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ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACY OF CONGRESS IN THE YEAR 1872 BY STREET & SMITH, IN THE OFFICE OF THE LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS, WASHINGTON, D. C

 

 

 

 

Vou. XXVIL.

 

FRANCIS 8S. STREET,
FRANCIS 8S, SMITH,

es
Proprietors,’

 

NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 30, 1872.

Three Dollars Per Year.
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By JOHN F. COWAN,

Author of “THE PATRIOT SPY OF BRANDYWINE,”

 

 

@OConnor’s Child,” was commenced in No. 45. Back numbers
can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.]

CHAPTER IX.
FOREBODINGS AND PROPHECIES.

The person who suddenly stood on the threshold of the
princess’ chamber, was a young girl with rosy cheeks,
sunny eyes and wavy hair, as black as the wing of the
raven.

The intruder was dressed in the garb of a maid of honor,
and advanced on tip-toe, gazing at the bed and around
the room. As soon as slie caught. sight of the princess,
she stood still, doubtful whether to stay or retreat.

‘“4ve Maria! Queen of Heaven and Mother of Eternal
Love!” murmured the princess. ‘‘Guide and protect thy
ehild!”?

As she spoke, a large tear fell from her upturned eye,
and smote audibly upon the ear of the visitor. She started
asif frightened by the sound, and retreated noiselessly
toward the door. She was. about closing it behind her
when a gust of night wind swept. throngh the ivy vines at
the open casement, sighed mournfully across the clar-
shech and flickered the lights in the chamber.

Eva O’Connor started upinaffright, for the Eolian tones
of the instrument fell on her preoccupied ears Jike the
sound of human agony ora ghostly moan. Her face as-
sumed a marble paleness and she gave an involuntary cry.

‘“‘My mistress, my dear lady!’ exclaimed the girl spring-
ing toward her to save her from falling.

“Theresa, you?’’

‘“’Pis I, my lady! Pardon me.’?

“Pardon? For what? said Eva absently, gazing to-
ward the window with the same frightened expression on
her face.

“For your affright, my lady. Ithought you had been
asleep—l felt reproach——”’ :

“No—no!’ said Eva, laying her hand upon the girl's
shoulder. “It was not that, Theresa. What meant—
whence came that sound ?””

Twas but the night breeze rustling the ivy and moan-
ing on the strings of the clarshech,”’ said Theresa, pointing
to the instrument lying flat upon the table.

The princess looked toward the harp. | ;

The fluttering ivy leaves were flickering the moonlight
npon the pearl’ ornamentation of its frame, and gave it
the appearance of something heaving and flashing with
life; at the same time the soft breeze again called forth the
wild cadence from its strings.

“Strange,’’ said the princess, leaning toward it gazing
‘Tis strange—strange,

and listening like one fascinated.
Theresa. °Tis his—his harp!’’

“My lady, who?”

“Hush! girl, hush!’? said the princess, ina frightened
manner, putting her white trembling hand over Theresa’s
lips, but still keeping her eyes on the harp. ;
of Castle Connor are ungrateful, treacherous, zis name
must not be whispered tothem. But you, Theresa, you
are true. Listen. "Tis Connocht Moran’s—'tis the Fal-
con’s. Look! Can you notsee the liviag sparkle of his
glance. Hark! That mournful music! "Tis not the night
wind. "Tis his voice—but it comes from the hollow cham
bers of the dead!”’ :

“My lady, my dear lady!’ exclaimed the frightened girl,
starting back to gaze in the glistening eyes of her mis-
“Why speak you 80? Come, calm yourself, you
are ill—you ate excited! Let me beg you to get to rest.”’

“No, no, Theresa; do not bend your eyes in such affright
upon me. | do not rave, these are no dreamings, I am not
mad! Why did my heart fail me and an unmiaidenly

shriek escape my lips to see the knight Moran fall from
his steed ?”” 7

She paused, and her simple-hearted companion thought
she awaited an answer.

“owas your interest, lady,” she said, ‘‘your friendship
—your love.”

No sooner had the girl spoken the last word, than she
was covered with blushing confusion at lier own boldness,
This was inereased by the princess suddenly turning her
bright eyes upon her.

“Lovel’? she cried. ‘No—yes! Could it have beena
fantasy of love? Lthank thee for the word, Theresa; but,
listen, I saw—plainly saw, in the air above his head, a vis-
ion of my brothers With bloody swords striking him to the
earth.”’ :

“Sainted Mother!” exclaimed the girl, frightened by her
vehement manner. ‘““Fhese are imaginations of the Evil
One!”

The princess did not heed her, but, gazing on vacancy
with a horrid expression of realization seemed to address
the air in wild questioning.

“Wii did my soul die within me, and the power of
speech desert me at the banquet? Because the place of
the Falcon Knight was filled by a fleshiess skeleton! Be-
cause, in the empty seat of Conrad, I saw the red-robed
form of the executioner, and Red Roderick looked like the
ire-fiend laughing at my terror!”’

“Heaven preserve us!’ devoutly ejaculated the girl
Theresa. ‘Her wits have left her!’

Again the ivy leaves gave forth a sound, like the rust-
likg of wings, and the wind swept over the strings of the
clarshech with a wild, mournful rise and fall like a wail for
the dead,

“Q-o-h!? sobbed Eva O’Connor, burying her face in the
brsom of her companion. ‘‘It is the yoice of fate! It whis-
persme: ‘This'night the Falcon warrior dies, and by thy
brotiyy’s hand!’ Oh, Heaven! Perhaps even now he gasps
beneaty\the blow. That wail sounds like a dying moan.
Tis his.\On, fatal light, lead me to where he lies!”’

She bur, from the trembling hold of Theresa, and rush-
ed forward yith outstretched arms, as if striving to grasp
something f&jng betore her, but suddenly her overtasked
strengtli failed she reeled, and, with an inarticulate cry
fell backward Oy the bed, and lay motionless upon the
yellow coverleft, ke a broken lily on a sunlit stream.

‘‘Ah, God be gow to-us!? exclaimed Theresa, rushing
toward her. ‘Lady Eva, my dear mistress! What ima-
ginations are here! “Awake! Arouse thee! Let me’ see
thine eyes. Tis but tye wind! See, I will move the harp,
and it will cease!”’

The girl removed the hstrument—hastened back to the
couch and raised the gold’ head tenderly.

“Poor, pale mistress,’ She said affectionately.
your blue eyes to lier that ltves you. Listen! the sound
has ceased. Be not afraid—’t as not the coina, orthe cry
of the banshee, but the sportingyind from the mountains
playing across the battlements, What, not a word for
your Theresa? Speak tome, my princess—my Eva!” she
cried, patting the white cheek, Ynd then, receiving no
answer,. with a cry of fear she pressed her ear to the satin
bodice and heard the muffled throbbing of the heart.

“Praise Heaven, she lives! she sleeps. °Tis best; I will
not wake her.’’ said Theresa, straighteuihg the inanimate

tress.

“Open

coreeeceheeneeemcecneaeeneacetantsieaeet ‘HSS seberesntansties

“The stones |

 

form upon the bed and-raising the head with the pillows.
“Sleep, poor mistress, forget. your fancies.”’

She pressed her lips upon the pale forehead, and draw-
ing a seat noiselessly beneath ‘the two pendant lamps,

bats Bh ots
Teresa,

“To the shatiop,

 

blew them out, leaving the room lighted only by the tapers
of the: little sanctuary, and the moonlight struggling
through the ivy that partiaily vailed the casement.

Returning toward the couch, Theresa stood still, struck
by the beauty of the sight.

The quenching of the lamps had given the moonlight
supreme sway. The mellow beams shone off the frame
of the gilded harp in phosphorescent lines—they fell icily
on the lovely form upon the pillows, and turned the tent-
like curtains into a pyramid of snow.

The couch looked like a sculptured tomb, on which lay
the death-cold form of Music, with her silent harp beside
her; or like a white tent on the celestial plains with a
seraph at repose.

‘Poor mistress,’’ said Theresa, mournfuily. ‘*‘Thou art
very beautiful—but, alas, ill-mated love’s unlovely to the
worid?”’

CHAPTER. X.
PRINCESS’ QUEST—THE MOONLIGHT
EXILED.

Theresa had just seated herself to watch beside her mis-
tress when low notes of music stole up through the vines
above the far hum of camp sounds.

At firstit was a mere tinkling, but, rising gradually into
a wildly beautiful air it trembled in and seemed to hang
lovingly, enchantingly around the snowy canopy of the
bed.

The Princess Eva moved restlessly, and murmured in
plaintive, incoherent tones through her sleep—then sud-
denly started up with glistening eyes and enraptured look,
bending eagerly toward the sounds. Springing from the
couch, she hastened to the window and pushed aside the
vines to listen. It was difficult to place the sound, it
floated so weirdly on the air, but Eya O'Connor saw upon
the battlements before and above her casement, a figure
clearly defined against the sky, the moonlight giving a
red tinge to one edge of the outline,

‘fs Conrad!” she said. ‘‘But hark, Theresa! you'll
hear the voice that calls me.”’

“Calls thee, my mistress?’

“Oallis me. Hark!”

From below, stealing hollowly and sweetly up, like the
sigh of the night-wind through. the needles of the moun-
tain pines, rose a voice accompanying the music;

THE FAIRY WELL.
“On the side of Cona’s mountain,
Hidden deep in rocky cave,
Darkling springs the mystic fountain,
That supplies the fateful wave,
From the hearts of hills eternal,
Where the friendly spirits dwell,
Messerger of truths supernal,
Lo, it seeks the Fairy Well.
Haste thee, haste, the happy minute
Passeth with the midnight bell,
Wisdom waits thee—»woulds’t thou win it—
Haste thee to the Fairy Well.

THE COMBAT—SELF-

 

‘Warrior, lowly maid or princess.
Doth the future trouble thee ?

Seek the fountain that evinces,
What that tuture’s lot shall bea

 

| ished girl, and struck a wild reproduction of the invita-

;upon his beat, and the boisterous soldier to cease his

Do the glooms of doubt distress thee ?

Do the pangs of passion swell ?
Haste and Truth with peace shall bless thee

At the Fairy’s mystic well.

Haste thee, haste, the spirits call thee,
Come, ere stroke of midnight bell,
Naught of evil shall befall thee
At the Fairy’s haunted Well.”

As the voice ceased Eva O’Connor turned excitedly to-
ward her attendant.

“Quick, Theresa, quick!’ she cried, with impatient
movement. ‘The clarshech, quick! I must answer. I
am called. I will obey.”

She seized the instrument handed to her by the aston-

tion air, that rippled along the gray battlements and
floated away into the night, causing the sentinel to pause

ribaldry to listen.

“There!’’ she cried, a3 she paused and heard the faint-
growing tinkle of the mysterious harp dying away like
fairy bells. ‘‘There, the die is cast. I will pierce this
cloud and Know imy fate—and his. My cannabaihs,
quick, Theresa, and thine own jilleadh—the plainest—my
alins-clouk—so we May pass unknown. They will take
us for two cottage maidens searching the battle-ground
for dead lovers. Haste, we must away!’

“Whither goest thou, mistress ?’?

“Yo the Fairy Well. To pluck the last green.branch
from the blighted oak, and strike fore-Knowledge from
the fateful waters.”

“Ah, Heaven, princess!’ exclaimed Theresa, in affright,
dropping the dark-hooded cannabhas, or cloak, which
she had-brought from arecess. “Say not so. You will
not surely tempt the glen at such an hour? Think of the
danger. a?

‘Hush, child, and hold the cloak.”

“Think of the stories they relate, my lady. ‘Twas but
this night, in the refectory, the sennachie told many tales
of wells and fairy charms. As how Queen Boau disobeyed
the king, and, with her hound DabeHa, stole. at_night to
unvail the mystery of the royal spring; how the charm
broke, the spring arose and swept her, torn’ and blind,
into the sea; and how hence came the stream called after
her, the Boyne, and the Da Billiau Rock,*to which her
houhd Dabella was transformed. He told how fair Kil-
larney displaced the stone that shut the fountain’s mouth
and changed the fruitful valleys into lakes 79

 

 

 

 

whispered the

{ out into the corridor.

 

“Hush, child, you babble! Don your cloak and hasten,

 

‘Ni

Princess; “and row iin the shadow beyond iris

“Whither, mistress?’ said Theresa, after a pause.
‘Around the path to the drawbridge ?”’

“No; the shallop, quickly, Theresa, quickly. They are
occupied and wiil not see us.’’

The girl stooped on the stone steps, unhooked a chain
that jingled slightly, and drew forth a small, light skiff
from its concealment in a hollow of the bank.

Just then the rattle of arms and the challenge of rough
voices were heard on the walls above them, and thinking
the jingle of the chain had attracted the attention of the
sentinels, Theresa crouched low and silently upon the
water-steps and the princess drew close in to the vine-
covered wall.

The short, gruff sounds of challenge and reply, and the
whispered interchange of watchword and countersign,
dropped down to the ears of the listeners. ~

*°Tis well, Theresa,’’ whispered the princess.
a moment; ’tis but the change of guara.”’

“Ha, Bernard,’’ said the rough voice of a guardsman
above;.‘‘is it not devilish that a man of full blood should
have to leave his merriment and hot punch to stand here
pointing his pike at the meon like a gnome on a water-
clock or a fool at a fair?’

“A pity of thee, Phadruic, and certain.” said another,
in bluff banter. “Thou who hast been roaring thy pleas-
ures all night like a bull calf, and shaking thy clumsy
feet to the danger of honest people’sshins. Thou didst
not think that a pannikin of the usquebaugh ye were de-
stroying would have cured the chills of us star-watchers.
Take thy turn now, and bless thee, much good may it do
thee.”

“Nay but the use; guarding a castle wall when the
whole plain is paved with guards. Faith I envy thee,
Bernard, the sport is but beginning. Never was sucha
night of jollity since Cathal thrashed Fitz Adelm at the
Hill of Oaks! By my faith, if the gentles and princes know
not how to keep a merry-making without making mows
atone anothér, they should go a-camp and take lessons
from the men of buff.’

“Hal what's that ? It is the gathering sound to march!’

A bugle note swelled out leng and loud, and imniediate-
ly, at ashort distance, could be seen lights hurrying to and
fro, and ‘the clash of arms and the trampling of horses
were heard.

“Tt is the troops of Rory Ruadh,’’ said the man called
Phiadruic: »**They get nearer to the mountains to be ready
for the homeward march at day-break.”’

“Why, Phadruic,: go they so soon ?”’

“Be still

aN
Nt

mnt MARS

Anny

A I i
SY

 

girl. Conrad has-left the wali. ‘Tis near to midnight!
Come!”

Muffled in ‘cloaks and hoods sufficiently close to hide
the richness of their clothes, they left the room and glided
The trembling Theresa went first,
in order to answer any questions that might be asked.

Passing yawning porters and servitors, whose duties
Kept them from joining in the revelry without, they de-
scended the broad staircase, and avoiding the main en-
trance, where a crowd of lounging pages and esquires
were gazing at the groups of laughiug men-at-arms in the
courtyard, they hurried back along the hall, turned into a
dark passage, passed through a low-arched door, and
stood in a deserted part of the outer inclosure.

They paused a moment in the shade, to assure them-
selves that they were not watched. All was silent near
them. No human form was in sight, save the distant
sentinels on the walls above them,

Eva O'Connor flitted across the open space and under
the shadow of the wall. Theresa followed with more
trepidation.

‘My mistress!” she said, as she joined the princess.
“Think what youdo. Better turn back.”

“Peace! 1 must go on!’

“Shall [seek Ronald or some of the pages to bear us
company ?”’

“No. No one.”

‘Do you not fearto pass the camp alone at such an
hour?” :

“Girl, cried the princess, severely, ‘‘are not the sol-
diers Irishmen? Am not I the O’Connor’s Child? Give
me the postern key. I wiil go alone. You can return.’’

“No, no! Ah, princess, you are ¢rueM’”’ cried the girl,
in a choking voice, catching Eva’s cloak and pressing it
to her lips. ‘Heaven knows it is for youl fear, not for
myself. Let us go, my mistress.”’

Theresa with nervous hands removed a bar, and un-
locking a small postern door‘in the bawn or outer. wall
threw it open. The vines which I have before described
as covering this defense hung low and matted over the
aperture and swung backward and forward in the dratt
of night air that rushed through.

They listened for a moment to the confused murmur
without, and Theresa held up the leafy screen while the
princess passed through. She’ then followed, locking the
postern and letting the trailers fall over it so as to com-
pletely hide it from view.

Between the base of the bawn andthe dark waters of
the moat ran a grassy bank or path around the entire for-
tification. This connected the main -drawbridge and the
smaller bridges of che sallyports, giving quick means ol
communication in time of siege, although it’ was too nar-
row to be of much advantage’to any assaulting’ parties
who might sueéeed in crossing the moat.

The postern through which Eva O’Connor and her maid
had just conve was called the ‘‘Princess’ Gate,” from the
fact. that sle- alone bore the key’of ‘it andused it asa
means of communication between-the'casté and her fa-
vorite’ haunts in the royal demesnes. Before the door
were a couple of stone steps forming a boat-stair.

 

 

“Oh, Red Rory’s temper’s not of carded wool. He was
a heart hunter that came a pigeon-snaring, and he feels
high dudgeon because a falcon struck the bird before he’d
set his springe.”’

“Tut,.man, you talk like a hallow-e’en riddle maker.”

“Whisper then, ‘tis not to speak abroad—O‘Connor's
Child has but one heart and that’s bespoke. That’s why
Red Rory turns his broad back on Castle Conner. He’s not
the infant to smile at disappointment. Lay up the words
in thy goodly bosom, and so good-night. Remember me
when thou dost toss the horn—think of me who have no
horn but the moon’s to contemplate.”’

Both soldiers laughed and then the footsteps of the one
relieved died away, and all was silent on the walls, but
the tumult of rally and preparation went on in tie direc-
tion of Red Roderick's camp.

The princess paused for a moment and the girl was in
hopes that she had given up her intention of visiting the
mystic well, but she approached the boat with sudden re-
solution and took her seat.

“Row in the shadow, Theresa, beyond this fellow’s
sight,’? shesaid, and the girl took the light oars and rowed
silently along the bank under the shadow of the wall.

“So,”? murmured Eva, with her head bent mournfully
upon her: breast, ‘‘the name of O’Connor’s Child has be-
come a gossip-word for the boors upon the walls, and the
affections of her heart area speculation and a wonder.
At last my long-kept secret is out. But why a secret?
Oh, Love! Love! brightest of realities, why art thou scorn-
ed and bartered off for idle fancies? Why is the nobility
of man measured by acres not by virtue,—by dross that
rusts rather than by goodly deeds that challenge Heaven’s
approval ?”

The girl had, unbidden, turned the boat’s head across
the water and they were nearing the opposite bank, when
a rustling in a small coppice that lay in the moonlight be-
yond startled them, and the fair rower rested upon her
oars in a listening attitude.

Eva O’Connor strained both eye and ear in the direction,
until hollow sounds seemed to murmur about her and the
red bale-light re-arose in her imagination, and appeared
to blaze amidst the dark trees.

Suddenly there was a shock as of two bodies meeting
accideutally in the darkness, then loud exclamations, and
the sounds of the drawing of arms.

There was no immediate clash’ of combat, but angry
word ang hot reply, and the heart of the princess sank as
she thought she recognized both voices.

“Still it cannot be!” she said. ‘‘Moran is ill and under
guard, and Conrad was, but now, upon the wall.”’

Then the strange imagiuativeness which was a portion
of her hature took possession of her, and the horrid
words seemed to be hissed in herears:

“Tuis night the Falcon warrior dies, and by thy broth-
er’s hand!’

‘*} will not believe it.’ she said. ‘Let
Theresa, I will assure myseH they are withiu
some drunken. braw!.’?

The girl willingly dipped-her oars to turn the boat; but
at the moment, as suddeuly as actors enter in a theater,

get back,
This is

 

two furious figures burst from the coppice and faced each
other in the moonlight opening.

The princess cried aloud in fear and agony, as she re-
cognized the crimson mantle of Prince Conrad and the
graceful form of Connacht Moran, and saw them stand
one moment a-guard with gleaming blades.

It looked like the briNiant fancy of a dream; she. could
scarce believe it real until she heard the fiery voice of
Conrad.

“Now, now, sir Knight,’? he cried. ‘‘Here, before the in-
sulted home of my fathers, while the insult is still fresh,
is the time to wipe it out!’

“By Heaven, Conrad, you press me hard,’ said Moran,
with lowered point.

‘Hard!’ exclaimed Conrad, with a fierce sneer. ‘To
tax thee with thy presumption—thy treason—face to face,
to measure swords, and make an equal of thee?’’

‘‘Treason!’’ cried Moran, angrily. ‘An equal! Insolent
boy, what art thou better?’

‘‘Thy master, low-born!’’ cried the boy savagely, throw-
ing himself upon him. ‘Guard, or I cnt thee down.”

Forced by the very onslaught made, Moran threw him-
self into a defensive attitude, and the blue sparks flew from
the weapons as they met.

“Haste, Theresa, haste!”? shrieked Eva O’€onnor, as the
girl) drove the skiff toward the shore with powerful
strokes.

Scarcely had the prow touched the bank, when the
princess leaped on the green sward, and rushed toward
the combatants, crying:

“Stay! Connacht! Conrad! stay!’’

She threw. herself recklessly beneath the flashing blades,
and Moran, who had been acting on the defensive,
dropped his point. But her presence seemed only to infu-
riate her brother,for he struck at his antagonist across her
kneeling form, and then, with an imprecation, cast her
aside, so that she fell prone upon the dewy grass, and she
heard the wild shock of his renewed assault.

Her cheek was on the wet ground for an instant, and
she heard or felt the tremulous throb of feet hurrying to-
ward them, as hunters hear the approach of the distant
herd.

She thanks Heaven that the clashing of the swords has
called attention, and as she starts up, crying aloud, seve-
ral men burst through the trees, a couple of swords strike
up the blades of the combatants, and. Desmond O’Connor
and Edward Bruce stand between them ..) +

In the next instant they are joined by. Prince Brazil and
Red Roderick, with attendant men-at-arms.

“What, Conrad! Sir Connocht!”? exclaimed. Desmond,
in loud, angry tones.. ‘“‘What means this brawi? Have
your wits left you? Are you drunk, that ye alarm the
camp and make night wild, fighting like tapsters for a
scullion? For shame! Are ye knights?) Are ye gentle-
men? . Hence, woman!’ he cried, turning: his eyes sav-
agely upon the disguised form of the princess  “Get*thee
gone, or, by my soul, Til have thee to the  whipping-
post!?’

The princess suppressed a ery, and, wrapping hereloak
about her, turned tefAeo__ _Connocht Moran_with—as oo
ory Oath, pushed aside the restraining hand of Bruce, and
made one step toward Desmond, about to speak. But
Conrad burst into a bitter, angry laugh.

“By my word, my brother!’? he exclaimed, “thou art
the very person wanted here. A proper doctor for this
stubborn case. A leveler of rank—an equalizer of prin-
cess and peasant!”’

“What mean these ranting’ words?’

“They mean that the scullion, the woman thou wouldst
beat, is our sister, Eva—O’Connor’s Child.”’

“Eva! Impossible!’? exclaimed Desmond, starting to-
ward her.

“The Princess Eva ?”’

*O’Connor’s Child?’ repeatec all, in astonishment.

“O’Connor’s Child!’ said the princess, throwing back
the disguising hood and allowiny the moonlight to fall on
her golden hair and snowy face.

“Eva, what do you here?”’ asked Brazil and Desmond,
in a breath, theirangry eyes turning from her to Connocht
Moran.

“She keeps love tryst,’’ cried the passionate Conrad,
with an angry laugh that was a mockery of the souud of
mirth.

The princess approached, and looked him steadily in
the face, with bright, rebuking eyes.

“Brother of mine!’ she said, *‘thou art presumptuous,
Thy childish temper misguides thee, and makes thee speak
unworthily.”?

“Speak, then, thyself,” said Brazil.
in disguise ?’’

**My gentle brothers,’ she said, turning haughtily from
one to the other, ‘‘I have yet to learn by what right you
question the going or coming of O’Connor’s Child upon
her father’s lands. My own good will is reason I am here.
That is my answer. This pettish boy has done me injury,
and wronged that gallant knight.”

She drew herself up with queen-like dignity, and waved
her jeweled hand to where Connocht Moran chafed be-
neath the friendly hold of Bruce.. Her cutting words, in-
stead of abashing young Conrad, only angered him the
more, and he burst forth with fiery vehemence:

“Ho, for the gallant knight that works treason against
the roof that reared him, that takes advantage of a fami-
ly’s fostering to make its name a bandy-word and jest!”

‘Silence! babbling fool!’” cried Desmond, furiously, his
dark cheek flushing crimson as his eyes fell upon the
listening crowd.

“JT will not silence, brother, while I have tongue to
speak. Shall the kestril seek a mate in the eyrie of the
eagle? Let this ‘gallant knight’ search the Psalter of Ta-
ra for the records of our house and point his paral-
lel. The Psalter knows him not, and shall the hand of
the Child of the O’Connor be aspired to by such a base-
born———”’

He was interrupted by Moran, whose face was. flushed
and eyes gleaming with the same wild frenzy he had
shown.-at the banquet.

‘“‘Base-born in thy teeth, thou babbling liar!’ he cried,
endeavoring to rash upon him, but many hands held him
back. ‘‘Gnat, gadfly, baby-braggart!’’? he gasped, “thou
art not worthy of a soldier’s anger!’

The infuriated Conrad, held by his brothers, and unable
to get at the object of his anger, seized his velvet cap,
and, with a curse, dashed it over Bruce’s shoulder into
Connocht Moran’s face.

With acry of rage, the knight wrenched himself free and
bounded on him like a panther, but one sweeping blow of
Desmond’s heavy sword struck the weapon from his
land, and, at a word from Brazil, the men-at-arms sur-
rounded him.

“Conrad O*Connor and Sir Connocht Moran,’’ said Des-
mond, in slow, stern tones, ‘‘as commandant of this camp
and citadel, I forbid this quarrel under pain of the dun-
geon, and command you both to get unto your quarters in
the castle, Whence you are absent against the king’s
wish.”

Conrad took the cap handed to him by one of the sol-
diers, and, with alook of hatred and defiance at Moran,
turned and strode away along the edge of the castle
moat.

Connocht received the sword handed by Bruce and
said, suppressing his excitement by a mighty effort:

‘With all honor and friendship to thee, Prince Des-
mond, who have in the past been a nobie friend and
brother to me, I forego this quarrel, so sharply foreed
upon me, but, further, I cannot obey thee,” he cried, his
forced calmness giving way in a burst of excitement,
“To yonder wallsI never shall return. I—the presump-
tuous base-vorn—the kestril, unfit to flock with eagles—
claim a prince’s right to withdraw from a. court where
faithful servitude is titled treason and is repaid with in-
sult. Farewell. The disinherited takes nothing: with
him but his father’s stainless sword. He leaves the shield
bruised in your battles hanging on your walls asa memo-
rial of his wrongs.’

He turned to go, and many a stern eye moistened and
many a bearded lip quivered as the grim men-at-arms made
way for him to pass, for the Falcon Knight was beloved
by all the soldiers.

A. look of stern sorrow settled on the dark face of Prince
Desmond.

“Farewell, sir knight,’? he said, hanghtily, ‘‘Thy pleas-
ure be thy guide.”’

Brazil O'Connor sprang forward and seized his hand.

The two had been associates in command since they
were deemed worthy to have the charge of forces.

“Good fortune tend thee, Connocht Moran!’ cried the
prince warmly.

Moran wrung his hand in silence for he was too much
agitated to speak, and pulling his cap upon his brows, he
turned hastily away, but, passing where Eva O’Connor
stood, a. low, gasped sigh. caused him to raise his head,
and he caught her sad, appealing gaze, and sawa tear
upon her pale cheek, glittering in the moonlight like a
diamond.

‘Honored princess!’ he exclaimed kneeling at her feet,
and raising the hem of her rough cloak to his lips, ‘‘ac-

“

“Why here, and

 

SRR Tee PETRIE SE Te

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

  

 

 

   

 

 

eept the last farewell of an humble knight who lived but | cum to afore anybody-could throw any water 10 her face

in bis duty to your highness and to his lord the king. 1
fly the scenes where | have spent such happy hours, to
escape disgrace, and grief goes with me. Farewell—an
outcast Cannot ask to be remembered,”?

She plucked the garment from his hold, and he looked
up in surprise, taking it for the act of anger.
was flushed with a proud glow, and her eyes sparkled
brilliantly; yet there was a deep tremor in her yoice when
she spoke. —

With rapid fingers she undid the fastening of the cloak,
and taking a golden chain from her neck, she threw 1t
over his. ,

“See, noble ny tae oa gazing proudly around,
“Take note, my princely bPOtners, that cist
cast as he is, O°'Conmer’s Child bestows this
remembrance upon the flower of Erin’s.’

A coarse lungh, likesthe ramble of thu
her, and, looking up, Sit et the massive fw
erick, convulsed with jé@lously and anger.”

   
   
 

tes
Moran also started and caughtthe giant's gaze. He’) ing’s watch, whicti was

therited Ol | and

er interrupted
of Red Rod-

  

 

and wash the paint off. :

Yesterday Mr. Bugg got severil new speciments, andhe
took down his pasteboard to pin ’em on, and while he
was a doing of it there was a dog fight .outin the road
atween our Towzer and Deacon Glines’ dog Jimbo, Bugg

Her face | he run to see the fight, aud while he was gone that crow

of Jerushy’s, that consarned Grub, he walked into the
room, and when Bug cum back there warn't nothing left
of his ‘‘cabinet’ to tell the tale. die tool

The floor was covered with pins, and Grubally
up like a newly-stuffed sassinger, Was a setling
back of a cheer trying hard to disgust what he had:
~Tteawas eet Pl ae Tevereum aerost,

q

    
 

‘wonder, for he’d gobble

     
  

¥

me

 
 

net,’ ‘ : : ‘ &; ‘
* Such ashriek as Bugg sent up was ennifto rend the
solid yearth, to saw,nothing of the cernlean hevings. © —
I thought the honse wat F !
dig up two twenty-dollam gold pieces and Granther Gold-
; ‘buried under the pertater pen, ©

    
  
 

was about to spring up, but she st@yed him by 2 touch of Apa passed Bugg’s door out rushed Bugg, followed by
her hand. Alt the same Moment y Ruadh, wiiting be- that Grow, and at-the same time I] heerd Jerushy bounce

fore the scorn that flashed in her ey: ;
aud strode away with a muttered imprecation.

gave another laugh | out

sed, and seed Miss Leavey at the foot of the stairs a
flinging herself into the arms of the Purfessor of Gastron-

“Sir Connocht Moran! continued the princess, ‘I can- | omy and calling on him to save her,

not ask thee stay. Rather—l beg thee fly this place. ’Tis

Landskip, the fortygraph man, was jest a coming up

full of danger to thee. Go. Fortune and honor beam upon | stairs with his machine under one arm and Miss Selimy
thee. To other scenes, where envy does not dwell,—to | Clark under tother, and they and Bugg met.so forcible
fields where honor wails on noble deeds—to courts where | that all three went crashing down into the fore entry.

virlue igs nobility—bear this memorial of O’Connor’s
Chia’

Pulling away the hand on which, despite his strnggle,
his tears were falling, she gathered her cloak around her,
and, rushing to the bank, threw herself into the boat.

“Quick, quick, Theresa! Bear me away,” she cried, her
Jong-restrained tears bursting forth in torrents.

“Tfome?”?? asked the girl.

“ No ——on the water! Let me sigh life away any-
where—any where but in those dreadful walls!”

Connocht Moran, springing to his feet, hastened into
the coppice, lest his emotion should benoted by the by-
slanders, but hardly had he gained the shadows when he
felt a hand upon his shoulder and heard a triendly yoice
Siuy:

bea gentle knight,thou shalt not so desert thy friends
though they be but of a day.”

He recognized the voice of Bruce, and returned the
warm grasp of his hand.

“My lord,” he said, “I thank thy kind remembrance
of oneso poorasl, I amimuch beholden to thee, and
wish thee ajl hippiness and a kind farewell; I am unfit for
conversation,”?

“But, art thou really bent on this departure ?””

‘Jam, my lord, my fate is cast. Tis past a peradven-
ture.” .

“Why, then, body 0? mine!’ said the Scot warmly, “T
need good hearts and swords. Serve withme. ’Twill still
be in thy country’s cause. I'll give thee rank thine honor
shall not blush to hold. Serve with me!”

“Oh thanks, my lord!” cried Moran. “Tt isa boon I
would have asked, but for these lately-spoken accusa-
tions.”

“Hoot, man! think not of trifles. The gad-fiy can but
vex the war-horse—he cannot kill, Where shall we meet?”

“Your pleasure.”

“7 ston at Aughrim town on my return.”

“Tiere, my lord, I shall await thy coming.”

“Till then be stout of heart. Farewelll?

“God be with thee, my lord!’?

The young knight plunged into the darkness of the wood,
and Bruce, returning, joined the princes and their party.
The brothers were in earnest conversation,

“Bnough, Brazil, enough!” said Desmond as Bruce ap-
proached. “J grieve that he is gone, but thinkst thou I
would kneel to ask him stay ?”?

“But to start out defenseless ard on foot!’’ persisted
Brazil.

‘“oTis bad!’ mused Desmond.
lacqueys follow with his effects.”

But, for all Desmona’s sternness, his heart was troub-
Jed for the departure of his brother-in-arms, and the more
80, a8 Lhe news Of the quarrel had already spread in the
camp, and the jollity of the soldiers was hushed in their
sorrow for the self-banished favorite.

So much were the brothers moved thaf, ere long, by
mutual consent they were riding hard in the direction
taken by Moran in hopes of overtaking him and causing
his return. "

“See that his squire and

[TO BE CONTINUED.]
OH

PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS.

Contributions for this department should be mariced
“Pleasant Paragraphs.”?

 

[Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing to
ward making this column an attractive feature of the NEw YORK
WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for publication any-
thing which may be deemed of sufficient interest for general pe-
rusal. It is not necessary that the articles should be penned in
scholarly style; so long as they are pithy, and likely toafford
amusement, minor defects wili be remedied. |

THE RUGG DOCUMENTS.
BY CLARA AUGUSTA.

High tooral looral, looral, looral, la! ‘

J, Jonathan Perkins, feel like a new man, if not like a
couple of new men! (N. B.—Don’tlet my wife git hold of
this!)

Jerushy is down flat on her back with a spell of the
rhumatiz, and to use the ixpressive languidge of the
Apostle Paul, | am monarch of all I survey!

Jerushy she got Out under the cars one wet night a
watching the Professor and Alminy Clark bill and coo,
They have become pritty sweet together, and the Profes-
sor is a married man, with more children than he’s got
fingers and toes, and his wife is so fat she cant tend to
nothing, and Jerushy has took up bizness for her. My
wife was outside a peeping into the parlor windows, a
seeing the Professor ixplaining to Alminy the way a grass-
hopper’s hind leg was put onto its body, and while she
was a straining of her eyes to watch ’em, there cum up a
shower all of a suddint.

She daresn’t leave her post for fear she should miss see-
ing something that she’d ort to see, and not having the
ambrill along, she turned the skirt of her gound up
over her back, and she got an awful wetting. It laid her
up in her jints, which can’t bear no cold, and sense then
she hain’t been able to boss no jobs, She’s all done up in
plasters and poulticis, and the bedroom smells so strong of
hartshorn linament, that you’d think Mr. Hartshorn his-
self was right there!

I'm a running the boarding-house myself, and a gay
time I have of it, too!

Of course, I’m dreadful sorry my wife is sick! to be
shure lam! but 1 don't know as I’m under any morril
obligation to hang my harp onto the willers because Je-
rushy has got the rhumatiz! If I can enjoy myself, I
think I'd better. And as aman can’t help his thoughts,
I've been a thinking that if Jerushy shouldn’t happen to
10 repawer I should be in the markit agin. A marriageble
mah

]-Uon’t Know as folks ever dies of the rhumatiz. I can’t
seem to find out about thatare. I've looked in the dic-
tionary, and in Doctor White’s resete book, but neither
one of ’em throws any light on the subject. ‘

Howsumever, taintno harm to be a thinking of what
may be.

if I was right down sartin that people ever did die of
the riumatiz, 1 should be a good deal more sociable with
Miss Seliny Clark than lam now. Miss Seliny is one of
our boarders, and I think she is reilly an extry ordinary
woman. Shecan talk French so glibly that old Peter
Mollyno, the French storekeeper, over to the Corner, can’t

understand a word of if, and is willing to confess that she

beats him allto nothing. She can play Greenville, Hap-
py Duy, and Lilly Dale onto, the accordeon, so natral that

ithe tears will cum to yer eyes to hear her, and as for sing-

ing, Vd rather hear her than hear the whole Jubilee,
blacksmiths’ anvils and all.

l1 don’t mind telling you that I was so far overcome by
feelings the other day, that] kissed her on the stairs as
she was a coming up, and I wasa going down. When
she met me she stopped to rest a minute, for she’s trou-
bled with palpertation of the heart, and it's naterally
wuss when she’s a going up stairs, and meets a good-
looking man a going down.

{ don’t think I was so very much to blame, for Jeru-
shy is so done up in poultices and plasters, that I
couldn't very well kiss her, and besides she’s got her
teeth out, and kissing a@ woman without any teeth allers
seeined to me like pouring water into a tub with the
bottom fell out.

The man that professes stars and gastromony gineral-
ly, he’s left off looking heavenward, and has turned his
eyes on Surapheeny Leavey, the youngest of our beard-
ers. She’s a weak-eyed young lady with a guitar in her
nose, and she uses six pocket hankerchers a day when
she haint got no extry cold. When she has, there naint
no limit to the wipers. She’s dreadful naryous and timid,
and has to be pertected all the time, and is afraid of
cats, aud roosters, and sez she should faint away ifshe
should happen to meet a malecow anywhere. She’s got
ligit hair, of course, them kind of females allers dors
have; and she uses all the cold tea in the tea-pot, every
day, a putting onto it to turn itdark, So's I don't get
none at all to drink atween meals. And I like a little
cold tea when cider haint plenty enulf. to afford it fora
Steddy diet.

Sheis making a reddish dog, with the eyes in croas
atitch on canvas, and the tip end of his tail és finished off
in biue. and she isso oncommon modest that whenever
any of the men sect come around she covers that tailover
with her handkercher and blushes like a lobster. It must
be 2 fearful thing to be a woman, and be 80 easy to shock.
eb glad ’m aman, evenif Lam subject to corns anda
poll tax.

The man that is a gathering of bugs—and I call him
Mr. Bugg—has been injoying of hisself splendidly. DPve
been and shut up the hens, which I have generaly let run
joose to scratch up the worms and bugs out of the ground.
But sense Bugg arriv there haint no hens needed. He
atends to all the insex, and Dye shot the hens up fora
hollyday and to give ’em achance for their toe nails to
grow out.

Yesterday a sad catastrophe happened. Poor Mr. Bugg
looks as if he had lost his last friend. His appetite is
clean gin out, and I’ve jest fixed him a dose of peppered
cider to revive his drooping spirits.

The way of it was this. Whenever he gits a new epeci-
ment of bug, grasshopper or spider, he jest sticks a pin
rite through its inards and fasteus it onto a sheet of paste-
board that’s nailed up onthe will of bis room. And
there the critter stays and wriggles till it dies, and then
it belongs to his “cabiner.??

Miss Leavey has cum pritty nigh swoonding times with-
out number at his dreadiul ouhumauity, but she’s allers

I heerd Jerushy’s voice above all the racket, and know-
ing she’d blame me, asshe allers does when anything
happens, I made a dive for one of the rooms, the door of
which stood open, and crept under the bed,

Good-by, JONATHAN PERKINS.

Rat-Catching in the Gold Room.

It may be news to outsiders, the statement that bulls
and bears are not the only animals that infest the gold
room. Rats.are plenty.there—so plenty that it was found
necessary to set traps for them. Onacertain morning
one of them, a large, active fellow, was discovered in the
eage set for him. A terrier was procured to annihilate
him. A small inclosure, abont eight feet sqnare, in which
was a desk, separated from the main recom by.a partition
about four feet high, was chosen as the arena for the
tragedy. A number of witnesses stood around the arena,
leaning over the fence, the better to view the fun. One
young man, trap In hand, took his place inside, while the
dog stood at his feet, ready to attack the rat when the
trap was Opened. The spectators had all taken their
places, and tue trap-door’was raised. Out leaped the
rat, and the fun commenced. The rat was nearly as large
as the terrier selected to mangle him; the dog seemed to
deliberate, as if he thought the rat might mangle him.
The rat. flew by him, and darted toward an angle of the
inclosure, up which he hurriedly climbed,

A smart young man, who stood at this corner, attempt-
ed to knock the rat down with his hand; but the rat ran
up his arm until he reached his shoulder, and then leaped
between his vest and his shirt, and buried himself under
hisarm. The smart young man tried to squeeze the ani-
mal, but the latter would not stayin one spot long enongh
to be too severely squeezed. The rat seemed to slide like
an eel nntil he got on the young man’s back, still remain-
ing under his vest and coat. Here the young man’s arms
could not reach him, and if was Indicrous to behold his
frantic efforts to eject the lively lodger.

“Roll on the floor!’? shouted one of the spectaters.
“Button your coat, to prevent his escape, and then we'll
smash him,*? roared another.

The young man fullowed this advice: he quickly but-
toned his coat and excitedly threw himself on the floor,
over which he rolled likeacirens performer. The spec-
tators gathered around him, and whenever his back was
upward, they struck vehemently at the spot where the
form of the rat was seen. These blows, which were re-
peated with renewed vigor each time the young man
rolled over, did not always allgpe upon the rat, and toa
casual observer it seemed that they were intended to kill
the young man, and not the animal.

“Let me up, for Heaven's sakel’’ roared the young man.
“Tf the rat has been beaten half as badly as I have been,
he must be already half dead.”?

He was assisted to his feet, his coat and vest nnbut-
toned, and onthe floor dropped the rat, quivering with
the last gasp of life. The young man, we are delighted
to say, is still alive; but his back is yet very sore.

ARANDA.
Profanity Made Useful.

Ola Judge K——y used to tell the following story of a
parrot owned by a neighbor of his, in —— county.

The bird had been taught to talk very fluently, and
among the rest of his accomplishménts, could ‘swear
like a trooper.» One evening, while the family were sit-
ling upon the front porch; the parrot was perched upon
the limb of an apple tree, a short distance off, chaftering
and sirearing as usual, when suddenly a large hawk
which had for some time been soaring around, dashed
down upon the parrot and fastening upon him, at once
began soaring away towards his nest in the top of an ad-
jacent pine. The family alarmed for the safety of their
pet were in consternation, and knew not what to do to
rescue him from the clutches of hisenemy. During the
excitement, and while watching, they beheld the parrot
twist nishead to-one side,and looking up at the hawk, he
sang out in his shrillest notes: ‘‘Let—me—go—you a——
old goose!’

The frightened hawk dropped him as he would a hot
potato, and went to his nest supperless. P—.

Very Excnusable.

As two gentlemen were leaving the Boston boat one
dark, stormy morning, a few-years ago, One of them, an
old sea captain, noted for hig binnt way of speaking,
stumbled and fell his length over some obstacle—he could
not see what. He was quickly brought to himself. by
hearing a lady’s voice, saying:

“Excuse me, sir; you have fallen over my trunk.”

The captain slowly ri ing, and dolefully rubbing his
shins turned to where the voice came from, and said:

‘Madame, you are very excusable; but blarst your d—
old trunk.”’ . READER.
Internal Improvements.

A warm debate had taken place in the Louisiana Legis-
lature upon areport of the Committee on Internal Im-
provements... A son of the Green Isle rose and said that
he was in favor of internal improvements, because they
aided the poor, and he favored the acceptance of the re-
port. | Brown asked the Irish member what kind of inter-
nal improvement he desired. He promptly replied:

“Sir, Imean that which is most necessary to keep the
internal machinery at work—food!? HENRY.

Rather Stingy.

Several weeks ago 2 New Jersey farmer entered a store
in Easton, Pa., and said to a clerk: ‘Have you any
matches?” “Yes, sir,’ replied the clerk, ‘Well,’ said
the rustic, ‘let me see a box.’? The clerk handed him a
box ofthe common white-headed matches. ‘Let me see
a box of blue-lheatied matches, said the farmer. Clerk
showed him a box of blue-heads. “Well,” said he, “which
box has the most in?’ “I do not know,” said the polite
clerk.. Then the countryman sat down and covnted the
matches in each box. When done, he remarked: “I do
not see much difference in number, but as I donot wanta
whole box, I will take a few of each kind home to try,
if you will give themtome.’? I consider this man rather
stingy, especially as he is quite well off. Q. ELC. T.

A Yankee Invention.

George Lilly is the name of a comical genius in Omaha:
One day, as the street-sprinkler was going by the shop in
which George was working. acountryman who happened
tobe there, asked him what sort of an apparatus that
was. ‘Oh,’ replied George. “it’s some mean Yankee in-
vention to keep the boys from riding behind.”

MULLIGAN.

What is the difference between a fisherman and a lazy
ee One baits his hook, and the other hates his
ook. ~ a.
Ghost Scene From Hamiet.
GuHOosT—'Tis well. The time comes quick
When to a warmer climate I must cut my stick.
Before I go a word or two Ill say,
So lend your ears, and due attention pay.
I am the’spirit of thy venerable sire,
Condemned to keep unseasonable hours,
And in the day ’mid torment dire,
To shovel coal in Satan’s fiery bowers.
Oh! Hammy, could my story all be told,
A most horrific tale I wonld unfold;
*Twould even Howard W. Macy shame,
And play the dickens with thy mortal frame.
Cause those eyes from out their sphere to whizz,
And thy every drop of blood to friz;
-Twould make that new blonde wig of thine
Stiff as dried up pumkin vine:—
Have patience, Hammy; you'll spile yer health,
And ag yer a printer. pray compose yourseU.
Tis well, my son. I Knew you'd be
A perfect brick. Now list to me,
And hear the strangest of this history:
One afternoon—'twas after dinner hour—
Into my garden aid I turn my feet,
And feeling thirsty had a Bourbon sour,
And feeling sleepy sank to slumber svweet.
When from behind a bush a villian stole,
With sneaking footsteps and a guilty tread,
With hang-dog looks and scow! black a8 Coal,
Did he draw near my rural bed.
Hie paused, and from my bottle took a smile,
And then, Oh, Heaven! from beneath his coat
He took a vial, and with fiendish guile,
Poured a dose of lodtum down my throat.
Stay yet awhile—the mor?! I'll relate,
To show how punishment doth on guilt await,
The villian, assassin, murderer, dam-me
Within two months was married to yer mam-my.
HAMLET—Ol! gracious Heaven, let me not despair!
My prophetic soul, my uncle, I declare!
And you, poor spook, from out yer grave have
: rizzen,
To urge me on to slit his wizzen.

GHosT—Such was my desire—but I must away;
The air smelis fresh—its breaking day.
(cock-crows)
The clarion yoice of yonder chanticleer,
Gives token that the carly bird is near.
My son, [ appoint thee a committee of one,
T’avenge my death and see fuli justice doue,
And now, adieu, Remember what I say—
Go back on me, there’ifbe old Nick to pay.
HARRY C, DUKE.
——__-—_ > e+. --_____—_
kas- Ancther story by OLL CoomeEs will be published in
the New YORK WEEKLY 25 s800n as We Can find room forit.

.

 

 

 

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FERMANAGH, MY HOME:

BY B, FARRAN,

 

Oh! home of my treasures,

Of childhood’s wild pleasures,

How long my soul measures
The way o’er the sea. ¢

Whether sunlight is beaming,

Or moonlight is gleaming,

Teyer am dreaming,

Fermanagh, of thee.

4 ‘a 8 a

 

How. my heart, growing fonder, cor

Delights still to wander

To Erin, and ponder.
O’er scenes tay youth knew;

Overthe many bright hours ie

In memory’s bowers, ‘

O’er the beautiful flowers
Bespangled with dew.

Ny

w Mele

% Look

I think of each valley

And bright shady alley,

Where I wandered with Sally,
Sweet lass of Churchill;

Where the rivulets pour

O’er the white shining shore,

With lovely Balmore
Overlooking them still.

I think of the sporting
And virtur us courting,
Free from slander’s reporting
And heart-burnings sore.
When daylight was dying,
And evening winds sighing,
And TI and McBrien
Trod Quillyarmer shore.

’ Ah, friend! brightly beaming
Through memory’s dreaming,
Thy truth still is gleaming
A beacon tome,

To lead my affections

In fond recollections

To friendship’s perfections
All dwelling in thee.

What hours we hare idled,

When fancy unbridled

Has sported in wide-led
Excursions of joy,

Where Florence Court towers

"Mid greén shady bowers,

Ornamented with flowers
And free from annoy.

Ah! moments of gladness,

Why ever did sadness

Or place-changing madness
Induce me to roam ?

Ohi say did we sever

To meet again never ?

Have I left thee forever,
Fermanagh, my home ?

 

Lady Leonora;

OR,

THE FATHER'S GURSE.
By Carrie Conklin,

Author of “THE CHILD-BRIDE,” and “TRUE
AS LOVE COULD MAKE HER.”

 

 

 

 

(“Lady Leonora’? was commenced in No. 27. Back Numbers
can be obtained trom any News Agentin the United States.]

CHAPTER XXXVI.
GIVING UP THE CONTEST.

The interview between Mr. Pentland and the chevalier
was not of long duration. Uxley did not take a proii-
nent part in it.

“We have come as a last resource, before proceeding to
extremities,’’ said the chevalier, ‘tin the hope that upon
second consideration you Will see the justice of my friend
Michael’s claim.” é

“Whatever I may think of its justice, chevalier de Bura-
doc, does not affect my intended course of action. I may
say, briefly, that it is not our intention to go into litiga-
tion. Lady Leonora has left Charnett, and your friend
Michael is at liberty to take possession whenever he
pleases.””

The chevalier'’s eres flashed with joy.

“Tt is -better so, Mr. Pentland—much better. It would
have pained him deeply to have been compelled to drag
the matter before a public court.”

“Doubtless in consideration for her ladyship, of course.”?

“Whom he would not injurefor. a thousand worlds.

‘Ah, Mr. Pentland, you do not know my friend—his sym-

pathy for her sorrow, his attachment to her. What-poor
consolation he can offer will be hers.’? 3

“It will not be needed, chevalier. Her ladyship, as I
have said, has left her husband's house and disappear-
ed.”

The chevalier changed countenance. It was-not part
of his plot to lose her.

“Gone!—but surely you know whither?

“No; I have not the faintest trace or clue.”’-

“Strange. Her parpose?”’

“To find her child, I think, chevalier. And now, since
T have said there will be no contest, nothing remains to
be done but to comply with the mere legal formalities—
the proof of your friend’s and Mr. Uxley’s client’s iden-
tity, and some evidence that he is really Lord Ewrick’s
legitimate son.”

“Will that question be urged?’ Uxley asked.

“No. I said semething in reference to a document
which I thought was im my possession. I find I wasin
error; no such thing exists.” , :

“Jt does uot,’ the chevalier said, mentally, ‘‘for Iumy-
self. destroyed it.”

“Premising, tien, that the necessary formalities are
complied with,” he said, ‘we have only to arrange gen-
erously for the unfortunate lady. Mr. Uxley has iustruc-
tions,”’

“It is Lord Michael’s wish.” said the Charnett lawyer,
“that Madame Leonora St. Durys be allowed the sum of
one thousand pounds per annum for the support of her-
selfand his cousin‘’s child.”

“Do not repeat that insolence, Mr. Uxley. Lady Leon-
ora Lois desires nothing;she simply resigns all. Should
anything transpire to alter the present arrangements,
information shall be forwarded forthwith,”

The chevalier inclined his head.

“If ] might see the poor lady?’ he said.

“You may if you can find her, chevalier. And now
good morning. Your friend Michael is master of Charnett.
Mr. Uxiey is, I imagine, in future, solicitor to the estate.
Lhave nothing more to do with it.”

His manner was not abrupt, but it was sufficiently ex-
pressive, and the explicit tendency of his words was un-
deniable. The chevalier and Uxley felt they were dis-
missed, and retired accordingly.

Their triumph was but half complete; the end for which
they had swam through a river of red crime was but half
accomplished—Michael was master of Charnett, but Leon-
ora was gone.

“That troubles me,’ he said, when with Uxley in his
business chamber at thehotel. “There is a mystery in
this sudden capitulation that bodes no good. What think

ou???

“There is mischief in it.”

“Yet we are secure. We can _ baffle scrutiny, defy de-
tection. We have left no track, Reuben.” ‘

‘J mistrust his quietude. It was not the quietude of
resignation, but rather that of one who, though defeated,
meant to renew the battle whenthere is a better chance
of success.”’

“Be it our work to see that chance does not come. I
have no fear; my heart is full of exullation. The grand
old place—the home of my ancestors—is mine at last.”?

“You had my promise that it shoul be, Michael.’

“Wave I forgotten if, old man? Tell Michael Ewrick
aught that he can do to prove his gratitude, and he will
not bargain like a huckster.”’

“It was not done for gold, Michael,”?

“J know thatwell. It was out of some fidelity to me,
and gratitude to the memory of @ mother so terribly
avenged; and so your hanad,’?

The lawyer exchanged the pressure warmly,

“T thought the day would come,’ he said, ‘when I
should see her-son the lord of Charnett. Isaid it should,
and IT have kept my word.’

“Faithfully. Our foes are few; the: most dangerous
have gone, O'Neil will nevercome to haunt meagain. 1
shall tread the Charnett floor securely now.

“Do you know, Mehael,”’ said Uxley, with his voice
hushed Jow, ‘that on the night I went with you to Lock-
stone, and returned alone, I saw, or thought I saw, the
dead man sitiing im my chair.”

“it was fangy.’’

“jt looked terribly real. I can almostsee the still,
steadfast eyes glittering npon me now.”

“Psha, you were fanciful and nervous. You have too
much imagination.’ ‘

The old man wiped away a bead of perspiration that
came at the recollection.

“The clock of Charnett church was striking twelve,”
he said, ‘and its echoes seemed to fill the gloom likea
knell invoking him from the grave; aud there he sat with
the blood upon his brow,”?

“Tush! Phantoms livein fancy only, and it could not
have been him alive again. The blow I dealt him would
have killed a tiger. and even had that failed the full would
have been fatal. Why, six-und-twenty hours must have
elapsed between the time he went down and the time you
thought you saw him.’?

“Six-and-twenty hours exnetly.”?

“We could not lave survived, even had he fallen and
not died. Six-and-twenty hours ip a closely-pent weil full
of foul air, and deep as Hades. Forget it.”

“Would I could forget it."?

“Did you speak to it—the phantom in the chair?"

“Twas stricken dumb with terror. Ishrieked out
something aud tellin a swoon,”

 

 

 

 

“So much for the effect of fancy; and when you woke?”

“The chair was empty.”

“As it was when you fell?”

“Maybe; but in tle morning a strange incident occurred.
A gentleman (an artist,) who was in Charnett a year ago,
came down looking for O'Neil.”

“Looking for O'Neil ???

“Ay. He exchanged a few words with me, and as he
went away he hummed the very song we first heard O'Neil
sing—the French street ditty,”

“There is noun thaby
from each other, \'Wh

“Nothing that IM

   
  
   
 
 

    
  

jends often pick up tunes
d from his visit ?”’
} stayed a day or two, then

 

 

   

 

cluded a dangerous exhibition with some lions, and one
of the beasts broke beyond control, attacked its exhibitor,
and leaped among the audience, seizing the count’s
child as it went.”?

The chevalier uttered a startled cry.

“The count’s child! ’Sdeathi—curses on him—was it
killed 2”

“That,” said the artist, shaking his head gravely, “is a
mystery as.yet. It was nobtound when the hon-tamer
and one of the audiemie t kK “A shocking
catastrophe, was it not?) / Vv

“Horrible,” cried the cheyaller.

“J do not think he felt if anuch,

   
  
  
  
 

ook advantage

    
 

wentaway; and | da almost swear W hina im Lud; of the. tumnit-to elope with the }on-tan er’s mistress, a

gaieas we i me along.’ ti 7 | | Made noigelle Cotinie.’’ ai
Michael ¢ attentive. ie Ee } «Trilter,’” the ehevalier mutte tiveen his teeth;
MDeseribe him.” VE tee mid “he would keep me im ignorance

   
  
  
 
 

 

“A fair-haired felow, wit ha frank face, 4
possessing. I noticed that his throat and\or
singhlarly white, and lie wore his hair low\
. a vi :

mA » | : es

‘“] did see such a na all en Michael tronk
wagqondering Whether IMad seén him befor
attracted: my attention by having an uncome
Do you knew his name??? —_-

“Alfred Hewhbert} soo %

“Stdeath! I caught sight ol a card on Pentland’s table,
and it bore that name,*

“Then depend uponit weare being watched,’ said
Uxley; ‘‘and jet us be prepared.”

“Tam preparedto,do ten times more than J have done
to keep what we have gained. Let them watch, let them
plot—play bloodhound till they tire. Weshali bale them
as we have done before.” ie

“IT hope so.”’ ;

“My only care now is for Leonora. She shiall be mine,
no matter what the means. Her image is burned here
in fire on my heart, and] shall never rest till she is
mine.”* ;

“It will never be willingly.”

“So that she is mi@e, I care not how. She shall yield
to gentle wooing, or fall into a spare. Passion has been
the curse of our race, Uxiey, and mine would have its
sway were it hurled to destruction for its work.”

“Tt is the Charneti's bitterest enemy.”

“Well, the scourge is hereditary—born with us; but my
love for her is as deep and pure as passionate. Were she
mine, ] should never love another. Women have been
but toys to me hitherto. I did not care a jot even for my
wife.”?

“Pour wife.”

“J had one; the most beantifnl woman in —
the richest. I won her because] had many?
ried her for her money. She boreason tor

“And the son?"

“Lives. A splendid, princely boy, with
and beauty of a Charnett. Youshallseehi . Uxiey, when
I come back from Paris to take possessiov {my house.”

The lawyer sat in gloomy thought,.b< ildered by the
last revelation. ~

“A son,” he said.
ried.*? ; :

“J do not falk much of my weakness.” .

“What have you named him?”

“Henri. Come with me to Paris, and you shall see him.”

“No: my work is not done here yet. I have to arrange
at Charnett for the reception of Lord Michael, and pray
be careful to sink each trace of ideutity with the cheval-
ier.”

“You will hardly recognise me, Renben. This wild,
luxuriant hair of mine cut close, fny heavy beard shaven
close, my face bare, but for mustache and imperial a
Vempereur, and I shall be at Charnett royally.”

“When do you return ?”?

“Within a few davs; a journey to and from the conti-
nent is a matter of little difficulty now.”’

“Charnett shall be ready to receive you and your son.
A few handfuls of gold will win favor from the tenantry,
and forgetting the dead they will cheer the living. It will
seem strange to hear a peal of welcome from the bells
that so lately tolled the funeral knell of son and sire.”’

“The way of life, Uxley. he same bells will knell for
me and you perhaps within as short a time.”

Reuben shuddered.

“Not yet. hope. Tani in-excelient health; as vigorous
and strong as I was twenty years ago.”

“We age with time, Reuben. Death, with its Keen sickle,
treads in the footsteps of the pitiless giant who counts our
sands.”? =

“Peace! peace!”’ :

“Why,?? laughed Michael, ‘we should not talk of mortal
things as though we were iinmortal; but I see you shudder;
do not také to moralising, Uxley; and adieu, till I return
to Charnett.”

“To Charnett,” repeated Uxley, ‘‘you shall be wel-
comed.”’

The old man left his accomplice and started for his
gloomy journey down the Midland line.

The boat express that went from Dover on the day after
that on which the interview took place between De Bura-
doc and Mr. Pentland had among its passengers two
who had met before. The chevalier was one, the other
was an indefatigable gentleman. whose luggage, simply
a traveling valise, was ticketed “Mr. Alfred Hewbert.”’

These two met on the deck while the steamer cleaved
its way through the moonlit waters.. Both were ex-
perienced travelers, and could enjoy the beauty of the
hour; the chevalier whiled away the time with a fragrant
cigar, the artist trified with a delicate cigarette. ‘

The latter was a Jover of music evidenny, for ashe paced
the white planks to and fro, between the pauses of his ci-
garette he indulged in several operatic selections, and in-
variably finished with a popular Parisian street ditty
which the chevalier remembered to have heard across the
Channel.

The tune seemed to haunt him; it also haunted the
chevalier. He glanced at the fair-haired artist occasion-
ally, and with no kindly interest. It would have given
him much delight had the song been hushed, and Mr.
Hewbert sieeping quietly in the channel bed.

The other passengers soon retired, and the artist and
chevalier were alone. The man at the wheel was busy at
his post; the captain was watching the shadowy ine that
defined the ocean boundary of Calais.

“A pleasant night,” the artist said, flinging away his
cigarette. ‘My attempt at music does not, 1 hope, disturb
your reverie?”

“In no way.’? was the courteous reply.
good voice, and I love the opera.”

“Thanks. And so do Tl. ‘Le Prophete.’ ‘Les Hugue-
nots, ‘La Favyorita,?’ and ‘Nurma’—they are my fayor-
ites.”? :

The chevalier drew a deep breath.

“ ‘Norma.’ You have heard Grisi

“Who has not? J have heard Grisi surpassed.*’

“Ah! by Titiens?”’

“No; though she can act thrillingly. I heard that match-
less wouder at the Grand Opera, the ledy who cume aud
went so mysteriously—Leonvura.”?

‘“‘Leonora,.”?

“You have heard her, too.”

The chevalier walked the limits of the vessel and return-
ed before he could speak again.

“T never missed a night while she appeared.”

“Some men are so infatuated. The lady has a strange

ance, and
als. I mar-
and died.”

ill the pride

“T did not Kaow you had been mar-

“You have a

| while he spends

   

 

the child is lost,
An) +B

“One-of thegtrangest fi eat 8,” (he artist con-
tinned, “that when | cluimed his acquaintance he did not
recognize nes il When I toll hint hig own history he
haraly med to Tecollect i dy was it not?’

Pi Wt tiniy was. One ¥ think a man
could ape such adeath, Ough the horror of
heing Naid-out at the Morgue, and them, forget it; while
you, a stranger, rememb rit 80 well,

“My memory never failsme,”’ said the )
on points that impress me,” Ne

“What ascene to have witnessed!? said=the chevalier,
“that at the hippodrome,”’ \

“It was. One of those things that curdle a man’s blood.
But I have seen worse.*’

The chevalier prneces his shoulders.
| “Is it possible?!

\“Trne. Ll saw a poor friend of mine, Bob O'Neil, fished
up out of the Seine with a dagger in his throat,’?

The chevalier clutched at the bulwark,

“4 friend,” he faltered.

“A very dear friend, indeed; T value him dearly—his life
is like a part of mine, and he hus lately disappeared
strangely.’

“What a catalogue of terrible curiosities you seem ac-
quainted with, monsieur.’”?

The artist luughed.

“T trust_in my wish to be out.of the common-place
have not shocked you. 1 know the French character is
sensitive.”

“Tamnof. But he disappeared, you say?’

“As suddenly as thongh the earth had swallowed him
up. Do you believe in dreams?”

“As the result of heavy food. yes.’?

“Ha, ha! Well, then, do you comprehend the doctrine
of odi¢ furcee—mental sympathy—magnetism??

“I have heard of it—we have it in the Corsican Brothers
of Dumas.” :

“An excellent illustration of what I was abont to re-
late. You can call to mind the scene, where the twin De
Franchi appeers to lis brother.”

“Oh yes; I have seen Charles Fechter.”

“Then believe me when I tell you snch things are.
There was between O’Neil and me a sympathetic union
of spirit, as great as that between the two De Franchi.
Whenever he-suffered, 1 suffered with him. Whatever
emotion he experienced, 1 shared. You are incredu-
lous.”

“No. Pardon me.”

“Now, I will tell youa dream.
nett.”

“In Charnett?” ‘

«When the murder of Lord Sy Iney Lois was commit-
ted. He was found of the stu:'y of crime, and his peculiar
fancy for hunting criminals often took him into danger.
And he wasin Charnett when ] had a dream. It seemed
terribly real tome. I saw him in a gloomy old house, in
asmall dark chamber, with a darker room behind it, and
he was conversing with anold man. And just as plainly
us I see you standing before me, I discerned a figure in
the second room, watching O*Neil with the eyes of a
tiger.’?

The chevalier lit a cigar, and closed his lips tightly over

   
 
     

   
 

‘ist, “especially

O'Neil was in Char-

 

it to Keep them still.

“A singular dream.”?

“It was. And suddenly there seemed to be a quarrel.
The old man hurled a Jamp at him, and a_trap-door
opened at my friend’s feet. He Icaped over it, and bat-
tled with the would-be assassin; when the figure from
the other room advanced, and attacked him from be-
hind.’

“And this you saw in a dream?’

“A vision. The fidelity to nature was life-like. Then
all was darkness. Yet with that peculiar faculty that@is
at work in dreamers, I saw all plainly. Thatawfulstrug-
gie inthe dark. O’Neil stumbled, and fell gently down
ihe abyss. His antagonist held him by the throat, and
beat savagely at his brow with the butt ofapisto!. O'Neil
went down, and, before he fell, I heard him say these
words:

“« ‘Assassin, Iam but one ofa terrible league. Yon are
doomed. The Sin Phantom will track you even from the
grave!’ .

The chevalier shivered. It might have been at the in-
tensity with which the artist repeated the words he had
heard spoken in a dream.

“The impression was so strong upon me,” continued
the arfist, as if too much absorbed with his own narrative
to notice any strangeness of demeanor on the partof his
listener, ‘‘that I actually went to Charnett to look for
him. And here we have the most incredible portion of
all. Jt had occurred.”

De Buradoc repeated the last three words in a whis-
per.

“T found a letter waiting formeat the Charnett inn, and
I saw a friend of O'Neil’s—John Kendrake—to whom he
had related the story, after his escape.”?

“His escape!’ aud the chevalier’s tone was one of more

 

than ordinary interest. “Did he escape ?”

“Oh, yes! He had been hurled down an old well. I
am not certain as to the exact locality of the house, and
O'Neil wished the entire affair kept a secret. But he did
escape, and now he is on the track of the man who tried
to murder him. He has sworn to hunt him down, and
he will keep his word.”

“Then it was no vision Uxley saw,’ thought Michael.
“O'Neil, my deadly foe, still lives to haunt me! And this
man—does he know all, and tell me this to torture me, or
is he telling it to me by some marvelous coincidence ??

His keen glance swept the artist’s face, that was calm,
impassive, nonchalant.

“It appears from what I can gather,” said the artist,
watching a cloud of smoke disperse in faint white
wreaths, “that he is leagued in some way with our mod-
ern Fouché—Gustave Chicto; and in the course of his ca-
reer he has made an enemy in the person of the man who
tried to kill him at Charnett. lt isa strange story, is it
not? My Jaith in dreams is strengthened.’

The chevalier nade no reply. He walked aft. The boat
had reached its destination, aud preparations were being
made to debark. .

Long before the passengers were landed the chevalier
had completely lost sight of his communicative friend.

 

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
AT THE MERE MIGNON’S.
The glow of exultation which was in the chevalier’s

 

history, by the way. You may have heard how she leit
the lyric stage and married a young English nobleman,
Lord Sydney Lois ot Charnett, the poor fellow who was
so brutally murdered in his native place. That was acold
puff of wind; youshiver. Pardon me, I do not speak tua
countryman.”

~ “T donot know. You are——”

“English. And you?”

“French.”

“} thought so by your charming geniality. Englishmen
are bad fellow-travelers, they wantto measure & man’s
social status before they open a lip to him, and the Eng-
lish tourist is always sea-sick. Mademoiselle Leonora
was a great loss to the stage. Are you fond of singu-
larities ?*?

CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE CONVERSATION IS CONTINUED.

“T am not morbid,*? was the Frenchman’s reply.

“Singularity is not morbidityin a Frenchman; it is with
us. We, unless we talk of the horrible, Lecome common-
place, inflict our company with the inevitable -weather,
which I began with, or hackneyed truisms that become
tedious. I prefer singularities.’

“And are conversant wiih some?’ 7

“When a man takes notice of any one lineof peculiarity,
it is remarxable how. mary instances he may collect.”

“IT have no faculty for such a study.”’ ‘

“Then you may be interested in-mine. I am fond of
sensation, and the most startling I ever met!I met at Droc-
burn, aniniand town not many miles from Charnett, where
that dreadful tragedy took place.’

The chevalier inclined his head as though he wished to
hear more.

‘“‘As a Frenchman,” continued the artist, ‘““youn may
chance to renieniber a mysterious affair. that happened
some eight or nine years since, the disappearance of tlie
Count Cymon Dunault ?’?

The chevalier did remember it very well indeed; his
dark cheék changed color, though he was @ mun of won-
drous Nerves»

“Not distinetly,’? he said.

“Ah! let me recall it, then. Ie was found drowned,
and his body put in the Morgue; I saw it there.”

“You saw it there ?**

“Yes. A young doctor—a special friend of mine, who
had a theory of resuscitation—took it away, and practiced
his experiment. I am not prepared to say with what re-
sult, for my friend, the doctor, was very reticent upon the
matter. I thought he had failed until—”"”

“Until ~ ; \

“Until I chanced to be strolling through Drocburn, not
long since. Iam an artist, you know, and there is some
pretty scenery in Drocburn; and J saw the count there.’

The artist’s frank face was turned full upon’ the cheva-
lier, and Nota muscle changed. De Buradoe’s heart was
sinking heavily; O'Neil’s dying oath recurred fo him:

“The Sin Phantom will haunt you even from the grave.’?

“The count in person?’ said De Buradoc; ‘surely no.”’

“Some one who bears his name, then, at all events;
though I, who know him very well indeed, coula not trace
the least resemblance. The count, when I knew him. was
quite a young man. The gentleman] saw at Drocburn
cannot be far from forty.’’

“Some men age in early life.”

“He propounded the same argument. He had a child
with him—his daughter, so lie said.”

“An?

“A sweet, sunny little one with golden locks, and the
face ofaseraph. Her mother must have been a very
beautiful woman, for the child did not resemble her fath-
er, the count, at a'l.’?

“T feel interested.*?

“T thonght you would be—it is so sad what is to come.
There was a hippodrome in the town—the programine in-

 

heart when he leit England was quite faded out before
he set foot in the capital of France. The victory he
thought achieved was nothing since O'Neil lived.

De Buradoc was in no Way a superstitious man, but he
could not drive away a weird fancy that he was haunt-
ed, and ever and anon, while on his way to Paris, he
looked around and behind him, expecting to see a shad-
owy O’Neil or a living artist. Ie did not like that fair-
haired stranger, who was so familiar and knew so much.
The'chevalier’s subtle instinct saw danger in him.

But the poor tourist did not trouble him again, and De
Buradoc, while traveling, struck suddenly upon a thought
that startled and relieved him, :

The fair-haired stranger was one of Chicto’s league,
perhaps, and though he knew of O’Neil's escape, he had
spoken falsely in saying he lived.

‘It is jimpossible,’’? said Michael; ‘and even if he did
escape, as he must have done, for this man to know so
mach, he could not have lived long. No. .Then I have
the mystery. He escaped and died, leaving his legacy of
revenge to the man who spoke of him, and whois doubt-
less on my track. Be it so; having baffled O'Neil, I shall
not fear such a one as my recent companion.”

The misgiving clung to him, however; the evil deed
done in the lawyer’s house was Known, and Chicto's ter-
rible league was against him.

When he arrived in Paris the chevalier went direct to
the hotel where he had resided previously. He hada
splendid suite cf apaytments, and no sooner did he ap-
pear, than @ liveried servant met him with a profound
obeisance.

“Where is Tenri?’? asked De Buradoe, quickly.

“He has retired, mousieur,”?

The chevalier passed into one of the bed-chambers; the
beauty of his dark face grew soft with the gentieness of a
fatuer’s love, ,

“Henri,” he said, tenderly, approaching the bed where-
on lay & spare, delicate Jad of some ten summers.
“Henri.” ‘ :

The boy woke instantly, and withagiad ery wound
his arms round his father's neck; it was easy tosee he
was an only child, aud beipg mothericss, gaye all his
affections to his sire.

“My father!?

“How beautiful you have grown,” said Michael, with
deep emotion, ‘‘and strangely like your mother, If her
memory gives me @ gentile thought, itis for your sake.’’

*You will not. know her again.”

“No; we goto England together, tothe home thatis
ours at last. Onur home by birthright, lost by my sire,
won back at a terrible price by me,”

“Our home; is not this our home’?

“This.??, Michael. glanced reund almost with disgust
upon tie alnost tawdry boudoir that could bear ho com-
parison with the solid magnificence of Charnett. ‘This
has been the home of our. exile, but tharis past, and
henceforth we shall live where we are magsfers,”?

“Ts it far ??

“A distance that is worth the journey ;4 grand old house
inanoble English woodland. Areyoa well enough to
travel in the morning?” f

“Quite. Ihave not been ill lately”?

“You must notibe ill again,” said Michael, warring
while he spoke against a terrible misgiving sent to his
heart by his child’s short, quick-Oreath. and hectic cheek.
“The air of my native place will restore you, Henri.”

Now that the excitement was over, the gentle-hearted
boy grew pale again; he lay wearily in his father’s arms.

“Are you tired, Henri?”

“Not tired, but I am not strong.’?

Michel kissed him passionately.

“] dare not think of it,?? he suid to himself; ‘were this

 

 

the crime in which Iam now steepedtothe lips would
seem more red in my desolation,’?

 

 

 

 

 

love-link broken, I should indeed have toiled in vain, and -

 

 

 

 

 

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db {Poor little thing !

bee **Ask no gnestions, Mere Mignon,

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

He broke off abruptly. :

“We must rouse you, Henri; this is our last night in
Paris. Shall we walk through the streets and then go to
the opera ?”’

“The opera! ah, yes; Hutrine was telling me about the
new singer, and Norma is played to-night. 1 should like
to hear Norma.” , ;

“Then you shall,” said Michael, smiling; “but whois
the new singer?”

“They call lier Leonora.”

Ewrick held his breath and whispered the word
hoarsely:

“Leonora,”

“Have you heard her? Would, you not care to take
me ?’?

“Heard her,” thought Michael, “her voice is in my ears
sleeping or waking, and ber forin haunts me lke a dream
of madness; we will go fo the opera.”

The fashionable part of the Freuch capital was brilliant
with light and life when the carriage of the supposed
chevalier drove froin the hotel, .Miehael, engrossed by
the absorbing though: of seeing LeOnora once more, look
heed of nothing on the way.

He did not see tits fair, frank traveling friend, the artist,
who ha@ told hiin so iwuch about the Charnett tragedies
and the escape of O'Neil. Yet Mr. Hewbert stood on the
edge of the broad pave in one of the boulevards through
wilich the carriage passed.

“Who is that geutieman that looked at you so earn-
estly ? asked Henri.

“Where ?"?

“He is gone now.
kers.”’

The image of Mr. Hewhbert. flashed to his mind. Ile
looked intently, but the pave was thronged, and the gen-
tleman, whoever he was, had passed from view.

“Let thém come,” said Michael, iu bitter despair
“Track, and dog, and haunt me as they will, they cannot
take trom-eime what 1 have won—and | am torewarned of
O'Neil.” :

Some reflections troubled him—the fate of Leonora's
child aud McDonald's treachery.

Michaei would have been been more troubled still could
he have seen what was taking place ata restaurant, not
far from the Grand Opera, kept by a woman known as
Mére Miguon. She had been a shopkeeper at Versailles.

Keeping a restaurant was amore profitab!e oceupation
evidently, for the good dame thrived, and laid Dy alittle
store of noney. Sie hada charitable spirit, and did not
send the poor, whether stranger or acquaintance, empty
from her dyor.

On the. sime.evening there came a man who looked
very poor indeed, and-he- lad aiiitte gitl, The eréinerie
Wus nota secludcd phieé, apd the man, who lvoked poor,
Wanted seclusion.

“Mére Mignon.” he said, “do you remember me ?”’

The woman looked.at. him steadlasuly.. His face seemed

_strange at first, but She recognized hin after awhile.

“Jaconet!? she said, ‘Baptiste! Oh! Mr. Lisle,
how dangerous ts cone here !"”

*Butl am welldisguised, Mere Mignon.’ °

“I knew you, and they would. Come this way, lest you
are seen.”’

She ushered him into a room behind the public part of

A pale gentleman, with side whis-

here establishment. per ve

“The child is faint, M. Jaconet.*”

“Do not speak my nume. Call me Baptiste, as though
I were the poor workmaniseem. I came here because I
know I can trust you, Mere Mignon.”

“You were my husband's friend.”
’ “Pwant you to take care of this child—this little one.
You shall be well paid.”

“I have bread to spare, Baptiste.
Kind tome.’’, .

“Then you will Keep her till 1.come back?”

“Gladly.”’

“Good! Now tell me.
Buradoc reside?’

*At the Ilotel de ”

“T must see him. While I am gone, be careful, Mere
Mignon. Let no one take the child.”

“Willshe stay with me?”

«She willdy anything. She had a severe fright, and
her reason is scarcely right. See how docile she sits.”
Yours, Baptiste?”’

Heaven has been

Where does the Chevalier de

 

~ ‘Te shook his head.
Shonld I not return,
_ send for the Chevalier de Buradoc, an’ give hertohim.”?
‘> Mere Mignon promised. She could not comprehend the
ypeanlg of an event that seemed singular to her simple
mind. OWL
She promised to attend to hisinstructions. As a wo-
man, who trad had little children of her own, she could
not but be won by the quiet, plaintive beauty of the child
Baptiste Jaconet left with her. ,
it was pitiful Lo-see so young a form so full of sorrow.
The little white face wore a scared, wistful look, inex-
pressibly touching; and when Mere Mignon spoke to her,
after Jaconet was gone, her questioning elicited no reply,
save one word repeated many times—
“Mamma!”
“Tell me your name, darling?”’
Mere Mignon took the fragile form to her breast, and
nestled it caressingly. ;
“Are you afraid of any one? Don't fear.
hurt you while you are with Mere Mignon!’
“Tam so afraid. Baptiste told me the man with the
peard is coming after me, and I must not speak nor tell
anything, or he will find me out.”
Mere Mignon began to grow interested,
(TO BE CONTINUED.)

—_————-e
ELE

Midnight Prophecy;

OR, THE
HEIR OF STRATHSPEY TOWERS.

By Mrs, Schuyler Meserole,
Auther of “WEDDED FOR AN HOUR,” ete.

No one shall

 

 

[“The Midnight Prophecy” was commenced in No. 33. Back
Nos. can be ebtained from any News Agent in the United States.]

CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE EARL'S REMORSE.

The earl and his family were comfortably established at
Ravenswoid, amid the Scottish highlands, and Lady Ne-
ville and the dowager countess were wholly engrosse:|
with plans and preparations for the approaching mar-
riage. The trousseaw hal been ordered, aud was pro-
gressing in Paris, on the grandest iinaginable scale; and
the earl, true to his promise, had er for Margue-
rite a Set Of diamonds eyen rarer und "more costly than
t neg she had lost, and Marguerite received them,

© ki @ her fattér in‘silence, and uftering ho word of the
misery she felt. For her father’s face was wan and sor-

ful beyond all description, and the Scottish breezes
~uathier seemed to increase flan toveure his malady.

“You see, my love,’ said Lady Neville, with tears on
her well-preserved cheeks, as she admired the costly
“stones, ‘you see how your dear father doats on yon, and
tries to piease you,—and do, my child, if you have any
love or gratitude for iiiin, try to get over your silly repug-
nance to Sir Bayard. Your father regards liim as a son,
and has set his heart on seeing vou his wife. “You see
how his strength is failing day by day; and, Marguerite,
I entreat- you. do not disappoint his hopes, do not shorten
his life, by this folly of yours. You will love Sir Bayard
well enough when you are once lis wife; there’s never
any fear of a woman lacking in love for her husband.”

And Lady Marguerite, with the costly casket in her
hands, went slowly to her own chamber; and there,
awaiting her coming, she found her old maid and: com-
panion, Janet Burns, Her hopeless young eyes brighten-
ed at. sight of her. ;

“Why, Janet!” she cried joyously, extending her hand
in welcome, ‘‘have you come back at lust? lam so glad,
so glad to see you!”’

Jauet took the slender, little hand and kissed it respeci-
fully, her eyes running over with tears, at sight of Pearl's
pale, sad face. “Yes, Lady Marguerite,” she replied, *‘I
have come back, and to stay for good now, if you want
nie.”’

“If Lowanti you? O, Janet, you know I want you!’
cried Marguerite. ‘‘I’'ve had a cross, awkward girl ever
since you left me, and I liked you so much—indeed, Vin
asgiad to see you as.if you were my sister—I‘ll take you
back this very minute.’

Janet smiled kindly at her childish impetuosity,

“It gratifies me yery much,’’ she said, in her grayp, re-
fined manner, “to know that you like me—I am @ 'trne
friend to you, Lady Marguerite—do you know,” sheada-
ed, hesitatingiy, “that I used to serve your mother
once?’*

“O Janet!’? cried the girl, crossing the room and seat-
ing herself by the maid's side, “and you! never told’ me
before? Ihave always longed so to hear something of my
mother, Janet, tell ne how she looked?”

“Exactly like you, my lady—two twin roses are not
more alike, and she was the best, the sweetest woman in
the wide world.”

Peari’s tears were falling like rain,

“If T could have seen her—if she had only lived,’? she
moaned. “Aunt Neville says she died when I was a babe
—did she, Janet?”

«“Well—yes—you lost her when you were little more
than a babe, my lady.”

“Poor mammal O, why couldn’t she have been spared
to mel It will’ be: a@ great comiort, Janet, to have

ou with me, now that know that you used to know and
ove ny mother.”

“{ did love her, Lady Marguerite; anid I promised -her
faithfully that I would always keep my ve en you, and
help you whenever I could—that is why I have come buck
to you’! )

“But, Janer, why did you not tell Me all this before?’’
asked Pear, ia astonishment,

“Because | liad reasons, my dear lady, for keeping si-
lent—I was afraid if | made myseif Known to Lady Ne-
ville, she would refuse to employ me, and even now, I’m
pretty sure she'll object when she finds out who Lam.”’’

“Why, Junet, What can you mean?’

“T mean. Lady Marguerite,’’ she replied, ‘that lam not
Janet Burns, but Judith Ford, or Judith Dixon now, for I
have married since | went away. And this fair,’ she
went on, removing her flaxen wig, and revealing herown
glossy brown braids, “is not mine any more than the
name.”’ J

Lady Marguerite stared in amazement.

“Well.”? she said at last, ‘Llike yon even better with
out the flaxén tock; bat really you overwhelm me with

Z oP
CSRS

 

 

wa nnn a
ee eee ~~ ee ee

“There are circumstances, Lady Marguerite, that I am
not at liberty to explain, and in regard to which you must
not question me. I was your dear mother’s maid and
companion for years, and I promiséd her to look after you,
and I will. Your father, the earl, has engaged me, aud
iny husband too. He wants Hendrick for game-keeper
when he goes back to the Towers, and I am to be- with
you, and he has promised to make it all straight with
Lady Neville. Sv, if you want me, I'm at your service at
once.”

The earl did make it right with Lady Neville, after a
painful and stormy discussion, in which the old dead-and-
gone griefs were resurrected, and the bitter heart-wounds
torn open. He reproached his sister in the severest tone,
for her action in regard to his wife, and avowed his in-
tention to go down to Lancaster Moor, and have her body
exhumed and brought to the Towers for decent burial.

Lady Neville remonstrated with all her eloquence, but
Lord Strathspey was a resolute man, when his mind was
once made up, and she failed to move him,

“Let me ulone,’’ he said, bitterly; ‘“‘we have done
enough—it is needful that we make what reparation we
may. Don't you see that Lady Strathspey was right—the
boy who bears my name is not my son—she was right,
and we called it insanity, and imprisoned her in a mada-
house. Camilla, yon cannot understand how IT feel about
it, So let me alone—let me have my way in peace.”’

“But, Angus, for Heaven's sake,’? implored his prond
sister, ‘‘think of the disgrace, the shame—let the affair
rest—don't make it public again! For Marguerite’s sake,
let it rest!’

‘Marguerite is no dearer to me than her mother was,”
replied the earl, an angry flush rising to his death-white
cheeks; ‘‘and I shall do her mother justice, no matter
what the cost may be. I've enough on my soul now—if I
can assure myself that my poor wife was true to me—that
T aceused her falsely—I’'ll make it known throughout the
length and breadth of England, and stand before the
whole world in my true character—a jealous brute, a
murderer!’

Lady Neville knew too well that further’ remonstrance
would be a waste of words, and she groaned in agony,
half-wishing that her brother’s malady might interpose,
and lay him inthe grave that must soon receive him,
rather than her proud hame should be so tarnished and
scandalized.

But the earl’s life seemed like his will, a something in-
domitabie and unconqueruble.

Lord Angus did not. accompany the family to Ravens-
wold; he remained behind, not at the Towers, for the earl
had forbidden him ever again to darken his doors; but at
“The Cedars,’ the invited gnest of Lady Cecilia Drum-
mond. Herladyship and the young ‘earl were getting
to be fast friends.

A day or two after their departnre the young man
mounted his roan mare and started for the cottage of Doc-
tor Renfrew. The results of his last visit had by no
means dampened the ardor of his passion, or weakened
his determination to make pretty Maggie his own. On
the contrary, he was more in love, more desperately in
earnest than ever.

“She shail be mine,’? he swore, as he galloped across
the downs, ‘‘she shall be mine, if it costs me my life to
win her.’ 7

What was his surprise and disappointment to find the
cottage locked up, and his pretty bird flown.

““Where’s the doctor ?” he demanded of tlie old servant-
man.

“Gone this week an’ more, yer. lordship,
sister as lives in the Scottish *Ighlands.,”’

And the angry, young peer resolved with a bitter oath,
that to the Scottish Highlands he would follow.

to wisit his

 

CHAPTER XLIX.
LADY PEARL HAS AN ADVENTURE.

Lady Neville was slightly indisposed, and the earl had
gone to Lancashire, in regard to business matters, he
said; but for no other reason, as his sister very well knew
but to visit the Lancaster Moor Asylum, and make ar-
rangements to carry out his insane’ intentions; which, no

 

 

 

 

 

 

doubt, was the sole cause of her Jadyship’s indisposition;
tor she locked herself in her chamber, and spent the fore-
noon pacing up and down Jike an enraged tigeress, wish-
ing sincerely thatshe had the power to consign her broth-
er to the tender mercies of & madhouse; as she had done
his wife. ,

Meanwhile the countess took a fancy to drive to the
ruins of an old castle somewhere amid the highlands, and
near which was a noted cavern.

So the pony-phzeton was brought out, and a basket of
sandwiches, and two or three bottles of champagne pack-
edi under the seat, and Lady Marguerite and Sir Bayard
summoned to accompany her

Lady Marguerite was not at all averse to going, ald the
baronet would have fullowed anywhere in the wake-of
the countess; her gold attracted him as a magnet attracts
steel.

The day was fine in the forenoon, and their drive was
qnite pleasant, and they found the old ruins grand ane
picturesque beyond all description. The countess, who
was quite a traveler in her way, was especially delighted.

“What a charming old place,’ she cried, as they sat in
a dim old chapel, with fretted ceiling, and stained win-
dows sipping their champagne; ‘‘and since I come to re-
member it, you used to be an artist, Sir Bayard,’ she add-
ed, turning upon the baronet; “how is it we see none of
your work now?” .

The baronet blushed like a girl, and stammered in dire
confusion.

“Pshaw!’’ ejaculated the countess; ‘‘what are you
blushing about? I detest bashful men--if you have a
talent for anything ’tis nothing to be ashamed of.’

. Sir Bayard managed to get his voice, but it quavered
dreadfully. He did—well—he used to-sketch a long while
ago—when he was traveling—but——

“No buts about it,”? cut the dowager. ‘You're not so
clever that you need to drop your accomplishments—I’d
like to have a sketch of these rnins—so do you purchase
materials in Perth, and we'll drive over again in a few
days, and you shall make a sketch for me."

The baronet bowed in silence, buthis face looked like
the face of a condemned criminal. The countess stared
in amazement.

“What is the matter? she cried; “one minute you’re
as red as a rose, and the next as white as @ ghost. Are
you ill?’

Sir Buyard was not quite well; he had been troubled
with dizziness for a day or two. He woulFwalk about a
little, it would soon wear off. Accordingly, he strolled
off in one direction, and Lady Marguerite watching her
opportunity, disappeared in another, the countess —re-
maining in the chapel, to rest herself, and finish: her
champagne.

*-How the poor girl does detest: him,’ she nvrmured;
“and I don't wonder atit much. Bayard Brompton’s a
queer fellow some way—he’s got a secret that troubles
him, . I wonder what it is?, But no matter,’? she added,
turning back to her champagne, “he’s one of my cwn
race, and she shall marry him—it may be the means of
saving him from disgrace and ruin,”

Meanwhile, Lacy, Margnerite made her way through
the moldering halls of the’old castle, and out into the
warm, summer vir. The clouds. were guthering in the
west, but the sun still shone, and the breeze was sweet
and fresh. She strolied down the ruined avenue, beneath
the whispering fir branches, and out into the green, open
park. The prospect around her was indescribably grand
und beautiful. Onone hand towered the bold, bieak
summits of the cliffs—on the otlier, the green, rolling
valleys, and now and then the glittering gleam of some
mountain lake, and far below flashed the spires of Perth
and distant Dundee.

There was a fallen statne near at hand, a marble Apollo,
half imbedded in the rank grass, his lyre broken, and all
his god-like beauty falling to decay. Lady Pearl seated
herself upon this fallen god, and leaning ker lovely brow
on her hana, gazed ont npon the glorious summer scenes
with sad, sad eyes. So young, and yet so utterly miser-
able! The very sunlight seemed to fall upon her bowed
head, with its crown of silken gold in pitying tenderness,

She was thinking of the baronet, the man who was to be
her husband, wongering why it was that his very pre-
sence inspired her with such disgust and aversion? She
could not besr to be in the same room. with him, and yet
in three short months she would be his wife!

“I cannet,’? she murniured, the silent tears falling over
her cheeks. ‘Surely God will let me die and escape it.
Poor papa, T would give my life to please and comfort
him, but I never can be that man’s wife.”’

And then her fancy, by a sudden and capricious transi-
tion, recalled another face. a handsome, manly face, lit
by bright brown eyes. Poor little Pearl sighed, anda
vivid red flushed her waxen cheeks. She was an earl’s
daughter, yet she was quite as fuil of idle fancies, and silly,
girlish dreams, as the humblest peasant girl upon her fa-
ther’s domains.

She sat there in the old park, on the fallen s‘atue of
Apolio, dreaming in the bright summer sunsi.cs, ond al-
ways in herdreaming those bright brown eyes were pre-
sent. Foolish, foolish litthe Peart!

The sound of an approaching footstep startled her, and
she sprang up, in haste to fly back and escape an inter-
view with Sir Bayard; but she met, face to face, not Sir
Bayard, but Captain Fossbrooke.. He bowed wittr courtly
grace, that pleasant smile of his making his brown eyes
irresistible. Lady Marguerite flushed like @ rose in her
embarrassinent,

“IT beg your pardon, Lady Marguerite,” said the cap-
tain, “but you were just what] needed to make my skeich
perfect"'—he pointed toward his portfolio aud drawing
inaterials, which lay a few feet distant—and my patron
saint sent you to sit on the fallen Apollo. Will you look
at my sketch ?”?

Lady Marguerite, followed him, and he laid before her,
with pardonable pride, a masteriy sketch of the hoary,old
ruins, and of the green park, With herself seated on the
fullen marble, and the bald peaks, and the rolling high-
lunds in the distance.

“Why, what an artist you are, Captain Fossbrooke.” she
said, simply. “I never saw anything so perfect. How it
would delight the countess’?

“Do you thinkso? Theti the countess must see it,”’
smiled the captain,

dae took up his portfolio, and they walked on side by
side.
‘“T did not dream of such a pleasure as meeting your
ladyship,’? he said, “When I came out to sketch this
mMorhing T thought you were at the Towers,’

Lady Marguerite blushed vividly beneath his admiring
glunces,

“We came across over & week ago.” she replied. “We
are staying at Ravenswold, an old highland country-
house belonging to tlie countess.”

“Ah, T anderstand! How long shall you remain??? ’

“Until the last of September, I think.”

“Thats pleasunt,” cried the eaptaiu, ‘1*m here myself
for the summer. I’ve absndoned the sword, for the hot

.

turned into the grand vestibule, clambering over heaps
of rubbish, they came upon Sir Bayard, wholly recovered
from his dizziness it appeared, and coming in search of
Lady Marguerite.

Ifa ghost, from one of the moldering tombs below the
chapel, had confronted him, he could not have looked
more startled than he did at sightof the captain. He
stood like a statue, his face growing livid, his eyes wide
and staring.

“How are you to-day, Sir Bayard?’ said the captain,
extending his hand with frank cordiality,

The baronet gave him the tips of his fingers, a scowling
frown contracting his brows. The next instant he offered
his arm to Lady Marguerite, and led her away—the coun-
tess was awaiting her hesaid. Nothing dashed by his
evident dislike and ill-humor, the captain followed them
into the grand gloom of the old ehgpel, where the coun-
tess still sat. ‘She looked up in unutterable surprise at
his sudden appearance.

“Why bless my soul,’?? she exclaimed, regarding him
over her goggles, ‘‘who is it? Why ’tis Fossbrooke—
Captain Fossbrooke |?

The captain bowed profoundly, and expressed himself
highly flattered to know that her ladyship remembered
him. He was making a sketching tour through the High-
lands.”?

“Why, I thought you were a soldier,’’ interrupted the
dowager spitefully.

“So lL am, and begging your ladyship’s pardon, an
artist too, in my way. Would you do my poor sketch the
honor to look at it?’

‘To look at it, please,’’ whispered Marguerite, her
radiant face all smiles and blushes, ‘‘you will be so
pleased, I know!”?

The artist drew the sketch from his portfolio, and laid
it before her; and the dowager condescended to examine
it. Her eyes brightened beneath her goggles, as she
looked.

“Why, young man,” she cried.at last, “this thing is
worthy of a place in my gakery at’Mortlake! I never saw
a finer landscape! Do you care Lo sell it?”

“Tt isn’t finished yet,’ replied Captain Fossbrooke,
flushing with gratification; ‘‘it will make a finer appear-
ance by far when it is complete.” :

‘Well, complete it then, aud I'll give yon a gQod price
forit. Whatdo youwant? Will three hundred pounds
do???

“That would be avery generous remuneration,’ re-
plied the captain, “but if your ladyship would accepr—”’
But she cut him short with a gesture.

“J never accept anything,’ she said.
enough to pay for all I want. Mind, the
as soon asitis done. Why can’t you do
that, Brompton ?!’? she continued, turning
“What has become of all your talent?”

Sir Bayard did not reply, but the captain did.

“OQ yes,’? he putin pleasantiy, “Sir Bayard does dabble
in colors toe. Ireme'uber now, my friend, Colonei Rich-
mond Brooke, used to speak of Sir Bayard as_an artist.”

The baronet’s face began to loseits color, and his eyes
to wander restlessly beneath the captain’s steady gaze,
and he stammered wretchedly in his attempts to reply.

“If he’d spoken of him as a fool, he’d have been nearer
the truth, I think,’? muttered the dowager, under her
breath; then aloud: ‘Here, Marguerite, give the captain a
sandwich and a bottle of champagne,”’ she said, ‘‘and
then we'll gather up, and get ready for starting.”

Marguerite obeyed with blushing eagerness, and while
the captain, sitting down beside the countess, uncorked
his champagne and ate his sandwich, talking all the
while with that nameless*ease and grace that character-
ized all his movements, the baronet, utterly unable to
control his blanching cheeks and shaking knees, availed
himself of the pretext of seeing that the carriage was
ready, and made his escape.

“With your ladyship’s kind permission.’’ ventured the
artist, after he had placed the ladies in the carriage, stand-
ingin the noonday sunlight, his handsome face, and
bright-brown eyes all aglow with life and genial humor,
“I}1 callat Ravenswold inaday ortwo and bring the
sketch?’ F

And the countess nodded in her grim, abrupt way; and
mentally anathematized herself the moment after when
her sharp eyes caught sight of Marguerite’s vivid blushes
and lingering glances as the carriage rattled away.

“A pretty mess I've made of it,’? she soliloquized,
“civing him an excuse to come—and the girl is head-over-
neels in love with him already.’

They droye a mile or two farther down amid the high-
lands to see the cavern, which was a weird and wonder-
ful subterranean abode, running for miles beneath the
base of a rocky cliff, roofed with glittering stalactites,
and floored with mosaic like excrescences that gleamed
and flashed in the light of their torches like precious
stones. The countess and Marguerite were carried away
with delight and admiration, and lingered long after Sir
Bayard warned them that the weather had changed and
the day was far advanced. There were so many wonders
to admire, so many new sights at every step, that they
lingered in blissful forgetfulness. The voice of their coach-
man aroused them from their dream.

“IT beg your ladyship’s pardon,” he said, addressing the
countess; ‘but there be every sign as warns ye when a
storm’s a brewin’, andI thought it best to fasten the
?osses, and come.down an’ tell ye.”

And at the same moment, as if in confirmation of his
words, a roll of thunder awoke a thousand reverberating
echoes around them. Marguerite grew pale with alarm
and the countess went stumping off toward the entrance
at a furions rate.

“You villain!’ she cried, with her characteristic un-
reason, aS another peal seemed to shake the foundations
of the mountain; ‘‘why didn’t you come and tell me be-
fore? What made you wait till the last moment ?’’

“I beg your grace’s pardon,”' implored the driver; ‘‘but
Sir Bayard was up,A minnit or so ago.’?

‘Hush with your clatter, will you? If I’m caughtin
the storm it shall cost you your place, that's all. Here,
Brompton, don’t stand there like a gaping idiot. Can't
you help me to get out ?”’

Sir Bayard flew to her assistance bowing like a man-
darin, while. Marguerite, glad to escape his attentions,
accepted the assistance of the guide.

The storm was certainly brewing, and that with fright-
ful rapidity, when they gained the outside world again.
The west Was one great mass of boiling black, edged with
brassy yellow where the jurid sun was going down; and
the thunder bellowed inthe distance like the guns ina
great battle.

‘J think we had better return to the cave fill the storm
is over,’ suggested the baronet, as he surveyed the omin-
ous sky.

“You do?’ snarled the dowager, as she hobbled on to-
ward the carriage; ‘“‘then take shelter init. If you want
to be buried in that pit o’ fire and brimstone in a thun-
der storm ‘tis more than I do. Here, Murguerite, be
quick, and now, sir’’—addressing the driver—‘drive for
your life; if yon don’t get back to the old castle before the
storm breaks Ill clip your eurs.”?

Sir Bayard sprang to his seat without another word,
and the coachman mounting his box lashed his horses
like a madman. But the highland roads were rough and
bad, andin the gloom of the waning afternoon it was a
matter of exceeding difficnity to distinguish one road from
another. The poor fellow had not driven half a mile;be-
fore he was utterly bewildered.

“But he kept on, the flery animals: at. their best speed”
and growing wilder with the blaze of the lightning in
their eyes.

“Are we in sight of the ee ?? demanded the coun-
tess, shuddering at every fresh peal.

“Not yet, your ladyship,’’ replied the bewildezed coach-
man, urging his steeds into a lonely lane, which ran
through the heart of a forest of firs.

Sir Bayard opened the carriage door and looked out, as
the darkness began to close around them.
“We are on the Mie road!’ he cried out.

“ve money
picture’s mine
something like
to the baronet.

“The man
has lost his way!" .. i

The countess utte acry of range and execration, but
an awful shock, as if heaven and earth were coming to-
gether, and at the same instant a blinding flash
silenced her. The very air wus charged with sulphurous
gas, and the affrighted horses, maddened beyond all con-
trol, shot off at a break-neck pace.

The baronet put out his head to call to the driver, and,
to his utter cousternation, saw that the box was empty.
The driver was gone,

On andon they went, the horses making great, flying
leaps, and dragging the carriage after them, over ruts,
and rocks, and prostrate trees, the thunder rattling over-
head, the blazing lightning revealing the somber woods
and distant mountain peaks,

The poor dowager, humble and gniet enough in her
peri! and fear, crouched down upon the floor of the car-
ringe, and burying her face in the cushions, mouned and
prayed for help. Marguerite sat erect, calm and quiet,
showing no sign of what she felt, save in the deadly pal-
lor of her face. ;

Sir Bayard had heen watching for 2 chance to rein in
the runaway horses, but finding that such an attempt
would be worse than madness, he returned to his seat.
By the incessant glare of the lightning he could see that
they were nearing a dismal monntain gorge, and the
horses were increasing rather than diminishing their
speed. He turned toward Lady Marguerite with an anx-
ious face.

“Ludy Margucrite,”’ he said, putting out his arm to sup-
port her, “try to be cali; we are nearing @ dangerous de-
clivity—allow me to support you—the shock will be ter-
rible.”?

But even in that moment of supreme danger she turned
from him,her face white and cold,her blue eyes glittering.

“LT do not need you, Sir Bayard,’ she replied, haughtily,
“and the countess does.”

He bad no time for remonstrance, for the horses went
over with one flying bound, and the carriage followed
with an awful crash; and then the countess uttered a
thrilling cry, and, with the sound in her ears, Marguerite
felt herself going down, down, thousands of fathoms
deep, it seemed, und then all was utter darkness.

CHAPTER L,
NHW FRIENDS.

Lady Marguerite awoke to conscionsness: in the dim
twilight ofa pleasaut little ehumber, a sweet, fresh breeze
blowing through the open window, and cooling her fe-
vered cheeks, and a soft haud ‘smoothing back her hair
with soothing, «uinty tonehes,

Her temples throbbed painfully, and she felt very weak
and languid after: her dreadful fright, and the dainty
touches were so soothing «hat she closed her eyes again,
and lay for several moments in half-unconscious enjoy-
ment, But curiosity began to- assert itself, and she
opened them again; and this time she saw the face of a
young girl bending over her—a rare and lovely face, 18
fair and pure as a pearl. Ste smiled’ involuntarily, and
the pretty, rosy lips above her smiled back in response.

 

 

THE NEW YORK. WEEKLY. #>>

And the next instant the pearl-fair face vanished, and a
rough, bearded one looked down in its place. Lady Mar-
guerite strnggled up to a sitting posture, but the Clr
made her faint and dizzy.

“Where am I?’ she asked gazing about her with be-
wildered eyes.

The young maiden, with the pearl-fair face advanced to
her side. ’

“You are at my aunt’s, Mrs. Keith; and. this is.
Doctor Renfrew, who lives just below Strathspey Towers,
and Ian Maggie, his daugiiter,’’ she suid sweetly.

“And you hada pretty rough shaking up, last night,’
put in the old doctor, “so lie down and keep quiet,—
Maggie will bring you some breakfiust presently,”

The terrible dangers’of the past night came back with
awful distinctness to Lady Marguerite’s memory.

; “And the countess ?”’ she asked growing pale, ‘‘what of
er ?”?

“Nothing, only she’s half dead from the fright, and she’s
gota little twist in her ankle, nothing serious,’’ repiied
the doctor.

“And the gentleman, Sir Bayard Brompton,’ added
Maggie considerately.

“Ig bruised pretty badly,” finished the doctor, as he
walked away.

Marguerite lay back upon her pillows, with a sigh of re-
lief. They had passed through the awful danger compar-
atively unhurt. Presently she asked another question.

“Who found us? How did we get here?’

“Captain Fossbrooke found you,’ replied Maggie; ‘‘he
saw you at the old Castile, I think, and seeing that a storm
was coming, hurried after you, to bring you here till it
was over. But you had left the cave when he reached it,
and he did not come up with you, till after the horses had
run down tie gorge. He found the carriage smashed,
and Sir Bayard standing in desp:ir over the countess and
yourself, believing you both to be dead. But the captain
knew better, so he got help and brought you here. And
now,’? she added, smiling brightly, ‘‘you know everything,
and you musi lie quite still, tii ] run down to the kitchen
and fetch your breakfast.”

Lady Marguerite obeyed, and in ten minutes Maggie
was back again, with a tempting little meal, on an old-
fashioned silver tray; and with it, a small bunch of roses
and Engtish violets.

“Captain Fossbrooke sent these,’”? she said, as she put
the flowers in Pearl’s hands, ‘‘with his compliments, and
he would like to comein and inquire how you are, but
papa won’t let him ——, papa’s awful cross about his
patients.”’

Lady Marguerite did nof answer, she averted her face
to hide the burning flush that suffused it.

‘When did the captain come?” she asked after a pause.

“Captain Fossbrooke? Oh, he boards here, you Know.
Aunt Keith always takes boarders in summer, and the
Captain’s been here a week or two. He’s ona sketch-
ing tour, and he draws beautifully. Come now, let me
assist you to rise—there, the pillow will support you, and
you can eat your breakfast nicely, while I runin aud speak
to the countess.”

“Tell her I’m very glad she’s not seriously injured,’’
said Marguerite; ‘and—and—you may,’’ she stammered,
her cheeks glowing liké peonies—*tyou may say to Cap-
tain Fossbrooke, that lam very much obliged to him, for
the flowers.”?

“Very welll’? and away wen¢ Maggie, trilling a little
Highland melody.

And Lady Marguerite trifled with her tempting break-
fast for a minute or two, and then lay down, burying her
face amid her pillows, with a sharp, aching pain at her
heart. ;

That afternoon the earl, who had returned from Lan-
cashire, drove over with Lady Neville, and Judith, Lady
Marguerite’s maid; and for the first time in haifa score of
years, he met with Doctor Renfrew. The old Scotchman
stood stubbornly, his keen gray eyes looking straight be-
fore him, as the peer advanced, determined if there was
any salutation between them, that he would not be the first
to speak. The earl did not hesitate, however, he came
up, with extended hand.

“How are you, doctor?’ he said, a wan smile lighting
his worn, white face; ‘‘ you.and I parted a little at odds,
if I remember rightly. Are you friendly enough to forget
and forgive?’

“TJ am friendly enough to forgive you,’’ replied the doc-
tor, ‘‘but forgetting is another thing—I can’t do that, Lord
Strathspey!’

The earl winced, and hesitated an instant before he
spoke again. ;

" “No, you can't forget!’’ he said at last, an unutterable
despair in his voice and face, ‘‘and I won’t ask it! but
doctor,’ he added, with a sudden passion, ‘‘you were my
best and earliest friend, and I don’t like you to think me
an unprincipled villian. Doctor, in all the wide earth,
there is no wretch so utterly lost and accursed as I am.”’

The old man put out his hand and clasped the earl’s in
a hearty grasp.

“My poor Angus,”’ he said, “I knew it would come to
this—and now it is too late!”’

“Too late!?? echoed the earl, ‘‘too late!
stood by her grave yesterday! She lies in the common
Potter’s field on Lancaster Moor!’

There was a something inexpressibly thrilling in the
man’s utter despair. The doctor drew his hand across
his eyes. ¢

‘‘And she loved you so, Angus,” he said; ‘‘poor thing,
Ishall never forget her last words to me—‘tell my hus-
band that I love him, and forgive him vy

“Don’t!” cried the earl, putting his hand to his heart,
“T cannot bear it! Great Heaven, doctor, remorseis a ter-
rible thing! 1 wish I conid die! Ifit were not such a
cowardly thing to do, 1d soon end all this!”

“You will do better to live, and clear your wife’s slan-
dered name; you are not ready to close your accounts

et.”

“True enough! But Ic: :uot banish her face one in-
stant—sleeping or Wuking, ‘* is before my-eyes; her
white, hopeless face looking ‘ough the bars of a mad-
house. Ishall go mad mysel. »on! But that was not
my work, doctor.’’

“What? consigning your wii
“Yes! Sir Marshall Neville
without my knowledge, while 1

“But you didn’t try to undo it,
said the doctor, mercilessly.

“No, because I doubted her fidelity.”

“And what lias changed your mind, Lord Strathspey?’

The old man’s wrath was rising again, but the earl did
not resent it; he auswered meekly:

“7 cannot teli—L do not believe the young man who
bears my name, is my son, for one thing.’

“Ivs a marvel to ime that yon did not find that out long
ago,’? returned the doctor, ‘‘A mother’s instincts are al-
ways true—the boy in the Tyrol was yours, and your wife
knew it; but, woman-like, she loved you so tenderly that
she kept all her hopes and fears to herself, and tried to
get atthe bottom of the mystery before she disturbed
your mina.” :

“There’s where the trouble began—if she had only
trusted me at'first, and had no secrets from me.—I
thought the child was hers—born-before our marriage.”

The doctor uitered an exciamation of disgust.

“Just like ajealous fool!) he exclaimed. ‘*Couldn’t the
child’s age determine that?”

“fT took no thonght of its age,’ replied the earl, humbly,

“No, you didn't,” stormed the old man, “you just
jumped at conclusions, to suit your jealous faucy—you
should have gone to a mad-house, hot your poor wife, the
truest and fondest wife in England.”

* The earl stood silent in the summer twilight his face
ghastly in the gloom.

“Yes,” he said, slowly, at last, his voice broken and un-
natural, ** F believe it all now, and I would give my soul’s
eternal welfare to recall the past—but it is too late, too
late! ;

She’s dead—I

 

9 & mad-house?’’

1 his wife did it, and
1s abroad.”’

‘hile there was time,’?

{To BE CONTINUED.]}

 

OUR KNOWLEDGE Box.

A Few Paragraphs Worth Remembering.

 

har ~Correspondenis asking questions of this Depart-
ment are particularly requested to address them to us
on a separate slip of paper, indorsed ‘For the Knowl-
edge Box.”’

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
Under the Gas-Liqght.—l. Clean your teeth before going to bed.
2. See No. 36 for recipes for various inks. 3. We know nothing to
the contrary. 4. We have ne recipe of practical value. Only an
experienced person can make it. 5. Glycerine soap is a very pop-
ular toilet artitle. It is also a good shaving soup. 6. Common
table salt is recommended to get rid of bedbugs, but a correspond-
ent who bas tried it recommends the following recipe: Oue ounce
of quicksilver and the whites of three e well beaten, in the
way egys are beaten, with a kuife or spoon, and applied an inch
around the knobs and other infested parts with a feather or brush.
The greatest difficulty is to get the two articles to mix but perge-
verance will overcome that....... J. H. W.—No recipe of value....
L, M. K.—To WasH Point Lack COLLARS.—First, baste the col-
larin good shape on a piece of white muslin; wash it clean in
warm water, previously dissolving in the water a very small piece
of soap. Rinse, and putit in some very thin starch, as only a
little “stiffuess is required. Hang it near the fire, and, when par-
tially dry, lay it over a clean cloth, and press lightly with a warm
iron, not alowing it to dry under the iron. Then sit down, take
apin, and, beginning at one end, pick out carefully every loose
loop in the collar, especially those on the outer edge, Tiis pro-
cess must be continued until the collar 1s quite ary, as upon it de
pends almost entirely the beauty of the lace. It isa rather te-
dious Operation, but lace collars very seldom need doing up, and
ifdone properly in this way, will look about the same as when
new. Another way to clean point lace collara is to cover the
article well with moist magnesia; over this lay a sheet of coarse
brown paper, and press with a moderately hot iron. The heat
melts the grease, which is absorbed by the magnesia. By these
means it will be always fresh. If a more violent process is need-
éedjcover a glass bottle with flannel, wind the lace around it,
tacking on bot sides tothe flannel; cover the whole witha
piece of flaunel sewed firmly. BYPep over night with soap ana
cold water. Next morning wash with hot water and soap, then
steep for some hours in cold water, and dry near the fire. Ke-
move the covering. No ironing is required . L—NO... 60.24

Barnes.—DISINFECTANT.—A saturated solution of permanga-
nate of potassa is one of the most efficient and elegant of all dis-
infectants., Twenty-five grains will be ample for two quarts ef
wat-r, and a tablespoonful ina soup pave of wat«r, exposed in a
room of ordinary dimensions, quickly removes any ordin ¥
amell, When the pink color disappears more must be added. It
is frequently used to remove the smell of bilge-water and guano
from’ ships: It speedily cleanses foul water and makesit drink-
able. A tablespoonful to a hogshead is generally enough, but
more may be added, until the water retains a slight pinkish
tint, This will disappear by putting a stick in the water for a few
minutes. No sick room—espeeially one in which an infectious
diseases is prevailing—should be without this invaluable disin-
fectant.......04 Boston Girl.—REMEDY FOR TENDER FEET.— A
soiution of tannic acid is an excellent application for tender feet,
and is also a preventive of the offensive odor attendant upon their
profuse perspiration. It can be obtained of almost any druggist.
A strong deeoctiou of oak bark will also be found very efficacious.
rage tae Mildred. RN STARCH JELLY CAKE.—One cup of butter,
two of sugar, ohe of corn starch, one of flour, one of sweet
milk, whites of seven eggs, one Lengnpontul of creamn of tartar,
half a teuspoonful of soda. When baked, as you take fron]

 

 

 

 

 

Z. C. R—1. To PickLE CuccMBERS.—Get very small cucumbers;
wipe them clean, and lay them into stone jars. Allow one quart
of coarse salt to a pail full of water; boil the salt and water till
the salt is dissolved; run it boiling hot on the cucumbers; cover
them up tight, and let them stand twenty-four hours. Tarn them
into a basket to drain. Boil as much of the best cider vinegar as
will cover the cucumberg: wash out the jars, and put the cucum-
bers into them. Turn the vinegar on boiling hot; cover them with
cabbage leaves, and cover the jars tight. In forty-eight hours
they will be fitfor use. Pickles of any kind are good made in the
same way, 2. TO PREPARE CITRON MELON.—Cui it in pieces the
size you wish, take out the soft center and seeds, pare off the
green rind, then throw the pieces in cold water and let them stand
all night. Next day boil them, in. water enough to cover them,
for twenty minutes, adding alum the size ot a walnut to each
quart of water, to green them; 3-41b. sugar to 1 Jb, fruit, slice
some lemons, and put in also essence of ginger to taste. Boil till
Gear... .. Gaston Dantree.—fO REMOVE 'TAN.—In the season wa-
termellon rinds will be found serviceable; but there is nothing
better than fresh lemon. juice. Cut a lemon in two and pass over
the tace, or squeeze the juice on a wet-towel and wash the face
with it. Lemon juice js also excellent for softening and whitening
thehands. Don’t try th pe once or twice, and if it fails then to
have the desired efiect, sty it is a failure, but persevere in its ap-
plication a week or two... .. Jokn.—Yo be had of any druggist...
Sangerfest.—1. To make HARD WHITE Soap, to fifteen pounds of
lard or suet, made boiling hot, and thirty-six gallons of hot lye,
or solution of potash that wil bear up an egg high enough to
leave a piece bigas a five c-nt piece, bare, Take outa little and
cool it, If no grease rises itis done. If any grease appears, add
lye, and» boil till no gréase risés? Add three’quarts of fine
salt, and boilit up again. If this does not harden well on cooling
add more salt. Ifitis to be perfumed, melt next day, add the
perfume and run it in molds or cutin cakes, 2. No recipe......
L. C. R. B.—To CuRL FEATHERS, first steam them over the tea-
kettle-spout, then lightly shake them in front of the fire, and, if
old feathers, they will curl up as good as new. Some use a knife
manufacttred expressly ‘for the purpose. There are establish-
ments in this city which do a large business in this branch of in-
dustry. Stbscriber.—We will answer in our next issue...........-
Buena, Vista.—RENDERING WOOD INCOMBUSTIBLE.—A yery good
way of rendering w@od incombustible is to soak it in a strong sol-
ution of alum and the sulphate of copper. About one pound of
dame andeone of sulphate ef eepptr siculd be sufficient for one
hundred gallons,of water. Th substances are dissolved in a
small quantity of hot water, then mixed with the waterin the ves-
sel in which the wood is to be steeped, The timber to be rendered”
fireproof can be kept under the liquor by stones or any other mode
of sinking it. All that is required isa water-tight vessel of sufficient
dimensions to hold endugh of the liquor to cover the timber,
which should be allowed to steep for about four or fivedays. After
this, it is taken out and suffered to dry thoroughly..before, being
used. <A plan of rendering the wood partially fireproof would be
to whitewash it two or three times. You will probably require a
glue to hold against fire; here is the recipe: ‘Mix a handful of
quicklime in four ounces of linseed Oil, boil them to agood think-
ness; then spread it.on tin plates in the shade, and it will become
exceedingly hard, but may be easily dissolved over the fire, and
used as ordinary giue......Reader.—See reply to “A. F. §.......
Jack Ryerson.—Try caster oil. brandy and bay ruam—about one
third each. Mix well before using. If anything will help
the hair this preparation will. _When the hair is falling out
a little cantharides, added to the ingredients named, will have a
marked henefit.... ....Inquirer.—Powdered niter, to remove
freckles, isapplied to the face with a piece of flannel slightly
moistened with water...... E. W. H.1. See No. 2. 2. Rvssia
SALVE. Take equal parts of yellow wax and sweet oil; melt
slowly, carefully stirring. When cooling stir in a small quantity
of glycerine. ‘This is good for all kinds of wounds, cuts, ete......

 
  

 

 

 
 
 
  

 

 

 

 

’

 
  

 

   
  

  

 

Left-Handed Jake—1l. To get fleshy eat articles containing
the most starch and sugar. 2. Take a cut lemonand rub the
face with it. Tt will greatly improve the complexion. 3. Castor
oil, brandy, bay rum and cartharides will promote the growth o£
the hair..... WV. Oliver.—W HITEWASH.— For rough outside walls—
those exposed to the weatlier—the best mixture is clear lime and
water. Any animal or vegetable substance added diminishes the
adhesion and durability of the wash. But if the wall is hard andl
smooth the wash is improved by a mixture of very fine sand, as
much as will mix and can be applied. For inside walls a little
giue or the whites of eggs will greatly improve the wash....... -
Katharine.—How TO MANAGE WASHING.—A lady of experience
writes as follows: ‘The evening previous to washing-day I put
on the boiler and two gallons of soft water, allowing about &
quarter of a pound of sal-soda and a quarter of a pound of soa)
sliced ; let them boil together until the so: p and soda are Cissol ved
I then put the fine white clothes into one tub, and the coarsest
onesinto anotber.. To the water in the boiler I add enough cold
water to make the whole Iuké-warm, and pour it over theclothes,
and cover the tubs with a blanket. In the morning Ladd a pailful
ot hot water to the fine clothes, and rub them well from this. They

hen go through another rub in fresh water, are next boiled
twenty minutes, sudsed, rinsed in blue water, and hung up todry.
The coarse clothes receive the same treatment. My colored clothes
are washed, rinsed and starched before hanging out. In starch-
ing my muslins and the shirt bosoms and wristbands, I use boiled
starch, being careful torub’'in well the starch; that is, after the
shirt-bosom has been dipped and wrung out as dry as possible. It
is well rubbed and patted between the hands. This is a secret
known to all good laundry women, and it is almost impossible to

revent the iron from sticking, unless ihis precaution is observed.

cannot make my husband’s collars stiff enough with boiled
starch, so I always use cold starch for them. Take two teaspoon-
fuls of starch, and perhaps a half teacupiul of water, or a little
more. Haye the starch thoroughly mixed before dipping in a
collar, wring out, andrub and pat pith the hand, spread ona
clean towei, and when all are done, #oll up the towel and iron. in
about an hour.”’

Medical Department.

Sooner, B. F. W., Anxiety, Harness-Maker, Seven-Up, Anxious
Reform, J. R., Passaic, Dearborn and M. M. M.—1. Bathe night
and morning in cold water and keep your thoughts off the sub-
ject. Avoid late suppers. Be reguijarin your habits. Let yeur
diet be simple and wholly free from spices of every description.
Don’t touch alcoholic liquors, Mingle in cheerful company. At-
tend theatrical performances that please the ear more than the
eye, Rise early and take a great deal of exercise, if possible, du-
ring the day and early in tle evening. In bed lie on your right
side—never on your back. Let the covering be light. Don’t be
discouraged if gon don’t get well in a week ora month. Perse-
vere and retief from suffering will eventually crown your efforts.
2. We cannot name any particular physician. There are a great
many good ones in the city. Apply to one in good standing—a
regular family practitioner. 3. Avoid quacks as you would a pes-
tilence. Place no confidence in the circulars they send through
the mail. Your malady, if long continued, is as we have before said
to others, very difficult to cure, 1t sometimes defying or baffling
for a Jong time the greatest medical skill, but time and patience
will achieve wonders, Rost you do nothing to aggravate the
ills of which you complain.

Elly K.—We cannot aid you.

C. Bayward.—Most druggists have preparations of calisaya
bark, containing, in addition, a little iron, which physicians pre-
scribe for nervous debility. The usual dose is three teaspoonfuls
three times a bon after each meal. .

Anxious Ike.—Violent exertion might have the effect of which
you complain, and we would therefore advise you to be moderate
in the exercise referred te. The best time to bathe, especially in
your case, is just before retiring at night, and.immediately after
rising in the morning; but it you have not the facilities for doing
as directed do the best youcan. A sponge and cold water are
almost always attainable. Use them at least once a day.

Will Carroll, New Orleans.—It does not prevent progeny, though
it may affect them very seriously in after years.. Consult a phy-
sician.

Captain Koker.—l. Your complaint is doubtless vertigo. Avoid
late suppers, and take a teaspoonful of Epsom salts in a third of
a tumbler of water, three times a week, before breakfast. 2. A
spare diet will help you. 3, Apply a little glycerine to the face
occasionally.

A True Lover of the New York Weekly.—Pimples are caused by
an impure condition of the blood, Take sulphur—a thimbleful
in a glass of milk before breakfast—three times a week.

W. W. W.—Certain excesses have produced your ailment. Use
the sponge or sitz-bath night and morning.

U.S. G,—Gentian root is a good stomachic.

 

The Last of the Trappers.

A correspondent of the New York Times, while sojourn-
ing in the vicinity of Toledo, Ohio, met a celebrated
veteran of the border, Who is Known as ‘the last of the
trappers.’’- Peter Navarre is the last of four brothers who
settied near Toledo in 1806, when 12,000 Indians camped
on this territory. He is, eiglty-seven years of age, but
sound in mind and body. Taught early in all the craft of
the Indians, he served successfully as a spy through all
our border wars. He was present.at the battle of the
Thames, when Tecumseh was; killed, and with his own
hands buried that redoubtableswarrior.; He declares that
the body suffered no mutilation except by a bullet-shot
after death. , The story that some soldiers skinned the
chieftain he asserts to be an utter falsehood. As to who
killed Tecumseh, he says it is impossible to tell, He fired
at him many times himself, and so did many others. And
no man, in his opinion, can claim for himself the honor o
taking the great leader’s life.

NEW STORIES.

The stories named below, which we shall publish as
rapidly as possible, will enable our readers to pass their
leisure hours with pleasure and profit:

A Silver Brand; or, The Secrets of Schwar-
zenburg. By CHARLES T. MANNERS. This
story will be commenced next week.

The Dead Duelist; or, The Mystery of Sea-
Bagle Tavern. By Howarp W. Macy.

The Wickedest Man in the Mines; or, The
Mystery of Gormsby Ranch. By Manxi-
POSA WEIR. :

Whose Wife is She; or, Bettina, the Italian
Nurse. By ANNIE LISLE (a new contributor.)

Moccasin Mose; or, The Trail of Death. By

BURKE BRENTFORD.

Barefoot Billy's Fortune. A Story for Boys. By
GAFFER GRAY.

Chipmuck, the Wyandotte; or, Kenton’s

; Bloody Kentuckians. A Narrative of the
Old Frontier. By SANDY GRISWOLD.

The Gold Stream Ghost; or, The Dakotah’s
Revenge. A Romance of Colorado. By Mav-
RICE SILINGSBY.

Caressing a Snake; or, The Widower’s Peril.
By Mrs. M..V. Vicror.

The Female Pilot. By Roger STarsuox.

Mountain Tom. A Story of the New Diamond Fields.
By NED BUNTLINE.
Life’s Peril; or, The Drunkard’s Daughter.

A; Temperance Story. By NED BUNTLINE.

 

 

 

 

 

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year, T. ELLWOOD ZELL, Philadelphia. w47 lt

4 ( YN ie 7 MADE-RAPIDLY with Stencil and KRey-
N 4 Check Outfits, Catalogue, samples, and full
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w1L-52t

 

 

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surprise. I can't see What it all means, er why Aunt | weather at least.” ‘Papa,’ culled a veice as sweet us the note of a thrush, | the oven, lay ona flat surface; spread over a layer of jelly on _for us than at anything else. Particulars tree. G. STINSON
Neville should object to you.” They had reached the ruins by this time, and as they ' “she’s awake. Come in, please!’? the top, then lay on unother cake; then jelly, then cake........ .. 4 & CO., Fine Art Publishers, Portland, Maine, WS-S2t
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NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 30, 187%,

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NEXT WEEK:
Charles T. Manners’ New Story.

aS Next Week we shall commence a new story of ex-
citing interest, by CHARLES T. MANNERS, author of ‘‘Oc-
tavia’s Pride,” ‘“‘The Lord of Lyle,” etc. It is entitled:

A SILVER BRAND;

OR, THE

Secrets of Schwarzenberg.

It is in the gifted author’s happiest vein, abounding in
delightful mysteries, which are so ingeniously worked up
that the interest is sustained until the very last chapter.

Liquid Death.

As we promised, we again open fire on the traffic which
is doing so much to demoralize and weaken our nation.

There is not among our readers a drinking man who
does not know from experience that he is injuring him-
self, in body and mind, by each draught of alcoholic drink
that passes his lips.

There is not a man engaged in the liquor trade, whole-
sale or retail, that does not see daily and hourly the dam-
age which strong drink is doing. And the traffic which
is su profitable to his pocket is ever weighing like lead on
his conscience, if he has any, while he thinks of the lives
he helps to sacrifice, of the fortunes he is clouding, of the
misery he helps to create.

Worst of all, we repeat, is the habit, by far too univer-
sal, of selling wine and strong drink to juniors—to mere
children. We hear of it every day, and of crimes caused
by the inebriation of children.

There are laws to prevent this, and they should be mer-
cilessly enforced, for the principal criminal in all such
cases is he who gives the stimulant that blinds reason
and causes crime to be committed.

We look, oh! how earnestly words may not tell, for the
time when the traffic in strong drink will become so un-
popular that no man with any pretensions to honor or
morality will engage in it—and the time is now, when no
decent man will demean himself by giving to women and
children that which he Knows is ruin to strong men.

Let every good minister in his pul pit—every true editor
with his pen, every orator from the forum join with us in
@ crusade against this great evil and help in the work of
molding the pubiic migd to the duty of the hour

Were all those we have named to enter earnestly into

 

 

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-

 

 

 

 

. this noble work, we would soon see a marked diminution

in misery, poverty and crime.
To work then, you who can—to work! and Heaven will
aid and bless your efforts!

THE LADIES’ WORK-BOX.

A department designed especially for ladies, wherein will be an-
swered ali questions which may be asked by correspondents re-
jating to fashion, the different ae of dress, combination of
colors, needie-work of all kinds, the arrangement of the hair,
etiquette—in short, anything of especial interest to ladies.

 

 

 

Correspondents to the Ladies’ Work-Box will do us a great
favor if they will confine themselves strictly to such matters as
are indicated in the heading of this department. If they wish
to indulge in any commendatory remarks concerning our stories,
or to ask for any information which more appropriately belongs to
any other of our departments, will they have the kindness to put
the same on a separate slip of paper so that it may be handed over

to the person to whose department it belongs ? Communications
to the Work-Box are growing so rapidly as to render this neces-
gary. .

‘‘A Southern Mother.’’—Of course we will, and with
great pleasure. Whenever you wish any information in
regarda*to'your own-or-your childrens” garments, write
and ask, and the Work Box will answer as promptly as
possible. Sent catalogue, and should you send for any of
the patterns you will find directionsin full upon each one,
In sending be careful to get the right numbers, and also
the right sizes and ages of the children.

“A, R. B.’—White alpaca will make you a pretty, in-
expensive wedding dress for Fall if you are to be married
in the evening or in full dress. You can get this material
at any firm from fifty cents to one dollara yard. Ifyou
wish a useful day or church dress get the French poplin,
in some of the handsome neutral tints.

“‘Mareia Leaver.’’—Fringe would be a pretty and fash-
ionable finish for your tidy, or you could have just a row
of the batting.

“Mattie Russell.’”—You can use both puffs and raffles
on your dress if you wish elaborate trimming; if not, the
ruffies will be easier put on, and rather more dressy.
You must always have water on your table, and serve
your coffee the last ofaH. Haveitstrong and in small
cups.

“Maud and Floy.’’—The hair is brown. Oneis rather
lighter than the other. That is all the difference in the
ie sent. Both are very fine and pretty, but both are

rown.

‘Mollie Chink.’”—Yes. The money should be sent in
advance forthe paper. Certainly we will get the frizzes
for you with pleasure, for the fifty cents.

‘“‘Alicia.”*—There is such an article but it is not reliable.
We cannot recommend its use.

“Allie.%—Sent patterns as directed. The dress shields
will cost any price from 25 cts. to 75 cts. a pair, depending
entirely upon the kind you get. There are two sizes of
each kind; those of rubber-cloth cost 25 cts. and 50 cts. a
pair. The seamless perfumed dress shields cost 60 cts.
and 75 cts. per pair. The season for fall goods is very
backward, owing to the intense heat, but we hope soon to
be able to tell you something about new materials.

“Annie of Lewis,’’°—Oertainly, the Work-Box will send
the frizzes, if you wish. Butin writing your address,
please do so plainly. Wereally cannot tell whether you
wrote Sauyon or Langon, Ferris, Lewis, or Levis. Yes;
postage stamps will answer every purpose. We sent cata-
logue; hope the address was riglit.

“Anxious One” says: ‘My opinion of the New YorK
WEEKLY and the Ladies’ Work-Box is contained in two
words: downright splendid.”? The catdlogue for fall is
now ready. Will send. you one when your, address is
given. Wethink you are perfectly rightin wishing to go
to work, andif you can use your sewing machine, und
have taste, we see no reason why you should not try
dressmaking. With Butterick’s patterns you will have
full directions for putting together and trimming. Any
information you desire the Work-Box will cheerfully give
you. A variety of causes will turn hair gray; sometimes
ill-health, often trouble, a sudden and violent shock, and
many other reasons besides age.. We know a young man,
who is barely nineteen, whose hairis almost perfecily
white, and without any apparent cause. We do not
know ot the circular.

“Velveteen.”’—You can get a good article of velveteen
for $1 50, $1 75 and $2a yard. Very good costs from
$2 50 to $4 im desirable or uncommon colors. The quality
of biack you want cost about $1 75a yard, and you will
find it lasts much better than the cheap, thin material
you buy for $1. For a-suit for your little boy it will take
about three and ahalf yards. The gilt braid is not worn
now, So we Cunnot tell you the price.

“Alive H. says: “I always turn to the Work-Box first
when J] take up the NEw YORK WEEKLY, for it seems
like talking to a veritable person, so kind and obliging,
so sincerely you seem to endeavor to please all and every
one.”? Weare sorry not to be able to find the picture you
mention. Certainly, the Work-Box will get the shawl for
you. You can purchase a shoulder shawl for any price
from $3 to $8, according to size and quality.

“Mrs. Jennie C.*’—In the catalogue of patterns you will
see abl the new and desirable styles for children’s gar-
ments, and from the pictures you can judge much better
what they are like, than from our description, _We_have
sent you the catalogue, and if after seeing it you desire
any more information, write to the Work-Box, and you
will have your questions all answered.

“Almira.’—You must use your own jadgment in re-
gard to receiving the polite attentions of the gentleman.
Of course we cannot tell which he prefers, the other lady
or yourself and if he is equally attentive to both he may
not be sure himself, so he should have the opportunity of
judging. As to the kissing, we should say that might be
dispensed with.

‘Meta E. A.'’—In our article, last week, we described a
very pretty polonaise which would suit you.

‘Mrs, A. B. A., of Roseville,” says: “I have derived a
vast amount of benefit from the sensible Work-Box.”
White pique is most suitable for your year-old boy, at
this season of the year, as pique has more weight than
other white goods except Marseilles. The little sack
@resses, worn With or*without sashes, are fashionable.

“Puss Hamilton.’’—A pretty overskirt for a dressy suit
has on open front and sash endsin the back. Seventeen
ja quite pid and young enough. No, You need not ask
the genNcmian iu if it is 80 very late, but yeu should invite

ness that prevents you from asking him in then.

“Mrs. R. C. B..’—The Work Box never gets tired answer-
ing the questions of our friends. In the catalogue you
gee wrapper paterns.

“Osborne” says: “I think the Work-Box worth the
price of the paper. Ihave three little children, and it
suggests a great many things to me in regard to dressing
them.” It is now getting so cool that a set of falge curls
for the back of your head will not be uncomfortable, but
if you think your head will feel better, by all means shin-
gle your hair.

“Mrs. E. B..—Yes, you can get carpets in any and all
colors, also reps and satin to upholster furniture, but we
do not advise you to use blue, as the color is not at all
durable. Crimson, maroon, brown, or drab, will all
wear longer than blue. Green, too, is one of the most
durable colors. In furnishing your house, it is well to
consult some reliable party who thorouglily understands
the materials to cover the furniture as well as the differ-
ent kinds of wood.

“Mrs. N. A. Gilson.’’—A black polonaise of either silk,
poplin, cashmere, or alpaca, will be most serviceable to
you, for you can wear the black with any colored skirt
7 may chance to have. We are glad you ‘think the

ork-Box splendid, and contains so much useful infor-
mation.”’

“Pansy.”—Trim your crape dress with a silken fringe
the same shade, headed by a ribbon or crape plaiting
about an inch wide. Your hair is tinged with red.

“Eva A, Newcomb.”’—You can get dress shields of rub-
ber cloth of four different sizes and qualities, The shields
of the rubber cloth cost 25 cents and 50 centsa pair. The
seamless perfumed dress shields sell for 60 cents and 75
cents a pair.

“Mrs. A. A. Oliver..,—You neglected to inclose price for
overskirt. The stamp was all right, so we have sent cata-
logue. Are sorry not to be able to send pattern.

“H, G@. K.’—It takes from six yards of material, twenty-
seven inches wide, to eight yards to make a polonaise,
depending entirely upon the style it is made, and trim-
ming.

“Mrs. Ann Beers.’—The delay was owing to our not
being able to get the fall catalogues sooner. We sent
yours some two weeks ago. Certainly, the Work-Box
will send you any pattern you write for. The price you
will see under each picture in the book. Be sure and
-_ measure and number of the pattern. Also address

0 full.

“Mrs. J. A. Kerr.’—We do not charge for the Ccata-
logues, only a stamp, 3 cents, is required. We sent one
to your address, and you can select therefrom the wrap-
per pattern you most admire. The skirt and ; polonaise
of water-proof will be useful to you in cold or rainy weath-
er for walking purposes,

“Maggie May.’’—We patronize the American fashions,
for we have designers here equal to any foreign artists
that can be found. You write plainly, and that is sayin
a great deal, for many letters we receive are very difficult
to read; some we cannot decipher at all.

“L. Z. B.’’—Don’t let the hair on your arms worry you,
but just let it alone, for if you try to remove it you will
find that it only increases the growth. If you braid your
own hair, and coil it about your head, and then add one
or two curls, you will find it quite sufficient. lf you send
your name, address and a stamp we will send you a Cat-
alogue of fashions, from which you can select those for an
infant’s wardrobe you like best. The price is under each
pattern, and also tle sizes you can get,

“Constant Reader.’’—One is a ruddy brunette, the other
blonde. You write well.

“Louisa.”’"—Your questions are by no means foolish.
Yes; we have ail kinds of wrapper patterns, both loose
and tight-fitting. If you hadsent your name, address,
and a stamp we would have sent the catalogue of fall
styles, and then you could have seen all the new fashions.
In sending for patterns be sure and tell size of bust and
around the waist.

“Mollie Clink.’’—As a protection for your face you can
wear the brown vai!, but for dress you should use the
black. If you are dressing in mourning make your calico
with a skirt and polonaise, and trim neatly with narrow
ruffies. Wear a white frill or ruffle in the neck.

WOMAN'S WORK.

A VOICE FROM ONE OF THE SEWING-GIRLS,

 

 

 

After reading all the stories of the sad experience of so
many poor working-girls, which you have been so king as
to publish in your excellent NEw YORK WEEKLY, I made

‘up my mind to write you something so that you and all

your hundreds of thousands of readers might know how
the poor sewing girls of New York do, At least to tell
you how some of them do.

I live with my mother in one room for which we pay
a dollar and twenty-five cents a week rent, which is very
cheap, but to us is a considerable sum. In this room we
have our two sewing-machines, our bed, and such other
furniture as we have, and here we do our work, our eat-
ing and sleeping. You may know it is very crowded, and
is a very poor place altogether, but we have lived for
nearly four years in just this way until our sufferings have
attached us to our little room—all we have to call home.

At first when poor mother andl were left alone and
compelled to work to support ourselves, it was very hard
getting along. We did not know which way to turn, and
met so many rebuffs that we were very, very often on the
point of giving up in despair. But for mother’s sake I
persevered and was finally rewarded in a way that gave
us a start. While seeking for some work, and after a
day’s fruitless search I was going home. The tears
would come to my eyes the best I could do, and this it
was attracted the attention of a lady onthe walk. She
was a kind lady, for you know there are kind ladies, Mr.
Editor; and this one had such a big heart, so full of gen-
erosity and. earnest sympathy. She stopped me, asked
what was the matter, and she gained my confidence at
once to such anextent that I did not hesitate to tell her
the trouble we werein. If ithad not been for mother I
should never have done such a thing, but poor mother!
what couldI do, She was actually starving.

Well, the ksad lady got mother and myself each a nice
sewing-machine. They were not new, but they were good.
Then she got us some work from her neighbors and ac-
quaintances, besides giving us all she could-of her own.
For this we got good pay, sometimes a great deal more
than it was worth, and we managed to get along quite
well.

This lasted for some time, but finally, mother got ill.
She was so very bad that a great many nights I had to
sit with her the whole night through and not get a wink of
sleep. Ofcourse I could not do the work so well, and
some of it was not done as it ought to have been, Mr. Ed-
itor, but Icould not help it, I did my best. . Besides, I
did not have mother’s help, and was compelied to give
up a good deal of work tha: could not be done at all.
This, of course, cut off a Jarge part of our income, and
then J lost lots of work that was taken away because it
was not made well; so that when mother got well after
five weeks of great suffering, we found ourselves without
any work.

The lady who had aided us so much before had moved
from the city, and we did not know which way to turn
any more than at first. During mother’s sickness we had
spent all our little savings, and truly did not have a cent.
Fortunately we had our sewing machines, and hoped to
make them of use again.

With the best heart possible, under the circumstances,
T started out in search of something. After three days a
factoryman gave me some shirts to make. I did not ask
him anything about the price he would pay, but took
them home, where mother and I worked hard until they
were all made up.

There were three dozens of them, and when I took them
back the man said they would do very well, and paid me
seven dollars and twenty cents. I was frightened and
thought he had made a mistake, but he said no, that was
the regular price for good, and some didn’t get even as
much as that. If Ididn’t want it, he said, 1 could leave
it and go some where else and get my work. Perhaps, I’d
find out they didn’t pay any better than he did. hat is
the way he talked to me, and as I did not see any chance
of getting work elsewhere, I was obliged to submit, and
took some more material to work up.

Just to think, though, seven dollars and twenty cents,
for three dozen shirts, and mother and I had worked two
weeks on them. When I got home, 1 figured it out and
found that it was just twenty cents. a shirt—two dollars
and forty cents a dozen. I tell you Mr. Editor, it looked
awful discouraging, but I went around and inquired, but
found that we couid not get,any better price, and must
make the most of what we had.

We worked as hard as we could, from seven o’chock in
the morning till seven and eight, and sometimes as late as
nine at night, stopping only just iong enough to get some-
thing to eat, which did not tuke very long, for it was not
very often that we had anything more than bread and
butter, sometimes even not the butter. Well, with twelve
hour of steady, hard work, we found that together we
could make four shirts a day, and could therefore, make’
two dozen a week, which would pay us four dollars and
eighty cents.! Think of that, some of you who complain
without cause. Think of working twelve hours a day for
six long dreary days, and only getting four dollars and
eighty cents. for the seventy-two hours work! And yet,
Mr. Editor, you know and many of your readers know that
hundreds, perhaps thousauds of poor girls do so in New
York every week.

And then I had other troubles. Of course I was com-
pelled to take our work to the factory when it was done.
It took me an hour and ten minutes to go, and the same
to return, besides the time I spent there. Sometimes I
could get through in a few minutes, but very often they
would detain me there for a long time—even hours—wait-
ing forthem to get work ready forme. This made me
lose so much time that I had to work many, many times
half the night with poor old mother, in order to catch up
and compkete just so much each week, because, you see,
if we had done any less, we should not have Lad enough
to keep us from starving. For years we have lived this
way, working our lives out on the treadle. It seems to
me that almost anything would be easier than running a
sewing machine, and to haveto met the cold, rough con-
duet of the men atthe factory. But we cannot do any-
thing else, nor anv better. Thousands are just as bad off,
but what hope is there that it can be any better? If we
complain, they curse us, and say we need not do it if we
don’t want to—that there are plenty of others who will
be glad to have it. And thatisso. There are thousands
worse off than eitherof us. Perhaps we ought to be
thankful that we are as well off as we are,

HESTER NORTHRUP.
————_> 4+

ka A new serial of weird-like interest and power,
from tie pen of our favorite contributor, Mrs. M. V.

 

VIOTOR, will s00n be eommenced.

 

ESSAYS.

 

HOSS SENSE.

There is nothing that haz bin diskovered yet, that iz so
skase as good Hoss sense, about 28 loss power.

I don’t mean Trace hoss, nor trotting hoss sense, that kan
run a mile in 1:28, agid then brake down; nor trot in 2:13,
and good for nothing afterwards, only to brag on; but I
mean the all-day hoss sense, that iz good for 8 miles an
hour, from rooster crowing in the morning, until the
cows cum home at night, klean tew the end ov the road.

Ihav seen fast sense, that was like sum hoses, who
could git so far in one day that it would take them two
days tew git back, on a litter, Idon’t mean this kind
nuther.

Good hard-pan sense iz the thing that will wash well,
wear well, iron out without wrinkling, and take starch
without kracking.

-Menny people are hunting after uncommon sense, but
they never find it a good deal; uncommon sense iz ov the
natur of genius, and all genius iz the gift of God, and
kant be had, like hens eggs, for the hunting.

Good, old-fashioned common sense iz one ov the hard-
est things in the world to out-wit, out-argy, or beat in
enny way, it iz az honest aza loaf ov good domestik
bread, alwus in tune, either hot from the oven or 8 days
old.

Common sense kan be improved upon by edukashun—
genius kan be too, sum, but not much.

Edukashun gauls genius like a bad setting harness.

Common sense iz like biled vittles,-it is good right from
the pot, and it is good nex day warmed up.

If every man waz a genius, mankind would be az bad
oph az the heavens would be, with every star a comet,
things would git hurt badly, and nobeddy tew blame.

Common sense iz instinkt, and instinkt don't make
enny blunders mutch, no more than a rat duz, in coming
out, or going intew a hole, he hits the hole the fust time,
and just fills lt. :

Genius iz always in advance ov the times, and makes
sum magnificent hits, but tre world Owes most oy its
tributes to good hoss sense.

SILENCE.
Silenee is a still noize.
One ov the hardest things for a man to do, iz tew keep
still.
Everyboddy wants tew be heard fust, and this iz jist
what fills the world with nonsense. :

 

Everyboddy wants tew talk, few want to think, and no-
boddy wants tew listen.

The greatest talkers amung the feathered folks, are the
magpie and ginny hen, and neither ov them are ov mutch
account,

if a man ain’t sure he iz right the best kard he kan play
iz a blank one.

J] have known menny aman tew beatin an argument
by just nodding his hed once in a while and simply say,
*3e88 80, J688 SO.”?

It takes a grate menny blows tew drive in a nail, but
one will clinch it.

Sum men talk just az a French pony trots, all day long,
in a haff bushel meazzure.

Silence never makes enny blunders, and alwus gits az
mutch credit az iz due it, and oftimes mere.

When i see a man listening to me cluss i alwus say to
miself, ‘look out, Josh, that fellow iz taking your meaz-
zure.”?

I hav herd men argy a pint two hours and a haff and
not git enny further from whare they started than a mule
in a bark mill, they did. a good deal ov going round and
round.

1 hay sot on jurys and had a lawyer talk the law, fakts
and evidence ov the kase all out ov me, besides starting
the taps on mi boots.

I hav bin tew church hungry for sum gospel, and cum
hum’so phull ov it that i couldn’t draw a long breth with-
out starting a button. . :

Brevity and silence are the two grate kards, and next
to saying nothing, saying a little, iz the strength ov the
game.

One thing iz certain, it iz only the grate thinkers who
kan afford tew be brief, and thare haz bin but phew vol-
lumes yet published which could not be cut down two-
thirds, and menny ov them could be cut klean back tew
the title page without hurting them.

It iz hard tew find a man ov good sense who Kan look
back upon enny occason and wish he had sed sum more,
but it iz eazy tew find menny who wish they had said
less.

A thing sed iz hard tew recall, but unsed it kan be spo-:
ken any time.

Brevity iz the child of silence, and iz a great credit tew
the old man.

. BRAVERY.

True bravery iz very eazy tew detekt, for it iz az mutch
a part and parcel of a man’s every day life az hiz clothes
iz.
Everything that a truly brave man duz iz did from prin-
ciple not impulse, and when no one sees him he iz just az
ae az he would be if he waz in the eyes of the mul-
titude.

Thare iz a grate deal ov bravery that iz simply orna-
mental, and ifit wan’t for its spurs and cockade wouldn’t
amount tew mutch.

It iz not bravery to face what we Kan’t dodge, but it iz
true courage tew face all things that are honest and dodge
nothing. “

True bravery exists amung the lowly just az mutch az
amung the grate, and a man really haz no more right tew
expekt praise for his courage than he haz for hiz Virtew.

1t often requires more bravery tew tell the simple truth
than it duz tew win a battle. :

He who fillsto the brim the stashun in'life, which na-
ture, or fortune haz given him, iz a hero; i don’t Kare
whether he iz a peasant on the hillside, ora chieftian in
the tented field. ;

The most sublime courage I hay ever witnessed, hav
been among that klass who too poor to’ know that
they possessed it, aud too humble for the world ever to
diskover it. 38° :

When I want to see a hero, or commune with one, i
don’t go tew the pages ov history; i kan find. them in
among the bipaths ov every day life.” i hay known them
tew liv out their lives and die without enhy reckord here;
but hereafter, when dhe grate sorting takes place, they
will be fuund among the jewels. '

DISPATCH.

Dispatch iz the gift, or art.ov doing a thing right qnick.

To do a thing right, and to do it quick iz an attribute
ov genius. . ;

Hurry iz often mistaken for dispatch; but thare iz just
az much difference az thare iz between a“hormet and a
pissmire when they are both ov them on duty.

A hornet never takes any sfeps backwards, but a piss-
mire alwus tra just as tho he had forgot sumthing.

Hurry works from morning till night, bat works on a,
tred-wheel. ° ©.

Dispaich never undertakes a job without fust marking
out, the course to take, andt followsit, right or wrong,
i | travels like a blind hogs, stepping hi and
.Bpends most ov ‘her time in running into
the bajlance in ba¢king out agin.

1, iz alwus the mark oy grate abilitys, while

hurry iz the evidence ov a phew branes. and they, fying

ney 80 fast in the hed, they keep their owner alwus
izzy. ~~

Hurry iz a good phellow tew phite bumble bees, whare,
if ty hav ever so good a plan, yu kant make it work well.

ispatch haz dun all the grate things that hav been did
in this world, while hurry haz bin at work at the small
ones, and haint got thru yet.

PERFUME FROM THE SPICE-BOX.

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.

Dear Spice.—The following is true in every particular,
and was never seen in print before:

No man who has dweltin western Massachusetts, at
any time, for the last forty years, but must have heard of,
or Knew personaliy, Elder John Leland, the great demo-
cratic Baptist preacher.

I say democratic, because he would preach democracy
from the pulpit just as fervently as he would the doctrines
of John the Baptist.

He lived in the town of Cheshire, and I knew that town
myself, when it did not poll, at any election, but two
Whig votes, every other one was democratic.

Elder Leland was a man of sterling sense, ardent in all
things, pure in politics, sound in morality, and did love a
joke, just as much as a cat loves cream. ‘

If you should go up into old Cheshire now, and ask the
first man you met, who was past sixty years of age, if he
remembered Hider Leland, he would say ‘‘yes,’? and pro-
ceed at once to tell you, some eccentricity of the old divine,
done forty years ago. ;

In the little sketch that follows, there is dry humor, and
it is related to illustrate, how much of that material there

  
   

.

 

is scattered all through New England,
assing one day, on horseback, by the barn of one oft

:

 

<0 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. t=

thrashing out rye.

Some general conversation took place, and as the elder
was about riding away, the farmer said, ‘‘bring up your
bag, next time you come this way, elder, and I will fill it
with good new rye.”’

; “Thank you, Brother Bliss, I will.do so,” said the min-
ster.

A few days after, the elder drove up in his buggy, this
time to the barn of the farmer, and handing out a bag,
told him, if he would have the bag ready filled, he would
take it on his return.

The farmer unfolded the bag, after the elder drove off,
and found that it was an empty bed tick, and would hold
at least, twenty-five bushels of rye, probably half of his
whole crop.

Having a spice for the same kind of humor that was
largely developed in the elder, he filled the bed tick, full
to overflowing, with rye in the bundle, which thrashed
out would not make more than a half bushel of grain. The
elder soon returned, and the farmer lashed the huge sack
of straw to the back of the buggy, and the good old Baptist
elder drove off, not a word was spoken by either, nor a
smile betrayed the fund of genuine humor that lay deep
in both of them. CHESHIRE. *

PRACTICAL GRIEF.

Here comes a little sketch from our regular Boston cor-
respondent, which is tainted with humor. He tells us,
that.in Braintree, there was a worthy man, Joel Branch
by name, whose wife had lain tor years, in One of those
dreadful chronic conditions, which are never any better,
and uever past hope. It was the custom Of all the neigh-
bors, far and near, to make inquiries of good Joel Branch
about the condition of his wife, every time he appeared in

ublic. He was wore out with his anxieties and watch-
ngs, and being asked one day:

“Well, nabor Branch, how is your wife now ?””

“Oh, she’s no better, no better! We are all wore out
with her;I do wish she would git well, or, something
else.”? AQUADUCT.*

TIME IS MONEY.

Some people have a strange idea of the value of time,
but none more so than the young lady who was passion-
ately fond of playing cards, and was told what a great
waste of precious time it was,

“Yes,” she replied, ‘the time spent in shuffling and
dealing does seem to be all lost.” BERTHA.*

A THOUGHTFUL PARENT.

A gentleman living not one hundred miles from New
York, sent his only daughter toa fashionable boarding-
school on the Hudson. In a few days he received a letter
from the lady principal of the school, inquiring if he would
have his daughter taught the different languages, and re-
plied to the letter in the following laconic manner:

“No, madame. J consider one tongue enough Jor any
woman.” GRAPESHOT.*

The following Spice effusions are accepted: ‘‘Ivanhoe,”’
“Grimes,” ‘‘Barney,”’ *‘Fleetwood,’”? **Babcock.”? The fol-
lowing Spice is sorrowfully declined: ‘‘Rizzie M. L.
Jones,” ‘“‘W. M, Towle,’? “H. A.,” “Dolly Varden,” *‘Ju-
bius,’’ “Veritas,” ‘Tre Tode,” ‘‘Jeems,’’ ‘Asa D. Munds,’’
“W. W. B.,” “Armand.”

Woman's Eyas.

BY SWEETBRIER.

 

 

 

One of the most offensive manifestations of supercili-
ousness to be met with in society is the manner in which
one woman, who is not quite well-bred or kind-hearted,
will glance over another whose clothing bespeaks her of a
lower class of society.

This is done everywhere; on the street, at parties, in
church, on the cars, and everywhere. Itisdone by wo-
men in all classes of society, from the mistress to the
servant girl. It is done instantaneously, a single sweep
of the eye taking in every article of clothing, from the hat
to theshoetip. And tie daily aioli sry | pretense of com-
mon people to superiority because they have been prosper-
ed in their worldly affairs and can afford to spend more
money upon their backs, than heretofore, makes this
detestable habit more common and remarkable.

Who cannot recall hundreds of instances where well-
dressed, lady-like looking women have thus proclaimed
their inward vulgarity? And who ever knew a man Lo be
guilty of similar conduct?

This is oftenest seen at parties, where one woman in-
curs the displeasure of another by the display of superior
attractions.

If then the beauty does not happen to be also the best-
dressed lady in the room, she is made to suffer for her pre-
sumption in daring to outshine her less attractive sis-
ters.

They will carefully watch their opportunity, and as
‘plainly as eyes can say, will inform their rival that how-
ever she may outshine them in beauty and style, her
clothes are not so expensive as their own.

But if women only knew how offencive such a proceed-
ing is to every generous-hearted man who may witness
it, they would indulge in such a mean and vulgar revenge
but sparingly, for no. sensible man would dare marry a
von who had been guilty of such contemptible be-

avior, .

—_——__>-0+-—____—_

ITEMS OF INTEREST.

4a> The receipts of the New York Central and Hudson
River. Roads, for the railroad year ending 30th September,
which it is said will exceed Twenty-six millions of dol-
lars, have given rise to arumor that the October Half-
yearly Dividend of the Company wiil be raised to Five per
cent. We doubt the correctness of this mere inference
from the heavy receipts of the year, Dut that the value of
the property, by permanent improvements, out of these
receipts, will be greatly enchanced after paying the cus-
tomary dividends of Four per cent., half-yearly, we have
no doubt. Such receipts are unprecedented in the history
of the American railroad system. They exceed, in a single
year, the whole capital of the New York Central, when the
road was consolidated in 1853, by three millions of dol-
lars. The receipts of the road that year were considered
great at $5,400,000!

tae Of all the hotels.in the world, the very oddest isa
lonely one in California, on the road between San Jose
and Santa Cruz. Imagine ten immense trees, standing a
few feet apart, and hollow. These are the hotel, neat,
breezy, and romantic. The largest tree is sixty-five feet
around, and that a bureau of Bacchus, wherefrom ‘is dis-
pensed the thing that biteth and stingeth. All about this
tree is a garden of flowers and evergreens. The drawing-
room is a bower made of redwood, evergreens, and mrad-
rona branches. For bed-chambers there are nine great
hollow trees, whitewashed or papered, and having doors
to fit the shape of the holes.

Sa A Mr. Arthur Stevens arrived in this City last
month in a boat which he had rowed four hundred miles,
from Gloucester, Mass. After pulling through each day,
he spread his mattress and slept soundly in the boat each
night, after mooring it in a place of safety. His provis-
ions were easily replenished on shore, as he hugged the
land at all practicable times. His companions were two
cats. His boat is sixteen feet in length, four in breadth,
has a sharp bow, flat bottom, straiglt sides, and a square
stern, twenty inches wide. It is a clumsy craft. Mr.
Stevens isa man of wealth, and undertook the trip from
a combined desire for exercise and fame.

8a An artist writes to the London Art Journal calling
attention to the ‘extraordinary beauty of certain Irish
scenery but little known to tourists.”> He says:—The,
combination of mountains, valleys, rivers, and lakes, and
the exquisite coloring, should be felt. There is a world
of art, con amore work in Ireland for artists, whether the
district 1 have named be taken, or the Conemara route,
or Wicklow. The peasantry, and the very animals, are
unique, and harmonize admirably with works of art. It
is strange how much actists have missed this mine of art-
istic natural wealth.”

a> In Homestead, Iowa, there is a community of Ger-
man Quakers (or apostles) as they call themselves. They
have jand anda woolen maipfactory in common, and
their wants are supplied from one common treasury.
The women wear bluck caps on the back of the head; the
men generally gray clothes, and have no whiskers except
under the throat and chin. They are very industrious,
very peaceable, and live in a little world of their own.

Ba The most remarkable chime of bells in this country
is on the chapel of Notre Dame University at South Bend,
Ind. It consists of twenty-four bells, the largest weighing
fourteen thousand pounds, ranging through two octaves,
It may -be heard in its deep, souorous reverberations full
twenty miles away.

Sa>> American green corn is sent during the season in
great quantities to Liverpool by Atlantic steamers. '

HISTORICAL ITEMS.

THE circumstances attending the death of Henry VI. of
England are invoived in obscurity. The popular tradition
is that he was murdered in the Tower of London by the
Dukeof Gloucester. The cerpse lay in state at Blackiriars,
anda was buried at Chertsey Abbey. That is the statement
of Dr. Warworth, a contemporary writer, who was master
of St Peter’s College, Cambridge, {rom 1473 to 1498. Fa-
bian, a citizen of London in the time of Henry VII., is
more explicit. He says, ‘‘Of the death of this prynce
divers tales were tolden; bit the most common forme
wente that he was stykked with a dagger, by the hands
of the Duke of Gloucester.” On the other hand, the
Yorkish party contended that the deposed monarch died
of grief and melancholy, for he was sickly from his birth,
and partially idiotic all the days of his manhood.

THE navy of England was distinguished by no particu-
lar dress from that of the mal till the time of George II.
Naval commanders wore scarlet in the reign of Elizabeth
and JamesI. During the subsequent reigns, naval offi-
cers appear to have been habited according to their own
fancy, and armed like the military, while their ships’

mpanies were sometimes clothed like the land forces, in
thé colors of their captain. In 1677, we find, from Wych-
erley’s comedy of the ‘Plain Dealer,’ that red breeches
were the mark of a sailur. The three-cornered cocked
hat was worn by the common sailors as late as the reign
of George III.

AUCTIONS are very ancient, and some of them curious.
The auction by inch of candle was an old fashion of ac-
cepting the bids while a candle burned, The man who
named the most before it went out got the goods. Ina
Dutch auction the goods are given to the first bidder, ana
not the last; that is, the anctioneer begins at a high price
and drops down, and the first man who saya '‘I wit take
it at that” carries off the goods. ‘ ;

 

 

The American News Company,
President’s Office,
New York, Sept. 5th, 1872.
To whom it may concern: We
sold of the NEW YORK WEEK-
LY, dated Sept. 16th, 1872, (No-
45,) over

304,000 Copies.

SINCLAIR TOUSEY,
President of the American News
Company.

   

STILL ONWARD & UPWARD!

Above we again publish a certificate from’ the
American News Company, showing that the present
edition of the

New York Weekly

reaches the handsome figure of

OVER 300,000 COPIES.

We publish this certificate not from any feeling of
vain glory, but simply to show our friends and the
public generally that our
THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND AND
UPWARDS
is no ephemeral, unhealthy circulation, but
A SOLID, SUBSTANTIAL AND ENDUR-

ING ONE

which is
CONSTANTLY GROWING GREATER

as the weeks fleet by. We have now not the slight-
est hesitdtion in saying that our circulation will un-
doubtedly reach 7

FOUR HUNDRED THOUSAND,
and that, too, at no distant day. We think we may
reasonably cherish this anticipation in view of i the
fact that at least 20,000 of our readers have the eue-
cess of the ’ x
NEW YORK WEEKLY —
so greatly at heart as to
WORK FOR IT PERSONALLY.

If any one doubts this a perusal of our “Personal”
department from week to week will satisfy them
that this is no vain beast. Miany of our readers lose
no opportunity to secure us a patron, even though it
may be at considerable personal inconvenience, and
such expressions as, ‘The greatest story and sketch

 

 

paper ever published,” ‘I could not live without it,”
“J would rather go without my dinner than without
the New YorK WEEKLY,” “I regard the NEw YORK
WEEKLY as a personal triend,” ‘I would pay 25 cents
per copy rather than go without the New Yor
WEEKLY,” “I love the NEw YoRK WEEKLY; and it is
a labor of love for me to work for it,” etc., etc., etc.,
are frequent in the letters which we receive. So
also do we receive words of great cheer and en-
couragement from the
NEWS AGENTS

throughout the country, nearly all of whom
WORK FOR THE NEW YORE WEEELY
as though they had a personal interest in it, and to
whom we hereby tender our most sincere thanks.

Of course, it is to our friends all over the country
that we are mainly indebted for our
IMMENSE CIRCULATION AND RAPID

‘ INCREASE.

But even our friends could not assist us if we did
not make our paper worth the reading. It is our
pride and boast that we have made the

NEW YORK WEEKLY

what itis. Bya liberal outlay of money and unflag-
ging industry—by studying constantly how to
please—we trave, with the assistance of our good {
friends, achieved a
A SUCCESS WHICH HAS NO PARALLEL
in the history of newspapers. We grasp talent
wherever we can find it

REGARDLESS OF THE COST; .

 

} we shall not on this aocount cease to seek after

and in our list of contributors will be found’ the

nar.2s of & eyonie
THE MOST BRILLIANT AUTHORS OF |
BOTH SEXES. ewe

Besides, we do not tie ourselves to one idea.” We
are constantly ten

HUNTING AFTER SOMETHING NEW
and finding it, and this, by the way, is almost as
great a benefit to our cotemporaries as to ourselves

for they never hesitate to

AbopT OUR IDEAS :
as soon as they are made public. We have no objec
tion to this. The world'is wide enough for usall, and

we do not fear that our rivals will interfere at all
with our circulation. We publish

ONE-THIRD MORE MATTER
than any of our cotemporaries, and a

FAR GREATER VARIETY.

Serials covering every unobjectionable field of ro-
mance, poems, sketches, brilliant humorous contri-
butions, useful departments, ete. We think the

NEW YORK WEEKLY
is‘hbout as near perfection,as it can be made, but

 

_... NEW PEATURES.
Nothing can be permanent which is not backed up
by :
LIBERALITY, ENTERPRISE, AND UN-
CEASING ENDEAVOR,
and these we propose to use always. By these

 

 

means we shall undoubtedly eventually push our
circulation to the coveted

FOUR HUNDRED THOUSAND,
And, in view.of this fact, have we nota right to be
proud? Starting withoutmoneyed friends and under
the most discouraging auspices, we have succeeded
in creeping up from 20,000 to | sae

MORE THAN THREE Hi NDRED
THOUSAND,

and our cry is still

EXCELSIOR!
So, once more returning our hearty thanks to ali
who rejoice in our prosperity, and with a feeling of
pity for those who envy and would injure us, we
start on our race for

FOUR HUNDRED THOUSAND CIRCU-
LATION,

:

 

 

and promise our friends faithfully to reach the goal.

 

 

 

Pu A -

 

 

 

 

ohne)
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

SONG OF THE PALM.

BY DIANA MARQOH.

 

.

 

King of the Cordilleras,
My fair domain is roiled

From the rosy rim of the sunset
To morning's verge of gold!

Lapt in etermal summer
My vast Llanos smile—

The golden laze of dreams enwraps
My farthest flowery isle!

My gorgeous tropic forests
Titanic temples rise,
Their green triumphal arehes wreathed
With flowers of Paradise;
My groves of lime and citron,
My gardens of
Are steeped in the elysium
Of an immortal bloom.

Far down in the green abysses
Of happy valleys lie

My lakes, litte crystal mirrors,
Under a crystal sky;

And the dusk, bewildering beauty
Of the southern nights is mine,
With their splendid constellations,

And mellow moons divine.

My searped and beetling cliff-walis,
My awful summits rear
' Their purple pinnacles against
Stupendous hights of air;
Like giant athletes, sunward,
My startling peaks upspring—
Alott on the dizzy verges
My shrieking torrents swing!
When the vast void glooms and blackens,
And the his~:t:< hail-winds blow
Down from the white Inferno
Of endless ice and snow,
I grapple the wild tornado,
Where the thunder-titans drag
The rattling links of their fetters of flame
From rocking crag to crag!
I lave in the sultry sunshine—
I bask in his smile, and fling
The spice of each scented calyx,
To the murmur of wind and wing;
And steeped in airs divinest
My feathery fronds unfold,
To the rosy glow of sunset,
And morning’s kiss of gold!

 

[ame right to Dramatize the story af “A Wonderful
Woman” is reserved by the Author.]

A Wonderful Woman.

By Mrs. May Agnes Fleming,
[Who Writes Exclusively for This Paper.}

Author of WEDDED, YET NO WIFE, THE
JIEIRESS OF GLEN GOWER, ESTELLE’S
HUSBAND, LADY EVELYN, BARONET’S
BRIDE, MAGDALEN’S VOW, WHO W ENS.

 

“4 Wonderful Woman” wascommenced in No. 34. Back » 1m-
bers can be had from any News Agent in the United States.

BPvuART od bp

CHAPTER V.—{Continued.) e
“Queenie,” Lady Dangerfield said, tossing her cousin a
rose-colored, rose-sealed, rose-scented note, “read th.!.”?
Lady Cecil caught it. The note was written in «ig,
dashing chirography, and this is what it said:

‘St. JAMES STREET, July 2:1.
‘DEAREST LADY DANGERFIELD: A million thanks for
your gracious remembrance—a million more for your
charming invitation. I will be with you on the afternoon
of the 4th. From what I hear of it, Scarswood Park must
be a terrestrial paradise, but would not any piace be that
where you were? Devotedly,
> “JASPER ALGERNON FRANKLAND.”

Lady Ceeil’s brown eyes flashed. The fulsome, florid
style of compliment, the familiarity—the easy insolence of
the writer—grated like some discordant noise on her
nerves. She looked up reproschfully, :

“Oh, Ginevra!’?

“And, oh, Queenie! with a short laugh, but not look-
ing round from the stand of guelder-roses over which she
was bending. ‘‘You see we will not be moped to death
down here after all. And weshall have two gentlemen
more than we counted on for our lawn party this after-
noon. I wonder what sort of a croquet player Sir Arthur
is, by-ihe-by.”

“Ginevra, I wish you hadn’t asked Major Frankland
down here. I detest that man. Sir Peter is jealous. The
odious familiar way he addresses you, too, and his horrid,
coarse, common-place compliments. Any place must be
@ paradise where you are! Bah! Why doesn’t he try to
be original at least.” Be

“Lady Cecil Clive is pleased to be fastidious.’ retorted
Lady Dangerfield, tearing a guelder-rose to pieces. ‘*Who
is original now-a-days? To be original means to be ec-
centric—to be eccentric is the worst possible style, only
allowable in poets aud lunatics. Major Frankland being
neither, only——" ~

“A well-dressed idiot—=="’

“Only an everyday gentleman—answers my note of in-
yitation in everyday style. You ought to thank me, Quee-
nie. Whois to entertain Sir Arthur and take him off your
hands when you tire of him? Even baronets with thirty
thousand a year may pall sometimes on the frivolous mind
ofa young jady of two-and-twenty. Your father will do
his best—and Uncle Raoul’s best, when he tries to be en-
tertaining, means a good deal; but still Major Frankland
will bea great auxiliary. Queenie, I wonder why you
dislike him so much!" ;

“J disiike all mere club-room loungers, all well-dressed
tailors’ blocks, without one idea in their heads, or one hon-
est, manly feeling in their hearts. Jasper Frankland
knows Sir Peter hates him. Ifhe werea rght-feeling man
would he come at all, Knowing it?”

“Certainly, when I invite him. And again, and again,
and again, Sir Peter! I wish Sir Peter was at———
Queenie, you have had an excellent bringing-up under
the care of that wicked, worklly old dowager, Lady Ruth,
but in some things you are as stupid as any red-cheeked,
butter-making dairymaid. Talking of ideas, and feeling,
aud Sir Peter’s jealousy—such nonsense! When lI did
Sir Peter Dangerfield—and, without exception, I ae
he isthe most intensely stupid and disagreeable littl
wretch the wide earth hokis—when | did him the honor
- of marrying him, I did it to secure for myself a pleasant
home, ali the comforts and luxuries of life—and 1 class the
society of pleasant men like Jasper Frankland, chief
among those luxuries. He is the best figure, the best
style, the best bow, the t waltzer, the best second in a
duel, and the best scandal-monger from here to the sweet
shady side of Pall Mall. If Sir Peter doesn’t like the
- friends I ask, then I would recommend Sir Peter to keep
out of their sight, and make himself happy in the society
of his impaled bugs, and dried butterflies, and stuffed
toads.. Congenial companionship, I should say—birds of

a feather, elc. By the way, what was that long dis-

course-you and he had last eveningabout? Natural phi-
‘He be-

losophy???. =

“No, ghosts,” answered Lady Oecil, gravely.

lieves in gliosts. So did the great Dr. Johnson—was it ?
He isn’t quite positive yet that Miss Herncastle is not the

disembodied spirit of that poor girl that died here, And
he says there is a place three miles off—Bracken Hollow,
I believe, haunted to a dead certainty. Nowd a i

- 40 see that house the very. first opportunity. Sir Peter

gravely affirms that he has heard the sights and seen the
soundB—noe—I don’t mean that—the other way—vice
versa) |

live opinion is,” said Sir Peter’s wile, ‘that Sir Peter is
ina “pad Way, and that we shall be ‘taking out a de-
cree of Iunacy against him one of those days. Sir Peter
may not absolutely be nnd, bat in the elegantly allegor-
jenl dene wage of the day. vis head’s not level.?’

“What is that about Sir Peter?” anquired the earl, saun-
tering up. “Madis he, Ginevra? *Pon my life | always
thought so since he committed his crowning folly of
marrying you. Pray, what has he done lately ?””

“Nothing more than. the Right Honorable the Earl] of
Ruysland: has done before him—talked of seeing ghosts.
He takes Miss Herneastie, the governess, for a ghost. So
did you. Now, Unele Raoul, whose ghost did you take her
for?’ ?

She shot her,words back spitefully enough. The earl’s
little satirical jests were apt to be biting sometimes, She
looked at himas she asked the question, but my lord’s
countenance never changed. Like Talleyrand, if you
had kicked him from behind, his face would not show it.

‘Does she bearan unearthly resemblance to some lovely
being, loved and Jost halfa century ago, my lord? You
remember she gave you quite a start the day of her
arrival.”

“I remember,” said the earl, placidly; ‘but she did not
disturb me very . She has a vague sort of resem-
blance to a Jady dead and gone, but not sufficient to send
me into hysterics. Queenie, I’m going to the station—you
know who comes to-day ?”

“Yes, papa,” const all

“If youare going into ©
evra, “I have two or three commissions I wish you
would execute. Queenie, where are you going ?—it will
not detain me an instant.” '

“Tam going to the narsery. Lessons are over by this
time, and Pearl says no one can make dolls’ dresses with
the skill I can.”

She left the room. Lady Dangerfleld looked after her,
then at her uncle, with a malicious smile.”

“If you really want Cecil to marry Sir Arthur Tregenna,
all your finesse, all your diplomacy will be required. I
foresee thirty thousand trembling in the balance. She is
inclined to rebel—talks about being sold and the rest of it.
As I said to herself, in spite of her admirable bringing up,

her ideas on some subjects are in a deplorably crade and
primitive state.”

 
  
   
  
 

voor

| pleaded piteously for one game of

“She shall marry Sir Arthur,” the earl responded serenet
ly; “itis written—it is destiny. Her ideas have nothing
whatever to do with it; and if there be any point of worid-
ly hardness and polish which Lady Ruth may have omit-
ted, who so competent as you, my dear Ginevra, to teach
it? Iam at peace—my only child is in safe hands. Write
out your list quickly, my dear. I shall be late as it is.’

His niece laughed, but her eyes flashed alittle. It was
diaginond cut diamond always between the worldly uncle
and quite as worldly niece, and yet in their secret hearts
they liked each other, and suited each other well.

Lady Cecil reached the school-room, Lessons were just
ended, and Miss Herncastle stood looking wearily out of
the window at the mellow afternoon radiance—fagged
and pale. Lady Cecil glanced at her compassionately.

“You look wearied to death, Miss Herncastle; I am
afraid you find the Misses Dalrymple terrible little Neros
in pinafores. Do go out for a walk, and Pearl and Pansy
an«| I will go and dress dolls under the trees.”

“But, Lady Dangerfield tg

“Lady Dangerfield is in the drawing, room; you can ask
her if you choose—she will not object. Iam sure you
nee? a walk. Come, @hildren. and fetch your whole
famuly of dolls.’’

Miss Herncastle obtained permission to take a walk,
and set out. Asshe passed down the noble arching av-
enue she espied the earl's daughter, and the twins solemn-
ly seated under a big beech, sewing for their lives. Lady
Cecil looked up, smiled and nodded approval from her
work. Very lovely she looked, the amber sunshine shift-
ing down through the green and ruby leaves on her loose-
floating, abundant brown hair, flashing back from that
other amber sunshine in her hazel eyes, from the sweet
smiling lips, from the eau de nil dress with its innumer-
able flounces and frillings, its point lace collar, and cluny
borderings. In that shimmering robe, and with a long
spray of tangled, ivy buds in her hair, she might have been
painted for Titania, Queen of the Fairies, herself.

Beautiful as a vision—the belle of the season—sought,
courted, caressed, beloved by all. Did the contrast
strike somber Miss Herncastie, in her plain brown
merino dress, ugly of texture, of color, of make. walking
in the dust, as she went by? The after days told.

The high red sun dropped haif-an-hour lower. The
young ladies and gentiemen invited for my lady’s lawn
party would be here presently now, and one of the twins’
nine dolls, big and little, had had a new dress finished.
Lady Cecil looked up, and said she must go. The twins
“tag,” and “Aunt
Cecil’? consented. The dolls were flung down in an igno-
minous heap, and Lady Cecil flew in chase of the children
with a zest, that for the moment equaled theirown. And
thus it was, flushed, breathless dishevelled, laughing,
romping like « girl of twelve, Sir Arthur Tregenna saw
her first. ~~ ,

The earl had been late—it was the earl’s inevitable fate
to be late on every occasion in life—and the great Cornish
baronet had driven up to Scarswood in a fly like any or-
dinary mortal. Through a break in the beeches, her clear

 

 

| made her their captive.

sweet laugh rang out as the twins pounced upon her, and
All agiow, all breathless, she
came ful upon Sir Arthur.

He was laughing from sympathy with that merry peal.
If she had striven for a thousand years to bewitch him
she could never have succeeded half so well as in this
moment, when she was not thinking of him at all. She
stopped short—still laughing, blushing and aghast.

“Lady Cecil Clive, I believe ?”’ Fr

He took off his hat and stood bareheaded before her—
ee nn gravely smiling, as Lady Cecil gave him her
land.

“Sir Arthur Tregenna, Iam sure. Did you not meet—
Pansy, be quiet—did you not meet papa? He left here

to go to the station.”’
Probably I passed him, for I left

 

 

 

stleford, my lord,’’ said Gin- |,

the station immediately.”’

“Then permit me to welcome you in his stead.
here is papatnow, and Major Frankland.”

A second fly drove up, and for the first and last time in
her life, Lady Cecil Clive was glad to see Major Frank-
land. lt was a rare—a very rare thing—for La Reine
Blanche, trained into perfect high-bred self-possession by
three London seasons, to feel a touch of embarrassment in
the presence of any one, king or kaiser, but she felt it
now.

‘““My dear boy—my dear Arthur!” The earl sprang out
and shook the ygung baronet’s hand with effusion.
“Such a contretemps—just a moment too late—I saw you
drive off, and Treturned with Frankland. Major Frank-
land, of the —th Lancers—Sir Arthur Tregenna.”’

The two gentlemen lifted their hats. Sir Arthur rather
stiffly, and under restraint—the gallant, whiskered major
with that charming ease und grace which had years ago
won away Ginevra Dangerfield’s heart.

“Aw, my dear Lady Cecil—chawmed to see you again,
and looking so well—so very well; but then we all know,
to our cost, La Reine Blanche invariably looks her best
on every occasion. Aud here comes our chawming hos-
tess. Aw, Lady Dangerfield, so happy to meet you once
more. London has been a perfect desert—a howling-aw
—wilderness, 1 assure you, since two Of its fairest flowers
have ceased-aw—to bioom!”?

And then the mistress of Scarswood was greeting and
welcoming her guests, and the first detacliment of the
lawn party began to arrive, and in the bustie Lady Cecil
made good her escape.

The travelers were shown to their rooms. She heard
them go past—heard the major’s aggravating half-lisp,
half-drawl, Sir Arthur's deep, grave tones, and clenched
one little hand where it lay on the window sill, and set
her scarlet lips hard.

“The sultan has come, and his slave must wait until it
pleases him tothrow the handkerchief. He comes here
to inspect me as he might a horse, or a house he wanted
to buy; and if I suit him, I am to be bought. If 1 do not—
Oh, papa! papa! how could you subject. me to so shame-
ful an ordeal!” a

An imperious tap at the door, an
without: eS

“Queenie! Queenie! are-you dead ?_

Lady Cecil opened. My lady, all |
Valenciennes lace, and yellow roses, aj
eyes alight, her cheeks glowing with
rouge.

“Come, Queenie; you_are tobe on the opposite side—
first red, and all that. Every one has come, and Sir Ar-
thur and the major are on the croquet ground. Really,
Cecil, Sir Arthur isn’t bad-looking—that is to say, if he
were not beside Jasper. Comparisons are odious, and
beside him——”’

“Of course, beside him, the Angel Gabriel, if he were to
descend, would appear to disadvantage. Ginevra, Sir
Arihur looks as if he had common sense, at least; more
than Ican say for your pet military poodle. Poor little
Bijou! if he only knew what a dangerous rival has come
to oust him.”’

“Don’t be sarcastic, Queenie,’ her cousin answered,

with perfect good temper; ‘it’s the worst thing can pos-
sibly be said of a girl. Makes men afraid of her, you
know. You may take Sir Arthur on your side; the major,
of course, is on mine; and we shall croquet you off the
face of the earth, He playsashe does everything—
exquisitely.”?
They descended together to the croquet ground—an ad-
mirable foil—blonde and brunette. Lady Dangerfield
knew it, and made the most of it, asshe did everything
else, eneaul

Sir Arthur did not play. He took aseat with the earl
on the limit of the croquet ground, and talked and
watched the players. The major and Lady Dangerfield
played a vigorous game, sending their adversaries’ balls
to the farthest limits of space, and never missing a loop.
Lady Cecil played abominably; her side was beaten in-
gloriously in every game. How could she play ?—how
could she do anything, knowing, feeling, that the eyes of
Sir Arthur were upon her, while he calmly deliberated
whether or no she were fitted to be his wife.

Lady Cecil was right. Sir Arthur’s eyes were upon her,
and Sir Arthur was specwating as to whether or no she
was fitted tobe his wife. Whata fair, sweet, proud face
it was; how much soul in the softly lustrous eyes; how
much gentleness, goodness, about the perfect lips. How
like a bright, happy child she had looked as he had seen
her first with brown hair flying, brown eyes dancing, rose
lips laughing, and pearl cheeks sofily flushed, in that be-
Witching game of romps. Could any one who looked
like that—who loved little children and played with them,
a very child herself, be the cold-blooden coquette, the vain
flirt, who trampled on hearts wholesale, for her selfish
gratification? No, no, a hundred timesno! Such a face
must mirror a pure and spotless soul; eyes like these took
their kindness and their sweetness from a gentle and
womanly heart.

“Her loveliness makes men her captives. Wow can she
be blamed for that?’ he thought. He was beginning to
plead for her already; the spell of that “angel face,”? which
had ensnared so many, was beginning to throw its glam-
our over him. And he was predisposed to be pleased.
He wanted to fulfill his father’s dying wish and marry his
old friend’s daughter.

Lady Cecil’s; party experienced a third disastrous de-
feat, and by that time the summer dusk had fallen, and
the countless stars were out. Then one of the young la-
dies from the rectory—young ladies trom the rectory are
always useful—went into the house and played some de-
iicious German waltzes, the music floating from four high
windows, open from floor to ceiling. Lady Oecil waltzed
with the rector’s tall son, with Squire Taibot {rom More-
cambe, with Major Frankland even, when that splendid
officer at last left his liege lady’s side. If she had never
flirted befure, she flirted with Sir Arthur’s eyes upon her.

“He shall take me for what I am if he takes me at all,”
she thought. “I shall never play the My pOor > to entrap
him.”?

What did Sir Arthur think, sitting there, looking on
with grave eyes? He did not dance, he did not croquet,
he didn’t talk much; he was not in any way,a Carpet
knight, or an ornament of society. Frivolous people like
Lady Dangerfield were apt to be afraid of him, Those
calm, passiomless gray eyes looked at you wilh so earnest
a light that you were apt to shrink under them, feeling
what a foolish, empty-headed sort of person you were—a
man to be respected, beyond doubt—a man not so easily
to be liked. ‘

What did he think? Under the stars she looked very
lovely, and loveliness in woman covereth a muititude of
sins. She waltzed with them all, and Sir Arthur was one
of those uncivilized beings you meet now and then who
do not like waltzing. Your bride-elect in the arms of an-
other man, even though it be in a round dance, is to your
sill-trained mind a jarring and indelicate sight. She waltz-
ed until her cheeks flushed and her eyes shone like brown
diamonds, and her clear, soft voice and laugh rang out
forall. Whetdid he think? The ear! frowned inwardly
—only inwardly; anything so disfiguring as a frown never
really appeared upon his placid, well-trained face.
“Wrinkles came soon enough of themselves,’? he was
Wont to say; “no need to hasten them on scowling ata

“1 did not meet him.
Ah!

    
   
 

 

world you cannot improve.” ;
There came a call, ‘“supper,’? and the waltzing ended.

The dancers paired off and defiled into the supper room.

“The tocsin of the soul, the dinner bell’* laughed Lady
Cecil; ‘and what with three games of croquet and four
waltzes, I am both hungry and fatigued.”

And then the rector’s tall. handsome son—a ’Varsity
man—with that flirting manner some young men culti-
vate, said something in a whisper that looked tender,
however it might sound. Sir Arthur’s gray eyes saw it
all. Was this flirting?—was La Reine Blanche at her
favorite game ?

They went into the brilliantly lighted dining-room,
where an Aberdeen salmon, a lamayonaise, lay reposing
tranquilly in a bed of greenery and prawns, where lobster
Salad, and cold chicken, and pine apple cream, and Mo-
selle and strawberries, looked like an epicurean picture
under softly abundant gasaliers.

Lady Cecil still kept her victim, the tall, slim, college
man by lier side, and they devoted themselves to one
another very exclusively. They were probably discoursing
the rival merits of salmon and lobster salad, but they look-
ed as if they were gently murmuring,

How is it under our control
To love or not to love ?””

Sir Arthur had the post of honor on the right of his
hostess—Major Frankland supported her on the left. Sir
Peter was not present—he sat solitary and alone in his
study, like an oyster in its shell, while feasting and merry
making went on around him. And when the great ormolu
and malachite clock over the mantel struck the half hour
after eleven, the company dispersed, and the guests sought
their own rooms. What did Sir Arthur think, as he bade
the earl’s fair daughter good night, and watched her float
away in her eau de nil dress up the stairs and disappear
in a silvery shower of moonrays? That impassive face of

his gave nosigno. ~~
CHAPTER VI.
SOMETHING VERY STRANGE.

“And your picnic is inevitable, I suppose, Lady Dan-
gerfield; and ene must go and grill alive, and yawn all
day, and get one’s complexion destroyed with the boiling
seaside sun, and call it pleasure. You mean well, Ginevra,
I dare say, but your ceaseless pleasure excursions grow
to be ceaseless bores.”’

Lady Cecil said all this in the slowest, softest, sleepiest,
laziest possible tone of voice. She was lying on a sofa, in
a loose, white morning robe, her bronze hair all damp,
and loose. and out of curl, a book in her hand, and her
gold-brown eyes full of lazy languor.

Lady Dangerfield, got up in elaborate walking costume,
had just bustied in—she always bustled and made a noise
—and had burst forth in a torrent of reproaches at finding
her indolent cousin still in a state of semi-undress.

“You laziest, you most indclent of mortals! get up in-
stantly, and be off and dress. The carriages will be here
in half an hour—twenty minutes, I tell you—and you
haven’t onethingon. The picnic is inevitable, and see-
ing you were one of the first to organize it, I think itisa
little too disgraceful to find you like this at the last mo-
ment.”

“Like this is so very comfortable though, Ginevra. My
novel is really interesting. Countess Agiae, on the eve
of her marriage with the Duke of Crowndiamonds, runs
away with a charming young headgroom, whose ordinary
conversation reads like blank verse. Well, if 1 must I
must, Il suppose.’”? She threw aside her novel and arose
“It is so preposterously five and sunshiny this morning,
that I am certain we will have a storm before night, and
come home drenched. Half-an-hour, did you say, Gine-
vra, before westart? Tranquillize your nerves then, dear
—I shall be ready in half the time.”

A week had passed since the afternoon of Sir Arthur’s
and Major Frankland’s arrival, and a very animated
week it had been. Lady Dangerfield never grew weary
in well doing; her fertile brain originated pleasure party
after pleasure party, with an assiduity worthy a better
cause. There had been long excursions to ruins, there
had been a day’s visit to a distant gipsy encampment,
there had been lawn billiards, boating parties, croquet,
and drives and gallops to every interesting spot for miles
around. There had been Fortnum & Mason’s hampers,
chickens and champagne, pates de fois gras, and claret
cup, on land and sea, and now a genuine old-fashioned
picnic to the seashore was under way; Fortnum & Mason
were yoted a nuisance; they would boil their own kettie
on the sands, and make their own tea, true gipsy style,
dispense with the tall gentlemen in plush and prize calves
from the Hall, and wail upon themselves. My lady, ever
on the alert for something new, proposed this, and had
been warmly seconded on all sides.

A week had passed since Sir Arthur’s arrival—seven
long summer days and nights under the same roof with
Lady Cecil, the greatest flirt of the season. What did he
think of her by this time? No one could have told; not
the young lady, certainly, to whom his manner was calm-
ly, friendly and genial, but as far removed from her ex-
perience of love-making, as it was possible to imagine.
Not her father, watching him, furtively, impatiently; he
bore himself toward her with the same distant, somewhat
stiff courtesy he showed his hostess and the other ladies
who visited Scarswood,. : /

How was it going to énd? Would he propose, or would
he, after another week or so, say, ‘‘Good-by, Lady Cecil,”
in the same cool, grave, unsmiling way in which he now
said good-morning and good-night? It was such an in-
scrutable face, that face of his, that it told nothing. ©
solemn, uplifted manner, those grave es. |
grave sentences, might be his way of making loy:
the earl knew.

For Cecil herself, she liked it, and liked him all the
better for letting her so tranqnilly alone. womnen—
the most hardened coquetle among the } men best
who don’t lower their flag at once. She was bewitch-
ingly pretty, and fresh and bright, and knew it beyond
doubt; but as far as she could see, all her beauty, and
brightness, and fascinations were sO many arrows that
glanced off his polished chain-mail armor. She was sin-
guiarly free from vanity; in a calm way she was con-
scious of her own great beauty, as she was of her proud
old name, but the smallness of personal conceit she
had never felt. And reassured by Sir Arthur’s manner,
she let herself grow friendly, and pleasant, and familiar,
as it was in her genial nature to be. She got down off
her stilts, aud walked with him, and talked with him, and
found, when properly drawn out, he could talk well. He

 
  
  

aking
for all

of the East—every inch of which he knew—every sacred
place of which he had visited. He could tell her of Aus-
tralia and its wonderful hidden wealth—of bright, bus
trans-Atlantic citles—of California, where he had liv

 

for months among camps and mines, and the reckless
men, the sweepings of the world, who fly there for safety
or for gold.

He told her of Algiers, where he had wintered last year,
and of how narrowly his life had been saved. Hehad had
many hair-breadth escapes, but none so critical as this.
Lost on the desert, a flock of wild Bedouins, inflamed with
rapine and liquor, had swept down upon him with shrill
cries. He fought against terrible odds as long as he
could, then, just as a iance head had pierced him, a horse-
man had ridden down like the wind, and with a ringing
English cheer had laid about him, right and left like a
lion. Wherever that flashing biade fell, an Arab bit the
dust. Then, faint a1: sick from loss of blood, he reeled
from the saddle, aud vpened his eyes in his own quarters
in Algiers. :

‘And the gallant Engli
Cecil breathlessly asked.

Sir Arthur smiled.

“The gallant Englishman was an Irishman. A very
tiger to fight. His name among the Arabs was as great a
source of dread as that of Coeur de Lion to the Saracens,
or Black Douglas to the Lowland. He was a captain of
Chasseurs, his name, O’Donnell.”’

e was sitting beneath the open window. As he pro-

ced the name he looked at her, but she had turned
suddenly and was gazing steadfastly at the blue, summer
sky. He looked at her, then spoke again, slowly.

“And he knew you,”’ he said.

“Yes.” Lady Cecil’s tones had changed a little; butshe
turned now, and the brown eyes met the gray ones quite
calmly. ‘Yes, I did once know a Redmond O’Donnell—
six years ago, I think—in Ireland. He mentioned know-
ing me, did he?” ,

“By the merest‘chance. In his quarters one day I came
across a book, a very handsome copy of ‘Marmion,’ with
your name on the fly-leaf. You had lent it to him, it ap-
peared, and it had never been returned.”

“Captain O’Donnell seems fated to save people’s lives,”
said Lady Cecil, laughing; “he saved mine from drowning.
Did he teil you of it? No! That is like his reticence.
Are you aware he is in England ?”

“No; I am not surprised to hear it, though. He men-
tioned casually, meaning to go out to America—to New
Orleans—for his sister, and fetch her over, aud leave her
with their friends in France. A fine fellow—a brave fel-
low—a worthy descendant of his once princely house.”

Lady Cecil said nothing, but that night at parting she
gave Sir Arthur her hand with a kindly cordiaiity she had
never shown before.

“He grows on one,‘’she said, thoughtfully, to her
cousin, ‘lI begin to like him.’’

Ginevra shrugged her shoulders,

“So much the better, dear, for all concerned. Thirty
thousand a year isa powerful inducement, I must con-
fess; though he doesn’t grow on me. He’sa_prig, as I
said before—a solemn, pedantic prig—who glowers one
out of countenance with his great, solemn, owl eyes, and
who can neither dance nor play croquet, who doesn't
know one game on the cards, aud who invariably treads
on one’s train. Ihate clumsy men, and I’m afraid I shall
hate my future cousin-in-law.”

The solemn, owl eyes Lady Dangerfield spoke of irri-
tated her beyona measure- by the way in which they
watched her animated flirtation with Major Fraukland.
A flirting married woman was an anomaly the tall Cornish
baronet could in no wise understand. On this point he
was more savagely uncivilized than even Lady Cecil her-
self. His dark eyes looked in grave wonder and disap-
probation at what went on before them—Major Frank-
jand making love ala mode to Lady Dangerfield,;while
Lady Dangerfieid’s husband either shut himself up in his
study with his friends, the black beetles, or else glared in
impotent, jealous wrath at his wife and her attendant
cavalier,

He and Lady Cecil had grown friends surely and imper-
ceptibly. They were a great deal together, and the noble
brow of my Earl of Ruysland began to clear. Cecil knew
what she was about, of course; she wasn’t going to fall at
his feet the instant he arrived; if he were a true knight
he would be willing fo woo and win 80 faira lady, With
her charming face to plead her cause, his charming for-
tune to plead his, there could be no manner of doubt as to
the.issue. -

Sir Arthur, Lady Cecil, the earl, anda young lady in
apple green muslin went together in the barouche. Lady
Dangerfield drove Major Frankland in her pony phaeton.
The rest of the young ladies followed in a second barouche,
with two cavaliers on horseback. The only married Jady

fiman who saved you?” Lady

 

of the party being the baronew’s wife—who played chap-

  
  

could tell her, by the hour together, of fair, foreign lands, |

Jéast.

 

erone and propriety! Sir Peter had discovered a new
specimen of the Saturina Pavonia Major, and did not go.

It was an intensely hot day, the sun pouring down its
fiery heat from asky as deeply blue as that of Italy—the
heat quivering in a white mist over the sea. Not a breath
of air stirred; the sea lay asleep, one vast polished lake,
under that globe of molten gold.

“IT knew we would grill to death—I said so,’’ Lady Cecil
remarked; ‘‘but where is the use of warming Ginevra
when she is bent upon anything. The three children sur-
vived the Fiery Furnace and we may survive this, but I
doubt it.”

“Don’t be so plaintive, Queenie,’ her father interposed ;
“you'll survive, I dare say, but you won’t-have a shred of
complexion left. You bionde women never can stand
sunshine. Now Ginevra is the happy possessor of a com-
plexion which all the suns of Equatorial Africa couldn’t
darken or spoil. Seeing,’ this sotto voce, that it’s made
up of Blanc de Perle and liquid rouge.”

_“It is warm,” Sir Arthur remarked, looking at the fair
lily face besides him; *‘and there is nota tree, nota shrub
even to ward it off. "Ruppose we goin search of verdure
and shade, as we used to doin the Great Desert. My tra-
veler’s instinct tells me there is an Oasis not far off.”

“Yes; go by all means, Queenie,”? murmured the earl;
“and when you have found that oasis send me back
word, and I'll join you. At present I am reduced to that
state in which a man’s brain feels like melted butter, and
each limb several tons weight. I shall lie down here on
the sand and compose myself to balmy slumber.”

Sir Arthur proffered his arm—Lady Cecil took it. The
picnic party were pretty well dispersed by this time.
Ginevra and the major and one of the rector’s daughters
had put off to sea in a little boat; Squire Talbot was mak-
ing himself agreeable tothe young lady in apple-green
muslin; the rest had paired off like the procession of an-
imals in a child’s Noah’s Ark. As well go on an explor-
ing expedition with Sir Arthur as remain there to watch
the slumbers of the author of her being; and so the Corn-
ish baronet and the eari’s daughter started in search of
the oasis. ,

It was not unpleasant being alone with Sir Arthur. In
company, as a rule, he had nothing whatever to say; so-
ciety small-talk was asGreek to him; the new styles, the
jatest fashionable novel, the last prima donna or danseuse
—all these topics were Sanscrit to him, or thereabout.
But alone with an appreciative listener, he could talk,
and talk well—not of his travels alone—on all subjects.
He spoke of things high above the reach of most of the
men she had met, and Lady Cecil being a young lady of
very fair intellect, as the femate intellect goes, appreci-
ated him, was interested, delighted, quite breathless in-
deed in her absorption at times.

« They had gone on now for nearly a mile—very slowly,
of course, with the midday thermometer at that  ridicu-
lous hight in the shade, where shade there was none.
He was telling her ofa frightful gorilla hunt he had once
had in Africa, and just at the moment when the climax
was reached, when the gorilla came in sight, and Lady
Cecil’s eyes and lips were apart, and breathless, he
stopped as ifhe had been shot.

“Lady Cecil,” he cried, ‘itis going to rain.’? Patter! one
great drop, the size of a pea, fell splash on Lady Cecil's
startled, upturned face. The sun still shone dazzlingly,
but a huge black thunder cloud had gathered over their
heads, threatening instant explosion.

_Plump ! came another great drop on Lady Cecil’s pink
silk and white iace parasol. Oh, such a flimsy shield
from a rain storm, and Lady Cecil's Paris hat had cost ten
guineas only the week before, and Lady Cecil’s summer
dress was of Swiss muslin and lace, and her bronze slip-
pers with their gay rosettes, delightful for dry saud and
sunshine, but not to be thought of in connection with a
summer shower.

“What shall we do??? she exclaimed. “I don’t mind
getting my death of cold in a drenching, but to go back’
and face the rest, sheltered, no doubt, by the carriages,
ae dripping and drowned—no, Sir Arthur, I can’t do
that?

can Arthur had been scanning the horizon with eagle
glance.

“I see a house,” he said; ‘‘at least I see a tall chimney.
and where there is a chimney there must be shelter. Let
us make forit, Lady Cecili—we can reach it in five min-
utes, if werun. Can you run?”

“Certainly I can run,’ answered La Reine Blanche.
‘What a question for yoy to ask, of ali people, as though
you didn’t stand and laugh at me the afternoon you ar-
rived, romping like a lunatic with Ginevra’s children.
Oh, dear! how fast the drops are coming? Now, then, Sir
Arthur—a fair field and no favor!”

Ang then, with her clear, merry laugh, the haughty,
handsome belle of last season gathered up her flow-
ing, flimsy skirts, bowed her bright head, and sped
away like a deer before the storm. Sir Arthur ran, too;
one may be never so dignified, and yet scamper
for their lives.before a thunder storm. And Lady
Cecil Jaughed, and Sir Arthur laughed, and faster,
faster, faster, fell the light, black drops, and twenty years
of ordinary acquaintance Could not have brought them so
near together as that hour. On and on, faster and yet
faster, the rain pursuing them like an avenging fury, a
great peal of thunder above their heads. Black-
er and bigger that great cloud grows, patter, patter, falls
the rain; it will be down in torrents directly. There is a
flash blindingly bright, and then—Heaven be praised!—
the tall chimney is reached, and it proves to be a house!
Sir Arthur flings wide the gate, and they skurry into the
garden, thickly sheltered by fir trees, and pause at last,
wet, panting breathlessly, laughing, and look into each
others faces.

“] knew 1 could beat_you, Sir Arthur,” is the first thing
Lady Cecil says, aS well as she can. for her throbbing
heart-beats. “Oh, what arace! And my poor parasol,
and my lovely hat—spoiled! I can’t see anything to
laugh at, Sir Arthur—it was a beauty, though you mayn’t
have had soul enough to appreciate it. And my slippers
—see!’

She held out one slim foot—oh, Queenie, wasit coquetry?
—and the beautiful bronze slippers, the gay little rosettes
were ruined. ‘And your feet ure wet,” Sir Arthur, ex-
claimed; “that is worst of all. And there is danger under
these trees, in this lightning. We must make for the
house. What place is this?’

“JT don’t know. A most dismal and gruesome place, at
Good gracious! what a flash; and—oh, heaven! Sir
rthur, did you see that???

She gave a little scream and caught his arm.

He followed her eye—to the front windows of the house

lust in. time to catch a glimpse of a woman’s face as che

led some one hastily away from the panes.

“Phat woman! do you know her?” he asked.

But Lady Cecil stood like one struck dumb, gazing with
all her eyes.

“Do you know her?’ he repeated in surprise.

“It is—it is—it is—Miss Herncastle!?

“Well—and who is Miss Herncastle? Does she live

 
 
 
 
 

here?”
“Live here ?? Shelooked at him. “It is Ginevra’s
governess. And that other face—that awful, gibbering

mouthing face she drew away. Ugh!’ she shuddered
and drew closer to him. “You did not look in time to
see it, but—of all the woeful, unearthly faces—and then
Miss Herncastle came and dragged it away. Now what
in the wide world brings /em here ?””

“Suppose we go up to the house and investigate. Are
you aware you are growing wetter every instant. Now,

: : . "4

5

cee

A wise generality. It ts a queer world.

“Lady Cecil, the rain has ceased—I think we may ven-
ture forth now. Good-day to you, madame, and thanks
for the shelter your roof has afforded.”

He laid a sovereign in her skinny hand. She arose,
dropped him a courtesy and watched him out of sight.

‘“‘A fine gentleman and free with his money, and she—
ah, it’s a beautiful face, and it’s a proud face, but there’s
always trouble in store for them as carries their heads so
high, and them haughty eyes always sheds most tears. A
fine gentleman and a beautiful lady, but there’s trouble
in store for them—trouble, trouble.”

[TO BE CONTINUED.]}

The Cheated Bride;

rn OR iinet
WON BY A LIE!

By Mrs. Helen Corwin Pierce,

Author of “CURSE OF EVERLEIGH,” “IN-
JURED HUSBAND,” “WHOM DID LADY
VIOLET MARRY?” etc.

 

 

[The Cheated Bride” was commenced in No. 29. Back num-
bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.

CHAPTER . XL.

Cheeny went on toward Perdita’s door.

Grizzle was stretched on a bianket near it.

He shook the whip at him as he lifted his huge, mis-
shapen head, and the idiot drew himself together with a
sort of growl and cowered away from him watching him
with red eyes.

Cheeny knocked on the heavy oaken door with the
handle of the whip—a loud, threatening knock that
echoed through the deserted halls of the house with
strange and fearful repetitions.

No response came from within.

He waited a moment, and inserting the key which he
had brought with him, threw open the door noisily. He
was entering in that ioud, blustering and impertinent
manner.

The brandy was in his head, a demon was in his heart,
his eyes shone with a baleful gleam that might have
made a very stout heart quail. But Perdita Lorne had a
stout heart. It would have been hard to find a braver
one in the presence of actual danger than beat in the
bosom of this slight, young girl, with her almost dimin-
utive size and delicate face.

There was a low fire on the deep, wide hearth, and Per-
dita sat before it in one of the old-fashioned chairs de-
scribed in a previous chapter. The tattered silken cover-
ings had lost none of their forlornness.

Perdita has changed since we saw her last. Nothing
could it seemed take from that charming face its bright-
ness, its winsome attraction, but it had lost roundness,
The flush that had been so lovely on those olive cheeks
was gone, the dark, bright eyes looked out of hollows,
painful to see. Where the lustrous silver hair was pushed
back from the temples were more hollows. That sweet
face looked frightfully wan and thin, but as I have said it
was bright sti!l. The deathless spirit shone through as
flame glows through alabaster. 5
She sat partially facing the door, but did not turn her
eyes as it opened to. admit tle unscrupulous villain whe
had already so wronged her—who was plotlipbg now a
more horrible wrong still.

She had not known of his presence in the house till this
moment. But without looking that way she seemed to
know that it was he who had entered.

Perhaps it was the natural recoil of so pure a spirit as
hers, from so much that was evil. Certainly a cold thrill
ran through her as he stepped across the threshold, and
she seemed to see stretched between her and him the
bleeding form of a magnificently beautiful woman, to feeb
the wild light of those agonized and threatening eyes now
upon her face—now on his—the murderer’s,

Her own courage seemed joined by ancther’s, some-
thing superhuman. A gliostly presence stood between
her and him and she was not afraid.

As for Cheeny, he had come in and closed the door. He
stood against it looking at her. He leaned against the
door with his knees suddenly quaking under him, for he
had recognized in an instant the face of the child upon
Perdita’s lap.

“Curse them,’’ he muttered, ‘‘they did not tell me this.”
Then his face hardened again.

“What matter ?”? he thought, ‘The devil’s work is never
done they say, andthe better I serve him the better I
mean to‘be paid.”

Georgie had not waked. He slept as children do. Per-
dita watched him lovingly. The child’s handsome little
face reclined upon her shoulder, his dark curls brushed her
cheek, and one little rose-flushed palm was laid upon her
neck.

She arose in a moment, and with a warning glance at
the guilly man who was watching her, placed the child
upon the bed, in the farther part of the room.

By the time she got back to the fire-place, Cheeny had
changed his mind about playing the brute, openly, at
least. .The insolent look had died out of his silky, false
face. He stood waiting to speak to Perdita with as much
the air and attitude of a gentleman as it was possible for
him to display.

That indescribable something, which, in spite of her
seeming helplessness, had awed Clever Dick inio behav-
ing with a show of respect while in her presence, had as-
serted its power now over the evil passions, the reckless
determination of this greater villain—Cheeny.

erdita drew her chair a little more to one side of the
hearth, and without looking at, or speaking to Cheeny,
sat down.

Cheeny advanced. He had dropped his whip by the
door. He spoke in a low and respectful tone.

“J find myself obliged to come for your decision, Miss
Lorne. I hoped to have heard from you ere this,’?
Perdita looked up, aud at him now. There was a spark
in her fearless eye.

“It is not my fault if you have not heard from me. 1
sent you messages enough,’ she said in a low, but clear’
voice.

Cheeny started.

“I beg your pardon—indeed, I never received one.

“Did you not? Then I will give you the amount of one
now. If youimagine that by pursuing this process of
slow starvation which you have adupted, you will break
my spirit so far as to ever win my Consent to your abomi-
nable schemes, you are mistaken.”

“Am 1?”

He looked at her steadily a moment.

“I don’t know what you mean by starvation. My
orders were, that you should be supplied with every lux-
ury attainable here.”’

“Those were not your orders,’? said Perdita boldby.
“You thought by adding that cruelty to the rest, to bend
me the sooner to your wishes, But I’shall never be bent.
So long as there is life enough left in me to turn my hea@,
1 will turn it from your schemes.” ‘

“It will be in vain, Miss Lorne, believe me. You will
consent sooner or later.’?

“T shall not.” -

The small head was thrown back with a gesture of de-

 

Lady Cecil, another race.”
They fled through the rain—coming down in buckets
full by this time—to the house, and into the low stone

porch. Crash went Sir Arthur’s thunder on the panels.
The door yielded to that tremendous knock and flew open,
and they stood face to face with a tall, gaunt, grim old

woman.

“I beg you pardon, ma’am,” the baronet said; ‘I didn‘t
mean to force an entrancein this way. We got caught
in the storm, and fled here for shelter. Will you permit
this lady to enter?”

“As you’ve bust the door open a’ready, I suppose you
may,” retorted the old woman, in no very hospitable
tone, and casting no very hospitable glance on the two
intruders. ‘Come in if you like, and sit down.”

She pointed to a couple of wooden chairs, then went
out of the room and up-stairs. And then there came
from down those stairs a long, low wailing cry, 80
wild, so unearthly, so full of infinite misery, that Lady
Cecil, with a second ery of alarm, caught hold of the
baronet’s arm and looked at him with terrified eyes.

“Did you hear that??? she gasped.

Yes, Sir Arthur had heard it+rather discomposed him-
self. He held her hand and listened. Would that weird
cry be renewed? No; a heavy door slammed above, then
perfect silence fell. :

“Let us leave this horrid honse and that harsh-looking
old woman,”’ exclaimed Lady Cecil. ‘1 believe the place,
whatever else it may be, isuncauny. Of twoeyils1 prefer
the rain.”?

“The rain is by no means the lesser evilof the two. I
fear 1 must be arbitrary, my dear Lady Cecil, and insist
upon your remaining at least ten minutes longer. By that
time the lightning aud rain will liave ceased. That was
a strange cry—it sounded like one in great pain.’

The door reopened and theold woman re-entered. She
glanced suspiciously at the lady and gentleman seated by
the window.

“| hope my raven didn’t frighten the young lady,’’ she
said; ‘he do scream out most unearthly. ‘Phat was him
you heard just now.’

She looked at them again, as though to see whether
this statement was too much for their credulity.

Sir Arthur smiled.

“It did startle us a little, I confess.
most lugubrious voice, my good woman.
the name of this place?’

“It be Bracken Hollow.”

“Bracken Hollow,” Lady Cecil repeated the name in a
still more startled voice. ;

She had her wish then sooner than she had expected—
she was in Sir Peter’s haunted house.

“Ay, your ladyship, Bracken Hollow, a main and lone-
some place—main and lonesome. Ye will have heard of
it, maybe. Ye’re from the Park beyond now, I’ll lay ?”?

“Yes, we’re from the Park. Do you live here in this
lonely place quite by yourself??? f

“Not quite, your ladystiip; alone most of the time, but
odd days a young woman from the town comes to help
me redd up. Ye wili hev seen her, mayhap, at the upper
window as ye came in?”

Again she looked searchingly, anxiously, it seemed to
the baronet. He hastened kindly to reassure her.

“We did catch a glimpse of a face for a second at one of
the upper windows. Isuppose you are rarely intruded
upon‘here as we intruded upon you just new ?”

‘Ay, rarely, rarely. I mind once’’—she rocked herself
to and fro and looked dreamily before her—"I mind just
once afore a young couple got ketched in the rain as ye
did, and came here shelter. That was six years ago—six
long years ago—and there’s been niany sad and heavy
cha since then.: He was rare an’ handsome that day,

Your raven has a
Will you tell us

 

and she—on, it’s a queer world—a queer world.”

fiance, a faint flush was mantling in the thin cheek.

“Please, Miss Lorne, to consider a moment. There is
no one else, lam sure, Whom your would care enough
to marry, unless it were his lordship, the present 8
called Earl of Dane. .Him you could not wish to hose
with your hand, after knowing that it is really to him you
owe your presence here, a prisoner. When I prove this
to you, so that you cannot possibly doubt it, when I show
you that the only way in which you can obtain your
rights and punish him for his cruelty to you, is by marry-
ing me, when you fully realize that you can never leave
this room again till you leave it as my wife——”

Perdita interrupted him.

“Never mind the rest, Il have got away from you on¢e.
Prove to me, if you can, what you have Just asserted con-
cerning Lord Dane’s being concerned in my imprison-
ment here.’? :

Cheeny took out alarge envelope containing the docu-
ment he had received from the earl. He extended it to
Perdita, It was in. Lord Dane’s own hand, with au earl’
coronet in the margin. Perdita looked at it with cold,
yet glittering eyes. Then she took itin her hand and
read it through slowly. Jn it the earl obligated himself
on condition of Perdita Lorne resiguing any and all
claims which she might have now, or might hereafter
attain to the Dane estates or title—to pay her annually
the sum of five thousand pounds.

It was a virtual acknowledgment that she had. claims
which were of consideration. Cireeny had had two ob-
jects in view in obtaining that document; the one the
acknowledgment of Perdita’s claim, the other, the putting
it to the use he was now doing with Perdita herself, He
was a believer in the spirit.ol, if he did not know the
lines about the ‘fury of a woman scorned.”? He had his
hopes that Perdita might be influenced to marry him
willingly, for the sake of revenging her wrongs on Lord
Dane. These hopes had been very high till he made the
discoveries he had since his arrival at Rylands. He had
not abandoned them now. He still. meant to face the
thing out. He would boldly deny everything of which
Perdita might deem him guilty. ‘

Perdita read the paper through carefully, as I have
said. She pondered it in her far-seeing, thoughtful man-
ner. The ouly question in her mind was—did Lord Dane
write it? Could he, so seemingly noble, chivalrous, and
honorable, have descended to anything so contemptille?
If he was indeed the author of this, then she must believe
also that to'him she owed her; cruel. immurement. at Ry-
lands. Onethought had, unconsciously to herself, done
much toward sustaining her in the, past season of perse-
cution. That thought had been that Gheeny had led
when he said that she owed it all to Lord Dane. Now, if
Lord Dane wrote and signed this document, she must be-
lieve that he did the rest. She turned — nly upon
Cheeny. Mo tik Sf Bees ye? j

“Bring mea pen; I will sign it. Tam. wilting
to sign it.” 1 v gr J

“Whatland sign away your rights to the immense —
Dane esiates?—to cede your claim: to the title?’ cried
Cheeny, in unmistakable dismay and alarm,

Perdita’s face turned a degree whiler,, That. start, and
that consternation so plainly depicted.on Cheeny’s face,
were stronger testimony to the genuineness of the hateful
document than the’most sgiemn- protestations to its au-
thenticity would have been. She hela the paper to him.

‘Take it away,’ she said, bitterly. “Ii 1 could sign it
and give it into his own hands, 1 should do it, if only to
see if he has any manly feeling left. There would be no
use in signing it and leaving it in your hands—he would
never get it.”

Cheeny took the paper, carefully replaced it in its en-
velope, and returned it to his pocket for safe-keeping.

‘Will you marry me, Miss Lorne?’ he aaked, boldly,

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tyas

or

 

 

 
 

 

mee

 

 

 

 

> "Phe earl’s wrath was fearful.
‘sountess reminded him how happy they had been, how
“true a wife she had been to him.

him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“and step at once into your rightful position as Countess
of Dane, and mistress of an income such as you never
dreamed of?"

Perdita lifted her head; she advanced astep, surveying
him with an unreadable expression in her dark, fearless,
scintillating glance. Her eyes seemed to flash light as she
looked at him; her voice cut the air like a lash upon the
back of a hound, s

‘You! You MURDERER!” she said, ‘Before six months
are gone you shall be where there is neither marrying
nor giving in marriage—on the gallows !"

Cheeny recoiled before the lightning of her eyes; he
shuddered from lead to foot at the deadly prophecy of her
voice. Then he rallied again. He must have been a man
of iron nerve to go through what he had in the past. He
proved himsel{a man of certainly extraordinary nerve
now to rally so desperately after a check like that,

*‘Miss Lorne,’”’? he said—‘‘my lady countess’’—and he

bowed with mocking malignity—‘‘you shall disprove your:

own prophecy before twenty-four hours have passed. We
are in Scotland. You don’t know how'’easily people are
married here.’ You don’t Know how little needs be done
to give me a legal right to claim-you,as my wile.”’

Perdita’s clear eyes studied hima moment. She mas-
tered the deadly terror which his words inspired to send
that’ irresistible. glance of hers to the very bottom of
his cowardly soul, as the lead drops in even muddy
water.

“You cannot make me your wife without my own con-
sent, even here,?? she said, ealmly, “The marriage laws
of Scotland are founded im justice. It is no part of their
intent'to make a woman @ wife against her will.”’

*‘They will make you my wife with or without your con-
sent. All I need is two witnesses to testify to the fact
that you have called ine your husband, that you have
permiited me to call you. my wise.”

Perdita could guess who the witnesses would, be in this
case, but her keen good sense stiil stood her best Iniema,

“] believe you are lying to me,’’ she said.» ‘sYou, could
find no one person whose testimony woulda be accepted in
a legal question Lo bear witness to a lie like that.”

“he law is bound to accept any inan’s oath, provided
he cannot be proved a perjuror.”’

iifPerfita’s courage sauk any at this view of the ques-
tion! swe did not show it. Wer pure, spirited face, never
fultefed=-the stern’ and steady ray of her g:owing eye
burned on wilhout change.

“Jf it were indeed possible for such a horrible wrong to
be:perpetrated on'me, which Lado not believe,’? she said,
slowly; “if L cowld be made. your wife without my own
consent, the only way to prevent me putting the halter
round your neck even then, would be to serve me as you
Oid that other wife of yours.’

Cheeny turned the hue) of a corpse at these daring
words, Something came and looked out of his eyes at
the feariéss girl, worse a million times than, anything she
had-ever seen in them before.

*Perhaps 1 may,’ he said, ina hoarse and unnatural
yoice, and turned and left the room.

Perdita moistened her dry and blanched. lips. She
walked to’ the fire, and stooped over tive few smoldering
embers left there.

“Ugh!)? she said, with w@ shiver, ‘show cold Iam!
man is worse than a snow bank.’

Then she stood erect ‘again on the hearth,
her light, young, supple shape up courageously.

“God is everyyihere,” she murmured, reverently. “So
Jong as I trust Him and am not afraid di here,’ touching
her breast, ‘tthat cowardly wretch cannot harm me.’

The

She drew

 

; CHAPTER XLI. ;

Tt'was about the middle of the afternoon three days
Jater.’ Lord Dane had just) come in from his clubroom,
Where le had been idling away the day tillnow. One of
‘the ‘tall footmen in his lordship’s grand hail met him and
tookhis hat and gloves,

‘Anybody been here, Foster?" the earl asked.

*BaroneChandos isin the library, my lord; been waiting
some fie."

Lord Dane’s face, which had been gloomy before,
brightened,

*‘Let'niy brougham be atthe door in two hours,’’ he
said; and walked toward the library quickly.

Baron Chandos was pacing up and down the richly
carpeted floor, his look that of a man who has matters of
weight upon his mind.

He turned at the earl’s entrance and gravely shook his
hand. His face was stern.

<‘Has anything new happened, baron?”
asked, anxiously.

“Much that is news to me, but not to you, I fear,’’ said
the baron, significantly and sadly.

His strange looks, the excited brightness of his eyes,
the solemnity with which he spoke, startled the earl
vaguely. His mind had not been ina tranquil state for
some days. He could not banish from his thoughts the
recoliection of the errand upon which Cheeny had gone.
Without a suspicion of the really terrible nature of that
errand, he experienced constantly painful misgivings con-
cerning it. He wheeled forward two immense chairs
cushioned in green and gold Russia leather.

“Sit down, baron, and tell me,’’ he said.

“Thank you; Iam too disturbed to sit.) He took out
his watch. “Iam going on the first train to Rylands. ° It
is four now.”

“To Rylands ?”’

Lord Dane turned scarlet as he half-gasped out the ex-
clamation.

“To Rylands. my lord, to save a young and innocent
girl from murder or worse.”’

Lord Dane bit his lips.

“J don’t know what you mean, baron. ,There is neither
murder nor worse in danger of happening at Rylands, I
am very sure.”

“Wait,” said the baron, coldly; ‘‘there is time for me to
tell you a story before I go. It isa tale which may inter-
est you, Lord Dane.”

The earl looked uneasy, but he made a courteous ges-
ture of assent, and impatiently awaited the baron’s story,
which proved more starlingly interesting than the listeuer
had anticipated.

“Years ago,’’ said Baron Chandos, ‘‘when he who was
lord before vou was alive, dowou remember to have heard
of anything peculiar in the relations existing between him
and his countess?’’

It was said that they did not live happily together.’’

“That was true. Lady Dane was a French woman.
She had been compelled to marry the earl against her
Wishes, and she never loved him. All her heart was
given to another before she ever saw hin. But she was
true and devoted wife to him. She could noc love him as
she had that other, but she was faithful to him, and made
him happy till enemies came between them. The earl
had a cousin who was heir to the Dane title and estates
after him and his yeirs. This cousin had imagitied that
the earl would never marry because he had lived so long
without. His disappointment and chagrin when he heard
of the marriage were great. He got a hint somewhere
that Lady Dane had Joved some -one else, and told the
earl, who supposed all this time that his wife loved him
as passionately as he dither. The earl taxed the count-

Lord Dane

“ess withit,jand she could make no denial, for it was

true. id
It was ‘in Vain that the

Inthe midst of the ex-
Citement attending the discovery. and explanation, the

“poor lady feilsick. An heir was born. The earl sent the

child’out to nurse, and swore its mother should never see
Three weeks later, the child disappeared. It was
suspected by some that the eari’s cousin knew where the

‘child was, but that was a mistake. The countess recov-

ered--a lovelier woman than ever but sadder also. She
was very gentle, and attentive to her husband; and. in
time, allseemed to grow smooth again. They had no
more children for years, and then one was born. But it
was a girl ‘this time, and the disappointment, for Lord
Dane believed his son to be dead, and wanted another
heir—the disappointment seemed to sour him. It chanced
that when this last babe was only a few months old. the
countess’s old lover came over from France, and the two
who had ‘been separated so cruelly, met after .so many
years.’ He had never married. They met, unexpectedly to
both, at the garden fete. They were alone, they yielded to
the overpowering agitation of the moment. The countess
was weeping, her former lover held one of her trembling
hands between his. Lord Dane surprised them thus. His
anger was fearful. He would haverun‘the French gen-
ftleman through there, had not the countess fallen upon
fim and kept bim from using his sword, while she en-
treated the other to goaway. The next thought of the

unhappy woman was for her babe. She believed that her.

enraged husband would now take that child from her, as
he had her boy before. Sie left the garden in an almost
frenzied state, but outwardly calm and_ self-possessed.
She ordered her carriage, and without waiting for the
ear!, drove home to this very Dane House. Arrived here,
she took the babe fromits nurse’s arms, tossed a stawl
about it, and without waiting to change jher own rich
dress, went back to the carriage, and gave the man on
the box orders to drive for his life to an address: which
she gave him. Tie man obeyed. The countess was ab-
sent till four in the morning. She came back without
the child, and refused to tell where she had taken it. The

~ earl ascertained, however, Where it wad been left that

Night, from the coachman, But when he went there lie
found the house deserted, and could never get any clue
to who had@lived there, or where they had gone. This
gad affair ended inthe final separation of Lord Dane
from his wife. The countess went back to France, or
staried for there, and died on the way of grief and shame
and a broken heart. So far, my lord, 1 presume I have
not told you much news,” the baron paused in his re-
Cital to say. a hs}4

<Itis not all news to me. A portionis,’? the earl an-
swered, in a low voice.

“Now comes the important part of my story. Lady
Dane hail one brother younger tian herseif who idolized
her. He was visiting her at Leuseleigh at the time of the
first difficulty. He saw her first child, the young heir, torn
from her by its father, he heard her shrieks of anguish,
when her enraged husband told her she should never see
the boy again, He .it was, young. Paul Chandos, who
“tole the babe away and hid it where the mother could
sometimes, at very rare intervals, come in secret and
caress it. He it was who later received the last child
from its mother’s frautic arms, and bore it away to a secure
retreat.”

Lord Dane had grown very pale. He understood the
story. Putting this recital besides some other facts which
had lately come to his knowledge he could understand it.

“Are you Paul Chandos?’ he asked hoarsely.

“Tam.”

“Then you know —”

“What became of the heir and his sister? I do, up toa
certain date.’’

“The heir was called Volney Heath—the sister’s name

is Perdita Lorne? Am I correct, baron?
“You are,’?

 

 

 

eee fen ee tS

ah Pia

“Will you explain to me why Volney. Heath mever
claimed his rights, if he Was in truth the rightfub heir ?”’

“He did not know that be was. When lie was seven
years old, I had reason to suspect that"the earl had got a
clue to our whereabouts. My sister was just dead, my
heart was very sore, I had in ny possession the necessary
proofs of the birth and rights of the two children. I lad
promised my sister that they should never be given into
their father’s power until they were old enougl to under-
stand and be told why they had been severed fron: him.
She could never get rid of a fear, that he would not do
right by them. 1 took both children to the door. of a poor
widow, of whose integrity and warm heart I Knew, and
left them there, intending in time to return for them, But
a Woman servant in my employ, in a fit of anger stole the
papers proying the birth of the two children. I followed
her from’ city to city, to France, and finally to India. On
my way to the last place | was shipwrecked and lived on
an island in the Southern Ocean six years. I was finally
rescued and brought to England once more by a passing
ship. Since that time] have been seeking that woman
who stole from me the proofs of the birth of my sister’s
children, Their father—Lord Dane—had died before I
first left England, about the time I discovered the theft of
the papers, I could do nothing without those papers, and
I could not find the wonian who had stolen them. I heard
of her at last—she’had been dead years. But before her
death she had sent for Rupert Vassar, who had been a
foster child of hers, and confided the papers and thesecret
to him, so far as she knew it. She did not know that
Volney Heath was the heir—I had scrupulously concéaled
his relationship to the little girl, and the woman believed
the heir to be: real'y dead. Hence’ Vassar supposed
Perdita to be the heiress of all.’?

‘And she ts the heiress of all??? questioned Lord Dane,
in a voice of despair.

“After her brother and his heirs, yes. But you under-
stand, my ‘lord, I wave no ‘proof either of her brother’s
death or her oavn birth.”?

Lord Dane bowed his head upon his hand, trying to rise
against the blow.

“You will find the proof,’ he said.

“T hope so; I have the elne.”?

“Ah?? And theearl looked at hima earnestly.

“Yes, the woman who stole it was named Cheeny. She
was the mother of your lordship’s confidential man, than
whom—begging your pardon—there is not a greatei
scoundrel aunhung. His own mother distrusted him, and
confiiled the papers she had stolen to Rupert Vassir in-
stead of him in. consequence. Cheeny knew that thee
was a secret, and that itconcerned Perdita Lorne. What
that secret was he did not know, tili Vassar himsell told
him in his rage just after his daughter’s marriage to poor
Volney. Can you gness now, my lord, whatis the vil-
lainy your valet is endeavoring to perpetrate at Rylands.”’

“Teould perhaps if ie were a single man,” the earl an-
swered, with a painfully roused look.

“Is he nota single man ?”?

Lord Dane shook his head.

“No

“How do you know that he is not?’? :

“] have seen his wife. He has‘a wife and one‘ehild.”

“Perhaps lis wife is dead—— Stay,’? the baron added,
lifting his hand, while His face whitened suddenly... \‘*l
think I know how Rupert Vassar'came’ toshis: death. ‘1
have been tracing the matter slowly home.”

Lord Dane looked at him excitedly.

“Have you had no susgicion?”? asked the baron.

“None of any value.” 1% :

 

“Who have you your suspicions pointedat? Any one

near home?’?

Lord Dane made a startled gesture.

“Certainly not.”

“Not at—— Wait. Were any papers found on Vassar ?”’

“None. Cheeny told me he said h * had deposited them
in London for safe keeping.” :

“And you did not see through the lic? You did not
suspect Cheeny liimself of having them ‘ll the time?”

“T suspected him, I accused him, but he denied: it so
stoutly, and with such seeming sincerity, that 1 believed
him.”’

“Nevertheless he had them, and he has them still.”

{To BE CONTINUED, }

Brave and Bolr.;

io Laas Spat Ip
The Fortunes of Robert Rushton.

By Horatio Alger, jr

 

 

[Brave and Bold” was commenced in No. 39. Bacck numbers
can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States. ,

CHAPTER XXXII.
ROBERT SUCCEEDS IN HIS MISSION.

There was no one in sight, but it was evident that a
party from an American ship had visited the island. Had
they departed? That was a momentous question. ‘In-
stinctively the eyes of both sought the sea. They saw an
American ship riding at anchor amile or more from shore,

“Give me your handkerchief, Robert,’? said Bates; ‘‘I’ll
signal them.”

“It isn’t very clean,’’ said our hero.

“It'll do. . See, they’re looking at us.”?

“Your eyes must be good.”

‘I’m used to looking out to sea, lad.”

He waved the handkerchief aloft, and felt sure that he
had attracted the attention of those on board. But there
was no motion to put off a boat.

“Do they seexit?’? asked Robert, eagerly.

“T think so.”

“Do you think they will come for us? If not, we can
put off in our boat.*? ‘

“T think the party that planted that flag-sta!f hasn't got
back. It is exploring the island, and will be back soon.*?

. “Of course it is,’ said Robert, suddenly. ‘‘Don’t you see

their boat?” i
All we've got to dois to

“Ay, ay, lad; it’s all right.
stay here till they come,’? z

They had not long to wait, A party of sailors, headed
by an officer, came out of the woods, and headed for the
shore. They stopped short in surprise at the sight of
Robert and Bates. ‘

“Who are you?’ asked the leader, approaching.

Bates touched his hat, for he judged this was the captain
of the vessel he had seen,

“Tam a sailor from the ship Argonaut, bound from New
York to Calcutta, and this young gentleman is Robert
Rushton, passenger aboard the same ship.”

“Where is. your ship?”

“T don’t know, captain.”

“Wow came you here???

“We were left here. The vessel went without us.”

“Tow long have you been here?’

“Six weeks.”

“There is something about this which I do not under-
stand. Are you here of your own accord?”

“We are anxious to get away, Captain,’ said Robert.
“Will yon take us???

“To be sure I will. There’s room enongh on my ship
for both of you. ButI can’t understand how you were
left here.’? ; ‘

“It’s a long yarn, captain,” said Bates. “If you havent
time to hear it now, I will tell you aboard ship.*?

* You look like a good seaman,’? said the captain, ad-
dressing Bates. ‘‘’m short-handed just now. If you will
engage with me, I will enroll you among my crew.”’

“That Pll do,’ said Bates, with satisfaction. ‘I wasn’t
made for a passenger.”?

‘*My ship is the Superior, bound from Boston to Calcut-
ta;so your destination will be the same. My name is
Smith. Do you know the name of this island ?”’

“| never heard of it before.”

“IT have taken possession of it in the name of the United
States, supposing myself the first discoverer,”’

“That's allright, To my mind, the Star Spangled Ban-
ner is the best that can Wave over it.’’

“We might offer the captain our boat,” suggested
Robert.

The offer was made and accepted; and, while the cap-
tain and his party returned in one boat, Robert and Bates
rowed to the ship in their own, and were soon on the
deck of the Superior, to their unbounded satisfaction,

“This is something like,’ said Bates. ‘‘The island is
oo enough, but there’s nothing like the deck of a good
ship.¥

‘“T don’t think I wholly agree with you,’ said Robert,
smiling; ‘“‘but just at presenti do. I am glad enough to
be here. Wemay meet Cuaptain Daley at Calcutta,’ he
added, after a pause,

“Likely he’ll have got away before we get there.”

“T hope not. 1 should like to meet him face to face,
and charge him with his treachery. I don’t think he'll
be over glad to see me.”

“That's so, lad. Hedon’t expect ever to set eyes on
you again.”

Robert soon felt at homeon the new vessel. Captain
Smith he found to be a very different man from Captain
Haley. When he heard the story told him by our hero,
he said:

“1 like your pluck, Robert. You've had contrary winds
so far, but you’ve borne up against them. The wind’s
changed now, and you are likely to have a prosperous
voyage, Tunis Captain Haley is a disgrace to the service.
He'll be overhauled some time.’ a

“When I get back to New York I shall tell Mr. Morgan
how he treated me.’’

“That will put a spoke in his wheel.’

* There's one thing I want to speak to you, about, Cap-
tain Smith. How much will my passage be ?”

‘Nothing at all.”?

“But I have some money with me.
pay.’ ;

‘Keep your money, my lad. Yow will need it all before
you get through. I was ounce a poor boy myself, obliged
to struggle for my living. I haven’t forgotten that time,
and it makes me willing to lend a helping hand to others
in the same position.’

“You are very kind, Captain Smith,’ said Robert,
gratefully.

“L ought to. be.
Calcutta?”

“Only long enough to look about for my father.”

“Then you can return to New Yorkin wy ship.
cost you nothing.’

 

I am willing to

How long do you, want-to stay in

It shall

This offer was gratefully accepted—the more,so hak

our hero had begun to realize that two hnondred dollars
Was a small sum to carry on a journey of such length, "

At last. they reached Calcutta. Robert surveyed with
much interest .the great. city of [ndlia, so at ar nein is
external appearance from New York, the only great ‘city
besides that he knew anything about,

“Weil, Robert,” said Captain Smith, on their arrival,
‘what are your planus? Will you make your home on

om

= ete

 

<4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

board the ship, or board in the city during our stay in
port ??

“TI think,” said Robert, “I should prefer to live in the
city, if you would recommend me a good boarding-

lace,’?
" “That I can do, I amin the habit of boarding at a
quict house kept by a widow. Her terms are reasonable,
aud you can do no better than go there with me.

“jlank you, Captain Smith, Ishall be gtad to follow
your advice.”

So it happened that Captain Smith and Robert engaged
board at the house of Mrs. Start, where it wil be remein-
bered that Captain Rushton was also a boarder, passing
still under the name of Smith. Physically ie had con-
siderably improved, but mentally he, was not yet recoy-
ered, His mind had received a shock, which, as it
proved, a shock equally great was needed to bring il back
to ils proper balance.

“By the way,’’ said Mrs. Start to Captain Smith, ‘‘we
have another gentleman of your name liere.’’

‘Indeed 2”?

“You will see hin at dinner. Poor gentleman, his mind
is affected, and we only gave hit this name because we
didn’t Know his real name.’’

Robert little dreamed whtoit was of whom Mrs. Start
Was speaking, nor did he look forward with any partica-
lar curiosity to seeing the other Mr. Smith.

When dinner was announced, Robert and the captain
Were early in their seals, and were introduced to the
other boarders asthey came in. Finally Captain Rushton
entered, and moved forward to a sent beside the land-
lady. Robert chanced to look up ashe entered, and his
heart made a mighty,bound when in the new Mr. Smith
he recognized his father.

“Father! he exclaimed, eagerly, springing from his
seat, and overturning his chair in his haste.

Captain Rushton looked at him for a moment bewil-
derment. Then ali at once the mists: that had obscured
his faculties were dispelled, and he cried ‘‘Robert! my
dear son, how came you here ?”?

‘J came in search of you, father.
have found you alive and well.”

“7 think 1 have been in adream, Robert. They call me
Smith. That surely is not my name.’’

“Rushton, father. You have not forgotten ?’

“Yes, thatis it. Often ithas been on the tip of ny
tongue, and then if slipped away from me. But tell me,
how came you here?”

“Tam indebted to the Kindness of this. gentleman—

Thank Heaven I

Captain Smith, father—who rescued ime from great
peril.” Ei
This scene, of course, excited great astonishment

among the boarders, and the worthy laudlady, who had
been uniformly kind to Captain Rushton, was rejoiced at
his sudden recovery. Feeling that inutual explanations in
public would be unpleasant, she proposed to send dinner
for both to Captain Rushton’s room, and this offer was
gladly accepted.

“And how did youJeave your mother, Robert?’
the captain.

“She was well) father, but mourning for your loss,’?

‘| wish I could fly to her.”

“You shall go back with mein Captain Smith’s vessel.
lam sure he will take us as passengers.”” —,

“So we will. You are sure your mother is well pro-
vided for. But Mr. Davis has, no doubt, supplied her
with money.”’

“Not a cent, father.’

“Not a cent! 1 deposited five thousand dollars with him
for her benefit, just before sailing.”

“So you wrote in the letter which you sent in the bot-
tle,’

‘“‘Was that Jetter received ?”?

“Yes; it wus that what led me to come in search of
you.”?

“And did you go to Mr. Davis?”

“He denied the deposit, and demanded to see the re-
ceipt.”?

“The villian! He thought I Was atthe bottom of the
sea, and the receipt with me, He shall find his mistake.”

“Then you have the receipt still, father?

‘To be sure I have,’’ and Captain Rushton drew it from
the pocket where it had Jain concealed for two years and
more,

Robert regarded it with satisfaction.

“He won’t dare to deny it after this.
going back at once.”’

“Now, Robert, tell me,all that has happened. in my ab-
sence, and how you raised money eneugh to come out
here,”

So father and son exchange narrations. Captain Rush-
ton was astonished to find that the same man, Ben Haley,
who had been the cause of his misfortunes had also come
so near compassing the destruction of his son.

“Thanks toa kind Providence,” he said, ‘this wicked
machinations have failed, and we are alive to defeat his
evil schemes.”

* CHAPTER XXXII.
: CAPTAIN HALEY IS SURPRISED.

In due time the Superior cleared for New York, and
among the passengers were Robert and his father. Since
the meeting with his son Captain Rushton's mental malady
had completely disappeared, and his mental recovery af-
fected his physicial health favorably. His step became
firm and elastic, his eye was bright, and Robert thought
he had never jooked better. Leaving the two to pursue
their.yoyage home, we return to Captain Haley.

After leaving Robert to his fate, he kept on his way, re-
joicing with a wicked satisfaction that he had. got rid of
an enemy who had itin his power to do him harm, for what
Robert might suffer in his island prison, he cared little.
He took it for granted that he would never get away, but
would pass his life, be it longer or shorter, in dreary exile,
Though the crew did not know all, they knew that the
captain had heartlessly left Robert to his fate, and all
were animated by acommon feeling of dislike to their
commander, who never under any circumstances would
have been popular. But there was no one among them bold
enough to come forward, and charge Haley with his crime,
even when they reached Calcutta. The captain moved
among them, and his orders were obeyed, but not with
alacrity. This satisfied him, for he cared nothing for the
attachment of those under his command,

One day in Calcutta he lad a surprise.

He met Captain Rushton one day when out walking. It
seemed like one risen from the dead, for he supposed him
lying at the bottom of the sea. Could his eyes deceive
him, or was this really the man whom he had so grossly
injured? Captain Rushton did not see Haley, for he was
partly turned away from him, and was busily conversing
with a-gentleman of his acquaintance, Haley drew near,
and heard Captain Rushiou addressed as Mr, Smith. He
at once decided that, in spite of the wonderful resem-
blance, it was not the maa he supposed, and breathed more
freely in consequence. But he could not help looking
back to wonder at the surprising likeness,

“They are as near alike as if they were brothers,” he
said to himself.

He did not again catcli sight of Captain Rushton while
in Calcutta,

Before Robert arrived, Captain Haley had sailed for
home. But he met will stoMns, and his vessel received
injuries that delayed her, so that his ship ouly reached
New York on the same day with the Superior, bearing as
“passengers Robert and his father, Our hero lost no tune
in calling upon his friend Mr. Morgan, and actuaily reach-
ed the office an hour before Haley, the Superior having
reached her pier alittlein advance of the other vessel.

When Robert walked into the office, Mr. Morgan, who
was at his desk, looked up, and recognized him at once.

‘Welcome Wack, my young friend,’ he said, cordjliy,
rising to meet him. ‘I am glad to see you, but I Vt
expect you quite so soon. How did you iiappen to come
in advance of the captain?”’

“Then you have not heard what happened at sea ?”’ said
Robert. \

“Yes,’ said the merchant, ‘I heard, much to my re-
gret, of Captain Evans’ death, He was a worthy man,
and [am truly sorry to lose him. What«do you think of
his successor, Captain Haley? lic has never before sailed
for me.”*

“After I have told my story, you can judgeof him for
yourself. I did notreturn on your vessel, Mr. Morgan,
but on the Superior, Captain Smith.”

‘“‘How is that?’ asked the merohant, surprised.

“Because Captain Huley left meon an island in the
Southern Ocean, bound to atree, and probably supposes
that [am dead.”

“Your story seems incredible, Robert. Give me a full
account of all that led to this action on the part of the
captain.”

My readers shall not be wearied with a repetition of de-
tails with which they are already familiar. Robert related
witat had happened to him in a straightforward manner,
and Mr. Morgan never thought of doubting his state-
ments,

“This Maley must be a villain,” hesaid. “You are indeed
fortunate in having escaped from the snare he latd for

Fou.’?
’ ‘I have been fortunate in another way also,” said Rob-
ert. “I have succeeded in the object of my voyage.”

“You have not found your father ?’'

“T found him in Calcutta, and I have brought him home
with me.”’

“You must have been born under a lucky star, Robert,’’
said the merchant. ‘Were your father’s adventures as
remarkable as yours?”

“It was the same man who nearly succeeded in accom-
plishing the ruin of both--Captain Haley was my father’s
mate, and it was he who, in revenge for some fancied
slight, set fire to the vessel iu miid-ovean, and then
escaped.’’ :

Scarcely had this revelation been made, when a clerk
entered, and approaching Mr. Morgan; said, ‘‘Captain
Haley would like to see you,”

Mr. Morgan glanced at Robert significantiy.

“T wish to know what explanation. Mr. I[aley has to
give of your disappearance. There is a closet. Go in,
and Close the door partially, So that you may hear what
passes without yourself being seen.’’

Robert was hardly established in his place of conceal-
ment when Haley entered the office.

“Good-morning, Mr. Morgan,"? he said, deferentially,*
for he wished to keep in his employer’s good graces.

*Good-morning, sir,’? said the merchant, formally.
“Captain Haley, I believe?” :

“Yes, sir. I succeeded to the command of the Argonant
upon the lamented death of my friend, Captain Evans,
His death happened on our passage out. | proceeded at
onee to Calcutta, and after disposing of the cargo sailed
for home.??

“Your vosage has been a long One."

“Yes, we have had stress of weather, which -has de-
jnved us materially. Iregret this, but did the best I could
under the circumstances, I hope te have discharged my
duties in a manner satisfactory to you.” . ce

‘“Tcannot of course blame you for delay, since the
weather was quite beyond your control,” said the mer-

asked

I wish we were

 

chant, but his tone was marked by coldness, for which

 

 

a

=

 

jialey found tt diffenit to account. Hie wus anxious to
remain in command of the Argonaut, but the want of
cordiality.evinced by his employer made him doubtful of
his success, He was not timid, however, aud resolved to
broach the subject,

“LT hope, Mr. Morgan,’ he said, ‘that you have suffi-
cient confidence in ime to intrust me with the command
of the Argonaut on her next voyage.” ,

‘He certainly is not lacking in audacity,? thought Mr.
Morgan, ‘We will speak of that matter hereatter,’”? he
said, “wid my young friend, Robert Rushton, return
with you???

Now was the critical moment.
Haley felf embarrassed.

“No, sir,’? he replied.

“Indeed! JI expected that you would bring him back.”

“May Task if the boy is a relative of yours, Mr’ Mer-:
gan???

“No, he is not.”

“So muclr the better.” : oA
Why de yousay that? I am_ particularly interested in
lim. :

“Then, Sir, ny task becomes more painful and embar-
rassing.”’

“You speak in enigmas, Captain Haley.”

“I hesitate to speak plainly. I know you wil! be pained
by, what | liave to tell you.”’

“Don’t consider my feelings, Captain Haley, but say
what you have-to say.’?

“Then | regret to say that the boy, Robert Rushton, is
unworthy ol your friendship.”
“This is a grevious charge.

Substantiate i.”

“L will do so, Shortly atter the death of Captain Evans
and my accession to the command, I found that this boy
Was trying !0 undermine my influence with the men,
from what motives | cannot guess. Il remonstrated with
liim mildly but firmly, but only received insolence in re-
turn, Nevertheless | continued to treat him well on ac-
count of the interest you felt in him. So things went on
till we reached Calcutia.’ He left me at that time, and to
my surprise did not return to the ship. I was able to ac-
count for his disappearance, however, when I | one
hundred and fifty dollars, of which Lhave not the Mght-
est doubt that he robbed me. Ishould have taken meas-
ures to have liim arrested, but since you felt an interest
in him | preferred to suffer the loss in silence.’ I fear,
Mr. Morgan, tiiat you haye been greatly deceived in
him.,??

“I suspect that I have been deceived,’ said Mr. Morgan,
gravely. “Itis only fair, however, Captain Haley, to
liear both sides, and I will therefore summon the boy him-
self to answer your charge... Robert.”

At the summons, to Captain Haley’s equal surprise and
dismay, Robert stepped from the closet in which he lad
been concealed.

‘What have you to say, Robert?” asked the merchant.

In spite of his audacity,

Of course, I expect you to

IPR 7,

= ee

‘May Task what is your motive in calling upon me??
asked Mr. Davis. ‘I suppose you have some object ?””

“T have, and I think you can guess it.?’

“T am not good at guessing,” said Davis haughtily.

“Then I will not put you to that trouble. You remem-
ber, before I sailed for Calcutta, I called here and asked
you to restore the sum of five thousand dollars deposited
with you by my father?”

“l remember it, and at the time I stigmatised the claim
as ifraudnient one. No such sum was ever deposited
with me by your father.”

“How can you say that, when my father expressly,
stated it in the letter, written by: him, from the boat in
which he was drifting about on‘the ocean ??’

__“T have no proof that he letter was genuine, and even
if it were, 1 deny the claim. Iam not responsible for
money | never received.” . ~

“I understand you theh to refuse to pay the money ??

“You would have understood it long ago, if you had not
been uncommonly thick-headed,’” sneered the superin-
tendent, ‘Let this be the end of it. When you present
iny note of acknowledgment for the amount, | will pay it,
and not before.”

“That is all I ask,? said Robert. ; ?

“What ??? demanded the superintendent.

‘IT mean that this assurance is all I want. The note
shall be presented to you in the course of the day.”

“What do you mean?’ asked Davis, startied.

“T mean this, Mr. Davis, that 1 found my father in Cal-
cutta. He came home with me, and, far from baving
perished at sea, is now alive and well. He has with him
your note Sor jive thousand dollars, and will present it
in person. .

‘on are deceiving me!’ exclaimed Davis, in conster-
nation,

“You will soon Jearn whether Iam deceiving you or
not,’’ said Robert, I will now bid you good-morning.
My father will call upon you in the course of the day.”

He rose to go, leaving the superintendent thunderstrack
at the intelligence of Capiain Rushton’s return. The five
thousand dollars, with arrears of interest, would take the
greater part of the money whose sudden acquisition had
so elated him. While he was considering vle siluation,
his wife entered.

“TI think, Mr. Davis,” she said, “IL will go to New York
to-day to buy the carpeting, if you can spare the money.”

‘Neither now nor at any other time,” he roared savage-
ly; ‘the old carpet must do.” , ;

“Why then, did you tell me fifteen minutes since that I
might buy one? What do you mean by stch trifling, Mr.
Davis?” said his wife, her eyes flashing.

“IT mean what I say. I’ve changed’ my mind. I can’t
afford to buy an “arpet.” ‘8 :

There was a stormy scene between man and wife, which
may be passed overdin silences it-ended with a fit of hys-
lerics on the part of Mis. Davis. while her husband put

 

“Captain Haley knows very well the falsehood of what
he says,’’ said our hero, calmly, . ‘It was not at Calcutta
| left.the Argonaut, nor was it of my Own accord. Cap-
tain Haley with his own hands tied me to a tree on a
small island in the Southern Ocean, and there left me, as
he supposed, to.a solitary death. But Heaven did not
forsake me, and sent firsta brave sailor and afterward a
ship to my assistance. The charge thatI stole money
from him J shall not answer, for | know Mr. Morgan will
not believe it.”

Captain Haley was nota fool, and he knew thatit would
be useless to press the charge farther.

He rose from his seat; his face was dark with anger
and smarting under.a sense of defeat.

“You have not done with me yet,” he said to Robert,
and without another word left the office.

 

CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE CUP AND THE LIP.

Affairs in Millville had gone on muci as usual. "Mrs.
Rushton had not yet exhausied the supply of nioney Jeft
by Robert in the hands of his friend the lawyer. Her ex-

 

penses were small, and were eked out by her earnings;
jor she continued to braid straw, and was able in this way
to earn two dollars a week. Indeed, she made it a point
to be as economical as possible, for spe thought it likely
Robert would spend all his woney, and return penniless.
She had received no letter from him since the one an-
nouncing his being about to sail for Culcutta, and this
made her naturally anxious. But Mr. Paine assured her
that letters were likely to be irregular, and there was no
ground for alarm. So she waited with what patience she
could till Robert should return, hoping that by some
strange chance he might succeed in his quest, and bring
his father back with him. ,

Meanwhile, fortune had improved with Mr. Davis, the
superintendent of the factory. He had lost largely by
speculation, but had blundered at last into the purchase
ofa stock in which some interested parties had effected
acorner. It went.up rapidly, and on the morning wiren
we introduce him again to the reader he was in high good
spirits, having just received intelligence from his broker
that he had cleared seven thousand dollars by selling at
the top of the market.

‘‘Another cup of coffee, Mrs. Davis,’? he said, passing
his cup across the table.

Seeing that his father appeared in good humor, Halbert
ventured to prefer a request, which, however, he hau lit-
tle hope of having granted.

“Have you seen Will Paine’s pony?” he asked, paving
the way for the request.

“Yes,’? said his father; ‘‘I saw him on it yesterday.”

“T's a regular beauty—I wish I jiad one.” ;

“How mucli did it cost ?”

“Two hundred dollars.’

   
  
   
 

   

“That a high price.’?

“Buti se in value every year. I wish you
woul ather.”’

“rt said the superintendent, helping him-
self toa of toast.

“Do you I ?? asked Halbert, in the utmost aston-
ishment. ~~

 

 

“Certainly Ido. I can afford you a pony as well as Mr,
Paine can afford to buy Wiiliam one.”’

“Thank you!’ said Halbert, his selfish nature more
nearly affected by gratitude than ever before. ‘‘You are
very kind. When will you see about it?”

“Tam busy. You may go yourseli and ask Mr. Paine
where he got William’s pony, and ifhe Knows of aby
other equally good.”

“That I will,” said Halbert, leaving the table in haste.

“lfalpert, you have eaten scarcely anything,’”’ said his
mother. .

“Iam not hungry,” said the exéited boy, seizing his
hat, and dashing oif in the direction of Mr. Paine’s o .

“By the way, Mrs. Davis,” said her husband, “I think
you mentioned last week that the parlor needed a new
carpet.”’ A

ra it does. The old one is looking very shabby.”

“How much will a new one cost ?”’

“1 can get a nice Brussels for a hundred dollars.”

“Well, you may order one.”

It was the wife’s turn to ve astonished, for on broach-
ing the subject the week previous her husband had given
her a lecture on extravagance, and Creo refused to
consider her request. This was before the tidings of his
good fortune. She was not siow to accept the /present
concession, and assumed an unusually affectionate mane ;
ver in the exeess of her delight.

Meanwhile Halbert, in opening the front door came in
collision with a boy, taller and stouter than himself,
brown and sunburnt. But changed as he was, he was
not slow in recognizing his old enemy, Robert Rushton.

“What, are you back again?” he said, ungraciously.

“So it appears. Is your father at home?”

“Yes; but he is at breakfast. I don’t think you can see
him.”

‘Ill make the attempt at any rate,’ said Robert.

“Where liave you have all this time??? asked Halbert,
more from curiosity than interest.

“JT went to Calcutta.’’

“Common sailor, I suppose,’ said Halbert, contemptu-
ously.

“No, I was a passenger.”

“Where did you get your money to pay the passage ?””

“fam sorry that Iecan’t stop to gratify your curiosity
just at present, but I have important business with your
father.”

“You're getting mighty important,’ sneered Halbert,

“Am 19? :

“IT wouldn’t advise yon to puf on so many airs just be- |
canse you've been to Calcutta.”

“IT never thought of putting on any. I see you haven't
changed much since I went away. You have the same
agreeable, gentlemaniy manners.”’

“Do you mean to say that I am not a gentlemen?”
blustered Halbert.

“Not atall. You may be one, but you don’t show it.’?

“T have a great mind to put you out of the yard.”

Robert glanced at Halbert’s figure, slight compared
with his own, and laughed,

“I think you would find ita difficult undertaking,’’ he
said, ?

Halbert privately came to the same conclusion, and de-
cided to war only with words,

“T have got something better to do than to stand here
listening to your impudenuce. I wou’t soil my fingers by
touching you.”

“That's a sensible conclusion. Good morning.”

Halbert did not deign torespond, but walked off hold-
ing his nose very high in the air. Then as he thought of
the pony, he quickened his pace, and bent his steps to Mr.
Puine’s office.

“A young man to see you, Mr. Davis,” saidt*Bridget,
enterimg the breakfast-room.

“Who is it?”

“] think ils young Robert Rushton, but he’s much
grown eutirely.”

“Tiiat boy home again!> exclaimed the superintendent
in displeased surprise. “Weil, you may carry him into
the next room\.”’

“Good-morning, Mr. Davis,’? said) Robert, as the super-
intendent entered.

“Good-moruing.
cold reply.

“Last evening.”

“Where have you been?”

“To Galcutta.!

“On a fool's errand.’

“TI felt it my duty to search for my father.”’

“tT could have told you beforehand you would not suc-
ceed. Did you go as a sailor?”

“No.

“Where did you raise money to pay your expenses ?”’

“Tf found friends who helped me.”

“It is poor policy for a boy to live on charity.”

“T never intend to do it,” sdid Robert firmly. “But I
LS rather do it than live on money that did not belong

o me.

“What do you mean by that, sir?’ said the superin-
tendent, suspiciousty.

“It was atsencral remark,” said Robert,

When did you get home?” was the

on his hat and walked. gloomily over. to the factory.
Here he soon received a call from Halbert, who informed
him, with great elation, that Mr. Paine knéw of a cesira-
ble pony which could be had on the same terms us his
son’s,
“Pve changed my mind,” Said his father. ‘A pony
Will cost too muth money.” ¥4
All Halbert’s.ent hes Were unayailing, and he fina
left his father’s présélice ia a very unfilial frame of mind
[To BE CONCGLU NEXT, WEEK. }
we ‘£12 G :
q

 

.¢

Ironsides, the Scout.

4 CHAPTER XY.
a IRONSIDES’ ADVENTURE: :
The morning sun arose on a tragical scene at the Dea
fall. , : : 4 ell

 

In the enter of a group of wr , Among whom were
old Inkpaducah and Towering Oak, the latter still suffer-
ing from the effects of the scalping-knife of the white scout,
stood the hero of our story, Old Ironsides, the scout. His
arms were bound y front of him, as if to mock his help-
lessness. His hea d shoulders-were bare.

The old scouf had been doomed to a terrible fate—that
of the*sealpir tien death by the tomahawk. <'Tow-
ering Oak was to use the scalping-knife in retaliation for
his own scalp, which he had lost at the hands of the scout
some time previous, and, aithough still suffering from the
fearfui wounds, the giant savage appeared the embodi-
ment of fiendish triumph.

As the time for the ordeal approached, several Indians
with cocked rifles were stationed in the rear of the party,
with orders to shoot, the scout dead, in case he made the
least altempt io escape, and, in consequence of this pre-
caution, the old scout felt lis case hopeless.

“Wal, wall,” the scout mentally exclaimed, “I s’pose
my time has come. to render up an account to the Judge
ofall. Thar’s but little of my past life that I kif recall
with regret, and thar’s a few ’arthly things I'd like to ’ave
settled aforeI went. And then I’djike to know what be-
come of Chris Watterson, and whar the Hidden Ranch is,
and what become of the two girls.”? :

_ Ironsides was not one of those ‘flliterate fanatics who
are dead to ali the influences of religion. While the ex-
terior man bore a bold, defiant look, which he knew an
Indian respected to a certain degree in a captive, his
heart trembled in fear of the wrath of God, for he knew
that he had not always followed Him inthe path of.duty.

While thus musing on the great Hereafter, Inkpaducah
—for some unknown reason—turned from the group-of
savages and walked toward the edge of the swamp, at that point
where Ironsides’ trail across the moat eienunaneee His back was
toward the scout, and as the eyes of the latter fell upon his form,
a desperate hope ppisng oa. in his mind, and a prodigious physi-
power seemed to expanding every muscle of his ‘giant

Tame. e

He ran his eyes over the old chief. In size he was small, age
had reduced him to the form of a withered pine. Though. his
brain was as es as ever in wickedness and cunning, his limbs
were feeble, and there was a perceptible totterin his walk. He
bore no weapon, nor was there any within a rod of him.

There was a movement in the crowd behind, and the scout
knew that the moment of his torture had come. But he did not
flinch or turn his head. There was a sudden convulsion of his
mighty frame, a desperate flash in his powerful eyes, a rigid sét-
ting of the features, as if a volcanic emotion was surging within
his breast. But it was not this. He was gathering his strength
into offe cape effort for a single purpose, which was made man-
ifest when, by an outward pressure of the arms, the cords that
pormevet his limbs burst apart ilke rotten straws, and he stood a

‘ee man,

“ Th: click of rifielocks behind were instantly heard, but the
next instant he threw lrimself forward full lengti: upon the earth,
his head passing lik®@ wedge between the iegs of Inkpaducah,
ne was thrown backward with great violence upon the back of
the scout.

The next instant frdnsides rose fo his feet with the old chief
dangling head dowprard at his back, in which position he held
him by the legs, which were astride of his neck and drawn tor-
ward over his shoulders. ‘

The body of the eid chief completely screened the form of Iron-
sides, or enough of it to make it as dangerous to the chief for the
— to attempt to shout the scout, as it was to the scout him-
~~ This is what the quick mind of the scout had premeditated, and
the instant he arese to his feet he bounded away toward his trails
over the moat, and in a moment was lost from view of the savage
among thetall reeds. He still clung to the heels of the old chief
in order to makea shield of luis body from savage bullets in the
rear. :

The savages gave chase, and the rapidity with which they
bounded from tussock to tusseck, sodn convinced L[ronsides that
they were gaining upon him. But he was not ata loss for an ex-
pedient. ‘he chiei was a great cumbrance to his movements.
Now that he was out of the immediate danger of bullets, he re-
solved to drop the writhing, howling Chieti in the swamp. This
would create a diversion in his fayor. 4

His expedient worked to a demonstration. He dropped the
chief and ran on. ‘He gained the sliure, secured tis ‘rifle and ac-
coutrements, and dashed on into the deep forest. But he soon

me conscious of being pursued, He glanced back, Towering
Oak, tomahawk in hand, was after lim and gaining upon him at
every step,

The scout drew his hatchet from: his girdle as he ran, then slack-
ened his pace and permitted the savage to gain upon him. Sud-
denly he whirled and faced the savage—raised. his; hatchet, and
with all the strength and precision that he could summon, hurk
ed it at the foe.

Towering Oak's quick eye caught the white man’s rhovementa,
and supposing that the weapon was aimed at liis’ head, ' stooped
forward to avert the blow. But Ironsides had aimed at the sav-
age’s breast, and as he stoo forward, the keen-edged weapon
sunk to the eyein his scalpless skall. ‘

A groan burst from the savage’s lips—he straightened liimself
up with a.convulsive jerk, and with the ‘handle of the weapon
quivering in his brain, he ran on a few paces, fell dead at the
feu ot ‘victorious enemy. }
i Tronsides realized that he had really trium over his
‘ at last, he and removed the’ hatchet from the
‘ |, and wiped its blade upon the savage, then he turned away
and resumed his journey., His face now wore a satisfied look, but
in the death ot Towering Oak he showed none of that wild, un-
christian triumph which, had the savage been the victor, would
have made the forest ring with glee. But Ironsides Wad alwa:

considered the giant the Only one of his race who « with
him in physical strength. So in death he ote tim a
oo kind of respect usually entertained by one : for an-

rer. ,

The scout mest rapidly toward Pleasant Prairie. He expected
the savages Would pursue him after finding the vody of Towering
Oak, but by that time he hoped to be far away. Wie

When his utind reverted tothe treachery of Paul Bon it

was witha ot bitterness. It was to him an easy matter
to know how the savages had preached his cabin, aiid how Tower...
ing Oak and the two warriors had concealed every evi e of
4heir being in the cabin on that fearful night. He knew that it
was Bonitace who had attempted the life of Captain Watterson.
And that whistle, too, which the savages from their
aibuscade beneath the sand and driit-wood, was Paul’s. It was
he who had tampered with all the rifles but the old scout’s, and
was in a great measure accountable for the massacre that night.
When Tronsides remembered ail this, he chafed in spirit, especially
when his mind reeurred to the vattack u the village. How
Boniface, in the guise of a triepd, had come in the moment of
their peril, simply to learn tlie plans of the settlers, that he and
his savages might attempt to thwart them and capture the vil-
lage, How be made his escape under pretense of going to Lhe fort
tor assistance, and the results that fodowed!

While thus reviewing and musing over the past the old scouts
ears were suddenly greeted by a yonee hailing him.

He turned in the direction of the sound und fairly staggered at
what he beheld. . ss ;

With a firm step, but pale and emaciated face and wasted
form, Captain Chris Watterson, ia-flesh and spirit, emerged from
alittle thicket of undergtowth, followed) by the bluck scout,
Midnight. : i

CHAPT

‘ WHAT RL THUGBY HEARD.

Let us go back to the Robber’s® Hid@en Ranch again, to the
apartinent where we last left Alice Ashbury a prisoner, and Gap-
tain Otto Agnew, who had jast entered her room,

“T have come at last, Miss Ashbury,’”’ the robber-captain said,
as he entered bet presence.
wo smiled, 1e seemed pleased rather than disturbed by

8 Vikit.

“Oh, I have waited for you, captain, ever 50 long,” she replied,
in a pleasant voice.

The captain seated himself near the table and said:

“Alice, I have come to have ong talk with you. Winegarner
requested me to visit you and arrange for our wedding te-mor-
row; but Ihave something else of more importance to talk
about. I want to ask you one question. That is, were yuu the
own child of George and Olive Ashbury ?”’

Alice started and her face turned paie.

“Why do you ask me this, aap Agnew ? she asked, |

“Because I have reason to believe you are not an Ashbury by

birth.”
“No, Iam not,” Alice replied, with a sigh. “I am the adopted

  

 

 

 

daughter of the Ashburys, and by their request go by that name.
My true name is Alice Thu’ ’

 

 

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‘ * ATice Thurston,” repeated Agnew. ‘Have you any relations

* Not that I know of. Mother told me before her death that

7 me 4 brotlier somewhere in the world, but I suppose he is
ae i?

‘Yes, he ¢s dead. Alice, and he has left you a large fortune.”

Oh, captain,” cried Alice, “you are jesting!”

_. mm not, Alice,” he replied; “and I will tell you how I know
ey dan telling you that Iwill relate many other things that
‘* i surprise you.” ;

~ Oh, Mr. Agnew, do tell me!” the little prisoner cried.

_“ Well, about a year ago,” said Agnew, “a man named Roland

Garner, by profession a gambler, lived in the city of N—, in

© This man_ sneceeded in winning the consent, but not the

  

  

DAN.
ea ae a young girl and marrying her, for her supposed wealth.

_Ashort time after this marriage he learned through some secret
source that the rich old bachelor, Oscar rn, had died, leaving
a will bequeathing all -his wealth to one Alice Thurston, the child
of an only sister. The will tained a proviso that if Alice were
dead it was to go to her children, if she were married and hud
children born to her, But 1f she-were dead and had had no chil-
dren it was to go to her husi d, survived her, ”

“The will was placed in the hands of Dorii’s life-long old secre-
tary, Peter Murdy, who promised his-d ‘triend that he would
hunt Alice up. Dorn knew not where? “@vas, but he knew
that she, or T will say you, had been adopted by one George and

~@lige Ashbury, who resided at T——. This was all he knew of
you, and if at the end of five years Peter Murdy did not find you,
or your husband, or children, the estate was to be sold for the
benefit of the poor, Now, this very Roland Garner knew exactly
where you and the Asl:burys were, and when Murdy came to N—
to make inquiry in regard to you, he—Garner—managed to put

im upon the wrong track—sent him to Europe, where he said Ash-

“pury had gone to live in the full possessiun of a grand inher-
itance.”

“Why, what was his object in this? questioned Alice.

“Til come to that in a moment,” he continued, toying with his

_long beard. ‘‘As soon as Garner got Murdy on the wrong track,

reso'ved to hunt you up and marry you, and thereby obtain
~porsession of your inheritance.”

“Marry me!” exclaimed Alice; ‘‘and he with a wife!”

» "So he had: but when the villain fourd out that his lawful wife
Would not aid or abet

ra
teh!” cried Alice.

 

 
 
 
   
  

 

the Licking River, in’ Litking county, Ohio,
S gray head several hundred teet above the

surface of the w ater. Upon the face of this rock. jutting out over

_ * the river, was the impression ot a human hand of huge dimen-

‘gions. How it came there no one ever knew since the white man
) first trod the wilderness of Ohio. Geologists gave it as their opin-
hand was the work of som» extinct race. But be that
as it may, th ck Hand, as it was called, had become the curi-
osity of the country, and attracted many sightseers; and one day
Garner persuaded his wife to go with Lim to the Black Hand, and
while they were walking upon its summit, near the edge over-
looking the river, he suddenly pushed her over the precipice down
into the waters below; then, like the coward he was, he ran away
into the woods. But, thank Heaven! a negro, fishing under the
projecting rock, wiere Garner could not see him, rescued the wo-
man and saved her life.”

“Thank Heaven!” cried Alice, clapping her hands joyfully.

“Efforts were made to arrest the villain,” continued Agnew,
“but he was gone. He came to this territory, and it was not long
before he became connected with a hand robbers. He dared

_not place himself within the jurisdiction.of honest men for fear
Lat the vengeance of the deed at the Bi Hand would follow
him His wife could have set them upo right track at once,
for he had @ld her enough of his secret, opes of securing her
assistance, to make all clear to her. But she reselved upon
thwarting his nefarious plans, and bringing vengeance upon lim;
and so, with the negro who had rescued her, her mother and
brother, under an assumed name, they followed him. Alice, you
are now in the den of that villain. You know him as Captain
Winegarner.”

“Great Heaven! Is it possible?” exclaimed Alice.

“Yes. As I have said, he knew where George Ashbury was with
his adopted daughter, and that is what brought him here—to win
your love, and marry you for your wealth, But if he could not
win your love, he resolved to abduct you and force you to marry
him. In the mean time, his lawful wife and friends had taken
up oe residence 1n Pleasant Prairie, under the name of Os-
monc¢ ‘

“Osmond! eried Alice.
Winegarner’s witel”

“She is. The first time she saw her husband, after he had at-
tempted her murder, was bout three or four months ago in

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  

 

“Then you—then Bertha Osmond is

\Pleasant Prairie, in disgpi

' “In Pleasant Pra

ri exclaimed Alice.

1e came there, purporting to come by direction of

ites authorities, as a detective. to search out the

fidden Ranch. I said he came in disguise. This is not
exactiy the case, for he appeared as his real self—as the real
Roland Garner—disguised only in name; but then none in Pleas-
ant Prairie knew ought of him—supposed him to be just whom
he represented himself to be—Derlan, the detective,”

“Great Heaven! Dorian, the detective!” cried Alice. *

“Yes. Alice; and you see now how near youcame marrying
him,” returned Agnew.

“Oh, Heaven, yes! I know now why Bertha warned me not to
marry him. Butif I ever had, it would have been for a home—
nothing else—for I could never love any one but Chris Watter-
son.’

“Yes; the vilain saw that Captain Watterson etood between
you and him, and so he resolv; dto put the captain out of the
way. To accomplish this, he took one of his robbers into his con-
fidence and service. This manwasas consummate a vi‘ain as
himself, and, by his skillful expedients, he won the friendship of
Old Tronsides, and a reputation of a good scout and hunter. This
villain yon know as Paul Boniface. I know this seems like an
imaginary tale to you, Alice, but it is nevertheless true. Bertha’s
brother kept aconstant watch upon the robber chief’s move-
ments. He knew where the Hidden Ranch was,and assisted
Bertha to disguise herself in male attire, with a wig of grizzly
hair and false, bushy whiskers, in which she managed to get into
the robbers’ band under the name of Morthier. In this manner she
soon learned all the plans of her wicked husband, and succeeded
in making herself one of the most prominent of the band, though
she always managed to take no part in anything that was wrong.
Still you may think she did wrong in not revealing the place of
the Hidden Ranch to. the settlers, but then she wished to weave
herself the toils of vengeance around him.

“When the settlers went off up the river ona bee-hunting ex-
cursion, Paul Boniface, the tool of Garner, went along; but, irom.
the time that they left the village, Bertha Osmond never lost
Sight of them. Then there was a secret understanding between
her and her brother, who accompanied the expedition. They had
aetermined that no harm should come to Captain Watterson, in
ae m=ach_as Garner had instructed Boniface to shoot him the first
opportunity he had, and had employed Inkpaducah and his In-
dians to capture him if Boniface failed.

“It was Bertha’s boat which the hunters had pursued before

* reaching the Bars. It was Paul Boniface who attéfopted to shoot
Watterson shortly after,and Bertha who, by means of a white
flaw and her hand, had tried to warn him of thedanger. She
knew a jot of savages had amb a rof their party on
the island at the Bars, but she did not know their intentions until
it was too late to warn the settlers of the danger that threatened
them. However, she did all she could. With some phosphorus,
which she had taken with her to signal to her brother in the
darkness, she traced the word ‘Death’ upon the side of her canoe.
But at the time her brother was asleep, and so its import was
not known until it was. toolate. Bertha’s brother was among
the slain, as you well know, so all depended upon her. People
may hold her responsible for this massacre for not divulging the
secret of the Hidden Ranch, but.she was only obeying the prompt-
ings of her own heart—fate had so decreed it.”

“Ah! IT know now why Dorlan started so at the sight of the
ring that Bertha gave me.” said Alice.

“Ves, 16 was a ring that Garner had given her, and it was to try
his remembrance ihat she put it upon your finger. And now,
having abducted you, he hopes to secure your inheritance through
my marnage with you. His plans are well laid. But then he
does no! know that bis wife ean wear as many disguises as he.
That his messenger, Morthier, whom he sent to ‘Platte Lodge for
Captain Otto Agnew to assist him, was his wife,Bertha Osmond,
or rath vr Annette Garner, And little does he ‘dream that (Mor-

thier, hav ng changed his disguise) Captain Otto Agnew, of Platte

7 »”

Captain Winegarner in Pleasant Prai-

 
 
 
 

is

    

Tie did not finish the last of the sentence, but -tearing a wig
from his head, and the mass of false whiskers from the tace, the
fretty, fair features, and dark, radient eyes of Bertha Osmond
were revealed,

Although Alice had known that it was her female friend person-
ating Otto Agnew, she could not restrain a ery of delight at sight
of those dark eyes and pretty features, and in an instant she
had encircled her arms about her neck and kissed her joyfully.

“Sh!” exclaimed Bertha, gently putting tle maiden away and
replacing ber clever disguise. “I was sure I heard footsteps in
the passage! It would ke the death of us both for Winegarner to
discover who I am, for he already suspects an enemy in camp.”

The two women now discussed the chances of their escape, and
also that of Alice’s lover, Captain Chris Watterson, who, ever
since ns supposed death had been held a prisoner by the robbers,

and whom Bertha had liberated that night, with instructions as
to how he should proceed to escape from the Hidden Ranch.

Suddenly a wild shout rolled through the chambers of the
rocky vault, and caused Alice and Bertha to start up with a sud-
den fear.

“Up! up! every one of you, there’s an enemy in the ranch!”

The females recognized tle voice that uttered this excited com-
mand, as that of Captain Winegarner. A feeling of despair, for a
moment, took possession of them. But Bertha soon rallied her
undaunted spirit to action. There was no time to lose in idle
speculation, now that victory was almost within her grasp.

“Wait herea moment, Alice,” she said, “and I will try and
ascertain who the enemy is. Great Heaven! some of them may
have seen my face when I[ took off my disguise just now!”

As she concluded, she moved away into the dark passage
through which she had come. In a moment she returned,

“Come, Alice,” she said, ‘the robbers are all leaving the ranch
in pursuit of the African scout, Midnight, who has gained an
entrance to the place.”

Not a moment passed ere Alice announced her readiness to de-

rt.
; mathen follow me,” said Bertha, turning toward the mouth of

ea.
“Not much, my fine ladies,”’ said a gruff voice; and at the same
instant a robber appeared in the opening, and disputed their
e.

CHAPTER XVII.
THE MYSTERY OF THE HIDDEN RANCH.

The sun bad just gone down behind the forest trees, when three
men appeared trom a clump of dense undergrowth, and directed
their steps toward the Devil’s Gorge.
They were TIronsides, the Scout, Captain Chris Watterson, and
the Afriean, Midnight.
~The captain looked pale, but his face wore a hopeful look and his
step waselastic. Coming as he did, like one from the grave, his sud-

an appearance filled the heart of Ironsides with surprise and joy.
Stil the old scout had never believed that the skeleton which he
and Harry Pomroy had buried in the forest was that of Captain
Watterson, noreven that of a white man.

The writing upon the stone, thecaptain. knew nothing abont.
The villain, Paul Boniface, who, in company with an Indian—the
same whom the captain shot, and whose skeleton Ironsides and
Harry had burned for that of Watterson’s—had decoyed him
away, and then knocked him down. When he again awoke to
consciousness, be found himself a prisoner in the Hidden Ranch.
While there, he was treated with great care yy oneot the robbers
named Morthier,and whom the reader already knows was Ber-
tha Osmond, and so be soon recovered from his wounds.

To Bertha his es¢ape was also owing, and when once beyond the
dangers of the place Fortune threw him into the company of

idnight... But.as the latter was then being pursued by the rob-

rs, they concealed themselves in the woods where they remain-
ed until they ventured forth to meet Ironsides.

On parting with Captain Otto Agnew—whom the reader knows
was Bertha, also—at'The Hidden Raneh, she had promised to
meet him—Captain Chms—at a certuin place by noon the next
day’with Alice. Butin care they did not come, he might know
that they had failed in making their escape and uc according.

The woman had failed in meeting him at the appointed place,
and 80, in company with Irousides and Midnight, he ‘was on his
way to The Hidden Ranch to ascertaim the cause of their non-ap-

ranee,

The expedition ppon which they were now going was one attend-
ed with great peril. They had passed the day quietly expect-
ing Bertha Osmond and Alice Ashbury to join them at any mo-
ment. Consequently, they did nut send to Pleasant Prairie to
inform the settlers that The Hidden Ranch was found; and when
the time for action had come, and the females had not, they at
once resolved tu go to, or as near the ranch as was consistent with
oe own safety, and learn; if possible, the cause of their not

ing. ’

In one respect they would be favored. The night promised to
be exceedingly dark and still. A deuse fog had risen and spread
itself like a white, fleeey vail over the great torest, rendering the
atmosphere heavy and damp.

It was an hour after dark when the three reache€ the Devil’s
Gorge about a mile below the Crystal Falls. There was no moon,
and the darkness was almost impenetrable, But Ironsides was
perfectly familiar with the topograpliy at the gorze (but not its
secret, and the darkness proved no barrier to their expedition,
He took the lead, and his companions following, they moved si-
lJentiy up the gorge, keeping close to the edge oi the stream.

. A few ninutes’ rapid ada cal ht them to the foot of the
Crystal Fijls, Here they halted and listened,

an was silent as the tomb, save the monotonous roar of the
alls, ‘

The trio now spokein whispers and glanced uneasily around
them. It was strange that they should take this precaution and
use 80 much silence. But it was through a consciousness of the
fact that they positively stood within twenty paces of the mouth of
the Robbers’ Hidden Ranch !

Aftera tew minutes’ conversation the three crept down the
bank and waded into the stream. When they had gained <its
center, they turned and moved silently toward the. falls. Ina
moment they halted in the spray at the foot of the torrent. Trons
sides was still in the advance, and so close to the descending
sheet of water that he could touch it with his hand.

The foam-lashed waters—a knee-deep—rushed wildly around
them, while the mist and spray arose chilly and damp.

They were now ¢loser than ever to the entrance of the Hidden
Ranch. Only’ the descending’ column of water before them,
spread out li great curtain against the face of the rock over
which it plunged in an unbroken sheet, separated them from the
mouth of the great cavern audits mnumerable chambers which
honeycombed the hills.

The trio stood motionless, half fearing to undertake the job
which they had come there to perform—that of penetrating the
Hidden Ranch and liberating Bertha and Alice. But there was
be turning back now.

“Leap! a lo we

Tt was Ironsides who gave the signfl,'and simultaneously. with
the word, the trio sprang forward" through tlie sheet of falling
water, aud landed in the Diack niduth’of a rocky cavern, suffering,
however, a thorough drenching. © A

Jt was very dark, aud the rour Of'the falling waters resounded
through the cavern. NOR Dey oF ars

“How fur from here is’t to’the doér*you spoke of,/cap 2” asked
Tronsi:tes of Captain Chris. % :

oar thirty or forty steps, and*just inside of that will be the
guard. *“s

“And whar—” began the sdont, but was interrupted. by the
sound of hoofed feet approaching trom the interior of the cavern.
The next moment the three crouched down aguinst the wall.
Just then the rays of a strong’ lixfit pierced the gloom where they
had been standing, and the next moment the Demon. Rider,
mounted upon his horned beast, with a: glowing torch im his
hand, made his appearance, m a Slow pace. .

The glow of this creature's to Jweel that the cavern was
of great hight and width, but Héns of the place did
not interest our friends as A
them. ‘

As he neared the falls he eam C
he bestrode notiing more nor less th a large domesticated buf-
Jo, while the rider himselt was buta man clothed in the skin
of a mountain lion.

The keen scent of the animal at once detected the presence of
intruders, and rising his great head, he sniffed the air and shook
his shaggy main with an angry bellow. He was a noble-looking
beast, upon which the three men guzed with the deepest admira-
tion, but when theireyes were raised to the rider, a repulsive
shucder passed over them,

The bellowing of the buffalo aroused the suspicions of his rider,
and he moved uneasily in hisseat. It was evident that he was
about to issue forth on one of his. wild, nocturnal excursions
down the gorge. Ironsides foresaw thisand resolved to prevent
it. With a bound he reached the side of the animal—a leap up-
ward and he seized Demon Rider by the hairy throat and dragged
-him from the animal’s back, while the beast, with sudden af-
fright, dashed through the curtain o: falling waters and away
down the valley with a deafening bellow.

The fingers of the giant scout did not relax their terrible grip
upon the Demon’s throat until life was almost extinet.

Captain Watterson picked the torch up trom where it had fall-
en from the Demon’s hand and held it above the seout and his
prisoner. Then, with asingle effort. Ironsides tore the hideous
mask from the heag, face and shoulders of the man, and the
mystery of the Demon Rider was nu louger a mystery, for Ri
Thugby, the robber-spy, lay before them! .

: o dol hol ye demon!” hissed the scout, “justice has got ye at
ast! Zt

The. robber gas) and attempted. to speak, but the scout
placed the cold point of a knife at his throat as a warning to de-
sist. Te saw that his case was hopeless one, and calmly submit-
ted to his captor’s will.

“Man! fiend! demon!” continued the scout, “tell me if your

   
  
  
     
  
 
      

 

 

accursed robbers are allin this hole—tell me I say, or by my sou!
Pil cut your throat from ear to ear!”

Ri Thughy saw the desperate character of the man in whose
power he was, by the terrible glow in his eyes and the awful look
that settled upon his features. He knew that there was no alter-
native but to answer his questions, and that cerrectly, so he
managed to reply in gasps : ¢

“There—are ten—in—besides the—captain.””

“And where are the others ?”’ questioned the scout.

“Gone; and others will tullow sovuu in a few minutes with a

 

girl and valuables.”

“Is there only one gir! here ?”

“Yes—other made her escape—Alice Ashbury here.”

Ironsides ground his teeth with rage, while Captain Watterson
feared for the safety of his betrothed.

“And you say, demon, thet ole Winegarner’s in his den yet ?”’
hissed the scout. ;

“Yes,” returned Thugby. ;

“Good!” exclaimed the scout, springing to his feet in a fit of
triumph.

Ri Thugby saw that he was off his guard, and quicker thana
flash he sprang to his feet and attenipted to escape. But Mid-
night was on the alert, and with a sing] blow with the muzzle uf
his rifle he felled the spy dead at his feet.

*Dar, dat much sinful trash out ob de way!” exclaimed the
darkey; then dragging the body across the cavern, concealed it
in a dark corner.

Captain Chris now fastened the glowing torch in a crevice in
the wall where its rays would penetrate the gloom of the cayern
for some distance. Thi e the three crept forward to recon-
noiter.

Some distance from the entrance they found that the cavern
narrowed off until it was but a few feet in width, but retained its
great hight. In this narrow passage a heavy dvor disputed their
further entrance. Beyond this door—where a man was always
kept on guard—was the main apartments of the Hidden Ranch.
There was a wicket on the door, through which the guard always
challenged a new-comer before he was permitted to enter. This
the scout carefully pushed aside with the point of his knife and
peered through.

He started and drew back from the door. He saw some ten or
twelve men approaching the door. Halftof them bore torches
which lit up the room with aruddy ‘glow. Just behind them
came Captain Winegarner, mounted upon asnow-white horse
and bearing the half-unconscious form of Alice Ashbury in his
arms,

-But where was Bertha Osmond? She was not among the rob-
bers, and a horrible suspicion flashed across the mind of the old
scout. He could not believe that she had escaped, as Ri Thugby
had said, else she would have met them at the point ‘desiguated
by her to Captain Watterson.

Not a moment was to be lost—the robbers were about to take
their final departure from the Hidden Ranch. To Ironsides this
was all plain enough, and having communicated lus discovery to
his companions the three hurried back along the passage and
concealed themselves in a dark recess in the rocky wall.

) Yr a moment they heard the great door roll back with a dull,,
wheezing sound, and a long, vivid stream of light sliot down the
passage, Then tollowed the tramp of the robbers’ feet and the
heavy tread of the white horse’s hoofs.

here was a deep silence of an instant, then the report of rifles
rolled with a sullen boom through the great cavern, and echoed
and re-echoed from chamber to chamber.

Three robbers teil dead and the others, panic-stricken, threw
down their torches and turned to flee. But tie robber-chief see-
ing that there were but three of the enemy, succeeded in rallying
bis men to combat.

At the very commencement of thefray Chris Watterson was

  

 
 

 

 

stricken down unconscious froma blow cof arobber, but with
clubbed rifles the cthor two confronted the fue, the torches of the
latter showing thene where to strike.

Winegarner in the midstof the conflict attempted to escape
with his captive, but the eye of the negro scout marked his move-
ments, and with the agility of a panther hesprang forward and
dealt the villain a blow that sent him reeling from his animal.
As he fell the darkey caught Alice in his arms and bore her toa
place ot safety, then returned to assist Irousides, who was being
sorely pressed.

 

 

 

As Winegarner fell from his animal’s back, his foot became en-
tangled in the stirrup—tii¢ animal became frightened and dashed
away through the passage, dragging his master and trampling
upou him at every bound.

Ironsides placed his buck against the rocky wall, and fought
with the desperation of a madman. The torches all lay upon the
ground flickering and sputtering with a sickly glow.

Se ape an ye demons!” roared Old Ironsides, ‘down to the
pit.

The strength of the colossal seout seemed supervatural. In his
eyes glowed a light like that of furnace fires.

For several minutes the battle waged furiously, desperately. The
robbers were armed with knives; and were pressing the scout’s
a desperate vigor, notwithstanding half of their number had

allen. i

Suddenly a wild shout rolled with a prolonged din through the
she cavern. The next momenta party of settlers from Pleasant
eee: upon the sceue of conflict, guided thither by Bertha

~mond.

Tlus opportune arrival turned the tide ef battle against the rob-
bors. In a moment the conflict hadended. Ten of the robbers
lay dead in their retreat. The Hidden Ranch was a mystery no
longer. The mystery of the Devil’s Gorge was at last unraveled.
Ri Thugly, the Demon Rider, and Captain Winegarner, the white
horseman—Whose mangled oe was found shortly after the con-
flict, in the stream below the falis, where his horse had dragged
him— to exist but in tradition.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
CONCLUSION,

Morning found Pleasant Prairie all gladness, Bertha Osmond
and Alice Ashbury had been restored to their friends, and Cap-
tain Chris Watterson had come back as if from the grave.

It 1s not necessary for us to narrate how Bertlia Osmond, at the
time persovating Captain Otto Agnew, made her escape from the
ranch and hastened tothe village for the settlers’ aid, which ar-
rived so opportunely when the two scouts were being so sorely
pressed ; suffice it to say, she accomplished her task with all the
tearlessness of a true heroine.

In her own heart she lad laid her secret plans, and had re-
vealed them to noone but her mother and brother, By the death
of the latter at the Bars, the tiine set for the consummation of
them Sane acd, delayed, aud she was compelled to work alone,
But she did it cautivusly, for she knew with what a far-sightcd
villain she had tocontend. She might have saved much blood-
shed could she have lifted the vail of the future, but then, ia that
cause, this legend would never have been p. nned.

e mysterious disappearance of Alice Ashbury from the village
on the second night of the attack by the ludians, was a voluntary
act of her own tosave the village from the scalpmg-knite and
torch of Inkpaducah and his minions, who were instigated to
their’ work by the robber-chief, Winegarner, It will be remem-
“bered that during the attack, Captain Agnew, or Bertha Osmond,
with a flag of truce, entered the village, and-denranded the de-
livery of Alice into the hands of the enemy. Upum the settlers
refusing to c .mply, Agnew turned away, and, in pz 1g through
the village, chanced to meet Alice. Tt was then that Bortha told
her that the attack was made SS tor her capture, and that the
village would be destroyed unless Winegarner obtained possession
of her, Bertha assured Alice that no harm should come toher if
she would place herself in the robber-chief’s power, and thereby
avert the downfall of the village. Thus she did at the risk of her
own life, and, by this act of self-sacrifice and hegoism, saveil
P.easant Prairie.

Captain Watterson and Alice were soon married, and, through
the information of Bertha, in regard to her estate in the
East, Alice returned there with her tusband, aud established her
claim to her uncle’s fortune,

Paul Boniface was nevrheard of more by Ivonsides nor the
settlers, and, with the demiuse of Captain Cosmo Winegarncr, of
course Dorlan, the handsome detective, disuppeured uiso, as they
were one and the same person. j

It was learned that Ri Thugby had first diseovered the hidden
cayern, Whose mouth was C™uevaled by the Crystal Falls, anid
conducted Winegarner and his band tiere; that hes crafty and
inventive mind had first conceived the idea of the Demon Rider
and White Horseman, as inventions to add new terrors tu the
alrendy-reported Haunted Ae

The buffalo of the Demon Rider was captured hy the s*ttlers,
and kept for along time asa relic of the Hiddew Raneh and
Devil’s Gorge. The white horse of the White Horseman, which
Was nove otherthan Captain Winegarner, was also taken, alony
With a vast amount of booty.

lronsides continued bis scouting adventures, but he was always
More cautious thereafter in tuking strangers into his coufidence,
as he hud Paul Boniface, He re-established the reputatiow of the
Deuadfall, where he made his headquarters for many years—uantil
he returned to the home of his boyhood, in. Ohto, where, at a rite
old age, full of honors, and loved by all, he died. A single marble
slab, bearing the inscription: ‘Daniel Whitten, alias Ironsides,
aged 72,"—is all that marks his last resting j lace.

Old Inkpaducah escaped from .the mire ot the swamp, where
the scout had thrown him, to render his name infumousin the
ace of Towa, as tire leader in the iuluiman Massacre ot Spirit
AKEe,

Peace and prosperity once more came to Pleasant Prairie, and
in the course of time civilization pressed the dangers of the tron-

ee = Sa

BY CLIO STANLEY:

wula °

Suppose a rose,
Of tender glows on 9 of 5
Were blooming ’mid a world of snows,
And sky of blue wy fis
Were gladdening too, .
And bright brooks breaking from repose}

 

 

;
2

You'd say the Spring
On joyful wing
Had hastened to our earth again:
And, spite of snows,
The scented rose
Would charm away all thought of pain!

So, in the hour

When fades the flower,
And brightest joys of earth grow pale,

Some little bud

Our solitude
Can sweeten, while our pleasures fail!

Some kindly deed ve

At hour of need bbs
Can give us faith in human king; “2 $08 ©

€ weetioiséA

Some gentle tear erg wird § on

Rebuke our fear, emete pi
And show us whetela ffiend to find. é

Of discontent . -

The winter spent, '
The spring of love shull smile again; ;

And winds that blow, i

And winds that blow :
Of frost and snow shall cry in vain!

+

 
 

 

Auth,

Buffalo Bill’s
LAST VICTORY;

_ ae {

(The Dramatic Copyrigit of this Slory is secured” by the
thor.) .

WHEN FADES THE FLOWER,

  
     

 

 

Se ae =

their way in peace, and I will go mine in the same way,
ib they.awilietanel’ ‘ ttle ;

“We haveno war with you,” said Captain einhold.
“Only when the red man raises the hatchet" to'strike us,
do we'strike back.” .

“It is well. Marmora will go to bury his dead, and then:
‘he will go back over the mountains, for there will be great

urning in ail his villages. But we have many scalps
to carry back.”

The chief rode away, and then Captain Meinliold joined
Buffalo Bill again.

The latter had just returned from an unavailing search
for the trail of Mr. Overton and the others, but Texas Jack
and his scouts were still looking for it.

“Um afraid Mr, Overton has met bad Inck, or we should
see orhear from him,’ said’ Buffalo Bill, “Brave and
rash, he has- hurried on, and perliaps been shot down by
the wretches who have now got those unforttinate girls.
Sets to keep on looking, lest I should find his

ody.

A shout from Texas Jack, who was seen hurrying back,
told them that he had news of some kitid for them,

“fve found where they took théir horses,” le said.
“Tiere is a pretty strong party, for some sfaid back.”

“Have you seen any sign of Mr. Overton?’ asked Buf-
falo Bill, eugerly. . e
_ Yes} he and Norfolk Ben have been taken and carried

along. ‘Their tracks ure plain where: the ‘horses were
kept.* .~ sé ;

_ “it is strange they were not killed on the spot. But we
must take the trail’at once—that is, if Captain Meinhold

will'do it.” :

_ “Ol course,” said the brave officer. “TI cathe to get yout
.out of ascrape, if yoti wus init} and Tshal see you
‘through |? (WO? Gill Bri nes

“Thank you, captain; I shall neverforget-you. I’m not
one of the furgetling kind, any WA¥278°7 7 7 &

_ “So your enemies say,’ said Texas'Jaek. © “Cut, boss,

we’re losing time. Suppose TI tuke' the’ séouts and put
right along? I don't believe ther@s! MGre’ tian we can
handle.’

“PH join you with Red Leafand his braves, and then
a Captain Cau come along more at leisure,” said Butfalo

iil.

“We'll all try to keep together,’ said the captain.
“They cannot have much start, and we surely can over-
take them.’

“Some of us can,” said Buffalo Bill, ‘‘or there is one
that’il break his neck trving. If Overton is lost or killed,
Ill never show my face East again. The girls on Brevoort
Place would scratch my eyes out, if they hadn’t cried
igiemselves to death before I got there.”

}. The captain now sent back orders for the troop to ride
und where the trail could be taken, and then went

 

Dova-Eyz, THE LODGE QUEEN.|
4 5 : By Ned Buniline.

FAlo Bill's Last Victory” was commenced in No. 35. Bacl
n be obtained from any News Agent in the United States

—. CHAPTER XLII.—(CoNTINUED.) a

“[ have not come to smoke a peace-pipe, but to talk,’
said Buffalo Bill. ‘If the talk of the Ute is goed, then we
muy smoke the peace-pipe.
scouts are ready fer battle. They are many, and there
ure urore behind to come.” , ;

“What has the pale-face to say to Marmora, king of the
Wasatch 2”?

“The Wasatch 2? If you belong away Over there in Utah,
what are you duing (iis side of the great mountains?”

“That is the business of Marmora—not of the pale-face.
Marmora is like the wind, he goes wherever, his spirit
wills. What is the talk of the pale-face ?””

‘-My chief will spéak it,’ said Buffalo Bill, as Captain
Meinhold and Texas Jack rode up—thus making the con-
ferring powers equal, at least in numbers. se,

“Wherevare the two white captives—young women,
who were in your possession ?*’ asked the captain sternly.

The chief glanced off quickly toward the base of the
cliff, where Overton had declared he saw the women, and
a look of pleasure lighted his face, for till mow he sup-
posed that the girls bad been recaptured. :

“Why does the pale-face chief ask?’ he said, now
ready for prevarication, or anything else to gain time, for
he believed his braves left in charge of them had been
crafty enough to retreat with them.

“Becanse he has a right. The father of these girls
mourns for them in his lodge far away. And they must
go back to him—safe and well, or nut ared-man shall
live tosay he hasse nthem. Ispeak straight and plain.
Where are they? I want them!”

*“Marmora is a great chief—he is king of the Wasatch!’

“Marmora, if thatis your name, will be a head Jess in
hight very soon if he does not give me astraight answer!
Where are the girls?’ cried the, captain, angrily.

 

 

 

   
       
  
 
  
   
   
 

If not, the soldiers and the}

vith Buffalo Bill to the point, guided by Texas Jack.

pure enough there were tracks where a iarge band of
ses had stood for some time, fer the ground was ail
trodden up, and then, on the thus sofiened ground, the
ie cks of men could be seen.,

_ Among these tlfe keen eye of Buffalo Bill soon detected
the boot-marks made by Overton, the brogan-tracks of
a and in one place'the ‘tiny impressions of the girls’
“Weare on the trailof all of ’em now; sure,” he said,
When he made the last Giscovery.

By the time all the horses had been brought up from
where they were lett at the foot of the cliff, the troop, with
Le rest of the scouts and the Indians of Red Leaf, were

rere, :

Steve Hathaway came with them.

When he saw the tracks he shook his head.

“Mate,’? said lie, “you might as well count yeur friend
and the darkey dead, and the gals worse off. The worst
lot of the Hill thieves have got ’em, ~ Bill Harkness has
been hefe. Do you see that big track? His foot is the
biggest in the gang.” iy

“l'ilsoon have the measure ofit,”
springing upon his horse.

“Bea little easy, mate, and you too, captain, and listen to
me, for | may help you now morethan youdream. These
chaps are strong aud have big backin’, and they can lay
for you ina dozen places betwixt here and Nick’s Cay-
ern, Where they quarter.”’

“Let ’em lay, Steve. We'll lay then. out,’ sail Buffalo
Bill, spurring on.

“I can’t see him ride rightintothe jawsof death. I
saved him once and T'lisave him again!’ cried Hatha-
way, and be rode on at a gallop to join Buffalo Bill at the
head Of the column.

   

said Buffalo Bill,

 

CHAPTER XLII.

So sure was Overton that he had seen the girls that he
was determined to satisfy himself onthe point, and he
never dreamed or even took time to think of the danger
which might confront him in the attempt.

The route which he and his volunteer aid. Norfolk Ben,
took to reach the top of the cliff did not lead them by the

 

“Speak—or I tear down that flag and my troops will ride
you down!”? ee
‘““Marmora, be - the battle, sent them away out of
danger,’ said the chief, again glancing toward the spot
where they had been left.
‘*4tone 2”? asked Buffalo Bill, who had detected the

    
  

}
100 ~~ 2 rite 2. ¥ 4
F NS: with four braves to guard them from hurt.”

‘Jack, ride over to yon cilff. Calla half-dozen men as
you go!’ cried Buffale-Bill, nervously. “Mr. Overton
said that he saw women there, and I didn’t believe him.
He went with only Norfolk Ben in company, and they
two know nothing about Indians. Go quick, for I feel
uneasy !"? Gehl @ |. 4S...

“You left the girls with four braves. Can you not now
call them in?” ~*

“If 1 do—what will the pale-face chief give for the girls
whom he captured from ‘the Ghependet They &reamine
by a red man’s right. 1 took thena from the red men, hot
from the pule-faces.”

“Tf will give you cold steel and blue lead, and plenty.of
it, if you do noé give them up, and I shall waste but little
time in talk?” said the captain. ‘Talking is not my
profession. I had rather fight!”

“The pale-face has see that the Utes can fight,” said
Marmora, proudly.

Then he glanced uneasily off toward the hill, whither
Texas Juck and a half-dozen scouts were galloping.

“You will soon feel wliat my soldiers can do, if those
girls are not forthcoming,’ suid the captain. “fam in
no mood to trifle. 1 do not ride so far for nothing!’

Marmora saw With alarm that the cavalry, evidently
impatient, were remounfing their horses. :

“We will talkl? hesaid. ‘Wedo not want to fight you
pale-faces. You have good guns that shoota great many
limes, and) we do not want to i0se many men for two
women. You may take them.” ’

‘Then send one of your braves back with orders for
your people tostay where they are, and go wilhusup toget
the girls. My people shall not move without yours do.”’

Marmora had a struggle with his pride to do this, but
he kuew aforetime what well-armed white troops could
do; so he sert a warrior back, and leaving the truce-flags
flying between the forces, he rode on toward the elif with
vhe captain and Buffalo Bill.

Texas Jack and his men were there, seeking rapidly
from rock to rock the marks which might lead to the dis-
covery of the girls. Four deud Indians, unscalped, pierced
by rifle balls, Jay on the ground,

These were seen when Cuptain Meinhold, Buffalo Bill,
and the Ute chi f rode up.

“Who has killed these braves? They were the guards
[left with the women,” said Marmora.

“Overton and Ben must have done it,’ said Buffalo Bill.
“Were not they at our lines?”’

Le wsked the last question of Texas Jack. +!

“No. The lust seen of them was on that cliff, after they
got your permission to ride over here in search.” »

" *Phese men are cekhl. They: have been dead a good
While. They were killed before we came near the ground,”’
added Texus Jack. enh.

Marmora, whose looks spoke his indignation, said:

“The pale-faces speak with a double tongue. My braves
have been’ killed wiili big bullets such as the pulesfaces
use, for lead: does not cost them so much as if does the
red man. They ask me for the giris after they have killed
their guards and tuken them.” a

“It is pot g0,”? suid Captain Meinhold. ‘Your braves
were not killed by our men; neither have any of us seen
or had possession of the giris,’? t

“It looks very dark. I cannot see the way clear,’ said
Marmora. ‘My braves are killed, by white men, who do
nof take scalps; the women are gone—wwho did it?

Buffalo Bul, who had joined Texus Jack iu the search,
now cried out:

“There have been men here who don’t belong to our
crowd—white mien, tool They wore moccasins, and all
my crowd wear boois—so do the soldiers of the captain.
Those men came down tie hill in the water, and hid
where they stood when they shot the braves from behind
the rocks. Their tracks teil the story.”

“Where then is Mr. Overton and the negro you spoke
of? cried the Captain,

“They must be on the trail of the men who carried off
the girl<, fur beyond here I see no tracks of the girls,”
said Texas Jack. Ke
_ “To the top of the cliff, some of you, quick! There was
where Overton said he saw them! cried Buffalo Bull, “If
L had believed it, he woul not have gone alone.”

Texas Jack and his scouts, by different routes, hurried
to reach the indicated spot,

Those who followed the bed of the little stream were
there first, Texas Jack Was not among tnese, but he was
not far behind the rest. 2

lis report was quickly made, ‘In one spot, where dry
sand iid blown into a gully, there were the tracks of the
girls, of men in moceasips, and over these the small, slen-
der boot-inark made by @verton, aud the broader track
of Ben's brogan.

Just beyond this strip of sand there was a sudden de-
scent—a kind of channel between two clitfs—and then the
trucks were lost, for it Was hard, sulid rock im every di-
rection for quite a long distance,

“The girls have been taken by white miscreants, who
killed their guards,” said Butlulo Bill, who went up him-
self and examined the tracks,

“Them they must be foilowed, But itis singular that
Mr, Overton and the man who went with him lave not
return-d,. Surely he would not be so rash as to follow on
the trail alone??? said Captain Meinhold, who had now
cume up with Marmora.

“There is no trail here to find,’ said Texas Jack. “If
he has followed them, he has cither seem them or gone on
a blind,”? *

“We've got to find out, I wouldn't have him hurt for
fen limes his weight in goldl? cried Buffalo Bill, “Cap-
tain, you can setile the truce with the Uie chief, | reckon.
I want to hunt up Mr. Overton and thes” viris 7?

“There is nothing to setile,’? 8% aurmora, gravely.

 

tier beyond the waters of the **\:ad?? Missouri.
We have thus bgefly chronicled one of the series of strange

 

events that go to iuake up the unwritten history of the Great
ests THE END.J

“T have had a big tight, and’ silled many men. |
have lost a great many mc ay brother is umong them.
1 do not Waut toluse any uiore, The pule-laces can go

bodies of the Ute braves, or the New-Yorker might have
got a shadow of the peril he was walking into so blindly.

They rode to where the ridge seemed most accessible
on horseback and attempted to ride up, but they found it
too steep for the horses and hurried up on foot.

They soon reached the crest of the cliff, and not seeing
any one there Overton went on a little way and shouted.
For he thought if the girls were near they would answer.
He tllought he heard an answering cry alittle way on,
and pushed forward.

“Marse Oberton, I wouldn’t go dar out 0’ sight ob de
odders,’’ said the thoughtful Ben. ‘I ’clar to goodness I
wouldn’t. You dunno what dere is in among dem rocks.
Maybe pan’ters, maybe wolves.’?

There were wolyes, but they were in human shape, and
Overton soon found them, as he hurried on despite of
Ben’s entreaties, followed, however, by the faithful fel-
low, Who was willing to share the danger if he could not
‘get Mr. Overton to shun if.

Just where a smiatl chasm opened between. the rocks,
and Overton stepped in to see if there was any sign
of the girls there, he was confronted by a half-a-dozen
men with levelled guns, whiieé Ben cried out from be
hind:

‘‘Look out, Marse Oberton, dere’s men wid shootin’ irons
ahind us!?

Sure enough, they were surrounded, and a man, gigan-
tic in stature, with all but nose and eyes hidden of his
face in a black, bushy beard, cried out:

“Stranger—you've put-your foot intoa trap! If you've
got any prayin’ to do—do it quick and then shell out.
see you Wear a watch and: diamonds. We'll take them
first and your life afterward!’

“It might pay you better to lett he 7ie stay where it is!”
said Overton, growing suddenly calm, though he was at
first badly startled.

“iT can'tseeit! Boys, knock that nigger in the head—
he isn’t any good, standin’ there!’?

“Don't, Marse Whiteman—don’t! You'll spoil dat gun if
you do?

Ben‘s €xpostulation, his look, or his words, spoken as a
mat raised the butt of his rifle tostrike him down, created
such @ laugh that the man couldn’t strike,

“An? is no use @ killin’ such a good cook an’servant as
Tis. *Fore de war I'd have brung a heap vo’? mouey—you
bet, I.would!?

Another laugh showed that Ben's appeal had put their
captors in something like a better humor, or else the rich
spoil taken from Overton had done it.

For the man who seemed to lead or command had
fouud a full set of diamond shirt studs, a cluster diamond
riug, &@ Magnificent watch, and a,waliet full of green-
backs, beside a check on some Nebraska bank for more
when needed. ats seals

“Fat—the chap is fat/”’ said the leader, as he shook the
plunder gleefully before his bihtpe eat

“Maybe he has got more that could be reached. Let’s
a: him till we see,”’ said one of the men.

“Well—I’m agreed: said the first. ‘‘We can make use
of the nigger, uuyway, when we get to thecave. He says
he can cook!l?

“I jess kin dat! Marse Whiteman,”

“Well, move On—move on. We've not long to stay
around here, for some of your gang may be on our trail.”’

The next instant a cry of surprise left the lips of Mr.
Overton and gue of real joy broke from Ben.

Two young girls, very pale, but even with tangled hair
and garments covereg witn dust, very beautiful, stood
near sume horses, guarded by three or four armed men.

“Oh de goodness! dar’s de cherrybiris! cried Ben,
breaking away from all restraint and rushing up to the
girls, whose hands he seized and kissed, while he actnal-
ly wept fur gladness to find them alive. ‘Oh, Missee Su-
sie an’ Miss Lottie. Jess to think I’m wid you once mere,
Ole Ben is Jiss ready to go now when Gabriel blows his
horu—he isdat. Oh, honeys, is it you—ail sure alive?’

“The darkey knows you?’ said the leader of the band.

“Yes,” said Lottie. ‘He was my father’s servant.’?

“Yes—I is his serbant, and yours, too, Miss Lottie. Your
ole fadder is alive, and he’d jiss giv a hundred tonsan’
dollar, an? he’s got it, too—to see you and Missee Susie
once more!”?

“A hundred thonsa’d dollars—do you know what you
are saying, darkey?” asked asked the leader of the bana,
While the rest talked among themselves,

“Yes, Marse Whiteman*-I jiss do kuow what I'm a say-
in’, An her old tian has done got dt, all in greenbacks
to bny an’ stock his farua out Whig @ Was a gwine,”’

“Wiere is he now ?”? x’

“Back wid de wa , where he was hurt when dese
cherrybims was took from him! He’s dare sure, and so
is de money, ai’ I know he’d give it all to see dese ‘ere
ladies back safe to him? |

‘Dues that negro speak the truth??? asked the leader
sternly of Overton,

“1 believe he does!” said the latter, who had hardly let
his eyes move from the face of Lottie all this time. “If
there is any doubt about Mr. Herbeson, the father of these
ladies, having the money, IT Kuow who has it, and who
wii give even (hat sum tu see tem restored free aud uu-
harmed to him,?? >

“You mean yourself, T suppose tf”

“For auch @ purpose | can command that sum.’?

“Humt Why don’t you bargain for your own life?”

“Becunse | would rather buy their safe y than my own,
[Tain young, single, and—— not afraid of death!?

“Well, you do take things pretty cool, The things you
wear prove you are rich, What do you say, boys—shall
we take ’em all on tothe cave and hold ’em to ransom?
We/can muke more by that than we can Jookin’ for
horses,’

‘“Avy—ay—take ’em to the cave!’ cried the rest.

“And hurry up. There’s a big lot of men down below
the ciiff, and they aren't in that Iudian fight!’ said a man
who came up at this moment.

“Mount at ouce—we were lucky to have spare horses!’?
sail the leader. ‘Mount and away!” r

Then turning to Mr. Overton he said:

*“Stranger—if yow ll act square, we'll treat you well. If
you don’t you'll die without havin’ time to pray!”

“Treat thenv well, and you shall have every dollar I
have in the world!” said Overton, glancing at the girls.

 

 

 

wean Seare

 

 

A grateful look from both, but especially from Lottie,
would have paid him had he been a millionaire and have
it all for their ransom, so sweet did it fall on his

eart.

“They shall be treated well, if we're sure Of being paid
well,’ said the other,

» Now they were all mounted, and moving off up among
the rugged hills at a sweeping trot, increased. t0,a gallop
where the route was better,

Overton now had a chance to look at the party, for he
and the girls were placed in the center, Ben following
close behind.

There seemed to be in all about twenty-five or thirty
men, all well armed, but wearing a wicked, wild look,
such as might be expected in bad, outlawed men.

They rode very good horses, and rode as if they were
used to the saddle. 7

For a time they thus kept on in silence, the route being
through a wild and picturesque country, which Overton
would have admired uuder any other circumstances.

But now he had got to thinking what Buffalo Bill would
do when he missed him. Would he discover the trail.
And if he did, would not the very fact of his following it
up, be fital to the hopes if not to the lives of the captives.

He thought that he would explain this to the leader,
and get his permission to ride back and keep Bill from
following until the ransom matter was negotiated. But
the thought of leaving those girls for an iustaut with such
men, deterred him 7

He wis pondering what to do, when one of the rear
guard thundered by him and rode to the front. After he
spoke to the leader, the puce was increased to aswift gal-
lop, and then the leader dropped back alongside of
Overton. !

“Young man,” said he, “I’ve a few questions to ask,
and if you don’t answer them straight, well not bother
about thatransom. What party was you with when you
happened to fall into our trail ?? ‘

“A party Oi scouts commanded by Buffalo Bill, the great
hunter, and some Sioux Indians, eighteen or twenty, un-
der a chief they called Red Leaf. :

‘Were there no troops—cavalry—in the party ?”’

None when | leit; but they were expecting some up
that had been sent fur—expecting them every hour,” re-
plied Overton. ? ’

“Young man, Tam satisfied that you have® told the
truth; and now J’ll tell you: some news. ; These,scouts,
Indians, and Cavalry-men are on our trail; and you need
not think itll help your case much, for Pd drop you, In-
dian fashion, wiih a bullet, before 1’'d lose you. You'll
see them t! e worst-whipped crowd, in about hall-an-hour,
that vou ever: heard of. We'll be then where their cavalry
wil have as.much play as a horse ina hencoop. So, keep
cool, remain quiet, without an offer to escape, and you
and the girls ure safe. Remeniber—a sign that looks like
getting away draws lead for vour heart!”

Overton kuew that every word the man spoke was
meant, and that an attempt to escape. would, be literally
hopeless, and only draw death tou lim aud those whom he
looked upon with so much pity. rae

Overton wanted to ask Lotiie if she did not write the
letter which, hidden in an inside vest pocket, directly over
his heart, had escaped the search of the robbers; but he
dared not. He only hoped it was she, for her face had
gone right into his heart and made a Sarony picture there.

The full speed of the horses was kept up now for seve-
ral miles, and they seemed to have leit pursuit behind,
when they suddenly rode into a george so deep and dark
that it seemed like twilight when they got in. a

The leader here checked the speed a little, and Overton
orn up, almost awe-stricken by the sight which met
lis eyes.

Great rocks, red as if burned with volcanic fire, hung
from either side, almost over their heads, showing but @
narrow strip of sky, as he looked far, far up the dark
chasm, '

And narrower yet seemed the pass as they kept.on, un-
til suddenly they came to where only one couid ride in
file, and here the leader halted, and made the rest pass
on. Overton saw the girls go just before him, and then
‘he followed, just as a rifle-shot and a loud, ringing sheut
reached his ears.

Only too well did he know the ring of the “long-range
rifle,’? and the sound of Buffalo Bill’s voice.

{To BE CONTINUED.]
> 6+ ___—.

What a Visitor Saw.

The editor of the Cohoes Democrat, during a recent so-
journ in this city, visited the NEw YoRK WEEKLY estab-
lishment. In an article Cescribing his visit, he gives
some facts which may prove interesting to our readers:

The New YorK WEEKLY has the largest circulation of
any paper in the world, ovér 325.000 copies of the paper
being published weekly. We were a little curious to see
this Mammoth concern and went through the various de-
partments under the friendly escort of Messrs. Van Buren
and Elisworth, the former having the outside advertising
of the paper. The business office is ai 55 Fulton street,.
where may be found Mr. Glynn, the editor of the PHUNNY
PHELLOW, Mr. Duff, the bookkeeper, and Messrs Street &
Smith, the proprietors, all gentlemen of the truest type,
and untiring in their ccurteous efforts to entertain visit-
ing friends. When the present proprietors took eharge
of the paper thirteen years ago, it had a limited circula-
tion of 28.000; but they immediately set to work to in-
crease this comparatively small issue, and by shrewd
business tact, judicious advertising, and the publication
ofa meritorious journal,they have succeeded most admir-
ably. Mr. Francis 8. Street, a gentleman of about forty
years 6f age, is the business manager of the concern, Mr.
Smith, the junior partner, being the author and editors
and to the excellent business qualities of the former may
be attributed the immense success of the paper. Ninety-
six men are daily emplwyed on the NEW YORK WEEKLY,.
among which number are included engravers, composit-
ors, pressmen, &¢., besides 150 girls employed on the Dolly
Varden Magazine, a small ‘fdvertisiug sheet published by
Sureet & Smith.

At the building No. 27 Rose street, the paper is printed,
and eight Hoe presses are running nightand day. Next
door to the press-room is the mailing department, where
twenty menare at work mailing to subscribers.. $200,000
ayearis spentin advertising alone, and $1,000 a month
is spent for postage stamps. As we walked through from
room to room we imagined that in the far future at leasf,
the Cohoes Democrat would bea rival, of no mean pre-
tensions, to this gigantic newspaper establishment. A
more sociable, good-natured class of men we never met
than those we met here, and particularly to Messrs. Van
Bureu and Ellsworth are we indcbted for special favors.

o NEW YORK MAFPLING AGENCY.

At No. 27 Rose street, in the same bnilding withk
the press-room of the NEW YORK WEEKLY, is James
Brady's. folding and mailing agency., Mr. Brady is
the proprietor of several machines, the invention
of Chambers Brothers, of Philadelphia, which take
the papers from the press, fold, bind, trim and stamp
them, and leave them ready for distribution. Each ma-
chine will fold, bind, trim and stamp in an hour 3,000 pa-
pers. Mr. Brady owns the only established mailing an@
folding agency in the city, and among the prominent pa-
pers turned out by hig machines are the NEw York
WEEELY, Catholic Review, Irish World, and thirty others
of jess prominence.

—_———__+-0+______
PERSONAL.

J. R. Merivell, of Philadelphia, writes: “Allow me, a new reader
of the NEW YORK WEEKLY, the pleasure of saying that I think it
is the best sensational story paper published in the country. I
am reading the introductory chapter of ‘Ironsides, the Scout,’ by
Oll Coomes, and find it highly exciting and interesting. If it
keeps as thrilling to the end as it opens, I shall consider him ‘a
bully story-teller.? I have noticed in your ‘Personal’ that it has
been suggested to publish the paper twice a week, but I do not in-
dorse the opinion that it would be a good idea, as there are quite
a number of ror poorer class of subscribers who have to work
from morn till night for their daily bread, and can scarcely rake
up enough time to read the 9 pd as it is now published, but who
would bave to forego that pleasure if it, were published oftener,
both on account of time and the increased .subscription therein
jnvolved.””

J. F. L., of Waterford, N. Y., writes: “Allow one word im favor
of your paper which I have taken for five years, and have not
lost a number in that time. Burke Brentford ismy favorite. ‘Old
Tronsides’ is my favorite story, although they are all splendid.
Every one that I have heard speak about it, which, by the way,
is not few, praises it as highly as I. do myself.”

W. H. Price, of Philadelphia, writes: “I did not know the value
of your paper until | saw a friend of minemwith a copy, which
Tread, und liked itso much that I have been taking it since.
‘Brave and Bold’ is elegant, and ‘Buffalo Bill? ‘Ironsides the
Scout,’ and ‘Winifred’s Diamonds,’ are very good. Josh Billings
und the Rugg Documeits are very funny.” ‘

Chas. St. Clair, of Newark wits: “Having been a constant
reader of the NEw YORK WEEKLY for the last two years, I
think itis the best story eee published. — As long as you have
such stories as ‘Abner Holden’s Bound Boy’ and ‘Brave ang
Bold,’ you will have ct | ast one constant reader in me. I hope
your paper will reach a circulation of 500,000, for it really does
merit it.”

Pupil of Grammar School Mo. 16, writes: “TI have been a reader
of the NEw YORK WEEKLY for two years, and prize it very hich!
tor the amusing and interesting stories it contains, such As ‘Wed-
ded, Yet No Wile’ and ‘Dashing Charlie.
best was ‘Gray Hawk, the Half Breed.’ ”

Edward Love, of Hopkinsville, Ky., writes: “Please accept my
thanks for the instructive and interesting reading that appears
in the NEW YORK WEEKLY. . I take four weekly papers, and of
them all the NEw YORK WEEKLY. is the best. 1 think it is the
best paper of the kind in the world.”

A, ¥_M. writes; IL like to praise the New YoRK WEEKLY, for
which T have numerous réasons, It hasnow anumber ot splendid
tories runuing through its columns, and every few weeks still bet-
ter ones keep constantly miuking their appearance. I believe your
motto is ‘Upward and Onward,” © If you keep on with such cap-
tivating romances the circulation will svou reach 500,000,

R. W. R., of Brooklyn, writes: “I'am surprised that I do not
see the name of Carrie Gonklin oftener mentioned among your
numerous communications from readers. I think she is one of
the best authors so have on your foree. Her ‘Lady Leo.
nora,” is a splendid story. I also think ‘Brave and Bold,’ and
Ned Buntline’s stories are good.” We shall soon commence the
ag se of a new serial by Carrie Conklin, entitled a “A Day

00 Late,

J. W. B., of Savannah, Ga., writes: “Seeing congratulations
from many of your subscribers from all parts of the country, ex-
cept here, I have written you to let you know that we too enjoy
the serials in that best of all papers, the NEW YORK WEEKLY.
The last two issues cannot be surpassed by anything I have ever
read, or ever hope to read. Ihave been taking it from the com-
mencement of ‘The Boy Whaler.’ ”

V. Brown, of Brooklyn, writes: “I have been a reader of the
NEw YORK WEEKLY for the past year, and I think it isthe best
story paper published, ‘Wedded, Yet No Wife’ and ‘Red Dick,’ I
think, were the best stories I ever read. I think it would be advi-
sable to publish your paper twice a week, as a week is a long time
to wait when you are intere-ted in a story. I would be willing to
pay double for the second copy.”

J. W lena Lahate, of Buckingham, will please send us full ad-
dress, and we will endeavor to ascertain where the fault lies,
None of the letters contain the name of State,”

The onel liked the

 

 

   
 
   
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
 
 
  
 
 

 

 

 

 
 

Pe:

ee

 

  

 

‘flammable natures take fire easily, and then

 

 

A SUMMER LANDSCAPE.

BY NATHAN D. URNER,.

 

 

Cooling their fetlocks in the sluggish stream,
The peaceful kine the shadier margins seek;
A blue-backed plover, with a vanishing scream,
Sinks like a plummet; and the slow, smooth creek
Creeps through the marshes, like a doubtful dream
That dimly mirrors something which withal
We knew and loved, but cannot now recall.

The sunny slopes are mottled brown and white
With flocks that need no shepherd from the vale;
The trellised shadows intersperse the light
That flows, like silver, to the darksome pale
Of forest, rising, like the faint twilight
That bends above the sunset, just before
The stars come smiling through its dusky door.

The hum of insect, and the song of bird,
Come softly stealing from the world around;
Strange whispers, syllables that form no word,
Falling from heayen, or risiag from the ground,
Float to the ear, like those in dreamland heard
When all the sense is strained to hear what seems
To soive the vague obscurity of dreams.

Blent with the odor of the fresh-turned soil,

Comes, honey-sweet, the breath of late-born flowers,
While zephyrs fan me, laden rich with spoil

From new-mown fields, to drug the drowzy hours,
And wide-diffuse the soothing magic oil

Which lulls the waves, which else would hoarsely roar

With ceaseless surge on Slumber’s dreamful shore.

Peace, perfect peace! the visionary mind
Finds still fresh beauties for its fond employ,
While dream with dream links softly, till, combined,
They form a sweet integrity of joy—
A fountain-bath whence, issuing, refined,
The Soul, a happy nomad of the air
Floats idly on, here, there, and everywhere.

A WOMAN'S REVENG&.

BY MARY J. ALLEN.

 

 

 

“There is mockery in our wooing—there is death in all our houses;

He liveth best who loveth least—the fool alone espouses,”’

Helena Craig said it, looking out gravely, from the cur-
tained recess where she sat, upon the throng of

“Dancers, dancing in tune.”

She was a woman fair to look upon—‘“‘beautiful!’’—
Dirck Armitage called her, and he was no mean judge of
womanly loveliness. He stood beside her now, silent, be-
cause her mood seemed to be for silence rather than
speech, but watching her out of those black eyes of his.
And still she looked out upon the throng of revelers, think-
ing how, a year ago this very night, she had danced with
Kent Macaire.

Kent Macaire! He had been her lover then. He stood
now at the other side of the room with his wife on his
arm—perjured lover and false friend! It hurt her even
now to see thein together; but Dirck Armitage never guess-
ed it. How should he?—he knew nothing of that love-
passage. There were few who did—nobody but the two
families, the Craigs and Macaires. She had taken Kent
with her that glorious summer for a week’s visit up the
country to Nell Stannard, and he had come back Nell
Stannard’s husband.

People wondered a little at his choice of a pale girl,
with no especial charm of beauty, or style, or even wealth,
te recommend her. But there must be something attract-
ive about a woman Kent Macaire saw fit to marry, and
“gociety’’ found it in an arch sweetness of manner very
charming in Mrs, Kent Macaire; and “society” about this
time made the discovery that Helena Craig was develop-
ing into a flirt. J

While Dirck Armitage waited, Miss Craig sent him away
for an ice, and she was left alone.

“Are you tired, Nell?”

The voice was one that stirred her pulses even yet with
a little of the old thrill.

“Yes, Kent, very tired. Stay with me a little bit—
won’t you?’’—in the sweet, coaxing tones she remem-
bered so well.

Then the husband's voice again:

“Certainly, my dearie.”’

“My dearie!? It was the same pet name he used to
have for her in those old, happy days before he had ever
seen Nell Stannard.

But what was it to her what Kent Macaire said to his
wife? Ah! there was where the siing lay—she was the
one who should have been his wife.

“J was true to you, Kent,’’ under her breath; ‘‘true as
steel; and you loved me then I know. But you are like
all other men on the earth—it was easy for you to forget.
And Nell Stannard had winning ways with her sweet,
baby face. She knew you were pledged to me, but she was
not too good nor too preud to take another woman's
promised husband.”

Helena Craig did not notice how long Dirck Armitage
was gone. She was thinking only of those two so near

ic :

“He is proud man—Kent Macaire—and that woman’s
heart is vulnerable at one point,’ a steely glitter coming
info her eyes. ‘‘i learned your secrets when we were
bosom friends, Mrs. Nell. ‘Trust me for making as good
use of my knowledge as you did of yours. That brother
of yours is here to-night, I think, and, ah, Mr. Armitage,”’
aloud, as. that gentleman stood before ler at last.

She listened pleasantly to his apologies for the delay,
saying sitply:

“1 did not mind. I was thinking.’’

Thinking of what, he wondered, looking down upon
her. She puzzled him sometimes, this “rare and radiant
woman.’? And presently he took her out into the rooms
again, passing so near the couple still sitting there at the
entrance, that her floating, white drapery touched them
as she bowed, a simple, slow bend that-included both, and
went on, leaning lightly on her companion’s arm. And
nalf-an-hour later Mrs. Kent Macaire saw her brother
talking to Miss Craig.

Helena had put out a white hand to him when he was
presented, saying graciously that she felt almost acquaint-
ed with him already ‘‘from hearing. his sister speak of
him so oiten,” and he had bowed low in reply, not a little
gratified at this flattering notice from the courted belle.

“A man with the heart of a boy,’? was Helena Craig’s
mentai comment after ten minutes’ conversation. “Young
and not yet spoiled by the world. Rather inclined to be
rash and headstrong, but so much the better. sit aan
b h!
it must have been a dark purpose that cast such a reflec-
tion on her face.

“It was just one of Helena Craig’s whims,’’ society
said, ‘‘to take up this young man who had no money and
no expectations that anybody knew of. Mrs. Kent Ma-
caire had married a fortune, and her brotrer would be
very glad to do the same, no doubt; but he would find
after awhile that Helena Craig was merely flirting with
him, as she had done with twenty others.”

Would he? .Her jiking for the frank-faced boy seemed
so real sumetimes that Mrs. Nell Macaire was deceived,
and came to her one evening with an offered hand and
the least . possibie shade of embarrassment in her warm
greeting. Helena understood and smiled—an odd little
Sinile. None knew better than she how that, second only
te her husband, this woman loved her brother; how that
every curl of blonde hair on his head was dear to her. If

 

~ the hurt to her own heart had not been so cruelly deep, I

think she would almost have thought that the sister's
love redeemed the friend's perfidy. Asit was, her heart
hardened toward them both, the while she smiled into
Redd Stannard’s eyes, leading him on, step by step, till
fhe worshiped her.

Standiug one evening in the supper-room, she turned
to him, saying, lightly:

‘Do you never drink wine, like the rest of the gentle-
men?’? ‘

She knew what the answer would be before she asked

the question. She knew that it was something of which

Nell had always been: glad and proud, that her brother
never tasted liquor—just as it used to be Aer pride that
Kent did not.

Kent! She remembered how he had once said that
‘no Maeaire ever disgraced himself or his family by
drink.” It was true. The Macaires were a knightly race,
not given to any debasing vices. But this young Redd
Stannard was Kent Macaire’s brother-in-law now, and,
whatever of shame or disgrace might attach to one, must
affect the other. And that woman’s heart slhiould weep
tears of blood for “a loved one fallen.’

It was a plan worthy of Satan—or a scorned _and slight-
ed woman. You can see the drift of it, but Redd Stan-
nard did not. Helhad such faith in her. And his answer
to her question was just what she knew it would be:

“No, Miss Helena, I. never touch wine, It is against
my principles.’’

Honest words, bravely spoken. She liked the look that
enforced them, too. For one moment she was almost
tempted to forego her purpose. He was such a good fellow
—so like what her own young brother might have been if
he had lived. It seemed a pity. Thus wavering in her
resolve, even while she said, taking his offered arm back
to the parlor:

“Those are old-fashioned scruples, Mr. Stannard. Al-
most every man in society takes a glass now and then.”

“Yes, nearly all do, I know; but to my way of thinking,
that fact doesn’t make it right. And there are a few ex-
ceptions here. Mr. Dirck Armitage never drinks, nor my
brother-in-law, Kent Macaire, nor——”’

But he had said enough. It did not matter about Dirck
Armitage, but ‘‘my brother-in-law, Kent Macaire!’’ Ah!
he did not know how that name was a talisman of evil to
the woman beside ‘him, reminding her always, when it
was spoken, of alost Heaven—lost through no fault of
hers. And. Helena Craig’s voice had its sweetest tone,

. her eyes their most dangerous cliarm, as shie said, lean-

ing on his arm till her cheek almost touched his
shoulder:

“J. shall have wine on my table for New Year’s callers
to-morrow. I want you to. drink my health when you
come. You won’t refuse me, will you?’’

Ah, such a temptress! It was Redd Stannard’s turn to
hesitate, and, well as he loved her, he aid hesitate. It was
plain that she wished him to call, and as plain that if he
did so, he must set. aside a lifelong principle. Oh! melt-
ing, shining eyes!. Oli! white hand laid softly for a second
on his forehead! Who could resist them?

“You won’t refuse me, will you?”’

Prudence, principle were thrown to the winds, and
he whispered passionately:

 

 

   

   
  
     

“T will do anything on this earth for you!’’
“Prove that to-morrow,’ she whispered in reply, as
Barton Schuyler came to claim her for the Lancers. Well,
you can guess how it was after that. That first point
gained, the rest was easy enough. And Helena had no
more qualms of conscience. Not when she sent him away
from her time after time to ‘‘Go and play billiards or some-
thing with the rest of the gentlemen, while I write my
letters. I don’t want you to stay here and flirt with the
girls, you see,” archly; and obeying her, as he always did,
he usually found himself with this same Barton Schuyler,
a ‘fast’? young married man, who devoted his summers
mostly to dogs and horses, and his winters to billiards
and brandy; who was worth a mint of money, or ‘‘socie-
ty’? would not have received him; was lively and good-
natured, genial company always, and had taken a fancy
in his sometimes boisterous way, to Redd Stannard. So
they came to be, not friends—for I think there is no real
friendship in associations of this sort—but boon compan-
ions. And it came to be whispered about that Kent
Macaire’s brother-in-law was falling into decidedly evil
ways.

Helena could see how all this touched the Macaire pride.
She could see how Kent was growing colder and colder
towurd Redd Stannard, while Nell, who loved them both
and was cut to the heart by her brother’s disgrace, could
only suffer in silence.

It was a cruel revenge—especially cruel in that the
worst sufferer was one who had never injured her by word
or deed—Redd Stannard himself. I think there werea
few keener-sighted than others who saw that a woman’s
hand was pushing him down to destruction. And one of
these few was Dirck Armitage.

He came to her one evening, his dark, handsome face,
sterner than she had ever seen if before. But spite of this
she held out herhandtohim. He had held himself coldly
aloof during these past few weeks, and she had missed

 

 

“There is no question of forgiveness between us, Mr.
Armitage. You have shown me what-my duty is.”
How white she was as slie said it, but very gentle, too.
“Will you let me come and see you to-morrow even-

‘ing?’

Neither hand nor voice were quite steady as he preferred
the-petition—and that was something rare enough with
Dirck Armitage.

“Certainly you may come,” she said, simply and
gravely.

To Dirck Armitage the next day was the longest he had
ever known. Hedid not Know that Miss Craig had sent
for Redd Stannard that morning, andthe two had an in-
terview lasting two hours. No one ever knew the exact
purport of that meeting. But Redd Stannard looked like
abrave and happy man, and an earnest one, too, as he
bowed over her hand at parting, saying, fervently:

“Heaven helping me, [ will!”

And Barton Schuyler stared when, at a supper party
that night and in the presence of a dozen convivial asso-
ciates, Redd Stannard courteously but firmly declined to
drink; and persisted, too, in spite of persuasions, and
laughter, and taunts harder to bear than either. Ah!
there was true manhood there, after ali.

Meanwhile Dirck Armitage was putting his fate to the
test at last.

He was not prepared for the answer Helena gave him.

“Mr. Armitage, you are too late. I promised Redd
Stannard this morning to marry him.”

“Redd Stannard!’

s “res. You yourself called him a good fellow, and he
is,

“This morning! And I had your permission to call this
evening.’’

“I knew that you were coming, but I did not know—”

 

ent, pious and good wife, whom he prized “above the kingdom of
France or the state of Venice.”’....... Annette Mary.—ist. Wheel-
ing, W. Va., is 251 miles from Cincinnati, and 639 miles from Du-
buque, Iowa. 2d. We do not know the individual...... Sub. Con,
—We do not know how you can ascertain the names of railroad
contractors........ Inquisitive.—lst, It isan old dodge of the gift
jewelry swindlers. Good watches are not bought for $2, and if
ros send the money, you will be just 80 much out of pocket, and

ave the satisfaction of knowing you have cut another eye-tooth.

2d. Humbugs and quacks, 3d. Yes........ Constant Reader, N. Y.
—There is no such town in Mahoning Co., Ohio....... Mechanic,—
We are unable to state A . C.—No; it will deprive

you of opportunities instead of increasing them, Go to night

school or study during leisure hours...... . Lamont.—We doubt
if you can procure a divorce at all—certainly not unless you have
other grounds than those stated........... Frank.—The railroad

between New York and Philadelphia was commenced in 1832; we
do not know the date of the opening of any portion of the road
to public travel...... G. F. B.—The cost of “uition at Yale College,
New Haven, Conn., is $90 per year...... J. H. Hummel.—We may
have published sketches with the titles named, but no serials... .
Eddie W. G.—We do not know of any institution like the one de-
scribed. Why not attend school in your own town, and obtain
employment for your leisure hours as errand boy, etc.?...........
Snow Plow.—Fort McPherson is in Nebraska, on the line of the
Union Pacific R. R. The fare from Buffalo is about $50....Henry
J. J.—I\st. Call at the Approninens Library, 472 Broadway, and
the person in charge will give you a blank form to be filled up,
which will entitle you to obtain books. Privilege is spelled with
an iinstead of an ein the second syllable.... Watson.—We can-
not ascertain without writing to the gentleman, which you may
do as well as we.... W. B.—We cannot advertise the author named.
5 9a8 Ola Reader.—Obtain a situation as clerk in a drug store, and
make use of all the means there at your disposal, in the shape of
books and experience....-. Bachelor.—There is no paper of that
description, we are happy to state, in either New York or Brook-
lym.is%%. Kate and Jennie.—In our opinion, such a thing is as ab-
surd as impossible...... Constant Reader, Brooklyn.—We are un-
der the impression the act expired by limitation in 1871, but you
ner ascertain by writing to the War Departmént, Washington,
D.C. Geo. Dickens.—lst. Whether a policeman has a right to

 

she stopped there.
“That [loved you? Oh! Helena, haven’t you known it

CaN
Ae

disperse a serenading party depends on the quality of the music.
We have known parties who went round, week after week, mak-

( \\
WAX
NON

\\\

 

 

 

He took

him more than she would have cared to own.
the offered hand and drew it within his arm, leading her
away out of hearing of any before saying what he had to
say to her.

“Miss Craig,’’—it used to be ‘‘Miss Helena,’’ always—
“Miss Craig, you will not thank me for what lam going

to say, but L must say it, nevertheless. I cannot keep si-
lence when I see a good feliow like Redd Stannard going
straight down to destruction, and you the cause of it.”

She felt asudden tightening across the chest. She
drew her breath hard, not looking at him. This man,
then, had fathomed her purpose. Had he fathomed her
motive, as well? She turned to him at last, looking him
steadily in the face:

‘at least I am not accountable to you for my sins.’

The words were in themselves confession—a plea of
guilty. She scorned to deny the charge now that it was
made.

“No, Heaven knows that you are not.
day coming when you will be accountable to a righteous
Judge. And I believe that in that day if Redd Stannard
is lost his soul will be required at your hands.’’

She shrank from the words as from a blow. Were they
true? Had she indeedvallowed her hatred. for those two
who had wronged her to lead her. on to the commission
of a sin, for which there was no,atonement? Her revenge
had been ample. But, ah! the cup had in it lees of bitter-
ness for herself, too. :

“What you say may be true,’ she said, ‘“‘but if so, lam
not a coward to flinch from the consequences of my own
acts. You used to be my friend; but I see you are not
now. Well, letit beso. I have not lived till to-night to
learn what a man’s constancy is worth, whether in love
or friendship.”?

Such a depth of bitterness in the tone. Dirck Armitage
began dimly to understand that this woman had a past of
which he knew nothing. A past that had in it something
of suffering—he knew it by the shadow that had fallen
upon her face in this moment—thougiits and feelings that
hehad never shared. When he bent down again with
some words of apology for the severity of the language
he had used, she took her hand from his arm, looking up
proudly at him as she said:

“J do not blame you for what you have said. You do
not understand—that is all,’ and then, she was gone.
Gone, leaving an arrow rankling in his heart.

Half an hour later, standing moodily by himself, but
within view of the revellers within, he saw Mrs. Kent
Macaire’s white face flit past him,:and heard her anguish-
ed words as she joined her husband near by.

“Oh! Kent, Redd isin the supper room with Barton
Schuyler, and you know what that means. Can’t you get
him away—home or somewliere? His eyes are beginning
to shine, and I dread to have him stay!’

“No use in the world, Nell, to talk to him. You know
by this time, surely, how useless that is!"
“Yes, I know, I know! and it’s Rilling me! Oh! Kent,

this is Helena Craig’s work! This is my punishment for
marrying you, when I knew you were promised to her!”’
In her desperation, the young wife was saying what in
calmer mood tortures could not have wrung from her.
But then ¢his was torture, worse than all else—to see Redd
disgraced. ‘She loved you then, Kent, but she hates us
both now—and not only we who wronged her, but poor,
innocent Redd, too. Oh! it’s dreadful to think that the
consequences of my fault should be visited, on him!’’

Dirck Armitage could see Kent Macaire’s face as iis
wife talked, and it confirmed all. There had been a time,
then, when he loved this beautiful avenger who was strik-
ing a mortal blow at his own pride and his-wife’s peace—
Dirck Armitage knew that well, though. he had never
heard this story hinted,before. Thé young husband's voice
Was hoarse as lie Said:

‘*‘May be she has learned to love your brother.”

‘No, no! A woman never deliberately led the man she
loved down to shame and ruin!’’

Some one came just then, inquiring for Mrs. Macaire—
and it was wonderful, Dick Armitage thought, to see how
Mrs. Nell could smile upon the newWeomef, while those an-
guished words had hardly. yet died away upon her lips.
And then they walked away, Mrs. Macaire upon Captain
Chaimer’s arm, and her husband following close behind,
and Dirck Armitage was left alone, to think over what he
had heard.

From the lips of the false friend herself he hed heard
confession of the wrong done to Helena Craig. Broken
faith and slighted love! He could understand how, with
a nature like hers, the wound had rankled long and deeply
—how she had burned to retaliate. But now that her re-
venge was accomplished was she cé@ntent, happy? . Re-
membering the face he had last seen with that dark
shadow upon it, he felt sure that she was neither. And
his heart smote him with a keen pang as he recalled the
words he had spoken to her half-an-hour before. Whether
sinned against or sinning, who was he to judge her?

He had remembered what she had said: ‘You do not
understand.’’ Truly, he had mot understood. To have
known herayear, and never have guessed this secret!
To have stood all that time on the footing of a privileged
friend, and never have suspected! This man had prided
himself on his power to read women’s hearts like an open
book; but: here was a woman who baffled him. There
was but one thing now of. which he felt absolutely certain,
and that was—that he lovedher. Whatif Kent Macaire’s
surmise were a true one? Whatif she had learned to
love Redd Stannard? The thought wounded like the
thrust of a knife. He would know before another twenty-
four hours rolled over his head.

He sought .her once again before the party broke. up.
She would have turned away from him, bat he put out a
detaining hand.

“Miss Helena, L cannot sleep in peace till you say that
you forgive me,??

 

 

 

 

But there is a-

 

all the time? Didn’t you drow that I cared more for you
than for all else in the world?”

She was growing paler and paler, white to the lips, but
she answered:

“How was I to know when you did not tell me?’

“T see, I see. It was My own fault. But tell me one
thing, Hélena. IfI had asked this question a month ago
What would your answer have been 2”

She sat silent, not replying for a moment, not looking
athim. | ~

*<‘You did not ask me, Mr. Armitage.”

“But if I had ?”’ he persisted.

‘Is this generous? Is it manly???

He recollected himself instantly.

“No, Miss Helena; itis not. Forgive me.”

He got up then to go, not pleading any more. Perhaps,
though,.as he bent over her to say good-by he read in her
eyes a secret her iips would not utter, for, looking down
deep into them for a moment he gathered her suddenly
to him and kissed her—once, no more. Then he was
gone.

“Dreadful railroad: accident.”?

The newspapers chronicled if in ull its horrible details:

“Two passenger trains collided—terrible loss of life—
some of our-prominent citizens aboard,” etc.

Among the number were Helena Craig and Mr. Seth
Rayner; Miss Craig’s guardian, but. fortunately neither
was hurt. There was.another on the train who did not
fare so well—Redd Stannard. ;

Mangled and crushed he was taken out carefully from
the wreck and laid on a platform with others. who were
injured. And Helena’s tears’ dropped. fast on the fair,
handsome face that alone had escaped disfigurement.

‘“‘No hope for him. He cannot possibly live,’ the phy-
sician said. i ;

So Kent Macaire.and his wife were telegraphed for at
once—they were theionly relatives he had in the: world—
and Mr. Rayner and Heléna remained to do what they
could for hini till these friends should arrive. Mr: Macaire
and Nell were outof town. They did not receive any of the
three messages’sent, and so did not come. ‘And whem, af-
ter the long, dragging hours of‘agony,;’in which “Redd
Stannard suffered a thousand deaths, there came a time
of ease—the calm that in such cases" always preceeds
death—a brief, solemn rite was performed, and his last,
fluttering breath was drawn on his wie’s breast.

lt was two years after that before Helena Stannard saw
Dirck Armitage.’ It was‘an accident at meeting then a
‘chance encounter On the gangway of a river steamboat—
he going aboard, she coming ashore; but the sight of her
turned the current of his thoughts and plans for the
nonce, and instead of securing a state-room, he turned
back and engaged a room ata hotel. — “I must-have one
good talk with her,’ he said to himself, as he took his
way to the house where she had told him she was stop-
ping.

‘Helena, I have loved you always. The-question you
would net answer two years ago Task again to-day: Do
you think you can answer it now?”

The reply, whatever it was,’ must have been satisfac-
tory, for he gathered her into his arms with a face of
measureless content, and kissed her—not once, but many
times—as he whispered: ; :

‘‘My Helena now. Mine forever!’

And in the months and'years of blessedness that came
after, blest with this one t7welove.of her life; Helena Ar-
mitage looks back as upon a troubled dream to the time
Wheu she planned “A Woman's Revenge.’

——> @~,

TO: COKRESPONDENTS.

BG Correspondents desiring information through
the different departments, will please place the questions
for each on different slips, as this will avoid the use oF
the same letter by the conductors of the several colunwns,
and facilitate the answering, thus proving a convenience
to both themselves and-us.

(The answers to all questions of the natureof recipes and rem-
edies, will be found in the department headed ‘‘Our Knowledge
Box.’’ Questions of etiquette, and all matters relating to the
fashions, whether of dress, manner of Wearing the hair, etc., will
be answered in the “Ladies’ Work-Box.”’ Those of our corres-
pondents who find some of their questions unanswered in this de-
partment will bear this in mind. Questions of a personal or busi-
ness ne will be answered in the department headed “‘Per-
sonal.

Gr GOSSIP WITH READERS AND: CONTRIBUTORS.—
McG. Campbdéll.—lst. The translations are zounds! my God! my
friend, and upon my word, 2d. Dr. J. H. Robinson wrote “Nick
Whiffies,” ‘‘One-Eyed Saul,”’ and ‘‘The House of Silence.” 3d. We
shall probably do so inthe course of time. 4th, Nos. 14 and 18,
Vol. XXVI., are out of print. 5th. “£15,000‘Reward” is out of
print. lt ran through eighteen papers......C. A. Mc0.—The ques-
tion propounded is very like splitting hairs. Gen. Grant, if re-
elected, will succeed himself, as his present term expires with the
4th of March, and he would have to be re-inaugurated before en-
tering on the new term of office. He would still be the eighteenth
President, and could scarcely be called the next, while if Horace
Greeley should be elected, he would be the nineteenth and next
President. .... .WV. F. 0.—If your protession Is the law, a know-
ledge of phonography would be a great aid to you. As you do
not state what it is, however, we cannot answer you......5.....
C. A. Rule.—London covers an area of. 122 square miles; Paris,
about 29; New York, about 22; Philadelphia, 1291-8.........
aad Mac.—Chewing tobacco is a filthy and disgusting habit.....
Prosper @ Anteny.—Ist. We were under the impression that he
had to take out a manufacturer’s license, but asthe Internal Rev-
enue officer decides to the contrary, we presume the law has been
amended, and he may go ahead with the preparation, In any
event, it would cost but a few dollars—nothing like the sum men-
tioned. 2d,’ ‘‘Mackenzie’s 10,000 Recipes” is one of the best. Get
the latest edition. ......... J. F. C.—Martin Luther married, when
in his furty-second year, Catharina von Bora, an ex-nun, who had
escaped fron) aconvent, in order, as he said, ‘‘to please his father,
to tease the pope, and to vex the devil.”’ The marriage was a

 

 

ing night hideous with discordant sounds, under the impression
that they were the very essence of melody, and have been very
grateful to the policeman who knew his duty well enough to drive
them from our immediate neighborhood. When the sounds are
melodious, we look upon the officer who would interfere with the
performances as a heartless wretch, who has no music in his soul.
2d. Property found in a railroad car belongs neither to the finder
nor the company. As the loser usualiy applies for it at the office
of the railroad company, who frequently have in their possession
articies left in the cars, it is no more than right that it should be
handed to the conductor, but we doubt if hecan compel the finder
todo so. 3d. The poem ‘‘Feminine Names and their Meaning,”
appeared in No. 30o0f the present volume. 4th. No. Wait at
least five years....D. &. H.—It isa matter of opinion toa great
Setent.. scrote Joseph.—Consult an eminent physician..........
W. L. C.—William Miller, the founder of the sect of Millerites or
Second Adventists, was born in Pittsfield, Mass., 1n 1781, and aied
in Low Hampton, N. Y., Dec. 20, 1849. In 1833 he commenced his
lectures.on the second coming of Christ, and announced the de-
struction of the earth in 1843, at which time his followers num-
bered some 50,000. The failure of his prediction shook the faith
of some, but still many remained true to the belief, and different
years and days have been suceessively appointed for the termina-
tion of earthly things, the members Of the sect having on several
occasions arrayed themselvesin white and took up their stations
in graveyards and on housetops, waiting the appearance of the
Lord. The sect is still in existence, with but few adherents; but
no precise date is fixed for the second advent, the failure of. for-
mer predictions probably rendering them doubtful as to dates....
Three Years’ Reader.—We do not know whether the promises are
reliable or not........ Ola Reader.—The area of France, deducting
the portion seized by Germ»ny during the late war, is 199.152
square miles; that of Texas, 237,321 square miles..... Lizzie.—You
need have no fear of your brother enlisting in the navy, as the re-
cruits are taken from the reform scliool. ships, and he will have
no opportunity to do so...-.. Daniel Quilp.—The. writer named is
a Frenchman, and theauthorof:a large number of obscene
WOPKS OC ei, Geo. Weaver.—The papers containing the stories
named will cost $1.80, and will be sent by mail.............. Sweet
Vengeance.—Ist. We will send a photograph of Buffalo Bill to any
address on receipt of fifty cents. 2d. Fair. 3d. Whatever they
|. will'agree to give you and you agree to work for...... Elmwood.—
In view of the excellence of our stories,and in .the absence of an
international-copyright. they are copied extensively and with im-
MONILY., ..- sss G, W. Gould.—In the game of checkers, if a person
neglects to jump when he has an opportunity, the piece is forfeit-
ed to higepponent..... .J. Wilson.—We doubt if you can procure
an honorable discharge, as you, through no fault of your own, are
probably registered as a deserter, The fact of your not reporting
on your arrival in New York renders the case still more hopeless.
Juanita.—Lightning is produced by a discharge of atmospheric
electricity either between two clouds, or between a cloud and the
earth. Thethunder by which itis accompanied is explained in
various ways, one of which is that the electric fluid thus discharg-
ed opens a passage for itself through the airin the manner ofa
projectile, and that the sound.is caused by the rush of air into the
vacuum thus created ; but this is objected to on the ground-that a
cannon ball through the air-ought to then produce the same
souhd, whereas it is really a sort of whistling noise. Another ex-
planation, which is the most satisfactory, is that when theelectric
spark passes between two points, there is a decomposition and re-
composition of electricity in.all the media through which it ap-
pears, and consequently.a yibration more or less violent is_pro-
duced, which vibration gives rise tothe sound. The prolonged roll
is caused by the length of the electric fash; although it is instan-
taneously seen:its whole length, the seund reaches the ear at the
rate of about 1125 feet in. a second. The intensity of the latter
varies with the temperature of the strata of air through which
the fluid passes, the position ot the observer and the nature of the
country, the reverberations in hilly sections being very loud and
prolonged several’ seconds. | See ‘*Work-Box,” “‘Knowledge Box,”
and “Etiquette Department” for answers to other queries........
Paul E. S.—We bhaye no photographs of Texas Jack............
W. J. H.—Any or all of the growing towns on the main western
thoreughfares afford business opportunities for energetic men
with small capital.......... Leo.—Iist, Twenty-seven is not.a very
mature age at which to arrive without having fallen in love, nor
is it too old to be impregnable to the darts of Cupid. As a .proof
of this, we might cite numerous instances of men far advanced in
years—some of them beyond the allotted three-score and ten—
quite as impressible as in their days of adolescence, and who have
frequently succeeded in gaining the hands of young and beautiful
women, where others more suited by age have failed. Depend
upon it, nothing but the non-appearance of your affinity has pre-
vensed you ere this from falling nead over ears in love, and your
fate will be irrevocably sealed from the date of her presentation.
2d. The different branches of the Methodist Church in the United
States had in 1870 a membership of 2,623,201—the largest of any in
the country. The adherents of the Roman Catholic faith number
about 3,300,000, but a large percentage are not members, 3d. We
cannot say at present, as the “Wonderful Woman”? will continue
fora considerable period...... Wolverine.—It is doubtful if you
could ascertain even if you applied to the papers themselves......
C. D. Glaggtone.—\st. Hop-picking commences about the, last of
Xugust or the first of September. 2d. What tiie prospects are for
quantity and quality this year we do not know....@. W..Sample.
—Ist. Dreams are the thoughts which occupy, the mind during
sleep, in which the senses are acted upon by the peculiar condition
of the body, and more or less affected by external circumstances.
The brain, while in a partial aegree active, has no reasoning or
will power, and therelore rans riot with the most absurd fancies.
Indigestion is one of the most frequent causes of unpleasant
dreams, and an overworked brain often dreams at night of the
things which have perplexed it during the day previous. Persons
in perfect’ health seldom dream, as their rest is profound and un-
disturbed, unless the brain is acted upon by an unusual position
of the body, or other external circumstances. An arm hanging
over tine edge of the bed, impeding the circulation of the blood,
caused a person to dream of having it crushed, with all the attend-
ing horrors; another, who had a blister applied to his head, dream-
ed that he was being scalped by Indians. 2d. Many women who
have achieved a reputation betore marriage, retain their maiden
name in connection with that of their husband, as a means of
identity. Others do so from a family pride. In the case mentioned
the latter is probably the reason.... Weaver.—We cannot say....
January.—The ‘‘Buftalo Bill” stories will not be published in book
form, Any attempt to issue them by other parties will be met bv
a prosecution for infringement of copyright...... A. C. Silverburg.
—Ist. Yes. 2d. Charlotte, Mich., has 2,253 population. It is quite
a busy little town, and supports two newspapers. 3d. The system
of bookkeeping called the ‘‘Italian method” and ‘double entry”
was adopted and used by the Fuggers, a large Italian commer-
cial house, who figured during the latter part of the fifteenth cen-
tury. Of late years it has been altered, improved and extended
by different parties, as the emergencies of business required. 4th. |
Good...... B. B.—The duel between Cilley and Graves, both mem-
bers of Congress, in which the former was killed, was tought near
Washington, im 1838........... Johnny C. M.—We do not know the
maiden name of the gentleman’s wife..... a4 Fool.—A Webster's
Dictionary will teach you how to spell correctly..... Composer.~-
Any composer will set the words to music for a consideration...
A. Hockwala.—The only way in which you can enter the navy is
to enlist as a common sailor. There is no chance for promotion.
Better learn a trade...... Z. Graham.—We do not issue our serials

 

in book form......4 inxious Buyer.—In case a person buys a piece

happy one, Lather himself speaking of his “Katy” as an obedi-

 

1
of ground from a party who has no right to sell it, and G8 aaa
give a true deed, the buyer has no ownership in it, his only Be
dress being to have the seller arrested as aswindler. He sho ahi
have had a search made for the title in the county offiee, and grr”
cured an abstract, His negligence to do so will cost him his
chase money, in case he cannot recover on a civil action... \

C. T, E.—\st. A breach-loading sporting rifle is the best tarm ©” é

you propose shooting large game. 2d. Ask a bookceller for;
work on raising and treatment of stock........... T. R. In che
game of euchre, the dealer cannot play a lone hand after his part:
ner offers ‘‘to assist,” as it is virtually an exposition of the weale
ness of their opponents’ hands, and therefore an injustices, / We”
are aware that the question is often decided to the contrary, but
itis manifestly wrong........ Thos. Rodriguez.—Inquire at a book-
store for a work on English composition....... G. T. A.—I\st. Yea
21, See “Etiquette Department.”....... Volly Darden.—Ist. “Nice
Whiffles” was written by Dr. J. H. Robinson, 2d. The seven wou.
ders of the ancient world were the Pyramids of Egypt, the tomb
of Mausolus, the temple of Diana at Ephesus, the walls and hang-
ing gardens of Babylon, the Colossus at Rhodes, the statue of Ju-
piter Olympus at Athens, the Pharos or light-house of Ptolemy
Philadelphus, at Alexandria. The seven wonders of the modern
world are the art of printing, optical instruments—telesco
microscopes, gunpowder, the steam engine, labor-saying
chinery, the electric telegraph and the photograph. 5
duel between Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr, in which the
former was killed, grew out of political animosities. Burr hay-
ing been defeated as a candidate for Governor of New York,
charged Hamilton with having repeated expressions derogatory
tohis personal honor, and eventually challenged him. They met

 

at Weehawken, N. J., July 11, 1804, and at the first fire Hamiltom_
nm 2X

received a wound of which he died the nextday. 4th. ‘Ramo
the Outlaw” is out of print..... Upham.—You are correct?.......
Dave Tutt.—\st. Education will not make a good actor unless a
person has natural abilities or genius. 2d. About the same as
that of mechanics, 3d. The stage is the worst profession you can ~
undertake, as a means of earning a living.........Johnny Bull.—
Ist. See ‘‘Knowledge Box.” 2d. If you were under eighteen years
of age when you arrived in this country, and have been here five
years, you Can procure your naturalization paper, and vote at the
fall election; but if you were over eighteen, you will have to de
clare your intention, and wait for two years before you ear be-
come a citizen...... Hy. Conley.—We do not know how the elaine
are procured, but presume they are Jeased.or purchased of the
colonial authorities.......... Iron Hand.—I\st. There is no way
which a person can increase his stature. 2d. You can purchase a
tweezer at a cutlery, drug or notion store. 3d. Yes..... Zenobia,—
Ist. Gothe s pronounced ger-ter, without trilling ther; Schiller
as Shiller ; and Dante as dan-tai. ‘‘Faust’’ was written by the
first named. 2d. It is impossible, With the space af our com.

mand, to pretend to give more than the briefest bingraphicy? * A

sketches. Thomas Carlyle is an eminent British @uthor, born in
, in Dumfriesshire, Scotland. He was edueate? with a view
to entering the church, but abandoned it for a literary life.
During his early years he translated several works from the Ger-
man, and also contributed many articles to magazines. His
greatest work, ‘Sartor Resartus,’”’ was issued in 183334. This
was followed _by his ‘History of the French Revolution,” ‘‘Hero
Worship,” ‘Latter-Day Pamphlets,” “Life of Frederick the
Great,” and many others. Of late years he has become very
cynical, a recent writer describing him assoured and “thoroughly
disgusted with the world and mankind.” 3d. Jolin Stuart Mill @
an eminent English writeron political economy, and an adyoeate
ot advanced liberalism. He has been a member of the House of
Commons, where he strongly advocated the extension of thé,
elective franchise, and the rights of women....... Flo. H.--We &0

 

 

not wish any more sketches at present, being more than supplied
for some time to come..... Lucky Joe.—See ‘‘Knowledge Box’’....
Red Plume.—tist. The expression “waived examination” refers to
the preliminary investigation which is had beforea justice previ-
ous to the prisoner being committed fur trial, in order that the
latter wnay furnish bail, and thus go at liberty, instead of bein

held in custody while the examination is pending. 2d. Allen ce
Beach is Lieutenant-Governor of the State of New York. 3d.
Philadelphia is 88 miles from New York. 4th. Envelope is accent-

ed on the first syllable...... Bill Bricktop.—“Ned Buntime”’ is the
nom de plume of E. Z. C. Judson ; ‘Josh Billings” that of Henry
W. Shaw...... Mrs. M. B.—We do not know the lady's address.

B.A. D. Boy.—Generally speaking, a man should be at least
twenty-five and a woman at least twenty years of age, before mar-
rying, as many are physically undeveloped before reaching thnt
PRs .s , R.—\st. The verses are of only average merit; but even
were they of unusual merit we could not purehase them, as the
quantity in hand compels us to decline scores of poems. 2d. Only
personal application to the conductors of the various journals
will determine the other queries...... J. H. C.—\st. To improve
your mind read the better class of works@f fiction, history, the
standard poets, and the NEw YORK WEEKLY. 2d. “I wrote to!
ha is the correct form, “I wrote you” is an elliptical phrase,
owable by grammarians, the word ‘‘to” being understood,
J, M. L. M.—\st and 4th. See “Knowledge Box.” 2d. The ameunt
of your income should determine whether the business is profit
able. The articles are not hkely to fall into disuse unless §
seded by a new invention, which is not probable. 3d. Yes......
Will Carroll.—See ‘‘Knowledge Box.”’...... Indian Charlie,—We
do not know where the parodies can be procured. ...Nick Whiffles.
—Ist. The New York Crystal Palace was destroyed by fire on the
afternoon of the 5th cf October, 1858. 2d. See “Knowledge Box.”
Buffalo Bill, No, 2.—1st. Bookkeeping is taught gratuitously
at the Cooper Institute and at the Evening High Schools open
during the winter season. 2d. Yes...... T. E. Floyd.—We do not

aly

furnish the names of authors who write for us under a nom de
plume..... Joseph Dana.—We cannot furnish the books for less

if.

than the retail price, as no reduction is made tor sets... .. .0
As you have never been divorce: .', although both yourself and

 
 
 

have remarried, you are still mau and wife, each havi
on the other. You are both also liable to be proseented for big
amy...... Constant Reader, N. O.—See ‘“‘Work-Box,”....... J. K. M.

Our list of paid contributors is full...... Spero.—We cannot regu-
late the retail price of the NEW YORK WEEKLY. Agents at a dis-
tance are compelled to charge more than six cents on account of
freight and express charges...... Red Demon.—Guiseppe Gaspardo
Mezzofanti, the celebrated linguist, could read and write fifty-six
languages, and was more or less acquainted with sixty-four others,

| His knowledge comprehended all the European languages, Greek,
} Latin and Hebrew, the Sanscrit, Persian, Arabic, Syriac, Samari-

tan, Armenian, Chinese. and many other Eastern dialects. He
was born at Bologna in 1774, and died at Romein 1849....4.0. &
C.—We do not know the address...... Passaic.—lst. We would ad-
vise you not to get married. Your offspring, it you had any,
would be weak and puny. 2d. We donot know the standing of
the institution. See ‘“‘Knowledge Box.”....H. B.—lst. There will

no new appointments until four years from the date of the
last, uniess'there should be a vacancy by deuth or other cireum-
stances. 2d. Second lieutenants in tlie cavalry receive $1,400 p
year; in the infantry and artillery; $1,350......Joe.—Try again.

. B. W.—We do not know..... Lone Star.—The present Governor
of New Hampshire, James A. Weston, was elected as a Democrat
in 1871. - He receiveda plurality of votes, but a majorit y-Soing
necessary to elect, the choice devolved on the Legislature, whea
the Labor Reformers united with the Democrats, electing Weston
by a majority pf three on joint ballot........... C. L. €.—The New
YORK WEEKLY has the largest circulation of any paper published
in the United States..... Cannibal Jack.—See ““Knowledge-Box.”
are oi Colonel Ryse.—Iist. There is a large gymnasium attached to
the Academy at West Point, with all the appurtenances usually
found in places of that character. 2d. Candidates for cadetship
must be between the ages of seventeen and twenty-one years.
3d. The course of instruction embraces a period of four years,
4th. See reply to “R. A. D.” last week........... P. H. K.—*Hazel
Eye, the Girl Trapper” will cost 78 cents....... The following MSS.
have been accepted: ‘‘Remember Me,’’ ‘‘Waiting for the Morn-
ing,” ‘Picture Painting,” ‘Be Kind.”..The following will appear
in a new Mammoth monthly soon to be issued: ‘“‘Advice to Young:
Wen??? .. Fo 43 The following are respectfuily declined: ‘“‘Lostrand
Found,” “The Bereaved Mother,” ‘Dearest of the Dearest,” “The
Winds,” ‘“‘Beautiful Hills,” “The River of Time,’ “Music,” ‘A
True American,” “‘To My Darling,” ‘Anecdote of Bernadotte,”
“Promise,” ‘Jack and the Bear.”

  

 

  
 
   

 

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.—6G. T. A.—A correspondence between
persons of opposite sex does not necessarily imply that they are
more than friends, and is often carried on asa means of diver
sion, or an interchange of thoughtsand sentiments between in
telligent persons of similar tastes. Tle lady being an intimate
acquaintance, there would be no impropriety in suggesting that
if agreeable to her you would like to open a correepondence with
her on friendly topics, and if in time it became of a more tendér
nature, the insight which each may have gained of the other’s
character will be of mutual advantage.

J. T. H.—ist. Gentlemen usualiy wear seal rings on the little
finger ot the left hand. “Many wear them on the next finger, but
a manufacturing jeweler informs. us that the proportion is about
ten to one in favor of the little finger. 2d: The engagement ring
is worn on the forefinger of the left hand.

Sweetness.—There is no explanation to make except to answer
the lady’s question.. What your own intentions are you know
best, and must govern your actions accordingly. Her motives
may have been to discourage your attentions before the associa-
tion led to an affection on your part which she could not reeip-
rocate.

A Friend.—When obliged to leave the table before the meal is
over, merely ask to be excused and retire.

Sooner, Boston.—list. It is not essential that you should raise
your hat on bowing to a gentleman on the street, or on being in-
troduced # another gentieman. A cordial shake of the hand,
with a slight inclination of the body, is sufficient in the latter
See Kid gloves are worn on all tull-dress ‘occasions, except
at table:

Friend, Scranton.—It is customary to give a lady the right arm,
but the lett may be offered when circumstances render it more
convenient,

Juanita.—ist. A lady may with propriety take a gentleman's
arm during the day, even if not engaged, when on a crowded
thoroughfare, asa means of protection. 2d. Accept it, if desira-
ble. An affirmative nod is sufficient. 3d. No. 4th. It is custom-
ary to invite a gentleman to call, if desirable or agreeable, as he
would not be warranted in doingso without an invitation, 5th.
Should a gentleman presume on the familiarity of putting his
arm around a lady’s waist, stepping to one side wil! be a sufficient
intimation that he has over-stepped the bounds of propriety. 6th.
In selecting initial paper, choose that with the initial of the sur-
name,

L. E. A.—In purchasing an engagement ring, select one with a
setting—a solitaire diamond is considered the thing by those who
can afford it. No inscription should Ue “engraved in it. 2d.A
suitable present tor a young lady is a set. of jewelry, lace set or
handkerchief, album, book, writing-desk, chromo, work-box,
sewing-machine, toilet set of perfumery, etc.

Weeping Willow.—Ist. If particularly anxious to ascertain the
young man’s whereabouts, you might ask the question casually,
without manifesting any peculiar interest in the knowledge. Little
taet will bring the conversation around to the point without your
motive being apparent to even the closest observer. 2d. It is im-
prudent to ask a gentleman for his picture unless an intimate ac-
quaintance. The indiscriminate exchange of pictures among the
sexes is carried too far,we think, many possessors 3’ photo
graphs exnibiting them to their companions ase
quest, and making the originals objects of unger
marks. 3d. See “Knowledge Box.” 4th. Fair. 7

H. A, L.—In acrowded assemblage, wdere it is necessary
a way of entrance should be opened, or at any public plac
a Seat is to be procured, a gentleman should precede
companion.

A) ple-Jack.—The lady is evidently fickle-minded, and desirous
of being relieved of your attentions; the best thing you can do is
to gratify her by discontinuing your visits.

CURIOUS ITEMS.

A GENTLEMAN in Lynn, Massachusetts, while passing
round a pond in that city a few mornings since, witness-
ed a curious scene, which he thus describes: Around the
margin of the pond, in the water, there was a large col-
lection of common toads; close beside them was an equ-
ally large gathering of bullfrogs; and a battle between the
two was in progress. The frogs, being the most power.
ful, were busily engaged in drowning the toads, Oneor
more frogs would seize a toad and hold his head under
the water untilhe was drowned. Sometimes a frog would
find that he was overmatched, and then he would uttera
peculiar sound, when one or more of his comrades would
come to his aid, and the toad was sure to go under, neyer
to rise again. The battle continued for several minutes,
until the toads were completely ‘‘cleaned out,’? when the
frogs joined in one triumphal croak, as though they had
achieved a victory over mortal enemies.

THIS, we are told, happened in Canada: ‘During @
whirlwind at Bolton, on the Missisquoi River, a small
boy fell upon the ground and clung by his hands fo the
roots of a sapling, while the wind lifted his feet avd legs
into the air and snapped him to and fro like a whip.”

DUBUQUE exhibits a corious animal, which is a com-
bination of the fish, snake, eel, crocodile and lizard. Itis
sbout a foot long, and has two crimson spots,

IT is an old superstition that at her bridal a lady should
always wear some article borrowed from a friend for the
occasion, to bring good luck.

COLUMNS of -hot water three hundred feet high are
among the wonders of the Yellow-stone Valley in Wyom-
ing. They surpass the geysers of California.

 
   

   

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