Ma . i. oe

 

Enterea According to Act of Congress. tn the Fear 1874, by Street d& Smith. in the Office or the Librarian of Conoress. Waskington, D, C.

 

Vol, XXX,

Proprictors.

THE FREAKS AND FORT

STREET & SMITH f Nos. 27, 39, 31 Rose St.,
1 P.0. Box £896, New York.

K, NOV

EMBER 30. 1874.

R

= tices Na air

NEW Y

Three Dollars Per Year.
Two Copies Five aliens

FRANCIS &. STREET
FRAKCIS 8. SMITH. No. 4;

Sy

 

BARE-BACK BILL;

 

 

BY JOHN FF. COW AN,

UNES OF A TOW-BOY.

 

 

CHAPTER [.

BARE-BACK BILL AND MOTHER MINT
—A SPECULATIVE NEPYEW

“Good-by, granny!”

“Good-by, Billy, and Heaven
bless youand keep you from all
harum by storms an’ tempests--—”

“Let up, granny! Storms and
tempests on the canal! Ha, ha!
That'll make the fellers laugh down
at the creek. Hi-yi! Jolly old
tempests us fellers have. Oaths as

 

long’s a whip-lash from the steers-
man an’ billets 0’ wood like thun-|
derbolts from the cap’n, a good|
soakin’ from rain on the sonaadh. |
or a rousin’ old duck in the canal
froma cross-line or a check jest as|
a feller’s a dreamin’ hisself away on|
the neck of his mule. Them’s our
storms.”

‘‘Dang’rous too, Billy dear. |
Water’s water all the world over |
—water in a well equally as in a|
canal, or the ragin say, or

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

 

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Wied
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wrinkled old woman, whose eyes
were fast blearing into the dim light
of the downhill of life, without need
of invoking strong drink to the as-
sistance of age. At one hand, on
the rickety table before her, stood
a crockery teapot, at the other 4
four-sided, high-shouldered,. green-
glass gin bottle, and in the ‘center
field “before, her a goodly cup, con-
taining the combined contents. of
pot and bottle. Hence Bill’s gin

allusion.

The imbecility of dissipation and
age was fast advancing on her, and
yet there was a cunning, almost in-
tellectual expression, that flitted
occasionally across her withered
face and flashed in her faded blue
eyes—which showed like the strug-
gle of the former spirit striving to
fight the advancing dotage off.

‘‘Good-by, Billy,” she said, ‘and
Heaven bles——”

The boy’s mellow voice was al-
ready ringing in the distance, and
the blessing which had begun so
fervently died with a choking gur-
gle as if it had stuck in her throat.

“Or in gin punch, granny. Thrue|
for you, as the lap-dog said when!
they called her a cur-Nell. Nuff
said. Time’s up. Bark is heavin’|

————4
=

—
or

 

 

 

on the canal, hosses on the tow-path, |

streamers a wayin’ in the wind,| }
cap’n’a raisin’ blue Peter coz it’s |

time to sail, and Bare-Back Bill'

seratch. Adoo! Remember me!|

Pll fetch you a calico dress, big pat-/ |
tern, from Cohoes, or somethin’ gal-' |}

lus from Troy. Yours, feline-ly, as

the cat said to the land c®ah— | \

|
“Our ship was launched and manned brave boys, |
All on the fifth of May,
When we hitched our horses to the bows,
An’ for West Troy bore away, brave boys,
An’ for West Troy bore away. ’
Our cap’n was on the main tops’l yard-—

Et cetera, until boy and voice were’

lost in the distance. This rather) \'

jovial and fast-running conversa- |
tionalist was a youth of sixteen or}

thereabout, of supple figure and| |

jaunty carriage, with bright, laugh-

ing, mischievous eyes, from which |

waggery seemed to be looking
around forsubject matter. His fea-
tures were more regular than clean,
and the scarcity of covering on his
youthful form would certainly have
entitled him to the name of Bare-

Back Bill if that cognomen had not|
been given him for another reason,

While speaking,he was standing on
the threshold of a dilapidated one-
story frame house on Qhio street,

| i

neither towing the boat nor the! |i

 

Buffalo, within which sat a shaky,

 

Her wrinkled chaps fell upon her
skinny palms, and the watery eyes
seemed, in their set stare, to be
piercing through the dirty table-top
into the depths of earth.

‘Why should I sin my wicked soul
worse than it is ?” she croaked, with
shaking head, every vestige of her
assumed geniality and feeling van-
ishing with the disappearance of the
boy. ‘‘Why should I pray Heaven
to keep him when I’m prayin’ Satan
to take him from my way? When
he’s here my heart warms to him in
spite of all, for he is good and kind
to me and brings me money for 1!
drawer (he doesn’t know of that)
and money for the cushion (he’s ig-
norant o’ that too), and money
my pouch—his own hard earnin’s.”

At each clause of her last sen-
tence she suited the action to the
word with a propriety that would
have delighted the fastidious Ham-
let himself.

‘‘Money for the drawer,” shesaid,
and her claw-lrke hands pulled out
the drawer of the table before which
she sat. It had compartments orig-
inally intended for the separation
of knives, forks and spoons ; now
they were used for the distinction of

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
' purring, tail-wagging betavior of a cat |

“eorporeai corpofosity. Excuse, under the circumstances,

 

Soe Stee meneame me! a ernment thmpt mm as

; bidinegiet gps ries veer the tuidebafred.’*

pression of jniendd. foatiiings “Kuow, Afntiy Minusbat

ary, |
o, wens.

“as brief as an interiude—through ju one act.

 

 

 

 

 

eS aE
eee

values. In one was gold coin in chamois ponches—in
another silver coin in flannel bags—in another bills in
paper wrappers, and the oid eyes flashed and glittered as
they fell upon the treasure.

“Money for the cushion!’ she said, and half-raising her-
self by placing one claw onthe arm of the old wheeled
chair in which sire sat, she strack the pillow-like eushion
With the other and chuckled in time to the musical jingle.

‘Money for my pouch!” she said, pulling an old canvas
pocket throughs slitim her dirty gown, and shaking it
before her.’ Bafa melancholy expression Succeeded the
avaricious triumph of her face asthe rustiing of stamps
and the beggarly Jingling/of petty coin Struck her ear,

“Not likethe rest,’ sheomuttered. ‘‘Poor, poor, but
‘tis ail he gets—
Poor Billy, Dlove him ‘and T\Rate him, Jan. paid—weill
paid—to keep him; Lam paid-detter paid-to—xiW hin;
but sometimes—some times,’’ she said, holding tue pouch
up between Wer skinny, trembling haptis, “ehese little
savin’s of the boy bin! my heart firmer than aither the
other's goold.'. saad ~ 4

A dark shadow fell npon the table, and witlt a half
écreech the miser slapped the still open drawer to its place,
and seizing a crutch that leaned againstthe arm of her
chair, tured at bay like a lioness about to be rebbed of
her cubs,

In the doorway, whichshad been left open by Bare-Back
Bill and forgotten by the soliloquizimg crone, stood the
tall, lank figure ofa man in biack. He was_a singular-
looking individual taken all together, a walking anatomy
that might weil be suspected of haying been put together
With wires, for this thin and angular figure forbade the
idea ofthew or tendon. The expression of his face was
humorous, but it was a theatrical, Come-and-go humor,
Bach ag an actor assumes wiien he personates the devil in
Faust. His whole manner would put you in mind of the
fore the pounce.

“Ha, Mother Mintl’? he said, jovially, ‘by the cart of
Thespis, 1) never knew that your hame had suclr signifi-
catce before. Mint hy lNaiie—a Mint beneath: your el.
bows—a ming bencath your skirt—a miné beneath your
my wonder-mingé. Ha-hal dye see tie point. Demme
good. Next after-piece 1 shall use thatas a gag.”

Mother Mint Jooked at him as if she could have gagged
hii with her crutch aud gaved him from ali further
nnxiety in regard to after-pieces by concluding his earthly
performances with a trage@y, As it was she scowled at
him ferociously, but his serenity Was as unclonded by her
scowling ag would have been the sufi. ‘

“Now I see,’? continued the free-and-easy gentleman,
loliing against the door-jumb, ‘now I see why my dear
grand-aunt prefers to sit in her Jocomotive chair instead
of reclining her fragile form on a couch of down; now I
know why a hard deal board is preferabie to a pillow for
the reposing of her venerabie head. Ha, in my ignorant
innoceuce, 1 fondly thought it was her fervent devotion
to her idvis—tea and _gin—that guided her curious tastes,’’

“You idle vagabond,” excite Ane ofd woman in an
exasperated tone. “Wht brings you stragghiny here 21
Ovonfound your pictur; does Soh
ho better munners than to ope
without rapping?)  \ Pf

“Now, sow, Austy-Mint, benot
‘My straggling footsteps have been thither led,’ first by

Play-actin’ tache yo
f lene word's! door

he goes nearly naked to give it to me. |

‘pevere, be not unjust. |.

 

‘the duty una the loyalty I owe’ to you.”
“Fadget” cried Mother Mint, viciously.
“Ah, well, ‘luty despised and Joyaity laughed at.’

that's not much.’ Secondly, I cume on business.”
“Business!” she cried, sharply, wheeiing her squeaking

chair toiace him. ‘Business with me ??
“With you,’? he said, coolly, entering and closing the
door behind him. ‘Leud me your ears, aud hear me for

este S tabiame That you saw fit to air your
sispécied Wenlt

1 Open portal? The door unvoit-
edand thrown back; Icame, 1 saw, I—entered. Then

qa.
‘Yet

“See here, Joe Tivers,” Snapped Mother Mint,

“Tiyers avauull’”’ exclaimed the gentig.nan, with an ¢x-

the coguomen of Tivers33 lurever sunk in the abysgof

 

 

 

IRE WEEKLY.

 

She watched the young man's €Xit through the door
leading to the back of the house, and then turned her at-
tention to the front. With nervous hands slie removed
the bottie from the table and set it beneath her skirt upon
the floor, pulling the teapot into suggestive proximity to
the cup and saucer. Had it not been for these little ar-

rangements she might have noticed the stealthy figure of,

Armand Montcalm flitting back from the passage and
gliding into the little bedroom at the back. .
A slight-rapping sounded on the door. :
“Oomein, please!’ said Mother Mint, and the vailed
lady entered. ; ce
CUAPTER It.

A PAST FRIENDSHIP QUICKLY MADE—A HIGH OLD TIME—
LAUNCHING B STOCK.
" Meantime the youth for whom snch a brilliant path was

Hu. by:the’ disinterested Mr. Monteahu, and around
wWhont bubgisuch shadows ofinystery as indicated by the
hivtings antl mutterings or Motler Mint, sped. his way
canalward, trolling jis’ parody on thai’? immortal
‘“wiile-fish’? ag merrily.as if there wasn’t.a.shadow or a
cloud, physical or figurative, in existence, but the work!
was only full of sunshine. ;

Bare-Back Bill was not one of the thinking or despond-
ing kind. The habit of his mind was as careless as that.
of his body. His was the philosophical nature of the kit-
ten, he troubled himself very litle about anything—he
ate when he could get-hoid of food—went without when
he couldn’t—anad ‘went for? fun ana diversion contin-
nally: :

“Hi-yil fellers! Here comes Bare-Back Bill!’ was the
joy{nl salute that hailed him from a copgregaiion of youth-
jul chevaliers of the tow-path gathered around the base
of a loity lumber pile near the edge of the canal.

“Hello, fellers, whatv’s the muss?’? was his response.
‘What ye strétchin-yer mouth, organs for? Never sea a
foie in his good clothes afore?”

ood. clothes was a scarcity In that community, and the

laugh that followed the mention of such w luxuty could

offenct no-one; for it was applicable to alls t
“What yedoin’? Holdin’ camp-mectin’, or what?’
“Jest in time for fun, Bil” roared an independent-

looking young gentieman, in & crownless straw hat and

pants that reached his Knees and might have been calied
pantalets. ‘Got a ‘seéd? with @ banjo, Bil? Baily
chance for a faundango, snd stunnfn’ platform on top the

lumber pile.” : i
Bare-Back Biil approached ihe crowd, and saw, as ihe

center of attraction, eslight and slightly-dressed youth of

handsome counteuance; With bushy head of curly hair, as
golden red as the setting sun, siting on the projecting
end of a board, with a small banjo in a green bag upon

his knees. 5
He looked frightened, and gazed from one to the other

of the weather-beaten faces uround him in a very wistful

manner. When Bare-Back Bill pushed through the ring”
with the manner of an acknowledged Jeader, the inquir-
ing eyes were turned searchingly on his face and remmaned
there steadily. Buré-Back Bill cast Nis. comprehensive
celgver the s(fanger nnd) was satisfied. His was a
fed eye, Which'hud picked up all te knowledge he
pasbessed at first-hand from mend and things—the best
kind of Knowledg@tobe had. | '
-’ What's the rew, sonny ?? he said, with the condescen-
sion of seniority, for the stray lamb was evidenily a year
or two hisjunior. “You look to be askeard, What's the
use’? These fellers ain*t Injuns—tuey won't eat you.
lfave ye runhed away from anywhere!”
“Yes, answered (ie strange boy, with asudden confi-
dence, ‘Il have run aw

here isn’t gay, and me blowin’ like a fish-man ’bout what
Teould do. Lf my het is worth olferin’ ld give it to you,
by George!’

‘Look out, Bill, look out!’ rang the warning cries of
the boys who were scatteripg in every direction beyond
reach of. the furious policemen, who were clambering up
the bank dripping like muskrais, and changed by the mud
and water to the color of that animal,

“There’s x nice lot of official grampuses, ain’t they
now!’ reared Billi a hysterical fit of Jaughter at the lu-
dicrous appearance of “he aficers, “Ilere, young un,
I'yl do the standin?

here’s your fryin’ pan—squatdown,
up. Give thema partin’ tame,’
.Whnt shall play??? gaid the boy, taking the banjo
and dropping into an easy position on the horse’s back.

« ‘oe ‘Over the Water, ney That's just the cheese, and

ver the,Water, Guarley’ ’? rang insultingly in the ears of
the policemen as the two youthial fugitives dashed away.
Bare-Back Bill capering aitily on the horse’s-back to the
lively measure. 5 > |. We

Clicers of laughterand cried or rage and pain caused
them to look back. The canal boys, who had been shot
y ‘the water-aiong with tie mMyrnidons of the law were

rach at.ieme in that element a8 ducks, and instead of
being angered at their cenrades sacrificing them in the
general punishment they -were repaying themselves for
their sousing by surrounding theluckiess lanky man, who
7s on & plank in mid stream,
all directions; pushing bom and
striking hin ty KEIK in th iirled

around. La Ss =z 4
“Hurray lea Bare-Back Bill. “Bually’forthe boys!
Mobile bay! Farragut’s fleet and te Tennessee, by jingo!”’

“Oh, isn’t splendid? Isn’t magnificent fun? Ain’t I

ad??? cried the banjo boy, im_eestasy of delight that at-
hae ihe art fn {Bir K Bhi. . me

“Whois tat spihdle-shanked critver“tiat “so blamed

oe, r w’ fois 2? i 4 je a a oF 4

wT ttetaes arn cabot eam, the aotor,”’ Was the
answer.

“The actor? Aud was it him you run.awny from?

“Him and ethers.’

“Then you've bin in the actin’ biz?”

“Yes; Lhat’s my business.¥\. .

“Thought so, by jingot Look at the cops;*bound to
catch us, uin’t they, the silly off mudlarks. I’m a’mighty
giad of it.. Pm inclined to thegenn? mysell.”

“So I see.’? ge

“Let you and me travel togéther. G'lang there!’’

“Wel, Im Wwilling,’’ said we Duy, brightly.

“@iang! Nutf¥ sadl’? cried Bill, shortly, for the speed of
the horses (not the smoethest-paced ones in the worft)
made the conversation unavoidably gaspy, for the water-
logged policemen were» powderbg aioug the dusty low-
path with commendable spirit ‘

“Whaw’s your name ?'? suddenly asked Bill.

The boy's face reddened, and there wus an awkward
pause, 4 em =

Bil reliewed him witht }f3 usual blunt generosity:

“Never mind, if/it’s wdelicate question, ve heard say
runaways never like to telk their cognom’s, We'll git a
haine for you. Hardly any of our fellers has the names
their god-farhers and god-mother give them. We got
Sératehy Joe, and Dough-Ficed Jim, and” Baldy Ben, an?
all sien handles, aund—hi-yil hooray! there’s the old daf-
fers o’ policenied fallin’ beind—give up.dead beat—mud's
ihicker than water. Bully for us!?

ai Oe eee

GHAPTER ATP.

end before then
St vital part as he

ay.” , 7 :
“Tknowed it,” said Bare-Back Bil, self approvingly. 7 THE PURSUIT—THE C4 PTURE—LOCKPORT LOOK—A DARING

“Yer nutohe of ns, That hea o” hains never blept la a
hayisf of on @ Rerse’s inane, Eh, Mike??? «

“Not much,’’ snid he of the hattee and pantalets; “nor
them hands has never Clawed 2 tow-line.”?

“Nor them voice has never done much muie holigrin’ or
cussin’ back at the cup'n,’? indorsed auother tow-patl ex-
ert. -
; Now this critical exposure of the shortcomibgs of the
stranger made him blusa for his own demerits unul his

 

deeploviivibu—that springing ubove the debasing paths
of idwiy life have, wedded’ myself to tné muses, un, fhs-
suming asiyle more consonant with high art have Bu-
perseded the petty desiguation! Tivers, by a Jofger dile—
before you, Yon behold Atmand: Montcaim, trony flie
theaters every where hut tie piace of Immediate adver-
tising. . Fant -—" ; ifjaiai
“1 tell you what you are—you're & good-for-nothing
cliatter-vox,” oried the vid. waluan; ‘and yoor rooms a
grewt (hape better nor your-company. Adtod’sas good
Q3 a wink to a bdlind horse if he bas any dacincy in him.’
“Ha, vety_good. indeed; ‘age dimmeth norte luster of
thy wit,’ saul Mr, Montcaim. mukiny a bow and taking
Helitir, bab not deigning to take the hints ‘quite are-
vivifyiug tag ton playei-out proverb.” By your leave,
‘dear pauAty. in or’ next alierpiece 1 shall gdoptil asa
’ - . < ih :

“Say what

mpliment-
t 2, and we sly to bust-
m aman ofiew words,’’

a
oie

a2 d@haye desarved the repniati if ydwhadn’t
aid so.?! : .

“Be-a-v-tifal! Why, aunty, you astonish me. By your
kind permission, [ shaii make u point of: tat it our next
afler——"? : al

“Brimstone be your alfterpiecesavhat Want with
me? Spake fot and Sule, or go.” wage

. “Brimstove for an afierpieCe—aused effective, but cus-
edly unpledsant, I should say: Swy no More, auniy. Be
h Oame iosee
you *bout this protege of yours.’’ _ .,

“This what o* mine?’ cried the crone, as if suspicious
of insult. ? “4

“This boy—this Bare-Back Bill that you Keep, though
the people say that he keeps you.”

“Létthe people imind their own business, ant they'll
find enongi: to do,” suapped the old woman, wickedly.
“And what may you waut with the boy

“Well, you see, aunty, | am for making a strike on my
OWn) OOK, as they say ithe expressive vaigide, I ain
about to put my best foot forward and step out from the
great ariny of (he unkuown into the lightof‘a recoguized
tadividiality?’ '

“Spake Kuglish like a Ciiristian, with your gibberish.*’

“Olu, Avell, siuce you will buckie fortune.on jy back—I
Wish to heavens you would——"

“A donkey's load ’twould be.” 0%

“HA! Demmed good—I like the diamona’ brilliance of
thy wit. ishall certainly make a note ofAhat for use in
ournext. Well, briefly, aunty, I ain getting up a theatii-
cal and general show company of my own, tonmnyestigate
the financial condition of the States and. previnces, Lam
in need of talent—more s0, as I have Jately lost ny best
juvetile talent'by the run away of my LITTLE ELOIss, the
petof the public und the wonderof tue world. Yes,
anuty, no wonder fou luok disgusied—site’b decamped as
sure as hams kre sugat-cured) ‘and with her goesmyinain
nope of success. Show’snothing without juvenile talent,
and juvenile Valent 1 must tiave. This boy Bill Mas talent.
his name is famous alialong the Eric. Bare-Back Bill—
Why Une CManre’s 4 *Bili’ lself, Ma-a-al Very Oneat in-
aced—isit not? Pretty thing, good gag, first piece, “Weil,
bow;-in plaih Saxen—wWe-foriy. pace—iils -boy Ihave
goood cause to believe tg a daring rider—expert gymnasi—
guite a singer—zvod break-down dancer—will need little
Lraimtng—odears pent within his liltie buikwthe germ of
fame and fortune.’ Shalllhaye him? Will you appren-
tied him lo thetart exponent of all arts (wew’ version)?
Hen! Shall his fooped and windowed raggeduess?’ be
abated dod Jud ‘forme, ‘clothed in rich ‘habiliiments ¥’
Nay, took not reproaciifaily on mine, for ‘fortune yet Hath
Smiles in store for me,’ «Now, short and sharp as ator-
pedy, will you.alow meto take nis Bare-Back Bill from
ihe tow-path and put.him on the path to ‘fame aud for-
tune?” Will you make an acior of hin?”

The old woman, during this ratWing mass of digression
and Quotdtion, had. grown very résuess, and was inclined
LO interrupt the giib flow of her grand-nephew's tongue;
but the joague was superior to interruptions, andr its ra-
pidity Made suck an interference with its fabciiobs a dil-
ficult and doubl{inl matier,, But toward the end ofthe
geotie Montcalm's! speech her appearance lad: greatly
changed, and she seeinect to pay deep attention to the
wvotds of the eroquent Arimand.- ; ¢ i

“See, Joe’Tivers,’? she said} leaning toward liim, and
speaking in a low, impressive tone, “iH,.you weren’t such
@ vagaboud scapegrace I'd be juctined to hearken to you.
i waut thé boy—renvoved !"

Armand Montcalm startedvat the dramatic empliasis
With which this-word was hissed forth, and Jooked with
Something of wonder at the wrinkled face and eyes freed
from their usual driveling expression, and strong aud
firm in purpose, |

“By Jove! aunty,!’ hesaid, “that concentration wag
admirable.. You shonld have been an artist. ‘Age hath
not difyned—— > Just so—said that before. ‘Still in our
ashes live their wonted fires.’

‘Stop your jabber l’’ cried the old woman, with sudden
force that Was another cause of admiration to the appre-
ciative Montcalm; ‘Be silent, and Jisten tome. Suppose
that yoor Aunty Mint has reason for wishing the removal
Di this boy from the neighborhood of Buffalo—of the
United States—of the world, for that matter—— What
are ye Startin’ for like @ stuck pig? Supposin’, I say,
that I had godd@ reasons—is it the business of you.or any
otuer vagabond what.my reasons are ?’’

“‘]am compelled to answer: your polite inquiry in the
negative,’ said the unruffied Montcahn, with a bow, for
he scented emolument here, and the wealth he had peei-
deutally seen displayed was very ravishing to the eyes of
mn heir presumptive, scapegrace though he were.

‘Welly’. éontinued Mother Mint,‘‘supposiy’ ?’—-and then
she pansed and resumed, musingly; “If this Billy wasa
common boy he might stay here. with me till eternity’s
bells would ring; Dut he’s not a’ comrpon boy; he’s too
stirring; he.makes,himself too remarkable, and my double
Nealin? Wve Vou Out by both. Ma, Joe Tivers! why do
you sit there staring at me asif Twas ashe-wolf? What
No youlisten to a doting body's mtihblings for?) Haven't
f a right to speak to myself in my own house? Leave itt
Go! Xou're not fit tolakereare of the child you ask for.
You couldn't manage him.
your tows your tongue is too long and tog fynd o’ wag-

ing.” )) 7 ) ‘Ie

“T agree with you, aunty,” said the ever smooth Mont-
Calin. -‘Dam‘a,conipilation of blemishes; bit under the
training of a vigorous intellect like yours——”

“Bahl blarney!’ exclaimed the old woman, scornfally;
but her farther words were hindered by. the stopping of a
close carriage opposite the litue paned window; and asa
liveried Coachman sprang te the ground and opened the
door of the vehicie for the egress of a heavily-vailed Jady,
the crone turned, quickly, fiercely; 10 her attentive

lephew.

“Gol! she criedy “away with youl You must not be
seen fiere, Ont of the back door; you can reach the street

ti

theough the alley way!

t

You are too fond o’ crookin™

face was nearly as red as his har, and Bill, with a gener
ous delicacy, Which 18 oitener found uuder rough exte-
riors than people think, drove back his retaarking com-
rades with a couple of stomach-dingiug. sweeps of his el-
bows, saying: i bass

“On, dty up! Coza feher says athing, what’s the use
o' rannin’ itinto the ground. Look a here, little one,
raunin’ away istough und risky business fora feller so
smail as you, that atu’t strong und don’t Know how to do
nothing.” i

$f a knew how to do something,” said the boy with
some pride, slapping his hand upon the banjo in his lap,
and the vivfation of the strings struck acuord in the
tuneful heatt of Bare-Back Bill. ;

“Say, young feiler,’? he said, in 9 persuasive tone, “I’m
Bare-Back Bill—you may have hieard about, | ain’t none
ov’ the rowdy-rough kind if 1 ain't dressed gallus and don’t
talk quite polite, I’m up to life In these parts, and you
ain’t--a dead-eye could see that. I can, mebbe, do you a
good turn if you will do me one,”

“Whatcan I dof’? asked the strange boy, eagerly.

“Jesttake that green muzzle off of the fryiu’ pan an?
give’s a bit of ajig—Iin somethin’ of an amatoor myself
and ieel Jike sSuakin’ the Kinks Ont O’ my pants, What
dye say, fellers, will we have a jaimboree on the light fan-
tastic 2"! f

«Td have it on the lumber pile,’? said Mike.

“Buliy fur Mike! Qu the Juuber pile!’

“Pile up then, fellers.!! 2]

“Hi-yil Sich a gettin’ up stairs,’?

it was rather a tumultuous getting up. The crowd,
augmented by fresh arrivals, clambered up every side
and corner until the size of the audience threatened to
leave little room for either musician or dancers, and the
pie, which with their usual perversity, the luinber men
had built out ofthe perpendicular, beeing over toward
the canal, luoked anything but 2 safe place for a crowded
asseniblage, ;

“Now, old feller, let me hyst you up,” said Bare-Back
Bill to his musical friend,

“No, thank you, I can go myself,’? said the musical
youngster, and slinging the banjo over his back aud catch-
ing the string of the bag in his teeth, he ran up the ends
of the board pile with an agility surpassing wat of the
nimbiest Arab ia the crowd who had mounted,

“Hetlo, by jingol’’ cried the admiring Bil from below.
“Where are you bound for? -Are you: goin’ all the way
to-night? Can’t you slack speed and wait for a feller
that’s not so light a foot?”

Up he ran with a speed equal to that which he admired,
and the young banjoist, uncovering is instrument, ihe
beauty of which extracted mauy. ecstatic “ohs’? and
“anys”? from the crowd, tuned up and siguilied his readi-
ness for orders. ) aE

“Ratue us up a bit of a straight fig,” cried Bill, “till
clear the cobwebs off the stage, aud get my cockroach
killers ih’ Kelter,”?

Thereupon the musician rattled up lively, and Bare-Back
Bill rattied down solid, putting his cockroach | killers
through the most fantastic steps, and bearing his geveral
anatomy With suci eccentric crookedness as Was & Cau-
tion to straight” jigs. The music grew fast and furi-
ous, and the applause was fervent and frequent, wntil at
Jast the enthusiasm of the time seized upon the specta-
tors, and by twos and threes they Joined in the bounding
madness, until their strange dancing platform jamped
and tuubled beneath them like wheat upon & thrashing
floor. " ‘

In the very hight of the excitement the festivities were
broken in upon by the sudden appearance, above the Jand
side of the pile, of a tall, lanky manin black, followed by
four policemen, Who mounted the sleep Jadder as grace-
fully a3 oxen. ;

“Ha, runaway, I’ve,found youl" cried the Janky man,
who was the first to gain a footing, as he rushed at the
banjo player, and tried to grab hin. Sis

Tue boy avoided him with a scream, aud Bare-Back Biil
hindered his further pursuit by butting hinr yoat-fashion
in the stomach and setting him in ungraceful fashion on
the platform, tf aN

‘“‘How’s thag for low ? Scoot it, youngster!" cried Bill;
and he saw the boy banjoist throw his instrument and
pug to some of those who had already “scooted it, and
then disappear like a flash over the brow of the pile to-
ward the water,

“Arrest that boy!” cried the doubled-up lanky man as
the heavy-timbered officers floundered up, +

“Awh, gives arestt What d’ye think I’m made@of?,
cried dauntless Bare-Back Bill, retreating in good order
to the edge of tlre pile that overhung the tow-path on
which a number of boys were crowded awaiting u chance
to get down in the rush.

“)Bre’s,yer team, Bill’? cried a half-dozen voices as a
spunky pair of hofses came jingling along in charge of a
stable boy, The officers were rushing at Bare-Back Bul—
the lanky man was rubbing an astonished purt of jis ana-
bomy. li
“Arrest himt’ Don’t let him offt” he ¢rled excitedly to
the officers. .

“Tere, you,’ cried an officer, ‘I’m bound to cate

rou.’ ‘
; “You don't say,” cried the {udomitable Bill. “Holdshe
horses steady, Jack, mea goin’ to give these c 4
chanee to catch jue on the fly. Shoo fly don’t bodder inel
Houp laf’? te

With the word, tothe astonishment of officers and lanky
man, he sprang. from the pile, and turning a somersault,
alighted erect upon the back of his near horse.

The boys below cheered, the boys above forgot;e fly,
and stood in an admiring crowd upon the edge ot the pile,

ing edge also. ‘Ie pile visibly tilted toward (he canal
with the extra weight. :

grappled up his reins, “give Jem a hyst atdie back.”

charge the mischievous brigade rai tothe land side ¢
pile and putting their shoulders nader the ends:
boards as projected and with a whole-souled “Y |
Hol? upit weut. Phe oh fy Lhe ells ne
astonished cargo of Low-boys,-policemenm and Ja uk
Wis launched gallantly off far across “the, tow=-path
tlre middle of the canal, amid the cheers of the Jaunehe
and the shouts of the passengers on the launch,

‘Such a squatter, Suchserambling to get on the
treacherous boards again, ke a savage jubilee a3 Was

held on the tow-path. What generous but provoking ad-
vice was given by those ashore to those in the water, and
how that innocent-looking banjo boy did laugh at the
squirms and grimaces of the Janky man, who in his wet
laikhess' resembled a double-tailed, black water-snake,

“Come, boy, and go with me,’ cried Bare-Back Bill,
throngh his Jaugiter, ‘“Let’s git. The game’s up. Them
brass-buttoned blue fislr’il make a Jandin’ an’ scoop us in.
Can you ride? Give’s yer hand and Ill hold you. I'm
used to this sort 0? thing.”

To his astonishment the boy handed him the banjo, and
making 4 bonnd Jit on the back of the off horse, and sefz-

 

 

 

ing the bridle spravg as erect as himself. ©
ill gazed athim in- amazement.

The offivers and te lanky man rushed to the oyerhang- 7

“Mike, Jack, ‘om, Jerry,’’ yelled Bure-Byek 1, as hey.

Nosooner gaid than done, Withacry like. a battle },

DEED.

Through this happy giving up of the clase on the part
of the policemen, tie fugitives were enabied to slacken
their pase, much to the satisfaction of the animals, who
were jittie used to anything 80 overexciting as a hot dash
without the whiffle trees jingling at their heels.

“Now abouta name,’ siid Bill ‘1 like you, young fel-
jow—fnd don’t like to be holleriu’ to ye like’s if. you was
an ownerless dog. We goes ali by nick-names, as I said
afore. Mine’s Bare-Back Bill, and I hardly kuow myself
by any otlrer, I used to fightag’in’it at fust; com] thonght
it wasa coZI didi’t sport much clothes—but, lor’ biess
ye, 1 found out it was because I was kinda fond 0’ sportin’?
my figure iustead by standin’ up on my hoss when other
feliers squatied and Jay Jazy on his mane.”?

“Well, give me what name you like,’’ said the boy.

“Well, fellers o’ your cCompiexion und style o) hair we
generally call Redney, but that's not good enuff for you.
Sides there’s Rednueys enuff floatin’ round to lanip-light
the Erie from Biack Rock to Scbenectady.”

‘Call me Rhodie, then.”?

“Tnavll do it; Red Rnuodie, then, Arum jabel, too, and
not like to be matched easy. Now, Riodic, we are chums,
What did you run away for?”

“Montcalm treated me badly.” ;

*1°1L mount-calm hin whea-l git him if the fellers
leaves any of him together,
folks 2 :

Dida’ g ike them—ran away from them too."

OWiy Be

“Heard them say I wasn’t their child, buta
and that they were going lo use me ag the 1
hands on property that didn’t belong to te
} to some other cliid,”? AR °

“And you run away for that? That was foolish,” said
Bili, sagely. :

“What? asked the boy in innocent surprise, "do you
think it would ve right to steal another chiid’s nioney ??

“Well, no,’? admitted Bill, rétuctanuly, for the ethics of
the canal were not quile so sirict as those of more select
society. ‘So it was the child you thougnt of?”

*“Yes,!? auswered the boy promptly. ‘i knew music,
and dancing, and singing, that fshoulda’t have known if
[had been ieft a founding. f could make my living—
perhaps the other child couldu’s, because 1 had stolen its
education. Don’t you see? 2 ».

Bare-Back Bii!l could hardly seep for his eyes filled with
tears as hie turned tliem on the hitle moralist.

“Give’s your hand, Red Rhodie,”? he said. “You're a
patent-pressed brick; and Bare-Buck Bill’ never forget
you for tinnkin’ of that child, I dike your pluck, I like
your independence, | like your plain talk, and Vil be jig-
gered, little feller, if 1 don’t stick te you like @ lock gate
10 a miter-sill.”’ f

A pause, during which both were seemingly in deep
mediation, the horses jogging along at au easy pace, un-
tilat last, as (hey came in sight of a boat siore, with the
accompanying barn aud projecting wisp of straw which
served for a sign, Bill suddenly said:

“Here’s where ny boat Juys; stables were full, 80 I had
to take the horses up where we had the shindy. Now,
Rhodie, where did you think of steering for when you ran
away ??

“New York, if I could ever manage to get there. I have
heard Nontcaim say it was the best place for real taient;
and I have talent,’’ said the little aruust with proud con-
sciousness,

Bare-Back Bill looked at the little self-praiser and laugh-
ed, the artiessness of the artist was refreshing to his more
worldly mind, but he indorsed 1 ssertion aud: took
courage to\imake an addition toi ‘

“You have talent, Riodie, he said, “and—so have I!
There, Vil go with you to New York, for I darsent go back
io Buffalo right off, by no means. Have you any money???

Tne boy looked up at this startling question, which was
propounded in the manner of a highwayman’s demand.
Probably he wondered at the young genUleman who was
too delicate to.ask his name desiring a Statement of his
financial affans, Bare-Back Bill thought it all according
to rule, for theirchumship means partnership in every-
thing, even including clothes,

“Montcalm never gave me much,’ said Riedie. ‘I
have only two dollars.”

‘Two dollars!” cried Bill. A dolar apiece, that’s heaps,
anyway, and if can get iny pay out of the cap’n of our
old tub when we reach the Sixteens we'll be as rich as
Jews. We can stow away jn a night boat al Troy, and lie
suug on bread and cheese till we git to York.”

“Wiat du you mean by the ‘Sixteens?’)’ asked Rhodie.

“The locks at West Troy,’ answered Bill.

“But if weshould get nothing to doy’ said Rhodie,
doubtfully.

“Baul Rhodie,” cried Bill “Are you Josing heart
a'ready ? Why, York’s tuo big a placeto starve in, There’s
Liecayters at every Corner, and welye bot/ got talent.”

The simple candor of the youngster had infected the
oldster badly,

.. “Hoap lal G'lang!”’ cried Bill, springing erect, and urg-

{ing his herses to a canter ag they approached, the boats.
it was hi8 Wont when apprvaching villages or gatheriugs,
and smack%\ BomeWhal~Oof tie trick ofthe old stage-
drivers, Who always made a spurt when approaching ¢
locality where spectatorsamigut be expected,

His rapid ride had brought him in good time in spite of
his festive delay, and the jive was soon oul and the cum-
bros craft sweeping along steadily. The terms for
Rhoudie’s passage were easily arranged by Bill wiih the
good-natured Captain. No money was required from his
small stock, his niusic beiug considered equivalent sufll-
cient. ;

The day was bright and beautiful, aud the hearts of the
intending adventurers beat high with hopeiul excuement,.
Rhodie lay dreaming of the future, hall-covered froin the
sun by a tarpaulin on deck, Bill was will, his horses, sing-
ing like a thrash, the two or three hands smoking quietly,
when on nearing Tonawanda their quietnde was broken
by the unusual circumstance ofan open carriage, drawn
by four horses, teariug like Mad along the tow-path be-
hind them, pi

‘Iu’s the Buffalo cops!’’ cried Bare-Back Bill to the men

eck, Who knew all about tie lumber pile affair from
his recital. ; s ™
“Slide off and dust it to the woods!" eri
“hey can’t drive four in hand among the
»*Hide, Riiodiel!” cmed Bill, disappearin
vuth oa ; :

ho

undling,
get their
ine, but

 

the men caught the tarpaulin and threw it com-

ver Rihodie; another jumped ashore to take

shorses, Ou camebie carriage at a thunder-

yr the dust liighinthe air behind itiu

‘Soon ‘they overhauled and hailed the

nat. -LWo! gentlemen and a lady, all appa-

rently e 1, no joe , and, seeing this, Bure-
Back Bill returned from his hiding place,

‘Has a Tunaway girl appliedto you for passage?” hur-
riedly asked the gentleman wlio lield the reins, ‘‘or have
you seen one pass this Way to-day ?”’ ,

“No, sir, not one,’ answered the captain, truthfully,
and his answer was repeated by the men ant the captain’s
wife. _ =

With a cry of disappointment and a muttered impreca-
tion the driver laid his whip to the horses and dashed back
again like the wind, leaving the lazy-canal boat far behind
in the Clapping of your hands,

Tae boatman who had covered Rhodle seeing no effort
of the boy to throw the covering aside, went and plucked
the heavy tarpaulin away. The boy was deadly white
ond trembling violently.

“Why, what's the matter, little fellow?” said the boat-

 

, and swimming at tim in}

Why didn’s you goto your q
of terrific bounds elose to the back of the imperiled ve-

a 8 a

man, in a tone of alarm, that brought the captain and his
Wife to the spot, ,

“Why, you’ve about smothered him, Tom,’ said the
captain, standing the boy on his feet. ‘Don’t be afraid,
youngster; 1t wasn’t the police. Thongh, maybe, it was
that actor-fellow. Did you know his voice?’

*VYes,)? ‘

“Was it him »? :

“No, no,” stammereéd the boy, in affright.

“What's up) Ritodie?” cried Bare-Back Bill, seeiug the
commotion fra he ftow-path; “don’t be skeared; it
wasn’t the cops)” Theyre a curry-combing the mud off of
theinselves,” dud Pet a boiogny they make a full day.”

“Take the littic fellow down and put himin a berth,”
Said the captain to his wife.

“No, no,’ Are cried, as Hie woman tvok his hand; “let
me ashore—I want to speak to Bill,”

@ood-natureédly the steérsman ran the boat to. the bank,
andthe boy leaping lightly ashore jand ranning ahead,
yaulted on ‘to “the horse lie had before ridden. The men
applauded the feat so gracelully’performed; the performer
of it did not heed their approval, but leanimg over to Bare-
Baek Bill, said, in an agitated voice:

“They're after me’?

“Awh, your crazy! was the consoling answer. “They
wasn’t cops, I tell you, and old match-shanks the actor
wasn’t there. ‘Sides they asked for a gall What’s the
matter with you?

L “They're afterme?” wasthe answer, 80 positively given
that Bill turned and stared at the speaker in surprise,

“Why, Bhodie,” he said, “how can» they be after you
When they’re‘askin? for a gal—uniless you’re a——””

“NO; noel” cried Riodie, hallangrilyS ‘You-don't un-
derstand. Tam thin and small and “used to play girl
characters. They think I would dress so Lo escape thei.
But | knew better—I knew better,” he said, with some-
thing like a chuckle of pride at his owh foresight that ra-
ther puzzled Bil!. ‘These boats are dreadfully slow,” he
continued; ‘couldn't we leave now and cul Lhrough the
woods to a railway station? lam used to traveling fast.
Wecan go as far as my Money goes and then I'l curn
more,’?

“This’d be a poor place to cys it, Ruodie. Let’s goon
to Lockport. Vil try and git a feller to take my team
there, and mabbe the old juan'll give me a few stamps
when | teli him how it is. Don’t be frightened, Rhodie
boy. l’d run their bloody old truck and double team into
the Canal if they try to touch you, Bure-Back Bill's yer
backer, and who’re you afeard ofr? >

Yaiking thus—doubts on the one aide and assurances on
the ether—they neared Lockport, passed the quarries and
turned the bend toward ithe locks, Here, witu the busy
city opening up before them, @ feeling of safety came to
the young fugitive, but suddenly, as a flight of eagles
swooping on their prey, tie sound of their approach being
inuffled by the bend In the canal, the four-in-land dashes
Alongside the team of the two young riders, and Bill, ina
flasiung giauce, sees the actor Montcalm, now added to
the vooupants of the: carriage, snatch, Riedie trom-his
horse with his long skeleton Giaws and cast’ him roughly
in the bottom of the Gurriage, which whirled away aleng
the tow-patht without the least lessening of speed.

The fools+tne fugist’"! cried Bill, flercely.; **They are
rushing to the locks. They will kill hit.” :

With & rapidity of action which noU:iug but practite and
an linpuisive spirit could produce, he threw his traces from
the hooks of the Rhames, and wilh a whoop and a yoll, us
wild as that of an Indian, started in hot pursuit.

The carriage, a high-backed landauiet, was whirling on,
recking and reeling from the endeavors of the driver to
keep comlimand of his frightened horses and avoid tie
straggliug teams he. met; reeling from stone und hollow,
for wheels were hot jntended Jor the narrow track they
entered,

Beneath the broad-planked platform of the square they
enter, Waking the disinal thunder of its echoes, that seem
to roll along the sluggish waters in an ominous hiss.

*Bare-Back Bill! Bare-Back Bili?? is the haiting ery
that echoes from tow-path and platform as the tuw-boy
dashes alter the carriage. Under tie broad bridge he dis-
appears also, Oulinto the light again, as the driver of the
varriage, seeing his mistake and the danger of the crowded,
Stairike steep, tries to check hiy how unnignageable
horses.

His efforts are futile. He must either go onward, down
the locks, plunge inio the canal, rushing in whirling eddies
down to the filling of the upper lock, or dash himself aud
freight against the rocky wall.

The peopie above cry out with alarm. The drivers and
boatmen, ull the way down the slope of tie five locks,
burst into yells of warning and maledictions on the miad-
man, for such they deem him. He Caunol heipit. The
animals are out of his control. The fate of him and his
Goinpanions seems jnevitable. Tue maddened horses are
plunging toward the catastrophe.

Suddenly a wild cry. is hearst, and the wild figure ofa
boy, standing crect upon his horse, dashes like tie wind,
from the dark shudow of the bridge—duashes in a couple

a

higie,

One wild shout as the ‘youthful figure whirls in the air
like a hoop, and the snorting horse goes on alone,

The next instant the daring bey is seen erectin the front
of the carriage.

Thelines are in his strong-nerved hands, his face is
deadly pale, his eyes Mashing, his livid Jips clenched
light. ,

This ig seen, as if by A lightning flash, and as the wild
figure, and the frenzied Jorses, aud the frightened in-
mates of the vehicle, to be saved or sacrificed, dus madly
down the slope.

{TO BE CONTINUED }

A Mad Marriage.

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

By Mrs, May Agnes Fieming,

Author of WEDDED, YET NO WIFE, A WON-
DERFUL WOMAN,A aa. LE SECRET,
NORINE'S REV GE, etc., ete,

{“A Mad Marriage” was commenced {in No. 39. Back Nos. can
be had of News Dealers in the United States and the Canadas. ]

PART! PHIRD;:

‘CHAPTER VII.
“AFTER MANY DAYS.”

He knows her! From the first moment in which
his eyes rested on her, from the first instant he has
heard her ringing voice, he knows it is his wife.
The song she sang for him in Major Lovell’s dim
drawing-room 80 many years ago, she is singing
again for him to-night, for him—he knows that, too.
His divoreed wife stands yonder before him—this
halfnude actress—his divorced wife whom for the
past ten years he hasthought dead. He knows it in
that first moment of recognition as surely as he ever
knew it in the after days.

‘She has hardly changed at all—in the strong,
white lime light, she does not seem to have aged
one day in seventeen years. The dusk, sensuous
beauty is riperand more of the ‘‘earth, earthy,” the
delicate outlines of first youth have passed, except
that she is even more beautiful in her insolent, vyo-
luptuous womanhood than in her slim, first girlhood.
He thinks this in a dazed, stupefied sort of way as
he stands and looks at her. And this is Rosamond
Lovell—the woman who was once his wife.

His wife ! his wife! The twowords echo like a
knell through his brain, set themselves to the wild,
sweet music that is ringing about him. fit themselves
in time to her flying feet. His wife! Yonder cre:
ture, singing, dancing in that dress, that undress
rather—gaped at by all these people. His wife !

The lights, the faces, the stage, seem to swim be-
fore him in a hot, red mist. He grasps the back of
the chair he holds, and sets his teeth. Great Hea-
yen ! ig the Nemesis of his mad, boyish folly to pur-
sue him to the end?

And then France’s cool, sweet voice falls on his
ear. ‘Do you like it, Gordon ?” she is asking, with
asmile, The fair, pure face, the loving, upturned
eyes, the trustful smile, meet him and stab him with
a pang that is like death. He has forgotten her—in
the first shock of return and dreadtul surprise, he
has forgotten her. Now he looks down upon her,
and feels without thinking at all, that in finding his
divorced wife he has lost his bride.

He cannot answer her—his head is reeling. He
feels her wondering, startled eyes, but he is beyond
caring. He tries to,answer, and his voice sounds
far off and unreal even to his own ears.

It ends. The curtain is down, the blinding stage-
light is out, sie is gome. Hecan breathe once more
now that fatal face isaway. The whole theater has
uprisen. Lady Dynely is moving out on the arm of
her son—France is clasping his and gazing up at
him with eyes of wistful wonder,

They are out under the cool, white stars—he has
placed them in their carriage, seen them roll away,
and is alone,

Alone, though scores pass and repass, although
dozens of gay voices and happy laughs reach him;
although all the bright city is still broad awake and
in the streets. He takes off hishat and lets the cold
wind lift his hair. What shall he do, he thinks,
vaguely; what ought he to do first ?

osamond, his divorced wife, is living—he has
seen her to-night, And France Forrester will marry
no man who is the husband of a wife. They have
spoken once on the subject—gravely and incisively
—he recalls the conversation how, word for word,
as he stands here.

“If she had not died, France,” he had asked her,
“if nothing but the divorce freed me—how then?
Would you still have loved me and been my wife ?”

And she had looked at him with those clear,
truthful, brave eyes of hers, and answered at once:

‘If she had not died—if nothing but your divorée
freed you, there could have been no ‘how then.’
Loved you I might—it seems to meI must; but
matry you—no. o more than I would if there had

never been a divorce, A man can have but one wife,

 

 

scat

and death alone can sever the bond. -I believe in
no latter-day doctrine ot divorce.”

They had spoken of it no more, he had thought of
itno mere. It all comes back to him as he stands
here, and he knows he has lost forever France For-
rester.

And then, in his utter despair, a wild idea flashes
across his brain, and he catches at it as the drown-
ing catch at straws. It is not his wife—he will not
believe it, It is an accidental resemblance—it may
be a relative—a sister; she may have had sisters, for
what he ever Knew, It is not Rosamond Loveli—the
dead do not arise, and she was killed ten years ago.
Some one must. know this Madame Felicia’s antece-
dents; it is only one of these accidental resemblances
that startle the World sometimes. He will find out.
Who is it knows Madame Felicia ?

He puts his hand to his head as this delirious idea
flashes through it, and tries to think. Terry Denni-
son—yes, he is sure Terry Dennison knows her, and
knows her well. He will be able to tell him; he will
follow at once.

A moment later and he is striding with a speed of
which he is unconscious in the direction ot the Hote
du Louvre. He finds his man readily enough. Terry
is standing in the brilliantly-lit vestibule, smoking a
cigar. Eric is.bon garcon, and has run up at once to
his wife, A heavy hand is laid on Terry’s shoulder,
a breathless voice speaks:

“Dennison!”

Terry turns round, takes out his cigar, and opens
his eyes.

‘What! Caryll! And at this time of night! What's
oS ? My dear fellow, anything wrong? You
0ok——”

“There’s nothing wrong,” still huskily, ‘I want

oask you a question, Dennison. Come out of this.”

He:links his arm through Terry’s;.and draws him
with him, out of the hotel entrance into the street.
Terry still holds his cigar between his finger and
thumb, and still stares blankly.

“There must be something wrong,” he reiterates;
*‘on my word, my dear fellow, you look awfully.”

“Never mind my looks,” Caryll impatiently erties.
‘‘Dennison, you know Madame Felicia ”

At this unexpected question, Dennison, if possible,
stands more agape than ever. Then he jaughs.

“What! You, too, Caryll! Oh, this is too much——*

“Don’t laugh,” Caryll says, harsuly. ‘‘Answer me,
You know this woman ?”

“Well, yes.”

2 ately ?
eae yes, again: Isappose I may say tolerably
intimately.”) ri

“What is her history

‘what ?”

‘Who isshe? Where doesshe come from? What
is her real name #”’ Caryl asks, still in that same
hoarse, breathless haste.

Mr. Dennison’s eyes dilate totwice their usual
size. He altogether forgets to resume his newly-lit
cigar.

‘My dear fellow re

“The devil!’ Gordon Caryll grinds out between
his set teeth. ‘‘Answer me, cannot you ?”

No jesting matter this, evidently, and Terry, slow
naturally, takes that fact in.

“Whois she? Where does she cometrom?
was the rest?” he demands, helplessly.
Lord! Caryll,-how should I know?
father confessor.”

“You told me you kKnéw Ner/iitimately.”

“T know her as well as most. people Vase moss
people, and that goes for nothing. What do we, any
of us, Know of anyone else? Don’t grow impatient,
old fellow; all I know I’m willing to tell; but its pre-
cious little. Now begin at the beginning and cross-
examine, You shall» have the truth, the ‘whole
truth, and nothing but the truth. Only don’t keep
the steam up-to its present hight, or you'll go off
with a bang!"

There is a second’s, pause, ‘Terry’ resumes, his
cigar, thrusts his handsin his coat pockets and
waits. Gordon Caryll comes to his senses gufficient-
ly to make a great effort to calm down.

“I beg your pardon, Terry,” he says, more cohe-
rently than he has yet spoken; **but this is a matter
of no ordinary, importance to me—a matter almest
of life and death.”

Again Terry’s eyes dilate, but this time he says
nothing.

“Tnever saw Madame Felicia before to-night,”
goes on Caryl}; ‘and she bears the most astonishing,
the. most astounding resemblance to another wo-
man, @ woman I have thought dead for the past ten
years. I want to know her past history, and I have
come to you.”

“Go on,” says Terry, oe ‘

“Was Madame Felicia ever in America?—ever in”—
& pause—‘in Canada ?”

“She says not,” is Terry's answer.

“Says not? Then you think——”

“IT think she was. She has always been gsor-vehe
ment in denying it that I have suspected: from th:
first she lied.” And since last night I felt sure of it.”

“Since last nigh——”

“IT don’t know 4hat it’s quite fair to tell,” says
Terry; ‘‘but I don’t see that I’m bound to keep Fe-
licia’s secrets—I owe her no good turn, and if it’s of
any use to you, Caryl1———_”

“Anything—everything connected with that. wo-
man is of use to me,” Caryll answers, feverishly.

Without, more ado, Terry relates the episode of
last night—the rescuing the’ girlin the street, her
ete words, and the bringing her to Fe-
licia.

“She asseyerated again and again that Felicia had
been'in Canada, She said she herself had been
born there, in such a way, by Jove! that you could
only infer Feliciato be her mother. And shelooked
like Felicia, ‘ And she had Felicia’s picture. And Fe-
licia received: her at once, And I believe, upon my
soul, that-she {is Felicia’s daughter.”

Gordon Caryll. listenéd dumbly. Felicia’s child
and—his ? He. knew there had been a. child—a
danghter—had not Mr, Barteaux told him? And she
too was here. :

‘“Shecalled herselfi—— ?” he began.

“She called herself Gordon Kennedy. « Gordon !
By Jove!” For the first time a sudden thought strikes
Terry—a thought so sudden and so striking that it
almost knocks -him over. “By Jove!’ he repeats
again, and stares blankly at his-companion.

. There is no need of further qnestioning, Assurance
is made doubly sute—Felicia and Rosaménd Lovell
are one, and this girl picked up adrift in the Paris
streets is his daughter. No need of further questions
ee He withdraws his arm abruptly and on the
spot.

“That will do,” he says. “Thanks, very much.
And good night,”

Then he is gone, and Terry is left standing, mouth
and eyes open—a petrified, pedestrian, It all comes
upon him—the story of Gordon Caryll’s Canadian
wift—the actress—the picbure—the puzzling regem-
blance to Felicia—her eager questions about him the
evening before. Terry is dumbfounded.

‘By Jove!” he says again aloud, and at the sound
of that dearand familiar expletive his senses return.
“By Jove, you know!” he repeats, and puts his eigar
once more between his lips, and in a dazed state
prepares to go home,

Gordon Caryll goes home too. He sees France’s
face at the drawing-room window as he passes, look-
ing wistful and weary, and at the sight he sets his
teeth hard. He cannot meet her. He goes up to
his room, locks the door, and flings himself into a
chair to think it all out.

He has lost her—foreyer lost her. To-morrow, at
the latest, she must’know all, and then—he knows
it as surely as that he is sitting here—she will never
so much as see him again.

Itis no fault of his—she will not blame him—she
will love and pity him, and suffer as acutely as he
wili suffer himself, All the same, though, she. will
never see him more. And at the thought he starts
from his. chair, goaded to.a sort. of madness, and
walks up and down the room.

The hours pass, He thinks and thinks, but all to
no purpose—not all the thinking he can-do in a life-
time can alter facts. This woman is his diverced
wife—and France Forrester will marry no divorced
man. The law can free him from his wife, but it
cannot give him France.. The penalty of this first
folly has not been paid—and it isto be paid, it seems,
to the uttermost farthing. His exile and misery are
to. begin all over again, :

He suffers to-night, it seems to himjas he has
never suffered inthe past. And as the fair February
morning dawns, itfinds “him with his face bowed in
his hands, sitting stone stillin absolute despair.

The first sharp spear of sunshine comes jubilantly
through the glass. He lifts his head. Haggard and
pallid beyond all telling, with eyes dry and burning,
and white despair on every line of his face, His re-
solve is taken. All shall be told, but first that there
may not be even a shadow of mistake, he will see this
woman who'calls. herself Madame Felicia—will see
her, and from her own lips Know the truth.

Early as itis he rings for his man, and has a cold
bath. It stands him in the stead’ of sleep. He
makes'a careful toilet, hag a cup of coffee and a roll,
and goes out of the house before any of his woman-
kind are stirring.

The bright sunshine and bustle of the streets help
him, Hesmokes, and that soothes him, .As eleven
chimes from all the city clocks, he is altogether

What
“Good
I’m not Felicia’s

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘E NEW YORE WEEKLY.

a

 

himself again, the excitement. and agi
night over and done with. He is yery pale—beyond
that there is no change in him,

He feels no anger against the woman he is going
to see—he is just enough for that. The fault has
been all his—all’his also must. be the atonement,
But he will see her, and then——

He cannot‘quite think—steady as he has forced
himself, to.be—of what, will come after. It is very
early yet to,make, 4 morning call,’ but he cannot
wait.» It is notdifficult to, discover the, address. of
the most: popular actress in Raris;,he does discover
it, walks steadfastly: there, and encounters madame’s
tall Ghasseuit in his gorgeous, uniform of carmine
and gold:

Madame sees no one at this hour, monsieur is:po-
litely told; if is doubtful if madame has-yet arisen.

But. madame. will see him, monsieur is» quite cer-
tain. . Will this, Parisian, *‘Jeanes De La Phiche” be
good enough to forward monsieur’s card to. madame.

The “chasseur: looks: doubiful,. but, somethiag in
the Engiishmonsienur's face causes>him to comply.
The card ‘js passed ‘onward; and inward, until it
reaches the hand of madame’s maid, and by mad-
ame’s maid is presented to madame.

Madame. has atisen—early as is the hour, has even
preakfasted.. She lies. back in her dusk-shaded
drawing-room,| Jooking rather fagged after last
night’s unusuahexcitement, with deep bistre circles
surrounding ‘her eyes: Her ami .damee sits near
reading aloud. She lies back with closed: eyes, not
listening, but thinking of Gordon Caryll's face as she
saw it last night looking down upon her,

‘‘A visitor for madame—a gentleman,”
nounces,

“T can see no one, it is too early,’
crossly; “is it M. Diventurini?”

“No, madame. An English. gentlemen, tal
fair_who has never been here before.”

Madame sits suddenly up, and seizes. the card. |
Her pale face flushes dark red as she reads the name.
She does not quite know what she has expected
inly not this. Fora moment

 

-auline an-

’

madame

says

}

A

and

uU
fast.

‘**T will see
‘Mrs. Hanner
book. The
dore (the poodle) and go fora walk.
both good, and I shall not need you.’
ius dismissed, the lady companion rises and goes.

arts

1e gentleman, Pauline,” she

you must be

ti says.
y

It will do you}
, ,

™

|

Madame turns to her maid:

“Where is my new protegee ?” she asks.
moiselle Donny.”

«In her room, madame, reading.
hat she does not leave it then, see that she

}
Now show the gentleman up.’’|

**Made-
”

t
does not enter here.
The maid departs. Madame springs up, darkens
the room yet a little more, looks at herself in one ot |
the full-length mirrors, and is back in her seat with
drooping, languideyes before the. door re-opens, |
But her heart is beating fast, and her topaz eyes are |
gleaming savagely under their white-vailed lids. _
The door. opens, and he comes in. And so-again,
alter many years, this man and woman, once hus-
band and wife—are face to face.
The first thing he sees In the twilight of the room |
is his own picture... It hangs directly opposite the}
door, and the sunshine, as it opens, falls for a mo-
ment uponit. Like that they parted, like this the
meet again! He stands for a second motionle
looking at.it, and she is the first to speak.
A very good picture, and very well painted; but
I don’t. think, J can’t think, I ever wore such a face
of despair ag that. You ought to know, though, |
better than [.”

he siow,

‘See

ay |
Ss, |

4

u

sweet voice was as smooth and even as |
though the heart beneath were not throbbing al |
fe heat. A cruel, lingering smile was on her |
face, and..the yellow, stealthy eyes were watching |
him greedily. He turned as she’ spoke and looked |
at her.

“Rosamond!”

She started at the name, at the low, even gentle |
tone, in which it was spoken. The blood rose again }
over her face, and for a second sho found no voice |
to answer. Then she laughed.

“Ma foi! she said, “show droll it sounds to hear
that! I had almost forgotten that once was my
name, so long is it since I have heard it. Sixteen—
seventeen years, which isit? Ah, Dieu! how old it
makes one feel.”

A real pang went through her heart. Growing
oki! Yes, surely! and to grow old was the haunting
terror of this woman’s life.

“You have changed,” she said, looking at him
full. “Changed more than Ihave. You
semble very greatly the slender, fair-haired strip-
ling I knew so. long ago in Toronto. And yet If
should have known you anywhere. Mon ami, will
you not sit down ?”

«‘Thanks,” he answered in the same low, level
voice, “I will not’ detain you butamoment. Last
night, for the first time since we parted at Quebec, I
saw you——”

‘And the sight wasashock, was it not, monsieur ?”
she gayly interrupted.

«It was,” he replied gravely, ‘since I thought you
dead. Since I was sure of it.”

“Ah, yes! that railway accident. Well it was
touch and go—I neverexpect to be so near death,
and escape again. But 1 did escape, and—here I
am!”

She looked at him with
eyes gleaming with evil fire.

ver

her insolent smile, her

ward making this column an attractive feature of the New YORK
WEEKLY, and they wiilo
| thing whicli may be
rusai.
scholarly style;
amusewent, minor defects will be remedied.

Ike Forney courts Scientisic. Doolittle—The Schoolmas-

her heart beats | wimmen’s dresses seuce the fo
it

| rigged up fur bizu

; eee # Le a that stupid | up with wot he could git his hans on belongin’ to Dis Bis-
morning is fine—suppose you take ral-| ter, Melinda Mariar Antoinette,

| T heard a rap et the door.

ly pollywod Led

do that; but ye’d better kim in an’

you're fat?

do not re- |

 

 

 

‘‘Here 1am,” she repeated with slow, lingering
enjoyment; ‘‘and it spoils your life for you—does it
not? As you spoiled mine for me on that night.”

She pointed to the picture—the vengeful delight
she felt shining in her great eyes.

*‘You were merciless that night, Gordon Caryll,
and I yowed revenge, did I not? Well the years
have come and the years have gone; we both lived,
and revenge was out of my reach.
you and I never will; but what could Ido?
meet, and I need do nothing.
am alive is vengeance enough. It parts you from}
her—does it not? Ah, you feel that! Monseigneur,
I wonder why you have come here this morning?
It is certainly an honor I did not expect.”

“‘J came to make assurance certain,” he answered,
still with voice and face totally unmoved. “I had
no doubt, and still_—”’

«‘And still you would stand face to face with me |
once more. Well—there is no doubt, isthere? 1}

Now we

am Rosamond Loyell—Rosamond Caryll—the girl}

hose heart you so nearly broke,
sixteen years ago. Oh, don’t look scornful! I mean
it! Even I had a heart; and Iloved you. Loved
you so well that it I had been able 1 would have gone
down to the river and drowned myself after you left
me that night. Fortunately I was not able. Icould
laugh how when I look back and think of my be-
sotted folly. We outlive all that at five-and-thirty,”

«You were not able,” he repeated; ‘*that means—”

“That my child was born twelve hours after we
parted,” she interruptedonce more, ‘Did they tell
you in Quebec that ?”

“Yes, they told me.
now.”

‘‘Who told you so?” she demanded, sharply,

“T know it--that.is enough. You ask why I came
here to-day—one reason was to see her.”

She laughed contemptuously.

‘And do you fancy I will let you?
that child from her birth to avenge
wrongs. And she shall—I swear it !”

*You refuse to let me see her ?”

*‘Most emphatically—yes. When the time comes
you shall see her to your cost—not before.”

He turned to go. She rose up and stood before
him.

“What! so soon,” she said, with a laugh, ‘‘and
after so many years of separation? Well, then, go

actions, not words, are best’ between us. But I
think, Gordon Caryll, my day has come. Miss France
Forrester is avery proud and spotless young lady
so they tellme. Have you told her yet who Felicia
the actress is ?”

He made no reply. Without speaking to her,
without looking at her, he passed out of the green-
ish dusk of the perfumed drawing-room into the
sparkling sunshine, and fresh, cool winds of the fair
spring day

you married, and w

And the child is with you

Why, I meant
her mother’s

[TO BE CONTINUED.1

oe

USEEUL
HINTS FOR THE HOME CIRCLE.

— Toremove grease spots frombooks or paper,
gently warm the soiled part or paper, and then press upon it
pieces of blotling paper, one after another, so as to absorb as
much of the grease as possible. Have ready some fine, clear,
essetitial oil of turpentine, heated almost to a boiling state;
warm the greased leaf alittle, and then, with a soft, clean brush,
wet wilh the heated turpentine both sides of the spotted part.
By repeating this application the grease will be extracted. Lastly
with another brush, dipped in rectified spirits of wine, go over
the place, and the grease will no longer appear neither will the
paper be discoiored,

— Tracing paper may be made by moistening a
sheet of paper with }.-nzine, by means of a sponge. The puper
becomes temporarily transparent, and lines may. be traced
through it. In a few hours the beuzime evaporates, and the paper
becomes opaque as before.

— To ascertain whether or not water be fit for do-
mestic purposes, toa glassful of the water add a few drops of the
solution of soap in alcohol. If the water be pure it will continue

The very fact that I}

| bridle.
| off of thet beast et Jake Fiuken’s store ?”?

THE MOUNTAIN.
BY MRS. M. J. ROBERTSON,

Iam aweary, and I fain would rest
in shadowy paths where human foot ne’er trod,
When forest depths in summer hues are drest,
And.the stroug mountain towers up to God.

Not by the sea, not, bythe ocean’s breast,
Where rolling waves forever dash the shore,
l turn away from murmurs of unrest
To where the hills stand firm, forevermere-
Green grows the moss upon its granite breast,
And clinging vines o’er all its harshness twine,
Why should my life, be evermore unblest,
Leafiess and silent inthe summer time?
Thou know’st, O God! Yet they do err who sing—
In. suffring only can the soul grow strong;
Where sunlight comes not flowers can never spring,
And broken harps send forth no joyous song.
Forth from the mount I went when life was new,
Strong in my pride to battle with earth’s strife;
O, giant hills! Tam again to you,
Give back to me the wasted strength of life

>-o-+

PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS.

nutri

[Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of co buting to
blige us by sending for publication any-
deemed of sufficient interestLor genera: pe-
Itis not necessary that the articles should be penned in
so long as they are pithy, and likely to afford

THE BACKSNAPPER PAPERS.—No. 15.

ter in a Ludicrous Predicament.
This yer onery lke Forney hedn
rtin’
yr some kine-dab deyilt
ess.
Fust, he snuck his mother’s Sunday gown,

7 & scrimmage in
n’, an’ he begin
or nother; so he

t
t

¢

Oo Dile overt

an’ finished

i was bissy in the mornin’ pickin over some beans wen

in,’ 1 said, ‘an’ I muss Bay thet l was considerbul-
to. see @ gal et the door drest fit to kill.

she said, ‘to d’rect ine toSquar

“Kim

“Will yer be 50 kaind,”’

Bucks ??
Aw, yes,” I said; ‘f’twon’st discombobble me apy to
ress a bit.”

“Thankee,’’ saysshe. ‘How much do you weigh wen
“Me?? says I, a-thinkin’ it a mighty sing’lar question—
me? Wy, the las’ time I weighed et Jake Fiuken’s store
I weighed jist oue hundered an’ ninely-eight poun’s, four
an’ turee-quarter ounces.”?

“Hum |? says she; “thet's bringin’ it down toa purty
fine pint. Lemine see! Wot might be your name th

“Me?” Isaid; “Oh, my name is Miranda Alliquippa
Backsnapper.”’

“Aw, jist to think on it—my brother should-ah spoke of

ha-ha’s so hearty and prolonged that the other scholars thought

Bill crazy. The professor stared in wonder; what Bill was laugb-
ing at he could not comprehend. On seeking an explanation, I
told him; but even then he couldi’t see where the laugh came
in, W. D. M.

That Little Game Calied Euchre.
** You are queen of my. heart, most adorable Jane,
And you ace I can’t go it alone;
So assist me as partre? in Cupid’s sly game,”
Said I to my love as we turned down the lane
That led to the spot she called home.

She murmured: “Dear Jack;" I felt. proud as a king
At her taking me up, as her lover,

And circled her finger with a fine diamond ring.

When she whispered’: “My dearest, remember one thing;
We must play against father, and mother.

*- If they see me hold diamonds—good-by to our game—
They will order me up to my room ;
And when fam up they will deal yery plain;
You will haye to pass out, and cap not come again,
And my ma miglit assist with the broom.
* And remember, my dear, I will point at the cat,
Or will put up @ hard to my eye
If I think that my father has smelt out a rat,
So pote the point, you must lake up your hat,

 

your family, who’s-ab livin’? im the Western liemisplere,
North American coutinent, United States of America,
State of Ingeanna, Hogfut county, Smalipork towuship,
au’ in the center of Sports village.”’

‘Heavens!’ I said, “do yeh d’rect @ letter with all thet

rigamarole onto it???

4 |
“Yuas,’? says she; “I’ve studied an’ teached geogfy, an’
I allus d’rect a letter so thet it wou’tgoa foolin’ aroun’ |

the kentry without a reachin’ its destergation.”’

“Wal? saysI, ‘wot might be your name, 1
astin’ too much?’

‘Mey? gaysshe. “Me? Oh, my name js Lucy Giraffe-
cuss ‘Lipton. 1 jist drapped inio these parts to gil a sui-
mer school, an’? was ree-commendid to call on Squar
Buck.”’

“Wal, says I, “I don’t know but wot yeh might gita
chance ia the red school-house jinin’ this deestrict, an’
p’raps Squar Buck kin give yeh the position.”

“Whosal teachin’ in this deestrict?” says she,

“Scientitic Doolittle isah’ runnin’ the book larnin’ of
this yer deestrict, an’ is a boardin’ et the Square’s.”’

“Ah, yeh don’t say so?’ said MissTiptoh. ‘How much
does he weigh wen he’s fat?”

Agiu Llowed this was a mighty sing

f Imnot

Nar question, but I

| reckoud thet the dern fool might weigh abvut a hundred

an’ forty.

Then slie wanted toknow how furSquar Buck lived
from our place, an’ Lreckonedit Was nigh onto three-
quarter of a mile.

“Did yehever see Squar Buck?!’ agin put in this Miss
Giraffercuss Tipton.

I tell yeh now, ’tween me an’ you, she was nigh onto
the leu’th of one. F

“Homi? says I, ‘should think thet I orto know him—
been livin’ in tuese parts fur nigh onto forty year.’’

“How much does Squar’ Buck weigh wen he’s fat?”
Says ShG agia.

‘““Wol, now,” Isays, “thet is a sing’lar question, but
jedgin’ from his carcorial b’ild I think thet he might kick
the scales at two-Lten,”?

“Hum, says she, ‘‘whosah livin’ right back yere—th¢
place a jinin yourn?”?

“On,” says 1, ‘yeh mean ole Shorty Fiddleroop. He
was WoOnSt a SClhool trestee.’’

“How much does he weigh wen he’s fat?’? she put ig
agin.

Wile I was a thinkin’ of this sing’iar question, my ol
man, who was a settin’ by the chimbley, snorted out;

‘Wot the devil she was a astin s0 Many gush dern foo
questions about this fat bizuiz?”?

I didn’t say nothin’, but buss out a laughin’, coss
thought the ole man’s head was level—jist to think twa
this yer Ike Forney all the wilet

‘Wot kine of risin’ east do yeh use in makin’ bread?’
says Miss Tipton et the dinuer table.

“Oh, mos’ly salt, Sometimes hop raisin’,” I said.

Says she, “Thur is a new kine of east out now thet th
grocery stores in Frogsboro air a sellin’. It outraise
anything Lever hearn tell of. Why, jist to think, man
gut a half a teaspoon too much in the fust batch, a
twarnt mor’n five minutes in the brick bake oven afor
the dough begint to run out of the stove pipe hole jist lik
sassage out of a sassage stuffer.”

“Great Ceasers!” says my ole man; ‘‘thet east musta

7 | raised the devil.’’
I never ‘forgave |

“Wol,’? says she, ‘‘yeh Kin bet it raised pop anyway
coss he clapped a board over the hole an’ sot on top, an
then the dern dougi raised him, board an’ all, a kiverin
his britches an’ the groun’ aroun’ fur about a haif acre
Then pap gut alfired skeert, an’ he yelled to mam fu
God’s sake toexplain thet east business; then mam jis
drapped to the groun’ an’ yelt fur pap to save hisself, the
the worl’ was a gonto be destroyed by east; then pa
broke fur Frogsboro aboard of ole Jim without saddie e
An! wot do yeli think lappened him wen he g

“Derned if | know,” says L

“Oli, nothin’, says she, “only ittook four men to pu
him off, an’ wen he did git off he brought seven poun’
of hair with him!?

‘‘Hang my bretches!”’ says my ole man; ‘‘if thet ea
sticks as well as it raises, 1 must lave some (0 raise m
barn nex’ week.”?

Wal, Squar Buck ‘lowed he’d gin Miss Tipton a chancg
an’ invited her lo stay the night; an’ from Mrs, Buck
Jearned all about lier performances thar wich tuck plac
As soon as Scientific Doolittle sot eyes on Miss Tipton }
was imgetly struck, an’ as soon as he gut a chance, a
her if she wur wWillin’, an’ had no objections, he'd like tl
pleasure of settin’ up awile after the folks had gone
roost.

She said she hed no meticular dejection an’ would
happy to hev his kitupany.

So wen the two gut the kitchen to theirselves, Doolitt
hitched up his cheer alongside of hern, Then Miss Lug
Giratfecuss Tiptou metended to blush, an’ chewed h
apron string, au’ all o' that sort 0’ thing.

Fust Doolittle broke the ice in the weather; he didr
know if twar goin’ to rain or if it twusn’t; then he t
her about his grammotier beiu’ struck by lightnin’—t
funeral an’ so On; then about his father a killin’ the b
gest log in Posey county; then he ’gin to talk love
kinedah throwed his arm aroun’, an’ jist as he was
puckerin’ out fur a buss, she clutched him an’ gin a mq
unearthly screech. Miss ‘Tipton stilf hel’ onto him ¢
kep’ np the screechin, yellin’ ‘Murder! l’mrooinate
an’ so forth.”?

Scientific Doolittle tried to git away, but she still
on an’ kep’ up the screechin’,

This brung out Squar Buck, Missis Buck an’ all of
rest of the little Bucks in ondress uniform.

Doolittle wouldah gin ten dollars if sle’d oney onlog
her holt on him—she siill a screechin’.

‘sLemime got lemme go, you villin you! oh, onl’?

Then she gin a suddent twist, an’ they both kim to
floor with a reg’lar painter screeci). But she still hel’
an’ rolled from one side of the kitchen tother, a knoe
over cheers, Doolittle uppermost part of the time, am’
the tother, still A sereechin’.

Squar Buck stood amazed fur about a minute, ther
grabbed the mop stick an’ begin to prance aroun’ in
shirt tail, aud every time Doolittle would kim upper
he would come down on his middle with:

“You scoundrili—you scoundril! le’ go o’ her! le’ g
her, I say!’

Scientific Doolittle howled: “Twas her, 'twas her
hel’ on; Goddiemitey kKnowed he wanted to git away!’

“He lies, he lies! he’s rooinated me and spiled
clothes. Murder him, Squar!”’

Just then she let go lier holt, an’ quickern a flash
jumped up an’ broke fur the door while the Squar mac
skiuimerin’ shot fur his head, with:

“Gitl yelr infernal chunk of animated abominatic
Pll be dara if 1 don’t shoot yeh on sight!’

DAN’L. BARBERR

A Laugh at the Wrong Piice,

An intellectual old fogy used to visit our school about on
month for the purpose of delivering a lecture tothe boys, Ia
spersed with his instructions were usually two or three st
anecdotes, which the protessor thought very comical. Asarul¢
the scholars understood the lecturer’s vanity on this point, ar
anything which he intended to be funny we would luugh it
derately, just to fool the old rooster. One day, just as the
turer took the stana,:my chum Bill informed me that he w
try to fall asleep, and requested me to “punch him with m
bow” when the professor got off something funny, that he mu
join in the laugh, Whenmthe profersor had reached a very i
esting aud solemn part of his lecture, I gave Bill a punch,

 

limpid; if hard, white flakes will be formed.

 

 

the lutter startled us all py bursting out with a sonorous po

ewes oe.

d

ONLY §5 MONTHLY

HOUSE AND LOT FREE

TO

Kvery 64th Purchaser

GARDEN GITY

TO NEWS AGENTS.

>

News Agents who require extre
sheets containing their cards are
requested to send their correct ad-
this office.

mistakes inissuing extra sheets with

dresses to To prevent
incorrect cards, agents who have

recently changed their places of

 

AS THERE ARE

BUT FEW UNSOLD

YOU SHOULD

DELAY NO LONGER,

But send fora Map and

SELECT

wasiness, and those who have lately
arted news agencies, should be
rticular and send their present
brrect addresses.
STREET & SMITH,
New York WEEKLY OFFICE.

 

 

TO ADVERTISERS:

Ten 2-Stery Houses

WILL BE PRESENTED

BY

Drawing on Christmas Eve.
SEND STAMP FOR

MAPS BY RETURN MAIL,

With full particulars, or

Go Examine the Property,

Which immediately adjoins

Stewart’s Garden City.

ne Dollar and Twenty-five cts. per line,

CUTS DOUBLE PRICE,
OR BACH INSERTION CASH IN ADVANCE

eS aeaeeOeeeer = ww

30-13te.0.W. _ Sola by ali Druggists.

MAN?

tard Prinier.”
tamp for terms.
w52-4e0w

O

48-lleow.
TCE KEPT TPT err a= a
20 SHEETS OF CHOICK MUSIC, $1.
A choice selection of Vocal and Instrum ental Music, by Strauss,
Lizt, Thomas and other popular Authors, Any ten muiled for $1.
send Stamp for Catalogu Address

BENJ. W. HITCHCOCK, Publisher,
No.. 355 THIRD AVENUE, N EW YORK.

MURDERED and identified by having his

clothing marked with *‘Patent Linen Marker and

Price $1. Agents can make $10 per day. Send
BOSTON HAND STAMP CU., Boston, Mass,

DECALCOMANTI zs PICT URES,and 60 page

Catalogue, for 25 cts. JAY GOULD, Bostou,Mass.

GUIDE TO PURCHASERS.

Be at Store 35K Third Avenue at @ A. M., togo with our Salea-
men and examinethe property. Ladies shown every courtesy.
mailed on receipt of stamp for
postage. Persons residing out of this city can select from our Map
a registered letter, or P. C. Order,
and we will forward a contract for the lots selected. Address

BENJ. W. HITCHCOCK,
355 THIRD AVENUK, NEW YORK,

N. B.—Those who prefer to pay in full at once will be allowed
a Stir hs ig 5 per cent discount, and receive warranty deeds immediately,
FEE . 2 r" w43-20t

GENTS WANTED.—Men or women. $34 a week or | ————— : ; — ; ee

.. $100 forfeited. Valuable samples free. Write at once to T BN YT Ta\G7 RKOR-IN-
26-52 . M. REED, Eighth St., New York. | N O Di 7 I ico EL. i ¥ convenicmean

. Address in curing rupture by the ELASTIC TRUSS COMPANY, No. 69

th = 1¢ ) he () BER Day at home. ‘Terms Free. D : ;
oO tt Gro. Stinson & Co., Portland, Me. wl9-Ly Broadway, New York City, retaining hernia under every cha
akan sia = . = ams _—*"* | of position or severest strain of the body. 2% Branzh of
Trusses sent by mail. Circulars free on application.

$15 Shot Gun :

A double-barrel gun, bar or front action locks; warranted gen-
uine twist barrels, and a good shooter, or no Sale; with Flask,
Pouch and Wad-cutter, for $15. Can be sent C. O. D. with
privilege to examine before paving bill. Send stamp for circular
to a POWELL &SON, Gun Deale rs, 238 Main st., Cincinnati,O.

3-26

43-26
iD op » A MONTH SURE TO AGENTS
S350 everywhere. 10 bestselling articles in the world.

Particulars free. Address J. BRONSON, Detroit, Mich. 46-13.

STEINWAY

Grand, Square and Upright
PIiIAIN OS.

SUPERIOR TO ALL OTHERS,

And universally acknowledged to be the

Standard Pianos of the World,

Having been awarded the First of the Grand Gold Medals of

Honor:
WORLD'S FAIR, PARIS, 1867.
LONDON, 1862.

Prices as low as the exclusive use of the best materials and
most thorouch workmanship will permit.
Every Piano Warranted for Five Years.

Bay ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUES. AN

With Price list mailed free on ap plication.

STEINWAY & SONS,
Nos. 107, 109 & 111 East 14th Street, New York.
Bees eee treet Sveeere Gee)
$10 A DA YW.—Employment for all. Patent Novelties.
DL 48 13 ' GEO. FELTON, 119 Nassau street, N.Y.
A WEEK tocanvass for Vickery’s Fireside

iT
R77 Visitor. Gosts NOTHING to try it,

47-52. P. O. VICKERY & CO., Augusta, Maine.
4h mm th Invested in Stocks and Gold pays
$10 TO $1000 200 per cent. a month. Send for

particulars. TUMBRIDGE & CO,, Bankers, 2 Wall street, N. Y.
w49-13

~ PLAYS! PLAYS! |

a

Home Amusements. Send for a Catalogue of 17,500,

SAM UEL FRENCH & SON, 122 Nassau St., N.Y.
48-12.

Maps containing full information

and enclose us $5 per lot in

OAM P8
i N. SQUIRE, 97 Fulton st., N. ¥.—Watches, Fine

e Jewelry, and Sterling Suverware, first quality, and sold on

bmaltiest profits, Every article guaranteed, Diamonds a specialty.
w23-5i

“Va

 

 

r\
4

Ww Hisk EK RS The only preperation ia tle
. eb A Ke world that will give, peri Fr
satisfaction to those desirous of raising a luxuriant BEARD,
Mons. De Lessep’s '“VIGORINE,” prepared only in Paris, :
mackage warranted and sent by mail on receipt
Samples sent for 10 cents. FRANKLIN & CO.,
30x 218 Jersey City, N. J.

of One
Sole Im
x
y MADE RAPIDLY with Stencil ans

MON It Check Outtits. Catalogues, sam

particulars FREE. S. M. SPENCKR, 117 Hanoyer st., Boston

c0.,”’

=»

JOLLY

“CHILDREN’S GAME

Wants Agents Everywhere. Large Sales, Big Pay.

w4-2
¥ 7 anted agents for Prize Stationery. Sample pa
elegant prize, 25 cts. post-paid. Five packaz¢
Three doz. by express for $4.50. Twelve doz. for $16.
$20 ad gross sold. J. BRIDE & CO., ‘769 Broady
wl

$2
vy

N

GAMES

&S INELR Y for Amateur Theatricals, Tableaux, &c. Apply
9 J. NOWLEN, 369 Kent Avenue, Brooklyn, N, Y.
Ware AGEN TS—To sell the “Life and Ex-
plorations of Dr. Livingstone,” complete, au-
thentic; a fresh book; price suited to the times. B. B. RUSSELE,
Publisher, Boston, Mass. wi

2¢ SCROLI. CARDS OF BIRDS, in Various Cok
J

ors, with Blank for Name, sent for l0cents. Address
FRE 4 5 Foreign Stamps, Circulars and Price Lists.
a ‘4H '4e STAR STAMP CO., Boston, Mass.

FOR EVENING PARTIES.—
Catalogue containing the best selection of
Amusing Games sent free to any ad-
dress, by A. J. FISHER, 98 Nassau at, ¥.¥,

’B. BUSTED, Nassau, Renssetlear County, New York.

GENTS WANT ED-—For Brooks’ Diamond Steel Knife
va Sharpeners. Silver-Plated sample; with circular, sent for 25
cents. R. L. FLETCHER, 95 East Broadway, N.Y,

QAve YOUR BIRDS.—Pavonarius’ Bird Invigorator
— cures Loss of Song aud all Bird Sickness. Keeps them im
constant health and song. '/Sent prepaid by mail torn25 cents.
PAVONARIUS & MICHTLE,

1108 Ridee Avenue, Philadelphia.

hampion Stamp Packet contains 25'stamps: Bermuda, Japan,

J Bremen, Van Diemen’s Land, Russia, Victoria, Roman States,
Wurtemburg, Queensland, Sandwich Islands, Mecklenburgh,
Strelitz, etc. Price 26cents.. J. PLERCE, 7 Clark st., Chicago.

NV

guaranteed.
4-4

eClaure’s Catarrh Cure.—A safe, sure, mild and per-
manent remedy. ,Sent \post-paid. » Price,50c.  Satistaction
Address SAMUEL W. MCCLURE, Ashland; Mass.

ER 7. 7. SAMPLE to Agents. Ladies Combination
K EK Needle Book, with Chromos. Send stamp.
45-13. DEAN & CO., New Bedford, Mass,

tre 18 PER WEEK guaranteed to agents on a newly
SS patented article—Steam Washer—salable as flout.
For Circulars address U

wl-4t R. LAWYER, Patentee, Pittsburgh, Pa.

%2400

wo $5 CHROMOS.

Postponements

IMPOSSIBLE.
- $20 -

Will buy a First Mortgage Premium Bond
of the N. Y. Industrial Exhibition Co., author-
ized by the Legislature of the State of New
York. 24 Premium Drawing, Dec. 7, 1874

3d Series Drawing, Jan. 4, 1875.

Every Bond will be Redeemed with a Pre-
mium, as an equivalen t for interest.

Capital Premium, $100,000.
Address, for Bonds and full information,
Morgentheau, Bruno & Co.,

Financial Agents, 23 Park Row, New York
Post-Office Drawer 29. w51-14.

gents Wanted.—Send stamp tor copy of “The Agents’
A Monthly.” . Address “The Agents’ Monthly,” Boston, Mass,

K. B. ROOTE, M.D.

120 Lexington Avenue,
Cor. BE, 28th St; NEW YORK.

AN INDEPENDENT PHYSICIAN,

TREATS ALL FORMS OF

CHRONIC DISEASE,

AND RECEIVES
Letters from all aoa of the Civilized
or

 

Wearly to Agents. 54 new articles and
the best FAMILY PAPER in America, with
Family Journal, 300 Broadway, N. Y

Cb peice
BY HIS ORIGINAL WAY OF

Conducting a Medical Practice
HE IS TREATING
Numerous Patients in Europe, the West In-
dies, the Dominion of Canada, and in
every State in the Union.

ADVICE GIVEN BY MAIL FREE OF
CHARGE.

No mercurial medicines or deleterious drugs used. Has during
the past twenty years treated successtully nearly or quite 40,000
cases, All facts connected with each case are carefully recorded,
whether they be communicated by Jetter or in person, or observed
by the Doctor or his associate physicians. The latter are aJl scien-
tific medical men.

All invalids at a distance are required to answer an extended
list‘ot plain questions, which will be turnished by mail free, or
atthe office. A complete system of registering prevents mistake
or confusion. Case books never consulted, except by the physi-
cians of the establishment. or free consultation, send for list of
questions.

A sixty-p

Address

GEO. A. PRINCE & CO.
Organs & Melodians.

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

54,000

Now in use.

age pamphiet of evidences of success sent free also.
Dr. E.B. POOTE,
BOX 788, NEW YORK.

AGENTS WANTED.

DR. FoOTR is the author of ‘MEDICAL COMMON SENSE,”’ a book
that reached a circulation ‘of over 250,000 copies; also of “PLain
HomE TALK,” more recently published, which has sold to the ex-
tent of 70,000 copies; also) of “SO1\KNCK IN STORY,” which is now
being published in series.

CONTENTS TABLES

of all excepting the first-mentioned work (which is out of print),
will be sent free on application to either Dr, FooTs, or the Mure
ray Hill Publishing Company, whose office is at 129
East 28th street. Agents—both men and women—wanted to sell
the foregoing works, to whom a liberal profit will be allowed.
The beginnings of sinall, fortunes have been made in_ selling
Dr. FooTr’s popular works. . “PLAIN HoMK TALK” is particularly
adapted to adults, and “Scignor In STORY?’ is just the thing for
the young. Send for contents tables and see for youselves. The
former answersa multitude of questions which ladies and gentle-
men feela delicacy about asking of their physicians, There is
nothing in literature at all like either of the foregoing works,
“SCIENCE IN STORY” is meeting with great favor with the older as
well as younger ones, Like “Peter Parley’s Tales,” it suits every-
er It mixes valuable facts regarding the human body all up
with a thrilling and amusing narrative, Can be only of
Agenig and the Publishers.

Agents Wanted.
ADDRESS AS ABOVE.

No other Musical Instrument ever obtained the same Popularity.
pay- Send for Price Lists.

47.8. Address BUFFALO, N. ¥.

 

S

w2-4t

TELEGRAPHING.
TUDENTS WANTED to learn TELEGRAPHING,
The best facilities in the world. Add

ress
WESTERN TELEGRAPH CO., Decatur, Ill.

MISFIT CARPETS.

English, Brussels, Three-ply and Ingrain very cheap, at
place, 113, FULTON STREKT, Side entrance, _..

 

 

the old
wet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

<<a THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. --

 

na acest

 

 

j

NEW YORK, NOVEMBER 30, 1874

PEI EOE OOOO

Terms to Subscribers :
$3 | One month......... 25 cts.
5{ Two months........ 50 cts.
Three months...... 75 cts.
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Those sending $20 for a Club of Eight. all sent at one time, will
be entitled toa Ninth Copy FREE. Getters-up of Clubs can after-
ward add single copies at $2 50 each.
A Chromo will be sent only to those sending $3 lor one year’s
subscription.
ae Specimen copies can be seen at every post-ofiice,
store, and news agency throughout the Union.
IN MAKING REMITTANCES FOR SUBSCRIPTIONS, always procure &
draft on New York, or a Post-Ofice Money Order, if possible.
Where neither of these can be procured, send the money, but al- |

“ ss g

arug

 

s2y8 it @ REGISTERED leiter. The registration fee has been re-
duced to eight cents, and the present registration system has been |
found by the postal authorities to be virtually an absolute pro-
tection against losses by mail. All Postmasters are obliged to
register letters whenever requested to do so. |
In addressing letters to STREET & SMITH, donot omit our Box
Number. By a recent order of the Post-office Department this is |
absolutely necessary, to ensure the prompt delivery of letters. }

ALL LETTERS SHOULD BE ADDRESSED TO
STREET & SMITH, Proprietors.
27, 29 and 31 Rose St., N.Y. P.O. Box 4896 |

 

———— —

Enslish and American Writers.

Wilkie Collins’ story of ‘‘The Dream Woman,” the
publication of which was recently begun in the NEw
YORK WEEKLY, is interesting, not only in itself, but
a8 Marking the meeting, on common ground, of ac-
complished writers representing the Old World and
the New. It has been the aim of the conductors of |
the NEw YORK WEEKLY to encourage native writers,
and to put before the public the fréshest and best
serial stories and shorter sketches procurable from |

|
|
i

|

; . ; 4
American authors, very many of them based on}

American history and American life. How well the
conductors have succeeded in their purpose we shall
not say. Weonly point to the immense and in-
creasing circulation of the NEw YORK WEEKLY as
tolerably strong proof of its popularity. But they
wish todo more than this. They wishalso to supply
the public with specimens of the work of celebrated
English authors. As the people of America and the
people of England speak the same tongue, it is.|
natural that there should be a literary sympathy be-
tween them. The same books are read on both
sides of the Atlantic, and there is no stronger bond
of sympathy, no better means of arriving at a better
knowledge of, and understanding with each other,
than literature supplies to the two nations. At the
age time there are literary contrasts which are
orth noticing, and the study of which cannot fail
0 be profitable. The effort of the New York WEEK-
jx to bring English and American writers together
4 its columns cannot fail to be interesting to its
readers. ‘

 

> @« ---

The New Post Office.

Tt is said that the new Post Office building on
Broadway and Park Row will be ready for use on the
first of January. The splendid structure attracts
much attention, not only from people passing by its
long and lofty fronts, but from strangers approach-
ing by the rivers and bay.. The finishing of the up-
per part has been the subject of some criticism, but
it is conceded to be a magnificent affair, worthy of
and an ornament to the chief city on the continent.
The postal accommodations of New York have hither-
to*-been ridiculously inadequate. There are many
intéresting historical associations connected with
the venerable Dutch church on Nassau street, but it
has not provided for the enormous mail business of
the Empire City as much room as some mercantile
firms require for their private trade. We are will-
ing to admit that many improvements have been
made in recent years in the postal affairs of New
York, but they are not by any means what they
should be. Shortcomings have been explained, and
often reasonably, by the cramped quarters of the
Postmaster and his assistants. After January this
excuse will not serve. The new building affords
ample room and will be abundantly supplied with all
the modern appointments. When the postal depart-
ment is moved into it, the work of sending, receiv-
ing, and distributing the mails ought to be done with
almost absolute accuracy and dispatch. At the be-
ginning of 1875 the Postmaster. and the public will
exchange @ hearty ‘‘Happy New Year.”

—_—_——_>0+______

Female Heroism.

Why does not some ready writer, some student of
history, give us a record of the exploits of those
representatives of the gentler sex, who, rising above
the timidity usually attributed to women, have emu-
lated the deeds of renowned warriors? What a
brilliant historical chapter it would prove, what
vivid tableaux it would embrace, reaching as far
back as the warrior-queens of the Iceni, and the
maidens of the ancient Helvetia, driving back the
mail-clad warriors of Rome in defeat.

In such a connection how prominent in memory
stands forth that wonderful peasant-girl of Orleans,
who led so successfully the chivalry of France to
battle, who commanded armies and hurled back the
tide of invasion. Truly, Joan of Arc was inspired.
Again, in the French campaign of °93, General Du-
mouriez had for his aids-de-camp two of the loveliest
ladies in France, who, in their dazzling cavalry uni-
forms, carried orders through the thickest of the
fight, cheering on the soldiers, and even leading
more than one gallant charge, as they waved their
gleaming swords above their heads. In nearly
every French field of battle, we are told that women
have been found where the dead lay thickest, beside
lover, brother, or husband.

What splendid exampies of female chivalry are
afforded by the fields of romantic Castile. Poor
Spain, the land of romance, where the sunlight of
chivalry lingered latest. Who can forget the sieges
of Saragossa, Valencia, and Tortosa, where the
women enrolled themselves in battalions and fought
with unexampled bravery? As in the history of
France, 80 in the beautiful land of Ferdinand and
[sabella, there looms up in thé busy story of her
past, one grand female heroine, the Maid of Sara-
gossa, She who took her place in the battery where
here lover was slain, and with her own fair hands
pointed the gun and applied the match, when even
veteran soldiers fell back from the storm of shot
and shell that poured upon them.

The Greek and Hungarian revolutions both had
their examples of female heroism. Each had ite
Maid ot Orleans, or of Saragossa. Our own revo-
lutionary annals are illuminated by similar grand
and prominent figures of women at the post of dan-
ger, in the holiest of causes. And later, in the jast
struggle between the North and the South, many &
field, on both sides, showed among the dead the
faithful wife, sister, or affianced bride, habited like
the sterner sex, and fighting in the front ranks of

defiance at Ceesar’s legions.

since the period when the matrons of Britain hurled

Why does not some patient explorer of the past,
we repeat, give us a consecutive history of the ex-
ploits of those women who have carved, with chiv-
alric swords, a name upon the temple of fame?
SN > @~< ———__-

A Beautiful Suicide.

‘How could the hand that gave such charms blast a ?”
10 .

Every intelligent traveler knows that a little way
in the rear ofthe quaint old chuch of Notre Dame,
Paris, and near to the Pont St. Louis, is situated the
famous Morgue, or dead-house of the French metro-
polis, one of those attractive horrors of a great

 

European capital. It is always open to the public
and here the corpses of all unknown persons whq
have met their death in the river, or otherwise, ar
exposed to view during a period of three days, fo
the purpose of identification. The bodies are quit
nude, and are placed upon marble slabs, kept coo
by aconstant stream of water. Ifthey are not re
cognized within the prescribed period, they are bur
ied at the expense of the city, or are consigned to

| the dissecting tables of the college of surgeons.

The Morgue is located in that humble portion of
Paris known as the Cite, where such writers as
Eugene Sue have delighted to lay the plots of their

| exciting novels, and is thus particularly accessible

to the lower classes. The place seems to have a

| singular fascination for humble people, who are

daily attracted in large numbers to its painful spec-
tacle. Here during the year thereis an average
of two hundred and fifty male and nearly one hun-
dred female corpses annually exposed to the gaze
of the curious multitude. The ghastly exhibition is
perhaps most impressive at night, by the strong
light of the gas jets, when the inanimate bodies,
nearly as much like marble as theslabs upon which
they repose, present the grim pallor of death.

We see by the Paris Daily Figaro that the body of

|a@ young woman was exposed, a couple of weeks

since, on the frigid marbles of the Morgue, for the
usual three days and nights, but without being iden-
tified. Thedeceased was apparently under twenty
years of age, and so wondrously beautiful that the
authorities caused a cast of her form to be made by
a careful artist. The loveliness of the body, even
in death, was so remarkable, that crowds from all
classes of the citizens thronged the dead-house to
obtain a glimpse of the remains. Students of sculp-
ture and of painting lingered long and entranced
before the corpse, and women of the better class
were thrown by their sensibilities into hysterics,
ailer gazing upon such lost loveliness!
“Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her,

All that remains of ber
Now is pure womanly.”

Poor child of mortality! She was seen to throw
herself into the Seine, no one knew why, no one
knew whence she came, and no one knew her name.
Her clothes hung above her head in the usual man-
ner, but only showed that she had been neatly and
respectably clad. They indicated no clew to her
identity. How busy becomes the imagination over
this impressive scene. What washer story? Was
it poverty and hunger that led the peor child to
suicide? Was it disappointed love? Was it cruel
deceit and desertion ?

‘* Make no deep scratiny
Into her mut.ny,
Rash and undutifal;
Past all dishonor,
Death has jett on her
Only the beautiful.”

Hood could not have written more appropriately
were he living, of that lovely but forsaken form
Ah! what stern realities of life force themselves upon
the consciousness of the dwellers in large cities. No
power of the imagination can exceed the every-day
experience, no pen of romance can exaggerate the
reality ot our tragic existence.
><

THE OLD-FASHIONED NURSE.

Did the washing, got the meals, spanked the children,
and was forever making capnip tea forthe baby. She
wore a cap, and either took snuff or didn’t. If she did,
the pale woman propped up by pillows wondered if the
little brown specks On Wp of the gruel were always nut-
meg.

The old-fashioned nurse was a bit of a tyrant. She in-
sisted upon swathing that baby like a mummy, trotting it
with its head on one side, or hanging over front, or
doubled back, to the tune of au original funeral march.
She rubbed it into spasms, and then rubbed it out. She
carried it in one hand, to the manifest danger of its very
lean neck. Every time it opened its mouth, she poked a
Spoon in, and every time it shut its mouth she opened it
with another. She stood guard at the door while the
frightened but delighted father crept in to marvel at the
little bunch that squirmed upon the pillows. She acquainted
him with the questionable fact that it had his nose. She
superintended the breakfast table in a loose flannel gown
and a ‘‘scratch,’? that hung over her left eyebrow. She
advised the head of the house and ordered round the old-
est boy. She cut the bread and marveled that the man
had no appetite. She told him every morning that the
baby had kept her awake all night, and that the gin was
out. She made toast in slices three inches thick, and
scolded her patient for not eating it. She worried mother
and baby into a fever, and then gave them castor oil. She
made herself nice little dishes, and ate them in the pantry,
where she often took sly drops of something. Her nose,
What there was of it, invariably grew red by tea time, and
it took her a good while to say pretty things while she
undressed the baby, to the terror of its mother, for the
old-fashioned nurse made no distinction between its head
and its heels, and sometimes laid it beside lts maternal
parent upside down.

The old-fashioned nurse always put on a silk dress every
Sunday, and woe to the youngster who smiled on that
day. Glad was the husband and father, after the torture
of meals was over, to go “‘Any where, any where, out of
the house,’? while the nurse entertained her patient with
stories of the men she knew, and how dreadfully they
treated their poor wives, “leaving them, and always pre-
tending they wanted s breath of fresh air—the wretches!’

When the old-fashioned nurse went away she left high
carnival behind her, beside hal{-a-dozen empty gin bottles
—sickness required it—a large collection of broken
crockery, a pint of paregoric, a diminished tea set, a fret-
ful baby, a disgusted head of the house, a delighted head
ess, and several boys who fired rockets in the dest roon
in celebration of their emancipation from the old-fashioned
nurse, MARSH MALLOW.

A MEMORY FOR DATES.

A woman with a memory for dates is a curse to he
friends!

For she is always telling when everything took place,
and the delightful haloof mystery is torn from all which
lies in the past.

Just you try to make that splendid young McBlifilns
think that you are only twenty-two years old, and your
Woman of Dates wili throw up her hands, and exclaim:

“Dear me! Eliza Jane! what a mistake you bave made!
Why, you were twenty-nine years old last March! 1 re-
member it as though it was but yesterday! Powerful hot
oon * was for the season, and an eclipse of the moon that
night!

if you undertake to tell somebody what year the small
pox raged, this Woman of Dates will correct you, and if
you should speak of Aunt Nell’s tin wedding she will set
you right on the point without scruple.

Once started on her favorite theme of dates there is n
stopping her. Like an eight-day clock she must run til
she runsdown,

She will insist on telling her audience how old Uncid
Tom, Dick, and Harry were at their death, and in wha
year Bumble’s folks lost a cow, aud Dixon’s folks a valu
able steer, of pleuro-pneumonia,

She will explain everything on which dates have an
bearing, from the age of her great grandfather down t
the age of the baby next door, which hasn’t yet cut atootl

Weil, it takes all kinds of peopie to make up a work
and if it were not for the Woman of Dates we should neve
know what age to engrave upon the tombstone of the nex
oid maid who dies—since old maids? birth-dates are neve
found in the records of any well-reguiated Family Bible

KATE THORN.
—_—_>-0-+-

GIRLS AND Boys will sincerely sympathize with Lrrrn

RHODY, one of the leading Characters in the story o

“‘BABR-BACK BILL,” which is begun this week. There i

 

 

 

 

battle, Female heroism has never been wanting

@ perplexing mystery about Little Rhody, to solve whicl
all the readers, young and old, will deyote themselves.

MONEY.

BY JENNIE STOVIN.

What is it we write for ? we look for? Ah, me!

Teach others to want? as our gainings they see,

What is it the public are eager to give

For the WEEKLY as long as its pages will live ?
Money! yes, money!

What is it that women most praise and adore ?
Will rush into wedlock and flatter men for ?
Must spend on their houses, their dresses and gloves,
And jilt for its sake their penniless loves ?
Money! yes, money!
What is it men work for, and wait for, and pray,
Toiling and struggling each hour and each day;
Hoarding like misers their ill-gotten store—
Scheming till Death comes and knocks at the door ?
Money! yes, money!

 

 

PASSING PARAGRAPHS.
— Itis reported that the New Orleans police are about
to “strike” for three months’ pay duethem. The New

York police often strike for less reason than that—with
their clubs, on the heads of helpless prisoners.

— Amillion dollars was left by Archibald Campbell, a
late Pennsylvania mill-owner, of Manayunk. Many-a-
young-ster in the mill is inspired by the millionaire’s suc-
cess.

— Do the initials of N. P. Banks, candidate for Congress
in Boston, stand for National Paper Banks?

— Problem for Spiritualists: The medium that is excit-
ing most attention in this country now is the circulating
medium.

— Rey. Mr. Collyer has declined to come to New York.
He thinks Chicago is a wickeder place, and wants to put
himself ‘‘where he will do most good.”

— Freedom and francs sometimes go well together. In
his way Garibaldi’s patriotic book, the ‘“Thousand,”’ has
pecome 12,000.

— Says a Jersey paper: “Trenton expects to can
50,000 cans of tomatoes this season.’? Can she?

— Victor Hugo didn’t begin ‘“‘Notre Dame’? until more
han a year after he had made a contract for it with the
publisher, M. Gosselin. The title had been announced in

very promising way, but in July, 1830, not a line had
peen written, and it seemed as if the work would only be
vorth just its name—that is, worth “Notre Dame.)
708selin began to think he was a goslin’ indeed for mak-
ng such @ contract; but in January, 1831, the novel was
finished and proved a great success.

— The English Duke of Norfolk is to be a priest of the
Dratory of St. Philip Neri. He was neyer distinguished
or oratory in the House of Lords.

— People with misplaced hearts turn up frequently.
‘he latest is a child at Grand Haven, who has the organ
n the middie of its breast. There are a good many people
he locality of whose hearts it is so difficult to discover
hat there is some doubt whether they have any.

— A non-committal colored citizen, having said that he
meant to support the best man for Governor from now
antil after the election, and being asked who it was, re-
plied: ‘Dix, Til-den.”?

— Amere difference of terms—the political dispute
about the ‘third term.’

— Trial by jury was commended in a recent lecture by
Villiam Dudley Foulke. Other folk think trial by jury is
open to many abuses.

— The Tribune says a Dartmouth College student sup-
ports himself by keeping a barber shop. He ought to be
an accomplished scholar in hair-splitting logic and meta-
physics,

— The game-shooting season began in this State the
Second week of October, according to law. The hat-
shooting season began a month earlier.

— A list of cotton factory wages shows that ‘‘dressers ”’
get $14a week. That amount wouldn’t go very far with
ressers on Fifth avenue.

— Some time ago the NEw YoRK WEEKLY advised the.
Union Square Theater people to give up their riddle, “The
Sphinx.’? They have taken the advice, have given it up,
and Miss Morris has been playing the “legitimate.”

— The Bowery Young Men’s Christian Association,
while looking after moral uncleanness, does not negiect
physical dirt. It gave 3,509 persons free baths during the
year ending September 30.

— Old Joe, the Osage chief, admits that his people have
done wrong, but says they will do right henceforth. It is
hoped that this will not prove only an “‘old joe.”

— On reading that he had been at last securely ‘‘corked
up’ by the people of Massachusetts, General Butler looked
more cross-eyed than ever.

— Davidge, the counsel for the defense in the Wash-
ington safe burglary case, is not Davidge, the actor of the
Fifth Avenue Theater. The mistake of identity arose
from the frequent comic scenes in court.

THE LADIES’ WORK-BOX.

THE PURCHASING AGENCY CATALOGUE.—Owing to many
hanges and reductions 1n prices, we have been forced to defer
he publication of our New Purchasing Agency Catalogue unti]
he present time. ll orders now received will be filled at once.
t will be sent to any address, prepaid, on receipt of ten cents,

“Mrs. L. M., Charleston.’—We really find very few
morning dresses or roves de chambre this season; those
made in the one piece are so designed as to be also suit-
able for street wear, Among some most stylish designs,
we have a chatelaine dress, with side form sashes, which
is intended for house dress or reception purposes; but
with a stylish wrap it can be used for the carriage or
promenade. The number is 3,495; price of pattern, 50 cts.
The front looks like a snugly-fitting gabrielle, and is
joined to the back-skirt by a continuation of the under-
arm seam. The skirt is gathered to a belt fastened at
each underarm seam, and falls to the floor ina train.
The back is shaped by side-backs, which form, with an ex-
tra width, a pretty postillion. Pointed sash-ends pass
under the postillion and knot at the left side in a hana-
some bow. A Chatelaine pocket, suspended by straps, is
at the right side, and conceals a cluster of plaits by which
the skirtis draped. It may, however, be left plain at
both sides. The fraise collar is a little odd, a sufficient
space intervening between the fraise and lace at the throat
to permit the addition of a silk tie or lace scarf. This dress
may be made in any dress material, and can be either
plain, or elaborately trimmed. a

‘Julia T.’’—Matelasse is too expensive and heavy for a
full suit, but it forms very rich trimmings. A suit made
of handsome gros-grain, in either black or solid colors,
and cuffs, yest and collar of Matelasse, will be very stylish
and elegant, This silk costs from $8 to $10 ayard. Fichu
capes of cashmere or flannel, with silk ruches, fringes or
laces as decorations, are very handsome and fashionable.
A pretty style is No. 2,846; price of pattern, 20 cents.

‘Mary Bean.’’—Your hat can be either of felt or velvet.
The felts come in black, brown, gray, and navy-blue. You
can trim with feather bands, long ostrich plumes, wide,
soft, reversibie scarfs with fringed edges, and birds. Biue-
jays and red-breasts are in favor; also the brown sparrows
and doves are very fashionable for gray felt hats.

Mrs. Baird.”’—For dinner toilets, silk or a combination
of silk and woolen goods willbe worn. The latest style
of skirt is demi-trained, having four gores that fit close to
the figure, with all the fullness arranged to hang at the
back, The special feature of this modelisin the box-
plait laid over the gathers at the center of the back and
trimmed with large buttons and simulated button-holes,
When cashmere or camel’s hair is selected, the button-
holes should be made of bias silk or velvet. The front
and side gores may be trimmed horizontally or perpen-
dicularly with bias bands of silk or velvet, or with lines
of silk insertion or shirrings of silk; or the gores may be
entirely of silk, andin this event no trimming need be
added. The pattern is No. 3,491, price 30 cents, and will
be used for all kindsof heavy goods. Sometimes the
front and side-frout. gores are cut off above the knee to
permit the addition of a kilted side-plaiting, and when
this method is adopted no decorations are arrapged upon
the back. While no overskirt is required, such a gar-
iment may be worn, especially ifit be formed with back-
tabs crossed in fichu style and fastened with an orna-
mental pin orclasp. An overskirt of this kind is very
Stylish with a demi-trained skirt, and whether formed of

ilk, velvet or other goods, it may be embellished with
folds, fringes or feathers, The pattern is No. 3,397, price
5 cents.

“Lottie Lee.”’—You must write direct to the New YorK
WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, and inclose either post-
office order or draft payable to Street & Smith. The price
of the braid is $15. Wecan send good hair braids for
$10 ahd $12, but the size you wantis $15. Sent catalogue
{falland winter fashions to your address, Yes, it is
necessary to send name and address in full in each letter
for we sometimes receive letters from eight or ten
ladies bearing tle same name,

“Medora D.”—You require little or no trimming for
your walking jacket, The chief beauty in these English
uffairs is the fit. Some of the cloth jackets are only hem-

1ed, while others are trimmed with flat braid and galoon,
They allhave the high, close cut and neatness of finish
which belong to the tailor’s art,

‘Polly Mason,’’—Any of the browns or grays are fash-
ionable. Navy blue and bottle green, too, seem to be in
demand, A bluish shade of gray, called Russian Gray, is
very popular. Make your camei’s hair suit with deep-
pointed overskirt after pattern No, 3,520, price 25 cents,
and basque No. 3,506, price 26 cents. We have before de-
scribed the Overskirt, but the basque is something novel.
It 18 single-breasted with lapels. The back is perfectly
simple, having only a large box-plait forming a postillion
skirt. The vest front, which may be formed by other ma-
terial, or simulated by trimming, is finished near the col-
lar with lapels. The cout sleeves have rounded cuffs.
This basque is peculiarly adapted to being made of two
shades, the vest and sleeves being of the lighter material,
while the other portion, cuffs, etc., are of the darker fa-
briv.

‘Celeste Young.”’—The neck-ties are very pretty this
season. Some very dainty are made of silk cut on the
bias, about an eighth of a yard wide. The ends are point-

d, but tne points are formed by squares of Valenciennes

nserting with centers of embroidered medallions, and
dged with lace to correspond. Such ties cost from $1.50

 

 

a tence rntcte eter atest —

to $2.50, and can be found in all the exquisite new tints.
Others come in black and colors, and are embroidered
upon the ends to the depth of three to five inches, . These
Wes are costly, but they are beautiful and durable, the
work being executed by hand.

“Nina James.’’—Stylish suits for misses are made of
shepherd’s check in all wool, trimmed with black velvet,
and worn with black velvet sleeveless basque. Velveteen
of medium thickness and good quality is quite handsome
— for growing girls. <A black velvet hat goes with

e suit.

“‘Miss Harcourt.’’—As yet we see no change in visiting
cards. They are still of medium size, and of the finest
unglazed Bristol board—some in delicate tints. The new-
est sizes are oblong. The shape of the card may be varied,
according to taste, the proper adaptation to the size of
the lettering being maintained. The London style isa
very small and thick card for gentlemen, and a large one
for iadies. Among the various texts in use, nothing will
supersede the English round hand or script; also various
styles of old English text—the most novel being with or-
namental capitals, and the extremely neat extra shaded.
Visiting cards with words denoting the object of the call
will remain in use to some extent, especially for calls of
congratulation, condolence, and regret. The word visite,
on the right hand upper corner, will be printed on the re-
verse side. The corner with either word denoting the ob-
Ject of the call will be turned down. On the left hand
corner Felicitation will be used for visits of congratula-
tion on some happy event—as, for instance, a marriage or
a birth; on the right lower corner, the word Conge, or P.
P. C., used for a visit previous to leaving town; the other
corner the word Condolence. Cards sent to friends before
leaving for @ long journey, are issued with simply P. P. C.
in left hand corner. These cards are inclosed in heavy
and elegant, though plain envelopes, ornamented with an
artistic Monogram, initial, arms, or crest, and sent by
post in outside envelopes.

“Young Girl.’"—A dress of navy blue serge, with a
lighter shade of blue for trimming, will make you a pretty
and effective suit. To go with this suit get a felt hat same
shade of the dress, and trim with velyet to match the
trimming. We can get you the suit and hat for about
$35. It is almost impossible to say exactly what a hand-
some suit of black silk would cost you, but we are con-
Stantly having the suits, both in colors and black, made
for our friends at all prices from $75 to $125, each. Gloves
will cost you from $1 to $2.50 a pair. Yes, you can have
Kid gloves to match every suit you may order.

A BOSTON “DRUMMER'S’

ADVENTURE.

BY CLARA AUGUSTA.

My name is Jacob Browne, and spelled with a finale,
as it always should be, to my thinking. Browne isa very
lyonorable and genteel-looking name. I am a Boston
“drummer”? by profession, and if anybody is inclined to
turn up their noses at that respectable profession, they
needn’t read any farther. I shall not expire on account
of it.

No matter what firm I “drum’’ for—no matter at all—
batI will make the statement boldly, and am ready to
prove it, that Iam an expert at my business, and if ever
Icallat your piace with my box of sampies I shall sell
you something—that is, if your timeis worth anything,
for | am never in a hurry, and people generally buy some-
thing to get rid of me.

Just after the State election in a neighboring State—I do
not give that State’s particular name for reasons of my
own—lI visited the locality of the Capital of that aforesaid
State with my samples.

I reached—well, call it Smithville—about sunset, and
found a large and enthusiastic crowd gathered at the
depot. I looked all around me to see the distinguished in-
dividual in whose honor the people had assembled, but
failed to see him.

The bands—there were three of them—struck up ‘‘Hail
to the Chief’? asl set foot on the platform, and all the
hats went up in the air, and the cheering was deafening.
Not knowipg exactly what else to do, I concluded to fol-
low the example of the majority; so I sent up my hat and
shouted hurrah at the top of my voice—not that I had the
faintest suspicion whatl was cheering for, though pro-
bably I was quite as clear on that point as are nine-tenths
of the people who do the nation’s cheering.

Simultaneously half-a-dozen men rushed outof the
crowd and made a dive for my hand. I was obliged to
put my samples down to accommodate them, and some
low-minded sneak stole these same samples, and I have
not set eyes On them since. Heis hereby notified that if
he will return them safe to Jacob Browne, Boston, Mass.,
he will receive the said Jacob’s heartfelt thanks, and no
questions asked,

“Delighted tosee you! Expected you!
over! Giorious election, wasn’t it? Great triumph for
our side! Overwhelming defeat for the other! That party
is dead as a door nail!’

These were some of the expressions which fell from the
lips of my friends as they shook me by the hand, to all of
which expressions I bobbed my head, as well as my new
tail beaver would let me, for I didn’t want to drop that
beaver off, seeing as I got a new hat so seidom.

“Right this way, judge,” said one of the men, the red-
estand fattest of the lot. “Carriage waiting. all all
filled. Such troops of pretty girls. Waiting to kiss you,
1 expect.’

And he gaye mea pokein the ribs that knocked me
back into tlre stomach of a iean Man on the back seat of
the carriage, and which made the lean man ulter a groan
ol agony.

The whip cracked and the horses leaped forward. My
companions kept on telling me that they were delighted
to see me—charmed with the distinguished honor of so
distinguished a gentleman’s notice, etc., etc. And how
was | to explain anything?

Besides, how should 1 know thatit was not Browne
himself that they intended to honor? I had always told
Polly Jane—that is my wife—that I was a remarkable
nan, and she had frequently said, by way of repiy:

“Browne, the only thing you are remarkable for is for
being a jackass,”?

A man’s wife, you know, has a sort of poetic license to
Say what she pleases.

We reached the hall. My friends fairly lifted me from
the carriage. Swarms of women, dressed in white, stood
on the steps, with flowers in their hands. Several gave
me bouqueis. I took them all—an armful of them. I
ought to have taken abushel basket along. It would
hardly have held them. Suddenly, one gushing young
Hebe, dashed forward and planted a kiss on my cheek,
just above iny left side-whisker. Oh, how L regretted that
[had neglected shaving that morning. If I had only
Shaved things wouldn’t have been so rough on her.

Another one followed her example. Lots of them did:
It would have been delightful to me if I had not remem-
bered Mrs. Browne. She is a woman of somewhat irasci-
ble temper.

But how was she to know anything about it?

“Darn Mrs, Browne!’ I said to myself. ‘Come on, my
darlings!”

And when the girls came toward me I went for ’em half
way, and did the thing up brown.

But all pleasant scenes must have an end, and I was
through with the women at last, and safely into the hall
They led me to a platform, and whispered to me that I was
expected to speak.

I tried to reason with them—to excuse myself—to get
off; butdt wasno use. The red-faced man turned his
back to the audience in a way which effectually screened
me, and produced a flat bottle.

“Take a good drink,’ said he; “‘you’re a little nervous,
and this will steady you. It’s my medicine.”

lobeyed him. The stuff burned me like fire, forI am
not a drinking man and my throat is not seasoned. But
it loosened my tongue. I felt in exuberant spirits. I
wanted to hug somebody, but there was no one to experl-
ment upon but the fat man, and it would have been use-
less to attempt anything in his direction. I should have
had to have hugged him twice to get round him.

I rose to my feet and made my best bow.

“Ladies and gentlemen,’’ said I, ‘‘I am a happy man as
I stand before you to-night, and look into your beautiful
and intelligent faces, and realize that victory is ours !
(Cheers.) That proud and majestic bird, the American
eagle, sits perched upon our banner, and proudly surveys
with his unflinching eye the starry folds that float in the
ambient air beneath him. (Applause.) My friends, the
great heart of the nation beats in unison with ours to-
hight, and the Clarion tongue of Freedom proclaims. the
birth of a new epoch! (Prolonged cheering.) My soul is
too full for words. My heart is bursting with enthusi-
asm. Oh! if Polly Jane could see me now, wouldn’t her
eyes stick out???

“Who in thunder is Polly Jane?” yelled a voice from the
audience.

“‘She’s my wile,’’ said I, sheepishly, for I was very sorry
I had mentioned her. Somehow the allusion had seemed
to slip Out before I knew it.

“Your wifel’? screamed a dozen women in chorus.
‘They told us you were a widower!’

“Alas, nol”? said I. ‘My Polly Jane still lives, and I
am——”?

“Yes—who are you?’ roared a thick-set man, who had
been watching me ever since I began to speak, with the
intentness of a bull-dog. “I told em you weren’t Gover-
nor J. no more’n I was, and they told me to shut up my
Democratic jaw—they knowed a governor when they
seed him.”?

“My name,’’ said I, ‘is Browne—a very respectable and
celebrated name, gentlemen! Jacob Browne, of Boston,
at your service. A drummer——’’

“A whatl” yelled the crowd, as one man.

“A drummer,” said 1; “and I’ve got as fine a lot of
samples—alpacas, delaines, thibits, checkings, beavers,
poplins, cambrics——”?

“Good Heavens!’ cried the red-faced
sold 1”?

“Dil sell you as cheap as the cheapest,’? said I. ‘Pass
in your orders, gentliemen—tirst come, first served.”

1 lrave an indistinct recollection of seeing that crowd
dash madly at me, and lremember that I jumped out of
& Lwo-story window, and landed in a heap of coal ashes,
minus my hat, and very much shaken up. But nobody
was disposed to follow me that way, and before they could
leave the hall by the regular entrance I had made my
escape.

By cautious inquiries at my hotel next morning, I
learned that the newly-elected governor had been expect-
ed on the train by which I had arrived, and my likeness to
him had caused me to be mistaken for him. So much for
looking like a governor!

I have not been to Smithville since, nor dol intend to
go that way very soon. Ido not think Polly Ann knows
anything of my little adventure there; nor do I wish her
to. My hair is rather thin on the top of my head now,
and I have none to lose,

Gilad you’llstop

man; ‘we're

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

BY CLARICE I. CLINGAN.

Oh, where ts the ship that sailed away

Tn the Jong ago, on one Autumn day,

When the grass was dry, and the leaves were dead,
And a dark gray sky loomed overhead,

And the zephyrs biew in a plaintive sigh,

And the restless waves dashed drearily ?

Oh, the leaden sky, and the sighing breeze—
The cold crisp air, and the tossing trees—

The tall, grim rocks, and the waves that rolled—
Ah, how truly they might have foretold

A story sad to our listening ears,

To confirm our creeping doubts and fears.

Oft when the daylight and darkuess meet,

I haste to the shure with footsteps fleet—

I haste to the shore, and list to the waves,
That echo afar ’mid the “oceam-caves,”

T stand on the rocks in the breezes sweet,

But no sign of a sail does my vision greet
Ah; once in the sunny long ago,

We stood on ihe rocks as 7 stand new,
‘When the deer blue sky and the purpie sea

. Met in one line of obscurity;
When the golden stars burned clear and bright,
And the nivenrays tinted the waves with light.
\_.“Limust go away for a time,” said he;

“TY must go to that land across the sea—

Over the waves to that land cf goid,

Where are mines of wealth that lie untold;
When I’ve a fortune, then I'll come

Back to old England, and you, and home!”

So he said good-by and he sailed away,

In the grand old ship on that Autumn day,
When the changeful eky lay wrapped in shrouds
. OF slowly-drifting, dark-gray clouds,

‘And the mist that mantled the hazy shore

Hid him from my sight forever more.

“Oh, where is theship? Oh, where is the ship
I hear the question on every lip—

“The ship that sailed so grandly away

From our shores forever one dreary day ?

Bat the stars that fall—the win that wails

And the moaning waves—they (eli no tales.

They tell no tales to our anxious ears—

They sing no songs to allay our fears; }

But, alas! we saw all floating afar

Some fragments of sails and a broken spar—
A broken spar ali stained and brown,

That told full well where the ship went down!

Mezzoni The Brigand;

KING OF THE MOUNTAINS.

By Lieutenant Murray,

Author of RED RUPERT THE ARKANSAS
BANGER; SPANISH MUSKETEER; SCAK-~
LET FLAG; ITALIAN CONTRABANDIST;
CHILD OF THE SEA; BUCCANEERS, etc.

{“Mezzoni the Brigand” was commenced last week. Back num-
bers can be obtained of any News Agent in the United states.)

CHAPTER V.
A STAND-UP FIGHT.

Marion Bray, on being separated from her father, found
herself carried rapidly up into the bills, by paths, of whieh
she could only now and thei catch a giimpse by means of
the dnn Blarlight.

For more than five hours the sturdy monntaineers who
bore the Sedan Clair foiled on, stopping occasionally, bul
only for a moment, to Chauge positions al Lue supporting-
pvies. The two horsemen left the party at a point which
seemed to be a regular halting piace, and beyond which it
Wonld have been impossibe for the horses te preceed on
account of the rough character of the pail.

He who had seemed to be the Jeader of these men had
once come to the small window in the Sedan chair, and
had repeated the same assurances to Marion herseif which
he had given to her father, 80 that the brave English gir!
had resolved to make the best of her situalion, aud await
her father's efforts m her betiall.

Al. hast the door of the Sedan chair was opened, and Ma-

riou found herself at the entrance of a sort of ballnatural, -

aud hall-artificially constructed cave, or dweling, within
the side of the mountain, aud far up toward ils very suin-
mit. Here she wus showu iuto a division, isviated trom
the domestic departments, and where a middie-uged wu-
maa of the humbier class allended her,

The caye Was quite spacious, and divided into a general
room for the gang, a kitchen, aud three or four sunailer
aynirimenuts for varions uses. It was into one of these lust
that Murion had been condncted, and where she found
rude uccommeodations ior sleeping. The woman had evi-
Jently been instrucied a8 to ber duties toward the new
Pp soner, and performed cheerfully all that sue was asked
io do, in accordamce wiilt those instructions,

“Ig this your home’? Marion asked the woman in
Italian.

s\¥oui7*

“How long have you been here?”

“For years.”

“Have you a husband?!

Yes} we are steward and stewardess here.”

“Who is the captain ?”

*“Megzoni.”?

‘Does he live here also ?””

The woman shook her head.

To the many questions pul to her by Marion she would
give some casual auswer, but generally she would reply by
a shake of the head, especially to any question in any way
relating to the band or its leader. Jt was already the
third day since her abduction, and Marion had
just received a letier from her fatier, sent through the se-
cret chaunel designated by the robbers. She was not sur-
prised to fiud that it had been opened and read before she
received it.

My DEAREST CHILD:—Uniler the peculiar circumstances
of the case, | cannot write to you as 1 wish to do, butsill
seize upon the opportunity designated by your captors to
send you a few lies. Il ieel confidence in the assurance
of the leader that no personal harm shal come to you,
and that the time desiguated, viz: six weeks, will be al-
lowed me to obtain the funds required for the ransom.
Be of good cheer, my dear girl, and ail will yet be weil.

Young Hammond, who has been called to America by a
cable telegram, has generously insisied upon my uccept-
ing his entire letter of credit toward your ransom, in the
sum of two hundred pounds sterling. 1 think he was sorry
to be compelled to leuve us at so. critical a moment, ana,
indeed, he declared, that but for the summary demand
from his father, he should remain to offer such aid as he
could command under this trying exigency.

1 would send you some personal uecesstties in the way
of clothing, but this is not permitted, my dear Marion, and
1 can olly-urge you to bear up courageously under this
temporary trial. I am about to start for Bogiand, and
shall dispatch the business of collecting the sui required
as soon as it cau possibly be done,

God biess and protect you, my dear daughter.

Atfectionately, MANLIUS BRAY.

While she was perusing this welcome letter, there was
quite a commotion heard at the mouth of the Cave, indi-
culing a new arrival, and of Course so unusual a circum-
stance attracted her notice. The confinement to which
she was subjected did not permit her to see out on the
plateau in front of the cave, though the door of her apart-
nen opened very close to the main and only entrance.

The woman coming in at that momeut lo perform some
slight domestic service, Marion asked her the cause of
the commotion, but sie only gotin response the customary
shake of the head. This had grown to be very aggravat-
ing to the prisoner, but she Could not start the woman’s
tougue by any device. One day she had taken a intle
golden broach from her under linen, and tried to bribe
tue Wolan to answer some questions she had put to her,
but thougl the servant’s eyes glistened with desire for
the pretty article, she did not speak. So Marion finally
guve it to her out of pure good will.

The woman, who had been faitiful to her trust, realized
the nlotive, and taking Marton’s laud kissed it.

Tue noise which had attracted the prisoner’s notice was
by the bringing iu, by the outgoing guard, of a stranger,
who Was cousidered to be a suspicious character, and too
near the robbers’ stronghold toailow him to pass auchal-
lenged, He was a sorry object to behold, however, cov-
ered with dirt, and his clothing barely holding together
sulliciently to cover his person, He night even iu Naples
have passed for the prince of beggars.

The straggier’s story was soon told, He had escaped
from au English man-of-war lying off the cuast, and being
pursued bya boat's crew hud strayed inland to escape
irom beiug arrested and returned. An Engiish frigate
had been Off the coast lately, the man’s appearance was
nautical, and he had evidently told quite a straight story.

“What can we do with you?” asked he who seemed to
be at present in command at the cave.

“Give ine food, 1 aim starving!”

“Give him what he desires,” said the officer to his men.

Coarse and substantial food was placed before the tol-
tering man. He must have been on the very verge of
Starvation, judging by the ravenous manner in which he
swallowed the nutriment he received from the brigands.
As he ate aud drank—for they hud given him a bottle of
country wine—he gradually seemed to straighten up, and

to exhibit new strength and fresh life, to look about him
With a bright, clear eye, and gradually to become a man
Once more,

“A few more hours of hunger,’ said he at last to those
about him, “and 1 would have beaten my brains out
against the rocks to end the misery.”

“Very good; but what shall we do with you? Those
who have the good or ill fortune to find their way hither,
rarely return to the valley,’’ said the leader,

*T don't want to return,” said the man with Some anx-
jety of expression, “They’d arrest me, and I should be
sent back to the ship.”

 

THE NEW

“That’s true. The English consul is a sharp fellow,
and looks after you deserters.”

“Haven't you got a gang here ?’ asked the sailor, look-
ing nreuad him.

Yes.”

“Smuggiers ???

“Not exactly.’?

“No matter. Let me join yon???

“Ha, hal Well that’s bold,’ said the leader.
use could youn be to us?”

“Pin strong, and nol easily frightened. I’m a good hand
at shooting-irons.’?

“Fair quaities,’? was the auswer; ‘but we’ve got them
already.”’ :

“Have you € man who can stand up before me without
Weapon ?”? sul the sailor, rolling back his sleeves, or what
was once a sleeve, uud showing his muscies,

"On, yes.”

*PDoubted,” said the straggler.

“Here, Veechio, come out here,’? said the robber to
some one inside the cave. ‘Here’s an English sailor who
is suffering for a fogging. Will you try him???

“Here | um,” was lie answer.

And a large, shaggy Itulian, who answered, came ont
of the cave wilh a pipe in his mouth. He must live been
over six feetin hight and powertully built. He was an
ugly cusiomer ata pinch, any one might have seen, and
the straggier eyed him curiously as be made his appear-
ance atthe summons. His comrades told him briefly
that they had picked up a runaway sailor from an Eug-
ish ship, Who had been boasting, since he had got his
stomici full, that he could whip anybody, big or Small.

“Hold fast there,” said the new comer, “Il didn’t boast
like that, but 1 don’t think you have one among you who
as whip me sipgie-hunded, without anything Dub his

sis.’

Al these remarks the man they had called Vecchio, re-
garded the stranger with a Jook of humorous Contempt,
and merely said:

*} could pick you to pieces like a chicken.”

“Give me a night’s rest, and as goud a akfast as I
have had dinner, aud we will see which is best man,”
Said the sailor. -

“That is fair,’ said a half-dozen, at once.

“Agreed,” said Vecchio, who rarely found any one who
was willing to stand up before him and be beaten. He
was evidently the champion of the gang.

“If I whip him you will jet me join you?” asked the
saiior of the leader.

“Yes, if you can do it.
fellows like Vecchio.”

“After breakfast to-morrow, then. Now where may I
sleep? lam as tired as 1 was hungry an hour ago.”

A comfortable straw bed was assigned to him, and he
was leiLio himsell, giving indications in a few moments of
being in asound sleep. Seamen pick up a smattering of
many Janguages, aba especiaily of the Italian, So that it
Was difficult to say wheiher the stranger was English, or
What is familiarly termed at sea a Levanter, meaning one
born anywhere upon the southern coast of Europe but
who had been Jong in the Mediterranean trade. The
Sailor sicpt soundly until nearly broad daylight the next
morning—about elevel couseculive hours. He must have
been wandering a long time lo get so Worn OuL physically.

He bad gone to the neighboring spring, and had _ re-
Moved at least & portion of tne dirt from his face, hanus,
and arms, and jooked ail the better for the washing, but
itseemed very plain that Cleanliness was not a promiuent
virtue with the half-clad straggler.

He joined at their ivitation the score of men who sat
down to their course breukiast, ealing heartily, and swal-
lowing his alluwance of country wine. Vecchio sat by
his side during the meal, and jested with hiui as lo the
Whipping he would get after breakfast.

“Allright. I’m ready.’? said the sailor.

“Say your prayers first,’? added Vecchio,

“Aud make your will,” said another,

“And get measured for your coflin,” said a third.

“He laughs wi:o wins,’? said the sailor.

“Weil sui,’ added the Jeader.

“A ring, a ring,’? was the cry.

The banditts then formed a ring aboutthe two men,
who, siripped to the waist, prepared to do battle. At the
word they advanced lo Meet each other, the Italian care-
lessly and boldly, the sailor much more watchfal and
carelul. The stranger Was not sv tall, nor so heavy as his
antaugonist—iudeed he Was a sinuller man altogether, but
yet firm and exceedingly well-buill, showing excellent
Museie, and where the boly tad not been exposed Lo the
uction of the elements, a lair and While skit.

It would have seemed that the man called Vecchio must
win by mere force of superior Weight and strength. As
we have said, he approached Carelessly and struck out at
the sailor as though be weuld crush hin with a singie
blow. But the Itailan found his fist warded off without
exertion, abd he received in returu a blow upon his uose
—wWhich Was a very prominent one—that covered his
whole front with bicod, This was the first ‘round,’ as
they caved the encounter, and boll nen retired for a mo-
met to oppusile sides of the ring, Wlile Vecchio’s com-
rades wiped the blood fron: his face and chest,

First blood for Wie Levauter,” cried several,

Vecciie did not like this exclamation, and at the word
came up to meet bis aplagonist with Considerable anger
visible in his countenance. This time he deve at the
sailor as Lhongh he vad been a bull, Miteuding to tranefix
his adversary With lis lorns, at the sume time siriking at
ins face, Tue stranger stepped hghtiy on one side and
gavethe big Italiau a blow inthe side of the head that
turned bun half round apd tien tirew hin flat upon the
ground,

“Birst knock down forthe Levanter,” they exclaimed,

Again (He men retired to oppusile Corners for u ihoment,
whiie Vecchio began to open his eyes I anlazement to
see one so much smatier than himself, and who could nol
possibly be su strong as he was, yel absolutely getting the
Detter of him. Lis Comrades, Who were equaliy surprised,
commenced to banter him ou the prospect of getling
whipped, nud she big Itahan fairiy foamed at the mouth
wiih anger and indignation, He determined to force tue
fighting, and conquer by his sirength brought coilectively
to bear. He therefore connnenced, as they again Came
together, to pour a shower of blows at his antagonist
with great rapidity,

The fight looked very much in earnest now.

Yo the amazemeni of all, and more especially of the big
fighter himseil, these blows were parried with perfect
ease by the stranger, Who did it wilh a coolness ilupussi-
bie to describe, his antagonist being by far the most ex-
hausied by this sysiem ol attack. The Ihalian, now hall-
uncovering his face by dropping for an instant his left
arm, received at the moment he did soa blow on the
mouth, which knocked in two of his front teeth aud cut a
long gush iv bis upper lip.

Tis closed the rouud, and the two men again retired
for afew moments,

“Hurrah for Levanter!’? was the cry.

There Was a little malicious satistaction in these cries
on the part of the gang, Jor Wuere Was hardly a an among
them over whom Vecchio had notin some way domi-
neered, his great Strength preventing retalliation on their
part. To see him, therefore, fiud his match, and even
invre in vile Sisulier Lan iiuaself, Was a suurce of secret
Satisfaction lo tle majority.

The big Ltahan now jost his temper entirely, as well as
all discretion. He came tlothe GCeuter of the ring this
time full of rage, and the stranger saw that he musi. look
oul for himsell, The }talian rammed blows at bim so hard
and Jast Wat it required all of his agJily to defend hiim-
self.

"Go it, Vecchio.”

“Go it, Levanter.??

Tuese were the cries that now saluted the men, and the
exciiement grew stronger every moment,

The sailor waS evidently master of the art of boxing,
for the siout and vailant Vecciio had not yet been abie to
give him a bluw upon his body anywhere, excepL the arms,
which Were used tv parry with, On these black and
bine spots had began to appear, Showing that the flesh
of the sailor was not hardened toa fighting condition,

“Go it, Vecchio!’ “Got, Levanter!? were again the
cries; butthe fact was the Mahan was far too much in
earnest, and had Jost his reason in the excess of his an-
ger, While the sailor was ucCiually as Cool as Lhough en-
gaged at a game ol ten-pins.

But such a fight Could not be prolonged; it was time to
bring it loa Close, and watching his chauce, the sailor
now alned a blow just back of Vecclio’s ear, with a sort
of swinging stroke, Which instantly Knocked the man as
senseless aS though he had been siruck With a Crowbar,
und he lay upon the grouud ike oue deud.

“Veeciio’s downl?

*Vecchio’s duwnl?

This was the cry that was heard on all sides; but when
they saw that he did not rise, a more seriuuS aspect look
possession of their counlenances, and ali rushed to the
spot where the big Italian Was lying. ;

“You have killed him!’ exclaimed one,

“He don't breathe!” said another.

“Poor Vecchiol” said a third,

In the meantime the stranger put his ear to the man's
heart aud said;

**He’ll come round presently.”

But it had been a dangerous “hil” given in a bad place,
undoubtedly, because the Levanter, as they called him,
saW that the man’s strength would finally break down
his guards, and that he must in self-defense resort toa
blow which Js only given in desperation by fighting men,
The sailor, a8 We have said, hud not received oue blow
upon his body, and lad thus shown the powcr of science
oman strength, coolness against headiong aud unskilled

giiting.

The man Vecchio was carried by his comrades toa
spring hard by, and his temples bathed and his head
washed, but he did not come round to actual conscious-
ness for several hours, and then he was far too exhausted
tostand, His frame, large and powertul as it was, had
received a tremendous sheck by the bluw from his de-
spised adversary,

The robbers, with @ sort of instinctive admiration for
physical power and skill, frankly praised the stranger,
and declared that when the Gaplain came he should be-
come ove of the band, As this was exactly what he had
requested, ail were on the bestof terns, The men sitting
ab their pipes and hearing the sailor’s personal history
and such sea adventures aud stories as he colored to suit
their taste,

1. wus a wild scene presented by the open plateau upon
which the robbers were seated in @ picturesque group.
They were swarthy men, all wearing uw sort of hall-uni-
form, and with the conventional lialau bat and leggins,
both decked with parti-colored ribbons, The men were
never without their arms, pistols and dirks, stuck into
their broad leather belts, held by a heavy steel buckle iu
the front of the waist. All wore scarlet Kerchiefs about
their necks, aud heavy beards, and loug hair was the rule
among them, ;

Vecchio presented a sorry sight on the next day, but he
Was man enough to acknowledge himself fairly beaten.

“What

We can’t have too many brave

 

Still he sat on one side, and seemed moody aud revenge-

 

ful over his pipe. His head and face were badly swollen,
and his mouth was very sore. Tue fact was, the fellow
had been terribly punished, and his chagrin was equal to
his physical suffering. .

CHAPTER VI.

THE JAR OF GOLD.

Naples, like Genoa, is fall of old palaces, formerly occu-
pied by wealthy and titled families, who have long since
pussed away, leaving descendants stili resident in them,
but whose fortunes have very generally dwin@ed away.
The tities and the pajaces have been easily handed down,
but pecuniary resuurces have very naturally proved much
more ephemeral.

In the Strada Roma, Naples, also known as the Strada
Toledo, there are a uumber of these palatial residences,
as pretentions as they were a century since, though the
fortune of the present occupant may be, in a pecuniary
sense, of the huinbiest character, Among these palaces
was that of the Corrello family, once Kuown as amoug the
leading spirits of the then Kingdom of Naples.

This family had sustained a high position in Htalian his-
tory—ihey were loyal, proud and rich. With the death of
the representative of the family, hail a century since, the
proverbial wealth of the Correilos had also passed away.
But there stood the palace as of yore, now occupied dily
by Alberto Corrello, the sole living represemtative of a
tong line of famous Statesmen aud soldiers, men who had
served Their country generation alter generation.

Time was when the ancestors of Alberto Corrello were
held by the people as little lower than the oceupants of
the throne itself, But, alas! the nobility of character had
seemed to fade out froin the Jamily representatives as its
pecuniary fortune had done, and Aiberto Oorrelio to-day,
in place of holding the position of counsellor, scholar,
and philosopher, as his great, great grandfather had done,
was kuown better as the famous Neupolilan gamesier
than for any other individuality.

He was a man of singular habits, often isolating him-
self for days at atime, und refusing to see even his confi-
dential servant. He cared apparently for neither women
nor wine, and so far as jus Malure was evinced to the ont-
er worid, he exhibited but oue passion, that of the game-
ster. One other trail Albertu Currello has shown, that of
cold-blooded vengernce, such as is often seen in the duel-
list. He had several times been engaged in Llrese personal
eucounters, in which he had more than ouce Killed his
adversary.

Some people accounted for his solitary tastes and fre-
quent retirement from his ussociates, as resulting from
the remorse engendered by these events,

He had no intimates; and it wassaid that he was too
proud to associate thus with the class amoug whom his
habits as a gamester so often brought him. He had early
ruo through with the limited means which he had inheril-
ed, and how he managed to sustain his large losses as a
gambler was often a source of surprise to those who
knew hin.

There was, however, a well-authenticated story extant,
and which had been tossed about from: mouth to mouth
among the gossips for years, 1t was to the effect that one
of the Correo family liad left a sealed jar buried in the
basement of the palace, and whieh, with certain coudi-
tions, Was Mentioned in his will, This jar was not to be
opened for three generations, the time expiring, according
to the story, just as Alberto came ibto possession. When
it was opened by Alberto it was found to contain untold
wealth in the shape of gold and precious stones,

This story was Aluddin-like ts a degree just suited to
the taste of the Neapolitan gossips, aud so was eageriy
seized upon and retailed every where.

it Was not exactly known who first started this story,
but it was universally believed, and when on one occasion
Alberto himself had been appealed to as to the truth, or
otherwise, of the Gale, he suid, significantly, that family
matters were burdiy a fit subject fur public discussion,
yet he seemed fur some reason to take goud care not to
deny the truth of the siory. Indeed, to those who had
heard his reply he had conveyed the impression that there
was a decided foundation of fact in the report.

And thus fresh impeius was given to Lie queer story,

In speaking of Alberto Gorrcilu it came to be a frequent
thing in Naples, in reference to the story of the jar of
gold, to say:

“I wish I had Correlio’s jar of gol},’?

“Now Correilo with bis jur of goid might do thus and
so.”? ;

“If I had Corrello’s jar I would help you.”

“Go to Gorreilo wilh his jar of guld,”? and similar appli-
e€ations of the idea.

It thus became the universal belief that this represent-
ative of the old family hadun this store of gold and pre-
viOUS 8lones a Hever-lailing, source to draw upon when-
ever his purse needed repleuishing. That jar was qiite
as inexhaustible us Fortuuats’ purse, and far more tan
gible, as the aggregated wealth was in visible mass, Aud
yet, although Naples is full of beggars, and poverty Blalks
boldly at every corner, somehow the poor did noi feel
moved to beg at the well-Known door of the Corrello pal-
ace, and never of ils master in person,

Beggars have certainly an uncousciousinstinet by which
they are governed, Tuey rarely solicit of the wrong nian.
They may not always be successful, bul periiaps Hey may
succeed the next time,

Alberto Correlio’s air was cold and repuisive, his fea-
tures dark even for an Itahan, while his smooth and care-
fully shaven face was Clussit in its severe beauty of out-
line; lus eyeswere large and piercing, wud his manuer sell
possessed and assured,

His nianner was that of one who had discounted all
chances, and whe wus not to be surprised by whatever
might vccur, Thus, when his game was watched al the
gambling resorts, no one ever detected the least expres-
sion of elation or depression while he was winning or
losing, aud certainly no man played with a more Javish
hand than he,

Alberto Currello had broken more than one private
bauk in Naples, but he had also lost the gold which he
had thus won perhaps within the next twenty-four hours.
There were no teli-tale lines in bis face; his hand was
equally steady wiether in stuking hundreds or thou-
Sands,

“How cool he is |’? gaid one,

“Of course.”

“Why of course ??

“Has he not that jar to draw from ?”

“Ah, very true !?

“We should any of us be indifferent as to our losses if
we had unlimited credit at the Banco Nazionale.”

“You are right. The jar is his bank.’?

And thus the goiden and inexhaustible jar was being
constantly brought to mind,

The Church even had considered the matter, and finally
came to believe a story so frequently repeated, and had
made bold to solicit a fraction for the use of the religious
institutions; bunt Alberto dismissed these applicatious so
Cuolly thal they were not repeated.

“With such a treasure to draw from,” said one of the
priesis, ‘one would suppose you could afford to give a
irifle to the Chureh.”? ,

“What treasure? asked Alberto, sterniy.

“Why, the jar of gold.”

“Anh, yes; but even thal jar has a bottom.”

“One might doubt it.”

“How so ?? demanded Alberto.

“Judging from your lavishness at the gaming-table.”’

“Hence I? said Alberto, pointing Lo the deor.

“Quly ule guilly are sensilive to reproach,’’ said the
priest.

“Your sacred garments and calling alone preserve you
from a thrashing! was ihe reply.

The last representative of the Corrello family was no
more solicited in behalf of the Chureh, though his ances-
tors had ever been its firm supporters. His glaring in-
consistencies were the talk of the gossips; his moods, as
variable as ihe wind, served them as ready themes, and
both his gains and losses at play were maguified beyoud
all reason by the tongue of rumor.

Ounce or twice, Beppo, the man-servant who attended
upon Aiberlo, was iimportuned relative to that jar of gold,
but he cuuld give nv posilive informaiion. The basement
where it was said to be was securely Jocked, being only
accessibie by an iron door, and his master kept the key,
perinitiing no one to enter there at any time.

AS to the size of the jary Beppo Knew not exactly how
he had got the impression, but it was said to stand nearly
or quile as high as a man's head, and, when first opened,
wis full to the very brim with gold and precious slones,
dug Irom some royal depository within the ancient walls
of Cume, that onee fainous city, the ruins of which are
still visited by travelers, about a league from Naples. A
city which flourished a thousand years before the adyent
of Christ upon ihe earih.

This was by no means a very improbable story, as im-
mense wealth had been gathered from tombs of the an-
cient Greeks, Whose deat were burned and their ashes
buried in mural urns, together with a large share of their
earthly riches, in the shape of gold and precious stones,

Altogether, & mysiery hung over Alberto Oorrello which
the Neapolitans could not fathoin.

He was handsome enough to attract the eye of many 2
lovely, titled lady, and it was known that many such bad
modestly tried to engage his favors, but Alberto seemed to
care for none of them, Belyipg the temperament of his
countrymen generally, he appeared to be of stone rather
than of flesh and blood. Wine could not warm him, bor
woman attract him; at least, this was what the tongue of
public gossip suid, aud appearances cerlainly sustained the
theory.

“There goes Alberto Corrello,” said one young fellow to
another, a8 they stovd sinoking befure the royal palace,

“How stern and cold he looks,”

“He has had enough experience to sour him.”

“Yes; he has killed Uiree foreigners, a8 well as young
Verdi, in duels, Perhaps his conscience pricks ihim,”?

ime were two Frenchinen and ao Euglishmiauy, el?”

“Yes,”

“What was the trouble?’

“Something at the gaming table.’?

“Not women, then ??

“No; Oorrelio wouldi’t fight abont a woman; he’s too
cold-bivoded. Le doesn’t care for them.”

“Ana yet,” said his companion, “! have heard that he
was once very deeply in Jove, some dozen years ago, and
that, with the exception of his want of property, he wus
then considered a very desirable and presentable fel'ow
among the siguorine. I forget who she was, but folks
thought that he was engaged at that time, until, to the
general surprise, the pareuts of the lady broke off the
maich,??

‘1 had never heard of this,’?

“It was 8o.”?

“How long since ??

“About twelve years.”

“He must have onigrown that.”

‘“) wis one day where the subject was being dis-
cussed,’ Continued the narrator, “when one of the gentie-
men attributed the eecentricity of Alberto Correlio to this
very fact of his early disappoimtment in Jove, saying that
le gave proinise, as & young Dian, of being a worthy scion

 

of his once noble family, but suddenly all was Changed,

ou lis breaking off from the lady, and from that hour he ;

YORK. WEEKLY. =>

 

 

went to the bad rapidly.”

“Il may be so.’

“l can very well conceive of it, for Corrello is a hana-
some and sensitive fellow. Since those days he has be-
come hardened, indeed. Do you reniember wheu he
fought with young Verdi?) That was one of the hardest
things ever brought aguinst him, | think, It was a gaum-
bliug dispute; nothing, one would thiuk, but what the
seconds might easily have settled. But no, Correlio in-
sisted upon fighting Verdi, Who was alimost a boy i years,
and a noble hearted lelow. They fought with pistols, iu
the usual fashion, and Alberto sent a bullet through the
boy's brains,"

“Tremember that, and how the family mourned over
iheir loss. Public feeling ran hard against Correilo then,
and he absented himself for a considerabie time from the
city. 1 can conceive ofa man going out to fight in reseut-
ing a’serious insult, bul fora mere dispute at cards ib is
unreasonable.’

“Correlio would go out, they say, if you were to drop a
pin upon his foot, he is so moody anc imperious, Do you
kuow thathe has not an. intimate fried in ail Napies,
man nor woman? To be sure, his style is not exactly ¢al-
culated to invite friends, thatis plain, but ihen we all want
some oueto lean upon occasionally. That’s why 1 toler-
ate you, my dear boy.”

The subject of this conversation, as he passed, took no
hecd of any One, or at least he seemed not ty do so, and
yet his keen, active eyes were all about him, and he was
in fact very observaut of even the smiuilest circumstance
occurring.

He was plainly but handsomely dressed, of medinm
hight and size, with, as we have before said, a fresh-sha-
veil, handsome face, almost womuniy in its delicacy of
ontline, He was just such a@ man as women would have
praised at first sigit, for his good Jovks and aristocratic
bearing, There was an imperiousness and auteur about
him, however, that did not invite confidence, us had just
been remarked by those who were observing him.

“Wonder if he hasn’t got near the bottom of that
gold??? suggested one of the former speakers.

“Do do believe there is any jar ??

‘Well, everybody says so.”?

“He needs u mine.”

“Some say the jur is inexhaustibte.”?

“Que would think so from the way he lavishes gold at
the gaming table,” said the other. ‘“Heis declared to be
the coolest gamester in Europe.”?

CHAPTER VII.
THE DETECTIVE.

In the meantime Colonel Bray had reached home and
Was in aclive consuliation with his friends.

Even in Loudon, where he was so weil known, the old
Officer found it no easy task to raise the heavy sui re-
quired fur his child’s ransom. Allto whow he applied
heard his story respectfully, and offered every token of
sympathy except the very one which aloue would meet
the actual necessities of the case—money,

Some insisted upon making a government affair of it,
and having a special demand made upon the ltalan au-
thoriuies for the restoration of Marion Bray. A fieet ol
men-ol-war should at once be seut to Naples, ete., etc.
Others suggested that the money should be raised and
paid over, aud then that the Italian government be made
to refund the sum. This Wasavery good idea, and if
these advisers would but advance the five thousand
pounds sierling, in the mean time, why this course would
answer the culonel’s purpose. But somelow these people
so very ready and offen reasonable with (heir suggestious,
had ca the means or inclination to advance tie money
itself.

Many persons were for organizing a company of reso-
lute men, landing at or near Napies, and murciuing ip a
body to the stronghold of the robbers and jiberuating the
English girl. Tiese persons had only to be informed that
such a course would cost the life of the prisoner to see
that the business of liberatiun Was uot se easily inet, ex-
cept by paying the ransom. Indeed, after looking at the
case in every possibie light, Uhis Was at last couceded to
be the only plan fo pursue.

Colonel Bray's daughter had been permitted to send
hii a letter in reply to the one le wrote to her just as he
Was about le leave Naples, and this liad brought coufort-
ing assurance to the father, so far as the immediate sulety
of his child was concerned. The letter ran as follows:

DEAR FATHER:—I am permitted to say that I have re-
ceived your kind letter, written just as you were about to
suurt for Eugiand. lam made as comfortable us possible
here under the circumstances, aud have a very respectful
and Kind peasant woman to Wait upon me, i am satisfied
that no personal harm is intended or will be pernsitted in
my instance, but also that the payment of the ransom is
the only possible means of effecting ny release. I hope
that you will not worry too much about me, but yet | can-
not say how earnestly | desire to be released from this
isvlauion and trying confinement. That Heaven may
bless and Keep you, my dear futher, is the constant prayer
of your fond child, . MARION.

This letter, after it had passed through the hands of
their chief, the brigands duly forwarded, aud it was re-
ceived, as we have said, by the colonel. He saw at once
that his chiid had not been persuaded to write by the
robbers, aud prompted to send such words as should har-
row up his feelings. He divined from the missive that
the banditti felt quite assured in their position, and were
content to abide ine lapse of the time specified to him at
the outset.

The house of Wolf & Co., whose store had been robbed so
systematically, a3 described in our second chupier, was
not disposed to sit down patiently under their heavy loss
without making a strenuous effort to recover the value uf
the goods and bring the guilly parties to justice.

They, like Colonel Bray, had beeu busily at work, and
had brought to Naples an English deteciive, who was af-
forded such assistance by the local authorities as he re-
quired to properly prosecute the needed search. They
have no detective corps in Italy, but a system of police
spies, which answers in some degree the same purpose,
The professional detective is not, however, recognized in
their police organization. The London officer worked at
some disadvantage, as he spoke the language but indif-
ferently, though he was afforded all conveniences.

Up to the present tme the real mystery of tue robbery
remained unsolved.

Tuere had, however, been one discovery made, but what
bearing it might have eventually in the matier, couid not
be al present diviued, It was found that whoever had
conveyed away the valuables on the night of the robbery,
had chanced to take, among other articles, a small box
of white powder, an article used for cleaning silver wares
This had evidently been thrown into a Canvas bag with
other articles, and in such a manner as Lo spill the pow-
der into the bottom ofthe bag. Here it had found a
small hole through which it had sifted slowly as it was
carried along, indicating for some three tiundred yards
the direction in which the robver or robbers had gone
after leaving the store with their booty.

This powder had singulariy preserved its identity upon
the ground, there having been no rain in the meantime,
aud extended from the rear eutrance of the store along a
back lane, running parallel to the Strada Toledo, where it
suddenly ceased, as though the position of the bag had
there been changed, or that the persun carrying it had
sunk into the ground.

This was so plain and manifest a “trail,” that the Eng-
lish detective, Who was the first one to discover this
clew, dwelt constantly upon it. This was to be followed
up again and again, untilit should suggest the true solu-
tion of Lhe problem.

lt was argued from this plece of evidence that it was
not Mezzout’s band whe commutted the burglary, for had
they been the parties they would naturally have turned,
it was thought, in the opposite direction Lo escape with
their booty. In this instauce the rubbers had evidently
gone into the very heart/of the city with the goods
siolen from Wolf & Co.

This phase being established, as relating to the case,
new efforts were iustituted, and new theories suggested,
but still there was uothiug reliable discovered as to the
thieves.

One day there appeared at the door of the Corello Palace
an old and decrepit woman, bent haif double with age,
and to whose summons Beppo responded,

“] have jost my parrot,” said the old woman in a shiv-
ering voice,

“What is that to me?’hsaid Beppo.

“He has flown into your back gardep,’”? whimpered the
woman.

“There is no garden fo this palace.’

‘rhén he’s gone intoryour back yard, I saw him fly.”

“Phere is no parrot fhere—go your way,’ said Beppo,
trying to shut the door.

‘l would give gold to get my parrot,’ said the old wo-
man, in broken btaliai, while at the same time she held
out toward the servant a golden louis.

Beppo’s. eyes sparkled with the natural avarice of his
class, us he saw the gold, aud aller a moment of hesita-
tion, he said:

“Give me the gold and you may ook for your bird.
But be quick about it—we do not admit peopie here,’

The old woman hobbled in and foliowed Beppo to the
rear of the palace.

“You see it’s no use,” he said.

‘He's lost! he’s lost!’ cried the old woman, looking
minutely ali about her, The rear yard was narrow, and
she kicked about the dirt.

“What are you turning upthe dirt for?’ asked the
servant. ‘You don’t suppose he’s buried in the grouad,
do you ?”?

“No, no,’? she answered, but still examining every crack
and corner, ‘He's lost! lie’s lost!’

“Well, you have looked Jong enough,’? said Beppo.
“Oome, | don’t want my master to see you.”?

“Doesn’t he like to huve people ubout??? asked the old
wonmn, in a whining voice.

“No; he’d kill me just as likely as notif hesaw you here.
Come along, quick.’

“Ym commg. im coming.
my dear, dear parrot!’

Just as the old woman was making her way out, to the
utter dismay of the servant, Alberto Corrello met them
fuce to face, and turning fiercely to Beppo, he said:

“What does this mean 2’?

“Well, you see, sir——’”’

“Speak out!’

“The old wouan lost her parrot over the rear wall, and
has been to find it.”

“Have acare how you admitany one here,’ said his
master, in atone of voice and with an expression of
countenauce which the old woman obseryed set Beppo
into a tremor.

The old woman hobbled away, and finally disappeared
down the Sirada St. Cario, just opposite the famous theu-
terof that name. Here she entered a house in which
lodging rooms were let, and svon after, if any person had
been watchiug that door, they might have seen issue

jur of

Oh, my parrot! Dve lost

 

{ruin thence the person of the Buglish detective, who at

eileen etic pills ieee a

once made his way to the shop of Wolf & Go., where he
was seen lo enter into cluse Couversalion with tle bead
of the establishinent,

“Are you al Jeisure ??

**¥es,?°

“Well, I want to ask you a few questions,’?

"Very good.”

“Who is Alberto Corrello ?? asked the detective,

“He is of a noble bul decayed family.’

“Rich 2”

“Hardly that.??

“How does he live ??

“How 9?

“} menn what supports him ?°?

“Well, it would be hard to say.’?

“Good habits ??

“On the contrary, very bad.’?

“Gauibles, | suppose 7?

“That's the trouble.”

“Any stories about him 2"?

“Yes, there is one rather queer story tok? abont him as
to his having a jar of gold ia bis basement, leit by one of
his ancestors. Qutof this jar he is said to replenish bis
purse when it runs low,’? said the Jew, witn a smile of
incredulity,

“Did the gentleman start this story himself?” asked the
detective,

“T cannot say.”?

Tits Closed tie detective’s conversation relative to Al-
berty Corrello, and he turned und was just about to go
out of the shop, wien the proprietor came to lum and
asked, iu a low voice:

“Why these questions about Correll ?”?

“Merely for information.”

“Do yuu suspect anybody ??

“IT suspect everybody; that’s my business,’? replied the
officer, u8 he walked out on the broad square fronung the
royal palace, Kuown as the Piazza del Plebiscito. Here,
siiting on one of the pubiic benches, be seemed to jose
himseif ina brown atucdy.

>o anxious was Colonel Bray to be near his child that,
after raising about one-half of the necessary sum for lier
ransom, he left jl with some trusty iriends to make upthe
balance, with direcuions for them to forward it a8 soon
as possible to hint at Napies. Itseemed to be some
consolation fo the father lo know that he was so many
ules nearer to Marion, though he could not see her.

Colonel Bray's case Was now well known. Indeed, if
he had particularly desired to keep his daughter's ubduc-
tion secret, he would have found it impossible to do so.
We Know that he was alraid to solicit tue services of the
Government, aS One of the Condilions of Marion's safety
was that her futher should make no attempt to forcibly
recover his Child, aud he bad so far Kept goud faith with
the brigands,

The Euglish detective called upon the colonel, after his
arrival, umd asked for a description of the briganad chief.
The colonel could onty describe hin as a very dark man,
Simall-featured, heavy beard, and not large im body, but
Will a Suber Wound, as it seemed iv him, under tie lelt
eye.

“Ah, yes; I have heard of that mark before,” said the
officer. “Rather peculiar, and easily recoguized. Do you
pay the rausom, colonel 2”?

“Ot course.”?

“You are right,’? said the officer; “but afterward—ven-
geaice!?

“Hush? said the colonel. “Justlet me get my child,
and then we will see whatcan be dune in behull of
justice,”

[TO BE CONTINUED.!

Saved by Her Blood;

OR, THE
DUNGEON OF TREVYLIAN CASTLE.

By Grace Gordon.

[“Saved by Her Blood? was commenced in No. 51. Back Nos
can be obtained of auy News Agent in the United States.j

CHAPTER XUTI.

Ethel had been a prisoner upward of three weeks, but
the woman had promised fauhfuily to aid her to escape
when Sir Rauiph’s abseuce from home rendered sucii a pro-
ceeding pussible,

She ulso promised, as far as was in her power, to pre-
veul Sir Raiph trom visiting his prisoner—those hatelul
Visits of his which she dreaded more than death.

Mrs. Nugent kept her promise, She herself hated above
all thivgs that he should see or speak to Ethel, and each
day she made sume excuse to prevent his visiting her
She could not keep bim entirely away fron: Eviel’s rooms,
nor Could she prevent bim from Coustanutly walking back
aud forth in the gallery outside her windows, but she put
forth every energy to Keep him from her beautiful rival,
and in a mMedsure she was successiul, :

The castle civek had told the hour of ten, and Ethel sat
listlessiy lookimg out into the dark night. It seemed as if
the black sky, Withuut Doon or Stars, Was a prototype of
her own hard fate—one mass of dark Cloud, without a site
gle ray of hope to relieve it.

A light step eutered Ler apartment, aud Mrs. Nugent's
hand was Jaid Kindly and solidly on her arn.

“} couie wilh guod pews. Sir Raiph nas gone up to
London, and will not be back fur Liree or four days. Now
is your time to escape.’? .

He had been twice in London since Ethel’s return tothe
castie, but she Jjuy in bead consumed by fever, unable to
tuke advantage of his absence.

Tears of gratitude came to Ethel’s eyes.

ates cu lever repay all your kindness? Shall IT go
now ¢

“Now! Oh, certainly not,’? was the reply. ‘What
would you do vul in the dark midnight? Beside, you
wish to visit the mausoleum, to see if your husband 1s
really in the coffin that is called his, 1 heve the key of
the mausoleum for you, but you could not goin the dark.”?

Mrs. Nugent knew that if Ethel’s husbaud was found,
this wouid at once rid her of al) rivalship. Ethel sheuid
see for herself what was in the coffin.

“I could take a light with me, and only light it when I
am in the mausoleum. I will require something to open
the coffin with.”

“That is easily managed. The coffin fell as they were
taking it from ihe railway cars, and the nails are all loose,
J suw it yesterday; apy one could lift up the cover without
asing much force.”? Ethei's face whitened:

“J fear my husband’s body is but too surely there. If it
were not Sir Ralph would never have allowed the coffin to
remain in that state.’?

“Sir Ralph Knows-nothing about it. He is almosi afraid
of his shaaow, and would not go into the mausoleum on
any account. He did not go in with the coffiu or near it.
But,” continued Mrs. Nugent, “you can wait until early
morning. At four o’clock no one will be asiir, and it wilk
be gray day outside, and you can strike a light in the
mausvleum without people being aware of it. Jtis dark
there, except at bright uoonday. 1 went yesterday so lat
I might tell you where to find the coflin, and even at
noon it Was hard enough to dislingush the names on the
slabs.”?

* * * * * = *

It was early dawn, and Ethel was leaving the castled
home she had called her own only a few months back—
stealing out from the house, in fear aud trembling, Jest
any of the strange servanis who had been told she was
mad, should see and bring her back.

She hurried quickly aud silently along the narrow path
atthe side of tneJjawn. In one of the flower plots with
which the lawn was studded there was a red rosebush,
which was planted by her husband the day little Willie
Was born.

As she passed she saw it crimson with great, rich blos-
sos, beautiful red roses. In a moment, One laden with a
wealth of soft, lustrous petals, fuint with perfume, was ip
her bosom.

The poor, lonely, wandering girl, who Knew not where
she was to sleep that night, fondled the lovely thing, won-
dering why all the flowers had died out of her lile—why
all her red roses were dead roses.

She was in the mausoleum, shielding her light with the
corner of her cloak, lest its reflection through the win-
dows should be seen by some oue as early abroad us her-
self, peering among the coffins, where each under his
own pall lay, all dead, the knights of Trevylian Castle for
six hundred years back.

‘There were hundreds of bodies in the vault below, and in
the vauited stone chamber where she stood, there were
forty or fifty palied cofflus on niches im the wall and op
trestles on the floor. :

There was one with a pall of scarlet velvet, under which
lay the bones ofa knightef Trevyiian wio fought in the
Crusades for ten years, and jis deeds of valor “were eit-
blazoned in words of gold on the velvet which covered
his dust.

This coffin was placed on high trestles, and
fringe on the pall swept the stone floor,

Close beside, was the one Ethel sought, She lified the
black pall and saw the coffln-lid fully an inch open. « ,

She was a brave little woman, but there, in ihe balf-
Gark, alone among the dead, her heart shivered and her
hand trembled as the light she held snowed her the white
shroud through the narrow opening.

Mrs. Nugent had paved the way for her, and at her
touch the lid opened.

She sent one silent petition for strength up to the foot-
Stool of the great All Father, as she drew back the white
winding sheet, underneath which was @ log of wooed!

ltis doubtful if Ethel Annesly, in her happiest, most
blessed hours, ever jelt half the thrill of joy which stirred
her soul as she looked at the silent testimony, Whose mute
eloquence told that her husband lived,

The taper fell {rom her hand into the coffin, extinguished
by the fall.

Atthe same moment she was statled by the sound of
approaching footsteps crashing among the brushwood at
the back of the mausoleum,

She had barely time to creep under the high, tresiled
coffin, with its scarlet pall, when she heard Sir Ralph
Trevylian's voice speaking in accents Of apyer outside.

“Whatis the meaning of this, Toinkius? The mausos
Jeum door wide open. All the dogs in the country may
wane the palis aud scattering the bones at their
will.

“I don’t know, I’m sure, sir; some stranger must have
got the Key to look ‘at the tublets,’?

“And how do you dare to give strangers the key ?””

*] didn’t give it, sir, The key always hangs in the ser-
vants’ hall wi? the other keys, an’ I’ve seen folks often
wi’ the key lookin’ at the monumeuts,’?

“Well, go in and see if there’s been any mischief done.
IThate the smell of those confounded places. And see
cane me the key; lll keepit myself for the fu-

ure,

the gold

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The man mounted up to the top step, bent forward so
28 Lo see What was lmiuediately under,his line of vision,
and then stepping Gown, lucked the door and delivered
the key to Sir Ralph.

Aud so it came to pass that the only living descendant
of the old Trevyiians, the only humau belug who had a
lineal right to their lands and gold, the only one id whose
veins their blood flowed, Was lucked up in Lie yauilamong
her dead forefathers.

Sir Raiph returned fo lis home in a surlier humor thau
usual. He had speut the night waiting for tle train, wilh
Do other amusement than that afforded by lis cigar.

Aud after all his waiting and the, woudering of the rail-
way officers, the train did not come. A telegram arrived
to Say that an accident lad happened to the down train,
the engine and baggage trains were lying in ruins On Lhe
track, aud tlere could be no traveling till they were re-
moved.

Going home he fancied he saw a light im the vicinity of
the mausoleum, aud findiug it open did not improve the
sweetness of his temper.

It was late in the evening before he rose from his bed,
where he had gone to recover [rom the effects of the sleep-
less night he hud passed.

“How is your charge; Mrs. Nugent?! was his frst
question’ on’ ieeting tliat lady at the six o'clock dinuer
table.

“fT cannot tell,” was the reply, given in u cool voice of
unconceru; “she hasn't opened lier door since she got ler
breakfast this moruing.”*

“How ia this? Has she had no dinner?”

‘She hag plenty to eat, L warrant,” was the reply. “She
always keeps a store of biscuits and fruit by her, but she
hasn't opened the door, aud, she told ine sie wou't do. it
till she pleases.’

“Thavll cure itself,” said. Sir Ralph, with a sneeer.
“This is some new crofchet slice lias takeu into her head.’

“Maybe it Is. I don’t know, aod what's more L don’t
care, What's this story Tomkins was telliug about fud-
iug the mausoleum open?’

“Nothing urore uor fess than that tie imausoleum door
was Wide open this morning when 1 came home, Who
could have been Liiere that-would have been so Careless?
it mast have been open all night.”

“{ dida’t Know there were any strangers got the key
yesterday. I wouidn’t have given it myself, because lie
last time f weut there with the Americans wilo wauted Jo
see Sir Godfrey’s scarlet pill, | noticed Lhat one of Lhe cor-
fius was open. You could see the white linen an iuch
deep.”

“Why did you not tell that atonce?” asked Sir Ralph,
in an angry voice. ‘Do you know what coffin it was?’

“I's tue coffiu, they say, your adopted son, ag you call
him, is in,’ the housekeeper answered, in a sulky Lone,
resenting Sir Raipii’s manner of speaking to herseli.

“Confound it, ow could that have happened 2?

“it happened cusy enough. Tue Coffin jell as they took
it Out of Lie railroad curs, and the wails in the lid are all
started.”

“i must See about that this very night,
sire Tomkins to be ready when | call iilm,
it done myself."

The bell wus rung, and the order given,

Sir Raiph tooked ‘at his watch; it was not yet ecignt
o'clock. ,

“Give me @ little brandy; this wine makes me feel
cold,’

“Better let Tomkins go alone, aud nail’ up the coffin,”
suggested Mrs. Nuveunt.

“No, you can’t trust these fellows.
half-done.’?

Sir Ruph had his own private reasons for yoiug to see
the coffiu nailed up, auch tie Kivew the braudy would give
him Courage. It was a job.e did not like—he was palling
it Olf from time to tune. At lust, going to the windoyv,
he luoked in the direction of the, mausvleuuiy and called
Oni:

‘Oome here’?

Mrs. Nugent was by his side ia a moment.

Pointing with his fluger in the direction le was still
looking, lié said;

*“Do you see alrything there?”

“I think I see a light blinking vut aud id, as if it wasin-
side the muusolenta,””

“Sudol. Whatcan it be? Sir Ralph spoke witha
face cousidtrably ‘Whiter Laan ustal, wud a Tigiteued
lvok,. :

“Maybe Tomkius didu’t lock the door right, and souwe-
body’s gotin, t's like as they were sirikiug a match to
light tueir pipe.) IV's perhaps some of tic house-servalils
tial’s gone dowu fosee tle open coffin, after they took
their suppers; they're fuli of curiosity.”

Uer words decided Sir Ralph. He did not fear to en-
counter Lhe house-servunts, but he did fear Licy should see
What was mside (he Coffiu, he now heard for the Lirst time
Was open... But for this feat, he would have Jeit iis visit
to Lie iuausoleum untibdaylight.

Ringing the bell hastily, lie desired that Tomkins might
be sent tv the hali door, and a few minutes had only
clapsed ere Mrs, Nugent, looking from tie diuing-rooni
Wiudow, saw ihe Knight making the best of iis way to-
ward Lhe smmausuieum, fuliowed by his faciotum, Tomkins.

= Now,’ said the woman, as slie looked alter them, ‘iiay
the saiuts graat that that poor thing may get clear off, if
she’s LieKe tilluow. Jit was @ misfortune le did't get
aivay vu his juuruey. Siie’s.sure to hear their feet, and if

She has ay wit at all, she might hide; und slip out when
they're uwling the coffilu. An’ if she doesu’t, aud they
catch her, sie'’s beller heve, wnere sie has food and fire,
tlian starving lo death among the dead bodies, I know
she'll mot teil hii 1 had wuy and in jetting her out.”

Ethel dad passed a weary dayiu the yault: among the
dead, but all the time she had been sustained by the con-
viction thut suouer or luter Mrs. Nugent would ¢ome to
release her.

As tie dusk gave place lo durk, she tried once or twice
to light the Candie io the lanteru, which liad fallen into tie
cufflu, bul Lhe dump air of the place had moistened the
wick, und each time it was jit it flickered for a minute or
two, und tien expired, leaviug tue place in greater dark-
neas than before.

Her muiciies were all gone, when she heard a crashing
through the brushwood as in tue morning, and, aluiost
uucuusciously, 8aid half aloud;

“itis Mrs. Nugent. Oll low thankful Ll am I shall once
more have liberty aud warmth.’?

Tie words liad scarcely pussed her lips when she heard
Sur Raipti’s voice.

“Come along, Tomkins; what ure you dallying for?
Take the key aud epeu tlie door,’?

Sie iad vot a Moment to think what she would do. It
was tuo dark to hide uuder due of the cofflus, us sue lad
done iv tiie morning; Ule darkuess wus sv intense tliat slic
could ouly grope her Way.

Layoluutarily she seized the pall of the nearest coffin,
and turewing iGever her head, prepared to represent a
black specter.

She was standiuy C.ose.to where the door weuid reach
when it opeved, aud ull ab ouce slik reeollected Luat oue of
the stone supports ou which the coflius were luid when
Grst brought late the muusoeleum, must be ciose to her.

She felt her way and jvund one of the brokeu piliurs, as
they were calied, close Ae lier feet. Jt Was the work of a
moinent Lo step upenilt, ius giving ie her figure at least
two feet more hight

Ilardly iad she thrayo the folds of tie pall so that ib
reached frou her lead abd covered the pillar sire sivod
ou, When the key moved ju Uie lock and the door was
pushed slowly open as if it Look u great effort to du so,

“What are you 80 lazy about? Ave you’ ulraid of the
old boues inside?” she heard Sir Ruilpl say, aan angry
voice, yel speaking iu a thick, guttural tone, as if lie wus
uot free from the fear he uceused Tomkins of.

“No, sit, Laiw’t feared, bul it takes a mighty lot o’
pushin’ tv open this dour. It used to be easy enough.’’

Lhe duor at deugii was opened, and the first rays frou
the lantera which Tombkias held before him, showed Surv
Regiuald's coffiu open; so timat tie sureud protruded, aud
without.# palil

Sir Ralph almost sprang iuto the mausoleum, uiteriug
un Oath, aud pushing aside Tomkins il ilis cagerness Lo
reach ile coilla irst, in case ‘Temkins should discover
Whit it Contained,

Tomkins turned tu look at his muster, surprised by his
irreverent conduct im sucha place. As le did so the
mun’s eye fell on the giaut specter lie supposed Hiliel to
be, and uttering a succession of feariul sirieks he tlrew
his tuol-boxX uod lantern to the floor, aud fled howlig trom
the place.

Hucoutaged by the success of her experiment, E.hel
put oul her arm, bare to the eibow, pointing with her
white fluger {othe uncoyered cofflu, ub the same time
heaving w deep groan,

Sur Raipiv’s eyes were upon (the biack specter, Tirey
were distended with w louk/of intense horror, He made
one futile uttempt lo reaci the door, but in Wie Uliceriain
light given by the laulerp, vow lying eu its side ob tie
fluor and titus Casting black siadows from the coffias ajl
arouad, lie Was uuubie to see any uther way of exit but
by passing close to the horribie igure,

Lie threw forward both his arms lo protect himself jrom
the spegier, which he thought was gitding toward lim lu
pierce lia heart with the long, bony finger witici: seemed
tu his excited imugination oue that haclain for centuries
im tle gruve.

Another groan, louder:thau before, issued from what
Sir Raiph thougit the headless specter; und then wiih a
loug, sweeping wave of the pali Ethel desceuded from the

jliar.

: The soaud and sight were Loo inuch for the overstrung
nerves of the horrified inau. Ue believed that the spirit
of evil he had s0 loug mocked ut had entered one oi tle
old, embalmed bodies, and was now ubout to seize uud
dvag him down to eternal misery.

He turew up his hands above his head, calling Lo the
God he had made a scott and a scorn of all lus life to pro-
tect him.

He gave oue wore look; tle specier was Close beside
him, between him and the dour, barriug his exit, lt was
too much tor his overwrought bruiu, and le sank without
life or motion to the floor,

Ethel Knew that now was her lime, and gathering the
pall around her she left the mausoleum. Closing tie door
aud locking it She threw the key into Lue brushwood.

UHAPTER XIV.

It was a long Way from Count Ramouski’s collage down
to the quay Where tle ships go oul for Kugiand, aud to
this quay Eugenie was following Lovell, with Wwearied
feet, and au aching leart sie well kuew had parted with
rest forevermore.

The moon hud goue down for some time, leaving tlie
road, With its irimge of Osage orange trees Ou euch side, iL
deep shade, approaching to darkuess.

Tuey iad not goue more thaua hundred yards from
the cottage when Eugenie suddenly svopped, and laying
her haud on Lovell’s arm, said’

“Lovell, | cannot leave the liuoine where I was so blessed,
without some living thing that has been with me there,
Go back, aud bring me whe pot Of layeuder that Count

Ring and de-
lll go and see

It would not be

——= Se =

Hamouski placed on my dressing-room table this mern-
ing. The sweet plant, with iis mourniul purple, towers,
will Speak to me in the Sad words ] must use ioréyermore
inyself of the dear hand that planted it, of Lue eyes that
can never shie on mine again.”

“[ fear to leave you aloue, my Jady, in this dark road,”
suid he, seeing her about lo place herself on the mossy
bank under the orauge Lrees.

“There is no fear, Lovell,” was the reply. ‘You will
be back. in a few minutes, and there is mo one abroad on
this lonely road at so late au hour but ourselves.’’

But there was one’ abroad, aud so bear to her as she
that-he could distinguish every word she suid—spoke,
could almost touch her with his hand,

Neville, the sailor, had watched and foliewed her from
the moment sie jJeft the garden gate, and us she called
oul, “Adolph, Adoiph,’’ in her great despair, he laughed
ind rubbed his hands with fiendish glee, saying to him-
self under his breath: .

“That's capital; the dlamonds will yet be mine. She is
Truuning away for fear of me just now, but iu a few days
that passionate woman will be back to him again. She
will soon Jearn the lesson tliat the diamonds Cannot speak
to her, and kiss her, and love her as lie does. Ol! they’re
all the sume, these women,’ mullered he to himself;
“they?re a cursed lot. If they love a nun they’ll godown
on their knees to serve him; aud if they don’t jove him,
they late hint, aud they would drive him to perdition if
they could. i’m sure 1 don’t kuow what she sees lo love
in thut ugly Russian, with his beard aud piercing black
eyes. He jooks more like ove who would strike down a
tuau in his anger than make love to his own wile,” _

As Lovell went in quest of tlie lavender piant, Neville
drew close behind the line of trees where Ethel sat.

“Where the devil can she be going?’ suid he, speaking
again to himself, “Well, no matter where she goes, slie’s
provided me with tle fauds, aud Ill follow her,??

Tie plaut was soon brought, and taking it from Lovell’s
hands without rising from her mossy seat, Eugenie kissed
thesweet thing passionately, burying her Jace amid its
fragrant leaves and blossoms. The memory of the words
with which it was placed on her table in the morning, tore
her heart and convulsed her bosom with sobs.

“Oh, my lady,” said Lovell, ‘‘come back, do come
back.’? .

“Lovell, Lovell,” repiied she, when at lust able to
speak, *‘to what purpose sould 1 go back? It is only
pulting off my hard late fora few weeks, perlaps only
for a few days. No, no. L wove the web of my own fale
long ago, Bud i Must weir it pow.”

Suddenly siie started up, and putting her hand oa the
man’s shoulder, said, in a trembiing, agitated voice;

“Lovell, you will keep your oath ?”

“IT will Keep it while there is warm blood iu my body,
aud life in my soul. I will Keep it, if need be, at the foot
of Heaven’s altar. And noone shali hear my tougue speak
of uught that Lkuow but the priest who comes to absolve
uly Souk as it passes iulo eternity.”

“Loveil,’? said she, putting her hand, which shook witit
a furebodiug fear, ou his shoulder, as sie spoke, “1s it your
duty.to obeyupe? A higher, duty than you owe to ail

 

others om earth???

it is,jmy lady, aud 1 will do your didding, even unto
death"?

“To biud Lihat duty ou your soul, I bid ye tiiak, ou the
vid Colambres aud Frzgeralds, wiat lhey were ceutaries
ago, and wit they Wow arey Leoddeu down by tie heel of
the SeXou; 4 bid: yotuimk low Lue green and gould fag of
Eriuis trailing in the dust, aud their brutal red flag
Waving {vom eack high piunacie in our beloved aud beau-
tifuidand; aud, last of ull, bid ye thiux ef the happy
Cluid you Carried in your arnis among tie garden beds of
Ovlumbre Custic—ol (the thrice-happy, inuoceut girl whose
ponuy’s rein ye led through bie graud woods and green vul-
ieys of Colambre, and then ye wil picture to yourself.a
bent old Woah, dressed i Course guriments, aud wearing
oul life among a people in whose eats tie old, Erse tougue

 

 

of Eriu souuds strange aud uucoull, and to save ny loved
oues frum such a fate, ‘ye will sirike and spare not?’

The man crossed lis lauds on lis Dreast, and said, lu a
Strong, Steady voice:

‘By Lue bluck rood shone, and the holy Saint John, if
tue lime ever comes that such is Deeded, YZ will sirixe
and spare not.’”

Tue gue who stood ciose belilud the orange trees felt his
heart quail as he listeued to tlie solemnu words spoken by
Eugenie aud her servant, and comprehended tieir awful
lo port.

*By my faila, 1 believe she is Leiling him to Kill me; bul
one good job, le must catch me first, aud he'll ud me a
pretly slippery eel to catch. Vil follow thein, audit he’s
goiny with her, iVil be sufer for me to pive theura wide
beri; but if she’s alone, by my faith, Il keep her com-
pany. Siiell not get much rest till 1 have the diamouds,”’

When the morniug sau rose, Eagenie was ou board slip
on lier way lo Eugland, her faitiiui servant Lovell atteud-
ing Lo his dulies in Couut Ramvouski’s collage, lis luce
pule aS ashes, atid liis heart aching lor the beloved ove lie
had tended from her earliest duys, und iuved betler ali
those long years than all Lie wide world beside.

It was nearly dinner hour ere Count Raiuouski returned
to his home, and on reaching the garden gate, le leaped
from his horse, aud throwing Lhe reius Lo lis servant, said
to himself, with au uueasy leeling: ‘

‘Where cau Eugenie be? L hupe sie is not ill.’ The
sound of my horse’s hoofs alwuys brings ler out.to the
garden to welcome ime.’?

He went hurriedly iuto the garden room, calling out her
uname, **Kugenie,”’ as le eutered,

Not fiiidiuss her there, ie sprang up the staircase, tiree
steps at a lime, entering her boudoir,

 

 

“Eugenie, Kugenie,”’ lie cailed aloud,

But vo Eugenie responded to his Cail.

He next entered his wile’s dressimg-rooui—ler bedrvoin;
everyihiug wus there, bright aud beuulifui as usual,
flowers uud lace, and pillik satin with its glittering sheen;
but the one Who made Lhe Jight aud life in tle roums,
iuade a Heaven of his home, wus bowhere tu be seen.

He re-entered ihe boudoir, ringiug the bell violently.

“Send Lovell to me,’’ le suid lo lie Bervuul whe an-
swered his summons.

“Yes, my lord.’

He had hoped the unswer would be, “*The countess has
goue out driving und Lovell is in alieuduuce vn lier ludy-
ship.*?

Lovell’s ushy clieek aud biloeadiess lips told the couut
thut some terrible misfortune liad happened,

ln an instant a thousuld vague faucies rau through his
rain. She had tailen into the buy—wus al Liat’ moment
lying culd aud dead uuder those Cruel, SuuDy Walters tliat

 

glittered 1 his sigut. Sie was lying stuf aud cold, trod-
den down by those beautiful buys Le had bought ouly a
week previous, and which he had been warned needed a
stroug aud skillful hand lo hold thea in. Or worst—inost
terrible thougui—banudilti had entered his house aud Car-
ried away his beautiful wife lo sume of the caverns in
Lieir mUUutalo fustuesses.

“Speak, Lovell,’’ said he, ‘where is the countess???’

Leveili’s tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. He
dared Mot teil his master the iruth—his vow bound him
down to tliat; and ut that moment we could not if ie
wouid. :

“| lave something for you here,’ suid he, pussing
quickiy through tle boudoir lito his tasters dressiug-
reoin, Where, iifling up tie beuqtetof fluwers With the
writteu paper twisted round il, Wiicit Hugenie had put
there belore her departure, he pluced it iu tbe Counts
Lauds,

It Was Lhe work of w miuoiment lo uuroll Lie paper. The
beautiful fluwera eli scattered us Worthless Luings to Lie
ground, While with sick, reeiiug heart, aud. buruimg cye-
balis, the Guunt read, ‘for iy dariiug Adoipii.”’

He uniolded the paper, his stroug hauds trembiiug so
violently as almost tu refuse\tieir office, aud there read
the words wiich Eugenie had UWaced iu such agony of
soul as, thauk Heaven, fails tothe lot of but few.

“My darliug Adolph, my precious lusbaud, when you
read this £ will be tar, lar away. Seek not to trace ime;

it will be impossibie—no oné-can kuow wiither Ll have

gone. Seek uot totura this dark pageof iny ife’s -ius-
tory. J 1uwuast from tiis heucefortit pass into a living grave,
never again to bear thy lame of Ramouski—that name
which lhave borne sv mMuby long years us your most
biessed wile, i must Lever tWuch your lips, of lay my
head on your bosom again; all ny beautiful life must be
forgotien only) thought of us a thing of the past, until
my death—nothing around ine bave Baudand usies.

“i have been living with yow-ull this time uu imposter
—unwittingly, Heavel Kuows—yeb Lune tie jess ul iln-
poster.

“Farewell, darliag, foreverutore. May the merciful
Father graut tiat we muy jueet linihat land where every
wrong still be righted, aud wilebe man Cuno uppress
Will @ Siavery Worse than death. |

“And now, belore We part forever, let Ine coujure you
by all the Jove | shail bear for yuu wulil the day L resign
my spirit, by ali the love you liave shown me every day
since | first became your thrice-biesseu wile, never permit
the children i have berue you Lo ussociate with the faise,
fair-haired Suxon.

“Amid ruin and With undying
love, EUGBENIB.”’

Loveil was closely questioned, but tiie old man’s oath
Was Staring him in the face, wud he answered naught that
could give the least clew to his ludy’siwhereubouts.

The police were comumunicated with, und every effort
was made to discover Where Uie absent countess had
gone. The sailor whom the count had seeu in the morn-
ing was uiso iuquired after. The count had some- dark
suspicion that tuis Nah Was in sume way connected With
his lady’s fliglt.

Some days later, a gentiemau culled at the cottage, and
told the count that he had suiied a sort Way oul to sea in
the sleammship Sphiux, where he fauciéd he saw the
Countess Rumouski pussiug aloug the deck aud down the
companion ladder, on the night the ship sailed.

Seeing her alone, he asked the steward if jer hame Was
ob the ship’s books, bat it was not.

The circumstance did not occur to him again until com-
ing to Napies in his own pleasure yacht, which the stean-
ship liatled after having been a night and half day at sea,
lie heard the report that the Countess Ramouski was
Missing.

He aiso said he had a observed a coarse-louking sailor
mau dogging her footsteps as she walked along, aud
hauging about the door of the ladies’ cabin, after sie had
entered it,

The following day Couut Ramouski sold his beautiful
cottage on the shore of the bay of Naples, and together
with his fumily aud domestics, sailed for Eagland in the
first vessel that left the shore. ‘

* * * * * *

The iuoruing after Eugenie embarked on board the
Spiiux rose cold and boisterous, the rain falliag in tor-
rents-on tlie deck.

Eugenie rose and dressed herself, Sie was too restless
to lie in bed, w#nd it Was iuipossible for her to go on deck.
ln the ladies’ cabin she was compelled to hear merry
chatting and Jaughter that wrung her heart as if it were

misery, 1 am yours

 

what slie ust never take part iu again. Hence she

<< THE NEW YORK W.

speut the day looking througit tie port-hole window of
her stuteroum, Cummparing the dreary splashing of the
rain on the surging waves with her own hard destilly.

In the gray twilight, the rain aud wind suddenly Ceased,
and Eugenie sought the deck as a relief frou the monotony
in Which she had passed the day, ‘She found that with
the exception of a few gentlemen, Lhere was bo One else
there, Lhe ladies all shrinking from tie cold, damp air.
She walked about for a few miinutes, und theu seated
herself in a corner of one of the iron seais,

She had been watched allthe time, although she was
unconscious of it. Neville, the sailor, waiched the door
of the ladies’ cabin from: suurise until sie jeft it, aud then
he followed her footsteps a8 she went on deck.

“| must screw up my courage to speak to tliat Woman,’
said he; “‘I’d rather clinb to. the mastnead thau speak to
her auy day—she has such a confounded proud way with
her, though she does look as if she was took down a bit
justnow,. The better for me the sooner the diamonds will
come into my hands, Jil be a ticklish job, going back to
thal flerce-looKing, proud man of hers, but no deubt she'll
manage it, With Women ‘where there’s a will there's
always a way.’ Ill go and see if I can’t make love to her
jus} now, thougit | daresay my love-making won’t be so
pleasant as Count Ramouski’s.”

Hugenie, us she sat with her eyes fixed on the wet deck,
Was Conscious of a man loaugiug pust lier, bo Cluseiy us
almost Lo touck her Cloak.

ii a second or two the same person came and sat down
onthe seut beside her. She did not look in the man’s
face, but she saw his cluthes were coarse, wud emitted u
stroug Odor of tobacco.

‘The man sat so hear ler that, wrapping her cloak around
her, she shrank from him us far as possible tu the other
endl of the seat.

She started with
placed his course
word:

'Kugean!?

*Don’t be frightened,” said he. “I thought you would
beglad of meto keep you company; it’s but luvesonie
work sitting up here aloue in the liall-dark.”

Bugeuie answered uot, but her heart aluiost stopped its
beating. Slie was powerless tu think or speak,

Neville gathered Courage irom her silence.

It made me quiie proud wiieu | saw ye had made up
your miud tO Comme hometome. Lhave buta poor place to
take ye to, iVs (rue; but judgiug by myself, 1 duresuy you'd
rather be there with lie one ye ran away Will long ago,
than up in that flue house of yours, will tilut upsettiug-
looking Russiuu, und his wild eyes. Idaresay it wasn’t
easy pulling up with hint when he was ib a rage.”

“For Heaveu’s sake jeaye me!’? Eugenie ut last sum-
moned sirength to say.’ “Ltold you truly wheu i said
that nothing ou this earth could tempt me to live one
hour with you. I love Count Ramouski u thousand times
better than ever I Joved you when you were young and
haudsonié and’! young and foolisii—oh, go foolish. You
know how you tempted me then to leave iny unele’s
house, abd you Know the privations | endured uncom-
plajuingly, but you Cau never Kuow tiie louthing and ce-
festulion Pfeel for you a8 you are now. Ruther than
wreng my noble husbuiid, whose name | lave borne tor
so hrahy years by living one hour with you, 1 would wil-
liugly Cust myself into you stormy sei, or jet every drop
of my life’s blued flow ott on -tiis deck.”

“On, you'll Come out Of uli that,” was the cuol reply,
as he sireiched iis legs Out full length iu front, amd leau-
iug on the back of Lie seut, stuffed his handy’ into lis
trowsers pockets, beginning lo whistie a familiar air,

She tried lo rise-ouce, twice, Lhe violeuce of ner emotion
inaking lier limbs tremble under her,

“Sit still, Eugean, and’ keep me coinpany,” suid he, lay-
ing his haud again familiarly upon her arin.

His touch seemed to jufuse streagth into her shivermg
frimie, abd tirowing his haud off her urm witha ferce
gesture, Sie exclaimed, passiouately:

‘Dare to touch me again aod i slall Ciaita the protec.

horror as in a second more the man
hand upon her own, uttering the

} tion of the Captain!”

“Whew !?? suid he, saying tle Word Jike a loug wiiistie.
“The cuptain wou’s miteriere between we and my Wie.
He lias KicKups at home with Nis ow ‘Molly darling,’
aud if he meddies it iy ‘iness at all il be to help me to
Make smvoll Wulers aud comfortable sulling for us
both.”

“The Captain dare uot help you to torment me,’ said
sie; “aud tu power ol earls wall ever leipt me to touch
your ungloved lund!’

“Oli, faith then, you'll touch my upgioved mouth in two
mivates,”? Suid he, as throwing his ars arevund her, le
altempted to kiss ler.

Bugeuie was desperate, leit more like a raging liouess
thal wu Wola, dbd ik hier fury ut the pulittiion he would
have Subjected her tu, siie struck lit fiercely tu the face;
and whew ut last disengaged from iis aris, sle wilenipe
ed to spring upon tiie bulwarks of tlic slip, and torow
lierpeli luiv Git Sea.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

The Aho Met Wife.

By tiie Auiivor of **Drifted Asunder,??

(“The Aecused Wife’? was commence: in 45, Back Nos. unc
be ubtained of any News Agent in tue United states.)

CHAPTER XXXIL,
, BURNT AT BEA.

 

 

Mrs, Vaughan, the mother of the girl whose bame had
roused Mr. Arden to sucii uu Uuusuccessinl search, has
but little to do with our slory; bul somehow or other the
rectoraud Mr. Cooper feit al luterest in her, and the for-
mer, by speaking to a brother clergyman at» Wiudsur, ob-
tained her a littie einpluymeént at thie neediework, whieh
helped to make things w little briguter for her, poor souil

He heard from her occasiouaily—frigiteued, deprecat-
ing little letters, us Lhougi sie felt sie inust be always
apologizing for lier very eXisteuce, as ‘is tie fushion of
some Weak-miuded people.

Truth to tell, she Was a very uninteresting person, and
Mr. Ardeu felt always rather bored by her letters. But
there Game one to the rectory oue moruing from: her
which set him thinking very sadly om the events of the
past. She had told the two geutiemen, when tiey called
upon her, that her daughter liad been led ustray by a gen-
tiemanu in whose family she had taught niusic, but slie
had jouad out by accident tliat siie bad been mistaken.

Mr. Armytage (for that was'tie genUeman’s Mame) had
called upou her at Datchet, not Knowing that she suspect-
ed him of any wrong to Carrie, and lad jearued it for the
lirst time ia the Widow’s indignant reception of hin.

Hie knew or guessed wlio it was, and told Mrs, Vaughan,
to her great amazement. 1t was & person who had come
to him with a letter of introduction, and Who had been
received of an intimate footing in his house,

“And, ohl sir, Liliought P should have died,” the widow
wrote, “when he told me it was Wybert Latta, the man
that Was murdered by his wife so ciuse to where you live.
He’s dead and gune, aud one shouldm’t speak iil of the
dead, but le must have bee w& bitter, biuck-learled Vil-
lain, for Mr. Armylage Says that, though they did not
kuow it then, he must have been just married at tiie tine
to the poor thing that wus taken up for murdering him,
Ldon’t remember wach about it, for Twas in dreadiul
troubie at the time; on‘wccouut of iy poor Currie; but if
she did, it?s mot much murder, 1] think. Lam certain
Mr. Arinytage spoke the truth. He said he could prove
to me, UW necessary, that he hud wot been from home at
that time; and I knew nothing of the matter tilt Carrie
wrote tv tell ine slie was youe with the tuan she loved to
be married, as she thought, poor child!”

Carrie Vuaglan’s troubles were uot a matter of much
interest to Mr. Arden if she were not Mabel Latta. And
itseemed pretty certain now that Mr. Cooper and the
lawyer just have made a mistake, orthat there had-been
sume juggling iu Lue matter,

‘Another crime auddedto the black list against that
dead man, he thought to himself. “Sirange, that he
should be mixed up in that poor soul’s troables!”

He wrote to Mrs. Vaughan, and begged her to let him
know if she ever got any news of her duugiiter, or of uny
one bearing her name; bul bone seemed to Come till, afier
many montis had gone by, a bluck-edged Jetter Cume to
tua recLory in the widow’s uncertain hand,

“| gin in dreadful grief,” she wrote; “ity poor daugii-
ler is dead. I got to Know some Of lier young friends at
the theater, and found Olt Who corresponded with her
friend, Miss Chatievis, and IT foand out what became of
thei, My poor Cartie ust have been going mad with
her sorrow, I think, for aii her aims seems to have been to
hide herself from every one. She left Russia with this
girl Chatteris almost as soon as she got there, aad went
to Vienna, and from there to Qaiculta, with the same
manager again. Then she sailed forthe Oape of Good
Hope; but, oh! sir, it was in that big ship, the Poluris,
whieh was burnt ut sean month ago. *

“The news is quite true, Neither Miss Chatteris uor
my darling Carrie were among the few who were saved,
and [shall never Jook upon her deur face again, nor hold
a child of hers iu my arins till we ieet jiu the next
world,”

It was a great sliock to Mr. Ardem to read this piece of
intelligeuce. Ifit were true there wus ati end forever of
solving the mystery that hung around the absent Carrie
Vaughan. He suid nothing’ to jis wife ut present, but
went to Mr, Cooper at the theater,

“Yes, ivs quite ‘true,’ thal gentleman suid. “Lf was
coming to your house this Very aflernool wilh the news.
There’s no doubt about jf that) those two piris were on
board the Polaris, and it is equally certaim that they are
not among the survivors.”

“But what were they doiug there? Whi did they leave
Russia ?”? ;

“Oh, Pm not very sure, Repton, tle ballet-muster, liad
a good deal of correspondence With the proprictor ve tie
traveling troupe. It seems that they had ho sooner iar.
rived tuere Lhun they seemed to wish to move again, aud
i German mabager, on the Jookout for novelties, offered
to take them to Vienna.’’

“But they were engaged for mouths to that Russian
man, were they not?’ Mr. Arden asked,

“Well, yes; but i fancy that his baliet speculation was
not a grand success, and he was glad to get rid of w
couple of salaries, The same ian went out to Oalcuita
with @ troupe, aud was yery successfal. Fron there he
sailed for the Cape in’ the Polaris, and lier fate is begin-
ning to be an old'story now, Herr Zedwitz, the German
who was taking them out, brought the news himself. He
was rescued by un English ship, and isin Loudon now.
Would you like to see him?’

“Very much.”

Mr, Cooper wrote down the address of Herr Zedwiiz,
Who, notwithstanding his former peri) aud joss of means,
Was alreudy looking out for fresh novelties to take back
with him to Germany.

 

He received his visitor with muck effusion, but could

 

 

ew) ‘5 sy
i a

teli him nothing but the bare facis.
ler friend, Miss Vaughan, were certainly ou board tie
Polaris, aud as certainly iost. The Catastrophe lad been
oue of those Sudden and appalling ones where there is
uo time for planning or arranging anvthing, and out of
more than two hundred souls om board of lier only about
filly ud escaped.

Mr. Arden went home, fecling sick at heart, and told his
Wife the tidings. She wept bitterly over the fate of her
whont her husband suppused to be Mabel Latta, but who4
had taken tier secret Wilh ler over tie thresiold of the
other world.

‘Poor Fred 1 she said. ‘How shall we teil hin?”

“Dom's tell him at.all,’? Was Mr. Witham’s udvice. ‘Let
her naine die out. Lam certain it was she, aud there’s
an end-of it all now she’s dead.’?

But Fred had heard of the loss of the Polaris almost as
soon as the news had reached his fatier’s house. Lt was |
Rupert Giaddys who had brought him the news.

His chance acquaintance with that gentleman had
grown to intimacy somehow. The two men liked one an-
other, and the theatricui mabnager—lor Gladdys had de-
scribed his occupation truly—seemed tuo be unaccouulabiy
attracted by the junior partner in the firm of Moore &
Arden.

Fred had ridden into Melbourne several times and
Visited the theater, when Rupert Giuddys und Mr. West-
hope, his factotum and inan of business, had treated him
With such marked respect and Courtesy that he somehow
got the impression tial Lhey lad imistuken him fur sume
une else.

“No, we hay’n’t, my boy,’ Mr. Gladdys said, when one
day Frederic hinted as inuch. “i iike you—Westhope
likes you—Lilat’s all. It’s seidum a fellow meets upy one
Lhat suits liim in this worid,’?

Mr. Westhope was an old man, with white halr,
bieached, he told Frederic Arden, by un illuess which
seized lim) ou his arrival in the colony... He had lain for
weeks on Lhe threshold of ie next world, and had only
been uursed back wo life by his faitiful friend, Rupert
Giaddys.

The ullachment between Lhese two meu was singular,
and the atiraction they buth liad for their pew acquaint-
ance Was no Jess so.

As Fred had stated in his letter home, there was some-
thing about Giaddys Which reminded him irresistibly, of
Eugland, uid it Was the sume with -the elder man aiso,
The manager declared it was the same on his side,

**Your face carries ine back to the best days of my life,
Arden,” he said one way, witha sigh; “to the time when
1 was innocent, and fit company for good men.”

“You're it tur it now, arn’t you?’ Fred asked, looking
ut him.

“Weil, now, this minute, periaps, or l woukln’t inflict
myself upon you. But ve led a life that men like you
Can hever dream of, Iuever murdered any one in cold
blood, or broke into a house, or mistook any, oue else's
ume for wy own; but there isn’t another crime inthe
decalogue Uhaut doesn’t lie to my charge. I’ve been a
scoundrel, Arden, thavsa fact. If you knew my history
you woull not give me suci: friendly greeting when I
come out to Montserrat”?

“i think 1 should give the Father of Lies himself a
friendly greeting iM he hand done me the good turn you
did,” suid Fred, langhing. “kh think your melancholy to-
night, Gladdys. What's the matter???

“Nothing. think of my wasted life now and then,
thats all. Tue sight of you alwaysseis me looking buck.
Hand over that tobacco; my pipe’s elpty.’’

The two men Were lying full length under a tree, close
by Fred’s house. He had set up a bachelor establishment
Close to his partuer’s imore imposing residence, with un
vid Woman for housekeeper aud a Convict for a servant.

Gluddys was wout to declare that the wbsence of a mis-
tress, aud the masculine disorder about the place, made it
the most deligutfal resort ie Knew. Fred was of a diifer-
eut opinion, bul le made Ho remark upon the subject,

“Did you come all the way out froma Melbourne tu |a-
ment over your pasi sius?”? he usked, as he handed tie
tobacco.

“No.??

“Then tulk about someting cise. What's the news?’

“Onl Liorgot.. | brought the Argus with me. ‘There's
been au awiul disaster off Point de Gale. A big ship has
been burnt; lots of lives jusi.””

“An Bugiish ship P?

“Yes, 1 didu’t stop to rend more than the ouiline, Here
ib isa very detulied uccounl, Beeulbgiy—pusseugers?
ames aud all.”

it was a Very much fulior account than the one tirst pub-
lished im lig Bugiish pupers, though Lhe details were all
ziven alterward, aud Frederic Arden’ read then aloud (0
lis fread as they lay iu the shade, with a queer emotion
choking in his throat as he came to one Kugilish dame
auiler another, strange, yet familiar in sound,

“What a iisil? he exclaimed, ‘Lere’sseuic oue of your
professiou, Glauddys.”?

S Wire ??

“Cari ZedwitZ, ealricalinanager. Obl be’s nmonyg the
Suvyed. Ele doesn’t seem to have cured miuch about hits
people. Here’s several of thea drowued. Oarrie Vaughan,
aciréss, and iufuut, Lottie Oualieris——’!

“Wiro 7?

“Lottie Ciuutteris—thaut the uame,?’

“Let me look,”

Rupert Giaddys snatched the paper from iis iriend’s
liad, Crumpling wud tivisling it iu lis Cugerness to gel at
the paragraph.

“Whereis it? How did it happen?’ he gasped; wud
Frederic, lugking aé hii, saw that lis lips were quite
white,

“Drowned by the upsetting of a» boat in which they
were placed’? was ail Lie record of how Liiose two particus
lar women out of tle ii-fated passengers by the Polaris
lost their ives.

?

CHAPTER XXXIV.
OUT OF SIGHT OF LAND.

Frederick Arden put his hand on his compapion’s
slouider,

“What is it, okt man??? lie usked,

“Nothing,’?

“Nothing! when your face has whitened and tie light
died vut of your eyes ut the mention of a Woman’s hume.
Which of these two women Was anything to you?'?

“Neither of them, dear boy. There isn’t & woman in
all tue Wide worid whose pulse wouid stir one beat faster
With aby joy ul tie mention of me; oue or two migit
curse bie, blaybe, for Pye done more luiiscinef Lian Like
Ly think Of iu uly time’?

“Then what mace you look as you did just now?

“if Liooked anything different from what | generally
do, it must have been the heat aud your tobucco coul-
bined. Us strong that same tobacco of yours, Master
Fred. The umes you read, too, reminded me of uu episode
in mny life I'das soon forget.”

“Where & Woman wus Goucerned, I suppose ?”*

“Well, a Woman is generally at the bottom of every-
thing disagreeable in this world, and yet the world
wouldn’t go well wilhout ’em., Wihal’s your experience
of the sex, Arden ?”?

*“Oontradictory., Ail the happiness I lave ever known
on earth lias come to me through women. Good, gentile,
augel womcn have been about me ever siuce ft Cun re-
inember anything; and for all. that ail my sorrow—the
grief that has sent ime out here au exile to vegelate Lu tiis
wilderness—came to me through & Wouan,’?

“Ah, jilted you, I suppose?!”

No?

“Wouldn't say yes???

“No; she did suy yes, and sent mic to Heaven fora few
brief weeks by the word,”

“*Huve you lost her???

Rupert Gladdys spoke with a strange intonation of
kindness in liis voice—sume softened memory was work-
ing upon him to-night.

“Lost ler! ah, yes!’ Frederic replied.

“She is dead, tire; forgive me for spenking,
very ruthiess ii its Severance of mortal ties.”

“[ said ‘lost,’ ?? Frederic replied. “Whether livitig: or
dead {cannot teil’ “Sie went away, poor dariimy, with a
sorrow ubd Shame thatwere vot of her bringing upon
her, und slie found thei too great to bear, | have sought
ner everywhere. My friends ‘have searched and udver-
lised, butall in vain, 1 cannot give up lope, tiougia hope
seenis sometimes iv die out of my heart,”

“lf i were tie wretch you fancy me,’ said Rupert
Gladdys, “1 snould say forget her, and take a wife from
among the duugliters of the land out here; but I’m not.
| believe in the faithful love that keeps oue inage in the
heart for yeurs—for a lifetime.’

“You were describing yourself just now us a fuithiess
mouster AMON thé eX; you ure a wuss Of Contradictions,
Giaddys.”?

“i supposelam. Wve jilted many & womun—been the
ruin of inore than one, | kuow—and yet | lie here and teil
you that i believe in tie faithful Jove that clings in heart
Lo one wotnan alone.”

“Are you clierishing sucit w pussion ?’!

“lL was. 1 joyed once, and only once in my life, a girl
—uchild. She loved me a8 such natures do love, not
wisely, but too well, and all that sort of thing, you kuow.
well, i—1 behuved like a scoundrel, and forsook’ bher—let
her go home to her friends with a curse of iny bringing
hanging over lier, andl Went to the bud headlong. Bub
in boring you.’

“Not at ali; im very much interested,
of her???

“Not what becomes of many wv forsaken, deluded girl,
thank Heaven; she led « decent, indusirious life, and
Worked hare, ava b raade up iny ‘inind that 1 would do
the samme some day und cium ber, |b didn’t know how
much tL loved her tili We parted, aud I tried to fill the void
in my heart wilh Olher women whose lives were the very
opposite of hers. 1t was no use. In my most wretched
hours, the thought of ler pure fuce would come up, aud I
would inake up all sorts of resolves to do better, aud
settie down with her somehow. I*kept her in view—
never lost sight of her—until circumstances drifted me far
awny from her. Then | resolved to make a fresh start,
and Lb did. I’ve been redeeming myself for the lust two
years, that I wight be worthy to go and say to her, ‘Oome
und share the home | have made tor you'—and now—"?

“What now??? asked Frederic. “She hasn’t married
some one else, Jing she?

“No, my boy.’

“Where is sie?

“Deud, Jad, dead! Sv euds this strange, eventful his-
tory,” said Rupert Giaddys, with @ laugii that choked it-
self into @ sub, aud made him bow his head upen lis
hands and hide his face for a ininute or two,

‘Let's talk of something eise,”’ he said. presently, rising.
“Oar ends are shaped for us without uny rough hewing.
The sun’s getting low, | must be off.’

They shook hands, and Frederic watched him go, feel-
ing very sure of two things—viz., that Mr. Giaddys had
uot been nearly as long in Australia a8 he wanted to
make out, und also that one of the two women whose
names he had read us ainong the drowned in the wreck of
the Polaris was the one lie had spoken of. He inclined to

Death is

Wiiat became

 

 

 

the belief that it was Carrie Vaughan, the one with the

Miss Chatteris and

 

infant, though he had Bo special reusou for Buch & AUDPO-
Silion,

‘Taere was mourning in Mra, Moriarty’s house over the
fate of the Ltwo’giris who had lived there. The worthy
landlady wept piteously over the bewspaper report of the
Catastrophe, and Miss Celestine de Moutinorenci spoiled
the effect of & Most cluburate pet up by shedding siucere
tears for the girls who, if they did tet seek her suciety,
never jusuited her by word or lvok, and had always a
kind saiile aud gentle greeting for ler when they wet.

The terrible story was true,

Lottie and Carrie hud left St. Petersburg for Vienna
within a very few weeks of their arrival in the Russian
cupitiul, and had gone with Herr Zedwitzto Vienna, aud
from thence to Calcutta,

They were still supposed to belong Lo Uie ballet, though
Carrie was rapidly developing tuleut for a higher grade of
the prolession, aid being intrusted willie small parts,

At Oupe Town, whither the Pojaris was bound, she was
to have had a recugmized position in tie Company, to play
responsible parts.

The two girls were not unhappy in their self-imposed
exile; they wereanuch attached tu one another, and the
baby was a mutual soifroe of delight andemployment. It
was almost as dear to Lottie as it was to its mother, aud
ss dig us Jair a wiy of being spoiled us ever Was lortal
oOlitid.

Carrie was more light-hearted than slie liad been for
many a loug day when they Were ou the sea. There
seemed uw seuse of security to her in being out of sight
of land, where nobody could fullow or molest her, Whiat-
ever her fear had been, it had died away, and she looked
younger anc brighter thau’ Lottie had ever seen her Jook
before.

The night of the fire the two were sitting together in a
corner of the cabin, busy wilh the child. It was not yet
quite dark, though it was growing late, but the water
looked biack in the twilight, aml there was an ominous
moaning sould over the sea that told of coming evil
weather,

“It sounds eerie, don’t it??? Lottie said, looking eut at
the little round hole that served for a window,

“It does! What an ¢xpressive word that 1s, though ivs
very Scotch,’’ Currie sail, laughing,

“I think a lot of the Scotch words
sive,’’ Lottie replied,

‘You do very olten.”?

*T used to, | know—they -stick tome somehow.
was very happy in Scotland.”

She looked out over the darkening waters witli wistfut
eyes, that saw nothing just then but the picture of her
long-buried happiness. ‘

“Ah, it was there that you—"? began Ourrie, und then
suddenly stopped; she hardly liked to touch upou thé sub-
ject that Lotlie®u rarely began upon,

“That Lunet him,’? Miss Chatteris responded, stooping
down over the baby and fondling it. “Yes, dear;
thought the land o’ cakes was lhédaven for a lithe while—a
few brief. happy months; but it all weit’by as happiness
does go by in this world, and leftmea haggard woman,
branded -forever Wilh Shame in the. work's eyes, unda
deeper agony in my heart than the workl cun ever guess
at. Its there still, Currie, for love never dies,-1 loved
him, oh, 80 dearly. d love tis memory still.”

“But he was very wicked, Lottie,

“T suppose he was, dear; it was wicked tu deceive an
ignorant girl like Ine into thinking Twas his wiic; and
yet 1 don’t believe he was ail bad. Le was wild aud réck-
fess, aud his life had been @ bad one, he told meso; bul he
loved me, Vinesure he did} aud where there's room for
love in # man’s heart, there’s room for olher good as well.
Love never stauds quite aiche,.”?

“But, Lottie, dear, lhe deserted you.”

are very expres-
**] hardly Kuew 1 used oue, Uien,?!

Ah, I

 

“Yes; but siiil there’s something tu be sald.
drift upart bu in this world, We were ail 80 poor; le had
hot a pebuy to biess himself. And wheu he leitime F went
home to my moter; liere was uothing else for me to do,
Heaven help me, and Loudon is along way from Gluas-
gow. He inay have souglt ime as far us he could wilhout
being able to find nie.’

“He imay,” said Ciara. “Let us hope he did—who
knows ?—you inlay incebagaiu sole time, Stranger things
huppen.’?

‘Not in this world, Qurric; 1 feel sure le is dead.?’

“Why 77?

Currie looked at her friend as siie spoke, uud saw that
lier eyes were juil of tears,

P “Lottie, dear, Whatis it}? she asked,
anything 7?

“No, dear.’ was the answer, wille Lottie dushed her
hand a@voss her eyes.) “Vin very fovlisit, 1 daresay, but I
leel us though solmething were going tu Lappen Lo me!

Peopie do

“Lave you heard

OWUAPTBR XXXY.
HAUNTED.

in a yery few minules the woinen in the cabin heard a
coulused noise of hurrying feet aud miugicd vuices on the
deck ye Laeir leads, una soon ullerwurd a hoarse cry of
“Fire

lu w Moment all was wild confusion umoug tue tielpless
women, Who Were fastened down into the Gabi, and jora
few brief minutes, Which seemed like as mauy hours, they
beluyed like raging lunatics. They cliinbed tite stairs and
beat Upon the trap, Wiich was iustened above, till they
fell back exiausted, uid tought with one another iu fran
Lic. rage im Lheir efforis to get ab the opening.

Lottie'and Oarrie sat very still, with the chikl between
them, cowering over it as Lhough they would shieid it with
Uneir lives frou aii arm. Their uwe was too great for
words, ‘ley Could hear @ dull roariug somewhere, which
Was bot made by wave or witid.

The agouy of a liletime Was Compressed tuto those few
brief moments, and then the door overiead wes opened
and lhe women rushed wildiy upon the deck. ‘They could
see the exient of the Calastrophe now. The fumes were
leuping wildly into the air from the afterpart of the ship,
but luckily the wind Greve them in that direction, aud
away froin the crowd of human beings, who clung to one
aie und the bulwarks in thé terror of approaching

eath,

Though trembling in every limb, Lottie Chatteris con-
trotled herself, aud put what few valuabies they possessed
into & sihull bag, Which Bhe fastened to her belt. Qarrie
wrapped herself in her waterproof cioak, and they as-
cended the stairs together.

The disorder had passed by tus time, and the people
were very still, The awful peril they were ib seemed to
suli the frantic Cries of the women und the hoarser voices
of the men into subdued silence, and the ship’s officers
had not much trouble in doing their duiy.

They were ail at their posts, obedieut aud oulm, and but
for their set lips and white jaces might have beeu thought
to be without feeling or fear, Oue by one tie bouts were
lowered; bul, alas! the dashing waves and howling wind
only made it aluiost & Certainty that those who eseaped
the flames above would go siraight lo their death biow ag
sv0L us Lhe Waler Was reached.

tu blank horror the two giris saw their companions
struggling and sinking in the biack waters without hope
of rescue, ud Waited their turn wilh the svopy calmuess
ol despair.

It seemed all like sume “wiul uighimare—ihe burning
ship and the stormy sea, Wila hy hope of safely ear.
Burning flukes fell everywhere near them, aud the deck
began to grow hot beneath their feet. The end was com-
ing very soon now. The band of hapless human beings
who were clustered together at the side of the ship had
grown fewer and fewer as boat alter boat went over the
side, most of them, ains, to certain destruction,

Oue of the ship’s officers, Air. Clarke, who had done
noble duty all through the terrible time, came up to thea.

“Now, my dears,” he said, ‘come; every moment is
worth ua life now.??

He lifted Carrie and placed her in the boat with her
baby iu her urms—tuen Lottie, who pressed his hand in
both hers.

“Good-by,’? she said.
you will be saved.”?

He shook his head. ’

“No Ghance for me, Miss Chatteris,” he said.
ure more women yet,’?

Ourrie Was almost insensible through fear; but Lottie
seemed more than usually clear in her sight und hearing,
muybe With the prescience of coming death. She saw
Oiarke’s lips quiver as he stood back to Jet the boat go
down avd Herr Zedwitz come to the side fighting wildly
for a place, and pushing back women and children in his
eagerness to getinto the boat. Sie saw him indignantly
seized aud thrown down by one of the men, and then the
boat touched the water witha jerk, Only for » moment,
The next she was struck by ahuge wave, and capsized,
while her jiving freight went down struggling in the dark,
cold wuter,

Instinctively Lottie clutched Carrie, aud the clasp waa
returned with @ grip like that of death, Down, down
they went, every sense in Lottie, at least, preternaturally
clear, till it seemed us though they shouid penetrate the
fathomiess depths to their utmost extent. Then up again
as though some ubseen power impelled them skyward,
till for & few moments she saw the sky aud the glare of
the burning ship. Thenshe lost hersell, and beat the
water wilh her hands, shrieking in quick, breathless
gasps; but no help was near, and the two girls went down
again, While the blazing hull of the Polaris drifted away,
soon to xo out like a huge firework, and Jeave nothing
but charred iragments to tell of ihe catastrophe of the
bight,

The news of the disaster had vot reached Bugland when
Mrs. Dobbs paid her frightened visit to the rectory with
the astounding inteliigence that Holly Lodge was hauut-
ed. What she wanted Mr, Arden todo sie could hardly
have told herself; but she had some vague ideas of certain
ceremonies to be performed with ‘bell, book, and candle”?
by any one in holy orders, which would be efficacious in
luying the ghost. Mrs. Dobbs believed in ghosts, and
warnings, and omens, aud all the round of spiritual
phenomena, and really it seemed this time as thongh she
had something to found a story upon, in spite of lier hus-
band’s ridicule.

“Dobbs, he laughed at me,’? she said, When she had
stated the Cause, ‘and said you'd Jaugh, too, Mr. Arden ;
but I’m sure you’re too kind to do that, and it’s too geri-
ous &@ thing to Jangh at, I’m sure, and if the poor soul .is
uneasy in her mind, there’s no one but you can find it
out.”

“But, my dear inadume, Mrs. Latta is not dead—at
least, that we know of,’ the rector added, With a sigh,
So it couldn’t be a spirit.’!

“If she’s not dead, she’s dying,’ persisted Mrs, Dobbs;
“and what Was seen Was & warning,’

“But nay not some mistake have been madef Such
things are. Who ever saw this ghost, as you believe it to
be, as doubtiess been deceived by light, or shadow, or au
accidental Jikeness.’’

But Mrs. Dobbs shook her head.

“No,” she said, “there was no mistake;
Lafta’s spirit.’

' “Or herself, periaps,”’ said Mr. Arden, # sudden hope
rushing into his heart that it migut, indeed, be the Jost

“You are a brave nian. I hope

"There

it was Airs.

 

Mabel.

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

“Wo, it was nothing mortal,” Mrs. Dobbs replied, in an
awed tone, “I wouldn’t come here with idle tales, Mr.
Arden; but, indeed, | feel half out of my senses with
fright.”

giass.

“Now tell me all about it,’? he gaid, kindly, ‘‘Let me
fancy, when you come \o explain it, we shail find it more
&@ Gase for lie police than a ciergyman,"’

“Al, no police could quiet her,” Mrs. Dobbs said, oracn-
larly. “But iil tell you all aboutit. It was last Priday it
was seen firsi. Iwas in a dreadful muddle, for we've
been having the masons in to repair the back garden wall
—and there’s such a mess, I'd had the drawing-room
emptied, for the dust fllesinso. Well, you must know
Ive got the charwomiun working for ine as used to do so
for the Latias, She was had In tociean after the murder,
and she'd been telling us all about il, aud the state the
place was in, tillshe made me feel asif L couidn’t sit in
the front room any Jonger.’

*Ah, Mrs, Sugden has an untiring tongne,’’ the rector
sald. ‘Perhaps she predisposed you to ghosts, Mrs.
Dobbs. Such things are.’’

“Perhaps she did that night, sir—I won't say; but she
hasn't since, for she has not been there. Any way, Jute
in‘ the evening, just when she was ready to go, I sent her
in to shut the drawing-room shutters. The door slammed
to behind her, for the front door wags open as well asthe
window, and the minute afterward we heard a bang that
shook the whole house. We all rushed up, and there lay
Mrs. Sudgen in a faint on the floor. There was no one elise
there—nothing in the room, which was as light as day
with the moonlight. We'd hard work to bring her round,
for she was like a dead woman; and when slie did open
her eyes, all her crics was to get out of the house at ouce.

“. me go,’ she said; ‘let me go before I see it again.’
And then she cried ike a frantic woman and very nearly
went off again. Dobbs made tier take sb littie brandy and
sit still till she was quict enough to tell us what was the
matter, and when she did jt almost took our breath away.
Sue said when she wentin Mrs. Latta was standing in
the middie of the room, staring at her with a white face,
and big, glittering eyes, that seemed to draw her to her.
She beckoned, and Sugden tried 10 follow, but felidown in
afaint beiore she had gone two steps, That's her glory,
Mr. Arden.”

“| wouldn’t rely too mueh on her word,” the rector
said; kindly. ‘“Sugien is very ignorant, very excitable,
and very fond of sumething stronger than tea. Lay the
ghost to these qualities of Mrs. Sugden's, and depend upon
it you'll have.no more of it.”

{think istall, I haven’t told you my story yet; that
was the charwoman's. We could find nothing, but her
fright was hosham. She has thrown up her work, and
won't come near Holly Lodge any more. I know she
Gidu’t invent her story, for last night ] saw the ghost my-

”

Mr. Arden felt and looked incredulous, but he said noth-
ing, only begged Mrs, Dobbs to go on.

“J never saw the poor Jady herself,’ she said; ‘but
likenesses of her were common enough, and Dobbs bought
one. Hesaid her face was a pure type of some sort of
beanty—I forget what.”’

«She was judeed very Jovely,’? the rector said, witha

li.

*}t was about ten o’clock last night,’? the lady continued.
“7 went out through the drawing-room window imo the
garden. itis a small place; but one does get fresti air
there, I sat down a bil, not thinking of anything particu-
jar, when allofa sudden some one was standiug by my
gide. It was just about dark, but | conid make out a fig-
ure dressed aii in black, with hair failing over its shout
fers. It had big, glittering eyes, and her face—i could
swear to it-—but white as the face of a corpsel’’

Pid you speak to it?”?

“Met? exciatined Mrs. Dobbs, in horror. ‘Nol How I
got into the hionse | don’t know, The next thing Lre-
member was Dobbs catching hold of me in the passage
and asking me if 1 was mad. He said I cangit hint by the
hair and knocked him against the wall. Perhaps I did—Ii
don’t know.”

Mrs. Debbs seemed considerably relieyed now she had
| __~ tol her siory to some one, and slie langhed asthe rector
declared he was noi surprised at Mr. Dobbs’s dismay. He
could get nothing more definite out of the lady, but prom-
ised to call on Mrs. Sagden and see if he could fiud out
anything from her,

Bat the charwoman only corroborated what Mrs, Dobbs
had said. Nothing in the worid, she declared, should ever
tempt her to go back to Holly Lodge. Mrs. Latta was
dead, and she had seen her spirit. In vain Mr. Arden
Buggested that there might possibly be a mistake, Mrs,
Sugden was positive.

“It was her ghost,’ she sald; “her yery sell, dressed all
in black—long, trailing robes thatswept the door, saw
through her as she stood, but she was there, and she had
light piaying all through lier lair like flames, It looked
white in the moonlight,’’

And selling apart Mrs. Sugden’s genius for embellish-
Ment, the rector was fain to confess that Lhere was Bome-
thing in ler story that he could not understand.

(TO BK CONTINUED. |

Ph

DREAM-WOMAN.

By Wiikie Collins.

[“The Dream Woman” was commenced in No, 1. Back num-
bers can be obtained of any News Agent in the United States.)

i ed baetcabalm
P FOURTH NARRATIVE.

THR BTATEMENT OF JOSEPH RIGOBERT, ADDRESSED TO
THE BARRISTER WHO DEFENDED HIM.

RESPECTED SIK:—On the twenlty-seventh of February I
Was sent Ou business connected with the stables at Maison
Rouge tothe ctty of Metz. On the public promenade I met
a magnificent woman. Oomplexion, blonde; nationality,
Bogiilsh. We mutually admired each other; we fell into

The rector rang for wine, and persuaded her to take a

kuow exactly when and where you saw Mrs. Latta. 1}

 

THE

“
&

 

W YORK

WEEKLY

 

“You know him f’’ I repeated.

She laughed at me.

“What nonsense! How should lIknow him? Go and quiet the
wretch,”’

My looking-glass was near. One glance at it satisfied me that
ho womanin her senses could prefer the Engiishuian to me. I
soon veaed my selt-respect, I hastened to the Englishman’s bed
side.

The moment I appeared he pointed eagerly toward my room,
He overwhelmed me with a torrent of wordsin his own language.
I made out, trom his gestures and his looks, that he had in some
incomprehensibie Inanner discovered the presence of My guest;
arid, stranger still, Luat.he was scared by the idea of a person in
ry room,

eudeavored to compose him on the system which I have ak
ready mention: d—that 1s to say, I swore at him in my language.
The result pot proving satisfactory, I shouk my fist in bis face,
and le({t the bed-chamber.

Returning to my fair triend, I found her walking backward
and forward in a state of excitement wonderful to behold. Bhe
had not waited for me to fill her ginss—she had begun the gene-
rous Moselie in my absence, 1 prevailed on ber with difficulty to
place herself atthe table. Nothing would induce her to eat,

“My appetite is gone,’? she said. “Give me wine.”

The generous Moselle deserves its name—delicate on the palate
with prodigious ‘‘body.”’ The strengti: of this ting wine produced
no stupefying effect ou my remarkable guest. It appeared to
sirengihen and exhilarate het—nothing more. She always spoke
in the same low tone, and always, turn the conversaticn as I
might, brought it back with the samme dexterity to the subject of
the Englishman in the next roony, In any other woman this
persistency would have offended me. My lovely guest was irre-
sistible; I answered her questions with the docility of a child.
She possessed all the amusing eccentricity of her nation.

When Liold her of the accident which confined the English-
man to his bed, she sprang to her feet. An extraordinary smile
irradiated her countenance, She said:

“Show me the horse who broke his leg. +1 must and will see
the horse!”

I took her down tothe stables) She kissed the horse—on my
word of honor, she Kigsedi tne horse! Thatstruck me. I said:

“You do know the man, and he has wronged you in some
way Y”

No; she would not admit it even then,

f kiss ali beautiful animals,” she said. “Ilaven’t I kissed

With that charming explanation of her eonduct, she ran back
up the stairs, [only remained behind to lock the stable door
again. WhenlL rejoined her I made a startling discoyery, I
caught her comme oat of the Englishman’s room,

“i was just goitig down-stairs again to call you,” she said.
man i there is getting noisy onee more.”

The mad Englishman's voice assailed ourears again.

“Rigobert! Rigobert!”
He was a frightful object to look at when I saw him tis time.
His eyes were Staring wildly; the perspiration was pouriug ever
hisface. Ina panic of terror he clasped his hands; he puintet
up to Heaven. By every sign and gesture that x man cin make
he entreated me not to leave tum again. T really.couk) not help
smiling, Thelidea of my staying with him, wud deaying my fair
friend by herself in the next room |

I turned to the door, When the mad wretch saw me jeayia
him he burst out into a Screech of despair, so plirill tat I reared
it might awaken the’sleeping servants.

My presence of infind in emergencies is proverbial among those
who Know me. Ltore open the eupbea: d in whiclt he kept his
linen, seized a handful of his handkerchiefs; gagged him with
one of them, and secured his hands with the others. There was
now no dangét of his alarming the servants, After tying the
last knot I looked up. ’

The door between the Englishman’s room and mine was open.

My fair friend was: standing oir tlie tThreshold—watching him as

be Jay helpless on the bed, watching nte as Ttied the last knot

PRR ure you dying there?” Lasked. ‘‘Why did you open the
or?

She steppe up to me and whispered her answer In my ear,

with her eyes all the time upon the inan on the bed:

“{ heard him scream.”

“Weaj?* ‘

“I thought you had killed him,’’

Idrew back from her.iu horror, The suspicion of me which

her words iinplicd was sufficiently detestable in itself. But her

inanner whet she uttered the words was more revolting still.

Itso powerfully uffeeted me that I started back from tbat beau-

tiful creature as linight have recoiled iroma reptile crawling

over my flesh.

Before I nad recovered myself sufficiently toreply my nerves

were assailed by another shock. I suddenly heard my mustress’s

“The

 

 

 

 

 

conversation—she spoke French perfeculy, with the Eng-
lish accen!—I offered refreshment; my proposal was ac-
cepted. We had along and interesting interview; we
discovered tat we were made for euch other, So far,
who is to blame?

is it my fault that lam a handsome man—universaily
agreeable as such to the fair sex? 1s jt a criminal offense
to be accessible tu Lie amiable weakuess of Jove? Lask
again, who is to blame? Clearly, nature. Not the veau-
tiful lady—not my humble self.

“To regume. The most hard-hearted person living will
undersi#ud that two beings made for each otler could not
possibiy part without an appointment to meet again.

i made afrangements for the accommodation of the lady
th the Village near Maison Rouge. She consented to honor me
with her company at supper, in my apartmencat the stables, on
the night o! the twenty-ninth. The time fixed on was the time
when the other servants were accustomed to retire—cleven
o*c lock. 4

Among the grooms attached to the stables wasan Englishman,
lali ap witha broken leg. His name was Francis. His manners
were repulsive; he was ignorant of the Freneli language. In the
kit¢hen he went by the name of **The English Bear.”’ Strange to

, he wasa great favorite wilh my master and my mistress,
Zuey even humored certain superstitious terrors to which tiis
reptilsive person was subject—terrors into the nature of which J,
as anadvanged free-thinker, never thought it worth my while to
inquire. : 3 f

On the evening of the twenty-eighth the Englishman, being a
prey to the terrors which I have mentioned, requested that one
of his fellow-servants might sit up with him for that night only.
The wish that he expressed was backed by Mr. Fairbauk’s au-
thority. Having already incurred my master’s displeasure—in
what way a proper sense of my own dignity forbids me to relate
—1I volunteered to watch by the bedside of the Eugiish Bear. My
object was to satisfy Mr. Fairbank that I bore no malice, ou_ my
side, after what had occurred between us, The wretched Evg-
lignman passed a night of delirium. Notunderstanding his bar-
barous language, 1 could only gather from his gestures that he
was in deadly fear of some funcied apparition at his bedside,
Frow time to time, when this madman disturbed iny slunibers, I
quieted him by swearing at him,” This is the shortest and best
way of dealing with persons in his eondition.

On the moruibg of the twenty-ninth’ Mr. Fairbank Jeft uson a

Journey. ;
Uater in the
not done with,

 

 

 

to my, unspeakable disgust, Ifound that I had
giishingn yet. In Mr, Fairbank’s absence,
Mrs. Fairbank took. comprehensible interest in the question
of my vehiogs feNowW-servant’s repose at night. Again one or
other of us Was to watch by his bedside, and to report itif any-
thie happéned. ,
Expeei ng my fair friend to-supper, It was necessary to make
e that Phe other servants at the stables would be safe in their
beds that night. ~c Sordias|! y, 1 voluinteered once more to be the
man who k wateh, Mrs. Fairbank complimented me on my
humanity, mt: ges great command over my feelings. J ac-
cepted the compliment without a blush.
wiee alter wightfajl my mistress and the doctor—this last
wtayiog in the house in Mr, Fairbank’s absence—came to make
inguiriws, Once before the arrival of my fair friend, and onee
oy, On the second occasion—my apartment being next door to
the Englisn man’s—I was obliged io hide my charming guest in
the h: ss room. 16 conseDted, with angelic resignation, to
immolate her dignity to the servile necessities of my position. A
more amiable woman, so far, 1 never met with!
After the second visit I was left free. It was then close on muid-
z- < Up to tbat me there was nothing in the behavior ol the
mad Engi fi to Teward Mrs, Fairbank aud the do«tor for pre-
senting themselves at his bedside. He Jay half-awake, half-asleep,
with an odd, wondering kind of look in his face. My mistress at
parting warned me to be particularly watchful ot him toward
two in the morning. The ductor—in case anything happened—
leit me a large hand-bell to ring, whicli could easily be heard at
the house.

Restored to the society of my fair friend, I spread the supper-ta-
table. A pate, asausage, and afew bottles of generous Moselle wine
cemposed our simple meal, When persons adore cach other, the
{ntoxicating illusion of love transforms the simplest meal into a
Lanquet. With immeasurable capacities for enjoyment we sat
down to table. ; eat q

At the very moment when J placed my fascinating companion
in.a chair, the infamous En man in the next room took that
occasion of all others to become restless and noisy once more.
He struck with his stick on the floor; he cried out in a delirious
access of terror: ’

“Rigobvert! Rigobert!"

The sound of that lamentable voice suddenly arsailing our ears
terrified my fair iriend. She lost all her charming color in an
instant

“Gecd Heavens!” she exclaimed,
room ?

“a mad Englishman.”

7 glishman!”? am
»se yourself, my angel. Twill quiet him,”
unentable ore called out on me again:

vert! Rigobert! :
iy Oe

 

“Who is that in the next

A veyriend cangh
My fraefriend caught
‘Wheiwhe? Whatis name ?”?

Something in her face struck me as she put that question. A
apaam of jealousy shook me to the soul,

“You know him f? I said. ,

"Hig name ?”’ she vehemently repeated; “his name f’

nels; I answered, ©
‘ancis—rchut >” i ;
“ged my shoulders. . I could neither remember nor pro-

Ce 09 barbarous English surname. I could only tell her it

oq sR»? E é nat
he dropped back into the chair, Wasshe going to faint t No;
she st than

’ ae ; eee’, her Jost color. Her
eyes | superbly. —
dersian Sombeu uu general, I was puzzled by this

4

hat did % mean? Profoundly as I un-
woman.

voice calling to me from the stabie yard.

There was no time to think—there wus only lime toact. The
one thing needful was to keep Mrs. Fairbauk from ascending
the stairs and discoevering—net my judy guest only—but ithe
Englishinan also, gagged and bound oa his bed. Linstantly
hurried to the yard. As Tran down the stairs I heard the stabie
clock strike the quarter to two in the morning,

My mistress wus eager and agitated. Tne doctor (in attend-
ance on her) was smiling to hiniself like & man amased at his
own thoughts.

“Is Francis awake or agieep?”? Mra. Fairbank inquired.

“He has been-a little resticss, madame. But he is now quiet
again. It he is not disturbed” (T added these weorus to prevent
et trom ascending the stairs), “‘ne will soon fall off into a quiet
sleep.’

“Has nothing happened since I was here last!”

“Nothing, madame,”

The doctwuwr litted his eyebrows with acomical look of dis-
tress.

HOPE,
BY MARIE 8. LADD.

Away in the heart’s deep shadows,
There sings the Vivelong day,

A little bird, with a woad’rous voice,
A sweet and soothing lay.

It sings a korg of sunshine,
Tossing the boughs about,
That shaded with gi:om the merry heart
Ti its light had nigh gone out.
Though oft its voice is siren,
And ita notes contain no truth,
i care not, so long az inginging
It sings the songs of youth.

—_—_-——__-—___>@~<—__—__-_—-

Marlin Marduke;

Ty eed ees
GROWN GRAY IN GRIEF.
By Prof. W m, Henry Peck.

(“Manin Marduke” was commenced in No. 48. Back numbers
can beobtained from any News Agent in the United States. }

CHAPTER XV.
ZONA AND THE 8PY.

Zona’s darkand penetrating gaze was bent upon the
features of Paul Vuliree, as he mitered that sharp excja-
mation—an exclamation such a8a man would make if
deait a severe and sudden blow in the face.

As she marked the palpable change ju his ugly counte-
nance her face became pale and rigid also.

But the face of Paul Vultree was distorted with some
strong emotion, which made him shiver as if seized with
an ague.

The proud and lovely face of his. daughter was pie
from the conception of a suspicion, conceived in her
startied and horrified brain on tie instant.

She laid her hand upon her father’s shoulder, and fixiag
her eyes upon his, said:

“You have not suspected this? Yon have never sus-

ted that Garvin Marduke, old as he is, the father of
aptain Herod—you have neyer suspected that he loves
me, tat he has asked me to beeome hiis wife?”

Paul made no reply. Le felt, weak, faint, sick, Te gave
a gasp as if for breath, and could ouly stare at his daugh-
ter.

‘It fa true,’ resumed Zona.
me—loved me. before ] wedded, 1! wedded I was to his
son. Asked ine to be his wife. Now you know why Cap-
tain Herod’ has good reason to fear the angerof his yin-
dictive father, sbould it be true, as I fear it is, that Herod
has deceived me—for Garvin Marduke does not so inuch
as even snspect that lau) the wife of his son, by yalid or
by sham marriage.”

Paul felt very giddy, and it Was nearly a minute before
he replied: During that minute the eyes of his daunghter,
grown very bright and fierce wilhin a few momeuts, very
penetrating and suspicious, were studying every feature
of his villainous face. At Jength he said:

“How do you know, Zona, that Sir Garvin does not sus-
pect that you were secreUy married to his soul???

“If ie suspected it,’? replied Zona, ‘would he have
asked me again, and only yesterday, to become his wile?’
“Devils in the air!’ gasped Paul, setting his teeth to-
gether very hard, “this is very surprising to me, So lie
loves you?!’

“f have told you that several times, already,” said Zona,in a
chilling tone; “but as it is very litle trouble to repeat it, T again
say thet Garvin Marduke, old as heis, evil as he is, tierce ant
tempestuous as he is, loves the very ground that I tread upon,
and will bitterly avenge, even upou his own 60n, any injury that
may have been done me.”

“It matters Very little with him,” muttered Paul, nervously
wiping a cold sweat fron: his face, “whether he who angers him
Le a son or a Frenchman, a brother or a Tark.”

“Yet his desire to avenge would be jess bitter, less flerce than
mine,” remarked Zona, a3 her hand clasped the ivory hilt of the
dagger in her girdle.

“Then, it Captain Herod has really deceived you,” said Paul,
“von would be ready to stab him f”

““Ready and eager!’ replied Zona, with sharp emphasis and

“Garvin Marduke Jovyes

 

 

“Alasl alas! Mrs, Fairbank!” he said.
The duys of romance are over!”

bi is nov two o'clock yet,’? my mistress answered, 4 little irri-
tably.

The smeli of the stables was strong onthe morning air, She
put her handkerchief to her mose and ied the way vutol the
yard, by the north entrance—the entrance communicated with
the gardens atid the house. I was ordered to tollow her, along
with the doctor. Once out of the simeil of the scabies, she began
to question me again. Sie was unwiiling to believe that noth-
ing bad.occurred in her ubsence, Linyented the best answers I
could think of on the spur of the moment; and the doctor stoed
by, laughing: So the minutes passed till the clock struck two,
Upon that, Mrs. Fairbank announced her intention of personally
visiting toe Englishmanin his room. ‘To my great relief, the
doctor interfered tu stop her from doiug this.

“You Lave heard that Francis is just falling asleep,’ he said,
“If you enter his room you may disturb him. Jt is essential to
the success of my eXperiment that he should have a good night’s
rest, dnd that he should own it himself, before I teil him the
truth. I must reques , nedically, mudame, that you will not
disturb the man.’

My mistress was unwilling to yield. For the next five minutes
at Jeast, there was a warm dimaealbn between the two. In the
end, Mrs. Fairbank was obliged to give way—ior the time.

“In half-an-hour,” she said, ‘‘Francis will either be sound
asleep, Or awake again. In half-an-hour I shall come back.”

: Bhe took the doctor’s arm. They returned together to the
10u8e.

Left by myself, with half-an-hour before me, I resolved to take
the English woman back to the village—then, returning to the
stables, to remove the gag and the bindings from Francis, and to
let him) screech to his heart’s content. What would his alarming
the whole establisliinent matter to nie—after I had got rid of the
compromisiug presence of my guest ?

Returning to the yard, I heard a sound like the creaking of an
open door on its hiuges. The gate of the norih entrance I had
ust closed with my own hand. I went round tothe westentrauce
at the back ef tle stables. It opencd ona field, crossed by two
footpaths, in Mr. Fairbank’s grounds. The nearest footpath Jed
to the village. The other led to the high road and the river.
Arriving at the west entrance, lfound the door open—swinging
to and fro slowly in the fresh niorning breeze. had myself
locked and bolted that door after adinitting my fair friend at
eleven o'clock. A vague dread of sometiing wrong stole hsway
into my mind.‘ I hurried back to the stables.

flooked into my own room. It was empty. I went to the
harness-room., Notasign of the woman was there. I returned
to my room, and approached the door of the Englishman’s bed-
chamber. Wasit possible that she had remaimed there during
my abseneé? Anunaccouniable reluctance to open the door
made me hesitate; with my hand on the lock. Ilistened. There
was not a sound inside. Icalled softly. There was no answer.
I drew back a step, still hesitating. 1 noticed something dark
moving slowly. in the crevice between the bottom of the door and
the bourded floor, Snatching up tho candle from the table, I
held it low, and looked. The dark slowly-moving object gvas a
stream of blood!

The horrid sight roused me. I opened the door.

The Englishman lay on his bed—alone in the room. Ue was
stabbed in two places—in the throat and in the heart. ‘The weapon
was left in the second wound. lt wasa knife of English manu-
facture, with a handle ot buckhorn as good as new,

To suspect me of the murder js monstrous. IT may have my
little frailties—I am incapable of commiting a crime. Besides, 1
had no grudge against my tellow-servant. It was the woman
who had a grudge against him. It was the woman who murdered
him, while I was away speaking tomy mistress, Tue open door
at the west entrance speaks for sell, aud tells how she escaped
from the stables,

liustantly gave the alarm. Witnesses can speak to what fol-
lowed. Iswear to you, sir, this 4 true statement of all that hap-
peved on the morning of the first of March.

“Nothing has happened!

LAST LINES.
ADDED BY PERCY FAIRBANK.

Tried for the murder of Francis Raven, Joseph Rigobert was
found Not Guilty; the papers o: the assassinated mau presenting
ample evidence of the deadly animosity felt toward him by his
wile.

Ths investigations pursued on the morning when the crime
wa® committed showed that the murderess, after leaving the
stable, had taken the fvotpath which led to the river. The river
was dragged—withont result. It remuins doubtful to this day
whether she died by drowning or not, The one thing certain is—
that Alicia Warlock was never seen again.

So—beginningin mystery, ending in mystery—the Dream-
Woman passes from your view. Ghost; demon, or living huwan
ereature—say for yourselves which she 1s. Or, knowing what un-
fathonied wonders are around you, what uofathom wouders
are in you, let the wise words of the greatest of all poets be ex-
planation enough:

“We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”

THE BND.

> @—~<—

HISTORICAL ITEMS.

JENNY LIND was born in Stockholm, Sweden, Oc-
tober 2ist, 1821. She made her first appearance in England at
the Queen’s Theater, London, ou May 4th, 1847, as Alice, in “*Rob-
ert Le Diable.” In 1850 she visited this country,under the man-
agement of Mr. P. T, Barnum, and made her first appearance in
America, at Castie Garden, on the evening of September Lith,
1850. ‘The receipts of that concert are said to have amounted to
$17,864 05. Her second concert realized $14,203 03. Jenny Lind
received $1,000 per night and all expenses. Shs made her first
appearance in Boston, on September 27th of the same year at
the Tremont Temple, the gross receipts of theconcert amounting
to $19,000. On October 16th, se visited Philadelphia, the con-
cert realizing $12,000. She afterward gave concerts in New York,
Boston and Philadelphia, with unvarying success. In 1852 she
was married to Otto Goldsmicht, the pianist, in Boston, and in
May 29th of thatyear left for Europe,

Tux origin of the City of Venice dates from the
invasionof italy by Attila, i 452, whem mauy of the inhabitants
of Venetia and the other paris of Italy took refuge on the islands
of the Adriatic, and formed a coniederauon to oppose the bar-
barians. It is built upon seventy-two small islands, and is about
two miles long and about, one add a half miles wide, and is divid-
ed iito-two unequal parts by the Canalazzo, or grand canal. It
is also traversed by 146 smaller canals, which penetrate the city
in all directions, and are crossed by 360 bridges, but over the
grand canal there is only one—the Rialto.

WHEN the British evacuated New York city, No-
vember 25, 1783, the buildings did not extend beyond Murray
street. ip 1801 Broadway was ordered to be continued through
Thomas Ryndall’s laid near Eighth strect, to meet the Bowery,
and the hilis leveled and carted into Fresh Water Pond, which
was then the nerthern limit of Broadway, and much beyond the
settled parts of the city. Previous to this exteusion of Broadway,
the Bowery was the only entrance to the city, through groves of
cedar, to the Bull’s Head, now the Bowery Theater. The old
Potter’s field.is now the Washington parade ground.

Boron, one of the Seven Wise Men of Greece, was
born at Salamis, educated at Anthens, and like Thales studied
under the Egyptian priests. He was a celebrated law-giver of
the Athenians, and the friend of Lydia, to whom he made his
fuinous saying: “No man ean be called happy till he dies.” He
died, aged 80, 558 years before Christ.

Joun, fourth Earl of Dunmore, was the last British
Governor of Virginia, At nearly the close of his Governorship,
his youngest daughter was born in that colony, trom which she
was named the Lady Virginia Murray, Lady Virginia was sister
tothe Lady Augusta Murray, the first wife of the late Duke ot

 

Sussex. Tie date of Lady Virginia‘’s birth was about 1777.

 

 

flashing eyes. i

“Then you do not kve him,’ said Paul; ‘for if you loved him
you could not dream of raisiug your hand against iiim,”?

“IT would hate him ere I couldsirikehim. I wiil certainly hate
him it he has deceived me. But would you not seek to destroy
him also ?”

“Il For what? Oh, because ha had deceived yon——”

“Your daughter—your only cbiid, father. Would you not pur-
sue him tu the ends of the eurta to strike him dead ?? demanded
Zona.

“Certainly—of course 1 would, Why not f”

“And wpald it mot be justice should my vengeance strike all
who aided him in perpetrating so foul a deceit—so dastardly a
crime ?? ;

“Ahem! Well, yea. But this is all very absurd, Zona. There
Was no sham in the matter—all was fair——”’

“Pother,” interrupted the proud girl, “I am a mere nobody in
this worli——"”

“Come, are you not my daughter? A mere nobody, indeeil,”
growled Paul.

But there wag no sincerity in his growl. There was much that
was false and hollow, and the clear, dark eyes, which had begun
to suspect, read him to the very soul.

She smiled bitterly, and continued:

“No matter whose daughter lam, father, Iam but myself a
mere nobody among mere nobodies. Yet l have that pride in my
good name Which would become a queen or a maid of honor.
They call me bold, and no doubt I am—but as there is a Heaven
above me I have Dever strayed nor harbored an impure
thought,”?

The whirl, the wild dances, the hootings, the mad intoxication
of the demented mo was still going on before the ina, but
neither Zona nor Paul heeded the increasing confusion.

He bad sunk down upon astep, contracted his limbs, bent his
ugly lead upon his breast, and seemed to have shrunk juto half
of his usual size.

She stood above him with a firm, hauglity face, now indeed
noble in its expression of virtuous pride, aud as tlie play of the
flames of the many bonfires cast light and shade by turns upoy
her handsome features, it was strange that they might at times
in that weird and flickering glare have readily beea_mistakei
for those of the no less beauti‘ul, but far more gentle Eiena,

Just as she had finished the last words have quoted, a man
came running up, saying:

“Where is Gaptain Ifcrod? Where is the captain?”

‘What wish you ot him? asked Zona,

“On, we lave found afellow he wanted—the spy—we have
caught him.”

“Ab, you have caught him?” exclaimed Paul, with startling
emphasis and animation. “Lead tne to, him, and we will have
him hanged on the spot.’* '

“fpe reward is mine,’ said the man. “You will remember
that, Captaig Vultree. Teiaght the feliow hiding in the rear of
a neighboring house—badly wouned he is too—”

“No matter; no natier; you shall, certainly have the reward,”’
replied Paul Vultree, and as he wasa chief among the snus-
giers, as well as a man of riches, the fellow at once consented to
conduct him to the bpot where’Obel Ling wus in the hands.of his
eneinies,

“You must remain where you are, Zona," said Paul, in & voice
of great kindness:

“T will go out with you, sir,’ she said firmly. “If the man is
to be put to death he will no doubt speak the truth in his last
words, and T have @ question to ask him.’

Paul Vultree, who tad once been her tyrant, had long lost all
control over her will, and indeed bad learned, he knew nobhow
nor why, to fear her.

After uttering a growl or twohesaidin atone by no means
amiable:

“Well, I suppose if you say you will come, you will, 50 come
along, theagh this 1s no woman’s busiuess that we go to finish.’

| “My business is Woman’s business,” retorted Zona, sternly, as
ghe placed her hand upon her father’s right arin,

“Ob, very welli—but please take my jeft arm, and leavé my
rignt arm Tree,” said he, growing more and more sullen évery
instant. :

“I prefer totake your right arm, father,’? rephed Zona, in
that tirm toue wneh cannot be challenged withoat risk of stormy
altercation.

“Tr does not matter,’”’ muttered Paul Vultree, and yet so guard-
edly that though Zona heard the ‘sound of his voice, she ¢ould
not distinguish the words. “it does not matter, tor I can shoot
as well with my Jett hand as with my right.”

She did not understand what. te muttered, for his yoice
sounded jike a grow}, and vet like human speech, or rather like
the subdued whiue of some stealthy animal, for there was no
buss liote tu the squeaking voice of Paul Vultree. But she
undersiood, or at least, she suspected his ineaning, and resolved
to be exceedingly wary and vizilant.

Guided by the sailor who claimed the reward for the capture,
dead or alive, of the epy, Paul, wah his daughter upon higarim,
forced his way througa the mob, and beyond its outskirts, until
the guide had conducted him toan angle made by the junction
of two fences. ‘

“Here we are,” said the sailor, exultantly; “and here he is.”’

Zoua had held a firm grasp upon the arm of her father, a ner-
yous, Vigilant grasp, Wlose lorce warned him that she suspected
the bloody purpose he had formed. Her glance, too, had been
fixedly askance upon his face, though he feigned to keep his cyes
upon the ground, aod to have abandoned himself to her guid-

ance,

She raiseil her eyes as the sailor spoke, and then the three
halted iu the immediate presence of five or six men, who were
clustered arouod a man bound to astake in the angle formed by
the junction of the two fences.

Asingle glance at tiie face of the captain told’ her that Obel
Ling was in the hands of his enemies. His garments were much
besoiled, showing that he had crawied or been dragged through
mud, dust and stable-dirt; his face was besmeared with blood,
welling in great. drops from a wound in his high, narrow fore-
head; his arms were bound to his sides, and a@ stout cord passed
several times around his body, fastened him to the post, his
breast outward.

The men around him were ot the fiercest, and their scowls and
oaths proved that the miserable man need not hope for mercy
from any of them.

During the hot struggle between the coast guard and the
smugglers the spy had received a severe blow upon the head from
a cullass. The blow liad prostrated hun, yet he ‘had sueceeded
in crawling away, and for a time in concealing himself. The
vigorous search for his body, ordered by Cuptain Herod, had re-
sulted in his discovery.

He had given himself up for lost, and assumed the sullen
apathy of espalir, in expectation of instant death.

But as Zona and Paul halted near him, the sudden hush among
his enemies caused him to look up, and his sullen eyes Met those
of the anxious woman.

“Save me! save me!” he eried, leaning from the stake as far
as the cord would allow, and raising lis Voice to ascream, “Save
me, and I~”

He said no more, for at that instant a ghastly horror flashed
over his face, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, his head fell
forward upon his breast, his frame quivered and sank downy,
upheld only by the cord that bound him tothe stake, while at
the same moment the pistol of Paul Vultree cracked sharply af
Zona’s side,

“Dead or alive,” said Paul, with a shrill laugh. “Well, lie!
could not be both at the same time, and there hie is, dead.’!

The shot was unexpected, for Paul, who had been as watchful
ot his daughter as she had been of him, no sooner saw her eyes
fixed upon the spy than with a rapid movement he drew a pistol
from hig belt with hisleit hand, and cocking it as he drew it,
discharged its contents into the breast of the miserabl¢ mun,
aiming straight at the heart. ‘

“Ay, he is dead,” said one of the men, after a glance into the
face of the spy. “No doubt it is all right since Captain, Vultree
did the job, but I am_ thinking that Sir Garvift Marduke would
prefer that he should have been hanged.”

“Jt is at an end, Jads,’’ said another, ‘and now let us have some
sport around the bonfires.”

A shout answered these words and all moved away, leaving
Zona and Paul alone with the ghastly horror that was bound to

Paul shrugged his shoulders and moved away, saying:

“That is iny business, You had better go home before you see
more of the same kind of work.’

“Stay, Pao! Vultree,” she exclaimed, again grasping his arm.
“You have had a deep purpose in this, but let ft pass. Will you
aid me to rescue the commandant?’ ;

“You area lool!) Rescue the worstencmy Langfleay ever had!
Free my arm, girl, or I may strike you,”

He was wild with that excitement which often maddens men
when they have just shed blood, and Zona released his arm, say-
log in a bitter tone:

“Go, wicked, bad, bloody man!
my father.”

“Eh?!” cried Paul, suddenly contracting and shivering. “What
is that you say?’’

“I say I do not believe that you are mty father, or you would
aid melo keep my promise with Elena Rheinhand,” replied
Zona, sharply.

“Oh, is that all? You have no other reason to believe that you
ve? Fad daughter, have youf” asked Paul, apparently mucli
relieved,

“Yes, I have, and a very powerful one,”

“A very powerful one! wouki like to hear it,”

_ “I believe that you have aided Herod. Marduke to deceive me
intoa sham marriage—were you my father you could not have
done it, bad and base as you are and have always been.”

Paul stared at her for an instant, and then, witha fierce oath,
hurried away, directing his steps toward the inn,

Zona watebed hii until his ungainly form was lost in the ever-
shifting crowd, and then turned to guze upon the spy.

* Alas!” she sani, “he could have told me, He could have con-
firmed or destroyed my suspicions. Oh, anything wouki be better
than this torturing suspense.”

Her eyes were upon the limp and bowed form that hung upon
the stake, and as she Was about to turn awiy agrent groan of
pain nda from the livid lips of the man, aud he raised his head
wearliy,

“My Heaven!” exclaimed Zona, darting to hismde. “Iie isnot
ve ow ie may be able to speak to ime. Obel Ling,’ she
cried,

The man fixed his eyes upon hers and moved his lips. No sound
came from them, but she Knew he meant to say:

‘s ! Ob, save me!”

Ido not believe that you are

Save me
Zona knew that it was the custom of the men of Langfleay to
carry with them a metalic canteen of spirits Bhe thrust her
hand into the inner breast-pocket of the man and drew forth the
canteen she had expected to find.
_ The canteen was battered almost fiat in the center: one side of
it was pierced asif by a bullet, and »s Zona shook it io learn if
any liquid was in it, she heard the rattle of some hard and heavy
substance.

The truth flashed upen her, The bullet fired by Paul had struck
the metalic flask, flattened the sides toygetiier, penetrated one
side and lodged in the interior, The concussion, unmediaztely
over the heart of the spy, had for a time made him, to all up
pearance, a dead man.

Some spirits remained inthe canteen, and she contrived to pour
the liquid into the spy’s mouth. He swallowed it eagerly, straight-
ened his limp limbs and said:

“Save nie, Mistress Zona! Save me, and I will be your slave
for lite 1. Ourthem cords, and I ean steal away.”?

“First, answer me truly, Obdel Ling,” rephed: Zona, ‘was not
my, marriage to Captain Hero a sham?’

“We belicyes so, but. it was not a sham, | You .are legally his
wife. Oh, hurry or some ot them may come this way.”

Zona’s knite was already in her hand, but she Mude no haste
to use it upon the cords. Her jtace hud become yery pale, and
she repeated Livg’s words:

“He believes so. He believes that the marriage was a sham.
Then he intended that the marriage eheuld be a 64am???

“He did! he didl But haste, for sume of them ure looking this
wayl? urged the spy. i

Cold and impassive in the icy grasp of the herror that had
falien upon her heart as sic learned ef the deliberate treachery
of the man she had idolized, Zana glaneed toward the front of
the in, aud saw that several persens had begun to Move toward
the spy. oe

CHAPIER XY1.
ZONA LEARNS WHAT SHE FEARED.

“Oh, Heaven!” grouned the spy, i un agony of renewed ter-
ror, “Lum -tost! Touey are counig! They will see tiat Iam
alive and make sure Work chis time.”

But the persousne feared | advanced only a fei paces, and
them returned to be lost in the mad whirl oi, Imad dances around
the fires.

“They bave gone back!’ cried the spy, joyfully. “Oh, dear

lady, do cut these cords and Jet me eseape winie there may bea
chance for my lire.”
But Zona was in no haste to permit him to depart.. It was not
becuuse'sne feared the penalty Of the smugglers’ blooaly code—
which code deciared that whoever should be cunyicted ef having
abied one condemud to escape spouwld incur tue penalty from
which thé condemned had escaped.

She did not pause ‘because she feared Garvin Marduke or any
of his lawless followers, She knew that the sicrn, ficrce and fe-
recious chief would be her slave should she consent to eecept
his suit—and she remembered, too, even then, that she could not
accept his suit while Captain Herod lived, for if this wretch of a
spy spoke iruly she was the wife of Herod,

» Butshe knew, and as_the remembranceof the fact swept
through her heart like a gust of internal flame, that should she
go to this man, whose heart wask pent up volcano of passion,
this man who madly jloved her, and say:

“T have been deceived inte a sham marriage by aman whom I
Joved, and who swore tliat beloyed me. I um pot his wile, or if
Lam his wile he does not even suspect the truth. He has de-
ceived, he has betrayed me; he triumpis in his deceit, he exults
in his treachery... He scorns and tuunts ine, he Insults me, he
luughs at my misery. I no longer love thisinun. 1 hate him; I
wisn that he were I williove the man that slays him—I
will be the faithful and grateiul wie of that man.”

She knew should she goto Garyin Marduke gnd say this that
he would excinim i: @ tempest of rage, of fury, of the blind
madness of the love of gray-haired men:

“Snow me this man, and were he my own son I willsiay him
and claim that great reward,”

She kuew this very well, and therefore had no fear of that law
which doomed to a cruel death all who aided one condempved to
escape. Garvin Marduke’s will and daring werelaw in Lang-
fleay.

Sheheld her knife carelessly in her left hand, and with no
haste to uso it upon the cords, because Abe well Knew the treach-
erous nature ot this miserable man, who implored her in accents
of exquisite anguish to set him free—to give him a bare chance
for life,

“Obdel Ling,” she said, ii a cold, decided tone, “you are a base
and insincere man+a vile spirit—a hound that would iawn, re-
ceive, aud then snap at the hand that fed you.”

“Oh, Mistress Zona!” he interrupted, in a tone like that of a
whining beggar, ‘youre too hard upon a poor, helpless fellow.”’
“Silence, All that I can Jiope to Jearn of the eyil that was
done to me— ”
“No—that was intended to be done, Mistress Zona!” ejaculated
the spy. “No evilwas dore, I swear that you are the wite of
Captain Herod.”

“All that I ean hope toJearn of the evil that was done to me,
or intended to be done to me, I must learn from you while the
fear of death hangs over you.”

“an, Lsee that you areas hard as your father,” cried the spy,
becoming sulien ja his despair, “You do not intend that I shall
live.”’

“f do intend that you shall live, Obel Ling,’? se replied, and
in a firm, sincere tone that forced conviction of her truthfulness
upon him, “Ido intend. that you shall live, bue not uniess I
firmly believe that — are not trying to deceive mr,”’

“savemelt Ob, Meayeul There are a thousand chances that
Pani Vultree will return every imoment,’’ pleaded the terrified
spy. “Speak fast, and I will answer fast.”

*Past, no doub:, Ovel Ling,”
“Fast and truly, so help me Heaven!” cried the spy.

 

Oh, base and treacherous nan, could 1
but believe that you ever loved me, I might hope, I wouid strive
to regain that love. Kut now I know that you never loved me—
that you deliberately sought and planned my ruin—that you
calmly surveyed me and my faith in your truth as, your toys, to
be sp rted with and then to be forever scorned. Knowing all
this, alas! I cannot hope to gain your love.’
p A ae and painful laugh broke from her lips, and she con-
inued;

“Your love, Herod Marduket Your love, indeed! Oh, fool,
simpleton,that I have been, to magine that yon could: love any-
thing but yourself, and even that.barely. You are right, Elena
Rbeinhand; Herod Marduke does not love you—he fs incapable
of loving anything.”

_ She turned froin the spet and moved toward the inn, murmur-
ing:

“There was one question which I dit not ask. . Twish I had,
and it is whether this man who swears that lam his deoghier,
this Paul Vultree, also intended that I should be deceived.”

[To Bu CONTINUED. }

ROCKY MOUNTAIN SAM.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
MOTHER AND SON.

Big Horn strode out of the hut, aud the renegade fol-
lowed him with feeble, faltering steps, which apparebtly
had no more vigor than those of a little child.

The way was rugged and slony, and led into the very
heart of the foot-hills, which grew more precipitous and
difficult at every siep. The sun rode high In the heavens
befure they came to a litthe gien, in the center of which,
but almost hidden away by ihe trees surrounding it, was
a diminutive cabin.

Big Horn Knocked at the door and was presently admitted by
an old Indian woman, and was closely followed by Robert Scarlet,

The cabin consisted of but one room, bui. many evidences of
eomfort marked the rude furniture.

Crouched upon a heup of deer-skins in the farther corner was
an aged woman, She wascomiortably and decently clothed.
Her hair was very white, her features were wrinkled, but stall
showing vesiiges of what had once been comely and bright; but
her eyes were dull and soulless, and she rocked herselt painfully
to and iro, accompanying the movement by a crooning seit of
lullaby, sad and discordant to the ear.

The renegade stood fer a moment looking at her like one ina
nightmare dream, his fram: quivering violently, as: though
stricken by a sudden ague, i.: then tottered forward, and with
a low, broken moan, sank Upon his Knees at her feet, taking the
wither@d hands in is an:.pressing them to his trembling lips.

Ata sign fro:nthe hunter the. dld squaw withdrew, Big Horn
then also quitted the eabib, closed the door gently behind hin,
and then strode away.

He remamed,ja his. own solitary cabin during the entire day.
In the evening he came out, batiicd in the brook, shot some
game, which he cooked for his supper, and then retired to rest.

He was up again atearly dawn, wud had barely dressed himself
betore he heard the approach of Many men up the harrow glen,
and went out to meet a score or more of hunters, with Rocky
Mountain Sanr at their head.

“Well, pard,” said the latter, taking Big Horn by the hand,
“we've eoure lor Firefoot.””

“Yes; and we’ve brouglit a rope to hang him with,’ putin one

of the men, displaying, with considerable exultation, a coil of
rope at his saddle-bow; an exultation in‘which all of his com-
rades3 appeared to share,
“Big Horm il keep his word, mates,” said tae great hunter, fall-
inginto his o!d mode of speech, aud retainiug but little of the
comparative refinenrent and dignity that had ivested’his man-
ner on the previous day. “But you’ll have to Jeaye your brutes
here an’ foller me 01) foot.”
They pushed on, and at last, after a vast amount of cursing
having: been bestowed upon the wretched route, reached the
strange little cabin in thegien, The Indian woman was sitting
upon the ground outside, rceking herself to and fro anu wailing
in Jow, hersh tones,

Big Uorn spoke to her. Butshedid not’ answer him, so he
went in adyavee of the others, opened the door, and Jooked in.

He remained alone upon the threshold for afew seconds and
then turned and beckoned. As many as were able crowded up
to the narrow doorway and looked in,

Almost piuinful spectacle awaited them; a sight which, per-
haps, touched the hearts of even those wild, ru’e men, a moment
betore bent upon vengeance and blood.

Two forms were ing upon the floor locked in each other's
arms, and it meeded but a giance to see that they were lifeless;
the forms of mother and son. Had she recognized him before
the end? Had she gladdened his brcaking heart with one glance
toremind him of the mother’s look of old i—of the mother’s
loye and tenderness, for which he hud sought so long 2?” No one
would ever know; they had passed away In ruins two hapless
lives—one of them pure and unfortunate, the other blood-stained
and bad—but they were joined together at the bitter end, and
their bodies bore no mark of physical wound by bullet or knife.
“Well, mates, Pve kept my word, an’ thar’s your man,” said
Big Horn, turnmg toward the hunters with grim compiucency.
*Dowt you want him ?”

They turned away with troubled leks.
down upon the stonesand began to talkin Jow voices; two of

them pretended to have found bear-tracks at the back of the

house, and the fellow who curried the coil of rope entertained

himselt by firing pebbies at a hedgehog.

Lig Horn also took aseat outside,’ and asked Sam the news

from the Gaup.

“Byerything Jovely, pard,” was the reply. “fhe colonel and

lieutenant aré in Fort Benton now (went. by balloon you know),

the soldiers aYeon their way there, 2n' we're to foller. The

colonel says he’s goin? to bring down the station-chaplain, an’,
any else who'll come, téoabe old ranch, an’ have three or four

weddings on the same day. | What do you say ?”?

“In course, I ain’t got) ne objections, hor Mewanee_uuther, I

reckon,” said Big Horn, ‘‘Meantime, Jevs git to work an’ bury

Bob Scarlet an’ his poor old mother. Seemsto me they should

be p:anted in one grave.’®

So they buried the bodies of mother and son out there in the

desolate glen, Sam saying all the prayers he could remember

over the remains, and the hunters standing by with uncovered

heads, os

CUAPTER XXXY.

OONCLUSION,

A month has passed away. Peace has been formally made
with the Indians, whose Josses lave been so great thatAhere is
little danger of their resuming the offensive for years to come.
it is now the middle of June, and tue wild and picturesque re-
gion in the vicinity of Chapman’s Ranch and Silver City never
jooked so lovely before. It is a day of festivity at the ranch,. The
house and corrals are overfiowing with hunters and trappers In
their best attire. Here and there an officer's uniform glitters
conspicuously among the motley groups, and more than one
otticer has brought his wife down with him from tbe fort, thongh
they are mostly indoors at the present time, with the brides-to-
be, for a number of weddings are to constitute the principal fea-
ture of the testival,
The old colonel is bustling about, superintending the prepara-
tions of his men for the entertainment of the guests, aud looking
more rubicund and jovial than ever.
Lieutenant Dutton has just darted out of a grand canvas pa-
¥ijion, which has been erected on the margin of the river, to
speuk to him. Notwithstanding .he praise he has merited and
received during those dark days of batue, he has adhered to his
early-expressed determiuation to resign his commission in the
army, and is now dressed in a civilian’s suit; but he is looking
indeseribably happy, in spite of his paleness, and darts back to

Some of them sat

 

She was so coid, so deliberate, so collected that his heart sank
in his’bosoin lest she really desired his death.

The spy was wrong. Zona wae scarcely thinking of-him, ex-
cept iaas far as he had been the agentor Captain Herod, Think-
ing ot him, of course she was, and watching him, too, watching
hw with an agony of vigilance, for she louged to be forced to
believe that he was speaking falsely in one thing—and that one
thing was in that he had said Capiain Herod intended to deceive
her,

“You dssert.that the marriage was not a sham f’

“So help me allthe angels in Heayen! almost yelled the terri-
fied prisoner, as he saw that the mob begun to draw nearer and
nearer in the mad dances, “it was @ solid, legal, genuine mar-
riage.”?

“You assert that Captain Herod intended that it should not be
a valid marriage ?” :

“To that I will swear.’’

“He deiiverately planned to deceive, me ft?

“He did—but see! the crowd is each moment swinging nearer
and nearer.”

“Never mind the mob,” said Zona, coldly.
to my peace of mind.”

Obel Ling made no reply, but set his teeth hard, and smothered
his rage with muttered inmsprecations, upen her head.

She wenton as calmly as if that madassemblage had been fifty
miles away.

“Were you not the pretended priestawho figured to make me
the wife of Captain Herod ?”

“Phere was nb pretended priest.’? :

“Do you deny that you were the man who pronounced Herod
Marduke and Zona Vultree man and wile f”

“7 do not. 1 was that map.’

“{nfamous wretch P? exclaimed Zona.
to be a clergyman f? :

“Yes,” replied the spy, boldly. “The ceremony was according
to the rites of the church, and I have been regularly ordamed.
[have never been cast irom tne church, though doubtless j
would haye been long ago had I been suspected to be what I
am.’

‘Aud what are you ? demanded Zona.

“4 gpy iu the service of King James, and also in the service
of William, Prince of Orange,’? replied Obel Ling. “I wasouce a
clergyman of the church ot England. J am stul, though douwbt-
less that chureh, too, would have long since withdrawn my right
to officiate as her officer were all kuown. But in both sects I
have managed to retain my authority as a clergyman,”

Zona knew very well that igathatepoch of political and reli-
gious chicanery unprincipled men g:rved both parties as best
served their interests. She readily comprehended how a cun-
uing, sabtie and totally “conscienceless villain like Obel Ling
might have deceived both of the rival churches of the realm, and
as it suited him played his part as a priest of Rome, a clergyman
ot Episcopacy, a parson of the Puritan faction, 0 sinuggier of
Langfleay, a soldier, a sailor, @ civilian, or any character most
to his purposes. j

“You asked to be married according to the rites of the Catholic
chureli,” said Obel Ling. “My right to officiate as a priest, no
matter how I obtained the righbht, I have it gill, and will have it,
if Lescape, until the Church of Rome detects tat Inm what 1
am—my right to officiate Iused, and you are legally the wife of
Captain Herod.”

“But he does not know that you possessed that right ?”

“fum very sure he has begua to suspect it,” replied the spy,

“You were educated to be a priest 2”

“NotI,” replied tue spy. “was educated to be a gentleman.
You see how my education has betitted me,’ he added bitterly.
“IT spent my patrimony and learned how to prey upon others
from my experience in being preyed upon upon by others—that
igall, One religion is the same as another tome, If necessary
I would be a Jew, a Turk, or a Hindoo, What matters itin the
end? Lam of the lost.”

Phe wretched man spoke these words boldly, and his thim lips
curled with contempt. He was of the lost!

Zona had had no religious education, yet the native nobleness

and virtue of her soul was aghast at toe insolent atheism of this
mun who defiled the holy garb and calling of priest, ot clergy-
man, of every class of divines, as it best suited lis infamous pur-
buses.
“Haste, Mistress Zona,” he, cried, as she gazed in horror upon
the hidiousness of the soul he had revealed. “I alone can prove
that you are the wife ot Captain Herod. It is because I can prove
this that he is so eager to have me put to death.”

“You are a doubie traitor,’ replied Zona, coldly. “You admit
that you serve as a apy both Catholics and Protestants. You ad-
mit, you even boast, that you would as readily be a Pagan asa
Christian. Lf I free you what hope can I have that you will serve
ime. t” P
| “Gvound your hopeupon my desite to wreak vengeance upon
jHerud Marduk,’ replied the spy, fiercely, “‘and your hope will
be made reality.”

* “You will ewear to do this??? ;
“Swear by what? I believe in nothing,” said the ‘spy, with a

“What is your life

*And do you pretend

grimace of contempt, “‘all oaths are alike to me.”

“You reverence nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“There is noting sacred tn your eyes, in your heart—absolute-
ly nothing?” asked Zona,

“Nothing but hate. I will swear by that.”

Zona gut the cords that bound him, saying:

“I know I am doing the evil spirit service in setting you free,
but I dwitrat theprompting of one of his ministers, Ido it at
the prompting of hate, Get you gone while you aay. Ifyou
hate as I do we shall meet again ere long.” ;

The released spy cast himself upon the ground to straighten
and make flexible’ his Jong-imprisoned Jimbs, floundered bout
fora moment, then springing up, cast a hasty glance toward the

tnn and darted‘away into the nearest darkness, vanishing sud-

 

 

 

the stake,
“why did you kill Khim?” demanded Zona, fiercely, as she re-

 

 

coiled from her father, her frame trembling with passion.

denly like an infernal apiriugn he was.

‘He has escaped, at least for a time,” said Zona, in a gloomy
tone, “and I may never see him again. Yet, inasmuch as Herod
Marduke desired his destruction, | take delight in having set him

the pavilion as it his feet were winged.

Avox 33 being roasted out upon the prairie, and around the
roaring fire the hunters and trappers are making themselves
merry witli @ liberal allowance of spirits; and, moving among
them, is Big Horn, the redoubtable hunter of the period, who re-
{uses to touch adrop, to the unmitigated astonishment of all
who remember his Jove for the bottle of old.

Ife has hdd his beard trimmed, is dressed in a brand new suit
of bright yellow buckskin, with a dozen squirrel-tails anes
plume-like; from his picturesque cap, and is looking remarkably
well.

Rocky Mountain Sam has just stepped apart from a little group
tozteet his old “parug.”? Our hero never Jooked to better advan
tage than now, His trim and well-fitting hunting suit of dark
gréemdisplays his active, well-proportioned, supple form tn fits
iInost graceful points, while his frank, smiling face and laughing
blue eyes are exeelient indices of a gay and happy heart.

At the rear part.of the payislon a rude sort of an altar had
been ereeted, whiclr was draped by the American colors, and
other flags were tastetully hung upon the canvas wall just Be-
bind it.

Miss Mollie, who was attended by a single bridesmaid—the
nelég of) the coypnidndant at tue fort, a young lady of about her
own age—was silting a Jittle apart from the rest, and her band-
some hover was at, ber side, looking supremely happy.

The costames which liad been contrived for Fayaway and
Mewanee by the sympathizing ladies at the fort were very be-
coming, and, at the suine time, preserved the. picturesque char-
acteristics of thew native adress, in which, of course, beads,
finely-worked wampum, etc., formed prominent features, Big
Horn was now sitting at Mewanee’s side, and Rocky Mountain
Sam held Fayaway’s little hand in his, The latter had probably
made up her: mind to forego the presence of any members of
her much-yaunted blood-royal. At any rate there were no
aboriginal princes te be seen, and she seemed to be very well
contented, as every now and then she cast up ashy look at the
frank, honest eyes that. were gazing down on her.

But the expec. ant bride who was got up at the most gorgeous
disregard of expense was Miss Gertrude Yearning, Mollie’s
elderly but still comely aunt. She had certainly never looked
more handsome and queenly than upon the present occasion.

But who was to be the happy man, and why this mortifying
delay? The lady. looked trouvled and trequently bit her pretty
lip, ag slic turmed first an impatient glance at the door of the
pavilion and then a look & the lady at her side, who was to
enact for her the part of bridesmaid.

The delay grew every moment more awkward, and seemed
particularly annoying to jolly Yeddy McGuire, who, with blush-
ing Norah Rafferty at his side, Was impatient for the ceremony
to begin, Sincere pity began to be excited for the untortunate
position in which Miss Yearning ‘was placed—for, in’ spite of her
faults and absurdities, she was @ general favorite; When the
colonel, who stood at the entraneesshading jis eyeswith his
hand as he gazed upward and away scene’ out heartily:

“Allright! here he comes!” » 5 55 .

ries Outside, there wasa general
movement to the door of the tent, and Miss Gertrude, with
beaming eyes, swept through the erowd, attended by her friend.

“Ah, how handsome he looksi”? she murmured, looking out;
“and how gladly the rough hunters greet him, dear fellow!”

The new arrival, Which had been waited for so impatiently,
was none other than that of Professor Max Airy, in his balloon.

It would be supererogatory to’our story, now s0 rapidly draw-
ing to a close, to reter back to the brief, strange and unlooked-for
wooing which lad transformed our eccentric old friend into a gay
aud festive bridegroom, or to cayil as to whether that wooing
had been wost upon his side or that of the lady.

Let it suffice that he was, indeed, the happy man. _A gratify-
ing transformation had taken place in his personai appearance
as well as in the state of his heart. The ridiculous peaked cap
and flowing white garments, which had once won for the bearer
the title of the White Hermit, had given place to a becoming and
respectable, if well-worn, dress suit ot black—probably the
hoarded relic of more civilized days, ere the illusion of having
crossed the i¢y barriers of the great Antarctic Ocean had arisen
to muddle and bedim his intellect. His hatchety face was wrinkled
with sinies ag he lightly stepped from the car of his air-ship, m
recognitioniof the Congratulations that rained upon him, and,
with a quick, springing step, adyanced to meet his bride, tv offer
excuses for his delay,

Whatever the latter may have been, they were deemed satis-
factory in the supreme happiness of haying him at last; and he
led Miss Gerirude back to her throne, and blandly awaited his
“turn? before the chaplain.

“You'll have to give up ballooning hereafter, old fellow!’ said
the colouel, good humoredly, ; }

“Yes, sir,” replied the professor, philosophically, yet with
something iike a sigh; “Gertrude and I wiil take a brief bridal
flignt iu the air-saip, amd after that I will content myself with her
charming society upon one ot her farms in Kentucky, and with
inundane matters in general.” ,

The five weddings came off, one after another, in rapid succes-
sion; and there was feusting and jollity for several days thereal-
ter at Chapman’s rarich. :

Of course, the after lives of all the couples were happy—as is
usually the case ia the sumniing up of novels—but with them wo
nave little todo. Suffice it to say that, shortly thereafier, the
Booglebooby, the terrible Wind-Specter of the, Blackfeet, was
seen 110 more iff Mohtaha; and that Is
[THE END.)

Cheers were héard on the prairies?

9d

Mammoth Monthly: Reader.

The MAMMOTH MONTHLY READER for November (No. 9)
is how ready. It coutains 56 large columns Of choice
reading’ matter. Terms: 60 cents per year; single copy,

 

8 cents.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

OUR CHARLIE.

7" BY THEO. D. C. MILLER, M.D.
The beautiful angels one morning in fall
Did bring to our cottage a sweet baby small,
And laid it so lovingly down by our side,
We thought it forever with as would abide.
We watched it so carefully, day after day,
And longed for the hour when our cherub could play,
And charm us with prattle—that dear baby-talk—
Or creep o’er the carpet, and then learn to walk.
We thought it so cunning, with such little feet,
And hands very tiny—no baby could beat!
As gently we gazed on our Charlie at rest,
The heart softly murmured: Our baby’s the best!

Those bright little eyes and the soft silken hair,
Made sweet baby Charlie to us very fair;

And proudly we thought of the pleasures in store—
»For baby would brighten our joys evermore!

No mortal so happy as we with our boy—

Our cup seemed o’erflowing with parent’s fond joy.
The first one bright angels had lent us to love,

And spared but a season from mansions above.
How pleasant it seemed to see Charlie around!
How euger we listened to each baby-sound!

And sleeping or waking, our heart would repeat:

A dear little cherub—no baby can beat!

But just as our hearts were all eager with joy

To clasp in affection our own precious boy,

An angel came down from that bright world above
In search of a sunbeani that strayed from its lovel
He entered our cottage at dawn of the day,

As gently as cometh the sau’s purest ray,

And took little Charlie with tenderest care

To be a bright star in the home of the fair.

©ur baby had left us—alas! all was o’er!

Our bliss all departed with one gone before!

But looking above, we could tearfully say:

Our Charlie is happy while far, far away!

Our baby has left us—gone, gone from our arms!
We've laid in the church-yard his perishing charms!
While over the casket we silently weep,

Our Charlie is happy in Death’s quiet sleep!

We've felt all the joy of a fond parent’s heart,

We've felt all their grief when with lov'd ones they part!
We've had in our circle a little one fair—

We longed for him ever—to nourish with care.

But we could not keep him, for angels came ’round,
And in our bright cottage a treasure they found;
Now in that pure world where the myriads rest,

Our baby is happy—dear Charlie is blestt

THE BALLET GIRL.

BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY.

The superb theater of Suu Carlo, at Naples, was built
by the architect Foutana, for Cuaries Hil. the Spanish
Bourbon wio founded the kingdom of the two Sicilies.
Fouiauua received the kiug on the opening uight, aud his
miajesiy expressed himseif delighted with tue royal box
and tue splendor of the house generally. But he said,
| sinee the theater Was So near to the palace, nearly touch-
| dog.it, he was sorry that the architect had not thought of
» connecting the two buildings by a passage-way, so that
he could attend the opera without the trouble of riding
to and froin his carriage. This was the only criticism
which he iad to make upon the plan, and Fontana ad-
mitted its justice. When the curtain fell that night upon
a long opera and baliet, the architect again presented
himself atthe dvor of the royul box, and bowiug low to
lhe king, Said:

“Sire, your majesty will not be obliged to get into your
carriage again. You cau returo to the palace without
enteriug [he street.”

Ald sv it was, tor the architect had collected a legion of
Workmien, and in the space of four or five hours, iad
pierved walis, erected a drawbridge, carpeted aud draped
ihe Way with splendid tapestry, and ius Completed a
magnificent connection between the paluce and the opera-
hoase, Delighted at this result the King exclaimed that it
Was & miracle, but it Was only Ue oid stury: Labor
omnia vincit.

Tue Sati Carlo, next to the La Seaia at Milan, is proba-
bly the largest opera-house ever Construcied. Its ele-
faut architectural effect, enibracing six tiers of boxes, its
Vast auditorium, decorated in gut and brilliantly iluoii-
hated iu all parts, the gay and diaplhanous costumes of
the dark-eyed and beauiiful women, the expressive ges-
ticulation aud volubuity of the audience between the acts,
the superb stage appointuients, ail serve to fora a picture
of dazziug beauty, hardly to be surpassed, if if can be
equailed, eveu in Paris, that gayest of European capiials.

We had been wilnessing the ever-popular opera of
Faust, at the San Carlo, one January eveulug, delighted
by the matner of its rendering, aud especially with the
fine music of Gounod, as performed by au orchestra of a
hundred pieces, wilh an abie chorus of as many more
upon the stage. According to the French and Italian cus-
tum, the opera Was Sandwiched, So to speak, by tile mtro-
duction of the ballet between the acts, and if is to this
part of the performance that we are indebted for intro-
ducing us te the Characters described in this verilable
story.

As is universally the case, the premier danseuse was
supported by ivur or five “seconds,” as they are called,
Selected from the corps de ballet as veing Lie best daucers
next to herself, Of the four who held this position at the
San Carlos that evening we had noted one especially who
Was Lie most gracelul aud the prettiest of the group, and
to whose care was entrusted a very difficult and trying
part of the performance. However, she had succeeded in
uccomplishing it to the great satisfacuion of the entiusi-
astic audience, and was just about to retire amid their
plaudits, When she seemed to trip, and in recovering her-
seif to strain or sprain her ankle, so as to nearly faint
upon the stage, and to require to be carrred from be-
fore the audience in the aris of the prompter, who came
at once to her relief,

As we passed out of the theater at the close of the per-
formance, arm and arm With a plethoric and somewhat
eccentric American friend, we found the way barred fora
moment by a sedan Chair, into which the good-natured
prompter was lifting the young girl who had injured her
foot on the stage. We stupped lor the purpose of seeing
the men lift the conveyauce and start off, when tle
prompter observing au apparent interest, turued toward
us and said:

“Itisto bad. She’s a good girl, too poor to lose a
Bingle night by being laid up, but it can’t be helped.’

‘Poor girl, can’t afford it, hey? What does the fellow
say??? asked my companion in his quick, jerky fashion.

“He says that the dauseuse we saw trip and hurt herself
is & poor girl aud cannot afford to lose her engagement,”
i replied.

“Well, well, she must be looked after.
you understand ?”?

“Yes, it’s very easy to say she must be looked after,
but who {s to du if, that’s the question ?"?

“Hey, hey, doit. Lil do it—ney, hey? Anything to say
Against that?’ asked my ecceutric companion, as (hough
he wisted some oue could dure tu dispute wilh him upon
the subject.

“Til get her name and address if you wish it.’?

“Wish it, wish it, of course | do—hey ?"!

The prompter, being consulted, gave us Amalia Gotte’s
address, and reiterating what he had already told us, said
he was extremely glad thatany oue should take an inter-
€st inthe girl, My companion took theaddress, put it in
his pockei-book, and as we walked to our hotel declared
that he would see about it on the morrow,

“I?jl see ubout it—yes, to-morrow—hey, hey ??

The relevance of my friend’s ejaculatory queries with
Which he so profusely interlarded his remarks, was not
always manilest, but then Fraik Barnard was a man
Weighing over two hundred pouuds, though uot more
than five feet seven inches iu bight, and his heart was us

int proportion as his corpulent body. He indulged in
‘Charities that would have’ impoverished most of his
friends, but his fortune waS ample, and himseif an old
bachelor of fifty-five, without any nearrelatives.

“Aialia Gotte, hey, héy? Pretty name that? said our
friend, taking out the card given us by Le prompter.

“Suits her to a charin,” 1 ae
“Hey, hey? Well, she is pretty, that’s a fact,’ and the
generous oid fellow took lis candle and weut off to bed.

On the following day We together sought the home of
the datiseuse, where we found her, with tier limb band:
aged and raised upouachair, but her fingers busy with
& piece of delicate embroidery, Au aged woman was en-
gaged about the humble quarters in domestic duty, who
we soon Jearned was her mother. Properly iutroducing
Ourselves, and using the goud-natured prorupier’s namie,
We were soot quife at home, and by degrees elicited from
Auuilia ter iileresting story. She liad been brought up
by her mother in this humble abode, with her cousin
Giovani, bute, alas! was un prison now!

“Prison, prisotimhey, hey? What is he in prison for,
hey??? asked my friend, all excitement in a moment,

And so it appeared that he had been fined by the court
for-assaulling a noted libertine, a tilled scoundrel, who
Was isuiting Aalia, afew months since, and in default
of payment had been sent to prison, from whence to effect
his release the ballet girl was working wight aud day te
earn afew scudi.

“Aud now, alas! said the poor gitl, “this accident will
throw me back, and poor Gioyant will lave to remain
rae ae . prison.”

ey, hey? No he won't. How much ish 1
hey ?”? asked Frank Barnard, exeltediy. .

“Porty scudi,” said Amalia, with asigh, “and I had
already got nearly thirty toward it,

“Forty—hey, hey? Will they release your cousin if the
forty scudi are paid?’ asked Frauk Barnard.

“Oli, yes. He was only imprisoned because he couldn't
pay the fine,’’ she answered, “and. it’s so much money.’?

“Young girl—Siguorina Amulia—your cousin shall be
With you in hulf-an-hour—hey, hey? Come,” said he to
me, “come along to te court-luuse. We'll buy some
justice—hey, hey ??

It appeared that Giovani and Amalia had been brought
wp Logetier from infancy by tle old lady we had met, and
that the boy was her only sister's child, that sister having
died ‘in his babyhood, The two children had grown up to
love euch Other, aud it was already agreed that at the
proper tiine they were to be married. Butt had found oc-
Cupation at the San Carlo theater, she as a danseuse, he
in the Mechanical department of the Slage business, The

Hey, hey, don’t

 

a happy, though poor and humble household, until Gio-
vant had got into his present difficulty by defending: his
cousin.

My companion counted out the gold and received the
proper papers of release in behalf of Amalia’s cousin, and
driving to the prison demanded his discharge. The order
of the court was all potent, and taking the handsonie
young fellow into our carriage we drove off to his home,
where he was soon embracing mother and daughter, and
expressing his gratitude to his American deliverer. Ama-
lian, though very happy, could mot but sigh at the misfor-
tune of her accident. :

“Hey, hey ?—misfortnane? Not a bit of it! How should
we have known about you unless you had sprained your
ankle, hey, hey ?’’

**Ah, Lat is true,” replied the bewitchingly pretty girl,
while just the smaliest little tear of joy wet her cheek.

“What can I say to thank you?” asked the handsome
young Italian. fat:
“Say ?? continued my friend; ‘‘say that you will give
any jellow who iusulis your cousiu a sound thrashing—
hey. hey?” :

“You may rely upon me for that, sir,’? was his manly
reply. .

Usignora,’? said my friend to the mother, “keep this
purse un‘il the wedding duy, and then buy Amalia some
of the proper things for her to wear—hey, hey! And as
to you, my pretty child,” he said, addressing the young
ballet girl, “remember that what you call misfortunes are
sometimes blessings in disguise. Hey, hey!”

Tae JosH BILLINGS SPICE-BOX.

PAPER PELLETS.

Mi doktrine iz, that i wou’t argy about things that no-
boddy kant prove.

Unless a woniai haz a large invoice ov good common
sense it iz a dangerous thing for her to be smarter Uian
her husband. é

Stik and hang, yung man; it iz allwuss the last six
juches in a race that wins the munny.

Thare tz nothing in this world more skarse just now
than a truly humble man. : F

1 find aumung mankind just aboat az menny sheep in
wWol’s clothing as ido woifs In sheep's Clothing.

The Lord iu Hiz kindness meeis everyboddy more than
haif way.

A mau Kant tell one lie and then stop, enny more than
he kan tap a barrell ov uu cider and draw just a spoon-
ful out and no more. : i

Thare never waz a& man yet soritch or exalted but
What the fluding a gold dollar on the sidewalk sent a thrill
ov delite ali Lurue hii. ¥

The boot blacking vizzness iz just this moment overdid
in Nu York city; for every 1,000 pair ov boots thare iz
1,500 boot-biacks, and this propurskun will ruin enny kind
oy bizzness, exvept the mishionary trade, aud it will even
make that uustiddy,

Sum men allwuss fite the best on the under side, and
yu will notiss oue thing, theze men are tie hardest Kind
to whip.

We never git tired ov talking ov ourselfs, out other folks
git dredphull tired ov listeulug. The more a man giis to
knew himself, the more he is ufrade to trust hirusell.

Weak persons are the wust ones we hav to deal with, it
takes Suln strength ov Kkarakier to be even a respektabie
fool.

We find full az mnehin the karakters ov our best friends
io reprove, az we do to brag on. Thare iz nothing se
helthy fur enuy boddy az good honest abuse.

Abuse iz sate, for if a man deserves it, it may do him
suin good, aud if he don’t desetve it, Lhure iz nothing so
good for him. ;

Az long az yu don’t want to borrow ennything, yu will
filud plenty ov folks who are auxions to lend you suin-
thing. ‘'he fust three notes i endorsed i lad lo pay, and i
hope it will be jist so with the next three,

Tuare iz nothing so irksuim aZ the Juy of those whom
we kau neither respect, nor esteem.

If # mau haint got strength oy Karakter enug to live
down lies, and slander, he better leave this world for sum
other.

1 hay been abused about az much az enny body, but the
Skandal that iz running thru the papers just now, thati
am worth 250 Luousand dollars, iz the wust abuse ov all.

Life 1z au expensiv jobenuy how. We all know what
it koststo liv, and we havto pay for being born, aud
buried besides.

ake all the pride, and vanity, and self luv, oat ov
jealousy, and whathav yu got left?

Phiivsuphy iz net acure for all, nor even enny evils,
but it duz take th¢ gaul out ov them mightily.

Kuriosity iz thé same in ali people; the vulgar stare
Willi their eyes aud mouths wide opén, but the refined peek
Liu a Grack.

Thare iz only one man kan staud ridikule without
winceing, and ve iz a loafer.

Jrespekt the heathen for the menny virtews I find
amung them,

Yung man, politeness iz a kard that yu kan allwuss pla
and nut make euny mistake. Jt will aliaost win ona
hornet or a mule.

I hay been digging down into things for more than 30
years, and the lower down i gu the meaner i ftiud tiem.

Animositys will offen die a natral deth, but euvy aud
vanity are perennial plauts,

Yu will oten bear ov folks confessing their big sins, but
seldaunt livar ov Uieir confessing their little ones,

The oue who iz abuy flattery in euny form iz abuv every-
thing here below,

The eazyest people to git along with, after ail, are thoze
who are allwuss finding fault. Pay no attention to them
aud that cooks their guose.

Whe a wontan hates ennything, or ennybedy, she duz
it with ali her genius,

linw allus been able to trace mi good or bad luck to
good pr bad management, dud i guess others kan if they
Will @nly hunt honest.

Tue world owes most ov its suekcesses to its failnres. If
evely oue waz sure to suckceed thare would be but few
experiments,

bg jealous are anxious to beleave what they doubt the
midst.

Wien a man beats us it shocks our vanity more than it
daz our inorality.

Oue ov the best things, and at the same time the most
diffikult Lo do, iz to be humble,

Meu seldum repent aZ long az they are prosperous. It

 

 

takes adversity to bring a person down on his Kneeze.

Tiare ig uothing ao rare aZ good judgement, bor noth-
ing Which most peuple think they hav got so mutch ov.

Good taste, like common sense, iZ a Datral gilt,

Thare iz nothing so delikate aZ reputushun. Yu kant
even defend it without injuring it.

The person who iz anxious to take a sekret to keep iz
the jast one who ouglit to be entrusted with it,

‘Thare iz noboddy makes euny more blunders than those
Wifo think they dou’t make euny.

The stropgest things about mankind iz their habits.
They will sakrafice their interests, aud every thing else for
them.

I am Satisfied that the vices and crimes prakticed bi thie
Christiaus are fully equal iu enormity to thuze tue heathen
are guilty ov.

A man may recover a iost, or badly injured reputashun,
but a woman Kan not effuce even # spot frum hers.

Fiddling On one sting iz funny az iong az il lasts, but
it dont last long, ;

, Writers whoze only aim iz to make us laff, are short
ved, ‘

A frisky old man iz sure to be a very thin package.

An old than desperately in luyiZ an objekt ov distress,
he iZ aZ ousartan aZ a lost dog.

Luv tnakes us Coimurit meuny follys, but they are gener-
ally iunosent ones,

1 hav Kuown men to pass thru life eazily by simply
bowing to every one they met.

Yu kant allwauss tell Bi the surface what's underneath,
the most placid pools often hay the muddyest buttoms,

A yung phool may outgro it, but au vld oue grows more

Mankind hav allwuss been looking into futurity, and
not enuy one ov them haz ever seen enuy thing set.

The very thing we ought to kuo the most abou: we kno
Lhe least ov, and that iz ourselfs,

Religion that dunt iukrease a man's huriiity iz a dondt-
ful investment.

True merit seidum fails to git its just reward. ;

Thare are a grate meuny things that reseaible it, ont
thure iz but very little genuine frieudsiip in this world,

Sum ov the excentricitys we meet with are amusing,
“ ure disgusting, hardly enuy are uatral, aud all are
Silly.

Hunting after kontentment iz like hunting after fleas,
When yu git whare they are yu findthey hiay just left,

Thoze persons who are afrade to trust eany boddy else,
OWe their Causiun probably to a@ thorough acquuiutauce
with themselfs,

_ A very deiikate dash ov impudence in a man’s karakter
IZ LY Worse tliah sO mutch romance.

Hope iz too often a cruel jade; but after all she iz one
OV the Lest [rieuds we hav.

It 1% the very uncertainty ov life, and all things in it,
that make it so attractive.

Goo natur iz uot ouly sKarse, but so skarse that it iz
sumtimes suspishus,

Thare iz less malice in sum men’s abuse than in their
pratzes.

We are willing to be fools ourselfs, but we kant bear to
hav others so.

The wize men ov the world hav allwuss been the au-
thors Ov the most foolish blunders made in their times.

All men carry their karakters in their faces, aud not a
few OV (hem their reputasiuns in tieir pockets,

If yu quarreil with a loafer yu elevate him just in pro-
porsliun az yu degrade yureself, :

Add excercise to tempranse, substrakt fret and worry
from the amount, divide the sum bi reazonable fun on the
half shell, and the renainder iz just what we are all look-
ing after. :

Oue ov the simplest ways i kno ov totry most men’s
faittt iZ to ask then to sdskribe to pay for fixing up the
meeting hous,

} have known wimmin to spend their whole time, and
every body else’s they could plutider in trieing to couvert
the heathen, and in the meantime the boys grew u
a aud vagrant, and the old man had to jinea klub
lous,

lt iz but a step from poverty to ritches, and but a step
bak agin, and menny a man takes them both.

lt iz the wize only who proffiit bi adversity.

The best proverbs ure thoze which hay the least words
and the most truth in them,

It iz Loo often the case Lhat old age iz venerable simply
bekause it iz oll—thare iz nothing truly venerable but
Whiut iz truly virlewous. .

three, without other living kindred, had together formed

Learning haz inkreased a good deal in the last 5 thou-

saud years, bul L don’t think wisdum haz euny.

It iz hurd work to be an old fellow and do the subjekt
justiss; if yuarevery cheerfull the world will cali yu
frisky, and if yu are too sedate they will call yu ill-na-
tured; perliaps the best way iz to die off in good seazon.

It ain’t best to quarrel with enuny man’s opinyuns, for
we Kant prove more than hat! ov our own.

Lam satisfied that thar are no more original thinkers;
we hav origiual styles, but the grate truths hav loug ago
been spoken.

Buty and luv are two hard things to define; i never read
a striking definishun ov either ov them.

Lhav seen liberal Christians whoze only virtew waz,
they didn't beleave in euny thing that waz unhandy to do,
and waz willing that others should beleave the same.

Perhaps the proudest time iu a man’s existence iz when
he fust rides in his own hoss and buggy—how he pities
the poor pedestrians,

Thoze people who are too proud to inquire the price ov
a thing when they buy it, are the fust ones to find fault
When they cum to pay for it,

Book learning iz weilenulf az faraz it goes, but it wont
Steer a man thru this world enuy more than studdying a
chart will learn him how to uavigate a steam bote,

Humor iz allwuss Kind, wit iz often illnatured.

It aint so well to kno so mutch az it iz to hay what little
yu do kno whittled down to a sharp pint,

A good reputashun iz like munny at interest, it iz all the
time inkreasing.

Buty and good natur are seldum found together.

Cirkumstansiss may alter cases, but they dont alter men.
A man alwuss reveals liz true Karacter, in due time, put
him whare yu will. ,

The aktual uecessarys ov life are not mutch harder to
git than the air we breathe, it iz the luxurys that make all
the toil and trubbie,

The way to run yure masheen eazy and avoid brakeage
and het journals, iz to take things az they cum and let
thei go when they want to.

COUSIN JENNIE'S STORY.

BY MARY B. COLBY.

*“@ousin Jennie, go with ns to the concert to-night,
please. We can‘t go alone, and we want to hear Madame
—- sing, So much," suid pretty Minnie Norton, a worid
of entreaty in ber voice,

“To-morrow night, girls, if all is well.
is Weduesday hight, my dears.”!

*“Olll I furgot. That stupid temperance association
meets to-night. But why can’t you miss it just for ouce??
pleaded Minuie, the least perceptible pout ou her rosy
lips.

““[ don’t see what you find in those coarse men and
women so very attractive, Gousin Jennie,” added Carrie.
“1 don’t believe anything short of a tornado or an earth.
quike would Keep her away, Min.”

Mrs. Minturn ivoked up, suing, from the little sock she
was knitting to the fair faces of her Lwin cousins, younger
thaw herself by ten years, and said:

“If you Knew how much I have to thank those ‘coarse
men and women’ for, as you call them, you would not
wouder that [ find their company attractive. Dear brott-
ers and sisters they are, aud always lave been to me, aud
as such 1 regard them.”

“Why, What have they doneso wonderful for you, Cousin
Jennie? Tell us some of your experience to compensate
for the concert we shall lose throngh you to-night,’ said
Currie, taking up the mate to the blue and white sock Mrs.
Minturn held, and seating herself at ter cousin’s feet, Min-
nie, being already perched on the wide window-sill, the
shadow not yet eutirely gone from her fair face.

Cousin Jeunie paused a moment, a shade of sadness
crossing her face, as if the history she was about to relate
Wag a@ painful one, and then said:

“Twill tell you, girls, what they have done for me, al-
though in telling you 1 shall have to speak of things which
i pray Heaven you may never experience. The story is a
sud one, but it may do you geod,

“I was twenty years old when I married Toward Min-
tarn, Lhad been engaged to him two years, and no girl
ever went (o the altar with more faith tu the man by her
side than I did, that beautiful June day ten years ago. My
young friends made a marriage bell of beautiful white
Howers and tung it in the door way, and the little church
Was a perfect bower of evergreens aud blossoms.

“Pather gave me this cottage for his gilt, and old Aunt
Maria furnished it throughout, aud here, after a week’s
trip, We seitied, quiet and happy.

“We had been married eighteen months when our Lily
was born. L need not tell you how proud we were of our
baby, for you Kuow bow young couples invariably act over
their first chilu, und we were tio exception to the general
rule. Lily had her father’s eyes and hair, and was a ‘win-
some, Donnie lassie,’ aud the first word that passed her
little ips was ‘papa.’

“L was rockiig her to sleep one night when I heard
lloward's step on the gravel walk, and in a moment he
was iu the ruom. 1 motioned to ium to be siient, and he
stole un tiptoe Lo my side and bent down to kiss the little
face on my aru. lu doing so his fice was close to mine,
aud Esmelied his breath. He had been drinking—drinuk-
ing liquor, too, and trying to Couceai it front me, for with
the scent of the brandy was alse tliat of cardanion seeds—
I have hated tiem ever since.

“ite went quieily down stairs, and IT sat there as ifin a
dream, It had never occarred to me that Howard could
drink, What! my noble, handsome husband a drunkard?
The very thought was terrible. What would the reality
be? T knew what ofien followed this first social glass (for
I was. sure it was his first), and L must try tosave him. I
laid Lily in ber ertb, Kueit down and prayed for Divine
help, and then went down to the parlor.

“} need not tell you what passed there. It was the old
story of meeting an old friend and driuking with him. He
prouised that it should be wis last glass, and be had never
broken a promise to me inv his life; aud yet I went to my
rest that night with a heavy heart and dark forebodings of
the future,

“It was not his last glass. Night after night he came
home with that sickeuing sceut of liquor about him,
soinelimes a little stupid, bat always clieerful and kind,

“One night he Game honie as he had never come before,
and when Lily ran upto him for her usual kiss, he pushed
her fvom him with such force that she fell, hitting her
head agaiust the table and bruising it severely. When I
remonstrated with him he only said:

‘¢sif you don’t want the brat hurt worse than that keep
her away from me.’

“He ate no supper, but went immediately to his room,
and when 1 weut up he was lying ou the bed ina heavy,
drunken sleep.

“No one but those who have experienced it, can know
what I suffered that night. It was ali clear to me now.
Liquor was changing my husband from a kind man and
affectionate father to a madman. I prayed God to save
him—by any meaus Hie would, but only to save him. He
heard iny prayer, aud answered it, but in a way I least
expected, ;

“Weeks passed in this terrible way. Sometimes he
would come home hear midnight and give me ten minutes
to get myself and the ‘brat’ (as he always called our child
When he was in that condition) out of Lue house, threaten-
ing ty kili us both if we stayed where he was any longer.
Mauy times | caught the buby in my arms, and wrapping
au large shawi rouud me, went at that late hour over the
long bridge and round the rocks to the lonely river-road
leading to my father’s house. Sometimes le would bring
turee or four of his Companions home with him, and I
would have to buiid a fire and prepare supper for them at
that late hour, aud mauy mes morning dawned belore
i closed my eyes it sleep.

“Father wanted me to leave him, but had I not taken
him for ‘better or worse’ till deat should part us, and
could I break that solemn vow? Then, too, my fatth in
God never wavered. I believed He would save my hus-
band, and He did.

“All this time his business was neglected, and we were
getting very poor. He took many articles of furniture and
sold them, and even my under-clothing was sold to pur-
Chase the fiery fluid hat was sending soul and ‘body to
destruction. Fina.iy | become so reduced that I had but
oue dress to Wear. ‘hen came the crisis,

“The uinth of dune, six years ago (it was the fourth
anniversary 0. our wecdiug day), he came home at mid-
night, crazy. saad rover believe that lie did that night's
deed In lig right mind. It had been my custom {9 sit up
till he came, but that night L had gone to bed early, leay-
1g tue door unlocked. Iimust have slept two houcs when
I was awakened by a heavy hand falling upon my
shoulder, and L heard my husband’s voice bidding me
dress aud leave the house in fifteen minutes, 1 dressed
inysel! quickly, aud then went to the baby’s crib to wrap
hier up and take her with ine, But he would pot let me
touch ter. When Ll relusecd to go without her he dragged:
me by force to the fruut door and pushed me out,
Whether I fainted or was stuuned by falling I do not
Know, but when Consciousness came I was in the house of
one of my heighbors, and the warm suushine was siream-
ing intothe room. 1 heard kind Mrs. Lee say to the
doctor; ‘How shall we tell her,’ aud the auswer was:
‘God help her.’

“lL lay there with my eyes closed, a terrible dread steal-
ing over me, Wiat had they to tell me? Was Howard
dead ? or had he set fire to the house in his drunken mad-
ness aud made us homeless? Ali! little did I dream what
it was.

‘I vegged Mrs. Lee to tell me, and to tell me the truth,
Whatever it was, She told ine, breaking it to me as gently
as she could; but, oh! it wasterribie, Lily, my baby, was
dead, aud her futher had killed her.

“There were, loug weeks of fever and delirium after-
ward, but one afternoon, when I was able to sit up, they
told me all. A policeman going by early in the morning,
and noticing the open door and no signs of life about the
house, had eutered, and going up stairs found my darling
upon the floor, her little throat cut from ear to ear and tie
curpet souked with her precious life-blood. Near her lay
her father, his hand still clutching the knife that had done
the awlul deed. He was immediately tuken in custody,
and had been there ever since.

“How I lofiged to go to him; but I wastoo weak. I had
prayed God to save him in His own way, but how terrible
was that way. Oould He not have saved him without the
sacrifice of that precious baby-life? Might He not have
given my husband to me clothed and in his right mind
without sending this affliction to me? Yet, through ail
this sorrow were His precious promises fullfilled.

“It was just at this time that that noble band of men
and women, the ‘Sons and Danghters of Temperance,’
came to our help. Efforts were put forth to prove that he
did the deed while affected with momentary insanity, nor
was it difficultto prove this. All who had known Howare
Minturn before he yielded to the tempter testified to his
good character both as a man and fatter, and oue day in
August the prison doors were opened and my husband

You know this

 

cume to me, nok the gay, thougalless man he was when

 

RLY.

I married him, but a subdued, tender, affectionate man,
Wilh a sprinkling of grav hairs in the brown, that were not
there when I saw him last.

“The night he was released he walked with me to the
cemetery, and over vur darling’s grave he took a solemn
oath never to touch a drop of liquor.

“You asked me, Currie, what the temperance people
have done for me, I was hungry, and they fed me; | was
naked, and they clothed me; we were poor, and they min-
istered unto us. Through all that dreadful sickuess that
attacked Howard after he stopped driuking, they were
With him day and uight. They started tim in his basi-
ness, kept him from temptation as far as possible, and
Strengthened him with their prayers. Then they threw
around him the bands of their simple yet beautiful frater-
hity, giving him the hand of brotterly love, and welcom-
ing him to a place among them. Ail that we are to day
we owe, through God, to the ‘Sons of Temperance,’ those
a menu aud women’ as you have called them, Car-

e.

“Let's join them when we get home, Currie,’ said Min-
nie, Wiping ihe tears from her cheeks.

But Currie, her head in Cousin Jeunie’s lap, was weep-
ing so she Could not auswer.

THE FATAL RIDE.

BY ESTHER SERLE KENNETH.

Sit ve down, sit ye down, good teddy! And so ye’re
come for the story | promised ye? Just tet me think it
over While I husk a bit, an’ Pil hev it reddy for ye.

Well, ye see when I was a gall my name was Semantha
Brown. 1 wasn’t one of your over perticeller galis, an’ I
merried airly. Jim Hawkins was my fust husband. He
died, an’ | merried Luke Suet’. Then, atter Luke I
tmerried my fust husband Jim Hawkins’ brother Peter.
I’ve been merried three times, an’ lui seventy-four years
old now. But the story was all about when I was a gall.

There nsed to be a family here in Farmvilie named
Tucker. Very respectable people they was calied—rich
folks—owned half the land in this place, Their childen
were brought up keerful—the galls allus dressed up and
the boys sent lo eollege. But none of em lived to grow
up but Gracie. Mary Tucker, she died of fever when she
Was lOurtecn, au’ the Lwo buys were drowned by the up-
seltin’ of a bout,

Well, Gracie, she was a natnral beanty. Wer cheeks
was like red roses, and she had biue eyes and yeller curly
hair. Until she was tweuty years old there never was a
thing that gall wanted that she didn't hav. 1 know, ’cos
Iwas in the faniy one summer, and Know jest how
things went. Yet they didwt spuil Gracie Tucker. She
Was 2 Sweet tempered gall, civil-spokeu to every body,
aud kind to them as wasn’t us weil off as she. There is
(hem galls as is borne natarally a lady, au’ Gracie she was
oue of ‘em. Lord kKnuws I've allers veen poor enough,
but I don’t "member as ever Tenvied that gall her good
fortin’, She wasn’t one of them that make ye feel mad
that she’s above ye.

Well, twas thai summer thet Gracie was eighteen, an’
engaged to be married to Charlie Westgate, one of our
best young men, that two gentie:neu came from Boston,
avisiling her father. Oue was Major Crotty, and totter
young Dr. Morgan. Major Crotty was a great, pompous,
red-faced man, au’ awiul rich, they said. Tother was a
slim kind of a feller, pate, aud fond of his book. He'd
just come from college, they said.

Well, Miss Tucker—she had got me over to Hillside, as
they Called their place, to do some spinnin’, but when this
Company come, she begged me to stay an’ help about
house alittle. That's the way 1 come to kuow the whole
story.

Charlie Westgate had just gone into business in Boston.
Nothin’ was said of his-being engaged to Gracie, and Ma-
jor Crotty, he fellin love with her. He was allus tryin’ to
court her, but she huted the sight of his great, red face.
I knew it just so well as ifste’d told me.

Now oid Captain Tucker—he was au awful passionate
man. He had follered the sea a good many years, an’ tue
story Was that he had been dretful hard on the men as
suuled with him. Not that he meaut tobe cruel, | dare
Say, but he was terrible quick-tempered, au’ il was along
0’ this that the trouble cone.

There was a long, steep lull divided old Cap'n Tucker's
land from another man’s, and just below this hill grew
seme prime checkerberries. I was gatherin’ ’em one day
—Wiey're good to nse in sicknuess—wihen the old cap’n aud
the young doctor came walkin’ along a-top. All to ouce
I noticed that they seemed to be having some words. I
listened, It seemed to be about an old debt tial the young
idan Said the other had owed his father. I couldn't see
Yeu, cause I was crouched down under the bushes, bub l
could hear ’em, All at ouce the old cap’u shouis out:
“Yowre a cursed young liar! an’? gives him a blow,
f s‘pese, for in a second the other comes topplit’?
over Lhe edge of the hiil, an’ crashed down among the
rocks and blueberry bushes. Tuere le lay, never stirrin’,
and then I kKuew he was dead. Just as | thought of that
{ heard the cap’n a ruuning, abd pretty svou his sleps
died away.

Then all was still, awful still, if seemed to me. I conldn't
just see the dead man, thougi 1 Kuew preity near where
he fell, au? I didn’t dare to stir.

Ail at once | heard sume one comin’ right by where T
Was, and in aminuwie | see that twas Major Crotty, He
went aud exatuitied the body, 1 suppose, for after a few
minutes Tsaw him stand lovkia’ duwn to the ground, as
if there was noth’ to be dune, He seemed studyin’ what
’7LWas best to do... | didn’t dare Come oul an’ sliuw myself
1 just Kept still an? held my breath.

By and by I sees the major take up the body of that
young man, lay it down in a guily below the tall, about
two leet deep, scrape some gravel into it with his feet, drop
a rotten log a-top, aud then go off; and no one Was near
there but | an’ suiue crows coming over the harvest fields.

After awhile I crawied away, just sick-lke. 1 was
young, an’ didn’t know what to do, an’ i didn’t dare tell
a soul, ye see, an’ that sperieice wore on me. I heard
that the young doctor had. been cailed home sudden, a I
knew that they thought ’iwas so. Why, all the time 1
thought IL could hear tis voice cryin’ out to me from under
that rotten log; all the time, day an? night, wiki an?
sleepin’. Miss Tucker—she said | looked sick. I couldu’t
bear to speak to anybody. ‘The whole place was awful to
me, but yet i felt as if I couldu‘t go away. It seemed
every day as. if the body would be found. I wanted that
it should be. I knew thatit ought to be, and the murderer
brought to justice, yet 1 couldn’t tell the story.

I noticed about this time that Major Crotty was a
plaguin’ Gracie a good deal. She looked worried-like, an’
one day she complained to her father, Ler father said
he’d tell the major that she was engaged. Well, he did,
you see, an’ that made matters wus lor her.

The cap’n had got sort of unsocial and surly-like—I
suppose it was with the secret he was Keepinu’—an’ he
spoke rather short to the majur about Gracie. I was a
layin’ the parlor fire, an’ [heard him. The two men was
in the library, an’ the door was open. The major gives a
laugh, aud spoke afew words—I didn’t hear what, but
the old Cup’a, le came and shut the door, an’ his face was
as White asa sheet. That was the time, I suppose, that
the major toid the cap’n that he knew his awful secret.

Weil, the upshot of the matter was that Gruacie’s father
ordered her to give up Westgate aud miarry the major.
She felt awfully, poor gal! Sne cried day and night. She
hated that old major, an’ she’d got her mind set on West-
gate. But old Cap'n Tucker, he ruled his house as long
us he lived, and though Mrs. Tucker didn’t like Major
Crotty any better than her darter did, she went right to
fixiw’ her up for the weddin’. >

Well, sure enough, Gracie Tucker married Major Crotty.
He had a place over at Kingston cailed Poplar Lawus—a
mighty nice place 1] ’specis it was!—and as it was dead
Winter, then, he’d got his sleigh an’ two horses to tuke his
wile over, right after the weddin’.

I was there, an’ I see. Gracie looked as ifshe werein a
fever. Her eyes were heavy, yet they was awful bright,
aud her clieeks Were too red to be natural. Since she'd
veen obliged to give up Charley Westgate she hadn't had
any color at all, I knew that she hadu’t slep? any ail
night, and she weren’t no betier than sick. Butshe looked
beaulifal in her white gownd, though she didn’s seem to
mind the minister’s words uo more’n a straw!

Well. ‘twis all over, at last, an’ she was safe married,
sure ehough. I wentup iu ver chamber with ter to get
dressec for tae ride. Her mother, Mrs. Tucker, she just
stood an’ cried allthe time I was bunudlin’ up Gracie in
cloaks 1nd s.awls. Well,ima minute more she was gone,
an’ the house seemed saust us if somethiv’ awsul had hap-
pened in it.

Now I s'pose you think Gracie got reconciled, as wometi
usually do when they’re married aw’ uo help for it, but
the haud of the Lord was fur thal innocent gal. It seems
that the night of her marriage was the coldest of the
Whole year, She crept duwn in the buffalo roves, never
sSpeakin’ to her husband, an’ he never speakin’ to her,
while they drove miles aud miles, By and by Gracie found
out that the major Wasu’t driving, that the horses was a
going as they liked, an’ she spoke to him, an’ he didn’t
inake ho auswer, Jus' then the horses they drawed up to
hum, an’ there was Major Crotty a sittin’ by his bride,
frozen stiff, an’ stun deaadl

Wei, Gracie come back to her own home the next day,
an’? when Charlie Westgate came atearin’? hun—havin’
just got her farewell letter—she up an’ married him, Her
father was willin’? enough, as loug as Major Crotty’s dyiu?
had saved his secret,

Well, L was married that winter, and went up country,
am’ 1 never come buck to Fatmyiile tor fourteen years, au?
then the old capn’ an’ his wife was dead, au’ Gracie livin’
in forrun parts. 1 don’t Know whatever become of the
body 0’ that dead nlan—it never was discovered. Fur my
part I never told the story fur years and years—not till ail
the land had passed into other hands, an there was few
foiks livin’ that could remember QOap’n Tucker’s name.
But I think it’s a story worth tellin’, since every word of
it’s true.

To CORRESPONDENTS,

Sar GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS:
W. A. Murch.—The first newspaper printed in the United States
was issued in Boston, September 25, I by Benjamin Harris,
The colonial legislature declared that its publication was con-
trary to law, and it contained “reflections of a high nature,” and
strictly forbade “anything in print, without license first obtained
trom those appointed ne the government to grant the same.”
This killed the publication, only one copy of which is known to
be in existence. It is in the State paper office in London, and is
a gmall quarto of four pages, one of which is blank. In 1696 a

of the London Gazette was dares by Wiliiam Bradford,
this city, but it Was not intended as an American newspaper,

id there was no second issue. On the 24th of April, 1704, the

rst number of the Boston News Letter was issued. It was print-
ed sometimes on a sheet foolscap size, and oftener ona half-sheet,
with two columns on a page. It was published and edited by
John Campbell, the postmaster, and continued to be issued
weekly until 1776..... -....Constant Reader.—It is impossible to
straighten the crooked limbs of a grown person......£,—Yes.... J

 

|
Young Reader.—There is no law in this county pro
hibiting a man irom marrying a deceased wife's sisier, nor a
woman from marrying « deceased busband's brother. There is
such a law in Englaud, and many efforts have been made to have
it repealed, but thus far without success The mex » has been
defeated several times in the House of Lords, w i
notions against aby change in existing laws, howe
will alvays more or less prevail. No reasonable gi
jection can be interposed to such a union, either on
morality or deceney, as there is no degree of relulionshi
tween the parties..... W. J. Harvison.—Man is an a {
bread signification of the latter word, which inciudes al
ized lite endowed with sensation and the power of volunts
motion, He constitutes a distinct order in the aniinal kingdom, in
that he is a radionai being, and possesses asoul. The word animat
is generally used in a limned sense, to indicate the class known ag
mammaha, which breathe with lungs and suckle their young....
J. A.—We presume that in Eugland, asin this country, gas, whale
oil, Kerosene, and cuudles are all ased in lighting railway cars...
Geraldine.—Ist. There is but ohe course tor you to adopt, and that
is to make the best of your present position, and put all thougits
of the young man from your mind, You cannot receive or re-
turn bis affection, and only render yourself more miserable and
uuhapcy by your vain regrets. Remember, also, that your duty
to your taimily d mands such « course. 2d. We will send you an
accordeon for $2.50 to $22, and a buok of instruction tor 75 cents,
é nd six ceuts for a catalogue of patterus....... Silex.—In the
game of cassino, if a player builds one or more cards to a certain
denomination, and holds no card of asimilar denominaiion with
which to redeem or take the cards thus built up, be forteits the
gume. This covers the case mentioned, in which you prevented
your opponent from secttring the httle cassino and his opportu-
niuies for making game, if it was close......... P. J. C.-\ ¥
bothing of the stending of Cincinnati firms...... Quad, ite te
James Redpath, Broomfield street, Boston, Mass..... Per plexity.
Schuyler is pronounced ski-ler...Bantzey.—Do not use
Dore F.—The series Would no doubt be very entertainine
press of matter compels us to dechue scores of acceptabl!
every week........ B. J. Bel. —Bookkeeping should |
under the instruction of a competent téacher. We will
however, @ work entitled “Boukkeeping without a ¥
50 cents...... Harry Jones.—Iist. See reply tc “Rocky sn
Sam,” in No. 52. 2d. The salary varies. 3d. No license ik :
quired to publish a play bill or newspaper..,... Earnest.—We can
not vouch for the stateinents made by our advertisers... .Normass
Walters.—See reply to “Job,” in No. 50..., Vindex.—Institute pro-
ceedings for divorce and the custody of the child in the State in
which you reside, and atter obtaining the decree, you may bring
an action to secure the child in the State to which it may have
been taken. A writ of habeas corpus wiil compel its custodians
to produce it before the proper autiorities... Frank UcLaughlin.—
Seud them along soon... .Jnformation.—\st. T ‘ark Theater
was burued down on the eveuing of Dec The Mou-
plaiser ballet troupe were performing there ne, ane that
night bad been set apart lor a benefit to iad Mon plaster,
The fire broke out just betore the doors were to opensand was
caused by a file of playbills iguiting trom 3 jet pear the
prompter’s entrance to the stage. 2d. The Ast
piace on the evening of May 7, 1849. Twenty,
killed and thirty-six wounded...... Tom Cullins.-Svee No. 8...
Cc. A. S.—Your poem, though somewhat crade, suows tuck
ability. Some of the lines are really excellenz, sud, all tarough,
the effort gives prenuse of much future excellence. It will be
published in the Jlammoth Moiuthly Reader.........20042 Number of
Readers.—The concern is a fraud, aud the machinue is a myth...
Mountain Tom.—Goldsimith Maid is owned by Heury N. Susith....
J. G. M.—We have returned your MSS. You have some ability,
but your efforts are very crude, and you will peed long practice
before you can write acceptably. Weare not in want of MSS,
now, bowever. We have enough ou band to publish the New
YORK WEXKLY for five years to come....H. ¥.—We think not...
Ethel.—Ist. Read history, works of travel and standard works of
fiction. 2d. Wedo not pretend to be able Ww read a person's
cNaracter froin their handwriting...... Omoa.—The-most direct
route to Honduras is by way of the mail packet from New Or-
leans. Wedonot know whut the wip will cost...... C. H.—We
will send youa Norwegian Bibie for $2 40........ F. Wilcox...
Brownh’s Grammar isa standard work. We will furnish it tor
Whe. J. H.—We wili seud the songs named, wiih music, tor 33
cents each. They are not arranged in four parts........ J.B.
usiin.—ist. Of the pictures named we prefer the “Last Supper,”
$250, and “Evening. Prayer,” $150. 2d. Wecan send youa
horse-net, as descrived, for $4 to $6.. 3d. Khe best and cheapest
plan isto have the metal work nickei-plated...... Baltons.—We
can seid you a hundsome pair of gilt sieeve buttons lor $2 60 to
Sess E£vungeline.—A Very plain hand, but hardly jarge enough
tor legal documents. This objection way be easily overcome...
Sunny South.—There is no rule iv the game of croquet prohibiung
two players on one side from being rovers, Where you change
the game to suit yourselves, you should also make rules to mect
emergencies which Cannot arise in Che regular game..... .....-.
The following MSS. will appear in the Mammoth Monthly Reader:
“Catnip s.” “fhe Orphan’s Fortune,” “Wat is Lile.?........ Tne
following are respectiuily declined: “Curistinu Comiort,? “With
Night,” “La Belle Circe,” “Aunt Kate’s Story,” ‘Autumn,’
“Gitts or Talents,” “Littie Barefoot,” “The Sleeping Beauty.”

“Shadows,”
ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.

Lenora Larose.—A bridemaid’s duties consist in either
{ng or fulilowing the bride aud groum inte the church or
and in standing beside the former. If there is tim
blessing has been pronounced to bestow a Kiss upon
bride vetore the parents or nearest friends offer {
tions, you should do so. If not, wait afew momei

Floy.—You can write “Dear Mr. 2? Wwilhvlut nupropriety,
as the term “dear” is solely conventional, or you can addtess
the gentleman as “Mr. , Dear Sir,” putting the two last
wor s upon the uext lise. “My Dear Mr. ,»”? is & more sig-
nificant address, and confined ouly to dear friends.

dgnoramus.—ist, Wien invited to an entertainment, wrile
“Miss accents with pleasure, Mr. aud Mrs. ‘s polite
invitation for evenmy.”? Giving date, etc. 2d. In vefus-
ius, write: “Miss - regrets exccvedingly to decline Mr. aud
Mrs. ’skiud invitation for eveniig.” 3a. When in-
troduced a second time toa peso, suy: “Al! we are already
acquamted.” 4th. In introdtclious the lady’s name is always
mentioned first. 5ih. Several young ladies and gentlemen
should be introduced tu a lady or geutdeman thus: To the lady,
“Mis. . alow me to present Miss Brown, Miss Wiite, Mr.
Biack and Mr. Green.” To a gentleman menion the uanes of
the ladies fitst, and then presept the geuilemen. 6th. When
presented to your hostess at a purty make alow bow, and say
“Guod eveniug.”? Wueu retiriug, shake tauds and say “Good:
might; FT am indebted to you iova very pleasant evening.” Zi.
Ata dinner party, the lady asks her gellleman guests Lo escort
such aud such lad-es to the ditiug-room, usually betore diner
is announced. The gentleman oi tie house offers is arn lo the
lady whv is the greatest stranger, or to tue eae for whom the
dinner is given, and requesis tie gentleman whom be desires to
give the post of onor to take nis Wile te the table. The gensle-
inauvef the house goes tirst, his wife and the other guests follow.
ing him, 8th. The lady precedes her guests at the reception,
9th. When calling apon several iembers of the fauiily, aud
leaving a card, turn down the whole ot the ri hand edge. T
same if cailing upouw alady and her guest. Y ic @
demands you tu leave two cards mthe latte:
right hand corner. With. Tiere is no improprix
lady giving a geniieman friena her picture, «
she Can aiso request hisin return. 12th. It is stris
uccept the gitlot Sowers [rom a gentieman, Guat ex vo uut
of jewelry, etc., should ouly be received irom an atcepted lover.

Andrew W. Dedd.—The geuticman usually precedes the lady my
going up stairs or down,

Vara.—Iist. In atamily consisting of a mother and -daughter,
it would be perfectiy proper to ask a gentiennin, visiting them
with his wile, to take the fvot of the table at diner or supper;
but if the mother preferred to sit at the tuot and the daughter
ut the head, or vice ver'sa, it would be equally proper, 2d. Her-
bert, Clarence, Stanley, Walter or Cecii are all pretty names for
«a baby boy. 3d. The neaning of Mizpah is, “ihe Lord watch
between me and thee, while we are absent one frou: another.”

Kittie May.—In inviting a gentleman to catl, in_ order to pay
hun particular attention, it wouid be well to mention tue time,
Lone it merely a general invitation is given, no day or hour nee

e named,

Grace Viol E—From your statement of the case, the affair
seems very suspicious. It would be well to write to the young
gentleman and request an explanation, One would judge that
lus neglect was very pointed. ‘

Interested Readers,—ist. Ifa gentleman offers to take you out
to drive without appointing a time, and then forgets the prom- |
ise, he is decidedly rude. But we would not advise you to re-
mind him of it. 2d. We consider it very improper forgeither
young ladies or young gentieimen to flirt. If the gentlenfa com-
mences it, it nced not be taken as an insult, but itis wea to snub
him directly. 3

ITEMS OF INTEREST.

ag The Lincoln monument at Springfield, Iil.,
Was dedicated on the 15th of October with imposieg ceremouies.
The base is seventy-four feet on each side and twenty high, the
total hight to the top of the shait being one hundred aud twenty
feet. In the base are twochambers, one contaming the remaius of
Mr. Lincoin and his little sou *fad,” and tie other some miter-
esting relics of the great deceased. On a pedestal above tour
others sustaining statuary groups ts the staiue of the Martyr Pres-
ident, in the lert hand of the figure is a scroll, upon which is
written “Emancipatiou,” and in the right hand a pen. The en-
ure structure Cus: $250,000. The materia! is Quincy grauite.

aa The body of Lady Dilke, who died in London,
Was burned on the 10th of October at Dresden. The ce:emony
was periormed in the furnace recently invented for burial pur-
poses by Herr Siemens. Six minutes afier being placed in the
furnace, the coffin burst; tive minutes more and the flesh began
to melt away, ten minuies more and the skeleton was laid bare;
another ten minutes and the bones began to crumble, Seventy-
five minutes after the introduction of the coffin into the furnace
all that remained ot Lady Dilke and the cuftin were six pounds
ot dust, placed in an urn. The brother-in-law of the deceased
Was presunt. ;

ag A fatal accident occurred on October 18th to
the Baltimore express due at Cincinnati by the Marietta aud
U.uciunati Railroad, in consequence of a switch being mispliced
about forty teet trom Abanyou bridge. The cugineer, Dan Per-
dorn, and fireman, Joseph Parent, both ot Chillicothe, were
instantly killed. They might have saved themselyes by pamping,
as the train was not runuing over twelve miles per hour, vut
they died at their posts, and thereby saved the passengers, not
one of Whom Was hurt,

nay A disease called “false tongue” has been pre-
vailing on Tule River, California, The patient is taken with
itchimy on the under side, at the reot of the tongue, from Which
commences the growth of a fungus resembling a tongue, which
soon fills the mouth aud protrudes from it, causing suffocation
and death ina few days, unless reliel is ubtained by burning away
the fungus with caustic, In One instance the tougue is said to
have grown two inches in an hour,

a@- A strange sect, called the “Muckers,” has
caused much troubie in Brazil. They are mostly German imui-
grants, and believe that Christ bas reappeared iu a woman of
their company. Her tiusband, one Maurér, is their prophet. On
account of their turbulence, and the murder of ee weer
ceders from Lheir faith, the Government has set a £oTee of about
4,000 mien tu put them down.

aa" A man in England has beeii Sentenced to
three months’ inprisonment at hard labor for cruelty to a cat.
He was employed in a biiek-yard, aud was seeit tu pick up the
poor animal by the legs and throw it into the fire. The wretel:
offered to pay a fine, but the court insisted upon the punisliment
awarded him,

ka@- Two running oxen have been received in
Paris trom Geylon. They are of diminutive size, not larger than
a very small donkey, but they are of great utility in Oeylon. Tie
mail service is periormed by them, They are active, anu bear
great tatigue, aud Can travel a considerable distance at a regular,
rapid pace,

xa A farmer, named Kennedy, died recently at
Casticton, Ireland, at the extraordinary age of 105 years. He
attended the local murkets every Saturday up to a short lime
before his death. He never used tovaceo, snuff, or indulyed in
ee oe of any Kind, atid fetained his natural faculties to
e last.

nar A physician in Scotland récently performed a
surgicai Operation, and in due course sent in His bill, As payment
was not made, he sued his patient in the ceurts, where hie lost
the action on the ground that a physician not registered as a
surgeon cannot recover fees for surgical practice.

aa An insane man in Massachusetts; named
George Hall, burned his own barn lniely, along with fifteen tong
of hay belonging to a neighber. Atter the fire Hall quietly said
: set be barn on fire, but it made a bigger blaze than E sup
MW would,

sar John Leach, a mechanic of Leeds, Eng., has
been committed for trial for on to cut his wife’s throat.
When apprehended, he said: “If l could only have one blow at
her I'd die for her.” *
‘ga Paris, with a debt that would be lgtee forany
small Power to owe, is about oe forty millions of dyilass more

or

(is jet peat
Pine riet |
persons ¥
e 73

ered-

 

to carry out some of its projected improvement