ti.

 

S

 

 

 

\

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ein According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1878, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. a

 

 

 

 

STREET & SMITH,
Proprietors.

HUGH LEE;

THE HAWKS OF THE SOUND.
A Tale of Long Island, the Sound: and the Sea.

 

 

By CAPTAIN HARRY POMEROY,

Author of “THE WITCH OF THE WAVE,”
“CORSAIR AND PRIVATEER,” “RIVAL
BROTHERS,” etc.

CHAPTER I.

THE WHALE-BOAT PRIVATEERSMEN OF LONG ISLAND
SOUND.

During the war of the Revolution the numerous
bays and coves thatindent the Long Island shore
of the Sound, witnessed a species of warfare which,
ifless grand and imposing than naval combats ef
later days, was yet bloody and barbarous to ade-
gree, and just as persistently and energetically
prosecuted.

The men who waged this peculiar warfare were
known as the “whale-boat privateersmen,” and
were a daring, reckless lot; recruited from the

Nos. 27, 29, 31 Rose St,
. O. Box 4895, New York.

 

ot YORK. DECEMBER 23, 1878.

 

tka of ake Island’s Whigs and Tories, respect-
ively, the members of either fleet being pronounced
pirates by the other.

Under cover of night, for the most part—although
a daylight expedition was by no means an unheard-
of thing—these daring whale-boat privateersmen,
their boats manned with from six to twelve men.
the larger boats carrying swivel guns, in addition
to the usual armament of muskets, axes, pikes,
lanterns, pursued their predatory course, sweeping
out, with muffied oars, from some bay or inlet, in
quest of lagging or anchored coasters, which were.
certain to be pillaged if overhauled, and perhaps
fired.

These “Hawks of the Sound,” as navigators called
them, in their reckless daring, boarded, during the
eventful years of the Revolution, more than one
British corvette, when the watch was asleep and the

 

officers making merry over their cards and wine,
and succeeded in getting away unscathed, with
more or less valuable booty.

Not infrequently would a Patriot and Tory crew
meet upon the waters of the Sound, or in some bay,
when, unless one crew greatly outnumbered the
other, a fierce and sanguinary encounter was sure
to follow, no quarter being shown, none asked, it
being war to the knife, and the knife to the hilt.

These predatory patriots did not, however, by

 

any means confine their depredations to the waters

 

lot the Boad. There were profit and danger on
shore as well as on the Sound; and there they not
infrequently sought the one in face of the other, no

matter how great it appeared. scorming all peril if
the booty warranted the risks to be run.

Says a writer (C. H. F.) concerning these Patriot
and Tory marauders, and ofthe dark days in which
they flourished:

“They would glide up to the beach with muffled
ears, and after whispered commands, file off in
squads through the woods toward some isolated
farm-house or country store, a patrol sometimes
to be avoided‘along the shore, or an armed guard
atsome important house. They often went'to cap-
ture a prominent citizen, Patriot or Tory, as the
case might be, for the sake of ransom, or for mak-
ing him an exchange for some prisoner of war in
the opposite lines; and often, too, purely for the
sake of robbery, even at the pried ef blood, would
they make these captures.”

Further, this writer says, “The custom of hiding
money was so general that the tharauders in pur-
suit of plunder always threatened the livés of their
victims or-tortured them, even in some instances,
to death, to compel them to reveal their riches.
Thus the lives and property of the inhabitants of

 

these bays and necks along the north side of the
island were in constant danger, from both Whig and |

as Five

 

Three Dollars Per Year.

FRANCIS S. STREET.
Dollars. { FRANCIS S. SMITH.

ai No. 6,

 

| Tory bands bent on warlike captures, and from
disguised men in pursuit of plunder.”

Such was the state of affairs—a state of terror and
distress hard to realize to-day—on the northern
shore of Long Island at the time when our story
opens.

——

CHAPTER II.
CONCERNING SOME OF THE PERSONAGES OF OUR
STORY.

At the time of which we write there resided in
and about North Hempstead, three families, named
respectively Lee, Joy,and Whyte, certain mem-
bers ef each of which will play prominent parts in
our story.

Captain John Lee, familiarly and widely known as
“Captain Jack,” who had retired from the sea, ow-
ing to partial blindness, resided with his family,
consisting of wife, a son, and two daughter,s ona
farm beyond the eastern boundary of Hempstead
toward Oyster Bay.

Captain Jack was a Whig to the backbone, a most
pronounced and uncompromising patriot; and all
the members of his family were as true to the prin-
ciples that animated the patriots at large asthe
husband and father, though less demonstrative
and aggressive.

 

Between the Lee farm and the boundary line of

 

Hempstead, lay the farm of Mr. Suninel Pk oy. a wid
ower with son and daughter, the former a young
man of twenty, named Gilbert, the latter a charm-
ing maid of eighteen, named Constance.

As far as his political status was concerned, Far-
mer Joy was “on the fence,” with a strong leaning
toward the Tories. Gil Joy, as his son was always
called, was a wavering sort of fellow, neither. Pa-
triot nor Tory, but friendly, apparently, to the no-
ble cause, for reasons to be given shortly.

Constance, his sister, however, unlike her father
and brother, was neither a neutral nor a waverer,
but a decided Patriot, true as steel to the cause.

The third family was that of Mr. Walter Whyte,
an out and out Tory, doing business in Hempstead.
then occupied by the British, who used the old
Presbyterian church as barracks, guard-house, and
prison; and this man had one son, Walter Jr., who
was as bitter a Tory as was his father.

Now, to explain the situation, let us say that
Hugh Lee, Captain Jack’s son, a fine, open-faced,
athletic young man of twenty-two, was in love with
Constance Joy,as was also young Walt Whyte
about Hugh’s age.

Gil Joy was in love with Hugh Lee’s eldest sister,
Lucy, a fair maid of seventeen summers, who re-
turned his love. This fact may account for the
lukewarm patriotism he displayed, when other-
wise he would have leaned, as did his father, to the

“WHAT BOATS THAT? KEEP OFFER HERE, OR WE'LL BLOW YE INTO KINGDOM COME IN TEW JIFFYS! GET EOUT. NOW. QUICK!”

Tory side, or gone over to it body and soul through
the influence of Walt Whyte.

While Gil Joy’s love for Lucy Lee made but an in-
sincere patriot of him—a lukewarm supporter of
the grandest cause ever fought to successful issue
—that of Constance Joy for Hugh Lee made the
stanchest patriot of her, the most defiant little fe-
male rebel inthe land; and that she was a rebel
she gloried in boasting.

Now, Farmer Joy did not sanction either the suit
of Hugh Lee for the hand of his daughter, or that
of his son for the hand of Captain Jack’s daughter;
favoring, in the first instance, the suit of “Walt”
Whyte, and in the second preferring a daughter-in-
law from a family onthe winning side, which, he
had reasoned himself into the firm belief, would be
the royalist or Tory side.

“They’ll hang that Cap’n Jack an’ that air young

rebel, Hugh, higher’n Haman some day!” he many |

atime nad said to his son and daughter; “an’
*twould be a purty thing for you, Stancy, to be the
widder of a gallowed rebel, wouldn’t it? An’ your
too, Gil, to hey for a wife the sister of a gallowed
rebel!”

To these rather gloomy predictions, Gil never
made any reply; not so Constance, however, who
would answer with spirit, yet with respect, treating
the pregnostications with all thescorn of utter dis-
belief.

“Father, they'll never hang Captain Jack or Hugh

Lee—never! King George’s Hessians will be driven
out of the land, and there’ll be no hanging of Pa-
triots. Iam afraid some Tories will be hanged:

 

though. I hope not, but they are wicked. many of

 

them. Never fear that I shall bethe widow of a

gallowed rebel, father—I never shall be, for they
dare not hang a Patriot!”

“Humph!” and the farmer would turn away,
muttering: “You never shall be the wife of a rebel,
if [kin help it. Idon’t want no gallows bird for a
son-in-law.”

Such was the situation in the Joy household. In
that of Captain Jack it stood thus:

The old captain was not altogether pleased that
his son, Hugh, whom he regarded as the apple of
his eye, should have lost his heart in a Tory family:
and did not hesitate to tell him so.

“Find a truer patriot in all the land, father, and I
will give her up,” Hugh would say, when, some-
times, the old captain, incensed at Farmer Joy’s
Toryism, let out his thoughts in respect to the taint
inthe family of his son’s sweetheart; and this

challenge of Hugh’s would invariably silence the
old Patriot.

But Lucy, his daughter, did not come off so easily-
She had lost her heart in the same objectionable
family, but not to a member, asin his case, whose
patriotism was unimpeachable; on the contrary, to
one whose equivocal attitude in the pending strug-
gle, and whose half-hearted allegiance to the Pa-
triot cause, were severely execrated by the old cap-
tain who, thoroughly understood the cause of the
young fellow’s assumed adherence to the cause of
liberty—that he might further his suit with Lucy
Lee.

“The mongrel! Blast his eyes!’ he would ex-
claim in presence of his daughter. “He ain’t got
the manliness to take his. stand with us, sink or
swim; nor ain’t got the courage to side with the

 

Tories, out an’ out! He’s neither fish nor flesh,

this Gil Joy ain’t, an’ the mongrel shall never cross
blood with the Lees, if Ican prevent it. Better an
out-and-out Tory than sech a pus’lanimous Pa-
triot! Don’t count on him for a mate, Lucy, if you
do you count on nothin’.”

“But, dear father!” Lucy would besboinely ex-
claim.

“Don’t talk, Lucy, don’t talk! You can’t make a
patriot o’ him no more’n you ken make a silk pu’s’
of asow’s ear, or a sheet anchor of a belayin’-pin.”

And Lucy would retire in silence and sadness,
while the old captain would rattle away with scorn
and madness at an imaginary Gil Joy.

 

CHAPTER III.
‘THE WATER WAGTAILS AND THE “BOTTLE.’
fu our hero, was a whale-boat privateers-
Mmmander of a twelve-oared craft carry-

  

 

  

AL

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

¢

 

  

2

ing aswivel-gun. With one exception. the crew of
the Water Wagtail,as the boat was called, were
sterling patriots, young fellows whose fidelity to
their country’s cause was unquestionable, the ex-
ception noted being Gil Joy.

he “Water Wagtails,” as Hugh Lee’s crew had
been dubbed by the Tories of the Sound fleet, al-
though as resolute and recklessly daring as any of
the whale-boat men, were not.so outrageous in their
depredations, and xbstained from many question-
abledacts which the others didnot hesitate to commit,
They discriminated between their friends and foes,
and it was on aceountof their not sharing in the
general greed for plunder, no matter from whom
obtained, that the appellation of “Water Wagtails”
had been derisively given them as implying harm-
lessness of character and even ataint of cowardice,

To show his indifference in the matter, and his
contempt of those who had aipiod to his crew and
himself the appellation, Hu eat once changed
the name of his boat from Water Witch to “Water
Wagtails,” and on three or four occasions, on the
inshore waters of the Sound, he had fought his
eraft against those of his deriders, convincing them
that brave hearts could fight as well under a deri-
sive name as under the most heroic.

* * * = > >.

A little to the west of Oyster Bay there was, at
that time, a small, bottle-shaped inlet, long since
worn away, through whose narrow neck poured in
and out the waters of the Sound. |

Near the iower end, on the right of this haven. in
@ partially artificial recess dug it the bluff, the ex-
istence of which would never have been suspected,
nature and art offectually concealing the opening,
lay the Water Wagtail, there always being @ suffi-.
eiency of water to float her.

The inner end of this recess or chamber, which
had been excavated by the Water Wagtails, opened
out into «a ravine, thus Spour tng entrance and exit
by and as well as by water, and as effectually con-
eealed.

The chamber by.the bluff was occupied one even-
ing in the month of June, just one hundred years
ago. bya party of nine men ranging from 20 to 35
years of age, whose costume, if not as picturesque
as those of the Continental brigands of the present
day, were at least as striking and varied, if not
grotesque in some instances. They were dressed
in clothes of the commonest description patched,
ragged, and soiled, and of every conceivable cut,
eolor, and material, held together with buttons of
brass, bone, iron, and wood, and yet these men,
seated on the ground or on rough boxes, had noth-
ing of the look of vagabonds about them, but rather
thatof men who had high aims and purposes to
aecomplish for which they wore prepared to suffer
and to risk everything.

» These were the / H
evidently discussing some subject which was of
general interest. i :

“I tell yer, boys,” said one of the elder men, “I
b’lieve he'll betray us. He’s limber in the knees on
this side o’ the line, an’ too stiff on the other side,
with that. Hessian whelp. Walt Whyte,”

“T ain’t afeared on ’t, Sim,” spoke up one a few
years younger. ‘‘He’sin love with Lu Lee, an’ that’]l
prevent him. Lhain’t got no great b’lief in his
stickin’ to our side, on’y fur thot; but that'll hold

i ?

m.
“Tf he had any chance 0’ gittin’ her; it mout, | h

Jake,” the first. speaker rejoined; “‘but he hain’t,
not.a bit—not w’ile old Cap’n Jack’s alive. He knows
he’s a snake in the grass, an’ hates him wuss’n
pizen. Lb’lieve he’d marry the gal to Walt Whyte,
or any othér straight-out Tory, afore he would to
Gil Joy, who. mout as well be a loye with Lord
Howe’s gal—if he’s got one—as Cap’n Jack’s, fur all
the good it’ll do’him.” 4

“As we’ve ben talkin’ this thing over among_us,”
gpaxa up a third, ‘‘s’posin’ we speak to Cap’n Hugh
about it some time, Can’t doit to-night, as Gil
will come along with him prob’bly.”

“Jest what I mean to do,” said the first speaker,

m.

“Might as well,” said a fourth, “cos thar ain’t no
use.an’a good deal o’ danger,in havin’ a feller
here that ain’t true-blue.”

“An’ he’s a Jonah, I’ll bet,” interposed Sim. -

“Don’t you mean aJudas?” suggested the pre-
vious speaker. :

‘Yes, that’s the bird, and so much the wuss,” said
Sim; “fur we could chuck Jonah overboard an’ be
safe; but if we git red of Judas, he’ll surely show
’em our hidin’-place.” :

“T don’t b’lieve that would hurt his feelin’s,” said
another of the crew. He hain’t got no stomach for
the work,an’’d rather be chucked outas_ not, I
guess. Cap’n Hugh put him in, an’ he’s ashamed
to sneak out.” :

“That’s jes’ so, Matt,” broke in another; ‘‘jest ex-
vackly, in my *pinion. Chuck him outer the crew
for a Jonah, an’ he’ll be glad on’t, an’ we'll be safe.
Elsewise, to git out, he’ll turn Judas, you see if he
don’t. Hello! here’s Cap’n Hugh—alone.”

Hugh Lee. in a faded blue flannel shirt, cloth cap,
atched drab trousers, and cowhide boots, stepped
ato the chamber 4 the sone ae: from the ie
i. ;
Cok MID OR as oR AP OR, MApLy mee yas good
orehes. .
Fa here? No,” were his first words, as he looked
4 ores quickly. “Where’s the Swains—Zeb and
ar \

Some o’ their folks dead over to Cow Neck, Cap’n
Hugh,” responded Sim, whose surname was Wales.
“Where’s Gil Joy, cap’n?” he queried an instant
later, his tone a significant one to his fellows.

“Gil?—onh., he’ll be here. [thought he might get
here before me. Time, enough, though, between
now and shut-down darkness, for there’s nota
breath of wind astir, and won’t be afore sunrise.

. schooner won’t much more’n fetch abreast of

 
      
   
 

the ‘Bottle’’’—‘‘Bottle Bay” their retreat had been | g

named, but they spoke of it as the “Bottle” for
short—“afore eleven, let them tow their smartest.
We'll capture her long afore daylight, and that
Newport Tory, Skipper Snow, ’ll wish he hadn’t
supplied these British cruisers for cursed British
gold—the Hessian!”

Hugh Lee now sat down on a box resigned to him
by one of his crew, and lighted a pipe, a silence
that was almost oppressive settling upon the mot-
ley group, the flare of the flaming torches throw-
ing grotesque, dancing shadows about the floor and
sides of the cavern, presenting to the eye a weird,
fantastic scene.

 

» CHAPTER IY.

THE OATH OF HUGH LEE IN THE! TORCH-LIGHTED
CAVE.

Sim Wales, the second in command of the Water
Wagtail, was the first to break the silence that had
becomeirksome. |

“Cap’n Hugh,” said he, knocking the ashes from
his black clay pipe, ‘‘there’s ben some talk among
us—I mout’s well say as how, p’r’aps, I’ve done as
Tans on’t as any one—some talk consarnin’ Gil

oy.” s

He spoke slowly, and paused totake breath and
eonsider his next words, Hugh Lee looking at him
with a puzzled expression of countenance.

“Gil Joy—talking about him? at of him,
oer Hogh said, in a moment, the other remain-

silent.

Wal, Cap’n Hugh, thar’s no use’n bein’ mealy-
mouthed in times like thése with anybody, an’ you
know that as well as I do.” 3

ugh looked more puzzled and curious than ever,
but said nothing.

“Some on us—the most on us, I guess, Cap’n

Hugh—hain’t got no very great opinion o’ Gil Joy. tg

We don’t think he would risk much on our side, to
“i the least. To say more, we don’t think he’d lay
still an’ have his leg sawed off, afore he’d let Walt
yte an’ his Tory crew o’ cut-throats into the Bot-
tle, an’ into this ere back parlor. That’s what most
on us think, Cap’n Hugh; an’ on’y that he’s spark-
in’ = ae sister, you’d a hearn of it afore. That
made us kind o’ bashful “bout sayin’ anything to
ou ’bout it, you see—sorry, now, Cap’n Hugh; but
it hed better be out’n in, you know.”

“You’re right, Sim, right,” Hugh Lee promptly
spoke up. “It’s better out than in, as you say.
wish you’d spoken afore about this.”

Sim and several of the others looked relieved at
the words of their captain, who showed that he had
not been angered at what his first mate had said.

“It’s always best,” Hugh went on to say, “to
speak your mind right out, an’ not brood over
what’s in it, which always makes this worse. Now,
as to Gil, I knew he’s a faint heart in our cause, but
I can’t think he’d prove a false heart. He’s weak in
his eee er but not a bad fellow at heart.”

“When a feller’s weak in his principles in sech

times as these,” broke in Sim Wales, ‘the devil will
get him onto the wrong sidein time, sure. A weak
chap’s a dangerous one.” -
_ “There’s a good deal of truth in that, Sim,” re-
eed Hugh Lee. ‘But you see how Gil is situated.
[ don’t know what he’ll gain by turning traitor, but
{ do know what he’ll lose—one 0’ the finest girls in
the land, if I say it that shouldn’t.”

“That’s what I said, “broke in Jake Long; “she'll
hold-him—your sister will.” -

“T think so, myself, boys,” said Hugh; “but a fig
for such fidelity-as that—fidelity that hinges on the
- or loss ofssomething outside of the cause,

eu suspect hime-you’re afraid of him—that’s
enough. Out he goes from among us, unless he
takes an oath such as Ill talk off to him—such as
each one of us will take—the strongest and most
binding oath Ican invent. Unless he takes that
oath to be true tothe cause of liberty, true to us,
out he goes. If he takes the oath, I'll ‘take the risk
of his betraying us—will you?”—this to his crew
cellectively. ;

“T will, fur one,” promptly. responded Sim Wales,
the others severllay, and in like manner, respond-

ing.

rhe thing is settled then, till he comes,” said
Hugh; adding, “Act just the same’s usual when he
comes, boys.
now.”

A moment, anda young fellow of twenty, tole
bly well arrayed, and quite good looking,
showing the irresolution of a weak n
amiability than shrewdness, emel
ravine passage into the chamber. —

on’t let him see that—here he comes,

   
  

 

Water Wagtails, and they were|H

—-

The new comer was Gil Joy, who was greeted as
usual, and who soon found a seat. as

A few moments of desultory conversation, and
Hugh Lee came to his feet. oO

“Boys—friends and brothers,” he said, “I’m. go-~
ing to take an oath, such a one as no true Patriot
would hesitate to take, [ know.” ;

raightening himself up, he raised high his
right hand, his left pressed et his heart, and af-
ter a moment’s pause, proceeded to the utterance of
the words of a most binding oath, which was too
extended, and perhaps too startling. for presenta-
tion in these columns, his manner and tones, the
lace and its surroundings, the weird, red light of
he flaring torches, all lending weight to the im-
pressive solemnity of his utterances.

But the climax was reached when, surrounded by
his comrades, who had risen, he threw both hands
aloft, and invoked the vengeance of Heaven upon
himself if he failed to fulfill his oath, his tall, sin-
ewy form, straight as an arrow, showing finely in
the red glare, seeming. under the spell of the oc-
casion, the form of a demigod—the genius of im-
precation!

 

OHAPTER V.
THE OATH REJECTED BY GIL JOY.

The profound silence: which sucecéeded Hugh
Lee’s impressive oath was broken at length by Sim

ales. :

“By the god o’ battles, Cap’n Hugh, but_that was
amighty bouncin’ oath! But I,S8im Wales, ken
take that oath—amen!”

“Andi? “And I!” the others, with one excep-
tion, singly responded. ‘ AO. $5

“Swear us, Cap’n Hugh,” the enthusiastic Bim
exclaimed, “swear us now. Say the words slowan’
few’t atime, so’s we ken all speak ’em, and not
miss any on’em.”

He and eight of his fellows ranged themselves in
arow,the ninth standing aloof, with a face that
paled eyen under the torch’s red glare, and limbs
that trembled as he stood, :

“Gracious!” he exclaimed, “I can’t!”

“Oan’t what?” Hugh Lee demanded almost fierce-
ly, in accents thunder-toned and startling, betray-
ing his surprise and anger.

The heart of poor, irresolute Gil Joy shrunk in

his breast.

“Oan’t what?” again demanded Hugh Lee.

“Oan’t do that; can’t 9 *

“Oan’t take that oath—is that it, Gil Joy?” said
Baan Lee, sharply. “Why not?’

“‘Bacause—there. Father says you’ll all be hung.
He says King George will keep his own and crush
all the rebels in the land.” 4
‘Poor, pitiful boy!” contemptuously exclaimed
ugh Lee. hen, in tones and words herois,
thundered: “Tell your father—tell every Tory that
you meet, King George will lose his own—the col-
onies! His lords, his Hessians, his minions, all
will be thrown and trampled under Patriot feet,
and the land will be owr own, and our children’s
children’s own for ages.” * 3

ee Hurrah! Hurrah!” vociferated his com-
rades, the cheers being almost deafening. .

ee Hugh now stepped: “y to Gil Joy, and said:

“You willtake that part of the oath relating to
this secret retreat—you will swear not to betray us

ere.”

The young fellow did not respond. —

«Kill him!”’ “Killhim!” “He’s a traitor!” shout-
ed several voices, and bright knives gleamed in
the red glare of the torches, as the lineof nine
broke in confusion.

Like a lion, Hugh Lee turned upon his crew, cry-

ing: :
“AWho talks of killing here? Sheath those knives
at aaa a forget yourselves. J command here,
Yu obey ” se
ery knife was sheathed in an instant, and not
a word was uttered. ‘
Turning upon the spritless young fellow again,
Hugh Lee asked him if he had betrayed their hiding-

place. rer
“No, I haven’t,” he pyputotly and with some ve-
hemence responded, his tone and manner satisfy-
ing all that he spoke trul
“Good for you, Gil |
“Now swear, by all y
never will. ‘Repeat

y.

y,”’ said his questioner.
r hopes of Heaven, that you

can’t—I can’t!

‘me. :
They might make me!” uttered
the crayen. ©. game

“Ah, hal they might make you, eh—craven, with
amind of wax and heartof mud? Make you! I
swear they never shall! Bind him, boys. Don’t be
brutes now. He’s dangerous at iarge, but we
needn’t kill him. Well eaged,he willbe just as
harmless as dead.” x

Turning to his first mate, the generous but
prompt-acting and determined young cap! of
the Bip ey amc said, coolly: __

“See how the night is, Sim. We'll be off if every-
thing serves.” A gs

Sim departed through theinner passage, while
Gil Joy was being bound by his fellows—two or
Te mania ted! t llow! like-a obfid

ew -hearted' young fellow’ we a
eb Sohne doctored, Bul Bald noth

: od, ing, except
to sob out, now and then:

“Don’t hurt me so—don’t!” ;

““Luey mate with such as he, a blubbering baby!”
contemptuously muttered Hugh Lee. ‘Bah! never,
if I can help it.” ;

And then he busied himself in preparation for
the affair in hand—the expedition upon the Sound,
under cover of darkness.

Sim soon reported favorably coneerning the
night, when Hugh said: ,

“Kight oars all to-night, Sim. You go aft an’ I'll
for’ard. We’ve enough, I guess, ten of us,” ‘
“An’ to spare, Cap’n Hugh, I'll warrant,” replied
im.

In ten minutes, ea me time Hugh Lee ad-
ministered the oath to the faithful nine, all was in
readiness for the start.

‘Don’t leave me here alone, Hugh Lee,” cried
the captive, piteously. “Don’t leaveme. You may
not come back alive.” 2

“Some of us will,” curtly Rewer. Hugh.

Pll take the oath—I’ll swear!” screamed the oth-
er, tn ae of abject oer : Oo

ot now,” was Hugh’s only response. ‘Come,
boys, out with the Wagtail.”

Tf you should all be killed or drowned!” scream-
ed the fear-stricken youth, imploringly, as the
thought came in dreadfal shape to his mind.

This elicited no response, and the miserable
young fellow cantinued his cries till the W il
smerged from her retreat upon the waters of “Bot-
tle Bay,” when no further sounds were heard.

CHAPTER VI.

THE NOOTURNAL EXPEDITION OF THE WATER
WAGTAIL,

Five minutes later, and eyes accustomed to dark-
ness, had they been anywhere near the mouth of
the “Battle,” might have seen, creeping therefrom
in the black shadow of the high bluff, an indistinct-
ly defined something—a huge centipede of the sea,
one could imagine it, with its long, noiselessly
moving legs and smoothly-gliding body; or a mon-
ster squid or cuttle-fish—a horrible creature, with
its several arms, its tentacula, and ill-defined body,
heading for the open Sound.

It was no such aquatic monster, however; it was
the Water Wagtail—only that and nothing more,

Under the bluff was black as ink; and out of this
intense darkness, into a lesser degree of blackness,
silently and swiftly swept the whale-boat, her muf-
ed oars pulled by sixteen sinewy arms, whose
muscles were as hard as iron.

Hugh Leo sat in the bow with a marine night-

lass, with which he swept the offing, but saw noth-
to reward his search. :

“Keep her off to the east.” he said in a voice just
loud enough to heard, “‘and we'll have the
schooner in our teeth when we wearround. We're
sure to head her off.”

The boat sheered off tothe eastward, and sped
swiftly on for a few moments, when her captain, in
a low tone, galled out:

Sheer up to the nor’ard. She’s never made this
easting.”

A few minutes in this course, Hugh scanning the
black void all around him, but in vain, and the
whale-boat was headed west, skimming along at
somewhat slackened speed, avcording to orders of
its commander, who kept his night-glass constant-
ly employed in his search into the darkness.

About four minutes on this westward course, and
ae eae ,

y. boys, ve made her out on the starboard
bow, well away. It must be her, for there was noth-
ing else out here at sundown, and couldn’t have
got here since. Larboard lay! we’ll sweep under
her counter. Sheer, now, to starboard, I can just
make her out, Steady—now give way!”

Onward swept the whale-boat over the glass-like
surface of the Sound,a few moments sufficing to
bring her abreast of, and so close on the schooner,
that the patter of the reef-points on the fore and
main sails, as the latter feebly flapped from lar-
board to starboard, were heard by the. expectant
and ready ears of the crew of the Water Wagtail,

Suddenly, a flash of real fire; emanating from the
starboard side of the schooner’s deck, amidship,
illumined the darkness to the southward ; the scope
of its glare encompassiug ‘the whale-boat and her
crew, and bringing into bold and ruddy relief
againstthe northern background of. blackness, the
sails, spars, and rigging of the fore-and-after, the
black waters under theunseen hull reflecting the
upper works of the vessel in spectral luminosity.

hat boat’s that ?” was the instant hail,in shar
and long-drawn nasal tones;'supplemented wi
we ees and, chreatppsemioee wand : shew
off er here, or we'll blow ye into kingdom-come in
tew jiffys! Get eout. now, quick!” ~~

..» e+ [TO BE CONTINUED.],~ .
. ;

 

  
  
  

Bridal flowers are massed in front of the dress
so as not tocome under the vail, nor to be caught
init. White roses are mixed with orange blossoms,

 

or ewe jessamine clematis, and the foliage
is of dark, mossy green.

CHORUS OF HEAVEN AND EARTH.
“Glory to Him That Was Slain,”

BY GEORGE D. BUCHANAN.

 

Ob, have you not heard of that home of the soul,
With its bright gates of pearl,
And its mansions so fair?
All its streets are pure gold,
Tt has beauties untold,
And Jesus, our Saviour, reigns there,

 

There 1s room in that cits
For all kings and their kil
All the rich and the poor,

For all who believe Him—

Ob, why not receive Him,
And dwell with our God evermoref

 

There the angels so bright,
In their r of pure white,
Are now singing a happy refrain,
And good tidings bringing—
All Heaven is ringing
With, “GLORY TO HIM THAT WA8 SLAIN.”

&

While that chorus of angels

Is singing above,

And archangels join in the Heavenly giee,
Let all earth join the song,
And with Heaven prolong

The sound of that grand jubilee.

For a Saviour is risen,

The gates are ajar, “ee

And the King of al Kingdoms is there.
He says to us, ‘‘Come!”
Oh, why longer roam?

Oome dwell in that city so fair,

 

hn.

Thorn in Her Heart

By BERTHA M. OLAY,
’ AUTHOR OF
“THROWN ON THE WORLD;” “A BITTER
ATONEMENT,” ‘“‘A NAMELESS SIN;”
“LOVE WORKS WONDERS;”
“EVELYN’S FOLLY.”

 

(“A Thorn in the Heart’ was commenced ip No, 50, Back
een can be obtained from any News Agent in the United
States.

 

CHAPTER XXV-
GHOOSING THE BRIDAL DRESS.

Lady Hilda thought much of the tragedy that was
passing underneath her eyes. She saw that every
one else ignored it, that Sir Peter gave no thought
to anything but his own rest and comfort, that Lady
Pitcairn ignored it with a well-bred sense of what
was refined and proper, though at times Lady Hil-
da could see she was desperately anxious. Cecil
was too much engrossed in her love and her hap-
piness, no suspicion of the truth ever dawned upon
her. She, perhaps, thought her sister slightly en-
vious, she thought her vexed and irritated over
trifles; but she never dreamed that Anice loved Sir
Leofrie with a love that was madness. _ ;

They saw the beautiful face change untilits bright
beauty almost vanished; they saw dark shadows
come in the dark eyes, the dainty bloom fade from
the fair face, the smiles and high BR ise all die;
they saw the restlessness, the irritability, the nerv-

ous fever that came in their place, yet never one of
pam d of danger, or of the madness of
ove. :

Sir Leofrfe was the only one who seemed ever to
feel the least doubt or hesitation; he had seen
clearly and perfectly that the beautiful woman
loved Siar Lady Hilda was present the first time
they met after theengagement was known; she had
by this time become so thoroughly one of them,
that they never seemed to remember she was a
stranger. She was talking to Anice, helping her to
ehoose some colors for grouping flowers, when Sir
fric came in. ,

“Shall I go?” she said. quickly, and Anice as
quickly answered, “No, stay with me.”

He was so peek pod so handsome, so genial and
kind, that Lady Hilda did not wonder he should win
so much love. He came up to them, hat in hand,

8

 
 

the sunlight ng on his bonnie curls, his frank
eyes clear ht with the light of love—the
type and a young Englishman. :

; hr
‘Anice, while hem®ace grew white and cold as mar-

8. ;
snag Lady Hilda withdrew, to some little dis-
tance, she could not avoid hearing every word that
passed between them.

“anice,” cried Sir Leofric, “I have to ask for your
conn ES renee f course you have heard the
news?” ;

“Of your engagement to Cecil, Sir Leofric?—yes, |

he said.

I have heard it. E
“Let me have your good wishes,”

“Henceforward we shall be sister and brother.

Wish me happiness, Anice.”

There was something anxious in his voice and

«<4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. - #3=

we nn

opened, to her great delight, it was found to con-
tain patterns for her w ee aes.

Tt was pleasant vo see her fair face flush, and her
happy eyes brighten as she unfastened it.

‘Now, Leofrie,” she. eried, “you must not look;
it wi not be fair—will it, mamma? You must not
see them.’

“No one in the world has such aright. to;see and
hear as I have,” he replied, laughingly. “Let me
help you choose, Cecil, I know just the sort of

ress that would suit you; it must r and
white, like erpursclin. 4 dily dress; it should have a
dash of gold in it to mateh the sheen of your golden
hair; it should have a rose-leaf somewhere, just as
your cheeks and lips have; itshould be one sweet,
bright, harmonious whole, just as you are. dat-
ever your dress may be,if it be your wedding-
dress, Ceeil, it will be the most beautiful fabrie in
He world to me.” a

hel
ground. Sir Leofrie hastened to pick it up. He
did not notice the white face or the trembling
hands, but went back at once to the patterns, they
| were so beautiful, "

“Mamma! Anice! Miss Dunn!” cried happy Cecil,
“come and help me choose.”

They all gathered around. There wea a white
damask, thick and costly; a fine soft satin; white
silks, pure as snow; the most valuable and beauti-
ful tissues.

“TI do not know which to choose,” said Cecil.
“Mamma, you choose forme.” —

“Let me deside,” said Sir Leofric.
like you.” .

He held upa beautiful white brocade, on which
the white flowers seemed to haye beeu thrown,

“Sir Leofrie is right,” said Lady Pitcairn; “that
is by far the most beautiful dress.’ os

So it was decided; and Anice, who had not
spoken, went back to her chair. No one but Lady

ldasaw how pale she had grown; no one else
noted the darkling eyes, the quivering lips. Sud-
denly she rose again; she could bear it no longer.

“You will not want me, Cecil, now that the im-
portant decision is made,”

She passed out through the long French win-
dows a the grounds, while Cecil answered only by
asmile.

No onemissedher. Lady Pitcairn looked up from
her notes to say:

“Anice, it iscold,do not go out without a hat,”
but Anice did not hear her.

She could notfeel the chill of che cold; her heart
was on fire. ‘The lovers resumed their occupation,
only Lady Hilda understood or thought of the des-
olate heart gone from among them.

She had gone where she should be quite . alone,
where she could cry out her passionate sorrow an
augry jealousy without fear; she walked up and
down between the ilex boughs, crying to herself
how she loved him, and how surely her love would
be her death:

Love, anger, jealousy. despair, all massed togeth-
erinthat miserable soul,and the only thous ht
which brought her comfort was this—that if he had
not seen Cecil he would have loved her.

_ Bhe never thought of prayiug Heaven to help her

in the hour of bitter temptation and black despair;

no.prayer rose from her lipsto the Great ite

yarone ; she went on her own way, and its end was
eath.

“This is most

OHAPTER XXVI.
THE VOICE OF THE TEMPTER.

To be jealous is to be angry with God and man—
is to spread a funeral pall over the bluesky and the
fair earth—is to feed a fire that burns the heart
away—is to live, yet livein death. Jealousy is more
bitter than death—it is strong as hell, and incites
man to quicker and more dreadful deeds than any
other passion.

Anice Pitcairn gave herself uptoit; she never
tried, in the least. degree, to restrain it; she asked
no help from Heaven, no counsel from those on
‘earth; she let her soul drift down the tide of pas-
sion, and stretched out no hand for help. If she
had been wise she would have avoided Sir Leofric;
she would have absented herself during his visits;
she would not have allowed her thoughts to rest on
him, her mind to brood over him.

Instead of that, although every word she spoke
to her sister was torture to her, she could not re-
frain from listening; although every loving gesture,
every tender whisper was death to her, she watched
them ; she fed her own hate; she gave up her whole
soul to the tormentor.

“Anice,” said Lady Pitcairn, one morning, “my
dear, you must have change of air. You are look-
ing very ill. You are losing your oe

“IT am losing my life,” thought the girl to herself,
but she made no answer. a

She looked at her own face she went to her
mirror. It was changed—th roud beauty
was gone; there was the tr l-consuming
passion, the eyes told of man 16s, the mouth
of long, bitter pain; yet she had neither the self-
postraiat nor control to trample her passion under

A a ae + lean

There were times when Lady Hilda, who sa
more of her than any one élse, felt quite frightened,
when she wondered how it would end—when she
wondered still more that the other,members of the
household did not see the dangers she saw. She
wondered why that altered face and changed man-
ner did not attract more attention. Evil or death
must come of it, she felt assured. 3
| Christmas was drawing near, and Lady Hilda saw
what no one else saw—that the mind of the beauti-
ful, passionate woman who loved so well and so
unhappily, was fast losing its strength, and still no
one perceived the coming shadow.

  
 
   
     
   
  

 

manner. Lady Hilda saw it plainly, just as she saw
the constraint in Miss Pitcairn.

“Oertaialy I wish you happiness, Sir Leofric,”
she answered, but the voice was cold as the lips it
came from.

He ont his handsome head over the white hand

e held.

“Your happiness shall always be very dear to
me,” he said; “you must try to think that you are
gaining a brother, not losing a sister.”

< l{remember,” she saic, “You will find Ce-
cil in the drawing-room with mamma.” i
“You are in a great hurry to dismiss me,” he
said, laughingly. “I do not want Cecil just this
moment—I want to talk to you, to assure you how
much in the midst of my own happiness I think of
yours. Perhaps what I have to say would come
with better grace from Cecil than from me. I want
to tell you how we both hope that you will make
our home your home, just as though it belonged to
you.”

“You are very kind,” she said; but he had made
a mistake if he thou, that kind words from him
would be useful to far from doing her good,
they did_her har y only made her love him
more. He did not quite happy about her—he
saw traces of pain r face, he saw the shadows
in her eyes, and he ered by her, trying to drive
them away. Instead of that they grew ape She
said again, “You had better goto il, Sir fric;
as he went awa

she will wonder where ie are.”

Her eyes lingered on him as | v

‘He loves me a little,” she said fo herself, ‘‘and if
he had never seen he would haye loved me
best—he would have asked me to marry him.”

The most fatal nit that could have happened
had been that she should have heard those words—
they were never outof her mind. She thought
over them. brooded over them,she made them of
a thousand times more consequence than they real-

y were.

**He would have loved her had he never seen Ce-
cil!’ Those words were the ve
the peeerodly at Branksome Hall.

er mind rested
on them.

eanwhile the preparations forthe mar-

 

riage went on gayly—it was not to take place until
the following spring. Lady Pitcairn had decided
that it should be a wedding that would be remem-
bered. It was the firstin the family, and it should
be magnificent. She had ordered a most elaborate
trousseau. Branksome Park wore an air of Deepa.
ration and gayety somewhat unusual even in that
lively household. That was the outer |
bright hopes and nae pions. cheerfulness
seemed to increase as

J.
that
he hours rolled on, while

intensity as the mad, wild love increased in force.
y Hilda saw so much; her room was not very
far from Miss Pitcairn’s. and in the dead silence of
the night it was no unusual thing for her to hear
the terrible. deep-drawn sobs, the passionate, sti-
fled cries; more than once, alarmed by their pas-
sionate despair, she had gone to the door and
called—““Anice!” There had been a few minutes of
profound silence, then Anice, in a voice quite
ealmed and under control, would ask who was

ere, well etc :

“T thought you_were not well,” Lady Hilda would
wong “may Teomein? Can Ido anything for
you ?”

No; she was well; shewanted nothing. So, night
after night, until Lady Hilda gave up going, find-
ing) it useléssshe had the greatest sympathy for
this beautiful woman. who suffered. so much. be-
cause she loved so well. Totheearl’s young daugh-
ter, whose experience had been'so cruel, it seemed
that alllove was unhappy; she knew what her own
pain was; she could imagine what it would be if,
in addition to not being loved, her husband had
loved some one else, :
we could not baye. borne it,” she said to herself.
‘T have lived with a thorn in my heart, but that
would have been a sharp sword,” o tadn

So the days wore on, the flowers died away, the
birds went away to summer climes, the bright
summer, the golden autumn died, and the winter
came. L

They were all together in the pretty morning-
room at Branksome Park when a parcel of patterns
came for Cecil. Lady Pitcairn and Lady Hilda were
rot engaged in sending out notes of ve
for 4 ball, which Sir Peter always insisted should
given on his wife’s birthday. Oecil and Sir Leofric
were making some faint pretense of sketching.
Anice sat with an open book in her hands, pretend-

 

ing to read, but in reality busily engaged in watch-
ing the lovers. A parcel for Cecil, and, when it was

groundwork of }.

the dark tragedy uaeeEyiDe all this increased in | h

It was a bitter winter; the snow began early, the
frosts were continual; such a glorious time for
skating had not been for years. Sir Leofrie enjoyed
skating, and taughtthe sisters until they were as
perfect in the art as himself. In the — at Brank-
ee there was a large, beautiful sheet of water,

ede.

water-lilies growing on its surface, with graceful
reeds round its banks, with willow trees whose
branches dipped in the clear stream; in the sum-
mer pretty pleasure-boats skimmed the waters.

oth sisters could row, and enjoyed during the

arm summer days the cool shade under the trees
that shadowed the water. It had a strange name,
this broad, clear, deep pool—it was called ““Lady-
deep Pool.” Why it had that name no one seemed
to know. Ladydeep Pool during this winter was
one hard, beautiful piece of thick, white ice; bright,
shining, hard as asphalt, it was beautiful to look on.

The bright, cold, clear, bracing winter’s morn-
ings were made for out-of-door exercise, Sir Leo-
fric would declare. Soon after breakfast was fin-
ished his handsome, kindly face would come like a
warm sunbeam into that tragedy-laden atmo-
sphere. dy Pitcairn always knew what he want-

The morning was so fine the ladies must try
skating round the Ladydeep Pool. Lady Pi rn,
always kind and éonsiderate, would insist on Miss
Dunn going also,and Lady Hilda walked round the
banks. watching the skaters, wondering why Sir
Leofric could not read the pain in one sister’s face
as well as he could read love in the other’s.

“There never has been such a year_ for skating!”
Cecil cried, one morning, as they left Ladydeep

‘ool, i ; :

rane Hilda saw Sir Leofric take her hand, while
es :

“There never was such a year for love, my dar-

ling.
The rl inne od in her happy fashion, as she
looked at her fover. :

Has love made the skies cold and the ice thick ?”
she asked.
“No,” he answered; “but love has brightened
everything for us so entirely that we see nothing
but perfection. did not know, ij, I never
even dreamed, that life could be so beautiful as I
findit now. Llook at it through your eyes, sweet
Cecil—through your eyes.” ; .

They did not see that Anice was looking at them,
every word a dagger in her heart. If they hadseen
her, the wild glance of those eyes must have warned
them. She was standing on the very edge of the
pool. looking at it. She said to herself:

“She oughtto be lying there, under the ice—dead ;
for he would have loved me if he had neyer seen

er.

She walked back to the house by Lady Hilda’s
side, that one thought burning its —_ through
heart and brain. If Cecil, her fair-haired sister. lay
under the ice, dead. he in all probability would
marry her. Only God knew how that thought
haunted and maddened her.

Under the ice, dead—under the cold, white ice—
dead, silent, out of the way, and Leofric free to
to love her.

There were times when the very fire of the words
maddened her, and she cried aloud: “Oh, Heaven!
take that thought from _me!—let me forget the
words!” Yet, sleeping, they seemed to float over
her pillow; waking, they were ever in her ears—

‘Under the ice, silent and dead—Leofric free to
marry her!”

She never doubted but that he would marry her;
her, mind was so warped by continual brood-
ing over jealous pain, that it never occurred to her
to doubt that fact. She never realized what the
death of her sister would be; she forgot every-
thing except that, if Sir Leofric were free, he would
marry her. ;

One morning—it was nearly the end of January
then—Sir Leofric went over to Branksome Park
éarliér than usual. Lady Pitcairn was tired, and
had not come down stairs for breakfast; Sir Peter,
after partaking pmply. of every recherche dish on
the table; had retired to his study, ostensibly to read
the papers, in reality to sleep; Anice and Lady Hil-
da were busy over some point lace—Cecil had laugh-
ingly declined to join them.

“Tt wil) be quite useless for me even to pretend
to work,” she said, ‘Sir Leofric will soon be here;
he does not like me to work while he is talking to
me ”

h

. Sir Leofric came soon afterward. Lady Hilda
saw how Anice trembled while the lovers
each other; she was saying, over and over again
> Nae the words that to her shad become a
ormula.

 

stopped suddenly, for the book which Anic
in her hawde talk ith a sudden was aioe bh

ht of every one who saw it, clear, deep, with |

k she were lying dead under the sea, he would
ree

“T have ridden over earlier than usual, and more
aereey, eed Sir Leofric.. “I have to go to London
“high By J "
“To London,” repeated Ove]; “why?”—for what?”
On business, my darling; the deeds are drawn
out, and. the solicitors are waiting to see me; all
kinda’ settlements and business for my sweet
cilgas

The fair young face flushed slightly as Cecil hid
it on ner lover’s breast. _
that isthe last of business, sweet Cecil,” he said,

When those deeds are signed every preparation
for our marriage is complete.”

“How long shall you stay away?” asked the girl,
clinging to her lover; she hardly knew why,

I shall return to-morrow evening,” ho said. “I
could not. stay away longer even if T tried; forty-
eight coh a without seeing you would be unendura-

le. Cecil. come with me to Sir Peter’s study, I
wanttosee him.” |
They went away together, and it was some time
before Sir Leofric returned; then he was alone; he
had left Cecil with her father.
_ L have remained too. long,” he said, hurriedly,
I ought to have been back to the Helde by noon,
-by, Miss Dunn.”
6 held out his handin kindly greeting to Lady

A,

“Anice,” he said, “I leave my darling in your
care. I shall be here again to-morrow evening.
She does not like my going, but that is only natural,
You will be very kind to her, Anice,”

A strange glitter came into the dark eyes, a
strange smile curled the red lip,

“I will be kind to her, Leofrie,” she said.

Take her out; do not let her stop indoors,” he
continued, as they walked together to the door.

Oh, Anice, there is one thing I must not forget, if
you go to Ladydeep Pool to skate, pray remember
that the part we call Pretty Bay is not safe; tho ice
is thin there and cracking, one of the keepers met
= ny morning and‘told me. You will warn

cil,

“Yes, I will warn her,” was the quiet reply; “I
will tell her that she must not go near Pretty Bay.”

He touched her hand in)greeting, and the next
minute he was gone. Lady Hilda hud heard every

word.
_ “Did you hear what Sir Leofrie said about skat-
ing Anice asked of Lady Hilda; ‘the best plan
will be for us not to go at all.” :
There was a furtive glauce in her eyes, a strange
expression in her face, a strange tremor in her

voice,

“As Sir Leofric is away,” she repeated, “wa will
not £0 at all.”

Then Lady. Hilda dismissed the subject from her
mind, and failed to notice how all that day Anice
watched her with that same strange look, with the
cunning of madness in her eyes, with the fell in-
tensity of despair, while Lady Hilda, hearing no
word either of going out or of skating, did not
think of repeating the ee she had overheard.

It seemed to Anice Pitcain all that day and night
that wherever she looked she saw written in letters

°
en

to_marry you!” ;
ocking faces floated before her, and each mouth

opened with those words; mocking voices sounded
in her ears; when tired and exhaused she lay down
to sleep, the faces came nearer to her and laughed
fiendish glee. It was so cold, so silent under the
ice, and never once did the beautiful, miserable girl
rise and fling herself on her knees praying Heaven
to help ber, and. driye alk the black temptation
away. ; fist

Never once; but when the morning sun shonein
her room she rose with fell intent, fell purpose in
her heart, that was to be accomplished before that
same sunset.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXVII.
THE DAY OF THE TRAGEDY,

rhe following morning was bright, cold, and clear.
Cecil’s first thought on waking wus, that Leofric
would be home that day, and her heart grew warm
with a sense of delight. He had only been absent a
few hours; yet she missed him so keenly.

He was to be home to-day. She went down stairs
with a bright smile on her face. Anice was alone
in the brenkfast-room—alone, with a strange look
on her face, and fire in her eyes. She kissed Cecil,

“Tam glad you are down early,” she said; “
wanted to see you, Cecil; we were very dul] yester-
day, let us have some little amusement pesey.

. fric is coming home,” said Cecil, as though
nothing in allthe world could matter, if he were
only coming back.

Anice threw her arm round her sister. ¥

“Come here by the window,” said; “let us
talk for a few minutes; never mind breakfast until
mamma comes down.” ;

Cecil looked at her. half in wonder, half in fear.

“You seem so strange, Anice; your hands burn
me, and your face is like marble, so white and cold;
you almost frighten me.” ;

“Never mind my face and hands; you always
begin to speak of them, Cecil, when T want to ta
to you; come here, see how beautiful the morning
is »

They stood side by side at the window; the whole
world was white, Belen and clear; the saddest
sight upon it was surely the tortured face of Anice

rn,
_ “Cecil,” she continued, “let us go out this morn-
ing, we were dull yesterday; are you willing ?”
_Her eyes burned as she asked the question, her
lips trembled, and the hot breath seemed to die on

em.

“Tam quite willing; I am always willing to do
what you wish, Anice; I will £0 out with you.” —

The white fingers tightened their clasp on Cecil’s
arm, the lurid fire in the dark eyes deepened. Anice
bent her head and whispered: “Shall we go to Lady-
deep Pool?” The flame of her breath burned the
| fair, happy face as it touched it.

Anh We will go there—but why do you whisper,
n ce~ 33

“T do not want any one to hear me. I thought we
would have one morning together ?”

“So we will, Anice; but there is: no one here to

ear us.

“Walls have ears,” they say. “I want to be alons

withtyou this morning, and not to takethat tiresome
Miss Dunn with us.” ; ;
“T do not wish to take Miss Dunn. Anice; I would
far rather be with you—we shall not haye many
more mornings alone. Oh, Anice. how tightly you
hold my arm !—and your eyes—they frighten me—it
is as though they were on fire!”

“Oecil, You try my patienee. What matters my
eyes or anything else. Jam talking to you—lis-

 

Cecil stood still, yet something of fear came over
her; Anice was so strange—so unlike herself.

“We will amuse ourselves,” whispered the hoarse
voice; “we will skate, Cecil, this morning on Lady-
i Pool—are you vies ¥ é

“There is nothing [should like better, only it will
seem strange without Leofric.” :

“He will be here to-morow. Do come, Cecil. Will
you promise?”

“Yes, certainly I promise. I am always willing
to do what you ask me,” cil. ;

Again the hot breath burned her face as Anice

whispered:

“Do not tell Miss Dunn—if she knows, she is sure
to RS with us, and we want (o talk.” bs

““We want to skate!” laughed halpless Cecil. “I
will not tell ber.”

“T will carry our skates down to the pool, and we
shall have a pleasant morning. Do not tell any
one. - :

“No, I will not; but, Anice,I am quite sure you
are not well, you must really think of yourself—it
is not natural that your hands shoul
fire while your face is cold as death—here is mam-
m

a.
“Do not tell her, Cectl, what we are going to do,
or she will find a hundred reasons why we cannot

go out.

pegs! Fa and sat down to her break It
Was dy Pitcairn who noticed that Anice had
nothing on her plate, and not even touched
her coffee. She was fullof anxious inquirles—
Anice must be ill or over-tired—why did she not
eat or drink?—her eyes were too bright, her hands
hot—it was time she took care of herself. ce
sat and listened ; the whole time her mother spoke,
running curiously between: her sentences, were the

words:
See ane Je. cold, silent, and dead, then he
wou oO marry me.’ 5 ‘

“T am not satisfied over Anice,” said Lady Pit-
cairn to Sir Peter; “if she does not seem better to-
morrow, I shali call in.a physician. She looks as
though she were going to have brain fever. i

Sir Peter softly murmured, as he composed him-
self to sleep, that it was all nonsense—she was never
happy unless she had a sensation on hand—that
Anice was right enough,

While Anice went to her.room and dressed, she
hid the two pairs of skates paler shaw], then called
= Fe if Cecil were ready. il looked anxiously

er. f

“Are, you quite sure that you ought to go out,
Anice?” she asked... ‘Indeed you do not look fit for
it i 7 oe see that you tremble, and you look so ter-
ribly ill.’ f

“Tam right, enough,” said Anice; “the fresh air
will do me good—it always does. Do not let us
waste the morning in talking about it.”

Cecil said no more; she could hardly explain,
even to herself,the fear.and presentiment. that
came over her, the dread she had of Geant oct with
Anice, the longing tostay at home. Still her sister
seemed bent onit, and she would not disappoint
her: she would go, and. then Anice. could have no
cause of complaint. They need not stay out very
long, and Leofric was coming back to-night,

They went out together; neither Lady Pitcairn
nor Sir Peter sawthem. They crossed the park, and
near the pool met one of the keepers. Anice turned
hastily to her sister. :

“Here is Williams, the keeper,” she said. “I won- .
der if he would do an errand for me?”

 

 

 

 

 

fire:
“Tt she lay under theice dead, he would be free —

 

 

 

 

 

: e
in

for]
like
AY
mo!
os
int
to

he}

Re
ae

i> Geen ee ress b>

_

 

 

 

 

 
oe
ty-
a

n6
he

ly.
nn.

dy

ur

>t

Doren

cre FP SOR ar oo

we rs UPS OW wero.

Ss

 

 

 

=e

 

 

 

 

 

 

$66 yetiets - HALLET & Oo., Portland, M

2

~ accomplishes its work simpl
no tatt

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“IT am sure he will—he is always civil and oblig-
ing,” said Gecil. - :

“¥ promised_old Mrs: Brown five shillings to-day
for her rent. I wonder if he would take it?”
“T am quite sure he will: I will ask him if you
like.” ee

And Cecil, calling Williams to her, placed the
money in his hands. ; gore

“You know old Mrs, Brown nants: “who lives
in ee gottage near the tell-gate; will you take this
her?”

The man bowed and went away. Why did Cecil
look after him with longing eyes? It seemed to
her as though something of safety and protection
went with him. Yet. what nonsense; what had she
to fear with Anice?

A little farther and there lay the pool, a maas of
avttecing ice, so. dazzling one could hardly look
at it.

“How beautiful!’ cried Cecil. “Look how the
sunbeams fie on it!”’

Walking slowly past them was the gardener, who
had charge of the pool and the boat-house. He
touched his cap asthe ladies passed him.

“Cecil,” eried Anice, suddenly, ‘‘send Thwaites
to the house, and tell him to ask for your fur man-
tle; youlook cold.” * '

“ButIdo not want my fur mantle, Anice,” said
the young girl. , :

An expression of fierce impatience on her sister’s
face stopped the words on her lips. ‘

“Why do you thwart me always, Cecil?” cried

Aniee. “If ever Il wish anything, you contradic’
me. Isay you look cold, and you must have yqu’
fur mantle.”

“But he will be so longin rinetog it; first of all
he must find Laurette, then she will have to find the
mantle; it willbe more than half an hour before he
returns,” ‘
_ “Never mind,” was the imperious answer, “do as
Iwish. I promised Leofric to take care of you; do
not make me miserable by refusing all I wish.”

A smnile, bright as sunlight, came over the young
girl’s fair face atthe mention of that name. Leofric

was to return that night. Sheshook off the strange | 34

fear that haunted her. ‘
“I will do just as you wish, Anice,” she said.
She went up to the old man, AUB
Thwaites,” shesaid,in her gentle voice. “will
you go up to the house for me, I want my fur man-
tle; ask for my maid, Laurette,she will give it to
you.”
The man touched his hatand wentaway. Again
there came to her the same sense of loneliness and

_vant of protection.

“Are you satisfied, Anice?” she asked; “after all I
am not quite sure whether we have done a wise
thing or not; Leofric has always been with us be-
fore, and we have sent away the only two men who

‘would be useful in case of accident.”

A sudden, sharp quiyer passed over the beautiful

white face,

What accident can happen to us?” she asked,

“Half adozen are possible, Anice; the ice might
break, we might fall———”

“Youare talking nonsense, Cecil; why should
these things happen to-day? It must bethat seeing
[want to skate, you intend to take away all my
pleasure by frightening me.

Cecil laughed. It did seem absurd to take all
these cowardly ideas; the sun was shining bright-
ly, the sheet of ice looked beautiful, the wintry sky
was blue, the air clearand sweet—what was there
to fear? ae

“TI wonder, Anice—if the ice is quite safe?” she
asked; “it seems to me many degrees warmer this
morning.”

The dark eyes wandered over the leafless trees,
then over the white lake, then, with all their weird
fire deepened, they fastened on her sister’s face.

 

“It is quite safe, Iam sure,” she said, “we will go | G6

to Pretty Bay first, the ice looks most solid there;
let me fasten your skates, Cecil.”

She bent down and4astened them.

“You go first.” she said, “Iwill follow.”

Yet some impulse in the midstof her passion and
madness came to herand made her stoop, Judas-
like to kiss the fair young face.

“Go on,” she said, “I will follow.”

And the slender, graceful fgure of the girl glided
away with the swift, free motion of a bird; away to
the fatal spot where the i¢e was broken and weak.

: (TO BE CONTINUED.)

 

JUST PUBLISHED.
THE SILVER SHIP,

By LOUIS LEON.

This excitingstory has just been issued in book-
form, and is for sale by every Bookseller and News

_Agent. 12 mo. cloth. Price $1.25.

‘|THE AMERICAN NEWS CoO.,
/ Publishers,
New York.

Copies mailed direct fromthe office of the New

- Yorg WEEKLY on receiptof price.

UNIFORM WITH ‘BEAUTIFUL SNOW.’

 

A HANDSOME HOLIDAY PRESENT.

The Young | Magdalen,

AND OTHER POEMS.

By Francis §. Smith,

One of the Proprietors of the NEw YORK WEEKLY, and Author
of “Eveleen Wilson,” “Maggie, the Charity Ohild,”
“Bertha, the Sewing-Machine Girl,”

“The Sexton of Saxony,” etc.

THE YOUNG MAGDALEN; AND OTHER PoEMS. By Francis
S. Smith. With a life-like portrait of the author, engraved on
steel, in line and ‘stipple, in the highest style of the art. The
“Young Magdalen, and Cther Poems” should find a place in

- “every house in the land, for the volume possessés great interest:
, and appeals directly to the heart and memory, and touehes

many chords of human sympathy, It israre that a collection of
Poems contain so much which all will be glad to weleome in

-' book-form. It is one of the most appropriate holiday gifts that
.can be made, and is suitable for a young gentleman to present

toa young lady, a brother to his sister, a parent to his child, or
vice versa. The volume has received the most unqualified praise
from the press and the critics, and contains only that which will
elevate and instruct all who may peruse its pages. It is com-

“plete in one large octavo volume of over three hundred pages, in |

uniform style with-‘Beautiful Snow, and Other Poems,’ pub-
lished by us, being printed on the finest tinted. plate paper, and
bound in green morocco cloth, with gilt top, gilt sides, and bev-
eled boards, price Three Dollars, or bound in* maroon morocco
cloth, with full gilt sides, fall gilt edges, full gilt’back, and bev-
eled boards, price Four Dollars.

*,* “The Young Magdalen, and Other Poems,’ is for sale by
Booksellers everywhere, and by all News Agents that sell the
New YORK WEEKLY. :

*,* Copies of either edition of “The Young Magdalen, and
Other Poems,” will be sent, post-paid, to any one, to any piace,
per return mail, on any one remitting the priée of the edition
wished to the publishers,

T.B. PETERSON & BROTHERS.
306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa.
Or to
STREET & SMITH,
New York Weekly Office.

New York.
*,* Agents and Canvassers, Male and Female, are wanted
everrwhere to engage in the sale of the above book. Send for
one of Peterson’s new Illustrated Catalogues, containing full de-
scriptions of “The Young Magdalen, and Other Poems,” by

Francis 8. Smith, Bsq. Large wages can be made by all in sell-
ing it. Send to T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, for Gan-

', ¥asgers’ Cireular.

i So per day at home. Samples worth free.
$5 & $20 Rdarens STINSON & Oo., Portland, Mtoe,

 

 

free.

ourown town, Terms and ee Pre AS
ne, 1

 

Chromo Cards, new and elegant, with name, 10c.
postpaid. Grut KnGe Carp Co., Nassau, N.Y, 5-11

STOP DRINKING VINEGAR.
How many young women who have inherited a
poe ition to emb mt have ruined their
ealth by drinking vinegar to reduce their forms
to graceful proportions. Allan’s Anti-Fat is ab-
solutely harmless. It promotes digestion, and
by proeens an
andue assimilation of y ingredients of the
food. Excessive fatness is a vexatious burden,
and there is no longer any excuse for enduring it,
since Allan's ‘Anti-Pat is an effectual remedy for
this abnormal condition. ’
COLORADO SPRINGS, Colo., July 15th, 1878.
Boranic MEDICINE Oo., Buffalo, N.Y.:
en—I lost three pounds while taking
one bottle of Allan’s Anti-Fat.

Yours trul
Mrs. M. B. MYEBS.

JONSON BROS. & CO

IMPORTERS AND MANUFACTURERS,
WHOLESALE HOUSE, RETAIL HOUSE,
600 & 602 Broadway, 34 & 36 East 14th St.

NEW YORK. Union Square, N, Y.,

OFFER UNUSUAL AND
TRAORDINARY BARGAINS

in French and American Felt and Velvet Hats
and Bonnets, English and American Straw
Goods, Ribbons, Velvets, Plushes, Satins,
* Silks, Laces, French Fiowers and
Feathers, Dress and Cloak Trim-
mings, Hosiery, Gloves, Ladies’
and Children’s Underwear,
. Berlin Wools and Fancy
Wo ork, Fancy
Goods, &c.
Catalogues and Samples Sent on Application.
Goods Sent by Mail or Express,

 

who wish to take up U. 8. Land worth $10 per
acre, can do so, and sell at that price. Send $1 tor

The Latest Novelties at the Lowest Prices,

wl8
j 34 Surveyor, Salt Lake, Utah Ty.

5 Pertumed CHROMO and MOTTO CARDS,10c.
“is name in Gold and Jet. SEAVY BROS., Northford, Ct.

Agents, Read This,

We will pay Agents a salary of $100 per month and expenses,
or allow a large commission to sell eur new and wonderful in-
ventions. We mean what we say. Sample free. Address,
SHERMAN & CO., Marshall, Mich.

GOLD PLATED WATCHES. Cheapest in the
known world. Sample Watch Free to Agents. Address A
COULTER & CO., Chicago. 7

REMEDY FREE.

Young men and others suffering from the errors of youth,
nervous debility, &c., will learn of a Es remedy, free, by ad-
dressing J. H. REEVES, 43 CHATHAM ST., NEW YORK.

A double barrel gun, bar or front

w4l-26t
SHO action locks. Warranted genuine
twist barrels, and a good shooter,

G UN Tor No Sale; with Flask, Pouch,

CERO *and a Wad Cutter, for $15.
Can be sent C. O. D. with privilege to examine before paying.
Send stamp for baits ly: Reduced Prices and Large

Discounts. POWELL & SON, Gun Dealers,
w42.26 238 Main Street, Cincinnati, Ohio.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A CARD. ;

To all who are suffering from. the errors and indiscretions of
youth, nervous weakness, early decay, loss of manhood, &c., f
will send a receipt that will cure you free of charge. This great
remedy was discovered by a missionary in South America. Send
a self-addressed envelope to the REV. JOSEPH T. INMAN, Station
D, Bible House, New York City. w38-26

 

} : ‘
{ SALARY. Salesmenwanted to sell our Staple

Goods to dealers. Nopeddling. Expenses paid.
Permanent employment. Address 8. A. GRANT &
| CO., 2, 4, 6 & 8 Home Street, Cinciunati, O. 7-40t

“AGENT

47-13

 

 

WANTED tosell Dr. Chase’s 2000 RECIPE
BOOK. New Price List, You double your mo-
ney. DR. CHASE’S Priuting House, Ann Arbor, Mich.

 

Chromo and Perfumed Cards (no 3 alike), Namein
3 Gold and Jet, i0e. CLINTON BRos.,.Clintonville, Ct.
475:

20
47-26

K Beantifai Chromo Cards, with name, 10c. and
| » stamp. Outfit, 10c. L. C. COE & CO., Bristol, Ct. 60-15

} 50 two allke, 10c. Outfit 10c. DOWD & CO., Winsted, Conn.
| 13-82t ‘
1 ELEGANT New Style Chromo Cards, with name, 10c.
Pere GEO. I. REED & CO., Nassau, N. Y.
w3- i

50 Perfumed Chromp and Snowflake Cards, in case,
213

 

Very Best, New Style Cards, in case (no 2 alike)
with name, 10c. EXCELSIOR CaRD Co., Northford, Ct.

 

 

West Mixed Cards, with name, in case, 13 cts., or 25, ho

 

 

name in gold, 10¢.  DAVIDS & CO., Northford, Conn. .

 

Ww:
2 French Transp:rent Cards, ful deck, postpaid,
2 30c. U.S. Pus. Co., E. Wallingford, Conn. 5-2

. Any worker can make $12 a day at home. Oostly
GOLD free. Address TRUE & Co. Augusta, oa

| 30 Mixed Cards, Snowflake, Damask, &c., no two allke,
| os with n :
w6-

 

 

ame, lOc. J. MINKLER & OO., Nassau, N. ¥

 

AGIC LANTERNS 2nd Stereopticons of all. sizes
and prices. Pictures illustrating every subject for
Churches, or Entertainments, and ublic
Exhibitions. x Pays well on a small capital. 74-page Cata-
Free. MOALISTER, Mfg Optician, 49 Nassau St., N.Y.
‘0

6-2

 

Best Mixed Cards in the U. S., with name, 10 cts.
Gold Watch tree to Agents. AG’TS CARD CO., Arcade, N.Y.

 

EN WASTED for Detective Service. American
1! Secret Service Co., Cincinnati, O.. Pay liberal. 6-4

ALESMEN WANTED —S8125 A MONTH and
expenses selling to dealers CIGARS, Saiples free. Send
3c. stamp to insure answer. . ;
6-10-eow S. FOSTER & CO., Cincinnati, O.

EPILEPSY (OR FITS
°
We_ have discovered a perfect specific for that dirbful mal-
ady, Hipilepsy. It has cured cases given up by distinguished
hysicians, after the Bromides and all other known remedies
fad failed. Price $1 per bottle, but a trial bottle will be sent
to any address upon receipt of twenty-five cents, So CONFIDENT
are we that it wi!l give satisfaction. For turther information,

see circulars. Address, giving age of person and frequency of
fits, VERMONT STREET PHARMACY, Buffalo, N. Y.

TO THE PUBLIC.
Iam requested to notify the public that there will
be a meeting of the regular attendants or members
of the Peter Dwyer Mission at No, 70 Burrow street,
on the sth day of December, 1878, to elect three
trustees, with the view of incorporating the Dwyer

 

 

 

 

New York.
Ali friendly to this object will please attend.

PETER DWYER.

BAKING
ABSOLUTELY PURE.

The incomparable ‘‘Royal” is now the only baking Powder in

the market made trom Pure Grape Cream Tartar, imported ex-

clusively for this powder direct from the wine-growIng district of

France. Approved by N. Y. Board of Health, and by such em-

inent chemists as Dr. MOTT, New York; Dr. HAYES, Boston;

Prot. GENTH, Philadelphia. Sold only incans. All Grocers.
48-eowtt.

 

 

VY —Tabdleaus, Dialogues, Recitations, Colored

Lf + Fire, Wigs, Mustaches, etc. Catalogues sent

tree by HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, No. & Beekman st., N. ¥.
$2-1Se0w* “°°

Iv PAYS to sell our rubber band-printing stamps. Terms
ie free. G. A. HARPER & BRO., Oleveland, O.
eow

LEGACY OF HATE.

BY A FAVORITE AUTHOR.

 

 

 

of Hate” was commenced in No.31. Back Nos

("A Legacy
can be obtained from any News Agent.)

CHAPTER XLIX.
Continuation of the Narrative of Alice Rathline.

Mindful of Mr. Pellew’s wish to discover Made-
line, I was careful tosay nothing to the duke to
rouse his ews or suspicion. I strove for some
time to talk to Alfred, but he seemed afraid to an-
swer me, so at last we sank into silence,

Toward midnight, when I think we must have
been traveling some three or four hours, the duke

said:
tiene are arrived, Alice. Let me assist you to
alig 2?
As I descended fromthe carriageI looked around
> aan moonlight, on the wildest spot I ever
eheld.
‘Where am I ?” I asked, in some trepidation.
A kindly yoice answered me:
“You are at. Bt, lon’s Hut, miss. Please walk
in; I have a fire, and everything ready for you.”
It was a comely, motherly woman who spoke, and
I followed her without fear, through a desolate,
weed-covered garden, into the dismal house. Here,
however, she ushered us into a parlor, which, in
spite of mildewed paper and faded furniture, was
made cheerful by a wood fire and lights.
' pony and warm yourself, Alfred,” I cried, glee-
ully.

The woman turned at the sound of my voice, and
led the boy forward by the hand.
“So your name is Alfred, my dear?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am, Alfred Singleton,” he answered;
“and this is my sister Alice.’

Now the duke was not present, Alfred’s tongue
seemed unloosed.
“Alfred Singleton!” repeated the woman, in a

 

 

Gospel Mission according to the law of the State of i

tone of wonder. “Well, that is strange indeed.”
And she gazed at Alfred with an amazement that
made me laugh. :

“What is there strange in the boy’s name?’ I

asked.

“Oh, nothing, miss, nothing,” she answered, with
her eyes still fixed on Alfred’s face. “As you say,
miss, there’s nothing strange inthe name. My own,
perhaps, will seem more outlandish to you. I am
called Grace oak ee miss; and I’ve had the
eare of StEglon’s Hut well-nigh two-and-twent
years; but of all the Tee things I’ve seen in it, I
think a wedding will be the queerest.”

“A wedding!” I cried, aghast.

Looking up, I met the duke’s eyes, blazing with
triumph, and all his keen, powerful face aglow
with happiness.

“Yes, a wedding.” he said. “Congratulate me,
Alice. Madeline and I are to be married to-night.”

“How can you be married here?” I asked. scorn-
fully. “Such a marriage in English law would be
no marriage.” ,

“English law is nothing to me or to Madeline,”
returned the duke. ‘“Wequit England for ever, to-
morrow. A priest of my own chureh will marry
us here; and though I do not admire Madeline’s
taste in selecting so gloomy a spot as this for the
ceremony, yet I was bound to overcome all difficul-
tiesto obey her wish. Madam, I think you said my
friend was arrived.” And he turned, and bowed
with great politeness to the woman Chagwynne.

“He came an hour ago, sir,” she replied; “but he
preferred to sit by the kitchen fire, where he made
tea for himself his own way, and he has been drink-
ing it ever since.” J

I knew the Russians were great tea-drinkers, and
so I guessed instantly this was some countryman
of the duke’s—perhaps truly a priest also, and
bound to obey his bidding. Maybe he was a chap-
lain in his own household; and at this thought my
heart sank indeed. ‘

In a few minutes more, the Russian, a pale, silent
man, had erected and decked a little altar in the
mildewed parlor, and as he lighted the wax candles
which stood on it, he said, in French:

‘Monsieur le duc, we wait now only for the

e.

“T will call her,” he returned, eagerly. “Or no,
perhaps it will be more fitting if Alice goes to her
chamber-door. Miss Rathline, will you oblige me ?
Will you tell her all is ready, and beseech her to
descend?”

Tosee Madeline for a few moments alone had
been may earnest prayer, and I started up eagerly
to obey his behest. If I could gain her ear for only
five minutes, [ was sure this marriage would never

“It is of no use to go to her room, miss,” said
Grace, “the lady is not there.”

Much as I disliked the Duke de Briancourt, I

itied him now, as I saw the ghastly whiteness of

is face when he heard these words.

“Where is she?” he asked, ina hoarse, unnatural
voice.

“Sir,” replied the woman, “she is on_ board the

| schooner lying off St. Eglon’s Point. She wished

to see the captain of that craft,and I signaled for him
to come ashore; but hesenta boat instead with a
message, to know what I wanted; and then the
lady, being resolved to see him, desired the men to
row her on board.” : :

*‘And who is the captain?” demanded the duke,

'‘My brother, Michael Polgrain,” she answered.

Is there a boat to be had? I shall go and fetch
her.” said the duke, sharply.

*“My son Martin has a boat down in the cove, but I
won't say that he’ll gow you to the Penkivel,” re-
turned Grace Chagwynne. ,

The Duke de Briancourt’s eyes flashed distrust
and anger on her as she spoke.

“Til not forget to pay him well,” he retorted,
waving her to the door. “‘Go and fetch him.”

“Tt is not Martin who will take money, sir, for
rowing you to the Penkivel. No amount of money
will bribe him to do a hurt to my brother Michael,”
said Grace, quietly. i

The duko, after a moment’s bewilderment, burst
into a laugh, saying:

“Ah, [had forgotten the fellow was a smuggler.
My good woman, lam not in the Preventive ser-
vice.”

“I don’t know what you are, sir,” said Grace, “but
Iam sure Martin won’t take Fou to the Penkivel.
And there is no need; the lady said she would re-
turn soon,” said Grace. ,

“I can’t wait!” cried the duke, impatiently. “This
delay is maddening. Alice, the smugglers will not
saspect youto bein the Coastguard service; will
you go on_ board this craft, and bring back
mndernet You need have no fear—the sea is like
glass.”

‘Lam not afraid,” I said, quietly, :

“Go then—go at onee,” returned the duke.

How he paced the_room, how impatiently he
looked at his watch, I will not say. And as he
walked to and fro, he continually impressed on me
that I was to relate to Madeline every particular
that had oceured at Penkivel. I thought I had
something to relate to Madeline even stranger than
that, but I kept my own counse.

The boat is ready, miss.”

The welcome words sent a eae through all my
veins. I stooped and kissed Alfred.

“Good-by, duke,” I eried.

In the short walk to the little cove where the boat
waited, I resolved to trust Grace Ohagwynne. She
hadafacelliked. |

“Listen to me,” I said, earnestly.
to do mea kindness. This morning I parted with
a gentleman named Pellew, He is searching for
Madeline; he told me he should come to this very
spot; he may arrive now at any instant. The favor
Task youis to give,my young brother into his
keeping. On no actownt; happen what may, let
him depart with the duke, supposing Mr. Pellew
fpges the duke to Jéave, Will you promise me

8 29

“Yes, yes.” she said, quickly.

“My brother has been hidden from me nearly
three years,” I continued, breathlessly. ‘I trust to
you to put him safely into Mr. Pellew’s hands.”

“I will do it, miss,” she answered. A

Here came the soft splash of oars, and in another
minute I was out on the moonlit sea, and I soon
found myself onthe deck of the Penkivel. I saw
Madeline instantly. In afew words I told her of
my journey to Exeter with Mr. Pellew. and my sub-
sequent journeys to Penkivel and St. Bglon’s with
the Duke de Briancourt.

“And he is waiting for me? Let me go,” said
Madeline.

“Not till yon have heard me,” I returned, reso-
lutely. “Ihave a message for you from Mr. Pel-

 

“T entreat you

ew.

As I spoke, Martin, his uncle, and or two others
standing near, courteously went forward, so we
were left together alone on the after part of the
deck; then, as she sat down again, I fell upon my
knees, and put my arms about her.

“Mr. Pellew bade me say that, years ago, in a
hasty impulse of anger—just. anger, he owns—you
forsook himto marry a goodman, a better man—
he confesses that, too—than he is. Nowhe sees you
leagued with a bad man, and he implores you, by
the memory of his and your early love, not to for-
sake him a second time for such a man as this—not
to put your life and peace into his evil hands,
until at least you have heard what he has totell you.
Madeline, he has things to say that will alter your
whole life—those were his very words.” ies

I ceased. with flushed cheeks, and arms clinging
to her lovingly, for since I had seen Alfred safe and
well, I had forgiven her all the past: She looked at
me age worn, despairing eyes, tearless and hag-
gard. .

“I can never be anything more to Maurice than a
dream,” she said. “Iam unworthy of a single
thought of his. He would despise me if. he knew
the truth, and all his love would turn to con-
tempt. As forthe duke, he has stepped in atthe
turning-point of my life, and done me aservice by.
which he has bought me. Thatisthetruth. Alice,
you have seen your brother ?”

“Yes, yes,” Lanswered: “and Lady Crehyvlls, and
father’s wicked, cheating letter. Madeline, listen
to Mr. Pellew, I entreat you.”

“Tell me all that happened at Penkivel,” she in-
terposed, feverishly— ‘that is what I wish to hear.”

nwillingly and hurriedly I told it; then I urged
her again not to throw away Hfe and happiness in
this hasty, wicked way. Iimplored her not to give
me the anguish of feeling that I had failed in‘my
mission. i besought her not to inflict such sharp
agony upon a heart that loved her, because he was
not here to plead to her himself.

“Butthe duke has bought me,” she reiterated,
wearily ;.‘‘and I am worthy of him, and he of me.
We are plotters, schemers, liars, both, Alice, Alice,
urge me no more! I would rather die than put my
hand in Maurice Pellew’s.”

She turned from me so resolutely that I uttered
not another word.

For an instant I hesitated. “Shall I tell her now?”
I said, and I put my hand upon the little book in
my bosom; but the strange place,the rough faces
all around,-deterred me. I would defer this terri-
ble revelation till we were alone. Here, before so
many witnesses, it would be cruel to speak. In
this thought I was content to be silent, while Made-
line crossed the deck and addressed the tall man
with the gray-white face, with whom I had first
seen her conversing, iG

“Michael Polgrain,” she said, sorrowfully, “your
sympathies have ever been with the wrong-doer,
not with me, not with him whom your silence slew;
but on this night, when I bid you farewell forever,
I wish to say that yon have my forgiveness. Yes. 1
forgive you, although the misery to which I am
henceforth sold is the fruit of that blight which was
laid upon my life by your cruel silence, when you
let my father die for your foster-brother’s sin. I
forgive you, because the agony of a great ‘remorse
lies as darkly on my soul now as it has done on
yours through all your sad life.”

Her hand, which she had hafif extended toward
him, dropped by her side_untouched, for at this in-
stant a voice rose ont of the sea, at sound of which
Michael Polgrain started from us, and rushing to
the ship’s side, he looked down into the waves with
a face of ashy whiteness.

 

The water round about the Penkivel was in deep
darkness now, for she no longer lay in the glisten-
ing silver of the moon’s path. In this darkness, a
little boat was dimly visible, lying close by the tall
hull of the Penkivel, and the voice arising from it
cried shrilly:

“I hear this ship is going to France. I'll give the
captain twenty gepnnes for a passage in her.”

“is that you, Uncle Giles?” said Martin.

‘It’s me rowing,” answered the old man; “but I
don’t want no passage to France—my travels be
nearly over I reckon—tis this gentleman here—a
stranger, who will thank ’ee and pay ’ee well too,
ef you'll take ’un.”

“Go ’long home, Uncle Giles,” bawled Martin;
“there’s no berth here for strangers.”

‘Where’s the captain?” cried the eager yoice
again, as a figure started “ in the boat. ‘Fifty
pounds, captain !—I’ll give fifty pounds for a pas-
sage to France!”

“Take him on board!” said the deep voice of Mi-
chael Polgrain.

“Throw him a rope!” cried Martin.

All right!” answered the old fisherman, as with
dexterous hands he caught the rope flung to him,
an nie els boat was drawn in close to the Penki-
vel’s side.

“What’s uncle about?” muttered Martin. “We
don’t want any land-lubbers here. Give a hand to
the fellow, and help him aboard, ¢an’t ye?” he said
to one of the crew.

“It is Whalley!” whispered Madeline, in an
amazed yoice, to me.

It was indeed the schoolmaster, and, remember-
ing what I had seen in his house, I turned cold with
noaene as his sharp, thin face rose over the ship’s
side.

“Good-night!” cried the fisherman, as he rowed

away.

When his boat was clear of the ship, and the
sound of the oars came faintly over the dark water,
Michael Polgrain, who been watching its
course, turned quickly and walked up close to his
new passenger. Then, with a sudden grip, he
comeer: him by the throat, and flung him onthe

eck.

.__Hathew Carbis !—liar and murderer!” he cried.

Have I got you in my hands at last ?”

As these words rang in our ears, Madeline ut-
tered a wild shriek and fell upon her knees, cling-
ing to me convulsively with both arms; and thus
she was borne onward, as I and many of the crew
rushed forward to look on the villain lying writh-
ing in Michael’s grasp.

‘See here, comrades,” he said, huskily, looking
up atthe eager faces pressed around him, “here
lies the villain who for twenty-two years has stolen
from me the light of the blessedsun. Here lies a
murderer, who, simulating death, fled safely in the
dress his victim wore, while honest men died for
him, or living, suffered atide of shame, anguish,
and remorse, unknown to his dastard heart. Put
irons on him quickly, or I shall kill him as he lies
at my feet like a writhing snake.”

The disgust with which Michael Polgrain spurned
him with his foot and then strode away from the
wretch, as the sailors ironed him, was so strong
and terrible that it shook his tall frame like a reed.

“Mathew Carbis !” said Madeline, in a dreadful
whisper. ‘‘No, it cannot be—he is dead—he was
murdered in the wood of Orehylls.”

“Oh, blind, blind!” cried Michael—“blinder than
I, who have not seen the sun for twenty summers!
Come and Jook upon the truth at last.”

He caught Madeline by the wrist, and led her for-
ward till she stood before the wretch Whalley, or
Carbis, who, in double irons. sat, cowering and
ghastly, on the deck.

“Hold the lantern lower,” said Michael.

The sailors obeyed, and the light fell upon the
haggard, livid face, on eyery line of which his
crime seemed written legibly.

To look upon that face, and doubt that he was
Mathew Carbis, or deny that he was the double-
dyed traitor and coward that Michael. named him,
was impossible. With hands wrung together, and
eyes piteous in their fear and pain, Madeline saw
the truth, and, shivering, turned away in silence.

 

 

“Comrades,” said Michael, ih an earnest voice,
calling the crew around him by a gesture of his
hand, “if any of you still doubt_my word, that this
traitor lying here is the man Mathew Carbis, long
thought_to be dead and buried, let him read this
letter. It was writ and sent to me by an honest

entleman, upon whose life no lie ever rested.

riends,[ am noscholar. I know the signs of the
sea and the sky, and even on the land Id find my
way by the stars alone, but books and writings are
blank things to me. [have had -to use another’s
eyes to tell me the words of this; butif there’s one
among you a scholar. let him stand up and read the
letter out to his comrades.

“The young lady—ask the young lady!” cried
many voices.

was Maurice Pellew’s, and her trembling lips re-
fused to utter a word.

Then I took the letter from Michael’s hand, and
read it out, nearly as follows:

_ “By the confession of his cousin, Richard Rath-
line, who has betrayod him at last, I know that Ma-
thew Carbis is alive. For the sake of the jewels and
watches in his pack, he murdered a hawker named
Nathaniel] Strangways, and by a series of devilish
artifices, which I need not detail, the world was de-
ceived into taking this man’s body for that of his
slayer. He had himself—as you too well know, Mi-
| chael—been struck down in the wood that day by a
| blowfrom a, young, impulsive hand, and from the
| temporary insensibility caused by this, he was re-
covered by his unhappy friend. Walter Sherborne.
Doubtless, it was thus that gentleman’s coat beeame
blood-stained. To him also.he gave a garbled his-
tory of his rencontre with Lord Crehylis.. But I
abstain from.further details. .Enough that the vil-
lain has eseaped for years, andi fear he may even
again eseape. Look out for him, Michael.. There
is atendency in such creatures to return to the
scene of their crimes. Moreover, not daring to
travel in any publie stage, or packet-boat, he will
be the more likely to seek to bise in lonely, inac<
eessible places. Bear in mind that he calls himself
at present Whalley, and by dint,of arduous decep-
tion and caution he has gained for himself and his
establishment a character of respectability. What
this whited sepulcher may hold within it, I go down
now to see,’”’ 1

I slowly read this letter through ; as he heard that
his cousin—who, doubtless. on finding the knap-
sack at. Bristol, had, guessed the truth, and forced
the confession of it from him—had at last betrayed
him, the wretched Oarbis lost his hold on hope, and
sunk down into sullen apathy. Yet he made one
effort more.

“Iam not Whalley. My name was never Whal-
ley,” he said, in a hard voice. '

‘Who can identify him ?” asked Michael.

Then Madeline lifted her face from her hands,
and looked at him-with a momentary shrinking
giance.

“Tean,’ she answered. “I recognize in him the
schoolmaster Whalley, who came to. my house in
London when the child Alfred Singleton was lost.
Qh, Alice! Alice! Alice! my heart is broken!”

Allthrough the ship rang her terrible cry, and
then, as though this utterance of her misery had
relieved her, she sank into sudden silence, and
stood quiet, calm, and impassive.

“Comrades,” said Michael, in that slow, solemn
orice of his, “are you satisfied that this is the
man?”

Then every one of the crew held up his hand in
assent. &

“That lady,’ continued Michael—“she is Walter
Sherborne’s daughter—has told you she recognizes
him as Whalley; I tell you, I recognize him as
Mathew Carbis. I kuew his evil face again the mo-
ment I set my eyes uponit, Whenthe sun is taken
from a man, he does not easily forget the last thing
he saw in sunshine. That murderer’s face, as it la
upon the sward, when my young foster-brother hit
him down, was the last sight I ever saw with the
sun shining on it,in the woodof Orehylls. AmTI!
likely to forget it, comrades?”

“No! no! he is the man!” cried every voice,

“Moreover,” said Michael, “when he came down
to these parts months ago, searching for the child,
whom his cruelty had driven out into the woods, I
saw him,and knew him; and in my blindness, I
fancied he was come to haunt me, from another
world. LItell you this, lest you should think Mr.
Pellew’s letter alone made me see, in his face, the
face of Mathew Carbis.” ;

“Say no more, cap’en!” cried the men...
himself hadn’t got the murderer’s mark plainer on
his brow than this man hav.”

There was a momentary silence, a breathless
silence, then Michael’s voice fell upon the ear again,
solemn and slow.

*“‘Oomrades, since
the man is Mathew
do with him?” >

Silence again, then whispers ran to and fro among
the crew, and lastly anold man came forward as
spokesman.

“T reckon, cap’en,” he said, ‘we be all men our-
selves living outside the laws, and there isn’t one of
us willin’ to risk his liberty for the sake of puttin’
this maniin jail. It isn’t fit that honest men should
suffer for such as he.” ‘.

“You speak truly,” answered Michael; “‘but if we
let him escape it will be a shame to us.”

“Then let us hang him ourselves,” said a young
sailor, in a grave.voice. ; ‘

The proposition was a startling one; butit evi-
cont met with consideration, both from theecrew
and the eaptain,

They crowded round the wretched villain Carbis.
and seized him roughly. I will not depict his abject
terroz, or repeat his abject cries for mercy and his
frantic .appeals for help, which rang useleshly
across the sea.

“Stop!” cried Michael; ‘I won’t see even a viper
hanged withouta trial. If three men will volun-
ip aly make the fourth, and take him ashore in

16 boat.

“Cap’en,” said the old man again, “if it was to do
some brave deed, it isn’t three men that would vol-
unteer, but every Man among us would s w
} eager to lose his life at a word from you; but fo

 

 

 

ou all know and are sartain
rbis, I ask you, what shall we

 

I turned to Madeline, but she saw the writing |}

“Cain |.

 

 

earry this villain ashore is to risk a prison, and the
loss of all we have aboard. And I, for one, won’t
a my head in the same jail with Mathew Carbis.
I don’t set the vally of his wicked life agin the
smallest keg of sprrits in the hold of the Penkivel.
But as fora trial, we are all agreed to give him as
fair a trial as any judge and jury in the land.”

here was a murmur of assent from all the erew,
at sound of which a gleam of satisfaction shone on
Michael Polgrain’s gray face.

“Comrades you are right,” he cried; “but I reok-
oned it just to argue the matter out with ye all. PH
never rob my employers, and the owners of the ship
and cargo, for such as Mathew Carbis.”

Then, with a sudden change in look and manner
he turned to Madeline and me.

“If you wish to go ashore,” he said, “Martin can
take you in the same boat in which zoe came.”

No, no,” exclaimed Madeline; “I cannot land at
aOR 8 Hut. Anywhere else you please, but not
re.

She seemed terror-struck at the thought, equally
afraid, I fancied, to see Mr. Pellew or t ‘Dake de
Briancourt.

Michael did not argue the point with her, or urge
us to land; they he was afraid to keep his
nephew with him, or maybe his present duties ab-
sorbed his mind, for he began instantly to issue
commands to the crew.

ee ahobor he exlod. ae a loud voice. a th

en this was done, all sails were set, and the
Penkivel, like a bird flew out to sea.
* * * * * 6

Through the long, long hours, while the ship, w th
all her white wings spread, went gallantly, steadily
westward, no sound except the tread of feet on
deck broke the silence of the cabin, where Made-
line and I watehed and wondered. She had flung
herself upon a couch, and lay there motionless, her
face hidden in her arms. Whatever the horror on
her soul might be, it was speechless; whatever
agony of remorse for some-wrong done. she uitered
no word of weakness, or of grief. Silently the
great battle in her heart went on, and seeing, dim-
ly, it was sharper. and flercer than any warfare my
spirit would ever know, I resolved not to vex het
with false words of peace, or give her the barren
comfort which my shallower soul could offer. She
herself, would struggle onward to the light, and
my help would only incumber her broken spirit}
for I did not forget, thatin looking on my face, she
saw the daughter of Richard Rathline—the man
who had duped and cheated her for years, and my
voice could scarcely be pleasant in her ears.

Thus we two were very silent in the eabin; and,
knowing there was yet.another great and terrible
sorrow unspoken, but ready to fall, I prayed that
before Madeline heard it she might sleep; and
while praying, being very weary, this being the
second night in which I had had but little rest, I fell
quietly asleep myself.

* * * * * * * * *

A sudden swing of the ship awoke me, and I saw
Michael Polgrain standing looking upon me
gloomily. Then Madeline started to her feet, and
came toward him hastily.

‘Stop this, I implore you!” she eried.
had enough and too. much of wild justice,”

But Michael shook his head.

‘Itis borne in on me that it must be carried
through,” he said, ‘‘though the end to me may be
bitter. But I have tried to save the men from being
tried by English law for this deed. We are out of
English waters now, and the American flag is flying
at the mast-head,” and then Michael, beckoning us
to follow, left the cabin.

The Penkivel was lying-to against the wind, most
of her sails furled, and the ship wonderfully steady,
the sea being still calm. On the main deck, whither
we followed Michael, we found, sitting solemnly,
the strange, wild judge and jury, with their pris-
oner, Mathew Carbis, before them.

‘Michael Polgrain was a witness, and gave his evi-
dence with deep emotion, though he touched. but
for an instant on his long remorse, and thé exile of
his foster-brother. Then he stood aside for others
to speak, And I wondered, as I saw two men come
forward and swear to facts respecting Mathew Car-
bis. One was the old man who had been spokes-
man for the crew, the other was a man of forty-five,
who recognized the very watch the murderer wore,
as belonging to Nathaniel Strangways.

- herborne,” said Michael, “do you wish te
speak ?”

“My mother!” faltered Madeline.
him if my mother lives ?”

But as she came forward astep or two, the wretch
Carbis turned his face away.

“I won’t see Walter Sherborne’s daughter!” he
shrieked, in ashrill voice. “Don’t let her speak to

“T haye

“Let me ask

Then I stood up, andin a low tone, growing in
courage as I went on, I spoke first of the knapsack
so long in father’s possession, and how Mr. Pellew
ad shown it to mein the chaise, and T had read
Nathaniel Strangways name upon it. But before I
went on further in my tale—before I touched by a
single word on the dreadful sorrow and death I had
seen in Whalley’s house—I drew near to Madeline
and put my arms about her softly. Then I told it.
And lastly, weeping bitterly—for all my courage
fled at sight of her great agony—I took the little
book from my bosom and put itin her hands. |

With this kiss,” Isaid—“your mother’s kiss—the
Ta ee id ch das! + 3
ouched. her ice-cold cheek, the horror on
Madeline’s marble face dropped ‘fs y add 48
mask she had flung away,and in its place there
came a flood of anguish and warm tears, bringing
her back to life. Clasping her arms about me, she
kissed me wildly, erying I had touched her mo-
ther’s lips with mine, I had seen her die, I had
comforted: her, and henceforth I wasdear to her
forever... But as soe ereke her wonderful strength
for the first time failed her; her eyes, falling on the
evil face of that traitor, who stood there ke i
she put her hands” them with a sudden
shriek and fell down at me feet. .

She was carried to the little cabin as tenderly
though she were a child, and laid upon the tad
And here, as I sat by her, Martin brought mo the
sentence they had passed on Mathew Carbis.

Death, with one hour’s time for confession and
prayer.

* & = * *

I pass over his prayers, and cries, and attempt te
bribe the men with offers of the large sum he had
concealed about him—I pass. over, too, his threats,
to come to this, that half an hour before the time,
he eniled for pen and paper, and wrote down his
guilt, doing it even in a scholarly way, with pri
of penmanship. They brought it to me to read;
but I laid it by, to close the door and shut out every
dreadful sound that reached us from the deck.
Nevertheless, when a weight of minutes had gone
by like heavy hours throbbing on our hearts, there
fell upon our ears the dreary, duil sound of a blow
upon the wayes; and then we knew that Mathew
Carbis was dead, and buried in the sea.

{TO Bk CONTINUED.}

9-4

An Irishman jumps after a ferry-boat which has
ust started, and falls on his face on the docke
jThere he lies for a few seconds, then arises to a sit
ting posture,and with admiration and wonder
surveys the constantly widening distance between
the boat and the bridge.

“Thirty feet, if it’san inch!” he exclaims. ‘“Hely
Moses! what a lep!”

Ot

Bertha M. Clay's New Book.

PUBLISHED THIS WEEK
A SPLENDID NEW NOVEL

BY
BERTHA M. CLAY,

ENTITLED,

Evelyn’s Folly.

*,* Also ready this week, new and uniform editions of thin
author's other Popular Novels:

.Thrown on the W orld,
A Bitter Atonement
Love Works Wonders,

 

 

 

By the author of “THROWN ON THE WORLD,” whose Novels
are having such a large sale in Book-Form. ,*, Bomuttfully
printed, and handsomely bound in cloth. Price $1 50.

Bay~ As the Demand is already enormous, Booksellers are re-
quested to send in their orders at once, that they may seeure
early supplies.

Orders will be filled in rotation.—“First come, first served”

G. W. CARLETON & 00., Publishes,

Madison Square, New York.

ag Single Gopies will be sent by mall, postage prepalal, on
receipt of $1 50, by the

NEW YORK WEEKLY,
31 ROSE STREET. New York.

 

 

 

  
 

 

eae

 

 
;
A

 

‘

cnn tiaaiinaptinnsineaitn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NEW YORK, DECEMBER 23, 1878.

DDD ODP AAA Arter?

THE

New York Weekly

For 1879.
Now is the Time to Subscribe.

The New YorK WHEKLY is universally conceded
to be the best story and sketch paper. It is recog-
nized as the representative literary paper, because
among its contributors are many novelists whose
fame is world-wide.

FIRST-CLASS STORIES are always to be found in
the New York WEEKLY.

SPIRITED SKETCHES, thoughtful poems, instruct-
ive essays, valuable information for the million,
and a variety of humorous matter, are also promi-
nent features of the NEw YorK WEEKLY.

NEW AUTHORS are frequently added to its already
unrivaled staff of contributors; therefore, as the
New York WEEKLY never relies upon a stereotyped
list of writers, the contents are always fresh, and
each number is almost certain to present some at-
tractive novelty.

During the year 1879 the works of several em-
inent authros, who have never before written for
the New: YorK WEEKLY, will be placed before its
readers.

No efforts will be spared to retain the proud title
which the NEw York WEEKLY has held forso many
years as the

Best Story and Sketch Paper.
SEND THREE DOLLARS,
AND GET THE NEW FORK WEEKLI
FOR ONE FEAR.

(POSTAGE FREE TO SUBSCRIBERS.)
Those sending $20 for a Club of Hight, all sent at

 

- one time, will be entitled toa Ninth Copy FREE.

Getters up of clubs can afterward add single copies
at $2 50 each.

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

All letters should be addressed to

STREET & SMITH. Proprietors,
25, 27,29 & 31 Rose Street, N. Y.
P.O. Box 4896.

 

International Copyright.

Is it not high time that both authors and publish-
ers on both sides ofthe Atlantic should be protected
by an international copyright law? We never could
understand why the makers of books should not be
as much entitled to the fruits of their labor as the
makers of labor-saving machinery, and they prob-
ably would have been long’ere this had not a dis-
tance of some three thousand miles separated the
old world and the new. Now, however, that the
literary pirates of Canada have entered the field,
and are attempting tosellour own books under
our very noses, the matter is brought nearer home,
and a law to meet the case cannot be much longer
delayed.

Itistrue that the miserable Toronto concerns
who are attempting to flood our market with the
cheap and nasty reproductions of our books can do
us but little harm, for the style of their work is so
utterly bad that it will not command even the piti-
ful price asked for it. The paper they use is flimsy
and rotten, the press-work execrable and the type
so battered and worn that a forty-horse power pair
of spectacles would fail to makeit legible. But
others more enterprising and possessing a larger
capital may takeitinto their heads to enter the
field, and this is why an international copyright
law should be passed as speedily as possible, and
the sooner our large publishing houses movein
the matter, the better it will be for all concerned.

A, Gift For Your Friend.

One of the most useful gifts which you could pre-
sent to a friend is to make him or her a subscriber
to the New YorK WEEKLY for one year. Its pages
afford a great deal of information and entertain-
ment, and the pleasure will certainly last fora
whole year. In no other way could three dollars be
so satisfactorily invested. By this investment you
guarantee to your friend, brother, mother, sister,
or perhaps some one equally dear,the regular
weekly visits of a companion whose presence in-
structs, cheers, and delights. Therefore, surprise
your friend by sending his or her address to this
office, with three dollars, and thus make that per-
son a present of the New YorK WEEKLy for one
year.

 

> © <_____

There are some people who are much depressed
by disappointment, and can hardly be held ac-
countable for their subsequent conduct. A young
darkey, residing near Milledgeville, Ga., had set
his heart upon attending the funeral of a friend,
whose last place of abode was some twenty miles
distant. He endeavored to borrow his father’s
mule; but the old man said that he ‘didn’t believe
in sich nonsense as gwine to fun’als jis’ to hab
some fun wid de gals,” and refused to lend the mule.
As the young darkey could not attend the distant
funeral, he decided to have one nearer home, and
promptly prepared a corpse by shooting his father.

—__—_—__>-0+_____

We do not favor hasty marriages, but must de-
clare that the courtship of a couple married in Am-
ityville, L. ‘I., on Tuesday, Nov. 26. was rather
protracted. They were engaged for over forty
years. The marriage announcement should read
thus: “After along and tedious courtship, which
the lady endured with unwavering hopeof ulti-
mate reward, Mr. Edward Ketchum and Miss Eliz-
abeth Wanser.” The gentleman has attained his
ninetieth year, and the lady is one year older. The
parents of the bride and groom were not present

at the wedding.
——_>0~_____

A public-spirited citizen of Florida walked forty-
five miles to vote, and on arriving atthe polling-
place, had some difficulty in finding the ticket he
favored. Heat length secured one,and was ad-
vyancing to deposit it, when he heard the startling
announcement, “Polls closed!”

—______ > @~+______—.

Secretary Evarts, some years ago, was proposed
asa candidate for judge of a New York court.
“He’d be very unpopular as a judge, with both
lawyers and prisoners,” said a well-known poli-
tician, “for he’s too fond of long sentences,”

——__>-@=~_______

There is not an unoccupied housein Denver
City. Itisan excellent field for builders, anda
poor one for newly-married couples who desire to
begin housekeeping.

ue
&
Na

 

John | E. Barrett,

Assemblyman Elect to the Pennsylvania
Legislature.

Mr. JoHn E. BARRETT, whe has just besn elected
to the Pennsylvania Legislature, it is hardly neces-
sary to say, is one of the New YoRK WEEKLY con-
tributors. It gives us pleasure to present his pic-
ture to our readers as a successful candidate, be-
cause his election to one of the most honorable and
responsible positions in the State—a Representative
of the Sixth Legislative district of Luzerne county
—indicates that the esteem in which he is held by
those who know him best, his townsmen in the city
of Scranton, fully sustains the opinion we formed
of him from brief personal association during his
infrequent and hurried visits to our office. That
opinion was, and is, that his moral worth is equal
in degree to his ability as a journalist and his fame
as a poet and a novelist. The readers of the NEw
York WEEKLY need not be informed that Mr. Bar-
rett is the author of the stirring story of ‘‘LovE AND
Lazsor; or, THE PERILS OF THE Poor,” which ap-
peared in our columes over a year ago, and several
very entertaining sketches. For along period he
has held the position 6f city editor of the Scranton
Republican; but, notwithstanding his arduous
duties on the local journal, he occasionally finds
time to favor us with productions adapted to the
perusal of a wider constituency. Mr. Barrett is
still a young man, and as he combines energy with
his rare mental attainments and unspotted integ-
rity, we predict for him not only a brilliant but a
clean record in:the Pennsylvania Legislature.

CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS.
NUMBER TWO.
BY DAISY EYEBRIGHT.

 

 

 

HOW TO DECORATE CHRISTMAS TREES.

Dreary would December be to us allif we had not
the holy Christmas season—the greatest festival of
all the year, with its evergreen garlands and its
Christmas trees, which seem so instinct with life
and joy. Andif we cannot purchase atree already
trimmed and mounted, we can have the greater
pleasure of selecting one from the wildwoods, and
after cutting it down the children can join in lifting
it upon the sled and in transplanting it into a but-
ter firkin or tub, with brickbats and hay stuffed in
to keep it in place, or a few handfuls of coal. Oh!
what a jolly thing it is to bundle up with thick
coats, mittens, caps, and tippets, and drive miles
away in pursuit of a spruce tree, that is just the
thing needed for the size of the family gathering.

Then, after it is “planted” in the center of a
room, the tub can be concealed with bright shawls,
aflag,orafurrobe. Then the decorations can be
made, and what delight they give, no one, who has
not participated in the work, can even imagine.
Those of our readers who possess ample means
can find at the fancy stores all kinds of lovely de-
vices for this purpose, such as colored glass balls,
silvered bells, flags of all sizes, banners, tiny look-
ing-glasses, gilded stars, silver doves, wooly
lambs, ete.

The shop windows of every large city and small
town are all glowing with regiments of dolls of
all sizes, from the most elaborately-dressed belle of
the season to the undressed rag baby; with vast
caravans of all kinds of animals, and Noah’s arks,
and toy machinery. and furniture of every descrip-
tion, and like the frost-work on_ the panes they all
seem especially appropriate to the season.

But this article is written for those who love to
give their children every possible pleasure, vet
must depend chiefly upon the work of their own
hands for the decorations or gifts of the much-de-
sired Christmas tree. :

But I really believe they will take much greater
pleasure in its preparation thanif they only needed
to fill their pocket-books with greenbacks and
stroll down town toselect the decorations required.

Now our first work shall be the making of gilded
English walnuts, filled with sugar-plums, and sus-
pended by bright-colored ribbons, Purchase a
pound of the nuts, some sugared caraways, a piece
of scarlet taste, and a sheet of gilt paper. Cut the
nuts into halves, extract the meats, and save them
to coat with chocolate and sugar, te mix with the
bags of candy that you will make at another time,
Melt some gum-tragacanth, or common glue, fill
one half shell with the sugar-plums, and glue the
other half onto it, after inserting a loop of taste
atoneend. Now you have a rattle-box. Cover it
with gilt paper, neatly pasted overit, and gathered,
closely, about the taste, and see how pretty it is.
Make as many of these as _you will, you can never
have too many, for old and young will be pleased to
possess so pretty a trophy,

With sheets of gilt, silver, scarlet, and blue pa-
pers, cut into tiny strips, four inches in length and
half an inch in width, make long chains to suspend
from every bough of thetree. A little mucilage is
needed to join these strips into rings, and loop
them into long paper chains by slipping a strip
through two of the rings, that have become well
dried, and then pasting it together, Make many
yards of these pretty, bright chains, if the tree is a
large one, for it is surprising how many. can be
used to great advantage in decorating it in long,
graceful loops. 5

And they can be saved for use, if they are well
made, as they will not be in the least injured, if
tiny oes are prevented from tearing them
apart.

Popped-corn is also of service in ornamenting
the tree, if it is strung like beads, on a strong
thread with a coarse needle, and then looped alter-
nately with the glittering chains. But as these are
not indestructible, they can be broken into requisite
lengths, and after they have served their purpose,
and tied into chains, to hang about the necks of
both children and grown persons, and in due sea-
son they can be eaten. ,

dozen or more small looking-glasses can then
be hung, amid the branches, to reflect the candles
that should not be attached until all the wonderful
fruits of this important tree have been arranged,
for if they are not left until the last, they are some-
times so placed that they will injure some articles.

If there is a broken mirror in the house, some two
or three inch squares of glass can be cut out, with
a glazier’s diamond, and pieces of blue and scarlet

aper pasted over the edges and backs, with ribbon-

oops attached at thetop,to hang them from the
tree, and the whole expense will be very trifling.
sy-cheeked apples, and oranges, can also be sus-
pended by twisting thread wire about the stems of
the apples, and around the oranges; and small
frosted cakes, with her initial or name, put on with
ota  igiaaag are always appreciated by their re-
cipients.
ittle lace bags, made of stiff cape or bobinet lace,
by running them together with scarlet, blue, and
yellow zephyr worsteds, and using it as a string to
draw them up, are very ornamental; and when
filled with chocolate walnuts, sugared almonds,
raisins, nuts, and sugar plums, they are acceptable
presents to all ages, and were never known to come
amiss to any one.

When all these pretty trifles are made and ar-
ranged your tree will be quite as beautiful to the
eye as if you had expended a much larger sum in
its decoration, and you will find that it has not
drawn very largely upon your resources, although
it may havetaken considerabletime. Butthe even-
ing hours will be well spent in such occupation,
and you will be able to give your children and
friends a great amount of pleasure and enjoyment
on Christmas Eve.

The candles must be purchased, but they are to be
had by the dozen, at very cheap rates, They ean be
fastened to the tree by heating the end _of a copper
wire, and running it through the candle, near the
lower end, and winding the wire securely around a
branch, near the end of it.

Out small rings of card-board, and slip them over

 

‘on his desk, and breakin

each candle to catch the melted wax. Touch a
camel’s hair brush, wet with kerosene, to the wick,
Just before you wish to light them, and they will
ignite much more readily.

Self-balancing candles can be purchased at the
fancy shops, and they will stand upright upon any
branch, while their brightly-colored swinging balls
are very ornamental, y ;

On the topmost branch of the tree, a Christ-child,
or angel should be fastened. For this purpose a
doll can be dressed in white lace or tarletan, over
White satin, or paper cambric, and with wings of
white gauze stretched over. bonnet wire, and
fastened at the shoulders, On her head a star
should be arranged with a bandeaux, or a boy
cherubim, with a golden trumpet, can be out-
stretched, or a white lamb, emblematical of the
“Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the
world,” and while you arrange the glittering beau-
ties of your Christmas trees, let me ask you to re-
member those of whom Christ said: ‘Inasmuch as
ye have done it unto one of these, my brethren, you
have done it unto me;” and to share with them of
the bounties you possess. The poorest can give
something to some one, even if it is only a bite
from a crust of bread; and the sharing of the crust
will make it more toothsome, Then when Christ
maketh up his jewels you may find a place in his
caskets of gems,

> 4-4-
The Gallows Dextrously Cheated.

“Hank” Cummings, a_notorious desperado and
murderer, of Southern California, who was to have
been hanged at San Diego on the i8th ult., was
shrewd enough to cheat the hangman almost at the
last moment in a manner in which that necessary,
but repulsive, functionary was probably never
cheated before.

Hank was generally known as a_“Greaser”.
throughout the southern counties. That is, he
wore a blanket and a sombrero, like a Mexican,
lived and associated with Mexicans almost sntney
attending their feasts, fandangos and the like, and,
having married and murdered a Mexican woman
at the outset of his Pacific slope career, even the
majority of his crimes, which were almost beyond
credence, were confined to that class of the popula-
tion. But justice hunted him down at last, and, af-
ter being tried and convicted of several minor mur-
ders, he was sentenced to be hanged on the above
mentioned day. ;

As he had made frequent boasts that he would
never submit to the degradation of the rope, every
precaution was taken against his escape or suicide,
He was kept heavily ironed, and, though other-
wise well-treated, was allowed to see no one in his
cell but his immediate jailers. But, as a reward for
having furnished the sheriff with a detailed writ-
ten confession of his many crimes—a large propor-
tion of which was probably fictitious, since it is
difficult to believe that one man could have perpe-
trated the manifold deeds of blood which he as-
cribed to himself—he was promised that on the
scaffold he should kiss and bid an eternal farewell
to his mistress, a very beautiful young Mexican
woman, known as Senorita Inez, who had been liv-
ing with him as his wife for several years, and who
was known to be passionately in love with him.

The hour fixed for the execution arrived, and the
scaffold was surrounded by a vast crowd, many of
whom had known, feared, and hated the con-
demned, and asked nothing better than to witness
his final leap into eternity. Escorted by the sheriff
and his assistants, Summings—who was a very
handsome rascal of the long-haired, black-mus-
tached, Fra Diavolotype—movyed fearlessly through
the throngs, ascended the scaffold with a firm, even
careless step,and eyen surveyed the drop and
dangling noose without a tremor.

‘The hangman was about to place the loop over
his neck, when the sheriff ordered a momentary
delay. and then signaled Inez, who was waiting in
the crowd. She had been previously searched most
carefully, to be sure of her not having any weapon
secreted upon her person, and now, perfectly white
but perfectly tearless, she ascended the scaffold and
stood before her doomed lover. They appee a few
words in Spanish, in alow voice, after which, Cum-
mings, making an attempt to extend his pionioned
arms in the form of an embrace, exclaimed, in a
half-earnest, half-bantering tone, “‘Come, Chiquita,
give me a last, farewell kiss before I die!” She did
so, throwing her arms around his neck and gluing
her lips to his with passionate fervor. She had no
sooner released him, however, than he was seen to
grow white, and then fall to the ground.

hen taken up he was found to be stone dead,
and Senorita Inez afterward confessed that she had
administered a deadly poison to him, while kissing
him. She had held a small vial of it in her mouth,
and he, in the act of kissing, had draws the cork
with histeeth and drained the terrible contents.
So “Hank” Cummings cheated the gallows at the
last moment, and it is needless to say to those ac-
quainted with the Californian character that his

evoted mistress became the heroine of the hour.

Fe RR
_ ALL ABOUT THE BODY.

“And you saw him with the body?” said’ Justice
Ferry, to the witness, a plainly-dressed Irish
woman.

This was the question which our reporter heard |
as he entered the Third District Court, in Brooklyn.
. ‘Wid my own eyes I saw him scroogin’ the body
into a black bag.” ; "
“Yer aliar!” roared the prsener, Bushed with

ne

 

rage. ‘Mrs. Donovan, yer a thraito :
. “Silence!” exclaimed Judge Ferry, hammering

ious to preserve. “Mike laney, if you distutk
the proceedings again, I’ll have you committed for
contempt.”

“An’ am I to howld me gob while that owld beef-
heeled desaver perjures me life aves An’ ye call
that justice! Bethe pipers that played cotilligns
in the ark——” : 5 :

“Delaney, silence! Aré you the judge here, or
am I?” said the justice, pompously arising, and
slapping the desk with his palm. } baa

“Yer no judge to listen to the lyin’ tongue ova
woman who sez that I shtole the body of-——”
“Officer, stand beside the prisoner, and if he
speaks again——” SS eae
‘Aisy, now—aisy. Wait till he hears all I have to
tell about his divilment,” interrupted the witness.

“Go on with your testimony, Mrs. Donovan,” said
the justice, impatiently, as he took a fresh tooth-
pick from his vest-pocket and began chewing it.
“How were you aware of the contents of the bag ?”

“Shure I saw him doublin’ up the body, and I
persaved a disgoostin’ odor from it that wud knock

e down, Ye must know that about three days

ore, I heerd that Tim Sullivan lost a goat——"4

“A goat!” interrupted the justice; “what has that
to do with the case ?”

“Shure it was the decayed body of a goat that De-
laney hadin the bag. Heshtole the goat, but was
suspected, and consaled it between two feather
beds whin Tim Sullivan wintto Delaney’s to look
for it. Av coorse the goat died for want iv breath,
an’ Delaney was thryin’ to make way. wid the body
whin the ‘peelev’ laid his paws upon him.”

. “Thirty days in the county jail,” exclaimed the
justice. “Officer, clear the court!” The most dis-
appointed person in the court-room was our re-
porter, who thought he-had stumbled upon asen-
sational item.

———————>++—___\_

Latest Fashion Items.

Double-breasted polonaises are much used in
making up heavy cloths or velvets. | ;

The Australian cloth is fast becoming exceeding-
ly popular for mourning costumes; this is some-
what similar to erape cloth, and is an all-wool
double-fold material. .

Among the pretty and Jow-priced dress goods are
small plaidsin dark blue, green, and black mix-
tures. For street suits and school costumes they
are very jaunty. . i Se pee

Sicilienne or bangoline, a soft, beautiful silk, is
used for overdresses to velyet skirts, and as it is
found in the pale tints, is also used for combining
with plain silks for evening-dresses. *

Dinner and reception costumes are, as arule,
composed of two or three different. materials.
Black silk is mixed with brocade silk, and em-
poseed velvet or plain velvet is used with moireand
silk.

Evening wraps are made of beige-colored cash-
mere, lined with old gold silk, or are of brocaded
or black sicilienne silk, lined with garnet or car-
dinal silk. In shape, these wraps are usually
made with square fronts, andaslightly pointing

ack,

Cloths in an odd and distinguished shade, be-
tween beige-color and a light-brown, will be used
by very elegant ladies for either church or carriage
wraps.

Broche striped shawls are a feature of the sea-
son both long and square, are imitations of the
real India.

In furs there aresome new styles in the make-
up. Boas are flat; some are made without fur on
the inside, and have increased in length.

Muffs are made in the two extremes, either very

small or of extra large size,
, Knit shawls, suitable for house wear, are made
in bright. shades of red, blue, or amber, or for el-
derly ladies they may be found in guiet grays, or
mixed black and white. :

Collarettes of lace and muslin, reaching to the
bottom of the waist in front and rounded to a nar-
row point at the back, are worn by young married
ladies for evening or demi-monde.

——_-———_——_ > @ ~<+ —_ -- -

_

 

 

Every misfortune has a morsel of consolation in
it. Even if a man falls and breaks his right leg, he
should find comfort in the fact that he has not

 

 

 

To Correspondents,

 

4 GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.

J. C. Hakes, Bay City, Mich.—Ist. Switzerland has an area of
15,988 square miles, and had a population in 1870 of 2,669,247. 2d.
Leaving out those who are incapacitated for various reasons for
doing military duty, it is doubtful if 200,000 men between the
ages of 18 and 30 could be enlisted in the whole country—certain-
ly they could not. be raised in twelve hours. During the late
civil war in this country, it was estimated that the number of
those between the ages of 18 and 48, liable to military duty, was

about one-tenth of the whole population. Apply the same test,
and it will be seen that it would be only poss. to secure about
260,000 men by extending the limit of age from 30 to 45 years. 3d.
The American Rifle Team hy never been beaten. The first in-
ternational match between the American and Irish teams of six,
was shot at Creedmoor on the 26th of September, 1874, the Amer-
icans winning by a score of 934 to 931 of their opponents, out of a
possible 1080. The second match, also between the American
and Irish teams, was shot at Dollymount, Ireland, June 29, 1875,
the Americans again winning by a score of 968 to 929 of the Irish
team. In the match forthe Centennial Trophy, which took place
at Creedmoor, Sept. 13 and 14, 1876, five teams ot eight men each
were entered; possible score 3,600. The result was as follows:
American team, 3,126; Irish, 3,104; Scotch, 3,063; Australian, 3,062;
Canadian, 2,923. In the second match for the Centennia! Trophy,
which took place at Creedmoor, Sept. 13 and 14, 1877, there were
but two conflicting teams, the American and British, the former
winning by a score of 3,334, to 3,242 of the British team. This
year there was no competition, the American team, however,
going through the necessary formality of shooting: over the
yange. The second day’s score was not completed, owing to a
storm, and darkness setting in. As far as shot, however, the
score was not equal to that of 1877.

Reader, Atsion, N. J.—Ist. The usual method of making lead
shot is by letting melted lead, with a small alloy of air, fall
through the air from a considerable elevation, and thus the
leaden rain becomes cold, and solidified into leaden hail or shot.
To carry out this process, high shot towers are erected; at the
top the lead is melted and formed into colanders with different
sized holes, according to the size of the shot required. That the

shot may not be bruised in fallingupon one another, they are
received inte a vessel of water at the bottom. To separate the
imperfect shot, a slab of polished iron is tilted at a certain angle,
and the shot are strewed along the upper ers of the incline
thus formed. The perfect shot proceed rapidly in straight lines
and fall into a bin placed to receive them, about a foot distant
from the bottom of the slab, while the mishapen shot travel with
a slower zigzag motion, and fall without any bound into a bin im-
mediately at the foot of the incline. Bird-lime may be made
by boiling linseed oil down toa sticky paste. 3. See paragraph
headed ‘“‘To Purchasing Agency Correspondents.”

Mercury.—Iist, See reply to “Subscriber,” in No. 3. 2d. The
fable of the frozen snake may be found in many school readers.
Briefly told, a wood-chopper found a frozen snake, which being
warmed and restored to life in his bosom, turned and stung him,
The moral is the curse of ingratitude. 3d. Mercury is usually
represented as a young man with a short cloak thrown around
his person, and with a winged cap and winged sandals. In his
hand he bears a staff with two serpents twisted about it, and
sometimes with wings at its extremities. 4th. Post nubdila Phe-
ous—after clouds the sun shines. Sublimi seriam sidera vertice
—my lofty head shall strike the stars: I shall strike the stars or
firmament with my exalted head.” Petitis principii—Aa begging
of the question. 5th. The site of the ancient city of Pelusium,
now marked only by mounds and a few broken columns, is at
Pelusia’s mouth or branch of the Nile. This is now dry, and
the remains of the ancient city are several miles inland.

Beltie, Greenville, Ky.—lst. The word Sun, used as the name
ot a paper, is a proper noun; used to describe a heavenly body,
itisa common noun. 2d. A person may learn Latin without a
teacher, but the progress would necessarily be slower. Silber’s
‘Latin Course” isa very good work for a beginner. We will
furnish it for $1.25. 3d. The exact proportion which the diame-
ter of a circle bears to the circumference has never yet been dis-
covered, although some mathematicians have carried it to two
hundred places in decimals. For all practical purposes, how-
ever, itis not carried beyond the fourth figure. Thus, if the
diameter of a circle is one inch, the circumference is given at
3.1416 inches; therefore, to determine the circumference of any
circle, it is only necessary to multiply the diameter by these
figures,

Louise P.—1st. The story,in book-form, will cost $1.50. 2d.
We do not believe in “luck.’? A person may be fortunate or un-
fortunate, through circumstances over which they have no con-
trol, but it is folly to ascribe their good or ill fortune to chance.

They are simply effects produced by certain causes; and as one’s
“good luck’? or success in life may be traced to his making good
use of his opportunities, another’s “bad luck’? may be the re-
sult of a want of application, indolence, dissipation, and a gen-
eral aimlessness. Authors are supposed to know the value
of their own time, and by it to set a price on their labor. 4th.
We know of nothing better for the hair than castor oil» and
brandy—three ounces of the oil to one ounce of brandy.

The Great Mogul, New York. Ist Necklaces of amber are worn
merely as ornaments by ladies and children. In olden times it
was highly regarded, and peculiar virtues were attributed to it.
Pliny says: ‘True it is that a collar of amber beads worn about
the necks of young infants is a singular preventive torthem
against secret poison, and a counter-charm for witchcratt and
sorceries.”” Many persons at the present day contend thata
necklace of amber beads worn by a child subject to croup and
sore throat/acts as a preventive. It 1s well krfiown that by tric-
tion electricity is excited in amber to a marked degree, and to
this tact its peculiar virtues;may probably be traced. 2d. We are
overfull of MSS. at present. : ¢

xX. YZ. T.—I\st. We presume you can enlist in the navy at or
near the navy yard in Philadeiphia. - The term of enlistment is
five years, and none but men over twenty-one years of age are
enlisted. Recruits must be physically sound, and landsmen at
least five feet six inches in height. Ableseamen receive $20 per
month, ordinary seamen $16, and landsmen $14; each receives
besides $1.50 per month in lieu of the grog ration, which has
been abolished. 2d. The marine corps isa branch of the Navy
Department. The pay is about the same as in the army.

Dutch Girl, Jacksc m.—Ist. We have no reason to believe the
troupe a g)\as the proceeds of their former trips have
jects which it was claimed their services

toaid. The business manager who went abroad
oe of in ity, and would not Jend him-

 

  
  

 

 

  
   
 

e silence he was anx-,| ©

 

broken the wrong one.

with them is a

self ina D e a subterfuge to increase their receipts. 4
2d. President Hayes was a resident of Fremont, Ohio, previous
Ss remoyx o Washington... ,

     

II. % mn, Ont.—A glue adapted for moldings is made by.
dissolving an ounce of the best isinglass in a pint of water.
Take this solution and strain it through a cloth, and add to ita

proportionate quantity of the best glue (previously soaked in
water for about twenty-four hours) and a gill of vinegar.. After
the whole of the materials have been brought into a solution,
let it once boil up, and strain off the impurities, _

An Old Reader, Philadelphia.—Ist. An excellent polish or re-
viver for leather, and which may be used as a blacking in the
ordinary way, is made as follows: Take half a pound of sugar,

one ounce of gum-arabic, and two pounds of ivory-black; boil
them well together, then let the vessel stand until it is quite
cooled, and the contents are settled. After which, bottle off.
2d. No recipe.

Anxious Reader, Walden, N. Y.—Write to either or all of the
following named hospitals, stating circumstances of the case:

German Hospital, Seventy-seventh street and Fourth avenue;
Roosevelt Hospital, Fifty-eighth street and Ninth avenue; St.
Luke’s Hospital, Fifty-fourth street and Fifth avenue; New
York Hospital, West Fifteenth street; Bellevue Llospital, Twen-
ty-sixth street and East River.

H. A., Monticello, N. Y.—‘Two men agree to cut one hundred
cords of wood tor one hundred dollars. One man (A) is to get

 

 

oF 4

 

|

NEW YORK WEEKLY.  #=-

J. O. L., Denver.—Varicose veins are sometimes benefited by
meeting a tight bandage during the day, and applying cold water
at night.

Jno. B. Wilson, Binghamton, N. Y.—We do not think there is
meh s law. If there is, it is never enforced, and we doubt if it
could be.

Ratcliffe.—The Boston Glove is jpublished by acompany. The
editor is Chas. H. Taylor, Esq. f sith

Jennie.—The referred to is the “Widow Bedott Papers,”
by Mrs. Fiance Withee Whitcher. mRe ney:

v warty, Medica, Cameron.—We know nothing ot the institu-

efi W. B., New York,—There is no such drama, to our knowl-
ge.

Captain Jack, Norwalk, Conn.—Ist. “ .
print. 2d. Vea" » Conn.—Ist. “Buffalo Bill is out of

Z. B.S. and Enquirer.—See paragraph at the end of this de-
par:ment, headed “To Purchasing Agency Correspondents,”

Hunired Weight, Baltimore.—Consult a physician.
0. W. Sheell.—There is no play of that name.

TO PURCHASING AGENCY CORRESPONDENTS.

In response to the queries of our correspondents who send no
address, we give the prices at which thefo lowing articles may be
procured through the NEw YORK,WERKLY Purchasing Agency:
‘Taxidermists’ Manual,’ $1.25; Dick’s “Encyclopedia ot Practi-
cal Recipes and Processes, $5; “Sparring and Wrestling,” 75
cents; “Violin without a Master, 75 cents: Meadow’s French-
English Dictionary,” $1.70; Dick’s “Quadrille Gall Book,’’ 50
cents; Jefferson’s “Manual of Parliamentary Law,’ $1; Cush-
ing’s ‘‘Manual of Debate,” 65 cents. ’

 

: ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.

Albina, Troy, N. Y.—Everything can be done in a right way or
ina wrong way. There is nothing, perhaps, that better displays
taste, tact, and grace than the giving of gifts. Ist. A gift is pre-
sumably an outward and visible expression of love, in some of its
diversities of gratitude, good will, or sheer kindliness. Thus we
may best find out what a gift should be by asking ourselves what

it is intended to represent. 2d. Mere money cost is an element
which must always be kept out of sight in’ the giving of pres-
ents. Costly ‘gifts may be given sometimes. It is right they
should be; but any gift, be it worth but a few pennies or a hun-
dred dollars, should have cost something besides money—it
should have cost thought, contrivance, search. Therefore a hint
may be given that when a gift is a bought one, all traces of its
cost should be removed. 3d. If a gift pass from the poor to the
Hl Soe ere oer nee. If it coe it will make the rich
riend feel like a robber. ecan get all that mone ts;
him something that costs love. § To erp

Eva May, Portiand, Me.—A young lady does not need a separ-
ate visiting card during her first winter in society. When she
does use one, to be comme il faut, it should not bear the address,
such cards being appropriated by members of the demt-monde.
2d. Where there is no mother, the father’s card is left with the
card of his daughter, and his name appears with that of his
daughter on cards of invitation as Mr. and Miss May. At Home,
Thursday, November 28th. 3d. Sometimes a near relative takes
the father’s place, and then her name appears in the invitation
as the chaperon of the young girl, instead of the name of the
father; but under no Circumstances is it good form for an invi-
tation to go out in the name of the daughter alone.

James H. says he has called upon a young Jady_ once in every
two weeks as a friend, and asks if he would be justified in send-
ing her flowers on Christmas. Ist. There would be no impropriety
in the gentleman sending the young lady a bouquet. 2d. If the
young lady receives your attentions cordially, we think there

would be no impropriety in asking her father for his consent to
address his Gaughter as a suitor for her hand. After gaining the
father’s consent, make known your desires to the young lady;
ask her for her company, and if you find that she is willing to
receive you as steady company, there will be opportunities to ask
her to become your wife.

C. D., New York.—For New Year callers, you can serve pickled
oysters, chicken salad, cake, coffee, lemonade, confectionery,
nuts, etc. A card-basket is usually placed upon a stand in the haly
and callers may place their cards thereon before leaving, if the
servant announces his name instead of handing in one’s card,
but it is more customary to hand one’s card to the servant.

A Sudscriver.—As the young marnxjed pair were guests of the
bridegroom’s brother, it was quite proper tor the friends of the
said brother to call upon the married couple at his house. Eti-

es would not require that the bride should make. the first
call. - ;

Oliver Twist.—When your friend sends you her regards, the
only reply that is required or expected is that one should thank

the messenger for the me: , and inquire after the friend that
a sent the kind words, and ask to be kindly remembered in“
return.

7, O. S.—Ist. The groomsmen and the bride-maids usually meet
at the house of the bride. 2d. Wedding cards with the inscrip-
tion “At Home, Thursdays after December,” do not intimate
that the gentleman neeessarily receives with the lady.

C. B. Rankins.—If you are engaged to the young lady a ring

would be an appropriate gift. If only a friend, any other article
would be guite as proper, such as a book, a work- %, a set of
cologne bottles filled with choice cologne, etc.

o_O + ____—_

When a boy, we visited New York, and put our
last ten cents in a bear-show.’ Well, he was a big
bear in a tent, and we took him in the whole after-
noon, and then walked out, perfectly happy. Ten
minutes after we were weeping in front of another
tent. ‘‘What’s the matter, bub?” said asympathetic
passer. ‘Oh, I have been in and spent my last ten
cents where it said ‘large bear,’ and now hereisan-
other tent, where it says there is a larger bear.”
“You are wrong, sonny,” replied the man; ‘“‘that
sign reads ‘lager beer,’ and there is no bear in the

 

tent at all.” Never mind. As Byron says, “Aslong
as we breathe we can bear.”

~ It must be the rock-candy in ‘‘rock and rye” that

gives the toper that stony stare.

Black-Eyed Susan!

There are few dramas s0 exciting, pathetic, and
real as the masterpiece of Douacias JERROLD, the
ever-popular play of

BLACK-EYED SUSAN.

~

For years, from the day of its first representa-
tion, it has been astandard drama, and a favorite
with many of the ablest actorsof the age. The
profession, the public, and the press have unani-

 

 

 

 

nine shillings a cord, the other (B) seven shillings. How many
cords must each man cut to get fifty dollars?» The problem
cannot be done, there being too many conditions. To earn fifty
dollars, A must cut 4449 cords, and B must cut 571-7 cerds.
These, added together, make 10] 37-63 cords.

Alexander.—Ist. No married man who has anyrespect for
himself or his family will be guilty of any of the offenses named.
2d. We have seen noestimate as yet ofthe total number ot
deaths by yellow fever in the South during the past season. It
will doubtless be given in the report of the commission which is
now investigating the causes, etc., of the disease. 3d. See para-
graph headed “To Purchasing Agency Correspondents.”

Joe Dent, Springfield, Ill.—ist. Light Brown. 2d. Spot is a good
name for your colt. 3d. One can learn to write shert-hand
without the aid of a teacher, but it will take a much longer time
—at leasta year. 4th. Schoolgirls should not allow the reading
of novels to interfere with their studies. 5th. The fare from
Chicago to Auburn, N. Y., is about $16.

Chas. Holsworth, Newark.—Ist. Nearly all the acids will re-
move spots of ink from paper, but it is important to use such as
do not attack its texture. Muriatic acid diluted in five times
the quantity of water may be applied with success, washing it
off after a minute or two with clear water. 2d. See paragraph
headed “To Purchasing Agency Correspondents.”

Constant Reader, Brookiyn, N. Y.—There are five State insti-
tutions for the treatment of the insane in this State, located at
Utica, Ovid, Poughkeepsie, Buffalo and Middletown. Besides
these there are many city and county institutions of the same
character. The Kings county lunatic asylum is at Flatbush.

J. S. R., Akron, Ohio.—Ist. We have no recipe for any other
kind of that particular ink. 2d--Tattoo marks may be removed
by being first well rubbed with a salve of pure acetic acid and
mo then with a solution of potash, and finally with hydrochloric
acid. :

“Lawyer,” Cleveland, Ohio.—A good copying ink may be
made from common violet writing ink by the addition of five
parts of glycerine to eight parts of ink. It will copy well in fif-

teen minutes after it has been used. With fine white copying
paper the ink will copy well without the use of a press.

Hop.—ist. One or two quarters ata dancing academy, with
the practice you would have at sociable gatherings, is sufficient
to enable you to go through aquadrilles without blundering.
Round dances will require more practice. 2d. See paragraph
headed “To Purchasing Agency Correspondents.’

Harry, Jersey City, N. J.—Residents of this city receive gratu-
itous advice and treatment at the various dispensaries. Cases
requiring nursing as well as treatment are sent to Bellevue Hos-
pital or the Charity Hospital on Blackwell’s Island.

‘D., Carbon River.—We do not know what is the limit of time
under which an action must be brought to recover the amount
ofh note in Canada. In the States it varies from two to twenty
years.

miele che at the New York Opthalmic (homeopathic)
Hospital, Third avenue and Twenty-third street, orat the New
York Eye and Ear Infirmary, Second Avenue and Thirteenth
street.

Avis.—ist, The standard temperature for hatching eggs is 102
degrees. 2d. See paragraph headed “To Purchasing Agency
Correspondents.” 3d. Linnets are worth $2.50 to $5. The latter
is the price for a choice singer.

Constant Reader, Cumberland, Md.—ist. See reply to ‘Violet
Carleton,” in No. 4. 2d. The U.S. Jand offices in Kansas are at
Topeka, Junction City, Humboldt, and Augusta.

Cadet, San Francisco.—Ist. See Nos. 39 and 41, Vol. XXXITI.
2d. Write to the superintendents of the academies for the an-
nual reports. !

mously indorsed it as possessing all the eleménts
ofan

s ft
Affecting Dramatic Story.
For this reason, and confident that in serial form

it will achieve a new success, we have determined
to present to our readers the dramatic incidents of

Black-Eyed Susan,

RECONSTRUCTED AND RE-WRITIEN IN THE FORM OF

A CHARMING STORY.

The work has been ably and artistically per-
formed by

Henry C. Emmet,

and the story possesses many attractive features
which the exigencies of dramatic representation
forbid. Among these are, apleasing elaboration.
of incident,aless abrupt change of scene, and a.
more detailed individualization of character..
While the effective scenes are necessarily expand-
ed, to preserve the resemblance of reality, there is
not a dull passage from beginning to end.

All who have witnessed the play will unhesita-
tingly declare; as they read our story, that Mr. Em-
MET has clothed “Buack-Eyep Susan” in a new and
becoming dress, while those who have’never seen
the drama will wonder that such spirited and life-
like incidents were never before utilized in the
construction of a

STIRRING STORY.

Week after next our readers will have the pleas-
ure of reading the opening installment of

 

 

 

BLACK-EYED SUSAN. |

 

 

(Bl

wo ASS

A ip

et ee et et ee FO eel OO ee ee OO oe ee OS SO OO

Te wn tt ot

rt Ne i” ale Sa, i el, eee

you

 

Aes
eT

 

 

 

 

 

~ never, oh, never come near

; of a belated owl.

 

 

' paper every day.

 

 

 

_ that has given the golden apples of

 

<= JHE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #-

 

 

cag ne maa

“MHE OLD MAN’S IN THE WAY.”

BY FRANCIS S. SMITH.

 

 

I am sitting alone with my thoughts to-night, as I’ve sat since
my dear wife died, a ee

And at times I almost fancy that she still is at my side;

But I find her not, and my;thoughts go on,,and something seems

 

 

kings from thrones, wrought revolutions, filled the
world with Communism—that will beat the air im-
potently to the end of time. No savage could be
more untaught than this child. There was a

|Power up there who had created her, but who

looked down on allthis and made nosign. There
was a heaven for well-dressed, respectable ladies
and gentlemen, and little heiresses. There was a
hell for suchas she, wicked and poor, where they

you know, but sweeps out of the room, like an em-
press going to the block. That sort of thing puts a
man down, you know.”
“And then Mr, Abbott, he curses.”
vn Ah! curses does he,” says the tourist, laughing.
Well, that shows he is human at any rate, I think
I might curse myself undersuch provocation. The
sweeping, empress sort of style must me dusedly
uncomfortable in a wife.”

capensis

perfect a type of the loafer and blackguard, he

thinks, as he has ever seen.

.. L will ride on, Mr. Abbott,” he says, quietly:
much obliged for your good nature about those

men. Good-night.”
“Stay! bold on!” eries Mr. Abbott. The color

comes back with a purple rush to_his face, his eyes

look wild and dilated. ‘I—I do—I haye known this

 

The girl makes noreply. Sheslowly obeys, but
her eves linger to the last on Frank Livingston and
his cousin. All thelong light curls fall over his
shoulder, the poor little fever-flushed face is hid-
den on his breast.

“One of yours, Sleaford ?” says Mr. Abbott, gra-
ciously, looking after Joanna, “I didn’t know you
had one so young.” |

There is nothing in this speech apparently to

) c a fellow in California. He’s a poor devil that a to
to say: _ 4 would fo when they died and burn in torment for- And when he curses, Mrs. Abbott looks more| work forme. Ihaven’t anything to say to bim in| provoke laughter, nor is it atime for mirth, but
“There’s no one to wait on grandpa now, and the old man’siin| ever. This much she believes—it. comprises her | haughty and scornful than ever. She’s a very pious| private. You needn’t hurryon his account, you|such is its effect on Mr. Sleaford. He opens his
the way.” whole theory of religion. ; ; indy, Mrs. Abbott.” | ; now.” : : huge mouth, and emits such a roar that the whole
She sits for a long time brooding, brooding. She es, I should think so, pride and piety make a Oh, certainly not,” responds Colonel Ventnor. | group turn and look at him indignantly. The joke

For more than fitty years we bore life’s burden, side by side,
And yet it seems but yesterday that she was made my bride.
She never looked faded or old to me, though her raven locks

meant to have done something to that girl that
would mark her for life—spoilher beauty in some
way—but she has been prevented. No doubt by this

happy combination—a pleasant curricle for any
man :to drive. So thisimagnificent dame conde-
scends to go to the village church on Sundays, and

“Still, as there is a storm brewing, I think it will be

well to get to the hotel at once.and so avoida

dren sie I will see you again before I return to
own

is so exquisite that he heeds not, but laughs until
the tears start from his bleary eyes.
Glad you find me so funny,” says Mr, Abbott,

time Frank Livingston has come and fetched _her | kneel among you rustics, in perfumed silks and # huffily. “You ain’t always in such good humor

turned gray; ; : home, and herjchanee is gone forever. Frank Liy- | laces, and call herself a miserable sinner? Or,”| He lifts his hat and rides away, but not before he | this time of morning, are you om pee ge as Mr.

But she died, and they buried her out of sight, and the old man’s | ingston, too, is a lily of the field, a handsome dan- | seeing Brightbrook vigorously shaking its head, | has heard the hoarse laugh of the tramp as he lays | Sleaford’s only response is to take out his pipe, and
in the way. dybut he awakens none of this slumbering gall | ‘‘perhaps she stoops still lower, and patronizes the | his hand withthe same impudent familiarity on | indulge in another fit of hilarity, he turns and rides

She was so patient, and tender, and true, so quick my needs to

see,
That I'never fully knew her worth till'she was taken from me.
Against the friends that still’are leit ’'ve not a word to say,
They are very kind, and yet I know the old man’s in the way.

Oh, tobe taken away from here! To enter the Golden Gate!

To see the smile of the blessed Christ, and be with my dear old
mate!

There we shall joy in a bliss complete that will forever stay,

In a house not made with hands, while here the old man’s in the

way.
a

(The right io Dramatize is reserved by the Author.]

CARRIED BY STORM.
By MAY AGNES FLEMING:

AUTHOR OF

“GUY EARLSCOURT’S WIFE;” “A WONDERFUL
WOMAN,” “A MAD MARRIAGE.”

{Carried by Storm” was commenced in No. 4, Back num-
bers can be obtained of all News Agents.) i

CHAPTER VII.
SLEAFORD’S JOANNA.

Out into the moonlight five hours before the child
Joanna had fled, pale with passion, pain, defiance,
ablaze with wrath against allthe world. Itisa
customary mood enough with this elfish child,
twelve only in years, a score, if hatred, envy, malice,
and all ill-willcan age a child. To be flogged like a
hound, to be sent supperless to bed, to be starved
in attic or cellar, to swelter in fierce August noon-
tides, or shiver among the rats on bitter January
nights, these are old and well-known experiences in
Joanna’s life. Tobe forced to labor from day-dawn
until midnight, with everyjbone aching, to go bare-
foot through slush and snow,tosleep and live
worse than the dogs—for they arejcared for—to hear
only brutal words, and still more brutal oaths, from
her task-master’s lips, to be jerred at, to go clad in
rags—this has been the life of this girl of -twelve,
the only. life shecan ever remember. Lora and
Liz are ‘well, gayly clad indeed; they sing, they
dance, they idle, they work or let it alone as they
choose. Is not Joanna there, the household
drudge, the homely, red-haired, rustic Cinderella,
with never godmother or other mother, in fairy-
land or out of it, to come to the rescue with a pump-
kin coach and a pair of glass slippers? She knows
that lovely legend of happy childhood, this most
unhappy little outcast, andsighs bitterly some-
times as she looks at the big golden globes she cuts
Up for the cows and pigs. :

‘ There are fairy godmothers in the world, no
doubt, and handsome young princesses, but they
; : leaford’s Farm. And
whoever conceived a Cinderella with fiery-red hair,
freckles, and long mottled shins? A cinder-sifter
she has been born, a cinder-sifter she must die.

She has these thoughts sometimes, formless and
yague mostly, but bitter always. It would have
been better if Giles Sleaford had left her in the gut-
ter to starve ten years ago, instead of fishing her out
of it,ashe says he has done. He makes a great
deal of that far-off city gutter in his grumblin
way, for sheis not his daughter, this bare-limbe
unfortunate; she is nobody’s daughter, so far as
she can find. :

He has taken her out of the slime where she was
horn, he tells her, and slaves early and late to give

er a home, and this is her thanks, dash her! Her
mother afore her was a good-for-nothin’—dash,
dash her—what can be aeons from the unlicked
cub of such a dam—dash her! double-dash every-
thing and everybody, his own eyes and limbs in-
cluded. Giles Sleaford was an Englishman once,
he is a cosmopolitan now; tramped over the
world in a vagabond sort of way, isa man under a
cloud, banned and shunned by his neghbors. He
has neither bought nor rented this farm, and yet
he isin undisturbed possession. He does not work;

 

 

and bitterness within her. He is simply something
to be silently admired, revered, and wondered at, a
being of brightness and beauty, of splendid raiment,
lacquered boots, diamond studs, and a general odor
of roses and Ess. Bouquet. He is the prince to be
worshi at a distance, and not to be lightly
touched or spoken to. She wonders sometimes to
behold him pulling Lora about_in very unprincely
fashion, and to see that buxom damsel slap his face,
and frowsle his silky chestnut hair. For him, he
takes no more notice of this uncanny-looking child,
with the eldritch red locks, than of one of the half-
doze ill-conditioned dogs that yelp about the
premises. That he is the object of her silent idola-
ay would haye tickled Master Frank beyond every-
ing. ;

She rises at last, shivering in the bleak night
wind. She is as nearly nude as it is possible to be
in a state of civilization, and the chill damp pierces
through her tatters. Why she does not go into the
mill until the morning, she never knows; sheturns,
instead, and walks slowly back to the farm.

The house is all dark and silent. The dogs fly at
her, but a word quiets them; they, too, know Joan-
na’s witch-like ways. Jud Sleaford swears she
spends half her nights riding the air on a broom-
stick—she comes and goes, like the night-wind,
where she listeth. ;

She goes to the parlor window, and flattens her
nose against the pane. Hereyes are keen as any
ferret’s. Yes, there she is—she has not gone home
—asleep—alone!—in her power! The girl’s eyes
light; they glitter in the dark, There sheis, asleep,
alone,inher power! : ae

She goes round to aside window. opens it, and
enters. Dogs, guns, and men are plentiful at Slea-
ford’s; bolts are scarce; there is no fear of bur-
glars. She enters, ey lightly to the ground, goes
straight to a shelf in the kitchen, takes down some-
thing bright and steely, and steals into the parlor
without asound. Instead of going straight to the
bed, she crouches in her corner, to brood, perhaps,
over the deed of darkness she is about to do, or it
may be to count the cost. She will be blamed in
the morning, no doubt—is she not blamed for every-
thing that goes wrong—she will be beaten nearly to
death, quite to death, perhaps, by Giles Sleaford.
Well, she does not care. They will hang him for it.
If she were quite sure about the hanging, she feels
she would be whipped to death without a groan.

The clock striking three arouses her, It is time
to be up and doing—in an hour or two the boys will
be down. Indecision forms no part of her charac-
ter; she gets up at once, and approaches the bed
with her formidable weapon. It is the family
shears, bright, large, keen as a razor, and her ob-
ne gi to cut off Olga Ventnor’s head, but—her

air

Olga is awake, is staring at her, frozen with
fright. She has not counted on that, and with a
snarl of baffled malice, she plunges her hand in the
golden tresses, and uplifts the scissors. But in the

 

twinkling of an eye the child springs from the bed,
rushes from the room, shrieking like a mad thing.
There is a heavy fall, the sound of startled voices
up stairs, and opening doors. In that moment the
scissors are flung aside, Joanna is out of ithe win-
dow, and away like the wind to Black’s Dam.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE ABBOTTS OF ABBOTT WOOD.

Three miles away from _Sleaford’s Farm, and
nearly four from Ventnor Villa, there stands the
slattiest mansion in all. the country round, the
yee, the marvel, the show place of Brightbrook.

 

tis down on the coast; the waves of the Atlantic
wash up to the low sea wall that divides it froma
shelving and sandy beach. A beautiful beach, of

 

late years known to fame, and Ebr nee for all lovers
of the quietly picturesque by being transformed
into a popular watering-place. But in these days,
fashion and capitalists have not marked it for their
own, and Brightbrook beach is an enchanted spot,
on whose fine white sands you may lie the lone
summer day through,'lazy, and happy, and cool,
and watch the sea-gulls swirl overhead, and the
little, limpid, oily waves wash and whisper up to
your very feet.

The thermometer may stand among the hun-
dreds elsewhere, down here itis cool as some mer-

camp-meetings for which your fine woods are so
famous? No again! Then where does she go?”

“Bless you!” cries Bente exultingly, “‘she
has a chapel of her own! Andachaplain. Andan
altar. And vestments. And candles—wax. And
incense. And a little boyin a purple silk dress.
and a white lace overdress. And the Rey. #Mr.
Lamb comes down every Saturday night, and stays
until Monday morning. They say she goes to con-
fession to him. I shouldn’t think Mr. Abbott would
lice that. Bless you, she’s high—ever so high—
what’s that other word now—— ?”

“Ritualistic—Anglican ?”

Thanks, yes. And the chapel, St. Walburga’s,
is a wonder; you really must_go over and see
it. The carved wood from Belgium, and the
painted windows with most beautiful saints, and
the gold candlesticks, and the floor of inlaid wood,
and carved stalls alongithe sides, and no pews!
The pulpit they sayis a work of art, and cost alit-
tle fortune abroad. Artists and thatcome down
from the city. and rave about it. Ob! you really
must go to St. Walburga’s on Sunday.”

“I really think I must,” says the stranger and
pilgrim, and very likely hegoes. He finds the park
thrown open; it actually isa park of many acres,
with green bosky glades where deer disport, sun-
lit terraces where peacocks strut, statues gleaming
palely amid green gloom, flashing fountains cast-
ing high cool jets, velvet lawns, all dotted with
brilliant beads of flowers, rose gardens, where
every rose that grows blooms in fragrant
sweetness, and best of all, witn thick woodland of
maple, and hemlock, beech and elm, willow and
chestnut sloping down to the very sea. Rustic
seats are everywhere, cool avenues tempt the un-
wary, with arching boughs meeting overhead,
and shutting out the hot summer Sunday afternoon
sun, artificial lakes spanned by miniature bridges,
and tiny gondolas, fish-ponds, where swans float,
and goldand silver beautiessparkle. Thereisagate
lodge that is a very bower of sweetbrier and climb-
ing pink roses. All this loveliness is thrown open
to Brightbrook every Sunday, and nothing pleases
the master of Abbott Wood better than to see his
aroun filled with wondering, admiring, well-

ressed people. He comes out among these faith-
ful retainers, nearly all his tenants, and patronizes
them blandly and ope? y. Y

Strains of music float from the painted windows
of St.Walburga’s, and you are expected to assist at
“vespers,” as a delicate attention to my lady. I
you are acity stranger, you will most probably be
singled out bythe watchful eye of Mr. Abbott, and
taken through the house. You will see armor and
stags’ heads in the hall, a hall wide enough to drive
the proverbial “‘coach-and-four” through, a great
carved chimney-piece with a coatofarms, It is
the heraldic device of Mrs. Abbott’s family, and it
is everywhere, emblazoned in the panes,in the
wood-work, on the covers of the books. The rooms
are all lofty, frescoed or satin-draped, filled with
objects of “bigotry and virtue,”—the furniture—but
the yen of an upholsterer, or a Jenkins, would be
required to describe that. There are rooms in blue
satin, rooms in ruby velvet, rooms in amber reps,
rooms in white and gold, a library all rose-red and
dark oak, a picture-gallery with portraits of the

resent house of Abbott, master and mistress, Mr.

eoffrey, and Miss Leonora. There are flowers,
and birds, and beauty, and brilliance everywhere.

You go into the chapel, and its dim religious light
soothes your dazzled eyes and excited senses. The
organ is playing, my lady herself is organist, some
soft Mozartian melody. Up in the pulpit, that costly
antique. work of art and oak, kneels the Reverend
Ignatius. Lamb, in surplice and. stole. his eyes
closed, his hands clasped, in an ecstasy! He is
suspected of a leaning Rome-ward, but it certainly
does not extend to his nose, which is snub. A
pretty, curly-haired boy in the purple silk and
snowy laces of acolyte, stands slowly swinging his
censer vice Master Geoffrey Lamar, retired. Geof-
frey Lamar is there though, astrong-looking youn
fellow of sixteen or so, with close-cropped dar
hair, asallow complexion, and a rather haughty-
looking face. He has not inherited his mother’s
beauty—he is by no means ahandsomeboy. By his
side, very be eM dressed, in dotted muslin, sits his
half-sister, Miss Leonora Abbott, a_ tiny fairy of
eight, with a dark, piquant face, dark loose hair,

Mr. Abbott’s bridle.

Next day, when he returns to the villa, he finds
that gentleman waiting for him, and issuing son-
orous orders to the masons. He is almost offensive
i his officious friendliness and voluble explana-

ions.

“A poor beggar, sir, that I_ knew out in ’Frisco.
Knew all sorts out there—hundreds of the great
unwashed, miners, gamblers. blacklegs, all sorts.
Had to, you know, in my business. Sometimes
made some of them useful—a man has to handle
dirty toolsin most trades, you know. This fellow
was one ofthem. Sleaford his name is—Giles Slea-
ford, a_harmless beggar. but lazy as the duse.
Think I must do something for him for old ae-
quaintance sake. Got a large family, too—lots of
boys and girls—quite a ‘numerous father,’ as they
say. Where’s the good of being as rich as Roths-
child if a man’s not to do good with it? D—— it all!
let us help one another, say, and when we see an
unfortunate chap down, let us set him on his legs
again. I think Ill let Sleaford have the Red Farm;
there’s nobody there, and it’s a capital bit of land.
He wasn’t half abad sort; there were a devilish
deal worse fellows than Black Giles out in San
Francisco.”

Colonel Ventnor assents politely, and keeps his
own opinion of Mr. Abbott’s dark friend to him-
self. Mr. Abbotthas been looking him in the eye,
in a very marked manner, during this little speech.
It is a glance that says plainly enough, ‘This is my
version of the affair—I expect you to believe it, or
take the consequences.” But Colonel Ventnor’s
quiet, high-breeding is too much for poor Mr. Ab-
bott always. It puts him ina silent rage, much as
his wife’s calm uplifted repose of manner does.

“Curse them all!’ he thinks; “these aristocrats
are all alike. Look down on a man as the dirt un-
der their feet, if he ain’t brought up to parley voo
fransey and jabber German and that. And they
ean do it with a look too, without a word of bluster
or noise. I defy any man alive to stand up before
the missis when she’s in one of her white, speech-
less rages, and look her inthe eye. I wish 1 knew
how they do it.” i :

He sighs, takes off his hat, scratches his head
perplexedly with his big, brown, brawny hand, and
fee it on again a little more defiantly cocked than

efore.

_, And now here’s Black’Giles,” he thinks, gloom-
ily, “asif I hadn’t enough on my mind without
lam. I wonder how much he knows—I wonder—”

He mounts his horse and rides off, pondering
gloomily, in the direction of the Red Farm. It was
a different looking place in those days to what it
became later. Mr. Abbott was a very thorough
landlord, no tenant might wreck and ruin any farm
of his, This Red Farm, so called from the color of
the house. and the prea’ maples burning scarlet
about it, was one of the choicest bits of land in the
State, andin high cultivation. And here the Slea-
ford family came, two boys, three girls, the young-
est a mere child then, but a weird-looking, cowed
starveling—and squatted. It could not be called
anything else; Giles Sleaford laughed from the
firstfat the notion of his farming, or even making
the pretext. The boys were like wild Indians—they
fished, shot, snared birds and rabbits, stole melons,
robbed orchards, were a nuisance generally, ane
let the farm look after itself. The girls were of the
same ne’er-do-well stamp, boisterious young noi-
dens, handsome “prize animal” sort of damsels,
with flashing black eyes, and Peper retorts for
all who accost them. The neighbors wonder—why
does Mr. Abbott, that most particular gentleman,
let this wild lot ruin the Red Farm, and bear it like
the meekest of men? Why does Giles Sleaford al-
ways have well-filled pockets, good horses, and
clothes, whether he works or idles? They ask the
question, more tian once, and he laughs loud and

ong.

“Why does he?” he cries. ‘Lord love you, that’s
little of what he would do for me. He loves me
like a brother. He’s an uncommon fine gentleman,
ain’t he? and got a lovely place,and a handsome
wife—so I hear. I haven’t been there to leave my card
yet. Why does he? Bless your souls, he would
turn out of his big house and give it to me,if I
coaxed him hard enough.” i

Brightbrook does not know what to make of it. It
whispers a good deal, and looks furtively, at the

indignantly away in the rear of his party.

Mr. Giles Sleaford, left alone in his retreat,
smokes between his expiring gasps of laughter and
soliloquizes:

Is she one of ‘yours, Sleaford?’ And ‘I didn’t
know you had one as young!’ Oh! Lord, I haven’t
laughed so much in a month ofSundays. Old Jack
Abbott don’t often make jokes maybe, but when he
does they’rerum’uns. ‘Didn’t know I had one so
young!’ It’s the best thing I’ve heerd this many a
day—I’m dashed if it ain’t!”

CHAPTER IX.
THE MISSES SLEAFORD AT HOME,

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

E
GREAT MOGUL.

By P. HAMILTON MYERS,

[The Great Mogul” was commenced in No. 1. Back Nos. can
be obtained from all News Agents in the United States.]

CHAPTER XXVIII.
JOB’S QUESTION.

Job Ross was delighted to see his nephew, and
after a most heer? greeting he proceeded at once
to talk to him on the topic which was uppermost in
his mind—the identity of his supposed benefactor.
_ But nothing further had transpired on the sub-
ject, and Guy could not fail to see that even if his
uncle’s conjectures were correct, there was no evi-
dence of any intention on the ek of the mysteri-
ous stranger to make himself known.

Job hoped for it, believed in it, and had suffered
his mind to dwellso much upon it, that he was
constantly expecting asummons to appear in the
presence of the great man, but, in the meantime,
neither-he nor his nephew was at liberty to take
any steps toward inquiry or investigation. | :

“Our hands are tied; we can only wait,” said

 

 

uy.

“That's true, but we won’t have long to wait, I
guess. You can stay here a few days, can’t you?”

Guy, who remembered with asigh the unpleasant
business which awaited him at Saratoga, replied
that he thought he could—in fact,-he was glad o
the excuse to do so, and he staid three days in the
city, the most of the time in company with his

‘uncle, but spending his evenings and nights at

ome.

Ezekiel, who had been promptly advised by his
wife of Guy’s surrender in the matrimonial ques-
tion, received his son with unusual cordiality, and
seemed in such good spirits that the young man
felt at least in part compensated for the sacrifice he
was about to make. 2

It was a new thing for Guy to be on such friendly
terms with his father; still nothing was said be-
tween them on the important subject, each seeming
a little afraid to approach it, and the former pre-
ferring to leave it to the management of his wife,
who had proved herself to be such a skillful and
successful tactician. .

On the last day of Guy’s stay he found that his
kind but eccentric uncle had something else on his
mind, which he was evidently desirous, but yet re-
luctant to communicate, and that the excitement
which he had manifested had not all been due to
his hopes of discovering his benefactor. | :

“T’ll tell you what, nephew,” he said, with boyish
og el easton “Tm going to ask you aqués-

ion.

Guy looked quickly at his uncle, for his voice be-
trayed agitation, and, when he saw the expression
of his countenance, he was sure there was some-
thing remarkable tobetold. ‘ ;

“All right, uncle; let’s hearit. Itisn’t anything
about spelling, I suppose?” i i
_ “No, it isn’t about spelling, nor reading, nor writ-
ing.” he said; “and I don’t hardly know how to tell
you what itis about. Perhaps you might guess.”

he fishes, shoots, prowls, drinks, fights; is a worth- | man’s grot. There are always breezes, and fishing | the little young lady of the house, sole child of | rich man riding by. What secret has he in his life, . Impossible. I haven’t the remotest concep-
less brute generally. Yet he has plenty of money, | boats, and far-off yachts, and forever and forever | John Abbott, millionaire. Sole child, but not one | that Giles Sleaford is paid to keep. He looks like a | Won. :

his daughters dress in expensive finery, and there | the beautiful, changeful, illimitable sea. Or you | whit more to him than his wife’sson, the scion of |} man who might have a dark record behind him. Ah, Iwish you had, What would you think now
is a rough sort of plenty alwaysat their house. He|may lean over Mr. Abbott’s low stone wall inj the dead and blue-blooded Lamar. It is well kno And what would Mrs. Abbott say, if she knew? But | of—of—— Just turn your, face a little the other

is of horses horsey, and bets and loses heavily. He

isabit of a prize-fighter, a little of a gambler,a

dark and dangerous fellow always. Some mys-
tery {shrouds him; he throws out vague hints
now and thenof the power he holds over a certain
very rich man and magnate of the place. Heis
brutal to all, to his own sons and daughters, but
most of all to the hapless creature known as Slea-
ford’s Joanna. That he has not killed her outright
in one of his fits of fury is not due to him, one of
the Sleaford boys or gir. pony interfering in
bare nick of time. eir drudge is useful, they do
not want her beaten to death, or the prying eyes of
the land brought to bear on their rustic household.

Joanna is still alive to scour the woods, and ter-
rify small fair-haired heiresses into fits.

he moon is shining brilliantly as she leaves the
house. She looks up atit, her hands locked to-
gether inaterse clench, her teethset, her eyes
aflame with the fires of rage and hatred, her shoul-
ders red and welted with the stinging blows of the
whip. Itisamute appealto Heaven against the
brutality and cruelty of earth—that Heaven of
which she knows nothing, except thatitis a word
to swear by. 2
~She wanders slowly on, not crying—she hardly
ever Gries. The silence, the coolness, the beauty of
the night calms her; she does not mind spending

 

itamong the dewy clover, or under a tree; she} Abbo

sleep there oftener in summer than anywhere else.
She takes a path well knowntoher bare feet—it
leads to her favorite sulking place, as the Sleaford
girls call it, and is perhaps the ugliest spot within
aradius of twenty miles. It is called Black’s Dam.
An old disused mill falling to pieces stands there,
the water in the stagnant pond is muddy and foul.
It is a desolate spot in broad-day, itis utterly dis-
mal and dark by night. Some fellow feeling draws
her to it—it, too, is lonely, is ugly, is‘ shunned.
Black’s Dam is her one friend. The ruined millis
haunted, of course, corpse candles burn there,
shrieks are heard there, it is peopled by a whole
colony of bogies. But Joanna is not afraid of
ghosts. Ghosts never, horsewhip, never swear,
never throw sticks of hickory at people’s heads—do
nothing, in fact, but go about in white sheets after

_ nightfall, and squeal to scare pene The only

corpse-lights she has ever seen are lightning-bugs,
the only supernatural screams the whoo-whoo
The sheeted specters ney-

er appear to her; when she is exceptionally

’ jonely sometimes she would rather be glad
*® of the company of one or two.

But ghosts
are not sociable, they never seem to have much
to say for themselves, so perhaps it is as well. On
rainy nen she sleepsin the old_ mill; after un-
usually bad beatings she has staid there for days
feeding on berries,and being found and forced
back again at last,a gaunt skeleton. More than
once she has sat and stared at the green, slimy
water until the desire to spring in and end it all
rows almostimore than she can resist.. “Only old
Gites Sleaford will be glad of it,” she thinks; “Pll
keep alive just to spite him.” And, sad to say, it
is this motive that actually holds the creature back
from self-destruction many atime.. i
The tempter is very strong within her to-night,
but Giles Sleaford is not the object of her vindic-
tive, suppressed wrath. It is Olga Ventnor. She
has grown so used to his oaths and blows that she
looks for nothing else; but a hundred demons
seem aroused within her by the sight of the beauti-
ful, golden-haired, richly-robed child. This is the
sort to whom fairy godmothers come, for whom
magic wands are struck, who go to balls, and dance
with the handsome prince, and marry him, and live
happy forever after. This is what she might have
been, but never can be.
iches, and the fairy Ritts are for this little curled
outing of the gods; for her—the lash, the feeding
Bt pho pie the rags, the rye bread, the ugly, ugly
r air
She has reached the dam, and sits down ona flat
tone on the brink, It is unspeakably lonely, the
een shines in a cloudless midnight sky, the water
ios black, solemn, still; the old mill stands sinis-
ter, mysterious, casting long shadows. Hardly a
breath stirs; some frogs croak dismally in the
‘een depths—that is all. ;

e sits in her favorite attitude, her kneés drawn
up.her chin in her palms, and stares vacantly be-
fore her. One thought, one only DoMernty er—
her hatred of this delicate little beauty and heiress,
with her pearl-fair face and long light hair. She
would kill her if she could; she has all the will in
the world at this moment to bea little murderess.

hocking—unreal?. Well, no; think how she has
been brought up—think of the records of juvenile
depravity you read_and shudder at in the news-
The demon of envy holds her—a
passionate outcry against the injustice of her fate,

the scourings of the pig-trough to her. “Unjust!
unjust!” something within her cries. ares, has she
all—I nothing?” It is the spirit that has hurled

wild weather. the wind blowing great guns, both
hands clutching your hat,and watch with awe-

 

stricken eyes the spirit of the storm abroad on the
waters. The great butting green waves leap up
like Titans, dashing their frothy spray_in your
face, the roar is as the crash of Niagara. Fascinat-
ed, you may stand for hours watching this war of
the gods, and go home, atlast, inclined to opine
that Brightbrook Beachin a storm is'‘even more be-
witching than Brightbrook Beach in summer
sweetness and sunshine, and to envy John Abbott
Esquire his handsome home, his beautiful wife,

 

All the beauty, and the}h

life to this one, |i

his pretty little daughter, his colossal bank ac-
count, and most of all, that grand old ocean lying
there for his perpetual pleasure, a thing of beauty
and a joy forever. Cn A

If Mr. Abbott’s taste in a site is good, his style of
architecture lies open to question. Itis a house as
much like an old Baronial Hall as a genuine Amer-
ican country-house can ever’ make up its mind to
be. What Mr. Abbott’s idea in building a castle is,
is known to Mr. Abbott only. A grand Elizabethan
manor, with turrets, and peaked gables, and

uaint vine-clad stone porches, and painted win-

ows, with stone mullions.

It is new, and it looks three hundred years old at
least, and reflects some of its seeming grandeur
and antiquity upon its master perhaps, And Mr.
\bbott needs it. He is painfully new. He would
like a moat and a drawbridge, and battlements, and
adonjon keep,and a man-at-arms on the outer
bastion, and he could have afforded them all. For,
though extremely new, he is oppressively rich. He
is so rich that his wealth forces itself upon you ag-
gressively. You are disposed to resent it as a di-
rect personal affront; noone man can. logically
have arightto so many millions in bank shares,
and bonds, and stocks, to whole blocks in New York
and Philadelphia, to the larger half of all Bright-
brook, to such gorgeous furniture, inlaid with

recious woods and metals, to pictures worth tre-

le their weight in gold,to sculpture such as no
one short of a prince, or grand duke, or Yankee
billionaire can possess,to horses shod with the
shoes of swiftness, to wines like molten gold and
rubies, to diamonds—Kobh-i-noor, says Bright-
brook, every gem of them. It is true Mrs. Abbott
seldom wears these rich and rare ornaments, never
indeed in Brightbrook, but she has them all the
same, and then,in some ways, Mrs, Abbott is a
very—well, peculiar lady. is

For that matter, Mr. Abbott is a—peculiar—gen-
tlemanalso. His servants say so, with bated breath,
and furtive glances behind them; all Brightbrook
says it, as he rides by, monarch of all he anne
pompous and stout. lonel Ventnor, says it with
a shrug, and holds rather aloof from him, although
his claret and cigars are, like ar’s wife, above
reproach, and he is the only man of quite his own
standing in the place. The two ladies are much
better friends, despite the valetudinarian state of
the one, and the—peculiarity of the other.

When Brightbrook points out to the stranger and
pilgrim within its gates, the wonderful castellated
mansion known as Abbott Wood, and expatiates
on its manifold beauties, it never fails to add a word
of the still greater beauty of Mr. Abbott’s wife. She
was a widow, Brightbrook will tell you confiden-
tially, when Mr. Abbott married her, a Mrs. Lamar
widow of a young Southern officer, and mother of
a six-year-old boy very poor, very proud, with the
bluest of all blue Virginian blood in her veins, and
a pedigree—

‘Oh! if you come to pedigree,” says Brightbrook,
with suppressed triumph, “there’s a line of ances-
try, if youlike! Dates back to the days of Charles
the Second, and Pocahontas, and nobody knows
ow long before. But she was poor, quite desti-
tute, they do say, after the war, and—and Mr. Ab-
bott came along, immensely rich, as you may see,
and—she married him.”

“But you do not mean to say,” cries the tourist, a
little scandalized, “that that was why she married.
him. Because she was quite destitute, and he was
immensely rich?” ‘

“And a very good reason,” responds Brightbrook,
stoutly, ‘only—they do say, he and she don’t quite
hit it off as—well you understand! She’s a great
lady, and very proud—oh! most uncommonly
proud, we must say, an .

A shrug is apt to finish the sentence.

“And he is not,” supplements the stranger. ‘No,
I should think not, when he marries any man’s

 

forever after. You say she snubs him? flings her
genealogical tree in his face; invokes the spirit of
Pocahontas, and the dead and gone Lamar, and all
that sort of thing?” t

fe dear, no!” cries out Brightbrook, shocked,
“nothing of the kind. Much too proud a lady for
hanything of that sort. er ay she has a crush-

ng sort of way with her—holds_ herself like this!’
Brightbrook draws itself haught#ly up, folds its
arms, and flings back its head ‘‘an looks at you

 

widow on these terms, and consents to be snubbed } Abbott

that Abbott{Wood and half his fortune are to belhis,
that he looks to this lad to perpetuate the family
greatness—to merge his own obscurity in the blaze
of the Lamar brilliance,and become the ancestor
of a long line of highly-fed, highly-bred, highly-
wed descendants. Every man has his hobby, this
is John Abbott’s. He is self-made, he takes a bois-
terous Bounderly sort of pride in proclaiming it.
He is an uneducated man, that speaks for itself, it
is unnecessary to proclaim it. Heis a vulgar man,
aloud-talking, deep-drinking, aggressive, pom-
pous, purse-proud man. His wife’s guests were
wont to shrug their shoulders, suppress significant
smiles, or protrude delicate under lips as they list-
ened. And seeing this, Mrs. Abbott has given up
society, that super-refined pride of hers has been
excoriated a hundred times a day by the rich clod
she calls husband. She has renounced society,
buried herself in the solitude of Abbott Wood, wit
only her books, her music, her easel. her children,
for company. She sees as little of Mr. Abbott as
possible; she is always perfectly polite to him, she
defers to his wishes, and is a supremely miserable
woman. Even her pietyfails to comfort her, and
she is very much in earnest, poor lady, with her
pretty, picturesque, lady-like religion. She works
altar-cloths and capes, with gorgeous silks, and
bullion, and gold fringe; she reads her high church
novels; she plays Mozart in the twilight, and sings
in Gregorian chant in the chapel, but all in vain--
that settled unrest and misery leaves her not.
“Dona nobis pacem” sounds from her lipslike
the very cry of asoul in pain, but peace is not
given. She despises her husband, his loud vulgar-
ity and blatant purse-pride, while her own heart is
eaten to the core with that other pride which the
world tolerates and honors, pride of birth and long
lineage, and which, perhaps, in the eyes of Him,
before whom kings are dust, is quite as odious as
the other. Perhaps that peace she seeks so de-
spairingly, might be found, if she hearkened a lit-
tle to the text from which the Reverend Ignatius is
fond of pena ee “Learn of Mr, for Iam meek
ond Boe le of heart, and ye shall find rest for your
souls,”

For Mr. Abbott—well he is sharper-sighted than
his wife gives him credit for, in spite of chill defer-
ence and proud politeness, he knows that she
scorns and disdains—that she has scorned and dis-
dained him fromthe first. And he resents it, si-
lently, passionately. Heloves his wife. She would
open those dark, lustrous eyes of hers in wonder-
ing contempt, if she knew how well. Butshe does
not know it—the scorn in her eyes would drive him
to murder her almost,and he knows that scorn
would be there. Coarse braggart, and rich upstaat
he may be, but he would lay down that strong life
of his for her sake. And that she is colder than
marble, less responsive than ice, is at the bottom of
more than half these fierce outbursts of anger that
so disgust and repel her. Abbott Wood is a roomy
een and more than one skeleton abides there-

n.

It has been said that something of mystery hangs
over, and makes interesting, the master of the
house. Colonel Ventnor, riding with him one day,
has seen a little corner of that dark curtain which
shrouds his past, lifted. It was atthe time Ventnor
Villa was being built. Mr. Abbott, glad of such a
neighbor, had interested himself a good deal in
the proceedings, and saved the colonel a number of
trips down from the city, Colonel Ventnor, a re-
fined man in all his instincts, did not much like the
rough-and-ready lord of Abbott Wood, but he was
obliged by his good nature, and accepted it. It had
happened some four years before this memorable
ce on which little Olga loses herself in the
woods.

It is a dark and overcast autumn evening, threat-
ening rain. Leaving the Villaand the workmen,
they ride slowly along the high-road, Mr.{ Abbott
detailing, with the gusto customary with him when
talking of himself, some of his adventures as a
San Francisco broker and speculator in 49, Sud-
denly his horse shies as a man springs forward
from under a tree, and stands directly before him.

“Blast you!” roars Mr. Abbott, “what the —— are

ou about? You nearly, threw me, you beggar!

hat aye mean byjumping beforea gentleman’s
horse like this?”

“Beg pardon, sir,” says the man, with a grin and
a most insolent manner, “didn’t go for to do it, Mr.

ott. n’t use your horsewhip, sir,” for Mr.
Abbott has raised it; “you might be sorry to strike
an old friend.” oe

He removes his ragged hat as he speaks, and the
fading light falls fuli upon him. John Abbott reels
in his saddle, the whip drops from his hand, his
florid face turns livid.

“It is Sleaford!” he gasps, “by G—!”

Colonel Ventnor looks athim, Heis a gentle-
man in the best sense of the much abused word—he

 

 

swears not at all. Then he looks atthetramp. He

out of a pair of scornful eyes. Never says a word,)is a swarth-skinned, black-looking vagabond, as

eo:

i , Abbott does not know, gossip does not reach
er, she lives in a rarified atmosphere of her own,
with her daiaty work, her ornaments, her child-
pe and the plebeian name of Sleaford penetrates
it not.

And so years goon. The Red Farm goes to ruin.
Colonel Ventnor and family come with the prim-
roses, and depart with the swallows. Abbott Wood

rows more beautiful with every passing year, and
the skeletons in its élosets grin silently there still,
when it falls out that this summer evening Olga

entnor goes astray in the woods, and before ten
at night all Brightbrook is up and in quest.

“She Se be at Abbott Wood,” Frank Livingston
suggests—Frank Livingston, calm and unflurried
in the midst of general dismay. It is a theory of
this young man’s that things are sure to come right
in the end, and that nothing is worth bothering
about; so, though a trifle anxious, he is calm. “She
spoke to me,” he adds, with a twinge of remorse,
“this afternoon about taking herthere. Promised
to FS over and play croquet with Leo and Geoff.”

lonel Ventnor waits for no more. He dashes
spurs into his red roan steed, and gallops likea
madman to Abbott Wood. On the steps of the great
portico entrance he sees the master of the mansion,
smoking a cigar, and looking flushed and angry.
A domestic white squall has just blown over—not
with the “missis;” there are never squalls, white
or black, in that quarter—with one of the kitchen-
maids, who had done, or undone, something to of-
fend him. He has flown into a tremendous passion
with the frightened woman, cursing up hill and
down dale with a heartiness and fluency that would
have done credit to that past-master of the art of
blasnhemy, Sleaford himself. The fact is, his wife
had put him out at dinner, as she has a way of do-
ing, and his slumbering wrath has had to find vent
somewhere. Nowthe fuming volcano is calming
itself down in the peaceful night air, with the help
of a soothing cigar. He stares to see the colonel
ride up, all white and breathless.

“Little Olga? No, she wasn’t there—hadn’t been
—was perfectly sure of it. Lost!—the colonel did
not say so! How was it?”

Ina few rapid sentences Colonel Ventnor tells
him. Mr. Abbott listens with open mouth.

“By jingo! poor little lass! He will join the hunt
immediately. That_French woman ought to have
her neck wrung. He would be after the colonel in
a twinkling.”

And he is—mounted on his
And all night long the woods are searched, an
morning comes, and finds the missing one still
missing. The sun rises, and _ its first beams fall
upon John Abbott, tired and jaded, coming upon
Sleaford’s. Itis a place he avoids; he looks at it
now with ascowl, and fora moment forgets what
he is in search of. No one has thought of looking
here; neither does he. Heis about to turn away,
when the house door opens, and Giles Sleaford, un-
washed and unshorn, comes forth.

“Hullo!” hesays, roughly; “you! What may you
want this time o’ day ?” ;

“We are looking for the colonel’s little girl. You
fr seen her, I suppose ?” says Mr. Abbott, quite
civilly.

“Hayen’t I?” growls Black Giles; “that’s all you
know about it. Ihaveseen her. She’s here, and I
wish she was anywhere else, keeping honest people
from theirsleep. She’s in there fast enough if you
want her. Why doesn’t her own dad come after
her? I should think you had enough to do to mind
hoe own young ’uns, and your wife, from all I

ear.

He laughs a hoarse, impudent laugh, that brings
the choleric blood into John Abbott’s face, and a
demon into either eye. But wonderful to relate, he
restrains himself.

Other members of the hunt ride up now, and it is
discovered that little Miss Olga is very ill, and
nearly out of her senses—why, nobody knows.
She woke up in the night, Lora supposes, and find-
ing herself alone, took fright, and ran screaming
out into the passage, and there fell, striking her
head against the bottom stair, and hurting herself
badly. Whether from the hurt or the fright, she is
at present in a very bad way, and_there is nota
moment to be lost in removing her. Frank is of the
party. He takes his insensible little cousin in his
arms and kisses her, with tears of genuine remorse
in his boyish eyes. If he had gone with her as she
wished, this would never have happened. Now she
may never ask him for anything in this world
again. As he ¢arries her out, a small figure, look-
ing like a walking scarecrow with wild hair, pale
face, torn skirts, bare legs and feet, comes slowly
and sullenly forward, and watches him and his
burden with lowering, scowling glance,

“Here you, Joanna!” calls out one of the Sleaford
girls, sharply. ““Come into the house, and help read
up. Come in this minute!” with a stamp of her
foot, “if you don’t want a little more of what you

owerful black horse.

 

 

got last night.”

way, and don’t stare at a fellow so.”

“All right,” said Guy, doing as he was bidden.

“Now, then!” 3
“What would youthink of—of—well—of my get-
ting m-m-married? There! it’slout any way.”

Guy gave one look of astonishment, and then lay
back in his chair and roared with laughter—not so
much at the proposition as at his uncle’s mode of
stating it; but_he soon recovered his equanimity,
and apologized to the blushing old gentleman. _.

“Think of it, Uncle Job?” he said, grasping, his
ecompanion’s hand. “Why. I should think ver
well of it, if you could get a good, true wife.”

“Would you, though?’

“Certainly I should.”

“I’m not too old?” 3

“Not at all; only fifty-two, I think.”

“What would the duke say?” oe

“Doubtless he would approve of it, if he cared
anything about it; but it wouldn’t make much dif-
ference, as long as the supplies were continued.”

“Ay, that’s it. Would they be continued?” i
_.“Undoubtedly. But Ill ask Mr. Gordon about it,
if you have any doubt, and if you wish me to.” |

“I do wishiyou to. I shall be wonderfully obliged
to you, for I couldn’t possibly do it myself.”

nage the lady! Are you not going to tell me who
sheis?” ;

“Not at present, Guy.” ee oes

“It must be somebody who is living at the the
por I suppose, as you do not go into general so-
ciety.”

“Well, we will say it is, or-it isn’t—no matter.
There is a. difficulty in the way of my telling you
about her just now; because, you see,I haven’t
said anything to her about it yet.”

“Indeed? But you seem to be pretty sure.”

“Well, yes, pretty sure.” | ’ ie!

Guy began to feel not a little anxious for his sim-
ple-minded uncle, lest_ he was about to be victim-

took the liberty, which his extreme intimacy with

him warranted, to throw out_a warning hint. i
“You must look sharp, Uncle Job,” he said,

laughing; “the women are not all what they

“She isn’t a high-flier, I hope.”

“No, she isn’t a high-flier.”

Guy went to see Mr. Gordon at once on_ this deli-
cate subject, and that gegtleman told him he was
confident his principal would not object to or in

da| any way interfere with such an affair.
bi Job Ross’s welfare,” he said,

... He only seeks Mr,

and he is willidg to leave itto that gentleman him-.
self to judge in what way that can be best promo-
ted. Any arrangement of that kind, which meets
with the approbation of Mr. Guy Ross, will be ap-
proved by my principal.”

So Guy went back to his uncle feeling that he had
a new_responsibility thrown upon him, but he
found Job perfectly satisfied with the result of his
mission.

“You'll like her.. I ain’t afraid,” he said. ‘After
rn return from Saratogy, youshall see her and

now all about her, and, in the meantime, I sha’n’t
propose, or if I do, it will be eonditionally and sub-
ject, to your approval. Ishall tell her my whole
history, from beginning to end, every word.”

That is right. Don’t keep anything back from
er,’

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
A PANIC,

We shift the scenes once more to the homestead
of old Jabez Lynn, in Minnesota, at the moment
when the household of that were man was thrown
into the greatest commotion by the capture of the
mammoth bear, which had so long foiled and baf-
fled the ingenuity of Ralph and Douglass.

As soon as Eyelyn had recovered her health, the
young men had resumed their project, and finished
and set their fice weap which they transported to
the wood, and fastened securely to the ground.

Ittremained three days and nights untouched,

but on the fourth morning, at daybreak, word was
brought that the trap had been sprung.
There was no mistaking that, at last, the bear had
been caught, for he made his presence known with-
in the trap by a succession of terrible roars which
left no doubt of his imprisonment. ; P

The exultant young men hastened out with their
dogs, and guns, and lanterns, to make sure of their
triumph, butas they drew near the trap, the tu-
mult was so great within, and the heavily-weighted
cover was so violently shaken and atthe same time
raised, that they paused, in alarm, lest the enraged
beast should break out upon them.

After some hesitation they approached, and to
make their victory sure, they hastily gathered
heavy stones and wae them on the top of the cage.

Having secured the trap, the great question was

 

how to get their prize'out of it andintosome larger

 

 

ized by some artful and designing woman, and he:

“I know it.Guy. I know that better than you:

 

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

 

 
 

 

a

ail

- to selh

» ture and what was to follow, and the young ladies

, Evelyn, chiefly from the young physician who had

had a curiosity to see her.

_ three sides, similar to those used for wild animals
, by shownien, an

' replied Douglass. “Alice sees it as well as I do.”

_ her here without asking my advice. I’m raly afraid

. . Mrs. Lynn’s'fears! Hestaid atthe house’on this

. tried to evade his attentions, for she could not well

'| ;But when the young man invited them all to ac-
; Company him part of the way to the wood, where

| taricé she declined to go,

> earéful.

-4 the noisy crowd than he had intended, but as all
' were agreed thatno danger was to be apprehended

+s They found seats on the bane (ot iB ‘brook, whence
Went 0
' great! cage. ed

| trap, its back board

' while the old one was being removed through the

es ~gussed, and for a while it gaye promise of‘success.
~»o The fastenings of the trap were loosened, and, by

_ which pointthe fatigued workers, deafened by the

Sati

'' then rushed in blind fury upon the crowd, uttering

 

 

es

 

 

 

 

 

 

HE NEW YORK WEEKLY. eo —-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

him 'to some traveling circus or menagerie.
In the morning many of the neighbors were as-
sembled at Jabez Lynn’s, discussing the great cap-

were on the lawn, listening to and partakingfin the
eonversation, when Mr, Charley Wolfe rode up and
joined the party. :

Singularly enough, it was the first time that Eve-
lyn had met him, for she had always declined to go
into the parlor when he made his evening ealls,
greatly tothe delight of her Aunt Prudence, who
seeing how unselfish she was, had ceased to fear
her dangerous charms. .

But danger is sometimes nearest when it seems
farthest off. ;

Charley Wolfe knew something from rumor about

attended her during her illness, and he had long

He was very attentive to, Evelyn on this oceasion,
after introduction, and chatted and laughed with
her almost to the exclusion of her fair cousins.

Meanwhile, the pending problem was solved by
the decision to havea large cage immediately con-

structed in the village, with heavy iron bars on

n, and when it; was completed, the pres-

ent company Were to aseamble again, and aid in
the removal of the.mouster into his new quarters.

It required several days for the combined efforts
of a carpenter and blacksmith to makethe required
tenement for Bruin, andinthe meantime é6very
morning they found numerous fresh tracks of his
mate on every side of the trap,showing that she
had walked around it seeking to liberate her com-
panion. ;

.When the time came for transferring the bear to
his new den, the young men did not lack assistance,
forthe noe ae game from far and near to the

“bear bee,” as they called it, and the oceasion was
“made a sort of general holiday. ;

Mr. Wolfe was, of course, among this assemblage

—he had ridden overto Mr. Lynn’s nearly every
day since the capture, but it came to be pretty well
understood that the bear was a “bare pretext,” as
Douglass said, for his visits. :
' “He comes to sea Evvy.” he said. “He is always
looking out for her now, and he never stays’ long
unless she makes her appearance. He doesn’t
know his mind a week at a time about girls.”

“Don’t say that, my son,” said his alarmed moth-
er, who had feared the same thing, “Have some
regard for your sister—do.”

“The truth may as well be spoken, mother—you
van’t alter things by shutting your eyes to them,”

‘iknow Alice is in low spirits about something;
bat Lhoped it wasn’t that. It will be a dreadful
thing if Charley Wolfe jilts her after all his. court-
ing.” :

“Itidn’t Evelyn’s fault, for she kept out of his
way as;long as she could.”

“I don’t know,I wouldn’t trust any gal when
there’s:a beau in the case, particularly a rich beau.
I told your father how it would be when he brought

he has upsot everything—men always do.”
The fickle Charley’s conduc certainly warranted

morning along time after the crowd had gone over
to the wood, following the great lumber. wagon on
which the cage, was placed,and Evelyn in vain

‘be absent on an aceasion of such general interest.

they could see everything plainly, yet at a’safe dis-
eing careful, however,
not to do so until after her cousins had accepted
the invitation, and excusing herself on the score of
her timidity, :

“Lam a great coward,’ she said. “Ido not want
to go any nearer, and I hope you will all be very
I shall look on from my window.”
| Mv. Wolfe conducted the young ladies nearer to

_ they:did not consider it worth while to turn back.

they could plainly see all th n around the
The wagon had,been. backed “tip. ih ‘front of the
i removed,and the cage stood
with ba large. door opened toward the end of the
yehisle, :
ow the plan of operations decided upon was to
raiss the trap, with its living freight, into the wag-
on, and then, into the .open -cage, after’ which the
door of the trap was to be raised by levers applied
between the bars, and the animal was to. be admit-
ted into his more capacious apartment, ;
A temporary partition was then to be introduced,
to keep the beast in one end. of his new habitation,

door. :
Perhaps this was. not the wisest

lan, but it was
adopted as the most feasible of,’

Il that were dis-

the aid of a score of men, it was raised until its for-
‘ward end rested on the hind part-of the wagon, at

animal’s increased roars and by the yelping of the
dogs, paused for a moment to rest. :

The frightened horses had been unhitched, asa
matter of precaution, and were with difficulty held
by two men, but at this critical point another actor
entered upon the scene, in the person of the mon-
ster’s enraged consort, which had been all this time
answering its mate’s cries at a distance, but which
now, goaded to desperation by its appeals, ap-

eared for a moment at the edge of the wood, and

 

the most terrific roars, ;

Panic-stricken, the men let go their hold upon |
the trap, which fell to the ground, the horses broke
loose and scampered across the plain. A wild cry
arose, some saying thatthe caged bear had escaped,
others that an army of bears were. coming! No
one knew exactly what to believe, but a general
stampede ensued, while the dogs, to their credit be
itsaid, awaited the onset of the foe.

Encouraged by the flight of its human foes, the |
she-bear, which was larger thana “grizzly,” and
just at present more ferocious, rushed frantically
forward, and was soonin the midst of the dogs,
which it knocked in all directions, andthen passed
on in pursuit of a part of the flying throng.

Mr. Wolfe and the ladies were directly in its path.
There had been so short time for decision or, ac-
tion on their part, that before they were conscious
of the magnitude of their danger, some of the fu-
gitives dashed past them, and the open-mouthed
brute was making directly for them, while loud
shouts of warning eame to them from every quar-
ter, and shriek upon shriek rang from the distant
house, where Evelyn had seen everything from her
window. ; i f
“ The ladies fled in different directions, Alice, in
her panic, rushing directly in the path of the bear,
Which was quickly upon her, seizing her_ flowing
skirt in its jaws, but at that moment Charlie Wolfe
rushed to her rescue, and succeeded in drawing the
attack of the savage animal upon himself. Being
without any weapons, wherewith to defend him-
self, and being unable to cope, single-handed, with
tne brute, he was dreadfully mangled, and the issue
would have been fatal, had not the dogs created a
slight diversion in his favor by attacking the bear
in the flank, when a number of the men came to his
weg some armed, with stones, others with

knives.

After abrief but exciting struggle. the bear at
last suecumbed, and lay dying on the plain, amid
triumphant shouts.

 

The real hero of the day. Charlie Wolfe, Iny bleed- |

ing on the ground, his head supported in Alice’s lap,
while Phebe fanned his pallid faee with her hat and
called frantically on the men for help. t

They rendered itas soon as they could, that is to |
say, as soon as thegeneral danger was over, and the
wounded’ man, sooth to say, had been patient
enough.

“Pm badly hurt, I fear,” he said to Ralph and
Douglass in a feeble voice, “and I’m losing blood

fast. Do something to stanch it, if you can, and:

then carry me to your house.” :

' Charlie was lifted by gentle hands into the wagon,
and was supported in the arms of Ralph, while
Douglass drove slowly home, followed by all the
saddened crowd. save a few who returned to see
whether the captured bear was still in safe custody,
an¢ if so to make his imprisonment more sure,

CHAPTER XXX.
“WHAT OOULD I Do ?”

Mr. Wolfe’s injuries proved to be ve
his left shoulder being dislocated, and his arm
badly torn, and the surgeon who was long in tom-
ing, found him much enfeebled by the shock and
the flow of blood, which had not been effectually
checked till he came. Ri,

‘His case was not consideréd dangerous, but the
doctor forbade his removal, and he remained more
than aweek at Mr. Lynn’s house, most carefully
attended by allthefamily. — . :

He had paved Alice’s life, there was no question
of that, and his courage was the: theme of ever
tongue, but he made light of it himself, and did no
seem to consider that he had performed anything
like a heroic exploit.

“What else could Ido?” he asked, laughing. “I
couldn’tstand still with my hands in my pockets
and seé the wild beast eat Alice up.”

Nor.did he during his convalescence show any
marked tenderness toward Alice, but, on the con-
trary. he seemed under restraint in her presence,
for the sisters visited him frequently at suitable
times, and prepared many delicacies for him,
which he always received with proper acknowl-
po ete :

f he was under restraint, however, Alice was
still more so. Her position, in fact, was an exceed-
ingly delicate one, for, between her desire to show
@&proper gratitude to her preserver and a fear of
unmaidenly, forwardness, she never knew. exactly

 

serious,

help seeing that the perverse young farmer had no
eyes for any one but her when she was in his room,
she made her calls very brief indeed.

Charlie Wolfe earnestly wished that he had saved
her life instead of Alice’s, and then he thought she
would have looked more nel upon him—in fact,
he would have been willing to have gone through
his recent peril again to win Evelyn’s love.

Mr. Wolfe’s ‘mother was not living. A maiden
aunt was at the head of his household, and she had
spent a partof every day with him during his con
finement at Mr. Lynn’s, assisting to take of him,
and showing the greatest solicitude for his re-
covery.

She was his confidante in all things—had known
and approved of his addresses to Alice, and. she’
now saw with sorrow his changed fancy for Hve-
lyn, which indeed he soon confessed to her. :

She.thought it wrong, and tried to dissuade him
from it, but her attachment to her nephew was 80
strong that she did not. like to thwart or rebuke
him, and so her first opposition availed but little.

Mr. Wolfe labored under the mistaken notion that
he was not in honor bound to Alice, because he had
never declared his love, nor offered marriage, for-
getful that along series of marked attentions toa
young lady, intended to show attachment and to
create it, are as binding upon an honorable and up-
right man as any spoken or written proposal could
possibly be. PG AO DRE :

Alice’s sad face, sad in spite ‘of every effort at
cheerfulness, must have smitten his conscience,
when, a few days after, he went home nearly well,
and in good spirits, after a general leave-taking in
which, although cordial to all, he showed no special
kindness to her.

“T saved her life,’ he said to his aunt, when on
the homeward way they discussed the matter.
“That was something.”

Something, was it, Mr. Charley Wolfe? .Ah, not
much if you have made it a blighted one, hapless
and hopeless—something to be endured rather than
enjeyed for long years to come.

CHAPTER XXXI.
1A SENSATION. j
‘Among the visitors at Saratoga, inthe summer
of 1856, was a Major Hayne, a young Southern gen-

 tleman of large wealth and of good family.

He had been a frequenter of Saratoga several
successive summers, had been a lion in society,
and* was still one, although his mane was some-
what clipped by the Great Mogul, who had decid-
edly outshone him, and had become afar greater
celebrity than himself. He dressed better, kept
finer horses and carriages, and more seryants, and
in short he spent and gave away more money than
Hayne did or could afford to do, and consequently
he excited that gentleman’s continual ire and envy.

He saw his own followers falling off and running
after the Great Mogul, and he could not fail to see
that at the frequent assemblies or “hops” at the
principal hotels, as well as at the Springs, when the
throngs of fashionable people surrounded them,

lonel Egremont was the cynosure of all eyes,
erie he himself was only one of many secondary
ights.

The two gentlemen*were of eourse acquainted
with each other, as they stopped:at the sanre hotel,
but their intercourse was limited to ORE TROL: ciyili-
ties, and those on Major Hoaxue 9 side certainly
were of the coolest and most formal Kinds 5

But heartily as the Southerner hated his distin-
fone rival, circumstanées arose to intensify that

eeling. bs f fy

Mr. Hayne had with. him a slave—his body-ser-
vant—a, Pee eee fine-looking negro, who, he
boasted, could not sbe ‘tempted to desert him.
With him Colonel Egremont’s sable coaechman,,
Tom, became ‘intimate, and learned from, him a
very different story—to, wit, that he longed, for
freedom, and although he was attached to his mas-
ter, he would gladly run away from, him, if he be-
lieved he could do so with success... Tom told Pom-
pey that Saratoga was only about a hundred and
hacia miles from Canada. and once there he would

6 safe. ' 1 47 ;

*“Yowean go there in two or three nights,’ Tom
said, “and I know .a gemman. here what would
help you off, and give you money and victuals,”

Pompey? listened engerly to the tempter,- but
there was a stronger tempter within his own bos-
om in that insatiable longing for liberty which, per-

tains to every child of bondage.

Ef I only could,” said; Pompey; ‘oh, if I only
could! But Massa Robert would sartain ketch me.
He done make b'lieve he trust me, but he watch me

allthetime up heres DHknows”) ovoin odenun |.
“It’s worth trying for, Ishould say, Pompey, Ef
he ketches ‘you, you won't be-~any worse o than

you was before, except a little flogging, perhaps.”
Pompey’s courage was gradually worked up so
far that he consented -to an interview with: a
Quaker .or Friend,’ who resided in the village,
and who’ had ‘heen known more than-once to help
fugitives on their way to the land offreedom..
In company with Tom he went, to him, ip the
evening ‘with fear.and trembling, but hereceived.
80 much hearty sympathy, and so. many.assurances
of success, that. he resolved on making the trial
the very next night. ~ ickattts Griese ete
Leaving his room at alate hour,of the night, he
repaired to the house of the friendly Quaker in
company with Tom. who_took with him «a suit of
his own elothing, which Pompey was to Wear as a

disguise. et
Pompey was to go as faras Caldwell on foot,
where he was to take a deck passage or rr of the

me

lake steamboats, and was to give out, if-questioned, |
that he was: going to Plattsburgh to get employ- |

ment on some government works which were pro-
gressing there.

He bads his two friends and helpers .good-by,

with much warmth of feeling, and real gratitude, }.

imperfectly expressed, and promised to send back
the money that he had received, out of his first

earnings, taking the Friend’s address on a piece of |

oer for that purpose. He would find some one,
6 said, to write the letter for him.

The Quaker also gave him an empty eny«lope,
addressed to himself, which he was to post us soon
as he reached Canada, to signify his safe arrival;,
and then, soon after midnight; the fugitive starte
on his lonely journey, Tom returning to the hotel,
well satisfied with his share in the work, and
chuckling over the prospect of success.

There was no small excitement at Congress Hall
the next morning when it was rumored that Mr.
Hayne’s faithful servant had run away, and the
irate man, who had boasted se much of-his negro’s
fidelity, was really more chagrined at having his
vaunts falsified than by the loss he had sustained.

“He has been put up to it,” he said, when some of
his more intimate friends reminded him of his
over-confidenee. “Pompey would never Have
dreamed of such athing, and I should not be snr-
prised if he should come back before night humble
enough. He knows when he is well off.”

Pompey did not return, however, nor did the con-
stables whom Major Hayne put on his track bring
him, and Mr. Hayne grew more wrathful, although
he professed great indifference to the result.

There were several colored waiters at the hotel,

all of whom were more or less objects of Major
Hayne’s suspicion as abettors of the runaway,.and
several of these, who had been daily recipients of
perquisites from the rich Southerner, were officious
in seeking to find out who was the real offender, in
order to clear themselves.
Tom’s unconcealed exultation over the escape
drew suspicion upon him, and when challenged
with complicity in it by his sable brethren. he only
pet and ‘would neither deny nor admit the
charge.

One of the hotel barbers communicated to Major
Hayne his belief that Colonel Egremont’s coachman
was “in it,” giving his reasons for thinking so, and
this idea flred along train of resentments which
had been accumulating in the major’s breast. °

“Very likely he and his master are both in it,” he
said. “Somebody must have furnished Pomp witlr
money, and Egremont seems to have plenty of that,
however he came by it.”
| On that morning, when Colonel Egremont’s ¢ar-
| riage drove up to the door, and awaited his appear-
ance, Major Hayne, who was sitting on the piazza
with some friends, walked to the railing and ab-
ruptly asked Tom if he had anything to do with the
escape of his servant. :

ns neat with an air of no little dignity,
replied:
= *m not obleeged to answer that question, Major

ayne.”

“Ah! then you are gniltv, of course,
scoundrel!” said the Southerner. ‘

Now this was language which the major was ac-
ecustomed ‘to address to his servants without a
thought ofits being resented. Judge of his aston-
ishment and fury when Tom boldly retorted:

mie are ‘a scoundrel yourself, for calling me
eone

Hayne laid his hand upon his pistol pocket. but
recollecting himself, turned away, saying:

“T ean’t quarrel with him. His master shall an
swer to me for it.”

ajor Hayne walked the portico rapidly and si-
lently, looking, at every turn, at the door-way by
which Colonel Egremont was expected to appear:
and his rage was so plainly eee on his features,
that some of his friends, dreading the result of an
immediate interview between the two gentlemen.
eaten to draw him away until his wrath had
abated.

“There'll be time enough to see Colonel Egre-
mont about this when you are cooler,” said one. -

“There’s no time likethe present,” replied Hayne,
compressing his lips. ; :

“So say I,” said a young Virginian, coming for-
ward. “Thecolonel must be required to punish
his servant or adopt his quarrel. The man who
keeps such an impudent fellow must be held re-
sponsible for his acts and words.”

“We cannot punish our servants for such offenses
except by discharging tham,” said a mild-mannered
old gentleman.

“Very well, let him discharge him then, prompt-

you black

 

 

what she ought to do or to Say.

Fe returned the Virginian, excitedly. “I'll answer
that Major Hayne will be satisfied with that.”

‘MONTE MADRONA;

 

to the gentlemen present, was about passing to his
carriage, when Major Hayne stepped in front of
him, and said with ill-suppressed agitation;

wore with you, if you please, Colonel Egre-
mont.”

“Certainly, sir,” replied that gentleman, stopping
and drawing himseif up into a yery ereet attitude,
for the major’s tone and the earnest looks of all pres-
ent conyinced him that something unpleasant had
occurred.

“Your servant has grossly insulted me, and I re-
qnira his punishment,” said the Southerner, ab-
ruptly,

“Btop.& moment, Major Hayne,” replied Egre-
mont, hoftd y. “Are you sure that you haye not mis-
taken the word when you say require? You cannot
surely expect a gentleman to listen to any request
couched in such terms,’

» Before the other could reply, the. Virginian, who
Was anxious that his friend should not put himself
in the wrong, interfered, ; :

“Twill venture to inodify my friend’s remark a
little,” he said. ‘Major Hayne has, as he says, been
grossly insulted by your servant, and he thinks,
and I think, that, as a gentleman, you will see the
propriety of punishing him by discharging him or
otherwise——”
wrathful major to see if he accepted his friend’s
amended statement.

“That’s it, isn’t it, Hayne?” said his friend.

“Any way you please, so that we get an answer,”
replied the other. F yt
_ “Ishould, indeed, feel the propriety of discharg-
ing any servant of mine who has been guilty of un-
provoked insolence to a gentleman,” said Egre-
mont. “Allow meto et which of my men it is you

accuse, and what are the circumstances.”

Tom was beginning to speak in a very excited
manner, bat Colonel Egrement stopped him, say-
De:

g:

“Wait, Tom, until your accusers have spoken,”
and turned to Major Hayne and the Virginian to

ear their version of the story. | :

“So we are to have a regular judicial trial, are
we?” said the major, “PI have none of this. [have
told you that this fellow insulted me! My friend,
Rockford, has told you the same, s0 that you have
the assertion of two gentlemen, who are not accus-
tomed to have the word of a servant offset against
their own.”

A tall, gaunt Massachusetts man,an M. C., who
had made his way to the front, here took the word:

“Probably not,” he said, slowly, and in rather a
drawling tone; “but there are several other gentle-
men here, who have seen and heard all of this little
affair. Jim oné of them.” ,

, And he proceeded to tell the whole story, inelud-

ing Major Hayne’s first unsupported charge against

the negro.of complicity in “running off” his slave.

Hayne did not deena him, but walked to and
fro over a few yards of the piazza in a very excited
way, Swinging a little cane, and glancing now and
then at the speaker, ‘

_ vIs this the Gase_as you understand it?” Egre-
mont asked of the Virginian.

“Bubstantially—fes, sir.”

And now you have the whole story, what do you
say.toit!’? Major Hayne asked, stopping in front
of Colonel Egremont. :

“It is evident,” replied the Great Mogul, standing
erect, and looking his questioner in the face, “that
the first insult came from you, who called Thomas
ascoundre]. If you will retract that charge, I will
see that he retracts his.”

ajor Hayne was Bik with rage.
«Retract!” he said, with a sardonic smile. ‘Per-
phapS you would like to have me apologize to him?”
+41 should not.think it amiss,” was the calm re-
ply. ; ; :

_ No? Well, I will tell’you, how I will apologize.
Isaid that he was a scoundrel. I repeat it. And if
yousubtain him, you are another!”

The words were not fairly out of his mouth when
Oolonel Egremont slapped his face with his gloved
hand, not heayily, but with a blow intended rather
to vindicate his honor than to inflict pain.

., Hayne. leaped backward a step, and attempted to

Gran a pistol, but others interfered and prevented

m.
“There is only one way to_settle this matter,”
=a the Virginian, “‘and the sooner if is done the
stter.” ‘ i 3
“The sooner the better; your friend knows where
ITamto be found,” sogpgnaya Colonel Egremont,
and. bowing to the gentlemén, he stepped into his
carriageand droveof
TOBE CORRE
. Lees} ; ;

 

.

‘THE MYSTIC TEN.

A WILD STORY OF THE MINES. —

FEgremont’s eyes turned from the speaker to the | ¢

tents, and fora moment the sanguinary struggle
oeasedbntit was only for) a moment.. Uttering
flores Gries,othe outlaws advan with drawn

flan,<who made a savage

 

the Storm.”
“Kerrect! come on then; here, ye kin carry the
light so’s [kin hey both han’s free.” |
hen, with drawn revolvers in hand, the two en- |
tered the tunnel, followed shortly by the res
with weapons ready for instant use, move

Passing a sharp turnin the narrow passnge, how-
ever, the candle was no longer needed, for a short
distance ahead ey cond iseern the red, myste-
rious glow which illuminated the council-chamber
ofthe Mystic Ten.

The utmost caution was now observed, as, if the
outlaws knew of their approach, they might run
into a bitter pe

All eyes were fixed eagerly upon ‘the two men in
advance. They saw Old Ailmentary pause at the
end of the passage and eer out beyond him, and a
moment after signing them to halt, he moved for-
ward, and, followed closely by Frank, disappeared
from their sight,

What the movements of the old man and his
companion were afterward they could only conjec-
ture, but suddenly there came to their ears the
sharp erack of a eee a wild, agonized ery, and
following instantly the sullen report of a derrin-

rer.

Even in the instant of startled surprise which
seized upon the men in the passage, both Monte
Madrona and Harry Love recognized in the last
the voice of the weapon which had played such an
important part the previous night in the hands of
the concealed marksman, when the’ fair-haired
gambler was a captive in the hands of the Mystic

en.

Then the wild shrieks of the demented lad rang
through the passage calling to them for hy They
waited to hear no more, but with revolvers in hand
sprang out into the brightly-illuminated apartment.

They caught a sight of Old Ailmentary lyin
prone upon the rocky floor,and the strange lac
bending over him, his face buried in his hands and
moaning piteously, while adark-robed figure Jay
motionless a short distance away. Only an instant
they saw this, for then there suddenly ran a cirole
of flame around the apartment, and a murderous
yolley was poured upon them.

At that deadly fire four men fell, Harry Love
among the first. Then, out from their concealment,
sprang a number of the dark-robed and masked fig-
ures of the outlaws. i

But they had to deal with men who were inured
to sudden attacks and surprises—men who had
lived from boyhood in the turmoil of danger—and
as they sprang into view, the revolvers of the
ancl mén returned the yolley with telling ef-

ect.

Harry Love struggled to his feet.

“Give it to them, boys!” he shouted, his powerful
voice Oy are high above the din of battle. “I’m with
you yet.”

, His men answered with asayage cheer, and tak-
ing advantage of every covering, they poured their
bullets upon the outlaws. Wounded many, some to
the death, they fought with a desperation that
seemed born of despair. Outnumbered three to
one at first, their well-directed shots lessened the
terrible odds rapidly.

Monte Madrona had escaped unharmed the mur-
derous volley of the outlaws, and as the masked
men sprang into view, uttering their fierce cries,
he opened ry Fi them with his revolvers, firing
with a rapidity simply wonderful. Nor did be
waste ashot. In as many seconds, six of the out-
laws went down dead or dying beneath his unerr-
ing aim.

And during all the confusion of sounds, he was
listening to catch the sound of a voice, for none of
the bandits were recognizable inthe disguise they
fought in, but Duke Derringer, if he was among the
nunber, did not allow his voice to betray him. |

The fair-haired gambler had taken up a position
near Crazy Frank, who was kneeling over the body
of Old Ailmentary, and here, too, the sheriff's men
gradually gathered.

The struggle, short as it had been,so far had
been fraught with a frightful loss of life, and dead
and bleeding forms were lying all about the floor
of the cavern. : ;

Harry Love rallied about him but two men—him-
self badly wounded, with Monte—four all told. The
loss of the outlaws had been more severe, and but
seven of them were left standing, but even these
were terrible odds to contend with. :

Firing had ceased from the mere fact that the re-
volvers on both sides were ail emptied of their-con-

ove or —— TP mura ee eee aaa ee —_—o rman : eee ss es 5 pr tees 5 Serer el nace ae Ree aan re eee ee sear ; _— : SessSserestaseaeeeenneEeeSeES
es oTES nia he could be fed and tended until; Evelyn went in very rarely to see the invalid, al-} Thegreat Mogul entered upon the sceno at this| “No; Lam going with you,” eried the boy. “You| . “What! was that outlaw who fired at me Duke |
» there was an opportunity to get him to market, or | though he often asked for her, but as she could not | moment, and, with a slight inclination of his head | promised me that I could remain by you, Spirit of | Nolan?” inquired Old Ailmentary, or Oolonel Hard-

| ing, as we now know him.

who, | recognizing the face of the dead man; “and your
; U eau- ; bullet did this, Clytie?”

tiously on after the feeble, flickering light Frank |
carried, \

 

“Yes; see!”and the woman stooped to lift the
mask from the face of the outlaw she had slain.
“Duke Derringer, by all the fates!” cried Monte,

pines answered Clytie, with a shudder,
“Then it was you who saved me last night from
hanging?”

“Yes, Will. I knew you had friends about. you
who could assist you,if they could have time;
therefore I determined to Bolny Duke Derringer
and his menas longas possible—yon know with
What result.” ;

Indeed I do, sister; but for you I fear Twould
have been robbed of my life. But come, let us leave
this place and its horrors. I notice that the light is
becoming fainter, and may soon leave us in dark-
ness.

“Hold on, Monte!” cried Harry Love, who had
been a mute spectator of thie scene. “I want tosee
if we have wiped out those Missourians—the Lowry

ems

boys. aa

This reminded Monte of his antagonist whom he
had struck down, but on turning to where George
Lowry had lain he found tke place bare. The Mis-
sourian, regaining consciousness, had evidently
stolen gut of the apartment during the surprise
which Ea the unmaskingof Crazy Frank, and
escaped. '

Oommunieating this fact tothe sheriff, Monte as-
sisted him in uncovering the faces of the slain, dis-
gover tha Harry Lowry with a bullet through ‘his

rain, rey

This determined, the sadly decimated party, with |
the two prisoners, left the rocky cavern. behind,
glad to get away from the ghas y scene, '

ut our friends?” said Monte, just: previous,
and pointing to the dead forms of the sheriff's men.

We should give them, at Jeast, decent burial.”
‘pit shall be attended to,” answered Harry Love.

But we are too peer oat up todo it’now. [will
fone ig men I left behind in the pass to give them

urial.

They left. not by the way they had entered, but
by a larger passage which brought them in a very
few moments out upon a narrow ledge running
along the mountain directly behind the sheet of
water tumbling down from overhead. ;

When they finally stood in the open air again the
day was breaking and objecta becoming distinoter
every moment.

Arriving at the place where they had left the girls
in charge of Cupid, they found the giant blaek en-
gaged in binding the form of adark-robed figure
lying upon the ground. Itwas the Missourian,
George Lowry. Harry Love uttered a shout of sat-
isfaction. | a

“By gracious, Cupid, you’re a briok!” he cried,

exultingly. ““How did you capture hinr?” :
anes capture him, Masse Love, he run agin
suffin.” ee

“Run against something? What?”

The negro stretched out his huge hand and eyed
it reflectively. ry,

“Dunno what yo’ eall’s it, Matse Love, but dar’s
de article in questum for ’spection.” ;

The sheriff laughed. A black Iump upon the
peony of the Missourian explained the negro’s
words.

 

As Pur] and Ione emerged from the niche in the
wall, Harry Love led the latter aside. :
' “Miss Gastro, Ihave kept my promise; there is
no living man who has the shadow of a hold upon.
youany more, Duke Derringer is dead!’’ he said,
us a low voice. - “You will remember your promise
ome.”

“How could I ever forget it?” answered Ione,
with feeling. “But my father—what of him ?”
“It grieves me to tell you, Lone.” i“
‘He is dead ?” 4 ;
es. 4 :
No more was said. Ione shed a few silent tears

and turned away. H
Then with pores! hearts, yet with a gloomy
thonght intruding ever and anon into their pen
ier feelings, the little band moved out of the val-
ey, the sheriff and hissurviving deputies btinging
up the rear with their three prisoners. :

CHAPTER XXIV. .
CONCLUSION. py
Asad surprise awaited Purl when they arrived
at Bummers’ Bar, Her grandfather, alarmed at
her long absence, had come down into the town to
inquire for her, and had been knocked down. and
instantly killed by a runaway horse maddened by
fright. Purl’s grief was heart-rending to withess,
and it required all Monte’s persuasive powers to

¢ ¢

 

knives, and as best they might our friends defend-
ed themselver, 25 6). ;
Monte found himself

opposed by a brawny, ruf-
n fangs at him. with a huge
knife. qos by

“Thar,
TH fix ye now! eQ7H Ps fie
..."Why, hallo, Pike County, how are you?’’ cried
Monte, nimbly avoiding the deadly blow,then con-
tinued as he planted his clenched hand with. terri-
ble force right under the ear of George wry.

 

By Will B. Schwarle, 0.

("Monte Madrona” was commenced im No. 48. Back Nos. can be

 

obtained from any news agent in the United States.)

_QOHAPTER XXIII...) !
THE BEGINNING OF THE END.”

“Wal, I ber-durned!” was all that Old Ailmentary
could i : ps the familiar tones of Monte Ma-
Grona’s yoice fell upon his ears. _
“Well, suppose you get off of me for achange, old
man;,.your knees are as sharp as a razor,” said
Monte, coolly. —- Fe A era ’
“In course I will. *Scuse me, sport; T war all
knocked in a heap, like, by hearin’ yer v’ice,” cried
Old Ailmentary, hastily. “Great grubbs en’ gineral
corruption! howair ye anyway? Shake!”
“Well, I guess I am all right—that is, all you have
Monte, doubtfully. “Why

 

 

bi: cs me,” Senor y a

7t you sing out who you were ?” —
tae time, fur a fact, sport. Thort ye warone
| ofthem outlawfellers—I didso.”

“You are just the man we are looking for, Monte,”
eried Harry Love, coming up at that moment. “Can
you guide us into that den?” —

“T guess I ean; but what to do with the girls, I
know not.” : a

“Leave them in charge of the’nigger, Monte; we
can easily findthem a secure hiding-place.”

“That'll do it. Cupid!”

“Yah, sah, Heah Lis. Dis chile am a powerful
sight glad to. see yo’ kickin’ yet,” answered the ne-
gro, pressing his master’s hand.

“Oh, yes, we are a hard crowd to kill; but, Oupid.
I want you to stay with this lady.” ,

“Rader go inter de fight, marse; but jest as yo’
ay.” ,

“T want you to remain and protect this lady.’

“But.see here, Monte. lone will have to go with
him, also,” whispered Harry Love.

“Ah! is she here yet? I thought she had gone,”
cried Monte, noticing, for the first time, the pres-
ence of the Faro Queen. “Of course she shall go
with Purl.”

, Oh,ITama
Ling the remar
“Yes, miss, my prisoner,” replied Harry Love;

“but have no fear, you will find me a kind jailer.”

A niche was soon discovered in the mountain
wall. andinto this the tavo girls were placed, the
giant negro cn wees over the entrance.

Then, with Monte Madrona at their head, the Iit-
tle band entered the winding passage and moved
cautiously forward. |

No adventure befell them; nothing obstructed
their advance. The gloom in the narrow tunnel
was frighfful, but they dared not strike a light for
fear of betraying their presence. At last, after
what seemed a long time, they entered the room
where the fuir-haired gambler had stricken do
the Mexican, Ping Gastro. ;

The eandle upon the table had burnt down clear
to the table, and was slowly expiring, flickering
now. brighter, now lower, and throwing weird, fan-
tastic shadows upon the walls and ground of the
apartment.

The Mexican lay in the same position Monte had
placed him in, and they saw thatthe man was dead.
A moment after, the expiring light flickered up
brightly for a moment, and then went out, plunging
the apartment into Stygian gloom. .

But through the darkness, finding tts way into
the cavern through: some narrow cracks in the
wall, they saw afaint red light. .

Old Ailmentary. instantly applied his eyes to one
of these openings, and as he looked, he uttered a
ery, for he recognized the apartment he had been
in onee before. | is

“Great grubbs, pard,” he said to Harry Love at
his side, “Ell beta bedbug’s eyelash to. a meetin’-
house steeple, thet them fellersairinthar.” -

“Then how to get at them, that’s the question.”

“Wal, less hev a light fust—a cat cudn’t see noth-
in’ in this darkness; mebbe we kin diskiver the
way.” :

The old man produced from his pocket the end
g a candle, whose feeble. spluttering rays soon
rew a faint light throughout the apartment.
closer examination of the apartment revealed the
fact that an opening at one side, which they took at
first sight fora mere niche, was in reality a pas-
sage,and asitran in a. direction which seemed
uke to lead them into the grotto, it was followed.

“Til go ahead with the light, Harry.” said Ola
Ailmentary; “they mought hey things doctored to
guv us a s’prise.”

“All right: we will followat a short distance,” re-
sponded the sheriff.

Old Ailmentary was about to move into the pas
sage when he noticed Frank at his side. 8
‘strange lad had never left him sinee they had first
entered upon the search. ;

“I reckon ye’d best stay behind, boy,” said the
old man, kindly. ‘I may run inter a hornet’s nest,

nm

ee then ?” said Ione, overhear-

Last best, how’s that?”

The Missourian did not stop to reply, carried for-
ward by the impulsion of the blow—a blow that
might well have felled an ox, he went down to the
ground, and his head striking a projecting point of
ra he lay stunned and motionless upon the rocky

oor.

‘Then came an unexpected diversion.
- “Great grubb an’ jumpin’ savehprys. you fellers!
hold on an’ guy us a hand in the fun!” ‘

A revolver spoke five times in rapid succession,
and with an unerring precision which relieved the
sorely pressed sheriff and his two men of as many
assailants instantly, and the remaining two outlaws
begging for mercy were quickly secured.

. Old Ailmentary had awakened from his stupor
justin time to render a well-needed assistance to
our friends.

Too weak from loss of blood to rise the old_man
had struggled to a sitting position, and fired his
well-directed shots.

, Crazy Frank as he heard his voice uttered a loud,
joyful ery, and threw his arms about Old Ailmen-

tary: . :

“God be eepnked that you are not- dead,” he
moaned wHtly. “Isaw you fall,and thought that
Duke Nolan had at last——”

Old Ailmentary interrupted the boy with a sharp
ery, his eyes blazing into the face of the strange
Jad with such a look that the boy shrank’ back
Re ;

“Duke Nolan? He here?” hissed the old man;
“but who are you that speak his name so glibly?”

ye cussed bantam,” he grated. "I reokon |

induce her peay. from the remains of the old man.
‘“He was all I had
“And now what will

    
          

become of me .

but. poor dear grandpa!” "

Clytie, Monte Madrona’s sister, ar years
his senior, told her story, and Was {ord by her
loving husband. Glarenue Har i »O Atimen-

tary,as we have known him). ad ‘narra-
128. We
‘led to

tive of man’s perfidy and woman’ gs
condense it, and give briefly. the cause ii
her assuming the character of the demented lad,
Crazy Frank. Ara res i

ening of our story
with her widowed

Five years previous to the 0}
who, however, at that

Claytie had lived in Misson
mother and her brother Wiil
time, was away North, pursuing his studies at col--
lege. She was a yery, beautiful Womens sie her
hand had: been eagerly sought by on ny, but until
Olarence Harding, a dashing mili ae eer came,
she had turned a deaf ear to the p ings'of her ©
suitors. The.acquaintance between -the two soor
ripened into love,and finally consummated in thei
There had b mong her admirdts who, in
ere had been one among her admirers who, in
the bitterness of his feelings, had sworn to be re.
venged on the haughty beauty for rejecting his
suit, and to possess her yet. This was Duke Nolan, |
who, with no apparent means of support, had man-
aged to ee 5 up dprcarences among: the wealthy
families inthe neighborbeod, a gracefal carriage,
fluent conversation, and gallant behavior having
made him a favorite more than anything else
among the fair sex. eae
Clytie had been married but a few days when her
husband was unexpectedly called away on business
connected with his. calling, and Duke Nolan had
taken advantage.of this to gain his own ends. ~~
First by dark hints, then by more conclusive
prook he had ao the woman to believe ect her
usband was f to his vows, and so well did he

 

“You shall know.” eried Frank, hoarsely. ‘I can
bear A no longer. I shall go mad if this con-
tinues!”

Then while every eye was fixed upon him in
“amazement, the strange Jad ran to the boiling
spring, dipped up some of the water in his hands
and washed his face.

Then dashing off his hat, he came back and stood
beside the oldman. :

“Clarence—look! for Heayen’s sake do you not
recognize me?” he cried, piteously.

Old Ailmentary staggered back as though from
the effects of a blow as hecaught sight of the face, a
face that was now devoid of all wrinkles and stains,
and a hoarse ery escaped from his throat; but an
instant after he sprang forward with open arms.

“God be thank! . Clytie—poor erring wife. have I
at last found you?”

“Erring. yes. but as unsullied as the day Duke
Nolan’s yile slanders drove me from you,” cried
the woman—as all now saw she was, springing into
his outstretched arms.

So far Monte Madrona had stood like a_statue of
stone, amazement holding him enchained, but now
he too uttered a startled ery and came forward. |

“What does this mean? You here, Clytie? and in
that man’s arms?”

“Jt means, brother Will. that I have avenged my
wrongs—that this man is or husband!” answered
the woman, turning with a bright smile upon her

face.

“What! surely this is not Colone) Harding!” eried
Monte, peering into Old Ailmentary’s face.
_. The same, Will.” answered the old man, extend-
ing his hand. “The mental anguish and sufferings
I haye gone through for the past five years have
left their marks upon me, adding to this the gar-
ments and speech of Old Ailmentary completed my
disguise. Ido not blame you for not recognizing
m ”

“But it was currently reported at home that you
had been killed.” __

“True. Duke Nolan and his confederate, Dan
Mervin, set upon me unexpectedly one dark night,
and left me for dead. Traces of the murder were
afterward discovered, and, as I did not put in an
sy reerenes Iwas reported dead—a report I did
not contradict. for I was determined to hunt down
the villain, who had ruined my happiness and al-
most taken my life: but when: 1 was enabled to get
about again. Llearned that he had fled, and, as I
believed, hn ta your sister, had Fane with him
willingly. Oh, Olytie! what had Idone that you
shonld leave me thus?”

“He told methat you were false, Olarence—that
you loved another, and despised in secret the wo-
man es ~had deen uni to for only a week!’
eried Clytie. tearfully. “I fied with him, it is true,
but Tsoon found out what his object had been. To
avoid suspiciom I traveled with him as his wife, but
as Heavere hears me, never did he receive aught of
me that I would cringe from confessing now. One
night in New Orleans, where we were then stop-

ing, hecame to me, and. influenced by the liquor

6 had _ drank, poured out a wild story of his love,
and asked me to become his wife. You shall hear
my story all some day—fhe agony and svyfferin
which followed that disastrous moye I made; an
when I heard him boast of having killed you to re-
move all obstacles to the marriage. I realized then
—alas, too late!—what I had done, and I. swore!
would bring him to justice, or end_his life with my

own hand. and I have doneit. Duke Nolan never

 

 

 

an’ it ain’t necessary for too ter go under.”

lived a minute after his bullet struck you down.”

work his plans..that, almost heart-broken, Olytia
accepted his offer of assistance in her determina-
tion to flee from the man whom he led her to be:
lieve loathed her. :
All had worked to’ perfection, and Duke Nolan
had congratulated himself on his success, when he
heard of Clarence Harding’s sudden return. In des:
pair at this event the scoundrel determined to mur-
er him before he could see his wife, and put his
eyil resolve into execution. as Clytie’s husband was.
threading the lonely road which led to their home,’
Believing he had completed his purpose, he fled
with her, traveling with Clytie as he’ husband,
through a number of cities. :

All this while he had been very attentive, and
gradually pressed his suit, but in vain, as his com- —
panion would not marry while her husband lived.

Finally in a drunken fit Duke Nolan had told her —
of the death of her husband, and how to avenge her
wrongs he had slain him.

This announcement had thrown Clytie upon a bed
of sickness, and when’ she came out of hér long
illness, she learned that Duke Nolan had com-
mitted a murder over Beane game of cards,
and had fled from the authorities, |

By careful inquiry she learned that her husband
was missing, and believing him dead, Clytie, in the
frenzy of her ana determined to hunt down the
destroyer of her happiness,

The famous rush to California, when the news of
the gold discovery was given to the world was then
in progress, and shrewdly guessing that he

one there she Week passag

und steamer forthe Golden State, where, under
the disguise she had assumed, she began hersearch,
— finall fowns 34 * Pieces ee wig
me previous f ning of our . at
happened after, thé reader knows. :

in the first outward-—

he shock of the disgrace which had so suddenly
fallen upon her, had been too much: for Clytie’s
mother, and Monte, or Will Madrona, as his true

name was, who had been hastily summon
arrived just in time to receive her Stag besing.

In pursuance of her last wish, Monte had set ou!
wie i Renee the negro from off the plantation to find

8 sister. :

As far as San Francisco he had experienced no
difficalty in this, but in the shifting population—the
multitude of people constantly roving: about from
place to place in their eager thirst for gold, all
traces of her had disappeared, '

Nothing daunted, however, Monte had searched ©
patiently and-carefully throughout the vast number
of cities and mining towns that had eprung u
like mushrooms, on every side, meanwhile gaining
an existence by gambling—his skillful atlas
tions of cards soon gaining him the title of King of
Oard FUSE De ‘ ; : Gee
And neither sister nor brother suspected ise

mo-
ment that Clarence Harding wee the land of the

living, and following like a sleuth-hound nthe
trail of those who, had wronged him, until Clytie
met (and recognized) him upon the trail leading
down into the town of Bummers’ Bar, an onte

when hesaw his sister in his.arms. ‘

When mutual explanations had been made at

some fongth, Monte suddenly inquired: _ es
“Colonel Harding, what was the power you held

over Harry Lowry? You will recollect that rer

Great a im eck whe SOT ht ae ight of

remble by simply rais our z Zz

the fight in the saloon ofthe hotel” ;

 

 

the inquiry,

 

” wailed the heart-broken girl. —

not take it so much to heart, dear + you
;have me yet. You shall go on 4 : far fro
e scenes, in company with: ster, wi 0 Wi
ke charge of you until we aré married,” }
‘Yes, dear Madrona,” she answered, aly.; |

had —

 

an

 

 

 

 

—
ee]
| ie

ieee ee

oe

ARMA
tf
SO
Pet
co

g
ne OB
Ba gt

 

Olarence Harding’s brows contracted as he heard J

 

  
 

ae ee

«iit THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. =~

 

 

7 fY

 

ee On te ee enero =
'

“Harry Lowry was atraitor to asecret organiza-| “You willstick to that, Dudley?” asked Mrs, El-

+ tion of which Iam an officer. He recognized the | myr, eagerly. 2

1 sigh Im ban set upon those who, inourso-| ‘Certainly—now chat I have my senses.

ciety, are false to their oath. I can tell you uo/| “Remember! No matter how cruelly doctors and

| more.” | lawyers try to make you commit yourself. Do not
* | be misled, Say to them, as you have said to me—‘I

; got to the log cabin, and raised the floor, aad dus > | “Got baek from town all right?” he asked; walk- | in es
Pp

altogether gentlemanly young man who had made
one of the party to the mountain yesterdays.
7“Who the duse is he?” queried the physigian to
himself; and stepping up to the other, he asked
| him the question outright.
You were with us, yesterday. May I ask. your

ole, and put the box in, and covered it up. iu... 4 to the lady and feeling the fluttering pulse

ve ake bounds ua thay, Were. aus Beatboneg ayes i ier ow pe more from Bebt Tia besa nae he ae
and things about to look natural, and game away. | aware what he was doing. “Well, how did you fin
God knows I haven’t wanted togo back there! wis e| Our poor boy?” wit

* * * * ¥ * never been near the hut siuce.

“Doctor, you pity him, don’t you?” cried the

 

 

serail mnter ys =

A few words more and we take leave of our
friends, eck me have followed through their
many trials and dangers.

Golonel Harding and his wife, who had taken
Purl into her ebarge, together with Monte and the
negro, Cupid, took the first opportunity to leave
the scenes made memorable by what we have nar-
rated, and returned to the home of their earlier life.
They found the old plantation in a state bordering
onruin; but under Monte’s energetic management,
assisted by Gupidas his overseer, it was soon placed
ona good, paying basis again. His marriage with
Purl followed soon after: nor did the fair-haired
_ gambler ever regret the step, the girl making him
a devoted, loving wife. :

Tone, the beautiful Faro Queen, found a refuge in
the home of the burly sheriff, and shortly after-
ward married brilliantly and happily. From her
they learriéd many of the secrets of the grotto in
which the masked men of the Mystic Ten had held
their meetings. The mystery of the yoice issuing
from the‘well was accomplished by her speaking
through a system of tubes resembling the modern
speaking-tubes in many buildings of large cities.
It penAoannine device of Duke Derringer’s—or
Nolan—who gave out to his men, mostly Mexicans
and half-breed Spaniards, that a supernatural be-
ing commanded them, What the figure 10 signified
Was never ascertained. E t

The Missourian, George Lowry, expiated his
crimes upon the gallows. g

darry. Loye became a terror to all evil-doers, and
was instrumental in bringing some desperate char-
acters to justice, notably among whom was Joxquin
Murietta and his followers.

The “Bar” lives yet to prove that all we have nar-
rated is not fiction; we have simply given the town
a@ fictitious title. Who sill recognize it when we
quote the fact that it is in the immediate neighbor-
hood of the county seat of Mariposa, and is cele-
brated for having at one time “panned out,” in
gold, seventeen hundred dollars a day to the man ?

[THE END.)

neyer harmed a hair of Dora’s head.’ You will
only ruin yourself, and break my heart, if yeu do
otherwise,’ : i
“Of course I shall stick to it.”
een you will not plead guilty ?”
No. 2

“That is right, my son. Youare not guilty, and
you must not be beguiled into committing yourself,
as you did last night.” ( pend

Was this only mother-eunning? Did this lady,‘
the purest, the sincerest, knowing her son’s.guilt,’
still put him up’ to deny the deed, that one child’
might, possibly, be saved to her? Orwas it, rather,

not, believe her boy guilty of his sister’s death ?

And, was it the faint love of life reviving: which |
prompted him now to deny that which he had con-’'
fessed inthe first agony of his despair? Did he
feel that his mother was already striving cunningly
to save him, and that, therefore, there was a pros-

eet of salvation ; and did the prospect arouse the

esire ?

Impossible to decide. Human nature has too’
many faces for us ever to become familiar with all
of them. : ¥07¢
_ It wasfa dreary intey view at best, to which the
jailer, at the end of half an hour, brought to an ab-
rupt termination.

“T will come again to-morrow,” said Mrs. Elmyr,
asshe left. “It may be that you will have a visit
from Dr. Barclay this afternoon. He same to see
me this morning, and told me he should see you
soon. He has promised to engage a vam Tee and do
what he can for you, seeing that your father refuses
to lift a fingerin your behalf. Oh, Dudley! Oh,
my Beene Father, have pity.oa us alll” it

ith this prayer bursting from her lips Mrs, El-
myr left her son. ~ ,

It was nearly dark when: this woman of many
sorrows, alone, and closely vailed, reached Month-
aven. she descended from the cars she. saw
Hank Schults—with two or threemen whom she
knew, by instinct, although they were not dressed
in uniform, to be poligemen—standing near, wait-
ing for the down-train. Another person was with
them, whom she did not recognize, for Mrs. Elmyr

mother-love ?—mother-love, which did not, could} I

“Mr. Dudley was took down with brain fever not
long after, andno woudér! When he got ‘well -he
pretended that he didn’t remember a thing about
it—denied owing me money, and fizally bad me
turned off my pluce. I really didn’t think he’d dare
to offend ine, till [see he was really going off to
Europe without paying any.of what he had

prom-
ised. Then I got mad and made up ay to
peach on him, and you'll, hay im soon,

, Bag take
sax he gets married to-night, and sails to-morrow.
Yo

you to the hut in the woods as straight as a bee-
De, where you'll find the corpse under the floor, as

ell you. an ; tus

. It was on this affidavit that Dadley Elmyr had
been arrested in the very midst. of the marriage

service, startling that fashionable company with 2

shock almost be deadly as if an electric current had

been darted into the room from some hanging
thunder-cloud, tearing the bridegroom from ‘the;
arms of the beautiful young bride,and consigning |

him toa felon’s cell.

That the arrest had not been made a day or. two |
yman Whittier’s adyice to bo

sooner was owing to
Hark, who, knowing him to bean enemy of the El-
myrs, had gone to him for

the offi

in keeping with his char r, Lyman had per-
suaded the fellow to delay until the last day, i

organ to make the affair as sensational as possi-:
e. rf j ;
There was then no time to investigate the story of

the hut in the woods before arresting the accused.

It was decided to secure: the prisoner and search.
in charge: knew:

the old house afterward. et
The officer who took the matter

nothing of the wedding in prog , although aware

that the eriminal was to sail the following day for
' arrest him that’
evening, and not trust to the chances of securing gpa

u Me owe

Hurope. It svas thought best to

him as hé came to the city to take the steamer.

As we haye said, Lyman Whittier, more brutal in.
his instinets—under thé garb of fine broadcloth, and

showy jéwels in which he delighted—than any prize-
fighter of the ring, accompanied the police sent to

make the arrest, “tosee the. fun” which he had

: mother,

find my statements all true,and I can take’

_of the wickedness of

pala
J / i‘)

advice before he went to:
cers of the law, With a cruelty and. malice}

is father is steeled against him. He
will not let me say a word.”

Pity him?” cried Doctor Barclay, heartily, “I
guess I do. There’s noone_so much needs pity
that I wot of at the present My dear friends, the:
boy is not accountable, and has not been. Allm
suspicions are now confirmed, He is insane. Dud-
ley is outof bis mind, I tell you, and our defense
must take that line.” ne bE

DUDLEY! insane!” echoed his horror-stricken

parca. Bab

‘Which would you rather, my good friends—that
yourson should have committed a great crime out
of his heart, or because of some
derangement of his mental faculties, for which he
dp no way responsible?”

_ “There never was any insanity in my family,”

Mr. Elmyr.
or in mine,” said Mrs. Elmyr

Waste eon taints casiitt with
onot think anything was wrong with my:

n before tbat attack of brain fever?” asked Mr.

lyr.

~ ‘Yes,I-do. I-was watching him, studying his
Fymptoms, long before that. When the fever came,
then I foresaw that he would either die, loge his
mind: utterly, or recover its normal state. I eon-
sidered him well, Mr. Elmyr—entirely well; and in
no danger of falling again into the same condition,
except-some very great excitement came upon him
before his physical strength had fully returned.
This was why 1 was so urgent for the marriage and
the foreign tour.. Had I considered Dudley as still
ThA pr perions A te of mind, I should have felt it
my<aduty,te warn Miss Ketcham and her parents. It
is my belief that all would, have gone well had it
not been, for, that rascally Hank seeking his re-
ge ebay a tame: _Now I foresee more: trouble.

ver, I shall visit Dudley to-morrow. and shall
encourage him, and, do my best as a physician, as
wellas a friend, to save him yet.”

Oh, doctor, our hearts thank you. But—doctor!
—I fear—you fear;then—that Dudley really has—

“So much the'better, If this derangement be due
esa and not inherited causes, as I-suspect it is,
able.

Vv

— ¥

name. sir?” ;

“Whittier,” answered Lyman, too suddeniy“ad-
dressed to have time for subterfuge, and,’ desp
his habitual self-possession, he felt his face grow
crimson, and his eyes fall before the keen glance
glinting on him through the doctor’s spectacles;

Oh! one of that family, are you? I shouldn’t
wonder if you and I were to get better acquainted
before this affair is settled.”

The physician’s words sounded more like a threat
than a compliment. The young man smiled, em-
barrassed, not knowing just what to say, and felt
relieved when the stranger turned from him. =

_“T surprised the guilt in his eyes, before he -Jiad
time to put up theshutters,” remarked Dogar Ba
clay to himself,as he walked away. “There
something on his mind. I will mark that chap,” —
and Lyman was “marked” in the mental books
this self-elected detective. “Now for a talkewi
Mr. Blank. Ican put a flea in his ear.” a

When the doctor got home that evening, he" felt”
that he had accomplished a good day’s work.t
had succeeded in deeply interesting the great Ia

er, who was ready to enter, heart and soul, into

is client’s,case ; who, in fact, was moved by a won-
der and curiosity which did not often disturb him.

There was something unique to be undertaken.
His client might confess to him, in the sacred con-
fidence of.their relation to each other, that he was
guilty, and yet the lawyer be no more certain of
it. Here was acause upon which, to use a slang
prase, he might “throw himself,” and which was
interesting to him as trying his ingenuity and acu-

Beg

 
 
  
     
 

men in many ways. Laywer Blank was gager to
peer aee t,and Doctor Braclay left him, well sat-
isfied.

The next-day the papers announced that Mr.
Blank had undertaken the defense of the aristo-
cratic murderer, young Elmyr. It was satirically:
remarked that “insanity” would bethe dodge. as
usual, and that money and influence would prob-
ably thwart the ends of justice—poor griminals
were sure of punishment, rich ones could murder
their own sisters with impunity, etc., etc., after the
poe style of city journalism, which ignores the
act that the “‘roughs” and “scapegraces” of our

“LOVE THY NEIGHBOR.” murdered his sister?”

lanee fell before the mother’s
nt on him with such

planned.

had never yet met the young man with whose name
a Knowing that the grave of

he physician’s ¢
she was, unhappily, sofamiliar, Lyman Whittier. r

vilest purlieus scarcely dread a trial, so long as they
have a vote to use, or influence in the whisky-shop

 

4: ‘terribly-searchin
BY LOUISE 8S. UPHAM. = g gaze

Menered girl was

 

 
 
 
 
    

 

j e it was. he who stood with the others, having come | to be opened this day, he had. remained in Mont-| dread apprehension. . ; , ij which they. patronize, while “respeetable” members
: bi cay Sa a lea stalk ies Bh dial out, the previous evening, to “see the fun,” and re- | haven, as we stated, urged by a curiosity morein-| “I have beep epspicions of it. all summer,” he an- | of society, who chance to fail under the hand of the
tanced’ g t mained: ovér-at the Monthaven Hotel; urged by a| tense than any other person beside himself could | swered, in a low,reluetant voice; “but as I could | law, ate’ pretty certain to receive a most rigorous
_ My neighbor’s land and mine, deep curiosity to: see the result of an event which } possibly feel. This tragedy was to him a sort of | not. id. b m-responsible, I said nothing. Jf he} trial yment. |
‘and I seemed to list the glowing words was to take place this day. _ fect ares ber : re Bee ay , did it, he did it in an hour of insanity; and hé him-|. Th as set for trial early in November, so
“Of'an dld familiar line: Mrs. Elmyr walked straight up to her former| Mr. Elmyr, who' had refused to apom pany his} self, has-not. been conscious of his crime, except at | that 6 Was brief time for preparation; still the
| “pu ‘shalt love thy neighbor as thyself;” coachman, and throwing back her vail, reyealed a | wife.to visit their imprisoned son, had a double ob- A ryals. I! avectidiod im, and I am certain of | frie of Dudley Elmyr did not ask for more,
dat Wniedd WH could ten face so changed and ghastly, that even that phleg-} ject in his refusal. Spt only felt that he could /.that.;. Last night theaccusation probably brought} What there was to be done for him could be as well
oS Saeed dees ath baie it matic person was startled beyond his wont, not yet look upon Dudley’s face or speak a word to t ereagloction, eaneing him to confess to you ; done in ah fas a longer period. Thevery best they
must love my neig 8 daughter, too, “Ob, Hank! how could you do it?” she said. _ him, except it were to curse him fortheir misery |:whet -he had done. What did he say to-day, Mrs, | hoped Tor him was to get him into an insane asy-
A lassie just eighteen | He shrank away from the lady’s looks and voice. | and broken hearts, but he was told of the intended | Elmyr?? a. 21 c+ pauenr 4 lum, and from that, atsome future time, to set him
2; to 3g ei Sd Indeed, I be sorry for you, mum,” he muttered. | search for Dora’s body, and desired to make one of}. “Hes mily avowed that he had never, harmed | at liberty. Neither Destor Barclay nor the lawyer
‘The ringing steel awung in and out, She turned, without another word, and went to | the party. didineetl ON: a hair of Dora’s head.” *t _ | Saw any reason to belieyethat Dudley was suffer-
Te And still to the kindly chime, the carriage im waiting for her. Tt was this which had oceupied his time while his ‘ist qebak I expeeted,” exclaimed the doctor, | ing, at the time, from mental derangement; b }
i | |... “fnou shalt love eighbor as thyself,” Cenyet that?” inquired Lyman, who had also ‘rubbing his h And he meant to tell the truth | they were willing that it should appear so, as
| , e ‘ : thy.B . trae ‘

_ My scythe and my heart kept time.
| The merry bébolink ¢éatght the tune,
‘And sang it a3 be flew,
k : As if ke knew the old refrain,
; And koew what love was, too.
"Bae lassie heard the gay bird sing,
And that was why, that day,
* Adown the fleids of billowy grass

wife was going and coming to and froth the city.
The captain of police had begged — Be Orta AG at one time as, muchas. theebhor. tum isi have a
father to: spare himself this trial, but. Mr. Elmyr | good talk with him to-morrow. I tell you, friends,
would not be denied his right to be the first in the} [have little doubt but that I can, gaye. hin, | You
search for the remains of his lost darling. shall have. your. son again ‘safe pst the Taw’s:
d by: Hank Schultz nearly a dozen men had! clutches, clothed.and in his right: mind,. As. to
crossed the lake—as blue,as peaceful under the} Dora—poor child! poor dear!” murmured the phy-
‘purple October Shy. as if no tragedy had ever been | sician, walking back and forth.with-bent head.. “
enacted on its smiling bosom~—and had toiled up } will tell you what I think about. her,” he. added, af-
the forpet Oe PTR where the air was} terasilence,during which he had kept up a rapid
odorous of bright. dropping leaves, which nestled | promenade. of the room; “I de not desire to raise

grove somewhat pale, and did not now appear al-
Omtnor at his ease.
er mother.”

“T thought so. How like a ghost she looks, She
fairly startled me.”

“She was the handsomest woman of her age I
ever seen till this thing happened,” said Hank,
whittling at a stick, ;

“If folks could foresee all the consequences of
doing wrong, they’d stop to think twice before they

would tax the credulity of a set of jurors to be told ;
that the accused was insane and irresponsible. } j
three tnd four months ago, but sane and respon-
sible now." ~

~ For the first few days old Job Whittier and his .-
‘son, Lyman, were on the streets about all the time,

‘| or in saloons and other public places, exulting over
the fact that their “‘fine aristocractic relative, who
wouldn’t own to their acquaintance,” was aboutto -
get his deserts.

=~

4 done it,” remarkéd Lyman. “Dudley Elmyr, now, | under their feet, a carpet of ‘scarlet and gold. ..| hopes.which will leave you all the more wretched: Thope they’ll hang him as soon as polite, after
_ re: sy I shouidn’t think he'd like the look of his mother’s Dr, Bascidy hail ‘insisted upoh accom py tite his | if they aré disappointed, but I certainly feel ashade| his sentence,” remarked Lyman, more Than once,
Aud ifimy scythe, forg » fell, countenance much,” and he tried to get up a laugh, | old friend and neighbor. who so‘sorely stood in | —just.as rmore hope:of her than I did. before | with a heartless jeer, for as soon as that_little cere-

‘As I goftly called her name,
**Phou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself *
Must surely bear the blame,

T eeuned the sweet words o’er and o’er,
And as two learn better than one,
The lassie learned them; their meaning, too,
Bre I dreamed my task was done;
And when I asked her to help me keep
That blest command, alway,
As the best and dearest boon of life,
She could not say me “Nay.”
The sun rolled on, and went down at last,
To be lost in a sea of gold;
i But the half of all our beautiful thoughts
Life ig all.too short to untold.
But this I know—youth’s sweetest song
Was to music set that day,
_ While ny heart kept time, as the old
. |. Adown the billows of hay.

which, somehow, stuck in his throat, proving a
miserable failure. _

This group of palicemen, and others gathered on
the platform, had been about a very important piece |
of work that,day. In his accusation, made before
the authorities the previous day, Hank Schultz had
stated all the facts connected with his two expedi-
tions, made with Dudley Elmyr, tothe hill across
the lake, Mis story was, substantially, as.follows: ,

That, on. the nj ht of Miss Elmyr’s disappear-.
ance, he had heatd a noise. which awakened him
from asound sleep, and which ‘seemed to him, re-
calling it as he awoke, a woman’s ery.. He got out
4 of bed and looked out his window, which gave him
a view ofthe lake; and he saw Mr. Elmyr’s boat,
now quite a distance out on the water, and a man
init, but no female that he could see, The man
was about Dudley Elmyr’s height and weight; he
supposed, as a matter of course, that it was he; as
Dudley often went out on moonlight excursions,
even late at night, and this night was so warm'and
bright that it was pleasant to be out.. He concluded
that the noise he had heard was made by his young

need of friendly service; neither of these gentle-—
men were aware who the tall, slight, well-dressed

fellow was who kept beside the ptain,

the opening of that box.. If Dudley’s imagination
| could. play him. sueh fantastic tricks as to cause
Lyman'| him to bury that parcel of rubbish for his sister’s
did not care to be known to them. sea ghee ah OD Enee. it is not; impossible that ‘he may have

There were one or’ two others of the neighbors; made some curious Geposition of the child, yet not
the captain and his two men, the coroner, and| hayé murdered her. I say there is such a possi-
Hank leading the band. Almost without the inter.) bility.” ©). -).-.7 dite, weet Ct :
change of a word, the party toiled along thewild| ‘’But.it has been so long—so long,” moaned Mrs. | after ky’ his cronies, his father said that he. had...
path, each mind absorbed in the strange erra Elmyr; over four months Die Batvtay.” ; ,. | been obliged to go South again to'get some eyidence — '
upon which they were bent. yen the police wer I know it. I do not conéeal fro ‘ you that I feel | concerning the shipwreck of the Dismal Swamp, kd
grave. and silent; bey sour not well be otherwwise,| very much discouraged. about, my little Dora.. My} asthe insurance companies were making treuble .
‘with that pale-faced father in their midst. _- ‘ ~ | hope for her is the merest shadow. Still the , Vit

In ‘due time they reached the old, deserted wood- )
road, passed through the blackberry patch which
had once been a cleared spot, and came in sight of
the ruined log hut, with its tumbling-stone chim-.
ney, and sinking roof. Here the doctor was obliged

to BIG his a to Mr, penye- who leahed heavily] at, popes, ‘oho pene 2 nS : ad
upon it as they approache mitts 7° '. Fanything to do with ~ earance, I believe }.unsuspected .company it sh f a detective.
. The group of men crowded into one room. With |-that I ean steat the truth ecm hi m sooner oy Jater.|I must s He ; Ve pe Ot ie Soros
asort of “slow, dilating horror’ in his stony hacen iowever sad that trath may bé,-it will be better |.one after
Mr. Elmyr, still supported by ae P relay, stood | than this suspense.. At the same tinie I shall keop
ind watched while. ank and me nen, rst suspected. |

"}

mony is over my brother and I wilk come intoa
cool hundred thousand which he is keeping for us. ~ 3
I’m sure we ought to thank him tor getting himse er
Ls ROGER. when it willbe se much to our ben- |
efit. : '

 

: : > s t ‘ .
But in afew days Lyman Whittier disappeared , | |
from his accustomed haunts,and when inquired ~ }

D st & Shad- t {ne their pojicies, ;
ow dogs me, Iam determined to make a bus ee octor’ Barclay, who. made it a part of his busi-.
e ; file: affalx ppor, fire. Himyry eran if Ihave to a i opp uiniselt posted in a Lyman sayings
abandon my ents. to. the tender mérey of my. oings, was soon aware of this sudden jour-
young assistant. I shall constitute mys a oataae Poot eee ' wee Vero e ,

ney. F : i
tive officer. But my main endeavor shall be to get} “Gone South, has he? I wist ;
at the secrets of. your son’s mind. If he vias fd i Be eee ea

 

 

known Pe before he started.. He would have had »

one after him.
Th fos t ae

|, Lhe result was that a privately-employed. detee-

‘tive was sent to Charleston only three days behind =

5, yes! I must send
scythe swung ‘

 
  

a
9 icem

 

my eyes an the parties whom we.
Oinig “into t.

 
  
  
  

  
    
  

  
 

 
 
  
 

 
 
  
 
 
  
  

         
 

 
 
 

   

 

 

 

 

 

  
 
  
   

 

 
 
  

    

        

   
    
 

 

   
 

and the en, | 4
wi bse 5 Loe ig gis master culling to some one inthe house, and went} with the imp nts. whieh + om wd brought, | Lani g is matter now with my magnify- | young Whittier. Brie gar tetore ; fe
* asad seein Sh s back tocbed and tosleep. 21) adodson 3 » | forced up the ¢ boards, and shoveled out the | OTe x eign titaty ao pe ue ets : _ [£0 BE CONTINUED.1 7
Guilty, or Not Guiltys secs tee ares Leta ae ORR WL RECA: lt ast rm ae
ance became knox was. phaving. been” re Lisi ~ Soo spade | ‘ EUR, . -  wehacerceele pt. or eee Gee: se tgreee i th aha
 @ | she who had screamed, or ,in the night; his | struck egainst something | forth a hol-} The next daysas he had promised, Dr. Barclay |. y
a “¥ y 5 pRRAL TES ved y - Se cick Kee Dudley were somewhat extitod, 10% sound which,was ect af bY th hollow groan. eae pore a —— Sy an Bet tor acouple of hours Short Sermons by Telegraph.
4 “43 53% : causi m .to watch chim omore closely than,| ¥ roke frontthe. ors breast. *  - | With Lhe prisoner in Dis us Kacey iy ecu! De :
| Ne aes toy : AY Pig Phar arine, he would have done, ha made: 1 feared this w Shia wahifo “you.” whist} awe Dudley,” said he, looking closely at. the No, 37. ' P
DORA " LMY R § WO R ST EN EMY up his mind, from the | : : ey.| pered the doctor. }* FOP eS go. vifside, where, ‘young man through his spectacles, “either you or} | ts eee ~ Fs
Ul oa ; i knew something of what had me of is | you-can have the . Guat or SUT eee | obs oD x ah . Schultz played us a pretty trick, “A whole}. ‘Proy. XXVI, 27.—“Whoso diggeth a pit shall faH °
| T sera sister. _However, itow: ipo: bis heal ett baa NO. no! Who Should: be Here if not I—her ‘fat } posse of us wasted our time, yesterday, visiting the | therein, and he that rolleth a stone, it will return
| ; ae ERR LRTI ; and so he kept still. He had always Jiked.young|ther?*® © aera a") Thut in the woods on the hill, and digging up'that | upon him.” — ;
ats By “Mrs. M. V. Victor r. Elmyr, who was generous ‘toa fault, néver faite ‘In afew moments the box which ‘Hank’ had de- | infernal which you were at such pains to bury | , We do thee reverence, oh, Solomon, for the’ wor-
aa fae we gto pay him extra for every little extr-service | scribed came to light. With some difficulty it was |there,~ t do" yousuppore we found when we | drous wisdom gotten by thee from the Lord—choice
Author of “HE PHANTOM WIFE,” “THE } which he asked of him; and by-this Mberality he pitied from. tts esting-placé, and stood upon 4 rude | opert i VM MRA - = “.... | words for the world in thy day and ours.
Py FORGER’S SISTER,” “WHO OWNED (Hank) had been enabled to lay by quite alittle sum } bench near by. . By ‘the: aid of. nd hammer}, “That's for you to tell me,” was the non-commit-}, Thé’man, or the nation, who would stir up a
Ai eow THE JEW ELS,” 1° ie jot money. He had co ~Dudiey about | the top was loose ods ant bh as by a sii tal wer. pao AED Abie. Mahinda treuble for a neighbor, stir in ingredients that make ~
AS D sate ee Ce. er ever erree a § and the iatter had told. hie } tH erowded--: , Waiting, witha) ‘You remember what. you told Hank was in the} certain a reaction of sorrow upon themselves; and *
“ult Not Guilty” was commenced in number 49.. Back | him of Some good and cheap land on the other side | cold sh ers reaping 4 the marrow of their bones,| box?” he ene it does not follow because of delay, that a just God —
eunbatene be had of ail News Agents in the United States.) | of-the lake. But the who owned -itwwould not} for the rough boar o Be lifted which was to dis-} ‘“No—at least I did not until night before last. Did | is asleep. : +s
. ets Feats, : : sell without more ready money. ‘Hank was able | close the deeaying corpsé of the murdered girl... you flnd her, doctor?” - < , : 5% Oh, to ast in the fear of ‘the Lord—spending our
: PART SECOND. to pay down at onée ;‘and young Elmyr had offered | “Come away!” aguin whispered the doctor to his.| “We found a heap of rubbish—old clothes, stones, | leisure in devising good for others; remembering
i | , 3 Hae to an him five hundred dollars; and'take’a mort«|‘friend; = |. te SAL a | dry grass, &c. What on earth made you think you | that God is full as willing to reward good as evil.
i CHAPTER III. gage on the farm as ae oq YUS9TD eh “Teannot: Lf-Dora is tlietée I must prove it by my | were burying your sister’s body?” If our accounts Gannot be balanced during time,
: 14 ~ He had felt very grateftly not undérstanding the | own eyes.” Dudley shook his head. Presently he pressed haps'an eternity will answer in which to adjust
: THE OPENING OF THE COFFIN, young gentleman’s motives in wishing tosécurehis|. The coroner took his place élose by the box from | his pan s to his temples. hem.) TELL E GRAPH.
The sun never rose upon a more desolate human Gratiinda and good will?) rar which the two policemen now lifted the cover.; “Doctor, your questions only puzzle me. Iam

When Mr. Elmyr went down tothe sity in search
of his sister, in compaby with Mr. Van Eyck, it
would be remembered that he remained away sev-

Eager yet réluctant eyes gazed earnestly for a full} only certain of one thing, and
moment—then a cry escaped every person present,

except, an Whittier, who gazed in silence, with
tle sont

b atis that my head
not been right since [ came down to New York

being. than upon Dudley, Elmyr the first morning onl
with Gilbert to search for Dora. I wish I could re-

of. his imprisonment. The crime of which he was
accused, and which his own lips hadacknowl ed,

ELEGANT
New Bound Books.
Price, $1.50 each.

was of so unnatural a character as to place him ye days. On his return hisactions were singular. | a sard mile curling his lips. member better some things which happened after-
' without the pale of human pyrene. The very.| One.of the first things which he did was to.comato|. The box was filled te rubbish; but there was | ward.” | ue e
jailer who brought his breakfast, set it downand | him and give him the promised money. although | no sign of a corpse. heap of old clothes which Before that, Dudley—before Dora was found

retreated, without speaking, after giving him such
a look of euriosity ashe would have bestowed upon
some new species of wild beast.

No, bh wie not the most forlorn of earth’s erea-
tures; he d still one friend—his mother. But this
~- he did not know, so thelo ours wore on to noon,

had been put in—wet—gave forth a@ moldy, sicken-,
ing odor. Alarge Sone, which ene man could
hardly raise, was carefully packed about with these
old garments, and the box filled in with grass,
leaves, and tufts of earth. In the midst of the lull
of astonishment which fell upon the spectators. the

missing, were you all right?

“As far as I know, doctor. I had no trouble with
my head until Gilbert put it there. He used to look
at me in such a way, and the sun_ was so hot as we
sat there in the lumber-yard. I believe the mis-
chief was done then.”

he had not been 6x opens his’ young master to re-
manstet it at such a time of family trouble.

Two nights afterward Dudley Elmyr had come
out to thé carriage house, after he ha oe to bed,
and requested him to got up and dress himself.
““T-want your help, Hank,’ he said, in a strange,

wre

 

 

  
 
  

 

. and none, of all that brilliant assemblage of yes- | excited manner, “but you must first swear never to} physician turned and caught Mr. Elmyr, who had| “But sinee you recovered fromthe fever—you ef : : ‘ ie Le
; terday, approached him. He was still only half | betray. to any human being what I am to tell you. tainted ehtitely ava, ot have had no.trouble with your head since the de- Just Published and selling very rapidly,
i re ete pons dreadful gent Pe fone oe aon, it, and re Jour eabh. on I tie ie you ib cient have re iB the mee the segiur oes pence: 8 re eat ‘ ight evith
out of that deep swoon only partially; his sensi-.| five thousand dollars, in payments from time to himself; ‘‘my theory e correct one. Yet,} “Not. a particle. elt quite right—only there | reyy,,. rane
q bilities were benumbed; he knew that he had done | time, as I ean make them.’ {what has he done with her?” er" were some things which I never could be assured} LHrown on the World -_ .
Li and confessed to something horrible—that he had} “I knowthat I ought’notto have sworn, underthe} He busied himself in efforts to revive his friend. | of—whether they were confused memories of things A 1 by Bertha AM: Clay 5
been accused of killing Dora, and had told her mo- | circumstances, and suspecting him as I did; but it} while thoughts, and recollections crowded upon} which had really happened -before I was ill, or novel, by bertha Ml. Clay........ $1.50 i
" ther and his friends that it was true: and yet he| was a big sum of money to tempt a poor fellow, like | him go baie cly, that he paid little attention to the | whether they were only haunting specters of fever-
Bo looked upon the whole: affair with a sort of dumb | me, as has to work for his living, with. I wanted, | comments of those about him. land—dreams of.delirium. I did notlike to ask, for| Peerless Cathieen
e incredulity; and he kept asking himself, as he sat | powerfully, too, to know what was up; and so, be-|_ oe ” exclaimed the police-eaptain, balf laugh- | the subjects were too sad and awful.” e i
on the edge of his bed, staring down at the naked | tween avarice and curiosity, I took the oath to | ing, half angry.. eS, “They were about your sister, I infer.” A novel, Dy SOre AONB We sos ean $1.50 ‘
‘ _ floor: F keep his secret. Hethen told me that he had asked | Yes, d— hi uttered Hank, whose coun-{ “Yes.”
& + “itwasJ, then, after all? Was it 1?” _ ,, | dis sister to go out oeine on the lake with him, }tenan blank as human face could} “You were not certain whether you had drowned| Py_ithful Margaret
Ma ~~. “Poor mother! She will never speak to meagain,” | and when they got out in the deepest water, he had| be.“ s this time! But he did it, and | her in the lake and afterward. hidden her body, be- )
- he muttered. “Poor Gertrude! I am so sorry for | thrown her ovérbourd, He said that he did not re- { we'll find the body yet. - This is the reason he was| fore you were ill, or whether you dreamed itin| A novel by Annie Ashmore $1.50
1. you!” : member how the blood came on his linen overcoat, | so d— ol about my threats. He thought he | your delirious state ?” ee a Sin car tt eagle ee :
What were his friends doing—saying—thinking? | but perhapsshe struggled, and he hurt her, he could} had me.” : RF “I did not even remember that I had once fancied Niek W hiffles
nd His friends! He had no friends. Thousands of | not remember. Hesaid hedid notunderstand how} The coroner, finding’ himself, like Othello, with | such a thing, doctor, When Hank annoyed me with ’
J dull, wearisome, painful thoughts flitted in and out | it was that they did not find her body after dragging his occupation gone, engaged in. a whispered con-} his threats and insinuations, I really did not un- A sto by Dr J H. Robin
] his brain; but these thoughts were like shadows. | the whole lake for it. He expected they would find | sultation with t e captain. derstand what he wanted. It only came: back to Ty, Dy Ur. j. ft. WKODINSON..... $1.50
Wr They seareely assumed a tame shape. The blow-| it. “This complicates the case beautifully,” remark-| me, when’ he mentioned the cabin and the box, dv L <
WY had been so sudden and so heavy as to leavehim!| “When he kad come back from New York, he had | ed the latter. . night before last. The shock was avwful, doctor, 1 Lady Leonora,
i insensible toits power. Like one whese_ body has | gone out, (the night before he came to me, this was)| Doctor Barclay chanced to let the remark drift | am afraid that I did LOR ae my) to my sister. A sah ion Corde Conk;
id beén crushed by the wheels of a car, for alittle time | and with a grappling-hook had got the body, and | into his ear. try and try, as I sit here, ta. make it out. If I have} 4s Novel, by Carre CONKUN,........ $1.50
the nervous system_ feeling nothing, $o his’ mind | towed it to the other side of the lake, and hid it in} “You'll all find it sufficiently complicated before | harmed her, then I must haye had something the} ,,, : +
had not begun to suffer the fearful torture of reac-| some bushes; he had then come back and gota | you get through with it,” he muttered to himself. | matter with me longer than I suspect. Oh, Doctor| The Grinder Papers,
on, ‘ _ | large pine packing-box, which I remembered had | “Great Heaven! I was half conscious of it, all the | Barclay, I wish youcouldtellme. Do you think I :
He sat there gh the bed, dangling his feet care-| been stored in the wood-house, and had taken it} time—yet how could I be certain ?” haye been mad, and killed my poor sister, and not|A comic book, by Mary Kyle Dallas. . $1.50
lessly back and forth, unconscious whether ten | across and placed the corpse in it, and nailed it up, et known it? Ieannot maké it out so. Ido notbe-
hours’ or ten days had passed, when the harsh | and left it there behind a log, because he could not CHAPTER IV. lieve it. I wasall right until Gilbert hurt me with} The Curse of Everleigh
sound of the key in the lock. recalled him, a little, | get it up the hill where he wanted to bury it, alone; ! A COMMON PLEA, his suspicions. Tamthe most unhappy person on _ RETR Cay Xo
to himself, and raising his heavy eyes, he beheld—| and if he dug 4 hole near the shore he was afraid it’ That evening Dr, Barclay called on his friends, | the face of the earth, doctor. God has forgotten} A novel, by Helen Corwin Pierce.... $1.50
his mother! would be discovered. He said he had been obliged) the Elmyrs. Physicians, we know, are so accus- ie j :
Such aéry as she gave when she met that look! | to leave it thereall day, and he was dreadfully un- | tomed to scenes-of suffering and distress that they| “Not so, my boy—not by any means. He has gent A Bitter Atonement
Prison ‘walls have echoed to pitiful sounds, but | easy lest some one should happen upon it. He} learn not to “wear their hearts upon their sleeves,” | me to comfort you, and to try to unrayel this snar ?
never toa sadder Cry than that. She threw off her | wanted me to 89 across with him and help him up| and this man was accounted rather rough, if not |in which you are caught. Be of good cheer. You! A novel, by Bertha M. Ob 5 5 BO
bonnet, sat down by him on the bed, and seized one | the hill to a plaée-where, as he said, ‘the Angel Ga-| hard, by many; but the tears sprang into his eyes, | shall come out all right—you shall marry Gertrude 2 .
of his hot, listless hands, briel would never find it.’ when the servant, knowing his ey in the | yet, and live to be a grandfather.” i That Awful Bo
.4 did not think you would come, mother.’ | “Well, I was infor it,and I went with him, mighty | family, showed him, without warning into the) ‘‘But Dora?” y;
“But I would come, Dudley. Your father tried to reluctant; but trying to keep up my courage by| pleasant sitting-room with which he was so Ay, there’s the rub. Would to Heaven we could A humorous domestic story $1.00
keep mé away; he would not come with. me—so 1} thinking of the five thousand dollars I was to get} familiar. 7 ‘ : find even her bene Bama: ou must try hard to ; os TY sree eee .
came alone.” : for the job. po peboit 4 A bright coal fire shimmered like a mass of mol- | remember, so that when [ come to-morrow, you That Bridget of Our
There was a pause. After a while, he said: “Vou know? Mr. Dudley said to me, in the boat, | ten gold and rubies in the grate, and its warm fa-| may, perhaps, have recalled something which will a riaget o urs,
*‘T do not blame father.” ‘I get about a hundred-thousand dollars by putting | diance seemed. to fall, more than upon any otk€r | give us a clew to her. Now I am going: to see Mr. a 10 BUNG Us S
Another pause. ; my sister out of the way.. Gilbert thinks that is} spot, upon the little cottage piano on which Dora| Blank; the celebratedlawyer. I am going to put comic housekeepers SOOTY ........ $1.00

Whatcould be said in such circumstances ? '
“How is Gertrude ?” the one finally asked.
“She has gone away. The ship sailed an hour

your case in his hands., Eyenif the court sends
you to-an insane asylum, that will be better than
the gallows. We may allow you to go there to save

had learned: to: play, and on the semblance of her
epost a: a large, colored photograph hanging
above it. ~

enough to tempta man to murder his own flesh and
blood! ha! ha! ha! It was Gilbert first put itin my

Love Works Wonders,
head—and he loved Dora, too. Well, well, you shall

ago. Her parents took her abroad. It seemed the | have your share, Hank.’ |; There was a grand’piano in the parlor, but this | you from the other thing; but we will soon have| «A novel, by Bertha’ M. Clay, author of |
best thing-to do.” ‘ if kuiow that he. spoke’ of Gilbert Van Eyck, | old-fashioned instrument was haunted by.a thou-| you out of it—Gertrude will come back; T shal “Th ns Wolache |
Dudley’s head drooped still lower, but he made | though I didn’t comprehend what he meant by such | sand memories of the slender figure which so often} scold her well for deserting you in your time of 1rown On:the World.”... weet ld $1.50

no remark. He was but faintly conscious of the | talk. In tact, I was quite certain that he was more | occupied the seat before it. Dora’s dimpled hands | need; you will be married, and all will go well. ;

~--~iepnenhtnaneacneliaeneninsiaiinanni chasis

 

 

  

 

tender pressure of his mother’s hand. or less out of his head—so.I just humored him, séemed to flash along the keys, and the echoes of | Only do not despond. Try and keep that trouble- Daisy Thornton, f 104
After another long silemce, he aroused himself.} “We rowed across the lake, andstumbled through | her delicious voice to float and lingerintheair. —}some brain of yours as cool as eee Rememni- (
and asked; { the underbrush a piece up the hill, and there,sure} Upon asofa wheéled up to one side of the fire sat | ber that you have friends—and that they are work-| A Novel, by Mrs. Mary hi Holmes. . $ 1/50.
Soot ‘Why did youcome? I did not expect it.” enough, was the box. My blood run cold when I|Mr.and Mrs. Elmyr, the wife’s hand lingering in} ing for you. Ishall come with Mr, Blank when he i airornd
j “You are my child,” she said, simply. seen it. T would have giy up the five thousand at | the husband’s clasp. As the doctor came unexpect- | calls on you to-morrow. _Your mother willbe down Evelyn’s Folly, 6299
i ‘Then, after a third interval. she turned to him, thet Pant but it was too late! I was in for it. edly into. their presénce he read the two faces—|inaday ortwo again. I should be glad to stay | ft ff
placed her two hands against his shoulders,| ‘Wehad an awfal tug with that thing! We car-| hopeless, worn, pitiful; he saw. this couple, so| longer with you, but I must see this’ lawyer be-| A novel, by Bertha M. Clay ath 1A ES A} $1. $ 3°
pressed him back, and forced him to look in her | ried it en our shoulders, and with ropes, for we did | lately blessed with a noble son and beautiful daugh- |} times, before he goes up town. Ishallsee that you

eyes.

“Dudley, ILcould not have come had I believed
what you said lastnight. Ido not believe it. You
did not'do it. Youcould not doit, Such a thing is
simply impossible. They frightened or stunned
you into aoring it, Takeit back. Tell me you did
not. know what you were saying.”

is troubled gaze returned, her burning look as
@ were seare in. his mother’s heart for
something which he found there,

“Ido not know what made me. say it,” he an-
swered, after a long delay. “Iwas not myself, was
L?—just coming out of a dead faint, as I was then.
LT nomen ed a hair of Dora’s As you say,
how could I burt mylittle sister?—the sweetest
playmate brother ever had.” —

not want to leave a trail by Geapeite it. It took us
more’n half the night to get tothe spot Mr. Dudley
had picked out. I wanted him more than once to
stop and bury it in the woods, it seemed wild
enough anywhere, But no, he must take it tothe
old log hut beyond the ey. patch, half way
up the mountain, or nowhere. He was stubbon as
amule about it. When we got there it was nigh
daylight, and we was too beat out to set, to work
and dig the grave, to say Sothihe of its being so
late. we had to leave it. We didn’t much think
anybody would visit the hut; still we, both was as
uneasy as fish out o’ water, till we got a chance to.
go again an’ finish up the job, which we couldn’t do
for some little time. At length we pretended we

 

 

was going spearing fish, and we crossed over and

ter, sitting there alone, worse than childless—for-
lorn, their hearfs filled with a woe which it was not
for others eyen to try to imagine. It was this sight
which had sent the unwonted teats to his eyes.

Mr. Eimyr had been cautiously unfolding to his
wife the business of the afternoon and its result.
As the wide-open, terror-stricken eyes fixed them-
selves more and more intently on him, he-had been
constrained to hasten the denouement:

‘She was not there?—my‘child was not in that
hideous coffin? Oh, no! I felt that she could not
be ‘there!’ gasped Mrs. Elmyr, her hand to her
heart, as her husband concluded his account,

Then they had sat silent, holding to each other,
rd thus their good friend found them as he came

n,

 

are made as comfortable hére as possible. \ Iwill
send in some reading matter this afternoon. You
must read all you can to keep your mind from un-
healthy brooding. Good-by, my boy. You’ve got
your doctor and your mother yet.” ;
Dudley did feel comforted by his old friend’s
cheerful, hearty words; and when, half an hour
later, a goodly package of books and journals ar-
rived. he was enabled to quiet his restlessness so
as to read, and to understand what he was’ reading
—the best possible diversion for him under the cir-
cumstances. . :
Meantime, as Doctor Barclay was descending the
granite stepsofthe Tombs, looking about him
sharply, as‘was his. wont, he chanced to notice,

lounging near, the same dressy, foppish; but not

 

*,* Single copies will be sent by mail, postage free
on receipt of price, $1.50, by STREET & SMITH,
New York WEEKLY office, 31 Rose St., New York
City, and
WHOLESALE ORDERS filled by the dozen, hundred

or thousand, by

G. W. CARLETON & CO., Publishers,
Madison Square,
NEW YORE.

 

iat

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

tiest faces I had ever seen—a pure oval with pink

 

 

 

 

KINDNESS.

BY MRS. G. P. CHASE.

 

Kind deeds; they live forever.

Be kind te all; we shall regret it never.

E’en when the friendships we have prized depart,
And those we loved and served prove false at heart,
When disappointment casts a bitter shade

Upon some life-hope, where our hearts were laid,
And.gloomy care appears to mar our way,

The fact that Ones kind shall light the day.

Kina deeds; they live forever.

Be kind to all; we shall regret it never.

Some heavy burden or some weighty grief

A smile may hghten, or may cause relief,

May soothe a ioss, or send a cheerful ray,
Unknown to us, across a brother’s way.

Faith, hope, and charity unite within the mind,
Impeled to kindly deeds toward mankind. .

Kind deeds; they live forever. :

Be kind to all; we shall regret it never.

How many weary hears, with toil oppressed,

Have found a deed of kindness doubly blest?

Mayhap ’twere but a flow’ret plucked erewhile

Within life’s common highway, proffered with a smile.
And yet a deed of kindness it hath proved

To one whom only kindness could have moved.

Oh, be ye kind to all, both enemy and friend.

Were not our Father kind, how oft we were condemned.

®

AUNT PRICKETT’S DREAM.

BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

 

 

 

 

“Do you believe in dreams ?” :

I started from the half-doze into which I had fall-
en, in the old-fashioned country stage-coach which
rumbled so_ drowsily along the road. It was an
evening in December; the gray, storm-threatenin
day closing into yet grayer twilight; the eart
gleaming white in its mantle of snow, save where
dense pine woods, like groups of black-draped
monks, were huddled together, their gloomy
boughs thrilling in the bleak blast. . ;

My only companion was an old lady in a quilted
traveling dress of crimson merino, and a silk hood
edged round with swans’ down, through which her
plump face beamed like a ripe winter apple. Old
ladies are not always spectacled ogresses, and this
old lady was really and absolutely pretty, with her
fresh complexion, her bands of smooth, silvery
hair, and the biue eyes which, even now, were
reas and sparkling enough for a damsel of six-

een,

She had entered the stage _at the last stopping-
place, and was going on to Wharton, which place
happened also to be my own. destination, and we
had been very chatty and social together, until the
dusk, and the lulling motion, and my own weari-
ness—for I had come from New York that morning
—had somehow half-enticed me into that debatable
land which is neither slumber nor waking.

“Do I believe in dreams?” I repeated, vaguely.
“Yes—no—I really can’t tell.”

“Well, J do,” said my companion, who had pre-
viously informed me that her name was Prickett,
and that she was a widow, and that her deceased
husband was in the lumber business, and that she
was going onto Wharton to attend the wedding of
a wealthy and favorite niece, together with various
and sundry other items, equally interesting and
miscellaneous. “I think they’re sent to us likea
kind o’ warnin’. Prickett never could see the thing
asI did. He always held out to his dyin’ day, that
if you dreamed a thing ’twas nothin’ more than
chance; and he hadn’t no superstitious feelin’s
*bout Fridays neither—always claimed that one of
the Lord’s days was as good as another.”

“T think he was quite right in that view of the
matter,” [ observed.

“Maybe he was; but for all that, Mary Piner, my
own second cousin’s darter, was married on a Fri-
day to a Gabrielson out in Iowa—a real stirrin’,
forehanded young feller—and they hadn’n been
man and wife a year afore a tree he was a-cuttin’
down fell on him and stove in his skull. And Su-
san Bean, she was born on Friday, and she was the
onluckiest creetur. Fell down stairs afore she was
two year old and hurt herspine; had small-pox;
lost both her parents 0’ fever when she wan’t ten,
and finally got kilied in a railroad accident.”

“All these might have been mere coincidences,” I
argued. f

“That was just what Prickett used to say but good
land! life ain’t made up entirely of coincidences.
But we was atalkin’ about dreams, and I was agoin’
to tell youa thing that most shook Prickett’s on-.
belief, two or three years afore he died. Hoe died
on a Friday, too,” observed the old lady. ‘‘Well, it
was the day afore Christmas, and he was goin’ on
a long journey by rail to see arter a lot 0’ pine tim-
ber ’twas to be shipped somewhere down South.
The six-forty train he was goin’ to take, so I laid
out everything the night afore so’s to be ready—
Prickett was al’ays a dretful punctooal man. But
in the night I had the most awful dream—dead
bodies all lyin’ round, with their legs and arms
broken, and great bloody gashes on ’em, and a kind
o’ confused cloud hangin’ over’em, and I waked
up, all in a cold sweat, and says I, “Prickett, for the

ood Lord’s sake, don’t go to-day! I’ve had sucha

ream!’ And I up and told him, and he pooh-pooh-
ed me, and called mea silly old woman to be dis-
turbed byadream. And he was goin’ allthe same.
But the horse that was to take him down to the
station broke its leg on the ice afore it ever got to
our house, so he had to wait till the twelve express,
and I felt so worried like about him nothin’ would
answer but Imust get ready and go along too. So
when Prickett saw how I, felt about it, he didn’t
make no objection, for he was a dretful considerate
man, and we took the twelve express. And don’t
ye think, when we got to Dayton, there had been a
awful railroad accident on the six-forty train that
very morning, and there was the cars all smashed
up, and the people lyin’ all round, just exactly as I
had seen ’emin my dream, for help hadn’t come
till our train reached ’em! There—what do you
think ofthat!” | ae

“It was a very singular combination of circum-
stances, certainly!”

“And that ain’t the only queer dream I had as has
eome true! There was my sister Malina that mar-
ried Deacon Ritter. I dreamed one night I saw her
a countin’ gold pieces. into a earthen crock, count-
in’ up to four hundred, and it was so real like that
next “day I went upto the deacon’s and told my

ream.”

“Well,” says Malina, “if that ain’t queer! The
deacon’s just. got.a-letter from his cousin's lawyers
that he’s heir to four hundred dollars out o’ the old
man’s estate!” : ;

She nodded the quilted silk hood at me with an
air of triumph that [ could not well controvert.

“But what set me _to thinkin’ on these old time
stories was a dream I had last night, ’bout this very
same niece I’m goin’ to see, and it’s worried me all
day long.” ;

“Indeed! and what was it?” s

“Well, P'ltell you. You see I was kind o’ wakeful,
thinkin’ about the journey to-day, and it was most
midnight afore I got to sleep. Anditseems asif I
hadn’t fairly closed my eyes when I was in the little
back parlor at Wharton, and Helen—that’s my
niece, Helen Powers—lyin’ on a sofa asleep. And
there was a tall, slim, genteel-fayoréd man stealin’
up sideways, with a dagger, kind o’ shinin’in the
firelight, for it was dusk in my dream, just as it is
now—and he seemed to strike it right square into
her heart, and I sittin’ by like a log, not able to
move either hand or foot. But for all that, it didn’t
kill her—only seemed to paralyze her, like! AndI
was doin’ my best to scream out, when I waked up,
all of atremble, with the dawn just beginnin’ to
peep in the eastern sky!”

Mrs. Prickett had begun to cry, softly.

“My dear madam,” I reasoned with her, soothing-
ly, “do not allow the fantasies of a dream to disturb
youthus. Probably you had eaten something that
disagreed with you—or——”___

“Yes, yes, that’s just what Prickett used to say, but
for allthat ’m morally certain that something’s go-
in’ to happen to Helen. And—law sakes alive, how
it snows!’ sh, Soh

We had stopped at a little wayside inn, and my
companion’s attention was forthe first time in some
little period. attracted to the outer world of storm,
wind, and pitchy darkness.

You don’t s’pose we'll be snowed up, sir?” she
questioned, as, the mails having been delivered, we
rolled on once again.

‘Hardly, madam. We must be within one or two
miles of Wharton now,”

“I shall be glad when we get there,” she said, with
alittle shudder, ‘I can’t noways get that slim fel-
ler with thesinister mouth and the long black hair
a strikin’ at poor Helen’s heart, out o’ my mind
If the dream hadn’t been so vivid, I wouldn’t ha’
thought so much of it. Won’t you have a seed-
cake, sir?” 5

She was diving down into the hospitable depths
of her big traveling bag.

“Thanks, not any.”

‘Got far to go arter you reach Wharton?”

“About a mile.”

Friends to meet you?”

“I think so.”

‘It’s a dretful night!” :

And once more we subsided into silence, until the
suburban lights of the overgrown village of Whar-
ton roused my companion once more into the talk-
ative mood.

The stage had scarcely stopped before a clear
voice, sweet and musical as a bell, challenged Mrs.
Prickett.

,. Aunty, darling, I knew you would come! Prince
is here waiting with the close carryall! I came
down myself to make sure of you!”

Yow’re sartin you’re well, Helen?” questioned

 

Aunt Prickett, gazing eagerly into one of the pret-

 

cheeks, brilliant hazel wee and deep crimson lips,

erhaps atrifie too full for the exact regulation
fimits of beauty. : rc

“Well, I never was better in my life. What pos-
sesses you to ask such a question, you dear, fussy
old aunty ?” .

And Mrs. Prickett was triumphantly dragged
away, while I turned to find the friend who I confi-
dently believed was expecting me. :

But no friendly countenance met mine in the
gloom and darkness of the stormy winter’s night.
There had evidently been some misunderstanding.
However. I believed I could with sufficient ease
walk the mile or two—it was a straight road to
Eden Hall, I had been told, and I was just striding
forth into the darkness when Aunt Prickett’s shrill
voice hailed me, and I saw her rosy old face thrust
out between the curtains of asubstantial family ve-
hicle, driven by a gray-headed old negro, and
drawn by a pair of fat white horses.

“Young man, Ithought your friends were goin’
to meet you?” .

“So I supposed, but as they are not here I am go-
ing to walk to Eden Hall.” ‘ %

“To Eden Hall!” chimed a softer voice. ‘‘Impos-
sible on such a night as this! Whyit is full two
miles from here,” EL .

“Jump in!” cried Mrs. Prickett. ‘“There’s lots 0’
room at‘our house, and you can go on to-morrow
mornin’.”

“But,” I hesitated, “I ama stranger, and——”

“Aunt Prickett does not regard you as such,”
said Helen, ‘‘and_we really cannotallow you to risk
your life thus. Mycoachman shall drive you to
Eden Hallto-morrow, if you will consent te become
our guest for the night.” f

I doffed my cap and acknowledged this ready and
gracious hospitality, not at all averse to entering
the snug carriage, which speedily deposited us at
the door of a handsome, spacious country-house.

The gray-haired coachman’s counterpart, a tur-
baned mullato woman, conducted me to a cozy
chamber, where a bright fire blazed, and a pair of
wax candles lent additional light to the apartment.

“Supper ’ll be ready in fifteen minutes, sir,” she
said, after calling my attention to the ewer of hot
water and the well-aired towels, and disappeared.

In considerably less than fifteen minutes I had
descended into the wide, square hall, where a vivid-
ly-colored Turkey carpet covered the floor, and an
open grate fire blazed cheerily on the hearth. Mrs.
Prickett hurriedly entered through another door
as I advanced toward the mantel.

“ve had a turn,” she ejaculated, breathlessly,
holding both hands over her heart, and then, for
the first time, I discovered how very pale she was.

“Good Heaven, Mrs. Prickett! what is the mat-

“It’s the very man I saw in my dream—the slim,
tall man; I recognized the face the instant I saw
him,and it was allI could do to prevent Helen
from suspecting. What shall I do? oh, what shall
Ido?” and she wrung her hands spasmodically.
“Helen must never marry that man; there will
evil come of it if she does, and the weddin’-day is
to-morrow.”

“My dear madam, surely you would never allow:
a mere dream——” ”

“It’s more than a mere dream,” she interrupted,
with intense earnestness; “it’s a warnin’, and we
must give heed to it. Hush! they’recomin’.” __

The next moment thedoor opened, and Miss
Powers entered leaning on the arm of her affianced
husband.

“Aunt Prickett has not yet told me the name of
her friend,” she began, gayly; “but——” |

“Oharles Buckingham!” I ejaculated, staring into
the face that was strangely familiar tome. |

“Harry Kuyvett!” he echoed, and then bit his lip,
as if vexed at himself. : .

“We are no strangers,” I said, feeling myself
grow deadly pale and flush again; but calling all
my self-possession to my aid; “on the contrary, I
haye known Mr. Buckingham all my life, and not
only himself, but his deserted and neglected wife,
now living not.a mile away from my native place.”

Heground his teeth savagely. ——s_

“It is a lie!” he cried, ‘afoul fabrication!”

“It is the truth, and Iam prepared to prove it to
this young lady, whose future you had so nearly
blighted.”

Aunt Prickett uttered acry as she sprang for-
ward to where Helen had fallen white and sense-
less on the sofa. See :

“It’s my dream! I saw her lyin’ just soin my
dream!” she cried, hysterically. ,

Buckingham glared at me like a wild beast.

“You shall account for this to-morrow!” he
nae and darted out of the room before I could
reply.

But we none of us ever saw Charles Buckingham
again. His plots for ensnaring the wealthy heiress
had been frustrated in the very moment of their
ACE MADA, and he knew well that flight was his only
Satety.

The symbolical dagger of Aunt Prickett’s dream
had gone deeply into Helen’s heart, but the wound
was not fatal,as is proven by the fact that she is
now my wife, and our two rosy little ones are play-
ing on the carpet at my feet as I write. Aunt Prick-
ett lives with us, and is as full of omens, warnings,
and superstitions as ever, and believes most firmly
indreams. So do I, to acertain extent; for was it
not indirectly Aunt Prickett’s dream that won me
my darling wife? of

 

o~+_____

THE STORY I TOLD TO BILL, |W

 

BY MAX ADELER.

He was six years old, and. his name was Bill. I
took him up on my knee, andasked himif he would
like to hear the story of the flood; and he said he

would.
“Well, Bill, once there was aman named Noah,

Ww
“Noah what?”
“Simply Noah. He had no last name.” ;
“How did they find him in the directory, then ?”
“There were no directories. Noah lived a great,
great many years ago, and——” | ;
“‘Didn’t live before the Centennial, did he ?”,;
“Yes, thousands of years before,”
“Did he wear pants?”
“IT don’t know. He lived in a country where—’”
“Somewhere in Indiana, wasn’t it ?” :
‘In Asia Minor, where everybody was very wick-
ed, excepting Noah and his three sons.”
‘Were they all boys ?”
*“YOs, ANG rie
“Could they whistle on their fingers ?”
“And Noah knew there was going to be a flood.”
“In Rancocas Creek?”
“No; Vil tell you directly, if you’ll wait.”
“Did it sweep away the mill-dam ?”
‘And so Noah and his sons went to work to build

a huge boat, which——”
““A steamboat ?”
“No; of course not. Which they called an ark,”
“What did they callitthat for?” _

“And while they were building it numbers of
people came to see them, and——”

“Reporters, were they?.’ ;

“And laughed at them for supposing there would
be a flood.”

“Did you say it wasn’t in the Raneocas?” __

“But they went on building the boat, without
minding the people, so that——”

“Had she a jib-boom ?”

“O,I don’t know! And so one day it began to
rain, very, very hard.”

“I know what you’re going to say! Noah left his
umbrella at home!”

4 2 pshaw! They had no umbrellas in those
ays:

“No gum shoes, either?” | ;
“And it rained, and rained, and rained, and
rained, until——”
What rained?”
“So that the water began to cover the whole sur-
face of theground.” —
“Why didn’t they run it into the sewers?”
‘So Noah and his family went into the ark, and
took all kinds of animals with them, and——”
“Not spiders?”
“Yes. spiders.”
‘And eels, too?”
“Yes, and——”
“But not potato bugs?”
“T guess so.”
“And pelicans?”
“O, yes, everything.”
‘What did he take in bedbugs for?”
‘O,do hush! You ask too many. questions!”
‘Did the billy-goat butt Noah’s boys?”
So when they were all in, Noah shut the door,
and the ark floated.”
Was the whale towed behind? Where did he
+orp the tadpoles ?”
‘And it rained harder and harder all the time,”
““Was there a Mrs. Noah ?”
“Of course.”
“Well, how did she dry her washing when it
rained ?” :
“And sothe ark sailed along upen the water for
many days.”
“D a shey row it ?”

“What did Noah and the boys do ?”

“Nothing, that I know of.”

“Maybe they fished off the side of the boat.”

‘Very likely they did.”

“What did they fish-for ?”

“To catch fish, of course.”

“Did they get any ?”

“O, I reckon so.”

‘You think they ray caught some ?”

‘0, certainly. And I think it’s not worth while
teliing astory to such an inquisitive boy as you.”

ell, now, how could they catch fish outside,
when you said that they took all the animals of
every kind into the ark with them ?”
“Why, you see, Bill——” :

‘It’s outrageous!” said Bill, jumping off of my
knee, and moving toward the door. “I believe
you’re a scandalous story-teller, and that you made
ne the whole thing. I’m going to call mother, and
tell her you’re setting mea badexample. Father’ll
make the fur fly off of you when he comes home.”

 

Then Bill flitted up stairs, and I went away. Tam
beginning now to catch aglimpse of some of the
difficulties of educating youth.

—__—__—_> +

A BRACE OF HEROES.

BY WILL B. SCHWARTZ,

 

 

It was while laying over at Campo, California,
awailing the stage which was to convey me to my
destination among the newly-discovered gold-fields
bordering on the dreary Death Valley, in San Ber-
nardino county, that I heard the following narra-
tive, and I give the story, as near as I can remem-
ber, in Eddy Gaskill’s own words,

T would state also, by way of preface, that my
“brace of heroes” were both very-well educated
gentlemen, and it was partly through remarking
on this fact in connection with the dreary charac-
teristics of the country, and the predominant ele-
ment of rough humanity which inhabited it, that I
drew the younger Gaskill into relating his story.

‘Oh, yes, it’s adreary country, sure enough—a reg-
ular terre mauvais, as brother Charley would have
it”—Ned had answered me with a laugh; “and you
may be somewhat surprised to meet two graduates
of old Harvard existing in this howling wilderness
of cactus and sand. But I can explain the seeming
paradox in four words—there’s money in it.

“Our store is the only station where general sup-
plies of any account can be obtained within a
radius of sixty miles, consequently, as you can
readily imagine, we do a lucrative business,

“We have been established now some six years,
but we had a rough time of it when we first settled
down here and opened the business; before we
reached our present prosperous condition we had
to aeees ee some trials that tested our nerves se-
verely. ; :

“You have been on the border some time, I judge
—a year ?—yes? Well, you must know something
of the class of people who infest a country like this
—rude, rough men, honest enough in their way,
he whom nothing will convince, when whisky an-
imates them, but the force of arms.

“We've had more than a few tussels with these
rough fellows, Generally these disputes, into
which we were unfortunately forced, ended in
rough-and-tumble fights, in which our physical
college training stood us in good service, although
we did not always come off wholly without injury.

“But we stuck to it,and finally, pluck and nota
little scientific display of the ‘‘manly art,” won for
us the respect of the better class, and the fear of
the worst, F

“Once we had an adventure, though, which al-
most ended in our losing our lives; if I am not tir-
ing you I will relate it.” '

hastened to assure him that I was deeply inte-
rested, and would be pleased to have him continue.
_ “Al right, then—just wait a moment,” and diving
into the store (on the porch of which we were seat-
ed), he reappeared shortly with a couple of cigars,
“Try one of these—they are a prime article; story-
telling, and listening to them, too, go better under
the influence of the weed.”

I thanked him, and lighting the cigar, which was
a good one, prepared to listen. ;

With a few preliminary puffs to assure himself
that the tobacco was in a satisfactory state of igni-
tion, Eddy Gaskill resumed: :

“Situated as we are, but ashort hour’s ride from
the border of Lower California, agood many of the
Mexicans find it convenient to patronize us—in
fact, half our trade is carried on with them; and it
was with a party of these that the little unpleasant-
ness occurred which Iam about to relate. |

“Among others of the Mexicans who visited us
perry, was a low-browed, swarthy-faced half-

reed named Ri Ramon, whom Charley on one oc-
casion had found it necessary to give a sound drub-
bing. I mistrusted this man,I believe, from the
first glance [had into his treacherous, evil eyes,
and I feared, his vindictive nature would seek to
revenge the just punishment -he had received at
our hands.

“But Charley laughed at me, and, as Ramon fre-
quently visited us afterward, and seemed to harbor
no ill feelings,I too began to think that I had
alarmed myself unnecessarily. ; ‘

“Orne morning, while I was occupied in putting
away some goods which had arrived the day pre-
vious, this Ri Ramon rode up incompany with ten
other Mexicans, and, dismounting, entered the
store, followed by two of his companions.

““Ho! senor, a fine morning,’ he said, in a bois-
terous tone of voice. while his companions, who
were strangers to me, contented themselves with
giving me a careless nod.

Returning their greetings, I asked Ramon what
he wanted. He had come to trade, he answered, and
wanted a variety of articles, which I soon had

 

spread out on the counters for his inspection.

“Ri Ramon appeared to be flush that day. for he
made selections quite freely, and with a reckless
distogard for expense which struck me a little
queerly., Tasked:him, laughingly, if he had found
agold mine? _

“Si, senor—a mine that pays well,’ he answered,
“and that pans out rich with liltle work,’ he added,
with a significant side-glance at his companions. |

“T caught that look passing between them, and it
made me suspectthere was more in his words than
appeared on the surface

exicans were all well armed, while I was totally

-noticed too that the}’

<< THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. S2--

 

“With aflerce imprecation Charley seized the
rifle I had been using, and, springing out, he
opened fire upon the remaining Mexicans with such
deadly effect that only two succeeded in getting
awe to carry the tidings of their defeat across the

order.

“When he returned to me I had fainted from loss
of blood, and it was many long weeks before I re-
covered from the fever the wound produced and its
attendant prostration. And even to-day, although
ITsuffer no actual inconvenience from its effect, I
am incapable of any very great bodily exertion.

“*What became of Ri Ramon?’ [ questioned, as
he paused to re-light his cigar; ‘did he get away ?’

‘Not much! Charley put him out of the way of
all further mischief.’ :

“But may not such an outrage happen again? It
seems to me that exposed as you are——’

“Kddy Gaskillinterrupted me with a laugh, and
getting upon his feet, said:

*“*Come with me.’ |

“T followed him into the store, and behind the
counter, which ran completely around the apart-
ment, forming three sides of a square, he pointed
to a narrow shelf which ran beneath along their
entire length, and on which were placed heavy re-
volvers at intervals of six feet apart. ,

“As I eyed these war-like preparations, Eddy
Gaskill said, quietly:

“*We’re ready for them now.”

Ag er rent
Pleasant Paragraphs

(Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing
toward making thiscolumn an attractive feature of the NEW
YORK WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for publica-
tion anything which may be deemed of sufficient interest for
general perusal. It is not necessary that the articles shoud be
penned in scholarly style; so long as they are aire g and likely
to afford amusement, minor detects will be remedied.]

A Discomfited Thief.

In the south-eastern part of Connecticut there
was alarge and wealthy land-holder named Da-
vidson, and near him resided a half-foolish man
named Whiffle, who was just the opposite of his
neighbor, in regard to pecuniary, affairs, The
scarcity of meat, at that time, madé Whiffle con-
ceive the idea of helping himself to mutton from
his neighbor’s large flock of sheep. The idea was
no sooner formed than acted on, and several large
fat sheep were selected with care, at regular inter-
vals of time, led home, killed, and consumed by
himself and family, ;

_This state of affairs, however, did not long con-
tinue. The owner of the sheep, finding no appa-
rent reason for the rapid diminution of his flock,
concluded to keep a close watch upon his property.
He accordingly selected a bright moonlight night,
and had hardly concealed himself, behind a conve-
nient fence, when he saw Whiffle approaching.
The rogue advanced until within afew feet of the
hiding-place, and stopped short before a large ram,
who, it seems, he was in the habit of addressing as
the owner of the flock. |

“Well, Mr. Ram,” said he, “I have come for an-
other sheep. Whatdo you ask for this one? Ah,
that is too high”—naming some price himself.
*““How much is this? I guess I shall have to take it,
but it’s pretty dear”’—naming some other price.
“T hayen’t the money with me, but if you get tired
of waiting, you must come for your pay.”

So saying, he took the sheep and started for home.
The owner was almost convulsed with laughter
during this dialogue, and as soon as Whiffie was
out of ear-shot,emerged from his hiding-place,
caught and led the ram to his house, and there pro-
cured a leathern wallet and a piece of paper. The
wallet he tied around the ram’s neck. Then takin
the paper, he wrote, in large, bold characters, “
HAVE COME FOR MY Pay,” and tied it between the
ram’s horns. Leading him to the house of his
neighbor, he hitched the ram to the door-latch and
went home. | : ; ;

The astonishment of the thief may be imagined
when, upon opening the door on the following
morning, he confronted the ram, with those staring
words between his horns.

Suffice it to say he hurriedly procured the neces-
sary amount of money, and placing it in the wallet,
untied the string and let the ram go home.

5 D, P. WABREN.
Where He Shot Him

Two men live next to each other; one has a nice
garden, the other a nice dog. One manis a Ger-
man, the other a Milesian, or in fact anything you
wish to call him. The Milesian dog gets into the
German’s garden very often, and does some mis-
chief, At last Dutchy could stand it no longer, and
tried to beat the dog. Result he was bitten in the
ofa When the dog came again into the garden the
Dutchman shot him to death. The Milesian had
the German arrested,and, when the prisoner was
brought before the bar, there ensued the following
judge Why did you kill the dog?

- Judge.— y did you ki e dog?”
‘“ So Sa ilar spoil me all my flowers and cab-
es.
_Judge.— “That was not a good reason, therefore I
shall fine you.”
hy.—'“Stop! stop!

 

Judge, he bit me in my
2?

Judge.—‘‘Ah! then you shot him in self-defense?”
Dutchy.— ‘No! no!”

—

 

without weapons, or at least practically so, for our

inchesters were on the opposite side of the room
behind the desk. I should have told you also in
the first pas that I was alone, Charley being
in the workshop which stands a little off to the right
from the store.

“A suspicion that Ri Ramon contemplated some
mischief flashed into my brain—a feeling that was
strengthened almost the next moment.

“Ri Ramon had asked for some rope of a fine
quality which lay on an upper shelf. In order to
reach this, I was obliged to use a short ladder. As
Twas about to mount this Isaw a rapid sign pass
between the Mexicans and the half-breed which
caused me to face quickly about, and instead of
ascending the step Lreached up, and catching an
end of the rope, which was fortunately hanging
within reach, pulled down the coil, all the while
keppinn my eyes upon them. s

“When I had measured off the quantity wanted
ofthis another article was demanded, which was
again in ahigh place. I began to see the game Ri
Ramon was play ee Judging from after events, I
believe had I turned my back to them I would have
been murdered instantly. Instead then of obeying
this last request I began edging around the counters
to where the rifles were standing.

“But my intentions were divined, and before I
could reach the weapons three men sprang upon

me.

“Ri Ramon I knocked down with a blow of my
fist, but before I could repeat it I was thrown down
by the other two and pinioned tothe floor. Then
Ramon, who had regained his feet, drew a revolver
from his belt, and holding the muzzle within two
feet of my heart, fired.

  
  

“Ashe pulled the trigger he averted his face—
afraid to contemplate his cowardly deed. and atthe
same instant I wrenched my body violently de,
but too late. The bullet inte ‘ 1y heart

passed completely through my Ss

in the floor.

_ ‘Texperienced an intense, stinging pain for an

instant; my eyes closed, and then a numb, cold

SpOne possessed my whole body. I believed it was
eath.

“T could not have been entirely unconscious
though for in a dim, vague way I knew what was
going on around me. I heard my murderers talk-
ing but could not distinguish the words. My brain
seemed whirling round a center of living fire.
Then to my ears came the noise of confused
shouting, among which I distinguished Charley’s
voice. This was instantly followed by a number of
pistol-shots, mingling with yells of agony. The
robbers had attacked my brother in the workshop.

“This aroused me. Gradually I regained the use
of my muscles, and on hand and knees I dragged
myself around to where the rifles were standing.
But I was too weak to raise myself and the weapon
I was wont to handle like a mere straw seemed
suddenly to have acquired the weight of a ton,
Finally, however, by a desperate effort I succeeded
in getting upon my knees and dragging the rifle
until I could rest it across the counter.

“TI could see through the open door-way a number
of the Mexicans seated upon their horses, and a
fierce desire for vengeance filled my heart. I re-
gained my strength in a measure that moment, and
in as many seconds, almost, Il pumped four shots
among them. Three fell dead, and a fourth hob-
bled away padiy wounded before they could get
away from the door.

As I ceased firing for want of an object, a shot
came from outside, and eard Charley’s loud
hurrah! This convinced me that he was unharmed
and had barricaded himself in the shop.

“As L afterward learned this was the case, and he
had succeeded in killing two of his assailants with
a small revolver he always carried with him.

“About this time, too, there was an old French-
man who rode over from Sackett’s to procure some
supplies of us. Ramon immediately pushed his
horse close to the old man’s, and putting a pistol to
his head commanded him to surrender.

“But Ri Ramon was fated to have ill-luck that

ay.

“Instead of obeying French Pete, as the old man
was commonly called, drew a revolver from his
belt and fired at the half-breed—his shot inflicting
in ay flesh wound in the neck of the robber-
eader.,
“The next instant Ri Ramon, cursing loud; sent
abulletinto his brain, and the old man fell from
his horse a corpse.

“During the diyersion this created Charley suc-
ceeded in leaving the workshop unnoticed, and
runnin around the store entered just as I sank
back exhausted.

“My God! Ned,’ he shouted, anxiously, eprinn.
ing to lift me, ‘you are not done for, are you ?’

“T managed to whisper ‘don’t let him get away,’
and relapsed again into a state of semi-uncon-
sciousness,

, and was buried

Judge.—‘ What then?”
_ Dutchy.—‘I shot him—in the—in the ear, and he
jumped over the fence.” FRESHNESS.

The Story of a Doubloon.

A fashionable gentleman, who was accosted sevy-
eral times during a morning walk by beggars in
one of the streets in Madrid, gave to one of the un-
fortunates a doubloon. gige

‘That evening on returning to his hotel, he paid
his board-bill, as he concluded to leave the vicinity,
but was greatly perplexed to find that same mark-
ed doubloon which he gavethe beggar that morn-
ing, and, furthermore, ascertained that it was re-
ceived from an innkeeper of an adjacent town.
Anxious to inquire about it, he went to the place
above mentioned, and was told there that it was
given in payment by a beggar, who was to _ receive
one drink daily for one hundred suceessive days
from date. R. O'Connor.

A Crooked Business.

A Peoria woman recently told her husband that
she was convinced that their child was afflicted with
worms; the palms ofhis hands were hot, he rolled
his eyes in sleep, and “‘grated”’ his teeth; his breath
was bad, his bowels were hot_and distended—in
fact. he had allthesymptoms. The father took the
case under advisement, and when he finally gave
his opinion, hesaid:  . .

“Wife, we are law-abiding citizens, and we must
send immediately to the Internal Revenue Depart-
ment at Washington, and have them get an excise-
man down here directiy to look into this case; that
child is fuller of worms than a distillery, and it’s
my opinion they are doing a crooked business.

J. D. CLABE
A Promising Boy.

A very nice old gentleman was passing by an or-
chard one day, and seeing a boy helping himself to
fruit, he asked: : :

““My son, don’t you know it is wicked to steal?”

“Of course Ido,” was the respectful reply; “but
I don't care—I want them apples, and Iam going
to have them by some hook or crook. That’s the
kind of aboyIam.” |

Theold man shook his head rather mournfully,
and murmured: : :

_ “Irather guess you will bea candidate for office
in a few years.” MyrRtTiec ELwoop.

A Green Sentinel.

_ Some time ago, while the N. C. State Guards were
in camp at leigh, a member of the first regi-
ment, Company H., was put on guard. The pass-

“Manassas.” When the boys came to him without
the password, he would sternly summon them to
halt, and say: :
“You can’t pass unless you say ‘molasses.’”’
A PRIVATE OF COMPANY G.

Hard Times.

The meloncholy days haye come,

The saddest of the year,

hen taxes reach maturity,

And myriad billsappear;
When frosts from northern latitudes

n the breezes float ;

And sighs the editor to think

He has no overcoat. —

Taking Advice.

An avaricious gentleman fancied himself to be
very much out of health, but being too penurious
to pay a doctor’s fee, thought he would steal an
opinion concerning his case. Accordingly one
day, while in familiar conversation with one of the
faculty, he asked him what he should take for such

a complaint.
“Pll tell you,” said the doctor, ‘“‘you should take
a MELCHON.
Slightly Jealous.

advice
The following conversation occurred in a district
s

chool:
Teacher to little girl, whom ho sees weeping vio-
lently—‘‘ What, is the matter, Fanny?”
Fanny—J—J—J—Johbnny’s tryin’ t—t—to kiss—”
Teacher (interrupting)—"Johnny, were you try-
to kiss Fanny?” :

ae

“No, sir.
“But she says that you were.”
Fanny—"N—n—no, sir; he w—w—w—was t—t—t—t
—trying to kiss Ma—Ma—Maggie Jackson.”
He Passed.

“T can’t let you pass to-night,” said the door-
keeper of aconcert-room to an inveterate dead-

head.

“Well, don’t want you to pass me,” said the
dead-head; “you just stay where you are and I'll
pass you.” And he passed.

Got What He Expected.

 

Old “Cooter Clark” always boasted that he was

 

——————————

prepared for the “‘worst:” and his neighbors
thought he had got it when he married his second
wife.
AjCheck to Inspiration.

“It is exceedingly strange,” observed Parson
Jones, while preaching at Graball last Sunda

what trifles light as air will, sometimes, knock all
the divine inspiration out of a body.” And, after
searching awhile, the good man took a chestnut-
burr from out of the ‘“‘hind-end” of his pants.

A Foe to Courtship,

Georgia hasa boy with three eyes. Lord help
the fellow who goes to see that boy’s “big meer

To P. P. CONTRIBUTORS.—The following MSS. are accepted:
“Big Sister,” ‘Prepared tor the Worst,’ ‘‘A Wise Man,” “A Pret-
ty Ruse,” ‘‘Which is the Man,” “‘A Deep Sleep...... e follow-
ing are respectiully declined: “Epitaph for a Oard-Player,”
caress Was Sheep,” ‘‘Mike’s Description,” ‘Big Cabbage”—
old.

+
The Ladies’ Work-Box

VARIOUS ITEMS OF INTEREST.
Demorest’s Monthly Magazine for January comes to us ina
complete new dress. Not only has the outside and title-page

 

three now being used in place of four. This magazine is con-
stantly gaining in popularity, not only in America, but in Europe
as well. Of a former number the London Weekly Budget says:
“We are not given to disparage, unduly, the literary and artis-
tic publications which emanate from the London press, but we
are bound, in simple fairness, to assert that we have not yet met
with any publication, pretending to a similar scope and purpose,
which can at all compare with this marvelous shilling’s worth;”
and again, “We observe that its literary contents are high in
quality, full in quantity, pure and elevating in tone and senti-
ment.’’ We areglad to see that American genius and enter-
prise are appreciated by our mother country.

After Jack Frost has frozen our out-of-door flowers with his
icy kiss, we long for even the semblance of those floral beauties
with which to deck our homes. And nowhere do we find such
artificial novelties as at the headquarters of the Purisian Flower
Company. The “Artificial Flower Guide,’? conducted by I.
Loewenstein, and published by the above company, contains
not only information concerning the toilet, but tells how we can
make our homes beautiful with the most charming of all decor-
ations—the artificial floral beauties now so popular.

James McCreery & Co promise special attractions for the holi-
days in the shape of fancy toilet articles, rare laces, handsome
furs, rich silks, and other dress or suit materials, house-furnish-
ing goods, such as blankets, spreads, and table linen, ready-
made garments of all kinds for ladies and children, cloaks, and
a most elezant and stylish aSsortment of hats and bonnets.

“Alfretta C.’—Burlap is very much like coffee-bag cloth er
bagging, just a little closer woven, and is used for working mats
on with zephyr or worsted. No,it is not expensive. Basket
cloth cloaks are worn, but not so much as those of the new fancy
cloths. Beaver cloth cloaks are also in half fayor. We can get
you a goed cloak to cost anywhere from $10 to $40. Cloaks are
shorter this winter than they were last. Silken, or silk and wool
circulars are very fashionable this winter; they are lined with
fur, and cost from $30 to $100, according to quality of silk, and
the fur with which they are lined. Yes, furs are going to be very
much worn this winter when the weather is cold enongh to re- -
quire the warm throat and hand-covering. We do not know to
which large books you refer. Do you mean the catalogues or
Quarterly Reviews? Yes, the oi a good one; by this time
you have doubtless seen the end. rs. Holmes will continue to
write for the NEW YORK WEEKLY, we hope, so long as she writes
for any paper. She is one of our most valued contributors.

“Olive,” Baton Rouge.—Your sisters are right, bonnets are
very much worn for full dress by young ladies and misses this
winter. The new styles are close fitting, with face trimming
and are tied under the chin. Plain, two-faced, or bourette rib-

bons are used for the purpose, but for yourself, you must have
ribbons of gros grain, with crepe trimming on the outside, and
tor the tace. Yes, you can weara long crepe vail, or you can just

 

 

 

 

word given to him by the officer of the day was |

as appropiately wear a short vail of black Brussels net, perfectly
plain, that is without the dots. A walking suit should be made
with short skirt. Bombazine used to be the material for mourn-
ing purposes, but now Tamese, Henrietta cloth, crepe cloth, the
cashmere finished silk, and cashmere are ali adopted, and one
fabric is quite as much worn as the other. A year will be long
enough for you to wear mourning for your mother; next sum-
mer you can put on white muslin dresses with black ribbons,
and white collars can go with black dresses.

‘Delia,’ Plymouth, Pa,.—The house you mention is entirely
reliable. We cannot understand the cause of your annoyance.
The gentleman in charge of the country order department has
been for months seriously ill, and it may be some mistake has

occurred in the changing of hands. Your best plan will be to
send the New YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency a copy of your
original order, the acknowledgment of the house mentioned of
receipt of the order and money, and your name dress in
full, and we can then advisedly investigate the matter for you,
and let you know wherein the trouble lies. This we will do with
pleasure, but at present as we are entirely in the dark regarding
the transaction, we can give you no information, except that in
all our dealings with the establishment we have met with hon-
est and courteous treatment.

“Ned.””—The hair dye will cost you $1.50 and $2a bottle. No,
it cannot be sent-by mail; all liquids must go by express, a5 you
do not mention where you live, we cannot possibly give you an-

idea of what the express charges willbe. And now about the car

et. Youask: “What is the cheapest you can get a respecta-

le carpet tor?’ and you neglect to mention whether you want
ingrain, three-ply, tapestry, or Body Brussels, or if you are going
to use it on parlor, dining, or bedroom. Wecan get yon tapes-
try for from $lto $1.25ayard. Ingrain, halfcotton and half wool,
tor from 50 to 75 cents a yard. All wool ingrain from $1 to $1.2 a
yard. Three-ply for from $1.25 to $1.75 a yard. Body Brussels
will cost you from $1.50 to $2.50a yard. The prices of carpets
are not only reguiated by the quality, but as well by the novelty
of design, or heauty of pattern.

“Hattie.”"—You will see all the new styles for making baby’s
short clothes in the catalogue vf winter patterns already sent
you. The tiny yoke dresses with full skirts we think very pret-
ty, also the sacque or gabrielle dresses. It is very difficult to
make a little dress fit if you try to confine it at the waist, so you
had best make them entirely loose, or half-fitting. Gambric,
lawn, or pique will make pretty dresses tor the little one. A
pretty lace baby cap, lined with silk flannel, and trimmed with
either white, or delicately-colored ribbon, will be the most
charming head covering we can suggest. We always think that
*he name of achild should, in a measure, be suggested by its
looks. Pearl should be very fair, Rosa, bright, Lily, delicate,
Daisy and Violet, modest, Eva, Alice, Julia, Sarah, Mary, and
Ruth, may be ordinary children.

“An Old Reader,’ Frederick City.—A short princess dress with
jacket for street wear will be appropriate for you. Such a dress
you can trim after any desirable model. Plaitings, scarfs, and
plastrons are much used. Cashmere does catch the dust far
more than brilliantine; still cashmere is yery muchin demand
and will cost you any price from 75 cts to $1.50 a yard tor good
qualities. If you have jacket of the same material it should be
ltned with Canton or all-wool flannel, or any warm fabric. You
will require about twenty yards of the cashmere to make
you a complete suit. From the catalogue of patterns you
can select the style you like, and make your suit after the model.

“Dora D.’’—No, we cannot indorse the article you refer to, be-
cause we do not believe it to be pure. Floriline isfor the breath
and teeth, price 75 cts. a box. The Chiropedin is a perfumed foot
powder, which can also be used on the face and hands, and is
besides an excellent infants’ powder, price 25 and 50 cts, a box.
The Pulcherina is a pomatum for removing freckles, spots, pim-
ples, and wrinkles from the faceand hands. The ointment is
applied at night before going to bed, and in the morning is
washed off with warm water,a woolen cloth, and the soap
which accompanies the ointment. Price per box $1.25. +

“Mrs. M. E. L...—Your Christmas order has been received, and
by the time this paper reaches you the box will be received. The

suit for your daughter had to be made to order—coat, $35; seal-
skin set, boa and muff, $30; shoes, $4; bonnet, $10; smoking-
jacket for gentleman, $18; costume for littte girl aged six years,

set of furs, cost $50. So you see we had quite money enough,
oe some to spare. We hope you will be pleased with the arti-
cles sent.

“Janie Edmonds.”—Your best plan will be to send stamp,

name, and address in full to the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing
Agency for catalogue of Cuningham Boosey’s Universal Music,
and when you select the pieces you want, we will purchase them
for you with pleasure.

“Old Subscriber.’’—The nearest cloaks are of the new fancy
all wool fabric, which is soft, fine and warm, and comes in sub-
dued colors as well asin black. The cloaks are made long aad
half-fitting, and cost trom $10 to $15. At any time we can serve
you, command us.

‘‘Housewife.’’—Hope your order was satisfactorily filled. We
Sent you a two-pound can of the Royal Baking Powder, togehter
with the receipt-book ‘‘Baking Made Easy.” So we you
will have no difficulty in preparing your Christmas dain

MRS. HOLMES’ NEW BOOK.

JUST PUBLISHED:

 

A SPLENDID NEW NOVEL

BY

MARY J. HOLMES,

ENTITLED

DAISY THORNTON.

A large elegant 12mo. volume, bound in cloth; uniform with
this author’s other pee works, “Tempest and Sunshine,’
“Lena Rivers,” “West Lawn,” “Edna Browning,” ‘Hugh
Worthington,” “Edith Lyle,” etc., etc. PRICE $1.50.

NOTICE!
B@> A new novel by so popular an author as Mrs. Mary J.
HOLMES, whose works have sold to the extent of

OVER ONE MILLION COPIES.
is a great event for the world of novel readers, and thousands
and thousands are being sold of the mew novel, DAISY
THORNTON. .

 

ng As the Demand is already so enormous, Booksellers are ré-
quested to send in their orders at once. that they may secure
prompt deliveries.

Orders will be filled in rotation.—‘‘First come, first served.”
G. W. CARLETON & CO., Publishers,

 

Madison Square, New York.

 

 

changed in appearance, but the insidecolumns have grown wider, .-

consisting of shoes, stockings, suit, hat, cloak, and squirrel-skin .

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  

eater

 

ongelDhae

apie gong

” i
a
shi iit.

*
i pe mating har