> ea =a VoL. XXX, Proprietors. THE MIDNIGH' BY AMANDA Author ot SYDNIE ADRIANCE; IN THE RANKS; THE OLD WOMAN WHO STREET « SMITH { Nos. 27, 29, 31 Rose St., 7. P. 0. Box 4896, New York. Enterea According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1814, by Street & Smi Librarian of Coneress, Was NEW YORK, DEGEMBER 28, 1874, ih. in the Ofloe of the De & Three Dollars Per Year. { FRANCIS S. STREET, Two Copies Five Dollars. FRANCIS S. SMITH. No. 8. ARRIAGE. DOUGLAS, VED IN A SHOE; [|KATHIE’S SUMMER AT CEDARWOOD; CLAUDIA, etc. i ryt Hat ONALD'S STORY. PART L--DOCTOR MACD CHAPTER I. A MARRIAGE AND A MYSTERY. It was 2 bitter, blustering, sleety March night, and Ihad just bidden my friend Louis Bartholdy fare- well and turned to my sleepy grate fire. A young doctor, twenty odd years ago, waiting for a practice that came so slowly, it was no wonder that I some- times felt discouraged. I had studied hard, passed an unusually brilliant examination, and taken a front basement in a quiet, aristocratic neighborhood. I had some money then, but it was rapidly drawing to aclose. During the six months that I had been here I had taken in about forty dollars, and half-a-dozen bills were ready for collection. Mrs. Warren>my landlady, was verging on to fifty, a sensible, motherly-looking woman, with a low, pleasant voice. And here I will confess that voices always had a curious effect upon me, and frequently biased my decision for or against. a person. I had been strongly attractedtoward her. My own mother had died in my infancy, and I had no sister or inti- mate female friends. But it seemed that one might go to her in an enfergency and be sure of sympathy and comfort. She was in rather straitened circumstances. Two rooms on the second fioor were rented to a gentle- man and his wife, and as he held a traveling agency of some kind, they were away much of the time. A poor relative, apparently of her own bntx00 hearty so-well power Ved asststed “her ithe : r house- hold duties for the sake of a comfortable home. So we had a very quiet house as you may imagine, or- thodox and respectable. eed In those days I was strongly scientific. Every year mysteries in medical experience are cleared up, facts established that refute and overthrow old theo- ries, and by degrees we come to golid truth. Asa student I had been very fond of pu alos cases. Now and thenI wrote an article that was laughed at in certain quarters for its crudeness, and yet in others received with approbation. om Louis Bartholdy was a young physician with much the same tastes. Of mixed German and Italian origin, educated in his own country for a chemist, an th a sort of half-belief in diablerie and those monstrous old tales of the middle ages. Six years my senior, he appeared fully as young, and was ex- ceedingly handsome in that soft, winning, I had al- most said languishing style, common to people under Italian skies. But that was only in his face, the silky, purplish hair, the large, deep eyes that could fiash with fire or melt with tenderness, and the sweet mouth, whose ripeness and bewitching curves were never wholly hidden by the line of shady mus- tache. AsI said, [had just bidden him good-night, as he had another engagement at nine. Coming back to my sleepy fire, my mind also reverted to my former subject of meditation—my fast-approaching poverty. Latterly I had been trying hard to. economize, but when I paid my rent, which I usually did in advance, I would have just ten dollarsleft. Of course I could porrow of Louis, but I hated that method. I felt rather blue, I must confess. If I could only et along until summer, when expenses would be ight. “A sudden and violent pull at my’ bell startled me. So far I had not found a night summons very profit- able. I shrugged my shoulders, contracted my brows ominously, and .opened the door with a stern inquiry on my lips. : Before it could be uttered, a tall man, enveloped from head to foot—I was’ going to say in a shaggy white coat—pushed his way through the hall into my office, guided probably by the light. , I shut out the bitter blast and followed, feeling rather curious as to the nature of his demand. ‘Doctor,” he began in a quick, peculiar voice, that had a faint strand of huskiness in it, ‘thave you any powerful stimulants that might keep a person alive a few hours, who was in the very grasp of death!” I tried to study the face, but what with the coat collar, a flowing beard, and a cap crushed down over the forehead, I saw only a Grecian nose and flashing eyes of some dark color. ‘What is the disease?” I asked gravely. ‘Consumption as much as anything. Then he eyed me sharply, as if taking mental and physical measure. “Can you do it?” impatiently. “Do you mean me to give you the remedy?” “Tf you could be sure——” “T cannot,” I replied. ‘Different remedies may be needed.” ‘““Then you had better come.” I kicked off my slippers and stepped into my boots. This man gave me the strangest and most uncom- fortable feeling that I had ever experienced. ‘*Where is it?” I asked briefly. "I have a carriage here at the door and will take ou. » I gathered my most powerful stimulants and slipped them into a case, and followed him, locking my door behind me. The carriage stood two doors farther down the street. . : We entered and were driven rapidly away, It was some moments before I could collect my scattered senses. I had no perception of fear, and yet I felt there was something peculiar about the case. Iwas rather hasty at conclusions, and I thought I could solve the mystery easily when I came to it. “Has the person been ill long?” I asked. “Some six or eight months—after the fashion of consumptives; and that disease, you know, flatters to the very last.” . “In that case,” I said, following out my own train of thonght, ‘‘a person should attend to such neces- sary matters as the making of wills and any legal business.” “Yes,” ina dry, uncommunicative tone. is not always possible.” The carriage jolted hard over the rough street. It was 80 dark that I could distinguish nothing, though I fancied there was hardly a locality in How York entirely unknown to me. When we alighted I took out my watch and found that we had ridden just fifteen minutes, though it seemed at least halffan hour. There was a row of houses very much alike. The “But it “OH, IF I COULD ONLY LIVE! -_ . J ———— IT 18 80 HARD TO DIEY one we entered stood about in the middle ofthe block, as near as I could judge. Iwas ushered into a handsome but rather old-fashioned room, and my guide said hurriedly: ‘‘Excuse me for a moment. arrival.” I fancied my patient @n elderly gentleman, and perhaps this tall, stylish young fellow was a rather wayward son, who had been taken into grace at the eleventh hour. Icould make no remarkable cure, but I was selfish enough to think of a generous fee. An astrallamp burned dimly on the center table. Overhead I heard hurried steps. There was some- thing weird and out of the common order of things ingthis affair—of that I felt assured. e guide returned presently, divested of cap and coat. A handsome and yet evil-looking man—the kind of person who makes you feel as if a keen blast had nipped you in some sensitive spot, I would have shivered, but absolute fear restrained me. “T must make'a few explanations,” he began. ‘Your patient is a young lady, and it is most neces- sary that she should be kept alive until midnight. It fe her wish, Heaven, grant that it may not be too ate! There was an intense anxiety in look and voice. I started with surprise and stammered: I will announce your “tA lady!” ‘ “Yes!” in an impatient tone. ‘Oh, doctor, try! ry! With that Iwas led up stairs. The light in the hall was very dim, also, I remarked. The room into which I was ushered was pervaded with a faint, subtle fragrance. Large, with a carpet that felt like:down to the feet; flowing curtains of lace, pictures, and two or three statues, but other- wise with the usual appointments of a sleeping room, though these were of the most elegant order. With my senses sharpened into an almost electric state I noted everything at a glance. On one end of the mantel stood an exquisite bust of Proserpine, on the other that ever lovely Clytie. The air was so heavy that it stifled me, and I seemed like one in a dream. . Isaw first of all a beautiful woman standing at the side of the bed. Tall, elegantly formed, with those graceful, willowly movements so enchanting to the eye. Her hair was as black as midnight, her complexion pale and clear, reminding ve of fine bronze, relieved by brilliant scarlet lips and a peculiar flush on the cheek. She was too beautiful! She filled the room with a sense of oppression like the perfume of some Oriental exotics that I have oc- casionally met with, from which you could extract deadly poisons. Unconsciously she took me back to the days of sorcery, and witchcraft, and stories of weird Eastern superstitions. ‘‘Here is your patient,” announced my guide. I came slowly out of my reverie, that seemed half a lifetime, and glanced toward the bed. “I fear it is too late,” I exclaimed, with a sudden spasm of chill apprehension. She lay there on the bed, calm, lovely, angel-like. Clouds of golden hair floated over the pillow. The waxen eyelids drooped, their long fringe shading the cheek, the. pure sweet mouth crossed witha heavenly smile, the little hands lying listlessly over the sheet, like carven alabaster, “She is still alive,” said the watcher, studying me intently. I drew a strange, bewildered breath. What mys- tery surrounded them all ? “You must restore her to consciousness, if it is only for ten minutes,” said the man. ‘Oh, Heaven! to lose——” The deep. eyes gave him a sudden, sharp glance— a hint of warning, it appeared to me. ““We read an odd article of yours on catalepsy,” he resumed, facing me; ‘'and it gave us hope.” “She has had such sinking spells before,” said the woman. ‘Her heart beats—she is not dead.” ‘“How long has this lasted 2?” I asked. “Our family physician left us at six, and said she gould not live beyond morning. She has been faint. and sinking ever since. Butif you could keep her alive until midnight, and restore her toa few minutes of consciousness. She wished it so much. It is her last prayer.” — What a wonderful voice the woman had. Slow, subtle and melodious, searching out every nerve and thrilling it with mesmeric power. And yet it was not one of sympathy and tender grief. That she had some deep, underlying inter- est at stake, one could see, but it was not the life of this fair young girl. The mystery began to ex- cite me. I approached my patient and made a hasty exam- ination. She certainly was not dead, but I was puz- zled to find any clew to her present state, as it had few marks of ordinary catalepsy. They were both watching me breathlessly. I felt the gleam of the dark and steely eyes like a sudden flash of red heat along every nerve. ‘*You said she had been ill for some time.” He signed to the woman to speak. “‘T suppose she inherited consumption. She has always been fragile, and the winter has told upon her fearfully.” ‘‘Had she a cough?” “A slight one. A continual hectic fever, loss of appetite and strength, anda gradual wasting away.” ‘“What physician have you had ?” * “This is spending precious moments for nought!” the man interposed, almost angrily. ‘Restore her ifyou can. We had placed great faith in you.” mething in the peculiar intonation roused me. “Open the window,” Lordered. ‘The air is stif- ling! and take away that vase of heliotrope.” It was luxuriantly grown and a mass of blos- soms, standing quite high in a beautifully-carved marble vase. Both orders were obeyed. Then I proceeded to a more minute examination, bathing her face, chauging her position, and forcing a few drops of powertul stimulant through her lips. It had no effect whatever upon her. ‘Can it be done?” he asked, under his breath. “Oh, doctor, don’t say no.” His voice was full of some deep feeling, but I could not decide what it was that swayed him the most powerfully. I begged him to retire. Then we went to work in good earnest. I had her bathed andrubbed. I tried restoratives and stimulants, but all in vain, it ap- peared. The silvery chimes of the French clock on the mantel told out eleven, “Oh, doctor, try, try!” she urged. “For his sake! for her sake! They were to be married. There isa large fortune at stake, which will go to connections that she did not like, if she should die unmar- ried. She loved him passionately—she wants it to be his.” ‘Why were they not married before!” I asked in the utmost amazement. ‘She could not marry untilshe was eighteen. To- day is her birth-day, but her uncle insists that she was born in the evening. Oh, doctor!” She wrung her white hands in despair. The slen- der fingers interlaced each other, and I seemed ac- tually to enter into her feelings and desire the end ” which she prayed. But how was it to be brought about? : This was not the result of any disease that I had ever known. She would breathe faintly, open her eyes, or rather roll the balls uneasily as a person does in illness, and then relapse into her former state. Every few moments her lover looked in at the door, his face growing pale with anxiety. ‘Is her guardian any connection?” I asked in one of our pauses. “Her uncle. son.” I began to have a vague perception of the matter. Her uncle would not be anxious for her to live, and ner eg was, ofcourse. There was something back of it all. a A stirin the hall roused us. My companion be- came ashen pale. el had taken the precaution to turn the key, but foiled here, the person went round to the next room. i heard voices in angry discussion, and one I recog- nized as that of my guide. “She is dead. Of what wse is all this mummery!” ; “She is not rigid, and there are some signs of ife.” “It is false, I say ! “Alarm then.” oath. The door opened. , “Doctor,” said my guide in that most peculiar tone, ‘is your patient dead ?” ‘She is not,” I answered, clearly. “There, you hear!. I shall stand by her until her body is cold and stark, whetherI am ever husband or not.” What could Ido? Iwas almost wild. I fancied the sweet, pale face put on an imploring look, and I redoubled my energies. . The property will go to him and his I will alarm the street!” The smothered sound was like an “it up to the light. What if this girl’s. death should be the result of my experiment ? it seemed asifshe must die in any event. A a was creeping slowly over her. A sinking in the lines about the mouth, and greenish tints stealing’ up the soft, white temples. The eyelids grew a trifle more rigid, and the long fringe appeared as if set in wax, instead of flesh. IfI could send for Bartholdy) —but no, I:must act immediately. Great drops of perspiration came out on my forehead, and it was 2 moment of the most intense. agony that I had ever nown. I lifted the tiny vial out of its velvet bed and held The clear amber liquid sparkled as if ithad been. charged, with grains of gold. I dropped a little in a wine glass and added some wa- ter, then: literally poured’a teaspoonful down my patient's throat. It was a moment of sickening anxiety. All this time that: weird, wonderful woman was watching me with glittering eyes. She stood now, leaning her elbow on the corner of ‘the mantel, her loose sleeve falling back and displaying an arm worthy of some famous old sculptor. er dress was a light’crimson, soft, heavy, and trailing around her feet. I declare to you that I felt almost afraid of being charmed or mesmerized. Thardly took my‘eyes off “ patient, and yet I Saw everything inthe room. One of those curious: states of distinct consciousness that occur in times. ‘}ofgreat izentsl anxiety. My fingers were on my was sure that I felt +} pationt(reiseand presently a tremor ‘fasking t <: eee EL as if startled by electricity. E administered my remedy - again, and found, after an interval, still ‘stronger ; Signs of returning animation. Could it be possible ? The drooping lids quivered,. the carven lips twitched, and a faint flush disturbed: the deathly pallor. ; Oh?’ her attendant said, “you will bring-her back; to life. What did you give her ?” She uttered this last in a‘sharp tone of command.. “That is my business,” I reptied, rather haughtily. She turned on me the glance of a tigress or a fiend. Just an instant, and then she was herown: bewildering self, affluent in e and beauty. ‘*Pardon me. Will she live? Can she live?” “That depends on circumstances,” I said, slowly. For the life of me I could not tell which she most desired. I gave her a third portion. The pulse grew stronger. Her heart beat in wild, irregular bounds, and there was every sign of returning animation. She opened her eyes slowly. “Harold!” exclaimed the **She will live.” f He took a step within the room. The dreamy eyes must have caught the vision, for a soft sigh es- caped the lips. ‘Not too near!” and I held up my hand warningly.. “Oh, doctor, Heaven bless you! To hear her speak. once again.” ; I was growing interested in Harold’s behalf. Though he was personally repellent to me, 1f her happiness was centered in him that was sufficient. She sighed again, and the eyes moved restlessly., A strange, frightened look rose in their depths. “You are better,” I said, reassuringly. ‘It was.a very severe fainting fit.” : ‘*Raise me,” the weak voice whispered. I touched the soft, silken hair with my fingers:as I rearranged the pillow. How exceedingly lovely it was. She glanced about dreamily, and a smile parted her lips. “Harold!” He leaned over the edge of the bed and covered the hands with kisses. The next instant she was. pillowed upon his bosom, uttering a convulsive little cry. “Be calm,” I exclaimed in alarm, “or I will not answer for her safety.” ‘Muriel, darling, rouse and remember what you ree todo. Itis twelve, and now surely you are ree. The clock struck at that instant. I glanced up at Althea, as I learned afterward was her name. mething in her face amazed me be- yond expression. Her hands were tightly clenched, her lips set together, and her, eyes fixed on the lovers, clasped in each other’s arms. A look so fierce and fell that I shivered in terror. She kated one or both, mortally, and such a woman’s hate was. not to be lightly despised. “I was stunned with the oppressive sense of mystery. ‘We were married?” Muriel murmured. “No, my darling. You fainted, you know. And your uncle declared that we must wait, but the clergyman is still here.” “Oh, it was dreadful! Harold, save me! I am so young. Ido not want to die.” ‘‘Hush, dear! you will exhaust yourself.” Then ‘he laid her carefully down. Tomy mind he was notatrue or ardent lover. There was something abont him that I could not fathom. He evidently wanted to marry her, but the fortune might account for that. “Doctor, do you consider this girlin the posses- sion of all her senses, and capable of acting upen her own responsibility?” I glanced at Muriel. A beautiful vision indeed with the pleading eyes and quivering lips. ‘What is your own will and desire?’ f said to her. ‘To marry him. Oh, let it be quick. Iam afraid ” weird voice, exultantly.. Suddenly something came to mein the midst of ; —— my despair. A strange story told by Louis Bartholdy, and a rather curious case of poisoning that had oc- curred some months before. Withone of his fervent impulses he hadtaken up the subject of Toxicology, discovering various subtle poisons and their anti- dotes. Some of these he had been explaining to me afew evenings previous, when he had mislaid the case and accidentally left it. It contained several powerful tests and antidotes. I had put it in the breast pocket of my great coat and forgotten to give it to him. I had no time to consider whether this was a case of poisoning or not. It certainly was similar to some instances that Louis had been describing. I took out the small leathern case with a strange sensation. I gave her some more medicine. ‘Are you ready, dearest?’ asked Harold. ‘Yeg,?? “Summon them all.’? f This was to Althea, who left the room. ; ‘You love him?’ I could not forbear saying to Muriel. | “Love him. Oh, Heaven!’ “And you will bear witness to this, good friend, Muriel,” interposed Harold, ‘‘that I have used uo arts to gain ou?, : Her only answer was a proud smile. Three men entered the room, following Althea, who might have been a priestess of high tragedy. First came the clergyman, a rather meek, deprecating-looking per- son, who had the appearance of having just been roused from his nap. A sharp-faced, elderly gentleman, with keen, restless eyes, thin, compressed lips, and a kind o£ nies ane TRE Se ate Peller roe - rmenarene eer ence Sau oath a? er : — - “might be sent for again. -m2de ’ tidy. 1 bethougtt m. jy fee; ¥ ‘whieh Tho ‘cbedsi into ty poke withou glancing at it. Af it had not been there I should lave treated the whole ’ very fashionabie locality. A parlor, sleeping and sitting- * generally be found until ten o’ciock in the morning, and ot fartive expression, from which one instinctively shrinks, ‘Whe third was a young man of five or six and twenty, well enough as to fissure, but with a very repellent counte- Nance. The forehead retreated, and the eyes looked as if they had ‘been crushed in, while ihe lower jaw pro- truded ithe lips seemed to ange aroundiina loose fashion had no contro! of 4he muscles. < | Harold bo « He was so graceful and handsome in contrast will men. — a i ; “Docior,? lie Megan courteously, ‘please assure these Ahére is no-collusiom between us., You j eres duty, Isuppose, for I have of- have performed, fered you no bribe." , “T have done |just what I would do under all circum- glances,” I repliedin amaze > | #3, “Phat it m pereppear mysterious to you I vill offer a brief explanation. ~ hours ago, when her guardian interposed; declaring that ghe would not be eighteen until nearly midnight, and that by the wording of her father’s will she could not be mar- ried until then. She is, you see, in the final stages of consumption, and but for, your timely assistance might have been dead ere this’ The rest, whether she wishes to marry me or not, she car best auswer.’! “Yes, I dof I dot’? aud site clung to him, with frantic, trembling eagerness. “Are you all satisfied '! “a There was a solemn silence, broken by no voice of dls- sent. i A brilliant color was coming into Muriel’s cheeks and a feverish light to her eyes. Althea grew deadly pale. “Raise ne ap,’! said Muriet. p FT arranged the piflows so that she should be in a sitting posture. Althea stood a, little apart, her eyes glowering upon thefire. Harold took his place. \ The ceremony was gone through with. Harold’s apathy grated horribly upon my senses. But he kissed her fondly as she lay half exhausted in his arms, “Oh,’? she murmured, “if 1 could only live. Jt is so hard to die.” . ‘ “7 do not see the slightest necessity for your dying at present,” I said, fipmiy. ‘E think by judicious treatment the disease might 66 Overcome.” ; ; I don’t know what made me utter this, butI feit that she was not trnly a victim of consumption: “As 800n 18 you Can bear the fatigue of a journey I should advise you aud your husband to leave this place.’! Aun indescribable look flashed in Althea’s eyes, as if she would be glad to murder me," The new husband turned to me, sayiug: “Will you be kind enough to Jeave her something, doctor? Audif you will sign this—l am under a thous- and obligations to you now.’? K wrote my name. Then I prepared a tumbler of medi- cine, stating the directions very explicitly, and addressing myself principally to Murie!. She thanked me with a most grateful look. 1f I could have-taken her away from thenballl A eee yt a: He LARTS E O The clergyman wished them frood-night and departed. I saw that 1 was expected to follow. I held Muriel’s hand in a lingering clasp, aud reiterated my directions. Althea’s face was durk and gloomy. Harold escorted me ¢0 the hall. “We shall probably send for you again,’ he said. ‘I have not been satisfied with the physician for some time, but he was an old family friend, and his discharge must be polite, at least.’? E assented, really giad that there appeared a prospect of my fathoming the mystery. it was siill storming furiously, though now mostly rain. Harold crushed something into my hand as I stepped out to the carriage. “Goodnight and most fervent thanks.’? With that we dashed away in the darkness. CILAPTER II. ‘WAS, BHE DEAD. T leaned back in the carriage and drew-a long breath. The events of the last four hours appeared absolutely incredible. When I began to recover a little from my “surprise, I made a violent effort sostop the driver, and .inguired from what street we had started. “Varick,’’ was the faconic reply; and on we rattled. , But I felt convinced thas thig was not true, and also that the driver had been instructed to confuse me by a variety of turns, It was evident that my patient's friends ‘Knew how to keep @ secret if i¢ was necessary. But I Aud then Dfelt angry that I had learned so little about them.) Of tlie! whole party I knew but three Christian names, but Muriel was a peculiar one. The events of the night had succeeded 60 rapidly, and my. anxiety had been so great, that [ had not found a moment Lo devote to solving the mystery: ; = It was justone when {reached home. I threw myself on the sofu, but though no one came to disturb me, I could not sleep. “With every’ other breath I asked myself if Muriel really had been poisoned? oe her lover Would not doit. Althea hated her—of that I was quite certain, but still she was anxious to have Harold marry her. Muriel’s death before she was eighteen would be an advantage to her uncle, yet it seemed monstrous to accuse him, or any one, for that matter. 3 A was thankful to have the day dawn. I always took breaklast with Mrs. Warren, so [ brush a thing as a chimera, bué there it was—a filty-dollar note, much crumpled and worn, on one of our city banks, and Without the slightest mark of identification. My heart gave a great bound. With my economical habits it would keep me for another month. _ § went in to breakfast in pretty good spirits. Mrs. War- ren was standing by the wide basement window-ledge. “T owe you an apology for not being more prompt,”’ I said. ‘Nearly a week in March has gone, but I have had a good deal ow my mind,’? which was true enough. “Tt doesn’t Mater, Now thas we know one another 50 well, wailing until (ie end of the month would answer.” “It is best as it ia, Ireturned, withalaugh. “I might run away some fine night.’? ; “And be brought back in @ carriage as you were this morning. I was 80 astonished that I really had to get up, but i thought it nearer morning.”* j “Oh, you saw my state, then?’ I said, in a gay tone. “I suppose that Was owing-to the storm.’* ’ “ig was a terrible night! Itis hardly ciear yet.) _ The sky was still full of cold, gray clouds, with a line of watery yellow in the east, / was to marry thisyoung girl four. my hair and }' ieor a 4 rows of houses answering your description, rows there is not a case of illness.” “T do not believe that it was in Varick street.”, “Neither do 1.’? We both Jaughed at this. ih ral ad spares pp nt pull at my. neryt In one of the ey, fan Ne a t state, Lpptieupe- Every aM ina , and to make the matter harder to bear, nob an e but some one. Strayed\in, often of not they piety ortance, it was” provoking {o be alteruately\ Foused atid depre . 4 hus passed three days. Sprit ; coming on with at oa 80 blue ak =e I thought of | bland airs au ; } Muriel [yanuot t The fair, sweet face haunted me, J could almost feel the sort, silken liair again in my Mngers, and see those lustrons, imploring eyes, And Althea—was she stillaveird and dangerogs in her beauty? ai. Bartholdy and I discussed it eveepeine we met, He was as strangely Interested in it as I, and experienced the same reluctance about giving it up finally. iS “Bunt I want you tocome around to my dengtomight,” he said. “There isnousein making such a hermit of yourself.? . y “What now 7? . “] have been promised a glen d body for dissection— a young girl—a consuniptive. ‘I offered Collins a good round sum forthe first chance he had, and he dceciares that he has done the handsome tiling by me this time.” “When will you be there t”? A eA “Oh, about eleven.” ; i “Well, Pil come round,"! Bartholdy had a room ina row of buildings devoted to various experimental purposes. Physicians aud chemists had private apartments here, and the janitor, & discreet man, attended to his business, asked no questions, and nade no comments. ome Ct T left hometrather unwillingly, I confess... Threading my way up the long stairs and through the dim hall, I tapped at the door, and found Bartholdy alone, enjoying his cigar. : “I can't understand what keeps Collins. Woe betide hin if he has given some other person my cliance!’? > I looked at the delicate face with its drooping features— for no other word applies so well to them—the air of re- finement and evem fastidiousness displayed in the slender white hand, which wight have belonged to &@ woman, as well asthe finelycu lip, that cou gotl ‘Bo easily. 1 shivered, ' ; ' ji beg ‘ “What is the matter, old fellow? you I believe if had been a young girl I sho irrevocably in love with Burtholuy, and followe the ends of the earth. ° : “No; but I have a peculiar feeling about——"’ “Well, about what?’ and he shoox the ashes from his cigar. touch a déad bedy, and\as if there was some ifportant reason for my gathome.” ° . BEN . “Nonsense! . You've staid, in one growing womanish and whimsicaL’?? 5. I glaficed oa the room as if a ghost might start up from some corné¥. The furniture was not very extensive. A rude center-table containing. some-books and. papers, six or eight wooden chairs in various stages of dilapida- tion, a Strip of hooks, from which depended sundry cast- off but still useful articles of glothing «a jong dissecting. table, and a sheet-jron stove. There was a handful of fire init now, for the night was rather chilly. — Y dts I had been here under almost every imaginable circum- Stauce. Alone through the silent nights, with Louis sim- ply, or made one of a careless party, who laughed or sung snatches of gay songs over their ghastly work. Icannot tell why I should loathe it ail now, but 1 did Jong to fly. Science seemed to have Jost figs charm. I really hoped that Collins would failin his undertaking. With it all Thad a vague, dreamy idea that I should be summoned to Muriel. What if some one came and found me out? “Sit down.and have a cigar!’ exclaimed Bartholdy. “This confounded business is making you 2 bundle. of nerves.* ; Isat down, but for a wonder declined the cigar, for I Was inedilating upon a plausible excuse for defection. Every moment 2 nameless terror grew upon me. The heavy tread of two men lumbering up the stairs aroused us, Barthoidy sprang to the Goor aud opened it. They came. in and deposited their burden upon the table. Coiling was a Known resurrectionist, and twenty years ago those things were mucli more in vogue. Heand® Bartholdy had a little conversation ina low tone, the sum piace. until you are the key behind them. chance of escape. f He lighted the barner directly over the table and fum- bled awhile about the body. | “I believe 1 won't stay after all,’ I sald, rising with a great effort. “You may laugh, Bartholdy, but [ have a curious presentimen|t-—~’?, “Nonsensel’’ iuterrupted he. ‘If Collins did not lie, here is a better subject than your dreams.”” He was unwinding the outer covering of coarse tow- cloth. I watched him with a kind of sickening feeling. A young girl—anad Muriel was a ION girl, What if some ater It was like cutting of my Jast a piimpse of a white ‘iti one stride I was be- mcGood Heavent” he eacuiaed; “What a beautify | : eavyenl he éjacula lat a beau , ‘Good Vv rea ee cad TS ae Et) Th fellaway. | robe and flowing, golden hair. side him. A lJoug, long glance. ts iit “Great Heaven!’ 1 cried, “it ds Muriel! “Macdonald, you have lost your sensesl’? * Louis Bartholdy’s face was aimdst as white as hers, and his frame shook as if with anague. « i sh “No, i huye not!” I answered fiercely. ‘This body is Muriel’s! 1f{s her hair, her glorious eyes, her delicate featurest”? a 5 The eyes were open and still brilliant. I took the hand in mine—it was cold, bat limp, with mo death-like rigidity. yee + “Oh, Heaven! sheis not dead!’’ I cried ina strangling voice. ‘Here! take* your antidote! Try with all your skill, and the merciful saints help you! She mus¢ live again)? r : My words seemed to electrify him. He tore off the wrappings, and there she lay in her winding sheet, still and beautiful as an angel. Then he felt for her heart, “T don’t know—” in a hoarse, tremulous tone, “But J Know, They have dosed her with their hellish stuff, and yet, thauk Heaven, done their work bungiingly! Try! try! You must bring her back to lifel? He raised her tenderly and studied the face. Then we We had quite a pnay meal, though no further reference was made to my call. Then I went out to seek Louis Bartholdy. We had a-suite of rooms in Thirteenth street, then a room, oddly but exquisitely furnished. Here he might here he invited his frlends to dine or lunch, and gave the most recherche Litile suppers, -&strolied in, He was lying on the sofa reading the morning paper, and just at the arm stood a small marble- top table, containing a piate of dry toast and a lovely na cup half-full of strong Diack coffee. | “Well,” he exqaimed, rising on his elbow, “is it an in- tricate case? Ome aight guess that you had been out all night. You don't look asif you had slept a wink)’ He was 80 quick to detect the slightest change in any one. e “That is exactly it,’ Ireturned. ‘Ihave hada puz- zling and mysterious case, and [ have not slept at all.’ “fn your brain!” aud helaughed. ‘You were straight enought when I ieft you jast nigtit.” “J wish you had-remained half-an-hour longer, or all night.¥ eWas ita ghost of some unfortunate skeleton 2” “Sit up, laziness, and atiend to me,’ Lsaid. {I have a -wery strange story to tell you. J was called out last night and here is my fees" As I spoke I dispiayed the bill. «Dpon my word you are making rapid strides,” With that he scanned me curiously. : *] shall begin at the very first,” I said; and I described my strange'visitor and the imperative summons. He was interested immediately, and roused himself to an attitude of attention. I went on very minutely, stated Muriel’s symptoms and what specifics I had used, and then, ma+ king a pause, [askeds ‘What would you have done?” He leaned his chin on his hand in deep thought, ; “Repeat that about her state—her pulse and the condi- tion of the body, A peculiar’ kind of consumption, it seems to me.’? { went over that part again. “‘Mac,’’ he exclaimed, ‘if you couid have had my case of antidotes ?"* i { smiled at this, and resumed: “‘] had them. You forgot them a few evenings ago. If I could have sent for you I skould, butas death appeared imminent in any case, E bethought myself of one remedy and ventured to use it.” F He was listening in his peculiar, absorbed fashion, and I detaiJed the remainder of my night’s experience. “And you actually restored her to consciousness ?”? “Yes; and saw her marriedl” “Jt is the strangest thing lever heard. You were right in calling ita mystery. But you must have learned some- thing about them?’?! “It vexes me to think that I have no clew whatever. I wonder now how I could have allowed everything to es- Cape me, but the moments sped 80 rapidly, and the events Were s0 startling, that I really could not command my forethought. They have promised to send again, how- ever, and I know well that Muriel desires to live.’! “But if some one else desires her death ?”! There it was! They had her in their power. “You were not bright, Mac, to lose every thread that might lead: to discovery, but with all sharpness, one might have failed. The girl must have been poisoned—there’s ‘0 question about that," “‘Muriel is an unusual name,’ I responded. “I shall rig gg list of deaths, aud that may afford us a faint clew.’ “People who go into suci wholesale villainy generally have keen, clear brains, Still, an accident may bring Something tolight. Keep my case, in event of your being Called upon again.’ {t was past ten, and I felt that I ought to be at home. [ could not divest myself of a stubborn belief that I should lear more of Muriel. “I'll drop in to-night,” said Bartholdy. I remained in my office until two, when_J ran out for a little lunch, and visited my only patient. From that time until evening no one came, save a poor woman witha severe attack of neuralgia. made a rude bed, for it seemed cruel to have her on those hard boards. I-spread out my plaid, and raised the ends of her shroud with fondest care and respect. One dainty foot slippered with white satin was visible. Bartholdy applied his ear to her heart, then the stetho- scope. The room seemed most solemnly still. Great drops of perspiration started from every pore of my body. It appeared an hour to me, at least, and yet, I do not suppose it was more than ten minutes, All this time I was studying Bartholdy’s face with the most agonizing alternations of hope and despair. It was so desperately Calm and immoyable thatit might as weil have been mar- ble. “Yes,!? he began slowly, ‘I belieye you areright. I can imagine a faint and infrequent pulsation, Life is not quile extinct, but held In thrall by some powerful agent. Give me the case! Which did you use??? I took it out, emptied and rinsed a glass and prepared the remedy. “Make it twice that strength,’ he said. Lobeyed,: He held the fair head, the Jong golden curis streaming over his coat sleeve. With his fingers-he tried to part the Jovely lips, but the teeth were fust set. “We must pry them open.?? ; That seemed barbarous, but I didit gently. Barthoidy always carried a small silver spoon in his pocket, and now he poured the liquid down her throat, holding her head back.as one does a child. I was glad tosee him so calm, for I was quivering in every nerve with the most indescribable sensations, Then he watched, but there was not the faintest sign of returning animation. He listened once more to her heart. “She isnot dead—of thatlam sure,’’ he said, confi- dently. . : “Try the antidote again.” He gave her a larger quantity this time. If you can imagine our breathless watching in that si- lent room, where there was not even the ticking of a clock to disturb, and the eager, desperate glances we gave one another, you can form some idea of the weird picture. It tng to me that my life as wellas hers was at stake. Not a quiver, not the faintest flutter of an eyelid, “Ohl? { prayed again, “try! try!? “Heaven knows that I will do my best,’ he returned, solemnly. : *Can I help? ‘ oe “Stir the fire, please. Perhaps we ought to use fric- tion,’? Idon’t know why I allowed him to touch her with his hands, for she seemed to belong to me, Save that he was so gentle, so pure and womanly. He drew off the stock- ings and chafed the feet, while 1 heated a blanket and rolled them din it, “If we had a small battery i’? “Dll see if the Bartons are using theirs,” I said. lt Was past midnight, and, most unusual occurrence, every room on the floor was locked, I groped through the dark hall trying the Knobs. Some one grasped my arm. “It is I, Doctor Macdonald,’ I exclaimed, “Oh, excuse me.’? I was thankful to hear the janitor’s voice. “James,’’ I said, ‘‘can you get me a small galyanic bat- tery anywhere? The rooms seem deserted early to- night?” ; “They're not all gone from Professor Marvin’s, sir.”? “ “Ban down aud see. Bring it to Dr. Bartholdy’s room. “Yes, sir, Ionly put out the lights a moment ago.” ‘“Never.mind, 1 can find my way back.’? There had been no change in Muriel. So heavenly beautiful was she that it seemed almost a sin to disturb her. Jl explained the matter briefly to Louis, “There’s not the slightest sign of animation.” “Louis,’’ I said, “before, her eyes were closed, now they are wide open and 80 peculiarly brilliant.) “The work of the poison. Jf1 only knew—if I dared to try something else.’? “Why not? Lasked, almost recklessly. “Great Heaven! If I should kill her!’ Ishall. never forget the expression of his face at that moment. Ican recallit now so clearly—the blending of hk can’t exactly tell you. Just.as if never | wanted it6. of money was paid and thé two departed. Louis turned }. ~ rs We worked on and on. The city abont us grew solemnly still. Now and then a watcliman's ratue was heard or the towmeelock Strack the hour. Ah, merciful Father! would she ever breathe again? Sho patiietic voice, or ninst it be shat forever i tho t of are 1nd g dian ing of inurderinany for Wil they had her, My precious » as e¢ he he ag o é » Ea ont “Let us try once more,” Isaid. _. f Indeed, 1 would te worked untiiee ; i. ’s effacing fingers # i Had swept Ne lia where be : lingers.? ee We redoubled our efforts. Louls opened a vein in her arm. The remedies were tried in more rapid succession. “Heaven be prry Louls ejaculated, presently. ‘Her heart beats! I bave heard itr*- ye” < His face was like that of amantransfigured. Iope and satisfaction of the supremest kind shone in it. : Il watched breathlessly. The same sign that I had wit- nessed before, but more slow and uncertain. Not one ef- fort was relaxed. Faint palpitations began to quiver through the pulses, and presently the eyelids drooped of their own accord. gy ) We worked unufthe gray dawn came up the eastern skies, and the nae the new-born day gave the gas /1 see that sweet, faint sintie, aud hear that tender, nthe grave? | flame a sickly and ulchral glare. Bartholdy rolled up the blanket, and spreading his handkerchief over it, im- provised a pillow for her. . He was yery genule in all his movements. Tenderness aud grace were natural to him. By degrees respiration became more frequent and regu- lat, though it was still faint and slow, *“T unink she will Jive,’? he said, in a tremulous tone. ] believe his eyes were full of tears. Tcould make no answer. “The puzzle is what tu do with her.’ I had not poor e! Lhat. “We conld take Her to the City Hospital, but I cannot bear the thought of exposing her to ahiy publicity.”’ ; “No, that must not be,’ 1 answered, decisively. “T want to lear her story before we make any effort to restore her to the world. Life hangs on avery slender thread, and gBhe needs a woman’s teuderest care. If we could only think of.some kind, good person who would receive her nnd ask no idle or curious questions."? “She shall vever go back to her friends!” I said, flercely. “Friends! Poor child, enemies might have been kinder, ‘| That she has nearly been the victiin of some subtle poison is certain, but ihe authors of her strange mischance evi- dently arranged their business with great care. We can fiud out something, doubtless, fromthe men Wieprons t her here, but all the speculatl win nat proyide for er present emergency. We can’t help.lerin this place” Thad béeti almost wild enougl to propose it, but 'knew it, was uniter practicable, Figg hy Nae e huddled oveg Se stove, for we were chilly from the reaction of excifément. I thought next of Mrs, Warren. It was so qulet there, so.removed from any atmosphere of gossip or suspicion. I felt certain that Mrs. Warren would take her on proper explanation, and then we should both be able to watch ler conyalescetice. I cotid not bear to think of’her being: beyond my immediate supervision. } { , Afler ®little Consideration lL imparted my pian to Bar- th thoidy. “Excellent! } id. “Your Mrs. Warren looks as if she"hight be trusted with a secret. But it will not be necessary to tell all the past.” : “No”? “Will it startle Mus. Warren to know that she was brought here for disseciion ?? ’ I could not repress a shiver as I answered: “Tam afraid is would.”? “It always.comes hard upon women, but forevermore they will-have anew sacredness in iy eyes.” j ‘I believe it would be better to take her there first. We can consider n our explanations. If Mrs. Warren once looks upon her she cannot refuse to befriend her,?? “You know best,’? and he looked strangely wistful. “We will take her,’! d It had better Dejone immediayely then. There are so few penne asuir nowy.) ‘Yes. Will you go for a conch? I wanted to be alone with her. Bartholdy rose, stood beside Muriel for many minutes, and then went out quietly. / I took his place. She was lying motioniess, her eyes partially closed, and her respiration ren, very faint, It was still possible that she might not live, though the knowledge was agony to me.. I knelt by her rude conch and kissed the shining hair ina ener of love and grie!, holy as that one gives to the dead. ad Lnotbeen instrumental in snatching her twice from the grave? nderstood my presentiment now. had seen Muriel thi: ht, but not iu the manner that I had fancied poszible, _ was here in my care, away from that w treacherous Althea, away from Harold, I believe U ei this time I quite forgot that she i ~~ nee him. [ wanted to ve had at stake. kets, and she was in that state of ullconsciousuess that she remarked no change. Gently we bore our precious burden down siaizs. “Will you drive?’ Bartholdy asked. Hie Was looking fearfully worn and excited. ‘ I nodded my head and held her in my arms until he had enfered. Sho was like a child in weight. “I will hoid her lrere on the cushion,” he'said. ‘Do not drive fast." vn ; » I was really glad, after sucha night of excitement, to breathe the pure, fresh air. The city had a curious look, as iff had notseen it for a long while. Over in the east there were long lines of pale yellow, aflush with crimson, and lance-like rays of flame shooting up through the biue. It filled my soul with hope. We met few travelers. One watchman eyed us a little curiously, but there was nothing suspicious. I turned into my own street at length. There was acountry wagon Just before us, and not even Mrs, Warren, who slept in’ the-third story front room, noticed our stopping. We were safe, I fastened the horses and ran down the area to open the door with my latch key. Louis Bartholdy brought in Muriel and laid her on the sofa. Was she alive, or dead? (TO BE OONTINUED.) A Mad Marriage. “SUCH A MAD MARRIAGE NEVER WAS BEFORE.” Taming of the Shrew By Mrs. May Agnes Fleming. (“A Mad Marriage’? was commenced in No, 39.’ Back Nos. can be had of News Dealors in the United States and the Canadas] PART THIRD. CHAPTER XIV. CHEZ MADAME. Half-an-hour later Madame Feliciaand Lord Dyne- ly had fairly started upon their excursion—their last, they both knew, and the knowledge gave the forbidden fruit fresh zest, even to their jaded pal- ates. | You must feelan interest in a handsome and devoted young cavalier, lying in the sunshine at your feet, who, this time to-morrow, for your sake, may be lying with a bullet through his heart. As well as Lord Dynely himself, Felicia knew what would iney- itably take place in the light of to-morrow’s dawn. and, though his youthful and impassioned lordship was beginning seriously to bore her, she had never before been one-half so sweet, so witching, as to-day. Half-an-hour after their departure, there rattled up to madame’s door a fiacre, from which alighted M. le Prince, That she would be awaiting, his coming, with more or less of impatience and anxiety, he did not doubt. He absolutely stood dumb, when the tall chasseur, indorsed by Mam’selle Pauline, announced madame’s departure, and with whom. “Gone for the day to Asnieres, and with Lord Dynely!” he repeated, staring at them blaakly, The extent of the defiant audacity absolutely took his breath away. “But, yes, M. le Prince,” Pauline answered, with a shrug, ‘‘not to return until barely. time to dress for the theater.” . And she left no note, no message of any kind for me? veh “None, M. le Prince,” “How did they seem, Pauline? in good spirits, or ——’ “In the very highest spirits, M.le Prince. She dressed with much more than usual care, and 80, evidently, had mi lor’, I heard her tell him, as they went away, laughing together, that he was looking handsome as an archangel and -elegant as a secre- tary of legation, and that she looked forward to the pleasantest day of her life.” He set his teeth witha snap, his eyes aflame. “And he—what said monsieur ?” . “That all days must be the pleasantest of his life 8 F nt in her company. Then they drove off side by side. The yellow complexion of the prince had turned dirty white, with jealous rage. If one chance of life had remained to his rival, he lost it in that moment; if one chance of setting herself right had remained 7 the woman who slighted him, she lost itin that our. “And, mademoiselle ?” he asked, ‘‘the little captive —what of-her ?” “Is still captive, monseigneur. She is to be re- ‘moved to-night, after midnight, safely out of Paris, for the present, Madame holds a little reception after the play to-night. When it is over Paujol and Mam’selle Donny quietly leave Paris.” _ | was the key-note of hk | Dew, and nothing tr warmth, anc v Hush j the champagne and trufiles were of the best, and her companion was the handsomest man in Paris, To- impatient shrug. “I in to think you have not mi exjoye our/excursion after all.” . 7 K WEEKLY. > He laughed. inwardly—a laugh that might have warned madame had she heardit. But, drifting Seine he music of the band of the ation heard nothing except the pn er English knight. arm ay—all that abo mps of th lightful,, With w n of achild, m threw herself into the pleasure of the mo and llyed, while she lived, each hour to the utm “Kat, drink, and be merry, for There was no ie,” ? , r life: There; nothing but the sun shone with sum- “mer band played sweetest music,. orrt the Prince Diventurini would shoot him or run him through—it was well; there were other adorers leftssibue: the knowledge added spice to the wine of life td-day. ~~ “Thou art absent, Erle, mon ami!” she murmured, tenderly, ‘Of what art thou thinking, then? Tired already of our fete day—which J am enjoying like a child, “since I am’ with thee-and) ef -poor little Felicia ? S weit Soi He awoke with a start—a gullty stati | rt (4 In very truth, as they wandered here arm in‘dim,! his thoughts, marvelous to relate, had strayed back- ward to—his wife! How madame would have laughed had she known it! Poor little sou! !—poor little Crystal! When the end came to-morrow, would not the shot that finished him kill her also? One creature at least of all the women who had ‘smiled upon him for his azure eyes, and golden hair, and Greek face, had loved him. Well, in this world, where there isso much of empty glitter, so little real gold, even that was something. The brief, bright Feb day wore on, grew gray and overcast. | ame shivered in her,wraps, and turned frettul and cold. They hurried back to the steamer and re-embarked for Paris, “We will have a storm to-morrow—dost not think so, Eric?” madame asked, wrapping her rose-lined seal-skins closer about her, and looking up at the Hi gray, fast-drifting _- He followed her glance, es To-morrow ! Where, this time to-morrow, would he be? In this world or the next ?—if there be a next—he thought. ‘Still dreaming, mon cher ?” Felicia said, with an ‘He answered her, as Re knew. she expected to be answered, in words of empty compliment, but still With that absent, dreaming face. His wife haanted | him like a ghost, ae oor little Crystal! poor little loving Crystal! Yes, Dennison was right—he had been a brute to her. Only seven weeks a bride, ee ae a widow! Ah, yes; it was hard on her f, a “Shall we see you at my rooms to-night?’ Felicia asked again, , _ *Yes—that is, no, I think not. I have an engage- ment for to-night that will prevent my having that wa) He ig “Diable! do you sit yg and mock at me! Do i 2 . = PAffirm nothing. M. ‘he pleases.” . Said, with one flash Xou have said quite ‘On will marry me. bur diabolical temper f Italy, much less Tdon’t really think i you ai mee too too ugly. , ore rc Dynely are you remember the & that, at least. And sal— Austrian marquis, ’ Inee? Yes—wel, De Vocqsal is coming to Paris hext Week, and is more urgent than ever that I shull become Madame la Mar- quise. He is young, he is handsomé, he has four- teen quarterings, and arent roil that is fabulous, lng & ge calls meugly names, and is much too gal- “think, la gentleman to intrude into a lady’s chamberat. ithe morning on purposeto insult‘her. Here Is your ring, prince; it never fitted from the first, and Tam glad to be ridofit. It isthe only present you ever gave me, so Lhave happily nothing to return. Now let me say good night and bon voxige, for I am really very sleepy.” ord = She yawned aloud, as she removed the..heavy dia- mond from her finger and held it out to. bim. “Good night, prince; and a pleasant trip to yeu both—he, pauvre en fan, to the next world, and you— to Italy, isit? Take yourring, monsieur, and go.” ) He took it, and stood | at her, his face ca- daverons green, his eyes like coals. ‘You tell me this? You mean Tipe > Vorgeal ?” Flom growing tired of the stage. Byen that pals. | eel marry De Vocgsal, prince, and become * y o ae { gr, me 53 ; TR istheend,then?” “Oh, mon Dieu! yes, if you ever mean to go. How can there be an end while you loiter here? Go! go! go! Linsist 1” ; y He laughed. “T go, madame; pray do not say it again. beforehand. Itis abrilliant destiny to la Marquise de Vocqsal. Good night, and adieu.” bowed low, and was gone—through the dress-_ oom, and Inte the elgting-room beyond. Here, Pauline, still guarding the wine, and fast asleep now, sat in the dim light. He went to the table, something between his fingers, a shining globule, and dropped it into the glass. The bell rang sharpe ly atthe moment. Pauline started up, with a cry and nturini vanished through the outer door. | “Ma e never misses her night draught, 80 Pau line tells me,” he said to himself, with a sardonic smile, as he leaped into his waiting cab; ‘‘she will pleasure.” She shrugged her shoulders. ‘They stood together in the chilly twilight at madame’s door. “Then this is really good night 2?” “This is really good night.” - She gave him her hand, in its perfectly fitting gray glove, and looked at him in silence for a mo- Ment, There was a half smile on her lips—so, with- out a word, black eyes and blue met, in one long, farewell glance. ‘\Ma foi! It isa thousand pities to kill anything half so handsome !” madame was thinking. ‘Well— he has helped to amuse me for four weeks. What more rae ask ?” ‘ “Does she’ know?” Eric was musing, ‘but of course she does, Also, of course,” rather bitterly this, “she an: care. It is only one more lover, growing wearlgome, and safely out of the way.”. *Good night then, mon ami,” e said softly, “and au revoir!” Lae “Good night, Felicia,’ he answered, “until we meet. in! : And then he was and those two had time on earth. -Four hours later, and the glittering rooms ot Madame Felicia were filled with a very brilliant gone, a smile on his blonde face, ooked on each other for the last throng. The best men in Paris, ihe handsomest and Wittiost women met there. And there, when St, ithe mus ‘ ter atytheir liveliest, le Prince Diventuri ’ came cae unexpected. ‘‘Who has béen here, Pauline ?” madame had demanded, when under the hands of her maid, at the dressing room of the Varieties; and the answer had been prompt, ‘“*M. le Prince, mad- ame. “Ah! and you told him——” “That you had gone to Asnieres for the day, with milor, madame.” ~ Madame laughed. ~ | she said gently, “I like the dusk. “Has—has not miss it to-night; and once drank, there is a long- er pay before her than.a bridal trip to the impe- rial court of Francis Joseph. So madame, and bon voyage !” CHAPTER XV.ii je5) foal “HOW THE NIGHT FELL.” LOW From the window of her bedroom, Crystal, Lady Dynely, watched, the twilight of that overcast Feb- ruary day close down. She lay on a broad, low sofa, half buried in silk and down cushions, her small, pale face earn Ie out like marble against their rose tints, the large blue eyes, so brilliant with happy love-light a few brief weeks ago, dim with watch- ing and much weeping now. , tside the wind was rising. The trees rocked in the gale, the darkness deepened, the first heavy rain drops began pattering against the glass. In- side the gloom deepened also, until the little, pale face was barely visible... All day long she had beem alone, sick in.body, sick in soul, crushed of heart. Now she was straining her ears, for the first sound of that beloved, familiar step on the stairs, for the first note of that gay whistle, with which he was wont to herald his coming. To her, this twilight hour, was the hour of the twenty-four, for it almost invariably brought Eric, to dress or dine. Her maid entered to light the lamps, but the soft, mournful little voice sent her away. ‘‘ Not. yet,” . my > pe “No, my lord has not come homé,” the French woman answered, with a compassionate glance at the little drooping figure. Alas! was not my lord’s defection as well known in the servants’ hall as in salon or chamber? was he now? Was he with her?—that wicked, beau- tiful, brown@woman? Oh! to be able to win him back, her very own, her husband, and hold him “How truthful you grow, petite. And M. le Prince—what said he ?” “Nothing, madame; but that later at the reception.” So madame knew he was coming, and was pre- pared for all chances. War or peace—she was equal | to either fate, only a trifle curious. Others were curious, too; that little contretemps at the bal @’ opera, quiet as it had been kept, was known, and people shrewdly suspected that Diventurini, noted duelist, and fire-eater, would not let the matter drop there. How would he meet madame ? He made his way slowly through the rooms, and met her with suave and polished courtesy, told her of his journey, of his health, hoped she had amused herself well in. his absence, lingered half an hour among the guests, and then, with an elaborate apology for his early departure, went away. By one o’clock the rooms were empty, the lights out. Madame valued her good looks and lustrous eyes too highly to keep very late hours! Paujol had quitted his post, Pauline had disrobed her mistress of silks and laces, and substituted a dressing gown. In her chambre a coucher Felicia sat, smok ng two or three nerve-soothing cigarettes before going to bed, Inthe boudoir without Pauline sat, waiting, half asleep, with her mistress’ night draught of spiced wine and eggs on the table before her. adame often sat dozing and dreaming over her he would see you cigarettes for an hour at a time, while the irl waited. So to-night she lay luxuriously back in her chair, her eyes closed, the rose-scented smoke curl-, ing upward, when a man made his way noiselessly into the boudoir from the street. He glanced at the sleeping Pauline, at the waiting night draught, and passed on into the dressing-room, into the bedroom, and.so came, still noiselessly, upon madame He stood for a moment looking down upon her. She had not heard him, but some baleful, mesmeric influence warned her he was there. She sat up suddenly, opened her eyes, and looked full into the yellow face of Prince Diventurini. For a second there was silence, She was a plucky little woman, without a nerve about her, and uttered no word or sound. She looked at him straight, silent, then: ‘Monsieur the prince!” : “At your service, madame! . I trust I have not too greatly disturbed you ?” A mocking smile was on his lips. She looked at him disdainfully, : ‘You have not disturbed me atall. For amo- ment, I confess, I took you for a burglar, but my nerves are good. What was Paujol about that you! entered unannounced ?” *‘Paujol was asleep in his lodge.” “And, Pauline ?? “Pauline is asleep also in your boudoir, two, madame.” “And a very late hour for M. Diventurini’s visit. Couid it not have been deferred until to-morrow, I wonder ?” “It could not, madame. By to-morrow I shall be across the frontier, and vere far from Paris.” ‘‘Ah! IT understand!” she looked at him unfiinch- ingly. **You mean to kill Lord Dynely 2?” **} mean to kill Lord Dynely. Such aninsult ashe offered the can only be wiped out in blood. Iregret that madame must lose her lover, but——” “Pray, no apologies, M. le Prince!” madame an- swered, with perfect sang froid; ‘‘he was beginning to bore me. Grande passions are always in bad form, and poor boy! he was ludicrously in earnest. Well, monsieur, as you depart to-morrow, I suppose I must give you an audience, even at this improper hour, and in this apartment, or—shall we adjourn to the boudoir ?” He laughed derisively. ‘It shocks madame’s delicacy then, that I have in- truded into her chamber! -with a slight langh—“T chanced fo die, for instance——” ; But she interrupts him with a shrill cry, like a child that has been struck. ‘Erie!’ He kisses her, laughing still. It was quite a treat to discuss the matter with Bartholdy [ fear, hope, desire, and something to which I was. blind “ 3 $ ; -k again, Turnitin every light and it was a mystery stili. | then, but knew well enough aierwabd Heaven help me.” | 1,5 aust aise ; OE Be CORDON, ota’ . be tere Mmadame’s daughter, that ahe keeps caged up o What a foolish little Crystal. Do I look like dy- We read up all our curious cases of catalepsy, but none| “Oh, you will not,” Isaid. “I felt so too, at first.’? prince said, grimly. ‘Very well, Pauline, I will | like a wild animal—what of her? You see I know ng? It is only a suppositious case—let me put it. appeared exactly like it. Tue battery came presently, and we tried it gently. | @ouble you no further, J will do myself the honor | that also. And all the lies madame has been telling | If I chanced to die, say to-morrow, you would for- “Bat then sue had medicine enough for to-day,’ said | Somehow we were both so afraid ef giving her pain. | Of being present at madame’s little reception after | me from the first—what of them ?” give me all my wrongdoing, my neglect? You Louis, “and pertiaps there may be no hurry about Muriel’s | There were the usual convulsive distortions, which I could |the play, Who knows when she may hold an-| “Nothing of them. And lies is an ugly word to| would not have one hard thought of me, would @eath now. I went turough Varick street and found two ! not bear to watch, other ?” use to a lady,” you? 3 Pe ~— ndiacali sel ia ceahlehigaditenniee Bel Leek AS pci nace ledaten alist. 2 @... H ae Thanks " for your good wishes. Accept my congratulations). Madame good night to you, ~ Where was he to-day?—the child wondered. Where ~ had these—she had nothing left but the pen nene _ With a sort of groan, of re- / If the past. could bu€é © aes | | | / | ) } | WL ioe aitntapernct inlet nie 4 fig eesti, LS Shcnnnittnitte AOR aE She half-raises herself and tries to look at him. But, still laughing, he holds her so that she cannot see his face. ‘Answer, sweetheart—would you 2” “J never had one hard thought of you in all my life Bric, never, so [ could have nothing to forgive. it you died’——she catches her breath with a sort of Esp as she says it—‘‘do you think I would live? you think I could live? Oh, love, that is all past. Ican uever have any life now apart from nl? “You think so,” he says, uneasily; “but you are young, and—you only think so.” “T know so,” slic answers, under her breath; and instincttyely he knows it too. “Well” says, at length, afteralong pause, “regrets are useless, but I wish with all my soul the ast three weeks. could come over again. Lought have made you happy, little wife, and Ihave not. If_if the time is given me I swearI will. Now, sweetheart, let me go; Ihave letters to write and much to do this evening.” “You she pauses and looks at him with oh, such wistful, longing eyes—‘you are going out, as usual, Bric?” “No,” he says, smiling down upon her, “Iam going to remain in, as wr-usual, Crystal, Lie here until dinner is announced; I will write my letters in your boudoir. You know I must always be alone when my epistolatory attacks come on.” + He unlooses the clasping arms and goes. And Crystal nestles down among her pillows and holds both hands hard over that rapturously beating heart of hers, and shuts her eyes to keep back the joyful tears that come to women alike in bliss and in pain, Just now her bliss is so great. that itis almost pain; she cannot, cennot realize it, ‘ He passes. through» the dressing-room . into the pretty, mirror-lined, satin-hung nest beyond, that is Crystal's sitting-room, leaving both doors ajar, He lichts' the lamps himself, draws pens, ink and paper before him, and sits down to write. He must leave afew parting lines with Boville for his mother and Crystal in case of the worst.. He wishes he had made a will toxlay instead of, golng to Asnieres; but it is too lute for that., The title and estate go to a distant cousinof his father’s, unl yes, there is onewnless. Itis something Crystal has never spdken of—he thinks himself itis unlikely still. “By Jove!” he says, under his breath. so, for her sake, poor littlesoul. . It will console her; oo dead or alive, a fellow likes to perpefuate the tle. He begins his mother's letter first. It will be the easier. \ He writes “Hotel. du Louvre, February 26, 1868. My dear mother,” and there he stops, and gnaws the gold handle of his pen, and pulls, his amber mustache, and stares at the blank sheet with troubled blie eyes. What shall he say? It will al- most go as hard with her as with Crystal. Absolutely these preliminaries were worse than the thing itself. The minutes tick off—still he sits and stares at the white paper. What shall he say—how shall he word it? Some fellows have a knack of writing things— he has none—neyver had. Beauty and brains don’t, as a rule, travel in company. Eric, Lord Dynely, never felt the want of the latter—that refuge of the destitute before. By Jove! What shall he say to her? Then, as he plunges the pen in desperation down in the ink, determined to say something or perish, the door is burst suddenly open, and Terry Dennison comes impetuously in. ‘Terry Dennison, flushed of face, excited of eye, and strides up to him at once. “Eric, what is this? Is it true?” Bric lays down his pen, and flushes also with haughty amaze and anger. e : “Dennison! again! and after what passed between us the other day!’ : JA e “Do you-think I wouid let that stop me now ?” Lion bursts forth, excitedly. ‘Do you think I would heed anything you may have said at such a time as this 4 Is it true 7” 180% - “Ighwhat true?” stillin haughty anger. “Your duel with Di@enturini! L met,De Concres- sault out onder. ANd ene a hint, but would not speak plainly. ‘ f know that Diventurini is back. Eheardiof your rencontre atithe bal masque, and I feared something of this. Buf I did not think you wrould be so mad—yes, so mad, Dynely, as to accept his challenge. Tell me, is it true 7” “‘It ig quite true. May I inquire in- what way it concerns Mr. Dennison?” *‘In what way! Great Heaven! he can talk to me like this!’ In what way—his murder—for it is nothing less. Eric, I say. this must not go on!” ‘Indeed !"—witha sneer. “How do you propose to prevent it?” . “‘T will give information to the police. I will—lI, swear ! I can stop it in no other way, the gens- q@’armes shall be on the ground before you: y- Hear. Erio you sha: wes Bric arose to bins ee ae - light of anger the other knew 50 well blazing in his e «Yon dare to stahd'there and tél ihe this! Med- dier! Fool! Ifyou are a coward yourself, do you think to make me one? Begone !: and» dnterfere, tell the police, at your peril! . By Heaven, df you do, when the prince and I have met elsewhere, which- ever of us survives shall shoot you There was a moment’s silence—Hrie livid with passion, Terry’s blue eyes aflame, his breath coming quick and hard—then: ' *‘You mean to tell me, Dynely, that if I prevent your meeting to-morrow you will meet Diventurini elsewhere 2” . S09 surely as we both live I shall meet Diventu- rini when and where he pleases!” : “But, Heavens and earth! Eric, don’t you know “JT hope | s The two men stood petrified, horror-strieken. It was all’so sudden that for an instant it stunned them. Then Eric awoke, With a horrible oath he sprang forward, seized Denmison by the throat, and struck him with all his might across the face. “It is all your doing, you fool! You meddlesome, thick-witted‘fool! If you have killed her, by ——- IH} have your life!” He flung him from him like a madman. . By laying hold of the wall Dennison alone saved himself from fallmg. ‘The onslaught had been so swift, so unex- pected, that he had had ‘no chance to defend him- self at all. Now he was forced to stand for an instant to regain his breath. The flush had faded from his face, leay- ing it ghastly, only. where the red, cruel mark of the brutal blow lay. ‘Then he plunged blindly after his assailant, but in that instant Eric had stooped and raised his wife in his arms, and passed with her into the inner room. Dennison turned, laid his arm against the wall, and his face upon it. So he stood for a moment—a moment that was an age of agony. Thenhe turned, rand silently and swiftly went out into the dark, melancholy, rain-beaten night. (TO BE CONTINUED.) > Ont UNDER TEE SNOW. BY SUSIE MICHAKL. . They have buried my lover under the snow, Out under the rain, the sleet and the snow. The glittering stars hide their faces bright, And the moon withholds her silvery light. Oh! ’tis a dark, cold, and cheerless night, x And yet he lies out there under the snow, The cold and pitiless snow. They have buried my lover under the snow, Out under the rain, the sleet, and the snow, Now the wind sinks down to a low moaning sigh, Then howls again with a wild, shriekingcry. * Oh! this is horrible; he thus to die! And lie in the churchyard under the snow, The eold and pitiless snow. | They haye buried my lover under the snow, Out under the rain, the sleet, and the snow. And the wayworn traveler quickens his pace, Bo be welcomed at home by a smiling face. A merry voice, anda winsome grace; While he lies there ’neath the freezing snow, The cold and pitiless snow. They have buried my lover under the snow, Out under the rain, the sleet, and the snow. And the careless world will still onward go, While talking and laughter unceasingly flow, _\ And mirth runs high, though all must know That he Hes out there under the snow, The cold and pitiless snow. They have buried my lover under the snow, Out under the rain, the slset, and the snow. And I sit here by the blazing grate, ; Though the work is asleep, and the hours wax late Was it Providence, or was it Fate, . That laid him out there under the snow, The cold and pitiless snow. PLEASANT: PARAGRAPHS. [Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing; to ward making thiscolumn an attractive feature of the New YORK WEEKLY, and they wiil oblige us by sending for publication any- thin which may be deemed of sutticient interest for general pe- rusal. Itis not necessary that tle articles should be penned in scholarlystyle; so long as they are pithy, and likely toatford amusement, minor defects will be remedied. Love and Marriage. LovE.—Dis is der vonderful invention vich makes a man put more joy inhis heartstrings und more grease in his hair, It makes ‘him play Jightonroast peef fora vhile, und makes him take to shpeilin out sweet vordts on a nice shky-greeu sheet of paper mit goldink, It makes him pecome grately interested in der brice and freshness of mixed gandy, und makes him ‘yoost drop in” ashe “vas bassin’? by apout fur acouble minutes, und shtayin till der glock shiriked yon und der olt man sings out gross from der bedroom uf some von vill blease tell him uf it’s dayproke yet, uud der olt Jady in der bed- room reminds young lady in der barlor-room dot she’s got to git up early iu der mornin’ und vash und iron der front shtoop. It ama beriod ina young feller’s life yhen he gits kinder sick of der gompany of his “‘ellers,’’? und yien his boots can’t be too shiny, or his shirt too clean or ftco polishy. Hegleans his finger-nails regular, advises der barber motto bin afraid to shpill blenty of gasior-oil ou his yool, und prushes der werry existence out of his ban- dyloons. 3 ‘ He not only improves on old habits in his ‘doilet,? but te gr Vs ron dostenliy- as ets eorCise Le - seems to lapor under a conviction dot he can best show der awful shtate of his lofe for her dhrough der medium uf ice-gream, red abbies, und bebbermint candy; und as der young lady herself seems to dink he’s right, vhy der destruction of dhese dings is as shtartling to der opserver as it am bleasant und satisfactory to der feller—und der all 7 Dhey vill sit togedder in der best room of der house, und O! how dhey do sliing shveet shtories at yon each oder! Her whispers laden mit affection und a faint sas- bicion of 2 onion und vinegar; is whispers full mit breathings of strong lofe uud also of sthrong vhisky sthrangled mit a coffee beans! : Ol dis vas der bliss! Dis vas der habbyness of life, sure to sot dhere ona leetie sofa sliymall enough to hold two— or a large shair big enough to 101d two—mit der ollin der lamplight a gittin quick used up; der moon vyinkim in pleasant on der end of her leetie nose, your hands shtriv- ing earnestly to keep her vaist from fallin’ to bieces, (und she lookin out Lo brevent a like accident to your neck), he means to kill you? Don’t you know he is a dead shot, and that you don’t stand a chance ? No, by Jove ! not the Shadow ofachance! A duel! why this will not be a duel, it will be a cold-blooded murder !” “Call it by what Mame you please, only be kind enough to go.” “Eric, yeu shall not—you shall not. meet the prince! He means to take your life; you haven’t a shadow of a chance, I repeat. Oh! dear old fellow, stop and think! I don’t mind what you say to me— i don’t mean to be meddlesome—I don’t mean to quarrel with you. Dear old boy, stop and think! it is not you alone Diventurini will kill—it is your mother !—it is your wife !” . “This ig/all wonsense !” Eric cried, angrily and im- patiently‘a waste of time! I have letters to write, and I,want to get to bed early to-night. If you talked until the crack of doom you couldn’t alter things one fota. Let it kill whoim it may, I can’t and wen’t show the white feather. Diyenturini has challenged me, and Iam to meet him at day-dawn to-morrow—that is as fixed as fate. He means to shoot me, I haven't the slightest doubt; but that has nothing to do with it. The Dynelys have never been noted for rigid virtue of any sort, or an over- stock of brains; but at least none that I ever heard Of were cowards. Iwon’t/be the first to disgrace the name. Have we palavered enough over this, or has more to be said? I warn you, I won’t listen, If you will not leave me, then I shall leave you.” He gathered up his papers angrily to go, Terry advanced and laid his hand on his shoulder. _“‘Eric! if you have no, mercy on yourself, have mercy on your wife and mother. It will kill them— that you know as well as J. Let me meet this Italian cutthroat in your place. I’m a better shot than you, and he’li never know the ? “You're a fool, Terry!” Eric cried, throwing off the hand. ‘‘You talk like a one baby! Let you meet Diventurini in my piace, and I sneak at home like a whipped schoo oa behind the’ petticoats of my wife and mother! For Heaven's sake get out, and —- talking such infernal rot!” rry drew back, and folded his arms. ®Jt is inevitable then, Dynely? You mean to meet the prince ?” ; “Jt is inevitable, Dennison. If your head had not been made of wood, you might have known that from the first. I shall meet Diventurini as surely as the sun will shine in the heayens to-morrow!” : Asort of smile crossed Dennison’s face at the pe The rain was pelting against the windows ard. ‘The sun willmotshine in the heavens to-morrow!” he said, under his breath! Then aloud: ‘‘And you are quite sure, old boy, that you know the prince means to kill you ?” *T am quite sure he means to try,” Eric answered, coolly; ‘lam not at allso sure that he will succeed. Now, then, Terry, I’ll forgive you everything—every- thing on my word, if you'll only take yourself off at once, and stop a @ confounded bore! When a man expects to be shot at break of day, henaturally thas no end to do the night be 3 : He never finished the sentence. With a face of white horror, Dennison was pointing to the door of the @ressing-room. Eric whirled round, and a cry broke | from’ his lips. There, in her white ny fag her face like snow, her eyes all wild and wide, er lips apart, his wife stood; She had heard every word, “Great Heaven! Crystal!” Eric cried. He sprang toward her, She was swaying likea reed in the wind, but at the sound of his voice the blind, bewildered eyes turn toward him, the arms instinctively outstretched. It was the doing of a second—before he could reach her, she had fallen heavily forward on her face, a stream of bright red your hearts, your souls, und your foots all Kickin avay merrily der lofe you fecl, und der bleasant unhappyness of postponin der sayin of *Goot Nighd!? until wiolently requested to do so at once py der oxcited nearest relations of your young lady in question! Dis is berfect bliss, pop sure, MARRIAGE.—Two beoble eatin subber togedder und kiss- in each oders noses von minute, und oxtracting hair und dhrowin blates der next. When dhese beoble agree, dliey agree vyonderful. Dien hereyes am plack like a rafen, her hair am vafy to a oxtensif degree, vhile her disposi- tion am so jentle like a white lamb. His tooths am like a vhite bearis, his face putiful like a bicture, unt his vhis- kers yoost apout heavenly.. But yluen dhey disagree— dhen vas der apofe opinions oxperience a awful tumble- set. Dien her plamed olt cal-eyes am alvays sqvintin viere dhey'm got no bizness; und she’s tookin all der four dollar bills to fix up her plamed old vool; und her disbo- sition am vorse dhan dot of a vild lion ina menajerie vat can’t git his sdlary, 3 . ; Und as for him, his tobaggo-bainted mout am nefer got no goot yords for her, und his red nose am alyays pokiu into der. kitchen, vhile ie shpends all der shpare shange to got his frightful old vhiskers bainted black, viohh money yood easy buy leetle Shonny a new boot und leetle Shaney a ‘bolonaise, so i, vood! Marriage gifs 4 man der blessed brifilege of tellin his vile ‘You tiel’? midout der danger of gittin a kick on derear from her big brudder! It giis him-der shance to vear out der shparkle of his vife’s eyes—und dersiiparkle of her heart also—mit too oft re- beated growls und gombiaints, und it gifs him der obbor- tunity to make his vife o!d und weary pefore her time py a vonderful disheariful shtyle of schkarin her into haflng his own vay! It gifs him all dhege briflleges midout no danger dot he vill suffer dherefore, or efen dotit vill make his friends dink odervise of him dhan as a plaimed goot feller any how! But, uf der feller tooks marriage in its right vay, und veighs up der matter vell in his prains, he vill ten to yon make it a means of gomfort und happyness und plamed bleasant existence, ; He vill garefully omit der schiyear vordts of der English language in his confersation to his vile; he vill efery day saw new beauties in her eyes; he vill alvays braise der goffee und nefer lose & obbortanity of sclivearin der peef- shiteak am yoost right, py gracious! He vill build shpar- klea ju ber eyes mit braises und jolly vorats, vich vill float up her shpirits on der high sea of happyness, und make her vent dhrough her daily vork vistlin. Uud he vill find dot subber: vill be ready, buttons vill be on, und shirts shiny much more und much better dhan cood be caused by a whole load of shvears und a whole lookin-glass full of schowls. MARK QUENCHER, A Warm Seat. The fireman of the steam heating apparatus at the Cen- tral depot in Detroit found a penny as he was rakibg over the hot ashes in the furnace, aud he took it up with the tongs and placed it on a bench outside to cooi om, It had hardly comineuced to cool whenaheavy Man, named Johnson, living in Saginaw, came along. le was talking business with a friend, and as he came to the bench he parted his coat-tails and sat down on the penvy, remark- ing: ‘‘As I was saying, you can have forty acres for— whoop! Thunder and blazes—ouch—dash it—gosh to whoop!) He galloped around in wild amazement, the hot penny sticking to him like 4 brother, and it was two ox three minutes before any one found out whether he liad dropped down on 4 tack or been bitten by a dog, There was aheayy aroma of burning cloth and blistered meat, and Mr. Johnson stretched forth his arm and exciaimed that he should devote the remainder of his life to hunting down the fiend who thus planned to waylay him. Annoying an Old Lady. Billy Crenshaw wis agreat practical joker. Among his acquaintance was Mrs. 8., an eccentric old woman, who spent much of hertimein attending to her flower garden, Which was a very fine one. He bought a load of wood from an old man and told him to carry it to Mrs, S's house, and throw it in the yard, and added: “Perhaps my wife may tell you not to throw it in the yard; but don't mind her; she is crazy and does not know any bet- ter? The mau conveyed the woodto the house, and commenced throwing it on the flowers, when the old lady came out crying to-him not to ruin her flowers. “Oh, you dry up!’ said the man; ‘your husband done told me all about you, Iknow you arecrazy and dot know r ‘Spent it! A Sunday-School Lesson. ; A teacher ina San Francisco g#nday-school thus ad- dressed his pupils: ‘You boys Ought to be kind to your little sisters. I once knew a bad boy who struck his little sister a blow over the eye. Although she didu’t fade and die in the early summer time, when the June roses were blowing, with tne sweet words of forgiveness on her pal- lid lips, she rose up and hit him over the head with a roll- ing-pin, so. that he couldn’t go to Sunday-school for more ae a month, on account of not being able to put his best iat on. : "i Phunnygraphs. ‘ —— Voice of nature—The mountain’s peak. —— Autumn hues—Cutling fire-wood. —— Ceremonies, like plays, are best. waved. — The woman in question—The question of age. —— Cheap, yet salisfactory—Compliments, —— To look spruce you must not pine, ~— = Best right of woman—The marriage rite. —— Many people are called to church by the belles. —— You can always have the law—at cost, —— Center of gravity—A Quaker meeting. — —— Clocks don’t strike witit their hands. , —— Grass widows—The wives of roving blades. — Black Friars—Cvolored cooks. — Flash language—Telegrams. —— More meu fall in love than in war. — Nothing—An open bunghole without a barrel. —— Family es—Nine children. —— You can’t weigh an eel with scales, because they have no scales, you know. = — They adyertise “invisible wigs” in this city. We'd just like to see one of’em, _ : —— Is there anything more harrowing to the soul than a peg in one’s boot? } —— A compass has four points to be sure, but a pair of compasses has.only two. - Mis Neighbor’s Children. At a fashionable diuuer party the guests had just seated themselves at table, aud were rapidly helping themselves to the oysters, plates containing a dozen of which had been placed between every two ersonis, when the hostess began to talk tothe geutleman next toherofl his sons, one of whom he had lost through accident. ‘You still have six left, however,’? she sald, in @ voice of condo- lence. ‘Yes,’* replied the gentleman, with an exquisite smile, thinking thatthe oysters were referred to; “but four belong to my neighbor,’? A Clever Trick. The following clever trick wasrecently played upou an avaricious French landlord by @ poor engraver, wlio had got into arrears with his rent. ‘Give ine a little time,” said the tenant; “I have discovered means of paying you soon.’? ‘Baht’? returned tive landlord; “I should like to know how?’? “Look here,’ replied the engraver, taking a hundred franc note mysteriously from a drawer, “that’s my last piece of work.” “Did you doit?’ ‘“Cer- tainly.” “You yourself, not the Bank of France??? “No; it’s my work.’? “Will you trust me with it for half an hoar?’? And the landlord took the note and hurried off tothe bank. There they assured him that it was perfectly good, and finally changed it for him. As he hurried back to his lodger, the poor man’s head fairly swam with visions of untold wealth. ‘My good fellow,’ he cried, on reaching: the house, all out of breath, “how clever you are! Why don’t you make thousand-franc notes?’? “For the very good reason that I ha ever seen one.”? “That need be 0 obstacle; here is one. Copy it, and I will be back here in a week’s time, We will share it? At the “How does the note go on?’? was the anxious inquiry. “Your note! Why 1 have spent it with two or three friends, you vagabond!’ majestically replied the engraver. But——” ‘No noise, or 1'Jl split!” And the mau explained to his landlord that he had taken him in, and that the hundred-lranc note was perfectly good. He wound up by advising him to tusa his avaricious propen- } silies in anotler direction. A Thoughtfal and Affectionate Brother. Near where | used to live, at Stoney Point on the Hud- son River, lived a family by the name of Gilles, There were three brothers, twoo! whom were very wild, but the third was a thrifty, honest young man, who after- ward became engaged in business in Hoboken with a gentleman named Brown. Young Gilles became enamored of the charms of Miss Brown, proposed, aud was accepted. Byerything went ou smoothly until one day he was taken very iil, aud the Brown’s telegraphed to the young Gilles’s ioe what lad happened. Upon receipt of the news the elder Gilles went around among all the neighbors tell- ing of his great attachment Yo the sick manun—whien in fact he had never cared a fig forhim. From his neighbors he borrowed money and clothes to go down to Hoboken. But before he got there his brother was dead. Our friend from the country arrived about nightfall, and entering the dimly-lighted purlor stalked up to the coffin, and raising the cloth looked upon the dead man’s face. Finding it was hiis “‘dear’? brother he suddenly turned toward the assembled mourners, and probably withaview to the “right of property” said, with considerable energy, and particular emphasis.on tle first word: “Where's his gold watch??? f F. L. M. Will soon be commenced a new story by LiztTENANT MURRAY, entitled “TRIED FoR His Lire; or, THE QOHAIN OF QUILT.” —_———_—- >< ---_____ We take pleasure in directing the attention of our readers to the advertise poe Ble Cincinnati Gazette, strong indugements to subser.bers. The Gazette is Re- publican in principle, but is independent of party in ex- posing corruption. > o<+_—_————_ . OUR KNOWLEDGE Box, » QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.— Leaf Tovacco,—To SCENT ToBAccO.—Fragrance may be imparted to tobacco by mixing with it, while slightly damp, a little casca- rilla, either in very fine shreds or recently powdered. Cigars may be scented by inoistening them externally with concentrated tincture of cascarilla, or tincture of benzoin or storax, or a mix- ture of them; or a minute ore of the powders, shred roots, or woods may be done up with the bundle of leaves that form’ the center of the cigar. The so-called anti-choleraic and disin- fecting cigars are scented with camphor, cascarilla and benzoin. ....On the Lookaut.—MESQUITE GuM.—1l. This is the product ofa small tree or shrub which grows in Texas, New Mexico and neigh- boring regions, The gum exudes from the stem and branches, and is thought to have all the valuable medicinal properties of gum-arabic. 2. Incisions are made in the trees to facilitate ex- udation. 3. No demand for it here..,,.. Kitchen.—Salts of lemon will remove ink from linen. Dissolye.a little in water, and soak the linen well; afterward wash pec gerd in clear water.....,. F. K., Pa.—1, Take a dose of castor oil occasionally, and ayoid eating rich, fat, salt or greasy food. Also wash your face in bay rum or.cologne water. If the pimples continue to appear take something to purify tue blood—sarsaparilla or sulphur. 2. Apply carbolic acid to the warts, Two or three applications, it is saiu, will remove them. 3. Not unless the hair is inclined to curl. Flaxseed tea will keep it in curl aslong as anything. Castor oil and bay rum will help the hair, if anything wilL,....... Ed. Straus.—Paris green will exterminute rats. Mix alittle sugar with it to insute complete success......4 Constant Reader.—To make an EoLIAN Haxp see No. 18 of velume 29.:..... Calcium and P. H. W.—Write direct to the NEW YORK WEEKLY Purchas- ing Agency....+- . Aquatic.—\rite for a copy of the Catalogue ot the New YorK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency. It contains all the information you desire on the subject......2. JL—Yes.... Backsnapper, Doxie, C.F. C., W.H. Hoff, Sasie B., Stella May- field, F. P. S., F. R. R. Albai, E. T. B., Jack, W. W. Colorado, W. H. R., J. J. J., Geo. Twist, Muvitry, Texas Correspondent, Marie Antoinette, Fiora A. H., J, C. B., Sol Slocum, L. M., Hawthorn Rancher, Geo. M. B., 8. Thomas, Sky High, J. H. Stickellhaum, Couvstant Reader. Yourletters have been received, and will be answered as svon as possible, ‘ MEDICAL DEPARTMENT, C. T. E.—BAD BREATH.—A bad breath may be cured temporarily by the concentrated solution of the chloride of soda—ten or twelve drops in a wineglassful of water, taken twice or. three timesaday. Inthemorning, after your usual toilet exercise, put a teaspooniul of the solution in a wineglass of water, an rinse the mouth thoroughly withit. The permanganate of po- tassa is also a deodorizer. Muke a weak solution of it, W. L. W—IRRITATION OF THE NECK OF THE BLADDER,—For this majady some physicians preseribe, buchu,’ others iron, and some buchu and iron combined. “Warren’s Household Physi- cian” says the trailing arbutus has been known to. afford relief when both buchuand iron failed. We presume it can be pro- cured, in liquid form, at any drug store. Take two-thirds of a teaspoonful three times a day, about two hours after each meal. Also wash the skin all over with cool water, night and morning, and rub dry with a coarse towel, pros use buchu, do not take, at first, more than half a teaspoonful, three times a day. If your trouble proceeds from weakness, iron may help you. Take ten drops—not more—in a wineglasstul of water three timesa day after each meal. _C, ¥.—TREATMENT OF THE TEETH.—We presume the follow- ing is the article referred to: The enamel protects the teeth from external injuries, When it is broken, or worn away, the bone of the tooth becomes exposed, and rotting 8 imme- diately. You suouid theretore avoid hot or very cold drinks, or any very sudden transition trom heat to cold, or from _cold to heat. Allacids are injurious to the teeth, and any food allowed to remain lodged between them aid in their rome & No tooth powder that is at all gritty should be used. Charcoal, if properly ulverized and used fpalsiousiy say once or twice a week, and a ttle at a time, will cleanse the teeth and help render them white, After this, once a fortnight will be sufficient for its em- ployment. Prepared chalk, mixed with a little orris root, is an efficient aud harmless dentrifice, If convenient, use tepid water. 0. W, O-—To get rid of PIMPLES sce No. 50 of Volume 29. B. L. C—For CATARRE see No. 49 of Volume 29. : AH. N. 7.—For NEURALGIA see No, 3 of the aprenent yolume, NV, L. B.—For Pies see No. 46 of Volume 2), U, L. F.—HEADACHE,—If your headache. is caused by any acidity of the stomach, bi-carbonate of soda will relieve you. Take a quarter of a teaspoonful in a third of a tumbler of water. If not relieved in half an hour, repeat the dose. Ceylon.—1. See No. 50.0f volume 29, 2. We know nothing con- cerning it, ¥. J.—A trip ont tvest would do you good. As you mention Colorado we would suggest that you go there. John Brown and Frogs.—Consult a good physician. _ t kA. nena Oe to regimen and regular habits will aid ouas much as anything, 7 Alexander, G. T, E. i. A. M., Ephraim, Bare-Back Bill of Lock Post, A. ¥. G,, 8. P. Blow hard, Lille ©. G., J. E J., A Friend in Need, John 8. P., Baltimore Bob, C. Dick Ross, T. R. Y. Your ata * have boen received, and will be answered as soon as pos sible, A Suitable Present. Parents, encourage your children in the effort to make home attractive. Give them somettiing to profitably and pleasantly oceupy their leisure hours, A most entertain- ing companion, for this purpose, is the NEw YORE WEEKLY, Which we will send to any address, for one pear, postage free, on receipt of three dollars. Can you think of a more suitable, economical and serviceable Christmas or New Yeur present? Just think of it—for a whole year, at the trifing east of three dollars, you secure end of the week the Jandiord duly made his appearance. |. o ~untisaany } iE NEW YORK WEEKLY. > A HANDSOME HOLIDAY Boog. The Young ‘Magdalen; AND OTHER POEMS. By Francis $. Smith, One of the Proprietors of the NEw YORK WERRLY, and Author of w."Eveleen Wilson,’ “Maggie, the Charity Child,” “Bertha, the Sewlug-Machine Girl,” “The Sexton of Saxony,” etc. THE YOUNG MAGDALEN; AnD OTHER Porms. By Francis S. Smith. With a Ife-like portrait of the author, engraved on steel, in line and stipple,in the highest style of the art. The “Young Magdalen, and Other Poems” should find a place in every house in the land, for the volume possesses great interest, and appeals directly to the heart and memory, and touches many chords of human sympathy. It is rare that a collection of Poems contain so much which all will be glad to welcome in book form. It is one of the most appropriate holiday gifts that can be made, and is suitable for a. young gentleman to present to a young lady, a brother to his sister, a parent to his child, or vice versa, The volume has received the most unqualified praise from the press and the critics, and contains only that which will elevate and in- struct all who may peruse its pages. It is complete in one large octayo yolume of over three hundred pages, in uniform style with ‘Beautiful Snow, and Other Poems,” published by us, being printed on the finest tinted plate paper, and bound in green mo- rocco cloth, with gilt top, gilt sides,and beveled boards, price Three Dollars, or bound in maroon morocco cloth, with full gilt sides, full gilt edges, full gilt back, and beveled boards, price Four Dollars. : *,* “The Young Magdalen, and Other Poems,” is for sale by all Booksellers, and by all News Agents that sell the New YORK WEEKLY, *,* Copies of either edition of ‘‘The Young Magdalen, and other Poems,” willbe sent, post-paid, to any one, to any place, per re- turn of mail, on any one remitting the price of the edition wished to the Publishers, Ty. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, *806 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. STREET & SMITH, New York Weekly Office, New York. *,* Agents and Canvassers, Male and Female, are wanted everywhere to engage in the sale of the above book. Large Wagescan be madéby all. Send toT. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, for Canvassers’ Circular, w8tf. CINCINNATI WEEKLY GAZRTTE A FOR 1875. GREAT REDUCTION IN PRICES. Postage Free to Subscribers. The Gazette is the popular Newspaper of the West. The Agricultural Columns are worth the subscription price many times over. Interesting Correspondence from every Country. As a Commercial paper it is standard Authority. All the news is found-in the Weekly and Semi-Weekly Gazette. The Gazette exposes Corruption in all Palitical parties, with- out fear or favor. Send for Terms to Agents. CINCINNATI GAZETTE CO. w8-2. Integrity] FINE THA Mmsty! 40 cents per lb. by Express, or 50 cents Ib. package (postage paid) by U.S. MATOS 80. to $1.25 for TEA, enclose in letter to us 50c. for sample pound ot Green, Black, Ja : or mixed, and you will always trade with PAXSON VICKERS’S SONS, No. 180 and 182 Water St., No agents. No poor Tea. {New York. o) Write your address plain, PLUCK. Or to No margins. ABILITY w6-8. 20 Very Nobby New Year Cards, with name, 20 cents: Outfit, 17 styles, 10 cts., or 30 Calling Cards, jn 9 tints, 20 cents, by J. B. HUSTED, Nassau, Renns. Co., N. Y. C.C. SHAYNE & COU. send you a Book of Fashion ana Dese ; " : charge. Send Postal Card—cost, one cent. Wo-3, 1 A DA ¥.—Employment for all. Patent Novelties. 48-13 GEO. FELTON, 419 Nassau street, N. Y. SIO: POS LOO: tryst ora ht Gals pare particulars. TUMBRIDGE & CO., Bankers, 2 Wall street, N. ¥. “PLAYS! PLAYS! Home Amusements. Send for a Catalogue of D vee FRENCH & SON, 122% Nassau St, N.Y. WwW NTE k AGENTS for Prize Btationery. Sam- A ple p’k’ge with elegant prize, 25 cts, _p. & p’ck’ges for $1. 3 doz. Oe oan for $4.50. $20 as every gross sold. J. BRIDE & CO., 769 Bro Ww ; Positively + ON CAN VASSERS “zx enough from now till January to keep them ayear. Entirely new features, IMMENSE SUC- GESS. “Be quick. Send for valuable specimens (free) to w64 T. ES MOORE, Publisher, No. 11 Dey street, New York. GEN TS—46,000 BOXES CHANG CHANG sold A Jast month, A beautiful OjL CHROMO, all mounted, given with each box for 36 cts. Particulars free. Chang Chang M'f’g Co., No. % West st., Boston, Mass. w5-4 FrER A VEX ¥ THOROUGH INVES- A tigation of the reat merits of the new re- medy for rupture, we feel that we should be unfaithful to the office of a public journal if we should fail to_acquaint our nu- merous readers with the fact that the New Elastic Truss retains the ruptare absolutely at all times and under all circum. stances, without any exception whatever} in any case. It is worn with perfect comfort night and day, and should not be taken off at all for the short time requisite to effect a perfect and perma. nent cure. Sold ata moderate price. Sent by mail to all parts of the country, and fitted free of charge, by the ELASTIC TRUSS COMPANY, No. 683 Broadway, corner of Amity street, New York City, who furnish full descriptive circulars. Canes ? MEDICATED !—The very best TONIC, Cures Dyspepsia and Nervousness, $1 per p’k’ge. Mailed Free. T. HAWKINS, Practical Chemist, 309 No. Wells st., Chicago, Til. N. SQUIRE, 97 Fulton st., N. ¥.—Watches and e Jewelry, Warranted finest made; Diamond and Sterling Suverware, sold at the emallest protits, Wedding Rings, new style THE INTER-OCEAN. “The Leading ‘Republican Paper IN THE NORTHWEST." In Literature, Local and General News, Foreign and Domestic Correspondence, And everything that goes to make FIRST-CLASS NEWSPAPER It is not excelled by any publication in the country. Daily, per = (postage paic)......... RUEK weer se » per Praieen Gait paid). uy} e , per year (postage paid)....., Sa tis Sanday Caition, Sar yoar (Le PAI) secoeosecevreress 2. For the Encouragement of Agents and others who are securing subscriptions, the INTER-OCEAN offers the following CASH PREMIUMS: eae make way, N. ¥ FIRST PREMIUM. .®250.00 SEVENTH PREMIUM.$60.00 cone do .. 150.00) EIGHTH do .. 0 IRD do 100.00 | NINTH o .. 40.0 FOURTH do 290. TENTH do +... . FIFTH ao .. 890. KELEVENTH do... 0 SIXTH do :. %O.0QORTWELFIH do .. 10.00 The period in which Subscriptions may be counted in the competition for these pre- miums will extend from Nov. 1, 1874, to May 1, 1875—six months, THE WEEKLY INTER-OCEAN Is larger than most of the $2.00 papers pub- lished in the country, and is believed to be the BEST FAMILY PAPER IN AMERICA. Sample Copies sent Frec, AGENTS WANTED EVERYWIIERE. Address INTER-OCEAX, facturers of fine Furs and Seal Skin Sacques, Muffs, » Boas an Cavs, Hoa Dw AY gorge! i ewwart’s), Will 4 2 d 1975. The Old Rural ! 1875. MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, THE GREAT NATIONAL ILLUSTRATED Rural Literary & Family Weekly. a ee By D. D. T. MOGRE, New York City. THis PoPULAR JOURNAL, long the Standard in tts Sphere, wif enter upon its TWENTY-SIXTH YxeaR (and second Quarter of a Century) in Jan., 1875, under ‘such auspices’ as will enable its Founder and Conductor and his Associates to mmanifest mere fully than ever before the true spirit of its giorious Mutto, ‘‘Haxcelstor, and Jaudable Obdjects, “Progress and Improvement.” The con- Serene will be to more than maintain its well-earned position: a BEST WEEELY OF ITS CLASS! On all subjects pertaining to Agriculture, Herticulture, Domestic Affairs, and kindred topics, MOORR’S RURAL bas been the Recog- NIZED AUTHORITY for a score of years, during which it has be- come the Leading and Largest Circulating RURAL, Liregary and FAMILY WEEKLY on the Continent. fo sustain and augment this pre-eminence neither labor nor expense will be spared, but every proper effort put forth to furnish a MODEL PAPER FOR THK RURAL POPULATION—one especially adapted to the wantsof the The Farmer, The Horticulturist. The Stock Grower, The Dairyman, The Housewife, &c., &c.. &e- _ Butin addition to its attention to Practical Affairs, the Ronan is not unmindful of the Fumily Circle, for it devotes several pa- ges of each number to Choice end High-Toned Lierary and Mis- cellaneous Reading, adapted to both sexes and allages. ‘This fea- ture has given it a high reputation, allover the land. * As a Literary and Family Paper. The moral tone of Moory’s RURAL has always been pure and unexceptionable, while its value as an Educator is worth many times its cost to any family. During 1876 special effort will be made to render the whole paper BRIGHTER AND BXTTER THAN EVER BEFORE, 80 that its old friends sthall-be proud of it and thousands of new ones become its ardent admirers. The Rural’s Illustrations Will continue to be Appropriate, Varied and: Beautiful. _Indeeds our object is to render the paper exceptionally Valuable and Ac” ceptable in all its Departments. Iis Reports of Markets, Crops, Etce., are alone worth double the price of the RURAL. TERMS, In Advance, Postage Prepaid :—Onul Tees pen Nene iene ¥e Cite an west andacomouns to on gents. mium 8, Specimens, &c., sent to sed to act in behalf of the RURAL and its Obiects. ype ADDRESS D. D. T. HOORE, 78 Duane Street, New York. GENTS WANTED.—Men or women. $34 a week or $100 torfeited. Valuable samples free. Write at once to 5 ¥F. M. REED, Eighth St., New York. $d TO $20 Sho. Strxsow & Oo. Portiand, Me. “wily $15 Shot Gun A double-barrel gun, bar or front action Jecks; warranted gen- uine twist barrels, and a g shooter, or no ; with Flask, Pouch and Wad-cutter, for $15. Gan be sent 6. O. D. with privilege to examine before paving bill. Send stamp for circular aS ag are & SON, Gun Deak rs, 238 Main st., Cincinnati,O. Gic 120 page Khiustrated Catalogue. pository, 850 Broadway, New York. 77 A WEEK to canvass for Vickery’s Fireside Visitor. Costs NOTHING to try it. 7-52, P. O. VICKERY & CO., Augusta, Maine. ELEGANT 30 CENT NEEDLE CASES. Something new; hag out for the Holidays. Male and Female Agents wanted. Splendid terms. Circuburs free. SIMPSON & SMITH, 66 Cortlandt street, New York. $50 PER WE round to Agents canvassing tor the handsomest Engraved Wisitimg and Business Cards in the world. % ee ek, emble- matical of all businesses. Every one of them fresh and spark. ling. 100 per cent. profit to agents of either sex. Full particulars. sent for 25 cents. Address HORACE A, MANLEY, Fashionable Card Engraver, w74 316 Washington street, Boston, Mass. ‘spmenen Profits.—Agents secure your Territory. Every Mi family wantsit, Pat. June 9, 1874. Address Manufacturer, seep e, cut, and circular, P.O. Box 1108 Bridgeport, Conn, — . FOR THE PARLOR.—Send your address for 8 pave Price List, or 25 cents for HARTZ Rouiaring Ee wi THE YE ABR LARGEST ASSORTMENT, VALENTINES. ..., Rivest seo ® Send for Circular. w4-15. A. J. FISHER, 98 Nassau st., N. Y. O EXCHANGE.—4 Fine Lots In the village of Holbrook for a good horse and Dbeey worth at least $400. WT-2. A. McCOTTER, 142 Fulton street. OR SALE IN BROOKLYN.—A New Brick house, 18x36, 2 stories; will be sold ata, low price; but little | inoney paid down. Apply te eli cet A, McCOTTER, 142 Fulton st., N. Y. co SALE.—8 FINE LOTS IN - WOODSIDE, 10 minutes from 34th street terry. Will be sold very low for cash, ora partcash. Apply to ; McCOTTER, 342 Fulton street, w7-2. A. COMIC SONGS AND 8 PICTURES F - & dress HARRIS & CO., Hamburgh, N. J. os ik SAMPLE to ents, Ladies Combi FI EE Needle Book, wil Ehesmoe Send mbination t stamp. DEAN & CO., New Bedford, en: f early to Agenis, 54 new article id AQOk: best FAMILY PAPER in America, with wo $5 CunoMOS. Family Journal, 300 Broadway, N. Y w49-13 * 9 CHEAP BUSIC and oose , Ss FOR THE HOLIDAYS. BOOSEY & 60., 323 BIUSIC BOOKS: Bey Bho street, New York. Full Catalogues iree by mail. w6-4. ASONIC.—WANTED, F. A. M. as AGENTS for the mag- nificent Mbustrated Work, with Premium Chromo he best chance ever offered. Send for Descriptive Catalogue and terms. REDDING & ©O., Publishers of Standard Masonic Works, %3% Broadway, New York. : . MAGIC LANTERNS STEREOPTICONS ss! , kinds, and prices for parlor enter- tainment, street advertising, and : ar PUBLIC EXHIBITIONS. A Profitable Business for aman with a email capital. Views Illustrating Every Subject. Catalogues FUR EXE to any address. eae MCALLISTER, - MANUFACTURING OPTICIAN, 49 NASSAU STREET. New York. w7-2. 1% MADE RAPIDLY with Stenciland Key- MONE Check Outfits. Catalogues, samples, full particulars FREK. S. M. SPENCER, 117 Hanover st., Boston, 14-52t ONLY $5 MONTHLY Until paid for, and a HOUSE AND LOT FREE TO _ AND EVERY 64TH PURCHASER Garden City Park Lots. As there are BUT FEW UNSOLD you should DELAY NO LONGER, but send for a Map and Select at Once. THE TEN TWO STORY HOUSES Are now completed, and WILL BE PRESENTED by DRAWING ON CHRISTMIAS EVE. Send stamp for Maps by return mail, with full particulars, or GO EXAMINE THE PROPERTY, which immediately adjoins Stewart's Garden City. GUIDE TO PURCHASERS. Be at Store 355 Third Avenue at 9 A. M., togo with our Sales- men and examinethe property. Ladies shown every co y- Maps containmg full information mailed on receipt of stamp for postage. Persons residing out of this elty can select from our Map and enclose us $5 per lotin a registered letter, or P. O. Order, and we will forward a contract for the lots selected. “Addrees BENS. W. HITCHCOCK, 355 THIRD AVENUE, NEW YORK. N. B.—Those who prefer to pay in full at once will be allowed 5 per pant discount, and receive warranty deeds immediately. wi t, HERRIN C’S SAFES FOR OFFICSS, FOR BANKS, FOR DWELLINGS, FOR STORES, FOR RVERYBODY. Herrings & Farrel, Nos. 251 and 252 BROADWAY. blood flowing from her lips, better,” Fact, \the best story and sketch paper iu the world, w8-2. 119 Lake street, Chicago, Ml. | w%17 Cor. Murray st. N. ¥- D a a Se ~~“ 9 -— eee SOF OIYP In '" NEW YORK, DECEMBER 28, 1874., OND AR ARR Renae mmm OOOO OO ere ? Terms to Subscribers ¢ PDP One Year—1 copy (postage free)....$3 | One month......... 25 cts. ae a ne coples ss ids ” sews 4 | Two months........ 50 cts. Peri. Ah ae ee +s..»-10}| Three months...... 75 cts. hi EN, Shame et eae me ....-20 | Four months........ $1 00. Those sending $20 for aClub of Eight. all sent at one time, will be entitled to a Ninth Copy FREx. Getters-up of Clubs can after- ward add single copies at $2 50 each. ALL LETTERS S@OULD BE ADDRESSED TO STREET & SMITH, Proprietors. 25, 27,29 and 31 Rose St., N.Y. P.O. Box 4896 New York Weekly Postage Free. After the first, of January, 1875, every subscriber will receive the NEw YORK WEEKLY postage free, “We will prepay the postage. Three dollars will therefore secure the NEw YORK WEEKLY for one two copies, five dollars. A SPLENDID CHRISTMAS NUMBER Several eminent contributors, who have not heretofore written for us, have been engaged to write regularly for the NEw YORK WSEKLY during the year 1875, and most of them have already sent. us sketches for our Christmas Number. ‘We have now in hand Christmas sketches by J. T. TROWBRIDGE, Author of ‘‘Hearts and Faces,’ ‘‘The Vagabonds,”’ ‘‘Cud- jo’s Cave,’ “The Three Scouts,’ ete. : CHRISTIAN REDD, Author of “The Daughter of Bohemia,’ ‘Valerie Ayl- mer,’ etc. MES. HENRY WOOD. Author of “East Lynne,’ “Shadow of Ashlydyat,” ‘With- in the Maze,” etc. MISS M. E. BRADDON, Author of “Lady Audley’s Secret,’ “Publicans and “‘Sin- ners,’? ete, AMANDA M. DOUGLAS, Author of “The Crown of Duty,” ‘“Sy@nie Adriance,”’ “Stephen Dane,” et. LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. Author of ‘“Bed-Time Stories.”” ; MRS. MARY J. HOLMES, Author of “Edith Lyle’s Secret,’ ‘‘West Lawn,” etc. : MAY AGNES FLEMING, Author of “A Wonderful Woman, ‘‘A Terrible .Se- cret,”” etc. PROF. WM. HENRY PECK; Author of “£16,000 Reward,’ ‘‘Wild Redburn,”’ etc. HELEN CORWIN PIERCE. GAIL HAMILTON. ROSE RAYNESFORD. LIZZIE HUNT. HERO STRONG. MISS M. A. ALDEN. DIANA MARCH. & EMMA WENBORN. MICHAEL SCANLAN. ALMEDIA M. BROWN. CLARA AUGUSTA. Some of the productions of this galaxy of star contribu- tors will appear in No. 9—our Christmas Number—to be issued on Monday, Dec. 21. The others will bo »nblished { inthe next Humber, OY aS BOON wihereaiter a8 Space will permit. We make this announcement to indicate to our readers the new attractions we have in store for them, as the above-named eminent contributors have been en- gaged to write regularly for the New YorRE WEEELY dt- ring the year 1875. With this combination of talent the year, without any additional expense for postage; | CHRISTMAS GIFTS. Christmas is coming, and already the fancy stores are making their windows gay and tempting with the display of goods for the holidays; and nervous people are shiver- ing every time they go home to dinner, in expectation of demands for camel’s hair shawls, and silk dresses, and jewelry, for Christmas! 4 The children are beginning to hoard theirscrip, and to almost grudge the pennies which have to go into the various mission boxes on Sunday; and mney lie awake nights wondering what they shall get, and wishing Uncle Dick or Aunt Sally would remember to send them a Christ- mas box. Many hearts will be gladdened by receiving Just what is most wished for, and many others will be doomed to dis- appointment. ’ This giving of presents at Christmas time is a pleasant custom, and we sincerely pity the individual who is so unfortunate as to have no one for whom to purchase gifts, We know just how empty of meaning to him are Christ- mas trees and mistletoe and the hanging up of little stockings. ; But while we certainly advocate the giving of gifts at this Season, we must seriously deprecate the custom, now 80 prevalent, of giving that we may receive in return. verybody gives everybody else something, confidently expecting to get back an equivalent. Now, we don’t like this way of doing things. Gifts from friends should be a free-will offering of the heart, not a modified case of trade and barter, and the moment they cease to be free- will offerings, that moment they lose all their beautifal significance as tokens of love and regard. he prevailing custom as relates to this ‘present’ sys- tem is peculiarly hard on young men, If they are sons of millionaires of course it is not so bad; but if they are clerks on salaries, Christmas mast be for them a veritable reign of terror. For they know that if Sallie Marie gives them pen-wipers and smoking-caps, she expects costly fans and laces and jewelry in return. And if the ong men do not come down handsomely they are stigmatize as “mean’’ and “stingy,’”? and receive the coid shoulder thereafter. We once heard two ledlhe-rRistarer AAR EINE Christ- mas matters, and their conversation opened our innocent eyes and gave us & new insight into the mystery of why some people had so many more presents than some other people. “Laura, love,” said one to the other, ‘I want a chain bracelet, which will cost about forty dollars, and if you will make me a Christmas present of one, I will get you that silver salver at Golabug’s, which we priced the other day. It was just forty dollars, you know.” And the other lady replied: “The very thing, Julia! I was)thinking of it last night after I went to bed! Itisso genteel to receive valuable Christmas presents, and have. them to. show to one’s friends! I should die of mortification if Jennie De Jones should get more than I! And she jis. always bragging about the things her rich uncle in Cuba sends her, and everybody knows old De Jones gives her the money and she buys them herself! JZ wouldn’t be se deceitful’? And when Christmas came, and the bracelet and the salver were duly paraded as presents from ‘friends at the South,’ we held our peace, though we felt that we could a tale unfold when we heard folks exclaiming: “How fortunate these Brown girls always are!’? In the selection of gifts for one’s friends the donor gen- erally wants to be the judge of what is best suited for the occasion, but, we beg leave to suggest, that itis always better to select something useful, evenif it be not so handsome as @& more fragile article. The age, position, taste, and needs of the recipient should be considered, and the gift be adapted to these needs. am You would. not want to give your washerwoman a set of sables, any more than you would send a barrel of soap to Mrs, Col. E. Jinkins, whose husband counts his dollars by the hundred thousand. We once knew of. a young tlergyman—a particular fa- vorite with the ladies—who received at Christmas and New Year twenty-seven pairs of slippers, and none of them fitted his feet, and the point.of the joke was that he detested slippers, and never allowed himself to wear them. Was it Doesticks who said, in effect, that he would pre- fera good pair of pantaloons asa Christmas present to all the worsted trumpery in the world? By all means, make the children giad at Christmas! If you can only get them picture books ata dime each, and earthen dolls stuffed with sawdust, and penny whistles, get them, and be glad you can do so much—for Christmas should be to the children, and «to us: all, the. symbol of love and hope—and a sweet reminder of a risen Saviour. F KaTE THORN. Will soon be commenced a new story by LIEUTENANT MURRAY, entitled “TRIED FoR His Lire; or, THE CHAIN OF GUILT.” PARIS GOSSIP WITH THE READERS OF THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. ‘ Nov. 16, 1874. I am sitting here, this November day, in my little room, MACEDONIO CAPISTRAN. BY KATE LUBY. During a recent revolution in Matamoros, Mexico, the com- manding general having “pronounced” and absconded, the soldiers had no commander. Suddenly a venerable old man, noted for his bravery, offered .to lead them to victory, and was received in the Plaza de Armas with enthusiastic vivas. Matamoros heroic! thy foes are retreating, To herd with the foxes in treason’s abode; Their plots all so vain, and their hopes all go fleeting, Like brigands they now have to take to the road. Oh! shame on the traitors perturbing thy quiet; The youth quits the wife of his bosom so dear, And draws the long musket, where war horrors riot, - That his children may rest in security here. All hail to the veteran chief who would guide us, Long live the young heroes whe cried, to a man: “We fear not the red bariner floating beside us, For home, for our children! lead on, Capistran!”’ Macedonio sublime! like the aged forest oak, Thy branches now fling their protection and love Round this city beleaguered. Of God we invoke That angels with laurels may crown thee above! O, Mexico! Land of sweet flowers, thy daughters Are pining in sorrow—'til] thou shalt be free; Then glide, like the ae over tréason’s rough waters For Peace, with the olive-branch, hastens to thee! Zaragoza immortal! Hidalgo so glorious! You blush for thetraitors who love you no more; And blessings you breathe on the friends who’d restore us, Oh! long may our eagles in harmony soar! The Star-Spangled Banner is proudly unfurled, ‘Like Egis immortal, to shield us from woe; No longer we fear the vain threats of a world, Ps For our Eagles can hom ble-and scatter each foe! THE DARK SIDE OF PARIS. BY FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE. Few persons who pass through Paris merely, or who Spend only a few weeks at a time in this brilliant city, are aware of itsshady site or perceive that, like Londonand New York—indeed like all great aggregations of humanity —it abounds with the most ama oe contrasts. Those, how- ever, who like myself have dived beneath the surface, know that, as there is an upper and an under Paris, phy-° sically—that as the splendid, superficial Paris covers an equal area of sewers ana of graves—so social Paris is divi- ded into extremes; that the same roof, indeed, shelters the opulent merchant and the sick ane starving workman. It is but a step from the, Louvre to the Morgue—only a pane of glass separatesthe magnificent dining room of Vefour from the poor pauper who would sell his very soul for the crust of bread which the dandy tosses disdainfully to the beribboned greyhound oi the feasting loreite. As an illustration of these statements, let us sketch a re- cent incident of life in Paris, premising that it is strictly true. I had frequently had occasion to climb the Rue des Martyrs, which makes a steep ascent from the rear of the church of Notre Dame de_Lorette, and had often paused to look at the gaudily colored sheets of pictures displayed in front of a little book and newspaper shop. The sub- jects were those familiar to our childhood—the illustrated history of Blue Beard, Little Red Riding Hood, Whitting- ton and his Cat, Cinderella, &c. The designs were not without artistic merit, but the coloring was loud—the brightest blues, reds and yellows being employed to capti- vate juvenile taste. These sheets are sold at from two to three cents apiece; consequently all who contribute to their production must be very poorly paid. I often noticed a very old man goibg into tke shop with alarge rollof paper under hisarm. I observed that he handed it to the shopwoman, who unrolled it, laid off sev- eral coiored sheets, examined, counted them, and then paid the old man a.small piece, of silver or a few copper coins, with which he departed. Having made the acquaintance of the shopwoman by purchasing two or three: of her cheap publications, I learned that the old man was a Colorist; that he was named Pierre Dupont; and that he earned his living and supported a sick little girl, his grandchild, by this work. Alas! he had Known better days. In short, he was a gen- tlemen in reduced circumstances, his fortune gone through no fault of his own, all his relations and friends dead. He lived in @ garret room in the Rue de Laval. Three weeks after having learned thus much, I read the record of his tragic fate in the Figaro, and through inquiry in the neighborhood ascertained many particulars which did not find their way into print. d One day the old man came home, almost in despair, His employer had found fault with his work, had com- plained that his colors Ovgrran the lines of the engrav- ings, and that even the ren had noticed and found . him more than haif looking out into the courtyard of the: eee ‘one Bi ut Paris, but about New York, for I have just. laid aside, after reading it through, No, 2, Vol. XXX, of the NEW YORK WEEKLY, which brings back home and its associations so forcibly to me that I am almost tempt- ed to rush to the Rue. Scribe and take a ticket for the next returning steamer, Not that I love Paris less, but New York more. , Yet the Paris ‘‘season”’ is opening with al) its customary result must be a splendid Christmas Number. ——_—_ >< The Late Mayor Havemeyer. The sudden death of Mayor Havemeyer naturally enough produced a profound impression on the public mind. Itis not often that an officer dies during his term of office. Such a death literally in office—that is, 1n the building and the room where official duties are performed—is rarer. It is more seldom still that an officer dies while actually per- forming his duties, All these circumstances were coincident in the case of Mr. Havemeyer. He died during his official term, in his official room, and in . the literal discharge of his official functions. Death found him, in a-very peculiar sense, ‘‘with harness on his back.” The event was a very remarkable one. Certainly: this. city does not supply its exact parallel. - The unavoidably anticipative dating and publication of the New YORK WEEKLY prevents our keeping abreast of current news, and by the time this number reaches the reader, the death of Mayor Havemeyer will be rapidly taking its place among ‘ the occurrences upon which men in this headlong age pause but briefly. It is proper, however, even at this late day, for the New YorRK WEEKLY to refer to the departure of the Chief Magistrate to say that, while he incurred political opposition and was con- demned for some of his acts as mayor, there is uni- versal testimony as to his uprightness as a man and his public spirit asacitizen. His long life of in- dustry, integrity and prudence is an example of the highest value; and his fellow citizens so esteemed him and his qualities that they three times made him Mayor of the Empire City. The position is one of great honor and large opportunities, The imme- diate successor of Mayer Havemeyer and all his suc- cessors cannot do better than emulate his fidelity to the post where death at last found him. Jewell’s Literary Gem. When the present Postmaster General took office, the New YorK WEEKLY gave him as hearty a wel- ceme as he anywhere received. We told him that if he would put his department in good working order the people would regard him as a valuable Jewell, unconnected with any Ring—or something to that effect. His first annual report, has been published, and contains @ great deal of important and interest- ing matter. As Mr. Jewell may be very properly considered a man of letters, so Jewell’s official state- ment may be accepted as, on many accounts, a lite- rary gem. Some of the figures are curious. The people paid during the year more than seventeen millions and a quarter of dollars for nearly six hun- dred and thirty-three million postage stamps. The de- partment also sold 91,079,000 postal cards, 117.047,750 stamped envelopes, 19,370,750 newspaper wrappers, besides official stamps,-envelopes and wrappers. The whole receipts were $24,596,568, and the total | expenses $32,126,414. To state all the facts of in- terest would be to reproduce the report. It refers, among other things, to the act of Congress, which takes effect on the first of next January, relating to newspaper postage. The charge will be on matter mailed from publication offices,two cents per pound on papers issued weekly or oftener, In the advan- tages of this reduction readers of the NEw YorK WEEKLY and all other journals will share, * brilliancy. Balls, new plays at the numerous theaters, concerts, parties, evening receptions, make a sort of so-. cial carnival. But the poor are beginning to feel the pinching of winter, for fires are now a necessity, at least morning and evening, and wood sells for a cent a pound. The autumn, however, has been exceptionally mild and lovely, and the brown leaves are yet clinging to the trees in the public gardens. The weather, indeed, has been so warm that many of the horse-chestnut trees leaved out and flowered a second time, and raspberries were plentier than in early summer. ‘ Strolling yesterday morning through the Passage Viv- ienne I came across a French map, a sort of bird’s eye | view of the city of New York. The French are not fa- mous for geographical or topographical knowledge, and their local maps are faulty. Judge what it must be when they undertake to represent cities three thousand miles away. In this view there are no Battery and Central Park, but there are domes, mosques, minarets, and roofs, blue, red and yellow, and the squares are planted with palm trees. A few houses are represented in Jersey City and Hoboken, embowered in paim and orange groves. I am not certain but one or two elephants amd camels are de- lineated ‘‘piroting*’ about the streets. The ferry-boais, bright scarlet or blue, rigged each with a tall mast, witha lateen-sail, are all stern-wheelers. The concoctor of this marvelous work of art must be de} {fault with it, She xen a 7 P iy . Price for his labor, “feluctantly confided to him ther quire of engravings colored. Phe old man had been obliged to work from day dawn till midnight to earn enough to pay his rent and buy the bread and cheese that kept him and his little charge from starvation. He could only afford one candle to work by at night. On this occasion, however, he brought home two, and labored patiently till his fingers refused to grasp the pencil. The next morning he showed his work to little Made- line, who was almost bed-ridden. “Why, grandfather,’ said the child, ‘“‘what were you thinking of? You must have painted with your eyes shut! you have overrun every line of the engraving! and what made you paint the coats of these Prussian soldiers gray —you know they are bright blue |’? “God help me!’ said the old man. “I am getting blind!’ But he took the colored sheets to the woman in the Rue des Martyrs and watched her anxiously as she ex- amined them. “This will never do!’ she said; ‘‘you are getting worse and worse. I hope you don’t spend the money I give you for drink! But you’ve stuck me on these pictures—you’ve spoiled them\? : : “J will try to do better next time, madame,’ said the old man. “No—I’ve got no more work for you!’’ said the woman. Then, seeing the look of despair in the dim eyesof the old man, she added: ‘‘But here’s a franc for you—it’s all I can do, for I’m a poor widow woman, and have two children to support.”? Old Pierre Dupont staggered out of the shop with death in his heart. Mechanically he went into a baker’s shop and bought two small loavesof bread, which cost him four cents. To these he added a small bottle of wine, which cost him ten cents additional. Then he went to his house, climbed wearily to his atti c, akin to that Roman showman who described what pur- ported to be a view of Washington, D. C., thusly: “Dees, ladies and gentilmen, isa view of the byutiful city of Veskmenton, de capitaiof America. Dat vite beeld- ing viz de dome is de residence of de great Giorgio Vesk- menton, de king of de country. Doze trees vot you see spotted vith vite are de cotton trees. Doze figures dat you see are an American count goin’ to de chase of de buffalo vith his serfs and vassals. Iz dat object in de sky de American eagie? No, ladies and gentlem@p, datis not de American eagle; it is a horse-fly dat has got stuck to de object-glass.”’ &c., &., &. An Englishman in whose any I crossed from Plymouth to Cherbourg, asked me ifthere were many buffaloes left. in the woods round New York city. Of course I told him they were scarce and shy, and ven- tured to predict that in fifty years hence people would go by rail from New York city to Niagara and notsee a single wild buffalo, antelope, grizzly bear or catamount, such was our rapid advance in civilization. : Yesterday was St. Eugenie’s day; and in advance of it, all the violets (the imperial flower-embiem) in the market were bought up to send to Chiselhurst as presents to the ex-empress and as floral offeringsto the tomb of the late emperor. There is stiil a strong. imperialist party in France, and its leaders are among ‘the most gifted, artful and energetic mren and women in the country.. They have a large capitai to work with—the memories of along reign, materially prosperous, illustrated by such glories as the Italian and Crimean campaigns, and by the con- struction of new streets, bridges, roads, dock-yards, hos- pitais, schools, the fabrication of new engines of war, and many other achievements. Still the recent overwhelming calamities of France,. directly traceable to the one man power, are. weapons the republicans use to advantage. The France ofthe future will be either republican or im- perial—there is no chance for the legitimists or the con- stitutional monarchists. Meanwhile the people are behaving very well. There are no emeutes, No riots, no threats of revolution—order ard industry everywhere. France is raising up a mag- nificentarmy. You see few soldiers lounging about as under the Empire—they are incamp oron the drill- ground, studying and practicing the use ofarms. The next cdilision, between France and Germany—and it is sure tq.come—will be a terrible one, and the Eastern hemisphere will reel under the shock. .. When-the new opera house opens-In January, there will be an additional attraction to Paris. 1t is the most richly ornamented theater in the world. All that wealth, taste and art can accomplisit has been. here combined. ° It will have cost 50,000,000 francs. Napoleon meant it should be the culminating glory of his architectural embellishments of Paris; and the’ domeis in the form of an imperial crown. That could not be changed, and, perhaps, it is as well, for the Prince Imperial and his mother may yet occupy the box designed for the man who is moldering to dust in the chapel of Chiselhurst. . Virginie Dejazet, an actress, now inher 77th year, had a farewell beuefit a few weeks ago, at which she played and sung herself, which yielded more money than any similar affair ever produced. I saw her play four years ago at the Folies Marigny, and she was then sprightly, fascinating and attractive. Her specialty was lively, rakish young noblemen of the last century, making love, dancing, fencing and singing. Sheis the soul of wit and humor, and writes letters that Madame de Sevigne would not have disavowed. . Another French actor still before the public in youthful characters is Laferriere, now seventy-two years old. Many of the men connected with the French stage are gentlemen, authors, musicians, sculptors, painters. One of the actors of the French theater left a lucrative prac- tice as a lawyer to adopt this profession. But enough of gossip for the present, Yours truly, FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE. and set the refreshments before his child. To his dismay everything looked dim and misty, and he had to grope his way to the invalid’s bed. The next day he only went out to buy a little bread. The third day the old man and the child were without food and fire. In the evening he sat by his cold hearth and muttered to himself: “Eighty years of age, and blind! If Madeline were only strong and healthy I could beg. But that is out of the question. A blind man’s dog costs money—and [ have not asou. Friends might help me; but all my friends are in Pere la Chaise—dead! dead!’ 3 A little thin arm stole round his neck and a weak yoice whispered: “God is good! let us go to Him. Theriver is cold, but it will soon be over. Anything is better than dying by starvation. Oome, grandfather; I am strong enough to walk to the Seine.” : She put on hér poor little patched shoes, her ragged cloak, and her little shabby hat. The poor old grand- ae took his hat and staff, and they sallied forth to- gether. A few moments brought them into the gay and bril- liantly-lighted boulevard, the sick chiid leading the old man. The cafes were all splendidly lighted-up. Through the plate-glass windows they saw (Dupont dimly, the child cleariy) laughing groups washing down turbot and venison with Burgundy and champagne. There was an incessant roll of carriages with flashing lamps. Round the doors of the theaters were crowds waiting for tickets to enter the temples of pleasure. The Maison Doree and the Cafe Anglais were a blaze of light. Near the Rue Choiseul was a large toy-shop, splendidly illuminated. The child paused herein admiration and wonder. She saw dancing dois performing on a mimic stage, little boudoirs and drawing-rooms occupied by miniature peo- ple, beautifully dressed, and wondered what they were— she had never had a-toy in her lifel—but all seemed iike fairyland. The old man drew her away gently from this spectacle, and they went down the darker streets toward the quays bordering the Seine. To the idler, gifted with artistic tastes, this night-picture of Paris is fullof enchantment—the long lires of gas- lamps, defining the curving shores of the riverand the bridges—the huge bulk of the Louvre and Tuileries—the solemn towers of Notre Dame, the airy, serrated spire of La Sainte Chapele, dimly descried against the evening sky. Bat the two poor wanderers saw and felt nothing of these beauties. With reason and conscience obliterated by misery, they were seeking death. Aud they fond it. Hand in hand they entered on the Point Neuf, and did not pause until they reached that abutment on which stands the equestrian statue of Henry1V. Here they paused and sat upon the bench untii the foot-passengers had ceased to traverse the bridge, then they mounted the parapet, kissed each Other, and, hand in hand, took the fatal plunge. When their bodies were found the next day, their hands were so firmly interlocked that they could not be separated, and they were laid out for recognition on the same marble siab in the Morgue. No one came to identi- fy or claim them. Inthe pockets of the old man, how- ever, were found a receipt for his quarterly rent, due and cod the day before, and a slip of paper with these words only: . ‘Bury us together. Pierre Dupont.’ The last prayer of the poor old man was granted, and he and his grandchild lie side by side in the common grave of Pere la Chaise. Oh, ye who know not what it is to be cold, and hungry, and penniless, take this lesson to your hearts. Search out the dweilingsof the friendless and suffering, give of your ample means and forget not who has said: -|the lunch ey had brought alon od THE NEW YORK WEEKLY, #3 * . Respectable Writers The NEw YorxK WEEKLY frequently refers to its brilliant array of talented contributors—men and women who have achieved distinction by their literary ability, and who socially and professionally command respect. They are celebrated, not notorious; they are admired for the moral lessons taught in theirstories, and respected social- ly a8 much as they are admired professionally. Whether viewed as novelists, or merely as men and women, they are respectable in the fullest sense of the word; and their literary success is not due to the notoriety sometimes achieved by the abllity to sing a comic song or cut fancy pigeon wings in a clog-dance. Our writers are people of brains; the other class, who pretend to be authors by permitting their names to appear to stories which they never wrote, and which they could not thoroughly under- stand if they read them, have their brains in their heels, and make a noise in the world by tripping the light fan- tastic toe. The NEW YORK WEEKLY ceiebrities are not of this class; their reputation rests on their ability to write good stories, and to others they leave the question- able distinction of making themselves known to the pub- lic by the harmonious rat-tat-tat of clogs. AN AWFUL DEATH. — of the loss of its second officer while lying at an- chor off Madagascar, Indian Ocean. The cargo being all stored the ship was waiting for a fair wind, and shore leave was given to the crew in watches. The second officer and his watch were roaming about a short distance inland, when they reached a piece ol wooded land, or grove, where all hands sat down in the shade to enjoy with them. The mate had chosen a spot a short distance from the rest, and: was eating his food by him- self, when suddenly one of the men saw a large boa constrictor unwinding his body from the trunk of a tree near the mate. When first seen, the head of the terrible crea- ture was drawn back, its bright eyes glaring oo oe and vi mouth open et esatie to 7 pla angs; it was preparing to spring! e snake seemed to be some twelve or fourteen feet in length and about fifteen: inches in circum- ference. A single glance showed the men this, but before they could even raise their voices, the boa had struck the mate apparently in the back of the ei heirs with the rapidity of SORED, had wound its body about the doomed man! His cries and contortions were: frightfnl, but they ceased in less than two minutes, when it appeared as though his whole frame had been crushed toa pulp of flesh. he monster, with the tenacity of his race, kept the braided coil of his body about his victim, all heedless of the shouts and excitement of the rest of the party. The men were pale with fear; they ad no weapons but their sheath knives. The mate, however, had pg oe a shot-gun on shore, which now lay near his lifeless body. One of the men stole up and suc ed in getting the gun, and rapidly retreating nee There was no hope of mi eg the officer. could see that he was nowdead. Should they leave him to be devoured by the awful boa? They could not make uP their minds to dothat, tremulous with fear as they all were. They resolved to rush up to him at once each first designating a portion of the body o ‘the snake, and cutti it as nearly through as ible, and then ru g away ther. The gun was only loaded with bird-shot, and would do little good, yet one was to remain in reserve, and try to loage the contents in the boa’s head. The men all rushed together and each de- livered a severing cut upon the snake’s body, who was thus nearly divided in pieces by eight knives at once, while he with the gun got as near as possible, and as the monster now unwound its mangled body from its victim, poured the load of shot full into its head. The snake died slowly, but when the men sadly bore the body of their comrade away: the boa was also dead. An Acceptable Gift. An acceptable and enduring gift to bestow upon your sister or lady friend, and one which will frequently remind the recipient of your kindness, isthe NEW YORK WEEKLY. Send the lady’s address, with three dollars, to this office, and she will receive the NEw YORK WEEKLY for one year > A vessel latel arrived at Liverpool, brings news: “WwW. B.’—Such a cap of mink as you desire must be made to order, and will cost you, if made of good dark fur, about $20. A seal skin cap for a gentleman will cost about the same, We can get cheaper articles, but you desire to know prices of really handsome caps. “Blanche 8.’’—Certainly, we can buy you any article you may choose to order, and will take great pleasure in execuling a commission for our readers. The ball fringe can be bought for 80 cents and 85 cents a yard for the cheaper qualities, and for $1 and $1.26 for the heavier fringes with two and tliree balis.. Camel’s hair serge and any of the rough dress materials make very stylish and oo suits when trimmed with this worsted bali or twist ringe. “EK. L. W.,? Dallas.—Plaid and plain black will make a very pretty combination suit; some most pe ag costumes are made of the Scotch plaids, as foundation, with trim mings of black, put on in Scotch or side plaitin The plaitings look better than the ruffles or folds. Trim the waist with a row Of narrow plaits—headed by a fold, ex- tending from the waist band over the bust and shoulders and across the back. For young people these suits are very much in favor. “Rosa Lee.’’—We can get you beautiful cashmere for $1 and $1.25 per yard, and merino for 80 cents and $1. The prices of the standard dress materials do not vary from those of last year, except in cases where a merchant de- sires to sellastock of old or undesirable colors, thea prices are reduced. “B, E. R.’—We can get the illusion for you to cost from 85 cents to $1.50 per yard. About three yards will be re- quired for the vail, four yards if you want one two yards long. Afull set of orange blossoms will cost from $6 to $15, according to quality of flowers and number of sprays wanted. The orange blossoms alone are so very stiff that most of our fashionable ladies mix them with smilax, lilies of the valley, and other graceful sprays. “A, H.”—The feather was sent by mail on November 11; hope it has reached you safely. € much prefer sending any article of value by express, as the express companies are responsible for any thing that may be lost. “S. K.”—A double circular cloak, heavily braided, with hood of blue silk, blue silk cord and tassels, will cost you $25. We can furnish you the matérials and have one cut and stamped ready ior braiding for $15. To have one stamped will ee eer you Can braid one your- self. Itis a, etty work. many of our ladies not only braid their cloaks, etc., but they almost cover many of their overskirts, jackets, etc., with the rich embroidery and beading until the garments are a mass of jet, and almost too heavy to wear with any comfort. An apron overskirt and sleeveless jacket were completely covered with the rich work. —_————_>-e<——____ Subscribers to the NEW YORK WEEELY Will have no postage to pay after January ist, 1875. In all cases the postage will be prepaid by us, and the paper will still be sent at the usual price — three dollars per year; two copies for five dollars. PASSING PARAGRAPHS. — The recent lecture of ex-Senator Schurz at Piymouth Church did not draw a large crowd. In thatcase Schurz and draws did not go togetlier. 3 — Shearman wiped his weeping eyes during the argu- ment of a law point in the Tilton-Beecher case. Pocket fees, not pocket-handkerchief, is what we look for in an Erie lawyer. — The St. John (N. B.) Globe is responsible for the statement that a young man recently engaged in peddling jewelry has been discovered to be the heir to the Jamison estate,in Scotland, worth $5,000,000. It is hoped his claim to the money is more genuine than some of the gems he has probably sold. — Under Horace Greeley the 7ridune was a cold-water paper. It was probably in honor of Greeley that the Trv- vune “took water” so heavily ifthe McOue libel suit. — The extent of the Arkansas Hot Springs has never been known until recently. The State now seems to be in hot water all the time. — Mark Twain, who recently attempted a pedestrian trip from Hartford to Boston, made a mistake in one let- ter. Heisa talker rather than a walker. — Professor Sheppard, of Chicago, has been lecturing on “The Tongue.” Whatever the professor may think of that member, he evidently doesn’t believe in holding it. — Large quantities of machine-made cigars come from Syracuse, which is also famous for ‘‘machine”’-made political platforms. : — Tae DUKe ur Haiaburgié’s som kas been baptized ag Albert Alexander Alfred Ernest William. That is not so many names as are usually given to royal babies, but without any additional cost, as hereafter we will prepay the postage. . Saat Queen Victoria has 80 many grandchildren that the sup- ply of names has run short; and it is hoped that the young ‘THE LADIES’ WORK-Box. THE PURCHASING AGENCY CATALOGUE.—Owing to many changes and reductions in moe we have been _ forced to defer the publication of our New Purchasing Agency Catalogue until the present time. All orders now received will be filled at once. It will be sent to any address, pre-paid, on receipt of ten cents. ae “Edith,” “Sarah B.,’? “Leah Hunt,’? and others desir- ing to know if we can make certain purchases for them by Christmas. Yes, if the orders are sent at once they willbe promptly filled, and your articles will reach you even a few days before Christmas, which will be far bet- ter than to have your packages come too late for the day fellow will be able to get on—with a handsome pecuniary allowance from Parliament. — “Beautiful Blue Danube” Strauss is coming to America next year, and may extend his travels tothe rest of the globe. His waltzing tour in that case will be ac- companied with “round (the world) dance’’ music. — The report that Mile. Albani had been privately mar- ried to Mr. Guy, the son of the London manager, is now pronounced in theatrical circles a mere “guy.” It is said she is not even engaged—except to sing in opera. — Betty Rigi has been dancing in ‘“‘The Deluge’ at of gifts. ; “Jean Young.’’—Give your sistera diamond ring in preference to the other article you mention. We can send you one to cost $25, $30 to $50, for small genuine dia- monds in handsome setting. Your mother wiil doubtless appreciate the handsome tea set of china, with gilt brand, for $25. Yes, we will make the purchases for you. Why not get your smaller sister a writing desk? e can get very neat ones costing from $5 to $10. “Mother.’’—Your daughter, you say, needs the articles mentioned. Then, weare sure, youcannot do better than to give them to her on Christmas, even if ‘‘they are rather outof the usual line of Christmas presents.’ There are very few young girls in this age who would not be giad of a good $10switch and a pair of Globe corsets to cost $2.50, You can also give her the pretty tie, pair of kid gloves, and a Knot of ribbon for the hair. “Sadie..’"—The catalogue of winter patterns has been sent to your address, and in it you will find many desir- able styles. By looking at the illustrations you can get @ Very correct idea of the new fashions far better than from any description we may be able to give in our limit- ed space, which must be devoted to very short answers to many questions. Astylish pattern for cashmere basque and overskirt is No. 3,605, price 30 eents. For the other suit we do not know of a more elegant overgarment than the demi-polonaise with sashes and basque back, No. 8,440, price 35 cents. We can hardly suggest any other style of trimming skirts than the plaits, knife, cluster, and box-plaits, the scolloped and plain ruffies, and the bands and folds. Many of the handsome skirts are en- tirely without trimming, and they are really elegant. “Aunty Emm.’’—Get cashmere and make your niece a pretty suit fora Christmas present. Let the skirt bea pretty blue, and the polonaise drab. Pattern No. 3,643, price 25 cents, is very stylish for a girl of twelve years of age. Let the skirt be made of and trimmed with the blue, while the polonaise may be entirely of the drab, or it would Jook perhaps prettier if trimmed with the biue. Get a hat of drab felt and trim with ribbon the shade of the blue skirt, the plume can be either blue or drab. “Little Girl.”’—You can get so. many things suitable for boys and girls for the $1, we hardly know which you will like best to give to your brother and sister. There are china and wax dolls, dressed and undressed; carriages, express wagons, cars that wind up and run by themselves, building blocks, tea sets, houses, trunks, arks with ani- mals, and the cheaper balls, trumpets, and other toys: suitable for one and all. “M. E. M.A good silver thimble can be bought for 50 cents. Gold-set ear-rings and breastpin will cost from $15 to $35; we can get you @ neat pair of onyx ear-rings for ets = pin to match for $6. The plaited bracelets will cost le “Rich Husband.’’—Your wife will be delighted with the seal skin sacque we have just purchased forher. It is really very handsome for the price, $150. Why not get a cap at $20 to match the sacque? The muff will cost $35. Yes, Shayne’s furs are entirely reliable, and most reason- able in. prices. “Mrs. R.,’? Newburg.—We are glad you were pleased with the mink set, boa and muff, at $35. It certainly was handsome for the price. Send asample of your hair, and we will see if it can be matched. Yes, we can have your combings made up for you, either in puffs or braids, at $1 per ounce. Our friends should save all their combings. “M.E. D.’—For young girls no dresses are so pretty and inexpensive as those of white organdie or Swiss. Flounce the skirt with five or six ruffles, about four inches deep. Trim your overskirt to correspond with one ruffle, and anarrow heading. You can edge the ruffle and heading on the overskirt with narrow Italian Valen- ciennes lace, if you want the dress to be very -pretty. Make a French waist with alternaterows of narrow tucks, and plain spaces—have half-flowing sleeves, finished to match overskirt. Trim the neck: with wider lace than that on the ruffies. You can loop the overskirt with a cluster of moss, rosebuds and spray of leaves and buds, and can also wear a bunch at the throat and on the hair. Tarlatan will make a showy and inexpensive dress, but it is not so useful as the organdie, which looks well when “done up.” If youdo not care to go to the expense of getting silk to trim your alpaca dress, you can make it look nice by taking some pretty shade of cashmere or merino, which trims better than the alpaca, and will give the dress a softer finish. The dresses of white alpaca:are used for bridal and evening costumes to quite an extent this season, and can be richly trimmed with white or any delicate shade of silk. An exquisite suit for a brunette Nad the flounces bound with rose color, and sleeves and “The poor are always with youl” vest the same shade. Moss roses are pretty in the hair. \ Philadelphia. If ‘*‘The Deluge” extends to Richmond the dancing Betty will be a Virginia reel. — Miss Louisa Webster, daughter of Dr. Noah Webster, died recently, aged 67. Her father was a veryquiet man, although, as he was author of a dictionary, he can't be said to have been ‘‘a man of few words.” — “Begone, duli Care,” finally did go from Steinway ‘Hall after Maccabe had told it, fora number of weeks, to begone. — They are to have in London a club for men and women. It will be called the Grosvenor, and the idea is believed to have originated with wives who want to keep their husbands at home by making club life unpopular. — John §. Clarke, the comedian, bought ‘‘Everybody’s Friend” from the author, Scirling Coyne, for £200, sterling coin. — They have in India tom-tom players who perform be- fore the Hindoo idols. The musicis about equal to what our Tom-tom cats execute on the roofs. — The Great American T (rail) Company—the Pacific Railroad, which has the longest line on the continent. — One of the Weiss men of the East—Rev. John Weiss, of Boston—is lecturing on the ‘‘Women of Shakespeare.’’ — Itissaid thata Nevada woman recently knocked down seven robbers who were trying to enter her house. That woman’s rights will be taken care of withont Miss Anthony’s assistance. — Something different from Trinity chimes—ringing the change by the conductors of the Third avenue line. — The Marr family in Michigan are among tlie latest who have inherited‘an immense estate in Europe and are going forit. They are more likely to mar their fortune than to make it. — Charles Reade says that James Lambert, his life- saving hero, is ‘‘much too fond of whisky.” Yet when he visited him, Charles tells us, he sent out and got James some more whisky. — — They had an earthquake shock in Essex County, Massachusetts, on the 25th of November. Ben Butler thought it was nothing to the earthquake that occurred there on the third of November. — Robert May manufactured false bells for-conductors ~ to beat the railroad punch with. Smilizg May became chill November for him when he was arrested last month, —_————_ > -9+ The Lady Washington Tea Party, at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, on the evening of November 24, was quite a financial success. Although the result is satis- factory to the managers, anything but satisfactory smiles overspread the features of many of the visitors on realiz- ing that they had purchased two sets of tickets, one set of which was useless, as it was-not demanded of the visitor. Chandler Brothers, the ticket sellers, informed the pur- chasers that each couple should have a yellow ticket, costing $2, and a white ticket, costing $5, and that these were necessary to entitle the visitors to participate in the full entertainment. On entering the $5 ticket was taken at the door, but no reference, then or afterward, was made to the $2 ticket. Now, we would like the committe, or Messrs. Chandler Brothers, to answer these questions: 1. Of what use were the $2 tickets? : 2. Were they intended to be‘*kept by the purchasers as souvenirs of the entertainment? ; 3. To what do they entitle the holders? 4, What shall we do with them?’’ acti in * bonnet on the sofa, she took one of the old man’s hands WA ee ne A LOCK OF HAR. BY MITTIEB POINT DAVIS. A tress of hair you asked of me— I send the gift to you, Fresh-clipped from off the weary bead Where late it softly grew. No other token could I send So eloquent of me; No gift so strong in future years To stir your memory. Twill whisper, as your lamplight falls Upon its silken sheen, Of her who may be sleeping then Beneath the churchyard’s green. The follies that your wisdom blamed * May then forgiven be; And, as it twines about your hand, *T will mutely plead for me. In faney you will see the head~— The little, haughty head— . . With all its tresses flowing free. Or softly coiled instead; And you will think how restlessly That little head has tossed; And every hair will tell a tale Of tears for treasures lost. Ab, me! how many a burning thought Has throbbed beneath this tress! How many a longing, deep and wild, You cannot even guess! You see the smile my proud lip wears, You hear my mocking tone, ~ And never dream how wretchedly My spirit is alone, Ab! do not harshly blame my faults! Some day this tress of hair Will mind you of a dead, white face For which you used to care; And you will say: ‘Poor wayward child! Her pleasures were so few, Her pains so many, that I might Have been more patient, too.” I know not if you’ll prize the gift; Such memories as these May sadden well your brightest hours, And rob your mind of ease. I know Pm wayward, strange and weak, A taulty woman at the best, Who seeks in pleasure’s fleeting thrall To drown her spirit’s deep unrest. But, if it please you, keep my tress, Soft rippling in its silken length— Frail as a woman’s hands, but, oh! How powerful in its fragile strength To raise the ghosts of buried years, Reproaching you for cold distrust, When this poor head on which it grew Shall slumber in its kindred dust. ~ Well, it is friendship’s dearest gift— This simple tress of dark brown hair! Baptized in thoughts, baptized in dreams, wv Ot sleepless nights, and days of care, Tossed on a sleepless pillow’s pain, * Strange that it keeps so dark and bright! But in your care it may forget The griefs that might have turned it white. Saved by Her Blood; OR, THE 3 DUNGEON OF TREVYLIAN CASTLE. 433 i By Grace Gordon. (Saved: by Her Bleod” was commenced in No. 51. Back Nos san be obtained-of any News Agent in the United States.] CHAPTER XXI. Lovell had no clew to Eugenie’s address, save the vague ene of ‘*"General Post-office, London,’’ to which the week- ly letter he sent, informing her of her husband and chil- dren’s welfare, was alwaye directed. Yet he did not des- pair of finding her, by exercising his patience. : It is said by the other denizens of Hurope that each in- dividual Irishman is perfectly unique, and Lovell, in the plan he adopted to find his mistress did not depart from the rade of his count, 4 rymen—iis pian was ulique. He wrote a letter to Bugenis before leaving Count Ra- monski’s Castle, telling her he thought he haa found her little son, Harry, so long supposed to be buried under the wawes of the Indian ocean; that the person who he hoped would turn out to be her son was Sir Reginald Trevyylian, in whom she had rcognized so strong a likenesss to her frst husband as to cause her to shed bitter tears long after she had been Count Ramouski’s wife, adding: “I have come to London, and will waitin the post-office every @ay till I see you.” is letter he addressed, as was his wont, to Mrs. Jane ‘Gerald, General Post-office, London, and takingit there, he waited for a week, watching every woman who went for letters, but no one at allto be mistaken for his mis- tress ever presented herself. Each morning he madeinquiry if the letter he had posted for Mrs. Jane Gerald had been called for, and niways receiving the same answer: ‘‘No one had called for it.’? A3 last his patience was rewarded—the letter had been called for the previous evening. That day Lovell did not leave the vicinity of the general delivery box forasingle minute. Late in the evening a hand was laid on his arm, and he started as he beheld a thin; feeble woman in black, whom, upon her half-lifting a crape vail, he recognized to be the shadow of Countess Ramouski rather than herself. **Lovell,” said she, in an undertone, ‘follow me closely, but do not speak to me.’? The old man did as he was bid. Along the Strand, down Cecil street they went, until they reached No. 14, Opening the door with a latch-Key, Eugénie walked up stairs, followed by her faithful servant, until she entered the room with the balcony overlooking the river, already described in these pages. ‘ ‘ Immediately on entering the room she signed to Lovell to shut and lock the door, and throwing her cloak and in both her own, saying: ‘Tell me all, Lovell; every word, and don’t stop, only to take breath. Where was Sir Reginald all this time, and how did yousee the marks?’ “Sir Reginald was in a dungeon in the Tower of Trevy- lian Castle, put there by Sir Ralph, but noone knows in whiat way Sir Ralph didthis. ‘he count found him out. by little bits of wood which he cut from a cedar log in his dungeon, and with a penknife cut letters upon them,’? He putone of the precious little missives, which had done its work so well into her ladyship’s hand, and continued: i" “There isonel brought tolet your ladyship see. Count- ess Olga was the first who found one on the shore close by Warsaw Castle, and afterward both the children found several.* The count suspected there was something wrong, and brougit the children and myself in the yacht to Treyylian Castle, where we found the lake strewed with them, The count got the wardrobe broken down, and found the way to the dungeon, and there was Sir Reginald and Lady Trevylian, who had both been shot by old Sir Ralph. It was while Sir Reginald’s wound was being dressed I saw the marks on his arm which Captain Neville put, and in the night I watched by his bedside, and saw the anchor, and the H N, on each side as clearas the day they were put on.” ‘‘And the-mole on his shouider ?” inquired the countess. “Oh, my lady, [could not look for that, but I will ask him about it when you send me back. Iam sure enough without that. When he lay asleep he was as perfect a likeness of Captain Neville as could be.” “7 see it all,2 exclaimed Eugenie. “Ralph Trevyllan stole my child in hopes that I would become his wife, if I believed I had lost husband and child in one day. My utter loneliness he supposed would drive me into his arms. But, Lowell, how is it that the terrible man who came to Naples to claim me for his wife did not know that littie Harry was saved ??? , “JT don’t know, my lady, but perhaps little Harry him- self can find out about that, or the Count Ramouski, my lady. There is a letter [have brought from him; he forced me to tell | was coming to your ladyship. kt was no use Saying no; he knew I was,’ *You did not tell him I wag in London ?”? “Oertainly not, my lady.’ “Would to Heaven he could forget there ever was such @ person as the unfortunate Eugenie Fitzgerald.” @ pale face of the countess became paler as she spoke, ressiug her hand over her heart and compressing her ; ips together rigidly asif she feared her heart would ‘“‘He will never do that, my lady,” was the reply of Loy- ell, given with a sad look and deep intonation of Yoloe, 4 the poor fellow remembered the misery he knew well his master suffered by her absence, adding: “The counvs hair is turning gray.” “Lovell! exclaimed Eugenie, passionately, ‘‘don’t say that; tell me that it is not true.” “It is but too true, my lady. if he was an Irishman.” Tn other days Eugenie would have smiled at the last re- mark of Lovell; now it made the tears fall down in great drops On her Jap. Now was the time to deliver the count’s letter, and taking it frem his bosom, Lovell placed it in her hand. She glancéd at the superscription, and saying, hastily: ‘Go, Lovell, and get some breakfast from Mrs. Wardlé; you must leave London by the first train, and send Harry to me,” Eugenie sought her bedroom, fastening the door behind her as she entered, He loves you as truly.as *The female children of Russian nobles are always styled countess, and even if they marry a man without a title, they are ressed as countess, and their ietters directed after the. name She knelt down by her bed, and opening her husband’s letter, spread it out before her. Asshe did 80, a bill on the Bank of England for a thousand pounds fell from the envelope. ‘ That letter was too holy a thing in her eyes to be read’ as another letter would have been. There were long, loving sentences, pleading with her to return to him, ad- juring her by all she held sacred by her love to himself, for her children, and last of all, came these words: “You say you have unwittingly been an impostor. If unwittingly you have not beep an impostor, I am the best judge if this is to separate us, and by the vow you took at the altar to obey me to my life’s end, | command you to return to me, orto send me your address, so that we may converse together one hour. If you refuse to do this you are sinning against both Heaven and me.’? She folded the letter, and put itin her bosom, her sobs coming so fast and quick as to leave her almost breath- les8; and burying her head in the pillows, she murmured: “Adolph! Adolph! you are breaking my heart,” Reginald Trevylian sat by a cheerful fire in his bedroom. The clock had tolled eleven, yet he sat reading. He was now strong and well again, and he had had enough of rest all those weary days he had been keptin bed against his will. A slight tap at the door. ‘Come in.?? Lovell entered, with a face from which the lines of care }had half departed. He had a strong faith that iittle Mas- ter Harry was somehow to make all the wrong of the last few months right again. How this was to be done he could not clearly define, although it had occupied his thoughts since the moment he made sure that he had identified Sir Reginald Trevy- lian with the Countess Ramouski’s lost son. Sometimes his fancy would stray to a distant island, to which Sir Reginald would banish the sailor Neville, and where the latter could live a comfortable, Robinson Crusoe sort of life, or give him aship and let him sail to the North Pole never to return; anything, in short, to get rid of him, and let the man himself be happy in his own way. Lovell was too innately good iimself to indulge in any plan that would invoive misery even to Neville, who ha been the cause of such intense misery since he first came to blight the life of Eugenie Fitugerald, in Colambre Cas- tle. “You, Lovelll’? exclaimed Sir Reginald, in tones of pleased surprise. .*‘Why did you desert me? Where have you been ??? : “Dye been to see your mother, sir, an’ to tell her you’re alive. : Ashade of displeasure, not unmixed with sadness, came over Sir Reginald’s face as the man spoke. “Don’t speak in that way, Lovell. Perhaps you do not know that I never saw my mother?’ “Sir, have you a mole about the size of a spangle under the skin on your left shoulder? If you have, the Countess Ramouski is your mother. and when you was a boy of four years old you put a sapphire ring on her finger, and promised if she died before you met again you would never forget her, but say your prayers for her every night of your life.” There is no such thing as forgetting—we never forget. Each scene we have gone through, all the knowledge we have ever acquired is treasured up in the greal storehouse of our memory. And the scene Lovell described came back again, as fresh as yesterday to the heart and mind of Harry Neville. “Yes,’? he cried oat, in accents of joy. “I have the mole you speak of on my left shoulder, and, better far, I have the evidence in myself. I remember well the hour I put that ring on my mother’s hand, the strange trees we Sat under, the two men standing by, with whom I went away weeping. And now I remember the shipwreck, the subsequent long voyage, and then the long years of cruel- ty and oppression. Thank Heaven, Sir Ralph Trevylian is not my fatier!’? The mole then examined and kissed by Lovell, in his warm, Irish way. we Master Harry, mMany’s the day I kissed every bit of ye. ‘ Harry Neville and the faithful servant of his mother's house spent long hours talking of the past, some of it sad and bitter enough, yet, alas! no phase in it all half so sad as the terrible present, which shrouded the poor mother in clouds and darkness like a pall. In the early morning Regitaid Trevylian, as we must still call him, went to bid good-by to Ethel, who still lay on a sick bed, her wounds yet unhealed, and to tell her he was going to London on business, but would return in @ day or two. . He left a note for the count, and driven by Lovell to the depot, was soon on board the cars. ; He had passed a sleepless night, and the comfortable sofa seat of the railway carriage formed a pleasant bed, inducing sound sleep. e half awoke as the compartment he was in was opened by the conductor at Broughton Station to admit a assenger. The person entered and seated himself in silence, and Harry, glad to indulge in longer sleep, did not even open his eyes. He lay half asleep, induiging in a sweet day dream of meeting his beautiful mother. He knew all that Lovell could tell him about the coarse map whom he must acknowledge as his father, but he tried to banish all thoughts of him. He was determined to see the man if he was in London, and as a means of accomplishing this he had himself of the coarse card Neville had Jeft in the cottage at Naples, and which Lovell had preserved and shown to his young master. : In this half-dreamy state he heard the whistle, which told the scattered passengers the cars were to resume their motion. The “Ali right”? of the conductor, as he jumped upon the platform, sounded distinctly in his ears, then he felt the sudden spring of the engine as it began to move, and lastly felt the pleasant, swift motion of the cars as they rolled on at express speed. Scarcely were the cars off when he felt himself kicked in the legs, and addressed in a voice he seemed to know fall well, in the following terms: “Keep your feet to your own side of the house or I'll throw you and them together out through the window.” Reginald opened his eyes: to see before him Sir Ralph Trevylian! ; He made no answer; his feet only occupied the part of the seat allotted to himself. He knew that the insolent action and words both were intended to provoke and bring forth a like response, and he determined to avoid the quarrel which it was evidently the desire of the other to create. He had need to exercise his patience. At a flag station alady and gentleman cameinto the compartment, and then Sir Raiph vented his fury by detailing his own kind- ness to the man opposite, whom he designated Harry, and said he had picked out of the gutter, fed, clothed, and educated, only to be rewarded by the basest ingratitude. He gave his name, detailing how this adopted son of his had, during his absence on the Continent, given out that he was dead, assumed his title and wasted his sub- stance, running away and hiding himseif as soon as he found that the man he had so ipjured was to come home in a few days. ee They were close upon one of the numerous stations on the road to London, and calling to the conductor to open the door Reginald said, in going out: “Sir Ralph Trevylian, you know that what you have been telling these people is a compiete tissue of falsehood, and [warn you not to repeat the offense. If youdo,i shall punish you in a way you’ll remember.”’ The young man spoke with hightened color and flashing eyes, evidently under the influence of great excitement. ‘You low whelp, don’t presume to threaten me, or I’ll have you sent to prison with hard labor.’ “Not before I send a bullet through your head, to teach you to speak the truth,’ was the reply given, with an in- creased flush of the cheek. OHAPTER XXII. Reginald ieft the cars and was almost immediately foil- lowed by Sir Ralph, notwithstanding the entreaties of the lady and gentleman, who begged him not to expose him- self to what they considered the ungrateful malice of the young man. “That’s capital,’’ said Sir Ralph, speaking to himself, as soon as he left the cars. “I Knew the cur would not an- swer too soon. Ill not put myself in his way alone—he would be more than a match for me—but when I have another opportunity of giving him a castigation in words before people, he’ll have another dish of his own ingrati- tude. I must visit my friend Captain Harry Neville, Kea» and put him up to claiming him as his dear son; an’ faith, Vilback him up. I wonder how he proposes to support Mistress Ethel Annesly. throwing himself into the Thames, after his precious mother. Ha, ha,’’ chuckled he, “it would be rare fun after all, if Mistress Ethel wag glad to come to terms—to become Lady Trevylian. Most men wouldn’t take her, but I would. She’s the prettiest face I ever saw, and if he was dead, and she in the jaws of poverty for awhile, under the supervision of her father-in-law, Captain Harry Neville, Esquire, she’d be precious glad to get back to a gentleman and Trevylian Castle.”? Talking thus to himself, he passed the ticket office, where, seeing his late adopted son, he turned aside, and entered the hotel, where he ordered dinner, resolving not to pursue his journey for the present. In order to avoid further contact with Sir Ralph, Regin- ald determined to wait for the next train, and inquiring of the ticket clerk, was told that it would be on in about an hour. “Here’s @man,’”’ said the ticket clerk, addressing Sir Reginald, ‘‘who wishes to dispose of a pair of curious pis- tols he found when he was in the Crimea. IfI was a gen- Ueman I would buy them, he only asks a guinea for them.”’ Sir Reginald took the pistols from the man and exam- ined them. They were very beautifully inlaid with silver, and. to his astonishment, ne found they were marked by the cognizance of the Ramouski family. “They are worth mere than @ guinea,” said he to the man who wished to sell them. “TI dare say they are, sir,’ was the reply, ‘‘but you see, Igot them tor nothing, and I want the guinea, and I don’t. want them, and l’ve been trying to sell them ‘for along while, and could find no one to buy them.”’ “IT shall buy them, then,’ replied Sir Reginaid, ‘‘and give you two guineas for them, they are worth more than that. I do not want them myself, but I have a friend who will be pleased to get them. Are they primed ?”’ “Yes, sir.?? “They are strange things to handle. Show me how you use them.’? “Look here, sir; you just hold it so, and press your finger here.”’ : “TI see, they are easy enough to work, certainly.” . OB sir; very simple when you know how to use them. “There are your two guineas.’? they bear in right of their husband, as nee countess. “Thank you, sir.’? I hope some.day to hear of him | sont THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. about until the arrival of the next train. The country was beantifully undulating, with abund- ance of woods in clumps within a short distance of the railway depot, a deep and rapid brook running down from the hills, with the old coach-road lined on either side by oaks and beeches, winding out and in until it was lost among the wooded hills in the distance. As Sir Reginald strolled along, almost envying the peaceful dwellers among these beautiful hills and dales, ae hig startled by several loud cries, uttered in a childish yoice,. - Hé turned in the direction from which the voice came, and with horror beheld a rabid dog tearing the clothes off a little girl, not over ten years of age, who was trying to defend herself from his attacks by beating him off witha milk pail she carried in her hand. : His first impulse was to fire, but 2 moment’s reflection told him that this might be fatal to the child as well as the dog, in the close proximity in which they stood to each other. Taking aim at the dog’s head, he hurled one of his néwly-purchased pistols with such precision that in a second the animal fell gasping to the ground. The little girl, finding her dressreleased from the grasp of the dog’s teeth, ran off with all speed, not stopping for an instant, evidently thinking that the dog would be in pursuit of her if she did not make the best of her time. Reginald now made the best of his way to the scene of action, that he might recover the pistol. The dog lay gasping in death, but not dead, and lest he should revive and @o more mischief, Reginald carried him to the brook, which was quite near, and ‘threw him into a deep pool formed by the water collecting between some large stones and the large roots of a willow. In lifting up the dog he tookhold of him by the hind legs, not observing until Many hours afterward that the blood from the wound in the dog’s head had soiled his trowsers, ‘ He then returned to the half copsein which the dog had been kilted, and made a search for the pistol. His search was in vain—no pistol was to be seen in any direction. Tired out with his fruitiess search, heat length came to the conclusion that while he was gone with the dog to the pool in the brook some passer-by had picked up the pistol. He now looked at his watch, and finding it was still early he determined to walk to the next station, and then take the cars, going by the second-class and thus avoid all chance of again encountering-Sir Ralph Trevylian. The day was lovely; autumn was giving her store of luscious fruits to the earth’s dwellers; and from the or- chards on either side of the oldcoach-road hung branches of plum and apricot trees, laden with their purple and red fruit, contrasting with the scarlet apple and dark green pear. Never had Reginald Trevylian felt so deeply the power of nature to confer happiness. In this beautiful valley, with its fruits and flowers, forest tree, hill and river, with that clear blue sky above, it were happiness enough to live. His long confinement to the dark dungeon in which he had spent the spring and summer, had made him more keenly alive to the beauties of nature, and contrasting his present feeling with his lonely life down in the dark, damp dungeon of Treyylian Qastle, he raised his sou) in thankfulness to the great Father, not only for his deliver- ance, but also for the time he had spent there. But for his own confinement in that dungeon he would still be in the daily commission.of the great crime which had been the secret blight of his youth. And now that he had known the misery of living with- out sufficient light, or air, or motion, without the fellow- ship of his kind, he thanked Heaven that Ralph Trevylian was free to walk the earth, free to breathe the pure air of Heaven. 3 : At last the railway was gained. In a short time the swift steam cars brought him to the great city he sought, with its mass of moving humanity,’ their hopes and fears. His heart beat fast as he stoed before the door of No. 14 Cecil street. The next moment he was folded in the Countess Ramou- ski’s arms, while for the first time he heard himself ad- dressed in tones dictated by a mother’s-love: “Myson? My son}? She needed no confirmation now of the fact that Regi- nald Trevylian was her son, her very son. Now that the scales had fallen from her eyes it told itself in every mo- tion of his head, every lineament of his face. The Neville hand, the Neyille eye, spoke in stronger language than any marks or spoken words ever used. ; She questioned him of the past, how it was possible that Ralph Trevylian could have put him in the dungeon when he himself did not return until six days after the of his own disappearance. “Dear mother,’ was hisreply, ‘“‘do not question me on this subject at present, one day I shall tell you alk Ihave asad and sinful page in my own life te turn over before I can explain how Ralph Trevylian had the power to make mea prisoner. Twelve years before, when I was only a boy, he tried to imprison me in that dungeon, that my youth and manhood might be wasted in sighs and groans. if the boy had possessed the moral courage of the man I would have fied from his castie then. It was no home; I hated both him and it. I willtell yon all again. Now we must talk of what more immediateiy concerns us both— the sailor, Neville, who claims you for his wife.” Eugenie’s cheek grew pale as ashes, but she uttered no word. ‘Is it not more lik paz Searest mother, that this coarse man is an im that years conid have changed a gentleman into ‘the common, low man, low in all his proclivities, that this man shows himself to be. To me it appears that in some way the man has acquired a certain knowledge of the time my father and you spent together, perhaps..from servants, and this, joined to a striking likeness, emboidened him to present bimself to you as your and with the view of extorting money.” ‘Alas! no,” replied Bagenie; ‘I have thought the mat- ter over in‘allits phases. I knew him the moment I saw him at'the garden rail, although an instant previous I had believed him sleeping under the sea for more than twenty years. Beside, how could he have gained his knowledge of my home life—of slight circumstances which passed, such as his having brought me his hat ful! of rose leaves, his filling his pockets with wood vioiets? He alsoshowed me the half of an old Spanish gold coin we broke between usin my fifteenth year, a month before 1 fled with him from Colambre Castle. He told me the words you used when you put this ring on my finger.’ As she spoke, she turned the sapphire to the light, making it blaze in diverging rays. ‘i have two ill-spelled letters he wrote to me.on board the Sphinx, which are filled with remi- niscences of our early married days—little things no one could have told him. Ah! no; Ihave no hope on earth a bas the consolation I can draw from your own ove. ‘ He put his arm round her ashe sat by her on the sofa, and pressing his lips to her cheek, said softly: 2 “I will make a home for you, where, with Ethel and myself, you will yet be happy, if better cannot be; but I must first assure myself that this sailor man is what he pretends to be.’ , A tap at the door, and the servant came in to say that pi ag from the bookseller’s wished to see Mrs. rald. “Oh, Iam so sorry!’ exclaimed Eugenie, as she glanced. at the clock on the mantel shelf. ‘*f promised to finish a drawing by “half-past four, and in my joy at seeing you, I forgot ali about it. Send the young man up here,’? said she, addressing the servant. The clerk made his appearance in a few seconds. “I am very sorry that, owing to the arrival of my son, I forgot all about the drawing. I have not a half-an-hour’s work todoonit. Ifyou can wait until five, I will finish it by that time.”? “Yes, I can wait, and it will be in good time at five o’clock. The gentleman whom it is for will not call for it until six; but as you said it would be finished at half-past four, 1 came for it.” Eugenie was busy arranging her drawing materials, when.the landlady, having announced herself by a little tap at the door, entered, in full walking costume of a widow’s cap, bonnet, and crape shawl. “I’m just going to take the half-hour before tea to run into the Strand and buy your. lustre for you. You gave me two pounds, and that'll buy a good one. Will you have a double skirt, and are you to trim it with itself?’ “Thank you, Mrs. Wardle; itis very kind of you to go out ou purpose, I merely wished a plain dress, without double skirt or frill either.’ i “Oh, then that won’t take much of your two pounds. I suppose you'll have black waist lining ?”” “No, I prefer the lining being white; and pray, Mrs. Wardie,. haye the materials sent to your own dress- maker.” you, ma’am, a niece of my own,”’ said the good-tempered woman, as she bowed herself out with a smile. Eugenie now applied herself to her easel, and notwith- standing the interruption of giving Mrs. Wardle orders about the new dress, the drawing was finished and de- ee into the young man’s hands as the clock siruck ve. > Eugenie received a sealed envelope from the clerk, in pee for the drawing, opening which she took out five guineas. “There,” said she, showing the money to her son. ‘‘My landlady has been the means of procuring employment for me in an art which has ever been one of my favorite pursuits. I can make five guineas nearly every week.” “Dear mother,” he replied, his face showing the pain it gave him to see-his mother reduced ‘to Jabor for her own support, “I trust the day is not far distant when we will the worker.”? Mrs. Wardle returned by alittle after five, displaying what she called ‘areal bargain’’—a lustre worth three shillings she had purchased for two and sixpence. Their early tea over, the mother and son sat talking of “a thousand things,” ; The evening seemed only beginning’ when the clock struck eight warned them both tiat the hour had arrived they had agreed upon would be the best for paying a visit to Jim Skeieton’s lodger, Certain as he was that no one he knew could possibly see and recognize him, yet it was with a feeling very nearly allied to shame that Reginald Trevylian entered Jim Skeleton’s beer shop. It was evidently one of the lowest of its class, and the bloated-looking, Jarge man who stood behind the dirty bar, gave evidence by his whole appearance, from his pimpled, swollen, red nose, down to his dirty hands and loosely-hanging trowsers, above the waistband of which a red worsted shirt protruded, that he was one of his own best customers. “Do you know a2 person of that name?” ingnired Regi- nald, throwing down the dirty, coarse card he had re- ceived from Lowell. The man lifted the card and read the words: “Captain Harry Neville, Esquire,” in a slow, hesitating manner, as if unaccustomed to use his eyes in that way. Sir Reginald left the ticket office, intending to stroll } memorable night of the party at Warsaw Castle, the time }, “Im going to take a girl into the house to make it for | alllive under the one roof, and that.J, not you, will be ]> d “That'll be the skipper, I reckon!” said he, looking up with evident surprise in the stranger’s face, who, he now noticed, was a gentleman, and not a customer, as he had at first mistaken him for. “The what ?? “The skipper; we allers calls him the skipper, cause he’s in the seafarin’ line.” Looking in Sir Reginald’s face he said: “You'll be his brother’s son belike; I’ve heard him say as how he had a brother down in York- shire, who was well to do, and lived like a gentleman.” “Tam not his brother’s son,’ .was the reply given in spite of himself, in rather an indignant tone. " “Then faith, ifye’re not his brother’s son, ye bes his own, for sich han hexact likeness to the old salt hisself 1 never seed.) Reginald’s heart sickened as the man spoke. It seem- ed that even already he was realizing the truth of his mother’s words. “Does the skipper, as you call him, live here?” “Incourse he lives here when he’s ashore. Where ’ud he live? He’s in yonder wi’ three 0’ his friends, all play- in’ catch the ten, like good uns.’ As the man spoke he pointed with his thumb, which he turned back toward a hall glass door, not far from the bar, through which could be seen four men seated round a table, playing cards, each provided with a tumbler of liquor, from which he occasionally took a8 mouthful. They all seemed to bein hearty good humor, now and then as one made a lucky trick, the fortunate one beating the floor and laughing uproariously to express the satis- faction he felt. ee looked toward this scene of low mirth with ism Ye ‘Ye can go in if ye like,’ said the bar-keeper. ‘‘only the skipper don’t care to be spoken to at his game, ’specially gin he’s playin’ for shiners.” ‘Pll not disturb him just now, but if. you’ll allow me, V]]l just go and look through the glass window. I’m not sure if it is the man whom I want that you speak of as the skipper.’ “Set yer mind easy on that score,” replied the man, with a ludicrous twinkle of his eye, as if he knew the gentleman was ashamed of his coarse relation whom he had come to seek. ‘Don’t let that flea bite ye, the skip- per an’ you came out o’ one nest, or My name’s no Jim Skelton.” : ; : “J won’t disturb them by looking through the door.”’ “No fear 0’ that; they’ll never notice ye if ye was the Prince 0’ Wales, let alone his own nephy; they’re well used to the customers lookin’ at them.’ Reginald walked up to the glass window and stood there for some minutes, his heart beating aimost audi- bly. He did not need to be told which of the men he sought; the face he had come to see was full before him— now looking at the cards he held in his hand, again rais- ing his head with a pleased look of good-humored tri- umph at his opponent, every lineament otf his face tell- ing plainly to the young man’s eye that he had found his father. It was impossible there could be any mistake, his own face was there before him, as surely as eyer he had seen it in the glass! True, it was an older face, sun-burned and weather- beaten, but no less truly the prototype of his own, just such as his own might be twenty years hence, should his life be spent in a similar manner. The longer he remained looking at the man, the more varied the expression of his face, the more certain he be- came that the coarse man who stamped and laughed, and rubbed his large, brown, toil-stained hands to express his mirth, was his father. [TO BE CONTINUED.] The Boy Ranger; — OR, — THE WOLF IN THE FOLD. By James K. Lennox. “The Boy Ranger” was commenced last week. Ask your News Agent for No. 7, and you will get the firs¢ chapters. | CHAPTER IV.—(Continued.) - Oscar Desmond could scarcely believe the evidence of his own eyes, and before he had taken a second thought he read aloud the mysterious warning. Abel Thorne moved uneasily, but none save Bertha’s quick eye noted it, and as she did so, a faint smile flitted over her face. “This is a mystery to me,’’ said Oscar; ‘what do you understand it to mean, my dear Thorne?’ He passed the paper to Abel, who examined it closely, and then handed it back. It was then that Desmond noticed that Abel’s hand trembled slightly. “Its strange, very strange, Oscar,’’ said Thorne. Oscar Desmond put the paper in his pocket, and went out of the cabin and listened. But he could hear nothing. All was silent as it was dark. What did it mean? Who had sent that mysterious message?. And to whom did it refer ? These were the questions Oscar propounded to himself. He could not think that the warning referred to his friend Abel Thorne as the ‘‘wolf,’’ nor could he form the slightest conception of whatit meant. Even if it did refer to Abel Thorne, why should he beware of him—one of the dearest companions of his boyhood. He re-entered the house, and discussed the mystery with Thorne long after Bertha and Maggie had retired, to At length they dropped the subject and retired also. The night passed and morning again dawned. Our friends were astir early, and after breakfast Abel Thorne announced his intention of taking his immediate departure westward, despite Desmond’s entreaties, to spend a few days at the Lone Oaks. As Thorne’s course lay in a westerly direction, Oscar Desmond conciuded to accompany him as far as the Platte river, where he had some wolf-traps set. Thorne express- ea great pleasure at the proposition to accompany him so ‘ar. Oscar having made known his intention to Bertha and Magele, ato took his departure with Thorne. “My dear Oscar,’’ said Abel, after they had discussed various topics as they gatloped over the plain, “I do not wonder at you being the happiest man living after seeing your pleasant home and your angelic little wife.” “Thank you for the compliment, my dear Abel,’ replied Oscar, his eyes sparkling with pleasure, “I wonld insist on your making yourself'equally happy, and building a snug little cabin alongside of mine in the Lone Oaks if it was not for one thing.’’ : ‘‘And pray what is that, Oscar ?’? “Maggie Milbank is already engaged to a young ranger named Roland Stanley, who, I am sure, she loves.”? Thorne smiled at his friend’s remark, and replied: “T must admit, Oscar, that Maggie is as pretty a little rosebud as heart could wish for; but the fact of it is, my dear Oscar Desmond, I would not be at liberty to marry her, even were both of us willing.’ “Why not, Thorne ?? “T have a wife already.’ “Youa wile, Abel Thorne? Hal! ha! ha! you villain! talk about my deceiving you; but where in the world did you find a wife??? “Look ahead yonder, Oscar,’’ replied Thorne, evasively, ‘isn’t that a band of Indians riding southward along that high ridge?” “I believe it is, and it’s the first party I’ve seen in this vicinity for a long time.’ . The horsemen in question were about two miles away, and numbered some half-a-dozen; but they were so far away that our two friends could not tell whether they were whites or Indians. However, their presence excited their attention so deeply that the subject which they had been discussing was forgotten for the time being, and the two rode rapidly forward at Desmond’s suggestion, in hopes of gaining upon the party and ascertaining who they were. But half-an-hour’s sharp riding convinced them that they, were gaining but little, if any, on the party. 7 At length they came to a small stream known as Buffalo creek, a tributary of the Platte. Upon its banks they drew rein. Here their journey together must end. Thorne’s course now lay westward and Desmond’s north. “I-am sorry, Oscar, to have to part with you, but I reckon I must. However, when I return East again, I will call at the Lone Oaks and remain a fortnight.” “Do so by all means, Abel; but look here, old fellow, you haven’t told me where you left your wife,” _ “No, Oscar, and I had hoped you would not broach the subject again, for it is painful to me; but in justice to yourself—since you have insisted upon it—i suppese I will have to tell you the painful truth. JZ left my wife this morning. at the Lone Oaks!) “What! what! exclaimed Desmond; ‘‘you left your wife at the Lone Oaks ?’? “Yes, Oscar, left my wife at the Lone Oaks, but let us say no more about it; it is too painful. A fearful mistake has been made, Desmond, and to attempt to remedy it now would be to make matters still worse; so farewell, Oscar, farewell.’ . With a wave of his hand, Abel Thorne turned his ani- mal’s head down the creek and rode away. For a moment Oscar Desmond sat like one in a trance, gazing after the retreating form of his friend, unable to speak, unable to move. Finally, however, he, mechani- cally turned his horse’s head northward and rode away. He had gone but a few paces when he suddenly rallied from the spell that ‘Thorne’s words lad thrown around him, and turning his head he glanced back at his friend. A-sensation of terror seized him as he did so, for he beheld the gleaming rifle of Abel Thorne—who had turned in his saddle—leveled full upon him! And simultaneously with this discovery the rifle cracked, and with arms wildly clutching at the air for support, Oscar Desmond reeled to and froin his saddle, then with a cry of mortal pain he rolled heavily to the earth—shot down by the hand of Abel Thorne! Frightened by the report of the rifle the now riderless horse of the hunter dashed away over the plain, while Abel Thorne, both traitor and assassin, put spurs to his animal and sped:away southward as though he were fleeing from the wrath of God. : CHAPTER V. , THE BROKEN HOME. “Oh, Maggie!’ cried Bertha Desmond the moment she saw her husband and Abel Thorne recede from view. “I do wish Oscar had not gone away!” ‘Why, Bertha, you are unusually excited,’’ repiied Maggie, startled by her cousin’s words. ‘Does Oscar not Jeave us alone every day ?”? “Yes, Maggie; but something ielis me he is in danger ow. “In danger? From whom, Bertha—the Indians?” “No; Abel Thorne!?? Bextha started as she uttered the name, and there was & strange light in her eyes, “I cannot but believe, Maggie,” she continued, “that the secret warning sent us last night referred to Abel Thorne as the wolf in the fold.” “Oh, Bertha,” cried Maggie, “you astonish me, and I am afraid you do Abel Thorne injustice. I cannot believe that such a noble-looking man can be otlier' than what he appears to be.?? : “Maggie, you are young and inexperienced in human nature. Your heart is warm and confiding. You can have no idea of the amount of wickedness and duplicity there is in the world.” Maggie was somewhat. surprised by her cousin’s re- Marks. There was an under-current in them which she could not understand. “It is true, Bertha,’ she said; ‘I noticed you were uneasy from the moment Mr. Thorne entered the cabin, but I do not see why you have any more reason to suspect him of being ‘the wolf’ than any other person who has called at our cabin. Moreover, is he not Oscar’s life-time friend?” ‘Yes; but I care not for that. Heisa villain. I was in Oscar comes back.’? ‘Bertha, you speak very positively about Abel Thorne. But we may expect Oscar soon, and I hope his coming may dispel all your fears.’ “Tf he eyer does return alive, Maggie, I am afraid it . Will be to reproach me with deceit——” “Oh, Bertha, do you know what you are saying ?”” “Yes; but hark! I hear the tramp of a horse!’? They listened. Bertha was right. “It is Osear returning,’ cried Maggie. ; The two females were seated under a tree in front of the cabin, and when their ears were greeted by the sound of hoofs, they sprang quickly to their feet. Just then a rideriess horse dashed past them. A shriek burst from Bertha’s lips, for she saw it was the animal that Oscar had ridden away. “Oh, Maggie, it is Oscar’s horse, but where is he ?’* ‘Not far away, perhaps,’’ replied Maggie, cheerfully, “scolding at the idea of having to walk home.”? “No, cousin. I fear my suspicions have proved too true—that harm has come to Oscar—that Abel Thorne has dealt foully with him.” Maggie had grown uneasy too, but she permitted mo word or look to betray her fears to the distressed young wife. On the contrary, she tried to cheer her up. “Tam sure, Bertha,” she said, «Wildfire has got away from Oscar accidentally. Let us catch him’ and. seeil there Are any marks of violence about him.”? They hastened to the stable, where they found the horse with nostrils dilated and flanks dripping with foam.. His. eyes glowed with fright, and the hot breath poured from his mouth and nostrils in miniature clouds. Maggie approached him and took hold of the rein. An involuntary cry burst from her lips. “Great Heaven, Bertha, there is blood wpon the saddle!’ shar uttered alow moan and sank unconscious to the earth. “Oh, I have killed her!’ cried Maggie, dropping on her knees by her cousin’s side. “Bertha, Bertha, rouse up, and I will go in search of Oscar.” But Bertha was as unconscious as the dead. The maiden hastily brought water and bathed her brow and chafed her hands. Slowly the power of consciousness came back, and when she was at length fully restored, Maggie con- ducted her to.the cabin and did everything in her power to console her. But she could not disabuse her mind of the impression that her husband was dead—that Abel Thorne had siain him. “] will take my pony, Bertha,’ Maggie finally said, “and go in search of Oscar. He may be only wounded, if hurt at all,? 1 @2OW Kon. “No, no, Maggie, he will need no help. He is dead. Abel Thorne has slain him to break my heart,’ Bertha persisted, wringing her hands in despair. ‘Yes, he is the wolf, Maggie, but oh, great Heaven! it is too late now, our home is broken!’ . ; “Bertha, you startle me,’ replied Maggie; ‘why should Abel Thorne desire to break your heart?” - “No matter, Maggie, why; but P would rather have lost ail our father’s buried gold than tliat we had ever come here to hunt for it; for, Maggie, Abel Tliorne knows all about that gold. I know he does. But go, sweet cousin, and jook upon the -prairie for the poor mangled body of Oscar, and may Heaven speed you.”? ; af Maggie donned her hat, and took from a little box on the dressing-table a pair of small, silver-mounted pistols, which she placed in. her dress pocket... Then she kissed Bertha and ran out of the cabin. ; ’ In a few minutes more she was galloping away over the prairie toward the north, the direction from whence the riderless horse of Oscar Desmond had come. | CHAPTER VI. SOMETHING ON THE PLAIN. “There have been half-a-dozen of the red coyotes, and the way their ponies’ hoofs havecut into the earth they’ve been riding as though Satan were after them.’ The speaker was Reckless Roll, the Boy Ranger, and his words were addressed to Old Bugle, to whom he owed his. life; for it was the old hunter who had rescued him from the log in which he had been rolled into the river by the robbers and Indians. — S tephag It will doubtless be remembered that Old Bugle was concealed in the foliage of the very tree under which Ru- bal Rhineheart and Homil Deusen laid their plans for the meeting on Otter Lake. Of course the old hunter had wit- nessed the fate of his friend, and heard all that was said; and the moment the enemy left he hurried down the river until he overtook the drifting log in which his young com- panion had been placed. He. managed to reach the log and tow itto the beach, then, after a long time, he suc- ceeded in getting the end open and drawing out his young friend’s body. > f 514 To his great surprise he found the youth not. only alive but unharmed, excepting a few slight bruises from being dashed about in the log whenit was rolled into the river. He was drenched to the skin, and had escaped drowning by one simple fact. which had escaped the outiaws’ atten tion. As before stated, the log was. solid at one end, and when it floated on the water the light, or hollow end,, was so pienen upward that no water could enter, . hile the Boy Ranger was engaged in wringing the water from his clothes, Old Bugle narrated to: him all he had heard of the proposed meeting on Otter Lake. He at once resolved to be presént at that meeting and recover the important paper if possible. To this Old Bugle remon- strated, but the daring boy was obstinate, and as night drew on they set out toward Otter Lake on foot, the youth’s horse having fallen into the Pawnees’ hands, Believing he could personate Pantherfoot better than either Rhinehart or Deusen, the youth and his companion concealed themselves by the lake at a point where they knew the chief would embark. The fog favored them in every respect, and when Pan- therfoot at last came, a well-directed blow laid him un- conscious on the earth. Then the youth took his great scarlet blanket and wrapped himself up in it and set out for the middle of the lake. The result of the youth’s daring adventure has adready been chronicled. , Three days later he and Old Bugle were on their way to the Lone Oaks and had just struck the trail ofa party 0 mounted Indians, whose rapid riding led to the remarks made by our hero at the beginning of the present chapter. Their course lay southward through a large grove that skirted Buffalo Creek, and painfully anxious to know the destination of the savages, they Moveu va, |) corre They did not expect to overtake the Mouuled Waites, but as the trail would soon debouch into an open plain, they hoped to get sight of them, for this would. enable them to determine whether they were going toward the Lone Oaks, or whether they were a party under Rhinehart going down to the river to search for the buried treasure, arte following the trail for some time Old Bugle finally asked: ite “You're sartain, are you, lad, that the Injins hey taken up the hatchet in arnest ??? By) i A “Yes, there’s not a doubt but that blood will run free for the next year tocome. I don’t want te have trouble myself with the redskins, but if they force me into it Vl stack my traps and go to lifting scalps.’? “Ah, me, but it’ll be bad for them at tlie Lone Oaks,’* replied Old Bugle. ‘#1 do wonder why* Oscar - Desmond persists in remainin’ thar with ’em. little angels? I’m sake trappin’ and huatin’ ain’t, nothin’ to brag onin these parts, : : “Oscar Desmond has a greater object.in view than sim- ply hunting and trapping. These are only.excuses to con- ceal his real business here in these parts,?? ““Indeedy ?”? ' : ; “cr “Yes; his wife and Maggie Milbank are the children of those two unfortunate Californians-who. were compelled to bury their gold somewhere along the Platte. Oscar Desmond is the person who employed me.to. assist. him in searching for that treasure, and should. Rhinehart find out his object in living here, he would take; immediate steps to put him oat of the way.’ “Wal, this is news to me, lad; sol reckon if you find the gold you’ll git Maggie’s share o’ it along with her heart and hand.” . : ‘ th “Look there, Bugle,’? said Reckless Roll, evasively; “there is something that’s a bad sign. “What’s that?’ questioued the old hunter, looking in the direction indicated. : ‘ “Those buzzards sailing around in the air yonder,” re- plied the ranger. ‘ “They’re right about over the trail,we're follerin’.’? “Yes; and like as not we'll find the bloody evidence of some Injin deviltry out there, A; buzzard knows when an Injin is on the war-path just as wellas the red does. himself; and if there are any bones to pick, buzzards will be there to do it.”? 5 Keeping their eyes upon the circling, birds, the hunters ealrie OL, and soon emerged from the groye into the Upon the crest of a high bluif they, halted, and with ager eyes swept the great plain before them. To the southward it rolled away in undulating. grandeur to the Platte River. East of them, some ten miles away, the Lone Oaks could be seen, a mere speck, an islet, agit were, On that great sea of verdure. To the left of them eee Creek wound its, way across the plain to the The party of savages that our two friends had been fol~ lowing were no where visible upon the prairie before them, and having assured themsélves that the redsking had gone on down the creek, the trailers turned their at- tention to the buzzards. : The filthy birds were quite numerous, and not over a mile away. They were sailing in a circle high above the plain, their naked, coral necks outstretched, their greedy eyes evidently attracted by something on the earth below. But whatever that something was, it was concealed from our friends’ view by the tall prairie grass. misery while he was here, and now I shail be uneasy till . ae me - west 3° Watching the foul birds for some time, and noting their movements closely, Reckless Rolt finally said: “There’s something om the plain, Bugte, that attracts these buzzards, and whatever it is, has life about it. It’s something wounded.” “Why do you think so, lad?” asked Old Buge. “Weil; past watch the birds, They'll settle down and down nearly to the earth, then up they’ll go agaihas though frightened by what they are anxious to feast upon. There, see that.¥ g ‘Thar’s good logic in yeur views o’ the matter, Roll, but let's go down and settle the hull thing by seein’ what's thar.” *Bnuough said, Bugie. It may be a white friend, or a deer, or an Ingin lying there wounded. If it’s a friend, of course we'll help him, and if a deer or redskin put it out of its misery. You see I have no love for a red- akin, Bugie.’? “Yes, Mve seed it fur a long time,’’ replied Bugle, with a eluckle, “your love lies in the direction o’ the Lone Oaks.’ The twe at once descended into the valley, and began moving away dua the direction in which they knew the object of tie buzzards’ attention to be. he valtures:arose higher and higher as they advanced, and so they began feeliug thelr way with caution, for they knew not what danger lurked around, and when alow moan, as if from human lips, fell suddenly upon their ears, both came lo au abrupt hait. aud threw themselves upon the eartts in the tall grass. , “There's something wrong, Bugle, sure. But whether that groan was genuine, or some Ingin trickery, 1 can't say—there it is againi" ; “Some one’s in distress, Roil,’* said Olu Bugle, starting up. . “Yes, that was a genuine moan of agony, Bugfe, so iiere gocs.”? The youth sprang to his feet and strode rapidly away in the direction from wheuce the sound had emanated. “By Heaven!’ suddenly burst from his lips as he tumbled headlung:over the prostrate form of a manin the grass. In an iustant, however, he was on his fect again and had his eyes fixed upon the form which had tripped him. The man arose partly apon his hands and gazed about him like one in adeliriun. He was a white man, This, however, they could only fell by the color of his hands, for his fuce aud neck were clotted with blood. that had welled from a cut across the left temple... When his eyes fell upon our friends, avcry of joy burst from his lips. « “TRank Heaven tt is you, Reckless Roill’’ he said. “Yes, and who are you?’ returned the youth, The man attempted to smile ag he replied: 1 am Oscar Desmond, what's leit of me.'! “Oscar Desmond}! burst, from. Reckless Roll's, lips, ‘what in Heaven’s name is the matter? jHave you had trouble with the Indians?” , "No. was shot down .by one Abel Thorne, a man whomt supposed my dearest friend outside ofmy family,”’ “Your wound must-be attended to at once,’ said Reck- less Roll, ‘for L see the villain’s bullet has cut close.” “Yes,’? replied Desmond; ‘‘and if L had net turned my it pont as the yillain fired; I presume I would have been a i eas Sey eee enaen Reckless Roll, and young iat a away on his c ward the Lone Sen: 7 rare “May Heavengpeed him,’ said Desmond, “A noble youth that,’ added Old Bugle; ‘a leetle rash and hot-headed, but strong and brave as a lion." CHAPTER TT. IN THE ARMS OF THE DEAD. “Come, Dut, my good pony, a little faster; we may have & long road to truvel before we get back to the Lone Oaks. Come, away, Dot, away.’ The voice of Maggie Milbank was low, sweet and ca- ressing, as she’ thus addressed her snow-white pony, urg- dog it swiftly forward over the prairie {2 her search for Oscar Desmond: — ‘ . The pony was a clean-limbed, spirited animal, grace- ful asa deer, aud in speed almost ag swift. Maggie was an Shanuarc equestrienne, and she looked very beau- tifal as se sat with ease aud grace upon the pony’s back, her long hair streamiug iu the Wind, her face a Jittie flushed with excitement, and her dark eyes roaming in- cessautly Over the plain before her, as sie swept swiftly a deeper and deeper into the solitude of the great prairie. ; ; _ Zhe latter was covered witha dense growth of grass which in places reached to the pony’s Piees. This an dered the chauces of finding a human form on the prairie but oneinahuadred. Of this the maiden was not igno- rant. The thick grass prevented her from tracking Oscar's horse, and all she had to convince her that the missing man was north of the Lone Oaks was the simple fact of luis riderless horse having come from tliat direction. So she pushed rapidiy forward. If Oscar was onty wounded, and able to make himself seen above the prairie grags, she had some hope of fiuding him; otherwise, she had none, unless itarose from oné thing alone, She was well aware that if there was a lifeless body upon the plain, buzzards would be hovering avout it, even liad it been there but a single hour. Forthese winged’ bangueters she watched Closely, and’yct was in fear she would see them, Herstarp lookout for the missing man, however, did apo Parana aa Unluking after she was once fairly upon the plain, and, asa matser of course, hi Dug to Bertha! > 9 a se, lier mind went ‘If Oscar is dead, she mused, Will break her poo hearttt will’ kil hef, I Know; for, ol, “how dearly she loves him { ZT wonder if £ will ever love Roland so dearly!" aud Maggie blushed, and lier eyes sparkled, but she did not allow her emotions to disturb her train of thougut, which ram on thus: “Oh, flel what a simple and absurd thougiif; fr I do love Roll'as well now. Butthere is something sirange about Bertha’s words, She seems to Fear Abel Thorne, but I am in hopes her suspicions of him will prove incorrect:” vi @hus she niused as 8hé rode on andon, with her eyes constantly before her; buf her reflections were at length interrupted by her pony evinciug some uneasiness by pricking up his ears and sniffing the air like a hound, “What is it, Dot, my noble pel?” The maiden drew rein to ascertain the cause of her pony’s alarm. She had scarcely done so whien the dull sound of hoofed feet on the grass-muffied earth broke upon her ears, The sound came from behind her, and before she could turn her head @ horseman dashed up by her side, and — rein, reached out and seized her animal by the ts. “Waugh! catehed young squaw!" A low cry of terror burst from M tural ejaculation greeted her ea she saw that. the horseman Was a hideous, painted Pawnee Indian; and a giance at the war-paint on his face told ler thatthe threat- ened crisis had come—that the Indians were on the war- e's lips as this gnt- pain! Wher shé had fanty comprehended this terrible fact, a spirit of dutrepidity possessed hier, The beautiful face seemed tratisformed into ‘marble, with every lineament stamped with defiance. If she had been expecting this danger her fears might have got tiie better of her courage, but the sudden requirements of the moment would per- wt coe a : ASE pony, Indian,’ she said pad “have no autiority todetain menere) CUMS “sou * ‘Waugh?’ 6xelainied the Indian, with a fiendish leer: “me great chiei—me Pantherfoot—no fraid of witeeeanae —she mucit nice, tho’—heap purty—mus’ go with Pan- therfoot—inake happy the lodge of White Wolf"? “So yoli intend to Canty Me off @ prisoner, do you, Pan- therfoot?’ Maggie asked, looking straight into the eye of pend heat with a glance that caused the redskin to wince. She thought of the two pistols in her. pocket; but the savage Was Within arm’s reach of her, and his black, ser- pent eyes watched her hand as though he read the very thought in her mind, She knew it would be useless—in fact, it might destroy her only chance of escape—to at- tempt todraw the weapon, for before she could use it the savage might wrest the pistol from her. Her only Chance for escape Was to watch the savage and take him wheu off his guard.’ Maggie, witli all the horrors of an Indian captivity loom- pg up before her, hever Miunched, and for a moment it seemed ag though the savage would recoil before the gaze she fixed upon him. It was quite a minute before he replied to her question. “Yes,” he said, “me take you prisoner—no ‘hurt if go guiet—scalp if don't." “Demont! the fearless maiden retorted; “you, a great warrior, threaten to scaipafeeble girl! You are a cow- ard—a sneaking wolf!’ As she spoke, Maggie fixed her eyes upon the savage’s, at the same time’ stowly moving her hand toward her pocket. She supposed the savage had not observed the movement, for his eyes were fixed upon hers; but judge of her surprise when to her retort he replied; “The white’ squaw has a sharp tongue, but it cannot cut like the Knife she would like to take from her pocket.’? “You are mistaken there,” thought Maggie, “tor Ihave pe in my pocket that will cut deeper thana e. But the words of the savage had been sufiicient to con- vince -her that as cautious as were her movements the sbarp eye of the savage liad noted them. So she resolved to resort to a stratagem. “Your suspicion of danger, Pantherfoot,” she said, “shows that you are cowardly, and aga coward haga great fear of death, I would advise you to leave at once, if you wish to live, for yonder comes Reckless Roll, the Boy Ranger.’ ; The savage started, and had half-turnedhis head, when she saw the hand of the maiden glide quickly into her pocket. ~ Like a tiger lie turned upon her. The pistol was out; but before she conld use it the savage seized her around the waist, dragged her from the back of her pony and threw her in front.of him across his own beast. Then he dropped the reln and. locked both arms tightly around the slender form of the mainen, pinioning her arms at her side, Maggie struggled desperately, but not one word of fear escaped her lips. Instrength she soon. found that she was like an infant compared to the now. triumphant sav- age. She atill clung to the [little pistol; but the hand (hat held the weapon was. powerless. At length, howeyer, With an almost superhuman effort, she succeeded in re- ieasing her right arm and hand, . The next instaut there is sharp click; then the tiny tube of the pistol is pressed against the left breast of the savage. The trigger is pressed by the maiden’s finger, there is a& dull report, an unearthly scream. The bullet had pierced the redskin’s heart. Af the same instant a cry of pain was forced from Maggie's lips. Instead of the arms that encircled her form. relaxing their hold, they were drawn tighter by asudden contraction of the muscles, and for # moment the maiden was sure that the life was being crushed from her body. She attempted to free her- self, but,all in vain, ; : The pony became frightened and dashed away at a fu-. rious speed... Strong.as hoops of iron the legs of the chief became locked around the slender form of the beast, as his arms had become locked around the body of Maggie Milbank. ‘ ; Bolt upright sat the grim Pantherfoot, and Maggie be- gan Lo despair, for siie supposed he was only wounded, if hurt atall, But she nrauaged to geta glimpse of his face, then.a cry of horror came from her lips. Shesaw that his eyes were fixed, and glassy, and stariug. She saw that his face was ghastly, that he was stone dead. “Oh, Heaven!’ she cried, ‘‘deliver me from the arms of this lifeless savage!’ , Then she struggled to free herself, but the arms that held her toa pulseless breast were like bands of steel. Slice attempted to throw both herself, and the savage from the beast, bat his stiffened limbs could not be moved Irom the animal’s side,‘ She could not throw him backward, nor could she throw him forward, It was a fearful situation, that brave and beautiful girl in the arms of the dead chief, and both borne away with fearful rapidity over the plain by a terrified beast. i Scream after scream issued from the maiden’s lips. Nobly and bravely had she dared the living, but now her ‘sont sickened with horror at the touch of tle dead, *When she first discovered that he was lifeless, she ex- pected that the muscies would soon relax, but in this she was bitterly disappointed, Poor Maggie! er torture was great, and she was fast sinking underit. Ter heart was growing faint, and her brain dizzy. A mist was gathering over her eyes, but through it, looming up like & Colossai’ phantom, she saw a horseman approaching, E She rallied her strength and shrieked for help. Then. to her earacame a yoice—the voice of the ap- proaching horseman. “Cheer up, Miss Milbank; I will save you.” It was the voice of Abel Thorne. But on went the grim, stark lorseman with his fair, helpless burden, while on behind thundered Abel Thorne in swift pursuit, ou, onl (TO BE CONTINUED.) ' —_—_-> Bare-Back Bill; OR, THE FREAKS AND FORTUNES OF A Sk Ae VV See By John F. Cowan, Author of O’°CONNOR’S CHILD; CHARLEY GALE’S PLUCK; KANSAS KIT, etc. . {Bareback Bill” was commenced in No.4 Back numbers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States. CHAPTER XII. Bare-Back Bill and little Rhodie ran away from the noise of the canal across the fields as fasi as the darkness would permit them. In order to see life they were flying from every vestige ofit. Astle lights and sounds died away behind. them the darkness deepened and the very feeble glimmer of the stars barely sufficed to show them the fences they met. They were breathless and spoke but. little, and then mostly words of warning or direction, At last Riodie began to falter with weariness, though utter- ing no words of complaint, and Bill, with an innate deli- cacy, Of which his rough exterior gave little or no pro- mise, caught his strong arm around his companion’s waist aud helped him along. 4 “Keep up, Rhodie, old boy, we'll soon reach some farm- house and bunk in the bara or outskeds. If you’d come with j ine we'd have been having a good snooze on deck now. “Dm sorry you left the boats for me,! said Rliodie, self- reproachifully, but Bill stopped his mouth abruptly: “That's enougi.o’ that: eort o’ talk now. Let's hear no. more ofit, or yonand me’ll have.a shindy on our first startout, Iffellers is agoin’ to travel chums they must take things alike and not grumble. I come of my own will and I’m goin’ to see it through, by jingo.. Hurrah! there’s a farm-house, Rhodie, and lots o’ haystacks and outhouses aroundit. We'll gitcover there. Give me the banjo and let’s leg it, for it looks like a storm overhead, and the Wind's gettin’ scary andthe rain’s beginnin’ to spit. They started for the house, but as they approached the ferocious baying of several large dogs frightened them off, and they were forced to trudge along the m@ad in a rather footsore coudition. Dark clouds were ascending, and faint summer lightning glimmering out occasionally showed the minute objects of the surroundings, plain for an instant, then vanishing plhantom-like. This, where white-painted houses occurred in the distance, hada weird effect, which impressed Rhodie more strongly than it did Bill, Coming toa rough driving shed on the road side, they took such sorry shelter agit afforded from the drop- ping rain. Itwasonly intended for a shade from tle hot sun, and trickled through loose boards of the roof, and the glimmering ligitning shone through the vine-covered Sides, but it was’ better than no shelter at all, and they sat down on the little manger that they found at the back. “It's geiting chilly, isn’t it??? said Rhodie, with a shiver. “Don’t you feel cold, Bill ?"’ “Not a bit,’’ said the hardier Bill, ‘Here, you take my jacket.’ and conquered the reluctance of his companion by a threat of dis displeasure.. During this change Rhodie caught a glimpse through the vine-wreathed side of the shed ofa sight that made his blood rush back to his heart, and caused .a cry of. awe and-alarm to escape his lips, “Whiatis it, Rhodie?” whispered Bill, quickly. “I don’t Know. Ithink they were ghosis,’? was the tremulous whisper breathed in Bill’s ear. “Ghosts? Where??? whispered Bill. “Out.there af the back. Let us steal away.” “No, said Bill, “we will wait till it lightens. I don’t take much stock in ghosts. I’ve been too much in the dark along the towpath. There you are. Phew!’ Through the vine leaves the liglitning gleam revealed a vast number of objects, that seemed to shoot up from the earth like sheeted forms and sink into it again as the flash died out, The hearts of both the young wanderers beat rapidly, for Bill, in spite of his expressed disbelief in ghosts, was puzzled and mystified, aud any one even better educated might well, in the circumstances, be somewhat awed. “Let us steal away and run before they come again," said the trembling Rhodie, and though Bare-Back Bill was at heart inclined to follow his advice, still his natural hardihood and pride of courage restrained him from yield- ing to his companion’s trembling reqnest. “Ghosts can’t hurt us if they're only air or smoke,” ho said, philosophically. ‘“l’m goin’ to have another squint at them if I die forit. Here goes.’’ _ With hands that slightly trembled for all his determina- tion, lie gently parted the vines and waited breathlessly for the lightning flash. It came, and so did the white objects,"Bhooting aloft like sheeted figures and sinking into obilvion again. “Allright, Ruodie,’’ said Bill, assuringly. ‘It’s only a grave-yard, and your ghosts are the head-stones, and there's the church beliiud the trees.’? ; “Only & grave-yard!”? said Ruodte, in an awed whisper. “A grave-yard is such a dreadful place to stay. It makes me have such strange fancies, ‘Let us go.’ “No, Riodie. Nothing can hurt you here. Grave-stones can’t walk away from, the graves, and it’s goin’ to come down heavy in a little while. Let's stay where we are.’! “But it frightens me,” said the litle one, tremblingly. “Don't you look at it then. Lie right down in fhe trough with your face this way and lL cover you with the jacket. There now, you can sleep like atop, and I'll ‘Keep guard agin the ghosts, and see that the head-stones mind their own business stead o’ trottin’ round fright- euin’ fellers,?? ; “Thats not fair, Bill," began Rhodie, ag his_ self- sacrificing comrade tucked him iu his strange bed. * “Look a here, young man,’ was the crusty answer, “don’t you go a raisin’ my Ebenezer agin with your grum- blin’ objections or 1’11——" Under fear of the dire consequences implied by this un- finished threat, Rhodie as usual subsided, and Bill was leftin peace to his observations of the head-stones dancing in time to the lightning. He had no fear of them now that he knew what they were and hig eyes had been ac- customed to the strange sight; but his little companion, possessed of a more vivid imagination, cowered under the jacket in affright. ; “I can’t sleep, Bill,” ho said atlength. “I think I see the ghosts glidiug about, and that I hear footsteps close around us,?? “What a littie fool you are, Rhodie,” said Bill. “TI teil you the ghosts are stock-sione-still, cause they’re marble and the footsteps are the rain drops on the leaves. Situp aud 100K Straight at them likea man: That’ame. Let's Rhodie protested against this, but Bill was peremptory |, and ltl tell yon mine. Lran away with a circus onee— that’s where I learned bare-back riding and tumbling.” “And why did-.yeu leave it?—you would have made such a good performer,” said Rhodie, glad of the gossip to take his mind from the ghosts, ‘?Oause I was sma!! aud couldn't take my own patt, and they used me like adog. They wouldn't do it now, you bet. I’ve learned to handle my hands since I’ve beep on the canal, Where did you learn your banjo playin’, and dancin’, and ‘stumps,’ Rhodic?*? “Hushl”? cried Rhodie, in a frightened whisper, turn- ing his face away from the grave-yard but pointing toward a ' “What is it, now ?"? cried BI, somewhat testlly, for he looked upon his companion's fears ag aitogether things of the {magination. “Listen. Don’t you hear some strange sounds from among the tombstones? Like music?’? Bill did listen and did hear the sounds creeping across the chureh-yard—but very faintly and fitfully. Their na- ture was hard todetermine, and the pliilauthropic Willian) was again ita quandary, “By jimminy! you’ve got sliarp Ilsteners, Rhodie,” he said. ‘You haven't been used to rough sonuds so much ag Ihave, But the soundsisailright. It’s the wind on the telegraph wires out there, or (he creakin’ of the weather clerk a-top of tlic church steeple, that’s all.’ “No, it’s from the grave-yard, and it’s music,” suid Rho- die, With trembling positiveness. “Do you think [know music when 1 hear it?” “Well, you've got a better ear than mine, ff it ain’t so big, fuduow I do think you're about right. But it only shows that there’s some farm-house ’mong the trees be- hind the grave-yard, and the folks is having a jollification: Phew! by George! what's that?! “What—what!? said Rhodie, in a whisper of terror, clinging to his companion’s arm. *Nothin’—nothin' twas only a bush,’ cried Bill, deal- 1s lightly with the truth in cousideration of his conirade’s ears. But ft was no bush he had scen in the momentary illu- mination of the lightning, It wags a dark, shadowy form, human in outline, that passed across among the graves | with garments fiutrering in the storni-wind contrasting strongly in their darkness with the white shooting out- lines of the head-stones, ——— CHAPTER XIll. “Dy jimminy?”’ soliloquized Bill, “this beats circus act- in’? hollow. That’s a high old place for a promenade— that’s some cove of a gretve turn o’ mind got tlred o’ the shindig and’s takin’ an airin’.” “What is it, Bill??? asked Rhodic, alarmed by the other's muttering, “This is an awful place. Lt wasn'ta bush; was it, honest ?”? “Honest Lujin!’’ sald the truthful Bill; ‘a regar ont- and-out bush out bushwhaekin’ and that’s ehough ’bout it. Let’s get back to our talk to steady your nerves, for you're as skeary as @ flea.’’ “]’m not so strong as you are, nor so bold,” said Rho-’ die, apologetically. * “No, but you're a blamed sight better talker. So heave ahead and give an account of yourself. I told you how I got my ‘stumps’ and ridin’ tricks, now tell’s where you picked up your’n.”? “With the gipsies,’’ said Rhodie. “The gtpsies!”? exclaimed Bill, fa astonishment. “Why, were you ever with the gipsies ?" ; “Yes, for several years—for ever so long.*! “Were you a born one?) “No,” said Rhodie, pettishly. “Do I look like a gipsy?’ “Well, no, You're rather creamy-skinned for that. ‘The gipsies—least allo’ them I see—have hides like leather, But heave ahead. Now it’s interestin’.. Give’s it all to- gether without stoppages, How d’ye get there, whar did ye come from, whar did you go to, and all the rest of it?” “IT don't know,’’ said Rhodie, in a tone that showed perplexity; “I seem to remember a big house and white people in it that were yery good to me, and a dark night aud @ Wikl-looking woman running with me in her aris and kissing mie to kéep me from crying, and sle took m to & big busi where fires were burning all about, and there were dark men and women’ and dogs and horses, and I was frightened at the dogs aud the men but the women were good to me and put me in a wagon whiere I cried myself.asieep, and when I woke the trees and the fires were gone and it was bright daylight and we were driving along.a broad white road far, far away.’ Rhodie stopped for breath, and Bill broke out: “Well, old boy, for one that ‘don’t kKuow,’ I must say you've got a healthy memory. Wait a minute,’ he cried, suddenly, ‘that gassy fellow that we ornamented with tar. “Montcalm ?!! “That's the feller—he said you was an heir—now do you know, Rhodie, I kind o’ feel like backin’ lim on that, for gipsies don’t go to the trouble o’ stedlin’ nobody that’s worth nothin’. They're ‘on the make,’ they are, and heirs is good stock. But I ain’t with him on the gal ques- tion—you ain’t a gal, are you, Rhodle? “Me a girl?! said Rhodie, indignantly, “Don’t git riled. {knew ‘twantso, Go on with your yarn. How did you come to leave the ‘gyps’?’ “A man Came there and said I was his child, and the chief of the gipsies gave me to him for mouey when tie woman that stoleme was away from camp. She was always good to me, and wouldn't ’velet me be taken if she’d been there. Husii, didn’t you hear anything ?” “No, it’s ihe wind. You're as skittish as a colt,’ cried Bill, in the impatient, confident way he meant to be re-as- ee 1 oe Der ih “You k the rest!) gajd): ie. _“'T! ‘You how ait he rest, fou ®, 1odie. “That man and p woman you Into Lock ocks pretended to be my father and mother, aud Kept me locked up all the time. I didn’t like them—I was afraid of them. I got a chance, and ran away into the country. Moutcalin had a travel- ing show, and he saw me dancing for sometliing to eat (for the gipsles had taught me to play and dance and sing so I could perform at the fairs), aud lie took me into his show and used me bad and I ran away fron¥him, too, and met you., There, that’s all, Oh, Heaven! Ol, Bill—Biu, save mel’? The exclamation of the youngster was accompanied by other wild exclamatious, and ag Bare-Back Bill caught hold of his screaming companion, thiiking his affrignt was occasioned by imaginary fears, a biaze of lightning illuminated the inside of the shed, and showed hima wild- looking figure nar cone. aside the vines with one hand and clutching Rhodie’s arm with (he other. “Paws off, Beelzebub!’’ cried Bill, fiercely striking first right and left with his fists, but ineffectually, whereon he seized the banjo and dealt the intruder a sound and sounding blow on tlie head. ‘There, darn you, take note of that, will youl’ As Bill spoke he caught Rhodie by tle hand and dashed out of the shed on to the wet road, and flew with the speed of fear. A cry of rage or pain succeeded Bill’s blow aud they had not gone far when they heard liedvy foot- steps plashing along in pursuit, accompanied by faint, gasping cries forthem tostop. Tliey attributed the faint- hess to the wind and the gasping to {he running exertions of the pursuer, aud they held on as fast as they could, “Stop! stop! 1am a friend—a mother!’’ sounded the voice as wallingly as tle storm wind itself. “Not for. Joseph—too thin for Simon—don’t want no frieuds—hain’t got no mothers!” roared Bll as they hutried on. Arriving at.a field where numerous cocks of new-mown liay Were visible by the lightning gleams the fugitives quickly clainbered over the fence, and at tle suggestion of Bare-Back Bill, who had often before used the same expedient to obtain a night’s lodging, they burrowed into the centers of two adjaceut hay cocks, and being safe from storm and capture slept until morning. If they had known the anxieties and plots and machina- tions that were progressing in various parts on their account, for and against, it ig Jikely their dreams wonld have been even more restless than their suffocatingly- warm beds made them. : To indicate these is sufficient, for the young wanderers are the heroes of the story, tlie other characters but tlic machinery that works out their fortunes—important in their place, but secondary. : Judge Cornell and his lady in the depths of their anxiety could not patiently await the termination of Ar- mand Montcatm’s search, so hearing that the fugitives had gone toward New York, they caused placards to be posted in all the towns and villages along the route; in- serted advertisements of reward iu all the papers in that direction and telegraphed to the police of the big cities to Bot pis lookout for the young vagabonds, but so far essly. On the other hand the doubl¢e-dealing and double-char- actered Montcalm was negotiating with all parties with a view to his own emolument and the accomplishment of ae art ends.’ He liad more strings to his bow than a e. First: he longed to grasp the ten thousand dollars offered by Judge Cornell for the recovery of his supposed child. Second: he liad predetermined to steal that child again after her recovery aud carry fer to foreign lands ou speculation with his new gained capital. Third: Mother Minvs assertion that Bare-Back Bill, not he, was next of kin to her gin-loving croneship and should be heir to her hoarded treasure, set his cupidity on edge and raised in him a resolution tliat love of treasure and revenge sliould be satisfied at one stroke by tiie removal of the intrusive canal boy. Fourth: for further reward he entered into Secret compact with the gentleman in black, the victim of Bare-Back Bill's carriage feat, to perform the very same services which were to bring him money from other quarters, namely, the recovery of the ronaway Rhodie and the removal of the obnoxious Bill, [ might add a fitthly and sixthly, like the preacher of a many-heaaed sermon, but they will appear leas Lediously in due time. “Happy Armand Montcalm! Fortunate—thrice fortun- ate Joseph Tivers!? were the self-congratulating exclama- tions of the versatile bearer of both names as he parted from the Tea eAT in black, slapping his hand ona pocket well-filled with advauce money. ‘Wealth is flowing in upon thee. Thou art surrounded by the dramatic, and exciting incident thou hast ever sought, and all for thy beneflt— the greatest ‘benefit’ thou’st ever had, Ha! hal Let other less ambitious artists seek the sulky salary by servile struggles; thou goest for ‘full receipts,’ Aud yet the jocund Armand, with all his grasping con- fidence, Was put in doubt and puzziément by the compli- cations of the plot which centered areund him. The ob- jects of the parties to the action he was put on were so Similar, and the motives of the parties must be so differ- ent, that the acute Montcalm, to use a heathenisli expres- sion of his own, was “flabbergasted,” and took refuge,in soliloquy, thus; “Now, Reginald Nelson,’* he sald, ‘‘is the cast-off nephew of Judge Corneli—iord, how surprised he was to sce me at Mother Mint’s, and discover that I was her nephew and knew all about his business there—and_this cursed canal boy is the child of him and my cousin Catherine—I have talk when you can’t sleep. You tell me all your scrapes high relationseand Gertrude, or Rhodie, traveling with ‘ <«@ THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. @3e=— Bil, is the child of Judge Cornell. Then this Reginald Nelson would be the heir of Judge Cornell if this ohild Gertrude never turned up, and yet this most mysterious Reginald pays me to recover Gertrude, his rival in the heirship, and remove Bill, his own son, Then the old woman takes motey also for the »emoval—nice word—of her own grandchild and holds friendly compact with the wronger of her own daughter. I can’t understand it, it’s clean against human nature in every particular, A prize cconundrum—complicated as a Japanese puzzle. I give it up. What need I care? Hvery way, puzzle me as it may, itis tomy gain. Mi. Reginald little knows that lam en- gaged by his uncle, the judge, forthe same purpose that he pays me for, or that I will relieve them both of the girl again when I have pocketed their mouey, or that I have reasons of my own for removing Bare-Back Bill if he never gave mea cent forit. ‘Don’t injure the boy,’ he Said, ‘only remove him where he will not be likely to come back; put him on a school-ship, or on board a whaler, or something.’ Hal hal ‘zemove’ is ‘a good word, an excel- lent good word,’ and well adapted for use by conscientious people, but Armand Moutcalm has made both words and people his study and weighs them at their true value.’? During this he was bowling along ina Central train, and his thougiits bowled along as impatiently as the loco- motive, fOr his forced return for fuuds after the tar adven- lure had given the coveted runaways considerable time. In fact he wasina quandary what course to pursue, for his knowledge of the smartness of both youngsters put him in doubt whether, owing to (heir Knowledge of pur- suit, they would not desert the slow-going canal, and double on him. The interests at stake to the enterprising Armand were great, and in the multiplicity of schemes is perplexity. CHAPTER XIV. _*Rhodle, Rhodie, are you awake?’? cried Bill, as he crawled out of his strange couch in the haycock into the suuny morning that followed the storm, aud pushed with his foot agalust the nextrick. ‘Crawl out here, old fel- low, iv’s tine we were on our Jegs again.” There was neither answer by voice or crawling ont, and, with great anxiety lest his young friend might have been sinothered in his close quarters, Bill caught hold of the hay near the bottom and heaved the pile over, only to discover the empty nest where Rhodie had lain. “Gone,” he cried, looking around desperately, “And come again,’ cried a laughing voice, and Bill saw the missing Rhodie appear from behind the haypile from which he himself had lately crawled, but he saw some- thing more unexpected and Jess welcome, in the shape ofaman and two dogs, coming across the fleld toward them, “Hal you young thieves, I’ve caught you have 1?” roared the man, floundering over tlie stubble. “Answer your Own questions,’? bellowed Bill back at him, for he had taken in the situation at a glance, and his plans were formed with his usual quickness. The man was fat, and'stout aud slow of foof, 80 was the larger of the dogs (a very big one}; the other animal was comparatively sinalt and swift, aud would reach them in advance of the others. Bill caught Ruodie and hoisted him up the side of one of the hay-cocks, “Sit there,” he cried, ‘while this fellow and mehasa game o’ foller my leaders Don’t be alraid, I'll fix him. The smaller dog came dashing on, and when at ashort distance, Bill ran out ct sight behind the hay-rick, leaving Rhodie seated on top of itin full view of the approaching animal. “Now, old boy, Rhodie,*? cried Bill, ‘hold on like grim death, and I'ilshow you a daylight view of the dog-star.’? The brate sprang forward with a furious bark, and see- ing only Rhodie ou the hay-pile, madea bound. direct for him; but not quite reaching his intended victim, began to scramble up the yielding hay. In that instant the Philis- tine was upon .himin the shape of Bare-Back Bill, who seized the unsuspecting cantne by the tail, and with a clr- cling sweep, hurled him aloft as‘the Scotchman flings the heavy hammer. : “There’s some higt and lofty tumbling for you,’ roared Bill, ag the astonished dog went sprawling through the air, and falling into a neighboring feld, Jay there medi- tailng likely on life’s vicissitudes. ‘Flere comes the big one, Bill!’ exclaimed the fright- ened but admiring Rhodie, from his perch. Bill faced the enemy. There was only one in motion, and that was the massive mastiff The gouty farmer, petrified with amazement at the erial Night of his canine advance guard, stood as stiff and still as Lot’s wife, but ou—on went his heavy reserve, nearer and nearer to the boys. As the puffing quadrttped drew Close, Bill tried the same tactics and ran behind the rick, but that heavy timbered canine, either sensible of his own fatty unfitness for climb- ing, or appreciatiug the ridiculous figure his fellow ha cut through the atmosphere, declined the steep ascent an galloped solidly around the stack after Bill. Now, Bare-Back Bill was waiting impatiently for the plunge of the brute on the side of the hay pile, aud ca!cu- lating his’ chances of being abie to sling such a mass of dog flesh, little imagining that the enemy was coming a flank movement on him until the dog’s snout was within a few inches of the most yulnerable portion of his person. “Look out, Bill, he’s afier youl”? roared Rhodie from his point of observation, and but for the timely warning he ould have been Bare- Back Bill in truth as well as title. Around the stack weut Bill, and around the stack after him went the four-legged pursuer, made sprightly by the near view of his prey, until tleaffuir beca:ne monotonous, and the dog’s fatness began to teil against him, and the farmer Was approaching. ‘ “Oh, look a-herel’’? cried Bill, ‘this here’ll never do; I must get out of it somehow.?? With that he made aspurt and found himself close on the rear of the enemy, The appreciation of the chance was instantaneous, sO’ was the seizureofit. With a bound he alighted straddle legs on the ‘broad back of the mastiff, and cauglit him by the fat neck, on either side, to hinder him from turning to bife. With a howl the dog tried to back from under him and then darted forward in the endeayor to run away from him, but both efforts were vain. ; “Down with you, Rhodie, and mount behind,’ cried Bill, with alaugh, but the sensible animal he bestrode didn’t wait for double riding but darted off with his rider at a speed that surpassed auy time lie had made for many a year. : “Slide down and scoot it, Rhodie!’ cried Bill, and Rno- die did so, dashing off in tle wake of his rollicking com- panion and leaving the fat farmer standing iu amaze at the singular manner of his defeat, “Ti, yil Rhodie, old boy! How’s this for Mazeppa? Special cwr-ier with government dispatches! Three weeks in acircus, Hooray!’ cried Bill, triumphantly. But pride ever goes before a fail, and crossing a hidden furrow down fell the panting animal, and heels overhead went the rider among the stubble. The bewildered do freed from his load started. up and off. Rhodie thrummed a retreat upon the banjo, and the miserable mastiff showed his non-appreciation of music by increasing his pace as if there were a dozen tin paus at his tail, ; ; They had not a long time for laughter or congratulation for a reinforcement of farm hands appeared in the dis- tance, and the youngsters thought it wise to scud away. Having start they were soon beyond pursuit. “‘Rhodie,”? gaid Bill, as they sat downin the edge of a grove lo rest, ‘‘what do. you think came into my head when I was bunked in the hay stack last night?” Pi “f don’t know. What?! “That them music sounds we heard inthe grave-yard came from a gipsy camp in the woods at the back of the burying ground.” “ZT have thought.so too.’! “Maybe ‘twas your talkin’ ‘bout ‘gyps’ put itinto my head; but I kind o’ think I’m right.” . “So dol! “And that that customer that tried to levy war-tax on you was one o’ them. It must a’ been a woman, Rhodie, for don’t you remember she said she was a mothier.’? ‘Mother!’ exclaimed Rhodie, turning to Bill, as ifa new light had just dawned upon him. ‘Mother! Then it must have been Wild Kate, the woman that stole me at first. It washer, Bill. Imight have known her, but I was so frightened at the time. You're right in everything. It must have been a gipsy camp.” “Suppose we go back and see,”’ said Bill, “No. They would take me and sell me to him again, or some one else. I won’t go. I waatto be free. I ain't a doll or a monkey to sell about. If Iamito besold Wil sell myself, and ” “Run away with the money, eh, Rnodie?’ “Yea, or run away without it either.” “Well, but VIL settle this thing,’? said Bill. ‘I'll goon the scout alone, as they say in the Indian stories, and you lie snug till I come_back. I ain’t no heir, and they won't Want me to make money off. I ain't got any stamps nor good clothes to make them fallin love with me enough to cut my throat, or stow me otherways away. So Ill 0. “Not without me. I will go too!’? “All right. Let’s heave ahead,’ said Bill. ‘You know they needn’t see us. We'll take a sly peep and crawl.’? “You can’t crawl very near a gipsy 6amp, Bill,’? said Rhodie, with an unusual assertion of superior knowledge. out.?? “Oh the degs bedoggoned. IfFain’t 0. K. on the dog question, muzzle me.”? Rhodie laughed, for the words brought back the mem- ory of Lhe sprawling dog in the air, and the fransic beast with Billon its back. So they started back over part of their route of the night before, and soon savy the spire of the church seen in the lightning storm, They entered the churel-yard, foreven Rhodie’s fears of the supernatural were quelied by the light of day, and passed as unnoticeably as they could toward the wood at the back. Sometimes they dodged from stone to stone or shrub, Sometimes br | crept prone between the graves, and at length had the happiness to (if happiness it was) to arrive among the shrubbery at the boundary feuce of the grave-yard, A jabbering of many-voices was distinctly heard, and by parting the weeds and surubbery they saw a gipsy camp in allits rugged picturesqueuess. The siglit pleased Bill’s rollicky nature so much that he said to Rhodfe ina pleased, half audible tone: : eee aaah it is the gipsies.*’ : “Yes, itis the gipsies.’? “Right, my chickens! it is the gipsies,’’ said a rough, laughing.voice behindthem. ‘Take a nearer look at them. Both Bill and Rhodie started up at this unexpected sa- lute, but before they could act or speak each was seized by a couple ofstrong men and heaved over the picket fence 89 that Lhey lit upon their feet, and, with varied cries, the members of the camp gathered around them. But one woman, who bore an indescribable difference from the rest, and sat moping beneath a tree, looked up at the sound, and catohing a- glimpse of the two boys, jumped from her seat on the ground and rushed toward “Gerty, my child! she cried, frantically casting aside those who stood in her path, and about to grasp Bhodie. “No you don’t, crazy onel’’ cried Bill, springing in- stinctively to his comrade’s assistance. The woman stopped suddenly, stared from one to the other of the youngsters, and leaned ‘against a tree, gasping: P “You two together!—YOU TWo 1"! “What does she mean by that, Rhodie ? “T's Wild Kate,”? whispered Rhodie, ‘IT know. But whatis she talkin’ about’ What makes her look so? Why does she call you her child ?”? ‘T don’t know. She always did 80; but she’s erazy, and she seems to know you us well as she does me.” answered Bill; and the woman mutiered, with the va- cant iteration of maduess: ; “YOU TWO TOGETHER !? [TO BE CONTINUED. ] Mezzoni The Brigand. By Lieutenant Murray. {“Mezzoni the Brigand’’ was commenced in No. 3, Back aum- bers can be obtained. of any News Agent in the United states.J OHAPTER XVII. A HERO AND HEROINE. Oolonel Manlins Bray had suffered intolerable anxiety ‘f during the necessary delay between his retarm to Naples and the receipt of the funds to enable him to pay for the release of his daugtter from captivity. Though he had faith in the robber’s word, stillin his nervous and very natural anxiety he imagined all sorts of troubics as being the hourly experience of his chila, His astonishinent cannot be adequately described when he was awakened from sieep, ol that mprning before day- light, and beheld bothrhis daughter and Walter Hammond. They had come directly from the police station, in the Strada St. Carlo, where» the market man had jeft them. Walter had taken the prneoation to stop first at the police headquarters to.give information of their escape and to suggest the possibilify of pursnit, even within the city it- self, so bold were these brigands. The two fugitives presented a singular appearance when the colonel first looked upon them, and he rnobed his eyes again and again, scarcely believing that he was actual! awake. His daughter was In male attire, and so travel- stained and soiled as 10 be scarcely recognizable, while her companion, who: naturally had a heavy beard, had ‘been unshaven for weeks, looking. more like an escaped convict thanagentieman. Until this very moment the father had thought that Walter was gone to Ameri 2 also added greatly tothe mystery of the whole af air. However, here was his dear Marion, 80 long lost, alive and well, though haggard with fatigue. ; “Escaped and well; that js enough for the present,’’ said the excited father. “Now, Marion, your room has been kept for you, Just as you left it on’'that sad day; go and rest and refresh yonrself, and,’ continued the coto- nel, ‘“‘get rid of these shocking clothes."! “T intend to Keep these always,’’ she said; “they have indeed served me faithfully.” ‘So you shall, my dear, 80 you shall,"’ said the colonel, kissing her fondly. “But, father, we owe everything to Walter; it is the second time he has rescued me.’! : “At the risk of his own life, too,” said the old soldier, grasping Walter’s hand. f “How aboutéhat ransom, Colonel? asked the young American, smiling. “Itwas to be ready this very week, after a worid trouble.’ . 3 “We are in time to save that little sum,’’ said Walter. “Ample.” © “That ig some satisfaction,”’ he continued, “though, do me the justice to believe, tint the dread of your daugh- ter’s being in those villains’ hands forsolong a time, entirely unprotected, was what drove me to (he moun- tains.’ ; “T know it,’? sald the colonel, while Marion took Wal- ter’s hand and held it tenderly, : ‘i “But no more now. J will not ask you one single 7 guestion until you have slept and entirely recovered your- | selyes,’? ; ee father,’ said Marion, as he embraced her affectionate i “Good-night, Walter,’? she said, putting both of her hands in his, “Good-night, dear Marion,’ he said, looking fondly into her loving eyes. It was not until the expiration of NEE Seyi foar hours that the two fugitives awoke from~ jong and refreshing sleep, when it seemed almost i e for them to appease their ravenous appetites,” h ont fresh clothes changed them so entirely tha ag difficulé to believe them the same individuals who stood together before the colonel so lately. Murion, when she met Wal ter, clothed as she now was in her appropriate costume, blushed at the memory of the figure she must have pre- sented, far more than she had done when she was dressed in that robber’s suit. } Asto Walter, could this handsome and neatly-dresseé young fellow, now pressing her hand so fondly, be the rough-and-ready sailor who had so successfully fought thelr way down the mountainside, and eonducied the English girl in safety from Ner fearrat bondage to the bri- gauds? “Ifthey don’t hear or see you, the dogs will find you }, Marion Bray, notwithstanding the hardships she had endured, was the picture of health and beauty. Her - complexion tvas a little browned, but as Walter carefully noticed, the color was fresh and clear, and her expression bright and happy. P The colonel listened to the startling detail of his child’s escape from the banditti, the story sounding more like a romance than like facts, yet it was Jiteral. “These robbers have received a bitter lesson at your hands,’? he said to Walter. ; : And so it proved, for, as was afterward known, one of the first two pursuers, who had partaken of the sleeping draught, died of his wound before he reaclied the cave, while the fore-arm of the other was shattered and useiesa for life. Of the second two, who took up the pursuit, one was seriously wounded in the thigh aud lamed for life, while the other, Whom Marion saw throw up his hands and fall on his face, was shot through the heart. The bully of the gang, Vecchio, did not live to teti the story of his encounter with the young American. Three of the robbers thus lost their lives aud two were maimed for life. The severest clieck they had met with for years, and all through the cool courage of one man. “What was your most trying exigency?’ asked ,the colonel of Walter. ; “It was where, I presume, you would least think.’' he replied. “And that was??? “With the dog.’* “How sor’? “I had never used a knife upon a living thing, and it quite unnerved me for a moment.” * , “No wonder,” said the colonel. ; ‘‘] have been’ accustomed to thie use of » pistol, but not the knifet”” ‘ “Your training has served you well.” ‘ ‘ “Oh, father, it was horrible though to see those men fall when Walter fired,’ said Marion. “Tt was in self-defense, my child.” No secret was made of the deliverance of the English lady from the brigands’ cave, aud the papers made quite a hero and heroine of the two, giving to Walter Ham- mond the credit which was so jusily his dae, for the very trying and well-managed escape from the bauditti. " The English detective was one of the first to call upon Walter, after the announcement of his escape, seeking various aud minute information of him relating to the outlaws, and the cave they inhabited, besides freely ex- pressing his admiration of his bravery and skill. solicitation Walter wrote out some ininutes of localities and the topographical character of the mountain. ; “Did you ever see Mezzoni?’’ asked the detective. “Never.’! “T can find no one who has.’? “Nor I,”’ said Walter, ‘‘that is, E could get no descrip- tion of him.*? : ‘He’s a myth with nearly every one.’! “I begin to doubt if there be any Mezzoni.”* are “I do not,’’ said the detective. ‘The organization of those brigands is too complete to be the work of any of those common banditti, There is a mystery about the matter that I should like to see unraveled.'’ “Mezzoni did not come to the cave while I was there.” ‘You have taught them a bitter lesson." “T was too handy with the pistol to suit them,’? “No doubt of that.” ; “T have telegraplied to stop tite forwarding of those funds,?’ said Colonel Bray to the young » “and now I have a proposition to make to you.” “What isit, colonel?’? “Come with us to England.’ «I shall be delighted to do go.” _ “At once ?? “Yes,") replied Walter, “if the authoriffes have dgn with me: But youknow that they notified me to give them information of my proposed departure." “Yes, as a witness,”? “T presume 80,"? “Won't an affidavit answer f?’ ~ “JT will see.” ‘Ho! for merry England,’ said Marion, delighted. While this conversation was taking place, or rather at the moment ofits close, Walter recived a summons to the government office signed by the prefect, to which he at onee responded. Arrivingin the Strada St. Carlo, he was shown the body of & man who had been found mar- dered upon tha road just this side of Resina, and which he was able to recognize as the Market man who drove them to Naples. j This was a partof the brigands’ pitiful revenge. But beside that body lay another, which) had been found by the vine-dressers Of the hills. It was the mortal remains of Vecchio. Walter’s affidavit relating to these bodies was duly taken. : He could not but mark the different expressions of the two faces, as they lay there in death. That of the market man, though he doubtless suffered severe pain before the last breath, yet. looked calm and peaceful, almost child- like. Yecchio’s features, on the cont , Were distorted, an evident frown being noticeable on the brow, while the lower features were drawn and rigid. : The bullet from Walter’s reyolver had passed quite through his body, just below the heart. The market man had been stabbed in the back by a dirk, doubtless: the cowardly perpetrator of the deed coming up unobserved them. from behind. “Go way! How’d she know me? I neyer was agipsy,” . | At his | ap ae RA ate h } ene ——~ a ; : + ; ; i f | encanta SS SS — — — CHAPTER XVIII. MBEZZONI UNMABKED. To intreducing real personages aud actual events, an author feels some delicacy as to giving names; and he should do se. Still the well Known visit of Mr. Bush, of Seotland Yard, London, to Naples in 1871, and the com- plete success with which he crowned that remarkable ex- rience, need give no Cause for reticence in relation to his name. That famous officer and detective has too wide spread a distinction in his arduous profession not to be Known among the police of all nations. Tie famous discovery of the secret vault, and the prompt recoyery of nearly the whole of the property stelen from the store of Woolf & Co., in the Strada St. @arlo, were solely due to his personal skill and perse- yerance, and would alone have made the reputation of any detective. Highly accredited, he was received by the Yosal authorities with kindness and respect, and afforded faeilities which had never before been accorded to any foreigner by the Neapolitans. No spirit of jealousy was rmitted to interfere in the least with his operations, and ce met With no opposition from any source on that score. in his report to the home.departiment, Mr. Bush especi- aly refers to these agreeable facts. Partly in recognition of this courtesy, and also for reasons which will ulthnately appear, Mr. Bust held a consultation with the heads of the local police of the city, and proposed to lead an expedition which should break up the headquarters of the famous brigands who were under theleadeorship of Mezzoni. He had obtained such elaborate information from Walter Hammond as to make him very confident of sucoess; such knowledge had never before been in the possession of the authorities, and he had great faith that with a proper co-operation, he could ferret out this national pest and possibly seeure the person of the lead- ing bravo himeelf, ‘9 acconiplish this he demanded ample assistance, and the pontnot of the movement, so far as it could be properly delegated to hina. He was especially encouraged by the manner in which his pro-: was received, and it was with very little delay that he was dnally informed tuat the authoriiies would accede to his desires. He was to perfect his plans at once, and after laying them before department he would be given such aid as he required to carry them out successiully, This he agunticipated, as he had been met in a similar spirit at all points, ‘ The detective had such confidence in the young American that betried in all manner of ways to induce him to accompany the saredyion to the robbers’ stronghold. But the fact was that ter Rareieas had no object to subserve that would compen- the . “I bad rather have-you with me than a dozen Neapolitan sol- diers,” said the detective. ? **Too much to risk without an object,” was thereply. “These rious reason.” ; should be a target therefore for their best Tulter. ) ; “Perhaps you are right. They would be very apt if we came to a fight to siugie you out.” is, b¢ ‘ . opie Tam right; revenge isone of their cardinal principles,” @ ied. - ; ¢ _ “T have great confidence of success with (hese items of infor- mation you have supplied.” : “Take pienty of men with you.” “I shall,’? “And be sure of one thing,” said Walter, serlousiy; “you must eee Saat quarter. These meu are as treacherous as our American pdians. *] fear that mercy is thrown away upon such scoundrels, They fight us, as it were, with halters about their necks, and are desperate men,” pS Buk “They will show yowand your party no mercy, you may de- pend upon that.” (Ukse ROG TU ‘ : Hee “True, the risk is considerable," Said’ the detective, “but you know it is jnucident tomy ‘esaion.”’ A whole company of the soldiers was detailed,{ composed of over seventy ‘men, this spécial service. By request ‘of the detective no one but the head: of the department was to know what this service really was, for he was thoreughly convinced that the brizands had means of information which would enavie them to partially thwart the enterprise, unless the utmost pre- caution was To render his movements as secret as possibie, the first advance was to be made after nightfall, and the soldiers were to meet him at Resina, so that he sheuld not bein any way identified with their: movement until they were out of the city proper. peeesr The ‘enterprise had been carefully prepared, and as far as possible Tes contingency guarded against. Arrived at the base of the mountain a patrol was thrown out to prevent any One from ascending at the several points where Leeann ole, and with orders to arrest any one who should attempt to escape from the gang above. These orders were brief and decisive. In case of the least resistance no mercy was to be shown—they were told toshoot down.the fugitives at once. The men were also incited to extra effort by the promised reward, which the captain reminded them of. : Theae utions having ‘all been carefully perfected, the command was divided into three parties of equal numbers, who ascended the mountain at three known passes, with such precon- certed signals as should enable them to concentrate upon any one poiut in case of necessity. They were to halt for two hours’ rest at midnight, provided they met with no interruption to their progress up to that time, then they were to draw together at a tie? point, and hurry torward, so as, if possible, to surprise anditt ae et the i @ before the break of day. These arrangements were excell provided nothing happened to interfere with their proper consummation, “fhe organized-force was enabled by thus taking the open Pare to travel over three times the space which Marion and Iter Had accomplished in the sane period of time.’ Besides this. the men were all fresh and prepared for their work, Which was performed ag systematically us tong ou parade. ’ The starting of the expedition Just at nightfall, was the crown- ing cause of its successful progress. If it had gone out during the hours of the day, its purpose would have been at once di- ene coe spies would rare informed the robbers. ip peneeh 1 ime than the troops could. posibly aye mov r su circumstances the purpuse of the Whole movement would have been frustrated, But as it was, no spies had been on the watch to report the movement of aforce at such an unusual hour, and bence the expedition met with no obstacles on the route. The plan thus far worked like machinery, and the men entered ne the spirit of the business with mackod individual interest. ¢ Was just about halt an hour before daylight when the three sections of men joined each other, about sixty in number, and prepared for the last advance upon the robber’s stronghold. Not a voice was heard. The strictest silence had been enjoined, and the command moved stealthily upon its way through the rough Arms were carefully examined, and instructions reitera- ted toone and all. The gray of the morning was just appearing in the east as the foremust men came upon an outlying seutry of the gang, who was asleep with his back to a rock. He wus instantly seized, and told thatit he opened his mouth to give un alarm he should die, A moment later, however, he tried to do so, for which a dagger was struck to his heart in an instant, and his body cast toone side as though it had been that of adog. He had not anticipated such summary treatment, and his reckiessness had cost him bis life. _ His voice had not been ralsed sufficiently to reach those at the cave, where another of his comrades was sleeping at liis post, and so he also was secured with equal _promptness, his mouth being adroitly covered so that’ he could not utterasound, At the same tiine the whole force was quietly deploying upon the plateau, without so much as awaking a single sleeper inside the cave. The place was virtually at the mercy of the attacking arty. ‘ The man who had been on guard at the entrance of the cave struggled hurd at first, but when he got his eyes fairly opened, and saw the nuinber of the attacking purty, he gave up quietly, for he kuew that resistance was useless, and would only cost him his life. The men beiug now all prepared and the light sufficient, concealment was no Yonger of any consequence, and a dozen men with ropes, handcuffs, and dark lanterns, rushed suddenly into the cave, the whole party led by the detective. “He haa se- scared a plan ot the iterior, caretully drawn by Walter Ham- Moni, so that he knew just where to turn in his first dash to se- cure the body of the roubers. A few shots were mccouser ily pucAnged, but to no avail, or with ne very serious result. The blaze of the dark lanterns thrown inte the .yery eyes of the halfawakened banditti only served to dazzle and ‘confuse them, and as their assailants had been instructed just what to do, and how to doit, there was little confusion. “Tnere was hardly one of the band after ten minutes had teanspiged who was not securely ironed, and when one proved at all troublesome his legs were also tied tightly together until resistance entirely ceased. ; j So complete a surprise and capture could hardly be realized even by the captors themselves. in the meantime the detective had entered the officers’ quar- ters, where the lieutenant Was seized and iroued after a liltle re- sistunoe, which cost Lim a bayonet wound in the side, aud his second’ officer was tre: in the same manner, except, that still more troublesome, lie was Knocked senseless with the butt of a musket, Here also was found lying upon @ bed of better construction than the rest, a man evidenily suffering from serious illness, his room shut off by a temporary partition. In another similar diyision, near by, was found 4 two women. A These last were informed that so long as they remained quiet they would not be interfered with, but any attempt to rise until thee were ordered to doso, would result in their being hand- cuffed and secured like the rest of the band. The lieutenant was then prought to the entrance of the cave, and there interrogated by the detective, at the same time being told that there wus no possibility of escape for any of the gang. He was informed also that be might mitigate his own situation, as it regarded the ‘future, by giving whatever information was required to expedite matters. He was not desired or exp to criminate himself, or lis compenio but simply to facilitate present movements for the convenience ofall. i Tins man was of ‘farmore than ordinary intelligence, aud taking a correct yiew of the situation he realized thas every man of his command had been captured, and that uo soap or stratagem could possibly avail anything, he accepted the posi- tion, and wisely auswered the questions put to him, “Who is the sick man within there?” asked the detective, to containing . *Mezzonit” a 6,2? “What is the matter with himt* “He has fever.” “What feyer?” “arising from a gun-shot wound.” )“Where are your treagurest” “What treasures?” : “The result of your robberics.’” “Oh, they are taken charge of by the captain. We do not know,” was the honest reply. “Do you mean to say that your captain, Mezzoni, takes all the to himself 7? ‘Yes, s “ “is that the truth?” “T shall not take the trouble to tell you a falsehood,” replied @ robber. shea do the men like that sort of division of the booty?’ asked e Officer, / “It is according toagreement. They are regularly enlisted and paid like these soldiers of the government, only they are paid ten timesasmuch. How could they dispose ef the booty? They would betray themselves upon the first operation. No, Mezzoni arranges those matters.’ ' *-Ah, I see}; they are so well paid that they are satisfied at the share they receive,” his explains much to me which has been a mystery hereto- fore,” sail the captain of the suldiers to the detective, ‘It is important information,” ~©Do those women inside belong with the band?’ “One does; sie is stewardess. Her husband ig the man whois tied and pane ute are “Who is the other?” “Ido not know.”? “How came she here??? | *By Mezzoni’s orders.” “Held for ransom??? 1 no,” ; “We have secured twenty-three memin the cave—is that your whole force?” ' “All at this point.” “This is the headquarters?” “It is. At this moment the guard, who had been secured at the mouth of the cave,succceded when unobserved in getting off his hand- caffs, and leaving upon a rock beside the pigteau, drop| him. self off its edge, a distance of nearly thirty fest, to a ledge below, and thence climbed along, dropping again ang again from,.one rock to another of the precipitous side, With creat dexterity he avoided presenting \imself asa mark forthe soldiers’ builets abovehim. In five mnutes the man was earn of sight and tnless he should be eaptured by the patrol below, he liad tiny made good his escape, The only one of the gang who ¢ The heutenant of the robbers had spoken truly as to there being no treasures at the caye. With theexception of a great ’ variety of firearms and ammunition, and a fair supply of provis- jons, there was nothing there. The arms were carefull secured, and a guard left upon the spot to await further dis pn of af- fairs, while preparations were made to march the captured brig- ands at once to prison in Naples. There were twenty-two of them, and besides being securely landcuffed, they were so tied togeth- er in couples that escape was rendered nearly impossible. The guard were ordered, however, to shoot down the first one who should attempt it. All the preparations were made with the utmost care, for the officers knew very well that they had desperate men to deal with, and it was even feared that the escaped robber might bring some outlying friends of the gang to attempt a rescue, If this were to ocgur, both the captain and the detective had resolved te shoot down the prisoners without mercy. Mr. Bush, the detective, had been orantniks the interior of the cave with lanterns to satisty himself as to the property there, and to look for any hidden or secret places of deposit. -He found in a hanging closet, in the sick man’s room, @ series of disguises, and among the rest a mask so constructed as to fit exactly to the flesh, and, indeed, appearing to be the natural skin of (he wearer, Beneatii the left eye of this mask he observed a sear, painted in so ingenious a mauuer as to perfectly represent a healed saber wound. “Yes, yes,? said the detective, to himself, “I have heard of this sear more than once.” : He carefully secured this mask and took, it along with him when he le{t the cave, as an important item of evidence against “the leader of the oullaws. “Who is there ?? sail a feeble voiee from the bed. “One whom you have met before,” was the reply of the officer as he approached the sick man. “Hal shoot him!” he cried, as he fell back, exhausted. “You are no longer dangerous,” said the detective, as he looked upon the sick man, ; : “Only see that he don’t get out of bed until ordered,”’ said ‘the officer to the soldier left to guard him, 7 The invalid, weak to the Inst degree, had said nothing during the time of the capture, and had, indeed, been lying in a sort of comatose state all the while. His arousal was bul monientary at the present time, and he said 10 more. E It was quite a problem witli his captors how best to dispose of him, for they could not make up their minds to leave him be- hind.» He wasithe grand offender of the whole gang, and their victory would be quite incomplete it they were'to retura withcut him. “But while they were iu this quandary. the detective found the Sedan chair which had been used to couvey Marion Bray up the mountain side, and arrangements were then made to tuke the sick man back to Naples by this means, The stewardess was instructed to assist him In dressing, and as Mezzoni had become partially aroused to consciousness, this was &@ much easier task thau had at first been anticipated. The chair was brought out fo the entrance of the cave, and four of the stoutest of the soldiers were detailed to bear it, arrangments be- i made to give them occasional relief. he women were also bidden to prepare themselves to descend the mountain with the rest of the party; none but afew guards to be left behind, but in sufficient strength to bold the cave. The detective, experienced 1a such matters, lad been yery busy in satisfying himself that the prisoners were all carefully secured beyond the possibility ofescape, when the lieutenant of the rob- bers asked him? pale “Who was that man who came among us disguised, and car- ried off the captive girl ?”* “Walter Hammond,” ; } “Euglish or American t “Anierican,’ ; és 7 a have sworn that he was an American,” said the rigand. At that momen! the captain of the robbers was brought out of the cave, almost too weak tostand. As he was being put into the Sedan chair the detective came to his. side, and, after a noment, exclaimed: “T thought so! Mezzoni and Alberto Corrello are the same! And this woman is. the Countess Amadeo!” {To BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.} “Will soon be commenced a new story by LisvTENANT MURRAY, entitled “TRIED FOR His Lire; or, THE CHAIN OF GUILT.”’ ———___>9~<—____——- THE JOSH BILLINGS SPICE-BOZ. GLASS BEADS. The man who talks simply to pleaze himself will soon be hiz own listener. It would bea good trade for mankind toswopoff all the wit in this world for the same amount ov humor, A good joke iz like a perfekt pin; it should hay a hed on it az well az a point. Going tochurch every Sunday iz everything for sum pholks—i hay known people Lo liv out a whole life with- out enny ‘partikular karakter, only they went to church regular every Suuday. I] wish thare waz no law fof collekting a debt. Thare iz probably nothing that men never forgit, nor never forgiv, but. kontempt, and it iz seldum yu kun find a sonny og being solow downon the ladder as to be be- neath it. ‘Kontentment iz az often the result ov having no pash- uns at all’az it iz the subdueing thoze we do hay. The most kritikal round in the whole ladder iz the top one. Fools are allwuss anxiousto be heard; wize men are anxious to listen. The penalty oy being great iz that yu kant mix with yure fello-kritters without loseiug sumthing ov yure power. é Misers are most allwuss free from all other bad habits. People who hay the dispepshy ought to be under bonds not to Lell ov it before foiks. The best cosmetik i kno ov iz made ont ov equal parts ov tempranse and exercise; it’s for sale everywhare, and costs nothing. Cunntug Men never fav but one councillor, and that iz themselfs; this iz one reazon whi they allwuss git beat in the end. The man who iz good for nothing only when he izina lite spot ought to keep there az mutch as he kan. Tolivinihe kuntry yu want to kno a little ov every- thing; to livin the city yu must kno a good deat oy one thing. : I like a good hater, provided he kan glye good reazons or it. 2 rather undertake to locate the north pole than the dis- pepshy. ; ‘ It iz just about az disgusting to hear a man brag oy the size ov hiz pocket book az itiz the size ov hizstumm Yhare iz one human being whomi admire with supreame ku- riosity, aud that iz an old Beau, who haz outlived and wore out every thing but a few fashionable phrazes and a haggard set ov grins and grimaces that he begun life-and bizzness with. One man,enjoys the profuse expenditure oy munny, and another the proluse hoarding ov it, and i guess that each one ov them iz just about az big a phool az the other. The grate mistake that most oy us make iz to konsidder our mere opinyuns az matters ov judgment. We are too apt to forgit that deth holds a fust mortgage on all our worldly truck, and iz ever fore closing and entering into posseshun without giving enuy notiss ov, proceedings, l lay the grate mountains and the mighty oshun, bekauze they are about the only things upon this earth that men look at and dont suggest sum improyement or alterashun, é a Twins are @ dangerous experiment, thare seems tobe a leetle too mutch ov them for one person and not quite enuff for two. Mankind owe pretty mutch all their suckcess to their kuriosity and energy combined, 7 h Chastity is like glass ware. . If it iz once broken, it kan never be put together agin without showing that it haz been mended. I kno lots ov people who had rather brake almost enny one ov the 10 commandments, than one ov the laws ov fashion. Cunning is like @ trap, it never ketches enny one, but the most arrant phool, the seckund time. : { Iam satisfied that what a man must hav, and aktually noeds, lie Kan alwuss git. If he wants more. than this, I have no ob- jeckshuns to his getting it, if he honestly kan. Tlie true plan oy life iz to mnosently gratify all our pashuns, and not starve, or kut oph one of them. In menny people religion is a mere habit, instead oy a princi- ple. fam glad that’ mankind won’t Rivet bi the experiences ov others, bekause sucksesses, not failures, kant be reduced to 4 science. Tbare is hardly enny one but what thinks they would like to swop places with their nabor, and # they should trade, they would probably beth get cheated. Wine may hay made sum people witty, but it certainly haz made more foolish. thaz been sed that a man will tell the truth when he 1z drunk. This may be so, but i notiss that sutch men will aliwuss lie more than enuff to offgett it when they git sober. d «Vines that are forced gro the less fruit; it iz just so with the too early edukashun ov children, Knolledge without virtew iz more dangerous than ignoranse. But very few men hav ever jumpt' from the bottom to the top round ov the ladder at one jump and staid thare very long. About three enemys to one friend iz the right teen This will keep. a man wide awake and full ov fleas all the time. If lazyness would enly spend its time doing nothing, it would be. at least endurable; but it iz dredphul bizzy all the time hunting for nothing, The eazyest literary labur i kno ov iz writing epitaffs; they fetch a good price, and are out oy the reach ov kriticism. A boy will learn to sware well'in just one haff the time he will learn to pray. It wiut so mutch what le dont kno, -az it iz what they do kno that aint'so; that raizes the old Harry in this world. Men aint wicked thru their judgements, but thru their wills. Yu Kant make a man yure [riend bi lending him munny, not if yuever stop doingit; butyu may make him yure bitterest > enemy. ; I think it requires a good deal more skill to manage a friend than it duz an enemy. : 4 ‘Mankind generally are like sope bubbles floating along on the top oy the stream—sum are bigger and more brittle than others, bekauze they hay more mind in them, Liars don’t seem to know that everyboddy had rather listen to the truth than to a falshood. ‘ Bad men allwuss gro worse. This eepnecorn, and waiting for font hins to turn up iza ood way to ketch the fever ague, or git stung bi a hornet, or be nokt hed over heels by a stray mule, but thare ain’t no mouny init. + ‘ Thare i but very little truth traveling around loose; two-thirds oy all the gossip that iz afloat iz either a lie or will be bi the time it haz changed hands once more. | rane that don’t pay a good fair per cent iz & poor artikle to eal in. I wrote 5 years on the start, just for glory, and met with good suckess, but wheti i asked for pay everyboddy found out at once that i waz a kussid phool. Reading fickshun iz a good deal like eating whipt slllybub—the more you eat the more yu want, and the less yu seem to hay. Thar~ iz no better evidence that mman iz a knave and a phool than that he will submit to be praized for qualities that he don’t possess, The soolty. wize folks are thoze who fully understand that thare iz but very little im this world but fuss and shams, and whoackt ackordingly. Pitty iz too cheap andcommon to be worth mutch. Every boddy iz pleazed with flattery; it iz only the kind and quality that iz sumtimes offensive. ; A haff-edukated man iz like a haf™broke mule, he iz az danger- ous to himself az he iz to others. J hold miself responsible to no one but my Maker. Philosophers are az plenty az tud stools; what the world stands in_need ov most just now iz sum good honest workers, Jt iz no kredit to enny man to work for haff-price “and board himself, and it iz no kredit to enny one to pay sutch wages. | He who wont accept an apology ought to forever lose the debt. Apologye are lawtul tender. t he man who iz the fust to forgive, iz the fust to win the vik- ory. It iz generally safe to claim a good deal, for men seldum git more than they ask for. > Fortune’s wheel iz auiwuss on the move; heds wins to-day, and tails to-morrow, An ounce oy pluk is worth more than a pound oy muscle, I hav seen very good-natured people entirely spilte for all prak- tikal purposes bi coming suddenly into posseshun oy a pair oy horses, and buggy. a Familiaritys, even between friends, must be indulged in with grate caushun. G od breeding iz nothing more than good sense and politeness properly combined, I kant help but respekt prudence, butido lav to see aman play hi daady once in a while, it iz so kind ov human. The philosophers hay told us that if we are kontented we shall be happy, they might Just az well that if win we pall be laeky, ight J hay told us ah in * ee es eee a ~~ Home iz ene the fust ten years ov our lifes hay been spent, i dont kure ff it waz in an alins hous. The individual who kan coolly wear ® pair oy boots for two eee and a haif without having them tapt, aint good for mutch else. ; bizzy bizzuess. } a The cheapest learning i Kno ov iz to listen. , Hurry and dispatci are often konfounded, but they are no more the same breed than the bizzy auntand the loafing pissmire, I am fully satisfied that honesty hax no pedigree, thare iz just az muteh ov it amung the lower az the higher orders, “Know thyself” iz the hardest lesson that enny human being haz ever undertook yet. t Heathens, poor kritters, dont indulgein horse trots or law suits, Learning iz helthy, but to kno how to use it 1z helthier, : ere who kant find nothing to doiz generally mighty fraid ne will. Whiut little I kno, Lhave got, az thedog gits hiz brekfast, bi picking up @ bone whareyer I kan fludit, and then setting down in sum sly place and knay it. To be kontinually reading, and never reflekting, haz the same effekt on the mind, that kontinual eating and no exercise Nas on the boddy, The more grades thare jz in society the better. The dest way to konvert the heathen iz to load up with pattent rights and fire into them. Mankind iz it for liberty just im pre- porshun az they are virtuous, Gearning haz filled the world with libraries, two-thirds ov which are ov no more use to mankind than the cobwebs that are ustially found thare. WITH OUR CONTRIBUTORS. We have received a large invoice of favors lately for our Spice Collum, and we aceept Grace, Ben Hatciings, Gipsey and Black Ball. We are obliged to decline, on account of space, Beauty, Unit, Sam, Cloud, Lines to My Cigar, You Bet, A. A., Toad Stool, Raspberry, Milk, Nonesuch, Doubtiul, Pain Killer, Spotty, Car, Jews Harp, B. 8. K., Rigmiarole, Betsy and, I, Lamb, Beans, Oypher, Jim O, K. B. S., Little Fraud, Wives of Windsor, Crackers and Cheese, Not Any, Nimble Joe, Sweet Breads, D. D, Sweetmeats, What’s the Matter, Town Pump, Mary, Bugle, Pound Cake, Roory O’Moore, D.§, Hank Bliss, Statement, Dave, Sandy Crane, Doat, Sturgeon, - \ Marlin Marduke; Sie: OTS Eine GROWN GRAY IN GRIEF. By Prof: Wm. Henry Peck, CUAPTER XXIII. IN THE ANTE-ROOM OF THE DUNGEON, Zona and Elena, left in total garkness inau apartment which was filled with the foul olors.and darkness of a dungeon, experienced a sudden and overwhelmiug terror. “Mistress Elena,’? said Zona, who had been separated from her companion. by the violence of theienraged land- lord, and who desired atleast to grasp her hand; ‘‘Mistress Elena.?? ié “] am here,” replied the maiden. ‘But call me Elena.” “But ail say that you are in truth a lady born, Elena, while I am said to be simply the daughter of @ man who is respected by no one,’ said Zona, in a sad tone. ‘It matters very Jittle to us now, Zona, who our parents may haye been or are,’’ replied Elena. “Atieast, and at most, we are now sisters ju misery. Let us embrace, Zona, though we cannot see each other’s faces.” They groped about until their outstretched hands met, and then clasped each other to their bosoms. : “Ah, Elena,’ sighed Zona, “if I had only been drawn thus to your heart long, loug ago! Then 1 would have been, if not so gentle aud nobie as you, at least Not so un- worthy as lam.” “And how Lhave been wrong in thinking unjustly of you, dear Zona,?’ replied Elena, cordially. ‘But it is never too late to be friends, and henceforth let us be sis- ters.’ “Thank you, dear Elena, for your generosity, for I know that even should it chance tliat we are equal in birth, you are infinitely my superior in heart and mind.” “] know nothing of my-birth,” replied Eleva. ‘‘ButI cannot think of that now, Zona, ~ soul is with poor Marlin, who lies in the black-cross room, perhaps dying, and, oh mel certainly | doomed to death even by his owntather. Oh, Heaven! why am T helpless now to aid him?” ; : “Do uot despair, Elena,” said Zona, encouragingly. ‘You be- lieve in a God, and in good angels who aid the good; and, surely, if there be any truth in your belief, there will be help for you. Were you never in this room nntil now?” ; “JT do not know yet, Zona. I think we are in the ante-room of the dungeon.” : “The ante-room of the dungeon!” exclaimed Zona. “Then it is true that there is a dungeon in the Stuart Arms.”’ “Yes; in which Ihave heard that mutinous members of tie smugglers’ association haye been confined, and sometimes even put to death,” replied Elena. “Great Heaven, Zona! do not move,” she added in tones of desperate alarm. ‘‘My Heaven, what an escape we have already bad. Do not move an inch!” They remained motionless and rigid; Elena, because she had suddenly remembered something; Zona, use the tone of her companion had filled her with fear of she knew not what. “Tf we are in the ante-room of the dungeon,” continued Elena, ‘we have escaped a great danger.”* She was about tosay more when the key was turned in the loek, there was arattle and clash of bars, the door was opened hastily, a flood of light streamed into the room, and then the huge face and form ot the ee EREDARFO. , The flamo of the Jamphe bore in his left hand fell squarely upon his vast visage, and though much of that vile countenance was concealed by the bandages around it, both Zona and Elena de- tected great alarm written upon every visible feature; and also that this anxious sxpueesion changed to one of intense relief the moment his eyes fei ae the ivrias ve his fair prisoners. “Ah,” said he, entering briskly, and holding the lamp over his head, “‘I was very near making a pretty mess of it,” Zona, whose eyes were fixed upon the face of the speaker, did not comprehend his meaning until Elena pressed her arm and pointed at the floor not far from their feet. Zona’s glance feli to the floor; she stared for an instant with eyes expanding with terror, shuddered and made her embrace upon Elena more closé than ever. Immediately at their feet was a yawning chasm; a black and gaping pit, whose depth seemed fathomless, and the area of whose mouth compassed several square feet. “Tt is a marvel how either of you escaped a leap in the dark,” 1 Kaspar. The reflection of an instant told Zona that when the brutal landlord pushed Elena and herself from him in his anger, Elena was forced diagonally forward to the right, while she was urged diagonally forward to the left of the pit and by but a few inches. The floor of this room, whose level was many feet below that of the public-room, was covered with a greenisli mold, damp and slippery, and the tracksof the two girls were plainly visible, proving that as they had moved toward the sound of each other’s voiée in the darkness, they bad passed within an inch or two of the edges of tle pit, and met upon its brink on the side opposite that nearest to the door by which they had entered, 1 “By the bones!” said Kaspar, as his eye measured the distance of their footsteps from the edge of the pit, “itis a miracle.” “So you intended that if we escaped death in this horrible place it should be only by.a miracle,” said Elena, sndieme nity, “Notso,” replied Rieinhand. ‘You had so flustered my wits with your fables of poisonetl daggers that I forgot that the trap was open. I did notremember it until I was about to return to the public room. AsI had no desire nor intention to harm either of you, be sure that I made haste to return.” : With these words Kaspar placedthe lamp upon the floor, reached down into the pit and, slowly raised a heavy door which was attached toone side of the ene with strong hinges: Having raised this door toa level with the floor, he made it se- cure by means of two bolts. Even when thus secured it appeared bg unsafe, as indeed it and meant to destroy and not to save life. “T wouldn’t advise you tostep on it yet,”’ said the landlord, ashe rolled his huge frame to one of the corners of tne room, where he placed his hand upon what appeared tobe simply a large iron ring fastened to the wall. id ‘But you may. now,’? he added, as he pulled stoutly at the ring. There wasaclash and jar immediately under the trap-door, as if a t iron bar had glided from somewhere beneath it, and into sockets which made it a firm support for the door.. i “You may now,” he repeated, as he advanced and boldly trusted his enormous weight upon the door, aur” weto be ipprisonedin this hateful place?” demanded na. “My queen of royal loveliness,” ae Kaspar, with a leer, “you heard the commands of Sir Garvin Marduke. Iam respon- sible for your appearance to-morrow, *I do not think that you can escape from this room, my doves, Now Iam very sure that you can escape from any apartment above ground. This is not @ very pleasant place; I know—by thebones! I’d rather not sleep here myself——’ : : “How are we to sleep when we haye not so much asa chair to sit down upon ?” interrupted Zona. p : Kaspar-shrugged his huge shoulders until his ears were cover- ed and replied: “Had you accepted me, my beauty, I would have exhausted all my comforts and luxuries mm making you comfortable. “But as I do not-wish that’ any one of the household should know where you are, 1 eannot have you waited upon, You must rough it out, my dainties, I will leave the lamp,” : “So if we sleep at all,” remarked Elena, ‘‘we must sleep stand- ing, like horses, or iu the dirt like swine.’ ‘ “You are very fortunate.in® being allowed to live,” replied the landlord, as a savage gleam flashed trom his eyes. “You are both traitresses and deserve death.” “Perhaps when I am the wife of Sir Garvin Marduke I may not forget your kindness, Master Kaspur Rhoinhand,” said Zona. “Come, that is a threat, isn’t it? Bul now Tthink of it, you may be of use to me when you are Lady Marduke, or Lady Some- war else,?? : 6 saylug he again left the room and almost immediately after returned with a straw mattress and a load of bedding, “T took these from the housekeeper’s room,” he said, as he tum- bled his load upon the floor, ‘It isthe best thatIcando, Be- sides, you will have to remain in here but a fewhours. To-mor- row you will both be wedded to the Mardukes, and no doubt they will see to your comfort.” “And this is allthat you will do for one whe has from her peaney been as a daughter to you, Master Rheinhand?”’ asked ena, “Bah! T was takiig care of you for another,” replied Kaspar, “fam Mar ¢ sure no loye was ever lost between you and me, You have filled my brain with a horrible dread that I am poi. soned, and, girl, I hate.you for that, You have made mea coward with a twist of your tongue—both of you, and T hate you both. But for you,” he added, as he scowled at Elena, “I would have no-hurts, It was you who had that woman brought into my house.” “And she has an antidote for the poison, if poisoned you are,” interrupted Elena. . “What if she has? She has no doubt made her escape from the inn, for the guards are all drunk, Besides, I am not sure that Iam _ poisoned, tuongh, curse you, you, it is very plain, wish me to be tortured with the belief that I am.” “The first plain proof that you have been wounded with a dareer poisoned, as the lady described,” said Elena, truthfully, will be the appearance of purple and livid .blotches upon your lands and arms,” ‘ par ginseng instantly at his hands.. They were enormously large and fat, and covered here and there with patches of coarse red hair, but very white from little exposure to sun and wind, as his occupatioa seldom carried liim into the open air. “There are no sigus of blotches on my hands,” he said, as he bared his immense arms. ‘Nor on my arms either. But should the blotches appear, no doubt it would be too late then for the antidote’? “Their appearance would be certain proof of the presence of ison in your blood, but even then the antidote could save your ife.”? The landlord stared at Elena for a moment, and scowllng very darkly, said: ‘ “T believe you are working af me to torture me; but take care! Tf it turns out that Iam really poisoned, I swear that all the power of the Mardakes shall not save you.’ “T did not wound you, Master Rheinland.” “No matter. It was vou who brought to my house the she- devil that stabbed me,” growled the infuriated landlord as he left the room, He clashed the lock, the bolts and bars into their sockets on the outslde, and Zona and Elena felt that escape without his aid was impossible, For a few moments neither said ‘a word, so overwhelmed were their minds with despair; but at length Zona said: “T do not fear the morrow for myself. I have little desire to live, Elena, It is on your account tlint I grieve over this captivity. Were I tree, or rather had I not released Obel Ling, I could have effected the escape of the commandant—not immediately, per- haps, but alter a time,” A lazy man never ought to setup for a raskall, raskality iz <4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. ==> 67 ats nae eect eat She covered her face with her hands and wept aud tried to Calin her agitation. haughtiness. for such a baseman, Ah, Elena, you do not know.” replied Elena, to fear to accept the last chance for life; that neither could you be made the wife of Garvin, nor I the wife of Captain Herod.” “f toid you truly, Elena. Herod Mardukeis) my husband, though he himself does not Know it. You start with surprise, as well you may, Listen, aud let me explain. For more tian five years I have devotedly loved Herod Marduke—yes, frdm the first day that I remember ever to have seen him, and that was years and years ago, wnen Paul Vultree, who claims to be my father, first brought me trom Holland to Langfleay.’? “Were you born in Holland, Zona?” ' “I do not know. Heaven help me, Elena; if I ever had a mother to caress me I do not know it, I only know that Paul Vultree stys Tam his child, bornin Holland, and that my mother, his wife, died a week ‘alter my birth. ButI am very sure that Paul Vuliree lies in this as he lies in everything. Stil], my earli- est recollections go back no furtuer than Amsterdam, But let me return to Captain Herod. I loved him when he was a boy and butachild. I tried to keep the fact from lis knosvledge, for I was proud; and I succeeded in keeping my secret until'a few months agu-———” “Not from me, Zona,” interrupted Elena, with a smile! “For more than ayexr I Lave more than suspeeted that you loved Herod Marduke; but never have I hinted my belief to, any one.’ “Yes, you suspected the truth, Elena, becatie you detected that I was foolishly jealous of you, There was one other who suspected the truth, and whom I now think told it to Captain Marduke for the basest of purposes—for gold.” “For gold, Zona???’ “Yes, to gaiir money. Elena, I believe now, though only this night did I frst suspect it, that the miserable wretch, Paul Vultree, who ¢cluims that Iam his daughter, sold me to Captain Herod.” : ' “Great Heaven! What baseness!” exclaimed Elena. “I believe it tirmly, Elena, forit was Le who first, or rather it was only be who told me that Captain Herod loved me fondly and desired to be my husband. He told me, too, that the mar- riage would necessarily be « secretoue, as Garvin Marduke had it-in mind to wed his son Herod you, and would be furiously angry were his pet and long-laid plans thwarted. After that Captuin Herod told me that he madly Joved me, and would ratner die than call any one except Zoua Vultree his.wife, and that his father’s anger would be terrible and al) that, Weul, mMarriuge—a marriage which I now know they intended should be a sham.,’’ “A shan, Zonat”? which I, a frienuless, contiding gir], should be the unsuspecting victim. Weil, the murriage tovk place, and very secretly, but, thank Heaven, it was not a sham, “AN, Lam indeed delighted to hear that,” exclaimed Elena, kissing Zona’s pale, cold lips, for pale and cold and rigid as thuse of a@ corpse Lucey were, as she spoke of her great wroug { - A sigh, more like a sob than a sigh, escaped from the pale, cold lips, and Elena continued: “Tum glad that you were not deceived by a sham marriage, and yet, oh how sad to knew that you were deceived at all.” “I was deceived aud most cruelly,” said Zona, whose beautiful face was now as pale as ashes, ‘ior I thought Herod Marduke loved me. Inever dreamed—oh, why should I have dreamed were making a victim of me—a victim to thelr base passions, the one of lust, the other of avarice.” “Ot avarice, Zona %” : hhouse.”’ : eat not then imagine why Captain Herod paid the oney 5 4 “How could {? Isuspecged nothing.. J was mad with but one great and blissful thou, tuatI was the loving bride of aJloy- ing and noble man—the boldest, bravest, Dovjest and most hand- ene man in Langfleay—in all the world, I then itondly be- ieved.’ ‘ “You remained, then, stillin the house of Paul Vultree ?” Yes, as they so willed it; and had I never begun to suspect that Captaiu Herod had deceived me, I, would have been content, oh most happy to remain his wile in secret forever, Yes, Elena, I could have lived under a cloud of shame, knowing that he was in truth iny husband, and loving me.” , 7 a why did you suspect that you had been deceived, ona “*T will tell you, Elena, Fora few months, some three or less, denly he became cold, reserved, avoided ny presence, was harsh and sneering in tone, I know why now. dislike him; to make me hate him, so that after a time I would might agree topartas if we had never met, as is so common among the peopie of Langfleay. He had found a new love some- where, no doubt. I believed that you were that love, and so I hated you, oh, most bitterly, Elena.” Elena pressed her soft red lips to the cold brow of the unhap- py Zona, and suid: “You were wrong, for lhaye always disliked and feared Cap- tain Herod, Zona.” ‘Phat I indeed believe now, but I did notbefore to-night. Well, he becaime cold and harsh and. even insulting, and still I loved "Zona? asked Elena. him, Elena. L loved him too devotedly to have my love turned aside by mere coldness and bad treatment. I imagined a thou- sand excuses for his. conduct. I accused myself of hav- ing placed myself before him as a perpetual dread lest his tainer might discover the truth and upbraidhim. But about a month ago I became acquainted with a man who had for several months been occasionally associated with the smugglers. He came, one night, to Paul Vultree’s bouse, upon soe business connected with the association, and as Captain Vultree was at the moment absent I met the man in the sitting-room, I had seen him often beforeupon the beach or in the streets, but had never conyersed with him, though [had heard his voice as I had heard that of every smuggler in Langfleay. He seemed émbar- rassed when I entered; in facthe grew pale and trembled. It was very plain that he was much agitated as he stammered out: “Oh, Mistress Zona—it was your father I wished to see—and not you—that is—I really mean thatit was my business that de- manded an interview with Captain Vultree, though, indeed, I esteem it a very great pleasure aud honorto have the privilege of oe with so fair a lady.’ “T was greatly slartied by this language, for I had until that moment never heard this man speak except in a coarse, rough yoice, inthe broad, sally dialet of the smugglers of Laugfleay, and with every sentence strung with oatlis and sea phrases. No wonder, theretore, that I marveled on hearing jiim use fluently the soft and polished uccent and elegant style of a well-educated gentieman.” : “And where did you learn to use the same accent and style, 0 “Now our late housekeeper, who live with us for several years, was an educated woman, and had bee they say, a lady, and she taught metoread and write and to speak as they converse in cities. She taught me many other eee ee too, poor old lady. But who taught you, Zona “T cannot as much as. read, Elena, much less can 1 write, for 1 haye neyer had any tuition. But Paul Vuitree.can, when he wishes, speak asa scholar and a gentleman—indeed, he was a lawyer before be became a smuggler. He would never take the pains, had I had the inclination to learn, to teach me to read and write, but he taught me to use the accent and style of cities, and thus by ear I have learned to speak quite correctly, English, French, German and Spanish—fer Capiain Vultree delights to converse in all these. You know too that Garvin Marduke and Captain Herod are far, are infinitely better educated than any in Langtieay, and. with them I have conversed much.” “Ah, now I understand,” replied Elena, Zona continued her recital: { “I was greatly astonished on hearing the smuggler use the tone and polish of a gentleman, but I was terrifjed us I recognized in his voice the voice of the priest who had pronounced Herod Mar duke and Zoua Vultree husband and wife. And yet this man was known to me and to all Langfleay ouly as a common smug- gler. by name Obel Ling.” OHAPTER XXIV. THE ALARM BENEATH THE FLOOR. an the smuggler you recognized the priest !—oh, he musthave been a pretended priest who. married youl” exclaimed Elena. “Obel Ling that priest? Ah, then you were indeed deceived, for Obel Ling, surely, is not a priest.” ; “T have good and strong reasons to believe that ‘he is a’priest, aclergyman of the Church of England, a Puritan minister, 4 Quaker, and any thing else it may suit him to be,.and with legal Tbs to be as it may suithim. He isa spy—a spy.in the service of the Jacobites and in the service of William of Orange. Both parties employ the most unprincipled and vicious ‘instruments, and empower them to play many talse characters. It was my wish to be married according to the marriage rites of the eliurch of Rome, and so Obel Ling—for I now know he performed the ceremony—acted as 4 priest of that church, Had I desired tove married according to the rites of the English church he would as readily have acted ag lala ick of that church, and in ere the marriage would legal ‘in these days of dis- order, “But are you certain, Zona, that Obel Ling was the man who wedded you to Captain Hered? Perhaps similarity of voice ue- ceived you”? “I was not so deceived, Elena, though untila short time since I hoped I was deceived. Assoon asI lieard Obel Ling speak, as I have qua@ged, I recognized his voice, as I have said, as unmis- takably th@ of the priest, or pretended, priest who had married me to Captain Herod Marduke. I am very sure that I changed color, for I felt very sick and.faint, and it flashed upon my heart with keen anguish that I had been deceived.” “Did he continue to use the same accent and style, Zona ?”” “No, He saw his error itistLantly—saw it in my wild stare, pale face,'and trembling limbs, no doubt, for he at Once assumed a smuggier’s tone, accent, and style, saying, in 4 rough, boorish way: ‘So they say in play-books, Mustriss Zoiney, the like of which I ha’ a-been a-overhaulin’, though devil belay my red rag if Obel Ding can coil it in that shape more nor a flip of a gull’s wing, for aye he ha? a-been tryin’ it on sin’ sunrise.’ “I hurried away, toofull of new-born and agonizing suspicion to stay any longer, and yet as I left I_had presence of mind to say: ‘ i am quite ill, Mr. Ling—been ill all day; Iwill send in my father.’ “Then perhaps he did not attribute your emotion to its true cause, Zona ?? “[ do not think he did; for thongs I saw him frequently after- ward, and watched him intently never observed any conduct upon his part from which I could conciude that he suspected that LT suspected him.” . “Ah, Zona, perhaps, after all, it was not he——” “Elena, Obel Ling has confessed to me that he was the priest— not a pretended priest, but by law empowe rites of marriage, he was bound he made known to me the baseness of Captain Herod. He did not tell me that Paul Vultree was the accomplice | of Herod in that great villainy, for I neglected to ask him; but I do not now need the assertions of Obel Ling to convince me that Paul Vultree sold meto Captain Herod. i know it as firmly as it Vultree himself had confessed it to me. When 1 promised 9 that I would free the commandant, I thought L could do it, Ele- na, and I may_be able to do it yet.” “Let us not despair, Zona. But tellme why you consented to accept Garvin Marduke as your husband when you knew that you were already the wiferof his son ?” “PD did 1t to save my life, Elena, Had 1 refused I would have been torn in pieces by the mob, I did it to try Captain Herod, aud to gain time,; But, especially,” she. added, Reis her eyes ashed with anger, “I did itto obtain revenge, Captain Herod does not know that the marriage was a. true and legal marriage. He no doubt imagines that-I am convinced that it was ashain, ahd that through simple spite I will marry his father. He is sure that my’pride and shame will force me to keep forever se- -eret the whole affair from his father. He no doubt expects to hold me always.in his power by threatening, to reveal the truth at any time toGarvin Marduke. He thinks that I fear Garvin Marduke. Elena, I pm so reckless now that I fear nothing, not even death—death! "1 wish I were dead! I wish that I had never been bortil’” “Do not say that, Zona, you may yet be happy.” juepey only in being avenged upon Herod Marduke!” ex- claimed Zona. ‘But Jet us examine our prison.”? “We need not hope to escape from it,” said Elena, sadly, as they arose. “We are in the ante-room of the dungeon; nor haye I ever been within it until now.’? “At least we may look about us,” replied Zona, as she took up the lamp. “Ah! thers is the narrow door which opens into the dungeon, no doubt.”’ ‘ ‘As she spoke they approached one of the walls of the room, and halted before a tall and narrow deor. waa door was of iron, anu in its lock was a key, long and mas- Ve. ae why have you no desire to live, Zona? Lite is sweet to au. Be “Not to me, not to me, Elena,” replied Zona, in-a bitter tone, as she sat down upou the bei Kaspar had thrown une the floor. tte. ( : rly Agr a few minutes, during which Elena entwined her arms around her “Enough,” ‘cried Zona, suddenly regaining her customary “Ido myself adishonor in shedding a single tear “Tt is because of some baseness committed by Captain Herod,” “You told me that he was your husband, and not “Yes, a.miserable, iniquitous, most villainous sham, Elena; of that he supposed he and the man I believed to be my own father “Of avarice, Blena, for I remember now that just before the ceremony was perfotmed Captuin Merod gave Pau! Vultree a small bag of golaen coin, and that when theceremony wis com- pleted ie gave him another, I Know it was in golden coin, for I saw Paul Vultree count it over eagerly after We returned to his I think, Captain Herod appeared to live but in my smile. Sud- e desired to make me be gladto bidhim never enter my presence again—so that we to celebrate the | Before I ldosed him from the stake to which | ee = “Of course,” said Zona, asshe placed the lamp in Bienn’s hand and grasped this key,,“we need not hope te find any escape from the dungeon, yet we will try to look.into it,” } The lock yielded to lier strength, and with great ease and no noise the iron door swang back upon its hinges. } ‘It is very, sirange,”?...r ked Four pawsing to examine the hinges of this noiseless door, “that the door of a dungeon should work so nviselessly and'with such ease. Why the hand of achild might turn. this. great key and move that massive bel: “Hold the late Denker iene a8 | live Ape wards of .the lock and the ninges of the door have been oiled r ly. i and er, ca Tecently. See, this oil isclear ‘hey entered the dungeon, which was asquare apartment small in area, but witha ceiling fully thirty feet som thé floor. Its walls were stone tothe bight of about ten feet, and above that were ot pluin, rough boards, _ The apartment was empty, and Zona gazed about and upward in great bewalderment. Suddenly she began to shudiler, and pointed at seyeral @ark stains upon the stone walls, saying : “There! do you see it? Blood, Elena—human blood#* ‘Do you mean those marks upon the walls, Zona?™* Yes—you see them? Oh, Elena, you have lived so many years his guests to disappear and never to be heard of after they sleep there,” added Zona, pomting upward. uw here, Zona? Ido not understand you.” There. That which you think is the eciling of this dungeon is really the floor of a room above. Now what room of the inn is immediately over this dungeon»? Elena retlected fora moment, and then said: “One of the guest chambers—No. 8 which adjoins No. 7—In which Master Rbeinhand bas always siept.. He never permits any onetoenter his room, nor No. 8, when he is not -present. And now Tremember that he bade me sce that the two travelers were lodged im No, 8? “Fes, and because he desired to murder and rod them,” said Zona, “The floor above is false, and on it rest the two_ narrow beds upon. which the travelers would have slept. . And while they slept the floor would have been slowly and uoiselessly lowered until it rested upon the floor upon which we stand. Then through this door would hayeentered Kaspar Rhineliand to do assassin’s work. Oh, no doubt many.a poor wretch has received his death biow in this spot. See, and some bave uied struggling tor dear life, for the walls are Eplashed with blood. Théstainsare dry anu dark now, but I know, that they are the stains of blood.” “But, Zona,” asked Elena, in great amazement, *howy is it that you recognize this place—or, rather, how is it that you know any such horrible deeds have eyer been done, and if they have been done, that Master Rheinband did them?” “Paul Vultree, once when he was drunk and angry with Kas- par Rheinhand toid me of. these things,and andeed: described everything, and how the victims were dragged into that ante- room) and cast into the pit. The bottom of tie pit is conneeted in some way with the sea, and the bodies are aliiost immehate- Paul Vultree and Captain Herod won my consent to a secret j"ly seized upon and, devoured by rayenons. fisu and, erubs and other inhabitants of the water and slime.”? “But a few days since. j “Have you never spoken to any one of it, Zona’? Never, For when Paul Vultee became soberhe remembered that he had been babbling, and bade ne. not a Word of aught that he had said, as he had hed, and were Kaspar Rheinhand to hear of it there wound be an éndiess feud between him and the landiord., But Jet us return to the ante-room, Elena, for there is, indeed, no eseape {rom this place.” They left the dungeon and closing the door were gain in the apartinent which contained the pit. “Did Paul Vultree tell you, Zona, why this trap-deor was pro- vided with false fastenings??? “Yes; that if it suited Kaspar not to strike his victims, the door of the dungeon being Jett open, and alamp burning pear the deor of this room, the vietith on awakiug and desiring to escane, would tread upan the trap and be precipitated jato the pit, ; “Would the fall be certain death?” asked Elena, “So Paul Vultree said. It is strange, Eiena, that you have never suspected the existence.of this horrible place.?? “Ah,” replied Elena, “I have suspeeted that Master Rheinhand dealtfoully with some of his guests. I knew that many a travel- er has been placed in No.8, and that of them Rhembhand would say: ‘He left before daylight.’ Oh, Zoua, it is horrible! Por years I have suspected that 1 wasthe adopted daughter of a murderer, and longed to escape,’, “Theo why did you not try to escape, Elena?” ; “Try! I lave tried hundreds of times to escape from Lang- fleay—that is before Marhn returned. But 1 - constantly | watched. Among the crews of the sinugglers, a among tile people of Langfleay, Master’ Rheinhand and Garvin Marduke haye many-spies WHO are eyer Watching me. And if I were te escape, whiiher could I got I am friendless—no, Ihave one friend, the hermit of the beach——” “The hermit of the beach! Ob, you mean the inhabitant of the wrecked ship?” Yes, Zona.’? : him Peter, the Bearded, and say he is a wizard.”’ , “What do the people say of. him?” asked Elena, with keen cu- riosity. “Do they wink that he is a spy or an enemy of the smugglers?” “A spy! an enemy! oh, no. You know thar‘it is scarcely a year since he made his appearance }in Langficay and reecived permission to live in the wrecked ship,’’ replied Zona. ‘He is feared by ali, and said to be. a prophet and a wizard... That is the reason no one goes near hig home, But you say he is your triend, Elena??? i : “My best and only friend, now that Marlinis helplessand you 2 prisoner, Zona.” “Butis he powerful—is he, indeed, a wizard ?”? “A wizard! Do you believe in witches and wizards?” asked Elena, looking her companion ful) in the face, No, Ido not,” replied Zona, “though allin Langfieay do, Still, the hermit must be as powerful asa wisard, if he can oppose Garvin Marduke.”? “He is a very strange man,” saki Elena, “and Iwish he knew what is going on bere. _I am sure he could rescue us,’? “But if so sure of that, why have you never asked him to aid you to escape from Langfleay 2”? task “T haye and he bade me wait a little while longer, and trust to him for aid when in need.’? g “Phen, indeed, he is no wizard,” said Zona, ‘or he would know that you sorely need his aid now.” “He will know it very soon, if he does not already, Zona,” bie hearing these words Zona gazed at her companion in sur- r se. “You are dreaming with your eyes open, Elena, The hermit has never been seen near this house, we may be very sure that he has pot ventured abroad during al) this | riot and disturb- ance, Listen! You may hear the yells and shouts of the drunken mob even bere, Elena.” Elena made noreply. She knew, however, that the courier Fry had understood and obeyed her secret signal. after a pause, ever tell me, He has always been a tyrant to me, and until within a few years I have not dared to oppose hit comrades. But Iam a woman grown now, and since Marlin nas honored me with his Jove I have not feared to disobey Kaspar Rheinland, {or Kaspar feared the commandant. Next week Mariim and i were to. have been married.” ‘ : Zona was about to speak, when a noise was heard immediately beneath the trap-door, | ay “Great Heaven!” exclaimed Zona, starting aside. “Do you ar that noise, Elena ? n | “Oh, mercy!” cried Elena, as he and Zona recoiled to a ‘cor- ner, “Some one or something is trying to etlect an entrance by the trap-door!? _ : ; It was very plain that some ene or something was at work under the trap-door, and both Zona and Elena for a moment were petrified with terror and amazement. Either that some- thing was a human being or some lurge animal. If it was a man he must have been within the pit when Rhein- hand fastened: the trap, or there existed some means com- munication between the pit and the outer workd by which he had entered. Elena knew nothing whatever of the bottom of the pit, for until her entrance into that room ‘she had not so much as known that the pit existed. t Zona knew nothing of the bottom and formation of the pi except as she had Jearned from the drunken. revelations of Pau Vultree; and governed in her imagination by thoge revelations alone, she believed that the waves of the sea swept into the bot- tom of the pit, many feet below the surface of the floor. Filled with iuexpressible horror, the two girls gazed in speech- less dread first at the trap-door and then into each otlier’s pale ace, “Oh, great Heaven!” whispered Elena, “something is below there trying to remove the support that holds up the trap-~doort It Popes iro aie oF the Ted ai na was brage and liardy, yet her nerves had been terribi shaken by the eXciting events of the night, and especially by the conyiction forced upon her mind of the baseness of the man to whom her whole heart had a given. Her mind, therefore, readily yielded tothe impressions which affrighted her compan- on, “Yes,” she whispered, as they clung tightly together, “It is no doubt some dreadtul nionster of the s€a that f: ents the bot- tomof the pit! Certainlyat cannot be a human being, for no ‘| human being could liye an such a place, Nodonbt this monster has often ied upon the bodiesof Rueinhand’s victims, and having heard na sound of our voices, is eagerly trying to reach us to de- your us “Oli, good Heaven deliver us!” gasped Elena, for at that’ in- stant the ring which Rheinhand Imad grasped when he secured the trap-door became violemtly agkated. “Ah,” said Zona, “the monster has seized the support of the trap and is trying to thrust or pull it away? 0 “Butif he does,” said Elena, “wili not the weight: of the door as it falls dash him back into the pit 9”? “Let us hope for anything,” replied Zona, whose courage began to return, ‘though if it be a monster, as we think, no doubt its strength and agility will protect it from harm, But let us pre- pare to defend ourselves,” : “It will be useless to scream,” said Elena, “for no’ one can hear us,'and if'our voices were to be heard no doubt Master Rheinband basso ordered it that no attention would be given. But how can we defend ourselves against this horrible monster, whatever It may be??? “As tor me,’ bladed dagger with which she had liberated Obel'Ling, “I have never seen any ot those moudsters of the sea of which the eld women of Langfleay prate such wonderful tales, Neither mer- maids nor mermen haye I seen——” ( “Nor I,’ interrupted Elena, “Buf once I saw, cast ashore on the beach, a dreadful thing of enormous size and horrible shape —they called it a sea-devil! Oh, Zona, it was dead, and yet even then a terrible thing to look upont {ts mouth was dreadful to see, and upon each corner of that yawning chasm of a mouth, growing outward, was a huge arm, ever curved to grapple its prey! Great staring eyes, aud a horny tail many feet in kngth and huge fleshy fins that looked like wings! AndI bave hear of sea-wolyes, aud sea-dragons, and sea-serpents——”? “yhere—cease, Eleva! for your speechi makes me tremble,” in- terrupted Zona, “I, too, saw that dead sea-devil, but Iam sure such a monster could never climb up the sides of the pit. I have my dagger and can use it,” “Ah, you are brave, and more than brave, Zona, for you are desperate and life is nothing but bitterness to you. Butl have so much to live for——”? ‘ x “Then prepare to preserve that life you love so well,” cried Zona, firmly. ‘Rouse yourself, Elena, aud shake off your trem- bling. Here, see! here isa heavy iron bar! Take it, and be ready to strike a good, telling blow upon the monster’s head as it appears. erved by the heroie courage of her companion, Elena gras the iron bar and stood ready to deliver a stroke upon the bead of the imagined monster of the pit when itshould be within reach. The etforts beneath the trap to remove the support which up- held it had continued while Zona and Elena exchanged the above words, butall in vain. Tie support could, not be removed from below, and the noise made beneath suddenly ceased as if the would-be intruder was either wearied or baffled. “Ah? sighed Elena, joyfully, “it seems that the monster can- not remove the fastening, Thank Heaven for that!” “T know not which we shouki dread the most,” replied Zona, ashe turned her pale and resolute fuce upon her, companion, “the monsters who imprison us or thisunknown enemy below. We are—or at least I am decreed to destruction, for Garvin Mar- duke’s wrath will devour we when he learns that lam the wile of his son—— “Ob, great Heaven!” cried Elena, “the monster was only resting! He is urying again!” Mth Elena spoke truly, tor the nolse below the trap began again, but not as hitherto. a Now the noise was of a ¢utting, rasping, thumping nature, and Zona knelt upon the floor so as to place her ear upon the trap- doer, x This brave and heroic girl, as brave as a warrior and ne reso- Jute as @ leroy was endeavorimy to discover by what means this supposed enemy was attempting to force an entrance, Elena began to speak again, but Zona made a gesture com- manding perfect silence. Elena, pale and agitated, yet with far more courage than could be found in the hearts of the majority of her sex, remained silent, with ner eyes fixed upon the face of Zona, and awaited her commands. At length Zona arose and whispered, as she grasped her dagger more firmly: : “It is some one armed with a knife, or it is a monster with great talons cutting and tearing an entrance. Patience and courte age, Elena! Weshallsoon see what munner of being we are to fight,” BE QONTINUED.) in this house and not discovered how Kaspar Rbinehand causes - “And how longiis it, Zoni, since Paul Vultree fold you this?? ; *And has he no name? You know the people of Langfkeay call al. “You do not know who your parents are, Elena?” asked Zona, t ; “No, lL know nothing of them, nor would Master Rheinhand replied Zona, as she calmly drew that broad- | ” a ore eneren nena a ie 9 (25 { aye iv e 3 IN A CELLAR. BY NATHAN D. URNER. **We live in the cellar just over the way, With a laundry above, and some dens in the rear,” I heard a small girl to another one say, And the petulant pride of the voice struck my ear. For the speaker was squalid, lean, pinched, hollow-eyed, A waif of the slums, that in wretchedness grow, And the other who beard was the pet and the pride OF some grand, stately house in the suburbs, I know. “In a cellar!” . The lip of the favored one curled. “Is that to be proud of ? Dear me, what a guy! We live in the loveliest house in the world, Full of silver and gold, with a fountain near by. And what do you find in that cellar that's nice? In ours no one goes but the cook, or the maid; We use it for kindlings, and small coals, and ice, And there’s rats in it, too, that would make you afraid.” ‘Ha, ha! laughed the other; “you never can tell, Till you’ve slept without shelter, how cozy and gay, How close, warm and pleasant—except the bad smell— Is the cellar we live in just over the way. ~ There are four of us, father and mother and Ned And myself—though poor Neddie just now is not there; Weve only one room, but there’s space for the bed And the stove, and the table and chairs, and to spare. “And we've rats enough, too, but a dog and two cats, That keep them in bounds, and make all the more fun; You should hear them of nights in the mortar and slats, How over the cellar they riot and run! What changes arise! Now we’re up, now we're down. Last month we were poor as church-mice, and to-day My father has worked for the winter down town, And we live in that cellar just over the way. “Poor Ned’s in bad luck. He was ‘sent up,’ I’m told, For admiring a coat that belonged to a man; But the snow was so deep, and he shaking with cold, T sympathize with him'as much as I can. But soon he’ll be out, and his earnings will come— He’s a rag-sorter somewheres in Ann street, they say— Ah! won’t we be gay, snug and warm, all at home, In that beautiful cellar just over the way? “Oh, often at night I lie thinking, awake, Of the poor girls who haven't no cellar like ours, And cry for them, too, till my heart's like to break, Though every. one’s path can’t be scattered with flowers. What! you must go, my dear? What a proud, pretty scorn! Give my-love to your mamma, who cares, I dare say, ‘A precious great deal for the folks (in a horn) Who live in a cellar just over the way.” — THE LIGHTNING EXPRESS. BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY. Did the reader ever ride on a locomotive at top speed ? It is a queer experience, especially to one not at all accus- tomed to that peculiar mode of traveling, and is calcula- ted, under some circumstances, to try the nervous system to its utmosttension. If you would realize the power and irresistible force of a locomotive under headway, step on the rails for a moment, on a dark night, and look up the long line of perspective at an on-coming engine with its blazing signal lantern in front, like the eye of Cyclops, and its roar, echoed by the trembling earth, likesome fabled giant’s breath. It is the very epitome of mechani- cal power harnessed to the service of human intelligence. What a frightful means of sacrifice, what a marvelous agent for good! ‘ Again, stand on the platform of a side-station while the express train passes at iis average speed of thirty miles an hour, and you have another example of the amazing power of steam. Your nerves will involuntarily contract themselves as the train rushes swiftly by, your eyelids will close mechanically, and you almost gasp for breath as the air-yacuum surrounds you, caused by such huge and rapid atmosplieric displacement. But it was upon an engine itself that the experience of which we write was gained, and though some years have now intervened it is asfresh in the memory as though it had occurred but yesterday. : It was on a cold winter’s evening that we were to start from Burlington, Vermont, for Boston. The January thaw had failed to put in an appearance that year, and the cold im that northern region had been intense, bedding the frost to a great depth in the soil. After purchasing our ticket for the Lightning Express, as it was called, and placing yvalise and wrapper safely in one of the passenger cars, we had strolled about the depot, until we flually paused beside’ the large and powerful locomotive which was to draw the train op its downward trip. lt wasa superb piece of mechanism, with its brass mountings as bright as patient toil and incessant care could make them, while the iron and steel parts conveyed a sense of enor- mous strengthevenat aglauce. The huge engine seemed almost endowed with animal life as it paused there with restrained power, like a-thoroughbred horse champing impatiently at the bit which curbs him.., The engineer and fireman were both in their places quietly awaiting the dollars made up by the passengers. detention of twenty minutes served to mend the traek suf- ficiently to permit the passage of the train,-and we once get that experience upon the Lightning Express. entitled “TRIED FoR His LIFE; or, THE CHAIN QF GUILT.” and forest, and turned the river, which flowed so quietly by, into a mirror that shene like polished steel. beauties which surrounded her. her face would have told the most careless beholder that for awhile longer. been doing for so many a long mile. leap into almost audible action, and to me bankment to inevitable wreck. glance at me with an amused smile. Custom had inured heed. ’ On, On, and still the driving snow storm and the dark- ness reigned supreme. The stoker fed the fire, and the engineer, watchful as ever, peered ahead. getting to be a little sleepy trom the force of the wind and the lateness of the hour, for it was now about midnight, whien, fearing to drop to sleep, [rose from a stool on which I had been sitting, and determined to change to the pas- senger cars at the next stopping place. Just as I had made this mental resolve, there came suddenly a crash at the front window of the engine that sent every drop of blood back to my heart with a sickening thrill. I had time to draw one long breath when the engineer whistled “down brakes,’’ and shut off steam from the engine, ex- claiming: “My God! what is that?’ while both he and myself shook the broken glass from our faces and neck, and he still further reversed his engine. “T's a lantern,’ said the fireman, picking up what re- mained of the article which had come crashing in at the window. “Thrown at us,’’ said the engineer. ger if it means anything.” In the meantime the train had been brought to a stand- still, the conductor had appeared at the, side of the loco- motive to consult with the engineer, the bell was rung, whistle started, and gradually we ran backward toward the spot where the lantern had struck us. We had re- traced our way for nearly a quarter of a mile, when a man suddenly appeared through the darkness and came to the locomotive. “Did you throw that lantern ?? asked the engineer. “To be sure I did, and worse luck ifI hadn’t hit ye!” was the answer that came to our ears with unmistakable Milesian accent. ; ‘Who are you?’ asked the conductor. “Dm trackman between here and Brandon.” ‘Well, what's the matter?!’ asked the engineer. “The matter is a broken rail, just beyant, as would have sent ye all to glory!’ replied the Irishman. The affair was soon explained. During the winter sea- son the frost often renders the rails very brittle, so that they break under a passing train. In consequence of this liability to danger a corps of trackmen are so placed as to walk over and examine every mile of the northern roads, in extreme weather, after the passing of each train. Those trackmen are supplied with the ordinary tools for repair- ing any slight. break, and also with a lantern to signify danger when necessary to any incoming train. In the instance to which we refer, the trackman had discovered aserious break in arail just beside a steep embankment and viaduct, one of the most dangerous spots on the route. In his efforts to repair the danger, by some means his lantern became extinguished. Here was an unfortunate plight. In that sparsely-inhabited region there was neither house nor shelter where he could renew the light. His matches he exhausted in vain endeavors to light the wick in so fierce a storm. Besides, as the man weil rea- soned, ‘‘the engineer, I knew, could not see my lantern if it were lighted, three rods off in such a night.’? The Hish- man was puzzled; the Lightning Express was nearly due; if it struck that defective rail the train would surely be wrecked! What was to be done? A sudden inspiration struck him. He started and ran like a deer nearly half a mile up the track toward the on-coming train. Already he heard the rumble of its approach as he placed himself on a slight elevation on the side of the track. On came the train; he could see her signal light, though the engineer could neither see nor have heard him—on, on, thirty miles an hour, toward destruction. The Irishman braced him- self, and with a swift bat careful throw of his unhght- ed lantern, he cast it straight into the engineer’s face! “Bedad! It was the only thing I could do,’’ said the honest fellow, as he gratefully pocketed a purse of filty “That means dan- We crept carefully on to the dangerous spot, where a more dashed ahead in the darkness; but I shall never for- Will soon be commenced anew story by LIEUTENANT MURRAY, THE DEATH SIGN. BY ARTHUR L. MESERVE. In the doorway of their cabin Susan Harding stood and We had stopped twice for wood and water, at which times I might have taken my seat in the passenger cars, but a sense of wild fascination seemed to attach me to the locomotive, and I determined to continue upon itat least And soon we daslied still through the dense darkness and the blinding snow, as we had Now and then the engine would jump in its fierce headway on striking some trifling obstruction upon the rails, and oy heart would t appeared at times as though the whole train was going over an em- When one of these ex- periences was more decided than usual, I could not quite suppress an ejaculation at which my companions would them to these occurrences, so that they gaye them no I was perhaps our defense.’’ the omen had cast upon her was gone now. mother. should be safe.’’ without fell upon their ears. soon be determined, stirred not from its place. ‘White woman, Open door. Red man wants to com in,” fell upon the ears of the anxious ones within. “You cannot,’’ answered Susan, in as firm a tone as sh could assume. is at home, we shall be glad to see pa “White woman, 0 door, or To this she returned no answer. them would serve to pacify them in the least. keeping the stout walls of the cabin between them, Again was the demand made for their admittance, bu only answer. strength, but to no purpose. Bravely it withstood them turn, was the prayer of the imperiled wife. fallen? Then, sooner or later, the savages must triumph. against the door. Stillit did not give way. them to crawl through. women within saw the edge of their tomahawks. to give them admittance. for the final conflict. tion of the wood. and the hand of the savage dropped to the floor. success of her blow gave her new courage. companion, the other savages worked on. of a man passing through. ing. In an instant the ax descended, and the skullof the Savage was clove in twain, while the blood and. brains bespattered the floor. “‘Courage!’’ cried old Mrs. Harding. - “May Heaven help you, Susan, to triumph yet.’ Hardly had the words left her lips when the ringing re- port of a rifle sounded in their ears, followed by a triumph- ant shout which told them that the son and husband had returned. , _ The dead savage lay with his head through the door un- til William Harding removed it, so that he might gain an entrance himself, as he did a minute later when the red- skins were all dead or put to flight, The joy of the meeting we will leave to the reader to imagine. A little later Susan toid him of the sign which his mo- ther had declared to be an omen of evil. With a smile the settler removed the garment from the wall and thrust his hand into one of the pockets. “This morning I killed a squirrel, which I meant for the cat. Look at this pocket. I placed 1t in here, and the cloth is soaked with biood.?’ Old Mrs. Harding was silenced, although it must be con- fessed that her faith in signs was by no means diminished. Will soon be commenced a new story by LIEUTENANT MURRAY, entitled “TRIED FOR His Lirs; or, THE CHAIN OF GUILT.” AN OLD WOMAN'S ROMANCE. BY HERO STRONG. Iam an old woman now, widowed and alone. All my children have gone before me, and it is not long before I shall follow, and the thought gives me great comfort. On this side of the river £ have nothing; on the other side everything! Why should I fear to cross to those who love me and whom I love? Iam going to unfold for you a leaf of my early life. Perhaps the skeptical aniong you will not believe what I am about to write, but if so, pray ascribe whatever is im- probable and unreal about it to the wandering vagaries of a poor old woman, and think no more of i gazed out upon the smiling scene around. The afternoon’s sun showered its golden light over field But the woman standing there gave no thought of the The anxious look upon I wasthe daughter of ai Eugiish country curate. Of course my father was poor—curates always are. [had one brother, older than miyself, a wild, reckless, unprin- cipled fellow, whose conduct broke my father’s heart at 1 signal which should start the train for the south. A sud- den thought struck me, I had never ridden upon a loco- motive; it would be anew sensation. Was it possible to do so to-night? L asked tlre engineer, ‘who shook his head, but still answered me pleasantly: : “There is the superintendent, yonder; ask him.” Seeking the individual designated as the superintendent, I was both pleased and surprised to recognize in him an old friend, with whom, years ago, I had been on intimate her mind was ill at ease, Shading her eyes with her-hand, she gazed long and earnestly away to the westward as though she was expect- ing the coming of some one from that direction. Long and steadily she looked, but the coming of no human be- ing rewarded her gaze. A look of disappointment min- gied with anxiety, and. she said aloud to herself, as she turned away from the door: “J can’t see why William does not come. He said that terms. J finally told him that I had a singular request to} he would be gone no longer than noon at the most. Lam make, and expressed my desire to tide with the engineer. | afraid that some harm has come to him.” He somewhat reluctantly assented to my desire, but not} - without numerous cautions and the remark that it was quite exceptional to grant such a privilege to any one. Walking to the side of the locomotive, the superinten- dent introduced me. to the engineer, and gave him direc- tions to accommodate me as it regarded the intended pur- e. . Prive minutes later the signal bell was rang, the shrill whistle sounded, steam was gradually let on to the cylin- ders, and the train rolled out of the depot into the dark- ness, which for a moment was rendered more dense by contrast with the well-lighted depot left behind. 1 at once bestowed myself so as not to be in the way of the engi- meer or fireman, and curiously watched the novel scene immediately about me, for that was all that I could possi- bly see. ‘ Never on a locomotive. before?’ suggested the en- gineer. as 7 “No. «Can't see much such a night as this.” 4No; it’s ag dark as a pocket,’’ I replied. “Of a nice summer's day it’s all very wit,” continued the engineer, ‘‘but of a dark night—well, I don’t think its very jolly.” All the while he was looking straight-ahead, with his hands on the valves to shut off steam and to whistie “down brakes” at an instant’s notice. “How far ahead can you see?” I asked. bg *¢About a couple of rods sucha night as this, unless a strong signal lantern is shown, then we Can see farther.” “Two rods would be of no real advantage if we were to encounter an obstacie on the track,” I suggested. _ <‘Well, nO} you Can’t stop an express train much inside ef a quarter of a mile with the style of brakes we now have,’ x “Ay, that’s it. You require a more powerful sort of brake; is that what I understand you to mean ?”? “Exactly; one that will act with greater power, and yet mot bring @ train up all standing, as it were. That would be almost as bad as to run into an object dead ahead,” re- plied the engineer. “Something of the sort will be invented.” *Oh, yes, one of these days; I’ve always said so.'! In the meantime the Lightning Express was rushing on ‘its way, straight into the intense darkness, which, if possibie, was now rendered more apparent by a fleecy Yall of snow, which was packed all about us by reason of the great speed at which we were running. I could not but admire the perfect coolness of the two men who were my companions, though my Own senses were in a constant state of nervousexcitement. The intense dark- ness, the blinding snow into which we drove, as it seemed to me not knowing whither, kept my senses on the alert. I could not divest myself of the feeling that there was perhaps something in that darkness just ahead which we were sure to run into and wreck the train. Finally, my excited ‘brain began to recall all the railroad accidents of which [had ever read or heard, until, as I had just ar- rived at the hight of miserable anticipation, I suddenly exclaimed: “What is that?! on hearing something like a prolonged whistle ahead. «Your ears are quick,’’ said the engineer calmly. ‘That isthe Rutland accommodation train; it will pass usina moment.”’ Even while he was speaking there appeared in front of us the bright reflecting signal lantern upon the other engine, seeming exactly in front of us, and perhaps six or eight Tods distant, but scarcely had the eye settled upon the dazzling object before it swept past us on the other track 80. quickly as to seem to have been a flash of lightning, ana, for an instant, quite taking away my breath, though my companions did not so mych as wink aneyelid. In this ‘instance we had not only the thirty miles per hour headway of our Own train but also the twenty miles per hour of the accommodation train added. to the speed which so rapidly separated us. It was nota very pleas- ant thought which passed through my brain just. then, that a misplaced switch might bring these two trains upon the same track facing each Other, and, at this frightful rate of speed, the result can easily be conceived! -' Frank Moore, the engineer, had been long in the com- pany’s service. He was a man of some thirty-eight or dorty years, intelligent, though not cultivated, and as I watched him standing at his post, that dark and dismal hight, I thought how many lives were trusted to his sole guidance. Supposing an accident were to happen to him, what would become of the lrundred souls and more in the train? But he stood there as firm asthe iron about him, never for one moment quitting his hold upon either the valve which should signal danger, or that which shut off the motive power in case of necessity. Begrimed, by Jong exposure to soot and smoke, his features were very dark, but there was a kindly expression through all the Dronze, and a firmness visible in his face, which chal- “J shouldn’t wonder at all if there had,’ said a voice from within the cabin. “The redskins are on the war- path, you know. I told William that he had better stay at home to-day. I wouldn’t wonder a miteif we had trouble with them here before he got back.” : “You are always talking of evil, mother. Why is itthat you will always be a bird of illomen? The redskins here never as yet done us any harm, and I trust that they may not.’ “But they have other people, if they ain’t us, Susan,’ said the old lady, in a haif-offended tone. ‘You ain’t for- got how they murdered the Smith family and then burned their cabin to the ground. They said that they had had two or three signs of danger, but they only laughed at them. If they had given them heed it may be that they would be alive now.” . “You are always talking of signs, mother. Why will you do so? You know there is nothing in them. It makes me nervous to hear you talk thus.'? “But there is more in signs than you think, Susan. I don't believe that anybody ever. died yet thout some sign being giventhem. Sometimes it comes in one way, and sometimes in another.” “Don't talk of such things anymore, mother; you make me nervous, although I don’t believe in them. ButI do wish William would come. Now that puts me in mind that I have his frock tomend. He'll want it to-morrow if he goes to work on the new_piece.” Saying this, the young wife stepped across the room, and reached up to take down the garment from where it hung upon 4 peg on the wall. As she attempted to do so, three drops of bright crim- gon blood fell and rested upon her arm. She turned aspale as death at the sight, and acry of half terfor, half surprise fell from her lips. “What is it, Susan?’ demanded the old lady, her hus- band’s mother. = The young wife at first could not find words to answer, but she extended her arm, with the bright red drops upon it, toward the questioner, “What did that “G0od Heaven!” cried the old lady- come from??? “1 know not,’ answered Susan; “it fell from some- where upon my arm.” “Did it come from the frock?’ asked the old lady, with a blanched face, “Ji seemed to. I had just lain my hand uponit.'’ “It isa death-sign,” cried the old lady, shrilly. ‘‘The redskins have either killed William, or we are going to be murdered here before he comes back.” As pale as though her life-blood was flowing from her, the young wife sank into a seat. “Do you think so, mother?’ she gasped, forgetting for the moment her recently expresssed disbelief in such matters. : “Yes,") she answered, solemnly. ‘I am sure thatisa warning tous. Thereis troublein store, and 1 am sure we shall see it before long. What else can this sigp mean? For sign I am sure it is!” “I do not believe it. I'll make sure first that there is nothing about the spot from whence it may have come. Perhaps the cat may have kilied a mouse in the loft, and the blood came from that.’? “No; there’s the cat asleep upon the bed. Oh, Susan, I'm afraid that we shall never see William again.”’ The young wife made no answer, but she rose from her seatand took a step toward the spot where the garment hung. But she did not reachit. As she stepped forward she gave a glance out through the open door, and there she saw that which at once arrested her steps. The forms of four savages, in Indian file, were gliding toward the cabin. Another glance showed her that they were fully armed, ra as hideous as war-paint and feathers could make them. For a moment she stood as motionless as though turned to stone. Could it be that the death-sign was to be so soon made a verity? . It certainly looked like it. Oftimes the savages had visited their cabin and depart- ed without doing them harm. But she had never seen them coming in the guise they now were. : Surely it must be that they meantthem harm. Perhaps her husband was indeed slain, and now they were coming to accomplish their destruction also. * | By a violent effort she burst the spell that was upon cabin and threw acrossit the stout oaken bar, which served to hold it still firmer in its place. “What is it, Susan?’ cried the old lady, startied from her seat. “The savages, mother,’’ she answered. lenged trust and entire confidence in the man. nothing. What shall we do?’ her, and springing forward, she closed the doorof the “What, so soon? I knew that sign was not meant for L. Gerald, that was my brother’s name, was continually getting himsel into trouble, from which only money could extricate him, and there was no one to help him but my poor father, and the consequence was that the family purse was always at the lowest ebb, and my mother and myself were put to all sorts of shifts to keep the family wardrobe in a state of Shabby decency. Until my mother died, I don’t think I ever had a new dress, All my dresses were made out of hers, for she had been the child of a wealthy father, and at the time of her marriage her outfit had been lavish and costly. When she died—i was sixteen then—I had a suit of mourning. They were my very first new clothes, and dating from that time onward there has always been to me a sort of funeral significance about newclothes. I always shudder when I put them on, so vividly do I re- member the dismal stiffuess and coldness of that mourn- ing bombazine, with its heavy folds of charnel-house smelling crape. A year after my mother’s death, Richard Earle came to the rectory to board for a few weeks. He had come down from London for his health, and meeting my father in the village, had asked for rooms in our little house. He made no troubie, and old Bess, our one servant, declared it was a pleasure to wait on him—he was such a handsome and sweet-spoken young gentleman. It is not hard for you to guess how it terminated. - I was a young, simple-natured country girl, with a ionely, deso- late heart, and he was a new revelation of love and life. I loved him—there was no other way for me—and he loved me in return. It will not seem vain for me to speak of it, now thatI am gray and wrinkled, butin my youth I was very beau- tiful, and almost every young mau I met told me ao with his eyes,.if not with his lips, In all my life I had never known what happiness was until, looking into my eyes, Richard Earle told me that he loved me. Ah, then for me rose the new heaven and the new earth created, and all the hours ran in golden sands; for, no matter how tenderly she may have been shielded and cared for, a woman never Knows what joy is till she loves and is beloved; neither does she know the meaning of pain untillove has made her heart soft enough to feel not then make clear to me. his love. —oi, so tender, and gentle, and loving! Then they ceased A month of anguish, and my father brought me a Lon don paper. Earle and Lady Arethusa Cleares. After that I felt iike a stone—cold, passionless, and apa thetic. privation was not a constant guest. him highly. my father plead with me to save him. ly honor! time, was saved. Three years went by, and I had drank my fill of th world’s admiration. the noblest and best of men, and Heaven knows I wa never anything else to him than a faithful wife, though never loved him. with the Countess of Huntley. been there on two occasions with the countess for week’s rusticating, and a most delightfully wierd an mysterious old house was Huntiey Manor. When I was invited there to witness the nuptials of m his sister tell so much of him. An only son, born to for the past three years and more; but now he ha she had a dreadful temper. We will not die so long as there isa chance left for us to make good There was the light of a heroine in her eyes now, and a look of determination upon her face. The spell which If the worst was to come, she would seil her life as dearly as possible. “Oh, William, why did you leave us?!’ groaned the “If you were only here with your good rifle we A moment more and the sound of the savages’ feet Whether their errand was of friendship or of hate would A little later they tried the door, which shook, but *Seme other time, when the white hunter, pen ngin break down and take her scalp,’ again exclaimed the voice from without. To do so would have done no good, as she saw that nothing but admitting That the savages’ errand was one that menaced their lives there was no longer any doubt, and their sole safety lay in & profound silence on the part of the women was their Again and again was the door shook with all their That it might continue to do so until her husband’s re- But, then, if the omen was true, and her husband had With all their strength the Indians threw themselves Then they attacked it with their tomahawks, Blow after blow rained upon it in quick succession. They were at- tempting to cut a hole through its center large enough for Unceasingly they worked, and at last the trembling A little longer and the aperture would be large enough Grasping her husband's ax, Susan Harding stood ready One of the savages thrust a hand in to pull away a por- In an ,instant her weapon descended A howl of rage and pain followed from without, and the g' Undismayed by the accident whieh had befallen their At last the hole was large enough to admit of the body Not benefitting by the fate which had befallen their companion, a savage thrust his head in through the open- There was some mystery about Richard, which he could He trusted the time would soon come when he could claim me as his own, and until then he asked me would I wait? Would I? I would have waited for him until the grave covered me, and never have thought it long if I had constantly the assurance of So he went away, and for many weeks his letters came InitI read a noticeof the marriage of Robert It was at this time that Lord Newbury pressed his suit. He had long loved and admired me, and my poor father was very earnestly bent on the marriage; for Lord New- bury was very rich and generous, and my father had faced poverty all his life, and no wonder, now that old age was approaching, he coveted a little rest, and a home where Lord Newbury was three times my age, but he was a true, loyal-hearted English gentleman, andI respected When Richard was lost to me, what matter- ed it what became of me? As well one thing as another! To hurry matters on, Gerald became involved in a dar- ing forgery, and the prison stared him in the face. Then If his son was sent to prison, he could never hold up his head again. If I valued my father’s life, would become Lady Newbury, and then my husband would take care of his wife’s fami- So I suffered my lord to marry me, and Gerald, for the I was @ great favorite in society, and my husband was very proud of me? He was one of In the third year of my married life I became acquainted She was a gay, beautifal woman, about my Own age, and her husband—an easy- going sort of man—owned a house in London, a manor house down in Dorsetshire, quite near the coast. I had lady’s oniy brother, Lord Albert Trevelyan, of course Iwas immensely delighted with the idea. About Lord Albert there had always seemed to me something very strange and interesting, not that I had ever seen him, but [ heard peerage, handsome and accomplished as Apollo himself, he had preferred the wilds of. Asia to civilized England, come home, and was going to marry and settle down like a Christian. The bride elect was the woman his father, now dead, had selected for him—the Lady Christine Mc- Dougal, a Scottish beauty of immense wealth, and sur- passing beauty, but Lady Huntley whispered to me that Lady Christine’s parents being dead, Lady Huntley had THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. ly came down in a day or two, A week before the wed- ding day Lady Christine arrived. A very handsome, Stately woman she was indeed; but if Lord Albert had been a friend of mine I should have shuddered for his life with her for a companion, I think she hated me from the first, though she could not probably have given a reason for it. But there are some very strange and mysterious things in this world; and when ali was made clear by time, | understood wiry e * was that Lady Christine and I were so strongly antago- nistic. ; e| Lord Albert delayed his coming to the last moment. His sister was annoyed with him for being so dilatory, and Lady Christine’s steel blue eyes took on an ominous glitter as day after day passed and still lie lingered. Two days before the wedding, just before sunset, I was sitting in my chamber, which fronted the English Channel, looking out on the glittering waste of water. The day had been calm and bright, and the sun was going down in a wilderness of golden and crimson clouds. Suddenly, as I gazed, a mist seemed to come before my eyes, I felt cold and numb, an icy wind blew full in my t | face, dnd the placid waters grew white with foam and spray! Clearly out against the red sunset light I saw the outline of a yacht, tossing helplessly on the crest of the billows, at her helm was the figure of atallman, Nearer . | and nearer came tlie frail craft. I saw distinctly the face of the helmsman—and it was Richard Earle! Only a mo- ment I saw it, and then a thundering roll of foamy water shut it from my view, and crashing on the rocky shore came the lost yacht, and up from her crew rose one wild, last wail of agony! And high above it all, I heard his voice calling: ‘Elizabeth! Elizabeth! My love! my love!’ I slrieked out in my wild affright, and my Lord New- bury rushed In from the adjoining room in alarmed haste. And tvhen [ looked out again upon the sea, it was calm as glass, and not a sail in sight. Il excused myself to my husband as best I might, for I would not tell him what £ had seen—what I knew I had seen—for he would have deemed me insane, But all night long I lay awake, trying {o reason out the strange vision; but morning found me no nearer a Solution than before. All the forenoon I was restless and uneasy. ‘Tne bright mornitg changed toa es of drizzle and rain—the wind blew sulleply, and howled piteousty through the long, lonesome corriders of the manor, and shrieked like a dis- tressed human thing down the black-throated climnies. Toward night it increased to a gale, and the rain ceased faling, though great inky thunder clouds rolled in from the sea and enveloped everything in midnight blackness. Morning broke at last, wild and stormy. Never had I seen the channel in such a swirl of foam. 3 Fascinated, yet full of dreary and foreboding horror, I wrapped myself inaciloak and went gut on the rocks, Many others were there before me, umong them Lady Christine McDougal! Her face was white with some sup- pressed feeling, and her great blue eyes were turned sea- ward, watching a tiny white sail far owt in the horizon— a mere speck of light in the darkness. Then 1 remembered that her promised husband wag to oe over the water, and 1 knew why her cheek was so pale. After all her haughty coldness she loved him, I thought, and my woman’s heart softened toward her; for this was her wedding day, and maybe her plighted husband was in deadly peril. : The sail came nearer and nearer. Great heaven! it was a yaelit, of the same size and build I had seen once before. I shuddered with something that was not the cold and wet, and cluug to a ragged shaft of rock for support, for L / Knew what I was to see. The people on the shore shouted to the yacht to keep off, and Luried imprecations at the reckless voyagers for their temerity in venturing so near the hazardous coast; but all unmindful, the yacht stood on, making for Little Good Harbor, just below. Suddenly a great wave came thundering along and en- veloped the wretched vessel from keel to mastliead. She ca#reened, shivered, went over, and the next moment her broken timbers were hurled on the shore at our feet. And through the blinding spray, and the death-cold foam of the waves, as scattered by the sharp rocks, it pierced my garments through and through, I saw Richard Earle’s set face, aud heard his voice calling my name: ‘Elizabeth! Elizabeth! my love! my iovel’’ The first body which came on shore was his. I had it in my arms ere yet the wave had leit it dry upon the saad. Dead! but he had loved me in dying. Could evera woman ask for more than this? As I lifted my face from his pale lips I met the basilisk eyes of Lady Olristine glancing down upon me. She fixed an iron hand upon my shoulder, “What was he to you?’’ she hissed. ‘‘My life’s one love!’’ I answered her. “Aud my plighted husband. Well, I anderstand now why I have hated you!’’ * \ * * * + * I do not remember anything more of that dismal time. When I was fully myself again, I was with my husband at our beautiful doudcry piace In Middlesex, tar away from the cruel, glittering ocean, My husband was kind and gentle to me as my mother might have been. He had learned everything from my wild ravings during my long illness, and to his cautious and well-directed inquiries | owe my knowledge of Rich- ard Earile’s history after he left the rectory. For Lord Newbury—ever the most generous of men—had solved all the offer had been accepted. Lord Albert was now in Ireland, with a party of gentleman frieuds, hunting and fishing, for it was hard for him to give up his adventur- ous habits, It was very early in June that we went downto Hunt- ly Manor. My husband was of the party, aud Lord Hunt- Hse 4@ At great expense we have procured from some of the most eminent authors in this country and Europe, several sketches written especially for our Christmas Number. Their publication will be commenced in No. 9, and those not then published will appear in the succeed- ing issues of the NEW YORK WEEKLY. The numbers of the NEW YORK WEEKLY containing these holiday sketches will be the most expeusive and entertaining publications ssued by any newspaper in this country. TO CORRESPONDENTS. To Buyers,—All communications in regard to the prices or the urchasing of various articles must be addressed to the NEw ORK WEEKELY Purchasing Agency, contain the full address of the writers, and specify the size, quantity or quality of the goods desired. Those requiring an answer must have two threc-cent slamps enclosed. Owing to the large increase of letters to be an- swered in this column, a delay of several weeks must necesgarily ensue before the answers appear in print. THE PURCHASING AGENCY CATALOGUE.—The new and en- larged edition of the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency Catalogue is now ready, and all orders received wiil be filled at one, will be sent to any address, prepaid, on receipt of NoOTICE.—With every maul we receive a number of letters oil Various subjects, in which the writers request an answer by man instead of through the various departments. To do this we are compelled to employ additional help, beside being put to consid- erable trouble and expense to obtain the information. This we will cheerfully submit to when the questions are answered through our columns, as the knowledge thus imparted will inter- est and benefit the mass of our ; butin the future, to se- cure an answer by mail, persons desiring it must inclose a FIFTY- CENT STAMP, (0 pay us for our trouble and expense. Sar GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.— Hany Readers.—\st. Publishers are not required to return rejected MSS. It is customary to return serials, but sketches and ms are returned only when sufficient. stamps are forwarded with them to prepay return postage. We are frequently in receipt of MSS. on which the pomake is only tially paid, the balance we have to pay on taking them from the office, for the reason that aay persons are unaware that MSS. for Phew aseaed are subject to letter rates. Again, we sometimes find three or six cents enclosed for return postage when thirty or fifty cents are needed. To secure themselves authors should keep a duplicate copy. 2d, All-Hallows is the English and Scoteh version of All Saints’ Day (Nov. 1), Lhe celebration of which is sald to have been begun by Pope Boniface IV., about 607, and eae by Pope Gregory +» about 830, for the commemoratien all those saints and martyrs in whose honor no particular day is assigned. e’en isthe evening preceding, and is said to be aa witches, devils and other mischief-making beings are abroad on their banefal midnight errands. The fi are also said to hold a grand anniversary on thisevening. Read Burns’ poem entitled “Haltoween.’? 3d. hy is pronounced sfinx; Rookh—rook, the double o sounded asin food. 4th. Sweetened vinegar is a good fly exterminator.......... i .—In order to join one of the dramatic associa’ in this. city er Brooklyn you will have to be proposed and elected at a regular eet Any member is authorized to propose you......... .— We do work which wili give information........... Celia HM. whale rarely, if ever, swallows anything larger than a herring, for although the head is of enormous size, from one-quarter to one-third the length of the body, andthe mouth fifteen to twenty feet long, and six to eight feet wide—la: enough to contain a ship’s long boat—the pares + the gullet is not larger than a man’s fist. The largest whales are about seventy-five feet long. 2d. There is a superstition among sailors that a shark will keep company with a vessel having a sick person or corpse on board, being supposed to ascertain this by the acute sense of smell, in — ot feeding on the bodies when thrown overboard. It pro- ly arises from their following ships to feed upon the garbage, etc., which is thrown overboard. Many sailors also believe that. the presence of a corpse on board a vessel will bring bad. luck. As a class they are et: tious,'and the most trivial occurrences are regarded by them as omens ot good or evil...... Opal Muzelena.—Iist. The papers will cost 78 cents. 2d. We donot. know the ages nor can we give the addresses of our contribu- tors. 3d. Yes. 4th. The different appearances of the moon, from new to full, , and from full to change, are owing to her present- ing different portions of her enlightened surface Loward us at dif- ferent times, from a change of position. Most of the school ge- ographies aid the explanation by the use of diagrams, by which. the movements of the heavenly bodies may be more readily un- derstood. . $5 upward....... J, L. Bichberg.—. e do- not Know the address. We will furnish ali the standard dra- mas for fifteen cents each. .3d. We will furnish back numbers of the New YORK WEEKLy for six cents each...... Dove Eyes.—Get a friend to teach you the ste Subscriber.—The ‘NEW YORK WEEKLY has a circulation of over #0000, the largest of any peri- odical in America.........- J. £. B.—1ist. There is but one way by which you cau increase your stature—wear high-heeled boots. All other methods are snares, cheats, and delusions. 2d. We know nothing of the firm...... Glastor.—The series is a very good one. How long it will take you to master the language will de- pend on the amount of time you oars each in the study and your aptitude as a scholar...... Bogle.—Ouly one is furnished with each copy of the , and it goes to the subscriber. There are but a limited number in hand, and after they are exhausted no more will be furnished....D. H.—T' core will cost 72 cts... S.C. P.—A\l national banks are obliged by law_to receive the bills of all other national banks at par. The U. 8. Government is also bound to take them, except for duties. Any broker or banker will redeem the notes, it ——- no matter where the bank is located. ...@. J. Stanner.—To obtain a situation as short- hand reporter, apply at newspaper offices...... Student.—We are not familiar with the deadianguages. Consult a collegia om < egiate...... Constant .—There is. no institution in this city which fur- nishes artificial limbs gratuitously..... Little Vin.—Guillamore is pronounced ghe-ya-mor...... Onion Jack.—Submit your draw- ings to a leading artist, and ask his advice as to whether you shall pursue the study, and what coursé it will be necessary to take to do so......7. Z. D.—A person charged with crime cannot be arrested in Canada by a U. 8. official and brought over the line - without the process of law required under the extradition treaty betweeu the United States and Great Britain...... H.—Yes H. C. W.—We will send you a book containing four ch dramas for #0 cents, or containing thirty charades, in which the syllables and words are expr entirely by action, for the same price. A work entitled “One Thousand and One Home Amusements”’ will be forwarded for $1.50...... G. W. S.—See re- ply to “J. C. K.” De Forest.—It cannot be learned...... D. J. Connoly.—We will answer your query as soon as we can get the list with the ages of each member.... 4M. Crotty.—$5 and upward. We do not wish any at present...... J. B. S.—ist. We presume the company pays the same rates as the otlers, 2d. The simplest eeeeee aceeee the. mystery, and when I was well enough he toid me gently what lie knew. xXichard Earie and Lord Albert Richard Trevelyan was one and the same. At the lime of his visit to our village, he had taken the name of his cousin, Richard Barle, simply to escape notice. He wanted rest, and if he traveled as Lord Albert Trevelyan he would be obliged to receive a great many civilities from the gentry, which he wished to avoid. He was not of age, and consequently to some degree subject to his father, and his father had selected Lady Clristine McDougal for his wife. In consequence, it was necessary to keep his love for me secret until he should reach his majority. By some means his father had dis- covered his entaugiement with the daughter of a poor country curate, and our letters were intercepted. The Richard Earle whose marriage notice f had seen was Lord Albert’s cousin. : My matriage with Lord Newbury had followed immedi- ately after, and Albert had left the country, rich and dis- gusted with life. He had never ceased to love me, but he would have married Lady Christine. This was what Lord Newbury had learned, and what he told me. And if I had never loved him before L loved him then, for his noble and thoughtful forbearance toward me. But through every dark hour of my life, one sweet thought las ever been present to comfort and sustain me. In dying my only love loved me! And so alone, and yet nol sad or weary, because hope gleams so brightly in the distance, lam waiting to go to my better aud truer life when the Master Calis. Will soon be commenced a new story by LIRUTENANT MURRAY, entitled ‘TRIED FOR His LiFk; or, THE CHAIN OF GUILT.” ITEMS OF INTEREST. xa@r The names of the churches in Boston lead to Much confusion on account of their similarity. There are two Unitarian societies, known as “Church of the Unity,’ and then there are Trinity Church, Protestant Episcopal; and Holy Trinity, Roman @atholic. There are four churches n St. Mary’s; two are Protestant Episcopal and two are Roman Catholic. There are three “Shawmut” churches, belonging to as many de- nominations—Baptist, Trinitarian, Congregational and Univer- salist, As they arenear together, strangers often get inte “the wrong pew,” and hear doctrines from which they strongly dis- sent. waz A lunatic named Donovan, who died lately, * | aged 38, at the asylum near Manchester » had the utmost - | partiality for iron as an article of diet. He was omaeret in the shoemakers’ shop ef the establishment, and after death nearly two pounds weight of iron nails, seven pieces of iron, . | each half an inch square, and a cobbler’s awl, minus the handle, were discovered in hisstomach. The poor fellow seems to have labored under the hallucination that he had the stemach and digestion of an ostrich. naz The business of the Brooklyn Union Ferry Company is something to wonder at for its magniiude. Secre- tary Smith estimates that not less than people cross on the boats of the company erey ov See: 0 persons were car- ried during the past year, and 1 vehic The receipts for this amount of work were $1,270,500, and the ex inci- dent to its performance $1,156,258. There were 368,000 more pas- sengers carried last year than the year before. eae During a storm which prevailed lately, a novel occurrence took place on Lake Superior—an island floating in St. Louis Bay, near Duluth. Upon it were large pine trees and other timber, and the soil was firm asthe mainland. The island was dislodged near Minnesota Point, and floated thre miles. It contamed an area of two Rae One of the most remarkable artesian wells of modern times is that of Gronelle in the Pacis basin, It was com- menced in 1834, aud proved a success in 1841. A high tower has been erected, and the water rises througk pipes with great force and volume tothe reservoir st the top, at the rate of hali-a- million gallons per day. e aa Mrs. W. H. Howard, Jr., of Braintree, Mass., was lately walking in the ets of that town, accompanied by her husband, when the et an intoxicated man, who gave a 8 | whoop which was so sadden and starthng in its effects upon Mrs. I | Howard that she dropped dead at her husband ’s feet. aa The heir of the Jamieson estate in Scotland, worth from £700,000 to £1,000,000, has been discovered at St. John, New Brunswick, in the person of John W. B. Jamieson, a youug man in poor circumstances, reeently employed in peddling stationery. aa Mrs. Harriet Barrett, a respectable widow of a | Keene, N. H., hanged herselt lately with a skein of yarn. She a | was a hypochondriac. aa A devil fish, with an entire salmon weighin Y } eighty-one pounds in its stomach, was lately caught in the di at Middiesborough, Eng. aa A recent gale in Scotland demolished a stately thorn tree, which was considered tire oldest it not the largest in the country. Many generations bad admired it. a Congress recantly elected in Georgia will not amount to one thousand pounds avoirdupois. So says a Georgia paper. A French writer has arrived at the conclusion that®he average hight of the human race has remained un- changed since the Chaldean epoch, 4,000 years ago. agar The Bank of England has nearly a million pounds waiting to be claimed. aa Colorado claims that one-half of its popula- tion consists of reconstructed invalids. d pearin the Mammoth declined: *‘The Ottog nar The combined weight of the nine members of way to state the proposition is, if two is three, five is seven and a halft...H. C. Minor.—We have not the space to reprint the poems. You will find them in volumes of selections... -The tollowing MS, has been accepted: “A Suake Story.” The foliowing will ap- eader; “A Scene ina Coal Mine,” “Time Works Many Changes.” The following are respectfully eography of Cadwallader Savage,” ‘“‘Black- berrying,” ‘‘Daniel Boone at the Blue Licks,” “Kate Wain’s Ex- perience,” ‘Detached Musings,” ““Rudeness,” “I am Thinking To- night,” “The Regained Lover,” “My Third Loss,” “Remance of Crime.” ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT. Emma G.—\st. If you go Cine to the cars after the marriage re ie performed, you should wear your traveling dress. and hat, but only put on outside wraps when leaving the house. 2d. When stopping at a hotel, a handsomely trimmed dress of woolen or sulk is more suitable for the breakfast table than a wrapper: 3d. The latest style of wearing the hair is in « braid or quewe down tlie neck, tied around with veivet or ribbon, and a braid curled around the top of the head. Friz the front hair, and brush it lightly back. 4th. A camel’s hair cloth pelonaise trimmed with twisted worsted or ball fringe, and a silk collar and cuffs, with a skirt of silk exactly.the shade, handsomely trimmed with case-knife plaits, puffs, gathered ruffles, etc., in shades of dark sok navy biue, olive green or bluish slate color will make a very stylish traveling and street suit. Frankie Howard.—Iist. As the lady imvited you to attend the concert, she would not expect you to offer her son, who escorted . both of you to the hall, the price of the ticket. 2d. When intro~ duced to a gentleman who says: ‘I have much pleasure in mak- ing the aquaintance,”” you can bow, and say: “Thank you,” or merely bow. Such formal greetings are not of much account. Guards Mulligan.—Ist. We think a girl decidedly ay when whois escorting her home at night. 2d, A suitable philopena present to a young lady can be selected from handsome pictures, jewelry or growing plants, It is always well to consider the lady’s special tastes in such matters. C. D. D.—The best aay to discover whether the young lady reciprocates your love, is.to write to her ex, your deyo- tion, with the hope that she will receive you as a lover. re utch.—Ist. If the ladies whose acquaintance you make in your line of business bow o you on other occasions, you can _} returu their bow and address them; buti is a lady’s preroga- tive to make the first acknowledgment i the streets a cause of anacquaintance. 2. To learn to play the violin without a mas- ter you must purchase an instruction k. 3d. Toimprove your penmanship you should write every day—or better still, attend an evening school, and improve in various ways, A good edu- cation is an essential thing in these days. : Bily B. V.—ist. As soon as ‘an engagement is formed the pa- rents on both sides should be told of it. 2d. We do not think it roper for a lady to make preparations for her marriage before er parents Keer et. herengagement. 3d. The etiquette of mar- oer is fully related in “The Manual of Etiquette,” which we will furnish for 75cents. — | ‘ HM. O. Q.—While standing up in a car with a lady, if it suddenly turnsa curve you can support her by taking hold of her elbow but not by her waist. ; . : J. K. P.—At an evening e party, if desirous to pay attention toa particular lady, you should ask the privilege of escorting her to supper some time early in the evening. If not, you shouid offer your arm to the lady you are Srevernng wee when supper is announced. But if you leave her, say: © excuse me, [am e ed to escort Miss —— to supper.” ® Van.—Ist. If an engag y is requested to officiate as bridesmaid for a friend, untess her lover is an intimate friend of the groom, he cannot expect to be invited to up ¥ him, but she must accept the rt selected for her. No lover should expect her to decline to officiate as bridesmaid simply _be- cause he is not invited to be groomisman. On the other hand, if the bridal party could be so arranged as to invite the engaged couple to stand up with them, it would doub more agreea- ble to both parties. 2d. We can send you a pair of gold bracelets from $15 to $100. They would bea 4 suitable present for a lady. oe Your writing is very good. 6 salary of bookkeepers ‘anges from $500 to @ year, HP. S.—Ist. The first finger of the left hand is the place for the engagement ring. The initials of the parties and the date of their engagement can be engraved inside of it. Also the motto “Forever and ever.” Itis well to wait until you can have a good assortment from which to select, even if several weeks elapse before the ring is p! Often times the young lady pre- sents her lover with a chased gold ring at the same time slice re- ceivesaring. 2d. The bridegroom usually places the wedding ring upon the bride’s finger during the ceremony, 1{ not, it can be done before the service. USEFUL HINTS FOR THE HOME CIRCLE. An o#-cloth should never be scrubbed with a brush, but after first being swept with a long-handled hair-brush, it should be careully washed with a soft cloth dipped into milk and water—half half; or, if the milk is not obtainable, tepid water without soap—the fatter ruins oil-cloth by taking off the brightness of the paint. Hot water very injurious to it. When washed over, wipe it off with a soft, dry cloth. In pur- chasing an oil-cloth, try to obtain one that has mn Made for several years, as the longer it has lain unw the better it will wear—the paint becoming harder and more durable. The following varnish, which can be made very easily, is excellent for either straw or basket work: Take two ounces of fine black sealing wax, pound it very fine, and sift through a lawn sieve. Put itinto a large phial, and add one ounce of spirits of wine. Shake it. Let it stand near the fire forty-eight hours, shaking it often. If too thick add more spir- its. Rub in with a brush, and when dry apply @ second time. Buttermilk has healing qualities of great merit, and istrequently used to heal ulcers. Wherever the ulcer ap- pears apply the buttermilk (fresh), and keep bathing 4 as often as possible. A case is mentioned where very bad ulcers on the leg and arm were entirely healed in two weeks. It is recommended in cleaning moss-covered stat- uary in gardens, &c., to first kill the vegetation by the applica: tion of petroleum or benzine, which wili not injure the stone, and to remove it when dried by brushing, and dually rubbing with & Frag. lata ee sien wen romana PAS a agra ot gS: ‘ ; —— sini ee ep NR RONNIE ‘ntannscmccnenseig TR