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STREET & SMITH
Proprietors.

Vou. XXIX,

DON'T MENTION IT.

BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH.

 

 

 

 

Oh, Fanny, I'm so glad to meet you!
T’ve just been to see Mrs. Bell,

And I’ve heard frem her lips a marration
Which is really too shecking to tell.

She says that Miss Brown, who was married
Last week te that gay Mr. Pease,

Has fought with her husband already—
But, Fanny, don’t mention it, please.

Only think of that prond Mrs. Miller,
Who lives in such style on the hitl—
Why she ran up at Stewart's last seasom

A really exorbitant bill!
She keeps ne account at the banker’s,
Yet rolls in her carriage at ease;
They do say a rich broker aids her—
But, Fanny, don't mention it, please.

Would you b’lieve it—that Wiiow Delancey,
Whese husband has only just died,
In six months from this if she’s living
Will stand at the altar a bride?
I had it from Mrs, Macready,
Who had it from old Mrs. Reese,
But I don’t want the name of a gessip,
So, Fanny, den’t mention it, please.

You know Mr. Dolby, the merchant,
Whose twe daughters make such a shew

With their diamonds and laces, and Freneh airs
Where’er they may happen to ge?

Well, the old man will soen be a bankrupt,
And then there will be such a breesel

Mrs. Smith had the fact from her husband—
But, Fanny, don’t mention it, please.

I don’t see how Mrs. Smith’s husband
Can endure such a termagent wife;
When out he’s a slave to her humors,
At heme he’s afraid of his life.
She lecked him out one night last winter
When the cold snew was up to his knees,
And he had to go home to his mother—
But, Fanny, don’t mention it please.

Oh, Fanny, you know Mrs. Brady,
Who lives in such elegant style,

Who moves with such grace through her pariers,
And who has such a very sweet smile?

Weil, her old mother works at the wash-tub,
And her father has terrible spregs,

And they occupy rooms in a garrét—
But, Fanoy, don’t mention it, please.

I calied on Miss Granger this morning,
The millionaire’s daughter, you know.
Her tongue coldly said, “Take ngs off '—
Her countenance plainly said * ® ;
She hasn’t got much to be proud of —™
Her mother sold butter and chi
And her father was once a mechanic—.
But, Fanny, don’t mention it, please.

How do you think Mr. Green makes his money ?
I fear everything is not rigist,
For he’s always at home in the day time
And he’s never at home in the night.
His silly wife lavishes money
On whatever fashion decrees,
And they do say that Green is a forger—
But, Fanny, don’t mention it, piease.

Mrs. Brown makes a great show of learning,
And tries to seem very genteel,

But then you know there are paste diamonds
As well as bright gems that are real.

I don’t wish to slander a neighbor,
Or a chauce to do so I could seize,

For I’ve heard that she once was a servant—
But, Fanny, don’t mention it, please.

Mrs. Dickinson’s conduct is shameful—
No young belle could dress up more gay—
And she flirts with the beaux without ceasing
While her blind, doting husband's away.
Ive a great mind to send him a letter
To hurry him over the seas,
For I have heard some hints of elopement—
But, Fanny, don’t mention it, please.

Dear me, it is late, and I really
Must hurry straight home and get tea,
For you know, love, it wouldn’t look proper
For my Will to arrive before me.
I don’t like the name of a gossip,
And these little things which [ hear
I wouldn't repeat to another—
So, Fanny, don’t mention them, dear.

Marlin Marduke;

—— OR,

GROWN GRAY IN GRIEF.

By Prof. Wm. Henry Peck,

Author of COPPER AND COLD; £15,000 RE-
' WARD; DEAD OR ALIVE; WILD
REDBURN; SIBALLA, THE
SORCERESS, etc., etc.

CHAPTER I.
THE CLASH OF SWORDS, ‘

The sun had just set at the close of.a cold December
day of the year 1688, wlien &@ mounted traveler halted be-
fore an inn of the small seacoast town of Langfleay, Eng-
land.

The traveler was @ man quite advanced in years, were
his age judged by the color of his hair alone, which, like
his heavy mustache and flowing beard, rivaled the snow
in its spotless whiteness, and was like silk in its sheen
and its fineness. His air and garb were such as declared
him to be far above the common herd, yet he wore no in-
signia of rank, civil, naval or military.

is features noble, severe, and yet exceedingly benevo-
lent, appeared to be those of a man scarcely more than
fifty, if, indeed, so many years of age. His tall, slender yet
powerful form, was poised upon a strong and fiery steed,
with an ease and grace to be attained only by years of
daily famimarity with life in the saddle. His complexion,
dark and bronzed; his eyes, keen, brilliant, and as black
as jet itself, were in strange contrast with that snowy
whiteness of hair, beard and eyebrow, which made his
features so remarkable.

His garb, though of a sober brown hue, was of the cost-
liest velvet, and of the style then much in vogue among
the richest merchants of London or Bristol. He wore a
sword, and his saddle was armed with well-furnished hol-
stery, for the times were lawless and bloody—the last
royal days of the last royal Stuart male, the unhappy,
unfortunate, unready James the Second.

In all, in bearing, in garb, in equipments, and especially
in form and in feature, the traveler was not one to be
merely glanced at passingly. He was accompanied by a
Single altendant, Of a quiet. and very observant mien,
who, a8 his master halted, instantly dismounted and toss-
ing his bridle rein over his arm, advanced and stood ready
to assist his superior to leave the saddle.

*Oue moment, Varil,’’ said the master, fixing his keen
eyes upon the fage of a man lounging near, ‘1 wish to ask
this person a question.”

The person to whom the traveler referred was a young
man, who leaned with folded arms aud bowed head
Against the tall sign post of the inn. The form and atti-
tude of this young man had caught the eye of the traveier
as he dre\, rein before the ina, and at the same instant a

 

 

 

 

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P.O. Box 4896, New York.

 

 

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chill of dread, springing from renensbranee of some v
unpleasant fact, made vm set. his, teeth ara cageLBley
while his bronzed face assumed an ashen hue.

But little of the countenance of the person upon whom
he gazed could be seen at the moment, for the wide and
slouching brim of a tall Spanish hat concealed it almost
wholly from the gaze of the traveler; yet the little lie saw,
added to the attitude and general air of the man, caused
the marked emotion we have just mentioned.

As the traveler spoke, this person raised his head as if
startled, and in turn fixed his eyes upon those of the
former.

“Hal? exclaimed the traveler, tightening his grasp
upon his bridle so suddenly that his horse reared angrily
and recoiled upon his haunches, ‘this must be his son!’

Captain Marduke, as the young man was generally
called, was of tall and powerful form, and wore a garb
which partook of divers characteris!ics—some of the sol-
dier, some of the sailor, and some of the citizen style of
dress.

His gaudily-plumed beaver was that of a gay court gal-
lant, as was his fine and richly-embroidered shirt of
whitest linen, and the gorgeously-hued and fringed scarf
he wore jauntily over his shoulder and around his waist.
His jacket of blue velvet and golden lace, lavishly laid on
border, sleeve, seam and facing, was cut in sailor style,
as were his wide trowsers of fine black stuff. The latter,
however, were met at the knee by a high-topped pair of
the military beots in use at that period. The sword at
his thigh was a heavy cutlass, the pistols in his belt large
and formidable weapons, while in one hand he heida
light rattan cane with quaintly-carved head—a toy greatly
in fashion at that day among fops and dandy gallants.

There was nothing foppish, however, in the dark and
scowling features of Captain Herod Marduke. He was
probably not more than twenty-five years of age, though
heady passion and exposure to wind and storm had given
his face a much older cast.

The voice of the traveler had aroused him from a rev-
erle of unpleasant thought, and, as he looked up and
caught the piercing expression of the eyes so intently re-
garding him, his own flashed resentfully, while his swar-
thy cheek flushed deep red, and his beard, black, coarse
and curling, seemed to bristle with rage.

“Is there aught for sale about me, sir, that you stare at
me so impertinentiy?’? he demanded, in a deep, rough
tone, while he twirled his rattan as if yearning to strike
it across the face of the stranger.

“Ay, voice and fuce, though not the form!’’ ejaculated
the traveler, ag. he ruled his steed with an experienced
hand and continued to stare at Marduke. ‘‘There can be
no doubt ofit. Tis his son!’

Receiving no reply from the traveler, Marduke turned
to the attendant, and was amazed as well as enraged still
more on perceiving that he was staring at him as fixedly
as his master.

This was teo much for the gunpowder temper of Cap-
tain Marduke, who instantly swept his rattan around his
head and dealt the attendant a sharp cut upon the shoul-
ders, saying, with a fierce oath:

“The plague take you bot! Why do you stare at a bet-
ter man than either of you?”

“A cat may stare at a king,’ replied the attendant,
quietly, for ie was one of those rare fellows who can re-
ceive a blow with an unchanged countenance; ‘‘but as
you are not a king, nor Ia cat, here is a Roland for your
Oliver,’ and so saying he raised his riding switch and
aimed a hearty stroke at the face of his assailant.

Marduke was too experienced in affrays of every kind
to be easily struck, and parrying the blow with a flirt of
his rattan at once grappled with the attendant and en-
deavored to hurl him to the ground,

The attendant, though a man whose hair was gray and
features somewhat wrinkled with the flight of full fifty
years, was a stout and active wrestler, so that the furious
Marduke, finding him no easy game, clapped his hand
upon his cutlass and whipped it from its broad scabbard,
saying:

“Rascal! there’s a gallon too much of impertinent blood
in you,” and forthwith rushed at the man as if about to
cut him down.

By this time the traveler had sprung from his horse,
drawn his sword, and hurried to the aid of his servant,

“One or both—it matters little to me!’ exclaimed Mar-
duke, as his cutlass was turned in its descending blow by
the sword of the traveler, and fiercely confronting him.
‘Tis a pity a man whose hair is so white should haye so
little discretion.’’

“Never heed the color of my hair, young man—my
blood is re@ier than yours,’’ replied the traveler, easily
repelling the sharp attack of his more youthiul antagonist.

The clash of steel aroused the attention of the many
loungers within the inn, and half a score rushed out to
learn the cause of the disturbance, or rather, careless of
the cause, eager to be spectators of the affray.

Among them came a dark-visaged, gray-laired, fierce-
eyed mau, full fifty years of age, who, unable to see the
face of the traveler, as the back of the latter was toward
him at the moment, yet perceiving at a glance that Mar-
duke was hu match for the experienced swordsman press-
ing him resistiessly, drew his hanger, and rushing upon
the traveler was in the act of cutting him down when he
was tripped up by the attendant and hurled headlong
upon the gravelly ground. Atthe same instant Marduke’s
cullass was whirled from his hand and he himself struck
down by the flat of the traveler’s sword.

It was very plain to all that-the traveler had purposely
avoided striking Marduke with tle edge of his blade, yet
the fall of the Lwo men was greeted with a yell of menace
by six or eight persous, in the garb of seamen, among the
Spectators.

 

 

The traveler ha § fly, placed his foot npen the}
broad nasil of io . MEP Marauke.. who, Ne i
siunned by the blow and fall he had received, could only
giare wildly at the noble and unruffted face of his remark-
able adversary. But the yell of menace from the seamen
caused the traveler to turn to defend himself from a new
attack, and as he did so, his eyes met those of the gray-
haired man who had been tripped up-by the attendant,
and who at the iustant was upon one knee rapidly rising
to his feet.

The pause of amazement with which the traveler greet-
ed the angry glare of this man’s baleful eyes was very
nearly fatal to the former, for all his vigilance was needed
at the moment to guard kim against the rush of théseamen
in front and on flank, arush which had swept aside his
faithful attendant, and was aimed at him, either to slay
or to beat dow.

The whole of the affray which had sprung from so trivial
acause had been observed by a beautiful maiden, who
was sitting at an open window as the traveler and his at-
tendant rode up to the front of the inn.

This fair maiden, Elena, the daughter of Rheinhand,
the inn-keeper, had been greatly struck with admiration
of the white-haired cayalier from the moment that his
noble features became visible, and had whispered to her-
self as he haited before the inn:

“Now good fortune gtant that he may tarry a time at
the Stuart Arms, for in truth he is of stately person.”?

When the fierce Murduke attacked the traveler she had
hurried from the window to urge her father to put an
end to the affray. Butall had passed so rapidly that by
the time she reached the front of the inn the seamen, the
friends of Marduke andthe gray-haired, fierce-eyed man,
were shouting as they diew their hangers:

“Cut him down! Hdp for vur captain!
ever!’? with many a fearful imprecation of threatened
evil against this noble white-haired stranger, toward
whom her heart had ben most powerfully and myste-
riously drawn.

She had never seen the traveler until he rode up to
the inn in so stately a manner, she did not know anything
of him, not 80 much as his name, and yet it seemed pro-
foundly impressed upon her mind and still more profound-
ly whispered into her heart, that dark, indeed, would be
the day for her, and fer jhe youth she loved, should that
snow-white head be pheed beneath the sod by fierce
Herod Marduke, the smuggler captain, the son of the dark-
faced, gray-haired man.

So, as the seamen spring forward to cut down the tray-
eler, she sprang forward with them, and more fleet than
they, had thrown her anus around his neck, turned upon
the seamen and cried:

“You shall not harm a hair of his head, unless you first
slay me!”’

Then catching the angry eye of Herod Marduke as he
sprang to his feet, she alded:

“If ever you liope to ll me wife, Herod Marduke, do
not raise your hand agai against this noble gentleman.’’

“Ho! then I may hopéto call you wife, though but half
an hour ago you bade'me despair,’ replied Marduke,
scofiugly. ‘‘But promite, Elena Rheinhand, that I may
hope, and by my life, I vill cut down my own father for
your smile.’’

“Make no love vows ir my behalf, fair maiden,’? said
the traveler, gently, yet firmly, releasing his neck from
her clinging embrace; ‘‘east of all make no pledge of love
to this young ruffian %

“Does he ask it of her???’ demanded a voice, as a young
man, clad in the uniform of the British revenue service,
forced his way through he seamen, and baring his sword
seemed ready and eagerto take active part with the trav-
eler.. “Does Herod Mariuke presume to ask a pledge of
any kind of Elena Rheithand, when he well Knows that
she is my betrothed ?”?

The sudden appearante of this yong officer, accom-
panied as he was by several persons, whose silver badges
and neat uniforms declared them to be his followers,
caused the friends of Marduke to recoil from his presence,
and draw Closely togetiier, as if more fearful of being at-
tacked than desirous to pontinue the offensive.

“She is your betrothed, is she??? demanded Marduke,
scrowling darkly, and seeming to forget that the traveler
was in existence. ‘And since when, I pray, has she been
your betrothed ??

“That does not concern you, Herod Marduke,’’ replied
the officer, haughtily. “Get you gone, with what speed
you may, for there is anprder out for the arrest of all who
had part in plundering the wreck of the Belle France last
week. So you and Garvin Murduke, with all of your
friends I see here, had best leave with what haste you can
for France or Holland until the matter be forgotten.”’

“See,’’ said Mardauke, fiercely, as he picked up his cut-
lass and seemed loth t¢ sheathe it, ‘you are trying to
scare me away, while you win the hand of the girl, Mar-
lin Marduke.??

“That is faise, Herod, for it matters little to me whether
you remain or not, so far as. Miss Elena is concerned. I
have warned you, und you may do as you please.’

And with these words the young officer turned his back
upon Captain Herod and faced. the traveler,

Elena Rheinhand had already hurriedly retired into the
inn, in deep confusion and no little self-reproach; for, as
the revenue officer appeared, her arms were around tlie
neck of & Man Who Was as totally unknown to her as he
was to her lover. It wastrue thatthis gentleman was
more than old enough to be her father, yet how could she
explain to her lover—or indeed to any one, even to her-
self—why she had rushed into the midst of a brawl and
cast her arms around the neck of a total strauger, aver-
ring, too, her desire to be slain rather than that he should
be harmed?

 

Marduke for-

 

 

Covered with blushes and trembling with a confasion
she had mever before experienced, Eiena had hurried
from the front of the inn aud fied to her own room.

But even there the dark and piercing eyes of the trav-
eler, his noble face and stately bearing, pursued her.

Yet we must leave her for a time, to relate what passed
between the mysterious traveler, the revenue officer,
Captain Herod, and the gray-haired, fierce-eyed man be-
fore the inn.

 

CHAPTER Ii.
THE LANDLORD OF THE INN.

The young revenue officer, who had come so opportune-
ly to the rescue of the traveler, could not have appeared
apywhere, nor in any presence, without remark. Of un-
usual hight, and yet not seeming at first glance to be
more than merely tall, se perfectiy symmetrical were his
proportions; of powerful aud active frame, erect, lithe
and graceful, though of somewhat haughty bearing; with
a face ot almost perfect manly beauty, a voice deep and
sonorous, eyes keen, darkly blue and daring, and well-
marked features, expressive of a high sense of honor and
strong. yet admirably-ruled passions, and resolution as
firm as rock—Marlin Marduke, half-brother of Captain
Herod, and son also of the gray-haired man, moved in
every and any spherein which he might appear as one
born to lead even those superior to him in rank and in
age.

In age he was not more than twenty-three or five,
though as full-bearded and firm-faced as most men of
thirty. In rank in his perilous profession he was chief of
all upon the coast in that section of England, his title at
that time being Commandant Marduke, and his rank,
despite his youth, being equal to that of a captain in the
royal navy.

Though very dissimilar in character and in habits from
Herod Marduke, his half-brother, there was a marked
family resemblance in form and feature between them.
The chief and most prominent difference which first struck
the eye of one who studied the face and figure of each—
and the traveler’s piercing gaze had already marked it—
was in the general expression of the countenance and in
the color of the eyes; those of Harod Marduke being as
black as night, and as glowing in their scowl, though
flashing and restless; while those of the eommandant
were ofa dark, deep blue, clear, brilliant, resolute and
steady.

It is necessary that we should speak more minutely of
that persou whom we have mentioned as the gray-haired,
fierce-¢yed man, for his evil passions and malignant na-
ture form the pivot upoa which this.story is to move.

Garvin Marduke, though short, stout, aud even ill-pro-
portioned in form, bore in his swarthy, repellent visage,
many features common in those of Herod and Marlin, his
sons. He had not their tall and lofty stature, nor their
lithe, well-proportioned limbs, nor their handsome, regu-
lar features; yet, on being told that he was their father,
one could not fail to discover marked and salient points
of family resemblance.

Yet he far more resembled the dark-faced and scowling
Herod than the hauglity-eyed, generous-featured Marlin;
and in Character, in thought, in aspirations? in habit, he
was totally dissimilar to Marlin, and exactly like Herod.

We will speak more of liim as we progress,

The unexpected appearance of the commandant of the
coast service among those whose illicit pursuit of smug-
gling made him a man to be feared, had driven them from
the immediate presence of the traveler, to whom Marlin
turned after addressing Herod as we related in the pre-
vious Chapter, so the three, Marlin, Herod and the
traveler formed a group by themselves, for despite the
haughty warnings of the young commandant Captaiu
Herod persisted in remaining near.

Garvin Marduke, who had readily regained his feet, no
sooner recognized the presence of iis son Marlin than he
withdrew apart with several of those who had made a
rush toward the traveler, and engaged in an animated
conversation, no doubt concerning the commandant and
the stranger, for his glances, as well as those of the others,
were frequenily directed toward them.

Varil, the attendant of the traveler, who had been rudely
dashed to theearth in that onset so quickly arrested by
Elena Rheinhand, having sustained no injury, scrambled
to his feet, and perceiving that. the affray was at an end,
and recognizing with great pleasure the presence of the
revenue uniform, quietly awaited the commands of his
master.

“Sir, said the young commandant, addressing the
traveler, ‘‘will you please inform me how this matter be-
gan ??

Instead of replying. the stranger kept his eyes fixed
upon the rapidly retiring form of Elena with an amazed
expression of features, as Of one who had seen, or was
seeing, that which he least expected to see.

Indeed, our white-haired traveler had not bestowed so
much as a glance upon the face of the maiden who had so
Strangely rushed to his rescue, until at the very instant of
her unclasping her armsfrom his neck and precipitate re-
treatinto the inn. He had his head full of thoughts of
defence against the formidable and mob-like attack he
saw charging upon him, and though much surprised by
the mysterious intervention of a young lady, his situation
was so perilous that he cared not to inquire whether she
were old or young, ugly or handsome, au acquaintance or
a stranger.

But as the commandant appeared, and as Elena fied,
blushing and confused, and indeed somewhat terrified,
that penetrating, powerful, and all-grasping glance of the
stranger fell upon her lovely and excited face.

Her features met his glance but for an instant, for she
sprang away asif greatly affrigited, yet he saw suome-

Three Dollars Per Year. feambis S. STREET,
Two Copies Five Dollars.

   

No. 48.

thing therein, or the semblance of something, which made
him mutter:

“Great Heaven! I thought that face had been buried for
many a year! It cannot be, and yet it is the same——"

And just then the sound of the deep andsonoreus voice
of the young commandant partially aroused him.

“You spoke to me, sir?’ he said, in an absent way, for
his memory had flown back to the past, and was even
then busy in plucking flowers from the variegated fields
of by*gone days—flowers armed with many a thorn.

“T asked you, sir,’’ said the commandant, “to explain
how this affray began.”

The traveler drew his stately form erect, and benta
very stern gaze upon the speaker as he replied:

“[am not used, young man, to be questioned by a
stranger,” but recognizing in the handsome features of
the questioner something which softened his tone, he con-
tinued, politely, ‘‘Your pardon, sir; at first | thought you
were of these rude fellows who set upon an unoffending
man as ill-behaved curs attack some wandering hound,
This person, Wio may be sailor, soldier, or cockney—for
all one may determine from lus garb—saw fit tostrike my
servant, and why I know not. Perhaps he was ina bad
humor or is in his cups.’

Then turning abruptly upon Captain Marduke, he con-
tinued:

“Who are you, sir, and who is that man?’

“That mau, as you are pleased to call a gentieman, who
is a8 good a Man in every respect as you, Or any man in
England, is my father,” replied Captain Marduke, meck-
ingly, and staring insolently at the stranger.

“So Ll thonght,’? said the latter, with a contemptuous
haughtiness which bore down the ferocious inselence of
the other. ‘Wolf and .whelp never looked more alike
than you and he. Your name and his I wish to know ??

As Captain Herod at that moment saw Garvin Marduke
beckoning to him, he turned away, saying:

“Who and what Il and my father are you may readily
learn from this person, who, I am = sorry to say, is my
half-brother. He is used to speak.of us to others,”

“That is false, Herod Marduke, and you are a coward
to say it!’ exclaimed the commandant, sharply. F

“And why a coward, Mariin Mardake?’’ demanded
Captain Herod, pausing and slapping his hand upon the
hilt of his cutlass.

“Because no manexcept Hered Marduke dares hint
that Iam a spy,” replied the commandant, calmly; “and
because you never forget that I cannot forget that you are
my brother.”’

A fierce retort was upon the lips of Captain Herod, but
before he could deliver it Garvin Marduke sprang from
the group of seamen with whom he was conversing,
grasped his son’s arin, and whispered in his ear:

“Away! Wewere neverin greater danger of life and
liberty aud all that we hold dear than at this moment,
Come, let us into the inn and speak of this matter, We
must be as mute as mice and as Shy as foxes so long ashe
is near. By my life! Lhope hehas not recognized me.
Come.’?

And using no little force to impel his flery-spirited son
from the presence of the stranger—and very careful too
he was, or appeared to be, to Keep his back toward those
Keen and penetrating eyes—Garvin Marduke hurried Cap-
tain Herod into the inn.

Their friends instantly followed in prompt obedience to
a gesture made by the elder Marduke, and the commatid-
ant again addressed the traveler, whose eyes. had sought
in vain to fixa fairand examining gaze upon Garvin
Marduke's swarthy and sinigier countenance.

“You are a gentleman, sir, 1 have no doubt,” remarked
the commandant, lilting his hat as he spoke, “and a
stranger to this town, therefore permit me to warn you
either * ride Ou speedily or to be very watchful while you
remain.”

“The town is not safe for travelers? asked the stran-
ger, apparently in some surprise.

“Not at present, sir. 1 have little doubt that were it
not for the presence of the coast guard the many despera-
does in the place would sack the houses of the cilizens,
and perhaps do worse, though I have no praise for the
town people.’

“You are a native of this town, I suppose ?”?

*“Jdo not Know,’ replied the con:mandant, ia a sud-
denly changed tone, and somewhat haughtily.

He was about to turn away, when the traveler said:

“One moment, youug man. I wishto ask you afew
questions.”!

Commandant Marlin, upon whom tie lordly and im-
posing tone and air of the stranger had made a profound
impression, paused and replied, with a smile:

“Lam at your service, sir, for though you would be
thought to be simply a merchant, I am very sure that you
are a person of rank.”

“Oue may be of rank and yet of very little importance,”
said the other, evasively, though he and his attendant ex-
changed glances. ‘First, I would learn the latest tidiugs
from London.”

“Ol the king ??

“You mean King James ?”?

“Certainly, sir,’? replied the officer, sternly, and for the
first time regarding the stranger with marked suspicion.
“IT have never heard that Engiand’s throne has reom for
more than one monarch at a time, and James the Second
is my king.”

“A king whose crown sits very perilously upon his
head, my friend. But you are right, for James is still a
king. Yet here comes one who may be more ready to an-
swer my questions without caring for my political opin-
ious,’ added the traveler, as a very large and corpulent
mau, whose garb and air declared him to be the host of
the inn, issued from the house and advanced briskly to-
ward them.

“fol? said this important-looking personage, whose
rolled-up sieeves exposed his enormously fat arms almost
to the shoulders, in utter scorn of the keen Deceniber
wind, “by my tankards, where are the idle Knaves that
should be attending to my distinguished traveler here?
Your humble servant, sir—Mike! Thomas! William!
Horses! Where are you?”?

Puffing and prancing, with his great legs very far apart,
and laboring heavily under a weight of front and rear,
the corpulent host of the Stuart Arms extended his hands
with amazing expertness and Clutched the bridles of the
two horses, as if somewhat apprehensive that their own-
ers might, from impatient waiting for attendance, mount
and ride away.

“You lazy, trifling dogs!) he added, as twoor three
hostiers appeared running toward the group. “You are
never near when you are needed. Here—away with you,
and attend to——”

“My friend,’ interrupted Varil, the attendant of the
stranger, passing his aris through both bridles, and eye-
ing the !andiord coolly from head to foot, “how know you
that we intend to honor your old rookery with our pre-
sence ?"’

‘‘My old rookery!’ roared the landlord, red with rage,
ae his great eyes seemed about to pop from their beds
of fat.

“I by no means like the outside of it,” continued Varil,
quietly, ‘‘and if those we have seen be a fair sample of its
patrons I think Wwe would do well to ride on.”

Nor did the outside of the inn, with its sonorous title of
“The Stuart Arms,’ present a very iuviling appearance,
being old and weather-beaten, badly constructed, and hay-
ing an air of decay and gloom by no means enticing to
oue so fastidious as Hubert Varil. It was vast and
rambling, and threatening to fall outward in some places
and inward in others. Not many yards from the sea,
whose waves at high tide and under high winds some-
limes swept to the very edge of its great back-yard.
Much frequented, too, by the lawless fellows who are
ever to be found infesting seaport towns, whether
great or small. Not lofty, being not more than two stories
in hight, except in 1Ne main building, which rose irregu-
larly three and a half stories, but extending far on either
side in long wings of hastily-constructed additions, built
of ship-plank and spars cast ashore by the sea.

“Hol? said old Kaspar Rheinhand, as he darted a ma-
lignant glance toward Marlin -Marduke, who with the
traveler, stoud somewhat apart conversing in a guarded
tone, ‘i see why you do not like my noble house. That
sprig of the revenue service, who ouglt to be rather a
swab-boythan a commandant, has been twisting his
tongue on me.’?

“Easy, my man of lard,” replied Varil, and keeping
fast hold upon the bridles of his horses, for Kaspar Ruein-
hand still clutched them in his fat fingers. ‘The young
man has not said a word against your greasy highness.”?
“He does not like me, nor I him,” growled Rheinhand,
scowling darkly. ‘Some fine morning after a dark night
his friends will find him what he ought to have been long
ago—dog’s meat; and if it were not that he is a king’s
officer and cursedly shy’’—the rest of his mutterings
seemed to be stifled in his throat, for the keen-eared Varil
heard no more.

Releasing the bridles, Rheinhand advanced to where
Matrliu aud the stranger were standing, bowing as he

 

 

rolied along, and fixing his owl-like eyes upon the

 

 

 

 

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face of the latter with abotd stare, which he desired should
pass for admiring deference, : ‘

“Noble sir,”? he began, ‘I beg. that you will deign to
honor my poor inn with your gracious tarryiug for the
coming night——~”

“Enough, sir,’ imterrupted the stranger, haughtily. ‘It
pleases me to remain for the night. Take more than or-
dinary care of the horses, as 1 may have to ride far to-
morrow.”

Varil with difficulty restrained an exclamation of sur-
prise, for Ne knew very well that the plans of his master
had not anticipated more than an hour’s delay in the
town. Hesaid nothing aloud as he resigned the bridles
to the hostlers, and began to unbuckle the portmanteau
from his master’s saddle, thongh his quiet and reflective
face grew very grave and stern.

“Here, my good man,” eried Rheinhand, bustling to
his aid, and grasping the portmanteau, ‘I will see to all
the luggage—neyer vex yourself with that—there was
never luggige ‘unfound in the Stuart Arms’ when its
owner called for it.”

“No doubt,’ replied Varil, snatching the portmanteau
from the greedily officious landlord. ‘But there have
been instances.in whici the owners never called for their
luggage at the Stuart Arms.’? :

Kaspar Rheinhand’s vast and empurpled visage turned
ashy white for an instant, and then became as red as a
coal of glowing fire. He Stared at the quiet, grave coun-
tenance of the speaker, but his audacious and angry gaze
sank quickly before the steady keenness of Varil’s dark
blue eyes. ;

“‘My faith,?? sald Rheinhand, uneasily endeavoring to
conceal his uneasiness; ‘‘you speak in riddies, my friend.
Come, what nonsense is this? If a traveler falls to call
for his luggage, he must be dead, for never knew Iyeta
traveler, simple or gentle, that failed to call for his lug-
gage when he departed.”

+That is it,” replied Varil,.as he carefully unstrapped

his ‘ow portmanteau, and keeping his master’s under
his foot as he did so; ‘‘when hedeparted from thy inn,
man of many pounds and no doubt of many way iniqui-
ties. But how, as has been the case, says report, how is
it' when the unknown guest never departs?’
_* Never departs! J dg not understand you, my friend,”
stammered the landlord, in vain trying to assume an in-
nocently anconscious air and even tone. ‘Guests always
depart, urfless, peradventure, which Heaven forbid in my
house—they die.’

“You have said it, friend of the great belt,’? laughed
Warill, quietly, yet darting a terrible glance into the eyes
o! the jandiord. ‘Unless, peradventure, they diel’

«iGome, now!” ejaculated Rheinhand, assunfing a Nght
tone. “You are a jester—my faith! you are the king and
prince, the emperor of jesters, Youand I shall drink a
@ankard of home-brewed together——”

4‘As for me,’ interrupted Varil, as he slung first one
and tlien the other pormanteaa upon his shoulders, ‘I
prefer wine of France or beer of Holland. Home-brewed
ale liath sometimes something thrice as bitter as hops of
England init! I trust there’s none of itin your home-
brewed, my'‘friend?” ‘ ’

«‘Noneé of 'wiiat, my fine fellow?” 4

«None of the flavoring slyly put in, which killed Giles
Odroam aud Martin Long, some three or four years ago.”

As Varil/said this he swung around upon his heel and
squarely faced Kaspar Rheinhand, with astern look upon
his: quiet features as one might assume in making an
accusation.

<Varil, Varill? cried the stranger, in a reproving tone,
for the last words of the attendant were spoken in a full,
Clear voice. “Dol not detest’ gossip? No more of that,
if you would please me.”’

But the huge and fat-ladened countenance of the as-
toundéd landlord was ‘undoubtedly that of a criminal
Buddenly accused of a wicked deed, and though the
attenddint bowed respectfully to his ‘master as he again
spoke, ‘his’ steady gaze remained fixed upon Kaspar
Rheinland.

«‘My dear master,” said Varil, “Iam not oneto direct
your honor’s movements, yet I like not this man’s looks
nor fhé looks of his house. Might it not please your
worsiip to ride on and seek another inn?”

*iere is not so fair an inn in all England,” putin
Rheinhand, quickly; and eager to learu if the young com-
mandant had sajd aught in secret against his house, he
added: ‘Here is Commandant Marduke, who knows me
well and will vouch for me.’’

“In nothing dol vouch fer you, Kaspar Rheinhand,’’
replied the officer, curtly and even scornfully.

“Yet you love his daughter,” remarked the stranger, in
a low tone,

“She is not his daughter by blood, but by adoption or
abduction,» replied ‘Marlin, bluntly and aloud; and then,
with a defiant glance at the innkeeper, he strode straight
away ito ‘the inn, followed by his force of eight or ten
men.

*Oh, curse him!” muttered the uneasy landlord, as his
eyes followéd the abrupt moyements of Marlin and his
force.” ‘“He' ‘has learned something of the landing last
night, and suspects the goods are hidin my house. Thére
are enough of us here already to crush him and all his
friends if need be, and more of our lads will be here soon.”

*‘Come, landlord,”’ reinarked the stranger, ‘‘we_ will
put up with you for the night if I like the room and fare
you have ready. Move on before us—I wish to speak with
My servant. Lead us to a quiet and retired apartment
immediately.”

TheJandlord was obeying when @ courier rode up ata
headlong, breakneck pace. His manner indicated that he
was thé bearer of startling intelligence.

} [TO BE CONTINUED.}

 

‘Rocky Mountain Sam ;

OR, THE

WIND-SPECTER of the BLACKFEET.
By Burke Brentford.

' [“Rocky Mountatn’ Sam’? was’ commenced in No, 42. Back
numbers ¢an be procured of any News Agent in tne United States. ]

CHAPTER XVI.
THE CAPTIVE MAIDEN.
Naught can restore the pallid cheek
And sunken eye of captive maid
But liberty; the first fair streak

Of dawn upon the dusky shade
Of sorrow’s night is not more blest
Than freedom to the sore-oppressed.

The yvyemnants of ‘tle quarter of bear-meat which the
balloonists had provided for themselves on the’ previous
morning, had to be sacrificed in getting up arather scanty
breakfast for all hands; but Sam consoled himself with
the remark that there was plenty more where that came
from; and during the discussion of their repast, ample
time was afforded for exchanging hasty notes of tne re-

» cent fight. i

The troopers from the fort listened with amazement to
accounts which surpassed anything they had ever dreamed
of, and gazed upon the members of the little band, and
especially upon the Dalloonists, with feelings akin to awe. 4

“What didiyou think. of the roasting we gave the var-
mints on the river, Big Horn?’ said Sam, gleefully help-
ing himself to another bit of roasted bear.

*“*Wust l ever see!’ replied tne bravo, beginning to fill
his short pipe. ‘You remember, Sam’’—puff, pulf, from
the pipe—‘‘that ere scrimmage we had two yeurs ago”—
puff, puff—“‘with the Cheyennes on the Yallerstone’’—puff,
puff— ‘nigh anto the Big Rosebud Creek—“whar I cleaned
out Squattin’? Elk an’?’—puff—‘his pard’’?—puff—‘“Lone
Wolf.’

*‘Well, lshould think I did.”

<*Wall, Sam?’—puff—‘‘the fair 0’ las’ night an’ yester-
daay?’—puil, puff—‘iaid over, tat two to one.”’

“Ay; a dozen to one.” a8

<7 Qon’t say that, pard. Yer see——’’

Big Horn, contrary to his wont, was evidently ripening
for a long yarn, and as the breakfast was over the pro-
fessor made bold to interrupt him.

“We must make another ascent at once,’ said he.
“You fellows can stay here all day—and I reckon you'll
have all you can do in turning a portion of this plain into
a burying-ground,’”’ he added, looking around upon the
ghastly mementoes of the fight, which littered and heaped
the ground in every direction; ‘“‘but we must continue the
prosecution of our search, and bring the Prairie Blossom
juto camp, if possible.”

Lieutenant Datton’s eyes gleamed.

“But are,not you and Sam and Fayaway also worn
out?’ he asked, repressing the sinile of selfish pleasure

 

which the mention of his sweetheart’s name had given ib

him.

“Not quite; and if weare wecan have ample time to
rest our limbs in the car.- Worn out? Excuse me, sir,
bat, pale and tired as you look yourself, you can know
litue of extreme fatigue. Why, in the summer of 1810,
when I was crossing the icy barriers of the great Antarctic
ocean, you'd have thought——”?

+All aboard!” roared Sam, springing to his feet, and
making a bee-line for the balloon. ‘Come, Fayaway!
Come professor} you know yer said yourself there was no
time to spare.”’

The professor was a little huffy at having his unlucky
story nipped in the bud, but he had grown somewhat used
toit by this time, and foliowed his companions as they
Sprang into their ear. But before they had tripped an-
chor, Big Horn again strode toward them, and again
patted the Indian maiden patronizingly under the ciin,
while she hung her pretty head in silence.

*‘Leeile gal,”? said he, gerftly, ‘“d’ye: remember my
Sayin’ aforetime as how you was a leetie brick ???

“Yes; Fayaway muck remember the White Chiefs
words.” ,

‘“Wall, you are a brick!’ repeated Big Horn, emphati-
cally; ‘‘an’ not only that, but you air a fust-class, up-an’-
up, thoroughbred, gold-beveled, silver brick! Who says
she ain’t no brick?” he exclaimed, raising liis.voice, and

, Wheeling around with a defiant glare at the rest.

As no one seemed disposed Lo‘ question the accuracy of
his statement, he resumed his pipe and retired to his for-
mer seat at the fire with a self-satisfied air.

The next moment the professor tore up the-anehor, and
With a parting cheer from her crew the balloon shot up
Into the cool, clear atmosphere. :

“The wind is almost directly in our favor,” said the
professor, giving the fan-wheel half-a-dozen turns, +‘We
must make directly for shat steep ‘range to the north. I
Baw the renegade, and a dozen or more with him, ride
Cut of the battle in thut direction. You) may rest assured
that he has hid away his captive in some of its gorges.”

But Sam only heard him in a dreamy, @rowsy way, for,
entirely overcome, he had wrapped himself in a blanket
and was fast sinking into unconsciousness on the bottom

 

of the car, while Fayaway had followed his example in

another corner, and was already’soune asleep with her
head bowed upon ler breast.

“Well, well, they do indeed need rest,’”? muttered the
old man, upon whom the loss of sleep seemed to yave no
effect whatever; and bringing out his. telescope pro-
ceeded to scrulinize the country over which they were
passing with an earnest gaze. s

It was some time before his observations were rewarded
by the appearance of any living objects other than herds
of buffalo and a few flucks of antelope; but at last, at the
end of about an. hour, die espied Firefoot and his few re-
maining adherents pushing their way over the hills.

“Hal there they are!’? he muttered; ‘‘and, thank Hea-
ven, we will be before thei in reaching the poor captive;
that is if we can discover her whereabouts.

He was about to arouse his companions, buf, upon a
moment’s reflection, decided to let them rest still longer.

The car now began to swing over the jagged spurs of
the monntain region. It was evident that Firefoot and
his followers were aware of the presence of the balloon,
and they probably guessed the intentions of its occupants,
for they could be seen spurring and whipping their jaded
avimals to still greater speed.

But they soon faded from view, and the professor was
absorbed in piercing aud explorin@the many gorges, can-
yons, and little valleys over which the balloon was pass-
ing.

f last a sight met his: gaze which caused him to raise
an irrepressible shout of joy.

It was a little Indian village in the center of a deep can-
yon, hemmed in on every side by lofty precipices and tow-
ering peaks. There were not more than » dozen lodges
altogether, and most of these were of the Yudest descrip-
tion, even for aboriginal architecture; but situated a little
apart from the rest, on the overhanging bank of a little
brook that veined» the gorge like a silver thread, was a
tiny house, perhaps merely constructed of a few uprights
and light beams, with the skins of wild animals stretched
over them; but, nevertheless, resembling a civilized habl-
tation ‘in shape aud build. <A few Indians—apparently
squaws and little children—were lounging about the
lodges on the edge of the brook; but the object which
held the fascinated gaze of the old aeronaut, and which
had called the joyful cry to his: lips, was a slight female
figure, dressed in white, aud standing at the door of this
very liny little house.

The old fellow gave one more long, reassuring gaze, and
then began to dance about the car, slapping his shriveled
hands together, croaking oul, and waving hispeaked cap
aloft like one possessed,

“Sam! Fayaway! get up,” he cried, shaking first one
and then the other until they raised their sleepy heads.
“Rouse yourselves! The lost one’s found—the Prairie
Blossom 1s right at our feet!’?

“Eh, what’? blurted Sam, rubbing his eyes and stag-
gering to his feet, while httle Fayaway, upon looking over
the edge of the car, gaveascream at recognizing the
figure below.

‘Jerk that throttle-valve!” cried the professor; ‘‘we
must just light down there an’ scoop her up before the
renegade gewsthere, and he ain’t far behind.”

Sam pulléd the Valve, and dropping oat of the influence
of the air-current that had borne it along so swiftly into a
stirless atmosphere, the balloon rapidly descended to Lhe
earth.

‘‘Hooray! they seé us comin’,” cried Sam, as consider-
able commotion in the village showed that they were dis-
covered, the squaws and young ones running hither and
thitherasif in great alarm, while the figure in white
waved its hand lo them, aud gave other sigus of recogni-
tion and encouragement.

“Ivs no differenee whether they see us or not,’ said
Max; ‘‘they’re,nothing but squaws.”’

‘Ay, but there’s one of ’em makin’ tracks far the tim-
ber as if she was goin’ fur help,” said Sam. ‘Don’t let’s
count our royal American bald-headed eagles afore they’ve
busted their egg shells.”

His conjecture was correct.

When tiie balioon had descended to within two or three
hundred yards from the ground, the squaw referred to re-
‘appeared from the tiinber followed by six brawny fellows
who had evidently seen the balloon often enough before
to be pretty well used to it; at any rate they did not now
share in the panic into which the very appearance oi the
dreaded “Booglebooby”? was wont to throw the great
majority.of their tribe, and from which even now tlie In-
diau women were hiding themselves in abject terror.

“Well, [reckon we'll have a purty easy job after all,”
said Sam, quietly examining his breech-loader; ‘‘only
I’m gettin’ sort o’ tired of shootin’ Injuns. I’d like to kill
a buffaler or an antelope, just for variety, you know.”

As the balloon swept down nearer to the earth Miss
Chapman—for it was indeed she—ran directly under their
line of descent, screaming with delight, while little Fay-
away replied to her, accompanying her words with every
demoustration of rejoicing. :

‘Fear not, lady; we will not desert you this time,”
cheerily called out the’old man,

‘Yes; we'll scoop you up this time, or feed the crows,”
cried Sam.

Overcome by the sudden prospect of deliverance the
poor captive’s exuberant joy gave place to sobs, and bury-
ing her face in her hands she burst into hysterical: tears.

Before she fairly recovered herself, and while the car
was yet fifty or more feel above her head, she was in the
grasp of one of the Indians. She screamed and straggled
to free herself, but he held her in his powerful grasp as
easily as though she were a child and swiltly bore her to-
ward the little house she had fled from.

“Hands off, if'you please’? muttered Rocky Mountain
Sam, bringing his breech-loader to his sheulder, ;

There was asharp report, the, Indian dropped in his
tracks shot through the head, and the captive was again
free; but only; momentarily, for another savage at ouce
snatched hervup and bore: her to the little, house, into
which he uneeremoniously. thrust her, closing, the:door,
and apparently) fastening iton/jthe outside, and, then
dodging behind a tree inorder to escape from the un-
erring marksmanShip, that had proved so fatal to his eom-
rade. .

His companions “had ialso run to cover, and the trees
growing 100, thickly, for the, balloon Lo operate suceessfully
ugainst them, Wie, aeronants Jound, themselves at & loss to
kuow what to, do,., ¢ ; ’

‘We're euchred for, the present, that is certain,’? said
the professor, rubbing his bald head meditatively,, ‘fYou
see if either ene of us should venture upon the ground lr,
would be sure to be picked off by one of those devilsin,
the timber,”?

“Well,” said Sam, throwing outaline and. grapnel,
‘we can anyway slash around a bit, an’ not let ‘em forget
we're about the rauch.’? .

As he spoke he caught the peak of one of the rickety
lodges. with his grapnel and, jerked it up.in the air, re-
vyealing one of the squaws cowering upon the ground,
with her baby in her. arms, both of them apparently half-
dead with affright. 3

Having tossed the wigwam. endwise. into the running
brook, jhe. jerked up another, and still another, in
much the same manner, until they were all unroofed,
revealing in one instance, beside the: four squaws_ hud-
dled together, a great copper kettle, filled with some sort
of soup, which was simmering and steaming over a sluw
fire. Having caught the handle of this with his grap-
pling-iron, the discharge of a little, ballast enabled him to
emply its contents. through the tree-tops, in the hope of
scalding Out one or more of the skulkers underneath.

He was apparently, successful, for there was a sudden
squeal, followed by one.of the redskins staggering into
view, shrugging and rubbing his bare shoulders ata great
rate; aud before he could regaiu.the cover of the*timber
Sam had dropped the line, brought his gun to the shoul-
der, and, the Indian Was sped on his way to the lappy
hunting grounds,

“Two out of four ain’t bad, considerin’ we ain’t been at
it over haif-an-hour,” said Sam. ‘Ah, if we could only
lift up that Jittle house into which they’ve locked the Jady
it would be something like, wouldn’t it???

“Yes; but, of course, it must be fastened to the ground,”’
said the professor. ‘‘Neveriheless, 1 can see the captive
signalling to us from the one little window at the side,
though iUs hardly big enough for her to stick her head
out of”? :

“She’s wavin’ arag at-us,’’ said Sam. “What can she
mean ?”?

“Onl? cried Fayaway, seizing his arm, and speaking
with much yvehemence, ‘‘droppy downy much. iron big
thing. Prairie Blossom wantee to muth say some
things.”

“Well, why the devil don’t she say ’em then?” said
Sam, oljusely. ‘‘We’re in ear-shot, ain’t we?’

“Ohl you much. stupid big foolish goose!’’ cried the
maiden, laughing, aud snatching the line from his hand,
sie lowered the grapnel directly before the little window,
where.a fair hand reached out and drew it in; and when
it was released again, something white was attached Lo

“By gingo! you're smarter’n me, Fayaway!’’ said the
hunter, admiringly. ‘‘1t’s a message!’

Aud he began to pull it up from the groung; but before
he had got it half way up, there, was. heard a series of
harsh shouts frum one of the many harrow gorges open-
ing into the Canyon, and the next moment, Firefvot, the
renegade, with his adherents at his heels, dashed into
view, their staggering steeds and generally woe-begone
appearance atlesting to the extreme haste they had
made,

One of the Indiaus rushed out from the timber and
cemmunicated hurriedly with the chief, probably inform-
ing him that the captive was securely fastened in the
house, for he appeared to be greatly relieved.

But. as Sam handed the line to Fayaway, and, bringing
his gun. to bear again, emptied one of the saddles in a
breath, the entire party saw the prudence of seeking
cover at once, and were speedily out of sigit.

Sam sank back in the car wilh a bitter groan-and a
curse, 4

‘Now, we are done for,’? he muttered, ‘and must loaf
around here all day.”

“But no—no—readie, readie papie,”? cried Fayaway,
who lad drawn up the grapnel, which Sam atthe mo-
ment had forgotten all about, and now thrust into his
hand a bit of Jinen which had been fastened to the iron.

“Oh, yes!’ cried tbe bubter; ‘here, professor, you can
make out these pot-hooks and hangers better. than I. Iv’s
written in red ink, ain’t it???

‘‘Poor—poor child!’ said the -old man, impressively,
closely examining the fraginent handed him; ‘it is writ-
ten with a pointed stick, andin her own blood.” Hetlen
read as foliows: j

“OH, FRIENDS. In Heaven's name, do not desert the
DROE Fane. tliS wime, LOWwever dark her oullook may
seer

“I see that your noble batioon. is strong enough to lift
the Indian lodges from the ground, with apparent ease.
_ “Why not try to raise the litile. house in which Iam
imprisoned? it is very sight, the sides apd roof being
made of nothing out driea skins, and its floor is not
fastened into the ground. MOLLIE CHAPMAN.’

“By orimminy! why didn’t we think of that afore)’

 

eried Rocky Mountain Sam, again flinging the grappling-
iron overboard.

But now—whether they suspected his intention or not,
which was, however, doubt{ul, cansidering the very sub-
stantial appearance of the house in question—the Indians
began to open fire upon the balloon trom the timber.

Bullets and arrows whizzed unconifortably near the
occupants of the car, and oue of the shafts, cutting the
line cleverly in two, caused the grapnel to fall, with a
clanging raitie, to the ground, ;

A little shriek from theinterior of the house showed
the painful interest taken by its occupant in the proceed-
ings.

“Al! but she doesn’t know that we've got a few more
left of the same’ sort,’ mutteréd Sam, making anotler
grapnel fast to the severed line, and tying the other end
to the car. ‘Professor—Fayaway—be ready with them
sand-bags when I sing out.”

CHAPTER XVII.
THE RESCUE—AN EXCITING BUFFALO HUNT.

Sweet is the hour to eyes long wont

To breathe the air through prison bars,
When, new-baptized at freedom’s font,

Above him gleam the uatrammeled stars,
And every wind that sweepsthe land
Is like a soft, caressing hand. :

Rocky Mountain Sam again swung down the grapnel,
and after considerable difficult angling, succeeded in
making it fast to some of the stout thongs that went over
the roof of the little house, binding down and seaming
the skins of which it was composed, there being just
about sufficient line to perform the operation success-
fully. ;

“Now, heave out your ballast!’ he cried, letting go
the line, and‘he himself bending ’to assist at that work.

Overboard flew the saud-bags, and upward strained aud
tugged the great balloon with all its power,

The house resisted at first, then trembled and swayed
from side to side, and then rose bodily from the ground,
while the white hand at the window continued to wave
encouragement, and the occupants of the car set upa
great shout of triumph.

But Firefootand his companions seeing the stratagem
when too late to avoid it, rushed out of cover. Only one
redskin, however, succeeded iu grasping the lower part ol
the house. \

‘‘Tlands off!) growled Sam, bringing his rifle to the
shoulder, aud the next igstaut the Warrior relinquished
his hold with a bullet in his brain, and the litle house
swung Clear and high from the ground.

“Moré ballast!’ delightedly cried the hunter, dropping
another Indian in his wacks before the car rose out of
range, “By cracky! if this ain’t goin’ into the real estate
business i a new fashion, Pd like to know whatis. We’ve
got @ pre-emption claim on that shanty or there’s no
smoke in the devil’s pipe.”

They were now soaring very high, and, looking below,
could see the renegade and his followers standing amid
the ruins of the village in Sitent despair.

“Itig rather hard on the rascal,’? commented the White
Hermit, ‘to have fought 80 long and desperately—to have
waded knee-deep in» blood for his object, and now Lo see
his prize wafted away from under his very nouse.”’

“) reckon hetil make another fight for it some time or
another,’ said the young hunter, beginuing to climb over
the side of the car. “The ferce he breughut out at Miry
Fork ain*t a patehin’ tothe army of redskins he can raise
in the course of time. Nowy; l’m goin’ down to bring up
the Prairie Blossom. Be ready to lower auother line
when I siug out thatI wantit. Here goes!

‘Me go, tool? cried the Indian maiden, springing for#

ward, excitedly; but Sam laughingly motioned her back,
and she, together With old Max, wus compelled to waich
him in his descent.

Sam was almost as much at home on a rope as a sailor.
He slipped lightly down over the yawning abyss, and in
a few seconds was standing upon the root of the house.
To cut out a skylight with his hunting-kunife was but the
work of another minute, and in one more he had dropped
through the-hole and was standing before the occupaut.

Miss Chapmam uttered a scream of joy, and almost
threw herself into his arms. She then stuggered back and
sank upon one of the stools that wentto make up the
scanty furniture of the single réom, and turned white,
pressing her hanudtoherheart. The joy was too much
for her. ;

“Come, my dear girl!” cried Sam, cheerily; ‘‘your
troubles are over at last and allis well. That’s right,’ he
added, as she burst into tears; ‘*l never cry, myself, but L
know that that sort of salt water is sometimes precious
good fora woman.’’? And hé went on to tell her that her
father and lover were both well, as well as other items
which could not fail to cheer her, and making no mention
of the many lives her rescue had cost.

“Forgive my weakness!’ said she, presently, wiping
hereyes and standing up, ‘Oh! how canl thank you,
you fine, noble fellow ?? :

“By not sayin’ anything about it,’? was the hearty re-
ply. ‘Come, now, you must prepare to be hauled up into
the car. Litthe Fayaway is there, and she wants to see
the Prairie Blossom.so much i fear she will jussp over-
board, or out of her skin, before you get there.”

Upon his calling out at the aperture in the roof a rope
was lowered to him, which he made fast under the young

lady’s shoulders, at the same tme bidding her Lothave no’

fear when she should find herself suspended between
lleaven and earth. i

in afew minutes thé Prair
inthe car With little. a)
breast, ond Sam was not Joli

    

SS

will furnish only another illustration of the truth of the
old saying: ‘Faint heart never won fair lady,’ fora braver
and more devoted young officer never lived.”

The fair girl blushed, but Sam saved her further con-
fusion by exclaiming:

“Jerk the throttile-valve, professor; we’re directly over
the camp.”? .

The occupants of the camp—which had been removed
from the immediate vicinity of the battle-field to a little
hill that overbrowed a running brook of clear and spark-
ling water—had seen the return of the balloon from afar
off, and had passed many curious speculations upon the
nature of the stfange object dangling at the end of the
car; but when tley made it out unmistakably to be noth-
ing less than a house, their surprise knew no bounds,

“Loosen Uiat ere grapnel,’? sung out Sam, as the little
edifice geraped along ever the rough ground.’ And then,
when this had been done: ‘Look out for the anchor be-
low therel gnd be ready to land the ladies.’ Ladies!

The word brought the tired hunters—especialy Lieuten-
ant Datton—to their feet, as if by magi¢.

In a few minutes therealter the alr-voyagers had landed,
and Mollie Chapman was sobbing and weeping in her
lover’s arms. *

_Such a shout-ds swelled abroad from that hunter band
at thesight of the precious prize for whom its gallant
members had toiled and suffered and fought and bled, was
probably never heard beforé in the wilderness of Mon-
tana. But such meetings can be better imagined than de-
scribed.

*

 

* * * * * *
“Wall, pard,’? said Big Horn, grasping his papil’s hand
with the force of a grizzly’s paw, ‘‘you’ve did bully well,
efI say itas oughtn’tto. An’ how’s the leetle gal—the
silver brick, eli??? he continued, turning to Fayaway, who
bashfully hung behind, her loyer, clutching him by the
skirt of his hunting-frock.
“Look here, Big Horn,” said Sam, coloring a little, and
speaking in a low vuice, “E.wish you wouldn’t, d’ye un-
derstand f”?

“Wouldn’t what, pard ?"?

“Why, be so free and easy with Fayaway,’’ said the
other, hesitatingly. ‘You see, she don’t like it, an’ no
more do I, and——”

But here, as it gradually dawned upon Big Horn that
his friend was actually growing jealous of him, he inter-
rupted him with such thunders of laughter that the ground
seemed,to tremble under their feet.

“Oh, ho, hol’? roared the giant, “that ere’s ‘too good,
pard. Why, why, 4 meanter guy her away to you when
you, an’ the brick, an’ the parson, an’ all hands, is ready.
Ho, ho, hol” .

“All right, then,” said Sam, considerably mollified, and
looking a little shame-fuced. ‘Come, Fayaway, let us go
up.to the fire, an’ see if they’ve got any grub; I’m half
starved. What!’ he exclaimed, putting on a long face as
he reached tke yiandless fire, ‘‘uary a sign of grub, when
the buffaler air almost walkin’ Over you?”

“No,” said one of the men, ‘and, wiat’s more, we’re
all about as hungry as you; only thehosses is so banged
up they couldu’t run down a prairie-dog.”?

“Here, professor!’ cried Sam; ‘we must take another
Wist in the gas-bag, au’ get some game. All hands are
starvin’ to death.’? :

“Very goodl!? responded the old.man, with alacrity.
“Jump aboard, then. I must say the sight of them buffa-
lo makes me feel a little peckish myself,”

“What are they going to do?” said Miss Mollie, who had
strayed up with her lover in time to heara few words that
had passed. ‘Here, Fayaway, you are not to go; you're
tostay with me now that I have got you. Surely,
Charles, they can’t hunt buffalo in a balloon ?””

“Well, [don’t know about that,’? replied the young of-
ficer, laughing; “I’ve seen so many wouderful perform-
ances on the part of that old balloon that I would not be
prepared to deny its capacity of doing anything extraor-
dinary or strange. I know, at auy rate, that Rocky Moun-
tain Sam has already cauglit deer, grizzlies and panthers
with it; so why nota lordly bison as well? But let us
follow the rest of them to the summit of yon hummock,
and view what takes place. We slall witness some rare
sport, depend upon it.” ’

When’ they reached the top of the hummock, upon
which the greater part of the party had already congrega-
ted, the balloon was already in the air, and careering
toward the feeding herd, with the basket swinging about
twenty feet from the gronnd, Sam getting ready his rifle
and lariats, while the professor was working away at the
fan-whee}; for tiie ground-wind was not exactly favorable
to the sport.

The buffalo were. feeding in immense numbers. The
leader of the herd, an enormous bull, seemingly twice as
big asa yoke of ordinary oxen, raised his head and
snuffed the air a little suspiciously at the approach of the
balloon; but, as he had never encountered danger or
treachery in such a disguise before, and very likely never
expected to do 80 aguiu, he wenton cropping the grass,
and apparently unapprehensive of danger, until the car
was rushing directly over the backs of the herd.

Then a shot from Sam’s rifle, bringing down a fine half-
grown calf at his very side, seriously changed the tenor
of his ruminations, and the whole herd was at once in tu-
mult, the animals galloping off at the top of their speed,
the earth trembling at their ffead, and their humps rising
and falling like the billows of an angry sea. ;
~ Sam, who had had his eye upon the great bull from the
first, hurled his lariat, but missing the prime object of his
cast, only succeeded in Lipping up a fine cow, which he

Bipssom Was safe lodged easily dispatched by a few pistol-balis behind the shoul- )U

der, but had to cut lcose his lariat in order to be freed

ihae hn were . pm be from the dead weight of the carcass.

ek ( ,
Ne an re 7 -} ‘The pursuit had now led them about three mites from
“Are you ready to cat the house adrif?” said the pro- aie! at ; 4 ; vtiater
essor, unsheathilg lisknife, whew Same Nastily stayed his: the spectators; but asthe balloon flew much faster than
; st 7 > t i ae EM

thand. eri

“What would you de?? héeried. “The house’ contains
a ‘bed, ‘table a’ ovher fixins; au’? we find no trouble in
carryifi’ it. ‘Why not take it back to camp for the gals to
sleep inj eh??? ,

‘“) have no objections,’ said the professor, ‘‘only it
looks yather ridiculbas to be seen toting’a house through
vite sky, 2y OW koji)?

“Ridiculous!’ | repeated Sam, with a regular horse-
lagi .oWiy, old man, if all the capers us we've seed
tis ‘gas-bag cutup,uuder our direction, would have
seéme@ AS realas our flyin’? away with this'’Shanty, Vd
give you my head; or, What's even worse, Pd be willit’?
Yo listen to Uwatere long-winded yarn of yourn bout the
Souls Pole. | Bust me, if 1 wouldn't! Ladies, yowd best
kivet Your) slroulders with Some of these Wraps. We’re
about three miles high and {|b air cold.”

They Willingiy! followed his advice; and then, the
whilom captive; with Fayaway’s hand still clasped in
hers, lobked ‘over the side of the car in a sort of stupor of
surprise. ‘She hal never made afi ascent in a balloon be-
fore, and, apart from'the novelfy aud beauty of the won-
derful panoranraltiat fileeted below, as they driffed nia-
jestically souttiward, she as‘yet Could scarcely realize her
good fortunein escaping from her captivity—which, by
the way, had not been 80 harsh as she might have ex-

ected.

They left the mountains behind, and below them
stretched the broad and rolling plains.

“What are tliose little black specks moving about upon
the ground?’ she dreamily asked of Sam.

*Buffaler!” cried-he, with enthusiasm; “and I reckon
they’Il have some of it broilin’ for us by Lae time we reach
the camp. Ain't you huugry?”?

“Very.??

“Soum I!’ By hooky! I feelas if I could eat a bull
hump of one of them critters. But really, Miss Mollie,
they haven’t been starvin’ you—them chaps—haye they?’
he asked, in an earnest Lone.

‘Ol, nol? she replied, “Indeed, without considering
the fatigue I was forced to undergo in acconipanying
them in their headlong flights, they have not been alto-
gether unkind ‘to me. Even my principal captor has
never been wanting in respect toward ine, bad as he js.’

“The infernal villain! exclaimed oid Max, who had
been withiu ear-shot; “but never miud,-Miss Chapman.
He will receive his deseris.”

“I believe him to be insane,’? said the young lady,
quietly.

“What ?? exclaimed Sam, in astonishment.

But the professor said:

‘indeed, miss, | have more than once heard your father
express the same opinion evenin the heat of his anger.”

“I caunot think otherwise,” said she. ‘During ail of
the interviews TF have had with him during my captivity,
he has every now and tlven broken off from the thread of
his discourse, and began torave about his mother in the
wildest, Strangest and amost ‘unuccountable manner. 1
believe iis mother was made a captive. by the Indians
many years ago, and tliat he has been seeking for her
ever siice. He seemed to forget all about my presence
when he began to barp npol (his string, and? from his
ravings I gathered thut the hunter Big Lorn has sone
knowledge of the mother’s whereabouts, but wilf not in-
form the sen, out of reveuge, or from some such nidtive.”

liere a joyful exclamation from Fayaway attracted the
attention of all.

‘“Lookee, Prairie Blossom! lookee, white campee all
right-very much,’ she cried,

“Yes; there is our camp, sure enough,’ said the pro-
fessor, directing Mollie's gaze to sume white speck on
the southern horizon. “Ibis uot yet noon, and we have
not been away from it for more than. four hours. In half-
an-honr more, you will-doublless be with your—I mean,
with Lieutenant Dutton,”

“T can liardly realize Wt,” murmured the young gir,
her happy tears flowing @ freslr.

“Yes; an’ jist look at the buffaler!” shouted the irre-
pressible Sam, dancing about in the car, and clapping his
his hands. “Why, they’re browsin’ within a mile or two
of the‘camp. Even the battle ofjyesterday and list night
don’t seein to have scared ’em away a bit.”?

“A battle! has there been a battle?’ said Miss Chap-
man, turniug pale.

‘Yes, miss, and @ very severe one,’’ said old Max,
gravely. t

‘And then, thinking it best to prepare her at once. for
many of the ghasthy scenes which she would necessarily
have to encounter, he gaye her, in as few words as possi-
ble, the details of the confkets that had taken place,

“And all these torrents of human Ulood’ shed for mel”?
she excivimed, iu horror, “Onl woe, woe is me.’

“But, niy dear child, it would have been shed sooner or
later, whether you lad beet stolen or not,” said the pro-
fessor, soothingly. ‘The Blackfeet devils have been pre-
paring fer a war for months; and, thank Heaven! they
have received a blow from Which they will not recover in
ahiurry. More than half their fighting force was engaged
in these dattles. and fully three-fourths of those were slam
or wounded:

“Ay; but oO: Our own party ??

_ “Weill,’? was the rather meful reply, “there is no deny-
ing that ouriallant band suffered severely. But one thing
l cun say, Miss Molie’—a httle more yallantry intoned
than one might have expected on the part of the pinijo-
sophical hero of the Antarctic ice-barriers—‘‘should Licu-
lelaut Patton sili meet with your favor in the juve, he

pkhe game, it soon, succeeded in leading them off and send-
ing them whirling back in the directly opposite direction
—that is, toward the crowded hummock; and the bailoon
now having the wind more fairly upon her quarter, was
more easily managed.

Ou swept the vast lerd, with clouds of dust and the
thunder of many hoofs, and the hunters on (he hill got
their rifles ready to attack their flank when it should
come within range,

Again Sam fired, and another young bison dropped in
its tracks; and then, still intent on the mighty leader of
the herd, lie Cast another lasso, with better success this
time, ane npoused the old fellow about tlie horus,. The
monster bellowed with rage, but, made no halt, dragging
balloon and car after himin his plauging Tush, as if it
were no more than a lad’s kite. .

But almost at the same instant that this was effected,
the professor, whose blood was aroused, but who lad not
a great deal of experience in the hunting line, threw out
a grapnel at hap-hazzard, and the houks, by the straugest
chance in the world, caught and got securely twisted in
the bushy tail of an old stag-neckeu cow, who also contin-
ued her mad career; and the balloon, thus towed along
by a double team, and partially against the wind,
flopped over on ils side, almost scraping the backs of the
reinuinder of the herd, while the car was almost capsized,
the Occupants having to cling tu the sides to save them-
selves from being tossed out, which would have been
certain death beneath the myriads of trampling hoofs
Lhat were thundering on from behind.

Their position would have been a most ludicrous one,
under Other Circumstances, but us matiers stood it was
uo joke to either Sam or the professor.

“Don’t lose your grip, or we’re goners, professor!” Sam
called out. “This is tue worst I ever see,’’

“Itis a remarkable experience iu natural history,” re-
marked tle old aeronaul, philosuphical to the lust, though
he was hanging on by a very precarious hold, and the lit-
tie stove—foriunately there was no fire in iti—which had
shifted its position at the outset, was resting rather un-
comforiably on his stomach, while his Conical cap was
jammed over his eyes, and acoil of ropes und blankets
was (willed about IHs neck. ‘Our only hope is to wait
ublil the animuljs halt from sheer exhaustion.”

The hunters, as the great herd approached, had begun
to blaze away at it with more or less effect, aud Could only
laugh at the predicamentin which their friends were
placed, but they soon ceased when they saw tle real na-
ture of the danger, and neither Moilie nor Fayaway could
suppress & screall.

“Room, thar, room!’ cried Big Horn, elbowing his way
through the crowd just as the balluou was being dragged
past the hummock with the speed of the wind.

His rifle few to his shonider and the balloon was at
once partiaily relieved, as his shot sheered off the cow’s
tall almost at the root, Then dropping his gun, and set-
ting his hunting-knife between hus. teeth, he sprang for-
ward at the great bull’s throat.

He missed it, and the next instant would have been
dashed to pieces by the cir had he not made e# virtue of
necessity aud—inissing the throat—caught ‘the tail, He
was at once cirried off his feet, his forin Standing out a
stitf horizontal, ike’ a& pointer’s tuil,as he was hurled
along, but he never let go his liold, aud still held the knife
between his iron jaws.

Slowly, haud over hand, he climbed his way up the cau-
dal appendage, and when at last its owner set his footin
a prairie-log’s hole and stuinbled a single bound served
to set. the .iunter on his buck. The bison was up and
away again in a trice, luwermg his head, snorting and
bellowing, but - Big Horn stuck on like a panther, and
drawing the Knife from his mouth plunged it to the hilt
just beliind the left shoulder-biade. Again he stumbled
and again went on, but again and again tle long knife
entered his side, aud at Jast he plunged forward head-first
upon the plain—dead,

Tne balloon aid car righted to their natural positions,
Big Morn coolly slid off the bull’s back, and Sam and the
professor Jooked aboutin a dazed aud bewildered way,
white the hunters set up a hearty cheer in which were
blended the feebier yuices of Mollie Chapman and little
Faya way.

“The worst I ever see!” said Sam, scrambling down to
the ground when the balloon had bee securely anchored.
“Pard, give me your pawl. Lord knows What would have
become of us if it hadu’t been for you.’

“Even my experiences at the South Pole hardly offered
me such a rare study in natural history as this of to-day,’’
blaudiy observed the professor, whose white garments
sul bore the marks of the stove that had rested upou his
lap. ‘it was interesting aud instructive to (he last de-
gree.”

“Well, we've got beef cnough for sometime; that is one

fallen bull, Knife in band,

“We hud better all inake haste with our meals,’ said
old Max, ‘for Sam and I will have to return to our little
canyon this evening for a fresh supply of gas, aud to-
morrow we Will be ready to carry Miss Mollie to her fa-
ther’s aris,

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

fae Eb tiple ,
SAVED BY HER BLOOD.—In Grace Gordon’s romantic
story, Ihe heroive enacts a noble part by sacrificing -her-

seif that her best beloved inay be sayed. This begutifui
sory will be comumenced in No. &l.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

consolation,” said Sam, making for the Carcass of the.

 

moe

USEFUL
HINTS FOR THE HOME CIRCLE.

To wash white silk stockings, put on some soft
water to heat, and while on the fire cut into it slices of the best
yellow soap, so as to make a good lather. Put the stockings into
the water while it is pretty warm but not sealding, and well wash
them in two such waters; then riuse them wel! in lukewarm
water, having ready a second rinsing water, in which put a litle
bluing, not the common kind, bug such as is used for muslins and
lace, or, if preferred, rose pink, which isbought at the drug-
gist’s, and used in the same manner ag the bluing, by putting itin
a piece of flannel and squeezing ft into the water, After rinsing,
put them between toweis till they hecome somewhat dry; then
place them on a'small sheet or tabie cloth, laying them out
quite smooth and flat, a8 when boniglt (it is better to tack them»
to the gheet with needle and thread), and turning the sheet over
them, have them mangled. They ought never to be ironed, ag
the hot yon is sure to make them yellow. If no mangle is at
hand, thp best plan js to putthem (say four or six stockings) over
each other, between a plain piece of calico or linen, lay them on
a,stone-door step, and beat them with arolling pin. No sodp or
wushing powder should be allowed to come near them, andthey
must be done quickly, and not left lying about.

A simple way to mdke a very fine paste is to dis-
solve a teaspoonful of alum in a. quart of water. When cold,
stir in as much flour as will give if the consistency of thick cream,
being particular to beat up all the lumps; stir in as much pow-
dered rosin as will lay on a dime, and throw in half a dozen
cloves to give ita pleasant odor. Have on the fire a tea cup of
boiling water, pour the mixture into it stirring well at the time.
In afew minutes it will be of the consistency of mush. Pour it
into an earthen or china vessel; let.it cool; lay a cover on, and
put it in'ajcool place. When needed for use, take out a portion
And soften with warm water. Paste thus made will last twelve
months. It is better than gum, as it does not gloss the paper and
can be written on.

To make a simple barometer, take acommon wide-
mouthed bottle, such as 1s used for pickles, fill it to within a few
inches of the top with water. Then take a common long-necked!
flask, such as is used for oil, and plunge the neck of it Into the
eee bottle as far as it will go, and the barometer is made. In

ne weather the water will rise into the neck of the flask even
higher than the pickle bottle; in wet and windy weather it will
fall to within an inch of the mouth of the flask. Before a heavy
gale of wind the water has been seen to leave the flask altégetber
at least eight hours before the gale came.to its hight.

A grindstone ‘should not be exposed to the
weather, as it not only injures the wood-work, but the sun’s rays
harden the stone so much as, in time, to render it useless. Neither
should it stand in the water in Which it runs, as the part remain-
ing in water softens so much that it wears unequally, and this is
a common cause of grindstones becoming “tout of true.”

To loosen stoppers, pour a few drops of cold!
water on the topof the decanter, and allow it a minute or so to
penetrate between the stopper and the decanter; then gentl
agitate the stopper with the hand until it Jooseus, which it will
immediately. .

OUR KNOWLEDGE Box.

uae We take pleasure in responding to every question addressed
to us in this column, for the answers generally attord information
not only to the parties especially seeking it, but also to the mass
of our readers; but with the increase of our cirenlation has grown
the number of questions soliciting answers by mail. ‘hese 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 defray the expenses necessarily incurred.

 

 

 

 

QUESTIONS. ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
Washerwoman.—To GLAZE SHIRT Bosoms.—To every quart of
starch add a teaspoonful of salt and a teaspoonful of white soap
scraped very fine. Boil all together until you have the starch as
thick as you pleasc....... Cora L. H.—To REMOVE MILDEW FROM
LINEN OR MusLin.—Here are two methods: 1. Wet the spotted
part witha solution of chloride of lime, or chlorine water, and
the stain will immediately disappear; then wash out in warm)
water. 2. Mix some soitsoap with powdered starch, half as
much salt, and the juice of ajsemon; layit on the spotted part
with a brush, then let the article ie on the grass day and night!
till the stain comes out....... Constant Keader.—To muke OTTAWA)
ROOT BEER, see,No. 38 of Vol. 28........ M, Tummer.—Yes.......-
Alma,—l. Glycerine and bay rum will help the hair. 2. Clipping)
tne eyelushes to make them grow long is simply an experimen
which sometimes has the desired effect, and sometimes mars
their beauty—they not attaining the same iength again. It may
, peed succeed witli cliildren, but not with adults. 3. Pow-

ered nitre, 4, Lodine. 5. Lunar caustic will remove moles, but
be careful not to touch the skin. 6 Glycerine and lemon juico
will soften and whiten the skin. 7. We know nothing concernin
it. 8. It is quite neat and pretty...... A he n> We cannot ai
you..Jane P.—1, When you wash use diluted spirits of ammonia.
2. Itis not in book form...... Hazelion.—1. Wécanuottell you. 2.

Jolorado. 3.) Purification of theblood. Try sulphur or sarsapa-
Fi Rec 5< 5 H. R. Warner.—Chere are works on the subject. Write
to the New YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency...... W. €.—See
No, 25 of the present volame....J.H. K.—l. Norecipe. 2. About
a dollar...... S. Frankenburger.—MARKING INK.—The tollowing
ink is of service for marking linen, with a stencil plate: Two parts
of nitrate of silver, four parts distilied water, two and a half
parts gum-arabic, three parts of carbonate of soda crystals, and
five parts of liquid ammounia.... Annie Angelo.—Sce No. 42.......
Inez.—1. Castor oil will sometimes remove pimples. Take a dose
occasionally. 2, Clear aleohol is too stroug jor the hair. Dilute
it. Castor oil, used in moderation, will promote the growth of
the Nair: 26... gh S. MH. L.& Co., and’ Harry.—\. Hair that is not
inclined to curl cannot bemade to curl permanently. Whem
once curled with the curling tongs, flaxseed tea will keep it im:
curl as Jongas anything. elsé. 2. Charcoal powder will whiten.
the teeth; butuse it sparingly. ‘To preserve the teeth use a little
good toilet soap occasionally. 3. Giycerine aud lemon piece will
soften‘amdeaviiten the skin. 4. Gymnastic exercises woukl help
7On so . B, @t—DnTaTioN Lemon Jvuice.—Citric or tartaric
‘acid, 2 4 ounGes; gum, half an ounce; pieces of fresh lemon
‘peel, theée-quarters of an ounce; loaf sugar, two ounces; boiling:
Water, One quart.' Macerate with occasional agitation till cold,
-and strain. Instead of.the lemon peel you can use, if you like, a
few dropsefthe oil of lemon...... A. H. B.—YVo CoLoR GLOVES.—

a oOrhavera Jargenumber of gloves to voior, it is better
: ke them to a dyer’s. Brown er tan colors are
ves by the following process: Steep saffron in
‘for about tWelve hours; then, having slightly

     
   
   
 

sewed mops of the gloves to prevent the dye staining the
inside over with a sponge or soft brush dipped into the
liquid. .. Thee@] tity of saffron, as well as of water, will of
course dcpenéien how much: dye may be wanted, and their rela-

tive proportions on the depth of color required. A common!
teacup will contain sufficient in quantity for a single pair of
gloves...... Clarence M.—A Goop POMADE,—A pemade composed
of the tolluwing ingredients will prevent the hair from falling
out, promotes its growth, and makesit seft aud glossy: Two
ounces of white wax, half an ounce of palm oil, a flask of the
best olive oil; mix thoroughly over aslow fire, then stir it till
nearly cold, and add one ounce of castor oil anda small quantity
of any perfume desired...... Briest.—We cannot inform you.....
E. HM. B.—SCOLLOPED OYSTERS.—Take, say filty oysters, half a
baker’s loaf crumbed, two eggs boiled hard, salt and cayenne
pepper to taste. Clop the eggs very fine and mix with the
crumbs. Cover the bottom of a deep pie-dish, with the eggs and
crumbs, then, with a fork, place a layer of oysters with two on
three small pieces of butver, and so: continue until all are in, re-
serving sufficient crambs for the coyer. A little mace may be
added, if desired. Bake in a quick oven about halt an hour.
Serve hot...... R. J. U—1. Tlie lair will grow again it removed.
Let it remain. 2, Red precipitate, mixed with a little pomade
will kill head verinin........ M. M. W.—Yo get rid of ants scatter
Sresh powdered borax around the intested places...... Halta.—To
remove printing ink from any article use ether or oil of turpen-
tine. Pure benzine will also have a simular effect..... Cricket.—1.
Eat food containing the most starch and sugar. 2. It is fair.....

Coggin.—1.. Tujevtiuns of salt! and water will remove pin worms
from children. 2. Purify the blood by the aid of sarsaparilla og
sulphur......: Intercst.—Vhie article is said tu be excellent....... ‘

G. P..Go—b. “GREEN CORN PUDDING.—Grate closely twelve ears
of green corn; pul the graungs with a quart of milk into a cov-

ered till pail, and setitina Kettle of boiling gwater; when hot)
strain trough a wire sieve, crushing will aspoon any particles
of pulp that will not pass through; add a teacupful of sugar,
and tie beaton yolks of four eggs; pour back in the pail and stir
tilLhot, but do not let it boil. Their stir in acoffeecupiul of rolled

crackers and a piece of butter the size of anegg. Pour all into

a buttered pudding-pan, and bake till a good brown; then spread
the top with the wintes of four eggs: beaten stiff, and mixed with
aeup of sugar. Letitstand in the oven till the icing is cooked

but not browned. 2. GREEN CORN Pi£.—Prepare as above, and
bake witha short under crust. If preferred, six eggs may be
used toeight long ears; but most persons like it best with but

four, as then the taste of corn predominates....H, A.—See No. 45..4

L. E. E.—CaR& OF THE FExEt.—The best remedy for cold feet_is te

) dip them every night and morning in a basin of Cold water, aud

ailerward rub them dry with acoarse towel. To harden the
feet, taunic acid has been used avid success. “Employ it in the
proporuon of five grains'to\a fluid ounce of water, ‘lo correct
offensive smell of the tect, bathe them in a weak solution of per
mahginate of potassa; one scruple to eight ounces of water
For apsorbing excessive perspiration of. the feet, mix together
seven ounces of the carbonate of magnesia, two cunces cf pow-
dered calcined alum, seyen ounces of orris root, andbalf a dram
of powdered cloves...... Janct McIver.—PINE-APPLE JAM.—Pare
the pine-apples, and grate orshred them with a silver tork. To
every five pounds of fruit add three pounds of Joaf sugar. Put
the whole on the fire and boil about three-quarters ot au hour
Stir all the time it is boiling. When cold put in jars with paper
on top and tie close. Keep inadry, cvol place. Thisis the only
reci.e we have. Try it.....Pilgariéic.—We knew of no cure.....
Barber .—Tuis correspondent, wie is only, 21 years of ag’, com-
plains that his hair is already turning gray. We would advise
him to have it cut short, and to brush it well every mght and
morning. If,aceustomed to use oil, mix a little castor oil with
bay rum, and rub it well into the roots. ....... BL C.—Yo Make
PEANUT AND COGOANUT CANDIES.—One cup ol sugar, one cup ef
treacle, aud a piece of butter an inch square. Boil it till*it will
rope, then stir in halt a teaspoonful of suda, and pour itimme-
diately into a butter dish. When itis cool, pull it out and cut it
into strips. This recipe, by a judicious admixture of well-roast-
ed split peanuts With the other ingredients, will produce excel-
lent peauut candy. By substituting the best sirup and a greater
quantity of sugar jt will also do for cocoanut candy...... alfred,
Hard to Beat, Merchant, A Jersey Man, Colleen Bawn, J. Wi,
W. A. S8., Chicago, T. H. M., Information, Roxbury, W. J. Wi,
M. A. S., Leat Tobacco, Lady Mildred, On the Luokout, J. F. Ki,
Kitchen, Wastingtouian, A Censtant Revder, Aquatic:—Your
letters have been received, and will be answered as soon as pos-

sible.
MEDICAL, DEPARTMENT,

Medical Questioner.—Your troubles are too numereus and of
too grave a Nature to be treated without personal atiendance.
We advise you to consult another physician. '

Wrestling Joe-—We have no recipe that we can recommend for
the removal of pitting and old pock-niarks, In No. 38 of the
present volume a recipe Was published, but we distinctly and
emphatically stated that we could not vouch for its effi¢acy er
safety. Let your face alone,

B. L. S—A remedy for FEVER AND AGUE will be found jin No:
88 of the present volume. _.

Lionel Leslie.—For DROPSY AND INFLAMED EYELIDS, see No. 37
of the present volume. :

In Trouble.—Consuit another physician, if yeu have not already
done so, without delay. ;

* R. R.-For ASTHMA and BROCHITIS see No. 28 of the present
yoltume.

B. M. N.—Topacco CrAvVING.—A writer on the subject to
which you refer, suys; ‘It is impossible to quit the use of tobaceo
after it has become a setied nabit without more or less bad teel-
ing and prostration. The man who would tree himself from the
curse of 1obacco-using must make up his mind that be has a hard
struggle to puss through, call all his will and power, to his aid,
and resolve to quit it once and forever. The leaving off by de-
grees seldom succeeds. It is better to make the battle short,
sharp and decisive. A thorocgh course of bathing, to eliminate
tobaceo from the system, will make the struggle much less severe
and prove the greatest aid that-can be given. The Turkish baths
are Lest, if they ean be had. It mot accessible, the wet sheet,
pack or vapor bath should be taken instead. There will;not be
much appetite, and but little food should be taken, Fruit is best.
No drink but water, and that may be drank as freely as desired.
To allay the craving for tobacco, hol cold water or pieces of ice
in the mouth, Some persons chew gentian root or chamomile
flowers as a substitute for tobaeco.

._R. V.—L. You vrobably eat too much and too hurriedly.
Eat sparingly hereafter; and devote some time to your meals.
2. Let your {ast meal be very light. Lie on your right side.

Jack.—Yes; but your recovery will be slow. See No. 39 of the
present volume.

. F. F.—Tlie trouble is of too long standing for ordinary treat
ment. Consult a good physician.

Albert W. G., Squib, Ceylon, Kenton, Mercury, 0. F. N,, A. W.
W. Z., New Orleans, E, J., Allendale, Jchn Brown, New. Yorker,
M. D. C., Ed; Strauss, Froys, Anxious, Badger.—Your letters have
been received, and will be answered as soou as possible,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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oo

 

;
}
1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a

|
a
i
|

 

 

 

2) gi geil.

4

 

 

FREE!

_ Particulars free.

Organs & Melodians.

 

 

 

 

cease THE NEW YORE. WEEKLY. #3e—

 

 

    
 

    
    

\

SELTZER
\ Boi ASS

         

w30-13te.0.w. ° Sold by all Druggists.

; 7< RED, BLUE, WHITE,
GLASS CA RDS. Clear and Transparent.
Your name beautifully printed in GOLD on 1 doz. for 50c. pest-pd.
3 doz. $l,sample 10c.Agents outfit 25c. EK. JamMEs&Co.,Columbus,O

42-4e.0-w,

Red, Blue, White
ui ASS VISITING eee ana Transparent,
5 4 OUR NAME BEAUTIFULLY
x CAR OS i is ag in SOLm}
on 1 doz. for 5@c. post-paid oz. Sl. ust have Agents every
whens Outfits 250. Samples 3c. F. K. SMITH, Bangor, Maine.
46-4eow.
Fi! H. DAY, author of “Show Life.” Price twenty-five
cents. Copiously Illustrated. ROBERT M, DE WITT,
Publisher, 33 Rose Street, N. ¥. Copies mauled, posiage paid,
on receipt of price. 46-deow.

GENTS WANTED —New Chromos; Cherry Girls. The
d pair 50 cts. W. F. CARPENTER, Foxboro, Mass. 46-2eow

20 SHEETS OF CHOICE MUSIC, $1.

A ehoice selection of Vocal and Instrumental Music, by Strauss,
Lizt, Thomas and other popuiar Authors. Any ten miuiled for $1.
Send Stamp for Catalogue. Address,

oh iNd. W. HITCHCOEK, Publisher.
w46-10

No. 355 THIRD AVENUE, NEW YORK.
66 A Wonder-
THE CALLIOPE.” init
Musical Inusirument, on which you can piay any tune, Imitate
the noise of Animals, or the song of Birds, About nine inches in
length, made of Galvanized Metal. Price 25 cts., or 3 for 50 cts.,
post-paid. Address R. G. Costar, Box 423, Elizabeth, New J create

- FREE!! FREE!!!
An immense Descriptive Catalogue of the Best Novels, the Best
Song Books, the Best Music and the Best Plays, unequalled and
unattainable elsewhere, mailed free upon application to
M. DE WITT, Publisher,
46-4 33 Rose Street, New York.

RREER SAMPLE to Agents. Ladies Combination
Needle Book, with Chromos. . Send stamp,
45-13. DEAN & CO., New Bedford, Mass.

MON lh - MADE RAPIDLY with Stenciland KRey-
iN 1U Check Outfits. Catalogues, samples, full
particulars Free. §. M. Spencer, 117 Hanover st., Boston. 14-52t

Hi N. SQUIRE, 97 Fulton st., N, ¥.—Watches, Fine
e Jewelry, and Sterling Silverware, first quality, and sold on
ee prefits. Every article guaranteed. Diamonds a specialty.

 

 

 

IN BLACK; or, Sketches ef Minstrel Life. By CHAS.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GENTS WANTED.—Men or women. $34 a week or
$100 torteited. Vulesadle Samples free. Write at once to
26-52 F. M. REED, Eighth St., New York.

= Tit ie PER DAY atlome. Terms Free.’ Address
$5 I QO $20 GEO. STINSON & Co., Portland, Me. wl9-ly

Rifles, Shot Guns, Revolvers

of every kind. Send stamp for Tilustrated Price List to Great
Western GUN WORKS, Pittsburgh, Pa. 39-13

} A double-barrel gun, bar or front action locks; warranted gen-
uine twist barrels, and a good shooter, or no sale; with Flask,
Pouch and Wad-cutter, for $15. Can be sent C. ‘0. D. with

privilege to examine before paying bill. Send stamp for circular
a &50N, Gun Dealers, 238 Main st., Cincmnati, O.

P
Ww NT ‘a —AGENTS for the best selling articles
A he out. One dollar outfit given away to
those who ill become agents. J. BRIDE & CO.,
45-4. 69 Broadway, N. Y.
A MONTH SURE TO AGENTS

everywhere. 10 bestselling articles in the world.
Address J. BRONSON, Detroit, Mich. 46-13.

 

 

 

 

A WEEK TO AGENTS, SURE. FOURNEW
PATENTS. J. D. NESBITT, Foxboro, Mass. 47-4,

 

é

GEO. A. PRINCE & CO.

The Oldest, Largest, and Most. Perfect Manufactory in the
United States. ,

54,000

Now in use.

 

No other Musical Instrument ever obtained the same Popularity.
ba@> Send for Price Lists. ’

 

47.8. Address, BUFFALO, N. ¥.
AGENTS WANTED. Samples sent free
2 by mail. Two new articles, saleable as flour.
47-4. . Address ' N. H. WHITE, Newark, New Jersey.

 

7 A WEEK tocanvass for Vickery’s Fireside
2 Visitor. Cosis NOTHING to try it.
47-52. Pp. O. VICKERY & CO., Augusta, Maine.

10 ELEGANT PHOTOGRAPHS, 2%cents. Cata-
logues free. G. W. FISH & CO., Poruand,Ma 47-4,
By his comrade, D. W.

KET CARSON. Peters, U.S.A), the only

Authentic aud Authorized Lite published; 600 pages; beauti-
fully illustrated. Agents wanted everywhere. 20.000 already sold,
Circulars of all our works free.

47-4. Address DUSTIN, GILMAN & CO., Hartford, Conn.

AN ENTIRELY NEW ‘2

method is now adopted in the treatment of Hernia, The new
Elastic Truss, without Metal Springs, retains the rupture
securely at all times. lt is worn night and day with perfect ease,
and should not be taken off lll a permanent cure js effected.
Sold at a very moderate price. This New Truss is sent by mail
everywhere by THB ELASTIC TRUSS CO., No, 683 Broadway,
New York City, who also furnish full descriptive circulars free
on application.

LADIES, SAVE YouR DRESSES!

By Using “Smith’s Instant Dress Elevator.”

It loops the dress in the
Latest Style. It
changes the “tram” into
a “straightfront’: walk-
ing dress in one sec=
ond, and back again as

uickly! Can be changed

rom one dress to an-
other in two minuies
“They giveperfeet
satisfaction”? is the
verdict of 31 who try
them. They save
many times their
evust in oné dress. This
‘‘Blevator” is the only
one that will let the
dress down. alter be-
ing elevated.

CAUTION:

 

 

 

 

 
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
    
   
 
    
 
     
 
  

shows the tside of ski7't, with
“ELEVATOR” fixed in. ; Bewnre of EMIT A-~
TIONS, as they are ORSE than WORTHLESS!
See that each is stamped “Smith’s Instant Dress Elevator.” Price
45 cents cach, MALL FE - Wholesale, $30 per
ross. GREAT OF FER,.— O “Elevators” will be
given EX REE as a Premium to those who Subscribe for
“SMITH’S Lllustrated PATTERN BAZAAR”
one year, sending One Dollar and Ten Cents. Best and Cheapest
Fashion Book in the world. Send stamp: for Illustrated Cata-
logue. Address A. B ETTE SMITH
P.O. Box 5055. 914 Broadway, N

   
 

  

  

ATE sure'cure for FEVER & AGUE. Address Dr. J.
& J. SHAFFREY, Logansport, Indiana,

FOWLE’S
PILE AND HUMOR CURE.

I WARRANT ONE BOTTLE a perfect cure in all
the worst forms. of PILES, also too to five in LEPROSY, SCROFULA.
RHEUMATISM, SALT RHEUM, CATARRH, KIDNEY DISEASES and all
diseases of the SKIN, and the greatest BLOOD PURIFIER ever dis-
covered. Entirely vegetable! Send to me and take back your money
in all cases of fatiure, None for 16 years, H. D. FOWLE, Chemist,

oston. Sold everywhere. $1a bottle. Send for Circulars,

 

48-4t-eow
1 FARMS, 10 acres each, $20 each. Terms, $5
cash. Bulance to Express Co. on receipt of deed. If sold

wilt be retnrned. Send full name and resilience, with $5, to box
132, Midde Granville, New York.
OUR NAME beautifully printed on 50 extra fine cards,
45c., post-paid. J. DONALDSON,. Massillon, O
STU « TERING—no cure no pay. DR. With, of
the U, S. Stamineving Institute, wi/l reopen October ist,
Adiress Station F. New York.
PIUM EATING CURED without pain. Addres
Dr. P. B. BOWZER, Logansport, Indiana. id a
GEN €S—Fast selling Novelties, New Articles,
prices, Send for Cirenlar,
NOVELTY ©O., 30

SL

 

 

 

Ss les 25 NATION AI,
amples 25 cts. i

1 Broadway, N, Y. “33,
A DA Y.—Eimployment for all,
48-13 GEO. FELTON, 119 Nassau street, N. Y.

PLAYS! PLAYS!

Home Amusements. Send for a Gafalogue of 17,500.
SAMUEL FRENCH & SON, 122 Nassia St, N. Y.

3

Patent Novelties,

 

Catalogue, for 29 cts. J, JAY GOULD, Boston,Mass,

a ne arose

4 MEMORY.

BY DAN WILLIS.

 

Oh, sweet is the grace
Of that fair young face

That I never again shall see,
And bright was the smite
That shone on me white

I rowed toward the dark blue sea.
’Twas for only one day

- That I took thee away

or a sail down that beautiful stream,
But that day was so, sweet
That its mem’ry I greet

As a beautiful midsummer dream.

O’er the hifls dark and green
No clouds could be seen;

The day seemed e’en made for us two,
And love filled our hearts,
The pure love that imparts

A beauty to all that we view.
Oh, why raust we part,

Thou joy of my heart,

Can I e’er leve another like you?

Oh take me, my sweet,
And Fil lay at thy feet
A heart, faithful, loving and true.

THE SWEET
Sisters of Inchvarra;

 

DES
The Vampire of the Guillamores.
By Annie Ashmore, :

Author of FAITHFUL MARGARET, JENNIE
VAIL’S MISSION, etc.

(The “Sweet Sisters” was commenced in No. 35. Back num-
bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.|

CHAPTER XXIV.

Through a gloomy pass—one of the wildly romantic, but
savage Irish gaps—a flerce winter blast was blowing one
night late in November.

There was a swollen riverlet, and black, shapeless
masses of rock aud naked trees shivering in the icy
breath and needle-like hail-stones intermixed with cold
rain, which peited the ground and formed a sheet ef
frozen glass; a desolate mountain ravine, far from town
or village, with only oue rude cotter’s hut in sight. -

A mail-pheton was crawling up and down tlie declivi-
ties of the road, and in it sat one person—a lady, wrapped
to the chin in rich Russian sables, and holding with both
hands an umbrella over her head, which every gust of the
wind threatened to whirl out of her grasp over the moun-
tain top. ‘

An old man, evidently her servant, sat in front with the
driver, and he often turned round with anxiety to see
how his -mistress fared. >

*T am very weary,’’ said the lady, in the sharp tones of
pain. ‘I can go no farther. Driver, you must stop at
that hut.” :

The driver burst out with a torrent of expostulation.

No fodder there for the beasts, no stable, no nothing,
but goat’s milk and whisky. A viliage five miles or so
farther on—they could reach it by ten o'clock.

“I tell you I will stop there,’? said the lady.
take your cattle where you please.”’

The vehicle in time arrived at the miserable hut, through
the broken window of which afecble candle was burn-
ing; the servant assisted the lady out, aud so exhausted
was she that she could scarcely stand, while the driver
applied at the door of the hut for admission.

A squalid-looking man and his wife made their appear-
ance, and seeing a well-appointed Tech and
alady who bore about her the evidences of wWealfh, they
hastened to offer the hospitalities of their dwelling to the
travelers; aud scattering the hofde of ragged children
who attended their steps like claff before the wind, they
heaped Iresh turf on the fire, ita fresh tallow dip, drew
the oniy chairinthe establishment which possessed a
back well into the cheek of the yawning fireplace, divest-
ed the lady of her heavy furs, and overflowing with obse-
quious eloquence, seated her, with her feet upon a billet
of wood, aud the best counterpane in the house for a car-
pet to keep the earthen floor front her dress,

The lady was young and exquisitely graceful. She had
not that radiance of coloring or that loveliness of feature
which mark a woman as indisputably “beautiful, but she
had a proud, pure and womanly physique, which was
above and beyondiall mere animal loveliuess in its power
to charm. ~

Her hair and eyes were dark and remarkably fine, and
a connoisseur in national peculiarities would have re-
marked that the elecrric fre aud softness mingied-of tire
eyes was purely trish; her hands and feet were beautifully
formed and daintily smali, her voice low, musical and
plaintive.’ Her dress was very plain, but of a material
which showed price no object, and the jewelry which
adorned her fingers and throat was of the richest descrip-.
tion.

Deep melancholy, however, sat upon that fine young

 

“You may

on.the heafth, more than one tear shone in their misty
depths, and was wiped away with a handkerchief of the
finest Parisian manufacture,

While she warmed herself, and the people of the house
skurried about, ‘tidying. up,’”? (an operation which had
not been altempted for the last half year,) the old servant
watelied his mistress, with impatience and naxiety plainly
written on his features.

tion in his manner, as if not sure how his interference
would be taken he said:

“The storm is increasing every moment, madame, and
we shall not reach Dublin to-night, do what we can, un-
less we resume our journey immediately.”

“We can drive all night, then,’’? she answered, with in-
difference.

“But, madame —consider! You are advertised for to-
morrow evening, aud you must appear, and if you should
break down——”?

“T care fer nothing, Jaffreys,’? she answered, with a
trembling lip, ‘‘except to rest.”

She turned her back on the old man, and leaned her
forehead on her hand.

A wild blast shook the wretched hovel, and roared
down the chimney, sending a sheet of smoke into the
room, | .

The lady clasped her white hands, and softly wrung
them.

‘Desolotion!’’ whispered she, while large tears gushed
from her eyes. 3

The driver, who had been walking his horses back and
forth in their harness in lieu of better refreshment for
them, suddenly burst the door open, and entered, his eyes
almost starting from his head with terror,

“Saints defind us from all harm!’ he cried, ‘‘but did ye
hear yon ?”? 1

“Hear what, bye??? was the startled question of the
people-of the house.

“The Waill It’ud freeze the marrow of yer bones,
avick! The Banshee’s Wail.”

The silence of awe fell upon all. The lady at the fire
alone took'no heed, but continued to be absorbed in her
melancholy musings. :

Another blast struck the cabin, and whistled round it,
and it Certainly did bare on its wings a faint, wailing ery,
like the ery of a woman in distress.

The people uttered exclamations) of fear, and huddled
close together; the children seeing terror in their elders’
faces began to ery; the lady lifted her head, and gazing at
the small casement, whose lower panes were mostly
choked with bunches of straw, listened intently. And
during a deep silence, in which the cud-chewing of the
cow in the farsher end of the cabin was the only sound
geard, a third gust ef wind roared round the cabin, and
ihe same weird cry came with it.

Every face now became colorless with fear except the
lady’s and that of her servant, the people threw them-
selves on their Knees and began uttering their prayers as
fast as they could,
door, but before she could open it the cotter sprang up,
crying in a voice of horror:

“Och, me lady! Sure an’ it’s not goin’ out to face it
ye are—Holy Mother defind us,”?

‘Don’t you hear the cries for help,?” returned the lady,
impatiently. ‘Jaffreys, some one is evidently lost in the
storm—come with me.’?

A chorus of horrified groans arose at this command.

‘Tv’s the banshee—the ghost, the white woman, saints
atune us andit! Och, an’ sure yer ladyship can’t know
the qaare thing ye want to find—no mortal eye iver saw
her an’ lived to tellit. Sureit’ud be a mortial sin to seek
to. see her!”? ;

‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed the lady, “it isa female in dis-
tress, and crying for help. Would you let a human being
perish beside your cabin because of such silly fears???

“Wurra!l wurral no human being ’ud be out on sich a
night as this, barrin’ the banshee hersilf.. Heaven save
us, an’ it’s for wan: af us here she’s lamentin’, wurra-
asthrew |"? y

But the lady paid no further heed; throwing about her
the heavy fur cloak she lad before removed, she hurried
out into the sterra followed by her servant, who remon-
strated every step of the way with her for not sending him
alone, ;

They heard. the sweet, mourning cries quite distinctly
when they got outside, aud followed them along the road,
and then off the road, aud down to the bottom of a gully,
where the swollen rivulet hissed past, and no glimpse of
the cabin could be seen. Aud crouching under a heap of
furze they found a female, whose garments were wet and
frozen around her, whose cramped limbs had refused to
carry her another step, whose livid hands stretched to-
ward them in tue pelting storm, showed that she yet was
couscious?

It was the last effort of exhausted nature, however. As
they reached her she sank withalow sob of joy down
upon the heath insensible. Jaffreys Jifted her up inhis
arms, and as he @id so, he muttered:

“Heavens!”

“What is it??? queried the lady, who was wrapping her
in the cloak which had been about her own shoulders,

“So light, madame! She might be a chiid of twelvel’?

 

200” KCALCOMANIE PICT iD 68 page

48-Geow.

“And, oh, 80 emaciated!’ cried the lady, taking in her

 

 

face, and as lier full brown eyes studied the ruby red coals |

At length he approached, and with considerable hesita--

The lady impulsively hurried to the J

—

ran reas

hand the half-frozen bare arm which hung iifelessly down.
“Quick! quick! perhaps we are too late to save her life
afier ail! Poor unfortunate! What a Providence, Jaf-
freys, that we stopped here to-night! Ah!’ she exclaimed,
as she followed her servant up the rough ascent, ‘there
is worse desojation even than mine! I have never been
brought to that! Jaffreys,’’ she cried anon, as they were
slowly stumblipg over the slippery stones and broken

round, ‘‘do you haste as fast as you can—I will run be-
ore and prepare for her at the cottage.”

All her apathy and fatigue were forgotten; bare-headed
and unprotected from the furious hail, she flashed along
the road, and entered the hut, her cheeks flushed with
eagerness. .

“Build up the fire and warm your bed, my good wo-
man,’’ she exclaimed, startling the simple folks who had
been discussing in awesome whispers the chances of
ever belolding mistress or man again; “we have
found a woman almost perished in the storm. Quick!
hot water and bottles, and Michael, bring the valise out
of the carriage—we must have wine ready and all things
prepared by the time Jaffreys brings her.”

All was. now contusion: the fire was piled up with turf
until it roared half-way up the chimney, the big pig’s pot
was hastily scrubbed out, and filled with water for heat-
ing, the battered blankets were hung across the line be-
fore the fire, and in the general melee the children were
ignominiously banished to their lair in the loft out of the
the way, from the hole of which their shaggy heads might
be seen peering down, like that ‘“‘sweetlittle cherub which
sits up aloft.”

By the timethe servant arrived. with his burden, the
good-natured cotter and his wife had created such a con-
vulsion of the entire belongings of the house that Jaffreys
had some difficulty in believing it to be the same room he
had left fifteen minutes before.

Even the fresh straw which formed the cow’s supper
was ravished from her to supplant the moldy contents
of the box-bed in the corner. :

Upon this, and wrapped in the hot blankets, the rescued
one was laid as soon as she had been divested of the thin
clothing Which the storm had torn to ribbons.

She was a young girl, frightfully emaciated, and
weather-beaten; but by the long, dark curling lashes
which lay on her hollow cheeks, and the burnished masses
of soft brown hair which the lady unplaited to let dry, she
must have once been lovely: ‘The feet, from which the
tattered shoes were dropping, were pretty and well
formed; there was the look. of at least care about the
pale, thin hands; the blue lips, between which the lady
poured spoonfuls of warm wihe and water, were delicate
and even bewitching in their mold, and must have beeu
charming when curling with laughter. ¢

At last the unceasing efforts of the lady and the woman
of the house were successful. Some natural heat began
to circulate through the well-nigh lifeless frame of the
girl, and she opened herlarge, fumine-sunk eyes to gaze
languidly about her,

§radually her attention became concentrated upon the
face of the lady; a smile of rapture grew on her lips; she
clasped her hands together, and whispered:

‘Frank’s eyes! Heaven bless them! Sure, I never
thought to see them any more!"

The jady stood motionless by her side, a look of singu-
lar surprise and emotion upon her features,

“What Frank do you speak of?'? she asked, bending
over her eagerly. >

But the waif turned away from her, while a moan of
utter terror aud despiir broke from her.

‘Hush! she whispered, deliriously; “forthe sake of all
the blessed angels, don’t speak to me, Master Frank!
Why did ye folly me, pulse of me heart? Heaven knows
how thruly 1 gev ye up to Him to be His servint, an’ is iv
ruinin’ of yourself you would be afther?”?

 *Jaitreys;? exclaimed the lady to her servant, who was
at the other end-of the cabin along with the ether men,
while the girl was being attended to, “Jaffreys, come
here quitkly.”?

The servant approached.

‘She speaks so strangely,"? gasped the lady who was
strongly agitated. ‘Listen, and for the love of Heaven,
tell me who you think she can bel My poor girl,’? con-
tinued she, bending over the bed again, “what is your
name???

‘The waif shrank away with a frightened sod.

“Och, now, me own blissed Masther Frank that saved
me from desthruction afore, ye wouldn’t drag me down to
it now??? she whispered, the wild sparkle of delirium
leaping from her eyes. “Sure an’ ye won’t forget that
you’re the heart's pride of yer mother, not to spake of
poor Katty! Oh, me darlipt, let me hide away—let me
lave yea both, wid Heaven’s blessin’!”?

The lady took the girl’s bony hand in both her own, and
smoothingit, asked in a voice which trembled:

“Do you mean Frank Armar aud his mother???

For an instant the girl glared at her in all the bewilder-
ment of fever, then the familiar name recalled her briefly
to herself. She iooked about in wonder to find herself
there, and said feebly, in pure Engush: ef

“fm safe, aml? What did yeu ask, madame? The
Armars?”?

“Yes yes; you said I resembled Frank.’ Do you know
them ?’ :

‘““‘fhey were my benefactors,’ breathed the girl, “I
shall bless them while I have life!”

Her senses began to wander again; she pressed the
lady’s hand to her burning Jips and whispered hurriedly:

“Dve shiruggled a suid to Kape away, Masther
Frauk, in hunger an’ cole} au’ bitter black sickness, an’
now the Virgin has taken pity on the poor Colleen, an’
I’m shtruck for death. Dll get mebbe to the owld place
where Shane an’ me had our home, an’ I'll die blessin’
your namc, me heart’s core, me jewel!??

“But, my poor girl, tell me-—tell me—those Armars—
wlrere are they? Where do they live?’ exclaimed ‘the
lady, tears of mingled joy and pity beginning to course
down her cheeks.

‘The girl made another mighty effort to banish the
whirling fancies of her brain, aud answered incoherently:

“Pil point you out the house—not far—the fuchias linea
the walk. Butil’s winter now, 1 must have been away a
good while.’ Lady, I don’t remember—everything leaves
me—ah, yes!. I’ve been wandering on and on—oh, the
icy blast! Howly mother, look down/on poor Kathleen,
an’ save her or give her the cowld white bed soon!”?

‘Poor creature, she’s delirious with hunger,” said Jaf-
freys, coinpassionately. ‘‘But, it seems to me, madame,
that she has come from them. Heaven grant for your
sake that she has}?

The lady encircled the thin, white face on the pillow,
and passionately kissing it, murmured:

“Heaven bless you, Kathieen! Who or what you are I
do not know, but you have brought a joy to my heart
which I have not felt for ten years. Jaffreys, we will take
this poor girl with us to Dublin and takecareof her. She
said they were not far from here; when she is sufficiently
recovered she will tell us where to find ‘them. She must
be a loyal and noble girl—how she loves them.’?

Thus Katty Guillamore was once more rescued, and this
time from death.

But for weeks she was unconscious of all her surround-
ings, knew not thatshe wascarried the next morning in
the bottom of the mail-phzetoa to Dublin, placed in an ele-
gant bedroom in one of the first hotels, with an eminent
physician to grapple with her disease, and all the com-
forts and luxuries which a generous and grateful mind
could think of procured for her. {

Knew not that the soft, beantiful eyes of her young ben-
efactress beamed on herevery day, or that every moment,
whieh could be spared fromthe most exacting of public
professions was spent at her bedside in defiance of the
oe of both doctor and nurse, who prophesied in-

ection. : :

‘No, poor Katty knew nothing of allthis. She was al-
Ways wandering Over vast, esolate plains, with an icy
blast pushing her back—always tired—tired, broken-
hearted, despairing. '

But fortunately for her she hada splendid ‘constitution,
and she got the better of her jllness.at last, and she came
to her senses in a very delicijus manner, and one which
she never afterward forgot.

She awoke from adeep siumber to hear what she
thought a beautifully-toned flute playing an entrancing
melody so soluly, so silverly, s% divinely that she won-
dered at the perfection of theinstrument and the genius
of the performer;and while she wondered the flute
seemed transformed into a nost noble organ, pealing
forth a grand and thrilling solo, ranging high and tow,
trilling, and sobbing, and sliating the'very fibers of her
soul. ;
‘What is that splendid instrament?” she whispered.

“La, dear heartl’? exclaimel the nurse by ler side, ‘I
declare you’re all yourself. ‘Ihe singing, is it? Ain't it
beautiful? It’s the Signora Cailla practicing a song.”

“What, isita voice?’ .

“To be sure, dear. Don’t you know the voice of-—”

But at this point the nurse bethought herself, and has-
tened out of the room.

Thereupon the music stopped, and instantly afterward
a lady entered her room, and coming to her bedside, took
her hand very kindly and pressed it,

She had large brown eyes, wilich made poor Katty trem-
ble; her very trick of smilitg wag the same—ah, the
same.

‘Dear girl,’’ said the lady, ‘‘jou are quite sensible now,
are you not??? )

‘Quite sensible, lady.’* A

‘You are looking at me very strangely—you see a re-
semblance in me to some one who is very dear to you, do
you not?” }

Katty flushed and shrank,

“Do not be ashamed, dear girl—in your delirium you
have told me enough to make me honor and love you as
a sister. Yes, as a brave and noble sister,’? she repeated,
taking Katty’s wasted face betiveen her hands and grow-
ing pale herself. with emotion; ‘And so ever siuce find-
ing you, five weeks ago, in the) wild pass of Oonnemara,
almost perished in the storm, you have been with me, and
though you do not know me, I both know and love Kathi-
leen, whose olher name I have) never heard. And now
let me tell you that the lady’ whom you call ‘the dear
mistress’—Mrs, Armar—is my njother, and Frank, whom
you fled from so virtuously, is my brother. Lam Muriel,
the lost daughter,”? :

Moved by one common impulse the pair clasped each
other, and embraced tenderly, Katty sobbing with joy
and thanking Heaven that she should have fallen in with
one who had so loug been mourned as lost.

“And, now,’? resumed Muriel, ‘‘you will be able to tell
me whiere my dear mother lives, for I have lost all trace
of her since I ran away ten years ago, at the persuasions
of a Gerinan Opera-house manager, to be an opera singer,
and to make his fortune. How often since I returned to
Britain have I taken @ week’s holiday from my arduous
duties on the boards to rush over from London to Ireland,
aud search in every direction for the loved ones whom I
forsook in a moment of anger, caused by disappvinted
lovel Ah, dear Kathleen, I lave been far less noble than
you, far less womanly, but, thank Heaven, I shall come

 

back to them only saddened by experience, not sullied,

| down her life for any one of the name.”

 

nor smirched in name or nature. Tell me, dear girl,
where my mother lives, and as soon as I can wind up
affairs with my Dublin managers we shall seek her. You
said not far from the Pass——”

“Is this Dublin?’ asked Katty, bewildered. ‘‘How ever
could [have got over here? They live at Queenstown,
Miss Muriel, aud I suppose I must have walked every step
of the way here. I left them in the end of October.”

All that Katty could remember of her experiences since
the day she had shut herself out of Eden, was that she
had traveled straight out of Queenstown toa hamletsome
twenty miles off, where she tried to get work at a carding-
mill; but as she knew nothing of the: business, nor indeed
of anything else which was likely to be of the least ser-
vice to her, she was quite unsuccessful.

She wandered on through the country subsisting on the
chauce meals which a people ever hospitable would force
upon her, and sleeping under any shelter that presented
itself, only anxious to be permitted to move on unques-
Hones. - that the chances of successful pursuit might be
essened.

But at last her frame failed her before exposure and
hardship; typhus fever laid hold of her; she staggered on
forsome days longer knowiug not whither she went,
vaguely dreaming of the home where she and Shane had
lived their peaceful and happy life, and fancying she was
going hither; gazed at by the innocent peasantry who
sometimes passed her on: the dreary peat moors as an
“innocent” or one bereft of sense, and offered what coarse
food the peat-diggers might have with them as a pious
duty; tottering ou with blistered feet and unseeing eyes
amid black morasses, where the deep cuts filled with inky
water threatened to swallow her up, or the bog to mire
her heedless foot, passing every danger in safety by the
miracle of a pitying God, until, exhausted at last, she sank
down in the storm and was saved from death by the sister
of the man from whom she was fleeing. :

Such is the outline of poor Katty’s wanderings; but of
the virtuousness, the flae sense of honor, and the brave
self-sacrifice, which to her new friend’s eyes seemed so
noble, she herself thought it not necessary to speak, nor
indeed did she see that she had done anything praise-
worthy.

AS soon as possible after this interview the opera singer
wrote to ier mother, announcing herintention of visiting
heras soon as her Dublin engagement had come to an
end, and giving an account of her life. At Kathleen’s
earnest request she made no mention of having fallen in
with her.

The answer to this letter caused the opera singer many
tears of joy. : .

She carried the letter to Kathleen, and with tender ca-
resses read it to ier. Mrs. Armar welcomed her long-lost
daughter with prayers of thankfulness and joy. She was
in deep distress, she wrote, about a dear young girl whom
she had adopted in Muriel’s place, and who had deserted
them.a month before, owing to some foolish misapprehen-
sion. She longed for Muriel to come and comfort her.

The resuit of this was'that Muriel went immediately to
Queenstown, leaving Kathleen to recover during her ab-
sence, and faithfully promising that Frank should not
hear of her refuge. ;

When she returned she took Kathleen to her heart, and
after praising her sweetly for some time, said:

“My mother thinks it best that you should not return
home until my brother is—settled, but sliould go to Lon-
don with me and complete your education under private
masters. She aud 1 would like you to become a polished
lady, for my mother says ] shall never be a home-bird, so
you must be her little daughter.”?

Kathleen flushed—her mouth quiyered—she looked a
volume of questions, but asked none. .

‘Yes, dear,’? smiled the lady, kissing her; “Frank was
wild about you, but feels a littie better now that he knows
you are safe among friends {I had to tell him that much),
and he is going back to the University to his studies.”

By which poor Kathleen thought thatit was judged
safest, for a cause of trouble like her, to be kept outof
Master Frank’s way until he had forgotten her. The
truth was that Mrs. Armar, having heard all her adven-
tures from Muriel, agreed with tiat very clever lady, that
as thle young people were so very young—Kaitty seventeen,
Frank not yet Ltwenty-one—it would be the wisest course
to keep them separated until the profession'of the one,
and the education of the other was attained.

So Miss Armar took Kathleen to London and proceeded
to the “‘polishing’’ process.

And there Katty saw the world in its most brilliant

uise. ,

F All London was at the feet of Signora Corilla, the re-
nowned Italian cantatrice, and the splendor which sur-
rounded Ifer in her elegaut villa near Hyde Park astonish-
ed the simple Irish girl, who had never realized what a
lion her friend was,

There were carriages continually standing befort the
grand entrance, and titled personages ‘interviewing
the signora, and managers entreating her; but Muriel
Armar was always the same calm, dignified aud unap-
proachably proper being to everybody. Jaffreys, her
favorite body-servant, rarely left her side, but somewhat
after the manner of Jolin Brown with Queen Vicioria, kept
a constant watch and ward over her,

Sometimes she went ina rich carriage, covered with
satin and blazing with jewels, to the Court to sing, aud
returned with some splendid token of the sovereign’s ap-
probation in the form of aring or bracelet; aud some-
times she took Kathleen with her to the opera, where she
sat protected by Jatfreys.in a box, and saw her benefac-
tress pouring forth strains which moved tue packed audl-
ence before her as wind shakes the grass, and cailing forth
tears, laughter, sighs, delight, at will, as an euchantress
might with her charmed wand.

But with al! this, Kathleen, nursing Muriel for sick-
headache one morning after a triumph of this kind, looked
steadily Gown deep iuto the electrical brown eyes, and
said: ;

“Core of my heart, why are you so sad—always so
sad???) + ,

Then the rich and famous prima donna changed color
and bit her lip, frowned, and finally burst into a heart-
broken wail of sorrow.

“Tell it to me,” said Kathleen, who was a true woman
in the art of comforting; ‘‘tell it to the girl who’d lay

So Mariel Armar poured out her secret sorrows into the
bosom of the simple child of nature, and was astonished
to find in her a strong staff of support—nay, even a helper
out of her griefs. ;

It was a story of wasted love—of scorned love, not once,
but twice—of treachery, of danger, of wickedness.

Kathleen looked up with a cunning smile, and a flash of
the eye. ‘ ;

“T think I can be of use to you here,’ said Kathleen.

[TO BE CONTINUED. |

Oe

PLEASANT | PARAGRAPHS,

THE BACKSNAPPER PAPERS-No. 7,
Mrs. Backsnapperrelateth about a Fortune Teller.

 

Three year ago ole Forney’s farm was mighty weedy,
just kivered with weeds from one eend to tothér.

It was a question wiflh Ike how to git: those weeds out
of the way without excercisin’ that lazy body o’ hissen.
So Ike sot hisself to thinkin’, an’ it ’twant long afore he
thunk up a piece of deviltry wich agitated Pike township
into a bigger state of excitement than at the time we was
so skeert about the world’scaviu’ in. Now read this, Mr.
Barberry:

“Mrs. Hummingbird, the celebrated Oriental Fortune
Teller, takes pleasure in announcing that slie will visit
Frogsboro on the.29th inst., and will remain for two days
only at the Bald Kagle Tavern. She is prepared to reveal
the past, present, and fulure; and those who strictly fol-
low heradvice can positively get rich; and she also wishes
to say to those who are matrimounially inclined, that it
would be well to give her a call.” ee

This, as yeh see, was printed in the Frogsbotro Sentinel
three year ago last fail, an’ excited the hull neighborhood,

1 tell yeh there was a rush to that fortun’ tellers. Every-
body wanted to git rich, an’ the most dern curus part of
the fortun’ tellin’ bizniz was that she would jest look at
our han’s an’ could tell ’em their names, an’ everyihing
in fact.

Now, frinstance, she Said sich an’ sich a one was bilin’
apple butter ou’ burut her han’a year ago last fall; sfch
an’ sich a one had acow that come mighty near being
choked to death; sich a one had a hog that had its ears
chawed off by sich an’ sich a one’s dog—an’ so on, an’ BO
on. Now yeh see this was all the blessed truth an’ we
Knowed it—that’s what fooled us so.

Heavens! if we'd oney kuowed it was Ike Forney drest
up in wimmen’s clothes he’d a been a cripple all his life.

Wal, me an’ my ole man had a private talk with this
she-he fortun? teller.

Says she-lie: ‘‘Lemme see your han’s.”?

“Why,’? says this gush dern shie-Ike, startin’ back,
‘(Mister an’ Missis Backsnapper, those lian’s, those han’s!
Why it’s fortinet that yeh called to see me—suddent riches
air et your finger en’s!”? °

“Oh, jimminy!? says my ole man, a catchin’ his wind.

“Now, says this owdashus humbug, ‘‘wat I now tell
yeh muss be kep’ secret, or the charm—the charm, mind
yeh—is broken.’

“Go ask the dead,” says my ole man, “‘if Fever blow.”

“Aw as fur me,’’ Isaid, ‘‘the grave will kiver this se-
cret.

‘Hum, ahem!" went this dod-rot she-Ike. “Wal,” says
she-le, a lookin’ into a big thing like a stoye-pipe, ‘I
know the past an’ present as indercated by the scooper-
stope, an’ I pos*tively k-know that your mouth makes a
wonderful draft on the siren’th of your lungs; but I b’lieve
yeh kin hold in.)

“Wal”? says this gush dern humbug agin, “the seooper-
stope indercates a great eperdemic amougst the cattle an’
sheep, which will take pluce against next fall, an’ will
curry them all off. The people of the lan’ will be obleeged
to eat nothin’ but hog meat; hog meat will bomby create
a eperdemic amongst the people. An’ bomby the people
of the lan’ will git cancers, scrofular, biles, hives, bunions,
ring worums, tape worums, cut worums; an’ every kine
of a d— worum (scuse me, missis) yer kin think of,

“The scooperstope indercates that the people of the lan’
will die off like rotten sheep; but there is one thing thet
will save ’em—aun!’ thet wawn thing is biled thistle or jag-
ger seed!

“Aw? now,’? says she-he, a rollin’ up her eyes an’
lookin’ solemn, ‘now ig the time, Mister an’ Misses Back-
snapper, to strike fur thet fortun’, an’ at the same
lime be ministerin’ angils to an afflicted people. Con-
sider me a Joseph, who looked into the futorr an’ per-
dicted the great famine an’ profit by wat the scooperstope
indercates, You'd better commence at once and gather

 

-+in an urgent moment of loneliness,

 

all the Canada thistle an’ jagger roots yer kin fiud, an’ sett
‘em out on yer farm, an’ the yield thereof will be fearful, |
au? will bring gladness an’ wellness in the Jan’,

d

‘How much acres,” shouted my ole man, “ort to be
putt out ??

“The scooperstope indercates thet you'd better putt
out nigh onto forty acres, fur the sickness in the lan’
will be spreadafyin’ am’ the muchness of med’cine will be
many, an’ the profit thereof will be a thousand dollars a

arrel.”?

“Holy poker!” said my ole man a rattlin’ some coppers
in his pocket.

Savs she-he:

“You'll want to gather all of the roots an’ seeds yer kin
this fall an’ putt’em out; fur in one year an’ twenty-nine
days the eperdemic commences, an’ in one moon there-
after 1t will be in full blast.. About this time you'll receive
a letter from a risin’ physickin in this place, who makes
the discovery of this wonderful med'cine—he buys the
seed of you an’ makes yer rich as well as himself.

“Nen agin, Mister aud Missis Backsnapper, as a con-
tinual disturber of a diabolical an’ malarial natmosphere,
it will be necessary thet every livin’ animal thet yer own
shall have a bell tied to its neck. These bells must be put
on six months before the eperdemic breaks out, so the
scooperstope indercates,”?

Wal we gut through with our fortin’ tellin’ an’ I blieved
every word of it. So did Pike township. They were all
gatherin’ different kind of weeds, ‘ceptin’ ole Forney.

My ole man run over forty acres of groun’, an’ he an?
the boys was diggin’ an’ plantin’ jagger roots fur goddle-
mity’s sake..

And there was Shad-Belly Muggins, daddy of Fatty
Muggins, come over to our house an’ ask if he could have
the burr docks; then from our place he went over to ole
Forney’s.- Old Muggins was mighty mum—the said he
wanted the roots to color yarn.

Nen there was Shorty Fiddleroop, daddy of Bunty
Fiddleroop, he wanted all of the dog fennel he could find
to dry an’ burn under a steam biler; an’ there was ole
Blizzards, he wanted gimpsen weed to cure the gaps in’
chickens; an’ there was ole McGull, daddy of Duffy Mc-
Gull—or gran-daddy-long-legs as the boys call him—he
wanted poke berry, as he was a sperrymentin’ ip ink.

Some wanted all the rag weed roots they could git;
others, smart weed, plantain, iron weed an’ every kind of
a dern weed yeh could think of,

For three blessed months every farmer in Pike, ceptin’
ole Forney, was a dodgin’ aroun’ from one farm to another
gatherin’ an’ gatherin’. Why, it’s often been a wonder to
me that the dern fools dida’t mistrust somethin’.

My ole man tole ’em he was a gatherin’ jagger roots fur
cramp colic; best kind of a thing, you know, for wind in
the stummik.

Wal, jess to think on it! Here all of these gush dern
fools was a lyin’ to one another fur fear of breakin’ the
charm.

There wasn’t an alimal in Pike but what had a bell to
it. Ole Blizzard had a steer with seven cow bells tied to
it, an’ people a goin’ along the road wondered “what in
thunder had broke loose in Pike.

Come over to-morrow, Mister Barberry, an’ I will tell
yeh the balance of this yer joke. DAN’L BARBERRY.

A Misunderstanding.
An old sinner, while lying en his deathbed with dyspep-
sia, was asked by the minister if he were ready to die. He
replied: ‘Oh, no; I cannot digest (die just) yet.”? G.W.U.

A Lost Wusband.

The following, clipped from the Atchinson Champion,
shows what kind of women they have in Kansas:

“LOST, STRAYED OR STOLEN.—An individual ‘whom I,
was thoughtless
enough to adopt as imy husband. He is a good-looking
and feeble individual, not knowing enough, however, to
come in when itraius unless some good-looking girl offers
him the shelter of her umbrella, Answers to the name
of Jim. Was last seen in company with Julia Harris,
walking: with his arm, around her waist, looking more
like & fool, if possible, than ever... Anybody who will
catch the poor fellow and bring him. carefully back, so
that can chastise him for running away, will be invited
to slay to tea by KATE EK. SMITE.

A New Dedge. i

A respectable-looking man fell down in a fit in Center
street afew days since. A young fellow rushed upin
tears’and laid him gently on the steps of a store, saying
it was his unhappy father, who was subject to falling sick-
ness. Carefully securing the watch and valuables of the
unfortunate man, he requested the by-standers to take
care of him while he called a coach. ‘T'he supposed son
proved to be a thief, for he did not return, and the man
was finally taken to the Park Hospital.

Washington Market Arithmetic.
Old lady to Washington Market butcher:—‘‘How do you
sell your mutton ?”?
Butcher:—‘Hight cents a pound, madame.”?
“Will you make any reduction if I take that leg???
“Well, madame, eight times eight is eighty-eighit—a dol-
lar and eight cents. Take it fora doilar.”” PwRLASH.

 

 

 

 

A Sausage Story.

So, cap, you say you’ve never heard of animiles a playin’
practical jokes? Wall, now, if you warn’t sleepy and cared about
listenin’, Icould spin youashort yarn of how they played a pretty
tall one once, and on asmart joker, too. Heaye ahead? All
right. Wall, cap, as you kno'w, I have kedged about a good bit
in my time, and ounce was mate of a small craft up on one of the
lakes. The owner and cap’n was a jolly old boy that we used to
call Uncle Tom. He was well to go and had _ property plenty,
both afloat and ashore, His only everlastin’ fault was that-he
was a dreadiul joker, and didn’t care a quid if he broke your
neck or his own so’s he could have a good laugh at it. Wall, he
and I, goin’ ashore at one of the Canada ports cailed Toronto,
used to frequent a groccry and liquor store kept by one of his
own kidney, named Johnny Graham. Johnny was every bit as
big a devil in the jokin’ way as Uncle Tom. Why, bless you, you
couldn’t come out of his place without havin’ ‘Rooms to Let’
pasted on your hat, or your pockets filled with oatmeal or some-
thing of that sort. This used to rile me, and one Sunday, when
they sent me down the street at church-time with a pickled her-
ring pinned. by the tail to the back of my best coat, 1 swore my-
self in to pay. bask the joke on them. So the next time we weut
over, while Uncle Tom was blowing heavy guns to some one else,
I filled the tail pockets of his coat with sassingers from Johnny’s
a Abdi and then invited them both toa fine feed aboard the

rig. f

** ‘Sassingersl’ cried Uncle Tom, who was very fond of pud-
din’d meat. ‘ f

** Sassingers,’ says I.

“**Houor bright ? says Johnny.

* ‘Honor bright,’ says I.

* ‘Weve none aboard the brig,’ says Uncle Tom.

““*Dve fixed that,’ says I; ‘they’ll be there as soon as you are.’

‘allright! We're with you.’ .

“So off we started, and when we got aboard I hurried up the
cook, and, while he was getting ready, I commenced to tell of a
man I knew that a a store, and that lis sassingers were stole °
before his eyes, anu he accepted an invitation toeat them. Lord,
didn’t it amuse Johnny! He laughed till the tears were in his
eyes, and says he: :

“ “Why, what a darned fool he must a’ been!’

“ ‘Come,’ says Uncle Tom, ‘never mind the stolen ones.
Where’s yours ??

«Tn your pocket,’ says I. F

‘“‘ ‘In my pocket! yelied he, turning red about the gills while
Johnny got quite blue.

““*Yes, and they came from Johnny’s, and now I’m even with
you for the herring!’ 3 2

“They got over it and laughed at’it, and ate heartily. Now
when I was helpin’ Uncle Tom to get them out of his pockets I
don’t know what divilment put me up to leave a couple behind,
and this brings about the animal’s practical joke. AsIsaid be-
fore, Uncle Tom had property. He hated dogs like the devil, and
nothing troubled him more than being assessed every year, either
intentionally or by mistake, for dog-tax. He used to stone the
neighbors’ dogs, and they in revenge, when they saw the asses
sors coming, would throw one or two curs over his fence. Uncle
Tom had discovered the trick, and the next day after the sausage
affair he thought the assessor would be around, and started off
to guard against it, asking me to go along. Now when the asses—
sor is seen coming in a Canadian town every motier’s son de
nies his dog, and turns him like an orphan inte the street untiE
the danger is over. ‘Phe poor canines haveto shift for them{
selves, and are hungry enough you may suppose. As we walke@
along the street, I nuticed many @ cur stop and sniff at Uncle
Tom’s coat-tail, and then turn and slink along in our wake, and
by the time we reached the house we had a big number of hard
looking company at our heels. Uncle Tom opened the gate an&
walked in, tollowed by me and the other dogs. here were aw
couple of ‘‘triek-dogs,” as he called them, already there, and he
turned to bang them out when his eye fell on fhe whole hungry;
droop-tailed eavaicade, You never saw sucha furious man. He
danced like &® madman. He swore it was too much of a joke—
he didn’t mind while they sent one or two, but to send them by
the half hundred like wolves, by Jove he wouldn’t stand it. He
tried to drive them out, but, like wolves, they gained courage
from their numbers, and stood looking at him, licking their lips
as if they'd have liked to eat him, sassingers and al. And to
make matters worse, when he raised his head there stocd the as-
sessor in the gateway, book and pencil in band, grinning like @
pumpkin lantern at Halloweve.* This made him more furious
than ever. He off with his coat, seized aclub, andin among
the dogs like a Comancho Injun. But lord bless you the coat
had hardly touched the ground when an 1ll-favored big scoun-
drel of & mastiff seizing it, scampered out of the gate with it, up-
ae the assessor in the gulter, and down the street on a gallop
with Uncle Tom after him, hatless aud coatless, and the whole
canine rag-tag and bob-tail helter skelter in the rear. There
Was none of that sassinger, and very little of that coat left when
the race was done. Ina day or two Uncle Tom’s tax-roll was
served upou him, He was assessed for forty-five dogs 1" Jo-KuR.

Lines on the Back of a One-Dollar Bill.

And thou must go, my beautiful
To pay remorseless dun—

Must pass forever from my hand,
My cherished only “1.”

Thou wert as good as “X”’ or “V¥,*
For thou wert all I had,

And now to lose thee in this way,
Confeund it, ’tis toe bad.

The rich have stores of larger bills,
And double eagles too,

But they can’t teel the loved I felt,
My flinsy rag, for you.

But go away, I cannot smile,
For really ’tis no joke

To think Iam, when thou art gone,
Decidedly *‘dead broke.”

To P..P. ContriBuTors.—Tho following MSS. are accepted:
“Mr. Mecklenburg’s Bone “Void of the Shed,” “Very Late,”
“Boss Now,” ‘“Paddy’s Head,” “Conundrums,” “Mary’s Blun-
der,” “Black Sport,” *“Solumon’s Preserves,”.......The tollowing
are respecttully declined: “Dot's So,” “His Sentence,” ‘“I'rans-
cendent Politeness,” “My First Courtship,” ‘Johnnie Jones,”
“The Shame of the Thing.”

—————_ >--o4f—__——_-

One of the most remarkable literary successes of the
time is the NEw YORK WEEKLY, published by Francis
S. Street and Francis 8S. Smith. For several years past
the Circulation of this journal has been steadily increas-
ing, until now, we are assured On the very best authority,
it reaches the immense number of three hundred and fifty
thousand copies. Itis not a political paper, and there-
fore read by everyone who likes a tlirilling, entertaining
story. Nearly every week a new seriul is commenced, and
no writer in that department of literature whois worth
having remains long without an exclusive engagemeut to
write for the NEW YORK WEEKLY. The sums annually
spent by Messrs. Street & Sinith for the stories, sketches
and poetry would suffice to run a first class dally news-
paper in the metropolis. -Tkere is something in every
humber of the NEw YORK WEEKLY to interest every
member of the family.— Williamsport (Pa) Gazette ang
Bulletin,

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

  
   

a

 

 

investment,

ing in the cities and beneath the rivers.

L

 

 

ODD aI Oller"

NEW YORK, OCTOBER 5, 1874,

—_~

 

oO

Rapid Transit— Why Is It Delayed?

It is one ot the curiosities of social history that
when there is a strongly-felt public need, together
with an emphatically-expressed .demand for its sup-
ply, supported by a demonstration of the profitable
success of an enterprise based upon it, there is still
asingular hesitation in setting about its accom-
plishment—an inexplicable delay in beginning the
work. Numerous illustrations might be found, but
one immediately at hand will suffice.

If there isone thing upon which people are agreed
it is the necessity for some improved method of city
travel. The inconvenience incident to the existing
system is so familiar that it would be a waste of
time to enlarge upon it. It hasbeen shown that the
antiquated and inadequate horse-power plan is a
positive and appreciable loss to each citizen. When
this individual loss is multiplied by the hundreds of
thousands of citizens that make up the great public,
the aggregate lossisenormous, Ina number of arti-
cles published not long since, the New YORK WEEKLY
clearly demonstrated that improved facilities would
effect such a saving to the individual and the public
that the cost of the improvement would seem in
comparison insignificant. The NEw YoRK WEEKLY
has shown that the receipts from fast steam roads
would be so large as to make them a most lucrative
So clearly have all these points been
set forth that if the simple question—shall we have
rapid: transit?—were submitted to the people the
vote in the negative would be insignificant. And yet
we have not rapid transit.

The pause in the execution of an enterprise 80 ob-
vious and so expedient may be variously accounted
for. One explanation may consist in the very fact
that so many people are interested in the matter—
illustrating afresh the proverbial saying that ‘‘What

 

 

 

is everybody’s business is nobody’s business.” It

sometimes happens that when there is remarkable
unanimity on the propriety of doing a thing the

‘practical beginning of it isa difficult undertaking.

Another explanation is suggested by the multiplicity
of plans,

There is a party in favor of underground roads
as the cheapest and safest. Another party is opposed
to underground roads, and as positively favorable to
elevated railways. These two sides are divided
within themselves. Some of the undergrounders
will hear of nothing but the road proposed by Van-
derbilt, and insist that nobody but Vanderbilt can
build it. Other undergrounders are partisans of the
Beach Pneumatic Company, which seems to have
expanded its original air-power designs 80 as to
include a fully equipped steam road, and which
claims the amplest authority and means for operat-
Still other
undergrounders cling to the Arcade notion, which
contemplated a new street under Broadway. The
elevated advocates, too, have their various views.
Some of them believe that, costly as it seemed, the
Viaduct plan, which fell to pieces with the weight
of the now broken Ring, was the best. Other ad-
herents to the elevated theory earnestly urge the
adoption of the Gilbert road. Among these and

other schemes hesitation is perhaps natural enough.

Another explanation of delay is that, whatever

4 plan may be approved, large capital will be needed,

and capitalists are often unmanageable and slow to
invest, especially in a work that willconsume years
in its completion. The most plausible explanation
of all, however, is that there are powerful vested
interests antagonistic to Rapid Transit. The horse
railroad companies are doing avery large business
and making fortunes. They believe, rightly or
wrongly, that an improved method of travel would
impair their business and reduce their fortunes.
They will, to the last, resist any change.

These various causes are combining just now to
delay the introduction of a most important improve-
ment. But they will not long combine successfully.
In Brooklyn the enterprise has progressed so far
that the amount of stock subscription required be-
fore beginning operations has been secured. New
York will not be behind hand. Avery few months
will witness the actual work of construction going
on, probably on several roads; and when, at no dis-
tant day, commodious cars are carrying comfortably
and swiftly people who at present ride slewly and
uncemfortably, we shall wonder even more than we
wonder now at the delay in accomplishing Rapid
Transit. .

A Good Word for the Landladies,

The return of citizens from the country and the
reopening of the season, afford opportunity for the
customary abuse of the landladies. The newspapers
periodically attack this defenseless class and hesitate
at no exaggeration and misrepresentation to bring
boarding-house keepers into contempt. We think
the landladies deserve a good word, and we propose
to say it. They are blamed for many things. First
item, not setting better tables. Perhaps if house-
owners could be persuaded to reduce their rentals,
and dealers to charge less for provisions, the land-
ladies might provide sumptuous fare. They might
do it if boarders would pay twice as much board
money. Certainly the landladies could improve their
tables if boarders would pay up promptly, and less
frequently leave without paying at all. But, with
high rents, rooms often empty, market charges
heavy, competition putting price of board down to a
low figure, payments delayed, and many bad debts,
is it wonderful that the fare is sometimes scanty and
deficient in variety? Second item, defective neat-
ness of housekeeping. Nobody knows, until it is
tried, how hard it is to keep tidy a house full of un-
tidy boarders. Third item, meanness. When the:
landlady, single-handed, has to encounter the com-
bined meannesses of the “first story front,” the
“second story back,” and the “third story hall
room,” all of whom insist on having their last penny-
worth, and some of whom are continually devising
ways and means of swindling her, it is hardly sur-
prising that she learns the use of sharp weapons and
herself becomes mean. There are more items, but
these will serve as specimens. We do not regard
the landlady as a perfect and altogether angelic be-
ing; but while so much is said against her something
ought to be said on the other side. We have called
her defenseless. Sheis, against the newspapers, and
can only revenge herself on the boarders.

—_——__>-_2+_______

THE DUNGEON OF TREVYLIAN CASTLE.—A startling
surprise awails the reader in the opening installment of
Grace Gordon’s new story, “SAVED BY HER BLOOD.”
The-dungeon scene is a piece of descriptive writing that
has seldom been equalled, This story will be commenced
in No. 61.

 

 

 

 

 

PASSING PARAGRAPHS.

— Brad Adams, the Washington news agent, is consid-
ered by the fair sex the handsomest man in the District of
Columbla. But one of the ladies does not think him half
so nice as she did a week ago. Saturday before last she
said to him: ‘“‘Mr. Adams, I desire a nice book to read to-
morrow. Can you recommend something very enter-
taining to help me to endure a dull Sunday?’ Brad said
he could, and promised to send to her residence that
evening two of the liveliest books ever printed. Fancy
the lady’s disappointment on opening the parcel next
morning, and discovering that Mr. Adams had sent her
a copy of the Ninth Census, and a lengthy scientific essay
on ihe best method of extracting cod liver oil.

— Several unhappy married men, since reading that
Henry Yore, of Portsmouth, Va., had eloped with his
mother-in-law, have adroitly circulated reports that their
respective mothers-in-Jaw are amiable creatures, and that
their bank accounts are large. But these tempting in-
ducements have not been sufficient to lure other fools,
and so mothers-in-law continue to Cling like barnacies to
those so anxious to get them out of the way.

— Dr. J. CG. Ayer, of Lowell, Mass., aspires to Congress.
But he has a formidable opponent in the person of the
present representative of the seventh district, Ben But-
ler, whose health has perceptibly -improved since he
ceased taking the doctor’s famous pills. So Doctor Ayer
has lost-all hope of removing the obstacle to his ambition
in that way. The residents term this the “pill district”
when they want to “put on Ayers.”

— A fortune of $2,000 a year has unexpectedly fallen
to Miss Flora W. Charis, a young Shakeress, of Canter-
bury, N. ll. Since learning of her good luck, several
young Canterburians are anxious to shake her hand for
the first time; but the shrewd Shakeress understands their
game, and will ‘“‘shake’’ such fortune-hunters.

— It is sometimes said that Mr. Bergh, of the Cruelty
Prevention Society, cares more for dumb beasts tlian for
human beings. But in caring for the former he cares for
the latter—as, for example, in bettering the condition of
cattle transported from the Wesi he betters the condition
of beef eating at the East. There is no hum-Bergh abeut
the animais’ friend,

— The Second Congressional District of Vermont, hith-
erto considered ‘the fair iand of Poland,’”? has played an
unanticipated trick on Luke V. Poland, by electing him to
stay there. He is the father of the “press gag law,” and
now the electors have gagged him. We will not hear
much more from Luke as a Congressional spouter.

— A Western paper recently noted as historical coinci-
dences the destruction of three vessels named Washing-
ton, of three named Erie, and of three named Seabird.
To these might be added the burning of the steamboat
Henry Clay on the Hudson River, and the burning of the
packet ship Henry Clay at New York.

— Some peopie in France, recently, celebrated the an-
niversary of the Republic. This seems like the enumera-
tion of political poultry previous to governmental incuba-
tion. Better waittill the French Republic is established
before celebrating iis anniversary.

— “I prefer mine baid,” said a Jerseyman ina Chatham

 

.| street eating-house, as he passed to the waiter a plate of

hash which the latter had just brought him. ‘Bald!’ an-
swered the waiter; “what do you mean?” “Why, I like
to eat my hash without any hair on it.’

— Aviguon, France, has a monstrosity—a woman with
two bodies joined at the back, and two distinct heads. She
Is about to be married. If she is a scold, fancy her unfor-
tunate husband patiently listening to a double-barreled
Caudie lecture from the two heads of his adorabie spouse!

— A necklace, composed of twenty-five $20 gold pieces,
is worn by a Cuban lady in this city. Her husband, the
other day, while short of change, put money in his purse
by changing a portion of that necklace.

— A Woman's Congress at Chicago is announced for
October. If it offer any reasonable, common-sense sug-
gestions, it may apply a poultice to the very bad black eye
the Scandal has given the Woman’s Rights movement.

— During five years 700,000 Germans have immigrated
to this country. Our Teutonic friends are noted for living
well here. They like the American diet better than the
Germanic Diet.

— Rather slow—The horses and the management at
Prospect Park Fair Grounds. Unless racing is better con-
ducted we sliail soon read the epitaph of the turf: Gone
to Grass.

— Philadelphia appears to have had the celebration of
the Centennial of the Continental Congress all to herself.
Unpatriotically enough, the rest of the country didn’t
seem to care & ‘Continental’ for the Congress.

— The temperance reformers are busy about the elec-
tions in several States. The reformers had better not
trust the politicians, who are as ready to sell out for a
giass of water as a glass of whisky.

— If halfthatis said about them by the daily papers
be true,the Commissioners of Charities need a little whole-
some Correction.

— The Cuban rebellion has been put down so often and
so thoroughly that 2000 more Spanish troops have been
ordered to the island.

— The frozen regions still fail to cool the enthusiasm of
Arctic explorers. Another Polar expedition has narrowly
escaped. . ;

— A Paeific measure—The proposed union of China

and America by a sub-marine telegraph cable.

-— Not very martial—Marshal Bazaine cutting his stick
With a rope from St. Marguerite.

— A one-horse affair—the rifie-team that came out last
at Creedmoor.

— Transiated French motto for the sprightly “Bride of
Abydos,’’ at Niblo’s, “After us, ‘The Deluge.’ ””

— Astar-performance on the astronomical stage—the
transit of Venus.

— An oppressive law—The George Law who rules the
Eastern District ferries of Brooklyn. .

— Text for the strikers:
higher” wages.

— Clubs that are not always truamps—policemen’s.
mie ®

FREE AND EASY VISITORS.

“T always make myself at home everywhere!’ says Mrs.
A. “I dou’t want people to put themselves out for me! I
am free and easy wherever | am!’*

Now these ‘free and easy’ visitors are, of all other
kinds of visitors, the most thoroughly disagreeabie,

They will inflict themselves upon you at any ume, and
expect to be always Cordially welcomed, because they are
so free and easy, and so loth to put anyDody to trouble.
They will come before breakfast, or just as you are sitting
down {to dinner, and draw up their chairs quite like oue
of the family.

Early ip the morning they delight to “run in,” and they
wiil come right up to your Chamber to save you the trou-
bie of coming down, and there they will sit aud watch
you make your toilet, and comment on how gray your
hair is getting, and inquire the cost of the lace on your
petticoat, and wonder if you are not a great deal stouter,
aud redder in the face than you used to be.

Free and easy visitors will hunt Over your writing-desk
after paper to write notes, and they will read the post-
marks on your letters, and ask you who on earth you know
in Dingtown, or Cat Fally, aud wonder how you-can ever
find time to write letters!

They will bathe their foreheads in the contents of your
Gologue bottle, and scent their handkerchiefs with your
expensive extract of Pond Lily, and scatier your Night
Bioomtng Cereus, at two dollars a bottle, profusely over
their flounces and fringes, and declare it is delightful!

They will brush their hair with your brush, and put
their feet on your sofa, and open your various boxes, and
inquire What kind of toilet powder you use, and tie Knots
in the fringes of your Paisley shaw), and help themselves
to your glass of lemonade.

They will go to your pantry after a lunch—they came
out so early they didn’t eat half a breakfast, aud in all
probability they will stay to dinner, and suggest that you
have boiled salmon aud pickled oysters—they are so foud
of them! ae

They will exclaim over the way you manage your chil-
dren, and tell you about the wonderful children of Uucle
Isaac, or Cousin Sally! All if anybody could have cuil-
dren like them, it would be a positive comfort to have
twenty of them! Yes, indeed!

Your ‘free and easy’? visitors drop in upon you very
often at meal time, and when invited +0 partake they in-
variably tell you tuey are not hungry, they wouldn’t eat a
mouthiul—they had’ uo idea it was so wear dinuer, aud

“The laborer is worthy of his

 

 

then they ‘‘sit up,” and they eatas much as any healthy
laborer could do who had been at work on the Huosac
Tunnel since its commencement

We can abide “genteel” visitors, and ‘‘stuck-up’’ visi-
tors, aud beggiug visitors, and visitors who make us glad
twice; but from ‘free and easy’? visitors good Lord de-
liver us! Kats THORN.

A WOULD-BE SUICIDE.

ALMOST A DOUBLE TRAGEDY.

BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY.

 

After a pleasant visit to the Cluny Museum, Paria, on
the eighth day of last November, we were returning to
the other side of the Seine, across the Pont Neuf, wheu
suddenly there appeared before us a genuine Paris mob,
composed of three or four hundred noisy people of both
rep and all ages, who were hooting aud screaming like

unatics.

The Bohemian character of the street population of
Paris is nowhere more manifest than in the neighborhood
of the Boulevard St. Michael, in which vicinity it would
seem as though the gaumins were af all times on the look-
out. for an opportunity to create mischief in some form.

On approaching nearer the noisy crowd, a half-dressea
woman, in coarse and ragged garments, with disheveled
hair and wild aspect, carrying a young child in her arms,
was discovered in their midst, defying, not by words, but
by frantic gestures, the throng who pressed upo her from
all sides.

The heartless gaming, only too glad to find a victim,
were jeering at What they took for a half-drunken mother
and her child, while the latter, much the best dressed, hid
her little face from the crowd and sobbed with terror. Mis-
siles, though not ef a dangerous character, were thrown
by the mob at the poor, bewildered object which had thus
excited their atiention, more in a spirit of derision than
With any malicious design to inflict positive injury.

“Stand back, ye cowards 1” exclaimed a sturdy fellow,
dressed in a biue blouse, who crewded the people right
and left with his powerful shoulders as he approached the
subject of all thisclamor. ‘Attacking a poor, defenseless
woman? Shame on yel—shame, | guy

“She’s drunk!’ exclaimed one. —

*“Rum-crazy!’ said another,

“She’s a chiki-steaier!’’ cried a third.

“That isn’t her baby!’ cried a woman, in a confidant

voice.

“That's plain enough !’? added another.

“You are a pack of fools!’ responded he in the blouse,
who had now reached the woman’s side, ‘and cleared an
Open space about her by the free ase of his brawny arms.
“Stand back, | say, ali of ye!"

He spoke some well-in‘euded words to the foriorn-look-
ing creature, who only gazed yacautly into his face by
way of response, but in no other manuer replying, either
by word or sign, to the friendly voice. In vain did the
rough but kindly-disposed individual repeat his woris; he
could only obtain the same bDlauk look from the pule-faced
creature,

“Call tie police!’ said a voice.

“The police!- the police!’ shouted a dozer others.

. “Ay,” responded the man in the blouse; ‘but it is you
whom they will arrest, not this poor creature, who is no
more drank than I am, You have frigateued her out of
her Wits—-that’s all the trouble.”

The momentary diversion which had been thus made in
favor of the woman enabied one to observe her more par-
ticularly. Theclothing, which hardly served to cover her
person, consisted of aadark gown. only, but which must
have been of a good fabric, though new tora ana dirty.
Her feet and head were bare; but spite of all, as she siocod
thus in her rags, Clasping the child to her bosom, there
was a certain air of dignity and refinement about her that
was puzzling to observe. The child might have been
three years old, a little girl, neatly dressed, and manilest-
ly quite out of piace in this singular connection. What
could it mean? Why such singular contrast becween the
woman and the child which she clasped s0 earnestly to
her bosom ?

At this moment, a space having been cleared about her,
and especially on the side next to the bridge, the Woman
gazed wildly about, and then started into a ran across
the Pont Neuf until she reached the middle, when she
jumped upon the railing, and after poising herself and
the child fora sing'e moment over the brink, leaped mad-
ly into the swilt-gliding river below.

Experience has taught the authorities wisdom, so that
lile-suving apparatus is always at hand on either bank of
the famous river which divides Paris, and in which 50
many human beings are annually drowned. The sta-
tions where these deposils are kept were iustant!y sought
by several of the more energetic persons in the crowd,
while others, doubtiess prompted quite as much by the
standing offer of the government reward jor a life saved
from the Seine as by any other impulse, leaped boldly into
the river to attempt the rescue of the Woman and child,
The glaring inconsistency of these people, who from per-
secutors of the unhappy creature were now (turned into
aclive agents for her rescue from death, was not the least
striking feature of this vivid scene.

“Stand back, cowards! It is you who drove her to the
act!’ shouted he of the blouse, who having divested him-
self of his clothing save a stout pair of drawers, now stood
for & Moment on the shore with fils brawny muscles aii
bared like a prize fighter’s, and then plunged in to the
rescue of the Woman whom tie had se lately belriended.

“There she rises! there she rises!’? shouted the excited
crowd, ruuuivg along the bank with the rapid set of the
ti

He of the biouse was already at the spot, but in the
struggle to grasp the woman, her frail clothing gave way,
she slipped from his hands, and before he could once more
grasp the tattered garments she had sunk again, but this
time the child separated from her, being buoyed up by her
clothing, and was seized upon by one of the men who had
first sprung into the river, and who now struck out
boldly for the nearest shore, while he held the child saleiy
above the water. They were received by a score oi ready
hands at the landing, and the police, who had now
appeared, took the half insensible aud gasping child to
the station house.

In the meantime, he of the blouse, calculating for the
river's course, followed down stream so as to be ready
for the woman, who, as he well knew, would be sure to
rise once more to the surface. A thousand people now
crowded the Pout Neof and the banks of the Seine on
either side, boats were being pulled to the spot, and even
one of the small iron steamers which ply up and down
the river to St. Cloud had shut off steam to be of some
service if possible, while confused and boisterous sugges-
tions were shouted from a hundred different mouths.

“There she rises! there she rises!’ exclaimed the crowd
once more, at the moment when he of the biouse grasped
again the drowning woman as she appeared upon tle sur-
face. ‘Why dou’t he strike out for shore ?”

*“*What the duse is the fellow dving ?’

“She is struggling to get away from him!’

Such were the exclaimations which caught the ear on
every side, and it became very apparent that the woman
was indeed struggling with her would-be preserver, em-
ploying all of the little strength she had left in her body to
prevent him from bringing her to shore. 1t was a strangé
and exciting sight to behoid that burly fellow laboring so
patiently, beiug himself frequently submerged by his
gallant efforts, and who finally, havivg toru off uearly
every thread of her dress which he could grasp, now
seized desperately upon her luxuriant head of hair, and
swam, half exhausted, to the shore, where the police
were standing with ready blankets to wrap about the
would-be suicide, and to conduct her to the station, hard
by, where the child had already been conveyed. Her
preserver dropped helplessly upon the ground, panting for
breath, and gladly accepted the glass of brandy which a
thoughtful hand brought to him,

As the woman was landed and lifted in the arms of the
police, she was perfectly sensibie, and her pale face, even
with the sad vacancy which was 80 obvious in her eyes,
was still one of remarkable beauty. Her heavy, durk,
luxuriant hair fell in great profusion all about her shoul-
ders, and a rough but kindly disposed woman followed
by her side gathering it up into a knot at the back of her
neck, Where she confined it with the cheap comb which
she took from her own scanty locks.

The object of all this commotion uttered a few incoher-
ant words, apparently more to herself than to any one
else, and then lapsed into a state of semi-unconsciousness,
from whence no effort could arouse her. No ene knew
her, she was manifestly a stranger in the neighborhood,
and in spite of her rags and desolate condition, impressed
all about her with a certain seuse ef respect. She was
conveyed into a private room at the station, where a phy-
siciun was already in attendauce upon tie child, and the
crowd were shut out fromthe poor creature, whom in
their recklessness they had se lately driveu to desperatiou
on the Pont Neuf. :

Mysterious scenes are of hourly occurrence in the streets
of the great French metropolis, but the patient observer
does not have long to wait before the solution is pretly
certain Lo present itself, and so it was in the case of this
would-be suicide, as described above. The hero of the
blue biouse, and the little wiry fellow who had saved the
child, now once more covered with dry clothing, came to
the siation-house where they were readily admitted, and
where each, affer a brief examination, received a certifi-
cate, which would, on proper presentation, entitle them to
the government reward before spoken of. As they came
out of the building they were greeted by the still linger-
ing crowd with Various persObal remarks, some jocular,
some sneeringly uttered, and some complunenutary, ac-
cording to the various feelings of envy or appreciation
which actuated the heterogeneous mass. It was quite
observable, however, that even the roughest of the wo-
men had a kindiy word forthe two manly fellows, who
uow disappeared togetherinto a wine shop to celebrate
What had proved an auspi€ious event to them,

Now tor the key of this mystery, the solution of this
Parisian street tragedy, for, as we have already remarked,
one has not long to waif,

The noisy throng beforethe doors of the police station
had hardly commeuced to disperse when they were again
startled by the sight of a well-dressed young woman, Who
rushed among them almost breathiess, exclaiming:

“My child! Mon Dieu! where is my child?”

“here's the real mother! exclaiyied one.

“Is it your child??? demanded hall-a-dozen voices in a
single breath, ‘

“Yes, yes. Where is my little Marie?’ sobbed the new
a With Clasped hands, while she trembled in every

lunb.

“Did she wear a pink frock?’ asked one.

“And git boots 2??? added another,

“And curls down her neck?’ asked the woman who
had given her comb to adjust tne would-be suicide’s hair.

“Yes, yes; where is she?’ reilernied the exciied wo-
man, “Mun Dieul mon Dieu! will po one tell me where
she is ???

—<<«<«_) THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. S30--

 

“Well, she’s just .been taken ont of the river; but you
needn't be frightened, she’s all right now, aud is inside
there with the police doctor,’? answered one of the wo-
men.

The woman who had thus newly arrived, claiming the
child, was seon admitied within the station-house, where
she established her relationship instantly and beyond Lhe
cavil of a doubt, in the minds of those in charge. Indeed
the little creature siruggied to: get into her arms, and once
there, nestied on her neck, crying: “Mamma, mamma,
dear mamma!’ .

The next scene in this singular though brief drama, was
the arrival of a private carriage, containing a respectable
genticman and elderly lady, accompanied by an agent of
the police, to take clhurge of the rescued woman, auc now
came the solution of this siugular but literally true ac-
count,

The rescued individual was.a young married woman of
good family, Who had lately lost her infant, and who had
been seized with the insanity often incident to the mater-
nal crisis, She had been sent to a private insane asylum,
but having vecome quiet and apparently once more ra-
tional, the vigitance of her nurses was relaxed, where-
upon she cunningly effected her escape, rushing into Lhe
sireets of Paris in the half-ciothed condition which we
have described. As she ran thus through the streets, she
stopped iu a doorway, caught up a Jovely liltie child,
covered it with Kisses, aud maddened by the persecution
of the crowd, In a violent paroxysim had very Learly com-
mitted a double tragedy.

A TERRIBLE FIX.

BY NED BUNTLINE.

 

 

 

In the vicinity of the Overlook Mountain House there
are some fine little lakes and trout brooks, but if one has
not an experienced guide they are as hard to find as con-
science in a money-lender.

This past su:nmer, a gentleman who fancied himseif a
thorough woodsman, started from the hotel one morning,
armed only with a Conroy rod, a taper fly jine and a hook
of nicely assorted flies, His boast was that he would re-
turn with a twelve pound basket full of trout.

He had watched the fog rising afier ashower, and knew
thereby (dr thought he did), the location of every lake
and brook in the big hills,

He had sense enough to take a lunch along, and he
found that he needed it before noon, in the dense wilder-
ness where the thick underbrush shut off every breath of
wind, and the air was as Close as it is in @ sleeping car al
hight,

He had no luck in finding lakes or streams, however,
one tiny spring trickling from under a huge rock being
all the liquid he met with outside of his pocket flask of
eau de mort.

On, on he went until after meridian, and no stream, no
Piake, no trout. He was tired,“ le would gladly have
turned back had it not been for his empty basket and the
laugh which he Knew would greet him, if he returned
with it in that state, : .

Soon he struggied, up one cliff, down another, through
this dry ravine, and then into that, until at last he was
utieriy fagged out. Turning sadly in the direcuon where
he believed the hotel to be located, he staggered on for an
hour, and then sat down to drain his nearly empty flask,
and rest ina deep gorge Where many atorrent had poured
in the wet times—but now it was as dry as a wrilten
sermon read by a stammering reader.

He had not been there jong when achill ran through
his exhausted frame—achillot terror. A wild, soul-curd-
ling cry came piercingly to his ear from a clump of pines
close at hand. Le had heard that hungry panthers would
attack aman as quick as they would ajlamb. And bow
this terrible yell was surely that of a hungry panther,

He had no weapon but his rod—a ten ounce rod at that
—his empty flask aud a small penknife. He took out his
memorandum-book and pencil, aud wrote a hurried will.
He tried to say a prayer. He got as far as “Now 1 lay me
down to gieep” when the fearful yell came once more to
his ears, and terror-stricken he rushed from his seat going
he knew not where, only that it was away from the vicin-
ity of that sound.

He ran till he was so out of breath that he had to stop
from sheer exhaustion, and then he could hear nothing
but the terrible beating of iis stricken heart,

“Let me once get back to the hofel,’? he muitered; ‘‘and
Pil leave this ¥agged wiideruess forever.”’

But he was not there yet by along shot. Panting on
the rock where he sat don he tried to get a glimpse of
the sun, and from it to get a clew to the right course. i

Suddenly, crash, crasu, came some animai bounding
through the woods.

“On, merciful Heaven! ithas scented my trail. I’m
lost?? he groaned, and away he rushed once more, fear
giving him strength to emulate the speed of a Goldsmith
Maid over his uneven track.

But crash, crash, came the sound behind him.

Away went his rod and basket, next his coat. He had
heard that animals would stop to smell of and rend gar-
Menis that were thrown away. He next sent his vest to
follow the coat, forgetful of the gold chronometer in the
pecket. His breeclialoons would have followed had he
dared to stop to take them off.

But he did not. In front of him was a dense growth of
scrubby pines. Could he only burst through them he

{might react a slender sapliug aud climb it, aud thus find

even temporary safety.. ‘ j

He rushed madly through the thicket. All too madly,
for a fringe of bushes gave way and he found water at
last, tumbling sheer off a ledge full twenty feet high into
the cold, clear depths of small lake not over a mile from
the hotel, often visited by the boarders,

The next moment a dark object came bounding from
the cliff, pierced the water close to his side, r to the
surface, seized him by the collar, and towed hin? ashore.

lt was a huge Newfoundland dog belonging to a gentle-
man who wus witha merry party of both sexes, picnic-
ing onthe banks of the lake,

A limp, battered, tattered and scratched looking indi-
vidual reached the hotel thirty minutes later.

“Send up my bili aud have a carriage at the door,” he
groaned, as he passed the office. ‘I want toreach the
uext down-traiun—l’m going home.”

THE LADIES WORK-Box.

THE PURCHASING AGENCY CATALOGUE.—Owing to many
changes and reductions 1n prices, we are forced to defer the pub-
lication of our New Purchasing Agency Catalogue until to-
ber, when all orders received will be filled at once. It will be
sent to any address, prepaid, on receipt of ten cents.

 

 

 

“A Lover of the Work-Box.’’—You say you have $50
with which you wish to purchase two dresses for winter.
You can have one of challis and the other of camel’s hair
—the latter material will make youa very useful walking
and church suit, while the other is rather more dressy
and is suitable for home and reception purposes. You
can get either of these materials for 75 ceuts and $1 per
yard, and you will require from eighteen to twenty-two
yards to make your suit. One or both of the dresses may
be trimmed with silk, or the camel’s hair would look well
with the worsted twisted fringe. We have already
described most of our novelties for the month, but suggest
that you make one of your dresses with polonaise after
pattern No. 3,465, price 30 cents. The camel’s hair cloth
trimmed with chenille fringe will be very handsome made
alter this pattern. The garment has a deep-pointed front,
is long and fullin the back, which is looped so as to form
&@ point, while the sides are finished with tabs. This po-
louaise if well fitted is really very handsome. A more
dressy overgarment is the demi-polonaise with sashes aud

| basque back, No. 3,440, price 35 cents. Why not geta

shawl for wearing cool evenings? You can get one at
any price from $5 to $10, and asacque or cloak would
cost just as muchif not more. However, if you like,
make a hallf-fitting sacque of cashmere, and trim with
lace and passementerie. Ficlius are very much in favor,
and you can make one of cashmere and line with flannel,
and we think it will be quite warm enough for your cii-
mate.

“Uncomfortable.” —We should think you would be de-
cidedly so. Take our advice, get a pair of the Globe cor-
sets for $2.25, and be sure and have them large enougl to
meet without exertion. So many make the mistake of
getting their corsets too tight, causing themselves to suf-
fer untold misery. Corsets should not be at all tight. The
newest rufis make every woman resemble a ruffled grouse.
AS Many as five rows of white crepe lisse are Closely box-
plaited upon a band and fastened to the neck-band of the
basque or polonaise.

“A Friend,’’ St. Louis, Mo.—With your crimson merino
you can combine the same material in black, and make a
very handsome suit. Put black fiounces on your crimsou
skirt. Your overskirt can be either black or scariet, trim-
nied with one or both, basque of one with sleeves of the
other, and fichu of the d!ack, and trimmed in black, and
you will have a tasty, useful suit. Now you want a gray
suit for fal. ‘Stylish but not expensive.’? Then you can
get de bege, alpaca, or camel’s diagonal ranging in price
from 40 cents to 75 cents per yard. The suits of these fa-
brics are exceedingly popular, and when neatly made are
quite as handsome as those costing more, forthe only
difference isin the fabric, which reaily looks alike aud
wears Well, only one is all wool and tle other a mixture.
For your other suit get cashmere, poplin or silk. A black
silk will be richer and far more serviceable than any other
you Can purchase, That dress you can make and trim as
handsomely as you desire, with either polouaise or basque
and overskirt, orpamented with the material, or with
passementerie, lace or fringe, or the jet trimming, either
in silk or velvet. No; so don’t be uneasy.

“Madame D’Estange.’’—Moust of our stylish costumes
are made of the imported models, still we will comply
with your request and describe a few suits ‘just from
Paris.» A stylish promenade suit is of silk colors sulphur
aud sailor blue. At the edge of the skirt is a sailor blue
flounce ten inches deep, with plaited headings. Thetunic
forms two doubie points edged with bias silk two inches
thick. The corsage is of the sailor biue, and is cut in
puinted basques; it is lined with the sulphur silk, and
open in heart shape, with revers of the sulphur silk.
Tne bonnet accompanying this suit is of rice-straw,
trinimed with flowers to correspond with the toilet,
Another suit. is of two shades of silk violet and mauve.
The apron is of the mauve, aud i8 trimmed with a pinked
out piailing seven inches deep; the plaiting is héaded by
three gathered flounces, the highest headed and pinked
out. This triniming is repeated three times in graduated
sizes divided by embroidery. The bodice of violet silk,
Wilh narrow pointed basque iu front, and at the back
edged with white lace. A kind of waistcoat is made of
the manve silk, the neck has a high ruff of lace and silk,
vioiet silk Coat sleeves trimmed at the seam witha mauve
plaiting and bows of white iace.

ory

 

. BE. 8.°—Certainly, we can get the embroidered
shirt bosums for you. The price is of course regulated by

the quality and amount of embroidery upon each bosom.
They cost from $1 to $5each. ltis safer to send such
packages by express. We do send merchandise by matt
when directed to du so by our patrons, but we cannot be
responsible for its safe delivery.

“M. B.’—We Know a tall lady who recently had a dress
made of the Beaver brand mohair, and we think your al-
paca made after the same style would be very becoming
to you, The deini-trained skirt was trimmed with one
deep ruffie, headed with six shirrs and a narrow ruffle.
The overskirt was Jong and fult, and trimmed around
with a fold of material and twisted fringe. The basque
was perfectly plain, excepting the fold and fringe around
the edge, and the same trimming also adorned the s:ylish
fighu which will make the suit quite heavy enough fot
wearing in the fall, You can-use pattern No. 3.441, price
25 cen's, for overskirt; 3,470, price 25 cents, Jor basque;
and 3.479, price 25 ceuts, for fichu. For the eutire suit
you will use about twenty-five yards of material.

“Myra.’—The new silks are very handsome, and cost
anywhere from $2 to $6 per yard. We can get you a de-
sirable quality for about $2 50a yard, and the color you
can chouse from the samples sent by the NEw Yorx
waren, Purchasing Ageucy. Your catalogue was sent

y mail.

“Alice.’—The hair braid will cost you about $12, and
will be really handsome. We can get one for you to cost
from $5 to $25, but those for $12 will answer every. pur-
pose. Hair when taken from the head will fade, 80 you
need Dot think that your braid was dyed because it has
grown lighter. Cut a piece of your own hair off and’ pul
it away—in a year you will flud it has faded considerably.

“Disgust.’—You are not by any means as big a ‘*feoi’”
as you might be. We have hever heard the *iiitie boxes’”
calied by any name, but they are used to hold the comb
and brush, hair-pius, toilei-powder, and any hive article
used in dressing, such 18 button-hook, &c. Mais of Java
canvas either braided or embroidered, will be preity; or
you can make them of wool after some handsome design.
It is nol necessary LO have anything on the bureau, but
you Can have a toilet set, -consisting of periume bottles
and powder-box; and also a pin-cushion. You can use
the other articie Jor a stand for your work-basket, or you
can place a few books upon it.

GENERAL HINTS ON PRESENT AND FUTURE STYLES.

Roses are imporied with olive or purple calyx, aud sear-
lei, pink or blue petais,

The prevailing Paris black for fall will be a doiman pal-
etot, neither loose nor tight.

For bonnets, double-faced wide ribbon is used, gros
grain on one side and satin on the other.

Breasis and wings of tropicai birds, and a variety of
brilliant plumage, ure shown in full hats, No ostrich
plumes. :

Black silk walking dresses, with stripes of beads down
the front width insteud of velvet, as Was the rage last
Winter, will be in favor in the autuinn.

Fall flowers of French manufaciure are, if anything,
handsomer and more beautiful than ever. Never has uie
autumn foliage been so successiully imitated.

The hair is how arranged on the top of the head ina
series of graduated puifs coming from over the forehead
almost to the nape of the neck. ‘The puffs are made frum
what ladies call the ‘‘comb savings.”

Military mantels are suggested among the earliest inde-
pendent wraps, aud Austrian jackets and dolmaus of
While velvet cioth, trimmed with black velvet, are chosen
as Carriage Wraps for the park in the early autumn days,
bow here.

Chatelaine chains of braided bamboo are among the
pretty trifies chosen by young ladies for dvuuble purposes
of watch and fan guard. The hook passing umder the

sign and striking as to Culor.

Gray crocheted passemeuteries, upon which cut steel.
beads glisten brillianUy, are first among special importa-
tions of trimmings for the new season, 5

Worth, the dressmaker, says thata lady lately begged
him to invent a walking custume, pretty and becoming,
in which the women could walk wilh as much comfort
and as little trouble as men doin theirs. “1 have,’’ he
exclaimed, “but you won’t wearit. Ido net see the
slightest objection to women wearing trousers with
tunic, asl have wanted themto. And there is a Persian
costume which is the perfection of beauty and grace.”

——_—__>-9<___

ITEMS OF INTEREST.

aa A wild cat that had destroyed thirty-tour
chiekens peenns to a gentleman in St. Louis, was recently
caughtinatrap. It was found to be of the cat specier, with a
flat head, short ears, wide mouth, its body, Which was of a
grayish vellow color, had black stripes running troin the sides Iike
those of a tfger. Its tail was about a foot jong, and was also
striped. The whole length of the auimal was about three feet,
and its weight about fifteen pounds.

aay A large public bequest has been lost by the
use of one word tor another. Dr. E. R. Johnson, who die in
New Bedford, Mass., two years axo, left $150,000 to establish a
charitable institation for colored people, on condition that his
daughter died “without heirs,” meaning, it is contenied, “with-
out issue.” Although the daughter died without children, her
mother was her legal “heir,” aud the bulk of the property now
goes to the latter’s relations. -

a@ There is a snow-bank in the Rocky Mountains
which, on one hand, sends its waters into the Colorado, aad so on
down to the Gulf of California in latitude 32 de; 7 on another
hand into the Colambia, and so ou duwn tothe North Pacific in
Yatitade 46 minutes, and on another hand into the
Missouri, and so on down to the Guif of Mexico m latitude 29
degrees 20 minutes. And a man can eat of the snows that feed
all these rivers without moving out of one place. a

4ag-_ Mrs. Jane Taylor died in‘Richmond, Va., aged
80 years. Her husband, some years younger, was remarkably
devoted to her. For four months previous to lier death, he was
only in bed three nights. Day and night, for 120 days, (with the
exception noted) he was by her bedside, as prompt at the hist
hour as at the first, to comply with her every wish.

xa The English Post-office pays. The receipts
for 1873 amounted to $26,740,000, the expenditure at the sume
time was $18,965,000, leaving a surplus of no less than $7,776 WO
There are 42, persons employed in the department, of whom
many are women, this number including 12,500 postmiausters, 9,000
clerks, and about 20,000 sorters, carriers, wud messengers.

aa A colored man of immense size, named
Charles Cook, died lately at Riverhead, L. I. ihree weeks preced-
ing his death he was in aconstant struggle for breath, so excess-
ive was the accumulation of fat around his throat. Finally he-
could only get reliet by resting on his bands and knees, and im
that posture he died. His weight was 396 pounds.

aay A young lady recently married in

“Mizpath” in rubies, emeralds, diamonds and sapphires. The
literal interprelation is, “The Lord watch between me and: thee
when we are absent oue from another.”’

aae- A woman, aged 108 years, died lately in. the
Hospital for the Incurables, attached to the Almsiouse, on
Blackwell's Island; her pame was Mary A. Bliss. She was a
native of Germany. She was admitted tu the hospital about two
years ago. :

aa In New Orleans, recently, within twenty-four
hours, there were two suicides and three homicides, besides
several minor affrays, in which pistels aud razors were freely
used, inflicting dangerous wounds.

4a United States Treasurer Spinner lately re-
ceived a letter from Bristol, Vt., inuclosing a certificate of Geposit
for $5,000, willed by H. F. Day, dec »to the United States,
to assist in liquidating the national debt.

nae Bishop Miles, of the Colored Methodist Church
of America, lately preached in Louisville, Ky. It was the first
sermon ever delivered in a white church in that city by a colored
minister. ;

aa@ Mary L. Long, for many years a teacher of a
private school at Greeutield, Mass., and highly respected, com-
pee suicide lately by hanging. Sheis thought tu have been
usane.

xa One of the inmates of the Ohio Penitentiary,
banied Foster, has been left by his father, who lately died in tuis
city, $15,0.0. He was convicted under the name of Marshai, fur,
forgery, in 1872, and sentenced to three years’ imprisonment.

aay Five men were executed at one time, lately,
at Napoleonville, La. They were associated in the murder of aa
old flat-boatman, named Eastwood. ~

aap It will require at least seven hundred vessels
of about 1,200 tons each, to carry tue surplus grain crop of Culi-
fornia to Europe this season.

gar The number of libraries in. France, not in-
cluding the Department of the Seine, is containing alto-
gether nearly a million and a half of ein . 4

nar Two valuable cows died of hydrophobia at
Gravesend, L. I., recently. They were bitten Ly a small dog not
Known to be mad at the time,

aa The manufacture of the 8l-ton gun at the
Royal Gun Factories in the Royal Arsenal, Woolwich, Eng., is
slowly progressing. It excites great interest.

4aay- There is a boy in Harrison, N. H,, who, though
only six years old, weighs one hundred and forty-six pounds.

aa@- A child with four ears and two noses was
recentiy born dead at Grayville, near Bloomington, Ill.

 

Two New Stories.

In No. 50 we will begin the publication of.a story des-
criptive of Galifornia life in the early days of the “gold
fever,’ entitled the :

Wickedest Man in the Mines;

OR, THE
Mystery of Gormsby Ranch,

By Mariposa Weir.

The author is a well-seasoned Californian, and knews
whereof he writes. He wields a graceful, forcible and
graphic pen, and his characters are delineations from
life. :

It will be followed, in No, 51, by a romantic and deeply
interesting story, entitled ;

paved by Her Blood;

OR, THE :
Dungeon of Trevylian Castle.
By Grace Gordon.
This is the author's first serial for the NEw York

readers anxious to peruse a second work from the same
entertaining pen.

 

belt is generally of course Japanese ehumel, quaint in de- -

received from her husband a magniticent bracelet with $he-word-

WEEKLY, and its publication will undoubtedly make the

 

 

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<<a JHE NEW YORK WEEKLY. e3e> 5

 

THE TOWN I LIVE IN.

BY JENNIX STOVIN.

 

A small, dusty village—they cali it a town,
Should you ever by chance venture there;

If you are a bachelor, gifted with cash,
I bid you and warn you beware.

Maneuvering mothers, with penniless girls,
Will snatch you before you well knew it;

And tradesmen besiege you with bills without end,
Se promptly you scarcely can owe it,

Bejore you have opened your lips to a girl
The town will have called you a flirt;

The dector will order you mineral baths
Before you are ill or are burt.

The taxes are high—the rates are so great,
Yet your mansion might all be burnt down;

For fire might rage, there’s no water at hand,
Ner an engine that works in the town.

In summer the dust mocks the deserts’ deep sand ;
In winter the mud and the snow

Well cover the streets and envelope your feet
Most knee deep wherever you go.

No theaters or concerts, no literary charms,
So the people have nothing to do

But to gossip and peep into others’ affairs
Grow jealous and scandalize you!

The milinery, dress making, quite out of date,
‘The papers all void of fresh news,

The gioves made by natives!—such honible boots,
Only equaled by horrible shoes!

So if ever you want your temper to rise,
And your spirits’ and heart to go down,

Just make up your mind te reside afew years
In our gay little gossiping town!

 

Accused Wife.

By the Author of **Drifted Asunder,’’

{The Accused Wife” was commenced in 45. Back Nos. can
be obtained of any News.Ageat in the United States.]

CHAPTER X.
IN THE CELL.

What Mrs. Arden said to her stunned and bewildered
children in that terrible hour of explanation and parting
need not be told here. They had no thought, no suspic-
ion, that she might be guilty. To them sie was their
mother, pure and stainless as they had always known her.
They had guessed nothing of any heavy secret until now,

 

. They had no knowledge of her Clandestine interviews

with the dead man—no hint of any counection between
then.

“Of course it is all a mistake, sir,’ Frederick said to his
father. “We know that. You will Jeti me go with you
and mamma? She will be better able to bear it all if we
are boti: by her side,’’

“No, dear,” said his mother, gently; “let your father go
alone. It will be better for us all. Don’t gob like that,
Gertie dear! Whatever end comes to ali this, it is
Heaveu’s will, aud we must bear it.”

“Ol, mamma, mamma,’’? sobbed the poor girl, “don’t
talk like that! Papa, don’t let her. ‘There cau’t be any
eud to it but her coming back to us directly safe aud
well.”?

“I hope not, my child. Come, Gertrude, my darling,
We are waited for.”

“Yes, Mrs. Arden said solemnly, ‘‘by the Nemesis that
Waits for us allsome time in our lives. Don’t let the
cluildren up stairs know why Iam gone away,’’ she add-
ein a hollow tone, Startling in its inteusily; “it would
biight their young lives furever.”’ .

“iu. sorry, sir, but my orders were to lose no time,’’
Said the officer, Opening the door; ‘avd if the lady is
ready——”

“} am quite ready,’ she replied, in the same caim time.
“Fred, my darling, my boy, aud Gertie, my own precious
child, kiss me once more.”

Tuey clung about her with tears and bitter wailipgs;
but she bade them hush and listen to her.

*Reniember, if the worst should come,’ she said, ‘if
they should take my life for that dead man’s, I am not
guilty. I have been a guilly, untruthful woman for many
a lung mouth past; but with this awful deed I have
nofhing to de. Don’t forget it. Remember that I swore
it to your father and to you.”’ {

There was no need fur her to swear to them. They

Would not have believed her guilty hud they seen her

stand over the murdered man, weapon in hand.

They watched her drive away in the cab which had been
wailing, luckily not much noticed, for the mob round
Holly Lodge were still intent upon gazing up at the win-
dows and down into the area, and did not heed much of
What was goiug on at the rectory. Frederick Arden had
lime to curry his fainting sister to her room, aud to say a
few decisive words to the servants about gossiping over
what had happened, before the presence of au excited
crowd at the gate gave token that the news of his Mother’s
arrest liad spread through the neighborhood.

Mrs. Ardeu said never a word as they wrote down the
charges against her. She was as quiet as the wretched
little wife, whese accomplice or instigator they supposed
her to be, aud she was duly given over to the attendants
to be placed iu a cell.

“{ want half an hour's talk. with my husband,’”’ she
said, in a sharp, hard tone, as they led her away. “Shall
I be allowed Lo have it ?””

**Yuu will be allowed everythiug in reason that you
wish, madame, compatible with your safe keeping,’’ was
the quiet auswer. “in a very few minutes Mr. Arden cau
join you if he wishes it. And he looks like a manstricken
for death,’ he added, in low voice. “Poor old genuiewan!l
It is an awful shock to him.”’

In about a quarter of an hour he was conducted to the
dim cell where his wife was bestowed. She was silting
On the side of the bed, with her hands clasped loosely in
her lap, aud let her head drop on his shoulder as lie sat
down beside her, with a weary, hopeless droop that went
to his heart.

“i feei as if it were all over,” she said, quietly. ‘It
seems to me as if I had been here an eternity already.”’

“You have something to tell me, Gertrude,” he said,
geully. “I have come to hear it, my dear.”

“Yes. I would spare you if{I could. You have suffered
enough, and there is a deeper pail than all to come, aud
through me—through me.’?

“Let me hear ail now, dear. Ido not think I can bear
much more. This dead man, who was he? What was he
to you?”

“Ou, forgive me—forgive me! He was my husband—
Harper Leet”

The words rang through the cell like a death wail as
she moaned them out iu her agony, and Mr. Arden started
to his feet aud stood gaging at her wildly, with every fea-
ture working with horror. .

“Your husband? Gertrude, are you mad, or am 1?”

“Jam not. Ewish il were. I wish | had died before I
brougiit this shame upon you, or could die to save you
from it; but it is rue—the horrible, shameful truth. Will
you listen to me while I try to teli you the whole story?”

Bui he could not. He could ouly rock himself to au
fro, and sob out: é

“Tue children—the childrent"”

“Yes, Ue children," she said, sadly. ‘It was for their
sakes | kept tiis awful secret. Frederic, my life has been
a living martyrdem for the last six months’? ‘

Sle put her hund on his arm and made him sit down by
her ouce more. There was no guilt in (he mournful eyes
which methis when at last he looked at her, aud he clasped
her in his arms with ali his accustomed love.

“My wife in spite of ali,’? he said. ‘Now teil me your
story, Gertrude, here on my breast, in the shelter of wy
arnis. >

“You do not doubt me, Frederic ?”’

“No.”

“You do not think the deceit has been willfal on my
t?

“[ donot. Goont’’

“When you took me for your wife, now many happy
years ugo, I believed | was teiling you the simple truth
when I said my husband and father were both drowued
on their way to Australia. Lhad ample evidence of the
fact. Ll showed it to you.”

“You did.’

“1 believed it. I had banished it from my mind entirely,
until six mouths since I saw my husband standing en the
steps of Holly Lodge. I knew him in a moment. He
Wus a striking-louking man, and he had Kept up his youth-
ful appearance. Fred and Gertie remember that day.
They fowud me with all the life in me turned to ice when
they came back iuto the parlor.’

“My pvor Gertrude, go on.’’

*“} caunot tell you what my life has been since. For
the suke of the children I have lived that man’s slave ever
since. Every article of value that I possessed, with one
or two exceptions, has gone into his keeping. Every
farthing T could scrape t r has goue to help keep up
the house that held the woman who believed herseif to
be his wife. I have risked my reputation, bartered away
my peace, to keep the awful secret from those 1 loved so
dearly. it is almost a relief to feel that the end has
come!’

: “But. last night, Gertrude—tell me all you - did, all you

now. ,

“I met him, as you have heard, as all the world will
know soon, in the night. Iwas forced to it, Frederic.
He said if | did not he would come to the house, and pro-
cluim who he was to you and the household, I gave him
money—all I had—and he took the bracelet, 1 know
nothing of the handkerchief, unless I dropped it and he
picked it up.”

“Is tliat all 2?

“All | Know. He was bitter and sneering, and f was
angry. I did say I should like to kill him, and 1 felt it,
tor he liad goaded me almost to madness. We were dis-
turbed. A policeman came up, and we parted. He went
Blraight into his house, fori heard his key turn in the
lock, and | got home as best I could, fancyipg no one
Knew | had been out.”’

“tknew. I wish lhad followed you—you might not
have been sitting in this cell, and I should only bave
known @littie soouer What must have come out me
time.’

Think as he would, Mr. Arden could see no ray of eluci-
dation tu the mystery. He went home bowed and broken,

asthough he had suddenly grown twenty years older,
and shut himself up in his study. His son and daughter
came to him; bat even their loving atteutions could do
nothing.

Late in the evening an officer from the police court
called upon him.

“] thought you would like to know, sir,’ he said; ‘*but
We are on a new track.”

“Ah! I thought it would be cleared up!’’ Mr. Arden said,
joyously. “it was an unfortunate mistake, somehow;
but my wife will be the first to forgive what has gone by.
You have discovered something to exonerate her, of
course.”’

There was something almost childish in his gladness,
and his agitation struck the grave, undemonstrative po-
liceman with a pang of pain,

“I beg your pardon, sir, I’m sure, if I led you to think
that,”’ he replied, deprecatinugly. ‘‘On the contrary, 1 am
afraid the Case against Mrs. Arden jooks blacker than
ever, lt is the other poor lady that they think innocent,
now.

“Ah! Mrs. Latta???

“Yes, sir.”

“What have you found out?”

‘You said you wished to know everything, sir.’?

“| do—everything. Mrs. Arden bade me relate every
portion of her histury to your superintendent in case there
Was anything that might lead to the nystery being cleared
up. She knew the dead man in her early life.”

“IT know, sir,” the officer remarked—his tone implying
that he knew everything. ‘It’s in connection with that
past time that we have discovered something.”

“Go on.”?

“In the first place, sir, it seems pretty certain that Mrs.
Latta was drugged, and very heavily—that much the doc-
tor has sworn to. Next, the stains on her hands and the
bedclothes must have been produced somehow after she
laid down, there being no marks such as would be pro-
duced by @ person undressing and getting into bed with
Stained hauds. Then the servant is much clearer in her
story tian she was in the morning, aud swears her mis-
tress was in bed long before her master came home.
Lastly, the kuife found by the bedside bears the name of
& well-known showman, and a piece of stiff paper, which
had evidently been used to keep the blood from the hand
of the murderer, bears the name of a female conjuror,
very well known also. Did Mrs. Arden ever speak to you
of a Madame Antoinette Duval?”

CHAPTER XI.
COMMITTED FOR TRIAL.

“T have heard the name,’’ the rector replied.

“Well, sir, papers have been found in the house yonder
relating to that Lime, and a bitter letter from this woman
threatening Mr. Latta—she must have known of iis ex-
istence, if your wife did not—and also a lot of memoran-
dums. The woman evidently had aspite against him,
and a hold upon him, for he met her and gave her money
Hot 2 mouth since, in a street out of Lambeth-walk. Mrs.
Arden’s name is wentiouéd inthe letter—at least her
maaiden naine,”’ "

“But will they catch this woman ?””

“For certain, sir. They are on her track now, It
doesn’t seem very clear what her motive was, or what
she was to the dead man; but I am afraid they will find
Mrs. Arden was an accomplice. She called at the house
in the evening.”’

“Sie has given me her word that she never set foot over
the threshold.”

“She didu’t, sir; she went to the door, and only spoke
to a servant, The girl knows her well, and can swear
to her.

“But she was at the institute with me at the concert.”

You didu’t go ull jate, sir, and Mrs. Arden was out till
the last minute before you sturted, if you remember.”’

“So she was,’? groaned the unhappy husband, wonder-
ing in the midst of his dgepair how the police could get
such accurate details of What occurred in people’s lives.
“itis a hideous web of entauvglement, aud 1 see no way
out of it.’?

“It’s black now, sir, but sometimes these things take a
turn at the very Jast. It may come out clear after all.”

“Heaven grant they may fiud this woman,’ Mr. Arden
murinured.,

“| hope they will, Iam sure, sir,’ the officer said. “But
there’s not much doubt aboutit. Bolt of the Z division
has gone after ier, and he never misses his tip; and if he
does, it will only be to find that they’re accomplices, and
that Mrs. A. is as deep in the mire as she is,’ he added,
in low tones, as he wentaway. ‘It’s an awful thing to
anger a woman—wWworth a man’s life many a time.”?

The Lainbeth police court was crowded to excess the
next morning, and hundreds of people thronged the
streets and ovstructed the pavements to see the two ladies
who caine up charged with such afoul crime. -1t was
something new in the annals of sin—a clergyman’s wife
charged with murder; and full, true, and particular ac-
counts of the tragedy aud the supposed motives which
jed to it were alreatiy being sould aud shouted by itinerant
news dealers all over the district.

The sitting magistrates were fully as excited and inter-
ested as the crowd oulside. One of them, a white-haired,
benevolent old gentleman, was an intimate friend of Mr.
Arden’s, and a warm admirer of his graceful wife.

“J cannot believe it,” he said, with quivering lips; ‘I
cannot, Mrs. Arden is the most refined, elegant lady I
Know. Were slie ever so goaded, ever so bitter, she would
not stoop to such a disgusting and horrible act.”?

**‘Women wiil do aud dare anything to save their repu-
tation,” said another, who did not know the rector’s
wife. “And if all reporis be true, there was a shameful
rr in this man’s keepivg which was worth his murder
lo hide.’

“A wretched secret but not shameful. You donot know
Mrs. Arden or you would not couple such a word with her
bame. :

“} am very glad I don’t know her. Itis an awfully
painful thing to see your friends come in front of you as
crimipais. The secret was a shameful one; at least I call
itso, Is it no shame for a woman to keep from the man
who believes himself to be her husband the knowledge
that some one else has a prior claim—to live for months in
open sin, with her rightful owner not a hundred yards
away? Bahl! you are Quixotic, my dearsir. We sive in
an uge which calls such things by their right Dames, and
punishes thei accordingly.”’

“Poor lady, her punishment is indeed bitter.”

‘it will be sharp and short, I fancy. The assizes come
on so soon that there won’t be much delay, and there has
been so mucl) fuss Jately about punishing the poor and
letting the rich go scot free, that they wou’t be very leni-
eni.

i “We shall soon hear all about it. They have opened the
jooys.

There was considerable difference in the demeanor of
the two prisoners when they faced: that crowded. court,
Mabel Lajta was nervous, tremulous, agitated to a pain-
ful degree. Mrs. Arden was quite calm. Mabel had been
delirious through the pight—the combined effects of the
drug, whatever it was she had taken, aud the terrible
agitation of the day. She had cried incessantly te be al-
lowed to “go back to Bertie,’’ and her strength was utterly
exhausted now. She was allowed to sit down, and a
female from the police office remained by her side.

Mrs. Arden stood: very quietly, and answered the ques-
tious put to her with a calm seif-possession that as-
tonished every one. She denied all Knowledge of the
murder, but toid the simple truth about everything else.

The evidence against her was terribly overwhelming.
Mabel’s servant Susan swore to her having called at Holly
Louge in the evening pending the murder, the policeman
told all he had heard of the conversation behind the fence,
and one of her own servants, who had been restless and
peeping, deposed that ‘“‘missis came home about two
o'clock, or it migbt be half-past, looking awful.’? She had
looked up at the window in the moonlight, and the girl
had fancied herself detected in her espionage.

Interrogated as to what she meant by looking awful,
She declared that she meant that her mistress looked as
though she had seen some dreadful sight—she looked
nearly frightened out of her senses.

So she had been, poor lady; but it was fear of what lay
before her, not remembrance of what was past, which
had blanched her cheek and dimmed her eye.

The magistrates heard all the evidence, and decided
there was no case aguiust Mabel Latta, Mrs, Arden,
looked upon as guilty by the crowd within aud without
Lhe court, was committed for trial, and removed to New-
gate in the prison van.

Her husband might not go with her now, and there
was hardly an eye that did not dim, or a throat that
did not feel uncomfortably “hampy.’’ at the sight of his
wrung face aud outstretched hands as he watched her
taken away.

They Jed him out of the court and into the magistrate’s
room, and a friend tried all he could to comfort him.

“For the sake of your children you must not give way,”’
he said. ‘They are your children still, and will need your
sheltering love. Besides, nothing is actually proved.”

“Euough for a jury,’? he said, sadly. ‘‘Nothing can
undo the dreadful facts of her being with the unfortunate
man that night, and the finding of the bracelet.”

“EP don’t Know that that will count for so much when
everything is told. The search of the house has disclosed
the fact that the man Latta—or whatever his name was
—was a thief, a forger, aswindler in every sense of the
term. Whether that poor little woman, his wife——”’

“No, not his wife,’ said Mr. Arden, in a choking voice,

“No—no, of course not. Well, she thought herself so,
at all events. Whether she was his accomplice or not,
time will show.”

‘| don’t believe it. She seemed a singularly guileiess,
childish little creature.”’ .

“All they are sometimes the worst. But 1’m of your
opinion—| thiak she knows nothing.”

‘Where is she?’

“T hav’n’t the least idea.’

“Is she gone home—to that house ?’”

“Hardly—the police are in possession there. There is
much stolen property there, I hear. The servant said
something about some relations that her mistress could
go to. 1 hope she has, poor little thing.’?

“| hope so. I pity her from my heart. Deep as her
sorrow may be, it is not such a heavy load as mine, I can
see no way out of this fearful labyrinth.”’

“Try and hope that the arrest of this woman, Duval,
May do something. Luckily, there is a witness who caa
swear to her identity.’’

“Who is it???

“A man in whose house she once stayed for a week ina
Jane out of Oakley street. It seems sue is a sort of cele-
brity in her way.” ,

But Mr. Arden could not hope; he could feel nothing
but blank despair. He went home, and let his children
persuade him togoto bed. Nothing could be done, and
they had promised to sendyto him the instant the antici-
pated telegrain came from Inspector Bolt at Canterbury.
He siept as prisoners are said to sleep under the torture

 

—fitfudly, aud in Short naps; but toward twelve o’clock he
fell into a deeper slumber

When Mabel Latta was told she might go, she looked
about her with a bewildered air, as if she did not under-
stand. The order was repeated in a rather sharper tope,
and the officer in charge gently pulled her away from the
dock and led her.to the door.

Susan was wailing for her, very pale-faced and red-
eyed, and took Charge of ber at ouce.

“Of course I'll take her away,”? slie said to the police-
man. “Pvuor dear! 1 didn’t kuuw she was ready to come.”’
Aud she hailed a cab, and lifted her hali-unconscious mis-
tress into if, bidding the man “‘drive fast and get out of
the mob.”?

ie mob was soon distanced, and then Susan began to
cofsider. She had but a very little money, and she had
heard enough to know that they could not go back to Hol-
ly Lodge. She knew where Mrs Jerningham lived, and
she resolved to go there. Surely, in the big Torrington-
square house, they could find sume tiny corner to shelter
tis poor stricken soul !

The bel) of an adjacent church-clock boomed out to the
world that it was two in the morning, and Mr. Arden
woke to the chill consciousness that something had hap-
pened since lie had heard that bell vefore. Turning rest-
lessly, he moaned aloud in his agony, and it seemed to
him as though his Own wail was auswered or taken up by
some one out of doors.

“Fanucy!? he said to himself—‘the echo of my own
misery!"?

But the echo was prolonged and taken up again, and
became a low, agonized cry, and then a burst of sobbing,
mingled with &@ Womau’s voice in tones of exposiulation
or entreaty. He got up and looked out of the window
on the quiet, moonlit rvad,

Jt was almost as bright as day, and not a creature was
stirring Lo disturb the serenity of the night. Holly Lodge
was leit alone now. The mob had all gone home till day-
light, and the policeman left on guard had gone round
the Corner, maybe Lo try and meet the companionship of
a human face, aud hear the sound of a mortal footstep;
for Wybert Latta lay stiff and stark close to the front win-
dow, and the idea was not a pleasant one.

But two women were keeping watch and ward there—
one sitting on the siep rocking and moaning in wild grief,
the otber bending over her in despairing sympathy.

Mr. Arden’s grief gave way almost for a moment to pity
as he recognized the pale face in the bright moonlight,

It was Mabel Latta, frieidiess and alone, but for the
faithful Susan, weeping over her ruined home.

CHAPTER XII.
OLOSING IN.

Mr. Arden Jooked at the cowering figure on the step of
Holly Lodge, and his heart echoed the despairing wail the
night air walted to his ears. Two o’clock—the very hour
at which, only two nights ago, he had watched his wife
re-enter the house after herrendezyous with Wytert
Latia—and how much had happened since then? His
Whole life had been wrecked, his children—al! he dare
not think of them—and this man, the cause of all, was
lying dead behind the blinds of that silent house.

‘Poor creature!’? he said to himself, as he watched the
unconscious Mabel, “her sorrow is bitter euough; but
there is no shame mixed with it.”

As he spoke he saw a policeman go up to the stooping
figure and speak, evidently ordering her away. The ser-
ee who was with Mabel appeared to expostulate; but

1@ Man was Arm—they must go.

‘They must have a shelierfor the night, at any rate,”
Mr, Arden murmured, hastily dressing himself, ‘Per-
haps they have nowhere to go,”

At the door of his room lie encountered his son. Fred-
eric had been unable to sleep, and, hearing his father
Stirring, Came Out to meet him. He was fearful the two
days of suffering he had passed through might have been
too much for kim, and hemight be going out in some
feverish fit of restiessness to Wander aiinlessly about.

“Not in bed, my boy ?? the father said, as they met,

“No, sir; 1 could not sieep.”?

‘“T have slept—as wretches sleep, I suppose, on the eve
of execution. 1 waked suddenly not a quarter of an hour
siice,

“Is it well to go out, sir?’ :

“] think so. Iam going to fetch the poor widow of
yonder murdered man.’?

“Sirt?

Frederic Arden looked at his father as though he thought
he was going mad. ‘“Tofeteh her! Where from, sir?”

His bedroom window epeved tothe back of the house,
consequently he had not seen the cowering figure and its
faithful attendant. }

“Quly irom her own door,” his father answered, ‘Her
home is barred aguinst her, poor, desvlate soul.”

“But is it well to bring her here, sir??? Frederic asked,
somewhat aghast at the idea,

“I would do it fora homeless tramp, my boy—how
much more for her, poor, deceived, betrayed creature?
She thouglt herself that bad man’s wile, Fred—thinks
herself his widew now.” :

‘Thinks hersell!? echoed his son. ‘She is his widow,
is she not ?*

“Ah, you do not know all, my boy; but come with me,
I may Want your help.”

Frederic Arden had no idea what his father’s words
might mean. No one had been bold enough to whisper
to him what was already hinted about the neighborioud,
that his idolized mother was, in fact, not his father’s wife,
and that he and his brothers and sisters were illegitimate.
it was a bitter truth, to be told by-and-by, and received
stiod such passionate despair as only young, brave hearts
can feel,” oe

ie a very few minutes {he pair had crossed the road,
and stood at the gate of Holly Lodge. Mabel had not
moved yet, and the policeman was still expostulating
with the indignant Susan.

“Is no use, my girl,’? he was saying as the rector and
his son came up. “My orders are strict, and I must keep
to them. I can't let any one into this house to-night. You
must take her somewhere eise till morning, and then she
can see the inspector herself if she Jikes, and setile it
with him. Beg pardon, sir, 1 did not see you,’ he added,
saluting Mr. Arden. :

“What is the matter??? inquired that gentleman.

“He won’t let us into our own louse,” replied Susan,
passionately.”?

“lin very sorry, sir, but my orders are strict,’? the man
replied, respectfully. ‘You see there’s been a deal more
found there than was expected. Murder ain’t the only
thing thavs been going on here. I’m very sorry for the
poor lady myself, but 1 can’t do anything.”

“Of course not; you are quite right, my man,”

Susau had expected’some snail crumb of comfort when
she saw Mr. Arden, and burgtinto passionate tears when
she heard him thus indorse the verdict of the officer.

They must go; but where were they to go to? Their
money Was exhausted, and she had eaten next to nothing
ali day, so that her brave spirit was almost quelled by in-
anition aud weariness,

“What shallldo? What shall Ido?’ Susan sobbed.
“T took her to the place where she jived before slie was
married, 11 Torrington square, aud they slammed the
door in our faces, and asked me how I dared bring a mur-
deress there—they did, the wretches—aund then she want-
ed to come home, and I brought her here, though Id
sooner go into a lion's den than into that house; and now
we can't get in, and l’ve no more muney, ana she'll die, I
kuow she will, poor dear. They’ve nearly killed her with
fright and grief already.’

Pvoor Susan! the climax.of her grief had arrived, and
she sobbed with hysterical vehemence.

“Don’t take on like that,” the policeman said, laying”
his hand on her shoulder; ‘it’s a bud business, but maybe
Ican help you out for to-night at least. 1 daresay my
missis would give you a shelter for a few hours, till you
cap see Wiatiodo. I can’t go with you, but iv’s No. —
Robert street. Just you go there and ask for Mrs. Wilkins,
aud tell her allaboutit, Sheil let you sit down till morn-
ipg anyway.”

jt was very good-natured in him, for he was very du-
bious as (0 What his old wonian would say to him for thus
sending strangers to be housed in the middle of the night,
and Susan was just burstiig out into grateful thanks
when Mr. Arden interposed,

“I will take charge of them, policeman. I saw this
lady frem my window, and we have comé to offer her a
shelter till she can thinKwhattodo, Mrs. Latta, will
you accept the shelter of the rectory for the night at
least?”

But Mabel did not answer. The moans which had
drawn his attention had ceased now, and she sat perfect-
ly still, with her face bowed upon her arms, seemingly
heeding nothing of what was passing.

“Mrs. Latia,”? repeated the rector, gently shaking her,
‘will you come with me, my dear?”

Still there was no reply, and as he took his hand away
her head fell forward till it rested on the railing in an in-
ert, lifeless way, Which told of complete insensibility.

“She has fainted,” he said, pityiugly. ‘We shall have
to carry her.’’

“She is dead,’? sobbed Susan, as the moonlight fell upon
the pale face of her mistress. ‘They have killed her with
their wicked accusations!’

“No, my good girl, she’s not dead,” said Frederic Ar-
den, raising the Jifeless figure. ‘She has fainted, as my
father says. I can carry her with Susan’s help,’? he add-
ed, asthe policeman would haye aided him. ‘*You needn’t
leave your beal, My man; weslali take cure of ler for to-
night, at least.’?

The officer watched themin atthe reetory gate, and
then walked a few paces away from the door of Holly
Lodge. Somehow he did not like to be quite 80 close to
the grim horror that lay there.

He wasn’t a coward either—he would have faced thieves
or burglars, or anything tangible; but there was a shad-
owy awe hanging about Wybert Latia’s corpse which was
far from pleasait.

“If ever there was an angel that parson’s one,’’ he said
to himself, as he heard the gate close after the party. “TO
think of his thinking of her id all his own trouble—’tain’c
many folks would have done such a thing.”

jn a very few minutes the insensible Mabel was laid on
the sofain Mr. Arden’s study, and the nurse—a staid,
elderly woman, who had nursed the whole family—was
roused to attend to her. Nothing could be done but make
her comfortable till the morning. Grief and excitement
had done their work, and her insensibility would not yield
to any known household remedies.

As soon as the family were astirin the morning, and
Gertrude, who was mistress now, could make arrange-
ments for the comfort of their guest, Mr. Arden sent for
the family doctor, an old and dear friend.

His verdict was very unfavorable. Mrs, Latta was ex-
tremely ill, he said, aud the chances were she would re-
main so. The shock might affect her reason—perhaps
kill her eventually, especially as there was @ prospect of
her becoming a mother in the course of a few months,

“You had better write to ler friends,’ he advised, ‘If
she has no resources they will surely help her iu this time
of trial.”

 

‘They shut the door in her face, lam told by her ser-
vant; but 1 will write to thet.’ :

 

Which he did, and received for answer an intimation
that Mrs, Jerningham declined to assist or communicate
with Mrs. Latta inany way—that she had brought all her
oe on herself, aud must bear them the best way she
could.

“Then she shall stay here,’? Mr. Arden said. “I will
not turn her out till there is some prospect of her getting
better, or till she dies, which might bea merciful dispen-
sation of Providence, poor lady.” ;

So the best bedtooim was set apart for Mabel and her
faithful Susan, who nursed her mistress through a long
and severe attack of brain fever, almost praying for her
death as she listened to her delirious cries for her dead
husband, or her unconscious prattie to him who would
never respond by word or look to her love or endearments
more.

And the days passed by, and the inquest was held, and
Wybert Latta’s body committed toacorner of Tooting
Cemetery. P

A very short time would in all probability have seen the
end of his career, The preity house in the Darniey-road
was full of evidences of crime in one shape and another.
iis presumed city business was simply a share in certain
coining and forging speculations, which have nothing to
do With our story, but which his death aided to bring to
hight, and the mourning litle wile in the darkened cham-
ber at the rectory was the widow of as great a scoundrel
as ever cheated the gallows.

In a drawer of his writing-table were found letters and
papers relative toa life of many years before, when he
was Harper Lee, the showman. There was a description,
orrather notice, of the loss of the ship in which he had
left England, and a memorandum statifig that he believed
himself the only survivor of that catastrophe; and last,
and most terrible of ali for Mr. Arden to see and hear of,
there was a copy of the marriage certificate between him-
self and Gertrude Brand. Doubtless it had been procured
for the purpose of terrifying the unfortunate lady into
greater liberality than he could have otherwise enforced.

A letter ortwo from Madame Antoinette Duval, de-
manding money in rather a threatening way, were also
found, but nothing to show in what way she was con-
nected with the dead man.

Every moment that could be permitted to him Mr. Ar-
deu spent with his wife, who bore her imprisonment with
quiet calinness, though prepared for tiie worst, and Fred-
eric also was admitted to his mother’s cell.

It was thought advisable that Gertrude should not go.
Poor girl! she had her home duties toattend to, and they
all feared the effect a visit to Newgate might have upon
her health. Mrs. Arden herself, in many a loving note,
pressed it upon her daughter to try and be content in the
separation.

“You shall come to me, my child, if our parting is to
be eternal,” she wrote; “if not, J shall come home io
you,’? and Gerirude, with many tears, acquiesced in the
decision.

There seemed very little hope. Even the news of the
capture of Madame Duval, and her arrival in London, did
not raise their spirits much, the motive in Mrs. Ardeu’s
a Was sO apparent, the circumstantial evidence so
strong.

Madame did not take her apprehension and removal to
London with any sort of resignation. She dared them to
accuse her of such a crime, ceciared she was not near the
spot at the time, and conducted herself so violently that
the officer sent to Canterbury for the purpose of arresting
her had to call in the assistance of one of the Jocal force
oa he could attempt any journey with so intractable a
charge.

On her examination she refused to give her name, or
answer any questions whatever, but was committed on
the evidence of the Knife and piece of paper, both ol
which were proved to have belonged to her.

And so the time dragged wearily and heavily on toward
the sessions, and nothing more was discovered to throw
any more light on the matter. The family at the rectory
stayed quietly at home,except the younger children, whom
Mr. Arden sent with their nurse to a distant watering-
place. The curate of the parish, aided by an outsider, did
the duty of the church. The rector, though he was seen
going about here and there, did not appear in the pulpit.

*] shall stand there again, please Heaven,’ he said to
his son, *tbut not while this calamity is hanging over us.”’

Stil no hint of anything beyond the accusation of mur-
der had come to Frederic and Gertrude. Their father felt
that they must know it some time, and tried to summon
his courage in vain. He could not tell these two props of
his declining years, the pride and joy of his house, that
they had no claim to his name, bor any otler in the eye
of the law. It was hard to go and stand by the bedsivle
of the stricken Mabel, aud hear her calling on her hus-
band—her own Bertie—and know that the dead man had
deceived her in the blackest way man Can deceive, and
that the wife he so loved and honored had been but a part
of Wybert Latta’s property—a reserve fund from which
he drew whenever he wanted meaus to carry on his many
villainies.

[TO BE CONTINUED. 1

A Mad Marriage.

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

 

‘By Mrs. May Agnes Fleming,

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

 

{‘‘A Mad Marriage” was commenced in No. 39. Back Nos. can
be had of News Dealers in the United States and the Canadas.

PART SECOND.
CHAPTER XII.
LIGHTLY WON, LIGHTLY LOST.

“Norton?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Pack my portmanteau, and hold yourself in
readiness to accompany me by the 9:50train. I
return to Devonshire.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Tell them to have the trap round in fifteen
minutes. Train startsin half an hour. Cando
the distance in the odd quarter.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Hand me that tobacco pouch, Norton, that
book of cigarette paper, and——Come in.”

All this multiplicity of directions Lord Dynely
murmured in the sleepiest, laziest of tones, his
long, slender length stretched out upon a sofa.
His orders had been cut short by a tap at the
door, and, in answer to his invitation, Terry
Dennison entered. , ;

It was nine o’clock of the morning following
that interview in the Vicar of Star ’s study.
Only nine o’clock, and Lord Dynely, whose usual
hour of rising and calling for chocolate in bed
was twelve, was up and dressed. Not only
dressed, but dressed for traveling, in most un-
exceptional get up. He was, as has been said,
a dandy of the first water, as difficult to please
in the fitof a coat as any young duchess about
her wedding robe. He found fault with Poole’s
most taultless works of art, and the peculiar
shade of necktie most becoming his complexion

ad been known to painfully exercise his manly
mind for hours.

As he lay now, every garment he wore, in
make, and coloring, and texture, was above re-

roach. To do him justice, his efforts were not
in vain, his dress always looked as though it
were a part of himself. 5 :

He looked up gayly at Dennison’s approach.
He was in high good humor this morning—at

with all the world. Yesterday’s irritation
Rad entirely passed away. Crystal’s father might
be exasperating to the last ree, but Crystal
herself was entirely satisfactory. And when
Crystal. was his wife, he would take care the
Vicar of Starling and his family saw uncommon-
ly little of her. For Terry—well, looking at it
dispassionately, affer an excellent dinner and a
prime Manilla, he ‘was forced to admit that Ter-
ry, poor beggar! had some little cause of com-
Lint Something very like foul play had been
ane on his part, something the codes of his or-
der and his honor would hardly recognize. Still,
what was done, was done. Crystal he would re-
sign to no man living, and Dennison must make
the best of it. This unexpected opposition had
but strengthened his passion; he had never been
so thoroughly in earnest before about any love
affair in his life. He was going to see his mother
to-day and bring her to reason. She would prove
a little restive on his hands at first, on France’s
account, but he would speedily bring her around.
For France—well, he winced a little at the
thought of meeting France. To be laughed at
was horrible to his self respect, and he could see
Franee’s dark, mischievous, satirical eyes,
France’a cynical little laugh, hear France’s sar-
castic, cutting speeches. “Who was she?’ In-
deed the girl must be a witch. Your sharp girl,
your clever girl, was an outrage on nature. O-
men were made for man’s use, benefit and pleas-
ure; why, then, were half of them as man didn't
like them? Crystal, now, without two ideas in
her pretty head and loving heart—that was his
ideal of womankind. Yes, he would ot his
mother round, fetch her down here to see rye-
tal, have the marriage arranged to take place be-
fore Christmas, allon the quiet, and spend the
winter rambling about sunny Italy. And next
season Lady Dynely would burst upon London
the loveliest thing out, a pride to her husband, an
honor and credit to his taste. ;

All this in rambling, disconnected, self-satis-
fied fashion, Lord Dynely had thought over last
night. Now he lay rolling up a cigarette, with
white,practiced fingers, a smile on his lips and in
his handsome blue eyes as he looked up at Mr.
Dennison.

:

¥ “How are you, Terry?” he said, genially.

Come in; knock those ghinas off the chair, and
sitdown. I’m in the midst of an exodus, you see
—off to Devonshire. Any commission for France
or the madre?”

“T will send a note by you to Lady Dynely,”
Terry answered. He was looking very grave,
and rather pale, Eric could see at second gia
his mouth set and stern under his taw ny be

“It may be some time before

    
    
  

and mustache.
see her in person. I join my regiment
at Windsor.”

“Ah! leave of absence expired? Be off, Norton,,
and order round the trap. Only ten minutes to
starting time now. Very ip nospitwas of me,
Terry—you don’t pay morning calls at Carruthers
Court often—but I really must cut it short.
Twenty-five minutes to starting time, and you
know what the drive to the station is.”

“I won't detain you,” Terry answers, settin.
his lips still harder under his leonine beard. “
came to say a few words about Crystal.”

Lord Dynely’s cigarette was quite ready now.
He looked up at his companion with that slow
indolent smile of ,his that had so much of latent
insolence in it,#truck a fuse and lit up.

“About Crystal? Let us hear it, Terry. You
couldn’t choose a more interesting subject. How
is the little darling this morning?”

“I won’t say anything about your conduct in
this matter, Lord Dynely,” Terry began; “you
know best whether it has been the conduct of a
mon of honor or not. Crystal, perhaps, is not to

ame.”

“How magnanimous! ‘Crystal is not to blame.”
You have never asked her to marry you, and be-
cause she honors me by her preference and ac-
ceptance, she is notto blame. And don’t you
think—as her friend, now, Terry—she makes a
rather better match in marrying Lord Dynely
than she would in marryi erry Dennison?”

That angry gleam was lighting again Eric’s
sleepy blue eyes, but his soft, slow tones never
rose as he spoke. He watched Terry from be-
hind the wreaths of scented smoke, and saw the
flush that rose and overspread his whole face.

“Yes,” Terry answered, after a pause, in a slow,
strange voice, “you are right; she makes a bet-
ter match in marrying Lord Dynely than in mar-
rying Terry Dennison. As I had never, in so
many words, asked her to be my wife, whatever
may have been understood, I repeat [hold her
blameless in this. She loves you—she never did
is, I might have foreseen, but—I trusted you

‘Don’t seem to see it,” Lord Dynely drawled,
looking at his watch. “Only seven minutes, Mr.
Dennison; very sorry to cut it short, I repeat,
bu”

“But you shall hear what I have come to say,”
Terry exclaimed. turning upon him. “It is this:
1 know how you hold women—I know how it is
you have treated them—I know you hold it fair
sport to win hearts and fling them away. What
I have come to say is—don’t doit here. She has
no brother or father oe of protecting her.
I will be her brother, if I may be no more. For
your mother’s sake, you are the last man on
earth I would wish to rdise my hand against, but
this I say, this I mean—if you trifle with Crystal
as you have trifled with others, by the Heaven
above us, Eric, you shall answer to me!”

He brought his clenched hand down upon the
inlaid table, the veins of his forehead swollen and
dark, with the intensity of feeling within him.
Lord Dynely laughed softly and flung his cigar-
ette out through the open window.

“Good! But would it not be well to intimate as
much quietly. You do it very well, my dear boy,
for anamateur; butone getsso much of that
kind of thing at the theater, and they doit better
there. You mean weil, I dare pan eens do
you honor and allthat; but this tremendous
earnestness is in such dused bad form—in August,
of all months, particularly.”

“Thave said my ae ’ was Dennison’s re-
sponse. “It is part of your creed, I know, to
make a jest of all things; jest if you like, but
hear and remember. As surely as we both stand
here—if there is any foul ay in this business,
your life shall answer it. You shall not play
with her, fool her and leave her, as you have
done with so many. You shall not break her
heart, and go unpunished of God and man. If alk
is not open and above board here, you shall pay
the penalty—thatI swear.” ;

“Time’s up,” said Eric, looking at his. watch
again. He replaced it, rose to his feet, and laid
his hand on Terry’s shoulder, with that winn
smile of his, that made his face so charming.

“Look here, Terry,” he said, “I’m not such a
scoundrel, such a Lovelace, such a Don Giovanni,
as at try to make me out. I’m ready to go
with little Crystal to the St. George’s slaughter
house, or the little church down among the trees
yonder, this very morning if Imight. You're a
good fellow, and, as I said before, your senti-
ments do you honor and soon. You feel a little
sore about this business, naturally—I would my-
self, in your place; but all’s right and on the
square here. I never was in earnest before—I am.
now. I’m going up for my mother—she must
come here and receive Crystal as her daughter.
And when the byterg om comes off, you shall be
best man, ‘an’ ye will,’ Terry—that I swear,
since swearing seems the order of the day. And
now, dear old man, don’t lecture any more; it’s
too hot—give you my word it is, andI want to
reserve all my etrang th for the journey. Here’s
seltzer and sherry. mpose your feelings with
that liquid refreshment, and dash off your note
to bes madre whlie I get into my outer gar-
ments.”

There was no resisting Ericin this mood, it
was notin humannature. The charming smile,
the charming voice, the affectionate, frankly
rong manner, would have moved and melted a

usa.

“No, Crystal was not to blame,” Terry thought
with a sigh. glancing over at their two images in
the glass—it was in the nature of things that
women should fall in love at sight with Eric.

He scrawled off the note in a big, slap-dash
sort of hand, each long word aes whole line;
folded, sealed it, and gave it to Eric justas he
sprang up into the trap.”

“a ~~ old boy,” he said, gayly. ‘When shall
I te e madre to expect you? Not before
Christmas? Oh, nonsense! She couldn’t sur-.
vive without you half the time. Well, as you
wont be here when I return, adieu and au revoir..
Love to everybody.”

The groom touched the horses. They sped
core the avenue like the wind, and Terry was

one.

  

Sia

* * * *. *

*

‘It is very odd we don’t hear from Eric—that
he doesn’t return. I can’t understand it at all.
It is three weeks since he left; he was to be back
inone. There’s something very singular about
it, to say the least.” 4

Thus petulantly lacy Dynely to Miss Forres-
ter. They were together in the drawing-room
—-her er ge reclining upon a sofa, a <in
her hand. Miss Forrester looking charming
in palest amber tissue and white roses, lying
back in a vast downy arm-chair before the open
window, putting the finishing touches to a small
sketch. :

“The house is like a tomb since he and. Terry
left. It is most incomprehensible indeed, Eric’s
staying all this time. If you understand it,
France. and feel satisfied, itis more thanI do.
My dear child, do put down that tiresome draw-
Pe apd listen. Ever since Mr. Locksley’s advent
I ; lieve you have given yourself wholly to
art.” '

The color rose in Miss Forrester’s clear, dark
face. She looked up from her drawing at once.

“T beg your pardon, Lady Dynely. What was
it you said?” Pen

‘About Eric. It’s three weeks since he went
away—he was to be back in one. And he never
writes, to me at least. Perhaps he treats you
better——France, what are you laughing at?
Eric has written to you?”

Miss Forrester’s soft, musical, merry laugh
chimed out.

“Oh, yes. ma mere, Eric has written to me.”

“And you never told me. What does the
wretched boy say?” —

“Tdon’t think he is wretched. It was a very
pleasant letter. He merely wrote to give me up.”

“France!” in horror.

“Yes, mamma—he came to his senses down in:
Lincolnshire. Couldn’t think of forcing my in-
clinations—if the proposed alliance of the noble
houses of Dynely and Forrester were distasteful,
to me, then, at any cost to himself and his own
lacerated heart, he resigned me. It read like.
one of Lord Chesterfield’s masterpieces—was a
model of polite and chivalric composition.”

on eaven! and you—France, whatdid you
8a ”

 

gain Miss Forrester’s laugh rang out.
“T answered in three words, mamma—terse,

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

r ¥

 

 

 

 

pithy and to the point. I wrote, ‘Dear Erie: Who
isshe? France.’ That epistle he has not done
me the honor of answering. I think I see his
face when he read it.” .

And then France lay, back and. went off into a
prolonged peal of merriment. ;

Lady Dynely rose up on her sofa, her delicate
flushing with vexation.
rote that, France—to Eric?”

7 e that, mamma, to Eric. I understand
Eric er than you do, and I’m not the least
afraid of Erie, and you are. I could not have
written poxth ine more to the point if I had tried
fora month. He might have answered, though ;
I should like to know who my rival is this time.”

“France, do you really believe—” ;

“That Eric has fallen in love in Lincolnshire,
for the one-millionth time? Yes, Lady Dynely,
as firmly as that I sit here. Now, who do you
suppose,she can be? There are no ladies in Sir
Philip’s household, and I don’t think he would
bestow his heart’s best affections upon the cook.”
. “Miss Forrester, if you consider this a theme

or jes 4

“lease don’t be dignified, mamma, and please
don’t call me Miss Forrester. on’t-I say I
don’t believe he would. HK must be one of Terry’s
family—y,ou know what I mean—one of the Coun-
eil of Nine—one of the nine Misses Higgins! It
would be comical if Terry and he were brothers-
in-law after all, both married on the same day,
in the same church, in the same family, by the
same pastor and papa. Quite a pastoral idyl] al-
together.”

iss Forrester laughed again. Of late, since
the receipt of Lord Dynely’s letter, the whole
world had turned rose-color to the heiress of
Caryllynne. The portrait painting business was
still going on; but noteven to herself woul¢ Miss
Forrester admit that that had anything to do
with it.

Tears actually sprang to Lady Dynely’s pale
blue eyes. :

“You are cruel, France; you don’t mean to be,
perhaps, but youare, I haye set my heart, my
whole heart, on seeing you Eric’s. wife, and you
treat the matter like this. You despise him—you
must, since you hold him and his feelings so light-
ly and contemptuously.”

France laid down her Crayne, went over, knelt
beside the elder lady, and gaye her a kiss.

“Now, mamma, mine, look here,’ she said, coax-
ingly, “it’s just this. You love Eric, and love is
blind; you don’t see him as he is. I’mnotialove
with him, and couldn’t be if he lived in the same
house for the next hundred and fifty years, and I
do see Eric as he is. He’s very handsome, and
very brilliant, and very charming, but he is as
unstable as water. He has no back-bone; and if
I married him, and he didn’t break my heart the
first year, I should henpeck him to death, or—the
divorce court. For the rest, you’ll see I’m right.
Some new face caught his fickle fancy down there,
and hence that magnanimous letter. I don’t
blame him; he was born so, I suppose, and can’t
help it. Hark!”

' She started to her feet and ran to the window.
A fly from the railway was just stopping, and a
young gentleman ina light, gray suit in the act
of leaping out. “Again France laughed. ,

. ** ‘By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes,’

as Hecate says. Speak of the angels and ycu
hear their wings. Here’s Eric now.”

Eric it was. He came in as she spoke, and met
her laughing, roguish glance, that seemed to read
his inmost thoughts.

» “At last! Just as your mother and I were turn-
ing our thoughts to crape and bombazine. We
d given you _up for lost, Eric, ard here you
come upon us like a beautiful dream once more.
And now, while you tell her all the news of your
sojourn, [ will run away and dress for dinner.”
he left the room, almost disconcerting Eric by
her last saucy backward glance. Almost, not
Wholly--nothing earthly ever entirely put his
lordship out of countenance.
» “Really, Eric,” his mother began, pettishly, “I
don’t see how France ean treat your desertion of
her so lightly. In my days such conduct would
have been considered unpardonable.”
* “Ah, but we don’t live in the dark ages now,”
Eric responded, first. ringing the bell, then sink-
ing into France’s vacated chair. ‘And my deser-
tion of France—please translate that, mother
mine; I don’t understand.”
* “It is easily understood. You asked France to
marry you before you left, did you not?”
- “IT believe so. It is three weeks ago, and a
man may naturally be pardoned if his memory
is somewhat hazy at that distance of time.”

“You asked her to marry you,” pursued his
mother, overiooking this persifiage, *‘and she told
youth, come for her answer in a week—did she
WOuree cy

“My dear mother, what an admirable counsel
for the prosecution you would make. Yes, she
did. Sherry and seltzer,” to the footman who
entered.

‘‘And you neyer came,” Lady Dynely said, her
cheeks flashing angrily. ‘Eric, is that the con-
duct of a gentleman—a lover—a man ef honor?”

“It was the conduct of aman of sense.

‘1l€ she be not fair tor me,

What care I hew fair she be.’
It would have been an act most unbecoming a
gentleman to forcea lady’s inclination. So France
gave me to understand; and so, upon sage ‘sec-
ond thought, I came to see. Ididn’t come for the
answer ; I wrote for it.”

“You did?”

“T did,” said Eric, filling himself a glass of
sherry; “I wrote, renouncing her unless she came
to me of her own free will. ' It was a most honor-
om manly and high-toned letter, I consider my-
self.”

“And she said?” eagerly.

“She said,” said Eric, laughing at the recollec-
tion, “‘Who is she?’ I believe Miss Forrester
must be a witch. I hayen’t taken the trouble to
tell her who she is, but I have taken the trouble
to return here to-day to tell vou.”

“Eric,” his mother cried, starting to her feet,
“you mean to tell me——”

“Mamma,” Eric said plaintively, ‘‘do sit down.
Don’t excite yourself. Good Heaven! where’s the
use of everybody taking things so seriously in
this way—getting steam up to such a hight for
nothing? I mean to tell you that I have meta

irl I like a thousand times better than France

orrester; that I have asked: her to marry me;
that I have asked her father for his consent, an
that he has given his consent, contingent upon
yours. There is the whole matter for you in a
nutshell.” x

His mother dropped back, stunned.

“In three-weeks,” she murmured, in a dazed
voice, “all this in three weeks’ time.”

‘We live in a rapid age, mother,’ responded
the young man coolly. ‘“‘Timeis precious; why
waste it? Strange it may seem, but no less
strange than true. And truth is stranger than
fiction. It is an accomplished fact.”

“Who is she?” Lady Dynely asked helplessly.

“France’s question over again.: She is Miss
Higgins.”

“Higgins!”

“Yes, poor child. It’s nota distinguished ap-
pellation, and a rose by any other name does not
smell as sweet. ‘Christabel—twenty-first Vis-
countess Dynely, nee mine will not look. well
in Debrett. However, there is no rose without
its thorn they tell me. Sheis the vicar of Star-
ling’s eighth daughter.”

“France said so,” murmured her ladrship, still
in that helplessly stunned tone.

“Did she? Then we ought to haye France
burned as a witch. Terry hasn’t been writing to
her, has he?” ; 5

*“f don’t know. This girl is the sister of the
girl Terry is going to marry?” t

“No, madame,” said-her son coolly, filling an-
other glass of sherry; “‘not her sister’ but her-
self.”

“What! 4

“What an amount of talking these things seem
to involve,” Eric said pathetically, “and how in-
excusably void of comprehension people appear
to be. I repeat, my dear aa th Dynely, the young
lady I-intend to marry is the young lady. Mr.
Dennison honored with his preference, and in-
tended to transform into Mrs. Dennison. -Un-
fortunately for him, I came, I saw, I conquered.
She preferred me to the big dragoon, and I left;
Terry exclaiming, like Francis the First at Pavia,
‘All is lost but honor.’ ”’

He paused. His mother had arisen to her feet,
every trace of color leaving her face, her eyes
fixed in a sort of horror upon her son.

“Trice,” she said huskily, “you tell me—you
mean to tell me that you have taken from Terry
the girl he loved?”

Eric lifted his blonde eyebrows in weary resig-
pation.

“If you put it in that sentimental way—yes,
mamma.”

 

   
   

/

‘big enou

 

 

 

a iat itt at

wheres

She stood and looked at him. She tried to
speak—no words came: The horror of this, after
all Terry had resigned, the noble self-sacrifice he
had shown—was too much. He had given up
his birthright to Eric, and this was Eric’s return.
*Mother,” Erie cried, Teens to his feet, aroused
to something like alarm by the pale horror of her
face. “What is the matter now? Why do you
take Terry’s affairs so much to heart? Isn’t he
h and old enough to look after himself?
Am I to blame, is she to blame, if she prefers mo
to him? I expected to be taken to task on France’s
seer but, gad! I certainly didn’t expect to on
erry’s.’
You don’t know—you don’t know—
in a broken voice. ; ;
“No, I don’t know,” Eric answered with an im-
atient frown, “but I should uncommonly like te.
hat is Dennison that I should let his feelings
stand in my way? He hadn’t spoken, so he has
no reason to complain. Here is a note from him,
by the way, to you.” my .
He presented her the letter, and sat watching
her while she read it, lying back among the cush-
ions of his chair. It was short:

“DEAREST Lapy DyNELy :—Eric has told roe
all by this time. If he loves her, and is good to
her, [ask no mere. If he is not, then, as I have
told him, he shall answer tome. She loves him
with all her innocent heart, and she is so dear to
me, that I would. die to save her a moment’s pain,
Let him look to it, if he tires of her, and tries to
throw her over. For you, if I have any claim
whatever upon you, Iask this favor of you in re-
turn. Come here, take her to your heart as your
daughtér, and I shall consider myself more than
repaid. Ever yours, TERRY.’

She sank back on her sofa, crushed the letter in
her hand, laid her face against the cushions, and
burst into an unrestrained passion of tears. Eric
arose angfily to his feet.

“T don’t understand this,” he said. “What is
Dennison that his interests should be nearer to
you than mine? What has he said in that letter?”

“Nothing that concerns you to see,’’ Lady Dyne-
ly said, proudly, lifting her head. ‘Have you
anything more to say, Eric, before I go to dress?”

“This, that it is my wish you pore, me to
Lincolnshire to-morrow, and formally receive
Crystal as my betrothed wife.”

He stood Hey, erect before her—a young
Sultan issuing his sovereign commands to his
womankind.

“T will go,”
anything else?”

“Phat you will tell France-I don’t wish any
chaffing on this subject, it is a weakness of Miss
Forrester’s to chaff a fellow, andis very bad form.
Tell her at once, and have done with it.”

The youthful autocrat must be obeyed. With
a weary sigh Lady Dynely sought out Miss For-
rester, and found her quite dressed and looking

very handsome, sitting gazing with dreamy eyes
at the sun setting over the green Deyon woods.

“Well, ma mere?’ she asked.

“It is all as you said, France,’ my lady an-
swered; ‘‘he fell in love in Lincolnshire.”

Miss Forrester laughed, and yet with a touch
of feminine pigHe too.

“T knew it, felt it in the uttermost depth of
my prophetic soul—

‘Oh, my cousin, shallow-hearted,

h, my Eric, mine no more.’
Who is she? One of the nine Misses Higgins?”
“One of the nine Misses Higgins.

”

she said

she answered briefly. “Is there

39

“And Terry and Eric will be brothers-in-law, as |:

Isaid. What a capital joke, Lady Dynely.”
“No, France—not brothers-in-law. It is——”
But France started impetuously to her feet.
‘Lady Dynely, don’t say it. Don’t say it is the

particular Miss Higgins Terry wanted. Don’t make

me think so badly of Eric as that.” »

But. Lady Dynely sat sorrowful and mute, and
France read all the truth in that sad face.

« “It is, then. Oh, this is too bad! too bad!—too bad

of her, too bad of Eric. It reminds one of the Scrip-

ture story of the cruel man who took his neighbor’s
one eweiamb. My poor, good Terry!”

She sat down, her eyes flashing through bright
tears,

‘I: knew him weak and fickle,” she said; ‘‘I never
thought him dishonorable. For her,” contemptu-
ously, ‘‘she never could have been worth one
thought from Terry Dennison. It makes one think
of Owen Meredith’s words, which, for truth, might
be appended to the four gospels: ;

‘“**Bat ’tis just these women’s way,
All the same the wide world over,
Fooled by what’s most worthless, they
Cheat in turn the honest lover.’ »

‘T have had a letter from Terry,” Lady Dynely
said, sadly. ‘‘Poor fellow! he makes no mention of
coming back. He wishes me to accompany Eric to
Lincolnshire and formally countenance the engage-
ment.”

“You will go, of course ?”

“J can do nothing else. And you, France—you
care wholly on Terry’s account, I am sure, not at all
on your own.”

“Not inthe least on my own,” France said, holding
her hanfsome head high, her dark eyes still full of
indignant fire. ‘‘He might marry the eleven thou-
sand virgins of Cologne, for what Icare. But Terry
loved this girl, and Terry—I must say it, though I
offend you, Lady Dynely—is worth two hundred
Erics.,. Oh, it is a shame—a shame!”

They met at dinner. Miss Forrester’s greeting
was of the coldest and most constrained. Eric was
his own natural, languid, charming self, at his best.
His mother’s sad, pale face he would not see, France’s
flushed cheeks and angry eyes he overlooked.

“Tt takes two to make a row,” Eric thought; ‘you
won’t make a row with me.”

Once France spoke of Terry—her dark, bright, an-
gry eyes fixed upon his face, her own darkly-hand-
some face wearing avery resolute look. Where

was Terry? How had he left him? Where was he
going? When did he mean toreturn. Eric bore it

heroically.

“*To pean

Terry) Terry)’
he laughed. ‘tHow you ring the changes on that
classical name. I don’t know anything of Terry’s
outgoings and incomings. .Am I my brother’s keep-
er? Your solicitude does Mr. Dennison too much
honor,”

She turned from him.

‘He has no heart,” she thought; “no sense of re-
morse; no feeling for any human being but himself.
I pity Miss Crystal Higgins.”

The evening brought Mr. Locksley, the artist.

‘So he comes still,” Eric thought, watching with
sleepy, half-clesed eyes his mother and the artist
playing chess, while France sat at the piano and
sang softly. ‘‘l wonder—I wonder if this is the se-
cret of your queenly indifference, Miss Forrester,
to me.”

Next day ren. Dynely and her son departed.
France watched Eric out of sight with a smile, the
fag end of an old ballad on her lips:

“‘Lightly won and lightly lost
A fair good-night to thee.’ ”?

CHAPTER XI¥.
‘toONCE MORE THE GATE BEHIND ME FALLS.”

In that pleasant upper room ®f Dynely Abbey, set
apart as Mr..Locksley’s studio, and sacred wholly to
that artist and his painting goods and chattels, Mr.
Locksley himself, stood on the morning of the day
that took Lady Dynely and her son to Lincolnshire.
He stood with folded arms and a darkly thoughtful
look, gazing at his own. work. As he stood there,
tall, strong, erect, the soldierly air that told of his
past calling was more manifest than ever.

This portrait was a gem—something more than an
ordinary portrait—as a work of art, worthy of Rey-
nolds or Romney. It had been a labor of love, heart
andsoul had been in the work, and the result did,
what the works of master hands seldom do, satisfied
himself.

From a darkly misty background the face of
France Forrester shone vividly out, startlingly life-
like in coloring and expression. He had caught her
very look, that mischievous sparkle of eye and smile,
that brightly mutinous turn of the graceful head, as
she leaned forward from the canyas. Those darkly
laughing eyes looked up at the artist now from be-
neath that floating chevelure of rich, waving hair,
the perfect lips. smiled upon him saucily, as though
nae understood his somber thoughts and mocked at
them.

‘*As she would, most likely,” he thought, “if she
knew all. But no—that is not France Forrester.
Proud she is, proud of the name she bears, the line-
age that lies behind her, and the place she holds in
life, but to laugh atany mortal pain is not in her.
I can see the first flush of haughty anger and amaze
at the nameless painter’s presumption—then the
soft womanly compassion for his suffering, that
would make gentle and tender her parting words.
And yet have thought thatif she knew all, the
whole truth”—he paused suddenly and turned im-
patiently away toward the window. ‘What a fool I
am,” he muttered, halfaloud. “She loves that
handsome dandy, of course—he is the sort of gilded

 

 

her, face last night ?” ° ‘

He stood for upward of half-an-hour staring out
at my lady’s carefully kept Italian garden, all ablaze
with gorgeous August flowers. If was a sultry, over-
cast day—sunless, windless, sodden gray. arly in
the morning the sun had come out with a dazzling
brightness, only to vanish again and leave behind a
low, leaden sky, frowning with ae cloud.

The great house was very still. My lord and lady
had gone; Miss Forrester’s clear voice, and the light,
silken rustle of her garments were nowhere to Be
heard. She was not to sit to Mr. Locksley any more;
the last sitting had been given a week ago, and
though he still came daily it was but to add the few
last finishing touches to his perfected work. He
dined with the two ladies at intervals, and spent oc-
casional evenings at the Abbey when there were no
other visitors, From general society he shrank;
but he never refused my lady’s cordial invitations
when she and her ward were alone. It might have
been wiser ifhe had. They were growing danger-
ously dear to him, these long tete-a-tete evenings
with the heiress of Caryllynne; perilously precious,
this standing beside her, turning over her music,
listening to the old ballads she loved to sing, watch-
ing the white, flying fingers, the tender, lovely,
spirited face—how dear, how precious, he was find-
ing out now to his cost,

‘‘Am I to live the same ordeal of loss and miser
once again ?” he thought; ‘thave I not had enough
of that in the past? The old madness lives within
me still, though Heaven knows I went through
enough seventeen years ago to exorcise it. I might
have known that no man under eighty could see
France Forester almost daily since last May, as I
have seen her, and not grow to love her. I might
have known, but I thought all that was at an end—
that the love of woman had burned itself to dust and
ashes forever withinme. I foresaw vaguely when
I came, and yet I came. ‘He that loveth the dan-
ger shall perish in it.’ ”

He turned from the window and began pacing im-
patiently up and down the long, lofty room. In spite
of the wide open window the atmosphere was almost
painfully oppressive. So sultry, so airless was the
eden day, that it was only by an effort one could
The physical suffering blended with the
mental. He loosened the strip of black ribbon: at
his throat, as though even that suffocated him. He
was facing tor the first time the bare truth to-day.
With all his heart, and soul, and strength, he had
learned to love France Forrester—France Forrester
—betrothed to Lady Dynely’s handsome, youthful
son, loving him for his bright beauty, taught to look
upon him from her very childhood as her husband.
fie had shut his eyes willfully to his own danger; the
moth had seen the lighted candle, and, intoxicated
by its brilliancy, had still flown headlong in. Was
the moth to be pitied, then, let him singe his wings
ever so badly ?

“JT will go!” he said to himself, abruptly, ‘‘I will
go to-morrow. Flightis one’s only safeguard in
these things. If Istay, if Isee any more_of her I
will commit the last crowning act of folly, and tell
her all. My work is finished—there is no cause to
linger. Yes, I will go—I will start for Spain to-
morrow, and explore it from the Escurial to the Al-
hambra, and in painting dark-eyed Morisco maidens
and bull fights I will forget this summer’s fooling.”

He looked at his watech—two o'clock, Three was
his dinner hour—it would take him the hour to walk
to the village. He made his headquarters at the

breathe.

little ‘‘Kiddle-a-wink” in the village of Dynely, and

slept in that upper chamber wherein, sixteen years
beiore, one summer night, Alexis Dynely lay dying.

As he passed out fromthe house into the sultry
afternoon, he glanced up at the sky. It was grow-
ing darker every instant—a faint, damp rain was
beginning to fall. It was doubtful, good walker
though he was, if he would outstrip the storm and
reach the inn before the summer rain fell. Helook-
ed around as he walked rapidly away, to catch a
glimpse of a gauzy dress, to hear a girl’s sweet voice
singing, to see a graceful head bent over a book or a

drawing. Miss Forrester, however, was nowhere to
be seen. It was as wellso, perhaps.

“T will call this evening and make by adieux to
both ladies,” he thought, and, pulling his hat over
his eyes, strode rapidly on his way.

Yes, he would leave England on the morrow—for
good andall this time. Where was the use of com-
ing back, where the sight of the familiar places, the
familiar faces that knew him no more, brought noth-
ing but pain? He would make Rome his headquar-
ters for life,and give himself up utterly to his art.
Love, home,. wife, children, had gone out of his
hopes forever. A boy’s mad folly, a woman’s base
deceit, had wrecked his life sixteen years ago. He

‘/had been thrust out from his mother’s home and

heart with scorn and bitter words, his birthright
given to a stranger. It never occurred to him to
sue: for commutation of that sentence. With the
past he had nothing to do; he had deserved his fate,
he had disgraced his name; his mother had done
rightly; in the future the art he loved was all he had
left him. He would start upon his second exile to-
morrow. This time there should be nolooking back,
this time it should be life-long. To return to Eng-
land meant returning to see her the happy wife of
Lord Dynely; to return and sue for his mother’s fa-

‘vor, meant to oust her from her fortune, to rake up

all the old dead-and-gone scandal, to bring the
shame from which that mother, the haughtiest wo-
man in England, had fled sixteen years before, back
to her in its first force. No, there was nothing for
him but silence and exile to the-end.

‘*Mr. Locksley ?”

The clear, sweet voice made him look up from his
moody reverie with a start. And then, like a vision,
France Forrester’s brightly smiling face, set in a
ravishingly beautiful bonnet, beamed upen him,
Miss Forrester, with a tiny groom behind her, drove
a low, basket pheton and a pair of spanking little
ponies. She drew up the ponies in dashing style,
and turned to the artist with that bewitching smile
of hers.

“Are you going home, Mr. Locksley—I mean to
theinn? Pray don’t go just yet. Let me offer you
this vacant seat. Ihave something to say to you.”

Was fate pursuing him when he meant to fly trom
danger? He took the seat beside her, and Miss
Forrester, with a touch of her parasol whip, sent
the little steppers briskly ahead.

“Tam alone to-day—do you knowit? AndasI
didn’t expect even your society, Mr. Lockstey—I
came away, They left by the early train this morn-
ing.”

“They—who a 4

Lady Dynely and Eric! Oh, you don’t know,
then—I thought perhaps she had told you over your
chessmen last evening. Yes, they started for Lin-
colnshire this morning—to be gone a week at the
least; and I am: queen regent, monarch of all I sur-
yey, until their return. The first use I make of my
liberty is to spenda whole long day at dear old
Caryllymne, It is not nearly so ancient nor so stately
as the Abbey, but Ilove it a hundred times more.
Have you ever been there, Mr. Locksley ?”

She looked up at him, halfwondering at the dark
gravity of his face..

“*T have been there, Miss Forrester.”

“Indeed! Strange that Mrs. Mathews, the house-
keeper,, #old me nothing about it.”

“T bave not been in the house.”

Then you have missed an artistie treat. The
Caryll picture gallery is the pride of the neighbor-
hood; there is nothing like it in the whole country.
Mrs. Caryll, as I have told you, is really a devotee of
art, ‘and always was. There are Cuyp’s, and Wou-
vermain’s, and Sir Joshua’s portraits, and sunsets by
Turner, and sunrises by Claude Lorraine, a gallery
of modern and a gallery of Venetian art. Oh, you
really must see it, and at once. I shall drive you
over and play cicerone. Nothing I like so well as
showing the dear, romanti¢e old Manor.”

“You are most kind, Miss Forrester,” he said, with
a sort of effort, ‘‘butit is quite impossible. I mean,”
seeing her look of surprise, ‘‘that as I leave Devon-
shire to-morrow, I will have no time. Wandering
artists: don’t keep valets, so I must attend to the
packing of my own portmanteau, and:that, with
some letters to write, will detain me until midnight.”

He was not looking at her, else he might have
seen and possibly understood the swift, startled
pallor that came over her face.

‘*You are going away?” she said, slowly.

“The portrait is finished, my work here is done. I
owe Lady Dynely and you, Miss Forrester, many
thanks for your kind efforts to render my sojourn
agreeable.” ;

“If Lady Dynely were here,” Miss Forrester an-
swered, her color returning, and in her customary
gay manner, ‘‘she would say the thanks were due
you, for helping to while away two poor women’s
long, dull evenings. . Isn’t it rather a pity to go be-
fore she returns? She will regret it extremely, I
know.” ;

“Tf I had known of this sudden departure, I
would have made my adieux to her ladyship last
night. May I further trespass on your great kind-
ness, Miss Forrester, and charge you with my fare-
well ?” ;

She-bent her head and set her lips alittle as she
cut the ponies sharply with her whip. It had come
upon her almost like a blow, this sudden revelation,

4

 
     

but her pride and her thorough training hid all sign.

“Artists are like gespimeal yg on the wing—that
I know of old. And whither do you go, Mr. Locks-
ley? Back to the green lanes and rural quiet and
the inspiring surroundings of old Brampton.”

‘*Farther still,” he said, with a smile; *‘to Spain. I
have roamed almost over every quarter ef the habit-
able globe in my forty years of life, but Spain is
still a terra incognita, I have had an intense desire
ever since I gave yer up wholly to art to make a
walking tour over the whole country. One should
find a thousand subjects there for brush and pencil.”

“To Spain,” she repeated mechanically; ‘‘and
then?”

“Well, I can hardly say.» I shall devote a year at |
least to Spain, and then most probably I shall return
to Rome and make it my headquarters for life.”

There was dead silence. The ‘ponies bowled

swiftly along, the road that led to the village had |}

longbeen passed. Neither noticed it, The thought-
ful gravity had deepened on his face. Her, hands
grasped the reins tightly, her lips were set in a
certain rigid line. Her voice, when she spoke
again, had lost somewhat of its clear, vibrating ring.

‘“*You picture a very delightful future, Mr. cks-
ley; I almost envy.you. Oh, no need to look incred-
ulous—the Bohemian life is the freest, brightest,
happiest on earth, but it is not for me. What I
waylaid you for—to return to first principles—is this.
I have had a letter from my dear old guardian, Mrs.
Caryll, and she begs me to send her a duplicate of
my portrait. She has one, but that was painted five
years ago, and I have been chanting the praises of
your handiwork until she is seized with a longing
fora copy. You flatter meso charmingly on canvas,
ir. Locksley, that I really should like to gratify her
if it were possible to procure her the copy. But I
suppose all that is out of the question now.”

‘‘Mrs, Caryll shall have the copy. I trust she is
well. I saw her so often in Rome,” he said, half
spnlegetieeny ‘that I take an interest in her natu-
rally.” ;

‘She is as wellas she is ever likely to be,” France
answered, rather sadly, ‘‘and so lonely without me
that [think of throwing over everything and going
back to join her. I should infinitely prefer it, .but
she will not hear of it, and neither will Lady Dynely.
I must remain, it seems, and run the round of Vanity
Fair whether I wish it or not, I ought not to com-
plain—I did enjoy last season. Come what will,”
with a half laugh, ‘

 

“7 have been blessed.”

‘Mrs. Caryll has no intention, then, of returning to
England?" ae:

“She will never return.
for her.
lynne”?

“She still takes her son’s wrong doing so much to
hearf—she is stiliso bitter against him? Pardon me, Miss
Forrester, I have heard that story, of course.??

“There isno apology needed. Yon will wonder, per-
haps, whem [tell you, you remind us all of him. That is
the secret of Lady Dynely’s interest in you from the first.”

The ciear, penetrating, hazel eyes were fixed full on his
face. That trained, grave face never moved a muscle.

“As to being bitter against him,"’ pursued France, “it
is just the reverse. "It is remorse for her own cruelty that
drives her nearly to despairat times. For she was cruel to
him, poor fellow, when he came to her in his great trouble
and shame—mosf cruel, most unmotherly. He came to
her in his sorrow and humiliation, and she drove him

It ie full of bitter associations
It would break her heart to see poor old Garyl-

 

 

from her with bitter scorn and anger. That isthe thought
that blights her life, that has preged upon her health, that
makes the thought of home horribie to her. She drove
him from her into poverty and exile here, and here, she
will never return. A thousand times she has said to me,
that, to look upon his face once more, to hold him in her
arms, to hear him say he forgave her, she would give up
her very life, give up all things except her hope of Heay-
en.

“She has said that?”

She was too wrapped in her subject to heed.his husky
voice, to mark the change that had come over his face.

“Again and again. The hope-of seelng him once more
is the sole hope that keeps her alive.’?

“She thinks that he is still living 2?”

“She thinksit. Every year since that time, with the
exception of the two last, he has sent her some remem-
brance. A line, a trinket, a flower, a token of some sort
to let her know he still exists. Those tokens have come
to her from every quarter of the globe. India, Africa,
America, and all countries of Europe. There is never au
address—merely the post-mark to denote whence they
came, and his name in his own familiarhand. Ah! if we
but knew where fo look for him—where to find him, I be-
lieve I would travel the wide earth over, if at the end I
could find Gordon Caryll.”’

“Miss Forrester! you would do this?

“A liundred times more than this! Poor fellow! In
exile and ioneliness so long. He was my hero, Mr. Locks-
ley, as far back as I cau remember. There is no one, inal]
the world, I long so to see as him.”?

“And yet the day that finds him robs you of a fortune.”

She looked up at him indignantly, impetuous tears jn

 

 

her eyes, an excited flush on either dusk cheek, more
beautiful than he had ever seen her.

“A fortune! Mr. Locksley, do youthink no better of me
than that? Oh! what would a million fortunes be to the
joy of seeing him once more—of restoring him to his mo-
ther! Qaryllyune is not mine—only held in trust. One
day or other I know, I feel, Gordon Caryl! will return, and
then ‘the king shall have his own again!’ ”?

What was it she read in the face of the man looking
cown at her? Something more than intense admiration
surely, though she read that there plainly enough. It
vrought her down from her heroics, from cloudiand to
earth, from romance to her sober senses. She pulled up
the ponies sharply.

‘‘We must Zo back,’’ she said in aconstrained tone. “I
lave passed the turning to the village. As youinsist upon
going at once to the iun, I suppose a ‘willful man must
have his way.’

He touched the reins lighly with his hand, and checked
her in the act of turning.

“Excuse me, Miss Forrester; I have changed my mind.
I resist no longer. Since you are so kind as to be my
guide, I will giadly go with you to Caryllynne and see the
pictures,”?

She looked at him again—rather haughtily it seemed.

“You are quite sure it is your wish, Mr. Locksley, and
not a matter of politeness? You are quite sure it will not
inconvenience you at all?” .
“Quite sure, Miss Forrester. I wish to go most intense-

oy

She turned without a word and drove on. The distance
now was sliort. In a few minutes the great Manor gates
were reached, and not an instant too 800n. The summer
storm, threatening ali day, was upon them at last. As
they passed beneath the lofty arch of masonry, two great
drops splashed upon their faces.

“It wili be a race for lifel”’ laughed’ France.
Damon and Pythias, and outstrip the storm.”

They sped up the avenue, beneath the dark waving
trees, at full speed. A groom came out to take the horses.
Two or three old servants, on board wages, still kept up
the place. Not an instant too soon; the rain was begin-
ning to fall heavily and fast, and a sharp flash of blue
lightning cut the dark air.

“Hurryl liurry!’? was Miss Forrester’s cry, as, laughing
and breathless, she ran up the steps. ‘‘Welcome to Cary-
Hynne, Mr. Locksley!”

He removed his hat with a certain reverence, as though

he stood in achurch, an emotion on his face she couid
not read, She led the way into the vast tiled hall, the
black and white marble flooring covered with skins of wild
beasts.
_ Mrs. Mathews, the housekeeper, and a very remote con-
nection of the family, came forward to receive her young
lady and her companion, in the traditional black silk
gown, widow’s cap, and gold watch. :

“We have come to see the pictures, Mrs. Mathews,”’
Miss Forrester said, ‘‘and, as we appear to be storm-bound
for some hours, I think I must ask you to give us some
luuch. This is Mr. Locksley, and, as Mr. Locksley has not
dined, pray give us something that will serve as a substi-
tute, ‘

Sixteen years ago Mrs. Mathews had been housekeeper
here. Stre bowed deferentially, but with her eyes fixed
upon Mr. Locksiey with a curiously intense gaze. As she
pained away, she met her daughter, also domesticated
iere.”

“Who is it, mother?” the girl asked,
Ueman? Lord Dynely—Mr. Dennison?’

“Neither,” her mother answered. His name is Mr.
Locksley; and if ever] saw one man’s eyes in another
inan’s head, he has the eyes of Mr. Gordon Caryl!"

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

“On, on!

“Who is the gen-

 

HIST@RICAL ITEMS,

THE precise period at which telescopes were in-
vented is not knewn. The principles were described by Roger
Bacon as. early as 1250. ewton completed two telescopes in
1672, but the first telescope of any importance was made by Dr.
Hooke in 1674. This was improved upon by Mr. Hadley in 1718;
and a much higher degree of excellence was attained by Sir Wil-
liam Herschel, who succeeded in producing one by which objects
were maguified 6,500. This was finally surpassed by that of Earl

 

THs name of Ethel, which seemed to spring into
fashion like a new bonnet, is in reality the diminutiveof the
Anglo-Saxon name Etheldreda. The vame of Ethel being as-
signed by Thackeray to one of his characters ‘in ‘‘The Newcomes,”
had probably much to do with its introduction as a Christian
name. In the language of Christian names the signification ap-
plied to it is “noble,” the word Ethel being derived from the
German meaning noble.

THE charger led at the funeral of a cavalry officer
is a relic of the custom when a horse was sacrificed at the grave.
An officer led the charger from behind the bier to the brink of
the grave, and it was there slain and thrown in upon the coffin.
ee occurrence of this kind teok place at Treves, Germany,
in .”

THE present crown of Great Britain was con-
structed in 1838 with jewels taken from old crowns, and others
turnished by command ofthe queen, Ft contains four large pear-
shaped pearls, 273 small pearis, 147 table diamonds, 1,273 rese
Soman 1,353 brilliant diamonds, 5 rubies, 11 emeralds, and 17
sapphires.

THERE are four women decorated with the French
Cross of the Legion of Honor—Rosa Bonheur, the painter;
Madame Dubar, Superior of the C8nvent of the’Sceurs de ’'Esper-

“ance at Naney; Lady Pigott, for her deyotedness to the wounded
during the Franco-Prussian war, and Mdlle, Bertha Rocher, of
Havre, tor founding a hospital |

 

  

THE LOST CHANGE,

* A LEGEND OF JUDEA.

 

BY M. EDESSA WYNNE

The good dame busy with her yearly cleaning
Heard in the streets a loud, resoundiag cry:

“Come from your haunts of toiling, careworn mortals}
Oh, come and see the famous kings pass by.”’

Quoth Dame Martha, flourishing her sedgy duster,
“This last year’s wear has left a grievous track,

. I must not tarry for this grand procession,

Tl work and see them when they're comizg back ;*

So she resisted the entreating cry

And all unseen the gorgeous train passed by,

And so Dame Martha, when her work was finished,
Took up her station at her cottage door

And watched and waited for the Magii’s coming,
Those kings renowned for wealth and Eastern lore,

And, standing there, with eager eyes she listened
To rude descriptions of the glittering train,

And said, ** Tis well I finished all my dusting,
I’ve time to see them when they come again ;

And though I dwell beneath resplendant skies

The glorious sight will please my fading cyes.

But the three kings, forewarned of wily Hered,
Sought out their kingdom by another road,

The gorgeous flame of gold and gems and purple,
That lighted once Dame Martha’s poor abode,.

Flashed o’er the other side of fair Judea,
While Martha leaned upon her well-worn breom

And dreamed out visions of that grand procession:
Its flashing gems and orient perfume.

Her dim eyes fixed upon the eastern sky, '

Where never more will king or train pass by.

Oh, blind Martha! It does not often happea
That @lirist’s are born and lie on stable fleors,
And just as seldom, my good dame, it chances
That Eastern kings ride by your cottage doors. .
Were not your thoughts bound up in that mean cottage
You might have pondered all those glories rare,
And have refreshed you in the royal splendors
That spread themselves around you every where.
You might have joined the wide acclaiming ring,
And sped them on to seek your lawful king,

Now all in vain your dreary days of waiting~
All—all in vain, yeur tears and your regret—

The kings by this time rule again their kingdem,
They came not back because they owed ne debt; —

And busy Martha, when again you listen
To royal troopers calling you to come,

I trow you'll say not, in the olden manner—
Wait good people Lntil my work is done.

Be first to speed them on their shining track,

For knew you, Martha, they may not come back.

MILDRED;

a ae

THE CHILD OF ADOPTION.

By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes,

Author of EDITH LYLE’S SECRET, MARIAN
GRAY, DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT; BAD
HUGH, KOSE MATHER, MISS McDONALD,
ETHELYN’S MISTAKE, EDNA’S DEBT, &.

(‘‘Mildred” was commenced in No, 41. Back numbers can be
obtained of any News Agent in the United States.]

CHAPTER XIIJ.—(CONTINUED.)

He had followed Geraldine’s instructions implicitly, and
simultaneously with the Mayfield mail-bag he entered the
hotel where the Post Office was kept. Seating himself In
the sitting-room opposite he watched the people as they
came in for their evening papers, until, at last, looking,
from the window, he caught sight of the judge and Finn.
Moving back a little, so as not to be observed, he saw the
letter taken from the clerk—the letter which he knew had
been written by his son—saw, too, the expression of the
judge’s face as lie glanced at the superscription, and then
handed it to Finn, bidding him hurry home, and saying
he should not return for two hours or more. |

“Everything works well thus far, thought Mr. Thorn-~
ton; “but i wish it was over,” and with a gloomy, for-
bidding face, he walked the floor, wondering how he
should approach Mildred, and feeling glad that the judge
atleast was out of the way. ‘‘l’d rather stir up a whole
menagerie of wild beasts than that old man,” he said to
himself, ‘though I dow’t apprehend much troubie from
iim either, for of course he’d take sides wilh his so-callek
son-in-law sooner than with a nanieless girl. I wonder
how long it takes to read a Jove letter?” :

“Supper, sir,” cried the colored waiter, and thinking
this as good a way of killing time as any Mr. Thornton
found liis way to the dining-room. :

But he was too much excited to eat, and forcing down
a cup of tea he started for Beechwood, the road to which
was a familiar one, for years before he had traversed it
often in quest of his young girl wife. Now it was avother
Mildred he sought, and ringing the bell he inquired “If
Miss Howell was in???

“Down to Hepsy’s. I'll goafter her,'? said Luce, at the
same time showing him into the drawing-room and ask-
ing for his name.

“Mr. Thornton,” was the reply, and hurrying off Luce
met Mildred coming up the garden walk.

‘Mr. Thornton!” she repeated, and without waiting to
hear Luce’s explanation that it was not. Mr. Lawrence,
but an old, sour-looking man, she sprang swillly forward
“T wonder why heseut the letter if he intended coming
himself?” she thought; “but I am so glad he’s here,??
and she stole cautiously up to her room to smooth her
hairand take alook in the glass, just as all maidens do
when there is below a person like Luwrence Thoruton!

She might have spared herself the trouble, however, for
the cold, haughty man, waiting impatieutly her coming,
cared nothing for her hair, noting tor her beautitul face,
and when he heard hier light step in the hall lie arose, and
purposely stood with his back toward the door and his
eyes fixed upon the portrait of her who, in that verg
room, had beef made his. bride.

“Why, it isn’t Lawrence, it’s his father’? dropped in-
voluntarily from Mildred’s lips, and blushing like a guilty
thing, she stopped upon the threshold, half trembling wah
fear as the cold gray eyes left the portrait and were fixed
upon herseif. ,

“So you thought it was Lawrence,’’ he said, bowing
rather stiffly, and offering her hishand. “I conclude then
that Iam a less welcome visitor. Sit down by me, Mise
Howell,’? he continued, ‘I am here to talk with you, and
as time hastens I may as well Come to the point at once.
You have just received a letter from my son??? }

“Yes, sir,’? Mildred answered faintly, at the same time
grasping eagerly the letter she stiM held in her hand, as
if fearful it would be wrested from her.

“In that letter he asked you to be his wife?'’? Mr. Thorn-

 

 

 

 

ton went on in the same hard, dry tone, as if it were noth- ~

ing to him that he was cruelly torluring the young girl at
his side. ‘He asked you to be his wife, 1 say, May I, as
his father, know what answer you intend to give?”

The answer was in Mildred’s tears, which now gushed
forth plenteously. Assuming a gentler tone, Mr. Thornton
continued: °

“Miss Howell, it must not be. I have other wishes for
my son, and unless he obeys them, lam aruined man. I
do not blame you as much as Lawrence, fer you do not
know every thing as he does."! .

“Why not goto him, then? Why need you come here
to trouble me?’ cried Mildred, burying ker face in the
cushions of the sola.

“Because,’? answered Mr. Thornton, ‘it would be use-

less to go lohim. He is infatuated—blinded as it were,
to his own interest. He (inxs he loves you, Miss Howel?,
but he will get over Lhataud wander at his fancies,’

Mildred’s crying ceased at this point, and not the slight-
est agitation was visible, while Mr. Thornton continued=

“Lilian Veille has long been inteuded for my son. She
knew it. Heknewit. You kvewit, and I leave youte
judge whether under these Circumstances it was right for
you to eucourage him.”!

Mildred sat’bolt upright now, and in the face turned to-
ward her tormentor there was that which made him quaik
for an instant, but soon recovering his. compvusure he
went on:

“He never had a thought of doing otherwise than mar-
rying Lilian until quite recently, even though he may say
to the contrary. Ihave talked with him. LE know, and it
astonished me greatly to hear from Geraldine that he had
been coaxed into——”’

“Stop!? and like @ young lioness Mildred sprang to her
feet, her beautiful face pale with auger, which flashed like
sparks of fire from her dark eyes.

Involuntarily Mr. Thornion turned to. see if it was the
portrait come down from, the canvas, the attitude was
so like what he once had seen in the Mildred of other
days. But the picture still hung upon the wall, and is
was another Mildred, saying to him indignantly;

“He wus not coaxed intoit! I never dreamed of such
a thing until Judge Howell hinted it to me, not twenty
minutes before Lilian surprised us as she did.”

‘Judge Howeil,’? repeated Mr. Thornton, beginning to
get angry. “I suspected as much. I know him of old.
Nineteen years ago, he was a poorer man than I, and he
conceived the idea of marying his only daughter to the
wealthy Mr. Thoraton, and though he counts his money
now by hundreds of thousands, he knows there is power
and influence in the name of Thornton still, and he does
not deem my son a bad match for the unknown foundiing
he took from the street, as it were, and has grown weary
of Keeping!’

“The devil I havel’? was hoarsely whispered In the ad-
joining room, where the old judge Sal, drinking iu every
word of that strange conversauion.

He had not gone up the mountain as he intended, and
had reached Beechwood just as Mildred was coming down
the stairs, Lucy told lim Mr. Thornton was there, and,
thinking it was Lawrence, he went into his library to prt
away some business papers ere joining his guest in the
drawing-room. While there he heard the words, “You
have just received a letter from my son ?"?

“Bob Thornton, as I live!’ he exclaimed. “What
brought him bere? 1 don’t like the tone of lis voice, and

 

 

 

 

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J wouldn’t wonder jf‘-something was inthe wind. Any-
way, l’ll just wait and see, and if he insults Mildred, he’ll
find himseif histed out of this house pretty quick!"

So saying, the judge sat down in a position where nota
word escaped him, and, by holding on to his chair and
swearing litle biis of oaths to himself, he managed to
keep tolerably quiet while the conversation went on.

“7 will be plain with you, Miss Howell,’ Mr. Thornton
said, ‘My heart is set upon Lawrence’s marrying Lilian.
It will kill herif he does not, andI am here to ask you,
as a favor to me and to Lilian, to refuse his suit. Will you
do ft?’

“No!” dropped involuntarily from Mildred’s lips, and
Was responded to by a heavy blow of the fist upon Judge
Howell's fat knee.

“Well done for Spitfire!’ he said. ‘“She’s enough for
old Bobum yet. Vil waita trifie longer before I fire my
gun.”

So he waited, growing very red inthe face, as Mr.
Thornton answered, indignantly:

“You will not, you; say? 1 think I ean tell you that
Which may change your mind;’? and he explained to her
briefly how, unless Lilian Veille were Lawreneée’s wile,
and that right soon, Lhey would all be beggars. ‘‘Nothing

me,’’ he said, ‘‘and now, Miss Howell, think again. Show
yourself the brave, generous girl I am sure you are, Tell
may son you cannot be his wife; but do not tell him why,
else he might not give you up. . Do not let him Know that
hayveseeu. you. Doit for Lilian’s. sake, if for no other.
ou love her, aud you surely would not wish to cause her
death.” \

**No, no—oh, no!” moaned Mildred, whose only weak-
Ress savas loving Lilian Veille too well.

Mr. Thornton saw the wavering, and, taking from his
pocket the letter Geraldine had prepared with s0 much
care, he bade her read, aud then say if she could answer
“Yes” to Lawrence Thoruton.

Geraldine Veilie knew what she was doing when she
Wrote a letter which appealed powerfully to every wo-
Manly tender feeling of Mildred’s impubive nature. Lil-
jan was represented as being dangerously ill, and in her
delirium begging of Mildred nottotake Lawrence from
her.

“If would toueh a heart of stone,’ wrote Geraldine, ‘‘to
hear her plaintive pleadings. ‘Oh, Milly, dear Milly, don’t
take him from me—don’t—for I leyved him first, and he
loved ine! Wait tilll am dead, Milly. It won’. be long.
Eean’t live many years, and when I’m gone he’ll go back
to you.’”?

Then followed several strong arguments from Geral-
dine why Miidred should give him up and so save Lilian
from dying, and Mildre4, as she read, felt the defiant hard-
ness which Mr. Thornton's first words had awakened
siowly giving way. Coyeriug lier face with her hands-
she sobbed:

“What mustI do? What shall I do?’

“Write to Lawrence and teil iilm no,” answered Mr.
Thornton; while Madred moaned:

“But I love him so much, oh, so much,’

“So does Lilian,’’? returned Mr. Thornton, beginning to
fear that the worst was not yetovyer. “So does Lilian,
and lier claim is best. Listen to me, Miss Howeli—Law-
rence may prefer you now, but he would tire of you when
the novelty wore off. Pardon me if 1 speak plainly. The
Thorntons area proud race, the proudest, perhaps, in
Boston. ‘Lawrence, too, is proud, and in a moment of
coor reflection h€ would shrink from making one his wife
Whose parentage is as doubtful as your own.””

Mildred shook now as wilh an ague chill. It had never
occurred to her before that Lawrence might sometimes
blush when asked who his wife was, and with her wild,
bright eyes fixed on Mr. Thornton’s face she listened
breathlessly, while he continued:

“Only the day that he came to Beechwood he gave me
to understand that he could not think of marrying you
unless the mystery of your birth were smadeclear. But
when here, he was, l daresay, intoxicated with your
beauty, for, excuse ne, Miss Howell, you are beautiful;”
and he bowed low, while he paid this compliment to one
whose lip curled haughtily asif she would cast it from
her in disdain.

“‘He forgot himself for a time, I presume, but his better
judgment will prevailatlast. I know you have’ been
adopted by the judge, but that does not avail—tbat will
not prevent some vile woman from calling you herfehild.
You are nota Howell. You are not my son’s equal, and

 

if you would escape the bitter mortification of one day
seeing your )iusband’s relatives, ay, and your hius-
band too, ashamed to acknowledge you, refuse his
suit at once, and seek a companion from the lower walks
of life—one who- would be satisfied with the few thou-
sands the judge will probably give you, and consider that
a sufficient recompeuse for your family. Will you do it,
Miss Howell??? -

Mildred was terribly excited. Even death itself seemed
preferable to seeing Lawrence ashamed of ler, and while
object after object chased each other in rapid circles be-
fore her eyes, she answered:

“Heaven helping me, I will do your bidding, though it
breaks my heart.”? rf

The next moment she lay among the cushions of the
sofa, white and motionless Save when @ tremor shook her
frame, showing Whut she suffered.

“The little gun has given out, it seems, and now it’s
time for the cannon,’’ came heaving up from the deep
Chest of the enraged judge, and snatching from his pri-
vate drawer a roll of paper, he strode like a giant into the
drawing-room, aud Coutronting the astonished Mn 'Thorn-
tou, began: *‘Wel), Bobum, are you through? If so,
you'd better be traveling if you don’t want the print of
my boot on your fine brozdcloth coat,’ and he raised his
heavy calfskin threateningly. ‘I heard you,’ he con-
tinued, as he saw Mr. Thornton about tospeak. “I heard
aAllabontit. You don’t want Mildred to marry Lawrence,
and not satisfied with working upon her most unaccouni-
able love for that little soft, pulty-head dough-bake, you
tell her that she ain’t good enough fora Thornton, and
bid her marry somebody who will be satisfied with the
few thousands I shall probably give her. Thunder and
Mars, Bob Thornton, what do you take meto be? Just
look here, will you? Then tell me what you think about
the few thousands,’ and he unrolled what was unques-
tionably the ‘Last Will and Testament of Jacob Howell.”
“You won't look, hey,’? he continued. ‘Listen, then.
But first, how much do you imagine Pim worth? What
do meu in Boston say. of old Howell when they want his
namo? Don’t they rate him at half a million, and ain’t
every red of that willed ou black and white to Mildred,
the child of my adoption, except indeed ten thousand
given to Oliver Hawkins, because I knew Gipsy’d raise a
fuss if it wasn’t, aud twenty thousand more donated to
some blasted Missionary sucieties, not because | believe
in’t, but because I thought maybe ‘*twould atone for my
Bearing ounce inv while, and sitting on the piazza so
many Suuays in ury easy chair, instead of sliding down
hill all day on those’ confounded hard cushions and high
seats down at St, Luke’s. The Apostie himself couldn't
sit on ’em an hour without getting mighty fidgety. But
that’s nothing to do withmy will. Just listen,’? and he
read: ‘I give, bequeath and devise—and so forth,?? while
Mr. Thoruton’s face turned bluck, red, aud white alter-
nately.

 

He had no idea that the little bundle of muslin and Jace
now trembling so violently upon the sofa had so large a;
share of Judge Lowell's heart and will, or he might have
acted differently, fur the judge's money wus as valuable
as Lilian Veille’s, and though Mildreu’s family might bea
trifle exceptionable, four hundred thousand dollars, or
thereabouts, would cover a mullitude of sins. Butit was
now too lute to retract. The judge would see his motive
atonce, and resolving to brave the steru: he had raised,
he affected to answer with a sneer:

“Money will vot make amends for everything.
quite as much of family as of wealth.”

+Now, by the Lord,’ resumed the judge, growing pur-
ple in the face. “Bob Thornton, whe do you think you be?
Didn’t your graidfather make ¢hip baskets all his life
over in Wolf Swamp? Wasn't one of your aunts no bet-
ter than she should be? Didn’t your unclediein the poor
house, and your cousin steal a sheep? Answer le that,
and tién twit Mildred about her parentage. How do you
Kuow that sheain’t Iny own child, hey? Would you,
Swear toit? We are as nigh alike as two peas, everybody
Bays. I tell you, Bobum, you waked up the wrong pus-
Benger this uine. 1 planned the marriage, did I between
you and my other Mildred? 1's false, Bob Thornton, aud
you kuow it—but I did approve it. Heaven forgive me. 1
did encourage her to Darter her giorious beauty for money.
But you didn’t enjoy her Jong. She died, and now you
would kill the other one—the little ewe-lumb Lhat has slept
iu the old man’s bosom so long.”

Whe judge’s vuice was gentler now in its tone, and draw-
ing near to Mridred, be smoothed her uut-browu hair
tenderly, oh, so tenderly,

<] did not come seeking @ quarrel with you,’? said Mr.
Thornton, who hud his own private reasons for not wish-
ing to exasperate the judge too much. *‘l came after a
promise froin Miss Howell. I have succeeded, and kuow-
ing that she will keep her word, I will new take my
leaye———””

«No you won't,” thundered the judge, leaving Mildred
and advancing toward tie door, so as effectually to cut
off all means of escape. “No you won’t till Ive had my
say out. If Mildred ain’t good enough for your sonufyour
son ain’t good enuugh for Mildred. Doyou hear?’ «

“J am not deaf, sir,’? was Lie cool auswer, aud the judge
went on:

«Even if she hadn't promise’ to refuse him, she should
do so. l’ve liad enough to do with the Thoratous, I-hate
the whole race, even if 1 did encourage the «boy. I've
nothing against him.in particular except that he’s a
Thornton, and maybe 1] shall get over thatin tine, No,
f won't, though, hanged ifido. Such a paltry puppy as
he’s got for a fatlier.’ Yowmnay all go to the de’)l Logeiher;
but before you go, pay me what you owe me, Bob Thorn-
teon—pay me what you Owe me,”?

“It isn’t due yet,” faltered Mr. Thornton, who had
feared some such demand as this, for the judge was his
heaviest creditor.

“Ain't due, hey ?? repeated the judge. “It will be in
just three weeks, and if the money aint forthcoming the
very day, cussed if | don’t foreclose! Vil teach you to siy
Mildred ain’) good enough for your son, Man alivel she’s
good enoug) for the Emperor of France! Get out of my
house! Whatare you waiting for??? and, standing back,
he made way for the discomfitted Mr. Thornton to pass

I think

out,
In the hall the latter paused and glaneed toward Mil-
dred as if he would speak to her, while the judge, diviu-

‘jug his thoughts, thundered out:

sul see Liiut she keeps her word. She never told a lie
yet.”

One bitterjook of hatred Mr, Thornton cast upon him,
and then moved+slowly down the wulk, hearig, even
after he reached the gaie, the words: :

“Cussed if | don’t foreclose!”

“There! thav’s done with! said the jndge, walking back

 

to the parlor, where Mildred still Jay upon the sofa,
Blunned, and faint, and ubable to Move, “Poor liltie

girl)’ he began, lifting np her head and pillowing it upon
his broad chest, ‘Are you almost kiNed, poor little Spit-
fire? You fought bravely though a spell, till he began to
twit you of your mother—the dog! Just as though you
wasn’t good enough for his bey! You did right, darling,
to say yon wouldn’t have him. There! therel’? and he
held her closer to him, as she moaned:

‘Oh, Lawrence! Lawrenee! how can I give you up ?*?

“Tt will be hard at first, I reckon,” returned the judge;
“but you'll get over itin time. I'll take you over to Eug-
land next summer, and hunt up @ nobleman for youzthen
see what Bobum will say when he hears you are Lady
Somebody.”

But Mildred did not care for the nobleman. One thought
alone distracted her thouglits, She had promised to re-
fuse Lawrence Thornton, and, more tian all, she could
give him no good reason for her refusal. ‘

“Oh, I wish I could wake up and find it all a dream !""
she cried; but, alas! she could not; it was a stern reality;
and covering her face with her hands, she wept aloud as
she pictured to herself Lawrence's grief and amazement
when he received the letter which she must write.

“I wish to goodness 1 knew what to say!’ thought the
judge, greatly moved at the sight of her distress,

Then, as a new idea occurred to him, he said;

‘Hadn't you better go down and teil it'all to Clubs—he
can comfort you, I guess. He’s younger than IT am; and
his heart ain’t all puckered up like a pickled plium.’?

Yes, Oiiver could comfort her, Mildred believed; - for if
there was a ray of hope he would be sure to see it; and,
although it then was nearly nine, -she resclyed to go to
him at once. Hepsy would fret, she knew; but she did
not care for her—she didn’t care for anybody; and, dry-
ing her tears, she was soon moving down tlie Cold Spring
path, not ligntly, joyously, asslie was wont to do, butsiow-
ly, sadly, for the world was changed to her since shie trod
that path before, siuging of tle sunshiue and the merry
queen of May. ;

She fouud old Hepsy knitting by the door, and enjoying
the bright moonlight, inasmuch as it precluded the ne-
cessity of wasting a tallow candle.

‘*‘Want to see Oliver?’ she growled. ‘You can’t doit.
There’s no sense in your having so much whispering up
there, and thal’sthe end on’t. ‘Widder Simms says it
don’t look well for you, a big, grown-up girl, to be hang-
in’ round Oliver.”

“Widow Simmsisan old gossip!’ returned Mildred,
adding by way of gaining her point, that she was going
to ‘‘buy a pair of new, hurge slippers for Hepsy’s corns.”

The old lady showed sigus of relenting at once, aud
when Mildred threw in a box of black suuff with a bean
in jt, the victory was won, aud she at liberty to join
Oliver. He heard her well-known step, but he was not
prepared for her white face and swollen eyes, and in much
alarm he asked her what had happened.

“Ol, Oliver!’ she cried, burying her facein the pillow,
‘ds all over. Ishall never marry Lawrence. I have
promised to refuse him, and my heart is aching so hard
that I most wish I were dead.”

Very wonderingly he jooked at her, asinafew words
she told him of the exciting scene through which she had
been passing since she left hima so full of hope. Then lay-
ing: her head asecond time upon the pillow, she cried
aloud, while Oliver, too, covering his face with the sheet,
wept great burning tears of joy—joy at Mildred’s pain.
Poor, poor Oliver; he could not help it, and for one single
moment he abandone-l himself to the selfishness which
whispered that the world would be the brighter and his
life the happier if none eyer had a better claim to Mildred
than himself,

“Ain’t you going to comfort me one bit?’ came plain-
tively to his ear, but he did not answer.

The fierce struggie between duiy and self was not over
yet, and Mildred waited iu vain for his reply.

“Are you crying, too?’? she asked, as her ear caughta
low, gasping sob, ‘Yes, you are,’’ she continued, as re-
moving the sheet she saw the tears on his face.

Oliver crying was in these days arare sight to Mildred,
and partially forgetting her own sorrow in her grief at
having caused him pain, she laid her arm across his neck,
and iu her sweetest accents, said;

‘Dear, dear Olly, I didn’t think you would feel so badly
for me. . There—don't,’”? and she brushed away the tears
which only fell the faster, ‘I shall get over it, maybe;
Judge Howell says I will, and if I don’t -I sha’n’t always
feel as 1 do now—I couldn't and Jive. Tshall be comfurt-
ably happy by-and-by, perhaps, and then if Iwever marry,
you Kuow you and lure to hve together, Up at Beech-
wood, maybe. That is to be mine some day, and you shall
have that pleasant chamber looking out upon the town
and the mountains beyond. You'll read to me every
morning, while l work for the children of some Dorcas
Society, for 1 shali be a beuevolent old maid, I guess.
Won’t ‘it be splendid ?? and in ler desire. to comfort
Oliver, who, she verily believed was weeping because she
was not going to marry Luwreuce Thormtou, Mildred half
forgot her own grief.

Dear little Milly! She had yet much to learn of love’s
great mystery, and she could not nuderstand how mighty
was the effort with which Oliver stayed his tears, and
smiling upon her, said:

‘f trust the time you speak of will never come, for I had
far rather Lawrence should do the reading while you work
for children with eyes like yours, Milly,’ and he smiled
pleasantly upon her.

He was beginning to comfort her now. His own feel-
ings were under Coutrol, aud he teld her how, though it
would be right for her to send the letter as she promised,
Lawrence would not have itso. He would come ut once
to'seeK an explanation, and by some means tie truth
would come out, aud Lhuey be happy yet.

“You are my good angel, Olly,’ said Mildred. “You
aliways know just what to say, and lis strange you do,
seeing you never loved any one as I do Lawrence Thorn-
“ton.?? '

And Mildred’s snowy fingers parted his light-brown
hair, all unconscious that their very touch was Lorture to
the poor young man.

“lam going now, and my heart is a great. deal lighter
than when | first camein,”’ she said, aud pressing her
lips to his forelread she went down the stairs and out into
the moonlight, nut singing, not dancing, vot running, but
with & quicker Movement than when she caine, for there
was stealing over her a quiet hopefulmess tuat, as Oliver
had said, all would yet be well. .

Monday morning caine, aud with a throbbing heart, and
flugers which almost refused to do their office, she wrote
to Lawrence Thornton:

“[ cannot be your wife—neither can I tell you the rea-
son why. MILDRED.”?

With swimming eyes she read the cold, brief lines, and
then, as she reflecied thatinamomeunt of desperation
Lawrence might offer himself to Lijiau, and so be Jost to
her forever, she laid her head upon the table and nioaued:

“I cannot, Cannot send it.”

“Yes you can, Gipsy, be brave,’? came from the judge,
who fora momeut had been standing behind her. ‘Show
Bobum that you have pluck.’

But Mildred cared more for Lawrence Thornton than
for pluck, and she continued weeping bitterly, while the
judge placed the letter iu the envelope, thinking vo him-
self:

“It’s all-fred hard, Is’pose, but hanged if she shall
have him, after Bob said what he did. Vil buy her a set
of diamonds though, see if 1 don’t, and next winter she
shall have some five hundred dollar furs. Pll show Bob
Thornton whether I mean to give her a few thousands or
not; the reprobate!’

And fiutshing up his soliloquy with atheught of the
mortgages he was going 10 foreclose, he sealed Lhe letter,
janimed it into his pocket, and passing his great hand
caressingly over the bowed head upon the table, hurried
away lo Lie post-office. *

 

CHAPTER XIV.
WHAT FOLLOWED.

“T wonder if the Western mail is in yet,”? and Geraldine
Veille glanced carelessly up at the clock ticking upon the
marble inantel, peered sideways at the young wlan reud-
ing upol the sola, and then resumed her crocheting,

“Ewas jus thinking the same,” returned Lawrence,
folding up his paper and consulting his wateh, ‘I sup-
pose father comes in this train. 1] wouder what took him
to Albany ?”

“Lhe sume old story—buSiness, business,’? answered
Geraldine. “He is very much embarrassed, he tells me,
and unless he can procure mouey he is afraid he will lave
to fail, Lily might let him have hers, 1 suppose, if it
were well secured,”

Lawrence did not reply, for, truth to say, he was just
then Wninking more of his expected Jetter than of his
father’s failure, aud taking his hat he walked rapidly to
the office, already crowded with eager faces. No, ——
held several Jetlers) to-night, but for only one did Law-
rence Care vw strayy, and that the one bearing the Mayteld
post-mark. Ue knewitwas from Mildred, for he had
seen her plain, decided haudwriling before, and he gave
itn loving squeeze, just as he would have given the fair
writer, if she had been there instead. Too impatient to
wait until he reached his home, he tore the letter open in
the street, and read it once, twice, three limes, ere he
would believe that heread aright, aud that he was re-
jected.

Crumpling the cruel lines in his hand, he hurried on
through street aller sireet, kuowing nolhing where he
was going, and Caring less, 80 suddeuly aud crushiugly
had the blow fallen upon him, y

“I cannot be your wile—I cannot be your wife!” he
heard it ringing in his ears, turn which way he would,
und With it at last came the maddening thought that the
reason why sie could not be his wife was that she loved
aunotler, Oliver had been deeeived, the Judge had been
deceived, and he liad been cruelly, cruelly deceived.

But he exoverated Mildred from all Diame. She had
never encouraged him by a word or look, except indeed
When she sat by himupon the sofa, and he thonght he
saw iu her speaking fuce that he was uot indifferent to
her. Bathe was mistaken. Te knew it ne. 1 with
a wildly beating heart and whirling brai ; sed
on and on, until the evening shadows. veginning 10
fallo and he felt) the night dew op. his > ing forehead,
Then te turned his steps homeward, » .ere More thou
one waited anxiously his coming.

Mr. Thornton hud returned, und, entering his lhonse
just after Lawrence Jeft it, had communicated 1, Geral-

dine the resultof lis late adventure, withholding ina
measure the part which the gid judge bad taken in the

ufair, aud saying nothing of the will, Which had so stag-
gered him,

‘Do you think she'll keep her promise?” Geraldine
asked.

But Mr. Thornton could not tell, aud both watched ner-
vously for Lawrence.

Geraldine wus the first tosee him, but she stood npon
the stairs when he CGumeinio the hall. The gas was al-
ready lighted, showing the ghastly whiteness of his face.
and by that token she knew that Mildred Howell had kent
her word, An hour later aud Geraldine knocked softly at
his door, :

Receiving from him “Engaged,” she muttered, ‘‘Not to
Mildred Howell though,” and then went to her own room,
whiere lay sleeping the Lilian for whose sake this suffer-
ing was caused. Assured by Geraldine that aX would yet
be well, she had dried her tears, and, as she never feit
badly long upon any subject, she was to all appearances
on the best of terms with Lawrence, who, grateful to her
for behaving so sensibly, treated her with even more than
his usual kindness,

The illness of which Geraldine had written to Mildred
was of course a humbug, for Lilian was not one to die of
a broken heart, and she lay there sleeping sweetly now,
while Geraldine paced the floor, wondering much what
Mildred Howell had written and what the end would be.

The next morning Lawrence came down to breakfast
looking so haggard and worn that his father involuntarily
asked if he were sick. :

“No, not sick,’ was Lawrence’s hurried answer, as he
picked at the snowy roll and affected to sip his coffee.

Mr. Thornton was 1n a hurry as usual and immediately
after breakfast went out leaving Geraldine and Lawrence
alone, fer Lilian was not yet up.

“You have had bad news, I’m sure,” said Geraldine,
throwing into her manner as much concern as possible.

Lawrence made no reply, except indeed to place his feet
upon the back of a clair and fold his hands together over
his head.

“I was a little fearful of some such denouement,’’ Geér-
aldine continued, ‘for as hinted to you on Friday I was
almost certain she fancied young Hudson. He called here
this evening—and seemed very conscious when I casually
mentioned her name, What reason does she give for re-
fusing you?” *

“Noue whatever,” said Lawrence, shifting his position
a little by upsettiag the chair on which his. feet were
plaeed. 4 v

“That’s strange,’ returned Geraldine, intently studying
the pattern of the carpet as if she would there find a cause
for the strangeness. ‘Never mind, coz,” she added,
laughingly, ‘“‘don’t let one disappointment break your
heart. There are plenty of girls beside Mildred Howell;
so let her have young Hudson if she prefers him.”

No answer from Lawrence, in whose bosom jealous
thoughts of young Hudson were beginning to rankle.

“Itmay be. It may be,’ he thought, “*but why couldn't
she have told meso? Why leave me entirely in the dark?
Does she fear the wrath of Hudson’s mother in case I
should betray her???

Yes, that was the reason, he believed, and in order to
make the matter sure, lie resolved to write again and ask
her, and forgetting his father’s request that he should
“come down to the office as soon as Convenient,’ he spent
the morning in writing to Mildred a second time. He had
intended to tell her that he guessed the reason of her: re-
fusal, but instead of that he poured out his whole soul in
one passjonate entreaty for her to think again, ere she
told him no. No other one could love her as he did, he
said, and he besought of her to give him one word of hope
to cheer the despair which had fallen so darkly around
him. ‘This letter being sent, Lawrence sat down in a kind
of apathetic despair to await the result,

x * * * * * * *

“What, hey, the boy has written, has he? and adjust-
ing his gold-bound specs, the old judge looked to see if
the eight pages Finn had just given to him were really
from Lawrence Thornton. ‘He's got good grit,” said he,
“and I like him for it, but hanged if 1 don’t teach Bobum
alesson. lean feel big as well as he. Gipsy not-good
enough for his boy! Vlishow him. She looks brighter
to-day than she did. She ain’t going to let it kill her, and
as there’s no use worrying her for nothing I sha’n’t let
her see this. But Ican’t destroy it, nor read it neither.
So Vil just put it where the old Nick himself couldn't find
it,” and touching the hidden spring of a secret drawer
he hid away the letter which Mildred, encouraged by
Oliver, had half expected, weep Silently in her cham-
ber, when the minutes went by and she did not hear the
judge calling her to come and get it.

But the judge repented of the act when he saw her
swollen eyelids, and though he had no idea of giving her
the letter, he thought to make amends some other way.

“) have it,” he suddenly exclaimed, as he sat alone in
his library, after Mildred had gone to bed. ‘Ill dock off
five thousand from that Missionary society and add it to
Spitfire’s portien. The letter ain’t worth more than that,
and satisfied that he was making the best possible repar:
tion, he brought out his will and made the alteration,
which took from a Missionary society enough to feed and
clothe seyeral clergymen a year.

Alas, for that society. 1t was destined to fare hard, for
four days more brought. another letter from Lawrence
Thornton—larger, heayier than the preceding one, crossed
all oyer, as could be plainly seen through the envelope,
and worth, as the judge calculated, about ten thousand
dollars, So he placed that amount to Mildred’s credit, by
way of quieting his conscience. One week more and
there came another,

‘Great Heaven!’ greaned the judge, as he gave to Mil-
dred the last five thousand dollars, and left to the Mis-
sionaries nothing. ‘Great Heaven, what will 1 do next?”
and he glanced ruefully at the clause commencing with
“I give and bequeath to Oliver Hawkins,” &c. ‘'"Pwon’t
do to meddle with that,’ said he. “I might as well
touch Gipsy’s eyes as to harm tlic reel-footed boy,’’ and
in his despair the judge began toresolye the expediency
of praying that no more letters should come from Law-
rence Thornton, we

Remembering, hoyever, that in the prayer-book there
Was nothing suited to that emergency, he gave up that
wild project and concluded that if Lawreuce wrote again
he.swould. answer it himselfs but this he was. not called
upon to do, for Lawrenee grew weary at last, and calling
his pride to his aid resolved to leave Mildred to Nerself,
and neither write again nor seek an interview with her,
as-he had thought of doing. Nomoreletters came from
him, but on the day when his father’s mortgages were
due, the judge received one from Mr. Thornton begging
for alittle Jonger time, and saying that uuless it were
grauted he was a ruined man.

‘Ruined or not, 1 shall foreclose,’? muttered the judge.
‘1711 teach him to Come into my house and say Gipsy isn’t
good enough for his boy,”?

Looking ua little lurther he read that Lawrence was go-
ing to Europe.

“What for, nobody knows,’’ wrote Mr. Thornton. ‘Tle
Will not listen to reason or anything else, and 1 suppose
he will sailin afew days. idid not imagine he loved
your Mildred so much, and sometimes I have regretted
my interference, but it is too late now, I daresay.’

This last was thrown out as & bait, at which Mr. Thorn-
ton hoped the judge might catelh. The fact that Mildred
was an heiress nad produced aslight change in his opin-
ion of her, and he would not now’ greatly object to re-
ceiving her as his daughter-in-law. But he was far too
proud to say so—he would rather the first concession
should come from the judge, who, while understanding
perfectly the hint, swore he would not do it,

“If anybody comes round it’il be himself,” he said.
“Tl teach him what’s what, and I won’t extend the time
either. llsee Lawyer Monroe this very day, but first
Vil tell Gipsy that the boy is off for Europe. Ho, Gipsy!’
he calle, as he heard her inthe hall, and in a moment
Mildred was at his side.

She saw the letterin his hand, and hope whispered
that it came from Lawrence. But the judge soon unde-
ceived her,

‘Spitfire,’ said he, ‘“Bobum writes that Lawrence is
going to Europe to get over his love-sickness. He suils
ina few days. But what the duse, girl, are you going to
faint?’ ®

Aud he wound his arm around ber to prevent her falling
to the fluor.

The last hope was swept away, and while the judge
irted in vain to sooth her, asking what difference it made
whether he were in Halifax or Canada, inasmuch as'she
had pledged herself not Lo matty him, she answered:

“None, none, aud yet I guess lthought he’d come to
see me, or wrile, or Ssumething. Oliver said he would,
and the days are so dreary without him.” :

The judge glanced at the hidden drawer, feeling strongly
fempted to give her the Jetiers it contained, but his tem-
per rose up in time to preventit, and muttering to him-
self; “Hanged if Ido,’ he proceeded to tell her how by
aud by the, days would ‘not be.so dreary, for she

 

would forget Lawrence and fitid some one else to
love, and then he added, suddenly brightening up,

“there’ll be some fun im seeing me plague Bobuin.
The mortgages are due 0-day, and the dog has
written asking for inore time, Baying he’s a ruined man
unless I give it to him. Let him be ruined then, I’d like
to see him taken down a& pegor two. Maybe ‘then he’ll
think you good enough for his Boy, There, darling, sit on
the lounge, While] hunt up the papers. I’m going up this
very duy to see ny lawyer,’? and he pushed her gently
frou. him. 3

Mildred Knew comparatively nothing of business, but
she understood that Judge Howell had itin his power to
ruin Mr. Thornten or not just a3 he pleased, and though
she had no cause for liking the latter, he was Lawrence's
father, and she resolved to do What she could in his be-
half. Returning to the judge she perched herself upon his
knee and asked him to tell her exaueily how matters stood
between himself aud Mr. Thornion,

He complied with her request, and when he had fin-
ished, she said:

“If you choose, then, you can givé him more time and
80 Save him from a fittinre, Js that it???

“Yes, yes, that’s it,’’ returned the judge, a little petu-
lantly. “But 1 aint & mind to. Wl humble him, the
wreteh!? .

Mildred never calied Judge lowell father except on
special ocvasions, althougl he had often wisied her 80 10
do, but she called him “Father? now, aud asked if “he
loved her very much.”?

“Yes, love you a heap more tan you deserve, but tain't
no use to beg off for Bob Thoruton, for 1 shall fureclose—
eussed if 1 dou't.”?

“No, no. You mustn’t, You mustn't,” and Mildred’s
arms closed tightly wround his neck. ‘Listen to me,
father, Give him more time, for Milly’ssake, My heartis
ulmnost broken now, wid it will Kill me quite to have
him ruined, for Lawrence, you Know, would suffer too,
Lawrence would suffer most. Won't yon write to him
that he cau have allthe time he wanis? You dont need
the money, and you'll feel so muel better; for the Bible
says they shall be blessed wie forgive their enemies.
Won't you forgive Mr. Thornton ??

[TO BE CONTINUED.)

 

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a rma a Same Se a ea

 

A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.—This heading eharacterizes
one of the thrilling scenes in the opening part of Grace
Gordon’s new story, “SAVED BY HER Buoop.’’ The
dungeon scene will have an electrical effect upon the
reader.

Big Foot \ Wallace.

By Ned Buntline.

(“Big Foot Wallace” was commenced in No. 37. Back numbers
ean be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.]

CHAPTER XLIT.

After four days’ march, bringing his battery, provisions
and ambulances, General Candido arrived in sight of the
groves that line the Neuces, He was just too late to re-
lieve Guadalupe Mercadores of his stock—just too late to
interfere with the action of Big Foot Wallace.

He had seen the heavy smoke of the forest fires late in
the day, and he hurried his command forward, but. he
reached. the sandy ridge in front of the grassy savanna
just as the storm broke out jn all its terror.

Here he was forced to halt by the fearful violence of the
storm, forced much against his will, for he saw what.he
supposed to be the camp fires: of Guadalupe Mercadores
scarce a league ahead, and he longed to move on and sur-
prise him.

Delayed until nightfall by the storm, he resumed his
march after it was over, €and. sending scouts ahead, fol+
lowed with his artillery so as to be ready if need called, to
throw his. whole foree forward in a night attack.

He wags met by some of his scouts before he reached the
forest bordering on the river, who told him that the enemy
with all the stock, had fled up the vaHey and had just
crossed the river at a ford,

In an instant he changed his course. He too would
cross the ford and follow up the stock and those who held
it. Marching as fastas he could with his train, he reached
the river when it had risen to an impassible hight. An-
gered, he let his troops fall back into the timber Lo camp,
but he had his two brass howitzers planted close by the
ford, and close behind them in a patch of cottonwood had
his own marquee planted,

He had a guard placed over the battery, another before
his quarters, and then he took his evening meal of cold
meat, bread and wine. :

Suddenly one of the artillery guard reported a large
watch fire:on the other shore with a large body of men
about it, cooking, eating and drinking.

Candido with Colone} Solano went out to see it.

They saw far across the river, butin range, a body of
men occupied as stated.

“Place your guns close on the river bank!’’ said the
general. ‘'Then shell that camp and spoil their pastime.
lf we can’t reach them one way we Can in another.”

The gunners ran howitzers and caisson close to the
water’s edge, loaded both guns and told the general they
were ready. : °

‘Try your elevation with one shell, then let them hav
the next before they have time to scatter!’? ;

The reader already knows the effect of these shells from
the account in a preceding chapter. .

Candido laughed heartily as he saw the men scatter in
apparent terror, and Solano in the silent goodness of his
heart felt thankful that the shells seemed to have fright-
eued rather than have killed. For it is your bravest, true-
est soldier who does not delight in the sight of blood.

After this little episode the general bade the artillery-
men keep their guns in position, with a guard to watch
the other shore,. Then with his colonel aud side-de-camp
he retired to rest. ‘

He could hear the hum of yoices down at his main camp,
where the soldiers were eating, drinking and drying their
wet clothes, but they were biyouacked well back in the
forest and scarce a glimmer of their camp fires reaehed
their quarters.

Weary and disposed for sleep it ig not wonderful that he
cropped on his cot, all accoutred as he was, falling asleep
almost as soon ashe touched it. Norisit yet more strange
that he slept. even when the bugles of the camp were
sounding the reveille.

But soon after he was roused by an orderly, who cried
out:

“General! Excellenza, awake! Our guns are gone!
The artillery guards have gone with tlem!”?

‘Diablo! What do you mean?” cried Candido, hardly
half awake. ;

“The howitzers, caisson, and gunners, all are gone,
general!’ reiterated the orderly. ‘*Will your excellenza
go and see?’

His excellency did go and see. He saw where he had
left the howitzers, on a bluff still far above the water,
high as the river had risen; and he saw whiere the wheels
of the two guns and the caisson had plowed deep into the
soft earth as they had been forced over the bank and
down into the deep and rushing river.

Could his gunners have doue this? They were his best
treated and he believed his most faithful soldiers. Only a
guard of six had remained with the guns, The others
were at the main camp, and were sent for,

They were horror-stricken. They knew their comrades
could not be. traitors. They must have been surprised and
slain, and that so silently that no alarm could reach the
other posts. But where were their bodies? Perhaps with
the guns down deep under the turbid waters.

Candido, for the first time in that short campaign, felt
sick and disheartened. Like most old soldiers, he felt
that without artillery he was but half armed.

Day was now coming fairlyon. The red glow inthe
east told of the rising sun, and thesky, clear after the
storm, had not a cloud floating between it and the earth.

The general went back to his tent, to take his coffee and
ponder on what point to move. The coffee was already
prepared, and he was sipping his first cup when Solano
came in.

“General,” said he, ‘‘yast herds of cattle and horses
are on the other shore. Armed men are gathering them
up and driving them down the river on that shore,’?

And we cannot cross ?”” :

“No, general; we have no boats. The river is swollen
banks full... Where it might be forded at an ordiuary
stage, now it would be death to try it.”

“Too bad! Are they out of rifle range ???

“Yes, general.’?

“And our artillery lost! I see it ail. They have
crossed by some means in the night, murdered my gun-
ers, anct cast the guns intothe river. Oh, let me but
reachi them! Iwill teach them how Candido can be re-
venged! Can you make out whether it is Guadalupe Mer-
cadores and his gang or not?”

“It is not he. The men are dressed like Americans,
ride like them—act like them.”

“Then what has become of Mercadores?”’

“T think, general, he has been defeated by this band of
Americans, his stock taken, aud they are now moving
down toward Texas witii it.’?

“Wenlust notloseit after coming so far.
cross—wwe must cross\??

“We cannot cross now, general. If we have patience
and Keep them in sight, and the river goes down, we may
geta chance. Our new guide knows tle river and all its
passes,’?

“That is well.
prepare to move.
That stock must be ours.
hot be lost."?

Orders were at once issued to this effect.

An hour later and the command was in motion down
the river.

Before they had gonea_ league, six of those who had
escaped when Big Foot Wallace attacked the camp of
Mercadores liad come in, reporting his total defeat aud
supposed death, for none of tiiese had seen him escape.

When asked who made the attack, they could only say
it was those devils, the Americans.

They came Jike the wiud, and swept all before them.

Moodily Candido moved on, Kkeepiug out on the plain,
so that the wooded belt on the riverslould hide his force
from observation on the other side.

But he sent some of his best scouts in to make observa-
tions on the river, and see how things moved on the other
shore,

Suddenly one of these came galloping in, shouting:

“Oh, general. Ride tothe river! You will see a terri-

ble sight!”
CHAPTER XLIII.

_ When he escaped across the river with his little band,
nearly all that were left of his entire command, Guada-
lupe Mercadores was too gind to have saved his own life
to hardly cousider the fate of his adherents, or the loss of
his stock and herds.

le had learned all the secrets of the hermit’s cave,
found fuel for fire, some’provisions, and he felt as if he
was in a fortress which he could defend until time and
fortune permitted his escape.

“Theu——" he nruttered, ‘I will live only for revenge.
Not only shall these accursed Americans fvel the weight
of my deadly hate, but the false general whom I bribed
so heavily that he promised constant aid and countenance
—the false-hearted CANDIDO, shall know what I can do in
northern Mexico! Ihave an influence which can raise
revolution—the greAt Canales is my sworn friend when he
and | meet and he knows all—then let Candido trembiel”’

Litue did the guerrilla chief dream that even then Can-
didv was within cannon shot of where he stood, and that
but for the storm he vould have been upon him as soon,
or sooner thansthe Americans themselves,

“Senor,” said one of his men, in a sad tone—poor fel-
low, he had reason to be sad, two of his brothers were in
the boat that went over the falls. ‘Senor, if our enemies
do not seeK us here, or starve us out—if we do escape,
how will we ever return to our homes in Mexico. It is a
lolig, long Way and we have no horses!”

Mercadores laughed willy.

“Have we not legs? Can weno march day after day
till we reach there? Man, when you can learn to hate as
I do, you will also Jearn that there is nothing impossibie
tou brave man! When you have seen every change of
fortune as I have seen it, you will learn that despondeacy
is & man's greatest. weakness.’?

“Pardon, my ehief, pardon, But my heart Is very full.
My brothers—my poor brothers are in my mind all the
timel’? /

“Bah! Men must die. They died bravely as men should
die. ‘They ate better off than wel’?

“But, my general, they haye left wives and children,
Who will cure for them?” :

“The wives if they are fair and comely will wed again,
The ¢@hildren will not starve in Mexico.”

The man did not reply to this cold and heartless answer.
He walked away breathing a sigh thal sounded like a sob
—the sob of a breaking heart,

“A heavy storm is rising, generall’? reported one of the
men who had gone to the point of feokout,

 

 

We must

Let the commana breakfast and then
We, too, will marek down the river.
All this time and labor shall

 

 

 

 

 

=

‘Let it rise. Weare safe from wind and rain—stir up
the fire and warm up this damp chamber.. Itis as gloomy
here as it would be inside a dungeon. Give me that
flask of aguadiente, then go and watch the other shore.
They may try to follow me. If they do they'll find I
learned a lesson here myself which I can improve upon
for their benefit.”

The man threw more fuel on the fire, handed his chief
the flask, and departed.

Drinking heavily, the chief laid the flask down witbin
reach of his hand, and leoked mooaily into the blaze be-
fore him, studying out new plans for the future.

‘ a mOmen} more and the sentinel ouce more came
ack.

“General,” he said,
break above us.”

‘Let it break; it owes me nothing,” said the generar,
with a wild laugh.

“But if the heavy rains come the river will rise and per-
haps destroy our boats,”

“Baht! Thereis no such danger. They are moored safe
below, and I will.visk their safety.» —

‘sue Sentinel went back to his post. His chief wasina
Stranger mood than he had eyer seen him in before.

The other men gathered about the fire, shua@dered and
trembled, forow the heavy thunder peals fell on their
ears, and they seemed to make the cavern shake,

They looked up at the black, ragged rocks above them,
ene it seemed as if they feared they would fall and erush

1em.

But their chief, ever and’ anon ‘taking a drink of the
flery aguadiente, langhed at thelr fears and said the thun-
der was music to his soul.

“Our enemies have no such shelter as this. The stoek
in a storm like this will scatter in a wild stampede, and
Big Foot Wallace will never see one-lalfof itagain. Let
the red lightning rend the sky and sedreli:the earth. Let
the loud thunder peal.: Let the rain come doww in sheetg
until the plains are lakes and the hills send down tor-
rents On every hand. A storm like this is the worst en-
emy the cursed American can meet.”

Almost wild with drink, half-crazed “with the misfor-
tunes that made him drink, the chief acted almost like a
maniac,

Suddenly the sentinel came again from the front.

“General, there is some one in distress clinging to the
willows below the cave. Three times I have’ heard his
cry of distress.’ He spoke in Spanish—he must be one of
our men.”?

“One of ourmen? Impossible! Who but us are left???
: es let us go down, takeaboat and rescue
nim ?*

“No; there is some treachery. Wo; let him perish.”

The men shuddered. Bad and wicked as they were
they could not bear a man should perish when help could
reach him—a countryman, perhaps a comrade.

Quietly the one who had Jost his two brothers rose, and
without speaking he went out of the passage that led to-
ward the boats» Another seemed to kuow what he meant
to do, and followed him,

They were gone but afew brief minutes, and® when
hes returned a third man, pale and dripping, came with

lem.

“there is a terrifle storm about to

 

CHAPTER XLIV.

“Rouse up! rouse up! The river is rising fast wpon us. The
ladies must leave their shelter!’

It was Doctor Powell who spoke.

His two male companions were so sound asleep he had to shake
them before they awoke.

The rain had ceased to fall, but the roar of the rushing river
seemed londer than ever, and the water was rippling’ along in
streams through the bushes close by théir feet.

In a few seconds all were up and moving to the high greund,
whither the boat had been carried.

There wasno murmur among the women, no expression of
fear or dread. They had seen so much of this uf Jate—so much
a deadly peril that courage became a better part of their na-

ures.

80 itis with allof us. When we first meet danger we all are
cowards, We know not what it is, but life issweet and we dread
toloseit. But as danger after danger is met and overcome, peril
after peril passed in safety, we become eareless and eare not
what is before us.

Thus while the raw recruit trembles asshot and shell ate
hurtling through the air, the old veteran laughs, and says:

“Don’t get nervous, boy. You will never die till your timo
eomes.”

The boat was now turned up and all the provisions placed in
it. The ladies were placed in the center and ‘ wrapped in their
blankets—told to sleep while the men watched.

Doubling the strong Jariat already secured to the tree top, the
eosin doctor sawit iastened securely to the bew of the boat,
saw that the paddles were in their places ready for use, and then
he sat down with the others to wait.

The hermit was strangely silent. Usually he had most to say,
but now he did not speak unless he was spoken to.

At times he murmured low words to himself, but they were
inaudible to the others.

Meantime the rising of the waters could be noticed by sight as
well as sound.

The-trees near the edge of the island were scen to bend and
sway as the surging waters swept among their trunks and
branches. :

.Now and then aicrash assome drifting tree or log came down
teld what the stream was bringing from above.

Doctor Powell trembled more for this danger than any other.
When the water was up even with the tree-tops they might yet
float in safety, moored in their boat, but if drifting ‘trees or logs
oe eh the boat then it would surély be swept away over

ie falls. .

Higher and higher crept the stream. It begantoripple around
their feet, But the three men, brave and firm, drew the boat to
a safe position below the large tree, looked again carefully to the
fastenings, and then got.in themselves.

_ Ob, how long the night seemed. The water gained, not so fast,
it seemed, as at first, but slowly, surely.

The boat floated and Jay» buoyant at her moorings. The trees
on eicher side, in the low ground, seemed to sink, one after an-
other, out of sight—but they kuew. well it was the rising stream
that covered them.

Higher and higher, and yet the day seemed sogar away. The
storm.all over, the sky clear, the cold stars looking duwn like
pitiless eyes upon them,

All were awake now. All sitting there watching the branches
as one by one they sunk from sight, all silent, thinking, Heayen

only knew of what, but surely yeeling only Heaven's mercy could
e

save them.
It was terrible. But they bore it all in silence—not in ap-

athy.
“I see the Eastern Star—day at Jast iscoming,’’ said the young
r.

octor.

“The Star in the East—the Star of Bethlehem that brought
with it peace and good will!” said the hermit, in a low tone.

And then he sighed so heavily his whole frame shook.

Now the eyes of all watched alternately the rising of that star
and the steady rising of the waters. One came up as fast as the
other—but the water, the dreaded water but too fast. ;

Another hour, and yet another. Day had dawned—the sun
was up, and yet the boat held fast and so far safe by its moorings.
Nearly all the trees upon the island were submerged, but here on
this little mound they were yet outot water a mun’s hight er
more.

The waters rolled on, dark with the mud of washed banks, full
of floating logs and trees, swift, sullen and terrible. But now the
falls did not throw out the thunder voices that had been a terror
to Adele and Donna Sofia when they first came to land. The
mighty river swept proudly over the great rocks, strong, swift,
but not. boiling in foam, or Jeaping in mad caturacts as it did
when not half so high.

With a swift and sullen plunge, rolling in almost noiseless
surges it swept down the pass below the island, and Dr! Powell
began to bope that even if forced to leuve their moorings they
might hive through that fearful passage.

He had run rapids on the Upper Platte, he had seen the boat-
men of Sault St. Marie run the rapids there—he knew thata
boat well handled could live in many a rough spot, and he did
not yet despuir, though the water rose all the time and there was
no sign of its abating.

Another hour and a new sight came to their eyes. Big Foot
Wallace and his men were en the northern shore, peweriess to
aid them but waiting, watching them in their peril.

Adele waved her handkerchief to show she kuew and recog-
nized him, and he was seen to bend his head as he leaned upon
the shoulder of brave Mountain Joe.

She knew that he was weeping, for the old man loved her well.
He was watching the water as it rose inch by ineh even as she
had been, and trembling more for her life than she did herself.

“Look, there are men on the other shore!” cried Arizona
Frank,

“Yes, soldiers—men in uniform. Mexicans, forI can see the
green and yellow bannerets,” cried Donna Sofia.

It was true. Though they knew not wno it was—General Can-
et mae staff, with his body-guard were looking iu pity on
their peril.

Ah, now it was darker than ever before. The water was up to
the very tops of the trees where they were moored. And right
above then, bearing square down the river, came an immense
driit of gnarled trees aud logs, some old rait of drift broken
away.

“Heaven be merciful! Our time has eome!”’ said the hermit,
mournfully. “Children it is for yoe[ care. For me—it is neth-
ing. ITamready. Heaven be merciful—our tine has come!”?

“Yes—the time for work!” cried Doctor Powell, with wild
energy.

Drawing his knife he eut the Jariat that held the boat to the
swaying tree-top—then, when the massof drift was. close upon
them, he sprung to the stern of the boat, seized his paddle, and
whirled her head down streant

“Down—down in the bottom of the boat every one of you and
move not for your lives!” he cried. “I haye run rapids before,
and Pil run these!”

Like an Apollo, he stood erect and fearless as the boat shot
away from its moorings and its Jatest peril. With lis paddle
poised, now on this side, then on that, he headed the boat for the
sginoothest water he could see.

In amoment he was bounding over the great surges. Now
they would almost topple over the low bulwarks, now the boat’s
bow would seeni about te plunge bodily under; but with a steady
hand and a nerve unequalled on earth, he held her to her course,
casting no eye to right or left.

Could he have done so he would haye seen Big Foot Wallace
and his band riding madly on one side of the river, while the
Mexican general rode all as wildly on the other side.

Both sides were shouting and cheering, trying toencourage the
man who neither saw nor heard them.

Still as death, knowing their peril, trusting in God and the hero
at the helm, lay the others in the boat. A motion would destroy
her equilibrium, a single head raised distract him from his duty.
No one stirred.

On—and'the danger seemed to lessen; but all at once Powell
saw a swift turn of the current to the right, and then, ata glance,
that a whirling eddy was before him.

“God he)p the widow’s son |”?

It was all he said as he braced himself for ao last struggle with
the eddying waters,

The boat now careened to the rushing water; but throwing all

his weight to the upper side, he drove her with all his strength |

straight across to the southern shore.

‘Saved! saved!” he gasped, and he sank down almost help- ,

less as the boat surged into smooth water—so near the shore that
the voices of General Candido and his staff reached their ears,

“Do not giveup. A little Work now aud you aré safe, hero of
heroes!’ ‘

Dr. Powell heard the voice; he knew it, and almost mechantf-
cally he rose, took his paddle, and Pushed the boat in out of the
smooth eddy to the shore.

Then, and not till he told them, did Adele, Donna Sofia, and
the Hermit rise—Arizona Frank last of ail.

‘Tt is my brave volunteer surgeon!” said) the general, in sur-
prise, as he stepped forward to help Powell to the shore, “Sener
Medico, you have done the bravest deed I ever saw performed.
Whom have you saved ?. Two men and two ladies—one so beau-
tiful, I do not wonder you risked all to save her, Ab, Donna
Sofia! we have met before, You are the wife of Guadalupe Mer-
cadores.””

“T hope not, general.
ingrate traitor as he!” ‘

“Good! You judge him aright. Butsit down all. I will have
my camp pitched close by and you shall be treated as beauty and
valor merit}?

1 had rather be the widow of such an

(TO BE CONOLUDED NEXT WEEK.)
OO
“Sitvar WING, The Angel of the Tribes,” by NED BUNTLINE,
will oon be commenced. This story was written some few years
9, while the author was on a tour to California, and the scenes
and incidents are from real life, the same as “Buffalo Bill.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“ —

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_%lack eyes upon those of the duelist.

“reached the spot where we had fought—where I had killed

‘ Sult my roll of death.”

‘The ground is selected, gentlemen,’ said one of the

BLACK AGATHA.

BY NATHAN D. URNER.

Black Agatha is dead and gone,
Toll the bell in the old church-tower!

Never again will she grieve or groan,

Bending and bowing o’er rut and stene,

Aching ia every nerve and bone, i
At early morn or the twilight hour,

With her broad, flat basket of raiment clean,

From her tittle laundry upon the green.

Her work is done, her race is run,
Toll the bell in the old church-tower!

-Black was her face, and wrinkled and rent,
Toll the bell, toll the bell!
nd her hair was white, and her form was bent;
And what if she sometimes grumbling went ? .
‘Her lot was not one to breed content,
Her feeble frame was ashriveled shell,
And she was so old that her groans and tears
Could not number her many years.
And now itis best that she should rest,
Toll the bell, toll the bell!

She was a slave in Tetinessee,

Toll the bell inthe belfry high! 3
From South to North she drifted—free,
Though little but slavery still found she,
To‘ling as long as her eyes could see

In her little laundry the church-yard nigh.
But the good All-Father had her in miad
In His sleepless watch over human kind;
And at last hath He set the old slave free,

Toll the bell in the belfry high!

Black Agatha is gone to rest,
Toll the bell in the old church-tower!
She often said, “I is sore oppressed,
Tse tired to deff, an’ I want to res’.”
Fold shrunken hands on shrunken breast, -

And place in the fingers the fairest flower.
Gf doing one’s duty wins the way,

Her place is among the blest to-day.
Her work is done, her race is run,
Toll the bell in the old church-tower!

THE FATAL SWORD;

—— OR,
The Duelist of: New Orleans.

BY PROF. WM. HENRY PECK.

 

 

 

 

‘The combatants were ready, and only awaited the sig-
mal of one of the seconds. The morning was clear, aud
the beams of the rising sun gleamed brightly upon the
Jong, keen rapiers, whose points and edges were alike
deadly.

There were but few spectators, but among them, was an
aged, white-mustached gentleman, tall, thin, and of mili-
Aary air.

This gentleman, clad in a close-fitting suit of black, the
oat buttoned to his throat, had not arrived with the
others. He was pacing the field when the carriages of
the dueling party rolled up. As those in the carriages
approached he bowed aud said:

“Pardon, gentlemen; allow me to be a spectator.’?

“A spectator of what??? demanded one of the seconds.

“Of the combat betiveen Mr. Graymart and Mr. Lignht-
feot.” ‘

“Do you not see enough of swordplay in your fencing
saloon?’ asked Mr. Graymart, with a sneer. ‘But, 1 be-
lieve Lightioot has been one of your pupils ?””

“IT have had the bonor to instruct Mr. Lightfoot,’ re-
plied the old fencing-masier, flashing a quick glance of
encouragement toward Mr. Lightfoot.

“Good! You shall see what your instruetion is worth.
T intend to kill Mr. Lightfoot,” remarked Mr. Graymart.

Graymart was aman fully forty years of age, tall, ro-
‘bust, active, powerful. His features were naturally fierce
and harsh. Years of passion and success in lawless life
jiad made his air haughty and aggressive. Me had fought
au score of duels, and he fought in allas much with that
fierce face, that harsh voice, aud those furious eyes, as
with sword or pistol. }

It was his practice to intimidate his antagonists into
“‘wrervousness, and failing in that, toinflame them with
blinding rage. Therefore he said, very loudly, to the old
Feucing-master:

“] intend to kill Mr. Lightfoot.”

‘The fencing-master replied quickly:

“To intend is one thing; to do is another.”

“7 am sure to kill the young man,” continued Graymart.
“No man has lived to call me scoundrel, and throw wine
in my eyes the second time. Ah, theréhave been, mark
me—have been. five who so insulted. Hector Gray mart.
They are dead. 1 killed them.”

He said this with so menacing an air that all preserved
a grave silence. The seconds were busy in choosing the
ground and examining the weapons. Graymart con-

tinued: ’

“The lasfot those wine-tossers fared worse than the
others. They had respectable burials. He was eaten by
“erabs.”?

Then ‘for the first time Mr. Lightfoot turned his face to-
Ward the speaker. Hitherto he had not so much as glanced
at Hector Graymart, but now he fixed his clear, bright

Mr. Lightfoot was a foot-and-a-half shorter in stature
than his. gigantic antagonist, and of his frame and pro-
portions little could be safely determined, for he wore very
doosely-filting garments of white linen. He was very
‘dark, very handsome, and very reserved in his manner.
His twe seconds knew only hisname.. He was a stranger
among the hotbloods of the Crescent City. :

But Monsieur Ralphel, the fencing-master, appeared to
entertain forPercie Lightfoot a friendship which approach-
ed adoration. He drew near Lightfoot, aud clasping the
$mall-gloved hand of the young man, whispered:

“Courage! He is a bully.”?

*‘Am I wembling, Ralphel? I donot fear him. Listen.’

“Yes,”? resumed Graymart, scowling, as his fierce, gray
‘eyes were boldly met by those of hiseneiny, “ihe name of
that miserable last was Alven, Charlies Alven——”?

“All? muttered Lightfoot, with colorless lips, “it is
because his name was Cliaries Alven that 1 am here to kill
“or to die.”

“He called me scoundrel—he threw wine into my face,
and we fought not far from the mouth of the Mississippi
On the sands of the beach. There were but four of us—
Alven and I, and our two seconds. Well, I said I would 4
Kill him, and he fell at first fire with my ball in his breast.
He was dying when we leit him. We hurried.away in-
tending to send a party after the body, but somehow we
were delayed, and it was hours before those we sent

‘him,” said Graymart, with a savage glance at Lightfoot,
“fond when they arrived at the place the dead man was
gone. Ho! don’t think he came to life and walked off!
Not he! Not any man can do that after I have put a bullet
straight through his heart.’’

“Then you know that your bullet did pass through his
heart?” asked the attendant surgeon.

“I saw where my ball struck him,” said Hector Gray-
mart, with a scoff. “It struck him right here.” He
placed his large hand over his heart. ‘And it went clear
through him.’ :

The surgeon had known the unfortunate Charles Alven
well. Known him as an honorable, upright citizen, a
most hospitable gentleman,a kind friend, ay, as his
benefactor. There was a mystery around the fate of the
unhappy gentieman. True, it was Known that he was
Killed, for the reckless Hector Graymart had made his
‘deed a boast.

, The mystery was as to what had become of the body.

“I tarned him over,’? said’ Graymart to the surgeon,
“and lsaw the hole in his back where the bali passed
through. Of course he died within five minutes after we
deft him——"” 5

“You had no surgeon???

“Why have a surgeon when I had declared
Would kill him?’ demanded the flerce duellist. “Why are
you here, indeed! Ihave said that I intend to kill this
young man, so you may be amused, but surgeons can
ea Te up my work, whether I doit with steel or

ead.

“And you think the tide rose and carried off the body
of Mr. Alven?’’ continued the surgeon, shrinking visibly
‘drem the formidable boaster,

“Think! I know that the tide came up, carried of the
wa and gave it as a feast to the crabs and fish of the
gulf,

_ “Ofcourse, you had not contemplated so complete a re-
venge, if indeed you wanted revenge!l’?

“I wanted revenge. Of course I wanted revenge. Itis
mothing to me nor to him if the crabs ate his body. Baht!

“He was esteemed a mild and unobtrusive gentleman,
{ have heard,”’ said the surgeon, looking down, timidly,
et desirous to say something in defense of the dead.
“To have been excited to call you a scoundrel, and to
throw a glass of wine in your face, Charles Alven must
‘have Deen greatly enraged.’?

Percie Lightfoot flashed a look of thanks upon the sur-
‘geon, and then as the surgeon raised his eyes, turned his
Own quickly away.

_ “Pshaw!? said Graymart, contemptuously. ‘He was
pee and jealous men, like jealous women, are always
‘ools. :

“Ah—was he jealous?"

“Of his handsome wife? No. Of me, because I rather
fancied that handsome wife? Yes. He had. not been
Married two years when we fought—let’s see, let me con-

publicly I

“Your roll of death ???

So I call a few pages in this,” replied Graymart, dis-
playing-a small, black-covered book. “Here I record my
duels, their causes, their results, Ah—‘fought Charles

* Alven, on Gulf Shore, five miles southwest Yellow Brush,
June 8th, 185-,4 P.M. Pistols, Distance, twelve paces,
Killed him first fire—shot him through the left breast.
Cause—lie called me scoundrel and threw wine in my
face. Why? ‘Lspoke softly to his wife without an intro-
duction.’

“June 8th? Just a year ago to-day,” remarked the sur-
eon, gravely. “You have fought many duels; tell me,
did you never feel any apprehension—iI mean presenti-
ment of danger ?"?

“Baht Not I,”

“Because you are all brute,” thought the surgeon,

 

though he was very caxelul to say nothing.

 

 

four seconds, as they advanced.

“But,” asked the surgeon, with sudden curiosity, ‘‘one
question more. Ihave been absent from the city for
nearly \wo years, and returned only last night. What has
become of Mrs. Alven, the handsome wife-——"

“She played fool. Entered a convent, moped and died,’
sneered Graymart. “She was one of those female simple-
tons who love dead husbands better than living suitors.
Weil, geutlemen, you have been a dused long time in find-
ing a soft spot for Percie Lightfoot to die upon. Let me
see the swords.”

One of the seconds opened along mahogany case and
displayed two rapiers of great length, double-edged, flat
and thin,

“Devils! What style of weapon is this?’ roared Gray:
mart, carefully examining ea¢éh of the swords, “The
hilts are all well enough, but what long blades. How
thin, Elastic enough, however. Who selected these
swords?’

“My principal being the challenged party, sir, had
choice of weapons, He chose swords,’’ replied a gentie-
man,

“Very trne, Dunbar, and if he had selected brass can-
nou it would have been the same to Hector Graymart.
But does he call these things swords? Come, I will soon
prove to him that they are simply spits hammered out—
mere hoops straightened. Who made them ??

“I,” replied Raiphel, sternly. ‘Perhaps they may serve
to give you some exercise.”

“Choose your weapon, sir,’ said a second.

“No matter; I'll take this,’ cried the duelist, flourish-
ing one with a practiced hand., ‘A very good weapon, I
think, though lam not partial to these two-edged af-
fairs.’

He now prepared himself for the combat with great de-
liberation.

“It is true,’ said he, as he laid aside his coat, vest and
cravat. ‘1 may kill this little bug in three minutes—yet
1 have an inclination to sport with the insect first.”

“You do not strip for the encounter?” asked Dunbar of
Mr. Lightfoot.

“No. Iam ready now."

“Little hero! How brave it is!’ sneered Graymart, as
he bared his powerful muscle-wrapped arm to the shoul-
der and strode to his appointed place.

The swords were not crossed, yet all was ready for the
final word. It was then that the second spoke:

“Gentlemen—are you ready ?’?

“T have a few words to say to this man—after that I am
ready,’’ said Percie Lightioot. ‘Before we cross blades
I wish to tell you that 1 have fastened this battle upon you
because you slew Charles Alven. Lam here to avenge
him.”?

“Ah! And what was Charles Alven to you ?”? demanded
Graymart, roughly. :

“When you lie bleeding and gasping upon this earth,
where you shall in vain endeavor to save your life, then I
will tell you what Lam to Charieg Alven.”

‘Hot then I shall never know.”

“‘Gentlemen—are you ready ?”

“Ready.”

‘itis well. Guard! Assault!

. nau instant the swords were crossed. The duel had
gun.

Before we describe it farther let us go back for a space
of ten months and enter the private parior of Mousieur
Ralphel, the fencing-master.

Ten months befure this 8th day of June, 1856, where we
see a giant and a stripling engaged in deadly combat,
Monsieur Ralphel beheld this same dark-eyed, dark-skin-
ned, black-haired stripling enter his parlor.

“I wish to see Monsieur Ralpliel.” ~

“T am he.”

“Good. I wish you to invent for mea new sword and
then to make me perfect in its use.”

Monsieur Ralphel stured at this strange proposal, but
the strippling continued:

“My nauie is Percie Lightfoot. ITamrich. Here is pay
in advance,’ and Monsieur Ralphel saw that his saloon
rent, long over due, was tliree times over paid that in-
stant. “Take it. Invent the weapon, the practice, teach
me, and I will give you ten times as much.”?

“Ah, then you wish to kill an enemy ?”

“1 wish to rid the world of a monster, and to avenge a
beloved friend,”?

‘Call at the end of two weeks, sir, and I will have the
sword and its practice invented. True, | have never in-
vented anything, but something tells me it is because I
have never tried, and I have never tried because I have
never been paid for trying.”’

Percie Lightfoot retired, and when alone the old fenc-
ing-master exclaimed:

“Great Heaven! Ihave promised to invent a new
sword! I! who have a skull as thick as a wall! Come, it
Shall be done or Paul Ralphel dies by lis own hand.”

It was done. When Percie Lighifoot returned, at the
expiration of two weeks, he found the delighted old
swordsinau contemplating his invention.

“T understand you,’ he said, “Youintend to fight a
duel. You wish to use a style of sword never used before?
Good! .Then you will have every advantage over your
antagonist. See, how unusually jong the blade—almost a
lance! How thin, how narrow, how flexible, how light!
Then I have invented for it a formidable attack, a sure
defense.”?

‘tam pleased, and I am ready to take my first lesson.”

“Wait,”? said Ralphel, sternly. ‘Will not such a duel
be a species of assassination ?”

“All duets are a species of assassination,” replied Light-
foot. “The man] wish to Kill _is an assassin—twenty
times an assassin. His name is Hector Graymart.””

“Oli! if that is trne—still——”

‘Stop. You were acquainted with the late Mr. Charles
Ailven ?

“He was my best friend. When Icame from France—
poor, sick, an exile, he gave me money, attendance, and
when I recovered he established mein my business. A
thousand times i have cursed the hand that slew him,”
cried Ralphel, passionately. __

“And you knew his wife, who died three weeks ago.”’

“She was an angel to me when I was sick! Ali, she did
not long survive that noble husband,’? {

“True. And I—I who loved them both—I who am their
nearest of kiun—I mean to avenge them and their de-
stroyed happiness!’ exclaimed Percie Lightfoot. ‘Will
you give me the power to punish this assassin—to punish
him as he has destroyed otlers—in the duel 7”

“Enough. 1 and my invention are at your service.”

After that Percie Lightfoot practiced in private with Ral-
phel every day.

One day old Ralphel sat alone, shaking his white head
mysteriously.

“I am sure of it,’ he muttered. ‘My pupil, who learns
miraculously every trick of the sword, is a woman!”

No one was present, and he continued:

“She is a woman, with the resolution of a man. Her
frame, slight, elegant, graceful, has the strength and ac-
tivity of aman. But who isshe? That is not my busi-
ness. No, yet | have some curiosity. I will find out.”

Patient, sagacious and circumspect, the old fencing
master did find out; yet he kept the kuowledge a sacred
secret.

At the end of each month Percie Lightfoot would ask:

‘Now, my master, am I sufficiently practiced ?”?

“Not yet. Wait. There must be no failure in this af-
fair. Remember,.Hector Grayinart is one of the most
fatal swordsmen in New Orleans, and where cau we find
better.’

He gained various opportunities in which he pitted his
Skill against that of the duelist. He learned all his cun-
ning tricks of defense and attack—his favorite guards,
feiuts, thrusts and parries, and taught them all to his apt
pupil.

When nearly ten months had expired he said to Percie
Lightfoot:

“I have taught you alll know. Now fix the challenge
upon him, Butin the combat be cool and resolute. He
is & very dangerous man. He is very treacherous—strong,
quick as lightning. Heias nofear. He fights to slay.”

A few days after this warning Percie Lightfoot made
his first appearance in ihat sphere in which Heetor Gray-
mart revolved. Qu first opportunity Percie insulted the
flerce duelist by calling him a scoundrel and tossing wine
into his eyes.

“Poor fooil’? said the spectators.
will kill him. ‘This is a mere boy.
him to apologize.”

But Lightfoot refused to apologize,

“2 wish to fight tiis great bully.

he will challenge me.”
_ Graymart twisted his mustache and gloated over his
intended revenge. He challenged the rash insulter, and
thus it came about that the rising sun of Jane 8th, 1856,
saw Graymart and Lightfoot in deadly combat.

A few rapid passes proved to the experienced duelist
that his despised foe was exceedingly expert with the
sword. He had expected that, fur he knew Ralphel to be
a splendid teacher of the art of fencing.

A few more passes proved that he nada dangerous
antagonist—cool, quick, firm and vigilant.

“Al, devil Ralphel,”? he muttered, as his favorite
thrust was turned aside; ‘I will have an account to settle
with you when I shall have finished this caterpillar. You
have fenced much with me of late. Now I know why. To
teach this boy. Al!’? .

He hissed with rage, for his most cunning lunge was
parried with ease, and the keen edge of his foe’s long
blade laid bare to the bone his right cheek.

The extraordinary length of his sword greatly annoyed
him. Its flexibility made his accustomed feats of sword
play very dangerous. In the small hana of his enemy the
Same sword seemed a living thing—to have eyes, ears,
ees muscles, reason, &@ soul—a soul resolute to slay

im.

For the first time in his lifethe savage duelist began to
think more of the danger of being killed than of the plea-
sure of killing.

A rapid, furious, continued assault, and the duelist saw
his left ear lying upon the ground. The sword of the
strippling had shorn it clear and close to his skull.

The seconds would have interfered, but as with one
voice the contestants exclaimed:

“This is a duel to the death!?

The tone of the duelist was rough with wrath. That of
the strippling was sharp with defiance.

“I mean te kill you, Hector Graymart. But first I will
mutilate you, murderer of Charies Alven.””

The next instant saw the other ear of the duelist upon
the green sward.

“Ah, you mean tocut me into mince meat? roared
Graymart, trying to close with his enemy. \

Lightfoot darted aside, and as his blade flashed an up-
ward blow it shehred off the lips and nose of the veteran
of more than twenty duels.

‘Tam fighting a sword juggler!—adevill cried Gray-
Mart, ail bluod and rage as that terrible blade slashed his
neck, his shoulders, his breast, his thighs, No mortal
wound yet, but a score of- deep, long, smarting gushes
from which the blood streamed steadily.

“Hector Graymart
We must persuade

saying:
if he is not a coward

-~<=at THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

Right and left, a dozen times, across his cheeks, across
his furehead, slashed that thin, razor-edged blade. It re-
quired all the play of his lef. hand to keep his eyes clear
of blood,

There was nota wound, nota scratch upon the dark,
handsome face of his agile, mocking enemy.

Suddenly, with a flash-lke light, a force like that of a
thunderbolt, that blade smote his left hand from the wrist.

With that bleeding stump the mutilated duelist could no
longer keep his glaring eyeballs free from blood,

duelist was smitten off and lay upen the -ground, still
grasping the useless sword. 4 -

Old Ralphel uttered a cry of triumph, and then a shout
of astonishment,

‘‘Now die, assassin,” exclaimed Percie Lightfoot, dart-
ing his long, lance-like blade straight through tle broad
breast of the vanquistied duelist,

As the guards of the hilt struck heavily against Gray-
Mart’s ribs he fell, choked with blood.

We said old Ralphel uttered a cry of triamph, and then
a shout of amazement, The ory of triumph was because
he saw the duelist was defenseless. The shout of amaze-
ment was because he saw a horseman galiep to the spot
and leap to the ground,

In the horseman he had instantly recognized the sup-
posed dead Charles Alvea,

Lightfoot beut over the slowly dying Graymart and
said:

‘Now I will tell you what Iam to Charles Alven. Iam
his widow and his avenger,.”’

“‘No!’! cried old Ralphel, er tee wes forward. “You
are his wife! He lives, my lady! ! He is here}?!

Harriet Alven, for the stripling was none other than
the devoted wife, turned and was clasped in the eager
embrace of the loving husband.

Hector Graymart heard all, understood all. He raised
himself upon his bloody stumps, and glaring at the happy
pair, roared from his lipless mouth: — t

“All the curses of[——"

But no more. For there death snatched away his soul,
and his mutilated corpse alone remained on earth.

“A passing fisherman saved me in his boat,’? remarked
Charles Alven, in ame oing his rescue. “The boat was
driven far into the Guif by a sudden storm. We were
picked up by a ship bound for Spain. It was months be-
fore we arrived in Earope, mouths before | recovered
from my wounds. I have just returned to New Orleans,
where a faithful servant told me to hasten hither, as my
wife was to fight HectorGraymart. Al, my Harriet, you
have dyed your hair and eyebrows, and your snowy skin
until even I would have failed tg recognizeyou.”

“The dye will come off very soon, ny dear husband;
my fair hair will grow again, and the brilliant complexion
you praised so much is merely tinged. I thought he lad
slain you, aud I determined to Silay him. I am sorry he is
dead now.’? :

‘And every body else is glad,’ cried old Ralphel, ex-
citedly. ‘He was a brute. Itis well he is dead. But,
my faith, my lady, I kuew who my pupil was, for 1 learned
that your reported death in the convent was false, and 1
suspected. With me, to suspect is to discover. Ali!’

Since that day to this ola Ralphel has had a home with
the Alvens, and you may see his military figure pacing
Jackson Square of New Orleans any fine evening. But he
teaches fencing now to the eldest boy of Charlies Alven
only. ,

AFOOT IN THE DESERT.

' BY JOS. B. BADGER, JR.

 

 

 

“Come, Gran’ther Pierre,’”’ I said, one afternoon, to old
Pierre Lajoie, “there no time like the present to keep
your promise—about old Markhead, you kuow.:?

“Just what lve beew expecting to hear ever since you
struck my trail back yonder; but a promise is a promise,
after all, and l'li’keep my word. Squat down here beside
me, but keep hidden from that broken-topped elm. I took
a fancy for a bit of squirrel for supper, and a ‘fox’ just
raninthe hole yonder, IvVil save tramping to wait for
him, and I can reel off your yarn at the same time.

“Well, you remember how we got into the serape; how
we fought the Blackfeet until they fired the brash aud
drove us outof the canyon; and how the Spaniard Mar-
celline and I cut our way through the red imps, and finally
showed them our heels. You remeniber, too, that four of
our comrades were rubbed out.

“We all believed that old Markhead and Ned Clayton
had fared the same fate with Ben Corker, Sandy Buffing-
ton, Shorty and Harelip, but nearly a year aiterward I
met them both at ‘Jacksun’s Hoje,’ aud there, over-plenty
of tobacco and corn juice, we told each other our stories.

“When old Markhead saw Ben Corker—who, you re-
memiber, was to siick by Ned Clayiton—fali dead at the
mouth of the canyon, he yelled to Clayton, bidding him
Keep close at his heels, They were both well.mounted,
and plunged through the yeluug Blackfeet, bearing down
before them half-a-dozen braves and horses, in addition
to those strewn in their tracks by rifle and pistol balis.

“At first glance it does not seem possibie that four men
could burst through the middie of nearly two score well
armed and mouuted Indias, and every one of the four
escape without being dangerously hurt. And yet, to look
at it more closely, the feat is simple enough. The canyon
was full of smoke, driving directly in the face of the
Blackfeet, under its cover we gained the mouth, within a
dozen lengths of the euemy, unseen, Then they fired a
hasty volley, killing Ben Corker and wounding nearly all
the rest. A sudden dash, fuil speed, aud we were
through then. :

“Well, old Markhead and Clayton turned to the right

and dashed along the foot hills at full speed. The Biack-
fect divided, part pursuing Marcelline and I, the rest keep-
ing our friends in view. Unfortunately for the old trap-
per’s plans, the Indians who had set the fire above must
have guessed what had occurred, for they struck over the
ridge, gaining the farther side just as the palefaces dashed
along the foot. To attempt hiding in the hills, therefore,
was out of the question, and they were forced to strike
out across the plain, hotly pursued by the mounted Black-
feet.
“Old Markhead knew the danger he was running, for,
though he had never fully explored the region into which
he was heading, he had heard many evil tales of its deso-
lation and barrenness. Yet there was no help for it, and
they pressed on until night fell, thus hiding from their
pursuers. AS soon as he deemed it prudent, o!d Mark-
head changed his course, seeking a passage in the moun-
tains by which to cross over to the headwaters of the
Coluinbia, where he doubted not they would speedily fall
in with some of the Northwest traders or trappers. This
Was choosing the longest trail, but it was the safest, since
he believed the Blackfeet would naturally look for him
farther south.

“It was nearly midnight before they dared pause to look
at their hurts and to take a litle breath. Aud truly they
were in no enviable plight. Ciayton had five arrows
sticking in his body and a bullet hole through his leftarm.
Old Markhead had two arrows, a bullet through his cheek,
oue through the calf of his leg, and another deep buried
in his thigh. This last was the only really serious hurt,
considering the iron constitution of the men.

“A full hour was occupied in this rude surgery, Thear-
rows were either cut or puiled out; or else, if the heads

were buried too deep, the shafts were worked at until
they slipped their fastenings, leaving the barbs to fester
in the wounds Untila surgeon's aid cduld be procured;
then a little moss was clapped upon and pressed’ into the
wounds, a strip of buckskin bound tightly over them, and
the trappers were ready to resume their flight.

“Just before daylight old Markhead’s horse gave out
from a wound in the chest that they had overlooked. By
this time, too, the old man was out of his head, though'a
long life of constant peril and exereise of eaution kept
him from raving aloud; but Clayton saw that rest was
absolutely necessary unless he would have the old man
die upon his hands.

“Clayton searched out asnug covert, and hid there,
nursing old Markhead with the tenderness of a moter,
fighting death hand to hand, I might say. Twice during
that week Indians on the war-trail passed within ear-shot
of their hiding-place, but fortunately without suspecting
anything. Then the old man regained his consciousness,
and Knowing that it would be certain death to be caught
among the mountains by winter in their feeble and ill-
provided condition, iusisied upon their resuming their
journey. :

“He was mounted upon the horse—a sorry wreck it
was, as well as itsrider. A dozen flesh-wounds, that had
bled freely, added to scanty forage—for Clayton had not
dared turn it loose to feed, and he was too weak io gath-
ermuch green stuff—had left ita mere walking skeleton.
Day by day it grew weaker and less able to carry the old
man over the difficult trail.

“For three days the trappers had not tasted a mouthful
offood. The mountains and valleys seemed utterly de-
void of animal life—not even a snake ora lizard met their
hungry gaze.

“Then it was that they decided, reluctantly enough, to
sacrifice the faithful horse to save their own lives. Clay-
ton even shed tears as he drove his knife into the poor
creature’s throat—aund lite wonder, since it had saved
both their lives.

“For two days they remained at this spot, recruiting
their strength; for a long and difficult trail lay before
them; then, Clayton carrying as much meat as he coula—
which, in his weakened state, was little enougli—the com-
rades resumed their journey. Their progress was slow.
More than once they camped for the night upon a ridge-
top, When they had but left its base in the morning. Often,
deep, wide, impassable canyons crossed their trail, fore-
ing (hem to turu aside and stagger along for miles, some-
times even for days, before reaching a crossing,

“The days and nights were growing colder, and the
Winds more and more fierce and bitter, for winter was
now near at hand. The time had been when they would
have only laughed at this, have enjoyed the sharp, bracing
air; but now they were but poorly fitted to encounter it.
Every breath seemed to cut them to the bone, and though
they huddled close together at night they could not keep
comfortable. \

“Then their horsemeat gave out, though they had put
themselves upon short rations for a week past, and short
rations among trappers would starve a kitten. All this
time no game crossed their trail, and Clayton dared not

none seemed to exist. Still they kept on, whenever the
nature of the ground would permit, their faces turned
steadily toward the headwaters of the Columbia, and
whenever forced aside, as soon ag the obstacle was over-
come they resumed their course,

“At length old Markhead-gave out. During the latter
part of the day he lad advanced almost altogether on his
hands aud kuees, often leaving blood traces behind him;
yet lie hoped that a night’s rest would enabie him to pro-
ceed. In the morning he was forced to cry enough, Qlay-
ton doggedly sat beside itim, though oid Markhead urged
hima to press vp and try to save himself.

 

oe

Another blow, like the other, aud the right hand of the |

lose another day by stopping to search for food where.

 

i) : ain’t no nigger yit, old man,’ Clayton simply re-
plied.

‘Don’t ’e be a durn fool now, lad,’ added old Markhead
ina husky whisper. ‘You're young yit, an' ain’t so played-
out but ye kin mebbe reach fri’nds. ‘Tain’t so th me.
I’ve got my last gruel, I’ve lifted my last ha’r. Wall, I
hedu’t ort to complain o’ that, for I’ve raised a powerful
heap in my time. ButI was sayin’, ef sy be you heda
hunk o’ meat-——’

‘**Who’s to git that same hunk o’ meat?’ half-laughed
Clayton. é

‘‘Hyar it be, boyee. I’m mighty nigh gone a’ready; a
few hours can’t make much differ’. I don’t ax ye to eat
carrion. I wouldn't do thet myself, But kitled meat is
good fer anybody. You needu’t look so wild, lad. I
ain’t talkin’ Toonsy now. l’min my senses, But ef you
don’t git meat soon you'll go under too. I’ve got my
ticket anyhow. But, thank the Lord, I kin save you yil.
Jest stick your kuife hyar—you know I’m good as dead
anyhow, so 'twon’t be laid up ag’inst ye herea’ter, I’m
ouly ‘poor bull,’ but I reckon thar’s a letile pickin’ left ou
my hump ribs.’

“‘ Look-a-here, old man,’ replied Clayton, théugh his
voice nearly failed him at this strange proof of the trap-
per’s love for him, ‘1 told ye | wasn’t a nigger, so don’t
waste ally more breath. {f won't knife, nor yit eat ye.
We'll play the game out to the last keerd, an’ ef so be the
luck holds ag’inst us, why we'll go under together an’
start on the long trail side by side.’

“They spent lialf a day in that valley calmly waiting for
the death that seemed inevitable. And yet belore night
they had forgotten what hunger was. Anold buffalo
bull, chased by a pack of coyutes, came down the vatley,
and not noticing the trappers, stood at bay within fifty
yards of the pile of rocks they lay besice. The two riftes
were resied upon the rocks and both discharged together,
and the bull fell dead. The cowardly coyotes fied, and
then Clayton managed to butcher the meat. With almost
incredible resolution they avoided eating too mucii at
ounce, and that night they slept comfortubly for the first
time in weeks. ; '

‘For another week the two trappers remained in the
valley recruiting their strength, while curing the buffalo
meat by smokingil. But the wound in old Markhead’s
thigh refused to heal, aud he could not walk. Clayton,
how that he had plenty of food, picked up wonderfully,
aud fearing to lose more time, made a rude litter, upon
Which he dragged his comrade anda large quantity of
meat. Their progress was slow, but still it cas progress,
aud in the right direction.

*Oue night, just before dark, the trapper espied a camp-
fire, anc recouuoitering it, Clayton discovered five Utahs
With three frest scalps at their belts, He also saw their
horses picketed near, aad he resolved to risk all on a bold
stroke,

“Creeping as near as he dared, he prepared his rife
and pistols, and cocking them all, he drew a bead upon
the largest brave and shot him through the brain. Then
grasping his pistols he yelled, hooted and screamed like a
madinan, making a frightful crashing in the bushes ag he
fired twice more. The four savages, doubtless fancying
themselves attacked by an overpowering force, fled into
the night with yells of dismay. 9

“Clayton raised the scalp of his ‘meat,’ took the two best
animals, turuing the others Joose, and returned to where
oid Markhead awaited him, After this, being well mouut-
ed, they progressed rapidiy, and soon fell in with a band
of iraders, Fortunately there was a surgeon along, and
he extracted the bullet from old Markhead’s thigh. The
two menu recovered sufficiently to trap a tittle that win-
ler, and when I met them had entirely recovered.

“But hist! yonder peeps out litthe bunny. Now you
shall see how we used to shoot. By an air line that stub
is one hundred and twenty yards off; aud yet a dollar to
a ceut I spoil the squirrel’s eyes.

“There! you Cau pick it up—my supper is provided.
You see the okd man is not entirely helpless yet,’? and old
Pierre Lajoie chuckled grimly.

—_——_-_ + ©~<+—_____-
A DyYINé Man’s ENERGY.—In the opening part of

GRACE GORDON’S new story, a startling scene is pictured
duriug the interview between the prisoner and his enemy.

 

This story will be commenced in No. 61.
THE JOSH BILLINGS SPICE-Box.
THE DONKEY.

I hav watched the donkey with a grate deal ov pashunt
anxiety.

They are about three foot high, and sumthing like three
foot six inches lengthways.

They hav a normal appetight, and will eat all the time,
and more too.

They aint partiklar about their vittles, and wil! try hard
to swallo a horse shu, but seldum suckceed in doing it,

They are mostly ov a grizzly gray culler, and eat too
mutch to ever git phatt.

The donkey iz one ov naturs jokes, a sort ov pun, which
I never could see the point to.

They are az sett in their ways az a post, and are the
only live thing that iz teo mutch for a klub.

They will stand more pounding than a sheaf ov wet oats
without shelling out.

I hav seen them hitehed up to a go kart, right away af-
ter brekfast, and stay thare pashuntly untill sunsett.

' They are not hansum to behold, but az a cluss study are
az full mf interest aZ a mile stone with the letteriugs all
worn of

The donkey haz two ears, and only one tale, and their
ears stand in the same relashun to the rest ov their boddys
that a steeple duz to a church. :

Their tales don't seem tu be enny use only to frisk, and
the whole kritter, from beginning-to end, iz about az un-
called for in this climate az a pair ov twin mudturtles, or
a dozen ov snaiks eggs.

I Kant say that I hate the donkey, but if thare want but
one in Amerika, and that one waz stuffed, aud belonged
to Barnum, I should be the last man to shed tears over the
result. F

The donkey iz a sober and misterious cuss.

T luv all the dum kritters. I luv to ponder over them.
I hav watched for hours the vagrant pissmire, the spotted
tud, and the vivacious hornet, and kan see in them what
I never could see in man, their needle allwuss points to the
north pole.

Farewell yu sad, and thinking kritter, I may never again
wrile yure memoirs, but whether I do or dont, { shall all-
Wuss respeckt yu az a donkey, and that’s all.

I forgot to state, in the hurry ov the moment, that a
donkey will liv ferever, or thereabouts. and hav the same
indelible Kast ov Kountenance to the last.

Adieu yu graven image, yu solid one adiew!

 

TOASTS.

If yu want tu make a man yure life long enemy, try to
lower him in his own opinyun.

If a man iz worth buying at all the world generally take
him at hiz price, therefore it iz good judgment to mark
our goods high.

The Lord made man with two legs to walk upgite; he
never intended him to kreep, krawl or wiggle.

Don't neglekt opportunitys; there will cum a time
when they won’t offer themsel{s, and when yu Kant kreate
them.

A man with plenty ov branes and no judgement iz like
a kite with plenty oy wind and no tail.

I hay heard people talk in raptures about the gardin oy
Eden, but in mi opinyun it re compared with a good
kitchen garden to sho what a Man waz good for.

The viler a skandal iz the more people kan be found
who are anxious for a slice oy it.

Don’t put yureseif into the power ov enny one; in mi
opinyun thare never haz existed a man from Adam down-
watds who waz wize and pure enuff to be trusted with
absolute power over even one human being.

Everybody applauds pluck and grit—i ouce watched a
fite for ten minnitts between two pissmires, and when
the battle waz ended in a drawn’ game i felt proud ov
them two pissmires and wanted to adopt both ov them.

Thare iz legious oy people in this world meaner an
more wicked than the devil ever waz, for when he re-
beled he didn't do it in sheep's clothing, but dared heaven
openly.

Prhaxe seems to be plenty ov charity in this world, but
the grate mistake it makes izin looking for its reward
here insted ov hereafter. -

Thare iz a certain luxury in grief; the human heart iz
not displeazed at times to clothe~ itself in an artyfishall
martyrdom.

Judgeing from the crimes that men hay committed, we
should not be surprized at enny crimes that men may
commit. w

Gout, rumatiz, general pevishness, and abuv all the
impashunce ov heirs, iz the market price a man pays for
the privilege ov being old.

Cheerfull, but not irisky should be the motto ov us old
plellows.

Impudence iz the most prominent feature in the devil’s
karacter.

if it wazn’t for the phools in this world thare wouidn’t
be mulch fun in living here. :

Thoze who hav the most knolledge are allwuss the most
reddy to impart it. %

It iz eazy euuff to find a man that will endorse yure pa-
per, but to find a companyun for everyday life iz one ov
the most diffikult jobs i kno ov.

Thare iz one thing that yu Kant find, espeshily if yu hunt
for it, and that iz the end ov a womau’s tung.

Fashion haz dan more to make mem and wimmen
polite towards each other than any other one thing.

Mankind are so artifishall that even when they are lame
they kant limp natral.

Tluy the old maids, tho they dont bear fruit they are
the evergreens ov kreashun.

Tam a firm believer in ghosts, andi would giv 14 hun-
dred dollars (0 see one.

He who aims at perfekshun will probably miss the
mark, but he who aims at nothing iz sure to hit it every
time,

The most unkomfortably akting person i ever saw was
a bak woods man with a nu suit ov stere clothes on.

Trusting ia Providence iz a good general rule, but i knu
& Church ouce who had rather trast in Providence than
buy a liteuing rod, and one day lileniug knokt that chureh
higher than a boys kite. i

The man who iz alilwuss anxious to bak up hiz opin-
yuns with aten doilar bet, haz more konfidence in his
munny than he haz in his statements.

Thare is more people who akt from impulse, than from
judgment. ° :

If we sliould hav all our wishes gratified, we should
miss a large share oy hapness that rightfully belongs to

us.
When i argy with a phool i atlwuss agree with him, this
iz the only way i kno ov to beat him.
Dout hay enuy sekrets uniess yu kan keep them yure-

 

sell,

Se

 

|

 

 

Men will sumtimes find themselfg placed in sutch auk-
Ward posishuns in this life that the only safet y iz to defend
themselis, right or wrong,

Yu mite az well put a thing off forever az put it off
Untill Comorrow, and yet perhaps thareiz more things
done too quick than too late.

I never kuna &@ Man yet who waz allwuss watching his
helth to die enny whare near as soon az he expekted to.

It aint branes that the world lacks, it iz to kno how to
use what they hav got, that’s what’s the matter,

Silence may be the effekt ov grate wisdum, or none at
ail, but it iz safe either way,

if a man Claims a good deal he will git sumthing. and
if he claims nothing he will git that too,

Thare iz a grate deal ov honesty in this world that
Wants more waiching than the devil dug,

Ifa manu smotes ye real hard on one cheek, yu may
turn him the other if yu hay a mind to—bvut i wont.

A ceaparee mab makes more bianders than a kredulus
one duz.

When a thimble-rigger offers to bet me 5 dollars that i
kaut tell whare the little joker lies, i allwus give it right

up.
_The philosophers hav spent a grate deal ov valuable

time trieing to prove that adversity iz better than pros-

perity, but i never herd ov their making a convert yet.

The only way to be positively safe, iz to be humbie.

A bravado amung men iz az harmless in the end ag a
mad pissmire amung the insektg,

if aman cheats me the seckond time he aint haff so
mutch to blame for it az i am.

Thare iz no certain rule for a long life, but thare iz for a

one.

Thare iz a thousand honest ways to get into debt, but
only one to git out.

What a diffrence thare iz between our follys other
peeples—ours are only aimable weaknesses, ceuat Phopics
are kriminal,

Listen to all things, but approve but few. ‘

Dont be afrade ov enny thing, this world, and eyery
thing in it, waz made expressly for mans subjekshun.

Thare iz nothing so painfull and ridikilus to me az to
see 23 minnitt horse, or man, trieing to strike a 2:40 gait.

When i waz a boy i used to hang around a blacksmiti’s
shop a good deal, andilearut thare net to tutch enny
thing that waz red hot,

I noltiss that thoze who kiss and koddle the most in pub-
lik, pinch and pull hair the most in private.

Thare iz a grate deal ov ekonemy that thare iz no promc
in, i hav known people to sett a lurge sized hen on 2. eggs
just lo be saviug. :

 

To CORRESPONDENTS.

Sa GOSSIP WITH READKLS AND ConrTRIBUTORS.—
R. J. €. W.—Ist. We cannot suggest aremedy. 2d. It is imma-
terial on which side of a postal card the date is written. The face
of the card is intended for the address only. 3d. Itis merely an
accommodation. Mutilated currency is only redeemable at the
Treasury or one of the branches. 41h. It is said to be benelici
but we preiér the disease to the remedy....... W. J. M.—1st. The
advertisement will cost $3.75 for eacn insertion. 20. We will
send you Dickinson's work on coins for $10; and “The Cein
Book” fer $2.50 Emmet W.and J. S. H.—1st. We will send
you Major-General Upton’s “Infantry Taetics,” used in the U.S.
army, tor $2. 2d. You can obtain muskets irom the State Arse.
nal, on giving security for their returp....... Zt. 4. FOR,
Cc. W.—We do not wish to purchase any MSS....D.C. Cha
_ was discovered in California, in February, 1848, by
James W. Marshall, in widening a channel for a mnilt-wheel, at
Sutter’s milis in Coloma county, 2¢, Julius Gesar was
ated in the senate chamber at Rome by a band of conspirators
led by Caius Cassius and Marcus Brutas, C, 3d. The seven
wonders of the ancient world were the pyrainids of Egypt; the
mausoleum, or tomb of Mausolus, King of Caria; the tem of
Diana, at Ephesus; the walis ana hanging gardens of Babylon;
the brazen statue ef Apollo, called the assus, at Rhodes; the
statue of Jupiter Olympus, at Athens; and the Pharos, or light-
house built by Ptotemy Philadelphus, King of t.....Iuvalia.
—There is a party of that name at 303 West Forty-seeond street.
--..J. B, F.—Ist. It is comparatively easy to obtain a berth as
seaman in the merchant service, but the pay is small, and it is
but a “dog's life,” at the very best, 2d. dee reply to ‘Earnest,’
tu No. 45......0ld Bach.—ist. The engagement ring is worn On
the forefinger of the left hand; the wedding ring on the finger
next the little ene of the same hand. 2d. We can semd you an
eighteen carat gold ring with a very smatl diamond setting for
$15; larger stone, $25. “Mizpalh” is an appropriate inscription....
Little Oyster.—In the game of croquet, if a player's ball in
the center of the basket or double wicket, he must drive it through
on his next turn, unless some other player in the meantime forces
it from its position. He is not obliged to drive it baek and play it
from its former position...... Eisie W.—ist. The origin and rea-
son for the custom it is diffieult to trace. We presume it is to
make the oecasien more suiemn. 2d. Your gums have probably
shrunk since the teeth were put in. The dentist who made
them can remedy the matter. 3d. Wedo not know where you
can find employment such as you desire. 4th. See “Knewledge
Box.”.. .. Consiant Reader.—We will send you a set (two pairs) of
boxing-gloves for $3.50, the cheapest which are made... Twenty -
three Frtends.— We will turnish the “American Yacht List for 1874”
for $1....4.—We do not answer letters by mail unless a fitty-cent
stamp is inclosed...... E. H. Davis.—Most ot the cheap machines
are comparatively wortiiless...... Robert Jones.—There is ne work
published on the building of row-bouts. ...Mark.—Canunot say....
Jack Johnson.—Were we in your place we should prefer remain-
ing in our present business...... AM. W.—The business is a good
one...... &. N. B. ana .—We are not aware that
& prize was contested for....,.£verett.—Cheyenne is pronounced
eee Fey hol! in ee would advise you Ji nana a
awyer in regard to the paper in your possession, ar iso in re-
Jation te your child........Liy White.—ist. The right te ad-
minister the ee bel te your mother, your father hay-
iug died intestate. There being two children, and sh
titled to but a one-third life interest in the reali the bal-
ance of the rents, atter deducting her third, should be divided
equally between yourself and brother. Ti
death, goes to the eliiidren, she having neither the power to sell
nor give it away. 2d. The children being of age, the new lease
will have to be signed by ail three of the parties mterested in
the property. 3d. The arrears of rent may be sued for and col-
lected by the administratrix for the benefit of the estate... ... as
Trishman.—We caunot inform you what percentage ot the -
ple ot France are unable to read and wrile...... Oecident.—Gcei-
dent’s best time is 2:163-4; Dexter’s, 2:17 1-4.... .Gordon.—Ist.
If sufficiently intimate with the young Jady, there would be no
impropriety in calling at her home on Sunday evening. If
she is keeping company with a gentieman, it would be advis-
able to selec: some other evening. 2d. You will find it very dif-
ficult to support yourself on $8 « week, although you may lave
& good wardrobe...... W. K. J.—We cannot say........ iM
Ist. The name is not familiar tous. 2d. The Old book is wort!
just what it will bring. There is ho way to guage prices of old
volumes, coins, etc, 3d. The emigrant fare from New York to
San Francisco, by rail, is $60, and ihe trip oceupies from ten te
twelve days. The accomodutions, of course, are inferior to those
on first-class trains........ Amateur.—ist. Ventriloquism is toa
certain extent a gilt, but must be brougiit to periection b prac-
tice. 2d. You are better off in your present position. |. Ar
ticles of agreement are usually drawn up and signed by both par-
ties in the theatrical proiession...Axztous.—Consuit a lawyer...
Leopold, _A watch such as described will cost $30 and up-
ward, according to weight of ease. We will furnish a concertina
for $3.75 to $30, and book of instraction fer 75 cents. .. .Schweini-
ger.—Ist. It aepends altogether on circumstanees, time, appear-
ance and manner of the individual, ete. 2d. The average trip of
transatlantic steamers is about nine days. 3d. We do not knew
how many lawyers there are in this city. Their name is legion,
4th. No....... B. J. F.—Ist. A child bern of American parents who
are temporarily sojourning abroad, is held to be a nati¥e, and
eligible to the office of President of the United Siates. It the
parents are permanently residing abroad, and have become
naturalized in any foreign country, their children bern under
these circumstances are held to be aliens. The same rule gov-
erns the other case cited...... Fraid Cat—Ist. Among the larger
game to be found in the Adiroadac region are the bear, deer and
moose. 2d. Tere are more Indians preportionacely in the In-
dian Territory than in any other part ef the United Siates, the
number.being about 55,000 wligan Guards.—Ist. The best
record of the playing of a steam fire engine we have is that
of Eagle No. 7, of New Orleans, which threw a horizoutal
stream 320 feet and 7 inches, through 100 feet ot hose, with an
inch and a half nozzle. 2d. ‘The difference is owing vot to the
superiority of the English fire departments, but to the manner of
construcuon apd the materials used in building. 3u. In the
cricket games played abroad by the American base ball clubs,
the latter have played twenty-two men against eloven. In
hone of the games have they met a picked eleven of first class play-
ers... .. Chesterfield.—K. C. B. is a contraction of Knight Comman-
der of the Bath. The order is said to be of early origin, but was
formally constituted Oct. 11, 1399, by Henry 1V., who eonterred
the order upon forty-six esquives. Alter the coronation of Charles
II. the order was neglected until May 18, 1725, when it was re-
vived by George I., who fixed the number of kniguts at tiurty-
seven. On Jan. 2, 1815, the prince regent enlarged the order,
forming classes of knights grand crosses (72) and knights com-
manders (180), with ap unlimited number of companions. By an
order publisued May 25, 1847, all the existing statutes ef the order
were annulled, and by the new Statutes, the order, hitherte ex-
clusively military, was epe i RB. S.—No......

 

ned te civilians......

We will furnish the following articles through the New YORK
WEEELY Purchasing Ageucy on receipt of price: Magic lantern
slides, 1-4 by 8 inches, on double glass, tor $4 per dozen.

The following MSS, have been accepied: “A Soidier’s Luck,”
“Aunt Sim’s Lover.”’..... -The following will appear in the Ham-
moth Monthly Reader: *‘Anu Ode to the New YoRK WEEKLY,” “A
Night’s Adventure,” ‘“Toiling,” “Strew Flowers o'er Their
Graves,”’ ‘*Ihe Gipsy Abductors,” “A Night on the Old Planta-
tion,” “Pena,” “Heads or Tails,” “Silvia’s Trial,” “Pie Rene-
gade’s Mother,” “Eagle Eye's Death Struggie,” ‘*A Dangerous
ESS The following are respecttuity declined: “lime,”
“Memory of Other Days,” *Woman’s Dress,” “To the Moon,”
“Next Fall,” “Dreams,” “Redeemed by Love.”

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.

S. S. M.—Ist. There is nothing improper in requesting a lady to
correspond with you soon after making her acquaintance. 2d.
You can say: ‘‘Miss , I should be pleased to correspond with
you. Would it be agreeabie to you to write to me?” 3d. The
lady has the liberty either to accept or refuse the invitation for
a further acquaintance. 4

. X. ¥. Z—Culi upon the lady in question, and show her va-
rious little attentions, such as asking Jeave to be her escort to
and from church on Sunday evenings, and also to picnies, and
otRer social amusements, before you tell her of your love.

, Utopia.—It is not customary tor the bridegroom to furnish
gloves for bride-maids and groomsmen, but it is praeticed in
some places, and is a very pleasing atiention.

Country Boy.—Commence your letter, “My Dear Miss eu
giving her baptismal name, and end it with, “Believe me most
cordially your trend,” and sign your pame.

Louisa A.—We should consider it anything but “nice” fora
young lady to laugh at or ridicule her iriend in any manner.

ch rudeness is Tae unbearable, and yet very common
among the young ladies of the present day, and their manners
are justly stigmatized as very uncouth,

t Nan.—It is customary, in some cireles, for a lady
in redeeming forfeits to kiss the gentlemen of the party, but it is
a custom that is to be deprecated, and one that no modest young
lady would desire to follow. If such forfeits must be given, we
. a to ak withdraw trom the game.

Guy iscourt.—Ist. Your case is a hard one, friend, and yet
.the way ot the transgressor is always thorny. tif you have
sincerely repented, and anxious to live a good life, it is the duty
ot every one to offer you a helping hand, and say, “God speed
you!” The young lady in question should, if she loves you as
women usually love, be willing to say:

“The past is yours, the future mine;

I know your love for me is true,

And despite ali, my heart is thine.
With this as base of all our hepes,
We'll think no more of by-gone days.”

Still press your claims upon her love, and try to merit it by Hy-
ing a pure, good hfe. 2d. It is very proper to ask to be presented
to the yeung lady’s parents when you are interested in their
daughter. 3d. A gentleman does net take off his gloves while
making an evening Visit, unless requested to play cards or seme
other game. 4th. Pie isulwayseaten with the tork, aud if made
properly it dees not require the aid of a knife, even to cut it.

h. If your sister. has company, unless the gentleman is her
lover, it is pertectly proper tor you to go into the parlor.

Very Verdant.—ist. One whom he has treated informs us that
he is a clever practitioner. 2d. The bridegroom places the wed-
ding ring on the bride’s finger either during tne ceremony (if
according to the Episcopal form) or afterward. Either the oride

 

 

 

or groom camselect the clersyman to perform the ceremony,
but usually lt is considered the lady’s privilege.

.

 

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