f
“te Ga
Tet
Siok ; 4
Sa >

ie

 

 

  

 

   
    
  
 
   

 
 

 

 

VoL. XXX.

Proprietors.

STREET & SMITH j Nos. 27, 29, 31 Rose St.,
P.O. Box 4896, New York.

’

‘

I

Hoan

lif

 

ML.
oe

Enterea According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1874, by Street & Smith. in the Office of the Librarian of Conoress, Washington, D. C.

The Boy Ranger, a Tale of Frontier Life, Next Wee

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HYLAS.

BY NATHAN D. URNER.

 

Hylas! Hylias!” The echo replieth

Alone to the shout on the desolate shore.
“Hylas! Hylas! “Tis Heracles crieth.”

In vain, anxious hero; thy seeking give o’er.

The beautiful Hylas shail gleam not again
So white at thy side, nor rejoice in thy smile;
And Jason may track the blue stretch of the main,
But Hylas, bright Hylas, is sleeping the while.
©, little to him is thy love! He’s at peace
In the smooth-brimming spring in an amorous fold.
O, little to him is the great Golden Fleece!
A Naiad sat there, and her locks were of gold.

Her bine eyes were pensive, her shoulders were fair;
And, “Hylas, pray put down thy pitcher,” quoth she—
Her waist was so wanton, her bosom so bare—
And, “Hylas, sweet Hylas, I’m dying for thee!"

Go, Heracles, go to Laomedon’s aid,
Por Hylas put down his gray pitcher of stone;

And the Argo may stretch her broad wings till they fade,
For Hylas half-yielded, and Hylas was won.

A step, and her arm round his neck made a link,
A kies, and complete was the chain of her spell;
§ A breathless embrace as she slid to the brink,
And Hylas, bright Hylas, was drawn in the well.

No beam saw his fate, if it glanced through the shade;
No dove cooed his lullaby, sweet and profound;

A dreamy ware-dimple their sinking forms made, ;
Where a violet, brushed from the bank, floated round.

So, Heracles, hie thee to sorrowing Troy;
Hesione weeps on the rock by the sea;

And, Jason, set sail; for the bloomy-cheeked boy
Is at rest as the pearls and the sea-mosses be.

Saved by Her Blood;

OR, THE

DUNGEON OF TREVYLIAN CASTLE.

' By Grace Gordon.

[Saved by Her Blood’? was commenced in No. 51. Back Noz
ean be obtained of any News Agent in the United States.}

CHAPTER XVII -:. i

The door of the hat was-open, the old woman and her
grandson both employed in lighting the fire.

As Ethel entered the doorway the old woman turned
round, shielding her eyes with one hand from the strong
morning sunlight which surrounded Ethel’s figure, mak-
ing it look like a picture framed in sunlight.

“Come in, youpg woman, an’ sit down,’’ was her salu-
tation.’ “You've been early astir this mornin’.”’

Ethel entered, giad to rest after her night’s travel and
jong walk up the mountain.

“Ye gurely did’no come to get ye’er fortune told at this
time 0’ day,’’ said the-oid woman, peering into the girl’s
face, which was half-hidden under the black poke bonnet
given her by Dolly.

“J did not come to get my fortune told, but I came to
see if you could tell me about somebody I want to know
apout.”’

As Ethel spoke the woman observed her ungloved
Nands lying in her lap. These beautifally-shaped, white
hands told her that the rank of the girl did not accord
with the faded shawl and bonnet she wore.

Stie was accustomed to her visitors coming in such cos-
tumes, and desiring the boy go for some firewood she sat
aown opposite to Ethel, waiting to hear what her errand

was. :
Ethel tet her bonnet and shawl fall off, and sat looking
with pale, languid face and weary eyes, om the old wo-

man.

The latter started at first, saying to herself:

“Ig it possibile?’ and then adding, aloud: “Was you
eyer here before ?”’

“Yes, I was here a little more than six years ago.”’

*And who came with you?”

“My husband. I was but just married, and we came
only foramusement. I was on my marriage tour.’’

“Let me see your hand,’’ said the old woman.

Ethel held out her hand; the old woman looked at it for
a second, a mere glance, and letting it fall, asked:

“For what do you come in this disguise ?’

‘It ig no disguise. I have nothing better to wear.”’

“Jg your husband dead? or is he a drunkard?’

“He is neither.’?

“Do you live with him yet?’

“No. It is about that I came to you. In April last he
was dressed to go to a party, and he went into a room in
the wing of the castle and was never seen again.’

“Went into a room and was never seen again!’’ repeat-
ed the old woman. “How on the earth could that be?
What is the name of your castle?’

“Treyylian Castle.”’

It was now Ethel’s turn to look surprised. The old wo-
man turned pale as death, her frame shook like an aspen,
and clinging to the table for support she sank on a chair,
great drops of sweat oozing out from her forehead.

Ethel rose to call the boy to his grandmother's assist-
ance, supposing she was going to have a fit.

The woman lifted her hand with a deprecating motion,
and recovering herself as suddenly as she had given way
to her emotion, asked, in a liusky voice:

“What is your name—your maiden name?”’

“Ethel Annesiy.’?

“And your mother’s name—was she Ethel Trevylian ?’

‘*Yes,.”?

“And ye're poor, poor enough to wear these rags???

“Ty am.

The old woman groaned—a low, sad sound, as if deep
remorse had forced it fromher. Sheclenched her hands
and put one on each knee asif she were holding herself
under control by main force, as she did so, muttering to
herself:

‘May the Lord in Heaven forgive me,””

An jnstant more and she started up as if some sudden
thought had come to her relief.

‘Your castie, what of it? You told me yon lived in
Trevyliun Castle. How can you be poor if you live there
~—if it is yours?’

‘It was mine before my husband disappeared so mys-
teriously; but evenifhe were with me it would not be
mine or his now. His father disappeared as suddenly as
bP did, and he has now come back, and everything is

his.
; eens is the father’s name? Not Ralph Trevylian?”
es.

Another groan, More resembling a strong cry of pain,
escaped the woman’s lips, as the answer sounded in her
ears.

She clasped her hands together for a second or two, as
lf striving against some powerful feeling, and then look-
ing full inthe face of the girl, and speaking in ‘a low,
solemn voice, she said: ;

“Ethel Annesly, for your mother’s sake, and the sake
ot a soul, os a nelpine me, I'll help you if flesh
an can do it. You will yet be Lad "hi
Castle.” y ady of Trevylian

The woman left the hut with long, rapid strides, ere the
sound of her words had died away in her listener’s ears.

She walked up the hill, hurrying on as if under the in-
fluence of some powerful spell, at times through brush-
wood and thorns that must have torn and lacerated her
hands and feet at each step she took. Again, climbing
the face of the rock, resting her foot on a ledge so narrow
48 to seem only fit for the hoof of the mountain goat.

On she went, until she came to the edge of the pool that
gave its name to the mountain on which she dwelt; and
sitting down on one of the large stones by which the pooi

Was surrounded, she took from her bosom the crystal

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NEW YORK, DECEMBER 14, 1874.

Three Dollars Per Year.j FRANCIS S. STREET,
Two Copies Five Dollars.

 

FRANCIS S. SMITH. Ni 0. 6.

 

 

 

Pp :
red iron

 

 

 

oo she had used in her art for Sir eye six years
efore.

Tying a cord firmly round the crystal, she jet it fall
— into the well, muttering some incantation as she

80.

When the cord became exhausted she let the hand sink
far into the pool, and then drawing it up as slowly as she
had let it down, she placed the crystal in. hér left. hand,
its rays extending in a wide radius, lit up by the beams of
the bright morsing sun.

Keeping her eyes fixed on the stone, she repeated in a
slow, singing voice:

“Tf in life, Ralph Trevyliaa,
me here to me,
id show me the face
I once loved to see.”

Asgshe ceased speaking she put her ear close te the
stone, and almost immediately exclaimed in a half trium-
phant voice:

“Hal Ralph Trevylian, has it come tothis? Dol hear
aright? ‘1 will seek the Hill ofthe Deep Well.’ Even so.
Come, it cannot change me now. I have deeply sinned
for you, but the time is now come for me to win back my
soul by repentance. By repentance!’ she repeated in.a

slow, solemn voice. ‘‘As ifI have not repented bitterly.

all these many long years. Ay, repented and borne the
curse, too, as all must do who sin with their eyes wide
open, as I did.’?

She ceased speaking, and peering into the crystal, stood
with parted lips, and staring eyes, as if she had beheld the
dead rise.

“Is that Ralph Trevylian?’? she muttered, when she
found breath to speak. ‘That gray-haired, hard-skinned,
wrinkled man? He whom I used to worship in spite of
his half-sunk, selfish eyes, and thin-lipped, y
mouth? I have ate the bread of affliction, and drank the
waters of sorrow, yet my face is not more wrinkled than
he who has fared sumptuously every day.”

Something in the depths of the crystal startled her. She
gazed as if{she saw her doom written in the wicked face
upturned to hers, and in a voice of horror exclaimed:

“Ig it possible that Ralph Trevylian and the wretched
captive I saw down in thatdeep, biack dungeon, six years
ago, are one? No wonder that grizzled head and face
have haunted my dreams ever since.’

The figure faded out from the depths of the crystal;
there was no more to be seen, only clear glass. fle tried
again ard again, but the spell was gone; the crystal
sparkled in the sunlight—nothing more.

The old woman sat down upon one of the stones, and
covering her face with both hands, sobbed aloud while
her tears fell down like rain. ;

“T have sown the wind, andI have reaped the whirl-
wind, and he for whom I sinned has drank deeper
draughts of woe and sinned as deeply as myself.’

She sat for some minutes rocking herself to and fro,
moaning as tf in pain, then suddenly starting up, she ran
with swift feet that seemed unsuited to her years, down
the mountain side among the brushwood and rocks as she
had come up, halting not until she was again inside her
own hut.

It was high noon when she returned, and poor Ethel,
overcome with the fatigue of the past night sat fast asleep,
her head leaning against the wall of the hat.

“Selfish wretch that I am,’? muttered the weird woman,
as she looked on the sleeping figure of Ethel, and then on
the line of light the sun made in entering the door of the
hut. Selfish to the last. This poor thing has been cold
and hungry, while I have been long hours on the moun-
tain, thinking only of myself and mine.”

The hut presented a woeful appearance as the woman
entered. The fire was out, only a few blackened embers
remaining on the hearth. The dirty plates, and debris
from the boy’s breakfast, which he had made and eaten
during the woman’s absence, were lying on the table,
giving to the place a deserted and miserable air.

AS she looked at Ethel, she saw that her skirts were wet
with trailing through the dew of the early morning, her
shoes and stockings wet and soiled with earth; while on
each cheek of the sleeping face there was a red spot, the
sign of incipient fever.

“Lord, help us!’ exclaiméd she. ‘What would proud
Ethel Trevylian have said thirty years ago, when in the
midst of her pride and beauty she married Lord John An-
nhesly, had she been toki that heronly child would come
to me for help, dressed in rags such as her own lady's
maid never wore? Little do,we know the weary, long
road our children may have to travel. Or,’ added she,
with a deep sigh, and a face expressive of bitter woe,
“the dog’s death they may diet’’

She hastened to make a fire, and warming some milk,
she awoke Ethel, and tried to make her drink some
mouthfuls. °

The worn-out gir) shivered with cold, her eyes bright
and sparkling, the red spots oh each cheek scariet. e
tried to drink the hot milk, which her trembling hand
could scarely hold to her mouth, but it was impossible for
her to swallow a single.drop; her head reeled, the cup fell
from her hand, and a moment later she fell fainting to the

oor. :
The old woman iifted her up, and placing her close by

 

 

the fire, removed her wet clothes, and then carrying her
to the other end of the fut, placed her on her own bed.
When Ethel recovered her consciousness, she found

herself tying on the old Woman's bed, far back in the hat, }

her head racked with paih, the woman bending over her,
bathing her face and hands in cok! water.

“You've come to again,’’ said the oid woman, in a kind-
ly, pleaséd voice, as Ethel opened her ¢yes. ‘This is no’ a
very nice bed for the like 0’ you, but it’s clean an’ ye're
needing rest an’ ye've a’most gotten yer death waikin’
from Bennin’ton station, such along road in the weto’
the earty mornia’, an’ then sittin’ an’ sleepin’ in the
Craught o’ the door. Ye’re gettin’ a fevero’ the cold, an’
ye must just be here, poor as the piace is tiilye be better."’

Ethel tay all day in a -half-stupor.. The» woman had
drawn a ragged curtain across 4 beam. in front of the bed,
which was ptaced inside a sort ‘of cupboard, and thus
almost shat off from the rest of the hut. ©

Hours after, when she found it was night by the light
coming from the fire instead of through the-window, she
awoke to a dull consciousness of pain pervading her
whole being. She lay looking threugh a rent in the
curtain at the strange scene the hut presented.

A large fire of pine roota on the hearth sent a blaze of
light up to the biack rafters, from the fire-place to the
door, iluminating all ia ita line, leaving the rest of the
hat in deep shadow.

The old weman sat spinning from her distaff in front of
the hearth, a large sheep dog stretched along one side of
the fire-place, while a great black cat sat licking her paws
and rubbing them over her face on the other.

Her aching head and oppressed heart seemed a burden
alunost toe great for her to bear, and the poor, sick girl,
as she lay looking on the homely, yet peaceful scene be-
poh her, felt the woe and loneliness of ner own lot seven

old.

‘‘Alast"? said she, in inarticulate words, ‘‘of what valae
are my rank and birth? This poor woman has a warm
home, if it is a humble one, whiie I am a lonely wanderer,
who knows not where to lay her head. Sie has her
grandson to love and keep her company, while 1am alone
—alonet

Her brow was hot and fevered, her heart overburdened
by a strange care, a seeking for a husband, whom all but
herself deemed a dweller in the. silent land.

In her misery she buried her face in her hands and

wept. ;

A slight click at the door-latch made her look through
the rent in the curtain in that direction.

With horror, which almost made her heart stop its beat-
ing, she beheld Sir Ralph Trevylian step into the flood of
firelight, carefully shutting the door behind him as he
entered.

She gave herself up for lost. If she had had strength
of speak or move she would have fled screaming from the

ut.

The oid woman turned siowly around, exhibiting no
aed of surprise as her eyes fell:on the tall figure of the
knight,

Speaking in as cool a tone as if she addressed her
grandson, who lay fast asleep, stretclied on some moss
and pine boughs in the far corner of the hut, she said:

“Ye’ve come to see me again, have ye? It’s twenty
years since ye darkened my door before. What takes ye
here now ???

“T came to get your help, and I brought plenty of red
gold to buy it with.’’

AS he spoke he took from his pocket several handfuls of
guineas, which he laid in a heap on the table.

The woman looked at him as he laid down the gold,
piting it so as to make it appearto the best advantage.

She opened the window, by the side of which the table
was placed, while he continued to empty his pockets, and
place the precious coins above each other, never for a
moment relaxing his eyes from his hands, nor breaking
the silence by word or motion.

Only a slight ring of the gold was heard, as occasionally
it fell from his hand on the table.

“Now,’’ said Sir Ralph, as he placed the last guinea on
the top of the others, ‘‘that is all your own, as much gold
as Will keep you every day you have to live, and some-
thing over for your grandson, if you manage it well. If I
have been long in giving you help, I give bravely now.”

The woman stood for a moment looking. down on the
gold, as if she were counting its value, and then, taking
off her apron she swept the coins into it, holding it loosely
in herhand. |

‘Close that window,” said Sir Ralph. ‘There's a devii
of a cold air coming in. I don’t know for what you
opened it,’?

“The window's mine,”’ replied the woman, in the same
cool tone she had before used, ‘an’ so's the house, an’ I
thank Heaven for it, humble though it be, it’s the best
home lever knew. The sin that weighs down my soul in
old age, as it did in youth, was committed before I pat my
foot inside its threshoid."’

“Don’t pester me with your cant about your sins,’ was
hia reply; ‘you might have. said it all outside long ago,
without giving me a dish of it again.”

“tM ye don’t like what ye hear, ye can turn and go the
Way ye came—nobody’ll. miss ye; an’ for ye’er gok, it’s
come toolate. Yeshould have given itme the day yet

nounded me with ye’er dogs from yer castle door out at
yer castle gate. An’ for yer goki, it’s neither yours nor
mine, : .

As she spoke she thrust the hand which held the apron
out at the window, across the narrow footpath which lay
beneath, and sliaking it, ttle coins fell with a jingling,
musical noise, down the rocky ravine, on the edge of
which the hut wag bnilt.

 

‘CHAPTER XVIIL
Down, down the gold fell, with a sweet, ringing sound,
over the jutting rock into the gully below.

“Lie there,” said the woman, “till the poor and the
hungry find ye. Thank Heaven! the weigttof your ill-
gotten wealth ill never burden my soul.”

Sir Raiph was speechiess with rage. He made a siep or
twoasif he wouki leave the hut, and then controlling
himself, he said:

Ye might have refused it, or kept it for giving in char-
ity: it’s surely not a good deed to throw over that gully
what would have fed so many.’?

“If it was-mine, Heaven knowsI would willingly give
it to the poor; if it was yours, I would think I had a right
to it; but you know, none better, it’s neither yours nor
_, the poor ‘ill get it some day, when the Lord above
sees fit.’’

The woman spoke in acool, firm. voice, never once
quailing under the fierce look of the man who seemed as
if he only restrained himself from striking her to the
earth by some powerful motive, which enabled him to
subdue his passion.

“Now, Ralph Trevylian, what do ye want with the
weird woman? I’tl not serve ye for gold, an’ all the love
I had for ye was scorned out of me long ago. But yet, if
my art fail me not, as it did already this morning, Pu
tell ye what ye want to hear.’

She placed a bucket of water in the midst of the circle,
which still held its mark on the floor, and taking the crys-
tal from her pocket, she dipped it in, and placing it in Sir
Ratph’s hand,said: ‘“‘Now call aloud for the one yeSwant.”

“Ethel Annesly, come here to mel’?
| He called out in aloud voice, making the heart of the
one he called on stop its beating, as slie lay quailing with
fear within ten yards of the spot on which he stood.

The woman bent over the crystal, as she was wont, and
then raising herself, motioned to him to listen for the spirit
reply himself.

Sir Ralph bent down his head as he had seen the old
woman do, while a grim smile passed over her face, as
she murmured, under her breath:

“Yell listen long and iook long, for the voice or the
face of the woman who’s under the same roof with ye.”’

Sir Ralph raised his head.

“J can hear nothing,’ said he, with a perplexed look.

“Qall again,’’ said the woman, ‘and then 1’ll look for
lfer—perhaps she’s sleeping.”

“Kthel Annesly, come here,’ he called out, in a louder
voice than at'first, making the poor girl quake and her
heart stop its beating, as before; her eyes seemed to lose
their sight, her ears their hearing.

Tne woman bent down, peering into the crystal; thick,
gray clouds were passing rapidly across its disk.

The grim, hidden smile returned to her face, as lifting
her head, she motioned to Sir Ralph to examine the stone
for himself.

He bent over it, almost touching the crystal with his
eye in his eagerness to see the expected face.

One, two, three, four, five minutes passed away, and
clouds, only clouds, came over its disk, darkening each
time, until at last they became black as a funeral pall.

Sir Ralph looked up in the weird woman's face with an
earnest, anxious look, as he asked:

“What can be the meaning of this???

She did’ not speak for a second or two, and then, instead
of answering his question, said:

“Are you sure tlie one you Call is in life?’

“She was yesterday,’’ was the reply.

‘“There’s many a soul passed forever from earth since
yesterday,’’ was the cold reply. ‘‘What more do ye want,
to Know ?!!

“I want to know my own future.’’

“Tl tell ye part o’ that without crystal or magic stone.
The days that ye’il be Lord of Trevylian Castle are num-
bered. Flee fromit. ‘There's death in the pot’ for the
name ye bear.’?

‘“‘Measureiess liar{’? he exclaimed, with frantic rage.
“Ye mean to betray me, and would cover your deceit with
false words. Hal’? he cried, with furious gestures, ‘‘ye
threw my gold to the winds because ye have bargained to
sell my secret for ten times a hundred times the sum. The
devil whom ye serve has played ye false this time. Before
I leave this hut your tongue shall be paralyzed in death.”

As he spoke he pulled from his breast a pistol, and seiz-
ing the oi woman by the hair he presented it at her head.

In another moment Sir Ralph's neck was in the strong
grasp of Tom and the pistol dashed against the black raf-
ters of the cottage roof.

“Out! out, you murderous villain#* shouted the lad, as,
still keeping a firm hold of the man’s neck he forced him

 

through the open window overhanging the gully where
she woman had thrown the goid.

a — Se

“Merciful Heaven!’ exclaimed the woman, rushing to
the window. ‘You have murdered him! He’s down the
rocks into the gulty.’?

“No fear o’ him; it’s long till the devil die,” was the
— reply, a8 the boy threw himself again upon his mossy

On reaching the open window the woman discovered
that the boy had thrown Sir Ralph into a brush of alder
bashes and whins by the side of the window, where,
pierced on all sides by the long, sharp spines of the whina,
he rolied about, trying in vain to extricate himself from
his bed of thorns.

The woman seemed to be perfectly indifferent to his sit-
uation, and closing the window she fastened it with an
iron hasp, and securing the doorin @ similar way she
threw herself upon a settle near the fire and was soon
fast asleep.

“Curse the whole lot of them!’ exclaimed Sir Ralph;
as with hands torm and bleeding he at last succeeded in
extricating himself from his perilous position on the edge
of the cliff. “Dll mever feel safe till that old witeh has
gone to keep company with her master the devil; and as
sure as I have breath in my body, before I sleep this night
Dil send her trooping to her fiery home. Tie audacious
old wretch, to presume to tell me my days in Treyylain
were humbered. I daresay they would have been if her
uncultivated colt of a grandchild had aimed aright. Her
hours on earth are numbered, at apy rate, and so are the
young cub’s too. It is fortunate that it’s my revolver
that’s left; it H do the business for them both.”

As he spoke he took a second pistol from his pocket,
and carefully examined it.

“It’s all right; and now V’ll wait patiently till all in the
house, cat, dog and allgre fast asleep, and then for a good
aim; first at the old witch, as being the most dangerous of
the two. Everything in that confounded smoke hole is
just as it was twenty years ago. Behind the ragged cur-
tain is the bed of the old thing. Ican feel my way to the
head, and putting my pistoi close to her ear, make sure
ofmy mark. After that is settled I will easily find my
way to the heap of dirt on which I saw the cub reposing
to-night. Now I'll goto the spring and try to wash the
blood and dirt from my hands and face.’

While washing the stains from his scratched hands, his
thoughts went back to the crystal, and from it an easy

transition brought him to think of the oné whose face he-

had that night in vain sought to see in its depths.

He felt assured she was dead, probably thrown from the
carriage in which she had gone off with the Dutchman.
He loved Ethel as truly as it was his nature to love any
one, and he cursed the Dutchman, the driver, the horses,
everything except himself, who, had she been dead, would

| have been the only one to blame.

After completing his ablutions he wandered from the
doer Of the hut tothe window, and then back again to
the door, examining by the bright moonlight which of the
two would be the most easily and quietly burst open.

The door he found it impossible to move in any way,
and he came to the conclusion that when the time had

“) come when he was sure the inmates of the hut were fast

asleep, he would then cut a pane of glass from the window

With his diamond ring, apd thas tt weutd bc un easy mat-

tus, Minx vo” crac waurd tho opem tie Window, Aue
walk ih, unmolested, to his work of destruction.

He shook the window soltly, to ascertain where the
bolt was fastened, 80 that he might cut the pane exactly
opposite to it.

Ali his plans were well laid. He only waited until suf-
ficient time was past to make him sure the old woman
and her grandson were sound asleep.

Ethel lay hot and restless on the old woman's bed. Once
or twice she sat up with the intention of going to the door
or window to obtain a breath of fresh air; but each time
she lay down again, shivering. The fever was in her
brain, and the coid she had taken from steeping in her
wet clothes made her frame shiver and her teeth chatter.

She drew aside the vid curtain, and lay looking out
through the window, where the uncertain light of the
waning moon made the shadows thrown by the alders flit
back and forth, giving a weird, unearthly look both to
the window aud the floor where the bright shadow of the
moonlit window fell.

Once or twice she fancied a darker shadow passed, but

this she thonght must be owing to a dark cloud, or some
fir tree which the wind bent fora moment, and then re-
leased, to resume its upright position again. A thought
a Ralph being near never for a moment crossed her
mind.
At last, the fever heat and pain of her head became so
greai that she could bear the close atmosphere no longer.
She started up, and taking the white sheet with which
the old woman had covered the bed, she threw it over her
head, thus to protect her from the cold air, and going to
the window she unboited and pushed it open.

She stood for a few seconds looking out on the gray sky,
bright stars, and waning moon, when suddenly she heard
footsteps among the grass and ferns surrounding the cot-

tage.

Sométiing told her, as if an angel spoke, that Ralph
Trevylian, her life’s enemy, was near; and she stood stili
and firm, a silent prayer ascending to Heaven for help in
this great strait.

In another moment Ralph Trevylian was before her,
staring with horror-stricken eyes on what he thought was.
the spirit of one he had loved, and with his blighting love
souglit to destroy, and that she had now come to torment
him, clad in the garments of the grave.

Ethel saw his look of horror, and raising her hand as
she had done in the mausoieum, she pointed it in his face.

One loud howl of horrible dread came more from hia.
throat and chest than from his lips. He fled yelling down
through the pine trees, imagining that each branch which
touched him in his fight was the spirit of Ethel come ta
revenge her own and her husband’s wrongs,

Wearied out, he stopped not until many miles were
between him and the cottage on the Hill of the Deep
Well, and he was at the wayside inn where Ethel and her
bridegroom had been over six years before.

+ * * * € of *:

It was the morning of the third day that Ethel had
passed in the hut of the Deep Well; she was now. free of
both fever and cold, and auxiously waiting for the woman
to fulfill the promise she had made—that when her
strength came again she should test the crystal, to discover
if possible if her husband were yet alive, and. where he
was hid away from mortal eyes.

She had already told the weird woman all she knew or
fancied, what the child had said, how she herself had
seen Sir Ralph coming out from the wardrobe with a
lighted lantern in his hand, when a minute previous the
wardrobe was empty. j

They were seated on one of tie stones. surrounding the
poolonthe top of the mountain, and the crystal was
dipped as before in the water. Ethel called aloud for her
husband. to speak to her. She listened, and distinctly
heard her husband say in a tone of ajarm:

“Holy Heaven! [heard Ethel call me. Can it be that
she is no longer an inhabitant of this world 2”?

Ethel trembled with fear and joy as she heard the voice
so dear to her, hardly realizing whether it was her
husband, or, as with the holy man of old, ‘his angel’? who
spoke. : t

The stone was again dipped in the pool, and now sle
calied out, not as she had formerly done for her husband,
but ‘“‘Reginald Trevylian, come to me,”

The crystal emitted no rays. Clouds passed over and
over its disk until it became almost black.

“That is not your husband’s. name,” said the old wo-
man. ‘i hope Ralph Trevylian told the truth for once in
his life, when he said that your husband was only his
adopted son. At any rate, the name of Trevylian wouldn’t
bring him. Oall for your husband, as I bid you at the
first.”’

“Come to me, my husbang,” Ethel called aloud, as the
woman, having again immersed the orystal in the pool,
placed it for the third. time in Ethel's palm.

The stone emitted bright, many colored lights in strong
rays, flying from its center for a second or two, and then
clearing away they were succeeded by a light as of a sum-
mer sun, and looking down into the crystal Ethel beheld
her husband, dressed in the clothes in which she. had last
seen him, seated on the floor of a dark, damp dungeon, &
pocket-knife in one hand, a piece of wood in the other.

Involuntarily she uttered a cry of delight. The woman
gave a hasty sign of displeasure, and pulling Ethel’s hand
wnder her own eyes, peered into the stone,

 

Ethel’s voice had broken the spell. There was nothing
to be seen but light clouds, hanging ovex its disk.

 

 

 

%

 

 

 

 
Se

cn nc eat

 

 

 

 

 

 

\ “Was there huge pillars in it 2?

a ee
- ho. one shalt ever Know rata

Fey
E ;
A only way is to break down the back of the wardrobe, and

 

 

“Tam sorry ye broke the spell,” said the weird woman,
‘“] would ha! liked to see‘the face ye saw. Was it your
husband?’

“Yes!” replied Ethel, with more joy miher* voice and
heart than they had kuown for many & long day. ‘Yes!
J saw him as surely as I did when he brought me to your
cottage in our honeymoon.’?

“Where was he???

“Jn a deep dungeon.’?

/ 4] cannot tell. I did not look at anything buthimself.”
& «Was he lying on skins???

' «Nos he was sitting on the ground, with a pocket-knife
know well in his hand.’

“/Wherever that dungeon js, Ralph Trevylian put your
hdsband in it, an’ he spent many a long year there him-
sel,” said the old woman, speaking in aloud tone, as if
she were the Pythoness of old, in one of her fits of inspir-
ation, ‘Now, ye must ask for the way that leads to the
dungeon, an’ | must look first. Ican make more of what
1 see than ye gam, an’ 1’m feared yell cry out as ye did
aJore,”? Cry

The stone was again put carefully into the pool, and as
carefully drawn out, When placed in her hand, Ethel re-
peating her words after the old woman, called out in a
found voice;

“Show me the way tothe dungeon where my husband
lies. i

Tne old woman bent down. over the stone, and with
eager, peering eyes looked into its depths, ;

She looked a second or two and no more, holding up
one hand to enjoinesilence, and laying the other on Ethel’s
head, she bent it above the stone,

Ethel looked into the crystal, until what she saw faded
Trom her view, then, trembling with hope and fear, she
looked up in the weird womau’s face,

“Ye saw the wardrobe in the balconied chamber in the
east wing of Trevylian Castle?’ said the old woman, in-
quiringly.

“1 did,’ replied Ethel,

‘An’ what more???

“Nothing more,”

“No spring, or lock, or fastenin’, or any kind to tell ye
how to open it?!

“Nothing. I saw nothing but the open wing as I have
always seen it,’

“Then ye must find out how to open the back o’ that
wardrobe by your own wit, an’ the sooner il’s done the
better.”

“But how aie to do ¢his? There’s not a lawyer in
England will help me, and if I were to. go to Trevylian
@astie to-morrow, and brave all theindignity and persecu-
ajofi I must meet there, I could never accomplish my end.
4 would never be permitted to enter the baiconied cham-
ber," f i : ;

“If ye’re willing to lead a servant's life in the castle
Lrat's yer own by birthright, an’ watch an’ wait for ime
an) tide, ye may; yet flud he way ares that secret door
an’ let your husband out to put his foot om the green
grass again, «Bui if ye want the courage to do this, au’
muybe itll take many adJong year an’ day to find it ont,
nnd win your réward; there’s no other way; he must lie
there till he dies. Vilshow ye the road; ye miust walk in
ityourself alone.’ ; :

“If you tell me howIcan win my husband’s release,
Pll do no other work till’ the day I free him, or I lay» me
down todie.? a it

*‘Well, come down to the house, an’ I'll dye: yer hair
black, an?yer face dun, dipt in yellow. An’\if anybody
finds out who ye are, but them ye fell it to, iv! be the
first time my hand failed me at the like.” wo. ;

When the transformation was made, and ‘Ethel saw her
face ina looking-glass half a foot. square, theonly thing of
the kind the Colfage boasted, she started back, Saying to
the woman; ‘Will that color ever wash off my face?’)”

“When ye’re: done yer work, an! yéowaht to look like
yourself again ye can rub it of wi fresli lemons; butall ’
the water Iu England won't wash it ns of iocotw ie

FER CHAPTER XIX." (9) of
“A 'swarthy-looking ANS afreren the tt baits

ves

  
 
 
 

Castle, and askitig’ to see Mrs, Ben P sented
which Mrs, Nugent réa rt _& Jook of astonii
terspersing lier reading With o¢casioudl |

the girl’s swarthy face and dim. black
AS you, dear reader, are to be beh

   

had better read the letter, as Well as Mts. N
thus: ; ' Master 0% E
(My DEAR. Mrs. NuGENT:-—The, br ‘aced,) black - |

haired girl who presents; this to, you, isthe oneto whom):
you gave the key of the mangoleum. i
piece of wood ,instead of a dead Rody. Lo hatis said: to,
be my husband’s coffin., I have dyed my face and hair,
and dressed in the common. clothes L haye on, on purpose)
to ask you to take ine as: = Ifyou will do:

8
Lhis I have little fear of being able cover
of being the, means of restoring. him to;
ow mek. |») ‘ : $

husband is, ti
the society of his: sit MoM as TF
fake me, dear Mrs. Nugent, and give,me 2

“Will you
chauce to win my husband ?,, Ppromise you faithfully unat
‘ a er met ou have aided
in any way, Traly yours, most ci

“Now, Mts. Nugent would very gladly hive |
to recover her husband, if she shat ty itive f
risk of Sir Ralph knowing anything ath i se

‘If Sir Regiuald were found’ there would be iin end at
once to any fear of Ethel ever peponrtte, Rea et te Sir
Railpli’s affections, and she could not hide from herself
that Sir Ralph looked with too favorable eyes pH thel,

and that she was a much younger and more beautiful wo-
She thongtit over it for a few

taka. Sha

Iwas dead; he Had let

that escape him unwarily. He could not penetrate her
disguise, and she determined to hazard the consequences.

“] do not need a woman for chambermaid work,’’ said
she, as if replying to the letter, which purported to bea
letter of recommendation, ‘‘but if you can sew well i will
hire you to oblige my friend, and give you charge of part
of the rooms, aud you can sew for mein my Oln apart-
ment the rest of the time.’?

“T can’ sew very well, ma’am,’’ replied Ethel, in a
feigned voice, *‘aud lam willing to do anything I can to
please you,”? ‘

“Go ten, and putoff your shawl and bonnet,’ and
turning to one of the other servants, who had stood list-
ening during the short colloquy, she said: ‘fake the girl
to your room, Biddy, and let her put her things there just
now; if she suits me as a sewing-woman she can sleep in
the closet off my room, 80 that | may see she’s at her work
in tinre; but I must try how she finishes her seams first.”

“Are you an early riser, young woman?’ she asked,
turning to Ethel.

“Yes, ma’am; I'll rise at any time yon bid me.??

“Go with Biddy, then; and when you have tidied your-
Self she'll Show you the way to my room,”

A few minutes later Ethel was seated in Mrs, Nugent’s
room, partaking.of a cup of tea and_ telling her mistress
the rooms slie wished to be consigned to her own care.

“Well,” replied Mrs. Nugent, “‘youshall have the charge
of these roums, but J can’t see how your having charge
of them is to help you to find your husband. I think it
would be better for you to take charge. of the library; he
does all his writing there. He has uot @ desk nor a scrap
of paper in his dressing-room.”

“vis not by reading lis letters or his papers I hope to
find my husband, und it will be best for you that Ido not
tell you what means lam going to take. When heis
found you will then be able to say With truth that you
Know nothing whatever about it.” ‘

“Well, you'll have it your own way, only for goodness
sake don’t let Sir Ralph Suspect who you are; it would be
a bad day for us both. He thinks you’re dead; how did
he come to think that?!”

“Ido not know, but lam aware he thinks me dead; it
is best for’me he does,’?

__ “Yes, so it ig.” :

‘“ Every day Ethel cleaned and dusted Sir Raiph’s dress-
ing-room ard bedroom, doing her work while he ate his
breakfast, read the morning papers, and took his morn-
ing ride to the railway depot.

Bach day she spent all the time she dared remain in the
rooms afier her work was finished, in examining the in-
side of the wardrobe.

Pressing down each nail, trying to turn round or pull
out every clothes-pin, trying to push the back in every
way the weird womau had pointed out or she could think
of herself.

All was to no purpose. ‘To her sense of touch or sight
there was nothing visible save a plain piece of black ma-
hogany, with paneied lines,

Her fingers were becoming as hard as horns with the
use she made of them, in trying to push back panels that
would not be pushed back, trying to push in nails that
would not push in, aud twist or turn clothes-pins that
were firm as a rock.

Sir Ralph had been from home for his usual period of
three days; he seldom remained longer,

Ethel had embraced the opportunity to remain hour

alter hour in trying again and again for the spring she felt
certain she would yet find, but all to no purpose.
\ She was ready to give up her search in despair; for
several weeks she had spent several hours each day ina
fruitless search for what eluded her assurely as the fabled
princess eluded the search of Sir Guy, the seeker.

Sir Ralph was expected home to dinner, and Ethel
went to renew her search for the secret spring iu the
wardrobe, with a strong misgiving thatit would be as it
had beeu the day before, and every day before that. She
had, in her despair, began to see valid reasons why it was
impossible such a secret spring should exist.

{ She lad been in the wardrobe all the morning, busy at
what she had now to acknowledge to herself was useless,
futile labor; and availing herself of the hour which
would still elapse before SinRalph’s return, she again
(Sought the wardrobe, with.a discouraged heart.
¥ She placed a chair inside and went over the top of the
place, for the fiftietiy time,’ in vain—in vain. F
*sAlas! alas!’ said she, “I shall never find it out; the

    

     

man than herself,

i inutes, considered there
¥ras little risk, and she was layi foro high o
knew that Sir Ralph thouwut e

that will never be done. My dear husband must diedown
in that dungeon and I searching for the entrance, whic
as never to be found.” ;

y Asshe spoke her foot slipped: from the chair, and‘to
Save herself from falling she caught hold of the shelf on
which the lantern.and water-bottle she had first seen there
Still lay. ;

» Phe shelf came forward about two inches, as she grasp+
€d hold ofits édge, and behold, at thesame time, the back
of the wardrobe slid to one side, disclosing a dark, stone
staircase, descending almost perpendicularly from the
back of the wardrobe,

Ethel gave a great cry of joy, and seizing the lantern it
fas but the work Of a Inoment to light it, and descend the
@teep, narrow steps.

“Reginald! Reginald!’ she called aloud, as she came

4 such floating on the water.’?

I found therea huge |

scover where My |

| of what

There he was, her beloved. lnsba , Tushing to the
barred gate to meet hiér—né whom an our before she had
despaired of ever seeing again!

covered it with kisses,

“Snap the bolt at the top of the gate, my love.”

The words had scarcely left bis lips when a loud click of
flrearms sounded in their ears, and.both fell wounded to
fhe earth, the barred iron gate, with its strong spring
lock between thew. reel :

Ina second more Sir Ralph Trevylian was dragg
what seemed the wounded body of the mulatto}? as he
called her, as far from the gate as the wall would allow it
to be placed, his feet dabbling ina pool of blood which
had flowed from her wounded shoulder.

“You thonght you was out,’ burst from his lips, while
his whole face was distorted With frantic rage; the flerce
gestures he made with his hands imparting to hina .the
appearance and demeanor of a demon, ,

“You thought you was out, did you? Well, ye’re not,
nor ever will be; an’ mind, ye’ve ate the Jast meal that’!!
ever touch ye’er teeth. You an’ that infernal black hus-
sy-ill rot together, I’]——"! , :

A sound of loud talking, muffled by distance, struck on
his ear, He suddenly recollected thatin rushing down
the stone staircase he had Jeft the panel open, as he had
found it.

Sir Ralph flew rather than ran up the stone steps, en-
tered the wardrobe, shut the spring, and, breathiess with
fury and his UnwWwonted exertion, sank, almost exhausted,
into the leatbern chair, so often before mentioned in this
narrative.

“Whath fool Tam! said Sir Ralph, ashe sat in his
large arm-chair, his heart: palpitating with a fear of he
knew not what. “Why should I feel like this? ‘That
ugly black woman has been dusting out the wardrobe and
unconsciously opened the spring and went down from
curiosity. She’ll never go again, that’s certain, I've
done her business for her. Let her take it, the meddle-
some hussy. And astohim, lam tired of feeding him!
Let him rot; he deserves it, Hal What is that ?’ he ex-
claimed, asthe sound of many and loud \voices he had
heard while down on the dungeon staircase again fell on
his ear, i.

He listened intently, his heart beating almost painfully.
His eyes involuntarily sought the left wing of the ward-
robe, He started to his feet with the, intention .o rs
jalning what could be the occasion of the unwouted
noise.

The souniis were) coming nearer. Now lit- was the
tramp of maby and heavy feet. Tramp, tramp, they were
on the stairgase. Conscience makes cowards of the guilty,
Hefelt an YTntense forboding of evil urging him to flee
from the place, but he again sank back in his chair, and
seemed glued to it.

Tramp, tramp, the heavy feet were on the corridor lead-
ing to the room hesat in, and the voices were talking as
before. ; :

Suddenly the door of the apartment was burst open,
and Sir Ralph’s astonished eyes beheld the Count Ramou-
ski enter, followed by several men, most of whom were
dressed as sailors. — ,

“We have entered your house rather unceremoniously,”
said the conut, “but we have been urged to dosoina
most mysterious manner. Look at that,’ said he, putting
into Sir Ralph’s hand asmall piece of fat and smooth
wood, about three inches square, on which were cut words
that had been blackened in by scorching.

Sir Ralph took the piece of wood and read with horror
and dismay, his hand trembling as he read:

“J, Reginald Trevylian, am a prisoner in a dungeon un-
der the octagon tower of Trevylian Castle, the entrance
to which ia by @ secret spring in the back of the left wing
of the tardeobetn the balconied room next the octagon
tower.” 2 ;

“You gee,’ said the count, ‘why we have come. My
little girls picked up several of these yesterday on the
shore of the lake opposite my Own Castle, and to-day |
sailed down in my yacht, and I have seen hundreds of

“Phe work of a parcel of boys, probably, who wish to
foolall who are simple enough to be fooled by them,’

i} was Sir Ralph's cool reply, while his heart was palpita-

Ung with apprehe
“If may 80,
more like the w

ion he yainly tried to hide.
said the count, “but it seems to me
of a captive who had nothing else to

certainly expect you to allow me to investigate

has t
wardrobe is before you, and you are at liberty to

{OH employ his time and no other hope of release. Whatever
shall
‘

make any investigation you 2, provided you do not
injure my furniture or house.)
- Count ouski looked steadily in Sir Ralph's face as

he spoke. It was impossible not to see that the , try:
ing to look composed and bol, was laboring under deadly
e, anil examined it in

 
   
 

 

The count opened the. wardro

      
   
 

‘every direction; the sailors Lovell pressed closely

rade to see the place whic n the subject of their

thoughts and conversation st few hours. . :
Nothing was . aa

} going on, and came crowding into the room
aera Trou a rdrobe like the others,
“What do you want? exclaimed Sir Ralph, springing
to his feet oa nana a, with passion, as he beheld, one
by one, every in his house, with the exception of
. Nugent, enter the room and pressin among, the
strangers, eagerly inquiring the meauing of their unwar-
rantable intrusion. ‘What do you want here? Get out |
of this; down stairs to your work, every mother’s son of
you. When you are wanted I will ring for you.” no
’ By the time Sir Ralph had ceased speaking each of his
servants were in pen of pieces of wo

let : similar to tlie one Co
had gi Fe atte ccvenwanet : rc
re, = Vv 4

His words fell like the idle wind on the ears of his do-.
mestics; not one moved to ua his order, ope or two hay-

ing the OF Wout 0 round and stare in his face.. Not,

one manor W amon thes all but knew that their.
site tata bares ae

Sir, Ralph. the, butler bf the. collar... He fancied’
ee eae of the others. . ! -

with

this man was the ri repo yee
h you, you impudent dog!’ ex.’
claimed he, almost frantic assi Pe aya

  
  
 

 

   
  
     
  

“Get down stai
ith on.

The man’s face reddened; he was eyidently under the.
impression that Sir Ralph’s days of respectability, at least,’
were at an end. :

“Keep your hands off me, Sir Ralph Trevylian,’’ said
he, as he shook his master roughly off, ‘If ye don’t, Dl
soon send ye where the dogs won't bark at ye,”

The count strack the back of the wardrobe, and the
sound came dull and heavy, as it would, have done had
the back been built into the wallas it Formed to be,

Each of the men looked at and. examined it in turns,
The carpenter of thé yacht, @ man well up to’ house as,
well as ship work, declared the cupboard to be'built into.
the solid wall, ; 2 . ae : ;

He had his hammer in his hand, and struck it several
times against the back of the Closet, each time making
Sir Ralph’s blood ran cold." °

‘*There’s nothing surer,’’ said he, “than that that wood
is built against a harder substance than itself’?

“What door is this?’? ‘inquired the count, turning from
the wardrobe and pointing to a door whicli led from the
apartment intg the, tower. a a ’

“That is the door of te castle armory,’! replied Sir
Ralph, _‘You.can haye the keys. It Ils more likely you
would find an entrance into @ dungeon under tlie tower,
from there, a8 the armory is in the tower,”

The key was given to the count, andit.was with a feel-
ing of relief that Sir Raiph saw the Count Ramouski and
his party open {lie door and enter the armory.

‘Yuere is no possibility of a dupgeou being under this
room,’ said thé count, aS he drew Mis head in from an
open window, by which he had beeh examining the out-
side of the tower. i

“‘Impossible,’’ said several of the sailors, as each in his
turn looked out and saw for himself,

‘Tt is a hoax, after all,’? said one of the men. ,

“Yes,” answered the count, ‘I am glad to say it is.”

In passing the open wardrobe the count looked in, as if
he felt there ought to be more done to discover, the secret
spring, 80 distinctly described on those pieces of wood,
cut out by hundreds with such labor,

He was alonein front of the wardrobe, the light from
the window opposite lighting up the cupboard.

Horror! what was it he looked on? The print of a
man’s foot in blood, with the heel turned to the back of
the wardrobel ;
[TO BE CONTINUED,1

 

USEFUL Bi
HINTS FOR THE HOME CIRCLE,

It is wrong to hold up a fainting person, and espe-
cially to keep the head erect, Fainting is caused by a want of
blood in the brain, the heart failing to act with sufficient force to
send the blood against the laws of gravitation. If, then;you
Bate & person silting, whose heart has nearly ceased to beat, his

rain will fail to receive blood; if you lay him down with the
head lower than the heart, blood will run into the brain by the
mere force of gravity, and in fainting, in sufficient quantity, gen-
erally, to restore Consciousness,

Our hours of rest, as a rule, should be the same
every night. It is notsate for even the most robust and healthy
to long violate the law of regularity in this matter. The man or
woman who retires and rises at irregular periods, varying from
tivo to four or six hours, as many are accustomed to do, cannot
enjoy good health, or live long and happily,, Every one should
adopt a rule to retire-at a certain hour, and adhere to it asstrict-
ly as possible—neyer deviating except in emergencies.

Raw beef is said to be good for children suffering
from dysentery: Take half a pound of juicy beef, free from fat,
mince it very finely, then rub it into a sm@otl pulp, either in a
mortar or with an ordinary potato-masher, and press.it through
a fine sieve, Spread a little out upon a plate and sprinkle over
it some salt, or some sugar if the child should prefer it. Give it
alone, or spread upon a buttered sliée of stale bread.

Keep pickles only in wood or'stoné ware, as greasy
vessels wiil spoil them. Pickles sliould be stirred occasionally.
and all soft ones should be removed. Some of the liquid should
be kept on hand toycover the pickles should it be needed. The
vinegar and spices should not be boiled over five minutes,

Warts may’ be'removed from the hands by the ap-
‘plication of hurtshorn. The use ef it will not cause any pain un-
less it comes‘in eontact with a cut or bruise,’ A cure is usualiy
effected in about three weeks,

To prevent ‘the smoking of'a lamp, soak | the
wick in strong vinegar, and dry it well before using it. It will
then burn both'sweetiand pleasant; and give much satisfaction
for the trifling trouble in preparing it. ;

A simple and effective emetic—the materials being
usually at hand—oonsists of half-a-glass of warm water, @ heap-
ie ET ul of salt, and another of ‘mastard. E

t is said that poke root sliced and Jaid about a
house will destroy cockroaches quicker than any other poison.

A particle of iron or steel may be extracted from

 

 

near to the barred iron gate.

the eye by holding near it a powerful magnet,

  
    

She put Ner hand “througiy’the bars, he seized it;and’}’

   
 
  

a

    
    
 
  

         
    
 

    

BY EPITH AYLMER BRANDE,
“on 7s » ~*~ ‘ o

———

What flowers have we to crown the brow,
That Heayen’s own hand hath crowned
With such immortal wreaths as glow
O’er seraph-eyes profound ?
What gifts have we to add one grace
More beautiful and wiki,’
Or touch with holier light the face
Of Thalia’s chosen child ?

What spell to wake her burning soul ?—~
That wondrous, hidden lyre,

Whose glorious tides of music roil

"Through gates of peart and fire |

For she is queen of-the high art
Whose mission is divine,

And captive bows each willing heart
At Song's imperial shrine,

The splendor of her Northern skies,
The roses of the South,

   
 

her steps are "mid ,
Of youth’s unclonded years;
She walks, amid these musts of oars,
A path too bright for tears.

But fairer than the skies that brood
er Rose of South or West,
\ The Lily of Sweet Womanhood
She weareth on lier breast; — ;
And in berjoyous mienandsmie
Lives that enchanting grace, Rc
‘Thorswalden, of his native snows
_ Might fashion, with her lips and brows,
Rapt in a Heavenly dream the while
Sot opr

|} A Mad Marriage.

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

wes

“4

 

ge

By Mrs. May Agnes Fleming.

 

Marriage” was commenced in No. 39. Back Nos. can
ws Dealers in the United States and the Canadas, ]

PARI “THIRD,

4 CHAPTER X,
WF ANY CALM, A CALM DESPAIR,” -
If they would not come in, if she could be alone—
that seemed the only thought of which France was
conscious as she lay there, utterly unable for the
time being to speak or move, knowing, in a dazed
sort of way, through all her misery, what a ghastly
face the wax lights would show them. Oh, to be
alone—to be alone! ) ia
She had her wish. A swish of silk, a flutter of per-

fume, the salon door fiung wide, and Lady Dynely’s
voice saying, impatiently: ;

 
    

fe

‘With Mrs. Caryll, mamma,” Crystal’s soft
su ts. ‘It looks dreary—that great, g
salon, let us go up to your boudoir.” ~ sia

So they go, and France feels as though she had
escaped some great danger. She 8, ig stiff
and strange, and gropes her we ) the kK:
ness, and ap to herown room. She has to nn Mrs.
Caryll’s door; she pauses a moment, while a pas-
sionate longing to enter there, at all risks to loo
on his face once more, even to bid him stay, seizes
wi Be daing day * 80 y aeass pre geass

ey have been so utterly, so infinitely 1 0-
g . What right has that wicked, = ng,

ed woman to come and tear them apart? For
a@ moment she listens to the tempter, then she clasps
her hands wildly over her eyes and rushes up to her
eee erself down

otionless, sleepless, in t

3 become of the Gatyis 88 |

ed maetdilnc disks erevely tells Lath “Dynel

to-night the gravely 'y Dyne

she cannot be admitted. Miss Forrester’s door is

prey and Miss Forrester may be deaf or dead for
the attention she yeye to knocks or ¢a It is

really very odd, and Lady Dynely wonders abi

all through the rather dull family dinner to her son

and daughter. Sa

~ Rather atte

~ eong
family” sort

 
  
    

    

   

  

  

 

       
 
 
 

 

“Mrs,

  
 
 
 
 
   
  
  

  

   

     

‘of thing fa 1, forfeits his
stall at the Varietes, to do escort duty for his harem
to the Opera Aux Italiens, But since he is in for it,
@ does it with, tolerably good. grace, and .,Crystal’s
an, moonlight Jittle face lights, and smiles come to
he pale lips, She says little, but she is happy. Eric
been her very own ‘all: day—will be herivery
own until noon 'to-morrow.. ‘Beyond that she does
not look—“unto the day, the day.” us
Dinner ends, and they goto the opera. Patti
sings, and the grand opera house is brilliant with.

 

‘here,, Erie thinks, as he,struggles manfully with his
‘tenth yawn, it;would. not beso bad, but.a man. cast
over wholly to the tender merciés of his mother and
his‘wife is an object°of compassion to gods’and men.
| About the time the Dynely party: take ‘their places
in their private box on the gtand tiér, Gordon’Catyll
jopens the door of,his mother’s room and passes out.
‘Imthe, blaze,ofthe chandelier his, face.is. deathly
white, but somehow the fierce, rebellion, the hot.
‘passion, have faded out, anda great calm has fallen.
Itis written—it ise Fate-—-of what useito struggle or
rebel? So he throws: up'the sponge ‘to Destiny
‘what isto be must be—théreé is néthing for it but to

more, WiBatn.cast Maan
_\ He goes-up to:his. room, where his, valet awaits
him, and gives his tew orders... A,portmanteau.is to.
‘be packed at once—he (the valet) iste follow with
ithe rest to Liverpool before the end of the: week.
That ‘is aland the man listens with an immovable,
wooden face, outwardly, in direst, blankest’ wonder
Wii eed ede eat ak :

“Blessed,” he Says, as his maSter departs! “if"this
here,ain’t a rum go!, I thought we was going to be
married. e was atthe British Hembassy;.and now,
we're up and hoff ’ot foot, with all.our, luggage, ho-:
ver to Liverpool. I- wonder where we go) hafter
that?” : da ; vot OF if

They were going to America once again—to Califor-
nia—Nevada—Oregon—all the wild, new lands whith-
er they had never set foot yet. Not to forget—that
could never be!, But. life, ij seemed, amid perpetual
hardship and adventure, amid .wild regions and
wilder men, would be more easily dragged out with-
out hope than elsewhere, :

He had told his mother; and’she "had:listened in
such wonder, such pain, such ‘pity, as words cannot
tell’ She had set her whole heart on this match,
and it was neyer tobe. Her whole happiness in life
was wrapped up in her son, and he was to be taken
from her. He must go--since this woman stood be-
tween him and France forever, better, far better,
they should part.

‘Tt would rather go,” he had said; ‘tnot to forget,
not to suffer less—I do not hope that, I do not even
wish it; but I cannot stay and face the wonder, the
scandal, that will ensue, Lam a coward, if you like,
but I underwent the ordeal once, and——” he get his
teeth hard and stopped.

“Yet, I wilkstay if you wish,” he said, after a mo-
ment’s pause, ‘I will stay with you, and,” another
pause and breathing hard, ‘“‘ske can return to Eng-
land with Lucia Dynely.”

But the mother, whose life was bound up in him,
clasped her arms about his neck and answered:

“You must. go, Gordon, oh, my son! France is
right—she can never be your wife while that woman
lives, and so eternal parting is best for you both.
You must go, and may Heaven's blessing be with

ou.”

And then there had been a parting, so sad, 80
solemn, last words so sweet, so motherly, a partin
prayey so earnest, 50 holy, that the flerce wrath an

ot rebellion had died out, and somehow calm had
come, ‘If any calm, a caim despair,’—such had
come to him. And he had left the hotel, very pale,
very grave, a great sadness on his face, but other-
wise unchanged. é

He must see Dennison before he left. He went to
the Louvre and found him, providentially, lounging
aimlessly about, and looking bored. See cele

“De do, Caryll,” Terry began, abbreyiating the
formula, and swallowing a gape, ‘‘Awfully slow
work this., Haven’t seen a face I know since noon,
Was at your place and found the family invisible—
dead or sleeping. Ericis doing the role of Master
Goodchild—trotting out the madre aud Crystal, and
making @ martyr of himself, I know. But I say, old
boy, anything wrong, you know? On my life, now
I look again, you seem awfully seedy.”

“We can on the street, [suppose

 

” Caryll an-

y

Jook | being but herself.

 

    
   
  

fest “hl but Z know it wil

ladies in marvelous toilettes... If France were. only |.

go forth into the outer darkness, and be hedrd of no’ ;

 

YORK WEEKLY. =>

swers, abruptly, and taking hisarm, ‘I have some-
thing of importance to say to you. Oome this way.

_| Dennison, I'm off to-morrow!”

“off7? Terry repeats the word and stares.

“Off for good and all—to return no more—to the
other end of the world, It’s all up between me and
—Terry, can’t you guess? I thought you did last
night.. Madame Felicia is my divorced wife.”

There is a pause, aspeechless, breathless pause.
Mr. Dennison looks at the moon, the stars, the sky,
the streets, the eens the people, and all spin
round, At last, ** y Jove!” he breathes, and is still.

Caryll does not speak—his mouth is set rigid and
hard behind his beard. They walk on, and the si-
lence grows uncomfortable. Terry in desperation
breaks it first.

“I thought she was dead,” is what he says.

“So did I,” Caryll answers; ‘so they did in Can-
ada, so the papers said. She is not, however. Mad-
ame Felicia seventeen years ago was my wife: the
gn ou rescued on the streets two nights ago my

aughter.

“Hittle Black Eyes!
again. :

“I fancied you must have suspected something of
this since last night. Irecognized her at the thea-
ter. I visited her this morning. There is nota
shadow of doubt. The dancer, Felicia, is my di-
voreed wife,”

“By Jove!” once again is all Terry can say, in his
blank amaze. ‘‘And, France?” he asks, after a
pause,

‘‘Allis at an end there. In France’s creed there
is no such thing as divorce. Iam as much the hus-
band of Felicia'as though that divorce had never
been.”

There is another uncomfortable silence. What is
Terry tosay? Fluency and tact are at no time his,
But silence is about as comforting as speech just
now. 2 ee
“So Lam going away,” Caryll resumes, steadily;
‘and I leave my mother and France iu your charge,
Dennison, I go to-morrow. When does your leave
expire ?”

"Tn a fortnight.”
“Phere will be ample time, then. My mother pro-
poses returning to Caryllynne; you will escort her
thither, For the rest, y Dynely will be told the
truth, but no one else—least ofall, Eric. There will
be no end of conjecture, and gossip, and mystifica-
tion, no doubt, but since none of us will be here to
hear it, it won’t greatly matter.” qt

“But,” Terry hazards, ‘will she keep the secret?
They say women never can, you know?” a

A cold smile lights Gordon €aryll’s lips.

“Trust them when it is to their own interest. Fe-
licia has fooled M. Diventurini into offering to make
her his wife. The wedding, Iam told, is to take
place soon. He has no idea that she has ever been
married—she has lied to him from first to last. It is
her interest to hold her tongue, and now that her
revenge is satisfied, she will.”

“It's a dused bad business, Caryll, old fellow,”
Terry says, gloomily. “I’m awfully sorry, Con-
found the woman! she seems born to work mischief
and deviltry to every man she meets,”

. “Another thing, Dennison,” Caryll pursues, taking
rno heed; ‘‘what I principally wished to speak to you

By Jove!” Terry aspirates

 
    
 
  

“ cold i J i ut, indeed, is my daughter. By fair means or
iin ed Set treed tea oe me | "pera fo she must be taken from her mother and given

tome. And, Terry, for this I look to you.”

“To me?” Terry repeats, blankly; ‘but how? I
can’t go to Felicia and demand her, I can’t watch
wy chs ce and steal her away. Hangit, no! She’s
a female d, and J owe her no g turn, but still

  
    
       
  
 
 

fi
_ | She is the girls mother, and as such has a right to

her. I suppose she is fond of her?”

‘She is not. Felicia never was fond ofany human
She would send the girl adrift
to-morrow, only it adds to her revenge to retain
her, She will not treat her kindly, of that Iam
sure; and before the week ends the poor child will
need but to fly. My mother will gladly re-
ceive and « ‘her.

  
  
   
  
     
 
 
  

you must see her for
, h. You have been of
Will trust you. Explain every-
better home and kinder relatives
ver known await her. She will go
own free will—take my word for

  
  
  

Natural, Dont speak of it, Terry. 1 kn

4 ., Don’t speak of it, : wt
can ee. cnlimheleare te
would | knowledge. There is no more to be
said, I believe. Look after the mother and France
—get the child away from Felicia—make Eric leave
Paris for his wife and mother’s sake ifyoucan. A
multiplicity of tasks, dear bore d the last the hard-

 

tee fault of yours if
a ail Lowill bid you goc by and good speed
They clasped hands hardin silence, then, without
one word more, parted, and each went his own way.
Terry lita cigar, and with his hands deep in his
ockets madghis way gloomily back to the Hotel du
uyre. fol adh bine

‘And if ever the fiend incarnate came on earth to
work mischief in human shape,” Mr. Dennison in-
wardly'growls, ‘he lias come in the form of Felicia
the danc¢er:'» Devil take her! is there no end to the
trouble she is destined to make ?”

Next morning, Lady Dynely, to her surprise and
annoyance, finds herself breakfasting alone. Neither
Gordon Caryll nor France Forrester is to be seen
when she enters. She waits half-an-hour—still they

* . a

 

    

her lately-found son has been like the rending of
soul and body—more bitter than the bitterness of
death; but she has learned, in weary years of peni-
tence and waiting, the’great' 1ésson of ‘Hfe“endu-
rance. §8o0 she comforts France now, in a tender,
motherly fashion, and France listens aq she could
listen to noone on earth, this morning, but Gordon's
mother.

“It is not for myself,” she says at last, after her
old, impetuous fashion, with clasped hands, and
streaming eyes, ‘it is for him. He has suffered so
much, atoned s0 bitterly in exile, and loneliness, and
poverty, all the best years of his life for that mad
marriage of his youth, and now, when | would have
made him so happy, when he was happy, in one in-
stgnt every thing is Swept from him—home, mother,
wife—and he must g0' out into exilea isery once
more. Oh, mother! mother, help me to bear it!g It
breaks my heart!” had |

The wild sobs break forth again: 'The mother's
heart echoes every word, It is retribution, perhaps
justice—none the less it is verybitterto bear. The
both think of him, leaving all things, and going bac
to outlawry and wretchedness; they think of her in
her insolent, glowing beauty and prosperity, the
world going so well with her, the bride-elect of a
prince, glorying in her vengeance, and it requires
all the Christianity within them to refrain from
hating her, . 1 \

But presently the storm of grief ends, as all things
end, and sitting on a low hassock, her head bowed
on Mrs. Caryll’s knee, France listens, to her sad
plans for the future—so different, oh, s0 different
from all the girl’s bright hopes of but a day before.

“We will return to England, France,*Mrs. Caryl
sags, gravely; ‘to Caryllynne. It has been deserted
long enough. There we will live quietly together,
and hope, and pray, and wait——_”

“Wait,” France repeats with mournful bitter-
ness. ‘Oh, mother, what isthere to wait for now ?’

What, indeed! Both are silent. Unless this fatal
woman dies—and in her rich and perfect health she
is likely to outlive them all—what can her son eyer
have to hope for in this lower world? For France—
well, as the years go on, the elder woman; thinks
happiness may return to her. She is 80 youhg,there
may be hope for her—for him, none, allied

‘Would you rather we went to Rome ” she asks,
after a pause. eefead FEL ,

‘‘No,” France says. ‘Let us return to Caryllynne,
It was his home; I'shall be less wretched there than
anywhere else on earth.” *

So it is agreed. ; ;

“Terry, will take us,” Mrs. Caryll says. “Terry
knows all. And Lucia must be told, my dear —it is
impossible a ae from her.” >"
m.‘*Yes, tell her,” Miss Forrester assents, wearily;
“the sooner the better,. And ask her to its he
to say nothing ofaltered looks, or of—him. £. will
return to my room, and you had best send for her at
once. She was speaking of taking Crystal to Ver-
sailles—let her know all, and make an end of it be-
tore she goes.” | wg m uv

Then France toils spiritlessly; cold and white, and
wretched looking, back to her room, and Lady
Dynely issent for, and the miserabie sequel to Gerdon

+ En
tk

Caryll’s early marriage is told her, as she sits pale,
and surprised, and compassionate, heside Gordon

Caryll’s.most unhappy mother, , ,

* * or; A oy * . * x

“Where is he now ?” is Sy ‘a8 she
sits wearily down, and lays her heaton the table, as
though she never cared to lift it again; He is whirl-
ing along in a French express’ trainsCalais-ward.
To-night he, will, cross, the channel;;,.by,,the first
Cunarder that quits Liverpool. he A sail for New

fatal wife has driven him.

CHAPTER Xi"
M. LE PRINCE.” is

2 engeh of
bot

75

 

‘| ten in the evening. Almost absolute solitude

  
  
   

 

fail to put in an” appearance. Lady Dynely hates
aa breakfasts, and rather pettishly rings the
‘bell.
',*‘It’s wery odd,” she thinks annoyedly; ‘‘all day
yesterday, and now again this morning, neither
Gordon nor France is to be seen. And both are such
preposterously early risers.”

‘Hervownh maid answers the summons, and her
ladyship impatiently sends her in quest’ ofthe tru-
jants, ‘Ten minutes, and Simpson returns.

_“Miss Forrester has not yet left her room. She is
suffering from headache, and begs my lady to ex-
use her until luncheon. For Mr. Caryll—Mr, Caryll,
my lady, has gone.” ;
“Gone!” my lady repeats, with a blank stare.

“Yes, my lady. Norton, his man, received his or-
ders last night to pack up and follow him at.once to
England.” Mr. Caryll lett the hotel himself late last
evening, and has not since returned,”

Lady Dynely listens to this in dazed incredulity.
France ill!—Gordon gone! Now what does. this
mean ?, Her first impulse was to goto Mrs, Caryll
and inquire, her second to eat her breakfast and
wait quietly until she was told. She acted on the
second, ordered in breakfast, and sipped her choco-
late as best she might for the devouring curiosity
that possessed her.

An hour later and Miss Forrester came down. The

A quiet street near the Rue de Ja Paix, The hour,
n-
ing—only at long intéryals the’ footsteps of some
passer-by awakening the echoes. *Dim' and afar off
as it seems, the turmoil of the great city céming

mellowed and subdued. i ant ta
One house, argo unlighted, gloomy, standing in a
paved. oe te es has had a constant stream of
D=

visitors for the past two'hours...Thé€y are atl men-
stealthy ai furtive took, who ‘

     

     
   

  
 
   

men who have a

  
 

 

yea apidly, who Pe
Fant at tho gata, who do not spe d more than.
minutes in those gloomy precincts, who fil

 
   
 

    

and disappear, only to have others take theirp
So tt has been for the past two hours, so it is
to be until perhaps midnight. ._

This house is the property of His Excellenc¥ Prince
Diventurini; and M. Diventurini is the leader and
moving spirit ot a secret potiget Italian society. ,
For upward of two months he has been absent on a
secret mission of grave import; this is the evenin
of his return, and the members of, {
jans all—have been summoned to their heatiquarters .
to report progress to their leader. ; Pos Sak

Outside, the gloomy and: secluded mansion is‘
wrapped in profound darkness; inside, halls and

M. Diventurini sits, being brightly illuminated.
He sits at a table strewn with papers, letters, pam-
phlets—small, spare, yellow, with black, glancing .
eyes, sharp as stilettoos, and thin compressed lips.
One by one, his followers come and g0;-one by one,
their reports are noted down and docketed:
With sharp, quick precision he conducts éach in-
terview, With imperious command he gives his or-
ders, With scant ceremony he dismisses each man of
them all,, Business ofa still more private.and deli-”
cate nature awaits his attention—business purely per-.
sonal to M,,le Prince—and he yather cuts, short the
latest comers, and hurries the levee to a elose, 4
A‘clock over his ‘head chimes eleven. | With anim-
patient gesture he dismisses ‘his last'client, flings!
himself Dack in his chair; pushes’ his secant blaék?

 

 

dainty morning toilet was as fresh and wunexception-
able as,ever, the pretty rich brown hair as perfectly
coiffed. ¢But out of the dark re face all the color
was stricken, out of the clear brown eyes all the
youthful gladness, all the loving, happy light. Her
beauty and her youth seemed to have departed from
herinanight. She went to Mrs. Caryll’s room, The
elder lady sat in her easy chair, dressed for the day,
waiting inan anguish of suspense. As France came
in she opened her arms, and without a word the girl
went into them, and laid her poor, pale face on the
motherly bosom with a great, tearless sob.

‘*My child! my child!”

Then she held her to her, and there was silence.
The eyes of Gordon Caryll’s mother were full of pas-
sionate, pitying tears, but the eyes of France were
dry and burning.

‘ITsent him away—from you who love him so
wT Oh, mother, forgive me. I did it for the

est.” ,

She says it in a choked whisper, lifting her face
for a moment. Then again it falls on the other’s
shoulder.

‘Tt was like death, it was worse than death, but I
told him to go,” she says, again, in that husky un-
dertone.

‘“My dearest,” Mrs, Caryll answers, holding her
close, “youdidright. Dearly asI love him, precious
as your happiness is to me, I would rather part with
him forever, rather see you asI see you now, than
let you be his wife while that woman lives, _I be-
lieve as you believe about divorce. No law of man
can alter the law of God. If she was his wife seven-
teen years ago—my child, how you shiver!—are you
cold ?—she is his wife still. Itis right and just that
he should have put her away—thatil believe; know-
ing her to be alive now, it is right and just also that
you should have sent him from you. But, oh, my
Hen dear, itis hard on you—it is very hard on

im.’

‘Don’t,” France says, with a great gasp. ‘Oh,
mother, not yet! Icawtbearit. This day fortnight
was to have been our wedding day, and now——”

She breaks down all in a moments, and the tears
come—a passionate rain of tears, wild and heart-
breaking. The mother holds her almest in silence,
and so on her bosom lets her weep her great anguish
out, ;

She is crying herself, but quietly. Great self-con-
trol_has always been hers—is hers still, “To part with

 

 

hair, thickly streaked with gray, off his forehead with’
a weary air, and then sits for some minutes lost in
deep and anxious thought. His thick brows knit,
his lips set themselves ina tight, tense line, then,
with a seoond, impatient motion, he seizes a silver
hand-bell and rings a sharp peal. r ;

“T shalbspeedily learn whether it isstruth or slan-
der,” he mutters. ‘Paujol and Pauline watch her
well, and the sey ae me soul and body. I may
trust their tale, and if she has played me false, why,’
then—let her look toherself!? —, ;

The bell. is answered almost immediately by the
servant who has stood.on guard,

He bows and awaits.

‘*Have they all gone?”

“All, M. le Prince.” Ae

‘‘Has Paujol come ?” ul BY paces:

“Paujol has been awaiting your excellency’s com-
mands, for the last hour.” Caee

‘Let him enter.” mae

The man bows again and disappears.

M. le Prince lies back in his chair and plays a
devil’s tattoo of ill-repressed impatience on its aim. ,
Then M. Paujol enters—a very tall man, in a gor-

eous uniform, no other, in fact; than Madame

‘elicia’s huge chasseur in his robes of state.

“Ah! Paujol. You have been here for some time,
Antoine tells me, Haye you obtained leave of ab-
sence, then, from madame ?”

‘‘Madame is notaware of my absence, M. le Prince.
Madame departed one hour ago to the bal d’ opera
+ engeerer nts instant she left the Varieties,

n fact.

‘Ah-h!” the interjection cut the air sharply asa
knife; ‘‘to the bald’ opera at the Gymnase, With
whom ?” a ’

“With the young milor Anglais—M. le Vicomte
Dynely.”

A moment’s silence. An ominous flash, swift,
dangerous, has leaped from the eyes of the Neapoli-
see cruelly thin lips set themselves a little
tighter. : |

“it is true, then! all I have heard. He isthe la
test pigeon madame has seen fit to pluck, this green
young British lordling! He is with her at all times,
at all places. Paris rings with his infatuation—eh, —
Paujol? is it so?” ‘

‘it is the talk of Paris, monseigneur, of the clubs
and the salons, of the strcets and the theater. Does
your excellency wish me to tell you what they say ?”

“All, Paujol! Word for word.”

“They say, then, M. le Prince, that but the Eng-
lish noble has a wife already, madame would throw
over your excellency and marry milor Dynely. They
say that madame has fallen in love with his hand.
some face, and that while your highness will be the
oe and dupe, fe will still remain the favored

over.’

The hand—thin, sinewy, strong—that clasps the
arm of the chair, clutches it until the muscles stand
out like cords. A flerce Neapolitan oath hisses from
his lips—otherwise he sits and listens unmoved. |

“Go on, Paujol,” he reiterates, ‘‘Your,report is
most amusing, my friend. He is at madame’s room
constantly, is he not ?—he is her cavalier servante to
all places ?—his gifts are princely in their profusion
and splendor ?—again, is it not so?”

“It isso, monseigneur—Pauline tells me the jewels
he has given herjare superb. He is her niecatey at-
tendant home from the theater, he is at all her re-
ceptions, each day they ride in the Bois or the
Champs Elysees, he spends hours in madame’s salon

York, and so begin the second, cxile, to which his ,
; { TA

acne Stntiaecetptilladivabinnts tatarwatteii

the soejety—Ttal-

passages are dimly lit—one room only, that inwhich —

   

oosih~ calipnaaegagpits

jini «antenatal paren

—-

ee

aeabetaseech

 

 

 

 

 

;

)

:

i 4
i iv
: 5 ne 1h

A Z é ?
vee if
; tee i

'f
i
% & ys
ty
S ~
:
i
4
; |
Tae
}

Y 1
Ue
b 3
q s
5 a

i £
ee

 

  

 

 

 

 
ad

 

any

oeseihiiibitia ae iaaeee

‘

wont

4

Semheas

 

 

ty : HOO Nk

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

6
! 6
+ et i
¢ A , e, ‘
Z to fe » ‘ ; & APA C 6
eG 4 AGES
‘ ; , . ry e I Ste
eee BE rete ct SSE Ty ec ree Fi py wee oe oe nS a tt — + a ala ——-___ __ qu necarenine : ny

PS —————— = T

a a tree. Eye, lip, nostrils, voice and bearing were exactly like A strange gleam, which seemed like a flash of exultant thought, | cool, their eyes bright, their muscles as elastic as steel. It was

each morning. To none of the many gentlemen THE DAY iS DONE. those Elena oa observed in Zona not bulf-axi-hour before. blazed in Garvin Marduke’s eyes as be heard her words. 1 these who had nae been able to stem the fierce charge ot pike

whom madame has honored with her regard has she oMaaeiy ' en pee thought Elena, “ow much she resembles “Do you know the laws of our associution? Fall back, my | and cutlass made by Marlin Marduke’s well-disciphned guards.

B vIN. Zona Vultree

showa such favor as te M. le Vicomte Dynely. Ma-,
dame Dynely, it is said, is dying of jealousy. All
Paris laughs, monseigneur, and when your ‘excel-
lency returns wonders how the drama will end.”
“Paris will soon learn,” monseigneur answers
grimly. An ominous calm has settled upon him, the
devil's tattoo has quite ceased now, his. black eyes
litter diabolically. ‘Thou hast watched well, Pau-
fa; my friend, thou shalt be well rewarded. Madame

v
@reams not then of my return ?”

“She does not; eal excellency. I heard her tell
™. Dynely only to-day that your highness would
mot return to Paris for another week.”

A smile curled the thin lips.

*J¢ is well, And ‘so safe in my absence, not dream-
ing that her chasseur and femme de chambre are
my paid.and devoted spies, she takes as her lover
this pretty-faced English boy, and all Paris laughs at
me! Itis well, lsay. But lam notthe husband yet,
and the English say those laugh best who laugh
last, Andso they assist at the bal d’ operato-night ?
Ah, what hour does madame propose returning,
Paujol ?” . ‘

“An hour after midnight, M. le Prince. She quits
early that she and M. ‘Dynely may start early for
Asnieres, where they spend to-morrow.”

Again that threatening flash leaps from the eyes
‘of the prince.

“What does madame wear ?” he demands.

A domino noir, with a Knot of yellow ribbon on
the left shoulder.”

“And, monbieur ?” : ‘

*‘Monsieur goes in full evening dress, with a yel-
low rose in his button-hole, and lemon gloves.”

Diventurini takes out his watch. So

‘‘Half-past eleven—ample time. A million thanks
friend Paujol! AsIsay, your fidelity shall be weil
rewarded. Isyour report made? Ifso you may de-,

art! iit ;

. “One moment, monseigneur., My report is not fin-
ished—the most important part is yet to come. Is
your texcellency aware that madame has a daugh-
tet wd hn

“What !”? :

“That madame has a daughter—a tall English
mam’selle of sixteen years, at present stopping with
madame ?” " { 5

The yellow complexion of the Neopolitan fades to
a greenish white. He sits and stares.

*Paujol! A daughter! What is it you say ?”

“The trutk, M. ie Prince. A daughter anda hus-
band. The daughter is with her now, asI tell you;
the husband divorced her many years ago. The
Maughter was brought to the house late one night
by an English gentleman, a friend of M. Dynely,

 

The day is done, and the darkness .
Falls from the wings of night,

‘As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me
That my soul cannot resist—

A feeling of sadness and longing
That is not akin to pain,

And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles ruin.

Come, read to me some poem,

Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Net from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of time; >
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life’s endless toil and endeavor,
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler peet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through the long days of labor,
And nights devoid of euse,
Stilt heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet
The restiess pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That foliows after prayer.
Then read from thie treasured volumo
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice; :
An@ the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents like the Arab,
And as silently steal away.

Marlin Marduke;

 

 

 

Monsieur Dennison.”—Paujol pronounces’ the Eng-
lish names'with perfect correctmess—‘‘and has re-
mained eyer since. Before you return, however
madame proposes sending her away. The husban
came once, and once only. The interview was brie,
Here is.his card.” ;

He draws it out and places it before him. ‘Gor-
on Caryl,” Diventurini reads. For a moment he
is ataloss, for a moment his memory refuses to
place him. Then it all comes upon him like light-
hing. The picture “How the Night Fell,” the mys-
terious resemblance of the woman’s face to Felicia,
her determination to have it at any pice, and the
name of the artist—Gordon Locksley, then—Gordon
Caryll afterward. In common with the rest of the
world he has heard Gordon Caryll'’s story—the mad
marriage of his youth, the scandal, the divorce, the
prolonged exile from home and country, and now—
and now Paujol stands before him with an immova-
ble face, and tells him gravely that Felicia, the
woman he has honored with the offer of his hand, is
that fatal divorced wife. :

Be sits for a moment, petrified, and in that mo-
ment he believes. Paujol never makes mistakes,
never hazards rumors without proof, . She has lied to
him then from the beginning, duped him from first to
last,’ and Prince Diventurini could better endure
any. thing than the thought that he has been fooled
and laughed at by the woman he has loved.

4*3o!" he says, between his teeth, ‘this must be
seen tol. Proceed, Paujol—you are indeed a treasure
beyond price.” '

Thus encouraged, M. Paujol, still with a gravely
immovable face, proceeds. In detail he narrates
how Dennison brought to madame at midnight this
waif of the streets, how madame at once received
her, how Pauline faithfully did her part, overheard
every word of the conversation that passed between
mother and daughter, and faithiully repeated that
conversation to him. He had taken it down in writ-
ing from her Iips on the spot, and would read it
aloud to monseigneur now. |

He unfolded the document.as he spoke, and slowly
read #t over, that momentous convérsation in which
*Donny” had claimed Felicia as her mother,
Felicia had acknowledged her as her child+the
pledge of seerecy between them, and the compact by
which madame was to her off as a distant rela-
tive. In his cold, steady, monotonous voice Paujol
‘read it over, then folded, and handed it respectfully

to his superior officer and master. Diventurini, his

yellow face still sickly, greenish white, waited for
more.

‘The girl—she is still there ?” he asked.

“She is still there, M. le Prince. _ She is to be sent
away in two days, She and madame have. hada
quarrel.”

“Ah! a guarrel! What about ?”

“About M’sieu Dennison, M, Dennison came yes-
terday, came the day before, and both times asked to
see the young lady he had picked up on the streets,
Madame put him off with a falsehood. Mam/selle
was ailing and had declined to see him. This Pau-
line repeated to mam’selle, who, it would appear, is
most anxious to meet again with the gentleman who

‘Tescued her, Mam’seile flew into a violent passion,
sought out madame and taxed her with duplicity.

Madame is not accustomed to being arraigned for

her actions, and possesses, as monseigneur doubtless

3s aware, a fine, high temper of her own, Before
five minutes madame was boxing mam’selle’s ears.
Mam’‘selle became perfectly beside herself with fury,
and tried to rush out of the house, but was captured
and brought back by Pauline, who was, as usual, on
the watch. Madame then informed, Pauline that
- mam’selle was mad, quite mad; that her madness
consisted in fancying her her mother, that she had
run away from her friends under that delusion, and
that now she was under the necessity of locking her
up, for a day or two, until she could send her safely
back to those friends. The passion cf mam’selle was
frightful to behold, so Pauline says, but she was
brought back and safely locked up, and so continues
locked’ up at this present moment, She-refuses to
speak or eat, and, lies like a stone. Madame has
made arrangements to have her removed the day
alter to-morrow—where, Pauline has rot as yet dis-
covered.” pat

Paujol pauses. Diventurini, his face still green,
his lips still set, his eyes still gleaming, looks up.

*And the conversation between madame and M,
Gordon Caryll—did Pauline also overhear that?”

=‘Pauline overheard every word, monseigneur, and,
as before, repeated it to me, .As before, I took it
down in writing upon the spot, and have it here.
Shall I read it aloud, M.le Prince?”

‘By a gesture Diventurini ives assent. Immovy-
ably Paujol stands and reads this second report; im-
movably his master sits and listens. It leaves no
xoom for doubt—Felicia has deceived him, as thor-
oughly and utterly as ever woman deceived man. A
husband—a daughter—a lover! and he the laughing
stock of Paris! His face for an instant is distorted
with passionate fury, as Paujol places this second
paper before him,

*-This is all?” he hoarsely asks.

**This iS.all, M, le Prince.”

“The girl is still locked up, you say, in madame’s
rooms, and madame will not return from the opera
ball until one o’clock ? Wait, Paujoi, wait!”

He leans his forehead on his hand and thinks for
an instant intently. Then he looks up.

“I will go with you, Paujol, first to see this girl,
then to the Gymnase. I have no words with which
to commend the admirable manner you and Pauline
have done your duty. Go and call a fiacre at once.”
‘ Pavjol bows low and obeys. Diventurini sits
alone. Hedoes not forone second doubt the truth
of allthis he has heard. His two emissaries are

. Adelity itself—their loyalty has been long ago proven.
He has long doubted the woman he has asked to
marry him. To-night has but made cohviction doubly
sure; and Cesare Diventurini is’ not a man to let
man or. woman, friend or foe, betray him with impu-
nity. His face looks leaden in the lamplight, his
black eyes gleam with a fury that is simply mur-
derous.

“A husband who divorced her—a child whom she
has hidden—a lover for whomJam betrayed!” he
repeats through his set teeth, ‘‘and all Paris laugh-
ing atme! To-night at the bal d’opera, to-morrow
at Asnieres, and M. le Prince safely absent for an-
ein al Diavolo} it is like the plot of her own
plays! :

He laughs, a laugh not pleasant to hear, rises and
makes ready for his drive. The flacre is already at
the door, he enters and is rapidly driven away to the
lodgings of madame.

[TO BE CONTINUED.1

GROWN GRAY IN GRIEF,
By Prof. Wm, Henry Peck,

[“Marlin Marduke”’ was comimenced in No. 43, Back numbers
can be obtained {rom any News Agent iu the United States. ]

CHAPTER XIX.
THE STILETTO OF THE STRANGE LADY.

After Biena had uttered those words:

“Of this be sure, they are not in the moon,’) words
which seemed absurd to Garvin Murduke and Kaspar
Rheiuhand, but words which endowed Johosaphat Fry
With extraordinary activity; the two former exclanged
giances of doubt aud surprise. :

“What do you mean by saying that they are notin the
moon?’ demanded Gatviu, severely, “Of Course we
know that they are not in the moou—any fool would know
a3 muci—even Fry—ah, und the simpleton has stolen
away? I think the fellow isan idiot, Muster Kaspar?!

“l have heard it said that all idiots have euormous
appetites, sir, and if an enormous appetite be any criteri,
on in the matter, Johosaphat Fry is one of the most com-
plete idiots ever created. i will wager a good round sum
that the knave has devoured gallons of milk, quarts of

 

 

cream, dozens of eggs, poduds of butter——”

“Kuought? said Garvin, ‘we have oller Lhings to think
of andtodo. ‘The girl says that the two travelers are no
inthe moon. No doubt she has concealed them. Lu
here comes Herod, and he willjoin ‘usin the search. J
is scarcely possible that they could have escaped from th
jun; and if they have instaut search must be made. See
to it, Kaspar.’? ; ie ales a ;

Elena heard these words, and knowing whither her
lover iad been carried, thanks Lo thesecret sigu made by
the courier, glided away and rapidly seught her own
apariument—that in which Kaspar Rueinaund had re-
ceived the greatest scare he had ever experienced. |

She entered the room hastily, and Sturied as she saw
the strange lady seated at the tabie,

“Ah, dear Jady,’? said Elena, hastening to the lady’s
side, kneeling and kissiug her fair haods, *‘is this not rash
indeed? You should be lying down; you are too weak to
be up. Way. Lle{t youin bed. You luve risen and really
‘dressed! You shouid not have attempted it without wy
assistance——" teen es
. »’Tuere, there,’ said the lady, in a soft and rebuking
tone, as her beautiful and suowy hand smoothed Kreua’s
glossy, Bair from her fair and spotless forehead, ‘say no
more of that, It is true I was lyiug in Lhe bed when you
quilted the room. Do remember What you exclaimed
when you started up from the wiudow ani few away?’!

“Did L gay anything, dear lady?’’ asked Elena, in much
surprise, and biushing deeply. ‘Ido not remember.”

“You started up agif in great alarm, exclaiming; ‘Oh, great
Heaven! the nobie gentleman will be slain!’ and ran from tne
room,” replied the lauy, with a sad smile. “You appeared great-
ly excited. I was not asleep, and youc agitation made me spring
irom the —"

“Oh, how careless I am——”

“No, it is better as it is,” continued the lady,
several days, that if 1 could only summon resutution to leave my
bed, Lshould regain my streugih, und now Lam very sure of ii,
my dear, good girl, for [have not been as well as 1 am at tlig
momentiurmonths. Youlettthe room; Isprang up aud dressed
hastily—your care had provided thut the dress in which I was
cast as here, the ouly dress I now pussess, should be ready for

*T had felt, for

using, and in a few moments I was ciothed.”

“Not the only dress you possess, dear lady. When you were
rescued from tue sealsawthat the initials ‘1. B. A.’ were en-
graved upon the goldem clasp of your nedilace, and as several
trunks had already floated ashore with the same initials tacked
upon them, I Claimed them a yours, and they are now in the
next room. Idid not teil you Us betore, tor indeed, dear lady,
I did not think your mind was Clear.’? ‘

“Indeed it has beep somewhat clouded,” replied the lady, sigh-
ing. “But Lam better now, Pe better, aud I am very giad
that you have preserved my trunk Weil, I dressed, and tiren I
saw that a serious affray had commenced, I remained ia this
room, torl am unacquainted with the place, and ag I peeped out
Isaw many-rude people, ‘There has been bloodshed, I know; I
hope none in whom you feel &n interest have been injurea.”

‘ears welled trom Hiena’s beautilul eyes as she repitod:

“Alas! he whom I love as I love my lie—indeed Jar more than
Tiove my life—is seriously wounded.”

“Indeed! How Bastop anata Where is he?”

“Below, in the power of mien who hate lim.”

“Ah, the commandant of whom you have told me ?”

Yes, lady—he ismay betrothed husband—so noble, 80 good.’’

Eieua spoke these words with sobs and iu broken acceits, Her
head sank upon fee bosom of the lady, and the latter caressed it
us tenderly as a mother fondles an ailing infant”

“Dear gui,” she said, “it he is noble and good you have every
reason to hope that a just and allwise Heaven is watching over
him te deliver him from his enemies.”

“Heaven did not deliver you trom yours, dear lady, if you told
me your history aright,’ urged Elena, :

“1 can scarcely recall what I teld you, Elena,’ remarked the
lady, sighing, and passing ber hand over her forehead, “yet I
have &@fiim hope that Heaven will sot aliow my enemies to
triumph always. Pray tell me, dear girl, is there any oue whom
you know whose person Will answer to this description: A man
enormously fat, of more than medium hight, with a bead mon-
strously lurge, a face covered with fold upon fold of fat, with
eyes large aud staring, a complexion of scarlet, Lair shaggy and
grizzled, a heavy coarse beard, red I think——”

“Ob, I know lim yery weil,” interrupted Elena, who recog-
nized the description immediately.

“Who is Le f”?

“His name is Kaspar Rheinhand. Ho is tho owner and land-
lord of thisinn, He is iny adopted father,”

“Kaspar Rhemland’s ?” echvued the lady. “He has assumed a
differeut name trom that which he bore when I knew him.”

“Ah, 50 you have known Kaspar Rhcinhand?”

“Not by that name, Elena. He is one of those dreadful ene-
mies of mine of whom 1] have said something to yoa——”

“Great Heaven!” exclaimed Elena, to whom the lidy had nar-
rated much of her history. ‘*But when did you see Lim?”

“Not fiiteen minutes ago. He was in this room,” replied the
lady, anu rising to her feet as it electritied into rage by tae reool-
lection of the presence of the landlord, she began to pace the
apartmentrapidly, grasping the Lilt of her stiletto nervously.
“Why did [not strise him down when he was powerless in lis
terror. Hedidnot recognize me at first, but when he did he
Was a Craven, a4 coward, a poltroon—he sereamed and fled. No
doubt he thought he saw the spirit of the woman he believed he
had murdered years ago off the coast of Spain, The wretch, the
base villain! oh, fully as base as he who'set him on!”

At this moment tiie door was opened. There was no notica
given that it was about to be opened, nor that any one desired
admittance, Itopened suddenly aud noiselessly, and in was
thrust the massive head, the shaggy red hair, the emormous fuce
of Kaspar Rheinhand.
if any besides him were there he did not permit those within
the room to learnitataglance, Hesimply opened the door
just wide enough to admit that great and hideous head, then,
with his elephantine bulk stiiliu the hall aud unseen, he drew
the edge of the door close to his neck, as if he tacetiously con-
veyed tie idea thathe was caughtina trap by the neck, and
alnned and grimaced, saying, iusolently:

“Hol you are in your nest, ny little birds!

Eiena, who had remained upon her Knees, sprang Lo her feet
and cried;

“Shame! shame! Ilow dare
announced, uninvited?”

“She asked me ie re same question,” said Kaspar, distort-
ing histace and rolling hisgreat eyes toward the lady, ‘Per-
haps all of this house 1s not mine, ehy’”’
but the lady, the strange lady, was not content to speak indig-
nant words, “his second appearance of amau whom she in-
tensely hated, aroused the ferceness of her nature, Years of
firm resolve to bear calmly and patiently all the ills that Heaven
might see fit tosend upon her, had sotteued a heart that in its
youth had been prone to tempestuous passion, but the intrusion
ot one who lad wrecked ali her hopesof happiness instantly
fired her soul,

She sprang forward with the rapidity of light, her hand was
upon the hilt of her stiletto asshe sprang, and before the un-
wieldy landiord could withdraw his great head the weapon had
twice fallen upou his brow and face.

The stiletto glanced from his thick skull, merely tearing the flesh
from one eyebrow to the other; but the secoad blow pierced ‘his
jaws, passing between his teeth, perforating lis tongue and piere-
lng through both cheeks,

*Devils!’ roared the wounded and astounded landlord, snatch-
ing away his head and bellowing with pain.

“Even birds have claws,’ said the lady, as with flashing eyes
she poised her stately form and raised her stiletto with a gesture
of defiance, '

Elena was greatly startled. Atthat moment the lady most
mnarvelously resembled the imperious and seli-willed Zona Yul-

you enter alady’s chamber un-

 

Siie was amazed too that a lady who hau-been go gentle, so pa-
tient, so resigned during ber serious and painful iilness should
so suddenly be transiormed #uto the living image ot the flerce
aud daring beauty of Langfieay, before Whose auger the boldest
smuggiers had retreated in contusion,
~ But here it is ouly justice to Zona Vultree to state that she had
never given way to those (urious Outbursts of passion except
when some lawless fellow, presuming upon her free and trank
manner, dared to address her im terms uunfitted to her haughty
and instiuctive ideas of selt-respect.

Very little, if any, supervision had the wretched Paul Vultree
ever taken as regards the rearing of this splendid nature, this
noble heart and miud, this beautilul maiden whom he called his
daughter, and she had grown intu magnificent womanhood
totally unguarded against the suures, the temptations, the solici-
tatious of evil, @ pare and virtuous woman,in deed and in
thought, upheld in the paih ofsevere morality by nothing ex-
cept that which we may call instauct.

Unlike Elena, who by ehauce lad been taught, Zona could
neither write nor read, and yet she had never been deceived in
her estimate ofthe chracters of those about her, until evil for-
tune cast her in the way of Captain Herod Marduke.

This I state by way ot digressiou, that 1 may uot be compelled
to state it hereafter, for our story forced me to introduce her an-
der unfavorable auspices, and-the reader may have conceived
an unjust estimate of Zona’s character.

Elena, I say, was startled by the suddenly developed resem-
blance to Zona in this strange and slately Jady. Could Eleua
have analyzed her own appearance and her own character under
certain circumstances, sie would have been no sess startled by
an e€Xtraordinary resemblance which existed between herself
and this lady who so0 amazing ssembled Zona Vultree as she
steod near the door where s d punished the insolence of
Kaspar Rheinhand. ; re

Biena hai very little time to allow her mind to @well upon
this resemblance, however, forthe door was almost imimediaicly
thrown open by a vigorous hand, dnd Garyin Marduie entereu,
with his long, swinging, audacious Siride. / ~

“Well, sir,” excluimed Elena, confronting this unexpected in-
trader tirmiy. ‘What scek you here in my.room, Sir Garvin
Marduke ?”” ;

‘Phe two travelers,” he began, in a stern, arroganttone. But
dpet then lis eyes, keen, restless, Observant, fell upon tue face ol
the lady. _ 4

He stared for but an instant, and then recoiled, exclaiming:

“You were rigit, Rheinhand! It is she in flesh aud biood,”
and icft the room even more hastily than he had entered, clusiug
the door after him with a bang and a slam, aud instantly locking
it upon the outside.

“We are prisouers!” cried Elena, greatly startled by the omin-
ous click of the Jock. :

She glanced toward the strange lady and saw that she had
covered her face with “her hands. More than this, the lady was
trembling violently, and alunest immediately Sauk into a chair,
exciaiming in a bitter tone:

sat Beery that man again! And the other! Iam lost! I
am lost ;

“Dear lady,” said Elena, “you are not lost—that is if you are
strong enough to use your feet rapidly ior a tew minutes——’”

“Great Heaven! exclaimed the lady, springing up, “since I
know (at those two men are in the house, since 4 have seen Lbem,
1 teel that Heaven will give me strength to fly from them. But
did you not hear them luck the door? We cannot get out.”

-“Puere is anosher door,” said Elena. “itis concealed behind
that great chest of drawers whiclt has been agaiust it for years,

tus make haste to moye itbelore Master Khcinland remem-
bers it.” i.

Tue tall, upright chest, made in shape like the modern ward:
robe, was of oak and Very uuwieldy, buc Elena Was strung and
the kady nerved by terror. The chest was removed, the rusty
Key hung by a leathern string upou Che lock, aod using it hastily
Elena opened the deor, seized her companion’s arm, and hurricd
iuto the darkuess of the next apartment, whispering:

“We must be very stiil—do not speas.” . sail

The lady resigued herself wholly to the guidance of the braye
girl, and in a few moments they had reacueit a rear door which
Elena opened boldly,

The glare of a torci fell upon her eyes as she opened the door,
aud'she saw that two suilors were lyiug upom the ground, witu
the torch thrust into the snold between (them. At first Elena
thought these men were dead or asicep, but in a mo-
blent one raised himself upon bis eibuw, placed a flask to his lips,
drank deeply, stared for an ihSiaat at the two femules, and theu
feli back saying in a grumbling tune:

“O.d Garvin be——! I am tired of this. lying around on
guard when all the fire is——” here he became speeciiless, and
Elena gaw that the men were both drunk.

“This is fortunate,” she whispered to the lady. “They would
have given us trouble, Look, lady,” she added, raising ler ariv,
“you can see the beach by the glare of the boutire ligut. I can-
not forsake him whom I love, and whose hile is in danger, or, i-
deed, dear lady, I would go With you. Walk straight on through
the yard to the gate—can you hot see something white in the
shauow there ?”’ , ’

Yes; is that the gate 7” Be

“Yes, lady. Puss through that, and keep straight on until you
reach the beach, then turn to the right.and tolkuw the beach un-
til you see what on near approuch you will perceive to be a ves-
sel resting upon the rocks Lotiom upwards. Lhave a friend there
—he lives in that strange abode, Do not fear the barkiag of his
dog, Lut call out boldly this number—713. The hermit will ap-
pear—ie will aid you. Away—Heaven be with you haste, for I
hear footsteps in the hall above, and your tight may be aiready

knowin. ‘
The lady darted away. The terror with which her meeting

} with Rbeinband and Garvin Marduke Lad inspired her gave her

strength and fieetuess.

Liena re.eutered the inn, closed the door, and was moving
throug) the darkness of ibe ail, when (he sound of the voices
of the ijandiord and tie smuggler chief caused her to retreat in-
to the nearest room, and take temporary refuge in a large closet.
_ AS the brave girl was perfectly tamiliar with every part of the
inu, she needed uo damp to aid ber. ; . ‘

CHAPTER Xx ies
THE FEARYUL PERIL OF ZONA.

Elena had scarcely entered and closed the doo;
when Garvin and Kneinland tolluwed into th
bearing a jam.

The landiord’s wounded visage was bandage
have been speedily periormed by the experiene
smuggler ehiel; but Lieve Was Ove wound which was Impossibie
to bind up—ine wound ia his tongue, throagh which the lady's
keen stiletto had penetrated. Bigod continued te fow irom this
wound, filling Kaspar’s huge jaws with his own gore, whieh he
wasdoreed to spit out from time to time, :

oe tongue had swollea greatly, und his veice was mufited as he
spoke, i i ; }
peearne is this?” asked Garvin, as he glanced around the
apartment.

f “The 1ousekeeper’s—that is it was, for the old woman died a
e ays ago.

“We have) into every r the inn, now,” contia

Garvin, a yuan no aigus RRR oe iS are not

Dey.
—tiey escaped. Tucgiri sided them, Bui there is

 
  

closet—ict us ivok into tat.” ;

Hie opetied the door aid looked in, saying:

“Hold forward the lamp, Master Rheluland.” ;

The janulord, very surly aud morose irom excessive pain,
obeyed carelessiy, miaimabliug oul: : ;

“Dame Betsy used to hang hergowns up there—and I think
they ure tuere yet ior her mece locall jor Laem.” '

Garvin looked in, There were several gowus and dreages hang-
ing irom wooden pegs, and ther@ was apparently a hedp or Te-
watt ob cool in One Corner of tle closei, Which Was lurge and

ep. 4 GL 4b iG,

‘tue smuggler chief laid his’ grasp upon the heap, and Blen
who was beneata dt, sie having gouched in that coruer an
tossed Over such tugs 48 were at luad, believed that she was
about to be discovered.

But as Garvin's grasp gained for him only aragged old dress,
he threw it down, saying:

_ “They are not iiere—iuey have certainly escaped,” and left the
closet, Jeaving the deor open.

‘No, they are Mot ia the house, that is very plain, but they
must be in the viciuity, and will be caught tomorrow.”

Some one entered tue room at that uwoment and Elena recog-
nized the voice of the new comeras he said:

“Ah, Sir Garvin, I bave made sure of ihe rascal, Obel Ling.”

‘In what way, Captain Vuiltree?’ asked Garvin,

“ie wua caught by some of our tads,aod as I feared that he
might again escape 1 shot lin dead.”

So far Paul nad boasted whtn Oaptain Herod entered the room,
Saying: :

“Dead, indeed!; Why, man, -he deceived you. He feigned
death, the girl cut his bonds and he is free.”

. “Phe girkt  Waat girk ?’?), demanded Paul. ¢

“Who bat your duughter Zonal replied Captain Herod, ina
flerce and bitier tone. *“Wuo else ja “Langtleay would dare to do
the Geed ?”* t

Garvin Marduke seemed much surprised on hearing this intel.
ligenee, aud remarked: :

“No matter. Let the fellow go, He can do u3 no harm now,
It was @ {volish act upon the partof Zouna—but let it pass, let it
pass, Keep the knowledge to ourselves.”

“Edo not know about that,’ said Capcain Herod,
of our association pronounce death agaiust ali who aid our ene-
noes to escape’ decreed punishinéats, ‘Tie men have already dis-
covered the escape of ihe spy and how it was accemplished, Zoua
Vultree is under arrest in the public room.”
oleate arresu”? thundered Garvin, “I will sea to that in-

antly,’

With these words he rushed from the room, drawing his cut-
lass as he did 60,and m a Moment after burst into the public
room in a tempest of rage.

“There is little love between you and your father,” whispered
Paul Vultee to Captain Herod, as they hastened atier the
smuggler chief. ‘she may suspect tue truth and inierm,.”

“She does not suspect the truth, auc shoukl she inform, what
en Am Lot my own mastery” replied Captain Merod, defi-
autly. i

“But I have learned from Zona that your father madly loves
her, and lias repeatedly asked ler to wed Lim,”

‘kuere was D0 more time for conversation, as they had now
entered the public room, where the uproar was intense.

Rude and savage Lanus were oulsiretched toward Zona, who
stood near Lue center of the room, each arm grasped by a power-
ful woman, wives of some of the smugglers, It had been dis
covered that she Lad liberated the spy, und as she was by no
pens a favorite among the women of LLangtteay, who lated her

ecause ot her haughtiness, and enyied Ler Leeause of ber
beauty, it was cakes
to tear her to pieces, —

The excitement of the night and the spirits they had swal
lowed made the women as well as (he men wild and savage.

Zona had been pounced upon assie entered the inn, tor after
the fight of the gpy she had moved slowly toward the house,
while nae that the spy had escaped, aud by her aid ad
spr asi
So suddenly was she seized that she had no time todraw her
knife to defend herself; and ee this hergic and haugity
woman would have defeuded herselt desperately if possivle. But
her hands were made instantly powerless by tie ferocious eager
ness with which her female enemies sprang upon her, dragged
lier into the public room and threatened her with istant death,

“She is a traiteress!’ screamed a red-faced, biear-eyed terma-
gant, who brandisbed a short club, to the end of which was
tastened a razor,

“She set the spy free, and that calls for her Ceath,” cried
another, whose loug yellow hair floated about a iace inflamed
with bate and gin.

“She thinks she is a queen, and able to do ag she pleases!”
“Kili her!” Beat her!” “Strangle her!’ “ash her pretty face
for her!”

These flerce and menacing cries, yelled and screamed and
hooted, greeted ine ears of Garvin Marduke as he rushed into
the room, which was blazing with the light of a seore of torches,
The voble and beautiful face of the haughty and umdisimayed
captive evinced no signs of fear beyond the ashy paleness resuil-
ing from the inteuse excitement of the moment, Her eyes were
flashing with defiant courage. She cared nothing for the life
they threatened. A cold despair had tastened upon her heart
irom the moment the spy had contirmed her roiona that the
man she loved had deliberately deceived her, hat was life to
her then? Nothing to her soul but a nightmare of peat

“They say they will Kul me,” she tiouglt, as a smile of scorn
curled her beautiful lips, ‘They think 1 care to live. I would 1
panes it beyond tue grave I may forget the wreck of ny
ove

Garvin Marduke shouted at the top of his strong, harsh voice
as he saw this mob around Zona: '

“Give way! Give way!”

"Six Garvin{” cried the mob, al once falling aside and making
rooi for him to pass. *‘Room for Sir Garvin! Let him pronounce
her sentence.” . j

The smuggier chief was at Zona’s side quickly, and said sharply
to the two women who held her:

“Stand askdet Free the girl!’

“She is a traitress! She treed the spy.”

*Whosaysso? Who accuses herf’?

“A hundred accuse her! She las confessed it, She defies us,”
replied the women, while the men loarsely responded an assent,
“Do you admit that you aided Obci Ling to escane, Zona?’
asked Garvin, ‘‘Deny it, and no one shall harm you.”

“I do not deny it,” replied Zona, proudly. “1 set him free, and
I would do it again,”

“The laws

Wiue to the viragoes to have a chance

 

friends—I wish to see if she cau explain the matter—iall back!”

A wide space was at once made vxround Garvil and Zona, for
the will of the chief was respected by the wildest,

“Do you not know the law of our association? Whosoever.
male or female, young: or old, aids a condemned prisoner to cs-
Cape decreed punishment, shail be put to death.”

“fam not a member oi your bands,” replied Zona,
to do as I please.”

-‘Your father 1s one of our leaders, and the law extends to
every member of our families. That piea is folly, and it wiii
a hears by a.l with derisiun,” said Garvin. “Your life is for-

eited.

“Very well,’ responded Zona, curtly. ‘Let it be forfeited.”

She uttered this defiance so loudly that her meaning was un-
nara by the .nob of impatient women who screamed out fero-
ciously:

**You see! She defies us! Give her to us, Sir Garvin!”

“She is the daughter of one of our Clhieis,”’ said Garvin, “and
there has been Do trial.”

“What need of a trial when she admits and defles?”’ replied
twenty voices at once.

There had been so much blood shed since the sun went down,
there had been s0 many smugglers killed ami wounded by the
coast-guard, who had been led to attempt the arrest ef criminals
PF we treachery of the spy, that the mob was Lurious for more

vou. >

All were drunk, with wine, with gin, with brandy, with desire
to kill. The spy had escaped—the spy who had caused all these
deaths and wounds was iree, and ail were boilihg with rage be-
cause he had escaped. But she who had set him tree was in
their power, and her lite they must have.

“You hear,” said Garvin to Zona. “You are lost, unless you
retract your coniession and demand a trial.”

“IL wilt not make myself a confessed liar,’’ replied Zona, with a
haughty gesture. “i set him free.”’

Again she spoke s0 loudly that her words were heard distinct-
ly, and the clamor for her instant execution was renewed.

“The sentence! Pronounce the sentence! screamed the vira-
go with the yeliow hair. ‘‘Sball it be death by the cord, or by the
kuife, or the cup, or by stoning or drowning?’’

“Let her make her choice,” screamed the fury with the razor.
“We will be generous and let her take her pick. It she will heave
itto me I wii say burn her! That will tame her!”

“And if she will leave it to me I will say stone her, for then
{here’il be rare sport for all,” screeched another,

“Good! Stoue her!’ yelled another. ‘Tie ber to the very
oe from which she freed the spy, and we will pelt ler to

eatn!

The courage of Zona dil not yieM before all this ferocious
clamor tur her Cestraction. She gazed calmly about her until
her eyes met those of Paul Vultree.

The ugly humana reptile Lad forced his way in among the wo-
men aid to the front, where he stood staring at Zona,

“Wilt you say nothing to save the life ot your daughter 2?” de-
manded Zona, as her eyes feltupon him. She spoke cicarly and
caluily so that all might hear.

“I have nothing to say in the matter,” squeaked Paul. “The
will ot my iriends and neighbors is law to me.”

“True and taithtull’” cried the women, ‘Whata pity she is
not like her father—troe and faithful! Bat Captain Vuitree is
right—why should he speak a word ior a traitress like that?”

Asilence fell upon tue crowd at that moment, all waiting to
hear the expected sentence uttered by Garvin Alarduke, and Zo-
Na’s gaze, Which had tarned contemptuvously from Paui Vultree,
Met that of Captain Herod.

“Ah? she said, ‘‘you will do all you can to save my life, Herod
Marduke t”

Hie made no reply, though his face turned very pale, nor oould
be cunfront her steady, accusing eyes.

“L would scorn to receive my lite at your hands, Herod Mar-
duke!” exclaimed Zona, in accents of bitier secrn.

“Will you scurn to receive it at my hands, Zona ?’ asked Gar-
vin. “i have sometimes Bats that you Joved my son, Herod,
Isee now that you do not, Will you receive. your lile at my
hands ?”

“Upon what conditions, Garvin Marduke ?"’

Upon the condition that you will become my wile.”’

“TI will consent to become your wile, Sir Garvin Marduke,” re-
plied Zona, while her dark eyes blazed with triumph, “if any
priest or parson wil consent to wed us.”

The face of the enamored smuggier chief blazed with triumph;
a fierce joy sparkled in his deep-set eyes, and tuking Zona’s hand
in his he said, in a clear, stern voice:

“Sileuce, my friends, aod listen to what I say.”

_ “Silence! cried several, ‘He is about to pronounce the sen-
tence. Silence, all.”

Captain Herod’s eyes gleamed with joy, and so did those of
Paul Vultree, for each expected to hear seutence of immediate
death prouounced, 50 severe and ivexorable were the luws of the
association which bouna together these lawless men and women,

“Friends,” said Garvin, “‘she has confessed to the deed. By
our laws sue is condemned to death.”

A muriur of approval filled tue room. But deep silence fol-
paed instantly, for all desired to hear what death the chicf de
cre

“Tam free

“Among our laws,’ continued Garvin, “there is one which
reads thus: ‘In case the person coudemned to death be an un-
married woman #be Shall be declared tree trum the death penalty
if any unmarcied chief of the association wili become responsi-
ble iu his own person for her future good conduct, and wed her
as his wife in presence of others, accerding to Epvgish laws—
provided that the woman shall be free tu cuoose from amoug the
unmarried chiets.’?’

This commauuicalion was received with a growl.
seemed to open a joophole for the probable escape of Zuna,

“13 this not the law ?”’? demanded Garvin, in a@ stern voice.

“it 13 the law,’’ replied several of his inamediate tollowers.

‘There are but three uomarried cliiets!’ screamed the yellow-
haired virago, who had Leen biting ‘her skinny lips vindictively,

“Name tuem!” cricd another. “Let us see who will dure face
the hate and contempt of all Langfleay.””

“Name the tliree!”’ comimunded Garvin, calmly.

“First, there is Oaptain Paul Vuitree—but as he is her father,
why he cannot weu the traitress,’’ replied the yellow-haired
me

Its ulferance

So there are but twol” screamed another.

“Then pext there is ia Herod Marduke,” continued the
vixen, ‘But, of course, he will not throw himself away upon a
traiiress where there are scores of as handsome, true and faith-
ful ready aud willing to be his lady,”

Pt e as a re had Pee ere in en-
‘apping a og the said Captain Herod tenderly.
itapean Herod Marduke,” said Garvin, ‘will you step for-

ward anu shield Zona Vultree, an uumarvried condemned, by

taking ler as your wife, she accepting you?”
a’s rt sprang to her thruat in tumultuous throbbings,

She my his pre, She knew thatshe was his wife. For months

she Lad never doubted that she was Herod Marduke’s wite; only

Within a (ew weeks had she suspected deteit, and with atew

moments the man whose hie she had sayed had assured her that

Herod Marduke was her lawful husband.

Koowing all this, she raised her eyes again tothe face of this
man whoui she had already fearnea to hate, and whom she even
yet velieved she could Jove were Le to act Lhe part of a man and
accept her as his wite. d

She remeniber (49 that Heréd “Marduke had insisted upon
a secret Marriage, and that the a should be kept secret,
beeause he did nol wish to irritate liis father, who desired hin
to wed Elena Rheinhand. Perhaps the secret had weighed heay-
Uy upoa bis peace of mind atid turned his heart against his wife,
Pevhaps the spy liad lied. No matter what miglit be the truth,
now Herod Marduke had an opportunity to accept her publicly
as he had persuaded her privately.

She raised her eyes tu his, He was very pale, and seemed
faint. But it was not because his Leurt smote him. It was be-
cause he ieured (hat she bad Getected that the marriage was in-+
tended to decvive ber, and that she might claim him as her hus-
band then and there, ;

She wonvered what reply he would make fo his father’s ques-
tion, aud looked lim steadily ia the eye.

He cast his giauce to the foor and made noreply. Pau! Vul-
tree plucked ut his sleeve and whispered:

‘Perhaps you had better tuke her, lad, and then we need fear
no trouble alhead.”’

“Curie her!” ground Herod frou his teeth. “She thinks I will

give in.

‘Speak, Captain Ilerod Marduke!” saidGarvin. “Vill you ac-
capt and shicid Zona Vuiltvee, an uumarried condemned, she be-
ing willing to receive your acceptance?’ :

“Yous or no, ladf’? wuispered Paul Vultree, again plucking at

his sleeve. ——
CHAPTER XXtT.
ZONA’S3 LAST AND ONLY CHANCE FOR LIFE.

“No, I will not take heri” said Captain Herod, raising his head
and scowling darkly at Zona. _

“Ab, cowani! bypocrite! devill” thought Zona, forcing him
to tarn his scuwl trom her by the power of her indignant eye.

“Hop? yelled the yellow-haived hag, “I de really thiuk she
thought the noble captain was thinking of taking her. But there
is ove more Chance tor Ler ladyship, ‘bere is one more uumur-
ried chief.”

“Name him,” said Garvin, gravely.

“Kaspar Rheinband.””

A burst of laughter greeted this name. Though the life ofa
young and beautiful woman was at stake, the savago-hearted
mob was ready and eager to laugh, or to tear her in picces as the
hawor suited it,

“Long iive Kaspar Rhejnhand! roared the mob, laughing at
the enormously fat laudiord, whose massive head seemed doubl-
ed in siae by the bandages around it.

“At what de you Jaugh, fool dogs ?”” bellowed Kaspar, who had
foliowed the others trom that room in which we left Kiena. “Am
I, curse you all aud cvery one and eachor you! Am [a fit sub-
Lect for laughter ¢””

8o saying he dealt a tremendous bex upon the ears of the two
mearest to him, and pushed forward into the spuee immediately
betore Garvin and Une persecuted girl at his side.

“Who spoke of Kaspar Rheinhand f” he said. ‘Let’s hear.”

“You are unmairied, Master Rbeinhand t” said Garvin.

“Ox course I am, and have been ali my life. But what are all
these fuola grinning at 2?” he as be rolled his great eyes
about him and glared at the mob, “Perhaps you think I'd mazr-
ry you, Mistress Cowtace 1’? he’said to her of tue yellow hair.

“Qowtace to yourself, you bull-headed elephaut!” retorted she
of the yellow and tangled locks, in high disdain,

*Peace;” said Garena; “Kaspar Rueinhand, are you willing to
shivid Zona Vultreo according to the law of pardon set down in
the rules of our association, she being willing to accept you as
ber husbatnd and championr”?

The tongue of the corpuleat landlord was much swollen, as I
have statod, dod his utterance was quite thick, but his words
were clearly understood as he called ouf, in reply to Garvin’s
questions,

“By my bones! I will take her for my wife.” ‘

A roar of laughter, of rage, of derision drowned ihe remainder
of his speech, and the landiord stamped and fumed with rage.

“You are old enough tobe her grandfather,” screeched the
lady with the yellow hair. “Iflweresho Vdrather be sloned
to death (han marry you,’? ‘ ;

“May the great king of all the devils fly away with me this
minute,” splutiered Kaspar, “it rather than be your husband I
would not.be pickled alive,’’ :

*Silouce!”? Commaned Garvin, in some heat, while his eyes
cast a glance ot bitier hate upouthe innkeeper. ‘Kaspar Rbein-
hund has agreed to shield and accept you, Guna Vuitree, aecord-
jug to the laws ot our association, . Do you, Upon your part, ac-
cept him as your husband and euampion

“Of course sue will,” said Kaspar, beginning to advance asif
already a chosei bridegroom, “and, by my bones, lads, a mer-
ry wedding we will have of it.”?

“Wail,” observed Garvin sternly, “She has not reptied.”
“Of course she will say yes and welcome,” remarked the yel-
Jow-heleed vixen, biting those skluuy lipsagain, ‘Ot course she
will,’ '

“Speak, Zona Vultree,” repeated Garvin, “Do you accept or
reject Master Kaspar’ Roineland?t?

“) reject. “Not to save my lile a thousand times would I ac-
cept that brute once,’ exclaimed Zoua, who remembered how
otter the luge old jrascal dad leered at her, kiesed his fat hands
to lier, and yeatured upon sott love speeches to her.

“Hear her? Hurrah” screamed the yellow-haired, dancing
with delignt. “She rejects him! She won’t have him! Noteven
to save her lifo @ thousand tines will she accept thut brute once!
Miss Cowface, indeed ;”’

Peals and screams of laughter now assailed the rejected land-
lord, who threatened to become dangerously furious, until Paul
Vuttree said to him;

“Devils in the wir, man! Were you never rejected by a woman
until this day!’

“rhe sentence! The sentence!” cried the mob, remembering
that it wanted blood, and forgetting to laugh. “Tbe sentence!
‘he deatn! Send herout} Let’s have our way with her! Re-
member how many of our lady lic dead er bieeding! Vengeance!
Away with her,’ 4

These avd other vindictive crics filled the air, and the mob had
begun to press upon the unfortunate girl when Garvin again
commanded silence, and ordered a space to be cleared as before.
The crowd gave obedience ationce, lor it has been observed by a
few that the immediate followers ot the smuggler obief had
formed a cowpact and vigilant body in his rear,

Not ail of those who obeyed nope save Garvin Marduke were
there, {or many were wouuded, suine were dead—slain since tle
sup went dowu—otlers were wild or stupid with drink; but the
veterans of Garvin Marduke’s ship, the old gray and grizzled
warriors and rasgals of the sea, rough, hardy, bronzed, reckless
and taithfal had rapidly collected beliind him and Zona,

Unlike the vast majority of ihe mob, these sturdy retainers of
the shore and surge, had not drauk deeply. Their heads were

 

 

But for their presence during that flerce struggle the smugglers,
unless we except the crew of Captain Herod Marduke, would
have been scattered like frightened sheep.

They were not now more than thirty in number, but every man
of the thirty was equal to three of the mob, and altogether they
made up @ force that was too formidable to be resisted er even
opposed by any strength of men that could be collected then, un-
less Lexcept the choice and equally well-disciplined crew of
Herod Marduke. -

But the erew of Captain Herod was scattered. As yet thiscom-
mander had made no attempt, and had had no desire to call
them together. Many were without, dancing and whirling around
the bonfires, all were carousing more or less.

As Paul Vultree marked the sudden assembling of the cfew of
he acct inthe rear of Garvin, he whispered to Cuptain

erod:

“I don’t know, forI don’t think he has even suspected the
truth yet; but perhaps you had best call in your erew. Do you
see that he has ail the old trustees in his rear?”

“That is true,” remarked Captain Herod, after a glance, and
raising his tall figure to its utmost hight, he instantly caughé
the eye of one of his mates, made a quick and significant gesture,
and turned his gaze carelessly, to allappearance upon Garvin
and the persecuted Zona,

“Friends,” said Garvin, in his deep, harsh voice, “there are
more than three leaders of our association who are unmarried
There is afourth, and the nameof the fourth has not been
called,”

“Indeed,” said she of the yellew hair, gazing inquisitively
about, ‘I am pretty well informed tn that matter, and I am sure
there is no other.”

“The sentence! the sentence!’ cried several voices clamorous-
ly; and at thatinstant Elena appeared in the space left Vacant
bear Marlin Marduke. Pras

Sbe had stolen from her concealment as’soon.as she was sure
that those who had entered the room had Geparted, hurried after
them, and unobserved by them, beard all that hud passed.

Zoua Vulfree ‘had promised to aid the commandant to escape
from the hate and vengeance of the smugglers, and when Eleue
heard that Zona had been arrested and wasn peril of her life,
she that she should endeayor to extricate her from that
peril. ‘

it seemed that Zona was about to be sentenced to immediate
death at the moment, and Elena forced ‘her way to the front
just as Garvin Marduke asserted that there was a fourth leader
of the lawless association who had the right to assume cham-
pionship of Zona Vultree.

His keen and observant glance fell upon her as he spoke, and
she sprang forward, saying:

_ “You certainly do not mean to surrender Zona to those howl-
ing woives?”

“Ido not mean that a hair of her head shall be harmed,"! te-
plied Garvin, sternly, “‘forshe has made mea promise. Stand
aside, girl, for you are jn as great peril as she, and wiii soon haye
need to claim the same privilege that she is now exercisiug.

Elena took the arm of Zona, and the two sieod facing ali that
mob of angry visages and threatening arins.

Garvin covtinued, in a loud, stern voice:

“There is, lsay, a fourth chief who has not been named, and
who lias a right to be named.”

: , Nanis him! name him!’ shouted several voices, ‘Name
uit

“Garvin Marduke!
lutely.

It was very wellknown that Garvin Marduke had no wife in
Langficay; it Was not imagined, bor was there any reason why
it BLOuld vot be imagined that he bad a wife elsewhere, yet the
fact had ~¥e occurred to the niinds of those around that he was

unmarried,

His resolute manner in declaring the fact startled all, though
why he had deciared it remained a mystery.

Puere was.v toug aud breatiléss sileuee, during which the eyes
of all were fixed upon the smuggier chiet.

Paul Vultree, always cadaverous as a corpse, seéthed to grow
more livid and ghasiiy, while bis. ill proportioned frame began to
shiver. He suspected what was’60mlig; his eyes glared whidly,
his jaw fell and us tongue hung irom his mouth.

eee Herod, filled. with guilty fears, gazed In alarm upon
the fierce countenance of his tather aud then upon the cold,
haughty face of Zona, by turns,

“LTrepeat,* said Garvin, iu aloud and defiant tone, such asa
determined man who expects and iuteuds to put doivn opposi-
tion migit use, “that I am unmarried, aud affirm thatI, Garvin
Marduke, will become in my own petson responsible fer all past,
present and tuture misdeeds of Zoua Vultree, and will become
her husband and champion, provided that she of her ewn iree
Wul accepts me as sucii.”

. The same deep silence which had preceded this speech followed
it, and after all had exchanged glahcesot astonisliment, all fixed
eyes upon Zona Vultree.

“Will you, Zona Vultree, accept me as I have stated,” continu-

Garvin. “Speak boldiy.”

On heuring these words, Zona replied in her clear, ringing
voice, while she fixed her eyes upon the face of Captain Herod:

“Tf Lam free to marry any man,I am trea to wed Garvin
Marduke. Is there any one here who will say that lam not tree?”

tTO BE CONTINUED. | f
~<-

Our KNOWLEDGE Box.

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
P.cides.—TO PICKLE CUCUMBEBRS.—Get very small cuctimbers;
Wipe them ciean, and lay them into stone jars. Allow one quart
oi Coarse salt to a pail of water; boK the salt and water till the
salt is dissolved; run it boiling hot on the cacumbers; coyer them
up tight, aud let tuem stand twenty-tour hours, ‘furn them into
a basket to drain. Boil as much of the best cider vinegar as will
cover the cucumbers; wash out the jars and pat the cucumbers
into them. Turn the vinegar on boiling hot; cover them with
cabbage leaves, aud cover the jars tight. In forty-eight hours
they will be fitior use. Pickles of any kind are good made in the
sumio Way. For another recipe see No. 47 of volume 29.,....Zady
dlilarea and Diz,—To reduce yourselt take your tea wEhout milk,
and avoid eating potatoes, parsnips, or beets, or anything ota
starchy or sweet nature—especially puddings and pastry. Eat ag
little bread as possible, and drink very little water, or liquids of
any kind, Take as much exercise as you can during the day and
evening. Don’t contract the habit of smcking wath a view to
get thin. Itis a pernicious habit, and one, it once fastened upon
ayoung man, hard to shake off. Follow our directions for a
while, We cannot guarantee you complete success, but We think
our advice will help you...... Alfred.—We have no recipe that we
can recommend, ‘they generally ave to be regilded.. Xanthus.—
1. See ‘‘Medical Department.” 2. Write direet to the New YORE
W%EKLY Purchasing Agency. 3. We cannot recommend any
particular physician. 4,5, and 6 See “Gossip with Readers and
Contriputors.”’,....Bare-Back Bill.—See No. 45 of volume 29..... .
Information.—To get rid of ants try powdered borax. Paris
green, mixed with sugar, will be found equally efficacious for
mice Or rais...,...%, H. J.—SwkEt MOUTH GLUE.—Gvod common
glue is dissolved in water, on the water bath, and the water evap-
orated down to a mass of tick oonsistence, to which a quantity
ot powdered sugar, equal An ge with the glue, is added, atter
which the heating is continued until all the Walter has been driven
oi, when the massis poured out into mokls,or ona marble
slab. This glue is made ready for_ use by moistening 1t with the
tongue.,..... W. A. S., Chicayo.—COcoaNuT OIL Soap.—Put one
hundred pounds of cocounut oil and one hundred pounds of caus-
tic suda lye of 27 degs. Baume into a soap-kettle; boiland mix
thoroughly tor one or two hours, until the paste gradually thick-
ens; tuen diminish the heat, but continue stirring till the cool-
ing part assumes & White, hall-solid mass; then transfer quick!
to the frames, A mixture of equal parts of cocoanut oil and ta
low will make a very tine soup. * Cocoanut ou, mixed with almost
any fat, if not in too large proportions, will produce good soaps.

J. W.—To remove WARTS rub carbolic acid over them. Use
the best that can be procured. It may be necessary to rub it om
two or three times. If this remedy fails junar caustic will do the
work, Becareful not to touch the skin....Qolleen Baun.—l. The
sulphuret of barium, made into a paste Wilh starch, will remove
superfluous hair, but of course it will grow again. 2 Castor oil,
bay ram and brandy will gradually darken the hair........... °
A Jerseyman.—FOOD FOR MOCKING BiIkDS—Mix together two
Parts of cork meal; two parts of pea meal, and one purt of moss
meal; add a little melted lard, but not sutticient to make the
mauxture too greasy, and sweeten with molasses. Fry in a trying-
pan for halt au hour, surring constantly, and taking care not to
fet it burn, This makes it keep weil, Put itin a covered jar. The
moss meal is prepared by drying and grinding the umported Ger-
man nioss seed...,...,Kenton.—l. To improve your breath, rinse
your mouth ina weak solution of the permanganate of potassa.
2. Use meershaum dust. 3. We know nothing concerning him, ~
Hard to Beat.—Eat food contaming the most starch and sugar..
Blerchant.—We cannot tell you......,... W, J. W.—Take a dose of
castor oil occaslonally...... M,. A. S.—First shell your lima beans
and then pat them up in paper bags holding about two quarts.
Or, atter shelling them, you can spread them out on tie fivor ta
dry....New Yorker.—Chew gentian root 1ustead of tobaeco......
Koon, Lizzie J. V., H. J. R., BE. A. 5., Madame Felicia, J. L. B., EL
Tt. Emerson, Querist, G. G., Thomus, M. E. Stene,fom X L.,
Ulissus 8. Wilks, I. F., Roving Boy, Delia Dell. Your letters
have been received, and will be answered as soon as possible.

MEDICAL DEPARTMENT,

Xanthus.—To DisGuise THE TASTE OF Cop-LIVER OIFL.—The
U. 5. Dispensatory says that veoourse may be had to any of the
aromatic waters, to the aromatic tinctures, ag the tincture of
orange peel, diluted with water, or to # Litter intusion, as that of
quassia. It may be given floaiing on the tincture, or mixed with
it by means of gum or the yolk of cgys, with sugar, in the fornz
of an emulsion, The froth of porter 14 perhaps tue beat disguise.
Leta tablespoontul of porter be put inta the bottem of a glass
upon the surtace of this the oil, aud over all some of the froib o¥
tue porter, A small piece of crange peel may be chewed betore
und aiter taking the medicine.

A.W. W. &, New Orleans.—Take a cold water sitz-bath every
niglt just betore retiring. Remaiu in the water at least ten min-
utes, Be sure to wipe Luoroughly cry, and rub your whole bedy
uutil you get it into a glow.

Columbus.—Consult an aurist without delay.

Beacon, Boston.—l. The water treatment will effect a curein
time, 2d. ltis not indispensably necessary, but it will aid in
resturation to heatth.

Chas. B. L.—O¥FENSIVE PERSPIRATION,—In ordinary cases the
use ot pure water to Which—say & basinful—a tablespoontul of spix-
its ammonia lias been added will effect the purpose ; bat it yours is
a very bad case, do as follows> Keep the Dowels treely open by sa-
line cathartics; exercise freeliy 1 the open air; be cautious a&
the dinner table, and cat only a reasonable amount; avoid rictr
food and late suppers; rise early and breathe the fresh morning
air, and be temperate in ali things, Get at the drug store one
ounce of chlorate of po.assa; put this to one pint of water—pure
rain water it possible—and take one teaspoontul of the mixture
night and morning. The salt will not ali dissolve in the boitie,
and as iast as the liquid is removed it may be refilled till it does.
iter toking it internally for a few days, a little of the mixture—
about @ teaspoonful--may be added to a sufficient. quantity o&
water in a wasli-bowl, and the suriace of the body sponged with
it every day or so. Continue this treatment for a short time an®
you'll soon be as pure and sweet as summer dew. The remedy
isentirely harmless, aud may be continued for months without

ury.

5 ae K.~1. Yes. 2. We know of no works on the subject~
such as you request—that we can recommend,

J. B. k.—We know nothing concerning the person named.

Iam he!” replied the smuggler chief, reso-

 

 

Gertrude.—No.

Squib.—It is the only course you can pursue with any hope of
success. : , ‘

O. F. ¥.—Take ten drops of the tincture of muriate of iron in a
wineglassful of water every night tor a week, just before going
to bed. Afterward take the iron twice a week tor two weeks,

Westwood,—Regular habits, eet of a ree sara ve
ing the eyes in tepid water, night and morning, will help you,

5 R, co Anxious Father, W; Pow, O... K Pp, Eric, A. dD. Be
Down-hearted Sufferer, O. F. N., Pios., M. D., Anehor, C. H, cz,
Fix, H.H. H. Your letters haye been received, aud Will be an-
swered as soon as possible.

 

Oe

TuR stock of clothing exhiblted by FREEMAN & BURR
at their Warehouses 1388 aud 140 Fulton street, are simply
immense. It comprises everything in the c othing line
that can possibly be desired. If you wants bargain in
clothing send for their price-list and self-measurement
rules.

Nets eBid Ti hn

NEWS AGENTS

SEND YOUR ORDERS.
Josh Billings’ SPICE-BOX.

STREET & SMITH, Publishers.
27, 29 and 31 ROSH STREET.

 

 

e

 
 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

ODP DDO 0S 0 8 OE O00 00 0 Oe"

* NEW YORK, DECEMBER 14, 1874.,

OO

Now IS THE TIME TO SUBSCRIBE

FOR THE

New York Weekly.

Best Story and Sketch Paper Published.

Terms to Subscribers:
e (postage free)....$3] One month......... 25 cts.
vias a 5, T 50 cts.

ew

 

 

PP PPP LI

One Year—1
“ “ 2
‘

   

copies..... She Two months........
Pet Se dik ..-10] Three months......75 cts.
Par ee BMA. Wey eee wate Cnet 20| Four months........ $1 00.

 

Those sending I nv for aClub of Eight, all sent at one time, will
be entitled to a Ninth Copy FREE. tters-up of Clubs can after-
ward add single copies at $2 50 each.

a Specimen copies can be seen at every post-office, drug
store, and news agency throughout the Union.

IN MAKING REMITTANCES FOR SUBSCRIPTIONS, always procure a
draft on New York, or a Post-Ofice Money Order, if possible.
Where neither of these can be Poed, send the money, but al-
ways in @ REGISTERED letter. The registration fee has n 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.

 

 

THE NEW YORE WEEKLY POSTAGE FREE

On and after January 1, 1875, we will prepay the postage on the
New YORK WEEKLY. Now is thetime to send in subscriptions,
as all mail subscribers will hereafter receive the New YORK
WEEELY postage Jree.

ALL LETTERS SHOULD BE ADDRESSED TO
STREET & SMITH, Proprietors.
25, 27, 29 and 31 Rose St... N.Y. P.O. Box 4896

One Hundred Guilders for a Single Hair.

“Beauty draws us with a single hair.’’—Popr, -

Were we to confine our columns to a faithful re-
cord of cotemporary history, we should often rival
in vividness and interest the facile pen of the novel-
ist. We are apt to pass by unheeded the every-day
events which occur about us, and to soar in the re-
gion ot fancy for those melo-dramatic tableaux after
which the imagination craves as a captivating men-
tal stimulus. The wonder-world in which childhood
lives is an evidence of this, while embellished truths
are the illumined alphabet of larger children. Cur-
rent facts alone are quite sufficient to intoxicate the
imagination, though, as Hazlitt tells us, “‘manisa
poetical animal and delightsin fiction.” If the sun
rose but once in a yearin the east, and set at even-
tide in the west, in place of performing its rounds
daily, ali the world would be on the qui vive to wit-
ness the event.

The Viennese women are universally pretty, but
their greatest loveliness, imparted by the lavish hand
of nature, is hair so profuse and beautiful as to be
the marvel of foreigners who first enter this north-
ern Paris. A few months since, a young girl of
fifteen, poorly clad but of a sweet and lovely expres-
sion of form and features, entered a barber’s shop
in the Friedrich Strasse, and told the proprietor that
she wanted to sell her head of hair. The barber
examined her singularly long and glossy chestnut
locks, reaching far below her waist, while his ex-
perienced eye sparkled at its luxuriant beauty, and
told her he could give her but eight guilders—no
more. The price of hair had fallen, and it was less
in demand.

The beautiful child begged for a small advance
upon this sum, while her eyes filled with tears. But
the friseur was immovable. ‘Eight guilders and no
more,” he repeated. “In God’s name,” she gasped,
“take it then, quickly!” The barber, well satisfied
with his extraordinary bargain, procured his largest
shears, seated the young girl in a chair, and was just
about to sever those marvelous braids of chestnut
hue, when a gentleman who sat waiting to be shaved,
exclaimed, suddenly, ‘‘Hold! My child, come here.
Why do you want to sell your beautiful hair?’ The
tear-bedewed but lovely face was turned inguiringly
upon the speaker, as she replied: ‘‘My mother has
been ill these many months. I cannot work enough
to support her. Everything has been sold and there
= a penny in the house,”—(und kein kreutzer im

aus).

“J will buy your hair, my sweet child,” said the
stranger, kindly, ‘‘and I will give you a hundred
guilders forit.” He handed the young girl a note
for the sum, as he spoke, and which quickly dried
her eyes; it would purchase so much for her sick
mother! ‘Give me your shears, barber,” said the
gentleman, as the pretty Viennese approached his
side and stood quietly for him to denude her head of
its artistic glory. He took the chestnut locksin his
hand, and for a moment examined their soft richness
of texture and shifting beauty of color, then selected
the longest hair, cut it off and put it carefully into
his pocketbook! “‘That is all that I shall take, my
child. Now give me your address,” he said, ‘I may
want to purchase another hair.”

She gave the street and number to him, while her
face was suffused with both blushes and tears. This
was in the early spring of 74. The year has not ex-
pired, and yet we have the denouement of this most
pleasing and veritable drama. The gentleman was
one of the many attaches of a foreign embassy in
the Austrian capital. He did want to purchase an-
other of those hairs! And now the blooming little
Viennese is just sixteen and a bride! *

A School for Servants,

Bridget and Dinah and Katrina continue to receive
the censure, not to say abuse, of the public press
and private individuals for their alleged unsatisfac-
tory performance oftheir duties in the kitchen, in
the laundry, in the dining-room—in short, ‘upstairs,
down stairs, and in their ladies’ chambers.” The
abuse is sometimes extravagant and the censure un-
deserved. Bridget and Dinah and Katrina often do
much better than the newspapers and the mistresses
weuld have us believe. But, conceding that, upon
the whole, household servants are not as efficient as
they might be, is it surprising? If you found a man
who had never driven a plane or handled a saw, and
set him to work at the frame ofa house, and presently
began to berate him because he was a poor carpen-
ter, you would make yourself more ridiculous than
you would make him. if you wanted a coachman
or a groom, you would hardly engage one who had
never seen ahorse. If you did, and yourstock were
badly cared for and yourself run away with, you
would be laughed at if you blamed your incompetent
retainers. Yet this is just what is done by house-
keepers in regard to servants. It is as unreason-
able to expect women to cook or do other house-
work before learning how, as to expect a man to

build a house or manage horses without any instruc-
tion or experience. What is needed is a school for
Servants, or a system of apprenticeship, or some
other means of training them in household work
before they are called upon to fill household posi-

 

 

 

Places of Popular Resort.

The beauty and value of such pleasure grounds as
Central and Prospect Parks were probably never
more clearly shown than in the fine days succeeding
summer. People who staid in the city all the time,
delighted in the autumnal glories of lawn and grove
and mall, while people who had spent vacation out
of town found that there were equal lake and land-
scape charms nearer home. The success of the
parks is not only remarkable in itseli—showing the
public appreciation by the daily visits of thousands,
and the public taste and good sense by the orderly
and courteous conduct of the visitors and their re~
spect for laws and regulations—but it is significant
in suggesting the importance of multiplyiag places
of popular resort. The parks admirably serve the
purpose of outdoor recreation in fine weather. What
is now needed is a larger supply of indoor opportun-
ities. The throngs at the Cooper Institute prove
that people properly value free reading-rooms.
There oughtto be more of them at convenient
points. There ought to be free galleries of art, and
free music halls, as an offset to the pestilential pret-
ty waiter girl concert saloons, mistakenly called
“free.” The parks, in their civilizing, refining in-
fluences, have proved a public benefaction. The
educating, elevating tendencies of other wholesome
places of popular resort cannot be doubted. Wealthy
men could not make a better appropriation of their
surplus riches, and if the money stolen from the tax
payers or recklessly wasted could be diverted to
such a use society would be greatly the gainer.

Soup-Houses.

In view of the probable fact that there will be a
very considerable addition to the number of poor to
be provided for during the coming year, the press
has been engaged in discussing the means of feed-
ing the hungry, anda prominent question is: Are
soup-houses a wise and practical agent of philan-
thropy? Last winter, the readers of the NEw YorRK
WEEKLY will remember, soup-houses were estab-
lished on a greater scale than ever before. The pro-
prietor of a well-known daily journal gave a large
sum of money for them, and a very celebrated cuterer
was engaged inthe making of soup—which was
probably ofa better quality than ever: before dis-
pensed in that way. Many people were thus fed.
The objection advanced against the system is that a
great many idlers and vagrants were attracted to
the city, getting their meals at the soup-kitchens and
sleeping at the station-houses. But would not this
objection hold good to some degree to any unusual
method of charity? Would not idlers and vagrants
be attracted to the city by knowledge ofthe fact that
benevolence was exceptionally active in any form?
It seems to us that stronger objections to soup-
houses are, first, that they fail to reach the most
worthy poor; and, second, that they tend to humiliate
their beneficiaries. There are very few people, how-
ever poor, who do not retain something of pride.
They shrink from advertising themselves as paupers
by applying at the soup-houses. Seme of them
would starve rather than do so. Such people need to
be sought out and helped in a kindly and delicate
way. Those who do go to the soup-houses are either
already more or less degraded, or will be made so.
And so it happens that most of the men and women

 

 

who would rather be so supported than do work if it
were offered them. Undoubtedly the best charity is
that which helps others to help themselves. When
work can be provided it is the most practical form
of benevolence. When it cannot be, aid should be
extended by organized societies or by individuals,
so that worthy objects of charity may be cared for,
and cared for in a considerate way.
Ot

The Holidays.

Thanksgiving occurred pursuant to announcement
in the last number of the New YoRK WEEKLY, and
was celebrated with customary success. Already
attention is turning to and preparation is making
for the Christmas and New Year holidays. Three of
the most interesting popular annual festivals—indeed
allthat are made much of, with the exception of the
Fourth of July—occur within a period of a little more
than a month. The pleasurable excitement may be
said to continue unbroken during the whole of that
time, because getting ready for the holidays is al-
most as agreeable to large numbers of people as the
actual celebration, and the work of getting ready
begins five or six weeks in advance. The shopkeep-
ers exhibit the seasonable goods they have prepared
in great quantity and variety, and the crowds of pur-
chasers in the stores increase. Trade therefore
feels the stimulus, and an improved activity is ob-
served as the holidays approach. This puts money
in circulation, and provides means for the annual cele-
bration, and also puts the peopleim good humor and
in harmony with the temper of the time. The say-
ings which have been quietly accumulating for the
purpose are brought out and expended in the pur-
chase of the mutual gifts which are among the most
charming features of the festivals. In this way, and

good, and it is regretted that there are not more of
them. A popular preacher recently said that if he
had his way there would be three holidays for every
one there now is. Ifthe NEw YORK WEEKLY had its
way there would be six.

THE LABOR QUESTION.

Almost every day, in looking over the papers, we read
of sad instances of want and destitution in cities, in some
cases, amounting to actual starvation; and we frequently
see it stated that in our largest towns thereare thousands
vf young women whose choice lies between death and dis-

onor.

‘They are out of employment. The times are dull. There
is no work to be had.

Now, it seems to ns that there is no necessity that these
things should be. In this country there is no reason why
any person of good health and sound mind should starve.
For the helpless, public charity has provided homes, and
let no one for a moment consider it a disgrace to avail
himself of the means which the laws of our country have
secured to aid those unable to work, and te give them
homes. To go to the aims-house is no degradation what-
ever, when broken health or stress of circumstances com-
pel such @ course.

There is throughout the land a restless anxiety on the
part of our young men and women to fiock to the cities
and large towns. Go where you will into rural commu-
nities and you will find them almost entirely destitute of
young men and women. And why? Not because there
was not enough work to do at home, but because the city
held out its gilded allurements to them, and it was so
lonesome in the country.

They forsake their old parents, on the pleasant farms
where they would always be sure of plenty to eat, with
fresh air to breathe, and health-giving sunshine to ani-
mate, and rush to the already overcrowded cities, to pick
up stray jobs of work, scantily paid for; to dwell in cheer-
less garrets, and get never a glimpse of the blue sky, save
as they see it, shrouded in smoke, through the dingy win-
dows of tenement houses and the still dingter skylights of
foul, it-smelling manufactories. :

It is the inevitable result, that in city life the weak must
be trodden down by the strong, and there is no law, be it
civil or philanthropic, which can prevent it.

Young men, nowadays, Will not work on farms or at
trades in the country.

Young women will not tive out among their native hills as
dairy maids, and house servants, and seamstresses, where
they can have good homes among honest people, receive
fair compensation for their labor, and have abundant
leisure to improve their minds, because, from some source
or other, they have imbibed the foolish idea that working
out in a family is degrading!

They will go into a city, and live ina filthy baek room,

 

 

 

tions,

 

oo eet, Se

~
Semen, OO ee

among the lowest and vilest associations, and sew on

who benefit by them are paupers by inclination,

in many other ways, the holidays accomplish much |

 

coarse shirtsiand pantalons at starvation prices, with the
prospect of dying in tlre streets and being buried at the
city’s expense, in preference!

It is no disgrace te do-that kind of work; bat living out,
in the country, is Dot to be-thougnht oft

House-work, they say, is degrading! They will do house-
work for nobody! Not theyt

These same young women are only waiting for a chance
to marry some young popiljay of a fellow, with no capital
butlns cigar boxes and his neckties; and they will do
house-work for him, suubbed and sworn at by their mas-
ter, tO the end of the chapter, aud never consider thein-
selves disgraced!

All over the country, there are thousands upon tliou-
sands of weary, overworked women—wives of farmers,
mechanics, and tradesmen—in rural jocalities and ia
small villages, wearing themselves Out with work, not be-
cause they are unable or unwilling to hire heip, but be-
cause it is utlerly impossible to hire itt.

Not long ago a friend of ours was ill. She was the wife
ofa wealthy manufacturer, with atamily of four chil-
dren, @ large house, and an extensive circle of friends to
entertain,

Her husband told us that he had ridden over the coun-
try for six days, in every direction, trying to get a giri to
work in the house, but without success. He had offered
a dollar a day as wages, but all the girls were in shops in
the cities, and the only available one he found in his
weary search was tlhe daughter of asmall farmer, who
couldn't come, because she was going to Boston the next
week to work in & hat shop at seventy-five cents a day,
and board herself. hi

“She wouldn't do h kK for anybody. Not she.
When it came to that she’d g6 to the poorhouse.”?

Now, we must confess ourselves at a ioss to understand
why itis any more degrading to wash dishes and make
beds in the house of a respeciable family than it is to sew
on hats in the store or manufactory of any tradesman.

Labor is Jabor, and in honest labor there is no disgrace.
To work is noble. The greatest and best men have been
earnest workers.

ae person who has not the power to work is an object
of pity.

We must confess to indulging a feeling of contempt for
that individual who cannot—should such an emergeucy
arise—earn his bread by the sweat of his brow.

We have gone into the field ourse)f more than once and
taken our atthe rake, the hoe and the spade, and
we would do it again, thank Heaven, and not feel dis-
graced by iteither, for Jabor has given us health and
nen -s oe 3 oo

arm they tell us, When we urge our young men
and women to stick to the old farm, isso lonely. There
is : ie ess no excitement, nothing ennobling
about it,

Perhaps not, but nevertheless our greatest men have
been born and reared in the country! Washington, Jef-
ferson, Webster, Wiison—bat why enumerate ?—thie list
would be too Jong for our space in this paper—were all
born in the couutry!” —

Do not understand us as having &@ word to urge against

this See ne exodus of ouryoung men and women
from the country to the city, when they are sure of mak-
; neficial to their interests!
} country is not wide enough for them—if they feel
as if their strength is sufficielt to fight bravely the fierce
battle for supremacy which is continually being waged in
the By a let them go thither, and may success at-
tend t

But when the question revolves itself intu starvation in
the city, or happy and comfortable living in the country—
even if one does. sink tothe degrndation of doing house-
work—we sag, by all means, try the country alternative,
and thus relieve our overtaxed towns and cities from one
more unfortunate to furnish with a coffin and a grave!

KATE THORN.

HOW DICK WAS CURED.

BY EMMA GARRISON JONES.

 

 

 

“You're a fool for your pains, sir!’ .
That was the only sentence the parrot could utter. But
she was a pretty, cunning bird, and Jenny Selwyn thought
the world of her, because she was a gift from her lover,
Now Dick Heath was Jenny’s lover, a fine, well-to-do
young barrister, and the handsomest man in town. Dick
had but one great fault—he was prone to jealousy, and
this fault caused him a great deal of needless trouble.
The summer-time of his courtship was. more than once
overcast with clouds, in consequence of Dick’s insane
passion. Jenny was @ pretty creature truly, and had
scores of admirers, but she was as true and tender as she
was good and beautiful, Dick,had won her heart, and
from henceforth no other man had any claim upon her,
Bat poor Dick could not bring himself to believe this,
and if his charmer chanced to smile or speak a pleasant
word to any other gentleman, he ore pest bitterly in-
jured, and often reproaciied the inn girlin the most

     
  
  
  
  

unmanly Manner. 3 )

Bat Jennyric6ved her j us bear, ana a woman will
bear a great deal from the miauste loves. She did her
best to sooul? him, and hoping that time would cure him
of his disagreeabie fault.

they became engaged, and the wedding-day
, and in honor of the occasion Dick pre-

was appointed

sented his affianced with two gifts—a handsome and very
expensive engagement ring, and the cunning green parrot.
Of course Jenny was much delighted, and kissed the
parrot’s glossy wings, whereupon Dick kissed her, and
Poll growing indignant, shrieked fiercely:

“You’re a fool for your pains, sir!’

But the engagement ring was a marvel, a curious,
unique affair, after the order of Marie Antoinette’s talis-
mab—a coiled serpent of red, Indian gold, every tiny
seale a flashing gem, the eyes two gleaming dia-

onds. There were ‘atthe jeweler?s; one Dick
purchased at an extravagant price, and the one was
bespoken. Of course Dick did mot care to inguire by
whom. :

Jenny: was much pleased and flattered when this quaint

and costly jewel was put upon her sljender finger, and
loved her handsome lover ali the more for his extraya-
gance, though she chided him in a charming, demure
fashion for spending 80 much money, and said sie should
take great care of her costly ring, as they might have to
sell itone day, if they got into difficuities, as married
housekeepers seemed prone to do.
Whereupon Dick kissed her again, to the parrot’s ex-
treme disgust, and happy Jenny thought her troubles
ere allover. Of course, Dick would never be jealous
again. °

The wedding-day came and went, the bridal-tour was
made, and then Dick and his pretty bride settled down in
their own home, not quite to Jenny’s satisfaction, how-
ever, for another of Dick’s failings began to crop out.
He was extravagant in other matters besides the chosing
of his engagement ring. The furniture, the dinuer-set,
the silver, the carpets, were all very expensive. ;

“It is always- wiser to buy the best of everything, my
love,”? said Dick, with lofty, masculine wisdom, when
Jenny ventured to remonstrate. ~~

“Yes, I know, Dick, dear, when one has the money,”
responded Jenny, meekly.

“Oh, well, we shall get the money eventually, and all
the debts will be wiped out—don’t you worry, pet.”

But pet did‘ worry in her secret heart, and saw trouble
in the future, and maybe the sale of her precious ring;
but she wore it every day on her slim finger, and always
had a bright face when her husband came home.

Dick, careless of his debts, went to and from his office,
day after day, as happy asaking. One unlucky after-
noon, however, he chanced to get out a couple of hours
ahead of his usual time, and took a stroll down town to
hunt some pretty toy for baby—for Jenny was a mother
by this time. :
Sauntering along, and puffing at his Manilla, and tak-
ing note of the shop windows, acouple just before him all
fe oe caught hiseye. He came to a dead halt, and stood
staring.

It was Jenny, his wife—he knew her brown dress, and
her hat, and her blonde curis—and her companion was
Mr. Dubant, the young music-master at the academy.

A very ugly expression crept over Dick’s handsome
face, and he started forward in fierce pursnit; but the
pair had already turned the corner, and, changing his
mind, the jealous husband turned his steps in the direc-
tion of his own cottage. :
Baby’s toy was forgotten, and poor Dick rushed on at a
great pace, tortured by his miserable imaginings. This
Mr. Dubant had been a great admirer of Jenny’s in the
days of her girlhood, and several times since her marriage
he‘had dropped in of an evening, ahd they had sung and
played together. And here they were out walking in his
absence, and without his permission.

Dick was furiously jealous, He hurried home, and his
fears were confirmed—his wife was out. She went out
about that time every day, the nurse-maid told him.

That night the miserable man said nothing, feigning
illness to satisfy Jenny’s anxious inquiries as to what
made him so moody and silent,

The next afternoon he determined to be on the watch
again. But after waiting an hour, and seeing no sign of
the guilty couple, he made his way to Mr. Dubant’s
chambers, with the intention of calling him to an account
for what he had done.

The music-master sat at his table, copying some music,
when poor, jealous Dick entered; and on one finger of his
waite, shapely hand glittered a curious ring—Jenny’s own
engagement ring beyond all doubt,

It caught the husband’s eye in a 2inute, and threw
him into an insane rage. Without a moment’s thought,
or a word of explanation, he flew at the astonished .mu-
sic-master, and seizing him by the collar, proceeded to
chastise him quite severely with a small cane he chanced
to have in his hand.

Mr. Dubant, fancying that he was in the hands of a mad-
man, used his lungs quite lustily; but Dick kept his hold,
and belabored him most unmercifully.

“Now, you scoundrel,” he panted at last, “see if you'll
walk with my wife again! Give me that ring on your
finger, do you hear? I'll throttle you if you don’t.”

By this time Mr. Dubant was seriously alarmed, and the
moment his insane assaulter loosened his hold, he darted
into an adjoining room, and closed and Jocked the door.

Dick fumed and stormed for a few minutes, and then
es eager to exyend his remaining fury upon his
wife. ;

He reachec .ae cottage porch at the same instant that
she Cams ap from an opposite direction. She hastened.to

embarrassed, and said:

“Oh, Dick dear, I didn’t 100k for you so soon.”?

“TI suppose not,” responded Dick, with bitter sarcasm.
‘Where have you been, madame? Where do you go every
afternoon ?”? “

 

Jenny looked up into his distorted face, in wide-eyed
surprise.

meet him as usual, but she flushed, and looked somewhat |

“Dick, what do you mean ?’ slie faltered.
*“‘Where’s your engagement ring?’ he demanded say-

agely. ‘‘Let me see it.’?

She blushed rosy red now, and dropped her eyes.

“Dick, ’m sorry,’ she began. ‘I meant lo tell you, but
I hoped I should get it again——” ;

“Silencel’”? he thundered. ‘*You base, false woman. Go
out of my sight, or I shall forget you are the mother of my
child, I never want to see you again.’’

He wheeled, choked with misery aud passion, and
strode away. At nightfall, when he returned, Jeuny and
her babe were gone,

He sat down in the deserted sitting-room, sick with
misery. She had broken his heart and disgraced his
name, and the best he could do would be to take his Der-
ringer and blow his brains out. He started up, quite in-
sane enough to carry this mad thought into action,

“You’re afool for your pains, sir!’ cried the parrot
from her cage.

Somehow the words arrested him. He stood irresolute,

ressing his hands to his hot, throbbing head.

“You're a fool for your pains, sir,’’ shrieked Poll, again.

“Confound that bird,” he stormed, and rushing across
to the cage, he gave il a spiteful shake.

Something bright fell through the wires and rolled
gleaming and tinklipg to the floor. He stooped and
picked it up, scarcely knowing what he did, but at sight
- ithe gave a great start. lt was Jenny’s engagement
ring.

‘You're a fool for your pains, sir,’? repeated Poll, cock-
ing her bright eye maliciously.

But, rat, tat, came at the front door, before poor, be-
wildered Dick had time to get his breath. He slipped the
ring in his vest pocket and went himself to answer the
peemons, with a faint hope that it might be Jenny coming

ack,

But he confronted a pair of officers instead, armed with
& Warrant against him for assault and battery on Mr.
Charles Dubant. So he was taken into custody, and
Marched down to the Lown prison to await his examina-
tion before the magistrate on the following morning.

In his gloomy, lonesome cell, the poor fellow sat down
= listened to the dreary wind and dripping rain with-
out,

His passion had spent itself, leaving him in a weak and
miserable condition, and his mind was so dazed that he
rho acarcely determine who was to blame, himself or

enby.
Presently, while he sat in his gloom and despair, he

ht a sound of footsteps, light, tripping steps, that
made every nerve in his y thrill, The door opened and
Jenny entered. ’
She had determined to be very angry with Dick, but at
sight of his poor, miserable face, the tears overflowed her
— arm, and she ran to him and threw both arms round
his neck. .

“Oh, Dick,*? she sobbed, “how could you? And you
promised me never to be jealous again! Dick, you can’t
tell how it hurts me tothink you could doubt me—could
think me bad, Dick—and I love you so. Why, dear, I
meant to teil you all about it—I only wanted to get started
first. You see, Dick, dear,” still sobbing, and kissing him
with every breath, ‘‘you would have things so expensive,
and the bills kept coming in so, and there was no money,
so I thought I’d try to help a little. You won't be angry,
Dick? It was Mr. Dubant who helped me, you see. He
got me a place to teach music, and went with me, and in-
troduced me, and I got such good pay, and he was so kind,
Dick—that was all, dear, and I meant to tell you, only I
was afraid you might object. Indeed, Dick, you've treated
Mr. Dubant very badly, but he’s willing to let it all pass.
He came to see me at papa’s, and told me about it, and
said he was very mad at first, and had a warrant out for
you, but it’s all settled now, and you’re to go home with
me, dear. But, oh, Dick,’ she. added, “‘what a foolish
mistake you made about thering. That was not mine
you saw on Mr. Dubant’s finger. I lost mine, Dick. I
took it off to wash my hands, and Jaid it. on the window
sill, and I never saw itagain. I’m sorry, Dick, but——”
‘ He drew the ring from his pocket, and slipped it on -her

mger. © =; ; :

“I found it, Jenny,’? he said, commanding his voice by
& greateffort. ‘It fell from the parrot’s cage. Lama
fool for my pains, as the bird said. Jenny can you ever
forgive me?’’. : ;

“I forgave you as soon as I came in, dear, and saw your
poor, miserable face,’’ she answered, touching her soft

| lips to his cheek; “and I do trust, Dick, love, that this les-

son will cure you of your one fauit.’?
“Tam cured, Jenny,’’ he replied; ‘‘I shall never be jeal-
ous again |’?

THERE'S A SCREW LOOSE.

The water flowed too freely from the faucet in our back
room, so the plumber was sent for to remedy the defect.
With a wise shake of the head he pronounced the trouble
“A screw loose somewliere.”?

‘There are many loose screws that no plumber can
tighten. ~ ~
_ When we hear a woman tal incessantly, yet saying
really notiing, We are sure there are two loose screws in

 

 

    
  

need of the plumber—one in her brain and the other in
her tongue.

‘if weh n to meet a married man flirting with the
wife of his friend we are sure to discover that four per-

sons are to blame—that the husband of one is cruel, and
the .other indifferent, or one wife is neglectful and the
other extravagant. And those are screws that should
certaibly be kept tight in their places.

A child with a discontented, unhappy face is sure indi-
cation that the home influence is not acheerful and happy

one,

A few more loose screws we see every day.

The man who imagines that to be loved at home he
must keep his family from contact with the world. The
old woman who thinks that everything should be done
now as it was “in her young days.” A young girl, with
& Weak mind, who has no will of her own, but wants to
please everybody. The servant who expects to get $20a
month while her mistress does the work. The employe
who works to suit himself without caring for the opinion
of hisemployer. The literary genius who asks advice
about his productions and then leaves them as first writ-
ten, no matter how incorrect they may be. The strong-
minded woman who undertakes to do a man’s labor,
when she is scarcely competent to accomplish the work
allotted to a feeble woman.

‘These are a few of the loose screws we see in our daily
life. Mary E. LAMBERT.

 

PASSING PARAGRAPHS.

— London has an underground raiiroad and eight
classes of cars. New York has nothing but street rail-
roads and only one class of cars—and a very crowded and
uncomfortable class,

— Offenbach has made $400,000 by three pieces. At this
rate comic opera is a serious business.

-— “The Daughter of the Regiment’? has been on the
boards so long that she must be old enough to be the
mother of the regiment.

— There are 150 postmistresses in the United States,
and yet the Woman's Rights women complain that they
are not allowed to hold office.

— It is said the Japanese recently bought three million
pounds of saltpeter in New York. As they are not going
to fight the Chinese, they wil) probably use it to make
gunpowder tea.

— An orthodox farmer got great credit for plowing over
the grave of Tom Paine, the infidel, until it was discovered
that the grave had long been empty.

— An astronomer, Mr. E. Calbert, denies that there is
an unusual number of sun-spots visible just now. Still,
it can’t be denied that the Sun spots a good many frauds
and humbugs.

— That immortal remark of General Zach Taylor—‘“‘a
little more grape, Capt. Bragg’’—would not have been ap-
propriate in New York this autumn. The fruit of the
vine has been unusually plentiful.

— The tragedy of “Samson” has recently been played
out West. From its name it ought to be a strong piece
and “bring down the house.”? ’

— Curious interests are sometimes allied. An associa-
tion of bartenders in Brooklyn has passed a voteof thanks
to the Temperance League! It was for the latter's efforts
in behalf of Sunday closing. The bartenders want to
stop selling liquor one day in the week and go somewhere
and drink it.

— We saw in a paper, lately, that a vinegar spring had
been discovered somewhere up in New York State. We
think this must be a fine place for an invalid to recruet
his health. An acidulous student, Mrs. Partington thinks,
may master this joke after a few attempts.

— The would-be assassin of Bismarck, Kullmann—who
might better be called Killman—besides other punish-
ment, is to be under police surveillance ali his life. If he
were in New York that would mean that he was liable to
be Knocked on the head witha club any moment of his
existence.

— Major Scofield’s success in capturing 69 Indians and
2,000 ponies at Elk Creek has aroused his ambition. He
will probably take as his motto ‘‘Elk-celsior.””

— Anexample of Arcadian simplicity—Believing that
the Arcadian Ciub wanted to celebrate Miss Cushman
and not itself,

— William Cuilen Bryant celebrated his eightieth birth-
day on the 3d of November—or rather, it would be correct
to say, his many friends celebrated it for him in tasteful
style. The public journals throughout the couniry em-
braced the opportunity of saying many pleasant and ge-
nial things in a hearty way in deserved praise of the poet

 

and journalist, who has carned the respect and honor of
more than two generations of his countrymen. It is the
fortune of few men to look back uponsolong a life so
well spent.

— The City of Tokio will sail for China and Japan soon.
But should the war between those nations take an unex-
pected and disastrous turn, there may be no City of Tokio
when the steamer gets there. ‘ :

— Dr. Ayer was recently burnt ineffigy in the town
nained after him. This was a bitterer dose for Ayer than
he eer gave anybody else.

— Miss Cushman took her ‘‘positively final last {are-
well” of the stage on a Saturday night in New York, and
reappeared the next Monday in Philadelphia.

— Avery poor joke—the Herald's report of the escape
of the Central Park animals. There was one animal cu-
riosity abroad that Sunday that the writer of the accouu
forgot to mention—a two-legged ass,

— Havemeyer goes out of office in a few wecks, when
New York will have a mayor called Wickham.

— Delegate Steele, of Wyoming, has gone to Washing-
ton, What a bad name for a delegate, but what a proper
place for him to go to.

— Ex-Postmaster-General Creswell has raised $2,500
worth of peaches on his farm. He finds it a better year
for peaches than for politics.

— Mile. Pauline Canissa, the well-known singer, has
got tired of being a soloist, and has married Mr. Fischer.

— Mr. Walter L. Sessions, member of Congress, was
among those not sent back at the last election. But how
can there be Congresses without sessions ?

— Some newspaper offices in New Orleans were illunii-
nated from top to bottom at the recent political ¢elebra-
tion, but one of them showed only a few candies. The
people thought it was a Picayune exhibition.

— There is now going the rounds of the country thea-
ters a play called ‘‘Her Face is Her Fortune.” Bessie Dar-
ling is the appropriate name of the actress whe is making
the fortune. '

— Mile. Zoe, who has been a “Cuban Sylph” for many
years, was presented with a silver brick at Virginia City.
One of the miners brought it to the theater in his hat.

— Oalifornia produced $80,000 worth of raisins last
year. That is a crop worth raisin’. ;

— Charlotte Cushman, in her affecting farewell speech,
said she expected to give readings hereafter. This re-
minds us of the obituary notice: ‘His disconsolate widow
will continue the business at the old stand.??:

— A good-natured divine, the Rev. C. C. Sharpe, of
Shropshire, England, got up a feast, to which he invited
his parishioners. They came in large numbers, for they
could enjoy a ‘free feed.*’ Fancy their astonisiment on
learning that they must pay half a crown each for their
dinner, besides the cost of the beer. Some days afterward
the enterprising clergyman was arrested for selling beer
without a license, and fined. The Rev. Mr. Sharpe was
not sosharp after all.

— That time-honored failure, the Stevens Battery, has
been sold to the Government for $125,000. How much is
that a pound?

for the championship.
couples.

' — During the cremation of the body of an old lady, in
Breslau, Prussia, some scientists discovered that the re-
mains emitted a gas which might be used for illuminating
purposes, and proposed thai hereafter the bodies of the
dead be used for lighting the city. The NEw YORK WEEK-
LY is opposed to making light of such grave subjects.

— The Herald wants Tilden to marry. What's the ne-
cessity, when all the boys in the State will soon call him
“Governor’’ ?

— Honeyed words—The speeches at the meeting of the
North American Bee-keepers’ Association.

— Great guns of the Herald—Von Arnim and Bismarck.
Some people think the guns are a double-barreled bore.

HISTORICAL ITEMS. —

~ THE ‘Moon Hoax,” written by Richard Adams
originally appe: in the New York in A
September, 1835, I

He has already married 614

 

 

 

t was represented to
burgh (Scotland) Journal
Herschel, at the
eT OE gery Mga B sisiuce Te detect the
Ou ry oO! Acc
‘presence of living creatures, and describe their peculiarities.
CANNON were used in warlike operations at the

of

very beginning of the fifteenth century. It is recorded that
when Henry V. besieged Berwick, in 1405, a shot from one of his
great guns inflicted such injury upon a tower that the terrified

garrison immediately opened their gates to the king.

ANACREON was one of the most famous of the lyric
poets, whose muse is su to have been greatly inspired by
the juice of the grape. is odes are still extant, and have been
translated by Thomas Moore and others. He flourished in the
sixth century B.C.

Eros was the servant of whom Antony demanded
a sword to kill himself, but instead of giving it to his master he
killed himself in Antony’s aa Eros, in Greek mythology,
is the god of love, and the Cupid of the Latin poets.

THE flagstaff standing in Kew Gardens, London,
measures in hight 159 feet, the weight being over four tons. The
wood is the Douglas pine of Vancouver’s Island. The age is stated
to be about 250 years. 4 ;

LIVERPOOL in 1700 contained 5,714 persons, and in
aed 75,000. In 1775 there was one letter-carrier for the whole
place. ;

HERACLITUS was a celebrated philosopher of Ephe-

from his custom of weeping at the follies of men.

CHILO, one of the Seven Wise Men of Greece, was
& philosopher of Sparta, whose saying was “(Know thyself."

 

Glorious News for the Boys!

In No. 7 of the NEw YORK WEEELY will be commenced
one of the best juvenile stories we have published in a

 

long time. Itis Full of Fun.
has numerous
Effective and Startling Scenes,.
and teems with
Exciting Incidents, _
THE
; OR, THE

WOLF IN THE FOLD.

By James K, Lennox,

readers, a8 it is a most meritorious narrative of

Savage Warfare,
and contains vivid descriptions of
Hand-to-Hand Contests.
Wily Stratagems, and
Ludicrous Adventures.

The exciting scenes which abound in every chapter are
connected by a very

Ingenious Plot,

which holds the reader enthralled with interest, forcing
him to follow the fortunes of the characters untH the

Delightful and Perplexing Mystery
is made plain, and a happy denouement closes this
Really Grand Boy Story.

“The Boy Ranger’’ will be commenced next week, in
No. 7 of the NEw YORK WEEKLY. :

Now, boys, wide awake! and accord a fitting welcome
to the “Boy Ranger,’’ one of the most daring little heroes
that ever figured ina story.

 

 

mse

— Rev. J. H. Grier, of Jersey Shore, Penn., is going fa _

sus, who lived about 500B.C. He was called “the mourner,”

Will afford both fun and excitement for all our young —

q

 

 

 

28

tiie

0% a,

 

a1

é
x
1
:
t
|
Fs
—
i
o>, ~ a
7 '
i

7

| RO em

 

 

 

 

 

ENJOY, AND SPARE.

BY M. EDESSA WYNNE.

 

The winds of chance blow through the trees
And drift the blossoms to our feet;

tf we had reached and toiled for them
Their fragrance were not half so sweet.

We giance athwart the shining stars,
And sideways many a Jight doth gieam
That, if we straightway gazed at it,
Would hide from us its wondrous beam.
If we, despising hints of bloom
Which all creation doth convey,
Must pluck each flower we come acress,
How soon earth’s beauty would decay!
And did we cage the sweet wild birds
fo hear their songs forevermore,
How soon would we behold them droop,
An@ beat upon each prison door—
To die in voiceless agonies;
When, had we only passed along,
They might have sported out their lives
And cheered the forest with their song.

And life is full of scattered joys—
Nights full of stars, days loud with song.
The hint alone is meant for thee—
Take thou thy fill, and pass along.
Ab! canst thou wish to drain the fount
Because thou hast enough to drink ?
Have mercy on the thirsting souls
Who yet may kneel upon its brink!

Thou seekest for the joys of life,
And they retire; thou canst not woo
One pleasure to remain with thee,
And they will fiy if thou pursue.
But, sit thee down in pure content,
And they will steal up unaware;
The breeze will fan thy fevered brow
And drop its fragrant kisses there;
The bird song and the murmuring fount,
The perfume of the workd of flowers,
May waft unto thy wondering soul
Dreams of a happier world than ours.
Enjoy the rich, the fragrant bloom
That dwelleth in each flowret, and °
Let them linger on the stem,.
Nor wither in thy fevered hand.

 

-Mezzoni The Brigand:

shite’: C8 Wks * Secale:

KING OF THE MOUNTAINS.

By Lieutenant Murray,

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

{‘‘Mezzoni the Brigand”? was commerced in No. 3. Back num-
bers can be obtained of any News Agent in the United States.)

CHAPTER XI.
A BLIGHTED HEART.

We have had no glimpse of the inner life of Alberto

~ Gorrelio, Let us observe him for a moment as he gat alone

in his own apartment reading that singular letter from the
Countess Amadeo.

He read the letter more than once, then sat still gazing
upon the lines, ubtil finally he started up and walked the
room with undisguised emotion. He was now looking
far back into the past, and a bitter smile wreathed his
handsome lips.

“| had never thought,’? he said, half aloud, “to recur
to this matter again, but I will do 80 for her sake, and let
ber Know for once, how dearly and fondly she was loved,
when I was as innocent as lierself and worthy of hert”?

We can do no better than to give the reader in full the
peculiar letter, which he dispaiched to Signora Amadeo,
in reply to that which she had written to him. It will
give a Clearer lea of this singular and mysterious man
than apy description of him by the pen:

SIGNORA: I need hardly tell you how far back into the
past the words which your note carried me. To the days
When you and I were boy and girl together, and lovers!
You then commanded all of my.tenderest affections—you
were tome an idol. I never dared to express to you one-
half the power of my love. I was disinclined to do so,
because this sentiment had become so extravagant and
absorbing in me, that you would. have been frightened
had I given expression Lo its earnestness.

Then came the harsh injunction of your parents, I was
ae their daughter must mend the fortunes of their

ouse by a wealthy alliance. Your husband must be rich.
I did then plead with your father, and avowed to him that
if he separated us he would render my life a biank. I toid
him that I would win fortune, that he need have no fear
on that score, only let me hope that by and by, when I
came to him, ana showed that I was worthy of your love,
and that I had the necessary means to meet ail reasonable
wants, that then he would give me your hand,

It was useless. His mind was fixed, and at that time I
fancied, and I think rightly, that you cared far less for me
than 1 did for you. You wereallinalltomethen. I had
no object in life unconnected with you, and a happy future
for as both together. So intimately had this idea inter-
woven itself with my hopes that it became a part of my
very existence. Such love is destined neariy always to
disappointment, and rarely escapes a fatal end. 80 in my
instance. It wastomeruin! 1 could not bear the disap-
pointment that followed. Ambition, self-respect, hope,
everything abandoned me.

Ah! signora, 1 was innocent then, and really worthy of
your love and trust, but despair gradually led me, step by
step, to dangerous ways. The downward road@ is so
easy! The backward track so nearly impossibie! I be-
came &® gambier. Some one passion must root out the
other maddening one. Since that day, like Hamlet, 1
could accuse myself of such deeds that lt were better I
had never been born. You know what I was, Heaven
only knows whatlam! There is no room for love in my
heart now—that place is usurped by the demon of play.

ALBERTO,

ah cs i

He spoke truly in those lines. Twelve years before he
had been a worthy representative of the noble house
whose name he bore, and of which he was the last scion.
He was but nineteen years of age when his heart had
been literally broken by the san disappointment to which
his letter referred. There was every promise of a proud
and happy career before him then, and all of his instinets
were those of a noble and chivalrous character, but all
had been blotted out, and misanthyopy took possession of
his soul.

The Countess Amadeo sat over his answer to her letter,
and as he had done when he received: hers, she read and
Te-read it until she was nearly blind with tears and disap-
pointmest, She was wonderfully beautiful even in those
tears—there seemed to be no mood which did not suit

her.

“Oh, that he werehere at this moment,’ she exclaimed.
“Is thig really tobe the end? Is my awful sacrifice for
naught? Does Alberto refuse my love at last? He did
loveme. I knew that always, but how deeply he loved |
did not know. Ah! it was not until after years of disap-
pointed wedded life that my eyes came to see him in the
light which has brought me to this. What care I for his
sins and peccadillos? He cannot be more guilty than I!”

As she talked thus hall-aloud to herself, she wrung her
hands and walked nervously back and forth in her private
apartment. Then she sat down and read those lines again
until she could have repeated everysyllable. Despair was
clearly depicted upon her beautiful face, and there giowed
& spirit of desperation, now and then, in her eyes that
was startling to behold. She pressed her hands upon her
heart to still its wild and painful throbbing, but it was in
vain; she seemed almost stifled, and gasped for breath.

Suddenly she staried to her desk, and said, aloud:

‘I will see him once more at all events,”

And she scrawled a hasty note, pleading with him to
come to her for a few moments, if for thelast time. “You
must come,’ she said.

Alberto hesitated. He had never been inside of the
Amadeo palace since her marriage with the count. He
aaa an instinctive dread to meet ‘her alone, but at last he
Baid:

“She has a right to demand a last interview. I will go,”
and he went at once to meet her. ;

He was shown, asshe had directed, into her private
boudoir, and found the aes Sitting there as she had
been when she dispatched her last hasty summons to hin,

‘I have come as you desired.”?

“Oh, Alberto, how ean you cast me off?}?

“Nay, signora, my letter tells you all.”

“It is killing mel?

“Can you bot understand how I felt, then, years ago,
when eg hg filled my heart? Ay, and made me
What I aml’ he said, gloomily,

. knew not that you loved me in those days so earn-
estly.

«frue,)?

“But if Thad I could not have averted the fate which
was marked out for me,”?

“True, again.”?

“But now, Alberto,’’ she said, rising and approaching
him, ‘‘we are free!’

“You are free, but lam bound more closely than as
though my wrists were hung with chains.”

“J do not understand you,”

‘“My letter was very plain.”

“But these cords ??

“Our sius bind us as surely as iron chains,’ he replied,
ee:

‘Whatever those sins may be, Alberto, they weigh as
nothing beside my love.’ a ; . :

Asshe said this she looked pleadingly at him, with her
very soul in her eyes, and held out her hands toward bim.
Strange emotions swelled Aiberto’s breast for a moment.
Both stood thus silent, and both were more visibly moved
than at any other period of their intercourse. At last Al-
berto’sighed bitterly and turned to leave her, as he said:

 

 

LHE

 

“You only show me, signora, what might have been!’

“What can he mean by being bound by chains so close-
ly ?? asked Signora Amadeo of herseif, as he thus left
her. “Can he be entangled with any woman? I would
put a dagger into her heart without one moment’s hesita-
tion if such were the case.’?

She chafed like a wild beast at the very idea. She was
in a dangerous mood now, and capable of any act, how-
ever violent,

Alberto Correlio went thoughtfully toward his own resi-
dence after leaving Signora Amadeo. His eyes were upon
the ground, and he seemed entirely lost within himseif
or he would otherwise have observed that he had been
followed by a man, both on his way from home and now
on his return toward it. The stranger had no strong in-
dividuality of dress or manner, but seemed to an unob-
servant person to be merely strolling through the streets
with the carelessness of an idler.

A careful observer, however, would have noticed that
the man’s eyes were never off Alberto Corrello.. Just as
the latter was about to enter his own door he looked up
and caught the eye of this man upon him, and he remem-
bered haying seen him once or twice before, at different
places, aud particularly in one of the gambling hells
which he frequented nightly. He did notseem to notice
him very Carefully, and yet he wondered who the man

be. He was astranger in Naples and a foreigner he
thought by his appearance, as he strolled along.

When Beppo admitted his master, Alberto said to the
servant:

“Notice that man just crossing the street yonder. Here,
this way.’

“TI gee him, sir.’?

‘Have you seen him before?!

“Yes, sir.??

“Where ???

‘“‘T have seen him walking up and down before the gates,
but I only noticed him as a stranger.”?

“Walking up and down before tiie gates!’’ muttered
Alberto to himself. “What isin the wind now?”

Ten minutes afterward the man who had been follow-
ing Alberto Corrello wasrun against by a lame beggar, who
asked his pardon for the carelessness and took his post hard
by to solicit alms of those who passed that way. Thestrar-
= swore a good round English oath at the annoyance,

r the beggar had put his crutch upon hig foot, which
must have caused him some pain for a few minutes, as
he limped along, visibly lame from the contact.

The Jame beggar seemed to pay no attention to the an-
ger of the stranger, though any one near to him might
have heard the ragged-looking fellow mutter to himself:

“An Englishman. I thoaght so.”

As the stranger had so lately watched Alberto Corrello,
80 now the lame beggar slowly followed and watched the
Stranger, keeping him cleariy in sight along the crowded
Strada di Roma, untii he saw him enter into the Piazza del
Piebiscito, and pass from there into the Strada St. Carlo.
Here he saw the man, after he had lingered for a few mo-
Ments gazing at the busy scene exhibited in the grand
square, at last enter the shop of Woolf & Co., the Jewish
dealers in gold and silver ornaments and precious stones.

The jame gar seemed to have accomplished his pur-
pose, for he now turned away, and soon after disappeared
among the crowd who were wending their way toward
the National Museum.

As the beggar Jeft the grand square one might have
heard him say, significantly:

*T thought so.”?

The stranger was the English detective, as the reader
will have surmised. He had some theory which he was
testing, and he had for several days been shadowing Al-

berto Correilo. —
CHAPTER XII.
A RUNNING FIGHT.

The preparations which Walter Hammond had noticed
as being made for some special event by the robbers at
the cave were quite significant and not to be mistaken.
So at last he was informed that the band would depart in
a body on the following afternoon, to be absent two or
three days. Two men would be leit in care of the strong-
hold, and the Levanter was told to make himself handy
in case there should be any necessity for his services.

“Whereis the captain ?”? asked Walter of the lieutenant,
who had just given him this information.

“He will meet us below.”

“#In the valley 7?

“Yes,”

Then I shall not see him.”

“Not until our return,’?

“T want to see Mezzoni.”’ :

“Few people say that,’? answered the other, significant-
ly, as he jooked sharply at the Levanter.

This departure of the band was just the occasion which
Walter had been waiting for, and it had come in good
time, so be at once set himself to work planning the man-
ner in which he should proceed. That night Marion was
informed of the circumstances of the case by means of a
scrap of paper, thrust as heretofore under her door. She
was tohito hold herself in readiness at any moment.
Walter had taken the first opportunity to get his revol-
vers and dirk-knife, and to secrete them on his persona;
nor did he forget a certain small flask of brandy. He
also succeeded in purloining a pocket-compass which he
found iu the cave, consideripg the latter as important as
his weapons.

He had hard work to suppress his own impatience until
the gang should start, but he knew that the least indiscre-
tion would betray him, and so he carefuily sustained his
well-feigned indifference to the movements about him.
Indeed he appeared to be asleep most of that day, and
was even joked for his chronic laziness.

It was jate in the afternoon when some eighteen men,
under the command of the two lieutenants, filed away
from the plateau in front of the cave, on their destined
excursion. The Levanter was heard to regret that he
could not join them, and was told that next time, doubt-
less, he would be permitted iodo so. The cave was thus
left with two members of the band and the woman, the
Levanter being looked upon as a sort of supernumary,
thengh abie to render important assistance if necessary.

Waker had selected a spare suit of ciotles, belongip
to one of the smallest members of the gang, and had
piaced it where he could put his hand upon it when
wanted inahurry. This he designed for Marion to wear,
for she couid make no headway with her long skirts in
those rugged mountain paths, besides which the dress
would serve partially for a disguise if required. This he
had informed her of in the usual way, and told her to lay
aside all false delicacy, and when he should throw the
clothes into her cell to put them on instantly.

Finally the gang had disappeared, the coast was com-
paratively clear for the young American to carry out his
weil-digested plans for escape.

it was nearly dark when the two robbers, with Walter
and the stewardess, sat down to their supper. Walter
said, bunteringly, as the meal progressed, that when they
brought him in they did not search him very closely, for
he then had a pocket flask of brandy on his person, and
that he had it still, These mountaineers have a passion
for brandy, a liquor which they rarely see and seldom
taste, 80 when they heard this they were eager for a
draught immediately. The Levanter said that he didn’t
mind sharing it with them, now their members were so
small, but thought that he bad the first right, so uncork-
ing the flask he put it to his own lips first, and snowed
evident signs of relish at the taste of the liquor. With a
caution a8 to moderation, he passed it to his next neigh-
bor.

Walter watched them keenly. $

The robber who had received the fiask from him took
two or three hearty swallows, and so did his companion.
The woman looked as though she would like to do the
saine if she were allowed to, and at Walter’s suggestion
she also took a couple Of swallows clear, from the flask,
There was but very little left when it was handed back to
Walter, and he took, or pretended to take, another ample

jak

“Talk about wine, that’s the stuff for me,” said one of
the men.

‘“Warms you up 80,” added the other.

“But it bites a little,’ said the woman, who had, like
the others, taken a stiff portion.

“Any left?’ asked the robber next to Walter.

‘A drop.”

‘‘Let’s have it,’?

“Divide it fairly between you two,”) said Walter.

They swallowed the balance eagerly, while the young
American went on eating a hearty meal, but soon ob-
served his companions nodding their heads, and one de-
clared that the brandy was good, but dused strong. In
fifteen minutes after partaking of the liquor the two men
and the woman were sound asleep, with their heads upon
the table. He made sure of this.

The morphine had done its work!

Time was very precious—there was not one moment to
lose, Walter now hastened for the suit of clothes, and open-
ing Marion’s door, for the first time since her conflnNRement
there, he saw the young English girl, and spoke to her.
She instantly gave him both her hands, still pausing long
enough to assure herself that it was really Walter Ham-
mond under that strange and puzzling disguise. He
kissed the hands she had given him, while tears ran down
her own cheeks, He said:

‘Quick! No ceremony, Marion. I will leave you fora
moment. Put these on at once.”?

“To will”?

She obeyed like a child, and when Walter came back to
her, a few moments aflerward, she was dressed and look-
ed like @ boy. Stopping aninstant to thrust some pre-
visions into his pocket, Walter seized Marion seized
Marion’s arm, looked sharply at the sleepers, and together
they stole away from the plateau. A momentary observa-
tion was taken, and Walter laid his course by means of
the pocket compass, saw that his revolvers were in per-
fect order, ready for instant use, and gave the dirk-knife
to Marion, saying:

“Put this in a handy place about your person, as a last
resort, if the worst comes to the worst. Do not shudder;
we must be prepared.’ 2

“Frightful thought,’ she replied, but did as he had di-
rected her.

Even at that critical moment they could not fail to ob-
serve the beauty of the night. The moon was at its fall,
and blazed down on the blackened and volcanic ground
in marvellous contrast. Broad day could hardly have
been lighter, and to start with, while Walter knew that he
was unpursued, this brilliant accompanymeat of the
heavens was a favorable escort for their purpose.

By the secret paths and cut-offs, known only to the
robbers, they could pass over the mountain in one quar-
ter of the time that would be required by strangers to ac-
complish the same distanee. Walter knew this very wel!,
but he also knew that their ignorance of these paths
might in one sense prove to be their means of safety,
as the pursuers who should start out for them
would not know what route totake. If they followed the
shortest route to which they were accustomed, they would
miss them of course. The portion of narcotic which had

 

been introfiuced into the brandy, he felt satisfied would
hain the brains of those at the eave until morning, when

 

  

he expected thatthe two men would dgoubtedly start
afterthem, But by that time he hoped fo put a long dis-
tance between them and his fair charge.

“We must travel all night, Marion.”

“I feel that I can do so,”’ she replied.f

“And then if we are not ina safe,
must keep hidden during the day.”’

“That certainly seems to be wise.”

“TY hope by the middle of the second
to place you in safety.”

“Ohl Walter, for she had come to/call him that, ‘1
already owe you my life. What abugthen of indebted-
ness have you placed me under.”?

He took her hand, and pressing it to fils lips Jooked elo-
quently into her eyes, but said nothing} Surely hearts do
not require audible language. {

On, on the two youpg people struggied, and it wasa
hard struggle, as they followed no beaten path, but went
over rocks and down steep declivilies Until they were both
nearly exhausted. Atlast Walter sajy that Marion was
ready to fall down with fatigue, so he reluctantly deter-
mined to pause for rest. He gathered a pile of moss,
Jeaves, and whatever might serve to farnish a temporary
bed, and arranging these in a sheltered nook, he bade her
lie down and rest. For himself he oo a@ spot not far
away, and placing his back to a reck, he soon slept,
though lightly. :

Marion Bray, with ail the ost anata contidence of

ighborhood, we

ght, at all events,

a child, dropped to sleep almost instantly after her severe
exercise. This was very necessary in Order to enable her
to endure the fatigue which was bef@re her, As to her
gallant companion he too was beifg refreshed, and thus
enabled to meet the severe call upon his physical strengti.

It was Marion who rose first, and seeking Wailter’s rest-
ing place she accidentally awoke him by treading upon a
dried stick, which broke beneath herfeet. It was already
daylight; so the two ate a few mouthfuls of their provis-
ious, and drank from a clear cold spring of water hard by,
then once more resumed their flight, thoroughly refresh-
ed and in excellent spirits.

“Fortuue favors us so far, Mariop,’’ said her guide, as
they pressed forward. '

“It does indeed. Iam so thoroughly refreshed it seems
as though I could walk all day.”

‘You are a brave girl, Marion.”

Walter Hammond did not much fear the twomen whom
he had left behind at the cave, though they were able fel-
lows and trusted ones, or else they would not. have been
left in charge of the stronghold, and of so yaluabie a pris-
oner. Still he thought the chances, as against these two
men, were in his favor. True they had rifies while he had
only revolvers, but he must not Jet them take him at
long range. So far as pistois would prove effective, he
knew that he was a good shot, doubtless much better
than they were.

On leaving the cave he had at first selectea a good
rifle, and the proper ammunition to serve it, but, upon re-
flection, he realized that it would prove to be a serious
impediment to his progress, He had wandered for days
among the paths, or rather pathless spots, and felt that

 

his revolvers were all the weapons that he could carry
with advantage.

His greatest fear was that these two men might be
able to bring back a portion of the gang who bad de-
parted, and thus hunt them in numbers. Of course, if
this was the case, his chances of escape would be greatly
lessened. However, he kept these speculations to him-
self, and to Marion’s questions he only replied that they
would hope for the best, and go on as rapidly as possi-
bie. The sleeping potion would hold them until sunrise
he felt sure, but that hour had already arrived, and the
robbers might be able to make as much. headway after
them in one hour’s time as —— accomplished during
the first part of the night, before pausing for rest. All
this Walter discussed within his own breast, not aloud.

And so the two cheered each other onward, and were
full of hope for the best.

Suddenly Walter heard a shout behind them, ap among
the rucks! They were pursued, and that cry was one of
the robbers calling to the other. He hastily drew Marion
behind the shelier of arocky projection aud at the same
time hid himself from view. -

“The fellows must have come down the mountain like
the wind, to have reached us so quickly as this,’’ he said.

“They have come probably by known paths, while we
have climbed all the way,”? said Marion; ‘‘that must be
the reason.’*

“Very true.’?

“Must we stop here ?””

“For a few moments.)

Walter could see one of the robbers whom he had left
at the cave, now examining the rocks in all directions, as
he came along, but his companion was not yet in sight.

“fT wish I had doubled that dose of morphine, but I
ean Want to take their lives, if I could help it,’ said

alter. ,

The young American was very coo], and was calculating
exactly how far his Wesson revolver would prove effective.
The robber was now nearing them very fast, when Walter
realized that it was time to stop his farther progress. lt
bea ao with reluctance that he took deliberate aim and

re q

The robber dropped instantly, at the same time giving
a@ long, peculiar cry to his comrade. This cry he had
heard before, and understood its signification to be a
Cali for assistance.

Walter Knew that he would not probably be followed
again for some time at least, and so he hurried Marion
down the rough way once more, turning momentarily
to see that the second robber did not draw a ‘bead’ on
them with his rifle. The other outlaw must have been
at a long distance from his companion, Walter concluded,
because he had kept his eye on the spot where the first
had fallen, and if he had been joined by his mate would
certainly have seen him.

He felt sure that he had wounded the robber at whom
he had shot, very severely, he fell so instantaneously.
There was one only leftto pursue them. He could not
but feel that he had much rather this man would come
on now than have him return for help, though it would
give him a moment or two more of respite from attack.

‘Are yo very weary?” he ipsked of Marion.

“No. I can go on a long titue yes.” a

“There is Only one to pursue us now.??

“Oh, Walter, do you think that you killed him?’ she
asked with clasped hands. She was @ woman, and could
not bear the idea,

‘] may not have killed him, Marion, but he will fol-
low us no more,’? was the reply.

“Though I know it is necessary,” said the young girl,
“yet I cannot reconcile the idea with my feelings for a
moment,’?

“Tt is natural that you should feel so,’? said Walter, ta-
king her hand kindly.

“It is so terrible to take human life.”

“Except in self-defense.

“True,” she said; ‘aster all it is our lives or theirs, I
suppose.’ ;

“Exactly the question.”

While this conversation was going on Walter had not
been looking about him so carefully as before, and he now
heard the sharp report of arifie, as the ball tore up the
earth close by his side. He turned and saw that it was
the companion of the fallen robber who had fired at him.
He had been coasiderably in advance of his comrade, and
his ball had been sent from a line quite parallel with their
course and present position, He was not within reach of
Wailter’s revolver, so it wasof no use to fire at-him. He
doubted if the robber had heard the cry of his mate for
help, being so far separated from him.

lf this was the case, neither could he have heard the
pistol shot which had wounded the other robber, and he
might possibly think that Walter was unarmed and be
thus drawn upon him without farther precaution. All
these thoughts passed through the young American’s
mind with lightning-like rapidity, and to entice the bandit
forward he had at once dropped upon one knee as though
his shot had wounded him. The trick deceived the pur-
suer, Who not even waiting (as he should have done) to
reload his rifle, ran in bis eagerness toward the fugitive
at his best speed,

Permitting him tocome Within fair range, Walter sprang
to his feet, ana aiming full and fair at the man, fired, all
80 rapidly that the robber had not time to present his own
pistol, which was thrust conspicuously in his belt. The
ball from the fugitive’s pistol took effect in the right fore-
arm, so that the outlaw dropped his rifle unable to hold it.
Seeing the result of his shot, Walter did not fire a second
time, but quickly seiziug Marion’s arm hurried her away
on their course,

“Ol, Walter, did he fall ??

“No, Marion, but he is wounded in a safe piace; he can-
not use either rifle or pistol against us for the present,”?

“That is much better than taking his life,’ said the
breathless girl, as they hurried on.

The last pursuer sounded the peculiar cry for help, like
that uttered by his comrade when he fell by Walter’s first
shot, but his mate, if he heard him at all, was unable to
come to his aid, and the fugitives saw the man retreating
with his rifle on his leftarm; he could not even load
much less aim it, wounded as he now was. The robber
was evidently intent upon finding his comrade, wherever
he might be.

Walter could see the wounded man for some distance
still. as he did not seék to avoid exposing himself and
Marion now. He knew that for a while at least they were
safe, but as the robbers had plenty of allies among the
peasants he felt that the part of his escape the hardest to
safely accomplish, would doubtless be that at the foot of
the mountain when they should approach the level coun-
try. Here he would be suspected as having escaped from
the cave by any mountaineer whom they might chance to
meet, ‘

He therefore made a circuitous route which should
bring them on the nearest side to Naples, before they
should descend much farther toward the plain, and it was
very fortunate that he did so, for scarcely had he adopted
this purpose and selected a spot for temporary rest, before
he saw, far through an opening in the rocks, a couple of
rough fellows whom he suspected were bound for the rob-
bers’ cave. They passeil the two fugitives without dis-
covering them, though they came 80 near that their con-
versalion was distinctly overheard, and even understood,
by Marion and her companion.

lt was plain enough to Walter that he must have come
by a very direct route, though he had moved so slowly,
for these men were going straight over the ground from
whence he had just come, and it was reasouable to sup-

ose that they knew the nearest way to the stronghold

t instantly occurred to him that these men would come
upon the two wounded robbers, and he might soon find
that he had them to deal with also. Then he reasoned
that these men would think that he must naturally take
the shortest and straightest road down the mountain and
would follow in that direction, so that if he turned aside
as he had proposed to do, lie should perhaps throw them
off the scent, at any rate for a short time.

So Walter and Marion bore along the mountain side in

 

a line which did not carry them much nearer to the plain,
but on the opposide side, toward the city, Still they did

>

V EEKLY.

 

descend gradually as they progressed. When they should
approach the plain a little nearer, as we have said, he ex-
pected to have to fight his way; he knew that his greatest
risk lay there. He had ten shots left in his revolvers, and
made up his mind to slay without mercy, to keep cool,
and under whatever exigency, to make every shot tell.

y He even instructed Marion to let no one touch her, but
if they attempted to do so, to strike them to the heart
with the dirk-knife which he had given her. She was a
brave-hearted girl, but she could not help asking herself,
when he thus charged her, “Could [strike this weapon
into a human being?’

They now took an extra period for rest, ate the remain-
der of their food, and prepared to make the last stage in
their perilous journey, every instant feering lest they
should be captured.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE SECRET VAULT.

Armed with a search-warrant, and accompanied hy
two officers of the local police. The English detective
knocked at the door of Alberto Corrello’s palace and de-
manded entrance.

Fortunately for the peaceable transaction of the busi-
ness which brought them there, the master was absent, a
fact which the detective was pleased to know, though he
had come prepared to execute his warrant at any cost.
At first he led the way to the small court-yard in We rear
of the palace, and kicking away a smali accumulation of
rubbish, there Was at once disclosed an iron trap-door,
set in a framework and locked securely. It was hidden
in the most careless manner, but no one was admitted
to the aan of the establishment, it was deubtiess secure
enough.

Means were soon found to open this trap-door, and the
officials descended a long, narrow stairway of stone ex-
tending under the palace, where they came to a second
iron door, much more difficult to open than the first haa
been, but which finally yielded to their experienced fin-
gers. Thissecond door admitted them into a subterra-
nhean room, with a stone floor and heavy walls of the
Same material. No daylight could enter here. Jt was
low and damp, but the lanterns brought by the party soon
discovered, to their astonished eyes, its use.

This underground apartment was the receptacle of
stolen goods, and upon wooden tables here and there
were assorted valuables, such as watches, jewelry of va-
rious kinds, and precious stones. By private marks, with
which he had been made familiar, the detective identified
alarge amount of the valuables which had been stolen
from the store of Wolf & Co., the jewelers, in the Sirada
St. Carlo. To this fact he especially called the attention
of the local police officers, who were with him and who,
now that the game had been successfully run to earth,
a me suddenly very oOfficious in their conduct and

A careful inventory was at once taken of these various
goods, at least, so far as was practicable to do so at a first
discovery, and on a brief visit. The amount of accumula-
tions was surprising, the goods from Wolf & Co.’s store
forming but a small portion of the whole. Undoubtedly
here would be found the key tounlock the mystery ol
other local burglaries, half-forgotten now. The police
coull hardly believe that this depository for stolen proper-
ty could have so long existed under their very eyes, as it
were, and still so remain a secret. The English detective
was willing to let them take apy amount of credit for the
present discovery. He was nota vain man, but he had
his own objects in view.

This vault was in itself a subject of much interest to
the detective. It was not a modern structure, but had
doubtless been formed at the time of the erection of the
palace itself, more than a century ago. At that period
such families as the Correllos often had secret dungeons
constructed within their walls, not for the purpose of
securing valuable treasures, but rather for the confine-
ment of human beings, political prisoners and the like.

As regarded the passage connecting this vault with the
outside of the palace, that was evidently of a very moa-
ern construction. This passage robbed the vault of all
usefulness as a place of confinement, since it would but
facilitate the escape of a prisoner, while at the same time
it very much enhanced its value as a secret hiding-place
for stolen property, since it was mot necessary to enter
the palace to reach it. :

The possession of such a resort was the greatest safe-
guard possible for a guilty person, for property once
placed here was as securely hidden, or nearly so, as
though it had been deposited at the bottom of the Mediter-
ranean itself. No one would suspect the existence of
such a hiding-place beneath the Corrello palace, even if
they suspected the honesty of its master.

The pretended old woman, who had lost her parrot,
made a more important discovery than she had expected,
when she tossed about the rubbish im the rear yard. The
moment that trap-door was seen the hunt for the parrot
had ceased. Not a bird’s nest, but a burgiar’s nest was
the result of the examination.

This subterranean chamber was accessible also by an
iron door from the palace above.

During these examinations, Beppo, the man-servant
who has several times been spoken of in the course of our
story, showed by his honest surprise that he had known
nothing of these matters. The trap-door in the rear yard
was & source of profound amazement to him. His mas-
ter’s guilt was plain enough to the officers now, but as to
Beppo, he could not believe his own senses.

“You have never known of this passage?’ asked one of
the officers of him.

‘Never.’

‘Your master is a very extravagant person. How did
you suppose he raised the means to live thus and support
such expenditures ?”?

“It was none of my business,’ said Beppo, ‘‘and I never
thought about it.’’

“There was a story about a pot of goki,’”’ suggested
the detective.

“Yes, I have often heard about that, replied Beppo,
very honestly.

“Where is your master?’

“He said he was going to Monaco.”

‘Por what?”

“l have heard there is a grand Oasino there for gam-
bling, aud master, you know, plays.’?

‘Yes, you are rigit.’?

“The place is called Monte Carlo,” said the detective.
The officers then consulted together for a few moments,
and finally, after putting the government seal upon the
doors, and leaving one of their number on guard at the
palace, they retired to report the case to the proper offi-
cials, and await further orders. The English detective, on
the way to the government office, called at the store of
Wool! & Co. to give his special employers some knowledge
of their missing property.

The authorities were ready to attend to so important a
matter at once, and the detective was summoned before
them without delay.

“How came you first to suspect Alberto Corrello??
asked the leading official.

“The white powder acted as a trail, and stopped at his
gates,’? was the reply.

“Ah, we had heard of that. Who first discovered this
‘trail,? as you call it?”

“Tf st noticed it. After thatI followed and watched
Alberto Corrello, and found that without apy visible means
of support, yet he had unlimited gold.”

“A suspicious fact.’?

“One day I managed to get into his rear yard, on a sim-
ple pretext, and as it was the nearest point to where the
wail stopped, I examined it.”

“And there found the trap-door ???

“Exactly.”

‘All this 18 very plain business now, since your ingenu-
ity has worked the matter patiently to its present issue,”’
said the official.

Proper officers were dispatched to the secrete vault, and
the goods of various kinds were transported to the gov-
ernment rooms, where they were taken proper recog-
nizance of. The palace itself was then searched, espe-
cially the apartments immediately occupied by Alberto
Corrello himself. Here, in secret closets built within the
walls, and so hidden as to require the most careful search
to find them, was discovered an elaborate system of dis-
guises, relating to nearly every station in life, and de-
signed to represent either sex. . 5

A great variety of the best weapons were also discov-
ered here—pistols, Knives, dirks, and short rifles for horse-
men’s use, with repeating arms from America and Eng-
land, of the Jatest and most effective manufacture. His
apartments were a private arsenal in themselves, It
seemed almost impossible that one man could have accu-
mulated such a complete cabinet of tools, weapons, false
keys and disguises, for the purpose of successful villainy.
It must have been the consummation of years.

The man Beppo had at once been taken into custody,
not that he was believed in any sense to be guilty of com-
plicity in his master’s misdeeds, but partly as a witness
and partly that he might not be able by any means to com-
municate with the absent criminal, and thus enable him
to escape the arrest that awaited him on his return to the
Corrello palace, now in the hauds of the police.

He who had been able tocarry on unsuspected the
doubie character which was now manifest, was too shrewd
in his villainy to trust any one needlessly,

The man Beppo, who had so long acted aga sort of
body-servant to Alberto, was a very simple-minded fel-
low, selected by his.master, perhaps, om that very ac-
count. He was one who lad infinite fear and respect for
his master, and would have been the last to suspect him
of any unlawful acts. Though he was regular in the last
degree in his own habits, the irregularities of his master
as to his hours of outgoing and incoming were unheeded
by him, or were attributed to his amours and gambling
engagements.

He had often wondered inasimple and curious way
how his master had found exit from and ingress to the
palace, ashe had chanced to know that he must have
done, without calling upon him in his capacity of porter.
He now saw very clearly that the trap-door in the yard
had been regularly aud constantly in use. That it could
have existed at all upon the premises, and not be known
to a person of the household in his situation, was a fact
in itself going far to prove his hopeless stupidity.

Thus it was that the most thorough and elaborate ex-
amination of this man could elicit no evidence against his
master,

Alberto Corrello, howéver, could not have carried on
his schemes entirely unassisted. Ingenious and self-re-
liant as he was, he must have had one or more confed-
erates on whom he could rely. It was clear enough that
that he was not one to put himself into the hands of oth-
ers, by the- manner in which he had avoided trusting
Beppo, but stilt he could not have accomplished singie-
handed, it was believed, even tlie robbing of the jewelers’
store in the Strada St. Carlo.

Of course, this was avery important point to decide,
and the clerk who had slept in the store on the night of
the robbing was re-examined.

This man was seized so suddenly, and on awaking from

 

 

a@ sound sleep, that he could hardly say positively whether
there was one or tworobbersin the store. One only stood

 

over and tied him, telling him that the least movement
on his part would cost him his life, and gagging him in-
stantly. There was no conversation loud enough for him
to hear one word distinctly, yet he thought at times he
heard voices, while he was compelled to lie tied and cov-
ered beneath the bed-clothes. The fact Was, a8 is gen-
erally the case in such instances, the man’s terror at tle
time almost incapacitated him for the clear exercise of
his senses.

He remembered hearing the robber or robbers lock the
rear door of the store, as they finally left it.

_ “Why did you not mention that at your first examina-
on eae was asked.

“It did not come to my memory until lon terward,”’
he replied. ” . ee

On Beppo’s being called for further examination, the
fact was elicited from him, by the ingenious inquiries of
the detective, that the story of the pot of gold was really
started, years ago, by Alberto. himself, and through his
servant given to the street gossips. The simple-minded
Beppo could not at first have told how the idea orginated,
but by placing facts in juxtaposition, it became plain
enough that the story was ingeniously devised and set
afloat as a ‘blind.’ It had served exactly the purpose
designed,

The Neapolitan gossips required something to occupy
their tongues when referring to Alberto, and the pot of
gold was just the thing. Besides it accounted for the pose
Session Of ceriain means which might otherwise have
caused troublesome notice.

Matters were kept as quiet as possible, and the dis-
covery of the secret vault and itscontents was said noth-
ing about in public. .The police were on the watch for
the return of the guilty principal, and therefore ayvided
publicity until he should be arrested. But they did not
rightly judge their man if they supposed that he was not
at once informed of all that transpired in his absence.
In three hours after Beppo’s arrest, Alberto knew that his
Own guilt had been discovered, and he governed himself
accordingly. The officers might have spared themselves
their guard over the Corrello Palace. The bird had flown.

Equally fruitless was the excursion to Monaco by the
police, in hopes to meet the culprit there, at the tables of
the Casino, at Monte Carlo. The mention of his proposed
visit to that famous gambling hell was a mere blind to
cover two or three days’ absence in some other direction,
which he desired to keep secret. It was found that he
had not been at Monaco for a period of some months,
though he did visit the Casino at times and was indeed,
when present, one of its heaviest players.

It Was found, after the lapse of three or four days, that
the police must look elsewhere for their game, aud from
certain indications they became convinced that Alberto
was informed of all that took place from day today. It
was a subtie and dangerous ciuracter which they had un-
earthed, by means of the secret vault. Tiey reaiized that
when found and brought to bay he would be a dangerous
man to finally secure.

“The man who succeeds in arresting him will be pro-
moted,” said one officer to another.

“If he lives!” was the answer.

“There is danger in the arrest of any guilty party,”
continued the first speaker.

“Alberto Corrello will not quietly give up his liberty.
He will sell his life dearly.”? ;

‘‘All the more creditin the arrest, then,” replied the
other, who assumed an indifference which he did not
reatly feel.

The importance of the affair had begun to make its im-

pression at headquarters, and the police were on the

alert,
[TO BE CONTINUED.}

BARE-BACK BILL;

OR, THE
FREAKS AND FORTUNES OF A

ae Gh NE ee Me

By John F. Cowan,

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

{“Bareback Bill” was commenced in No. 4. Back numbers can
be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.

CHAPTER VIII.
A RETROSPECT—A MOTHER'S INSTINCT—DISAPPOINTMENT.

Judge Cornell and his wife had lost their only child, a
beautiful little girl, Many years before the period of their
introduction into this story, and the grief for that loss
still shadowed their household, the more so that it did not
occur through the medium of sickness which at once
forewarns and fortifies against the blow, but in a mysteri-
ous and startling Manner the little creature was swept
from their gaze.

At the time of the child’s disappearance it was supposed
that in rambling unheeded around. the spacious grounds
it had, through the neglect of its nurse, been allowed to
get to the water edge and rolled into the canal. But jong
continued dragging failed to reveal the body, and wide
spread search and advertisement were equally unsuccess-
ful for the recovery of the child alive.

Resignation superseded hope in the hearts of the be-
reaved parents, and their grief, at first violent to the
verge of distraction, was mellowed down by time into a
mournful memory, But this resigned calm had been
disturbed after a few years, and hope revived, in the
mother’s heart at least, by arumor that a little girl an-
swering the description, and about of the age that theirs
should have been at that time, was performing with a
gipsy company, who were wandering through the country,
giving open air entertainments. The judge, though little
believing in such @ romantic story, to please the fancies of
his wile gave hot chase to thisignis fatuus. He managed
to overtake the gipsy show people in & distant portion of
the Union, but no such child was with them, and they de-
nied all knowledge of her. If she had ever been in their
custody they had spirited her away on hearing of his
pursuit.

That hope was dashed to the ground, but the mother
still clung to it through the Jong years, and it was some
supposed likeness catching her maternal eye in the face
of the little wanderer, Rhodie, that caused her emotion
on seeing the unconscious boy.

‘My dear,’ she said, leading her husband into one of
the parlors out of reach of the domestics’ ears, ‘‘a strange
fancy has seized me and I cannot keep itomf. You will
laugh atit as foolish.”

“Give me an opportunity of either laughing or weeping
by naming it,” he said, good naturedly. ‘What is its
subject ???

‘This ruabaway boy,’ she answered. :

“Well, I was thinking of him too,” said the judge. ‘Out
with your fancy.”

‘It is that I have seen his face before,” she said, im-
pressively, ‘tor one of marvellous resemblance.’

“Thav’s very possible. Children at his age are not re-
markable for individuality, though some clever people
pretend to see perfect family portraits in new-born infants
awhen the faces are all alike as dumplings.”

Mrs. Cornell seemed to be annoyed by his levity, and
paused before she resumed—which resumption seemed to
cost her an effort.

“This child has individuality,” she said, “at least to my
eye, and mine’s—a mother’s.’

‘‘A mother’s, my dear,’? cried the judge, with a start.
“Why, what in the world has your motherhood to do with
this young wanderer?”?

“Our child, I believe to be a wanderer if alive,’’ she
said in a quick and heated manner.

“But our’s—if alive—iny dear, is a gir.”

“And so is this.”

“You are crazed or dreaming?”

“I would risk my life on the truth of my conjecture,’
said the lady, decidedly.

“What reasons have you for such a@ preposterous be-
lief?” asked Judge Cornel), with a smile.

’ “Is it preposterous for runaways to disguise themselves,
especially when they have been actors?’? asked the lady,
reproachfully, and a new light seemed to spread over the
judge’s face. ‘Does this child look like a person to be
traveling on a canal? ‘Think of the fair skin—the mu-
sical voice—the fragile form. Think that she—I say it
advisediy—was flying from a tyrannical showman.”?

“By Heaven, you are right,’? exclaimed the husband;
and encouraged by his conviction, the lady went on;

“Did you notice that while the hair was light-red or au-
burn, the eyes were as black as mine???

“No—no—I was not sharp enough,” said the judge hur-
riedly; ‘‘but I trust to your sharper sight. It may be—yet.
no—it is too much to expeci—to great a blessing to be
given us. Shall we cal) him or her down again—shall we
goupto see him—fer I mean—shall we let ii rest until
morning ?”?

On the heels of this volley of questions a wild howl of
affright echoed through hall and corridor, drowning the
agitated answer of Mrs, Cornell and causing them both to
oe into-the passage. They thought the mansion was
on fire.

Here they sawthe housekeeper bounding down the
staircase in flying bounds like a great bale of cotton, ui-
tering a war-whoop at every bounce.

“What’s the matter, Catherine? What has frightened
you?’ cried the master and mistress, catching the human
avalanche on the last step and reeling beneath its force.

“Oh, Heaven be merciful to us!” gasped tne frightened
woman. “Sure the boy isa girl, and the gray. sperrit is
at the windy above flappin’ its wings like an aigle,’?

‘You are dreaming or crazy!’

“The divila dhramin’ or crazy bit about me thin, but
the fright,’? spluttered Catherine. ‘I thried to get the
creature to undress, but i/ would sooner jump out of the
windy, and whin I tried to grab iI caught its red hair
and pulled it away, and the black ringlets of a girleen felt
from undher! Oh, ma’am, if it should be the purty child
yer heapt is longing for.”

Before these words were out Mrs, Cornell and the judge
were both rushing up the staircase, followed by a number
of alarmed servitors. They burst into the room where the
housekeeper told them she had placed Rhodie,

To their consternation no sign of either boy or girl was
there. The hinged sashes were thrown wide back, and
the gauze upon the musketo-frame was burst in the cen-
ter, the tattered edges fluttering in the night-wind.

“He is gone!” said the judge.

“He has jumped from the window,’ cried some of the
servants,

“Gertrude! my child, my child! screamed Mrs, Cornell,
rushing to the casement and leaning frantically out over
it. ‘‘Oh, she is killed—she is killedl’’

“Away! Get lamps and seel’’ cried the judge, excitedly,

 

 

 

to his domestics, and a general stampede took place.
“She is killed! Sheis dashed to pieces!’? moaned the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

us

 

 

 

 

 

 

~«4 THE NE

 

judge’s wife, and the housekeeper, touched by her emo-
tion, went to her side at the window with words intended
to be comforting, but strangely uusuited to the purpose.

“iva the gray sperrit lias sperritted her away, ia’am.
Jt was her, ma’am, as they it did ten yeargsago. Whist!
What was that ?!

«What? asked the lady, eagerly.

‘Ia the big elm tree weyant? Ii sounds like a snake—
and it Jjooks like asuake. It’s some more witclicraft,
ma’am, as sure as Wy Name's Catiierine,”’

By the light from the room in which they were, and the
flashing of the lanterns borne by Judge Cornell and the
servants now coming uround the corner of the house,
they caught sight of a whitish Object that did indeed Look
like a suake, twisting aud twining rapidly downward
through the dark foliage of &@ mammoth elm tree that
stood atsome distance from the house. Down it went,
dropping from limb to limb, hissing among the leaves,
leaping from the lower brauches, aud after striking the
earth witha thud, passing away rapidly along tue grass
with, a hiss and a serpentine wiggling motion.

Mrs. Curneil was too much astonisied at this to be able
to reason Out.a cause or explanation for it, ay she would
have done in a calmer moment. Iu the excitement atthe
tinie, slie took unquestioned Catharine’s theory of the
matter. lt hissed like a snake, it looked like a snake, it
nioved like a snake—it was a snake!

She and her housekeeper hastened down to assist in the
searcii for traces of the young fugitive, but none were
found. No mangted corpse, no torn clothing, no discarded
red wig to prove Mrs, Corueil’s theory and Catherine’s as-
Sertion, Tue housekeeper repeated her belief in the gray
spirit, and the judge's lady told about their observation of
the suake, and voll were sneered at for allowing their ex-
cited imaginations to run away with them, for the judge
tvas a matter-of-fact man and started a ladder Ltueory of
his own, but where so long a ladder had come frou, or
where it had gone to, he -was not prepared to state.

A thorough skirmish over the grouuds revealed nothing;
neither did an examination of the roads and adjacent lots,

but as they were prying about the highway that bounded }

Lhe homestead on the land side, a rapidly-driven vehicle,
adorned avith side-lighis, hove in sigut, aud bore fiercely
down upon them, lu it were two men, and on close ap-
proach one of them was recognizable as the village cou-
lable; the other was our jaunty friend Joseph Tivers.

“Judge Cornell, 1 presuiwe,” began this glib perseuage,
as he Luuled iu in unpleasaut proximity to bis Louor’s
toes.

“At your service, sir.’!

“Weill, your honor, | have the pleasure of introducing
myself ag Armaud Montcalm, proprietor aud manager of
the Great American Theatrical and Gircus Oombination.”

“Ah, indeed,’ said the judge, with a frown, “1 have
heard of you, sir.’? .

‘Ah, of course, your honor, certainly: The world has
fieard of me. ‘Lhe trump of fame hath blared my merits
forth.’ ‘But tempus sugii—time flies—as the thief said
when he stele a watch. Les to business. Your honor, I
have been informed, has taken the responsibility of the
safe keeping of a juvenile fugitive of mine, or rather one
anade liable to arrest as a fugitive by a mis-stated message
of a miserable menial. Hal hal alliteration. Good, very
good, indeed. Effective inan afterpiece. That message [
contradicted at earliest moment. Constable, slow col-
tradiction.””

Zire constable handed the telegram, and the judge held
it to one of the lamps.

“Weil, sir,’’ he suid, in a colder tone than expreased his
feelings, ‘this ‘juvenile,’ as you professionally style hin,
has either voluntarily withdraWn bLimself from my protec-
tion or been spirited away.?!

“Goue—d——u1!"’ roared Armand Montcalm, in the ter-
rifie stage voice Of a popular ‘heavy man.” “Why, I
huve come too late,’?

“‘Perlaps, if you slir yourself, you may overtake him on
the road. He——’!

“Thunder aud hail?! cried Montcalm.
it was a ‘slic,’ disguised to escape me,’!

“A girl?" cried the judge and his wife, with a great
heart-pang striking them both as they spoke. ‘

“Aud thus telegtam ?? said the judge, somewhat angrily.

«(Merely professioual prevarication, sir.’

«Phen ic poorthing was really fying from you, as she
said, to escape from ‘your Cruel abuse,’’ cried the judge,
gluving ac tiie Manager as if he Would have torn him from
Lhe wagon and dasued him Lo the earth,

“Fy from me on account of crueity! Oh, the ungrate-
ful lite wretcal’ exciaimed Armaud Montealn, path i
calty. “2 cruell Ou, the juvenile viper! 1 who have
loved her so—who have so eucuuraged her. Oli, would I
had her,’? he said, With a doubllul wavering of the voice
between the pathetic and the vicious, ‘that 1 might teach
her how sharper than a serpents tootl’s ingratitude. My
dear sir—your honor, you do not know Armaud Montcalm
—youcanuot read the tablets of his heart. . That cuud,
sir, Lhave trained, I have encouraged, I have loved, |
have adored! Yes, sir. 1 would give One Hundred Dol-
tars for tle recovery of thut clildl”?

“And I," cried the judge, with angry energy, “I will
give ten thousand °°

“You what? cried Armand Montcalm, springing from
his seat with @ nervous yelp whicli was Gouble-bassed by
the pute “You'll give ten thousand?”

“Yes.

“My dear, your honor, consider yourself engaged—beg
pardon, lL mrean consider myself engaged. Siow me the
trail, as they say in ludian stories. “she trail of the ser-
pent is over them all.’ Very neat application, very.’

“The snake,’ whispered Mrs. Cornell to tier husband;
aud truly that was the trail which set the pursuers, friend
and foe und money-seeKer, OU the Lrack of the poor fugi-
live. :

“It was no ‘he,’

CHAPTER IX.
THE FLIGHT—AN UNUSUAL OFFER—MONTCALM'S OPPOR-
TUNITY.

When the housekeeper, Catherine, fled from the room
in afiright, and Riodie saw the gray figure flit past tie
window, she stood rooted to the spot, She was startled
enough to follow her late companion, but the glitter of the
apparition’s glance seemed to have Cast a speil upon her.
Not long was she given for recovery, for with a louder
“swish’’ than before the mysterious figure swept by tle
casement again, andere yet tne palpitations of her heart
had beat teu seconds wilh aw rush like storm-wind Lie gray
specter burst through the guuze-covered frame, aud swing-
ing into the room stood belore her.

“Ha, Ruodie,’”’ itcried, in & ghostly whisper, ‘“how’s
this fur spook bizness. Come, quick, lay hold o’ the rope
like grim death. Don't touch me or you'll git all over
ashes. Ready. That irishwoman's raisiw’ paruc’lar Cain
down thar. Yhar they come, by jimgo, like a flock o’
geese. Sicha gettin’ up stairs. Hold light, Rhodie. Hist.
Heady! Ghosts darsen’t holler houplal Of we go.”

Rhodie had mounted on the sill beside him, and he,
twining one of his legs in the rope he held, passed an arm
around his companion’s slight waist, aud giving a sigual
to some one outside, jumped from the casement and
swung with a great sweep far beyond the shadow of the
greatelm. Over one limb of this tree, very high up, the
rope was passed, and it)was so well served by te unseen
confederates of Bare-Back Bill thatit payed out over the
limb as they swung and landed them gently on the ground
in the shadow far trom the house.

“Now, fellers, get. the end 01 the line over your shoul-
ders aud. legit. There they're at tlhe window. ome,

Lhodie,’? cried Bill, catching his rescued companion by
the hand and starting like a nimble ghost as he was
through the orchard down toward the canal,

Hlis associates took the end of the frieudly tow-line and
ran noiselessly (for they were barefooted) away into the
Garkness, it was this line descending through the foliage
and disappearing iu the grass that formed the serpent of
Mrs. Coruell and Catherine.

A canal boat was found lying close in to the heel-path
at the fout of the orchard When they arrived there, and
having all got aboard the craft was rapidly poled across,

and the ready horses attached, and away they glided oul
of hearivg before the Judge aud his servants had got their
Zanterns lighted.

Ln answer to Rhodie’s questions, Bill said he had started
along the Canalafier his escape, in hopes of ‘meeting
«some feliers’’ to help himin the rescue, when he met
his old cap's boat, and readily procured the required as-
sistance lugether with the banjo to use for the fluding. out
of the prisoner's whereabouts, :

Riiodie’s springing on the window sill to escape from
©atherine had done that part of the job. , They seut to tlie
boat for a tow-line, and formed the swing “in two shakes
o! a mule’s ear,’ aS Bill figuratively expressed it. The

fying apparitions of the gray figure before the window
were occasioned by the experimenting of Bill in measur-
ing his distance, and getting swing enough Lo land him in
fle room.

«But how did you get so gray?’ inguired Rhodie.

<The other fellers that didn’t play ghost at all was jest
as gray’s me. We hid in the ash house from the servants
when they was seein’ things snug for the night,’ answer-
ed Bare-Back Bill, with a laugh. ‘Quite an adventure,
aa’utit? Lreckon they'll mind the gray lady of Cornell
farm for some time to come.”’ { ,

Wow, while they were speeding away eastward, Joe
Zivers alias Armand Moutcalm, was investigating the
means of Rhodie’s escape, He exploded the judge’s.lad-
der theory by showing that there were neither ladder
tracks nor footmarks beneath the window, he pool-pooh-
ed the ghost affair, and accepted the serpeut story.

<That’s it,’’ he said, seizing the lanteru and proceeding
to the base of the elim, ‘‘she escaped by rope from tiis
tree.

“Nonsense,"’ said the judge; “how could she ever reach
that distance even with a rope???

“She didn’t reach it, the rope reached her.’!

“How?! y ’

«By swinging from one of the higher limbs, and the
specter seen by your housekeeper was that daring young
rascal Bare-Back Bill.”

*'Bare-Back Billl’’ exclaimed the judge, gazing at the

gap the boy had spanned in astonishment, ‘A gallant
boy—an enterprisiug and ingenious youtl.’?
4 “Yes, confound bis daring and ingenuity,” cried Mont-
calm, “1 owe him two drenchings and half a drowning.
Here,’’ he added, joyfully, ‘‘is tue track of the snake;
this ig where the rope was dragged on end for laek of
time to coilit. This is the scent to which I must meta-
phoricaliy glue my nose. Judge, I shali gain your ten
thousand.”

“Tie sooner the more welcome you will be,
in. I wish to question you about this child.”

“At your command, your honor. ‘Born for your use, 1
live but {o obey you.’”?

At the end of that questioning Mrs. Cornell dropped her
head upon the table, and gave full vent to her grief for no
doubt remained in her mind that Raddie the wandering
boy, and her lost child Gertrude were the same.

“Oh, My child—my Gertrude," she repeated monoton-
ously, ‘‘to have had you in tire reach of my arms and lose

ou.’? ‘

. “Munificent ten thousand!’ soliloquized Armand Mont-
calm, as be departed. ‘“Gentie Gertrude, thou pretty

But come

equivalent of munificent ten thousand, come to the arms
of itgadorer. ‘Thou wert so near and artso far.’ So
the rebellious little witch is an heiress, worth ten thou-
sand dollars in her rags. On, for the voice of Stentor to
recall her from the briny dangers of the Erie. Hush, Jo-
seplt Tivers, Esq., thou shall be Armaud Montcalm no
more—thou shall hand the handmaiden over to the judi-
cial bloke and receive the sponds—and thou shalt re-steal
the handmaiden and depart to climes where rampant lib-
erty maketh not the juveniles obstreperous, Tiou shiult
also, Joseph, put forth thy hand and take the wealth that
rusteth in the draws of Mother Mint. Thou shalt be the
prince of showmen, ‘Grand Cosmopolitan Panjapdarum
of all the Fakers,’ Spiendid title! brilliaut prospect! glo-
rious ‘incentive to bright deeds.’ Hal constable, lim off
for Marston Locks. Death or viclory!’!

“Whav’s about death?’ asked the officer, dubiously.

“Canst not,conjecture? cried the Great American Self-
Interviewer aud Quoter.

“ ‘Wouldst hear a talet On Marston heath
Met trout to front the ranks of death.’

“But no matter, so that Marston .Locks do not prove a
dead-lock ‘tous. Officer, you areaman ol inteligence.
Aside.) Very mild intelligence. You are endowed with
authority. (Aside.) ‘Write him down an ass,’ I heed
the aid of your intelligence and the backing uf your author-
ity, Thou shalt be suitably rewarded—(aside)—to suit
me. ‘Say, laddie, wilt thou gang wi’ me???

“T'll go,’ said the village official,

And they went at a thunderilig pace, wealth in the dis-
tance, avarice at the reins, as Moutcalm himself would

have said.
CHAPTER X.
A TOWBOY'S JUBILEE—THE ENEMY IN DANGER.

Mr. Montcalm did net secure the fugitives at Marston
Leeks, bor at Macedon, nor at any of the otlier Classical
points with which the canal igs dotted, and for the follow-
ing reasons:

Bare-Back Bill was a creature of restlessness and im-
pulse. He could not be quiet; excitement wis essential
to his well-being—necessary, indeed, to his being at alt.
The excitement of his victory was past and’the dullness
of being merely a passenger On a Canal boat palled upon
his unquiet spirit. The victory aforesaid had filled ‘him
with triumphant pride, and as his was a deuiousirative
Baars he determiued to celebrate his success by a ju-

ilee,

“Rhodie,’ he said, ag they neared the locks and saw
the flaring lights of the groggeries, and heard the rasp
fnd. twiddle of fiddle and banjo, and caught glimpses of

~

 

‘bobbing figures, and were excited by (he rumpety-thump

of many pairs of canal boats, and Lhe laughter of specta-
tors, ‘Riiodie, let’s have a grand jollification on the head
of our escape, . There’s somethin’ wrong up at the locks,
else this wouldn’t go on so lively, Phew! what a crowd
o’ boats! Adéad block good forthe night, Let’s give
‘em an entertainment somethin’ like. Let’s show ‘em
how fo doit, eh, Cully? Let’s make stampees while the
lamps shine.”

“Vm willing,’ said Rhodie, “We'll make money
enouglitotake the cara for New York. Vm afraid of
these telegrams. But, Bill, if the policemen should be
after us with descriptions aud kaow us——"’

“T think you'd best lie snug, youngsters, if you don’t
want to get back to Lockport or Buffalo,’’ said the owner
of the boat, who had served thém so well in their escape
from Cornell House and thé coustables.

“Oh, pslaw, Cap., they can’t bea lightnin’ jerkin’ all
night, and you Can't catcllacop out o’ nights like this,
"Capt there’s money to be scraped, Git the banjo, Rho-
die!’ :

dies,’’ said the captain, waruingly.

“Better not, Bill!’ said Rhodie, timidly,

“Wha-a-t?’' cried Bare-Back Bill, with a contemptuous
drawl, ‘and let them bummers spend all their stamps
without havin’ a whack, Not for Bare-Back Bill. No,
sir-ee. If you’re afeard, Ill go und tumbie for ’em, or
make a tigit-rope of atow-line and do some high and
lofty squirmin’ at five cents a squirm,’’

He was bounding across the decks of the packed boats
toward the scene of the merry-making when Ruodie tol-
lowed and caught him, saying:

“T will go With you, Bill, 1 want to be aloug with you.
If you're caught, Vil be caught pe ' ;

“Bully for you, Rhodie!? cried il. “Grand fandango
would only be a Gue-mule affair *ithout you.’

“If we CO ony disguise ourselves, Bill,’

“Hooray for Riodiel’? cried the enthusiastic Bill, with a
delighted caper. “Babpgup idea! First. grand dress re-
hearsal of the Bare-Back and die troupe. Stay where
you are till I git some corks from Jake,’?

He dashed off to the grocery and returned in a minute
with his (Wo Hands full Of bottling corks, abd catchiug up
a lantern sought a shady spot upon thé deck aud com-
menced to burn them in the flame of the lamp,” :

“Here, Rhodie,” he cried, ‘‘come and. make yourself
useful. .Here’s your real republican Convertor, Change
tue darnest stranger to a man and a brother—whiie you
say ‘black-a-moor,’ Hurry up, you, Shuffler,’ he called
to the new driver. ‘We're goin’ into the darky manulac-,
turing. ‘Come over and help us,’ as Wendel Phillips said
4o Lioyd Garrison at the battle of Blackwell's. Is} dy}:

“What are you duing?’’ said the captain, as hd tar the
three squatted around the lantern, Charring the corks.

“Were a-goin’ to join the ebony brigade—gwine to git
black in the Jace for spite, so’s folks won't see us. blush on
our fust publi¢ appearance. Eh, Rhodie ?—we'll show’em
disguise. You touch me up, and J’il daub you. Polish
them nose nice. Leave some while ’round the eyes fora
pair o’ spectacies,, though you and me’sa pair o’ spec-
tacles any how—aiu’t we? ‘There, Rhodie, by George,
you're fit for a seat in Congress, You’re a black trump,
and I’m next—your left bower, as the feliers say. Huw
am I for an irrepressible Contraband?” Shuffler, lend
Rhodie that thing you Calla coat, to hide his good clothes.”

While this fusilade was rattling tirough the never-rest-
ing lips, thetwo youngsters, to the great amusement of
‘tie Captain aud hiscrew, by uieaus of the burnt cork,
couverted each other iuto the semblance of Lwo extra
dark durkies, and laughed gayly at each other ag they
arose and Capered around the deck. Siwfiler was also
seized with an Ethiopian ambition aud smeared his face
iutu @ ludicrous resemblance of a Zebra’s,

In this sable state they proceeded lo the grocery, Rhodie
playing a quickstep on the banjo, and all tie drowsy tow-
boys On tie bouts Waking up to form in the procession.
Tne revelers Ceused tuew dancing and jabbering to see
the cause of theracket. The capering, black-faced young-
sters were hailed with joyful acclamations and space was
made for them in the center of the bar-room. ‘The white
boys—uone of them very white—were delighted at the
prospect offun; the former musicians, reat out and out
iuthiopians, were choking with euvy. There was every
appearance of Bare-Back and Rhodie’s celebration of
victory being a brilliant success, and their hearts were
ubilant.

z Rhodie played in the very best vein, and Bare-Back Bill,
taking the floor by general request, proceeded to exemplify
the pliability of boue and sinew in & most exhilagating
and dislocating manner, and his supple endeavors so
aroused the terpsichorean enthusiasm of the real Ethio-
pians that they forgot Uneir musiculenvy and their offense
at the burlesquing of their complexions, and jumped into
the dancing space with leap and fling. Shuffler followed
heroically and the crowd of by-standers cheered them
ou!

“Go it, you flock of black birds!) they cried, and the
black birds went it witha vengeance, iutroducing every
species of jig, straight, crooked and diversified—every
style of step—clog, shuffle and break down—trebles,
doubles aud singles—With &@ magnauimous disregard for
timeor fitness and an enthusiastic forgetfulness of each
other’s shins. And other youths, determined not to be
left out of the entertainment, had rendered themselves
eligible for entry by the bountiful application of cork or
tar or black paiut to their visages, as wus most conveni-:
ent, and bounded into the festive maze until the room
would hold no more, and the last reinforcements had to
take to the grocery platiorm and the tow-path. Then

"The fun grew fast and furious,
The music loud and louder grew,
The dancers quick and quicker flew,
For hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys and reels
Put life and mettie in their heels.
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleeked
>Tili every tow-boy sweat and reeked,
And threw his ‘toggery’ in the dirt
And ‘welted’ at it in nis shirt.’

In the very hight of the Babeionian merriment a wagon
with side lamps dashed up to the grocery, nearly running
down some of the excited dancers, and Armand Mout-
calm and his ally, the constable, alighted.

“We are im luck,’’ said the first, joyously; “this stop-
page is a god-send. They can’t have passed.’!

“Point them out!’ said the constable, pompously, but-
toning up his lapel that his badge of authority might be
geen, and taking from his tail pocket two pairs of hand-
cuffs. ‘Show ’em tome, sir. Ibi fix ’em.’”’

In order to comply with this request Monfcalm un-
shipped one of the lumps from the wagon and the burly
constable took the other. They endeavored to get toward
the store door, but experienced a series of annoying
collisions from the whirling revelers that greatiy delayed
their progress. ;

Montcalm cursed and the constable calied his authority
to their aid.

“Ha, you fellows,’ he cried, inatone of proclamation,
“T am a constable.’! :

“Oh, my eyel’! arose from the crowd in a derisive hoot
that spoke little for the estimation in which the consti-
tuted authority was held in that quarter,

“Pam sent with authority lo arrest tworunaway young
criminals.”?

“Well, arrest 'em then, darn you!’

“J demand to Know,’ interrupted Montcalm, “if any
boys have passed this way siuce nightfall, answeripg the
description——”!

“Lots of’em, you fool.*!

“Or are they here now ?’?

“Take a squint around, you muffin.’ :]

Montcalm and his ally both seemed to think this the
most sensible Course to pursue, apd proceeded to inspect
the blackened aud tarred faces which were ludicrously
distorted during the scrutiny.

‘These are all niggers.’’ cried the constable,

“Alt disguised,’ criec Montcalm, ‘What is the mean-
ing of this masqueradet ?

“Wanted to be light on ye,’) cried one of the masquers,
“afeared you might be ashamed lo; mix ’mongst white
men.’! » ind a

Here Montcalm's professional ear caught the well-
known sound of Rhodie’s baujo proceeding from the store,
and made frantically in that direction, followed by the
constabie and hustled by the crowd.

“They are here,’ he cried, excitedly, as the thought of
the ‘inunfficent ten thousaud”’ arose.

“No. They are naygers too,’ said the constable, who

 

had reached the threshoid first and stared in.
“Tuat’s the two,” cried Montcalm, pushing in and con-

* Well, mind now, I can’t help you outo’ any more shin-

 

 

 

ORK WEEKLY,

oes Saree
were 4 ye

 

2A ee ke SR 8 a a ra carna

 

fronting he young baujoist and dancer. ‘Take them,
officer.”) |

“Let hing offer, sir,’ cried Bare-Back Bill, springing for-
ward as constuble pushed up to seize Rhodie with the
handcufls #n his hand,

‘ ‘Here yqul’! cried the officer, endeavoring to grab the
oy. :

‘Paws off, you duffer!’’ cried Bill, hauling off and giv-
ing the official face a sounding slap with his corked
hand, whigh left a broad bluck mark. ‘There’s a trade
mark fer youl’ he said; and then turning to Rhodie, who
had ore d the banjo in terror, he continued: ‘Don’t be
skeared, Rihodie, old boy; there’s fellers enough here to-
nigtt Lo eat) all the constables from here to Buffalo. Aiu’t
there, fellens ?’

‘Ay, ay, Bill Heave him out here!’’ yelled the fan-
dangoists outside.

“Wait,” shia Montcalm, in a deprecating tone, advanc-
ing with am oratorical ’ Outstretching of the hands, “1
come for thi8 young person’s good,’’ pointing to Rhodie.
“Won't you go back With me ?”?

“No, said Rhodie, decidedly,

“Nuifsed!) Git out and let the fun goon,’ yelled the
crowd, ;

“Wait—listen tome. This is no boy. It isa girl dis-
guised.» |

ee beat.

oys.

‘She is tile child of wealthy parents, and an heiress.”

“Hustle iim outl’® And tlie boys began to hustle both
officer aud /manager, encouraged by the laughter of the
men. ‘

The dignity of the constable could not stand this; the
momentary hopes of Montcalm were in danger of demo-
ition.” They both resisted desperately and seized upon
Rhodie. But they were glad to let her ge again for tarry
teats rar hand, and painty hands buffeted them right
and left.

“Tar and feather them,” roared Bare-Back Bill. “Head
and tail ein with theirown haudculfy and seud ‘em back
to Lhe colstituted authorities!”

{10 BE CONTINUED.]

‘The Accused Wife.

By the Author of **‘Drifted Asunder.”’

(“The Accused Wife” was commenced in 45. Back Nos. can
be oijtained ot any News Agent in the United States. } i

OHAPTER XLI. ‘
LOTTIE SAYS ‘‘NO,!! sh

_Tt was some time before Lottie could comprehend, when
she once more woke to consciousness, where slie was, or
low she came to be lying on a clean bed, with the terri-
ble hunger and thirst of the past few awiuldays assuaged,
snd a feeling of rest in all her limbs that made her pres-
ent state seem Heaven after ali she had gone through.

Something moved near her, aud slie looked up to see
che woman who had come tu her belore—a very angel of
brightness she looked—and she bent over ler again, and
told her with tears im her eyes that she’ was safe. Aud
Lottie tried to get up, to move her limbs; to speak, but
culy found that all Sireugth was gone, and sthat slie had
ko more power to speak or move thal a new-born infant.

“Don't try,” said the woman, with tears in. ber eyes: “Poor
thing! poor thing! Drink this!” and she pressed some wine to
Lottie’s lips; and the cordial. gave her strength to speak and
feebly ask where she was.

On board the Overyssel,” was the answer. “No, not an En-
glish ship,”—in reply to the questivn Lottie tried to frame—
“Dntch; but 1l’m English. I’m Captain Blokzyt’s wife. [’m £0
thanniul mon board. I’yeseen a many shipwrecked people,
but never anything like this, It was Heayen’s mercy we saw
you when we fo

Lotte further learned that she had slept full four-and-twenty
hours, and that her.companions in misfortune were rapidly get-
tiug better. Clarke was recovering the most slowly, perhaps
becaase he had endured the longest. She heard, too, that the-
Overyssel was bound to Valparaiso from Bayaria. She wasa
large trading ship, and had been te Acheen first, or iu.all proba-
rg c ie would never have been near the scene of the wreck of

e Polaris. , ‘ ’ , ;

Lottie could only feebly wonder when they should get’ to Val-
paraiso, and what she would do when théy arived at that remote
seaport. She was penniless and alone in the world, and the aw-
ful peril she had come throug had made all other discomforts
seem light in comparison, ;

Bat the time came when she was strong enough tO be taken
on deck, and to meet the four other pale speeters» who had been
the companions of her danger, They greeted her with tears.
They were weak and spent yet, though rapidly recevering.

_, Then Lottie began to nk of her position, She was indebted
‘to the captain’s wile for the very clithes she Wore. She lad not
a single article she could call her own—no home, hofriends. The
pitiless sea had swept away all, With her returning strength
came sorrow for her lost triend, and terror for the future; and
but joa ke she would haye sunk into pitiable despondency.

“I wish Icould cheer you up a bit, my dear,” he said to her the
fourth day of her being on deck. “Ii’s au awful thing for a
young lady to left ‘alone’ in the world like this; but youve
got your life—that’s something, isn’t it ?” -

D'ye take us for flats?’ cried the

 

r
it
:

ught to be yery thankful,” she said, with a ing lip.
“pm ‘wicked and “Lngratetal, 1 know;. but it at coekues a)
dreary. : ‘
“Tt does, my poor fass.’? a cea Gh aoe ;

“But ivs as bad for you,” Lottia said. it

“No, it isn’t; a mai can rougi it, A sailor can make his way,
no matter in what part of the world he iy set down, What dy
you think of doing t”

“IT don’t know; I’ve heard of Valparaiso,
anything aboutit. I must trust to cuance.”

“Would you like Australia better 7?"

*T think I should; but how am I to get there ?”

_ “Well, there’sjus¢a chance. The captain has been talking to
me and the rest about what we are going todo, Now, if I can
get to Australia I’m all right. I’ve got a brother, it he isn’t dead,
out in Palmerston County, Queensland, and I should like to go
there. Captain Blokzyt says if the weather holds good he’tl pat
in at the nearest port and land me. Would you like to try your
chance there? It’s rough, I believe; but women are wanted
there, and you’re a notable young lady, and I think you’d make
your way; you seem pandy at most things.”

“IT think I could make a living if I had a chance.”
* “You won’t be let stanve anyway.
and go ashore withime ¢ 2 .

Loitie said she would think of it, and did. She told Clarke the
next day that she would go ashore with him, and try her fortune
in Australia.

The captain’s wife applauded her resolution, and made her ac-
cept a few articles of clothing out of her owu little store.

The other three of the Polaris decided tu go on in the Overys-
sel. It wasali the same to them, and the captain, being rather

but I don’t know

Will you take your chance

short-handed, offered them wages to stay with hin,
Po

And preseutly Lottie was told that land was in sight, and went
eat deck to see a faint line of haze that they told her was Aus-
tralia.

The captain had kept his word asfar as he could, though he
was a loug way south of Palmerston County.

“iu’s Brisbane, as near as I cau make out,’ Clarke said. . “It
don’t matter to me, [can make my way, and it won’t be such a
rough place for you, Miss Chatteris. Civilizauen has made big-
ger strides there than it has farther north. There really is a town
at Brisbane of some'size, and plenty of English people.”

Itdid not much matier to Lottie, and she suid so, with her
eyes fixed on the Strip of sliore which was rapidly becoming a
well defined hue on the horizon,

“T must try and get some sortof a situation,” she said, dream-
ily. “ZL wouder what it will be. Maid of all work seems about
the most likely, should think.”

“You won t have much trouble in that, Miss Chatteris; but-—’'

“But what ?”

“J had something to say to you, miss—something that’s been
onmy mind to say ever since I helped to lift you into the boat,
almost ever since I first saw you on board the Polaris. I must
say it now; ina few hours more weshall bein Brisbane harbor.’

“Say what you like to me, Mr. Ciarke,” Lottie said. ‘You
Saved my life, you havo the right to talk to me,”

 

“I don’t know that anything gives me the right tosay what I
Want to say to you, Miss Chatteris. I’m only a common man
and you’re a lady.” ik

“Oh, no; only a poor balletgirl.” ;

“A lady for ail that,” he said, warmly, ‘What I want to say
is this. Will you give ime the right to stand between you and
harm for the time to come? Will you be my wife Miss Chat-
teris? I'd bea true, loving husband to you, niy dear, for 1 ieve
you with all my heart, and have done 0 since | first saw you.”

Lottie felt very sorry for this kindly rough man, whose sinceri-
ty and evident sorrow touched her to the heart; but she could
only say to him what she had said to many another in her
chequered life, that she was not free to marry—that she belleved
herself a wife. Besides, the feeling she had spoken of to Carrie
was strong upon her stiil—that the man who had deceived and
left her, fourteen years before, was not dead, and that she sliould
see him again. [

When she had sunk down in the dark water she thought it was
death that was to unite them once again. Now, asthe shores of
Australia were dawning nearerand nearer, all tinged with golden
light, the feeling came back again that they should meei yet
once more in this lower world.

CHAPTER XLIL
LOTTIE ACCEPTS A SITUATION.

Lottie watched all the commotion of the ship's arvival at
Brisbane with wonderivg interest. The Overyssel was a large
vessel and unexpected, and her advent caused no small commo-
tion in the little town, Many boats put off to see who and what
the stranger was, and one of them brought a bearded, pleasant-
eyed young gentleman with a yery tanned face, who asked per-
mission to come aboard.

“Ouly from curiosity, I assure you,” he said, as he stepped on
the deck; “‘just to shake hands, as it were, with the outer world.
Have you any news that isu’t six months old? Brisbane isnt
exactly London, and fashions are growing stale here, I fancy.”

He laughed as he spoke, and then, perceiving the captain
hardly understood him, he repeated bis words in French, Cuap-
tain Blokzel shook his head witha laugh.

“We are as long out of the world as you are, I expect,’ he said.
“We hail trom Batavia.”

“Indeed! fave you apything for us ?”

“Yes; two passengers.”

The gentleman looked at the two indicated.

“For Brisbane ?” be asked. «

“Yes, sir,” said Clarke, touching his hat, “or anywhere else
where we can set toot on dry land,, Butfor this good man, we
should have been at the bottom of the sea.”

“T should know you,” the gentleinan said, knitling his brows
with a look of inquiry. “I’ve seen you before. Why, it’s
Clarke !"" ,

“fhe same, sir; and you’re Mr. Arden, ain’t you ?”!

“Tam.”

It was indeed Frederic Arden, many hundred miles away from
home, and looking the very picture of heaith and manly activity.
He had come to Queensland on a journey of speculation abont
some specially fine wool, vud was as fine a specimen of a young
colonial merchaut as could anywhere be seen, Those who re-
membered the aristocratic, rather dandified, young gentleman*
at the rectory in Darnley Town would have been puzzled to
know him now. ao

This journey to Brisbane was the longest he had ever taken yet
on business, Dut it had answered well, aod he was preparing for
his retura when the Overyssel hove in sight, and offered some
little relief to the monotony of the life of the quiet place.

He recognized Glarke with no little surprise. He had been
mate on board the small vessel in which be had crossed from
Dunedin to Melbourne. In avery few minutes the sailor had
told him how he came there, and from what peril Captain Blokzel
had rescued him,

. “Maybe you can help me, sir,” he said, when he had finished.
Din a bit of a fix.”

“Indeed! Elow ?”

“Why, you see, I've a young lady with me, py and she hasn’t
a friend in the world. Everything belonging her 1s gone down
in the sea, or up into thesky, with the poor old Polarise She
wants something todo, some employment, and it's bad for a
woman to be pennilessina strange, rough place like an Aus-
tralian town.”

“Tt is indeed. She shan’t be penniless If a pound or two will |

help her. As to employnient, could she keep house for me, de
you think ??
“For you, sir? :

“Yes. It's a long way from here, in the south, by Melbourne;

 

but if she doesn't mind where she goes, and isn’t too young, I'd

 

rather have an nha ish woman than the people we get out here.”

So, atter a tearful farewell of the men who had shared such
peril in her company, and ot the -aptain and his wife, who had
been so kind to her, ttie went ashore with Clarke and Fred-
oo Arden, and was taken to the hguse where the later was
staying. :

It seemed a special interposition ot Providence in her behalf,
this situation offering directly, though every one she spoke to
assured her she w ould have had no difficulty in finding employ-
ment, Women Were scarce out there. She was very sorry to
part from Clarke, who went off three days after they arrived
with a party going North with a train of ballocks and drags to
seek Palhimerston county and find his brother.

There were tears in lis eyes as he bade her farewell.

“Heaven bless you, miss!” he said, “and keep yousafe, He's
& goud man you're guing with, by all accounts,”

“Tam sure he is,” she suid. ‘He has given the woman of the
house money to get clothes for me, He knew I should be cheat-
ed in this strange pface, he suid; and see, Clarke, I’ve bought
you this.” :

lt was only a rough little locket-—the jewelers of Brisbane had
not Even tomuch eminence at that time—but itjeld a lock ot

ner hair,

‘‘Wear it for my sake,’’ she said.

“Pil never part with it, nia’am, and when I die it will be buried
with me,” he said, taking it and pressing it to lis lips, *‘Miss
Lottie!”

“Well, Clarke?” “

‘May I kiss you just once?” he said, ‘We shall neyer each
other again in this world, belike, and I should like Osh ke away
that remembrance of you if you will. I should know better then
what Heaven was like, I think.”

She put both her hands in his, and lifted her lips to his.

“We have taced death together,” she said, gravely. ‘*Good-by,
dear Clarke, Heaven bless and keep you always.”’

She watched him out of sight, dnd never saw or heard of him
more; bat long aiterward there came to her peaceful hoine news
ot a wreck ona terrible iron-bound coast in Ireland, at which a
sailor only newly-arrived from abroad had done manful service
te DOME aud bringing ashore tue helpless people on board the
spip.

‘Time after time he had gone out iuto;the surf with a rope tied
round hin, and brought iu some one from the Tashing waves;
but he went ouce too often, aud was dragged in to die, panting
and exhausted, before tliey' could carry him to the nearest house,
Nobody knew him; bat under’ Lis clothes they found a little
locket, bearing the name efa maker in Brisbane, Queensland,
and inscribed with the words:

“From Lottie; in memory of the Polaris.”

When Lottie liad wiped her tears away after reading this, she
found ln another part of the paper that the brave man's name
had been found tobe Clarke, and that the inhabitants of the
piace were going to erect a leudstone to Lis memory in their
churchyard, j ;

But ail this was a long way off in the future when Lottie sat
watching him walk away down tue street at Brisbane, and {eel-
ing very forlorn indeed, though thankful at tie same Ume tor
the prospect which had su providentially opened to ber. :

CHAPTER XLIII,
tea STRICKEN DOWN.

Lottie went away by a coasting steamer, with Frederic Arden,
and took up her residence at his pretty home as manager of his
household.. By degrees he learned nearly all’ Lottie’s history
before they reached Melbourne, and sympathized with her ib
her sincere sorrow for the joss of her friend, Carrie Vaughan.

Frederic Arden found his new housekeeper a notable, unob-
trusive, careful Woman, and his home became the euvy of all the
bachelor settlers in the district.

Lottie was seldom seen by any one. She contented herself
With seeing thatithe guests had everything they required when
any came, and remained in the seclusion of her own room till
they were gone.

_, A good deal of talk went on about Fred’s pretty housekeeper;
it died away as all gossip does die, aud neither Frederic Arden
nor Lottie were any the worse for it.

She tound the two Mrs, Moore exact!
partner Lad represented them to be, ani
society. os
And so the months glided by, and Rupert Gladdys,and_ his
troupe came bick to Meibouriie from Sydney, where they had
been for two months, and an announcement came to Frederic
Arden that the theater would open soon,- tot

“Dil drive youlover some night, Miss Chatteris,” Frederic said.
“T can getyoua comfortable, quiet lodging, and it will be a
change tor-you.” - ~

But the very next week, Frederic was, taken ill.) There had
been heayy rains, and he came home one night after having
been out ter many hours in a steady downpour, sick and shiver-
ng. ' pee .
“I don’t know what ails me," he said. “J’ve been out in the
wet many fimes before. I’ve got a chill, I suppose.’

A very bad chill, (Lava couple of hours he mal det ae

 

 

what their husband’s
Was Very happy in their

~

8
to move—in ys he was raving i delirium, and
Lottie weaath ‘a end, She prove eee fin n efficidnt and
tender nurée; y Was terribly frightened: No doctor was
within @ nm of the station, aud she sadly imistrusted the
rough busi remedies admiudistered by tie Messrs. Moore and
their wives, Who ali assured hex that Frederic Arden would pull
through, that they had seen cases of tever quite: as bad sore,
and the patients had recovered. :

Tiis gleam of comfort notwithstanding, it was very terrible to
Lottie fo sit and listen to the ravings ot the sick mau, whose wild
fancies took him back to Englandand home, and ber with him,
for she remembered now Whereshe had heard his name before.
it wasirom, Mrs. Wells, hervolibgalicague at Drury Lane, wh
had told her mother the story of the Darnley read murder, an
spoken of Mabel Latta. ~~. ‘

All Frederic’s moan was for Mabel—his Mabel—till Lottie’s
heartached to bear him. But eveu the delirium was almost bet-
terto bear than the ueath-like trance which followed it, and
trom which Lottie was told. be woulu wake eiiher to die or grow
better rapidly. ' ' i :

The suspense lasted for many hours, but it was for life that
Frederic Arden woke—a lilé us feeble anu flickering as tuat of a
new born infant. 5a

Unable to speak or move, or realize that weeks instead of days
had passed since he had Jain down shivering to sleep off a cold as
le thought—unable to do anything but sleep, and wake again to
be fed like a tired child, and to wonder at his own thin hands,
aud astonislii tu y of miud aud body. Sees’

But he g , Tt, and ove of the first $s he made to
Lottie was that she would write to Rupert’ Giaddys, and beg
him to come and seé him, ; ;

Mr, Gladdys was, out when Lottie’s letter arrived, but it was
opened by Mr. Westhope, who was strangely agitated at the con-
tents, When bis partner returned he tound him wailing tor him
in a state of extreme perturbation. hid

“What on earth is the matter?’ demanded Mr. Gladdys. “Is
the theater burned down, or what?” ;

i Mey Os it’s my—that is—it’s Mr, Arden that’s very il—
ying.

“Dying! When—how?” 5

“Fever; there's a letter from the housekeeper. Edom t know

what Ive done with it. She writes to ask you tocoime over, lt

was to you.” .

“Ou, bother the letter. Never mind it, so we know the con-

tents. Where’s the messenger.”

“In your room.”’

“You be off back with him. Il] followin an hour or two—as

soon as l’ve set all right for the night.”

Lottie was surprised to see an old man, very much fatigued,

alight at the door with the messenger. She had sent to sum-

mon Mr. Gladdys. Somehow, she had pictured the theatrical

manager as short, prim, dark and about torty, whereas (hus gen-

tleman was old, white-haired and infirm. a

» “Mr, Gladdys?” she said, hesitatingly.

“No, my dear, no,” the old man replied. “But I’m a friend all

the same. - How is he?—how is he???

His voice trembled as he spoke,so did his hands, and Lottie
wondered exceedingly who he might be, and what brougiit him.
“He's very much better, thank you,” she replied,

“Thank Heaven! the stranger said, fervently, and burst into
Weeping she could not understand. ;
“Don't mind me, my dear,” he said. “Dm so thankful, that’s
all; he’s very dear to me, though he doesn’t know it, and I was
afraid of what you might have tosay to me. Butwho are you,
my dear? He didn’t bring a wite back from Brisbane, did he?”
ttie laughed and blushed, and said po; she wus Mr. Arden’s
housekeeper.

“You! the old man said, in surprise.

“Yesi? she answered, demurely, ‘Who shall I say is come to
see Mr. Arden?”

“Say Mr. Westhope. He'll see me, I think. He doesn’t know
how anxious I am, but I think he'll let me 1.”

“Oh, yes, Pil see Westhope,” was Fred's answer to her inquiry,
but by 10 means with such interest as the okl man’s agitation
might have warranted, “I don’t know much of him, but I shall

be glad to see him." wae
CHAPTER XLIV.
A REVELATION.

Frederic Arden was well enough to leave -his bed for an easy
chair when Mr. Westhope arrived.

“Dm sorry I can’t get up to welcome you, Mr, Westhope,” he
said. ‘Pray sit down; it is really very kind of yor to take such
an interest in me.” ;

“An interest! Kind! But I forgot—you do not know; how
should you? Oh, it you had died, my boy, it would have breken
your mother’s heart.”’ ‘

“Hardly, I hope, though she avould have felt it deeply,” said
Frederic, wondering at the words. ‘‘Butdo ee Know my mother,
Mr. Westhope? Were you ever in England?”

“Yes—no—that is——” began the oid man, in such confusion
that Frederic began - think the journey had been too much for
nim, or that he was slightly mad. 3
“Pave ag of Wine,”’ he said, “and don’t have any fear for
me, I shall be able (o tell my dear mother of my illness and re-
covery at the same time. There will be no need to alarm her at
all. rmother! I always have her present withme. If you
have ever seen her, Mr, Westhope, you see her again now. There
she is on the wall behind Toe.

The o:d man turned and lvoked earnestly at a beantifully exe-
cuted photograph of Mrs, Arden that hung on the wall. Her gon
had pleuty of likenesses of all he loved. His father was there,
and Gertie in her bridal dress, and her husband, and the younger
Ardens, all gauhered to soothe the loneliness of their exiled ‘som
and brother.

“Yes, that’s she, bless her!’? Mr. Westhope said; “and that’s
your father, Mr. Arden, and your sister—a dear, good young lady
she 1s, aid not proud, ike some of them.”

“But when and where did you see them?” asked Fred, a curi-
ous feeling stealing over him that the old mau’s face was /amiliar
to him somehow.

He had always had the impression that he had seen both the
manager aod his triend before, something in their faces and
Voices always called up England and home so very plainly; and
now, as he watchec the old man wiping his eyes as he looked at
his mother’s picture, a strange resemblance w the picture itseli
seemed to grow in his face, j :

“JT saw them in England once,” be said, “a long time ago,
and—Heaven bless’em! Heaven bless ’em!”’ he faltered—‘‘L
would give all that remains to me of my old life to see them
again, my Gertie and her children.”

“Your Gertie—meaning my mother.”

“Meaning her, my boy, and none other. Look at me, Frederic
Arden. I am not mad; does not my face recall any one who is
dear to youf—my voice sound like a voice you have heard be-
fore ?” .

“Indeed it does, Mr. Westhope. I was just thinking of it, What
are you to my mother and me ?”

“Her father, my boy—her poor old father. I didn’t mean to
tell it. As long as you were well and prosperous, and I heard of
ber sometimes, I could bury the secret in my breast and hold my
peace; but the knowledge how near death you have been has
broken my resolution and made a woman of me. You won't
despise me, will you, for letting the secret out? I won’t shame
you, my boy—I’il keep away; but I shouid like to hear my Ger-
tie’s son call me grandfather just once.”’

As he spoke it came (o Frederic Arden’s mind where he had
seen the old man betore—on the sunny summer evening, when
the two tramps, as he thought them, had stopped toe speak to
Gertie at the parsonage gate. Hefeltthat the story was true.
He remembered what his mother hadrsaid when the old man
was described to her, and he held out his hand frankly.

“Tf you are indeed my grandfather,’ he said, ‘to hear of you
would be the greatest pleasure my mother could have. She be-.
lieves you dead.”

“Ot course, of course—drowned. So I was very nearly; but
I’m as truly Richard Brand as you are Frederic Arden. Ican
prove it all to yon, my boy, when you ayant proots.” :

He held his grandson’s hand, and caressed it in a fond, loving
manner, like some recovered treasure. ,

“Gladdys said I was not to tell you for fear of the shock it
might be to you,” he said; “but I havent hurt you, have I?”

“Not a bit, grandfather,” was the reply, and the old man’s
heart leaped with joy at the word. “Good news never does any
harm, you know,”

“Aud you think it good news to discover a vagabond old rela-
tion, who has never done any good for himself or any one else ?”*

“My mother will think it good news to hear of a tather whom
she loved so dearly and mourned so deeply. Good news! Itis
the best I could send her, But who is Gladuys, that you are with
him, and deter to him so much f”

*‘He’s—he’s my partner, my boy, that’s all,” ,

The sentence Was becun eagerly, but finished somewhat irreso-
lutely, as though Mr. Westhope didu’t want to tell who his part-
ner was.

“But you don’t know anything about him ?* asked Fred.

 

“Nothing, but that I owe my life to him; I'll tell you bow some
day, He’sa good fellow, is Gladdys,”

SE LS '

 

ed to $1.50, so they made something by the operation.

 

“I’m sure he is, grandfather,”

“Thank you tor that word, my boy. You sball have ample
proof of my righttoit, Gladdys will be bere Gireeny.

“‘And scold you for letting out your secret, eh? Pell me one
thing more before he comes. ere you two not the senders of
the mysterious presenta Gertie received on her wedding day? L
heard all about it.”

“Yes, it was us, my boy. I was glad to ve able to send her
something, and so was Gladdys.””

“But what made him do it? Did he know my sister?

“Well, no; he was—with me that night,” he was going to add,
but he checked himself just in time. “He was interested in what
told him,” he said, “and it was just a treak, I hope your sister
was not offended at a stranger for taking such a liverty,”

“Offended—oh, no! I believe she is very proud of the gift,
though, of course, she is extremely curious to know where it
came trom. She will get the news when she hears of your exist-
ence,

“And
alive?”

‘Quite sure,’ :

“1¢makes my old heart leap to hear you say so, my boy.
Heve’s Giaddy’s, 1 hear a horse's teet.”’

“He won't find me dead of your news, will he? Yes, I hear his
voice, and Miss Chatteris is goue to meet him, It was very good
of him to come.”

Lottie, little dreaming of the wonderful revelation Mr. Weat-
hope was making to Frederic Arden, sat at the windew of her
own little room looking out over the road, and wondering just a
stle about tis Rupert Gladdys, who seemed such @ friend to her
employer, r

Presently the sound of hoofs came ringing along the road,
and she looked up. If this were the manager, he was a big
fair man, with a face half-covered by a beard—a man gracetul
as any hero of a girls day-dreams, who sat his horse like @
centaur, and wore Lis plain riding-suit with the air of a prince
in disguise.

He looked up as he neared the house, but did not see Lotti
who was hidden by the screen of green leaves that hung abou
the window. She saw him fully, for he took off his hat and shook
his heated hair betore he dismounted, and thwecler died out of
her cheeks and the light from her eyes. ‘

She gazed at him till he disappeared under the portico, and
then, with a little shiver, as though the hed grown suddenly
chill, she watked slowly down stairs to him.

“Wherever can Gladdys be?’ asked Frederic, impatiently,
when five minutes had elapsed and he didi)mot appear. ‘“‘sure}y
there is some one there te take his horse, i saw old Cuffee across
tue yard jus¢now. Heavens and earth, what’s that?’

It was ouly a most unearthly yelling in-é native voice. It
sounded like “Burra burra boo,” repeated in a shrill falsetto over
and over again, but was evidently a hote of lamentation.

Mr. Westhope went out into the entry tdsee what was the
matter, and found an old black woman shrieking like a possessed
demou in the lobby, and pointing to ttie Chatteris, wie lay
white aud insensible at the teet ot Rupert Gladays,

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
teers i ae

Mammoth Monthly Reader.

The MamMoTH MONTULY READER £01 December (No. 10)
is new ready, ~ Jt, contains 56 large columns of choice
reading matter., Berms: 50 cents per year; single copy,
8 cents. ‘ Lid ak aodis

you are Sure it will be good news to them thatlam

 

 

 

ITEMS OF INTEREST.

ka Mrs. Levenia Dugan, of Portsmouth, Ohio,
was lately married to Hen. Elixe Ware, of Baitimore, In their
younger days they were betrothed, but the course of true love,
which never did run smooth, sundered (hem, and Levenia Mack-
ey became Levenia Dugan. Mr. Ware married another lady and
returned to Maryland. Since then he has been Speaker ot the
Maryland House of Delegates. Mr. Ware lost his wife some time
since, and last fall Mrs. Dugan became a widow. The broker
tg of Jove were gathered up, and another marriage was the
result,

As Right daughters of a gentleman residing in
New Brduswick, New Jersey, narrowly escaped suffucation re-
cently. fore retiring abuught they had put fresh coal ona
stove in their apartments, and left the door of the stuve open.
The room filled with gas, and in the morning when they awoke
they were so weak as to be unable to move. Their parents dis-
covered their condition in time to saye their lives.

az A Bridgeport (Conn.) man recently received
a box by express, but refused to pay charges on tue box and opea
it, fearing some infernal machine might be inside. Atter a day
or twosome of his friends clubbed together, and paid the express-
age.and opened the box, when they found a@ Lundseme bronze
clock worth about $65. The charyes paid by his friends amount-

say At the time of the funeral of the late Capt.
B, F. Willard, in North Berwick, Me,, his faithful dog howled so
mournfully that he had to be chained in the barn to lessen the
sound, When he was let loose he searched the premises to find
his master, an@ not finding him, he tracked tue bedy to the
gtave-yard, a half-mile or more from the house; and now he

daily goes to the grave and howls for his lost owner. -

was'recently received iu Macon, Ga.: An iron gudgeon, an old
sausage grinder, a pair of hinges, and tour picces of iron tie,
each a foot and a-half in length, Lhe whole of the iron contents
weighed eighteen pounds, Itisa penitentiary offense to adopt
such means to increase the weight of cotton,

4a Typhoid fever has been raging in the town of

Darwen, Over, County of Lancaster, Eng. At one time fifteen

hundred persons, one-sixteenth of the entire pagination, were
sick withit. It is a manufacturing town, well supplied with
water.

' g@ The British Am “at Constantinople
has the attention of the Porte to the increasing slave trat-
fic between Bengazi and Egypt, and the Porte has’ ised to

 

suppress it ;

xa Two masked men entered the house of Mra,
Sarah A: Bonailley, at North Adams, Mass., on a Sunday night,
last month, and alter tyiug her to a chair, robbed the Louse of
$300 11 money,

’a- Women do carpenter work in Monongalia
County, West Va.—at least we notice that a Mra. Louisa Ferrell
fell from a seatiold where sie was at work wéatherboarding a
house a short time since.

xa A penny savings bank association was estab-
lished in Liverpoui some time ago. Weekly retarns of its trans-
‘actions are published, aud lately, in one week no jess a sum than
was received. Tbe newsbeys avail theuselves of it very
largely.

ka@= A man and his son were in a batteau on the
the river, at New-Liverpool, vear Quebec, when the latter {gil
everboard and shouted tor help. The father jumped iio the

 

 

river to his assistance, but the suu clung to him with suc teua-
city that both were drowned. ‘

aa— Miss Whitney’s statue.of Samuel Adams, to be
Placed in the Gallery at Washington, has been completed at Bos-
ton in plaster, and will be shipped to Rome w be copied in
marble.
ka. Capt. Hiram Putnam, a prominent citizen of
Syracuse, N. Y,, dicd lately at the age or83, He was a native'ot
a. Mass., and formerly commanded a steamship in the China
trade, t
aw Mrs, G.'S, Hobart died very suddenly, lately,
while under the influence of chloroiorm, ia adentist’s oflice, in
Kingston, Ont.

aay In the Royal Mint at. London great care is
taken of the “‘sweepings’’ of the yartous reoms and offices. Last
year the amount oi goid rescued trom these sweepings realized
nore Lhan $11,476.

e@ The Parisians are becoming extravagant
again, notwithstanding the lesson or the war. The partiguiar di-
rection it takes is in lurniture of antique style, to supply the de-
mand ior which eleven manufactories have been established.

ka A velocipede race over 106 miles has recently
been rumin England. The distance was covered by the winner
in fye and a-half seconds leas than eight hours. '

' ga The proposal to convert the tomb of Augustus
at owe into w medern theater issaad to be likely soon to be
carried out,

ka The great galvanic motor-clock at Greenwich,
which regulates the ume in London, is said to be corrected by
actual observation of the stars. ‘

#& Compuisory education is proposed in several
of the more thickly populated districts ot Russia,

————_ > © <
RECENT PUBLICATIONS.

“Tet It Avy’: Toe Story oF A Lipsz's EXPERIENCH Ix
MorMONISM.’ By Mrs. T. B. H. Stenhonse, of Sait Lake Clty.
With Introductory Preface by Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. Pab-
lished and for sale (by subscription only) by A. D. Worthington &
Co,, Hartford, Conn. The author of this very interesting work was
for more (han twenty years the wife of a Mormon missionary and
eller. It is in every semse of the term an autoviography, and is
the only authentic account of woman's life among the “Saéats’”®
ever submitted to the world. Mrs. Stowe, in her preface, truth-
fully says that it is no sensational story, but a plain, unvarnished
tale of truth—a tale stranger and sadder than fiction. In re-
counting her own personal trials Mrs. Stenhouae tells ugall that
can be told concerning the Mormons, their ways and works,
their sayings and doings, She gives us a graphic aceount uf the
domestic life of Brigham Young, and his treatment of his nine-
teen wives, and incidentally reveals to us his avarice, his frauds,
his cruelty, and his duplicity. In fact, as we have said, there
would seem to be nothing that should be told that is omitted.
Every topic is discussed in a style becoming a lady of tutellect
and refinement, and not a word is uttered that the most fastid-
ious could object to. The effects of the system ef Polygamy upon
wives, mothers and children are vividly depicted, and every
readerof the book will wonder, when rising from its-perugal,
Low it has been possible for such a system to be tolerated and to
thrive in an age of enlightenment and law; for to be the wife of
a Mormoz is not oaly to be aslave, but to encourage the grossest
immorality and the gravest crimes, The indignities to which
Mrs. Stenhouse and her husband were subjected by the Mormons
on account of their withdrawal from the “Church,” is proof of
the brutality whibh Mormonism engenders. The work is superb-
ly printed and handsomely bound. The illustrations, which are
numerous, are by Mr, Charles Spiegie, of this city, and, we
need hardly say, are in the highest style of art, They include
portraits of celebrities in the Mormon Church, both men and wo-
men—among them a portrait of Brigham Young's favorite wife.
There are also fine steel-plate portraits of the author and of Brig-
ham, himsel!, We take great pleasure in commending this book
to the public, It will do much toward hastening the end of Mor-
monism.

LOVE AT First Signt.—By Captain Henry Carling. Publish-
ers: T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, This is_a story of
English life, and iscommended (o all of a romantic turn of mind,
The hero of the novel is an earl, who having once been disap-
pointed in Jove, determines to win the next lady he fancies by a
ruse, and thereupon hires himself out as a woodsman on her
mother’s place. The sequel may be imagined.

——__>-0+—__———_
Every reader of the NEW YORK WEEKLY can reccive
FREE 2 copy of the best agricultural and family newspa-
per in this country, by sending their address to MooRE's

 

RURAL NEW-YORKER, 78 Duane sirect, New York.

 

aa A cotton bale with the following contents i

 

 

;

.

{

=

eo aememntin

peemnnnanet

 

_ eee A emma

Se

 

 

 

 

 

|

ane a

———

Se

‘

Tee ene ER rs

 
 

~~
we
f
f yj
‘
¥
} ‘

A >
aoe Ro
tanks NE at

 

P

 

 

j
}
i

 

 

a

Smee

etiam on
ee

ota
ae

.
2 ahi

]

nanan Sha 4
»
¥

 

Go”

  

 

 

sesame

<4 THE NEW YORK) WEEKLY. ¢2e=

 

 

 

C©.C. SHAYNE.& COwus |

ufacturers of fine furs anu Seal Skiv Sacques, Mutts, Boas and
Caps, BROADWAY corner 10th street (opposite Stewart's), will
send you a Book of Fasou and Descriptive Price List, tree of
charge. Send Postal Carii—eo-t, one cent. w5-4.

 

OK. B. ROOTK, M.D.

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

AN INDEPENDENT PHYSICIAN,

TREATS ALL FORMS OF

CHRONIC DISEASE,

AND RECEIVES

Letters fron all ne of the Ciwilized
World,

———————
BY HIS ORIGINAL WAY OF

Conducting a Medical Practice
HE 1S TREATING

Nuamerous Patients in Europe, the West In-
dies, the Dominion of Canada, and in
! every State in the Union,

a

ADVICE GIVEN BY MAIL FREE oF
CHARGE. ;

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

Allinvalids at a distance are “reqnired to answer an extended
list of plain g 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. For free consultation, send for list of

uestions.
. A anty fact pamphlet of evidences of success sent free also,

Address Dr. E. B. FOOTE,

; BOX 788, NEW YORK.
a |
AGENTS WANTED. \

DR Foor is the author of “MrpicaL ComMMON SENSE,” a book
that reached a circulation of over 250,000 copies; also of “PLAIN

 

 

 

 

Home TALK,” more recently published, which hus sold to the ex-
tent ot 70,000 copies; also, of “SCIENCE IN STORY,” which is now
being published in series.

: , CONTENTS TABLES : ,
of all excepting the first-mentioned work (which is out of print),
will Ue sent free on application to either Dr. Foors, or the Mur-
ray Hill Publishing Company, whose office is at 129
Bast 2th street. Agents—poth men and women—wanted to sell
the foregoing works, to whem a liberal profit will be allowed.
The beginnings or small fortunes have been made in’ selling
Dr. Foore'’s popular works. ‘PLAIN HOME TALK” is particularly
adapted to adults, and “Sclexog In Story” is just the thing for
the yeung. Send for contents tables and see for youselves. The
former answers a multitude of questions which ladies and gentle-
men feel a delicacy about asking of their physicians. There is
nothing im literature at all hke either of the feregoing works.
“‘SOIENCE IN STORY’ is meeting with great favor with the older as
well as younger ones. Like “Peter Parley’s Tales,” it suits every-

aa It mixes valuable facts regarding the human body all up
with'a thrilling and amusing narrative. Can be had only of
Age abd the Publishers.

Agents Wanted. '

ADDRESS AS ABOVE. “w2-13t

N. SQUIRE, 97 Fulton st., N. ¥.—Watches, Fine

@ Jewelry, and Sterijug Silverware, first quality, and sold on

omer protits, Every article guaranteed, Diamonds a 5; ty.
Ww 2 ;

26-
PER DAY athome. Terms Free. Address

?
$5:TO $20 GO. STINSON & Co., Portlami, Me, — w19-ly

L5 Shot Gun

A double-barrel gun, bar or front action locks: warranted gen-
wine twist barrels, and a good shooter, or no sale; with Flask,
Pouch and Wad-cutter, for $15. Can’ be sent G. O. D. with

riv to examine before paving bill. Send stamp for circular

“aoe &SON, Gun Deale rs, 238 Main st., Cincinnati,O,

 

ENTS WANTED.—Men or women. $34 a week or
100 forfeited. Waluadle samples Write at once to
F. M. REED, Eighth St., New York.

 

 

 

A MONTH SURE TO AGENTS
everywhere. 10 bestselling articles in the world.
articalars free. Address J. BRONSON, Detroit, Mich. 46-13,

STEINWAY

Grand, Square and Upright
ETAL NF OR.

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 thorough workmanship will permit.
Every Piano Warranted for Five Years.
; ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUES. ~<@@
With Price list mailed free on ap plication,
STEINWAY & SONS.

Kos, 107, 109 & 111 Eait 14th Street, New York.
Ww 5 ‘

$1

 

 

A DAY.—Em oyment for ali, Patent Novelties.
43-13 GEO. FELTON, 119 Nassau street, N. Y.

Costs NOUHING to try it. iul¥

{ P, O.. VICKERY & CO.,.Augusta, Maine,

$10 TO 1000 Invested in Stocks and Gold pays
Aes 200 per cent, a month, Send for,

par pole TUMBRIDGE &CO., Bankers, 2 Wali street, N. Y,
\ 2yr2- ¥ ;

PLAYS! PLAY

9.

| y
Home Amusemenis. Send for a Catatogue ob & Ss

CEL ‘REACH & SON, 122 Nase Be.

$77 4 WEEK tocanyass for Vickery’s Fireside |
7: oo.

isitor.:

 

 

*
N, Yu
12.

2

Postponements

IMPOSSIBLE.

"2 $20 -

Will buy a First Wiortgage Premium Bond
of the N. Y. Industrial Exhibition Co., anthor-
ized by the Legislature of the State of New
York. 2d 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.,

Pinancial Agents, 23 Park Row, New York
Post-Office Drawer 29. w61-14.

TELEGRAPHING. es
Tea WANTED to learn TELEGRAPHING,
ress

The best facilities in the world. Add
w2-4t WESTERN TELEGRAPH ©CO., Decatur, Ill.

Ww NTED AGENTS for Prize Stationery. Sam-
A ple p’k’ge with elegant prize, 25 cts.
-p. & pck’gestor $l, 3 doz. by express for $4.50. Agents make
gd every gross soid, J, BRIDE & CO., '%69 Broadway, N, ¥
Positively

w4-i3
x
Cc VASSERS "ks
enough from now wll January to keep

themayear. Entirely new features. IMMENSE SUC-
CESS. ‘Be quick. Send ior valuable pene (iree) to
T. E. MOORE, Publisher,
w5-4 No, Li Dey street, New York.

GENTS—46,000 BOXES CHANG CHIANG sold

A last month, A beautiful OLL CHROMO, all mounted, given

with each box for 35 cts, Particulars free,

; Chang Chang M’fs Co., No. 7% West st., Boston, Mass,
5-4.

10

 

 

 

Beautifal Decalcomania or Transfer Pictures,
with full justructions and catalogue, post-paid for 10 cts,
100 for 50 cts. Easily transferred to any object. Heads,
Landscapes, Flowers, Birds, &c. Agents wanted,
|} PATTEN & 00., No. 71 Pive street, New York. w5-4,
Ni MADE RAPIDLY with Stencil and Key-
rr y Jheck Outfits, Catalogues, samples, full

particulars rey, S, M. Sp#nowr, 117 Hanover st., Boston, 14-52t

YASS FOR EVENING PARTIES,—
Catalogue containing the besi selection of
Amusing Games sent free to any ad-

dress, by A.J, FISHER, 98 Nassau st; N.Y.
w4-15

interrity) BENE TMA autry,

 

 

 

 

 

\ 40 cents per Ib, by Express, or 50 cents Ib.

package (postage paid) by

U.S. MATAR es

tire of pay-
80e.

ing from
24 ste » Sas for oo enelogs in jetter fons 50c, for paxople nowmd
apan, or mixed, and you w ways Ir
XBON VICKERS'S SONS, No. 480

With PAXBON VICKERS'S SONS, No. 180 and 19 Water St.
AB ce 9 age’ © poor Tea. ew York.
BILITY) sooty site your address plain, PLUCK,

,

al

 

 

CUT THIS OUT!!
FASHIONS. BIG OFFER.

UNTIL JANUARY ONLY. LOOK SHARP,

EVERY PERSON THAT SUBSCRIBES
FOR

SMITHS PATTERN BAZAAR,
by sending $1.10 to him, before
Jan'y Firs, 1875, with this ad-
vertisement Biel ye

ie The Pattern of this
beautiful Overskirt
and two

SMITH’S INSTANT
DRESS ELEVATORS

Free!! as Premium.

NOTICE.— You will
have NO POSTAGE

and is all the “rage.”

Price’ of, Paticnn, “witb | LO Day ! |

i= REMEMBER TO CUT THIS OUT.<&

ow 4. BURDETTE SMITH,
No. 914 BROADWAY, NEW YORK CITY.

ANTED AGENTS—To sell the “Life and Ex-

lorations of Dr. Livingstone,” complete, au-

tention a iresh book; price suited to the times. B. B. RUSSELL,
Publisher, Boston, Mass. w4-3
eClure's Catarrah Cure.—A safe,sure,mild and per

pe manent remedy. Sent aid. Price 50c. Satistaction

dS t-
guranteed. Address SAMUEL Wy. McCLURE, Ashland, Mass.
wi-4

ANY 10 FOR ONE DOLLAR.

os taking one peweewernee Qlaribel,

 

The ‘CUIR ASS”
Overskirt, jast imported,

 

 

 

0.
1,000—Take Back the Heart.

    
   
 
  
  

  
   
 

  

1,245—Marseillaise Hymn...........cs2ceeeeeteeneeccecneess De Lisle.
1,123—The Heart Bowed Down...........-:-eeeeceeeeeeeens Balfe.
1,142—I Cannot Sing the Old Songs..........--..+-++.+50- Claribel.
FASS—Normiara Bong? 0602s PFs ca ee eee ee geeky Bellini.
53—Dear Hearth and Home........-...-.ceeee-seeeeeee Thomas,
1,210—Killarney........ Peo A er ee deb ulh Ma wa Wh whe “er eo IG)
seer Or COMI BEATCD iin cai binbb4) + oe cece esieccenatowe Mendelsohn,
7i—Do You Really Think He Did ?...............-2--0- Hudson.
151—For Old Love’s Sake...... ache a Cee Stan vepareuye Strauss.
146—The Black Key, Polka Mazurka............ «at ACT
135—On the Banks of Blue Danube............ Sti eBa ff
172—Love's Gane tug, Quickstep....... ob beside bat ans Meyer.
174—Il Talismano, Waltz........... Sind i kelacaihl aad di come .Balfe
1,332—Rock’d in Cradle of the Deep..... oS Gee ais ooeee. Knight.
Rees COPASEEE PERPOU iin foe bas nh S59 dense RASe tans Bechstein.
101—“Good Enough for Me,”.............. .....song and Dance.
173—La lolie, Parfumeuse WaltZ...seeeeeseeeesesesees Offenbach.
171—La Timbalie D’Argeni L VANee ace db wa Opera Boutfe.
—I Wonder Who She WaS.............-++--eeeeeees Wetmore.
67—Was There any Harm in That ?...........--0ee enone Marion

117—One Little Kiss........... .-.- mid rasan Sa tk Vacate Balfe.

    
  
  

 

 
  
  
 
 
 
 

152—Dear Little Shamrock. .:.........0.... ee cs eveeceens Cherry.
148—The Brightest Eyes...........cccec eee ences A cone Stitzelle.
147—Mollie’s Dream, Waltz........... 0... ces eee eens Reissiger.
TSB— Ditto: Baty, DAG. cosines ws cdo nds olisierid ocdmewecivies Stoddard.
128—Amaryllis ..........-.0. is abba FOG de R pia mid 4 va -
TAs PB ANGE SURG ch, vA vsin tT Levens 64 dria ns acy sen bees ..Thayer
130—Vienna Bloods, Waltz........... we
131—Qui Vive, Galop............... SSR Depot OSS cen! Soeben Gauz.
Vine, Wife, and Song...... Vedas StS HALAL Ght . Strauss.
AHappyiOircle: Galopi's 6. Syste dase bees bos eee 4 se
La Fille de Madame Angot....... wid te do hicb bp shpidbioNe Waltz.
VRE) FSAI UR vn chidis g des apical dons reac om Eu. Strauss.
WeCS DOAPEY We MIEHOG, « hanncccscasvns ue> J. Strauss,
5 PUBPAUA VONCAIANA, J. ccc peptaceavscscqss F. Liszt,

La Belle Louise, Quickstep Rublee.

 

 

 

Where the Citrons Blossom .Strauss.

Who is at my Window? Osborne.
PRDIG DOOR sii 5 :< oni bf adpnlb nah soo | ola videin geny aseomts

Why throw away money on high-priced Music, when you can
select from our Catalogue of 700 pieces? Any 20 Half Dime, or

10 of Dime Series, mailed on receipt of One Dollar. Sold
by all booksellers, and can be ordered through any newsdealer.
Send stamp for Catalomie. L :
BENJ. . HITCHCOCK, Publisher,
; No. 355 Third Avenne, New York,

ONLY $5 MONTHLY

Uutil paid for, and a

HOUSE AND LOT FREE
TO

EVERY 64TH PURCHASER

Garden City Park Lots.

As there are BUT FEW UNSOLD you should DELAY
NO LONGER, but send for a Map and Select at Once.

THE TEN TWO STORY HOUSES

 

 

 

 

Are now completed, and 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,

es

GUIDE TO PURCHASERS.

Be at Store 355 Third Avenue at 9 A. M., togo with our Sales-
men and examine the property. Ladies shown every courtesy.
Maps containmg full information mailed on receipt of stamp for
postage. Persons residing out of this city can select trom our Map
and enclose us $5 per lotin a registered letter, or P. O. Order,
and we will forward a contract for the lots selected. Address

BENJ. W. HITCHCOCK,

355 THIRD AVENUE, NEW YORK.

N. B.—Those who prefer to pay in fujJ at once will be allowed
5 a discount, and receive warranty deeds immediately.
aw t.

#240

Wo $5 CHROMOS.
w49-13

MAGIC

14 page Lliustrated Cataicgue.
pository, 830 Broudway, New Yorn.

GENTS WANTED for the new styles of Visiting

Cards and Cases. Something new. ts 15 ¢ents;
wiittcase, 256 cents. H. F. DAMON, New Bedford, Mass.

Boozey’s ice:

M
FOR THE HOLIDAYS.
BOOZEY & CO., 32
East 14th street, New 1u.s. Fuil Catalogues tree by mau.
w6-4.

 

 

 

SAMPLE to Agents. Ladies Combination
Needle book, with Chromos. Send stamp,
DEAN & CO., New Bedford, Mass,
Yearly to Agenis,. 54 new articles and
the best FAMILY PAPER in America, with
Family Journai, i¢@ Broadway, N. Y

 

 

FOR THE PAKLOR.—Send your

address tur 3 page Price List, or 25 cents lor

; HARYTZ Conjuring Re-
w6-13

 

 

 

ow’s This ?—1 pckge acquaintance cards (ass’d tints) free,
For return stamp, Sommer Co., Box 161 Newark, N, J.
20 Very Nobby New Year Cards, with name, 20
cents. Outfit, 17 styles, 10 cts., or 30 Calling Cards,
9 tints, 20 cents, by J. B. HUSTED, Nassau, New York.

ASONIC.—WANTED, F. A. M. as AGENTS for the mag-

nificent Illustrated Work, with Premium Chromo
The best chance ever offered, Send itor Descriptive Catalogue
and terms. REDDING & CO., Publishers of Standard Masonic
Works, 731 Broadway, New York. w6-4

MURDERED and identified by having his
clothing marked with ‘‘Patent Linen Marker and
Card Printer.’ Price $1. Agents can make $10 per day. Send
aye te terms, BOSTON HAND STAMP CO., Boston, Mass,

w 2OWw

OYSs, GIRLS, EVERYBODY, your name elegant-
ly printed in gilt on 25. tinted cards for 25 cents. Agents
wanted. Outfit 15 cts. Jos. E. HANDSHAW, Smithtown, L.L, N.Y.

FREEMAN & BURR,

Clothing Warehouses,
138 and 140 FULTON 87.,N. Y.

FREEMAN & BURR, fayored with unusual advantages by the
great depression in trade and decline in prices, open the season
with a much LARGER STOCK than ever before, and are selling
at yery LOW PRICES. From the immense assortment satisfac-
tory selections are easily made, and purchasers can rely upon
receiving the FULLEST OBTAINABLE YALU32 for their money.

 

 

 

 

 

UITS, $10.
PR UITS, $20.
ey UTTS, #30,

x UTS, $40.
UIT, $50.

Pr 9
Ro, ge

$20, $40, $50.

‘4 Ts
Bows SUITS, Boy's @VERCOATS,

85 to $25. $3 to ve
Soneerss & BURR’S NEW SYS-
TEM OF SELF-MEASURE, of which thousands
auvail/themselves, enables parties in any part of the
country to order direct from them with the certain-
t youre one the MOST PERFECT FIT ATTAIN-
ULES FOR SELF-MEASURE, SAMPLES of
Goods, Price-list, Book of Fashions, SENT FREE ON AP-
PLICATION,
ALF OOST AND LESS.—FREEMAN & BURR
are closing out at a fraction of their cost a Jarge ussort-

$5, $10, 820,

<
aco
ye
O*

COUNTRY |
ORDERS.

 

 

 

ment of odds and ends from broken suits, &c., embracing many
of the most usefuland serviceable garments that can be made.

 

 

 

 

BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER. }

Above all care and sorrow,
Above all pain and woe,
To Eden’s fair and cloudless land }
My longing soul would go. A
I’m upward bound, upward bound,
Where the angel voices sound,
Where the white-robed hosts are singing,
Where the golden harps are ringing—
Upward, upward bound,
Bright Heaven is full of glory—
Oh! when shail I get there rp—
When see the Garden of the Lord,
So beautiful and fair ?

Tll give my heart to Jesus,
Til wash my robes anew,
Pll pray for God’s anointing grace
To fall like Sharon’s dew.
Tl pray for faith to guide me
To Heaven's pearly door,
Where I shall meet the friendg I loved
So well, long gone before,

i

‘

Oh, Jesus, give me wisdom! \
Oh, Jesus, give me grace]

That I may see, when life is done,
Thy bright and shining face.

—_—_____-- > @~—____-

PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS.

{Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributiny; to
ward making thiscolumn an attractive feature of the NEw YORK
WEEKLY, and they wiil oblige us by sending for publication any-
thing which may be deemed of sutficient interestfor general pe-
rusal, [tis not necessary that the articles should be penned in
scholarlystyle; so long as hoew, are pithy, and likely toatford
amusement, minor detects will be remedied. ]

“Uncle Schneider's” Shakspeare.
MISTER ANTONY'S LITTLE SBEECH.

So soon vat der bolice got der Roman gang in order,
Antony, mit der werry dead poddy of his frendt, Yulius
Shkeezer lyin’ py gonsideraply quiet, makes his leetle bow,
shpits out his tubagger, und says:

“Frendts, Romans und gentlemen! I yish to porrow me
some of your ears! Ilyas engaged to come here to bury
Yulius Shkeezer, not to plow apout him, Der bat vata
feller does am remempered a goot yhile after he’s kigged
der bucket oul; der goot vat he does am buried out of
earsight mit him und forgotted all apout. (Cries of ‘Dot's
so? ‘You’mright! &c.) Dis is dergcase. 1t am too bad,
but I can’t help it. Der nople Mister Prutus tells you dot
Yulius vas ampitiously. lam here mit der exbress ber-
mission of Mister Prutus (for Prutus ama high-toned fel-
lerunda plamed elegant jentieman!) to shpoke a biece
about Yulius. Yulius vas my frendt, und neler vent pack
on me not no time. (Qvite abblause.) But Prutus says
he vas too ampitiously, und Prutus vas a kind of awful
honoraple man! You all did took notice der oder yester-
day yhen I offered to porrow poor Yulius five dollars, und
he yooden’t occeptit! Am dis ampitiously, vat! (Sor-
rowful shakes ov der head cood bin heard now).

“7 don’t mean to insinuation dot Prutus am @ liar, but J
do vish to remark a opserfation dot der nople jentieman
tells mistakes werry easy. (Cries of ‘Pully forolt man
Antony!’ ‘Hit ’em again vonce!) But day after yesterday
der yordt of Yulius Shkeezer might hafe shtanded against
der whole Sixth Vard; row, lot a Ringle woice to shtuck
up for him und holler ‘Hooray for Yulius?

“Ol! citizens ufI vasso disposable Icood shtir you up
to hafe a vild old rackett. But dhenI yood done wrong
to Prutus (der elegant jentleman pefore shbeaked about)
But 1 yoodnt wrong such high-toned senators. (Cries of
‘Va you drink!’ und each mans lookin der oder man’s
eyes.) Isooner wrong myself, und you, und my mudder-
in-law inshtead! (Cries of nodding vas heard).
dink how Yulius lofed you, you Roman loafers you! You
voodent pelief dot in his will dhere isa brovision to gif
efery aple-podied jentleman forty-five cents apiece und
four trink8 a day! Now vat you dink bout Yulius?”’

At dis tonching shtatement of Yulius’s lofe der Roman
gang vas seen to feelexcited. (Cries of ‘Ohl vat a goot
son-of-a gun vas Yulius? filled der air, and eyes rang und
roses played mit vild vildness. Olt ian Antony vas qvic
notice dot he yas hetched his audience, so he hurrieseup
to-imbrofe der shiny shance, und puts in his vork dis vay.

“Uf you’m got some tears, breb: sbhpill dhem loose
now! You all do know dis olt coatofJulius’s. Ah! I vell
rememper me der werry first time he putiton. (Tearson his
left-side nose.) It yas vhen he buyedit downin Shatam
shtreet, und der boss of der store made der olt-time op-
serfations dot it fitted him s0 Hehtge like a nice planket,
Look here, yota plamed big shpl (Cries of ‘My gra.
ciousness!’) Dot's vhere der pleck-hearted Gassius pulled
der tail out of it! Look adhere at dhis awful hole! Dot's
vhere Prutus—der high-toned Prutus—cut a big shlice out
of der lining vile Julius looked at him mit sadiul surbrise.
For you knew dot Prutus vas Julius’s grate friend. Juwius
dinked der whole yoridt apout him,und conserqvently
yhen be opserfed Mister Prutus a-pullin der shtuifin out
of his coat, bis big heart proke up to bices right avay at
vonce, und he vent dead und tumbled ofer. O! my goun-
trymen, vat a tumble vas dot! Dhen you tumbled, und 1
tumbled, und ve all tumbled, vhile ploody willainy vas
dancing a jig ofer us} Ah! hal nowl1 see you feel pooty
bad, und I hafe no doubt yatefer dot you vood cry a tears
uf you had some bocket-handkershifs,

“But uf you cry yoost to saw how bad Julius’s old coat
vas slibrained, how you vill howl yhen you see vat a head
poor Julius am got on him.

“Look at dot! (Oxclamations of bityfulness here, mit
blenty hard schyears of rewenge.) Look at poor Julius’s
royal head, all slimacked to bieces dot vay—von eye glosed
loose, sefan hands of hairful pulled out, four toots kicked
down his dhroat, und his nose all beuded crookedi!

“Ol! citizens, vat you dink? (Cries of ‘Dat’s sol’) Ain’t
dot too awful for a Roman to shtand! Und am you a goin
toshtand it! QO! vat kind of agaug am you anyvay? Uf
it yasn’t dot Mister Prutus yas such a confounded high-
toned honoraple raskell, 1 yood adwise you to pick up
clups, knock der infernal heart out of him, burn his house
loose to der vinds, pull his vife’s back-hair out, make
faces at his babies, und generally shboil up his brosbects
und gomfort. Mind you, goot friendts, I don’t tell you to
do dis; I only quietly puta idea into your Roman noses,
dot’s alll?

At dis der beobies am seen to plow dheir eyes und rub
dheir coat-shleeves. Shparkles of rewengeance am in

 

¥

dheir mout, und shplinters of defilury plaze in dheir eg, 4

und as dey ruu off und rush avay grazy-vild mit m
hess, Olt man Antony vinks a chuckle as he valks ayay,
und says: as

“Wow, am der mischief shdarted, und now der honora-
ple Prutus gits his high-tone@ ear varmed!’’

ij Yeast at Wholesale,

How comfortable for a young wife to feel that her hus-
baud is a bountiful provider, and that she will never Waut
for the necessaries.of life! A newly-married man was re-
cently directed by his wife to order some yeast, and, not
having a very well defined idea of the article, he told the
baker to send up $3 4vorth. At 9 o’clock next morning
three men Might have been seen tugging a cask of yeast
up the fromt steps of that man’s house,”

(io ce) & Sharp Dutehman. NX

“Ven some man slaps me on der shoulder, und says; ‘I
vas glad toliedr you vas so vell;’ ubd den sticks behind
ee back his fingers to his nose, I lrefmy opinion of dat
veller.

. A Bed-Warmer.

One cold night Quashee woke'from his sieep, and ad-
dressed his shivering bed-fellows

‘Hallo, Sambo! I want li cubbering.”’

‘Hel Quashee!l You got nor half already.”

“ump! Den tink dis nigger a foolto ax for what he
got already, eh? 1 want t’udder half, too!”

‘Jimbol den I quit; for Ino see what business [ got in
dis bed}?

“No, you don’t quit, neider, my bruddar; you sarb berry
well to keep my back warm; so jist keep quiet and lay
where you is, if you know what’s good for you, you
nigger!?

A Young Woman’s Psalm of Life.
Tell us not inidle jingle, ‘‘marriage is an empty dream,”’
For the girl is dead that’s single, and things are not what
they seem.
Life is real; life is earnest; single blessedness is a fib!
ae aa art, to Wan returuest,’? has been spoken of
the rib,
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, is our destined end or

   

 

way
But to act, that each to-morrow find us nearer marriage

day.

Life isis and youth is fleeting, and our hearts, though
light and gay,

Still ike pleasant dreams are beating wedding marches
all the way.

In the world’s broad fleld of battle, in the bivouac of life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle! be a heroine—a wife!

Trust no future, howe’er pleasant; let the dead Past bury
the dead;

Act! act ie the living Present, heart within and hope
ahead,

Lives of married folks reminds us we can live our lives as

we
And, departing, leaye behind us such examples as shall
“tell? —

Such examples that another, wasting time in idle sport,

A forlorn, unmarried brother, seeing, sliall take heart and
court.

Let us, then, be up and doing, with a heart on triumph

ge
Still contriving, still pursuing, and each one a husband
e .

On Seeing a Doctor Driving a Span.

Sure, things have goue from bad to worse,

Since Death had only one **paile horse;’!

Now, 8ad the chance for feeble man

He daily drives a nobby span.

Political Earthworks.
As we read the rage of political strife
We trembie to think of the war to the knife,
Attending the melee, and danger to brains
Which elsewhere in Jike fierce encounters obtains;
But our good friend Scribbler says, with a wink;
‘Don’t fear; their bullets, but paper and ink,
Can brains by no possibility hurt,
They are hid so complete by pheir breastworks of dirt.

ou don’t |

‘

 

A Smart Woman.

A squaw sat down on the curb in front of the post-office
at Reese River station, Nevada, and unrolling a bundle of
calico, commenced the mannfacture of a dress. In less
than an hour the dress was finished, and, putting it on
over her old clothes, the squaw pulled out a pin here, a
peg there, and untied a string in another place, made one
step, and presto! the old clothes lay in the gutter. Gath-
ering up the rags just shed, the noble daughter of the
forest cast one look of triumph on the spectators, and
skipped gracefully off in the direction of the Indian camp.
A prominent citizen, who was an interested witness of
the transaction, mildly remarked that he would give
thirty dollars if Mrs, P.-C. could “shed? herself like that.

The Coming Woman.
Anh well, I’m glad l’in home again,
For reasons I wont mention;
For, after all, there’s little sport
Ik @ Woman’s rights convention

Teaready? Well, then, let’s go in—
I’m hungry as a bear;

1)i do your victuals justice,
In a way to make you stare,

So “Freddie cut his hand quite bad,
While whittling up a stick,”?

And ‘Baby cried the live-long day,’
And “Nellie was quite sick.”

You “walked the floor with her aN night.”
Well, really, that was sad;

But once you’re used to it, my dear,
lt wout seem hulf so bad.

‘You never will get used to it—

You wouldn’t if you could!?

Angustus—il’s time that you
Behaved as husbands should,

Don’t jerk things in that awkward way,
And drag your feet about;

Treally think that at your age
You’re quite too old to pout,

There, there, and did I make him ory?
That, dear, was not my plan;

So wipe your nose, and dry your eyes,
And be my little man. ‘

Now, Gus, just light my cigarette,
And put my cloak away;

We'll have a smashing ball next week—
You'll write the cards to-day,

We'll have our dear five hundred friends,
From towns near and remote,

And all their iriends, and every one
Who has a riglit to vote,

‘Twill increase my popularity—
That ugly Sal McClure

Is ’gainst me for the mayor’s chair,
And thinks she’ll get it sure.

}’)] show her what her chances are,
For all she gets 80 spunky;

She'll find too late, to her dismay,
That Jam O. K. hunkey.

I’m young and—(ahem!)—pretty too,
And wear ny hair Ja iriz;

While she is wrinkled, plain and old,
And doesn't know her biz.

Oh, bother, take the “baby’s coldl”?
My genius bids me roam,

And talk and spout of politics,
And not to druge at home,

Continue with the cough syrup,
Same as you gave last night;

I yet will shine in Washington,
You bet you’re jolly right.

Hand me another Cigarette,
You’re quite expert, dear hub;

And now, I'll leave you to your babes,
I must go to the club,

Give me the night-key now, my boy,
For me you needn’t walt 5 i
Biz of vast import, you know,
May keep me out till late.
DELLE TEETZEL MOULTON.
———__>-2+_____

THE JOSH BILLINGS SPICE-Box.

SPLINTERS.

I dont kno whether good natur jz reckoned amung the
moral virtews or not, but i do Kno that it ought to be,

Conshience iz nothing more than reazon, and just in
proposhun that reazon iz developed in man, just so iz
conshience,

Natur never puts on enny airs. She knows her strength
too well for that.

Men never forgit the favors they bestow on others, and
seldum remember thoze they receive.

lf a man iz Datral now days he iz charged at once with
trying to be excentrik or Billy. :

Thare iz one grate advantage in the aphoristik, or par-
agraff style ov writing—the hits are ali suckcesses, and
the failures don’t hurt yu bekauze they are so short.

The vulgar kan see the truth in a thing just az quick az
therefined kan. —

The man whom prosperity makes haughty, adversity

iz sure to make a groveling coward ov.

Tam violently oppozed to bettiug, but if ido bet, iam
violently in favor ov winning,

Thare iz no grate danger ov too menny getting famous;
thare iz too mutch jealousy amung mankind for that.

Cunning nen are despized more than they are feared,
bekauze we hay to watch them so cluss.

Most people would be dreadful satirikal if they could,

Silence iz sed to but itiz a remarkable fakt,
that the best fools the world haz eyer produced had noih-
ing to say on enny subjekt,

Menny @manhaz reached the summit ov fame, and
then lookt down into the humble valley he cum from and
longed to be back thare agin.

Thare iz a grate deal Ov modesty that iz nothing else
ut fear,

1 beleave in ghosts, but only a little—just enw to keep
up an assortment.

The days ov chivalry are not over; they will last az long
az whisky duz.

Even a mule haz got a hed on one end ov his boddy.

Kards, whiskey and horse-racing bring ali men down to the
same level, 4

lneyer hay known animpudent man yet.to be possessed ov
downright good sense.

But tu men kno the extent ov their ambishun,

We look upon the insekis with disdain, but who knows but
what sum oy the planets are occupied bi folks who look down

mere pi:smires.
pts bat very tew people who are superior to their for-

Co

upon us
Thare

tw ’
Next to going barefoot, for solid comfort, iz an old shoe.
‘Men ov a grate deal ov genius never hav but few if enny inti-

‘mates; two eagles seldum occupy the same perch,

Friendships are like munvy in one respekt; it iz eazier to make
them thantokeepthem. _

One-haff the trubbles ov lie Kan be traced to not saying “No”
at the right time. j

Thare are but few people who kan dregs just az they

The worid kan be divided into the good, bad and in
and the indifferents are the most plenty.

Don’t forget one thing—thare jz no one kut what kandoyu
sum hurt or sum good, and thare is more that kan hurt yu than
thare iz that kan help yu. *

Grate men are very sliy about prazeing each other.

The best writers otten hay the gratest blemishes; most kriticks
don’t see this and pitch hed Jong into the blemishes,

It iz the little things that enable us to judge ov a man’s karak-
ter; he don’t try to hide them, and coulin’t if he would,

The fust things that a writer produces are generally failures,
but they ain’t mutch loss to the world, beKanze they are most
allwuss poetry.

If a man writes for fame the less he writes the better,

I hav never seen but jew who knew how tocry good, and even
less who knew how to Jaff well.

About the only difference between a philosopher and a phool
iz this, the philosopher cooks all the evils oy Jife before he par-
takes ov them, the phool eats them raw,

A desire to be popular iz not only natral, but propper, it iz the
means We use to gain it that iz so often disgracetull.

Very humble people sumtimes want az mutch watching az a
snapping turkle dus,

The reazon whithe writings ov the ancients were so simple,
and truthfull iz bekause they had the fust pick, it waz cheaper to
tell the truth than to tell enny thing else,

‘ I ieee the majority ov people hay a better publik than private
carakter,

Silence iz one ov the strongest arguments a man kan use.

I kan judge very clussly Ov & mans karakter jf i kan hear his
opinyun ov others,

A man waz born not to be satisfied, tharefore he waz born not
to be happy.

If yu Kan speak weil oy aman dont fail todo it, if yu kant,
pleaze let him alone,

If it want for the phools in this world, knaves and even honest
folks would be bothered to make munny.

If yu kno that yu are right yu Kan afford to wait untill time
and cirkumsiansiss prove it.

If a man tells a he he iz allwuss in a grate hurry to prove it,

Man and wife should luy each other mutch, but idont luy to
see them hug and kiss in publik; it JooKs suspishus, besides its
dredphull trieing to the bystanders,

Thare seems to me to be just about this difference between
honor and honesty—honor iz the chivalry oy courage, honesty iz
the bravery ov principle.

Man never waz lntended to livin solitude, and bat few animals
ever were. _

Yung man, i dont want to make yu avarishus or covetous, but
yu wil find out az yu gro older, that munpy iz a friend, if yu use
it rightly, that never will disapoint yu.

Thare iz more real happiness 3n redusing our wants, than in
gratytying them,

If yu want to studdy human natur yu must livin a citty, for
after yu hay got the postmaster, constabel, and the blacksmith
ov akuntry village down toa fine point, yu hav squeezed the
juice out ov the whole thing.

The most disgusting thing to me iz a lazy knayve, if i hay got to
submit to deviltry, i want it lively,

The “oldest inhabitant” iz the one who haz done the most good
to hiz phellow-kritters ackordin to the time he )iaz been here,

lt iz a terrible thing to hay a violent temper, it iz jike having
two pounds oy rifle powder and a haff in yw that a spark may at
enny time tulch oph, y

Thare aint but mighty few people in this: naborhood that it
will do to bet on; man iza wuss game than 3-kard monte, yu kan’l
tell for certain whare the little joker duz lie, and the man him-
self kan’t allwuss tell.

Pasisunce iz like kastor ile, it Iz one thing to preskribe it, and
it iz another thing to take it.

The gratest pleazzures in luv are its little lam like pulling hair
episodes, whare the gentle skirmishes are made up bi both partys
kissing the rod, and sighing a new lease in favour oy eternal hap-
piness to be broken agin at some convenient time.

No man ever failed oy suckcess wlio could do a thing better
than another could, and kept a doing it.

Yu kant make a friend oy a servant, friendship and servitude
wont mix, only in the same way as ile and alchoho) duz,

Deterence iz the most cunning kompliment yu kan pay toa
eae? man, and the most wasteful one that yu kan pay toa

ully,

Aim high, yu had better fire into the klonds than @ dunghilL,

Fashion costs more than bred and butter duz.

I konsideril one ov the most melankolly fakts in onr naturs
that we involuntary pay to Wealth aud posishun, the homage
that alone belengs to virtew,

Fredum hag been abuzed more than enny privilege i kno ov.

Familiaritys are only safe aumupg thorobreds.

aze.
flerent,

nana ter Ee egereeore

smade.of these plaits.

We are all ov us brought up to think that munny iz the chief
end ov man, and when at last we find out our mistake it iz too
late to rektily it.

No man kan git me to keep a sekret for him, i had rather hold
& mule for the same length ov time.

Pedantry iz plenty everywhare. Yu kant turn over a stone bi
the side ov the road but what it will run out from under it.

Thare izone kussid smart thing about a ghost, they never sho
thames f only bi kandell Nght, and then only to one person at a

ime,

Persons who marry after a long and tejuss courtship, go into
bizzness with the same. sobriety that a shumaker daz who haz
Pan hiz seven eoereen ginnyspor

If a man wants to find oyt the utter weakness oy munny, !
him try to hire a dubble tooth to stop aking, wee

A matter-of-fakt man iz one who when he hits hiz thumb with
the hammer, insted ov the nail, thinks it’s all right.

Thare are people who are seldum right themselfs, but who
never fail to set others right on all oekashuns,

I never hav seen a wilty man yet but what hiz vanity waz
about equal to hiz tallent.

., tiga well-known fakt to outsiders, but parents wont beleave
it, that precocious children never amount to any thing else.

If i had a boy, ishould mutch rather be unable to decide, up
to 10 years old, whether he Was going to bea phool or not, than
whether he waz going to be a Homer, or a Napoleon.

Munny that is spent foolishly, and then mourned over, is spent
twice foolishly.

Every man haz aright to pik out hiz own phun, hiz own hash,
and hiz own phisick.

The price of being pittyed, iz to be dispized.

f our Saviour, and the god Hercules should appear on earth
again together, which do you suppoze would have the most {ol-
lowers?

Az we git older we gro less certain ov things in general,

I hay heard folks brag ov the deviltry they used to indulge in—
sutch ackounts aint never reliable.

Fashion, like poverty, makes us acquainted with many strange

things.
It is better to be often wrong, than to be allwuss undecided.

 

SPICE-BOX PERFUME,

FRIEND JosH: Pardon me for sending you this old story, but
perhaps it may be new to some-ot your readers;

Once upon a time a miserly old fellow applied toa celebrated
painter to have a picture done representing the destruction of
Pharaob’s host in the Red Sea, The price demanded ‘for the
penae was two hundred pounds, but the miser would not pay
but half the price, which the painter at last aceeded to, if he
couldhave the pay in advance to release his urgent necessities.
In a few days the picture was sent home, nothing on the canyas
but @ thick coating of red paint. The miser exasperated called
upon the artist for an explanation.

“T ordered a scene.of the Red Sea,” exclaimed the miser.

“And you have got it,” blandly replied the painter,

“But where are the Israelites ? continued the miser,

_“Thiey have ail passed safe over the sea, and have gone out of
sight,” hinted the artist.

“And where, pray tell me, are the Egyptians?” indignantly ask-
ed the miser,

“They are all swallowed up in the waters,” coolly coneluded -

the painter,
MORAL
If you pay half price for a soat you must not be suprioed ifyou
2 OLIVAR,*

git light weight.
WITH CONTRIBUTORS, ,

We accept ‘Jake,’ ‘A. B. C., ‘Dave.’ Wesball be forced most
respectfully to decline ‘Ruth,’ ‘Treetoad,’ ‘Billskates,’ ‘Deacon,’
‘Pills, ‘Barber,’ ‘Old Man,’ ‘Harry,’ ‘Amos,’ °B. B.. ‘Susan
Bly,’ ‘Pat Maloy,’ ‘Kate,’ ‘Omega,’ ‘Patriot,’ ‘Pork and Beans.’

 

THE LADIES’ WORK-Box.

THE PURCHASING AGENCY CATALOGUE.—Owing to many
changes and reductions in prices, we have been forced to deter
the publication of our New Purchasing Agency Catalogue until
the present time, All orders now received will be filled at once,
It will be sent to any address, pre-paid, on receipt oi ten cents.

 

 

“Tda Hulls..’—You have chosen rather expensive ma-
terial for your riding habit. 1b would be far more econom-
ical to make the skirt of navy blue cloth, and the basque
of the velvet. Then the suit will be quite as handsome
and more serviceable. Yes, the blue velvet hat, with
white plume will be appropriate and pretty. Your gloves
can be elther gray or brown. The quantity ef material
required for the habit, must be regulated by ihe width;
you will need from eight to twelve yards.

“Litue Girl.”—In making a What Not out of spools,
you cannot go by any pian, but you must use your own
taste and judgment, ou cannot make a very la one
unless you ave quantities of spools, First form the legs
of your cords, then string the spools, and then build the
What Not alter any design youselect. Thisis very much
like painting or making flowers, or, in truth, any artistic
work. Uniess you have ingenuity and taste, you cannot
be successful, even if you have a pattern or mode), and no
matter how well you are ivstructed,

“E. P. G.,’? Old Point.—A dress of white silk, even of
the cheapest qualily of silk, cannot be gotten up for Jess
than $45, and if apy trimming is used, $50 will harély
cover the expense, You can get & really respectable dress
for $75, and such & one a8 you Will net be ashamed to
wear; but, if you will take our advice, and have your
dress made of white alpaca, and trimnied with silk, you
will have a far handsomer dress for $50 than if yon used
the cheap silk. The crown will cost from $4 to $5, aud
the necklace from $5 to $10. Very pretty bali-dresses are
made of tarlatan. They are inexpensive, and very dainty.
True, the material cannot be washed; but 18 can be worn
many times before it is soiled, and only needs a jittle
pressing out from time to time, $30 will get a beautiful
tarlatan dress, :

“Alwilda.”’—A book containing all the desired informa-
tion is the ‘“‘Manual of Etiquette; the price is 75 cents.
The catalogue of patterns has been sent, and in jt you will
find a variety of styles from which you can select those
you like best, as the illustrations convey correct ideas of
the suits a8 they Jook when completed. No, biack suits
are worn by even girls of ten and twelve years ol age, If
you desire they can be trimmed with plaids or plain
colors, or they can be all black, enlivened by a knot or
bow of colored ribbon at the throat, and upon the hair to
correspond, Ahatof brown felt, trimmed either in brown
or black, can be worn with almost any color, Little girls.
wear felt hats and caps, those of fur and velvet, or you
@an Jine Jace caps with flannel, and have them warm
enough for winter. In warm climates straw hats may be
worn with comfort, You can give your friend any article
of silver, Such as spoons, butter-dish, castors, et¢., a set
of furs, 2 handsome handkerchief, gloves, books, jewelry,
vase, Or aby parlor ornament. ‘There are a thousand and
oa things suitable Jor bridal presents costing from $1 to

“Mrs, D. W. R.?’—Haiz trizzes are stillworn. We ean
buy them for you by the yard for 50 cents and 75 cents,
and those of lopg and naturally curly hair for $1 per yara.
We will be glad to haye you or any of our readers gel up a
club for our paper, Such favors are always appreciated.

“Mrs, Jane Royal.’ —The Globe corset XX will cost you
$2apair. The imported Globe corsets, embroidered, cost
from $1.75 to $3.50 a b pair. | Very neat ones cost $2.25 and
$3 a pair. See

“Hatuie A. P.’—Don’t “do up’? your hair, If it curls
naturally, by all means wear it curled, <A pretly way of
dressing curly hair is to comb it all back from the face
and tie it up on the head, secure with a Comb, and let the
hair fail in cluster of curls. The front hair will wave
naturally, and the top of head can be finished with a coro-
net braid, or a few fiuger puffs. This manner of dressing
hairis also pretty when a braid takes the place of the
cluster of curis. You can get opera flannel in all the pew
shades of drab, brown, gray, etc., and these colors are
very pretty when embroidered or trimmed with some
bright color, and can be worn with dresses of almost
mee color, A gray trimmed with black will be very, use-

ul.

“Mrs. L. G.’’—We fill all orders for patterns and@ eata-
lognes 28 prompily as possible, add atter we have mailed
such articies we cannot be responsidvie for them. Of
course we Cannot tell if your package had been opened be-
fore itreached you; we only know that everything you
ordered was sent, itis far saferio have any articles of
value sent by express, for then we receive a receipt for
tielpackage, and if anything is missing the company can
can be held responsible.

“A Constant Reader..’—We send patterns by, mail, and
also very smal!, light packages of merehandise, but we
preier sending ali articles of value by express, Yes, we
can get patterns of any and all kinds of garments for you.
We can buy cloth, velvet, plush, &¢., either by the yara
or the piece,

“Lura Dean.’—Ruffies are still worn, or you can'use
kiJt plaits for cloth dresses, Sometimes the entire skirt is
Titan braids serve as neat trim-
inings for heavy fabrics, Velvets too are popular, apd
can be found in all the new tints,

“Marie B, C,.’’-1. Before cutting out the dress yon tear
Me stripe off the piece of calico and then sew it on again
as ruffes or trimming upon the portions you want.orna-
mented—for instance, around the bottom of the polonaise
or overskirt, the sleeves, and upon the waist, and if you
have bordering enough Jeft you can use it on Whe skirt.
aij, You write a neat, plain hand, 3u. Girls of eighteen
dress their hair justin the same manner as older ladies
wea rs in coils, pulls and braids, after a becoming
model,

“Ninny.’’—You are correct in the selection of a name,
if you desire \o change the color of your own hair. No,
we cannot tell you howitis done, Itis said that raw
meat bound on the face or hands wiil whiten them, bus
the very thought of such a thing seems most disgusting.
Blood will purily the skin, In the Mammoth Monthly
Reader, for November, a paper containing much valuable
information, we read an account of a fiend called Bliza-
beth Breda, who murdered 650 girls, for the purpose of
securing their blood for bathing purposes It is horrible
LO UhibK that vanity can be carried to such an extent,

“K, M. J.’’—Mohair gr alpaca the quality you send can
be bought Jor 65 cls, per yard, A most desirable qualily
is 75 cts. An articie, silk finished, very handsome is $1.
Suits made of this quality Jook Jike silks,

‘Mrs, A. W. Morand.’’—The pattern was No, 3,811,
price $1. Itis called the Ladies’ Metropolitan Riding
Habit, To secure o correct fit, you need only send meas-
ure of bust and waist. The Jength of skirt you can regu-
Jate to suit yoursell, but we advise you not to make it
Jonger than the pattern, a8 that is sufficiently long for
comfort and safety, Youcan make your habit of either
cloth, waterproof or alpaca, If of the latterfyou will fre-
quire something heavier for a waist,

“Mrs, L. M. P.,”” “Miss Jennie Myers,” ‘Lucy Beil,’?
and others desiring to know the numbers of patterns suit-
able for making winter suits.x—A handsome skirt pattern
is No, 3,575, price 85 cents. A novel overskirt, with
crossed front and puffed back, is 3,603, price 20 cents, A
basque suitable to go with the Other patterns is cnirass
basque, No. 3,575, price 20 cents, Polonaises are stil§
worn, and are very much in favor, The newest patterns,
however, are 80 complicated that when made they haye
every appearance of the basque and overskirt, A stylish
garment of this kind is No, 3,581, price 30 cents, This ig
called the Watteau polonaise, ‘The skirt is a short, plain
apron in front, and a long, full, elaborately draped back.
The waist is basque-finished jn front, and with a wattean
plait jn the back extending from the collar down the
waist, and losing itself im the draping of the fall skirt
Sleeves are coat-shaped, The garment can be rather

 

plain, or jt will admit of elaborate decoration,

   
 

 

 

=

 
 

 

 

 

Ginn o

 

 

   

 

 

 

BY VICKIE SPENCER.

The friends of the past—oh, where are they now?
Do they think I neglect and forget?
Do they deem I wear the seal on my brow
Of a happiness never to set?
Well would it be, could the mask be so worn
As to hide trom the curious eye
The sad disappointments we have borne,
While the swift, circling years went by.

But base is the heart that for ought can forego
The charm of a friendship that’s true,

In all the false glitter that wealth can bestow,
But an empty bauble 1 view.

No, I do not forget, in pleasure or pain,
The old scenes a charm for me hold;

And all I have known I would fain greet again
With the hearty welcome of old.

Then deem me not cold, if perchance I delay
In expressing the warmth I feel;
The pen is inadequate to portray
All that the tongue would reveal.
Of-the purposes high, of the lofty aims,
Of all that in years gone we prized,
Of the hopes that shone with such dazzling gleams,
How much have we realized?

Not all that we could have wished siacerely,
Not power, or wealth, or fame,
Not one of the hopes we loved so dearly,
No title or sounding name.
But better a life ‘mid the meek and lowly,
Whom the Saviour deigned to bless,
Whose footsteps through faith we follow slowly,
Our guide, His righteousness.
4 : 420)
—<g——-

THE MARRIAGE PORTION.

. BY LIBUTENANT MURRAY.

There lived, about five or six miles from Easton, Penn-
Bylvania, a few years since, an honest ‘farmer named Hen-
derson, who had two very pretty daughters, Ellen and
Maude. The first was about twenty-three years of age,
while the latter®was but nineteen. The farmer was a
thrifty, well-to-do man, though by no means rich; but the
family lived in extellent style, and the daughters had re-
ceived good educations.

Both of these girls were.pretty, but Maude was perhaps
the handsomer. ‘There was no lack of attentive young
gentlemen at the farm, though the neighborhood was not
very thickly settled. But ‘‘beauty draws us with a single
hair,’”? and the young ladies were the center of quite a
gay little circle of friends, mostly young gentlemen, or
farmers’ sons inthe immediate neighborhood, and some
even from Easton.

By-and-by it came ‘about that an earnest, handsome,
and sturdy young farmer fell desperately in love with a
Maude, and proposed to her. On her part she loved Har-
ry Masters above all the young fellows she knew, and told
him frankly that he might speak to her father. In the
meantime she confided the matter to her mother, a kind-
5 oapheeng g alig paren , who saw no objection to
the choice of her da ghier, but al was left with the father
to decide. Ce | eee

Farmer Hender: ny
open-mouthed man, That
meant, po more nor Jess, and

 

 

 

a

is, he said exactly what he
that he uttered freely. When

a. very, straightforward and

   
 
 
 
      
 
   

Harry Masters fea, him: one side and told his especiai
nd, as to Maude the father said:

“Well, Mr Maude is young. I wanted Ellen
to be marri 1g oldest, and I have got a mar.
riag rtio undred doilars to give her; but
haven't iad by yet for Maude.’ '

“J have got beforehand, Mr. Henderson, for

  

@ man but twe iy years old, and we sliall be able to
do very well, I have no a aoa

“You mean you'll take Mat de without any marriage
portion ??’ said the father.’ .°

“Yes, sir, very gladly.”

“Well it’s pleasant to hear you say so, because it shows
your honest affection, Mr: Masters, but Iam too proud,

 

though a simple farmer, to let Maude marry until I can
give her a thousand or two tolvard'! Keeping.”
i “It is pom Ww. Wi ug Whe OE, long as we really.
on’t need it,’ n con Wer ee
“Then agi Pees

Pa, rather > Wouldn’t marry until
her sister is: married, wes” 80 much older, do wen
her ap old maid

see, - —_ kinder It isn’t just
fair, Mr. Masters. seilsk, alee hiecubeain at ihe :

“Elien is very poptlat with the gentlemen, and will
soon be married,’’ said the other. °

“That's just What I have said to myself, and then [shall
begin to pick up & marriage portion for Maude.” , °

“I trust that is the only objection, Mr. Henderson,” said
the young man. ' :

“Why, yes, you are a promising and respectabie young
man, and come of a good family,”’ said the farmer; ‘‘but
I can’t let Maude go until I have got together a respect-
able marriage portion to give with her hand.”’

“Perhaps you will think more favorably about it," said
the lover. “Wil speak with you again.’?

‘All right, Mr. Masters.’ : ;

Harry and Maud were very fond of each other, and now
talked over the matter very seriously. Maud could not
blame her father, and did not herself like the idea of going
to Harry without a proper portion to contribute toward
their joint partnership in domestic life.

“Never mind, Harry,’’ said the handsome young girl;
“Elien will soon be married. I have pretty good reason
for knowing.”

“Ah, but then your father says he wants time to pick up
&@ marriage portion for you, and that will take three or
four years perliaps.’?

“That is a good while, is it not, Harry? said Maud,
just blushing a little for fear it sounded forward and
bold.

“Its ages!’ said the young fellow. ‘Th of waiting
three years—whiy, we sliall be old folks by that time!"’

“Not quite so bud as that,” said Maud.

“lm sure my hair will be gray by that time.”

“Fudge, Harry. Now you are joking.”

“T was never more in earnest in my life,’ said he, as he
stole a kiss from her pretty lips, and ran away so as not
to hear her chide him for his boldness. _—_-

“Maud,” said her father, coming into the house from
thebarn, “I wish you would ride the sorrel mare into
Easton, and get this hundred dollar bill changed at the
bank. The workmen have got through with the shingling
of the barn and I want to pay them off to-night."

“Very well, fathef. Let John put the side-saddle on,
and I will be ready in five minutes.”

The sorrel mare was brought up to the door and Maud
Was soon on her way at an easy hand gallop toward Easton.
She had an excellent seat, and was a good horsewoman.
As she knew this very well, she would not have objected
to have Harry see her just now; but he had gone a few
moments before in an opposite direction.

When Maud got into Easton she rode directly to the
bank, but was unfortunate enough to find that it was

already closed. Aftera few moments thought she con- |

cluded to try to get the note changed at the grocer’s, or at
some of the other stores, and went immediately to do so.
Fate seemed against her, for no one had small bills enough
to accommodate Miss Henderson.

At one of the stores where she stopped, a very gentle-
manly-looking person took out his pecket-book and said
he thought he could change it for her, and she handed him
the bill; but he returned it saying, after all, he had not so
much smailmoney. He seemed to regret this, however,
and even followed Maud to the door and assisted her to
remount her horse. ;

She was forced to give up her errand, as she did not
like to run about among strangers asking them to change
her a bill, especially ‘as no one seemed abie to do so. She
therefore turned her horse’s head once more toward home.
‘Searcely had she passed the outskirts of the town when
she was overtaken by the stranger who had spoken with
her ir the last store, and who at first thought he could
change her bill. He was mounted upon a fine-looking
ae horse, and saluted her respectfully as he came along
side.

“Did you get your bill changed?’ he asked.

“No. Smail bills seemed scarce,” she replied.

“Do you live near here ?”

‘sAbout five miles off.”

“Quite a ride.”

“Oh, we don’t mind five miles in the country.”

“You are an excellent rider.’

“T have ridden since I was six years old,’ she said,
‘but my sister Ellen is a better rider than I am.”?

‘You are generous to admit it,’’ said the strarger.

“Why, it’s only the truth,’ she answered frankly.

After they had passed over about two miles, they came
to a very lonely piece of road, quite removed from any
dwelling houses. Still, as the stranger appeared so well,
and had addressec her so politely, she had not the least
suspicion of any evil intention on his part. Presently he
said suddenly:

*¥ will thank you for that bill.’

‘What?! said she, half smiling.

‘Please to give me that bill.*?

‘*What do you mean?” asked Maude.

‘‘Just what I say,’’ he replied suddenly.

*t shall do no such thing,” she answered firmly.

“am sorry to draw a pistol upon a lady,” he continu-
ed, suiting the action to the word, ‘but [ must have that
hundred dollar bill at once,”

“Do you mean to rob me?”

“J must have the money.’

It was still with difficulty that she could realize that the
man was in earnest, but when he now cocked his pistol
and held it toward her with one hand while he extended
the other for the bill, she was forced to yield to the neces-
sity of the situation. She was a brave-hearted girl, and
even now did not turn pale nor tremble in the least. but
a that she could not help herself, and so made the best
of it.

aes me Rens the bill to him,
win ew it into the road and carried it gently several
yards from them. The stranger alighted fo. as it, and
quick as thought, Maude struck her horse a smart blow
in order to get out of the robber’s power. Phe sorrel mare
Was a spirited little creature, and sprang into a smart
gait at once, while the stranger’s horse which had been
left standing beside her, also started off at full speed in
her company!

Bang! went the robber’s pistol after them, having only
the effect to increase the speed of the flying horses, both
of whom were now on the dead run. Mande did not care

& sudden puff of

how fast she rode, the sorrel was as easy as a cradle at
that speed, and ten minutes she dashed into her father’s
yard followed by the riderless herse.

Her story was soon told, and her father was with diffi-
culty prevented from starting after the robber with, his
pistols and rifle, but he knew that the scoundrel would
naturally take at once to the woods, where he could not
follow or find him.

“Well, we’ve got his horse at any rate,’ said the farmer,
‘and he is wortl more than a hundred dollars.’’

‘Say, master,’ said the manJohn, who had been taking
off the saddie-bags from the strange horse.

“What is it, John?” -

“These bags is full of something.”’

“J should think so,’’ said the farmer, a3 he unstrapped
the leather bags.

They were found to contain some counterfeit plates, a
quantity of counterfeit money, in various bills, and also a
littie over fifteen hundred dollars in good money!

“Huzzal” cried the farmer.

“What is it, father?’ said Maude.

“Why your trip to Baston has proved a profitable one
atallevents. Here’sover fifteen hundred doilars, good
inoney."’

“Ah, but it will be claimed by the owner.’'

“Do you think a counterfeiter will dare to come for the
tools that would convict him?—to say nothing of highway
robbery.’

“1 didn’t think of that.”

That evening farmer Henderson sent John over to young
Master's with a message to cali round and see him, to
which Harry responded instantly.

large, old-fashioned sitting-room, ‘‘you remember what
you asked of me this afternoon?”’

“Yes, sir.’?
“Well, I give my consent. Maud has just furnished her

own marriage portion. Take her, my boy, and be happy!”

_A CUBAN ADVENTURE.

BY CHARLES DALY DOUGLAS.

 

 

 

Twenty-five years ago I was in command and part own-
er of one of the neatest, swiltest, and prettiest barks that
ever sailed out of Baltimore. I had a crew of a dozen
stout fellows, who were well paid, well treated, liked the
work, and therefore were strongly attached to me, and
always willing and ready to do anything to advance the
interests of myself or of the owners. This vessel was
usuaily employed in trading between Cuba and Baltimore.
The company that owned her were very watchful of the
eee Lee on the earliest indication of a scarcity in any
article of West Indian growth, off went the Star for the
low latitudes, and was generally back with a full cargo
before the other merchants had realized that there was
any change in the market.

In the month of October of that year we were lying at
anchor close in shore in one of those lovely inlets that in-
duct the southern coast of the island. We had been here
some days, and it seemed very likely we were to remain a
week longer. I had entered into contract with old Don
Gomez Salezar, whose plantation lay about a league from
the coast, for five hundred hogsheads of sugar—such sugar
as I very well knew could not then be bougit in the Bal-
timore market. [had arrived on time, and was expecting
toship the freightat once and up anchor again; buta
message from the Don apprigzed me that there had been an
unavoidable delay in packing the sugar, and that it would
not be ready for some days yet. In the meantime he in-
vilted me to come up to his plantation and make myself at
home. .
I was much annoyed by this Intelligence, as every da
lost would be an additional risk on ‘the venture, but con-
clu ‘that it would be the better plan to accept the in-
Vitation, and try te hurry up the Don with his shipment.
I went ashore, attended only by my own servant, leaving
the vessel in charge of the mate. The distance tothe
plantation was, as I have said; fulia league; the weather
was hot, andl was not at all inclined to walk. So, dis-
posing myself comfortably, fora nap inside an orange-
hedge a litue way back from the shore, I dispatched my
servant in quest of horses, and dozed off into a pleasant
sinteeed. l was awakened by the sound ef voices very
near me, and was unable to tell at first where they pro-
ceeded from. Presently I perceived that the persona
talking wére on the other side of the hedge, and I should
have immediately discovered myself to them had not the
name of Don Goniez Salezar dropped from one of them.
Hearing that, I Kept quiet aud ed cautiously through
the hedge. I saw a bold. ing young Caban, very
handsome and - desperate in appearance, earnesily
talking with the villainous-looking reprobate that it
has ever been my fortune to behold, He was black, heav-
ily. ed, and rae et his face scarred with
cus and Jit with a pair of
talk was about as follows: plastid Tal
, “So,’? sald.the youuger, “you think you can get your
fellows up by eight?” ee ee

“Yes. ifthe wind: fails PH land them anywhere on the
coast and bring them directly up to the plantation.”
“Good; I'll join. you there. But, remember, no violence
is to be done to Donna Inez—she is to ve left to me.”
“Agreed, provided that you make no trouble about
sacking the house. : I've promised my fellows some rich
booty.’’

“They'll get it; ‘never fear. Old Gomez is rich as mud,
and keeps most of his wealth in the house, locked up in
the chests, in sotid milled doilars.”’ i

“It's all arranged, then; eight is the hour. What do
you want to do with the girl after you get her?’

“If you’ve got room in your craft, l’d like to take her
round to the Isie of Pines till she gets over her flurry. Can
you take us aboard ?”’

“Yes, if you say so. I don’t like these women
very well, but no matter. Farewell till eight.’
The two shook hands and parted, ieaving me to reflect
on the details of this most villainous pilot, and to devise
means to defeat it, if possible. My servant soon came up
with two saddie-mules, and my resolution was quickly
taken. Tearing a leaf from my note-book, I pencilied a
line to my mate, informing him briefly of what I had dis-
covered, and directing him to hasten up to the plantation
with every man that could be spared from {the bark, thor-
oughly armed. Dispatching -my servant with this, I
mounted the other mule and set out for the mansion. .1
reached it about sunset, and Don Gomez met me.at the
gate, full of apologies for the deiay, promises for the fu-
ture, and warm profiers of hospitality. He conducted me
through his grounds, which seemed almost fairy-like in
their profusion of tropical fruits, flowers, and shade; and
seating meon the cool, breezy verandah, left me for a
moment to survey the charming prospect below me. The
fertile and abundant plantation sloped down almost to the
shore of the bay, presenting a sight of rare beauty and
vegetable luxurance, and out on tlie bay I could plainly
see the hull and masts of my bark as she lay at anchor.
“My daughter Inez, senor.’’
I started up and bowed te the beautifal girl whom the
Don had just led to me; and as her eyes dropped and her
cheeks flushed, I thought I had never seen anything in
womankind half so lovely. She was tail, supple, grace-
fuli—dark, as ali Cuban ladies are, but with a vivacity and
a depth of emotion in her dark eye and in the curves of her
mouth that were new tome, The simple truth is, I was
in love in an instant. I made such casual remarks in
Spanish as I could command, and had the great satisfac-
tion of seeing that the senora was quite as embarrassed
as myself. She soon excused herself for a moment on
some domestic errand, and turning to her father, I gave
him plain statement of the startling conversation I had
heard an hour before.
" ved ey old Don was smitten with consternation as he
sten
“Gracious saints,’ he exclaimed in Spanish, “I am
rained! Whatcan protect me? That young manis Don
Pedro Santillo, the vilest and most desperate reprobate
this side of Madrid. Inez rejected his suit, and I forbade
him the house; and now in revenge he would carry her
off and hand us over to pillage. And the other ——Corpus
Christi! do you know who thatis? He is Juan Villamil,
the terrible pirate of the Caribean. He will murder us
all - cold blood for the sake of my gold. -What can I
do

The old man wrung his hands in an agony of terror, and
frantically appealed to me. A few questions from me-re-
vealed the truth that the situation was more serious than
I could have supposed. The nearest town where soldiers
could be procured was nine miles away; there was no
time for that. There were a hundred negroes scattered
over the plantation, but they knew nothing of the use of
firearms, and a resolute attack by the freebooters would
put them ailto flight. Time was pressing; eight o'clock
was Only half an houraway. It was useless to think of
barricading all the entrances to the great straggling
house; half a day would not suffice for that.

“But there is the summer house,’’ Don Gomez suddenly
exclaimed. ‘It is small and can be securely locked. We
Will take to that,and do our best, trusting in Heaven for
the speedy arrival of your men.”’

Inez was speedily acquainted with the peril that me-
naced her, and her father at first suggested that she might
be sent away under charge of one of the servants. To
this she strenuously objected; she would not quit her
father at such a time, and beside, the pirates might al-
ready have drawn their lines around the house, so that
aly attempt to escape would be useless. No; she would
stay with us, and hope for the best. She was pale now,
but there was a heroism in her quiet determination that
caused me to admire her more and more.

The house-servants were apprised of the danger and
directed to go to the upper story of the house. I wanted
to arm them, but the Don assured me it was useleas—they
were in mortal terror at the sight of frearms. We shut
and locked the outer doors, and with a Spanish carbine
and half a dozen pistols each, drawn from the Don’s
goodly store of arms, we retired to the summer-house, ac-
companied by Inez. We provided for her safety as well
as we could by putting a protection of benches around
her as she knelt on the grass; and then the Don and I
crouched low down by the lattice-work and watched the
house, which was only about six rods off.

We had not long to wait. The dusky shadows of night
were replacing the long twilight of the tropics, and the
cry of the mocking-bird was swelling on the air, when
the Don eagerly gripped my arm, and whispered:

“There! there! Do you see them !?!

Two dark figures stole cautiously round the corner of
the house, and up tothe door. The door was tried and
found to be locked. The windows were tried, but they
could not be raised. Then a dozen more dark figures
crept out of the shrubbery; then at least a score more;
and soon a furious assault of kicks and blows fell upon
the door, with yells and cries for admittance.

“They'll find us, soouer or later,” the Don whispered
in my ear, ‘‘Let’s give them a surprise. Shall we fire?

 

Twill draw them from the house.’!
“Yes,’’ Treplied, and the two heavy carbines spoke out

‘‘Mi, Masters,’’ said the farmer, as he came into the.

several
ferocious black eyaa:” Phetr t

to hig work, ang in es ‘
man lying near the path as

ot THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

together with a ateptiing report. I distinctly saw three of
the men fall, and & loud outcry of pain followed.

“Pistols,” I witispered.
from their ee 1

Four discharges in quick succession followed, anda
chorus of cries @ud groans was heard. The attacking
party was taken wholly by surprise, and fled in every di-
rection. In a Moment, while we were reloading, we
heard the voices of their leaders urging them to rally and
attack the summer-house. We heard Pedro exhorting
them and promising the plunder of the house, while the
buccaneer, Juan Villamil, poured out a torrentof the
most {frightful oaths and imprecatious that ever defiled the
air, The bustle and tumult continued, and I knew by the
sound that they were forming their men behind the house
for a rush on us,

oer whispered a voice near by; “is that you, cap-
taln?

My heart leaped within me as I recognized the voice of
my faithful mate,

‘‘Herbert,’’ I replied, ‘is that you?"?

“Yes, sir; here we are, six of us, with good rifles, right
along the side of this wall. We came up just as the firing
began, but we couldn’t make out which party was yours.
Are those the Siackguards over there by the house ???

“Yes,” I whispered, ina glow of excitement, recapping

 

“Pistols! before they recover

my pistols. “Lie low till they start to charge us, then
give them @'volley, and up and at them with clubbed
guns.

i had baré}y time to press the senora’s hand and whis-
per a word Of encouragement, before the pirates were
upon us with a succession of demoniac yells. The Don
and I received them with pistols and carbines, firing rap-
idly and effectively, as we saw by the number that fell;
but in an ingtant the assailants were at the door. It was
now when the muzziles of their long rifles, unseen by the
pirates, were within six feet of them, that the mate gave
the word to his party to fire. The crash that followed
must have sounded to the outlaws like the voice of doom.
Three of them fell dead in their tracks, three more were
mortally wounded, and those who were still unhurt fled
in wild terror from the scene, pursued half-way to the
coast by my eager fellows, picking them off on the way.

As May well be imagined, we were royally feasted by
Don Gomez that night, and, indeed, during the whole time
our bark lay in the inlet. We found the next morning
thirteen of the outlaws, and wounded, including
Don Pedro, who had a bullet through his head. All who
recovered ‘rom their wounds were hanged in due time.

The cargo of sugar that the bark took away from Don
Gomez’s plantation turned out to be a very profitable in-
vestment; but my share of it did not satisfy me. I found
my thoughts continually wandering back to Cuba and the
sweet face of Inez; aud buta few months passed before
I returned there. -I met with a flattering reception; the
father was overflowing with gratitude, the daughter was
eloquett with her eyes, atid I quickly saw that I might be
happy for the asking. Not to make too long a story of it,
she has now been for twenty-three years the faithful and
beloved partner of my joys and sorrows, and is looking
over my shoulder as I write.

A MURDERER ON A JURY.

BY LAWRENOE LESLIE, :

 

In the year 1725 a man named William Harper was
placed on trial in Essex County, Engiand, for the mur-
der of Samuel Carman. His reputation previous to this
charge had o¢en that of an honest, industrious man,
temperate in his habits, kind in disposition, and truthful
in character.

The facts developed by the witnesses on trial showed
that a neighbor in passing a fleld discovered the body
of the murdered man, who had evidentiy come to his
death from wounds inflicted by the prongs of a spading
fork. A fork of that description, with biood upon it, was
ee a upon the ground beside the corpse, with the
initials “W. H." cut on the handle, and was subsequently
identified as belonging to Harper. Tracks were also
found about the murdered man, unquestionably made by
Alarper's boots, and it was further shown that some time
previously there had been considerable ill-feeling be-
tween the accused and the deceased. Early inthe morn-
ing of the day of the murder, the accused was dressed
in a certain suit of light clothes, but when arrested a
few hours after he was in black. He denied’ having
changed his garments, but upon asearch of his house,
the missing suit, all bespattered with blood, was found
hidden away in the interior of the straw bed.

Tue accused brought no witnesses intocourt, and
when asked by the judge what testimony he proposed to
offer, he replied that he “had ne witnesses but God and
luis own conscience!” ele
ade being questioned he made the following explana-

   

He said that he owen a fidld adjoining that in which
the body was found. O. rt tal morning he went early
Ngh the eld he saw a

d or drunk, and he felt
himself bound to see what the man’s condition really was
and to offer him succor if he should stand’ in need of it.
On examination he found him in a dying condition, with
two frightful wounds in his breast, from which a large
quantity of blood was discharged. He carefully raised
the wounded man and earnestly endeavored to learn from
him the name of his assailant. The dying man attempted
to speak but the words died in a horrid rattle, the blood
gushed from his mouth; and he fell backward dead. °

The shock caused by the sudden death, he said, was in-
describable. -He no sooner found himself atone with the
dead than he thought of the altercation which had taken
place between them, and the fearthat he might be ac-
cused of the murder took. entire possession of him. In
his terror he ran away, tloughtiessly taking with him the
dead man’s fork and leaving behind his own, upon the
handle of which the initials‘of his name were carved. His
clothes, he found, were besmeared with blood, and he
changed and secreted them, that they might not be a wit-
ness against him, 80 great was his fear of being accused
of the crime.

This story the accused told with every appearance of
candor, and with the most solemn appeals to Heaven to
witness the truth of every word he had uttered. True, he
said, he had previously denied all knowledge of the affair,
and particularly denied the changing of his clothing; but
it was not guilt, but a very natural desire to avoid an ad-
mission which would be considered incompatible with his
innocence. Falsehood, he said, had only confirmed the
suspicions against him, and every effort he had made to
conceal itis innocent connection with the affair had only
deepened the general conviction of his guilt; but now he
spoke the truth. Of course he was not believed.

This was all the prisoner’s defense, and the judge sub-
mitted the case to the jury, making a very strong charge
aguinst the accused. He pathetically enlarged on the
atrocity of the crime, and laid no little stress on the posi-
tive proof of guilt, notwithstanding the prisoners’ assey-
erations of innocence. The accused, he said, had indeed
cooked up a plausible story, but in doing so he had ad-
mitted that he had previously lied, and thus impeached
his own statement. He charged te jury to pay no atten-
tion to that statement, but proceed to deliberate only on
the sworn testimony, intimating that they might find a
verdict without leaving their seats.

Upon this, the foreman of the jury, Edward Fenn, arose
and suggested to the judge that as this was a case of life
and death, they would prefer to retire for consultation,
and they were accordingly locked up.

It was about two o’clock in the afternoon when the jury
went out, and as the case was plain, no difficulty was ap-
prehended in arriving ata verdict, so the court concluded
to sit until they returned.

Hour after hour passed, and nothing was heard from
the jury. At nine o’clock the judge’s. patience was ex-
hausted, and he dispatched an officer for information con-
cerning the cause of the delay.

The messenger soon returned and privately informed
the judge that eleven of the jury had ‘been for conviction
from the first, but the foreman stubbornly refused to ac-
quiesce, and insisted, in the face of all the evidence, that
the accused was not guilty. Bed

Mr. Fenn was a man of strong mind and much persua-
sive power, while his associates were endowed with these
qualities to a less degree than usual. They also became
alarmed at the prospeet of being kept out all night, unless
a verdict was reached, and finally yielded, went into
court, and through the foreman rendered a verdict of
“Not guilty.” as

The judge made no attempt to conceal his surprise and
disgust at a verdictso contrary to the testimony in the
case, and alter giving all of them a severe reprimand, re-
fused to have the verdict recorded, and sent them back to
their room. .The night was spent in endeavoring to con-
vince the foreman, but no impression was made. When
moruing came, the weary men‘saw no escape from their
unpleasant position but in agreeing, and aguin determin-
ed upon a verdict of not guilty, and pledged themselves to
adhere to it, whatever the judge might say or think con-
cerning it.

The judge, as expected, was exceedingly indignant at
the finding, but'he was powerless to clauge it, and the
accused was discharged. :

The conduct of the foreman was soon fully known to the
court, and the sheriff was summond-to give any informa-
tion he could concerning him. The character he gave the
man was so highly favorable that the judge found his
curiosity much excited, and he directed him to bring the
man to his private office, as he was determined to kuow
what honest reason could haveinduced him to struggle
so hard for a verdict which was so palpably against rea-
son and evidence.

On his being introduced, the judge invited him iato his
private room, and frankly told him that he felt as though
his conduct on the jury had been without excuse or pal-
liation, but from the good character which he bore among
his neighbors, he was unable to decide that his judgment
had been purchased, and he therefore, as a matter of
curiosity, desired him to give any reason, if possible, for
his singular and apparently unreasonable stubbornness,
The juryman responded that he had good and sufficient
reasons for the course he had pursued, andif his honor
could but know them, even he would consider them valid,
and acknowledge that he could not, as a conscientious man,
have adopted any other; butas he had heretofore iocwed
them in his own breast, and was under no compulsion to
disclose them now, he would insist, before such a revela-
tion, that his honor should solemnly pledge himself to
keep the secret he was about to reveal inviolable.

This the judge agreed to, only stipulating that if ‘the
revelations should involve matters of public interest he
stiould be allowed to make any use of them he chose,
should he survive the other.. This was a to, and
the foreman made substantially the following confession:

He said that the man whe had been found dead, and for
whose death Harper had been on trial, was the tithe man
of the district, and had that morning called upon him and

 

exacted an unreasonable amount of tithes, and conducted

himself generally in a most unjust and arbitrary manner.
When remonstrated with he not only replied with abusive
and scurrilous language, but in his rage had actually at-
tacked him, the juryman, with a fork, and inflicted
wounds, tle scars of which he exhibited to his lordship.
As his assailant appeared bent on mischief, and tie was
unarmed, he closed with him, and wrested the fork from
his hands. It was in the struggle to recover his weapon
that the deceased received the wounds which caused his
death,

The shock to his feelings on discovering what he had
done, he said he could not and therefore would not at-
tempt to describe. He wag satisfied that no human eye
had been a witness to the tragic affray, but his first im-
pulse was to deliver himself to the authorities. When he
considered, however, how long he would probably be
confined, awaiting trial, and how his crops and other in-
terests would be likely to suffer during his confinement,
he concluded not to do so.

When, however, Harper was arrested for the crime, he
fully resolved to surrender himself, and consulted an em-
inent lawyer concernihg the matter. After cousidering
the case in all its aspects, he was advised to do all in his
power to secure the acquittal of tife accused, but if he
should fail to accomplish it, he was then to declare his own
guilt, in order to save Mr. Harper.

Indirectly he contributed freely to the defense, caused
his family to be amply provided for, and finally succeeded
in getting himself on the jury, and becoming its foreman.
The rest of the story has been told.

Mr. Harper never knew who was the perpetrator of the
mysterious murder for which he came so near meeting an
ignominous death, or suspected the cause of Mr. Fenn’s
kindness to himself and family, as he died a few years
after the trial, At his death Fenn adopted two of the
children and provided liberally for the others.

Fifteen years after the confession above recorded, Ed-
ward Fenn died, honored and respected by the whole
community. After his death the judge made pablic the
facts in this most singular case, and added ancther chap-
ter to the “Curiosities of Crime.”

THE LADY OF BLACK HALL.

BY MAGGIE MARIGOLD.

 

 

 

A great storm was abroad in the Blue Ridge Mountains;
angry flashes cleft the gioom; thunder crasled and was
echoed from hill to hill, and the swollen streams dashed
headlong, taking rocks and lalien branches in their course
to the James.

Amid all this distracted nature an observer might have
Seen the two lamps of the Amlierst stage coach, gleaming
like bleared eyes through the rain, as that lambering ve-
hicle, drawn by a powerfu Ispan of bays, dashed along the
mountain road en route for Lexington.

Suddenly a bright, young face peeped out of the coach
window, and a girlish voice cried:

“Driver, how near are we to Commodore Develin’s?”

‘Be dar in jus tree minutes, miss. It’s dat are big house
on the hill yonder all ablaze like.”

A moment more and they were driving into the grounds,
Again the infpatient girl essayed to look forth, but receiv-
ing acold dab on-the cheek from the wet leaves, she fell
back impatiently; and listened to the heavy, wet ‘boughs,
as they brushed the’ top and’sides of the couch. a

Suddenly the stage stopped, old Nicodemus jumped
down in the mud, with a Jantern.in one hand, and fijng-
ing open the door with a flourish,.said .loud enough to
wake the seven sleepers. : :

‘“Comadore Divilins, miss!’ --*-

There were only two sleepers within; however, but they

opened their scared eyes wide enough for seven, half ex-
pecting to see a highwayman, .but being reassured by
Nicodemus’ bobbing wool head and -siniling--biack face,
they laid a contented hand on their pocketbooks, and
bade farewell to the young lady, who quickly leaped into
the mud, and picking up her dress Yan up the broad steps.
Nicodemus followed. with. her..trunk,..and taking the
quaint, brass knocker, representing a coiled serpent, in
lis hand, gave a long, loud knock, which echoed far and
near. There was a sound of feet rnnning to the door—it
opened—lights dazzled the young traveler, and amid sil-
very laughter and exclamations of delight, she was clasp-
ed in the arms of her old schoolmate Lena Develin.
“The North and Sonth-have met,’ said the commodore;
and the little traveter tarned to: behold a superb-looking
old gentleman, with a long, silvery beard, white hair, ‘and
fine, dark eyes, who held cut a warin hand, saying:

“Weicaumie to Black Hall, Miss Grace."

“Bring Miss Howard in to the fire,” said. Mrs. Devetin,
appearing in the parlor door. oes

Although Grace had never before met her triend's
family, their warm greeting made her feel very uncere-
monivus, so she ran with a smiling face to meet Lena's:
sweet, doye-faced, IMtle mother, who advanced, radiant.
in welcoming smiles. i RE

ust then Lena‘s brother pe postr pe front door.
He was a quiet eorits fellow, with mischievous, brown
eyes, who, when tn » bowed shyly, biushed a
trifle, apd strode on to the dining-room, shaking the rain
from his sieuch hat. - .. . + Rots & enti ae ,

“Now come to my room and get on dry clothes,” said
Lena. ‘You look wet and cold,’ and she led Grace up
the broad staircase. sane stale

“Jesse,” addressing @ colored. man, “bring, up Miss
Howard! trunk.’ ”

Everything was new and strange to Grace; the dark,
wide halls, the colored servants, who peeped at her cu-
riously, and lastly Lena’s room, with its dark paneled
walis, heavily Curtained windows and bed, and the great
wood-fire on the hearth.

“Oh, how lovely!’ exclaimed she, throwing herself in-
to an easy chair, but on second wWought springing up to
Caress her friend. ' S35 ua

“You dear darling, I haven't seen you for six months,’

“And I’ve been shut up here all that time,” replied Le-
Da, who was 2 tall, quiet blond.

“Well, now, I should reatly have enjoyed that,” Grace
replied, tossing her damp wrappings over the back of a
chair, ‘‘because I adore old houses, and trees, and ro-
mance, and ghosts. Oh! have you any ghosts here ?”’

“Well, yes, we have what they call a haunted room in
the rear part of the house, but none of us ever slept there
or saw the ghost.”’

“Oh, do tell me about it.
with it?”

“Yes, quite a little romance. Just drop into that chair,
close to the fire, and.I’ll tell you the story.”’ Then taking
Graee's hand, she began:

“Years and years ago, Grace, my great-great-gteat-
grandfather, who was an artist, came over from England
and settled in this house with his bride, a very young and
beautiful girl, who had been hastily married to him by
her father to prevent a match between herself and a young
Lord Somebody who was her father’s enemy.

“This hard-hearted relative of mine married her against
her wishes, anc then carried her away, almost broken-
hearted, to a strange country, and into this gloomy oid
house. He was double her age, and jealous as he could
be of her former lover, whom he thought was separated
from her forever. But it wasn’t so, Grace. That young
Lord Somebody swore that he would rescue her yet, if he
had to murder her husband—so he started at once for
America, where he spent a long time in yaln search for
his lost love.”

‘‘He must have been awful plucky,’ interrupted Grace,
with dilated pupils.

“Oh, yes, he was—but listen. One day Camitia—that
was my great-great-great-grandmother, you know—was
weeping in the summer-house, when she sudden!y looked
up and beheld her old lover standing in the doorway.
She was overwhelmed with joy, and confessed that she was
wretched with her husband; and I suppose there occurred
quite a little love scene, for her husband, overhearing the
affair, rushed in, plunged his dagger in the young lord’s
heart, and carried Camilla fainting to her room, where
he flung her on the bed, and locking the door, departed.
When he returned it was to find lier dead. She had taken
her life with her own lite ger.’

“Ohl? gasped Grace; ‘and what then ?”

“Then? Why he went insane, of course, although peo-
ple didn't suspect it for sometime, and being an artist,
painted her picture, which now hangs on the wallof the
haunted room.’?

“Oh, do show it to mel’? exclaimed Grace, springing
up; and Lena took the light and led the way to the un-
happy bride’s apartment. : ;

“We never useit; ithasn’t been slept in for years,”
said Lena, opening the door. ‘itis furnished just as it
was wien the tragedy occurred. They call her the Lady
of Black Halli.”

Grace shivered as she entered the great cold chamber
and glanced at the massive mahogany bedstead, with its
damask curtains, brought over from England years and
years ago. Everything was cheerless, grand and time-
worn.

“This is the picture,’ said Lena, holding the candle
above their heads; and Grace saw before her the fuil-
length picture of a young and beautiful girl, within whose
great black eyes there shone an expression of intense
horror as she seemed about to plunge a tiny dagger with-
in her breast; her face was deadly white, ler lips blood-
less, her black hair unbound and falling far below the
waist of her white dress. —

“Horriblel’? exclaimed Grace. ‘‘No one but a madman
Would have painted the contemplated suicide of his wife,
and dweit so on the horror she feit in committing the
deed. But, Lena,’’ she continued, after a pause, in which
they heard only the wailing of the wind iu the branches
without, ‘‘you don’t believe that she haunts this place ?”?

“Of course not,’ and Lena’s sweet lips curled.

“Weil, then, do please sleep here to-night and find out
for certain,’’ pleaded the other.

And soit was arranged; and old mammy built a great
fire on the long-deserted hearth, and the commodore and
his wife laughed attheir girlish freak, and baskful Bob
essayed One long, Curious look at the perpetrator of such
a wild scleme, and—at ten precisely the household re-
tired. \

Grace locked their door and looked under the bed, in
the closet, in theempty bareau-drawers, and the matcli-
safe, vases and wasil-pitcher, before jumping into bed, to
be sure that no ghosts were being harbored on the pre-
mises; and then kissing each other good-night, these two
giris fell into a sweet, tranquil sleep. ‘

How long they had siept neither knew, when suddenly
both pair of eyes flashed open simultaneously, and they
were wide awake. Thestorm had gone down, and the
moon shone brightly, and there, standing in the moon-
light, near the window, was a woman in white, with
long, trailing, black hair. Neither girl screamed, but Le-
na Clasped hier friend’s hand convaisively, and the fatter
returned it with a steady, firm, warm pressure, which said
as plain as words, “‘be Stk quiet.’’

Then the figure turned, and fixing her mournful, biack

Is there a story connected

 

 

 

eyes on the occupaits of the bed, which fortunately stood
in the shadow, sie raised one hand, disclosing a gleaming

dagger.

Grace. Then the woman walked to the window. Light
asa feather Grace slid’ on to the floor, and approaching
the figure, caught the long, black hairin one land. Off
came a massive wig—the creature turned, with an excla-
mation of “By thunder!” and bashful Bob, giving one
nonplused look, fled through the door, which he had open-
ed with a skeleton key.

To CORRESPONDENTS.

To BUYERS.—All communications in regard to the prices or the
urchasing of various articles must be addressed to the New
ORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, contain the full address of
the writers, and specify the size, quantity or quality of the goods
desired. Those ae an answer must have two three-cent
ps enclosed. wing to the large increase of letters to be an-

sw in this column, a delay of several weeks must necessarily
ensue before the answers appear in print.

THE PURCHASING AGENCY CxtatoGue —The new and en-
larged edition of the NEw YORK WsEKLY Purchasing Agency
Catalogue is now ready, and all orders received wiil be filled at
once. It will be sent to any address, prepaid, on receipt of
ten cents.

NorTice.—With every mail we receive a number of letters on
various subjects, in which the writers request an answer by mait
instead of through the various departments. ‘To do this we are
compelled to employ additional help, beside being put to consid-
erable trouble and expense to obtain the information. Thisave
will cheerfully submit to when the questions are auswéred
through oar columns, as the knowledge thus imparted will inter-
est and benefit the mass of our readers; but in the future, to se-
cure an answer by mail, persons desiring it must inclose a PIFTY-
CENT STAMP, lo pay Ws for owr trouble and expense,

 

 

 

S@- GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
Daniel Smith.—Steam 13 (he vapor or elastic fluid into which
water is converted by the application of heat....... J. Mc€.—The
term penny, as applied to a cent, though frequently used, is in-
correct. A penny is an English copper coin, one-twelith of a
shillin worth about two cents. The omer coins issued b,
the different States, previous to the establishment of the U. 8.
Mint, were called cents........@. Jf—lst. The story referred to is
a republication, It was first printed several years ago, and afte
ward in acheap novel form. 2d. ‘fo prevent children fro
biting their nails, parents usually pat aloes on the finger:
You are old enough, however, to stop the habit merety bj
exercise of your will. 3d. We will furnish the
4th. The fare to California by rail is $140;
will amount to about $40 more. The fare b: :
sage, is $100 and $110. This includes m . ‘
should prefer to goby rail. 5th. The leading Plano manstactarers
all make good instruments. 6th. We place i
reports circulated against any man by his. ical o
The purest man living preg censur
or when holding office. 7th. We willft
twist, double-barreled shot-gun for $14 to .
barrels, $23 to $72...... A. DeV.—‘‘Gold.
MEM stern t A. L. ZL,
columns of daily papers to obtain a position az nurse, °
goods are ey from manufacturers and in lots at
Sales......-. . £. B.—The lady resides in this city........D. RB. &.
and Foréigner.—ist. Any foreigner who has resided in
United States three years previous to his becom of may
: nse with the ena = ExmaeSinins and bs oD a
ra’ papers ep reaching majority, prov a8
a resident five Application must be made to the District.
coe in the State in wt ?

 
 
  
  
 

ay

are liable to arrest and punishment..... ......
Amateur —We will furnish apparatus of all kinds for the
ede age of conjuror’s tricks...... De Haven.—lst.—We wit
rnish either Munson’s or Graham’s systems of short-hand for
$2. 2d. The cadetsin the serwice of the steamship companies
are navigation, engineering, and seamanship in all its de-
tails. ney must pass a creditable examination in an ordinary
public school course of studies........ J. P. R.—The institute is at
7 East aoe i oe eoveve es R.—1st. We will ——
youa containing fourteen plays tor drawing-room or par!
exhibition for $1.50; and “The Art of Dancing” for 75 cents.
There is no work on ballet dancing. 2d. A set of studs or a pair
of sleeve-buttons would be ver: sprrennen: 3d. Invite the gen-
tleman to call, if destrable. 4th Yes; perfectly so....... B. F. a.
ana —A fraudulent concern....:.. Wm. Henry.—All efforts
to force a growth of whiskers will prove (utile. Shave fr nt-
ly, and have patience........ W. Haverfield.—ist. We will furnish
each story, separately, at the totlowing prices:
Scout,” 36 cents; “Old Moscow,” 36 cents; “Buffalo BilPs Best
Shot,” 78 cents; “Dashing Charlie,” 95 cents; ““Red Dick,” 84 cts.
2d. We cannot say when stories by the authors named. will be
blished. announcement from time to time... Speartacus.—

Atlanta, Ga.,; via steamer to
vannal occupies about three days......W. D. ¢.
YORK WSXKELY Purchasing Agency will furnish a complete i
for a traveling magician 6n receipt of price. A listof such arti-
cles will be furnished on application. First-class performers nak
a good living; but it requires practice, even with the mecessury
appliances, to make them perfect in the performance of the va-
rious tricks....: .Sunn; —The correct orth is Mizpah.
Phe is, “The Lord watch between thee and me when
we are absent one from another.”.....J. A. G,—lst. Decalcomea-
nie pictures cannot be transferred for use on lantern
slides. 2d. Some are assorted, others are not. 3d. We will fur-
nish the ‘* aity Fowes Book,” with instructions in ridi
driving, for $2.25...... —Ist. The Germ

considered the

Q

War -.-Jd. €., Constant Reader.—A 1
such ag desired, will Cost $1.50... .Méw Brut
no new engagements, even under the conditi
MS., which we returned, is too long fer asl
ton and Complex.—The advance sheets of the story
by us. The paper referred to,copies it from the r
which is some weeks behind th i
Smith.—See reply to “New Brunswick,”......

you a card and label press, chase 4 by 5 34 inches, for $22, or a
sixteenth medium press, 5 1-2 by 7 1-2 inches, for $35
Backbone.—There is but little opportunity to obtain a clerkship in
this city at anything like paying wages. Business is dull, and
uneniplo: persons are willing to work for a bare ‘living just
now....

 

seeeee

Ftece i one diuck trom Bi ¥-
kno , es anda.—ist. If your father
took out his naturalization papers previous to your as the
age of twenty-one years, you became a citizen by his aet; if not,
you will have to take them out for yourself. As you were but seven
years of age when you arrived in the country, you are not obliged
to make a declaration of inten . 2d, You may learn
mar ees teacher. We will send you Brown’s, which & ‘the
standard, for $l. 3d. The injudicious use of ury beside
salivating a person, produces ulcers, loogena the teeth,
the stomach, bowels and liver, affects the bones, and has a -
ally debilitating effect both on the body and mind...... A. Jathen,
—Ist. There is no standard of hight in the U. S. cavalry service.
The period of enlistment is five years and the pay $13a month... _
Marshall and &. C—There is no law limiting the number of terma
resilient of the United

Oe ao tout fe we tne tad roe
may re-e man every four years eitt
office than two terma

same
choose. No man has ever held ‘
fit Julia.—The MB. is declined......5. A. Jink.—Henry
original and ome a Billings.’’......

W. Sifaw is the gen
eens oe WB. BO

ae W. Ve will send you Yor WREKLY
or $3 per year is no reduction on a copy, butt
will be sent for. $6. 2d. In one or two works on ,

history of Virginia mention is made of glass works

J pletion of which were interrupted an
Indian m ention is made in other documenta of
establishments of this kind in Massachusetts and Pennsy}
The fi which any precise account is given was buikt
by Robert , in 1780, av Temple, The

y Hewes, of Boston 7 » .
lea manufactured in this country was made in Boston
in 1793. - He does not write puree for ary paper. W
o hand....W. W.—We do not kno

have several of his serials i We;
_ Longfellow resides at Cam
2d. Alfred Tenn the poet laureate, was born in We do
Dartambat.”'.,, foving irish Sen at the pena wtities “Baten
ats ¥
Baw. F. Gody) is Alling an ees Meancy -
ter, in this city. Wedo not know the whereabouts of “Texas
Jack.”.,..Teeas Jack.—Authors have todo with seleet.
ing or d the illustrations for their Sea z S—The

aeeee

ploy, you would be
tion; otherwise, we hardly think you would be
ing it..... M. J., Franklin.—Adutess a letter to
Barnard, Columbia College, this city..... Legal,.—
tice is similar in States. 2d. We will furnish Hillgrove’s
““Ball-room Guide” for $1...... S. H. J.—We cannot say.
We will fucnish the following articles on ruceipt of price<
Mayhew’s ‘‘Horse Management,” $3; “Horse Doctor,” $3; ‘
Horse in the Stable and Fieki,”* $2.50; “La 2
Water Colors,” $8; ‘‘Handbook ot Oil Painting,” $2; Mozart’s
“To Die with my Beloved,’ 40 cents; Key to Crittenden’s Ceunt-
ing-house Bookkeeping, $I; ‘‘Magician’s Own Book,” $1.50.

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.

Isabel De B.—When introduced to a married couple at a wed-

ding reception it is customary to never ne them, and say the
prettiest thing you can think of, but do not wish them many re-
turns of the ceremony, as most people do not desire to be mar-
ried but once.
ZLover,—ist. Three years are not too long for an engagement.
Far better to know your bride well before you promise to take
her for better or worse. 2d. Yes, you canintroduce a gentleman
to a lady thus: “Miss Grey—Mr. Black.” $

&. 10 U. 8.—For an inscription in an engagement ring “Thine
forever’’ is often used. For a wedding ring the initials of both
parties, and (he date are ailthatisrequired.

4. Q. 4.—Yoa had better call upon the lady in question, and
inquire the cause of the misunderstanding, expressing yyulinon

resident F. A. P.

z

regret at your dismissal, and request that you may again
a favor.

fore the ring is to be put on her finger.
the fee from the bridegroom and gives it, after the ceremony or
reception, to the minister; he also goes in a carriage fer the

Anxious .—lst. An engagement ring is worn either on
the first or the third finger. In strict etiquette the first finger is
the most proper, but for convenience it is often fitted to the
third finger, to be worn as a guard for the wedding ring. 2d.
Engagement y set with some ous stone,
Diamonds or pearls are the most custo , but sapphires or ru-
bies are often substituted. They cost from $5 upward.

F. B. H.—You were certaitity in the right to offer your escort te
the young lady. Of course you could not a, that the young
ge deemed he had a prior right, he was rude to as-
sert it in your case.

.—Ilst. In introducing your lady friend to a gen-
tleman friend, mention the lady’s name first, thus: ‘Miss

Mr. Thora.” 2d. A good ar costs from _ $765 to $250; robes,
whip, etc., from $10 to $100. Write to New Yors WSEKLY
Purchasing ¥.

 

 

£. B. F.—Better Ss first, and then imvite the lady to somo
place of amuseme

 

 

 

9
2

The drama of “ the Sewing-Machine Girl” is owned by. - -}
Charles Foster, of thi wery this city, of whom the
pe: to it must be obtained know wio
is the present owner of the ma of “Maggie, the Charity
Child.”....H. F. H.—Addreas a letter to the Land -Agent,
Springfield, Mo....&. C., —The MS. was noticed as ac-
cepted for Me —Whether

At this Lena aimost screamed, but Grace’s little ~
iron hand seemed holding her back, and she lay trembl-
ing, white and motionless, in the back part of the bed.

“I never heard of a ghost lasting so long,” thought

 

 

oe

 

 

j

~

 

 

 

e
;
a ~ in a

 

:
:
;