper berth and insists upon my bring- ing him ta sur, whatever that may be——” “Yes, that’s sister, that’s French—that’s I,” Gertie said. “Iam his ‘sister, and have comie to nurse him.) His father is in Europe, his eldest sister Julia is in Florida. The next one is in Scotland, and so there was no one to come but me. Will you take me to hiu, :please?”? After this explanation there was no demurring on Mrs. Wilson’s part. If that young girl was his sister she had aright to nurse her brother, and she led the way to the third floor, Where in the room looking into the area God- frey was still rolling with the ship and occasionally mim- icking and calling to some cats fighting on the fence in the yard below. ‘These cats had been the bane of God- {rey’s life even before he was sick. Regularly every night they came, sometimes favo, sometimes three, and some- tinfes Ialf-a-dozen, and \made the neighborhood hideous with their musi Gbdfrey had thrown his boot-jack at them, and _ his “tie, Who, of course, could offer no explanation whatever. ‘of character. powerful opiate, which the doctor, had administered an hour or so before, At the sound of the opening door she looked. up and gave a warning “Sh-lil!’? as, Miss Rossiter exclaimed, loudly: “Gertie—Gertie Westbrookel Why are you here calling yourself his sister? Are you not ashamed? What does it mean? Tell me before 1 yenture to stop & moment in the same room with you!’ ' And the highly indignant and rigidly virtuous spinster held back her elothes lest they should come in contact with the garments of the young girl, thus oulraging every rule of propriety if not of decency, Alice, who had been and in some sense still considered herself his afflanced wife, Would not so much as come to the house unless it was mecessary, While even she, a ma- tron of fifty aud more, had some doubts about going in herself into the room; and lo, here was this young girl— this stranger—sitting by him with Lhe utmosi familiarity, and bidding her be quiet aud speak lower lest the sick man should awaken. ; Miss Rossiter was greatly shocked, and, as her. first question was not answered except by a look of innocent wonder, she repeated it angrily: “Why are you here, passing for his sister? Don't you know your good name will be ruined forever?” Only an hour before the doctor had said to Gertie: “There is but one chance in a hundred for your brother. If he can be wade to sleep and be kept quiet, lie may re- cover, but if the paroxysms and his fancy about the ship returns he will die. Do your best for hin.” In dumb despair Gertie listened to him with such pain in her heart as sisters never feel. &}"}] do my best,’ she said, and her white lips quivered, but she did not ery as she took ‘her seat by Gvdfrey to watch him while he slept, and: thought what life would be to her without lim. “Godfrey dead, Godfrey dead,” she whispered, softly. “I should want to die, too. Oh, God- ee gee are more than my brother, more than my bro- ther, : It was just as she said this that Miss Rossiter came in, and the sick man stirred upon his pillow as if about to waken, He must not wake. It was death to do so, and Gertie bent protectingly over him asa mother bends over her restless child, and until it was twice repeated she did not auswer the astonished woman’s question, “Why are you here, and why call yourself his sisier?”’ Then she turned, and fixing her blue eyes steadily on the lady, ‘she said, in alow whisper: — “Ook Schuyler is in Europe; there was no one else to come, and I an his sister; read that,” She had the colonel’s letter in’ her pocket, where she kept it constantly, and she passed it to Miss Rossiter, who read it rapidly, and then, more surprised and bewildered than she had ever been in her life, began to question Ger- “The thing is simply impossible. Colonel Schuyler was notin Europe nineteen years ago,’? Miss Rossiter said, after a little mental calculation. : “Mother might have been in America,” was Gertie’s response, quietly and sadly spoken, aud then Miss Rossi- ter began agaiu to question’ her as to what she herself Knew of her antecedents, or what she had heard from Mary Rogers. ; Themurmur of voices disturbed Godfrey, who moaned about the ship which would not be still. ‘Them Gertie said to her companion: f : “Miss Rossiter, you must nottalk. If Godfrey gets well he must sleep; the doctor said 80.| He has fancied himself in a ship at sea, and endured all the agonies of sea sick- ness, J] have succeeded in making him believe he was on the land, butif the ship gets’back inte his head, he will die.’ She spoke decidedly, like one who had a right, and the proud woman bit her lip with yvexation, but obeyed the girl who had so suddenly come before her in a new phase She could. not credit the story she had héard, and yet there it was in the colonel’s handwriting, “You are our daughter.” Even she never thouglit of Edith as connected with it and in her own mind sie ran over with every lady of heracquaintance twenty years be- fore wito ‘could, by any possibility be implicated in the af- fair. Butallin vaiu. Ste could find no cue to the mys- tery, and was obliged to give itup and wait for further She did not hear him, and Colonel Schinyler bore her ih his arms into another room, aud laid hee fainting on a couch with Alice to care for her, “Will be die—oh, Gertie, is he dying #? was the question Alice asked when Gertie cauie back to consciousness, and Gertie answered her: “No, God wiil not let him dic. Pray, Alice, pray with me for Godfrey; he is dear to us beth. And they prayed together earnestly that God would spure their loved one, and while they prayed, the vessel touched the shore, with @ convulsive lareh, but it was on this side the river, where.the banks lead back to life, and Godfrey would live, Miss Rossiter said, when just at the dawn of day she came in Lo thetwo young girls, who cried for joy at the good news, and kissed each other in token of perfect peace between them, (TO BE CONTINURD.) wR 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 Agent inthe United States. ] CHAPTER X1X. SNARED, Ferdinand’s nurse went every affernoon as usual to the sheitered spot of green, sward, which didduty as a play- ground for the children of the neighborhood, Master Fer- dinand had eee of company in the park. Emma let him play with whom he pleased, and took care that he never rambled out of sight, while she pored over the pages of the books in which ‘her soul delightéd—tbree’ volume novels; each volume a thin section of closely-printed pa- per, in which virtue was always poor, und villainy always rich; villainy always coming to un untimely end smitten with deep remorse, and virtue traveling at more than spe- cial train rate from a cottage to’a coronet,. Ferdinand’s nurse read her thin section of fiction, and left her precious charge play with tiny fellows like himself for several days, but the gentleman whose soft gloyed hand she remember- edso well did not come, » She lifted her brown eyes from her book many a time at sound of a footstep, but the foot- step was never his. She began to think of him angrily, at last. He had no right to speak to her in that tender tone if he meant nothing by it, it was mean Of him not to kee his promise, for he had partly promised. William Mere dith would not have acted sé she was sure. ‘ In the midst of these angry thoughts, he came, one fa spring afternoon, when the park was crowded by pent-v Londoners, to whom those few acres of stunted grass wi the only refuge from dusty streets and smoky houses. I approached Emma like @ old friend—gave her that sof hand again, but this time ungloved—such a dear little hand, she. thought; and poor William Meredith suffered again just then. Hands were a weakness with Miss Wre Let them be wiiile, and small, and soft, and she nev thought how crnel they might be. “d feel almost as though lowe you an apology,” | said, ‘for letting fate be s0,.much my master as to kce me away-solong. It has.becit a matter of strong sell-cde- nial, I asSure you.” That, as Emma understood it, meant that he woul have been there if he could; but she had nothing to cae This was not the kind of man she had been accustomed t deal with, and her attempr to seem indifferent ended in a timid smile and some embarrassnicnt. ; “You do not know how pieasaut it is,’ he said, making room for himself by her side, ‘to have even such a trifling expectation'realized. I had no right to thinkyyou woulda be here, and yet, to-day, when I returned to town, Mi first thought was of you. ‘The little happy incident which first gave me the privilege of speaking fo you was well remembered by me. You, I hope, have not forgotte iu?”? : z Herhand lay upon the book she had been trying to read. developments when the colonel returned. Though she did not fully believe the story she felt more kindly toward Gertie, and when at last Godfrey awoke and was in the ship again, and insisted that Ba Soew should sit behind hin and holdhis head on her bosom to keep it from bump- ing against the side of the berth, she bade Gertic sit there, and offered no remonstrance wiien the pale face bent so low over the fuslied, feverish one that the girl’s bright hair mingled with ‘the brown curls of the sick man who called her “La petite capitaine,”’ and said she was steer- ing him through the waves like an old salu! : Miss Rossiter could not go home while matters were in this’ state, and’she wrote a note to Alice, asking that a dressing-gown might be sent to her with afew other ar- ticles necessary for the sick room. Alice brought them herself, and satin the parlor and cried when Miss Rossi- ter told her of Godfrey, and opened her eyes with wonder when told of Gertie and the relation she bore to Colonel Schuyler, if his word could be trusted. Alice believed it, and it lifted.a load from off her mind. If Gertie was God- frey’s sister, then she ceased to be a rival, aud in the first reyuision of feeling Alice felt very kindly toward Gertie, and expressed s0 strong a desire to see her that, at Miss Rossiter’s request, Gertie went down to the little lady, who received her rather gushingly. Altice forgave easily, aud when she saw Gertie so pale and worn, and knew that it came from watching: by Godfrey when there was no one else to care for him, she forgot her old animosity He let his hand fajlupon hers, and press it as if uucon- scjously. “Yet such a question is scarcely fair,” he went on, “for Iam quitea strauger.to you. Ours was the merest chance meeting, I may be making myself a bore to you. Do uot be afraid to tell.me if it is so, Miss Wren—you see I have not forgotten your name. I am a careless, impulsive man, aud I yalue a friendship begun like this far more than I do the dull acquaintanceship commenced in a drawing-room, where people meet and sinile, and forget each other in an hour. May I tell you how glad [ was to find you here??? ' The poor girl listened with her heart to the music of these words—the soft tones of that low, rich voice. It was the very realization of her childish dream that such a gentleman should come some day along that path when she was there with Ferdinand, and, smitten by her beauty, first fallin love with her, and then, finding how very much she was above her station, ask her to be his vo. “J am sure, sir she said, “I do not know why you should be.’? “Perhaps it would be difficult to give a reason—that is to say, in words; but you know the meaning of sympathy, Miss Wren—the mysterious instinct which makes sirang- ers friends before they have been together ten minutes, That is our case, for youare glad to see me ?”? © Aer, His bana touched jiers again, closed over, and held if Drooped though her eyes were, slie felt the power of that tender, unconquerable glance, and she faltered out a faint: poier and soap-dish and bits of coal, and when all these failed he had tried the effect of fire-crackers and frighten- ed the people opposite, who thought him & madman try; ing to fire the house! And still the cats fought on, an «No, gentlemen!’ he entreated; “let the law have its Course. with them.’? {twas onlyaftera long parley that he succeeded in “Hark you, Brinzski,” said the other, meditatively. ‘It isunsafe for you to remain so near Rumtown as this. Even if the mob should leaye yon in peace—which is most entirely, and kissing her twiee told her what a good gir! ‘she was to stay with Godfrey when he was so-sick, aud 4 the fever catching, perhaps. Ls ; gaining his point, avhich, however, was only a compro- mise on the part of the indignant crowd, that Brinzski should quit the limits of the town within one hour, or be lynched on the first tree, with La Vallette for company. Then amid the cheers of the crowd Tightrope Tim-and Little Cobweb were borne into the open air and to the best tavern in the place. Brinzski had but one object present in his mind—to es- ca unlikely—the officers of the law will be sure to be set on your track by the rescuers of the boy and the girl, sosoon as the identity of the young ones shall be ever so faintly established. If captured by either the one or the other— mob. or sheriff's pcsse—your fate would be the same.” And the speaker accompanied his concluding words by a significant jerk under his left ear, and an ominous Click- ing of the tongue. pe. Leaying: Silas Shanks to fetch the horses, they were hurrying to their tavern for their wagon and traps, when they were stopped by old Drake, who demanded one hun- dred dollars. ; [have said ‘that Drake wasa fighting man. Upon Brinzski demurring Drake knocked him down, took his pocket-book and ailthe loose change he could find, aud departed for his favorite rum-shop. “No fear of their lynching me,’’ said he, in a merry mood. i When Brinzski, his wife and Shanks got into their great Wagon and started for their tent they suddenly paused in dismay and then ‘hurriedly proceeded in an opposite di- rection. The teut was in flames. CHAPTER XUL MONTROSE’S NEW SCHEME. The dawnof another day, which broke lightly and brightly over the great prairies that lay at the rear of Rumtown, disclosed a wretched camp, composed ofa large canvas-covered wagon, With tiiree persons gathered about itand two horses grazing inthe deep grass near at hand. Oneof the persons was La Vallette, who had built a small fire, oyer which she was endeavoring to cookisome- thing in a bungling way. The other was. Silas. Shanks, who was lying at full length on his back, apparently, from his occasional ec- centric motions, plunged inthe horrors of a drunken dream. The other was Signor Brinzski, seated with his back propped against oue of the wagon-wheels and his head upon his knees, He was stillcompletely unmanned, Way to turn. ; “All gone! all gone!’ he would occasionally groan, in a despairing tone. ‘The big tent, the tent-poles, tle seats, ali gone! ail gone!” He had been seated this way and muttering something like this all night, ever since they had reached this spot, five miles distant from the town. He had not even so far He knew not which one of Brinzski again turned white to. the gills, and his knees once more began to knock together beneath him, “But I don’t intend that you shall be captured, my wor- thy friend,” resamed the other, smiling; ‘‘not that I con- sider your neck of any value tothe world at large, but that ‘its temporary security is mecessary to my plans. Listen: Eighteen miles southwest of here is a wild and since Godfrey’s illness they up on his elbow ‘‘sca-ating? ed and Gertie was ushered in. ting the cats and the ship and Bob inthe upper berth, he hailed her advent with a cry of joy. “La Souer, La Souer,” he cried, ‘you've come—you've come at last, and now you'll stop that infernal noise aud make the ship stand still. with all this rolling aud pitching.” He held his arms toward her, and she wentto him and laid Her cool hands on his burning brow, and pushed back his tangled curls, but did not kiss him. not bring but she held quiet him, and told him she would kill the cats and make had been terrible, and he Was} ? to them, when the door open- He knew her, and forget-¢ : I’m pounded nearly toa jelly She could herself to do that, even if she were his sister, his hot handsin hers and tried to soothe and byéry strange, but I am so glad, and everything will turn out well if Godfrey only lives. ‘she seemed so anxious to return to him that Alice arose almost inaccessible glen. of timber. even this lawless region. come from them. Thera await my coming. and your wife over there??? “Silas Shanks.”? “Well, he must accompany me, to furnish me some assistance, probably.’? ‘What is your plan??? “To abduct the children. row."! them on the road ?”? sent to the redskins.”’ as to the route youare to take.” ceeded with the Italian foward the wagon. (TO BE CONTINUED.) HISTORICAL ITEMS. It spans both;sides of a small stream, and is composed of huge rocks and dense growths Itis known as Devil’s Niche, and is the fast- ness of a band of freebooters—wild and desperate meh, outlawed for various crimes from the settled portions of From tliis natural fastness they make their ravages, and defy. parties sent against them. Never mind by what accident [came to know of this band; do you seek their nest at once, and with afl dispatch. Your statement of your own outlawzy will guarantee youn wel- What's the name of that wry-necked, baboon-faced rascal with you He is wicked enough They cannot be taken away by their . protectors until the arrival of the mayor of the town, who is now absent and will not return till to-mor- “What will you do with ’°em? Make—make way with “No, replied the other; ‘I intend to make them a pre- “Come,’? he added, “i will give you further instructions With this, and leading his horse by the bridie, he pro- Joun ©. HENAN, the pugilist, died of consump- the ship stand still, and talked to him tll he grew quiet and fell away to sleep. When the doctor came, he was told that. Mr. Schuyler’s sister was there, and Gertie blushed and. fet herself a guilty thing when he addressed her as Miss Schuyler, and gave directions about the medicines she was to give, and asked if there was no older person to come in her place. “None but the housekeeper, and Godfrey prefers me,”’’ she said, while Godfrey, Who was listening chimed in: “That's so, I'd rather have Gertie than the whole world besides. She’s a trump—she’s a brick—she’s a—’’ “Hush, Godfrey, if you want me to stay you must not talk,’? Gertie said, laying her hand upon his lips. He kissed it, of course, and. when she suatehed itaway, told her to put it back again if she did not want; him to roll out of bed With the ship, which was lurching awluliy! And slie putit back and held it there. 50 tight that he could neither kiss it no speak, nor searcely breathe. “Godfrey,’? she said’a little sternly, when the doctor had gone out, “if you do not behave and stop talking and tryiug to kiss me, and if you attempt to roll ont of bed, or get up, no matter how niuch the ship recks, I will not stay with you a moment, but go home in the next train.” ‘his liad the desired effect and brought forth earnest protestations of intended good behavior from Godfrey, who promised not to move but: ‘to stand to his guns,’ even if theship should turn a compiete somersault, which he guessed it would, judging from the way it was. reeling and tossing now. Afier that he was comparatively quiet, or if he became very restless and showed a disposition to repeat jis, tumb- ling exploits when the sea was badly in his head, a word from Gertie controlled him and kept him on_ his pillow. But his fever ran higherand higher every day, and his pulse beat fuster and faster as the imaginary ship went plunging through the wayes which threatened to engulph “And youare his sister, too?’ she continued, “Tt is Do you think he will?” e’could’ nottell, He was very siek, she ‘said, and togo. ‘Standing a moment irresolutely and looking at Gertieshe said: “You area nice little girl, and always were, and if when Godfrey can understand, will you tell him I have been here, and that Iam so sorry, 'and—anc—”’ She could not quite say what she wanted to, but Ger- tie knew what she meant, and answered her: “DP}I tell him, aud do all lcan for you. I think it will come right now.’? ’ She said it sudly, with a pang of regret for the condi- tion of things which might result in healing the difference between Godfrey and Alice, aid her heart was very heavy as’ she went back to her patient, who was conducting himself outrageously.. They, were in a regular north- easter, he said, andthe ship Was bottom side up, and he was bottom. side up With it, and to the horror of his aunt had rolled himself and the bed-clothes out upon the floor, where he lay calling for La capttaine to come and right the ship! With the help of her man servant, who had ac- companied Alice, and who was to stay as long as he was néeded, Miss Rossiter got her nephew back to bed, and when Gertie came in lie was pauting with exhaustion, and evidently bracing himself against another Jureh. “Don’t desert the ship again,’? he whispered to Gertie, “We bad.a tremendous swell while you were away, and things generally got topsy turvy.” That swell was the last. He never attempted to roll again, but sank gradually into a state of nnconsciousness more alarming tian the lurches of the imaginery ship had been. The vessel was quiet now, wrecked, and going down 80 fast, it seemed to the heart-broken girl who watched beside poor Godfrey day and night with a look of anguish on her face which touched Miss Rossiter, and awoke within hera fecling of interest for the héart-sore creature, Whose pain she in & measure understood. Atlast the colonel came. He had gone Straight to Hampstead within an hour after landing in New York, and hearing from Mrs. Tiffe of his son’s illness, and thata telegram to tle effect that he was worse had been received that afternoon, he had. taken the night train back to the city, leaviug Editixat Schuyler Hill, as she was not able to accompany him. ‘Thus it was near midnight when he reached Mrs. Wilson’s boarding-house, and asked eagerly for his son, “Very bad—dying we fear,” was the report, and he sped swiftly up the stairs, stumbling in the upper landing “Yes 71 Then he changed the subject—talked of his travels; told her of places that seemed as far away from her as fairy- land—Greece, and Rome, and Venice, Egypt, the Bospho- rus, and the Nile; and told her such bils of history as ad- mitted of a little romance in the way of love. “Qné of these days I will bring John Keats in my pock- et, he said, “and we will read ‘Endymion’ together. There ig many and many a pleasant afternoon in store for us. I have a pocket edition ofthe poets, Miss Wren, and I will always bring a volume with me in future.” He meant to see her frequently ,then. Her heart gaye a glad throbat that, She had nearly forgotten Ferdinand during the last ten minutes; but he was not twenty yards away, playing amiably with a child of his.own years—a plainly-dressed little boy, whose mother, & Careworn WO- man of thirty, sat knitting a patternless antimacassar. , Emma had noticed this woman frequently within these last few days. She always sat in the same seat, always with the same little boy, and. always, as it appeared, work- ing at the same dull piece of work with slow, absent-mind- ed knitting-needles; and though, Master Ferdinand played with hemenild, shesnever recugnized Miss Wren, except to give her @ slow, absent-minded smile when the time came to Separate the children. ‘Phat little jellow, Master Ferdinand Aylmar Musgrave is very handsome, and I daresay you are very fond of him,’? Miss Wren’s gentlemanly admirer said, lighting a Cigar; “but wish you could dispense with him by the time we meet again. Not that I distike him—I am fond of children.as aruie; butmy brougham is single-seated, and if—as I hope—you will let me have the pleasure of driving you round the park I do not see how we coujd make rgom for him.” ' } He kept a brougham, then! Had it been hinted: to Miss Wren that his brougham might have been hired just as aman may engage a cab ata pound a-day, she would havetreated the idea with indignant scorn. She had seen a brougham at the gates of the park—an elegant affair, With dark blue panels and a roan horse, the scroll aud monogram painted on the door between tivo lines of fainter bine; and she made up her mind it lilust be his. “fJe means honorable,” the poor girl said to her- self, ‘or he would not tell me he had a broagham of his own.” Mr. Greville had nearly ail the conversation to himself. Enima was not sufficiently used to him to take her own small share of it, and beyond a faint yes and no, she said very little; yet out of the little she said he gained enotgh for his purpose. : 7 recovered from his despair as to think of revenge, tion on the 25th of October, near Rawlin eee 0 ae 7 5 at ote i e » Nz $, on the Union Pacifie the ruling traits in his vile character, . d Railroad, on his way to San Francisco, His remains were brought Such a thing as attributing his presént forlorn situation | back to New York. The most. prominent events in the life of to aretribution for his evil past never’ occurred to him. Bete were ne nee fights it's san tained at fons ae . Janada, and with Tom Sayres, the Eng ebampion, in England. If his hands now and then clutched nervously At i ony In both these combats he exhibited the qualities of vlayhical eur: with a wild hope that he might one day have Tim and . , : , : : ‘5 ; x ‘| age and endurance, together with great skill and power. In the Little Cobweb again in his grasp. He did not think how | first fight Morrissey was the victor, Heenan sustaining an acci- he had wronged, how he had endeavored to slowly mut- | dent during the conflict to which his backers attributed his ill- der them. He only attributed all his disasters to them, | luck. His fight with Sayers ended in the ring being broken into, and. longed to have them. once moreinhis torturing and the controversy that ensued was settled by giving each of the clutch. compen coe while — ox yinal nem vlon sbelt remained J i i. venan was bornin Troy, N. Y. 8 fi ir Was Presently his wife approached and shook hia shoulder. | ¢ nee coin Troy, N. Vswhere his Cather. was “Oome, Brinzski,’? she said, in a whimpering tone, employed in an iron foundry, The young man worked for a time in the same establishment, but ultimately threw up the sledge “J’ye got alittle bacon and bread we can make a break- | hammer of iron for the sledge hammer fistic practice. Some years fast on.? . ago neath was eee eee eat an accident on one wine i 7 _ | English railways, and for which the company compensated him She, too, was ina very dilapidated condition. Her 9 by paying a heavy bill of damages without going into court. His washed face still showed, through the channels her tears physical system never completely recovered from the eifesta at had wae. poner y De a ne DN ey had ees and | thé shock which it then received. masked it on the previous day, er hair was halfdown, - id ; and her skirts draggled from brusliing through the dews | ,; AE a nae nave — wah, SUE See Jus- of the deep prairie grass. tices of the United. States, Supper am ieitene bs ise aud J : : + ¢ > as: e € ar 26, 1789, 2 Brinzski arose in a mechanical way and approached the | who resigned iu 1794 to go to Great Britain. In December, 1800, fire. As he did so his eyes fell upon the prostrate form of the dreaming contortiouist, whom he aroused by an angry kick in the ribs. he declined areappeintment, ahd died May 17, 1829. John Rut- jedge, of South Carolina, was appointed to the office by the Pre- sident, ony Sean ne tye Beanie oor ti ed Powe tans the ap- 71} * s% 9 : F. : : ai $ 311 polntment, iliiam Cushiiug, of Massachusetts, dec ined an ap- “That's it,’? muttered Silas, rubbing his eyes, as if still sointment January 27, 1796, Ba March 4 of that’ year Oliver Ells. in the dream which had been broken, not destroyed; “cut | worth, of Comnecticut, received the appointment. He resizned the little scamp’s back open and I'll Salt him down! Tow | in 1800, on account of his health. John Marstiall, of Virginia, does it feel, Tim? Gaugh! how he squeals! Halle!” | Being thoroughly awake he then began to berate Brinz- ski soundly for the kick he had received. occupied the office from January 21, 1801, to July 6, 1835, when he “It's a wonder. you waked me iustead of letting me died. December 28, 1835, Roger B. Paney took the bench, whieh he held until: his.death in October 1864, and on December 5, 1864, Salmon P. Chase succeeded him. snooze, and in that ere way cheat me Out.of my break | | In England the Infant Life Protection Act came fast,” he growled, at the same time helping himself to the eat on Ape ist of November, 1872. aa oo 5 nas ac 3 “Vonr it became unlawiul for any, person to.retain or receive for hire or biggest slice be! bread and bacon he oye Fee at Y eae ee reward more than one infant, or, in the case of twins) more than mean enough for it, either, on yer. Look Ww un . oe two infants, under the age of one year, for the purpose of nurs- you've brought me too, alwixt yer. I never stole no gal, | ing or maintaining suci infants apart from their parents for a nor boy, didi? The lyuchers ain‘t arter me, be they ?'| Jonger period than twenty-four hours, except in, a house which Jist to think, here’s me, Silas. Shanks, the greatest con- | has been registered by a local authority. tortioner as the world ever See, compelled to ¢amp out Hui was the residence of several of the “Saxon” like a dirty gipsy with two outcasts from society!” monarchs, but it received its name from its restorer, one of the “Dear Silas, we’re all on us in the same bad luck, ahd | Edwards, who named it “Kingstown,” and as it Was situated on mtist make the best on it,?? whimpered the woman, while | the Hull—a small river running out of, the Hamber—itwas called Brinzski munclhied his food in sullen siltence Kingstown, and then shortened into Kingston upon Hull, which _ After a considerable wordy war by Silas and Brinzski, in which the former saddled all his bad luck on Brinzski's shoulders, now and then making him wince by reference he nehers $6 ras cc . > ¢ d srinZski , Get f : soe hig teat (he meal was concluded, and Briugski prepared by their illustrious tather Mr, Johh Rennie. BORE LO TS Peele tractor was Bankes, aman who rose from the position of as “He took a kez Trom ‘under the wagon, and went toa little spring a few ros distant, Prince of Wales, but created, “And so your friend, who is now the great singer at the opera, was a poor lodger at your house,’? he said, when she had given him ber confidence so far. ‘Does not that show you, Miss Wren, how intelligence and beauty, properly used, may raise the lowliest into her destined sphere ?”’ “Ah, but she sings, and speaks Janguages, and plays the piano beautifally-” “Men do not always care for women who play, and sing, and speak languages,*”? he said. ‘Playing. and singing, and speaking languages are very ordinary accomplish- e ments. .My valet is a better linguist than I am, and my : cousin’s Jady’s-maid could get a tolerable engagement as a pianist if she cared to go in for‘it. When a worn-out man of the world makes a pilgrimage in search of the wife Who will suit him, he sets more value ou a splendid figure, a pretty face, and a sympathetic Dature, than onthe small acquirements which are the common propetty ofany cheesemonger whocan afford the orthodox forty pounds a-year for his daughter’s education.” “But,” said Emma, with a quickening ofthe heart, ‘a gentleman would never fail in love wilh a young lady whe could not play, or sing, or speak lapguages.”? He smiled at the “young Jady.”’ “Why will my litte ill-trained beauty keep on trying to impress upon ie that she is a young jJady 2» he asked himself, “‘when she is nothing of the kind, and, except for her splendid figare, I would leave her to drown herself, or go back to her wretched home, wherever it may be, when Master Ferdiuand Aylmer Musgrave is safein the eare of Mrs, Brandon over there, «1 wonder-if there is such a thing as remorse. I wonder whether @ man is ever haunted by a poor, simple girl like this, erwhether, as he grows older and worse, he looks back upon. the matter as a kindness to her—a glimpse, of happiness, in which she was loved, or fancied she wasloyed, by a gentleman.’ ; ; Master Ferdinand was growing tired, and the sun was setting, when Emma’s companion rose to pay good-by. He had taken off his glove again, and revealed a hand as white, and small; and soft as she had ever dréamed of, and he gave her that hand for the second time. “My name is Peryeril Staniey,’’ he paid, “I mean to see you again and again, and yery, often, We understand each other by this time, Lam snre, and if IT may measure your feelings by my own, there is soynething more than a jiking between us.”’ Emma tried to look surprised and a dittle indignant: but the fascinating gentien:an had conquered her. There was no one very near. Master Ferdinand and the litthe boy he played with, aud the nother of the hte boy, were the only persons within filly yards or 80 W hen the gentle- man who called himself Peveril Siawey took Emma Wren in his arms, aud leit a loug kiss on her lips. over a litué figure which sat crying on the floor. It was Alice who had come down that afternoon to in- quire for Godfrey, and on learning of his condition, liad refused to go home, and lingered outside the doovof the room she would not enter lest she should be guilty of an indiscretion, or, perhaps, contract the fever. . Puor Godfrey, how white and ghastly and quiet he was nov, as with his eyes shut he Jay with his head pillowed ou Gertie’s arm, and one of his hands holding to her dress as if afraid of losing her. Gertie had sat thus for more than an hour gazing upon the pale face she held, her eyes heavy with unshed tears, for she could not cry any more. Her heart ached too hard for titat. Godfrey was dying—ler Godirey—he said he was the last time he spoke to her, and he liad called her his little Gertie, and kissed her hand and bade her stay with him on the slip which was sailing in smooth waters now and was almost at the shore. And he was bers—her brother, perhaps, but still hers more than any- body's else in all the wide, wide world. ; Alice had gent a message to’ her: ‘*Kiss him once for met but Gertie would not do it. She might, perhaps, Kiss a dead Godfrey, butjGodfrey living must know when she kissed him, and why, and so she only held his head and wiped the sweat from his brow, and let herown face fall over an@touch his for aaminute, while she whispered in his ear aud asked if he still heard her aud knew she was with him. é And it was thus she sat when the colonel came, and go- ing up to his son, called him by his name, But there was no response, ho sign, and the physician who, stood wait- ing, said: ; me heeds no one but his sister. Speak to him, Miss Schuyler.» See if he Knows you now.” Then, over the whiteness.of Gertie’s face, there came a flush at hearing herself called Miss Schuyler in the pres- ence of the colouel, but sie put her lips cluse to Godfrey's ear, and said: “Godfrey, do you know me yet?” “Yes, my Gertie, stick to the ship, we are about ready to land,’ was the faint reply; and with a bitter ery, as if at the sight of thesnam who, called himself her, father every barrier had gone down, Gertie gave way, and. wind- ing both her arms round the form she held, sobbed pas- sionately: “Oh, Godfrey, my darling, if you cam hear me now, listen while I tell you how niuch Liove you, for Ido—1 do, oh, Godfrey, on, Colonel Schuyler,’) and she ified her white face piteously to him. ‘Forgive me, if Lam, wrong, L cannot—cannot love hint as abrother.” { fler head drooped upen her bosom and it was'in yain it. Gertie had told him she was his sister, that his father had written so from London, and once when he seemed something like himself she read. the letter to him, but he repelled the idea with scorn. She was nol his sister. He did not want any more sisters. Jule and Em were enough for any chap. She was Gertie—his Gertie—his in spite of everybody, he said, and he seemed to know just when she was with him, even if he dia not see her, and when she left the room he would moan and rave and talk until she came back and by a.touch of her hand ora single word, made him quiet again. And so the days went on, and the fever increased, and the vessel rocked worse aud worse, and Godfrey’s brain grew more and more affected, and Gertie’s heart was very sore With the fear that he would die, ‘Brother’ slie called him mow when she spoke to him, and he was no JJonger furious as he had been at that name coming from her lips. Hedid notseemto know what she said, only that she was With him—that it was her hand whicli gave the medicine he would take from no one else, her hand which bathed his throbbing temples and kept him firmly in his place wlien the sea was doing its worst—her hand which rescued his poor, aching headfrom the stewardess, wlio was boiling water init tomake him some beef tea. Oh, what dreadful fancies he had—fancies whici were wearing him out so fast, and which nobody could manage but Gertie. And her strength was giving way, and the roses. were fading from her check, When one morning, about ten days after her arrival in New York, a servant knocked at the door and ushered if Miss Rossiter. She had returned from Washington the night before, and, finding the note which had been sent to her when Godfrey became 50 ill, had come immediately after break- fast to see how he was. “With a feeling that it would. not be proper for her to go into his sick room, Alice, who was stopping up town, lrad remained at home, bidding Miss Rossiter give herlove to Godfrey, and tell him she would come if he wished to see her. Mrs. Wilson was out marketing when “Miss Rossiter came, and, whatever information that lady received con- cerning her neptiew, she had from the servant who es- corted her to his room, “His sister with him! Idid not know she had re- turned,’ she said, in some surprise, when in reply to the i question, “Who takes care of him?” the servant said: ‘His sister, Watam. She has been here more than a wecek.’? Miss’ Rossiter had spent a day in Mampstead the pre- simmer, and seen Gertie; but’she had no thonght iow, and was ulterly astonished and confotmdc, as slie entered the room, to find’ Gertie Westbrooke, pate | tia Godfrey: whispered: and worn will traces of her long watebes upom her face, | “Steady now, La petite capitaine, the boat is running sittiug by Goulrey, Who was Siveping from the effects ofa! into port,?? namo itstill bears in official documents; ordinarily it is called Bull. LoxpDON BRIDGE was erected under the superin- tendence of Mr. George and Six John Rennie, upon the designs te ; j t : ‘ aay- abs geling late,?? said he, nerviosly.’ “I think We | vy” to’be a knight, hada baronetcy éffered him, married: alady might.as well be moving on. Vallette, put the things in | of title, and acquired an immense income; rag? Mile Sa vite y ’ ha.enyi ‘ a 2 ‘? a the wagon, while Silas luitehes uy, VM goto the spring | Tye British Prince of Wales is born Duke of Corn- wall aud Earlof Chester, bat his principal title is conferred 1 R The con- for a keg of. water.?? I fim by letters: patent from tue Crown, so that he isn Seeger FOR Sono RR : = 5 <= pe = a 5 RT SE Tae ‘6 = Wes os aa Sa arctan The poor girl burst into tears; but they were not angry tears. “If [ have offended you, try to forgive me,’”? he said, softly; ‘‘bnutfcould not heip ii; Emma. I told-you sonié tine ago that | could not go through an orthodox courts ship with the girl 1 really, Joved, and Iwas virrevoeably Jost when I first saw you sittiug in this same seat: last week. Are you realiy angry?” Miss Wren clasped her hands in her lap, and looked at him with her tender brown eyes as wistfully as a pet fawn might have done, s “I never felt ny own weakness till now,” she said. «J never felt how powerless | was to deal with a gentleman like you. Jam only a poor girl—a very poor girl, Mr. Stan- ley. For whatever I am better than others of my own Class, I am indebted to Mrs, Masgrave; and though Iam thought a great deal of in Lock’s-fields, 1 am just as much at your mercy as if] were achild. Something makes me Say this. I feel asif what you have done will make me yery happy or very miserable, and I don’t know which.” “My little simple pet, you must kiss me again, and many times; and we sill meet day afterdayin this same place, until you Know me better, and understand how much i leve you. Do you think I had no purpose in eum: ing here as | have done? If I had’ not been romantic enough to keep myseif heartfree, should I be as I am now —abie to tell you that Perveril Stanley cam marry the girl of his choice, whether she was Lorn in Lock’s-fields or any other unfavorabie region. This day week, dear, you will be here??? That careworn woman on the seat was still busy with her knitting, and the two children played and laughed gleefully on the stunted grass, when Emma Wren suifer- €d herself to be folded once more in Mr. Stanley’s arms. Demon as he was, a thrill of remorse went through him When he relinquished the soft cling of her lips. “J only want the boy,*’ he said to himself, ‘‘and I shall have to burden myself with this pretty simpleton. for some time to come. Why was not Master Ferdinand’s nurse some hideous old witch of Endor, whom 1 could have bribed with hal/-a-dozen dresses? The consolation is that twenty years hence, when she is married to some British workman, who will extend his loye of liberty and strikes to Knocking his wife about if she asks him for a few of the shillings that he has not spent in beer, she will igok back upon our pleasant month or so, and remember that she was loved and petted by a gentleman, Yet— yet,” he added, iu silent thoughtfulness, “I wish I had never seen her. I haye a preseutimeut that something ulpleasant will come of it.” CHAPTER XX. THE ENGINEER’S COURTSHIP. The week that had to clapse before Miss Wren saw the gentleman who called himself Peveril Staniey seemed a very long time to her. She was iu the park every day, and always witha fuint hope that he might be there, but he dia not come. She never went through the gates Without Jooking involuntarily for the dark-biue brougham, with its elegant roan horse, and its liveried servant on the box. Tobe the mistress of such an equipagée was beyond the brightest of her day dreanis, but it would be realized now; and she thought what a sensation the appeasance of that brougham would create in Lock’s- fields, where nothing ofthe kind was ever seen except the one which the great doctor ofthe neighborhood had for so many hours a day on hire from the stables in the Old Kent-road, She went home on Sunday, as usual, and William Meredith was there. The young engineer had smoked a pipe with his friend Robert one evening in the week, and sounded the opinion of Bmma‘s parents on the subject nearest his heart. He was a general favorite with the little household. The children liked him. Not that he bestowéd much upon theminthe way of pence or presents, but. he in- terested himself in their small pursuits, and never lust his patience, no matter how sorely they triedit in their thirst for knowledge. Mr. Wren liked him. Meredith would sit for an hour or so chatting over the topics of the day with the simple old man. He had an abstract. of politics at his fingers’ ends, aud though not deeply read he had read weil. : “Perhaps you will wonder what brings me here to- hight,’ he said, one evening, when he had called and asked for his frieud. “You will very likely think it’s to go for a walk with Bob, Mrs. Wren, but it isn*t—at least, just for the present.” He delicately expressed sentiments regarding Emma, Stated his circumstances and prospects, and closed with these words: “It's my principle to deal with the old folka first in a matter like this; I don’t go sneaking round the back gar- den, or whistling at the gate, or throwing stones at the Window. My nameis William Meredith, and you know where I live, and where I work, and what I earn; and if you think me good enough for your daughter and. she thinks me good enough, why all 1 know is, sheis the pret- tiest and nicest girl 1 have ever seen, and ifshe will kaye me it’s setuled.’? “And, lam sure, to see you come here like my own son Would be @ proud and happy day for me, William. Aud if E:nma does not take her motiier’s advice, when a good, ’ ay young man, Whose earnings are nearly three -K, @8k8 her, she Ought to sip sorrow by pail- of hier life.?? , Sue anxiety for the coming of dined early, andjwalked from Ken- h's- fle soon alter dinner. He was dress- ‘ pre than usual care, and was irreproachable, except for rather too much shirt-front and a dark-biue velvet waistcoat. The effect was added to by several festoons of a long, gold guard. i “They have got theirown fashions at the Westend," he said, ‘‘and they are weicome tothem. I know whatI like best, and this is my fashion.’ Iftuere had been the least chance for him, that blue velvet waistcoat would have settled it. It set off his broad, manty chest, and was much admired by the young ladies of Walworth-common; but it was a fatal error inthe eyes of Miss Wren. She carried with her every- where & mental picture of a graceful gentleman always dressed in faultless, perfect-fltiing gray or black—a gen- tleman with tiny feet, narrow neckties, and dainty linen scarcely visible, and small, soft white hands. Poor Wil- liam’s muscular fingers and sturdy boots were Sadly against him, ; Bob proposed a walk after tea, andthe family turned Out en masse for a stroll to Peckham-rye. A young pounds n wee comfortable home, and you shall never have cause to re- uret the day om which you become Mrs, : Willian’ Mere- dith.” “That day will never come, and I am very angry with you for speakiug like this to me,’? “Well,’? he said, witha gentie smile, “look over it this once, and 1 will nutdo it again till I Nave your periiis- sion.? Miss Wren was too indignant to reply. He increased her indignation by changing the topic, and. talking of otuer things’as easily as if. not a word had been said on the subject. The walk had been a long one, and it was later than they expected when Wiliiamt took the whole pariy into the crowded.room of The King’s Arms, and went in liberally for refreshments. There were cakes.and ginger beer for the children, alittle something for Mrs, Wren, ale for Mri Wren, Robert, and himseif,.aud.a glass of wine for Emma. He asked her to driuk it as a sign of ler forgiveness, and She did so. When he took the empty glass from her. lic looked at her Will his resolute, genue smile, and whispered: “Thank you, Miss Wren, and I promise not tomakeyou angry again, but in spite of the gentleman withthe broug- tam I have not given you up by a long Wway.’* CHAPTER XXfI. A DISAPPEARANCE. It was not easy to forget the earnest words spoken by Willian: Meredith concerning. the gentleman with the brougham, and they haunted Miss Wren during the ride from Walworth toSt. Joln's-weod, They impressed ; her the more because they touched a dim, warning instinct of her own—a misgiving, which stole jike a shadow through her infatuation, But Miss Wren was curiously angry with the man» who threw the first doubt upon the hero of her love romance— the perfect gentleman with the faultiess brougham and the patrician name. Yet she remembered with unpleasant distinctness the solemn tonein which he warned her what She did with a man s0 much above her in station—a man who engaged her to him without her parents’ knowledge; aud his words followed her like an echo: “It is the oldest story in the world, Miss Wren, and it always has the same miserable ending.” “As if,’ she said to herself, indignantly, “he had aright to Say such a thing as that to me.” William Meredith took his refusal very quietly. Thetrue Gelicacy which belongs to innate manliness kept him from mentioning a word about her engagement tothe brougham geutleman. , “It would pain the old folks and perhaps frighten them,” he said, meutally, “and she will soon get over that little bit of nonsense. I have got my eye on the house that will suit us, and I shall begin to furnish soon. She is not half so angry with me asshe thought she was, and she will think over what I said to her by and by.” He laughed when his friend Bob asked him how they got on together. “It will come right in time,” he said, “and thatis all I can tell you at present. We didn’tsay much to each other, you see, being only the second time we had met. Court- ing a girl reminds me of some of those models I spend my tine over, Bob; you get it all arranged in your own mind, and think it must come right in the end or Ought to ifit don’t; but somehow it will not work just for want of a touch here, and a little tigiitening there, and you do not see quite how to dv it, though you know Just what's required, till you get the inspiration in a lucky minute, and it’s done.” “Then you think it will be all please, I know, you, Bill. any good,” “Better say nothing, Bob. Girls are curious customers to deal with. Youleave her to me, and you shall be at my fireplace by Ciiristmas or thereabouts,” ie had set himself a difficult task when he determined to Win Miss Wren. He was not the kind of man she ad- mired, for, like most uneducated women, she was apt to place more value on a nice-cut pair of trousers and a coat that fitted without a wrinkle, than on the sterling merit of the man. “My husband must be tall, and Slender, and gentle- manly,’? Miss Wren resolved, long before she saw Mr. Meredith, and Mr. Meredith was not one of those indis. pensable three. The week went by at last, the seven long days which were to elapse before she saw Mr. Stanley again. Emma had not seen him once in the interval. She brought no books out with her now; her thoughts were fully occupied, She brought a tiny mother-of-pearl shuttle instead, a nev- er-ending reel of tatting cotton, and all the other imple- ments of mischief which’ the evil genius of femininity finds for idle hands, Crotchet and Berlin wool, tatting and the rest of the ornamental mysteries, are sufficientiy harmless in themselves, but, oh, wliat schemes of inge- nuity tending to the destruction of man have been develop- ed during the progress of two or three inches of edging, or a row of antimacassar. The pale, careworn woman with whose little boy Mas- ter Ferdinatid played, made timid advances to friendship during tiis-interval; sometimes she looked up from her seat with @ faint smile. Sometimes she looked at the hopeless yards of patternless Knitting in her lap, as right? Em's hard to butshe can’t want any one better than I shall always put my best word in, if that's if wondering when-her Jabor would eud, and Emma, rather haughty with such an inferior person at first, was attracted in the end by the patient face, and spoke to her. She was very glad tobe spoken to, She brought her Work over to the seat Emma sat on, and plied her absent-e minded needles with her careworn face bent down, as if her spirit had long since gone out, and shehad not cour- age left (o look a fellow-creature in. the face. “She was clean and well-dressed; but hier skin had the unhealthy tint ofa woman who had suffered much and hungered much, and her clothes were painfully new; but she Was respeciable and weil-spoken ina nervous, hesitating Way. Miss Wren was in full possession: of her history in less thanan hour. Sle was the wife ofa stoker, and her name was Brandon. Her husband went away on long voyages, and left her halfhis pay tolive on. The little boy was her oWn, and his name was Jacky. Her own age was thirty- two, aud she knew she looked forty; but she had seen a deal of trouble. Jacky’s father had not always been so kind to heras he was now; but he was a good husband as husbands went, and she had much to be thankful for—and much more in the dull, absent-minded way into which hunger, ill-usage, and hopelessness had driven her beyond person—an industrious little girl witha merry face, who lived in Fleet street, and bound shoes for a livelihood— had dropped in by accident, and was very glad to see her. old friend Emma; much more glad than her old frieud Emma was to see her, under these altered circumstances, But Robert Wren monoplized the young person’s at- tention, and Mr. Meredith offered Emma his arm with gravely polite air. He had the appearance of 2 man who meant to say something gravely important before the hight was out. ; ‘hey paired offin two, and Emma would fain have been Out Of it altogether. Y “‘I look as if 1 belong to a lot of poor people going for & holiday,’ she said, to herself, “‘and they were makilg a show ofme. I wonder what Mr. Stanley would think if he saw me walking witha young man in a biue-velvet waistcoat, and heard that my brother Robert keeps com- pany with a shoebinder, whuse name is Sarah Grimes. It is Simply dreadful!” it Was getting dark, much to herrelief.. The sun goes down early, even if Lue evenings arejong, in the month of June, and the velvet waistcoat looked less glaring inthe shadowy twilight. William Meredith slackened his pace purposely, as they went down the quiet road that ran its interminable length from Camberwell-green to Rye-lane. Hie had been talking pleasantly and with good taste, giv- dug her neither flattery nor complimenis; but evincing much respectful admiration in his subdued tone and the bend of his handsome head, ’ “I weut last Wednesday to see your people,” he said, “and had a bit of supper With them. Thad a little to say about you, Miss Wren; for though you saw me forthe first time last Sanday, I had heard a great deal of you from Bob, and we had a long evening together, if you remember. I never enjoyed an eveuing so well.” There are some yoices that Hx a girl's attention, no matter how indifferent the man. to whom it belongs may be toler. The engineer had a yoice of that kind—deep, mellow, and impressive. There was feeling in every com- monplace word he uttered, ; “And IT hope yon will not be angry with what I am going to say to you,” he wenton, for she said nothing. “Uf lsee anything that sets me thinking, Lihink and think tiI come to a conclusion, and there Lam fixed, 1 saw you last Sunday, and you set me thinking, and I thought mthought tilt I cametoa conclusion. ‘That,’ said to myself, ‘is the girl I should like for my wife. She is pret- ty and sensible, and has, in fact, the face I should like to se@ at my fireside, and be welcomed by atthe door when f come home after work;’ aud thatis whereI am fixed, Miss Wren, And I should like to hear what you have to Say to it.’ Miss Wren drew up her head with a proud little toss at What she considered hisaudacity. As if—even apart from Mr. Stanley—she could care for a man who made loye to hier in that way! ‘There was a recollection of those rich dark eyes that overpowered hers in the park—of the lips, soft as velvet, that made her heart tremble with the daring passion of their kiss, By the side of such a recollection, {his solid-headed, matter-of-fact working-man seemed terribly Clumsy and uncouth. “I think,” shesaid, “it was very stupid of youto dream ofsuch athing. 1am already engaged, Mr. Meredith,” “Then, let me your pardon, Miss Wren. I never thought of that, I did not see how it could be, as Lheard nothing abont it from your father and mother.” “J do not tell them eyerything.”’ “TI am sorry to hear you say so, Miss Wren. I should not like to see avy hare iappen to Bob's sister; buta girl is aiways in dang~ en she lives away from home, and is engaged to & mak ver parents haye never seen. May lask what he is?” “He is ® gentleman who keeps his own brougham, Mr. Meredith, and he does not ask impertinent questions.” “‘My dear Miss Wren, on my soul I should be glad to see you happy with any one else if youdo not think you could be so with me; but, for the love of Heayen, be careful what you do with this gentleman who keeps his own brougham. Tell him exactly who and what yoware, and jet him see your family before your engagement goes any further. never enough {0 eat and never anytuing fit to wear, Ihave heard your friend, Mr, Cleveland say this, ina gentler sprit, perhaps, but’ still with as firm a couviciion of itstruih.” ¢ The picture was not new to Miss Wren. There were ex- cepuions.to the rule; but she would not have cared to risk the chance of the exception. Hie took her to his brougham. . It was there at the gates of the park, with its elegant roan horse as sleek, and the liveried servant as respectfully unconscious of everything that passed before him as ever. Miss Wren heard him tell the coachman to drive through Kensington, and the Inan touched his hat with that respectfai silence which never belongs to the driver of a hired Vehicle. They made their way to Kensington by a slow and cir- cuitous route, avoiding the public thoroughfares, and driving through the great streets where there were few to notice how tenderly Peyerii Stanley bent to speak or listen to hiseompanion. He wasa very thoughtiul, deli- cate lover. He took no small Jiberties in the way of put- ting his arm round ker waist or pressing her hand. He touched her hand now and then, when he wished to em- phasize anything lie said in that low, distinct yoice of his —a voice that made every word distinct ip Spite of the soft roll of the brougham wheels, To him this eruel pastime with a girl who was quite powerless in his hands was mere cliild’s play. Tempting her on to her ruin, as he was tempting her now, was a secondary consideration. She was very pretty, and she was very fond ofhim. Breaking the heart ofa poor man’s child was a fresh experiment, and he wondered how she would bear it. He took her to a large hotel in Kensington—a palace, as it seemed to her. Waiters, who looked to her inexpe- rienced eyes like perfect gentlemen in evening dress, did reverence to liim in the lobby, and a portly personage, with the glossiest black coat, the sofiest feet, and the largest shirt-front she had ever seen; Conducted them to & private sitting-room, full of plate glass, polished wood, and spring-stuifed satin damask, (‘We wiil have something harmless in the way of wines,”’ said Mr. Stanley. “A little bottle of Sparkling Moselle, and “We will talk about our future in this quiet hali hour.’? Sparkling Moselle was not an unknown luxury to Miss Wren. Kate petted her to an extent that was, periiaps, unwise, and Emma had her share of the dainties with which the table of her mistress was crowded; but neyer had Moselle been go delicious as this of which she partook with Peveril Stanley. The half hour passed, and Emma was only dimly conscious of the world outside, The girl’s simplicity was not without its cliarm to the Selfish man of the world, and her innocent confidence in him touched him with a sense of shame more than once, She was really pretty, and the pleasure of being in that handsome apartment with her elegant lover, listening to his tender voice, the sweetness he threw iuto his most careless words, made her almost beautiful. It was near- ly six when Mr. Staniey looked at his watch. “Itis a pity time does not adapt itself to cireumstan- ces,” he said. “It ought to have the faculty of jengthen- ing the happy hours, and shortening the unprofitable. We must not forget our friend in the park, and Master Ferdinand, I suppose she will be sure to wait,” “Oh, yes; but is it very late ?”? “Nearly six. Wecan drive back in less than: half an hour. Do not look so scared, Emma. ‘Tlie woman is not likely to run away with him.” For the first time Miss Wren had a misgiving, and was almost sorry that she had broken her promise to Kate, and neglected her duty. If the woman lad grown tired of waiting, and had gone, Emma did not know where to look for her, The brougham went back rapidly, and/Miss Wren was glad when the gates of the park ¢ame in sight. It was half-past six, and she was an hour behing time, bat Mrs. Brandon had told her she would’ sta _Emma looked eagerly for her, even while in the distameeé, but failed to make out the thin, sparely-clad figure ink ifs accustomed place. There was ho trace of the carévierh woman or Master Ferdinand, : . “She cannot haye gone,’ said Emma, turning to Mr. Stanley in dismay. “I should scarcely think so, dress ?? “Yes.!? “Then she has taken him home, depend upon it, The time seemed longer to her than it did to us, and as she could not wait later for you she has taken him home.”? “Madame will be so angry with me for leaving him.*? “There is nothin to be angry about so that the child is safe. ?? BS Miss Wren did not give expression to her fear that fie might not be safe. Ste took a hurried farewell of Mr. Stanley, promised to meet him on the morrow, and walk- ed quickly home. It seemed absurd to haye a misgiving, but it pressed heavily on her heart. “Has a person brought Ferdinand home?’ she asked, when the door was opened ‘by the iéusemaid. Kate had uo male domestics in the establistiment with the except- ion of a page, who thouglit opening the door no ‘part ‘of his duty. “No, miss,’? The misgiving at Emma's heart grew heavier then. . No suspicion of foul play liad entered her mind as yet, but she blamed herself bitterly for haying Jet the boy go out of her own Charge for a'single instant. °° (TO BE CONTINUED. ] Heliday Hints for Rich and Poor. Every winter we hear of more or less distress, and see signs of suffering around us, for each community has its poor, but never have we known of so cruel a winter as this, The great commercial panic. has given the death- blow to manufacturing for the present, and hence many working men and women are thrown entirely out of eni- ployment. No work and no money! God pity the poor! The working class rarely make more than enough to supply the daily demands upon the slender income, and now, in this bitter winter season, men, women and chil- dren must have bread, clothes and fire; and where are they to get these actual necessaries of life unless the rich open their hearts and purses? The Christmas festivities are near at hand, and in an- ticipation of this holy season we make a few suggestions. Doubtless some of our working men will be ablé to buy afew Christmas presents, and to those we say, be sure and invest your money judiciously; do not get foolish gifts for your wives, nor toys for your little ones, Buy something useful. Get the wife a new dress or shawl. Rosa needs a win- ter cloak; Sarah must have a bonnet; Bob has worn ont his shoes, and Johu’s knees are showing through the holes in his pants. Besides Uie above, there are many articles needed in the family which will be useful and ap- propriate gifts from oue member of the poor man’s. house- hold to another, The mother’s deft fingers can contrive many pretty lit- ule presents out of the odds and ends in the scrap bag, such as Cravats, neck-ties, doll clothes, and worsted balis in gorgeous colors, Let the rich buy freely. Notonly of jewels, siik and costly toys for their own cherished darlings, that their money may be circulated freely, but let them buy food for the starving and clothes for those who are poorly clad. A load of wood or,coal will be far more acceptable to a poor family than an ornament for the house, or an expensive piece of silver; and a turkey, a piece of pork, or a good ham, will be of more real value, and will cost less than a useless bauble. At this particular season all should be generous, Let those who have no money with which to bay new articles to give away, gather together their old stores, aud surely among the accumulation, perchance of years, they Will find many things which will greatly add to the comfort of amore needy household. There are old dresses of the mother, but little. worn; Estelle’s garments fof two years ago, now out of style, but good and comfort- able for the washerwoman’s daugiiter, who brings home the clothes every week. A suit of Tommy’s outgrown garments will do for the little boy who sells. newspapers on the cars, and whose coat, we noticed. is oldand thread- bare. Baby, too, can contribute her mite. Her tiny hands are quite large enough to open when charity should rule the earth, and there are many of her dainty garments which will keep poor, shivering, little Maud nice and warm, Poor child! it is a shame that sheshould be made to suffer for the sins of the powerful, rich. ‘ All the young people who read the New YorK WEEKLY can aid in this Chrisumas work, and each child can prove itself a veritable Santa Claus by giving a cast-aside toy or some partly-worn garment to a needy one. All can do something, even if the charity be words, for kind words fitly spoken do a deal of good, often more than rich gifts. It is mOt cost that creates real value; it is the want of an article, and the spirit that prompts the gift, that makesit of real worth. Remember that the Wwidow’s mite was more acceptable to the Master than rare offerings; therefore give simple gifts, with a desire to render service, and these same good deeds may come back to you when they are least expected and most needed, Mary E. LAMBERT. ——>- 0