op nee chilean cabin Anette Benne met Proprietors. } STREET & SMITH, j Nos: 27, 29, 31 Rose St., P.O; Box 2896, New York, VoL. XXXII. AUTUMN. BY FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE. Can this be death with all this pageantry, These treasures of a wondrous alchemy, Leaves changed to gold, and disks of dusky bronze To flakes of erimson, touched with quivering fire? This is no funeral, but a coronation. Nature renounces Death. Her heralds cry, “The king is dead,” but add, “Long live the king(” Her throne is never vacant. Now she writes, In jeweled hieroglyphs, her proud “Resurgam !"’* These gems of vivid color that surround us Breathe not defeat, but victory; a triumph Over the pallid, scowling King of Terrors. There’s no such thing as death, only a halt In the relentless march of Time, while wids The gates of gold are flung before the hosts Innumerable ever moving onward, Upward, also, to Eternal Life. *“T shall rise again.” THE Doctor’s Ward; OR, PLOTTING FOR A FORTUNE. sy George W. Warner. (“The Doctor’s Ward’ waa commenced last week. Ask your News Agent for No. 3, and you will get the opening chapters.) CHAPTER VI. HELEN’S FORTUNE. Felix Vassilis had not exaggerated when he said that Helen Field was beautiful. She had more than fulfilled the promise of her youth, and was, at seventeen, the perfection of blooming beauty. _It was now nearly five years that she had been living with Dr. Dohrer, who had taken her from Nathan Waring’s farm-house soon after the death of her mother. He had sent to California the letter that he had written the day following Mrs. Field’s funeral, and had received in return only a news- aper containing an account of the Geath of Mr. ield. Then hehad taken Helen home to his’ own a and had given her in charge of Mrs. Net- ey. He had written to the surviving partner of the firm of Field & Sorranzo, but had received no. an- swer. He then wrote to alawyer in Sacramento, requesting him tomake inquiries concerning the estate of Robert Field, and had received a reply, Splorei pg him that no_ property had been found that had belonged to Mr. Field at_his death. Not long after Doctor Dohrer had taken Helen to his house, he received a letter directed to her, bear- ing the New York poSrnaex, The letter contained only a certificate of deposit, to the effect that Helen Tarleton Field had deposited with a well-known banking institution the sum of one thousand dol- lars, payable to the order of herself. Anxious to know the meaning of this. the doctor wrote to the bank for an explanation. He was in- formed that the bank knew nothing about the mat- ter, except that the money had been deposited, and the certificate had been forwarded accordingly, and it was “all right.” The next year, at about the same time of the year, a similar inclosure was received, and they continued to come yearly thereafter. The doctor, having in vain endeavored to. solve the mystery, made no more efforts in that direction, and applied the money to Helen’s use, not doubting that it fairly belonged to her, from whatever source it might have come. So Helen grew and thrived, and was_precious in the eyes of the old doctor, and of Mrs. Netley. That good lady sighed as she left the door of Helen’s room, where she had been gazing at the young lady, as she stood at the window, in the glory of a sunny June morning. Helen was drumming impatiently on the window pane, and looking out as if she expected some ene. The some one was George North, a young gentle- man of the neighborhood, with whom she had been acquainted from childhood, and to whom she had given her heart. In a few moments there was a brisk, firm step on the plank sidewalk, and George North came in view—a young man of twenty-five, with a fresh, honest face, clear blue eyes, and manly bearing. As he came up the graveled walk that led to the house, Helen hastened down stairs and met him at the door. The meeting was earnest and affection- ate, but sorrowful. The cause of its sorrowful na- ture was suggested by a valise that George had provens in his hand, and that he had placed in the all. “Are you really going ?” asked Helen, as she led him into an adjoining room. “‘T am off this morning. In fact, I have but afew moments tospend with you. The train leaves at ten o’clock, and I have nothing to do but jump aboard. That valise is allmy baggage. I am to go across the plains, you know, and will get an outfit in St. Louis.” : “Do you really believe that you will do well in that company, George? Ihave forgotten its name ain. ‘The Empire Valley Mining Company. I am to go out as mining engineer, and will do well enough after I get a little experience. If that company should not prove to be what I suppose it to be, ean easily find other work. You must be true to me, Helen, and it will not be so very long before I come back.” ““Have you seen Dr. Dohrer?’ asked Helen. You ought not to leave without speaking to him again.” “I have quraty met him, this morning, and have said good-by to him, and now I must say good-by to you, Helen.” Then followed low, muttered words, few and brief, but full of expression, then a twining, cling- ing embrace—then George North was gone, and Helen watched him until he went out of sight. Helen had another visitor before the day was done. Itwas late inthe evening when he came, accompanied by Dr. Dohrer, and he was a slim young man, dressed in the hight of the fashion, with light hair and little of it, and a still less quan- tity of nearly invisible whisker. Helen saw him when he came up the street; but she did not run to meet him as she had run to meet George North. On the contrary, she remained in her room until she was sent for, and then walked calmly enough down to the parlor, where Dr. Dohrer introduced the stranger as Mr. Felix Vas- silis, of New York. “T am very happy to meet yeu, cousin, and_hope that we may become better acquainted,” said Felix, when he had accomplished his most graceful bow. mE beg pardon. Did you call me cousin?” replied elen. “I did. I believe that I may claim cousinship, although I am but a distant relation. Was not your mother Alice Tarleton?” chat was her name before she married.” Your mother, then, was second cousin to my father, Andrew Vassilis. You and I, therefore, are third cousins, if such a relationship is not too dis- tant to be acknowledge.” Helen had believed that she was without kindred. Other young girls had fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, and cousins near and distant; but she had not known of one ae ho was connected with her by ties of lood. r. Dohrer and Mrs. Netley were very dear to her heart, and George North was yet dearer; but she feltin a manner desolate while she could NEW YORK, DECEMBER 11, 1876. — —-_ nm Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1816, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress. Washingion, D.C. three Dollars Per Year.| FRANCIS S. STREET. Two Copies Five Doliars. ee FRANCIS 8S. SMITH. a = ee They expressed theiy appreciation of her services, by giving her three rousing cheers at her departure, claim kindred with no one on the face of the earth. She was pleased, therefore, by the discovery that she was not so Gampletely alone asshe had believed herself to be, and that even so distant a relative had sought her out forthe purpose of making him- self known to her. With the natural openness of her nature, she ex- pressed these feelings, simply and briefly, feeling that Felix Vassilis, although his countenance did not prejudice her in his’ fayor, was much better than no relative. “Tt is not surprising shat oop were unacquainted with your mother’s kindred,” said Felix, “as none are living but my father and myself, and we are such distant relations that we had not even heard of you until lately. Did your mother never speak of her uncle, Joshua Tarleton?” “T believe so, I have a faint recollection of the name. Did he live abroad? Was he supposed to have died in some foreign land?” “He lived in China, and was supposed to have died there long ago; but it is only about three years since his death really occurred.” “He left considerable property at his death,” con- tinued Felix. Helen did not yet show any interest. "He had no family. He was a bachelor.” What became of his property?” asked Helen, as she was evidently expected to say something. “It was turned into money, in accordance with the provisions of his will, and was transferred to New York, where it was pressey invested by my father for the benefit of the heir.” “And who is the heir?” ‘Joshua Tarleton bequeathed his entire estate, valued at some sixty thousand dollars, to his niece, Alice Tarleton, and her heirs-at-law.” “Do you mean to say that I am the heiress?” ‘I have come to bring you that information. If you are the daughter of Alice Tarleton, who was ee niece of Joshua Tarleton, the property belongs o you.” Helen’s cheeks flushed, and her eyes brightened. She was not insensible of the good fortune that had befallen her, but.was not unduly elated by the pros- pect of riches. Then her countenance fell as if her joy had experienced a reaction. “You are not sorry, I hope?” inquired Felix. Helen was wishing that George North had not started for California. She would have been so glad to tell him this good news. If he had known of this, he need not have gone to seek his fortune. Would it be too late to call him back? The tele- graph could reach him easily enough, but it would hardly be proper, and George had an independent spirit of his own. No; it was better as it was. This was hoya a passing thought, and brought but a passing shade upon Helen’s countenance. It was gone in an instant, and she gracefully thanked the bearer of good tidings, and received the con- gratulations of Dr. Dohrer. ; The doctor was hearty and sincere in his con- gratulations, Whatever pleased Helen pleased him. Nothing, he thought, could be too good for her, and her accession to fortune delighted him more than it seemed to delight herself. He was obliged to callin Mrs. Netley to hear what had happened, and that good woman expressed her congratulations by looks and hugs, rather than by speech, as she was a woman of few words. ; Felix Vassilis took credit to himself for all this happiness, as if he had personally bestowed upon Helen the fortune that had fallen to her. He omit- ted no opportunity of magnifying his own share in the transaction. He caused it to be understood that it would take him some time to prepare the proofs in the case, before he could return to New York and have the estate transferred to its rightfulowner. Dr, Dohrer at once invited him to make his house his home during his stay in Marden, and Felix accepted the invitation quite as a matter of course. Mrs. Netley had formed her opinion of the young attorney, and she expressed it to herself, as she went up stairs to prepare his room, by ominous frowns, severe shakes of the head, and a few mut- tered remarks. ; ‘A fox—a sneaking, spying, thieving fox! He might have sent some one else as_ well as not, and he has come here for no good. He would like to get my dove, with her sixty thousand dollars, and 1e means to if he can. But I’d—p’ison him first, and [ll let him know itifhe goestoo far. Heshan’t have her, and so he shan’t” CHAPTER VII. FELIX PERSEVERES. Felix Vassilis was inno hurry in preparing the proofs that he was to carry to New York. In fact, e lavished upon each item of business as much time as he could possibly spend on it,and con- trived to bestow his company upon Helen to such an extent that_she could hardly hide her disgust, ae even good Dr. Dohrer was compelled to vote him a bore. is object im this was very soon apwerent. It Ld was so apparent to Helen, that she took pains to let him know that her heart was already engaged, and even prompted the doctor to convey to him the same information as a profound secret. Felix was somewhat staggered by these develop- ments, but was by no means daunted. He had not expected to find an enemy already in possession of the fortification; but that ¢ircumstance tended to increase his ardor rather than to abate it. He was none the less resolved to eonquer, but deemed it expedient to conduct the siege by more gradual approaches, and to vail his intent behind an exten- sive show of politeness, and ceremony, and busi- ness. The time came when he had no reasonable excuse for longer delay, and he wis obliged to return to New York. His shrewd anc crafty father, who soon perceived the true state of the case, read him a lec- ture that benefited him more than the revelations of Helen and Dr. Dohrer. The old man did not suc- eeed in convincing him of the folly of love, as Felix was too far gone for that; but he did succeed in im- pressing upon him the far superior importance of property, the one leading point to which every- thing else should be subservient. As soon asthe instrumenis of transfer were pre- pared and executed, Felix nastened back to Ohio, determined to secure bota the property and the heiress, but also determined not to risk the loss of both by any sudden or rash measures. When the transfer of the estate to Helen was completed, and he had her veceipt in his possession, he held along conversation with her on business subjects, in the course of vhich he referred to her father and his property. He had made inquiries in New York, and his father had caused inquiriss to be made in Califor- nia, which satiafied him that Robert Field must have died a rich man. What had become of the ae aes was the question that Felix desired to ave answered. When he beganto inquire concerning Robert Field and his property, Halen endeavored to avoid the subject; but Folix was not to be so easily put off. The moreshe quietlyignored the subject, or deftly turned it aside. the more he pressed it upon her attention, until at last she got up and left the are begging himto ex2use her for a few mo- ments. Believing that he had offsnded her, Felix repent- ed of his persistency, and had become quite unhap- py about it, when she retarned tothe room with +e papers in her hand, «ne of which she handed to him. “T am sorry that you broight up the subject,” she said, ‘but I will give you al the information I have, as you are so earnest in your inquiries. If you will read those papers, you wil understand the matter as well as I do.” Felix opened the paperthat she gaye him, and read as follows: “SasRAMENTO, Cal., Feb. 23, 1852. “Dr, JOHN DOHRER.—Dear Si}: We write to inform you that there is some property here; dutwe are not yet able to give an estimate of the amount, belongiig to the estate of the late Rob- ert Field. As we understand tha’ you are aeting as guardian for his daughter, we desire to ask wiether you or she may have any commands concerning the same if so, we will be happy to ex- ecute them. Ifyou wish to admnister upon the estate as guar- dian, or if you would prefer that ome eae party in Cali- tornia should act as administrate, we will take pleasure in fur- nishing you with the necessary banks and all the information in our power. We will be happy tonear from you at an early date, and will endeavor to answer ary inquiries that you may see proper to make. “We beg leave to refer you to Iessrs. Clark Bro’s & McClana- han, New York, and remain, “Very respectfully, your 9b’d’t serv’ts, “CUTTER & Co.” “That seems to be all pain sailing,” said Felix. “Mr. Field was a banker, I have heard, and I had an idea that his property was something consider- able. Ifthere hadn’t beensome value in it, itis not! likely that Cutter & Co. would have bothered them- selves in the matter. I cart imagine, Cousin Helen, why this has not been atisnded to sooner.” ; “Perhaps this letter will inform you,” replied Helen, as she handed tim_another paper. If it does not, I can only say that [have nothing to add to it. The paper was marked as acopy, was dated at Marden, and was in the handwriting of Dr, Dohrer. The small eyes of Felix dilated with wonder, as he read: “Messrs. CuTTER & Co.—Geztlemen: I have received your favor of February 23d. After thinking you for your kindness, I kave toinform you, on behalfof the daughter of the late Mr. Field, that she does not wish to take any steps to discover or re- cover any portion of the property that may have belonged to her late father, and that. she woulc be unwilling to touch it if it should be secured for her by any other person. “You will naturally desire to how what reasons she may have for such a course, and whether tley are indorsed by me. As you have manifested a willingness b serve her, it is right that your desire should be gratified. Thee were circumstances connected with her earlier years, which hare forced upon her the belief that Mr. Field’s treatment of his wie was unbecomimg a husband, and cruel, and that it was the caise, more or less directly, ofher sudden decease. I will not go iito particulars; it is sufficient to say that those circumstances let such animpression upon the mind of the child, that her fathe’s memory is absolutely hateful to her, and she is resolute in r¢using all connection with any- thing that might revive unpleagnt recollections. I would never interfere in a matter of pepe. and, knowing her feelings in this case, I fully indorse her action. “Tt is proper that I should: inform you that Iam not the legal guardian of Miss Helen Field, and youare aware that she isa minor. Respectfully yours, JOHN DOHRER.”’ Felix Vassilis sighed profoundly as he folded this paper and handed it back to Helen. He did not yet understand how any young lady outside of the lu- natic asylum could deliberately throw away a fortune. Is this all?” he asked. is It is all,” replied Helen. “That settles the ques- ion.’ “This is Dr. Dohrer’s writing.” : “Very true; but he wrote it for me, and it was not near as strong as I wished it to be.” “T suppose you are aware that you are not bound by it. You were but achild then, and_you may have outgrownsome of your early prejudices.” “You may call it prejudice if you wish to. I cheose to call it principle, andit is certain that I have not outgrown it.” “Did you ever hear what Mr. Field’s property would be likely to amount to?” “T know nothing about it. Itake no interest in the subject, and I hope you will be kind enough to drop it.” Felix was obliged to drop it, but it did not drop out of his thoughts. He was convinced that there was some dark family mystery at the bottom of the affair, and he could not be contented until he should discover what it was. Under these circumstances he could only wait, Bonne that he might yet finda clewto the mys- ery. He did find a clew at last in a strange and unex- pected manner. The family had retired to their respective apart- ments, although it was yet early in the night, when the startling ery of fire was raised. Felix Vassilis rushed out of his room and ran against Dr. Dohrer, who had just rushed out of his study. The passage was so full of smoke that they could hardly see each other. They hastened down stairs, where they found more smoke, and saw the domesties running frantically hither and thither. Felix brought all his faculties to bear upon the catastrophe. but had not succeeded in comprehend- ing it when the ery was raised that Helen was miss- ing. The young attorney at once resolved that he would rescue her at the peril of his life. He rushed up stairs, calling wildly upon Helen as he went. Not finding her in her room, he dashed into the next room that happened to be vacant, Dr. Doh- rer’s study. No one was there; but the lamp was burning on the table, and two open letters were lying near it, just as the doctor had left them. 11), Tf it was not an instinct with Felix Vassilis, it was a matter of habit,to cast his eye over anything of the kind that happened to come under his notice, and he cast his eye over these letters. A startled exclamation escaped his lips as he read the signature of Robert Field attaehed to one of the letters, and a moment made him acquainted with the contents of both, That which was signed by Robert Field hethrust hastily into the breast- pocket of his coat. After a slight hesitation he laid the other down where he had found it. : He then ran out into the passage and down stairs, where he found Helen safe and smiling. The fire- engines had arrived, and the road was full of peo- ple ready to give assistance; but they were not needed, as the fire had been already extinguished by Dr. Dohrer and the servants. Felix had done no good. Had he accomplished any harm? It was with athrill of triumph that his fingers touched the stolen paper in his pocket. He felt that he was nearer than ever to marrying a for- tune. The next day Dr. Dohrer was in trouble. He had been reading a letter im his study, he said, when the alarm was given, and had, as he thought, laid it down on the table; but when he looked for it af- terthe fireit was gone. He had carried it out of the room in his hand, no doubt, and had dropped it during the excitement. It was an important pa- per, and he was anxious to find it. ; There was a general search and a general inqui- ry, but the missing document could not be found, and nobody knew anything about it. There was a eloud over the doctor’s face during the entire day. In the evening Felix Vassilis went into town, and mailed two letters. Both were directed to Sacra- mento, California—one to Joaquin Sorranzo, and the other to Cutter & Co. CHAPTER VIII. THE FORTUNES OF GEORGE NORTH. George North fared remarkably well in the gold land. At the commencement of his mining career he had the good fortune to attract the attention of Major Warfield, the President and Superintendent of the Empire Valley Mining Company. Major Warfield took pains to. cultivate the ac- quaintance of the young man and to gain his con- os rr fidence, not in a patronizing manner, nor with any unpleasant inquisitiveness or officiousness, but in the open, free-hearted, free-handed styis of the far-West. Ina short time George had communi- cated to him all he knew about himself, his for- tunes, family, friends, expectations, hopes, and éven his love. It is true, that while he was unbosoming himself to Major Warfield he learned nothing concerning the major that was not already evident to himself and all others; but he saw nothing objectionable in this on6-sided arrangement. He believed that in Major Warfield he had found a true friend: ajor Warfield showed his interest,in George in the manner, best, calculated to please the young man, by paying him a good salary, by giving him advice and instruction, and by doing;many kind actions caleulated to promote his comfort and ad- vyancement,. But George North began to have some misgivings of his own before long. His pgsition was too much of a sinecure; he was seldom called wpon to per- form any duties, and he had little to do but to draw his salary and occasionally accomplish some use- less “‘prospecting.” His sense of honor would not permit him‘to receive money for which he was giv- ing no adeqnate return, and he méntioned the matter to Major Warfield. That gentleman told hin: that he was doing very well, that it was necessary for him to learn, to get an insight into the business, and’ to become ac- quainted with the geological character of the coun- try. In due time his services would be called into requisition, and would be very valuable. So George studied, and prospected, and waited, and drew his salary, until he again became uneasy concerning his continued inactivity, and again spoke of the subject to Major Warfield. “The truth is, George,’ said the major, “that we thought we would need a mining engineer, and have been thinking so since we started the quartz- mill; but we have not had to call upon you for many services as yet, and it may be a long time be- fore we shall really need you. Like all who come to California, you want to get rich, no doubt.” George admitted that he would have no objection carr ee a fortune, provided he coud do it hon- estly. _ “Do you know that not one out of ten of the min- ing people beceme rich, or even make a decent liv- ing? Ifyou don’t knowit,Ido. It is by specula- tion that most of the large fortunes are made, an@ a knowledge of finance is necessary to a specula- tor. Would you not liketo learn something about the banking business ?”’ George professed himself willing to do anything that Major Warfield should deem advisable. “Very weil; I can put you in the way of getting a situation ina banking-housein Sacramento, where yon will have a good chance to learn The salary will not be much at first; but E will make that satis- factory to you, as I shal! want you do to something for me while you are there. I will write out my in- structions, and will show them to you this evening, if you will callin at my room.” After work hours George North called at the room: of Major Warfield, who handed him a written paper. “This,” he said, “contains the instructions that I would wish you to follow. If you object to them after you have read them, don’t hesitate to say se, and I will try to find another opening for you. I don’t know what your Sacramento salary may be. The sum that I am willing to pay will be found at the head of the paper.” _ The salary was the first thing that George’s eyes lighted upon. It was an amount much greater than he had expected or thought it possible that he would receive. “Tam sure that I cannot earn such a sumas this,” he said. ’ “But I think you can.. Suppose you read the paper. he young man’ glanced over the instructions, and then re-read them carefully. A shadow came upon his face as he read, and it had deepened into a 10B% OF Sou and perplexity when he finished. ell ? It was Major Warfield who spoke. “Tt seems to me, sir, that Iam expected to act as aspy. I would be very sorry to offend you; but I must say that I hope you don’t wish me to accept any employment that is dishonorable.” “[Tdo not. If I believed that there was anything dishonorable in this, I would not offer it to you. But I believe you would not hesitate to help to right a wrong that was committed years ago. If you accept this employment, you will learn that you are doing more good than harm, and you will learn it very soon. If you find anything in this that confiiects with your sense of honor or duty, f would wish you to resign the situation, and I will find other work to suit you.” “On those conditions I accept the trust, and thank you for your kindness and confidence.” Within two weeks George North found himself established at Sacramento, in the banking house of Field & Sorranzo, which was represented by the surviving partner, Joaquin Sorranzo. The business was in need of a clerk, and George had brought such excellent letters and testimonials, that he at once received the situation. Sorranzo had not prospered since the loss of his partner. The business missed the cool head and the irrepressible energy of Robert Field. It missed the man whose free, impulsive nature had won the affection of the old forty-niners, and had almost magically caused wealth to flow into the coffers of the bank. Those qualities that Sorranzo had en- vied in his partner, and that had excited his jeal- ousy and hatred, were the very qualities that had built up the business of the flrm and made wealthy men of the partners. Beside this lack of a needed element, there had been other serious drawbacks to Sorranzo’s pros- perity. There was an influence working against him, subtle, unseen, and unheard, overturning his speculations, thwarting his best laid plans, bring- ing his most special purposes to naught, Fora long time he considered this a chronie infliction of bad luck, and cursed it accordingly; but he at last began to. believe that it was something more than mere ill luck that pursued him so persistently. To make up for the seareity of legitimate busi- ness, he launched into speculations in mining and other stocks. In this, as in other enterprises, the same baleful influence met and overshadowed him, and it was seldom he made a venture that was not followed by loss. He had lately had reason to suspect that this evil infiuence was more or less closely connected with the operations of a mining-stock house that was known by the name of Cutter & Co. On one occa- sion, when he had contracted to sell a certain num- ber of feet in a new and promising mine, to be de- livered at a specified time. he discovered, when he began to purchase for the purpose of filling his contract, that every foot on the market had been bought up by this firm of Cutter & Co., and he was was obliged to buy from them at such a high figure that he lost heavily on the contract. Several simi- lar circumstances compelled him to believe that Cutter & Co. were acting in antagonism to him, and that gain could not be the only object that induced them to baffie his schemes. If their opposition had been confined to specula- tions in mining stocks, a business. im which they were specially interested, it woul@ not have been so noticeable; but it followed him im his operations in road stocks, State and county bonds, real estate, money loaning, an@ all the varied channels of profit by whieh he sought to control the golden stream and make it flow over his own fields. The house of Cutter & Co. became his nightmare, his bane, his detestation, and he ~ not attempt to eoneceal his hatred of the firm, collectively and as individuals. During all the years that elapsed since the death of Robert Field, Sorranzo had never seen Ben Brackett, nor had he heard of him. He could only suppose that Brackett, having found upon the per- son of Robert Field some valuable property that he eould easily dispose of, had gone to the Eagt to convert his spoils into cash,and had remained there to “waste his swhstance in riotous living. He did not suppose that Brackett would ever come for- Og LH) es } : ‘ ieee + * THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. ward as a witness against him, as he would be un- able todo so without criminating himself; but he could not help feeling uneasy when he thought of the man’s disappearance and his long-continued pilence. Sorranzo’s new clerk found plenty of work to do, notwithstanding the fact that the business had de- creased so materially. The man whose place he took had been ah.idle, dissipated fellow, who had shamefully neglectéd his books. Sorranzo had waited for some time after discharging him before employing another, ashe wished to secure a clerk who was thoroughly competent, and had attended to the books himself at odd hours... The result was that they were an. a verg bad condition, and needed thorough overhauling. ; . But these facts were notsufficient to account for the diligence of George North. He was a very rapid worker, and it did not'take him long to. bring up the arrears of business. “The transactions to be noted every day were notso numerous as to pre- vent him from overhauling the books during regu- lar office hours; and yethe was busy early and late, with industry and assiduity that excited the notice of his employer, and provoked his admira- tion. - Night after night he sat over his task, often pro- longing his labor until near dawn, and leaving the counting-room just before the porter came to open the doors. Healso appeared to be greatly inter- ested, more sothan his duties seemed to require, in the old books of Field & Sorranzo—the_ books that had been in use by the firm five, six, and seven years ago. re It was with these books that he was principally engaged at night, although they could have but little connection with the present. business of Joa- quin Sorranzo. Nevertheless, he studied these books elosely, often taking them to his lodgings, and making copies of portions of them and of va- rious documents that came under his notice. Every month he wrote to Major Warfield, at the Empire Valley Mine, and more frequently to Helen Tarleton, at Marden, Ohio. Thus his life passed until near the close of a very sickly summer, he was stricken down by a wasting fever. When he recovered, he was in such a condi- tion that healthful exercise and change of air were absolutely necessary to restore his strength. He procured a furlough from Mr. Sorranzo, em- ployed aman to fill his place during his absence, and joined a party of hunters and others, who were going North to ‘rough it” for a while in the moun- tains and on the plains, CHAPTER IX. SISTER ANIMA, Some men connected with the Empire Valley Mining Company were “prospecting” in Bill Jones’ Gulch. The mining studies and labors of George North had not been entirely profitless, as he had expressed the opinion to Major Warfield that there were rich “leads” of tht precious metal in Bill Jones’ Gulch, and that gentleman had_purchased the gulch onjbehalf of the Empire Valley Com- pany. The major had established a camp of two dozen men there. and had gone to work vigorously, hav- ing come to the conclusion thatthe gulch was much richer thanthe location already occupied by the company, and that there was a fortune buried there, when hewas taken sick with malignant typhus fever, and in a few days was so low that his life was despaired of. . i There was no physician nearer than Empire Valley, and even he was absent when Major War- field was stricken down, and the sick man, had no eare but the rough nursing that he received from his companions. f Biddy As he lay on, his coarse bed in his little hut on the mountain side, scorched with fever and deliri- ous, with the winds that moaned through the pines already singing his requiem, the news ran from mouth to mouth that a woman had ‘come into the camp. : A woman inthe camp! It is no wonder that there Was great excitement among the temporary inhab- itants of Bill Jones’ Gulch. Eyen at Empire Valley there was but one woman, the red-haired wife of an Irish laborer, and she was the wonder and ad- miration of the community. She ealled forth all the chivalry that was latent in the natures of the rough, sun-burned, heavyy-bearded miners,and Mike Mc- Caffrey was looked up to as one of the most im- portant men connected with the mine, holding a place in the estimation of his fellows to, which his own deserts would never have entitledhim. As for his wife, she stood on the very pinnacle of her dig- nity. She knew her value, and charged according- ly for washing. he men of BillJones’ Gulch had_ been so long away from the valley that they would gladly have hastened to greet Kate McCaffreyif she had deign- ed to visit them; but this woman was quite a differ- ent order of being, and it was no wonder that they crowded to see her. : They saw a woman dressed in the garb of the Sisters of Charity, and this of itself was sufficient to compel their respect and veneration. |, 5: It was impossible for any pernon to attain ahigher place in the estimation of the miners and pioneers than was awarded to the Sisters of Charity. So many sick beds had been cheered by their pres- ence and care, so many men had seen cause to bless them in their dying moments, that there were few indeed who were not bound to remember them, either on their own account, or in behalf of some friend whom the Sisters had nursed and tended. The woman who came to Bill Jones’ Gulch was a Sister of Charity. She could not be much more than thirty-five years old; but there were streaks of gray in the brown hair that could just be seen under the white frill beneath, her black hood. There were lines of care and suffering on her face, although her cheeks were round and fair, and her lips were rosy and full of sweetness. The expres- sion of her countenance could not even be im- agined, as the eyes were completely shut from view hy a pair of green spectacles, with side-glasses, that interposed a barrier to all scrutiny, and gave her the appearance of haying purposely disguised herself. She had come to the galech mounted on a gentle and well-conditioned mule, accompanied by a wild- eyed Indian boy, who rode a Mexican ‘pony, and jed a mule loaded with packs.’ No one knew where she had come from or from what direction. As soon as she appeared in the gulch, ,all labor was stopped, and she became the center of at- traction. Instantly the camp and the services of all who were in it were placed at her disposal. Two dozen airs of hands were ready to assist her in the most rifling matters, and all sorts of excuses were in- vented by those who desired to find something to do for her. ae The man who, in times of great public excite- ment, originates a new and grand idea, that thrills the popular heart and turns the current of general Sympathy into a proper and sufficient channel, at once becomes the observed of all observers, and is not likely to be soon forgotten, On this oceasion it was Josh Sanders, one of the men who had been in attendance on Major War- field, to whom the right idea occurred at the right time. When it struck him, he slapped his hand upon his leg forcibly, and exclaimed: ‘“Here we've been, foolin’ and fussin’ away the time, and furgit- tin all about Major Warfield, when we ought to hey took the sister up the fust thing.” “If thereis a sick man here,” she said, “and if I ean be of any service, please take me to him at once. The remark of Josh Sanders found such general favor, that he was tacitly chosen chairman of the committee who were to escort the Sister to Major Warfield’s shanty, whereat he was greatly exalted in his own estimation, and became the leader of publie opinion in the gulch, Josh Sanders showed that he felt the dignity and responsibility of his position, as he led the Sister to the shanty in which Major Warfield lay sick, fol- lowed by all the miners, who could not think of re- turning to their work until they should satisfy themselves with gazing on that miracle of nature, @ woman. As she entered the shanty, she saw the Major ly- ing on his rude couch, in a condition of uncon- sciousness. During two days he had been deliri- ous, but was now quiet, and seemed to be sleeping the sleep of death. The sister stepped up and looked at him, but started back in surprise and affright. The blood rushed to her face in a crimson tide, and then quickly receded, leaving her face pale and ghastly. ‘Seems to go tol’able hard with you, marm,” re- marked Josh Sanders. ““Reckon you didn’t allow he was so bad off.” The burst of emotion was over in an instant, and she had recovered her composure when she re- plied to the miner: “I thought he was dead, and I thought I had seen his face before: but I was mistaken in both partic- ulars. Perillo, come here!” The Indian boy ran to her at her bidding. She spoke to him in Spanish, and he hastened to her acks. returning with a well filled medicine ease. he. Sister made Josh Sanders drive the miners away from the door, that the patient might have as much air as possible, selected a vial from her case, and poured a few drops into Major Warfield’s mouth. He soon opened his eyes, and stared about, wildly and weakly. ose During several days Major Warfleld’s life was in the balance, and his periods of delirium were suc- seeded only by periods of unconsciousness. Butthe paren from Empire Valley arrived at last, and y his skill, together with the excellent nursing of the Sister of Charity, the disease was conquered and it was decided that the patient, weak and ex. hausted as he was, would live. The physician re- eRe to Empire Valley leaving the nurse in As Major Warfield gained strength. h i tinually wandered to the pale Gil peau cana eae at ile padeade. with an expression of doubt and perplexity that seemed to Ac last he spoke to her. make her uneasy. Who are you?” he asked, abruptly, “T am called Sister Anima,” “Yes; but who are you?” : “Thave told you. If you question me any more upon that point, I shall not answer,” “T don’t want to trouble you in any way; but I would only like to know who youare. Of course J know that Sister Anima is not your real name, and I can’t imagine why you should not tell me what it is, There is something in your face which reminds me of one whom used to know, and I can’t help. thinking that the impression would be strength- ened if’ could see your eyes. Will you not re- moye your spectacles for a moment ?” “Leannot, [am undera yow.” “You must not suppose that Ido not know and appreciate all you havedone for me. I know thgt ou have saved my life,and I.am grateful to y6U. our kindness shall not go unrewarded. I have a bag of gold dust here, that is heartily at your ser- vice.” “IT wish no reward for myself, and could accept none. If you are willing to bestow the dust in charity, I can make it useful to others.’ “Certainly. Thatis what I meant. I would not think of offering you any reward for yourself. It seems to me, somehow, only natural and right that you should have nursed me to life, as there is such astrange resemblance in your face to some one who once claimed that right and duty.’ “Whom do you think I resemble ?’ “Thaveagreat mind totell youastory. Would you like to hear it?” ; ie . “T have no curiosity. , You may tell itif you wish oO. a “Tt must be under the seal of'secreey. Will you keep my secret?” . =: “Twill; but I do not desire to know it.’ “IT must tell it; and must tell it to you.” . As Major Warfield proceeded with his narrative, the interest of Sister Anima grew deeper and more intense. Atits close she was pale and exhausted, and seemed ready to faint. : “My story has interested you,” remarked the major. 2 “T am always strangely affected with such re- citals, and there are times when I have no control over my nerves. I wish you had not told me your story. I shall be obliged to walk out until this agitation subsides.” The next day Sister Anima left the gulch. She did not go to Major Warfield’s shanty to take leave of him, but left a paper with Josh Sanders, con- taining directions for the course to be pursued during his convalescence. She set outon her mule, followed by the Indian boy and the @ed animal, and was escorted a mile or more on her way by nearly all the miners in the gulch, When they finally took leave of her, they could think of no better way of expressing their appreciation of her services and their sorrow at her departure, than by. giving her three rousing cheers. (TO BS CONTINUED,) + e¢~< ——_____ A FOREST IDY1L.. GARDETTE BY DR. Cc. D, A fair, wee maiden, eager-eyed, {She loiters by the forest edge, ' Plucking bright berries from the hedge, To brim the basket at her side, And as she goes, a song so clear Trills from her resy lips in glee, That the coy birds from tree to tree Flit, listening, nearer and more near. The shy, swift squirrel on the bough Halts, half-bewildered, hali-afraid, Till, spell-bound by the singing maid, He drops the nut he held but now. The south wind nestles in her hair, | The leaves bend low to fan her cheek, ‘ The joyance of her song doth speak A life that knows nor pain nor care. So, from my vision doth she glide, When sudden through the glade there rings A sharp, quick cry of woe that brings My steps in terror to her side. Crouched on the sod she sits forlorn, * Her joyous song is now a moan} She lifts her dimmed eyes to my own, And weeps and sobs, “‘O, cruel thorn!” I pluck the thorn with tender art From her small finger’s trembling tip, And kiss the bl -drop from her lip, ; And strive to soothe her anguished heart} But here my art is all in vain, For though no more her tears are shed, Her spirit’s joyance all has fied, Nor may she wake her song again. And as she wanders from my side Beyond the forest’s swaying screen, A shade seems creeping o’er the scene As when some cherished hope has died. And in my musing heart I ery, Alas! how light a pang may stain The fresh young spirit’s joy with pain, And cloud with gloom its morning sky! > O~< BITTER ATONEMENT. BY THE AUTHOR OF “A WOMAN'S TEMPTATION; “LADY EVE- LYN’S FOLLY ;” etc., ete. (“A Bitter Atonement” was commenced in No. 36. Back Nos. can be obtained of any News Agent in the United States.] CHAPTER LXII. Lord Kerston read carefully every word of that letter, He uttered no cry—no exclamation, he was simply dazed and bewildered. There was an air of such absolute truth, of such simplicity, of such de- termination and earnestness about that story, how eould he doubt it? yet his wife—his beautiful Diane, that most noble of women, she, whose gran- deur of soul he had admired so continually, she, whose thoughts, words, and ideas were so noble; she, who had always seemed superior to him in every respect; couid she have so basely deceived him? There were cases of mistaken identity, as he knew well; was this one? He had read of them, knew of them; one person was frequently mistaken for another. It must be that this good, simple far- mer, had mistaken Dianefor someone, Then with a sharp, sudden pang, the strange coincidence struck him; the similarity of name, it was not only the face, but the name. Could there be two Dianes, both fair, queenly women? Diane was not a common name; in- oes he did not remember to have ever heard it efore. Another coincidence: his wife wife had told him she was an artist’s daughter; could there be two such women? yet, how could he doubt his wife, his peerless, loving Diane? she, with a child—a son!— it was impossible to imagine it; his whole soul sickened and recoiled at the thought. Diane another man’s wife, and that man a plain, homely farmer? Diane, kissed, loved, caressed by such a man as this ?—he loathed the idea. That beautiful, noble, high-bred woman, who was a queen even among tHose who were queens by right —no! he could not believe it. Suppose that it were true—not that he thought it was; but only imagine, ittrue. Then, if she were the wife of Bruno Severne, she was nothing, less than nothing to him. “He must put her away from him,” in the words of the scripture. There could be no Diane for him! The beautiful face must smile no more on him; the sweet. white hands must neyer lie in his again! There was no fair, loving wife for him—he must live henceforth, lone- ae miserable; and oh! the terrible scan- al! : “Fierce indeed is the light that beats upon a throne,” but even that is no flereer than the light that beats always on men of his position; how the world would gloat over such a scandal; how his political enemies would make mountains of it; how it would spread through the length and breadth, not only of this, but of all lands, , Lord Kerston, the great statesman, a leader in council, an eminent politician, a man who had al- ways been known for the stainless purity of his life, aman who had been dreaded from the severity of his morals—had married another man’s wife! He shrank from the words as though some one had struck him a shameful blow; he was so proud, so intolerant of wrong; he hated all evil doing, he denounced all sin, he would not willingly have done wrong to have saved his life,and he had married another man’s wlfe, This plain, homely farmer, as he called himself, asked him if he did not think it more dishonorable to steal his wife, than to steal his purse. That any man living should ask such athing from him! If it were true—and he said to himself with quiver- ing lips that he was only imagining such a thing— if it were true, then Diane must leave him at onee. He had no control over her, none over her fu- ture; he could not say what she should do, or where she should go, that authority would rest in other hands; great drops of anguish stoodon his brow as he thought of that. She must gofrom him—if it were true—whether she went back to her old. home or not; and then he tried to imagine what his home would be without Diane, without this beautiful, graceful woman, who had ruled there like a queen; this loving, tender, devoted wife, who had smpathized with him. who had loved him. Ah! Diane loved him and no one else; who had made his career her study, who had self for being his companion had studied polities, read the driest of speeches, mastered the hardest statistics ; who had received his friends, and charm- ed them, so completely that her influence was, in its way, great as his own? this fair, sweet wife, whose lips never uttered an angry word, whose sweet eyes had never once looked mockingly on him; how was it possible that he could liye without her. He was a proud man, and the finger of scorn ointed at him would annoy him most terribly, but 1e had the proud eqnsci ess of innocence—he could appeal to his past life, if appeal were needed; he could afford to Jaugh at public opinion if eny one could; but, what of his own private sorrow —the sorrow of losing that beautiful wife—she was the one love of ‘his life—he had had no other and never could have; she was the sun of his life; when it was set nothing remained for him but utter dark- ness; and she—what would she do? “Tf it were true?” those fatal words, she deserved punishment he owned, but_ he could not bear that sheshould have it! She had doneaterribie wrong; she had sin in a manner that to him was incon- ceiyable, but his great and tender love pleaded for her. Ifthe story this farmer told were true, how she had suffered. But, the suffering was no excuse for the sin. : : Then he began to doubt whether it was possible for itto betrue. He had met Diane so far removed from any ‘scene of that kind. How. could Bruno Severne’s runaway wife have found _ahome with his dainty, high-bred kinswoman? How could the wife ofa simple farmer have attained the nameless grace, the elegance, the refinement that distin- guished Diane—it was impossible. Diane was.so true a lady that she must have been with ladies all her life; there was nothing ofthe farmer’s wife about hers ,Heremembered her, ashe had seen her a thousand times, her queenly head crowned with diamonds, her fair, high-bred face, with its won- drous beauty, her magnificent figure robed in costly attire, jewels glittering on her white breast and white arms—queen_of the most exclusive circles. A farmer’s wife? He laughed aloud. How foolish he had been to grow frightened. ; Farmer’s wives are comely women, with ruddy faces, stout red arms, and substantial figures; port- ly, fine-looking women, with white teeth and whole- some smiles; he had seen manysuch. How differ- ent was his fair, queenly Diane, with her regal grace and dainty loveliness? His heart began to grow warm again with hope, the blood ran more freely in his yeins, the cold chill left him; the good, simple, earnest farmer was mistaken—it was a case of mistaken identity after all. . ‘ Diane was quite close to him; should he go to her and so solve all doubts? should he take the farmer’s advice and goto her with the letter in his hand, ask her to read it, and watch her asshe did so? Would itbe manly, honorable, or deli to do such a thing? P If ‘indeed—as he prayed Heaven—it were alla mistake, Diane would be, angry; she would raise her beautiful eyes to his with a look of sweet, grave reproach, but all doubt would be ended. eeeould ask him, perhaps, why he had wronged her by even showing her such aletter,. aay Then he aay ed short again. This man had met her; there had been a scene in a shop; he been to Irksdale; he had seen her there; he h a long interview with her. If she were innocent, why had she not companied to him? why had she not told him of the a offered to her, and either k 1to set itstraight or to avenge it?— that would have been he gh course of things for an innocent woman. That was a stumbling- block to him. Why had Diane b so silent? why had she kept all this a secret fr MEM? Vo sees Then another thought struck him with strange dread. What had made Diane her- 2 Diane so ill, so. self? Could it be this preying upon h filling her with keenest » with dee , He could bear the susp o longer, he must go at once and ask her. Taking the letter in his hand, he went room Diane ordinarily used in the morning— eerful bright room that seemed to beall white lace an rosebuds, the windows of whith opened on toa pene broad, beautiful lawn, where standard r tall white lilies grew. ‘ : e & Diane was there, sitting by the open window, so: deep ls engrossed.in her own thomas that at first. she did not hear him; when she did—how could he oses and low over- er eyes, a stood there. watching her—a crimson spread her face, a glad light came into smile parted her beautiful lips. : “My darling,” she said, and the per tone of her we was music, “I did not know that you were ere.” “Now, Heaven forgive me? thought Lord Ker- ston to RRO ae have§ven for one minu doubted my darling; that pute, lovely face is more% like the face of an angel than that of a sinful, wick- ed woman, She is innocent,” thought Lord Ker- ston; “if all the world’ came forward to swear to her guilt, I would not believe it. She is innocent, and the whole ery isa mistake. Could Ilookupon a face like that, and believe in its guilt?” The revulsion of feeling wasso great that he clasped her in his arms, and kissed _her with *pas- sionate kisses; then, with sharp, bitter, hateful pain, he bethought himself that if she were an- other man’s. wife, all those kisses were sin. He must solye the doubt, for his own sake as well asfor hers. He did not like this feeling of embar- rassment and constraint between himself and his own wife. 4 “Diane, my darling!’ he said, hesitatingly, “I have a most unpleasant task to perform.” He paused suddenly, for her eyes: had caught sight of the open letter, and they were raised to his face in a very agony of fear. He could not mistake the expression, and he saw her clench her hands tightly together. “I would give my fortune, my_ life itself, to be spared this pain,” he said; ‘but I must inflict. it. eee my darling, why haye you kept secrets from me ?” “T have no secrets,” she said, in a low voice. “Why did you not tell me of that man who made that painful scene in the New'Bond_ street shop— the man who followed you here to Irksdale—why did you not tell me about him?” “IT thought you would be very angry with him,’ she replied. “Undoubtedly I should have been angry—he de- served it.” : 4 “T was sorry for him,” she said; “‘he—he seemed to fancy that I was like his wife, and his wife had a away from him. Perhaps, Philip, he was mad.’ She grew whiter with every word, and she trem- bled like a leaf. “Mad or sane, he must be prevented from annoy- ing you. Why did you not tell me, Diane ?” “T was really sorry for him,” she replied; ‘‘and I was frightened, too.” f Then Lord Kerston looked first at her, then at the open letter in his hand. ‘Diane, my dear wife, I am sorry,” he said, ‘‘but I am obliged to ask you to read this.” CHAPTER LXIII. He turned away while shs read. Perhapsthe temptation to watch her wasstrong, but he would not yield to it—gentlemen neither watch nor torture the women they love. Heturned away and would not look at her. Only once, when he heard the flut- ter of paper in her hands, he glanced quickly at her. The white face was bent over the letter, the whole beautiful figure was still motionless, quiet as monumental marble. | She was not reading it, sho knew the story too well; every word was engraven in letters of fire on her heart. She was not reading it—she was taking time to reflect. The crisis had come at last: the blow had fallen; the sword so long suspended overhead lay upon her neck; that which for years she had dimly fore- seen, had now occurred. Her whole soul was con- centrated with one pee ae she tell him, or should she not? Should shefall down there at his feet and ery out that she vas a guilty woman, a fallen creature; that Bruno Severne’s story was true, she was his wife; that sie had basely deceived the noble gentleman whose jaith was all in her? Should she do that. and ask him to have pity on her, to take her away, to shild her, to save her? Would he? Once she raised 1er eyes and looked at him. The noble face, with its look of stern power and hauteur, the grave, earnest eyes, the lips so firm and tender—it was the fece of a noble man in the highest sense of the word Then she remem- bered the character that had deen given of him. He was so good, so noble, so true, but so intolerant of wrong, and when once his feith was destroyed it was gone forever. She remembered all that, ask- ing herself, as she did so, if he would ever pardon her ?. It was not likely; the first moment he knew she was Bruno Severne’s wife would be the last in eee she should see him—ofthat she felt quite as- sured. She would not give Bruno Severne that. victory— he should not find her humiiated, lowly, meek. He had ill-treated her; he wasnarrow-minded and revengeful; she would defy him to the very last. He should kill her if he woald, but she would never yield tohim. A spirit new and strange to her—one of reckless defiance, of daring revolt. of grim endurance rose within her, and terrified her; a spirit of endurance that nctaing could quell or subdue. No, she would not own the truth; Bruno Severne should not stand wit his foot on her neck and conquer her; she would ight it out to the bit- terend, she would not voluntarily fling herself into the hands of the enemy. “T would not tell the trutk now,” she said. ‘I would not if I died for it.” Then her husband turned to her, for the paper had fallen from her hand tothe floor. “Diane,” he said, gently. She glanced up at him. sales is not true,” she saidsimply. “I am your wife, ilip.” A great light spread over lis face; he turned to her with a glad, happy look ia his eves. “Not_true,” he repeated; ‘thank Heaven. Oh! thank Heaven, my darling, tmt I haar you say'so!” He clasped her in his arms and kissed her face doubt her?—when she did—when she knew that he |t as cold as marble, her hands like fire, There was something in her manner that did not satisfy him, pire gente a@ vague coldness—he could not tell what. , “So it is not true: Diane, my darling wife, I never thought it. Deceit and Diane are not compatible. I never believed it.” ; Still she stood cold, em onakey. unlike herself. A flush of hot anger rose to Lord Kerston’s face. “Is ita plot to extort money,” he said, “or is the man mad? [ hope Heayen will give mo atience, or I shall horsewhip. him within an inch of his life.” -Then she laid her hand on his arn» : “You must be patient,” she said. a And he saw that her lips were so white and stiff it. was with difficulty she moved them, ae | “You must be patient. Philip. I—I think he is mad. I could not help feeling sorry for him, he had lost his wife.” * “Even if he had lost twenty wives it is no rea- son why he»should Ragen you, my Sarhne) he shall suffer for it. What a strange story, what a strange letter, what strange coincidences! Two rDianes, two daughters of artists, two fair women with golden hair—it is marvelous, is like a ro- mance!” ; She looked up at him quickly, thinking to her- self that he was mocking her; but no, his face was full of simple good faith and kind affection. “I am so glad; my darling, that I had the cour- ageto show you the letter. At first, I did not care to do so; [ thought it too insulting. My bright, peerless Diane, a farmer’s. wife! I am‘ glad I showed you the letter, for, althougli I did not be- lieve it, and would not. have believed.it, if the whole world had sworn to it, still, my darling, it made me uncomfortable, as, [am sure, you can imagine, pand there would always have been a shadow be- tween us.” | © ., it was best,” she said, but in a manner so un- like herown. s He looked at herin startled doubt and amaze, then blamed himself, likethe chivalrous gentleman he was; she was sure to be strange in her manner after reading such a letter as that. “Now,” said Lord Kerston, ‘I will take the mat- ter in my own hands; he shail find out that it is not a delicate lady whom he has to threaten and tor- ment, to persecute and annoy—not a delicate lady, but a man, with astrong right arm and the will to use it; there will not be many more scenes after I haye taken him in hand.” Again she said: “Be patient, Philip; he seemed beside himself.” “Beside himself, indeed!” said Lord Kerston, angrily. “What right had heto annoy my wite ? Things are come to a pretty pass when a man may do as he has done and gain nothing but sympathy! He will eI something more substantial than a wo- man’s gentle pity when he falls into my hands!” Then he kissed his wife again. “Thank Heayen,” he said, “that I can defend you now! Ishould not be in the least surprised, Diane, absurd as it may seem, if this man annoys us still further. Whata strange thing it is! There must be something wrong in the laws of the land when oneman has itin his power so terribly to annoy another. I should not wonder if he does not begin his proceedings against you—of course they would soon _be Dee: Thank Heayen, I ean defend 7O8s Diane! Yet Idid not doubt—believe: me, dar- ing. I did not doubt you.” She looked up at him. . If he should do this wrong aa wicked injus- tice,” she said, ‘“how can you defend me, Philip ?” Nothing could be easier, dear. We his man says in a certain year you married him—you have but to prove | ou were during that year. says ou! aughter of urence Balfour—you ave but to show whose daughter you are, you have butto mention your father’s name. Nothing can be ponies) 1an to deteng nuke case. nee can easily prove where you s a ese years he says you eat at his place—what, is it ealled—Larchdale ? ng be more easy than to. prove that—one half-hour with a good solicitor will suffice; evén if he were mad enough to persevere, no judge or jury would listen to such a story.” aN ‘He saw the whiteness of her face give place to a feathly allor,an ashen gray hue, terrible to be- old. ; M “Then my defense,” she said, “would be to prove what people generally call an alibi?” ute ¥es;and that would be very easy, Diane. You must haye many people who can come forward to estify to haying known you during that time.” He could not help noticing how she trembled, how her hands seemed _ to cling to anything that would yield support. Then he said, gently: “That man’s life would hadly pay me for all the anxiety he has caused you, Diane.” Then he paused abruptly, for there was a con- fusion as of several arrivals, and the next, moment mango threw open the door. z ‘A person wishes to see you at once, my lord,” he said, Lord Kerston looked up hurriedly. _A person! hat name?” he asked. A Mr. Severne, my lord; he bade me say that his business was most important and brooked no de- lay. * how him into th® library,” said his lordship; “IT will see him at once.” Then he turned to Diane. “I will meet this madman,” he said, “tand fight your battles for you. Thank Heaven, I can do so; iane! You need not waste one thought upon it,” and the next moment he had gone. Need not waste one thought upon it! Poor, hap- less Diane! She sank down on the floor, des- airing, d&imost dead. What would happen flow? t seemed to her in that moment she tasted the bit- terness of death. Lord Kerston walked quickly into the library : his face was dark with an angry frown; his eyes gleamed like flame. He was startled to see, not only Bruno Severne awaiting him, but what looked at first sight a small crowd of people. He was too truea gentleman to speak angrily before these strangers—in fact, he did not know which of them was his mortal foe, Bruno Severne. His eyes ranged quickly over thetwo gentlemen of the party; one he saw at once was a clergyman; the other he imagined rightly to be a farmer. Bruno Severne stepped forward. “I wish to speak to you, my lord. My name is Severne—Bruno Seyerne; my business is very par- ticular. Lord Kerston bowed haughtily. : “I will see you alone,” hesaid; “follow me.” .,.Not at all, my lord,” replied Bruno, sturdily. “My business with you is no secret—these friends of mine know all about it; they are here as wit- nesses. You received my letter, my lord?” ‘Ihave received a most insolent letter,” said Lord Kerston, ‘which I should not deign to notice, but that I think the man who wrote it deserves pun- ishment.” “No, my lord,” said Bruno, “it will not do for you to take the high hand:with me—I shall not brook it. Iam here todo my best in a very unfortunate affair; but if you attempt anything of that kind with me, it will be the worse for you and the worse for Diane.” Lord Kerston’s face grew ‘white with rage at hearing his wife’s name so familiarly used; he made one step in advance, then controlled himself by a great effort. “I must trouble you,” he ‘said, “whenever you speak of that most honored lady to remember that her name is Lady Kerston.” “Nay,” said Bruno, “that is not it. Look here, Lord Kerston, I am sorry for you. I am here—I am sorry that such a great man as: you, so clever and distinguished, should have got into all this trouble—I am here, if you will excuse my rough manner of speaking, in some kind of way as your friend. Ido not want a great exposure and scan- dal; I think, if youand I agree not to quarrel, we shall avert that.” It was with great difficulty that he controlled him- self, but, for Diane’s own sake, he did so. “I am willing,” hesaid, “to listen to you in all patience.” ‘Ah, but Ishall want more than that,” said Bru- no, abruptly. “Patience is very well, but I want justice, and you must give me justice. If you do not, I shall heap to get it elsewhere. You read my letter—then you know my story. I repeat that my wife. Diane Balfour is here, and I claim her from you!” Was hemad? There was such an air of certain- ty, of absolute conviction about him, that Lord Ker- ston was absolutely startled. CHAPTER LXIV. Lord Kerston looked round on the little group before he made any reply. There was an elderly, gray-haired woman, with a grim, malignant face, wearing a half-satisfied smile on her thin lips, as one who says. “I told youso—I knew I was right.” She sat rigidly upright, as one encased in strong whalebone; there was not a bend in her. Her dress, like her hair, was of iron-gray, spare, ill- made, ill-fitting; there was not a graceful line about her; her small, shrewd eyes positively gleamed with delight; she had something of the aspect which a very lean and hungry spider wears when it is about to dine off a fat little fly.. That was Miss Hester Severne, whose satisfaction in her present errand is more easily imagined than de- scribed. Near her was another of the grim spe- cies, a hard, determined-looking woman, with red hands, and a face somewhat resembling a nutmeg- grater. That was Anne Clegg, who ‘had always prophesied that “young Mrs. Bruno would come to no good,” and was there in virtue of her prophecy. Then he saw a tall, kindly-looking clergyman, whom he recognized at onceas a gentleman;on him Lord Kerston fixed his eyes, and bowed. Then the cle ean stepped forward, and bowing in histurn, said: “My lord, permit me to introduce myself. Iam Ralph Thorne.” Lord Kerston looked at him with wondering eyes —what had he to do with’ it? r. Thorne con- tinued: k * Mr. Seyerne came over to see me yesterday, and explained the whole of thissad affair to me.” ‘Sad, indeed,” said the two grim females, with a dolorous shake of the head—comedy and tragedy are always closely allied. could not help thinking that these two women were like the chorus in a Greek play. Mr. Thorne continued: “TI suggested to Mr. Severne that all mild means should be tried before he had recourse to law, that he should see you, and knowing you to be a gen- tleman of honor, should allow you inthis case to be judge. ,20u are very kind,” said Lord. Kerston, satiri- caily, “Bue Ralph Thorne spoke in all earnestness and neerity. “Tfi.there should be,” he said, ‘twhat I pray Heav- en to avert, any truth in this most BnBaphy story, Sow be better to spare the lady all thatis ossible.”? \ , ‘Do hot speak of her,’ said Lord Kerston, angri- y; ‘her nameshall not be dragged intosuch a dis- cussion.” . ey “Dear me!” said Hester Severne ; and “Dear me!” echoed Anne Clegg. t \ am compelled to speak sf her even\against -your wish,” said Mr. Thorne; “but I mention her with all respect. In my opinion she is the only one in the matter to be considered. Spare her all that is possible. If it bea mistake, do not let her be an- noyed by hearing much. of it; if it be true, spare her because she is.a,woman.” ‘A. woman, indeed!” sneered Miss Hester. LordKerston turned angrily to them, “Who are these most exasperating women?” he asked. Bruno answered. fae y sister, Hester Seyerne, and her servant, Anne * ege, “We are here,” said Miss Hester, “‘to give testi- mony unto the truth,” But his lordship turned angrily away. Such women as these to sit in judgment on his beautiful Diane—it was too absurd. hen the clergyman, holding up his hands for silence, went on. I made asuggestion to Mr. Severne which he has carried out, and which, I hope, my lord, will meet with.your approval. I asked him to be patient, and before exposing his story to all the length and breadth of the land, to let us see what could be done. I, myself, knew Miss Diane Balfour; T re- meniber her perfectly, and am quite sure I should know her were I to see her. I am, I hope, a gentle- man, and should know how to conduct myself without offense. Let me see the lady and speak oy my testimony will, at least, be disinter- ested.’ Lard Kerston bowed. _ I}think you are right,” “he replied; “if Lady Kerston does not object, I shall not.” Then on my part,” added Bruno, “I ask thatmy may see the lady: they lived sister and her maid with her some years, and knew her well. I tell you what, Lord Kerston—mind, I am only claiming my own—I am content to abide by the decision of these three witnesses; let them seethe—the lady, If the say she is not the Diane Balfour I married, then will go down on my knees and beg her pardon and yours. Can I say fairer than that ?” «Lt sounds fairly enough,” said Lord Kerston; but how am I to know that it is not a plot concoct- ed between you?” “My lord,” said Ralph Thorne,“‘I am a minister e the, Most High God. Should I lend myself to a plot? “And,” added Bruno, ‘“‘as a man of sense, let me ask you, Lord Kerston, why should I plot against # your wife—what should £ know of her—what could she beto mie? What reason or sense “would there — be in such a thing ?” It might_be done to extort. money,” said Lord Kerston. “I do not say that it is so for one mo- ment, but I have read of such things.” : Iam in no want of ony s said Bruno, with a deep flush on his face, “If I did want it, T should work for it, and not seek it at the price of a wom- an’s honor or fair fame. I have more money than Ishall ever need. If you offered me your whole fortune, my lord, to forego my just claim to my wife, I should refuse it. I ask justice; ‘let these, my friends, see her; I will abide by their decision,” It is just,” said Ralph Thorne, gravely. Miss Hester added, snappishly: If Lord Kerston refuses, we shall know that he is afraid toface the truth; we shall feel quite sure about it. Zhope. my brother is mistaken. I neyer wish to see Diane again.” Lord Kerston hesitated. Ralph Thorne addressed | him again. S reas 4 ‘Mr. Severne has called me his friend, my lord. Without meaning anything offensive to him, I should_like to say that it ‘; not as his friend Iam here, I am here in the cause oftruth. [If my sym- pathiés are with any one it is with Miss Balfour. I Say frankly, she was too young, too bright, too eautiful to have married aman old enough to be her father.” Miss Hester closed her eyes with a pious groan, her maid looked unutterable things, and muttered something to her mistress about “‘the carnal effects of beauty.” Lord Kerston turned courteously to the clergyman. -“You knew Miss Balfour,” he said. “Will you. kindly deseribe her tome?” < Feige smiled wane df Iwere apoet, I might do so; not having the gift of eloquence, I shall fail. She was tall and slen- der, with a certain nameless grace that I never saw in any other woman. She resembled a slender, white lily; than she had golden hair and violet eyes, herfacs was like a flower, dainty in color, perfect in feature, with a charming purity of ex- pression. She had teeth, I remember, like little white pearls, and a beautiful mouth. She was very bright and winsome; graceful in every action; her voice was low, as the whisper of a southern wind; that is something like Diane Balfour.” ‘Andsomething like my wife,” thought Lord Ker- on, “How ridiculous!” sneered Miss Hester. “It is really awful for aclergyman,” said Anne Clegg to her mistress. Mr. Thorne continued: “Iadmire Miss Balfour very much, and confess, candidly, that I was not favorably impressed with her guardian, who seemed _to me formal, selfish, narrow-minded. I think if I had been on the spot I should haye done my best to haye stopped the marriage,” Bruno Seyerne turned angrily to Lord Kerston. “You' cannot think, now, that I have bribed him to be my friend,” he said. — “No,” was the thoughtful’ reply. ‘‘I do not think there has been any bribery in it. I begin to hope it is simply a ease of mistaken pee “Then my plan will be best,” said Bruno. “Let these, my witnesses, see the lady; ifthey say Iam mistaken, I will apologize in the most humble fash- ion. I will stop all proceedings, and I will promise, most faithfully, never to annoy her aghin; that is fair and honest, my lord, is it not?” “Yes, that is honest enough,” he replied. “If you refuse them permission and I am_com- pelled to leave here without having accomplished the object for which I came, then I will immedi- ately commence an action against her, and you will be compelled to do before all England that which you refuse to do privately. Another thing I wish to add—give usa fair chance; she has hardihood enough, she looked coolly in my face and denied me; let her haye no preparation, let these women see her and say what they think.” “My wife is a lady and must not be intruded upon, yet your desire shall in some measure be gratified. Come with me now, yourself; one by one you shall} bring your friends in. You and I will both be there to see the result.” my “That is just and honorable,” said Bruno, his face brightening. ; 2 , “Now shall truth prevail against iniquity,” said Miss Hester. “The way of the wicked is broad,” said Anne with reference, it must be supposed, to things in general as no oneappeared to see its peculiar ap- plication. Bruno Severne followed Lord Kerston the pretty morning room where he had left iane, “I should prefer entering alone,” he said; ‘my wife is not well orstrong at present.” : He went in, Diane sat at the window where he round her before; her eyes fixed on the distant rees. “Diane,” said Lord Kerston, gently; and there) was a whole world of woe in the glance she turned} tohim. “Diane, we have decided upon a quick so-; lution of this difficulty. Mr. Severne is here; he; has brought with him some of his friends, he begs! you to.see them, and we have agreed that he shal abide by their decision. If they decide against him, he promises to beg your pardon, and never to annoy you again; if they decide for him,I am at hand to fight it out for you, so that in any case you cannot do better than consent.” “T am quite willing,” she said. A ray of hope animated her. If she could but go through this ordeal—if she could but pass it, all would be safe and well. She took as it werea mo- mentary view of her own forees. Had she courage | to meet these people—to look at them gravely, firmly, without quailing, and hold her own? gleam of color came over her white face If she could do that, she would be saved; and for Philip’s sake, she could do it, She even smiled as she looked at Lord Kerston; her courage was rising now, growing higher every moment; she would meet and defy the whole world, for Philip’s sake. “Tt will be quite a dramatic scene,” she said, with asmile. ““‘Whom has he brought?” “His sister and her maid, some one else whose name I barely heard. Mr. Severne is here now. And Bruno, awkwardly enough it must beowned, entered the room. She rose, tall and queenly, graceful and dignified, with something like a mock- ing smile on her lips; and Bruno, half-abashed by her wondrous beauty, her queenly presence, bow lowly before her. (TO BE CONTINUED.) A NEW STORY. BY THE AUTHOR OF “A BITTER ATONEMENT.” WILL BE COMMENCED mn ct d been in everything his right hand? who, to fit her-' over and over again, but the Ips he touched were rd Kerston, despite his horror of anxiety, IN A FEW WEEKS. eo L biden an a mn boats oe. ae Ass bi M oi ‘\e Semmens culo pana nRaDmnUEDaaeaemeananneD anaunia svpuepeminasonanen ; pan SGT: a oe ee ee f etenae EET: + a ) } —- au) ‘\¢ a a a tala is! | n 4 er 4 Wi ia S a a = B 5 3 3 3 r > L 3 3 ; | | L e | ; boRY ‘ 4 ; ' ' i a ' 2 vt | : ‘ : ral rg * / .y < > >.* 4 > . > arn cota” ig es watt -« a ae be ; iB i 4 ’ $894 Samples free. Address 4 48-12 C. M. LININGTON, Chicago. bie . e. ta? ¢ © vwHNerS ee se “$55 5 $77 Be ‘Catalogue oa f a & ov ey i . Ds. COOK’S MAGIC OL will force the Mustache and Pe _ cents and stamp. Cireulars free to Agents. 2 ee Pad $ th $3 free. Send stamp for circu ; isk tl: Bs ostens ee me thd 4 “for 50c. Samples 25e. J. GREIVES, Greenbrook and » »8on,Nurseries, Paterson, N. J. '¢ 30 : ~<—4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. 20> 34 “IN PRESS, Ana will be Published in BOOK FORM, DECEMBER 2, 1876, Thrown on the World; OR, THE DISCARDED WIFE. By BERTHA M,. CLAY. FOR SALE HERE. Price, Post-paid, $1.50. STREET & SMITH, Publishers. Also for Sale by every News Agent throughout the United States and British Provinces. | AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY Wholesale Agents. ‘ , onth.—Agents wanted. 36 best selling arti es it th world. One sample free. Address — + JAY BrONSON, Detroit, Mich. a Week to Agents. Samples FREE. = O. VICKERY, Augusta, Maine. 43-52 a day sure made by Agents seHing our Chromos, Crayons, Picture and Chromo 425 samples, worth $85, sent, post-paid, for 8S Cents. 0 é ue free. 43.52 J. H. BUFFORD'S SONS, BOSTON, Mass. [Estab’d 1830.] 2. ifit free. Best chance yet. Write at once to pe. 43-13. LINS & OO., 2 Clinton Place, N. Y 5 SHOT GUN ape gun, bar or front action locks; warranted gen- Is, and a good shooter, OR NO SALE; with Flask, ad-Cutter, for $15. Can be sent ©. 0. 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Co., isi Michian Ave., Chicago, Til, 4-4 —Cheapest in the known world. $3 WA TCHE: Sample Watch and bate Med ms: For terms, address GOULTER & CO., Chicago, I 2 FANCY CARDS, ali styles, with post-paid. J. B. HUSTED, Sea. Reus. Oo, wig oO HOTO’S of Actresses, Cir’s of books, etc., Se. Scenes, 10 for 25c. wil2t 7 Love ete. LUDDEN & ©O., E. » Me. 59 | man of YE ABE BIDDEN TO A FEAST. BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER. “A certain man made a great supper, and bade many.” He spoke at length on the excuses which those made who were bid- den—the man who had bought a piece of ground, the man who had some oxen, andthe man who had married a wife, Refer- ring tothe last, Mr. Moody said, amid loud laughter: “Why didn’t he take his wife with him?” These men were all telling lies to ease their consciences, ‘Eighteen hundred years have now passed away, but have men got wiser?” asked Mr. Moody. He had come tothe South of London’ to invite them to a sup- per—the marriage supper of the Lamb—and would they, too, make excuses? He then touched upon some of the popular ex- cuses of the present day: ‘Who is the easiest toserve—the devil or Christ?» asked Mr. Moody. ‘“Christ!? echoed trom the pit, gallery, and stage. ‘Now, then, is not the way of the transgres- sor hard?” he added, inquiringly. ‘Yes,’ was the prompt re- ply. Pointing to a little girl seated near the stage, Mr. Moody asked herif she would like to be invited to a birthday party. The little one thus addressed having timidly answered in the affirmative, Mr. Moody said all had been invited to a great feast, and would they not accept the invitation? He did not believe an unconverted man had anything to do with the doctrine of election, for the Scripture said: “Whosoever will, let him come.” His closing appeal was most affecting, and people were to be seen weeping in all parts of the building. Mr. Moody con- cluded his address by asking all those who wished to be prayed for and to become Christians to stand up. About a score did so. “Thank God!’ exclaimed Mr. Moodys with emotion. “Any more? Any more? Any more?’ Each time this question was asked more rose, until at least 300 stood, while Mr. Moody plead- ed for them at the throne of grace. The service was in every way a great success, and must have been very gratifying to all present who were assisting in the moyement.—Mr. Moody in London. To a feast ye all are bidden, By the Lord, the great I Am; To the banquet of His chosen, , To the supper of the Lamb. 140 From the highway and the hedges, AA | gat From the lane and from the street, 4 © : Come, oh, come, ye heavy laden, Come with glad and joyous feet. Come, oh, come, ye heavy laden, Come with glad and joyous feet. Tarry not in paths of pleasure, Neither strange excuses bring, Oh, ye poor and needy pilgrims, Who may banquet with the King. Let us sit at His dear table Putting by all sin and strife, Drinking from the living fountain, Feasting on the bread of life. Drinking from the living fountain, Feasting on the bread of life. Tender Jesus, tarry with us, We thy shining face would see As we gather at thy bidding With a needy company. Fitting garments put upen us, Sweet and cleansing ointments bring, That to God be all the glory, We may banquet with the King, That to God be all the glory, wey We may banquet with the Kings ||) «7 re weet é ; “ Pleasant Paragraphs.. | : {Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing toward making this column an attractive teature oat the NEW YORK WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for publica- tion anything which may be deemed of sufticient-interest for general perusal. It is not necessary that the articles should be penned in scholarly style; so long as they, pithy, and likely to afford amusement, minor defects will be remedied. | ; if see o oetia “It Don’t Take Long to Stay ‘a Little While.” ¢ The following unpublished s a colonel ofa Kansas regiment during ‘the ' war is almost too serious for a joke, and was notintended for one at the time. - At a certain battle in Missouri with the Confed- erates, the latter had command of a ridge, which it was very important that our troops should occupy. Various attempts had been made bya number of our officers to carry the coveted ridge, but allin vain. So hot was the fire of the. enemy from three different quarters that it was impossible to hold the position for any length of time without great sacrifice of life. The colonel allited to had wit- nessed these various failures, and, being of an im- petuous, reckless, and _ self-confident nature— though withal a brave fellow—he cried out impa- tiently, in broken English, for he was a country- Siegel’s: ’ “Py golly,I dakes mine poys un I leef on dat one huntret years!” | On earnest solicitations and confident assurances the commanding officer finally consented to let the anxious and fiery colonel try it, telling him atthe same time, however, that he feared it would bea useless sacrifice of men. The colonel still insisted that he could accomplish what others had failed in; and proudly marshaling his “poys,” charged gal- lantly up the hill. But no sooner did he face the murderous and irresistible cross-fire, which was poured into him with terrible effect as he rose to the crest of the ridge, sweeping down his men and horses like grass before the scythe, than he gave the order to about face, and, looking very érest- fallen, galloped back to shelter with a decimated regiment. As he passed a brother officer—Captain Potts, be- longing to another regiment, and to whom the colonel was accustomed to relate all his state secrets —he leaned over in his saddle, and, in a yoice at onee affecting and confidential, said: “Bottsy, py golly, it don’t takes me long to stay dare a leetle vile! Eh?” J.C. McK, Love in the Dark. Old Mr. Thorp went into the parlor the other night at the witching hour of a quarter to twelve, and found the room unlighted, and his daughter and avery dear male friend occupying the tete-a- tete in the corner. ‘Evangeline,’ the old man said, sternly, ‘‘this is scandalous.” “Yes, papa,” she answered, sweetly, “it’s candle- less, because times are so ~-hard and lights cost sé that Ferdinand and. I said we would try and get along with just the starlight.’ And the old gentleman turned about in speech- less amazement, and tried to walk out of the room through a panel in the wall paper. A Bright Darkey. A gentleman said the other day, toa negro ser- vant at the hotel where he was staying: “Bless me, Sambo, how in the name of wonder did you get so black?” Why, look a here, massa, de reason am dis—de day dis chile were born dere was an eclipse.” _Sambo got a quarter for his satisfactory explana- tion, and, after grinning thanks, continued: “T tell you what, massa, dis nigger may be black, but he ain’t green, nohow.” A Bashful Servant Cured. The Crown Prince of Germany had avery timid servant, who could not answer_the most simple uestion without blushing and being confused. This conduct did not please the heir-apparent to the throne of Germany, who is far from being a ty- rant in his household, and he kindly adyised one of his chamberlains to instruct the seryant so that he would not be so awkwardly respectful next time. When the Crown Prince got home that even- ing he was surprised to find the bashful servant waiting for him witha broad and genial smile on his unten aa a ho is here?” asked the Prince. “Only the old man!” smilingly replied the vale (He referred to the Emperor of Germany.) “Great. Moltke! he is drunk!” said the Crown Prince, starting back in astonishment. ; “Lord, no! he isn’t more’n half tight,’”’ replied the servant, pleasantly. ; oar the chamberlaln’s lessons had borne ruit. Judgment Rendered. . Aman was sawing. wood inaback yard in Salt Lake City. He severed two sticks as thick as your wrist, and then went into the house. Mary,” said he to his wife, “my country needs me; there’s no use talking, we must go to slaughter all these Injuns. No true patriot can be expected to hang around a woodpile these days.” d John,” said his wife, “if you fight Injuns aswell as you saw wood and support your faintly, it would take one hundred and eighteen like you to capture one squaw, and you’d hayeto catch her when she ad the ague, and throw pepper in her eyes.” John went back to the woodpile, wondering who told his wife all about him. An Unfortunate Little Darkey. Our friend Gillis had been having consider- able trouble lately, about a hitching-post which once stood in front of his place of residence. It was not fastened into the ground, as is customary, but its peculiar construction necessitated its Sng placed upon the ground in as near a perpendicular position as possible. Now the aforesai itching- ak consisted of a cast-iron image of adarkey of hick proportions and stout build, ornamented with asmall saucepan-like hat, whitewashed to corre- spond with his lopsided pantaloons, which were racefully suspended and sustained upon his port- y frame by animitation rope passed over his left shoulder. The other day Mr. Webb, who is afriend of Mr. Gillis’, drove up and fastened his horse to the out- stretched hand of the image, while he went into the house to transact some business with Gillis. In the meantime, the horse, becoming frightened at the whirling past him of a newspaper, proper by the wind, or some other équally terrifying sight, began to prance and rear, concluding with starting off at a good round trot, with the cast-iron darkéy trail- ingin the dust. Those who witnessed the unfor- tunate darkey, were horrified at the thought of a horse ran about a hundred yards or so, then turn- ing into an open gateway he dashed on-toward the house, dropping the piece of statuary into un old well which ha pened to be near the path. Passing on he inserted his head into one of the parlor win- dows, frightening a young lady, and causing her to fall over her gentieman visitor in the frantic effort to leave the room. | Webb by this time arrived upon thescene, and after cutting up considerable harness in his at- tempt to extricate the horse, he concluded that the whole “rig” was a total wreck, and swore alittle, whereat the horse backed out of the window, as- sisted by various raps on the nose, administered by the gentleman visitorin the parlor. The owner of the untortunate horse now inquired as to the dam- ages, and was informed that to fix the window would probably cost fifty dollars, and furthermore that the young lady, while making her escape, had inadyerdently stepped into a pail of hot water and sealded her foot, so that she would be unable to at- tend the forthcoming ball with her dear Gregory. What her damage would be they were not yet cer- tain, but he would no doubt hear in time. After receiving this joyful information he led the horse back to Mr. Gillis’ house, and said to Gillis, who was leaning on the gate: , “There’s a three hundred dollar ‘rig’ gone to smash, allon account of that darkey image of hpi You ought to know better than to set upa nideous-looking thing in the street to scare folks’ horses.” _. : Then Gillis and Webb went over to estimate the damages, and fortunately discovered the repre- sentative of the fifteenth amendment: at the bot- tom of the well, which was dry and not very deep. They fished him out, and. discovered that in his descent he had been decapitated, and the head had to be brought up in aslop bucket. — i At this ye ure Gillis affected to compromise with Webb by making him a present of the statue, but Webb said that he was not running an anatom- ical museum, and thata headless darkey in front of his house might excite ridicule. Whereupon Gillis said that he would not pay anything, and that he was in no way responsible forthe conduct of the horse; and, moreover, a horse that was afraid ofa darkey, after having been brought upon a plantation, was just no horse at all for any peace- able sort of aman to drive, or even toown. Webb then became excited,and started off to procure a summons for Gillis, and the woman whose window was broken has got a summons for Webb. The ease has not been tried yet, but when it does ap- pear it will be interesting in the extreme. ae He Owned a Bill. An assessor of the German empire lately called upon aman who oeeupied apartments in the fourth story of a plain house, and said: “Mr. Foozle, one of your triends has assured me that you own a large mill in the suburbs of Berlin. Please tell me its exact locality, and what revenue it gives you.” : “Certainly, sir,” replied the other, “with the greatest pleasure; but Iam very sorry that candor compels me to state that my mill is a very small e, and yields me an imperceptible revenue. This, r. Assessor, is the only mill in my_possession!” and he took an old eaffee-mill from a shelf, and pre- sented it to: the astonished assessor. The latter immediately turned his back on him, and quickly peared. He igs now anxiously looking for Mr. friend, and wants to put a head on him. , Bad Luck. {Two Besiemin ta hieas meet, and one says to the other: : ; : *“Have you heard that our friend Stoffel has in- sured his wife in a life insurance company, and now LYearn that the company became bankrupt yesterday?” .. 43: ; ey ; “That’s bad luck, indeed!’ said the other.. “Now supposing his wife dies, he’ll not haye the least ‘benefit from it.” - ‘ A Prussian Liar. if The following story we have heard before, but it will bear repetition. This time the incident is said to have occurred at the battle of Pilliers, near Paris in 1870, in which the German troops were composed mostly of “Schwaben” soldiers. Robert Scheufele von Ulna, a stalwart landwehr- man, although wounded in the leg himself, offered his services to the sanitary corps, and was of con- siderable help in bringing wounded men on his broad shoulders from the bloody field to the hospi- tal and surgeons’ laboratory. Whilein the act of raising a groaning Prussian, he said: . ‘“‘What’s the matter with you?” “A ballin the foot!” was the answer. Scheufele picked him up and hurried off. He soon heard a hissing bomb-shell pass nearhis head. He stooped a little and kept on. , On reaching his destination he was greeted by a surgeon with: 4 “Why, what the duse are you about? You are bringing us a man with no head on!” : He dropped his burden, looked at it awhile pen- sively, and remarked: “Well, [ never thought those Prussians were such liars. The fellow told me himself that he was only shot in the foot!” M. H. MaTuHrew. Slightly Sad A lady paid a visit to a friend who had lost her husband. It was the day of the funeral. The two conyerse for some time upon indifferent subjects, and the visitor remarking the distraction of her friend, cried: “What’s the matter, my dear; you seem sad ?” The Effect of Music. There have, at the Jardin des Plantes, been some interesting experiments as to the effects of music upon animals. At the conclusion of a piece of music some elephants have been known to fondle the musicians with their trunks. Out West hotel keepers haye been known to seize the trunks after a concert, The Flip-flapping Pannier. How queer to my sight are the fair promenaders, When bright afternoons bring them outto my view; The ribbons, the flounces, the tangled-up dresses, The Balmoral stocking and heel lifted shoe! The Bie ho wering ehignon, the pot-lid hitched O10; The back hair turned up where the waterfall fell ; The cotton deyice—those things I'll not mention— And conte plump panier, that makes such a swell— The wonderful pannier! the flip flappy pannier! The ex-bustle pannier that makes such a swell! A Convenient Neighborhood. Afamily man in Lynchburg, who was looking for a house to rent, found one that suited him, but he couldn’t afford to pay so much rent. “Well, look at the neighborhood,” replied_ the house owner; “you can borrow flatirons next door, coffee and tea across the street, flour and sugar on the corner. and there’s a big pile of wood_be- longing to the sechool-house right across the alley; and, in the, name of Julius Cesar. what more could you ask.” ‘ ; He rented and moved in with nine children. four OBE, and a dray-load of household and kitchen urniture. To P. P. ConTRIBUTORS.—Mark Newell.—“Squibs’ Invention” is tooljlong for this column. It will appear in the Mammoth Monthly Reader......Tlie following MSS. are accepted: ‘tA Gun that Went Back on Its Owner,” ‘One Hundred and Fifty Jack- asses,” ‘‘Modest and Moderate,” ‘A Peacemaker,” ‘‘A Clergy- man’s Prayer,” “A Puzzied Chinaman,” “Born to Good Luck‘’”’ “Simple Jenny,” “tA Sick Calf,” “Nota Sweetheart,” “Jimmy’s Dilemma,” ‘Jones’ Love Affair” “Brave Deed,’’ “Rustic Cu- tag . id. The following are nespentinlty declined: ‘A Lover’s isfortunes,” ‘‘Preparing the Children for School,” ‘tMcNutt’s Duck Pond,” ‘‘Bound for James County,’ ‘‘Eloquence Pinned’ — published before. MRS. JONES’ DOG. Wy Bon ‘ BY MAX ADELER. Squire cert is somewhat deaf, and the fact often causes difficulty. The other day Mrs. Jones called to ask him to get the police to find a dog that she had lost. Mrs. Jones was suffering from a fearful eold, which had deprived her entirely of her voice .so that she could not possibly speak above a whis- per. The result was an interview something like the following: . 3 Mrs. Jones (in a hoarse whisper).—‘‘Squire Berry, I have lost my dog. It was a—” : Squire—‘Speak up, madame, don’t be: afraid. You ean talk right out to me.” Mrs.Jones (in a hoarser whisper.)—"‘I say I’ve lost my dog. It wasa little white sorter dog with a eurly tail, and I wanted to see if——” Squire.—‘Madame, if you have anything to say that you are ashamed to say out loud put it in writing. I don’t want to make you blush.” : Mrs. Jones (with a voice like a muffled bark mill.) —‘The reason why I ean’t speak louder is that [ have lost my voice.” , Squire.—‘'No, you needn’t be afraid of making a noise. Talk right out loud; we’re alone. Nobody’s anywhere’s about.” Mrs. Jones (her voice rougher than ever.}—"‘I can’t talk out loud because Ihave a cold,” ; Squire.—‘‘Well, really, ‘madame, I must insist upon your speaking in an audible voice if you are old, You are old enough to know better than to come whispering around a man like me, don’t you speak your mind right out? Now, what’s the matter?” : Mrs. Jones {with a voice like a_cross-cut saw go- ing through a rotten board.)—"“Why, you see, I’ve lost my dog, and I want to get the p’lice. to hunt rt up, He was white and his tail was curly, and-——” . Squire.—"Look here! this is all foolishness. .) All I understand is that you are old and don’t want to make a noise because it is early. If I catch the drift of your remarks that’s what’s you’re driving at. Now I’ve got nothing to do with your age or your opinions of the time of day, and if you ain’t human being doomed to such aterrible death. The satisfied write your story gn thats 5 Mrs, Jones did so, and the squire read it. 4 ORG. | terious manner. Squire —‘O, I see! Lost a dog and lost your voice. Excuse me. I thought you wanted to be confidential. Idunno exactly what can be done though. I can putthe police after your dog, but I won’t guarantee they can_recover, your yoice. Is there any reward on it? Where did you lose it?” Mrs. Jones.—Sleeping with the window open.” Squire.—"“Jumped out, I s’pose. You said it hada curly tail, I believe ?” Mrs. Jones.—Are you speaking of my voice ?” Squire.—"Certainly not. I am alluding to your ° Mrs. Jones.—‘It ran away on Tuesday with a but- cher’s dog.” Squire.—Very well, now you go home and stuff yourself up with gum drops and licorice, and Pll see what can be done for you.” Mrs. Jones’s dog reached her next day. THANKSGIVING AT THE RANCH. BY J. BR. HAMMOND. It was one of those bleak and wintry nights that sometimes make their appearance the latter part of November. In a miserable hovel sat a woman and a little girl crouching over a few dying embers, vainly endeavoring to keep themselves warm, and looking as though it would be a blessing to them if they could only die out along with the fire over which they were shivering. verything about the hovel, the two occupants not excepted, indicated a state of abject destitution strongly suggestive of starvation. _The hovel was known as Tod’s Ranch, which dis- tinctive cognomen it had acquired from two pecu- liarities of its owner, one of which was a habit he had of always speaking of it as his ranch, the other was invariably recommending a “tod” for all ills that flesh is heirto. From toothache to typhoid fever and consumption his stereotyped advice was “Take a tod.” If too hot “It'll cool you;” if chilly “It'll warm you up;” if nervous “It’ll quiet you;” if prostrate “It’ll rouse you up.” ; As he believed in a man practicing what he preached, and taking for his own maladies what he prescribed for the ailings of others, and as searcely a day passed that. he was not out of sorts in some shape or other several times during the day, itso happened that his calls for “‘tods” were not like angels’ visits, few and far between, the consequence of which was the sobriquet of “Tod” adhering firstto the owner of the ranch, and then to the ranch itself. Very few even of the intimate acquaintances of Jerry Malone had_the remotest idea that his name was anything but Tod something, but whether that something was affixed or prefixed to the Tod, or what that something was, they never bothered their brains to conjecture even much less to try to find out. For the last seven years Tod’s Ranch had been annually the scene of a most mysterious and heart- rending calamity, the direst result of which was the reducing the numbers ofthe family from nine to two, and indirectly bringing those down from a condition of comparative comfort to astate of ab- ject destitution. On that night seven years ago Jerry Malone had mysteriously disappeared, since which time no trace of him had ever been discovered. Twelve months later their oldest boy, a youth-some twenty ‘years of age, had disappeared in an equally mys- And thus, year by year, Mrs. Ma- lone had been ealled on to mourn the disappear- ance of her husband and six sons, in a manner that not only baffled all efforts at unraveling the mys- tery of their taking off, but which was actually more unendurable than the knowledge of their death would have been, as that would have relieved her at once of all suspense, while as it was her mind was constantly tormented by the most har- assing conjectures. “Mother,” said the child, as shethrew a few chips on the fire to preventits going out altogether, ‘do en Know that to-morrow will be Thanksgiving ay ?” “Do I know it? Alas! but too well.” Then after a pause she continued: “I wonder what calamity this night has in store forus. It can’t be sudden death, for that would be a blessing compared to the slow but certain approaches he is now making in the shape of. atarvath yn. It may be that you are to be taken from me inthe same way that your father and brothers have beén taken. Then indeed my cup of misery would be filled to overflowing, and death would be a most welcome guest.” . ‘Don’t talk in that way” exclaimed the child, as she crouched still closer to her mother’s side, “you frighten me.” | P Atter a brief interval of silence the mother covered up the fire, and the two, without the formalities of undressing, lay down ona pallet in one corner of the apartment, and covered themselves with the tattered remains of what had once been bed- elothes. The child fell asleep almost immediately. Notsothe mother. Hour after hour she lay awake, wooing in vatn the approach of the drowsy god. Nine, ten, eleven o’clock sounded shrill and clear from the distant town clock, and still she slum- bered not. Another hour dragged its slow length along, and then the chimes for twelve came floating upon the midnight air. Scarcely had the last sound died upon the breeze when Mrs. Malone, who was stillas wide awake as when She: first lay down, was startled by a rap at the door. With the terrible re- miniscences of the last seven years rushing with tearful and tumultuous impetuosity through her brain, she sprang to her feet and in an agony of terror almost shrieked out the inquiry. ““‘Who’s there ?” “A stranger in a strange place,” was the answer, in a strange voice, “What do you want?” : “I want shelter from the storm and something to “Why don’t you go to a hotel ?” “Beggars are not the most popular patrons of hotels,” was the reply of the stranger. Perplexed by a host of contending emotions, Mrs. Malone finally tottered. across the room, and opening the door, admitted the stranger to such hospitalities as even she in her penury was able to dispense. Kindling a fire, she placed before her guest a loaf of bread andaroasted fowl that she had procured for herself and daughter’s Thanks- giving dinner. Hoping for her daughter’s sake that he would leave at least a portion of both loaf and fowl, she witnessed the last erumb of the for- mer and the last shred of the latter disappear down the stranger’s throat without any outward manifes- tation of displeasure. After conversing awhile the stranger began to manifest signs of drowsiness, and being informed that there were no sleeping arrangements of which he could avail himself, coiled himself on the fioor in front of the fire and was soon snoring appar- ently as comfortably as though reposing on a bed of down, Along toward daylight Mrs. Malone appeared to feel signs of drowsiness, until finally she was com- pelled to succumb and fell into a deep sleep, from which she did not awake until broad daylight. As the oeceurrenees of the preceding night dawned upon her mind fearful apprehensions began to flow in upon her, when springing from her humble couch to her feet, what was her horror to discover that she was alone—that her worst fears were real- ized, and that her last remaining child had been snatched from her as remorselessly, if not as mys- teriously as the others. é Dropping to the floor in a swoon from which she did not recover for many hours, she finally opened her eyes, when she became cognizant of a state of things that filled her with wonder most protound and inexpressible. i First and foremost, she herself was arrayed in garments which, for fineness. of texture and yor- geousness of appearance might have adorned the person of an Eastern princess. Next, the apart- ment in which she was reposing, though corres- ponding in many respects with her own home, was fitted up in a style of magnificence that left her overwhelmed ina flood of bewilderment as to its. identity. : Indeed she began to entertain strong doubts as to her own identity. Surely, she thought, she could not be the same person who, clothed in tattered garments that scarcely sufficed to cover her naked- ness, had fallen in a swoon as it seemed but a mo- ment before. J “Surely it must bea dream,” she exclaimed. | In the middle of the room sat a table, which, if tables are actually addicted to groaning on account of being overloaded with “grub,” including all the delicacies that almost unlimited wealth could pro- cure, that table must. have been in a state of suppressed groaning that would be difficult to re- strain much longer. Rising to her feet Mrs. Malone proceeded to cor- roborate the evidonce of sight by that of touch. They bore the test satisfactorily, the viands. on the table bearing the additional one of taste. Going to the door she felt herself at home at once, as everything visible from that standpoint wore their own old familiar features, the external appearance of the hoyel being not only in. marked contrast to the internal, but bearing unmistakable evidence to the fact that it was none other than Tod’s Ranche. _ A L Hearing sounds of hilarity somowhere in the neighborhood, she stepped out of the door, and walking around the house, discovcred @ large tent stretched in the back yard, from which sounds of revelry and mirth were issuing. Pausing a mo- ment in utter bewilderment, she presently heard, above the surrounding din, a well-known voice shouting with the voice of a second-hand Stentor: “Got a headache, did yousay? Takeatod. Best thing in the world: for a headache.” To spring to the tent, burst through the door and pounce on the speaker, was but the work of a mo- ment, and was accomplished before he had fairly finished recommending his favorite prescription. The long-lost husband had returned, and he and his wife were onee more locked in each other’s em- brace. | There, toa, was her daughter, at the discovery of }hand, The lad was hit in the face and Mightly wounded. It was — whose disappearance she had swooned in rags, and from which she had awakened in splendor. Further discoveries she made in startling succes- sion. First, a boy, clad in costly apparel that a prince might have envied, sprang into her arms, when she discovered that she held to her bosom her own youngest son, who had disappeared a perfect tat- terdemalion but a year before. Next, one by one, her other missing boys discov- ered themselves in the same way, some of whom had grown entirely out of her knowledge, among them the ragamuffln who had enjoyed her hospi- tality the night before, devoured without the least compunction of conscience her Thanksgiving din- een end wound up by stealing her only remaining nild. Noticing that his better-half was laboring under nervous excitement consequent upon such a suc- cession of startling surprises, the long-lost hus- band shouted to her: i ae Betsy, neryous, ain’t you? Better takea od. Having imbibed the “tod,” Mrs. Malone expressed a desire to have the mystery of the gradual disap- pearance and sudden reappearance of her husband and boys explained; whereupon Jerry, after imbi- bing a tod, cleared his throat, and then began the solution of the mystery by propounding a series of interrogatories: “.You recollect Dick Cummins, don’t you?” es “Used to be an old flame of yours ?” “Give him the mitten?” es.’ “Sacked him for me ?” Yes. But what has that got to do with it? That happence nearly, if not quite, thirty years ago.” on’t bother, me, old woman. [Um coming at if by degrees, like the frog swallowed the grubbing- hoe. Some time after you had sacked him you met him ata ball at Wiley’s, and danced with him ?” iS, _.“"And while the dance was going on he inquired if what he had heard was true, that youand Jerry Malone were going to be married ?” “Yes, I recollect that mighty well.” And when you told him it was, he swore he would have his revenge on you and me both, if it took him fifty years to accomplish it ?” Yes, Ishall never forget that. He had the most fiendish look of any man I ever saw, and seared me nearly to death.” Well, he’s had his revenge.” “What! you don’t mean to say that Diek Cum- mins was atthe bottom of the disappearance of you and the boys ?” “He was—not only atthe bottom, but at the top, too, andall around the edges. Planned the whole thing, and earried it into execution.” eee up thought he’d left the country and turned pirate ?’ “So he did.. Made a big thing of it, too—millions on top of millions,andin the hard stuff at that. Greenbacks ain’t a legal tender among pirates.” _Pausing a& moment to moisten his lips with a “tod,” Mrs, Malene’s impatience prompted her to inquire: Well, what became of him ?” ‘Hold on, old woman; don’t crowd me, and Ill get through the quicker. He finally give up the sea and organized a band of highway-robbers, and took up his headquarters in a big cave some fifty miles from here, and proceeded to carry into exe- eution the diabolical scheme of revenge over which he had been brooding for so many years. How well he executed it you have but too good reason to know.” “What did he do with you, and how did he treat you “He took us to his cave, and locked us up in 2 sort of a den that he had built in one corner of the cave for our especial benefit, andthere he kept us locked up from one year’s end to another with noth- ing to do but eat and sleep. Can’t say that I have any. special fault to find with the treatment, only a decided objection to being locked up so long.” **How did you get away at last, and where did all these fine things come from ?” “Billy there,” pointing to their youngest boy, bossed that job. Itell you, old woman. that boy’s sharper than asteel trap. Why, be hadn’t been in our den hardly long enough for Cummins to get out of hearing, when he says to us, ‘you may all stay here as long as you feel like it, but I’m not go- ing to stay with you long!’ One day we found him on his knees, working away with his Barlow knife on a piece of soft rock that he had found running under the wall of our den. Stimulated by his ex- ample, the balance of us went to work, and in the course of a few weeks had the satisfaction of seeing Billy crawl through the hole, and then craw! back. Then we helda council of war to decide whether to enlarge the hole so that we could all escape, or send Billy after some officers to arrest the robbers and release us, when at Billy’s suggestion it was decided to do neither, buttoset Billy on the hunt for Cummins’ treasure, which we were satisfied must be enormous, and then mature our plans for escape afterward. So Billy went to work with a will, and after coming within an ace of being caught scores of times, his hazardous. enterprise was crowned with success so. far as the discovery of pig place where the treasure was concealed con- sisted. “The next thing in order was to release us, which he sea, accomplished by stealing the key to our den while they were sleeping off a drunken debauch, and then, as delay was dangerous, we proceeded immediately to where the robbers were asleep, and with their own arms slew the last one of them with as little compunction as we would have dispatched so many rattlesnakes, “The next thing on the docket,” resumed Jerry, “was to get into the strong box, which at the first glance threatened to be rather a formidable under- taking. But while we older ones were perplexin our minds as to how it was to be accomplished, Billy solved the mystery by producing a key that he had taken from Cummins. On unlocking the box and raising the lid, the sight of the silver and gold, and diamonds, and other precious stones, fairly took the breath away from me. Why, old woman, there was just millions. on top of millions of dollars worth of them, and we’ve got it alt where Cummins’ ghost’ll hardly be apt to trouble it. As it only wanted a few weeks of the anniversary of Billy’s disappearance when we were released, and as that day had_ been set apart as Thanksgiving Day, we concluded to postpone our coming until then, and give you a surprise. And now as its dinnertime and dinner’s ready, let’s take a tod all round and go and eat it,” —_—_____ r-0 + Items of Interest. nar The panic which has lately been ereated in London by the new outbreak of small-pox, has led to attention being directed to what are termed ‘centers of infection,” and there is probably no more active engine for the dissemination of disease than the laundry. When the washing is “put out,” the owners of the articles sent to the laundry are, as a rule, utterly reckless as to the consequences of the general mingling of the linen belonging to several families, which takes place when the laundress is engaged in active business. Nor dothey care to ascertain whether, as is often the case, there is infectious dis- ease in the very house to which their rments and bed furni- ture are sent. Itis not surprising under these cireumstances that small-pox and fever often’ make their appearance myste- riously in households where they are as unexpected as unwel- come. The most perfect drainage arrangements, the most ad- mirable system of ventilation, are of no avail to prevent the disease that is introduced into the house by means of the laun- dress’s basket. nar A test of rapid penmanship was lately made in Toronto. A Mr. Fletcher made a bet of $10 with a friend that he could write 5,000 words in eight hours. According to the terms of the wager there were not to be two -words alike in the entire 5,000, and it was agreed that if Mr. Fletcher sueceeded in writing 3,000 words withinithe time: settled upon, he would win the bet in so far that he would not lose the $1@;he had put up; failing to write the 3,000: words, 1t was. to be held that he had lost. The bet was taken up, and: Mr. Fletcher commenced his work at 10 o’clock one: morning. He wroteon foolscap paper, 144 words to the page. Having.written till a little after 5 o’clock P. M., which included an hour’s.relaxation, making about seven hours’ work, he found he had written 3;500 words. It was un- necessary to go any further, as:it was: impossibie to write the remaining 1,500in an hour. Mr. Fletcher won one part of the bet and saved his $10. ha- Rheumatism:.is an. ailment, that generally confines itself to persons of mature age, but it seems that lately in Washington, D.C., ithas taken hold of some exceedingly young children. Two of the-little ones of Mr. James A. McDevitt, aged respectively four and seven years,,are now suffering from an attack which the family physiciam pronounces to be unmis- takably rheumatism. The:children exhibit the same symptoms and experience, the same. pains which older people show and complain of when they are:suffering from. the disease mentioned above. i The doctor is-positive that the pains are not caused by rapid growth, but. strange as if may seem, sre-the result of gen- uine rheumatism. We have heardof several similar cases im other families in New York and Brooklyn, but these are the bess authenticated. aa> There is am industrious. young lady in this; State who is.making acloak almost entirely of partridge feath- ers. It will be a unique piece of clothing: and very pretty and} comfortable, though it requiresan immense amount of labor and perseverance: to put ittogether. Init will be at least ten thousand feathers.of different sizes, the lower portion of the cloak being made.of the tail feathers, and then ranging up.the breast feathers come next, while the variegated plumage around the neck:of the bird will encircle the white throat of theiady:. It will require about one-hundred partridges to fil! out theregu- lar courses of feathers.’ The birds are shot by her brother. ax A litthesonof Mrs, James Hodge, residing in Auburn, Me., recently founda pene eh rH, aylinder, which he goncluded touse as aheadito hislead pencil. Heshowed 'itto his maether-and solicited her aid: in the job of makingitready, Mrs. Hodge: took it up, and with a pair ef seissors began te:punch a hole into it with a view of digging out some substance wliich a peared'to be within. She had not been long engaged in this work when it exploded with a tremendous concussion, and blew off Mrs. Hodee’s. forefinger and part of the thumpb.of her left a dynamite cartridge. sar As Bishop Tuttle, of Montana, was making his annual visitation last July, a ranqhman and his wife brought their family to be baptized Among them wasa fine baby bo ofsix months. When the bishop asked the mames of the ohil- dren, the mother gave as the baby% name Bisho Tuttle. The bishop mildly suggested that bis first nawe wes Daniel, bat the mother cou'd not b3 driven from her resotation, and the baby was acoordingty baptized PishepX ttl Centis, fs “eae” ope dernier beset” S OEO OOO0 OOOO" Terms to Subscribers : One month, (postagefree) 25c. | One Year—l copy (postage free)$3 RW MROTGHE )s Vocasssco ces 50c. te 2 copies 5 Three months .,........++ JOG8 eet Me) Mab ved ben saiy 10 FOuUr MORGHB. : sss ce s.00e Ty Be aetaliol - tena’) POE SS 20 Those sending $20 for a Club of Eight, all sent at one time, will be entitled to a Ninth Copy FREE, Getters up of Clubs can after- ward add single copies at $2.50 each. IN MAKING REMITTANCES FOR SUBSCRIPTIONS, always procure a draft on New York, or a Post-Office Money Order, if possible. Where neither of these can be procured, send the money, but al- ways in @ REGISTERED letier, The registration fee has been re- duced to ten cenis, and the present registration system has been found by the postal authorities to be virtually an absolute pro- tection against losses by mail. All Postmasters are obliged to register letters whenever requested to do so. In addressing letters to STREET & SMITH, do not omit our Box Number. By a recent order of the Post-otfice Department this is absolutely necessary, to insure the prompt delivery of letters. u@> To SUBSCRIBERS.—When changing your address, please give former, as well as present address, with County and State; also, be certain to name the paper for which you subscribe. <©# ALL LETTERS SHOULD BE ADDRESSED TO STREET & SMITH, Proprietors. 25,2 P.O. Box 4896 , 29and 31 Rose St... N.Y. ANEW STORY, BY THE AUTHOR OF “A BITTER ATONEMENT,” WILL BE COMMENCED IN A FEW WEEKS. —__—___——_ >< ____—_— ANEW STORY, BY THE AUTHOR OF “A BITTER ATONEMENT.” WILL BE COMMENCED INA FEW WEEKS. —_____>-4e<+_____ A NEW STORY, BY THE AUTHOR OF “A BITTER ATONEMENT,” WILL BE COMMENCED IN A FEW WEEES. Ot ANEW STORY, BY THE AUTHOR OF “A BITTER ATONEMENT,” WILL BE COMMENCED IN A FEW WEEKS. ——_——_>-9<+—____—_- & NEW STORY, BY THE AUTHOR OF “A BITTER ATONEMENT.” WILL BE COMMENCED IN A FEW WEEES. MONEY. Publishers tell us that a great deal depends on the title, and that people will read an inferior arti- cle, which has a “taking” title. much more readily than they willspend time over a superior article, which has a stale title. If this be true, then the present article will be read, for there is nothing in this world so “‘taking” to the universal public as money! It is what every oneis after. The life race, and the life labor, are for money.: Good people may tell us that money is the root of all evil, but we have noticed that whenever we haye a business transaction with any of these same good people, they are quite as anxious to secure their portion of the evil root, as are any of the most ‘miserable sin- ners” of our acquaintance. Ministers of the gospel preach to us about “filthy lucre,” and lift up their hands in horror of. the ex- ceeding sinfulness of the rich man, but whenever one of these same ministers receives a “call” from another parish, with a couple of hundred dollars advance on his salary, he generally finds that his “sphere of usefulness” will be increased by the change, and is ready to pack his household gods and go at the call of “filthy lucre.” There is a great deal of poetry in despising mon- ey, and what it brings. Young people, of aroman- tic turn of mind, indulge in much talk of devotion through poverty. Wehave heard young ladies, Wearing their silks, and sparkling in their dia- monds, whose lily hands had never formed an ac- quaintance with the dish-cloth, or the mop-handle, talk of the bliss of preparing dinners for those one loved, and of the delight of making a “‘little, sweet cottage” such a home nest for dear Alphonzo, who was so poor, but so nice, but on whose suit worldly and cruel papa was down—decisively down! Young people who read romances form ex- aggorated ideas of the delights of love in a cottage. They despise money—they would not be so sordid and contemptible as to inquire of a favorite suitor what were his prospects of living. They are apt to ignore the fact that even cottages are not to be had without money, and that the “bread, and cheese, and kisses” of daily life are not sold at the market on perpetual credit. A few days ago, we heard a romantic young lady assert that “if she loved a man,she would marry him, even if he had not ashirt to his back!” Now, while admitting that this would be a first- class sentiment for a novel, we do not think itis a profitable one for real life, where a person means business. A young man who was worth marrying would have too much energy to be found in such a shiftless state, and the young lady who would marry him must be at the last gasp of matrimonial hope. Honest poverty is never to be despised, and while we would never judge a man by the amount of money he possessed, we must still believe that a command of money is necessary to comfort and happiness here below, where butchers and bakers are Glamorous for their dues, and shoes and stock- ings are made to wear out, and bills of all kinds kaye a distressing habit-of accumulating toward the 31st of December. Now, what we should foster in our children is this: Not an undue estimation of the value of wealth, buta prudent and discriminating knowl- edge of the worth of money as applied to the se- curing of the daily comforts and necessities of life. Not a fondness for luxury and display, but a mod- est, economical habit of saving up the pennies, that want may never invade the household, and that there may always be a spare shilling to bestow upon the suffering and unfortunate. Kats THORN. pg OnE of the curiosities at the Paris Exposition of 1878 will be a speaking monkey—a monkey with a curious, if not a romantic, tale. Ina fight witha polecat, in Brazil, the monkey was roughly treated, and came off second best. Bleeding and writhing in pain, the defeated monkey was found by its mother, who took itin her arms and was soothing the suffering animal when they were discovered by ahunter, a Monsieur Coulembart. This humane gentleman secured a negress to nurse the unfor- tunate monkey, and the negress taught the patient to speak a few words, such as “Papa,” ‘“‘Mamma,” “Brazil,” etc. It is constantly improving in elo- quence, and the owner is confident of his ability to teach this speaking monkey to tell its romantic story in full. A monkey’s tail, issuing from its lips, would indeed be a remarkable revelation. A LONG-LIMBED woman in Pennsylvania thinks that petticoats are a disadvantage to locomotion. In female apparel she says she can walk but twelve miles a day, while in men’s clothes she can easily walk twenty. Now we know what has impeded woman’s progress. By all means, let her wear the breeches. i —_——_>-4-< SEVERAL negroes engaged ina lively coon-hunt in Kentucky. The sport not proving sufficiently exciting, the hunters got into a‘wrangle, which ended in a fight. Three of the negroes were killed, two dogs meta like fate, but all ended to the satis- faction of the survivors when they killed the coon: ——__ + @< SINCE the cessation of torch-lig¢ht processions, dealers in kerosene have done a light business. a THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. THE OLD RED POCKET-BOOK. — A THANKSGIVING STORY. BY MRS. DENISON. “Well, old boy.” said Charley Drum, with a chuc- kle, “Thanksgiving is almost here—hey, my friend? Won't itseem odd totwo middle-aged gents like us? Ha! ha! See here, Tom, you might as well come over to Blaysyille,as you are going to live here for good. Bring the old folks and the little lady the day before, and we’ll both be married at the sametime. Don’t shake your wise old head; it’s asuggestion my blessed mother made. I like it,andso must you. Think it over, old chum.” Tom Starkweather, the man thus addressed, was tall and thin, and far from handsome. He was the soul of honor, and when one got used to thatscared, nervous way of his, one thought there never was a better fellow born into the world. And there neyer was. His greatest friend and constant associate was Charley Drum, They were clerks in the same bank, and had been together for nearly ten years. Charley was Tom’s opposite in appearanece—short, square-shouldered, florid, black-eyed. Side by side they had plodded over accounts in the rather pleasant back office of Seal & Co., bankers, shared each other’s lunch, helped each other in hurried times, walked back and forth together, and spent these eyenings atthe same place, until Tom fell in ove. Curiously enough, as soon as Charley found out the secret of Tom’s many visits home to visit his “dear old parents,” he never. rested till he got him- selfinthe same predicament. And more curious was the fact that, all unconsciously, the friends were going to marry cousins, blood relations. Tom’s affianced, as was natural, was a wee bit of agirl,as bright as a button and spry as a lark, while just as. naturally, on the theory of contrasts, Charley had chosen somebody he could look up to; atall, slender, dignified blonde, who had long secretly liked him, and who had been for years lay- ing up money against a rainy day. . Thanksgiving was to betheir wedding-day. It wanted but two weeks to the time. “Tm going to havethe biggest turkey in the coun- try,” said Charley, aftera briefsilence. It was lunch time, and the two clerks had the office to them- selves—‘‘two of ’em, in fact. Old Blinks, who is feeding my little bird, thinks he can get him up to twenty, pounds; weighs eighteen now. What do you think of that? No use, Tom, in deliberating at all; you mustcome over.” “Old Joe feels anxious aboutthe bank,” said Sam, after they had discussed their chicken and _ pie. “Old Joe” was the senior partner—Joseph Seal, Hsq.,—a man who had made his money after he was fifty years of age, and was respected accordingly. “Does he? Well, don’t much wonder,” was Charley’s remark, as he went back to the old desk and his accounts. “‘Tell you what, Tom, there’s a gooc deal'of “burgling”’ going onthese days. Hard times at the bottom of it, Is’pose. A man that has a fixed position and a salary, and cash enough to stock rather a neat little home,” he added, slyly, “may consider himself particularly well off.” , ‘ ae he may,” said Tom, with asigh of grati- ude. “Many a poor fellow is driven by_stress of Ccir- cumstances into crime,” moralized Charley. “T ean’t imagine it,’ responded Tom. “No, you’d starve first, old fellow,’ laughed Charley. ‘Besides money wouldn’t be any tempta- tion to you. I don’t know how it would be with me. However, thank Heaven, there’s no danger of our turning bank-robbers.”’ He lifted a bundle of papers as he spoke, and went with them into the front office. The banker, Joe Seal, was talking to a man in an undress uni- form—the captain of police in fact. They were speaking of some recent robberies, and the yener- able partner looked very serious. “LT wish I knew one ortwo honest fellows who could be depended upon,” hesaid. “I'll like them .to stay in the bank nights for a few weeks.”’ “How would I do, sir?” asked Charley, as he came forward and nodded to the officer. “Excellently; only I couldn’t have thought of asking you. Idon’t exactly want. watchers, but some one who will sleep here to give a sense of se- curity. The large closet in the back office could easily be fitted up. I should like nothing better.” ‘Make the bed large enough for two, then,” said Qharley laughing, “for Ishan’t stay without my chum. We have heen talking it over, sir, and we both coneluded to offer our services.” a. Very good, and many thanks,” was the response. I could not find two more trustworthy men.” The room was fitted up, extra fuel brought in for the night, and Tom and Charley were as happy as two kings, The week that followed was a very busy one. On one particular night Charley and Tom were too thoroughly tired out to enjoy their evening chat, as usual, Tom, in particular, had been driven with work from the moment he entered the office. He was gcomplaining of this,and_ putting his deskin order at the same time, when he made an exclama- tion that startled his fellow-clerk. “What is it?” the latter asked, looking up from his paper. “How frightfully careless of him. Here’s a pack- ‘age of twenty thousand dollars Lighter brought in. I’m sure I thought it was in the safe. What would old Joe say?” Old Joe never need knowit. It’s just as safe there as in the safe; rather more so, we’re so dead tired. Thieves might get tothe safe, but notin here without rousing me. Nothing but laudanum would make mesleep so sound the nibble of a mouse wouldn’t wake me.” ; It’s the first time in my life,’ muttered Tom, leaving the desk unwillingly. There must always be a firsttime, my friend, for most things. Oblige me by locking that desk, old morality, and then joining me atthe feast. ere are some apples out of the family barrel, genuine old Baldwins, steaming and spluttering. hew! hear the snow beatagainsttheshutters. One rather thinks of home on such a night. It makes the gloomy old room look atrifle ghost-like. There’s your old office-coat hanging there; it’s shadow is the counterpart of a venerable and suspicious- looking curmudgeon, on pickings and stealings in- tent. Queer what strange likenesses things do take on.” ‘The two men retired early, Tom still bemoaning his lack of carefulness, and Charley laughing at him, and were soon sound asleep. There was a lull in the storm, andthe clock in the front office was ‘striking one, when Charley sud- denly waked up asif some electric shock had thrilled him from. head to foot. It was very still, and the gas, dimly burning, threw the shadows of the tall desks, and stools, and old-fashioned furni- ture in adozen grotesque shapes over the walls and ceilings. All at once his quick hearing detected a sound. Some one was certainly snoring in theroom. He lifted himself hastily but noiselessly, and felt for his pistol. In doing this he became aware that Tom was notin bed. He called him, but receiving no answer, he rose stealthily and crept out cau- tiously into the room. The office was a large one, and Tom’s desk stood between the two windows that faced the street. Charley passed with a feeling of relief as he saw Tom standing at the desk—saw him reach over to the peg where his old office coat was hanging, take it down, extract from its capacious breast-pocket a remarkably antique pocket-book that had been handed down from Tom’s great-grandfather, saw him place a package between its leaves, put it back in the garment in his odd, precise fashion; then as the thought crossed his mind that Tom was all right, and might not. like to be watched, he stole noiselessly back to bed. The same delicacy of feel- ing made him forbear to question Tom as he re- turned to his place of repose, and both were soon sound asleep again. At five in the morning Charley sprang out of bed, remembering an errand his sister had charged him with, and thinking a brisk walk would do him good, he left Tom still asleep, though when he returned his fellow-clerk was up, and had renewed the fire. ‘T’m going to breakfast as soon as Spicer comes,” said Charley, “Come gowith me. Youreyes alone shall behold the prince of turkeys which, to make secure, I had hung out of the garret window. ‘While Charley was speaking, Tom had gone to his desk. Where did you go so early?” he asked, turning thekey. “By the looks of the ground I take it there were no worms to be caught.” Oh, that’s telling,” laughed Charley, and then he turned round, impelled by, he could not have told, what impulse, except that Tom’s face was turning slowly round to his, with such a haggard, despair- ing expression, so pale, lifeless. and yet horror- struck, that Charlie felt himself shiver. Old boy, what’s the matter ?” he cried, starting up. Tom’s eyes were slowly withdrawn. Charlie saw that even his hands were white and trembled against the desk lid. “Nothing,” he answered, slowly. ‘I believe after all—I—I’'m not at all well,” he added, in a slow, re- luctant voice. | Breakfast will warm you up—a good hot break- fast,” said Charley. ‘‘And then the sight of those turkeys,” he added, jocosely, when Tom’s pinched face, whiter than before, turned again upon him with a long. inquiring gaze. 2 No,” he said, in the Sante slow, spiritless voice; I 52 round to my place. If I feel better, ’ll come ae He lifted down the old office coat, threw it over his arm, and without another word walked from the office. _ Well, that’s an odd freak,” cried Charley, watch- ing him past the window. “Quite as strange as his’ setting up in the night. By the way, I never thought to speak to him aboutthat. I wish.IThad. I don’t see what’s come over him. I hope devoutly he’s net going tobe sick, And, bythe way, he never spoke of that money. Heshould have leftthe key with me: but surely he’ll come back—of course he will.” The day was as filled with business as the pre- ceeding one had been, yet there was no sign of Louis’ return. His place had been filled temporarily, though his desk remained untouched. Charley had no time to go and see after him, promising himself that he would do so on the first opportunity, before night setin. It was nearly three when the cashier came to him, anxious and frightened. “There’s a deficitof twenty thousand dollars,” he said, his face fever-red. “It was sent in by——” “Yes, I know,” said Charley, cutting him short. “It was in Tom’s hands. He went home this morn- ing, taken suddenly sick; but the money is in his drawer. I didn’t mentionit, hoping he might eome or send. He was in great distress about it, last night—blamed himself desperately, but was so used up that he fergot it. If you will take the trouble to use the duplicate key, you will find it all right.” “Very good,” said the other, seemingly relieved. The desk was opened, looked over, searched, turn- ed inside out—the money was gone. “Good Heavens!” thought Charley, and he felt as if each separate hair on his temples stood up- right. The midnight waking—the singular bearing of Tom that very morning—his agitation, his tak- ing away with him his office coat—what could it all mean ? There was consternation among all the inmates. A robbery must have: been committed under the very eyes of the keepers. Charley was in a fever of unrest. He would as soon haye accused his old father of theft as his old friend Tom. But, what did it all mean? Every circumstance connected with the matter served to throw suspicion upon the two clerks. Charley asked for an interwiew with the firm, which was granted. The result was Char- ley came from the conference very much flushed, with a sympathy amounting to agony for Tom, who, it was very clear, was not sick, for on sending to his lodging, the landlady informed them that he took a hurried departure that morning, and had paid all his bills, but retained the room for a month. : Charley sat down to his desk and wrote two notes; one to his mother, one directed to Miss Lizzie Sweet. Then he counted his money, received aroll of bills from the firm, a carriage was called, and he rode off in great haste to catch the four-twenty train for 5 Charley’s father and mother lived in a very snug, old-fashioned way, in the house which had been the homestead for fifty years. Within were two innocent old_ folks, a sparkling wood fire, an old-fashioned brick hearth and chimney- place—the smell ofapple, mince, and pumpkin pies, ragrant as the gales of Araby are said to be—and through the open door the goodly sight of kitchen thrift. Mother Drum hadjust come into the parlor, flushed from the oven. The old father was reading the paper in his own particular arm-chair. “Isn’t it a little strange. father,” asked the wife, wiping her floured hands uron a white apron that concealed her tidy black gown, ‘‘that Charley didn’t come here to breakfast this morning? IThopenoth- ing happened at the bank. I declare I can’t sleep o’ nights thinking of him there, deprived of his own natural home rest,” ; ‘ . “T guess things is all right, Nabby,” was the old gentleman’s philosophic reply. , “But there’s so many things to see to, if them Starkweathers are all a-coming, though, to besure, there’s beds enough, thank goodness! and Ishould jest like to see another woman of my age show five- andforty pies. But, bless me! there’s the man with letters! hen has he been here afore? , And close on to his heels is, Lizzie Sweet. Well, I never! What can it mean ?” : The letter and Miss Sweet came in together, both very white. : yr “J declare I’m all ina flutter!” said Miss Sweet, finding herself aseat. “If he shouldn't come home 1 adh day after to-morrow, I should ie!” “Read it out, father,” said Mrs. Drum, smoothing her apron with trembling hands. “I knew some- thing was a going to happen when I dreamed of that white horse. Read loud. Don’t mind Lizzie, if it’s from, Charlie.” So the old man read: “DEAR MOTHER:—I may not see youfora day or two—not till Thanksgiving morning, maybe. Keep up agood heart. I’m off on bank business—very important. Don’t mind anything you hear, but trust your own CHARLIE.” “And here’s mine!’ half sobbed Miss Sweet, reading: 5 “DEAREST LizziE:—You will hear all sorts of rumors, but don’t. believe vary a, | till you seeme. Ifi had time I would tell you just what has happened, but I am off on very important business connected withthe firm. You may not see me till Thanksgiving, but then I shall have the honor and the happi- ness “There, that will do,” said Miss Lizzie, blushing amid her tears. “But, oh, dear, Mrs. Drum, what cnn ary happened? I believe the bank has been robbed.” ‘Whatever has happened,” said Mrs. Drum,.“my boy will come honorably through itall. Noone ever said a word against our Charley,” she added, with pardonable pride. : “Heard the news?” asked old neighbor Asbury, bustling in as he always did. without knocking. “What is it?” chorused threé voices. “Bank’s been robbed! Twenty thousand dollars gone, slam! Tom Starkweather’s run away, the ecashier’s cut his throat, and half the clerks are stark staring mad.” : Ate Mother Drum sat down in mute despair—Lizzie fortunately repressed a fit of hysterics, by thinking opportunely of Charlie’s letter. . : “I don’t believe a word of it,” she said. : Neighbor Asbury turned round, his hands on his knees, and looked at her, a lank, lean, lantern- jawed face, with bleared blue eyes. “Oh, you don’t,” he feebly ejaculated. ‘‘Well, wait till you see the papers to-morrow. I guess you’d believe it if you’d seen Charley Drum Pe off inacoach. J don’t know where he went. J don’t know who was inside—officers, for all I know.” “Neighbor Asbury, that’ll do;” said old father Drum, with almost magisterial dignity ;” as my old lady said just now, whatever’s happened, our boy’ll come out honorably. Wife, hand me my stick, I guess I’ll go down to the bank.” : : He went, taking neighbor Asbury with him, and the two women were left to condole with each oth- er, mother Drum congratulating herself that, what- ever came, kab tapser sig =| iets fully prepared for. Meantime Charley, sick at heart, had caught the train, and was off for the little town where Tom's mother and father lived. It was a long ride, they were delayed by an accident, and he was forced to make a night of lt upon the road. It was eight o’clock of the next day before he neared the station, from which some vehicle must be taken to reach Tom’s father’s house. At nine o’clock he found himself at a small white gate from which, and the ath to the house, the snow had not been shoveled; ut deep in the white road-way were marks of a man’s heavy tread not and coming. “Tom’s_ big boots, ’ll wager a month’s wages,” ae Charley, to himself, “The old fellow did come ome,” He walked confidently up tothe door, made_his errand known, and went in. Tom’s mother received him graciously, and with a good deal of ceremony. ““He’s come and gone,” shesaid, answering Char- ley’s question. “We give him breakfast an hour ago or more, for he said he might go off to New York on business, and he wanted to see Nellie. The business must a’ been of great importance, or he never’d ha’ put the wedding off—which brings bad luck,and I told him so. But father says bank mat- ters haye always to be attended to, whatever is neg- lected. 4 ; : : ig! could I find him, do you think, at Miss Nel- ie’s ?” “Well, yes, though it’s a good three-mile walk be- yond Leggitt’s woods over there—taking that road straight—and though the snow ain’t deep, yet it makes harder walking, He went along with the milkman; but you see weain’t got no carridge, though we have kept one in other days.” ; “Thanks,” said Charley, cutting her short with- out racer i “Pliwalk right on. I’m_inagreat hurry tosee him. By the way, the New York train leaves our place by three in the afternoon,” he said, to himself,as he hurried off. ‘If it stops here it must be by ten oreleven. Had I better go to Nellie’s house or the depot. Poor old fellow! he’ll want to stop with Miss Nellie as long as he ean, of course. I’d stake my reputation that he has not taken the money; and yet the coat. No, Tom couldn’t be such a black hypocrite.. There’s a mystery about it which must be solved. By Jove! I’ve hit it, I be- lieve. Poor Tom! poor old boy! [m_ coming to save you. Strange it didn’t occur before.” This he said with a spring that threw the light snow in every direction. F i At last he reached the place he was seeking. Miss Nellie herself came to the door. He knew it was her, because she was se pretty, and becaase her eyes were red with recent tears. ’ _ Oh, you are Tom’s friend,” she said, leadin into the little parlor; ‘you are Mr. Drum. has come over Tom? He was here awhile ago, and he didn’t seem like Tom atall. He could hardly speak. and he’s going a long journey, he said. He behaved for all the world as if he were never, never coming back.” “And he has gone ?” “Yes; the train leaves here in less than an hour.” there a horse—can I get any vehicle for love or money?” cried Charley, excitedly, rising. “I must stop him, There’s a mistake somewhere, which he can explain. Ishall lose him if I can’t catch the train.” , There’s my brother’s horse—we haven’t a car- riag’ . “The horse, then! Let me have him immediately —a minute’s delay might be fatal.” — “Take care of that horse,” he said, breathlessly, to a young fellow near the depot. “I’ve got to catch the train.” c Charley reached the platform just.as the train started, red and hot, but quite satisfied with his ex- ploit. ‘ “Pve got him now—no need to. hurry myself,’ he muttered. “Time enough to get out at Blaysville. Won’t I startle him a bit though ?” him hat e-—— “He sat down and looked about him. No Tomin that car. At his leisure he moved on to the next, walking slowly along. In the third car he saw Tom, dejected and down-looking, his arms folded, his hat pulled over his eyes. He knew him in a moment, and laid his hand on the thin shoulder, Tom looked up, gave a great gasp, a spring, and then stood gaping and helpless. | “sit down, Tom—sit down,” said Charley, sooth- ngly. “But ro you! good heavens! what are you here for? Are they after me?” “No one is after you, Tom, but me, and that for love’s sake,” whispered Charley. “I’ve something to tell you. Why did you give usthe slip? Where were you going ?” “Anywhere, on board some foreign ship, or, if I could bring myself to it,into the water. Good Heaven! when [ found that money gone—for—it’s gone ?—they haven’t found it?” he clutched Char- ley’s hand. } “No, but they will. Don’t look that way, old fel- low—it’ll all come right.” Tom sank back in his seat like one whose strength was gone, ' ° “Tom,” asked Charley, seating himself by his side, ‘‘do you ever walk in your sleep ?” “No, never,” was the quick response; butthe man grew deathly pale. _ “But did you ever ?” Tom answered, reluctantly: “Yes; I did have the cursed habit years and years ago, but it was broken before I went into the bank.” “Old fellow, I thought so!” and Charley’s eyes shone. “You got up on Tuesday morning, at one o’clock. Ispoke to you, but you never answered— that solvesthemystery. There! there! don’t break my fingers. You went to your desk, took something out—I protest, I never thought of that money—and put itin that forlorn old pocket-book in your office- coat breast-pocket. Where is that coat ?” “Merciful Heaven!” cried Tom, while a light broke over his rugged face. “AmIdreaming? Is this realty true ?” “I tell it you,” said Charley. : § “And I had such thoughts—seeing you come in from your walk, and the money gone!—and—Hea- ven forgive me! Thatcoatisin my old room. What didItake the coatfor? Heaven knows! Ineyer knew it was on my arm till I reached my room. Charley, when Isaw the money was gone the hor- ror of darkness came upon me. I had rather cut my throat than suspect you—and I wanted to run from my eyil thoughts. Heaven knows what I should have done, forI don’t think I have been a responsible agent since yesterday morning. My only wish was to seethe old folks—and Nellie—once more.” Great tears were running over his cheeks and his chest heayed. Charley felt his own eyes brimming. ‘Well, well, never mind now,” he said. “‘Every- thing will be explained—all Blaysville will know the truth to-morrow—and you and Tare not to go to that bank again till after that blessed Thanks- giving. “Oh, Charley, do you think it canbe? If I had been sentenced to be hanged, and you brought me a reprieve, I couldn’t feelhappier, The old pocket- book never entered my mind. You knowl never used it; and as to imagining the money was there——”’ 3 “How should you?” queried Charley, trying to ealm his excitement. “You were asleep when you did it, you know.” g pe “Heaven help me,” sighed Tom, sinking back like a sick man. ‘What will that wretched habit do me? “You will haye a little wife to watch you, Tom, in the future,” said Charley. | nee : Tom smiled for the first time, and his lip quiver- ed when he murmured. : “Poor little Nellie! I thought I should never see her again. Oh, what a wretched fellowI was! The torments of the damned can scarcely be more in- tolerable. And then to think that I should suspect ” He could say no more. ‘Never mind, Tom; let us forget the whole un- pleasant business, and look forward to—well to Thanksgiving, say. : . : The first thing on leaving the train at Biaysville was to telegraph poor, frightened little Nellie with amagie, “All’s well! Tomwith me.” Thenext was to inspect that office coat, where, sure enough, in the great deep breast-pocket, within the dilapidated folds of the old pocket-book which had not been useful for half a century, carefully laid away were the notes, so curiously abstracted. Then to the bank, where there was an exciting meeting in the private office, and where Tom was readily believed, shaken hands with, and petted and smoothed down as if he had been a child. After this Charley would not leave Tom. He was carried triumphantly home, and installed in Mother Drum’s best spare room. Charley made his peace with Lizzie Sweet, and explained matters fully, and in all the homes of all the land there was not amerrier party than partook of that great Thanksgiving feast: Tom’s parents and Nellie sat down to the table, and both Nellie and Lizzie Sweet were dressed in neat and pretty wedding garments. The rooms were filled that evening. Both Old Joe and young James, the bankers, were there, and all the clerks. A finer wedding never came off in aeagevine. and such a brides’-cake! made by Mother Drum, nigh on to eighty. And after the ceremony, when the bank brothers came forward and announced in the midst of the congratulations, that hereafter Charley and Tom would receive three hundred dollars more salary, it seemed as if they did, indeed, set agolden seal upon the day’s delights. So the cashier said when he pledged the health of the two fair brides, laughing mightily at his own wit. —_—__—_—__ > @~<__—__ To Corresvondents. 4@r GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.— Subscriver.—ist. The city of Philadelphia has an area of 82,603 acres, or a trifle over 129 square miles. London has an area of 122 square miles. 24. Napoleon Bonaparte’s. height has been variously stated at five feet two to five feet six inches; but the est reliable biographers agree that his height was five feet four inches. Thurston.—\st. Gold. silver, jewels, etc., are all measured or weighed by troy weight, which is in proportion to avoirdupois weight as 5,760 to 7,000, being the number of grains in a pound of each respectively. A silver half dollar weighs 192 grains, which gives thirty ($15) Pattee Lae of troy weight. . Bee “Knowledge Box.” 3d. If a lady asks a gentleman the direc- tions to a certain locality or street, and on receiving the infor- mation is disinclined to believe him, politeness does not require him to go ‘with her to establish his veracity. The impoliteness is on her part, in refusing to believe him after asking for the in- formation. If she had no confidence in his truthfulness, she should not have asked him. ; th : T. Havil.—Equity is synonymous with justice in the strictest sense, and therefore may be represented by the figure of jus- tice—a female blindfolded, with a pair of scales or balances sus- pended from one hand. Wrestling Joe.—‘Wrestling Joe” appeared in the New YORK WEEKLY about six years ago; “‘Buffalo Bill’? about seven years ago. Both are out of print. gx r L. H. Kimball,—We infer, from the gentleman’s signing the in- vitation to Mr. Evarts to: address the people in favor of the elec- tion of Hayes to the presidency that he is a Republican. Warlock.—Ist. In Rhode Island native born citizens are not obliged to be possessed of real estate in order to_be entitled to yote; but naturalized citizens must possess real estate to the value of $134 over and above all incumbrances, or which rents for $7 per annum, in order to be entitled to vote for president or for state or municipal officers. 2d. The fifteenth amendment to the Constitution of the United States provides that the right of the citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State, on account of race, color, or previeus condition of servitude.” This applies only to the native born, and does not conflict with the naturali- zation laws, which provide enly for the naturalization of free white persons, which is suppo to exclude all that can be de- nominated colored, including the African races and the yellow races of Asia. The California courts have decided that a Chinese is nota white person within the meaning of the act, and cannot therefore be naturalized. Other States have taken a contrary view, and in a few cases Chinese have been natural- ized. $d. Indians holding tribal relations are not citizensybut the disabilities are removed from those who leave their tribes or renounce the tribal system asa body. This has been done by an artical of the treaty with the Choctaws and also with the Cher- okees, and in the treaties by which Louisiana, Florida, and Cali- fornia were acquired. ere 1 u cee G. S. @.—There is no periodical published in the Finnish lan- guage in the United States. Paratus.—This gentleman charges thatta sketch re- cently published by us, entitled ““A Moment of Horror,” is an old story, written over. This may be so, but Mr. Smith wrote the story as he heard it from the lips of Mr. Dorlon. G. H. H.—Previous to 1849 the election for city officers in New York was held in April, and the election for State and county officials in November. By the amended charter the election of city officers in that year and up to 1857 took place in November, on the same day as the State election. In 1857 the time of the charter election was changed from November to the first Tues- day in December, thus making two election oars again in one year, In 1870 the charter was again amended, so that there should be but one election day, and that in November, and so it remains. oe A. H. M., Hazy Weather, Krantz an@ R. L.—See foot of column. Slocum.—There is no work on type-setting which will be of advantage. Nothing but experience will teach you. Books will not make a printer any more than they would a machinist or carpenter. We can send you a work on the imposition of forms tor $1. The “American Cyclopedia of Printing,” a work of general interest, will cost $10. Constant Reader, Nashville.—We confess to being too stupid to ascertain what you propose to show or what you mean by ar- repeine the cards as stated. What is the puzzle or trick a t Francis X. S.—Ist. Xavier is pronounced zav-i-er. 2d. The fare from New York to Bremen, by steamer, cabin passage, is $100 and $60, and $30in steerage. The fare in other German lines is about thesame. The fare by rail to Constance, Baden, will probably vary from $20 to $35. This you may ascertain when applying for tickets by steamer. 3d. In a game ot four- handed euchre, a player cannot play alone when he or his part- ner is ordered up by an opponent. A trump is ee dered up by the weaker side to prevent the o ite side from playing alone and thus making four points should the lone hand take all the tricks. Rule 41 in the “American Hoyle” states that “A-player may only play alone when he pions, orders up, or makes a trump; or when his partner assists, orders up, or taakes a trump.” Many pores contend that an undue advan- tage is given by thisrule. For instance, when the dealer has turned down the trump, and the next player makes it, the part- ner of the latter, having good cards, and judging that his part- nerin making it has alsoa good hand, may decide to play it | alone, relying not so much on the strength of his own as on a knowledge of the weakness of his opponents’ ead ned through the action of his partner. A sporting paper in this city, an authority on such matters, says: “‘Only the player taking the renppunviliey: of the trump, by either ordering up, taking, up, or making the trump, can play alone.” The latter decision is the one adopted by the generality of good players, as. far as our observations extend.+ ward D.—The young lady doubtless esteems you as a friend, and enjoys your society as an escort at parties, enter- ie pm AS TRS + oat Roy ot aE tainments, ete., but does not regard you in the light of “steady company,” and does not wish to, and forthis reason discontin- ued the correspondence, She may have seen by your letters that you were coming to regard her with a feeling she could not reciprocate, and not being able to say so in words, took this del- icate way of discouraging any hopes you might entertain of be- coming more than a dear friend. Ship Carpenter.—The British navy, according to our latest figures, consists of 440 vessels, of which 61 are tron-clads, 133 large wooden vessels, steamers and sailing ships, and 276 smaller craft, ot the gunboat order. The United States navy consists of 176 vessels, of which 48 are iron-clads, 26 sailing vessels, and the balance steamers of various tonnage, Paid.—We answered your question in No, 1, issued the day on which your postal is dated. As we goto press two weeks in advance of publication day we cannot answer queries in less than that period. Hereafter do not let your impatience over- come your politeness. We are under no obligations to hunt up information required by our readers, but doit merely for their accommodation and instruction, Morris.—It is not published in book form. J. B. C.—A letter addressed to an individual, with no other ad- dress than the post-office, if not called for within thirty days, is sent to the dead letter office at Washington. When the address of the writer is printed or written on the envelope, it isreturned to him marked ‘‘not called for.” Davwvis.—lst. The gentleman is reliable, for all we know to the contrary. 2d. These schemes are generally arranged so ag to evade the strict letter of the law. £. M.—No land warrants are issued to soldiers or sailors who were in the U. S. service during the late war. They are, however, entitled to double the quantity of land allowed to other settlers under the homestead law, and may have the term of en- listment deducted from the flve years necessary. to perlect the title. Write to the General Land Office, Washington, D. 0. I. C, A. B.—lst. We have no recollection of the poem. How hong since it was accepted? 2d. The M Monthly Reader is mailed to subscribers for 75 cents per 3d. See foot of column. Books are forwarded prepaid. , Subscribers.—We cannot advertise business firms in this de- partment. You will find first-class laundries much nearer home. és Las OOrress,