sae ees, ns iat

 

 

 

 

 

=,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vol. 34.

OFFICE No. 31 Bose St,
P. 0. Box 8784, New ork

I FRANCIS 8. STREET

New York, February 10, 1879.

 

 

———

‘

THE BIG-HEABTED FELLOW.

BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH.

He dines on rich dishes and wears the best clothes,
He don’t eare for money—he spends as he goes—

He has @ sweet purtuer and little ones fair,

And a home neat and tidy, but sekiom goes there
He frequents the club, and he visits the play,

And he flirts with each coquette who falls in his way,
The while his true wife sits at home in her woe, }
But then he’s a big-hearted fellow, you know.

3 te \. How swift flies the time when the champagne he quafis!

* How he jokes with “the boys !* How he shouts! How be
laughs!
But when at his own hearth how alter’d his tone!
If the children approach him he utters a groan—
If his wife even hints while ke pores o’er the news,
What the coal is all out—that the children need shoes,
He raves like a madman and swears till he’s hoarse—
But then he’s a big-hearted fellow, of course.

At length when his means are exhausted, he tries

‘To berrow from others less tree but more wise

Than himself, when he finds that there is not one friend
Of all the gay throng who has money to lend.

So he lives on “tree tunches” and “sponges” hia drinks,
Till, rum,4tain, he into a pauper’s grave sinks,

And leaves to his sad wife the record he bore

As a big-hearted fellow—just this and no more.

THE

Shoemaker of Tailiude:

THE AVENGER pon HUMBLE LIFE.

n from F. x ‘Hill's celebrated drama of the
( Ps same name,
/ “By John F. Cawan,

. Author of “O'CONNOR'S CHILD,” Bite. ©

“The Shoemaker of Toulouse” + was commenced last week.
Ask i News Agent for No. 12, and you will get the opening

 

 

 
 

Nos leave mel fektamar
“Pooh!” cried Chignard, dontem purtualy. “The

man’s a fool. Don’t want to see a fellow hung. I

wouldn’t miss it if it was my own father.”

“He runs asif he would be late for the appalling
sight,” said Jacob, with a shudder, as the valet-de-
ehambre ran off. ‘The death of a human being is
to him a souree of amusement. The poor wreteh
who is about to be launched into eternity has com-
mitted a petty theft, andthe law says the thief must
die. But should it not say let such be the end of all
who despoil the widow and orphan—of him who
robs the young and booming maiden of her honor
and brings the gray hairs of the aged parents in
shame and sorrow to the grave. Butsuch is not
the course of justice; the strong and mighty ones
enjoy in peace and quietness tke truits of their
crimes, while the poor and lowly go unpitied to the
avenging ax.’

The solemn notes of an organ and the chant of
the miserere swelled from a neighboring church,
and then the clang of the great bell began to strike
the knell of a passing soul. Jacob stood with rev-
erently bowed head as these sounds smote his ear,
until in the distance he caught sight of the dismal
death procession moving toward the place of exe-
eution.

“Poor unfortunate wretch!” he cried, feelingly,
as he threw himself on his knees at his work-bench
andraised his hands to Heaven. “Oh, just and
merciful’ God, if he has sinned he pays heavily,
dearly for it. Hear Thou my prayer, and may his
soul be received into Thy bosom.”

Poor,innocent.unsuspecting,easily-deceived Ade-
laide Pagot! How happy she felt after the interview
with that precious old friend, Madinier, in whom
she and her family had such confidence, and that

_ handsome and obliging secretary of the Duke of

Fronsac, as she honestly believed the duke himself
to be.

She had been reared amid such simple surround-
ings, such true-born and sterling domestic influ-
ences, that she was singularly deficient in that
subtle wisdom which our common mother, Eve,
plucked from the tree of the knowledge of good
and evil.

She knew nothing of the wiles of the world or the
subtleties of life, for she had seen but an humble
corner of one, and caught but a simple glimpse of
the other. $

In her child-like simplicity she took every one
and everything to be what they or it appeared tobe,
so that she had not the slightest suspicion of any-
thing evil lurking behind the specious friendship
of the erafty and unprincipled Madinier, or the
blandishments of his apt pupil, the handsome sec-
retary of the Duke of Fronsac.

She took all upon trust, likeatrue child of na-
ture, and never suspected the danger into which
her love for her ‘kindred and the thoughtlessness

of her girlish nature were drawing her.

It never struck her that her contract of secrecy
with Madinier, as to her visit to the palace, could
result in evil.

She only thought, with happiness and inward
merriment, upon the pleasant surprise which her
little ruse would give to her beloved father and
brother when she triumphantly presented to them
the eoveted furlough, and rallied them upon
a young girl accomplishing what they had failed
in.

Oh, wouldn’t it be fun—such happy, joyous fun—
for her to go to the duke’s, and father or brother
know nothing at all about it? Wouldn’tit be de-
lightful to seethem stare when she presented the
furlough?

Yes, she would go. The diffidence she had felt at
first had all passed away,and happy resolve had
taken its place.

’ Her former fears had been only caused by her
awe at the thought of her, an humble mercer’s

 

Author

:

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tac

THE SHOEMAKE OF “TOULOUSE:
THE AVENGER IN HUMBLE LIFE.

Written free F.S. HILL’S celebrated drama of the same name,

BY JOHN F. COWAN,

of

‘OCONNERS CHILD.” etc,

 

 

 

 

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ADELAIDE HUNG | UPON HER BROTHERS ARM. WHILE MADINIER THREW EREW HIMSELF UPON THE FIERY DUKE.

 

 

daughter, appearing in the presence of a mighty
dnke, but that was all gone now.”

Her friend, Madinier, would be there to advise
her, and she would take Margaret for company’s
sake, and then the good, kind secretary would make
all right with the duke. ‘
So the intervening hours passed in giddy dream-
ing, until she thought that it was time she was
getting ready for her important mission. 80
she called Margaret and explained the matter,
much to that young lady’s astonishment and de-
light.

They were as different as two good. genial) souls
could be. One was like ashrinking dove, the other
like a forward magpie.

Adelaide shrunk from encountering the pomp
and formality of a ducal! reception; Margaret went
wild with joy at the thought of such an oppor-
tunity.

Adelaide considered a real, live duke a being to be
looked up to with awe and reverence. Margaret
thought of him as but a sight worth viewing, like
any other you might find in museum or menagerie.
80, with their two lines of thought, opposite yet
going together, they decorated themselves for the
grand occasion, drawing upon all the ornamenting
resources of the shop beneath in the matter of lace
and ribbon, until they were as gay as two recruit-
ing sergeants when the rumors of war are rife.

“I tremble so!” said Adelaide, as the hour of ap-
pointment drew near.

“Tremble—what for ?” asked Margaret, parading
herself before the mirror.

“The thought of going into the presence of a
duke,” said Adelaide, nervously.

“Pooh, dear!” exclaimed Margaret, boldly; “I’m
not a bit afraid. A duke is only a man—they don’t
make dukes out of lions or tigers—and J never saw
the man yet, duke or no duke, could make me
tremble—there!”

“Oh, Margaret!”

“Oh, Miss Adelaide!” exclaimed Margaret, in her
warlike manner. “I’ll tell you what it is about this
duke. You expect to be astonished—I expect to be
disappointed.”

“Disappointed!” exclaimed Adelaide. “How ?”

Margaret braced herself for an oratorical effort,
and placing her arms akimbo, said:

“ You expect to see a giant hero, great and grand
—Isha’n’t be disappointed to find him some puny,
ill-looking little whipper-snapper, that’s been
spoiled by high-living—that couldn’t pick a hop-
pole in a twelve-month, and is as ugly as sin into
the bargain.”

is not likely that such fright as you describe |

 

 

ful, elegant, handsome men as his private secreta-
ry. whom I have seen, and we will see again
to-day.”

“Ohol” eried Margaret, laughing roguishly:
“Here’s surely news for Doctor Alexis. Shall I
haste to give him your picture of this handsome
secretary while it is still fresh in my mind ?”

At this rally Adelaide blushed crimson, for she
felt that her gratitude for the favor—which was, in-
deed, only in anticipation yet—had betrayed her
into a warmth of expression of which she had no
thought.

“Yes, go and tell him. and get your ears boxed
for your pains, you silly minx!” she said, with
pleasant peevishness. “But come! ’Tis far past
twelve, and our hour there is one. We must be
punctual with these great folks.”

“Especially when handsome secretaries are plen-
tiful!” laughed Margaret, skipping away to avoid
the playful blow of chastisement made at her.

So, in this merry mood Adelaide set out to keep
her engagement at the palace of the Duke of Fron-
sac.

* * * CJ = = =

Monsieur Madinier, that high conservator of
morals, surveyor of the paths of rectitude, and pre-
ceptor of the noble Duke of Fronsae, was in an un-
usual fluttorof excitement for one of his world-wise
training and experience-toughened nerves.

It may be that. was caused by the conflict of feel-
ings consequent upon having to give up his own
base hopes as regarded Adelaide, (for the traitor-
ous “confidential family friend” had in truth set
longing eyes upon the gentle girl), and actas aider
of the designs of his precious pupil, Fronsac.

Tt was barely possible that his present perturba-
tion was the effect of some slight upheaval of his
ealloused conscience when he thought that the in-
nocent maiden against whom he so basely con-
spired was the only daughter of a life-long friend,
who had even made him welcome to his hearth and
board. and cherished him in his heart as the very
eye of honor.

This is a barely possible theory as regards a cold,
calenlating man who was fond of boasting the
intellectual profligate, Due de Richelieu, as. his tutor
in subtilty, and would say with pride:

“My character received its finishing touches when
I was in the service of the great Richelieu. I read
to his son in morals and philosophy, and the father
in return taught me the science of life as it is, and
gave me some insight into human nature, and so
forth. Ah! Richelieu is an amiable nobleman, who

 

“That cannot well be,” said Adelaide, quickly. “It

would choose to have close around him such grace-

knows much of things and matters in general. A
charming man and a great lord in the full extent of
the term.’

crafty brain of Monsieur Madinier might be, it is
certain that as the time for the coming of Adelaide
to the palace approached he became more and
more restless, and paced from corridor to corridor
in agitation which it astonished the ducal retainers
to notice in one who usually bore such an ice-like
and impenetrable exterior.

Ha! Was he selfishly calculating and brooding
over the consequences to which this contemplated
outrage might lead?

Was he thinking of the fate of the grasping and
pitiless Claude Pernou, and the many other wrong-
doers and despoilers who had falleu by the hand of
the Seeret Avenger?

Had the black shadow of that mysterious being
fallen upon and chilled his selfish soul?

As he moodily paced a marble-floored corridor
which led to the ducal reception-room, he was star-
tled from his moody meditations by an unusual
noise proceeding from that very apartment.

It consisted of stamping. shouting, laughing,
whistling, and sharp hissings, such as a willow
switch or a cutting-whip might make when struck
or eireled briskly through the air.

He listened and then quickened his pace toward
the sounds, for he thought that a squad of bedlam-
ites had broken loose and taken possession of these
halls sacred to aristocratic rascality which moves
in silence.

He paused as he reached the wide folding doors,
for the tumult caused his discretion to take prece-
dence of his valor.

“One! Two! Hoop! Hanger!” he heard, in
different intonations, accompanying every bounce.
“Now firm on the left leg! Ha! Look out, my
friend! Ha! By Saint Paul, I am quite out of
practice! Once more! One! Two! Three! Carte
over the arm !*

“Why, it’s Flueret!” said Madinier, throwing open
the door inthe nick of timeto receive the ‘carte
over the arm” hunge in the stomach with such force
that, had it been given witha rapier instead of a
foil, there would have been one scoundrel less in
the land of the living.

“You rascal!” he belched, slapping both hands to
the nearly punctured spot, ‘what, in the name of
maelstroms, do you mean splitttng people like
partridges?”

“T humbly crave your honor’s pardon,” said the
valet-de-chambre. saluting with his foiland bowing
very low.

“Explain, sir,” exclaimedtheangrytutor. “What
are you about here with all this eoeee and
stamping?”

“T was only exercising alittle with the foil, sir,”
said Flueret, with another salute and salaam, “just

 

Whatever the cause of the commotion in the

| to keep my handin. We must not let our useful

FRANOIS §, SMITH litwo Copies E Five Dollars.

2 ee eed — en. et

 

Einiered According to Act of Conarest. in the Year 1878, by Street & Smilin. 2% fhe Ones of ta Litrorian of Gna _ oes _D. 6 ——— wi waa xs

Three Dollars Per Saar:

2p

ahinsen Wile hiboats ek Paade: your hous. in incshes
swordsmanship is a useful one, if everthere was
one. No knowing, your honor, whenit may come
in good stead for one’s self or one’s friend.”

During this disquisition on the science of blood-
letting, Monsieur Fiueret was skipping around the
audience-chamber with the grace and agility ofa
Brazilian ape, whirling his glittering foil in circling
sweeps, thrusting. lunging, feinting, parrying, and
dealing remorseless carte and tierce most gener-
ously to imaginary antagonists.

Monsieur Madinier watched the rapidity and ease
of the man’s movements, and a sinister smile lit his
erafty countenance.

His anger at his own mishap was gone, and he
was thankful now that it had happened, for it had
revealed to him a new idea, and thrown in his way
&@ proper and pliable instrument to work his end.

His own words will best explain what that end
was, and may probably explain alsothe main cause
of his moody meditations in the corridors.

“Plueret,” he said, in a soft, conciliatory voice.

“At your honor’s service,” said tho valet-de-
chambro, with the inevitable salute.

“Are you a tolerable swordsman, Flueret ?”

“Ehave been favorably known as ateacher, sir.”
said Fiueret, drawing up proudly and saluting
himeelf.

“Indeed,” said Madinier, with an expression
of satisfaction overspreading his countenance.
“Would you have the countenance to faee, now, say
a regular soldier of the line in mortalcombat? Do
you consider yourself a good enough swordsman
to risk that?”

“Good enough!’ exclaimed Flueret, with the
most contemptuous expression of both face ang
voice. “Risk! Paugh! Soldiers! Why, monsieur.
soldiers are notoriously no swordsmen. Clumsy
strikers that can only fight crowds—butchers thag
should wear cleavers instead of swords.”

Flueret paused for breath, more overcome by
his noble emotion than he had been by hia active
exercise.

“Hal” exelaimed Madinier, gazing sat him with

admiration. ‘Flueret, Isee the prower pride of ax
expert in you! You are the sort of a soul that =
would bind to me with bands of steel. Let us be
friends from this day forth. I may put something
in your way that will enrich you and advaninge
me,”
- Flueret’s dark eyes snapped expectantly, and
they fairly gleamed whon Wladinier took from his
pocket a purse, through the silken meshes of which
could be seen the glitter vi golden louis-@ors.

“Consider me amony your patrons, Flweret,” said:

as earnest of tuture savor.”
Flueret seized the purse eagerly, and said, in

| words and tone thas velied his action:

“Oh, sir, your Loaor is too bountiful toa peor

valet-de-chambre,”

“It is not a gift ta the valet-de-chambre,” data Mad-
inier, with a compximentary bow;
the genius of the swordsman.”

“Your honor does me too much honor,” said
Flueret, with au extra deferential salute and sa-
jaam. “Your hvunorspoke of a something that you.
eould put in my way that would advantage you. In

your honor’s bounty?”
Madinier stroked his chin and was silent.for the-

marked every lineament.

The swordsman had already read what.was com-
ing before the planner was readyto put it in.
words:

“Tf, Flueret,” said Madinier, slowly and: signifi-
cantly—"if there was a certain person who was.
likely to prove very troublesome to mea short time
hence—and—perhaps—to one—greater than I, and
it was advisable that this person should be rendered’
harmless, think yeu it coukd be done?”

“T comprehend, your honor,” said Plueret. know-
ingly. “Would you want the gentleman winged—
laid up in ordinary—or pinked—preseryved. for
good?”

“Fleuret.” said Madinier, in an expressive: whis--
per, “whatever is good cannot be had.”

“Your honor teems with wisdom,” said Flueret..
with alow bow. “Instruet-me in this matter.”
“This removal,” said Madinier; *must be accom-
plished in a way to avoid suspicion of fore-plan-
ning—as thus: Could not a man of stout heart and
consummate skill, such a one as I have at present
in my eye—”

Flueret bowed low at the unmistakable compli-.
ment,

“Could not such a man fasten a quarrel on this
intrusive personage, and end the matter in an
honorable way?”

“Excellent and agreeable!” exchamod Fiueret,
gazing on his patron with admiration, “Easiest
thing in the world.”

“it may not be 80 easy as yom think, good
Flueret,” said Madinier, cautiously. “Theperson in
question is impetuous. by nature, and strong of
arm.”

“All the better, your: honor,” cried Fiveret, gayly.
“Impetuosity counts for me—the more of it the
better. Strength goes for nothing. eounts for
neither. It is skill, your honor, it ia scienco cnar-
ries the fleld—as for instance——”

To the astonishment, if not eonsternation, of
Madinier, his fasetious protege with two gracciul
lunges planted the button of the foil in rapid suc-
cession on the center button of the patron’s tunic.
and the point of his rubieund nose.

“What do you mean, sir?” exclaimed the tutor,
reeling back in affright.

“Simple exemplification of the uses and beauties
of carte and tierce,” said Flueret, laughing at the
trepidation of the man who had engaged him to,
use his deadly skill on others. “Now, your honor;,
this person who is to be operated upon?”

A clock struck the quarter, and Madinier stazted
in a flurry.

“Time enough for that,”hesaid. “Anytime from
this to two o’elock I expect a young girl here. Yon
know her, I believe. Itis the daughter of old: Pa-
got the mereer.”

“Yes, yes, I think I recotlect hen.” said Fiuerot.

 

Madinier, holding out the purse, “and accept this:

“it is a tribute to-

what way can 1 havethe happiness of deserving:

time, but his face was working: with the throes of’
diabolical invention, and the bright eye of Flueret.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

--~

 

 

 

with a cunning smile. “Pretty feet—eyes twin

stars—cherry lips—and such an ankle.” —

“She willinquire for me,” said Madinier, severe-
ly. “Ishall be in the library. You will inform me
directly when she arrives. She comes on some
business relative to—to her family.” ;

“Oh, yes, your honor, I see,” said the cunning
valet, with mock gravity, through which Madinier

Baw. eee

*Sir?? he said, severely. “I wish you distinctly to
understand that the young lady isthe daughter of
my respected friend, and I will have no reflections
or conjectures, nor suspicions on your part. Do
you understand?”

"Oh, yes, Lassure your honor, that I shall have
no suspicions.” said Flueret, ag he backed toward
the door, and added to himself, “of anything but
deviltry where you're concerned.” o
“Here comes the duke,” said Madinier. “Leave
us.
As the valet swordsman passed out of one door
the prineely pupil came jauntily through another,
a4 was gayly dressed, and seemed in exuberant
spirits.

“Ah, Madinier,” he cried, cheerily, as soon as he
saw his instructor in the “ways that are dark,” “
have been seeking you. I wish to talk further with
you about this girl.”

“Does she stikt occupy your thoughts ?”

sere she?” cried the young duke, enthusiasti-
on i “I swear, Madinier, [love her to distrac-
tion!’

Madinier shrugged his shoulders at the other’s
feryency, and said, in atone of indifference:

“She is certainly a lovely sort of thing.”

‘Hang it, man!” exclaimed the impulsive duke,
“how can you talk in that cold way of such a lovely
creature? Such bewitching languor in her eyes!
Such a sweet smile ever playing on her lips! Such
ravishing loveliness ofall her person! Zounds!
Madinier, I’m half mad about ger! Is it near the
appointed hour for her'to come

Sho tutor saw the piteh to whichthe feelifigs of
his ardent pupil were y he smiled at
his impotuosity; perhaps he thought of the tinre
when his own youthful passions ran_ riot in the
same way. . ep i Rae

“Pationée, my lord,” he said, with tantalizin
salmness, “the time will come dncdue Beuson, an

the girl too.” soho ie Loan a}
“Patiouco!” cried the dukeg™ easy foe yourto
$ee'¥ou in my
ef umitisl

talk of patience. I should Tike -to
place,” te Ree OLs 4-7 5

“Eshould. like excessively, well, myJord, to be in
your place just now,” said the tutor. _ aad
“What?” cried the pupil, “have'you not taken
your leave of iniquity yet?” eid meer)

“How can 1?” said Madinier. with .mock gravity,
and bowing very low, “while I have your grace’s
praiseworthy example before me?” |»

“Hal hal’ laughed the duke.
“What is the time of appointment?” .

The duko looked at the gold-mounted clock and
rubbed his hands gayly, erying:

“A few minutes more and the lovely Adelaide——”’

“Will be like a dove in the talons of a yulture,”
concluded Madinier, for the duke had caught the
ae of approaching footsteps, and paused to
isten. : ‘

Fiucret appeared at the entrance, and the duke
ran toward him. with.the eager expectancy of a
child, but recoiled in absolute horror from the
shock of the announcement ;

“Monsieur Sartige!.the Capitoul of Toulouse!”

“Why, whatthe devil does he want here at such
an bour? SayIam notat home,” cried the duke,
in tones of distress.

“Lbeg your grace’s pardon, but-——”

“Well, sir? But what?”

“I told him your grace was at home,” said Flueret,
stepping back to allow the Capitoul’s advanee, and
that worthy made his appearance before the duke
just in time to be the recipient of the vigorously
uttered words:

“Stupid fool!’ (which expression was meant for
Flueret.)

ne flushed and stared; then he bowed low, and
Said:

“Your grace is very kind to condeseend to joke |
she your inferiors, but Doctor Laroche and my- |
se a ae

As Alexis Laroche stépped forward to pay his
respects, and bowed low, the duke broke away, and
ran to Madinier, crying in tones of deep despair:

“Furies! There are two of them.”

_ Madinier had recognized the young doctor, Alex-
is, as the betrothed of Adelaide, and he foresaw the
danger ofthe two meeting.

“Be caim, my lord,” he whispered. “Give them a
hearin,, but dismiss them as soon as possible.
will attend to matters outside.” i
. He bowed gravely, and passed out as if upon
some lofty business of state, instead of the entrap-
ment of an innocent girl, the daughter of the min
aoree he had the sinful audacity to claim to be a
riend, ;

The duke divined the plans of his wily minister
in an instant, and curbed his impatience atthe in-
trusion in order to co-operate with him. :

He must hear the untimely visitors—as little as
possible—and get rid of them as quickly as pos-

   

eo ae eh

Then eagerly: !

“I am sorry for it,” said the duke, sincerely. “I
did not foresee this. To think of this young girl
here being drawn intoa snare,and on the eve of
her marriage, too.”

The better nature ofthe young man was strug-
gling out through the muss of selfishness and cor-
ruption with which the evil genius at his side had
weighted it. alt

“What of that?” said Madinier, sarcastically.
pone your grace prefer that it should be the day
after ?”

“There is something revolting in this libortinism,
where an affianced bride is the object to be in-
snared!” cried the duke, with feeling. as he strode
the floor. “Tothink of tarnishing a 8 paEEDSS flow-
er, and then easting it in the faceof an honest man!
By Heaven, it is too bad!”

“Viel fle! my lord!’ cried Madinier, with a mock-
ing laugh thatmadethe young man ashamed of
the noble impulse to which he had given expres-
sion. “Shall it be said that the Duke of Fronsae
is yet @ green schoolboy after all my careful teach-
n »

_“T wish I could be sure of one thing,” said the

uke.

What is that, my lord?”

“Whether it was the evilone himself who placed
you at my side to give me bad counsel.”

“My gracious Jord,” said the tutor, bowing pro-
foundly, “it was your noble father,”

“The duke flushed with confusion at this keen
stroke, but the entrance of Flueret eased the awk-
wardness, -

“The young lady is below; sir,” said the valet,
making is obeisance to both, but addressing Madi-
nier,

“You hear, my lord?” said thé evil genius; “she
is below. “Shall I tell hershe hus put herself to
unnecessary trouble, and that your grace’s secre-
tary cannot receive her?”

“Serpent!” said the duke in amanner that show-
ed the strife of good and evil within, “if there be
eternal punishment inflicted hereafter, be assured
it is prepared for you.” : $

“Then,” said Madinier, with one of his expres-
sive bows, “I shall be happy to receive it in the

company of many distinguished people at present
plgucishing here. Flueret, show the girl up.”
b  “Bha

s. her companion come up with her, your

honor .
“Het ¢ompanion! exclaimed the duke. “What,
“are there tivo of them ?”. r

“Yes, your grace,” said Flueret, ‘the young wo-
man and her female servant.” | ab

“Let them both comeup,” said Madinier, quickly,
and the valet disappeared. “By admitting beth,
your grace, we will lull suspicion in the mind of
Flueret, and avoid disturbing the security of Ade-
laide. Theyare here! Do not ferget that you-are
only the duke’s private secretary!” . ;
Flueret appeared ushering in Adelaide, beautiful
in her diffidence, and Margaret piquantly dashing
in her seli-reliance. :

Adelaide paused timidly just within the thres-
hold of the splendid apartment, with her eyes bent
on the floor, until Madinier took her by the hand
‘with words of encouragement, and led her toward
the duke. ; 5

“You tremble, fair one,” said the latter, his own
voice trembling as he spoke, for the inward fight of
good and evil had recommenced.

Adelaide was silent—it was Margaret that an-
swered: RN ae

“Yes,” she said,in her bridling way, “they told
us that his excellency the Governon duke was here,
and Miss Adelaide was a little frightened.
part I never saw a man that could make my heart
flutter, and I suppose the duke is no more than a
man; is he?”

The duke took Adelaide’shand from Madinier’s
and said, soothingly:

“Be calm. You will soon recover from your
alarm, and then I shall present you to the duke.”

“What! IT appear before the duke?” exclaimed
Adelaide, in alarm. “Oh! no, no!” ‘

“You know, my dear,” said Madinier, in his oily
way, “itis his grace from whom you will receive
the furlough for your brother. 6 has given his
consent to your application.” |

“He has!’ eried Adelaide. joyfully, tremulously.
“Oh, happy news! Lam perfectly delighted!”
“How astonished your father and Master Henry
will be ?” said Margaret, sharing the joyousness of
her young mistress. ““Butif the duke has granted
our request, what is the use of putting Miss Ade-
laide in a fluster by eee her before him 2?”

“True,” said Adelaide; Margaretis rightfand I
had rather not go.” Tg phi.

“Pardon me, mademoiselle,” said the duke, tak-
ing che hand which she had withdrawn, “but the
duke Jeft his orders with me that yon should be
presented to him as soon as you arrived.”

“Woll, weil, that isan honor!” exclaimed Marga-
ret, proudly. “Plaek up a good heart, Miss Ade-
laide, Dl be at your elbow.”

“No, no,” said Madinier. “You, Margaret, my
dear, mustremain here. Itisagainst the rules of
erat for the duke to give audience to two persons
at once. tle .

“Oh, that’s the rule, I see,” said Marga

  
 

 

sible, while Madinier took care that Flueret did
not commit another grave blunder jby announcing
and ushering in the app betore their departure.

o he cleared the petulant frown from his hand-
some face, and advancing half way tow. the rid-
iculous magistrate and the puzzled doctor, said,
eondescendingly: :

“To what, gentlemen, am [ indebted for the plea-
sure of this visit ?” P

The Capitoul had been much abashed by his first
reception as a ‘stupid fool,” but the suavity of the
duke’s manner now was balm to his wounded soul,
at all his official pomposity came back with a
rush.
_ “We come, my lord,” he said, dwelling grandly on
his words, and swelling up like the frogin the
fable—“‘we come—J—the Capitoul of Toulouse—and
Doctor Alexis Laroche, official physician of fe
city aforesaid, to consult about another murder
which has been committed in our streets.”

“Another murder!” exclaimed the duke, whose |

soul had been rising. in arms since the word “afore-
said” gave. indication of a tedious rigmarole.
“What, two in one day ?” , ee :

“No, my lord,” said the Capitoul;\“‘it'is of this
morning’s murder that I would speak.” »

“Has the assassin been found ?” asked the duke,
. . With as much indifference as if the catching of a
* troublesome rat was the matter in question.

“He has not, my lord,” said the Capitoul, slowly,
as he held; oul his hand. to, receive an ominous-
looking document with a terrifying seal from Doc-
tor Laroche. “ . A

The duke shudderéd, andput his. hand quickly
to his sword-hilt. ' 2.43
- The impulse was strong upon him to free Tou-
louse from the nuisance of a chief magistrate ‘and

»/an official physician forever aiidsevermore. =) 9:

Something must be done. to repel these bold in-

vaders of ByBoety privacy, so he got angry.

“Not yet discovered!” he exclaimed, sternly; de-
clining the proffered document) without thanks..
“Your police, Sir Capitoul, must be badly organized
or shamefully negligent of their duty. The author
or authors of this ‘atrociéus outrage must be ‘dis-
covered! Give your orders to that effect instantly,
and offer liberal rewards. to those who, will bring
the wretch or wretches to justice!” ec

The Capitoul’s dignity was sadly pYostrated by
this angry outburst, and he said, humbly: ;

“Has your lordship been, informed that this as-
sassination of Claude Pernou, has been, by many,
ascribed to the unknown individual who hasspread
terror and dismay through our city for the.last
twelve months,” .

“Yes! yes!’ uried the duke, impatiently, “I know
all that.” ‘

“Here is the official report, drawn by the surgeon
after inspecting the body of the victim,” said the
Capitoul, again offering the Hideous document to
have it again waved aside. [

“Yes! yes!” said the duke, uflable to restrain his
impatience any longer, “it’s all right. Put it on
file, and, as I must be alone, you must excuse me,
Pardon my lack of ceremony, but an important af-
fair demands my attention’ ;

“My lord, we take our. leave,” said the. Capitoul,
bowing at this blunt dismissal, and the impatient
primes felt relieved when Alexis Laroche renewed

is torture by approaching and bowing before him.

“Before departing,” said the young doctor, “might
I present a request to your grace ?” :

“Another delay,” sighed the duke. “Zounds! I
shall gofmad! Goon, sir,I’m all attention:
the.devil had you both!”

“There is a favor I would ask of you, my lord,”
said Alexis, rapidly, for he noticed the duke’s im-
patience. “In fifteen days, your grace, I propose
to be married, Would.your grace deign to honor
our contract with your signature ?”

“Most willingly—with all my heart,” exclaimed
the duke, snatching ‘the contract and-signing and
returning it more speedily than he had ever passed
any document in his life. ;

“I shall ever rememper your grace’s bounty,”
said Alexis, gratefully,

“Say no more about it,” said the duke, advanc-
ing upon them. “Now, gentlemen, [am your most
obedient,” — :

The dismissed pair bowed
Madinier bowed himself in.

“Thank Heaven, mney. re gone at last !” said the
duke, throwing himselfintoa seat, with a sigh of
relief. “Oh, Madinier Pvebeen on burning coals!
P’ve suffered next to martyrdom!, This young doc-
tor would insist on prolonging my pain with his
marriage and his contract!” «

Madinier smiled in his Mephistophetian way.

', Why do you smile ?” his pupil asked.

68 know who it is that he is to marry ?”

“How should I?” .

‘It is none other than the mercer Pagot’s deugh-
ter,” said the tutor, with a sort of devilish glee,.as
if he rejoiced at the complications that were crowd-

themselves out as

ng in.

“What!” exclaimed the young, duke, starting up
in surprises “The fair Adelaide! Is she to be his
ww 8 ” °

I wish |

there! Miss Adelaide, do gp, and don’t
about it. If the gentlemap secretary
ou won’t be afone with th Be
Fa lant
EY BAT noha

corer a

    
  
  
  

 

si dear!”
M id hier,” said the agitated

“Tbut go tothe library to fetch a book which his
grace requires,” said the treacherous wretch, “and
wilk be with youinaninstant.” | a
“Banish this idle alarm,” said the duke, reassur-
ingly. “What you say cannof; fail to be well said,
and. you will be sure to be received with kindness.’
“Oh, sir,” said Adelaide, nervously, ag he led her
away, “Iam so terrified at the thought of entering
the duke’s presence, that lean hardly walk.
me, what is the meaning of this foolish dread?”
“No need of d 1.” he said. “Be ealm.”
Searcely had they left the apartment, and barely

; had Madinier time to approach Margaret with one

of his deceptive smiles, when a tumult of loud
yoices came from the grand stairease.

“Why,” cried Margaret, ‘that’s Master Henry!”

ee Henry!” cried Madinier, aghast. ‘What
next ?”

The next was the forcible entrance into the au-
dience-chamber of Henry Pagot, and Jacob Odet,
a shoemaker, driving a brace of servitors before

1em.

- tell you, you can’t eome in!” gasped one of the
atter. ; ‘

‘Can't I??? ried Henry, slinging him to Jacob,
who sent him flying along ithe marble corridor in
n_break-neck waltz “I am seeking my sister!
Where is my sister, I say?”

This last question was ‘addressed excitedly “to
Margaret.

. Don’t put yourself. in a passion, Master Henry.”
she said,in a frightened mauner. “Miss Adelaide
is with his grace, the duke. ;

‘With: the due?” exclaimed the young man,
“What, alone?”

17?

“No, no!

said the girl; “his secretary is with

«
o

At the word “‘secretary” Jacob. Odet gave the
young soldier a quick, significant slap upon the
shoulder, and it was like a match applied to a pow-
der-magaazine.

“Where are, they?” cried the soldier, hoarsely:
and nearly speechiess with the passion that had
seized upon him. “Which way havé they gone?
Speak, gitl!—speak !” i

The girl was now too terrified to speak, but she
pointed tothe door leading to the ducal apart-
ments, through which Adelaide had been led. and
as Henry rushed toward it, Madinier interposed
himself. GAs Y :

“Henry, my. friend,” said the arch-villain, “be
calm. You forget where you are.” F $2 ere

‘Where is my sistér Adelaide?” : E
“She is: safe—here with the duke, for the purpose
of affording you an agreeable surprise, by. obtain-
ing an extension of your furlough.”

etuous soldier to pause and turn his eyes inquir-
Saale to Jacob Odet wn

the shoemaker: )

“Well, sir, what brings you here?” addi «a

“ILeome to ..bring your worship’s shoes,” anid
Jacob, quietly, producing them from beneath ‘his
leathern apron. ;

‘You choose your time well for such an errand,”
said Madinier, eying: the red-shirted artisan syith
an angry and suspicious look, then, turning to the
young soldier, he said, “Henry, I will bring your
sister to you to convince you that allis right. How
could you be so foolish as to indulge in a moment’s
inquistude about her, when you knew she was un-
der my charge?”

Henry, deceived by the specious manner of the
hypocritical villain, was about to apologize for_his
impeuoety, when the deep voice of Jacob Odet
said: .

“Hark! Do you hear those eries?” _ i

The soldier reccgnized the faint voice of his sis-
ter calling for help, and sprang toward the sound,
Madinier strove to bar his way, but the infuriated
youth svized him bythe throat and dashed him
aside, just as his terrified sister. rushed into the
apartment, followed by the duke calling her name.

“My brother!” cried the excited girl, rushing into
tae arms. “Thank God! my, brother, I’ am
sa el? : .

Her brother!” cried the duke, in alarm. turning
to fly back the way he had come, only to stand
face to face with the grim shoemaker, Jacob Odet.

“You don’t pass this way, Master Secretary,” said
the artisan, planting his horny hand on the duke’s
embroidered breast.

“Insolent vagabond!” exclaimed the ignoble no-
bleman. “How dare you bar my way?”

Then “Satan appeared also,” but it was inthe
shape of Monsieur Madinier, who, with well-
assumed indignation apprornched and addressed
the duke:

“He is right, sir secretary; you owe us an apolo-
gy for this outrage.”

acl

 

 

 

“She is.” said Madinier. “What then ?”

.“BHe is a coward—a base, perfidious wretch!”

 

 

For my}

    

girl, not quifme? You will be near mé,}~
and whisper in my ear whatI should say. Will
rou not?” . .

his aid, and pointed outto him Tom Dill, 1 fast

The plausible voice and excuse caused the im=

cigar.
‘ et. ate May Task your friend’s name—this colonel?” he

. Madinier caught the action, and said, sharply, to | said.
_ 9 Spe "Ldauther you would ask him,” replied Tom,

 

cried Adelaide, with tearful anger. “He never
meant to conduct me to the duke. -He detained me
in yonder apartment.” i
Henry, who had been quieting her alarm, finding
that her confidence had returned, quietly released
himself from her embrace, and, with an unnatural

coolness that had something terrible in it, strode |

to where the duke stood,and seized him by the

throat.

‘“Dastard! mean, detested villainl’” he said.
Your blood must atone for this!” é

“Henry, my friend, release your hold!” cried
Madinier, interfering, — ve ; ey
“Infamous miscreant!” cried the duke, crimson
with passion, as he got freefrom the young sol-
dier’s gri pe “Dare you presume to lay your han
on me? What ho,there! Thrust this insolent ruf-
ganiund his abettors into the street!” ;

- Madinier plueked his sleeve with nervous energy,
and whispered warningly in his ear:

“What mean you, my lord? You forget——”

‘Peace! Interrupt me not!” said tle duke,

“Peace, did you say?” exclaimed the crafty tutor,
sternly. ‘Remember, sir, that there is no one in
this household but the duke himself has power to
silence me. You forget, sir; w ou 4

“Dare you, too, venture-——”
who was too angry to take the

“Ig it your wish, sir,’ said Madinier, “interrupt
ing him inthe same anthoritativeemanner, “that I
should call his grace, the duke, from his apartment
to be made a party to this seandal? I repeat, sir,
you forget yourself,”

The clever assumption of anger and authority by

this master knave deceived ‘all present, even the
shrewd and watehful Jacob. | :
_ “Go, Master Secretary,” continued Madinier, see-
ing the effect he had produced, and taking advan-
lage of it, “Go, and think yourself fortunate that
the duke has not been brought into this silly affair,
which concerns you, and you alone. . Let the whole
business be settled among ourselyes, with no other
witnesses,” :

The duke was about to take his hint and retire,
but Henry interposed.

“Stay, sir,” he said, sternly. “You must fight me!
Do you understand? Your life or mine must mend
this matter.” 4

What!” cried the duke, indignantly, “would you
engage mein aduel? Do you expect me to fight
with you—a common soldier.”

Anduwhy not?” said Madinier, hastening to
avert once more the danger of the duke’s self-
exposure. “I should suppose an humble secretary
like yourself might measure weapons with an hon-
est citizen.”

Sir, Lawait your reply,” said Henry, haughtily,
and unheeding the appealing gestures of his sister.

“Young man, you are a fool!” eried the duke,
with anger and contempt ringing in his tones, ;

uick at the word the hot-headed young soldier
pulled his gantlet from his hand, and slapped it
fiercely across the noble’s face.

Swift as lightning the swords of both leaped from
their seabbards, and equally eager the men sprang
toward each other.

With frightened and appealing cries, Adelaide
rushed and hung upon: her brother’s arm with a
clasp that he could not shake off, while Madinier
threw himself upon the flery duke, and hindered
his advance. ;

“Death and fury, your grace,” he wWhispéred,
rapidly. “Can you not forgetthat you arethe duke?
Your foolishness will spoil all! Leave fhis tome;1
linve a swordsman will take your grace’s place and
do for this young spark.”

As Madinierspoke he glanced toward the doorway
where Flueret was standing with the rigidity of a
statue, and the gleaming eyes of a gladiator. Their
eyes metin one electric flash of intelligence, and
the tutor said aloud quickly to Henry:

He accepts your challenge, sir, and gives you
the privilege of choosing time and place.”

This very night at ten e’clock,” said Henry,
rapidly, as he slapped his saber irto its scabbard.

- the water’s edge, beyond the palace park! Come,
sister.” ,

He and the troubled Adelaide departed, their

arms entwining each other. They were escorted by

  

   
  
    
 

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. te->

cnet aw ren

Egremont was past being surprised or angry. He
would scarcely have been astonished if_n beast of
the forest had called him the Great Mogul. All
emotions were lost in intense solicitude for Guy,
and repressing his indignation, he asked, eagerly:

‘Have you seen this man? Is he still living?”

“T have seen him,and he was living last night.

his béing alive this morning, that depends
upon a mood those red gentlemen
Badger is cross, or

Who told you that 2”

     
  

Hat ote boda eyo yaa

coa Talloper spinyed, as ya

reg yers nae a bowie-knife in hi ‘belt.
+ yes

It is

do something for h m

  
  

have come here. You have gue by t

that I did not come after my bre ots

“Phen you Will help us. How faris he fr i
How soon en wé reach him? wo many are his
captors? Tellmé@ all, and you shall be rewarded

beyond your hopes.”

“Hold on there! You are getting on too fast,
nel, The Great Mogul should be slower and

ore dignified in his words and movements. Send

pace wens men, and we will talk further about this

matter.”

Mike and Tom Dill were drawing near, attracted
by the Joud and emphatic language of mont;
but he motioned tothem to go back, and they did
so, freutly wondering. é

“We are losing precious time, my friend,” he
said. ‘Those murderous savages may be torturing
their poor victim at this very moment.”

“Tut! tut! Skip the hard words, colonel; I
wouldn’t call names if I was you. The red men
have their way of doing business, and we have
ours. Astothe rest, there is no need of break-neek
haste, for I don’t think Guy Ross will be harmed
before I get back there with word from you.”

Egremont looked with a sort of stupefaction at
his companion, and then the light suddenly broke
in upon him.

“Are you amessenger from them ?” he asked.

tee Thavye come to treat with you about
pving, 1imup. The Gray Badger wants pay, and
advise you to give him whatever he asks, if you
don’t. want your friend to be sent baek to you in
installments.”

A gleam of joy had illumined Egremont’s face,
but it was followed by an expression of horror as
the Jast words were spoken.

“Tam willing to ransom my friend at any reason-
able figure, if that is what you mean,” he said;
“but aman.don’t bring much-money with him into
a wilderness like this.”) , 5! ;
_ Very truc; butthe Great Mogul has his bankers
in Chicago and St. Louis, oh whom he ean draw.”

“Ah! The Badger knows this, does he?” asked
the colonel. smiling,for he had begun to grow
hopeful. “Tho Badger would accept a draft? Sup-
oso we drop the Badger for the present, and deal
ike principals.”

_ “With all my. heart.”

“What is thé ransom required ?”

“It is so smallthat lam ashamed to nameittoa
man of your wealth. The price of your friend’s
life is only thirty thousand dollars.”

Egremont knew that his countenance was closely
watehed when this sum was named, and he tried to

Pconéeal his sense of relief that it was no larger,

while at the same time he affected surprise at its
magnitude. ~ ato

That his visitor was in fact a brigand and the
leader of a band of real or pretended savages, and
that he had in some way become acquainted with
the fuet of his great wealth, he no longer doubted;
but he was sure that he could not know that his
prisoner was his cousin and his most beloved friend.
Atthe same time the most startling conviction
forced itself upon his mind thatthis outlaw and his
gang had been trying to get possession of him,
een they captured Guy, and that he might still be
n danger. %:

Impressed with this idea, he looked carefully

 

 

the bowing Flueret, who seemed to be measuring
his man at every landing where he had an excuse
to turn toward him. :

Madinier forced the angered duke away from the
scene of the dispute, leaving Jacob Odet standing
as he had stood allthrough the excitement before
the door of the ducal apartments, with one hand
holding the pay of shoes he had_ brought, and the
other buried in the bosom of his red shirt, and
elutching convulsively. | z

here was w lovg pause, during which his grim
face worked with the expression of conflicting
thoughts, ] h he east the shoes contemptu-
ously throughthe door that Madinier had passed,
and exclaiming: —

about him both to -that no one was approneh-
ing, and that Mike ‘Tom Dill did not leave the
house. A desperado,armed as this one was, was
by no means tobe lightly regarded.

“You are jesting,” he replied. “Be practical, and
namethe realsum for which you will surrender
your prisoner. Guy sS Were my brother or
other near relative, you could scarcely ask a larger
a uw that.” ,

Zz uy Ross were your ppagpther, or if I had the
honor to have the Great” peal himself in m
pewer, ten times that sum would not ransom him.

“If you want five thousand dollars for yourself
and half as much more for presents of horses, an
rifles, and blankets to the Indians, I will give it

 

 

   

      

 

      

7: mete ——
{~~ By P. HAMILTON MYERS,
(“The Great Mogul” was commenced in.No. lY Back Nos. can
be obtained from all News Agents in the United States. }

CHAPTER XLIX.
THE RANSOM.

When the Great Mogul awoke in the early morn-
ing, alter a long night’s sleep, he could not at first
realize his position, nor remember the events which
had led to Pine a E

But they came to his mind fast enough, and with
a sigh he nrose and proceeded to dress himself.

Mike, who had heard him stirring, soon came to
asleep. lying under atree, wrapped in a ~ ‘alo
robe, with his head on a bundle of straw.

Egremont found himself quite well; his pains
had all vanished, and he believed that after a hearty
breakfast he should be able at once to resume _ his
homeward journey on horseback, for they had re-
tained one of the saddle horses as well as the horse
and wagon which Mike had driven.

But the breakfast designed for sthe guestnvas yet

swimming in tie river,and Tom Dill being roused
up, went off with pole and line to eateh it at a fa-
vorite place nearly a mile up the stream.
» When he returned with a long btring of yetgasp-
ing fish, he had a companion riding slowly at his
side on an Indian pony, a tall, lank, heavily-beard-
ed fellow, very shabbily dressed, but carpying a
good Enfield rifle and acedutirements. |

“This: gentleman, wants to. breakfast with us,
Becky, hesaid. “Hehas been on the plains all
night, and isagood wayfrom hum. s6 TP told him
to comealongand welcome,” « = ‘ peer

“He's welcome enough, certain, but, ag api have
to wait till the colonel has eaten,” s he woman.
“T suppose he won’t mind that”) 19° /8tis

“Not at all,”> said othe stranger, whe , bad, been
closely eying the saddle horse, ye was. teth-
ered near the cabin. “I guessed you had other
pompeny. and I don’t want to intrudé on any

oC 7. r ‘ (i # fie Fon em net
There was pe vistas look, iy the iavelar’s face

th heshad

which belied his humility. but they took him at his
word, and let him wait under the'shade of ‘atree
while Colonel Egremont’s meal ‘was. preparing,
and while he and Mike leisurely partook of it. to-

er.

1én his turn came to eat together with the squat-
ter and his family. he did not fall to with theappe-
tite of.a long fasting man, but partook sparingly,
and looked around him a great deal, especially out
oft ey door toward that part of the lawn to
whielothe Great Mogul had retired to smoke his

smiling: i

“AW ies: Some people have reasons for not
télling theirnames; perhaps he is one of that
kind. Which way is he traveling?”

““He is stoppin’ here at present.”

“T see. Helooks rather solemn. Has anything
Nee to him?”

‘he woman was about to reply. when Tom
stopped her by a look, and said: ;

“See here, mister, as I said afore, if you want to
know anything whatsomever about that gentle-
roan, either his name or which way heis travelin’,
or why he looks solemnecholy, I’d rather you’d ask
him, not me,” :

“All right, I will,” said the man, and rising from
the table, he sauntered out upon the lawn, directly
to where Colonel Egremont was seated on a wood-
en chair. Nodding to him, hesaid:

“T heard that there was a white man capturedand
earried off by the Injuns, just back here, a day or
two ago—a gentleman from the East, one of a hunt-
ing party. Do you know anything about it ?”

“Yes, yes,” replied Egremont, excitedly. rising
and approaching the stranger. ' What do you know
about it? How did youhearit? Whatcan you tell

“T could tella good deal if I knew whoI was talk-
ing to,”’ said the man, sententiously.

“What difference does that make ?” asked Egre-
mont, with a surprised and angry air. “You area
human being, are you not ?—and you have human
sympathies ?”

“T don’t know whether I am a human being or
not,” said the man, coolly; “and as_to my haying
human sympathies, that depends. But if you are
Colonel Egremont——”

“Tam Colonel Egremont. If you know anything
of my friend——”

“Ah! he is your friend, then; I rather guessed so.

    

     

No! no! it eennot be the duke, But if it should rather thes have my friend earried into captivity.”
bent the Yay; Jacob Odet—duty! puty! ‘ ‘He MES DCe Bo Gate icd ing privity. as you oe
} r have id reason to know, ou refuse my offer.”
He rushed ppm the pe Nt fou thoneena dollace—sat
- 52 ans amie ONDE NUED. | eee f ap z is head atiently. is
JS bees : u Bete ast toe )  * } “Edo not hear_you, Colonel Egremont! Iama
a _ , >a ae ee Ge price mm 1 Dhnve fixed mex this sum after
es ee ee nt 4 {t st mature deliberati Lit ’ ou,
: ae & by aaa Z or tt TGaS Tor Mr. : did not fix it twice as
a ; le ioe not one cent shall be abated! I did not
~ ; oF Be . @ come here to dicker.” a
: me 3 eae a “Promise me that notacent shall be added, if I

' Oo your most exorbitant proposition.”
“Not a cent shall be added.”

ind you will xceept my draft on St. Louis ?”

“Yes; with your pledged word of honor and your
oath that it shall not be countermanded, and that
you will in no way seek to atop its payment or to
causé6 my arrest or the arrest of any one who may
present ee eet for payment.”

ian Bie bones, Hise Guy Ross shall be here.”
“Unhat r
“Unharmed. Have your drafts ready, and swear
to me now and here, that it shall be paid without
mpt at evasion.”
. “Tsolen ly awear it,” replied Egremont. raising
his hand and his eyes heaven ward.
“It is enough. I believe you.”
“To whose order shall it be made payable ?”
“To the order of Lamley & Co.”
“What! You area firm,then?”
“No; those are my bankers.”
“Your bankers! In St. Louis ?”
“No matter where. They are well known in St.
uls.

 

Make it payable to them.”

“Allright. It shall be done.”

- Without staying for adieu to any one, the outlaw
mounted his a and ‘departed on a gallop across
the plain, and Colonel Egremont was at once joined
by his host and his servant, eager to know the na-
ture of jus interview withthe stranger. .

He told them_all. greatly to their amazement.
which, on Tom Dill’s part was excited. chiefly by
the mention ofthe enormous sum at which he had
agreed. to ransom. hisfriend, and by his evident de-
light at the bargain, and the hope of its successful
fulfillment. .

In fact Egremont’s joy was unbounded, and was
tempered ‘only by the fear that the outlaw would
be unable to carry out his contract, or that there
would be treachery in some shape, and ‘an attempt

.to capture himself, ;

It wasagreed that every. precaution against sur-.
prise should be taken, and the three men believed
that inside the cabin they would be equal to an‘at-
tacking force of five times their number, tort

;But.the, brigand_ had agreed. to come alone with
Uis prisoner, and Egremont belieyed that he would

080.

He passed the day ingreat: suspense, constantly
watching the Jandscape in. the direction, in which
his mysterious visitor had ‘disappeared, and occa-
sionally mounting his horse and taking a gallop
across the plain to obtain a wider field of vision.

His impatience culminated as the sun drew near
the western horizon, and he was giving way to de-
spondency, when Mike, who was also on the watch,
pointed out two horsemen faintly visible in the dis-
tance, enproaphing him fromthe direction of the
woodland.

That one of these men was Guy Ross seemed al-

‘| most eertain to the colonel, and having first looked

well to their arms, he and Mike met them in astate
of excitement quite indescribable, for the servant
entered fully into his master’s feelings.

They were not left Jong in doubt. Guy, though
disarmed, was unbound, and was soon seen swing-
ing his hat above his head, and Egremont, quite
wild at the sight, urged his horse to an incredible
speed to meet him, while Mike, ealling vainly to
him to wait. followed-as best he eould.

The cousins. were soon in each other’s arms,
standing beside their panting horses, while the
outlaw, still in his saddle, rifle in hand, looked un-
concernedly on, but little moved by any exhibition
of human emotion.

Guy was pale,and evidently worn with fatigue
and anxiety.. He was hatless, his garments were
torn and soiled, and altogether his appearance
would have been forlorn enough but for the smiles
of joy andthe general expression of relief which
Hlumined his still handsome face.

His hat and his rifle could not be accounted for,
but the outlaw had returned his wateh and money,
and he called Colonel Egremont’s attention to this

act.

“I wish to deal honorably; Iam not a plek-
pocket,” he said, with mock dignity and ussurance.

The Great Mogul smiled and replied that he was
happy to deal with a man of honor.

He then produced his draft, which he had in
readiness, and submitted it to the outlaw, who,
after a very careful examinntien of it, pronounced
it all right, and put it into his pocket.

“There is nothing more, then, between us,” he
said. “Iwill bid you farewell.” And waving an
adieu with his cap the freebooter galloped off.

CHAPTER L.
GUY’S RETURN.

Not an hour elapsed after the ransomed man and
his friend entered Tom Dill’s cabin before twenty

 

 

 

Iam happy to make your acquaintance. So you
are the Great Mogul!”

armed men rode clattering up to the door, includ-

   
  

 

te mnsevn te

vet

ine the brothers Lynn, Charley Wolfe, and the vol-

unteers they had raised in the village for the pur-
suit and reseue.

The scene which ensued may well be imagined.
All were delighted at Guy’s escape; but there were
not ii few impecunious men among the band who
regretted the loss of their promised bounty money,

 
 
   
  

  
   
  
 

which was of eonsidera Ortince to them.
Col. Egremont, however a set their minds at
rest on that point By assuring tliem of the promised
rin ing, with a laugh: ;

d very cheap, and can
end something more upon 80
ind the Man Who will ride back to
8% Lynn’s to- ache is good news,” he

“shall have double pay, ;

 
  
  

‘the village recruits
he ( It {tto Billy Lidden,
upon as r leader, to decide

e ssen % ye
ny elt said Billy, “I’m about the poor-

t mnan here; but T'om Barlow shall go with me.
fF will be cher and we’ll Share the pay between
This was decided on and earried into effect. After
eating their supper nee niions they He
brought with them, the two men started en their
long night ride, and the remainder of the yolun-
teers encamped near the Dill shanty. :
* * * * * * * }
It was the second night of myslyn Lynn’s utter
misery. On the first she had not slept at all, D
this she slumbered at intervals, but only to be
haunted by the wildest and most terrific of dreams,
from which she was awakened toward morning by
. jond knocking and clamor at the door of the
ouse,
She sprang from bed, poened her window, and
listened while she trembled. The first light of day
was streaking the eastern sky, There were lou

 

 

 

 

 

voices. below, and her uncle was unbarring a
opening the door to some ely callers, who were
vainly trying to convey their unintelligible tidings
to the half-awakened man. '

“The man is saved!” said an unfamiliar voice, in
hurried tones. Saved! Don’t you hear? We have
rode all night to tell yates ‘

Jaibez,in his bewilderment, would have asked,
“What man?” buta piercing shriek of. joy ran;
through the house, and Evelyn, in her night robe,
with disheveled hair, eame gliding down the stairs,
and grasping one of the messengers, extorted from
him his full story, :

Is. it—is it.Guy. Ross you mean? Have they
found him? Have they rescued him?”

“Yes’m, that’s the name—Ross. And Col, Egre-
mont paid us a hundred dollars to ride all night
and come and tell you.” ue
ni cut Mrs Rost: Are, you sure? Did you see

im?” :

“Bless your sweet soul, yes! And you will see
him before night,” said Billy Lidden.. “They were —
allto start for home at daybreak, which it is that
now.” UA saa a

The whole family were assembled by'this time, —
and Evelyn had hugged and kissed her aunt and ©
cousins as they successively appeeneaaee had re-
tolit them the news: which they had al heard.

“Was there much fighting? Was. "I y hurt?’ *
noked Vasile Jabez, as soon as he eoule get a chance
epee t ee eon Mens ee

“No fightin’ at all. .They, didn’ aus a chance, —
which was a great disappomtment 6 une of ug,
’cause it’s so long, you see, Since we've shot ay
skin. No, it was all done by monéy, sir.
ranshomed him. as they eallit.? = 65) 60

‘Ransomed. him?”. 9: cea: een" pee fled oR

“Yes; sir... There, was.a white man at the head of
the sayages, ane he give hin up for thi rh thovennd
dollars, which I don’ ievé myself there is s
push money ih the whole world; but that’s what

ey Bay.” os Sigh Big

“Are you sure that Mr. Ross is not harmed?” ;
asked Evelyn, 5) |

“He seemed all right,and laughed and talked
with tlie geet ot ’em, but he Yooked a little siled and
rumpled, that’s all.”. nf ‘LORE F ;

“Oh, never mind that, if he only isn’t hacked and
gashed, and if his hair is on ali right.”

The tired and hungry men were. provided wit
breakfast and beds,yand they passed the day at Mr.
anne awaiting the arrival of their comrades.

ow Byelyn passed that loves day, it would ba
difficult to say. She was in all the rooms by turns,
inthe garden,in the fleld—now alone, and now
with her sympathizing cousins, who rejoiced in her

joy.
Nor did any false delicacy disturb her now. She
was notindeed engaged to Guy—he had not even.
made any avowal of his love in words—but she was
as sure of his purpose as if it had been a hundred
times proclaimed, Shs «cab eget
As his relation and intimate friend. she had at
least the right to exultin his safety, and when at
dusk the Jong-expected cayaleade was seen ap-
proaching across the plain, Evelyn and her cousins
went forth to meet it... "
helittle army were riding inacompact body;

'

idst, swinzing his hat ashe galloped toward the

ladies, whije cheer upon cheer wept un tron Phe abe
roaching band, tha C iest of whom
cnized With the meeting friends,

At Evelyn's side, Guy dismounted, and clasping
her in his arms, imprinted repeated kisses upon
her cheek, unchecked and unehided by her.

“My love! my darling!” he whispered, and then
he turned to receivé the weleome of the sisters,
who had held back from this first sacred interview,
but who now received him with tears of joy.

Colonel Egremont, with the remainder of the
eavaleade, soon came up, and amid the cheers of
his men, dismounted, and took Evelyn by. bot
hands, which were outstretched to receive him,
while she expressed, as best she could, her thanks
to this general benefactor, and did not refuse his
proffered kiss, although it was received with some
embarrassment.

‘Guy is your property now, colonel, I suppose
sinee you have bought him and paid for him,” sai
the lively Phebe,

Certainly he is; but Iintend to give him away
soon, Do you know of/anybody who will take him
off my hands?” i

ij} eyes were turned upon Eyelyn, who blushed
deeply, and said it was time to adjourn to the house,
whither she and Alice Jed the way.

The general joy which prevailed that evening was
heightened ere its close by another important event,
Charley Wolfe, having atoned for his eruel aban-
donment of Alice by returning to his allegiance to
her, and coe? avowing, in spite Of her timid re-
monstrances, that they were now engaged to
married,and that they meant to get the start of
somebody else in that business,

Alice ran off and>hid herself in her room; she
was too happy to need aoe Witnesses. or sympa-
thizers with her joy,and at Phebe’s request she was
allowed to remain ufdisturbed. fi

‘ [T@ Be CONTINUED.} f

_} but n ow asingle horseman dashed out from their ia

ta

‘

 

 

Z

: f
7 v : = 4
(“Hygb Lee’ywas commenced No. 6. Back naimbers cap be
obtaigied from all News Agentsiin the Drited States.]
7? avert Seca” i :

if (CHAPTER XXXU. a
CONCERNING CONSTANCE JOY, HUGH LEE,AND WALT WHYTE.

aaa days had been relegated tothe abyss of the past, and
the golden month of October was on the wheel of time, to be
rolled, second by pecond.into cternit ‘

To Constance Joy first attention js due. Poor girl! what a
change had ¢ome over hér physical and mental being since that
night, when, just escaping being wedded to the man she loathed
~—a fate most terrible—she had Jost her only parent.

Her once sprivgy step-had lost its lightness and elasticity, and
had become slow, heavy, dragging. Her ad n robbed
ofits former peach-like bloom and. beautiful contour, and was

le and pinched to adegree. Her deep blue eyes seemed to

lave faded—the Juster was dimmed that formerly intensified
their cerulean hne—and were no longer the “laughing eyes” of
old, but sad, weary, longing.

The once bright smile that hovered about her rosy lips, hoy-
ered there no more. Thecheerful jaughter that used to ripple
trom her fajr throat, and the bird-like notes that bubbled blithely
ore ad budding bosom, no longer gladdened the ears of those
about ber.

Hushed in her breast was all spontaneous joy, and closed were
her lips to all utterances indicating picasprahie emotions awak-
ened by external influences. :

Ob, what a change—what a change in Constance Joy!
What had wrought ‘it we n not tell our . readers.
They know the circumstances ot that night—know
of the strange and nnaccountable disappearance
of her father, the mystery of whose fate and whose loss weighed
upon her, are convinced that some one as mysterious as
powerful must haye been brought to bear upon her sn the further-
ance ot that hateful marriage, orher consent had been gained;
and with knowledge and conviction they are not surprised,
probably, at the great change in Constance.

Hugh Lee also suffered as poignantly as one could suffer in
sympathy for another.

But his hope was strong—almost a belief—that Constance
would get over grief in time, and be happy once more; and this
made him strong while yet he suffered. :

The capture of Walt Whyte by Hugh Lee hadn’t resulted in the
en¥ghtenment of the latter in regard tothe marriage that had

been so nearly solemnized.

A prisoner at the mere of Hugh Lee, Walt Whyte, though
urged and threatened, refused to gratify his captor’s curiosity.
insisting that he had no secret to divulge: and that Constance
had consented to marry him in obedience te the commands of
her father, which Hugh knew to be false.

He was kept in the cave five days, bound and blindfolded, but
to no purpose. He would reveal nothing, swearing he had
nothing to reveal.

At the end of that time, having voluntarily sworn that he in-
tended to leave the couniry for one of the British West India
Islands, where his father was part owner of a plantation, and
swearing to Inolest Constance no more he was Jed from the cave
at night, blindfolded, and released two miles away, Hugh finding
it useless to keep him any longer.

Hugh Lee warned the dastardly fellow, however, when he set
him tree, that his life depended upon his fidelity to the oath he
had taken in regard to Constance.

For twenty-five days after his release from the cave, Walt
Whyte never crossed the eastern boundary line of Hempstead;
if he did, neither Hugh, Constance, nor any of their triends
knew of it.

Some time during the night of the twenty-fifth day, the
schooner Walter Whyte, owned by the senior of that name and
commanded by Captain Snow, whilom of the Eagle burned on the
Sound, as the reader will remember, sailed from North Hemp-
stead Harbor, bound for Jamaiea, Ww. I., and as Wait Whyte was
to. have sailed. in her, everybody next morning took it for grant-
ed that he had done so, thouch nobody saw him aboard

 

 

go ;
The date of the sailing of the Walt Whyte, brings to a close the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

iaiieninianifeniatomns.

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_ ereating great excitement.

_ or conde:

Pee remy

   
 
 

f fens sy Hike, an’ anchor me inthe buryin’ ground! If
h don’t 1ét me slaughter hat Gi ;

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4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #2=>

 

nnn, ree ee

ae .
thirty days alluded to at the pean of this chapter, when the

scene changes from the Sound to the'sea. -
, CHAPTER XXXIH. ae
: KUGH LEE UNDER THE HEAVY HAND OF WALT WHYTE.
e morning following the sailing of the Whyte there was con-
stefnation in the Lee household. :
Tt was caused by the revelations ot Long Jim, who came over
from the Joy farm to see if “Missy Stancy” and Gil had staid at
the Lee farm the-preceding night, they not having been at

home. 3

Then old Gaptain Lee learned that Lucy went over to visit
Constance the evening betore; that with the latter and Gil she
had left the Joy tarm hutine the evening, and that she had not

si] home.

ae ett Iseeit!?theold man groaned. “Walt Whyte hez
off Joy’s gal, atid that Gil Joy hez carried off Lucy {”

en he raved terribly and cursed fearfully.

‘Gursed Gil Joy one. minute, and the next called for Hugh, who

been on the Sound the preceding night, and was still ab-

   
  
  
 

it.
hat with rageiand grief, he wasa madmen,
wo hours later Hugh reached home. He had heard astound-
ing news—that Walt Whyte and Gil Joy had carried off Constance
nf Pitter niackoek 2 had d the st d bef

is father a m. had spread the story, an ore
noon it was" Pasws at Been Hempstead, and around and
about, being credited by Patriots, and scouted by Tories, and

Hush believedit, after a vain seqrcls during the day for the

missing ones; but.no raving and cursing from him.

orely troubled he wag, but silent, thoughtful, and resolved.

After hjstunavailing search he came to his home, but soon left,
determined, as his face showed, on some form of action known
onty to himself. rae :

‘ * *% * * oe * * *

Phe dwellers on Great and Cow, Necks; respectively, awoke
next morn to learn of the aa disappearance, during the
ore. the wv. “Mose”? Mudge’s hermaphrodite brig.

eat Was wonderment; and woudertul, if not feartul,
We ot te varied apeculations concerning the mysterious flit-

‘the ;

ile yet the das-was young; everybody dwelling on the bor-
ders of the Souw@ froin Flastiing to Smithtown Bays, knew of
spiriting away of Mudye’s, brig; and-the.surprise and excite-

nt were great. .. . nin a
e darme, audacious actwas the topic discussed to the exclu-
of every othet, and: men andwomen. lauded, and exulted,
mned, and deplored, according as the lenses through
which they viewed the etait were Patriot or Tory, Mudge being

% ;
span die it?’ were the
no one could answer

 

a Tory. i - a.
“Wonder who, didi it ?” or CW holt
only two jerms of interrogation use
tively who. ;
0}

e
LT

e: ea ‘this one and that one. Some

re abut es y Anew ; thoughy as- the day wore

“Hugh a8 haying cut out the°brig'from:Cow

gt being’ Seen strengthening their ‘conclu-

early liour, felt sure, without Riowing pos-
Do ATS ee Ma Si P|

Y cried aloud? “He'll kétch the Whyte

to Jamaky.” He ken saif' a ship, au”he ken sail

iz,of Pm no good ‘at guessin’, Ef he on’y

Git Joy—euss the’ s wn ota Tory toad!—home

ye, so’s J ken slaughter him—et he on’y does!”"—the old man

ieee lion in rage—“they ken batter my hatches .down

ez they

( it Joy—Vl ””

The ebittered old man checked himselfhere, and for the time

being no Jonger audibly expre’ himeelf.

‘All in all, the Way after the cutting ont of the Arrow was one
Weleda ‘excitement, and not forgotten in years, the un-
gitation reaching its highest point when, about noon,

e Br 1 corvette, Vixen, sailed up the Soundin rumored pur-
suit of the brig, which Was fourteen hours ahead,and able to
ten mets the cervette’s seyen. :

q : i

#2 at Se
“°) \@OHAPTER XXXIV.

 

ofun
y

»

:

fall upon the brig as she sunk Ly

 

ito the hollow of the sea, almost |

“Litbtniing-quick, brave helmsman, or the brig is doomed, |
with all en board! Lightning-quick or she is ingulted in the rag-
ing waters, and her crew shrouded in the blackness of death in
their deptiis!”

Toolate! Quick to obey the imperative and danger-warning |
mandate as mortal man could be, was the brave heimsman, but
the brig in the hollow of the sea, was slow—was doomed!

Poi on a wayve-crest, the looming horror, ‘black and shape-
leas, settled to its fall, and naught but adreadful doom awaited
those in the brig beneath. i

Atthis very instant of time, the heavens and tlie waters were |
iNumined by a vivid flash, broad and intense, followed instantly |
by a most tremendous overpowering, brain-stupelying
though ten thousand cannons had simultaneously ex ploded, |
belching flame that lighted the black expansive yoid, and rend- |
iny space with appalling sound—the peal of doom! \

It was Heaven's artillery—October lighting and thunder—and |
the vivid flash of the zrial guns disclosed to the horrified gaze of
those on the deck of the jated brig, the monster form of a British
trigate;' her hull'and spars, sails, close reefed and furled, and
rigging were distinctly revealed, for one briet instant.

‘And down settles the ponderous trigate, quickly down upon
the brig, to crush her like an eggshell beneath the waves.

& horrified, useless cry: “Keep off—hard-a-starboard there !"
went wildly up from some one on the brig, the frigate settling
like a thing of lead at the very instant the vain cry was uttered
—settling to crush the brig as it would a bowl, and bury its crew
in the seething waters. ;

Down, down she fell, the blind, insensible agent of rem orseless
tate, to seal the doom of the laboring vessel under her bows.

A mighty swash, whose hissing the roar of the gale could not
down, as the frigate crushed down te the trough of the bea, and
the brig—ah! what of her?

Could she have escapedt—was.that possible ?—or had she gone
down to the ocean caves with all on board? ‘

Escaped! eseaped!, but, oh, by how narrow & chance! As fell
the towering wave on whose crest was borne the mighty trigate,
the Kollow to leeward filled, and the brig, catching the gale then
and teeling her helm, rose and shot to lee ard with a bound like
thatof a courser feeli 1g the spur. ae

But there wasa shoeck,then a snap-a sbarp, rifle-like
crack—then,a heavier shock as tke mainboom, sw wide to
leeward, adritt; the parting of the mainsheet producing the
sound alluded to, the first and slight shock being caused by the
striking ef the boom’s end by the frigate as she plunged through
theangry sea in the darkness and storm, within six feet ot the

brig’s stern.
Surely that was as narrow an escape &s well could be—a thrill-

ingly narrow escape.

There svas good reason now, with the main boom adrift, threat-
ening the stability of the mast, why the brig should be brought
head to the wind; and, Hugh Lee, as soon as the frigate swept
on and away, shouted: ot : :

“Ready about,” all hands springing to ot ro instantly.
“Hard-alee! he in'a moment cried, when round came the bri
cotiae it turning on a pivot, so quickly did she feel and min
the helm. : , “2

With only just sail enough on to keep her steady, the brig took
the wind and the sea im her teeth, and rode comparativel easy;
and mottill then did her erew—every man had ‘tumbled up’
from below immediately ater Hugh’s first startling order—ven-
tilate their thoughts and opinions in relation to their shugder-
ingly narrow escape.

“Them Britishers must a’ been asleep or drunk, if they couldn’t
a seen our light,’? remarked Siin Wales, all hands agreeing.

“Tt was a narrow squeak,” said Jake Long, who was splicing
the main-sheet, having secured the main boom, ‘an’ it’s darned
lucky-the sheet warn’t ez strong @z the boom—it’s a darned
sight easier to mend,’ and ali hands agreed with Aim.

“After ye've spliced the main-sheet, Jake,” said Hugh, “get
below in the cabin, an’ a!lo’ ye boys, an’ spiice the main-brace.
Reet cap’n’s got plenty o’ shot in the lockers, an’ ye deserve

be grog.’ j

This invitation was unanimously and hilariously accepted.
Jake’s fingers worked nimbiy, and his job was soon completed,
when the onerous duty of “splicing the main-brace’’ was per-
formed in a wanner satistactory to all concerned

Then those whose “watch below” itwas turned in forward,

 

 

_ HUGH LEE IN COMMAND OF THE ARROW.

‘Wheh the Vixéileft Flashing Bay tlie Arrow was off Gardin-
er’s Island, Wi tiventy miles of, Montauk Point, when the
whole boundless ocean was hers.

; agi é, in A pea and “sou-wester,” stood near the

Im > Sim Wales, thertiller being held by Sol Blake, four

 
 
   
  
  
  
    
   
  
    
   
  
   
   
 
   
 
    
  
   
   
    
  
  
 
 
   
         
    

afer the erew being forward, the rest below, and not « manu
n
byages With old Captain Lee. «
irected to the east and north, where: possibly a. British cruiser
‘No vessel of a dangerous character was to be seen, however,
“The Britishers are under the lee o’ Block ‘Island’—twenty
rhy.2?) agi (ja i ‘

of the erew (all Wagtails) but) knew something of sea life, Hugh
and Sim’ being first-rate sailors, both having made whaling
¥ gud st ;
Gar hero looked anxious, but full of wesolve, as his eyes were,
might be seen, aisquadron rendezvonsivg at Newport, auc cruis-
ing on and off the mouth of the Sound.
d Sim Wales, with Whom ‘Hugh had’beén disctssiig the preb-
ilities of meeting such, remarked:
odd miles to the east and north, and, ofcéurse, not to be’seen in
re storm—'’r else they're sung an’ tight in Narrygansett, Cap'n
} ‘4 ee or the vother—ther's ‘some on’ Jem in sizht,?. returned
bs ie:

rd‘ we'll make more northin than southin, Sim,

east 0’ Bloek Island.??. E ; *

kasses aintt Afeard o’ the wind, Cap’n Hugh, an’
‘he in ity close-hauled,”? was Sim’s reply. :

so. When we make the P’int we can tell We'll keep

purty close in wn bss Block | Island as wide a berth as we can.

. pep er up alittle, Sol, he Bung out; ‘there—steady! as bhe;

Pre. hat

aon ter be a nasty. night, Cap'n Hugh,” remarked

     
     
 
    
 
   
   
  
 
    
   
 
   
  
      

im,
ning one.
|. i took ugly to wind’ard ther’, an” no mistake,” coin-
cided yah. “we'll ketch it b’ilin’ outside; an’ outside we go,
Aink o m, survive or perish, ez Patrick Henry said.”
“Two good reasons fur goin’ out, an’ nene fur lyin’ a-lee,”’ re-
turned Sim... ...° Aaa ; i
“You're right, Sim. That scroundrel, Watt Whyte, has gota
start o’ twenty-four hours on us, may have a fuir wind now,
an’ thit’s reason enough, e’en if the, Britishers weren’t out 0’
he way, We must make an offing well to the east’ard, with as
much.southin as we can git; an’ it it gits too mighty for double
reef sailin’, well clew)up tight an’ heave to, with ler nose right
into ’t, that’s all.” ;
_ At this Hugh commenced to pace the deck fore and alftin stern
silence, his brow contracted and his teeth hard-set.
1 Hone thinking of Coustance and his sister, of Watt Whyte
d Gil Joy. He wondered if he would overtake the Whyte, or
Ww Jigar pies would end. He d

  
 

 
 
 
 

  
  
 
   
  
  
    
 

  
      
   

in spirit—anuost eraaniea
izing situation.

    
  
  
  
 

  
  
 

  
  
     
   
 
  

of unless he hims

upon him. .
fs it. And the chances—ah, how few and slim they

could remove
werel.
Huch ¢
aced the deck in the storm, and the acknowledgment drove
een blade of anguish through his heart.

Abous three o'clock the brig was off Montauk
aring sou, sou-west, and in lieu of a fresh, cav
d encountered an ugly cross sea, @ ner-west W.
ailed tor the three previous days.
But everything had been made snug—foretop and foretop gal-
ant sails double-reefed, mainsail and jib single-reefed, the
ain topmuast staysail lowered, and gaff tovsail braided—in an-
icipation of heavy weather; and not beiny deeply trimmed, the
rig showed her aaa disposition at once by rising, and pitch-
ng, and rolling, and lurching, first to windward, then to lee-

 
  

‘Lee was forced to acknowledge this to himself, us hie
@

 
  

 

Point, the latter
ht a stiff gale,
nd having pre-

    
    
  
  
    

     
 
 
     
  
  
   
  

   

 
  

 
   
 
 

| west, with the clouds breaking and reyealing.a star. here and

‘this! wind don tchop round, afore we make the) .

casting his eyes to witdward, whéré the aspect was a]

 
    
 

not predict, and was
oe aneaght at sibil

rily the hand of Watt Whyte laid heayily t heavil
cae ould itever be rally Woe anteee Sry Cre.

our hero and Sim Wales doing likewise in the cabin; Huh, how-
ever, not retiring until he had arranged to be called by Sol

directty under the shapeless thing of horror. { 30

i
$
{
i

crash, as =

Fancy Cards, Chromo, Svowfiake, &c., no two alike,
with name, LOc, J. MINKLER & CO., Nassau, N. ¥,

 

METAL WA'TCHES, steel works, warranted to de-
note correct time. C. STRONG & Co., Milwaukee, Wis.

 

; LOUISIANA STATE LOTTERY CO.
105th Monthly Grand Distribution, New Orleans, February lth,
1857 prizes, total, $110,400; capita!s, $30,000, $10,000, $5,000, ete. ;
100, tickets, two ($2) dollars; halves, one ($1) dollar, Apply
New Orleans, La., or H. L.
13-2e0w

to M. A. DAUPHIN, P. O. Box 692,
LUM, 319 Broadway, New York.

 

a
Thorn in Her Heart
Ee pin y
By BERTHA M. CLAY, / ~&
AUTHOR OF i
“THROWN ON THE WORLD;” A BITTER”
ATONEMEN®:” “A NAMELESS §IN;” ¢
“LOVE WORKS WONDERS ;”
“EVELYN’S FOLLY.” /
(“A Thorn in the Heart’? was commenced In No, 60, Baci

numbers can be obtained from any News Agent inthe United
8tates.]

 

CEAPTER XLVI.
DANGEROUS, FRIENDSHIP.

Never had Fernhurst Castis looked more beauti-
fulthan this summer—of all summers it was the
most beautiful. The flowers seemed loth to die,
the birds never wearied of telling each other how
grand it was, the sun shone onthe fair worldas
though it loved it,the brooks sang inthe leafy
woods, the broad, deep ‘rivers laughed inthe light.
Fernhurst was'a superb residence, one of the most
magnificent in England—a great picturesque mass
of building, with a grand frontage. a grand en-
trance, and an avenue of chestnuts that were con-
sidered the finest in England. It was oneof the most
pauen erate and grandly-furnished houses

n the land. #.

The gardens were a great feature—the large con-
servatories, the vineries, the glass houses, the fern-
eries; there was was as much toadmire outside
the house as in. pe att ; :

Wher they reached home it was’ just the time of
roses, and the, roses were allin full bloom, The
young duchess was delighted with her beautiful
home;she nodded her pretty headat Lady Hilda.

“This is a home worth marrying for,” she said.

But the next moment her beautiful face had
clouded over,and she looked thotghtful. They
spent whole days in looking round the magnificent
mansion, with its superb: grounds; and. then the
duchess, with asigh of content, declared that she
should be quite happy to live there until the London
season began ugain. ie 5, ee

The duke had not been sparing in his inyita-
tions—a large party was Cal Ages The duchess
said, witha well-pleased smile, they should not be
alone for one:day.

 

Biake in case of change in the weather, Sim Wales insisting that

the storm had “bust her bier”? when that single flash of light-
ning. clap of thunder occurred, and that there would be |
clearir eather by eight bells, midnight, of. which Hugh was

rather doubtful. a i al r

It so turned out, however, by the time the watch was changed
the wind was chopping about from: east sou-east to west sou-
there. The storm had spent itself, and Sim Wales, now in

charge ot the deck, saidhe “knowed shie had bust her biler when
that thunder?n’ lightnin? come rippim along.”

Hugh, who had been called at seven bells, got the brig under
way again with the, turning out of the midnight watch, and
stood out to sea, holding a course about east-sou east.

An hour later he turned in again and slept soundly till morn-
iug; nothing requiring his presence on deck.

_ {TO BE CONTINUED] _ <<

«

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FOR BACH INSERTION CASH IN ADVANCE.
Perfumed CHROMO and MOTTO CARDS, 10¢.
name in Goid and Jet. SEAVY BROS., Northford, Ct. .-

5

 

The first installment of. visit6rs- was the Earl of
Dunhaven, Lady Stans, a beautiful young widow,
Captain Vernon, the heir presumptive to an earl-
dom, Lord and Lady Aleaster—a well-selected par-
ty, with every element of enjoyment.

ady Hilda had looked forward most anxiously
to her husband’s coming, not thatshe had the least
thought of breaking her resolution and) making
herself known to him, but because her whole. heart
und soul craved for the happiness of being near
him, her whole soul longed for his présence, her
life seemed no life away from him. She onlyasked
the happiness of being near him; she counted the
days until he came, :

“And yet,” she said to herself, “how foolish I am.

1 It willonly bethe old torture again. Helikes me,

he likes to talk to me,-he- will, be kind, gentle, and
attentive to me, but his looks, his tender words, his
love will all be for Lurline—not for me.” :

Not for her! That passionate ery, that passion-
ate Jamentation, rose from her lips by night and by
‘day; not for her, the love she courted; not for her,
the love she would have given her life forz

He cane. Lady Hilda never forgot theday; the
letter announcing his arrival was opened at the
breakfast-tabley The duchess read itto her hus-
band; heseemed pleased, and leaned back in bis
ehair with asmile. |

 

 

 

4-12 5
GZ corp oe nae in the
<nown world. Samy a vee to, Agents: Address A
COULTER & CO-¢ Chicago. . + 4 Ante ede 74

$5 2 $2
$66

6

 

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postpaid, GILT me. CaRD CO, Nassau, N.Y. 5-1t

       

jsaw how. beautifully the yo

“Lord Dunhaven is a great friend of ,mine,” he
said; “I like him very much; he is a man in whom
I place implie¢it trust. Tam ed _be is coming.”

‘hrough all that day Lady Hilda saw how rest-
less {lie duchess was, howshe wandored from room
to room unable to do anything—restléss, with a
light in her sweet e ee hac Wilda was pained to
see, He was to arrive in vening, and Lady
Hilda smiled, even with te reyes, When she
istress of Fern-
ivorite costume of
n grass-diamonds

  

 
 

urst had dressed herself. Gy
white silk, with bunches of gap

 

 

    
  
 

 

 

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A CARD. :
To all who are suffering fron: the errors and indiscretions of
youth, nervous weakness, early decay, loss of manhood, &c., i

 

 

 

 

ard, but still making fair headway—six knots, perhaps.

‘It was near eight bells, (fur o'clock) and | Hugh Lee stood by
ne weather rigging torward, facing the driving storm, which he

heeded not, and gazing wistfully toward the south, as if expect-

a or hoping to discover ‘the’ schooner that had ‘sailed trom
1

  
  
 

    
   

     
       
 
 
 
    
 

   
   

empstead harbor twenty-four hours before him.

, It was the changing of the watch at eight belis; there were

two divisions of the crew, watch and.watch; that broke Hugh’s

gloomy reverie, when he turned and started off, Sol Blake at the
moment relinquishing the helm to Jake Long, aman who had
seen sone coasting service, as had, Sol.
“How does she head, Solt?’ queried Hugh, as he came aft.
“East by sou’, Cap'n Hugh,’ ‘

| “Keep her so, Jake,” said Hugh, the latter taking the helm.

‘We must git a good bit off shore afore we ‘bout ship, for the
wind ’tl chop to the east’ard afore midnight, Pye a notion.”

“Ay, ay, sir,”? returned Jake, glancing at the binnacle before

him, just under ‘tke roor of the sloping booby-hatch, in which

‘the lighted compass showed the course as given by Sol.

«an? now ye’d better turn in, Cap’n Hugh,” said Sim Wales,
who had just come on deck after a “watch below.”” “Ye didn’t
hey no sleep ast night, not a wink, an’ darned little tie night
afore. It'll be nastier weather bimeby, when ye’l! wanter be on
deck. Ther’s no need on:ye now, so git below an’ git some sleep.
Et a snap gits us, I'l call ye.” c

 
 

     
   
 
    
     
 
       

Will send a receipt that will cure you free of charge. This great
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Sim was fitst mate ot the Arrow, aa of the Wagtall, ahd his ad-
' vice, sensible always and never obtruded, was followed if our
hero, who went below, stipulating that he should be called it
any change ‘ook place—at eight, in any event. 7
On went the Arrow, little like the imissile for which she was
named, and if like a “thing of lite,’ adrunken thing, reeling,
- 8 ring, ng! ‘along over the troubled waters, sheets of
which.cver and anon were thrown over her weather bow, break-
ing And swashing across the deck, and swirling along the lee
scuppers, the spray falling well aft with a rattling patter on the
drenched deck. . *
Night shut down black and wild, the weather, as Sim had pre-
dicteas being decidedly masty, and promising worse. 4
e wind was_ stronger and the sea ugifer, but the brig, with
hert Deets furled, her jib — — mags. mhie:
| ree: 4 progied the waves nobly, and plunged, thro! e
Dlecten and wildness of night and storm as though with a de-
onito penetrate to the heart of old Neptune’s domain,

i
s
fe
o
=

ft
» and brave the ocean god in all his savagery,
Seven bells, and the elements oftair and water were raging
M rate yert e store was, gathering its ney
rapidly, ahd there ‘was every indicatiow of.
the eee tk ofan bht Daring 906 M9. 5 4p APA he :

“It’s a pipin’ lively, an’ ill blow big guns afore long,” re-
marked Bea aes coming > kaso iphe hehn,; ait in ghpred of

NE, 2s: a rope o the port e,and having
oo ‘turns rou’ ae inter.

“Tvs gon’ ter be a snorte: nt returned, Jake, easing the helm
a little, as a heavy sea struck tha weather bow, and sent ashiver
through the brig. : i if ;

“We'll hev ter heave to long afore eight bells, midnight,” said
Sim; “long afore, ef it keeps a bilin’, or the jackass won’t be fit
Hod ch te are I'd heave her.to now, ppiy Cap’n Hugh’lh
be up y. It’s a cookin’ mighty strong—this storm.” ~

mM Hugh came on

      
 

a spoke, eck,

—ain’t it?” he said, immediately, the increased. vio-

‘the storm being telt by him at once. “How’s she head

ow, Jake?” he queried the next instant, and stepped tothe

binnacle as Jake replied: ;
“Same—little south o’ east.”’

“Give me thie stick. Jake, [ want to see how she acts now;”

and Hugh grasped the tiller as hé spoke.
“she's rty steady, Jake—don’t yaw much,” he said, after,
steering a few moments in silen adding: f she was si

ce:
inchés Ueeper she'd do better yet.” Then to his mate, he said:
2 an,stand on Sim, a spell, but’ll have to heave to bimeby, I
guess, if things gits much uglier.” ’

The watch changed now, and Zeb Swain came aft, with Sol
Blake, to take his trick at the helm,

“Keep her jest re she is,” said Hugh, giving up the tiller, “an’
don’t let her fall off any.” .

, AYy ay, sir,’ said Zeb, as he grasped the tiller and took
nofice bf the compass.

Hugh then went forward, Sim, off watch
ing from inclination, accompanying hi
forward for an inspection.

by night, but remain-
with a lantern—went

CHAPTER XXXV.
HUGH SAVES THE ARROW AT A CRITICAL MOMENT—TERRIBLE
> PERIL “

On plun: di the brig, on and on tor two hours, the storm stead-
ily-increasing, wind and sea rising, the first howling and-shwiek:
ing through-the cordage, the latter sweeping in tons across the
deck as tlie briz ratsed her head after plunging to a eavernous
Copan into the raging waters. ‘1 eel or ; !

Tugh Lee was about to cry “Ready about!’ to bring the brig’s
head-inty the wind, when a warning cry from) the lookont fore
ward arrested the putlee. gn his lips, the warning existing in the
tone above, the utterance being unintelligible to the ear.

Aft, then, our hero tmade his way forward as quickly as it was
one, to do, tlie lookout again, crying out loudly, Hugh catch-

ng the words then: a ;

“Suthin’ on the weather-beam,, thar—close on |)? :4
Black as was the night, there.was, something blacker—some-
thing Jooming Jarge and black and. undefinable—a shapeless
horror—seen by Hugh right abeam to windward—‘close on!"

He knew what the horror was—that it was no phantom, but an
appalling reality, and louder and more torcibly than he had ever
shouted, he eried out:

‘Hard-a-weather!—hard up!” his yery tones conveying intelli-
mencg of gypalling danger. ;

Well} if the helmsman were lightning-quick, for the shapeless
thing of dreadmotnted skyward as Hugh Lee shouted the man-
date in tones of terrible apprehension, and seemed poised for a

. I, REED & CO., Nassau, N, Y,

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Theological students reason that if there be
counterfeit money, there must be genuine; so, if
there be infidels there must also be Christians. If
this be true of money and religion, will not: the
same rule apply to “put.up’”’ medicines? Do not
the cheap and worthless nostrums prove that,
there are. genuine. and meritorious ‘put up” med-
icines? he great popularity of Dr, Pierce's
Golden Medical Discovery has resulted in the
‘manufacture of many shoddy alterative’ and
tonic remedies, but one after another these have
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no matter how loud they advertise, success de-

ends"upon merit. In South America, as well as
in this country, the Discovery is the standard
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It acts promptly on the stomach, liver, and blood;
toning up, regulating, and ay ie the system,
It speedily allays all bronchial irritation, and
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time required by any other remedy.

 

  

   
  

tshe looked every inch a

ne Chromo Cards, with name, 80e. Tf.

forming the dew-drops; rare green grass wreathed
her golden ‘hair, s f intermingled with
; like ¢ ith dew. She

inte

   
  
 
 

    
 
  
 
 
 

  

d to Hi padly oth
world for both of them. ; Pcs
He came before sunset; thé duchess went down
to.receive him, went with such a. dainty bloom on
her fair young face,with such? proud happiness in
her sweet eyes, that no man_ could have looked on
her without admiration—while his wife, whose
heart was thirsting for one look orjone word from
him; remained in her room, and had no pretext for
going near him. From the window of her room
she saw him some time afterward with the duchess
in the. grounds; they went into the
disappeared among the roses. She’ flung hersel
on the ground in a passion of tears. : ;
“How mad Iwas to wish for his coming,” she
eried. “He does hot even remember mo; he thinks
only of Lurline; he enres only for her, and £ would

he had asked for her,

give my life fer him.”

She had, misjudged him :
andthe duchess had said that she was well and
they would, meet at dinner. Lady Hilda, too, had
taken unusual pains with her dress it was recherche
and elegant—cream-colored silk with dashes of
crimson, and a pomegranate blossom in her hair;
ueen. : .

Yet he must have been blind not to have seen all
that was in her face when shegreeted him—the pas-
sion of love and tenderness, the intensity of happi-
ness, the smilingof pain. He was blind to it all;
he only thought she was very beautiful and dressed
with greatelegance.
‘He held her hand in his own for one minute.
“You do not know, Miss Dunn,” he said, “how I
‘have been looking forward to this great pleasure
of meeting you again. It was like coming home to

 

 

    

} come here.

‘He wondered a little that she was so silent; but
when the duchess began to talk to him he forgot
everything else in the world.

It seemedso strange. In London he had taken
lunch or dinner with them—he had spent the quiet
hours of the afternoon with them; but here they
were undegthe same roof,and he had not to leave
them. Lady Hilda thought of the few days he had
spent at Hurst Sea, of the twodays at Lady Darel’s
before her wedding—how littlé he had said to her,
aad not once did she remember that he had looked
at her. We, , ie

Perhaps, byt ‘for that) most cruel will, he might
have grown to like her—it was just possible; and
shewondered if in another world hor father knew
the Rol art he had oceasioned her in this. .

-$o thetime of the roses came and went. Lady
Hilda asked herself_at times ifthere had ever been
a fate so strange as hers—to loye her husband with
the most tender love, yet to be dead in life to him—
to love him with all her heart, yet to live in his’
eeereae and see that he loved another—to love
iim, yet to knowthat he would never love her?:
prece could never be: fateso. hard. or so,cruel, as:
1g ;

Ten days passed like short, bright dreams, .They

all met at breakfast; then the duke went out ina,
closed carriage, not asking his wife to go with him
now. Sho rode, drove, or walked with the others,
but it always happened that her companion was
Lord Dunhaven: He said she did not ride well, and
‘he must give her some lessons; so that, three or
four>mornings each ‘week, they would. start off to
gullop through the green lanes round Fernhurst.
- They were fatally sweet, those hours spent in the
summer sunshine—fatally, sweet., They were both
so sure of themselves, so sure of their good inten-
tions,so sffe'in the pretty picture of brotherly
love, that. they did not take even common precan-
tions; never dia two people glide more calmly,
more innocently down the hill that leads to ruin
than they.

“It is so nite to have a big elder brother,” saidthe
duchess, looking up with a winning smile into the
eavl’s face—'so nice! I should never like to be
without you again.” . ,

“T.do not think -you ever will be without me,” he,
snid. “Ido not see why we should not give each
other all the happiness we can.”

They were oe so happy, so bright, so evidently
well pleused With eaeh other’s society, that itseemed
by general consent that they were left much to-
gether. When they drove out it, was Lord Dun-
havet- who drove the duchess’ ponies; if they rode,
he was her eavalier; if they walked, he was by her
side; if they spént any time indoors, he never left
her. /No-one ever made any remarks about, it; it
seemed by general consent. They liked to be to-
gether; and.together they must be. So far, all was
good and right; neither had the Jeast thonght of
hrrm, the least thought of going wrong; they would
have shrunk with horror from such a notion, |

“T cannot rémember & simmet like this,” said the
duchess one morning. She was with Lord Dun-
haven and Lady Hilda; they were walking through
the rose gardens, for it was her grace’s whim that
morning to gather flowers. She looked at the earl
as she spoke. ‘The sun has been brighter and the
hoses awecier pais year than ever,

He bent his head over her.

 

 

+; More.

“It is not that.’ he said, “This summer seems
more beautiful to_you because I am with you,
and I love you.” Love is thegreat beautifler of
everything.”

Lady Hilda heard the words; they pierced her
heart. She made way that they should pass her,
She said to herself bitterly that it was the old story.
For them the sunlight and the roses; for her, al-
ways and ever, a thorn in her heart. Even though
she lingered behind them, she could not help hear-
ing his words.

“T have always thought,” he said, “that the pres-
en ‘ of the one we love makes our heaven on
earth.

“How many heavens have you found below?”
asked the duchess.

“This is my first,’ he answered ;
sure it will be my lust.”

Again his betwatiful, unhappy wife, hearing the
words, felt howicrtel washer fate, that this love,so
true,so devotedj‘pure, generous, and noble, had:

“and Iam quite

./not been given to her.

“How many more ‘such summers shall we +ee?”
asged the duchess, and there was something of sad-

“How many?” he repeated. “Who shall say? If
we live for fifty summers then we shall have fifty
r Ons thing is quite certain, that so long as I
live and you live, Duchess Lurline, our summers
will be spent together.”
‘And that will make their, beauty,” she said.
Yes, that will make their beauty,” replied Lord
Dunhaven. © diigos iQ 3
_ And the wife to whom he had never said one loy-
ing word turned away, because she could bear to

hear no more,
CHAPTER XLVII.
‘ “You MIGHT HAVE LOVED HER.”

Alovely morninginJuly. The whole party,at
Fernhurst sat at breakfast... Thelong French win-
dows were open; the air that came in was like the
breath of the flowers; the sunlight lay over theland,
the sky was blue and the birds sang.

The morning of itself was enough to make any
oné light of heart. The duchess. looked fresh and
fair as a rosebud steeped in dew. Lady Hilda had
all the beauty of the summer morning in her face;
some. little change in the arrangements had given
cher a seat next to the earl.

The duke did not often appear at the breakfast-
table at Fernhurst, the effort of rising in time was
too great for him. Of late he had not been so well—
he seemed to'grow tired very.easily, he could not
sleep, he did not often care to join the blithe circle
of guests.

e was not ill, he would not for one moment hear
Lof sending for advice or anything of the kind. He
was well, but tired, was the answer he gave to all
inquiries—no one felt anxious over him. :

The duchess would insist on talking to him, or
7 ding to him, but his reply was always the same
o her:

“Go andamuse your guests, Lurline; Iam tired,
and would rather rest.”

} ness in the laughing voice.

t

 

 

    
  

ardens Sat ;

He was growing old, | "
a pathetic smile—old and tired. Onthis morning
he had kept: his room, and did not come t? break-
fast. The letters were brought in and put onthe
table. The duchess laughed at the number as she
‘distributed them: :

“Lord Dunhaven,” she said, “here is some news
that will interest you.” 5

“Then it'must be good news,” he replied.

“It is good. This letter is from Lady Darel. She
is on her way to Cheston Park, and proposes to stay
with us fora few days. I shall be much pleased,
and s0 will the duke. The seventeenth—why the
letter hasbeen delayed on the road; she will be
here this evening.”

“T shall be quite pleased to see my mother,” said
theearl. “I have been so much abroad that of late
years we seem hardly to haye met. It will bea
great pleasure tous to be together.” He turned
suddenly to Lady Hilda, :

“Miss Dunn,” he asked, “did you meet my mother
in London? Why—pardon me—how ill you look.
What isthe matter? Do you feel ill?”

“My head aches,” she said, slowly; then, with an
effort to gatherher wandering thoughts, she said,
“TY did not meet Lady Darel,in London.”

“T thought perhaps you might; she was there for
ae part ofthe season. You met her, duchess, I
think ?”

“Yes; I saw Lady Darel often; we were excellent
friends. I shall be quite pleased to see her again.”

Then the ecoversation became more general. Lady
Hilda had time to reflect. What could she do? She
must not be recognized—anything would be prefer-
able to that. She had said to herself that she was
dead in life, and she wouid keep her word; any-
thing rather than that. If no. other alternative
came, she would Jeave Fernhurst at once, He
would have no kindly thought for her if she were
recognized—he, whose love was given to Duchess
Lurline. . , ; ;

Would Lady Darel recognize her? Her husband
had not done so, though, it was true, he had rarely
looked into- her faee. é had lived with Lady
Darel for a whole year; there could be no doubt
that she would recegnize her. “The eyes of hate
are quicker than the eyes of love,” not that Lady
Darel hated her, but she was so keen, so shrewd,
Lady Hilda felt that it would-be impossible to

6 her, os)

~Whaeshould she do? ‘The duchess, wwe inno-
cently, solved the difiiculty for rer The guests
had gone each their d, and tay, Hilda still sat
in the breakfast-ro uite bewildered and ata
The duchess went up to her. ane
“Sitting alone, ma mie ?” shesaid; “why, what is
wrong? You are very pale, and your eyes so heavy
—what ails you?”

“TI do not feel well,” answered Lady Hilda.

The duchess clasped her hand in her own.

“Your face is white, rr shiver as though with
eold, yet is hands burn like flre—what is the
matter? I hope you have not taken @ violent cold,
or that you are not going to have a fever, ma mie,”

Then Lady Hilda saw her opportunity.

“T think,” she said, “with your permission, duch-
ess. I will keep my room fora few days; Tam not
well enough to be of any use.”

The duchess readily assented, and: Lady Hilda
gladly went to her room. It was under no false
pretenses, for agitation had made her really ill. It
was some ¢omfort to lock the door, to lay her head
on the pillow and rest; the quiet and silence were
both so novel to her. Now, for the first time, it
séemed to her she had time to think, to realize
her situation. Asa rule, the days glided by in one
dazed dream; she was always with the duchess
until the last moment. ow she was alone, and
the great waves. of thought, so long beaten back,
surged over her and overwhelmed her.

Was there ever so strange a fate? “hat she
should have been married for her money, that she
should have given away the money and have made
herself dead for all time, that so strong and pas-
sionate a love should have grown up in her heart
for her husband, that she should be living here
under the same roof with him, quite unknown to
him, and see him give the whole loye of his heart
to another who could never take it. She thought
over all she had ever read in history, poetry, and
romance, but no fate struck her as being so sad as
ber own. It seemed to her the most strange coin-
eidénee that Lady Darel should come while she
was there. She understood that lady’s determina-
tion of character. Ifthe duchess should happen to
mention that she’ was ill, the chances were she
would insist upon seeing her for the sake of giving
aidvice. Lady Hilda could picture the scene; she
felt that she must warn the duchess against it. The
next day the mistress of Fernhurst came to her
room to see her; she tes ae to speak of Lady Darel.

“Duchess,” she said, “is Lady Darel what people
call a Strong-minded woman ?”

Just alittle, I found,” answered Duchess Lur-

 

  
  
 
 
 
 
   
     
       
  
   

S

 
    

ne,

“ah, then, please, pray do not let her come to
seé me. Ifshe does’ so she will frighten meinto a
nervous fever.” . ;

he duchess laughed.
, “Do you not really wish to see her ?’she said,

“No: Ido not, indeed: I dread all ladies who are
fond of giving advice.” ;

“Do not be afraid; shé shall not come, I promise
you. Ifshe says one word of any such intention to
me, I will frighten her with all kinds of contagion.
Rest in peace, ma mie, she shall not come near

ou.

So Lady Hilda tried to doas she was bid, and rest
in peace; but. she could not help trembling at every
sound; que footsteps along the corridor made
her shudder, and once she heard Lady Darel’s
voice, Sho was walking with the duchess through
the corridor, and Lady Hilda’s heart beat fast as
she heard the tones of that voice which had uttered
so many sharp words to her.

“You have some lady living with you as compan-
ion, have’'you not?” Lady Darel asked, as they slow-
ly walked down the long corridor, “IT think it is
vay sensible. Is she old or young?”

“If I say she is' young,” thought: the
shall have a lecture on the proprieties.’

“She is—no particular age,” was the brief answer,
and Lady Darel.had no idea what it méant,
shai she single or n widow?” ‘was the next ques-
tion, ; 7a

“She is single, very Bingle. indeed,” laughed the
‘duchess, “for she will not even have a lover.”

“Ts she ill, do. I understand?” said Lady Darel.

“Yes; we are rather anxious over her; she has not
been well for some days.”

“T will go and see her, if you like,” said Lady
Darel. “J understand something of medicine.”

“Do you? LThardly think I should riskit. If it
should turn out to be fever it would be so very un-
pleasant.”

Lady Darel grew pale at the thought.

“Infection?” she repeated; “of course, I did not
think of anything of that kind; it will besafer, per-
haps, to keep away.”

nd so the danger was averted; but Lady Hilda
wns kept in her room for a longer time than she had
thought; the earl’s mother found herself 80 com=
fortable thatat the end of the week she said how
leased she should be to remain another day or
WO.

duchess, To

 

 

 

* : |
he would say at times, with |

 

SS

The duchess was only too delighted, and mother
and son had time forsome long discussions. He
had met her with some little expectation in his face.
The thought had flashed across him that coming
down there, she might have something to tell him
of his lost wife.

“Mother,” he said to her. the first minute they
were alone, “mother, have you any news of Hilda?”

No.” was the answer, nor dol expect ever to
hear any more, Leonard. My opinion of the girl
is thai she was mad, and she has probably killed
herself.”

“My dear mother,” cried the earl, in dismay, “do
not, please, say anything so terrible.”

Her father was half mad—must have been to
have lived in that miserly fashion at Hurst Sea—to
have brought up his daughter in the fashion he
did, to have made such a will. He must have been
mad—no doubt the girl takes after him.”

You think that sufficient search has been made
after her?” he asked.

“Ido, indeed. My dear Leonard, [have come to
this conclusion—that you may safely_believe her
dead, and if you will, marry again. If she were
living, we should have heard of her in some fash-
ion before this.”

“Do you realiy think so, mother?” he asked.

_“Il de indeed. I would take upon myself the en-
tire responsibility of saying that she is dead.
understand women better than you do, Leonard,
Just inthe first smart of her anger she may have
said to herself that she would be dead’ to us for
evermore: but no woman would know she might
have rank and wealth. by claiming jit, yet leave all -
alone. Rest assured, Leonard, she is dead.” '

“Poor Hilda!” he said, thoughtfully.

“It is in agreat measure her own fault,” said’ ~

Lady Darel; ‘she should have been more patient.
You might have loved her by this time.”

Yes,i think I should have done 60,” he said;
then added to himself that all the love he had to
give was given now.

 

CHAPTER XLVIII.
ALONE,

Lady Hilda was almost in despair when she
heard that her husband’s mother was prolonging
her visit. In spite of the duchess’ promise. there
was no day on which she did not fear a visit from
her. It was an intensity of relief to her lying there
to hear the roll of the carriage-wheels that took my
lady away. . A greatload was taken from her mind,
the fear of detection was gone, and it had weighed
heavily on her. Now she was free to go down stairs
and do as she would. : a

How heartily she was weleomed there—her beau- a

tiful, noble face_had been sadly missed. Every one

had akind word and a kind smile for her; every

one congratulated her, and wus delighted tosee

eee Lord Dunhaven went up to her and took her
and.

“IT seamed to have lost my best friend and coun-.
selor,” he said. “I missed you more than any words
can tell.” ss ;

He looked so kindly in her fa¢e, he held her hand
so. gently, his words were so kind, that, as she
raised her eyes to his face, a great, passionate cry.
came from her heart; if he knew—if he only knew
that it was his unloved, lost wife who stood there.

“You must not fall ill again,” said the earl. ‘“Do
you know that I have always been struck by your
want of care for yourself? You must amend that
now.” *

His kindness, touched: her greatly. He really
liked and admired her; her clear judgment, her
sound sense, her greatintelligence, her quick intel-
lect, and graceful fancy made him admire her. He
had missed)her, too. | - :

The duchess was a brilliant hostess, but it was
Lady Hilda who led the tonversation—Lad y Hilda
who had the gift of making others shine. She took
her place among them, and Shae Katt that the lovely
young duchess herself would be less missed than
her friend, Miss Dunn. ;

In a few hours she was cognizant of all that was
going on; but,to her inexpressible dismay, she
saw a great change in Lord Dunhaven and Duchess
Lurline. It seemed to herthat the platonic love
had_ altogether come to. grief. It was no calm,
brotherly love that shone in his eye and on his face
—it was passionate love. She had been away from
them ten days,and the mischief done in ten days
could never be undone. She had left them friends;
she found them lovers, and both quite unconscious
of it.

The way in which he uttered her name was more
than enough; it came from his lips like the notes
of asong. When they were alone he called her
“Turline.” and she told him that she had never
known any beauty in her name until he used it.

Lady Hilda looked on in despair; it was all at an
end now, any faint hope she might have cherished
about winning her husband’s heart; and she trem-
bled at the danger that lay beforethem. How would
it a ae passionate love of theirs—how could it
enc

It was a custom forthe ce at Fernhurt tostroll
outin the grounds after dinner, There were cards
and billiards forthe elders, but the young people
preferred the moonlight and the flowers. The Au-
gust moon was so bright, the flowers so sweet; and
away in the home woods they could hear the night-
ingale. It was. better than artificial lights and
eards. The moonlight fell on the white lilies, and
silvered their leaves; it fell on the bowed heads of
the lovely red roses. whose every breath was a sigh
of loye;-on the white jessamine stars; on the-fair
faces of the carnations; it fell on the fountains and
the statues; on the broad terraces, and the grounds
—a sheet of silver light, more beautiful than words
could tell. It was the very hour and seene for ro-
mance, and the duke’s gusts enjoyed it to their
hearts’ content,

On this,the first evening that Lady Hilda was
among them again, the moon was full, bright, and
clear; the western wind just stirred the great boughs
andsentthealmond-blossoms drifting into the lake,
The drawing-room windows had been opened wide,
and the moonlight fell on the waters of the ripplin
fountain—it was like a scene inutheater. The card
tables were set out, but, one by one, the guests went
out on to the terrace, and through the rose-garden
into the grounds.

Lord Dunhayen was talking to Lady Hilda; he
looked round for the duchess, but could not find
her. ‘Thinking she was out im the grounds, he
asked Lady Hildaif she would like to go out among
the flowers. G ‘

“To me,” he said, ‘this is the most pleasant hour
in the twenty-four—I have a passion for moonlight
and sleeping flowers.” 134

As they passed out of the window he offered her
his arm; she laid her white hand lightly on it—the
last timé she had doneso wes when they came down
the aisle of the church in which they were married.
She thought of it, and the memory of it made her
silent when she would have spoken. .

They went through the rose-garden, and the more
he talked to her the more she liked him. If she had
but understood him better—if she had but guessed
how much real warmth ‘and tenderness of heart
existed under this indifferent exterior, she would
never have left him. -

Then she began to perceive that, happy as he >
felt, there was something wanting for him. He
grew silent after atime, and sighed deeply; then
the subject of his thoughts came uppermost.

I wonder where the duchess is,” he said. “Did
you notice which way she went, Miss Dunn?”

No,” she replied; “I saw. her with Captain Ver-
non.” x
He muttered something not very complimentary
to Captain Vernon between his teeth.

“T am. quite sure,” he said, eagerly, “that she
would not care about being with him. I’should like
to find her.”

ia ;
They came presently a little group of ple
sitting where the beds of white infes lay. OnE
y

them were the duchess and wep ae Vernon.
Hilda could guess how much they loved each other
when she saw their eyes meet. ;

After a few minutes he bent his head and whis-
peréd to her. ) NORMAL 3d ,

“Miss Dunn,” he said, “I. pray forgive me, hut I
want to speak to the duchess, and it would look
strange, perhaps, if Itook her, from Captain Ver-
non. Could you, under sonie pretext; go to speak
to her? Tell her this most sweet and fair moon-
light makes me long for her. . Ask her to come and
oo tome. I will join you, and we can walk on to-
gether.” . ta Boat

She heard the ring of passion in, -his voice, she
saw the intense love that shone-in his.eyes,and her
heart rose in hot rebellion agatust her fate. Why
should she, on this lovely "moonlight night, fetch
some one elsé to talk to him?, Why,could-she not
rouse love and poetry in him? Her beautiful face
grew pale, her whole soul rebelled. Avs

Suddenly he Jooked at her. eyo ts x!

“Whata beautiful name Lurline is,” hesaid. “In
all ares language I know no other name so
sweet.”

“IT do not think it is English, she answered him,

Just at that moment she felt angry and jealous
enough to have taken the beauty even from her
rival’s nhaume, 4 .

“It is English in her case,” he said, ‘“Lurline, in
some vague way it seems to suit the moonlight and
lilies, it is so sweet. Ah! Miss Dunn, be kind to
me, send that good-looking captain after some of
those young girls who admire him,so that. I may
join the duchess.”

She longed with the whole force of Her heart to

¥ 3
“No, I will not seck her; I am your wife, love

She had to remind herself over and over again
that she was dead in life, thatshe had sworn never to
reveal her identity or her existenco to him. Sho
had to recall all the burning memory of her
wrongs. Then she walked slowly away from him
to the duchess, who stood talking to Captain Ver-

} non with an expression of impatience on her love-

ly young face.

Ah, Heaven, why was she so fair? and, being 80
fair, why did he.love her so?, The Jilies,so white in
the moonlight, were not fairer; the red roses ‘no
sweeter: golden rings of lair lay on her white
brow, her bright eyes were full of clear light, the

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

can EH

sweet red lips were like 2 parted rosebud. The
moonlight feil on the white lace vail that shrouded
the golden head, on the rich jewels and gleaming
dress, Ah, Heaven, why was she so fair? Captain
Vernon stood aside for a few minutes, and with
all impatience the duchess, clasped Lady Hilda’s

arm.

“Whore is Lord Dunhayen?” she said. “I have
seen him with you. I want to talk to him inthe
moonlight, not with a stranger—where is he, ma
mie?”

Hilda controlled the hot, jealous pain that pierced
her heart like @ two-edged sword—that blanched
her face to.the whiteness of the lily leaves.

“T have been with him,” she said, “and he wants
jos you,” é

duchess Lurline turned with a most charming
smile to Captain Vernon.

‘I must not be selfish,” she said; “I must not de-
tain you any longer. Some of those young ladies
will owe me ill-will if I keep you here.”

Bhe did not give him_time for any answer, but
went away with Lady Hilda. They met the earl
just outside the rose garden.

h, Heaven! for one such look from him as he
gave Lurline now—for one such passionate clasp
of the hand—for one such murmur of perfect con-
tent, she would have been willing to have given her

lis

“The night seemed all dark without you,” her
husband said, as he drew the duchess’ arm in his
own. “Miss Dunn, you are a true friend. I was
growing desperate.” :

Duchess Lurline looked up at him with loving
eyes.

“We have grown so accustomed to spending
this honr in the moonlight together,” she said,
: that, it seemed quite strange to be with any one

Ise.”

The three walked together until they came to the
narrow path, bordered on each side by the white
lilies, then Lady Hilda stopped as though to gather
One, and they passed on without her, They both
loved her, neither of them would have hurt her
feelings for the whole world, but the glamour of love
was on them, and they forget her; they walked on,
leaving her standing among the lilies, alone,

It was not so much jealousy that pained her then
as wounded love. ear Heaven, how hard it
seemed that he should love this beautiful duchess,
and that she, his wife, should be forgotten and left

one.

The night wind grew chilly, the lilies shivered,
and she went indoors,the piercing of the thorn
sharper than ever in her heart.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

 

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NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 10, 1879.’

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Another New Story Next Week.

Avery exciting story, which is filled with stir-
‘ring incidents, will be-ecommenced next week, un-

‘der the ‘title of
THE
e288 5 '
Detective’s Oath;
OR

HUNTED DOWN.
By WALTER FENTON.

As our readers have doubtless noticed, this story
‘is by anew-author. This is in accordance with our
‘promise to present the works of new writers with
‘those of our old and popular favorites. We en-
-deavor to give novelty -after novelty in rapid sue-
session. ' : .

‘The Value of Fiction. —

It is said that Caleb Cushing, whose recent de-.

 

 

 

 

 

-gease at an advanced old age was recorded in the

daily papers, was a confirmed ‘novel-reader. Even

‘his political opponents concede that Mr. Cushing
-was an able jurist, a profound scholar, and of the
highest attainments in the solid branches.of learn-
ing. Thatsuchaman should manifest a love for
fiction will surprise and disconcert the narrow-
minded bigots who insist that a novel-reader must
necessarily bea frivolous and weak-minded per-
.60n,

We-once knew a young man who spent six months
‘in reading one ef Dickens’ books, and who solemn-
dy decided atthe close thatit wasavery silly and
improbable story, quite unworthy the attention of
-asensible person. The nbounding humor, the

masterly power, the skillful characterization made
_absolutely no impression on ‘this) solemn-minded
young man. The poets and novelists would havea
poor time of it if the world were composed wholly

-of such men.
“A primrose by a river’s brim]
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.”

‘One of the most eminent of New England:preach-
-ers managed to read every notable work of fiction
which issued from the English or American press.
It was this, doubtless. which kept his imagination
active,and enabled him to enrich ‘his discourses
-with the graces of rhetoric and délicate ‘touches-of
duney. No one ever went to sleep under his preach-

sing. A prominent English statesman, whose name

was.a power in European polities, had a-hearty ap-
preciation of tie modern novel, while the present
British Premier first gained reputation as a noy-
list.

‘The solemn-faced Puritans, who would sweep
out of existence all poetry except Watts’ Hymns, and
@H worke of fletion, except possibly Pilgrim’s Pro-
gress, are becoming a-small minority. The novel
is something more than an agreenble pastime,
though if it were nothing moreit would servea
aseful purpose in ‘lightening the cares and alle-
viating the sorrows of humanity. It oftentimes
speaks louder and more effectively than the ser-
mon or the essay, and has more than once given
powerful! aid te the reformer and the philanthro-
pist. Itshould not be read to the exclusien of
what is termed more solid literature, but properly
blended it will enlarge and embelfish the mind.
Oertuinly no one ean lay claim to a broad and com-
preheasive culture who undervalues and ignores it.

—_—_—__ >-94—____-

A pet opossum for along time acted as a confed-
erate to a rogue in Little Boek, Ark. A colored
porter inastore, whose constant companion was
an opossum, habitually filched nickels and pennies
from the money-drawer. and stowed them away in
the animal’s pouck. The four-footed treasurer
meekly foHowed his master from the store every
night, and the darkey was rapidly becoming eom-
paratively wealthy. The greed of gain, however,
worked his ruin. He became s0 avaricious that
one aight he so overlonded the opossum thatthe
confederate was unable to budge. Noticing the
handicapped animal’s struggles to waddle off, the
proprietor of the store made an examination, and
discovered the trick. That darkey won’t “play
possum” any more in that store.

—____—_>-@<_______

A well-known infidel in Utien manifested a sud-
den interest in time Bible just after being prostrated
by a stroke of paralysis.

 

‘side was held absent by sickness,

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. sem=

 

 

 

ese

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING.

What a busy time is the week before Christmas
for the thrifty housewife, who has money in her

urse to buy things with; and little folks and big

olks, in her family to buy things for!

How she talks the matter over with all her female
acquaintances, and learns how they sell pictures at
Jones’, and vases at Brown’s, and furs at Hall’s,
and knickknacks at Robinson’s!

Every woman knows what every other woman
of her set wants to buy, by the inquiries she makes
about the different dealers. And every woman
wants to make « little better bargain than every
other woman, if she can. ;

What strings of them pour out of the local trains
running into the city every fine morning for ten
days before Christmas! How happy and important
they look, and they all carry satchels, and have
their noses well in the air, as if they meant busi-

 

ness.

At every fancy and dry-goods store window they
halt, and elbow their way through the mob already
there, and exclaim over the articles displayed in the
windows with prices affixed, and wonder if Smith,
or Jenkins sells the same thing any lower?

Everybody is in a hurry. Everybody carries a
bundle, or is after one.

Everybody looks good-natured, except the coach-
mea waiting hours in the cold on their breezy seats
in their high-hats for their mistresses to purchase
two ounces of zephyr worsted, or a box of bon-

ons.

And no wonder the poor fellows loek cross, for a
coachman has his dignity to keep up under any
circumstances, and it must be peculiarly trying to
do so with the mercury at zero, and fashion not al-
lowing him to cover his purple ears, or hold his
furred hands to his still more purple nose.

Inside the large stores, what 2 scene of apparent
confusion presents itself. And yet, in reality, allis
order. Even those eae and never-to-be-
found cash-boys and girls are doing their duty like
pieces of well-oiled maehinery, only the impatient
shopper does not realize it,

The shop-girls are all in thelr best attire, and
weur their sunniest smiles, pbor things! and no-
body guesses the heart-ashes those smiles cover,
and our country cousins, fresh from making butter
and cheese, envy them their “easy” life of it, and
wonder how long they would keep their white
hands doing the “drudging” on a farm? :

Drudging—ah, if any woman knows the meaning
of that word, it isthe average shop-girl, who greets
you so smilingly and who serves yeu so willingly.

Such a hard thing it is to describe just what to
purchase, There are so many beautiful things, and
each one 80 appropriate. and so cheap. And every-
thing is “marked down,” the clerks tell you. Such
a marking down as must be going on in our large
stores allthetime! Why,in view of the extensive
marking down, it seems almost superfluous that
the things should have been marked so far up in
the first place!

How the tongues fly when acquaintances meet
each other! How they discuss the relative merits
of brown, and blue, and cardinal. Will silk hand-
kerchiefs be any lower? Ase striped stockings
worn? What would be suitable asa present to a
lady forty years old? How would one of the toy
pianos suit a little girl of ten? Would it be better
than a set of cony? Cony is so durable! Where
are the neck-ties advertised at_twenty-five cents?
Where is the varietv counter? Where can one find
lace searfs and collars? And so they go—happy,
busy, bustling—buying Christmas things—weary-
ing themselves for the comfort of others—finding
joy in giving good gifts.

At night they will go home, tired and foot-sore,
and the walking-boots will be changed for slippers,
and the best black cashmere will give place to the
**made over” alpaea, and in the bosom of her family
the woman who has been doing Christmas shop-
ping, will recount the sights she has seen, and the
news she has heard; and deep down in her heart
lies the naar thought that she has made some
wonderful bargains, that beat the bargains of her
next-door neighbor all to nothing.

Kare THORN.

Give Us Rapid Transit.

Rapid transit in Brookiyn is not only needed by
its inhabitants, but it is essential to the prosperity
of thecity. It will aid business in several ways,
and it is certainly a convenience which every large
city should possess. A half-hour’s trip in the un-
comfortable and chilly horse-cars, at this season of
the year, is dreaded by every lady,and by most
gentlemen, while a trip that consumes an hour,
with the doors constantly opening and shutting,
admitting draughts which cause dangerous coughs
and colds, is antipated and endured asasort of
purgatorial punishment. Horse-car traveling is
too slow for this progressive age; it consumes val-
uable time which might be profitably employed.
The people of Broeklyn demand and are willing to
pay liberally for rapid transit; an Se
ere the present year has comato Ai cnd ema
treme limits of this beautiful city of homes con-
connected by steam railroads whieh will whirl tray-
elers to distant points in one-t of the time now
consumed by the tedious horse-cars,

THE WHITE-PLUMED KNIGHT.

BY WM. L. COLBY.

 

  
  
     
  

 

 

Bold, handsome, and generous was the young
Reginald De Bracy. Possessed of every knightly
accomplishment, it was little wonder that he soon
wonthe love of the beautiful Blanche Faulecon-
bridge, who was called the fairest lady in all Eng-
land, in those old feudal times.

Only one man in the land bore ill-will toward Sir
Reginald, and he was Richard Langley. a dark,
haughty, and evil-minded knight, who, once asui-
tor for the fair hand of Lady Blanche, was rejected
for Sir Reginald De Bracy. Rent with the fiercest
pangs of jealousy, he had vowed a terrible ven-
geance against the favored suitor, and the forth-
coming tournament seemed to afford a good chance
for the fulfillment of his vow.

At this tournament, which was to be held ina
few days, one of the actions was to be a grand tilt
between two parties of knights. each being twelve
in number, The peculiar feature of this was that
each knight was to preserve a strict incognito till
the end of the match, all coat-of-arms being rigor-
ously excluded, and the two parties to be distin-
guished from each other solely by the color of
their plumes; those of one side being red, and the
others white. Andthis arrangement suggested to
the mind of Richard Langley a plan which if pur-
sued would rid him forever of his hated rival,
Reginald De Bracy.

The knights for each side had already been
chosen, both himself and his rival belonging to the
white-plumed knights, and it had also come to his
knowledge that a certain knight of the opposite

And so it came to pass that, on the morning of
the tournament, word was spread that the missing
knight, Herbert De Vaux, had recovered and ar-
rived at the grounds, ready for the fight. A power-
ful-looking man, his face concealed by his armor,
stood in_the door-way of De Vaux’s tent, and was
supposed by everybody to be that individual him-
self. But this man was in reality a burly ruffian, a
tool of Langley’s, with, instructions to do his ut-
most ‘to put an end to the life of De Bracy in the
fight about to ensue. ;

He was in reality more skillful with his weapons
than any of the knights there assembled, but pre-
vented by his low rank from taking part in any
knightly exercise.

As the time for the tournament approached. the
knights were assembled in a large inclosure within
the lists, De Bracy being among them, little dream-
ing of thedeep-laid plot being planned against
him. Standing a little apart from the company
were the two plotters.

Note nosey the white plume worn by De Bra-
cy,” said Langley, inalowtone. “Seest thon not,
Bertram, a small pericis of red in the upper part?
Much risk have [ run in placing it there, and re-
member, when the combat comes, fail not in strik-
ing to the death the knight thus marked.”

Ay, master, trust me for that,” Bertram replied,
and the pair separated.

Meanwhile Sir Reginald, unsuspicions of dan-
ger, was chatting gayly with his betrothed, who
was leaning down from the pavilion above.

“Fake goo care of thyself, Reginald,” she was
saying: “for if you encounter any danger, you may
be assured that there will be at least one pale face
among the spectators.”

Then she laughed gayly, but suddenly checked
herself. Her keen eye had seen the red particle in
her jover’s plume, and with quick wit she at once
divined that it was placed there as a distinguishing
mark. Little suspecting the terrible mission that
trifle was destined to fulfill, she reached down her
shapely hand and managed to detach it from the

lume without being observed. Then a strange

ancy Game into her mind—a wish to foil the de-
signs of the unknow person who had thus marked
her lover—and_ bending over she fastened it. firmly
to the plume of another knight standing juat be-
fow her, under the pretense of curling the stran-
ger’s plume more gracefully.

But Faaienry the trumpet sounded, and each
knight betook himself te his station. ready for the
coming conflict. Then another trumpet-blast burst
forth, causing the hearts of all to beat fast with an-
ticipation, and with slow and majestic tread the
combatants moved into the lists, each at an oppo-
site end. Splendidiy mounted, elad in eomnplete

 

armor, and with asea of waving plumes above their

 

 

heads, they afforded a truly magnificent spectacle,
And then « third blast.

A thundering of hoofs, a clashing of steel, and the
two plumed lines were merged iu one, It was a
glorious fight, and the hearts of the spectators
throbbed madly with excitement as they beheld.
Bravely each gajlant knight held his part, and the
contest seemed almost equal,

In the thickest of the fight was the low-born ruf-
flan, Bertram, overwhelming the white-plumed
knights, one after another, with his ponderous
blows, and all the time searching eagerly for hia
prey—a knight with « red spot on his plume.

At last he sawthe one bearing this mark, and,
forcing his way through the tumult, was soon by
his side. One terrific blow of his battle-ax, and the
doomed knight, with a erushed skull, lay bleeding
on the sod, | :

With a thrill of exultation he felt that he had ful-
filled his promise,and done to deaththe noble
young knight, De Bracy. But Bradiy had he deliv-
ered the blow, when a white-plumed knight swept
up behind him, and with a ponderous stroke of his
sword felled him from his horse, where he lay
stunned beside his victim,

Throwing himself from his horse, the conqueror
pine his foot on Bertram’s neck, crying to him to
yield.

But at that moment the king, taking pity on the
brave knights. many of whom were disabled, and
on those of the white plume, who seemed to be los-
ing the day, threw down his warder, and the com-
bat cnded. ,

Then, as was previously agreed to, each knight,
without changing his position, removed his helmet,
and displayed his identity to the nnxious crowd.

And he who bad struck down Bertram, removing
ah helmet, displayed the features of Reginuld De

racy,

The one who bad plotted for his death, too, had
fallen a victim to his own vee for on remov-
ing the helmet from the head of him whom Ber-
tram had killed, the features of Sir Richard Lang-
ley were exposed.

And Bertram, after recovering consciousness and

ing questioned invegard to his disguise, was
foreed to confess the whole plot, and received the
unishment he so richly merited, while Reginald
ived to wed the lovely Blanche, whose simple ac-
tion had saved him from death.

A Fact.

One year ago, a respectable and wealthy mer-
chant of this city became so infatuated with the
game of faro thatin Jess than five weeks he lost
over ninety thousand dollars at a gambling-house
in Ann street, near Broadway. With his business
ruined, and deserted by his wife and family—for he
had become a drunkard—he was meditating sui-
cide, when a practical idea entered his brain. He
sought employment of the gambler who had
fieeced him, and having renounced the use of
liquor, Was soon installed as a dealer at the table
where he had lost his wealth. One day last week.
during the absence of his employer, the “bank”
had an extraordinary run of bad luck, andacertain
young man, who bears a strong resemblance to the
dealer, left the gambling-house after winning
ninety-three thousand dollars, The dealer has re-
signed his situation, and is about to resume mer-
cantile business. Sufficient capital for that pur-
pose has been loaned to him by his son, whoa few
days before had made his first and last appearance
in a gambling-house; —

—_—_—__>-4~<-____—

Josh Billings’ Philosophy.

VAGRANTS.

Mi dear fellow, yn kant git ennything out ov this
world unless yu ask for it. and yu uint a going to
git mutch ennyhow, unless you insist upon it—
Yours truly.

The odds iz just what makes the diffrence—to wit:
what yu learn bi yureown experience allwuss kosts
all itiz worth, and sumtimes a grate deal more;
but what yu learn bi the experiense oy others dont
kost nothing, and iz worth just az mutch.

A gentleman iz the party who iz allwuss_ honest,
and allwuss polite, and keeps hiz boots shined up,
and his fluger nales clean,

Thare iz no-doubt. yjpgty oy pecple in the world
who are abuv suspish, #} but i never hav knu enny
one (not even miself}, it wasn’t Sale to watch.

Thare izsumthing f ut this, but i hav no-
tissed that yu could man a kake ov sweet
scented sope, at the sar ice, with less talk, than
yu could a koppy ov the gu testament. ~

Thare iz a mighty si is between knowing
every boddy, and h Y Sb
rang iz lots. 9
NCR, ae

 

 
   
   
     
     

       
     
     
   
  
    
  

 

  

 

 
  
  
      
 
    
  

    

“ 3 4 ’ INST; pon 00 cents
fonthe dollar; when yu settle with the world take
haff_price if yu kant gi

Yung man, if ya make’ mistake the best thing
yu kan do iz to own it,and not make another; thare
never waz a mistake made yet.i don’t kure how
well it waz buried, that didn’t dig out sumtime.
_Thav seen people spend a large share ov their
time and tallents gitting religion, anda very small
share in prakticing 1t.

Adversity iz tru and honest, it iz the test that
never deceives us, prosperity iz allwuss treacher-
ous. ‘

Mi dear boy, don’t let enny man git the dropon
yu; this iza vulgar saying, but if yu hav got branes
enuff yu will useit for a moral purpose.

Avarice, when it takes full posseshun ov the harte,
roots out all other things, good, bad, and indiffrent,

The man who won’t beleaye ennything he kant
understand, ain’t a going to beleave mute, nor un-
derstand mutch neither.

Thare seems to be two kinds ov superstishun;: an
ignorant, and a learned kind, and i don’t kno
whitch iz the worst.

I hav seen plenty ov smart men who could phro-
vesy toa ded certainty what would happen for the
next 18 months, who couldn’t set down with a slate
and pent and phrovesy Within 25 per cent what it
would kost to reshingle a pig-pen.

Men oy real merit are the fust ones to see merit,
and praize it in others.

Yung man, if yu expekt to sukeeed in this world.
yu hav got to trundle yure own boop; the jealousy
ov friends and the malignity ov enemys make the
road to sukeess a hard one to travel.

One ov the gratest viktorys ov good breeding iz,
it very often makes a phool endurable,

Az phoolish az most cerimonys seem to be, i
don’t see how mankind eonld be managed*without
them; the great submit to them from policy, and in
the lowly they excite a spirit ov emulashun that
often works out good results.

Thare iz nothipg so simple az gratitude, and yet
* & the highest possible price we kan pay for enny

ng. .

If weexpekt to git at the tru value ov things we
hay gotto bile them dowa,and skim them well,
too, when they are bileing.

Billy. mi boy, thare iz no surer way to put yure
kandle out than trieing to shine on all ockashuns.

The necessarys ov life are cheap and pimaie. and
yet we manage to make theakt ov living a kontin-
ual slavery. :

Thare is nothing so diffikult for a horse to do az
to keep hiz heels level when he feels his oats prik.
It iz just so with mortal man.

Thare may be people who are beneath flattery,
ala i never hav met one whom i thought waz abuy

  
  

 

     

An_ Infidel iz either a Innatik or a phool; he kan
take hiz choice.

The world iz a workshop. and none ov us iz ex-
pekted to lay down our tools untill summoned to
the court above.

The grate art ov kontentment konsists not onl
in being satisfied with what we hay got, but with
what we bain’t got. nor kan’t git.

I don’t klaim to hav enny partikular pollitix nor
religion. Ifa man iz good hiz pollitix iz all right,
be he greenbak or yellowbak;: and if he iz a good
level man hiz religion iz all right, be he hard-shel
Baptiss or soft-shel Presheterian.

Don’t pla with the devil's tale. Yu may eskape un-
hurt, but it iz a doubtful viktory.

The literary people arethe most jealous ov all the
professions; this proves to me, that thure iz the
most frauds amung them.

The reputashun that a man gits for an excen-
tricity iz worth just about az mutch to him, and no
more, az the one he gits for a deformity.

T expekt at all times to be found,in mi humble,
and perhaps uncouth way, on the side ov truth,
honesty, common virtew, and in defense ov the
Bible; if I kant win here, thare aint nothing in this
world worth working for, nor in the next.

Politeness will win every time, Ihave seen it win
even onamuile, when 4 quarts ov oats,and a klub
besides, want nowhare.

This world iz fall nv very unkommon sense. but
good old hard cider kommon sense iz skarse, and
it ssems to me, it iz a going to be skaser.

Simple pitty aint mutch better to a person than
an insult, but to pitty him with a 6 dollar bill, iz
bizznesr.

 

 

Dear Frank, remember this, just se long az yu

 

 

ae

hair

 

kan. make yureself usefull, and necessary to the
world, they will pay yure price for yure services,
furthur than that, they won’t take enny stok in yu.

The devil waz the original infidel, and waz a he~
ro in hiz line, compared to the drivellers, whe are
apeing hiz genius now days.

A man iz none the wuss for being a deakon, buti
am sad when i say it, he oftimes iz none the better.

—___—__ r+-0~

To Correspondents.

 

 

4a@- GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.

A, O.—Saint Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, was born,
according to most authorities, near the site of Kilpatrick, at the
mouth of the Clyde, in Scotland, in 372, and died at Down,
Ulster, Ireland, about 464. At the age of sixteen he was carried
a captive to Ireland by a band of marauders, but made his escape

after six months, and returned to Scotland. He was carried off
a second time, and after his escape resolved to become a mis-
sionary to Ireland, was ordained in Scotland, and after a long
preparation was consecrated bishop. Having previously visited
Gaul and Italy, he went to Ireland in 432, and preached with
such effect that, although not the first to introduce Christianity
into that country, he has always received the credit of its general
conversion. He baptized the kings of Dublin and Munster, and
the sons of the King of Connaught, with the greater part of their
subjects, appointed bishops and he:d councils, and so extended
the nnn that before his death nearly the whole country was
converte

North Carolina, New York.—lst. We are unable to find a work
devoted especially to canning fruits and vegetables, nor can we
give you any information in regard to other articles than such
as are usually preserved in that manner. The following method
is the least trouble, and as successful as those which require
more time: Place the fruit or vegetables in a kettle with just
enough water to keep them from scorching, and let them come
to the boiling point; then fill the can and seal immediately. The
heat of the contents of the can will a the air from the small
space remaining under the cover. 2d, Some large canning
establishments find it more convenient and less expensive to
have their cans made on the premises; others contract for them
with tinsmiths in large quantities, With fruits or berries, sugar
may be placed in the kettle with the water to torm a sirup.

Ransome.—In a matter involving such an important result as
your future happiness as a wife, we are very loth to give advice,
particularly as we hear only one side of a story, which may be
colored by prejudice or jealousy. This we can say, however, that
while a man is paying attention to one lady, with the assurance
that he loves her and is anxious to marry her, he has no right to
be doing the same thing to another. One thing you may rest
assured ot if he pays no heed to your wishes in this and other
matters before marriage, he is not likely to make much effort to
ee you afterward. A woman should have implicit contidence

n the nan she marries, otherwise married life will be one con-
tinual scene of strife and unhappiness,

X. O., North Greece, N. Y.—lst. If the runners are at the same
width at the bottom it will make no difference whether they are
put at right angles with the body or at an obtuse angle. The
object of placing runners at an obtuse angle is three-fold—to
give them strength, to enable them more readily to avoid or
overcome obstructions, and by widening the base and thus low-
ering the center ot gravity to prevent the sleigh from overturn-
ing readily. 2d, The mercury of a thermometer is affected by
exposure to the wind, You can easily demonstrate this by hang-
ing it on two sides of a house, one ex to a cold wind and
the other shielded from it. Or, easier yet, you can prove it by

blowing your warm breath on it,

R. S., Peoria, Ii).—“tA sells a horse to B for $50, and buys him
back for $40; he then sells him back to B for $45. How much
does A make by the transaction? A friend and Ihave had an
argument on the matter, and cannot agree on the amount?” A
makes just what B losesin the transaction, which is $5, Sup-

B at the outset has $55. He pays A tor the horse, which
eaveshim $5; A then buys the horse back, giving B $40. Ifthe
transaction cl there, A would have made $10, which B would
have lost—A having the horse and $10, and B but $45. This last
sum B pays to A for the horse, and at the close of the transac-
tion A ca $55 and B the horse. A loses $5 of the $10
fs on ihe jsecond sale, and B recovers the same amount of
is loss.

E. M, R., Brooklyn, N. ¥.—The legality of a marriage cere-
mony is not affected by the absence of a marriage certificate
signed by the officiating clergyman and witnesses. Asin the
case mentioned there was no witness beside the assistant of the
officiating clergyman, and the certificate was not made out un-
til some months afterward, it is probable that he was not at
hand when it was written. It would be a comparatively easy
matter to find him, probably, and by reviving his recollection,

et him to sign it now. It is not material, however, the only ob-

ect in having witnesses being to more readily prove that the
ceremony actually took place,in the event of it being ques-
tio fs

J. D. R., Carbon, Pa.—Ist. There are eight State normal schools
in Pennsylvania, located at Bloomsburgh, Edinboro, Kutztown,
Mansfield, Millersville, Sagamore, Shippensburg, and West
Chester. Tuition is not free, but students intendirfy to become
tenchers in the public schools in the State receive from the State
filty cents a week, and on graduation, Soldiers’ orphans re-
ceive $la week. A letter addressed to the ee of esther
institute will elicit the information desired. The address ot
the School of Mines, Columbia College, is Forty-ninth street,
between Fourth and Fifth avenues. The tuition tee is $200a
year, but those unable to pay may be admitted without charge.

Giles Mills, W. C.—“Will you please give the answer to the fol-

lowing problem, which appeared in the Boys of ee World: A

ng persons:
two old ladies who were sisters; one had a
nzhter had three iters.. These th:

and oy ties THO O10
pe three young ladies and
was the

a

  
 

 
     

family is composed of the followi
; thers, five sis

r

auglters, and also,
ladies were the other two sisters.
their mother were the tour daughters. One old lady
grandmother, and the other old lady was the aunt.

Ola Coin, Portland, Me.—tist. There are premiums
from afew cents to several dollars on all the old colonial coins,
varying with the date and condition of the piece. 2d. Coins
were not issued from the U. 8. mint until 1793. From this date

to 1808 the head on the cent faced to the right. In the latter year
it was changed to face to the left, with a filet around it,on which
was the word “Liberty.” In 186 the die was chaneec, and again

  
 

in 1839. In 1857 the coinage of the r cent was discontinued,
and the nickel cent substituted. In the bronze cent now in
use was first coined.

Duchess of Nairn Auburn.—ist. We are not of those who de-
ery red hair. Persons who have hair of this color are almost in-
variably possessed of a fine complexion; and as handsome, regu-
lar features are not confined to those with black, brown, or gold-
en hair, & girl with red hair may be just as pretty as any of her
sisters, We can cali to mind several !adies with undeniably red
hair, and who make no effort to change the by the use of
dyes or oils, who are considered not only yood looking, but
pretty. 2d. July 14, 1869, feil on Wednesday.

J. S.—As regards the position and relative motions of the sun
and earth, the sun is the center, around which the earth makes
a complete revolution once a year, which produces the seasons
day and night being caused by the rotary motion of the earth on
its own axis. The only apparent motion of the sun is its rotation
on its own axis, which occurs once in twenty-five days and ten
hours. This, however, does not change the relative positions of
the two bodies,

M. J. D., Saratoga Bprings.—To make mocking-bird food, mix
together two parts of corn-meal; two parts of pea meal, and one
part ef moss meal; add a little melted lard, but not sufficient to
make the mixture too greasy, and aweeten with molasses. Fry
in a frying pan for half an hour, stirring constantly, and taking
care not to let it burn. This makes it keep well. Put it in a
covered jar, The moss meal is prepared by drying and grinding
the imported German moss head

Prinsess Olga.—To remove grease spots from paper, scrape
finely some pipe-clay ; on this lay the sheet or leaf, and cover the
spot.in like manner with the clay. Cover the whole with a sheet
of paper, and ney, for a tew seconds, a heated iron box, or
any substitute adapted by laundresses. On using India-rubber
to remove the dust taken up by the grease, the paper will be
tound restored to its origina: whiteness. ;

M. C. T—I1st. Hams are sewed up in canvas bags to protect
them from the attacks of a little insect called dermestes lardarius,
which by laying its eggs in them seon fill them with maggots,

is cxneative proseen. may be avoided by painting the bam
with pyroligneous acid, taking care that the liquid is weH work-
ed into the cracks of the under surface. 2d. See paragraph
headed “To Purchasing Agency Correspondents.”

S. H. @., Boston, Mass.—lst. We know nothing of the book
mentiened. Such works are of little use in aiding one to con-
verse finently., What you need is to be familiar with good htera-
ture, which oi have every means of obtaining through the li-
braries!n your city. This will be an education in itself. Your
basttulness will wear off by intercourse with good society.

Fiddler, Cincinnati.—An excellent varnish for violins is made
by heating together at a low temperature two quarts of alcohol,
half 2 pint ot turpentine varnish, and one ponnd of clean gum
er hen the latter is thoroughly dissolved, strain through
& fine cloth.

A. King, Milton Center.—Webdster 8 and Worcester’s diction-
aries are both standard works. Some establishments use one

and some the other, 20 that itis in a measure a matter of. in-
dividnal preference. Our own is for Webster's. We will furnish
either for $10.

Mark Ross, Fredericksburg, Pa.—We do not know whether
there is a line of steamers between Philadelphia and Galveston,
Texas, The tare from this city to the latter port, cabin passage,
is $55; steerage, $25.

Constant Reader.—In making chocolate caramels the choco-
late shou'd be finely and uniformly grated, and the molasses
well boiled. If sugar be used, both the sugar and chocolate
should be heated until they run smooth.

S. G., Norwalk, Conn., and Inquirer, New Milford, Conn.—On
reneral principles we advise you to have nothing to do with lot-
tery schemesot any kind. Which, if any, of them are fairly
conducted, we cannot say.

Ola Sport, New York.—The best walking time for one mile is
6:23, made by W. Perkins, at London, Eng., June 1, 1874; the
best. record for seven miles is 51:51, made by the same person in
the same match.

Hap Hazard, Camden, N. J.—ist. We will send you the papers
desired tor six cents each. 24 We have no recollection of the
MS., which if it had reached us would have been returned, under
the rule, if declined.

Constant , 95.—Mrs. Mary J. Holmes’ stories are not
oy oh cheap form. We wil send you any or ali of them for
-50 each.

Sol. J. C.. San Francisco, Cal.—foak the parchment in water,
and draw it over the head of the banjo, but do not screw it too
tight while it is wet, or it will split.

Cc. D., Captain Orosstree. and O. B., Hornefiaville, N. Y —See
ragraph atthe end of this department, headed ‘To Purchas-
ng Agency Correspondents.”’

W. Hayden, M. P. Downs, M T. J., G. B. Atkinson, and ethe.s
will please accept our thanks fer favers conterred,

  
  
    

Hugi Lee.—Ca®in boys seldom exist outside ot stories. Boys
that are employed on suiling vessels have to work hard, and
most of them are subjected to pretty rough usage. ;

Utica.—The polar diameter of the earth is 7,898 miles; equa-
torial diameter, 7,926 miles; circumference, about 25,000 miles.

R. S. €., Greenville, Miss.—Bathe your eyes night and morning
in 4 weak solution of salt and water.

John Thompson, Wilkesbarre, Pa.—We are not at liberty to
give the addresses of our coutributors.

Constant Reader, Boston, Mass.—We do not know of such @
work as you desire,

J. N,, New Orleans, La.—Write to W. H. Jordan,
Forty-filth street, this city. , 437 West

Constant Reader, Toledo, O.—W. rtise
i tile deartipeet, ¥ e do not insert adve ments

Anzious, Navesink, N. J.—We cannot inform you. Write to
the San Francisco house,

Inquirer, Cambridge, Mass.—We do not wish to add any new
contributors to our list.

Ten Years’ Reader, Boston.—We know nothing of the concern.
C. E. P. T.—There 1s no such firm named in the Directory.
An Old Reader, Boston.—No.

TO PURCHASING AGENCY#CORRESPONDENTS.

Tn response to the queries of our epereenendenta who send no
address, we give the prices at which the following articles nay be
procured through the New YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency:
Corbett’s ‘‘Poultry Yard and Market,” with treatise on ey |
eggs with horse manure, 60 and 75 cents; ‘Modern Fencer,
cents; Stoddard’s ‘‘An Egg Farm,’ 50 and 75 cents; Burnham’s
“New Poultry Book,” Lewis’ “Practical Poultry Book,”
$1.50; Wright’s “Practical Poultry Keeper,” $2; “. rect’
and Builder’s Pocket Companion and Price Book,” $1.50; “Ma-
sonry and Stone-cutting,” $1. ‘

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.

W. R. B., East Stroudsburg, Pa.—Ist. Ladies of social equality
are introduced to each other, and so, also, are gentlemen, The
latter, however, are always presented to ladies, 2d. If a gen-
tleman is presented to a lady by a gentleman, of course permis-
sion is first secured from the Jady, and afterward the presenta-
tion is made complimentary by its formula: “Mr. Low desires

to be presented to Mrs. or Miss Evans.” Or if the gentleman
making the presentation desires the unknown parties to be-
come acquain tor his or her own personal reasons, he or she
says:

 

 

nelination, ot course regulating the expression of her semti-
ments by courtesy and geod breeding, If she be glad to know
the gentleman, she says §0 with frankness and cordiality, and
she briefly thanks the presenting yas soon as she has ac-
cepted the new acquaintance, then the presenter retires,
3d. A young lady can only express a pullve recognition of a gen-
tleman presented, by bowing, smiling, and mentioning the
name of the new acquaintance as & response.

John Aldrich, Worcester, Mass.—lst. The single lady is intro-
duced to the married lady, and the single gentieman to the mar-
ried, other things being equal. 2d. When entering-a parlor to
pay a brief visit,a gentleman should always carry his hat, leav-
ing his overshoes, overcoat, and umbrella in the hall if it be
winter time. 3d. The lady rises to receive him, unless she is an
invalid, or advanced in years, in which case she receives him
seated, and excuses herself from rising. 4th. If she extends her
hand to him, he takes it respectiully, but does not remove his

ove, as was the old style. 5th. A gentleman never offers his

and first. He cannot do this any more than the mere ac-
quaintanuce can bow first. p

C. B. S., Providence, R. I.—Ist. The gentleman may lift his
hat to the lady, although he cannot bow to her if she be offended
with him. Yet he may respect ber if he feels kindly to her. 2d.
A gentleman lifts his hat to a lady whom he passes in a hall
or Corridot, unless the place be a thoroughfare, but he does
not rest his glance eee her. 3d. It not infrequently hap;
when gentlemen are driving, that they cannot touch their hats
because too closely occupied; but a cordial bow satisfies the
most exacting of ladies under such circumstances. Whi
whip, according to convenience. Etiquette permits both styles
of greeting.

a doorway, where their dead is being carried forth, or a funeral
cortege in a quiet street, a gentleman will uncover his head.
This is a beautiful French custom, and it is now 60 incor-
porated with our own habits that it may well be styled a part
of our street etiquette. it iscertainly an appr aterecox nition
of a sorrow that some time or other falls to jot of all of us.
2d. A gentleman always lifts bis hat when offering a serv
strange lady. 3d. A gentleman opens a door fora stran

holds it open with one hand, and lifts his hat with the
while she passes through in advance of him. He always offe'
ler the precedence. '

B. White, San Francisco, Cal.—Ist. We know of no means
whereby you can ascertain if the gentleman loves you, except
trom ‘his attentions and his own wo! which we are very sorry
to say, are not always proof positive of man’s real feelings orin-
tentions. 2d. Endeavor not to let him me aware of your
iove for him, but appear, if possible, indifferent to his atten-
tions and presence, unjess he has made himself understood by
asking you to become his wife. ‘

Constant Reader.—Invitations to a dinner are always given in
the name of both host and hostess. If it be an engraved card

or note, the name of host and hostess occupies one line, extend-
ing across the card; the request follows in smaller seript, with
the name of the invited person or persons written across in @
blank space arranged by the engraver. Below this are the date

   
 
 

 

   
  
   
  
   
   
       

 

} one in your country--I send you a stamp.”

ynd the hour of the dinner.

- Geraldine May, St. Louis.—Ist, When ‘serving refreshments

where there are ladies and gentlemen, the ladies are always
served first. 2d. Either ladies or gentlemen are at liberty to

. € wine if they choose todo so,
should be careful not to refuse in an offensive manner.

é

A grateful deed was performed, not long since,
y a London beggar. For several years he had re-
ived, nearly every day, a penny from a merchant
on his way to the London Exchange. Then for
days the beggar seemed forgotten or neglected, as
the merchant passed without noticing him. The
beggar became anxious concerning the man who
had so often been friendly, and noticing that the
merchant’s attire was growing shabby, he accosted
him. He learned that the merchant was financially
embarrassed, and manifested his gratitude by
Joaning him five hundred pounds, With this sum
the merchant overcame his troubles, and is once
more prosperous.
—___—_>-9~+_____

The remarks of little brothers are often embar-
rassing to grown sisters. A certain young lady in
Brooklyn was entertaining a male admirer, when
her nine-year-old brother entered the parlor and
annoyed the visitor by cracking hickory-nuts with
his teeth, “Johnny, you should not use your teeth
in that way,” said the young man; “you eannot be
too careful of your second set, for you will never get
any others.” ‘Oh, won’t I, though?” answered the
hopeful and candid boy. ‘Look at Amanda there;
why,she’s had four sets already.” Amanda be-
eame so confused that she almost swallowed her
false teeth.

——__>- =< __.

A play-room for children has. been fitted up in
connection witha Philadelphia dry-goods stora.
It is supplied with every description of toys. pic-
tures, etc., and mothers are permitted to leave their
children there while engaged in shopping. Lest
forgetful mammas should neglect to eall for
youngsters who have not passed the most trouble-
some age, children in arms are not admitted.

—————_+-9<_______

The golden wedding of the Emperor and Em-
press of Germany is tobe celebratedJune ll. They
wisely announce that personal gifts are not de-
sired, and that they hope their friends will show

their kindness and good-will by using their money

in bestowing charity upon the poor.
—_——___>-4+—_____

A most enviable character is borne by a candidate
for the Lieutenant-Governorship of Kentucky. His
friends eulogistically. speak of him as “the man
who put 136 bills through’ the Senate in one night
and let ‘the boys’ out before the bar-rooms closed.”

—______ > @~

The people of Nevada have become delirious with

joy since the authorities announced that tnat State

has $600,000 in its treasury, and think of building ;

an insane asylum.

 

Imported eggs now arrive in London, packed in
cheap coffins, For the coffins the importers find
aready: sale, while ordinary boxes would only
serve as fuel.

A Man Who Needs Valuable Information.

The writer of the appended letter, which Was ad-
dressed to a British postmaster, is evidently a
worthless fellow, who has become tired of work,
and is anxious to discover a short-cut to fortune:

“Dear Srr:—I want you to do me a kines to
hand this to some good watchmaker and tell himte
see if I can by ainstrument to tell where gold or
silver isinthe ground, orif there is ainstrument
maid to find mettel—gold or silver—that are in the
ground. If it will attrack it—A instrument for that
pero t understand there are such a thing made,

fso. be pleas to tell me where I ean by one and
what it will eost me—It can be sent to New York to
where I can get it--I want to get a instrument
to hunt gold & silver—You will! pleas write to me as
I think if there are sutch athing maid I could get

 

 

 

 

“This is Mr. Low, Mra. Evans. It gives me pleasureto  {
resent him to you.”? The married lady replies according to her

_When rid-
ingin the saddle, he may lift his hat or touch its rim with his

H. 0. P., Troy, N. ¥.—Ist. In passing a group of mourners at —

   

Palma os

  

 

 

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. toward Ethel.

stood by you, any morethan by yonder pale, beanti-

- ear his tone assumed the hissing sound of a vast
ggs i about tospring upon and nail its deadly

fair bosom, while you lay unconscious in your

> beautiful; and so I

 

BETROSBECTION.

BY JOHN F,

 

COWAN.

From out the mists of vanished years
Fond memory’s voice is stealing,

Raised by the sound the past appears
And wakes the fount of feeling.

it brings before my raptured gaze
The young, the fair, the tender,

And lights the scenes of childhood's days
With melancholy splendor.

be

Through intervening time and space,
As if swift pinions bore me,
I journey to my native place,
While memory flies betore me.
Again before me lie spread out
Green bills and woodland aHey,
Again resounds the joyous shout
That echoed through the valle.
‘ Again to early vows of faith
_ My inmost heart is thrilling,
iain before affliction’s breath
|) My aching eyes are filling.
joy my brother’s voice I hear,
ea jister’s fond caressing,
I smile to see my mother’s tear,
' [hear my father’s blessing

Anon, where leafless locusts wave,
And wintry winds are blowing,
Above affection’s lowly grave,
My bitter tears are flowing. ;
Ab, me! what scenes of joy and grief
Are waked by memory’s power,
- Like blossom bright and faded leaf,
The sunshine and the shower.
ne Here like the garlands of the spring
Shine joys that once delighted,
: 3s There hopes lie strewn and withering,
ee ike leaves by winter blighted.

   

*,
eee.

Behold bei faith is springing,
And to the fadeless bowers on high, ,
“© Ber angel flight is winging. 36 bn

Spee fod ARERR von 5 ao
WIDOW’S WAGER.
Lf Rint [attaem on: aes
Northern Hearts and Southern Homes,
|... By ROSE ASHLEIGH,

_ «» OF SOUTH CAROLINA,

Z

ry ass

es 7 : | Peas ———

(“The Widow's Wager” was commenced in No. ll. . Back Nos.
¢an be obtained trom any news agent in the United States.)
“"GHAPTER Ve3 i+
; fost THE ALTERNATIVE.

There was true Spartan courage in Ethel’s delf-

 

"a gor.

- eate and softly molded womanuliness.

She rallied from the shock of. his brutal words
with amazing quickness, and-though whnost too
faint to speak she forced a mocking laughter to her:
lips, as She set her bright glittering glance, that
pisreed like fine Damascus steel, upon the dark ac-
ae eye, and lowly, but with clear firmness, she

Lit fe) : ‘ f

“Will yon do me the favor to come at once tothe
ee, which you are preparing me by tite trligie
RSF ALR Wein. d tain th

of Heaven oman, dare you term thata
farce which is of such ghnotly import to you and to
every creature connected with you?”
innocence can well afford to be fearless; and
since no consciousness of ‘fey even thought
of it toward any creature, alive or dead, ever had. a
moment’s existence in my mind, there is nothing
that I shall not “dare’in the strange and terrible
contest that I feel is opening before me. You have
impiously declared that between your hand and
God’s lies my alternatiye for rescue. Ton thou-

sand times let me perish rather than owe one in-
Stant’s safety to you. y being—as my life on
earth and hope in Heaven—rest ever in that Holy

gens iia your bluspheming lips have so pro-
n :

She was fairly roused now; the azure flame was
flashing in her eyes; the noble flush of womanly in-
dignation glowed upon her cheek; the strength
und all the weakness of her sex cu uf upon her
beauty a8 the bloom upon a rose, and the light of
Sovereigu passions, newly kindled, flickered over
her, as firelight on a gem.

Ravished and dazzled by the sight of her thus, the
wild Scrieg G6 pee lone pent up in Irving Griswold’s
brenst burst the strong 8s of his eg nm wi a

eae ToS ert

    
 

Hs of flerce and torrid emotion. that the fire in
bis veleanic nature had heated li they boiled with-
in that ealdron of all uncleanness that he called his

eart.

He had risen to his feet, but his body swayed as if
swept by a wind. One hand was thrust into the
breast of his coat, the other hung cold and clenched
at his side, and a light foam like that which gathers
to the lips of a maddened beast glistened on his red,
sensual mouth. He spoke with bated breath, as i
afraid to trust his tones, and speaking, he bent

=n.

“I had not wished nor meant to tellitnow. If
eaee not if I evershonid have told you had not you
ashed the truth from me by the merciless thongs
of your sarcasm and bitter contempt. _ Know this
Ethel Haughton. I have loved you during three
scathing years, that have seared into my soul as
heated iron into quivering flesh. Ihave loved you
with the one passion of « whoie passionate life, and
craved you with the hunger of a lion that starvesin
sight of the food which lies inaccessible to him just
beyond the iron of his cage. You knew it—you must
have known it long ago. Yet you repulsed and
avoided me with the coldscornthat one would era |
at a leper crawling by, and hushing a thonusanc
times with your withering glance the wild vonfes-
sion I would fain have made, ifonly to ease the in-
tolerable, fiery pain at my vitals. But why dol
speak of wgonies that can never be felt or under-

ful statue of stone. Such was my state when Elk-
ton rang with the announcement of your bethrothal
to Hugh Haughton—a mere boy, in all the powers
of intellect and feeling, compared with myseif.
knew how worse than vain it was to make any pro-
test, or put forth any efforts to win you from him.
With «a soul more tortured than any flend’s in hell I
submitted to my fate—even witnessed your mar-
riage. And there, Ethel Haughton, my torment, I
had my revenge.”

“You are mistaken—you took it later!” inter-
rupted Ethel, with restored coolness and disdain,
as the infuriated man paused to take breath from
the gusts of passion that were buffeting his flerce
nature,

. He went on speaking as if he had not heard.

“There I had my revenge. when I saw upon your
lovely, pitiless face a dendlier horror for the hus-
band your fate was bound to than for the lover
whom you scorned!—and when a little later it was
known that death had stepped between the, hated
bridegroom and the bride, J needed F
dence that I afterward received to tell
hand it was that sent Hugh Hanghton |
count! I had seen the madness of a de
loathing in our.ege and I knew thenas we "nt
know now that the fatal missile s od from the
dainty hand the priest had joined with that of its
victim—till death should part them!’”

Positively seantied and led by the grand
Batanic villainy of the hideous accuser, who
seemed trausformed, to her bewildered sight, in-
to some tremendous incarnation of evil, Ethel
shrank away from him, cold and cowering with
fright, as of asupernatural horror,

He saw and pursued his advantage, and to Ethel’s

 
 
   

ngs into her heart, as he continued:
ut even then my love forsook you not—nay
but clove the faster to you, as toa qpieit worthy of
my passion! When this, the tangible evidence and
erent of your crime. was placedin my hand
y one who took it from its hiding-place th your

reom’”—{showing a small pisto])—"‘what think you
was my first thought? To save and shield you, my
bribed the witness to silence,
and have stopped all chance of further revelation—
unless it shall become necessary!” (This with the
emphasis and ginre of a mocking devil.) “And
ever since then have I employed the ingenuity of
my brain in weaving about the beautiful ortminnt
a tissue of defensive evidence that no hand but my
own can picka flawin. What then was my dismay
to find this morning that you had invoked a new
pet by the abstraction of your husband’s will—
hat, too, on the back of such wild words as von ut-
tered in the hearing of envious aspirants after the
payee ou fill as virtual mistress of this superb es-
». But even this danger can be warded off, and
shall ba, by my great and tireless love, if only you
will snff4r me to save you—and to—”
nelude that sentence at your perfil, sir!”

Clear, and full, and ringing as the note of a bugle
challenge the high rich toneof the girls angry
warning sounded, as she now stood with crest
6rect. ind features as calm and cold as fate, facing
her dastardly tormentor.

His last words had so eleetrifled her outraged
womanhood that, forgetting all fear, she had sprang
from her seat and confronted him with a look of
sovereignty that fairly spelled the man.

or aspace there was athrobbing silence between

.P what he eould never hope to

 
   
 

ce ee ee ee

<4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #8 = =»

 

 

At last, with the energy of a grand despair, Ethel
exclaimed: 4

“My God, have pity on me! for surely I am de-
livered into the hand of a demon!”

“Not so, my peerless one—or if a demon, one who
will serve thee as well and_ faithfully as an arch-
angel if only thou wilt permit him,” said Griswold.
ea ravished with the idea of ‘the fear he had
inspired, and stimulated by the hope of so encom-

dT passing her ignorant young soul with terror of

is power to destroy her, xs to win by intimidation
et by prayer.

At his last words she turned upon him a flashing

-} look of deflant scorn, and said, impetuously:

“Hour me say it once again, Irving Griswold. I
will die by inches, or in flames, o7 on the gibbet—if
your fiendish plot can place me there—rather than

| suffer a single act of yours to succor my distress!”

He only smiled with well-feigned compassion for
her futile confict against the inevitableness of her
situation, as he replied:

“My love were worth little if it could take offense
at the raving speech of a terrified girk Ihave
waited and wanted long enough, God.knows. I
shall surely not fail now. The solemn issues gre
before you—the removal and concealment, or de-
struction of the wil! must be only oue link the moré
in the chain of evidence that leads back to the mur-
der—and, alas! presumptive evidence of every kind

ers ‘like a cloud of witnesses’ about the fated

and, that, on such proofs as are in my possession,
ugh Haugh-

cant be indicted for the murder of
on
He paused a2 moment, anxiously scrutinizing
Ethel’s face—a mask seemed to have fallen over it;
it told nothing. He added: ~
“Take whatever time that suits you to think the
matter over—meanwhile allis safe with me.
not wish to hasten vour. decision unduly, but de-

must make, Ethel Haughton, between a
doom and the paradise of earthly joys my

 

Q
°

cision
shame.

love would make for you!” | { .
Only her eyes answered him, and they were emit-

 
    
 

ting rays of clear cold lightthat awed him strangely;
he had never seen anything likethem before; cou
no calculus known to his science determine
iat. they betokened; the passions of the senses
oer an the emotions were all well defined to his.
nowledge, for he had studied them long and care-
fully; butthe passion of the soul! Ah, here was
mystery! the interior doubt and confn-
sion that possessed him did not appear upon the
surface, and with a smile of conscious power and
infernal audacity that Lucifer himself could not
have recalled, the infamous accuser glided likea
aiuied viper -from the victim: whose veins it had
suc ry. i
Let not the reader take the use of that most ex-

pressive adjective infe; int
poanose sense to which it istoo often and too
ightly applied, but rather in that horrid and sub-
lime significance that the great tragic poet, Milton,
gives it, when used to describe the superhuman
qualities of evil. And we kuow that by fostering
and educating the evil in man it can me super-
human, thesame asthe saintlier attributes may, and
often do, become so a eee pure thet we
say of some beings, without hyperbole, “‘an::cis on
earth.” So may there be demons on earth.
Left to her own refiections, the wretched girl
abandoned ber soul to the dismal horror that
seemed to brood with great shadowy wings over
her young life.
To whom should she turnin this awful strait?
The frail, weak-natured, inefficient mother, the
cold, unsympathetic father—what could these do
more than aggravate by their grief and apprehen-
sion the painfulness of the situation—or. perhaps,
madden her heart by giving forced credence to the
urk appearances that netted her in.
Better than she dared admit to herself, she knew
that Irving Griswold would not have dared to con-
ceive and announce that devil’s plot against her
unless he had established himself in some almost
impregnable position, and armed himself with in-
vincible evidence,
lling, as she now could, the many oceasions
in the past, when, with the intuitive aversion of a
pure nature for a vile one. she had avoided and
repulsed the bold admiration for her lovely person
which she had seen and flash over her from the
licentious gaze of “the old bachelor.” as Mr. Gris-
wold was josey termed by the girls of Elkton.
' Ethel could not help but know what bitter resent-
ment so gross and malignant a nature as his was
capaole of feeling and of manifesting against one
who had not only defe: his most powerful pi
sions, but injured his self-love by contempt:
rejection of all his overtures; and although he
never uttered a sentence to her which could
strued into a declaration of love, he had, nev
less, bean repeatedly repulsed by her too ey
dislike for himself, and disgust for his attentions.
Even should she make known what had ses day
transpired between them, unwitnessed, wlio would
receive such a statement as proof of his malignant
motives or revengeful designs against her? Would
it ather seem a fabrication of her own hatched
; ime his Meanie v Siiiie ee
as she knew of the prop ities involved.
her intuitions told her Hew little faith
given by public opinion to any injuri

 
     
    
 

 

    
 
 
  

 

      
      
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
   

 
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
   
 
 
  
        

 

        

    
  
     
    
 

 

    

 

   
  
   
 
  

  

 
 

and moral crime. against the honor or integrity of

the man who would make it appear that he had im-
iled his own reputation in the sight of the law
to shield her, thealleged murderess,
i Plainly there was
¢ r her from the terrible arraign-

{ threa her, unless she should
yield herself to the diabolical alternative he pro-
pared. and thus be finally infolded in the machina-

ions of this man’s infamy. and become the victim
of his hideous passion, and she more than suspect-
ed that to Griswold’s violent admiration for herself
was allied another and not less powerful motive
for the prosecution of his scheme to get possession
of her—namely, his avarice,

Strong, indeed, must be the. pressure that cduld
make him loose his grip onthe chance of becoming
the master of Exmoor as well as of its mistress.
Thus she stood alone, confronted by the two most
potent and insatiate fiends out of the reeking pre-
eincts of Hades—lust and avarice—both with strong
arms outstretched to grasp her!

As she east her thoughts wildly through the range
of dark possibilities that hedged her in, shudder-
ing with a dreary sense of her hopelessness and is-
elation, there seemed to come with wonderful
vividness a vision of the ealm, noble face of Erl
Cassidy as she had seen it last, bent over her all
radiant with its glad smile—strong. resolute, self-
contained, as if above andimpervious tothe illsand
fears of weaker mortals.

The touch of his light, kind hand-clasp seemed
tangibly felt; the very tones of the clear, bell-like
.voige seemed in the air about her uttering again
those words of promise to be her faiend, and serve
and nid her in the time to come,

dreaming what spell was on her fresh and
plastic nature, or of the deep sweet meanings that
were stealing into her thoughts of the proud-eyed
stranger who was so cold and formal to others,
so tender and sympathetic to her, Ethel made no
questioa ot where her heart might be drifting.
She was young, and pure, and natural. She suf-
fered, and needed comfort and consolation, and
her soul went out to seek for sympathy; not to tha
old and life-worn, but to one whose eyes had said
to her: “I, too,am young, I, too. am lonely; na-
ture and sorrow make us akin!’ In all the
world there was no face she somed 80 much to see
as the clear, true, manly free of Erl Cassidy.

As if the higher will, the mightier nature had
flang its shadow before it to command the atten-
tion of her weaker being by calling into life these
wishful thoughts of her absent friend, Ethel's rev-
erie was broken by the sound of approaching steps
along the hall—steps that already she had learned

 

        
 

know—aud Dr, Cassidy was admitted to her
presence,
CHAPTER VI.
DRIFTING,

With the thoughtless, glad ¢ty of a child who sees
a face that it knows and trusts suddenly presented
to its view in a moment of dunger, or asituation of
loneliness, Ethel sprang forward with the words:
bs ont am so glad! glad you have come to

6

“So am I, then; but why do youshake and quiver
80? hy are. your hands so cold, your cheeks so
blanched? Come, sit down again and tell me
coe it; or, rather, get calm first, and then tell

e,

Speaking thus in the bright, encouraging way
one would employ tosootheand quiet a frightened
or nervous child, Dr. Cussidy led Ethel across the
chamber to a divan. where he placed himself be-
side her, while carefully avoiding any scrutiny of
her troubled face, Yet to his observing and divin-
ing eye it was clearly apparent that some most un-
nsual occurrence had_transpired to make such
painful disturbance in Ethel’s self-controlled man-
ner, and to excite her nerves so violently; and hav-
ing met the lawyer just beyondthe Exmoor Avenne,
the doetor was not slow to connect Ethel’s tremul-
ons condition with the visit of the man for whom
she entertained so eee a detestation, that the
mere mentionof his name seemed to rouse her
strongest feelings. Ethel was all unnerved now
that there was no longer any need for her tostand
ereet behind the mail breastplate of her woman’s
pride and courage. The touch and tone of gentle,
protective kindness seemed to steal all her strength
from her, and she sat quite still, unable to spenk
because of the swift reaction from pain and fear, to
faith and rest.

he sidy seemed to understand just how it was
with her, for he waited for her to collect herself be-
fore pressing further notice upon her agitation,
and while seeming not to observe her effort to grow
ealm, he took from the pocket of his coat a package
which he quickly unfolded, and disvlosed a variety
of _nictures. :

Ethel watched the deliberate movements of his
slim, shapely hands attheirtask. There was some-
thing reassuring to her sensitive, and nowirritable

nal in the common and blas- | b

Ways In this labyrinth of all str

would be |

They seemed capable of so much. In thehole as-
pect, and the reposeful presence of the nn, wus a
consciousness of a vast reserve of morgund in-
tellectual power, that would make him eqijl to any
emergency. _

In a word, that look of intense self-siiciency
which characterizes men who have foug! single-
handed with life and its misfortunes, anilearne
to look for no certain aid outside of theinwn per-
sonal resources. In his quieting, magnet way, he
said:

“T fancied you might like to look at thse lovely
views throu your fine stereoscope. ‘hey are
some I collected during my travels in theiast, and
in Europe, and all them have some of ay notes,
written on the spots from which they prepuce. I
think you will find most of them newto oun, for I
seldom gather up the same souviners tiat other
people fancy. The quaint things, and sadest ones,
are usually those that appeal to me moststrongly.
For instance, this.” a

He selected a picture of an elephant, with a
small child perched upon its neck, and shoved
it to Ethel. ; we

‘What is the history of that?” she asked. —

There was once in a small town in Hindétin a
poor lame man who owned ashow-elephint, wich
supported him, his wife, and little child, by exlibit-
ing its tricks in the public square, and afteryar
going round to each person present and jiolling
outa basket with its trunk to receivethe dopatons.
If they were liberal, the elephant gave a gratisper-
formance—if stingy. he threatened, and someiimes
inflicted, a blow with his trunk on those Win re-
fused alms, =

“On one occasion the owner of the beas me
intoxicated, and struck the elephant unjustlywith
his goad. This so enraged the noble servan' that
with one fell blow he killed his master. Thépoor

wife, standing near, with the little child only four
reurs Old in her arms, cried out in ang is she
eld the infant out tothe elephant: — oa | ee
““Here! you have killed the father, now kil the

 
 
  
   

child and me!’ Bu 6)
Quick as light the grand beast gathered thy babe
in. his enormous trunk, and tossed it upon k,

where the lame man had been accuston
while the dumb, gigantic performer went t
his tricks, and settling the little boy—who hk
been there before,and was by no means :
upon his perch, the elephant begsin to pla
wonderful brilliancy of acting. impre
new feats for the diversion of the crowd \
gathered, and taking up a larger colle

ever before, in all his artistic career. F
time forth the widow and child were better car

for, more Hipevally, supported than whemthe master
lived, and alithrough the inalienablefidelity of a

east. os P
By the time this narrative had been {old, with in-
finite ne and in very muchthe eavith in-
phatic style that the narrator would have employed
toward a little child, Ethel’s face had grown calm,
and the great humid violets of her eyes looked up
contidingly into the strong man’s majterful coun-
tenance. She said: oe =
“That is both quaint and sad. Such instances of
the reasoning faculty and moral_inipulse in the
du BD animal are yery startling. Dohot you think

 
 
 
  
  

   

ov i

 

Rn
°

“Yes, at first thought; yet not so dartling as the
more common instances of stultifiel thought and
brutish nature that we constantly fiyd in the high-
< ore of animals, that had mel better be
umb.
“Oh, that is sotrue! How can wé¢ reconeile our
minds to the ideathatsome men aje ‘madein the
image of God?’” said Ethel, with ashudder, as she
recalled the brutal and imp-like sountenance of
Irving Griswold. , Sod ;
‘All men are made with that diviaer_ sense which

is octal called ‘the image of God;’ but, alas!
few of them retain it against_the continual warfare
that ‘the world, the flesh, and the devil’ wage with
man’s nobler nature.” Rusa:
“Do you not think there have been some beings
created, out of whose organism this ‘diviner sense’
was intentionally left?” usked 1, scarce aware
of the attack her question made upon the All Good.
“No, no; that conclusion is impossible, because
we know that God is Justice, as mueh as He is Love
Mercy, and that He must endow every creature
with that faculty which gives him a chance for the

a me ve mare os comenem

 

should be so, but she felt that she would rather die
than have Erl Cassidy aware of allthat had trans-

Irving Griswold.
d|whether you confide in me or not,” said the doctor,

gently, and his grasp tightened with a reassuring
pressure round the slender, quivering fingers, that

rors that hedged her in. She knew not why _ it

ired, or even suspect the abhorrent passion which
urned for her in the black, abyssmual heart of

“You cannot? Never mindthem. I will help you

had grown cold and nervous in the anguish of
Ethel’s retrospective thought, | i

“Oh, you will not, cannot think Iam silent be-
cause I am afraid to give you my confidence!” cried
Ethel, in a low, suffering tone, as she raised her
eyes to question his.

“No, no; I do not for one moment think that, nor
anything that does injustice to your womanly soul.
But if you could rid yourself of all hesitation, and
speak te me as if I were as old, and as gray, and us
wise as any of the sages, I am sure it would be
better for you, because with your nature repressive
and dumb enduranee is/a terrible torment. You
have intense need of a quieting hand to lean on—of
a calmer soul to stand beside yours in the tempest-
blow that will sweep by you; and I faney that you
will not find any such among ‘those who are your
natural supporters.” . }

What do you know of my difficulties?” asked
Ethel, in a scared way, surprised by his clear un-
ene of her position, in point of personal
eeling.

The doctor smiled in his peculiar, inserutable
fashion, and replied:

“Almost nothing; but when one has a good pair
ofeyesand a tolerably clear judgment, one must
draw inferences, at least, from the characters and
incidents that surround one. And perhaps no call-
ing in life gives a man a better opportunity tostudy
mankind and Jearn wisdom by observation than
that of a perce The priest of the body sits in
a confessionalblittle less solemn and revealing than
that where the priest of the soul dispenses penance
and absolution.”

“Ah! if I only could make a full confession to you,
my good friend!’ But—” E

“Well, no matter. Do not distress yourself on
that seore. You will Shenk when you must—that is
to say, when your need expression becomes
reaterthan your imagined need of concealment.
ntil then I can wait.” | '
Ethel felt a hot,scarlet wave sweep over her at these
words, She felt us if the bright, amber ‘rays of Erl
Cassidy’s calm eves had pierced right through her
soul, lighting up its seeret chambers, and revealing
its most hidden thoughts. How else could he have
known that she felt an imperative “need of conceal-
ment” that outweighed every other feeling?
“When Imust! Then yon believe I shall sometime
be obliged to tell you all?” she asked. wonderingly
and timidly, as if half afraid of him, as of a being
ee might place her under some strong com-

ulsion.
5 “T know that you will; but never look so troubled
aboutit. Noone nor any circumstances will force
you todo so; but you will speak from the fullness
of your own heart, when it can hold its pent-up tides
no longer—when it must have help with its burden;
then, and not sooner, will you tell me all.” |
He had risen now, and was drawing on his gloves
to go. Ethel. watched his slow, deliberate move-
ments; they spelled and stilled her tremulous
fibers of brain and heart. Her eyes took in the
elegance and of sere of his tall stature, the
proud lift of his head, the elastic grace ot his limbs,
the quiet neatness of his unpretentious attire, the
sunny purity of his delicate linen—all were minutely
noted as only a woman’s scrutiny can sum up de-
tails, and all seemed in perfect harmony with the
man—the psychal man, as her mental and moral
perceptions had measured him. :
“You must not sit herein this dimness and soli-
tude; your mind is too disturbed to find any relief
in distraction in books, and your eye too familiar
with these surroundings to find diversion in them
for yourthoughts. You must go out into the air
and the sunshine. Take no nervines even if they
are prescribed for you. but exercise rapidly, and
be out of doors as much us possible, no matter how
eold so that it does not rain. Will you do this be-
enuse I ask you to?” said the doctor, as he bade her
good-by. ;

Ethel fancied that she

  

ht the faintest’empha-

 

blessed immortality in ‘the alkhail hereafter,’
Some may misuse, others bury the precious talent,
but none are denied it.” 4
“Dr. Cassidy, do yon believein the ‘Providence
that shapes our ends’ and guides our a nd
ge griefs ,
As I believe in my own soul!” answered the
sweet, strong lips, earnestly.
“How then are we to understand the sad aban-
donment of some who are inn@eent and weak, to
ne merciless grasp of those-~wJo are guileful and
stron
“Ah,the earth rings with

     

 
 
  
 

    

little friend; but there is es ay

chor to the soul who Jooks high
w horizon of ‘this dull

@ book of alld

   
 

ry a an Ng aaa —
“Ay; then, teo. any the destiny
seems shaped out and lived out here; but it, Ii
often seemed to dying the lives and for-
tunes of the nob ong our species, that from
those to whom the t of the divine essence is im-
parted, the most of pain, and soul travails, and_all
unrest has been, and is, and will be required. We
know not ‘allthe uses of this world,’ how then can
we measure the scope of that hidden destiny for
which the fears of life are but as school days to the
full maturity of the unknown future?”
“I see. You think the crown of sorrow is for the
highest heads,” said Ethe}, softly, her eyes lustrous
with sympathy in his noble philosophy
“You have uttered_my thoughts very beautifully.
Yes. Was notthe Holy One crowned with it, and
the crown pressed down until its sharp thorns
drew the precious life-blood? The purest of all
humanity, the nighest to divinity, have been those
for whom the furnace of life was ‘seven times heat-
ed.’ Ido not speak only of physical or of temporal
sufferings, but of those wilder pangs that have no
voice—those deeper wounds that make ne scars
upon the surface,” i

‘How strongly and graphically you speak of
pain,” said Ethel, touched by the deep and melan-
choly earnestness of. his tone, the somber intro-
spective look that had come npon his face. ,
“Have I not need ?” he asked, with asad smile, a
a weary inflection of his voice. “I, whose way lies
along its paths, who continually see its most hag-
gard phases? There is no other yoeation half so

         

 
 

           

 

 

of all kinds of pain as a physician’s.”

“Yes, I know that, but you could never have
learned so much, nor dissected the subject so feel-
ingly, merely from observing it in others.”

“Do you think any life is free of it ?”
“No. Isu pasos not, but some have so much; and,
pardon me, but I think yours is,of that same——”

“Of course, you know that it is. You are too
whole and tender a woman notto discern by sym-
foun the presence of suffering, no matter where

t abides. May [tell you my story ?—that is if it
will make my claim stronger on your trust.”

“You have no need to strengthen that,” said Ethel,
ron. a faint calor warming her fage,

“Well, then, if it will giveme a better right to
your sympathy, and to the privilege of helning you
when I can; for oe knowthere is no other bond
acres a fe pean fn sorrow.”

Ishall be very proud of your confidence, and
oh, 80 glad to give vou sympathy; but nothing, I
think, can alter the privileges of the friendship
that already exists—~”

“Nevertheless zee shall hear all that is of good
or ill belonging tothe pastof him you so gener-
ously believein. Here it is—al? of it,”

CHAPTER VII.
MURDER-TRAOKS.

“Can _youtrust me entirely now, little friend?”
asked Erl Cassidy, with a mournful sweetness in
his pure, rich voiee, a smile hatf-sad, half-pitiful,
on his lips, as he held out his hand to Ethel, whose
face was turned aside and drooped to hide the tears
his sorrowlul life history had e¢éalled into her

eyes.

i did trust you ‘entirely’ before,” said Ethel,
softly, as sh» pluced her delicate rosy palm fear-
lessly within the firm, strong elasp that was waiting

or it.
“Yes, I know that you did; but you bad no special
renson for the trust then.”

“One need not care to reason about a comforting
fact; and if yon had never told me what I know
now. the confidence would have remained.”

“You are a very brave woman to meet astranger’s
overtures of friendship with such candid unreserve,
Others. mistrust me—why should not you also ?”

“I neither know nor care how that may be; my
heart knows yon to be worthy of its faith, and sim-
ply gives it, asking no questions.”

“A woman all through to the core of your heing!
Keep that unfearing heart pure, and deaf and blind
to all logic hut its own true intuitions, child, and
life ean hold no harm for your soul’s peace.”
“Perhaps not for the soul's perce; but just now I
cannot see that life is much else than a wilderness
of dangers, untraced by anysure path, unlit by any
guiding star.”

“The path is there, nevertheless. and the star is
over it, though sometimes vailed by vapors too
dense to let its ray steal through.”

“How ean either help the wanderer, if hidden the
way, and obscured the light?”

“The winds will merely sweep the vapors from
the sky, meantime, and to the earnest seeker the
way will be revealed. Rut why speak to me in
riddles? Cnn youn not let me help you in the
trouble that fills your vista with confusion?”

Ethel shivered at the bare thought that this man

 

 

 

 

them, and the air seemed vibrant with the repressed
emotions of each,

fancy in the mege motion of those supple fingers.

beside her should catch even a glimpse of the hor-

drat wild, weary ery
from many & heart as sorely tri@d as your own, my

  
    
 
 

  
 
   
 

   

auspicious fora close and intelligent observation

mide her pulse
s sosolicitous for her
ier to attach impor-

  
  

sis on the Penen “TY. are
quicken a little to think. bh
welfare, # nd that sy wished |
tance to his request. patie
“Of course I will: but you aré Jeaving directions
as if I were never to see or hear from you again,”
she said, laughingly. fen. i} as ‘
The goes face was yery serious as he an-
swered: . : ;
“ITshall call sometimes, of Course; you must
know I should like to weary. often, but yeu must ‘et
me be the judge of when I ein come, and leave no
bit for the gossips to make a feust on. alt always
be near when you need me; that will suffice, Good-

Ethel sood by the window ‘ill his figure—sitting
the dark Arab horse he hestrode like some eques-
trian statue in bronz down t vn
Pyvista of th nue oa - 8he hoy
or more, se 0

 
  

 

  
 
 

 
 

of soul swept back upo!

Quivering through all her frame, she went for-
ward and picked up a man’s glove.

 

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
-—_—>- 9-4

 

{The vight to 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.)

 

PART SECOND.

CHAPTER IY.
IN WHICH JOANNA RUNS AWAY.

How long she lies she cannot tell. A panic of
horror and despair at herself and the deed she has
done fills her. Has she murdered him? She has
threatened often enough to kill some of themin
her ungovernable bursts of temper if they will not
let her alone—has she done it at last? It is not
sorrow that stirs her, nor fear; itis a panic of dark-
est despair and misery such as in ali her miserable
life she has never felt before. She crouches there
in the snow. feeling no cold, numb soul and body.
A hurried step erunches over the frezen ground
there is an exclamation—a hand touches her shoul- ,
der, and strives to lift her head. ‘
“Joanna!” a breathless voice say. “Joanna,
what {fs this?” ta ‘
Itisafriendly yoice. She lifts her stricken, de- :
spairing eyes to a friendly face. The sight breaks
the torpor of agony. she springs to her feet, and
flings her armas about his neck,

“George Blake!’ she cries, witha choking sob;
“George Blake! George Blake!”

The young fellow holds her to him—pity, terror,
blank consternation in his face,
“Joanna, what is allthis? What have yon been
doing? What has that—that brute been doing to
you? Do you know they say thiitt you”—he chokes
over the words—"‘that you have killed him?”

She gives agasp,and still clings hold of him.’
The whole world seems slipping away; she seems
to stand inthe wide universe alonein her desola-
tion, with only this single friend.

“T have been to the house,” he goes on; “all is
confusion there. Jud has gone for a doctor; there
is blood on the floor, and on the whip-handle they
sry you struck him with.. He is lying. bleeding
still, and stunned, on the settee in the kitchen. The
girls say you have killed him. Oh! Joanna, speak
and tell me what it is?” ;
She triestodoso. Her words are broken and in-
coherent, but he manages to get at the story—the
provoéation, the attack, the reprisal. His eyes
flush with honest indignation. ©

“The brute! the cowardly scoundrel! You served
him right, Joanna—you acted in self-defense. Even
if he is killed, which I don’t believe, you. have
served him right. But he will notdie. A beast like
that stands a great deal of killing. Don’t shake so,
my dear; don’t wear that haggard face—it will be
all right. Itell youit is only what you ought to
have done long ago. The black, sullen dog! to take
his horsewhip to you!” He grinds his teeth. “I
hope he will bear the mark of your blow to his dy-
ing day!”

She slips out of hisarms, and sitsdownona
fallen logsher hands clasping her knees, after her
old fashion, that miserable, hunted look never
leaving her eyes,

“T knew you would come here,” the young man
goes on, seating himself beside her: “itis always
your sanctuary in troubled times, my poor Joanna,
Oh, my dear! my dear! my poor, ill-used, suffer-

jing girll if I could only take your. place, and en-

dure all this for you!”
She holdsout her hand to htm’ silently. He isso

 

ret waive.

“yhe ailenee throb
seemed chillier—the Pr
the keen sea wind cutting through it. The little
chamber, so rich and luxurious, and a little while
before so full of a nameless,charm, oppressed her
with its narrowness and stillness—the empty place
where her friend had sat beside her intensified the
dreariness when her eyes involuntarily turned to
that spot as she moved from the window.

On the carpet, where he had stood while bidding
her adieu, a little square of pasteboard had
dropped, most. probably fallen from his pocket us
he drew his gloves out.

Ethel picked it. ye It was only his card with his
address written in his own singular chirography:
*“Erl Cassidy, M. D.”

The delicious, spicy fragrance of delicate cigars
exhaled from it, the same odor that had greeted her
when he shook out his spotless hundkerchief of
dainty eambrie.

By an indeserlbable impulse, half sensuous, half
sad. she put the eard to her lips and breathed in the
warm perfume—it seemed to be a part of himself
that he had left behind to keep her company—the
mere holding of the card-board in her hands—the
sight of his name upon it—all gave it an almost
sentient meaning to her irritable faney.

There was a rap at the door; with a startled move-
ment she thrust the card in the bosom of her dress
—herself unconscious of how much significance
this involuntary act contained. The black footman
entered.

“Dinner is ready, mistress; Mrs. Howe asks if
you we have it served here or come to the dining-
room

“Here, Brutus, if you please—” ;

Ethel shuddered at the idea of dining alone in
the great sumptuous saloon of the chateau.

The ghosts of the wild revelers, whose orgies
had been the theme of nursery tales for the gener-
ations of Elkton, would rise up to mock the solitary
state of the black-robed widow if she ventured to
preside over the guestless board; at best the meal
would be a mere formality: in the abnormal con-
dition of her mind the bodily functions seemed to
have suspended their natural tasks,

The tempting repast which the dignified old but-
ler spread out before her on a tiny round table, was
discussed almost untouched, and ordering her
wraps, Ethel set out for a walk in the spacious

park,

The west was still brilliant with the golden after-
glow that seemed left by the departing sun as
escort to the queen of night that swung a silver
crescent just above the dark_plumy pinetops, fol-
lowing like a enptive in the day-god’s train.

The wind had lulled, but left a little keenness in
the air; through the openings of the forest gleams
of the whitening sea flashed, showing toumy cups,
and spectral sails of fisher’s boats hurrying home-
ward. Thescream of gulls sounded shrilly above
oe grees: tones of the roaring breakers over the

arbor bar.

The night was falling coldly. and Ethel felt the
dry leaves crushing drearily beneath the tread of
her dainty foot, shod fairily in soft kid boots that
fitlike molded wax...”

She was making her way through a pathless por-
tion of the dense, woody park grown up in huge
magnolias, beeches, and live-oaks. It was her first
ramble—indeed her first appearance outside of her
new home, The sylvan beauty and tropical luxu-
riance of the underwood delighted her nature-
loving eyes, and she roamed on swiftly, feeling the
circulation quicken in her elastic young veins. and
that fesiing of emancipation that comes to the
senees in the open country or the grandeur of pri-
meval forests.

While passing through a thick coppice. gather-
ing richly-tinted leaves and sprigs of vines as she
went, she felt her step sink suddenly, as if in sott
new mold that was different to the velvety eurpet-
ing of moss which lay behind her. She stopped,
drew back: and noticed that the impression of her
hoot had been left in the damp green moss, which
had the appearance of having been disttirbed and
hastily replaced, as if some sharp. flat implement
had beer thrust under and then withdrawn.
Curious—she knew not why—Etiel stooped, and
with the branch of a fagot removed the loose sod.
The light was going fast, but there was enough left
to show the flash of metal: she felt a hard sub-
stance resist the stem of oak in her hand, and,
‘reaching down ia the soil, she drew ont a pistol.

A wild, sickening sense of impending mystery,
or of revelation, rushed upon her; she stood trem-
bling, with the weapon grasped tightly in her hand,
her eyes wandered with afrightened eagerness
around the precinct where the deadly missile had
been buried: all her faculties seemed sharpened
and quickened by the strained tension of her mind,
and her peering sight discerned a small gray some-
thing just beyond thespot where the pistol had

 
  
  

 
  
    
 

    
    
 

“ayOUT Hers the-niv
sunshine bleaker with

good,so Jeal, her one loyal friend and knight.
‘Great slow tears well up, and soften the blank an-
guish of her hopeless eyes,

“Iwill tell you what I will do,” he says, after a
pause. “I feel sure the fellow will not die—these
venomous reptiles are so tenacious of life—still we
both feel anxious. If you will wait here, I will go
back tothe house and find out. I will return and
tell youthe truth—the worst certainty is better than
suspense. Only promise me”—he clasps the cold
hand he holds hard—“you will not do anything—
anything rash while I am gone.”

He looks toward the pond, lying dark and stag-
nant, under the evening sky; then his troubled
eyes seek her face.

“Promise me, Joanna,” he says, “you will stay
here until I return.”

“I promise,” she says,and he knows she will
keep her word.

He rises instantly, and without a moment's delay
starts off on his mission.

She keeps her word to the letter. She sits as he
has left her, never even stirring until he returns,
The last opal-tinted gleam of sunset dies awny, the
frosty January stars come thickly out, the night
wind rises bleakly, the frogs croak dismally down
in the fetid depths of their slimy pools, She does
not stir; apathy succeeds agony ;'she hardly feels:
she is benumbed, stupefied—she neither cares nor
fears longer.

Presently, but it is a long time, too, the footsteps
erunch once more over the frozen snow, and
George Blake comes rapidly forward. One look at,
his face telis his news—it is bright, eager, smiling:
his step is alert and buoyant. i

“All right, Joanna,” he calls, gayly. “It is as I
said; the fellow is going to live to grace the gal-
lows yet. It is un ugly gash, and has lethim a Jot
of blood—as much as if he were a bullock. but it is
bandaged up now,and he’s asleep. I heard the
doctor tell him,” says George, laughing, “it was the
best thing could have hnppened to him; it had
probably saved hima fit of apoplexy, and that he
ought to keep you asa sort of family leech, to break
his head at intervals. ‘It is very bad blood,’ says
the doctor. ‘and you’re the better for losing a gal-
lon or two of it.”’

George’s laugh rings out boyishly; the relief is

so unutterable,
But she does not look glad, she doves not speak,

she does not smile. She sits quite still. looking
straight before her, at the pale, snow-lit, star-lit
landscape. /

His face, too, grows grave as he regards her.
“And now, Jo,” he says, resuming his seat beside
her, “what next ?”

He has to repeat the question before she seems
to hear, then the blank gaze turns to his face,

“You cannot go back there,” he says, and he sees
her shrink and shudder at thethought. “You can-
not stay here. Then what are you to do?”

She makes no reply.

In all the wide world, he wonders, as he watches
her, is there another creature so forlorn, 80 home-
less as this!

“Perhaps you will go to Abbott Wood?” he suge
gests. And at that she finds her voice, and breaks
out with a great despairing cry.

“Oh, no,no,no! Neverthere! Never there any
more! Oh, what will Mrs, Abbott say? Oh, me!
oh. me! oh, me!”

He sits in silent distress. Great sobs tear and
rend their way up from her heart. She weeps
wildly aloud.. He has never séen’* Joanna ery bee
fore—few ever have—and the tortured sobs shake
him through and through.

“Don’t, Joanna!l” hesays. “Oh. do not! I can-
not bear to hear you. Don’t ery like that!”

 

 

been covered with the moss.

As well ask the tide not to.flow. Repressed na-

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ture will have its revenge; she must .weep or die.|a wrap. Here is a cloth jacket, handsomely} And yetitay!
trimmed; she unhooks it. Then, as ske is: moving
away, a last article catches her eye. It is a crimson
ous pang wrings George Biake’s heart—how she ; woo! shawl, a rich and glowing wrap, and the pride

But still the question, is ;
unanswered—what is it be done, and the night

She sobs on und on, until the paroxysm spends it-
selfyand she stops from sheer exhaustion. A jeal- |

loves this Mrs. Abbott!

wears on. George’s watch points toten. He holds | need, makes her add this to the heap. She returns
it out to her in silént appeal. to the kitchen, her arms filled with her spoils, She
“Wait,” she says. ‘Let me think. Let me! has already secured one or two ‘little gifts of Mrs,

think!”

Thé hysterics have done her good; her apathy is
swept away; she is fully aroused to asense of her
situation—to the importance of that question—

what next ?

She sits and thinks. Impossible to return to
Sleaford’s—horror fills her at the thought. More
impossible still to go to Abbott Wood after thisterri-
ble deed. Besides, even if she could, even if Mrs.
Abbott would consent to overlook her almost being
a murderess, Giles Sleaford would never let her
stay. She would be brought back tothe farm by
force-then, what is to be done?

She looks up atlast; her black eyes turn to the
face of hér companion, and fix there in such a long,
searching stare that he is disconcerted.

“What is it, Joanna?” he asks.: “You know there
is nothing in all the’ world I: would not do for
you.”

Nothing?” she tersely repeats.

“Nothing that man can do.”

“You asked me the other day to marry you.
you'marry me now?” >... {

“Will It? his face .lights w'p'with’ quick joy—he
catches both her hands; "‘willI!, Oh, Joanna!”

“Will you take me to New York to-night, and
marry me to-mortow ?” ap

“Sharb work?” lie says, “but even that. may be
accomplished. Iwillitake you to New York, and I
will marry you! Joanna! Joanna! how happy you
have made mé!’’s

“Il” she says, mournfully. “I make any one
happy! Oh! George Blake, you, will hate me one
day for this! I ought not to ask it--I ama wretch
—almost a murdetess—not fit to.be any good man’s
wife. And you aregood. Oh! Iought not! Iought
not!” © Tei?

“You ought—you must!” he exclaims, alarmed.
“What honsense’ you ure talking, Jo! Murderess
indeed! The pity is you did not give the cur twice |
as much. Ah! what care I will take of you, Joan- |
na, how happy I will make you. You will forget

Will

of Liz’s soul.
Some faint spirit of diablerie, more than actual

Abbott’s and Leo’s: A gold breastpin, a pearl and
ruby ring, and her very last New Year’s gift—a little
gold watch and chain—the watch Mrs, Abbott’s
present, the chain Goeffry’s, the ring Leo’s. And
now in the warm kitchen she arrays: lierself delib-
erately in pilfered plumes, with a sort of wicked
zest in the tremendous uproar there will be to-mor-
row. Dan’s mishap will be nuthing to this—Liz and
Lora will go straight out of their senses.

“It is not stealing,” ‘the girl says to: herself, “I
have worked for them all my life; I have earned
| these things ten times over. And they have taken
lots of mine—Mrs. Abbott’s gifts. Ihave a right to
take what I want.”

; Once dressed she seats herself, and waits impa-
tiently for the clock to strike four. Sheis eager to
be off, toturn her back forever upon this hated
house, these hated people, to begin the world anew.
A new life is dawning for her; whatever it brings it
can bring nothing half so bad as the life she is
leaving: New York! the thought of that great city
and its possibilities dazzles her. Of George Blake
she thinks little. He is perforce part of that new
life, but she would rathér he were not. She does not
' care for him, he tries her with his boyish fondness,
and insipid loye-making. Still she cannot do with-
out him—so Mrs. George Blake, willy nilly, it seems
she must be.
One, two, three, four! from the old wooden Con-
necticut clock. She draws a long breath of relief
rises, makes her way out, as she made it in. '
| The night has changed—the morning is dark,
damp, dismal. George Blake is waiting, poor faith-
fulsentinel. He comes up, his teeth chattering,
white rime on mustache and hair..
“At last,” he says, wearily; “give you my -honor
Joanna, I thought the time would never come’
What a night this hasbeen! Shall you. ever forget
it?” sity
She does not speak, she looks back darkly at the
house she is leaving.

 

 

this wretched life and these miserable people. You
shall have my whole heart and life.”

ful voice,.“whateiwill she say? And your aunt— |
good Miss Rice?’ Oh! yowfoolish fellow! Take me
to New York, but do not marry me. Let me earn my
own Jiving—I am young, and strong, and willing,
and used to hard work. Iwillbeakitchen maid—
ehything. No life ean be so hard,:so sordid, as the
life Plead here.” Gh ass

“T will marry you,” he says, “I refuse to release
you. You said you would be my wife and you must
I cannot live without you. Oh! Joanna,” the}
young fellow cries outdn) a burstof passion, “you |
torture me! Cannot’you see that I love you ?”

She shakes her head.

'“No,? she says, “I cannot see it,nor understand
it. Whatis there in me—plain, red-haired, ill-tem-
pered Joanna, to love?) And I do not care for you.”

“That will comein time. I will beso good to you,
so fond of you, you will not be able to help it. Say
no more about it,Joanna. I claim you'and will
Have you!” , june

“Very well,” she answers, resignedly;“‘remem-
ber whatever comes, I have warned you. Now set-
tle all the rest yourself. I trust you—I am in your
Hands.” = . encod Bb! 5

“And [will be true to your trust,“he says, fer-
vently, ‘so help me Heaven!”

He lifts one of her hands, the red, work-hardened
hands, to his lips) And then for a little they sit in
silence. — : ; {
© %t is a strange betrothal—the hour of night, the |
gloomy scene, white snow, ‘black woods, dead si-
lence, starry sky, and Black’s*Danr,evil and omi- |
nous, at their feet. All George Blake’s life-long,
#hat picture stands out, distinct from all others, in
his memory—he and this strange girl who fasci-
nates him, sitting there, the only creatures it seems, |
left in all the world!

“Let me'see,” he says, returning to the practical, |
“there is no up-train to the city before five o’clock.
That isthe one I generally go by, when I spend a
night in Brightbrook. It is now past eleven! how
are we to get through the intervening hours? ‘You
will perish if we Stay here.” of

“And I must‘havesomething to wear,” says Joan- |
na, glancing at her dress. It is the grimy, well- |
‘worn old Alpaca. “Let mesee, They are not likely
to sit up to-night with him, are they ?” i
| “Not ih the least likely, I should say. He is all |
right; was snoring like a grampus when I left.
Why ?” ! : ;

“I must get into the house, and get something ‘to |
“wear. I cannot go to New York like this.”

He sees that she cannot, but still he looks anxious |
and doubtful.
“It is a risk,” he says. 3
“Not at all, if they do not sit up. I can always
'get’'in, and once in bed Iam not afraid of that fam-
‘fly. They sleep as if for a wager. It is a risk I
“must run. I must have a better dress, ashawl and
hat. And I can wait indoors until it is time to start
‘for the station,”
“Ab hour will take us,” Blake says. “Come then,
Joanna, lét us be up and doing. I shall get into a
: féver Waiting, if we stay here.”
_ They go—starting on the first stage of that jour-
néy that is to léead—who can tell where!

‘It is nearly midnight when they reach the Red
'Faim. Nosign of recent tragedy is there—quiet,
“slumber evidently reigns. It is better even than
‘ they had dared to hope.

- “Where will you wait?” the girl asks. ‘‘It will be
 @old for you.” F:
© “Jwill walk about,” he answers. ‘‘The night is
mild, and my overcoats proof against frost-bite. ’
Only do not be caught, Joanna, or change your

fet
oS,

 

 

 

 

 

1 Ly V , be miserable in the time that istoecome, but I can
Aad your mother,” she says, inthe same mourn- | never again be as miserableas I have been in you!’

“come round,” and

 

“Good-by, you dreary prison,” she says, “I.amay!

“You shall never be miserable. Cun you not trust
me, Joanna?” he says, reproachfully. } OMS

“Come! is her only answer. He draws hee hand,
through his arm, and they are off, walking fleetly,
and in silence, along the bleak, windy road.

Tt wants a quarter of five when, they reach the
station. It is quite deserted, but there is 'a fire in
the waiting-room. ' ,

He takes herin, and sees for the first time the
silken robe, the velvet hat, the crimson shawl.

“My word, Joanna!” he says, laughing, “how
smart you are! As a bridegroom cometh out cf his,
chamber! Where did you raise all this superfine
toggery?” ee Py Ree

“It belongs. to Lora,” answers. Joanna, in the
most matter-of-fact tone possible, “all. but the
shawl—that belongs to Liz! Tle watch and brooch
are my own. I did not want to shame you by being
shabby.” wil to ‘

He stares at her, then bursts out laughing, but he
is not best pleased cither, at these vague notions of
meum and tuum. “There is no time, however, to re-
monstrate ; the train rushes in almost immediately,
and the instant it stops, the runaways are aboard.

“Now then!” George Blake exclaims, “we are off
at last—let those catch who can! In three hours we
will be in New York.” .

It is a silent trip, The young fellow sits lostina

‘dream, He will rry Joanna-—they wiit
board in the city fora’ , then his mother will

CO * and his live.with her, while |
he will run down three or four times a week. By

and by his salary will be raised, he will become an
editor himself, he will fakea nice little house over
Brooklyn way. with a garden, a grape arbor, some
rose trees and geraniums, and he and Joanna will
Jive happily forever after!

That; is his dream. For Joanna, what does she
dream of as sho sits beside him, her lips. com-
pressed, a line'as of pain between her eyebrows,
her eyes; looking out at the gray, forlorn dawn.
Nothing bright, certainly, with that face.

They reach the city. The noise, the uproar, the
throng, the stony streets, bewilder her—she clings
to her protector’s arm. He has decided to take her
for to-day toa hotel, and not present her to his
landlady, an austere lady—until he can present her
as his lawful wedded wife. So he calls a “keb,”
and they are driven off to an up-town Broadway
hotel. ;

“Ts it always as noisy as this?” she asks, in a sort
of panic. “My head is splitting already.” .

“Oh, you. will get used to it,” he laughs; “we all
do. You won’t even hear it after awhile—J don’t.
Here we are. Now you shall have breakfast, an
then I will start off, and hunt up a clergyman.” ©

He squeezes her hand, but there is no response.
She withdraws it impatiently, and goes with him
into one of the parlors, where George engages a
room for his wife, and registers boldly as “‘“Mr. and
Mrs. George P. Blake.” Mrs.. Blake is shown. to
his apartment, where she washes her face,
smooths. her hair, straightens herself generally,
and then goes down with Mr. Blake, to breakfast.

“Now Jo,’'he says, when that repast is over, ‘you
will return-to your room, and I will go out and get
you something to read, to pass the time, for I. may
be gone some hours. 1 will fetch a’parson with me
if I can; if not, we will go this evening before a

    
   
 

Whether or no, they are taken, and will be kept.

al&he. homeless
Nope, *

 

» Ce

 

THE NEW YORK WEEK

Not quite all—not George Blake,
poor foolh fellow, who has run away with her, or
rather wit whem she has run away, The tense
lines of bbw and mouth relax a little. It istoo bad
to have mde him doit; he will never know what to
do with he all the rest of his life. He will be sorry
forit presatly—she feels that, although, perhaps, he
does not jst now. But she has not thought of him,
only of heself; it has been her one chance of es-
capéfrom:hat earthly hell, and she has taken it.
Whit is slethat she should spare any one! After

 

LY.

hands—that is,” she added, her trembling voice
still full of apprehension, “if I am safe without,”
and she shrunk very close to her protector,

“You ure safe,” said Lyman, su ay,

He did not like the position in which he found
himself. Life was sweet to him, even without Dora
Elmyr, though a minute before he would have
sworn it was not worth having without her for his
eileen with rage, but also with cowardice; for like many
bad and reckless nen who seem to havea dashing courage when
they know they have the best of it—cower him, und he was of the
fiber that surrenders.

‘At this ctisis a fourth person appeared upon the scene, Mary
Robinson, reviving from the effects of her fall, and finding her-
self locked into the chamber, was not many minutes in finding
a way ont of her impromptu prison. To force open the sash,

 

all, George Blake has asked her once, let him “dree
his avn weird,” she will alter no plan of hers out of
pity ‘or/him; he is useful to her, and when his day
comé lét him—— i

Shestops, A quick footstep passes her door, a
man’ step, a man’syoice whistles a gay air. Both
are faniliar; they strike on her heart like a blow,
She rings up and flies to the door. Down the
long mésage a tallfigure goes. Alady passes him,
the wiistle ceases,he uncovers as she goes by;
then ls too is gone

For: moment she stands stunned, her face quite
white, her eyes all wild and wide, in a sort of
terror her heart beating thick and fast, Then
she «rts to the window, and but just in
time. He is passing out, the last light of
the wening sky. falling full upon’ him—
handsime as usual, carelessly elegant as usual—
the dazling image that hus always appealed so
powerully to this wild girl’s imagination—that has
made him fromthe first, in her eyes, unlike any
other nan she hag ever seen. What isthe charm?
He is only a well-looking, well-mannered, well-
dressel young gentleman, the type of a class that
in afte years she meets “thickas leaves in. Vallam-
brosa,' and, yet tothe last day of hor. life, some-
thing ¢amps Frank Livingston asa “man of men”
among them all. In one flashing glance, those
quick byes take in every detail of face, and figure,
and dress,even tothe rosebud and geranium leaf
peeping out from under his dark paletot, the white
vest, the kid gloves. There is but time for a glance,
He lights acigar, beckons a coupe, springs in, and
isgone, ‘ ‘5
She sits down as she has been sitting before, but
in a dazed sort of fashion that frightens even her-
self. She tries to take up her train'‘of thought
wWhereshe has dropped it—in vain. ,A swift, incom-
prehénsiblérevulsion begins within her. She will
not marry George Blake—no, no! never, never!
She springs up again, and- puts out-her hands as if
to keep even the idea off: She wi not marry
George Blake—she will die rst! How has she ever
thought of suchathing? Why has she évér: come,
here? Why is she staying here now?)7If she stays
he will coma back and make her marry him. Make
her! She laughs, a scornful little laughall by her-
self, atthe thought. But then his pleading face

make a rope. of the. een and lower herself to the ground
did not require much more de vation on her part than ar uf
the house had been on fire. Her physical strength was as vigor-
ous as her mental. She now appeared inside the door of the un-
furnished parlor, where so unusual a drama was being perform-
ed. . She, too, gaye acry, when, he saw the uplifved pistol, and
Lyman Whittier tremb! ng 1n front of it.
“Don't kil@iim!’’ she cried, #3 Dora had done.

‘es ; 463 > ea 3.

 

“Dat I will, massa, from dis time forebermeore So look outs
’

u
S

ee.
“Pll look out,’ she whispered, and, brightening up, she flew
about to gather upsuch of Miss Elimyr's possessions as she
would require on her journey home.

A carpet-bag was filled, which Cupid carried, and the four set
out for the station.

Cupid had raised money at Pitch-pine Landing by selling his
little farm there, and had loaned the sum thus obtained to his
master, 0 that there was just about enough to take the whole
party to their destination. ‘

Dora’s heart almost burst with mingled joy and impatience as
she felt the car in which she sat actually in motion,

“Oh, Gilbert,” she murmured, “when I think of Dudley, I pray

for wing: :
“God willing, Dora, we shall be there in time.”

 

CHAPTER XIV.
A TRIAL NOT MOWN IN THE CALENDAR.

When Mrs. Elmyr fainted away In the court-room, clinging to
her son’s hand, there was guite a stir in the crowd, ..

Dr. Barclay called for water, and Dudley’s lawyer hastened to
bring a glass from a-table near by; while Mr: Elmyr, his face
drawn and thin with the agony of his mind, supported his wife
in hisarms. Had the condemned man been really guilty of the

 

| “How soft-hearted you Women are,” muttered Gilbert,
“He came pretty near killing you alittle while ago,’

aloud, , : ‘ ) bes ere

“T know it; -But do not, murde ny in cold blood!”

“T don" want him, , Miss Mr ere will be only too glad to
oh oriitin how and ‘forever. Thavea

e isso anxious to marry that/le;was about to compel this
young lady to become his witerbya threat most, base and cow-
ardly.. believe he: has\ been engé to you %” a aha for,
although he bag reson |Z the handsome girl whom he
knew to béa aeg intance of the Whittiers, he knew none of
the particulars of her relationship with the young man.

“We were to have been at Christmas, sin”?

“Would you aot es still, knowing him as you now do ?*

Mary hesitated. She looked at the man who had struck her to
the earth, whe had slighted her, who had deceived her with a
pretense of love, while trytug to compel another woman te mar-
ry him, Resentment swelled her heart, fire flashed from her
eyes. But soon her head drooped, and atear fell on her cheek.

‘He does not love me,” was her answer,

“But would you marry him?” ;

“Yes, I would,” after a moment’s hesitation, the color
ing to her face—‘if L.knew that he was Lucifer himaelt!
loved him so long!” she added, piteously.

“Then since his taste runs to fore
gratified this very morning. Call Julia, and send her era
squire or minister—any one who can legally perform the cere-
mony. We will haye it oyer in half an hour.”

Mary. looked; at Lyman. His restless glance met hers; he
thous it best to laugh, rather constrainedly, and to say:

“If she is willing to run the risk I oughtto be!’

“Din not afraid of you, Lyman,” said the handsome Amazon,

he said

roposition to make:

wratrin

ring-
haye

marriages, he shall be

crime of which he stood convicted, such a sight as that present-
ed by his parents in these few moments ought to have been
enough to kill him without the aid of the law’s de Pp.
The calm which he felt for himself was. indeed. sh: when he
looked at his mother, Higlips guivered, but he ste: Fr, ,
any expression of his feelings.” ~~ =} a ae
Now that all was decided, .a revulsion of sentiment came over
many who had been .most anxious that the yo should
[ P the pace
m

suffer full punishment for his aan ith

of the flerce hunting inatintt which had h ithe:

to chase down this unhappy fellow-cre: e, So young! such an
ppleranting countenance { perhaps, r all, he ; had been
nsane veo sade

Suddenly, through the sympathetic silence with which the
spectators awaited the ‘recovery of the fainting, m ,rana
stir and murmur—a thrill ke that of,a light wind which catches
up the drooping leaves of a becalmed forest. ;

It began among those ‘nearest the door, passing through the
throng, who leaned, and looked, and listened—whispered, won-
dered. started—swayed back and forth—and finally broke into a
cheer, a shout, a scream, a yell of irrepressible excitement.
Every man was on his feet.

The judge’s face was red and white by
yelling, stamping continued—increased.

hat was it? ,

Three or four people were pressing thro : ags, which
divided before and closed behind thea) as ditey iheae ‘their way

turns. The screaming,

toward the prisoner’s pen. ;
Dudley looked .up) lialf curious, balf indifferent, Mr. Elmyr
was watching the struggle for consciousne the part ot his

on
wife, and actually did not hear or heed the tumult. ~
Dudley looked up with those calm, sad e:

 

 

 

her lips curling.a little at the spectacle be pynsenied quailing
before another man’e weapon. “After ajl I have yeutured com-
ing off down here to find you,
my name fromt
and went out to

PU do it ” she added, resolutely,
that person being caught in the act of jumping away from the
keyhole as Mary opened the hall-door upon her.

“There’s going to be a wedding,” said Mary; “go, find a
clergyman wiling to perform the ceremony, and bé quick about

3,"?

“Taws, missa, Dll be back in a jiffy.”

The colored wonian, twisting a turban about her head,
went Off dawn the carriage-drive and out upon the road. The
sun was now fully up—the wo
and freshness of a most glorious Southern October morning. |
Mary looked after the messenger a moment, gone on 80 strange
an errand, and then what did she'do? True-to feminine instinct
she darted up stars to Miss Dora's rdom_ to See how she was look-'
ing, and to brush her hair. The face she saw in the
cheeks like fire and black-diamond eyes.
with it; and, after re braidi
collar about her white throa'
ing step, saying to herself: : f

“He really did love me until he saw her. I will make him tove
me again. T cannot give him up!”

All the time that Julia was absent
his revolver covering his adversary. j

“Now, sits? he said, when a, good half, hour having gone by,
‘and steps being heard onthe porch, “are you going to play false?.
Because, if you are, I warn you in time to beware. — have
io mercy on you. The presence of a clergyman will not make
my aim less |true.” EST Yq oF :

“Oh, Dm allright,” ans ted. Whittier,
rayibielp game is up with ali Eliyr,

Oo next. If Mary is ‘willfng,* 1 ay

 HereJulia Hung open the parlor door, and ushered in a Jean,

lass had
Shewas well pleased

her glossy hair and repinning her
, she Came down again, witha jing. |

quite Pepentiy ‘Since
me it I care what I
arkis says.”

 

 

 

and wistful boyish blue eyes rise before her. And.
he is so fond of her; so ridiculously fond of her,
“Pshuw!? she’ says, aloud, impatiently, “he isa
fool towant me He will get over it.”

But she must not stay; it will not do to meet him;
she must have beep mad with misery ever to think
of marrying him—him! Alas, for George Blake!
The hauglity head erects: itself, the straight throat
eurves. In one moment her mind is made up, be-
yond power of, change, And all by one fleeting
glimpse of Frank Livingston going to the opera,
She puts on her hat, Lora’s hat, pulls it well down
over her face, throws the heavy crimson shawl over,

not remantic.; Gegrge will see that she has gone—
that isenough. v@nere is she going? She does not
know—only—not t§ aurry young Mr. Blake. ‘ She
opens the, door, wayks quickly down the long cor~

antly erect, prepared to do bat-

   
   
   
   
  
 
    

ridor, her head daf
tle with George E&ke should they meet. But she
meets no one. elevator is just descending;
es down. A moment later and
me spackling New Year sfars,
bee eewse, Li ot SLLGUES Ul” SNOW

ed

\

  

8 oe ed
ullty, or Note
By Ars. MV. Vitor J

(Guilty, of Not Guilty” was commenced in nurhbder 49. Back
numbers ox be had of all News Agentsin the United States.)

7 PARTSECOND,. ”
, CHAPTER XII =~

UNWILLING BANNS,.

Lyman Whittier had called Julia to bring down
her young mistress’ shaw]and hat, and the woman,
her eyes. sparkling with» keen curiosity, had
obeyed ; 3 :
motion of his hand had reluctantly retired.

This was the hour of Lyman’s triumph. For
over four months he had planned for this; taken
much trouble ;‘ran many risks; made himself fia-
ble to the Jaws’ punishment; been discouraged,
angry, and irresolute. ’

But now he felt repaid for all.
succeed. This trembling, ]
beautifu}, so much his superior, hud been driven
into consenting to become his wife. She would be
his; her property would be his. He would not
only be a rich man, but being related to them: by
such close ties, the Elmyrs could no longer slight
him. He would be one of them. Every ambition
of his would ba gratified. He could put on airs
equal to-any man. Ifhe had done anything wrong
it would be to the interest of the family ‘to conceal
it, instead of making the worst of it. He could
laugh inthe face of Gilbert Van Eyck, were that
unfortunate young gentleman stillalive, He could
hob-nob with Dudley Elmyr, the fastidious. And,
oh, this sweet, pale face before him—this young
ereature'so soon to bear ‘his name! t

_ He felt no pang of regret for the disarpointment
and wounded p of the high-spirited girl whom
he had consigned to lock and key upstairs until the
other should surely become his own. If he thought
of Mary Robinson at all, it was with anger that she
should have presumed to follow him. :

“Good enaughfor her! Jearn better next time!”

 

 

| clergyman, and bemarried. Try, not to feel lone- ;

some. In afew hours you will be my wife!”
Joatina does not look as if thére were anything in

this prospect of a particularly rapturous nature, but

sie goes’to her room, and later accepts the maga-

 

~ mind, or fall asleep. Iwill: never forgive you if,
you fail me now!” BA
Twill not fail,“ she suys-firmly. “Before four I |
will be with you again.”

She leaves him, and admits herself after her old

fashion—bolts and bars fire fewand far between at
Sleaford’s, Allis still. She takes off her shoes and
creeps up stairs and listens.

_,, A still.

'' Now the question arises—what shall she wear?
She does not want to disgrace George Blake. Near-

7 "Yy all the things Mrs. Abbott has given her are in
her room at Abbott Wood—Liz and Lora immedi-

ately confiscating to their use anything attractive
‘she brings to the farm. She has absolutely nothing
of her own fit to put on. No—but the other girls
have! Joanna has not the slightest seruple in the
matter. They take everything of hers; it is a poor
tule that will not work both ways. She will help
herself from Lora’s wardrobe! They are of the
same height. Lora is’ a “fine girl,’ and stout
enough to make two of such a slip'as Joanna, but
fit does not signify. She softly opens the ward-
robe, and begins operations. Itis a small closet
adjoining their bedroom, and dark as a pocket, but
she has brought a candle end with her from the
kitchon.. She lights it now and sets to work.
_As welltake the best when she is about it! There
fiangs the new black silk suit, gotten up expressly
“for New Year’s Day, and worn on that occasion
enly. She takes it down from its peg. Here is
Lora’s Sunday hat, a black velvet beauty, with crim-
son roses and snowy plume. To twist out this lat-
ter appendage is the work of a second—the red
roses for the present must stand. Now she wants

; absence; Butitis along day. She yawns over the

oes on a sofa, and falls asleep.

zines he brings her, to while away the hours of his
stories and’ pictures for awhile, then throws her-

>It is'late in the afternoon when ‘she awakes.
George is there to take her to dinner, waiting im-
patiently. '
| “Itis all right,” he tells her, “The Reverend Peter
| Wiley is my friend; )I have explained to him as
much as is necessary, and we aré to go to‘his
house at nine this evening. 1 shall want some one
to stand up with me, so after dinner Pll.run down
to the office, if you don’t mind being alone ‘a little
longer, and get one of our fellows.”
They dine, and George again departs; Joanna
once more returns to her own room. And now it is |
drawing awfully near—this great change in her life
—she is about to become George Blake’s wife. As
she sits here alone, her face buried in her! hands,
her whole life seems to rise up before her—het
whole dark, loveless, most miserable life. A dreads
| ful feeling of sullen, silent anger possesses her as
she sits alone here, her hands clasped around her
knees, her 6yes staring straight betore her, after
her usual crouching, ungainly fashion. All the
wrongs of her life-time rise up before her, a dark
and gloomy array. Fatherless, motherless, what
ad she done to be sent into the world banned at
| her very birth ? Hard fare, hard words, hard blows,
| oaths, kicks, cuffs, constant toil, half naked, half
| frozen, jeers, scorn, forever and forever! There it
stands, the bitter, bad catalogue, never to be for-
gotten, never to be forgiven.
‘reprisal will be too short to wash white the score
iher memory holds against almost eyery human

 

 

 

A long life-time of}

was his reflection, coupled. with some

ing very
like a curse. :

~ He turned, withthe shawl on his armand a smile
on his lips, to_ place the shawl.oyer, Dora’s shoul-
ders, Ste, looking at him with a piteous, beseech.

ing Jook, beheld his. countenance change. He
aused in the act of ee the garment; jie ie

became eta pare Sal ack eyés fixed ih a e

upon someth ne,beh a
What was it? nat dia he seb?” ee
The smile, of triumph froze;in those glittering

eyes; “He saw, appearing there as suddenty,as si-
lently as if if rm had sha hd itself, out of the
air, his rival, Gilbert Van Eyck! ee

© ghost, either—no 8 r to be_conjured away

pecte:
—but a breathing, resolute. man, with every advan-
tage of nositi 2. for. he held. a Joaded revolver,
whose aim was ¢entered at his enemy’s heart.
-“Do not stir, for-your life!) Make ona movement,
and, you are adead man!” said the firm voice, as
Lyman instinetively made a motion toward his own

weapon.
's At-that Dora turned, 2 8 2

Pallid. wasted by his wounds, fever, and mental
anxiety,so that. he Jooked years older than when
She had bidden him good-night, on that rosy even-
ing of last June,she yet recognized Gilbert at a
glance, andasharp seream of joy burst from her,
and she rushed toward him, .
Ono half. glance only could he give her, motion-
ing her with his left hand to stand to one side, for
he had the, advantage of. the SuBDE rae scoundrel
befora him,and he must not. abandon it, or all
aight yet be lost. He must not, permit Lyman to
obtain control of his weapons.

If you stir, fire,” hie repeated, as_the other
ae a second uneasy movement toward his breast
pocket. : 7 ‘ E.

There was nothing for his antagonist to do but
obey, for. Gilbert’s finger was on the trigger, and
the mouth of his revolver not five feet from the
other’s breast... + : 3
: Shah Rese or not, Dora? You shall be his

udge.” ‘ ,

“Oh: do not kill him!” : F
“Has he ever injured you, beyond the injury I
know of in:stealing you from your friends and
keeping youa prisoner? If he has, he shall die in
two minutes, Dora.”

“He has treated me with the greatest respect, so
far as be could, and hold me a prisoner against
my inelinations, I cannot. forgive him, Mr, Van
Eyck, but I do not wish to see him killed: nor dol

uw

 

creature she has ever known.

 

arte aa TROENe

SORE NERE

think that you ought to take the law ‘in your own

‘

her arm, and is ready to go. She writes no line or |.
word of farewell—wwhat is'thete to say? And she is }

Winty.

then, having no pretense to linger, at a }-

, He was about to!
hunted, helpless girl, so \'

lank, yellow personage, with a) sdiled white tie about his
throat, and wearing the conventional black broadcloth, | worn

j in his face,

world resplendent in the clearness |

Gilbert remained on guard, |

if th ld smil ei otelntned
they never more could smile or weep, lash. a
into them. For they had met another pair of bright, laughing,

L believe Lshall marry you to save | tearful eyes.

A cry rang through the lofty room, ‘whieh piereed the hoarse

@ <Ossips, ;
find J tia, fer whom she had not long to look, | pass of the men’s voices with its sweet, thrilling treble,

“Dudley |” ae

“Dora!” : ' :
How she got there she nor he nor any one knew; but there she

was, clinging to his neck, throwing back her lovely head to look

then pressing hts cheeks,-his Rides own, her

hat fallen off, her gold hair stfeaming over his breast. _ W
“Dora, my sister, thank God!” 7? , ‘ , 7

“Yes, Dudley, thank thank Him?” and she clasped her hands
and raised her eyes, streaming with their joyous tears.

‘Mother, Jook here!) 24 ‘

tf was Dudley who spoke. TO pon tt
* Mrs. Elingr raised herself in her husband’s arms, wildly star-
ing at the two glad faces turned toher. _ ;

- Mr. Elmyr put, his trembling hand overt her eyes; he was afraid
the shock Would kil! her. : ’

“Be calm,” he whispered in her ear, evén’ as at the very be-
ginning of this story her son had once entreated her, “be calm,
my darling!
back {? »
+ “My child! alive!” ‘ ‘

“Alive and well and happy, darling, darling, darling

mamma!” ae esr . ;
_ But why attempt to put into coherent words the incoherent
cries, the hysterical laughter, the bursts of joy,, the rapturous
astonishment, witich expressed itselt in ways most patlietic and
‘even ludicrous? . - : ¢

There was but one more surprise in sfore for these long-suffer-
ing hearts, and that was—that none of them broke under, the
pressure of, that terrible strain of joy. : S

Even the worn, exhausted mother bore it safely. The judge
polished his dim spectacles—the jury looked foolish and ane
strong men were crying like child They did not wait for the

ren,
formalities of the liw to- release the prisoner. : Frie caught

 

threadbare. She was followed by Cupid, who,ad discovered
that something queerqas up, and who, half in curiosity, and
halfiu alarm at what might age Heppenad to his young mas-
ter, had scare out of the summerhouse,

into the hall,

the same intense curiosity as shone in Oupid’s. ;
Gilbert had thrust behind him the hand holding the revolver};
but Lyman knew where the ugly weapon was, and. also that
Cupid. was a pewertul ally ot his enemy, in ‘case ot revolt. See-
ng no use in fight, he succumbed to the force of circumstances.
“Waial, now,? said the ‘minister, betraying at once. his
Northern origin, “I don’t understand it; but) I reckon its all
right,” and he looked from ong to another of wg, feu people.
» “Straight as a.string,” said Lyman, boldly, . “ is young, lady
and myself propose getting married this morning. I s*pose
rowre a regularly ordained minister, and can do it up brown? |
tll be worth a double-eagle to you, if you can, And can’ keep
, about it, until we get. away from ‘your citys, You -see,,
all Smee North, come down here ona, pleasure excur-
hat hal :
- t on airth possessed ye to aon in the Haunted House?”
“Oh, we got it cheap,: We’re been here some time, These are

our servan We brought *em with ts. This is my brother and
} Gilbert. ‘Come,

  
  
    
     
    

 

sister,” waving his liand toward Dora,
join us speedily, in your best style, sir.”
’ “Lreckon you’re both of age?” . + as aad

“Yes, sir, we're not chickens.. We Know our own m
We'll have a good splurze when-we. get_ back to'New York.
were intending to be married there ‘Christmas Day But, see~
ing we were down here, we just decided to turmour titt to
A a: Come, Molly,” and taking her hand ©
tohis'side:? aol iiidadee attio wor
In five minutes more ‘Lyman Whittier, ani

were man and wile, | nate
iow,” fa: ipert, ae tem a certificate.
in which he Miled np the blanks, and gave i
returning the lank wallet to lis coat the Was:
dollar fee which Lyman had promised. him. |
“Waal, good niorning,” he said, turnin
antly, for he was intensely interested in the‘t
looking peopie who had summoned ‘him'to the |
at that early’ hour to perfotm the marriage cere
one pair of them, “TI hain’t-had such a sensation
wwasover”? .) | ¢
“T dare say not.
he glad to offer you a. Blass of wine, but there’s none in the
house,” fia af ch . i d
“Oh, nevér inibd—I’'m quite satisfied,” said the Rev. Mr. Sliter,
eee his hand tenderly over his poeket-book, and with a bow,
he backed out upon the perch, and went.his way.
“Now,” asked Gilbert of th
POSS COME oa ee
‘Starting off for New Orleans on my wedding journey. ‘If you
get home first, sir, pal ‘inform'my friends that self and bride
will be home about Ch

Inds.

 
  
    
    
    
     

  

  
    
    
 
 

 
  
 
   
 
    

  
 
  
  

to the b ide.
or the ean

  

 
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
    

‘oo8-
use
ween
. war

 
  
  

bridegroom, “what do you pro-

istmas; Come, Molly, we will walk tothe
hotel. Will yee Re us at our wedding breakfast?” with a mock-
ing bow. to Miss Elmyr and Mr. Van Eyck.

“No, thank you. There is a train bound North leaves the
station in less than an hour. Miss Elmyr takes that train,”? an-
swered Gilbert.. “Mrs. Whittier, I sincerely wish you: more joy
than I haye reason to!believe you ean expect,” and he shook
hands with her. : |

“TI aim quite happy,” she said, simply—and she looked so.

“Then you are bot afraid of him? whispered Dora, as she
kissed the bride, girl-fashion.’ ~ |

“No, [love him too much.” ‘said Mary, and putting her hand
on her husband’s arm, 1he two walked out into the lovely morn-
ing, and :ovay from the Haunted House forever, : '

Then Gilbert turned and,looked upon Dora. His face
with a feryent light—he held out his hands toward her:

“Dora, thank God! TI have saved you at last!” F ;
“Oh, Gilbert, yes!” . ’ : ' :
She placed her two soft littie hands in his, returning his look.
For some. time neither ot them spoke. His heart was too full
rot emotion—hers was crowded with questions which she was not
yet cole enough to ask,

Surprise, and joy, and hope rekindled, and aes, ifumined
-her tace until itshone like a seraph’s. He did not ask if love
for hin shone there, too. He was content to wait) for that. He
did not suppose that she had thought of him, during these ter-
rible znonths, as he had) thought of her—until the first. sweet,
basl ua dream.of youth had grown into a passionate, strong
reality, . ‘ ‘ ;

“Come, Jule, out o'dis. Hain’t yer de sensé to let °em to
demselves. a little wile,” whispered Cupid, pushing his wife out

of the room. “Anyting in dis yer spooky house to eat? We
paegs yer bringing home a market-basket full, Jas’ night—yah!

 

 

“Yis,? she humbly answered, for she had grown wholésomely
afraid of her, giant husband, “‘yer can have half acol’ chicken
right away, Cupid, far Miss Dora wouldn’6°cat her: half las?
night. “Yer come in yer and help startyde, fire, an? I'll cook

jan’some breakfast ter dem young, pi je, in less’n no time.
a =y atest ee DuEEH mote pv. petite drpvea' wikd

§ prophecy as to. ra’s ap ro rue.
she ci me form from the ‘dftvigis rook ‘su

=
=,

minon them to the

meal She had just , she e young couple walkin
slowly backrand recente sunshine, the? lenpth of the pi :
sohappy, s@ young, and so! that. she iny. antariiy

beautiful, the
turne ct back and«¢ bine fab ie arm, whisper
“Angels of de speres, bof offemP ee
Cup cast a proud look at us yOURs es : he ;
ie 8 so, Jule. Hever was.anodder young gentleman
like Ae. An’ now Icome to see her I don’ be sur, “wor
dat sot to find her. She’s areal beauty, no mistake, and pure®
a’ angel—jes like a little chile. But I’m done sure dey is hu
gry, angels as dey is. , 86 jes Tet °em*kiow breakfas’ is waitin’.’

“But it we os that we shall not catch the train,” 8
Gilbert, looking btfutly at Doral

~“Gouldn?® ¢atch - it .noho ¥ De PerREhE now; _Ho' -
Srangare a better one at floon. ‘So jes take it easy, Massa Gi

_ Gilbert felt immensely’ tke “taxing iféasy.”’ His whole be-’
ing, mind aud body, liad been ‘on ‘the “strain cee Jong, long a
time, till the peace and repose which cameto. him now was al-
most heavenly. ’ j

“Well, Miss Elmyr, shall we nrsplsteat together?” __ as

She gave him a shy smile and they went into the dining-room
of the deserted mansion. ' Julia had brought two chairs from the
room up stairs'and had ‘covered the old cooking-table with a
wWhitecloth. © . bax rs) "x ; :

There were ham and eggs, coffee, rolls, hot cakes, fruit—what
a feast.it was, and Gupid playing the part.of butler} -

Julia was a good deal ashamed of herself, and kept her dis-
tance, but Cupid’s countenince was goodly’ to’ behold, it shone
so pleasantly, ;

Well, Cupid, I suppose -yow are going North with us ?’ said
Gilbert, when the ambrosian meal was nearly over.

“Dat I be—wid. your consent, massa... Nebber want to live
whar’ l can’t see Massa Gilbert oncea day.”

“That's right. You shall be my father’s coachman, Cupid. Or
you shall set up an oyster saloon in New York, and get rich in
your own business.” ;

A mufiled sob «nd aniffie here broke on the ears of the three. °

.Ten Eyck looked around and beheld Julia, by the stove, rub-
bing her eyes with her apron, ;

“What's the matter, girl?’ he asked, rather sternly it must
be confessed. : UF

“T s'pose Pll be lufiall alone to take ‘car’ o’ myself now. Dar?
Massa Whittier done cone off, widout snying a word to.me.,,,An’
now Cupia’s gwine up Nori, and I-kin shift for, myself.” ;

“What betterdo you deserve?”

“T knows I don’ deserve nuffin’ bettah, massa—boo-hoo!”

“What are yougoing to do with your wile, Cupid /? Gilbert
asked, after'a little reflection,

“Dunno, massa. Et I tought she’d let de capting be, and be-
habe to her own husband as she oughter, J’d take her “long—wid
your permission, wassa.”

“Oh, do, Cupid,” sobbed the repentent woman. *
capting, now. . “Deed, Cupid, since you sob up to be & man, and
wonldn’t jib in to me, like you use to, I's@ larned to tink a heap
o’ you,” and she gave hitn a shy glance from she corner of her
eye, as she dropped her apron, 3 ;

The young couple at the table laughed.

‘Human nature,” said Gilbert to Dora. . _;

“Woman nature,’ said Dora to Gilbert.

“J recommend you to give her & trial,’ continued Van Eyck,
sternty. “She seeme inclined to return to her early love; and, as
a cook, she can make her foftine in’ New York, I dare say she
will prove a helpmeet to you-there.” sip

“Yis—if she don’ cut up no more o’ her tricks, massa.”

“You muat exercise your authority asa husband, Cupid. Pm
sure you are big enough,” and the young gentleman laughed.

 

 

*

eR BRATMAN ST

and followed the pair | the cagerly-desired explanations mi
The minister's half. shut eyes twinkled with: astonishment and |

We |
~ Jeans was a safer place for him th

vat wis proven that he had scuttled av
BO Th

cick ' a iol
It's Our style of doing things, that’s all. Td |

 

glowed | ,

“T hates dat,

him up on their shoulders and bore him from the ceurt-room. A
i © wan npeeally fownd\pte wick, tre fans was hurried,
and driven to a hotel, where, in the perasy 48 their own rooms,
ght be made, ¥
Gilbert Van Eyck kept modestly in the ackground, fs
While Dora was pouritig out thé story of her abduction to her

rents, it fel] to his share to gatisy,the restless reporters who
raunted the cee onan knock so eek biti, raid
Before night newsboys. w ¥ ie and, a
ople who bate been boisterou oniitel wrong in their
Fhdarnents must make some one a e for mistake, there’
| was a mob that evening, in Bleecker’ street—a' shouting, howl

| ing, indignant mob composed ot those very same lowensorsler ne
who had been so anxious to hang “the younza at —a mob
‘which burned to spring at the throat, of Job) Whittier, for his
crimes and those of his sons, age ae Aga niny&s

 

The captain and Jonathan made their escape By “way of the
ccuttiego the house of a neighbor, and from Pesaran thie at the
city, hich ft was many weeks bef

ore they ventured to’ return,,
Mrs. Whittier also fled to the house of Mavy, Hoban ners aunt,
and as she sat shivering and frightened, listening to the horribl
‘music made by the crowd.in the street, perhaps she reper
her of some of her sins of selfishness,  ateag and covetous!
1ers are not to be chang

but this is doubttul, since natures like
in an instant, ° evo O's i 2 é
| “The mob would have utterly destroyed the house and furniture

| had not some.o formed it in time, that these belonged to the

| young lady who had been the victim of the Whitt ers’ plot to ob-
tain the property. — as fact made it easicr for the police to dis-
F po Bi the excited multitude, which was done after a few hours of
rioting. . ; ,

Lyman Whittier probably heard frony his family that New Or-
: New York, as he was. not
known to return to his, old hauhts that winter, if eyer again
openly. hast egy 8S A as F
‘Old Jab as not a fins the ‘Soliy craft” on
which he nad set eee are other hands.
sunk the Disma!] Swamp,
at he recover no insurance money, Speedy punish-
! ment had followed upon the attempt of the family to take what

 
  
 

  

reluct- | gid not belong to them.

‘The first night of Dudley’s, unexpected Jiberation the Elmyrs
spent at the hotel; the next-day they returned home, and the
deserted, cheériess mansion blazed inte warmth, light, and

| beauty.

Gilbert Yan Eyck’s friends, who had so long regarded him ag
baring yoyiehed at.sea, had a_house-warmine and rejoicing only
Jess glad than the Elmyrs. Gilbert resigned himself to their at-
tentions fora time; but the secgmd evening he walked over to
the lake and spent a few hours. with the Eimyrs.

The story of his adventures was told over and over. yet no one
tions and explanations innumerable, : .

Dora, ko pale, so thin, and faded, when he had first beheld her
| face in the parlor of the haunted’ house had reeovered as by
mavic all the bloom and glory of her maidenhood. :

A little thin she may have been, but her cheeks were so flushed
and her eyes so like great, splendid stars, that nothing seemed
wanting to the perfection of her beauty. As

She sat on the sofa by Dudiey’s side clinging fondly to his

hand. —~

Old Doctor Barclay made one of the party. He lelt very anx-
jous about his protege, watching Dudley with his keen, profes-
sional looks; 2nd mose contented than he equki express to notice
no return of undue excitement of the brain under the agitation
of the hour. .
“He will dol” he decided, by the close of this second day.
Late in the vening, ranbs: momentary lull in the busy talk,
a i his spectacles, and ldoked very sharply at his whilom
atient. }

“My boy,” he asked, rather abruptly, “can you now account
for the hallucination which possessed you ?”
é Dudley cast a quick look at Gilbert.
“Tain afraid I must hela Coeet responsible,” he answered
\-after some hesitation. ‘Confess, my triend, that yeu suspected

Ine, and aceused me by your jooks and actions, if not in 60
many words.”’ wed 6 '

Gilbert appeared as if he would sink to the floor. ;

“It is too true,” he faltered—“tlie coat, the necklace, the cir-
cumstances—oh, Pee can you ever ei me?”

The other reaclied forth his hand and caught that of his

end.
_ “I should say that you had atoned,” was his heartyreply. “But
it was the horror of the discovery of your ions, coupled
with sun-stroke, which unsettled my mind, T . Dora, do
you fergive him ?”—slyly. as
ra cast one sweet look, in which’ reproach was blended with
some otlier feeling, u the euilty young man, wlio had turned
to her in mute appeal when Dudley put this mali question.
Nevermind whatt' nie AS answered,. and she ran
over te the old doctor and pretended to be very much absorved
in some estion which she pnt to him. ,
_ “Gilbe said Mrs. r, ‘very gently and solemnly, “we
will néver Fefer to that.‘ We hadiall of us wild, strange thoughts,
in our endeavors to-account ion Hep unseqrnntalliei Let all that
}pass, The lon with ve Suan’ -what shall we do to ex-
osg: tude f ail tear ou. haye done and suffered in
em te to Feaenert $s gv Ce
mi by of young ~" such circumstances is usu-
sssiye. Gil 8 was ho exception to.the general rule.

no! but. punish he ‘approach 1e
be wed heady and ani h color mount! ae aS :
2 severest pu nt, dear Mr myr; &
do not know hoy Sau enn Ponislt me fee Eefdeanlly than
avin “me the young lady whom I found! witli pig ait
el De } ot) jac! wos word
Dora uttered a little ° PY. 4 fre - 2 eh)
“What do you:say to that 2” asked her mother, urning to he rT.
apne khe is most in esumptuops,”
ae aie tnesh caleee you ti ibe
’ r 4 4 yr a
a oO a should ve ° orn You first?” asked

amish geTtel doy f ‘ ga
: resi? abe said, pouting. , ‘‘How.-does he know that Ldo not
i

  
  
 

 
 

hate him!” i 3 =

‘Tt has been a mighty effort for me to refrain from asking you,

| Dora.” said Gilbert, mantully. “I wanted toask you, in the par-
lor of the hanntéd’ house, and when we walked on the rorch

'} there; and during our long journey home I wanted terribly to

learn your sentiments; but I could not, take advantage |
circumstances. LIresolved to, wait, apes you oe -
mission before I breathed a word ot what was almost
my heart.’? | - »
‘But I Knew if/all the time,” said puss, demurely. 6
“Dora! exelaimed her mother, in smiling gee “You have
“Lshall not

behaved nobly, she added, to Gilbert, refuse you
the right toask mp eaeepter any question think fit.”
ae Y’? asked bert, holding out his. and to the
girl. ered ok
The doctor gave her a gentle push, and; blushing Civingae
went fervard and placed ber band in the one extended to her.
“Kiss her, my boy!) eried the old physician, in his excitement.
“That is the way young folks sealed a promise in my time.” .
And the young loyer, nothing Joth, v1 for the first time
the rosy, mouth of his smiling and blushing betrothed.
Very shortly after that Gilbert took his hat to go. Dora ‘tol-
b lowed Mim to the hall door. é
“Geta shawl, he pleaded, “and waik with mea few minutes
en the porch. The moonlight is magnificent.”
She found a wrap, and for half an hour they paced the long
portico of the old mansion, the moon smiling down in their hap-
y faces, their eyes Secking each other's, their hearts so full that
put few and whispered’ words were required. Oh, rapture of
young, pure, and permittedjlove! We can live it but once; but
thereafter even to hear of it awakens a thrill of sympathy, and
there are none but wish well to this beautiful and gracious pair,
walking there, with hearts in such a glow that to them there is
nochill in the bright November night.
* * * * * * SDS
Poor Dudley! it was hard upon him that winter to witness the
love-naking of his friend and sister. To him, whose bride had
been torn'from him at the very altar,, 2t was cruel to see this
happiness of others. He felt that he had been wronged by the
Ketchums, and he never visited the family, nor made any ad-
yance.to them, althongh Gertrude and her parents returned
from abroad early in February. - t
Time passed on... March snews melted, April violets came.
One Uclicious spring ‘morning, as Dudley cantered down the
fragrant road, on his handsome black horse, his soul filled with
the bitterness of longing and anguish aroused. by the beauty of
the day and hour, he met a lady also on horseback.
_. He bowed coldly as they passed each other; she, deadly pale
and almost dropping from her horse, bowed formally also...
Yet this woman had ones come so_near to being his wife that
the Verg ring was about being placed on her finger. se

 

 

 

I will tell you what has happened. Dora has come

tired of at or Was quite satisfied not to hearjit, again, with ques-~

 

 

 

 

   

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a
tae

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dudiey rode forward witiiout turning his head to look after
the tall and stately figure, which appeared to such advantage in
riding. He liad noted the marble pallor of her countenance, but
he gave no sign. : : a i

Presently he heard the thud of a horse’s hoofs coming after
hisown. He neither slackened nor increased his pace.

“Dudley!” he heard a soft voice falter.

Then indeed he reined in his animal und waited.

“Oh, Dudley, Iwas going over to your house to see you! lam
dying—you are killing me! Why do you not come to see me?
Cannot you forg 2e? Indeed, indeed J never condemned you
never, not for one moment. My parents foresd me away. They
believed it necessary to save my health and reason. But 1 did
not wish to go. I pined constantly to get’ back to you—my hus-

before I knew that-your innucence had been proven, Ob,
Dudley, am I notas truly your wite as if the ceremony had been
4 PI ted? Do we dare to part who have stood before the altar
together?” ;
» bas Stretched out her hand to him; he took it and pressed it to
his heart, and, side by.side, they rode on to Gertrude’s home.

In June of that same year,on the very day of the month
vate roved so dark a day the abe June, there was @
double) ing in the Monthaven chareb. Two lovely brides—

two y bridegrooms! What matters about the orange-blos-
soms, the white satin trains, the flower-decked altar, the filmy
vails, the crowds of friends, the general interest and excitement,
the wedding cake and eards?—the grand fact of the,two happy
marriages, tis enough. As the dewy and perfumed stillness

of the June night cluses about the scene we will leay@our young
friends in the dun parlor of the old home by the Jake, with a
softir-breathed prayer for their present and future happiness,

(fHE END.]
\ ~ 6 at

 

| A Story of the Working Wonton of Bo
By ESTHER CLARE GUMMERSON,

iis fg
\. (The! Sdleslady’” was.cdmmenced fast week. Ask your
News Dealer No. 12, and you will get the opening chapters]
Lewnt™ i : 7

CHAPTER TY.
BEHIND THE COUNTER,

After waiting some little time for the shop-Watker
or a messenger from her to appear,: Adele made
bold to ask a young lady, who was removing her
cloak with an angry air, where she could find the
lady sien f i

“Well, said the young lady with the angryair, “if
you expect to find her down here, you are mistak-
en, I can tell you. Catch her lowering herself to
the levelofasaleswoman. You'll have to go toher
room, or else waitin the store. Are you going to
come here ?ii
“Yes,” auswered Adele. ;
“Humph!” muttered the other, who, despite her

manner, was not aw ill-natured girl, her anger be-
ing the result of a sort of Standing quarrel with
- fate, and not directed against any one ii particular.
“T don’t think Inesd congratulate youthen. Lwish
Td never seen the place.”
"Why ?” asked Adele. :
“Oh, never mind; you'll find out soon enough,”
answered the other, ‘It’s no worse than any other
place. Macy & Co.’s, Elirich’s, O'Neil’s, McCreery’s,;
Itman’s; Ridley’s, Lord & Tuylor’s—they’re all the
same; one’s as good oras bad: as the other, and I
suppose Mason & Co.’s is no worse. . It’s a) slave’s
life anyhow standing in’a store, aud-the proprie-
tors don’t try to make it xny better. What’ depart-

 

.them—hollow-eyed, we
| strength, no health.”

 

felt a strange weakness, and knew that she was
going to tall. She grasped the upright. of the
shelves, and laying her head on one of the boxes,
lost all memory of Mason & Co,, their establish-
lishment, their superintendent, or their floor-walk-
ers. She was soon brought to a esnsciousness of
where she was, however, by a shrill voice crying:
“Miss Eliesmere!' With a great effort she roused
herself, und Jeaning heavily on the counter, stood
facing Miss Loweraft, who had called her.

“Don’t you know it’s against the rules to lolion
boxes in that manner?” said Miss Loweratft.

“T couldn’t help it, Miss Loweraft. I should have
fainted if I hadn’t rested myself.”

“Nonsense! Why should you faint any more than
I? And don’t lean on the counter that way; it’s
against the rules.” | 7

“It seems evorything that is not uncomfortable is
against the rules,” sighad Adele.

“Well, if you don’t like the rules you are not
nee to stay here,” observed Miss Lowcraft, de-
eidedly.

“Lam not strong to-day; in fruth I am very ill,
Miss Loweraft. May I not: have a chairto sit in
when there are no customers?” said Adele.

“Ha, ha, hal’ laughed the floor-walker, un-
pleasantly, “that’s a good one, that'is. Why don’t
you ask for a satin sofa. Wedon’t allow our em-
i to sit down.” ;

“Not even when they are sick, Miss Loweraft ?”

“Tf you are sick you can go home.”

“But then I would lose my day’s salary,”

“Of course you would.” 7

“Lam well enough to stay here ifI eould but rest a
few moments now and then. This standing makes
my back ache, my head Ache, my whole body ache,
and so it acts with all the yonng ladies. “Look at
ak, with yp animation. no

“Hallo! hoity toity! are you going to read me fi
leeture? Now take my advice and obey all the
rules,” said Miss Loweraft. “You are new to this
business, and I will not be hard upon you. I could
report you and have you disehhrgeid for what you
have done: to-day. Itis my duty to report, and I

 

 

shall have to doit if you don’t act differently. Don’t
oe agai on the counter that way. Stand up.”
can’t,”
“But you must.” '
“Indeed [—” Adele commenéed, as shoe endeay-
ored to stand, but she did not finish the sentence.
Nature, more merciful than Mason & Co., had de-
prived her of all consciousness of suffering, and
she or in a dead faint upon the floor behind the
counter,
Miss Corsen ran to the prostrate form_of her as-
sistant. and raised the heavy head, and Miss Low-
eraft brought a tumbler of water to Miss Corsen,
who sprinkled ths face and moistened the lips of
the sufferer, until consciousness returned.
No excitement was caused by the event; no one
gave ita second thought; events of the kind were
of too frequent occurrence to engender even tho
smailest concern, andthe young ladies forbore to
think of them as something unpleasant, which
any moment, they felt. might happen to them-
selves.
Fortunately for Adele, the hour for closing had
nearly struck when she revived, so that she was
soon released from her prison. :
Feeling that her faint had been caused purely by
want of food, she resolved to eata hearty meal, and
entering a restaurant, ordered a dinner, which
when paid for left her but'just pennies sufficient to
buy her a bread and milk breakfast, and exhausted
the dollar she had pledged her ring for.
The next day was Saturday, however,and Adele
felt sure she could induce Mrs, Crossley to yield to

 

ment are you going to bein?” 3). /
“The ribbon department, I believe,” answered

a ) <

~ “Ok, then you will be with me. Come up: stairs,
and Twillintroduce you to Miss Loweraft,” said
thegirl. “Oh, dear!’ she sighed; “another day to
be put in. Norest,no plezsure=nothing but a long
labor that you don’t even get a kind sword for.
Come on.” i

Miss Loweraft was soon found, and Adele was
assigned her position. The warm store was a pal-
ace to the attic lodger, and she resolved) that she
would bear any number of hardships for the sake
of that comfort ‘and the hope of earning her living.
The affectation, the hat rs impertinence of ladies
out phoppine is proverbial, and it is mot necessary
to réproduee it in detail here; suffice it to say that
Adéle received her full share of the abuse that the
purchaser even of a quarter of a yardof ribbon feels
justified in showering on the head of the “com-
mon shop-girl’ behind the counter. Tho warmth
and closeness of the room, too, that bad at first been
50 comforting, now became sickening.

Adele began to grow weak; her scanty breakfast,

her entreaties and permit her to retain enough
money wherewith to purchase the necessaries of
existence. we
This, and the anticipation of along rest on Sun-
day, impurted good spirits to the girl, and tho day
passed as pleasantly as, under the rigorous rules
of the plaice, time could pass, until toward the closo
of the day. it was almost the hour for closing
when,a young and very handsome lady, aeccom-
panied by two gentlemen, one a stately, fine-look-
ng old man,and the other, Se his son, a
dashing, noble, tail young man, with black; laugh-
ing eyes, and a long silky mustache, stopped at the
ribbon counter. H é
Adele had seen the party approaching, and, as
she canglitsight of the young man, the ved blood
mounted to her cheeks, her breath seemed to como
with difficulty, and noticing the rich attire and ele-
gant tout ensemble of the young lady, she gavea
glance at her own ill-fitting, home-made (ress,
thought of her position, and something like a bitter
sigh escuped her.
In better, happier times Adele had known and
frequently met tie young man, and he had seenied
yery happy i her society, No’ words’ of love had

 

pre vet enough for a kitten, refused to furnish
ae sufficient to enable her to stand all the

morning. She looked
lunch with anxiety, and felt that her strength would
hardly hold out until that time. 23
“My sakes alive!” cried a familiar voice; “Ty
n from one end of this place to the other look
ing for you.” ‘ HOD ole i
. who had her back to the counter, being

      

&

Bella Goldén.
“so if you can go out now, get your things, There’s

 

 

 

 

 

asplendid restaurant around the corner, If you
can’t go now, I'll wait.” vt f
““T think it’s my hour now,” said Adele, so happy
to have ashort rest, and a pleasant time with the

er fatigue. “Ill just run down stairs for my
things. I won’t be a moment.”

“Where are you going, Miss Ellesmere?” asked
the young lady with the angry air, looking around
cautiously to make sure she was not being watched
by some person who would report her for convers-

ne.

“Going out to lunch with my friend, Miss Corsen,”
answered Adele, smiling, in anticipation of her
pleasure. .

“You needn’t come back if you g> out,” said Miss

rsen.
“Why ?” asked Adele.
“It’s against the rules to go outtolunch. You
must bring it with you.” ;
Adele’s face fell; her disappointment was very

. great.
“You don’t mean to say that they won’t allow the
ladies:to:go to bunch ?” said Bela, in grea, indigna-

n. ;

“IT do mean. to say so,” returned Miss Corsen,,
“You must go down stairs and eat.” ( :

“Suppose the ladies don’t take any more time to”
go eat thah they would downstairs?” interposed

eie, ’ ¥ a

“That doesn’t make any difference,” returned
Miss Corsen, “they stifle you. here wih foul.air,
chill you tothe marrow with drafts, and then. ex-
pect you to keep a clear head and to be able, to, tell
in a moment,soas not to delay a customer, how
much thirteen and three-quarter yards of ribbon
at seventeen cents a yard is. They insist on it that
you must stand all day and yet they won’t let you
go home at noon to eat; you must go down under-
ground in abig room smelling of old shawls, and
umbrellas, and overshoes, and stale bread and but-
ter, and eat whatever you’ve gol,’

“They’ve no: right to treat fellow-creatures that
way!” exclaimed Bella. ‘ , :

“Why, ‘we're no better than slaves!” said Adele,
_. half erying. me nis

“Not as good, ag I said this morning. because we
feelthat we are, the envals, often the superiors of
our masters, and, besides, slaves have their clothes

i food givon them,” iprowed Miss Corsen,

‘Well, then,” said Adele, sadly,“‘I suppose I
must stay whereIam. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait alittle while,” said, Bella, going away. |

In five minutes she returned. with a large bundle
of sandwiches and cakes, and said: aes

“Tf you can’t go with me to lunch Pll go with
ou.” :

“You will not be permitted,” said Miss Corsen.

“Why not?” asked Adele, indignantly.

“Because it’s against the rules,” answered tho
angty git}. with a sneer. “Everything.’s against
the rules,”

ees we must be mere machines, without feel-
ine qatar kind, if we live up toall these rules,””
sa ele.

“God help us, that’s what they want us to be, and
that’s what we become,” sai iss Corsen; “and
Viltell you: one thing, if your friend is.a friend,
she’d better not stay any longer, because I see Miss

ae twatching, and she’s a flend for report-
ng.’ t oH ’

Acting on this hint Bella quickly departed, and
Adele went in a melancholy frame to the young
ladies’ room, where she shared her lunch anes
three or four of the hollow-eyed, low-spirite

oung ladies she met there, and then returned to

er post to listen with patience to complaints. and
chatter from shallow-brained customers, and to
endure enough yexations and troubles to stagger
a healthy man, and then sought her cold attic, de-
voured her insufficient supper, und tried to forget
her troubles in oe

On the following day Adele had been showing roll
after roll of ribbon to neapricicus eustomer, and
that lady finally being satisfied departed. Adele, in
replacing the ribbon in the various boxes, missed
a small piece of satin ribbon. Shoe searched every-
where, but could pat find it, and at length was forced

summon the floor-walker and report the loss.
hat official after one ortwo useless inquiries, walk -
6d away, saying nothing of importunee, and Adele
congritulated herself on the ease. with which she
had been relieved from her predicament. be Cor-
sen, however, looked at her with a queer smile, and
said: "Wait till Saturday ‘night.’ and this added

her pang to all she had to endure.

Adele, be it remembered, had never had occasion,
when in the best of health, to tax her strength, and
now. when debilitated by grief and lack of proper
food, the rule which compelled the ladies to stand
throngh all the long business hours was doubly

ar er. Pp

On the afternoon of the second day she felt her
strength fast departing. a mist eame before her
eyes, her limbs were scarely able to sustain her; she

 

 

     
      
 
 
 

forward to the hour for/en her heart to Arthur

  
  
   
 
   

piey roplielig wood is, Carned, and joyfully greeted },
; ; > ; Orsel as éng + ah : A
“Pye come to take you out toluneh” said Belln; | blushes and contusion, advaneed to serve them,

    
    

Eta Bella, that she forgot her past troubles and|Tam. Father, this,.is Miss Adele. Ellesmere.

ever pissed between them, but still Adéle had giv-
Thornton unaskod, and
hoped that she had won his. The shock of her
father’s death and after poverty had come—he had
en away atthe time—and as she drifted intoa
fferent world, she had never seen him sineo then,

   

 

Miss Delmarte’s trick had been successful.

“Oh, my God, my God!” groaned Adele, “this is
too terrible—worked like slaves, treated like erim-
inals, and kicked out like dogs, without a chance
for defense. Oh, this is cruel, inhuman-—it is un-
ehristian-like, satanic! Heaven forgive these peo-
ple—they have much to answer for!”

She was about to go, when it occured to her to
count her money. Opening the envelope, she
found therein a one dollar greenbuck—nothing
more.

“You have given me but one dollar,” she said to
the cashier. “Ihave worked four days;and, at two
dollars a week, I should receive one dollar and
thirty-three or four cents.” s
.., Your money’s correct,” said the cashier, testily ;

thirty-three cents deducted for remnant of ribbon
missing.”

“But somebody stole that. I told the floor-
walker.”

“Yes, somebody stole it, but we don’t know who,
so you must pay for it. Now don’t argue the mat-
ter. Pm busy?

“Four days work! Twenty-five cents a day, and
abuse, cruelty, and ignorant strictness thrown in.
Woll, well,” mused Adele, as with a heavy heart she
slowly walked home, “better be the sufferer than
the one who. inflicts the pain; but oh, this is too,
too horrible! how am I to quiet Mrs. Crossley. Oh,
if I could see Arthur! But I will see him to-
morrow, and I will tell old Mr. Thornton my sad
case, But no, what would Arthur think! (I will ask
him to recommend me to some other store. Any
how I have seen my Arthur, bless him! and he was
yroud to recoguize me, too. I wonder whe Miss

elmarte is.’ [will ask Arthur to-morrow. Tam
so-happy to think Twill see him.” }

And ,misery, poverty,-and care, all were driven
away by the powerful enchanter, love!

“Ha io you my money?” was the first inquiry that
greeted Adele, as she entered the house
-“Yos,”. answered the girl, “I'll give you all Lre-
esived, Mrs. Crossley. Here it is,” audshe handed
her the dolar. ;

“Is this all?” said the landlady.

Yes, they dedueted me for a ribbon that was
re And oh, I’m discharged. I’m so unfoertun-
ate, OSL

“Oh, you are, eh? You see nobody treats you as
wellasI do. But LI-won’t do it any longer. This is
all the money you haye,-is it?”

“Every penny Lam possesse:) of.”

Well, I’m siek of idlers.s You needn’t go ap-
stairs,

*“Whatdo you mean?” f

“That I’m tired of you and yourairs. You can

yuk. Doyouhear? Walk! And don’tyoudare to
show your nose in this door again.”

“You don’t mean toturn mo out! Oh, Mrs. Cross-
ley, you can’t mean that. Lhave nowhere to go.
will freeze. Ob, you cannot be se eruel.”

“Cruel, is it? Haven’t I waited for weeks, and
now, to get only one dollar, and you with your air-
ishness so great they had to, discharge you! Well,
Pliifollow their example. Get ont! Now don’t
stand there and palaver. Get about your business.
Go tosome of your grand friends, and see ifthey’ll
keep youthree weeksfor nothing, Gol? — .

And with an angry growl she deliberately thrust
ine girl into the street,and banged the door after

er.

Alone in the streets! No placeto rest her head!

What could she do?—where would she go? Adele
strove in vain to collect her thoughts, but her mis-
fortunes overwhelmed her. She could not even
weep. It was dark, and the shops on the east side
of the city were litup gayly. Among them she
trudged; some times Eley, walking in a very
crowded one, to warm herself for a moment, then
out again, to continue her weary walk. She was
like one in adream. She was afraid that if she
should stop she must die, so sie walked on, on, not
knowing where. Gradually the gayly-lit stores ap-"
peared at fewer intervals, then ceased altogether,
Snow began to fall, at ilrst softly, and by degrees
more fiercely, until it was beating against her;
battling with her hair, and her eyes, and covering
her like ghastly cerements.. The streets were de-
serted, no one who had even ashed to crawl under
would be abroad on such a night, but she must
walk on, on or freeze. .
The glimpses of glowing fires in cozy basements,
which added torment to her sufferings, were the
only lights she saw now, for she had reached the
aristocratic portion of the city, and it was late
enough for most people to beabed. From the par-
dor windows of one houseabrilliantdight was flung
across the white street. Adele paused ns if there
nwvas warmth in the light, andias she did so she ree-
ognized the house, Itwas Bella Golden’s, She for-
wut the jeers of Mrs. Golden, she only knew she
wis freezing and starving, and she crawled up the
stoop, her wet garments clinging to her, and rang
the bell. The servant, looking at her in surprise,
bade her be gone. In ansjver to her question he
said Miss Golden was out. When she sent her name
to Mrs, Golden, and the sgrvyant brought back the
answer that Mrs, Golde id not know who she
was, and then closed the dgor in her face

  
 
 
   
 
  
      
  

  

   
 

  
    
       

  

     

  

 

 

 

the thought that she might sometime mect him
listen to. leasant tale of love eae! him, had
 S3vee 1 )

Ss

    
 
   
 

“Haye you any ashes ..of roses-——”’commenced
ady, when she was interrupted by the young

est! Etris—I’m sure it is! Why, Adele.

vi
say Miss Ellosmere, I’m so glad—really

houl

father, Adéle—Miss Ellesmero—’pon my soul, i
never was 8o delighted!” and various other ejacu~-
lations burst. from_ him, and reaching over the
counter, he, grasped her hand with great warmth,
an example which his father followed. |

“Humph!” sneeringly observed the lady who

had come with them, “an acquaintance of yours,
evidently?”

“Acquaintance!” cried Arthur, “nothing of the
kind—we are old friends, aren’t we, father? Permit.
me - _present you: Miss Ellesmere, Miss Del-
marte.”

Miss Delmarte acknowledged the introduction in
the coldest way, with the slightest movement of the
head and elevation of the eyebrows, and Adelo re-
turned her salutation as coldly. The two girls
knew instinctively that they were rivals, and con-
seanoent ly were icebergs of politeness to each
other.

“Will you be kind enough to serye me?” asked
Miss Delmarte. i

Miss Corseu was by this time disengaged, and
Arthur, noticing this, interposed as Adele was
about to open a box. : }

“Cannot your friend, the other lady, oblige Miss
Delmarte?’”’ he said to Adele, “You will excuse Miss
Ellesmere, L know.” he continued, addressing Miss
Delmarte. “Miss Ellesmere and I have not met in
s0 long that we. have very much tosay. You will
pardon me while you are making your pur-
chases?” ?

She smiled pleasantly on him. but cast a look of
anger at Adele,,and turned to Miss Corsen, yet
never failing to. note every look, action, and ex-
pression of the others. .

“Your fatlier dead—how sad?” she heard Arthur
say.. “Really, now, you must give me your address,
so thatI can eall—with father, you know,” he nxdd-
ed, as she saw that he noticed Adele’s hesitation.

“My home is s0 p9or,’ she heard Adele answer.
“that I could not havé you come there. No, I can-
not tell oR where it is—do notask me.” f

“But I may hope to meet you—father and I to-
gether—we may hope te meet you as you leave here
some evening?” | é : ;

“Ahl? thought Miss Delmarte, “there is more
than friends p between these two. He calls. her
Adele, and she blushed like a peony when she saw
him. Theymust not meet after she is through
business in the évenings—no, no, Adele Ellesmere.

ou are far too pretty to be seen often. All’s fair in

ove, and I'l spoil your meetings and win Arthur
Thornton.’ I know how to trick you. my pair of
doves. I know something of the management of
these large dry-goods ‘stores, and what the result
ofacomplaintis.” °° |
ising, she begged the gentlemen to excuse her a
moment, as she had business ‘in another part of the
stere, andswept away Without the smallest courte-
sy to Adele.

*“Do you still go to the same church?” asked Ar-
thur, when Miss Delmarte hadgone; ‘and if so,
mgy not hope to see you there?” ,

“Yes,” said Adele. The temptation to meet again
the man she loved, to lean on his arm, and to hear
his sweet words with no one by, was too great.
‘ Yes,” she said, “I'shall be there to-morrow even-

ing.’

Biss Delmarte here returned,and announced
that she was ready to go. 5

“So soon,” said Arthur. with a disappointed air
that was not lost onthe aspirant for his hand and
name,

“Yes; are you sorry?” she said.

“Oh, not at all,” he laughingly replied, and, rais-
ing his hat to Adele, accompanied the dark beauty
to the street. ;

Most cf the ladies had finished their work, and
Adele and Miss Corsen quickly made their depart-
ment orderly, and went to the cashier to receive
the money they had so hardly earned.

“Oh, you’re Miss Ellesmere, are you?” said the
cashier to Adele, when she presented herself and
mentioned her name,

“Yes.” naturally answered Adele,

“Well, here’s your money,” the enshier said,
handing her a sealed envelope containing her sal-
ary, ‘and you needn’t come back Monday.”

“What?” cried Adele, in terror.

“T gay you needn’t come back Monday—those are
the orders.” 2

“But why.” gasped the girl—‘why? Have I not
been attentive?” ‘

“Don’t know,” answered the cashier; “orders
came from the superintendent.” ,

“T will go to the superintendent,” said Adele.

“She’s gone home; besides, ‘twonldn’t be any use
—girls are too plenty and too glad to work. Some
one made a complaint against you, I believe, so

  
  
 

       
    
 

.j through the snow.

   

  

Heari-broken she slunk}down the steps and fell
Fane cesar tebe locumerNd nok
Ree ee i to her feet agdin, and’ ag: dged
] She heard the clocks toll eleven
and still was wearily, hoy , aimlessly walk-
ing. Down-one street shg¢ saw lights and t
them she went nnd fougi herself in fronto
Academy of Musicy Thex§
night, and the gay
their carriages. As she wht 18
fa Jamp-post or she would have fallen
had come—she could walk no further; she must be
aided or she would die. She resolved to make one
more effort; she would be a beggar.

Handsome Adele Ellesmere abeggar! She shud-
dered at the thought, but still the alms must be
asked. Threetimes she approached different gen-
tlemen, but she. could, not—could not beg. The
lights had been extinguished, the crowds had gone,
yet a party of three waited under the portico for
their carriage. Presently it came, its two lamps
like eyes of flame, dashing over the snow. As it
stopped Adele, by_a great effort, dragged herself
across the street. The lady and one of the gentle-
nen had entered the curriage.

“Sir,’ she commenced, when by the light of the
carriage-lamp she saw that the party was composed
of Mr. Thornton, Miss Delmarte, and Arthur. With
a shriek she turned to fly. The carriage drove off.
A_ strong arm detained, her, arough voice said,
“You’d better come with me!” andlooking up she
found she was in the grasp of a policeman,

_ CHAPTER VY.
A PRISONER. i

“I guess I mightas welltake you in,” said the
policeman, roughly.

“What do you mean?” gasped Adele, her fear al-
most rendering her speechless.
 “Jist you come along wid me and you'll find out,”
returned the guardian of the night. ?

‘Ada u—you—you don’t mean to arrest me?” eried
ele.

“Oh, no, not at all—by no manner o’ means,” said
the officer. sarcastically. ‘I only mean to escort
you tothe Hotel Brunswick on Fifth avenue, where

believe you’re stopping. No. come along,’ he ad-
ded, angrily. with a coarse oath. “I don’t want no
foolin’. [know you well enough, s0 you needn’t
try no innercent airs wid me. .Come on!” ;

“Oh, sir, what haye I done? Please don’t arrest
me. Ihave done nothing. Oh, for the love of Hea-
ven, sir, do not, do not arrest me!” pleaded the
girl, her fright lending her new strength.

“Tl tell you at thestation wot you’ye done. Don’t
try any of yourinnercent tricks on me, cos they
won't go down. Oli, come on, D’ye think I’m goin’
to stand here till mornin’, not much,”

And grasping the girl roughly by the arm, he
foreed her to accompany him.

“With fear, shame, and horror, Adele felt herself
being dragged through the streets like the lowest
of hersex. No sobs, no tears came to her relief. It
seemed that this must be some horrid dream from
which she would shortly awake. It did not seem
possible that she, once the petted daughter of a

  
           
    
      
   
  
   

 

  
 

wealthy father, she who was so pure, who had tried
so a to earn an honest livelihood, should come
to this,

“No, nol it must be a dream.” she murmured;
“and Lshall wake soon!” and so she mechanically
walked on with the oficer. : is

At the corner of Brcudway a number of “swells,”
or fast young men, jou sneying, or rather stagger-
ing, homeward from ti “ir orgies, saluted her with
derisive laughter ands. ‘its.

oh?” yelled one,

“Nipped again, old ga. “Six
misnthis onthe island this. ~e, sure.”
“Pull herin, boss,’ said ar ‘er tothe policeman ;

and then, all Jaughing, they. vgered off.
These taunts fell hurtless ou oor Adele, for she
deemed them but partofherd: on.

“Yes, itis a dream—alla drean. she again mur-
mured. j
But, no. That brightly-lighted a:

could not be a dream,

warm room

“Where am 1?” she cried, as sheen. ‘di the sta-
tion-house. }
“Oh. gammon!” eried the officer, ‘lea: her up

to the desk—and she awoke.

The room in which Adele found herse. as a
large quadrilateral apartment, unfurnishe. ave
on one side, which was railed off. Behind thi: ‘1-
ing was an elevated platform, on which was ali
some desk. brilliantly lighted by two Arg.
burners, Atthis desk, upon which were sever.

large books of entry, dozed a coarse-looking man }

in uniform.

“Sergeant!” called the officer, releasing Adele,
and bidding her stand where she was—nadvice
which, by the way, was absolutely unnecessary, for
she was rooted to the spot in dismay,

“Hallo!” answered the sergeant, waking up, and
rubbing his eyes. i

“A prisoner, sergeant,” explained the police-

man,

“What's the charge ?” asked the sergeant, open-
ing one of the hooks.

"Drunk and disorderly,” answered theintelligent

 

 

 

 

 

you wouldn’t stand a chance,”

 

officer,

 

= +

d she ,
ad not eome. Shes In an él

 

' eantsd THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #e~

“T should say she was,” returned the official at
the desk. “Look at her!”

Realizing her position at last, Adele had given
vent to a heart-rending moan and sank, insensible,
on the floor.

“Too drunk to stand up, by Jupiter!” added the
sergeant. whose intelligence was on a par with that
of the officer. ‘Drag her up!” he roughly ordered
the officer, and that worthy, anxious to oblige his
superior, seized the poor girl as though she had
been some disobedient animal, and in.as cruel a
manner as it is possible to imagine, without even
the decency of a brute.

This is no faney sketch, reader. A glance, how-
ever hasty, through the “Police Reports” of the
New York papers will prove itto be only too true,
A short search of the records of the coroner’s office,
detailing the numbers of deaths which have taken
place from sudden brain attacks and heart-disease,
the unfortunate sufferers from which were confined
i 290 by ignorant police officials, will corrobo-
rate it.

“Wot’s yer name?” demanded the sergeant,,
coarsely,

Adele moaned, leaning her head on the iron
railing in front of her.

“Crvin’ drunk, ain’t she?” said the sergeant, and
the officer, of course, coincided.

*‘Where did you find her ?”” asked the sergeant.

“Found her hangin’ round the ’Cademy of Musie
talkin’ to the psople as they got in their coaches,
and so I run her in,” explained the officer.

“Here, stand up straight and answer the ques-
tions,” ordered the sergeant, dipping his pen in the
ink preparatory to entering her replies. *’Wot’s yer
name ?’

No answer.
speak,

“Stubborn, eh? Do you know her?” heasked the
officer.

“Yes,” answered that official,
her name. She’s one of the gang.

, This, it is needless to observe, was a deliberate
lie; but the officer wanted to appear smart and
eapable, and to impress his superior that he knew
all the bad characters on his post.

. “How old are you?” asked the sergeant. follow-
ing up the formula proyided for

Still no answer from Adele. 5

“Oh, she’s too far gone,” said the sergeant; and
then beckoning to a man who stood at a door at the
end of the room, he said, brutally, laughing as he
said it: “Take her down.”

The doorman advaneed, seized Adele roughly by
the arm, and pushed her before him through the
door-way, down a flight of stone steps, and into a
narrow passage-way, op each side of which were
rows cf black-painted, heayily cross-barred_ iron
doors. Opening one of these doors he rudely thrust
her beyond it, closed the door with a clang, locked
it with a sharp click, and Adele found herself ina
prisoner’s cell.

Adele did not have the. power to

but I don’t know

him.

guilty of nothing but poverty and starvation, was
thrust into a noisome cell, without reason, without
trial, without examination, saye by two ignorant
ofiicials, whose repeated crimes, such as the one we
have endeavored to describe, fitted them to take the
place of our unfortunate heroine in that filthy dun-
geon. and,-if their deserts were given them, to oc-
eupy it for atleast a dozen years.

The cell was about five feet by eight, and, length-
ways on one side, ran a board or shelf about three
feet from the ground, which was intended as the
eouch for the prisoner. No blanket, no covering
of any kind—nothing but a bare, hard board. It
was built of brick, and there was no ventilation
save through the door, and through that came the
odors from all the other reeking dungeons.

Opposite Adele a man, maudlin at times, and at
times mad with liquor, made the place hideous
with his moans, his wails, or his howls.. Next to
him was afoul woman, whose blaspemous tongue
would have madethe worst man quail; and a short
distance off, evidently facing each other, were in-
earcerated two drunken friends, who sang together
flash and op né songs, und made the black-hole
rate with their ribald, horrible laughter,

Adele endearored:to shut her ears to all these
horrors, but she could not. Her fiesh crept at the
shrieks, the howls, and the demoniac mirth of the
terrible place. She threw herself upon the hard
board, and hiding her face in her poor, thin hands,
wept scalding tears. _

or an hour shetried to endure the pandemo-
nium, and then, rising from the roughboard and
sinking upon her kness on the cold, damp, stony
floor, she prayed. Prayed God to deliver her from
that den—prayed God to help herin her sorrow
and this the hour of her direst need.

She was stillon her knees when the man who
had so brutally forced her down into the cell ap-
peared at the grated door, and said, quite meekly: ,

“Ts your name Ellesmere?”
es, yes,” answered Adele.
hen,” said he, unlocking and opening the door,

: >

“follow me—you’re wanted up stairs.’

CHAPTER VI.
A FBIEND IN NEED.

+
om

 

tly-furnished -room adjoin-
ing an equally aaa sleepi aut es ue
beauty, where a soft coal fire threw a_ gentle, flic
ering light on thetiger-skin front
the heavy HORSE the soft, yielding, easy
velvet chairs, the uxurious lounges, the superb
pictures, and heavy silken -curtains—sat two men
late one night, or rather very early one morning.

One was an elderly gentleman of kind features,
the other a young man, yet the counterpart of the
elder—in short,they were Mr. Thornton and his
son Arthur. They werein their dressing-gowns—
fur-lined—and yelvet slippers, and were sipping
mulled sherry and pufilng leisurely at their cigars,
preparatory to eet The occupation was ‘one
that invited quiet and_repose, yet Arthur seemed
strangely disturbed. Every now and again hoe
would rise and pace the room. puffing nervously at
his “regalia” and talking to himself,

“Well, you’re not avery pleasant companion to-
night, Arthur, my boy,” said his father, atter one of
theso outbreaks. “Sit down and have achat with
the old gentleman—meaning, of course, your re-
spected father.” ‘

It may here be explained that Mr. Theodore
Thornton, Arthur’s@ggMher,. had for the past ten
years been a widower, and that as Arthur grew old
enough he made him his constant companion and
confidant, permitting him, as it were, to take the
plage in his affections left void by the loss of his
wife. at,

Mr. Thornton for years had been a flourishing
lawyer, and had amassed a fortune at that honor-
able calling, whereupon he had desired to retire;
but his friends would not permitit, and nominated
him for the position of Judge of the Supreme Court,
2 Soetre dignity he was elected, and which he now
reld. *

There was the most perfect confidence between
the two, and indeed,to one whodid not know of

‘| their relationship, thep would have appeared like

two good and dear friends. e

“How did you like Lucca as ‘Marguerite,’ Arty,
better than Nillson, as well as Kellogg, or how did
you like her?”heasked.

“Very well,” Arty oa absently. |

“The jewel song in the@articn scene, for instance;
don’t:-you think that was. tender?”

“Very tender, indeed,’ returned Arthur, no less
absently than before. ;
“And Siebel, you know, singing ‘La parlate d’
armor.” do love that song, Arty; don’t you,

2
Arthur did not answer.
‘What did you say?” asked the old man, ro-

guishly. ‘

Still Arthur did not answer. ;

“Lam certain of it now,” cried the judge, in tones
of mock grief, # ave suspected it for some time,
but now I know itto be too, too true. [have grown
deaf—alas, deaf! Do you know, Arty, dear boy, I
did not hear a word of your answer?”

OD ang een pardon, father, I am sure, but the
truth is 1am worried,” said the young mun, “very
much worried,” and then he muttered to himself:

“It could not_have been, no, no, and yet who
knows? Just Heaven if it should have been!”

“What are = muttering about, and what are
you worried about, Arty?” asked the judge.”

“Father,” said the young man, turning suddenly
on that worthy gentleman.

“Bless my soul, what?” returnedhe.

“You remember just as we were getting into the
carriage after the opera?”

“The spaco of time that has elapsed since then is
so short that I believe I may venture on the asser-
tion that I remember it quite distinctly,” replied
the ude: serio-comically.

“No; but seriously, father.”

“Well, then, nerional ys my son.”

“Do you remember that at the carriage door there
was a woman begging?”

“T do, and that we gave her nothing, poor wretch;
we ought to be ashamed of ourselves.”

“Never mind charitable regrets now, father. Tell
me, did you observe her face?’

“Well, not particularly. [saw that she was young,
and I thought, good-looking.”

“Tell me, did tha face appear at all familiar to

you?

“Wall, now that you ask me, I must admit that it
did. Yes, itdid. Why do you ask?”

“To corroborate myself, that’s all.”

“Why,” demanded the judge, anxiously; “what
in the name of ajl that’s good, do you suspect?”

“Father,” said the young man, earnestly, “do you
think that beggar girl looked anything like Adele
Eliesmere?”

“Like whom?”

“Like Adele Ellesmere.” ;

“Why. yes; she did resemble her,” said the judge,
“but then,” he added, laughingly, “it is searcely a
Secret to Miss Adele to say so.”

“Father,” said Arthur, solemnly, “the faceof that
young girl has haunted me all the night. During
our ride in the carriage; at our petit souper at the
Hotel Brunswick; here, in this room since our re-
turn that face has been ever present to my mind’s

 

 

Yes, an honest working girl, a true woman,|

ing-roum where comfort was intermixed meats i

¢

, @ye,and I can resist the impulse no longer,” he
i cried, kicking off his slippers and pulling off his

dressing-gown.
ae are you going to do?” demanded his fa-
ther.

“Tam going to satisfy myself whether or not that
girl was Adele.”

“Why, you are mad—you are insulting to the
young lady to even think so,” said the judge.

“Father,” said he, ““Adele is proud—is poor—and
where poverty goes hand in hand with pride, one
never knows Where it may jead the victim. I can-
not rest easy to-night until I have gone out and
satisfied myself—so here goes.” And he proceeded
to draw on a pair of heavy top-boots.

“What, are you going out this horrible night ?’
asked his father.

“Pop,” he returned, "I would go out, as I feel, if
ee, skate one half the way and swim the
other.’

“Humph!” muttered the old man, ‘you take an
extraordinary interest in this Miss Ellesmere.”

“Ido,” answered Arthur. “some day I’ll tell you
how great aninterest. Where’smycoat? Oh, here
itis. Now my overcoat. Now astout fur cap. This
will do capitally. And, now, pop, by by for a little
while—I’m off,’ :

“Well, Arty,” said the judge, “the best wish I can
make is, that you will be completely disappointed.”

“Thope and pray that myself,” he answered, “but
delays are dangerous, s0 I’m off.”

It required some ‘mental conrage to leave that
cozy warm room, the mulled sherry. and the eapi-
tal cigars. and face the cold night, the blinding
one ann cutting sleet, but Arthur never hesita-

ted.

“Oh, if that should be Adele—my Adele, for she
will be mine—exposed to the bitter cold of this
night! Suppose misfortune has driven her from
her home, howean I find her? But Iwill find her
—I will have every telegraph wire in this city quiv-
ering with a message, and every policeman and
messenger-boy shall be searching for her.”

On he trudged through the snow until he reached
the Academy of Music, and there he halted.

“Now what am I to do? If Iecould only see the
policeman on this beat would question him and
find if he had noticed her. But I suppose I might
{wait hours forapoliceman on a night like this.
This seems a sort of a wild goose; chase after all,
and yet I don’t know how Lecould have done other-
wise. Well, I’m not going to give it up yet,” he
said. firmly.

“Wot d’ye want here at this time o’ the mornin’?
Go on now about your business, or Pll run you in,”
said a hoarse voice.

Arthur, turning, saw a ‘burly policeman muffled
up to the eyes.

Ah,’ he said, “you are the very man I am look-
ing for.” ,

“T-am, eh? Well, what d’ye want?” asked the

 

“Were you here when the Academy audience
came out?” asked Arthur. eee

“LT jist came on then. vay ”

“Did you see a young Jady in black approach a
carriage to beg ?”

“No, I didn’t.”

. No 9?

“No. Young ladies don’t beg. I see a gal in black
as went up to a coach, but she wasn’t no lady. She
was drunk,” :

“Drunk! How do you know she was drunk ?”

“How do I know ?”

“Yes, how do you know?’

“Why I took her in,” :

“What do youmean? Locked her inthe station-
house a

*“That’s not much of a reason.”

“?*Tain’t, eh? Well, I. don’t want no sass from you,
anyhow. Isay she was drunk—drunk as a b’iled
owl, an’ if you don’t believe me, you can go to the
station and see.” , ;

“That’s precisely what I intend doing. Where is
the station ?” asked Arthur.

The officer told him, and he set off there on a

run.
“Hello! What do you want?” demanded the ser-

burst into the station.

“A young lady was locked up here to-night, on
charge of drunkenness. I would like to see her,”
said Arthur, panting for breath. Pe

“Oh, would you?” said the sergeant, “What’s
her name?”

Ellesmere.”

“No sich a woman here,” said the sergeant.

‘She is a young lady with light hair, very pretty,
about eighteen or twenty Ber of age, and dressed
in black—is there any such person here ?”

“Well, yes, there was a gal answerin’ to that de-
scription brought in here, but she’s too drunk to
open her mouth.” returned the intelligent ser-
‘geant. /

“Can I see her?’ asked Arthur, trembling, he
searce knew why. ;

“Why, yes; jist walk right down stairs,” said the
sergeant. : 2

“No, no,” said Arthur, shrinking back. “If it be
the lady I am in search of, she would _ be pained be-
|yond description to have me see her in a cell;
neither would [ liketo see her myself in such an
nominious situation, Can’t you let her come up

one

mat in front of it, ong “Why, she couldn't walk up two steps, she’s so

Pan OF liquor,” said the sergeant.

ity her.” said Aa ees

she is not the lady Tam in search of “Will you not
atleast try. her ?’ ss

“Wot's the name ?” asked the officer.

“Ellesmere,” answered Arthur,

Well, I don’t know but what Pll humor you,”
said the sergeant.
.“Idon’t wish to be humored; I demand it asa
right!” said Arthur, beginning to grow angry.

Oh, you do ?”

es. There’s my card. You can report that I
demanded it, ifitis against your captain’s rules.”

“Well, you puton a good many airs,” said the
sergeant. |.

“All this time a most worthy young lady may be
lying in one of aig horrible eelis,” said Arthur
Hee kind enough to order one of your men to bring
‘her up. -

_ Well, Is’pose I might as well.” growled the ser-
geant. .

“T suppose so, too; so do it.”

With a very bad grace, the gentleman behind the

he returned with Adele.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)

wa i &@

Items of Interest.

ag A lady in Wilmington, N. C., was lately at-
tacked by a cat, under the tollowing circumstances: She and
another Jady were preparing their toilet, when sucdenly the cat,
which had been lying at their feet, seized one of the legs of the
lady and tore the flesh with itsteeth and claws. Before the
other lady, her daughter, could come to her assistance, the
wounds inflicted by the cat were many and painful.. The daugh-
ter took hold of the little enraged, beast and pulled it quickly
wway. The cat, infuriated to tigerish anger, then sprang at her,
its tail swollen as large as a human arm, and scratched her, be-
sides badly tearing her dress.- A neighboring gentleman was
appealed to for help, and by the aid of the young lady’s tight
grip on the cat’s neck, 4nd.a dumb-bell in the hands of the gen-
tleman, the furious creature was killed. A physician was called
to dress the wounds of the elder lady, who is afflicted with ery-
ane in the lacerated limb, and whose safety is a matter of
anxiety.

aa Avery amusing incident occurred on a
New York and New Haven train the other day. When the train
arrived at the stution in New Haven, an old gentleman got up
and started for the rear end of thecar. He had gone but a few
steps before the old lady who had been sitting with him rose,
with her hands full of knitting work, and followed him down the
aisle, her hands extended, It was now noticed by the passen-
gers that her ball of yarn was inher pocket. When he got up

1e turned around several times before starting, and in so doing

lad wound the yarn around him, so that the old lady had no
ohoice except to follow liim, drop her knitting, or see her yarn
broken. She. said not a word, but a passenger, noticing what
was going on, reached up, and gently taking the unconscious
old gentleman by the arm, turned him around so that he saw
what he was doing, and the yarn was saved. By this time the
rest of the passengers were roaring with laughter.

ae The extraordinary phenomenon displayed
on the Florida coast, by which not only the coast waters, but as
far out as one hundred and fifty miles into the Gulf, have been
rendered so poisonous as to kill the fish and create a pestilen-
tial stench in bays and harbors, where the floating carcasses
collect, should receive a thorough investigation. We have seen
no other explanation ot the poisoning than that it comes from
the inland waters—the Everglades prominently—and penetrates
the Gulf in stratas of dark reddish water, which kills all the sur-
face fish so soon as it reaches them, and eyen far beyond any
apparent contact. This poisonous outflow is stated to have
been nearly fata! to the fish trade between Florida and Havana,
the smacks finding it almost. impossible to select a route in
which the fish in their wells are not destroyed by the poison.

ag A story of great endurance on the part of
a horse is told by an Alubama paper. The owner, who, lives at
North Lownds, on his way -honrewnrd, got out of his buggy for
some purpose, and the horse ran off withit. Darkness had set
in, and the gentleman looked in vain for his missing property.
He went home and gave notice of the escape, and was much
troubled at the failure to recover the beast and vehicle. At last
they were found in the woods of Pintlala Swamp, near the place
of escape. The buggy had become iixed among the trees in such
manner thatthe horse could not draw it, and there the unfor-
tunate beast had stood, without food or water, for ten days.
Thouch emaciated and feeble, the horse was driven home with-
out being taken from the buggy.

sa A remarkable centenarian lives in Califor-
nia. His name is Jose Maria Amador, and he was born in San
Jose, in the year 1778, and was consequently one hundred
years old last year. He has been married five times, has had
orty children, eighty grandchildren, and twenty great-grand-
children. In his youth he entered the Mexican aan and rose
to be a brigadier-general. Returning to California, he founded
the Pueblo of Sonoma, and became _ possessor of the Amador
ranch. The old gentleman is now Jiving with his fifth wife, is
erect and sprightly in his gait, and laughs at his gray-haired
sons of seventy and upward.

a@- Rey. Bartholomew Weed, of the Newark,
N. J., Annual Methodist Episcopal Conference, died recently,
aged neurly 86 years. He was one of the oldest clergymen in the
State. When only 16 years old he was converted, and joined the
Baptists, but atterward became a Methodist. He was familiarly
krown as Father Weed, and was universally beloved.

age A cougar, measuring from tip to tip nearly
seven feet, was lutely killed in Klickitat County, Washington
Territory. It fought desperately with its paws after receiving
its first wound, but a second shot put an end to its struggles,

 

 

 

 

geant,, waking up, as Arthur, covered with snow, ~

if she is intoxicated, |

desk gave the doorman the order, andin amoment.

 

 

 
 

Cc a4 ¢
<n ae

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

sweats ‘THE NEW YORK WEERLY. to

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“INTEMPERANCE.

BY D. R. DECKER.

 

And isitso? Say, is it sot

Speak out, my country, speak!
Proclaim the truth, and let it go

From vale to mountain peak,
Shall rum and wrong our land cement,
And thus intemperance augment?

And must it be? Pray, shall it be?
Tell me, ye patient band,

Who fought the battles of the free,
Shall this, our native land,

Enslaved in sin’s polluting thrall,

Bow down betore “‘King Alcohol?”

Speak, PLYMOUTH Rock! speak out to-day!
Say, didst thou ever hear
The veterans of the MAY FLOWER say
They cherished thought or fear
That this fair land should e’er becomes
Enslaved to passion, lust, and rum?

Speak, BUNKER HILL! was it for this
Our patriot tathers fought?

That this vile scourge should still exist,
Was this the lesson taught?

Does thy proud pillar, high in air,

This shameful mockery declare?

Ah, no, our fathers never thought
Their fondly cherished sons

‘Would scorn the prize for which they fought,
And which they nobly won;

For liberty they stemmed the flood,

And paid the ransom with their blood.

Speak, STATESMEN! Say, is this fair land
Preserved by sin and strife?

And do ye fellowship the hand
Which seeks the nation’s life?

Do ye in Congress boldly stand

And vote that rum shall rule this land?

Is it for love of glittering gold
You grasp the gilded bait—
Your sacred honor bartered, sold,
Within the halls ot state?
Is this the sequel of thy pains .
To bind our land in galling chainst

Speak out, ye friends of truth and right!
Must we endure this shame?
Or shall we mingle in the fight,
And wipe away the stain?
With “sling and stone” in Heaven’s might
Repulse the wrong and aid the right.

@

A CANDIDATE FOR ALDERMAN.

ape
Dg

 

 

 

 

BY GEORGE W. BUNGAY.

if

 

i
i
i

love his pocket-book when_he accompanies me to

the concert, and theater, and chureh fair. There is
B—-, he sent me a small bouquet, and he has no
knowledge of the language of flowers. If the
meaning of the few blossoms (price ten cents)
should be made known to him he would ‘hide his
diminished head.’ Brother Bill says it is very
much diminished, for he wears a No. 6 1-4 hat and
No. 12 boots.” ‘Well,’ said anether_ brilliant
beauty, “he has agood understanding, and if he has
a full purse he could be useful in footing bills, and
whenever he took the floor for a dance or a speech
he would have a large share of it.” ‘As for his
head,” chimed ina third—‘were he to lose it one
might repeat the words of the old _Scotchwoman,
when one of the Stuarts was beheaded: ‘It was not
much of a head,’ she said, ‘but it was a sore loss to
the owner.’” Young ladies also might hear some-
thing they would not like tosee embodied in ear-
rings, and to be compelled to wear them in public.
Mr. D. declares that ‘the only accomplishment Miss
C. has is a smattering of music, and that the notes
shiver with disgust when she touches the piano—
furthermore, that the noise she makes is a nuisance
in the neighborhood, and when she adds her voice
the combination of sounds is worse than a concert
of eats.” Mr. G. says “that another lady makes a
business of going from house to house, where she
makes unkind and unjust criticisms of her neigh-
bors: that sheis a merciless mischief-maker. and
can find no meritin any family where there is no
money. Shehas been so long accustomed to sneer-
ing at others that her face has become a living
sneer.

Without further comment let us all turn a deaf
ear to slander and misrepresentation, and a quick
ear to the appreciative praise of others. In the
language of Pope:

‘Teach me to feel another’s woe,
And hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me,”’

> © <—

The Ladies’ Work-Box.

eee

Edited by Mrs. Virginia Ingram.

 

“Mrs. Davidson,” New Orleans, La., asks if embroidery will be
fashionable the coming season? There is no indication that it
will not be fashionable the comimg season, and all coming sea-
sens. It has always been more or less fashionable, and we
doubt not that it will continue so tong as the deft flugers of
women make it a study. Daisy Eyebright says in an article
entitled, “Art Embroidery”:

“Embroidery has been the pleasing occupation of women
since the earliest ages of civilization. In the Bible we
read of the embroideries of fine linen, and the vestments
of the priests were oe beautifully Wrought by the
hands of women. It is thought that early in the middle ages the
Moorish ladies taught the Spanish ladies the art of decorating
altars with intricate embroideries. Eleanor of Castile employed
her maidens in embroidering robes to deck her fair person, and
soon the fashion was adopted by the ladies of her court. Thus it
was introduced into other kingdoms, and for centuries the most
elegant robes, and many articles of ladies’ wear, have afforded
pieseing occupation, as well as remunerative employment, to
housands of women all over the world. In convents the nuns
have always excelled in white embroidery, and also in making
altar-cloths, and robes for the clergy, in silver, gold, and colored
embroideries. The taste and ingenuity they have exhibited
has always been the admiration of all beholders. But the
ancient style ot embroidery possessed artistic elegance
which displayed not only ingenuity but inventive genius.
“But lately fancy work has not possessed much merit; it con-
sisted chiefly of the so-called Berlin work, Which was otten stiff
and ugly. The}oom of the weavers could always surpass these pro-
ducts of the needle in finish and execution, Pleasing and taste-
ful fancy work, however, tends greatly to give pleasure to the
workers” M

Athough machine embroideries are very much less ex-
pensive to purchase than the hand-made, yet there are
hundreds of our ladies that prize more highly one little piece of

 

: i:
i A

i | i
F }

embroidery done by the fingers of some friend, or perbaps of
their own execution, than they would yards of the machine-
wrought. And we think we may safely assure our friend, that so
long as our ladies continue to decorate their garments so pro-
fusely as at the present time, there will be little fearthat em-
broideries ot every kind and description will cease’ to worn
and to be fashionable. We ought to be glad that it is so, as it
not only gives beauty to the garments and individuals that it
decorates, but it also gives employment to many women that
would otherwise be idle, and there is an “adage” that all are no
doubt familiar with, about ‘‘mischiet for idle hands,”

“Mrs. D. B. C., Kearney City, Nebraska.—lst. We could not

 

 

 

Mi
\ |
|
t
'

 

He was ‘“‘a candidate for alderman,” and desirous
to know the opinions of his neighbors in relation |
to himself personally and politically; so he pur-
ehased one of Edison’s ear-trumpets, and applied
it to his auricular avenue, and, to his astonishment

-and alarm, he heard eertain criticisms that did not
forebode a very brilliant triumph atthe polls. _
¥aets in his history which he supposed were hid-
den from public inspection, were “familiar. as
household words” to friends and foes, The indis-
ecretions of his early life,and the meanness of his
maturer age, were discussed in the family circle,
and on the street corners, with that abandon which
has no reverence for the seeker after office, whose
life has not been a guarantee of integrity and
honor.

Turning his trumpet toward the house of his
nearest neighbors, he heard the head of the family
say, distinctly:

“Phat old fool next door is a candidate for alder-
man. A pretty figure he would cut in the board,

The ward must be hard up fof aldermanic material
when it takes such shaky timber. Why, he never
opens his mouth in earnest save when he takes a
drink, and, should he open it to make a speech, the
eonfusion of verbs and nouns would remind one of
the days of the building of the Tower of Babel.”

“Yes,” chimed in the wife of the speaker, “and
his dowdy wife is no better than he is. See howshe
dresses—not only beyond their means, but without
taste. Just think of a gray-headed woman wearing
a bonnet that merely touches the top of her head,
and trimmed with red flowers that seem to blush
for her vanity.. She must be sixty, and yet_she
sweeps the streets with atrail of silk, andIam
very sure she cannot afford such extravagance and
waste; besides, she endeayors to crowd No, 5 feet
into No. 3 shoes.”

... Well!” exclaimed one of the three young ladies,
the ro of the parents account for the coarse
manners of the children. I dined with their eldest
daughter some time ago, and I was completely dis-
gusted with her rude manners at the table. Why,
do you believe it, she actually buttered her bread
with the butter-knife, put her own knife into her
mouth when she ate, as though it were a shovel,
and she drank out of her saucer, and wiped her
lps with the table-cloth—she did.”
aving heard enough from that quarter, he
turned his trumpet in another direction, and aimed
his wonderful instrument at an acquaintance who
stood in the street with a group of friends, dis-
cussing the living issues of the day,

“Brown has got his foot in the grating. as John
Yan Buren would have said, had he been living,
poor fellow.”

“How is that?” inquired the person addressed.

He is a candidate for alderman, and the only
qualification he has, is that he wears such a large
waistcoat, well filled. he cannot see his own toes.
if he had less bulk of body, and a greater weight of
wit, he might be able to represent # constituency in
this ward. As itis now, he is a ‘ton of a man,’ with-
out the talent needed for the place. He can fill the
aldermanic chair—the largest one in the chamber,
but thatisall hecan do. If adipose answered inthe
place of brains, he would be the greatest man that
ever aspired to the dignity he seeks. One thing I
may say of him, he would always he in order—good
order—excellent. order, with three inches of fat
upon his ribs.”

A laugh followed these attempts at wit, but there
was ene listener who did not even smile at the little
joke. Perhaps it was because they were made at
his expense. But he, although disgusted, was not
discouraged, and he was determined to hear what
the next speaker, a business man, had to say, so he
concentrated his attention upon the tube, which
had been the tunnel of unwelcome comment, and
ériticism.

“Tam sorry to add,” he remarked, ‘that his stu-
pidity and phlegm is not his only. disqualification.
The old fellow has failed once or twice, and the
man who cannot take eare of his own affairs should
not be trusted with the affairs of the city. Is it not
singular that men of mediocre capacity should
thrust themselves upon the public and crowd from
the front first-class men who administer their own
affairs discreetly and wisely, and who had they the
brass of such men as Brown, would be elected, and
as local legislators would reduce taxation, prevent
the wasting of the public funds, and enact laws that
would be a credit to our advancing civilization.”

Enough had been said. and more than enough, to
persuade Brown to withdraw his claims for the
nomination. This ear-trumpet would be a good in-
strument for matrimonial as well as _aldermanie
gandidates. If certain young men, who consider
themeelves lady-killers, could hear the comments
of ladies who use them as guides and walking-
sticks, and cicerones and clerks, they would be con-
siderably enlightened and very much astonished.
Hear their small talk: “What asimple fellow A——

 

 

little boy of eight years, iS as pretty as anything you could have

| the same color as the suit, soft felt hat.

i trimmed with a séantily-gathered flounce. §
| “Thekle” redingote, made in dark-blae matlesse cloth, trimmed

match the sample of pongee you sentus; but we send you two or
three samples a shade or two darker, which we think much
prettier to combine with your goods, thanto make it up with
the one shade. The samples have the width and price marked
oneach. Should you like any of them, and wish to purchase,
you can return the sample that you select and the amount re-
quired to make the purchase, and we will forward it at once. 2d.
The “Chauncy” suit made in dark blue Melton cloth for your

Derby ribbed woolen stockings of
Price of pattern 50 cts.
3d. A dress made in dark blue serge, and having a short skirt,
ver this is a

for a skating costume.

with silver-pointed beaver fur. This garment is half-fitting, with
the capes extending only to the side-form seams in the back.
Bonnet of gray felt, trimmed with blue velvet, blue tips, and a
elaster Or fine roses. Pattern of tle redingote 30 cents; skirt
pattern, 30 cents. 4th. A costume for a miss of fourteen years,
The “Rena” skirt basa draped apron in front, and the back
kilt-plaited and ornamented with a sash, and 1s made of “‘Prince
Charlie” plaid, made up bias, and trimmed with bands, bows,
and sash of bine silk.

he “‘Ninon” jacket is made of biue fancy}

 

TEMPERANCE SKETCH
FOR THE SMALL BOYS.

Willies Ride on the Elevated Ratlroad, and
what came of t.

BY MAUDE MILLER.

Willie Davidson had just ten cents in his pocketas
hesteod, on a cold morning, looking up at the won-
derful elevated railroad carsas they rushed by from
the Battery on the way to Harlem. Poor boy! the
wind played sad havoc with his old hat, which
had belonged to his father; and as Willie thought
of him_the tears came into his eyes, for Willie’s
father had been a poor, miserable drunkard, and
one year before had left his family, and Willie and
his mother and sister had come to New York city
to hive. Now Willie was going to take his first ride
on the elevated ears, in hopes of getting a job at the
Great Central Depot; and as he took his seat near
the window hy the side of a stout, gayly-dressed
lady, in a red shawl, he looked like some poor lit-
tle wilted flower by the side of a bright dahlia.

Oh! how swift the cars went, and Willie could see
the people in the secoud stories of their houses;
some were holding sweet little babies up to the
windows, and there was the ‘butcher, the baker
and the candle-stick maker.” What multitudes of
signs! so many different stores, and_ how many
liquor stores! and the tears came into Willie’s eyes
as hethought of his poor father.

“Tf I could one go away offand find him; but”
—and Willie spoke this aloud, forgetting himself—
“the minister onee said that a drunkard was mor-
ally sick, so poor father must be morally sick—per-
hapsin some hospital.”

“Mercy, boy!” shieked the old lady at his side,
who was partially deaf; “did you say your father
was mortally sick? Nothing catching, is it?’ And
she moved as far from Willie as she possibly eould.

Butthe little boy did not hear her. He was lean-
ing from the window, trying to getanother glimpse
of atall man ina white apron. with a white cap on
his head, looking from.an upper window. illie
knew that face! *I'was the same that had often
scowled upon him when liquor made it ugly, and
smiled upon him when sober.

“Oh! Mr, Conductor,” cried Willie, starting from
his seat, “let me off!”

When the man shouted ‘Forty-second street!”
Willie proudly left the train and ran until he was
out of breath into Mr. Brown’s large bake-shop, and
into the arms of the tall man with the white cap on
his head, who had seen Willie coming.

_ What a meeting was that! Willie could hardly be-
lieve it was his father, he looked so funny. But his
father was nowa reformed man; he had signed the
pledge and gone to work in the bake-shop, and was
going to hunt up his family the next week. How
happy our little boy was after that!—no more hun-
ger, no moretears, and his mother’s face grown so
fat and rosy, Willie could now stand in the great
bakery, and see his father make the nice bread and
cakes, and throw his arms around his neck, and
kiss the mouth that now had no taint of liquor in
it, and say: j
Papa, if I hadn’t taken that ride on the Elevated
Railroad, we might never have met. God bless for-
ever the Elevated Railroad!’

A QUESTION OF BONES.

BY MAX ADELER,

 

 

“What are the facts in this case, doctor?” asked
the magistrate, as Dr, Busby toek the stand.

“Why, you see,” said the doctor, “Jones, the cor-
oner, here, yesterday discovered a lot of old bones
in the cellar of astable which was torn down. Be-
ing alittle hungry for fees, he determined to hold
an inquest, and he sent for me toget a professional
opinion. They were the bones of a horse, you
know; but when I gct there, Jones had them laid
out on the ground in something like the form ofa
man; and when I remonstrated with him, he said
they certainly were the bones of aman, and he
was peek a solemn obligation to hold an in-
quest.”

“You say,” asked the justice, “that they did not
resemble the bones of a human being?’

“Well, you know, he had one leg made out all right,
but when I oailed his attention to the fact that the
bone ofthe other leg ran clear up through the body
and stuck out eight inches beyond the top of the
skull, hesaid the man may have been peculiar, he
may have been deformed. He said he had an aunt
whose leg bone projected so far from her head
veer had to letawole in the top of her bon-
net. *

“Did he produce the,
“No. -And when Is
had three elbows, wi¥
of any kind, and }

 
     
  

laid aunt?”

hogshead near by, which was about half-full of
rain-water.

Then he ran back to the room, threw all the
crockery out through the window, curried the tin
slop-jar carefully down stairs, shattered a looking-
glass into fragments, carried four lengths of stove-
pipe a quarter of a mile, where he laid them ten-
derly on the grass, took the cat by the tail and threw
cher up to the roof, seized a pail of water, climbed
to the ridge-pole with it, aud emptied it down the
chimney, grabbed an ax, and cut a hole through the
roof, and was about to smash an aquarium full of
gold-fish, when the. owner of the premises struck
him behind the ear with a brick and laid him out
on the lawn. s

When he came to himself again, he accused the
infuriated proprietor of ungratefulness, and they
had a fight then and there,in which the bald-head-
ed man had his left ear bitten off, and his adversary
lost a thumb and two fingers, but gained a pair of
beautiful black eyes.

Next day the baid-headed man sued the proprie-
tor for assault with intent to kill, and the proprie-
tor entered a cross-suit for dumages to the extent
of a drowned pig, smashed crockery, spoiled bed-
clothes, and a hole in the roof of his house. The
neighbors have taken sides, and when the trials
come on 4 riot is expected.

e+

Pleasant Paragravhs

{Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing
toward making thiscolumn an attractive feature of the NEw
YORK WEKKLY, end 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 seholarly style; so long as they are pithy, and likely
to afford amusement, minor detects will be remedied.}

The A BC Of It.
OR, AN AUTHOR’S TALE ALPHABETICALLY TOLD.

A stands for author, who sat up all night,
B for the book he so struggled t6 write,
C for a chapter of fire and of flood,
D for his demon, who liked love and blood,
E tor the energy devoted in vain,
F for the fog that he got on the brain,
G for the groundwork, the story’s foundation,
H for the hero, a sweet innovation,
I for the incidents, ee sensational,
J for his juveniles, too educational
K for the keynote others had chanted,
L tor the lies, (but that’s taken for granted),
M for the mystery, the reader perplexing,
N for the names, so odd and so vexing,
O for the orders, thus (O) represented,
P for the publisher, almost demented,
$ tor the quantity given—not sold,
for the readers (eleven, I’m toid),
8 for the sale (and that was by weight),
T for the title, ‘The Twice Eaten Cake,’’*
U for unlucky, the author’s condition,
V tor the victim he was to ambition,
W for his wasted time, peace, and cash,
X for his execrable literary hash,
Y for yielding (to Minerva’s voice),
Z for zeal or zounds—pray take your choice.

 

*N. B.—“You cannot eat the cake and have it too” —proverb—
unless you chew the cud.

One Way of Carving a Turkey.

He never carved a turkey in his life, and on
Christmas Day, with an old maid on one side of him,
watching him closely, and on the other side a fair
girl for whom he has a tenderness, he feels embar-
rassed when he begins. First, he pushes the knife
down toward one of the thigh joints. He can’t find
the joint, and he plunges the knife around in
search of it until he makes mince-meat out of the
whole quarter of the fowl. Then he sharpens his
knife and tackles itagain. At last, while making a
terrific dig, he hits the joint suddenly, and the leg
flies into the maiden lady’s lap, while her dress-
front is covered with a shower of stuffing. Then
he goes for the other leg, and when the young lady
tells him he looks warm, the weather seems to him
suddenly to become 400 degrees warmer. This leg
he finally pulls loose with his fingers. He lays it
on the edge of the plate, and while he is hacking at
the wing, he ery pushes the leg over on the
table-cloth, and when he picks it up it slips from his
hand into the gravy dish and splashes the gravy
around for six square yards. Just as he has made
up his mind that the turkey has no joints to his
wings, the host asks bim:

“T wonder who will be the Democratic candidate
for the Dresidency next year?”

The gir) next to him laughs, and he says he will
explain his views upon the SO hpers after dinner,
Then he sops his brow with his handkerchief, and
presses the turkey so hard withthe fork that it
slides off the dish and_upsets a goblet of water on
the girl nextto him. Nearly frantic, he goes again
at the wings, gets them off in a mutilated condi-
tion, and digs intothe breast. Before hecan cut any
off the host asks him why he doesn’t help out the
turkey. Bewildered, he puts both legs on a plate,
and hands them to the maiden lady, andthen helps
the young girl toa plateful of stuffing, and while
taking her plate in return, knocks over the yxravy

 

 
  
 
 
  

chickgn, he said tha
hadexgidt elbows, &
not obligate him to
freaks of nature.” /

“Had the remains

ore Was a man in Peru wh
that his oath as eccorer ar
count for all the phenomenal

y other elbows about it any-

 

cloth, with the vest, coilar, cuffs, and revers of blue velvet. Blue
felt hat, trimmed with blue plaid velvet, and a natural feather.
Skirt pattern, in sizes from ten to fourteen years, price 25 cents
each size; pattern of jacket, in sizes for trom ten to sixteen
years, price 25cents each. The patterns of any of the suits de-
scribed can be had by sendingto the NEW YORK WEEKLY Pnr-
chasing Agency, er tothe ‘Ladies’ Work Box,” the sum men-
tioned for each pattern. Itis not necessary that the costumes
should be made of the materials named gn the models, as any
other fancy plaids er cloths are equally as effective.

“Mrs. Haynes, New Haven, Conn., asks if the short dresses
are tu become generally fashionable to the exclusion of the train
and the demi- train skirts. Ist. We think that we can answer
her that we trust for the street that they may. But for house
wear or visiting toilets they will not, as the presentstyle is more
graceful than the short-walking skirt. The train or demi-train
will neyer fall in disuse as a partot a grand toilet, but we be-
tieve they will retain their distinctively recognized position.
24. You can make your carriage or culling costume of silk,
velvet, brocade, satin, wt @ camel’s hair, or Cash-
mere in dark shades. A very pretty model for a visiting-
dress is No. 6,372, price thirty-five cents for the polonaise, For the
skirt, No. 6,053, price thirty-five cents. This costume may be
made with a combination of materials, or of ene material, ac-
cording tothe fancy of the wearer. To make the costume of
one material for a lady of medium size, it will require sixteen
and five-eights yards, twenty-two inches wide, the polonaise
calling for ten and one-quarter yards, and the untrimmed skirt
for six and three-eights yardg The peculiarity about the
fashions of to-day is that they may be made either very costly
or very economically. The fine soft woolen fabrics are no less
desirable than the richest silks and satina. In fact they are
much more in demand by those who wish to realize pure art con-
ceptions. The best dressing is not that which costs the most, but
that which is most effective, and best suited to the age, means,
and requirements of the wearer.

“A New Subscriber.”—Velvet-striped materials are popular
fabrics for* dresses. Gentlemen’s overcoats are in the rough,
shaggy cloth so popular this winter in dark-blue, invisible-green,
and black. The handgomest bonnets for midwinter are made
entirely of feathers; {7 20n costume, a bonnet composed
of maroon ostrich tipu® ast elegant. Striped satin purses
are fashionable. Dainty Dreakfast-caps are made ot colored In-
dia mull. Sets, comprising a collar, a handkerchiet, and cuffs
of the old-iashioned tatting made of the finest thread, are ex-
quisite. The long blouse waist, reaching nearly to the knees, is
the favorite for Scotch plaid sumts. Walking skirts are made
with the front a pertectly plain single skirt; the back is relieved
by a scant drapery.

“Mrs. Jameson,’’ San Francisco, Cal.—Ist. We sent the little
book, ‘Baking Made Easy.’? 2d. Made vour black cashmere from
the following model, the ‘“‘Renira Polonaise:” This is a particu
larly graceful garment, having the drapery very high up at the
sides, and the back slightly dDouffant, and falling in two points |
at the bottom. It is tight-fitting, with the usual number of |
darts, in front, deep darts taken out under the arms, and side |
forms in the back, rounded to the arm-holes. The sleeve is very |
peculiar, being cut all in one piece, and having a short seam in
the inside trom the elbow down, one side of which is gathered to
accommodatetheelbow. Fringe may decorate the bottom; and
down the front a cluster of fine folds of satin may be pl -
Price of pattern, thirty cents,

“Mrs. Adams.”—The flaring hats are less popular than last
year. Young ladies seem to prefer the English walking hats, and
the small bonnets which are so dainty and distingue; there are
some bright, piquant faces, however, to which the large hats are
decidedly becoming—the irregular faces with low brows, bright
eyes, curling hair, and greater breadth than length of features.
Astylish addition to these hats this season consists of the black
sweeping plumes gracefully arranged upon the interior of the
broad brim where itis thrown back from the face. Black os-
trich feathers are always becoming, and the somber character of
these hats in all black is well relieved by the inexpressibie soft-
ness which these drooping plumes impart to the face.

‘*A Mourner” asks if she can wear white at home for morning
toilet. White Chuddah wool is now commonly worn by ladiesin
mourning for house dresses. The question of mourning, in fact,
has arrived at the point where women, as well as men, may fol-
low their own convictions in regard to it, without remark or
criticism from any but the ignorant. The best authorities agree
in considering plain black or white materials, softly outlining
the ficure, unobtrusive in appearance, and made up in simple,
graceful fashion, as the best and most unobjectionable mourn-
i

a
A Man Amputates His Own Leg.

A strange circumstance, very illustrative of In-
dian life and character, comes to us as follows:

A short time ago a young Chippewa hunter_was
shooting squirrels in the woods that border Lake
Huron, near Penetanguishine, when, by some
chance, a large blighted pine fell upon him, knock-
ing him down and crushing his leg, which was
fractured in two places. He could not rise—he
could not removethe tree which was lying across
his broken leg. He was far from the probability of
passing aid, and to Jie there and starve to death in
agony seemed all that was left to him. In this di-
lemma, with all the fortitude and promptitude of
romance, he took out his knife, cut off his own leg,
bound it up with his sash, dragged himself along
the ground to his canoe, and paddled himself home
to his wigwam,on a distant island. There the
eure of his wound was completed, and the man is
still alive. Strange as this may seem, it is strictly

 

 

ia: he thinks Iam in love with him, whereas.I only

ce.
; the pd in the middle of
ck. The corong had the horse’s hind leg in-
serted just below his man’s shoulders. A real man,
you know, built in that way, could knock the back
of his head against the buttons of his coat-tails,
and I doubtif he could keep from turning back
somersaults most of his time.” :

“You say the coroner was not impressed with
these views?”
“No, sir; he allowed that the man may have been
a circus actor,and haye had a hinge put in his
back on purpose. Butwhen I pointed out that the
man had arow of teethin his shinbone, and that
some of them were asbig as a walnut, and showed
him that for a man to attempt to eat his meals with
his shins, or for him to have a toothache near to
his toes, was in violent antagonism to all prece-
dent, as well as to the ascertained facts about hu-
man physiology. he said the man’s teeth may
have been shifted by disease or something, and
maybe that was what killed him, He said his
grandmother knew a man in Ilinois whose teeth
slid down and began to grow upon his ribs, with,
fatal results.”
one he his grandmother's affidavit to that ef-
“He neglected to produce it if he had. The skel-
eton’s left foot was composed of the horse’s breast-
bone. Itlooked as much like a foot as a clothes-
pin looks like the Goddess of Liberty, and as the
other foot was made up of about three feet of the
animal’s spinal column, while the neck was formed
of the horse’s upper jaw, I remonstrated strenu-
ou with the coroner.”

“What did he say?”

“Why, hesaid that kind of aman was the kind,
speaking generally, that was put together in the

arden of en,and while I might think I could
get up a better one, he wouldn’t trast me to tack
together an idol fora Digger Indian. or words to
that effect. So I replied, and then he hit me with
the horse’s fibula. I retaliated with the tibula, and
in about two seconds he had heaved ail the skeleton
at me that I hadn’t heavedat him. Then he winked
at the jury, and it suddenly brought in a verdict of
‘death from cause or causes unknown.’ and then I
had him arrested for assault and battery.”

The magistrate held the coroner in bonds to ap-
pear at court, and when that functionary had given
the bond, he moved off to collect his fees for the in-

quest,
> +

A COUNTRY FIRE.

BY BIR MABMADUKE MUZZLE.

 

 

 

Did you ever go to a firein the country? I did.
It was up in Maine last summer. And it was a lit-
tle the hottest fire I ever saw. 3

A barn belonging to.a man, half a mile orse away
from the place where I was stopping, caught fire
about midnight. In less time than it takes a bank
president to skip out with the unds of the depos-
itors, every farmer in the region was on hand with
his boys and girls. There were more boys than
girls, and more girls than farmers.

They had come ina hurry. One man_ had on a
rubber coat and a shoe. Another had his blue over-
alls buttoned upin the back, with the ‘‘galluses”
crossed in frontof him, making him look like a
drum-major dressed in the pantaloons of a man
with a big stomach. A third old chap had hastily
drawn a blue yarn sock over his head in place of a
hat. Oh, it was just lively! :

When I reached the scene of the conflagration
things were humming. Aside from the hay there
was nothing left inthe barn buta pig. An excited
individuel, with a bald head, seized the unfortunate
animal by its off hind leg, and dragged it out. He
tossed the squealing infant over the fence into the
road, and then followed between the bars. Then
he grabbed the pig again, lugged it across the road,
chucked it over another fence, grabbed it again,
ran a quarter of a mile with it, and fired itintothe
mill-pond, where it was found drowned three days
afterward. Then the bald-headed and excited in-
dividual ran wildly back tothe house. The barn
was nearly consumed. He turned to the crowd of
of men, boys. and girls, and yelled:

“Are we men?” ,

“Bet a dollar we are,” shrieked aten-year old girl
in a nightgown, apron, and high-legged boots.

“Then let’s save the house afore it ketehes fire.”

There wasn’t any real danger to the house, but
those countrymen had to “save” it anyhow. So
they rushedin. The bald-headed man was first, of
course. Heslidintoa room on the second floor,
grabbed the feather-bed, and running to the top of
the stairs, threw his burden to the bottom.

The owner of the house mi pSeet coming in at the
front-door, and the feather-bed landed him on his
back. By this time the bald-headed man had
reached the foot of the stairs where he seized bed.
man, and all, and slid out into the night. Seeing

dish. Then he sits down with. the calmness of de-
sparc, white tto sorvant takes the turkey to the

other end of the table.

 

 

The Plumber’s Victim.
The man stood on the bath-room floor
While raged the storm without, :
One hand was on the water valve, Ki
The t’other on the spout.

He fiercely tried to turn the plug,
But all in vain he tried—

“T see it all—I am betrayed—
The water’s troze!” he cried.

Down to the kitchen then he rushed,
And in the basement dove,

Long strived he for to turn the plugs,
But all in vain he strove.

“The hydrant may be running yet,”
He cried, in hopeful tone—

Alas! the hydrant, too, was froze
As stiff as any stonc,

Then came a burst—the water pipes,
The plu h, where were they?
Ask of the gentile plumber man
Who called around next day.

The Modern Agar.

Agar, as will be remembered, was the gentleman
named in the old Book who was not able to com-
préhend three things which are named in the ac-
count. The town of Ardapple, in this State, has
one constituted so much like the Agar of old that
né is called by the same name, and, strangely
enough, on a recent occasion, there were just three
things that perplexed him, which was deemed @
wonderful coiucidence. There is one Flaxmere
Shred also in Ardapple, who, without any visible
means of support, dresses, parabolically speaking,
in purple and fine linen, and enjoys all the luxuries
of the times. He smokes the best cigars, regales
himself with the best wines, and sports the fastest
horse on the road.
The other day the modern Agar stood contem-
plating a person who was engaged in planting
some posts to fence in a lot of land. :
“What now, Agar?” said one, accosting him.
“What are youthinking so seriously about? Any
new crotchet ?”
Agar paused about a minute before speaking.
*‘Yes,” heat last replied: “As I have been stand-
ing here I have been wondering about three things:
How is it that a post-hole can be filled up, with the
ig post in it, and not have any dirt left over; how
a fly can walk on the ceiling with his back down;
and how Flax Shred gets his living.”
The questioner moved on, pondering the prob-
lems presented, the last being the hardest.

A Shrewd Clergyman.
A popular minister had just finished an exhorta-
tion strongly recommending the support of a very
meritorious institution. The congregation was
numerous, and the chapel was crowded to excess.
The discourse being finished, the plate was about
being handed round to the respective pews, when
the preacher made this short address to the wait-
ing congregution: e “
“From the sympathy Ihave witnessed in your
countenances, and the str.ct attention you have
honored me with, there is one thing I am afraid of,
that some of you may be inclined to give too much.
Now, it is my duty to inform you that justice, though
not so pleasant, should always be a prior virtue to
generosity; therefore, as you will be immediately
waited upon in your respective pews, I wish to
have it thoroughly understood that no person shall
think of putting ‘anything into the plate who can-
not pay his debts.” i
We need not add that this produced a most over-
flowing collection.

Torpedoes.

A motto for young lovers—So-fa and no father.
The Pittsburg man defended himself by saying
that his attempt to kiss a young Jady was caused by
his inebriety, and was only aslip. There is many
a slip betwixt the cup and the lip.

A Springfield boy having been reproved by his
eighteen-year-old sister for saying that he was “so
sweaty.” replied: “Oh, yes, I know. When it’s a
horse he’s swenty; when it’s a manhe perspires,
and when it’s a young lady like you she only glows.”

A Paris banker hassome doubts as to the genuine-
ness of the signature of a promissory note that has
come into his possession, and sends his clerk to
themaker. “We have a note for 10,000 francs on
which is what purports to be your signature. Is it
yours?” “‘Isthe note protested?” “No, sir.” “Then
it is not mine.”

The speaker at an anniversary meeting mourn-
fully said. “One by one our friends are passing
from us into the land of shadows.” “Well,” ex-
claimed an old lady, “you wouldn’t have’em go two
by two, or allin ahuddle, would you ?” :

Little Robbie went to a show, and saw an ele-
phant for the first time in his life. When he came
home his: mother asked him what he had seen. “An
ee mamma, that gobbled hay with his front
tail.”

“The single scull race!” exelaimed_an old lady,

 

 

true.

nothing else handy, he pitched his bundle into a

as she laid down the morning paper. “My gracious!

I atte know there was a race of men with double
sculls!”

At a Paris fish market. The lady is accompanied
by a lovely little ne “How mueh for that?” “Oh,
what a sweet little angel of achild! It is 30 sous,
madame. Ah, the darling! Let me embrace it
The living image of its mother.” “Thirty sous! I
will give you twenty.” “Twenty? Get out of that
with your little baboon!”

A Brooklyn young lady, who was inattentive at
whist, has broken off her engagement with her
lover because he recommended her to “scoop ber
mind up in a peanut-shell, and fix it onthe game.”

A glove dealer is doing a good business when a
large part of his stock is on hand.

Fishmonger to thrifty housewife: ‘Fish 1s dear,
mum. Hit’s a gettin’ wery scarce in consekence 0’
these ’ere aqueriums.”

©

LIFE IN A VOLUNTEER FIRE C0.

BY P. B. ROCKETT.

 

 

Since I was old enough to understand why_ the
bells rang when there was a fire, or why the volun-
teer firemen of our town used to run out with their
apparatus, I fully resolved, when old enough, to
become one of the fraternity of red shirts, who
were ae to fight the fire-king, despite the tum-
bling of walls so common at large conflagrations,
serene a cent of compensation or a thought
of it.

When I was six years of age an aunt of mine pre-
sented me with a miniature tin flre-engine, which,
by turning a crank, would squirt a stream through
& nozzle about half the size of acommon pipe-stem
to the distance of thirty inches. To my youthful
mind I thought this was sufficient to subdue any
conflagration.

Two days atter I set fire to the lumber-room of
our house for the sole purpose of trying the power
my aunt’s gift had in battling with the fire-king.
can assure you, dear reader, that it eaused consid-
erable chagrin among some insurance companies.

I have a recollection of being earried out half
suffocated with smoke, and then packed off to a
neighbor’s until such time as paterlamilias could
get a new homestead erected.

When I was in the town school I was indifferent
to all studies. Whenever the fire-bell rang, if I saw
any signs of a conflagration from the school win-
dows, I could stand all the whipping the arm of my
teacher could give. What did it matter to me to get
whipped while my favorites, the flremen, were try-
ing to whip his majesty, the en ae

At last years flitted by,and when I reached the
age of nineteen Iwas proposed as a member of

Excelsior Engine Co. No. 2.” At my first proposal
I was black-balled. At the second ballot I was
unanimously elected. You wonder, no doubt, why,
after being black-balled the first time, I could have
assurance enough to again appear as a member.
Well, the members of this company are an eccen-
triclot. After black-balling they told me to try
again, and they would explain all that afterward.
It seems that they have a superstition, that at least
every third applicant must be black-balled, so as to
take all conceit out of him, and then to unanimous-
ly elect him when again proposed, so as to indicate
that they entertain no enmity against him, Iwas
duly notified of my election, and told thatI would
have to pay the initiation fee of five dollars the fol-
lowing Tuesday after my election. I went to the
meeting in the engine-house, where I paid an ini-
tiation fee of five dollars,and_ got in return a me-
tallic badge with “Excelsior Engine Co. No. 2” en-
graved upon it, also a fire helmet. This latter needs
afew words of explanation. Excelsior’s hat or hel-
met was cone-shaped, with the leaf extending fully
one foot in the rear, while across the crown in front
was a shield with the name and number of the com-
pany, set off with the wearer’s initials. The whole
was made out of the heaviest sole-leather, and the
top or crown was ribbed with iron. The weight of
this helmet was somewhat in the neighborhood of
ten pounds. On inquiring of an ancient member
why the helmet was made sostrong and heavy, he
said that in case a wall fell on you it would earom
off the hat. It was heavy to accustom you to car-
rying heavy weights on your head, so that in case
asafe factory got on fire, all you would have to do
sone be to sling asafeon your head and carry it
out.

Two weeks afterthe common council of our city
could see no reason why they should debar me
from the privilege of getting up at all hours, and
running the risk of getting killed, catching
cold, etcetra, as long as I would do it gratuitously.
I wasin ittwo weeks befere there was a fire or an
alarm; but one night as I was about to fall ge
the fire-bell rang. UpI got, puton my boots an
hat, and was just going ont the door, when the voice
of my father asked me where I was going without
my pants, coat, or shirt. In the hurry itseems [ had
forgotten to put them on. When I reached the
street at last, I set offon a run, but unfortunately
came in contact with an ash-barrel, which piteied
me head over heels into the arms of a policeman,
who arrested me fora robber whom he had been
pursuing. But, fortunately, before we reached the
station-house we fell in with some members of my
company. who explained matters satisfactorily to
the guardian of the peace. They told meI was fined
twenty-five cents for not being at the roll-eall. I
then retraced my steps home, and just as I was
about to unlock the door, again I heard an alarm of
fire. I rushed at ones to the engine-house, but
when I got therethe boys were out, so 1 went to
k for them, and help at the fire. After an hour’s
fruitless search I ventured to the engine-house.
just after they had done calling the roll. I was
fined this time fifty cents, as a pig-stye had been
burned down. I was about going home when an-
other alarm rang out. I got hold of the rope, and
somehow, as we were rattling along at a 2.40 gait, I
fell,and the engine passed over me. After thatl
recollect meas until I yume ig Parpcicusnses two
weeks afterward, when was told my leg was
factured, my arm and héad bruised. ete.

I recovered in time to take part in the fire parade
which was to take place on a certain moonlight night
Ican never forget how prona I felt on that ocea-
sion, in my red shirt, black tie, black pants, white
gloves, and my helmet. I was handed a dozen Ro-
man candles, one toreh, and took my position on
the rope. How gay I felt when the band struck up
the ‘Bonnie Fireman.”

But I soon got sick as theman in front of me kept
continually lighting his toreh comein close proxim-
ity to my nose;and when the man behind peppered
me with Roman candle balls, it was no wonder I hit
my maiden aunt on the nose with the ball of a Ro-
man candle.

Since that aecident to her nose, that useful article
has looked as if she imbibed freely; she has erased
my name from her will, and has never since looked
out of a window, when I was passing nearit. But
the worst of all was, that in some unaccountable
way the Roman candles and other fire-works which
I had in a pouch became ares. and with the red
fire burning my body the Roman candles shooting
off indiseriminately among the firemen, I was ina
terrible dilemma.

One of the Roman candles dropped into the box
of the engine. when the reserve stock of reckets,
candles, squibs, red fire, ete., was stored. No won-
der the militia was called out, as it was thought
that the different companies were engaged in ariot;
when it was discovered that the fire-king had
ace the lion in his den, quiet was soon re-
stored.

Strangers, who passed carne our town weeks
afterward, were surprised at observing so many of
the inhabitants sporting burns and covered with
plaster,and notieing the many patches on their
clothing. But when told of the terrible storm of
combustibles, they thanked their stars they had not
been spectators of that fire parade and smiled when
told. that a fire engine was burnt amid the so-
called conquerors of the fire-king. é
When J at last got rid of my oi) silk suit, which
I had to wear on account of being the conspicuous
figure in that fire-storm. I sent in my resignation,
as I didn’t care about facing the fire-king again;
and as I have his trade-mark on each of my cheeks
and also on my forehead in the shape of a scarlet
circle, where some Roman candle balls struck. me,
Ithink that I can show sufficient traces of my
desperate contact with the fire-king to any one
who will question me when they see my fire certifi-
cate which I hang conspicuously in my room.

—_—_—___—__>-@+____

Canned fish-balls are now shipped to all parts of
the globe, and won a medal at the Paris Exhibition.
An African prince, whom nature has blessed with a
huge mouth and atremendous gullet, takes five of
these Boston pills every evening before retiring.
Heisasufferer from a voracious appetite; and,
strange to say, his appetite is considerably ap-
peased for an hour or two after swallowing five
Yankee pills.

 

—___—__>0<+—_____
An English gentleman, Mr. Ward, who has sub-
sisted over thirty years on vegetables, fruits, and
seeds, and during that time abstained from meat,
fish, and alcohol, says that a pennyworth of lentils
cohtains as much nutriment as three shillings’
worth of lean beef.’ He also asserts that a peck of
lentils is sufficient to feed asmall family for three
months.

A worthy friend of ours was 80 unfortunate as to
have his ears frost-bitten on arecent cold morn-
ing. Although naturally of great size, the influ-
ence of the frost made them assume such immense
proportions that an acquaintance suggestively
asked him if he were not an ear relation of a don-
key.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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