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Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1873, by Street & Smith, in ihe Office or the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.

 

VoL. XXVIII.

FRANCIS 8S. STREET,
FRAACIS S. SMITH,

 

‘ Proprietors

NEW YORK, OCTOBER

 

= Three Doliars Per Wear.
reEMs{ Two Copies Five Deliars.

 

 

 

eS
ARS9.

MISTLETOE

BY MARY E. LAMBERT. i

 

 

Long years ago, in forest dense, there stood
A tiny tree, just from a seedling sprung.
*Twas half o’ershadowed by surrounding wood,
And half way hidden clinging vines among.
Good fortune favored, and our sapling grew,
And soon became a sturdy, hardy tree;
Bravely it bore each adverse-wind that blew,
And reared aloft its branches bold and free.

It was the pet of old oaks, tall and grand;
It gaye support to many a clinging vine;

Birds made their homes amid its branches, and
The clustering violets thought its shade divine.

One day a bitter wind, with angry blast,

Tossed a lone seed upon the young tree’s bark;
A stranger twas, so roughly on it cast;

The seed found shelter from the cold and dark.

Buds green and leaflets came with bright spring days,
And then the vagrant seedling new strength drew;
Securely sheltered from the sun’s warm rays,
Soon like the oak’s own Jeaves and buds it grew.

When winter came, and acorns strewed the ground,
And all the bright-hued leaves were brown or fled,
The parasite alive and green was found,
The only green among the forest dead.

And time rolled on, and the bright mistletoe
Enlarged its home, and every season spread
Its broad domains on each branch high and low,

And on the oak tree’s life-sap daily fed.

The oak tree diedl—we asked a woodman sage
Whose sharp ax laid our favorite shelter low, }
If the good oak had died from ripe old age? }
He shook his head and answered “mistletoe!” |
>-o—<+

White-Horse Fred;

jis DRE

JULIAN AMONG THE QUTLAWS.

By Harry Castiemon,

Author of the “GUNBOAT SSRIES, “SPORTS-
MAN’S CLUB SERIES,” “ROCKY MOUN-
TAIN and ROLLING STONE SERIES,”
etc., etc., etc.

{“White-Horse Fred’? was commenced in No. 46. Back num-
bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United Staies.]

CHAPTER VII.
THE FLIGHT.

When the gentleman came outof his dark corner, and
the light of the candle felt wpon'*is feattres, Jaitan took
a good look at him, and an expression of great disappoint-
ment settled on his face.

“Whoever he is, he is not my father,’ said he, to him-
self, ‘for my father had gray hair. This man is @ stran-
erer, and as it would be a mean piece of business in me
to stay here and listen to his conversation 1 will crawl
back to my pile of husks and go to sleep.”’

Acting upvn this resolution Julian began asiow and
cautions retreat; but he had not gone far when a thought
atruck him, and he crept back to the edge of the loft and
looked over into the room again.

“Jack called him Mr. Mortimer,’ soliloquized the boy,
“and Lshould like toknow who and whatheis. The
manner in which he acted when I met himin the woods
makes me believe that he has seen me before, and that he
knows ‘something about me thatfre wislies to keep hid-
den from me. 1] have a good déal at stake and it will do
no harm to /isten a while anyhow.”’

It was avery handsome face that Julian’s eyes rested
upon, and one that he did not think he should ever for-
get. Although the man’s language indicated’that he was
an American, his features had a decided Spanish cast.
His face was dark and worea haughty expression, his
hair was leng and waving, and, like lis mustaclp and
goatee, was as black as midnight. Julian looked at him
attentively, and was surprised to see that he shook
hands with Mr. Bowles and his wife, asif they were
old acquaintances whom he was glad to meet ounce more,

“It's along time since I’ve seed ye, Mr. Mortimer,
but I allowed I knowed ye. as soon asI clapped my eyes
onto ye,” said Jack, drawing his nail-keg a little closer to
the side of his guest.

*‘And yon came very near making a mess of it too,” re-
plied the Jatter, with some. impatience in his tones. ‘‘I
believe that boy suspects -me—he looked at me as if he
did—and I would not havehim know whol am for the
world. You're sure he is asleep?”

“Sartin, cause I went up to look. We've kept him
Safe an’ sound fur ye, ’cordin’ to orders, hain’t we ?”?

“An’ now ye have come totake him away from us—I
jest know ye have,’ exclaimed Mrs. Bowles, raising the
corner of her tattered apron to her left eye. ‘I don’t
know how I can let him go, ’cause my leart’s awfully sot
onto that poor, motherless boy.”

“We've done our level best by him,’? chimed in Jack.
‘‘Yetold us when ye brought him here that he wasa
gentleman an’ a gentliemMan’s son, an’ we've treated him
like one.”?

“When he brought me here,’ repeated Julian, to him-
self; andit was only by a great exercise of will that he
refrained from speaking the words aloud.

He became highly excited at once. Mr. Mortimer was
the one who had stolen him away from his home and de-
liyered him up to the tender mercies of Jack Bowles and
his wife—the very man of all others he most wished to
see. He had been a long time coming, alrnost eight years,
and now that he had arrived, Julian found that he was
destined to become better acquainted with him than he
cared tobe. He watclied the guest more closely than
ever, carefully scrutinizing his features in order to fix them
in his memory. He hoped to meet him someday under
different circumstances,

**He haint never had no work to do, an’ we never struck
him a lick in our lives,’’ continued Jack. ‘We've treated
him better’n our own boys. He’s got a good hoss of his
Own, an’ I’ve been a feedin’ it outen my corn ever since
he ownedit, an’ meyer axed him even to bring in an
armful of wood to pay forit. An’ my boys do say that
he’s got a heap of money laidupsomewhars. If ye have
come totake him away Lreckon ye’ll do the handsome
thing by us.”

‘‘My friends,” interrupted the guest, as soon as he saw
a chance to speak, ‘‘l know all about Julian, for I have
talked With him. I know what he has got and what he
intends todo. Have youever toldhim anything about
his parentage?"

“Nary word,” replied Jack.

“Then I wonder how it is that he knows so much about
it. He knows that his home ls near the mountains; that
hewas stolen away fromit, and that he has a father
there. More than that he intends togo back there very
soon, and is laying his plans to run away from you.”

“Wal, I never heered the beat in all my born days!”
exclaimed Mrs. Bowles, involuntarily extending her hand
toward the rawhide which hungon the nail behind the
door. ‘I'll give him the best Kind ofa whoppin’ in the
mornin’, Wil beat him halfto—— What should the poor
dear boy want to run away from his best friends fur ?’’

“The leetie brat—the ongrateful rascal! said Mr.
Bowles. “That’s why he’s bought that ar hoss; an? that’s
why he’s been a huntin’? an’ trappin’ so steady—to earn
money to run away from us, isit? I'lllarn him,”

And Jack turned around on his nail-keg and looked so
savagely toward the loft where Julian was supposed to
be slumbering, that the eavesdropper was greatly alarm-
ed, and crouched closer to the floor and trembled in every
an asif he already felt the stinging blows of the raw-
hide.

“It seems that my visit was most opportune,” continued
the stranger. ‘If I had arrived a day or two later I might
not have found Julian here. He would probably have
been on his way to the mountains; and if he had by any
accident succeeded in finding his old home, all my plans,
which I have spent long years in maturing, would haye
been ruined. I came’here to remove him from your care.
It appears that certain, persons, who are very much in-
terested in him, and who have been searching for him
high and low ever since I brought him here, have by some

 

 

means discovered his hiding-place, and it is necessary

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The boy’s long keen blade found a lodgment in the

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that }shouii Yemove him farther out of their reach. I
Shall take him to South America.”

“Whars that? Is it fur from here?’ asked Jack.

“It isa long distance. I came down the river from St.
Joseph in a flatboat,’? added the yisitor. ‘I found that
the captain is & man who will do anything for money,
and I have arranged with him to carry us to New Orleans.
It will take us a long time to actomplish the journey, but
we can not be as easily followed as we could if we went
by steamer. If you will accompany mel will pay you
well for your services. I can say that the boy is a lunatic,
and that you are his keeper.’’

* INough said!” exclaimed Jack.
watch him.”

“But you must not watch him too closely,’? said Mr.
Mortimer, earnestly. ‘If he should accidentally fall over-
board during the journey, it would not Make any differ-
ence in your pay.”

“In course not,’’ replied Jack, with a meaning glitter in
his eye. ‘If he gets one of them ar crazy spells onto him
some dark night an’ jumpsinto the river, why—then——”

“Why then you ought tobe handsomely rewarded for
your faithful services while in my employ, and dis-
charged.”?

‘“Perzactly. Whar is this yere flatboat now?’

“TI left her about twenty miles up the river. I told the
captain to lay up for a few hours untilI could have time to
come down here and transact my business with you. Sie
will be along about noon.to-morrow. Have everything
ready so that we can hail fier, and step on board without
an instant’s delay.”’

“T don’t far the life o’ nf@see how I can let him go—my
heart is so s0t Onto him,” sighed Mrs. Bowles, once more
raising her apron to hereye. ‘‘He do save me a heap 0’
steps, an’ le’s a monstrous good hand to cut wood and
build fires of frosty mornin’s.”’ °

“But he hain't never had it to do,” interrupted Jack,
who, for reasons of his own, thought it best to impress
upon the mind of his guest the fact that Julian’s life under
his roof had been one continual sound of ease and enjoy-
ment. **Weallers makes our own boys roll out o’ morn-
in’s, an’ cut wood, and Julian can layin his comfortable
bed, assmug as 2 bugin arug, an’ snooze as long as he
pleases. The reason we’ve tuk sich good care of him is,
7cause we thought ye sot store by him. Ye’re some kin to
him, [reckon. Yer names is alike.’?

“That is a matter that does not interest you,” answered
the guest, sharply. ‘I pay you to work for me, and not
to ask questions.”’

“T didn’t mean no offense. But when I see a man like
yerself totin’ a boy about the couutry, an’ leavin’ him hid
in a place like this fur eight year, an’ then: huntin’ him up
agin’, an’ runnin’ him off to some other place, an’ hear
ye say that if he falls into the river an’ gets drownded, ye
won’t be no ways sorry fur it, I think thar’s something
up, don’t I? Yedon’t do that fur nothing; an’ since the
boy ain’t ole enough to be a standin’ atween ye an’ a wo-
man, I naterally conclude that he stands’ atween ye an’
money. Howsomever, it hain’> no consarn of mine. I
know which side of my corn-dodger’s got the lasses onto
it.’

“Pap! Tsay, pap!’? suddenly cried a voice from one of
the beds. ‘‘Ye think yer sharp, ye an’ that feller do, but
ye ain’t so sharp asye might be.’

“Hush yer noise, boy, an’ speak when ye’re spoken to,”’
exclaimed Jack, angrily. “Ye needn’t be no ways on-
easy, Mr. Mortimer,’ he added, seeing that his guest arose
hastily to his feet. and appeared to be greatly excited to
know that their conversation had been overheard. **We're
all true blue here, an’ my boys has too much good sense
to blab what they hears—leastwise while they are paid to
Keep their mouths shet. Ye Jake, roll over and goto
sleep.’’

“All right, pap,’’ said Jake, obeying the first part of the
order. “if ye wake upin the mornin’ an’ find that yer
bird has flew, ye needn’t blame me, ’cause I told ye.”’

“Eh? roared Jack, jumping up in great amazement.

*O, he won’t be here, an’ ye can bet yer bottom dollar
on it. He’s heered every blessed word ye said.”’

“Who? Julian?’ gasped the visitor.

“Sartin. I seed his head a stickin’ over the hul time ye
was a talkin’.”?

Had a bomb-shell burst in the room the two men could
not have been more astonished. They stood motionless
for a moment, and then, with a muttered imprecation,
Jack bounded across the floor, and went swiltly up the
ladder that led to the loft, closely followed by his guest,
whose face was as pale as death; while Mis. Bowies
snatched the rawhide from its nail, and, rolling up her
right sleeve, took her stand in front of the fire-place, pre-
pared for any emergency.

Jack sprang into the loft when he reached the top of
the ladder, and ran straight to the bed, expecting to lay
his hands upon the eavesdropper; but he was not there.
With eager haste he threw aside thetattered coats and
blankets, and even kicked the corn-lhusks about, but no
Julian was hidden among them. Nor was he anywhere
in the loft; for there was no furniture there, and conse-
shee, no place of concealment large enough to shelter a
squirrel.

‘“Dog-gonel’’ roared Jack, stamping about so furiously
that the boards which formed the floor of the loft creaked
and bent, and seemed on the point of breaking beneath
his weight, and letting him through into the room below.

‘*He’s gone, as sure as ye’re a foot high.’’

“He probably escaped through this hole,’’ said Mr.
Mortimer, running tothe gable-end of the cabin, where
the boards had fallen off. ‘‘it isn’t more than ten feet to
the ground, and he could easily drop down without injur-
ing himself. He must be brouglit back at any cost.’’

‘‘T’m jest the man to

 

ene: eet

‘In course he must, an’ I know how % dy it. I've got
ahound that’ trag him. Ole wormat, stick yer head
outer that door an’ noller far Nero.

While Mrs. Bowles was shouting out the hound’s name,
awaking the echoes farand near with. her shrill voice,
Jake and Tom were pulling on their clothes with, all pos-
sible haste.

“Here’s a fine chance for a spec,” said the former, slyly
pulling a small tin box from under his pillow and putting
itcarefully into his pocket. ‘‘Mebbe that feller in the store
clothes will give something to have Julian brought back.
The ole man’ll never ketch him, ’cause he can’t run fast
enough; an’ Julian’s too sharp to give a hound a chance
to foller him. We know jest the place he'll make tracks
fur, an’ if we go thar we can gobble him.”

“Ye Jake!’ cried Mr. Bowles, hurrying down the lad-
der, ‘when I get time, I’m a goin’ to give ye the best
wallopin’ ye ever heern tell on.”’

“Ye needn’t mind,” replied Jake, in great alarm.

‘But I ill mind, I tell ye; an’ I hain’t agoin’ to forget
it, nuther.”’

“T hain’t.beén.a doin’ of nothing, pap.’

“That's jestuyhat’s the matter. I’m goin’ to lick ye fur
not doin’ Something—fur not tellin’? me thatye seed Julian
a listenin’... Here he comes! Here's the feller that’il bring
the runaway back to us in less’n five minutes.”

At this moment the door was dashed violently open and
in bounded.Nero, who seemed to know that there was
work for him to do, and was impatient to begin it. He
was a magnificent brute—so large that when he sprang up
and placed his paws upon his master’s shoulders, his head
was on a level with Jack’s. He showed a frightful array
of teeth and growled threateningly at the visitor, who
constantly shifted his position in order to keep Jack’s
burly form between himself and the savage beast.

“Thar’s the dog fur ye, Mr. Mortimer,’ said Bowles,
looking proudly at his favorite. ‘He'll ketch any thing ye
tell him to, from a bar down toachicken. Hand me that
rope, ole woman. I'll have to held him in the leash, orhe
wont leave enough of Julian to make it wuth while to take
that trip down the river. Now, then, hunt ’em up, ye
fascal!?

Having made one end of the rope fast to the hound’s
collar, Mr. Bowles wrapped the other about his hand and
arm, snatched a blazing fire-brand from the hearth, and
hurried out of the door and around the house, to examine
the ground there, and ascertain if Julian had really
escaped from the opening in the gable-end. The hound
struck the scent at once, and uttering a loud bay dashed
off into the darkness, dragging the clumsy Jack after him.

“Now’s yer time,’? whispered Tom, when the yelping of
the dog and the encouraging yells of his master began to
grow fainter in the distance; ‘‘speak to him.”

“T say!’ exclaimed Jake, addressing himself to Mr. Mor-
timer, who was pacing nervously up and down the floor;
‘‘pap’ll never Ketch him, but we can, ‘cause we know
whar to look fur him.”

“Then why don’t you do it?’? demanded the guest,
angrily. ‘I will give you ten dollars apiece if you will
bring him back to me.’?

“Wal, that’s business. We were jest waitin’ to hear ye
Say something of that kind. Come on, Tom.”

The two boys rushed out of the house, and running
swiftly along the path that led by the corncribs, were soon
out of sight.

 

CHAPTER VIII.
CHASED BY A BLOODHOUND.

Julian did not remain long enough in his concealment
to overliear all the conversation we haye recorded, for an
action he witnessed on the partof Jake Bowles, shortly
after that worthy got into bed, turned his thoughts from
the stranger, and his plans into another cliannel. He saw
Jake thrust his arm under his pillow and draw out a small
tin box, which he opened, and after looking over his
shoulder to make sure that his father and mother were too
much engaged with their’visitor to pay any attention to
himself, he drew out of it‘a roll of bills. He ran his fingers
over them caressingly, held them above his head to allow
the firelight to shine upon them, and exhibited in various
other ways the delight he experienced in having them in
his possession; after which he returned them tothe box,
replaced it under his pillew, and settling himself
comfortably between the blankets, threw his arm over his
head, and, as Julian thought, prepared to go tosleep. But
Jake did not intend to do anything of the kind, for he saw
the top of the eavesdropper’s head over the edge of the
loft.
‘“That’s my box,’’ thought our hero, his cheek growing
suddenly pale, and his heart beating against his ribs with
a noise that frightened him. ‘I’ve been robbed,”’

The knowledge of this disagreeable fact came upon him
with a force so stunning and bewildering, that, fora few
seconds, he lay as motionless upon the floor of the loft as
if he had béen stricken down by sore powerfulhand. His
secret was discovered after all his pains, and by the very
ones from whose knowledge he had wished most to keep
it hidden.

‘‘My horse went first,’? thought Julian, striving hard to
choke back the tears that arose to his eyes, ‘‘and now
every thing else is gone; for, of course, if they found the
box they must have found my fursand myrifile also. AndI
was always so careful never to go near my storehouse until
I had satisfied myself that there was no one in sight! I
shan’t give up those things, and that’s all about it. Be-
cause I have never resisted their tyranny Jack and his
boys think I am a coward; but now I will show them
What I am made of.”’

Very slowly and cautiously Julian drew back from the

 

  

edge of the loft, and retreated toward the opening in the

gable en Yor the cabin. So stealthy was he in his iupve-
mefits that even the wakeful Jake did not hear him ag he
crept across the floor, swung himself down from the geble-
end and dropped to the ground.

The instant he landed on his feet he darted off at the
top of his speed, directing his steps toward the corncribs.

“That much is done,’? panted Julian, ‘‘but the worst is
yet to come. It will be no trouble to saddle my horse and
secure my rifle and furs, but how am I to obtain possession
of thatmoney? Itis mine, and lam determined to have
it. Here,sBilly! Here, Billy!”

Julian’s horse, which was standing under a dilapidated
shed, raised his head on hearing his name pronounced,
and seeing his master open one of the cribs, came up, ex-
pecting the ear of corn which the boy never failed to have
ready for: him whenever he passed through the stable
yard. Julian knew where Tom kept his saddle and bridle,
and it was but the work of a few seconds to place them
on the horse. When this had been done he climbed over
the corn to the farther end of the crib, and began tossing
aside the ears, muttering as he did so:

“This place is a regular repository for stolen goods. I
have found more than one article belonging to me stowed
away here, and unless lam very much mistaken—ah! I
thought so. Here are my furs—all baled up and ready
for transportation, thanks to Tom and Jake—my rifle and
my hunting knife. Now, if they had only left ny money
here I would be on my way to St. Joseph in less than five
minutes. I must have it if it takes me a week to get it.””

Julian hastily pulled the canvas cover off his rifle, and
slung the weapon over his shoulder by a broad strap that
was attached toit, buckled his hunting Knife about his
waist, placed his furs, which Tom and Jake had tied up in
one bundle, close at hand, and once more began throwing
the corn aside, searchliing everywhere for his powder horn
and bullet pouch. While thus engaged his attention was
attracted by a great uproar which suddenly arose in the
house. He listened, and could hear the tramping of
heavy feet and the sound of angry, excited voices, with
which were presently mingled the shrill tones of Mrs.
Bowles, who thrust her head out of the door and shouted
for Nero.

“The bloodhound!’ gasped Julian. “I didn’t think
Jack Bowies was as bad as that. O1! for just one load for
my rifle! But why should Nero harm me? He-has known
meas long as he has known any ofthe family. 1 have
often shared my meals with him, and perhaps if he over-
takes me he will recognize me.”’

Julian knew too mueh, however, of the nature ofthe
fierce brute to indulge long in this hope,

Nero was the terror of the neighborhood, and when
aroused he had been Known to defy Jack Bowles himself.
Our hero was perfectly well aware that the hound would
trail him ag he would a deer, and that if by any chance he
succeeded in overtaking him, he would pull him down
aud throttle him without the least mercy. His heart beat
a trifle faster than usual when he thought of the probable
results of a fight with the terrible animal, and his hands
trembied as he caught up his bundle of furs and clambered
over the corn toward the door.

He had left Billy with his head in the crib, feasting on
the corn within his reach, and he believed that he would
remain there until he was ready to mount him; but when
he came out of the door he saw him at the farther end of
the yard, prancing and playing about in high glee.

The boy ran toward him, pronouncing his name in a
low voice, but Billy, instead of obeying the call, kicked up
his heels and galloped away to the other side of the yard.
Just then Julian heard the door of the cabin thrown open,
and looking back saw the hound spring into the room and
fawn upon his master.

“Im caught,” thought our hero, inintense alarm. ‘I
dare not wait to Secure my horse, and on foot I can never
hope to escape from that dog. I might as well give up
now as any time.’?

The boy’s actions, however, did not indicate that he had
the least idea of surrendering himself without a struggle
for his freedom.

After one more unsuccessful attempt to capture his un-
ruly steed, he threw his pack of furs over his shoulder,
leaped the fence that inclosed the stable-yard, and striking
the path that led to the weods, ran for his life. He did
not waste time in looking back, and there was no need of
it, for his ‘ears kept him posted in all that was going on.
He knew when Jack and his dogcame out of the cabin,
aud the cold sweat started out from every pore in his
body when Nero’s deep-toned bay, and his master’s ex-
ultant yells rang out on the still air, telling him that the
trail had been found and the pursuit commenced.

Calling to his aid all the power he had thus far held in
reserve, Julian flew along the path with the speedof a
frightened deer, and with a few bounds reached the cover
of the woods,

Without in the least slackening his pace, he threw his
bundle of furs into the bushes on one side of the path,
and pitched his rifle as far as he could in the opposite di-
rection. His second move was to pull of his coat and
wrap it around his leftarm, and his third to draw his
hunting-knife from its sheath, and tie the thong of buck-
skin which was attached to the handle around his wrist.
His face all this while wore an expression that would
have astonished Jack Bowles could he have seen it.

Being now relieved of every encumbrance, Julian flew
along with redoubled speed, through darkness so intense
that he could scarcely see his hand before him, leaping
logs and ditches, and struggling through thickets of bri-
ers aud cane that at almost any other time would have
effecually cuecked his progress, all the while listening to
the baying of the hound, and wondering why the anima

 

  

was so loug in overtaking him.

 

 

When he had accomplished nearly half a mile, and the
sounds of the chase began to grow fainter, showing that
his pursuers were losing ground, he uttered an exclama-
tion of delight, and slackeneid his pace.

**] thought Nero’s music did not ring out as loud and
clear as usual,’’ said he to himself; ‘‘and now } know the
reason. Jack is holding fast to him, and the dog is:chok-
ing himself to deathetrying to get away. ‘ Mr. Bowles nev-
er saw the day that he could catch me in a fair race. I
may as well go slower and save my breath.”’

But, even as these thoughts were passing through Jull-
an’s mind, he heard asound behind him that brought
from him acry of alarm, and caused him to spring for-
ward again with all the power he could command. K
was a yell of rage from Jack, accompanied by a loud, ring-
ing bay. such as Nero usually uttered when following a
trail. The eager hound had escaped from his master’s
control.

The fugitive shuddered at the thought, and would not
permit himself to believe it; but in a few seconds the fact
became too apparent. Nero’s bays sounded nearer and
nearer, and presently Julian heard him crashing through
the bushes behind him.

His lightness offoot could not save him now. The fight
he so much dreaded could not be avoided, and the sooner
he was prepared for it the better.

To think, with Julian, was to act. He at once decided
that the little open glade he was then traversing should
be the battle-ground. It was almost entirely free from
undergrowth, and moreover, the branches of the trees
overhead were not so thick as to entirely shut out the
light of the moon, which, just then, as if in sympathy
With the fugitive, made a feeble effort to shine through
the clouds that obscured it.

A few rapid steps brought him to the opposite side of
the glade, and to the foot of a huge poplar. . Here he faced
about, and taking his stand with his back against the tree}
so thaé the shoek of the first collision might not knock
him off his feet, he wrapped his coat closer about his arm,
and fastened it there by tying the sleeves in a knot with
his teeth, grasped his hunting-knife with a firmer hold,
and calmly awaited the appearance of the bloodhound,
Nor was the contest long delayed.

Stimulated by the freshness 01 the trail, Nero came on
with long and rapid bounds, and at last broke from a
thicket on the opposite side of the glade, and with a bay
which rang in Julian’s:ears like the knell of death, moved
swiftiy toward his’ victim.

The fugitive had barely time to settle his hat more firm-
ly on his head and brace himself for the shock, when the
fierce animal arose in the air and Jaunched himseif at his
throat. The arm with the coat wrapped around it was
quickly interposed, and Nero’s ponderous jaws closed
upon.it with a power that, for an imstant, rendered Julian
incapable of action. He was borne back against the tree
by the weight of the brute, butrallied in a moment, and
then began the most desperate struggle of his life.

The hound was as quick as a cat in his movements, and
seemed endowed with as many !ives; for, although the
boy’s long, keen blade found lodgment in his body more
than once, it appeared to make no impression upon him.
He clung to Julian’s arm with the tenacity of a bull-dog,
never once loosening or shilting his hold; and now and
then, throwing all his strength into ttre effort, he gave his
antagonist a a shake that brought him to his knees,

To Make matters worse, Jack Bowies was not far behind.
He was soon near enough to shout directions to his hound.
He heard the sounds oi the struggle, and believing that
his favorite was gaining the mastery, ordered him to let
go his hold.

“He is past minding, Jack,’? shouted Julian, whose
courage and determination had never once flagged during
all the doubtful contest; ‘‘and when l am done with him,
he will be past hearing you.”’

Jack heard every word, and comprehended the situation
as well as:if there had been light enough for him to see
everything that Was going on. It was wonderful how
quickly his tome changed.

“Hil hil’’he yelled, forcing his burly form through the
bushes with all the speed of which he was capable, ‘pull
him Gown, Nero! Shake himto death, ye rascal! Drop
that ar we'pon, Julian, or ll larrup ye within an inch of
yer life. 1 wouldn’t have that dog hurt for a hundred
dollars.”*

“You ought to have thought of that before you pnt him
on my trail,” replied Julian. ‘There! Thank good#fess
that ends it.’?

The hound ceased the battle as suddenly as he begun it.
He became limp and lifeless all at once, and sank to the
ground in a heap, dragging Julian with him. But even
in death his jaws would not relax their hold. His long
teeth had Caught in the coat, and Julian could not release
hig arm.

Just then, Jack Bowles burst from the bushes, and came
lumbering across the glade. He saw Julian kueeling be-
side the hound and knew instinctively what had happen-
ed. His astonishment and rage Knew no bounds.

“Dog-gone!’’ he roared; ‘‘ve’ve done it now, boy. I
wouldn’t be in yer cowhide shoes fur no money. Hold on,
thar! Come back here, or ”

The oaths and threats with which Jack awoke the
echoes of the forest made Julian’s blood run cold, but
they did not check his flight.

Finding himself unable to obtain possession of his coat,
he slipped his arm out of it and fled, leaving the garment
in the hound’s mouth.

He was out of sight in a moment.

 

CHAPTER IX.
GOOD FOR EVIL.

Julian, almost exhausted by his violent exertions, was
inno eondition to continue his flight. He simply ran to
the opposite side of the poplar, in front of which the fight
had taken place, and threw himself flat between the roots
where he Jay trembling with fear, and hardly daring to
breathe lest Jack should discover him. But that worthy
was too angry tosee anything except his prostrate hound.
He bent over the animal fora moment, and then ryshed
frantically off in the direction he supposed Julian had
gone, stamping through the bushes like a madman, and
stopping now and then to listen for the sound of the fugi-
tive’s footsteps. He made a wide circuit through the
woods, searching everywhere for the object of his yven-
geance, and finally came back to his favorite again.

He seemed to be unable to bring himself to believe that
he had seen Nero alive for the last time. He placed him
upon his feet, called him by name, and even shook him to
make him show some signs of life; and when at last he
had satisfied himself that the dog was really dead, he
jumped up and spurned him with his heavy boot.

“Only think,’? he exclaimed aloud; ‘‘a hound that could
pull down a four-prong buck as easy as he could a chicken,
that could stretci: a tiwo-year-ole bar while ye was athink-
in’ about it, an’ chaw up a full-grown wildcat every morn-
in’ afore breakfast, has met his match at last in that leetle
pale-face Julian, who doesn’t look as though he had pluck
enough to face a mouse. Nero, Iam teetotally ashamed
ofye. Wharisthat Julian? If1 don’t ketch him, I shall
lose the money I was goin’ io make by that trip to Or-
leans. But l’ll make more outen Mr. Mortimer. 1’ll have
that watch an’ that ring, an’ everything he’s got in his
pockets afore daylight. I haint agoin’ to be swindled on
all sides, I bet ye.”

When Jack had finished his soliloguy—every word of
which Julian overheard—he once more began his search
for the fugitive. The boy remained quiet in his conceal-
ment until the sound of his footsteps had died away, and
then with a long breath of relief arose to his feet and went
to recover his coat. He found it where Jack had thrown
it after freeing itfrom the teeth of the hound. It had
never been a very valuable piece of property since it came
into his possession, and now it was in a worse condition
than ever; but Julian, knowing that he was destined for
months to come to live entirely in the open air, could not
think of leaving it behind. He threw the garment over
hig shoulder, and taking a last look at the hound, and
shuddering as he recalled the incidents of the fight, bent
his steps through the woods toward his storehouse. He
wanted to see what Tom and Jake had donetoit. Per-
haps they had left something there worth saving. He was
very cautious in his movements, stealing along with a
step that would not have awakened a cricket, and pausing
every few feet to listen. But he heard no suspicious
sounds, and when he reached the cliffin which his store-
house was located, he was satisfied that he had seen the
last of his-‘enemies for that night at least.

He found the ruins of his storehouse lying all along the
side of the bluff, for the young robbers, not content with
taking possession of Julian’s valuables, had pulled out
the saplings of which the house was built, and scattered
them far and wide. As Julian stood looking at the ruins
ofthe cabin, thinking how hard he had worked to build
it, and wondering low Jake and Tom had ever discovered
it, he heard a slight rustling in the bushes by hig side,
and before he could turn to see what occasione@ it, he
found himself lying flaton his back with a heavy weight

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
 
  
    
   
 
   
  
  
 
 
    
  
   
    
  
    
   
   
  
  
      
    
 
   
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
   
  
   
   
    
    
  
     
    
  
   
   
  
  
   
  
   
    
     
  
    
   
  
    
  
    
     
    
    
  
      
  
      
   
   
   
   
   
    
     
        
 
     
   
  
    
    
  
   
     
   
   
  
     
  
    
      
  
  
    
   
   
   
   
  
   
      
     
      
  
  
  
    
  
   
   
   

  
   

  

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on his breast holding him down. Atthe same instant he
felt a strap passed around his wrist.

Had his assailant conducted his operations in silence,
Julian, who believed that he had fallen into the clutches
of Jack Bowles, and that it would be folly to resist, would
have suffered limself to be bound without even a word of
remonstrance, but his antagonist, having a confederate
elose by, and elieving that he was likely to have more
on his hands than he could well attend to, shouted lustily
for help.

‘Here ‘he is, Jake,’ he yelled. ‘Hurry up. I'll hold
him, an’ ye cantie him. The twenty dollars are our’n.”’

“Tom Bowles!) cried Jutian,

“Sartiny an’ yell ind it out as soon as we get ye fust.
Don’t. go to bein’ sassy uow, ’cause we won’t b’ar it. Tie
that ar strap arotind his arms, Jake.”

“Perhaps Jake isn’t man enough to doit,” replied our
hero; and the sequel proved that he was not.

Julian arose to his feet as easily and quickly as though
there diad been no one there to prevent him, and, seizing
Tom by the collar, gave hima trip anda push that sent
him heels overhead down the cliff.

Without waiting to see what had become of him, Julian
turned upon Jake; and then began another fights which,
although by no means of so serious a character as the one
Julian had had a few minutes before, was quite as furious
and determined. Jake was older, and larger, and stronger
than Julian, but by no means as active. He was fighting
for the ten dollars his father’s guest had promised him if
eur hero were brought back to the cabin a prisoner, and
te retain possession of the eighty dellars he carried in his
poeket.

He knew that Julian was aware that he had the money
about his person, for the very first clutch he made was for
Jake’s pocket, in which he felt the box. His flagers ciosed
upon it at once with a tenacity fully equal to that with
which our hero had clung to his arm.

“Leave go, consarn ye,"’ yelled Jake, ‘or I’ll punch
yet? :
“Let go yourself,” replied Julian. ‘I earned it hon-
estly—it is mine, andITam going to haveit if I have to
fight you here till daylight.”

“Telp, Tom! help!’ shouted Jake, doubling himself up
and twisting about in all sorts of shapes to break Julian’s
hold. “Be yea coward that ye stand down there gapin’
that way ?”

Wom did not reply, and neither did he show any inclina-
tion torespond te his brother’s appeals for assistance.
He stood at the foot of, the bluff, hoiding his hands to his
side, which had been pretty severely bruised by his fall,
and listening to the footsteps and ejaculations of some
one who was approaching through the bushes at a rapid
run.

“Ye know that Pvegot a’most a hundred dollars of
his’n in my pocket!” yelled Jake, indignant at the con-
€uct of his brother. ‘Beye goin’to stand thar an’ let
him take it away from me?”

“‘A’inost @ hundred doltars!"’ cried a familiar voice, in
tones of great amazement. ‘Hang on to him, Jake, an’
Vl say no more about the whoppin’ I promised ye.”

<0, won't ye ketch it now, Julian!” shouted Tom, al-
most beside himself with delight. ‘‘Pap’s a comin’!”

Both the combatants heard the words, and the fizit be-
came desperate indeed. Julian strove with greater de-
termination than everto force the coveted box from
Jake's pocket, and the latter, encouraged by the hope of
Speedy and powerful assistance, confidently continued
the struggle which he had more than once been on the
point of abandoning. But fortune favored the rightful
owner of the money. An unlucky step on the part.of his
antagonist precipitated them both into the excavation in
oe the storehouse had stood, and that ended the cou-

es

A severe bump took all the courage out of Jake, who,
setting up a howl of pain, raised both hands to his head,
while Julian, wit!) ashout of triumph, secured the box,
and sprang out of the.cave. A burly form met-him onthe
brink, and strong fingers closed on his coat collar.

“}ve got ye at last!’ exclaimed Jack Bowles,:so over-
jJoyed that he could scarcely speak. ‘Give up them hun-
dred dollars to onct, or I'll wallop ye till——"

Sulian did not hear what else Jack had to ‘say, for/he
was not there. Mr. Bowles stood holding at-arm’s length
a tattered coat, to the collar of which lhe wasclinging with
ali hisstrength; but the boy who had been inthe garment
when he took hold of it was bounding swiftly down the.
bluff.

When Julian recovered his coat after his fight with the
hound, he had thrown it over his shoulders and secured
it by a single button at the throat. The button had given
aivay under Jack’s hold, leaving the boy at liberty to take
himself off, which he did with a promptness .and celerity

that struck Bowles and his sons motionless with astonish: :

ment. By the time they had recovered themselves sufii-
ciently to think of pursuit Julian was out of hearing.

“Hurrah for me!’ soliloquised the fugitive, hugging his
bdoved box close:to his‘breast and stealing along through
the woods as noiselessly as a spirit. ‘I’ve got everything
except my horse. .As soon as Jack and his.-boys: have gone
to bed, V'll catch him.and bid good-by to Missouri. [.am
all right now.”

At no time during the next half-hour was Julian out-of
sight of the ruins of his storeliouse, or out of hearing of
the voices of Jack Bowles and his boys. He sat on a log
80 Near them that had it been daylight he would certainly
have been discovered, watching their movements and
listening attentively to every word they said. He heard
Sake relate the history of the box containing the eighty
dollars, and learned for the first time that he and his
brother had followed him when he went out to examine
his traps, and thus discovered his secret.

As Jack and his boys believed that Julian would make
the best of his way-.up the river now that he had recover-
ed his money, they. did not attempt any vigorous pursuit.
They ran a short distance through the woods in the direc-
tien in which the fugilive had disappeared, and then Jack
utterly discouraged and almost boiling over with fury
ordered his sons te follow him toward home. ,

“A’most a hundred dollars!’ he repeated, for the twen-
tieth time. ‘“Don’t:it beat allthe world how. that boy
could make more money than the hul of us put together?
An’ ye say that he’s got a bundle of mink skins as big as
yecan shoulder that-he stole outen the crib whar ye had hid
Jem? They’ll bring him forty or fifty dollars more, con-
sarn itall. Why didn’t ye tell me about the money an’
the furs the fust thing when ye brought ’em home, like ye
had oughter done? I’m goin’ to foiler‘him to-morrow on
hossback. If I don*t ketch him I shall.owe ye two lickins,
Sake, an’ if they ain’tsich as ye’ll remember the longest
day ye live, I’m a Dutchman.”?

Sack and his boys walked slowly along the path that led
fron®the storehouse to the clearing, and.as soon as they
were out of sight in the darkness, Julian arose from his
log and followed after.them. He kept within ‘hearing .of
their voices all the while, and when they reached the
clearing he stood atithe fence which inclosed the stable-
yard, and saw them enter the house.

As soon as they had disappeared, he ran back to the
place where he had left his rifle and furs, which, ashe had
taken particular pains to mark the locality, he was not
long in finding. The rifle he siung.over his:shoulder, and
the furs, together with the box containing his money he
concealed in a hollow log.

his being done, he once more bent :his steps toward
the clearing, resolved to make another.attempt to secure
his horse. The animal, which was still running restlessly
about the yard with the saddie and bridle on, positively
refused to permit himself to be captured, and Julian final-
ly went toward one of the cribs, intending to try the per-
suasive effects of an ear of corn. As he drew near the
door he stopped, almost. certain that he saw the figure of
& man standing in the shadow olf the -crib. A moment
later he knew that his eyes had not deceived him, for the
man, finding himself discovered, came out in plain
sight and walked rapidly toward him. It was Mr. Mor-
timer.

-*7] knew you would never go away and leave your
horse,’?*sauid he, in a tone of triumph. “I have been
watching for youfor the last half-hour. I have a legal
right to,control your actlons, my boy, and you will save
yourself some trouble by—Julian, stop! What do you
mean '?”?

The-stranger lost his commanding, threatening air in
an instant, and coming to a-sudden halt, raised both his
hands before his face, and turned away iis head as if he
had seen something frightful. The change was brought
about by an action on the part of Julian whe, believing
that the man was near enough.to him to-preyent any at-
tempt at escape, cocked his rifle and levejed it full.at Mr.
Mortimer’s breast. He acted-on-his first impulse. Had
he taken a gecond thought he would probably have made
no move of this kind, for he Knew that the weapon was
empty. Bat Mr. Mortimer did.no‘, and he stepped and
backed away from the boy with:much greater haste than
he had used im approaching him.

“What do you mean, you young outlaw?” repeated the
as his voice trembling in spite. of all his efforts to con-

Tol it.

*4] mean that I am not going to.allow myself.to be taken
.On soard a fiatboat and pushed -everboard,” replied
Julian, calmly;.and seeing that :the-empty rifle proved so
Valuable an assistant, he resolutelyikept it pointed toward
the stranger’s breast. ‘

“Tarn that weapon away!” ¢ried Mr. Mortimer, .after
shifting his position a dozen times.to get out of .range.of
the deadly muzzle. ‘I will have yon arrested the :first
thing im the morning.”

“‘Yery good,” answered Julian. -‘Then perhaps -you
wilkbe ealled upon to show by what:authority you took
me away.from my home and brought me here, and why
You want me drowned in the river.”

+] am your guardian, I tell you.”

4‘T suppese 1 am at liberty to do as I please about believ-
ing that, amInot? But admitting that you are, it does
not give you the right fo abuse me, does it? Who made
you my guardian?”

Before Mr. Mortimer could answer this question the
door of the cabin opened, and Jacob Bowles appeared

on the thresheld, and stood looking out inte the dark-*

ness. Julian’s guardian, if such he was, was about te
call owt to him, but checked the words that .arese to his
lips when he saw the muzgie of the rifle looking straigit
into his face.

“-Don't speak above your breath,” said the boy, in low,
earnest tones, ‘@ have justone more word to-say to you,
and then amooff. I suppose you think I am the only
ne about here whe has enemies, do you not? Well, you
~ mistaken. Your life is in danger, if you only knew
it,

“My life!" repeated Mr. Mortimer, as soon as he eould
speak, “From whom?”?

‘Jack Bowles. Heis bound to have money, and he
don’t eare how he gets it. As he and his boys have failed
in their attempts to rob me, and since he is likely to lose
what you offered to pay him if he wonld accompany you
to New Orieans, he has determined to rob you to-night. I
heard him gay so, Ifyou goto sleep, you will never see
the sun rise again. Thisisone act of kindness that l have
been able to do yoy in return for the eyil you have done
me. Good night,”

wa a —

“Mr. Mortimer, be that you a standin’ out thar by th
corucrib ??? shouted Jack Bewles, ,
The gentleman heard the question, but he was thinking
too busily about something else to reply. He stood
motionless, watching Julian as he, sped swiftly through
the stable yard; and when he leaped the fence and ran
along the path that led toward the woods, Mr. Mortimer
slowly and reluctantly returned to the cabin.
“Wasn't thar nobody out thar with ye???
Jack.

“Yes,’? was the scarcely audibie reply; “Julian was
there, but I could not detain him, for he had a loaded rifle
in his hands.”?

“Why didn’t ye holler?’ asked Jack, flercely.
‘got a rifle too, I reckon.”?

“Would you call forhelp if you saw & weapon pointed
straight at your breast?’ s
Jack madé no answer. He stepped aside to allow his
guest to pass, and Mr. Mortimer entered and took his seat
on oue of the nail kegs. He glanced at his host, and saw
that there was something about his person that he had
not before noticed. It was a broad leather belt, from
which protruded the buck-horn handle of a bowie knife.
Mr. Mortimer shuddered as he looked at it, and wished
himself away in the woods with Julian.

[YO BE CONTINUED. } U

demanded

“De

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THE RUGG DOCUMENTS.
BY CLARA AUGUSTA.

Wall, Jonathan Perkins has been airing his opinions to
his sottersfaction, and though I suppose you think you’ve
got aright to print what you're a miud toin your own
paper, I think it’s a sin andashamefor any man to aboose
his wife in the public prints, and Jonathan Perkins ort to
be rid onto a rail.

But seeing as he got sostung by them bees of Capen
Smith’s, | hain’t give him what he desarved—it has took
me all the time to poultice him with chopped onions, and
mud and meriasses. He’s aspettacle tobehold. I dunno
as his featurs will ever come round into shape agin.

But sense Jonathan and I met with our misfortin, sum-
thin important has took place—sumthin that 1 didn’t ex-
pect ever would happen. If the man in the moon had
cum downto Hayes’ grocery, overto the corner, aud
bought a pound of “fine cut”? for his own chawing, |
shouldn’t have been more surprised. Everybody is sot
back. There hain’t been no work of any account done in
Pigeon Holler for a week.

QLD MARIAH SMITH IS MARRIED!
letters.)

When I heard of it I felt as if I could skip like the gay

lambkins, and I attempted to skip, and ketched the heel}
of my boot in a rip in the carpet, and down 1 cum acrost
one.of them ottermuns. of Eilen Sophier’s, and spilt a
bran new bustle thatI paid seventy-five cents for, and
broke a shell haircomb, I didn’ttry to skip any more.
Skipping don’t pay.
She’s merried Major Burnham over to the Ridge. He's
got nine children! His wife has been dead jest three
months, and he’s perposed to every Onmarried woman
between here and where he lives—taking them jest as
they cum. Last Weduesday, he got to Capen Smith’s,
and offered hisself to Mariah, and she jumped at the offer
as:a pickerel, that hain’t had nothing to eat for a week,
will jump at a live bull frog!

She knowed it. was her Jast chance in this world; and in
the next one it will be a dreadful poor sight for old inaids
and widder women, because there haint no marrying
agoing on.

He perposed Wednesday, and Thursday they was
merried.
had her gray pongee let out under the arms, and another
row of blue velyet ribbon put round the skirt, aud she
starched up her ruffed cambric nightgound,and bought
a Jeelock ribbiu for her bunuit, and her trossy was all
ready.

Nobody was invited.

Friday, the happy pair wenton their bridle tower to
Dover, and bonght a bedstead, two pertater dishes, a
castor, and six salt sullurs, and then they wert home to
the Ridge, and was received into the numerous buzzom
of their numerous and interesting family.

We folks to Pigeon Holler met together at the skule
house Friday night, and decided to surrynade ’em.

Mariah had lived so long among us that we thought it
no more than decent that we should show our respects
for her, by turning out on massy, and drumming an hour
or two, on tin pans, and tooting on trumpets, to suller-
brate her nuptials.

Sotherday night, as soon as milking was.over, we sot
sail—seventy-five strong of us, armed with every kind of
a thing that could be blowed on, pounded on, or tooted
on—not to mention six cow belis, an accorgeum, a hand
orgin—four dogs warranted to bark all night, ir you trod
on, their tails enuff—and the gong that belongs to the
Pigeon Holler hotel, which is ainstitution lately sot up for
the sale of hash, whisky, and mint julips, and the prop-
pergation of bed bugs and cockroaclies. And folks that

 

(Put it in big

te

  

stop there for time, say it is a gram s4geess,
Jonathan Perkins wassostrack up jwifli the news o!
old Mariah’s marriage that he took lis scy:h@ agd acy

 

 

wento mowing rye, aud when T asked him toffake che
tin phil, brass Kittle and the mortar pestle aiid go dnd
+helpais surrynade the bride he swore at me and sed I was
a fool, and hinted that I warn’t half-baked.

But I forgive him, for I knowed he felt bad. He'd lost
the pardner that he’d calkerlated on taking after my
bones is laid.

I had cumposed a hem to be sung on the occasion of our
arriving in fruntof the major’s house, and four of our
Pigin Holler choir had larned it and was a going to sing
it to the tune of Bilestone.

Here it is, but l warn everybody aginst singing of it
without my permit, for Pina going to patunt it next
week,

My mourning days is past,
My joy itis begun,
At last the major’s popped
And he and me are one!
An old maid never more!
I hold a wife’s proud rank!
A mother’s too—there’s nine
Of’em to rear and spank!
Adew to maidenhood!
So lonely, yet so free!
No more lll try to flirt,
Major, I’m true to thee!
No more I'll have to go
To church and fair alone—
A trailing after other women’s husbands, for
I’ve gotoneof myown! *
Nine lovely children, too!
Their mother she is dead!
Three long, long months she’s slept
Within the churchyard bed!
And lonely and forlorn, "
The widower has gone round,
And asked all the old maids
To come and take the place of her that’s in the
cold, cold ground!
But none was found to come,
Until he met Mariah—
Sez he: “Say, will you come ?””
Sez she: ‘‘Indeed If will, and thank you a thous-
and times, dear Obadiah!”
So now I’m in his home,
As happy as a queen,
And as for Obed, he’s
‘he happiest and most tickledest man that ever
was in these regions seen!

T’ll tell you the rest next week. Yourn,
J. R. PERKINS.

The Exasperating Fly.

The man who has not been tempted to swear at a fiy
has never partaken of the sweet mental solace which may
be induiged in when he has struck one out of existence.
How pleasant it ison awarm afternoon to recline in an
easy chair and read some choice pieces of literature.
‘Buzz-z-z! You hear a slight noise, and the back of your
neck seems to be getting plowed up bya fine circular
saw. Youjerk your head to one side and have the satis-
faction of seeing one of tile ‘‘Shousehold angels’? describe
a parabolain the air,and gently alight on your nose.
Then it performs an Irish jig, and after a graceful bow
kindly consents te take iis flight, notin the least dis-
turbed by a miniature earthquake at its late resting-place.
After a few elegant maneuvers in tie atmosphere it
comes down solid on your left eyebrow, where it gently
plays a cornet solo, with trombone accompaniment. You
strike out again, this:time nearly knocking your best vase
of wax flowers from.off the center-table. Calmly smiling
on your almost hopeless efforts it forms into a skirmish-
ing party of oneand reconnoiters around your left auricu-
lar cavity, when it suddenly takes a notion to inspect
your “‘innards,” ané tries to Qo so throngh the medium
of your mouth. Gently it executes a flip-flap on your
forehead, after the manner of a circus clown, after which
it:takes a flying leap and brings up on your nether lip,
where it.performs sunary evolutions not calculated te in-
crease your comfort.. Alter another Titan-like effort you
dislodge.it, and wearily sink back to enjoy muck needed
repose, when, horror! itcomes again, this time on your
cheek. You have now arvtived atastate bordering on
insanity, and after much cogitation determine to crush or
be crushed. You feelitmoving along slowly on your
cheek, yourgdacial nerves meanwhile undergoing torture
the most refined and subtle; gently you raise your hand,
firmly youinterlock your gingers to make escape impos-
Sible; the distance intervening‘between hand and face
gradually diminishes, and then the hand descends with
the force of aitrip-hammer. Eureka! you mentaily ex-
¢laim and remove your digits, to.see it saunter by grace-
fully and disappear through the nearest window.

LUNAR CAUSTIC.

A Cheeky Bebtor.

Mr. Paxon, a highly respected citizen ef St. Louis, tells
the following goo@ one. Several years ago I was in busi-
ness in the eastern portion of Tennessee. The people of
that seetion depended largely on the trapping season to
furnish them with an articie of exehange; in fact, fur was
the staple article of barter and trade. It was customary
to sell goods on time te those we knew, receiving our pay
in fur when the season came round, Asa general thing,
these wild mountaineers were honest, but og¢casionally
we were taken in. My cgstomer on this occasion was a
great, tall, strapping fellow, whom for waut of a better
name I shaji call Bill Sykes, I had sold Bill a gonsider-
able amount of goods, for which he signed the sual con-
tract to pay in fur. Jtso happened that when the time

 

IEW YORK

 

     
      
   
  
 

She never stopped to get nonew dress. She jest | “2

 

BERLY.

 

in the fur,

had expired when Bill was to have brought
neither he nor the fur was forthcoming.

One day | receive a letter, mailed from some remote
place in Arkansas, and for which I had to pay twenty-five
cents postage. It ran about as follows:

“Mr. PAXON: DEAR SiR:—I owe you for them goods
my old woman got from you. I promised to pay you in
fur. Now |] jest rite to say that lam away down here in
the swamps of Arkansaw, and if T ain’t fur enough to pay
you, just dfop me a line and L[ will go fu-der.””

J. CAMPBELL.

A Limited Prayer,

Atacertain townin the northern partof Maine, the
people were holding a prayer meeting, when the pastor
remarked that if any present had relatives or friends in
distaut lancs, prayers would be offered in their behalf.
No sooner was the sentence completed than a simple
looking ind.vidual‘arose and thus addressed the pastor;

“TJ would like youto pray for my brother. He went
away two weeks ago, and I haven't heard from him since.
I don’t know jest where he is, but you need not pray be-
low Bangor,” Giz.

A Grateful Dog.

In the littietown of Hf n, aludy noticed a dog
picking the bones out of her ash barrel, so she coaxed
him inand fed him well, after which he left. The next
morning, at ie same tine, hecame with an egg in his
mouth; the second morning he did the same; and also on
the third; but on the fourth he staid so long that the lady
did not thinkie would come, But imagine her surprise,
a little later, to see him with achicken in his mouth. It
seems tiie hen had not done its duty that morning, and so
the dog waited forit and took it to the house instead of
the egg. T. W. GOERIG.

 

Disgusted Serenaders.

A serenade was given the other night, to one of our
enslavers, who, unfortunately, happened to be away from
home; but her father, far from sentimental and no lover
of music, was there, and listened with agony to the strains
as they spread themselves upon the nightair. He would
not give offense to the party, Whom he knew, by setting
his dog on them, and so he waited until they had finished
the first tune, and then opened the window. ‘Thank you,
gentlemen,” said he, ‘‘for your music. Veryfine. Play it
again, will you? and—and—play it a little better please!
Guaraphelia is not at home.’”? Strangely enough they re-
fused to play it again.

A Large Mosqueto.

An Irishman boarding at a second-rate house, was
troubled very much with musketoes. Oue night, while
sleeping he woke up, and found a bat crawling over his
face.

“Och, muther!’ said he, jumping out of bed. ‘Be
Jabers, and they have maskeetys here as big as birds.”’

WASH. R,
A Hurricd Funeral.

A contributor sends us the following, cut from the New
York Herald, and comments thereon, We take the liber-
ty of changing the names: ,
~ “Brown.—At Smithlind, N. J., Thomas Brown, a@ na-
ve of Olean, N. Y. His remaius will be taken t® the
arch of the Pentecost, where Services will be celebrated
the repose of his soul, at 9 A. M., shanp.'”
~ The comment 1s as follows: ‘The promptness of the
above call, reminds me of the story told of the celebrated
Boston wit, Isaac O. Barhes, who, attending the funeral
of his friend Smith, was greatly annoyed by the delay. — |

“Mr. Smith was a very excellent man,’? a neighbor
whispered to Barnes.

“Yes,” was the reply. ‘

“A very smart business man,’’ the neighbor continued.

“Yes,”? said Barnes again, adding: ‘‘and if He had
charge of this faneral he would have started it along’an

lrour ago.”?
A Frightened Dutchman.

An old Californian 1s ourauthority for the following in-
cident: While crossing tlie plains in 751, en route for Cali-
fornia, We hadin our company a jolly Dutchman. This
ton, before cutering upon the arid tract known as the
i -Mile Desert,’’? had failed to take with me %
ter sufficient to last himself and son, and -
tlyin consequence. At last, as they came in
Water, the honest old German, being very thirsty,
rushed aliead, dropped down on his knees, and took a
hasty drink from what chanced to bea hot spring. His lips
and mouth-were scalded, and he quickly bounded to lis
feet, took off hig hat and waved it toward his son, shout-
ing excitedly: ‘‘Drive on, my son—drive on. Hell is not
half-a-mile from this place!”? NED.

A Dark Reflection.

Some years ago, just previous to the adoption of the
Fifteenth Amendment, Mr. H. was elected Mayor of M—.
He was an enthusiastic republican, extremely radical in
his sentiments. Ilis son, a young man of twenty, was the
reverse, a zealous and uncompromising democrat. The
latter was one day complaining to a friend that, in conse-
quence of his political sentiments, few of the ladies among
his circle of acquaintances—mostly republicans—show-
ed him the least favor, while many openly rebuffed him.
“If they treat me so shamefully,”’ he continued, “I shall
have to die an old bachelor.’”’ ‘Such reflections are ab-
surd and useless at your age,’’ remarked the young man’s
friend; “why, you are.not twenty-one yet.’ ‘That's
true,’ replied. the democrat; ‘‘butifdad continues as he’s
going on, spéNding all his’time gonceiving and execating
schemes for t¥é benefit of the colored race, 1 fear thathe'll
soon compel me to maryya darker.” PQKE.

 

 
   
  
   
   
   
 
  

 

 

 

        

| To PP. we Prcokalgalrs 4. D.— Tey 5 (resi subject. The
fone chosen bas keen pre well wo1 up already. You
write ‘well D, aL. he: Phunny Phetiow...... «The fel-

lowing MBS. are accGpted: “Timitating the gaptain,’ ‘Charity and
Conceit,’ ‘Case of Jaundice,’ ‘Couldn't Find Im,’ ‘Like Onions,’
‘Briggs’ Dilanma,’ “A,Strange Light,’ ‘Love and Lager,’ ‘Joh *s
Dream?....The following are respecttully declined: ord ?
‘Yoopsala,’ ‘Brother-in-law,”’ ‘Herring,’ ‘Private’ Still’—old,. F,
O. W.’s Brevities,’ ‘Sour Cider,’ ‘What Could I Say ? ‘Steelyards,’
‘Sharp Reply,’ ‘The Skeeter,’ *Cons,’ from J. S., ‘Crow-Foot Hill,’
‘Big Musketoes,’ ‘Brevities,’ from Precocious, ‘Cons,’ mm,
‘fall Brother,’ ‘Picking His Company,’ \‘Promissary Note,’ ‘Hard
‘exainpit,’ ‘Enlisting an Irishman,’ ‘Biography of a Suicide,’
‘Blaze Away,’—old, ‘Victim of Circumstances,’ ‘Witness of the
German Persuasion’—old, ‘Kull or Cure’—old, ‘Needn’t Do It,’
‘Broken Eggs.’

 

———__—___ > @~<4__—_

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

To BUYERS.—All communications in regard to the prices or the
purchasing of various articles must be addressed to the Ngw
YorRK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, contain“tlie full address of
the writers, and specify the size, quantity or quality of the goods
desired. Those requiring an answer must have two tliree-cent
stamps enclosed. Owing to the large increase of letters to be an-
swered in this column, a delay of several weeks must necessarily
ensue before the answers appear in print.

To PURCHASERS.—The new Illustrated Catalogue of the New
YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, 212 pages, is now ready, and
will be sent to any address, prepaid, on receipt of ten cents.

ear GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
Mike Flavin.—Barney Williams, the Irish comedian, was born
in Cork, Ireland, in 1823, and commenced his theatrical career as
a “super”? at the old Franklin Theatre, in 1836. He married in
1850, since avyhich time he and his wife have played successful. en-
gagements in every city in the world in which the English lan-
guage is spoken, and are still as popular as ever,

Dead Shot.—A Winchester rifle, with a range of 900 yards, will
cost $48.50.

C. Stewart.—lst. Itis perfectly harmless, 2d. An air-gun will
cost $23.

Lover of Music.—Works of instruction in music range from 75
cents to $40. The kind you desire will cost $3.50,

Mose Ball and Assistant Engineer .—Minite’s ‘‘Mechanical Draw-
ing,” for the use of mechanics, illustrated by over 200 diagrams
on steel, will cost $4.

Charlie De.—A regular nayy shirt, with large collar, ete., will
cost $5; pants, $6.50.

Collegiate.—Apply at one of the medical colleges of this city.

H. H.—A person who joins the State militia can be held for his
term of enlistment, unless he should remove to another State.

Carrie.—lst. If you address a letter to the gentleman it will be
put in his box, although you may not direct it s0 on the envelope.
It he has no box of his own, and does nof call for the letter it
will be advertised as uncalled for, when, if he does not see it him-
self, his attention will probably be called to it. 2d. We do not
know to whom you ¢an apply unless it be to the Board of Under-
writers; or the Naval Officer of the Port. : u

R. E. Mark.—ist. Itis aswindle. 2d. We have never heard of
it, and advise you not to invest.

S. & M. and Passim.—Munson’s ‘‘Complete Phonographer” will
be sent to you for $2. It is selt-instructing, and by its aid you
will be able Within six monthstoa yearto follow an average
speaker with ease. The wages paid reporters varies with their
ability and their line of duty.

Subscriber.—The best trip on record from New York to Liver-
poo}, by a sailing vessel, was made by the clipper ship Red Jacket,
in 13 days, 1 hour and 25 minutes.

Crescent.—Only in exceptional cases.

Fagen.—Read the editorial in No. 44, entitled ‘*A Trade or a Pro-
fession.”? The standpoint from which a man should be judged is
not his employment, but his moral character, inteiligence,
energy, etc. Many simpering misses, of course, would be shocked
at entertaining a mechanic, while they would teel delighted at
being noticed by some well-dressed, addle-pated snob who has
scarcely brains envugh to earn the clothes he wears. As a class,
mechanics in this country are more intelligent, and earn double
the wages proportionately of those who deem it more “‘respecta-
ble” to act as clerks or bookkeepers in retail stores. The master
minds of every age have been the skilled mechanics, Without
them we should have no steam-engine, no printing press, nor the
thousands of useful Jabor-saving inventions which relieve people
of ali classes, and by whose aid one Man can accomplish the labor
of scores.

c. 0. D.—Ist. Counterfeit notes are detected usually by some
slight difference from the genuine. Generally, by comparison,
they will be found inferior to tle genuine, eitherin the execution
of the plate, the printing, or in the qualityofthe paper. 2d. You
can figure out the relationship as readily as ourselves.

M, D.—At the Bellevue Hospital, University, and Physicians
and Surgeons medical colleges, the matriculation fee is $5; the
graduation fee at the two former $30, at the latter $25. The cost
of lecture tickets at each is $140.

Sleuth-hound.—“Faithful Margaret; or, The Sleuth-hounds of
Castle Brand,” is out of print.

Ola Probs.—ist. By most authorities Maryland is classed asa
Southern State in the geographical divisions of the country, In
Lippincott’s Gazetteer it isclassed as ‘tthe most southern of the
Middle States.” 2d. A strong decoction of sage tea, in which is
placed a few shingle nails, is a good hair restorative. . Prac-
lice will improve your handwriting.

Reader.—You may be able to purchase the almanaes of second-
hand book dealers. You are not likely to get them elsewhere.

E. Fowler,—There are no linesof passenger vessels running be-
tween New York and Cincinnati, Tue fare by rail is $20.
wa E. H. A., F. BE, Boyd.—-We do not wish to purchase any

C. Morris.—There is little or no difference. Wherever you buy
you will have to pay the difference between greenbacks and gold.

Belter.—We have no record of the action of the courts in Eng-
land, but in this country it has been decided a number of times
that a railroad ticket is good until used, no matter how many
days may have elapsed since its purchase.

Three Constant der's.—The largest guns used in the British
serviee are 7U0-pounders, of the Frazer and Blakely patterns. The
former has a 11-1-2 inch bore, and the latter 12-inch.

Greedy Correspondent.—lst. We doubt if you can increase the
magnetic power of the piece of loadstone. 2d. Why iron found
in certain localities possesses naturally the quality of attracting
other metals cannot be explained.

Sunshine.—We do not find such a dealer in the directory.

B. £. H.—Write toa Richmond paper, Wehave no means of
Secenne the result of the case or the whereabouts of the
parties.

£. R,—The sentence is gramimatically carrect.

&. H, C.-The work will cost $4.

 

 

 

H. J.—ist. If you willimpress upon your mind when retiring
that you wish to get up at a certain hour, you will soon find that
you Gan wake up without being called. 2d. To keep your fish
lively, change the water every day.

A. W. Murray.—1ist. You will find a description of the various
places of interest in New York State in ‘Northern and Eastern
Tour,” price $2. 2d. If you will give us an idea of what kind of
a political work you desire, we will try and get it for you.

Nina Hazleton.—ist. We will send you “The American Hoyle,”
containing instructions in and descriptions of games of all kinds,
for $2. 2d, What is called sheet or heat lightning, such as is seen
summer evenings, appears in frequent flushes around the edges
of clouds, andis nsually unacegmpanied with thunder. 3d. The
name by which you were baptized is your proper one.

Well Wisher.—Good accordeons are worth trom $8 to $15; the
game called “ladia Parcheesi,”’ $1, $2 and

Do U. ¢.—Ist. Olicndorfi’s new method of Jearnin
with key, Will be sent you tor $2.50; boxing-gloves, $3.50, $4.50
and $7 per pair. : ,
Oliver Twist,—ist. Yes, 2d. We cannot find any such firm,
Memphis.—Grenada is pronounced gre-na-da, the a in the ac-
cented syilable sounded as in far.

Z 7 Q.—Ist, Short sketches are worth $5and upward, 2d. Rather
‘aul ty.

Saratoga Yes. —The affair is honestly conducted, Full particu.
lars will ve found in the advertisements and civeulars., The draw-
ings are made in the same manner as at all lotteries,

H, M,N. O. P.—the children of a second husband haye no
claim on the property lett to the wife and children by the first
husband, except on what the widow may have in herown right.

E. D.—Yhe lady 18 at her home. A letter addressed to her will
be forwarded frow tiis office.

Adorer.—An English twist shot-gun, with back action lock,
will cost $15; double-barreled rifle, $48; bullet and shot pouches
and powder flask, $1.50 and upward; bowie-knife, $2 and up-
ward; Colt’s revelyers, $20 per pair; horse pistols, with holsters,
$7 each; hatchet, $2 aud upward.

G. W. Fowler.—Yhe fare to Omaha is $41.70. The trip occupies
two days and a half, and may be taken by either Pennsylvania
Central, Erie, or New York Central R. R.

F. A, B.—See reply to “Oliver Twist.”
works.

Diego.—The ee a is the average temperature of San Fran-
eiso for each month Iu the year: January, 49 degrees; February,
51; March, 52; April ard May, 55; June, 56; July and August, 57;
September, 58; October, 57; November, 54; December, 51—yearly
average, 54. The population of theeity 1s 149,473. The courts
are conducted in the same manner as here, the length of time
they are in session depending upon the amount of business betore
them. The rainy scason is from December to April, inclusive.

Jago.—Merely state your request as briefly as possible. Is will
be more apt to be noticed than a lengthy epistle.

Here We Rest.—lst. Morocco is tanned goatskin, and is socalled
because first prepared by the Moors, 2. There is no word which
describes a lady with fair complexion, black eyes and dark hair.
She is neither a blonde nora brunette, but rather a combination
of both. 3d. Mrs. Sarah Payson Parton (‘Fanny Fern”) was the
wife of James Parton and sister of the late N. P. Willis. She died
in this clty. Oct. 10, 1872.

Carver.—\st. Site is pronounced as spelled, the same as mite,
rite, etc. 2d. We will send you Perkius’ Higher Arithmetic for
$1.75.

E. P. P.—The papers containing ‘‘Abner Helden’s Bound Boy”
will cost 60 cents,

Sweet Sizteen.—lst. The papers are out of print. 2d, We can
furnish but the one named.

E. L. K.—We wiil furnish the papers desired for 42 cents.

C. E. Whetcher.—The U.S. postal department issues one, two,
three, six, seven, ten, twelve, fifteen, twenty-four, thirty and
ninety-cent postage stamps,

W. W. S.—Ollendort’s new method of learning French, with
key, will cost $2.50. See reply tu ‘Do U, C.”

Modeoc.—Ist. If a boy is far enough advanced to enter a gram-
mar school, by close application he can acquire a fair English
education in ayear. 2d. The vacanciesat the Naval Academy
are all filled for the pmesent year. Appointments are made by
the fee and Men®ers ot Congress.

E.

J .—No.

Hook and Ladder.—ist. The Caucasian race is the handsomest
and most intelligent. 2d. Great Britvin. 3d. It is impossible to
say who is the greatest linguist in the world,

Western Boy.—The tusks of the elephant are the prinelpal source
of the ivory supply. Interior qualities are also obtained from the
teeth and tusks of the walrus, narwhal and other large animals.

Star.—Continues is correct.

D. Fanning.—A book of alloys and memoranda for goldsmiths
and jewelers will cost 75 cents.

Fred. Cooke.—jst. “Evin go bragh” means “Erin for ever,”” 2d.
The Bank of England was projected by William_ Paterson, a
Scotch merchant, to meet the difficulty experienced by William
IIL. in raising funds to carry on the war with France. ‘he stock
was seon subscribed, and the bank was incorporated on condi-
tion of. loaning the government £1,200,000. It commenced ac-
tive operations on Jan, 1, 1695, and has continued uninterrupted-
ly to the present ang During the first years of its existence its
notes fell as low as 20 per Cent. below par, when the capital was
increased £1,000,000, and the notes soon ran up to 12 per cent.
premium, Tne charter has been renewed from time to time, the
government debt tothe bank usually being somewhat less than
the capital -stock. Beside the regular banking business, the cor-

oration has the entire management of the public debt of Great

ritain, for which it receives a certain compensation. 3d. The
pay of the Queen of England, including household expenses,
alms, and special pensions, amounts to atrifle over $2,000,000
per year. 4th, Tne railroads of England are better and more
firmly laid, as a general thing, than those of this country.

G. A. F.—lst. The usual inscription in a wedding ring consists
of the initials of both parties, with the date of the ceremony.
2d. The marriage service of the Episcopal church will be found
in the “Common Prayer” book, which we will send you for $1
and upward.

Dithy and Triz.—It woud spoilthe interest of the story if we
were to eel the plot.

Salt City.—\st. Stay at your present -occupation in preference
to starting a puppet show; or,it it is very distasteful, seek a

CO ¢

German,

 

Wedo not furnish such

  
 
 
  
  

 

more nial pursuit. 21. See notice atthe head of this col-
umn in tion to catalogue.

Fi on.—Ist. In cuse of the infringement of a patent, the
holder ti can put an injunction on the manufacture, sale
and use ot article, beside recovering damages. The process

being in civil law, the offender cannot be punished by imprison-
ment. 2d. In the State of New York marriages between parents
and children, including grandparents and grandchildren of every
degree, ascending and descending, and between brothers and sis-
ters of the half, as well as of the whole blvod, are declared to be
incestuous and void. Thelaw applies to illegitimate as well as
legitimate children and relatives, This comprises all the de-
grees of relationship in which marriage is prohibited by law, but
asense of decency should prohibit aman from marrying his
niece.

Patrict.—Candidates for cadetship at West Point must be be-
tween seventeen and twenty.iwo a ofage, ~

St. Joe La.—Alexander Davy Damas, the Frengh
and novelist, was tue son of General Dumas, a distiaguished of-
ficerof the French army, and grandson of the Marguis.de la
Pailleterie, a Haytian planter. The mother of the general was a
negro girl on the plantation of the marquis.
be Verona.—Ist. Tue concern is a fraud. 2d. See “Knowledge-

OX. *

A. R. and E. L.—We have not the space to print the list.

Bressant.—We do not know to what the gentleman refers un-
less he means that the drilling apparatus used in the boring of
the Mont Cenis tunnel was worked by electricity. If so, he is
mistaken, as the drills were operated by compressed air, forced
through tubes by a compressing machine stationed at the mouth
of the tunnel, and run by water power.

Young Billy.—‘‘Buffalo Bill’s Best
“Buffalo Bill’s Last Victory,’ 90 cents.

Inform7tion.—‘‘The Sheet Metal Workers’ Instructor,” contain.
ing instructions for boiler-making, will cost $3.

Moonlight.—The old Bible is worth just whut you can get for it.
It is impossible to give any idea astothe price, asone dealer
would probably give much more than another. The proper way
to dispose of itis to take it to several places where such books
are bought, and sell it to the party who will make tlie best offer.
The same will apply to the cuin.

Hoosier Bill.—In the gaine of base-ball, if eitiver club refuse to
take their position in the game within five minutes after the.
umpire calls ‘‘play,’’ they shall forfeit the game, which shall be
recorded as nine runs to nothingin favor of the club ready te
continue the game.

Alexander the Great.—The expression is used figuratively. It
means that a person must keep his eyes and ears open, observing
and noting everything that occurs about him. 2

A. C. G.—We will send you Youatt’s work on the dog for $3 75.

Inquisitive Moses.—lst. The New YORK WEEKLY was issued in
its present form in the early part of 1858. The first serial written
expressly for its columns was ‘““Maggie, the Charity Child,” by F.
8. Smith. 2d. Only the first mameWas yet. 3d. They are iden-
tical.

Little George.—We will send you False mustache for $1.
Nibs.—According to the census or 1870 there were inthe United
States 1,690,410 persons of German birth.

. W.—A quack.

Cc. R.—If your employers refuse to pay you, apply at the office
of the Werking Women’s Protective Union, 38 Bleecker street,
and they will take charge of the matter for you, and prosecute
the claim,

Donkey Dan.—We cannot find the work.

E. Arnold,—The evening high school under the supervision of
the Board of Education usuaily opens on the first week in October
and closes in the latter part of March, and has been held in Gram-
mer School No. 35, Thxteenth street, near Sixth avenue. The
course of instruction embraces German, French, Latin, aritlmie-
tic, algebra, penmanship, bookkeeping, drawing, chemistry, phil-
osophy, and various other studies, any one or more of which May
be learned at the option of the pupil. There is no restricti a
aecount of age, the lastreport giving the age of the eldest student
at fifty-six years.

W.S. W.—l1st. The name was merely assumed by the corres-
pondent referred vo for the time being. Tue story is purely ficti-
tious. 2d. The fare from New York to St, Louis is .

Barnard Asiiley.—We will send you Francatelli’s “Royal Con-
fectioner,”’ the best work of the kind in use, for $3.50.

J.M. C.—1st. The Singer machine desired will cost $70. 2d. We
cannot ascertain the address of the paper, as the concern has
removed from its former quarters, and we do not know whether
it is still in existence or not. ‘

Sporting Ed.—We do not deal in such wares.

Edith Darrell.—lst. Meadows’ French and English Dictionary
will cost $2; Spanish and English, $2.50. 3d. No.

W. T. Hall.—We will send you the Boys of England for $3 pér
year. Send us the names of the books, and we will ascertain if
they are to be had.

Rip Away.—Send the width and depth of the boat desired, and
we will give you the prices.

Norfolk Boy.—\st. Abbott’s lives of “Miles Standish,” ‘*Ferdi-
nand De Soto, and “*Daniel Boone” will cost $1.50 each, 2d:
The strength of spectacles decreases as the numbers adyance.
3d. The work willcost 25cents. 4th. Bryant?& Stratton’s Couni-
ing-house Book-keeping will cost $3.75. 5th. Protestants use the
King James version of the Bible, and Roman Catholics what is
called the Douay Bible.

Maz E. L. U. L.—Write to the Western News Company, Chi-
cago,

A. D. A. O.—We will furnish the articles if you will specify
what fs desired. Write, with full address, to the NEw YORK
WEEKLY Purchasing Agency.

Lover of the Weekly.—Wedo not know what you mean by four
agricultural Jeaves. Be a little more specific.

A, E. Lucking.—We will send you Blackstone’s Commentaries
for $12 or $13.

J. S. H.—Steamers leave New York for Havanaevery Tuesday.
The fare is $65.

Richmond.—New York city, by the census of 1870, has a popu-
lation of 942,292; Paris, in 1870, 1,899,462.

Fred Reuz.—There is no limit to the number of terms a man
may serve as President of the United States,

Alice A. M.—Ist. The lady referred to is the daughter of the
tragedian of the same name, and is a very accomplished actress.
2d, About twenty-five. 3d. We do not know. 4th. There are

ood and bad in it, the same asin all other professions. 5th. Yes,
ith, ye the advertising columns of the daily papers.

S.

Young Reader.—Bryant and Stratton’s Common School Book-
keeping, with the blanks, will cost $2.

Booby ¥ Co.—If you are in doubt as to how the names are spell-
ed, ask the bearers. The pronunciation of the words will be tound”
in the appendix to Webster’s Dictionary. iF

Constant Reader.—The distance from New York to Rondout
(now called Kingston) is ety-five, miles, and the running time
of the rp by the steamer Mary Poweil five hours and quarter,

E. R.—There are two or three dealers in the lower part of Wil-
liam street with whom you can negotiate for thesale of your
coins. We cannot advertise them gratuitously.

Bull Run.—ist. There are nosuch publications. 2d. The Brit-
ish navy in 1872 numbered in all 611 vessels, of which 316 were in
commission, The U. 8. navy at the same time consisted in all of
192 vessels.

Andrew Jackson.—I1st. No license is required to start a paper.
2d. Prospectuses describing the character of the paper are usually
issued in advance, giving rates of subscription, advertising, etc.
3d. The parties are well known as possessing no literary ability,
their names being used merely to catch a certain class of patrons.

ii. S, Johnson.—See Reply to “Buffalo Ball,” in No. 46. j

B. B, and3 F. J.—tst. Ventriloquism is to acertain extent a

Shot” will cost 78 cents;

 

 

Paddock.—Such conduct is unpardonable.

 

natural gift, but must be developed by practice. 2d. Engravers’
tools, set to sizes, will cost 70 cents each.’ 34. See “Knowledge-

 

   
 

Trevor M. Norrac.—ist. We will send you ‘‘Guy Earlscourt’s
Wife” for $1.75; the other works cannot be procured. 2d, The
gentleman died some time since, 3d. We cannot say.

Mrs. Mary Ingrum.—We will send you triple plate teaspoons

for $5.50 tu $6.25 per dozen; same quality tablespoons, $11 to
$12.50 per dozen; thd engraving will cost 10 cents per letter. We

do not know how much the expressage will be.
sent on ordering the goods,

Harlem.—See reply to “Well-Wisher?? "You can learn to play
withouta teacher if yOu have any taste for music.

Etianette Department.

E. C.—Poor ¢ehild! yours is indeed a hard ease, but we can only
counsel. you to Wuve patience. Patignut continuance in well doing
always brings itsown reward. Wé would not, however, advise
you to Marry oné for whom you ‘gould never entertain that af-
fection Which a wife should Restad upon hef husband,” nor yet
to wed One whom your parents violently oppose, but to abide the
issue with afirm trast that their oppositiontmay be removed in a
few years, a8 you are young enou, y five years beture you
marry. 5 / \

Foolish Tris.—We consider it a Ye fo
that ‘‘'down on the Cape,” asthe parla uns, it was the fash
iom years ago forthe youngmen and maidens to sit up all nignt
when the former came a wooing, but supposed that it was coir
tined to that locality. Dowthesitate fo pronounce it absurd and
ridiculous. ~—aaf jhe | at

Daisy Blanche ean abt

Money must be

 

   
   

 
    

fashion. We know

 
    

ng two gentlemer
is ‘immaterial which

with whom you are equally.
name is mentioned first. the y mii has become es
tranged, and you desire tliat he should continue so, send back his

picture and request your own, 3d. Itis not always needful te
exchange photographs; but if young men ask for yours, it is polite
for you to return the compliment.

Musa.—A young lady who corresponds with a gentleman whom
she has never seen, 6an, if she desires it, send him her photograph,
and then request his in retarn, provided, of course, the gentie
man’s respectability is vouched for by friends of her own.

Queen Victoria.—l\st. As the young man requested you to write
to him when bidding you adieu, it will not be wrong to comply
with his request, if it pleases you to doso. You can commence
the letter by saying: “Dear Mr.—. As youintimated a desire
to hear from me, I have concluded to write you a few lines,’”? and
end with, ‘‘Ever your friend,” then sign your name. 2d. Better
wait until he asks for your picture belore you request his. 3d.
You should read histories, books of travel, biography and science;
and toimprove your writing and _ spelling, copy a page or two
— some book every day. “Practice makes pertect.'? you
KNOW.

Garnet.—lst. When a gentleman attends a young lady to a
hotel, he should leave her at the reception rooms while procurin
rooms at the office. Then he should escort her to her room, an
ask her at what hour she will be ready for meals; and agree to
meet her in the reception room. 2d. Your writing is very fair.

Wyoming Girl.—\st. If your mother does not allow you to write
to young men, it proves hera womanof excellent common sense.
We cannot approve of the practice, and suggest that you
had better heed her adyice. 2d. No, indeed; such “puppy love’?
had better be extinguished in the bud. 3d, A girl of fifteen years
can go into society if her mother permits it; and she can accept
a young man’s offer to escort her home of’an evening without
committing any impropriety. 4th, Your writing shows that you
are in need of practice.

Maud and Belle,—lst. We cannot advise any young lady to
Marry any young gentleman, when we are uct acquainted with
the parties. Marriage is a solemn covenant, and should never be
entered into without due consideration. 1liisemie cases it is per-~
fectly proper to correspond and exchange pictures with a gen-
tieman, in others it is quite the reverse. Your own judgment
must govern your actions. 3d. We do uot consider it wrong to
go to the theater. 4th. We believe that long engagements oftem
lead to happy marriages, or to dissolving the connection entirely.
The parties become better acquainted with each ether, and =
not marry while yet strangers. 5th. Circumstances sometimes
make it needful that engagements should be kept secret; butasa
general thing, we consider that it is best to announce them to
triends and the public. 6th. There isno wrong done in walking
or riding with @ gentleman of an evyeniuge; but it is weil to return
home by nine o’clock. 7th. fo make your hair grow, take yellow
dockroots and. boil a handful of them to astrong tea; add to it
while boiling one tablespooni{ul of camphor gum, and the same
quantity of borax. 8th. Your lling and writing are very fair.

Perplexed Young Lady.—Tell your visitor, that you cannot ad-
mit of such familiarities excepting from a professed lover. This
may bring him to.a distinct avowal of his affection.

A Young Lady in Doubt.—See reply to ‘‘Perplexed Young La-

 

dy.” Wait tle two years from this period in patience, and abide
the result. Jf he then postpones the marriage, break off the en-
gagement.

Sad Luna.—Our advice is to continue to treat all young gentle-
men alike, and not to seek tlie particular attentionsof any. At
your age your mind should be on your studies rather than on
love affairs. Study four y cars longer before you think or talk of
love,

Fra Diavolo.—Iist. If introduced to a stranger at a house where
you are calling, and he or sie take leave before you do, you
should rise as you bow a farewell. 2d. After dinner place your
napkin beside your plate. 3d, A topaz would be suitable for an
engagement ring. 4th. A wedding-ring should be of heavy, plain
gold, and the initials and date siould be engraved inside. The
bridegroom’s initials come first, thus: “J. M. C. and S. L. M.”

Hamlet.—Have patience, friend, and ‘your trials will subside.
Give the young lady a dose of ihe same kind of treatment she be-
stows upon you. Call as usual; but-don’t bother her with ask-
ing, “Do you love me?” Don’t ask her to walk out or to go to
any places of amusement. Let her severely alone for about two
months, and then ask her for herloye.. You are too devoted,
too fond, and the maiden is coy and sly, and wearies of the in-
tensity of your affection. Try.another tack.

S. J. Bondine, Send cards of iuvitation to the friend, with the
lady’s card and your uwn; also enclose the sume directed to his
lady-love, and request him to give them to her.

Lemon,—Under the circumstances, you need not. provide any
entertainment at the wedding ceremony.

H. H. A.—I1st. The attendants enter the church first, the groom
and bride following them. The bridesmaids and groomsmen
separate to theleft and the right, and leave a space for the
groom and bride. 2d. A marriage license can be procured a
week or a day before the ceremony. It matters not at what
time,

Keeler.—W rite: “Dear Miss . Will you accompany me to
} the theater to-morrow ¢yening ?” and sign your name.

' Bruyan.—No. Ask for an exchange of pictures, returning hers
at the time.

Basket.—lst. If the rain pours heavily, and the strange lady is
incommoded by it,common civility should prompt you to offer a,
part of your umbrella. 2d. If well acquainted with a lady, you
can ask her for a button-bole bouquet witlhout-commitling any
impropriety. 3d. When introduced to a lady’ata party or ball, it
1s pertectly proper to offer your arm_and ask her to promenade.

George C. iy S.—Ist. We cannot tell whether you ought “to kiss

 

dramatist \ Sra young lady good-night, when she certainly acts asif she

wanted you to.” Your own#sense_must direct you in the matter.
Of course you can offer yourself to her if you deem 15 desirable to
do 80, but your salary is entirely too small to support a wife. 2d.
You can offer your services to the gentleman in questioa without
any impropriety.

——_——— > 9-4

RECENT PUBLICATIONS.

DETAIL, COTTAGE, AND CONSTRUCTIVE ARCHITE@TURE. Pub-
lishers, A. J. Bicknell & Co., No. 27 Warren street, New York.
The publishers of this very elegant work have supplied 2 gene
ral demand, and the style in which ithas been presented to the
public reflects credit upon all concerned in it. It is a practical
book for architects, builders, carpenters, and all contemplating
buildin or remodeling wood, stone, or brick structures, It con-
tains seventy-five large ay} handsome lithographic plates, and
all the designs and illustrations are printed on fine paper. Te be
appreciated, the work must be carefully examined. It has been
published under the direction of Mr. A. J. Bicknell and appears
complete in every part. Special attention is bestowed upon every
department of which it treats, and non-professional men will find
in it a great deal to interest and instruct them. There are yari-
ous degigns for cornices, windows, doors, piazzas, towers, balco-
nies, stairs and mantels, beside designs for street and store
fronts, with inside finish for stores and banks, and framing for
dwellings, barns, bridges, etc., etc. Ina word, we unhesitatingly
commend the work as superior to any publication of the kind
that has ever come under our notice.

 

 

ld a
Vienna Premiums and Sewing
Machines.

We copy the following from the New York Herald of

August 12th:
* THE REGION OF THE SEWING MACHINES.

F If Pante had been gifted with the spirit of prophecy he
: Ould liave set apart a region in his Inferno to illustrate
oi rivalries and emotions of the sewing machine manu-
facturers of the United States. The conflicts, the misun-
derstandings, the ambitions, the yearnings for approba-
tion and notoriety, the odd, incessant efforts to win me-
dals of progress and renown and merit and honor, which
inspire the gentlemen who manage this industry, have
‘given constant motion and life to the American depart-
ment. So when His Majesty cameinto the sewing ma-
chine department every effort was made by our Commis-
sioners to introduce him to each special machine and ex-
‘plain its peculiar qualities. Let me give yon a list of the
machines in the catalogue, so you may know what His
Majesty was asked todo. First, the Howe Machine Com-
pany, New York; then the Singer Manufacturing Com-
pany, New York; the Whitney Sewing Machine, Paterson,

N.J.; the Wheeler & Wilson Sewing Machine Company,
New York; the Wilson Sewing Machine Company, Cleve-
land, Ohio; the Wilcox & Gibbs Sewing Machine Manu-

facturing Company, New York; Ezra Morrill & Co., Derdy
Line, Vt.; George N. Bacon & Co., London, England; the
Weed Sewing Machine Company, Hartford, with the pat-
ent effective stop motion of Fairchilds’ attachment; the
Secor Sewing Machine Company, New York; the Mackay
Sole and Shoe Machine, Cambridge; the Universal Feed
Sewing Machine Company. Every exhibitor expected a
special visit from the Emperor, and His Majesty, with 2
patience and courtesy that should be commended, en-
deavored to visit them all.

After wailing a few minutes tocomprehend the ex-
planations made to him of the advance of the industry so
largely represented in America, the Emperor continued
his tour of the other departments, especially inquiring of
his attendants what different principles were presented
by each separate machine, in what respect one machine
differed from the other—all of which was explained to
him, ESPECIALLY THE NEW PRINCIPLE OF THE
PATENT STOP, OR THE APPLICATION INVENTED B¥
MR. FAIRCHILD, AND NOW OWNED BY THE WEED
MACHINE CO., BY WHICH THE ACTION OF THB
NEEDLE IS ARRESTED BY THE PRESSURE OF A
SPRING WITHOUT STOPPING THE MOTION OF THE
WHEEL.

In the New York Heraid of Aug. 19th we find awards
Were made as follows:

To the Wilson Sewing Machines of Cleveland.
Elias Howe Sewing Machine Company, FOR SEWING
and STITCHING.

Wilcox & Gibbs Sewing Machine Company of New York
(for BEST SINGLE THREAD SEWING MACHINE.)

The Weed Sewing Machine Company (for BEST STOP
MOTION APPLIED TO SEWING MACHINE TREADLES.

The Wilson Sewing Machine Company being the only
exhibitor that received a grand prjze medal for the best

 

 

 

ox,??
Cc. ores President of Harvard College is Charles W. Eliot,

'

 

Sewing Machine, and medals of honor,

 

 

a nN ci dhe

 

 

 

i 2

 

 

Hey

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
 

See ay

 

 

4

toneaprceptnaten

awh

 

si tl f
SOP 4.
# a CRIS =a

THE NEV

YORE. WEEKLY. =>

 

 

 

TO ADVERTISERS.

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY

HAS A CIRCULAIION OF NEARLY

350,000 COPIES!
ONE DOLLAR PER LINE

FOR BACH INSERTION CASH IN ADVANCE

Bar When CUTS are used, DOUBLE PRICE ($2 per
line) is charged jor space occupied by cut.

 

 

Vannes 0 8 ES eeeeeeaerrreeesS0EEOoOOEeOeOEOeee

A BEAUTIFUL PRESENT.

Poems for the Million!

By FRANCIS S. SMITH.

“POEMS FOR THE MILLION” is.a 12mo. volume of three
hundred pages. It is made up of poems from the pen of FRANCIS
S. SurrH, which have been published from time to time in the
columns of the NEw YORK WEEKLY. It is handsomely gotten
up, and contains a life-like portrait of the author on steel.

This is one of the most appropriate holiday gifts which a young
gentleman could present to a young lady, a brother to his sister,
or & parent to-his child. It has received most unqualified praise
from “niouths of wisest,censure,”’ and contains only that which
will eleyate and instruct. The edition is nearly exhausted, and
those who would obtain a copy should make application early.

Price: $1.50. The trade supplied at a liberal discount.

Address orders to the AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, No. 119
Nassau street, New York city, or

‘ STREET & SMITH, New YORK WEEXLY OFFICE.

Copies mailed to any address on receipt of price, as above.”

ME OMNIUM GATHERUM.—Most interesting
Parier Game of the season. Just out, price 25 cents. The

Dog Puzzle will entertain a milion, price 10 cents. Omnium
Gatherum and Dog Puzzle both sent for 30 cents. Liberal Dis-
count tothe trade. Address General Agents New YORK WEEKLY
PUROHASING AGENCY, 27, 29 and 31 Boss street, New York. w47-3

LE BULL Musical Agency, 92-Clinton Place, N.Y. Cir”
culars mailed. J. JAY WATSON, Manager. w45it.
7 CENTS for a Case of Chromatic Visiting Cards. Spec. for
stamp. BIGGS BROS., Galesburg, Ill. w48-2
Something Indispensable to Ladies.
MABAM DE ROSSA’S ANTHEO, @ French preparation for
beautifying and preserving the complexion, which cannot injure
the finest skim The use of this delicate compound cannot be
detected, solifelike are its properties, imparting smoothness,
transparency ‘and rosy freshness to the skin, besides being per-
manent in its effects. It does not dry and crack the skin; ¢on-
tains ne minerals or poisons. Sold by druggists or sent by mail.
Price 50 cents per box. MILLER BROS., 113 Maiden et b
W4o0-oF.

 

 

 

 

 

ERFEZIONE strengthens, perfects and develops the limbs.
ss: post-paid. WAN HOLM, 143 Court street, Boston, Mass.
w43-5t

 

 

GENTS WANTED.—GOOD PAY—SAMPLES _FREE.
Ladies’ Combination Needle Book and Portemennaie. En-

“VIE

acres

NNA

PREMIUMS.

 

THE WILSON SHUTTLE

SEWING MACHINES

Received -the Grand

Prize Medal

AND MEDAL OF HONOR

FOR THE

BEST SEWING MACHINE,

THE BEST MADE SEWING MACHINES.

AND THREE

Co-Dperative Medals

FOR

The Best Made Set of Harness,

The Best Made Side Saddle,

The Best Boot and Shoe Work,
And the Best Samples of Cloth

Sewing.

 

No other Sewing Machines’received Prem-
iums on their merits, which we wiil prove
by evidence at our office, and that all reports

relating to the contrary are false.

 

Machines Sold on Easy Monthly Payments,

SALESROOM:
707 BROADWAY, NEW YORK,

And all other Cities in the United States.

 

 

For terms &c., address Pittsburgh Supply Co., Pittsburgh, Pa.
w38-6t-eow.
and Supplies.—Glass Eyes for
ec. Send-stamp for priced catalogue
gton st., Boston, Mass. w48-2t

 

ird Stuffers’ "Tool
Birds and Animals, &

 

to A. J. HOLBURN, 486 V

A OUTSIDE

WASHINGTON, 222,

AGENTS WANTED for a complete history of our National
Capital. Its origin, growth, excellencies, abuses, beauties, and
personages are all portrayed in that graphic style which has
placed the author, GEO. ALF. TOWNSEND, among the foremost
serpapes correspondents of thetime. Itgives bold, startling,
truthful inside views of Washington life, and Congressional and
Lobbying Jobbery. Books ready for delivery. Address Jas.
BETTS & CO., Hartford, Ct., or Chicago, Ill., S. M. BETTS &
CO., Cincinnati, Ohio:

» ASONIC.—Wanted, on salary or commission, F. A. M.,

as agents for the New Work—splendidly illustrated, and
ot absorbing interest. Send fordescriptive catalogue and terms.
REDDING & CO., Publishers of Masonic Works, 544 Broadway

New York. 7
FEMALES.

All complaints incident to the sex, permanently cnred by

BARNEY’S EXTRACT BUCHU

Depot 104 Duane street, N. Y.
tle, or 6 for $5.

ASTOUNDING!
The Best and Most Popular

OIL CHROMOS IN THE WORLD.

In all their original beauty and artistic excelence, from the
Original Stones, uniform in Size, 17x26 inches. Price $15 each.
Given as Premiums to $3 Yearly Subscribers to ‘Demerest’s
Illustrated Monthly Magazine.” “OLD OAKEN BUCKET,”
for 1874; “CAPTIVE CHILD,” for 1875; “HOME, SWEET
HOME,” for 1876; “‘“AFTER THE STORM,” for 1877. Delivered,
on receipt of subscription for either or allthe above years. Sent
by mail, on rollers, 10 cents extra for postage; or mounted on
canvas and stretcher (as an ee postage 50
extra. Address W. JENNINGS DEMO
Broadway, N. ¥.

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

Sole by druggists. $1 per bot-

 

  
    
  

 

 

 

NED BUNTLINE

 

Escape from

The Knife and Strangulation—How D. W. Sawyer

$250 A MONTH.—Fast selling goods, business entirely new.

y

yinan, white with rage.

 

 

 

 

 

every tree and rock into plain view, and he could see
eg timber of the hut, even plainer than he could by
day.

While he paused and looked, unable to turn his gaze
away, he saw the men move ina body toward Barnacle
Bill, and at the same instant he saw the door of the liut
fly open and the woman Isadora appear With a gun in her
hands, which she leveled at the party.

“Tt is cowardly for me to stand here when he needs my
help!’ cried the young man, and he rushed up the hill as
fast as his limbs could carry him.

CHAPTER XXXIl.

Ralph must have almost flown to the hut, for when he
reached the spot where Barnacle Bill stood with a defiant
scowl on his face, he saw the woman Isadora, with a great
ducking gun still held firmly at her shoulder, gaze over
its levelled barrel with eyes flashing like fire, while the
group of men—two of whom were strangers to Ralph—
were drawing back in evident terror.

“Ha! ha! You are a brave set of ragamuffins! You
would first attack an unnarmed man, old and weak, and
then when a woman comes on the ground to take his part
you back like cur dogs before a mastiff!’? cried the old
“Out upon ye—and go back

 

whence ye came!”’

“Not ‘till we have seen the inside of your hut, and
learned the secrets of Devil’s Peak!” cried one of the
men whose face was strange to Ralph.

“Who are you, that claim the right to enter my dwelling
without my leave?’’ asked Barnacle Bill, passing the men
and now standing by the side of Isadora, just as Ralph
also went on and took a station near the cabin door.

“] am an Officer of the law, and you’ll know who lam
soon enough!’ cried the other testily.

“Show me your warrant if you have one!” cried the old
man, nothing daunted by the declaration of the stranger.

“Suppose [ have none!’’

“Then I suppose that if you offer to cross my threshold
I'll shoot you down asI would a thief!’ said the old man,
and reaching within the cabin lie seized a double-barrelled
gun and cocked it.

“This hut is my castle, and I'll hold it!*? he continued.
“T do not believe that you are an officer, but I do believe
that you are one of a band of thieves, who having’ heard
that 1 had some little property up here in gold and silver,
thought you could come and scare me out of it!”

“Thieves?” eried the man, angrily. ‘I'll soon show
you whatIam. I could enter your den without a war-
rant if I chose, but Ii donot. I'll hieme back toSt. Shotts
and there get a warrant which will unearth you and the
secrets of your den!”

“Any warrant you'll get at St. Shotts will do to light
my pipe with, nothing more,’’ said Barnacle Bill, with a
savage laugh. ‘‘You can tell the old squire there what 1
say. He had better cut his right hand off than signa
warrant for me, and he knowsit. You are a stranger
and an interloper in the place, and them that harbor or
aid you will learn what it is to cross me.”

The townsmen shrunk back in fear, for they knew well
that he was not apt to threaten in vain. They had seen
many a one of his tenants turned headlong from a house
of his because they had offended him, and no one dared
to say a word, for his money made his will a law in the
town.

“Who guided this self-styled officer up here?’! he thun-
dered, as he scanned their pale faces.

No one answered.

“T can’t do it,’ said the captain. “I have no right to
put my men into service under any but one of my own
officers.”

“Well, give me the men under one of your officers, and
tell him to do as I wish.”

“The same objection would apply to him. T have heard
that this old man has influence which could take my com-
mission from me, and I don’t like to provoke him. Be-
side, I owé him for a very great favor. I came in here
with a broken and disabled mast. He owned the only
spar in the place which would replace mine and make my
vessel stanch again. He would not sell, but he gave it
to me.’?

“Then you positively refuse to assist me with a party ?””

“Yes, sir, Ido, forthe purpose you speak of. More-
over in about an hour, when the tide makes ebb I shail
sail for St. John’s."

“All right—will you do me a favor which can but slight-
ly discommode you?”

“Certainly, if it does not compromise me here."

“Then alli ask is that you let this officer, my partner,
take passage with you to St. John’s. He will carry a let-
ter from me to my superiors stating what I have done aud
asking for help to carry out my plans here. I find that
everybody here is afraid of this old fiend, but I can ge&
gr from there who’ll stand by me till their hair blows
off.’

“T will give your friend a passage.”

“Then if you please I'll write my letter and give him his
orders. Then l’ll go ashore and keep up a watch till my
friends come.’?

The officer was now provided with writing materials,
and long before the tide changed he had his report and
requisition written. These, with verbal directions given
to his partner, finished his business on board, and he then
returned to the pier.

There he stood till he saw the cutter get under way and
with a fair wind stand out of the harbor.

Then he was about to turn and goupinto the town,
having paid his boatman, when he noticed a pale, miser-
able-looking fellow, with a bandaged head and a pair of
liver-eolored eyes, set round with black rings, standing
sn by him and looking asif he wanted to speak te
lim.

The officer smiled, and to open a conversation said?

“You look sick, my friend. Have you had an accident
happen to you?’’

“Not much of -an accident, when old Barnacle Bill set
the young whelp, Ralph Triplet, on to beas me almost
to death,’ said Ea. Carrigan—tor this was he—in a whin-
ing tone.

“So, so! You are another sufferer by this precious
pair,’’ said the officer.

“Don's I look like it?’ groaned Carrigan.
from head to foot, let alone my sperrits. I'm worse off
than aspavined, wind-galled, ring-boned, heavy liorse,
and what ean be worse than that???

“You'd like to get even with ’em, wouldn’t you?!’

“Oh, you’d better believe I would.”?

“Then help me,”

“You? Who are you?”

‘An officer from St. Johns, sent here to look into the
general deviltry of this place, and especially to find.out
the secrets of the hut on Devil's Peak.”

“Ginger and gin-slings! If you’re after them I'l heip
you all lL know how, Have you seen the gal ?”

“What girl?”
“Why her that Ralph Triplet keeps hidden up te his

“I'm sore

|

was Save

To the Editor.—Hayving been tor over thirty years afflicted with
rupture, and twice enduredthe anguish and danger of inflamed
and strangulated rupture, and once necessarily subjected to the
critica! operation ot the knite, I feel most happy in having found
permanent relief m Dr. Sherman’s method of cure, and in mak-
ing it known to others unfortunately ruptured. I had been in
correspondence with the doctor for some three years, intending
to go to see him at his office, 697 Broalway, New York, to obtain
his treatment, but fortunately for mé his visit to San Francisco

TRIUMPHANT.

 

mother’s cabin. Sheis a born lady, 1know, and just as
pretty as any picture of an angel that you ever looked at.
She is a mystery if ever there was one. Where she come
from no One knows—whether she dropped from the
skies or flew there I can’ttell. But she is there, for I’ve
seen her by night and by day, and heard her talk and
sing—so I know she is real and not a ghost.”
“How long has she been there ?”?

“Cowards—show him the way back, and beware how
you trouble me again!’ he hissed.

“Whois that young fellow whoso boldly takes your
side?’ asked the officer.

Ralph was about to answer, but the old man signed to
him to be still as: he said:

‘“Heis one whois man enough toside with the weak
against thestrong. Thatis enough for youtoknow. He

close stamp.. H. G. DEAN, New Bedford, Mass. w7-52t
PER DAY. Agents wanted! All classes

oe: 49 »s>i

i) TO $ 2) of working people, of sex, young or Having secured, in addition to my Star Dramatic Company,
old, make more money at work for us in their moments, or | ty. of the most famous, daring and celebrated Scouts of the
all the time, than at anything else. Particulars free. Address] \\ st, the heroic guide and the great hunter, “Dashing Charlie,”
G. Strxsox & Co., Portland, Maine. w4-52t eagle: wy U. e Saree scout, and si eee see Se

y MADE > ¥ w s) “ila ~~ | er and Indian ghter, Arizona Frank, fresh from the Apache
MON ih eee ee eee a nee nok aati Warpath, I have also at an immense expense succeeded in en-
paticulars of the business FREE. S, M. SpENcER, Brattleboro, Vt.

    

 

aw Acai adit,”

gaging P. Tf. Barnum’s Troupe of Wild Comanche and Kiowa In-
dians, for my full Fall, Winter and Spring Season, as well as my

  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 

 

| i last year saved me the time and expense of that long journey. Iap- | has done r rhi er" er Vy +f “J don’t know! It is-only a little while si I've k
: ; -52 > ; : var : - 5 u 10 act Which were you an oO on ¥. e while since I’ve knewn
- i wit-52t aera eee a ean ee in OS ae Pen ee to him, sgh his ee nents pee 4 e result has pee of}at. He has raised no ted fg enn ag eee ae of her being there!’’
! 4 ; Boys and gitls to sell Landscape Chromos at | Uacqualed combination of talent, grace, rare originality, and the | the highest satisfaction. And now, with My experience from | \,; . Saat ae, . ’ “e } : oe:
I WA N home. Sell like hoteakes, ‘Iwo gem Chro- | Wild heroes and beauties of the forest, mountain and border, will | trusses and rupture, I feel it my duty'to hu to recommend | Will not, for thereisno need. But he would not stand Well 1’ll soon find out who she is, and what she is de

ing there. You shall give me all the points and help me
to Gisgutse myself, for 1’ll visit that cabin before I’m a day
older!

side by side with such hounds asyouare. Not hounds,
but curs, 1 should.term ye. Again I say begone.”’
‘Hank, if yousay the word we'll go in and show the

go before the American people in all the leading theaters West,
South, East and North, at popular prices only. It is an exhibi-
tion of dramatic strength, moral, refined, yet strange and won-
derful, unequaled in the wide world. Routes continually an-

o hopes for a

Dr. Sherman’s system of treatment to ever,
. SAWYER.

sound body.
West PoInt, Calaveras Co., Cal., dug.
Mr. Sawyer is an old subscriber of ours

mos and 32-page catalogue free. J. JAY GOULD, ee teat
8-13t

 

 

 

 

‘SOMETHING EVERYBODY WANT ongratulate

 

 

 

SAMPLES FREE. AGENTS WANTED.
Address BARBER BROTHERS, Port Byron, Ili.

THE AMERICAN FISTIANA,

Showing the progress ot Pugilism in the United States. Em-
bracing all the particulars and all the rounds of every fight of
which there is positive record from 1816 to 1873. One large Octa-
vo Volume of 160 pages, closely printed. Price Fifty Cents. Copies
mailed, postage paid, on receipt of price, to any part of the
Wnited States or the Canadas by ROBERT M. DEWITT, Pub-
lisher, No. 33 Rose street, New York. w46-2t

OW ’EIS DONE, OR THE SECRET OUT.—
Mustache and Whiskers in 42 days, Remedy sent post-
paid for 50c. Address JOHN F. AYERS, M. D., Boston, Mass.
sy46-2t

SEND CASH LN ADVANCE 10 FEMALE AGENTS, to pay for
easy labor at home that will not interfere with other duties;
one wanted in every county. Ihave nothing for sale. A. V.

HARDINBURGH, Jersey Vity, N. J. w44-4t

Ay iJQ—A BEAvCTI-
VENETIAN W ARBLER Fun LITTLE
GEM, with which any one can imitate perfectly the songs and
notes of all the different birds. The Canary, Thrush, Nightin.
gale, Lark, Mocking Bird, etc. The neigh of a Horse, a grunt ot
a Hog, or other animals. Birds and Beasts enchanted and en-
trapped by its wonderful imitations. Ventriloquism learned and
a world of fun produced by its use. Mailed postpaid for 25 cqnts;,
five tor $1; or twelve for $2. Address O. T. MARTIN, P. O.fBox
90, Hoboken, N. J. w4d Se
=7) FO S160 PER WEEK guaranteed to intelligent
$5U and industrjous persous, of either sex, to act as our
Agents. Business very pleasant. Address Tae WESTERN ART
ASSOCIATION, Chicago, Il. wit-4t

SKIN DISEASES A SPECIALTY.

Dre. J. M. VANDYKE, Graduate of the University of Pennsyl-
vania, is the only regular physician that makes the treatment of
Skin Diseases a specialty. Those who wish Lo consult him either
in te or by letter, will find him to be first-class in his spe-
cialty.

wv46-4t.

 

 

 

 

 

Skin Diseases and their Symptoms.

AONE, (PIMPLES, BLACKHEADS).—Symptoms—Hard, small pim-
rg with black points; affect the forehead; checks and nose of

th sexes. :

EczEMA (TETTER).—Symptoms—Blisters form, which burst and
dry into a yellowish or dark crust, maybe in the formrof scales;
affects all parts of the body.

Women’s RED RASH OF THE Face.—Symptoms—Congestion of
the skin of the face, with red patches and red spots, pimples and
roughness of the skin. ‘ F

BARBER’S ITcH.—Symptoms—First, a red, itchy patch is seen,
mattery pustules form, become quite hard, and shaving becomes
painful. A burning sensation is present} ‘

PRURIGO, (INTENSE ITCHING), which begins when the clothing
is removed; increased by the warmth of the bed. No eruption
except that produced by scratching. ‘

The above and all Skin Diseases cured by

Dr. J. M. VAN DYKE
New York Office, No. 6 West Sixteenth street.
Philadelphia Office, 1,126 Wainut street.

The Doctor can be consulted either by letter or iu person at

either office. w44-6t

GRANDES SCHEME EVER KNOWN,
Fourth Grand Gift Concert

FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE

Public Library of Kentucky.

12,000 CASH GIFTS $1,500,000,
$250,000 for $50.

The Fourth Grand Gift Concert authorized by special act of the

Levislature for the benefit of the Public Library of Kentucky,
will take place in Public Library Hall, at Louisville, Ky.,

Wednesday, December 3, 1873.

Only Sixty thousand tickets will be sold. The tickets are di-
vided into ten coupons or parts.

Atthis concert, which will be the grandest musical display
ever witnessed in this country, the unprecedented sum of

$1,500,000,

divided into 12,000 cash gifts, will be distributed by lot among the
ticket-hoiders.

LIST OF GIFTS:

ONE GRAND CASH GIFT......-... ssccceeercces 290,600
ONE GRAND CASH GIFT......... 00.000

  

ONE GRAND CASH GIFT... e.ccccc cca Rh .") ~50j000

HE GEE) CASEY GINO... ve hachaw ates -axhanaviss 25,000

GONE GRAND CASH GIPT. <i. on ccocs ste cukcots Qa 17°500
10 CASH GIFTS $10,000 each ........eceesee ere ...) 4003000
30 CASH GIFTS 45

50 GASH GLETS

$0 CASH GIFTS
100 CASH GIFTS
150 CASH GIFTS
250 CASH GIFTS
325 CASH GIFTS
11,000 CASH GIFTS

TOTAL, 12,000 GIFTS, ALL CASH, amounting to..$1,500,000

The distribution will be positive, whether all the tickets are
sold on and the 12,000 gifts all paid in proportion to the tick-
ets sold.

PRICE OF TICKETS:

Whole. tickets $50; Halves $25; Tenths, or each Coupon, $5;
Eleven Whole Tickets for $500; 22 1-2 Tickets for $1,000; 113 Whole
Tickets for 5,000; 227 Whole Tickets for $10,000. No discount on
less than $500 worth ef Tickets at a time.

Full particulars may be learned from circulars, which will be
sent free from this office to all who apply for them.

Tickets now ready for sale, and all orders accompanied by the
money promptly filled, Liberal terms given to those who buy
to sell again.

THOS. E. BRAMLETTE,
Agent Publ. Libr. Ky., and Manager Gift Concert,
Public Library Building, Louisville, Ky.

 

_Or THOS. H. HAYS 609 Broadway, N. Y,

PERPETUAL BEAUTY.
Every lady has been wanting for years a toilet preparation in
which she could place confidence and use without fear of injur-
ing health. The recent analysis made by the Metropolitan Board
of Health has proven that GEO. W. LAIRD’S “BLOOM OF
YOUTH is entirely free from anything detrimental to health or
injurious to the skin. It can be used withont showing the slight-
est trace of its use. Willleaye the skin soft, smooth and deli-
cately beantiful. Sold at all drnggists’ and fancy goods stores.

 

 

 

 

 

BE CAREFUL
of your feeth—upon their health your liealth depends. Fragrant

Sozodont invigorates the nerves that keeps them alive, prevents

 

 

nounced in the columns of this paper. Every

1

Col. EK, Z.

entertainments and shock sensibilities.

Agent.

rson in this or-
ganization is free from intemperate habits, which so often mar

SON, Manager and Proprietor. CHARLES MELVILLE, Business
; w48-

  
 

him on his success, rupture being the most

of all affiic-
tions. ,

 

 

 

S10 A DAW and expenses to good Agents. Address
{ BOWEN & CO., Marion, Ohio. w48-4t

 

PROM. WISK'S BOO

“THROUGH THE AIRY’ Forty years’ adventure in
Complete history of Balloons, and how to make and
Full of Thrilling Incidents and Hairbreadth
Escapes. Life of author. The most interesting and exciting volume

the clouds.
manage them.

ever issued. Profusely Illustrated.
SURE TO SELL BEYOND PRECEDENT!
Agents should send one dollar for outfit. Address
TO-DAY PUBLISHING CO.,
w48-1t Philadelphia, New York, Boston, or Chicago.

B le Bill,
arnacié Dili,
By Ned Buntline.

[‘‘Barnacle Bill” was commenced in No. 38. Back numbers can

be obtained of any News Agent in the United States. ]

CHAPTER XXXI.

“T shall need it, and more, too, before I am done, but
don’t fear that Vil flinch now!) said Ralph. ‘My hand is
in, and Vil not turn back if the foul fend himself came up
from the bottom!”

 

ARDS.—Your name neatly printed on 50 of those nice Bris-
( Address, GEO. B. DONAVIN, Delaware, O.

tol Cards for 50c.

“Thowrt a brave and a good lad, and there’s a brave
fortune before you yet,” said the old man. ‘I think I see

 

A. J. BICKNELL & CO., Agricultural Book Publish-
© ers, 27 Warren street, New York, publish and send, charges
and Constructive Archi-
es a t
ment, $12; Supplement to Village Buiider, -- Faq?

$5; Cumming’s and Miller’s Architecture, $10; Loth’s Practical and toour work, Jad x
Catalogue mailed to

paid, on receipt of price: Detail, Cottage
tecture, $10; Wither’s Church Architecture,
ase Builder and Sa;

Stair Builder, $10; Croff’s Front Doors, $5.

any address. w48-1t

thee master of broad acres, with a castle for thy home and
a lovely woman {oy thy wyiel’? «

‘Hush! hush. . If that pretty Rose be not my wife,
woman will ever call me husband!”

“Well—I did not,gainsay thaj. But come—to the boat

no

Barnacle Bill, now spoke to Isadora, and she brought

 

LOOK! LOOK!

BOOK and PAPER

coming out, callec

Best and most successful
Agents, General and Special,
wanted on (1) A new and most
wonderfully taking book, just
“Old Fort

him his lantern and the Wid [rieze coat; which lhe wore
when the air was cliiill. >

Into the pockets of this he thrust two bottles of strong
spirits, and then he started with Ralph by his side.

As they passed further on, the path was narrow and the
descent steep, and there thé old man led the way.

Soon they were down on the narrow ledge in front of the

Duquesne, or Capt ack,
A G EB W I i S hee Scout,” with ye re Ice Caves, and together they launghed the largest boat.
* | notes, and fine illustrations. Unbidden, Ralph went for the grappling irons and rope,

Nee SS
Every book agent should have it.
copies $2, postage paid.
the most beautiful
(our own copyrights.) They sweep whole communities.
from’ $20 to $30, and proof furnished.
agencies given only to thorough workers.

Complete
$3.50. Long distances $4.

Send at once tor samples, circulars and “outfits.”

Address,

 

PEOPLE’S MONTHLY,

w481t Pittsburgh, Pa.
$100 TO 250
our new seven strand White Platina Clothes Lines.

Philadelphia, Pa. w43-13t

Quickest sales—biggest profits.
Selling price $2.50. Saniple
(2) On PEOPLE'S MONTHLY, (Illustrated)
and popular 16-page paper for the Home
published anywhere, with the finest and most attractive chromos.
Even
green agents clear from $10 tu $15 per day, while our best net
State, county and town

“ontfit,’ fully worth $8.00, sent, expressage paid, for

per month guaranteed sure
to Agentseverywhere selling
Sells readily
at every house. Samples free. Address the GrRARD WiRx MILLs,

for he was determined to go through with his task, dread-
ful as it was, more manfuily this night than he had dane
before, Hehad faithin the words of Barnacle Bill—it
should be the last job he would ever undertake in the Ten
Fathom Hole.

Soon they were ready, and Ralph took his oar and push-
ed the bow of the boatclear, with a strong arm. He hadjust
joined the old man in a long pull at one of the bottles. His
temperate habits were fast deserting him. No matter how
strong in virtue, if this continued, it would not take long
to make him forget other good resolutions under the in-
fluence of the drink. ; ;

It was very dark, and the lantern set down in the stern
of the boat threw a ghastly light on their faces as they
looked at each other.

They rode out a way, and then the old man tested the
depth of the water with a small sounding lead.

“We're over the Hole,” he said. ‘Ralph, you canscull
now and I’ll do the heavy work.”’ ;

 

Oo made by Agents in their spare moments
selling our 32 new articles. Send 25c.for samples.

Catalogue tree. AMERICAN NOVELTY Co., 302 Broadway, N. Y.

Ralph took his post without a word, and then the old
man threw out his grappling hooks,
Soon he cried out:

 

RUPTURE

CURED by Dr. Sherman’s Patent Appliance and Rupture Cura-
tive, without the injury experienced from the use oftrusses. Pam-
phiets illustrating bad cases of Rupture, before and after cure,
with other information of interest to the Ruptured, mailed on

ddress
Dr. J. A, SHERMAN,
697 Broadway, New York.

receipt of tencents. A
w48-1t

“Easy, with the oar—I’m fast to something!”

As before he hauled slowly in and soon another ghastly
body lay wet and stark in the bottom of the boat.

And then he worked on until five more lay in the boat
—one of these @ Woman, young and fair.

“Qh, Heaven—had my Rose been here!’’ groaned Ralph,
as his eyes fell upon the woman with her hair, long and
dark, hanging over her face and breast.

Then, as the old man bade him, he turned and sculled
the boat toward the shore.

 

he Greatest Pain Reliever in the World is
established over 26 years.
to give satisfaction, and
not one returned, so that the term humbug cannot be applied to
it. Itis perfectly innocent to take internally, (see oath on the

4 when first taken, Cholera,
Croup, Colic, and Sea Sickness, and ex-
ternally, Chronic Riieumatism, Sore Throat, Mumps, Old Sores,

Dr. Tobias’s Venetian Liniment,
Every bottle sold has been warranted

pamphiet), it is warranted to cure,

Diarrhoea, Dysentery,

Sprains, Bruises, &c. : i
? wd At f 7 DEPOT, 10 PARK PLACE, NEW YORK.

“J ghall look for no more—never again!’’ said Barnacle
Bill, as he took another draught from the bottle, and then
handedit to Ralph, who rested at his oar while he took a
heavy draught himself. ‘‘Thisnight’s work on the water
is my last, ifa thousand wrecks tumble in upon us!”

“1m glad to hear you say it!) said Ralph. ‘‘I’d like to
get rich, but not this way!”

“You'll be rich, lad, never fear—you’ll be rich in gold
and in love too—but it will be when I’m gone. That will

 

He MANAGERS

street, Chicago, Ill.

STOPIT ! STOP WHAT?
THAT JUMPING TOOTH.
*Stopit’’ does it every time. i
A@Ask your Druggist for it and take ne sub-¢
stitute. JOHN F. HENRY, General Agent
NY ¥.

 

of the GREAT CRYSTAL

PA LACK, now building, have decided to send a beautt-

ful Steel Engraving of the same on receipt of ten cents to pay post-

age. Address BULLETIN PRINTING CO., 132 and 134 a
WwW -

 

be right soontoo, I’m thinking, for I feel achill at my
heart which tells me, all too well, that my death-storm is
foregathering now!”

‘Don’t talk 80, please—don't talk so!’’ said Ralph, ner-
vously.

sJ feel it. Why should I be coward enough to try to
shake it off. It is like the chill which sametimes comes to
usin the airofa bright summerday. We see no cloud,
we hearno thunder, but by the feel of the air we know
the storm is close at hand!”’ %
Ralph sighed and glanced away up the hills, As he did

 

Away with Cosmetics!

Abandon all washes ad lotions for the complexion. They are
Remove the cause of spots,
pimples, morphew, and other external disfigurements, by re-

doses of Stafford’s
which at once tone the
They are the finest combi-

always either useless or dangerous.
moving the inward cause with a few
Iron and Sulphur Powders,
stomach and disinfeet the vital fluid.
nation that the world has ever known
Sold by Druggists. 1 Package, 12
Powders, $5. Mailed Free.
street, N. ¥.

Powders, $1; 6 Packages, 72
HALL & RUCKEL, 213 Greenwich

so, he cried with startling energy:

“Look—look, there are lights on the hilll’?

“Ay, death-lights may be!’’ said the old man, carelessly,
not even raising his head.

“No, no—they move up and down—they swing to and
fro. Men are up there carrying lanterns!’ cried Ralph.
The old man rose in the boat, and turning looked
whither Ralph pointed.

“Thourt right, lad!’? he answered, nervous now him-
self. ‘What can men be doing on the hill with lights at

 

Glass Cards.

Immense Success. 25,850 Sold last week.

Your Name
aid.
Particulars and Com-
Will send for trial samples and fall particulars,

i Write
o competition in this busi-

RED, WHITE, BLUE, Clear and_ Transparent.
beautifully printed in GOLD, on 1 doz. for 50 cts., post
3 doz. $l. Must have Agents everywhere.
plete Outfits 25c.
with which at least $25.00 can be easily made for 10 cents,
to-day Sure, and secure territory. )
ness. F. i. SMETH, Bangor, Maine.

this time o’ night, orin the morning, for it lacks but two
hours to-day now ???

“J don’t Know, norcan 7 dream why they are there. The
lights seem to have passed where our cabin stands, and
to be on the path that leads up to your place.”

“Ay, thow’rt right. Some intruders bent on mischief.
They'll find no entrance while bolt and bar holds, for Isa-
dora is brave and faithful. Haste, lad—haste to the shore
and Jet us get these into the ice-caves. Then I'}l not be
jong in finding out who and what they are, and their er-
rand too, while you hie back to your mother’s cabin to see
all safe there!”’

Ralph scuiled faster than ever he had pushed boat be-
fore, and soon he was at the ledge.

 

 

TA MME RING .—New York Stammering Institute, Estab-
fey lished 1870, 107 West 23d st, Professors Mann & Oolvin. No

pay for Board or Services until cured. Send for Circular.
w48-4t

Quickly the two strong men carried the ghastly cargo
into the caverns of ice, and then the grappling-irons were
hidden, and the boat turned over in its usual resting place.

Extinguishing his lantern, the old man turned to Ralph

 

2 Calling Cards,

Very Nobby, in Three Tints and Gold
Address J. B. Husted, Nassau, N. Y.

and again bade him hurry home and stay there till he
came after him, and then he turned up the cliff by the nar-
row path which led to the hut,

 

 

Letters, sent for 2Uc.
E¢
Eggs to keep.

w48-2t.

Send.50 ets. to F, H. A., Cleveland, Ohio.

GS.—To tell if an egg will hatch, and the sex, To pack

“Shall I not go to help you?! asked Ralph.
“No! said the old man, with asirange and almost a
gavagelaugh. “The devil will help me if I have need!"

 

 

Devoted entir:ly to Stories for Boys an
No Nonsense; 13 pages reading, 3 pages p
Every Week. Price Scts.—S2.50 per year.
Newsdealers,
Publisher, 12:2 Washington st. or Box

ures.
Sold b

336, Boston, Mass.

E COPY!

BUY O >
FOR SALE BY NEWSDEALERS.

Girls. Contains
Published

all
Send 10 cts. for non to C. F. RICHARDS,

Ralph shuddered at his words, and looked up again to-
ward the hut.

He saw that the lights were now stationary, as if those
who bore them had reached the hut and were holding a
parley outside.

The old man was already out of hearing, and Ralph,
anxious lest his own home lad been, or would be, dis-
turbed, started for it at a rapid pace.

He had almost got there when something impelled him
to look again toward the hut. He saw a bright, glaring
blaze, as if a bonfire had been raised, and between it

 

PICTURES & FRAMES, all kinds, of G.
E. PERINE, Publisher, 66 Reade st., N. Y., at whole-

and him, distinctly the tall, gaunt form of Barnacle Bill,
with his arms up-raised as if he was cursing a group o!

 

 

old wolf what we ave, despite his proud words,” said the
other stranger, who till now had kept aloof.

“Hank will not say the word,” said the old man, cock-
ing both barrels of his gun.

And Hank did not. Forhesaw ‘shoot’ in those gray,
piercing eyes and he did not feel like receiving a bullet, as
he would most likely do if he offered to advance.

‘7 will show my authority to the magistrate, andif that
will not give mea warrant lll get help from the com-
mander of the cutter in the harbor,’’ he said, as he turned
away. ;

“Hatha! The commander of the cutter has seen some
of our hillside justice,’ he cried. ‘‘His eyes are drapedin
mourning now because he tried to invade the sanctity of
athreshold. Try him and see what good ‘twill do you.”’
“Thank you, I will; andif he shrinks from helping me
at my demand his commission will be worth the paper it
is written on and no more.”

With this threat the man started at the head of his dis-

comfited party, and soon Ralph, Barnacle Bill and Isa-
dora stood alone on the hillside.

The bonfire, built from some of the old man’s spare fuel,
had burned low, but it was yet flashing up now and then
when the party left.

“Ralph, lad, I bade thee go home and stay there till I
called thee away,” said the old man. “Why do you want

 

 

 

 

 

to get mixed up in my troubles?”

“J saw by the light of the fire that they were crowding
on you, and I couldn’t stand stillandseeit. You’ve been
kind to me and mine, and I’m not one to forget it!”

“You're a good lad, Ralph and I'll mot forget you. But
go home now—you see all is quiet here again—go home
and get a little sleep. When you see a flag on my signal
post, come up again—for I'll be up and ready to finish my
yarn. When that is told, Ihave something else to tellyou
and a will to make—to make so:strong, no law can break
it,??

“T’}L look for the signal!’? said Ralph. ‘And I'll come
when it flies, to please and serve you, but not for what I
can make. I’m poorI know, but I’m not hungering or
grasping for what others own. Iam strong and able to
work and willing too.”

“T know it, lad, and that makes me the more willing to
help you. Itis only the lazy and worthless, who will not
help themselves, that will find Barnacle Bill holding back
his helping hand. Such don’t deserve help, and it is sel-
dom they getit. Now go, good lad—go aud get some
sleep!"? .

Ralph obeyed. ed
; CHAPTER XXXII.

The man who represented himself to be an officer, had
told the truth. Heand his companion belonged to the
Secret or Detective Police of the largest city on the coast
of that part of the Dominion, and they had been sent to
investigate the foundation of strange rumors which had
reached the ears of the authorities there in regard to
vessels having been drawn on shore by false lights, rob-
beries of cargoes, and bodies, and other criminal matters.
But having no one man pointed out before leaving, or any
charge made specially, they did not come with warrants
to arrest or even to search.

The man ¢ealled by the other, Hank, on his return to the
town, called on the only magistrate there, and related to
him what had occured before the Hut on Devil’s Peak,
and asked for a search warrant.

“He is a bad man, that Barnacle Bill, no doubt,’ said
the magistrate, cautiously. ‘‘But we can’t prove anything
against him—no one ever could. Itis all talk, and the
Jaw doesn’t issue warrants on town-talk. He is rich—we
have proof of that, for he owns half of the houses here and
two-thirds of the boats. He could turn half the people out
houseless if he liked, and as many out of employment if
he took it into his cross head to doit. So yousee he had
better be let alonel’?

“] don't see itin that light!’ said the officer. “I've
come down here to unearth iniquity, and I’ll not go back
tillitis done. You’ve heard of vessels wrecked by means
of false lights on this coast, haven’t you?’

“Dye heard such talk. But who is to prove it?”

“Well see. You've heard of bodies being robbed, have
you not?’ i

“Yes—and to that I have the same answer!”

“You say this man, called Barnacle Bill, which is most-
like an assumed, and a false name, is rich!’?

“Yes in lands, tenements and vessels, beside which re-
port says he has no end of money and gold and silver
plate up in the Hut on Devil’s Peak where he lives!”

“])]} soon learn the truth of that, and how he came by
it,? said the man, testily. “He can’t keep guard on his
den all the time. Do you refuse to give me a search-war-
rant?’

“Yes; I have no cause to give it.
theft of his, can you?”

“No.”

“Phen I would provoke his enmity for nothing.’

“Allright. But mark you, I’ll get help elsewhere, and
you'll see it; and when l’ve got this sea-wolf of yours
caged, you’ll be sorry you didn’t lend a helping hand.”?

The detective and his partner left, and went to break-
fast at the tavern. Here, through some accidental talk,
they heard of the two men who had been wrecked. Hard-
ly waiting to finish his breakfast the older and more ac-
tive of the two officers sought an interview with these

You can swear to no

men.

At first they refused to be seen at all; buf when he in-
sisted on their receiving his visit, he found that only one
spoke English, and that, for some strange reason, he
would say nothing whatever about the wreck, No threat
or offer of reward would open his mouth on the subject,
and the detective, foiled, sought to learn what reason
there was for this singular reticence. ‘

He learned that Barnacle Bill only the night before had
been closeted with these men for over two hours, convers-
ing with them in their own tongue.

“The mystery deepens more and more; but I'll get to
the bottom of it before I’m done,’? he muttered, as he
moyed out of the, house, to try yet another plan of proce-
dure.

Going down to the pier, he hired a boat to take him
and his partner off to the cutter.

There he felt sure he would receive what assistance he
required. He had heard that the officer had had some
trouble with Barnacle Bill on shore, and surely he would
only be too glad to get even with him.

The detective found the cutter ready to go to sea, and
her commanding officer an invalid in bed. He had not
recovered from the fearful blows received at the hands of
Ralph Triplet, sufficiently to sit up, His eyes, black and
swollen, could hardly see his visitor, and he listened to
what he had to say impatiently.

“The old man is a devil incarnate!’ he said, speaking of
Barnacle Bill; ‘‘and the young one is about as bad. I nev-
er met the like of them. It was folly in me to tackle them,
and I got paid for it as you can see.”

“You got rough handling for a Queen’s officer to lie down
tamely under,’? said the detective. “Give me a dozen

“You'd better not try it when Ralph is there. He strikes
as vicious as an old harpoonerat aright whale. Look at
my head. Speculateonmy eyes. and he polished ofthe
captain of the cutter just the same way!”

‘‘Yes—l’ve seen him. Theyoung fellow must be smart
with his muscle. But cold iron on his wrisis will stiffen
thatina hurry. Where do you live?’

“Up town in one of Barnacle Bill’s shelis. Ifhe knows
I’m in with you I’ll be out of house-room mighty sudden!”

“He need not knowit. I'll stay at the tavern by day,
and see you only there except at night, when I can meet
youanywhere. You know’all about the piace and every-
body in it, I suppese ??? 4

“Yes—that is about all Ido know. If I knew as much
about my own business as I'do about other people’s, I’d
be well off to-day!"’

“You are just the manI want. You can earn ten gold-
en sovereigus if you work up to my interest.”’

“Ginger and snake root. Ten sovereigns. I’m your
man to have and to-hold.for that. Ten sovereigns in gold
—why it is more than Tever handledin my lifel What
shall £ do first?’

. “Just slip away from here qnietiy, and don’t let onto
anybody that you know me atallh By the way where do
you live? I asked you before!’

“In that wood-colored one-story house up at the turn of
the street, with the chimney on @ lean to the nor-wesf.
The foundation has settled, and it will go over some day!”

“Allright. Should a pack-peddler knock at your door
dnring the day admit him.”

‘A pack-peddier? I haven't any money to trade witht”

“Here is a pound note. You can use that. Mind now,
if a pack-peddler comes to your house, admit him and see
that you are alone when he comes. Ifyou are not, send
any one out that is there, for the peddler will want to see
you and taik to you alone!”? .

“Oh, yes—I begin to seeinto it. You'll be the peddlert’®
said Carrigan, as he grasped the pound note eagerly.

“No matter who he is he'll have business with you. Se
look out for him. And now move on, for theless we’re
seen together the better we tan work when working-time
comes!’?

Carrigan turned, grasping his pound note firmly as if he
feared it would fly away or be recalled, and hurried to-
ward the hovel which he called a house.

The officer, slowly and thoughtfully went up town, and
stopping in at the store made quite a large purchase of
dry goods, handkerchiefs,. gloves, needles, pins and other
hotions, and ended his-trade by erdering a piece of bed-
ticking large enough to cover a Mattrass.

These he paid for and: ordered: sent to his room at the
tavern.

|TO BE CONTINUED. |

—_—_—_——>-@~

Frew American authors have achieved such rapid popu-
larity as Mrs. May AGNES, FLEMING, whose recent nevel,
“Guy Eariscourt’s Wife,’ has. already reached its ninth
edition. Her new book, “A. Wonderful Woman,’ will be
published in a few days, and willbe for sale by our Pur-
chasing Agency. Price $1 75.

Next Week—Story of Border Life.

The Forest King;

OR, THE
DEATH SHADOW OF THE MIAMI.

By Duke Cuyler.

 

 

 

 

 

Such is the title of a new story of Backwoods Life,
which will be commeneed in the next number of the

New York Weekly.

It is written by a favorite contributor, and we can as-
sure our readers that they have a treatin store for them,
such as is not every day presented for their perusal.

In the character of THE. FOREST KING they will indeed
finda

MONARCH OF THE WILDERNESS,
one of those men that the stirring realities of the times
raise to a prominence above his fellows in their
STRUGGLE FOR DOMINION AND LIFE

along the Western Border. In the character of

JUSTIN LITCH, THE RENEGADE,
the author gives a bold and life-like portraiture of a des-
perate villain, the heartless foe of RurH LEZ and her
family; but the

DEATH SHADOW OF Thx WITAME
is ever upon and about him and his savage allies, thwart-
ing them at every step, in spite of their deep-laid plans. of
Villainy.

The injured Indian maiden, Moastneé STAR, and her
sister, BENDING WILLOW, play prominent parts im the:
story, in which also figure Big ix and the young chief,

SPRINGING Yr ANTHER.

Our readers may rest assured that the author has done
his best to produce a deeply interesting story, and that
this will be their verdict also we have no doubt, Those
who read “The Wood Giaut,”? by the same author, will
need no urging to follow

THE FOREST KING

in the various scenes incident to the fulfillment of

THE TERRIBLE VOW

made over the ruins of his home and the dead bodies of

 

 

 

his loved ones.
Let our great army of readers be on the lookout for this

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘

| truthful picture of the perils and escapes of frontier Ife.
|

i

| armed men, with orders to obey me in every particular, or '
The ‘Forest King” will be eommencea next week.

' yud I will get you glorious satisfaction.”

men who stood between him and his hut. :
The blaze was strong and Glear, sO that it lighted up

 

1
EB i) sale prices. Send for catalogues,
’ w46-4t

incrustations on the enamel, and is a3 wholesome as water. ,

 

 

 

    

 
 

V®

 

  

 

 

ae

 

NEW YORK, OCTOBER 6, 1873.

 

ee

The Terms to Subscribers:

 

 

LDAP LOLI

  

One month .. ..25 cts, | One Year—Single Copy....$3 00
Two months ..50 cts. | One Year—Two Copies..... 5 00
Three month .-76 cts. | One Year—Four Copies,... 10 00
Four mouths...... eseseee $1 00} One Year—Eight Copies... 20 00

 

 

 

REACHING AFTER THE PEOPLE.

BY REV, ALFRED TAYLOR.

 

 

The old story of the deacon, who thought it was
easy work to preach, and who therefore wanted to
economize on the minister’s salary, is familiar to al-
most all good people. é
acquaintance with the realities of the work his pas-
tor had to do, he declared his willingness to preach
for nothing, so as to save the congregation the two
or three hundred dollars-they had been lavishing on
the support of the minister. Right bravely did the
deacon get along in his first effort at pulpiteering,
as far as the work of announcing his text. But just
at that point he stuck fast. After taking several
drinks of water (as he had seen people do who knew
how to preach), and violently clearing his throat till
he seemed in danger of heaving his lungs out at the
conzrecation, he exclaimed, with red face and sweat.
ing brow:

“If there’s any of you inthis here congregation
what thinks as how preachin’s easy work, why jist
come up here and try for yourselves. I’m done!”

It looks like easy work to reach the people, but
really it is a matter involving the most delicate
judgment, thé most earnest oratory, the most skill-
ful handling of human nature, and the soundest and
most practical common sense.. The mere iteration
of set phrases, however orthodox in sentiment or
rhetorically faultless in utterance, will not reach the
hearts of the multitude. It may reach the heads of
a few cultured people, well trained in church-going
habits, who, after giving courteous attention to an
hour’s exercise of this character, praise the preacher,
and compliment the decorous style of his utterances,
but are hopelessly unable to give any account of
what they had listened to.

The preacher who thinks that all his hearers are
cast in one mold, and who deals with them accord-
ingly, akes a mighty blunder. *

A congregation of a thousand people is not the
mere filling of a thousand pew seats. There are
greater diilerences among them as regards their
mental and spiritual experiences and necessities
than in the matters of personal beauty or ugliness,
and of dress. It is not only that the rich and the
poor meet together, or the old and the young. The
differences between the, sinner and the righteous
may seem to be distinctly made out in the mind of
aman who reads his audience a homily on ‘“‘the ex-
ceeding sinfulness of sin.” But there are subtle
shades of difference on each side of the boundary
line between godliness and ungodliness, requiring
thorough understanding and careful treatment. A
hearer of the Word who, not being a professing
church member, hears himself denounced on that
account, by a preacher, as an unpenitent sinner, in
the gall of bitterness and the bond of iniquity, feels
like going out of church and not coming back any
more. To him the preacher is devoid otf attraction
and powerless to convince or convert. He consid-
ers it unprofitable business to invest his time in at-
tendance ona ministry which is 80 unwelcome to
him. We may criticise such a hearer for his appar-
ent hardness of heart in absenting himself from di-
vine service, but we do better to make it pleasant
for him to come. Without making any discount
from the faithfulness and plainness with which gos-
pel truth is spoken, we can still put it so delightfully
at the people, that they will be attracted to sit un-
der the sound of it, rather than be driven away by a
needlessly austere method in its presentation.

Jesus Christ compared reaching after men witha
view to getting into the kingdom of heaven to the
casting of a net into the sea, which gathered samples
of all manner of fish.

The collection of people we take into our gospel
net isnot more miscellaneous than the fisherman’s
catch. The fish net hauls in black-fish, and porgy
and dog-fish, and sheeps-head, with an occasion
horse-mackerel, or rock-fish, or flounder; and often
the varied companionship is still farther diversified by
the presence ofa young shark, which has gone astray
from its parents and been entrapped: Finding it-
self in an embarrassed position, and amid unfamil-
iar and uncongenial company, shark cares not wheth-
er he wounds his fellow prisoners with his sharp
fins or passes them by peacefully. But, looking
sedulously and strictly to the interests of number
one, he elbows his way violently through the living
mass of struggling scaliness and sometimes breaks
the net in pushing his way out.

Not less diverse than porpoise and clam, or than
shark and angel-fish, in character, disposition, and
behavior, are the people to whom we preach, and
over whom we hope to acquire such an influence as
will be to their advantage, both for this world and
the werld tocome. The uniformly good clothes,
worn by the congregation of average respectability,
cover hearts beating with pangs of unspeakable sor-
row as well as hearts that are calm with holy joy
and assured faith in God. Under the broadcloth of
yonder paterfamilias in the middle aisle beats the
burden of the management of an immense manufac-
turing concern, whose paper is on the verge of going
to protest. He needs a word of comfort from the
pulpit fully as much as does the “poor sinner”
whose boots need half soling, and whose ragged
coat sleeves need patching to such an extent as to
keep him entirely outside of the church. There is
old sister Fuss, strong in her self-righteousness, and
inwardly rejoicing over her having been able to ac-
complish the mighty deeds she has done. Her selt-
complacent spirit needs (or thinks it needs)no word
of comtort or exhortation, but rather something like
‘well done good and faithful servant.” There sits
the young man of business, with his affairs filling
his head and his heart, and some memoranda which
form the basis of his balance sheet, roughly scrib-
bled on the fly leaf of his hymn book. If he loses his
own soul, he must fix up the profit and loss account
as figured in his books. It must be a sermon of rare
eloquence that will compel his attention. In the
choir gallery sits Miss Violetta, the trumpet-toned
alto, proud of her musical gifts, and so deeply smit-
ten with Signor Profundo, the basso, that she has
exhausted the stock of fly leaves from the music
books in writing sweet messages to him. What
style of preaching shall meet her case and reach
her careless heart, or that of the heavy Profundo?
Far away in the back part of the upper gallery, in a
cheap pew, sits poor old Nancy Scroggs, bent and
wrinkled with age, halting and feeble in footstep,
and exceedingly bare of this world’s wealth. She is
one of those good old souls who help the minister
by their very presence, who always enjoy the preach-
ing, and always derive some good from every pul-
pit ministration, however plain or lacking in the
elements which draw a crowd. Aunt Tattle is there,
on time, and in her place, with a smile on her face,
and yenom in her heart. The minister does not
study quite enough to please her highly cultivated
standard. She had two quarters’ schooling in the
eross-roads district school house, when she was a
girl, and knows exactly how preaching is done. But
the hardest, perhaps, of all people in the church to
be reached with the gospel message, is the Honor-
able Mr. Pomp. His pew is the most expensive in
the church. His purse is so ample that when the
church treasury is short, the finance committee seek
relief at his hands, and findit. The result of this
has grown into a sort of moral mortgage on the
church and all its belongings, inhis favor. He can
dictate what shail be done, and in the event of its
being done otherwise than according to his dicta-
tion, he can threaten to shut down on the whole
concern and bankrupt it by withdrawing his aid.

But if the congregation presents such diverse
features of character and circumstances, how is it
with the people whom we have never reached with
the gospel at all? How is it with the poor fellow
who boards in the cheerless house of Mrs. Grab, that
thrifty woman who knows to an ounce the quantity
of mackerei and hash on which each of her boarders
can sustain life?—with no cash to buy Sunday clothes,
and no credit to procure them on trust, he never
sees nor hears a welcome for his seedy shabbiness
in church. He spends the Lord’s day in the loneli-
ness of his upper room, or else yields to the attrac-
tions of heat and good cheer offered at the corner
grocery. The news-boy, the sailor ashore, the pro-
fessional boot-black, the steamboat deck-hand, and
the big-booted and jean-clad agriculturist from the
distant interior, would be saluted with a battery of

In his self-sufficient lack of},

 

staring eyes and wondering mouths if they were to

present themselves at the doors of any of our two
hundred thousand dollar churches for admission.
Neither Pomp, Tattle, Fuss, or Profundo, weuld
fling wide open their pew doors to welcome the
strangers to seats. The trustees would be very
busily engaged consulting about the collection for
the Tongibavoo mission and would not observe the
strangers; and the sexton would suddenly sail down
to the coal cellar to see about promoting the pros-
perity of the furnace fire,

Insiders and outsiders the gospel is for every one
ofthem, Easy enough it is to say that the gospel is
to be preached to everybody. Easy enough it looks
to preach it, But how shall we get everybody to
come to hear it, and how shall we preach it so that
everybody who does come shall receive some
benefit from it ?

—___>-0+-—____

GETTING UP A PICNIC.

In summer time picnics rage.

We have no reliable data to inform us in what year of
our Lord they came into existence, and the name of the
wretch who invented them is lost to history.

Just now. fresh as we are from helping get up several
of these enjoyable(?) entertainments, we feel inclined to

 

the belief that whoever the man aforesaid was, hanging

was too good for him.

Schools doat on picnics. Sunday schools, too. Like-
wise sewing-societies. Ditto, firemen’s companies and
base-ball clubs. Old maids like them; though why, it
would be difficult to tell. Old bachelors abominate them,
and we don’t know the reason why. Some things are
shrouded in mystery.

In getting up a picnic you always want to set the day
about a fortnight ahead of present time.

Everbody looks in the aJmanac to see what the weather
will be, and where the “sign” is, and how near that in-
teresting epoch inthe world’s history the moon will
“quarter” or ‘‘full,”?

Everybody has some advice to offer and some fault to
find. ir the fixed day is Monday, somebody’s washing
will be.put out of order; if it be Tuesday, somebody has
heard that it always rains Tuesday; and if it be any other
day inthe week, there is some equally weighty objection
urged...

All the women have new dresses to make for themselves
and the children. Each and all wants a new polonaise
pattern and a shirt-waist. Sam’s pantaloons need fixing,
and Tom’s jacket wants to be bound anew. Dick must
aye new shoes, and Polly’s sash isfaded, and Marietta’s
hat trimmings are not fit to be seen.

Mrs. Jones is going to make the sponge-cake, and Mrs.
Brown the marble-cake, and Miss Robinson the pies and
doughnuts; and the beating of eggs and the crashing of
rolling-pins grow fearful. - 7

Of course, every one thinks she has the hardest task, and
there is a great deal of private grumbling over the way the
committee have apportioned the labor. Commitiees, you
know, are always found fault with. ; ‘
_ The important day arrives and it rains. Of course it
does.

It invariably does on days set apart for picnics. A sure
way to break up a drought of long standing is to project
a picnic. It is much more certain and speedy than getting
the minister to pray for rain. i

When the first drops begin to descend, what a wail goes
up to Old Probabilities for prophesying fair weather!

Oh, it is too bad! Dreadful! Such a disappointment!
So sorry!

Mrs. Jones’ sponge-cake will dry up, and Mrs. Brown’s
marble-cake will get too moist, and Miss Robinson’s pies
will sour, and the corned beef will be ropy, and the brown
bread not fit for the pigs, and oh, deary me! the fat will
be in the fire generally!

Rev. Mr. Jenkins, who was to have addressed the com-
pany, is obliged to go away to a protracted meeting. and
cannot be present on any other day; and Peregrine Ever-
green, the poet, who wa have delivered one of his
soul-stirring poems, is always hoarse after a spell of foul
weather, and the poem will be zon esé.

The whole thing is effectually dampened.

And the sorrowing women folks meet together and
lament over it. } ¥

And it is astonishing how all of them knew beforehand
just how it would be. Mrs. Jones ‘‘smeit’’ rain in the air.
Mrs. Jenkins’ rooster had got-on the fence, and crowed
three days before, and that was a sure sign of a change
in the weather. Mrs. Barnes had a pain in her ‘‘rhuma-
tiz,’’ and the soot had fallen down Mrs. Brown’s chimney,
and Perkins’ peacock had screeciied so that the’ whole
neighborhood was disturbed. All sure signs of rain.

After three or four days of rain it clears away. The sun
comes out. Drooping spirits revive.

The bread is steamed over, and the pies and doughnuts
heated up in the oven.

The grove is very damp. The moisture falls off from
the leaves on tO the table. The wind blows so that the
table cloths have to be pinned on, and the vases of flowers
are continually tipping over, and deluging everything in
their vicinity with water.

Annette’s ruffled petticoats are a sight to be seen after
she has swung with her dear Edward; and Sarah Jane’s
new blue muslin has a trimming of dirt a foot wide
around the bottom. All on account of the dampness.

Everybody feels chilly. A general spirit of limpness
pervades the assembly. “ :

The crickets investigate the sacred mysteries of thejelly
cake.

Grasshoppers sit, sagely philosophic, in the cup custards,
Spiders dance jigs on the cold meat, and issue fresh in-
Vitations to the guileless flies ‘‘to walk into my parlor.”

‘Straddie bugs tramp inquisitively over the cream pies,

looking for an opening; and now and then a somber-hued
caterpiller creeps along, and lends his presence Lo the fes-
tive scene.

If it isa school picnic, all the crack scholars speak
pieces, in which allusions to the “starry flag,’ and
‘<Columbia’s banner,”’ are frequent and early.

If isa club picnic, speeches are made, and toasts
flourish.

When the order to table’is given, cheerfulness and
alacrity reign everywhere. Each one is eager for the fray.

The first raid is on the confectionary, which disappears
in a twinkling.

Then the frosted cakes and lemon pies follow suit.

Slower to move off are the plain cakes and the dough-
nuts and the dried apple pies.

The dogs, about a couple of dozen strong, are feasted
on the refuse. They fight over the gristile and stray pieces
of fat meat, and all the most courageous people go at
them with umbrellas and canes.

Then the clearing away of the table takes place. Every-
body gets the dishes of everybody else. The same thing
may be said of the napkins, and of the Knives, forks and
spoons.

Babel, in the nineteenth century, ensues, and at last or-
der comes out of chaos.

Singing is proposed. The children sing. The choir
sing. Everybody sings. Then the choir quarrel over the
next piece to sing, and the soprano insinuates that she
knows of ‘‘some people who can sing alto as well as some
other people,’? and the alto retorts that ‘she knows of
some people who pretend to.sing treble whose voices re-
mind her of a cracked jewsharp,’’ and then the two glare
at each other, and the singing ‘‘falls through.”?

Just as the ciildren get to playing, and swinging, ana
having a good time. generally, thunder is heard in the
distance. Thereisa hurried stampede for waterproofs
and umbrellas. Everybody hunts for her table-cloths
and baskets, and the children all scream for ‘‘ma,’? and
by the time consternation has fairly set in the rain comes
down in bucketfuls.

Muslin dresses are ruined, paper collars collapse, ‘‘nat-
ural’? curls are straightened out frightfully—and woe to
the hapless belle who has sought to enhance her charms
by the use of rouge or pearl powder.

Everybody goes home wet, draggled, dirty, forlorn and
wretched; but the next day they all decide that they had
a “splendid time!’? and they declare they mean te have a
picnic next year which shall beat this one all out and out.

KaTE THORN.

HINTS TO BERGH.

BY THE ‘FAT CONTRIBUTOR.)

 

 

 

Your Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals,
although a good thing so far asit goes, stops quite short
of what it might accomplish. I append a few suggestions
as to the enlargement of its sphere of usefulness:

Eight hours should bea day’s work on a dog-churn,
the dog being allowed one day inthe week to himself.
Let every dog have his day.

Life-preservers for Newfoundland dogs, to guard against
sudden cramps.

Fine and imprisonment for imposing bogus watches on.
watch-dogs. “The watch-dog’s honest bark’! has often
been raised against the swindle,

Discountenance the practice of nicknaming cats of the
masculine gender Tom. It is undignified, and hurts the
feelings of the cats, Call them Thomas.

Easy slippers for snakes, They are manifestly uncom-
fortable ‘‘in boots.’?

Attend to the protection of ants—particularly rich ones
—from their nephews and nieces.

Cushioned toad-stools would be highly appreciated by
the toads after a ‘‘hop.”?

Punish boys who coméupon the frogs suddenly and
make them ‘‘jump.’? Sudden shocks are sometimes fatal
to a nervous organization.

Encourage trout to write poetry.
seen very charming trout lines. You should see the
reel it off. * ;

Rostrums should be built in the ocean at intervals for
whales to ‘spout’? from. This isa want long felt, and
the whales pout about it.

Abolish musKeto bars.
regular at their meals.

Introduce the German language among our schools of
fish.

Administer chloroform to tape-worms before removing
them. No removal for causes purely political.

Pocket-handkerchiefs for crocodiles to wipe away their
tears with.

Aschool in accounts for ‘‘adders,’’ who also multiply
rapidly, although they rarely divide.

Encourage the cultivation of the plum tree, for the com-
fort of that fastidious epicure, the carculio, who can feed
upon nothing else.

Build an inebriate asylum for ‘‘biled owls,’? and others
who get as drunk as they de. :

Badges for hawks, so we can tell one from a hernshaw.

They make the musketoes -ir-

 

I have ia me, and open her heart far enough to buy a new one out-

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH.

At sea—we’re all at sea upon life’s ocean,
And none can boast a never-failing chart—
Sail as we may we'll meet with dread commotion
And hidden shoals to terrify the heart.
The wisest and most prudent at the helm
May in some fatal hour the wrong course take,
But treacherous seas will surely overwhelm
The mariner who laughs at woe and wreck.

We’re all at sea—some favor’d ones, enchanted,
Float peacefully upon the placid tide,

While others with sad doubts and fears are haunted,
And ever on the roughest billows ride.

This difference should not to wonder move us—
Tis true the law we fail to understand,

But then ’twas wisely framed by One above us
Who holds the mighty ocean in His hand.

We’re all at sea! God help that sordid creature
Who grimly gloating o’er his golden hoard,
With avarice making hideous every feature,
Heeds not that dreadful cry, ‘‘Man overboard!”
No rest for him afloat; and when disaster
Shall lay him on the ocean broad a wreck,
The gold which he has worship’d as a master
A fearfui weight shall hang about his neck.
We're all at sea! and ’tis our common duty
To help a fellow sailor in distress;
Hard gained indeed will be that race or booty
To win which leaves on earth one light heart less,
Then let us while we’re sailing on life’s ocean,
Bless’d by soft gales, beneath kind fortune’s star,
Still keep a bright lookout with deep devotion
For those who in their path less favor’d are.

 

MISS SLIMMENS'S WINDOW.

BY MRS. MARK PEABODY.

NUMBER TWO—MISS SLIMMENS HAS HOPES,
Isn’t that old Dr. Greene—yes, it is—coming out of |

She and Queen Victory have run about an equal matc
though I believe she’s beat the queen by this last one; |
yes, this is her ninth. Well, I never thought she’d come |
to that when she and I used to be girls
together—that is, she was a great big,
and I was avery little, girl It used to
make her ag mad as fire when she had ta
tend any her own little sisters and.
often said shehated young
eshe’s got enough of ‘em
es of her not following my
st saying ‘‘No!”? right out
impleton of a malecretur,
me a-sugaring around
nd for the minister.
The pertin of some men is surpris-
in’! If I hadn’t fit and fit againstit, L
might have been seduced into matrimony
myself, and beenin the same fix she is
this blessed minit.

Good Lord! I ought to bethankful for ;
my delivery; i’s bad enouglt bleaching,
and trimming, and making up bunnits
for a living, but it’s not quite so badaas
nine squalling, eating, teasing, worrying
plagues to cook and mend for. The more
1 think on it, the m I thank my stars
thea Stebb le mitten as flat as
I did.

Yes, it’s ano
hear the little
Keep their win
cent people ¥
there’s anythin
squirming, kie

  
  
  
   
  
 
     

 

 
 
 
  
   
  
  
    
    
 

, Sure enough. Do
ell! Iwish they’d h\ \
1ut, distracting de- "
eir hullabaloo. If
rth I hate and despise, it’s a little
, piny-faced, screeching baby. If Thad
that little red thing over-here, I’d use it for a pineushion.

What's tlrat, Clara Brown? “You love the innocent
things, and hope you’ll get married some of these days,
and have one of your own?”

Ugh! I’ve a notion to.turn you out of-my shop, you in-
-delicate, immodest young woman, you! Whiat is the
females of the present day coming to, when a chit of seven-
teen can confess that she ever even thought of{fsuch a thing?
If I ever should be so overcome by persuasion as to con-
sent to share the home of some being of the opposite sex,
I trust that our affections will be of too spirituous a charac-
ter to fulminate in a cradle and a bundle of squalling red
flannel. ;

Hey? I heard that whisper, Dora Adams, You said—
and you needn’t deny it—that if 1 waited much longer,
you guessed there wouldn’t beanydanger. Whatdid you
mean by that? say! what did you mean? If you think
your red curs and your sassy ways is going to excuse im-
pudence to them that empleo you, you’re mistaken; and
you’ve got to tell what you meant by that speech.

“You meant that my beaux would become discouraged,
and be obleeged to court sonmoody else ?”? ,

Oh, that’s not so bad as iifwRight have been if you’d
been saying What doegn’t become you, I suppose you're
Jooking fortard to a chance, ‘@nu miayb¢ you'll get one
when you grow out of looking so dowdy and fat. Your;
cheeks are hke two poppies, and your waist is almost as
big again as it ought to be; if | were in your piace, I’d
drink vinegar. :

There! you needn’t roll them great eyes of yours over
to Clara, aS much as to say ‘iere is plenty of vinegar
about. What did Celestia #xy because she didn’t get her
leghorn last night ? Ae

*‘Almost cried,” hey, aud you ‘felt so sorry for her that

you went to work and finished it?
Another one of your liberties, when you knew that I
left it on purpose to disappoint her. It makes these chits
altogether too selfish and conceited to have all their whims
humored; a little vexation of spirit is good for ’em, once
in a while.

How did I like Stebbins’s hew wife? I’ve no doubt he’s
done as well as an old widower with two young ones
could expect to. I shouldn’t think she was over thirty,
and some folks might think she was good-looking, but her
eyes is too black and sparkly, and her nose is pug, and
she’s too plump to have a particle of style about her.
She’s dreadful blushing and smiiing now, but if them
children don’t see hard times before a year’s gone by,
then Alvira Slimmens isn’t good at guessing.

Stebbins looked as if he’d like to crawl through an
auger-hole when he seen it was me, and he colored up like
a beet when he introduced Mrs. Stebbins. I expect he
saw I was eyeing her mighty sharp, for he kept hitching
about, as uneasy as a fish out of water; but I caiched
them smiling in their sleeves when they thought I didn’t
take notice. I guess she was some poor body, that couldn’t
do any better, for her bunnit was as much as three months
behind the fashion, and her silk gown was a kindof a
slimsy thing,

Did I leave that poetry I was speaking of at the printing-
office, on my way home? s

Mercy sake alive! you’re ruining that piece of satin, you
careless thing! Lay it down, and go and bring me them
satins, and hand me that ruche, and pick up them scraps
off the carpet.

La! Miss Peters's got another baby. As soopn’sI got my
work done, | must dropin and see how she’s getting
along. The poor creture can’t have much life left in her;
and as for him, I don’t see how he contrives to find bread
and butter forso many mouths. D’ve a good notion to
take her over some of my quince-jelly and one of them
young chickens. NoI won’t, neither; I’m so provoked at
her for being such a fool! She'll expect me to hold the
young one, and kiss it, and make afuss over it, when I’d
rather choke the little rat. If ever there was a tor-
ment sent upon earth, it’s children. They’re worse
than the seven plagues of Egypt—no peace, no quiet, no
order where they are—greasing you up, and falling down
and bumping themselves, scratching each other, littering
up the floor, taking the measles, and the chickenpox, and
the scarlet fever, wearing out their clothes, telling tales,
Stealing your sugar and preserves, crying with the

\\
Wl

    

| wracked stranger,

’ | mend it ’an not.
| or stopping at the tavern?

Peters’s? Of course, Sarah Peters’s got another earl
of

  
  
  

 

stomach-ache, taking fits in the night, falling in the creek
and getting drowned, they make a perfect panorama; and |
Ionly wonder their mothers don’t go crazy with insanity.

When there’s any prospects of my having any, the Lord !
deliver me! Miss Peters’s got Mother Lummis to nuss her; |
I see her pass throngh the hall just now. There’s one of ,
the children out in the street; Pll just call her over, and |
find out whether it’s a girl or a boy.

So! you've got a littlesister, have you? Oh! a brother?
Nice little fellow, isn’t he? Here! take this piece of pretty
red silk for your patchwork, and run home, now. Teil
your ma I'll be over to see her before night. I s’pose I
ought to take her something to cheer her up, though I don’t
pity her one bit. If there’s anything that I’m continuaily
and everlastingly thankful about, it is that ve kept out
of such scrapes.

Did you ever! if there ain’t Miss Purson coming across
the road, with that bunnit of hersin a newspaper, as usual.
I’ve altered that bunnit once a year, and trimmed it twice
a year, for the last—well, time out of mind! I do wish
she’d get a new one; I’m tired of that Leghorn bunnit;
it’s like Some people’s tongues—there’s noend toit. The
first time she brought it, it was trimmed with plum-
colored satin ribbin and gold artificials, and I bleached it
for her, and put the same trimmin’s back on. I've sewed
braid on to make it larger, and I’ve took braid off
to make it smaller. It’s been on the block more
times ’an I’ve got fingers. I did hope she'd patternize

and-out, this fall. I’ve a notion to tell her the straw’s got
so rotten it won’t bear no more pressin’.

Oh, good-morning Miss Purson! Fine day! S'pose
you’ve come to look at the new style of bunnits. Most ali
of the gentility of Pennyville has been in to take a look
and make their choices; but there’s some leit, that’ll suit
you, I guess, for all you’re so insiduous.

What! ‘Thought you’d have your Tuscan bleached over
and fixed up a little? Thought I told you, the Jast time,
*twould never stand another doin’over. I’da great mind
to charge you two shillin’s extra, last fall, I had so much
bother to keep it stuck together. If you want that thing
teched again, you'd better take it to Miss Bungleby’s shop;
she’ll be able to do it justice; and then she’s so fashiona-

le—gets her patterns after she has a good chance tosteai
mine, and puts sech an air onthings! I think she’d make
your old Tuscan look egregious,

You'd like a new bunnit, if Mr. Purson could spare the
money? Just tell him for me, that if he can’t afford his

 

 

 

the respectability of Pennyville any longer. Now, look
here! here’s a sweet thing—a Florence braid, with a lovely
ruche, and all this bugle lace around the cape and brim,
besides the feather. Ishowed it to Miss Grant, and she pro-
nounced it superfluous. She said maybe she’d conclude
to take it the next time she was in; but I hinted to her
that it was spoken for, because I knew it would just suit
your style and complexion, and I like to obleege my old
customers. I asked her six and a half for it, but you may
a it for six, seeing it’s you, but 1 shan’t make a cent
on it. ‘a

Good Lord! if there ain’’ a buggy runningaway! Do
see how he kicks! he will certainly be thrown out! he’s
mnaking straight for that pile of brick as he can go!” I do
wonder who it can be! [t’s a horse from the livery-stable,
and yes! goodness gracious! it’s that handsome stranger
that had that curly dog with the—oh, hevings! there he
goes, smash-bang, right into tlfe bricks! He’s killed now,

I do believe!, I’m so scart, I don’t know what I’m a say-
ing. He’s certainly killed! See him teari down the
streets, and the spokes a flying, and the poor young gen-
tleman picking himselfup. I must go to his assistance

this minute. It shall never be said that Alvira Slimmens
turned an unfortunate young man out of doors. ©.
Oh, sir! how do you feel? Are you faini-like? Lean
upon me, upon my bo—shoulder. Dear me! I’m so flus-
tered, I don’t know what I’m doing or saying. Is it your
head, or your arm, or your—limb? Pte cag
Ain’t a bit hurt? Only a trifle brmised? Thank. the
Lord! Well, walkin, and let me brash your coat. It’s
all brick dust. é ae
Can walk without assistance? O
But don’t over-exert yourself—don’
Clara, Dora, get the brush! nd it to me. There,
now, you look alittle more like your present self. What
a citcumstantial escape you’ve had! TI shall never Cease
to congratulate myself that the shop of Alvira Slimmins
stood where it could afford a place of refuge.to a ship-
Take a chair, won’t you? My, your
coat’s tore outatthearm! Dova, bring 4 needie and some
black silk. , ae
No, you needn’t be afraid of making trouble: ~ I'd rather
Stopping long in Pennyville? Visiting,

I’m so glad of it!

 

Oh, the tavern! On business I suppose? .Any acquaint-
ances? Ours is a very pedantic Village, considered very
rural on the outskirts, great deal of scenery and Jand
around it. Perhaps you’re an-author, or an artist, come
to rustify. I’ve read so many sweet stories about such
things; and I declare. when you.was thrown out in that
terrible manner, I felt like flying to you, stranger as you
was, and exclaiming with that dear Moore: ’

“Come rest in this bogem, my own stricken deet, i
Thongh the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here.”

Clara Browne, g@in the other room this minute, and

A
= Sr :
stay there till recall you. 7
callagain. J. shall feel ex
health. .

Oh, no.thanks at all, sir! . ’'v
of my.sex should do it. a

He's gone. ‘‘Fhou'rt gone fro sight, like a beauti-
ful dream! Hovw,earnestly he ké ong back, as if he
couldn’t endure to*tear himself away; but he must go to
the liberty-stable, and let Smith know that his baulky
horse has run away.. If there ain’t that sassy Clara,
standing at the door, looking out after him, when I sent
her in there because she kept making eyes at him, and
laughing in her sleeve. ; :

My hand trimbles-so, I can hardly baste this silk on,
It’s come at last. Iknewit would. I knew Alvira Slim-
mens was destined to see the. hero of whom she has
dreamed, about whom slie ia ear many a pondrous
fancy—that he would come in S0nie unusual way; and
now a Circumstantial Providence has thrown him into
that pile of brick, at her very feet, as it were.

Dora Adams, go over to \Springie’s, and get me a dozen
of them new-fangled curling-clasps and a bottle of laven-
der-water; and let me tell you, once for all, that, if you
and Clara don’t quit a winking at each other, and making
them ee signs, youll repent it. [Murmurs in a low
voice:

hat? must you go’. Well,
Lely solicitary about your

nly done my-duty as one.

“Oh, there are tones and looks that dart
An instant sunshine throught the heart!”

and that was the way I felt. What asplendid subjeck for
apoem for the ‘Eagle,’? to be called “The Runaway
Buggy!’ no! that’s not romantic enough; :‘‘The Fearful
Risk!? no! “The Stranger’s Escape!” that’s better; “The
Castaway; or, The Leap for Life—a Tragedy,’’ and sign it
“Alvira S.%—nol 4A. S.’’—and send it to him. Wil doit
this very night—write it while Ym putting my hair in
papers. [Sings in an undertone:] .

after I’ve waited between hope
years you ask me that !”

And Polly covered her face with her hands as ifto
conceal either her blushes or her tears, but shortly
she uncovered her face—and a pretty pale though
somewhat careworn ‘ace it was—and continued:

“Youre very kind and thoughtful, Ebenezer, to ask
me about fixing up your house. Where you've lived
so Many years can’t help being a happy home for
me; but I might suggest one or two | ttle improve-
ments seeing you asked me. You might just cart the
rubbish out of the front yard—the swill barrel, and
ash heap, and grindstone, and such—and make up
some posy beds, I've got lots of seeds, and you can
have some on ’em—hollyhocks and china-aysters,
and marigolds, and double poppies, and sweet wil-
liams, and four-o-clocks, and morning glories. They'll
weny to go by the window and you'll have to move
the pig trough. Then your square room would be
more like something if it had acarpet and a sofa and
a picture or two, and a center table, and above all
‘curtains for the windows.

‘**You hain’t got many dishes I don’t s’pose, but
Pll bring a host. I’ve got two whole sets of blue
stoneware all except the slop bowls, besides the best
part ofa gilt china set. You’ve seen ‘em, I guess,
The house wants painting, too, I never saw so brown
a house fora white one. Then we'll want an ex-
tension table, so when Betsy and her children visit
us they can all sit down. Don’t be offended, dear
Ebenezer, I shouldn’t have said all this, for the
world, but you know you asked me.”

Ebenezer didn’t know whether he ought to be
offended or not. He was flattered and yet mortified.

Polly put her hand in her pocket and brought out
her handkerchief, and with it came her tatting shut-
tle and thread. The sight of these brought her
mind back to the sober realities of life, It was stitch,
stitch, stitch, with poor Polly from morning to
night, with no one to love her or care for her as she
merited. Soshe sat down with her back to the
bushes, and when Ebenezer knew by the low sobs
that reached him that she was crying, he let go the
bushes carefully, so as not to disturb her, and walk-
ed off home.

He lay awake till long after midnight that night.
His thumb pained him some, but his sleeplessness
was not caused wholly by that.

He wasthinking of the time, many years back,
when Polly Wiggins, then a rosy girl of eighteen,
was very dear tohim. He remembered how she had
gone to Dame Chadwick’s ‘“‘apple cut” one night
with Jim Winters, and that she flirted with him all
the evening. He remembered, too, how angry and
jealous he was about it, and that he treated her cold-
ly and never. sought to woo her after that. He made
aresolve at last, and then he closed his eyes and
went to sleep—to dream ot tables ofall kinds, with
sofas and.pictures, and blue dishes, and rolls of car-
peting, and poppy and marigold seed by the bushel
being piled promiscuously in his front yard; and
that he was giving to the whole a coat of white paint.
Then he was stretching and tacking down a car-
pet in the garret and——

He awoke with a groan. He must have been
hammering away at his sore thumb for it was throb-
bing and aching terribly. Sleep was out of the
question now, so Ebenezer got up and lighted a
candle and walked the bare floor till daylight, won-
dering why he had never felt so lonely before, and
thinking as he had never thought before thata
bachelor’s life was a wretched one.

A few days after her walk on the beach Polly sat
knitting in her sister’s best room, when that lady
came in from-the store, whither she had gone for a
roll of butter.

‘‘Sakes alive, Polly, you will never believe it!

Ebenezer Stickney is turning every thing inside out

and up-side down at his house.
the house outside, and papering and whitewashing
inside, and he’s got Jim Black there clearing out
the yard. Ididn’t think much about all that, for
land knows the place needed it, but as I left the
store what should stop in front of the miller’s gate
but two loads of bran-new furniture. Thensaid I to
myself, that means something. I spoke to Sally
Brown about it and we both say there’s a wedding
ahead.”

Mrs. Betsy Carver was so excited over this pieee of
news that she did not notice how pale Polly had
grown, nor that her hand trembled so that she
dropped half the stiches off her knitting needle.
So she rattled away:

“T reckon I know who he'll marry. That brazen-
taced Murry girl, that setsright in front of him every
time hé goes to Vittoria to church. She’s had her
cap se for him these two years, Sally says,and at
last sh®’s trapped him.”

Potty’s face-was-flushed to crimson now.. She
made no reply, but bent over her work, nervously
taking up the stitches she had dropped.

If she loved Ebenezer Stickney her sister did not
suspect it. Just then Katy Rice, Ebenezer’s little
niece, came in.

“Please, Miss Polly, Uncle Eben sent me down af-
ter the the seeds you said he could have.”

“Let me see,” said Polly musingly. “O yes. He
wanted we should save him some cucumber seed——”
“It’s flower seed he wants, ever so many kinds,”

 

 

“Oh, Alvira Slimmens, E
You’ll soon quit/bunnits and trimmin’s,
Bunnits and trimmin’s,
T-r-i-m-m_-i-n’s!”
we

AN ODD COURTSHIP.

BY HELENA DIXON,

 

 

Ebenezer Stickney and Polly Wiggins were both
native residents of Port Ryerse,a small hill-sur-
rounded vjllage on the northern shore of Lake Erie.
Ebenezer was forty-five, a miller by trade, anda
bachelor from choice. Polly was a maiden of thirty-
seven—everybody declared that was her age, though
all had seen and read these words traced by Polly’s
own fingers in thesand on the beach, times with-
out number, ‘‘Polly Fidelia Wiggins, aged twenty-
three.” ‘ .8

Ebenezer lived all alone, in a lonely house near the
mill; Polly lived with her sister, and was the only
milliner, dressmaker, and doer of odd jobs with the
needle the place could boast of.

One afternoon, when the. sun was creeping down
over the hills, Polly thtew aside the shirt she was
making for Ebenezer Stickney, and taking her sis-
ter’s children, went down on the beach for a walk.
Halfan hour afterward Ebenezer was walking in
the same direction. He had been kept away from
the mill all day by a felon, which neither hot lye nor
lemon, nor half-a-dozen different poultices could
drive from his thumb.

He walked along over the shingly beach holding
the afflicted thumb tenderly in his palm.

At length, through an opening in a clump of elders,
he discovered Polly Wiggins. It was a raw day in
early spring, but for allthat Polly’s hat was off and
she was bowing and gesticulating and apparently
engaged in earnest conversation.

‘**Polly is either going crazy or else she’s trying to
perform like them theater folks we saw when we
took that excursion to Buffalo.” So saying Ebene-
zer crept cautiously up to the intervening bushes.
He parted the bushes carefully and peered through,
chuckling to himself with delight, while the pain in
his thumb was entirely forgotten as he watched Polly
go-.through one of her surprising bows. But the
broad smile disappeared from the listener’s face,
leaving a look of blank astonishment as he heard
Polly say:

‘*Yes, Ebenezer Stickney, I consent to marry you
on four conditions.”

He saw her glance timidly, not at the whiskered
face among the bushes, but at the stump, then asif
she had been asked what those conditions were, she
went on: i

“You must quit wearing that snuff-colored, pigeon-
tailed coat that your grandfather was married ins
You must smoke cigars, if you can’t live without.
smoking, instead of always having that old, black,
Dutch pipe in your mouth. Then you must shave
off those old-fashioned, grizzly-gray whiskers, and
raise a mustache, and quit riding that dingy-white,
bobtailed, mean-looking, rackabones of a horse
everywhere you go, and with your coat tails hanging
down to cover his ribs too. That old pigeon-tailed
coat! it looks bad enough any time, but ten times
worse when yow’re a horseback.”

Ebenezer looked sober enough now and hung his
head like a scolded boy. He was very proud ofhis
personal appearance, and often said to himself as
he arranged his dickey before the glass:

“There isn’t a married man around that can com-
pare with me for starchings and slickness.”

And if there was a time when he thought he look-
ed particularly grand, it was when he was dressed
in his Sunday suit and mounted on his faithful white
horse. He was trying to make up his mind whether
he ought to step out and call her the biggest simpie-
ton in all creation or go offabout his business, when
Polly began talking again in a tender, chiding tone
as if her feelings had been hurt:

“OQ, Ebenezer! how can you ask if I love you?
Didn’t Jim Winters pack off to California just because
I wouldn’t have him? Didn’t Ruby Oakes try to

 

 

wife a bunnit once in eight years, he’d better quit carpen-
tering, and go to sawing wood; that he needn’t aspire to

wr i

drown himself because I mittened him? Didn’t I re-

interposed Katy.

“I never promised him any as I know of; didn’t
s’pose he cared for such things,” said Polly a little
spitefully, as she thought of Lucy Murry in con-
nection with Ebenezer’s flower garden. Then she ad-
ded meekly:

“Your uncle is welcome to what I have left.”

shy little gir] received the seeds and bounded away
saying: :
‘The beds are allready and I’m to show Uncle
Eben how to sow them.”
Then back she came again:
‘‘T forgot I was to ask you which are the morning-
glory seeds. He says youtold him they must go by
the window.” ;
t “T never told him any such thing; but there, thems
em.

“Don’t be in hurry, Katy,” said Mrs Carver per-
suasively. ‘So your Uncle Eben is going to get mar-
ried, is he?” ;

“Yes, ma’am.”

pe Nyno is he going to marry? now there’sa good
girl,’
‘‘Don’tiknow, but I guess mother does. “She told
him she wouldn’t make the carpets unless he told
her. But she won't tell, though I’ve coaxed her ever
so much. How funnyit will seem to have Uncle
Eben married !”

“There’s your mother coming now with her bon-
net to be trimmed, and she don’t leave this house
till she tells,” said Mrs, Carver.

“Just as though you didn’t know already,” said
Mrs. Rice in answer tothe all-important question.
‘*Hasn’t the bride elect told you ?”

“Of course not or I shouldn’t have to ask you.”

“O, well then, Imustn’t tell, but I will say, Polly,”
and Mrs. Ricespoke mischieviously, ‘‘you’re very ex-
acting. Plenty of girls would jump at the chance to
marry Eben and leave the fixing up till afterward.”

“What do youmean? O, how am I insulted !”

And Polly drew herselfup proudly and angrily..

“Why! didn’t you agree to have him if he'd fix up
smart enough to suit you ?”

‘No, I never did, I never told him so and he knows
it; and what’s more I wouldn’t marry Ebenezer Stick-
ney if he was the last man on earth, and you may
tell him so,” and Polly went up to her own little
room to ery oe | her vexation and grief.

‘“*Polly, come here quick,” said Mrs. Carver, one
bright morning.as.she sat sewing in the window.
Ebenezer is coming down the road as fine as a fiddle
in his new buggy, dressed in a bran new suit too.
bbe there, he’s coming here, after his new shirts

ikely.’

Polly got the shirts and sat with them folded in
her lap while she figured up how much Ebenezer
owed her.

‘Put up the shirts, Polly, I didn’t come for them
but for you,”

‘*‘Come for Polly!” exclaimed Mrs. Carver in-aston-
ishment.

‘Yes, Polly, I have come for you. You know you
said you’d marry me on certain conditions. I have
complied with your requirements and now I want
you to fulfill your promise.”

“Mr. Stickney, I never——”

“Hush, Polly,” said Ebenezer softly as he stole his
arm around her waist, while Betsy glided from the
room; ‘“‘call me Ebenezer, dear Ebenezer, and make
me happy as you did that day on the beach. I heard
you, Polly—heard all you said, and I’ve been hap-
pier since than ever before. So get on your things
and come along. Theelder is waiting at his house
to unite us, and several of our friends are there to
witness the ceremony. We'll take our wedding din-
ner at ourown house, and we mustn’t forget to in-
vite Betsy and the children, for the extension table
is provided.”

This last was said a little teasingly, and Polly hid
her blushing face on his bosom, murmuring:

“Don’t, Ebenezer, don’t.”

‘Well, there, so you go and get ready right away
Til never mention it again.”

Two hours later Ebenezer led his wife proudly
through his newly furnished rooms, and a more lov-

 

fuse Jerry Vail only last Sunday just for you? And

ing bridegroom or a happier bride could have been
nowhere found, . ;

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and despair all thesd —

They’re painting *

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>? >...

 

   
     
  
 
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

     

Parents mild, but firmly wreathing
Truest lessons for life’s action;

And each sister and each brother
Will more and more reap a heaven

That is in “Love one-another.”?
O, ye parents and ye children !—

Each to each such priceless treasure,
Made so by the Lord’s own teaching—

Thus blend truly Use with Pleasure!

 

Heiress of Clanronald.

By Mrs. Schuyler Meserole,

Authorof WEDDED FOR AN HOUR, MID-
NIGHT PROPHECY, ete.

(The Heiress of
No.’s can be in

nald’”? was commenced in No. 40. Back
1G of any News Agent in the United States.)

CHAPTER XXX.
THE BALL,

“How I wish you could go to the ball too, Daisy. I don’t
care to go at all without youl’? :

Little Miss Ryhope who, with all her blue blood, and
high position, was nothing more than a pretty chirruping,
loving-hearted woman turned from the great mirror in
which she had been surveying her own dainty figure, and
faced Miss Doon, her companion, with this very absurd
re Daisy smiled and lookéd'pleased. She liked to
be ght of and cared for.

“Nothing would please me more than to go,’ she said,
curtly; ‘but tis out of the question, Miss Ryhope. [’m
quite conyinced that the duchess would not welcome
me.”?

May shrugged the white shoulders that gleamed beneath
her tulle overdress, and pouted childishly.

“The duchess! No, lsuppose not,” she replied; ‘she
and Mamma are as like as two peas. . What’s the use of
so much fussing over one’s position? If one chances to
be born a peeress it wouldn’t change things at all to be
Civil to those who didn’t fall to the same good fortune!
When I get established,”. nodding her curty head with
grave importance, ‘‘I mean to start a reform—lI shall in-
vite whoever I like to my entertainments, no matter if
they be prince or peasant.’?

“Then I shall get a chance to dance at Beech wood Hall,”’
suggested Daisy, wickedly.

Miss Ryhope’s fair face flushed like a rose.

“Oh, nonsense,” she returned; ‘‘who’s talking of
Beechwood Hall? But I mean what I say. Now why
can’t you go to this ball to-night as well as 1? And you
are so beautiful and would enjoy it so! Oh, Daisy, if ever
I do become my own mistress you sliall have a chance to
enjoy yourself, indeed you shall.”

Daisy put her arm around the little creature’s neck,

 

ww anc kissed her with tears shining in her black eyes.

 

 

 

he: ‘ >
peeegnpenesnemnrenliteatn ares

~Yery well,’ she said, ‘I shall remind you of your
promise,” adding with emotion, ‘‘you have always been
est friend, dear May, and I shall never, neverscease
t fe you. But there’s the carriage below, and I ‘hea
Lady Ryhope’s bell. You are quite ready, I believe?”
“Quite ready,” responded Miss Ryhope, catching up her
fan and bouquet, and then gleaming in the laces and Jewels
she went down to the drawing-room where her mother
awaited hex, to be whirled away, and presented to the
gay Londosiarori and at that selfsame moment poor
Ichabod eat in his one small apartment, white and pale
from incessant labor, with that pretty childish face before
his wistful, dreaming eyes. What a riddie this life is?
Daisy went straight to her own apartment and sat
down, her slender brown hands folded, her black brows
knit in sober thought. After all, she had not told Icha-
bod! His face was so worn and wan when he came to
visit her, he looked so weak and overworked, that she
made up her mind to fight her battle alone. She had al-
ways shielded Ichabod! When the way wag all clear,
whien she could tell him that he was Lord of Clanronald,
without an obstruction in his path, she would speak!
There would be nothing gained by Irarassing his poor
mind with doubt and anxiety. -

  
   
   
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
   

But she must go to Lady Ciydesdale ball, and meet
Lord Raeburn. She must know his conditions; what it
was that steod between her and the itage that belonged
to her. For an hour periiaps she hinking; she was

ing her way into

shy and modest, and shrank from
ice. But it had to

the grand assembly at Clydesdale
be done, for Ichabod’s sake as well as her own.

She arose at last with a red spot on each dusky cheek,
and a sparkling light in her black eyes, and rang the bell.
A page answered the summons,

“Send Matihl,’? commanded Daisy.

In five minntes the French maid rae.

“Matill,” began Daisy, quietly, taking a piece of gold
from her pocket and laying it on the table, ‘‘I have occa-
sion to go out to-night to a place where I do not wish to
be recognized. I want a disguise of some sort. You un-
derstand such things, don’t you? Can’t you get me up a
masquerade toilet? There is your reward if you will.”’

Matihi’s bead-black eyes glanced greedily at the gold
piece, and then she uttered a short cry of rapture. Not
since she left dear old Paris had such @ rare bit of fun
been offered her. She had a passion for se¢recy and in-
trigue. ‘a ;
“Que minute, ma’mselle,’? she ejaculated, darting from
the room.

She returned presently from her own room, her arms
heaped witha load of promiscuous articles. }

“If ma’mselle won’t take offense?” she said, depositing
them on the carpet, and proceeding to extricate a flowing

wig of curling blonde hair.

Daisy bounded to her feet in delight, beginning to feel a

romantic interest in the part she had to play.

“No, indeed, I’ll not take offense,” she replied, “but
Pll be ever So much indebted to you. Be quick, please,
I’ve no time to lose.’’ :

Matihl went to work in earnest, her eyes scintillating
with a French woman’s keen enjoyment, and in ten min-
utes Daisy was metamorphosed beyond all chauce of rec-
ognition. :

Her U
blonde wig substituted in their place, giving her brilliant,
dusky face a totally different aspect. She wore a nun’s
garb, black and long, and a black domino aud half mask;
and a huge ivory crucifix hung suspended from her

girdle, — oie eee its
“Now let ma’mselle look and see if she knows herself,”’
ried Matihl, in an eestasy, when the toilet was complete,

   

\

cry of surprise, )
her black robes, and white, washed-out hair, be Daisy
Doon! Her very eyes seemed changed in their expres-
sion. She shuddered at first, and then she broke into a
laugh.

“No,? she said; “I never should have recognized my-
self. You understand your art to perfection, Matihl, and
it suits me admirably. Here is your reward,” pushing
the piece of gold toward her; “‘but you must keep my
secret, Matihl—no one here must know of this,”

Matihi shrugged, and nodded, and gesticulated ina
most convincing manner.

“Very well,’? responded Daisy.
down and let me out, and in an hour
again. You must watch for me, Matihi.”

The French girl nodded again, as they descended the
broad stairway and passed through a side entrance to the
street.

London, with its myriad gas-lights glimmering in the
purple April night, Jay before them, and the rush androar
of surging humanity came hoarsely to their ears. Daisy

_ drew back, awed and bewildered. She had never
in all her young life been alone at night in a great city.
atau French girl, divining her hesitation, few to her
_wt e@ .

“I mst calla hansom for you, mademoiselle,’’ she
my } “viavs the safest plan.”?

And, suiting the action tothe word, she ran forward a
step or two, and signaled to one that chanced to be pass-
ing. l,drew up almost immediately before the side gate,
which Opemed into Lady Ryhope’s magnificent garden,
Daisy ¢iumbered in,

‘“Whatpiace, miss??? demanded the driver, flourishing
his whjy mc glancing keenly at the stately nun.

“To Cl Wesdale Place, Regent street,” responded Daisy,
with her heart in her mouth.

And away rattled the hansom at a farious rate, while

i yi and watched it out of sight, with a malicious
ner bead-black eyes. Aud, while she stood,

r the covert of a great, flowering laburnum, a

tall fgure came ont into the glimmer of the gas-lights.

“Now you must run
shall be back

   
 
  

“Shop? he commanded, sternly, seizing the girl’s arm,

;

 

 

 

  
 
    
   
 
  

lat pulled low down over his fierce brows. “Vil
know, and, if she’s fool enough for that,” the cords swell-
ing out upon his temples, ‘7°11 murder them both! She's
Mine, and no man living shall come between us.’?

He stopped at the corner, and, hailing a carriage;
sprang in, and ordered the driver to drive to Clycesdale

Place. {
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE POISONED CUP.

Meanwhile Daisy was roiling @long in the very heart of
West End aristocracy. Atlast the driver drew rein, and
brought his horses to a stand-stillin front of a great arch-
ed entrance. _ :

“Clydesdale Place, miss!”?

@ adjusted her disguise, and emerged from the ve-

hiele, with a dreadful tremor in all her jimbs. She gave the
man his fare, and he rattled off, leaving her alone in front
of Lady Clydesdale’s elegant residence. The street was
fairly blocked with carriages, and every moment there
was afresh arrival. The entire front of the mansion, and
all the surrounding grounds, were in a blaze of illumina-
tion.

On the lofty, marble steps, flitting past the gleaming
windows, and thronging the terraces, were white-robed
figures flashing like meteors with jewels, and from afar,
amid the plash of fountains, and the rustle of tropical
plants, the music of @ Strauss’ waltz throbbed upon the
perfumed air. ;

Daisy stood awed ana breathiess, half believing herself
under the spell of some wierd enchanter.. And this was
the life of the noble and high-born, the life for which she
had often pined. It might be hers one day}: Was not she
a@ titled lady by birth and heritage ? :

Her breath came fast, and her cheeks glowed beneath
the black domino, and yet, strange enough, moved by
some sudden and subtle memory, she turned from the
grandeur and glitter, and gazed wistfully beyond the
twinkling gas-lights, with a tender yearning in her heart
for the old, toiling, humble life with grand’ther and Icha-
bod in the little reddish-brown cottage.

But. the rustle of silken robes, as a gay party of lords
and ladies brushed past her, awoke her witha start, and
she shrank away intothe gloom of a greattree. There
was a little side gate leading into the garden, only a few
feet off, and with a thrill of relief she glided toward it. It
chanced to be unlocked, and she passed through with a
throbbing heart. ;

“Under the arbor, by the eastern fountain, where the
Undine statue stands,’ she repeated, gliding along in the
the black nun’s dress, halfin terror, half keen enjoy-
ment of her adventure.

The soaring moon stood almost at mid-heayen.. It must

 

 

be near eleven o’clock now, she thought, makingsher way
toward the east. —

Presently she came out into an open square, and the
silver fall of waters struck on her ear. There was the
fountain, surrounded by a silvan grotto, anda circle of
dancing maids; and just beyond stood a marble Undine, a
shower of falling spray representing her shimmering hair.

Daisy stopped in a tremor, fora few steps Onward stood
a pretty lattice arbor, all matted with running vines; and
while shie stood, a tail figure in a Spanish cloak and black
sombrero, came out {rom the arbor, and advanced to meet
her.

In the grand drawing-rooms the ball was goingon. The
duchess wore her diamonds that night and a robe that
yould Have befitted a queen: ;

-AVith Miss Ryhogon her arm she passeq down the
glittering length of her grand hails, stately and gracious,
Ree TS the pretty young daughter of the baronet to

e London world,

This was May’s debut, and it was a triumph; every eye
followed her with tender admiration, she was sucha
fresh, winsome, pretty little thing, in her floating, silvery
robes.

The presentation ended, the Earl of Shaftonsbury made

 

his appearance, flushed and florid in his fine cloth, with
a flashing diamond pin in his shirt front*and a star-like
solitaire on his plump little finger. :

He was the one match of the season toward which un-
wedded womanhood yearned. Fat dowagers, with daugh-
ters in market, smiled and courtesied as he passed them,
and fading belles who had enjoyed the run of some half
a dozen seasons craned their bejewel necks to get a sight
of him. n

He was an earl, with arevenue of thi thousand a
year. What did it signify if he was fat and florid, anda
wine-bibber to boot?

He made his way to that portion of the rooms where the
duchess, his sister stood, and with ous condescen-
sion she resigned her fair charge to his protection.

Little Miss Ryhope could do nothing but submit, and
lay her dimpled hand on his detested Ps
slirugged her white shoulders petulantly an

a willful child. 7 ea
They joined the ranks of the dan : Lady Ryhope,
y from the bril-
rly affection for

   
 
 
 
   

 

black locks brushed far back, and the curling, |;

Daisy turned to the great mirror, and started back with 2 |

Could that slim and solemn nun, with} “If

with a sigh of satisfaction, glided s
liant ball-room. She had very little }
her pretty young daughter, butin her pride and ambi-
tion she was very desirous that should form a worthy
alliance, and in all London there was not a more brilliant
match than the Earl: of Shaftonsbury, brother to Her
Grace, the Duchess of Clydesdale.

Lady RyhoOpe made her way from the ball-room to the
‘conservatory, and from thence into the garden.

Her face was’ ghastly pale and her eyes glittered with
suppressed excitement. Viner

Just beyond the grand, arched gateway, which led into
the illuminated gloom of the garden, she paused, and
taking a tiny silver whistle from her bosom she put it to
her lips and blew a slender note. we i

‘Almost instantaneously a dark figure shot up from the
depths of the shrubbery and appfoached her. It was Tu-
lip, and she carried a bundle uuder her arm. :

“Is it time, my lady??? she whispered.

“Quite time,”? responded her ladyship, CoO OE her
jeweled ‘atch by the fitful lamp-light; “tis only ten min-
utes of eleven.”’ . : al

Tulip unrolled the bundle and aor out a long, sable
cloak, with which she completely enveloped her mistresa,
entirely concealing her gay ball-room dress; then she
drew forth an enameled mask, witha kind of hood or
cowl attached, which she proceeded to adjust upon Lady
Ryhope’s blonde head. ak

“Phere,? she said, when all was
Jook one bit like yourself, my lady.’? 4

   
   

 
 
  
  

“Very well,’ replied her ladyship - ‘Now do
yon remain here, andif you hear ek to
F remember,’ she added, as slie ¢ F _man-
tle close, “if you are discreet and 6&il ou Will make
yourself a1 oman.’? a) ee

“T shall get, lady? - 7

Tulip | away amid the shadows, her yellow eyes
bright an atch{ul, and Lady Ryhope | 'down the
paved walk that led toward the eastern section of the

ag 4 +4 * Cal
; should be seen, no one will recognize me in this
disguise,” she reflected, as she hurried along, her satin
shoes scarcely making a sound; ‘andI must know—I
will know what this meeting portends!’’

She could hear the fall of the fountain, and catch a
gleam of Undine’s trickling tresses. A sound of murmur-
ing voices reached her ear, and she glided into the arbor,
and crouched down beneath the rustic bench, her sable
cloak scarcely distinguishable from the gloom of the
hight. —

Two persons stood not three yards beyond the arbor—a
man in a Spanish cloak and slouched hat, and a tall and
stately nun. Lady Ryhope fairly gasped in amazement.
But in the midst of her wonder the nun advanced, and
raised her mask. ;

“Lord Raeburn,” she said, ‘do you recognize me
now??? The man in the cloak uttered an exclamation. —.
‘Heavens! he ejaculated, ‘‘can it be Miss Doon???

Daisy bowed, advancing a step, so that the light of a
lamp, swinging like a firefly from a swaying branch over-
head, fell full upon her proud, beautiful face.

“It is Miss Doon,’ she assented. ‘I do not care to be
recognized in Lady Clydesdale’s grounds at this hour,”
she added, replacing her mask, ‘and have followed your
example, myJord. Now whatare the conditions thatl
am to hear before my brother can claim lis right to the
title and estates of Clanronald? I beg that your lordship
will be brief, and speak at once.”??

Her yoice was clear and cold, her bearing that ofa
queen, Captain Lamonte drew a deep breath,

“Gad, what a superb creature!’ under his pYeath; ‘‘she
takes a man’s breath away! The old Clanronald blood
tells! And am Ito have no thanks?” he added, advanc-
ing astep, his bold eyes full of passionate ardor; ‘not
even a kind word for all the painsIhave taken to hunt
out this tangled old heritage ?”” :

“Whatever you have done, my lord,’ replied Daisy
with haughty coldness, ‘‘you shall be paid for, and good
pay is better than thanks. And now I ask you again to
name the conditions you referred to in your letter. What

 

aml required todo beforeI can claim the heritage of
Clanronald ??

arranged, “you don’t |

 

“Your devotion is utterly distasteful to me, my lord. Of
all men on earth, 1 think Llike you less. Qnce for all, Jet
me tell you that I. never shall be your friend, much less
your wife.” ; . :

The handsome’ guardsman winced. He had always
been petted by women, and this cobbier’s grand-daughter
scorned him to his face. But her imperial coldness fired
him as no yielding love ever would have done. '

‘Phen, you will remain what yeu are till the day you
die. You shall never be Lady Clanronald.”? 7

 

The had a strange music to poor Daisy’s ear.
Lady nald! But notevenfor that, not even for
Ichabod@’s sake, would she entertain one thought of this

man. .
‘Very well,’? she replied, quietly; “‘if it must be so, if

can’t be helped. We'll see what can be done! I want my

locket now, Lord Raeburn.’’ é

“You can’t have it, Miss Doon, you can’t have anything
that will prove that your brother is: heir of Clanronald;
he must stick to his miserable cobbling till you consent to
my offer.’? : ; ,

Daisy’s great eyes glowed like smoldering volcanoes,
and it cost her a mighty effort to refrain from bounding
at him like a pantheress in the frenzy of her passion.

“iord Raeburn,” she cried, half-stified by her indigna-
tion; ‘“‘give me back my locket, I command you!”?

His lordship broke into a lazy, musical laugh.

“Why, my dear young lady,”’ he said, ‘that locket did
the whole thing. You would be Lady Clanronald if you
had that in‘your possession. The hour that you become
my wife, I will réturn it safe and sound. And now I mast
bid you good-night, much against my will, but it wouldn’t

quite agreeable for the duchess or any of her gay guests

stumble on me in this plight. Whenever vou make uf
‘your mind; Miss Doon, as you certainly will, to accept m
offer, and with it the Gianronald heritage, you can drop
me a line.’ Here is my club address,” laying an enameled
card on a rustic seat that was near, “and now I must
leave you. Won’t you shake hands with me, Miss Doon?”

But Daisy, half beside herself with passion, struck

fiercely at his proffered hand, and as his lordship drew
down his sombrero, and disappeared with a smiling bow,
she sunk into the garden seat, utterly overcome.
' Prolonged excitement ana her sudden anger and agony
at finding herself so completely outwitted, threw her for
the moment into a kind of spasmodic conyuision. She
fell back, disarranging her blonde wig, and lay panting
and gasping. :

Lady Ryhope farted up from her place of concealment,

pretty silver drinking cup hung from a silver chain. She
tore it loose with’ one swift wrench, and glancing sharply
about her to see that she was quite alone, she drew the
little metallic box, the gift of the wizard, from her bosom.
Her face was like death in the semi-darkness, and she
trembled in every limb; but her purpose was deadly and
determined. She pressed her finger on the secret spring
of the box, and the lid flew up, and with it a cloud of pun-
gent perfume. She sifted the white powder into the silver
drinking-cup, and held it beneath the trickling stream of
the fountain.

Daisy still lay upon the garden-seat, half-unconscious,
and in one brief moment Lady Ryhope was at her side. —
- Drink this, my child; it will revive you,’? she said, in
an assumed voice, putting one liand beneath, tije girl’s
head, and with the other holding the poisone p to her
lips. * : ,

Daisy struggled up. and raised herleyes vacantiyto the
masked face that bent over her, ©

‘Drink this,” urged Lady Rynope; “tis water,
yoware faint.?* ~~ :

The cool rim of the silver cup/touched the girl's jnot lips,
and she drained its contents at‘a single draught.

In the saine breath, a swift hand parted the branches
of a tangled hedge near by, and Sir Eustace’ rushed to
the spot, with a ghastly face.

“Great Heaven! what have you done?’’ he cried, grasp-
ing Lady Ryhope’s arm. .

She uttered a cry of agony, and broke frem his grasp;
but in the struggle her mask was unfastened, pnd fell to
the ground.

For the space of a breath, mother and son stood face to
face; then, witl a startling cry, she turned and fled away
amid the shadows like a phantom.

CHAPTER XXXII.
DEATH.

Sir Eustace turned to Daisy, who was slowly rising to
her feet, his eyes full of eager questioning.

‘‘Daisy,’? he said, when he could command his voice,
‘what does all this mean ’—what are you doing here ?”’

She put her hand to her head. to assure herself that
Matihl’s disguise was all out of fix, and then her black
eyes began to blaze. :

“That concerns myself and not you, Sir Eustace,” she
replied, loftily.

The young baronet took her hand, and held it firmly.

“Yes, it does concern me, Daisy,”? he replied, looking
at her with a tender glance; ‘‘it does concern me, because
I am your friend—because I love you, my little girl, and
do not wish to see you come to harm.*?

The kind words overcame poor Daisy in a minute; it

Was not in her nature to withstand kindness, Her flash-
ing eyes began to soften.
. “Can’t you trust me, Daisy!’ urged Sir Eustace, draw-
ing her hand through his arm and leading her on through
the garden; ‘‘Imay be able to help you; at any rate Vil
not betray your confidence. What brought you here, in
this queer. disguise, at this hour, Daisy?’

The girl began to sob, in her excitement. She felt so
wretched and friendless, the temptation to confide every-
thing to Sir Eustace, and entreat him to help her, was
irresistible.

“Oh, dear,’ she stammered, between her sobs, clinging
to the arm that supported her, ‘I know how strange it
seems—but ’twas nothing wrong that brought me here—
it was for Ichabod’s sake——”’

She stopped short, and pressed her hand against her
side, her face contracting with a spasm of pain.

Sir Eustace grew white to the lips. f

“Good Heaven!” he cried, ‘‘what’s the matter? Daisy,
what was it that my—I mean—that woman gave you to
drink 2) °

Daisy looked bewildered.

“Some one did give me water,” she said, slowly, “and
it was astrange woman—lI remember now—oh, dear!?? ;

Her dusky cheeks were rapidly losing.their vivid color,
and a faint, purplish hue surrounded her eyes. The young
baronet regarded her with terror.’ ; :

‘You have been poisoned, Daisy,’? he gasped. ‘‘Lady
—that water must have been poisoned—let me go for
help.”? oy

But she clung to him in an agony of affright.

“Oh, don’t, leave, don’t leave me, in this dreadfui
place,’ sheentreated in piteous accents; ‘help me to get
away. Oh, there itis again, that awful pain! Sir Eustace,
did you nul I was poisoned? Whocould want to poison

and

te

me? | Lord Raeburn have done it ?””

oa eburn! was he here ?? demanded Sir Eustace,
half beside himself, ‘¢

“Yes, I came here to meet him!’ ,

A look of fierce jealously flashed to the baronet’s eyes.
He threw off her her clinging hands.

“To meet him?’ he cried, hoarsely; “‘and you dare to
tell me to my face, knowing that Ilove you as my life?
False, heartless gir}, you deserve to die.”

Deprived of his support, Daisy’s knees began to totter
under her, and wrenched by another pang, she sank down
upon a grassy ridge,

~“T am not false,”? she said, speaking with difficulty,
Lord Raeburn holds a secret—of great importance to
Ichabod—he is heir to Clanronald Castle—and Lord Rae-
burn has the proofs—but { can’t tell you now—I am _ in
great pain—Sir Eustace am I going to die, do you think ?””

The baronet knelt down, and supported her sinking
head. Her face was growing ghastly, the breath came in
painful gasps through her purple lips.

“Oh, my love, my beautiful darling,” he cried out, in
an agony of grief. ‘I would give my own life to spare
you all this pain. I must go for help—you must not lie
here and die,’’

He started up, but she held him fast, her lovely eyes
wild with agony and terror.

“Oh, don’t leave me,’ she begged like a child, “itis so
dark, and this strange place, Oh, please; Sir Eustace
don’t leave mel? |

He could not leave her, and to remain there was death.
A sudden suspicion had flashed through the young
man’s brain; the moment he heard Lord Raeburn’s name,
he knew the motive that had prompted the awful deed;
and he knew also that Lady Ryhope had made sure of
her work. He knelt down again, and took the queenly
young head on his arms. The great, lovely eyes looked
up at him with a most piteous terror in their depths,

“J am dying,” she gasped, ‘‘and Ichabod will never
know—and—heis Lord of Clanronald—Douglas Doon’s
heir—you must help him—ZJ tried to do right—it was all
for lchabod—and—I am dying

 

 

 

 

and sped across the grass to the edge of the fountain. A

 

 

 

 

a fix I’min.,-Ledan’t makea clean breast of it and de
nounce the woman who murdered her, for that woman is
mu own mother. I saw her sift something into the cup
from asilver-colored box with my own eyes. Poison with-
out doubt! Her ladyship deals in poison! This is not her
Jirst attempt! What a fool I was to stand and look on till
the poor girl had swallowed it! I might have saved her
life! I ought to have gone for help on theinstant! I feel
as guilty as iff Rad murdered her! Poor, pretty Daisy!”

But fear for his own safety, and horror at his mother’s
guilt, overcame for t ne all feeling of love that the
baronet may haye_ nced for the hapless girl at his
feet. Indeed Sir HBustace’s own well-being was always
paramount to every other, consideration.

In the midst of his consternation the sound of approach-
ing steps fell on his ear, and with asudden impulse he
yielded to his fears, and fied away under cover of the
ce leaving the still face all alone in the fitful lamp-
ight.’ ’ a Aa

Only once he glanced back, as he turned into a shadow-
ed walk, and then he saw the ‘dimly defined form of the
dead girl,and bending over her, peering down into her
face, waS the most unsightly*creature that human eyes
ever looked upon. oe ;
: Sir Eustace barely suppressed acry of horror. What
was it? “Mephistophles or Satan incarnate? His nerves
shook with mortal fear. Thinking only of his own safety,
he fled with redoubled speed.

. _. © “\[ro' BE CONTINUED.]

Raith Lyie’s Secret,

By Mrs. Mary J. Holines,
Author of MARIAN GRAY, DARKNESS "AND
DAYLIGHT, BADHUGH, ROSE MATHER,
x PRIDE, ETHELYN’S MISTAKE,
McDONALD, :.MILLBANKsSHDNA’S

T, ENGLISH ORPHANS, Ete.) °

——

   

  
 
 
 
  
    

le’s Secret” -wastcoinmenced in{No. 33. ::Back num-
tained from any. News aS

. Meneses ir 23 “weed . iv.¥% ’
. , CHARTER XXXIL.
‘MRS. ROGERS SPEAKS HER MIND.
ob, ave yéh going any iw ere in particular?’
’s salutation to Robert Macpherson, when, the,
oon he met him at a point in the grounds’
where two paths diverged. apg sew degen:

“Just to town for a walk. Are you going any where in
particular ?”’ was the reply, to which Godirey responded:

‘Just away from town for a walk.” oe eo

And so the two took different roads and sauntered on
until, curiously enough, they met again at the gate of Mrs.
Rogers’s cottage; where Gertie sat alone upon the porch.

“Did you start to come here?’ Robert asked, coloring a
little, and Godfréy replied: . :

“Yes; did you?” while his face wore a look of annoyance,
which was in no wise lessened when ten minutes later
Will Ransom came dashing up on his chestnut steed,
followed five minutes after by Tom Barton, who seemed
to think itthe yeaiest kind of a joke that they had all met
there together and so found eaeh other out.
, ‘I don’t know what there is to find out,’? Godfrey said
doggedly, adding, as he rose to his feet with an impatient
shake of his pants: ‘This is most too much of a good
thing and I think Pll go.” ~

‘Please, Mr. Godfrey, don’t,” Gertie said beseechingly,
feeling intuitively that hers was rather a novel position,
alone with four young men, and that Godfrey was in some
way a protection. z

He came to see her of course, but she was too much a
child to think for a moment that the remembrance of her
blue eyes, and rosebud mouth, and wavy hair had brought
the others there. They came, no doubt, to get some sew-
ing done, and she was sorry her auntie was gone,’ and
very glad when atlast she saw her coming routid the'turn
in the road, for now they could give their orders” aud go
away. seit

For ap instant Mary Rogers stopped short. at sight of

sitting before her door, with Gertie in their nid ae
so beautiful and pure and innocent, and so unconscidus
withal of the admiration she was exciting, Then, the
good honest-minded woman’s resolution was taken, and
she went swiftly up the walk and courtesying to her
visitors asked what she could do for them.

“Nothing, nothing, madame, we simply came to call,”
Tom. Barton replied, inspecting her curiously, as if she
had been a Hottentot, and wondering how that dainty bit
of flesh and blood in the blue dress and pantalets chanced
to belong to her.

“Come to call, did you. Iam sorry then I happened to
be out. Gertie, I brought this letter from the office for
Mrs. Simmons. Tie on your bonnet and take it to her
directly,’? Mary Rogers said, while a dead silence fell upon
the group of four, each of whom look at the others in-
quiringly.

Gertie was only sorry to leave Godfrey, but reflecting
thatif she hurried he might be there when she came back,
she hastened away, while her admirers looked after her
untii the turnin the road hid her from view. Then Mrs.
Rogers spoke, standing up before them with a flush on
her face and adignityin her tone and manner which
commanded respect from her audience. ‘

‘Young men,’ she began, ‘‘you came to see Gertie, and
Idon’t likeit,and won’t allow it either. She is too
young to have such ideas put in her head, even were you
honest, which you are not. Not one of you would marry
her, or be willing to be seen with her by your fashionable
city friends, if she were older thanshe is. You do not
look upon her as your equal, and you only come to amuse
yourselves with her because she is pretty and sweet, but
itshall not be. It’s no credit to a girl in Gertie’s position
to havea lotof chaps like you hanging round her and
putting stuff into her head, and I won’t have even so
much as a breath of harm done to her future good name
by yourcoming here and talking flattering nonsense,
which you don’t mean, and I put it to your honor to do
oF my child as you would have a body do by your sister if

é was as young and innocent as Gertie.”’

“By George, you are right! and I give you my hand as
a@ gentleman that by no act of mine shall Gertie be com-
promised!’? Tom Barton exclaimed, as he rose to his feet
and offered his hand to Gertie’s champion,

Tom’s example was followed by Robert Macpherson
and Will Ransom, but Godfrey sat still in his chair. Mrs.
Rogers did not mean him, of course. She knew he never
by thought or deed would harm any woman, and he was
not going to promise not to see Gertie Westbrooke, and
talk to her, too, as much ashe liked. But it was a good
thing to snub that conceited Will Ransom, and that
drunken puppy, Tom. Barton, who was_ half-intoxicated
‘now, and he felt like cheering Mrs. Rogers, and meant to
stay after the others were gone, and tell her so, But
Robert Macpherson meant to stay too, and, after waiting
impatiently ten or fifteen minutes for him to go, Godfrey
arose at last and said good afternoon, wondering within
himself why “Bob would stick himself where he was not
wanted,’

Robert had business with Mrs. Rogers, and, when alone
with her, he began at once by assuring her that so far as
he was concerned she had nothing to fear for Gertie.

“And you will know you have not,” he continued,
“when Itellyou that sheis the very image of the only
sister I eyer had—the little girl who died when just Ger-
tie’s age, and of whom I never think without a throb of

ain.’
. It was this wonderful likeness, he said, which first at-
tracted him to Gertie, and made him so desirous for her
portrait, as he had none of his sister. And, then he went
on to tell how fond he was of his profession as an artist,
and that as there were so many fine views in the vicinity
of Hampstead, he wished to remain there for a time,
sketching and studying the autumnal scenery, and, as he
would not of course stay at Schuyler Hill, he wished to
rent aroomin some quiet house, and take his meals at the
hotel.

Had Mrs. Rogers such a room, and would she let it to
him for a liberal compensation? Mrs. Rogers was in need
of money. Her own heaith was mot good, and Gertie’s
education and music would cost so much that Robert’s
offer was a tempting one, and she considered it for a few
moments, and then said yes, and showed him the large,
pleasant room where Abelard Lyle’s coffin had stood, and
where, within a few days, easels, and pallets, and brushes,
and paint were scattered about promiscuously; for Robert
had taken possession, and dubbed the room his ‘‘Den,’’
and was going to paint ‘Za Soeur’ from Gertie’s face,
and then retouch from his memory of his sister,

Mary Rogers had struck a powerful blow for Gertie,
and hedged her round with the respect of the young men,
who otherwise might have turned her head as she grew

 

ent inthe United States. ],

four town-bred, fashionable young men, with perfumed,
locks, and fancy canes, and short cpa. and soft hats, |

 
 
 

 

 

  
 

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THE FAMILY—USE AND PLEASURE. os Jone teas the point of escaping; ‘‘don’t stir an inch guitcuaaale: renee. en Baehorn, ye slow _ oie Sir Eustace meee a frantic effort to disengage her cling- | to womanhood, with all her wondrous beauty and fascin-
. : > y Claim anronaild can be | ing gras t she i ik i i isgivi
BY ernttids satanic Matihl turned when she found that flight was impos- | established you MUST BECOME MY WIFE!” ibe seots. ag Be ner fUAk ayia pale rapt aver hee sate She pechridey or uaeiwe ceen Robert Ma pheraon as
Sell sible, and stood face to face with Sir Eustace. His Tace If a bullet had struck her, Daisy would not have been | face, and felt her whole frame shuddering with throes of] a lodger. Had she not by nia doing let the wait into the
Tis a place of bright young roses was flushed, and his eyes had an excited look that half-| more startled. Forthe space of a moment she stood | agony, he caught herin his arms, and ran with all the} fold? But no she could not think so, when she a *
In the early golden weather! frightened Matin. is * dumb, then she threw up her proud head with @ gesture | speed he could command inthe direction of the street. quiet and unobtrusive he was never seeking pither herd
With the south-wind’s inspiration Why, Sir Eustace, she gasped, ‘I thonght you had of scornfal grace. ; Ss : But half way his strength failed him, he stumbled, and | self or her chiid, unless he needed them for the sittings
Giiw they ati their lohves teaselier! one re | a ssculll (inkehias. 1 semiiah lak slouoal CO bipteemee she replied, ‘I did not come here to listen to ae fell, Lol a. ne to be a dead weight in| and as days glided into weeks, her watchfulness gradually
a : : P : Baer Sats ms. He Jaid her tenderly on ‘a grassy spot near t i ; 3
¥ Rising, leaning, rustling, sparkling— net, sternly; “I want an explanation of your actions. “Tam not jesting, Miss Doon, or speaking idly, as you | gate, and raised her head again. She emilod.s then aecyhegioets hye a Bp ae
What a rapturous, perfect motion! What intriguing is this you’re up to in Lady Ryhope’s ab- | will find—on the contrary, | am deadly, determinedly in | sweet smile. ~ , : Tom Barton and Will Ransom came sometimes to see
As if each, with soul impassioned, sence. Where has Miss Doon gone in that masquerading | earnest. Inhold all the proofs and claims to Clanronald “You are so kind, Sir Eustace,” she murmured; ‘twill | him, but they never asked for Gertie, and, if by chance.
Felt a family devotion. costume??? in my hands; if you desire your bi er to be established | soon be over--help poor Ichabod. Heaven have mercy on they saw her going out or coming in the treated her
wits is uevaeiiantentions- Matihl shut her thin lips tight, She would not betray | as heir to that tile, you must ¢ tto become my wile | him, and on me——’? with as much deference as if she had peed one :
ine nocd Tk dxintalics aaie <a girl ae her own interest demanded it, And her | —to marry me at once.) “Peet A She fell intoa stupor then, her eyes half closed. Sir | ladies from Schuyler Hill. Godfrey was there at
iit they dnd ¢ teridel aia, interest id demand ib. To marry i!) her lovely eyes blazing—‘‘you, who | Eustace thought of shouting for help, but agonizedas he | every day, and sometimes twice a day, but now that Ma
y Tm Where has she gone? Isaw you call the hansom. | were to mar dy Ryhope, and deceived and deserted | was, a nameless dread kept him silent, and he sat there in | knew him better she had no fears of him, and trusted
And their odors ever mingle. Speak this instant, or you leave this house before sun- | her at the very altar!” j ' | the solemn gloom, with the whisper of the night-winds in | darling to him as if he had been a brother. He was going
3 rise! continued the young baronet, fiercely. , “Inever loved Lady Ryhope, Miss Doon; and she 1 his ears, and the music of the ball-room echoing in the| away soon, and some time in November he left home for
On the walks, amid the roses, To Clydesdale Place,’? answered the French girl, | me into that silly contract against will—I was for distance, like one in an awful dream, watching the lovely | Andover where he hoped to prepare himself for Yale the
Now retreating, now advancing, promptly. to break it. But you Ido love—from the:first moment my | face that whitened with the pallor of death. following year. He had seen a great deal of Gertie dur-
* See some children, in life’s rapture, “What for?” eyes beheld youl have loved youas I never did, a After a brief interval, Daisy roused again, shook by an- | ing the weeks he visited Robert so often, and was inter-
Laughing, singing, shouting, dancing! ‘That I don’t know, Sir Eu ce; she only asked me to | never shall, love any other woman,’? other death-pang. Her eyes slowly opened. ested in everything which interested her, from her lesson
‘Whey are brothers there, and sistere— help to disguise herself, and eard her tell the man to Crouching under the arbor-seat, Lady Ryhope tore at ‘‘Heaven bless you, Sir Eustace!”’ she murmured. ‘Poor | in the catechism, for she had gone into the Sunday school
a drive to Clydesdale Place.’’ 8 the priceless laces on the bosom of her ball dress till they | Ichabod—he’ll miss me—who’ll ‘help him now?’ Then] to her French and music, in both of which she was mak-
Worthy mates of familied flowers—_ Sir Eustace.turned on his heel, and strode out amid the | were in tatters; her passion amounted to an agony. she paused, and an ineffable joy flooded her white face. | ing rapid progress * f
Like them, never a contention flaring gas-lights. ‘“Traitor—liar!? she breathed in a sibilant whisper, | “Jack,” she cried. ‘Dear, kind, good Jack— — rtie: doi i ; i
3 é per, ’ : +z ck—at last—at And Gertie was doing him goo@, too, always reproying
Through the golden, dovelike hours; He was all dressed for the ball, and had only lingered, | ‘‘you shall pay dearly for this!*? : ; last—no one else was ever like Jack.” him in her quiet, Outspoken way, when she found him re-
And when ’mid the play’s short pauses, 5 after the departure of his mother and sister, hoping to get “Don’t be unreasonable, Miss Doon,” continued his These incoherent utterances ceased, the queenly head, | lapsing into careless habits of speaking and keeping him
Me’er rough word or act id bine an interview with Daisy. He had not had a chance to | lordship, “I can’t see why you should object to my con- With all its shining braids, fell back upon the grass; there | constantly upon his good behavior when he was with her
started. | speak in private with her for an’ age, and her wondrous | ditions—I offer you an honorable name> and position and | Was one long, shuddering breath, and then an awful} She did not think him a perfect gentleman yet, and she
Sure these dear ones up are growing bec beauty, the day she drove with May in the Park, had fired | a devoted love.” silence] ; frankly told him so when he put the question to her and
For the future time right-hearted! _ + ‘| the baronet’s heart afresh. He adyanced and attempted to take her hand, but Daisy} The young baronet did net stir for a moment. Then the | laughingly referred to her promise given on board ‘the
‘ q _ He was striding up and down the cool garden paths, | recoiled from him in marked aversion. truth broke upon him like a thunder-clap. : ship. This was n he came to say good-by, and asked
Seated in the glowing garden, oking his-Manilla and watching the window of Daisy’s “You are not an honorable maffhtord Raeburn,”? she] ‘She’s dead,’ he gasped—‘‘dead. Great Heaven! what | if she could yas ee r
Looking on each sister, brother, tment, when she and Matihl stole out at the side | said, passionately, ‘‘or you never would have lured mé shallI do? The world will say J murdered her!” “No, I can’t,” she answered, ‘for I heard you say by f
In calm eestasy won nobly, . Sir Eustace recognized her perfect figure in an in- | here for such a purpose as this—you never would have| He stood irresolute, his knees shaking beneath him, and George, and call your father the Governor, and you are
a tee Sather and a Mine , disguised as it was in its nun’s habilaments, and | made such an unmanly proposal—I shali never become] the graceful figure of the murdered girl lay there at his | nota gentleman yet. You will have to wait,” and she
For, as roses here «re under Curiosity was instantly aroused. He must find out} your wife, and you knowit.?  — * ’ . | feet. F "s pursed up her pretty mouth in a way which almost drove
ce teins tnanbetsies biredihl that masquerading meant. t “T don’t know it, begging your pardon; Miss Doon. You| ‘‘What shad I do?’ he pevaned, great beads of agony | Godfrey to steal the kiss she refused him.
nsp) reathing, WOL der if she's going to meet some fellow!’’ he mut- will reconsider this. You shall have time—I will win you | glistening on his brow. “I can’t leave her here, and if I But he only held her hand a moment, and pressed it
So their children have been under to himself, striding down the thronged street, with | by my devotion———’ : ; | call for help now her death will be charged to me.. What} harder than he pressed Alice’s next day when he said -

leave him and pass on to a time when Gertie came to
have something to do with matters at Schuyler Hill.

CHAPTER XXXIII. .
THE NEW LIFE AT THE HILL.

_ It was just one year from the day when Edith first came
. to Hampstead, and over the house upon the Hill a dark
cloud was hanging, as, hour after hour went by, and there
was no gleam of hope for the pale-faced woman lying at
the very gates of death and talking in her delirium of
things which no one understood. She had been thus for
three entire days ever since the walls of her chamber first
echoed to the wail of the infant boy which lay in its costly
crib in the adjoining room and at which the colonel scarce-
ly looked, so intense was his anxiety for the beautiful young
mother, who, whenever he came near her with words of
tenderness, motioned him away, saying:

“No, no, you mustn’t, you don’t know. Itis not the
first, as you think. Oh, my baby, I don’t know whereshe
is; find her, Howard; find my baby for me.?

They brought her the little mite of flesh and blood
wrapped in soft cambric and flannel, and it was her hus-
band who held it close to her, and said:

‘Look, Edith, here is our baby, our little boy; shall Ilay
it beside you?’

Very wistfully the gray eyes glanced for 2a moment into
the colonel’s face and then down uponmthe child, while a
look of anguish crept into them as Edith cried:

“No, no, this isnot the one. I want my lost baby, my
baby with the soft, blue eyes. Will no one find it for me?”

Then in a curious way, she would examine with her
eyes her surroundings and whisper to herself:

‘Handsome furniture, fine linen, silken curtains, and
silver dishes toeat from. Thisis not the place. Mother,

 

_|. mother, where am I, and are you there by the fire with

baby ?”

She was back again in'London in the forlorn room in
Dorset street, and the rain was plashing against the win-
dows just as it.did that dreary,day, and she heard the
+ footsteps of the lodgers on the stairs and the roar of the
great city and fought again the battle for hér child, and
;the iron hand came back and.elutched her throat and
Strangled her until herface was purple‘and she writhed
dn the agonies of suffocation. “Then, when the paroxysm
was Over she lay for hours in @ swoon soneariy resem-
bling death that at last they thought her gone and the
whisper that she was dead ran:through the hall, down to
the servants’ quarters, where it was told to Gertie West-
brooke, who had come to inquire for her.

“No, no, not dead; oh, no, what shall I do?? Gertie
cried, as with a low, bitter moan she sank down upon the
grass bythe door and covering her face with her hands
wept passionately.’

During the past.year Edith and Gertie had met often by

they had learned to know each other well. ‘Together they
had-talked of French and music and the books which
Gertie liked best and the flowers of which Gertie knew so
much; and Edith had written to the white-haired, sweet-
faced old lady among the Berwick hills, and sent the roses
Gertie had pressed and which blossomed on Abelard’s
grave. And when the answer came which had in ita
blessing for ‘the bonny lassie who looks after my puir
laddie’s grave,’? Edith read it to Gertie, sitting both of
them under the shadow of the whispering pine which
grew above the grave. And now all this had come to an
end and all the brightness of Gertie’s life seemed stricken
out with the words:

“Mrs. Schuyler is dead.”

“And she so lovely and good—and she liked me, too.
Oh, I cannot bear it—I cannot!” Gertie sobbed, just as a
footstep came near: ah ,

And looking up, she saw Emma, who, overhearing the
words and guessing at their meaning, said to her:

“Gertie, she is not dead. She has revived a little, and
is breathing still, though the doctor thinks her dying.”

‘Not dead? Then there is hopel’? and Gertie lifted up
her head joyfully. “Oh, Miss Emma, may I see her—
just ok at her? Ill be so very quiet, and [loved her so
much!’

“Yes. Ido not Know as you can do any harm by 1look-
ing at her,’ Emma said, and in an instant Gertie was fly-
fing the stairs and along the south hall, which led to
Editli’s room.
~ The door was open wide, and looking in, she saw the
“white, still face upon the pillow, framed in masses of
golden brown hair, which the fair hands had torn and
matted when the iron fingers were at the throat. She
seemed to be dead, and the doctor touched her pulse to
see ifit still beat, when the lips said, slowly and faintly:

“Where’s my little girl ?”?

The last word was prolonged, and to the excifed child,
leaning forward in the door, it sounded like “‘litule
Gertie,’? and, without stopping to consider the conse-
quences, Gertie darted across the floor to the side of the
dying woman, whose lips she kissed, as she said:

19m here! I’m here!’?

“Go away!’ came sternly from the suffering, wretched
husband, who frowned darkly upon the girl thus auda-
ciously disturbing his dying wife.

And with a frightened face Gertie started to obey him,
when the physician interposed and stopped her, saying:

“Speak to her again.”?

His practiced eye had detected a change in his patient
when Gertie first spoke to her, and now, when at his
command the clear, silvery yoice, so full of love and ten-
der pathos, said, ‘I am here—little Gertie. Do you know
me, Mrs. Schuyler?” there certainly was a change, but
whether from the effect of the powerful medicine given a
few moments before as alast experiment, or because of
that voice, which rang so clear and bird-like, I cannot tell.
I only know something penetrated into the deep darkness,
and brought back:the senses almost gone forever. There
was a faint fluttering of the eyelids; then they unclosed,
and the eyes’ looked full at Gertie, while the lips whis-
pered, “Stay! and a hand moved slowly toward the
child, who grasped it in -her own, and held it fast, while
Edith seemed to sleep for afew mornents.

“She is better—she will live,’’ the doetor said, as he
met her look of recognition when her sleep was over.
“Quiet now is what she needs.”’

And then Gertie started to leave the room, but the
white fingers closed tightly round hers, and seeing that,
Colonel Schuyler bade her stay.

So Gertie staid all that afternoon, and sat by Edith’s
side, and smoothed the tangled hair, and bathed the pale
forehead, and held the cooling drink to the parched lips;
and once, when the baby cried in thenext room ana
Edith seemed disturbed, she went and took it up, and,
soothing it into quiet, Jaid it back upon its dainty bed.

Gertie wasa natural nurse, and she covered herself
with so much glory that day at Schuyler Hill that the
proud colonel himself unbent to her, and sent her home
in his carriage because of arain which was falling, and
poe her to come again, as his wife seemed so quiet with
ner. ; 7 :

And Gertie went again, and often during the weeks of
Edith’s illness the sick woman felt better and happier,
when Gertie was in the room beside her, where she could
look at her and touch her if she chose. There had been
consciousness for half-an-hour or more after the birth of
her child, but instead of joy that ‘‘a man was born into
the world,” there had swept over her a wave of bitter
anguish as she remembered the home in Dorset street,
and the other little one, her first born, her girl baby
stolen, lost and dead, of whom Colonel Schuyler neyer
heard, and whose father slept under the cvergrecnaay 1
she could see from her window nodding in the autumn
wind, and bending toward her as it seemed in an attitude
of menace, :

They had brought her baby for her to see, and her hus-
band had laid it to her cheek, and said to her lovingly: -

“Look, darling, your first baby, and a very fine boy,
too;’? and then Edith had recoiled from him, feeling her-
self a loathsome object of liypocrisy, and yearnings oh, so
much, for the little one whose birth had been so different
from the scion of the proud house of Schuyler, the
fine boy over whom such rejoicings were made.

She had felt the warm, soft hand on her cheek, and the
touch had awakened such intense love, and remorse, and
pity and longing for the other child dead so long ago that
she had writhed in agony and pushed her boy away,
while her wandering mind went far, far down into the
deepest depths of darkness as she reviewed a page of her
life which she had thought sealed forever. How awful
were the hours of those days when the pine tree nodded
and grinned and Jaughed and threw its long arms at her,
and Abelard came and stood beside her with sad, re-
proachful eyes, and pointing toa little plain pine coffin,
said:

“Tisis is our baby’s bed, while his boy sleeps in satin
and down.”’

Oh, it was horrible, and from this horror Geriie’s voice
had called her back, and she clung to the young. girl, and
insisted upon having her with her as much as possible,
and said to herself:

“Iv’'s because of her care for that grave that I love hér

 

good-by to her and went his way to Andover where we

the graye which the child tended with so much care, and ~

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s0 mueh;’? and when one day during her convalescence
Gertie came to her in grief, and told her of Miss Arm-
strong’s sudden illness, and that the school was closed in-
definitely, and asked what she should de for a teacher,
Edith considered for a moment, and then said:

“Go, Gertie, please, to Colonel Schuyler’s room, and ask
him to come here, and you wait in the hall till you see
him go out.”

“What is it, darling? Can Ido anything for you?" the
colonel asked, as he bent over his wife, wio was so pale
and thin, and still so beautiful in her young maternity.

“Yes, Howard,” and Edith’s white fingers strayed
caressingly over his hair and forehead. ‘You know that

I fe that both of us feel as if I were almost indebted to
Ge Westbrooke for my life, and I wish to do her a fa-
vor. Will you say yes to it?”

“Oertainly—certaimly. Is it money ?’’ the colonel asked,
and Edith replied:

“No, better than that. Miss Armstrong’s school is
broken up, and Gertie has no teacher, She is a fine
scholar, { hear, and anxious to learn. Let her come here
every day and recite to Miss Browning, Miss Alice has
nearly finished her education, and will soon be gone,
Shall it be so? May I'tell her to come?”

There was & momentary hesitation on the colonel’s part
—a twinge or two of pride, and then he answered:

“Yes, certainly, yes, let her come. You always had a
penchant for this girl, and | must say she seems a very
remarkable child.’

And so it was settled that Gertie was henceforth to re-
cite to Miss Browning, and though there was consternation
and much opposition in the school-room, the colonel stood
firmly to his decision, and one pleasant morning in Octo-
‘ber Gertie brought her books to Schuyler Hill and took
the desk assigned her, far removed from her aristocratic
companions, who at first scarcely noticed her by so much
as a nod of recognition.

But as time went on her sweet temper and quiet, gen-
tle demeanor insensibly wore upon them, while they were
surprised at her scholarship so superior in some respects
to their own that even Alice stooped more than once to
ask information from the despised Gertie, who gave it
without the least signof exultation. Whatever Gertie
undertook she did thoroughly, but her great success as a
Scholar was owing in part to the pains I had taken with
her and to the interest Robert Macpherson had evinced
in her studies ever since he became an occupant of the
cottage. He was away now on the Western prairies
sketching the scenery there, and so Gertie was thrown
upon her own resources, but she was equal to the emer-
wency, and studied early and iate to overtake and surpass,
if possible, the young ladies who looked upon her 80 con-
temptuously. But for any coldness on their part she
more than had amendsinthe extreme kindness with
which Edith invariably treated her, while the baby was
to her a constant source of delight. She had been present
at the baptism, and wondered to see Edith turn so white
when the rector pronounced the name ‘James Lyle.”
Beith had wished to call her baby Howard, but the col-
one] had objected and insisted upon James, the name of
his only brether. :

“We will add Lyle to it for you,’ he said.

And so it was christened “James Lyle,” and Edith grew
so faintand sick that her husband supported her as she
left the church, and she lay all that pleasant Sunday after-
noon upon the couch with asad, tired look upon her
face and scarcely noticed the little boy in his crib, whose
name Was the same with the man sleeping beneath the
evergreen just across the lawn.

Juimie was a beautiful child, with a mass of dark brown
curls, and eyes like his father's; and even Julia, who had
fromthe first been opposed to his birth and treated her
step-mother with great coolness on account of it, softened
tovard him and wrote to her auntin New York that “he
really was a fine child, every inch a Schuyler, and that
all things considered, she was quite reconciled to his
birth, though she felt for Godfrey, who was no longer the
only son.”? ;

I think Lhave failed to record that after having spent
the entire winter at Schuyler Hill, doing her best to sow
discord and dissension, and awake jealousy and dislike
between Edith and her step-daughters, Miss Christine
had received a hint from the colonel to the effect that if
she was not satisfied with mattersasshe found them
there she might possibly be better suited elsewhere, and
that acting upon this hint she had packed up her val-
uables with the air of martyred saint and left for New
York, where she had bought the long-talked-of house,
which was to be the asylum for her nieces when their
own home was swarming with little Lyles, as she ex-
pressed it. Hereshe was living in great splendor and
loneliness when she read Julia’s letter announcing the
birth of the first little Lyle, ‘“‘who is every inch a
Schuyler.’?

“Humbug! Sheis being won over too,’? she said, as
she finished reading the letter. ‘Poor Emily! what would
shesay if she knew about that baby, and that Godfrey
Was supplanted in his rights. Poor Godfrey! Lil write
to him to-day.”

And she did write, a letter of four pages, and told him
of the intruder, and asked liim what he thought now of his
step-dame.

Godfrey thought she was jolly, and wrote her a note of
congratulation, in which he made playful allusions to his
broken nose, which he said he was poulticing with flax-
seed, and lie sent his love to ‘“‘the little chap,” and asked
for alock of his hair. The ba was @ suceess, and no
one seemed to love it more than Gertie Westbrooke, She
was passionately fond of children, and devoted herself so
much to Jamie that he soon learned to know her, and
would cry when she Jeft his sight. And so it came about
that she was much with Edith, between whom and her-
self the bond of ldve was strengtheniDg and paying the
way for the fulfilment of events, which cutminate at last
with the clanging,of bells. we heard on that autumn morn-
ing when this story Was Commenced.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

  

ITEMS OF INTEREST.

nae A “wolf boy’ lately made his appearanee at Luck-
now, India. He was carried off by wolves when an in-
fant, and remained with them untilashort time ago,
When caught and recognized by his parents. His man-
ners are not only disagreeable, but peculiar. Act first he
walked on all fours, though pow he has been induced to
walk on his two feet only, like a reasonable being; he has
long hair on his head and his body is much scarred, and
he cannot speak, nor can le understand a single word.
His parents suffered much inconvenience on his first ar-
rival at home, owing to his frequently attacking aud try-
ing to devour them by night; and, indeed, it was owiug
to his persistence in this unfilial conduct that they were
compelled in self-defense to place him under medical sur-
Veillance. He also, among other disagreeable habits,
tears raw meat to pieces with his teeth, and eats it raven-
ously like a wild beast, and, moreover, bites and snaps at
any one who attempts to touch him.

4ay- A curious story comes Prussia. According to old
customs the uniform in which Frederick the Great died
became the property of his valet, and was preserved in
the inheritor’s family up toa few weeks ago, when the
head of that family dying, the heirs resolved to convert it
into money. It was disposed of for 150 thaters to a dealer
-in old clothes, who soon met witha patriotic admirer of
historical relics, who invested 500 thalersin the suit. The
next purchaser was an Englishman, who ventured the
comparatively high price of 8,000 thalers (£1,200) asa
Speculation, hoping to realize as much as £3,000 by re-
Selling it to a prince of the reigning house in Prussia who
Was anxious to possess himself of the uniform, but the
price alarmed him. The purchaser, it is said, has shipped
the interesting garments tothe Uuited States, where he
believes he will obtain even a‘higher price than that asked
ofthe great king’s descendant.

Sar A colored man of Wilmington, N. C., by the name
of Sandy Johuson, has a tame coon which follows him
about the streets like a dog. He is not only a civilized,
but an educated coon, as he understands an order, and
does whatever his master tells him. They sit down and
eat their meals together, the coon imitating his masier,
not only in taking upa piece of bread in his paw and
biting it, butin lifting a cup of water to hig mouth and
drinking as naturally as anybody. The animal is chris-
tened Bill Johnson, and his sable master, Sandy Johnson,
calls him ‘Brother Bill.”

kay The family of Mr. John A. McDowell, of Wilming-
ton, Del., were sadly afflicted lately, two of his daughters
dying at nearly the same time. They were accomplished
and promising young girls, oue being nineteen years of
age and the otlier seventeen. Esther died of heart-dis-
ease. Jennie, the younger sister, attacked with ty-
phoid fever at the time of her sister’s death, was so al-
fected by the circumstance that she too breathed her last
twenty minutes after the death of her sister. A few mo-
ments before her death, being in a semi-delirious state,
she exclaimed: ‘‘Give me my things! give me my things!
i see my sister going, and she is waiting for me.*’

4a A little girl named Annie White, residing in Sardis,
Ky., has rather more than the usual complement ef grand-
mothers living, there being five of them, who all reside in
Mason, Ky., and whose naines are given as follows: Mrs.
Virginia White is her father’s mother and her own grand-
. Mot)ier, Mrs. Annie Grover is her mother’s grandmother
and her great-grandmother, Mrs. Nancy Dye is her moth-
er's grandmotiier and her great-grandmother, Mrs. Mat.
Dye is her step-grandmother, Mrs. William Grover is her

. step-father’s mother and her step-grandmother.

Bae A baby died from fright in Newtonvilie, Mass., re-
centiy. A heavy thunder-storm prevailed in the vicinity,
and at each report of the thunder the babe jumped spas-
modically, and gave every evidence of thorough fright
possible in so young an infant. At last a terrific ciap

- came, the child’s limbs twitched conyulsively, and it died
instantly. The lightning struck a house only afew rods
distant, but it is nut thought that the electricity had any
effect upon the child, for it was not felt by any others.

kar Another New Hampshire dog story is told, the hero
this time being a dog in Lancaster who had been accus-
tomed to accompany his owner to a certain meadow.
While there one day his master had a conversation with
a neighbor as to the best method of dispatching him, he
being old and Worthless, and it was agreed that he should
be brought to the meadow the following day and that the
neighbor should give him poison, but the dog could never
be induced to go there again.

La- An angler on Trout. Lake, Ontario, lately had his
hat blown away, and while rowing hard to recover it was
surprised to see it spinning across the water at a tremen-
dous rate. On overtaking it he found that a large trout
had taken an artificial fly affixed to the hat, but the line
broke before the trout could be secured.

ka Since the great fire in Chicago between 200 and
300 persons have been adjudged insane in the courts of
Cook County, Iinois,

 

anc as mene oma

 

BY GEORGE DODD,

 

My own, my own dear native land,
Far, far across the sea,

As on a foreign shore I stand,
How oft I think of thee.

In peaceful moments memory dies
To thy most welcome shore,

And seems to bring before mine eyes
The scenes that are no more,

In thee are friends most dear to me,
Whom I have left to roam;

In thee, O, blessed may it be,
My childhood’s happy home.

When on thy soil again I tread,
Amid thy beauties grand,

Tl ne’er again by fancies led,
Leaye thee, my native land,

->-@+-

Moccasin Mose;

cute Se:

THE TRAIL OF DEATH.
By Burke Brentford,
Author of “SQUIRREL-CAP,” “FLORENCE

FALKLAND,” “GOLD-DUST DARRELL,”
etc., ete., ete.

[Moccasin Mose” was commenced in No. 45. Back numbers
can be obtained trom any News Agent in the United States. }

CHAPTER VIII.
THE AVENGER'S SECRET.

In his natural Health, and in the natural condition of
his sturdy frame and strong, taciturn disposition, the gen-
tle words of the Commandant would have had little effect
upon our grim hero; but now, in his state of physical ex-
haustion, wit his uerves temporarily unstrung by the
hardships through which he had passed, and by his long
immersion in the chill waters of the river, the manner and
voice of the speaker touched his heart, :

“Its all in a nutshell, sir,’? said he, in a yoice of inde-
seribable sorrow; ‘‘and you tempt me to open my lips in
a way that they have not been opened, save in whispers
to my own broke heart, for over fifteen years.”

The colonel became greatly interested, and by an effort
of the will compelled himself to absorbing attention in
order that he might mitigate as much as possible his ter-
rible suspense concerning the fate of his adopted child,

“My name is Moses Longford,’’ continued Moccasin
Mose, speaking in low, Swift tones, as if he doubted his
ability to get through with his narrative in a more meas-
ured way. ‘Twas borninthe State of Maine, and was
in early life a wild and reckless fellow; a thorough hunter
before I sought this wilderness, inasmuch as I hunted the
moose-deer and the bear in the great pine forests of my
native State. I was also a famous walker and runner in
my youth, and engaged in many pedestrian matches, in
which I was uniformly successful. a ee

“But when of age Lsettled down to my trade of housce-
carpenter in Portland, grew industrious, and soon began
to thrive. I was in business for myself before I was twen-
ty-five, with a snug little capital in the bank and two or
three cottages of my own, which yielded me an annual
rent.

“WhenlIwas twenty-six Imarried. My wife wasa
poor, friendless factory operative, but one of the most
beautiful women and the purest and loveliest character I
had ever met. She wasa brunette, tall, graceful and
elegant, with the softest and darkest eyes in the wor
I think I was supremely happy. And all the recellec
of that happiness only serves to increase my rage wh
think of the villainy that plunged me from its pinn,
the depths of despair.”

The speaker paused, for the fame-look glittered
pale face like a beacon. He presently went on:

“We were both tolerably well educated and ou
were much alike. When I returned from my wor
evening after supper we would read and talk toge
hours, wraptin each other’s thoughts, and then r
that holy slumber in each other's arms which tl
gels in Heaven must know, but few of mortal birth.

   
  
    
  
  
  

a
The
slang and imperfect language which yon have often heard
me use have been acquired among the rude spirits of
the plains, and are not the faults of my early education.

“Yes, we were supremely happy. Two years after our
union my wife presented me with a child—a beautiful lit-
ue girl. If we had been much to each other before we
were now allinall. Little Mollie, as we called her, was
a life-link which seemed to bind us together with bonds
that naught could sever. We lived our first passion over
again in watching the growth of our little girl.”

“Did you say her name was Mollie?’ interrupted the
colonei.

“Yes—Mary Longford.” :

“Mary Longford, en? Goon, Mr. Longford.”

“When our child was nearly a year and three months
old, business called meto Boston and New York,,and |
was necessarily absent from home nearly two months.
When I returned to Portland there was a change.’

The narrator paused. His brow darkened, and the
flame-look flickered over his ashen face once more. He
went on:

“During my absence, a sort of preacher, professing to
be a Mormonelder and a bosom friend of Brigham Young,
had created a great breeze among the Portland people,
and many of them went to tiear him out of pure curiosity.
Now there happened to be a real little Mormon church in
the town, andits pastor at once came out, and branded
this Elder Smith, as he called himself, as an impostor and
a Villain, who knew nothing of the Mormon creed; but
evenif this had been otherwise, it would have made no
difference to me, as I was never able to take in their doc-
trine of a plurality of wives. Still many people went to
hear him out of mere curiosity. Among others, during
my absence—curse the hour!—my wile was induced to
go, through the persuasions of a frivolous lady friend.
Wheu I returned she had grown infatuated with the swin-
dier, and Smith’’'—the speaker paused to grind his teeth,
whike the flame-look flickered up again, and this time so
vividly as to illuminate his countenance with demoniacal
light—“struck by her beauty, had managed to procure an
intreduction to ler,

“This completed her infatuation, and the woman who
theretofore had been the very model of propriety and
good-sense, Saw nothing wrong in permitting him to visit
her at my house during my absence. I was gone long
enough for him to instill the poison of his eloquence into
her soul beyond hope of eradication.

“Upon myreturn Isaw with infinite horror the ruin
that had been wrought in my home and in the bosom of
my wife. Smith was a tall, portly, red-whiskered and
red-haired man, of rather fine appearance, but with the
unmistakeable traits of the hypocrite and the sensualist
stamped undisguisedly upon his features.

“TJ commenced operations by kicking him into the
street, and giving him a sound beating, for which I after-
ward cheerfuily paid the fifty dollars fine, in which the
judge with muca reluctance mulcted me.

“My wife, frightened at my fury, implored my forgive-
ness, declared that she had been only carried away by a
temporary fascination, from which my presence in the
hour of temptation would have saved her, and promised
never more t@ see Elder Smith or hear him preach, After
abjuring her by the mutuallove we bore our child, as
well as by every other tie, worldly and sacred, to her du-
ties as a@ mother apd a wife, I took her tomy heart once
more. I believe to this hour that her penitence was sin-
cere, and her desire to dorigut by me earnest and un-
affected. If she fell afterward, it was through her own
inherent weakness of character, the wantof an early re-
ligious training, and because circumstances once more
placed her in the way of the wily tempter.”

The speaker drew a long breath, seemed for a moment
absorbed in the past, wherein some tenderness lingered,
and then continued:

“I kept her constantly under my eye and by my side,
and was soon confident that £ had tricked the Evil One,
and won her to my heart once more.

“Business again calied meto Boston at the end ofa
month or so. I wasonlyto be absent afew days, and
quitted my home without a shadow upon my mind or
heart, my wife kissing me an affectionate farewell. I
never dreamed that it was the last kiss I should ever press
upon her lips.’? :

The hunter’s swift voice grew even more hurtied, as
though he were depicting the particulars of a hideous
oe whose mere recollection almost drove him dis-

racted.

“I was only absent in Boston three days,” he continued;
“but, when I returned, the ruin of my house and heart
was complete. The villain had only been watching his
opportunity. My home was deserted. My wife had flown,
taking our child with her. <A brief note, stated that she
had become convinced that Smith was her true spiritual
affinity, and she had left me in obedience to a vision of the
Holy Spirit, which had appeared to her, commanding her
te do so; and this, witha few more iines containing a
similar amount of blasphemous filth, was the only me-
mento she Jeft me; though, to give her credit, she took no
property with her, save a few clothes,

“I believe I could have stood up against the mere de-
sertion of my wile, andin time have been contented to
forget the weak and faithless one; but the loss of my child
fell upon me like a thunder-bolt; and the thought of the
vicious and baleful associations with which that baby-life
might expand into womanhood, was the dull, aching
after-thought. At first, I was completely stunned by the
blow. Then I fell senseless, and a delirious fever confined
me to an hospital ward for several weeks.

“This gave the fugitives a long start. As soon as I was
convalescent, I sold ont everything I had, realizing severai
thousand dollars, and started upon their track; my two-
fold object being the recovery of my child, and the life of
the destroyer of my peace. I tracked them from’ town to
town, through New York, Buffalo, Cincinnati, St. Louis
and other cities of the West.”?

‘How old did you say your child, Mollie, was at the
time of the mother’s elopement, Mr. Longford?” said the
colonel, now deeply interested.

“About eighteen months, sir. The first real clue I got
to them was at St. Louis. ‘here had been an accident on
the railway between that city and Jefferson city, some
weeks previously, and a man andl Woman, answering the
description of Elder Smith and my runaway wife, were
among the passengers. The man had received dangerous
injuries about the head and face, but had, nevertheless,

 

proceeded on his way, manifesting great nervousness at

 

 

Cian wna
ee tee a S

the slight detention occasioned by the surgical attention
to his injuries.’

“And the child—the little Mollie?

“J could learn nothing of the child, and concluded that
it must have died on the way. My informant respecting
the woman, whom Lhave no doubt was my wile, said
that she looked wretched and heart-broken, as though she
had shortly before lost a child, or some one very. dear to
her.”?

“Humphl’? exclaimed the colonel, his brows conéract-
ing, as his chin sank meditatively upon his breast,

“T tracked them to Omaha, whence they had accompa-
nied an emigrant train across the plains,’’? pursued Moc-
casin Mose, not noticing his auditor’s ejaculation. ‘I told
you before that, as ayouth, 1 had been bred a hunter. I
bought an extensive outfit, and accompanied a military
party to Salt Lake City. At neither this place nor any of
the settlements could [learn of my man.» There were a
great many Smiths—Deacons Smith, Judges Smith, Doc-
tors and Lawyers Smith—but no Elder Smith. I saw that

Thad been fooled, doubly fooled; that my enemy had
doubtless assumed a fictitious name in the East, to re-
sume his own name when safe among his own people. 1
had never been certain whetner the destroyer of my peace
was a Mormon ornot. Iwasnot long in assuring my-
self that he was nothing of the kind.

“Many of the Mormons even sympathized with me, and
gaye me all the advice in their power, I had Suckily a
photograph of the villain, which I had found in my wife's
dressing-table, and they told me that the man of whom
it was the likeness had once resided in the Territory, as
one of a desperate set of men suspected of being robbers
and cut-throats, and known to be in league with the more
savage and turbulent of the Indian tribes, He had, how-
ever, returned to the East with a vast amount of ill-got-
ten wealth, and had never been seenagain. But the band
of desperadoes had become a far-ramifying organization,
and I felt certain—felt it im my heart and soul—that the
villain had rejoined his comrades. That band still exists,
sir, and these people of Bird Johnson form a part of it;
and old Jolinson, in spite of his outward show of respect-
ability, and his influence among dignitaries, who might
know better than to have anything to do with him, is the
leader of the whole organization.

“] knew that¢my man existed, that he was living in
this Territory, and it became the object of my life to hunt
him down—to imbrue my hands in his blood. While mak-
ing secret inquiries in the neighborhood of Grass Valley,
a stronghold of the villains, 1 was waylaid, almost mur-
dered, and robbed of everything I possessed in the world.

The men who did ‘this deed—each one of them has since
paid for it with his life—were all of the band of renegades,
and chiefly hangers-on of this old villain, Bird Johnson,
though I scarcely believe that he had anything to do with
rendering me penniless, as, with all his wickedness, he
has the name of never injuring those who do not cross
his path.

‘] afterward heard of a woman who was wandering
among the settlements and Indian tribes in a homeless,
friendiess condition, having quitted her husband's home
on account of his brutal treatment. I went everywhere
in-search of this woman, satisfied, from the deseription
which I received of her, that she was my wife—not that
I cared for her, but in order that she might give me the
real name of the man who had wrought my ruin. But
my quest was unsuccessful, and presently I ceased to hear
of her, and concluded that the wretched mother, like the
fortunate child—Heaven only knows ow fortunate in
this respect!—had passed away from earth.

“Since I was made penniless, as wellas broken-hearted,
Ihave beenthe silent, lonely manyousee me, [have
extraordinary powers of strength and endurance. Iam
one of the swifiest and tougnest pedestrians in the world,
andam known among the Indian tribes as the Wind-
Walker, and among some of the more peaceable I am re-
spected and loved, The members of the secret band hate
andfear me. I never, however, killed one of their num-
ber except in defense of my own life, or unless I knew my
man to be asecret robber and murderer, and never even
then except in fair figut, man to man, and Knife to knife,
although I own that I have frequently allied myself to the
military forces when about to engage in a fight with In-
dians with whom I knewsome of the renegades were ac-
tively allied—for what purpose you. can conjecture. I
liaveslain many of them, and their bodies bear my mark,
In the pursuit of the, one object of my life—something in
my breast tells me that he lives, and in this territory—l
have leit behind me a Trail of Death which must lengthen
out, blacker and blacker, until my object is attained.”

The colonel gazed with wonder at the speaker as he
made a slight pause. All passion had apparently depart-
ed from his tones, which sounded only the more fate-like
and terrible from their cold, dull force; and he looked, in-
deed, like an avenger, remorseless and untiring in his
bitter quest.

“There are only two creatures in the world I love,’! pur-
sued Moccasin Mose. ‘‘Oneis my Russian bloodhound,
Throttle, and the other is a strange little Indian lad whom
I call little Starlight, and who takes care of my cabin
during my absence. Heisthe lastof hisrace. Isaved
him whenamere child from the massacre which de-

 

 

    

   

 

   

   

streyed the remainder of his people, who were extermin-
ated by the flerce Arapahoes and Cheyennes.

‘Tihank you for haying listened to meso patiently,
sir. Perhams lL shail hereaiter regrét my affability of this
evening; b&bihe relaticn of n tory has, in a measure,
lightened my heart, @ndywhat has been said cannot be
unsaid,. A sew hours’ re@t will restore my frame to its
custo rors hold your beautiful adopted

 

dang
meé t

carried off'you can rely upon
“down her captors like a sleuth-hound.. Lonly

 

  

shirt, and spruced himself up wonderfully. From his
peculiarly fresh and cheery appearance, and the dreps of
water that still lingered upon his straggling hair and
beard, it was also supposable that he had but recently
taken a plunge in the mountain torrent that foaméd and
shouted in front of the fort.

The colonel beckoned to him,

‘‘May I bring my friend, Billy, in with me, sir?" said the
hunter, as he approached.

“Oertainiy.”

The two hunters entered the colonel's sitting-room.

“You look uncommonly fresh and vigorous this morn-
ing, Mose,’’ said Captain Jack, who was himself flushed
and feverish, from his fatigue and want of sléep.

“T always eat, drink and sleep well, when | am prepar-
ing for hard work,’ said the hunter. ‘Billy and I cooked
our breakfast long ago out there on the prairie.”

“Have you any plans, Mose?’ said the colonel, some-
what irritably.

“Yes, sir; and I’m ready for business at once. The first
thing to do is to send some one to Grass Valley, to see
what has become of Bird Johnson.”’

‘Good!’ said the colonel, touching the bell Lo give the
necessary order,

But they were saved the trouble and time of dispatch-
ing a messenger to Grass Valley, as the sequel proved;
for the orderly who answered the bell brought informa-
tion that the gates of the fort were besieged by a few
Mormon officials from Salt Lake City, together with a
mob of Grass Valley ruffilans, who lad come to rearrest
Moccasin Mose, whose escape had been discovered a few
hours alter it had been effected.

nityand uniform-coat at one and the same time, ‘we'll
a about this. Come with me, Mose. Come along
ack.
When they reached the gates, they beheld on the o
side upward of thirty mounted men—only a few of wh
were Officials, however—who stared at Mose as one of the
seven wonders of the world; forthe news of his exploit
with the Indians on the river had’ been communicated,
and had spread through the settlements like wild-fire.
“Who is your chief?! demanded the commandant, ina
<r imperious voice—purposely loud enough for all to
lear.
A handsome, sensible-looking fellow sprang from his
saddle and approached the commandant, saluting respect-
fully as he did so.
“What do you want?” a bp
“This man, coionel,’’ said*the official, indicating our
hero by amotion ot his head. ‘He was arrested by a
regular, legal warrant, and broke jail in Salt Lake City
last evening.” sf
At this moment, however, before the commandant could
make a reply—which would have been an angry one—
another rider came dashing into the group, and handed
the chief-constable a missive, which he broke and read.
“Colonel,’’ said he, ‘I have just received instructions to
relinquish my efforts to rearrest Moccasin Mose, and to
effect, if possible, the arrest of Bird Johnson, who, the
Salt Lake City authorities are certain, is in complicity
with the hostile Indians who were encamped on the
banks of the river Jordan Jast night. But 1 fear itis too
late.?
“Perhaps this is a mere blind. Perhaps some of your
people were concerned with the Indians in carrying oif
iny adopted daugliter laat night, tool’? thundered the

  

“Oh, hol’? exclaimed the colonel, getting on his dig- {

buried in his throat; but the white man, with upraised
knife anda smile of diabolical confidence, was just in the
act of severing the Single halyard, which would cause the
sail to drop in a heap upon the deck and leave the hunter
at the mercy of the pursuing canoes in his wake.

Quick as thought the revolverof Moccasin Mose was
raised to a level—not the atom of an instant too soon—
and he fired,

The ruffian fell forward without a groan, the knife fall-
ing from his nerveless hand.

Another Indian, swimming in the lake, grasped
gunwale on the port side.

“Hands off!’ growled the hunter.

His hatchet descended upon the hands lopping them oft
at the wrists, and the red owner sank back into the lake
with a hollow groan. The hound released his hold of the
savage whom he had kept down, but the savage did not
stir. Ile was dead. And as Moccasin Mose saw nothing
of the remainder of the row-boat’s crew he concluded
they were drowned. 7

He looked astern. The canoes were many hundred
yards away, andit was eyident that their savage occu-
pants had relinquished the chase as hopeless,

He looked forward. The boat was bowling merrily be-
fore the freshening breeze, and nothing but the glittering
expanse of the Jake, with its white-caps dancing and glis-
teningin the moonlight, met his view.

Te his eyes at his feet, The dead body of his friend,
il half-breed, lay there, with his dark, beardless
immed to the moonlightas calmly and peacefully
as tho he were enjoying a pleasant sleep. ~
‘Mose, somewhat exhausted and unstrung by the terrible
through which he had passed, remained seated for

 

the

  
     
   

 

 
  
  
  
   
   

time at the bow, with his chin upon his hand, his
Ww on his knee, and his eyes fixed thoughtiully upon
shining waters. wd
He then arose and straightened ont the corpse of his
end, covering the poor, dead face with the fragment of
asail. He passed astern, patting Throttle on the head as
he did so, and unceremoniously pitched overboard the
body of the Indian.

But he threw the body of the white man upon its back,
and gazed long and inquiringly into itsfuce. It wasa

lines that seamed it were sinister and dark.

He began to search the pockets, to discover, if possible,
the name of the ruffian, but withoutsuccess. Witheut @
word he ripped down the hunting-shirt of the corpse with
the point of his knife. i

W and C,

There they showed in & moment, deep, broad, and
blood-red, upon the marble bosom of ihe dead.
 Hecast the body overboard, and,'still clutching it by
‘the hair of the head with his left hand, he raised his right
solemnly to the resplendent heavens,

“Another!” he murmured.

His left hand loosened its grip. Thecorpse of the rete-
gade floated astern, heaving its lettered breast to tie holy
moon; and the bark of the avenger sped ©

: TO BE CONTINUED.|

 

 

 

colonel, ‘‘and I’m going to bring Johnson and whoever
may have assisted him, lo a strict account for itl”?
“Concerned with the Indians! Johnson!’ repeated the
man, with unaffected surprise. ‘Indeed, the news of the
capture of the young lady by the Indians has spread
through and caused universal regret and indignation in
all the settlements through which we have passed. But
as for the man, Bird Jolinson, why, he quilted his home
at Grass Valley, before daylight this morning, at the head
of a number of armed men, in pursuit of the savages,
swearing that he would return her to ner friends, or per-
ishin theattempt. Aud this is just the reason why I can-
not effect his arrest.’’

‘Just so; that was a part of the programme.”

“T protest, sir, that 1 know not what you mean,” said
the man, firmly and respectfully.

“} see that you do not,” said the colonel, modifying his
tone. “But your present mission to the fort is concluded,
as you see.”’

The official bowed, vaulted into the Saddle, and gave the
order of ‘Right about face, march!’ and the renegade
mob dispersed, very much discon fited.

“Now as to yourplans, since we Know what course that
infernal rascal Johnson has pursaed,” said the colonel,
when they were once more in his little sitting-reom.

“If you wilklook at your Chart,’ said the trapper, ‘‘you
will see that ong’s Knob is about sixty miles from here,
as the crow flies. By the roads and trails which mourted
men will have to pursue to reaclrit, itis mearly twice the

Lease
False Champion;
Ds ce

THE FATAL RESEMBLANCE,

By Mrs. Helen Corwin Pierce,

Author of CURSE OF EVERLEIGH, THE IN-
JURED HUSBAND, &c.

 

[The False Champion” was commenced in No. 43. Back mut
bers can be had irom any News Agent in the United Stat ;

CHAPTER XII.

Isabel stood with her hands against the door, stunned
for the moment by the awfulness of the blow.

She was of too stormy and passionate a nature to re-
main thus overcome long.

She turned about presently, and went to look from the
Window that was not fastened. The lower parl swung on
hinges at each lattice. She pushed one open and leaned
out.

There was a large rose garden below, but the bushes
were nearly leafless now.
raking a walk clear of rubbish.

Lady Isabel’s face lighted.

She called to him.

He came toward her.

He was almost there, when a window below hers opened,

 

 

 

distance. By sail-boat from Great Salt Lake City, it is
distant about forty miles. I propose to accompany your
son, and the troop he may take with him, to Salt Lake
City, where we can borrow a gailvoat, in which, in com-
pauy with my friend, Billy, here, I sNallset out for Strong's
Knob, while Captain Garnett pursues the road tothe same
point. Ishall be there first to recommoiter, and to steal
the lady into the boat, if itis possible. in case I succeed,
or atany rate I shall meet Captain Garnet’ at a place on
the Lake-shore eight miles beyong Stroue’s Koob, called

 

    
 

suppose old Johnson will do when he is
such a strong force close at his heels 7’

“He'll go down on his marrow bones, aud give up the
girl. After that youcan shoot or hang him at your lei-

made aware, of

 

  

 

 

 

ask that you will protec e fomany other warrants of
arrest whic Johnson may coax the Mormon authorities
to Serve upon Ine.”

“That 1 will, my brave fellow,’ exclaimed the com-
mandant; “as long as there is a sdidier under my com-
mand inthis department, Hark!” he added, springing to
his feet and hastily exchanging his dressing-gown Jor his
cloak. ‘I liearabustlein the corrals; they must have

returned,”?

They both nabtened outof the house. Lighted torches
were being borne hither and thither about the barracks
inclosure as they did so, They hastened to the largest
group of men, who were surrounding something near the
quarters occupied by the common soldiers.

The something proved to be the dead bodies of the three
troopers who had accompanied the ladies to MeQuade’s
cottage, and which had just been brought into the fort.
The flickering light of the lifted torches fell upon them,
and showed that they were horribly mutilated.

‘“Where—where is the party who brought these bodies
in??? gasped the colonel.

“Flere are some of us, colonel,*’ said a voice behind
him; and turning he saw three of the officers who had
accompanied Captain Garnett.

Between them they bore the apparently lifeless form of

a lady. ‘
“This is Mrs. ——, and she is only in a faint,’ said one
of them. ‘‘We found her with these,” (motioning with

his thumb toward the three dead men) “halfway between
here and McQuade’s, lying insensible upon the ground.
She recovered sufficiently to inform us that they had been
attacked’ by Indians, and that Miss Gertrude had been
carried off by them, and then relapsed into a second
swoon.”?

“What, Gerty—my little Gertie carried olf by the red-
skins!’ gasped the old colonel, in a painfully dreamy way.

“It is too true, colonel.”

“And Jack—whiere is he?”

“Scouring the plains like a madman, with the few
troopers that remain with him,’’ was thereply. ‘But we
have brought in one of the enemy, a white man, desper-
ately wounded, and we had better make the best of our.
time in pumping him of what he knows. I don’t think
he can Jast long.”!

“You are right,’ said the colonel, recovering his com-
posure with an effort. ‘Give the lady in charge of her
friends, and then conduct me to your prisoner. Mose, if
you still have strength enough, pray accompany me dur-
ing this interview.’’

The lady was given in charge of her female friends, who
had by this time collected on the porch in front of their
husband’s quarters; and the colonel, accompanied by
Moceasin Mose and the officers, went into the teamsters’
quarters, whither the wounded prisoner lad been convey-
ed. He was a young man, rather good-looking, smoothly
shaven and well proportioned, and it was easy to note
upon his pallid features that death had already marked
hum for his own.

He replied to their questions, in a feeble voice, stating
that he had been with the savages in the attack, the only
object of which was the abduction of Miss Gertrude. He
said that the destination of the raiders was Strong’s
Knob, a single cove of the Cedar Mountains, on the west-
ern shore of Great Salt Lake, about midway between its
extremities. He gave his name, but when asked if he
had been employéd by Bird Johnson, he either would not
or could not answer.

Colonel Garnett, forgetting himself in his excitement,
repeated the question in a loud and threatening voice;
but there was no answer. One of the officers leaned over
the wounded man, but quickly looked up again.

“The man is dead, eoionel,’’ said he.

 

CHAPTER IX,
A LAKE OF HORRORS.

“Of course, ali the feilow’s statements were so many
lies to deceive us!’ said the colonel, turning from the
dead man to Moccasin Mose, who had not said a word
during the examination. 2

“J think not, colonel,’’ replied the hunter. ‘‘The des-
tination he mentioned was a likely one; because Johnson
has a sequestered farm and country residence on the bor-
ders of the lake, at the very foot of Strong’s Knob. Be-
side, I know something of this fellow,” he added, witha
motion of his thumb toward the corpse. ‘‘He belonged
to Grass Valley, and may have fallen in bad company of
late; but his former character was good—for one of Jolin-
pas followers, aud one thing is certain, he never was a
liar.’?

“Tam almost distracted, Mose. Give me your counsel.”

The trapper rose to his feet, but almost staggered
through absolute exhaustion.

“Give me six hours’ rest and sleep, colonel, and Til
have it down toa dot,” said he. ‘Littie will be lost by
the delay, since you can’t follow up a trail very well at
night. In the meantime, if your son returns to the fort,
keep him here till his head cools. He can accomplish
nothing, racing around the prairies in the night-time.”

The trapper stumbled off, to seek the rest of which he
stood insomuch need; and the officers returned to their
quarters—joined, as they crossed the inclosure, by Captain
Jack Garnett, who had returned, fatigued and desperate,
from an aimless and bootless quest.

When the colonel and his son arose in the early morn-
ing, after a feverish and sleepless night, they were sur-
prised at perceiving Moccasin Mose standing in the bar-
rack’s yard, complacently smoking his pipe, and engaged
in conversation with Billy Wolfe, his half-breed friend.

The old Luuter had cleansed tiie blood from his hunting-

sure.”?

Captain Jack turned as white asa sheet, and gritted his
teeth hard at this suggestion.

The plan of Moccasin Mose was agreed upon forthwith;
and, after hasty preparations, Captain, Jack, at the head
of thirty troopers, and ‘accompanied by the two hunters,
set out from the fort,

it was still in. the month of October, and the atmosphere
was bland and pleasant. They reached Salt Lake City
about tlle middle of theafternoon. A stanch yawl, fitted
with mast and sail, was speedily obtained. Their arms
and a few provisious were, tossed into the boat, and the
two hunters, accompanied by the great hound, Throttle,
who had recovered from his wounds, set sail down the
river, after a parting consultation with Garnett,

A light breeze wafted them down the stream, and the

  

the Twin Peaks} and there report wiimit / y knew, Any |
of the common Yuides about thie fort | *" Lauswer (us,
show the way t¢@Strong’s Knob.”? oe) ‘2

“Excellent!? exclaimed the colonel. “‘What do you |

 

sun was just setting in autumnal effulgence as they swept
out upon the broad surface of the great saline lake of the
‘West. Night had barely fallen, and they were scarcely
out of sigut of land, however, when the wind died away,
leaving them utterly imed.

The hunters, with very un-sailor-like imprudence, ate
of their provisions, fed the dog, and, roliing themselves
up in their blankets, fell fast asleep, with the sail set,

It was bright moonlight when they were awakened by a
violent rocking of the boat and the fieree barking of Tlirot-
tle. They sprang to their feet to find, first, that the breeze
had freshened strongly, and they were in momentary dan-
ger of being capsized; and, secondly, that upwards of
forty canoes were creeping silently toward them over the
suriace of the lake. ;

Mose sprang to the stern and grasped the tiller.

“Take an oar there, Billy, and puli her round before the
wind!’ he sang out; and Billy, who was a man of action
rather than word, did precisely as he was bid.

 

But just as the sail filled out and the vessel began to
move, obedient to the influence of ghe gale, there was the
report of a gun behind them, and a bullet whistled over
their heads, ‘The pursuing canoes were barely a hundred
yards in their wake, and their savage occupants began to
cheer each other with loud shouts, while shot followed
shot in rapid succession.

“Lie down as flat as you can, Billy, and shoot with your
head resting on the gunwale!’’ sang out Mose; and Billy
did as he was ordered. ‘Johnson has gotthe wind of us,
and sent his red devils to head us off.”’

Mose, himself, having got the boat fairly before the
wind, made the tiller fast, and, lying flat on his stomach,
with his rifle at his shoulder, drew a bead and let fly.

One of the savages threw up both hands, and, witha
wild shriek, plunged overboard from his canoe into the
lake. rs ‘

Billy, the half-breed, fired with equal effect; and the
hunters, one alter a er, loading their pieces as they
lay, kept up a galling flre upon their pursuers, whose un-
cWttain aim, owing to their standing up in their light ca-
noes, which were tossed like cockle-sheljs on the
had no effect; still, by their skill with their pade
could almost, if not quite, maintain their ow
sail-boat, and they Kept up the chase, though every
moments one of them would pay the price of his temerity
with his life. ——

Suddenly, Billy ceased firing, as Mose supposed, from
lack of ammunition, and the renewed barking of the
hound caused the latter to look ahead. To his astonish-
ment he perceived, nota canoe, but a large row-boat, con-_
taining five Indians anda white man, bearing down up-
on his bow, as fast as its crew could pull against the
wind.

He drew his revolver with one hand and his tomakawk
with the other and crept crouchingly forward. Biily’s
gun lay along the gunwale, and he was apparently just
drawing a fine bead.

“Billy! Billy?’ exclaimed Mose, shaking him by the
shoulder, ‘never mind the fiends behind us. Draw your
revoiver and look aliead!”’

But the movement caused Billy’s gun to failinto the
lake, and his head rolled back in a peculiarly sleepy way.
There was a littie round hole in his forehead just above
the bridge of his nose Billy was dead.

His friend had no tinre to moralize, for a shot from the
row-boat grazed his ear. He returned the shot from his
revolver, but without effect.

Byen at this critical moment our hero paused to think.

The row-boat was about four hundred yards ahead, and
being pulled with difficulty directly across his bows.

He knew but little of the water, but the thought sud-
denly flashed through his head that his only chance lay in
running her down.

Suiting the action to the conception he sprang to the
tiller, taking the risks of a free exposure of his person.
He kept a little away until within a hundred yards—the
white man keeping up anincessant fire without effect—
and then suddenly aitered his course point blank to the
row-boat's broadside, refastening his own tiller as he
did so.

They saw his intention, but when it was too late. The
prow of the sail-boat struck her enemy directly amidships
with aloud crash and then rode over her. One of the
savages was active enough to spring into the sail-boat’s
bow just asthe collision occurred. But before he could
rise from his knees the hatchet of the hunter was buried
in his skull.

A shout of triumph caused the hunter toturn. The
white man and one Indian had scrambled up in the sterg

-

 

  

| hands till the rosy nails pierced the flesh.

 

 

and Crawley appeared, and said something in a low voice.
The man immediately turned about and went back to his
work.

It was in vain that Lady Isabel called ancl commanded
him. He was her own servant, hired and paid by her,
and faithful enough till now.

Now he gave no heed to her, but worked on as if he
never heard her. He did steal now and Ulen a furtive
Look of wonder and pity toward.her, but she was too far
t ¥ iv it that. ‘ ‘
oj.) am Lmyself? Is this I, Isabel Charmpion ?’

looking wildiy ‘about her.
1d outraged in this manner? Js that man @
orcerer? He has only to speax, to 100K at one of my own
seryanis- and they DECome deaf to my voice. Can they
all believe him to be Ralph? There is one who does not.
Digby knows he is not. If I conid only see him one mo-
ment—if I only knew where my Hugh is. Aes not
harm him—oh, they dare not, and yet how strangély Sir
Robert looked when he said that only our. two lives, my
baby’s and mine were between his wife and my wealth.”?

She had eaten nothing since breakfast. Nothing was
taken to her till night.

Sir Robert would have sent her a tray of food at one
o’clock, but Crawley objected, :

“She is a lioness from whom you have taken her young.
She will get out if you open her door an instant. She %
capable of stabbing one of us with a pair of scissors. Oh,
I know her kind. Let her alone, Sir Robert, till her heart
begins to eat itself.”’

“But you don’t mean to starve her. We must keep a
show of fairness on our side,** remonstrated Sir Robert.

“Humph, who isto know? Make some speech before
the servants.to the effect that she refuses food. It will
only confirm the opinion they already lave of her. How
is the child?! re!

“Savage as ever. Fights like a young American Indian,
till he can struggle no longer for weakness, and then the
moment he is rested, begins again.’’

“Curse him.” S

Sir Robert’s face clouded.

“He isa brave-boy. I wish he were my son.
only girls you know.”

Crawley stared in open contempé and surprise.

‘“‘You?”? he sneered. “Upon my honor, 1 didu’t know
you cared for anything but money.”

“T do. Ldon’t want money, only for mychildren. Fail-
ing this property of Isabel’s, and it I have no son, the
baronetcy goes from my family, and my girls will be left
portioniess.”’

Crawley laughed in his coarse, disagreeable way again.

“T wish you could adopt me, my boid baronet,’’ he said.
“Couldn’t you get up another dioax as Clever as this one,
ifthis should fail—something about a former marriage
perhaps?”

To Crawley’s astonishment the baronet's face turned
suddenly of a ghastly pallor, and with a muttered ejacu-
lation he left his chair and went across the room. He
came back presently, looking much like himself again,
but he avoided meeting Crawley’s eyes. é

“T should like to know what this means?*’ queried the
impostor, inwardly. ‘Our good baronet don’t turn like
that for trifles. What was it I was saying?’

He pondered the matter unsatisfactorily some moments,
returning to it.afterward again and again, but with the
same result. He could not even form a@ suspicion as to
why Sir Robert had turned death-white when he made

hat sneering speech of his. , : ;

“One thing,’ he said to himself, ‘‘he hates me, though
he uses me, but lhe knows better than tofall out with me.”’
He muttered an oath. “It would be the making of my
laly, though, ‘when rogues fall out honest folks get their
due!’ I’ve heard.” | tip th S *

“Til her heart begins to eat itself,’ that infamous liar
Crawiey had said to Sir Robert, with a sneer, and the
baronet, though he had really some manly instincts, con-
sented reluctantly to his Jow-bred confederate’s cruel
course. The baronet himself had not scrupled.in the case
of that knightiy and unhappy gentleman—tost Ralph—to
resort to similar measures, but this Was @ woman, a lovely
and lofty patrician lady, one of whom he had stood in
some awe, and been proud of, perhaps, 4&3 @ relative,
while he envied and hated her.

The chivalric instinct in his nature which he lad not
been able wholly to strangle, cried out against suck bar-
barous treatment. Nevertheless, he had set his mind on
proud Lady Isabel’s inheritance, and he was bound to
take any course that led to securing it.

The day wore on.

My lady's agony had not been so hard to bear, as now,
eyen when her worshiped young husband was so. cruelly
torn from her, for then, she was not shut into inaction by
walls and locked doors. She could send men to scour the
woods, and drag the jake, and patrol the sand beach to-
ward which her lost ong had lagi been seen going.

All was different now, She might clench her lovely
She migiit caik
and command, and entreat; no one would come, no one
would answer her wild pleadings to know what had be-
come of her boy.

She pictured him in all sorts of dreadful peril. So weil
she knew what advantage his death and hers wouid be to
false and wicked Sir Robert, that she could not by any
means persuade herself that he was in safety now.

“]t would be so easy,’’ she thought, ‘to drown him in
the lake, or todrop himoff a high wall and break his
pretty neck, and who could prove if was not an accident.
Ah! my darling,’’ she thought, ‘‘you and I are in terrible

 

I have

danger, from which, I fear, Heaven will not soon deliver _

us.”

She went and stood beside the door which was locked,
watching for hours silently, ready to spring and fasten her
white fingers upon it, ifit opened ever so little. ig

“They won't let me starve,” she Said to herself; “Syme ~

one must come ere long to bring me food, and then if) Mali

go hard but I will elude them somehow, and get Gut of
this room.”? a
Some one did come at last, but it was not till after
night when my lady had withdrawn a little from @
Some one outside the door had beeh listening as’
fully as she on the inside. The door had been ©
enough to thrust in something, and instantly closed and
relocked. Lady Isabel sprang forward and stopped with

    
 

 

sheets, Turottle had the savage down with his fangs

a cry of despair as she heard the cruel bolt slip back to its

 

face he did not remember to have seen before, but the,

Aman at the lower eni wags *

 

 

 

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place. A tray of food was onthe floor a scanty and plain,
repast for a lady like her, but after the first turning from
jt in her anguish, the claims of hunger asserted themselves
and she came back to it and ate eagerly.

‘dt ig poisoned, perhaps,’ she thought, with a shudder,
when she had eaten a portion and pushed therest from
her. Not till that moment did she discover a twisted note
upon the silver salyer.

She caught at iteagerly, thinking she had possibly one
friend left in her own ancestral home,

But the note was from Crawley, written in a curious
imitation of lost Ralph’s elegant chirograpliy and signed
boldly ‘Ralph Champion.’? It ran thus:

“TSABEL:—Our boy isin my care, and will remain so
until [have some proof that his mothercan sajely be
trusted with his charge. A woman whoisinsane enough
to deny her own husband is not in a fit mental condition
to have the supervision of the well-beingof the heir of
Hirstohn Wold. You need have nofears concerning our
son. Young Hugh shall be my own especial charge, and
Who could be expectedcto have a personal and proper in-
terest in his welfare if not 1, his own father ??

This sneering note turned Lady Isabel colder than ever
With horror.

“lu lis charge, my lamb,” she murmured,
would indeed be a safer keeper than he.”?
Tneu she glanced back atthe note.
caught the fatal

“insane

“Great Heaven! thatis how he means to berid of us
both. He will call me insane and murder my boy. Ah,
Whata dark and awful plotis this.”

My lady endured the rest of the time as best she might
lill merning dawned again. She did not elose her eyes in
slumber.

Tien she took her place at her window resolved to
watch till she saw some one and made such an appeal to
them as they could not resist.

But the livelong day she ouly- beheld that wretch who
80 falsely called himself Ra!ph Champion. He paced the |
rose garden with his cigarin his mouth a great portion
of the day, casting at lier now and then glances of such
Malignant triumph and threatening, that brave as she
was, Lady Isabel’s very soul quailed within her, Butshe
Sat and watched him with Gark, defiant eyes, as unmoved
outwardly as though she had been carved from stone.
Thus passed the second day.

Kirston Wold was less than twelve hours by rail from
Loudon. Qhampion Rest was still nearer. Lady Isabel
Knew that if her letters had gone safely, and her lawyer
and Lord Ciiampion gave the heed to them which she had

- requested, they would ve with her by the following morn-
ing at most, That hope sustained her some. But the
Morning did not bring either. Crawley had kept thie Jet-
ters back, and sent one of his own instead. Afterward
he bad sent Lady Isabel’s. The lawyer and Lord Cham-
pion would not come until the next day to that on which
the neariy frenzied lady expected them.

Some time in the latter part of this day she was sitting
@s usual, watching hopelessly, or nearly so, from her
Window, when in the grounds, at one side ofthe rose gar-
den, and quite too far to make him hear, she beheld her
darling, her little boy, iu company witlr ler cruel enemy.
The cliid was drawing a little wagon, one of his mother's
gifts to him, and from that distance seemed to Lady Isa-
del’s sick heart as much infatuated with the false wretch
beside him as the most of her bewitched household.

“Eyen my boy believes in him,’ she wailed to herself.
*Oh, how horrible all this is! When will this spell, this
wieked enchantment which seems laid on me be Jifted.

“A wolf

Her terrified eye
word her persecutor had underlined—

 

 

 

; ’ CHAPTER XIII.

Lord Champion and Mr. Timothy Shrive made their ap-
pearance on the foilowiug morning. Lady Calthorpe, Sir
Robert's wife, came also, and there was, beside, quite au as-
semblage of the county inagnates, male and female, whom
Sir Rebert had invited, and upon whom the false Ralph
Champion contrived, in a marvellously short space, tu
make a favorable impression.

At is not so difficult for one man to personate another,
when such an interval has clapsed, as inthe present case,
and there are general points of resemblance, There were
much more than thesein Crawley. I have already ex-
plained how fearfully he was like that unhappy soul, lost
Ralph Ciampion. Added to this, Sir Robert and his wife,
Lady Isabei’s own relatives, professed not to have asingle
doubt of his identity. Lord Champion, itis true, looked
on him rather suspiciously, but Lord Champion was not
@ popular man, and it was well known had never liked
the true Ralph.

Mr. Timotuy Shrive, the lawyer, lad examined the case
legally, and declared that beyond all controversy this man
was the lost Ralph, so long mourned as dead.

Then there were the servants, nearly the whole house-
hold, and Esther Mount, my Lady el’s most particular
friend and companion, Lu ®

Lastly came tlie child—the yo ugh, whom Crawley
Kept on his knee, or held in his arins, or led by the hand
e whole time. ‘
ne preity boy was looking pale.
his black eye

There were circles
la Which made them seem larger

and b}

ham ever, an e had @ listless, indifferent
look v ike his usual beaming and sunny expression.

He let Crawley do as he would with him.

The company were given to understand that the boy
was sufferiug from his insane mother’s inhuman treat-
ment of him, and few were far-seeing enough to detect
that. when Crawley clasped him in his arms the child only
subnrtited to his embraces, ard did not return one of his
hypocritical caresses,

On the contrary, nearly universal sympathy and admi-
ration was excited by Crawley’s deceitful display of ten-

~~ cerness toward him. [f was so “‘interesting’’ to see father

antchild together at last, these stupids said, and ‘‘so sad
that dear Lady Isabel suould have been so affected by her
luusband’s return.”’ i

“Tas she lost.her mind entirely do yousuppose?’? asked

one,
“Ig it joy athis return, or sorrow?’ grimly inquired
anether. “Il have heard that secluded as she has lived,
andin spite of her pretended grief for her husband, she
has all the time been in Jove with another man, and was
about to marry him, when her Jaw‘ul lord suddenly turned
up and spoiled that little game.’’

Orawley was looking well, as usual—handsome, auda-
clous, sell-possessed, his prevailing aspect of malevolence
and wickedness less apparent than sometimes,

Sir Robert watched his protege with secret anxiety.
Everything really depended, he believed, on the issue of
the present experiment, and the experiment depended for
its success On Crawley himself mainly. :

That gentleman was so given to Slangy Speeches, and to
indulging in vicious and ntlemanly acting out of the
natural bitterness within him, that his precious patron
had good reason to fear that he would manage to betray
that he was as unlike sunny-tempered-and polished Ralph
as a prairie wolf is Jike a grayhound,

The company were assembled in the library, a large
and luxurious apartment, with the usual array of carved
bookcases faced with plate-glass, and backed by splen-
didjy-bound and plainer volumes, the marble busts, the
Russia-leather-covered tables‘and chairs. A room open-
ing from this had been converted into a refreshment sa-
loon, and there a table was spread with as tempting a re-
past of edibles as that epicure, Sir Robert, could contrive.
Thither sauntered the guests as inclination led, and Sir
Robert knew, if his confederate did not, how easily the
judgment is affected through the palate.

Later, when all was ripe for that, Esther Mount came
in with Lady Isabel.

Asound of sobbing followed her in. It was my lady’s
maid, who had been kept from her these threedays. La-
dy Isabelstopped and spoke to her, in spite of Esther
Mount, who would have hindered her if she could.

“Why did you let them haye my boy, Lucy?’? my lady
questioned of the girl.

“My lady, they told me you wanted us both, and so I
went,” said the girl, truthfully. ‘Afterward J could not
£o back to you because they would not let me. They told
me yeu wonld clioose that I should stay with your son.”?

“So I would, Lucy,’? answered my lady, eagerly.
“Guard him with your life. Don’t let them kill lim, as
they willtry. Some day he will be in a position to re-
Ward you amply for any service you may render him
now.

Lucy eould only sob in answer. Lady Isabel had
changed so terribly in the brief interval since she had
seen her that it wrung the faithfui girl’s heart. Every
particle of color had left that perféet face; even her lips
were white, and already there was an attenuated look
about the delicate temples, the chiseled features. Grief
and anxiety, and perhaps something else, had already
begun their ravages upon that daintily-reared lady. Add-
ed to that, there was a strangeness in Lady Isabel's air,
an unnatural sound in lier voice, a wildness in her beau-
tifal eyes, that seemed to Lucy too terrible confirmation
of those tales whicli were whispered in the house con-
cerning her ladyship’s mind. She observed, with sensa-
lions approaching horror, that there was something fan-
tustic about her dress which was altogether unlike the
q an and exquisite taste nsually displayed by Lady
sabel, ne

My lady wore a black dress as usual, dead black, long,
full, sweeping, but in her thickly braided hair was woven
a coronal of sirange-leoking flowers, deadly nightshade,
stramonium and the like, and an immense sash of scarlet
silk was wound and knotted about her slender waist.

Lucy looked from ler lady to Esther Mount,

Esther Mount in a perfect toilet, black velyet with ruby
ornaments, smiled slightly and shrugged her stately
shoulders,

“‘T could do nothing with her,’ she said, in alow voice.
“For Heaven's sake say nothing. I had a terrible time to
get her to come at all.’

Lucy sighed, and was silent.

Lady Isabel had from time to time put her slender
White hand to her head with a gesture as if she felt some-
thing wrong or strange there.

As she was quitting Lucy, she stooped and whispered:

“Something is wrong with me, Lucy. I believe I have
been drugged. Tne chocolate and rolls tasted queer this
Morning, but I was very hungry, and Late and drank be-
7 1 thought. Thad had nothing to eat since the day be-
ore,

The look of horror deepened on faithful Lucy’s face, and
as Esther Mount at last half-dragged Lady Isabel away,
she burst into a storm of frightened sobs that was heard
in the jibrary itself.

Sir Robert and Crawley both Joeked keenly at Lady Is-
bel as sie entered. Eyery one else was too busy watch-
lug Ne unhappy woman whom fate seemed to have

wee Gngied out for misery to note the expressions that stole

over the faces of these two master villains,

They exchanged glances presently, and Crawley nodded
flightly as much as to say:

it is a) what we would have liked, but it will

do.
Both lo@@ed approvingly en Esther Mount, who was
proving herse!f a most invaluable ally.

Ce =
wo = — sn ne

 

A surprise awaited everybody in the child.

Listless and languid before at the first sight of Lady
Isabel, young Hugh sprang from Crawley’s hold. like an
arrow from a bow, and fairly leaped into his mother’s
extended arms. The tio sobbed together. The boy elung
about his mother’s neck as if he would never let her go.
The two cried aloud:

“Mamma, I wanted you so,’? cried young Hugh, and
Crawley dared not in the face of all tose iookers-on sep-
wrate them, though every caress was like conceutrated
gall to him.

“My darling, thank Heaven, they have not killed you,”’
cried Lady Isabel, straining him ciose, and deyouring his
little face with kisses.

“T told you to hold the boy fast when she came in,”
whispered Sir Robert in a passion, to his confederate.

Lady Isabel lifted her regal face from her boy’s af last.
Strangely enough, every one in the room excepi Crawley,
Sir Robert and Esther Mount were crying in sympathy.

Thus, much of the advantage they had hoped to gain
was lost to Crawley and Sir Robert.

Lady Isabel had come before-the court they had ap-
pointed to try her, but she had not come quite as the mad-
woman they had intended to represent her.

“Mamma,” said Hugh, ‘‘these are such ugly flowers in
your hair. Why do you wear them? They smell so. Ugh!’

My lady kissed him again for answer, and let him pull
them out, one by one.

“See if they steal you from me again,’ she said aloud.

“Mamma, that bad man says he is my papa, and he
beat me,’? burst forth young Hugh, in
hysterical weeping.

Lady Isabel looked about upon the assembly. They
were all familiar faces. She had gone out very little, but
she knew all these faces. he looked at them slow)y, till
she came to Lord Champion, a slow, hali-bewildered gaze
in which the drugged reason of the wronged woman was
struggling desperately to rally itself.

Sir Robert aud Crawley scarcely breathed. Mr. Shrive,
the lawyer, Who had given my Jady a seat, also watehed
her with keen though suppressed anxiety.

CHAPTER XIV.

“My lord,” said Lady Isabel, slowly, ‘‘I am very glad to
see you.”

Lord Champion had come forward and gravely extend-
ed his hand. He was a tall, thin, pale-faced man, with
enough of the Ciampion look in his face to redeem it from
positive ugliness, aud no more. He was much of an in-
valid, and very nervous and irritable, perhaps, in con-
sequence. He was not popular, but he was considered a
just man, and both Sir Robert and Crawley were anxious
to secure him to their side in the nefarious game they
were playing.

“You sent for me, Lady Isabel,’? Lord Champion said.
“You told me in your letter that you believed your uncle,
Sir Robert, was about to renew those persecutions of you,
which resulted before in the loss of your husband. You
made the serious charge that your uncle had undertaken
to cheat youinto receiving a Siranger now as that lus-
band. Are youstill of that opinion? Do you still refuse
to believe that this gentieman, whom your uncle, your
aunt, your friends, your own servants, even your Child,
recoguize as Ralph Champion, is not he?

Lady Isgbel put her hand to her head again in the same
piteous manner. Her large, beautiful eyes looked up at
his lordship in a helpless, scared way that was very
touching to see.

The influence of the drug she had taken, whatever it
was, seemed to be stealing over her again.

“I—vbeg your pardon, my lord,” she said, kissing her
little boy and speaking ina labored manner. ‘‘What was
it you were saying?’

Lord Champion turned, and signed for the impostor to
approach. Crawley came forward, eager, flushed, hand-
some, but nervous in spite of his demon-like assurance.

A posilive blaze of hatred and aversion flashed from my
lady’s black orbs as she saw him.

“Do you know this gentleman, my lady?! asked Lord
Champion, in a low and gentle tone.

To the surprise Of all she auswered, in a‘ clear and ring-
ing voice:

“LT know that he is mo¢ Ralph Champion, my lord, and
so does he.”

Everybody started.

For the space of a momentit seemed that my lady's
anger and dislike had conquered the deadly and numbing
influence that. was paralyzing her brain, and Sir Robert
and Crawley again exchanged frightened glances.

 

But it was only for that moment. My lady, who had

 

half-risen from her chairin her excitement, had already
falien back again, and was as before kissing young
Hugh's little face, in seeming unconsciousness of Craw-
ley’s hated presences

Mr. Timothy Shrive now @rew near, and spoke in a
small and squeaking voice that made you think of a mouse
involuntarily.

“Saddest case within my knowledge, my lord—the yery
saddest,’ he said. “Would your lordship be pleased to
examine the legal bearing of the matter ?” e

“Presently, Shrive, presently,’? replied hig lordship,
frowning and looking crossly from lovely Lady Isabel and
her child to the imposter. “I never was intimate with
Ralph Champion. ‘This gentleman may or may not be he
for alll know. 1 could not make oath either way. He
don’t look to me much as Ralph Champion used to.”

A chorus of ejaculations rose at this among the guests.

“How can you say so, my lord!’ cried most of them.

His lordship looked round at them.

“TJ know one thing,’? he said, peevishly. “Ralph Cham-
pion, when I knew him, had curling hair, not tightly curl-
ing, but it lay in shiny waves about his head. Iremiem-
ber that particularly.”

Every eye turned upon Cratwiey, who, taken by sur-
prise, flushed disagreeably and shot a glance of furtive
anger at Sir Robert. Neither of them had thought of this.
Crawley indeed had not Known, for he had never in his
life beheld the true Ralph Champion. 16 was true that
lost Ralph had loosely curling hair, ‘waved,’ as Lord
Champion said, while the pretender’s locks were quite
straight.

Crawley stood & moment, gnawing his lips, a picture of
black discomfiture, Sir-Robert looked only less annoyed
and chagrined. Already the company began to whisper
among themselves at Crawley’s strauge behavior. Sud-
denly Crawley threw up his head defiantly, and looked lis
questioner in the face as boldly as if he had been the only
honest man present.

“Tt is true,’ he said, with an effrontery that cannot be
described, “that my hair was once curly. But Ll lay sick
with a fever along time, and my hair all cameout. Whea
it grew again it wasasyousecit. I hope that explana-
tion is satisfactory, my Jord.”?

His sneering lip curled ever so little as he concluded,
ands unfortunately for him, Lord Champion saw it.
>» Itis comparatively easy to delude people whose preju-
dics are allin your favor. It is another thing to convince
a man who disiikes you, and Lord Champion hated this
sneering fellow from that moment.

“Your explanation may be satisfactory to others,’? he
said fretfully; ‘it amounts to nothing atall with me, If
you are the true Ralph Champion [I would believe it a
great deal quicker if you came to mé with just sueh hair
ashe had. Ifyou are not he, but an impostor, it is as
easy to lie about your hair as about anything else.*?

Crawley’s black temper boiled up at these contemptu-
ous words. Sir Robert had told him that Satan would be
ashamed of such an idiotic temper as his, and had warned
him not to let anyone put him ina passion on this occa-
sion; but all was forgotten at this moment.

“By ——!'’—he swore a horrible oath—-‘‘you'd better not
call me.an impostor or a liar, my lord!’

He turned back the velyet cuffs of his coat ina flash,
and squared himself like a prize-figliter:

Irritable as Lord Champion was, apt to lose his own
temper about trifles, he could be very cool aud unmoved
when other people lost theirs. His lordship was near-
sighted. He lifted his gold eye-glass now with great de-
liberation, and stared through it at Crawley as he might
have done at some curious animal.

“IT should judge, sir, thar you had been in the ring in
your time,’’ his lordship said, coldly and contemptuously
still, ‘‘Inever saw any-but a professional square off in
that style, and Lam much obliged to you for giving ine
this clew to your true identity, You Ralph Champion!
You are no more he than I am Prince Alberi!”’

Lady Isabel had been sitting silent, one hand clasping
her boy, the other supporting her forehead. Shesudden-
ly rose to her feet, and coming beside Lord Champion,
linked her arm inhis. She did not speak, but the move-
ment was full of significance, and as she stood thus, with
lovely grace, patrician in every line, beautiful beyond
words in spite of that deathly pallor on those pallid lips,
there was something both in her look and that of the
small, flashing-eyed boy that marked them apart, and
not of that raging impostor’s Kind.

Lord Champion bent and lifted the child upon his arm.

“Ag much hkeness between yow and this boy as be-
tween a barn fowl and a young eagiet !’’ he said sternly;
and then addressing the boy, unmindful of Crawley’s in-
creasing fury: ‘You may be Lord Champion some day,
lad—don’t you ever let that villain keep you out of it.”

At this moment, with the cry of a beast, Crawley leaped
at him, ;

His lordship never blanched or moved. He was a Cham-
pion too.

Sir Robert caught Crawley on one side, Shrive on the
other, and it was all they both could do to hold him.

The villain fairly foamed at the mouth in his rage, and
his: handsome face was go livid, distorted and swollen that
it seemed as if he must burst with passion.

Sir Robert looked nearly as enraged, butit was with his
precious protege.

Twisting his handinhis neck-tie he gave the silka
turn slyly that brought the tears into the villain’s eyes,
while he whispered in his ear:

“Di choke you to death, I swear it, ifyou don’t come to
your senses, you idiot.’

Crawley gasped and gnashed his teeth.

Sir Robert appealed to the gaping gentry standing
around:

“You'd do the same as he it you were in his place. Is
that any way to speak of a man before his own child ?: Ia
poor Ralph to be defrauded of both wife and child at the
bidding of even Lord Champion?

Shrive, seeing that Orawley was cooling down and be-
ginning to look sulkily ashamed of himself, touched Lord
Champion respecifully on the arm. ;

‘My lord, I must insist in the interests of my client upon
your examining the testimony before you decide in so im-
portant a matter as this.??

“Which client do you mean, Mr. Shrive?" coolly ques-
tioned his lordship.

“Both, my lord—they are husband and wife.”’

‘No; it is impossible a low fellow like that

Crawley heard the words and slot a glance of black ma-
lignity that way. j

‘Let me beg of your Jordship not to speak in dhat man-
ner,’ expostulated the lawyer, inalow yoice. “Heisa

 

 

 

 

 

Qhampiou, ag well as yourself”

  

@ wild storm of

LE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

 

“A bastard sprig, then, Mr.
title.”

“Will you come into the next room and let me give you
the points ?””

‘“Humph! I suppose so—lead on.*?

Hie wowid have placed Lady Isabel ina seat, but she
clung to his arm and looked at him so sad and pleadingly
that he could not resist; so still carrying Hugh, and with
the lovely, wan Lady Jsabel upon his arm, he followed
the lawyer.

It would not interest us to follow very minutely the tes-
timony which the lawyer proceeded; now to Jay before
Lord Champion.

 

Shrive, ’d wager m
; x

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
> es

A Terrible Secret.

By Mrs. May Agnes Fleming,
[Whe Writes Exclusively for this Paper.]

Author of A WONDERFUL WOMAN, WED.
DED YET NO WIFE, THE HEIRESS OF
GLEN GOWER, ESTELLE’S HUSBAND,
LADY EVELYN, BARONET’S BRIDE,
MAGDALEN’S VOW, WHO WIENS, Etc.

 

 

[‘‘A Terrible Secret was commenced in No. 30. Back num.
bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.!

awe SE ES :
CHAPTER XXI.—(Continued.)

And the days wore on, and the first of October
eame. ;

The change in the young baronet grew more
marked with each day. He lost the power to eat or
sleep; far into the night he walked his room, as
though some horrible Nemesis were pursuing him.
He failed to the very shadow of himself, yet when
Lady Helena, in fear. and trembling, laid her hand
upon his arm, and falteringly begged him to see a
physician, he shook her off with an angry irritability
quite foreign to his usual gentle temper, and bade
her, imperiously, to leave him alone.

The second of October came; to-morrow would be
the wedding-day.

The old feeling of vagueness and unreality had
come back. to Edith. Something would happen—
that was the burden of her thoughts. To-morrow
was the wedding-day, but the wedding would never
take place. She walked through the glowing, beau-
tiful rooms of Catheron Royals, through the grounds
and gardens, bright with gay autumnal flowers—a
home luxurious enough for a young duchess, and
still that feeling of unreality was there. A grand
place, a noble home, but she would never reign its
mistress. The cottage at Carnarvon had been weeks
ago engaged, Sir Victor’s confidential servant al-
ready established there, awaiting the coming of the
bridal pair; but she felt she would never see it. Up
stairs, in all their snowy, shining splendor, the bridal
robe and vail lay; when to-morrow came would she
ever put them on, she vaguely wondered. And still
she was: not unhappy. A sort of apathy had taken
possession of her; she drifted on calmly to the end.
What was written, was written—what would be,
would be. Time enough to wake from her dream
when the time of waking came.

The hour fixed for the ceremony was cleven o’¢lock
—the place Chesholm church. The bridemaids
would arrive at ten—the Earl of Wroatmore, the
father of the Ladies Gwendoline and Laura Drexel,
was to give the bride away. They would return to
Powyss Place and eat the sumptuous breakfast—
then off and away to the pretty village in North
Wales. That was the programme. ‘When to-mor-
row comes,” Edith thinks, as she.wanders about the
house, ‘will it be carried out ?”

Of late days the prediction had been haunting her,
too. As some tune, you may by chance have heard,
will haunt you to the verge of idiocy,so did this
rhyming prophecy haunt her now. She could not
banish it—it came into her mind in spite of her.
She caught herself setting it to fag ends of tunes,
and singing it through the house. ‘When the bride-
groom is widowed, the day he is wed.” She heard
it as she walked. by that bridegroom’s side, as she
rode, as she sat at the piano and strove to exorcise
it ina storm of music. Sometimes the absurdity of
it would strike her, and she would burst cut laugh-
ing. ‘If this keeps on,” she thought, ‘“‘when the
wedding-day comes, the bride will be as cracked as
the bridegroom.”

It charced that on the bridal eve Miss Darrell was
attacked with headache and sore throat. She had
lingered heedlessly out in the rain the day before
(one of her old bad habits to escape from Sir Victor,
if the truth must be told), and paid the natural pen-
alty next day. It would never do to be hoatse as a
raven on one’s wedding-day, so Lady Helena insisted
onawet napkin round. the. throat, a warm. bath,

 

 

  

gruel and early bed. Willingly enough the girl
obeyed—too glad to have this last evening alone,
Immediately after dinner she bade.her adieuX to her

 

bridegroom elect,and went away to her own rooms.

The short October day had long ago darkened
down, the curtains were drawn, a fire’burned, the
candles were lit. She took the bath, the gruel, the
wet napkin, and let herself be tucked up in bed.

“Romantic,” she thought, with a laugh at herself,
‘for a bride,”

Lady Helena—was it with a presentiment of what
was so near?—lingered by her side long that evening,
and at parting, for the first time took her in her arms
and kissed her.

“Good night, my child,” the tender, tremulous
tones said. “I pray you may make him happy—I
pray that he may make you.”

She lingered yet a little longer—her heart seemed
full, her eyes were shining through tears. Words
seemed trembling on her lips—words she had not
courage to. say. For Edith, surprised and moved,
she put her arms round the kind old neck, and laid
her face for a moment on the genial old bosom.

“JT avill try,” she whispered, ‘tdear, kind Lady
Helena—indeed I will try to be a good and faithful
wife.” A

One last kiss, then they parted, the door closed
behind her, and Edith was alone.

She lay as usual, high up among the billowy pil-
lows, her hands clasped above her head, her dark,
dreaming eyes fixed on the fire. She looked as
though she were thinking, but she was not. Her
mind was simply a blank. She was vaguely and idly
watching the flickering shadows cast by the firelight
on the wall, the gleam of yellow moonlight shim-
mering through the curtains, listening to the faint
sighing of the night wind, the ticking of. the little
fancifui clock, to the pretty plaintive tunesit played
before it struck the hours. Nine, ten, eleven—she
heard them all, as she lay there broad awake,
neither thinking nor stirring.
| Her maid came in for her last orders; she bade the
girl good-night, and told her to go to bed—she want-
ed nothing more. Then again she was alone, : But
now a restlessness, as little to be understood as her
former listless apathy, took hold of her. She could
not lie there and sleep, she could not lie there
awake. As the clock chimed twelve, she started up
in bedin asudden panic. Twelve! Anew day—
her wedding day!

Impossible to lic here «quiet any longer. She
sprang up, locked her door, and began, in her long,
white night-robe, pacing up and. down. So another
hour passed. One! One from the little Swiss musi-
eal clock; one, solemn and somber, from the big
clock up in the tower, Then she stopped—stopped
in thought; then she walked to one of her boxes,
and took out a writing-case, always kept locked,
With a key attached to her neck she opened it, seat-
ed herself before a table, and drew forth a package
ofletters anda picture. The picture was the hand-
some photographed face of Charley Stuart, the let-
ters the letters he had written her to Sandypoint.

She begun with the first, and read it slowly
through—then the next, and so on to the end. There
were over.a dozen in all, and tolerably lengthy. As
she finished and folded up the last, she took up the
picture and gazed at it long and earnestly, with a
strangely dark, intent look. How handsome he was!
how well he photographed! that was her thought.
She had seen him so often, with just this expression,
looking at her. His pleasant, lazy, half-sarcastic
voice was in her ear, saying something coolly im-
pertinent—his gray, half-smiling, half-cynical eyes
were looking life-like up at her, What was he do-
ing now? Sleeping calmly, no doubt—she forgotten
as she deserved to be. When to-morrow came,

would he by any chance remember it was her wed-

ing-day, and would the remembrance cost him a
pang? She laughed at herself for the sentimental
guestion—Charley Stuart feel a pang for her, or any
other earthly woman! No, he was immersed in busi-
ness, no doubt, head and ears, soul and body, ab-
sorbed in dollars and cents, and retrieving in some
way his fallen fortunes—Hdith Darrell dismissed con-
temptuously, as a cold-blooded jilt, from his memory.
Well+-so she had willed it—she had no right to com-
plain. Witha steady hand she tied up the letters and
replaced them in the desk. The picturé*followed.
‘‘Good-by, Charley,” she said, with a sort of smile.
She could no more have destroyed those souvenirs
of the past than she could have cut off her right hand.
Wrong, you say, and shake your head. rong, of
course, but when has Edith Darrell done right—when
have I pictured her to you in any very favorable

 

 

 

‘in broken, inarticulate tones.

 

light ?. Aslong as she lived, and was Sir Victor’s
wife, she would never look at them again, but de-
stroy them—no, she could not do that.

Six! As she closed and locked the writing-case
the hour struck—a broad, bright sunburst flashed in
and filled the room with yellow glory. The sun had
ee cloudless and brilliant at last on her wedding-

ay. ——-
CHAPTER XXII.
HOW THE WEDDING DAY ENDED.

She replaced the desk in the trunk, and walking
to the window, drew back the curtain and looked
out. Over emerald lawn and coppice, tall trees and
brilliant flowers, the October sun shone gloriously.
No fairer day ever smiled upon old earth. She stood
for an instant—then turned slowly away and walked
over to a mirror—had her night’s vigil made her
look wan and sallow? she wondered. No—she looked
much as usual—a thought paler, perhaps, but it is
appropriate for brides to look pale. Nouse thinking
of a morning nap under the circumstances—she
would sit down by the windew and wait for them to
come, She could hear the household astir already—
she could even see Sir Victor, away in the distance,
taking his morning walk. How singularly haggard
and wan he looked, like anything you please except
a happy bridegroom about to marry the lady he
loves above all on earth. She watched him with a
gravely thoughtful face, until at last he disappeared
from view among the trees.

Seven o’clock! eight o’clock! Edith’s respite was
ended, her solitude invaded at last. There wasa
tap at the door, and Lady Helena, followed by Miss
Darrell’s maid, entered.

Had they all kept vigil? Her ladyship, in the piti-
less, searching glare of the morning sun, certainly
looked much more like it than the quiet bride. She
was pale, nervous, agitated, beyond anything the
girl had ever seen.

‘*How had Edith slept ?
did she feel ?”

‘Never better,” Miss Darrell responded, smiling-
ly. ‘The sore throat and headache are quite gone,
and Iam ready to do justice to the nice breakfast
which I see Emily has brought.”

She sat down to it—chocolate, rolls, an omelette,
and a savory little bird, with excellent and unro-
mantic appetite. Then the service was cleared
away, and the real business of the day began. She
was under the hands of her maid, deep in the mys-
teries of the wedding toilette.

At ten came the bridesmaids, a brilliant bevy, in
sweeping trai Sqeolcingwisions of silk, tulle, laces,
perfume and flowers. At half-past ten Miss Darrell,
*“*queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,” stood
in their midst, ready for the altar.

She looked beautiful. It is an understood thing
that all brides, whatever their appearance on the or-
dinary occasions of life, look beautiful on this day of
days. Edith Darrell had never looked so stately, so
queenly, so handsome in her life. Just a thought
pale, but not unbecomingly so—the rich, glistening
white silk sweeping far behind her, set off well the
fine figure, which it fitted without flaw. The dark,
proud face shone like a star from the misty folds of
the bridal vail—the legendary orange blossoms
crowned the rich, dark hair—on neck, ears, and
arms, glimmered a priceless parure of pearls, the
gift, like the dress and yail, of Lady Helena. A
fragrant bouquet of spotless white had been sent
up by the bridegroom, At a quarter of eleven she
entered the carriage and was driven away to the
church,

As she lay back, and looked dreamily out, the
meHow October sunshine lighting the scene, the joy
bells clashing, the listless ‘apathy of the past few
days took, her again. She took note of the trifies
about her—her mind rejected all else. How yellow
were the fields of stubble, how picturesque, gilded
in the sunshine, the village of Chesholm looked.

How glowing and rosy the faces of the people who

 

How was her cold ? How

  
 
 
  

flocked,out in their holiday best to gaze at the bridal
pag Was it health and happiness, or soap and
water Only ? wondered. the bride. These were her
wandering thoughts—these alone,

They reached the little church. All the way from

the cawriage to the stone porch the charity children
strewed her path with flowers, and sang (out of
tune) a bridal anthem. She smiled down upon their
vulgar, admiring little faces as she went by on the
Harl of Wroatmore’s arm. The church was filled.
Was seeing her married worth all this trouble to
these good people? she wondered, as she walked up
the aisle, still on the arm of the Right Honorable,
the Earl of Wroatmore. )

There Was, of course, a large throng of invited

guests. Lady Helena was there in pale, flowing silks,
the bridesmaids, a billowy crowd of white plumaged
birds, and the bridegroom, with a face whiter than
his white, waistcoat, standing waiting for his bride.
And ther®, in surplice, book in hand, stood the rector
of Chesheim and Nis curate, ready to tie the untie-
able knot. :
A low, hushed murmur ran through the church at
sight of the silver-shining figure of the bride. How
handsome, how stately, how perfectly selfpossessed
and calm. Truly, if beauty and high-bred repose of
manner be ‘any palliation of low birth and obscurity,
this American young lady hadit.

An instant passes—she is knéeling by Sir Victor
Catheron’s side, ,“*Who giveth this woman to be
narried to this mAn ?” say the urbane tones of the
rector of Chesholm, and the Right Honorable the
Earl of Wroatmire, comes forward on «two rickety
old legs and gives her. “If any one here present
knows any just cause or impediment why this man
should not be married to this woman, I charge ye,”
etc., but no one knows. The solemn words go on.
‘Wilt thou take Edith Darrell to be thy wedded
wife ?” ‘I will,” Sir Victor Catheron responds, but
It is the bride’s turn.
‘I will!” the clear, firm voice is perfectly audible in
the almost painfully intense stillness. The ring slips

over her finger, she watches it curiously. ‘‘[ pro-
nounce ye man and wife,” says the rector. ‘What

God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”
It is all over; she is Lady Catheron, and nothing
has happened.
They enter the vestry, they sign their names in
the register, their friends flock round to shake
hands, and kiss, and congratulate. And Edith

smiles through it all,and Sir Victor keeps that
white, haggard, unsmiling te “It, is a curions
fancy, but, if it were not ,s0 utterly absurd, Edith
would think he looked at her as. sh he were
afraid of her.

On her husband’s arm—herhugband’s!—she walks
down the aisle and out of th ‘
the carriages, and are driver

  
  
  
  
     

They sit down to breakfast—e face looks happy
and bright, except the face tl ow ok happi-
est and brightest of all—the b 5; He seems

      
  
  
  
  
   
      
   
 

to make a great effort to be cheérful: amd at case; it
isa failure. He tries to return’ thanks if a speech;
it is a greater failure still. An awkward silence and
constraint creeps over the party. © What is the mat-
ter with Sir Victor? All eyes are fixed curiously
upon him. Surely not repenting his mesalliance so
speedily. It is a relief.to every when the
breakfast ends, and the bride ge ip stairs to
change her dress.) "146! ‘ >

The young baronet has engaged a special train to
take them into Wales. ‘The new-made Lady Cathe-
ron changes her shining bridal robes for a charming
traveling costume of palest gray, witha gossamer
vail of the same shade. She looks as handsome in
it asin the other, and her cool calm is a marvel to
all beholders. She shakes hands gayly with their
friends and guests—a smile is on her face as she
takes her bridegroom’s a md enters the waiting
carriage. Old shoes inas er are flung after
them—ladies wave their haridkerchiets, gentiemen
call good-by. She leans forward and Waves her
gray-gloved hand in return—the cloudless smile on
the beautiful face to the last. So they see her—as
not one of allwho stand there will ever see her on
earth again. Of! aM

The house, the wedding guests are out of t—
the carriage rolls through the gates of: ss
Place. She falls backand looks ont. They are fly-
ing along Chesholm High street—the tenantry shout
lustily—the joy-bells still clash forth. Now they are
at the station—ten minutes more, and, as fast as
steam can convey them, they are whirling into
Wales. And all this time bride and bridegroom have
not exchanged a word! :

That curious fancy of Edith’s has come back—
surely Sir Victor is afraid of her. How strangely
he looks—how strangely he keeps aloof—how
strangely he is dead and silent—how fixedly he
gazes out of the railway carriage window—anyjy-
where but at her! Has his brain turned? she won-
ders; is Sir Victor going mad?

She makes no attempt to arouse, him; let him be
silent if he will; she rather prefers it, indeed. She
sits and looks sociably out of the opposite window at
the bright, flying landscape, steeped in the amber
glitter of the October afternoon sun. As she looks,
aimlessly enough, all of a sudden the prediction
comes back to her—the troublesome, foolish, not-to-
be-forgotten prediction—

“When the bridegroom is widowed the day he is wed.”

Once it comes, all efforts to banish it are futile—it
keeps ding-donging all the wayin her ears, as
though invisible voices were speaking it. How will

 

 

 

it be fulfilled? she wonders, with drowsy indiffer-

J~ PX} e eS)
be ex DA
Ee *

 

ence. Is she to die before night? It seems to her
just at present she wouldn’t care much if she did.
She looks across at the man she has married—did
ever mortal man before on his wedding day wear
such a stony face as that? And yet he has married
her for love—for love alone. Was ever another
bridal journey performed like this—in profound
gravity and silence on both sides? she wonders, half-
inclined to laugh. She looks down at her shining
wedding ring—is it a circlet that means nothing?
How is her life to goon after this gruesome wed-
ding day?

They reach Wales. The sun is setting redly over
mountains and sea, The carriage is awaiting them;
she enters, and lies back wearily with closed eyes.
She feels dead tired and depressed—she is beginning
to feel the want of last night’s sleep, and in a weary
way is glad when the Carnarvon cottage is reached.
Sir Victor’s man, my lady’s maid, and two Welch ser-
vants came forth to meet them; and on Sir Victor’s
arm she enters the house. vs

She goes at once to her Cressing-room, to rest, to
bathe her face,and remove her wraps, performing
those duties herself, and dismissing her maid. As
she and Sir Victor separate, he ,mutters-some half
incoherent words—he will take a walk and smoke a
cigar before dinner, while she is resting.
even while he says it, and she is alone,

She removes: her gloves, hat, and jacket, bathes
her face, and descends to the little cottage drawing-
room. Itis quite deserted—sleepy silence every-
where reigns. She throws herself into an easy-
chair beside the open window, and looks listlessly
out. Ruby, and purple, and golden, the sun is set-
ting in aradiant sky—the yellow sea creeps up on
silver sands—old Carnarvon Castle gleams an@
glows in the rainbow light like a fairy paiace. It
is unutterably beautiful, unutterably drowsy and
dull. And, while she thinks it, her heavy eyelids
sway and fall, her head sinks back, and Edith falls
fast asleep.

Fast asleep, and, a mile away, Sir Victor Catheron
paces up and downa strip of tawny sand, the sea
lapping softly at_his feet, the birds singing in the
branches, not a human soul faror near. He is not
smoking that before-dinner cigar—he is striding up
and down more like an escaped Bedlamite than any-
thing else. His hat is drawn over his eyes, his
brows are knit, his lips set tight, his hands are
clenched. Presently he pauses, leans against atree,
and looks, with eyes full of some haggard, horrible
despair, out over the red light on sea and sky.
And, as he looks, he falls down suddenly, as though
some inspiration had seized him, upon his knees,
and lifts his clasped hands to that radiant sky. A
prayer, that seems frenzied in its agonized intensity,
bursts from his lips—the sleeping sea, the twittering
birds, the rustling leaves, and He who has made

 

 

them, alone. are to hear. Then he falls forward on
his face, and lies like.a stone.

Is he mad? Surely no sane man ever acted, or
looked, or spoke like this. He lies so—prostrate,
motionless—for upward of an hour, then slowly and
heavily he rises. His face is calmer now—it is the
face of a man who has fought some desperate fight,
and gained some desperate victory—one of those
victories more cruel than death.

He turns and goes hence. He crashes through
the tall, dewy grass, his white face set in a look of
iron resolution. He is ghastly beyond all telling—
dead and in his coffin he-will hardly look more
death-like. He reaches the cottage, and the first
ia upon which his eyes restis his bride, peacefully
asleep in the chair by the still open window. She
looks lovely in her slumber, and peaceful as a little
child—no very terrible sight surely. But as his eyes
fall upon her, he ee | some great horror, as a
man may who has received a blinding blow.

‘‘Asleep!” his pale lips whisper; ‘tasleep—as she
was!” “at :

He stands spell-bound for a moment—then he
breaks away headlong. He makes his way to the
dining-room. The table, all bright with damask,
silver, crystal, and cut flowers, stands spread: for
dinner. He takes from his pocket a note-book and
pencil, and, still standing, writes rapidly down one
page. Without reading, he folds and seals the sheet,
and slowly and with dragging steps returns to the
room where Edith sleeps. On the threshold he lin-
gers—he seems afraid—afraid to approach. But he
does approach at last. He places the note he has
written on a table, he draws near his sleeping bride,
he kneels down, and kisses her hands, her dress, her
hair. His haggard eyes burn on her face, their mes-
meric light disturbs her. She murmurs and moves
restlessly in her sleep. In an instant he is on his
feet, in another he is out of the room and the house
in another the deepening twilight takes him, and
he is gone.

A train‘’an hour later passes through Carnarvon
on its way to London. One passenger alone awaits
it at the vilage-station—one passenger who enters
an -empty~ -class COmpartment and disappears.
Then it goes shrieking on its way, bearing with it to
London the bridegroom, Sir Victor Catheron.

{TO BE CONTINUED.]

 

 

HISTORICAL ITEMS,

THE Lord Mayor of London has an allowance of £8,000
to meet the expenses of his mayoralty, but these are be-
lieved to amount to some £3,000 or £4,000 more. He is an
ex-officio member of Her Majesty’s Privy Council during
his tenure of office; and he attends its meetings on the
accession of a new Sovereign, when he is the only sur
Viving member of that august body, the office of the others
Privy Councillors ceasing together with the demise of the
King. Then, as if his time were not sufficiently occupied
witi the business of the City and Corporation, he is, or
was till recently, a Governor of Greenwich Hospital; he
is a Governor of King’s College, or Christ's Hospital, of
St. Bartholomew’s, Guy’s and St. Thomas’s Hospitals;
and a trustee (along with the Archbishop of Canterbury
and the Bishop of London) of St. Paul’s Cathedral; he ig
president or patron of very many other public founda-
tions. And, lastly, he sits reguiarly in his own justice-
room at the Mansion House for some three hours or more
daily to administer thelaw. As lately as the coronation
of King George IV. the Lord Mayor of London aeted as
Chief Butler, receiving a gold cup as his fee on the oceca-
sion. F
THE American emigrant vessel, Ocean Monarch, left Liv-
erpool, bound for Boston, on August 24, 1848, having 39€
passengers Om board. She had not far advanced into the
lrish Channel, being within six miles of Great Ormshead
Lancashire, When shetook fire, and ina few hours was
burned to the water’s edge, and178 persons perished
The Brazilian steam frigate, Alfonzo, happened to be out
on a trial trip at the time, with the Prince and Princess
de Joinville and the Duke and Duchess D’Aumale on
board, who witnessed the catastrophe and aided in reseuw
ing and comforting the sufferers with exceeding an
ity, They, with the crews and passengers 0 Alfo

d the yacht Queen of the Ocean, so
ic and unwearied services

 

    
 

  

       
 
 

 

 

 
  
  
     
   
    
 
   
  

On the 22d of Decem-
rench prisoner of war, was
inthe Admiralty Court, Lon-
be burned im the hand, which

efore he Jeft the court, and in
ptesence of thej

PWwho tried hi William Scott).
The apparatus -, the chafing-dish, the brand, and
ireas for keeping the hand steady— g adjusted, the
brand was applied. The patient uttered an involuntary
convulsive scream on feeling the iron, but instantly re-
gained his apparent composure. :

LORD PALMERSTON, the great English statesman, die

ber, 1799, James Ottea
convicted of mansiauy

don. He was sentenced
was carried into e

at Brockett Hall, October 18, 1865. He was thin tw
days of completing his eighty-first year, aud had sat i
the House since 1806, when he entered it as - ber fo

Horsham. He was buried with public honorsin West-
minster Abbey on October 27.

KING GAMBINUS, or Gambivious, the presumed inven
of beer, is said to have lived 1730 years before Christ, a

reigned over a country oxen f 1e Rhine to the
Ural. It was he who gaye she names to the towns of Ham-
burg and Cam Abe 1 @hole

THE great fire of London originated in Nov., 1666, in
the time of Charles II. he great plague occurred in the
previous year (1665), when 68,596 persons are said to have
perished.

THE Great Eastern steamship was launched on the 81st
of January, 1858, after four fruitiess attempts. The cost
of the launch was between £60.000 and £70.000.

—_——_—_____ > © ~¢-

Ned Buntline’s

Dramatic triumphs have been resumed. With a band of
full-blooded red braves of the West—additional scouts,
chief among whom is the heroic scout, hunter and guide,

DASHING CHARLEY,
of whom “Ned’’? wrote a brilliant story long ago and is
now writing another for our columns—NRD BUNTLINE
takes the stage himself, leading one of the best dramatic
companies in the world through the West and South in
the fall, and coming Hast in the winter. Ned’s troupe of
scouts and Indians perferm i Saginaw City, Mich., Sept.
23; Lansing, Mich., Sept. 24; Grand Rapids, Mich., Sept.
25; Kalamazoo, Mich., Sept. 26; Niles, Mi¢h., Sept. 27,
and open in Chicago on the 29th of Sept., where they will
continue for one week, We will give his route from time
to time, knowlIng how much our readers will be pleased

 

to see the author and his heroes,

 

He is gone

 

 

 

 

 

 

8

 

a ae ol

Spe

 
  
   
 
 
  
   
   
 
  
     
   
  
 
  
    
  

  
  

    

 
 

        

  

       
     
     
        
       
     
    

   

 

‘THE

 

 

a

 

 

LIFE AND DEATH.

BY ELLA WHEELER,

 

 

Three days agone my love was here,
Her light step on the stair was springing;
Her sweet voice fell upon my ear—
(She mocked the thrushes in her singing).
The billows of her long bright hair
Fell round her in a golden splendor;
Her face was young, and fresh, and fair;
Her eyes were innocent and tender,

Her presence filled the house—each room
” Breathed of her sweet and pure existence;
She was like some rare plant in bloom,
Whose fragrance reaches through the distance.
Here was her ribbon, there her book,
Beyond her wreath or faded flower;
A step, a voice, a laugh, a look,
Told of presence hour by hour. j

“ How strange is life!” I said. ‘From naught

God fashioned out this glowing creature,

Endowed with motion, feeling, thought,
Perfect in symmetry and feature .

Sweeter than any opening rose,
All grace and beauty hangs about her;

Though every flower were left that blows,
Earth would be bare and bleak without her.”

Three days agone! Ay, life is strange,
But death is stranger, vaster, deeper.
He brings us tears, and gloom, and change;
She was God’s sheaf, and death His reaper.
Three days! and now no voice is heard—
No light step on the stair is bounding;
Tn vain the tuneful-throated bird
Listens to hear her answer sounding.

I can not find her anywhere. ‘
How vast, how strange, the mystic power
That leaves but one soft strand of hair
Of all that golden, shining shower.
In door and out, in every place,
I search and seek. Oh, vain endeavor!
The voice, the laugh, the form, the face,
Have vanished from the earth forever.
A spot of ground, a fresh-turned sod,
Hides what was beautiful and mortal.
The spirit (fairer still) to God,
And life eternal crossed the portal.
Frailer than any opening rose
The winds of earth blew cold about her;
Fairer than any flower that grows,
Heaven was not complete without her.

WINTERDYNE GHOST.

BY ALLENA AUDLEY.
e

Winterdyne House was one blaze of light. Its magnifi-
cent rooms—pariors, library, music and reception rooms
—were brilliant with bright faces and gay attire.

On the lower stair, under the light of the great chande-
lier, Stood a charming young woman, gazing with vivid
emotion at the scene before her. As the crowd swayed
back and forth, she obtaineds@n occasional glimpse of her
friend Lady Blanche Winterf@yne, who, attired in pale
lilac satin and pearls, was receiv with gay smiles the
guests invited in honor Of-her home-coming as a bride.

Sir Hugh, who was fifteen years older than his wife, and
who detested parties and crowds of every description, had
assumed for the occasion an expression of content, which
deceived every one but Miss Gilroy. Even Lady Blanche
felt bored at last, but at that criticab moment, when she
began to weary of the endle / on of uew faces, she
caught sight of that prettyfate on the stairs.

Contrary to All rules, she laid one white hand eagerly on
her husband’s arm, and begged him to see tial way was
made at once for ler dear friend, Frank Gilroy.

“Who did you say, my dear?” fer husband asked, turn-
ing toward her. .

“Frank Gilroy. Do you notsee her standing there on
the lower stair? She was to come down with Ralph, and
they have missed one another.’?

People submitted to be pushed @ little aside when they
understood it was at Lady Blancle’s request, and Sir
Hugh went himself and brought back Miss Gilroy on his
arm, looking very modest and frightened, but ten times
more beautiful than ever.

“My dear Frank,’’ said Lady Blanche, without lowering
her voice, ‘‘did not Ralph succeed in finding you, or have
you snubbed him ??

“He came with me as far as head of the stairs, and was
suddenly called away. Rachel beckoned to him,’ she
added, sinking her voice almost to a whisper, ‘‘and I told
him I didn’t mind coming down alone. [I should have
waited for him though, if you had not asked Sir Hugh to
come for me.*?

Every particle of color had vanished from Lady
Blanche’s exquisite face. It was no longer a summer
rose, but a lily touched by the frost.

“I wonder, Miss Gilroy, if you will put any faith in us,
since Ralph lias failed in proper attention this first night
of your arrival?” ee <a

“Oh, Sir Hugh, do not suppose I am so easily hurt. I
‘came here for the sake of enjoying myself, and I should
be ashamed if such a little thing could put me out.”?

“But, my dear Lady Blanche, what could Rachel have
wanted Ralph for?’ asked Sir Hugh, a puzzled look cross-
ing his face.

“Oh, for any one of a thousand things!’’ laughed Miss
Gilroy, merrily interrupting him. ‘‘Domestic machinery
cannot always work smoothly, and you wouid not surely
desire anything to go wrong this night of all the nights in
your life, Sir Hugh?”

“You are right—quite right,’ he returned, his face
lighting up again.

But before he could say any more, Ralph Odell made his
appearance, and Miss Gilroy took his arm; and, with one

«long glance of her bright eyes in Lady Blanche’s direc-
tion, she had moved away, ald was lost amid the throng
of people.

She had been rewarded, however, by seeing the rosy
color leap again to the cheeks a moment before so pale,
and the languid eyes grow bright with an unwonted ex-
citement.

The evening was at anend at last, and Lady Blanche
had retired toherown room. There wasa light tap on
the door, and, opening it, Frank Gilroy stood on the
threshold. ‘‘May I come in?’ she said, softly.

“You need not have knocked to ask that,’? Lady Blanche
said, throwing a siiawl over her embroidered wrapper.
“You know you are welcome here.”
~ “T confess that I guessed as much. I have only just left
Ralph! You would hardly guess what he has been show-
ing me?’

“No,’? Lady Blanche said, sighing wearily.

“It was your picture, darliung—the one you had painted
for him wheu you were first enga——”’

“Hush!” said Lady Blanche. ‘‘*Haven’t [ told you often,
Frank, that I don’t like to hear those old times talked of?”

Miss Gilroy’s iace flushed slightly.

_ “7 know,” she said, hesitatingly. ‘You fear that I shall
‘be unhappy because Ralph loved you and expected» to
marry you before he ever saw me. But 1 am not jealous,
darling.’’ tase?

«Don’t think me uncivil, dear Frank, butit.is for r
own sake that I speak. Need | tell you again thé
and I never loved each other? We became eng
dozens of others do, because there was ne els
way, but I never loved any man until T
and Raiph, I am sure, never loyed me

“~ ought to be happy to hear f
Gilroy said, her hand Closing sud
she held so that the ivory toy
Ralph that he ought to return you

“Why? said Lady Blanche, a
haughtily. ‘He is my cousin, and t
no objection to his ping the pictu
so. When hed ; Care for it any lon;
it to you.” $y 3

“Thank you,” Miss Gilroy said softly, ‘‘and forgive me
for keeping youup. I know you must be tired.”

“Tired enough to sleep, I acknowledge. So good-night,
dear, and pleasant dreams.”’

_ The door was shut between them, and then Miss Gilroy
paused, While a triumphant light slione in her eyes,

“This is all I wanted to know,’’ she whispered below
her breath. ‘My lord and lady have separate rooms for
the present, and it shall be my own fault if they are not
Still further apart in twelve mapathie’ Garet"

*

*

 

 

 

    
 
 
    
     
   
  
  
  
 

 

ly over the delicate fan
oken. ‘But I told
ure now.’?
ng just a little
can certainly be
he desires to do
ger, he may give

*
There was a ghost at Winterdyne House. A veritabie
ghost, all in the traditional white robe, that flitted through
the long corridors in the small hours of the night, that
haunted the west wing where my lord’s private rooms
were situated, that came and went without audible sound
of breath or footstep! If it wasn’ta ghost, what was it?

Even Miss Gilroy, who professed to have no nerves,
came down one morning with a very pale face and fright-
ened eyes, and forgot to drink the cup of chocolate which
steamed so fragrantly beside her plate.

“Miss Gilroy, you are not eating any breakfast,’ said
Sir Hugh, from his end of the table. “I hope you have
not lost your appetite???

“T am not sure,’’ she said. ‘I think I slept too late.’

“Then you did not see our ghost, Isuppose? It vanish-
ed somewhere in the neighborhood of your room, but so
many doors open into the hall just there that I did not
attempt to follow his ghostship. 1 did listen a moment at
your door, however, fearing that you might have been
frightened like the rest of us.’?

“No, I don’t think I saw any ghost, dear Sir Hugh, but
[ was disturbed by unpleasant dreams toward morning.
But hasn’t Lady Blanche returned? Idon’t see how she
can endure to take such early walks!’

‘Lady Blanche! Karly walks! Are you dreaming still,
Miss Gilroy? Lady Blanche, Il am sure, is still asleep.”

9n!? Miss Gilroy replied, as if half to herself.

  

ey
ght I saw them cross the garden an hour ago.”
Betore Sir Hugh could ask the question that was upper-
most in his mind, Ralph Odell came into the room, flushed
and out of breath, and sat down to breakfast.

Another door opened a moment later, and Lady Blanche
came inand quietly took herseat. Her face was very
grave, and slie avoided meeting Miss Gilroy’s eyes, which
were fastened intently en her pale countenance.

Evidently some cloud had risenin their sky, and Lady
Blanche and Miss Frank Gilroy were not such dear friends
as they had once seemed to be.

All that SAL AY common consent they seemed to avoid
each other. ut Lady Blanche manifested an unusually
tender feeling for her husband.

He went away alter breakfast, and she had called him
back twice to put her soft arms round his neck, and tell
him how lonely she should be until his return.

She wandered restilessly about the house until afternoon,
when her Cousin Ralph had brought her a message from
her Signe Lady Mary Russell, asking her to come and
see her.

She had not waited long—only just long enough to
change her dress for a walking-dress. She went out
through the garden gate, and, before she was quite out of
sight, Miss Gilroy noiselessly lifted the latch to the little
gate, and stole out after her, with the same still, white
look which she had worn all the morning.

The road to the Russell House stretched away through
a green hollow nearly a mile distant, and then on through
a strip of lonesome woodland, and after that crept up
among the low hills that lay between the Winterdyne
property and the distant town of Chennery.

Along this road Lady Blanche walked, dimly conscious
all the time that Sir Hugh would have been better pleased
if she had taken her pony carriage, but wholly uncon-
scious of the quick footsteps that were following her
own.

Just before she left the wood the road divided, and there
ae oe paused to rest—and there Miss Gilroy over-
took her. ‘

“You here, Frank!’ Lady Blanche exclaimed, lifting
her eyes in surprise to the face overshadowed by some
passionate emotion. 1

But Miss Gilroy made no reply—only stood and gazed
at her, until the horror of the moment seemed to steal
like a specter between them and the light.

“Do you guess why I have followed you, Blanche—
Lady Winterdyne?”’

“No,” said Lady Blanche, slowly, locking her white
hands together over her knees.

‘Tt is because,’? Miss Gilroy said, in calm, even tones,
“you have robbed me of all that I held dear in life. Why
were you not content with one man’s love? Why did
you come with your innocent face and shy ways, and
steal the heart Z coveted ?””

“Frankl what can you mean? Surely you are beside
yourself, dear.”?

“Nol”? with sudden passion rising in her voice, and
overmastering her forthe moment, “it is you who are
crazy, Lady Blanche. You have walked with open eyes
to your own destruction! Your Cousin Ralph loves you so
dearly, my lady, that he will peril his good name to win
you. He has a carriage here and a trusty driver, and in-
Stead of going on tosee Lady Russell, who was never in
better health than she is to-day, you will go with Ralph to
some place where you will be secure from your husband’s
jealous search. Good-by, Lady Blanche! A pleasant
journey to you!”’ ye

With an alarmed cry, Lady » “sprang from her
seat, only to be seized by her Cou Ralpli’s waiting
hands, and to be hurried into the parringy gnat od
under the gloom of a black oak tree! ;

Then Miss Gilroy’s evil work accomplished, she hasten-
ed her backward steps, until ae ‘ed ched the gate of th

garden at Winterdyne House.

For afew minutes after her return to the house Miss
Gilroy stood white and still before the giass; then drop-
ping into a chair, she exclaimed:

“It is done now, and I must manageto look as usual
before any one comes in. It really fortunate that I
have been so pale of late, for I have no time to get up any
color now.” ;

Her wet clothes were put aside, a fresh and becoming
dress put on, her hair re-arranged, and then, as some
one knocked suddenly at her door, a dash of color bright-
ened her cheeks.

She drew her Knitted shawl closer about her, sank
down on asofa with a book in her hand, and said, lan-
guidly:.

“Come in,”’

It was one of the under-servants sent to askif she knew
whether Lady Blanche wished teaserved at the usual
hour, or if they were to wait until Sir Hugh returned.

He had driven over to a neighboring town on business,
directly after breakfast.

“You are to wait until Sir Hugh’s return,” she said,
pleasantly. ‘Lady Blanche went out for a walk, [ think,
and will soon be in.”?

Ten minutes later she went down stairs.

There was acheerful fire in the library, a soft light
beamed through the violet-tinted globes, and ri rig

of heavy satin were looped back, to show w brigut
welcome awaited the master of the house. 2

There was asudden sound of wheels on t raveled
drive, and, springing from the carriage, Sir Hugh ran
quickly up the steps.

Before he could touch the bell, the two walnut leaves
which formed the door swung open, and Miss Gilroy stood.
Smiling in his face.

If he had expected some one else to meet him there, he

He would have been unlike most menif a thrillof
pleasure had moé shot through his veins at sight of his
wife’s friend; who had become his own friend as well.

“T amso glad you have come!’ she exclaimed, ina
clear, ringing voice. ‘I told Lady Blanche you would
surely be here to supper, butshe would not belfeve me.
But come in to the fire—you are cold!’

And, with her two white hands lying like lily leaves on
the sleeve of his rough great-coat, she. drew him into the
library, and shut the door.

Ido not pretend to say whose fault it. was} but when
Miss Gilroy stood before him by the fire, the cofor coming
and going in her beautiful face, her lovely eyes raised
timidly to meet his own, he read the secret she no longer
cared to hide; and, bending toward her, he put one arm
around her slender waist, and kissed her full on her red

lips.

A thrill of delight ran through her veins, but she did
not forget her part. Sheknew he loved his wile yet—a
thousand times better than any other woman.

“How good in you, Sir Hugh,’ she said, with a quiver
of thelips that had tempted him. “If, instead of being
alone in the world, you were my—brother—how happy I
could bel’? ,
She had said just enough.
stilled his conscience.

He drew her nearer to him, folded his arms around her,
and, while he felt her heart beating faster and faster
against his own, he kissed her again and again, until he
began to feel as if he could never let her go out of his arms
again.

“Ahl’? and she drewa long, long breath of delicious
pain, ‘if you would de¢ me be your sister, Sir Hugh!”?

“T will tet you be anything you wish,’’ he said.

And then he put her away, and began to remove his
coat.

“Then I will usurp Lady Blanche’s place for once, and
order supper,’? she said, merrily enougly, though under-
neath the careless words her heart was inatumult “I
am sure you are hungry after your long ride.”

She had reached the door when he calied her back.

“Where ts Lady Blanche?’ he asked, quietly.

‘She went out fora walk this afternoon. Her cousin
was with her, and I think she intended to Call on her
friend Lady Russell. But she said we should not wait if
she*was not here. Gan I not pour your tea this once?”
she asked, with a bewitching blush.

“You may if you will take the trouble,’’ he said, a little
coldly. He was already sorry for what he had done in an
impulsive moment, and heartily wished his wife was at
lome.

Tea was over—bed time approached—and then Miss

Gilroy, who had na bsent from the room a few min-
nes came < with a mote in her hand, directed to Sir
ugh. 3

He broke it open, and read it aloud:

y Mary is ill, and I shall stay

kalpli has gone on to D——, and will
or two. Let Frank wait on you

raffectionate wife, BLANCHE W.

bshe says, Miss Frank, but I do not
our good nature to-night.”?

aps, lie might kiss her good-night, but
ightly on her shoulder as he wished
ns, and then went away.

A go up-stairs, through the hall to his own
dressing-room, and shut the door; and having nothing
better to do, she followed his example.

That night was the last night the ghost ever walked at
Winterdyne Houst
Sir Hugh had
undressing, and
stirring in the room awoke him.

He raised himself on his elbow, and looked around.
Yes, there it was, the ghost of Winterdyne, who had twice
brought him warning of his wife’s unfaithfulness; had
twice left a three-cornéred note on his bureau, written in
a cramped, almost ili e hand, accusing Lady Blanche
of being secretly in love with her Cousin Ralph, to whom
she had been engaged before her marriage.

See, the face was turned away, but the snow-white
robes swept up close to the tabie, and hesaw the oddly-
shaped note drop from a ghostly hand.

Slowly the figure turned, and would have passed again
through the hall-open door had not Sir Hugh at that mo-
ment sprung to his feet and pursued it.

The door unheard liad swung together.

That night, from some unaccountable impuise, Sir Hugh
had opened a window looking out into the road, which
had not heen open for months before. The shutters were
flung wide open, and the window, which opened in the
middle like a door, was partly unclosed.

Right on, in the terror of the moment, in the horror of
being discovered, the frightened creature ran on to the
open window.

It was dark, and Sir Hugh could never tell just how it
happened—the white figure had stepped through that open
window.

There was a quick uplifting of shadowy hands, a vain
clutching at empty air, a wail of despair, and the tragedy
was ended.

A heap of white garments on the stone walk and the
figure ofa woman flying up the avenue of leafless trees
was What Sir Hugh saw when he reached the window.

Lady Blanche had .made her escape and come home
through the starless night to see that mad leap to death.

Half frozen with horror, the reunited husband and wife
looked on the face of the dead. But the secret Sir Hugh
had read that nightin the eyes that would never open
again he Kept to himself.

The whole household knew that the ghost was Miss Gil-
roy, but they thought, as did every one else except Lady
Blanche, that she had walked in her sleep to meet death.

—_————_ > +

JOSH BILLINGS’ Farmers’ Alminax for 1874 will be illus-
trated with peculiarly curious silhouette caricatures, from
drawings by J. H. Howard. The NEw YORK WEEKLY

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A LETTER.

DEAR AMOS: The best kind ov a trout pole iz a blak
alder, which grows natral along the banks oy awl good
trout streams,

Let the pole be about an inch and a quarter, at the butt
12 feet long, and with az trew a taper az yure sweetheart’s

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nger.

lf yu kant ketch trout with one ov this kind, yu kant
with enny.

Whenever i see a man who haz got to hav just sitch a
pole, just sitch a hook, just sitch a line, and just sitch bate,
before he will start out after trout, i make up mi mind
that phellow will ketch more kold than he duz phish.

HINTS.
Whatsoever kan happén may happen, and we hay no
excuse for being suprized at ennything in this life.
Menny people are virtewous simply for the reputashun

It dont kost ennything tew be polite or gratefull.

I find plenty ov people who are willing tew teil yu all
they kno, if yu will tell them all yu kno, but the mizery
ov the trade iz, they dont kno mutch.

I would prefer that my religion should be, tewluy God
and pitty man.

Thare are 2 kinds oy literary hits, the temporal and the
eternal. ‘‘Home, Sweet Home,’’ waz one ov the eternal
kind. “Shoo Fly” iz one ov the temporal ones.

He whom to pitty makes stronger iz a giant in disguise.

I cater for little children—i luv them—i believe they hav
bin a grate suckcess thus far, and ain’t a going tew run
out az long az pholks last.

It iz just az natral for an old phellow tew giv advise az
it iz tew grunt.

Thare iz only one impulse oy the human harte that iz
alike in us all, and that iz sel/-luv.

THE PARROTT.

The parrott iz not a game bird, altho they bight good,
hang on well and di hard.

A parrott will liv 200 years and gro cross tew the last.

Ris hay no song, but kan be larnt tew sware kor-
rectly.

A parrott ina private family iz about az useless aza
seckond attack ov the meazles, and make more trubble
than taking a skoolmom tew board.

SHORT DOCUMENTS.

The man who kant git angry iz a hibrid—heiza pewter
man.

The deeper i dive down into mi own harte the meaner
things i bring up.

A grate man iz alwus superior tew hiz fortune.

It iz nothing but phun tew bear ether pholks’ trubble.

Thare iz this difference between a phool and a philos-
opher, and it iz about all the difference there iz: Whena
hornet stings a phool he bellows, but when a hornet
sting a philosopher he looks wize and misterious.

I hav seen the same man win 5 thousand at a faro bank
and git almost krazy with hiz good luk, and hav seen him
loze it all an hour afterward az coolly az he would drop a
wodden toothpik on the floor. .

Thare iz but very little piety in our churches now that
— stand the chagrin ov being out-styled in a new bon-
nett.

Thare iz this diffrence between jealousy and enyy—
jealousy iz self-luv and envy iz hatred oy others.

Thare haz alwus been more people in this world perse-
ore for riguteousness sake than thare has for the devil’s
sake.

Thare are but phew who ever do their best, and when
they do¢hey alwus surprize themselfs with the result.

; SHORT CORRESPONDENCE.

DEAR\|PHELPS:—The best abused woman oy the age iz
the average mother-in-law.

They are charged with kiking up a continual muss in
the family and making it either lukewarm or hot for sum-
boddy ali the time.

Idont think this sum willadd up and prove every
time.

‘Lhav gota mother-in law miself—she iz mi wife—and
her two sons-in-law luv her, and say she iz nobby.
All the other mothers-in-law may be a failure, and not
pay mutch on the investment, buti hay got one whoizan
lionor tew her s¢x and bizzness.
Iam anxious tew fite it out on this line, ifit takes 10
years.

It iz true that mothers-in-law want tew kno what's go-
ing on, and who dont?

ltiztrue they dont want their darter-in-law tew out
style them in a bonnet, and who duz?

Theze things aint failures, they are only natral Kalam-
itys that must and shal! happen.

Lintend sum time tew write a treatiss called ‘a tilt for
mothers-in-law,’? with sum konkluding stanzas tew it—
until then, Dear Phelps, adu.

PARAGRAPHICK.

What we hav the least ov ourselfs, we generally charge
others with having less ov.

Pride iz cheap and common, you Kan find it all the way
down from the monark on hiz throne tew the rooster on
hiz dunghil.

Thare are excepshuns tew all ralesno doubt, but the
excepshuns dont win often enuff tew make them pay,

The same time spent in learning tew phiddle a passable
tune on one string wud enable a man tew bekum an ele-
gant shumaker.

Man iz the only thing kreated with reazon, and stiil he
iz the most unreazonable thing kreated.

Hapiness konsists in having what we want,and want-
ing what we hav.

Whenever i see a dog led around the streets bi a fash-
ionable femail, i alwuss pitty—the dog.

I kant tell now whichidoluv the least, a coquet ora

rude.

: Thare iz lots ov eddikated people in the world who, if
it want for their learning, wouldn’t kno ennything.

I know whatit iz to be a grandpa—it’s fun alive.

THE WILD KAT.

The wild kat iz about the size ov the average dog, and
haz a gray color.

They hav ashort tale, but whether it grows short, or
haz bin abridged by acksident or Kalkulashun i Kno not.

I never yet saw a wild kat with a tale more than 3 inch-
es in length. ;

They are unfriendly kusses, and wont pay enny man
tew foster.

They are crosser and more snappish than a step-father.

They make a good kind ov a kage animile, and will do
tew shoot at with arifle, but it aint helthy for the kat or
for yu tew wound one and not Kill him.

When they cum down a tree with arifie ball in them,
and go for yu, itiz the right time tew leave.

Two wild kats, at night, in a deep, dark wood, respon-
sive from the top ov ajacent trees, iz one ov the most sol-
lum songs i ever listened to.

It will make every hair in a wig stand on end.

. PROVERBIALLY SO.
It iz diffikult tew tell how mutch or how little fortune
haz tew do with the suckcess ov enny one.

All the unlucky people in the world that i kno hav been
improvident ones.

A regular, old fashioned, thorobred lie don’tdo mutch
hurt—it iz the haff breeds that do the mischief.

Silence izsafe. The man who hasn’t spoke alwus has
the advantage ov him who haz.

Thare iz a grate deal more tailent amung mankind than
thare iz luv or affeckshun.

The more we kno oy human natur the more we will
hate it.

Thare never waz a man yet So grate or so powerfull,
but what, when he waz overtaken with poverty and mis-
fortunes, he could count hiz friends on hiz fingers.

The lazy ones are generally good-natured, and that iz
what makes their acquaintance and example so per-
nishus,

Thoze who hav least followed it are thoze most fond oy
giving good advise tew others, j

In a square fite, the heartiz alwuss tew mutch for the
head, and i am glad ov it.

THE BULL FROG.

The bull frog iz the boss ov the mudpuddle.

He iz a quadruped, and hops when he walks.

He looks out ov hiz eyes like a philanthropisst, and,
when he sets down, he sets down az square az a newly
elekted alderman.

haz a sollum voice, and dont sing but one tune
well,

He iz kuzzin tew the tud, but he neverackted tew me
az tho he waz proud oy the job.

Bull frogs are more plenty in the summer than in the
winter, and they tell me that their hind legs dressed, and
weil peppered, and salted, Kan tickle the ribs ov a grid-
iron most beautifully.

This may be so.

; MORE WISDUN.
The man who iz alwuss true tew himself, iz the hardest

 

kind ov @ Man tew beat.

«ett THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3=~

 

The cheapest thing in Nu York city to-day, iz human

If we run after pholks they are sure tew retreat, but if
we retreat, they surely will run after us.

Yu tickle me, and I'll skratch yu, iz a game that the
whole world luv tew play at.

Menny people git kredit for virtew when in fakt it iz
only fear that makes them travel straight.

Thare iz a kind ov kuriosity which iz very common
amungst pholks, whitch prompts them tew see how near
they kan go tew a mule’s heels, and not git hit.

‘irtew, and humanity, are alwuss inseperable,

We never kan outliv our follys; I serpoze that even Me-
thuzaler had hiz thin spots tew the last.

Respectability, in theze times, depends a good deal upon
& man’s bank account,

Every boddy (but the kussid phools) are tew work for
themselfs.

KORRESPONDENCE.

DEAR PALMER:—I never hav had enny boy yet, and
tharefore Kant giv yu enny infallible resipee how tew bring
one up.

Az a genral rule, they want tew be browght up all stand-
ing every once in about 80 daze. This may look a leetle
ruff, but, in the end, it izile for the boy.

Thare iz nothing on the face oy this earth worth more
to the pound than a good boy, and nothing worth less
than a bad one,

If i had a boy, and could git him warrented at enny de-
cent rate, i should hay it immejiately did.

Boys are a pretty sure crop now daze, but dredful risky
tew ripen.

To SpicE CONTRIBUTORS.—Our Spice Articles are
crowded out this week for the first time since the depart-
ment was established, but will next week be renewed.
We accept ‘Dickens,’ ‘Ruth,’ ‘Gabriel.’ We regret that
we are obliged to refuse ‘Harvey Hatchet.’ ‘R. A. B.,’
‘Smoketan,’ ‘Roots,’ ‘Lenore,’ ‘Sam Hiil,’ ‘Saint,’ ‘Salt,’
‘A. R.,’ ‘Moses Brown,’ ‘Binniger,’ ‘Epsom,’ ‘Fun,’ ‘Ship-
mate,’ ‘Leather,’ ‘Snooks,’ ‘B. B. B,,’ ‘Violet,’ ‘Porringer,’
‘Nancy.’

THE LADIES’ WORK-Box.

To PURCHASERS.—In consequence of several important addi-
tions being made to the Illustrated Catalogue of the New YORK
WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, it will not be issued until the nid
dle of September.

“Annie Maud.’’—Your skirt should be trained, and

trimmed nearly half way to the waist with ruffles avout
four inches wide each. Make an overskirt after pattern
2,728, price 30 cents, which pattern has an apron front
and a long full back. It should be trimmed with ruffles to
correspond withthe underskirt. The waist may be of
tarlatan, or of silk or satin, and can be after any style you
like best. Youcan havea basque of silk and trim with
illusion like the vail, or you can have a low-necked cor-
sage made after pattern 2,719, price 10 cents. The vail
should be of illusion or blonde, and can be attached to
the head by a wreath of orange flowers. You can get the
material to cost from 90 cents to $1.50 per yard—three
yards will be enough for vail. The wreath, and clusters
for looping overskirt and corsage, will cost from $5 to $10,
according to quality of flowers.
‘Lucy Bell.’’—The prices for silks continue about the
same as last season. You can getarather nice-looking
black silk for $2 per yard, and avery handsome quality
for $4.50. The heavier qualities really do not wear better
than the $3 or $4 silks, for they are almost too heavy to
last. The Irish poplin continues to sell at $2.25, and
makes up handsomely. The French poplin ranges from
$1.50 to $1.75 per yard. We fear we will not be able to
describe any new fabrics, although we see numbers of the
old materials with new names.

‘Mary Hayslip.’’—There are quite a number of imita-
tions of hair, and of them the jute is the most unpopuiar.
It is a kind of bark, and is said to be infested with tiny
bugs which eat into the head, and become very trouble-
some. The mohairis heavy and cannot be arranged
gracefully. Linen is the purest and best of the imitations
and will cost you 75 cts and $1. according to the size of
the switch. If you take our advice you will get a stem
switch of all hair, which will not cost much and yet will
look much better than the others. The prices are
regulated by the length of the stems, and the hair, and the
thickness of the braids. Coronet braids range from $2,50
to $6. Braids for back hair from $5 to $20, The cost by
mail will be regulated by weight. About 50 cents will pay
the postage, and registration expense.

‘Paris Green.’’—You are safe in wearing blue and green,
as well as black, but certain shades of almost any other
color will become you. You have red hair, and black eyes,
therefore can select colors for either hair or eyes, for your
complexion must be a mixture of the shades belonging to
both. You can wear a bronze brown, lavender, rose,
delicate corn color and pearl. For fall trim your hat in
brown aud black, or pearl color and black; the combi-
nation will look well.

‘“‘Hopeless.’,—Don’t let the color of your complexion
trouble you. Perhapsif you take tincture of iron it will
improve both health and complexion, as the one regulates
the other. Perhaps you had better consult your physi-
cian.

“Old Reader.’’—Gros grain silk is corded, or the thread
running across the silk is heavier than that running up
and down. Faile is a good substantial dress silk with
even surface, while Taffeta is used principally for linings
and*trimmings.

“Bell. ’—A little velvet or cloth cap, with a Scotch or
plaided band, will be neat and pretty for the baby boy for
winter; or you can get one of zephyr, it he wears white
clothes.

 

 

send your address and stamp for reply, and we will send
you samples with price.

To those who wish directions for self-measure: Length
of coat from middle of back of neck; of arm from middle
of back, just below the shoulders, to the elbow, and then
to the wrist; around the breast, over vest and under coat,
from just under the arms. For pants, around the waist
under coat immediately above the hips; around the hips;
inside leg seam from crotch to top of heel-tap; outside leg
seam from top of waistband to bottom of shoe under in- —
step. If these measures are correctly taken, we Can in- —

 

 

 

sure a good fit of coat, pants and vest. Suits for boys are
of all sizes, and can be purchased after the above meas-

urements, but the ages of the boys should accompany the _
orders, We are constantly sending off suits, and in most
cases have given perfect satisfaction. Suits for boys cost
from $5 to : ¥

OUR KNOWLEDGE Box.

A Few Paragraphs Worth Remembering.

   

 

 

We take pleasure in responding to every question addressed
to us in this column, for the answers generally afford information
not only to the parties especially seeking it, but also to the mass
of our readers; but with the increase of our circulation has grown
the number of questions soliciting answers by mail. These ques-
tions are almost uniformly
rily answer them, much time and labor. For this reason all per-
sons in future wishing their queries replied to by mail, will please
inclose 50 cents to defray the expenses necessarily incurred.

To PURCHASERS.—In consequence of several important addi-
tions being made to the Illustrated Catalogue of the New YoRK
WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, it will not be issued until the mid-
dle of September.

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
Sex.—Tobacco smoking is almost universally regarded _by physi-
cians as injurious to health. Those who offer excuses for its use

are exceptions to the general rule....... An Ancient Reader.—It is
ossible that her voice may return to her, but we know of noth-
ng that will aid her in theinterim...... M. Sport.—Wash your

face night and morning in alcohol or strong cologne water, and
as very sparingly of tat or greasy food...... Union Spy.—
xercise in a gymnasium would aid you..... .... Bess.—
Lunar caustic will remove moles....... Grandmother.—We know
nothing of the instrument, or of the person referred to. Write
to the Eye and Ear Infirmary, 216 Second avenue, N. Y. City.. -..
A Friend.—Castor oil and brandy will help your hair—two-thirds
brandy, one-third oil. Shake the mixture well before applying
night and morning....... Edwin R.—CURLING THE HAIR.—Hair
that is naturally straight cannot be made to stay permanen’ in
curls. The following fluid will make the hair curl en ily:
Take borax, two ounces; gum arabic, one dram; an baie r :
(not boiling) one quart. Stir, and as soon as the ingr D re ¢
dissolved add three tablespoonfuls of strong spirits of nor.
On retiring to rest wet the hair with the above liquid, and roll it

when untwist and form im ringlets. Flaxseed tea is pe go 4
for keeping the hair in curls......R. Saintclair.—l, Eat food con-

taining the most starch and sugar. 2. It is only natural at sae

time of life that you shoulddo so. Time will help you ov: :
the predisposition. 3. Go to bed early and rise early. Don’t
read after sundown if youcan help lt. Any artificial light is try-
ing to the eyes. Be regular in all your habits. Take all the out-
door exerciseiyou can...... “Patsy.”—1. The best summer drink
we can recommend, if taken in moderation, is plain soda, or in
other words carbonic acid gas, such as you get at any druggist’s.
2. Consult a regular physician...... Mrs. R.. H. A.—1. No recipe.
2. In No, 42 you will find a recipe for preserving citron meélon in
jars, but we have no formula for the way in which yoqu wish to
prepare it........ “Singer —‘Clude.”—To copaibe bal AND-TH-

rad

PROVE THE VOICE.—Beeswax, two drams; copaiba b n, three
drams; powder of liquorice-root, fourdrams. Melt t
balsam with the wax ina new earthern pipkin. When m
remove them from the fire, and while in a melted state mix in
the powder. Make pills of three grainseaech. Two of these pills
to be taken as a dose three or four times a day on alternate days.
sieves irey.—HAIR DRESSING.—We recommend Castor oil be-
cause ithas long been used asa hair-dressing. A pre ion
made of two ounces fresh castor oil and 16 ounces of cologne
spirit (95 per cent.), is effectual in keeping the hair in any de-
sired position, and possesses the merit of being harmless. The
oil is freely dissolved in the spirit, and the solution is clear and
beautiful. It may be perfumed in any way to suit the fancy of
the purchaser. A cheap and yery good dressing is made by dis-
solving four ounces of perfectly pure dense glycerine in 12 ounces
ot rose water. Glycerine evaporates only at high temperature,
and therefore under itsinfluence the hair is retained in a moist
condition for along time..... Wyville.—TO MAKE PEACH JELLY.—
First remove the skin and stones and boil the strained juice, .
mixed with half its weight of loaf sugar, until it jellies on cool-
ing. The scum must be removed as it rises. A gentle beat is to
be used, and the sugar added only when the juice issomewhat
concentrated...... B. B.—No recipe......Mountain Boy.—l. The
stones are of no particular value, and in no demand, that we
know of. We have not the space to go into the details you re-
quest. 2. Use a woolen blanket, Wrap it closely round the ice.
It will bepreserved quite along time...... s. Ky.—
Blister the arm. New skin will grow, oblit-
erated........ Louise.—1. CORN BREAD-—One quart of milk, two
eggs, one piece of butter the size of an egg, half a teaspoontul of
white sugar, a little sz o teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar, one
teaspoonful of soda, Indian meal, half flour, enough to
make a thick batter. your pans about half full, and bake
twenty minutes. 26¥ se it properly...... J. R. MH. M.—Fresh
lemon juice will soften and when the hands...... Lottie.—.
SKELETON LEAVES see No, 38.....- nitestone.—l. Castor oil ar
brandy will help your hair. 2, Eatsparingly of any foo
tainin’g much starch or sugar, if wish to reduce yo Hf
WS le. :

Glycerine and lemon juice wil ove sunbul
For stammering see No. 36... W.

 
   
 

 
  

grow again. There is no depil y that will u-
ous hair “permanently.” Take apair of tweezers and pull out
each hair ar aa Repeat the process when they grow again.
. J. O. H.—We cannot at present think of any thing that
would suit you, If any thing suggests itself in the future we wil!
advise you...... Charley De Witt, Louisa and Josie.—To PRESERVE
Cut FLOWERS.—One who has tested it, says: ‘‘Place aud arrange
the cut flowers in a vase or deep plate, filled with water; then
cover the same with a glass, such as is used in apiaries, having a
smalt hole at the top, as the air must not be entirely excluded,
but sufficient ventilation given to allow the damp to escape. A
dish of wild flowers thus placed has been kept more than ten |
days in perfect beauty, making fresh buds and expanding €¥erp.—
day. These, without a glass, woutd be more difficult to Kesp
fresh and without drooping than garden or green-house flowers,
but not less beautiful or worthy of care and attention ...... Nota
Bene.—1. No recipe that we could recommend for the second

 

‘N. J. B.’—You can make a very pretty cashmere
sacque after pattern 2,227, price 15 cents, which is half
fitting and slashed. Trim with lace and passementerie,
or with bands of silk.

“AP. T..~An elegant outside garment for fall wear,
to be made in cashmere or any kind of rather light eloth,
isa mantilla with hood, after pattern 2,803, price 30
cents. ts

“Mrs. L. A. Stoner,’ Shreveport, La.—Our letter to you
in answer to yours of July 6th, relating to prices of jewelry,
has been returned to us unopened. Please send us your
address and we will forward again,

“Sorrowful.’’—It is most difficult to give advice in such
acase as yours. We are afraid of intemperate men; but,
under the circumstances, you should give your friend a
chance for happiness. You love each other; then you
will both be willing to wait. A year’s trial can test
whether he likes you or the wine-cup best. You are quite
old enough to know what you are doing, and your parents
should not attempt to coerce youin sucha matter. Itis
your future, not theirs, you are to make, If you were
younger, we should say take your parents’ advice, but as
itis, we can only say that the great Master forgave more
than once.

“Beth.’—For a very stylish dinner orhouse dress of
light silk, make overskirt and basque. A stylish overskirt
is 2,022, price 80 cents. A handsome basque waist to
wear with it is 2,769, price 25 cents. “ The suit will be very
pretty.

“Fraulein Sneed.’—Let your hair and complexion
alone. You can change the trimming by making ruffies
of the plaiting. Cut the side plaiting in two after ripping
it up, and make the ruffles as narrow as you desire. That
on basque and overskirt you can change in the same way.
Don’t alter the style of your dress, Itis not necessary to
change even the trimming, for plaits of ali kinds are
fashionable.

“Blonde,’’—Yes, you write very nicely—much better
than many young ladies. Geta pretty shade of challie—
say a kind of smoke brown, not a dark shade—and make
with overskirt 2,648, price 25 cents, and pointed basque
waist 2,584, price 25 cents, or the stylish Princess polo-
naise 2,390, price 30 cents, Wear rose color or cherry
necktie with your green and white poplin.

Gentlemen’s and Boys’ Department.

It is easy enough to cut a coat and vest after a pattern,
but the garment will not look right unless itis cut the
correct way of the cloth—for instance the back and side
pieces of coats and jackets are to be cut. so that the grain
of the goods will be in an exact line with the line for the
waist. The fronts are to be cut straight on the front
edges, or if not to be perfectly straight when finished they
are to be cut the straightayay of the goods in a line with
the fullest part of the curve; or when they are cut away,
the part nearest the neck is to be laid to the straight of
the goods. Vests should be cut after the samerules. If
sleeves have no seams on the inside they are to be cut
the straight of the goods down the inside. If they have
an inner seam and are slightly rounded near the bottom,
the part above the elbow is to be the straight way of the
goods. All seams are to be opened, dampened, and
pressed on the wrong side witha hotiron. When making
a coat all the seams of the outside are to be sewed and
pressed open, excepting the shoulders, the buttons sewed
on, and tne pockets that open from the outside inserted.
The lining is then basted in, the shoulder seamsof the
outside closed, and the sleeves sewed into the arm holes
independent of the linings. The shoulder and arm hole
seams are then pressed open and the seams of the lining
felled.

The lining is to becut a little larger than the outside,
and held loosely in sewing. The lining for the middle of
the back of acoatis usually large enough to allow ofa
shallow plait being laid down the middle of the back, and
fastened at the top and bottom. Ifputinto snug, it will
be more likely to tear down the middle of the back be-
tween the shoulders than anywhere else. Most coats and
jackets have afacingon the inside of the fronts, of the
same materialas the outside. Aninterlining of some ma-
terial with a little stiffness issometimes used, but the lin-
ing proper does not extend under the facing. The under
and outside pieces of a rolling collar are cut of the same
material as the garment, and are both slightly stretched
on the lower edges by dampening and einen the
parts that come just over the shoulders. An interlining
of canvas is then to be fitted to the under part, and closely
tacked in several rows, being held over the finger mean-
while at the place where itis rolled over. The outer side
is to be fitted over after the under side has been sewed

on.

ITEMS OF INTEREST.—‘'The Chesterfield” is the name
ofa fashionable walking-coat in favor this season. The
broken check coatings introduced this fall are exceedingly
popular fabrics. Riding-cdats and vests to match are in
demand. Dress suitsin all new shapes are made of plain
black and diagonal cloths. The ‘London sack’ suit can
be found in cassimeres of the newest desig

“Dr. H.\—Beaver cloth is what you desire. It is much
heavier than broadcloth, and is of coarser grain. Itis
used for pants and also for overcoats. It is almost too
heavy for ordinary coats and vests. The price is frem $5
to $8 per yard, and it is one and ahalf yards wide. Black
silk velvet for collars, cuffs, &c., for coats, ranges from $7
to $12. Dress velvet, from $7 to $20 peryard, Address

 

article named. You do not state what kind of mineral water you
desire. There are many imitations. 3. Do you wish the imita-
tion or real article. If our correspondents were more explicit
we could give more satisfactory answers. .... James Brown.—Yes,
It will cost about 65 cents. Write to the New YORK WEEKLY Pur-
chasing Agency...... Lis , JY.,—We cannot enlighten you,
d ident.—Glycerine and lemon juice will soften and whiten
the hands. Beyond that we cannot aid you......E£verett B. 6.—
4. Lunar caustic will remove moles. 2. Rinse your mouth in

weak solution of permanganate of potassa. It is adeodorizer....
ALR, E.—We have not the space in this column for a full descrip-
S10R . Ofuat: .. 5. Pinhook.—l. Good. 2. Live very temperately,
avoiding all tator greasy food. Take something to purify the
blood, and wash your face night and morning in strong cologne
water..»...Charles Henry.—l. We cannot teil you. 2. Kat ‘food
containing the most starch and sugar......Johnsoh, Percy, John
. B., Su ber, Hy Puckey, Cincinnatus, A Three Years’
Peruser, N. F. Ham, B. B. E. Three F. J., Constant Reader, D.

. G.G.H, O.N. M.F., M. C., Constant Reader, Quick
Step, Subsegiber, A Six Years’ Reader.—Your letters have been
received, and will be answi as soon as possible.

—————__—

Wiedical Department. ‘

S. G, F.—EFFERVESCING CITRATE OF MAGNESIA.—Take of
crystallized citric acid, twenty grams; bi-carbonate of magnesia,
fourteen grains; mix in a tumbler of cold water and drink the
mixture while it is effervescing.

G. W. J.—CASTOR OIL may be made palatable by beating it
with the white of an egg until both are thorongtly mixed.

Edith Darrell.—Wash your mouth ina little honey and rose
water—enough of the latter to render the mixture serviceable.

George M. G., Honest Will, Do U. C., A New Reader, Barnacle

Bill, Clifford G—avn, James Smith, Charlie, A Sufferer, Nervous
Charlie, J. A. M., Jock of Oran.—See No. 43 in reply to “William
Smith,’ and others.
Edward D. Lislie—KipNEY COMPLAINTS.—We have heard of
persons being cured of ordinary kidney complaints by taking a
third of a bottle of Saratoga water before breakfast, and the re-
maining two-thirds at noon and at bed-time—four or five bottles
effecting a compiete cure. Seltzer water is also recommended in
similar cases, but it is not as efficacious as Vichy or any Saratoga
Spring water. Plain soda is a good and wholesome drink in dis-
eases of the bladder. Persons troubled with any affection of the
kidneys should not-use much salt with their food. A little will do
no harm, buf any excess will tend to irritate the bladder, and
delay any permanent cure. The action of the kidneys 1s some-
times lessened by washing the skin all over with cool water and
rubbing thoroughly dry with a coarse towel. A high authority
says that when the complaint proceeds from debility or relaxa-
tion of the neck of the bladder, the compounid infusion of trailing
arbutus, and the 1singlass custard found among dietetic prepara-
tions may be used freely. The plant named has given relief in
some cases when uva ursi and buchu have failed.

P. C. A.—LINIMENT FOR SPRAINS AND BRUISES.—An excellent
liniment, which will prove equally beneficial for use in the family
and 1n the stable, is prepared as follows: Alcohol @5 per cent) L
quart; fluid extract of arnica, 4 fluid ounces; camphor, 2 fluid
ounces; strong aqua ammonia, 1 fluid ounce; tincture of opium,
1 fluid ounce; water, 1 quart. Add to the alcohol the arnica,
camphor, ammonia, and tincture of opium; and, after the cam-
phor is dissolved, the water may be added. This liniment may
be applied for the relief of sprains, bruises, rheumatic aud neu-

 
  
 

ralgi¢ pains, etc., with decided advantage. For use in the cow
and horse stable, it will be found most efficient. It can be tur-
nished by druggists at about one dollar the quart. ;
Treadwell and Myopia.—You will have to consultan oculist. It
is not in our power to aid you. The eye is too delicate an organ
to be experimented with. : : .
W. B. U. and Silver Arv‘ow.—Go to a physician without delay.
Guy Earlscourt and Chickenfoot.—l. Red precipi vie
any kind of hair grease will exterminate the vet 7, hich,
you complain. Stavesacre ointmentis also very good. It has.
been published in book form. Price $1.50. ae o ae
Victor Catheron.—NERVOUSNESS.—A Void everyt t Sfecls
the nerves—tobacco, tea or coffee. Live tempe ” Go to bed
early and get up early. Sponge yourself with cold for at
least five minutes, night and morning. Take exep
air. Seek cheeriul company, and read noth
depress the mind. Don’t borrow trouble. There
which we have to pay so much and receive so litt

tending t&
is nothing -for
a ein return. ©

A. B. C.—ERUPTIONS OF THE SKIN.—Take two ounces of rasped
sarsaparilla root, one and a half ounces of solanum duleamara
(bitter-sweet or noody nightshade), one and a half ounces of
mezereon bark, half an ounce ofr guanicum wood, and
half ati ounce of sassafras bark. Pour on these one quart of boil-
ing water, let it stand 24 hours, and then boil away slowly to one
and a half pints; press, strain, ana add two pounds of sugar and
one ounce of diluted spirits of wine. Take a wineglassful three
times a day with one grain of precipitated sulphuret of anti-
mony. Cae. ;

Benj. L.—ASTRINGENTS are substances that constrict the ani-
mal fiber, and coz albumen. When employed to check
bleeding, they are called “‘styptics.” The principal vegetable
astringents are catechu, kino, galls, and oak bark; the principal
mineral astringents are sulphate of iron, nitrate of silver, chloride
of zinc, suiphate of copper, acetate of lead, etc.

Blue Bird._NERVOUS HEADACHES may sometimes be relieved
by sal-volatile (aqua ammonia). Take 10 drops in half a wineglass-
ful of water. Repeat at intervals of ten minutes, t

Geo. S. B.—CHILBLAINS.—Kerosene oil 18 very efficacious in
allaying the inflammatory irritation, Try it. :

Verona, Boston Boy, A Sufferer, C. R. McD., T. O. J., Cripple
P. C. A., Edward D’Lislie, Southwick, Henry Aurelea Jones, T.
N.C., E.L.V., R.H.J., C.H.D., A.B.C., Health, W.H. M,
F. A. W., Hasty.—Your letters have been received, and will be
answered as soon as possible. ae

J. W. B.and William M.—Only a regular practitioner can aid
you. Consult one without delay.

A & P Telegraph Operator.—SALT RHEUM.—Wash the part af-
fected with castile soap and water; dry with a soft cloth; then
wet with tincture of iodine, and let it dry; after which apply a
little citrine ointment. i ie

Gilbert Sexton.—1 and 2. Consult a practicing physician.

Faivor.—Consult an occulist.

“Chicago.—Sulphur simply purifies the blood. So
operates in one way and sometimes in another, a
condition of the system.

Buffalo Bill.—We cannot aid you.

Marcus Tullius.—There is a cure, but you must

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it

 

important ones, costing, to satisfacto- = | i

   

 

 

 

in twists of paper as usual. Do not disturb the hair till morning, oo

 

pe open Ar]

 

see

 

  

 

 

 

oo

 

 

ing to the
dgécribe your
ailment more at length. ‘ '
Daphne.—Try sarsaparilla. ey = .
A. B. €.—Pites.—Take of precipitated sulphur 15 grains, mag-
nesia, one scruple. Take at bed-time in a glass of milk or water.

 

 

letter tothe NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency,

 

~— DeWitt.—1. Try sulphur. 2. Wash your feet in salt and
water.

 

 

   
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

—neggaessi
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