a

 

 

 

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——_

Vou. XXIX.

Proprietors,

ae

acer: naw

Entered According to Act of Congr.)

STREET. & SMITH, { Nos. 27, 29, 31 Rose St.,

P.O. Box 4896, New York.

 

%, dy Street & Smith, in ihe Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.

 

~ MARGE.

BY JOSEPH BARBER.

The sun climbs higher day vy day,
And to hig realm of light

Annexes duly morn and eve
New conquests from the night.

Faat ffom the clouded eyes of March
The stormy tear-drops rush,

And Nature, tranced in Winter's arms,
Awakens as they gush.

The life-biood in the fall-sown grain
Stirs in its tender spears;

The grass, baptised from death to life,
In warm nooks reappears.

The germs of early vernal flowers
Swell in the yielding mold;

And willows in the meadow lands
Are faintly touched with gold.

The crystal fetters of the streama,
Broken by rain and sun,

Are tossed like jewels on the waves,
That clamor as they run.

The hitils have dropped their white capotes,
And in the lone ravines

*Tis hard to find a suniess cleft
That yet a snow-wreath screens.

Round Southern homes the birds of Spring
Are fluttering even now;

The biuebirds haunt the orchard trees,
The blackbirds track the plow;

And soon these warblerr, ostracised,
Our Northern groves shali throng,

Waking, like exiles home returned,
Their native woods with sons,

But many a rawand guety night,

 

Aud many a chill¥ day,

In ambush He ’twixt early Mareh
And softer days of May;

and eastern gales on sleety wings

 

Shall chant full many a rune,

Ere broods the robin o’er her nest,
Or buds the rose of June.

But pleasure were not worth a greaé
If skies were ever fair—

Contrast to all the joys of earth
Imparts a glory rare;

And Heaven itself will brighter seem,
Or may for aught we know,

‘for ali the penance and the pain
Of the world from which we go.

JUST COMMENCED.
A Tale of the Northwest.

Wick Whiffles;

THE TRAPPER GUIDE.

By Dr. J. H. Robinson,

{"Nick Whiffles’? was commenced last week. Ask your News
Agent for No. 18, and you wil! get the first chapters.)

CHAPTER V.
THE MYSTERY OF THE ROOK AND LAKE.
Kenneth directed bis steps to Nick Whiffles’ tent; it
stood solitary on the prairie. The trapping brigade was
aiveady in motion, and could be seen, at the distance of a
quarter of a mile, winding slowly toward the distant

hunting-grounds, Ili at ease, suffering all the tortuics of
doubt. and jealousy, he caught his horse, saddica and

=
pe er

 

 

ORK, MARCH 16, 1874.

A i

Three Dollars Per Year.
Two Copies Five Dollars.

bias Saat

aces S. STREET,
FRANCIS S. SMITH.

No. 19.

 

 

 

 

SAUL VANDER THE GUIDE, AND HIS DAUGHTER SYLVEEN.

 

 

‘You'll understand us soon enough, I reckon!’ an-
swered Currier, with a shrug. ;

“ft never could quite comprehend the affair of Severn
River,’’ returned Kenneth, determined te use as much
policy as possible. ‘‘How you coukl leave a comrade to
perish in the snow, is to mea mystery. I have a vague
idea, however, that we were attacked by Indians—that I
received a blow upon my head that stunned me; and that
you either made good your escape im the canoe, or were
made prisoners.” 4

Chris and Jean tooked knowingly at each other.

“We can talk agout them matters by-and-by, when we've
Hothin’ else to do,” replied Chris. “Jean, Keep your
weapon at his head, while I tie his hands.”

*Villains!"’ exclaimed Kenneth, “do you think I will
tamely submit to be tethered like a goat ?’

“Moderately, my lad,’ said Carrier, “what can’t be
bettered must be borne. If you want to have your brains
knocked ent on tlespot, make a fuss and a bother, and
it’ll be done; but keep Kind o’ quiet like, and it may end
better than you s’pect.’’

Jean, meanwhile, held the pistol so firmly to his fore-
head, that its sharpsteel edges and angles well nigh drew
blood; the fellow’s fingers rested upon the trigger.

‘Pub your hands behind you!’ said Carrier.

Kenneth internally felt a bitter rebellion to this order;
but obedience seemed wiser than resistance. Swelling
with indignation, he permitted his arms to be bound—

 

pridied it, and, taking his aris, rode away with hus iiaste,
Without any definite object in view except to escape from
the unpleasant thoughts that harassed him. His steed,
being in good spirits, needed the incentive of neither whip
nor spur, and bore him rapidly from the scene of his
morning adventure. He was a prey to the most despond-
ing feelings. Whatever he might have hoped previously,
with regard to Syiveen Vander, had ceased to be among

 

probabilities. For the first time he realized how deep an
impression she had made upon him in the few brief inter-
views that had taken piace. The idea, or perliaps more
properly speaking, the possibility, that a friend!y under-
standing existed between her aud Mark Morrow, followed
him with painful pertinacity. He recalled, over and over
again, the indignant, rebuking face she had Lurned upon
him at the moment when her hand struck the pistol from
Mark’s breast. It appeared to him that his new-born
passion was doomed to disappointment. After what had
happened, he felt assured that he should never have
courage to confront lier and make mention of his love.

Jn this troubled frame of miud, he galloped onward un-
til Red River and human habitations were left far behind.
He desired solitude. When he reached asequestered spot,
he dismounted, took the saddle and bridle from his horse,
and cast himself upon the earth with the reckiessnuess of a
Misanthrope of fifty. He bewailed his fate, and re-
proached his unlucky stars wilh all the fervor of a love-
lorn swain. But all grief, however poignant, must yield
to the high mandates of nature. He had slept but little
the previous night, the greater portion of it having been
spent in writing letters and arranging his affairs; he must
therefore be deemed iuconsistent or recreaut to sorrow,
because at the expiration of an hour and a half, he fell
into a sleep so profound that it lasted till nearly night.

Kenneth, in the character of a disappointed and jealous
lover, had no right, of course, to slumber upon his despair
in this manner; and we can Only excuse it by saying that
sieep is an indispeusable condition of human existence.
He was awakened by a noise bear him. Starting dreamily
up, he beheld two persons standing beside him, whose
countenances, at the first glance, did not seem familiar.
When the dubiousness and hesitation of asudden awaken-
ing had passed, he began to form a more correct estimute
of his unannounced visitors. Through heavy layers of
paint, and the extreme Indian fashion which they pre-
sented, and the cut and wear of their habiliments, he could
detect an unpleasant resemblance to the respective per-
sonalities of Chris Carrier aud Jean Brand. This dis-
covery was unweicome—it was more—it was startling.
In the hands of Carrier he beheld his own rifle; in the beit
of Brand he saw his own pistols and hunting-knife. Two
things were palpably evident; he was disarmed and at
the mercy of these villains. There whirled through his
brain the remembrance of their former tveachery. With
all the strange and wonderful rapidity of thouglit he re-
called the horrors of Severn River—the landing; the bar-
barous and unintelligible jargon; the sinister giances; the
drugged coffee; the vision, that was like the phantasy of
hasheesli robbed of its ecstacy: the resistless, dizzy horror;
the crushing extinction of consciousness; the slow and
racking recovery; the awful rigor. of the night; the icy
north wind and the cutting sleet; his matted locks; the
bleody rim upon his foretiead; the terrible pain of freez-
ing; the syren somnolence that succeeded; the iatal,
fascinating rapture that came to end all; and finally, the
unspeakable torture of resuscitation! How incredibly
quick all this swept through his mental perceptions! For
a moment the fear of death by rufflan violence appalled
him. The features of Jean Brand and Cliris Carrier looked
grim and menacing.

With a sudden recollection of himself, he cast off the
inertia and indecision that recent repose leaves upon the
muscies and the mind, and was In the act of springing to
his feet, when Brand clapped a pistol to his head, and
said;

“Better be quiet, mister! The odds is agin ye, and
fightin’ ’!t prove a losin’ game.’’

The touch of the cold iron to his forehead made Kenneth
pause.‘ To struggie was madness. The slight contact of
a floger would send a bali through his brain. What ought

he-to do? How should he deal with these unprincipled,
reckless, Outlawed men? He tried to be calm and cool.
* \Voyageurs,”’ he said, with as much composure as he
conid command, “I did not expect the pleasure of your
company. The joke isa tolerably good oné, Take away |
your little instrument, friend Jean, and let us endeavor’

simply because lie could not prevent it.

“Now,’’ said Carrier, ‘“‘you may get up; but don’t try to
run away.. Jean, bring his horse.”

‘| jnsist,” said Kenneth, resolutely, “upon knowing
your intentions.”

“Weintend that you shall. mount your horse and go
with us aS soon as he cun be saddled and bridied. If you
try to give us Lhe slip, we'll shoot you as if you's a grizzly
bear or a redskin!"?

Jean speedily came with the horse, and Kenneth was
assisted to mount him, after which his iimbs were fastened
together by a lariat attached to euch: ankle, and passing
beneath the animai’s belly.

“Fastened on in that kind 0’ style, I allow yon won’t be
likely to fall off, even if you ain’t a very good rider.”

With these encouraging words, Carrier took Kenneth’s
horse by the bridle and led him froin the spot, while Jean
walked in the rear, rifle in hand.

The young man, perceiving the order of march, ac-
knowledged that the chances of escape were rigorously
closed agaiust him.’ He was disposed to regret his. own
passivity in permitting himself to be bound and placed in
# position 80 helpless and mortifying. While he was en-
couraging reflections of this nature,@he golden sun went
down, aud twilight fell upon the northern wilds. Anon,
came, night with its deeper darkness; its. somberness was
enhanced by the oppressive gloom that weighed upon the
young man’s spirits. Relapsing into a sort of reckless
apathy, he suffered himself to be led forward toward his
unknown destination in silence. As the night advanced,
the way grew rougher and the fuoting more precarious.
He was aware thal they were traversing a rugged portion
of country, picking their way through narrow passes and
rocky defiles. Occasionally, a clump of oaks or a growth
of coltonwood varied the tuonotony.

Just as Kenneth was beginning to feel curions about the
course he was traveling, and the wild and picturesque
scenery around him, Carrier stopped, and he was“aston-
isiied to see before him a lake, the extent of which, how-
ever, he had no means of judging. His feet were now
untied, and he was perempltorily commanded to dismount.
Carrier then Jed the way round a projecting point of
rocks, close down to the water’s edge, and our hero, fol-
lowing at his heels, was surprised to find on the other
side pusturage for horses. Jean quickly relieved the ani-
mal Kenneth had ridden of his equipage, and turned him
loose. A Canoe that was drawn up among the shrubbery
was then launched, and the young man bidden to take
his seatin the middie. It was pushed from the shore and
paddled diagonally across the lake. Presently a bold shore
loomed intg view. They approached what appeured ike
a lofty wall of massive rocks piled one upon another till
they reached an altitude of an hundred feet,

Kenneth contemplated the spectacie with wonder and
awe. The birchen vessel shot into a little cove that rau
under the blulf like aswallow’s nest. Kenneth looked up
and saw a roof of solid rock over his head. He glanced
outward and beheld the glassy surface of the luke lying
dim and silent in the lap of the mountains and the noon
of night.

Under other circumstances there would have been weird
loveliness about the spot; but placed as he was, what else
would have looked beautiful, wore the dark garb of mys-
tery. ‘Whata spot, he reflected, for the commission of a
great crime! Hidden from the haunts of men likea grain
of sand in the sea, by what possibility could a deed of
blood declare itself to the great world without? The
thought made him shudder, and yet Kenneth Iverson was
brave,

“Stoop a little, and come on, Jean, trudge at his heels,”
said Currier, beuding, aud making his way, appareutly,
into the rock itself. Kenneth glinced once more at the
soft surface of the sleeping lake, and with @ sigh, imitated
the movements of his guide. He groped onward several
yards, with his body bent nearly double.

“You cun stand erect here,’’ said Carrier, at length.
The young man heard him fumbling about in the pitchy
darkness, and understood that he was searching for ma-
terials with which to strike a light. Presently the flicker-
ing flame of a large lamp threw its rays across tie rocky
cell, the roof of which was arched, jagged, and oozing
With moisture.

“Your journey isn’t ended yet,’ said Carrier. ‘Have
patience, mister, and we'll show you what’s known to
jew; and when you return to your friends agin,’”’ he con-
tinned, with a sinister smile, ‘“‘don’t tell’em the secret.’’

 

 

 

 

 

 

to understand each other.’’

Jean cliuckled and looked approvingly at his comrade.

 

 

“I's extrordiner quiet-like for folks of A meditative
turn o’ mind, and [ hope you'll like it well enough to stay
with us along timel’? he said, in much the same man-
ner that a pleyful hangman would address his victim.
Again bidding him follow, Cartier, after few turns to the
right and left, conducted. hit? to another compartment,
larger, loftier, and drier, aid ™nminaped by several lamps
suspended from the roof. } Z

The sole occupant of thissgbterrayean hall was a negro
woman, who seemed safely st gre dangerous age of
bequty in her sex, tuivoking aMer, Kennetit imme-
digtely thought of the iinsfyoeus GX Blus of Santiilane,
And is Veradous Ad VEU UTI Ie Om md beneath,
Evidently this good creature had spent a considerable
portion of her life in the accumulation of adipocere, pre-
senting @ very striking tlustratiomof what human indus-
try.can accomplish inthat particular line. Her lips were
excessively African; her nose characteristically flat; her
hair as crispy as might well be; her forehead low enongh
in all conscience; while her cheeks were biouted to the
utmost capacity of the skin, which was lustrously enam-
eled with black, This pretly specimen of humanity, the
momeut she beheld Kenneth, clapped two dingy hands
to her ample sides ani fell into a paroxysm of laughter
that was both Jong and good-natured, and shook her con-
federate members as if they were made ef jelly, or some
equally susceptible material.

Kenneth could see nothing to laugh at, and therefore
did not join inthis innocent ebullition of feeling, but con-
tented: himselfby glancing mechanically at the various
articles that the compartment contained. In one coruer
was a heap of buffalo skins, in another was a pile of pel-
tries; in thisjagged niche hung a haunch of venison, in
that the horns of a buck, with ihe foot of a panther, rest-
ing against the wall; in one place might be seen some
rifles and carbines with their various appointments, or,
upon a jutting point of rock, pistols of various mountings,
sizes, and workmanship. A-table of hard wood rested
npon a trestle in the center of the hall.

“Hagar, stop your cacklin’ and git us. somethin to eat;
we've got stomachs like wolves to-night,’’ said Carrier.

Hagar waddied away, and came back afler a litlie time
with cold meat and a bottle of whisky. Kenneth’s hands
were uniied, and he was told that he might, if disposed,
share their supper; but not being ina disposition to in-
dulge the pleasures of appetite, he rejected this overture.
He complained of fatigue, and Casting. himself upon the
buffalo skius in the corner, presently feigued sound sleep.

Jean and Chris made a resolute attack upon the enter-
tainment that the pegress had provided. To the. bottle
they paid their addresses with particular pertinacity, oc-
casionally tarning their eyes toward the young man, and
making him the subject of remark. Kenneth tossed about
on his couch like a tired sleeper, Dut took the best of care
to have an eye and ear at the service of the voyageurs.

“That chap takes it mighty easy? Don’t think Z could
sleep in such a fix, lio ways,”* said Jean.

“Don’t trust too much to appearances,’’ answered Car-
rier, swallowing a large piece of meat that would have
choked a modest dog. ‘The feller may be playin’ ’pos-
sum. Take achap like mé, that’s all the way from Tex-
as, and he’s naterally hardto be deceived, because he’s
seen enough of the world giner’ly to make him s’picious,
It looks like real, that sleep does, butit may be Only on
the surface, for all that.”?

Jean leaned toward his companion, and inquired, in a
low tone, although it was distinctly audible to Kenneth;

“What's the cap’n niean to do now???

“Nothin? good, PH warrant. We'll keep him safe and
snug till further orders; though, if I had ny way, l’a—”
Carrier glauced furtively at Kenneth, and drew his finger
across his throat. “On account of what happened when
we undertook to paddle him from. York Factory to Nor-
way House,”’ he added, ‘it'll be a great deal safer fo? us
to Huve. him out oe’ the way, you know. Some furrin
country’—he pvinted to where the heavens ought to
be, if a hundred feet of rock had not slut them out—* will
agree with him better nor this.’

‘*He’s rather tough in his constitution, and hard to rub
out; if he hadn't been, he’d never revived after we leit
him, and lived through the bitter night that follered.
Howsumever, [ don’t greatly mind his gittin’ over it, and
us for the Cap’n’s affairs, he must look out for *em as he
sees best,” said Jean, whose visits to the bottle began to
affect him perceptibly.

The conversation grew broken and desultory. As the
whisky went in, senses and cautiousness went out, Jean
dozed over his food, brightening up occasionally to give
ulterance to braggartrhodomontade; while Cliris said the
most inconsistent things with drunken gravity, winking
and ogling at Hagar, who Jaughed and shook her fat
sides.

At length, ifseemed to her fitting that, these two wor-
thies should exchange the pleasures of Bacchus for the
more sober joys of Morpheus, and this conviction she hags-
tened to communicate with a bluntness not to be misup-
prehended. Having spread some blankets and buffalo
skins across the only possible exit frou. the sub-mundane
hall, she considerateiy assisted thein to dispose of theui-
selves in a horizontal position upon the saine; while Car-
rier charged hier over and over again, with abundant re-
petitions, interiarded with some inenaces and oaths, to
keep a sleepless vigil upon the movements of Kenneth.

CHAPTER VI.
A FEARFUL DILEMMA.

The human mind never rests contented under difficul-
ties, nor yields to the pressure of untoward circumstances
without a struggle. It uaturally resists oppression and
outrage in all their forms. Whenitisdepnved of what
of right belongs to it, it calis in its forces aud prepares to
regain its own,’

A young mua of the firm mental composition of Kenneth
Iverson, would not, of course, lie tamely down and sub-

 

mit himself unresi stingly to the great wrong that was bé-
ing practiced upon him. The buechanalian tendencies of
the yoyageurs were peculiaritiies that he felt disposed to
take advantage of it. 1& was with pleasure that he beheld
their bold onset on the bottle. He only feared that their
capacity of endurance would prove stronger than the fiery
draughts they were swallowing... He could not but con-
gratulate himself that his hands were at liberty. Would
they be suffered to remain so? He believed that it would
cost them an effort to put such restraint on him again.
ie saw a rusty Scotch claymore hanging against the op-
posite wall; i{ne could but grasp it those men should pay
dearly for the violence they had offered him—he could
guard well his life afainstthem. }

It was wit pecuiiar interest that he noted the move-
ments of Hagar. He liked it not well that she spread
their couch across the only outlet of this;dark and cheer-
less retreat.

When the negress had completed this motherly office,
she pushed a block of wood near the spot where Kenneth
was lying, and seating herself upon it, rested her etbows
upon her knees, and lier chin in her hands, and took a
long and inquisitive look at him.

This squat and unique figure resembled a corpulent frog
perched on 2 pebbie-stone as much as anything that can
be named as a similitude.

Kenneth remembered that he had a boftle of brandy in
the breast-pocket of his hunting-frock. In changing his
position with the affected carelessness of a slumberer, he
adroitly pushed the bottle from its place, ‘when, sliding
from the couch, .it soon laid quietly at Hagar’s feet. The
daughter of darkness looked earnestly at this interesting
ovject; she reached out one of her dumpy hands and se-
cured it. “ She shook it, held it up to the light, then—Ha-
garsmelt.of it. Her nostrils were inexpressibly tickled—
they quivered with delight, while her eyes rolled ina fren-
zy of ecstatic anticipation. Wesee, we handle, we taste
—this is the nature of man—and woman, too. Hagar fol-
iowed in the beaten track of the world; she kissed the
biack mouth of the botile; she hung upon its lips with
niore than a lover’s transport; she swallowed great
draugits of liquid bliss. She ceased her endearments (to
renew them again, anon) and sighed that the human
breath was no. longer.

Kenneth felicitated himself on the subtlety of his ma-
neuver. Hagar, having once commenced this gentle dal-
liauce, found it too sweet to be abandoned without a full
cousumimation, and did not desist till she had drained the
cup, or bottle, rather, to the last drop of its flowing rap-
ture. Hagar grew happy and happier. She smiled, she
laughed, she chatted to herself, aud at length rolled help-
lessly from her seat. Wagar was drunk!

Kenneth turned upon his side and looked at the voy-
ageurs; they were lying still in the dimness of the cave.
One of the lamps had gone out; another was burning
upon the table. He arose and searehed for his rifle; it
was resting against the wall not far distant. His pistols,
much to his satisfaction, he discovered upon the table,
A few cautious strides and he was in possession of these
weapons. He approached the voyageurs; they seemed as
torpid as frogs in winter. He was strongly tempted to
shoot them; but his honest and manly vatiure shrank from
such a deed.

“It were a crime,’ he muttered, ‘to send such rufflans
into the other world.”?

With a lamp in bis hand, he stepped over their bodies,
and had no difficully in picking his way out in the same
manner that he entered. He soun stood at tne edge of
the water. The canoe was where they had left it. He
pushed it off and got into it, but perceived that the pad-
dies had been carried away—into the cavern, probably,
by Jean. He tried vainly to find a substitute for them
It only remained for him to scale the rocks; but that
promised to be no easy task. Silinging his rifle across his
back, he made theattempt, Planting his feet in the ine-
qualities of the almost perpendicular ascent, by much
muscular effort he managed to make cousiderable prog-
ress. He was exulting in his success, when a large frag-
meut of rock gave way beneath him and went thundering
down into the water, The noise of its descent was suffi-
cient to have awakened ihe seven sleepers. Kenneth
scrambled upward, little doubting the result of this acci-
dent. He hud conquered fifty feet of the way, when he
saw Jean and Chris rush out of the cavern with their
rifles, and standing up to their knees in the lake, scan the
dark face of tae cliff with eager attention. He ceased his
efforts and shrank closely to the jagged rocks. Currier,
though still confused by the lingering stimulus of his po-
tations, was the first to discover him. He spoke to Jean.
lits words crept.up the dusky wall with startling distinct-
ness.

“There he is clingin’ Hke a tree-toad to the bark of
atree. Wil bring him down as they bark squirrels in
Texas!”?

Jean, Who was not yet sober, was not so clear upon this
point, and Kenneth hoped his doubts would operate in
tis fuvor,

“That dark shadder,’’ said Jean, ‘is nothim’ more nor
arifttin the ledge. I’ve noticed i€ often when I come
home late o’ niguis,”?

“We'll see about that, I allow,’ returned Carrier.
“Oome down from that, youngster,’? he added, ‘or Pll
fire and give youa tumble that won't be over an’ above
safe for your bones |”

Kenneth remained motionless and silent. Where the
voyageurs stood, his figure indeed resembled a shadow
or fissure in the adamantine wall, But the eyes of Curis
Carrier were not to be deceived. He took aim at Ken-
neth. The stars shone dimly upon the weapon; the
sights were almost invisibie; Carrier’s nerves, too, were
unsteady. Objects at that distance below, though vague
and imperfeciiy outlined, were sufticientiy perceptible to
allow Kenueth to perceive this hostile movement. He
awaited, with what emotions may be imagined, the re-

 

sult, The bullet was ill-sped; it went three feet wide its

1

mark. Carrier watched anxiously a moment in the ex-
pectation of seeing the unfortunate young man dislodged.
Disappointed in this, he turned with a muttered impreca-
tion to his companion:

“I’ve missed him, Jean; give me your rifiet’’

“No,” said Jean, “‘you’re toodrunk to shoot.
anything there, I'll fetch it myself.’’

“You can’t hit the cliff itseif!? returned Chris, con-
temptuously, and retiring to the mouth of. the cavern,
where it was drier, commenced loading his rifle.

“It won’t do,” thought Kenneth, ‘‘to stay here and be
shot at like a bear in a tree,” and he was on the point of
resuming his efforts, when a ball from Jean’s rifte, guided
more by chance than skill, struck the rock close to his
head, casting stony splinters into his face. He heard the
hurtless messenger, flaitened on the resisting surface,
rattle down the declivity. This startling admonition of
danger was not to be slighted. With desperate energy
and sirength he pushed himself up the dizzy hight.

“He movés, he moves,” cried Jean. Currier, having
completed loading, rushed out to see.

“is a rift in the rock, is it, you stupid mulel’ he re-
torted. ‘Who ever heard of a rift elimbin’ in that way ??
Then to Kenueth: ‘Mister, Laltow yon‘d better tisten to
reason aud come down. A fall from that distance won't
; leave you in a shape to be recognized by your friends. AS
| for settin’ on your body arter such a tumble, it woukin’t
‘be possible fur a coroner to do it.” For an answer,
Kenneth sent down a fragment of rock, to escape injury
from which, the parties below ran into the cave.

“T warn you that I’ shoot,’”’ cried Currier, immediately
re-appearing.

Kenneth had reached aspot where he could shelter
partof his body behind a huge boulder that was poised
precariously on a shelving ledge. He wedged his body
into the smallest possible space.

*Ruffian!”? he murmured, “if your aim proves fatal, you
shall not have the pleasure of seeing me fali, at least. If
I die in this narrow niche, it shall be my sepulcire!?

He saw Carrier change his, position several times to take
advantage of the feeble light, and searched about, vainly
for a loose stone to hurl @own upon him. Doubting the
steadiness of his nerves, Chris rested his rifle upon the
rock, and tried a long time to get. the sigiats to bear; but
there was uv blur upon them which called more than one
Oath to his profane tongue.

Kenneth’s heart beat fast. It was a terrible position,
and he felt itso. He tried to remember on how many
occasions he had braved death, and strove to fortify him-
self by the recollection of dangers safely passed. He held
his breath in expectation of the flash. Why was it so long
delayed? When he thought the instant had come, Cliris
wiped his eyes, cursed the darkness, oud changed his
attitude. His shaggy head sank down again upen the
weapon, An interval of silence, oppressive and thrilling
; tO Renneth—a ball struck Lhe boulder and glanced harti-
lessiy upward.

“Cold-blooded miscreant!’? shouted Kenneth, ‘you are
baffled again.”?

The young man had unslung his rific, but his footing
was so precarious that he could not make use of it in his
defense. He looked anxiously above and below for a sater
resting-place. To his dismay, he perceived that it was
impossible to ascend further, while it was impracticable
to retracé bis steps. Foran instaut, he yielded to despair.
Necessity suggested an expedient; he would try his
strength agaiust the boulder., H he could displace it, and
send it crashing down the cliff into the lake, it would leave
a niche sufficiently large to give him ample footing. He
put his shoulder to it; it rocked; it tipped; it left its home
of centuries, and thundered down tie deseent with a
violence that shook the shore and made the solid rock
trembl The young man perceived, with. joy, that his
expectations were more than realized; for the bouider
had covered a niche of considerable extent, rnuning back-
ward seyeral yards. He experienced a sudden revulsion
of feeling. He staggered into this retreat andsank down,
nearly deprived of strength and cons¢iousness. it wis
true that he could neither go up nor down; but the rifles
of Carrier and Brand could not reach him. He was saved
from the dreadful probability of filling down the jugged
and giddy hight.

When he recovered sufficient calmness and presence of
mind, he crept to the edge of his eyrie and looked below.
The voyageurs were peering upward. He took up his
rifle to aim at Chris; but the wily ruffian saw the gieam
of the barrel, and quickly moved outof range. Kenneth
watched a long time for him to appear, but he was evi-
dently too cautious of his person to expose it. Tired of
this useless vigii, hé groped back into his niche to await
the dawn of day, Which, like everything ardently looked
for, came tardily.

The sun arose, at last, and Mung its rays across the face
of the cliff.
The red and cheering messengers of light crept into
Kenneth’s hiding-place. He gazed out upon the jake; no
human creature was in sight. He scanned his position;
| looked to the right, left, upward, downward. Impossibil-
ities stared him in the face. THe could discover ho way of
escape. To ascend or descend appeared equally impracti-
| cable; to make the attempt seemed madness. There re-
| mained to him, apparently, starvation, or the ahlernate of
casting himself into the hake. From the latter he shrank,
for it was not impossible that some person might come to
his relief. He tied his handkerchief to the end of his ram-
rod, and thrust the iatter into a crevice jus: below his
rocky sejpulchre, where it remained like a flag of truce.

The day wore on. He began to suffer from hunger and
thirst. Resolved not to succumb without doing all in his
power to escape from the terrible dilemina, he loaded aud
tired his rifle at regular intervals. lt was nearly night,
and he was momentarily growing less hopeful, when the
baying of a dog reached his ears. Was ever sound so
welcome? He discharged his pistols and rifte in rapid
succession, and shouted with all his strength. The deep
voice of the dog rolied down to him from the top of the
cliff. He heard the animal’s master calling him ip the
distance, and hallooed till he was hoarse, to attract his
attention; but no answer was returned. In his despair,
he addressed the dog imploringly:

“Faithful companion of man! do not thon, at least, for-
sake me!’

The dog’s great voice came back in answer, while hig
master continued to call fur him to follow. Tie creature
did not stir; but, sittiug upon his haunches and elevating
his nose, howled mournfully.

Kenneth heard no other sounds for a considerable time.

‘‘He is leaving me!’ exclaimed the young man; ‘‘and
this dumb dog alone knows and sympathizes with my
condition. Every moment the hunter is placing a greater
distance between us. It would be some confort to see
the face of this sagacious friend even.’’

Kenneth ventured out upon the narrow ledge where he
had, the previous night, found such precarious fooiing;
he heard a scratching far above. Looking up he saw the
well-Known face of Nick Whiffles’ dog thrust anxiously
over the edge of the cliff. The sight made him reei, and
he was obliged to shut his eyes and hold tightly upon the
jagged points to prevent his falling. The thought that
Nick Whiffles was so near, and yet ignorant of his terrible
position, nearly overpowered him. He dared not trust
himself to look at the dog again; but, when he was steady
enough, worked hiniself slowly back to: his niche, to re-
new, with feverish zeal, his firing and shouting.

“QGome! what you ’bout there?’ cried a voice, which,
though some way off, was easily recognized) by Kenneth.
The dog barked violently, and tuld: his naster, in his way,
that his presence was required, The young: man’s aw-
munition was now spent, and his yoice, too.

‘‘Hain’t got into no diffikilty, haye ye?) Makin’ a con-
founded fuss up there, seems to me. Git up, Firebug,
let’s see what. the trouble is.”

Hope revived in Kenneth’s breast. - With unspeakable
joy he heard the oncoming footsteps of his friend’s horse;
presently his hoofs rang upon the rocks above.

“What's the trouble, lsay? You've gone mad! You
have, I swear to gracious!’’ said Nick, addressiug his ca-
nine companion.

“Qalamity’? replied to these pertinent remarks by
scratching with his paws, whining, and looking over the
clit?.

“You allers was 4 putty sensible varmint, and conducted
yourself as a knowin’ and exemplary dog ought to, but
Vil be skinned if you haven’t lost your character anal de-
poortment both to once! What in the name o° nabmr are
you lookin’ over there for? Want to git a tumble, don’t
ye?’ Kenneth leaned faintly against the rugged sid¢ of his
eyrie, and called feebly to Nick.

“Oalamity’? wagged his tail and looked triumphantly at
his master.

“Tuought I heerd a voice! What does it all mean, I
wonder? Hullo! Anybody in diffikilty hereabouts ?”’

A faint and gasping voice answered from below:

“Oalamity,’? quoth Nick, ‘you know mere’n I do.
There is diffikilty, by thunder!”

Whifties cast himself upon his face and gazed earnestly
down tie cliff,

If there’s

 

 

 

 

 

 

we One

 

 

 
 

SAR

 

an mente»

 

 

 

  

* feel the shock none to speak on; though it raised sunthin’

~ from the offered familiarity. Squatting beside his mas-

- ity,” returned the Quaker, dismounting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Where are you, who are you, and what’s the matter ?"?
he cried.

“It ig J—Kenneth Iverson!? answered the young man,
in a stronger voice,

“Beavers aud otters!’? exclaimed Nick. ‘What made
you locate in sich an ungreeable place as this ???

“You shall know ak about it, my friend, after you get
me out,”?

“ButT can't git yon out—I can't. I swear to gracions!
The devil himself conldn’t git you oul. It’s a cussed little
diffikilty that’jb-be-hard gittin’ over!’ answered Nick,
emphatically. 4. ,

<I shall tyust to your oiwn ingentity,” replied Kenneth.

“Ingenuity, indeedt All bk -can dois togive you my
dlessin’ and leaye ye. If you've-got any word tosend to
your friends, I’ll\take ibalong with me. However, I'll go
down below, and see how it looks in that direction, per-
Widin’ there’s any, way of gittin’ there.”

«J feel as safe aS if Twas out already,’ returned Kén-
Neth, confidently.

“Then you feel a condemned sight. better about it nor I
do; for 111 be shot if if isn’t the tightest place that I ever
see a critter in! Come, ‘Calamity, find me the way down
to the lake, *thout breakin’? my neck!’?

“One moment,” said Kenneth. ‘Look out for Chris
Carrier and Jean Brand; you may encounter them be-
low.”’

“Oh, (hey've had a handin it, have they? Vil play the

  

mis With them mean skunks yet. I will, by the Lora!
Why, thisis worse than freezin? to. death! Stay where
yon be, will ye, till I git round %?

“T think I shall,” answered Kenneth, dryly. ‘

Nick Whifties’ footsteps grew fainter and fainter, and
‘presently died away in the distance. Occasionally, how-
‘ever, the young man thotght he could hear his voice, as
now and then he addressed a friendly word to his dog.

OA PTR iets
ABRAM HAMMET,

At the expiration of three-quarters of an hour—thongh’*
the time seemed much longer than this to Kennethh—Nick
appeared at the bottom of the cliff. Having leisurely con-
sidered the difficulty to be overcome, he deliberately ad-
lressed himself to the task.

Where the jagged points and projecting ledges did not
present sufficient foothold, he cut holes in the rock wuth
his hatchet, or drove stout sticks into the creyices. He
worked with so much good will, and to such advantage,
hat before two hours had passed Kenneth was able to
lescentd safely from his isolated perch. He looked with
ome anxiety for the canoe, which he had last seen
drawn up under the rocks, but itwas not to be found,
Tean ana Chris had doubtless left the spot with it in the
night.

Thérewassome debate between Nick and Kenneth about
entering the cavern; Dut the idea was finally abandoned
as being impolitic and hazardous.

“‘Fotler me,’’ said Nick, ‘and ll show you a better way
nor that up the side of the rock. Calamity led me down
like a major, by a way l never should have found alone,
though it was along way round, andI was obleeged to
scramble right smart sometimes, and hold tight what-
ever I could reach. Take a drop from my flask, man, for
youlook paleasa ghost. This was rayther a dizzy place
to settle in,” he added, glancing upward, ‘but when my
gran’fathér was makin’ the tower of the world he was
often in worse predicamenis nor that. He allers traveled
ina one-horse sulky; did my gran’father, with the top
turned back, so that he could see all that was fo be seen.
Well, one day he drove up Mount Vesuvius jest to divart
his mind and give his hoss, which had been stannin’ in
the stable a:good ’eal of late, a little exereise.

*Isn’t that rather a novel method of ascending Mount
Vesuvius?) inquired Kenneth.

«‘Bless your simplicity, no. Jt was very common in the
time o’ my gran’father. AsI was sayin’, he drove upin
his sulky, ond dt bein’ Sunday, the institution was putty
quiet. 1t happened, as my uncle was, drivin’ round ,the
crater——”’

“Grandfather,’’ suggested Kenneth. 9

“T said ‘gran’father. As my grau’father was drivin’
round theicrater, one wheel went over, andle fell into:
the comsarn neck an’ heels, though, fortinitly for the
world, he Jeft his manuscripts, nick-nacks and rare speci-
mens in fhe sulky, which recovered its equalabraham the
minute my gran'father was slopped:out. Well, my gran’-
father fell nigh to a lindered feet, off an’ on, ’cording to
his best calciiations,”’

“He was injured a good deal, Isuppose?*’ said Ken-
neth.

“Not a tall,” returned Nick, with imperturbable tran-
quility. ‘He fell into a bed.o’ warm ashes, and. didn’t

 

ofa dust, which prevented him from ever writin’ a de-
tailed description of the ‘pearance of things inside. He
didn’t go tothe bottom by along sight. It was so deep
that you might look two days upon the stretch an’ never
see the end on’t. It)was my gran’father’s opinion that it
had once been inhabited by pirates; but how they got in
an’ out he couldn't quite explain to the satisfaction of his
friends,”’

“Wow did your grandfather get out?’

“The next ’ruption,’”? replied Nick, gravely, ‘‘blowed
him out, and, aschance would hayeit, set him plump
into his sulky ag’in.”’

During this singular narration Nick had been picking”
his way along the margin of the lake, sometimes to his
waist in water, at others scrambling over a jutting point
higher than his head. ‘‘Calamity’? sagaciously acted as
guide, in which capacity he acquitted himself with such
credit that they reached the spot where Nick had left his
horse after a rough-and-tumble walk of an hour.
| “Twice saved by you!” said Kenneth, as wet, weary
and hungry he cast himself upon the earth.
» “Nothin? to brag on—nothin’ to brag on.
these little diffikilties in the Whiffles: family. My mother
was everlastingly in diffikilty. Beavers an’ otters. She
had twenty-one children, allof which had aru o’ the
measles afore they could run alone. All my ants and sis-
ters got into diffikilty too, in one way an’ another—mostly,
in another.”? me

Nick looked benignantly at “‘Fireburg’’ and “Calamity.”
It was evident thatno “diffikilty’? whatever could serious-
ly ruffle his good nature or cause him five minutes of real
unappiness.

“This faithful animal,” said Kenneth, reaching out his
hand with the intention of jaying it upon the shaggy head
of the dog, ‘‘deserves a much better name than you have
given him.” f tf,

“Calamity” growled, and retreated with surly dignity

Inever mind

ter, he looked at Kenneth with an expression that could,
without the least violence to dog-language, be construed
as follows:. ‘‘I’ll help you out of ‘diffikilty’?, when you
can’t help yourself; but don’t presume to aspire to my
friendship.”’ : j

“‘He’s rayther misanthroatic in his feelin’s,’’ said Nick,
apologetically. ‘He was summat soured when he’s a
pup, by bein’ a good ’eal put upon an’ bit up by dogs big-
gern he was.’ ;

“Ties a noble creature, though eccentric., I should like
to own him, if possible,’ observed Kenneth.

«“‘Calamity”’ squinted up at Nick, to see what he was go-
ing to say to this. ,

“You might own him,” replied .the latter, ‘‘but he’d
never own you. There’s nobody that suits him but me.
He likes my style, does Calamity.’!

“Calamity” said ‘“Bow-wow!”’ with startling emphasis.
It was his indorsement of Nick's style. :

“‘He knows a thing or two, that animile does! Will
show ye some o’ his tricks when we have time. He un-
derstan's everythin’ that’ssaid as wells wedo. Tell him
you're obleeged to him, and that’s all he wants for his
sarvices, Save now an’ then a nice bit of meat, when you
have it to spare.’? ;

“Calamity” erected his ears, and sprang to his feet;
he pushed his nose up into the air, while his nostrils
quivered,

‘He seents somebody; that you may rely on,’’ affirmed
Nick.

it was now evening, but not very dark; objects could be
seen at a considerable distance. Kenneth followed the di-
rection of the dog’s eyes, and after looking a moment,
saw a horseman appear at the summit of a hill, about
fifty rods distant. ‘‘Calumity’ had scented him before he
was visibie.

“It’s no Ingin,’’said Whiffies. “I know by his figger
an’ ridin’. He comes this way at a brisk pace. I wonder
if he sees us?”

The herseman approached within a hundred yards of
the parties before he became aware of their proximity.
He siackened::his pace, scanned them attentively, then
came on as before, without swerving from his course.

“How are ye, stranger??? said Nick, as the man rode

up.
Mpriena,” replied the horseman, “I am as wellas Iam
wont to be. Ihope thou art the same.” .

“A Quaker, Iswear to gracious!’ exclaimed Nick.

“Swear not!’ answered: the stranger, coldly.

“The Lord bless your simpte soul, I don’t swear! It's
agin my principles. itis, by thunder! But I had a cousin
once, that swore hisself iuto a consumption. Howsom-
eyer, that’s neither here nor there. Git off your hoss,
and jine us; purvidin you haven't nothin’ better to do.
We're goin’ to camp here for the night, and’ll have sun-
thin’ to eat presentiy.”’

“Verily ‘tis a friendly offer, and I’ll accept thy hospital-

“As for hospitality,”? added Nick, ‘‘you’ll find it mostly
in the open air; for that blue arch is all the roof we shall
have over us to-night.”

‘Tt is lofty enough and good enough,” rejoined the
stranger... ‘‘Is there forage hereabout for horse?) he
asked.

“Took yonder, stranger, and you'll see Firebug making
&@ tolerable meal.’ .

The Quaker looked at Kenneth inquiringly.

“Firebug is thename of his horse,’’ the latter remarked.

“Friend trapper, if thou hast no.objections, I will turn
my beast loose with thine.”

“The country belongs as much to you as to me, for that
1watter; therefore, put your critter to pastur soon ’s pos-
sible, aud leave out as many thees and thous as conve-
nent; for in’ truth I like not thy manner of speech.’

“Nor 1 thine!’ returned the stranger, quietly.

<*Then we are even. But what is that I see tied to your
cruyyper ?? said Nick.

“I is a haunch of venison, with which to cheer the
outer mau,” replicd the Quaker, with a marked nasal
twang. \

«Tas lucky? Vil straight build a fire, and what with
our talk, and What with our pemican, and what with thy
venison, and what with our whisky, we'll make, I allow,
a right smart supper.’

The stramger digencumbered his horse of saddle, bridle,
and burden, and turning his head to where Firebug was
feeding, sutfered iim to go at large; then, taking a seat
near Kenneth, watched the operations of Nick Whiffles

giances at the new-comer, Nick quieted any fears that he
might be supposed to feel, by remarking, ‘Don’t worry
yourself abont that animile; he won?t be likely to touch
you as long as you keep still; but when you begin to move
about, as folks giner’ly do, he may possibly give you a nip
or two in the leg.”

“What art thou called, friend?’? inquired the stranger,
tranquilly.

“Nick Whiffles, at your sarvice,’’ replied the trapper,
“Then, friend Nick, I’d advise thee to train thy ill-na-
tured cur to better manners,’? responded the Quaker,
coolly. :

“What's sauce for: the goose is sauce forthe gander,”
said Nick; ‘‘therefore, friend Quaker, what art Mou
called?” ¢ , 4

“sDraly, Nick, mine is ‘not a name that I Should be
ashamed of, inasmuch ag it hasbeen borne with much
honor and profit by several generations. Abram Hammet
is an Appellation, | believe. that. may be spoken with
credit wherever the sect of Friends is known; although I
trust,’? he added, growing slightly nasal in his enuncia-
tion, that it won’t be with me.a cause of unseemly
pride.” . :

“T should be greatly scandalized if it did, verily,’ re-
turned Nick, imitating very closely the Quaker’s manner
of speaking, F

“Attune not thy voice to raillery and moeking, for the
scoffings of the ungodly fall upon their own heads, as the
vapors that ascend from the earth come back to us in
rain.”? ]

Abram Hammet laid his hands.upon his stomach, and
partially.closing his eyes, and depressing the muscles of
his face, exclaimed, ina very slow and startling tone:
*O-h, a-hl’?

Kenneth turned an ingnisitive and smiling look to the
Quaker, while Nick stared at him with. comical earnest-
ness, muttering to himself ‘Oh, ah!’? pitched on the same
key.

“Mister, allow yotfve been tooken with the colicin
your stummach of a suddint. Perhaps alittle drop 0’
the critter il ease your distress??? suggested the trapper.

“Thou. speakesi, Nick Whiitiles, like those that follow
after the vanities of this life. Know that whisky is some-
thing that my palate and my principles alike hold in utter
abomination!’ retorted Hamimet, rebukingiy.

“But when a feller critter’s in pain like you are, tiere’s
nothing better,”? persisted Nick, thrusting his bottle into
the quiet Quaker’s hand. .

“If thou insistest, I will even defile my lips with the
unhallowed beverage; though I warn thee that thouw’ll
not find me one addicted to swilling and gormandizing
after the wicked fashion of the world and the Justs of the
flesh.”?

Abram Hammet threw back ‘his head until his nose
pointed to the zenith, and placing the mouth of the bottle
gravely to his own, hela it there a long time.

Nick grew uneasy; @ suspicious gurgling admonished
him that his beloved beverage was traveling the wrong
road with ominous rapidity. He was seated upon the
ground at the moment in cooking a piece of venison upon
a stick; full of direful misgivings, jie arose to his knees,
and in open-mouthed consternation considered the yam-
pyre mouth of the stranger, who, having drained ihe flask
to the last drop, composedly returned it. 5

“Verily, it is bitter as the waters of Marah, and scorch-
eth like the fire of Hades as it goeth down. O-h, a-h!’?

The smell of burning meatadmonished Nick that he had
dropped the stick, on the point of which he had held sus-
pended his supper.

He placed his hands upon his hips, sighed from the bot-
tom of his lungs, looked at his blazing meat, at the empty
bottle, at Kenneth, at the dog Cdlamity, and finally at
Abrain Hammet. Waving at length settled back upon his
haunches and whipped his meat out of the ashes, he
asked, in a voice rendered mournful by his recent loss:

“Enjoy pretty good health, don’t you, mister? Ain't
subjeck to no cussed little diffikilties, be ye???

“As for the matter of health, lam one that has passed
through the furnace, and Satan has sifted me as wheat.
It has pleased Providence to break up my constitution,
and give unto me the cup of weakness and the waters of
affliction. My strengtit has in a measure departed from
me, and it is with) much travail of the spirit and of the
fiesh also, that I can bear the fatigues of journeying
through this land of. Belial!’ / ;

“Oh, you’re a broken-down critter, be you?’ :

“Truly, the glory of my strength has departed. Oh, ah!’

“Tt’s inmelancholy! Hain't no appetite, I s’pose?”? que-
ried Nick, handing him a large piece of meat on a piece
of birch bark. \ :

“Thou art righf, Friend Nick. Iam, as it were, de?
prived of the pleasures of appetite, and the enjoyment o
the loaves and fishes of this world. And yet it was churl
ish,’ added Abram, feelingly, ‘‘not to do some justice to
thy hospitality. It is my duty to nourish, in a suitable
degree, the outer man; though the spirit rebels a fo
the grossness of meats and drinks.” oe

With these words Hammet made a voracious attack
upon the steaming venison, which disappeared in a mo-
ment before his powers of mastication, =
“Am feered ’tisn't Seasqned to your taste,” said Nick,
quizzically. ve i" pa
“Thy coo

  
   

king is not over And ab
mayest give me, if thou wilt, "

 

I have just swallowed.) ,

warmed a little at the fire, and passed to Abramin a semi-.
raw state, at the same time giving MeparOt a sly look
This ios offering followed its predecessor with incredible
dispatch. tithe Me oe 3, hia ete 6!

“Stranger!” exclaimed Nick, no longer able to Sa

     
    

    
 

ee rea

other piece of ted |
flesh. And, friend, let it be a trifle larger than the morsel |
Nick cut a slice weighing about two pounds, which he

        
    
   

 

MISUNDERSTOOD.

BY HARRY.

 

They chide you'for being so gay;
You have reckless spirits, they say,

And moods like an April day,
. Pauline.

Reckless, and flippant, and light,
Theard them call you last night;
When your mirth ros@ to its highth,
: Pauline.
Reckless, and flippant, and light!
I, who knew you aright,
Knew twas a pitiful slight
4 5) "Pauline.
Tor I knew, what nono of them guessed,
That if your heart were at rest,
Your lips would be slower to jest,
Pauline.

Then let them reprove as they may;
If it eases your heart to be gay,
To laugh ever so light, laugh away,
Pauline.
i e~4 —-

Drifted Aaunoer.

By Cariie Conklin,
Author of THE CHILD BRIDE, LADY LKEO-
NORA, THE BANKER’S FOU, ete. ‘

{“Drifted Asundeér’? was commenced in No. 12. Back num-
bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.1

SHAPTER XXII.
THE TRIAL OF ALLAN IRVING.

The scene tolditsown story to the lookers-on. That
mysterious instinct which points to the truth had led the
other lodgers in the house to suspect a flaw in the rela-
tionship between Mr. Rivers—tue name they went by—
and the Jady who called herself Mrs, Rivers. Snatches of
their conversation, overheard by thé servants and care-
fully carried to the other apartments, were put together
and commented upon, angry werds and recriminations,
in which morsels of the truth were told or hinted at, were
listened to, aud acertain dejection at one time and un-
natural brightness at enorier alg the experienced peo-
ple who watched and listened that there was an incom-
pleteness somewhere.

Aud now they saw their conjectures verified, witha
tragedy to end the romance which had not been without
its interest. The outraged husband and the lover had
met, and here was the result.

“T call Heaven to witness,” said Irving, ‘that when I
entered the room the man was there exactly as he is now.
if, when the gendarmes arrived, I had not been seized so
abruptly, you would have seen that my dress was in no
way disarranged. Thatof itself would tell you 1 had no
part in the struggle which must have taken place. The
man had wronged me bitterly, robbed me and dishon-
ored me; butI did not contemplate that shape of re-
venge.”? : f f

The sight of De Vere and the danger of her husband
paratyzed Ciara, but she clung to Irying. 8

‘“Ailan,?? she said, “how did this happen ?”?

“1 do not know. . I came to speak to him, and saw him
as you see him—I was in the agtof leaving the room to
call this man, a detective officer, whom] brought with
me to arrest Captain Vereywhen he met meat the
door. When he saw wiiat had been done, some conyersa-
tion we had together previously induced him to believe I
had lost my self-control, and in a moment of rage killed
my wronger. That is all] have to say.”

He was quite calm and-collected. He knew his peril.
He remembered Chowder’s caution at the railway station,
the remarks of the detective in the train, and his advice
given less than twenty minutessince. It was the most
extraordinary coincidence that some unknown avenger
should have stepped in to give weight and force to the re-
marks that, innocent enough in themselves, took the sliape
of deliberate and revengeful purpose now, :

When he found himself arrested he settled down into a
dead calm, and contented himself by simply denying the
charge. , .

Certainly the evidence went terribly against him. The
detective, with his knowledge of whatlay between him
‘and the dead man, Was a fatal witness.

He was thoughulul enough to offer what consolation he
‘could to the wretched woman, who felt herself burdened
with a doubie sense of guilt. She was at a Joss to under-
stand what reference her brother’s. sudden appearance
and rapid flight bore upon the case.

As yet she could think of nothing clearly. The sight of
De Vere, asyshe saw him with his strangled throat poy
the fender, had stupefied her. he time was not so long
since she had loved him for his grace of face and figure,
-and the-spectacle of that face distorted, that figure limp
and huddled in a heap, fillec her with a dull horror near
akin to madness, __ tla be Mie a
- “Bor his death,’ she thought, for anything that
may happen to Allan, I am res’ - Thave brought
all this upon them both.” ; ee
It seemed the worse to 3

 

 

 

 

   
  
  
       
  
    
 
  
   
    
  

*

    

 

 

 

his,admiration,. “you ought to be |
Suet to graciousl, 3 ouve got the
other condemned difikilty, if ¢

had a family o’ aWworers in your st¢
“Verily, my mind hath, at sundry times ;
been exercised in that direction,” respond
with every appearance ofinnocence. ~~

“LT never had a family of *em myself,
that was a go 1 plagued that way.
‘fected her diffrent from what it seem
’normous appetite, I tell'you! For the
her life she never left the table. She ruin
of the Whiffles’ family, literally eatin’ °em
home. °Twas calc’lated that she eat enough ey
to fit out a grand caravan across the desert of
victual a man-o’-war for a y’y’ge round the globe,’

“Friend Nick, thou art addicted to exaggeration, than
which nothing is more abominable.’’ , :

‘‘Lyin’,’’ asserted Nick, stoutly, “is sumthin’ that was
never born and bred in the bones of the Whiffies’ ginera-
tion. They wouldn’t ’quivocate, man, woman, nor child
of, ’em, to save their, lives. My great-gran’father was
burned to a stake ’cause he wouldn’t lie for the rope oh
Rome. That was when the Inquisition was goin’ about,
killin’ believers, breakin’ up families, and makin’ diffi-
kilty.?) : .’

“J perceive that thou art in the gall of bitterness, and
in the strong bonds of iniquity. Were I much in thy com-
pany I would strive mightily to overcome thy levity, an
correct the way wardnegs of thy thouglits.”’

The worthy Abram Hammet again placed his hands
upon his stomach, and said ‘‘O-h! a-h!? in an agony of
earnestness. ;

Nick dropped his supper, and, simulating the Quaker’s
voice and attitude, repeated “O-h, a-h!’? with such ludi-
crous effect that Kenneth could not refrain from laughter.

“Hold not in derision one of the chosen people, but
rather attend to thy own spiritual condition, which is tru-
ly heathenish and abominable.”

Nick lighted his pipe and smoked; while Hammet
amused himself by singing a Quaker melody through his
nose.

‘Perhaps,’ Nick said, when these exercises had ended,
“you'd like to lay down and sleep a bit, though the ’com-
modations are none o’ the best.’?

“Accommodations and other vanities, I have already
told thee, I care nothing about: I can very well lié down
with nothing beneath but the earth, and nothing above
but the sky,’’ returned Abram, meekly.

“Possibly you won’t object to taking a corner of my
blanket ?*? continued Nick, ironically, for his mind still
dwelt upon his lost whisky.

“Verily, Llike to encourage a Christian spirit, and will
even accept thy otfer; though I tell thee frankly that thou
art unto me as an unbeliever and a Gentile!’

“Oh, never mind that!’? rejoined Nick, shrugging his
shoulders; “but make yourself as comfortable as you
can,’?

“Truly, friend Nick, I will be governed by thee; and, in
return for thy Kindness, will pray that the Lord will have
mercy upon thy dark and heathenish state.’ :

With these friendly words, Abram Hammet incontinent-
ly rolled himself in the hunter’s blanket, leaving not so
much as a single thread of warp or woof for his benefi,

“Perhaps,” suggested Nick, when he had contemplated
his new friend a moment in silence, ‘‘you’d like to have
me put my saddle under your head? If you sleep with
your head so low, I’m afeared you'll have the nightmare,
Lam, by thunder! My brother died of the nightmare, jest
for the want of a saddle under his hend.’?

‘Do as thee pleases, friend Nick, for 1 never use mine
for that purpose; itis new and comely, and I care not to
soil its leather by the moisture of the head, Thou mayest,
if thou wilt, place it here beside me, so that I may be sure
no harm willbefallit. And, friend Nick, keep a good fire,
and an eye to my horse, which is a goodly beast.??

With affected alacrity, Nick Whifiles placed the saddles
in the manner proposed, and with grave, yet comical sar-
casm, asked if he could do anything more, and wished
him a good night’s rest; then, stretching himself. beside
the fire, on the bare ground, went to sleep,. muttering a
thousaud absurdities, of which Abram Haminet was the
principal subject.

     

     

 

 
 

{TO BE CONTINUED.]
—__»-@

HISTORICAL ITEMS.

THE first stocking frame was invented by William
Lee, of Woodborough, Nottinghamshire, England, in the year
1599. Tradition ascribes the origin of his invention to a piqte he
had taken against a towns-woman. with whom he was in love
and who, it seems, neglected his passion. She got her livelihood
by knitting stockings, and with the ungenerous object of de-
preciating her employment he constructed his frame, first work-
ing at it himself, then teaching his brother and other relatives.

THE punishment known as “hanging, drawing,
and quartering,” is said to have been first‘ inflicted in England
on William Marise, a nobleman’s son, in! 1241, inthe reign of
Henry Iif, The last execution of thissortin England was that
of the Cato-street conspirators, in 1820,

Masks were first used off the stage by the wife of
Nero, to guard her complexion from the sun. Theatrical masks
were common among the Greeks and Romans, The real inven-
tor is unknown.

THE earliest record of falling meteoric stones, or

 

 

 

with evident interest; while ‘Calamity’? eyed him with
evident suspipion. Observing that the dog cast surly

-

aerolites (air stones), is that of which Livy wrote when in 654

 
   
 
    
   
 

-| could not have been any one else. I cautioned him before:

ee

 
  
 

it can He é
i ow aren ure it wasmy husband??? 6)
“Well, ma’am,” he’said, shaking his head gravely; "it
he went in, and we talked about it in the train. Not that
I believe he intended to do it; but Seeing the man in front’
of him,.he was only too likely to forget himself, and then
you can easily guess the rest.” f
In her heart Clara suspected her brother, for what other
meaning could be attacked to his strange appearance
and hurried words? —
. “As the case stands,’? the man went on, “there is not a
great deal to fear, Mi. Irving had been robbed as well as
injured, and that Will make what they call’ extenuating
circumstances hére. They make extenuating circum-
stances’ out of nearly everything in France. If a man
were to make away with lis father and mother and all his
brothers and'sisters, his counsel would ask the court to
take compassion on a poor orphan who had nota friend
in the world, If any one else had done it he would go to
the galleys for life; but I should say Mr. Irving would get
a couple of years at most.’’

He was nearly correct in his prediction. There was
very little delay in the artist’s trial. The case was watch-
ed on his behalf by a soliciter sent from the English con-
sulate, and he was tried with mostimpartial fairness, but
the evidence was too direct to admit adoubt,

His own words went against him. The detective re-
lated what passed when they were at the London railway
station, and it was suggested that Mr, Chowder should be
sent for. There was no need, however. Valentine no
sooner heard what had happened, and the peril Irving
was in, then he started at once for Paris, at the risk of los-
ing the only speaking part with which the thirst of his
sou. had been as yet assuaged.

“And the less you say the better,” the detective warned
him, ‘‘foritstrikes me that you are one of them sort as is
likely to do more harm than good.” :

He was right again. Chowder was an excellent French
Scholar, ard consequently gave his evidence with a clear-
ness which left misapprehension out of the question. He
was slightly dramatic, too, in his defense of his friend,
andjust as dramatic in his delivery of the unfortunate
point which helped the condemnation.

“There never was & more devoted husband, a truer
friend, a gentler-hearted man,’ hiesaid. ‘His very na-
ture and genius Tender it impossible that he should have
committed this crime. He might have struck De Vere in
a moment of passion; but he would not have denied it
aiterward.’?

“It is then,” said the president, “in his denial that you
place your faith?” _

“Most certainly. He is an artist and a gentleman,
therefore a man of honor. Whatever may have passed
when he met the man who wronged him, he would never
have attemped to shield himself from the consequences by
an untruth,”

The spirit of this reply suited the chivalry of a French
court, aud created a favorable impression,

“You never heard iim utter a threat against the de-
ceased ?”’ the president asked, ‘‘or anything which might
be constructed into a threat 2”?

Mr. Chowder stopped on the point ofan emphatic assur-
ance, and his face took a blank expression. ;

‘You need not answer that question,” said Irving, with
asadsmile, ‘I have not denied a bitter thought of the
man, and it May have shown itself in my face. It was,
however, only a th t, not an intention.”?

Mr. Chowder was pressed on the question,

“At no time,’’ he answered, reluctantly, ‘‘unless some
words let fallin the course of a conyersation could be so
coustrued.:?” : : ‘

“Where did the conversation take place?”

‘Tn his studio.”

“And what were the words ?”?

“7 forget.”

_ “Their substance, then ?’?

“He spoke of the matter ina philosophic tone, rather
than as if personally interested. He said it would be bet-
ter in sucha case for the wronged man not to meet the
wronger, lest the temptation sliould come,’*

“The temptation to do what??? ‘

“To take him by the throat, and forgetting everything
but the wreck and ruin wrought by him. I protest, Mon-
sieur Le President, at being compelled to repeat passages
‘in.a@ conversation which which ought to be reproduced
literally from first to last, in order to be judged properly.”

No further witnesses were called, Allan Irving repeat-
ed his statement and denial, and his advocate made an
eloquent defense. Based even on the possibility of his
guilt, he pointed ont how the accused had been touched
in the tenderest place, and the sanctity of his home out-
raged by one who had been his friend.

He said much more, but the mind of the court had long
since been made up, and Ajlan Irving was sentenced to
two years’ detention in prison—a mitigated form of pun-

 

 

 

B. C. a shower fell on the Alban Hill, near 2 i

:

ishment which meant exemption from the company of

 

jmy to
-| point em, her when I arrived lere.
| personal injury. Lh

~<ois¢ THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #2

félons, and to which in-a Frenchman's eye there was very
little degradation attached.

But to the artist it meant conviction on a charge of
murder, and his heart was very heavy ashe left the court.
Hé cast one glance, stern and compassionate, on tiie vailed
figure of his wretched wife, and held oyt his hand to
Chowder, who was trying in vain to hide his tears.

“Good-by, Val,”’ he said, with the old, sadsmile. ‘Do
what you can for her, and take eareef poor little Dora.”

“There are plenty of ts to do that, Irving. Not a fellow
in the city would let her want @ home if‘it were for ten
years instead of two. You are innocent?” .

“On my soul, yes.”

“And on my soul I believe yon.
you as often ag they will Jet me.’’

“Phanks, Val—l know you will.”

As he was led away, he-turmed a last stern and compas-
sionate glance toward his wretched wile, in time to see
her fall. back into the arms of.a bystander, t. Chowder
went promptly to her rescue, and took her back to her

 

 

i aA 7
I shall come and see

lodging.

‘Allan Irving, passing his first few dreary hours in a
foreign prison, was happierthan the woman who was the
cause of his incarceration. A grim and patfent cynicism
sustained him, but she had nothing except the remorse
from which there was no escape.

Her penitence availed nothing now. There had been a
faint hope in her heart that by years of blameless life and
meek humility she would s0 Win upon her husband as to
gain a corner in his house, and be permitted to see her
child—perhaps iu time to be forgiven. She had Kotze-
due’s play of ‘The Stranger” very often in her mind, and
found comfort in its shallow teaching, likening herself to
Mrs. Haller, and dreaming of the same termination to
her crime as is implied by the end of that drama,

Mr. Chowder was kindness itself. He saw how acutely
she suffered, and dropped no syllable that might have re-
minded her who was to biame for the recent tragedy.

‘Irving trusted’ me more than any one else,’ he said,
“and I know what he came here for. You will let me see
you safely back to your friends?”

“Why should you debase yourself by being seen in my
company ???

“He knows I shall take care of you, Mrs. Irving, and I
am sure it comforts him. Are you well enough to travel
to-day? We cannot leave here too soon.”

Clara was aware of that. The people inthe house were
by no means anxious to retain a Jady who had’ brought
them into such unenviable notoriety, and were barely
civil to her. Valentine acted with more firmness and
promptitude than might have been expected. He enlisted
the services of a pretty, bluck-eyed French maid, and be-
tween them they packed Clara’s wardrobe and jewelry.
Clara would have left everything behind, but Chowder
would not permit it.

“They were- bought with your husband’s money, after
all,” he said, ‘“‘and you may be glad of them yet.’

De Vere’s property was attaclied by the detective and
lodged at the consulate. The man himself, whose mis-
spent life had ended so tragically, was buried in an ob-
Scure corner of Pere la Chaise. No one came to claim
him, and not a creature followed his hearse or laid a
Wreath upon his grave.

Clara did not stay-for the funeral. Her last look at the
man she had loved to her own destruetion was given as
he lay with his throat across the fender, and.all his grace
and beauty strangled out of him. She was ather sister's
house before. they covered the turf over him in that dis-
mal corner of Pere la Chaise.

 
     

Ada nier received her gravely, but not without affec-
tion, a Mention was made ofthe past. She was
very lium id submissive, going about the house in a
shado t way, and always with a haunted look
upon h would not see her brother Frederick after

: g.

Then she gave him a long and curiously-searching look,
at which he cowered and turned whiter, and we few
words she uttered were the strangest ever heard.

“Keep out of my sight from to-day, or I shall feel that I
must speak.’

That same afternoon Frederick Murrell went to live
with his mother, Clara preferring to remain where she was.

CHAPTER XXII.
ALLAN’S BROTHER.

The fate of De Vere and the trial of Allan Irving created
@ great deal of excitement in the press circles. One
special correspondent of a London daily hailed it as a

eaven-sent subject for a Parisian article, at a time when
club gossip and theatrical scandal were running dry. He
dished it.up with an easy raciness supposed to be in the
best of good taste, and a faithful reflex of the fashionable
style of. dealing with murder and a few minor crimes.

The story found its way into the American journals, and
there was read by Stephen Irving. One Englishman had
killed another who had eloped with his wife, and robbed
him of nearly three thousand pounds. The husband's
name Was Allan Irving, a well-known London artist, and
he had been considerately let off with two years’ deten-
tion in a prison where, said that lively Parisian correspond-
ent, he will have the privilege of choosing and providing
his own food, and improving his intellect in the society of
two or three duelists, and half-a-dozen politicians a little
too advance r the age,

Stephen Irving had long since given up his brother as

-dead—lost in the Pharoah when that vessel went to keep

the company of many other victims to overloading and
bad seamanship. Butcsurely, he. thought,, there! was in
this something more than a mere coincidence of names.
He procured the London papers of that date from: the
New York agency, and found half-a-dozen various ac-

| counts of the tragedy. One gave full: details of the trial

with preliminary paragraphs of the causes that led to it,
then no further information was needed.»
‘ie money taken was my brother’s,’’Allan said, on
the i pay balomat eee ust have ruined him.
De’ had that money in his pocket when he induced
Jeave her home with him, and he was on the
After I had
but with no intention of inflicting
{ had a detective at hand with a war-
rant for his apprehension on the charge of robbery, and I
was resolved to be ¢ £ with the judgment of the law.
When-I entered the room some one liad been there before
ra De Vere Jay just as hie was Seen by others whi en-
ex ihe

   
 
  
  
   
  
 

seen her I went to him

 

 
 

    
  
  
  
 

mediately alter me,’?
lat ismy brother, Allan, without doubt,” ‘Stephen
said to himself. ‘The poor feilow did not write, because
he was ashamed to.tell me the trouble and disgrace which
had befallen him. I must go to England, and at once, to
aa his release, if possible, and take care of his
child,

Stephen had long since ceased to feel. the one crisis of
his mercantile career. An honorable name had brought
him ple ty of help at the moment of need, and things had
righted themselves rapidly. He had made several weli-

   
 
  
  
    
   
   

  

judged and fortunate hits during the last two years, and

was quite rich enough to retire.

“T did not care for it when I thought poor Allan and
his little one were lost in the sea,” he said; ‘‘but I havea
purpose now.”?

He made arrangements for the transfer of his business
to another firm, and set sail for England within a week
after becoming aware of what had happened. Hesent a
letter in advance to one of his former partners, requesting
him to find the address of the. person having charge ot
Allan’s child. A single advertisement in the Zimes
elicited a reply from Mr. Chowder. ;

That good-hearted little gentleman had taken little Dora
to his own home, where she was petted by his sisters, and
had playmates of her own age.

Mr. Chowder’s sisters lived in Pimlico, where they eked
out a little income by letting lodgings, giving music les-
sons, and taking a few day pupils—children chiefly from
the neighboring houses. Valentine occupied a small an-
teroom on the top of the kitchen stairs, where he kept his
flute, his fiddle, his books, and writing materials. He
had more than one five-act tragedy in a drawer, written

with a throbbing poy and many a dream of future great-

ness, and read wlth
midnight oil.

His affection for Dora was almost touching. Her great
delight was to go with Valentine to the theater where he
Was engaged, and roam behind the scenes among the
fairies, as she called the ladies of the ballet and their more
talented sisterhood, whose happier privilege it was to dis-
pense with skirts, and not trouble themselves with much
by way of substitute. It was all real to her, though she
saw it from the wings. The lime light came direct from
heaven, and she was sure the fairies soared upward to
the calico skys by means of their tissue paper wings.
Valentine saw her imitating their movements inyolun-
tarily, and. sometimes in the night he heard the little
urchin singing bits of dreamy melodies remembered long
after she Ought to lave been fast asleep.

She was a plaything and a favoritein the painted world
slut in by the act-drop and the baize. The manager him-
self, aterrible fellow, who gleamed all over with gold
chains and diamonds, and had the choicest variety of
startling oaths always on hand, took a fancy to her, and
said she was a funny little child.

“A born actress, Chowder, old son,” he said, with a
friendly slap which shook every tooth in Vulentine’s
head; ‘and we will put her in training soon.”’

“T fancy, sir, she is rather too young.’

“Too young! How can she be too young? Look at me,
Icame on asthe child in ‘Pizzaro’ when I was twelve
months old, played the little boyin ‘The Stranger’ with
Macready at five, and stormed as Hamlet atsixteen. I
rose to be a circus clown before I was twenty-one, and if
I hadn’t grown fat I should be the finest low comedian on
the stage.’?

One evening, on returning home from the theater, with
Dora, Valentine found, that Stephen Irving had just
arrived. Chowder would have recognized him by the re-
semblance to Allen. He wasa handsome man of forty,
with haic and beard aptain turning gray.

“And this is Allen's child,’ he said, placing her on his
knee. “I can almost fancy you are like your father, little
one.’

“She is like her mother,’’ said Valentine, in a low tone.

“—T have never seen her mother. Allan promised to
send me a photograph or sketch of her; but he did not
keep his word. Do you know what las become of her ?”?

‘Some one of us three understands every word that is
spoken, Mr. Irving, and we had better say nothing till
after bedtime; then I can tell you everything.”

Stephen Irving shook hands with him silently. He was
not accustomed yet to cluldren and their ways; but he
could see that even had he never returned to England,
Dora would have been in kind and gentle hands. He was
too keen a judge of character not to perceive how much
wiser and more thoughtful Mr. Chowder was than, on the
score of his appearance, people would have been inclined

to think him, —
CHAPTER XXIII,

“FOR WHERE IS MY PLACE IN THE WIDE WORLD Now ?”?

Stephen Irving heard that story of his brother's trouble
With more than one quiet sigh, He had thought himself

ndering delight many a time by the

 

 

 

4 great sufferer when, in the years long gone by, he set
the fancy of his young manhood ona girl whom he be-
lieved loyal and loving, till he heard of her marriage; but
re very litle to such a wrong as Allan had sus-
tained,

“T never saw my brother's wife,’’ he said to Valentine.
“He wrote to me when he thought of marrying her; bat
he did not keep his promtseof, sending nié her miniature
or photograph. She was very pretty, I suppose,’

“Yes,’”? said Mr. Chowder, “pretty and thoughtless;
badly trained, and witha per thal must have been a
sore trial tosuch aman as Arving., You see, he had not
Made inugh Way at the time, or he Might have gone into
'@ higher sphere.) \¢ fi

“He made the mistake commonto young professional
men,’? said Stephen, .‘‘and he is paying a heavy penalty
ie 8 iN Youdonot think: him guilty of that man’s
death +} is

ne is innocent, as surely as you and I are here to-
gether. ’

“What was her infatuation ?” ;

“Heaven knows. He was in no way Allan's equal. He
was simply a good-looking dandy, poor fellow, with those
drawing-room manners women seem to like, I don’t
want to say anything about her. Justnow she is grieved
enough, and has brought enough misery upon herself to
last the rest of her days.” ,

The merchant assented gravely to that. Like Valente,
he had no desire to casta single stone at ‘the unhappy
fallen Woman; but he could not forget the sorrow she had
caused, and the shameful peril she had plaeed him in,

“She shall have asmahH income—enough to keep her
above temptation,’? he said; “but I will not see her. We
have much to thank you for already, my brother and B
Mr. Chowder. You will increase the obligation by kindly
undertaking the arrangement with her.”

_ Yes, Mr. Irving; everything I can do for the poor thing.
Not that she deserves pity, you Know; but you cannot
help feeling sorry when a young and pretty creature, who.
might have always been so happy, goes to wreck and ruin’
is aE PST WhatamI to do if she asks me about seeing

ora? Vee ;

“Tell her it is impossible. The child must not know that
she has a mother—such a mother—living.”!

Valentine accepted that stern decision in thoughtful
sence. [t was in accordance with Allan’s own expressed
desire. It was wise aud perhaps kind onthe child's
account; but to Mr. Chowder, who retained his goodness
of heart and simplicity of character in the midst of stage
Surroundings, the breaking of such sacred ties was
strangely painful.

“I will see Mrs. Irving for you,” he said,, “and make
any arrangement you wish.’ ‘ ;

*‘Por the little one herself,” said Stephen, thanking him
With a look, “Ido not quite know what is best. I shall
take a@home in London now. Ishall go into business

gain, I think, for the time would han heavily on my

ands otherwise. They want me, too, in.the old firm,
and itis not as if Allan were here. Tshould like Dora to
have more jight and brightness than Leonid give her in
my home.” — - we oe

“I promised Allan to take care of her,’ said Chowder,
timidly. He was so afraid of losing his pet and playmate
that he had not the courage to speak his fear. ‘We hare
children here every day, you know, and mysisters will
attend to her education.” ;

“There is nothing I should like better han for her to re-
main with you—until sheis old enougii to have a governess
at home, at least.”?

Valentine was delighted; but he would listen to nothing
in the way of remuneration.

‘Irving and IJ will setlie that when heisat home again,’
hesaid. ‘Do not forget that this youid have been her
flome had yon not come to England. Iam ‘ot a poor
man either, I have expectations, althougli my friendg
chafe me about them; and I can easily afford myself the
pleasure of a little sister like Dora.’ '

Stephen overruled that objection. His observant eye
had taken notice of the well-worn furniture and thread-
bare carpets, and he knew that Jadies of sufficient incomes

 

were not in the habit of giving outdoor or home tuition
for the pleasure of the work.

‘‘Let that matter remain for the present,’ he said, with
agenialsmile. “Dora shall stay with you. I dare say I
shall be able to find a suitable house in the neighborhood?

There was not tlre siightest difficulty. The overcrowded
West was already pushing its way into.the southern dis-
trict, and joining the more stately portions of Pimlico to
St. James’s and Mayfair. It was out of delicate consider-
ation for Valentine that the merchant chose a mansion in
the vicinity—a lofty building, with a dozen rooms above
the basement, and a heavy balcony. oyerlooking:a railed
garden, where dainty little ladies and gentlemen walked
in state with dignified nurses. ,

Stephen Irving was a rich man now. He had made
money and cultivated the natural refinement of his in-
stinct at the same time. He furnished with the taste of a
gentleman, and spent a large sum in well-chosen pictures,
for which he did not go to the Academy, or to the dealers.
He found out young men of whom he could remember

aving heard his brother speak, and spent some pleasant

ours in their studios watching the progress of the canvas

estined for his walls. f
_ Hesurveyedwhis* house with an air of pride when the

ork of decoration was finished. It was an old dream of

is, a house in England when he was rich enough to face
the future without care—a house where Allan could have
a studio and a suite of roonis, and sketcli and paint to his
heart’s content, with none of the killing -interruptions
Which came with household cares,

For himself, Stephen Irving had nosuchdteam. It died
gut when Margaret Miller declined to snare the young
city Man’s lot in life, and married one of whom he had
often heard as a handsome reprobate, discarded by his
family. He did not even know the name of this worthless
rival. He accepted his. rejection with the quiet dignity
very often seen in the average Englislimen of middle class,

 

and gave up thinking of womapkind for years to come.
Not as a misanthrope—not as one who felt himself

 

 

 

 

 

blighted, and brooded over it. He took it to heartasa

lesson that he was tod poor to think of such a luxury as

love, and he set to work in earnest, making money. In

the struggle which followed the fitful rise and fall of his

fortunes, the failure sometimes of careful enterprises, the

huge ‘suecess of an accidental speculation, and the’ keen

competition in the American market, he found ample oc-*
cupation for his thoughts, ’

The staid and sober man of business had no great par-
tiality for feminine society. He was aware..that.he did
not shine in it, being afflicted with a sort of serious shy-
ness, born, perhaps, of reverence forthe better portion o£
the sex; and it left him far behind in tle company of that °
huge section of young gentlemen who will rush in where
angels hesitate. Had he met a second Margaret Miller,
the current of his existence would have changed.

' There is an ideality about the first love of every mar.
If Stephen Irving had succeeded in fergetting Margaret,
he still retained the memory of what he thoughtshe was.
If he found himself taking interest in another woman, it’
was because she reminded him of Margaret.’ If he felt ‘
disappointed in her, it was because she fell short of what —
he thought Margaret would have been. And so the time’
wore on, and at five-and-thirty he began to entertain the
delusion that he was too old*to love—a delusion young”
men of that ageare apt to entertain, till some unconscious *
pretty piece of girlhood takes them captive again, ana
they find themselves as helpless as a lad fresh from school.

The merchant found the time hang heavily on his hands
when the house was finished, and nothing more remained
to be done. He had Allan’s child to care for. Dora went
to Valentine’s sisters for a little elementary schooling, re-
turning home every evening to dine with her uncle; but
Stephen was not a child’s companion. He envied Valen-
tine the natural ease with which he could’ convert him-
self into a boy of seven, or take a juvenile delight in dolls
and toys.

He went into the city, and saw the members of the old
firm. He invested half his capital in the concern, aud re-
sumed his position as an active partner. Work of that
kind helped to pass away the weary days and weeks that
went 80 slowly while his brother lingered in captivity.

He went to France with Chewder frequently, to gather
what tidings he could of Allan. Except such meager in-
formation as told him whether Allan was either ill or well,
he could gather nothing. :

“The only service my friends can render me is to find
the criminal in whose stead I am suffering,” Allan wrote ~
from his cell. “Sothat when lam free] may meet my.
fellow men with an unstained name.” i ‘

Stephen tried most diligently; raked up the whole mat-
ter from the outset, obtained copies of the evidence, and
set Engtish lawyers and the English police to work;. but
they were met at the outset by the testimony of the de-
tective who had accompanied Allan to France. Inthe
mind of that stolidly positive individual there did not lin-
ger the slightest doubt. ;

“There’s no use of him persisting in that fashion,’ he
said, with an evident sense of personal aggrievement.
“Nobody blames him for what he did; and two years are *
not much for the satisfaction of settling a man thoroughly.
What's the use of having innocent people watched ana
followed, and driving the police out of their senses for the
sake of keeping up such anjdea? Wasn't] there, and
didn’t I almost see him do it?”

“Almost,” said Stephen; “but not quite. You spoke
honestly, I believe—you had no interest in speaking other-
wise; but you may have been and are mistaken, It is nob:
80 much a matter of procuring his release as of removing
the stigma from his name.’?

“They didn’t say it was anything so bad as thot,” said
the detective, overpowered by the word stigma- ‘They
called it homicide, as nearly as I could’ make ort, and
said it was only natural he should do it) but the Jaw must
s Bits That was what the verdict’ amov uted to im

nglish. ik ep Does '« SHS) Seth

“Setting aside your supposition that it was my broth-
er,” said Stephen, ‘‘you would have a better chance of
arriving at the truth by taking a new starting point t
for instance, that my brother had not gone t-’France and’
this thing had happened all tlie same.”?

“Ah, but it wouldn’t have happened all the same.’?

“Let us suppose it did. You must have taken another
starting point then—gone altogether on another track.
Now, how would you have begun ?”? :

he detective polished the bridge of his nose with a silk
handkerchief and looked as if he was very far from making
the calculation.

“The first question, Lpresume,’? said Stephen, ‘‘wonid
be motive?”

“Yes; and that’s where itis. The motive was revenge.
It vee done in broad daylight, and py robbery was com-
mitted.

“Still putting my brother out of the question,’’ Stephen
persisted, ‘such a man as he who called himself Arthur
De Vere must have had other enemies.” 8

“Lots of them, nd doubt. Now you come to speak 07 it,
there was that young fellow whe was with him in open-
ing the desk, and got twéive months—Frederick Murrell.
He said some ugly things; but then he’s such a thin, weak
kind of chap, witha cough that’s got a touch of the

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churchyard init already, Isa good thing he didn’t do
it instead of the other.’?

“Why ?? ‘

‘He would have been sent to the galleys for life, or ex-
ecuted.””
~ «Well,’? said Stephen, after a pause, “take what starting
point you please, but find the real criminal, and you shall
have three hundred pounds for your trouble.”

The thought of the reward made the detective almost
certain it was possible to find aud hang somebody.

‘I will do my best, sir,’? he said. ‘You see, there’s
eigiteen months of the time gone now, and a clew gets
lost by degrees. People who might remember bits at the
moment forget in a year and a half, and are more likely
to mislead than not, The other six months will soon
pass, and I willsee what can be done by the time your
brother comes to England.” e

The six months passed; but Allan Irving did not return
to England. He wrote a curiously sad letter to Stephen.

“I do not wish to see the fuceof any one lf love,” he
said, “till I ean return as I should return. You want me
to havea homein your house with my child, and I need
not tell you there is no wish dearer to my heart; but you
do not know what you ask. Shall I bring the brand of
the prison upon an honorable man and an innocent child?
Shall I run the risk of being pointed after in London as
the man who ‘had two years for murder?

“You see, my dear Stephen, how impossibleitis. I
have no place in the world now tillthe real criminal is
found, and I shall shake off. the prison dust in a vagrant
ramble ofa year orso. Oue thing I promise you; should
{ bein trouble, in want, or sek, I will send to you at
once. So while you hear nothing you may be content
with the certainty there is nothing the matter. with me, not
even a heartache, for [ have worn if out.’? ;

(TO BE OONTINUED.)

A Designing Woman.

By Marie Madeton,
ITHE PEERLESS AUTHOR]

iA Designing Woman” was commenced in No. 12. Back num-
bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States. |

CHAPTER XIX.

So ¢hangefulis the heart of woman that when Miss
Venner began to love Lord Sunderland she forgot Frank
Burgoyne, and thought that she had never loved before,
She despised Frank, and even hated him. Thinking what
she had done to gain him, how she had sinned for him,
and to what unmaidenly devices she had been obliged to
have recourse to in order to win his unwilling heart, she
despised and hated herself too.

er pallor had increased, and care had laid his finger
on her marble brow}; but under the influence of her new
fancy those traces of @ crushed heart or a mistaken affec-
tion became eradicated, ;

©nce more she was radiant and lively, for a woman is
nothing if she hagno one to-love. Her usually impassive
countenance lighted up witha glow, which was born of
her fresh love, and she felt confident she should be happy
if she could only call his lordship her husband.

Thoughts of Frank and Agnes disquieted her at times,
but she was not -in the habit of giving way to silly fears,
and she determined that if there was any chance of mar-
rying Lord Sunderland she would soon rid herself of those
incumbrances in a terrible manuer.

The old woman, who was her only servant at the Tow-
er, wrote to her, stating that the young man did not read
so much, and was always taking long walksin the coun-
try, while the black girl did nothing but weep.

Poor Frank! no wonder that he sought consolation in
solitary walks. He had much to think of and much to
regret. Poor Agnes! little wonder that she did nothing
but weep in her prison of mirrors, for hers was indeed a
hard fate to bear.

The day after Mr. Deepwater's visit to Mrs. Burgoyne,
Lord Sunderland called, dressed in the hight of fashion—
dressed indeed as only a gentleman with exquisite taste
and plenty of money—or, what is as good at the tame, un-
limited credit—can hope to dress.

“My dear Lord Sunderland,” said Mrs. Burgoyne, as he
was ushered into her splendidly furnished drawing-room
about three o’clock in the afternoon, ‘‘enchanted to see
you. Yhere is my poor little friend, Miss Venner, con-
stantly asking about you.’?

“Really you flatter me,’’ said his lordship, stroking his
tawny mustache,

 

 

_one was dead or had forgotten me.

'pils, Was waiting fo receive hit

It was the Earl of Sunderland, who weary with wait-
ing, and having heard Mrs. Burgoyne’s carriage depart,
thought he was forgotten.

Kate stopped abruptly, looked at the gentleman who
had accosted her, and asked:

“Arthur, is it you???

“By Jove!’ exclaimed the young nobleman, ‘‘what are
you doing here, Kate? I—I did not expect 10 see you.”?

‘You know very well I am a dressmaker,’’ answered
Kate. ‘Dressmakers go everywhere. Fine ladies are
economical now-a-days, and milliners charge so much. it
is cheaper to have things:done at home. If you give agirl
eighteen pence a day and something to eat and drink,
you can get a great deal of work out of her from nine till
seven, if you keep her under your eyes. Tell me though,
Arthur, what you want with Miss Venner?”

“Oh, nothing—nothing particular,” replied his lordship,
slightly embarrassed.

“is it you she is going to marry?”

“No, no! Oh, dear, no, my dear child,” said Sunder-
land, gayly.

“Tam glad of that,’? answered Kate Berry. ‘Because
you told me when you met me in Piccadilly last winter
and the next week took me to the play that you would
never love any one else. _ It is so long since Isaw you that
I thought you had forgotten me, Ihave sent many letters
to your club, addressed to your name, Mr. Williams, and
you have given me no answer. It was Mr, Williams you
said, was it not?"?

“Yes, my dear—Arthur Williams. You are quite
right.”

wWhen shall I see yon again? You spoke so nicely to
me and promised to take me to Richmond to dinner.
Oh, I should so dearly like to go. When will. you take
me?!

The earl reflected a moment.

“Next Sunday,” he replied. ‘Meet meat one o'clock
at Hyde Park Corner, right hand side, and I will take you
up in my brougham.”’ .

Kate clapped her hands with joy.

“IT am so glad I have met you,’’ she said.
sure to meet me, wili you not?”

“Quite sure. Run along and be a good child. There is
something for you to buy a new bonnet,’ replied the earl,
slipping a sovereign into her-/hand.

Kate tripped away gleefully to go to dinner im the ser-
yants’ hall, leaving his lordship biting the tips of his
lavender gloves. :

“What a bore it is,’? he said to himself, “that a man
cannot flirt with a pretty girl without the risk of meeting
her in the very house where heis paying his addresses to
the lady he wauts to make his wife. I thought thisiittle
I have not seen her
for threé months, and that is an age. If she had not
forgotten me, by Jove I had her. One meets so many
new facesin three months. It is such a long while in
London,’* he added, with a-sigh.

While he was hesitating which way-to go, a ladies’ maid

“You will be

‘came up to him and asked him to follow her to Miss Ven-

ner, who wished to see him. He was conducted to the
boudoir, where the governess, who was looking charm-
ingly demure-and-as. softly strict, if we may use the ex-
pression, ag whet she was in a aod temper with her pu-
The interview Was long and sweet. .

Lord Sunderland, pleaded his cause warmly and Miss
Venner received his udvauces as he wished. He declared
that he belonged ‘to her heart aud soul, and asked her if
she could Jove him in return. aE Yin ,
“lam quite alone in the world,” she replied, ignoring

her relations as she always did. They were poor and

would be of no use or credit to her—one, Dingwall, was
in penal servitude, and he certainly was best forgotten.
“Mrs. Burgoyne is my only friend.. I know little ef you;
but I'am 80 trusting and confiding I am willing to place
my future in your Kands,”’ * a

“Darling child,’ said the earl, “I desire nothing better.
You will find me the kindest and most attentive of hus-
bands. Dear, dear child, name the happy day, and you
will never repent your decision.”

“Say this day month,’’ she answered, softly. ;

He caugiit her in his arms, aud pressing her to hisman-
ly breast, kissed her tenderly.

“Thank you a thousand times!? he exclaimed, “This
happiness is more than I deserve. 3

When he took his leave 1t seemed as if they had known
one another twenty years, on such friendly terms were
they.

Miss Venner was again placed upon the pinnacle of her
ambition, which wasever changing and before which she
sacrificed everything.

The Earl of Sunderland congratulated himself upon
having gained the heart of a woman he really loved,
though he was so often in love that he could scarcely be

 

“Not in the least. Itis you who honor my poor house-
hold. The dear ohild is foolish enough to be enamored of
you, but I must let you talk to one another alone. There
are a few questions I should like to ask you though. Miss
Yenner has been with me so long I cannot tell you what

pn interest I takein her. She was my children’s governess
or many years. I feel toward her as toward my own
daughter, and I should not like her affections to be placed
on an unworthy object.’’ ,

“You speak harshly, Mrs. Burgoyne. I hope——”

“Tut, tut, tut,? interrupted Mrs. Burgoyne; “I know
wyhat you young men of the present day are, and I really
must put a few questions to you. Miss Vener is so sim-

le, loving, confiding, just what a maidenly girl ought to
be Now look upon me as your confessor and consider
that open confession is good for the soul.”?

“Willingly. When aman has nothing to conceal why
should he shrink from confession ?”?

“Why, indeed. Now tell me, have you ever loved be-
fore?”

“Never.” '

“You haveno ties? You are perfectly free?”?

‘sPerfectly.”

“And you come to me as a candidate for my little pet’s
hand, in all earnestness?” said Mrs, Burgoyne.

«J have come to ask you Lo use your influence in my be-
half with Miss Venner,” replied his lordship, ‘because I
love her dearly, and J always felt that a governess was to
be my fate. Lam a litle unruly, and have spent more
money than I could afford, yet lam nota pauper, and if
my title and what [have left are a sufficient equivalent
for her ijove and her fortune lam willing to marry her.”

<‘Perliaps she may not consent. I will go and speak to
her. Depend upon my good offices, But there is one
thing more. Report has mixed up your name with that
of a popular actress, Clarice Howard.” :

“Scandal! my dear Mrs. Burgoyne,” exclaimed Lord
Sunderland, “pure scandal, I assure you. Miss Howard
may have commanded my admiration on the stage as an
actress, for people say she is talented, but nothing more.”’

“J am satisfied. Be good enough to wait here, my lord,
while I seek Miss Venner, and I hope she will consent to
see you, and that the resultof your interview may be all
you desire,’? said Mrs. Burgoyne, as slie swept from the
room, her long silk dress trailing grandly behind her.

She sought Miss Venner, who was waiting for her in
her boudoir. i

A pretty, dark-haired girl sat near the window making
a dress, for, Miss Venner was not above tlre petty ceremo-
nies of life, and, having good taste of her own, liked to
have her dresses made at hiome.

“This little dressmaker was named Kate Berry, and as
she was a very insignificant little person, according to
Mrs. Burgoyne’s idea, she did not hesitate to speak before
her.

The governess had been. reading Byron's “Bride of
Abydos,” and put down her book as her friend entered.

“Everything has happened as well as you could desire,
my dear,’? said Mrs, Burgoyne, ‘He is here, and has ac-
tually proposed to me for your hand. I have questioned
him carefully, and I think he is one towhom you may
safely confide your future happiness.”’

Miss Venner’s face flusled with pleasure and triumph-
ant pride.

Her new dream of becoming a countess jwas about to
be realized, and she thought little of the poor captive in
uhe Lone Tower. They might suffer and be silent; soon
atime would come when they would be silent forever.

«Shall I go to him??? she asked.

“Not yet. Let him wait. It does not look well to be
too impatient. .In half an hour you may seek him, and
after he has asked you to be his wife youwwill admit, I
hope, that the debt of gratitude I owe you is settled. You
have done much for me; shall {have satisfied yon in
making you the wife of an earl?”

“Oh, yes, 2 thousand times over!’ exclaimed Miss Ven-
ner.

“On second thought, send for him here; you are sur-
rounded by flowers and birds, this boudoir is charming,
you reign in the midst of its splendors like aqueen. Tam
going out in the carriage with the children, When I re-
turn I hope to see your dear face smiling.”

Mrs. Burgoyne kissed her aud went away, leaving Miss
Venner in a delicious reverie.

How much more delight it would be to have the Earl of
Sunderland fora husband than Frank Burgoyne. She
wondered how she could ever have been so stupid ag to
have loved Frank when there were .so many men in the
world so much more agreeable.

But in the old days sie was poor, and had been only a
governess, now slie was the friend, the intimate of Mrs,
Burgoyne, and possessed of mysterous wealth, supposed
to be the legacy left by an aged relation, .

<o ia minutes elapsed, and the dressmaker, looking
up, said; .

“Pardon me, miss, but did I understand you were going
to get married ?””

iss Venner looked up so sharply that poor Kate Berry
missed a stitch.

«It would be more becoming in a person in your position
to attend to her work instead of listening to people’s con-
versation,’”’? exclaimed the governess,

“I beg your pardon again, miss,’’ replied the dress-
maker. ‘Butl thought you might give me the order for

our wedding trousseau. I work for a well-known firm in

ond street, and I should get a small commission for in-
trodacing your order. That js all.”

“7 will think about it. Goon with your work,’ replied
Miss Venner, shortly.

The little dressmaker pricked her finger and her face
aarine angrily, but she knew her position too well to say
anything,

For some time the needle was plied busily, and then
Miss Venner exclaimed:

“Go down to the servants’ hall and get your dinner or
lunch, or Whatever you call it, and send Mrs, Burgoyne’s
maid to me.” ;

Kate Berry put her work on one side, and shaking off a
few pieces of cotton and silk from her dress, she left the
room, while Miss Venner arranged her hair before the
glass, admiring her appearance and thinking that she

ooked pretty and captivating. ( :

Scarcely had Kate reached the top of the staircase
oe ze met a handsome young gentleman, who ex-

med: 2

“Where is Miss Venner? I suppose you are one of t)

servants here,??

expected to know his own mind, but, what was of more
importance, he had every reason to believe that his fiancée
was possessed of a fortune which would pay his debtsand
place him among the rich peers of the realm and enable
him to support his title properly.

As for Miss Venner, her thoughts, after the first delirium
of her triumph had passed, were turned inthe direction
of the Lone Tower. ;

She had to disembarrass herself first of her husband,
Frank Burgoyne, and secondly of Agnes Weldon, the poor
girl whom she had so cruelly disfigured.

Toa woman of her disposition the task was not repug-
nant. It was, om. the contrary, almost congenial. She
could wipe away an enemy with as little compunction as

t.

~ As the earl walked along the street he refi :

“The next thingsto do,” he said to himseif/ **will be to
see how I can get my letters, photograph, €te., from the
charming and rising young actress, Miss Clarice Howard.
Mrs. Burgoyne has heard of her, and if Miss Venuer be-
lieyes there is anything between us slie may break off the
match, What an idiot a man is to write letters to wo-
men; but young men, [ suppose, always will be idiots.”’

In the neighborhood of Sloane street he was accosted
by aman, who exciaimed, respectfully: ,

“Eh! Swordarm,’’ replied the earl.
your house, You can do mea service.”

“Your lordship has only to mention it ‘and it shall be
done instantly,’’? answered the stranger,

“Waik with me as far as your house, and we will talk,’

Swordarm bowed in recognition of this compliment,
and they proceeded side by side.

Mr. Swordarm was a fencing-master, who had an es-
tablishment near Sloane square. He let hig first floor to
Miss Clarice Howard, the tress of whom we have
spoken, and as she played at the Court Theater this domi-
cile was handy for her. Swordarm was an excellent mas-
ter of the art of fence, and thoroughly wrapped up in his
art. He hada lovely wife, who found his tastes uncon-
genial to hers, and consequently their home was not a
happy one. ‘ * 5

Mrs. Swordarm was a great patronizer of circulating

“I was coming to

upon the heroes she met with in books. Swordarm did
not realize her ideal—far froin it. ;

He was bluff, curt, unread, and could not sympathize
with her in any respect.
taken lot night and day, until she saw Lord Sunderiaud,
who was a pupil of her husband’s,

His lordship had the audacity to make love, not only to
the actress who had lodgings in her house, but to Mrs.
Swordarm herself, but it was only to Clarice Howard that
he had written impassioned letters.

It was part of his creed that to write to a married wo-
man was not only dangerous but uanecessary. More
conid be done by an interyiew than by a ream of paper
covered with love passages, for, as a rule, wives are not
so impressionable and easily captivated by high-flown lan-

‘guage as maidens who do not know the world.

It will be seen that the earl was embarrassed by these
love affairs, which might one or all interfere with his
match with Miss Venner. 7

First, there was Kate Berry, the little milliner; second-
ly, Clarice Howard, the actress; and, third!y, Mrs. Sword-
arm, Wife of the fencing-master, ‘

The earl had not gone far before Swordarm exclaimed:

“Will it suit your lordship to come to my liouse in a
couple of hours’ time? I have some lessons to give, and
after that I shall be entirely at your service.”’

“On consideration,” replied the earl, “that will do very
well. I want to go to my club for letters. It is not five.
At seven I will be with you—say half-past, and it will give
me time to dine.” ‘

Swordarm bowed.

The earl hailed a hansom, and was driven to Pall Mall,
alighting at his club, where he dined and arranged the
plan of his campaign. :

He had to get rid of these women, whom he had told
he loved—two were single, one was married—and this,
as he had to find out, was not such an easy task as he

had anticipated. eae
CHAPTER XX,

Mr. Swordarm, professor of the art of fencing, was a
rough, blunt, but, withal, dapper little man, of middle
age, intensely practical and prosaic. He did not live very
happily with his wife, who was young, handsome and ro-
mantic. In her favorite novels she found ideal characters
who contrasted unfavorably for her husband, he suffering
by the comparison, and after two years of wedded life she
made the unhappy discovery that comes like a revelation
of doom to many Wives, that she did not, and never could
love her husband, their tastes being thoroughly unconge-
nial; for while she was soft, loving, sentimental, and con-
fiding, he was exactly the reverse, and ridiculed her ideas
instead of sympathizing with them.

Lord Sunderland had for some time been a pupil of
Swordarm, and during his visits to the fencing academy
he had made the acquaintance of the professor's pretty
wife, a flirtation had sprung up between them, and the
lady often sighed as she thought of the elegant, refined
and accomplished young nobleman, who was 80 different
from her husband,

Mr. Swordarm was one morning walking about his
academy, with his leathern waistcoat on, foil in hand,
lunging at invisible pupils, and putting himself in various
eccentriv attitudes required by the exigencies of the sword
exercise. ‘

His wife was sitting in an arm-chair near the flre-place,

 

 

 

reading a book in which she was much interested. Look-
ing wpe she exclaimed:

- “What a delightful author this is! Listen to a charm-
ing passage, my dear. Edwin is in love with Angelina,
and he says——”?

“Bother Edwin!’ Interrupted Mr. Swordarm. ‘I wish
people would keep their appointments. Here hayel been
waiting a full hour for a young guardsman, who has not
had the civillty to send & messenger with an apology for
his want of punctuality. However, I shall charge him in
the bill for the lesson, whether he has it or not.”’

“That is just like you!’ exclaimed his wife, with a deep
and prolonged sigh. ‘You are all business. There i8 no
communion between us.”

 

“If 1 did not look after business, I should like to know
what would become of us? Andit would be more to your

she could put her foot upon a worm and see a mouse torn | Pale and tremulous, pulled the buttc ene id Of his
ieces by a cal ‘ oo oes... }doil, making it tolerably. sharp-goin' VOrd.< 2)
to pi y 2 Y r eR é Said, “iet us sée you show yourself

“Good-morning, my lord!. 1 have not seen you lately.’? |

libraries, and before she married she founded her ideal }.

So that she lamented her mis- |

credit, madame, to see to the dinner than to be wasting
your time over that trash.’

Closing the book, Mrs. Swordarm walked disdainfully
Gat OF the room without favoring her husband with a
reply.

“There is a woman for yon!” exclaimed the irate pro-
fessor—‘‘ornamental but not useful: Wants her opera-
box and her carriage. She should: not have married a
riage is to be happy. Who's that? Comein.”
opened, giving admittance to Mr. Deepwater, who, as an
old pupil, was well known toSwordarm.

“Good-morning, sir! Glad to see youl’? exclaimed the
professor. ‘lam very much at your service if you wish
to have a bout with the foils.” :

“No, thank you,”’ replied Deepwater. “I have come with
a very different object in view.”

“What may that bé?”

“T wish to put you on your guard.”

“Against whom?’ asked the professor, not a little as-
tonished.

**A tied scoundrel. There isa plot on foot to under-
mine your happiness, Swordarm, and I felt I should not
be doing my duty if I did hetwarn you in time.”

The professor wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

“T have known you sometime, sir,’? heexclaimed, “‘and
I take it kindly of you to interest yourself in my welfare.
In what quarter does this danger lie ?’?

“You lave a wife, Swordarm!’’ ,

» The little man started as ifa snake had stung him, for
though rough and almost unkind ja his manner to his
wife, he loved her in his heart, and it was a peculiarity in
his nature to be profoundly Jealous,

~ “Your wife is faithiess to you,’? continued Deepwater;
“T can bring you proof, You havea pupil—Lord Sunder-
land is the man to whom I allude; he is the snake in the
grass. Read this letter, which I was intrusted with a few
days ago.”?

Swordarm, with trembling hand, received a letter from
Deepwater, aud, while a mist swam before his eyes, read:

“May a devoted admirer of your dazzling beauty ex-
pect you this evening at the old place? Your presence
os happiness, your absence misery, to your loy-
ing—s. \

The letter was a forgery, cleverly executed by Deepwa-
ter, but the writing being a Limitation of his lordship’s,
the jealous professor was easily imposed upon, and trem-
bled in every limb with passion. ;

Deepwater’s object was fopreyens in some way Lord
Sunderland’s marriage with Miss Venner, as he had de-
termined to marry her himself, if human means could ac-
complish his end.

Knowing the irritable nature of Swordarm, he felt sure
that something of a tragic nature would ensue as the re-
sult of his plot. : 5

“Sir,’? exclaimed the professor, shaking his hand warm-
ly, ‘you have deeply wounded me, because you have at-
tacked my honor; but I thank you, nevertheless, for you
have shown me the gulf of infamy near which I have been
Standing with my eyes slut for so long a time.’?

“Do nothing’rash,”’ said Deep water,.

“Probably his lordship willcome to-day,’ continued the
professor, musingly. ‘The yillain—the double-dyed vil-
lain! to rob me of the aGeotlins of my wife! I wonder if
@ man like that thinks his tite privileges him to go about
undermining the peace of simple citizens like myself? If
the button was to slip off the end of my foil, and he fell
wounded while taking a.lesson, Would the Jaw touch
me ?

“Certainly not,’? replied Deepwater, hastily catching at
this muttered suggestion; “it would be a pure accident.”

“Butit would look yery much like assassination.”’

“Not at all. Revenge yourself, my friend, upon this
insolent nobleman. Do not hesitate,’ urged Deepwater.

There was another knock at the door.

The professor ran aud jooked through a wicket,

- “Itis hel? he cried, excitedly, ‘‘Lord Sunderland is
here! Hide yourself, sir; you must not meet.”

Deepwater looked round him hurriedly, and seeing a cup-
board in which foils and gloves were ke pt, he quickly con-
cealed, himself within it, leaving the door ajar, so that he
might see what happened. ‘

The next moment the professor had admitted his. lord-
ship, who, with a pleasant smile on his handsome face,
held out his hand, saying: ;

“How do, Swordarm? I have come to while away an
hour. Get out the foils. What! won’t you shake hands
with an old pupil?’ =. ty

“Excuse me, my lord, SPOve cut my finger, and the
least pressure is painful. Did your lordship ask for the
foils?”? answered the professor.

“Yes; if you are not engaged.
as I knocked.””

$6 ply my wife, my lord, who was speaking to me.”

The professor darted a quick, searching glance at his

I thought I heard voices

color.

“Ah,?? said Lord Sunderland, who could not forget that
he had kissed Mrs. Swordarm and squeezed her hand on
more than one occasion; ‘‘how is your charming wile?”

“Not very well, my lord, This is your foil, I think, On
guard! Sol’? : t weer e

His lordship took the foil and placed himself. én garde,
having removed his coat and slipped on @ Jeathern jerkin
or waistcoat. nc ae yee sy

At baggome moment, Swordarm, who twas dreadfully.

    

  
    
  
 

“ ow, .
a master of the art of fence: vt
patried! A pretty thrust. in Carte. |
Ah, that lunge in tierte has You. ANo. |
Lhave you now! Good Heayelis! Wiet is that? Can
the button have fallen off my foil?” ,

With a groan his lordship sank upon the sanded floor,
the blood coursing from a wound he had received. He
made ae answer When spoken to, and seemed to have
fainted.

Deepwater, having witnessed the catastrophe, emerged
from his place of concealment,

“J will send you a doctor,” he exclaimed, in alow
voice. *‘Let us hope that the hurt is fatal, for then you
will have revenged your injured honor." ;

“What have 1 done?’ asked the professor, who, now
that his jealous rage was over, was rather alarmed at see-
ing his lordship’s inanimate form stretched out in front of
him and lying in a pool of blood.

“You have proved yourselfaman. Notaword. Keep
your own counsel, If asked any questions say it was an
accident. Be cautious.”?

With these words, Deepwater hurriedly quitted the fenc-
ing academy, called a passing cab and drove to a doctor’s,
requesting the physician to attend a wounded man at
Professor Swordarm’s, and then went on to Mrs. Bur-

yne’s house, where he hoped toMind Miss Venner at
1ome.

Nor was he mistaken in his expectation.

She was within, and at once agreed to receive him,
though in her heart, as we already know, she had no lik-
ing for the crafty and designing adventurer.

The governess was reclining negligently upon an otto-
man, and beneath the folds of her joose morning wrap-
per lier tiny feet were displayed with just the least sus-
picion of coquetry.

Inclining her liead to her visitor, she said:

“Thave admitted you, Mr. Deepwater, toinform you
once for allthat your visits are not agreeable to ine,
and to request that you will cease in future to call upon
me.

“J have brought you important news,’’ he answered.

“Of what nature?”

“Lord Sunderland is dead or dying. He met with an

ecident in afencing school this morning, the button
slipped off his antagonist’s foil, and he was pierced by the
weapon.’? 4

Miss Venner turned pale, for her ambitious dreams
seemed likely to turn out unsubstantial visions,

“How do you know this? she asked, ina tremulous
voice.

“JT was present.’?

“J cannot thank you for your information,’ she said,
recovering herself by an effort of heriron will, for she
would not have betrayed any weakness before this man
for worlds. ‘You know that his lordship has honored me
by an offer of his hand and name. I will hope that he
may recover, andif my care and attention can lead to-
ward so desirable a result they shall not be wanting.
Having acquitted yourself of your amiable mission, Mr.
Deepwater, may 1 ask you to leave me?”

He bit his lips, but did not move.

“Surely a lady in her own house may eSpress a wish to
be alone ?”’ sie continued. E

“Certainly. But allow me to tirge my suit. I know the
time is not fayorable,’’ replied Deepwater, ‘Yet when a
man loves so passionately, as I love you, he cannot stand
upon trifles.”? i

“My love is not to be envied,’ she exclaimed. ‘It is
the love that kills, Those whom I love are sure to be un-
fortunate, but you need not fear for yourself, I can never
regard you with affection. Leave me.’’

“By Heaven, I will notl’? he rejoined, ‘You shall hear
me. Ifyou will not meet measafriend and lover you
shall know me as an enemy!’

“Very well, sir, as an enemy beit,’? exclaimed Miss
Neyer rising with dignity and placing her hand upon
the beil,

“What would you do?’ he asked, flercely.

“Summon my servants to teach you that civility which
you seem to have forgotten.”

‘“Bewarel’’ he hissed fiercely through his clenched teeth.

He advanced toward her threatingly. What he would
haye said or done it is dificult to imagine, but the scene
was cut short by the opening of the door and the appear-
ance of Lord Sunderland, whose left arm was in a sling
of black silk. 7

He was very pale, and seemed weak and ill, but with
firm purpose displayed in his face he advanced to Deep-
water.

“Gol Leave this house, sir! Your presence is an in-
sult!” ;

‘What do you. mean??? asked Deepwater, as nervously
as if he had been confronting a ghost risen from the grave.
“This house is not yours, my lord.’?

“No matter, Iam now acquainted with your true cha-
racter, Swordarm has coniessed all. Iheard your re-
marks while I laid upon thie floor, faint from the pain of

my wound. . Fortunately the foil only punctured my arm
}and my jifeis spared, Go, sit, You are myenemy. Do
not linger or 1 may be tempted, wounded as I am, to re-
sort to violence.’?

Hanging down his head, as he felt himself defeated,
Deepwater slunk from the room, muttering threats which
were inaudible,

5 pice eo ral

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ar ee on pcenatanneneenenannenensine

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bd

 

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‘FRANCIS S. STREET, } * STREET & SMITH,
FRANCIS S. SMITH. PROPRIETORS,

27 .29 and Si Rose St., N.Y. P.O. Box 4896,

SUMMER FRIENDS.

One of our modern essay writers says:

“You can have everything on earth you want when
you don’t need anything.”

Like many another disappointed soul she had
probably learned this fact from sad experience.
When we are prosperous, how friendsswarm around
us, like bees around a honey-laden flower. How we
e tlattered,petted and caressed—we can have every-
f ing on earth we want—by paying foi it. How “all

he sheaves bow down to our sheaf.” How frequent
are the invitations to ride, because, forsooth, we have
@ carriage of our own. How numerousare the cards
to-lectures, concerts, operas, because we have a
husband, father or brotherready and willing to escort
us. How attentive the clerks in Yardstick & Co.’s
fashionable emporium! The butcher, the grocer,
—how smiling, how affable, how obliging. How
profound the bows, how bland the smiles, that greet
us while taking an aflernoon drive. How pleasant
to know we have such friends should misfortune
overtake us, should a dark cloud dim the brightness
of our Heaven. How they would gather around us,
each striving to out-do the other in consoling, in
helping us to regain our footing.

. There’s a rumble in the distance, a cloud gathering,
darker and darker, a crash, and our brilliant sky is
black as midnight. We grope blindly, we look vain-
ly for one ray of light in the darkness. Where are
the friends of yesterday, the ones we have succored
in their day of need, sustained in their affliction, and

ave of the best treasures of our hearts and lives?
‘Where, indeed? Echo answers—where? In their
stead we receive a few notes of condolence, a few
formal calls, the stereotyped remark:

“If there is anything we can do for you let us
know.”

Perhaps some little favor asked of an old friend is
met with a grave face and demurring voice, which
sends us flying home with a bitterness in our hearts
‘too deep ior words or tears. Truly we can have
everything on earth we want when we don’t need
anything—and when we do, Heaven help us!

Mrs. C. E. PERRY.

A NEW TALL Hat.

Yon can singie out the wretched individual who is
wearing 2 new hat, without any effort. You would know
him among ahundred. He cannot help his conscious air,
-and his complacency extends even to the gingerly way in
which he sieps over the mud puddles, and avoids the
spatterings of water from the errand boys who are wash-
ing the shop windows, and laying the dust on the side-
walks in frontof their respective employers’ places of
-Dusiness.

The mun with a new tall hat is at once supremely happy
and supremely wretched. Seven dollars’ worth of tile
covering ten cents’ worth of brain is enough to disturb
any znan’s equanimity.

-How majestically he treads the sidewalk! Stone, and
brick, and concrete are hardly good enough for his well-
blacked boots.

His every action says, plainer than words—‘‘See me /
Dve got hat! Small boys, and one-horse teams, step
aside! 1 am coming—I and iny hat!”

How eareful he is when he passes by Brown's store,
which is being newly shingled. No old shingles and rot-
ten wood snust fall on that hat. When he sees an ash-
cart, he crosses the street to avoid it, and when an omni-
bus passes in a2 cloud of dust, he steps into a milliner’s
shop, paling the fair occupants in a dreadful flutter, to es-
cape the dust.

How he watches the sky to see if the cloud in the west
“swill bring foul weather.’

How enreful he is not to get too near the old women and
pretty ginls who sport sun uipbrellas and parasols!
~ “When he goes into the coffee house for a lunch, he takes
his hat along with him to the table, and puts it on his
Knee, and surveys it with a critical eye, and caresses it
with the lips of his fingers, and dusts it affectionately
with his silk handkerchief.

When Miss Fitz Suooks comes in for a sip of i¢e cream,
anki seats herself beside him, and spreads about thirty
yaiws-ef silk aml lace flounces across his Knees and his
hat, his very heaxt slands still, and he shudders with dis-
may.

He don’t know whether she tells him to order her mint
julep or pickled oysters—his mind is on his haut

Demerously he inanages to extricate it from the tangled
fanss of tiammery, and congratulates himself on hav-
ing accomplished itsocleverly, while Miss Fitz Snooks
is at the same time wondering what the man is wriggling
about so for, and what he means by putting his horrid
Rint.on her mauve silk ruffles! And it smells of hair-oil,
goented wath citronella, and citronella she detests!

When he gets through with his dinner it rains, of course.
Rwisy weather invariably pursues aman who las a new

; vw
A , We has no umbrella! Certainly not! It never rains
wh), Wa-oee takes an umbrella along! And there is no store
whe te one can be purchased within twenty square of him!

He steps under an awning and deliberates. Down
comesvauk avalanche of water from somebody's leaky
gutter, & aud deluges him, hat and all! ‘Rain upon the
roof? \ ‘ils a vengeance!

Peopk tjestie and crowd him, and taller men than he
knock th ¥t hat all awry. Bootblacks invite him to “have
ashine?? \ Newsboys get under his feet and yell at the
top of thei. ‘voices: ‘‘Herald, Times, ridune! Exciting
news from Washington!”

Old candy "man urges him to buy a package of sugar-
ed corn, and ‘ells him that she is poor and has six small
children, “anc (ene of them a babby, plaze yer honor!”

A-‘man with , ¥mason’s hod passes by. It hits the hat,
and off it goes! Somebody stamp on it, and stalks on!
Old woman cate: 8 it under her petticoats and drags it

Sm Wi dog sees it, and dives for it! The
frantic owner seize 8 Upon it—chucks it on his head, and
in grim and gloomy @espair takes up his line of march
homeward. '

lt rains pouring!

Well, revit fain he 9, ¥¥8 fiercely to himself—who cares ?

Gloomy thoughts fill h @ bosom! | Is life worth living?
“To be or not to be? thai *s8 Ue question!” :

He reaches home cross .W4 sulky! His wife puts the
children to bed early, and 1 ‘#8 them to Keep quiet because
father don’t feel well. KATE THORN,

 

 

 

 

NICK WHIFFLES THE BRAVE.
Air: “Bail to the Chief.”

Hail to the scout that in triumph advances,
Honor the victor of hundreds of fights?!

Still may the light in his bold eye tiat glances
Frighten the “reds” and inspirit the whites,
With the fierce Indian

Many a shindy in
His courage heroic shone brilliantiy forth;
Fortune ne’er fail him, then, '
Join me to hail him, then,
Geliant Nick Whiffies, the pride of the North.

He is no atripling of civilization,
Trained for parading—to fly from the fight;
But a rude hero—the “‘reds’ ” consternation,
The foeman of wrong and the champion of right.
# Reared ’mid the rifted rocks,
Hardened to tempest shocks,
Steady of eye and terrific of blow,
Through many a dire tug
He and Old Firebug) |
Fought unassisted the treacherous ice,

 

Loudly his war-cry thrilled far Laskatchewan,
When the snows of the desert were ringing with groans,
When the terribie savage with fire showers of ruin
Left homesteads unmarked save by ashes and bones.
Mother and tender maki
Low in the carnage laid,
Infant and stalwart man pictures of woe;
Then each unerring shot
Made by the daring scout,
Gallant Nick Whiffles, stretched red demons low.

Arrow directly sent, ax stroke obliquel y,
Dared he to rescue the wronged and oppressed ;
Read his exploits in the fumed New YoRK WEEKLY,
Given in language sublime and compressed.
From the Pole to Yo hamity
Are Nick and Calamity
Famed far and wide as the true and the brave;
Here’s all good luck to them,
Praise to the pluck o’ them,
Heroes of wildwood, of mountain and wave.

Think not that Nick was alone in his glory,
Or only companioned by dog, gun or horse ;
One of the points of this wonderful story
Is the great wealth of character shown in its course.
Excellent characters,
Worthy of star ac tors’
Bepresentation on classical boards;
Nothing of myth *bout them,
Ask Street & Smith ’bout them—

They will indorse Dr. Robinson’s words.

CURIOUS MARRIAGES,
An Instance of Divine Retribution.
BY J. ALEXANDER PATTEN.

——

 

The subject of curions marriages, or those with
which are connécted peculiar and romantic circum-
| starices, is one full of interest, and affording much
that is strange and thrilling. Investigation has
brought to the knowledge of the writer a ratene of
instances most singular in all their aspects, and in
this and other articles they will be presented to the
readers of the NEW YORK WEEKLY.

The following narrative relates to actual circum-
stances which occurred some years since. They are
derived from an authentic source, and the only addi-
tion which we give them is the descriptions of the
locality and persons. Straager than any fiction, yet
they area story of life. For obvious reasons we
suppress the name of the parties.

Onalovely morning in the spring of 18—, the
wedding bells rang out merrily in the pretty village
of L——, in Central New York. All nature was robed
in its freshness and beauty, the feathered song-
sters flittered from branch to branch in their wild
joy, and man, woman and child responded in happi-
ness and laughter to the joyousawakening of every-
thing about them.

‘‘Listen to the bell,” said one and another of the
Villagers. ‘‘It is the wedding day of May R-—,
Heaven bless her,” :

The sott, silvery tones came from the steeple of
the ivy-clad church, and they were answered by the
louder, but not less merry, bes of many mills and
factories, Along the road, in carriagesand on
hundreds of people in their best attire and aie |
mood were hurrying in the direction’ of the church.
All labor was suspended, and evel was hap
On this charming day of mid-spring, the beautitul,
on pure, and the pious May R——, the ‘pride of the
Vv
a rising yo! lawyer of the place,

Little did any of the people think that in the midst
of the joy of this day the Divine hand would fall in
retribution for a dire and unforgiven sin.

A manu8cript before us, from which we draw the
facts of our narrative, relates as follows:

‘“May R——- was the daughter of the richest. citi-
zen of L——-, and its greatest benefactor. In fact,
his business talents and enterprise had raised it from
a collection of a few houses to a‘place of manufac-
turing and financial importance, with its mills, fac-
tories, stores, a bank, churches, and elegant resi-
dences onevery hand. The brain and energy of
William R—— was everywhere, and not only did
this material prosperity stand as his monument, but
every voice proclaimed him a public benetactor and
a God-fearing man. And yet he was a singular man,
and absolutely nothing was known of his antece-
dents before coming to the village.

‘‘Kighteen years prior to the time of the marriage
of his daughter he had appeared at the hotel with
her asa small child in charge of a servant. He
stated that he had recently lost his wife. Seemingly
pleased with the place, he remained, entered into
business operations, and by brilliant enterprise and
constant success rapidly accumulated fortune. He
was not social, though he was sufficiently agreeable
to be popular with all, and as years wore on
his life seemed a model of virtue. “He had never
married again, and his fine mansion was presided
over by his daughter from the time that she became
old enough. Her characteristics were great beauty,
many accomplishments, anda ra kindness of heart.
She was always engaged in::cts of good will and
charity, and came to be regarded by the villagers
as little less than a saint on earth.”

We now return to the wedding scene at the church.
The bells were still ringing, and without and within
there was a dense mass of people. The sunshine
and the soft shade, the green fields and a sparkling
stream, the music of the birds, and the gay things
made a picture of great attractiveness. Presently
the bridal party passed into the church amidst the
murmurs of admiration on every side. Calm and
dignified, as always, William R—— walked forward
with his daughter on his arm. Near the altar rail he
relinquished her, and she took her place, radiant
in beauty,at the side of the groom. The. service
commenced, and there was at once a deep silence in
every part of the edifice. When the final prayer
was to be said, all knelt or bowed their heads, and
William R—-— veverently fell upon his knees at a
seat near at hand.

But the mockery of his life was at an end. A
murderer, under a false name, unworthy of the as-
sociations which he had forso many years cultivated,
base and wicked, though the father of the sweet
young bride, this so-called William R—— was now to
be overtaken by Divine vengeance.

The organ pealed out a wedding march, and the
gay party swept from the altar toward the door
again, Smiles and joy were seen in every face,
though death—swift, retributive death—had fallen
unknown to the others, on one of the throng. It
was William R——. He never rose from his knees,
but when the crowd had gone forth, and the sexton
came to that part of the building, there he found the
dead man, His daughter’s bridal garments had even
touched him as he lay, andin the haste of the de-
parture he had not been: noticed. Thus was death
and marriage strangely brought together, and thus
was the villainy of a former period of life laid bare.
When the body was taken to the vestry, a sealed
package was found addressed to the highest official
of the village. It was subsequently made public,
and read thus:

CONFESSION OF A FOUL MURDER,

The man who for eighteen years has passed in
the village of L—— as William’ R—, is in reality
Robert B——, who murdered his wife in California,
fled with his child, settled in the village, and for that
long period of time has kept his secret, and lived a
life ot honor and success. It has been eighteen years
of agony and remorse, which I have vainly sought
to assuage by business occupations, devotion to my
daughter, and works of goodness among my fellow-
men. No pen can relate my sufferings, and it is my
determination, now that my daughter will have an-
other protector, toend my life by suicide. I feel
that I cannot die without this confession, contritely
asking the forgiveness of all persons.

 

,” was to be married to the man 0: her choice, | :

|

When the terrible lines of the paper came to the
knowledge of the daughter and all the people of
that village they caused a surprise and grief of the
most profound character, From the hight of joy
each and all fell to the lowest depth of sorrow. It
was a private and public¢alamity. The far-stretch-
ing meadows, the spring buds, and the happy birds,
were still to be seen, butthe presence of God’s ie
tice in their midst at the moment of a marriage had
stilled the laughter in every heart and home, And
to this day when you goto -—, and chance to talk
of weddings, they tell you of that strange one in the
spring time of 18—. The bride, like a fair flower
broken in some rude storm, never recovered from
the shock of her father’s death and confession, and
died in less than a year, ‘Her large property,” says
the manuscript, ‘was mostly left to churches and
benevolent institutions.”
—_—___+e+—______-

THE NEW YORK WEE

 

PARLOR DRAMAS..

FOR THE LITTLE FOLKS.
THE COUNTRY SCHOOL.
Characters: Miss Brown, teacher; Mr. Jeremiah Hub-

bard, trustee; Mr. David Green, a farmer; Frank, Allred,
Edward, Elia, Neliie, Lizzie, and ophers, scholars.

 

[Scene—A country schoo}-room. Twenty or moré pupils
present.]

Miss B. (soliloquizing).—And this is teaching school in
the country! I wonder if ali country scholars are as stupid
as those over whom I hold sway! I always Jancied it
must be a fine thingkto be a teacher, and so accepted my
uncle’s proposal to take charge of the school in this dis-
trict for one term. But i wouldn’t remain here anotuer
twelve weeks for double my present munificent salary.

[She looks at her watch and rugs the bell. The schulars
take their seats noisily.]

Miss B.—Children, come to order. (A pause.) The first
Class iu géography may take their places. ;

[Three boys and as many girls go noisily forward, whis-
pering and pushing each ote. y

Miss B.—Lizzie, can you tell me what is the subject of
to-day's lesson ?

Lizzie.—Africa. }

Miss B.—Neilie, what are the chief productions of
Afric ?

Nellie.—Hurricanes, earthquakes and negroes.

Miss B.—The next.

Eitla,—l don’t know.

Hiss B.—Exiward.

Edward.—W heat, barley, rice, yams, dates, figs, sugar-
cane aud spices. :

Miss B.—Right, Frank—what are the two principal
rivers? :

Frank (in a loud tone).—Nile and Nigger.

Miss B.—A\fred, can you give a better pronanciation ?

Aljred.—Nile and Niger.

Miss B.—What great desert in Africa, Ella? (Nellie
whispers to Ella.) %

Ella (contidentty).—The great Sarah.

Miss B.— Edward.

Fadward.—The Sahara, or Great Desert.

Miss B.—Altlred, what are the principal islands?

Alfred.—Azores, Cape Verde and Si. Helena.

Miss B.—You have omitted the largest. Cau any one

give it? (Several hauds are raised.) Ella.

Ella.—tireland.

Miss B.—Wroug; Nellie, can you tell?

Nellie.—Si. Nicholas. :

Miss B.—Yhat is a2 sma)! island, not at all important.

Ela (raising her hand).—Teacher, isn’t that’ where
Santa Cinus comes from ?

Miss B.—No. What large Island east of Africa, Lizzie?

Tazzie.—Modagascar.

Miss B.—Right. _Edward, for what is St. Helena cele-
brated ? .

Eiward.—For being the place to which Napoleon was
exiled.

Miss B.—Whiat became of him?

Alfred.—lile died there.

Miss B.—Right. What happened afterward ?

AYred.—iis remains were carried buck to Franee, and
buried at Paris with some other greut man, I forget his
name, E

Miss B.—That igsnews tome. Don’t you remember the
name ? ,

Al/fred.—Yes, I do now—it was Pompey.

Miss B.—Where did you eblain that information ?

AYred.—The book says hig reinains were buried at Paris
Will great pomp.

[Miss B. and the rest of the class laugh.]

Miss B.—Tiat will do. You may take the same lesson
to-morrow, ald see if you caunol make a better recita-
tion, 4
' [Scholars take tlieir seats. Hila raises her hand.}

Miss B.—What is it, Elia? :

     
   
    

g
“ :
s

» you young rascal!
toward Prank in
seizes him by the

  
 

a passion, W
coliar.) :
F.—Oh, teacher, help! He’s chokin’ met

Miss B.—Mr. Green, will you release tbat boy ?

Mr. G. {angrily}.—What bave you got to say. abont it ?
Miss B.—Even i Frank ts guilty—which is uot proved—
this is vo place Lo inflict punishment,

Mr. G. fexcited}).—Do you nphold the young rascal ?

Miss B.—Not ai ati, But you have noe right to touch
him bere, even if be is guilty.

Mr.G. {angrily].—Do you think I will look on and see my
sheep killed Wiihoul touchin’ the scamp that dues it ?

Miss B.—There is a way provided for such cases. Euter
a complaint Lo Justice Mills.

Mr. G.—Vil do it this very hour [shaking his whip at
Frank}. We'll see whether you'll stone my sheep ag’in,
you young whelp!

Miss B.—1l am surprised to find that one of my scholars
has been guilty of such misconduet—particularly wnen I
have forbidden the throwing of stones. Perhaps it is well
that the case shoulgbe carried before a justice, in order
to serve as a lessou Which will not soon be forgotten. [A
pause.) The Class in arithmetic may lake their places,

[Five pupils—Frank, Edward, Nellie, Ella, and Lizzie—
come forward. Enter Jeremiah Hubbard, School Trustee.
Miss B, offers him achair, and passes a book to him.]

Miss B.—Mr. Hubbard, perhaps you would like to ex-
amine the class. The lesson to-day is in miscellaneous
questions. :

Mr. H. [taking book].—My comin’ in at this time is
quite apropot, as Lam very fond of ‘rethmetic. Indeed,
I may say tt 18 my favorite “study. [Puts on spectacies,
and assumes an air of wisdom.) Ahem! If a peck of
corn costs twenty-five cents, how much can be bought for
ten dolars ?

Miss B.—Frank, you may answer.

F.—I! one peck of corn costs twenty-five cents, ten will
cost ten times us much, which is two hundred and fifty
}

ih Whip upra

2eCK3. :
Mr. H. {looking bewildered].—Is that correct?
#lla.—Yes. ’

Miss B.—Do all agree? [Edward and Lizzie raise their
hands.) ‘ Lizzie, you may give the answer.

L.—if a peck of corn costs twenty-five cents, as many
can be bought for ten dollars as twenty-five ceuts is con-
tained in ten dollars, which is forty pecks. —

Mr. H.—How many bushels would that make?

#lia.—Four hundred bushels.

Miss B.—\s a peck more than a bushel ?

Ella Teen wan. know,

Miss B.—Nellie, give tie answer.

Nellie.—! haven't studied this tesson.

Miss B.—| shouldn't think any of you had. When you
take your seats, you may study it over again, and I will
hear it befere school closes. Mr, Hubbard will, perhaps,
ask a few qnestions in the multiplication table, according
to our usual custom,

é wets H.—Gerlainly, Edward, how much is six times
ve

E.—Thirty. %

Mr. H.—Five times seven ?

Frank.—Forty-five. (Edward and Lizzie raise their
hands, but Mr. H. does not notice it.}

Mr. H.—Right. [The children look at each other in sur-
prise.) Neilie, which is the most, eignt thues seven or
nine times six ?

Nellie.—They are both alike.

Mr. H.—Correct. Six umes eight?

Lizzie.—Forty-two.

Mr. H.—Nive times seven ?

Euia.—Fifty-six.

_ Mr. H.—Perlecily right. Miss Brown, I don’t think it
is hecessary 10 question the class any more. They show
re-mark-abie purficiency in the inultiplication tabie, which
Tam pleased to see, as’rethmetic is a very importance
branch of eddication, and was always my favorite study.

[The children exchange glances of amusement.)
Miss B.—The Class may take their seats. [Mr. Hubbard
rises to go.]_ Won’t you say a few words to the scholars
before you go, Mr. Hubbard ?

(Mr. Hubbard coughs, and taking aff his giasses rubs
them with his handkerchief. Then with aw air of linport-
ance, he begins.]

Mr. H.—Children—I may say poopils—I am giad to see
that you air doin’ so well. . 1 am always happy to hear your
re-ci-ta-tions, It reminds me of the days when 1 was
young. The schools wasn’t so good then as they be now-
a-days. If I hadn’t been a su-pe-rior scholar, I-should
never have riz to ockerpy the position I now hold. That
shows the importance of childrens improvin’ their ad-
vantages, Jest us the tree is bent the twig’s deciined, as
Shakespeare says. Most likely you ain’t, many of you,
caperbie of risin’ to be Schovl Trustees, bat if you siudy
hard, yowll be sure of knowin’ somethin’, if not more.
Be sure to pay partickelar attention to ‘rethmetic, for it’s
avery important branch of eddeecation, and my favorite
study—{turning to Miss Brown,] Miss Brown, I cougra-
tulate you, mu’am, on your remarkable success as a ped-
dygog. The re-cit-ations I have heard show that, by your
method of teachin’, your poopils understand the muiti-
coer table as weil as Ido, aud that’s high praise. I

ope you'll long continner to teach.

 

 

 

It was signed with his right name, Meditating
eas he had been anticipated by God's
own

 

(Bows and exit. Curtain falis.)

4

| breac
| S12 w $25,

 

To BuyERs.—All communications in regard to the prices or the
purchasing of various articles must be addressed to the New
York WEXKLY Parchasing Agency, contain the full address of
the writers, and specify the size, quantity or quality of the goods
desired. Those requiring an answer must have two three-cent
Stainps enclosed. Owing to the large increase of jetters to be an-
swered in this column, a delay of several weeks must necessarily
ensue before the answers appear in print.

TO PURCHASERS.—The new Illustrated Catalogue ot the NEw
YORK WEKKLY Purcliasing Agency, 212 pages, is ndw ready, and
will be sent to any address, prepaid, on receipt of ten cents.

 

Sar GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBOTRS.—
Simon Snodgrass.—Meerschaum is 2 hydrous silicate of magne-
sia, of @ soit, porous texture, very light, but of varying specific
gravity. It is found in veins in various parts of Southern Eu-
rope and alsoin Asia Minor. Itis easily cut, and when first re-
moved from the bed is of a cheese-like consistency, The tollow-
ing account of the first meerschaum pipe is published by a large
concern engaged in the business in this city: In 1723 there lived
in Pesth, the capital of Hungary, Karol Kowates, a shoemaker,
whose ingenuity in cutting and carving on wood, etc., brought
him into contact with Count Andrassy, with whom he became a
favorite, The count, on his return from a mission to Turkey,
brought with him a large piece of whitish clay, which had been

presented to him as a curiosity on account of its extraordinary
iene specitic erat. It struck theshoemaker that being po-
rous, it must naturally be well adapted for pipes, as ir would ab-
sorb the nicotine. The experiment was tried, and Karol cut a
pipe for the count and one tor himself. But in the pursuit of his
trade he could not keep his hands clean, an! many a_ piece of
shoemaker’s wax became attached tothe pipe. The clay, how-
ever, instead of assuming a dirty appearance, as was paturally to
be expected, when Karol wiped it off, received wherever the
wax had touched a clear brown polish instead of the dull white
it previously had, Attributing this change in the tint to the
proper source, he waxed the whole surface, and polishing the
pipe, again smoked it, and noticed bow admirably and beauti-
fully it colored; also how much more sweetly the pipe smoked
after being waxed. Karol had struck the smoking philosopher's
stone, and other noblemen, hearing of the wonderfal properties
of this singular species of clay, imported it in considerable quan-
tities for the manufacture of pipes. The vatural scarcity of this
much esteemed article, and the great cost of importation in those
days of limited facilities for transportation, rendered its use ex-
clusively confined to the richest European noblemen until 1830,
when it became a more general article of trade. The first meer-
schaum pipe made by Karol Kowates is still preserved in the
museum of Pesth......... Curious,—I1st. The period at which you
should commence shaving must be determined by the growth of
the beard. Some boy's of sixteen have quite a heavy beard, while
others have no need to shave until they are nineteen or twenty,

2d. See “Knowledge Box.”’..... A, Van A. H.—I\st, “Little Buck-
shot” is out of print. 2d. Sve “Knowledge Box.”.......... J. Bo

The quickest trip trom New York to ornare: days, four-
teen bours and ten minutes—was made by the Inman steamer
City of Brussels, The quickest from Liverpool] to New York—
eight days, twenty-one hours and thirty-seven minutes—by the
City of Paris, of the same line...... F. The best medical work
for family and general use is Dr. Warren’s ‘Household Physi-
ciun.’”? We will send it to you for $6..... ...4. J. Clark, J. Bell, C.
F.S., J. A. R.. and others.—We do not wish to purchase any more
MSS. at present...... Carp Foz.—The sailing vessels between this
port and San Francisco do not carry passengers, except in rare
cases and by special eidiee! se The steerage tare by steamer,
Sine bie Cl

via Aspinwall, is $50 has. M.—We are not at liberty to
vive the lady’s name and address....... - Quackenvoss.— Charley
ale’s Pluck” will cost 78 cents........ Boy Gladiator.—1st. Tiere

are no steam plows manufactured in this country; they are made
in England. . We wiil furnish Edgar. A, Poe’s complete works
tor $5; boxing gloves, $4 to $8 per puir..... -.Togue.—Yes........
H. W. H.—Ist. It is not obligatory on a gentieman, after attend-
ing a place of amusement with a lady, to invite her to partake of
ice creain, oysters, chocolate, soda water, or anything else which
may be procured in a saloon frequented by ladies and gentlemen,
but he = do so with proprieciy. 2d. Tuere are several short
methods of compuling interest, but they would haye to be illus-
trated by examples, which we have not room tor in this depart-
ment. Day’s “Ready Reckoner,” which we will send you tor 75
cents, gives various methods......... Joseph Andrews.—\st. To
perfect yourself in the study of mathematics, you should com-
mence with the ordinary sehool arithmetic of some progressive
series, going from one book to the other as each is mastered. 2d,
We will send you a French and Engiish Pronouncing Dictionary
for $2. 3d. “] am dying, Egypt, dying,” is from Shukespeare’s
“Antony and Cleopatra,” act tour, scene thirteen...... HE.

Francis A. Durivage was pot on the Villedu Havre When she was
lost, but was a passenger Aboard of her on her previous trip to
Europe, in October. She was run into and sunk on the 22d of
November........ J. D, Tieal.—The total tonnage of the mercan-
tile Marine of England in 1872 was 5,468,327 tons: of the United
States, 2,279,120 tons; Norway, 1,072,796; Italy, 1,058,796; North

Germany, 915,556; France, 3096; Spain, 552,514; other
countries, 2,404,469 tons........ B. F. C. B.—**Peerless Cathleen” is
out of print........ M, E. Wells. —We lave no way of ascertaining
the name of the party. You muy find out by applying at the
mauutactory at Elizabetbport...... A, Archer.—We cannot inform

you how the camera is made, Copsuit an optical instrument
meker, We will furnish lenses of all kinds and sizes at regular
rates..... One Who's Adrift.—Apply at a commerciai college......
J. T. S. Girner.—Ist. “Ironsides the Scout” was published in the
New YORK WEXKLY. We will furnish the back numbers contain-
ing it for 36 cents See “Knowledge Box.”..........4. L. B.—To
determine which part of a wheel, the iop or the bottom, goes the
fastest, make two marks on the rim, and then run alongside of
the vehicle until ene mark overtakes the other. It will probably

rove uw tiresome task, but it will settle the question... .Kid.—Ist.

rown’s Grammar will teach you to write and speak correctly,
and also instruct you in puuctuation. We will furnish it for $1,
and the “Kedge Anchor” tor $3.50......... Buckeye Bill,.—lst. We
will furnish crockery ware of all Kinds, packed for shipping at
any distunce. 2d. We will send you “Lord Saxondale” and

“Count Christabel” for $1.75 each......... Eldorado,—The trip to
the goid-regions of Africa wili cost about $300. What sort of au
outfit you will require we cannot say........ A. W.—Ist. We wiil

send you aset of wood engraver’s tools, with handies and graded,
18 pieces, for $10. Single gravers will cost cents each, 2d.
Nowe of the works we have on hand, giving a description of the
capitol at Washington, with the history of its erection, give the
total cost of the building...... Beulah.—Send a three-cent stamp,
and we will forward a catalogue of plays, with prices, .**Fan-
chon,” “Camille,” ‘Lady of Lyons,” ava the “Black Crock”
will be furnished at 15 cents each...... T. B.—sSend it along......
Wild Bul.—Iist. No such serial has becn published. 2d. The prices
of MSs. are fixed by the authors, There is‘no standard by which
pee be gauged. 3d. We will send you a double-barreled
h-loading rifle tor a pair of seven-shooter revolvers tor
5, umd w hunting-knife tor $2 pererd Ba th ies Pauline
Lisle.—We cannot furnish a list of the Nx ORK WEEKLY serials
which have m dramatized. Quite a dumber of them. have
been produce@# at different times, but nonelof the dramas can be-
procured in printed form .S, Levy.—1st. The market on the square
~bounded by ter, Broome, Center Market Place and Grand sts,
is cailed Center Market., 2d. Vessels belonging to France are ad-
mitted into ports of the United States on the same terms as Ves-
selso! the United States, only when laden with the produce of,
or manufactures of France. Tice same rule applies to U.S. ves-
sels entering French ports, such matters being reguiated by recip-
rocal treaties....... Thos. West.—Write to the Second Auditor,
Treasury Department, Washington, D.C., imregard to whether
you ure entived to bounty, under the various acts passed by Con-
gress during and since the war..... Nelly £.—The Crystal Palace,
which was held) the “Exhibition of the Industry of all Na-
tions,” in Hyde Park, London, was opened by the queen, May 1,
1,und in the succeeding six months was visited by about
7,000,000 persons. in December of the same year the building
Was sold to a company, who soon after cominenced the erection
of the present Crystal Palace at Sydenham, which was opened
by the queen June 10, eases, Hellen Shead.—We do not recollect
whether, the rejected Ms, was a bvem or sketch.... Blue Lyes.—Ist.
Ask your mother if it is peerer. for girls of fifteen to dirt with
young Men on the street, or elsewhere, for that matier. 2d. The
expression is a slang method of informing one that he is talking
of something he knows nothing about. 3d. The deaf and dumb
alphabet wili be found in Webster’s Unabridged Diciiouary.....
angers of Golda Stream.—Ist. Your motier is entitled to the lund
which your father could have entered had he hved, and also to
the reduction of three years from the five years’ residence neces-
sary to perfect idle. Write to the Laud Commissioner, Washing-
ton, D.C, 2d. The delay is with the mails, not in the terward-
ing... uis'52 Magnotia.—lst. Application tor admission to the free
hight school of science and art at the Cooper Union niust be
made during the month of September, as the term conimences
on the Ist of October, continuing till the middle of April. By
applying at the Cooper Union, blank forms may be obtained, to
be filled up by parents, guardian or employer. 2d. See *Knowl-
edge Box.”........ C. C.—Ascertain through the express agent if
the firm have received the goods you returned. If they have,
you can compel them to refund your money, or send goods such
aus you ordered, In any event, you can recover, if the goods ure
different from those ordered, but it would probably cost more
than they are worth, The firm is considered a reliable one......
A Reader.—let. English grammar may be readily learned with-
oututeacher. How long it will take to perfect yourself in the
study will depend on the amount of time you devote to it each
day, and your aptitudeas ascholar, 2d. We will furuish “Mar-
tine’s Sensible Letter-Writer,” in cloth, for 75 cents 3d. Very
Pew a red .—Ist. The work referred to is out of
print. 2d. Yes........ Cc. D. Strong.—The nickname of Sarah is
Sally; of Mary, Moily, May and Mamie...... Webster,—We have
no recollection of the letter, Please repeat your questions. .....
Muggins.—Iist. Any broker will exchange your moncy for for-
eign coin, or drafts on foreign bankers. 2d, The growth of the
beard can be promoted by frequent shaving...... Crook Shanks,.—
Ist. We have but little faith in appliances for altering the shape
of the nose. 2d. Grocery clerks are paid all rates of wages... ..
Mountain Rover.—ist. Give up the idea of becoming a hunter
and trapper, and settle down to a good trade. To go West in th
shape you propose would require a capital or about $500. 2d. To
develop your muscle take'plenty of exercise........ Twopence.—
The Alexandrian library was probably the largest collection of
books that had existed before the invention of printing. It was
founded at Alexandria, Egypt, by Ptolemy Soter, about 284 B. C.,
and js said to have comprised ,000 volumes, It was partially
destroyed during the plunder of the city, after the capture by
Julius Cesar, but a large number of ks were subsequently
added, until it surpassed in number and value the former collec-
tion. When the temple of Serapis was destroyed, A. D. 390, by
Theophilus, patriarch of Alexandria, under Theodosius the Great,
a great part of the library was again destroyed or iost. But it
Was not till ihe taking of Alexandria by the Saracens, in 642, that
it was utterly destroyed. It is said that when Amron, the victo-
rious general applied to the caliph Omar for instructions regard-
ing the library, be was auswered, “If these writings of the Greeks
agree with the Koran, they are useless, and need not be pre-
served; if they disagree with it, they are pernicious, and ought to
be destroyed.”? Accordingly, 1t is said, they Were employed tu
heat the 4,000 baths of the city, and such was their number that
they lasted for six months, 2d. We will send you a micruscrope
for $5 with a magniltying power of 100 times the diameter, or
10,000 times the area......4. S. ¢.—Black ink is preferabie, col-
ored inks being very trying to the eyes of the reader of the MS.
Prices are set by the authors, We do not criticise rejected MSs.
Finally, we do not wish to purchase any MSS. at present......
iam Glee.—Ist. With one voice it would make no difference,
but in a duet the changing of the key note, and preserving the
same distance throughout between the parts, would create dis-
cord. 2a. You probably have not the natural faculty........ Ff.
Cc. B.—We know nothing of the firm further than the advertise-
ment states, Write aguin. Your letter may have wiscarried.
+.+ss«..Cassino.—Ist. To your first question we quote rule 10 of
the laws of cassino: “A player cannot build from the tabie.”
2d. A sweep is where all the cards are matched on the board,
The cards remaining on the board «after the last trick is taken
are called last cards, and go to the winner of the last trick, but
are not counted as a sweep...... N. N.—See answer in No. 19......
J. D, K.—I\st. The salary of the general of the U. 8S. armyis
$13,500 per year; hheutenant-general, $11,000; major-general,$7,500;
brigadier-general,$5,500; colonel,$3,500. Chiet-justi¢e of the United
States, $10,000 per year. 2d. “Josh Billings” is the nom de plume
ot Henry W. Shaw; “Mark Twain” of Samuel C. Clemens. Bret
Harte’s name is Francis Bret Harte. 3d. Surnames were first
used in Europe after the triumph of Christianity over paganism,
Old pagan names were dropped, and others derived from Scrip-
ture or church history were substituted, whole companies being
frequently baptized by the same name. This soon began to cre-
ate confusion, and nicknames derived from occupations or per-
sonal peculiarities were used as distinguishing titles, as Peter the
Miller, John the Wise, Martin the Fleet. This in time became in-
sufficient, and the names of colors, towns, animals, etc., were
impressed to act assurnames. In fact, everything animate and
inanimate has furnished its quota of names for the human fam-
ily; and even those obtained in this way have been altered, add-
ed to or diminished until the original name cannot be traced....
J. C.—In a divorce on the ground of adultery, the guilty party
cannot marry again during the lifetime of the other, but the in-’
nocent party is free 10 marry again at-any time. Should the
former remove to another State and remarry,* however, he or
she would be out of the jurisdiction of the tribunal which grant-
ed the decree, and therefore not capable of being proceeded
against for contempt of court.

The following articles will be furnished atthe prices named, in
response to the inquiries of various correspondents: Orton's
“Lightning Calculator.” $1. Verne’s ‘Voyage to the Moon,” one
Me po Shu sporting rifle, $50 to $80.. Spencer carbine,

 

 

 

| sing’s “Field

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canteen

 

Book of the Revolution,” two volumes, $7 each,
Bland’s “Forms of Ships and Boats,” 60 cents. Brown’s “His-
tory ot the Ametican Stage,” containing sbort biographical
sketches of nearly every member of the profession, from 1733 to
1870, $3. ‘‘History of the Bible,” printed in German, $1.25. Map
ot New York City, $1. “The Athlete’s Guide,” 50 cents. Song
and dance shoes, $8 per pair. Clogs, $8.50 to $6.50.

The foltowing MSS, are accepted: “A Womau’s Heart,” “Twenty-
three,” “Charity.”..The following is accepted for the Mammoth
Monthly Reader: “A Rat Story.”’..The tollowing are respectfully
declined: ‘fhe Folly of Ambition,” “Maud Dickerman’s Pride,”
“The Last Hour of Strite,” “Enough at Home to do.”

. ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT,

Solemn.—ist. It is proper for a young girl coming out of a the-
ater to take the young man’s arm to acar, and she might do so
even if he forgot to offer it, 2d. You can thank your escort tor
the pleasure you received at the place of amusement, both in
coming out of the hall or theater, and also when he leaves you at
the gate of your home,

Lady Maud Valentine.—1st. Poor child! We cannot advise you
to encourage the addresses of a Man who has an insane wife now
living. In some States, to be sure, a divorce can be obtained on
such a plea, but we cannot tuink it right. God hasordained mar-
riage to continue until death divides the bond, and the gentleman
is in fault in endeavoring to obtain your love under such circum-
stances, We think it is better for you to wait patiently until
death takes the poor crazy Woman toa higher sphere. You are
young, and perhaps have a long life before you, 2d. It is anom
de plume. We are not acquainted with tbe party’s private affairs,
ae ae were, should not feel at liberty to unpounce them to
tbe public,

£gg.—I1st. We would not be so jealous as not to allow the young
lady who was the recipient of our affections to receive the picture
of a gentleman friend, By all meane let ber do so, and never tear
that you will lose any of her love by granting such a privileze.
2d, As to going with other genUemen to parties and balls without
your consent, We aré not just sure that it is best for her to do 80;
but why did you not go yourself ? and do you ask the lady’s per-
mission when you go into society without her ? 3d. No; we do not
think it a good plan for genUemen to make many presents to la-
dies, because ee, sometimes produce a great deal of hard feeling.
Better wait until you give ber the great present of yourself, and,
then all your possessions will be hers. Be generous then, friend,
und give ber a full share of them,

W. 8. D.—Ist. Say, “Miss White, allow me to introduce my
friend, Mr. Brown.”’ 2d. Yes; it is oftentimes done by young
ladies without any impropriety being committed, but if the lad
fails to say, ‘Please call again,” you need not Cease to call, 3d.
We should haraly think it desirable to correspond with a lady
who is engaged to another gentleman, but it is nol improper to
do so, provided the latter does not object. 4th. The proper style
of heading a note to a young lady of short acquaintance would be,
“Miss So und So,” or more formally still, write “Mr, W. 8. Dos
compliments to Miss So and So, and would be,” ete.

Buffalo Bill.—ist. At a wedding in church the father or the
genileman who gives the bride away escorts her .to the altar.
2d. Bridesmaids aud groomsmen enter the church first, then the
bride and groom follow with their nearest relatives, 3d. If one of
the parties 1s in mourning, only the nearest relatives are bidden
to the reception or supper, We would gladly have complied with
your request for an earijer reply, desiring always to attend to our
correspondents’ wishes, but we have repeatedly stated that the
NEW YORK WEEKLY goes to press two weeks aliead ot publication
day, and answers are necessuriiy delayed a week or two longer,

G. G. G.—Ilst. Twenty yeurs is very young fora man to marry,
but you are the best judge of your own affairs, 2d. $1800 a year
ought to support a man aud wile comiortably, if they wall prac-

tice ane

0. B. N.—Truly yours is a hard case, yet with your grandilo-
quent ideas of matters and things, we presume you will be able
to encompass the wicked dealings of the unkind woman, and
bring her to grief. Show yourself a true man, and fight a good
fight, and come off conquering and toeonquer. Then your lady
love will recognize your superiority to the common herd, and
rejoice that she is sv tortunate in her Iover.

Hen Relonhomme.—Iist. Young gentlemen often make a prac-
tice of asking a young lady at av ball for her order of dances and
putting down their names for what dances they please, but it
would be much more polite to first ask her permission to do so.
2d. Answer the invitation to a party within three or four days,
eyen ii it takes place three weeks atterward. 3d. An introduction
in the bali-room givesa gentieman no claim upon a lady’s ac-
quaintance, unless she desires to retain it. Sheis at liberty to
pass him, without a bow, the next day.

 

How TO BE BEAUTIFUL.

Hints for the Toilette-The Mouth.

It has been well said that God made our faces, but we make our
mouths. Aud this cannot be denied, because those who are
learned in the science of reading characters by the face. without
any acquaintance with its owner, rely greatly upon the expres-
sion of the mouth, both when in motion and atrest, The facial
muscl:s are very expressive, and the contortions into which they
most readily fall will express the habitual emotions of anger,
hatred, jealousy, maliciousness, pleasure, joy, gentleness, etc., in
such transparent lines that they are easily read by one skilled in
their language.

So we see that it is needful to keep our mouths adorned with a
pleasant expression, ¢. €., Lo cultivate a joyous, happy tempera-
went, rather than a morose, fretful, jealous disposition.

Young girls need to be cautioned, however, about the way in
which they distort their faces by grunaces, and pouting, think-
ing, perhaps, that this habit adds to their charms, while on the
contrary, it detracts from them fearfully. The habit of biting
the lips is also very injurious to their beauty and contour.

Madame de Pompadour lamented the habit which she acquired
in her youth in order to conceal ber emotions. She had been
biessed with a very beautiful mouth, which she nearly ruinec by
biting her lips. . ‘

The rosebud is the usual comparison used to imply peaniy. tn
the mouth, and we read in the description of a beauty ot the day:
“Roses are her cheeks, and arose her mouth.” ‘“Cupid’s bow”?
is fe applied to the classical uppér lip whose arch is so well
defined. :

Indeed, all the poets agree in declaring that a beautiful mouth
is one of the rarest types of beauty, and that a low ance
usually imprinted upon it, more than upon any other feature of
the face. Yet a sweetness of expression can often be cultivated,
and we do not hesitate to recommend our young lady readers to
practice before a glass so us to rid themselves of CTOsS, peev-
a Seen which is se frequentiy contracted without their

nowledge. 4

Dickens tells us how “Mrs, General’? advised her young ladies ©
to repeat “prunes,” “prisms,” ete., when they entered an assem-
bly, se as to give themseives a ple. g expression ; and sometimes
Wien we have bebeld a room filled with Nine Gane Possessing
various expressions, but the predominant ove being anything but
sweet aud genile, we bave almost desired to repeat her advice.
We would not advise “our girls” to wreathe their faces in perpet-
ual smiies, but to endeavor Lo look pleasant, animated, souliul— ©
to let a spark of divinity, as it were, gleam from their lips, and
not set them closely together causing them to lcok as though it
woud require an instrument to open them; nor yet to stretch
them widely apartin the various contortions of smiling and
laughing, for it is, certainly, very disagreeable to see a grin upon
a girls lace without any other sign of pleasure there. Such a
sinile was called the “sardonic” by the Greeks, because a similar
muscular contortion was produced by eating of sardonica, a
banetul weed, 3

_Aun offensive breath will ruin the most lovely mouth. Some-
times a young girl is shunned by gentlemen on this account
Every one should rinse the mouth thoroughly after each meal,
and, indeed, if it is done once an hour, it will add to the sweet.
ness of the mouth. To besure, an offensive breath is often con-
nected with decayed teeth, but it is also produced by indigestion
and chronic catarrh, It is well to keep crystals of iodide of potash
upon the toilet table to dissolve a piece as large as a pea in half a
tumblerful of Water when rinsing the mouth, or brushing the
teeth. The use of this will often obviate tie trouble. A good
mouih-wash can also be made by dissolving two grains of per-
manganate of potash in two ounces ot rose water, aud rinsing the
mouth with it. It has a tendency to discolor the teeth, however,

.80 that it should only be used before brushing them, but if the

brush is used effectively no permanent injury will be done. If
the taste is disliked flavor it with a few drops of oll of neroli and
it will be pleasant. This peer rieaneen aids in preserving
the teeth, and prevents toothache and on

AISY EYEBRIGHT.

1 ss ne Ri eee ereee :
TEMS OF INTEREST.

4a A couple of courageous clerks in New Haven, after
throwing hard words at each otber for an hour, determined to
settle the dispute witb pistols, Nothing but crimson gore could
satisfy their wounded honor. Their seconds played a joke on
them by loading one of the pistols with boiled hominy, aud leay-
ing the otberempty. The duelists repaired to a beer saloon, and
stood at twelve paces and fired, One of them received the nom-
iny charge in his face and thought he was mortaily wounded, be-
lieving the spattering application of hominy to his exuding
brains, The other fied tor the depot, and was getting upon a
train when the secret was revealed.

aae- An aged member of the Baptist church in Wauke-
sha, Wis., who assists the failing powers of nature bya pair ot
spectacles and a set of false teeth, walked hastily to his pew just
as the hymn was being given out, Seizing his book he rapidiy
turned the leaves in an unavailing effort to “read his title clear,”
when nervously snatching his teeth from his mouth, he wip
them carefully with his bandanna, and then attempted to adjust
them to the bridge ot his nose, amid the illy-suppressed smiles
of his fellow immersionists. So easy is it to be mistaken, even
when we think we are placing things where they will do the
most good.

4@- A lively rumpus was caused at a Buffalo concert by
a small boy tumbling off bis seat. An idiot, who had become en-
tramced by the music, was rudely aroused by the noise, and
shouted, ‘‘Fire!’? The audience bounded from their seats, and
made a frantic rash for the doors and windows. Women and
children were tampled under foot, and many leaped from the
windows, a distance of fourteen feet. After a general alarm of
fire had been sounded, a committee was appointed to go and
wake the boy up.

4a A Chicago poet, who was recently informed that
Mile. Nilsson had thoughtfully built a shelter for cows on her
land at Peoria, mindiui of the catastrophe which led to the de
struction of his native cily, immediately burst into the miid and
beautiful trenzy of verse: “Christine, Christine, thy milking d
the morn and eve between, and not by the dim, religious light
the fitful Kerosene, For the cow may plunge and the lamp ex-
plode, and the fire fiend ride the gale, and shriek the knell of the
burning town in the giow of the molten pail!”

Aa@F Little by little woman is coming forward and as-
serting her equality with the tyrant man. Some days ago she
appeared in one of our police courts, charged with running a
policy shop uptown, When the fair sex can fathom the mys-
cre at 411-44, what sphere of life are they not capable of
ing?
4a> A sharp milkman at Elmira delivers his milk in
quart and pint bottles. This plan insures full measure, and, as
the customer returns the botties left the day before, no pitche
pails, or bowls are necessary. Another advantage of this sys-
tem, especially in warm weather, is that each bottle is tightly
corked, and can be laid in a pail or pan of cold water, keeping it
fresh aud sweet, or put away in a cooler, taking up but little
rooin, ;
kar The death of a beachman or wreeker, named
Brock, at the age of seventy, is announced in the English papers.
He was called “Brock the Swimmer,” from the fact that he onee
swam and floated a distance ot fourteen miles in seven hours.
The boat in which he started for the relief of a vessel in distréss
oe capsized, and his skill and endurance as a swimmer saved
iim,

aay The Speaker of the Mississippi House of Repre-
sentatives, Mr. Shadd, is a negro, a printer, and has edited a
Canada newspaper. A line was dropped to him, asking him to
be a candidate, on certain conditions, He swallowed the tempt-
ing bait, and was gloriously landed in the Speaker’s chair soon
after the “last run of Shadd.” |

aa. The wile of Mr. J. B. McCram, of Kalamazoo, Mich.,
recently gave birth to liliputian twins, a boy anda girl. One of
them weighed 24 ounces, and the other 28 Although but eight
inches long, they were perfectly formed, lively and healthy. The
nurse, while exhibiting them to thé surprised father, held both
infants on the patm of one of her hands,

4as- The Rev. Isaac James, M. D., said to have been the
oldest Methodist. preacher in America, died two weeks ago, at
Bustleton, Pa, His age was_ninety-seven; for eighty-four years
he was a member of the Methodist Episcopal church, and the
commencement of his ministry dates back seventy-five years.
Bae Mr. W. C. Kingsiey, of the Brooklyn Bridge man-
agement, is of the opinion that the first crossing of the East River
Bridge will take place July 4th, 1876.

~

 

 

refinished, $25 to $50. Wincnester’s repeati x ri le, 16s $40,
Draper’s American Civil War,’ three yolamte, 68.00 each” Los-

aa Chester, Oonn., had a funeral by moonlight
recently.

.

’

_—__$_ $Y

 

 

 

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“gulch,” said the stranger.

 

 

WHY NOT FORGIVE Hitt

BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH.

 

 

Why not forgive your brother
If he comes to you in sorrow ?
Why bot your anger smother
Ere the dawning of to-imerrow ?
You say he has reviled you
Your dearest friends among— é
But has error ne’er beguijed you f
Have you ne’er committed wrong ?
Why not forgive him ?
He is penilent and humble—
He is weak and in your power—
Who is not apt to stumble
When passion rules the hour ?
~ He wrong’d you in his blindness—
Now act the Christian’s part,
And pour the bain: of kindness
On his sad, repentant heart.
Why not forgive him ?

Can you look for sweet contentment,
Or can love your bosom fill,
While you cherish fierce resentment
For ihe one who treats you ill f
No! Spite ef proud position—
Of place, or power, or pelf,
Unblest is your condition
Til you triumph oer yourself.
Why not forgive him ?
With grief his heart is riven—
Ami can you with reason pray
That your sins may be forgiven,
When from him you turn away?
Vaunt not your pure condition,
Nor back forgiveness keep—
Think of God’s admonition
“As ye sow so shall ye reap!”
Why not forgive him ?

 

JUST COMMENCED.
A WILD CALIFORNIAN MYSTERY.

BLACK ALF;

THE GHOST OF THE GULCH.
By Ned Buntline.

(“Black Alf” was commenced last week. Ask your News Agent
for No. 18, and you will get the Arst chapters.)

CHAPTER VI.

Instantly every eye was bent in the direetion in which
the hand of the gir! Eldiva pointed; and, as if floating on
the air, over against the very cliff near which I had seen
the two men fighting, and where I had, for reasons of my
own, located my claim, all saw the distinct figure of a wo-
man, clad in white, with both arms uplifted, as if implor-
ing the aid of the Ruler of all, for her face was turned to-
ward the sky. It was the same figure which I had seen
before—the same face.

“Vengeance ! VENGEANCE! VENGEANCE!’

Three times, in a tone, low, mourniul, and thrilling, did
that word reach ourears. Then the figure vanished from
view.

At the same instant, the girl Eldiva screamed out:

‘Mother ! MOTHER !’?

Then she fell, and fainted.

Al Uiis instant, I noliced that there was a new face in
the crowd of men—a face I felt sure that I had seen in San
Francisco, though I could not distincly localize it—and
the eyes in the face of that man were bent with a search-
ing, eager look on the countenance of Alf Dunning.

There was good reason for looking at him. There was
an expression of blanched terror in his face, a wild look,
which no oue could mistake. He was fear-rooted to the

Sa eat cit A See we ec eehela ae ec ae erie re

_ «et THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #e=— = 5

 

 

 

before Iam done with the job lhavein hand. For this
reason Lask for a short time that you Jeave my web alone,
while I unravel another web and finish what I have been
some weeks about. If you are ina iiurry, gentiemen, to
find pay ground, you are welcome to use a Claim which |
squatted on six weeks ago in the Jower part of INis gulch
when | came here to begin the job I have alludedto, I
Keep the claim only to cover my other object.”

“May I ask your name and business, sir?’ I now said,

“You may call me Melrose for the presen!,”? said the
stranger. ‘You shall Know my business soon, that is if
you will aid me in my endeavor to reach proof of a great
crime and to punish the perpetrator, as well as to find
out the hiding place of a vast amount of treasure belong-
ing to penniless orphans.” :

“That aid you may depend upon, Mr. Melrose,” was the
reply made by me and joined in by Griffin.

“Then, if you please, act strictly under my advice; and
if we have any trouble, you will learn that Ihave help
close at hand, and where it is least expected.”’

“All right, sir—you can depend on us. What do you
desire us to do now ?”?

“You will seetwo new arrivals here about noon. A
large, bony Irishman, with @ pack-mule, carrying his
tools and camping fixings will come, accompanied by his
wile, a womanas big and strong as he, and two young
children—a boy and girl—whom they will describe as
having picked up on the road out of pity, because they
had no money and no friends. Employ this man and his
wife, and keep them with you, though they are really act-
ing for me and under my instructious.”’

“Where would you advise us ‘to work 2 claim???

“Just below where Dunning and his gang are at work.
But keep your tent wiiere it is, and jet Billy Flynn, as he
will call himself, tent close to you. 1 shall have some
fresh hands on my own claim in a day or two, and in the
meantime Keep your eyes and ears open and do not be
surprised at anything; for you'll see strauger sights yet
than you have seen!’?

“Will you please answer me one question, sir ?? asked
Griffin.

‘‘As many as you like!” said Melrose, with a smile, ‘if
they do not conflict with my pians.”’

“Did you ever see me before you saw me this morp-
ing 2”?

“Yes, and talked with you nearly a week ago about this
very guich at Wisconsin diggings.”’ =

*“T was there a week ago, talking to an old Virginia
negro, with white hair, but nearly double with age.”?

“Ali de way ffom de Rappahannock, marser!? said

The boy turned a quick, sharp look at him, and seemed
to forin an intuitive dislike to the man; for, witha glance
which expressed his feelings, he turned toward his sister,
and said:

“Julia, darling, answer no questions asked by stran-
gers. I shail not.’

“We'll see, you brat, if you can't answer a civil ques-
tion!? cried Black Alf, and he strode toward the boy as if
he intended to inflict chastisement on him.

“Stand back there! Shameto yer mane sowl!’? cried
the woman, Bridget Flynn, in a voice almost as masculine
as that of her husband. ‘Lay but a finger’s weight on
the lad and Vl) notlave a hair in yer head!’?

“Then why don’t he answer a civil question ???

“Civil, when the growl of a grizzly bear would be mu-
sig to the Way you spoke to the child!’ cried Billy, ad-
vancing to the sie of his irate wile. ‘Sure an’ the boy is
ey to have nothin? to say to yez, and Vil uphouwid him
in itp

‘Bully for you, Billy! It’s yourself that is able to take
& man’s part ony day. Wiere shall we put the baste’s
load down, gintlemen ???

“Up on the hill, near our own tent,” said I.
go up and help you to put up your calivas.”

Alf Dunning glared fiercely at the whole party, and es-
pecially at the boy and girl, as we passed on, aud I heard
a mutiered curse, aud a threat, which I could not fally an-
derstand, leave his lips as le strode on even faster than
we toward the cabin.

lie saw that the girl Eldiva was standing in front of the
cabin, and that we must of course pass close by her. His
words expressed tie cause of his haste as he hurried on.

“Into Lhe Cabin there, you gaping idiot!’ he cried.
“Into the cabin and attend to your work, or Pll cut the
skin from your back with a raw-hidel?

The girl did not move, for we were now yery close, and
our iooks told her she would be protected at ail lagards.

“Don’t you hear me, you putiy-faced cat?

“j hear you, Mr. Dunning; but a woman, Where I an,

“We will

at them,’’ she replied, in atone so fearless that his eyes
diated with wonder. ;

‘You think you've got backers, I reckon!” he cried, add-
ing a nameless epithet and a biller curse as he spoke.
“17 show. you belter!?

Rushing on, he raised his hand to strike her.

“Hold, Alf Dunning, or lll speak aloud three names
given lo me last night in a strange way, which other ears
would take more note of than you like. Hold down your
hands, and hear me whisper the names in your ear—then

 

Melrose, in‘a tone so altered we could hardly realize it
was the same speaker.

‘“Heavens—you were the old nigger I pitied so, and
shared my diumer with, as well as supplying him to-
bacco ??? :

“Yes, marser, dat for why I done tole you ’bout dem
rich diggi’ in Pigtail Bend. Yah—yah!’

The imitation was so perfect that even our astonish-
ment could not check our laughter.

“Were you here when | arrived ?”? continued Griffin.

“Twas not far away. Do you remember a man who
had been in Australia playing draw-poker with Alf Din-
ning three weeks ago in the Empire saloon at lowa Hill?”

*Yes—Alf cleaned him out, or ut leust he said so, and
did it by cheating!”

“Well, L was that Australian, and I let him win, while

I drew some information from him that was. worth more
to me than the money that I lost.”
“Well, Mr. Melrose, you beat all creation in disguises!”
. “It is a part of my trade, sir. Through my hints, con-
veyed in a mysterious letier, more than through your
statements night before last, Black Alf and his murder-
ous gang were induced to come down here, to a spot
whicit he has for a long time dreaded more than any place
on earth. Have you any more questions Lo ask ?””

“Ouly this, sir. Who is the girl Eldiva, who is kept in
the power of Alf Dunning either by fear or influence?”
“She is the daughter of one of his victinis—not his
daughter, however. Wretch as heis, he could hardly do
what lam sure he intends to do, if that was the case.
But when she Claims it, she will find protection from his
brutality!’

“Then she claims it now ?”) said a low, mournful voice
close beliiud us.

The girl had approached noiselessly, for she was pare-
footed and walking on hard ground, while we were all so
intent om the words of Mr. Melrose that we did uot hear
her.

“Has he been renewing his abuse?’ asked Meirose.
“Yes sir—he called me a whimpering coward—said I
had seen nothing, and only fainted for eifect—and he
threatened—ah, I dare not tell you what??

 

spot, and did not speak or move till alter Eidiva fainted.
Then he gasped out:

**1lt was the ghost of her mother sure enough!’

“Tow did she die??? *

That question came, in a low. stern tone, from the man
whose face seemed strangly familiar to me—the new-
comer in the crowd.

Aif Dunning trembied from head to foot; but only for a
few seconds was he thus discomposed. He did not an-
swer the question, but asked another;

“Who are you, and how came you here ??

“lamaman, and walked here. Town a claim in this
“Now answer iny question—
How did Medora Roget die?’

- “Medora Roget! How knew you that name?’ cried
Dunning, and his face grew dark with passion.

“No matter. I have asked you twice—I now ask, for
the third and last time—How did that woman die?”

“Go ask her ghost!’ cried Dunning; ‘‘and, mark you,
stranger, keep away from this cabin if you know when
you are well off!’ :

The stranger laughed, and then T remembered where I
had seen him, 1t was in the Cuinese quarter, on Jackson
gireet, between Kearney and Stockton, in a Chinese row,
when he suddenly appeared, and the row was eided. by
the combatants fiying away in apparent terror, a8 he ut-
tered a cry in their own language. Heseemed to me then
to be a man of pewer and mystery. What he was now,
or intended to do here, 1 could not divine, but I meant to
learn.

Some of the party having carried the girl into the cab-
in, 1 glanced inside, and saw Lhat she had recovered from
her swoon, but sat near the fire, weeping, while Dunning,
who went in also, stood near, with a scowl on his repul-
sive tace, anc his arms folded over his brawny breast.

“Rather hard cases, these, sir!’ said 1, approaching the
stranger, who yet stood outside the cabin.

“You don’t Know them, sir, and you had best give them
a wide berth, if you value property and life,’? was his re-
ply. “You und your companion, Ned Griffin, are not
liked by them.’?

“You appear to know who we are?”

“Perfectly well—as well as | Know each and every one
of that gang in there. Keep your.eye skinned for them.
Itis a friendly warning, anc you'll do well to take it.
Good morning.”

The stranger sirode away, and bending his course down
the guich was lost to our sightina moment afterward,
as suddenly almost as we lost sight of the ghostly visitant.

“Thundering strange, all this!?? said Griffin, his yoice
and looks indicating surprise. “I’m half sorry I came
back down liere.”?

‘Don’t slay if you are afraid!’ said I. “You need not
feel delicate in icaving on my avcount. I shall stay and
gee tle thing out.’?

“So will J, sir, no matter What comes of it. That’s a
sure thing. Vil show you whether fear is a part of my
composition or not, if these devils give us a chance.”

“I do not doubt your courage,’? was my answer. ‘I
think we shall see this mystery solved before we leave.
That there bas been fou! murder done in this vicinity I do
not doubt. Nordo I doubt that Alf Dunning had a hand
init. And as the justice of Heaven is ever retributive,
and not 80 partial as that of man, 1 feel sure that he will
be punished for his crime through Heavenly aid and

ower!

7 “Weil, sir, [hope if he has done a murder here, he’ll
have it brougit home to him. He kiiled a good friend of
mine over at Knight’s Ferry, for next to no cause at all,
but he managed to make him draw first, and s0 kept law
on his side. He is » bad, bad mant’?

“J have no doubtof it. Let's get back to our quarters.”

CHAPTER VII.

We returned to the tent, but neither Griffin nor myself
piept again that night, but freshened our fire and sat be-
fore it, talking till the light of day once more revealed the
scenery around us. He talkingof the strange scenes
through which he had passed since °49, when he first
landed, and 1 adding scraps of history gleaned by me
from time to lime in regard to the country, which corro-
borated what he was telling me.

When day broke we prepared our breakfast, and ate
With such appetite as one must get in that pure and high
Militude, roughing it as we did, und then we began to lay
plans for the day.

“i think I will explore my claim,” said Griffin. ‘The
way Black Alf sneered at the idea of there being any gold
left in the old shaft, makes me think there 7s.”

“hf not gold there may be something else which he does
not care to have you see. I noticed his bier look and
sneer also when you told him where you had Jocated your
caim. And I will aid you in the investigation.”

“Thank you, sir. I will see what we need to work with,
for itis a dark-looking hole and must be deep.”

An hour later Griffiu and myself were standing by the
side of the old shaft looking down into the gloomy depth
estimatiug whether a pieceof rope which Griffin had
brought would be !ong enough to reach the bottom, as he
intended to use it for a descent.

Fastening a large stone to the rope, Griffin was about
to lower it when the strange man who had attracted our
attention down at the cabin, @ litthe while before, hurried
Up to the spot. . -

“Hold on, my friend, hold ont’ he cried, addressing
Griffin. “I don’t want my spider-web broken just yet.’

“Your spider’s web? fiat dO you mean? Are you
drunk or crazy ??

“Neither, Lhope. Ibelong to Golden Gate Division of
Sons of Temperance, and shall not disgrace it, And {am
at work ata job which requires #ll wy senses in a sound
condition!’

“Then what do you mean ?*?

“Just what I say. J do not want my spider-web broken
Just now. Look heret’

‘And the stwanger reached out his hand, took hold of

What had appeared, to Griffin and to me, to be an ordi-

Naty spider’s web, of the large nei-like character seen

frequently stretched over chappara}, or from rock to rock,

in that region, aud raised it from its attachment on the
side of the shaft next to him.

We at once saw that it was an artificial net, of the finest
silk, made jy such) exact imitation of the usual work of

“I know, poor girl, without your telling. 1 gaid you
should have protection, and you shall. But L am not
ready to come out openly yet. I will tell you what to say,
the next time he gives you an angry look or word, anda it
will make him dumb, if Ido not mistake the abject mora!
cowardice of the man. Teli him you had avream, and
dreamed three names were handed to you by a skeleton
hand. I will whisper the names to you—let him only
hear them. Tell him a voice told you to reveal those
names to the nearest magistrate, coupled with his own.
Then if he threatens, let me, or these friends know in-
stantly. Take this whisUue—biow it, and we will come
when the call is heard.*?

Mr. Melrose whispered the namesin her ear, handed
her a small ivory whistle, and bade her hurry back before
her abscence from the cabit was noticed by Alf or his
men, who were at work in their sluices.

The giri, with a look of gratitude and thankful words,

hastened to obey, evidently feeling that she would hence-
forth find some protection from a brutulily Lhat was wear-
ing her young lile away.
- And now Mr. Melrose moved away from our vicinity,
taking a route which would keep him out of sight of the
party of Dunning, as indeed we were in our position,
thought we could see them by looking through openings in
a thicket of trees between us and them.

The girl had alweady returned unseen to the cabin, when
Griffin proposed that we should go down and locate 2 new
claim, where we could work while we Carried on our ob-
servations. *

“Suppose that Black Alf objects to our changing base,”
said I, ‘what shall we say, to avuid a quarrel! ?”?

“That we locate a new claiin for ouranan, Billy Fiynn,
and he and me will work that before we do the others.”
“All right—the plan is good, and will work, that is if he
comes to hand, as Mr. Melrose says he will, at twelve
o’cloek. I suppose you know what Melrose is?”

“I can guess, sir, and if he is what I think he is, it will
be our duty to help him. Black Alf has long been a terror
to good men, and if he can be brought to a filling end, it
will be the better for everybody but him."

“Yes, if that be the end of a rope, with him swinging at
it. Buckle on. your belt, get your mining tools and
measuring tape, and let us be off for the new claim.”

CHAPTER VII.

We were not longin passing over the space between
our tent and where Dunning and his gang were at work.
AS we passed the cabin a iook was exchanged between us
and the girl Eldiva, which expressed returning courage
on her part aud hopefullness also, and then we kept on
past the place where the other men were mining, cut
some stakes from the chapparal near at hand, and com-
menced measuring and marking out anew Claim just be-
low the ground now being worked by Dunning and his
ang. :

We had got down the first corners, when Dunning
sauntered up, and in his usual insolent way, said:

“I thought you chaps had taken your Claims elsewhere.
Mining law don’t allow a feller to locate all over the
diggins.”? v

“We are locating this ground for a partner who will be
here before dinuer-time,’’ I said, quietly.

“Yes; I suppose we'll have a culony before the week is
out,” said the ruffian, with an oath.

“Itll be all the better for as good a poker-player as you
are,’ said Griffin, striving to speak pleasantly.

“Yes; if all new-comers areu’t as stingy in game as y
be,” growled Dunning, ‘But look here, men, if this talk
about a partner is all sham, and none comes, curse me
into heaps if yowll work this claim without a fight.
You hear that, don’t you?’

“Yes,’? said I, rather angrily; ‘and we don’t care a bul-
ton for your threats. There is our new partuer and his
family coming down the hill.’?

“A man, woman and two brats, eh??? said the ruffian,
turning his eyes to the party, which, witha laden mule
driven before them, were coming down the trail.

“The women will seem lke company to your gal,” said
Griffin, feeling his way to learn what Black Alf thought of
the new-comers.

“Company be cussed! If my gal opens her lips to stran-
gers I'll cut her tongue out. I’ve got her under rule—
bet your bottom doliar on that.”

Aud the fellow laughed—more like a hyena than a man.

He now turned to watch as we did, perliaps with even
more interest than he, the approach of the new-comers.

A heavily laden pack-mule preceded the party, which
consisted of a tall, stout-built man, with a ruddy, intelli-
geut face and a pair of sharp, gray eyes twinkling in it, a
woman, very course in face and form, and two pale, love-
iy children, the eldest a boy of not less than fourteen or
fifteen years, the next a girl, probably a couple of years
younger, looking so much alike that they would at once
be recognized as brother and sister.

The man and woman were coarsely but comfortably
cloihed, as were the children, though the clothes of the
latrer indicated poverty.

Yet, as we said above, they were both handsome in face,
and too genteel in figure aud bearing to be mistaken as
the children of those they came with.

“How d’ye do, Mr. Ned Griffin, how d’ye do, sir?” cried
the man to Griffin and myself, as he drew near, evidently
tutored in the part he was to play.

“The top of the morning to you, Mr. Bill Flynn,” said I.
Then giving a name hap-hazard to his wife, 1 added:
“How is Bridget this mornin’ ?”’

“Long lifeto yer honor. Sheis well barrin’ the ¢ére,
for it’s a long walk up and down from the Auburn ravine,
and that done since three o'clock this blessed mornin’.”?

“Weill, you’ve made good time, my man—bnut whose
children are these you’ve got along ?””

“Sure, sir, it is orphans they are, widout father or
mother, and me and the ould woman havin’ none and
never like to either, we thought we'd kape’em wid us,
telote than see ’em worriting along alone as they were

elow.

“It shows your good heart, Bill Flynn. We've just
staked out this claim for you, and we'll all work it togeth-
er after we've got your ient pitched.”

All this time Alf Dunning had stood gazing at those
children, who, with blue eyes and light-brown hair,
seemed so unlike those they came with. And while he

 

 

the Jarge spider of the country tint it would deceive any
one unacquainted with its real nature.

“I know what is down that shaft,’? continued the stran-
ger, ‘and I willinform you that it is not gold, but it will

looked his fuce wore astrange expression—an inquiring,
troubled look, as if he was trying to call up sume memory.

“What's your name?’ he asked, abruptly of the boy, at
last, in a tone and with a look not calculated to make a

be worth more than gold in forwarding the ends of justice ‘ favorable impression on a child,

right, - ‘ Rion, j
‘Couldn't you be a darkie fro
asked

sirike, if you want to.” y,

The astonished man bent his head to hear the whis-
pered names.

Strange indeed was the effect which instantly followed.
He fairly sprang back, while his dark fack blanched to a
ghastiy pallor.

*Has Satan himself been talking to -you ?” he cried.

_ “Yes; and revealed enough to hang you. Now, will you
strike me?’ she cried, triumpliant in her first success over
the brutal tyrant.

“No, 00, girl; jet there be peace between us.
kpow more of this,’ he said, as we passed on,

“Heaven bless your sweet faces, children, I'll. come to
see you by and by!’ said the girl to the children, as they
passed in our company. '

*You’ll look through dead eyes then,?’ I heard him
Mutter, in an undertone. P
And if ever murder spoke in hateful, evil eyes, it did in
his al that moment, I knew something must be done to
protect her, and an instant thought flashed over my mind.

“There are others who know the names which were
whispered to you just now!” Icried. ‘Let the least harm
come to that girl from your hands or by your infiuence,
and to your sorrow you Will learn that murder will out!’
“Murder 2?” he gasped. ‘‘MURDER?’’ he cried, in a
louder toue, aud then he rushed into the cabin alone,

CHAPTER IX.

We were busy fer the next hour in getting up the tents
of Billy Flynn, and arranging in it two compartments,
using blankets to partition the same so that the children
might be by themselves when they desired.

We now learned that their names were Julia and Jesse,
though they did not for some reason reveal their last
hames, and though both seemed quiet and very sedate for
their years, yet they were pleasant in their replies to our
kindly-meant advances,

We had got the tent fixed, and Bridget was very awk-
wardly trying to cook dinner, so awkwardly indeed that
Billy apologized for her by saying she was used to a stove
and not to an out-door fire, and Ned Griffiu turned to
work to help her when Mr. Melrose suddenly appeared.
Beth the children ran out to meet him with cries of
pieuasure on their lips, and he kissed them each of the
forehead with a tenderness that seemed almost parental.
‘Then he took them one side and talked for a long time
earnestly, as if he was instructing them in some plan
which-they inust follow. After dismissing them and tell-
ing them to gather beautiful flowers if they chose, which
grew in plenty all around, he came to where Billy Flynn,
Bridget, and .Ned Griffin and myself were seated on a
large rock, and with a smile, addressed us:

“fam glad to.see you ail take so kindly to each other,’
he suid. “Ina work like that before us, only unity of

I must

is such a curiosity, and children, too, that I want to look |’

he did not speak for a long time. though Billy Flynn, Ned
Griffin and myself were talking about work, prospects and
many an other thing in which he had aciance to join.

At last, he said abruptly, addressing Griffin:

“You've took the old shaft for yonr Claim ??

Hi “Yes,” said Ned, “I have, aud mean to work it by-and-

y!

“You'll find nothing but bad Juck in it!’ he said,
gioomily. ‘*Phat’s what me and my partners found there,
Not a bit o’ color even in the dirt, and only a streak here
and there of sulphate in the rock! It won't pay! If I was
you I'd jet it alone. There’s rich ground down the gulch!’

“Pil make the oldshaft pay, I reckon! said Griffin, ina
quiet way. ‘The ghost of that woman always shuts down
near there, and I reckon that means something!?

“Lord, don’t talk of it. See how while my gal turns.
I guess [ll go back to the cabin—come gal, come!’

“May I not wait for the children to come back??? she
asked, ina pleading tone,

“No—not now—we’ll come back and see them to-mor-
mow. I want to make friends with that bright-eyed boy.
Il spoke rough to him to-day and scared him, but——"

“Itisnotso! You did not scare me! Vm not afraid of
you, but I do not jike you andinever will be your
Jriendl”

lt was the boy himself who spoke. Light of foot, heand
his sister had come up the hill ina line with some bushes
Which hid them from view until they were within five or
six yards of our group, and Jesse had heard every word
spoken by Dunning when he rose to go.

“We'll see—we’ll see when I send to town and get some
nice things, such as boys aud giris like!’ said Alf, witha
forced smile on his face.

“Yow il be my friend will you not? asked Eldiva, as
she advanced to the brother and sister, who stood hand in
hand, and reached out her thin white pan.

“Yes,” said both the children simultaneously.
for you are not like him!}

“Oh, thank you!” :

Tears were in her eyes
she said:

“JT ain going now, butto-morrow I will come and see
you, and together we will go to pick flowers. 1 must go
and get supper for the people at the cabin—itis late and
will be dark before | can get it ready!?

“Take these flowers now!’ said Julia, and she reached
out a bouquet which she had culled.

“And this wreath from me, too!’ said Jesse, in a warm
earnest tone.

Alf Dunning looked on and scowled, and then in a low
tone, muttered to himseli:

“To-morrow—yes to-morrow, and the sooner the better
—all three at once! For J know them—yes I know them!?

I heard his words, and I think Eidiva also did, for she
started nervously, and as she moved down the path, look-
ed back several Limes,

They had stayed so long, that twilight was already on
us, a8 they moved away.

They had been gone perhaps a minute, or a little more,
long enough tohave gonea couple ef hundred yards,
when @ wild shriek from the lips of Eldiva, a strange cry
from the man came back to us with a startling eifect.

An instant after we heard the shrill sound of the ivory
whistle which had been given to the girl by. Melrose.

Clutching our weapous we rushed down the hill,

{TO BE CONTINUED.) @

“Yea,

when Eldiva kissed them, and:

 

Blenkarne Emeralds

By Charities T, Manners,

Author of “A SILVER BRAND,” “THE LORD
OF LYLE,” “THE FLAW IN THE
DIAMOND,” etc.

{The Blenkarne Emeralds” was commenced in No. 16. Back
nulnbers can be had from any News Ageutin the United States. ]

CHAPTER VI:

“High ho! A week already in my new situation,” mur-
mured Frank Osborne, leaning from the broad window
of the handsome apartments allotted to his use, and look-
ing down listiessly into the fine gardens beneath.

“And weary already ??? spoke a soft, reproactiful voice.

Coloring slightiy, Frank turned his head and saw Lady
Blenkarne standing outside on the balcony, which pro-
jected from her suite of rooms which were situated ou the
right of his, and next to those of Sir Marmaduke.

“Pardon me,’ she said, graciously, “I could not very
well help overhearing your soliloquy when your head was
out the window. Seriously, hope you are contented and
satistied.’?

“T ought to be, your ladysbip, or Ishould be the most
ubgratefull wreich living. You have done everything
possible to gratily the most exacting taste’? he returned,
warmly. “My surroundings are those of a prince, and
my tasks light, while] can scarcely reconcile it to my
conscience to accept the munificent salary you have fixed
upon. .

 

 

success.”?

“No fear, sir, but that we'll a
Billy Plynn, and when he spoke
least sound of the brogue on his
any sign that he had ever been
Wis at that moment. <
Griffin looked at him a momen

feeling can beget that union in action which will ensure

“Yes, marser—dat is If 7twvt
towimostany dudge dats got mot
The reply of Billy Flynn was’ as “negro
voice as had been that of Melrose a assuming
same character, and Griffin could hardly realize that he
Was the same man whose former brogue was Mllesian
enougis to haye made himuu idel in the halls of St. Tam-
many.
Butsoit was, His was an assumed character, and one
he was well able to keep up wheu necessity demanded it.
“How did you know my name when you met me???
continued Griffin, addressing Billy Fiynn.
“] had pame and description both given me before my
arrival,” replied the latter. ‘There is but one of Dun-
ning’s party whom I have ever seen yet. I kpow the
name: and have & description of them all. The one I
know is——??
“Hiusli—you need not explain!’ said Melrose, quickly.
“Our friends here will learn ali about him, as well as the
rest, in the proper time. And now be lively in fix-
ing up camp, and make yourselves as much like real
miners a8 youcan. Imust keep in the shade and not
seem to know you. Keepaclose eye on the children,
for were that wretch, Black Alf, to suspect who they are,
their lives would be taken, if he could do it. All works
well now; I hope it will soon work even better yet. Good-
by till l come again. Iwill be with you when least ex-
pected. Three rapid shots at any time will draw me and
more to your side. And now, again, good-by. Be vigi-
laut while you appear careless—iet one be awake and on
watch at all hours!’

We ail gave assent, and tlie next instant he was gone.
.~Nota moment too soon, either, for in less than three
minutes afterward Black Alf was seen coming toward the
spot, accompanied by the girl, Eldiva. He had a kind of
sickly smile on his face, a look of assumed friendliness
tok was not well calculated to deceive old students in
ace-talk,
“Me and the gal thought we'd come up and see you,”
said Alf, ina drawling tone, ‘for it isu’t in woman Datur
to be onfriendly with her kind, and the gal says she’s took
a reg’lar likin’ to them childern—which I don’t see
around, by the way!’?
“No—they’re afther flowers, the swate crachures likes
‘em 80,” said Bridget, with a smile that opened full six
inches of mouth. ‘
“And they’re not like to be back soon, face they had
dinner afore they went. But sit ye down. If it’s civil
you’d be wid us, we'll meet you half way jist!’ said Billy
Flynn, with a droll twinkle in his sharp gray eyes.
“May Igo and hunt them up? I like to gather flowers
and wander over the hills when I have a chance,’ said
Eldiva, with a sigh.
“Not without 7m along, gal—grizzliés are thick around
here, and you might see another ghost!’ replied Alf.
“1 pray Heaven that I may, if it only is the spirit of my
dear mother,” >»

“Gal—l told you not to talk of her!’

“Well, sir, don’t beangry; I’ll try and not do it again.”
“Will you have some o’ this? It is prime whisky—none
of your rot that will kill at eighty rods up hill!”

And Black Alf produced a huge flask, tendering it first
to me then to Ned Griffin, and last to Billy Fiyun.

Of course the two first declined; and even to our sur-
prise, for he had a red face, Billy Flyon did the same.

“An Irishman, and go back on whisky?’ exclaimed
Black Alf. “Why, I never saw or heard of the like be-
fore. 1%’s like mother’s milk to three of ’em that I’ve got
in my crowdl? :

“Bad ‘cess to ’em, then, for it’s not Father Mathew men
they are!” cried Flynn. “That is what I am, sir, total
abstinence from the crown of my feet to the sole of my
headt Mind that, if ye plasel’’

“Then Vil drink a share for you all!’ said Alf, with an
attempt at a laugh which distorted his face and made the
girl shudder, ‘Maybe your woman will drink, though!”

‘Me touch the divil’s broth!" cried Bridget, bitterly.
‘Niver the drop, while my seven sinuses are about me,
Sure it has pisoued my betters and I’m not goin’ the way
the drunkard trayels,”?

Alf tried to laugh again, but he made a bad attempt and
washed down the effort with a Jengthy draught from his
flask.

‘Ig there anything in the eatin’ line we can help you
with? he asked. ‘‘We’ve lots of grub down at the
cabin,

“We want nothing of you, Alf Dunning, but a clear
coast and no favors!’ said Ned Griffin, wlio was begin-
ning to tire of the presence of the fellow.

““Well—that 1s easy given, but because I was a bit cross
a while ago, wien I feit out o’ sorts, you needn’t keep up
the snari when I want to be friendly. I cameup here to
please the gal, for I was rough on her, and felt sorry after
7Lwas over!??

“Ivs all right,” said Griffin, catching a cautionary
giance from ine. ‘I don’t want to quarrel, but I’m notin

the best humor myself. I’'Jl take a walk and see if 1 don’t
feel better,” «

Alf made no reply, but he put away his flask, took ont
his pipe, filled and lighted it, and sat smoking for an hour
almost, while Bridget and Eidiva chatted together.
Bridget had so many droll things to say, that Eldiva got

“And yet you are already weary?” slie said, impa-

ently.

He huvg his head a moment seli-convicted, and then

turned vehemently:

“No, no, do not think it is that.. I believe I am stupid
y-day. Is it not oppresively sultry? And I fear I am dis-

usted with my own vanity. I was so sanguine of my

oility to impart knowledge, that 1 cannot help being dis-

winted at the iittie progress made.”?

*he lady clapsed her hands together with a@ tragic, vin-

uxe gesture. Laat
ae

  
  
  
    
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
      
 
   
 

byou have had a bad day in the study.
y, but you must be superior to such light discourage-
ent, Remember you have bound yourself to remain a
year, and you yourself can best guard against your find-
ing the time irksome. I should recommend some sys-
tematic course for yourself as well as for your pupil. And
then youth has so many resources.”? She sighed drearily
as she said it. ‘Surely you have not yet exhausted the
treasures of the library and gallery ?”?

“My dear madame!’ exclaimed the young man, in a
tone of keen self-reproach, ‘‘you must not cuncern your-
self about so insignificant a trifle. I will take a walk,
and I assure you I shall return as gay and cheery us a
lark. I:trust 1am not to make myself such a bugbear
that any shade of dullness must be coaxed away from me,
Perhaps while Iam gone some new method of jastruction
may occur to me, aud to-morrow may fiud me jubilant m
success.”? . ,

“Go, by all means,’ she said, as she turned to re-enter
her balcony window. ‘You know there is asaddie horse
in the stables entirely at your disposal. I recommend a
brisk canter up some shady road. Remember, whatever
you Go, you must not be so near homesickness again!”
Frank went down to the stable, and mounted the sleek-
coated chestnut the groom told him had been set aside for
his use, mentally accusing himself of the most reprehen-
sible ingratitude that he could have been dull or dispirit-
ed in this beautiful home to which he had been welcomed
by its haughty mistress with the kindest courtesy, and
the most condescending friendliness.

“When I think how scorniuily their employers look
down upon other tutors,” he muttered, ‘I am the more
amazed at my own good fortune, and ashamed of the
strange sense of disquietude and suspicion that possesses
me. Her ladyship is 4 wonderful woman. She com-
mands my utmost respect, and my warm admiration. I
suspect I miss my gay traveling comrades. Imust hasten
to find myself in gentlemenly acquaintances, then 1 shall
be more contented.”

Here he touched the glossy flank of the chestnut, and
went bounding forward at such an exhilarating pace as
to forget everything but the very delight of existence.

A shady road being one of the desirable routes, as her
ladyship recommended, Frank turned his horse at the
first he reached, even though it seemed scarcely more
than @ lane or cart path, and followed into its cool re-
cesses, Marveling at finding so retired a spot in so near
vicinity to Blenkarne Terrace. The tender young trees
grew close against the fence which marked off the lane,
and drooped their spreading boughs over it; in some
places the tall pines on either side reached out their
branches overhead, aud weaving them together, made a
natural archway.

Already Frank’s gay spirits had returned to him, throw-
ing off the vague depression that had hung upon them.
The horse took his way at his own pace, and cantered
briskly around a sudden curve, and at the same instant
brought to view a quaintly gabled, picturesque old build-
ing uesiling in a cleared valley, and @ charming scene in
the lane just before him. ‘

A tall, fine-looking, gray-haired gentleman standing by
the fence wilh both arms thrown around a slender young
girl, Who was looking up into his face with an_ inde-
scribably arch and winning. smile, while she playfully
strove to thrust some tiny object into his hand. The girl
was nothing lovelier than many he had seen+ before, fair
with the grace and bloom of earliest womanhood, but
there was something in the clear, limpid eyes, the firm
yet tender lips, the spirited curl of the tender nostri, that
pieased and charmed hii, half unconsciously to himself.
The footfall of the horse had not been heard, for the soft
turf dulled the sound; but the next instant the gentle-
man looked up, and with a singularly proud and tender
gesture put her away, and stood up before her as if to
shield her from rude or careless observation.

“This princess has a knight of her own, albeit, it may
be a paternal one,’? mused Frank Osborne, as he rode on
past the pair, and forebore to turn his head and look back
as he was longing to.

At the house before him he gazed scrutinizingly, and
found @ pecullar charm the longer he looked. That it was
the home of refinement, but not of affluence, was as plain-
ly tobe read asthe number of quaint diamond-paned
windows. Everything was kept with scrupulous care
and nicety. Nostray twigs disfigured the neat gravel
walk; there were no incongruous objects in front or rear.
Pretty rustic seats were scattered in the shady garden,
and irom his imperfect view even, Frank had glimpses of
a dozen charming little bowers, now of roses, or vine, or
hawthorne, but all with a wooing, tempting look. There
Was alnassivye stone gateway that had evidently been a
grand affair in its day, but some of the stones had fallen,
away and the gap been repaired with wooden rails sand-
ed. The doorway, too, showed recent patching in a neat

but inexpensive fashion, and one-half the great, rambling
building was closely shuttered, asif unused, What ar-
rested the gazer’s attention more than all was the tall, liigh
embankment over to. the right, crowning @ gentie slope
ofiand. A tall partitioning barricade, as it were, formed
of stone foundation, and then a tall jJence of black board-
ing. The top here and there had arunning festoon of
green overlapping from the other side, but the wile

 

te laughing as heartily as if she had never known care or
sorrow.

 

w
AM Dunning seemed lost in his own dark thoughts, for

affair had a forbidding, prison air. A second look, as the
rising road gave him higher view, made him start with
hew and still keener interest. Over beyond, behind this

 

barricade, he could see the turretted chimnies of Bien-
karne Terrace,

This, then, was the other side of the tangled, overrum
artificial, bank which had so perplexed him in the Nem-
esis-guarded wilderness of Blenkarne Park. This wasthe
view so remorselessly cut off,

But why? ‘Tie oid house was picturesque in the ex-
treme, the sloping meadow below, the line of skirting:
woods and the broad, blue flash of the river indisputably
charming. Wherefore, then, were they so inexorably
thrust out of the Bienkarne vista? ‘

“lt willask some one who ought to know,’ resolved
Frank, and gailoped on.

The Jane jed on the other’ side to an evidently much
more frequently used road, and pretiy soon he was our
again on the broad thoroughfare. He turned out toward
the country instead of taking the branch which led back.
lothe town. Just atthe fork of the road hé found a col-
lection of people watching a third-rate menagerie company
pitching Lhe tent preparatory to giving a performance
forthe benefit of the neighborhood. <A group of boys
were gathered ,round a lame bear. He paused ‘idly to
note ital, and then -chirruped to the chestnut and went
speeding on. Two hours afterward he came back, and
willl a half-apologetic smile, turned the animal again inte
the cross-road leading to the jane.

“Maybe there’ll bea glimpse of my princess, and &
chance fora younger knight,*? he said, jestingly, little
hl how speedily his playful thought would beeome
verilied,

But as he cantered on through the shaded pathway of
the Jane, just before he came in sightof the quaint old
house that had so fascinated him, he heard a suddex
pe pao in a Woman’s voice, and then a wild vociferatiow
of cries.

The horse and. rider alike pricked up their ears ang
rushed toward the sound.

At first Frank could see but two figures, a lady in black,
and the same girl he had before adinired. The latter was
standing infront of the other, her arms extended as if to
Shield her from some threatening danger, and at the same
lime she seemed to be covering her retreat, for they were
both slowly stepping backward. Still the shrieking voice
called for help, and the young Knight looked around curi-
ously for the object of alarm.

He could not forbeara smile when he saw the hnge,
black creature that stepped awkwardly forward, making
a feins wilh its Clumsy paws that elicited a new chorus of
shrieks; for the explanation flashed upon him instanta-
heously. The bear of the menngerie, worried by the mis-
chievous boys, liad snapped his Chain and made good his
escape, and was here frightening the heipiess women into
believing him a veritable savage of tie woods.

He galloped forward at full speed; bat thechestnut had
no more complimentary opinion of the queer black crea-
ture than the ladies, and shying, and then rearing, refused
to go forward after reaching within a few rodsof the scene.

Vaulting from the saddle, Frank quickly Jed the horse to
the fence and fastened him securely there, and then has-,
tened forward to the rescue.

Jt was almost impossibie for him to keep a grave face,
so overcome was he by the Judicrous change of performe

fame on the valor of rescuing kuiglit. Nevertheless, it was
wu tame bear, and not a dragon.

“Don’t be alarmed, ladies. Iassure you the creature
is harmless,’? he cried, aud mentally pronounced the prin-
cess all that imagination had pictured. :

She was still standing to shie!d her companion, her face
very pale, but her eye bright and resolute, while no single’
ery had escaped the firm-closed lips.

*Dear mamma, I beg you tobe composed. He has not
touched us yet. Wecan reach the house unmolested, if
you are only calm,” she said, in low, firin, coaxing tones..
The elderly lady, still clutching firm hold of her duugh-
ter’s' dress, essayed a step in retreat, upon which, honest
Bruin, with the most ludicrous gravily, advanced and
lifted up his paw, thrusting it oul toward the young lady—
innocent enough, poor beast, for he was offering to shake
hands, as he had been taught—and thereupon the mother
shrieked and the daugiiter shrank back. j

“Oil, sir, cam you save us? He will tear us to pieces.
Qh, have you no’pistol ?—no knife?” implored the mother.’
«Let me assure you there is no danger,’ repeated Frank,,
this time in deep earnesi, for he saw it was no laughing:
affair for either of the ladies, sincere as they were in their
extreme terror. ‘I will walk between you and him. It
isa tame bear. I saw him an-hour or so ago chained by
the menagerie tent on the other road. , See! the creature
is perfecily good-natured.”? 3

As he spoke, he found some sweetmeats in his pocket,
and gave them to the bear, who took them and disposed
of them greedily; promptly presenting his clumsy paw for-
more, growing, however, more familiar than even Frank
desired, since he tumbied hin: over in his uncouth ate
tempts at an embrace.

The younger lady burst into a merry laugh, and the col-
Lee back into her face,-as their rescuer picked bhim--
self ups

“Oh, mamma, how silly we have beent But I am not
sure he will be a very comfortable neigiibor. Let us ask
the gentleman to cover our lot exactly courageous, but,
under the circumstances, excusable aud prudent retreat.”
But the elder could not so readily yeevver her spirits.
al yas stil: trembling from head 10 foot, and suid, for-
jornly:

“I cun hardly walk astep. Ihave been so terrified it
has taken away my little strength. 1 still believe ihe hor-
ripie creature is able and willing to tear us in pieces. And
itis such «long way yet to the house. Ah, Ethel, you
shull uever Coax me so'fur again, unless Aubrey or your
uncle are with me.’?

“Let me give the lady my arm, and supposing we try a
coup @ état,” suggested Frank, “inasmuch as Bruit has
proved himself, for the tine, being,smaster of the situation.
Here is a paper of bon-bens in my pocket; if the young Ja-
dy will take it and threw dowu one at atime, 1 am con-
fident we can gain the house without further molesiation.
from those rude paws of his. You are not afraid?” he
asked, as he handed her the jittle parcel,

“Not in thé least, now,’ she returned, with a pretty
blush, and a dimpling smile; “but before, you know, f
really believed him some savage wild beast seeking to
devour us,”?

“And yet you faced liim bravely,” complimented Frank.
“Ah, that was for mamma’s sake. Had I been alone; I
daresay you would have found me sunk in, an ignonyinie
ous fainting fit. There, you clumsy fright! it cruelly dis=
turbs me to fling you such morsels of melting sweetness,”
And as she spoke, the young lady tossed one of thesugared -
treasures on the ground, and Bruin complacently gobbled
it up, and, as she ran on after tbe others, came leaping
behind her,

“Take care, beg of you!’? exclaimed Frank, in con-
sternalion, as he saw the ugly claw inake a sudden dash
at the fair, white hand.

“No fear of me now,” she laughed back, as she dodged.
lightly. “I think J understand the sort of tactics Sir Bruin’
requires; and 1 don’t mean he shali feast on al! these su-
gar pluims.”?

“Oh, Ethel! imprudent, thougitless child!’ sighed the:
lady on Frank’s arm. ‘How can you beso light-hearted ?
You will never see the dangers nor the troubles of this:
world as they really are.”

Frank saw the exquisitely cut lip quiver a moment, and
the pensive shadows come brooding over the clear, deep
eyes, us though something in the remark hurt a sensitive
spirit; but she only said, geutly:

. “And is it not better so, dear mamina ?”?

By this time they had reached the gateway, and the lady,
relinquishing Frank's arm, casting back a shivering:
glance, darted through, and ran, with new energy, into»
tie house, froni which the next instant emerged a ‘tall,.
guant, powerlul-looking woman, with bared, sinewy
arms flourishing wildly. BA
“Miss Ethel. Oh, Miss Ethel,’’ cried this new comer,
“if ever anything bas happeued to you, my apgel——”
“Nay, nay, dear Margery, there is nothing the matter,
only poor mamnia Was so fyightened, exclaimed the young
lady, quickly.

“Oh, the Lord have ‘mercy, what’s that behind you, a
Wild beast, surely??? screamed the woman, staring at
bruin, demurely, bringing up the rear of the party.

“What shall we do with the bear?” questioned the
young lady, turning to Frank, between laughing and cry-
ing. ‘i furesee neither mamma nor Margery will allow .
me (o set my foot outside {lie house until he is taken care
of? :

“If you had a chain——" he ventured.

“To be sure, Margery, you can find a stout chain, I am
certain, He must have another sugar plum, in spite of
me.”?

And siie stayed coaxing the unwieldy creature into sub
mission while the chain was found, aud then fastened se~
curely about his ueck. Next Frank secured him at the
gateway. |

“1 thank you heartily for all this trouble you have had.
If only our mau had been at home, or my brother, we
should not have been in quite so ridiculously helpless
a condition,” said the young lady, still standing beside
him, waiting for the consummation of the task, ‘And
now 1 am sure mamma will be grieved if you do
not come in one moment and rest yourself, and take &
glass'of milk or wine, Whichever you prefer,” she said, in
a gentie gracious Way Frank Osborne could never think of
resisting.

The andy of the mansion made her appearance at the
same. moment, aud with rather more air and ceremony
urged the same. 3

“Tam Frank Osborne,” said the young knigit, “only
a week as yet a denizen of Exeter and its suburbs, and—’”

But here the Jady interrupted with a stately gesture:

“And we,” she suid, something after the fashion she
might have introduced the royal inhabitants of Windsor
Castle, ‘tare the Roscoes. 1 am Madame Roscoe, and my
daughter yonder is Miss Roscoe.”

Frank bowed: again, and took his seat in the pretty
room which, like all the rest of the place, had its paljable
signs olf Pee grandeuras well as lis no Jess evidert be-
trayal of present decliné. ‘Margery served the wive in’
tiny cut-glass goblets: from’a massive silver tray, whiely
bore an escutcheen. Frank, however, had no time to de-
cypher, atiiusct

While he held his glass to the light he casually remarked

 

upon his own searén throhigl’a famous Bollemia manufac
tory for something similar.
“You have been abroad then??? asked Mrs. Roscoe.
“fam but three'weeks returned from a two years’ de--
lightful pilgrimage,” he answered.
The Jady’s opinion evidently rose.
GION och j is
“And’ you have only been so few days in Exeter, anc
have already rendered us such signal service. You moat.
come again’ and make my son's acquainiance, He also:
has been abroad. And he will only be too thankful to
meet With a cultivated and congenial genuewan, Exeter
has changed greatly in these later years,”?
- Frank perceived the little distressed quiver that crossed
Ethel Roscoe’s sensitive lips, aud ip generous diversiou:
Ce oh Ee el all ie

She smiled gra-

 

ers, a tame bear scarcely being an object Lo bestow much: .

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, tune’s favorites—now, well lam not repining or ungrate-

- away, and stood staring at him in wild amaze.

» stately grounds of his new abode.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

«4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3=—>

 

 

aceementnemcntennanton en mrenrgoen Sree oer SE PSB SE

‘Is it possible your son can be the Roscoe who dreamed
with me through a charming Venetian week? His given
name—what was it——?’? '

“Aubrey!’? exclaimed the mother, joyfully.

“The very same, lam sure. A tall, slender gentleman,
with black hair and blue eyes, pale——’?

“Our Aubrey!) repeated Mrs. Roscoe, “How very
charming. Well, lam sureI will no longer rail at the
poor bear, if he has been the’ means of introduging us to
a new and pleasant acquaintance. Wehaveso few people
to visitus now-a-days. Alas! But the time was, Mr, Os-
borne—ah, the time was——’’

*‘Mammia, dear, don’t you think you are sitting foo near
the window? You were so warm from all that exertion,’
said the daughter, hastily risthg as she spoke, a little
flush on her cheeks, but no other sign of the embarrass-
ment she really felt.

And then while the change of position was made she
produced from the table a likeness of her brother, and her-
Self took the lead of conversation. i

“‘See, here is a method of deciding for certainif Mr.
Osborne was really Aubrey’s Venetian friend, I remem-
ber his account of tfeir pleasuring distinctly. This is
Aubrey, his very self, and is was painted in Germany.”

And she laid the painted ivoryin his hand,

“The same, With just that grave stateliness in the poise
of the head that I used to assure him made all the gondo-
liers so prompt and civilin our service. They all fully
believed it was some great ‘milord Englese’ in disguise,
and half-a-dozen fair Southern beaties fell in love from
the same suspicion.

The sister’s eyesshone, but if was the mother who said,
proudly:

' “Aubrey hasaright to look in that way—a perfect
right.”? .

And again it was Ethel who sighed.

“T must do myself the honor of renewing (hat pleasan
Venetian acquaintance,” spoke Frank, taking out iis’
cards and then suddenly a shadow fell upon his owa face,
He had forgotten the change in his own circumstances
since he had roamed Europe over, the heir of his wealthy
unele. ;

Her own aristocratic pretensions were evidently the
morbid pridé and distinct peculiarity of the elder lady.
This brief interview had shown him that. How would
she favor the introduction into her family of the salaried
tutor of Blenkarne Terrace?

He refrained from his first impulse and kept the card in
histhand until he was at the gate, whither Ethel Roscoe
followed him. Then, as he made his adieux, he gave It to
her.

“Thatis for your brother, Miss Roscoe, if you think it
best to give it to him. I had forgotten the reverses of my
own life untilnow. When he knew me I was one of for-

 

 

ful, perhaps think better rather than worse of myself,
but society may not see with the same eyes. At present
I am the tutor at Blenkarne Terrace.”

“Blenkarne Terrace ?” faltered she, and gave a strong
shudder, and half put out her hands asif. to thrust him

‘Is it the place, and not the occupation, that horrifies
you?’ he asked, in astonishment,

“The occupation,’”? murmured the sweet-voiced Ethel,
wringing her hauds. ‘*Would—ah, would I myself had
half as honorabiea one. But you belong to Blenkarne
Terrace, and her ladyship allows you to come herel”’

“Lady Blenkarne, of course, knows nothing of this af-
ternoon’s events,’? he returned, flushing hotly; ‘but do
you think because [am her ‘son’s_ tutor my movements
elsewhere are to be circumscribed by her commanas?”?

*Ah,?? she spoke hastily, glancing’ behind asf afraid
her mother would appear, ‘‘I forgot you said you were a
stranger, had only been here a week. You cannot know;
of course you cannot know. I beg your pardon,”

“But shallIl wait for your brother to come to call on
me??? he asked, hesitatingly. ¢

She had turned red and pale, and though evidently do-
ing her best to appear courteous, she could not hide her
horror at the idea.

“Call at Blenkarne Terrace! Aubrey .Roscoe call at
Lady Bilenkarne’s’ house! Oh, no, no. Such a thing is
impossible.”

Then suddenly pointing to the great wall built up be-
tween, she said, in a stifled tone, with hanging head:

“Do you fot see the barrier built up between? As if—
as if,?? she repeated, bitterly, “cherished animosity and
bitter feud and human pride were not enough,’

He stood a moment in silence, and then held out his
hand again.

“Tam sorely grieved to have disturbed you, Miss Ros-
coe. You must pardon one to whom all this is inexplica-
ble. ‘I judge that I had better not seek for further ac-
quaintance here, though Lown it will bea keen disap-
pointment to me.”?

She stood a moment irresolute, then looked suddenly
up, a4 gentle smile on her lips,

“Nay, sir, the prohibition shall not come from the ‘old
manor.’ Come. hither again if you choose, and Aubrey
will welcome you; but—but pray do not betray to my
mother that you come from Blenkarne Terrace.”

She just dropped the cool touch of those fairfingers to
his, bowed again, and vanished.

Brank Osborne patted’ Bruin ashe went through the
gateway, a mute sort of thanksgiving for the introduction
he had brought about, then went slowly down for his
horse, and: rode back, grave and thoughtful, into the

So the Nemesis had a meaning, as he had first believed.
Who should read itforhim? ,

CHAPTER VIL

All unconscious of the little drama taking place in the
lane, Colonel Guy Blenkarne, the gentleman Frank Os-
borne had seen takiug such affectionate leave of Ethel
Roscoe, was quietly enjoying his meerschaum in the cosy
bachelor apartments le had rented on the principal street
of Exeter proper, these last ten years Certainly. .

Colonel Bienkarne was a gentleman commanding the
hearty esteem of the neighborhood, not alone. for his’
name’s sake, and the position his birth into one of the
oldest and wealthiest Exeter families, bespoke for him,
but of his own intrinsic worth likewise. No one in the
whole shire had ever dared to raise his voice pablicly aud
accuse the man of having ever in his iife doue an ungen-
tlemanly or disgraceful thing. There were not a few, on
the coutrary, who pointed to him with pride as a worthy
model of the old time English gentleman, a character
which the fast and reckless young men of the later day
seemed rapidly forgetting. Wherever he went then he
met with respect, and a sort of deferential regard, not-
withstanding, aud inspite of a powerful though silent
antagonism from an important source,

It was very well understood in the neighborhood that
there was no intercourse whatever between Blenkarne
Terrace and the nephew of its late master, Sir Ralph
Blenkarne. The public never got a satisfactory explana-
tion of the alienation, althougi it was tacitly understood
that the uncle’s marriage with a young girl more fit to be
his dauglter than his wife, eighteen years before, had
been the cause of the rupture which took place then. Sir
Ralph died in three years after his marriage, leaving the
beautiful young widow sole guardian of their infant child
and of the large property. Not even fettering her with a
joint guardian, but simply requesting his lawyer to remain
the family adviser aud friend, 1e Blenkarnes were
none of tllem prone to indulge public curiosity. An in-
ordinate pride and a haughty reserve upon family matters
had been a family trgit, as far back indeed as the famous
Marmaduke Blenkarne, who had madesuch @ stand in the
Protector’s tlme, and whose exploits still formed a sort of
fairy legend told. to children by croning Exeter nurses,
Of how, driven by Cromwell’s repeated successes to flee
from his home, he had sent off his family to France, and
transformed all the great wealth bequeathed him from half-
a-dozen princely sources, into jewels of inestimable value
that could be transported with him, wherever he went.

The description of these jewels, which were declared to
be principally emeralds, had an Arabian Night flavor,
since the stories varied according to the strength of im-
agination of the reciter. Nevertheless, it was certain they
were very valuable, and gems that had won the enthusi-
astic admiraiivn of connoisseurs, authentic testimony of
which had been handed down to the present day. But
Sir Marmaduke’s precaution and Blenkarne’s- secretive-
ness over-reaciied itself. On the eve of battle, driven to
hide in the caves and forests by the triumphant march of
Cromwell, he dared not trust his treasure even to his own
keeping. He unbuckled the precious belt, and secreted it
no one could tell where. He fell the next day in battle,
and died gasping out his wife and children’s names,
coupled with some utterly unintelligable information con-
cerning the jewels. When the war-torn country relapsed
into peace, the heir returned and received his estates and
title. Vigorous search was made for the lost jewels, but

from that day until the present one, when Colonel Blen-} hi

Karne sits there aione, no sign had been given, and the
“‘Blenkarne Emeralds’ had become as maguificent but as
intangible a myth as Aladin’s lamp,

Perhaps I ought to tell here that not the least re-
markable clause of the late Sir Ralph's-singwlar will had
been what seemed a superlatively sarcastio bequest to the
otherwise disinherited nephew aud niece of the Blenkarne
Emeralds, if they could find them.

The years had rolled away steadily, and time had
softened the vague rumors of some great tragedy which
had taken two of the Blenkarnes entirely from Exeter
Knowledge. They were believed to be dead long ago, and
the present generation only knew the three families:
Lady Blenkarne and her son, Sir Marmaduke, and tie
Roscoe family. Mrs. Roscoe being Colonel Blenkarne’s
only sister. . ‘

Of the latter society knew very liitle. They lived in
strict retirement at the Manor House, as it had‘been called
for half a century, ekeing out an income, few knew how
narrow, by means of the generous assistance from Colonel
Blenkarne’s own limited resources. For the latter gentle-
man hada mere pittance beyond his pay as a retired officer
of the royal service, and occupied with rare diguity the try-
ing position of one inheriting an aristocratio lineage, and a
collapsed purse. Ali this came ‘about-from, the un-
precedented marriage and cruel’ will of the tate Sir eet,
& circumstance of itself perhaps enough to account for the
cessation of friendly intimacy between-the families on the
part of the poor relations, thougli scatcély sufficient ex-
pension for the flerce animosity, of. the: mistress. of

lenkarne Terrace, whose orders had raised the great
embankment which shut off the Manor house from any
view at the Terrace. .

But to return to Colonel Guy Blenkarne, As FE gaid, he
was silting calmly in his comfortable rooms with that pe-
cultarair of dreamy satisfaction and pensive reverie that
gentlemen only assume in company with their loved pipe
or cigar. Qolonel Blenkarne’s was still a handsome face,
for all the liftie lines that lime and some inward canker-
ing care had le& -there. The lips had perhaps too free
quent a curve dowaward ina cynical expression, half a
smile, halfasneer, And the'eyes hada trick of Mashing

over, as from the™fitful kxudling of some. smeidering ire

 

ce a He Bese

frayed what a genial, noble character the gentleman
should have been unwarped by cruel circumstance, A
warm, affectionate glow begmed over il as he took out
the littie parcel Ethel Roscoe‘had pressed upon him in the
lane, and looked at it tenderly.

“The noble-spirited little creature!” he murmured.
‘She has more true nobility than the whole Blenkarne
race, from old Sir Marmaduke, the emerald hider, to
young Sir Marmaduke, the self secreter. To think of
those dainty little fingers toiling over her bits of painting
day after day. Oh! my litule Ethel, I am prouder of you
than of the old name, or the dead-and-gone ancestors!’

And then he called aloud:

“Digby!”

A gray-haired, but still stanch and vigorous man put
his head out from an inner door.

“Did you call me, sir ??

“Yes. Here’s a little errand for you—a little errand to
do for Miss Ethel,’

“Bless her pretty fingers, I know all about it!’? smiled
Digby, glanciug at the little package his master still held
in his hand. ‘She’s been at work again on her picture.
Oh, Colonel Guy, don’t she do them beautiful? The shop-
man is ready enough totake them, though the greedy
brate beats me down on the price. Asif anything could
be too well paid that’s done by her.’

“Fe doesn’t know that it is my niece who paints these
specs for money ?? exclaimed the colonel, in conster-
nation, :

Digby gave his master. a reproachful glance, while he
shrugged his shoulders, P

“Leave me alone for that!’ Do you think I haven’t my
pride in the family honor? He thinks as it’s a cousin
of mine down below. He shan’t have these without pay-
ing well for.them. Oh, but, colonel, to think Miss Ethel
should need money so bad as to have to earnit herself.”

‘The colonel echoed his groan. ‘

“And alla owing to hev,’’ continued the privileged ola
servant, shaking Ifis hand wrathfully over in the direction
of Blenkarne Terrace.

The colonel frowned darkly.

“Go about your errand, Digby, and don’t waste your
breath idly. The child may be nearer right than either of
us. She says she fiuds it no degradation, and, if it were
not for grieving her mother, 8he would go boldly herseif
with her little efforts. The truest nobility she declares is
that of self-help and self-respect. The child has wonder.
ful intuitions, and a strength of character that astonishes
-me the more I see of it. Young as she is, she is the statf
on which we all lean, and her bright and cheery spirit is’
the best comfort and solace we any of us can find. I
Would not permit this drudgery if 1 did not see how she
enjoys it. I would cut myself, and you too, downto one
meal a day, and no pipe at all, if I did not see that she
enjoys it, aud is better for the effort. Besides, Digby, our
resourees dwindle in spite of all efforts at husbanding.”’

The old man sighed and shook his head drearily.

; “Mr. Aubrey’s traveling took off all you had saved up,
sir.

“Well, it. couldn't be helped. Was my nephew to be
the first one of all his race to settle down into: his place
Without having a glimpse of theworld? Besides, it was
necessary.’ In these times no gentleman would be re-
cewed in society without the polish and advantage of a
foreign tour, Poor Aubrey expected to repay me
promptly. It is unaccountable how I failed to obtain that
atiachéship for him,” continued the colonel, testily.

“It wasn’t strange to ime, sir, begging your pardon,”
returned Digby. “Wasn't Lord B—— thie foreign secre-
tary, and didn’t my lady from over there at the Terrace
meet him over at Count Mordaunt’s? And can’t she be-
witch the strongest manin the land if she sets out? It
Was all We doings.”

Colonel Blenkarne sprang to his feet, and paced the
room fiercely.

“Digby, Digby!"? he exclaimed, hoarsely, ‘‘why will you

bring up those hames to me???

“lf it was me, 1 wouldn‘t pass such things over,’? mut-

tered Digby. ‘“‘I’d do something more than Keep still.

She turned the old master against you. She took away

your rights, and their rights, and she isn’t satisfied yet.

Mr. Aubrey won’t get on. No, he néver will get on while

slie, with those syren eyes and that deceitful tongue, jis

here to poison men’s minds against him.” ,
‘Digby,’ repeated his master, putting out both hands
as if to restrain further speech, and turning his pale lace
beseechingly toward him, ‘‘what ails you to-day?”

“L beg your pardon, colonel. I’m stirred up, I own,”

returned Digby, half apologetically, half defiantly, ‘1

can't help speaking it out. I’ve just seen the splendid great

coach taking the heir out to ride, It’s all her cunning

art keeping him out of public knowledge to make him

more important, You'd have thought it was the royal

prince, at least, or the young duke, the way people rushed

to geta peep. ‘O, there's Sir armaduke, of Blenkarne
Terrace!’ cried one, ‘And what was he like?’ asked an-’
other. ‘And how did he look? Did you hear him speak ”’

cried out another. O, the fools, there are in this world!

‘He’s an interloper, and the son of a traitress!’ cried out
I, and hurried Out of. the way. But it makes me sick,

Col. Guy; it just makes me sick of all mankind.”

“Did you go down and see that sweet, cheerful, coura-
geous girl at the manor house alter it? For shame.
Digby, i thought you had more sense,” returned his mas-
ter, sternly, bat his lip quivered a little,

“}il go aud do Miss Ethel’s errand now,” quoth Digby,
with sudden compunction. ‘‘And then Vil carry her the
money, and she'll make me gay and happy again.’?

“Go,” said his master, peremptorily.

And Digby went out, but returned the next moment,
ushering in a young and singularly handsome man, al-
though his slender. frame was almost too slight and small
for the English standard of manly perfection.

“A gentleman to see you, Col. Blenkarne,”’ announced
Digby. ‘Pardomme, sir, you did not give me a card.”

June young stranger smiled, parting a pair of vivid scar-
let lips, and showing a line of even pearl beneath, as he
hastily drew ferth a card and laid it on Digby's outstretch-
ed paim, the while his large eyes full of dusky splendor
searched over Col. Blenkarne’s noble countenance,

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

 

D Fd

Brown Princess.

A TALE OF THE DEATH CANYON.
By Mrs, mM. 1 V. Victor,

{The Brown Princess’ was commenced in No.7, Back num
bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.

CHAPTER XXIV.
ON SHORT RATIONS.

The cry uttered by Panther Jake and his girl was caused
by the discovery of the ladder lying heaped up at the base
of the precipice. Fora time they remained utterly mo-
tionless and confounded, their duinb eyes proclaiming to
each other the terrible significance of this thing. Their
first impression was that it had fallen of itself, but as soon
as Minnelula could rouse from her stupor of surprise she
lifted the strands and examined them. It was evident
from the smoothness of the cut that they had been severed
with a knife, :

“My father!’ was all she said.

“He's sarved us a murderous trick—a very shabby
trick,’? muttered Jake, his rich, brown color for once
turned to a dead white. : ‘

Minnelulu looked at him wistfully; her lips trembled;
finally she threw her arms about his neck bursting into
tears, . .

“Don't scold poor Minne.
sobbed.

“That's jist about what it'll, come to,’’ he answered,
slowly. ‘But as for scolding you, Minnie, my gal, I hain’t
no notion ofit. Vmsorry for you—dreadyul sorry for
you, shet up down har’ to die likearatinatrap. Idon’t
keer for myself.” ;

And he smoothed her glossy hair tenderly with his rough
hand,

“You so good, Jake, not be angry with poor Minnie.”’

“Why should 1 be mad at you, poor child? You
wouldn’t bein this fix if it weren’t for tryin’ to help us.
ISpose I’m gwihe to blame you foryour daddy’s doins?
Blast me, if L don’t git you out o’ this some way!”’

“How ?? ;

“J guess Ill have to make a flyin’-machine,” trying to

 

We can die togetlier,’’ she

—

augh.
"They heard Robert Clark calling them, and went to

| SWhat is it?’ he asked. ;

' He was sitting up, blanched and frightened.
“A darned purty leetle piece o’ bad luck, Bob.’’
“What 2? he demanded.

“Wonga’s come oul o’ his leetle nap and cut the lad-
der."

“Tg that all?!

All {’?

‘“T thought he had thrown Lolly over the cliff,” with a
gasp of reiief.

“Sho, Bob, what an idee.’

“Perliaps he has. Have you looked? I’m certain now
it was her screams whichI heard. Do go look, Jake. I
cannot bear this feeling.’?

“Til go this minute, sartain, to please you, Bob, but he
hain’t done nothin’ o’ the kind, and I wish you wouldn’t
fretso. You'll never get well at this rate.”

Robert waved his hand impatiently, and Jake imme-
diately proceeded to search the base of the precipice the
whole length of the platform above,

No mutilated form met his anxious eyes, at which he
was greatly relieved; since, although he had affected in-
difference to calm his friend, he did not consider Wonga
any too good for such a job.

“He may do it yet,’? he muttered; “ ’twould be jist like
the old red devil. But I musn’t sayso to Bob. Ido won-
der myself what Lolly was holierin’ about. Ten to one
he’s murdered her.”’

Striving to put on a cheerful countenance, he returned
to camp with the good news that Lolly had not been thrown
over by the chief.

Robert, who had raised his pale face out of his hands to
listen tothe report, allowed it to drop again.

“Something terrible has» happened to her,” he said,
moodily.

“Piraps not,’! said Jake; ‘“‘the old chief sot great store
by her, He may be afeerd to hurt her. He thinks hera
child o’ theSun, you know. That purty gold har o’ hern
may be the means o’ sayin’ her.’?

“1 wish she was down here with us.’

“T wish she war’, with all my heart.’’

Better death together than, divided; better the awful
certainty of theif own fate than the harrowing doubt

 

Within; but in calm and selitude the countenance be-
i ;

which hung over Lolly’s,

himself,witi

 

somone

Old Joe was scarcely thought of or mentioned in this
time ofanxiety. He had always been a drag and.a nuis-
sance, to whom the young men had.shown consideration
for his daughter’s sake, Now they scarcely remembered
him. But for Lolly their earnest prayers went silently
up. Agonizing, broken utterances of the soul were those
prayers on Robert Clark’s part. He could not divest him-
self of the impression produced by those cries.

Minnelulu brought some ice-cold water from a little
rill that trickled Over a rock near by, and bathed his face
and wrists, when hesank back, after a while, quite exhaust-
ed by his emotions,

Then the two friends sat, one on either side of him, in
the enforced rest which came of having nothing to do.
The long, dull hours wore away until the sun was at the
zenith. No signal of any kind came down from the inac-
cessible region from which they had been cut off, and, in-
deed, they did not expect it.

“By Jemima, I can’t stand this!’? exclaimed Panther
Jake, at last, rising to his feet, ‘‘I must keep stirrin’. We’ve
got to finda way out o’ the Devil's Soup-kitile or go to
make his broth, ‘Never say die’ is my motto. You just
stay by Bob, Minnie, won’t you, while I take another look
at our surroundin’s. Don’t be skeeredif 1 be gone tll
dark, fur I shall make quite a tramp of it.’

The Indian girl, restiess by nature and fond of Jake,
longed to go with him; but, submissive as her training
made her, she did not think of saying so after he had
asked her to remain. She got up and gave him a piece of
the dried bear-meat which he stuffed in his pocket, and,
with a great piece of avatermellon in his hand, he set out
in search of what he had slender hopes of finding.

Bob, uneasy, feverish, excited, made her talk to him,
all the afternoon, about Lolly; repeat every word and ac-
tion of the girl he loved so dearly since Minnelulu had
made her acquaintance. :

“Are you not certain that your father will not murder
her??? he would ask, over and over again.

“May be not. May be not,” his companion would as
constantly anssver him.

“But she screamed so terribly, Minnie!’

“AhP’—the Indiay maid would utter this little excla-
mation §o sorrowfully, shaking her head, with drooped
eyes, that Lolly’s half-wild lover could easily understand
that she feared the worst, although striving to hope that
the fancy Wonga had taken to the gold-haired white girl
would protect lier from his anger.

Robert’s contusions were so much better, and the fever
consequent upon the pain of themso much lightened, that
he expected to be able to make some efforts Jor himself by
the next day. He would not lie down at all that after-
noon, sitting up on his leather mattress resting his back
against a tree, hislame shoulder padded with soft grass,
which the Indian pulled and stuffed between it and the
tree-trunk,. :

It grew dark very early in that lonesome gorge, and it
had become such deep twilight before Jake's return that
the two who awaited him were fearful that he had lost his
way; but at length they heard him stumbling through the
darkness and saw him emerge into the little radius of red
light which was sent forth by a fire kindled by Minnelulu.
The absence of sunlight, the dark rocks and the great al-
titude of the place made the canyon always cool, and
sometimes uncomfortably cold. <A fire was very muci
needed toward night, and also through the night, as there
was some scarcily of covering. Fortunately, Jake had
dried the skins of the two grizziies, which now assisted to
make himself and the Indian girl more comfortable.
~ As Jake drew nearhe answered the two pairs of inquir-
ing eyes fixed upon him by a shake of his head.

“Tell you what tis, Minnie,’’ he began, cheerfully, ‘‘to-
morrow wemust look fur a tree witha good lot of tur-
pentine in if, and prepare some torclies, It gits dark con-
founded ’arly in this here kittle. A chicken would sleep
itself to death down har—neyer know when to git up or
goto bed! A supply of pine knots would be nice to ‘have
in the house,’ as Jin Casey said o’ his box o’ rattlesnakes.
Reckon you an’ I’ll grow old down here. Wish to good-
ness that Bob thar was a minister, so’s we couid pass the
time as man and wife, hey, gal?’ and his dark eyes
flashed roguishly,

Minnie partially understood the necessity for a minis-
ter, but not wholiy. She hung her head, poking at the
hot potatoes which she had roasted in the ashes.
_*They’s done,’? she remarked, drawing them out.

“Aw mighty good they are, too,’”? said Jake, xubbing
the ashes from one with a plantain leaf, and proceeding
to break it open and devour if.

A roasted potato, mealy and hot, isa delicious edible,
at any time; and especially delicious now to the tired:
hungry mau who had made his dinner on a piece of dried
meat. All three found the supper very satisfying, ‘They
ate and were content, not anticipating, thus early, the
straits to which they were yet to be reduced. A little
while they sat about the flre, then wrapped themselves
up as well as possible and lay with their feet to the hot
ashes, ©

Notwithstanding this they were all chilly when they
awoke next morning. The two well ones were glad to
spring up and exercise their stiff limbs in building a fire
for the invalid. Fuel was not plentiful, although a
blasted pine, dead and ary, furnished them with enough
for present needs, along with the last year’s cones under
the trees,

Breakfast of potatoes and watermelons,

Immediately after that meal Panther Jake prepared for
another day’sy excursion. He put three of the small

' { sGSund a piece of dried meat in his wallet,
for hé intende@ hot to return until dark unless he made
some promising -discovery soonery Then he provided

  
  

coil of rope
ment.

wipe away afew tears. i

Jake went off whistling, it might well be to keep up his
courage. He had not been insensible to the girl’s plead-
ing look; he longed, too, for her company; but he meant
to perform that day feats of daring enterprise which even
the Indian, trained and agile as she was, could not imi-
tate. With every passing hour he realized more fully how
few were the cliances that they should ever escape from
the canyon, and it was his love for Minnelulu, his deter-
mination to make every effort which it was in the power
of a human being to make to liberate her from these pris-
on walls of rock which induced him to forego the charm
of her society.

In his previous efforts he had penetrated to every part
of the gorge accessible to the unaided foot. If he struck
out any new path to-day it would only be the aid of his
rope-ladder, which he had hopes of making very service-
able. It,was true that he could not climd with it, but he
might descend, and even in descending might stumble
upon ane oullet, Some subterranean passage like the
tunnel leading from Bridal Vail Fall to the platform above
might give him egress.

Pursuing the way which led to the very bottom of the
gorge, the one followed by Minnie and himself on their first
expedition, he came to the spot where they had rested,
finding they could proceed no farther. Here the boiling,
hissing, groaning water dashed rapidly among the sharp
rocks about thirty feet lower down. On the other side,
as we noted once before, the rock rose up, smooth and
perpendicular, with scarcely foothold for a squirrel, far,
far above.

Jake sat on the bonlder which projected over the
stream, where he and his gal had taken theirlunch. He
ate one of his cakes, looking meditatively down into the
raging torrent. When he had finished his cake and
somewhat rested himself he took the piece of ladder which

fwas wound about his body,and wunturiing it, gave ita

careful eXamination in every,part to see that there were
no rotten or frayed places. Having found one or two
such places he mended them with bits of his rope. Then
he fastened one end of the ladder about the narrowest
part of the boulder with the aid of the remainder of his
cord, dropping the other end.

The ladder n0wW hung from the projecting boulder di-
rectly over the stream. Divesting himself of all super-
fluous equipments, the daring youug fellow lowered him-
sell over the edge of the stone, fastened his toes on around
of the ladder, and so steadying himselfon the swaying, frail
cord, let himself down until his feet were wet by the
swirling water. Ashe went down he scrutinized the
wall nearest to him in hope of finding some cave or open-
ing which he might explore. Nothing of the kind pre-
sented itself. Buton the opposite side, almost on a level
with the rushing stream, he found a break, which ap-
peared very much as if it might be the entrance to a cay-
ern. It was hollow and arched, about five feet high by
seven across, and must, at least, have been of some depth,
as it was black and gloomy asif reaching inward. Oh,
how he longed to explore that hollow. The torrent at
this point was fifty feet in width, sweeping resistly at
fiercest speed between, over and around sharp splinters of
rock. It could no more be swum than a whirlpool could
have been. To getin the middle of that seething caul-
dron was almost certain death. Thestrongest swimmer
would go down or be dashed to pieces against the many
rocks which iufested it.

Jake hung on his ladder, looking and longing. Some-
how he felt that if he could only get over there, he should
be in a fair way to get out of the Devil’sSoup Kettle. But
to get ‘over there!’ that was the question—to get over
there and back again—if he found any way out by that
path, to take Minnelulu and sick Bob Clark by that same
hard road. ;

‘Once there he ey find nothing beyond a hole without
an outlet. He only fancied that it might lead to some-
thing better, —

Dangling on his ladder, he considered and considered.

Then he went up and sat on a boulder, and re-consid-

red.

He might bridge the stream if he had a pine tree fifty
feet in length, and that tree were cut down and dragged
to this spot, and any anchorage could be found for it.
But there were no trees nearer than two miles, and the
Way Was so difficult that, had the axe or saw necessary
to fell the tree, he could never hope to convey it to that
wild spot; nor would he and his companions combined
have the strength to drag it, or to tackle it, and lower it
thirty feet into its place, Juke shook his head mourn-
fully. He could make nothing out »f{the cavern.

Another idea suggested itselfi—t make a very small,
light bark canoe, and trust himse!. in it to those treach-
erous, Whirling waters, allowing! mself to drift down to
where the walls narrowed’and clo; :d in until they seemed
to join together. Jake was quite coufident that they did not
entirely join. The current there must be deep and rapid
almost beyond conception. The very thought of attempt-
ing to paddle a frail canoe through such a place made the
hair ore and rise on hishead. Yethe did think of it,
nevertheless, It was reasonable to suppose that once out
of this most frightful gorge, the course of the stre would
be smoother, aud the road to deliverance open broad be-
fore them. "

How to get bark to build a canoe? The only trees in

 

the canon were stunted pines; these would not answer

uitea long piece of the rope Jadder and a |
vu; Lhese, With his rifle, furnished his equip- |

He gav imielu queeze and a kiss; but he did not
ask her to ac fm. She looked after him wist-
fully, saying nothing, owever; but Bob saw her quietly

= oe

his purpose. The idea remained, although the problem
was unsolved. He took up his ladder, rope and riffe, and
started off, going back on his track a few rods, then di-
verging, by scrambling up a steep which a chamojs would
hardly have mastered, only to find himself surrounded by
the same everlasting cgjd, slippery, barren rocks sliutting
him in, closing about lim, rising around him, threaten-
ing, mocking, mighty, silent, dim, desolate, dreadful.

O those pitiless giants !

All day he toiled among them. With his rope and
ladders he explored many places which before he could
notenter. They were allalike, Tortuous, barren, lide-
ous—no way out of them, but back by the one he came.
Worn out by excessive exertion, slightly disheartened,
Panther Jake made his way back to camp.

The sight of the camp cheered him at-once. Minnelulu
sprang to meet him, her eyes glistening, her bosom heay-
ing; Bob Clark stretched out his feverish hand, giving
him hearty welcome.

“What news, Jake, old fellow?!

“None, ’ceptin’ an idee’?

“An idea, Jake?’

“Yes, I’ve thought of suthin; but I reckon I'll sleep on
it before I decide whether it’s worth discussin’,”)

Supper! Hot potatoes and plaintain.

The eagle had come back, during the day, to help him-
self to another chunk of the bear meat, when Bob had
shot him, and taken his prize from him. Bear meat was
now esteemed a precigus article; Bob only regretted that
Jake had preserved so little of if. -Miunelulu had taken
charge of it; she had promulgated an order that none of
it should be eaten 80 long as the melons, potatoes and
bread lasted. : :

After supper the three sat by their little fire, and Jake
related his experience of the day. No sigual had been
received from the platform, Bob said, which he regarded
as an evil omen.

Juke acknowledged that he was ‘“tuckered out,?! and
presently they all three separated forthe night. Jake slept
soundly, Minuelulu also; but Bob tossed restlessly, think-
ing of Lolly.

Thus ended the second day of their enforced confine-
ment in the Devil’s Soup Kettle.

When they awoke next »morning, it was raining—a
cold, gray mist wrapped everything; they could not see
through it ten feet; it wasso dark in the canon that it
was necessary to keep their fire constantly replenished;
while the slow, steady drops pattered down through the
mist, some of them sizzling in the struggling blaze.

Break fast—roast potatoes,

No exploration was possible that day.

To be idle was harder than to work. Jake broached his
idea of & canoe. Minnelulu shook her head; she could
not see how a canoe could be made from the materials on
hand; nor did she believe it possible for one to pass down
these fearful rapids and through that narrow gap. He
spoke of the cave on the opposite side of the siream,
Which also promised very little, r

a Indian girl closed her eyes and thought about the
Skiff. ’

Hopeless as the plan appeared of constructing one, and
dangerous the attempt to use it after it was constructed,
tuis still appeared the only way of escape from a linger-
ing death by starvation, After a time she opened her
eyes, and drawing still closer to Jake, she gave him to un-
derstand, inher broken language, that if a frame—if the
ribs of a canoe could be! manufactured, she could cover
them aud render them waterproof with the light, fine-
textured, beautifully dressed skins which she had lowered
from Wonga’s lodge to form amattress for Bob. This
leather Was not so heavy as the bear-skins would be, was
pliable, and impervious to water, ’

‘Lord, lord, Minnie, what a gal you bel’ said Jake,
catching her in his arms and kissing her. “I do believe
we cin make it work! An’ it won’t go to pieces so soon
agin the rocks. Leather’s tougher'n bark. You’re a
trump, Minnie, no mistake!’

Bob inquired, feebly, ‘What was up ?
plained Minneluluw’s idea to him.-
apathetically. :

“How long will it take you to whittle out the ribs witha
knife?’ he asked.

Jake reflected before he answered, looking less joyous
than he had:

“Three or four weeks, I am‘afraid.’?

‘How long will our provisions hold out?!

“Wall, if they’re rationed off I should say they'd last
ten days. I must try and kill some game.”?

“I trust you’ll have the good luck to find some, Jake,

His friend ex-
He listened rather

‘uy boy. Ireckon we'd better not waste that eagle which

i shot yesterday.”’ f4

“That’s so. We'll make soup for our dinner of it.’

Jake went to look for the ‘embiem of American liberty,
and found it lying where it fell. He pulled the feathers
from it and dressed it; but when he brought it to Minne-
lulu she said they had no kettle—which was true.

The fine, thin, chilly rain came down incessantly; the
mist deepened; the cold increased; looking up, they could
see zig-zag lightnings runningthrough the dull, gray
clouds far overhead. They were glad to keep about the
fire, which burned rather smokily and sullenly, on ac-
count of the fuel being wet and the condition of the at-
mosphere. The cold, the smoke, and the fog oppressed
their spirits. Jake still tried his ‘level best?’ to make fun
of the affair and appear careless of the future; but the
effort was apparent. His brown girl nestled close to his
side looking up at him with loving, melancholy eyes,
while Bob sat, droopingly, his head oun his knees, sick and
silent. He lad taken cold during the night, and felt much
worse, :

Dinner—roast eagle. i

The bird was oid and tough; he would have made a
tolerable stew, but roasted, he was obstinate and hard to
manage. Jake remarked that he felt guilty—as if he were
a trailor to his country—dining on spread-eagle. It was
hard for him to swallow the emblem of patriotism. Min-
nelulu ate rather sparingly; poor Robert refused the meat
entirely. He was growing too ill, again, to eat. His
young nurse brought forward the last watermelon—le
sucked at a piece of this, and then went back to his mat-
tress. Jake had already sheltered it as well as he could
with branches of pine; now the girl heated a stone which
she found and placed it at his cold feet.

After dinner Jake spent two hours cutting down a tiny
pine with his belt-knife, which, it will beremembered, the
Indian girl had restored to him. He was very careful of
his Knife—to break it would be to bring a great calamity
upon the camp. When he had the sapling down he drag-
ged it to the vicinity of the fire, and spent the brief re-
mainder of the afternoon lopping off the branches, Min-
nelulu borrowed Bob’s knife and assisted him. By three
o’clock it would have been ‘‘pitch-dark’ but for their fire,
by the light of which they continued to work. They could
only guess at the time. When their appetite warned them
that it was supper-time they cooked two more potatoes—
none for Bob, Who was much worse and deldrious. Ata
peal of thunder which broke far overhead, only faintly
echoing down that deep gorge, he started up wildly from
his bed, stretching out his arms, and crying:

‘Save her! save her! don’t you hear her scream, Jake?
You hear her praying for help, yet you won’t stir oue
step! Cruel, cruel! Take this rope off my hands, I say.
Dm going.” .

His friend had caught him by the wrists and wastrying
tosoothe him. He was determined to get up and start
off, so that it took all Panther Jake’s great strength ‘to
keep him down. After some time he grew more quiet,
sank back exhausted, and slept—muttering in his sleep
and starting up every few minutes, f

Minnelulu regarded him with great anxiety. Ifshe had
brought remedies down with hershe would not haye been
so discouraged; but she had no medicines and no suitable
food for her patient.

It was not the cold which Robert had taken, alone,
“which caused the relapse; he had suffered more than his
friends dreamed of terribie apprehension as to Lolly; the
two causes combined produced his delirium.

That night Jake brought a good store of fuel with which
to Weplenish the fire, aud wrapping himself in his bear-
skin lay down close beside Bob, who required much watch-
ing and attendance, calling frequently for water, and after
rising on his bed in crazy attempts to get away.

Third morning—breakfast, two potatoes.

There were but six potatoes left aiter this meal; but
there were some cakes, and all the dried meat. The day
was Chilly and dull, although the rain has ceased to fall.
It was too foggy to make exploration safe; so Jake whit-
ued away at the first rib of his skiff and took care of his
sick friend, whose fever intermitied somewhat during the
forenoon.

Dinner—cold roast eagle and a small wheaten cake
apiece.

In the afternoon Robert was again raving, so that Jake
did little work on his rib; but whenever he dropped it,
Minnelulu took itup. Tne sun set clear, asthey judged
by the little rosy clouds drifting over the zenith, and the
sudden dispersion of the fog. How beautiful ‘these red
cloudlets and that bit of blue sky looked to their weary
eyes as they lifted them from the harsh prison-walls of
rock about them! Tears cameinto the Panther’s eyes as he
observed how pallid Minnelulu’s rich brown skin had
grown in just these three days, and how meaningless
was the wild gaze of his poor friend.

. “Twon’t never do to wait to whittle out thatar’ canoe,”
he thought, looking at the result of one day’s labor—half
a rib—and there ought to be about nine of them.

That night also Bob kept him awake over half the time.

Fourth morning—breakfast, a small handfal of wheaten
cakes.

Bob ate absolutely nothing; his nurse mourneéd that she
had not a bird or a bit of some kind of fresh meat to make
him some broth. She knew that when the fever was
gone he would be dreadfully exhausted, and that he
must die unless she could procure something suitable to
nourish him. Although the day was clear, Robert was so
furious in his deiirium that Jake did not dare leave him to
the girl’s charge. Eager as he was to go the third time:

stream, he found it necessary to remain in camp. Helost.
no time, however, except that spent in attendance on the
sick man; and by night one rib of the canoe was roughly
fashioned and laid where the water from the rill would
trickle upon it and keep it pliant until it was required to
be bent into shape. So much, so good. E

Supper—the last of the potatoes. ;

Fifth morning—breakfast, the last of the cakes."

Robert Clark’s delirium was now of alow, muttering
kind; his pulse was very rapid, but feeble. It was no
longer unsafe to leave him in charge of Minnelulu. Jake
realized his friend’s danger—it was ‘his, even more than
the scarcity of provisions, which urged him to cease work
on the ganoe and look out, once more, forsome swilter
means of deliverance.

Ate CHAPTER XXY.

THE QANOE AND ITS FATE.

 

What he should do, He felt asif he could not return to.
his starving love and his dyiug friend without bringing
some news to excite their ho :

 

pes.
had trudged about until he was uncomfortably hun-

and study the stream, the gap, and the cavern over the’

Again Jake sat. on the boulder, moodily considering |

Se en |

gry; yet he scorned himself for bemg go, and would not
touch the bear-meat which, Minnelulu had put in his
pouch. He looked at the cold green water carding about
the jagged projeciious of rock everywhere, vexing them
to foamy; and across at the black spot that promised some
revelation, if one could ouly reach it.

He resolved that he would try.to swim across.

The atiempt was madness. But Pantiier Jake was
mad—nyad with anxiety, care, foreboding. He stripped
himself, fastened Gne end of his rope about the boulder,
tied the other about his waist, let himself down by the
ladder into the ice-cold water. This coldnéss of the
stream was as bad ‘as its rapid current; it chilled him,
and the Current swept him down at once, twaftly feet be-
low the spot where he touched the water, before he could
make an effort to breast it. Agile as he was, and a splen-
did swimmer, he was helpless, Dashed and buffeted, he
struggled with death. “In vain he strove with a power
mightier than his own. Down he went, whirling with
the whirling current which presently dashed him against
arock. Fortunately, the blow did not stun nor seriously
injure him; he clung to the rock, and succeeded in climb-
ing up out of the water, He was now ‘at the end of his
rope,’? which had wonderfully escaped being severed by
the impediments in the current.

“Good-by, Minne, poor gal,’? murmured Jake, shiver-
ing and haifsenseless. ‘I'll never git out 0’ this scrape,
you bet.”?

After clinging to his slippery resting place a few mo-
ments, he resolved that he would not give it up so,

“Tf I’m born to be hanged, [ can’t be drowned,”

So saying, he slipped back into the boiling flood. The
rope kept hin from being carried further down; andif it
Gid not suap, he was all right. But the strain upon it was
frightful; and, any instant, some sharp rock might cut
it in two. He did not try to swim, but pulled himseif
up stream by the cord, which was kept taut by the strain
uponit. Slowly against the strong pressure of the cur-
rent he pulled himself back, fighting every inch of the
iifty feet he had gone down stream, as a man only fights
for his life. At last, the feat was accomplished; the rope
had not given way; and now he clung, panting, to the
ladder, too weak for a while to atten:pt to amount.

“Reckon I won’t try that agin,’”? he murmured, as he
hung to the iadder, dripping and panting. ;

When he reaeheéd terra jirma, he was compelled to lie
down and rest. Blood was streaming from a dozen cuts
in his flesh; it was only remarkable that he hud not been
crushed to death amid the rocks, :

He had risked his life, and nothing had come of it. He
Was 80 exhausted that he dropped asieep for a short time.
When he awoke, he was so ravenously hungry that he no
longer made resistance to the cravings of his appetite,
but took out the little “hunk? of dried meat, and gnawed
atiteagerly. After he had eaten, he felt refreshed; put
on his clothes, took up his precious ropes, and started for
camp,

The fifth day had passed, and nothing had been done.
Minnelulu, when she heard him approachitg, whistling
cheerfully as if nota bit discouraged, went out to meet
him. When they drew near one anotier, he opened his
arms, and she raninto them; her pretty head drooped
despondingly against his heart, large tears rolled down
her wasting cheeks. mr a koe

“Oh, Jake! he so bad—he die soon,” she said. :

“Pm afeerd of it, litle gal. Poor Bob! I wish I could die
forhim. We've always been such friends; you don’t know,
Minnie. It chokes me’ and the sturdy fellow tried to '
swalhiow the lump in his throat, 3 :

“He whispers all time, ‘Lolly, Lolly, Lolly.’ Oh, I
Weep allday. If she gone, too, ali riguti—they meet up
there in spirit land.”!

“Yes, my poor leeile gal. I guess we're ail bound for :
t‘other side o’ Jordan, soon. If we kin all go at onct,
?Lwou’t be so bad."? j

They walked slowly back tothe camp-fire, where they
sat for hours holding each other’s hands, and aria to
the delirious mutterings of their sick comrade. Often
Minnelulu wet his blackened lips with cold water, and
bathed his white, thin face. -It was all she could do for
him. Thenshe would come back to Jake, and cling-to
his hand, Hedid not tell her how near he came to kill-
ing himself; she had too much anxiety already. He only
told her that the canoe was their only hope.

How frail that hope was he felt the more forcibly since
his experience in yenturing into that whirling current. ,

Sixth day. Breakfast, dried meat.

Robert Clark appeared to be dying nearly all day. But
Jake did not dare waste time to hold his friend’s hand.
Minneluiu sat by him constantly, while Jake as con-
stantly worked at the second rib of his skeleton skiff. By
dusk it lay in the water beside the first. Then he and the
girl ate a small piece of the meat. ke cat down another
little tree, and whittled away all night by the bedside of
his friend. Toward morning Minnelulu took his place,
making him lie down. When he awoke it was as light as
it ever gotto be in that sunless canyon. He had slept
three hours, :

“Hush—he sleeps!? whispered the Indian maiden, fin-
ger onlip,as Jukecame tosee how Bob was getting
along.

She stole away from the bed, and took Jake with her.

“He must not be wake too soon. He better. When he
wake he be like one leetle papoose—no strength. He
must have food.”?

“Would to Heaven I could get it forhim, Minne! I would
Jet him have @ chunk out o’ my arm ef I didn’t feel *twar
wicked.”?

“Oh, Jake!’?

“J tell you I love him better than a brother!” said Jake,
erying.

Minnelulu cried with him. 5

“See here,’’ she said, more hopefully, after atime, ‘I
cut up dried meat berry fine, cook it guod while in leetle
water, make pretty good broth.” :

No sooner said than done. There was no kettle, but
there was atin cup, which Minnelulu nearly filled with
shavings of dried meat, just coverivpg them with water.
The broth had stewed two hours when Bob awoke. } |

Meantime his friend had been steadily at work; but he
oO ee aside his whittling and went over to the sick

css

Bob’s great biue eyes were Ine out of their sunken
sockets with a natural expression for the first time since
his relapse. His lips moved, and Jake bent down to hear
his feeble whisper: f

“Are we in the canyon yet? Have you heard from
Lolly ??

“We're har’ yet, my boy. Hain’t heard from Loily,
sorry to say; but don’t doubt she’sall right. Don’t you
worry ’bout her, Bob; it’s worryin’ ’bout her has brought
you to death’s door, where you’ll lle a good while ef you
don’t make an effort not tofret. Ye see, ifyou want to
get eout an’ ely Lolly, you mus’ try an’ git strong.
When we git eoutof this pesky canyon we'll make old
Wonga shake in his boots. But 1 mus'‘n talk to yoo—
you’re powerful weak, ole chap. Here comes Minne with
some broth, an’ you must drink it, every drop.” ;

Bob did not refuse. The drink tasted good tohim; he
took half of it at ene time—the girl reserved the remain-
der for his supper.

She and Jake make their dinner on the shavings from
which the broth was manufactured. They were tasteless— __
ail the sustenance had been cooked out of them; but they -
filled the aching void in their stomachs for a little peri it
and, now that it was going to take so mueh meat to mak
cece soup, they felt that they must economize to the last

egree.

Seventh day—breakfast, smalZ piece of dried meat.
Dinner, soup-shavings.

It did, indeed, tell alarmingly on their slender store, —
this making meat-tea for thesick man; buthe was slightly |
improved, and this repaid them for their sacrifices, iap- }
pily, Bob was too ill to reflect upen the empty state of the °
larder, He took the broth when it was offered ‘him, wish-
ing that he had an orange or a watermelon. No incident |
marred the sad monotony of the day. No sound—pno sig- ~
nal came down to these forlorn ones from the platform
above. It was evident that Wonga contemplated no &gal-
yation from their doom. All that Jake could do was to
whittle away on the ribs of hiscanoe. Late that night
he laid the fourth onein the water, snatching a few hours’
sleep between that and dawn. ;

Eight day—breakfast, soup-shavings.

Jake wrought desperately; every moment, when not in
attendance on her patient, Minnelulu helped him. It was
her task to make two paddies. She slowed herself as
skillful with the knife as ner lover. Their hungry, hollow
eyes frequently left their work to peer anxiously into the
little thicket of low pines from which the bear had once
emerged. The sight of a grizzly would have gladdened
their hearts beyond expression; for they had weapons of :
attack, and could have killed any creature which ap
But the deathly solitude remained unbroken. With the:
exception of the eagle nothing had stirred in that desa-
late region since the death of the two bears. They had
strayed into this gorge, donbtiess, by accident, and, once
in, had been unable to make their way out. If Jakecoula@ '
have foreseen the future and preserved a large portion of |
their flesh, he would not now have been reduced to such
straits, Bob was not denied, through the day, as much
soup a3 was necessary to Keep him alive; he improved»
slowly, and was kept in ignorance of the sufferings of his,
friends. That afternoon, searching along the base of the
rock for some token from the little world above, the In-:
dian girlfound a potato which had fallen from the basket
in its descent, when the provisions were lowered. Laugh- -
ing and crying, she ran and showed it to Jake; then it.
Was roasted and they shared it together. At midnight
Minnelulu had finished one paddle and Jake had another -
rib completed.

Ninth day—breakfast, soup-shavings, Ly ?

“There is only enough meat for one more cup of brothg'?.
said Jake, after Robert had been supplied with his morn-;
ty portion.

_ The girl nodded assent. He took her two small hands,.)
ogking earnestly into her thin, careworn face. ;
Pe die,soon. No juss,” she said, forcing a faint smile.»
“Yon sha’n’t die, Minnie; I swear you sha’n'ti We
must, put the canoe together to-day. Five ribs and a cross-
piece must answer.: [I will get the cross-piece made by
evening; and you must sew the leather together while 1)
am doing it. To-night we will fasten the cover to the
skeleton, and to-morrow morning we wid bear it down to
the stream, and I will try my luck.”

The two-.made another bed for the sick man from the
two bear-skins which had been in their service, and care-
fully transferred him to it, Jake explaining that he was
manufacturing a cance in hopes of finding his way out by
the stream. Bob thought favorably of the cance—the idea
ae him up; he asked his friend how soon it would:

“To-night,’’?, said Jake, and the sick man smiled—poor

ow! he didmot realize the fearful necessity for hasten-
ing the work. ‘
Minnelulu bad a bone needle which she had fastened in
the bosom of her dress; she found a strong thread by un-
rayeling & short, piece of the bark rope, whose fiber was
exceedingly tough.

 

 

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close to his mattress, while Jake’s work was not far away.
About noon, bending. innerless, over her work, the poor

_ child fainted away. Jake, stronger to endure than slie,
only then realized how neariy starved to death she was,
He ran for water, hanging over herin dumb misery until
she revived.

‘oTwas nothing at all,’ she insisted, when she came to
her senses. ;

Picking up her Jost needle she tried to hum a little tune
as she resumed her work. After that, her lover, himself
Pate and wasted, kept stealing anxious looks at her while
he labored with imereased energy. At least he triedto
increase his efforts; but fasting and misery were telling
upon his splendid strength, so that, more than once, the
Knife dropped from his hand, while his brain reeled, and
he felt a strange sickness creep Lo his vitals.

«J shall never be able to manage the boat if my strength
gives out any more,’’ he thought to himself. “I must
get off in the morning.” ?

About three o’clock there was a sudden fluttering and
Whirring in the air, farabove them, the screams of birds,
and a dark shadow flitted over the gorge. Turning their
dim eyes upward Jake and his girl saw lwo eagles in the
air, apparently quarreling. They were hovering directly
Over the canyon, but so high in air that he doubted his
power to hit one of them. However, he seized his rifle,
which lay ever athis hand, and tried to take good aim.
He was so eager—and so weak—that his aim missed.
Startled and squalling the two combatants parted and
Sailed off in ether.

Jake bowed hiis head in despair. Just then a soft, rust-
ling sound caught their ears; something came fluttering
down and dropped on the moss not ten feet from them.
Minne flung down her needle and sprang tosee what. it
was,

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A Day Too Late. ’

[“A Day Too Late” was commenced in No.1. Back numbers
can be obtained of any News Agent inthe United States.]

CHAPTER XLII.
WHAT THEY HEARD IN THE NIGHT,

There had been no correspondence between Kate and
Edward Musgrave since the tine when he went Lo see her
in London... He heard no mention of her name, and never
thought of her more than he could kelp. Whiie he led
his secinded life at Greyburn, Kate was far enough away
from him to be more like @ memory than one who lived
and had been his idolatry.

The days were tranquil and pleasant enough, while
nothing happened to stir the old recollections. The secret
which weighed upon him now and then was a misfortune

‘and notasin. It would have weighed more heavily upon
him had_ he been troubled by any fear for Isabel's future;
but he had full faith in Kate’s promise. There was noth-

 

 

 

no stamps. There would be some in his wife’s writing-
case, and that was in her dressing-room. As he rose and
went toward the door he fancied he heard a slight creak-
ing. He listened and it was repeated.

“Is that you, Isabel??? he said, thinking she had left her
room to jook for him.

There was lo reply; but he heard the sound of stealthy,
unshod feet cross the floor of the next room swiltly.

He went in; the chamber was in darkness, and he re-
turned for his writing-jamp to look about him. He found
a stamp and put it on the envelope, and left it ready for
the morning’s collection. Amongso many others there
was no danger of its attracting special attention.

The viscount went to his wife’s room then, thinking
how strange it was that he, who was so true and tender
to her, yet should have such a secret. A baby, scarcely
tweive months old, slept in a silk-lined cot by the bédside
—one of the many who were at Kate’s mercy if she ever
was to assert herself.

He kissed them both, mother and infant, and sat con-
templating them with an exquisite blending of tenderness
and love. But for that secret, he thought, what a tran-
quil life of joy his might have been.

The house was very quiet; there was not even tlie rust-
ling of a leaf in the still air, and he could hear the soft
breath of the babe in its quiet sleep. Uesat by the bed-
side holding his wife’s haud, and drifted back into a long,
retrospective review of the last twelve years.

He saw hiinself a poor, badly-paid, overworked secre-
tary to a pompous, low-minded judge, who gave his proud
spivit many a sting. He could remember how existence
brightened for him when he found that the beautiful, dark-
eyed governess sympathized with him, ashe did with her,
for both had much to bear.’ On their brief courtship he
dwelt even now, as he sat by Isabel’s side, with a vivid
recollection of its sweetness and itsjoy. It was his first,
young, passionate love, and would not be forgotten.

Then there was the letter which called him home, the
wreck and the loss of his bride, the meeting with Tom
Aylmer, and that good-hearted fellow’s pleasant kindness
(there were some things which had a distinct place in his
memory, and that was one of them); then the journey to
Greyburn, his illness, and Isabel’s devotion.

“My darling,’ he said, touching her lips with a gentle
kiss, “I thought my heart had broken, yet I lived to love
you best, for 1 know it at this moment in my soul.”

At that instant he heard the creaking sound which had
disturbed him once before, and listening more intently he
was sure it came from the next room. He stole to the
door and opened it silently.

A man about whose purpose there could not be asecond
doubt stood by an open drawer, with the Lady Isabel’s
jewel-case before him. He was so absorbed apparently
by the multitude of gems, their richness and value, that
he made no attempt yet to put them away. Now, how-
ever, lie begdn to conceal them in his yarious pockets
with a celerity which told of a practised hand.

The yiscount had the courage of his race, and after the
first moment’s surprise he had his self-possession in full.
He stepped noiselessly back to the bell and rang it loudly;

 

ing he need fear, neither for the lady who had supplanted
her nor for the children she had borne him.

He often thought of Katherine's loss, and wondered
what had become of the boy, who, after all, was the eldest

then, without a thought of fear, made his way into the
intruder’s presence.

The man had started at the first sound of the belli; he
snatched up his implements with a hasty hand, and turn-

 

 

of his children, and the legal heir of Greyburn. ‘The vyis-
count thought of him more frequentiy after that meeting
with the grandson of Farmer Lewis.

It was left for Mr. Greville to inform him thata chiia,
proved by the strongest circumstantial evidence to be the
one stolen from Emma Wren, had been found.

» Mr. Greville had made Greyburn his residence as much
as possible of late. His reputation was gone in London,
and the penalty of being found out entailed loss of credit,

tions, was rather a serious matter,

They were not sorry to have him asa frequent visitor
in the Somewhat dreary Hampshire mansion. © Earl Fer-
dinand lived there in state, a yery monarch in the midst
of the surrounding gentry, and the grandeur of iis position

ed the light of his lantern round the room, In the clean-
shaven, muscular face, with its bull-dog jaw and deep set
eyes, the viscount saw,a savage look of desperation, but’
without a thought of fear he stood between the rufflan
and the door. ‘

Richard Brondon did not speak: his safety depended on
his silence and speed. He had secured his plunder, and if
he got safely out of this room the way was open before
him. He had left the door of the servants’ entrance open
in case of accident, and his boots aud hat were outside,
ready to be snatched up in the event of a chase.

“If Lam caught now,’ he said, between his teeth, “it
will be for life, ama I would just as soen be hanged.”

There was no response to the bell yet, and the viscount
listened anxiously. The man was approaching him with

 

reconciled him partly to his protracted absence from the
metropolis. He had grown prouder and more stately
than everin his old age. He chose to forget the Chester-
fieldian vicesof his youth and prime, and bore himself
with the reserve and dignity of one who was, and always
had been, beyond temptation.

“Paul Greville, as an admirable chess-player and a
natural diplomatist, was of service to his uncle the
earl, and» the earl’s liberality was of service to him in
return. Mr. Greville had made too many failures, and
paid too dearly for them, to throw away the chance of
winning his uncle’s favor now.

“For Edward cannot live long,’? he reflected, “and
when he is gone, my excellent uncle will long for some
one toreplace him. As for Isabel, it will break her heart,
of course, and she will be inconsolable in her sweet
young widowhood for quite a year, and I think I can
make myself necessary te her during that time.’

He had been at Greyburn nearly a week before he took
the opportunity to introduce the subject of the boy’s re-
covery. It wasafler dinner, in the brief interyal betwee
the dining and the drawing-room. : .

““T saw a friend of yours as I passed through London,”
said Paul; “Mr. Cleveland—you remember him ???

k «Yes, thongh we are but slightly acquainted.”
“He talks of you as if you were an old friend; but,

some kind of weapon in his hand, and giving a single ery
for help he met tlhe attack, and they grappled.

His courage was greater than his strength, and the
struggle did not last a minute. Isabel, alarmed by his cry,
awoke, and peeping through the doorway saw what was
going on and shrieked for aid. The man muttered a say-
age oath, and the weapon he held descended twice on the
viscount’s head, Edward Musgrave fell into her arms
with alow moan, and Brandon léaped out of the room.

Down the stairs swiltly, as he heard the sounds of hur-
rying feet, and wondering voices asking one another what
had happened, Down with his heart beating desperate
resolve, as other bells were rung, and a stern, command-
ing voice called out to the men below to close every door.

He met two servants—a footman and a groom—and he
was upon them like a tiger, sending both senseless to the
ground, He carried a terrible weapon, and did not spare
ils use.

“IT shall do if yet,’? he muttered, ‘‘and Jane must hide
me for the night.”’

He had only to descend another flight of stairs, and

clear the long stone passage leading to the back entrance,
and then the door was open. Once in the darkness he
would be safe.
, “I shall do it yet,’? he said again, and as he sprang to
the top of that last flight, Mr. Greville, smiling like a
demon, glided out of the shadow, and stood in front of
him.

 

, On very intimate terms with that lady whose debut we

recollect ?*?

,  ‘#Distinetly.”

:

“He was telling me quite a small romance concerning
her, or rather @ child of hers—for it’appears the Mesgrevi
Was married before she came to England, and the child
was lost.” : :

«{ have some faint remembrance of it,” said the yvis-

count, quietly.

He had acquired more steadiness of nerve in the Jast
few years, though his health had failed him, almost im-
perceptibly, yet surely. :

«TI was rather interested to hear that. the boy is found
again—discovered in some extraordinary way by that
Canadian gentleman, who is shortly, they say, to be the
Mesgrevi’s husband. They found him in some miserable
district, brought up in the most abject poverty by a poor
needlewoman.’?

“When was this?” ‘

“Some. time. ago. It was kept very quiet, for it ap-

ears they suspect the boy’s father of having had some
Hand in his disappearance.”’

“Then the boy’s father is living?” said the earl. "I
suppose it is the usual story in those cases, Paul?’
*“Yes,’? said Greville, witha careless laugh. ‘“Beauti-

ful women who have sufficient talent to earn their own in-

* dependence rarely let the proprieties trammel or trouble

- haye scarcely a right to participate even in spirit in your

 

them much.’?

eThe viscount heard this with angry shame. It was of
his Kate, the pure and splendid creature he had married,
they were talking so lightiy.

“And she is going to marry Mr. Aylmer ??’ he said, with
as little interest as he could possibly assume.

“So the rumor goes. They drive out together in public;
he is her privjleged attendant behind the scenes, and al-
most a residefit in her house, There is, I believe, some
legal form to be gone through respecting her child’s
father before she can marry Mr. Ayliner, and that, they
say, is on the tapis now, and | daresay we shall have a
litle scandal soon, more especially as a titled man is
mixed up in it—an earl or & marquis, I am not sure

ewhich.”

The viscount heard him with a sickness of the heart,
What was more natural than that Kate, waiting year
after year, apoald grow tired of her bondage, and take
steps to free herself for the sake of the man she loved?
And what more natural than that she should Joye the
Canadian—a handsome fellow, with unbounded wealth,
and tried by the test of eleven years?

“But till | hear it from him or her I will not belieye she
intends to break ler promise, and secure her liberty at
the cost of Isabel’s happiness.” .

It seemed to him that there was to be no rest from that
one secret of kis lif€. It followed him like a phantom,
haunting him everywhere, and making itself visible when
he thought it laidin peace forever. He tried to retain
his faith in Kate’s promise, but he had not much cause to
wonder if she were to break it.

He had in his own mind long since acquitted Paul Grey-
ille of complicity with the woman who took Ferdinand
away; but the solemn tone in which Kate had expressed
her suspicion came back to him now. He tried to read
Greville’s face to see i{ he hada motive in what he had
said, and Mr. Greville met iim with a look of the most
sympathetic frankness and Cousinly affection.

“I wrong him,” thought the viscount, reproaching
himself for the doubt, ‘‘just as they wrong me; and that
they do suspect me is manifest, or they would not have
let me remain in ignorance of his recovery.’?

Ile wrote to Kate that night. Hesat up long after his
father and the Lady Isabel had retired, and his face
looked very sad and worn as he bent over the paper. He
used a small outer chamber next to his wife’s dressing-
room, not liking the library at that hour of the nigut—it

was large and gloomy, and so far from her. r

‘I have heard by chance that you have recovered our
boy,’”’ he wrote, “and I need not say how glad I am for
your sake, Kate, Ido not care to speculate on the motive
that has Kept me out of your confidence; fate has put us
so far asunder, Made our love so sad a memory, that I

happiness, Iam sorry we are so much like strangers to
each other; it would, Ithink, have been better for us to
be brave and see each other now and then, I havea pre-
sentiment—a sick man’s fancy, perhaps—that these are
the last words I shall ever address to you, and 80 I wish to
put it here on record that, from first to last, you have been
atrueand nuble woman to me, If I make any single
allusion to.the past it is to thank you for the generous self-
sacrifice which has made you deal so gently with me, and
with her who has Seer eee wae usurped your place, I
have your promise that you will not disturb her when I
am dead, and that promise is a comfort tome at this hour,
«‘T made a private will long since, by witich the whole
revenue of Linyern Chase will be paid to you and our boy
jointly; it amounts to more than a third of the whole
property, and will make him one of the richest com-
ymoners in England, {should like you to.teach him to
think gently of his father—the Edward Musgrave whom
you knew and lovedin India, I wish to Heaven we had
stayec there always. Few men have been so dearly loved;
none have been 80 wretched in spite of it. Innocently
enougli I have wronged you both, and my life has been
divided; I never could forget that you were mine,
“while I live, Kate, do not let my existence keep you
fettered. Inthe long years of our separation some one
Taust have won your heart, and I have no right to expect
that you will let 80 empty a tie as ours stand between you
and happiness—though even the invisible bondage will
not be of long duration. In memory of the old time let
me sign myse!f Once more, “EDWARD MUSGRAVE.”’
He placed the Jetter in an envelope, addressed, and waa

.

Before Brandon had time to determine whether he met
a friend or an enemy in the man whose evil work he had
done, Greville sent him reeling with a fearful blow, closed
with and dashed him to the stone floor of the passage be-
low. He feil clear of the stairs—the whole of that last
flight—and lay huddled in a heap at the bottom.

CHAPTER XLII.
WHAT THE DAWN BROUGHT.

Mr. Greville descended the stairs deliberately after his
man, and turned him over on his hack with his foot as if
‘the were a dog. Richard Brandou groaned and partly
opened his eyes, but relapsed again into ys
| **Not dead!"’ said Greville to himself; ‘che must be made
ofiron. The blow itself would have killed most men.”?

There was plenty of help by this time. The house stew-
ard and others came and carried the burglar to the sery-
ants’ hall. There was no need to bind or guard him. His
right arm was broken, and the surgeon who came back

 

 

 

in company with the police said there was not much
chance of his getting over it.

“He will be a cripple for life,’ the surgeon said; ‘his
leg is broken worse than his arm. He must have been
thrown with terrible force.’*

“He was,’’ said Mr. Greville, quietly. ‘I did not want
him to escape. I took him up bodily and threw him from
the top of the staircase to the passage. Do you think he
will recover ?”?

“He may. Men ofthis kind have plenty of vitality, but
his head has sustained severe injury. Itis almost a ques-
tion whether he will ever recover the use of his seuses.

 

 

about to put it im the box for post, when he found he hag

Strongly built fellow, too.’

The surgeon dressed Richard Brandon’s injuries with as
much care and skill as if he had a good and valuable life
tosave. There was a complicated fracture of the knee
which promised to be an interesting study, and he feit
sorry, professionally, at the thought of having to hand his
patient over to the authorities. :

“Tt will be a pity if the viscount dies,”’ he said, refleet-
ively, ‘‘because they will hang this fellow, and my treat-
ment of his case will not haye a fair trial.”

There was @ possibility of the event he thought would
bea pity. They had fetched the Greyburn physician—a
gentleman of some eminence in medicine, and a magis-
trate in the shire. He did not give much hope when he
saw Edward Musgraye. There was the shock to his sys-
tem added to the two cruel blows, both of which had
fallen in the same place, and left their mark on his fair
forehead.

He had not lost consciousness. From the moment when,
quivering under the second stroke,- he fell into the arms of
his wife, he retained perfect possession of his senses. The
earl came in and assisted him to a couch, and then Ea-
ward, holding his father’s hand, laid his aching temples
on his wife’s breast. He smiled into her face with a smile.
that was worse to her than death, because of the pathos in
its tranquil resignation.

“J am dying,” he said. ‘Do not move me, do not
leave me—let ine sit just as Iam, and do not have me dis-
turbed.’

Eyery word fell on Lord Greyburn’s heart like a knell.
This was his only son—the boy—the neglected boy whom
he had Jearned to Jove too late—dying just when his young
manhood should have been in its splendor.

“Heaven spare me this bitter trial!’ he said, in silent
prayer. ‘Do not take him from his wife and Jittle chil-
dren, for I am a worn old man, and cannot live long
enough to protect them.” a

The viscount was breathing heavily but gently. He
seemed conscious of his father’s prayer, for he pressed his
hand in a eeehy but he did not speak. He was think-
ing whether at this solemn time, when he knew his life
was fading away, it was his duty to tell her the truth, or
let her remain ininnocence. To tell her the truth was to
destroy her happiness, to let her remain in innocence
was to leave her in peril.

While lie debated the subject in his mind the physician
entered. He had heard what happened from the ser-
vants; but he was not prepared for what he saw. From
what he heard he ‘inferred the viscount had simply re-
ceived @ somewhat heavy blow in the heat of a strug-
gle; he saw a man upon whom the shadow of death was
already darkening.

“You need not tell me,’ the viscount said, as the phy-
sician took his wrist; ‘1 know the truth, and you must
not deceive my wife or my father at a time so sacred. I
shall not live till the morning.”

“There is no immediate danger, my lord,” said the
physician, gravely. ‘You yourself must not give way to
despondency. The pulse is low, the system shaken, but
you are young, and a few hours make a great differ-
ence.

“They will make all the difference,”’ said the viscount,
with his inexpressibly gentle smile. ‘Do what you can
for me; prolong my life to its utmost minute, but do not
deceive my friends—time is too precious to be spent in
useless hope,’’

The physician pressed his hand. In the face of this
calm Christian courage he could not utter the usual ste-
reotyped words of comfort. He knew with as much cer-
talnty as the doubtful science of medicine admits, that
unless the viscount rallied at dawn, he would not see

the end of another day.

He had to say as much to the earl, who followed him
from the room, and held a whispered conversation. For
_reply to the one urgent question the physician could only
shake his head.

“There is a chance,” he said; “a faint one. Lethargy
will set in at five, and for one hour his life will hang by a
thread. Should he be alive at six tirere is hope for him.
it is now half-past two, I will remain in the house till
the crisis is over.’?

The earl thanked him gratefully, He had little faith in

 

 

— cence ate ae as -
medical practitioners as a rule, and yet, when the life of
his son was at stake, he clung to the doctor as if he had
command of some hitherto unknown mystery that was
stronger than fate.

The viscount had not moved when his father returned.
He would have no bandage to _ his forehead, and he took,
reluctantly, the stimulants prescribed for him. He was
overpowered by that fatal weariness of spirit which made
him Jay his head upon the faithful bosom of his wife with
a tired child’s longing for rest and peace.

“Wake me at daybreak,’ he said to the earl; ‘I have
something to tell you before I die.”

‘You will not die, my boy—there is still hope.’’

“Yes, father—hereafter. I should like to tell you now,
but I am weary. Wake me at daybreak. For Isabel’s
sake and yours, I had better tell you.”

Then he drooped back faintly, and motiened Isabel
away. Always obedient, she left him, but remained near,
with nothing but the door of his bedroom betiveen them.

“Father,” he said, ‘you are listening.”’

“Yes, Edward.’?

“Theseare your tears—I never knew you weep before.
Father, in case I should net wake——”

“My boy!”

“Yes, butin case.

““Yes.i?

“She lives.’? °

“Tives!?

“She is the Madame Mesgrevi, the opera singer,- of
whom Greville spoke to-night. The boy who was lost and
is recovered is mine, the heir of Greyburn, shouid she as-
sert his claim; but [have her solemn promise that she
will never come between Isabel and Edward, The secret
is ours alone: it has helped to kill me.”

“And you lave not told me this before,’’ said the earl,
with bitter regret. ‘What is a womaun’s promise to de-
pend upon ?’?

“Hers is everything. The only one we haye to fear—
for I think he Knows our secret, aud Iseem to see it now
that I am dying, is——”

Earl Ferdinand bent low to catch the whisper.

“Tell me,’’ he said. a

“Greville. Perhaps I am mistaken—I hope Iam}; but
he is my only fear—he is the only danger?”

‘And you think he knows?”

“I fear so. Send Isabel to me now.
break. I will tel! you more then.” |

The last words he uttered before he sank to sleep in the
arms of his wife were ‘Wake me at daybreak,” and they
watched his low, faint breathing till the dawa Was gray.
Then he woke, opened his eyes, and laid his lips to hers.

“My darling!’ he murmured; “my Isa my poor
children! Heaven pity me!” i

He sank to slumber again, and she sent for the physi-
cian. He lay so still that she was afraid: The physician
came, but only to the door. He had no need to approach
nearer. The sun was rising in a solemn, somber sky, and
Edward Musgrave, Viscount Linvern, heir in prospective
to the Earldom of Greyburn, was dead. At daybreak his

 

You remember Kate, my first wife?”

Wakeme at day-

       
     

eyes had opened in the great awakening. t

What hi ppened was told by the quiet hush that fell
upon se. No one was called to the slately room
up sta vhe re the slender figure of Earl Greyburn’s son

lay motionless on the bed. No one was called. There
could have been nothing in common between ihe sympa-
thy of those who might have come and such grief as was
felt by the watchers there, i

Paul Greville did not go up to offer his conddlences; an
instinct stronger than himself advised him to refrain, so
he put on an air of mourning and went to the¢hildren, a

 

sorrowful little group, too young to kuow the meaning of
their loss, yet impressed by the gloom and tears of the
household, j

Richard Brandon was removed from the mansion, and
placed in a loft over the stable pending his delivery to the
Hampshire jail infirmary. When he came td his senses
he found himself undressed and in a clean bed, with his
arm and leg in splints, a wet band of linen round his head.
Remembrance of what had happened came to him very
slowly. He had adim recoliection of hurrying feet and
stern voices hunting a desperate fugitive, and then it came
upon him suddenly. He remembered muttering, ‘‘I shail
do it yet,” and then being struck, grappled with, and
thrown headlong down the stairs by the man who had
tempted him to commit the robbery.

There was a policeman in the room—a guiet, stolid fellow,
who found occupation for his mind in scraping his fiat
nails with a blunt penknife, while he speculated on the
possibility of his prisoner being hanged.

‘Am Lin prison??? Brandon asked.

“Not yet; you will be in the course of theday. Youare
to lay quiet and not talk too much, or yow’ll get queer in
the head.”? 3

*“‘Queer,’’ said the convict, bitterly; ‘well, I suppose I
shall be. Do you know what it is to be hurled like a sack
nearly twenty feet, and full on a pavement of stone?”’

‘No i don’t.” j

“One minute more would have sayed me. No one else
in the house could have stopped me, and I thought he
would be the last to put me in for this. Haye my clothes
been searched ?”?

“Oh, yes. Everything is safe enough.’

“And Ihave got all this for nothing,’ muttered Bran-
don, savagely. ‘‘So maimed and helpless that this raw
country lout is able to keep guard over me; and I’ve
Known the time when it's taken half-a-dozen warders to
get me back to my cell.”’ ‘

He lamented the loss of his brute strength more than
all else. it had been his pride to be a terror to the police
and his own companions; ande
his living honestly at Gordon
took @ Savage pleasure in the
their lips closed in @eference to
was a dull, throbbing pain in hi
panied by a sharp twinge, whic
dogged man groan.or shriek. E£
together silently, and from the
him who was the cause of his I

‘‘Lamed for life!’? he said to
spend the rest of my days a cri
through him. I don’t quite kno
him, whatever it is.”? rn

He had no further conversation with the policeman, ex-
cept to ask him occasionally, with an oath, for the cooling
drink the surgeon had prepared for him. His language
had no effect upon the Hampshire constable; he did what
was required of him as often as was asked, and only com-
mitted himself by one remark.

“If you have any better language,” he said, ‘I would
use it if 1 were you.”? z

‘What for???

“The assizes come on next month, and they will hang
you, as sure as fate.”?

Brandon stared at himin dumb surprise; the consta-
ble’s face was so serious that lie could not takeitasa
piece of stolid pleasantry, and his heart failed him for a
moment, Then he remembered how strangely the gen-
tleman whom he struck hud fallen from his grasp.

Kar gentleman?” he gasped; “the one I struggled
with?”

“That gentleman,” said Mr. Greville, entering, ‘‘Vis-
count Linvern, is dead. You may retire, my good lellow;
I have something to gay to this man.’ .

Not quite sure that he was doing his duty by going, and
not liking to question the point with Mr. Greville—not
sorry, either, to get away and refresh himself in company
with the grooms and coachmen, the man retired, leaving
Mr. Greville aloue with his captive.

{TO BE CONTINUED.?
> @~«—--

The Rangers of Gold Stream.

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE WATER WAIF.

For more than two hours Walter and Kavanah used

every effort in their power to restore Winnie to conscious-
ness before there were any sigus of their kindly offices
being rewarded. At length she heaved a deep sigh, and
opening her eyes, gazed vacantly around with a look in
which there was no discernible intelligence; but there
was fever already at work upon the brain, and from her
tongue there fell occasional incoherent sentences, which
satisfied them, beyond a doubt that her mind was wander-
ing.
Fortunateiy Walter possessed some slight knowledge of
medicine and surgery, and that knowledge now came in
play. He looked reluctantly at her dark, shining curls;
but there was no help for it, and he resolutely clipped
them entirely off on one side; but the perfect contour of
her features remained unchanged. Now it was that he set
to work in earnest to reduce the inflammation. He kept
cloths saturated in spirits constantly upon the fractured
part, and obtaining leeches from a stagnant pool, applied
them at intervals to the forehead and the base of the brain
through the night. ’

“What is your opinion ?”’ inquired Kavanakh—" will she
weather the storm }? :

“T hardly dare hope,"’ said Walter, with a he sigh,
which showed how deep was his interest in the subject.
‘Should she recover, and her mental faculties be not per-
manently impaired from the sock, it will be some days,
perhaps weeks, before her physi equilibrium will be
fully restored. We can only hope for the best.”

“Then we shall be obliged to suspend our labors fora
while, in order to allow you the privilege of bestowing
your undivided care and attention upon this beautiful,
unfortunate girl. I'll tell you what we willdo. The gold
in the Gold Stream will Keep, eG no one ventures
into the cave to molest it. Nov, while you are énacting
the responsible part of nurse, supposing that I should start
in the morning for Denver, and astonish my little girl,
who has doubtless long since given me up fordead? <At
the end of a week J can return, and if your patient is bet-
ter, We Can then resume our labors.”?

“Any thing that will suit you, my friend,’will be equally agreea-
ble to me,” said Walter. ‘

“Then I will retire to my couch,’ rejoied the philosopher, gayly,
“for I must be up betimes in the morning, if I wonld reach the
city in season for dinner, and the previous discovery of the doc-
tor’s consort—name unknown.”

After Kavanah had retired, Walter Ernstein, with that watch-
ful solicitude which belongs only toapure and chivalrous love,
sat through the still watches of the night, sensitively alive to
every indication of pain or disquiet on the part of the beautiful
sufferer. The sight of herin her present condition had driven
him almost to the verge of despair; but as the inflammatory symp-
toms abated toward morning, and she became more quiet, his
depressed spirits began to rally, and he eyen felt that he now
Bt entertain some faint hopes of her physical restoration.

e rested his wearied head on the edge of the comfortable
bunk in which they had placed_her, and slept soundly until he
was awakened by the noise of Kavanah moving about the cabin.

The philosopher had already commenced making his prepara-
tions for the journey to Denver, and after completing them,
started on foot for Boran’s, where he intended to procure the use
of a horse or mule for the occasion.

After he was'gone, Walter sat for nearly two hours silently re-
garding the sleeper, and praying inwardly that Heaven might
spare her life, and not ouly her life, but her reason.

   
  
   
  
  
 
  

 

While he was thus absorbed in these prayerful meditations, he
heard the faint, thudlike sound of a horse’s hoofs approaching

eect atm ocean

With me always.

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3—

 

 

 

 

en

the cabin. It was not far from six inthe morning, and ashe
peered cautiously out of the four-paned svindow in front, the only
one that the cabin afforded, he saw the horseman riding past at
a leisurely pace. 3

““As I live!” was the mental exclamation of Walter, “that is
the younggentleman we Saw in company with Buffalo Jake yes-
terday morning in the cavern on the mountain. He is probably
now on his return to the city, having given up all future ideas of
securing the treasure deposits of the Gold Stream. That leaves
the coast clear for us. We sball now haye no further trouble.” |

A slight movement on the PAs of the fair sufferer here drew his.
attention from the subject of his previous reflections, and as he
turned toward the couch he saw that her eyes were open, and
that she was gazing about her with a vacant, bewildered look.’

“Who are you?” she demanded, raising her head slightly at
his approach, and gazing at him with a suspicious, inquiring look.
Her every expression denoted that painful, wandering insta-
bility, which characterizes a human mind broken or diseased.

‘IT don’t know you; but stay,” she abruptly added, and 2s she
spoke, she gave utterance toa pleased, childish laugh, “I know
Abe now; and oh! Llove you so well. You were so gentle and so

ind—oh! I know you very well, now; but you don't love me!
I can see it in your eyes; you hate me, I think, because you be-
lieve Iam the daughter ot a murderer, andl you can not Jove the
daughter of a murderer. But, whisper,” and she turned her
head anxiously as if to see if there were others present to over-
hear what she was about to say, ‘‘I will tell yousomething. Iam
not their daughter. They don’t think that I know that, and I
don’t mean that they shall; but I’ye overheard them talking when
they supposed me asleep. But Iwas wide awake! I was too
cunning for them, ha! ha! I heard it all—I am the daughter of
some other person, from whom they stole me when I was two
years old; but I can’t remember that, Iwas so young. His name
was Adams, but I never heard them mention his Christian name,
therefore Icould not seek him out; but ol! if you_only, Joyed
me, and my head did not feel so strangely, I think I should be
very happy if I never saw my real parents.”

Though her mind was strangely unsettled and- wavering, as her
incautious words but too plainly denoted, yet he couki not ques-
tion the truth of the reveiation he had received; but the know-
ledge that the fair girl was not the daughter of Buffalo Jake, de-
cided him upon an entirely opposite course from what he might
have otherwise pursued. He resolved to leave her pretended
parents in utter ignorance of what had transpired.

It was certainly his. duty as a man of honor and feeling, if she
recovered, to assist her in the discovery of her real parents. It
was evident in her present derapgedand bewildered condition
of mind, that she had imagined him some one else—probably the
handsome stranger he had seen with her two days ago, and who
had jast now passed the cabin, evidently on his return to the
locality from whence he had come.

_ For a moment the fair sufferer was silent, but she was gazing
into the handsome face of her preserver all the while, with a
strangely puzzled, half pleading look.

“I want yeu to take me with you when you go back to Denver,”
she at length said, coaxingly; ‘for 1 love you so much,” she
added, confidingly,: ‘that I should die if you went away without
me; besides I want to go away from here. Iam afraid of Arro-
watha, I think I must have 2en taken suddenly ill, for I feel
sore and lame all over; and it seems to me that something
dreadful has happened. Ihave been trying to think, but I can’t
remember. I want you to take me with you. Say that you will,
and I will do everything you tell me.”

“I will if live!” exclaimed Walter, impulsively. “Twill never
desert you, my poor darling. I will, make you my wife, my
beautiful, it Heaven spares your life to me, and you shall live

og And now close your eyes, darling, and try to
sleep. a

She obeyed him as passively as a child, and in a few minutes
fell asleep like a tired child, while a gentle smile of perfect trust
parted her sweet pale lips, i ‘
Walter sat and waiched her fora long time, wrapt in a pro-
found reverie. a
Her sleep was placid and undisturbed. He softly removed the
cloth from the fracture. The swelling had nearly gone down,
but there was an ugiy inderdture of the skull. The cause of the
mental phenomenon was obvious.
: There was a cruel pressure of the fractured part upon the
rain,
“She will live!” was his exulting ery. ‘A trephine, a compe-
tent surgeon—and all will be well!”

CHAPTER XXVII.
DR. FRANK AND THE PHILOSOPHER.

On reaching Boran’s Ranch, Kavanah procured a very poor
apology for a horse which the ingenious Mike had received from
an Indian in excNange for a gallon of the ‘“flre-and-river,” as Sol
Pinkum had aptly christened the delectable beverage.

“I did as you said,” said Boran., ‘I didn’t let on to Buffalo Jake
that Id seen you, or that any one supposed that he had attempt-
ed to murder you.”

“That was right, my friend; and 1 consider myself under an
obligation to you, which I will endeavor to repay right honor-
ably at some future day.”

“Shall I look for you in a week ?”? queried the ranch-keeper, as
the philosopher ambled off on his docHe and slow-moving beast.

“Yes,” responded Kavanah lightly, “in one week’s time you
may expect Lo again behold in this benighted region the light of
my benign countenance.”

Boran laughed and the

hilosopher rode on.
When he had got about

alf the distance to Denver, he heard
some one approaching from behind, and looking over his shoul-
der, he beheld Dr. Frank, and recognized him as the young
stranger whom he had seen with Buffalo Jake. Our young phy-
sician, however, failed to recognize him, tor he had seen him
only onee before, and then under unfavorable circumstances,

Our two travelers fell into an easy conversation atter Dr. Frank
eame up, which was pleasantly continued during the,remainder
ol the journey to Denver; but Kayanah was Tene Snare fora
while in everything relating to himself, though he did not fail to
draw out his more voluble companion upon the very points on
which he most desired to obtain additional light.

In a few minutes he was in possession of the main facts bearing
upon his late mission into the region trom whence he was now
taking his departure. When he heard hisown name mentioned
in connection with the late adventure in which he had so suc-
cessfully personated the phantom of the Gold Stream, he looked
very grave, as though he fully credited the transaction as a
supernatural occurrence. But when the story was related of the
tragical fate which had overtaken Winnie and Arrowatha, he was
on the point of revealing the subsequent events we have record-
ed, and which, as the reader is aware, Were unknown to Dr.
Fravk, but restrained himself from a committal of the truth just
in season to prevent the mystery, or the after facts involved,
from coming too suddenty to light.

He changed the subject adroitly by asking Dr. Frank if he was
much acquainted in Denver, and. afterward if he was ever
acquainted with a mannamed Kayanah. Dr. Frank replied that

  
   
 
   
    
 
  
  
  
 

 

 

he had known aman a number of years ago of that name ina
ul rural village called Avondale, in the East, who had
ted with his daughter to Denver, where he had entered
iness which proved unsuccessful, and had afterward
the mines from whence he had abruptly disappeared
ighteen or twenty months before, and was supposed by
ends at the time to have been murdered by the Indians,
since turned up, and was in fact the very man of whom
reviously fprksn as haying been murdered a week be-
uffalo Jake. ©
d what might your name be, my friend?’ demanded the
her, curiously. :
Frank gave his name without hesitation, or without mani-
ig any surprise at the question; but Kavanah had by no
3 fo noe the joung fellow who had spent a summer yaca-
t Judge Wheatly’s, in Avondale, and was so excessively
“soft,” as he expressed it, on his little girl, He had altered so
from a beardless youth of eighteen, to a polished, whiskered
young gentleman of twenty-two, sell-possessed and gracefully
dignified, that he had failedto recognize him till after his name
was mentioned, and tlie circumstances of that visit were recalled
to his mind.
But he did not intend at present to make himself known, and
so he oe but little seeming interest, and was very guarded
in his subsequent questions, though they all tended to the very
point he desired—further information regarding his daughter, and
whom she had married.
“But what became of the daughter?’ he added.. “Did she find
any friends in a strange place, among Strangers? Iask, because
I happened to know, her father at the time hie first came to
Denver ?”?
“Indeed! Did you know fhe daughter then?” queried Dr. Frank,
regarding his companion with renewed interest. ,
"IT did, vet? well; but what became of the poor girll?” de-
manded the philosopher, somewhat inipatiently.
“Did you know a Dr. Wedgwood in Denver?”
“I did, by reputation, but was never personally acquainted with
the gentleman. He was reputed the wealthiest man in Colo-
rado, honorable and upright to a fault, and was thought a great

 
 

   
 
     
 
   
    
 
  
    
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
      
   
   
 
 

deal ot by the poor, whom he frequently assisted.”

“You do not overrate him—you cannot!” was the enthusiastic
response of the nephew. ‘‘He is my un¢éle, and it was to him that
the young lady we refer to was married about a year ago!”

“Indeed,” said the philosopher, restraining as far as possible
all outward manifestations of surprise, e was
very fortunate,”

“She was; and though so young, she makes the doctor a most
excellent and exemplary wife.’? ?

On reaching the suburbs of the city, the first person they en-
countered whom he knew acquainted Dr, Frank with the melan-
choly news of his uncle’s death and the captivity of Inez. So
great was his own surprise and grief at the paintul announce-
ment, that he did not notice the strong emotion manifested by
his companion. . e

Knowing the friendship that had existed between his uncle and
Mr. Israel Adams, he resolyed to visit that gentleman immedi-
ately after he had dined, and obtain what information he might
poesess upon the painful subject.

Kavanah asked permission to accompany him, which was
granted; and after the harrowing subject of the murder and
present captivity of Inez had been discussed, as well asthe mer-
chant’s plan for her recovery and the defeat of White Wolf, the
conyersation turned upon the important question involved in the
late confession of the Buffalo. It was soon evident to Dr. Frank
that Winnie was really the daughter of the merchant, and with
deep reluctance he acquainted him with the facts he had obtained
from the Buffalo’s own lips regarding his lost child, as’ well as
the painful account of her recent horrible death, which no one
could doubt excepting the two already acquainted with the cir;
cumstances of her most fortunate escape.

The grief of the merchant on receiving this unexpected, and
startling news was profoundly affecting. At first Kavanah
thought he would acquaint him With the additional facts in hig
possession, but on second reflection he resolyed not to doso.

“Alas!” sighed the merchant, when he had listened to the
tragic conclusion of the story, ‘why should the cup of a momen-
tary happiness be raised to my lips, in the yain hope that I might
ouce more behold the sweet face of my long-lost darling, to be
again dashed so suddenly to the ground, alas, forever!”

It was at this juncture of the conference that Captain Lynch
entered the merchant’s counting-room, and announced himself
and his yolunteers in readiness for the road,

ne
CHAPTER XXVIII.
FALL OF WHITE WOLF—ARRIVAL OF THE FUGITIVES,

“Keep snug where you are,’ said Beaver Jim, “and I'll jest go
out and reconn’iter. If there’s danger, as I conceit. there is, Vl
come back; if there isn’t, Pll give the signal,and you~ can
come on.”

For several minutes our little party from their place of con-
cealment had been listening to the distant report of firearms, It
was a little atter sunrise on the morning of the second day since
their escape trom the Arrapahoe village, When they left the
village on the night in question it was not far from the hour of
midnight, which allowed them about four hours of. trayel before
daylight; but their movements were necessarily slow, for the
night was unusually dark, and nome of them were familiar with
the lay of the country. }

They had forded the river at the point where they had seen
White Wolf and his party cross, and then struck their course as
near as they could calculate in the direction of Denver.

At daylight they estimated that they had advanced some twen-
ty miles from their point of starting, and were in*tdoubt as to
what course they had best pursue, If they advanced boldly on
their journey by daylight there was imminent danger of: their
being sighted by the party who had gone on before, and who
were probably now concealed in some thicket or sale coyert be-
tween them and their derek of destination.

If they should decide to conceal themselves through the day
and only travel by night, they would be in equal danger from

ursuit, If there was any way to cover up the tracks of their

1orses, thus throwing the savages off the trailin the event of pur-
suit, it would certainly be safer for them tolay by ina secure
place through the day,

“If we could only strike ashaller stream,’ said the old trap-
per, reflectively, ‘fin all human probability we could outwit the
whole pack and throw ’em off the scent; but I don’t see nary a
sign of enny run that would sarve our purpose,”

‘“Perhaps,if we move on a piece we shall find one,” puesreved
Sol. ‘‘We may as well rush into the fire, if I know myself, as to
stay in the frying-pan and be roasted.”

The party now moved forward ata brisker pace, and soon en-
tered a belt of scattering timber. .

Affer leaving the timber they came upon a wide, open plain,
and before they had made halt the distance across it they came
upon the desired stream. It was shallow and. rather raph, the
substance of its bed ne sortof yielding sand or clay, of so
volatile a character as to be unable to retain impressions for any
length of time.

Amoment afterthe whole party ‘were in the stream, which
they continued to follow for along distance—the time consumed
being very near’y an hour—when suddenly they came upon one

“I should say

of those’abrupt bends in the stream previously mentioned, where
the action of the water had gullied under the bank :t seasons
when the current was more rapid and swollen than at present
leaving a cavern-like recess beneath, from whence the water ha
now receded, sufficiently spacious to conceal the whole party—
and so effectually, too, that they could uot have been discerned
even from

The sun was about an hour high when our little party, with
their hearts full of gratiinds tp the Supreme Ruder, joyfuy en-
tered this safe retreat, which ‘seemed almost as though & had
been designed by hature ferthe very pur of concealment,
and here they remained faugly concealed all day.

Once they were not a little alarmed on hearing human voices
directly above them, whose ‘guttural intonations proclaimed
them to besavages, and probably their pursuers; but the sounds
pes. over, dying rapidly away in the distance, and were not
neard after,

The moment the shades of night had fallen they again renewed
their journey. The precise direetion in which ver lay was a
matter of guess-work, but they struggled on bravely ticou hb
the night, confident that they would at length hit upon the right
direction, This night was darker even than the one preceding,
but they started three hours earlier, and at daybreak had made,
as near as they could calculate, about thirty miles. This, if they
had come in the right direction, would bring them into close
proximity with Cottonwood Ranch.

They had taken to cover about an hour when the firing com-
menced which they had heard in the distance.

The view in the direction from whence they had heard the
sounds was. obstructed fora considerable distance by a dense
growth of timber. They had kept close tothe stream, whose
gullied bank had afforded them the shelter of the preceding day,
2 en find no such admirable concealment.as this had af-

orded,

After leaving his friends, Beayer Jim moved cautiously on
through the timber for the distance of near half a mile, when he
approached a diversified plain of almost unlimited extent, with
thousands of cattle grazing over its irregular surface.

To the right, and about two miles {fromthe timber, was a col-
lection of rude buildings, with an extensive corral near by. It
was from that direction the firing had come, and was still going
on, though the shots were far less frequent than at first, indi-
cating that the combatants had taken to cover and were fighting
it out in a more cautious and guarded manner than at the com-
mencement of the affray.. *. > on git?

A caretul examination ‘satisfied: Beaver Jim that one party
were Indians and the other whites; and to judge from’ appear-
ances, the Indians were in possession of the buildings, while the
invading party of whites were attempting to gain possessiow of
the same.

Amoment’s reflection, with the previous information he had
received from Inez and the old trapper, convinced him that the
place must be Cottonwood Ranch, and that the party of Indiaks
in possession must be those who had started with White Wolf,
whose scheme of extortion had undoubtedly proved a failure,
which had brought down upon his own head the vengeance of
some hastily organized band of regulators from Denyer. While
Beaver Jim stoed in the edge of timber watchfully observant of
the hostile scene going on, he was surprised at the sight of a
dense smoke issuing from along shed connected with the main
building. It was obvious to Beaver Jim that the besieging party
had fired the shed for the purpose of destroying the buildings in
which their enemies had taken refuge. At tie first appearance
of the smoke, which was. presently followed by a bright blaze,
there was a loud shout of triumph on the part of the besiegers.
Presently he observed a white man, probably the one who set the
fire, creeping stealthify off in the direction of the corral, and
keeping 4s much as possible out of a line of the face of the build-
ings which shelfered the besieged party. , itd

[TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT) WEEK.)

 

 

OUR KNOWLEDGE Box.  :

A Few Paragraphs Worth Remembering.

 

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
A. E.—HOW TO MAKE SORAPPLE.—The following recipe ig recom-
mended by &@ housekeeper: “Get a young pig’s head (fresh)
weighing five or six pounds, which can be bought for twenty-fiy
or thirty cents—‘one from the country preferred,’ Clean it well,
cutting off the ear to enable you to clean it well insides (Get the
butcher to take out the eyes and teeth when you buy it.) Put
the head in two gallons and a halt of cold water. Let it boil un:
til the bones can be Poet separated frem the meat. - Chop the
meat very fine, put it back into. the liquor it has been boiled in,
and season with pepper, salt, thyme, sage, and sweet marjoram.
(Domt put toomuch of the herbs.) Then take equal parts of
buckwheat and cornmeal,and stirin until the compound is
about the consistency of mush, lifting it off the fire while thick-
ening, to prevent it getting Jumpy.. Then let it boil foriabout
fifteen or twenty minutes, stiffing it-to prevent burning. Turn
itinto pansto, cool. Cut Into thin slices, and fry brown as you
want to useit. The cost will be about fifty cents.”..... B. B, £.
—To SILVER BRASS.—The best way to silver brass is to get one
founce of nitric acid, and init puthalf an ounce of mercury.
Place it in the open air until the mercury is thoroughly dissolyed,
as while dissolving it will give out yellow fumes, which have not
at all a pleasant sme). When this is done your liquid is read
for use; but we should always recommend you to dilute it with
as much again of water, as it will answer just the same purpose.
Then take a flannel and pour about four drops’ of your liquid
upon it, rgb your article with it, and you will find thatit has the
desired effect. Repeat this penceen until you have silyered your
article all over. A soft, dry cloth is better than achamois to rub
po Raat Housekeeper.— VARNISH FOR GRATES.—To one pound
common asphaltum, fused in an iron pot, add half a pint hot
boiled linseed oil; mix well, and boil an hour. When partially
cooled, add one quart oil of turpentine. If too thick, add more
turpentine. Apply with an ordinary paint brush, To Tin [ron
VESSELS.—The articles to be tinned are cleaned with sand, and,
if necessary, with acid; then placed ina bath prepared with one
ounce Cream of tartar, one ounce tin salt (protochloride of tiny,
and ten quarts water. ‘his bath must be eh at a temperature
of 190 degrees Fahrenheit in astoneware tank. When a number
of articles are. to be tinned ‘simultaneously, bits of metallic zine
are put into and between the different articles. When the coat
of tin is considered thick enough, the articles are taken out of
the bath, washed with water, and GHIO0 So ane Frank Prescott.—
For sympathetic inks, see No. 9.......... Ola Sailor.—To REMOVE
InDIA INK MARKS.—Prick in, over the stains on the flesh, warnk
goat’s milk, and continue until the blood flows freely. The pras
cess is the same as thatemployed in making the marks,, Another
plan i3 to apply to the parta blister Jarger than the mark, keep
the spot open for a few ays, then dress with some healing oint-
ment such as Canadg balsam, and as the new skin grows the
India ink marks will tion HOCH F W. W. R.—ToO REMOVE Su-
PERFLUOUS Hair.—The following recipe, if used at all, must bé
employed with care, as it contains arsenic: Take of freshly slaked
lime, six ounces; orpiment, halfan ounce. Mix thoroughly, and
keep in well-closed bottles, -When used, apply asa paste, with
water, until it begins to burn the’skin, and shave off with an or-
dinary paper-knife..i...... wa.—A. practical painter will give
the desired information........B .—We do not favor paint
ing the face, even if done-osly-for fun,” which you state is your
only motive for.desiring to do ®,.. Be satisfied with the complex
ion nature has pi en you, or seek to beautify it only by regular
habits and hea tby outdoor exercise...... Shot Gun.—See reply to
“Housek Jb. F. C,—INE SPOTS may be removed front
paper by al peepee Seba a | the spots with two camel's hair/pen+
cils, one wetted witha solution of oxalic acid, and the other with

solution of cyanide of potassium.,....,.. 4. D.—HAIR-CURLING

“LUID.—Melt a piece of bite beeswax about the size of a filbert
kernel in oneounce of olive oil; to this add one or two drops of
‘otto of roses or some other strong perfume. This preparation
keeps the curls in shape for a long time,........ Would-be Agent.—
We never recommend such injurious beverages...... Well Wisher
A preparation of meltedsuet and beeswax, applied to the up-
pers of boots and shoes, renders. them waterproof and durables
{fs should be used not oftener than once a week, and blacking af-
terward put on..... .+++,.Samuel T.—The annexed directions will
enable you to makea simple filter to purify cistern water: Place
on the perforated bottom of a box a piece of flannel, and on this
some coarsely-powdered charcoal, and then some coarse river
sand, and coyer the whole with sandstone broken into small!

pieces. —
MEDICAL DEPARTMENT.

John Anderson, T. W. A., Clerk, C,H. S., M. E. McG, Schools
Sellow, James Powell, Louisville, D. E..K,, Hippocrates, Wm. M.,
Unfortunate, Lysander L., an@ others.—Use the cold bath night
and morning, it you have the proper bathing conyeniences: if
not, use the sponge freely. Keep your thoughts off the subject.
Avoid late suppers. Be regular in your habits. Let your diet be
simple and wholly free from spices of every description. Don’t
touch alcoholic liquors. Mingle in cheerful company. Attend
theatrical performances that please the ear more than the eye.
Rise early and take a great deal ot exercise, if possible, during
the day and early in the evening. In bed lie on your rizht side—
never on your back. Let the covering be light. Don’t be diss
couraged if you don’t get welliin aweek-or month. Perseyere
and relief from suffering will eyentually.crown your efforts. :

Gimpler..—You will find a remedy for fleshworms and pim-
ples in No. 14. 3

Liveral Sam.—The brief description you give of the ailment is

not sufficiently clear to satisfy us as to the cause. :
% mer.—WARTS maybe removed by touching them
three times a day with a stick of moistened pencil caustic. To:
cure CATARRH, purchase a nose douche at a drug store, and with
it apply, every morning and eyening, tepid water in which has
oe bate salt in the proportion of two tablespoonfuls to a
pint of liquid.

James C.—See No. 13 of the present volume in reply to''N,
D. L, and M, C.” ;

Mrs. L, S. B.—The habit will be overcome as the boy grows
older. We cannot prescribe aremedy. -

A. F. L.—Uniess you at once desist from the course you haye
followed, no treatment will aid you. See reply to “John Ander-
son. .

Bertie.—An injection. prepared as follows willaid you: Five!
ounces rose-water, eight grains sugar of lead, eight grains sul-
phate of zine,

Cigar.—Prompt medical aid is your only hope. Your case is
serious, and the personal attendance of a physician is necessary.

Down-hearted.—Pitting from small-pox may be prevented dur-
ing the progress of the disease by gently breaking the pustules
and coyering them with styptic collodion. Painting the face
once or twice a day with glycerine will also prevent pitting. We
are not cognizant of any method to remove the pitting marks
after the patient has recovered,

Hattie Smithson.—An excellent article for offensive breathy,
when caused by decaying teeth, is prepared by mixing one ounce
of chlorinated .soda with .twelye ounces of water, The mouth
should be rinsed with the preparation two or three times a day,
but do not swallow it. The most certain rethedy is to remove the
bad teeth, is they will taint the breath no matter what meas
are adopted to prevent it.

Frank,—Inflamed eyelids are cured by bathing them night and
morning with a wash composed of. twelve grains sulphate of
zinc, two drams laudanum, and twelve ounces soft water. Here
is another remedy: Prepared calomel, one scruple; spermaceti
ointment, half an ounce. Mix well ina mortar, and anoint the
eyelids with the preparation each night before retiring, also plac-
ing a small quantity in the corners of each eye. In the morning,
wash with a linen rag dipped in warm water. While using either
of the above remedies. a cure will be facilitated by keeping the
bowels open with a mild purgative, ; :

THE HOME DOCTOR.

Barley water is very beneficial for patients. suffering from in-
flammatory diseases. Place two ounces pearl barley in two quarts
boiling water; boil down to one quart, and strain. A little lemon
_ and sugar may be added if desirable. It may be drank at
pleasure, 0

A retreshing drink’ in fevers is thus prepared: Boil an ounce
and a half of tamdrinds, three ounces of cranberries, and two
ounces of stoned raisins, in three pints of water, till the water is
reduced totwo pints, Strain, and add a bit of lemon peel, which
oe be removed inan hour, asit imparts a bitter taste if left
too long.

ee of beef is best made of sliced lean beef. Put a sufficient
quantity into a stout bottle to fill up its body; cork it loosely, to
permit the escape of steam, and place the bottle in a pot of cold
water. “Attach the neck of the bottle, by means of a string, to
the handle of the pot, to keep the bottle upright. Boil for an
hour and a half or two hours, then pour off the liquor from the
meat, and skim it, Season with salt to suit the taste of the pa-
tient, Essence of beef thus prepared is very nourishing.

Perspiration of the feet, and the unpleasant odors arising from
them, may be_ successfully treated. by bathing them twice or
thrice a week in warm water to which has been added a quart of
bran to a gallon of water. When woolen stockings are worn by
persons whose feet pire eens they should be changed
every day, and the feet washed every evening in cold water, and
the soles vigorously rubbed with a coarse towel.

—_————>-0+_

Xae~ Baldwin, the clothier, has not only made himself
famous as a tradesman, but he is fast making himself fa-
mous a8 a publisher. His neat little monthly is brim-full
of good things, and the wonder is how so busy aman can
find time to get up 80 faultless and entertaining a journal.
Everybody should read itin fact, almost everybody does

 

read it,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE TR
Air: ‘‘See the Conquering Hero Comes.’

Lo, the great Nick Whiffies comes,
Clap your hands and crack your thumbs;
Wreaths of éverlastings bring, ©
Crown him of the trappers king.
Hail him of the bravest brave,
Chief of mountain and of wave.
Every danger he's defied

‘ound in plain or forest wide,
{Watery deptis and mountain hold,
‘Summer’s heats and wiuter’s cold;
Dragged the panther from his lair,
Grappled with the surly bear;
Catamount and warrior fall

He has fought and conquered alt.
Wreaths of fadeless flowers quick
Crown the everlasting Nick!

New York WEEKLY readers sing,
“Glory to the Trapper King!”

A MYSTERY OF PARIS,

LOST IN THE CATACOMBS.

BY FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE.

The 8th of November, 1873,. will, and must, forever re-
main memorable in the record of my life. It was the last
day on which any visitors were permitted Lo descend into
the Catacombs of Paris, and I had with great difficulty
procured permission from the chief engineer for a small
party, consisting of a dady and gentleman from Boston,
two ladies from Chicago, « professional guide, aud myself,
fo make the subterravneun pilgrimage. To my Compan-
fons di have stated, word for word, what Ll am about to
avrite, aud they are ready, if my narrative is chalienged,
to verify such portions of it as they are cognizant of, by
affidavit or otherwise.

I shall now proceed to relate what happened, without
attempting any flowery or poeti¢ embellishment, letting
éhe plain facts speak for themselves. And first, it is ne-
cessury to dwell one moment on a little incident, which
fias an important bearing, as will be seen hereafter. A
Jew days betore, I had seen a little old woman feeding the
Engdish sparrows in the Tuileries garden. . She broke up a
loaf of bread, threw the crumbs into the air, and the little
éhings caught them flying, as they do insecis. They were
60 tume. they would eat out of the good woman's hand,
She is very poor, worked at some place far away to the
worth of the Tuileries, and lodges far to the south; yetshe
never fails-to visitthe gardens aud spare a loaf of her
daily bread to her feathered pets.

Now, I tad planned a visit to the gardens on the 8th of
November, to try my hand at the birds, and had provided
myseli with two sinail loaves of bread, (petits pains,) for
avhich I gave ten centimes. I calculated that I should
dave time enough to do this before the carriages came to
drive us to the Catacombs. Various matters, however,
delayed me, aud I had to give up this part of the pro-
gramme; but l kept the bread in the pocket of my over-
coat, meaning Lo.bestow it on some beggar instead of the
&parrows,

We started at half-past twelve from the Splendide Hotel
and drove rapidly to the Barriére d’Enfer (Barrier of Hell
—What a name!) halting and alighting in a courtyard
avhere we found two, or three huudred persons waiting
for the opening of the low-browed door which gives ac-
cess to the-Catacombs in.that quarter of the city. There
are ubout-seventy different staircases for the same pur-
‘pose scattered through Paris. Here each person was pro-
~wided with a Candle fixed in the end of a pine stick, with
A-aman circle of cardboard to serve as a tray and catch
the drops of grease. Each guide formed his party into
Single file, and enjoined it upon the members to Keep close
dogettier, and to be very careful of their footing as they
went down into the durk depths below.

ew bere. occurred the first strauge incident of this
amemorable day. Aman joined our party wearing the
Gress of the Undertaker’s Company, that is, a cocked hat,
ike the first: Napoleon’s, a black coat trimmed with silver
Yace, tigh Boots, and a black overcoat with a large cape.
He was very thin, and his clothes hung about him like a
Shroud on a skeleton. I shall never forget his face as he
turned and looked at me. The skin was like parchment,
Alle cheeks hollow, and the eyes luminous and deep set
dan cavernous orbits. “The look lie gave me thritled to the
wery marrow of my bones, and when he saw the effect it
srodueed he smiled, disclosing a set of yellow teeth, with
@u expression s0 sinister, 80 weird, so fatal, and yet so
gad, iat 1 could not help saying to inyself, ‘This is
Deatnt’

Iwas 80 overcome that I conid not challenge his as-
Samed right of joining our party. .In a word he had com-
pictely magnetized and paralyzed me. What was strange,
drom Hine to time a lady of our party turned and chatted
With ie, apparently perfectly unconscious of the black
@igure and terrible face intruded between us. And again,
Wher the guide counted us aloud he called out iive—the
Murer of our original party. The guide, then, Was as
euuconscious of the presence of the struuger as the lady
from Chicago. Was I mad? In this perturbed state of
auiud | began the descent of the Catacombs.

Lhe stone staircase was spiral, coiling down like a pet-
xifled serpent, along walls slimy aud humid. We had
diguted.our candies, but the cliange from the giare of day-
Aight tothis cavernous gloonY prevented our seeing any-
Abing, and we had togrope our perilous way. Suddenly
@u.icy whisper, wafted on & poisouous breath, eltered
my-ear like a poignard.

“Strange things have happened in the Catacombs, mon-
sieur. The dead cesent intrusion on the last resting-place
given them, after the world has, violated their first sauc-
duary. Sometimes they insist on the living sharing their
dard bed with tuem, Living men who have come down
dere have never seen the pleasant light of day again.”

*¥ believe, mousieur,’* I replied, in as indifferent a tone
as i could assuine, ‘‘thiat, owing to the precautions of the
authorities, uo such accidents liave occurred of fate years.”

“9 am glad you think so,’? was the reply, followed by
@ sneering, Mephistopholian laugh—what the Freuch call
micanement.

A dead siience fell upon our party. We were walking
Steadily onward, sometimes treading on loose planks, our
eight sending up jets of water, vat geuerally ov a dry
@ad solid stune pathway.

The guide held up his flaring torch to the low ceiling.

“Observe,” he said, “iliac broad, black line with here
and there a pointed arrow. That is the clew tothe Cata-
combes. So long as we fullow that we are-safe.”

We soon came upon the relies of the dead. The galleries
@hrough which we passed, about nine feetin hight, were
walled on either sidé with human bones, piled up as reg-
aalarly as wood sawed and corded, and arranged with that
artistic taste which the French display in all they do.

The walis of bones were surmounted by a ghastly cor-
mice of grinning skulls. The mortal remains of millions
ot ftunman beings were here gathered from the old ceme-
faeries of Paris when necessily compelled the dead to give
@vay to the living.

fhe Cemetery of the Innocents, that of St. Medaro, of
St. Laurent aud others have contributed their quota, Here
aie bones of prefate and prince, duke and peer lay side
‘by side with those of peasant and proletary, thief and
@ag-picker, ‘Equality and fraiernity! These words, which
foek Mke a lie on the public buildings of Paris, were reil-
azed iu this gloomy muusoleum.

Afi tae skulls and boties are of a dark mahogany color,
for years and years lave pussed since they \were clothed
mith flesh. : j

At intervals there are marble tablets with inscriptions
an-Latin, ‘French, Greek, Norse and other lauguages,
grtnereti from the works of preachers and poets, speaking
af the vanity of human pursuits, the worthlessness of
“wealth, the certainty of death, the hope of immortality.
At one point of our pilgrimage we came to a chapel with
the altar surrounded by the silent, but eloquent memorials
ef humanity. Miles of the dead! How emphatic the
Jesson this spectacle conveyedl

‘To the right aud leit innumerable galleries branched off,
aocessPeing debarred by iron chains drawn across the
entrances,

4 had lingered a little behind my party to transcribe an
dmscription, the man in black keeping close to my aide.
ie seemed to have taken me under his protection and
patronage,

i cau show you something these hireling guides know
Mothing about,’’ he said, ‘‘for L alone know the secreis of
&tie Cutaconibs,’?

He lifted one of the.chains which crossed the mouth of
@ side gallery from the staples, aud moving down the
Passage, turned and suid:

“Follow mél?

4 have said that this mysterious being had magnetized
ae. 1 was certain of it now, for though I was anxiously
commer of following my party I could uot resist his comi-
mand.

vHe fed me away down ‘the passage, and thence into
ther side passages, winding aud turning. 1 lifted my
foreh tothe ceiling aud sai, to my dismay, that there
were ho black line, ho guiding arrows ou the roof. In
this Crisis my will began to re-assert itself.

“Take me back to my party instantly.”

Instead of doing so, the strahger suatched my candle
fromany hand, extinguished it with a breath—he carried no
aight limself—aud flung me from him with such violence
#thatt stumbled and-fell. As 1 rose to my feet 1 heard his
woice 1D the distance cailing out:

_ “Strange things have happened in the Catacombs, mon-
Sieur. Find your way outof themif you can. Good-
might.’ :

“Stay!” I exclaimed, in agony. ‘Do not leave me here
to perish. Save me,-if you ave the heart of a man.”

“ft never listen to prayeror appeal,” he replied, with
Syis hideous, sneering laugh. ‘lam pitiless as death.”

Aud the echoes gave back the awlul word—death!—till
@ more dreadful sence followed.

J svas alone.in darkness, abandoned to the most horri-
Hle fate. the.imagination can piciure,

‘What was to be done—what could be done in sucha
vlexrxibie Crisis? My party would miss me, it is trae, aud
wsearch would be made for me, but a regiment of men
might, seek for days in this maze of labyriuthiue galleries
wwithout success. I must try and help myself. 1 remem-
"dered that | had in my picket two boxes of waxed mach-
#5, each One of whicn would burn ten of twelve seconds.
Alighted one, and by ils feeble ight ascertained where |
‘was. I wasin one of the galleries ol the quarries, and
just beside me yawned a black abyss of unkuown depth
tuto wlueh a single unwary step might have precipitated
qne. By keeping close to tne wall] could avuid this and
sinitar pittalls, So I groped my way aiong. ‘The passage

that I sacrificed another match—but it would not do to

be so lavisln To describe my sensations would be utterly
impossible. My brain reeled and I was on the very verge
of madness, if not past it, when I realized the terrible
truth that [ was lost in the Catacombs.

But afew hours since I was in the full enjoyment of
heaith and life, sharing the gayeties of Paris, anticipating
no evil, and now to die of starvation in this horrible cay-
ern. Lthoughtof home and its dear ones, my comfort-
able house in New York, my peaceful occupations tliere,
my books, my easel, my photographic apparatus, Why
did the spirit of adventure tempt me away from all the
blessings that Providence vouchsafed to me to wander in
foreign lands? Then my whole life passed in review be-
fore me, with its many vicissitudes, its sins of omission
aud commission, and the faces of the loved and lost came
to me With the smiles and tears of the olden time.

After hours of fruitless wandering I sat down exhausted
and hopeless. I was almost surprised to find myself hun-
gry. Then I remembered the bread I had provided for the
litue birds in the Tuileries garden, Itook one of thesmall
luaves, asked a biessing on it, and swallowed a few
mouthfuls. The reader will be surprised to learn that
after this I feit sleepy. I was astonished myself to find
that I was nodding. SoIspread my thick cloak on the
floor, and wrapping myself up in it was soon fast asleep.
I catnot tell how long my slumber lasted. lL woke, how-
éver, fo renew my struggles at escape. I lit match after
maich and called aloud for help till ny voice was utterly
extinusted. Surely I must have been missed, and a searcli
must be going on for me. Alas! alas! no one responiied
to my call. No footsteps but my own echoed through
those dismal galleries. 1 again resorted to my little stock
of bread to sustain life. But now a new craving assailed
me—thirst, more cruel than hunger. Lack of water kills
quicker than lack of food. I no longer thought of es-
caping from my living grave. My only cry was for wa-
ter! water! But this want was soon supplied, The sac-
rifice of a few more matches revealed to me 4 little
stream exuding from the walls, I glued my lips to it,
and though the flavor was nauseous, yet never in the heat
of summer had a goblet of iced Croton been more deli-
cious to my palate!

How longa time I passed in my dismal prison-house it
is impossible to say. Days—nights—who can measure
them under such circumstances? Finally, L had exhaust-
ed my last crumb, aud starvation stared me ingmy face.
How couid I now sustain life? Oddly enough, I just then
remembered the legend of the Beaumanoir arms. Beau-
manoir was a gallant French character.of the olden time,
who, single-handed, contended with a score of English
knights. Covered with wounds he asked lis squire for
water, but water was not tobe had. ‘Boire ton sang,
Beaumanoir!? was the reply of the squire, ‘‘and drink
thy blood, Beaumanoir!’? became afterward the motto of
the family., Before I died, Lcould open a vein with my
knife and imitate the example of the gallant Paladin,

But first L would ‘make @ desperate attempt to find an
issue. Every match had. now been burned, and I had to
work in utier durkuess. Frenzied and desperate, I rushed
from gallery to gullery, leaping the chaius where they
impeded my progress. At tast | thought I encouatered a
current of fresh air. I seized what 1 conjectured to be a
thigh bone projecting from a pile of Lhem, and gave ita
sudden wrench. Inan instant a mass of bones and skulls
gave way, and rolled down on mein @ thundering ava-
lanche, while a voice exclaimed:

“The intruder who invades the sanctuary of the dead
shall perish by the dead!”

The horror of the catastrophe overwhelmed me, and I
lest my consciousness. When I recovereds I was lying in
my bed in the Splendide Hotel, with the sun shining on
the glass gallery opposite my window. There was a tap
at my dvor. 1 sprung up, opened it, dud admitted my
traveling Companion.

“Weil, old fellow,” said he, “how did you sleep after our
visit to the Catacombs yesterday ??’

“Yesterday ?”?

“Yes, I had the nightmare.”

“But how did f escape?”

“Escape? Whatdo you mean by escaping? You rode
home in the Carriage with the ladies.”!

“But that undertaker who ‘thrust himself into our
party ??

“There was no undertaker, my boy.
been dreaming.”

“Not at all—unless I was dreaming wide awake.’’

‘People sometimes do that.”

“You dil not observe anything queer about me in the
Catacombs ?”?

‘Not at all.
wide awake.”

Then I told him my story, just as I have related it.

He shook his head.

“Queer things have happened in the Catacombs, mon-
sieur,’’ he said, “to quote the words of your mysterious
friend, pluilosopher and guide. But 1 wouldu’t advise
you to let your fancies rau away with you, for thereisa
place near Paris called Charenton, and when @ fellow
gets tou queer in his upper story, his friends feel obliged
to pack him in a straight jacket, and send him down
there for medical treatment. Don’t impose the unpleas-
ant task on me. And now come and breakfast wilh us in
the Cale Anglais,”

That isthe wayin which the strangest occurrences of
life are treated by our matter-of-fact friends. For my
part, I shall always insist that my visit to the Catacombs
was one of tiie ‘‘Mysteries of Paris."?

WHY THE RATS EMIGRATED.

BY ARTHUR L. MESERVE.

You must have

I thought you were unusually bright and

“falking of rats,’ said Farmer Allen to me one eyeti-
ing, as we sat about his comfortable hearth, on which a
great wood fire was blazing cheerfully—“they are the
cunuingest cfitters there is in the world. It seems to me
sometimes as though they must understand what a body
says. If they can’t do that, [’m sure they watch their
motions so that they may Kuow all that’s going on.’

“They are very intelligent creatures,” I replied. ‘Yet
Thardly think that they understand Euglish. Yet I should
not be surprised if they learned something of our inten-
tions by watching our motious."

“I am sure they do,’”? he replied, warmly. “I’ve seen
enough of the critters to believe that. I know that they
have watched me when I’ve been setting a trap for ’em,
and you could no more nab them than you could a streak
of lightning; yet they would manage, somehow or an-
other, to get the bait every time.”

“IT can well believe that, for I know it is so,” said I.
“Yet whether they were watching me or not, I do not
Kuow.’?

“JT will tell you a story about ’em,’’ said the oid farmer,
crossing his legs; ‘tand it is the truth, too. My son Jim,
who is out in Kansas, would tell you the same if he was
here. He was wilh meat the time, and saw the same
sight I did.’

“Let’s have the story,” said I. ‘‘I wilt take your word
for its truth, without your son Lo substantiate it.”

The old gentleman gave the forestick a puueh with the
poker, and commenced,

‘Before we built this house, we used to live in an old
one that my grandfather put up when tie came into these
parts to settle. Iwas born there, and so was iny father
before me, and we stuck by it until it became little better
than au old rat-trap. It was full of the varmints, and it
a seem as Luougli they would eat us outof house and
rome, ¢

“It had got sothatit was hardly fit for human beings
to live in before I mustered up courage to build a new
one. It cost a good deal in these days to get things to do
it with. Money warn’t so plenty as it is now. If you
raised anything to sell, you couid hardly give it away.

“After a good deaiof pinching aud contriving, and
hard. work, we got the new house so that we could move
intoit. Then we tore out a part of the old to put into the
new, and at last there was littie left of it except a pile of
rubbish, the whole of which was hardly worth a dollar.
But the rats still stuck to it. We could hear them squall-
ing and fighting behind the ceiling, and we knew that
they were getting hungry. They missed the provisions
they had been used to feast upon.

“One day Land Jim were down to it looking (he rubbish
over. Jimdeclared that the stuff wouldn’r pay to clear
it off the Jand, and that we had better set the frame on
fire as the easiest way of getting rid of it. We were in
what had been the old Kitchen, taikiug it over, and we
could hear the rats overhead, and underneath, and ali
about us.

“<*We will get rid of the rats, anyway,’ said Jim. ‘If
we don’t burn them up they will be as thick in the new
house as they are here.’

***T didn’t think of that,? said I. . ‘The stuff ain’t worth
much, and I wouldn’t have the pesky critters in the new
house for a hundred dollars. We'll burn it up and them
along with it. Lev’s carry out some of the old things we
have Jeft here aud then we'll set it in a blaze.’

“Look at that old chap,’ said Jim, pointing to a rat-
hole im one corner. . ‘He’s luvkiug round tosee what we’re
up to.

“He pointed to a gray old rat who was half way out of
his hole, staring at us with his bright, round eyes. Then
Jim shied a club athim, but witha chuckle he was gone
velore it got to him. g

“Wesel to work and carried out what we wanted to
save, aud Jim was just a-going to touch a match to the
rubbish wuen I stopped him.

“It wout do to fire it now,’ said I. The wind is
blowing so it will carry the sparks toward the new house.
It will Change at sunset, aud when the dew has falien a
little we will do the jub.?

“About nine o’clock that night we started out to finish
up our work. The wiud had changed so there would ve
no danger to the new louse. 4

“The moon was shining and we were close to the old
place, when Jim cried out:

**-What in natur’ is that, father?

“f looked the way he pointed, and I declare I never was
So astonished in my life.

“There was the biggest row of little critters coming
along the path that lever set eyes on in my life. Ina
minute I saw that they were rais, They had found out
What we were going to do, and were emigrating.

“The old rat did hear what we said,’ cried Jim; ‘but
they shan‘t fool us so.’

‘“‘He grabbed up a stick, and giving a shout, started to-
ward ’em Lo drive ’em back. _But not one of the pesky
critters went the way he wanted them to go. They scat-
tered into the tall grass on either side of the path, and
every oue of ’em got into the new buildings afore we got
pack. .

“We set the old rubbish on fire, and although we lis-
tened with all our ears, we never heard so much as a
squeal, But that night we heard plenty of ’em at home.
be had taken possession and they kept it too.

‘“‘Talways believed that that old rat heard and understood

 

 

syound and turped. .The horror of darkuess was so great

What Jim 1 were talking about; and go be and ali bis tribe

pulled up stakes aud ieft.’’

 

 

 

 

“Most likely it was because you disturbed them in
moving your stuff out,’ said1; but the old gentieman
shook his head,

“Rats know more than you think they do,’ he said.
“T shall aitways believe that old sinner understood wliat
We said.”

MISS SLIMMENS’S

BOARDING HOUSE.

BY MRS. MARK PEABODY.

NO. IV.—A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT.

Dora! Dora! Dora! wake up—wake up, I say! Don't
you smell something burning? Wake up, child! Don't
you smell fire? Good Lord! sodol, £ thought [ wasn’t
mistaken. The room’s {nll of smoke, Oh, dear! what'll
we do? Don’t stop to put on your petticuat. We'll all be
burned to death. Fire! fire! fire! fire!

Yes, there is! I don’t know where! It’s all over—our
room’s all in a blaze, and Dora won’t come out till she
gets herdresson, Mr. Little, you skan't go in—DIt hold
you—you'll be killed, just to save that chit of a girl, when
I—I—— He’s gone—rushed right into the flames! Oh,
my house! my furniture! all my earnings! Can‘t anything
be done? Fire! fire! fire! Call the fire-engines! ring the
dinner-bell! Be quiet! How can I be quiet? Yes, itis
ail in flames—I saw them myself! Where’s my silver
spoons? Oh, where’s my teeth, and my silver soup-ladle?
Let me be! I’m going out in the street before it’s too late!
Oh, Mr. Greyson, have you. got water? have you fuund
the place? are they bringing water?

Did you say the fire was out? Was that you that spoke,
Mr. Litlle? I thought you were burned up, sure; and
there’s Dora, too, How did they get it out? My clothes-

 

closet was on fire, and the room, too? We would have
been smothered in five minutes more if we hadn’t waked
up? But it’s all out now, and no damage done, but my
dresses destroyed and the carpet spoiled. Thank the
Lord, if that’s the worst! But it aim’¢ the worst.

Dora, come-along this minute to my room. I don’t care
if itis cold, and wet, and full of smoke. Don’t you see—
don't you see I’m in my night-clothes? 1 never thought
of it befure. I’m ruined, ruined completely! Go to bea,
gentlemen; get out of the way as quick as you can. Dora,
shut the door. Hand me that candle; L want to look at
myself inthe glass. To think that all those gentlemen
should have seen mein this fix! Vd rather have perished
in the flames. It’s the very first night I’ve worn these
flannel night-caps, and to be seen in ’em! Good gracious!
how old I do look! Not a spear of hair on my head
scarcely, and this red night-gown and old petticoat on,
and my teeth in the tumbler, and the paint all washed off
my face, and scared besides! H's no use! I never—never
can again make any of (hose men believe I’m only twenty-
five; and I felt so sure of some of them.

Oh, Dora Adams; you needu’t look pales you've lost
nothing, I'll warraut Mr. Little thought you never looked
so pretty as in that ruffled gown, and your hair all down
Over your shoulders. He says you were fainting from: the
smoke when hedragged jou out. You must be a little
fool to be afraid to come out looking that way. They say
that new boarder isa drawing-master, and I seen some
of his pictures yesterday; he had some such ridiculous
things. Hell caricature me for the amusementof the
young men, I know. Only think how my portrait would
look taken to-night! and he'll have it, ’m sure, for I no-
ticed him looking at me—the first that reminded me or
my situation after the fire was putout. Well, there’s but
one tiring.to be done, and that’s to put a bold face on it.
I can’t siéép any more to-night; besides, the bed’s wet,
and it’s beginning to get dayligit. Pll go to work and
get mysely ready for breakfast, and I'll pretend to soime-
thing—I fon’t know just what—to get myself out of this
acrape, ifsf can.

Good-nitrning, gentlemen, good-morning! We had
quite a fright last night, didn’t we? Dora and I came
pretty nea? ‘payitig dear fora little frolic. You see, we
were dressing up in character, to amuse ourselvéd, aiid I
was all fixed up for to represent an old woman, and had
put on a gray wig and an old flannel gown that i found,
aud we'd set up pretty late, having some fun all to our-
selves; and. expect Dora must have been pretty sleepy
when she was putting some of the things away, and set
fire toa dress in the closet withont noticing it. Ive lost
my Whole wardrobe, nigh about, by her carelessness; but
it's such a mercy we wasn’t burned in our bed that I don’t
feel to complain so much on that account. Isn’y it ca-
rious how I got caught, dressed up like my grandmother ?
We didn’t suppose we were going to appear before so
large an audience when we planned out our little frolic.
What characier did Dora assume? Really, Mr. Little, 1
was so scared last night that 1 disremember. She took otf
Rer rigging before she went to bed. Don’t you think L'd
personify a pretty good old woman, gentlemen—hal hal
—for a lady of my age? What's that, Mr. Litthe? You
wish 1’d make you a present of that night-cap, to remem-
ber me by? Of course, I’ve no further use for it? Of
course I haven’t. Ivs one of Bridget’s, that I borrowed
for the occasion, and l’ye got to give it back to her. Have
some coffee, Mr. Greyson—do! l've got cream for it this
morning. Mr. Sinith, help yourself to some of the beel-
steak. It's a very cokd morning—fine weather cut of
doors. Eat all you can, allof you. Have you any pro-
files to take yet, Mr. Gamboge? 1 may make up my mind
to set for mine before you leave us; I’ve always thought |
should have it taken sometime. In character? He! he!
Mr. Littie, youre so fauny! But you'll excuse me this

 

 

 

 

front. Rose-coiored ribbons can also be worn in the
dress and hair. The Birman costume consists of a short
chemise and a loose jacket with tight sleeves. Round the
waist is roiled a long piece of silk or cloth, which reaches
to the feet, and sometimes trails on the ground, The
hair is tied upin a bunch at the top of the head, and
bound around with a fillet, ‘

“Miss Permilla Hall.”"—Nothing is a certain cure for such im-
perfections of the complexion but time. Leave the spots alone
and they will go away themselves, butif you are constantly pick-
ing at them, of course scars will be in their places, even if the
bumps disappear, ;

“One of the Stars, ete.’—Yes, our purchasing agency will
select the clothes for you. We can buy the suit fora boy of four
years of age to cost anywhere from $6 to $12, according to quality
of material and style of make and trimming, A sailor suit
would be pretty for spring, or you could have little knee pants
with vest and jacket of gray cloth, The suits of navy blue cost
more than the gray, For the girl you can get a sacque to cost
any where from $5 tu $15. Pretty fur sacques can be bought for

The dress may be of any maternal and can cost from $5 to

2. To send measure for suit or patterns, give size of waist and
bust; also be sure und mention the age of the child,

“G. M.%—The flower girl or the gipsy can wear a short dress,
The suit fora page isa regular boy’s costume, but it is worn some-
times by ladies.

“Young Married Lady and others.”—The styles now for doing
ttp the hair differ according to the tace of the wearer, Some
comb, their hair off the face, and braid in one loose braid in the
back of the head, which 1s looped up and the end hidden under
a pompadour roll, or coronet braid. The French twist with
coronet, too, is in favor, and also long puffs in the back, with
finger puffs im front, are much worn, Clusters of curls, too, are
worn by some.

“Wisconsin Girl.’"—We hardly understand exactly what you
want, but think 1t must be a “‘fichu,” as you ask tor something
for evening wear, to be made of white material. We have some
very pretty fichus, which can be made of mult, muslin, or lace.
2,846, price 20 cents,is a fichu jacket: 2,645 is a tichu with belt,
price 20 cents, both high-necked. One with low neck, and long
tabs iu the back, is No, 2,764, price 20 cents. Some are finished
with ruffles, while others have edge of embroidery or of Valén-
ciennes lace. Why not send name, address, aud six cents for one
ot our spring catalogues, and iu it you will see the fichus above
mentioned, together with other new styles,

“Mrs. B.—For the child six months old, you want to allow for
growinz, so your best plan is to make the little clothes in the
most simple forms. French yokes and gored uresses are the
nextest and most appropriate. For the little girl of three years
there are many jaunty costumes. A stylish suit can be made of
empress cloth, fuulard silk, challie, or any desirable material. Let
the skirt have four gores, after pattern 2,253, price 15 cents. Trim
with a side plaiting set on underneath a bias band headed Ly a
narrow ruffle. The polonaise fits the figure, is apron shape in
front, and postillion back, The side gores are pointed and look
like wings. Sleeves halfloose. The pattern is No. 3,119, price 25
cents. Have a chip hat with rolled rim, full silk loops, drooping
ends, and an ostrich tip, and the costume is complete. You can
trim your biack and white poplin with black, or if the polonaise
1s very much soiled why not make an outside garment entirely
of blagk. You will see a number of stylish patterns in the
catalogues already sent, so you can select the ones you like best.
If you do not like solid black, some very tashionable garments
are made of gray materials.

“Mra, L. K.*—Until further notice we will be able to buy the
hair switches at reduced rates. Yes, they are of good, solid huir,
in natural colors, and extremely well made. We are constantly
making purchases of switches and curls, and in every instance
have given satisfaction. We can get the braids at $5, $6, $7.20,
$9.60, $12, and $14.40. The best switches cost from $15 to $25, the
latter Demg the braid for which we used to pay about $40.

GENTLEMEN'S AND BOYS’ DEPARTMENT,

“Adonis."—The Greek costume consists of large, blue
trowsets, legs covered with tights and red slippers; a red
sash of silk tied around the waist, and a cloth jacket made
in the Venetian fashion with seams-of gimp. Fora man
of mature years the bead should be covered with a fig or
cloth skullcap and @ blue turban. Younger men should
wear a bonnet of scariet cloth, which haugs down on one
side. The dress of a chiefiain of India is gorgeous in the
extreme. It consists of a muslin vest, and drawers of
crimson and gol. The turban should be of purple mus-
lin, and richly adorned with jeweis; the sash, too, is of
the purple imustin. Wear on your neck two rows of large
pearis sustaining a cluster of diamonds. The earrings,
which can be fastened on around the ear, Should Consist
of four large pearis and as many rubies on gold rings two
or: three inches in diameter. Wear a rich bracelet on
your right arm, and a sliort dagger stieathed in your sash,
und a broadsword at your side. The Persian costume
Sfiould be luose truwsers of dark-colored cotton; a large
shirt, like a wagoner’s frock, but wilh wider sleeves, and
only reaching a litthe below the knee; a low cap, the sides
of which are of blhick silk or satin, and the top of gold
brocade or some brigiit-coivred cloth; a pair of half boots
of brown leather, laced or buttoned upto thecailf. Over
this may be thrown a large cloak of some Kind of fur or
skin, which garment is worn loose over the shoulders,
with the sleeves hauging down, and reaching to the
ankles,

‘‘Neal.”’—Your note reached us too late to give the de-
sired information in time, It was two weeks coming
three hundred miles by mail.

“Pp. OC. Baden, St. Paul, Minn.’—We think you will find
a purchaser for your skins by communicating with C. C.
Shayne, dealer in furs, corner Broadway and Tenth street,
opposite Stewart's. Mr. Shayne is coustantly baying
large lots of the various skiis used in manufacturing the
fur articles in demand, such as cloaks, caps, muffs, bvas,
gloves, etc., etc. Yes—mink furs are still worn.

“Mrs, Dora Wright.’’—One of the prettiest suits for lit-
tle boys from two to four, or five years of age, is the new
Scotch adress, No. 3,135, price 25 cents. ‘The frout is whole
and carried far enough back to have the effect of side-
bucks, which together with the back, takes Lhe seniDiance
of ashort, nally basque. The kilted skirt is neatly hem-
med on the bottom, und sewed at thetopto a bel. A
tiny pocket-lap adorns each side of the basque, aud a cull,
shaped Lo Correspoud, decorates the coat sleeve. With
the exception of the killed portion, all the ecges of the
dress are neatly bound with braid, above which may be
traced a pretty embroidery desigu. Tiny buitons may
also be used as directed on the pattern. Lace gives a
dainty finish to the neek, and the back Clases with butions
and bulton-holes. For material yotl éih tise Stoich plaid,
flannel, Empress cloth, poplin, Lady’s cloth, or, in trath,
any desirable fabric will look well made after this pattern.

“Country Mercuaut.’—The NEw YORK WEEKLY Pur-
chasing Agency will buy your complete stock ef goods for
you at Wiviesale prices, and will do better for you than
you can for yourself, because the bayers for the agency
wre familiar wilh all the desirable houses. Yes, we can
buy heedles, thread, cord, etc., ag well as larger articles.
Bivod’s needies are excellent. They are of good steel, do
not beud, are weil finished, and have large, perfect eyes,
all indications ef guod ieedies, -

PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS,

[Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing; to
ward making this column an attractive feature of the New YORK
WREREKLY, and they wiil oblige us by sending for publication any-
ar which may be deemed of sufficient interest for general pe-

rasal. Itis not necessary that the articles should be penned in
scholarly style; 80 long as they ave pithy, and likely to afford
amusement, minor defects wilt be remedied. }

THE RUGG DOCUMENTS.
BY CLARA AUGUSTA.

I looked at my memorandum-book as I passed down the
road, and found that the next person on my list was Mrs.
Kezial Scroggins Welch—a resident of Pig’s-Lane—aged
ninely-nine and six months. She was one of Washing-
ton's Dry Nurses.

To Pig’s-Lane I took my way.

 

morning, as I had such a fright last night. 1 must goand
take up that wet carpet.

THE LADIES’ WoRK-Box.

OUR New CATALOGUE.—The new Illustrated Catalogue of the

New YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, 212 pages, is pow ready,
and will be sent to any address, prepaid, on receipt of ten cents.

Te those who ask for “Spring Styles,’ we state that
while basques anc overskiris are worn, we find that the
polonaise is quite as much in favor as in the past, and al-
thougit there is nothing yet particularly novel, we find
quite a variety of desigus which We are suré will be pop-
ular on account of beauty and convenience. Avery leat
garment for spring wear is No. 3,137, price 35 cents. This
can be made of cashmere, or of tle material for your suit.
The waist is fitted to the form, while the graceful skirt is
made so by folds and plaits. Two lines of buitons hold
the center back fold in place, while the fold in each under
arm Seam is sustained by a bow of silk, and aslide, The
siraps ou the under side prevent any displacement of the
drapery. An exquisite pattern of iringe, and jet passe-
menterie ornaments the bottom of the skirt, while a sec-
ond line of passementerie, resembling a vine, decorates
the front, and continuing up over the waist, passes around
the neck and is very rich in effect. The cuif projects over
the outside seam of the sleeve aud has the end finished
with fringe, while the pussementerie passes all around
this cuff. ‘The neck and sleeves should be finisied with
lace or a plaiting of footing. handsome dress made
after this design was made of blue-steel poplin, and gar-
nitured with fringe and passementerie.

Alhandsome skirt to be worn with the above, or any
stylish polonaise is No. 2,208, price 30 cents. ‘This is
slightly trained, hangs nicély, and the fullness may be
drawn back by tapes joined to the side-back seams, and
tied beneath. The bottom can be ornamented with a
flounce, widely scolloped on the lower edge, and having
box-plaits laid through the shorter portions. ‘The flounce
is headed by a fold which sustains a standing ruffle, laid
in clusters of tivo side-plaits at intervals, and then turned
au aud tacked. The effect is pretty, and the labor but
slignt.

“Mrs. L. S, B——d.""—Grenadine should be made over
silk or farmer’s satin. Your skirt you can make slightly
trained with deep-gathered flounce at the bottom, headed
by three or five ruffles, say each about four inclies iu
width. Line the poionaise to the waist line with silk,
but have the skirt portion without lining. A stylish pat-
tern to use for grenudine is polonaise No. 3,112, price, 35
cents. This has basque back, and is slightly gatnered in
front, and belted in at the waist line, from the side seams.
Trim your dress with black silk.

“Musa, Gertie and May.**—The Swiss peasant’s cos-
tume will be pretty for the brunette. The hat is a large
flat, of straw, decorated around the crown ‘with four
large bows of ribbon, of different colors; also a bunch of
flowers. The hair is drawn back from the forehead, and
falis behind in two long braids. The petticoat or pipe is
short, sometimes showing the garter, and may be of three
colors, and very full. The chemise, or under garment,
reaches to the throat, and has fuli round sleeves. The
bodice cam be covered with embroidery, lace, chains,
and buttons. The stockings should be white, and the
shoes biack and neat. For the blonde, make a dress of
pure white; have the petticoat rather short, but full, The
bodice should be laced up iu front, with lapels hanging
from the waist, sleeves long and full. The hair falls down
the back in pluits,and on the head is worn a sort of
white cap or hood, with a rose-colored ribbon bow in

Iarrived there the next day, and found Mrs. Welch
without difficulty. She was on another patiern from
Grandmar Tidd. She was one of the kind tuat the news-
papers tell about as being of a green old age, and retain-
ing the elasticities of youth,

She was a tall woman, bony and angular. She had
bones enough to set up an anatomikel museum in bigness.

She had on a red short gound, aud a blue petticoat, and
white stockings grafied with black legs.

Sie had irou-rimmed specks, and a black cap trimmed
With purple, and she was a knilling ona blue siocking,
as if her fe depended on the click of them needles,

i rapped, and she answered me,

“Walk!”

I didn’t know ixactly which way she calkilated for me
to walk, but I took the liberty of walking in.

“Mornin’ mla’am!’ sez she, briskly. ‘‘Coolish!
cheer!"

I sot down and looked her over, and made up my mind
that Washington was dead jest about the time she was
born. But, of course, I didu’t say so. Taint allers best
LO Say What youthink. ILmakes iiard feelings sometimes,

“— ee your name is Welch?” sea I, taking out my book and

nc. °
ive: that’s my name!” sez she, ‘and a decent, respectable
name it is, too! Who are you ? the senses taker? or the tax bill
man?"

“Nary one,” sez I. ‘I’m a private interviewer, I am——”

“OhY”? sez she, “that means you’re a kind ot a Shakerite ? or
ia it one of them kind that believes in going up, and staying into
the clouds while things here is singed off, and the airth prepared

Have a

for *em to cum back agin? ve heerd Squire Davis and Elder |

Blossom argyly on it!”

“My name is Perkius!” sez I. “‘SJerushy Perkins. I reseaved a
letter from you a spell ago! Dry Nuss you was, I believe. Well,
I’ve calied on that Dry Nuss bizness,”

©Oh ? ah? that’s it, is it? Want to write it out to prent, I
spose ? How much do you git for doing it ?”

“That's my privit bizness!” sez IL “But Vilgive you a half a
dollar to tell what you know about Dry Nussing.”

“You'll have to make it seventy-five cents, mam," sez she,
“everything has ris! Merlasses and salt fish is a cent higher than
they was, and knitting’s down! Panick! that’s what’s done it.
I knit for a jiving, and Sally works in the shoe firm. Suaily’s a
good girl, but she’s got a spark, now, and it takes all her wages
for ribbing, and freezers, to wear round her neck. Law! in my
young days a gal had ruther have a feller’s arm round her neck
than all the ruffs and fallals in creation, and that didn’t cost
anything, but times Has Changed! Yes, mam! they aint as they
used to was.”

“That's so,” sez I, “though to be shure, I don’t remember so
fur back as yourself, but I can well recollect them times you
speak of, and it seems to me that if the gals should once git back
in them old ways they’d like ’em better than they do these new-
fangled ones!’’

“Pears to ne,” sez Mrs. Welch, setting her specksup Closer to
her eyes, “that you hdiut so young as you might be! You haint
been x Nuss to Washington, now, have you ?”

“No, indeed!” sez [; “I’m a young woman yet, Iam!"

“How old might you be. now ?” sez she, “seventy-six ?”?

“Seventy-six!” sez I. ‘Do you mean to insult me ?”

“No,” sez she, “not at all; but them crow’s feet and them
wrinkles around your nose is uncommon deep! Bay, now, you
don’t use none of these emetics on your face, do ye ?’

“Mrs. Welch,” sez Il, with dignitude, “I cum here to ask ques-
tions, not to answer ’em,. If I answer your questions, it will be
you that must pay me seventy-five cents,”

“T didn’t mean nothing,” sez she; “give me the money, and
I'm ready to tell you what I know.” ’

I give her fifty cenis, and told her the other quarter was hern
when her work was done,

“You was a Dry Nuss ?”’ sez I.

“Yes, remarkably cry!”? sez she. “They did use to say that I
was the dryest one for an ausur that ever was! Why, when
Solomon Blivens used to come a courting of he—”’

“TI want to hear about Washington, principlely,” sez I, “so we
won't go into your courtship, if 1t suits you just as well. Welll
let beaux go to grass for the pfesent——”

“I s*pose you think I never had no beaux!’ sez she, flaring up
and glowering at me through her specks like‘a mad Tom cat,
ad oceans of ’em!

 

“Why, veh
perposed, aud he keeps a gray hoss

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only last week Capen Jones he
and kerridge, with black

mane and tail, and can trot in 2 hours aad thirty minnkts, fer the
Capen sed sot”?

“Was Wasbincton a wealthy child ? sez I.

“Never was sick in bis life!” gez she,

“No mumps, nor measkes t geg J,

“Not a mumpi” sez she,

“Cry much ?” sez I.

“No,” sez she.

“Ever lie ?” sez I.

“No,” sez she; “he never told a lie! I wish folks ginerally
knowed it! Put that dowu strong in your beok, main. te NEV-
ER TOLD A LIk !!’

“How long did you nuss him ?”?

"Six year,”

“Did he ever have any other nuss ?

“NO, INDERD 1"

“Honor bright sez I.

“Do you doubt my word, mam ?” sez she, rising from hercheer,
and making a motion toward the poker—"me, that bas been a
huss tothe Father of His Country, and has lived ninety-nine
year, and knit seven thousand three hundred and eighty eight
pair of stockmgs, and four thousand one hundred and two pair of
mittens, two thousand pair of ’em in twisted stitch, with green
ne. ne whee!s in the wrists, and tringes!—me tell a he, in-

ee

And she branuished that poker over my lead in a way that
made me feel sick to the stumuuk, for I had left my ambrit in
the entry, and was without anything to defend myself with.

“I didn’t mean nothing,” sez I, “Ot course, a woman ef your
age, with one toot in the grave—"

“Dil let you know where my foot is,” sez she; and I’m sorry to
say that she histed up one foot and kicked at my bustle, but I
whirled round so quick that she luat her ballances, and down she
cum, head fust, into atten quart milk-pan of dough that wasa
setting On a stool by tae fire a rising!

It riz when she did, pan and ail, and such’a spettacle I never
beheld. She was kivered with dough from top to toe, and it was
in her eyes, and nose, and mouth, and on her black cap with the
purple ribbins; and there was no disputing bat she was a dough-

bead!

I couldn't help laffing, and that made her madder, and she
srabyed that poker agin, and I thought it was best to leave and
save Iny other quarter of a dollar. Of course I wasn’t ateared of
her, but twenty-five cents is twenty-five cents, and jest as good
for me as for any other man.

So I cleared out, and never stopped to listen to the bad names
she wus a calling of me. Yourn—J. R. PERKINS.

The Steam Jackass.

Aman living near Nashville, Washington County, Ill., has re-
centlyinvented an apparatus to take the place of whistles for
railroad signals, steamboats, fire alarms, factory ealls, and the
like. Hecualls it the “Telephon,” but the popular name is the
“Steam Jackass.” The inventor is a stock farmer, and has de-
voted much of his time to raising mules, whose habits and anat-
omy he appears to have studied carefully. On his farm there
was a muleof more than ordivary vocal power, whose voice

could be heard a distance of four miles inevery direction when _

he once got warmed ap to bis work. The owner computed that
it he could set in motion ail the air in a circle of eight milesin
diameter, or twenty-five miles in cireumfereuce, or any areu of
fitty square niles, or thirty-two thousand acres, a hundred horse
power jackass could, ull things being equal, rival any other noise
yet discovered. He established the fact that the power of an or-
dinary ass is about one-twelith of an indicated steam power. A
steam engine of one thousand horse power woukl therefore be
equal to the power of twelve thousand asses. Wherefore, if one
ass can fill a circle eight miles in diameter, twelve thousand jack-

asses of one thousand horse power jackass would fill a civcle of °
The inventor thought .

ninety-five thousand miles ia diameter.
wi this overcarefully, arriving at the deduction that if he coald
take Nature’s vocal apparatus aud apply itto a greater power,
he could produce a lurger and more satisfactory volume of
sound. Filled with this idea, he put the mule to death, and care-
fully severed the head from the body. He then injected solu-
tions of chloride of zinc and arsenic into the veins and arteries of
the head and neck, to prevent decay of the flesh. India rubber
was dissolved in sulphuric ether, and the solution forced through
the trachea or windpipe, and through the laryux or throat, The
ether evaporated, leaving afilm ot rubber on the membranes,
and the injection and evaporation were continued until the rab-
ber film was found of sufficient thickness. Thesé organs were
then subjected toa vapor of sulphur heated to 300 degrees, by
which process the rubber was vulcanized, its elasticity iucreased,
aud the membranes rendered impervious to steam. These prep-
arations completed, a short piece of rubber hose was attached
tu the windpipe and connected with a steam boiler.

It was a momentof agunyto the inventor as he placed the ass
headin the hands of an assistant, and slowly puiled the valve
open—a Moment of tlirilling interest. As the steam was turned
ou it passed into the windpipe, expelling the air and- produciug a
sigh, followed by a groan, a snort,a chuckle, then a violent
coughing and sueeziug. As afull hend of steam was-turned on,
the most fearful noise, the most frightful guffaw, the most vocit-
erous bray that ever assailed mortal ears were produced. The
lips were contracted, disclosing a terrible array of teetisn; the fea-
tures developed asatanic grin, and the jaws rose and fell as the
Steam crowded the passages, and the ears purticipated in the
general movement, giving to the head of the ass un animated
and excited appearauce.

The man who was holding the head gazed upon it 2 momept
with dilated eyes, colorless cheeks, Knueking kuees, and protrud-
ing longue; then, suddenly losing all incerestin the performance,
he emigrated. As for the iuventor, his saceess exceeded his
most sanguine anticipations, * For an instant he contemplated
the head, his countenance working with every manifestation Of
intense delight; then he too started, probably to learn the great-
est distance to which that voice would penetrate, leaving it still
in operation, with all the steam on. The head bad now got fully
warmed up to its work, and that bray went burtling through the
universe. It was am acoustic earthquake, a sky shake; it was a
storm, a hurricane ef sound, a tornado, a eyelone of noise; it
was a donkey carnival, a jackass Foucth ot July. It was the
greatest success the world has ever kKuown,

The Gourmand of Athens.
As an original chapel apeech, a student of Rutget"s Cottege get
off the following, 4 short time since:
Regal turkey, ere I start,
Iain pledged to do my part,
Dk take a alice from cff tly bronat,
Aud eat it first, for thit*s the best,
Hear my vow, tor “here I go,”
Ob, my bash! I love thee se.
By these beans in yonder dish,
By that bird they call codfish,
a that mackerel sublime
hich was deemed euough for mine,
By my appetite’s fierce giow,
On, my hash! I love thee se.
By that pie I’ve longed to taste,
But ta louging doomed to waste—
all pungry looks that teil
en Tam waiting fur the bei
By my stomach’s gnawing wee—
Oh, my hash! I love thee so,

Oh, my comrades! Iam gone,
Abuse ine not when left aleve;
Though I ate with dire effect,
Yee pete in aligtie lel

Oau I'stop much sodiier ? Noi
On, my hast! T love thee so.

Crooked Boston.

“Whif, from Cambridge, Muss, says a word about the pro-
yerbially crooked streets of Bostou: “People from abroad have
& great deal to say about the crooked ways of ‘The Hub,’ but the
oldest mhabitants—of whom there are several—witl tell you Chat
they have traversed Boston streets for many years and never
found any difficulty in getting about. One chap, from Philudei-
phia, who sojvurned here tor six months, devoting all his mind
to do the intricacies of the city, at last arrived at a formuta,
which he printed, that serves as a genera! direction for strangers,
To find any given place in and about Boston, turn the first corner
to the right apd then turn the first coruer to the lett, and you
are sure to Come Ont somewhere. He says it is intablible.”

Breaches of Trust.

Ye spindle-shanked dandies,
Ye conceited beaux,
Whose one earthly pleasure
Is showing your ciuthes,
Do not cheat your tailors, |
But pay thein what’s just!
Por trowsers on credit,
Are breeches of trust.

: , & Cool Rejoinder.

Mr. Vimint, a lawyer, takes his tod regularly and frequently.
Ata court held in Northern Jowa, upon a case beime culted, in
which V. was likely to lose his case for want of proof te corrubo-
rate his client’s evidence, he was asked by the court what ceurse
he would take in the matter. ‘“‘Wliy,” said V., “if it please sour
hpnor, I betieve ‘I will take water,’” (2 common expression, sig-
nifying that the person using it 1 nonsuited. Juege B., who
was on the bench, pointedly suid, ‘Well, brother V. f you do,
you will greatly astonish your stomach.” J. Z. CONNAVON,

Sublimity on a Splerge.

The poet-laureate of Skeeterville having obtained possession of
alead pencil, cither surreptitiously or throuSh the mistaken gou-
erosity of some person inconsiderate of the public peace, thus en-
dangers the laurels of Tennyson & Co, in ap address:

“TO A YOUNG LADY WHO HAD HER FEET FROZEN.”
When angels trom their mansions in the skies,
(Tempted by kindness or by fancy’s flight
To glad this dark sphere with their beauteous eyea,
To intersperse these shades with beams of ligut,)
Come down among us poor, rough sons of men,
No wonder that their co-mates should be vexed,
And as a warning not to err again,
Decree them with some ill to be perplexed.
Such was thy fate—sucn the hard reprimand
For quitting clouds to wander o’er our snows,
The envious choir forsakeu gave command
That thy angelic trampers should be froze.

An Umbrelisa Nose.

Mrs. Matilda Huggins has a very large nose. On a recent Sab
bath she said to her husbaud that she had not seen her brother
Isaac atthe church that morning. Her husband rephed: “I
don’t see how. you could fail to see him, for he was mght under
your nose.” Tre conversation was interrupted by their son, who
said: “Pa, he could have been under her nose easily, and she
would not have been able to see hin. Why, ma’s nose is almost
as big as a small umbrella.”

Riding an Alligator.

Harry B., aged five years, went from his home in Lewell to
Boston, in the company of some relatives, and took dinner atone
of the hotels, When hégot home he told his mother ali about
the wonders of the place. “And, mamma,” said he, “when we
went to our room We did not have to walk up stairs as we do
here—we rode on the Ailigator.’’ He meant the elevator.

BeGuibaa.
A Banished Hackman.

On acold evening last winter, a hack driver was engaged to
drive two couples (colored) toa ball Im Pawtucket, R.I. They
arrived about ten P. The driver remained outside about an
hour, when he thought he would go in and look on. The room
was full, and very warm, He had not been there very long when
one of the floor managers came to him and asked him to “Ieave
the room, as de ladies objected to his presence, he smelt so very
‘hossy’.”? He left. F. B. FeRRis.

Kk.

Jour H. G.

THINGUMBOB.

Sharp Shooting.

Of course this story is true, for it happened in Rafherford Park,
N. J., where only the strangest occurrences have the slightest
chance of being believed:

A hunter went out to shoot ducks. He sawa duck, and fired
at it; but the duck flew away unharmed. Somewhat astonished,
he looked in the barrel of his gun and saw the slot coming out.
Quickly drawing back his head, he pat the gun to his shoulder,
took rapid aim, and fired just in time to shoot three ducks, _

« We

To P. P. ConrRipvuToRS.—The following MSS. are accepted:
*‘Dutchman’s Mother-in-Law ;’ ‘Looking tor Hts Cousin,’ ‘Sweet-
Toothed Rats;’ ‘Not at Home;’ “Thinking Twice;’ ‘An inebriate
Cooled ;’ ‘Not a Certain Remedy ;’ ‘Burial of the Turkey :’ ‘Made
and Repaired;’ ‘That Brave Boy; ‘Be Brief;’ ‘I'll Promise
Mother That;’ ‘Original Spellipg;’ ‘Drug Store Scene;’ ‘Mary’s
MD. oi fe ann The following are respectfully declined: ‘How It
Turned Out;’ ‘More About a Mustache,’ ‘Si Wiggins,’ "The Walk-
ing Dictionary;’ ‘Bright Chap;’ ‘Sam Gooseberry,’ ‘Young
America;’ ‘Tiiree Valises;’? ‘Dreams,’ ‘Patsey Bolliver;’ "Good
Beef;’ ‘Polly Billinger;’ ‘Oil Rectifier;’ ‘Humpty Dumpty,’
‘Grandfather;’ ‘Fighting Cock? ‘Big Boots; ‘Countryman’s
Mistake;’ ‘Nonconductor’—old; ‘Pantaloons;’ ‘Freezing,’ ‘Bigot-
ed Cow;’ ‘And Still You Wonder at Crime;’ ‘Good Sell,’ ‘Rhode
Island Woman;’ ‘City Father,’ "Datchess Oologne;’ ‘Solemn
Fact;’ ‘Gospel Truths;’ ‘Built Him a Fire;’ ‘Wanted ;’ ‘Opposi-
tion;} ‘American Smartness;’ ‘Healthy Florikta;’ ‘C. W. Horlon;’
‘Trish Lad; ‘Pat O’Brien;’ ‘A’Sage;’ ‘Prayerful Auctioneer;’
‘Fritz’s Reply;’ ‘Another Pill'—old; ‘Oshkosh Boys’—oid; ‘Under
an Eclipse’—old; ‘Sally Van Cram,’ ‘Which Will Beat’—old;
> Saaaagent ‘Bull’s-Rye;’ “Saving Her Bacou’—vldy ‘Hic
Ot. 3

 

 

 

 

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