,

JULIA EDWARDS, GEORGIE SHELDON and BERTHA M. CLAY, write exclusively for the

NEW YORK WEEKLY.

a Sagi, A

 

Entered According to Act of Congress, in the

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vol. 47.

Office 31 Rose St.

 

 

Year 1892, by Street éd Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washingion, D. C.

New York, June 25, 1892.

+

Entered at the Posi Office, New York, as Second Class Matter.

Three Dollars Per Year,
Two Covies Five Dollars.

 

TRIUMPH OF FRATERNITY.
BY GERALD MASSEY.

*Tis coming up the steep of time,
And this old world is growing brighter;
We may not see its dawn sublime,
Yet high hopes make the heart throb lighter.
We may be sleeping in the gronnd
When it awakes the world in wonder;
But we have felt it gathering round,
And heard its voice in living thunder—

*Tis coming; yes, ’tis coming!

"Tis coming now, the glorious time
Foretold by seers and sung in story;
For which, when thinking was a crime,
Souls leaped to heaven from scaffolds gory!
They passed, nor see the work they wrought;
Now the crowned hopes of centuries blossom!
But the live lightning of their thought
And daring deeds doth pulse earth’s bosom—

*Tis coming! yes, tis coming!

Creeds, empires, systems rot with age,
But the great peopie’s ever youthful!
And it shall write the future’s page
To our humanity more truthful!
The gnarliest heart hath tender cords,
To waken at the name of “brother ;”
And time comes when brain-scorpion words
We shall not speak to sting each other.
"Tis coming! yes, ‘tis coming!

Fraternity ! Love’s other name!
Dear, heaven-connecting link of being!
Then shall we grasp thy golden dream,
AS souls, full-statured, grow far-seeing;

&,

Then shall unfold our better par
by Tire

oC 2 exter
Ptine bb GU “Gait py Perit ns

Light up with joy the poor man’s hears

And Love’s own world with smiles more

sunnby—
*Tis coming! yes, ’tis coming!

Ay, it mustcome! The tyrant’s throne

Is crumbling, with our hot tears rusted:
The sword earth’s mighty ones have leant on

Is cankered, with our heart’s blood crusted,
Room! for the men of mind make way!

Ye robber rulers, pause no longer,
Ye cannot stay the opening day !

The world rolls on, the light grows stronger—

The people’s advent coming!

P.O. Box 2734 N.Y.

 

~ SS

SSS

SSESSSSSS
SSS

SS

SS
le
SS

SN
SS

ae easy,

SN

SAID NICK, “BUT THE BODY

+

GIRL! TELL
FIND THE

OF
I

A
WILL

YOUR CAPTA
MURDERER!

Is THAT
AND THAT

 

+ 10+ -____—

Tle Mysterio

OR,

NICK CARTERS U. 8.

rn Fe ee

BY THE AUTHOR OF “ NICK CARTER.’

CHAPTER IV.
WHO WAS LARRY COON?

The consummate daring of the scoundrels,
who had murdered the bootbiack, Larry Coon,
in order that he might not reveal their secret
to Nick Carter, at once told the detective more
of the desperate character of the men with
whom he had to deal than anything else could.

That they had kept the boy in sight ever
since the robbery of the mail-wagon could not |
be doubted.

They had, therefore, been aware that he was
approached by the driver, Bolz, and, following
the hack, they had seen him taken to the door
of Nick Carter’s.house.

The object of that expedition at once be-
came manifest.

No one knew better than those criminals
themselves what would be the consequence if
the boy were once placed under the searching

(“THE MYSTERIOUS MAIL ROBBERY

 

examination of the great detective.

They foresaw that such a thing must be pre-
vented at all hazards. ‘

Bolz unconsciously played into their hands
by leaving Larry in the carriage while he en-
tered the house to announce the fact that the
boy was found.

They would have shot him down as he en- |
tered the door, had there been no other way, |
but now the crime was rendered easy.

They stole forward, one or more of them—
who shall say?—and when Bolz came out to
conduct the boy to the detective, instead of
the young bootbiack, he found a corpse.

Nick realized that the trail had suddenly |
grown hot,

Almost at the commencement of his connec-
ton with the case, murder was brought to his
very door, and murder that had plainly grown |
out of the midnight robbery of the mail-van. |

But the hack-driver had disappeared, leav- |
e his horses standing, unattended, at the
curb.

Where had he gone, and how had he gone?
Had he, too, been slain? Probably not, else
his body would have been found, as was that

|
|

Mail Robbery:

GOVERNMENT CASE.

”

was commenced last week.}

of the boy. Kidnapped? Perhaps; and yet
to kidnap a full grown man on a public thor-

A moment later he came out again, and
stood upright upon the pavement,

“Great Heaven!” he muttered. “This is
awful—awful! But who could have suspected
the truth? Poor child! Poor child! it is
the last case I ever follow; if this mail-rob-
bery business ends my career, I will bring to
justice the hand that struck you down.”

The detective’s face had grown stern almost
to rigidity, and his eyes had that somber, sul-

len gleam which never came to them except

with excessive anger.

He glanced down the street.
A block away, passing beneath a street |

|

lamp, he saw the figure of Bolz, accompanied
by a policeman.

“Once more,” he murmured, and then he
again leaned into the cab.

This time he used no light, and his head |
and shoulders were hidden from view about |
one moment. |

Then he again straightened up there was

 

oughfare and without giving an alarm was
manifestly an improbable thing, to say the|
least.

Frightened? Possibly; yet in such a case, }
would he not have given the alarm to the first |
man he met, and have come hastening back to |
apprehend the murderers and to secure his |
horses?

There was only one view of the matter left.

The hack-driver must have been an accom- |
plice, if not before, at least after the fact.

“Collect your wits, Peter,” said Nick, stern-
ly, “and answer my questions.”

*Y en. /eir.”

“Where did you hi

“At the City Hall.

“On the regular stand?”

“No; it was standing on the Park Row
side.”

“Did you notice the driver?”

“Not particularly.”

“Would you know him again?”

“IT don’t know.”

“Which means that you would not.”

“Perhaps so, sir.”

“Walk down the street
officer and bring him here.’

“Yes, sir.”

“Be sure you come back with him. I want
to talk to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

As soon as Bolz was gone, the detective drew
a wax taper from his pocket and began an ex-
amination of the inside of the hack,

But there was nothing to be found that
could afford any clew to the perpetrator of the
awful deed.

The boy was dead.

He had been stabbed with an ordinary case-
knife, ground down to a point, and death had
been instantaneous.

“Poor lad!” murmured the detective. “It is
hard that you should have been sacrificed in
a way, and for the sins of others. I won-
der——”

The detective paused suddenly, and started
like one who has made an unexpected and im-
portant discovery.

He leaned forward again, still more eagerly
than before, getting almost into the interior

re this hack?”

until you find an

something in his re hend, which he hastily
thrust into his pocket, aad the next moment
the officer and the van-driver arrived upon the
scene,

In a few words Nick explained all that had
taken place.

The officer rapped for assistance, and then, |
while he waited for hiscolleague to appear,

| Nick drew him aside.

“Burns,” he said, “tel your captain that I |
have taken this case; thit I will find the mur-
derer of—of——”

“Larry Coon, you said was the name,”

“Yes; but the body is that of a girl.”

A: geil 2?

oY @8;.. ;

“Then——

“Wait. The body of a girl who for some |
reason was masquerading as a boy. I wanta
thorough investigation male by the coroner.
I think he will find that s.e was considerably |
older than sixteen, the agi she gave to Bolz—
and tell your captain, if 1e would aid me in
this matter, to keep everthing as quiet as
possible.”

“Sure!”

“Here comes your assisknce.. Say nothing
till you get to the statin-house, and don’t
talk then, except to the cotain.”

“Correct |”

The two officers took aarge of the hack
with its silent passenger, ind drove away.

“Come into the house, Bolz,” said the de-
tective. “I must find a wa to make you talk
again, and remember thigs that you don’t
think you know.”

“Yes, sir,”

“Where did you find ths boy?” asked Nick,
as soon as they were seatd,

“In the City Hall Park

“When?”

“About dusk.”

“What was he doing?”

“He yelled ‘Shine’ at ne. I looked down,
saw his face, spotted hii, and told him to
piteh in.”

“You recognized him ajonce?”

“Ek did.”

“Did you notice his vob?”

“Eh?”

“You heard iny questic.”

”

 

of the cab.

 

“Well, I didn’t notice ls voice particularly,

driver suddenly exclaimed:

IN

THAT I HAVE TAKEN THIS

except that I think it was that that made me
look at him when he yelled ‘Shine.’”
“You recognized that before you did the
face, didn’t you?”
| “Guess I did, sir.”
“It wasn’t exactly the sort of voice that
usually yells ‘Shine, boss?’ was it?”
| “No; sort of soft like, and smooth, like a
girl’s.”
boy koe
rT

}

actly.. Now, what did you say to him?”
said, ‘Sonny, you’re the chap I ran over
the other night.’ ”

“What did he say to that?”

“He grinned, and then asked if I drove a
mail-wagon. I told him I did, Then he
laughed, and says he:

“*That was all a fake, boss.’

“*That’s what I thought,’ says I; and then I
asked him if he knew the van was robbed.

“He looked scared when I asked that ques-
tion. His eyes opened as big as saucers, and
then he got up as fierce as a young cat, and
says he:

“*Are you guying me, or are you tellin’ the
truth?’

“*The truth, the whole truth, and nothing |
you too, if it were not for the vileness with which I am
| constantly brought in contact.”

but the truth,’ I answered, ‘and I think
can help me find the men who did it.’

“*You bet I can!’ said he, ‘and you jest bet
I will, too!”

CHAPTER V.
GETTING DOWN TO WORK.

“Are you willing to tell all you know?’ I
asked him.

“*Yes,’ he said, ‘I’ll tell you now.’

““No, wait!’ I interrupted, ‘don’t tell me/
anything now. Come with me to the house of
a detective and tell him your story. Will you
do that?’

“*Yes,’ he said.

“Then he finished the shine and we got into
the hack and drove here. That’s all I know.”

“Didn’t you talk on the way here?”

“Not much,”

“You asked his name?”

; “Yes; and his age. Larry Coon, aged six-
een,

“Did you ask him where he lived?”

“Yes; he replied, ‘Oh, anywhere I happen to

“Is that all the information you can give
me?

“Pretty near. The rest of our talk was about
shining boots, selling papers, and such things.
He was a queer kind of a boy, and must have
been in a better condition once. He didn’t
use the slang, and swear like most boys of that
class. In fact, he said his friends all called
him the Parson, because he wouldn’t swear,”
“Did he say any more about himself?”

“No; nothing worth repeating—nothing that
remember,”
“Now go back to the hack.”

“Well?”

“Did the boy act as though he knew the
hackman ?”

“Now that you mention it, the hackman
knew him.”

“ Ah Fr.

“When we were getting into the hack, the

I

““Hello, Larry, gettin’ up in the
world, ain’t you?’”

“What reply did Larry make?”

“He didn’t answer the man, but he
sort of backed off, and says he:

“*QTet’s go in the elevated.’

“But I was afraid he’d give me
the slip somehow, if we did, and sol
stuck to the hack, and he got in.”

“T suppose you’d like to earn a hun-
dred dollars, Peter?”

“Well, rather!”

“Find that hackman for me, and you
shall have two hundred.”

“Do letry:”

“Look out for snags.”

“Eh?”

“If he finds out that you are look-
ing for him, your fate will be the
same as Larry Coon’s unless you are
on your guard.”

“Pooh! That won’t stop me. I
never saw the man that I was afraid
of yet.”

The following morning began a new
era in the mail-robbery case for Nick
Carter.

Matters had taken a much more
serious turn than was at first suspected,
for murder had followed robbery, and
the greater crime was involved in such
circumstances as convinced the detec-
tive that there was more behind it
than the mere design to prevent the
youthful hut innocent accomplice from
telling all she knew.

By accident Nick had discovered
that the murdered youth was a girl.

The evening of the day following
the commission of the crime brought
him a note from the coroner, one para-
graph of which read as follows:

 

“She was evidently between twenty and
twenty-two years of age, and was, beyond
doubt, a young lady of refinement. I find
many evidences of that fact, and can only
conclude that for some reason which will
forever remain a mystery, she chose to
disguise her antecedents as well as her sex,
and her accomplishments as well as her
personality, in the garb of a bootblack.
She was unmarried, and I am romantic
enough to believe that she was in hiding
from.the machinations of some persecutor
whom she hoped to avoid by donning the

qiuwec ofa boy... In thse lining of the vest
Bae WO Was ww CE LGA Yy. iss
lars in small bills, chiefly ones,
fives.”

ony
sik uitad dni-

twos, and

Another paragraph read:

“T never saw a more beautiful face, so
sweet, so innocent, and yet with such deter-
mined lines of strong character. Command
me any way that I can serve you in solving
the mystery, for I confess that I am more
interested than in any case I have had since
I became coroner.”

Before Nick received the letter from
which the above are extracts he had
thoroughly investigated the article
which he had taken from the body
while it was yet in the coach.

It was only a small blank book with
fully one half of the leaves missing
from the front part.

Upon the first of the remaining pages

; there was a remarkable entry, over
| which the detective studied fox a long time.
“St. Paul x1, 9.

**Matthew IIT., 2.

‘To assist my memory should I forget, or to direct
| others, should I be helpless from any cause.”

t

| That was all. It was vague enough, and at
| first the detective paid no attention to the
|entry; but if kept recurring to him as he ex-
| amined the rest of the book, and two or three
| times he returned to it, until at last the con-
| viction came oo him that the seeming Bibli-
| cal references did not refer to the books of St.
| Paul and Matthew, but to some entirely ex-
| trinsic matter.

| The remainder of the pages were filled with
| writing in a delicate, refined hand, evidencing
|}careful training and entire familiarity with
| the use of a pen.

| The written words told the detective noth.
ing.

hey formed simply a quasi-journal of the

| daily doings of a young bootblack, with now
|and then an interpolated remark, such as:

“Who would have believed, one year ago, that I
could undergo such hardships—and rather enjoy them

In another place:

“It is fortunate that I was thoughtful enough to
tear out the old leaves of this book, else—but why
cogitate upon accident ?”

Again:

“Tt was, perhaps, foolish to be coerced into doing
what seemed wrong. B. assured me, however, that
it was only a joke, and as I fancy he suspects that I
am not what I seem, it was best to gratify him—and
[have only a bruise or two, in consequence of the
escapade,”

That was the last entry.

There was positively nothing in the book to
indicate what her true name was, or to give
any clew whatever to her identity, or to her
reasons for assuming the character of a boot-
black.

Nick’s first move on the day in question was
to adopt the disguise of a bootblack himself,

He then took his way to the City Hall Park
and began shouting “Shine,” with an energy
that brought him many customers.

Presently, from among his contemporaries,
he selected a smart-looking boy, with whom
he at once became confidential. He had heard
the other boys call him by name, and so he
knew how to address him.

“Say, Bonesey,” he exclaimed, suddenly,
“come wid me, an’ I’ll treat.”

“Ter wot?”

“Coffee ’n cakes.”

“I’m wid ye! Say, wot’s yer flip?”

“Mose.”

“Right, Mose,
off fur, hey?”

“Fur instance, Ye needn’t comeif yer don’t
like it. See?”

But Bonesey went just the same, although
he was not accustomed to such liberality.

When they left the place where they had
partaken of coffee and cakes, Nick suddenly

said:
“Seed the Parson to-day?”

Say, wot ’r yer blowin’ me

 

“No, I hain’t.”

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

«<4 THE NEW YOR

“Where is he?”
“Dunno.”
“Sloped, mebby.”
“ Mebby.”
“Heerd he was pinched” (arrested).
“Mebby.”
“Wot ye so offish about, Bonesey?”
* Amt.” ;
“Yes, ye,are.”
- aor I’ve tumbled to ther coffee racket.
See?” :
“No, I don’t.”
“Then yer a chump, Mose.

.

Yer the second

feller wot’s tried ter pump me ‘about ther}

Parson, ter day. I don’t know nothin’ ’bout
him, an’ if I did I wouldn’t give it away.
See? I ain’t no stuff. See? I licked one feller
fur pickin’ onto him, an’ I kin do it ag’in.
See? He’s a dandy little chap, ef ever there
was one, an’—an’—an’——”

“Say, Bonesey, ain’t yer made a purty long
speech ’thout notes? Fellers that goes off half-
cocked, like you, makes me tired. See?”

“Well, yer was axin’ ‘bout ther Parson.”

“Iwas. I'm his friend, an’ ef you'll find
t’other feller wot's lookin’ fur him, an’ point
him out to me, I’ll—blest ef I won't blow ye
off ag’in. See?”

CHAPTER VI.
STRANGE FATALITY.

Bonesey regarded Nick for a full minute,
with careful scrutiny, and then, with a tinge
of anger gleaniing in his eyes, he said:

“T won’t tell ye nothin’.”

“ Why? >

“Cos yer a fraud.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Cos I ain’t one.”

“I don’t ketch on, Bonesey.”

“You ain’t no bootblack.”

“ Oh ?

“Yer a fly-cop, ’relse yer oneo’ the gang
wot’s been houndin’ ther Parson all along.”

“Why do you think Iam not what I seem?”
demanded Nick, in his natural tones.

“I know it now, since yer spoke that way,”
exclaimed Bonesey.

“T did that purposely. Now, answer my
question.” f

“Can’t; dunno how I know’d it; sorter
looked t’rough ye, like. * See?”

“Yes, see. Bonesey, have you ever heard
of Nick Carter?”

“Whew! Well I should smile.”

“What would you say if I should tell you
that I am Nick Carter?” Z

Bonesey stuck his tongue in one cheek, and
then, with calm deliberation, replied:

“IT should say that ye was a blasted liar.”
Nick laughed outright.

“T don’t know that I would blame you any |
r that,” he said.
Then his face suddenly became serious, and |
he added, earnestly:

“I like you, Bonesey. You are honest, and |
you are shrewd. I want you to help me. Will :
you do it?”

“Who are you?”

“T told you; Nick Carter.”

“Prove it, an’ I'll go plum to Jericho fur
you.

“Larry Coon—or the Pa
him—is dead.” '

“Dead! No—no! Don’t say that! Don’t say
that ube boy’s gone! Him that I fought fur—
that I would ha’ died fur! "T'ain’t right ter
yaey such jokes es that, Mose—I mean

fr. ——. By the great boot in Chatham
street, ef you’ve been a-lyin’ ter me, I’ll slit
ye, so heJp me!”

“Larry Coon is dead, Bonesey; he was mur-
dered, and I want you to help me find the man
we killed him,” said Nick, kindly, but earn-
estly.

For fully thirty seconds, Bonesey stared at
Nick, as though trying to grasp the meaning
of all that he had said. ;

Slowly the conviction that the person before
him had spoken the truth, seemed te dawn
upon him. ;

Then, when he had fully
significance of a*l that had bg

» todk phe blatking-box from bi ider, |

giving it a quick twirl around: his head,
sent it flying far away over the heads of the,
pedestrians in the street.

He did not even follow the discarded box
with his eyes, but thrusting his hands deeply
into his pockets, he exclaimed:

“Goon; I’m wid yer!”

It was asimple act, but it touched the
tective to the heart.

“Get your box, Bonesey, and keep it.
may need it again,
money; take it——’

“Don't want no money !”

“You may need it, and——”

“TI won't take it. That settles it.”

“Allright. Your first duty is to find the |
man who was inquiring for Larry; when you |
find him, follow him until you know all about |
him. Then come to my house, and tell me all

ou know.” ;

“Wot good’ll it do ter find him?”

“T can’t tell yet. It may do no good, and |
again, it may put us on the right track at
once.”

“ Bat’ :

“Wait, Bonesey. If you help me in this}
work, you have got todo it without asking |
questions. When [tell rou to doa thing, do
it. Time enough to ask questions when it is
done.”
“ All right.”

“Do you know where [I live?”
Yen. i

“Will you do as I have asked?”
“Ves ”

 

 

 

 

f

rson, as you call}

 

 

 

rreane

de-

You
who can say. Here is some
?

}
|

|

eon you take this money?”
“ On

“Tf you haven’t found the fellow by to-mor-
row might, come to me anyhow.”

“Keyreckt.”

“Tf I do not see you then, I will know that
you are on his track.”

“You bet!”

“What is your right name?”

“Robert Dale.”

“Then we'll drop the Bonesey and make it
Robert. Good-by, my boy. Do your work and
say nothing. That is the rule of success.”

Nick hurried away, leaving the young boot-
black in a brown study over the strange things |
he had just heard.

The conviction that the quickest way to get
upon the track of the mail-robbers was to fol. |
low up the murder of Larry Coon, had forced |
itself upon the detective with unusual vehem-
ence.

Intuitively, he felt that the identity of the
murdered girl was in some way connected
with the gang that preyed upon the Post-Office
Department, and that by tracing one, he would
be Abeonght face to face with the other.

It was that evening that he received the
note from the coroner already mentioned, and
also heard that the missing mail-pouches had
been picked up by two soldiers on Governor’s
Island, to which place they had been carried
by the tide. {

“Who was Larry Coon?”

That was the question which constantly re-
curred to him, no matter where he went, or
into what channel his thoughts drifted.

With Driver Bolz looking for the man who
had driven the hack in which the murder was
committed ; with Robert, otherwise “ Bonesey,’
in search of the man who. had _ been seeking
the pseudo-bootblack ; with Chick in nee
following the lantern clew there; and with nis
own tireless energy ever at work, Nick Car-
ter felt that the case must narrow down to
some definite line of operation ere long.

Truth is stranger than fiction, always. |.

The old saying that “murder will out,” is
founded more upon accident than upon any
theory that criminals always leave a clew be-
hind them.

- The rule is that they do not. :

The marks of bloody fingers, one of which
is missing, the discovery of tufts of hair, of
shreds from clothing, of detached buttons,
and the traces of club-feet are usually efforts
of romancists, and the expert crimina), as a
rule, does not lose them or leave their im-
| prints behind him.

_ Nevertheless, strange acc

 

 

} which to the understandin

idents do happen,

x of a keen, shrewd
intellect, suggest possibilities which some:
times lead to certainties.

On the following evening Nick was seated in
his study, momentarily expecting the arrival
of Robert, the bootblack.

He had that days Herald in his hand, and

having finished reading was fanning himself }

idly, when, during one of the pauses, his eyes
fell upon one of the advertisements in the per-
sonal column, and’ he read it, much as one
reads an ad, in a horse-car, or upon a fence—
without interest.

Presently he read it again, and then, with
deliberation, he cut it from the paper with his
penknife, and read it the third time. This
was the advertisement:

AURA.—THERE IS CERTAINLY ONE FRIEND
whom you can trust implicitly. Communicate with
Matthew without delay. ;

It was the name Matthew that first attracted
his attention, and then the names Laura and
Larry had a similar intonation.

What more likely than for a girl whose real
name was Laura, to assume that of Larry, if
she should disguise herself as a boy?

He went to his file of daily Heralds, and
found that the same advertisement had been

-

 

Ane or ae Some

vile scheme. I believe thit this wan Gould-has had
his‘eye tpon me fora jones time 1 believe that he
has been connected with lot »bberies, and [ have
an idea that the booty—at least of this last venture
—is all concealed on boar?’ of this yacht.”

“T should not wond aid his companion, with a
start, “for there were certiinly two men in the state-
room next to nine last ui hey moved about
in a stealthy way, yeré up to some
deviltry.’ ~~

“Well, Mr. Hunting, }
fight, if you will help
restoration of what has
Ned replied, with a resolute “Tecan never go
back to. Boston; Ican Meyer face anyone whom |
have known’—and a deep *insh of shame suffused his
face as he thought of siertrude and her friends—
“while this terrible stigma rests vpon me; while life
itself will be comparatively worthless to me if I have
to live a fugitive and an élien ali ny days.”

“T can understand yout feeling,” the man returned,
while he studied the wanly. perplexed face before
him with deep Mmterest,“and | will do my best. to
help you hack to freedoi) and honor. T cannot help
fearing, however, that wll fail——”

“If we fail, it wili be because I sNall fight it out to
the death !’ Ned interposed, with a passionate earn-
estness which told he was, indeed, in deadly
earnest, while the veins on his forehead stood out
like whipeords.

“*T admire your s}
returned, heartily,
last grip.”

“Thank you,” Ned «1

; 2

sas

a
thy

i Ule

tend to make a desperate
freedom and the
eu frém the bank,’

née, ror Wry

mh

n
tle

sh

ung man,” Mr. Hunting
stand by you till the

 

introduced every day for three weeks.

“Good!” he mused, “there is a little point
in that, anyhow. When Robert comes, I'll
soon find out how long Larry Coon had been |
around the City Hall Park shining shoes for |
a living.” |

That moment the bell rang,
ushered Robert into the room.

“T’ve found him!” he gasped, sinking into a
chair, and breathing heavily.

His face was as pale as death, and he trem- |
bled visibly.

Nick sprang forward, but the boy waved |
him back.

“ He—found—me—too,” he continued, husk-
ily; and then he added, angrily:

“Keep off till I tell my story, cos I ain’t got |
much vim left in me. Don't touch me—yet.
I’m hurt. He knew I was follerin’ him—an’ |
he led—me a dance—I tell yer. He’s one 0’ |

and Patsy |

:

| them—sharp’ cusses—what, looks like gent—

lemen, but is crooks.
"em !”

“Are you hurt, Robert?
demanded Nick, anxiously.

“Yes—I guess—a leetle—but not much. He|
—stuck a knife—into me—here,” placing his
hand at his side, “an’ I guess—it broke off—’r
something. I’m—— Wait! Wait I tell yer!
I’) git even yet! T1l—— Oh!”

He arose, staggered forward, and fell in a
swoon into Nick’s arms, which were out-
stretched to catch him.

In an instant the detective tore aside the
scant clothing, and there, sure enough, pierc-
ing his side was the end of a weapon which
had been broken off at the hilt.

‘ Had a second fatality followed upon the
rst?

Must everybody who sought to aid the de-
tective in his search for the mail-robbers be-
come the victim of an assassin?

I know ’em—lots of

Are you wounded?” |

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form.,

LD OATS

>

Rising to Honor.

.

By MRS. GEORGIE SHELDON,
Author of “Nameless Dell,” ‘‘Brownie’s Triumph,”
“The Forsaken Bride,” “‘Sibyl's Influence,”
Raesevels,”?

 

“stella ’lG.

», WSS CON j
a
CHAPTER XL —(CONTINUED.)

“Tf he should take your life that would give |
him the supreme ¢euntrol of the machine, would it |
not?’ Ned asked.
A peculiarsmile flitted over the face of his com-

panion,

“It would, but for one reason,” he grimly returned,
“There is one simple little point about it which 1 |
have never confided to any one, and no one can make |
a success of it without understanding it—it regulates
the speed of the thing. I have told him this, and
that is why, I suppose, [have not been made food
for fishes long before this. IfI die, my secret dies
with me.”

“That is clever.” Ned said admiringly, “but Tam
more astonished than TI can express by what you
have told me.” and then he related what he already
knew regarding the invention, and how people with |
whom he was already acquainted had come very near |
being swindled out of their money by Bill Bunting |
who had adopted the name of William Hunting, and
represented that the pump was the invention and |
bequest of a half-brother who had recently died,

“T have been nade the victimjof a base plot from
the very beginning,” said Mr. Hunting; “but Gould
may keep me here until the ‘crack o’ doom;’ he shall
never learn my secret.” ?

“T should hope not; but since you and I have
managed to establish communication with each
other, can we not also manage, by strategy and by
uniting our forces, to find a way of escape from this
yacht?” Ned thoughtfully asked. ;

“fam sureido not know how,” responded his
companion, gloomily. ‘‘I am as ignorant of the con-
struction and management of sea-going vessels aS a
child, and even if we couid manage to release our-
selves from these state-rooms, there would be other
and insurmountable difficulties to overcome.”

“T know all about a yacht,” Ned remarked ; “put
of course we two could not sail one of this size, even
if there was no crew to oppose us, and probably they
outnumber us four to one. Besides, I have no more
idea than the man in the moon where we are; we
may be outin mid-ocean making for some foreign
country for aught I know.” ;

Ned dropped his head upon his breast and fell into
troubled musing. :

The situation seemed a desperate one indeed.

But he was young and full of courage, and ready
to venture everything to secure his liberty.

Presently he resuined: |

“If we could only come into port somewhere, or at

|
|

| Jeast drop auchor near some port, | believe we could

manage it.” :

“How?” eagerly questioned his companion.

“Well, in the first plaee, tell me, are you a strong,
able-bodied man?” Ned asked, bending toward the
hole in the partition for a look at his fellow prisoner.

“T have nerves of iron and muscles of steel,’”* was
the brief but significant response.

“Good! Well, then, my plan would be this. One
of the sailors comes to feed us three times every day
—at least I suppose so.”

“Yes.”

“If we were at anchor, or in port, we could both
get into the same room through this hole, and when
the man came to bring us food, we could easily over-
power, gag and bind him, and conceal him under the
berth =

“But he would be missed,” interposed Mr. Hunt-

ing.

True ; but the natural inference would be that he
had gone ashore, without leave, fora lark. Ve could
attack him at night, and his disappearance at that
time would give that impression. :
| course, enable us to get out into the cabin, and, after
all was quiet for the night, we might reconnoiter
to get some idea regarding the arrangement of the
yacht, although I know thelay ofthe land pretty well
already. Not imore than one man would be needed
to wateh on deck if we,were in port, and after the
rest of the sailors had turned in we conld steal forth
and lock them in their rooms; it would be easy
enough then to overpower the watch, aud the vessel
would be in our bands.”

“Tt all sounds very well as you have planned it, my
young friend, but it will be a very hazardous under-
taking, and I doubt if it sueceeds.” Mr. Hunting re-
marked, dejectedly. ‘Then if we should fail, the re-
‘sult would in all probability be fatal to us, for these
sailors are a reckless set. and would not hesitate to
send us to ‘Davy Jones’ locker’ without a word of
warning, rather than risk peril to themselves.”

“Yes, | know that there will be great risk in the
plan,” Ned said, gravely ; “but, sir, | am desperate,
for I feel that I have not only my life, but, what is
far dearer, my honor, at stake. Twice the bank has
suffered loss through me. The first time the officials
gave me the benetit of the doubt; but of course they
must believe now, since I have disappeared with so
much treasure, that I um criminally concerned in the

 

 

 

! til we anchor in some

| that the vessel has }

; bank to send some o7

| mire in th

This would, of |

eturned ; then added:
surselves as comfort-
nstauces will allow, un-
which I am sure we shall

be
“And now let us try té

able and contented as

| do sooner or later.”

‘But it may be they are taking us to some foreign
country,” said Mr. Hunting, with a look of auxiety
on his face, ‘“‘and if sueh is the case, we shall find it
very difficult to carry ent our plan.”

Ned looked grave for a moment.
marked :

“You said, I believe
late last night left the vesse!

“Yes, [am very sure
went up on deck. [he
boat were being rower

“Then,” said Ned
lieve that the yacht

Then he re-

that the men who came so
again.”
they did; for, soon after they
uci the splash of oars as if a
aud.”

on her way to any foreign

ia . }
ig relieved, ““[ do not be- |

2

 

 

 

port: Gould would nevertrust all that treasure on |

such @ voyage unless he was with it.
n ore

wai

sred to some convenient
until he can arrange his
1@ We must, arrange our

ove the first opportunity.
utrol of this vessel when we
{ will notify the proper
ciens, have the boat officially
legraph to the cashier of our
ae our aid, and to search the
yacht and identify their property.”

“That is well thoug!s of,” his companion returned ;
“and now as to ways &r neans. [f we succeed in
overpowering our mat whoever we attack, where
are we going to vet ropes to bind-him ?”’

Ned’s eyes went rey.ng about the room in search

point, where it will
plans to join it.
plans so that we can
If we can only get the ¢
arrive in some-h:
authorities of my sus
detained until I can

ber,

1c

| of something to utilize for that purpose, and finally

rested upon the shee
berth.

“We must strip up «
into cords,” he at len

“Yes, we might do t}
suppose that meantin
the sheets—he may
tampered with.”

“That is so,” said Nad, reflectively, then suddenly
brightening, inquire, SIs the upper berth in your
room wade up ?” >

“hres.”

“Well, so is mine,

that was dangling from his

r bed-clotbes and make them
i, remarked.

at,’ said Mr. Hunting. “But
the steward comes to change
diseever that they have been

My opinion is |

 

we can strip them both of |

the under sheets, * ich will be sufficient for our |

purpose, and after
do not believe the nea will suspect anything.
pose we go at it at or®
our minds and pas
getically.

“Acreed,” replied , companion, adding: ‘Your
courage is somethin ¢ wonderful, my friend, and I
am sure you deserve} >) succeed.”

the time,’ said Ned, ener-

:

CUCew

CHAPTER XLI.
A BO

The two men begat! their operations immediately.

They tore the sheets into strips, and then twisted
them into stout cords, after which they made them
into flat coils and concealed them about their persons.

While thus employed the time did not drag quite so
heavily, while it Wea aise a great comfort to both to
have the ¢ompanionealbip of each other.

Mr. Hunting was naturally a very
ing man, but he heen @ rt studs
titie way. and wh Ye could ;

1 to hig hey “ou

a »
PERN) oy may o, on
Mr Be grin F found wore and

wid neble cuaractier OL his y

2D VENTURE.

} acien-

St

™ ats

two, whi ive to A
y oung

companion. : &

But there were times, as the vessel sailed on, when
Ned's restive spirif could ill brook the terrible sus-
pense, and he would grow almost frantic with anx-
iety and doubt as te his fate. t

wiking them up again nicely, [|
Sup- |
se, and it will serve to occupy | : , : :
j; room, which he did, entering through the aperture

 

wet and retir- |

1

|
|
{
|
}
{
{

WEEKLY. t=

Accordingly when the man came at noon, Ned ap-
proached him in a genial, affable way.

“T say, Nicholas,” he began, “sit down and chat
with a fellow for-a few minutes, can’t you? I tell
you it is no fun being shutup here day after day
with no one to speak a friendly word to you.”

“Can't; sir my. orders,is.to serve yer an’ keep
mum,” laconieally responded the sailor.

“Well, of course, you'd have to. keep mum upon
certain subjects,” Ned said, in a matter of fact tone;
“but at least you é@an tell me sonrething about the
boat and your duties. I’m wonderfiilly fond of yacht-
ing myself, only, of course’—with a slight smile—
“T-don’t exactly relish taking my pleasure in this
way. Thisisa tine vessel, though.” ;

“Indeed she is, sir,” answered the man, with a sat-
isfied look, and drawn outin spite of himself by Ned’s
praise of the dainty eraft.. *‘She’s a béeanty, an’ ne
mistake, as trig as can be, an’ rides the water like a
bird.” ‘

“Yes. I see she’s a fast sailer, and she niust have
cost around sum. Been aboard her long?’ Ned in-
quired.

“No, only ’bout three months, or aleetle more; one
of the old hands died; and fT f60k his place.”

“Uim—how many hands does it require to sail her ?”’

“Kignht, sir, besides the steward.”’

“Nine men against two,” was, Ned’s inward comn-
ment, and for a moment his heart almost failed him.
But heremarked, with a smile and apparent careless-
ness:

*‘And a pretty soft snap too, isn’t it ?”’

“Yes, sir; except when we make lone voyages,
then we have to stan’.'round purty sharp.”

“*Long voyages’,” repeated Ned, trying hard to
conceal the mtense interest he felt regarding this
point; “what do you mean.by that?” ‘ ;

“Well, sir, ve never made a special long voyage
on this ‘ere craft; but they do say she came from
Californy last fail, an’—an’ ”’—letting his voice fall as
if fearful of being overheard—we’re waitin’ for the
boss now to make the trip to t’ other side of the
pond.”

“To Europe?’ Ned questioned, with his heart in
his mouth.

“Ay, ay, sir; but I’ve no business tellin’ you the
affairs of my boss,” the man said, flushing guiltily.

“What's the harm, since I suppose I’ve got to go
along, too, and nobody can be the wiser for it, while
I’m shut up here ?”’ Ned said, confidentially.
do you expect Mr. Gonid ?”

“Can’t say, sir; I heard the mate say he'd telegraph
the captain the time he’d arrive in Halifax.

lark to-night,” and the man, having really thawed

eut, gave Ned a sly wink as he turned to leave the |

room,

Again Ned's heart leaped into his throat, for this
arrangement would materially reduce the foree to be
contended against.

But he gave a little laugh, and remarked:

“A lark, eh? Are you allowed. to be gone all
night?”

“No, sir; we've got to be on board again some time
afore mornin’; but I reekon it'll be purty nigh day-
light,’ and with another wink the man went out,
locking the door carefully after him.

Ned’s face was very pale and grave as he crept |

under his berth, and called to Mr, Hunting,
“We've got to take our fate In our hands to-nigkt,”
he said, as his friend’s face appeared at the aperture.
“So soon ?” the man exclaimed. in a startled tone.
“Yes, for we may not soon have another opportu-

nity,’ Ned replied, and then related the conversation |

just recorded.

They conversed a long time and with great earnest- |
ness, mapping oat their plan of action with exceed- |
ing care; then schooled themselves to wait, with,
what patience they couid command, until darkness |

should settle Gown on land and sea.

Ned, watching from his window, saw the mate and |
Nicholas row away from the yacht, in one of the}

boats a little before the supper hour, and to his great
joy he saw a third man withthem. :
Then he called to Hunting to join him in his state-

under the berth, hen they arranged their ropes
and gag in readiness for their victim, and about five
minutes before it was time for their supper to be
served, Mr. Hunting stationed himself behind the
door, ready for action.

He was a powerfully built man, and Ned, as he
marked his attitude, and the stern, resolute lines
about his mouth, felt assured that he would not fail
to do his part in the coming trial.

They had notlong to wait, for steps and the clatter
of disheS were soon heard approaching Ned’s door—
for his meals were always served first.

The key was turned, the door opened back against
Mr. Hunting; and a strange face appeared in view.

*?Bre’s yer supper. sir,’ grufily said the new-comer,
a great burly fellow, nearly as large as two of Ned.

“Thank you,” courteously returned the young man,
who was apparent) raved in writing by the side
of bis bertli, ‘jus i please
be reoe y for tioned toward

at

’
uae Pes eu Wilt
trace his ste} \ : nN } d noiselessiy
closed the door behind him, sprang upon him and
dealt him a stunning blow directly behind the ear.

It was very deftly done.

The man swayed dizzily for an instant. staggered,
but before he could recover himself in the least de-
gree Ned was upon him, his strong, lithe hands

i ne

Lid) wh ble Stet

His mind dwelt almost constantly upon the great | around his throat to prevent any call for help, while

crime which he was confident had been committed,
and he. wondered what the result had been to the

1

bank; whether the institution had been obliged to |

suspend payment; whether many poor people, who

lose their precious earnings. He wondered just what |
the officials thought of him; if they really believed |

him capable of Committing such a stupendous erime,

would grow faint and sick within him, as he thought
of the sensational
must have gone over the whole country in the news-
papers, and his name thus made a byword for sneer-
ing multitudes,

“Oh! how can T bear to
righted?” he eried out again and again, as he lived

| these experiences over and over, and paced the nar- | stance.
row limits of his state-room like a wild beast in its |

will not |

cage. “It must be righted. God surely

| another blow from Mr. Hunting’s fist completed the ;
work so well begun, and the two men eased their |

victim to the floor, where he lay limp and still, en-

g | tirely at their mercy,
had worked hard to save their money, would have to |

It was a comparatively easy matter then to bind
and gag him, which they did most effectually, and
then lifted him into the berth and covered him with

nO ; end | a blanket.
and of betraying their trust in such a villainous man- |
ner, and he wouid shiver and cringe; his proud soul |

announcements which he knew |

‘Then the two confederates, pale and somewhat un-

nerved from excitement, sat down and quietly waited |

further developments, and an opportunity to go on
with their work.
They expected, as the moments went by, to hear

; ingqtiries made for the missing man; but as no one

live, if this wrong is never |

suffer me to drag such a ¢log after me all my days. |

I am sure that treasure is on board this vessel, and—
I will save it or die in the attempt!”

wondered how she had borne his mysterious disap-
pearance ; how she had received the news of his sup-

and whether he would still have faith in him, as be-
fore in the Albany affair, in spite of the strong evi-
dence against him.

He felt as if he was living years instead of hours,
and there were times when he felt as if he must lose
his reason, unless the terrible strain and suspense
were soon cut short.

But all things have ai end; and one morning Ned
awoke, astonished and rejoiced, to find that the yacht
was lying at rest upon the ocean, her sails furled, her
engine and machinery cuiet.

He arose and hurried y dressed himself, and upon
looking from his stae-room window,

him the shipping of a harbor, and not far away the
spires and chimneys of d large city.
He crept to the aperture beneath his berth.

tones,‘‘are you awake?’

“Yes,” came the reply, but in a rather drowsy
tone.

“Do you know that we are at anchor near some
large city ?”’

“No!” and the man instantly sprang out of bed
with a bound.

Turning to his window he saw that they were. in-
déed, near some large pot, though of course he had
no more idea than Ned, regarding its name or locality.

although they both felj that a few hours might bring
them very critical experiences, if not danger and
death.

When the sailor wh) attended them bronght Ned
his breakfast, the yong man asked him what port
they had entered.

The man looked at iim in silence a moment, as if
debating in his mind vhether it was best to answer
him or not, then brieff responded :

**Halifax.”

A thrill of delight rn through Ned’s nerves at the
name.

They were still injis own country, or at least
among English speakig people, and his spirits grew
strong within him.

“Halifax !’ he repesed, with another heart-bound,
| while a flush mountedto his brow, *‘and Gertrude is
| here! Shall I suecei in regaining my freedom?
Shall I see her withina few hours, and will she be-
lieve me when F tel her of my wonderful exper-
iences?”

His heart must haveassured him that his dear one
would have all faith bhim, for a tender smile curved
his lips and a fond ligt beamed in his eyes.

He crept again to te hole beneath his berth, and
communicated the gid tidings to his friend, and
while they ate theirnorning meal, they arranged
their plan of action, imase the slightest opportunity
of escape should offer!self,

“We must make @ bal move this very night,’’ Ned
observed, with a firmsetting of the lines about his
mouth. ‘itis my opiion that the yacht has been
ordered to wait here uril the owner can join it, then,
in all probability, hentends to escape to another
country with his hoot;and live at his ease.”

“T believe that you ee right,” Mr. Hunting return-
ed, ‘‘and it stands us i hand to act with all possible
promptness—at the fir) opportunity we may as well
make a bold stroke forreedom.”

“Tl wish we knew ho many men we shall have to
contend with,’ Ned thughtfully remarked, ‘‘I saw
only four the day I eae on board; but of course it
takes more than that umber to sail a vessel of this
size. I believe I will ty to pump Nicholas, when he
brings our dinner, and2e what I can get out of him.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

his heart |
bounded with sudden joy as he descried all about |

“Mr. Hunting,” he cried in eager, but subdued |

appeared to notice his absence, they finally concluad- |
ed that he was off duty for a time, and congratulated |
good luck of the circum- |

themselves upon the rare

When it grew quite dark, Mr. Hunting, who, as we
know, had made a long voyage in the yacht, and
knew every ineh of the ground thoroughly, ventured

out into the cabin, to reconnoiter and aseertain if |
} | further aggressive movements would be practicable,
Sometimes his agony of mind would be almost in- |
supportable, when he thought of his mother, and |

while Ned kept guard in the state-room.
The place was empty.

Nothing was stirring; not a sound was to be heard,

3 , ; Mit Nase 8 st | but the regular pacing of the man on duty overhead.
posed crime; what Mn. Lawson had thought of him, |

Moving with great caution, he ventured to pene-

| trate to the steward’s quarters, where he found the

| man fast asleep, inJis bunk leading from the pantry, i
| while opposite him slept another sailor—the engi- |

| neer, who was also off duty. and judging from the

 

fumes which arose from their breath, one or both of
the men had imbibed very frealy of some potent bev-
erage.

A gleam of triumph shot over Mr. Hunting’s face
as he looked upon them,

The first-mate and Nicholas, with another man, were
ashore; three men were thus well out of the way.

A fourth was helpless in Ned’s state-room, and one |

was keeping watchabove. But where were the other
four?

He skipped out of the pantry, drew the door softly
to, locked it, and pocketed the key.

Then he next sought the place where the common
sailors lunched and found two more sleeping, there;
they were probably
the night and were getting whit rest they could be-
fore hand.

The door to this place he also closed, locked and
took possession of the key and, counted seven men
as conquered with scarcely an effort, for he felt that
he and Ned could easily master the watch on deck.

But where were the captain and secund-mate ?

They might be in their state-rooms or they were

| liable to be in the smoking-room, and toward this
The two men were gleatly cheered and encouraged, |

place Mr. Hunting now stole.

The door was partially open, and as he approached
the place he smelled the smoke from a cigar.

Cautiously drawing nearer he saw the second-mate
reading a novel and enjoying his smoke, while on the
table, by his side, there stood a bottle and a glass.

The man dared not attempt to fasten him in the
room, for he feared he would make a disturbance and
arouse every one else ; 80 he sped back to the saloon,
crossed it, and softly opened the door of the captain's
state-room.

It was empty, but his quick eye caught sight of a
black leather case lying upon atable near his berth.

In another moment he had it open and, with a
smothered exclamation of joy, seized the two hand-
somely mounted revolvers which lay within it.

Both were loaded and, with a heart beating high
with hope, he hastened hack to Ned’s state-room,

He felt that the game was now all in their hands.

It did not matter much where the captain was, now
that he was armed with these formidable weapons ;
he and Ned could conquer six unarmed men with
them. ?

He tapped gently upon the door, which was instantly
opened by the young man.

He beckoned him to come forth, which he instantly
did, locking the door after him.

Mr. Hunting put one of the revolvers into his hand,
and with his lips close to his ear whispered :

“Every man on board, except the captain, second-
mate and the watch, is under lock and key. The
second-mate is in the smoking-room. The captain. I
imagine, is on deck with the watch, and we shall have
to tackle them hand to hand, after which we will
pounce upon the second-mate, if all goes well. Are
your nerves strong and steady ?’ :

Ned simply nodded, but the look in his eye plainly
told that he meant business.

“We must creep softly up the companion-way,
where you must pick your manand I mine,” Hunting
continued. “At the muzzle of these revolvers we
will drive them down here and lock them up, then go
for the mate, after which we shall have full swing.
Does the plan suit you?”

“Yes; it is well thought out,” said Ned, briefly.

‘Are you ready ?”

“When |

But |}
this won’t do for me, sir; [ must be off to my work, |
for me and the first-mate are goin’ ashore on a leetle |

expected to go on duty during |

VOL. 47—No, 35,

“All ready.”
Stealthily, with the tread of a cat, they crept up
the hatchway, pausing on every stair to listen.

Ned, with the eagerness and enthusiasm of youth,
Went first, but stopped the moment his head was
above deck to reconnoiter.

‘The captain is sittmng»eby a ventilator, smoking—
the watch is pacing the quarter-deck,” he whispered
to his companion. “You go for the mate—I will take
the captain.”

“All right,” Mr. Hunting respended, then added,
Gautiously. ‘Be sure you do not flinch, Heatherton;
the least mistake ou our part will spoil everything.”

“Don’t you fear. Ive something dearer than life
at stake,” Ned breathed, but with a suppressed tierce-
ness which betray ed that he was indeéd a desperate
man,

Fortunately the watch was at the farther end of his
beat, his back toward them, as the two men stepped
on deck, and, covering him with bis revolver, Hunt-
ing waited where he was, while Ned glided around
toward the ventilator, which half concealed the cap-
lain from his view.

Then, as he Saw thé young man raise his right arm
and point his weapon in that direction, he called out
In a stern, authoritative tone to the wateh :

‘Halt!’

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

a

THE BLACK STEED.

BY WILLIAM COMSTOCK.

Rev. Mark Vandewater will not soon he forgotten
by the husbandmen, and their families who inhabit
the green slopes aud flowery Vales of Engleside.

His fervid eloquence, his unwearied and cheerful
benevolence even while suffering severe domestic
affliction, his brief and eventful career, have com-
bined to render deep and lasting the impression
| which he made upon, all who knew him, evén upon
| the thoughtless and inconsiderate, to say nothing of
the censorious, who, like death, love a shining mark
| upon which to exhaust their quivers.

Asif good taste was an unpardonable fault, there
were not a few who sneered at the pretty parsonage,
with its porch, and piazza in the rear, and its small,
latticed wings shaded with honeysuckles and eglan-

tine; and yet the whole had been arranged at a tri-
| fling expense, and was, in fact. the beau ideal of Helen
| Stanley, the orphan niece of Mr. Vandewater.

This refined and beautiful girl often accompanied
ther aunt on her errands of mercy to the poor par-
ishioners, and contributed much by the magnetic
| purity of her presence to revive the despondent, heal
| the sick, and improve their moral condition. It is
useless to attempt a description of this village
| beauty, as her presence was itself a boon from
| Heaven, and all felt that she was as good as she was
1 lovely. ,

At the time when our sceneopens Helen had nearly
reached her eighteenth year. It was dbout the mid-
dle of July, on a sultry afternoon, when the clergy-
j}man, his wife, niece, and a female visitor. were
seated in the little front parlor, that a domestic was
overheard to speak of a strange horse which had
found his way into the yard. /

Mr. Vandewater rose, and, looking from the open
window, saw a stout-buiit black horse moving
leisurely about the door-yard nibbling the leng
grass, now and then biting off the golden head of a
| dandelion and inaking himseli very much at home
| generally. But Mr. Vandewater’s attention was
principally engrossed by the fact that the animal
was handsomely caparisoned with saddle, bridle,
curb, and martingale, whilea couple of saddle-bags,
| apparently well filled, denoted that he had escaped
/from some traveler who would probably come in
' search of his beast, and who might be expected to
| make his appearance before dark.

Such being the clergyman’s impression, he stepped
| out with the intention of securing the horse and put-
| ing him in a place of safety. But no sooner had Mr.
Vandewater made his appearance in the yard than
| the horse jerked up his head, made a strange noise,
| between a snort anda scream, and bounding over
the low fence, threw his heels high in the air, and
| ran at full speed down the road.
| The elergyman could not fail to observe that the
| horse evinced extreme terror at his approach—a very
unusual circumstance, as all dumb animals were ac-
eustomed to recognize him as a friend.

WwW he stood pondering upon this strange be-

the part of the horse, Mr. Vandewater ob-

ul teamsters coming over the brow of a
e took off his hat and wayed_it to them as

 

 

 

|
|
|
|
|
|
}

= toh splat ee cr = .

stood. him, and asthe animal had re-
lax ; 1, they succeeded in catching him by
the bridie aud leading him back to the parsonage.
One of the men was certain that he knew the horse;
that he had once belonged to General Cole, who sold
him to a young man “up country” for fifteen hundred
dollars.

The stray animal was immediately put into the
stable, and accommodated with a mess of oats.

From the first moment that the presence of a stray
horse on the premises had been announced, the
youthful Helen had looked thoughtful and gloomy.
Some persons have prophetic souls, while others are
prone to borrow trouble when there is not a supply
to meet the demand; and even the prophetic souls
often have gloomy presentiments which are never
realized. But because the watchful mariner is often
deceived by a dense cloud in the horizon, it does not
follow that the land is never in sight.

Mr. and Mrs. Vandewater remarked that Helen
searcely tasted any food that evening, and that her
complexion was unusually pale. They inay also have
had their thoughts; but they did not express them.

The family sat up late. Helen started visibly at
every sound made by the wind, and looked
toward the door. Atlength the family went to bed,
Mr. Vandewater remarking that the traveler had not
come as was expected, but that he would probably
be on hand early in the morning.

Nearly all the next day the family at the parsonage
watched for the traveler, but watched in vain.

Mr. Vandewater believing that the time had come
to ascertain to whom the stray animal belonged, took
off the saddle-bags and brought them into the house.
On opening one of them a letter dropped out and fell
at the feet of Helen. She picked it up, just glaneed
at the superseription, and fell senseless to the floor.
It was a letter of her own, addressed to H. W., her
affianced lover.

While Mrs. Vandewater was engaged with Helen,
her husband soon satisfied himself, by further ex-
amination, that the stray horse belonged to Helen’s
lover, and that he had left home for the purpose of
visiting the parsonage. He had been expected, itis
true, but for some unknown cause, he had set out a
week earlier than the time appointed.

Helen recovered her recollection. Every means
was used to soothe and reassure her; but her con-
stant reply was: ‘‘He is dead—I shall see him no
nore.”

The relatives of the young man were written to;
the country was searched in every part; but nothing
could be discovered except that Mr. W. had put up
ata tavern some thirty miles from Ingleside, and teft
| early the next morning. From that time nobody had
seen or heard of him.

Foremost in the search for the lost youth was Red-
man Read, a young lawyer in the village, who had,
at one time, offered his hand to Helen Stanley, but
who had been gently refused, on the ground that she
was already attached to another. The principal
fault, apparently the only fault. of young Read was
excessive pride. One would have thought that Miss
Stanley’s reason for refusing his hand—candidly
given—would have saved the pride of the young
lawyer. Isut such was not the case. His father was
wealthy, and he had always had his own way in
everything. He deemed H. W. his inferior in wealth,
in talents. and in social position, and he therefore
spoke contemptuously of Helen and her lover to his
associates.

On that account a little surprise was expressed at
the extraordinary zeal which he manifested to dis-
cover the absent lover.

Time passed on. 8ix months had rolled by, and
nothing had been heard of W. Then another sur-
prise was prepared for the villagers. The story ran
that Helen Stanley was about to be married to Red-
man Read.

it was true. Helen, completely broken down in
spirit, had listlessly consented to marry Read, but
with the assurance that she could never love but
once.

“No matter,” said he; “let me possess you, and
you will soon learn to appreciate me. I can never
love another, and I cannot live without you,”

A year after the loss of W——, Helen stood beside
Redman Read at the Altar—a mere shadow of her
former self.

Soon after Helen's marriage, Mr. Vandewater, her
uncle, was thrown from the carriage of a friend, with
whom he was riding, and killed on the spot. His wife
survived him but three weeks, and Helen had now
but one friend to lean upon in her desolate and be-
reaved condition,

But Helen soon discovered that although Redman
treated her with the most punctilious politeness, the
most delicate attention, and anticipated her slight-
est wish, the one thing essential—love—was wanting;
there conld be no mistake about that—Redman did
not love her.

This was so entirely contrary to her expectations
—so much at variance with all that her husband had
expressed, and had even seemed to feel, before mar-
riage—that one day Helen ventured to speak to him
on the subject.

“Love, you say, Helen—you miss my tove. You
tola me that you econld love but once, and yet you
expect that I shall love you. That’s contrary to all
precedent. Come,my girl, whatdo you want? Is
it anew piano t—a set of diamonds? You have but

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

EEKLY. #3

 

 

— = —————

to rub the lamp of Aladdin, and whatever you want
appears. Happy woman!” 4
 “Allthat Iwant? Yes, Redman, all but your love,
without which the rest is valueless.”
A cold smile appeared on the countenance of Red-

Dis

“Let's see, it’s three months, isit not, since we
were married ?”’ .

*Three months last Sunday,” returned Helen.
“Then it’s time we took a jaunt together; I have

a pleasant surprise for you.”

The cold, sardonic manner in whieh Redman _ ut-
tered these words sent an icy chill through all the

veins of the young bride; but’ what could she do?

She had no other friend; whatever her husband was,

erdependence was only on him,and in her en-
- -feebled state of body and mind shecould not con-
tend against destiny. ,

It was a chill, raw day in the latter part of Octo-
ber when Redman put the. horse before the chaise
and took Helen on the promised ‘‘jannt.”

They had gone’ abont ten miles, when the horse
was reined in at the edge of aforest. Redman de-
scended and tied the horse’s head toa sapling. He

then assisted Helen to alight, and led herinto the

wood. They had gone about half a mile when they
came to a rocky dell, or gorge, neary choked with
underwood and thick bushes. Redman led the
trembling girl down the declivity, brushing aside the
tangied vines with difficulty, till they reached the
bottom.

He then removed a number of dry branches and

disclosed a small chasm, at the bottom of which lay
a moldering corpse. It was impossible to identify
the body, though a dreadful gap in the frontal bone
ss eg skull too plainly betrayed the cause of
eath.

“Oh, Redman! what is this ?’’ screamed the faint-
ing Helen.

“You refused me once, and for this fellow!” re-
plied Redman, pointing to the body. “I waylaid him
and killed him. Understand, proud minx, that I
bave hated you from the moment that you preferred
this wretch to me. I married you for revenge. Do
you understand? Youshall sleep to-night with the
scoundrel whom you preferred tome. Down, down

O ”

As he uttered the last words, Redman put his
and to the shoulder of the despairing girl to plunge
her into the abyss, when thelatter heard a heavy
blow, looked up, and saw Redman sink heavily to
the earth with a deep groan. »
 Astrange man stood before her. But for that em-
browned cheek, and a certain careworn expression
of the features, she would havecalled him by a
name dearer to her than any ether.

“Helen! My Helen! do you not know me?” cried
he, opening his arnis to her.

“Tinpossible !” criea-she, and fell into his arms in
a dead faint.

it was long before Helen was restored to con-
sciousness. When her recollection returned, she
saw Redman still prostrate on the ground, while her
head lay on the knee of her loveras he bathed her
temples with cold water.

“A dream! Oh, blissful dream! but still only a
dream !” said Helen, sadly.

“Tt is no dream, but a substantial fact,” replied
H— W—. “Theman whom yon assassin slew
was one Andrew Goodman, who overtook me while
onthe way to the parsonage, with important news
trom Maine, where [have a tract of land, and where
my presence was required. Determined to start im-
mediately for Portiand in a small vessel then on the
point of sailing, | delivered my valuable steed to
the messenger, and charged him to convey the ani-
mal safely to the parsonage at Ingleside. We set
sail in a little schooner for Portland, were wrecked,
and drifted until, after a week, we managed to reach

an island far to the south, which proved to be unin- |
months we con- |
as could be |

habited. There for months and
tinued to exist on such fruits and fish
found in the vicinity. Atlast a Spanish merchant-
Man saw our signal, rescued us, and transferred us

to a sailing-vessel bound for Boston. Upon arriving |

at the latter port, I hastened to meet you, and ar-
rived just in time——”

“Yes, interrupted Helen.
back as we entered the wood.
me?”

“T recognized you ata glance, though TI knew not
your companion. Excuse me fer following you
closely and listening to your conversation; I knew
there was something wrong.
wretch was a treacherous lover who
ruin. But I overheard his last words.
that he had murdered poor Goodman, mistaking him
for me; and finally he was about to murder you.
Then [struck him with the butt of my riding-whip,
and there he lies.”

The lovers went together to the village. The hap-

piness of Helen was almost too great for human en-
duranece, and yet she recovered her health and
strength in spite of the burden.
_ Redman Read was immediately taken into custody.
- He was shot and killed in an attempt to escape from
- prison, on the very next night after his eapture, As
there was now no legal impediment to Helen's mar-
Path, with her lover. their nnion was consummated,
_ and the happiest of marriages it proved to be.

“This Slory Wil Notte Published in Bok-Form

La Pastora the Actress,

By BURKE BRENTFORD,

Author of ‘* Florence Falkland,” ‘Torn from
Home,” ‘‘ Lost in New York,” ‘A
Sister’s Sacrifice,’ Ete.

{“ LA PASTORA THE ACTRESS” was commenced in No.
30. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents. }

CHAPTER VII.
HEART AGAINST HEART—A WOMAN’S HATE.
Doniella had more than her regular performance at

had agreed to give a private entertainment for the
benefit of the royal household immediately after the-
ater hours. Therefore, after the close of the public
performance, she was driven to the royal palace, ac-
companied by the king in person. This monarch
was such a natural-born fool that he fancied an ex-
hibition of this kind before the queen, as well as the
rest of his household, would serve to banish any sus-
picions she might entertain of his infidelity ; where-
as in reality there was hardly a page in the palace
who had not received occular proof of his stupidly
contrived amours.

looked upon as an interesting event by the restof the
household.

“T am afraid I shall be compelled to cause your
majesty some delay,” said Doniella, wearily, as she
leaned her head upon the royal shoulder in the trun-
dling coach. — ;

“Wherefore, peerless Pastora?’ said the gilded
puppet, drawing her still closer to his side.

“My maid is ill, and I shall have to aes my
toilet alone,” replied the queen of the ballet.

“Sacrista,” he said, “let not that rack your pretty
head. Bianca, the queen's hair-dresser, shall attend
thee as thy slave.”

This was what Doniella, who had already formed a
dark plot in her mind, secretly wished. She had
made the acquaintance of Bianca during the impris-
onment of the latter, among a number of others, by
the brigands, had studied her low, cunning disposi-
tion carefully, and doubted not that she could be
made use of in the furtherance of any scheme, so it
Wasevil. ¢ «

They soon reached the palace. The grand salon had
been expressly fitted up for the occasion, with a
spacious temporary stage at one extremity; and as
there was yet ample time before the hour fixed, she
immediately sought the small apartment which had
been set apart for her dressing-room, where she was
soon attended by Bianca. His simple majesty looked
as if he would like to be admitted likewise; but as he
wasn’t asked, he skipped away and busied himself
with a personal inspection of the stage carpenters at
ow with the zest of a schoolboy at his puppet
show.

Verily was Naples happy in the possession of such
a prince as Carlo [! j

“Well, Bianca,” said Doniella, familiarly, as the

irl assisted her in her silent, secret way, ‘thou art
- looking even prettier than thou didst in the moun-
tains, when Benedetto’s head was crazed with thy
charms.”
_ “Ah, signorina!’’ replied the girl, “it is scarcely
necessary for me to return the compliment by speak-
ing of one in praise of whose beauty all Naples
. 29?

8.
i of suppose thou art often tired to death here, with
the many fine ladies who visit her majesty.”
_ “Nay, signorina,” was the reply, “I eare not for the
- wearivess, nor for the fine ladies, so they be those

- whom f hate not.”

“And, pray, which of the queen’s favorites may
you hate, good Bianca?’ asked Doniella, affecting
some surprise. , ;
©The Countess de Sorrento,” said the close-lipped
Catalonian, breathing hard and almost hissing out

words.
“Indeed |”

¥
s

 

Doniella had more facilities for finding out matters
pertaining to the fmner life of the royal palace than
anyone gave her credit for, and she was not unpre-
pared for this revelation of the girl’s feelings.

“Why. Bianca,” she said, hypocritically, ‘all Naples
.Speaks of the lovely character of the beautiful Beat-
rice, of Sorrento.”

“All the world may do so, if it pleases; I never
shall.” said the girl, darkly. ‘She likes not me—she
is underhanded and meddlesome!” she continued,
bitterly, her small eyes firing and herswarthy features
working as she spoke. “She tells her majesty that I
have a treacherous look—that I am not to be trusted,
that, like enough, |. convey intelligence secretly to
the Aialfi.”

“How can alady of herrank stoop to such mean
ness toward a poor thing like thee?’ said Doniella,
looking inexpressibly shocked. ‘I canscarce believe
thee, Bianca !’’

“Oh, butit’s trne! I would. poison her if I dared!”

Doniella turned from the mirror, and looked at her
as she spoke. Herswarthy features were distorted
out of all comeliness by her passion, her lips shrank
back, showing her gieaming teeth, and her eyes glis-
tened from beneath her stormy brows like those of a
basilisk.

“Ah, but that thou wouldst never dare to do, poor
girl!” said the actress, with just a tinge of sarcasm
in her voice, but sufficient to make the other feel that
the velvet scabbard held a blade of steel.

“Wouldn’t I, signorina ?”’

‘Ts it not easily done? Countesses drink wine and
coffee, and even water sometimes, IT presuine,” said
Doniella, still retaining her light, bantering tone,
which she might, without creating suspicion, change
at any moment into the ringing merriment of a jest.

‘‘Not so easily as thou deemest, lady.’ said the girl.
‘“‘T know not these drugs in Naples—they might be-
tray mein myignorance. Ob, foran hour in my own
Catalonia, and five minutes with the venerable Am-
brosio in his hermitage by the sea! All the grand ea-
balleros seek old Ambrosio when they would rid them
.of an enemy without the hediousness of a stiletto-
thrust.”

Doniella saw that the girl was terribly in earnest,
and, suddenly dropping her bantering tone, she
turned, and looked her full in the face.

“Bianca,” she said, speaking softly, but very dis-
tinetly, ‘‘wouldst really do as thou sayst ?”

“Indeed [ wonld, signorina !”

“See,” said Doniella, thrusting her hand in her
bosom, and drawing out @ small vial containing a
liquid of pale-greenish hue. “The Borgias them-
selves never produced a truer, deadlier, more imper-
comerr. than these drops. They are the best
in Italy.

“Give me the vial!” said Bianea, eagerly.

“What wouldst thou do?”

“Put the contents in the countess’ cup of coffee
when refreshments are handed round during the in-
termission of the entertainment, signorina. See! !
perceive thou also hatest the Countess Beatrice. I
alone take all the risks. Look thou through this
small aperture, which commands a view of the entire
salon. (Indicating with her finger the crevice in the
tapestry referred to.) When the coffee is handed
round, and as the poisoned cup goeth straight to the
eountess’ hand, I will drop this handkerchief, and
thou wilt know that she is doomed. Give me the
vial, signorina!”’

She spoke so rapidly in her wretched Italian that
Doniella could only understand her with the greatest
difficulty.

“Dost thou doubt me, signorina ?”

Doniella hesitated no longer, but she shuddered as

hand of the Catalonian.
The voices and laughter of the noble company

 

 

 

“T saw a man on horse- |
But did you know |

Lsupposed that this |
sought your!

te td sla Me

As for the queen, she had long |
since ceased to have either respect or affection for.)
her liege lord, and therefore made not. the slightest |
objection; while the opproaching entertainment was |

and scenery
the royal theater, and who had been laboring hard
all day to render the entertainment a success—sent
word that all was in readiness; and Doniella, whose
| preparations were now nearly complete, dismissed
| Bianea, accompanied by a meaning
ready for the stage. r

a View of the spectators as well as of the space be-

| the brilliant assemblage. which consisted of the
| choicest beauty and nobility of Naples. The king
; and queen occupied, of course, the most prominent

with crimson velvet. Both the Capua and the Amalfi

|
|
|
| though as yet the former knew nothing of the order
| for Vicenzo’s arrest, and his escape from the city.
Immediately in front of her father, and next to the

| queen, sat the Countess Beatrice, looking incompar-
| ably lovely; and next to her was the young Duke of
| Orsini, a near relative of the qneen, and one of the
| most popular and gallant young nobles at King
; Carlo’s Court. There were upward of one hundred
| spectators in all; and as this was the first private en-
| tertainment which La Pastora had given, there was
| @ general liveliness of feeling respecting the event.
| The first portion of the performance, according to
| the gilded programmes prepared for the evening,
was the Venus of Homer rising from the wayes.

The orchestra breathed gently, and the rising cur-
LETH TEVA ic HUTAY SETUR; “With The, jelwad- ef
Cyprus in the background. 2

days were comparatively crude and imperfect; but

aroyal purse is along one, a royal taste fastidious,

ee the present instance, the illusion was com-
ete.

With wave on wave, the lovely ocean beat upon
the lonely isle. The palms and willows waved gently,
and the music was in such sweet accord, that it
seemed to be the gentle spirit of the solitude.

Suddenly the thunderofoud ot Jppiter arose in the
firmament; there was heard the clash and tumuit of
the warring deities, with here and there—so perfect
was the illusion—the gleaming of a limb, or the glit-
ter of a shield ; and then, as the vapor dissipated, the
blood drops of the eonquered Titan fell ruddily into
the sea.

A strange commotion was apparent in the wave
that received the god-like current in its breast.
| A column of silvery vapor arose quiveringly from
! the sea. A moment it stood there doubtingly, and
| then appeared to slowly dissipate, as the light gale
of the music carried it heaveuward, shred by shred
und spray by spray,
dreamily through the erystal of the vapor, gradually

 

assumed solidity and shape as by-the mystical hand |
of creation, and presently, utterly divested of the |
| translucent atmosphere surrounding her, Aphrodite |
| herself stood tiptoe upon the scollop-shell, rocking |
the theater to engage her mind that night, for she |

gently in the oscillations of the happy sea, and gleam-

| Ing in the radiance of her own beauty,

| Perhaps no other woman in the world would have
had the temerity to attempt such a personation; but

it was singularly adapted to Doniella’s manner of |
Through the assistance of her skilled hair- |
dresser, the color of her inxurious hair was changed, |

beauty.

and it now rippled in waves of shining gold far down

from one side to the other.
if woven of the weeds of the ocean, fiuttered freshly

traction of her peerless beauty.

mingled in the triumphant glance which she cast

to rnle without a rival. The music arose, and seemed
to thrill her very veins, palpitating as they were with
the eestasy of new life. Undulatingin soft billows of
| melody, it seemed to bear her hither and thither at
its rhythinie caprice, and the fair being came floating
down the stage like a dream. ‘Then, as she leaped
and whirled in the mad ecstasy of existence, the
Jovian thunder-cloud again arose, and from its heart
came down the birth-song of the immortals, while
still laughing, still triumphant, Aphrodite arose, as
though borne aloftby invisible hands, and her bright-
ness was immersed within the cloud.

AS the curtain descended, there reigned among the
spectators for a moment that hush which is far more
expressive of rapture than the most boisterous ap-
plause, and then they broke out in a hum and flutter
of approbation there is no describing. Upon Bea-
trice, especially, the strange tableau had made a
marked impression.

She had frequently seen Doniella at the theater,
where, as La Pastora, she had clectritied thousands
by the luring intricacies of La Tarantella, and other
Spanish and Italian favorites; but she had never
been so near to her before—so directly within the
fascination of her marvelous beauty, and she was al-
most inclined to regard the spectacle .as the tran-
sient splendor of a vision. Her religious training, as
well as her natural sense of piety—which was both
profound and pure—impelled her moral instincts to
denounce the character of the representation, whose
sensuous beauty, however, did not fail to have its
due effeet upon her warm and ardent temperament.

“Was it not superb?’ whispered the young Orsini
in her ear. Thy beauty hath but one rival in Naples,
fair countess, and that must be accorded even to this
obscure actress from the hills!”

The lady merely bent her head, but did not reply ;
for, though in her own mind she made no pretention
to the bold and brilliant beauty of Doniella, she did
not think the remark in good taste.

“Where can the young Duke of Amalfi be to-night?”
asked Orsini; but the king, who happened to over-
hear the remark, gave him a meaning glance, and
Beatrice was not sorry that the serving of refresh-
ments changed the tenor of the young man’s thoughts.

A number of the queen’s women, under the super-
vision of Bianca, were the waitresses of the occasion.
Toward the close, when coffee was distributed on
tiny salvers of gold, she dropped a bandkerchief as
poe oo Beatrice received her cup from her own

lands.

Couid she then but have known of the wild eyes
that glared upon her through the aperture that made
a loop-hole between the dressing-room of the actress
and the grand salon, how her heart would have
leaped, how her cheek®would have paled!

Ay, there she kneeled, alone and absorbed, with
her eyes glued to the crevice in the dark tapestry.
She was partially dressed, and around her in con-
fusion lay the gauze and tinsel of the character she
had represented. Her glorious hair Jay disheveled

m

 

te

 

upon her alabaster shoulders; but all of the softness
and half the beauty had disappeared from her
features before the straining and anxious look that
contracted her fair foreheat as she gazed, with gleam-
ing and dilated eyes, through the broken tapestry.

She sees the handkerchie Bianea fall, and per-
ceives the fatal cup in the iands of her unconscious
rival. The mere raising of the jeweled hand which
clasps the tiny shell ef porcelain will be instinct with
death and doom!

But no, the countess will not partake of coffee to-
night, She offers her cup te the young Orsini, who,
having finished his own, acvepts it witha pleased and
gallant bow.

Doniella sprang to her feet, with her handsclenched,
and her countenance distorted with baffled rage. She
breathed hard, and the blood of the brigand came
and went like a fountail: im her cheeks. ;

But a glance in the mirrer recalled her to herself.
Where beauty is one’s oniy patrimony, the heart
must be subservient to the will

Searcely a moment after this tempest of emotion
had passed, Donielia was before her mirror, caluly
and impassively making certain changes in her Cos-
tume, though for her the interest of the entertain-
ent was at an end.

Egeria in the Solitude.

The music was rather the *
a collection of sounds. Th
gloomy grotto where the ‘5 1 of Rome awaited
“the far footfalls of her mortal lover,” with the Book
of Fate in her hands, and ber thoughts pensively im-
mersed in the mystery of A eataract boiled
with a voiceless tumulé a , and the shadows
wd the surrounding rocks gathered around and over

ier.

Suddenly she starts. and raises her bright head,
listening. He comes, her Ni the wise and virtu-
ous monareh of the people's ehoice; and, slowly ris-
ing, she waves the golden er in her hana, that
the wild glen may assume a beauty befitting the
presence of the expected prince. The dark rocks of
the grotto melt away, and many-hued crystals glitter
on the walls. The forbidding cataract leaps into
liquid musie at her feet ; and the towering mountains
in the background are clothed with starlight as with
a cloth of. gold.

Upon the wings of the music
moves slowly throug i
the hushed and gazing
movements.

It is the critical mon

oice of the stillness than
curtain rose upon the

Phi

iar sweeping, Egeria
he perfumed air, intrancing
world with the melody of her

ant of the spectacle. The
melodious whisperin of the Fates announce the
approach of the spirit-wo@ing sovereign, and the
uymph of the mountains s#nds expectant, with her
scepter raised, and her eyes searching the dim dis-
tanee.

But at this moment, the you
from*his chair with a shriek
curtain comes down with the
the spectators spring to ‘ feet in dismay, and
throng around the writhin sIpless form.

The court physician kneels at his side, and pro
duces his ready lancet, whi jneen herself bends:
terror-stricken, over her kins but there is hardly
any one in the room whe Gan realize the position of
affairs.

Duke of Orsini rolls
' bitter anguish; the
h of a storm; and

before was animated wit the joyousness of buoy-

ant life, lies like a crushepi re

floor, with the hand of suddbn

every wrinkle of pain that Writ!
The young duke writh

yrile upon the tufted
issolution visibie in
ies his features.

t}

 

gathering in the brilliantly illuminated salon could |
now be distinctly heard; the manager of the stage |
who had been ordered expressly from |
|The
; white and trembling.
ook, and made |
looking through the aperture, which commanded |

; : . | numerous looks of inc
tween the footlights and the curtain, she could see |

seats, which were placed upon a low dais, covered |

I discovered | Were there, surrounded by theirrespective adherents; |

| of the young Orsini had
| when the young Amalfi.

:
| ceremony.
|

| of the king.
|

| with marked displeasure im his tone,

| garb.”

‘Stage machinery and scenic appliances in those |

A fairy-like form glistened |

upon her forny, and floated out upon the currents of |
air that were deftly contrived to traverse the stage |
A light robe, or scarf, as |

about her perfect form; and save a diadem of coral, |

gleaming red, no ornament was permitted to the de- | : : : oe
aca y ae ee ee” | only succeeded in fomenting—gained his feet, and,

One arm was thrown aloft, and a laughing surprise |

around her upon the world she was thenceforward |

dilated and blood-shot; and:

: ; ; on his lips.
she dropped the vial into the eager, outstretched |

“Water! water!’ was all he eouid gasp.

But before the water could reach his lips, he rolled
over in frightful convulsions, and, with
spasm. expired,

It would be impossilie te Gcseribe the panic which
this swift tragedy created ‘u the luxurious salon.
queen fainted and wis borne away, accom-
panied by the Countess ¢ rvrento, who followed,

re

yeician, who arose
‘orpse, with a blank

save that of the venerab }

from his kneeling posture by.th

look of dismay. ;
“Disease of the heart

ihe had some suspicior
| ministered,

It was no place for Donie!
| her profession for. the ua
herself, she quitted the pal:
| theatrical manager.

To add to the dismay a

poison had been ad-

wt

Death had annulled

scarcely been borne away,
Castellammare, entered the salen with
y. His attire, as we'l as t
panion, indicated hard travel, and he Was sO ex-
cited that he scarcely heeled the reproving glance

very

“How now, Amalfi!”

| grown demented, or is this a vew

said the Duke Gio-

of my missiep would exense the rudeness of my
~ SOW eV ag ie ae a S ds Fe .

“The wretch Viecenzo hat! escaped!” :

The Prince of Capua and his friends opened their
| eyes in astonishment, for this was
| tion they had received of the order for Count Vi
| cenzo’s arrest, so secretly had the Amalfi laid his

toils. é
| “How? Escaped ?” cried the king. i

“Ay, your majesty—spirited away, we scarce know |

how nor where. Castellanimmare went with me, and
we accompanied the prison-guard in their thorough
| but fruitless search throughout the city and the
suburbs, so zealous were we in your majesty’s ser-
| vice; but doubtless the viper, Vicenzo, is safe

the brigands.”

This last remark was uttered with a malicious

instantly darkened ;

!
:
i
}

under this adcumulation of annoyances, threw him-
self back in his regal chair, and, with his eyes half
elosed and his hands drooping listlessly, prepared
to accept passively whatsoever surges of moiesta-
| tion the Fates might seem fit to roll upon him, in the
| hope that eventually they would weary of the task,
| and leave him to the inane but agreeable quiescence
of his natural existence.

“Tt would ill become me, in such a place and such
| a presence,” said the Prince of Capua, rising with
| austere dignity, ‘to condescend to defend the char-
| acter of a faithful adherent of my house and a gal-
| lant soldier of the crown against the lying slurs of
| one whose only weapon is the stiletto of the as-
sassin.”

The Duke Giovanni started back and laid his hand
| upon his sword, in which movement he was quickly
followed by his friend, young Castellammare, and
by the Duke of Gravina, who stood at the Prince of
Capua’s side.

But here the Prinee of Amalfi—it was amusing to
see the dignity with which these elders of. the rival
houses arose to deprecate a disturbance which they

waving his hand hypocritieally toward his hopeful
son, remarked, in his shrill, squeaking voice:

“Remember the présence in which thou standest,
my son. What! hand on sword in the presence of
the king? Gentlemen, (still speaking to the Duke
Giovanni and Castellammare) is it any reason why
you should fail in the respect that is sacred to roy-
alty, because a noble of the Prince of Capua’s age
andrank should so far forget himself as to mouth
his malice like one of the very bandits who have,
time out of mind, lent such sapient succor to bis
ase 2”

It was now the Prince of Capna’s turn to lay his
hand upon his sword; while the poor king merely
opened his eyes half-way, and a fagged, sick expres-
sion took possesston of his effeminate features as he
closed them dreamily once more.

“TIT would have thee know, Amalfi,” said the Prince
of Capua, passionately; ‘‘that none of thy assassins
happen to be present. The recollection may aid thee
in bridling thy doting tongue, should we come to
blows,” i

“To blows! to blows!” stammered the aged prince,
with the air of oneindescribably shocked. **Io blows,
in this chamber and in this presence?”

“Ay, anywhere! I care not!’ cried Capua ,impet-
uously. ‘*My sovereign is the pontiff; nor wiil I en-
dure the scoffs of thy perfidious race in any earthly
presence!”

The elder Amalfi was no coward, and now he like-
wise grasped his sword, while the few disinterested
guests who had remained began to sidle toward the
Inain entrance, as the prospect of a free fight grew
yet more ominous and threatening; but at this junc-
ture a diversion was made by the arrival of one of
the chief servitors of the Amalfi, who engaged both
father and son apart, while it was evident that he
was laboring under intense excitement.

In a moment, they both returned, the elder fairly
dancing, with passion.

“My liege, your gracious majesty, justice! T de-
mand justice!” he exclaimed, with an energy which
caused even the eyelids of the monarch to pop open
like those of a wax doll, by secret_wires. ‘The brig:
ands, under Fortunato, Beldiavolo’s lieutenant, have
captured and burned my castle and villa at Rotina.
Forty of my retainers are slain, and Gaetno, my
steward, is a prisoner in their hands, with fifty thous-
and duecats.”

His passion choked his further utterance, and he
eould only gesticulate and gasp helplessly.

‘It is even as my noble father says, your majesty.”
said the younger Amalfi, more calmly. ‘We have,
indeed, paid dearly for our leniency to these moun-
tain robbers, and their supporters!” with another
malacious leer at the Prince of Capua, who answered
angrily, though he experienced secret satisfaction at
the misfortune that had befallen the rival house.

“Certainly thou forgettest thine accustomed pru-
dence in such gallant words as these, Duke Giovanni!
Dost not see that Marzio, thy trained murderer, is
not on hand to back thee with his steel?”

 

“Ho, captain of the guards!” roared the king,
springing to his feetin an ecstasy of puerile rage,

They only Know that a young noble, who a moment |

h agony; his eyes were |
tuson foam gathered |

a single |

cheek was .bloodless. |

said, in reply to the |
though, to tell the truth, |

and, hastily attiring |
accompanied by, the |
{

nd contusion, the remains |

weer panied by his creature |
little |
that of his com- |

sx¢laimed the sovereign, |
“Hast thou |
costume which |
| thon art about to bring into fashion for our court?”

“Forgive me, your majiety,’
i vanni, “but I was fain to thi.:k that the importance |

the first intimea- |

; enough by this time among his excellent friends, |

glance at the noble Prince of Capua, whose brow |
while the unhappy Carlo T., |
whose infinitesimal brain fairly hummed and reeled |

and summoning the men-at-arms from an adjoining
apartment. ‘Clear the chamber!”

So closed a most eventful night, which CarloT. ever
afterward regarded with a shudder, and to which he
would permit no allusion by word or look.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

DIVING FOR A BRIDE.

BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY.

The Tonga Islands, situated in the South Pacitic
Ocean, are known to navigators as forming a portion
of thatlarge group denominated the Friendly Islands.
The Tonga Islands proper are composed of some
hundred and fifty small islands, all under one ruler.
Though these distant islands are all under one king,
still each one of the larger inhabited ones is also un-
der the control of a local governor.

The inhabitants of the group have mostly em-
braced the Christian faith, English missionaries
having resorted thither for more than a century.
The soil is of most marvelous fertility. Like the
West Indies, which lie in the nearer tropics, border-
ing the Caribbean Séa, they abound in fruits of all
kinds, especially bananas, yams, oranges, plantains,
sugar-cane, and domestic animals.

Vavaoo is the capital of one section, though not
the residence of the sovereign.
ernorship of one whom he appoints, and whose
authority is similar to and quite as arbitrary as that
of a governor-general of Cuba appointed by the
home government.

At the time of our sketch Vavaoo was under the

to the last extreme of endurance.

embracing the most ingenious methods of trying the
endurance of the human frame without taxing it so
far as to cause death, the power of taking life being
vested only in his royal master. :

king, who was aman addicted to gross sensuality
and intemperance.
factured a liquor from aspecies of prickly pear,
native to the soul, and which resembles the Mexican

with that more civilized poison, the absinthe of the
French.
This fiery product was the daily potion of the king,

of Vavaoo.

 

much of his exeessive cruelty. Finally a revolt was
organized by means of which the people determined

| sary from
; Should have more reasonable consideration for their
domestic peace and comfort. F
| to be a virtue.

| ‘The principal mover of the insurrection was a chief
| of high standing, but the econspiraey was discovered
; and its projector betrayed. He was tried by order of

|

 

Itis under the gov-|

|

There was no mistaking the facts; their eyes did
not deceive them, for the young girl embraced them
one and all, kissing the wrinkled cheeks of her lover’s
mother. A hundred questions were vociferated at
once, as to whence she had come, to which the young
ehief promised to reply anon.

The boats were once more directed away from the
group, and steered for the Fiji Islands.

The delay at Hoonga had unfortunately given time
for an organized party to be dispatched after the
fugitive chief and his people, and the two boats
containing the emissaries of the tyrant could be
seen pulling after them in the distance. Hapai had
prepared for such an emergency, and now bade his
people raise the single sail with which each boat
was provided, but at the same time to keep on using
the oars.

The pursuers bad only thin oars to depend upon,
and it was therefore impossible for them to even
hold their own as to distance; still they pulled on
after the fugitives for some time, until it was only
too plain that they could not reach them, and they
were compelled to turn back and report their failure
to the tyrant whose orders they had attempted to
fulfill. Hapai and his adherents had made good
their escape.

And now the young chief found time to explain
how and where his fair young bride had been
secreted.

Nearly a year before, while diving for pearls, he
had made the discovery of a cave beneath the sea,
only accessible by an entrance fathoms below the
surface of the waves. At first he was about to pro-

| mulgate his curious experience, but something whis-

pered to him to keep this a secret, and he did so.
When Eoa was condemned to death with the rest of
her family, he determined to rescue her at least from
the number, and to secrete her here. He persuaded
her to trust herself to him.

They entered a canoe, and the place of her retreat
was explained to her on the way. These women
swim like mermaids. He sprang into the sea and

| she dived after him, rising in the wonderful cavern,
| which was fifty feet high and fifty long, with natural

governorship of a tyrannical chief named Omao, |
who so oppressed the people that they were driven |
His mode of pun- |
ishment for various offenses was a system of torture |

In vain were the representations of the mission- |
aries and the people themselves, as laid before the |

pulque, a sort of island rum, the deadly effects of |
which upon the human system can only be compared |

and he was rarely in a condition to give audience to |
these well-founded complaints against the Governor |
Omao himself was also addicted to the! _. ‘ SS a
use of this island rum. which was really the cause of | Pilgrimage to Mecca, intrusted all his money,
| amounting to about 200,000 reals ($10,000), to a
: : ;man who had hitherto borne a reputation of
| to overthrow the tyrant, and free themselves if neces- |
the rule of the king himself, unless he |

-atience had ceased |

galleries worn by the action of the sea.

Here her lever brought her the chdicest food and
rich clothing, mats for her hed, and sandal-wood oil
to. perfume her body. When he was_ ostensibly
diving for pearls, he was only seeking his ‘‘pear! of
great price,” his dearly loved Eoa. The only sad-
ness she knew was caused by the tragic end of her
kindred.

The boats, under the direction of the young chief,
sately landed at the Fiji Islands, where Eoa became
the happy wife of Hapai. Here they remained until

eS is | the death of the tyrant of Vavaoo, and they then re-
The people of the Tongas mann- | 1

turned to their native land. The descendants of the

| happy couple will tell this story of how their an-

cestor dove for his bride beneath the sea.
—>- °§- > ______——

A ROGUE ENTRAPPED.

A Spanish Mohammedan, resident in Mo-
rocco, being on the eve of setting out on a

unblemished probity. On his return, he was
not alittle surprised when the reputed honest
man denied all knowledge of himself or his
money. The pilgrim entered a complaint
against him, entreated the judge to help him

| to his property, and took his oath to the truth

the king, found guilty, and the penalty of death was |

pronounced not only upon him, but also upon his |

| whole family ; wife, children, and all were to be exe-
|; cuted asa warning to other disaffected subjects.

| There was no appeal from this sentence, and the chief |

| and his family prepared to die.

|} who was young and beautiful, and who had not yet
| reached her fifteenth birthday. But the female form

the north, and she had already won the enthusiastic
affection of a young chief of equal rank with her
father, and to whom she was affianced after thestyle

of the Tonga Islanders. This lover of Eoa was named |

| Hapai, and though not implicated with her father in
the proposed revolt, yet he sympathized with its
purpose.

He resolved that Koa should not be sacrificed, even
| though he should himself perish in the attemp to set
| her free. So, when the agents of the tyrant came to
arrest the family of the condemned chief, they found
this star of the domestic circle, this lovely girl, who
was celebrated far and near for her remarkable
beauty, to be missing. All effort to gain information
concerning her, and all search for her person proved
in vain. She had been spirited away, as her sad
mother asserted.

The vengeance of the law was visited in full force
upon those left behind, and Hapai was watched to
see if he wasin any way connected with the disap-
pearance of Eoa. But the surveillance und
hé was piaced elicited nothing. The young
| gone in so mysterious a m ab purs
} possible. and it was
jing by ihe ;
| preferred to drown herselt
The vengeance of tyrant, who had sacrificed
, the lives of the rest of the family, was unsatiated,
| since this daughter, so famous for her beauty, had
| escaped. So he ordered the imprisonment of Hapai,
in hopes, through him, to learn where the fair young
girl was secreted.

haud of th

thre

| set at liberty he would provoke an insurrection which
| neither he nor the king’s government could quell. So
the young chief was liberated after but a day’s in-
| carceration in the tyrant’s stronghold.
Hapai was a splendid swimmer, and gained great
| fame among his fellow-pearl-divers because he could
remain so long under water. It was to them almost
incredible that he could descend to the bottom of
the sea after pearls, and remain there twice, even

rise to the surface without appearing to have suf-
fered any remarkable inconvenience by his long sub-
mersion. He still kept up his search for pearls at the
bottom of the sea, and might have been met daily in
his fishing-boat alongshore diving here and there as
he thought best.

neighbors, who passed him the next day after his re-
lease from prison.

“The richest pearls sleep in the deepest water,’
was the answer of the young chief.

“True, but not by a rocky shore,”

“Yet you see I find them.”

“No one else finds peals under these cliffs,” rejoined
the other, as he pulled away to ground more prolific.
‘“Hapai,” he exclaimed, restidg on his oars for a
moment.

“A y:”

“What, think you, became of Eoa ?”

‘‘Good spirits have taken her, I hope.”

“They say she drowned herself,”

“Possibly, but I think not.”

“You should know,” replied the other, again re-
suming his oars and singing as he pulled seaward.

Hapai, sickened by the tyranny under which he
lived, resolved to emigrate to the Fiji Islands. Or
course, if his purpose had been known, he would have
been prevented from doing so by the tyrant, but he
kept his secret purpose so well guarded that no sus-
picion was aroused. Ona certain night he arranged
so that his dependents, male and female, should be
prepared to leave Vavaoo at a moment’s notice, and
all were secretly embarked in boats, with such few
necessary effects as form the domestic surroundings
of these simple islanders.

The day was just breaking as the little group of
boats pulled away from the island. Once fairly em-
barked, and a couple of leagues from shore, they
feared no pursuit, besides which they were organized
and armed, so that no ordinary party sent to follow
them would venture to attack them. The young
chief led the way in the largest boat, steering boldly
for the stone cliffs of the island of Hoonga, one of the
Tonga group, and near the spot where he so often
was seen in his search for pearls.

In his boat was his aged mother, for he had left
none of his family behind as victims to the venge-
ance of the tyrant, from whose rule he was fleeing.
They were all congratulating themselves on their
safe escape, and with so little trouble, from Vavaoo,
when the mother said :

‘Ah, my son, I would that you had taken with you
a Tonga bride; it is all I regret.”

“Ts that all you regret, mother?’ said the gallant
young chief. “If so, perhaps that may be accom-
plished.”

“Tt is now too late.”

“Perhaps not,” he replied.

“T do not understand, my son.”

“Hold the boat here,” he said.

He had now reached the deep water which laves
the precipitous shores of Hoonga, and divesting him-
self of the slight clothing which forms the costume
of the Tonga islanders, save the single garment about
the loins, he bade them a. brief farewell and dove from
the boat into the deepest sea, near the shore. The
faces of the whole party were shrouded in wonder.
What could this mean? When they were in such
haste, why lose time thus? There was a mystery
which they did not understand.

Where, and for what had the chief gone?

“How long he remains in the sea,” said one.

“Tt is dangerous,” said another,

“Who can live so long under water?” asked a third.

“Why does he not come up?’ asked the anxious
mother.

‘‘Hapai can remain longer under the sea, it is said,
than any other man, but no human being can live so
long as this,” said one of the men in the boat, with
manifest trouble in his voice.

At the moment when his long absence was causing
the greatest cousternation among the whole party,
a few’ bubbles appeared upon the water, and fol-
lowing them there rose to the surface the form of
Hapai, and in his arms he bore the lost Eoa, his
Tonga bride!

What did it mean? Where had the beautiful and
long-missing girl been hidden beneath the waves?

 

The condemned chief had a daughter named Eoa, |

But Hapai belonged to a proud line of chiefs, and |
| the tyrant was warned that unless he was at once }

 

three times as long as others could do; he wouldthen |

“Why dive by the rocky shore ?” asked one of his |

 

of his statement—but all in vain! The old
man’s good name outweighed all he could say;
the plaintiff was non-suited, and went away
in despair.

Presently he met an old woman, who was
toddling along with the help of a staff.
Touched by the stranger’s grief, she stopped

i him, hailed him in Allah’s name, bade him

ripens earlier in the low latitudes than with ns at|take heart, and listened to his unvarnished

tale.

“Be of good cheer, young man,” said she;
“maybe, with Allah’s aid, I shall get back
your gold. Do you buy a chest, and fill it
with earth; only let it be bound with iron,
and well locked. Then choose three or four
discreet men, and come to me. We shall suc-
ceed, never fear.”

The Spaniard followed her advice punctually.
He came, with four friends, bringing a chest
which the strongest porters could scarcely drag

ong.

io iow follow me,” said the old woman.

On reaching the door of the supposed honest
man, she went in with the four friends of the
Spaniard, bidding the latter wait below, and
not make his appearance until the chest had
been carried up stairs. She now stood in the
presence of the hypocrite, when she introduced

mong
and silver

vy not wl > tO StOW away just at
present. They would intrust them to safe
hands for a time; so I, weli knowing your
honesty and unsullied reputation, have brought

them hither. Pray fulfill their wishes.”
Meanwhile she had the heavy chest brought
in, which the pretended honest man gloated
over with greedy looks. But just then the de-
spoiled pilgrim rushed in, impetuously claim-
ing back his 200,000 reals. The faithless trus-
tee was frightened lest the young man should
reproach him with his treachery in the presence
of strangers, who would then take their chest
with its untold treasures, and which he had
already determined to appropriate to himself.
“Be welcome!” he cried to the Spaniard. “I
was almost fearing you would never come

| back, and was puzzled what I should do with

your money. Allah be praised! who has
brought you back safe! Here is what belongs
to you.”

The Spaniard went away with his treasure
as triumphant as though he were carrying off
so much booty. The old woman begged the
master of the house to put this first chest in a
safe place, while she went and ordered the
rest to be sent. She then went off with her
four companions, and, of course, never re-
turned.

__ et 0S

A TERRIBLE MOMENT.

When Ismail Pasha, the late Khedive of
Egypt, reigned over that historical land, he
had in his garden a large cage of African
lions. One day, while he was walking in the
garden, the keeper,’accompanied by a little
girl, entered, carrying a basket of meat for
the lions. The Khedive walked toward the
cage to watch the beasts eat. They were
hungry, and pounced upon their food with
ravenous fury. Standing close by the cage,
with her hands resting on the bars, was the
little child.

“Why do you permit your daughter to go so
near the lions?” the Khedive asked of the
keeper.

“Oh,” replied the keeper, “they are so accus-
tomed to her they would not harm her!”

“Then open the door and put her inside,”
said the Khedive.

The keeper, with the submissiveness of those
who know their lives will pay forfeit if they
disobey their ruler, made with his eyes an
appeal for mercy. But, seeing none in the
Khedive’s face, he kissed the little one tender-
ly, lifted her up, opened the door, placed her
inside, and, as the door swung to, he turned
away his face and groaned. The little one,
though she did not stir, seemed not afraid.
The lions appeared surprised, and the largest
and fiercest rose and walked toward her. The
Khedive stood gazing at the scene calmly,
with acurioussmile. The lion went up to the
child, smelled her, looked at her for fully half
a minute, then lay down at her feet and beat
the floor with its tail. Another lion ap-
proached. The first one gave an ominous
growl, and the second lion went ‘back. The
others crouched low, as if preparing to spring,
but they did not. This continued for about
five minutes, the big lion never taking his
eyes from the girl and ceaselessly lashing the
floor. The Khedive by this time was satisfied,
and turned to the keeper and commanded him
to thrust a live lamb into the cage through
another door. The keeper quickly caught a
straying lamb, and obeyed. As he did so, every
lion sprang upon the lamb.

“Take out the child!” the Khedive com-
manded; and searcely had the words escaped
him before the keeper, who had already run to
that end of the cage, jerked open the door,
snatched the little one out, and clasped her in
his arms. The Khedive laughed, tossed the
keeper a coin, and walked on.

ne: 0 tte
BEECHAM’S PILL’S Cures Sick-Headache.

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

Wes

 

 

VOL. 47—No. 35.

 

 

 

NEW YORK, JUNE 25, 1892.

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All letters should be addressed to

STREET & SMITH,
P. 0. Box 2734. 29 & 31 Rose St., N. Y

NO CHURCH NEEDED.

BY HARKLEY HARKER,

eo seh ae “2 © ee «©

~ a ee en ee ak 6 €

 

 

“My dear, don’t you think we ought to set-
tle on some place to go to church regularly?”

“IT don’t know, Maude,” he _ responded,
knocking the ashes out of his costly pipe.
“Little wife, you are a dear bunch of con-
science. You do me lots of good, and keep me
from many evils. But what now, really, do
we want of achurch? What use have young
married people like us for a church? We want
potatoes, flour, soap, and sugar; and, thank
fortune, we are not likely to be out of any of
these. But we have been out of church and
short of pew for nearly a year now—ever since
we moved to this town—and I can’t see that
we have suffered any for the lack. Eh?”

And he tapped her under the chin, and
egued merrily.

This young man had come to the great city
to take charge of an agency for a New England
manufactory. He had a good living salary,
and yet not a fat one, for the first few years.
He had rented a cozy home. The charming
Yankee girl, his wife, had managed to adorn
it by a thousand ingenious devices of affec-
tionate skill, till it was unique in comfort and
simple elegance.

_ There were two children, the younger learn-
ing to walk by the tottering steps of the older,
babies together, indeed. And this brave-
hearted fellow was very happy, very indus-
trious, and very devoted to his two worlds—
the home and the office.

_ In New England this couple had been reared
in the church. Her father was a deacon; his
father was a deacon in the same church. For
all the home years these two had observed
every Sabbath in the Christian church. But
now, for “nearly a year” in this great city,
church they had none. You see, reader, he
was “too tired” at first to go on Sunday. It
Was proposed that they “wait till they were
settled ;” then till they “had looked about them
a little;” then till they “felt like it,” ete.

The above conversation seemed to end the
matter once more, as similar conversations
had ended it before. When Sabbath morning
came—this was Saturday evening—the house-
ho!d slept late; the church bells were ringing
a deep diapason tothe tinkle of the silvery
breakfast bell. The happy young lord lounged
over his cigar and newspaper, while the happy
lady supervised the children’s washing and
then the elaborate dinner preparations. Sun-
day was my lord’s only day home to dinner
with wife and children; so there was a grand
good feast. The afternoon was to be spent in
a stroll. The lady never looked so charming;
he is proud to dress her as well as the best.

“But, my dear, what we should have to pay
for a er or to the: frequent collections ina
church, you shall have for attire, you know.”

He laughed; but she would have frowned,
iy that they were so happy that afternoon,
with one of the children trotting on before and
the other trundled in its elegant carriage,
aside.

They walk along one of the most elegant
avenues in the city; they criticise the magnifi-
cent dwellings of therich. He tells her who
lives here and here; how he meets the men in
business; how this one made his money; how
that one began poor.

They amuse themselves with picking out
the house they would best. like. e tells her
she shall have it before she dies—yes, a long
while before, and they will be very happy
there.

All this while the doors of churches are open,
and Sabbath-schools are going on. She thinks
of that; he does not.

When evening comes my lord might go to
church, as my lady suggests to him, after the
children are asleep. While they are looking
out into the twilight and starlight, the bells

ring.

“Shall we
she asks,

“Wh
love?
replies.

hat ends it. Later on they make a call on
some jolly friends.

Now, what do these young people want of a
church? Evidently nothing. But yet there is
another side—even a worldly side at that.

“Six months thereafter this picture is taken:
Again itis Saturday night. Thursday night
the first symptoms appeared. Friday night
‘was one prolonged terror. Saturday night ends
it. Is the child dead? He is dead. What! in
such a well-guarded house? Just there. What!
so much happiness turned into wormwood?
That is it—wormwood., Couldn’t he prevent
it with his powerful right arm? Not with a
regiment of arms. Couldn’t she prevent it with
her loveliness of maternity? No; it was eter-
nity against maternity. The child is dead. It
is midnight. There was a mother’s shriek
and a strong man’s groan. Then they sit down
in silence alone and wait for the morning.

Of course, friends come in. Do these “friends”
have much to say about the great Rest? No;
they are not that kind. Pleasant people, kind
people, people who receive calls Sabbath eve,
people who are nk sorry,” and offer to “do
anything possible;” but not people who can
offer much consolation of the Great Religion.

The young mother cries out, as she sobs on
her husband’s shoulder:

“Oh, for one hour inthe dear old village,
and the comforting words of those old neigh-
bors who knew how to pray !”

It becomes necessary to have a minister for
the funeral. Ministers! There are_ministers
and ministers in this apes city. Whom will

ou have? They are all alike strangers. Ask

he undertaker. had thought! The
undertaker must be able rovide every re-
quisite—casket, flowers, chairs, gloves, car-
riages, and a minister. Perhaps he has an as-
sortment of supplies,
| But why have a minister at all?

|) What! bury the child like a canary?

go to some church this evening?”

did you not speak of it sooner, my
have just lighted a fresh cigar,” he

Very well, then; suppose you make choice
of a minister. If you will step to the door,
you can see the spires of several Christian
churches against the sky. Each of these
churches is led by a minister. Ministers and
churches are generally found together. You
see that some people feel the need of having a
set place in which to worship God; they
have been to the expense of building an edifice
and sustaining constant services therein. You
have no church, no pastor. Any one of these
men will be glad to come.

So it is arranged at a chance. The preacher
comes kindly. But he is no pastor. He is in-
troduced to the stranger mourners. He reads
the words of a Book for all, with no intimate
soul-sympathy of application. How can it be
otherwise? He speaks tenderly to strangers.
He prays for strangers. He goes down the
steps of strangers. The cold, formal ceremony
is over. To be sure, there is a difference be-
tween undertaker and minister. You pay the
undertaker; you could not more insult the
minister than by offering him pay. He would
probably overlook the affront as of ignorance,
and say: “God help and pity you. Come to
church with us, and we will do you more
good.”

It is a good thing, in a great city, to have
loving fellowship with a noble church in a
day of trouble. But a day of trouble may dawn
with you, reader, to-morrow.

pte

TOADS IN ROCKS,

BY KATE THORN,

Somebody has found him again.

This time it was out in Kentucky, imbedded
in solid limestone—twenty feet below the sur-
face.

Alive and well! .

Now, it beats us why anybody should be

digging twenty feet after toads, when there
are plenty of them tobe found “alive and
well,” hopping round on the surface.

It must be that the digger is some newspaper
editor, desperately in want of an item. But
can it be possible that he thinks he is going
to foist this old story upon an indulgent pub-
lic as anything new?

We remember this item was going round
when we were achild. We have no doubt
but it was on its travels when our grand-
mother was a child. i

The toad is always the same, and the solid

rock is the same, only the locality is changed.
_ About twice a year we come across that
identical toad, only he has changed his resi-
dence. He isa regular itinerant, and belongs
to the class nomadic.
_ Weconfess to an intense curiosity concern-
ing him. We want to see him, and walk
around him. We want tosee him hop. We
wonder if he still retains that fabled “jewelin
his head,” and if the cows “would give bloody
milk” if he were accidentally killed, as in our
childhood we were taught to believe would be
the case, if any of his less celebrated brethren
were killed.

 

 

Why _ vot get up something new about this
toad? Why not find him in a new place? Let
him be discovered imbedded in the heart of a
pumpkin, or in the trunk of a pine-tree, or in
a South Carolina watermelon, or in the milky
cavity of a cocoanut, or in a barrel of Jersey
Tigpining !—anywhere but in that everlasting
rock. ;

Give hima fair chance, and don’t confine
him to one kind of diet through all ages!

LOVED AND LOST.

BY M. H.. P. DUNN.

 

“Draw aside the curtain, Nina, and let me
view again the features of my long-lost sister.”

Madam Breston laid aside the book she was
reading. and gazed into the fire with a long-
ing expression in her great dark eyes.

She was a handsome woman still, albeit
time with its unfailing touch had silvered her
brown hair and strongly marked her brow
with the deep lines of care. Her remark was
addressed to a young girl who stood at the
other side of the room, near a black velvet
curtain that covered a picture frame which
hung on the wall.

Nina Cleaves lifted the velvet hanging, and
a cry of astonishment and admiration burst
from her lips.

“Oh, how beautiful!” she exclaimed.

The picture was that of a lovel
woman in all the pride of her fres
beauty.

Rich waves of golden hair were brushed back
from the broad, low forehead of a perfect face,
with delicate features; and looking into the
dreamy depths of the dusky eyes, it seemed as
if a halo of romance must linger around the
life of one so young, and fair, and beautiful.

And so it was; for just when in her radiant,
buoyant youth, that young life had _ been
brought to a sudden close by a tragedy as
dark and sad as it was terrible.

“Kate—my lost, loved Kate,” madam mur-
mured, softly; then turning to the young girl
she continued: “She was my only sister, Nina,
and that portrait was painted twenty years
ago, just one month prior to her tragical
death.”

“Please tell me her story, madam,” Nina
asked, as she came forward and took her favor-
ie place on a low cushioned stool at madam’s

eet.

“Yes, Nina, I will tell you the story of her
short, happy life, and its unhappy ending.”

For a while madam gazed into the fire, as if
invoking the kindly aid of its glowing depths
to light the dreary memories of the past, while
her companion sat motionless at her feet, gaz-
ing in rapture at the pictured face.

At last she began in a low, weary tone, but
her voice grew stronger as she proceeded :

“We two were left orphans at an early age.
Being older than my sister, I very naturally
assumed the care of her. I loved her with all
the ardor of my soul, and my great affection
was fully reciprocated.

“When Kate was in her eighteenth year we
went to spend our summer vacation with our
only relatives, an aunt and two cousins, at
our native home in New England, in one of
its quiet villages that nestled on the shore of
a small but beautiful lake at the foot of a
mountain,

“During the early part of our visit, while
out on the lake, Kate carelessly fell out of the
boat, and was rescued rgd a young man whom
we afterward learned to be an Italian artist.
From the hour that she met him, I knew that
she loved him passionately, and I was soon

uite sure that he adored her. I trembled with

read, for we knew nothing about him, save
what he himself had told us; and I feared
that he might be an adventurer seeking to
entrap an heiress. But my friends assured me
that he had been a frequenter of the hotel for
five years, and that a truer, nobler gentleman
in the full meaning of the word, they ha
never met,

‘He hada studio in New York, but was
spending the summer in New England in quest
of suitable scenery to set off a picture on which

he was engaged.

‘‘Soon after becoming acquainted with Kate,
he painted her as the ‘Nymph of the Sea,’ the
central figure of his favorite work. It wasa
beautiful vision rising out of the sea as if
formed from the foam of the crested waves,
with sunlight for her golden hair—a vision
that seemed to melt and fade away into mist,
even as ace gazed. ;

“He afterward painted yonder picture.

“Can you wonder at its beauty, when the
original was blessed with loveliness almost

young
young

 

 

heavenly, and it was B inted by the hand of
one who adored her, and could rival even the

} old masters in his art! It is hard to think of

t now, even after twenty years——

‘«*For the mossy marble rests
On the lips hehas pressed
In their bloom ;
And the name he loved to hear
Has been carved for many a year
On the tomb.”

“He courted her like a Romeo; but Kate,
being a natural coquette, was afraid of being
won too easily. So, though she loved him
dearly, she frequently aroused his jealousy.
But I sometimes think that even she was
afraid of the passions she had provoked, know-
ing, as she did, that a beautiful woman may
lead an admirer a weary chase if she so wills
it. I know she gave him some very bitter mo-
ments; and I, too, was filled with anxiety, for
I had serious conjectures as to how this fiery
wooing would end.

“All summer long the artist was Kate’s
most devoted cavalier, to the envy of several
other ladies of the hotel, who had become
enamored of the dark, handsome stranger,
around whom they wove a tale of romance,
some of them going so far as to say that he
was an exiled Italian prince. -

“T often noticed that Kate seemed silent and
pensive when we were alone, but I said noth-
ing about it until she voluntarily told me the
cause of her saddened feelings.

“In a lonely spot, on the side of the moun-
tain, was built a low stone house, which for
many years had been abandoned to bats and
birds and ruinous decay; a murder had been
committed there, and the dark. stains of the
foul deed had never been erased from the floor.
Superstitious people said the place was haunt-
ed, and at night villagers shunned itas an
unhallowed spot. Summer tourists always
went to see the mossy walls and picturesque
surroundings of this old building, but many
refused to enter it; very few indeed had found
courage to climb to the roof, from which could
be seen a landscape of unequaled beauty. The
blue lake and green valley below, the wild
and rugged mountain scenery around, and
afar off in the distance the glittering spires of
the adjacent city—all united to form a pros-
pect of surpassing loveliness. It was of this
deserted house that Kate spoke to me.

““For a long time, Grace,’ she said, ‘I have
heard of Carminie Rossi going to that haunted
house day after day. I playfully chided him
about his fondness for ghostly company, and
he replied that he was engaged on a painting
of the house and its surroundings, which he
would show me as soon as he had completed
it. He afterward bfought it to me; but before
I could more than‘glance at it he snatched it
away, saying he wjuld show it to me at some
future time, as it y/as not yet completed.

“But I noticed that he had grown very
pale, and that he bit his lip as if to hide some
suppressed emotions. Sister, I am sure that at
the grated window in the peak of the gable,
he had painted as pretty a face as I ever saw.
A woman’s face, with a wild, longing look,
in the lovely dark eyes. There must be some
one in that old house. Why his emotion if
there is not? I meanto find out whether there
is or not. Will you help me?’

“TI shrank from the ordeal. I tried to per-
suade Kate to disiniss the matter from her
mind, but she eluug tenaciously to her belief
that there was a woman imprisoned in that
old house on the mountain side, But I could
not believe that a |human being could be kept
there, and the fact} remain unknown.

“*Kate, you are a tyrant,’ I said, as she put
her arms coaxingly around me.

“*No, sister,’ shé replied, ‘Iam no tyrant,’”

“*Then you are jealous,’ I answered, quickly.

“A frown gathered on her brow at my words,
but it quickly passed away, and she laughed—
a low, mocking laugh—but it was mirthless.

“*He is going away to-morrow, Grace,’ she
said, at last; ‘we must visit the stone house
ae I will soon discover if there is a captive
there.’ -

“*Kate, beware ! beware!’ exclaimed. “‘Some
things are better hidden than known. If you

go, your action may-recoil with sorrow on! ing
Pia is te : | go about again,

your head.” 244s to

“She, placed vhs on WML Lipe imp
tiently. 7 A onan ORs eee

“*T will go,’ she said, defiantly. ‘If you will
not accompany me, I shall go alone.’

“The next day dawned so clear, so bright, it
is vivid in m eae For, ere the night
shadows had gathered .in the valley, or the
dew on the mountain shrub, I had lost my sis-
ter forever,’

“We started for our usual morning ride.
Our horses were fresh and spirited, and we
galloped away across the narrow bridge that
spanned the deep and rapid mountain stream.

“The soft, refreshing breeze from the lake
swept up through the valley and gently kissed
each tiny leaf and flower. The caroling of the
birds overhead seemed the little songsters’
sweetest notes.

“Kate, handsome, bright, and gay, ee
to accord in harmony with the cheerful scenes
around; for the exercise of our brisk ride, and
the exhilarating air that lingers on the moun-
tain like vy ogres on a flower, had literally
ae er to acreature of gayety and
mirth.

“*Kate,’ I said, ‘what shall wecall our-
selves—explorers searching for evidence of a
myth, without expecting fame to kindly crown
our brows?’

“Kate laughed a low, ringing laugh that
was echoed back from the hill-side in silvery
notes.

“*Yes,’ she answered, gayly, ‘explorers!
Let me be in command; I will lead you to suc-

cess |’

“*T’l]l follow where you lead, my captain,’
I answered, lightly.

“After going the usual course, we turned
our horses into the narrow path that winds up
the mountain side toward the haunted house.
The path was lonely and broken, and almost
hidden by the thick mountain shrubbery that
lined its edges.

“After arriving near the house, we dis-
mounted and secured our horses to a small
shrub, by the bridles. As we approached the
house, some birds flew witha loud clatter
from their nests under the eaves, I shuddered
and drew back, as if to go away.

“Kate caught my hand and exclaimed:

“‘Why, Grace, what a general you would
make! You fly at the very thought of danger!
I for one, have no fear that the place is haunt-
ed, save by the unhappy spirits of the living,
who are as powerless to retrieve the past as
are the dead in their graves.’

“Together we crossed the threshold.

“We were surprised at the evidence of refined
taste that still remained. The ceilings were
frescoed in the most beautiful designs. The
wood-work was all dark and richly carved.
Why any one should have built that beautiful
house so far from all other habitations I could
not conceive. Surely his soul must have been
burdened with the weight of some dark, un-
happy secret, that he had gone there to live_in
solitude like that.

“But decay. the minion of time, was at work
to make of it a ruinous heap—a sad monument
to the memory of him who built it. The win-
dows were broken, and the doors hung on
broken hinges. Summer and winter alike, the
storms beat into the rooms, and were fast
effacing the beauty of man’s art.

“We were silent from sadness as we tray-
ersed the rooms, for we thought of those who
had dwelt there, and we felt that could those
gray, weather-stained walls have spoken, their
story would have been no ordinary one.

“We ascended the broad stairs to the rooms
above. From there we went to the lookout on
the roof, and for a while looked in astonish-
ment on the beauty of the scenery around us.

“‘Now, Kate, you see how mistaken you
were,’ I said to her, as we came down the
stairs to the garret floor.

“<T have not yet seen the room that has the
iron bars to the window,’ she replied, so we
once more went through the few attic rooms.

“We were looking out from a window, when
Kate suddenly pulled my arm.

“*Took, quick!—straight down!’ she whis-
pered.

“A shudder ran over me at the sight,

 

) CROCE

 

“Tt was an old woman, leaning forward and
peering around the corner of the house. Evi-
dently she had seen us go in, and thought we
must have gone ere this; for we had been there
much longer than people usually staid. She
disappeared in a few moments, and we drew
away from the window nearer to the door,
half-expecting her to enter the room.

““We were both leaning against the paneled
wall when we heard footsteps close by us, and
then the opening of a door and a voice speak-
ing.

“<There must have been anentrance from
below,’ Kate whispered; ‘this wall must be
hollow. . Let us go below and seek that en-
trance.’

“*Let us go away, rather,’ I answered. ‘This
must be the haunt of thieves,’

“Kate made no reply, so we went silently
down the stairs. We searched in vain for
about ten minutes, when suddenly, to my dis-
may and Kate’s joy, the same old woman
came out from behind a sliding panel in what
must have once been the dining-hall, and hur-
ried out, muttering incoherently as she went.

“*Quick !’ Kate exclaimed; ‘come!’ and she
quickly pressed the tiny spring, and then
darted through the open space.

“Inside was damp and musty, but a flight of
narrow stairs led upward. Hastily mounting
these, we stood almost breathless, on the nar-
row landing above.. It was but the work ofa
moment to pull back and opena door. This
Kate did, her hand trembling for the first
time.

“The scene within was an interesting one,
indeed. The room was richly and handsomely
furnished, and seated near the center of the
room was a magnificently beautiful woman,
dressed in a robe of ivory white silk, that lay
in heavy, glistening folds around her. Waxen
orange blossoms were twined in her midnight
hair, and rested in snowy beauty on her bosom.

“She drew herself up haughtily as she beheld
us, and her black eyes flashed brightly.

“*Who are you?’ she asked, in Italian.

“Kate threw aside my restraining hand, and
going up nearer, with a quivering voice, she
replied, in the same language:

“*T am one that he loves.’ At the same time
she waved her hand toward a portrait on the
wall—a portrait of Carminie Rossi.

“One that he loves,’ the woman repeated,
slowly rising from her chair, and never for one
moment removing her glittering eyes from
Kate’s face. ‘He loves none but me. You can-
not win him from me! Go now—he will soon
be here. I am waiting for him.’

“Kate drew back.

“*You are his wife?’ she faltered.

“The strange woman smiled and raised her
eyes to a portrait on the wall—not the _por-
trait of Carminie Rossi, but of another—
handsome, fair, and haughty; yet with eyes
that seemed to smile tenderly, sadly, down at

er.

“«Robert! Robert!’ she cried, despairingly,
‘I am waiting still. Are you coming, darling?’

“‘She is mad!’ I exclaimed, and sprang for-
ward to draw Kate away.

“As I did so a small side door near us
opened, and Carminie Rossi entered the room.

e started back in surprise when he saw us.
Before he could speak, that dark, beautiful
woman glided toward Kate, her brilliant eyes
glittering with a strange, unnatural fire.

“Carminie Rossi caught the gleam of a
weapon in her hand, and bounded forward to
wrest it from her. But he was too late. With
one hand she had clutched Kate’s
throat, and with the other she had buried her
dagger in her quivering heart.

* Cariatate Rossi caught Kate’s sinking form
in his arms, while that mad woman shrank
back with a demoniacal laugh.

“He knelt on the floor, supporting Kate in
his arms. Her face was deadly white, her
dark eyes closed, and I knew her pallid lips
would never speak again. The mad woman
fled away from us out on the mountain side
alone.

“How I got homeI never knew. Kate lay
in her grave, and the autumn leaves were fal!
ing over her, when I recovered sufficient

na . : f atr
iavent dow rite
St

rested one who had |

~

minié Rossi stood by | ra

“T raised my eyes to his fa t [ ¥
shocked to note the chang: t

;
UO

white!

 

few months had wrought. His face was worn,

the cheeks hollow, and the eyes deep-set and

sad.

“She was my betrothed,’ he said, in answer
to my scrutinizing look. ‘You surely know
how she loved me, and how I adored her.’

“<T knew how she loved-you,’ I answered,
softly, and gave him my hand in silent sym-

athy.

Pe ‘A tee days later he came to me to tell me
who that mad woman was, and why she was
kept there.

“She was his sister. Six years before, her
lover, a handsome Englishman, had been mur-
dered by a jealous rival, on the very eve of
their wedding-day, and her grief for him had
driven her mad. As her madness consisted in
her persistent belief that her lover was not
dead, but was coming for her some time, Car-
minie brought her to America with him in the
hope that change of scene would restore her
mind. While traveling through New England
he came across that old house on the moun-
tain side.

“Purchasing it from the man who claimed
to be the owner, he placed his sister there
each summer, with her faithful nurse, rather
than send her to an asylum, since she was
never violent, but only seemed lost in melan-
choly gloom, from which nothing seemed to
arouse her, and which the doctor said could
never be dispelled from her mind.

“No one knew he had purchased the old
house, or that a mad woman was kept there
each summer. But there she lived for five
summers; and there she had looked out with
weary, longing eyes on the scene below, and
listened to the chiming of the village bells as
the breeze wafted their sweet music upward
to her prison.

“That day Carminie Rossi and I parted, and
never metagain. Heenlisted inthe army, and
was slain while gallantly fighting for the cause
of his adopted country. I know he was true to
Kate, and that no other woman ever took her
place in his heart. Her tragic death seemed to
have robbed him of all power to love. To see
her one moment flushed with life, and hope,
and health, and the next lying cold, and
white, and still, was terrible.

“That mad woman, poor, longing soul! was
found dead on the shore of the mountain
stream, and was buried in the cemetery near
her unfortunate victim.

“That is my story; and all these long years
have I lived away from my kindred, bearing
in my heart the burden of my sorrow. But
soon I, too, shall be laid away in the tomb,
like her, my idolized one,

“(Who sleeps and sleeps, and sleeps,
And never wakes.’ ”

TO HAVE PEACE AT HOME,

Open doors quietly and shut them without
a bang.

Use the door-mat, instead of the floor car-
pet, for a foot scraper.

Let your manners at home be a little better
than they are abroad. :

Live sociably with your family and peace-
ably with your neighbors.

When the “last word” is likely to be an un-
kind one, let some one else say it.

Be as agreeable with your wife as you would
be with “other men’s wives.”

Speak as pleasantly to your husband as you
would to “other women’s husbands.”

If it must be a kiss or a blow, let the kiss
come first—the blow will take care of itself.

Have soft answers always ready as a bulwark
to set up against the overflowing stream of
wrath that may chance to be flowing by.

Naphtha is good for cleaning gloves, but
keep it away from the fire,

 

Correspondence.

GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.

ce” Communications addressed to this department will
not be noticed unless the names of responsible parties are
signed to them as evidence of the good faith of the writers.

Cc. M. C., Boston, Mass.—The Collins steamer Arctic left
Liverpool, Eng., on September 20, 1854, and on the 27th of
the same month, during a dense fog, off Cape Race, New-
foundland, came in collision with the French iron pro-
peller Vesta, Captain Luce, supposing the propeller to
be badly injured and in danger of sinking, while he be-
iieved his own ship comparatively uninjured, made a su-
perficial examination of the latter, and then sent off four
of his boats to look for the Vesta, which, meanwhile, much
disabled, was heading for Halifax , Which it succeeded in
reaching safely. In less than half an hour after the boats
had gone, Captain Luce discovered that his own steamer
was leaking, and the conviction was soon forced upon him
that she must go down. Guns were fired and other sig-
nals used to recall the boats, but they were too far off to
respond to the signals for aid. The remaining boats were
hurriedly launched, but they were insufficient to accom-
modate one-third of those on the fated steamer, and in the
midst of the confusion the vessel went down. Captain
Luce had been requested by a portion of his crew, who had
seized a boat, to save himself, but he gallantly refused,
and with his little son in his arms, went down with the
vessel. He was destined to be saved, however. He rose
to the surface wilh his boy, and had thrown one arm
around a floating spar, when a piece of the wreck came to
the surface, toppled over, and killed the son in his father’s
arms. Captain Luce and several others were subse-
quently picked up and brought to this port. Of a total of
4389 persons on board, 307 were lost, and of these a great
many were New Yorkers.

A. LL, A., Camden, N. J.—The brown thrush, or thrasher,
as it is generally called, is one of the most common Amer-
ican birds, but as a singer it ranks next to the mocking
bird, which in its habits it resembles. It is regarded as
handsomer than the mocking bird, and can be as easily
tamed, it soon becoming a cheerful and loving en ; but
it is said to be very jealous of rival birds, and will, if pos-
sible, drive them away. When kept in a cage it may be
treated like the mocking bird. It usually lays pale buff
egys, marked with small, brown spots. In the wild State
it lives on insects; worms, and berries. It makes its nest
generally on tress or bushes. The wood thrush, which is
sometimes mistaken for the brown thrush, or thrasher,
is also a sweet singer, but it lacks many of the notes of
the last named. The eggs are light blue. The plumage
of the wood thrush is reddish-brown above, and white
spotted with black on the breast; that of the brown
thrush is bright reddish-brown above and yellowish-white
below, marked with dark-brown spots, shaped like an ar-
row head, and having black legs.

L. N. P., Philadelphia, Pa.—ist. There are about forty
kinds of owls in the United States ; among the commonest
are the barn owl, the great horned owl, the little horned
owl, the barred owl, and the burrowing owl. The horned

owl gets its name from the two feathery tufts which
stand up like horns on its head. The burrowing owl is
so-called because it lives in the burrows of prairie dogs,
The stories told about their sharing the same hole with
dogs and rattlesnakes are not generally credited. 2d. As
you state, in ancient times the owl was imagined to be a
Very wise bird, and the Greeks made it the emblem of
wisdom and sacred to Minerva, the goddess of wisdom ;
but the superstition concerning it, that itis a bird of ill-
omen, that when one appears it is a sign of death in the
family, etc., isridiculous. In some respects it 1s a very
useful bird, as it kills rats and mice and other vermin
hurtful to gardens and crops. It must be admitted, how-
ever, that its cries or yells are often very startling, and
on this account their presence is not greatly desired.

A. N.B., Chicago, 111.—An abbot is the superior of a
monastery for men. Monastic societies, being originally
composed of laymen, were obliged to have recourse to the
assistance of a neighboring priest to administer the sac-

raments and perform other clerical functions among them.
Afterward the superior of the society, in many Cases, en-
tered into orders, and exercised the ministerial office, for
the convenience of his community, under the title of ab-
bot. From the beginning of the sixth century, this prac-
tice became universal, the abbot having absolute power
within his own monastery, but being himself subject to
the authority of his diocesan. This subjection, however,
the abbots gradually threw off to a great extent, and in
many places themselves assumed the titles and authority
of bishops, Such were the mitered abbots, and the
crosiered abbots, the former of whom, to the number of
twenty-six, sat ir the English Parliament with the bish-
ops and two priors in the reign of Henry VIII.

A. @. M., Nashville, Tenn.—Nails were formerly made
by hand, but now all kinds are constructed by machines,
the best of which, it is said, were first built in the United
States. For making cut nails, the iron is first rolled into
plates of the thickness and a little wider than the length
of the nail to be made. A plate is then put into the ma-
chine, and the dies, or cutters, cut off a tapering blank

n end. This blank is then seized and held
i on jaws, while a punch strikes the larg id
athe ‘head. The nail thes traps ot
ind the »!: Tes UD
tapering t t, the
other » that there
iLiing wh late. In the
ry other nail is made on the side oi tue plate
that on which the head of the one before was

=
NaANnX 18

up the

A. L. W., Columbus, Ohio—The cough experienced
mostly by persons affected with chronic catarrh can be
relieved by taking a teaspoonful of the following mix-
ture. It is not only harmless, but rather improves the
condition of the stomach and sharpens the appetite. It
is made by putting into an eight-ounce vial, half an ounce
of the muriate of ammonia, and half an ounce of pulverized
gum-licorice, filling the vial nearly full with hot water,
and shaking thoroughly, to prevent the licorice from be-
coming sold. Always shake the vial before using the
contents.

B. L. J., New Orleans, La.—Bunker Hill is described as
a “round, smooth elevation” in Charlestown, Mass., 100
feet high, and commanding the peninsula of Boston. It is
connected by a ridge on its southern slope with Breed’s
Hill, about 75 feet high, the crests of the two hills being
about 700 yards apart. Inthe center of the grounds in-
cluded within the redoubt on Breed’s Hill stands the
obelisk known as Bunker Hill Monument. It is 221 feet
high, built of Quincy granite, and cost $150,000.

Atlas, Grafton, Ohio.—For information concerning the
“Chautaqua Course,” write to Miss K. F. Kimball, Buffalo,
N. Y., with a fifty-cent fee. In return you will receive
a membership book, telling you what books to read and
how to read them, and containing examination papers,
by which, at stated periods, your proficiency may be as-
certained. The course covers four years, requiring an
average of forty minutes’ reading a day during ten
months of each year.

P. H. D., Zaleski, Ohio.—Our space in this department
is too limited to comply with your very numerous re-
quests. In regard to the beliefs of the divines named, or
of the leaders of the denominations referred to, we sug-
gest a perusal of their respective biographies, which wil
enable you to make the comparisons desired. Some, if
not most, of the religious statistics requested will be
found in a book, which we will send you for 25 cents,

A. D. O., Cleveland, Ohio—On the clearest night only
about 3,000 stars can be seen with the naked eye. The
milky way, the band of whitish light which stretches
nerves the sky, is seen, by the aid of the telescope, to be
made up of innumerable small stars. There are also
clusters of stars scattered over the heavens, made an
of thousands of stars, which look to the eye like a dull
patch of light, but they are all separate stars.

Lucy Ann, Troy, N. Y.—"‘As stupid as an ostrich,” is a
proverb that the Araba have, based upon the alleged stu-
pidity of the bird, which, when hard pressed by the hun_
ter, will thrust its head into a bush or into the sand, and
imagine that it cannot be seen, because it cannot see ;
put some travelers state that the ostrich is nov so foolish
as he is generally called, and that the stories told about
his stupidity are slanders.

L.M. L., Newark, N. J.—According to the figures fur,
nished as to the relative weight of men, a man five feet
and one inch high should weigh 120 pounds; five feet
three inches, 133 pounds; five feet five inches, 142 pounds;
five feet seven inches, 148 pounds; five feet nine inches,
162 pounds; five feet eleven inches, 174 pounds; six feet,
178 pounds.

OC. M. G., Bristol, R. I.—To make flaxseed tea for a
cough, catarrhal or otherwise, macerate one ounce of flax,
seed and half an*ounce of bruised licorice-root in one
pint of boiling water for two hours, in a lightly closed
vessel; filter, and add one fiuid ounce of fresh lemon
juice. Take a teaspoonful as often as required.

Mimmie, Maybeury, W. Va.—ist. Cost $1. Write direct
tothe NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency. 2d. Yes,
3d. Bulwer-Lytton, the English novelist, was born in
May, 1805; died in London on Jan. 8, 1873. His son (“Owen
Meredith”), who died in Paris in November last, was
porn on Nov. 8, 18381.

Charlott, S. B., Saratoga, N. Y.—Charles Sprague, an
American poet, wrote a poem entitled, “I See Thee Still.’
In the first and last lines of every stanza, with one excep
tion, the title words are Tepeated. We therefore pre-
sume it to be the poem desired.

M. J. A., Lebanon, Tenn.—An ordinary cold in the head
may be generally speedily cured by inhaling hartshorn
through the nose seven or eight times in five minutes:
Spirits of campher may be used in the same way with
much benefit.

S.A. B.—Under the circumstances stated, it seems to
us that no note of explanation would avail with the
parties referred to. You will have to bear your discom-
fiture in silence.

J. W., St. Paul, Minn.—No recipes that would prove of
much benefit. It is generally better and more econo-
mical to repaper and recalsomime.

C. R. B., Poughkeepsie, N. Y.—Patti’s former husband,
the Marquis de Caux, died on Dec. 13, 1890.

W. W. W., Danforth, Me.—Wilkie Collins, the novelist,
died in London on Sept. 23, 1889, aged 64.

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

nv». oss THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

 

 

ia co pe Seer me «

BY H.

I have danced my last dance, I have sung my last song,
And toward a dark river I hurry along ;

And I know on the sand of its desolate shore

An old man is waiting to ferry me o’er.

How long hath he waited, and waited in vain,

Through the storm and the sunshine,the mist and the rain
Till his back has grown crooked, his eyes have grown dim,
And his locks are as weeds that hang loose in the stream!

But now I am drawn in the dead of the night,

From the song and the jest and the feast of delight;
And the sound of my coming he hears on the shore,
And makes the boat ready to ferry me o’er.

><:
—+<o

THIS STORY WILL

THE SINS OF

 

J.

BYRON

Oh, fain would I loiter! Oh, fain would I flee
To the sheltering ark of the hollow oak tree!
But the old man he beckons and calls me away
And I cannot, I dare not that voice disobey.

The boat is cast loose—the oars are now plied—

And o’er the wide water in silence we glide;

And the arms of the rower are knotted and bare

As he cleaves the still fiood as a bird cleaves the air.

“Oh, where art thou rowing {the shore is sunk low—
Oh, ferryman, tell me now whither we go?”

| No word doth he speak, but he points through the gloom,

} Where the dim waters rise like the gates of a tomb!

NOT’ BE EUSEISHEY IN BOOK-FORM.

THE FATHER

By BERTHA M. CLAY,

Author of “*? Twixt Love and Hate,” ‘* Between Two Hearts,” ‘* Fair, but Faithless,”
‘For Another’s Sin,” ** Thrown on the World,” Etc.

 

 

(“THE SINS OF THE FATHER” was commenced in No. 2

 

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.
ASKING QUESTIONS

The mother of Arthur Caine had been moved, |
by her uneasiness at the silence of her son, to}
make the journey to England,
something of him.
her love, and she had been anxious in regard |
to him even before she had ceased to receive |
any communication from him.

She had not had even a remote suspicion |
that he had met with any untoward accident;
for she believed him quite equal to taking |
care of himself. But she had found herself un-
able to rid herself of the feeling that he pos- |
sessed a dangerous secret, of which in his reck-
lessness he might make an unwise use.

She had repented of leaving him alone in

 

England almost before she was out of sight of |

land on her way back to America; and when,
later, his
not acknowledge her most urgent epistles, she
remained in the United States only long
enough to put her affairs in shape for a long |
absence.

When she reached London and went to the |
banking-house where Arthur kept his account,
and where his letters were addressed, she dis-

covered that he had drawn nothing out for
fully six months, and that his letters lay

there for him, waiting to be called for.

“Why did you not send them to Thornhill?”
she demanded.

The old clerk in whose care such matters
were, silently pointed out a number of letters
which had been forwarded to Thornhill Castle,
and which bore the return mark from there
with the stamped words, “Not Found.”

’

Then, for the first time, Mrs. Caine’s heart |
really misgave her. Something must have}
happened to Arthur. If so, why had she not

been notified? Would the duke s say he did not |
aor her address? What had happened to her

“She could not have told herself what her re-
flections were as she put these questions to
herself; but she felt herself growing harder
and more implacable than ever before in her

;
life, as she rode toward Thornhill from Lon-
don, She began to think more and more of the
possibilitie zi of what might have happened at
LRhornhillvehen Arthur wag, installed there, |
with a t< rerrible wert r pli ced in his hands i

o one knew better th an.she what a deal of
raalicious misehief Arthur was capabie of,
and she seemed to realize how he would

delight in a wanton exhibition of his power.
But such an admission to herself in no way
inclined her to a lenient judgment of Arthur’s
victims.

But what could the duke have done to so
silence Arthur? She asked herself this ques-
tion many times over, but without ever daring
to give herself the only response which was in
any way an answer.

She presented herself to the duke in
gressive way, and was doubly alarmed
persistent and monotonous reiteration
statement that he knew nothing of
She seemed to read in the duke’s
certain passive defiance of
sion might be used.

It was as if he had so thoroughly counted
the cost of anything he had done, or intended
to do, that nothing could take him by surprise.
And so. she left him to return to the inn and
reflect on what had happened, and on what
she should do eee

an ag-
by his
of the

Arthur.
manner a
her, if the expres-

 

. |
in order to learn |
He was the one object of |

| Burse, the landlady,

letters ceased to come, and he did |

| who had presumed to send for her.
not the sort of woman for maids to
and this one used a much

1. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.]}

“My visit so shocked him that it
him. But he must not die until I
truth, and can bring it home to him.’
“Did you speak, ma’am?” inquired the girl,

| timidly.

“How did you hear of this?” asked Mrs.
Caine, ignoring the girl’s question.

“One of the maids from the castle came over,
ma’am.”

“Ts she here now?” demanded Mrs. Caine.

“IT think she is. Sheis the sister of Mrs.
ma’am, and she

cnow the

comes ov er.’
“Has she been
time?” demanded Mrs. Caine.
nly a year, ma’am.’
oe elf her I would like to see her
room,” said Mrs. Caine, in
who is accustomed to having her
| all things.

| lon

in

for any service.’

“Yes, ma’am,” and the girl went away, im-

pressed by the grim, cold manner of the Ameri-
| can ;
In a few minutes a trim, saucy-looking young

woman.

to the room, and on being ad-
1alf-superciliously at the guest
But Mrs.

woman came u
mitted, stared

Caine was
remain saucy with,

aralyzed

in service in the castle for a

often |

my |
the manner of one}
own way in}
“If she objects—I know how saucy
these maids are—tell her I always pay well

which I acne t “gentrally aber ane liberty,”
and she looked very virtuous.

“And you haven't seen him since the wed-
ding?” asked Mrs. Caine, her face white, but
her voice cold and steady.

“No, ma’am,

Mrs. Caine mused a few minutes before
speaking again.

“You have earned the sovereign,” she said
at length. “Would you like to earn another?”

“Certainly, ma’am, even if it was not so
easy come by,” was the delighted answer of
the maid, who was not in the habit of receiv-
ing sugh liberal tips from the guests at the
castle.

“T only w Feo: to know as much as possible |
about Mr. Caine,” said Mrs, Caine. “I want
you to question everybody at the castle until
you find out just how he left the castle,
when. It ought not to be difficult. Somebody
must know.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the maid, hesitating-
ly; “but there were sb many going away that

day, you know.’

*The man who drove the guests to the sta-
}tion might remember. Mr. Caine had two
|heavy trunks. They must have been taken

somewhere, and he was generous, and must
| have given something to somebody. Servants
generally remember a generous guest.

“Yes, ma’am, so they do. I’ll do the best I

san, ma’am. And how shall I tell you if I
find out anything?”

“Come here! I was going back to London
on the next train, but I will change my mind
and remain. Tell them so down stairs, will
you? g

“Yes, ma'am,
; to-night.”

“Tt will be better,” muttered Mrs. Caine.
“If IT employed a detective I would have to
wait and wear myself out with impatience.
Now that he is stricken down with paralysis,
I need not observe any great secrecy, and I can
surely learn what has become of Arthur. It
does not seem,” she went on, “as if he could
;have been murdered. A man does not disap-
| pear so suddenly without some comment being
| made on the subject.
me not to hope.”
| It was singular how calm and even cold this
|mother was over the disappearance of her
| son. But the calmness was only seeming.
|

 

And I will come over again

Within her breast there was a terrible storm
of grief, and hate, and vengeance raging.
And it was the hate and desire for vengeance |
that enabled herto hold in check the grief, |
which even yet she hoped might be premature.
Moreover, her grief was somewhat like that of |

ithe tigress, which can best be relieved by |
rending something.

| And so she remained in the little country
|

and |}

And yet something tells |

line of Cucsiatsiline “aia had dropped, “what
has this to do with Mr. Caine?”

Nothing, excepting that he was always in
the front when anything was going on, and it
was very well known that he didn’t love Lord
Westmarch any too much; so that he would
have been sure to be around when there was
such an unpleasant thing happening.”

“Ah!” cried Mrs. Caine, a new light break-
| ing in on her; “and why should there be any
| feeling between him and Lord Westmarch?”
“Why,” ejaculated Mary, warming up with
ithe gossip that had been rife at the time of the
wedding, “it was pretty generally understood
that Mr. Caine would have liked to marry
| Lady Mabel, himself. In fact, Thomas, the
groom, says that Mr. Caine as good as told
him when he took the trunks, that maybe the
wedding would be more of a surprise than
anybody expected, and that, perhaps, he might
‘be coming back some day with a wife who
didn’t look unlike Lady Mabel.”

“What did he mean by that?” queried Mrs.
Caine, beginning to grasp the situation, as it
|had been at the time of the wedding at the
castle.

“That’s more than any of us can
Thomas never said anything about it before.
But all of us remember how Mr. Caine, for
some days before the wedding, went around
with a sort of smile that made you feel that
he knew something that nobody else did.”

Again Mrs. Caine was silent for a time.
When she spoke it was to ask:

“Why was there any feeling between Mr.
Caine and Lord Westmarch?”

“Some said it was on account of Lady
Mabel,” answered Mary, but there was a pe-
culiar smile on her face that made Mrs. Caine
ask

“But there was
there?”

“Why, ma’am, some of us thought it might
be on account of the pretty governess, Miss
Leslie.”

“Miss who?” demanded Mrs. ith
great suddenness,

‘Miss Leslie.”

“Do you know her first name?”

“Edna, I think it was. She was very pretty.

“What was she a here?” cried Mrs.
Caine, beginning to feel that she was unearth-
ing too many elements of tragedy. “Did the
| duke know——
“Know what?” asked Mary, after w aiting |
for the finish of the question.

“Never mind. And so Miss Leslie was the
| governess, and the two men had trouble about |
her?”

1 “Well,

| One thing is sure:
| the castle one day when

 

   

 

guess.

another fidea of it, was

 

Caine, w

”

that’s what was said

she was sent away from

inn, waiting for the maid to return to her everybody was away
| with some intelligence that would enable her | on a ride; and that night, over the wine, the
|to form some plan for future action. And | duke told the paar dane that Miss Leslie had
afterward she felt repaid for waiting. Mary,|gone away to get married. But we knew
the maid, came over again at about eight | pretty well that she'd been discharged. It
o’clock, but did not look as if she thought she| was right away after that the engagement

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Very slowly she left the castle, and if any
one had taken the trouble to watch her face,
it must easily have been noticed that it bhe-|
came more and more pale and set. She had |

one out by the main an of the castle, |

ut had turned out of the drive-w ay to take a
by-path through the park to reach the road |
that led to the vill age.

Suddenly she stopped and turned her face
toward the castle, and so stood motionless for
a full minute. Her features had been set in a
hard mask, but as she stood looking toward
the castle, they became suddenly convulsed,
and she cried out, clenching her two hands as

she did so:

“My boy is dead! Woe to you and yours,
Duke of Thornhill! He was in your way, and
you have murdered him.’

It was as if all her inward questioning had
in a moment found an answer; as if the dread
she had kept putting away from her had final-
ly come resolutely to the front and insisted
upon recognition. It seemed, too, as if the
words she had uttered were her first intima- |
tion of the possibility of such a thing.

She rested her hand on a tree to steady her-
self; and stood thus fore many minutes, her
eyes staring far away at vacancy, and her}
mouth working as if in silent utterance of the
thoughts that swept through her brain. Then |
she slowly turned and resumed her way, but
her steps were halting now, as if age had sud-
denly overtaken her.

When she reached the inn she
bill, saying she would return
don. Then she retired to her room to wait un-
til train time; and there she sat and_ brooded |
until the chambermaid came to notify her that
it was time to get ready.

At another: time, Mrs. Caine, who was not
an unobservant woman, would have seen that
the girl wished to say something; but she was
too full of her own dark thoughts to notice|
anything else, and she might never have known
what was on the girl’s mind, if the girl had
not been too full of her news to be able to re-
main silent even with the grim guest, who
was known at the inn as the “American
woman,” and who was respected for her liber-
ality, even if she was not liked for herself.

‘Have you heard what happened over at‘the

eastle, ma'am?” said the girl.

Mrs, Caine turned upon the girl with such a
sudden stare, and caught her so roughly by
the arm that she could not repress a scream.

“What kappened? When?” demanded Mrs.
Caine. “Speak! Why do you scream out?”

“You hurt me,” faltered the girl, looking up

asked for her
at once to Lon-

~

with startled eyes. “I only meant that his
lordship, the duke, has had a stroke.’
“A stroke!” exclaimed Mrs. Caine, resum-

ing her composure by an effort. ‘“ What kind
of a stroke? What do you mean ?”

“A stroke of paralysis, ma’am; and they
have sent for the great London doctor to come
right here.”

“Ah!” Mrs.

 

murmured Caine, somberly.

 

AM THE WOMAN.

 

 

 

 

il

 

 

 

 

 

‘“% Phelan, St

 

 

 

 

 

0

 

 

MY HUSBAND IS——THE DUKE OF

 

 

THORNHILL!”

 

more polite tone than she at first had i intended. | had brought any important addition to her

“Did
asked.

Mrs. Caine studied the face before
minute, during which time the maid endeav-
ored to assume an air of unconsciousness, but
without success; for, in fact, she had a most
uneasy sensation of being pierced through and
through by the cold, steely eyes of the woman

you wish to see me, ma’am?”

who had sent for her.
Having finished her scrutiny, Mrs.
drew her purse from her pocket and took a|
sovereign from it. She held it before the eyes
of the maid, and said, coldly:
“Would you like to earn ‘that by answering |
a few questions?”

’

ma’am,” stam-
by this business-

“Tf—if there’s no harm in it,
mered the girl, quite upset
| like way of beginning.

“You needn’t answer anything that seems to

have harm in it,” replied Mrs. Caine, coldly.
‘There! take the coin,” and she handed it to
the girl, who took it, as she probably would

have done, if she had not been so positively
assured of the harmlessness of the questions to
be asked; for she had already made a mental
reservation, not to say anything she believed
she should not.

“Do you know my name?” was the first ab-

|rupt question.

“They told me it was Mrs. Caine.”
“Very well. Do you remember a Mr. Arthur

Caine, who was visiting the castle a few
|! months ago?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” replied the girl, quickly
enough.

”

“Do you remember when he left the castle?

The girl stopped to reflect. She had not
thought of it before, but in fact, she had no
recollection of Mr. Caine leaving atali. She
could not remember that he had left anything
for the servants, as the departing guests usu-
ally did.

“Well,” s aid Mrs. Caine, studying the face
before her, “why do you not answer? It ought
not to be difficult.’

“But,” replied the girl, with the puzzled
air of trying hard to recall an event, “I don’t
remember anything about his going away. I

don’t remember seeing him at all after the
wedding. I know he was there until then, for
he——

“Well?”

“Well, ma’am, if you will excuse me,” and
the girl blushed and bridled, “he was a very
free sort of gentleman, and on the morning of
the wedding-day I met him quite accidentally
in the park, and he made free to kiss me,

~ Children Cry for Pitcher’s Castoria,

 

}
her for a,

she | budget of news.
that’ s one of the under-grooms, |

‘Thomas,

ma’am,” she said, “remembers very well tak- |
ing Mr. Caine’s ‘trunks to the station. And

Mr. Caine had given him money to have the
trunks put on the train and taken to London.
| But
| the station.

“He might have walked over, perhaps,” sug-

Caine | gested Mrs. Caine.

“He didn’t do much walking,”
“

replied Mary ;
but, as one of the

maids, said, when

| were talking about him, he might have walked

| might have been said

| that day, because the carriages were so busy
with the other guests.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Caine. “Then you have

been talking it over with the servants?”

“Yes, ma’am; I thought that was the best
way to find out.”

“Certainly,” acquiesced Mrs, Caine.
me all that was said.”

She fancied that she could judge better than
Mary of the value of the various things that
about her son.

“Tell

“T don’t know that I can do that,” said
Mary, opening hereyes wide. “But I do re-
member that one of the men ‘vas certain that

Mr.

“ec

Caine went away before the wedding.”
Remained at the castle until
of the wedding-day, and
ding,” said Mrs. Caine,

the morning
did not see the wed-
“That would be sing-

ular, would it not?”

“Well,” answered Mary, dubiously, “I
wouldn’t undertake to say he wasn’t there.
The castle was that crowced it would have

been difficult to see everybody.
is that at the timeof the interrruption—

“What interruption?” quickly de imanded
Mrs. Caine, alert for everything unusual.

“Oh, why! the wedding was stopped just at
the beginning, by a rough sort of countryman,
who said he had a message for Lord West-
march.”

“Ah! and what happened?”

“As the easiest way of shutting him up and
getting rid of him, Lord Westmarch came out
into the hall, and took the letter.”

The only thing

“Of course, you don’t know what the letter
said?” remarked Mrs, Caine, inferrogatively.

Mary laughed.

“Nobody but Lady Mabel knows that,’
said.

“Why?”

“Because she read the letter and destroyed
it, saying that it contained an insult to her.”

Mrs. Caine pondered this, but could make
nothing of it, though there was a vague feel-
ing in her mind that it was in some way con-
nected with her son.

she

 

“Well,” she said, abruptly, returning to the

no one remembers seeing Mr. Caine at| Caine.

|

we!

| told me,

between the earl and Lady Mabel was an-
nounced.”
It is really wonderful how many discon- |

nected facts had been noticed and talked over
in the servants’ quarters.

“Are you sure Mr. Caine has not been back
to the castle since the wedding?’ asked Mrs.
"am.”

“Positive, ma

Mrs. Caine asked many more questions, but |
| learned nothing more than
| told her, and finally dismissed Mary in

had
this
way:

“Here is the sovereign for what you have
and here is another to induce you to
keep silent as to our conversation. Will you

do that? There may be more to earn in the
future.’
CHAPTER XXXVII.
HER GRACE OF THORNHILL.

That evening, on the late express, Mrs. Caine
returned to London, and it could easily be
seen by her manner that her mind was fixed
on a purpose. The day following; she took
cab, and went to her bankers. From them she
procured atin case which she had deposited
with them. When she stepped into her cab
again, she told the man to drive herto the
chambers of Ward & Grimsey.

These chambers were of the dingy sort that
seem to appertain to men of law, and were
reached by two flights of stairs that seemed
altogether too rickety for much further use.
Behind the desks were several clerks all
scratching away with their pens asif their
very lives depended upon what they were
doing. They looked up, at her entrance, and
one of them stopped while the others resumed
their work.

The clerk who came out from_ behind his
desk was a sleek person past middle age, and
well dressed. If Mrs. Caine had entered shab-
bily dressed, and with trouble in her face, she
would have been interviewed by the third
clerk, who was notable for a rasping voice
and an ugly sneer. But Mrs, Caine was well-
dressed, and had a commanding air, and,
therefore, suave Mr. § Smalley, the head clerk,
came forth.

“What can we do for you, he
asked, in his politest manner.

“T wish to see Mr, Grimsey,” she answered,

“Mr. Grimsey,” said the head clerk, depre-
catingly, “is engaged at present; but Mr.
Ward——”

“I prefer to see Mr. Grimsey, and unless he
is very eer engaged it would be wise

madam?”

 

Children Cry for Pitcher's Castoria,

_—"

at the time. |

already been |

 

 

to say to tii that oe Caine, of America,
wishes to see him.”

Mr. Smalley, impressed by Mrs. Caine’s
manner of knowing precisely what she wanted,
bowed, smiled blandly, and disappeared. When
he returned, he was bowing out a seedy-look-
ing gentleman, dismissing him with a _ very
few words, and saying very deferentially to

Mrs. C Caine:
“If you please, Mrs. Caine. This way. Mr.
Grimsey does not come out because of a

sprained ankle, which he is obliged to favor
as much as possible, This way.

Mr. Grimsey was a short, rather stout
ee with the most glittering of little
lack eyes, and with the shiniest of red cheeks.
And he was faultlessly dressed. Perhaps it
will give an idea of Mr. Grimsey to say that
it was a grim boast with him that no beggar
ever stopped him with the hope of getting
any thing from him.

“My dear Mrs. Caine,” he cried, effusively,
putting an especial emphasis on the dear.
“This is a surprise. I supposed you had left
us, never to return. g

“I_ thought so, too,
I find it is not
ters as we wish.

"she said, coldly; “but
always possible to order mat-

I wish your advice. I am
about to take an important step,.and do not
wish todo anything in the dark. I hopel
have your undiv ided attention.”

“My dear Mrs. Caine,” he remonstrated.

“Very well,” she said, as if understanding
his unspoken protestation. “First read that
paper,” and she handed him a folded paper.

“Hum, hum!” he grunted, as he ran his eye
hastily yet carefully overit. “Marriage cer-
tifieate in proper form. Marmaduke Welton
and Margaret Doane. Well?”
| “You see the date of that certificate?” she
asked,

eS.

“It is twenty-one years ago.’
saa see it is. Well?’
“Suppose both parties to that marriage con-

 

| tract were still alive, and there had never
|been a divorce, or separation of any sort.
| Suppose the woman had gone to a foreign

{country and contracted another. marriage.
Suppose the man had remained in England
| and contracted another marriage. Suppose the
| woman’s second husband were dead, and the
| man’s second wife were dead. Suppose those
cases, and what would be the relation of the
| two people of that certificate to each other?”

“They would be man and wife, as if they
had lived together all the while. And the
| other marriages would be null and void.”

‘And if the woman chose to return and
claim her husband, would he have any right to
refuse her his name and support?”

“None whatever, if she could prove her iden-
| tity,” replied the attorney. “But now, Mrs.
Caine,” he went on, smiling his most gracious
smile, “you know we men of the law dislike
very much to answer questions in the dark. Of
course, I can see that there is a special appli-
cation of the case under discussion, and I
would say that ic would simplify matters if
you would, so to speak, make a personal ap-
plication.”

“Certainly,” she said,
is what I came here for;
in my own time.

in her cold way, “that
but I prefer to do it
I am the woman.”

Mr. Grimsey smiled in an indefinite fashion,
and rubbed his hands. It was evidently wiser
to say nothing yet, lest he should say the
wrong thing.

“T am very rich,” said Mrs. Caine, “so that

I care nothing for the support of my husband;
but I do wish his name and the right to live
under the same roof with him as his lawful
wife.”
| “TI would suppose,” ventured Mr. Grimsey,
{rubbing his hands and smiling with a most
respectful admiration, “that he would be re-
| joiced to see you return to him.”

“That is immaterial,” said Mrs. Caine,
sharply. “Can he prevent me from doing as I
wish in the matter?”

“Certainly not. Of course, he might be will-
| ing to go to law, but it could not do him any
| good, providing always the case is as simple

as you say.
pi ;

 

y and holds er} high social posi

| tion, hat mat

r. < ee Goes not steck the-tase,- And. new, ay
}E know the name of the—the gentleman who

has the honor

| “He is the Duke of Thornhill,” said Mrs.
| Caine, quietly.

| Mr. Grimsey stared at her in silence for a

second; then he puckered up his lips and

| whistled softly ; then he rubbed his hands and

smiled like a man greatly pleased.

| “It will make a great sensation,” he said.
“You will take charge of the case for me?”

| she asked.

| “You may be sure of that.

| to acknowledge you?”

| “I have not asked him to do so publicly

Does he refuse

| Privately he made no effort todo so. He has
|no suspicion that Iintend doing this. Just
|now,’ she went on, “he is suffering from a

| stroke of paralysis. At first he could not even
| talk, but he can now, and seems perfectly ra-
| tional.”
| “TI think,” said Mr. Grimsey,
| delight, “that we would
j to, Thornhill together.”
i Then?”
“This afternoon. If you will leave me all
| the papers and notes, which I see you have
there, I will read them and be prepared to ask
| you any further questions. it seems to me
|that we have a beautiful case. Are you going
ome our grace?”
|

beaming with
be wise to go down

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Ganricp BY STORM,
| By MRS. MAV AGNES FLEMING,

Author of ‘‘Norine'’s Revenge,” ‘‘Shaddeck Light,”
**Wedded, Yet No Wife,” “A Little
Queen,” Etc.

 

(“CARRIED BY STORM”
numbers can be

was commenced in No. 20.
obtained of all News Agents.}

Back

CHAPTER III,—(ContTINnNveED.)
He spends three or four New York,
among old friends and old haunts. His prin-
cipal object in coming to town is to tell his
mother the result of his proposal, and so make
anendcf that

days in

business at once and. forever;

but his mother has gone on a visit. He pro-
poses to follow her, for he knows it is a sub-
ject on which she is more than anxious; but it

is news that will keep, and he does not hurry
himself. On the evening of the third day he
sees by the bills that Miss Jenny Wild is to
give one of her character concerts, and makes
up his mind to go.

“Perhaps I shall be able to place her this
time,” he thinks, “and so get rid of her alto-
gether. I believe I was dreaming of her half
the night last night.’

So, a little after
concert, Mr.
a large and fashionable gathering.
the faces present are familiar; one lady ina
private box bows, and smiles, and beckons,
and ina ‘ w moments he is shaking hands
with Mrs. Van Rensselaer and her daughters,

“So gi lad to meet you once more, my dear

the commencement of the
Livingston saunters in, and finds
Sao of

boy,” that great and gracious lady exclaims,
“and looking so extremely sunburned and
well. Weheard you had returned with the

Ventnors, and were staying with them at that
charming villa. And how is dear Mrs. Vent-
nor, and the lovely Olga, after their prolonged
European tour?”

“Mrs. Ventnor is much as usual, and Olga
is rather lovelier than usual,” says Frank,

“And w hen are we to congratulate you, Mr.

Livingston?” says the elder Miss Van Rens-
selaer, a dé ashing and daring brunette, but not
quite so young as she used to be, “Ah, we

 

 

4

 

 

 

 

elie ll
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i

 

 

=

>

VOL. 47—N 0. Bs

 

hear more than ‘you think, we stay-at-homes.
We expected Olga would have captured a duke
at least, so many rich American girls are mak-
ing brilliant matches this year. And yet
there she is, Za belle des belles, back again and
—as we understand—unattached! But youcan
open the mysteries, no doubt.”

“T only know Olga refused half the peerage !”
says Livingston, with calm mendacity. “As
for your very flattering hints, Miss Van Rens-
selaer, you do me too much’ honor in inferring
Ihave anything todo with it. I might as

well love some bright particular star, and so
on, as my beautiful Cousin Olga. Such daugh-
ters of the gods are not for impecunious artists
like myself. Ah, here is Miss Wild, and as
Marguerite, singing the famous ‘Jewel Song.’
How well she is looking, and in what capital
voice she is to-night.”

“You have seen her before?”
Van Rensselaer inquires,

“Once before, at a concert last Monday night.
Her voice has the ringing of mountain bells,
and what pathos and dramatic force she has!
She would make a fine actress. It strikes me
Miss Wild grows on one. I like her better now
than I did even then.”

“Oh, she is lovely!’ cries Miss Brenda,
gushingly. “We are the greatest friends. She
is received by the very best people. She is.
perfectly charming in private life, and, un-

Miss Brenda

 

like most artists, always so willing to sing.
She comes to us to-night after the concert; |
mamma-has a reception. I think her drawing- |
room songs are even more beautiful than her |
stage singing.”

“Come and make her acquaintance!” says

| had gone to British Columbia.

 

Mrs. Van Rensselaer, graciously.
~“Thanks—I will,” Livingston responds.
He is exceedingly taken by Miss Wild; he|

loves music almost more than he does art, and }

her voice, her look are so sympathetic that!

they draw him irresistibly. Besides, he wants |

to discover what is that familiar look about!
her that so perplexes him now. |

“Who is Miss Wild?” he asks, as, in the}
midst of hearty applause, she quits the stage. |

“Ah! who, indeed?” returns the elder Miss}
Van Rensselaer. “Find somebody to answer |
that if you can! No one knows; she arose first |
a little pale star out West, and went on shin- |
ing and enlarging until she is the star of first |
magnitude. You see her now. Hark to the|
clapping—she will return in a moment—they |
always encore her songs. Flattering, but

rather a bore, I should think. Here she is;|

what will she give us now, I wonder?”

An hour later he stands in the Van Rens-
selaer drawing-rooms, and awaits his intro-
duction to the cantatrice. He cannot tell why
he is so vividly interested in her, unless it is
caused by that puzzling familiarity. But in-
terested and impatient he is, as he has never
been to meet any artist of the kind before.

“Mr. Livingston, Miss Wild,” says, simply,
his hostess, and he looks down into two dark,
jewel-like eyes; into a smiling face. He is
conscious of bowing and murmuring his pleas-
ure—another moment and some one else has
claimed her, and she turns—is gone.

He leoks after her with knitted brows, and
ever deepening perplexities. That tall figure,
that gentle, earnest face, those great gem-like
eyes—they are in some mysterious way as well
known to him as his own face in‘the glass.
He tries to approach her more than once as
the evening wears on, but she is always sur- |
rounded. The charm of her manner evidently
carries all before it, as well as the charm of |
her voice. =

Presently, when he is ahout to give up in
despair, he hears her singing, and makes his
way to the piano. The words she sings he has
never heard before—the air is tender and very
sweet.

 

* My darling! my darling! my darling!

Do you know how I want you to-night?

The wind passes, moaning and snarling,
Like some evil ghost on its flight.

On the wet street your lamp’s gleam shines redly,
You are sitting alone—did you start

Ast apenas Did you guess at this deadly
Chill pain in my heart?

 

“ Out here where the dull rain is falling,
Just once—just a moment—I wait; |

Did you hear the sad voieethat was calling

y , by the fa

ah, [ know, dear,

8 € uld have heard ;

hungering so, dear,

For one little word.

ti ita is€eL
It was jus
Noteven

* Ah, me! for a word that could move you,
Like a whisper of magical art! -
Tlove you! [love you! T love you!

There is no other word in my heart———”

She looks up; her eyes meet his. Has she
been conscious of his presence there all along?
Her hands strike the wrong chords; there is. a
jar and discord; a flush rises over her face;
she laughs, and suddenly breaks off.

“Oh, go on!” half a dozen voices cry; “that
is lovely.”

“Tsing it from memory,” Miss Wild says.
“It is a little poem I lit upon the other day in
a magazine, and it seemed to fit some music I
had. I will sing you something better in-
stead.” :

She sings “Kathleen Mavourneen,” and
looks no more at Frank Livingston. Hestands
wondering, and of his wonder finding no end.
He turns over absently some sheets of music
bearing her name, and as he does so, from one
of them a written pase falls. It is the song
she has broken off. Instantly he commits
petty larceny, and puts it in his pocket.

“Tt will serve as an excuse to call upon her
and restore her property,” thinks this “artful
dodger.” “Find out who she is I must, or I shall
perish miserably of curiosity.”

“Kathleen Mavourneen” is finished, and she
makes a motion to rise; but her listeners seem
insatiable.

“Only one more—one little, little one, dear
Miss Wild,” a young nay says.

She pauses, glances at Livingston’s absorbed
face, smiles, and begins, “My Ain Ingleside.”
And then, in one second, like a flash, a shock,
the truth bursts upon him. He has heard that
song before. In the drawing-room of Abbott
Wood he has heard the same voice sing it.
He stands petrified, spell-bound, breathless,
his eyes on her face. Sleaford’s Joanna! Yes,
yes, yes! the reddish, unkempt hair shining,
dark, becomingly dressed, the sweet voice
perfected, womanly, and sweet, but still—
Sleaford’s Joanna!

How it comes about he does not know, but
five minutes later he is standing with her
alone, both ber hands clasped close in his.

“Tt is,” he exclaims; “I cannot be mistaken.
It is Joanna!”

“Sleaford’s Joanna,” she answers, and tears
slowly fill her eyes, though her lips are smil-
ing. “I saw you knew me, puzzled as you
looked, and thought the old song would put
an end to your evident misery. es, Mr. Liv-
ingston, after all these years, it is Joanna.”

“And Iam the first to find you,” he says,
triumphantly, “that is a good omen. Tell me
where you live. I must come to see you, and
talk over the old days. You shall not make a
stranger of so old a friend, Joanna.”

“So old a friend!” she draws away her hands
and laughs. “Were you and I ever friends?
Ab, yes, come and see me! It does me good to
look at a Brightbrook face. And I am glad—
yes, glad, that yours is the first.”

“And that is Sleaford’s Joanna,” Livingston
thinks, going home through the city streets,
feeling dazed and in a dream; “fair, stately,
oe What will Olga say when I tell her
this?”

 

 

eee

CHAPTER IV.
“CARRIED BY STORM.”

When Mr. Frank Livingston carries his blighted af-
fections away with him from. Brightbrook and his
fair, cold cousin, Olga, it is, as has been said, withthe
intention of seeing his mother and making an end of
that, and then starting off for a summer sketching
tour, through Canada and British Columbia.

That was his intention. The last week of June is
here, and so is Mr. Livingston. Canada and British
Columbia—places misty, afar-off, unseen and unde-
sired. Three weeks have come and gone; warm,
dusty weeks, and every day of these twenty-one days
has seen him by the side of Miss Jenny Wild, and for
more hours a day than he cares to count.

Miss Wild is still singing—not every night, but one
or two evenings a week. She is a favorite with the
_ musical public, and her concerts are always well at-

a

 

 

 

tended, On the nights she sings, a slender and ex-
ceedingly handsome young man may be observed in
one of the front seats, drinking in with entranced
looks every note of that sweet, bell-like voice. Miss
Wild on the stage, in trailing silks and stage ad-
juncts, is a very imposing and graceful person.

She has a face that lights up well, dark, pale, and
clear; great star-like eyes, and the most beautiful
swwile and teeth—the young gentleman in the front
seat thinks—in all the world. She is hardly hand-
solme—at times she is positively plain; but yet there
are others, when, finshed and sparkling with excite-
ment and applause, her dark eyes shining, she is
brilliantly attractive. She possesses, in an eminent
degree, that magnetic unknown grace. quite apart
from beauty, and called fascination. Her swile en-
chants; her eyes hold you; her voice haunts you;
her tricks and graces of manner captivate before you
know it. Where the charm exactly lies no one can
tell, not her most bewitched admirer; but it is there,
subtile and irresistible. The tones of her voice, the
words she says and sings, the light of her eyes, and
her simile linger in the memory of men after lovelier
women are forgotten. Perhaps it is a little in her
abounding vitality, her joyous life, her lavish large-
ness of heart, that has room and to spare for all who
come. Friends, admirers, lovers, if you will, she has

| many, and foremost among them Frank Livingston.

For Frank Livingston to be in love, or what he calls
such, is no new experience. He has loved many
women, and been cared for, more or less, a good deal
inturn, Handsome, trsouciant, inconstant, he is yet
a gallant and gracious young fellow, for whose faults
fair flirts are quite as much to blame as his own in-
trinsic infidelity. Three weeks ago a young lady re-
fused him—at present he is the ardent admirer of an-
other. In any case he would have taken his rejection
with philosophy, and consoled himself promptly—
possibly with some good-looking young squaw, if he
He has not gone to
that chilly land,-and Miss Jenny Wild, the song-
stress, has found favor in my lord’s sight. She
bewitehes him-—-her force of character, her great
popularity, the number of his rivals, the evident

| preterence she shows him, turn his head. He ignores

past and future, he lives in the present—in the sun-
light of those dark, entrancing eyes, He spends
every. afternoon hy her side, in the park, in the

) Streets, in her parlor. He sketches her in half a hun-

dred attitudes—he is
tectly happy.

For Miss Wild—well, Livingston cannot quite make
her out. Her eyes and smile welcome him always;
she takes his bouquets, she sings him the songs he
likes. Her doors are open to him when closed to all
the rest of the world. And something in all this
puzzles him. If it were any one else, it would be
most encouraging preference; but this is Joanna,
and Joanna is different. He does not understand
her. He is by no means sure of what her answer
would be, if he were inclined to speak to-morrow.
She likes him—yes, of that there can be no doubt;

painting her portrait—he is per-

| but if he were to say, “Joanna, will you be my

wife?” he has very strong doubts of what her
answer would be. But he really has no intention of
asking any such thing. The present is delightful;
itis charming to be with her—that suffices. To-day
is good—why lift the vail that hides to-morrow ?
To be epris is one thing, to ask the lady to marry
one is another.

* * ¥ *

* ,

*

“And so to night is your last appearance for the
summer ?” he says, “aud you all go to your Newport
cottage to-morrow? Well, New York is no longer
habitable, of course; but what an elysium I have
found it for the past month! I, too, shall go to New-
port, Joanna!”

“And that sketching and hunting tour in British
Columbia? And that visit to your anxious mamma?
What of them ?” she asks, laughing.

They sit alone in the cool, green-shaded parlor,
Joanna doing lace-work, Frank on an ottoman more
or less at her feet, with the Browning he has been
reading aloud tellingly, on his knee.

“I must see my mother,” he answers, frowning
impatiently, “but it will be a flying visit. As for
British Columbia—well, British Columbia will al-
ways be there, and other summers will come. But
the chance of going to Newport—in this way—may

| not_oceur again.”

“I think it had better not occur now. Start on
that visit to Mrs. Livingston to-morrow, and take
train from there to Montreal. It will be best, be-
lieve me. You have hada surfeit of Newport and
surf bathing, I should think, before now.”

“Neither Newport nor strf bathing will be novel-
ties, certainly. But I donot go for them—you know
that. Do you forbid me to follow, Joanna ?”’

“Why should [?” she says, and her dark eyes rest
onhim a moment. ‘“[like you to be with me. No,
do not say anything complimentary, please—I was
not angling for that; I mean whatI say. Jt brings
back the old times and the faces I seem to have lost
out of my lite. That past isa dark memory enough,
and yet it holds good things—Mrs. Abbott, Geoffrey,
and dear little Leo. Iecan never regret its pain when

11 think of them.”

“And does it hold no one else?” he asks, jealously

“Ah, you were no frichnd of mine in those days.
not deny it—-I have anexcelient meinory for
fer nie iw-that dtsofate thee
were not among them. Wiiy snoittia jo
{ was only an ugly and uncouth creature, rude
manner, and look, and speech. i was not oi
worid then. Lam not now. No, the gap is not bridged
over yet. Do you think I do not know itt—do you
think [ do not know it can never be? Iam a singer,
Iam popular, I make money, if that is all—fashion-
able people like Mrs. Van Kensselaer ask me to their
parties because I sing and amuse their guests. But
I am nameless, homeless, a vagabond, and a wan-
derer. And to know whom [amis the one unsatis-
tied desire, the one ceaseless longing of my heart.
Surely I must have a name—surely in some veius the
same blood must flow. There were the Sleafords—I
do not know to this day whether they were related
to me or not.”

‘«*4 little more than kin, and less than kind,’”
Livingston quotes. ‘What does it matter, Joanna?

w ie YAPren

Will your eyes, that are lo
Will your heart, once 80

Ah! darling, stoop down
And tell ine to live.”

ing, stilllove me?
tender, forgive?
trom above me

“T love you! IT love you! I
rising, takes both her ha
“Joanna, Llove you! J
J think, but to-night you h:
storm!”

She does not speak.

love you!” he cries, and
Iways have trom the first,
vve carried my heart by

within.

“My darling, stoop down from above me and tell |
‘do you hear, Joanna ?—I |

me to live!” he repeats;
love you! Ttell you, you have carried my heart, as
you do your audience, by storm!”

She stands silent. But the hands he clasps are not
withdrawn; the sweet, dark, tender eyes do not
droop—they are fixed on his face.

“Silence is consent!’ he gayly eries. He draws a
ring off his little finger and slips it on one of hers.
“f bind you with this,’ he says, ‘for to-night; to-
morrow I will bring you a better.”
= tries to clasp her, but she draws suddenly

ack.

“Oh, do not!’ she exclaims, almost in a voice of
pain. ; :

They are the first words she has spoken, and there
is a tone akin to terror in them. But she smiles a
moment after and looks down at the ring.

“You are all my own,” he says; “I love you and I
claim you. Wear that until to-morrow. My darling,
you sang and looked like an angel to-night.”

“Supperish waiting,” says the stolid German voice
of stout Madame Ericson} “you had better come.”

They go, and Livingston quenches his fever and
excitement in iced champagne.

Somewhere in the small hours the little party |
breaks up, and he goes home through the summer |
moonlight, full of triumph and exultation, still hum- |

ming softly to himself the haunting words of the
song. }
But long after he is asleep, long after she is for-

gotten, even in his dreams, Joanna sits in her room, |
and watches the slender yellow July moon lift itself |
over the black, silent streets, full of troubled pain |

and unrest.
“Carried by storm,’

:

she repeats to herself; ‘‘ear-

ried his heart by storm! Ah! Frank Livingston, is |

it your heart, your faney, your excitable imagination
—what? But whatever it is, my love—my love, I
love you!” }

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

ie

his Story Will Not be Pulsed in Bot-For,

t | Not be Publ
Tempted Lo Leave Her Love.

LIRE ROMANCE OF LILLIE GOLDIE.

By JULIA EDWARDS,
Author of ‘*“‘He Loves’ Me, He Loves Me Not,”
“The Little Widow,” “Prettiest of All,”
‘Beautiful, but Poor,” Etc.

_ (TEMPTED TO LEAVE HER LOVER” was commenced
in No. 11. Back numbers can be obtained of all News
Agents. |

CHAPTER LVI.
9
A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER.

Rupert had had a most refreshing sleep, and woke
early in the morning, feeling almost well.
dreamily in his berth for a few minutes until he re-
cognized something peculiar in the motion of the
yacht, and suddenly realized that it must be at
anchor in mid-ocean.

Instantly he sprang out of his berth and dressed
hastily and went on deck. The pretty captain of the
vessel was already there, and greeted him with a
melancholy smile, the meaning of which he could not
cowprehend.

‘We are being overhauled by a steam-tug,” she
said, pointing te that vessel.

“T don’t understand,” he replied.

“I only half do,” she said. “‘But we shall be in-
formed in a few minutes. It won't take her long to
come up now.”

And in’ fact the tug was within ten minutes of ‘the

 

 

| and left you to find a dector.

 

You have hosts of friends who love you for yourself.
You bave made a-name the world honors. Why re-
gret what you may be better without knowing ?”’

Her work has dropped, her hauds clasp her knees
as she leans forward, in the old fashion he remem-
bers; her great eyes look dreamy, and wistful, and
far off.

“Tf would give half my life to know. T will never
rest until [ know. The Sleafords I have lost sight
of; even Lora had left, and gone West before I had
reached Brightbrook. For the boys—it is doubtful if |
they could tell me anything, evenif I found them.
The secret of ny life Giles Sleaford alone held, and
he carried it with him into the grave. I would give
all I possess to know. You cannot understand this
—you who have always had name, and home, and re-
lations, and love—this ceaseless heart-hunger for |
some one to whom we belong. Ah, well! it is folly |
to sigh over the inevitable.. But all the same, it
leaves me to-day what I was six years ago, and you
—you had much better be wise, and go to Canada,
and shoot moose! The past weeks have been pleas-
ant—yes—but they are over. Say good-by to-morrow,
and do not come to Newport.”

“T shall never be wise if that is wisdom,” he says,
coolly. “I aim always happiest when with you. Let
me be happy in my own way. I shall make that
filial visit, of course—that cannot be postponed—
but T shall return and spend my summer at New-

ort. :

Phe smiles and says no more. She resumes her
work, and he his Browning. If Livingston cannot
understand her, neither can she understand herself.
All her life he has been in her eyes something differ-
ent from other men. In ber ignorant youth he was
the “Prince Charming” of her fairy tales. In her
dreamy girlhood a sHght,a word from him could
stab her as no other had power to stab. She does
not understand why this should be—she only knows
itisso. There is no reason why she should care for
him. There are a hundred good and sound ones
why she should not. The fact remains—she does
eare for him; she will care for him possibly to her
life’s end! .

That night is Miss Wild’s last appearance for the
season, and that night the house is thronged with
her admirers and friends. That night she is brilliant
as she has never been brilliant before, as she never
will be again, for it is the very last time she will ever
face an audience! But though she does not know it,
some thrilled, excited feeling sends a streaming
light into her eyes, a deep flush into her too-pale
cheeks, a ringing sweetness and power into her
voice.

She sings as she has never sung before. She bears
her audience away—she is recalled again and again,
flowers are flung to her, the theater rings with ex-
cited applause. Foremost—wholly carried away, is
Frank Livingston. Always excitable, the success of
to-night turns his head. She is bewitching—she is a
very queen of song—she is radiant in her triumph—
she is irresistible! Head and heart are in a tumult
—this is love, and he will win her—this bewildering
wolnan, who turns the brains of all men!

It is all over—it has been an ovation—and they are
in her rooms—Herr Ericson and madam his wife, the
Italian baritone, and Frank. In her trailing silks
and laces, with sapphire ornaments, she looks abso-
lutely handsome—she looks like a goddess in Living-
ston’s dazzled eyes. They are alonein one of the
softly lit rooms—her piano stands open, but it is he
who strikes the silvery chords, looking up with eyes
that flash in her smiling face. Itis he who sings, in
an excited, exultant voice, the little song he pur-
loined, the song he first heard her sing at Mrs. Van
Rensselaer’s party :

“Do you think I am ever without you?
Ever lose for an instant your face,
Or the spell that breathes alway about you,
Of your subtile, ineffable grace?
Why, even to-night, put away, dear,
From the light of your eyes though I stand,
I feel as I linger and pray, dear,
The touch of your hand.

“Ah, me! for a word that could move you
Like a whisper of magical art!
I love you! I love you! I love you!

 

There is no other word in my heart.

Witch, and

e, S46 that Dick might go aboard the

Sea : presentiy dropped one of its boats

De | yacut..
the few | “4s tu

. Morgan I see?’ he cried almost before
; he

: : aE
looking auxiously and euri
“My name is Daniels. I found you on
You were gone when I
came back, but Inamost extraordinary way I dis-
ae that you must have been taken ou board this
yacht.” te

“How could you have learned that?’ demanded
Bess, in astonishment.

“A most wonderful detective by the name of Nick
Carter worked it out forme. I will tell you all about
it some other time.” ‘

“Lillie knows?” eried Rupert, who had listened im-
patiently to Dick’s words of explanation.

ae '” cried Dick, **I have dreadful news to tell
of her.” :

“In mercy, tellme without delay!” gasped Rupert.
“Did Mortimer Wallingford——”

“She is now ona yachtin his company, sailing in
these waters,” said Diek, despondently.

“Oh, Heaven!” eried Rupert, ina tone of agony.

“She chartered a yacht to seek you the instant she
knew you had come on the Sea Witch, thinking you
might be dying, though we hoped for the best. Mor-
timer Wallingford must have been on the watch. At
any rate he sailed with her.”

“The vengeance of Heaven be ont
cried Rupert. ‘What can be done?’

“Tf chartered the steam-tug which you see there for
the purpose of seeking for her, and [ have sworn to
kill that wretch if he has done her any harm.”

“Then let us loseno time,” cried Rupert, his voice
expressing the agony of his soul better than any
words could have done. ‘Captain Bess,’ he said,
turning to where she stood, her beautiful face pale
and sad, “you will forgive ine, [am sure, if 1 refuse
your kind hospitality for any longer time. I must
board the steamer and go in pursuit of my love. I
may never see you again, butl hope you will believe
that I shall never forget your humanity and good-
ness to me.” :

“T deserve no thanks,’ she said,inalow tone.
“But we will not say good-by, for I, too, will go in
pursuit of the yacht, and it may be that I shall find it.
{ hope with all my heart that we shall meet again.”

Rupert bowed low over the dainty little hand that
was held out to him, but he never suspected that he

vas taking with him the happiness of the beautiful
creature he was leaving.

“T beg pardon,” said the sailing-master, coming up
at that moment, “but the people on the tug are point-
ing to a yacht to the north of us.”

Immediately all eyes were directed thither. Rupert
and Dick exchanged glances in which hope, despair,
and revenge were mingled.

“Tt must be the one we seek,’ cried Dick.
quickly!’

Bidding those on the Sea Witch a hasty adieu,
Rupert dropped into the little boat that tossed
lightly on the waves by the side of the yacht. Dick
followed, and in a few minutes they were aboard the
tug and were steaming in the direction of the yacht.

Captain Bess, swallowingher grief at parting with
Rupert, gave orders quietly to overtake the yacht.

The wind was fair and the Sea Witch was. as we
know, a good sailer, so thatshe was not far behind
the tug in the race.

As for the other yacht, it had not yet caught sight
of the pursuers, who were not even certain that it
was the yacht they sought. And so the minutes flew
by, Dick telling Rupert everything he could think of
about the events of recent occurrence, and about
those of more distant date of which he was ignorant.

It was a time of agony and doubt for Rupert, but
he would not permit himself to despair.

“Tt may not be the yacht we seek,” he said once to
Dick, ‘‘and we may search the waters of the ocean in
vain. but as long as life lasts [ will seek my love, and
I will some day find her. Something tells me so. As
for Mortimer Wallingford, if he fallsinto my hands I
will wreak a terrible vengeance on him.”

It was a long chase, and it was alinost two o’clock
before they were within hailing distance of the yacht,
which seemed to be taking no notice of their ap-
proach. And yet that was notthe case. The sailing-
master had been watching the tug and the Sea
Witch, though without any uneasiness, for he knew
no cause for apprehension, and he had gone to Wal-
lingford.

“There's a tugand a yacht evidently following us,”
he said.

Wallingford, who had seemed to be transformed all
at once into a sullen, brooding madman. answered by
an oath, and the man had gone away shrugging his
shoulders, and had said to the mate:

“The boss must have been mad in love with that
young woman, for he is nigh to losing his mind.
Hasn’t said a word nor tasted a morsel since.”

“Yes, and he’d a gone over after her if we hadn’t
stopped him,’ said the mate.

“And how furiously he cursed us for not letting
him !” said the sailing-master. ‘‘For my part, I shall
be glad when the yoyage is over. I don’t feel com-
fortable.”

“She was arare beauty to lose,” said the mate. ‘TI
wonder what those vessels are trying to do!”

‘We'll find out within an hour,’ said the sailing-
master.

hat scoundrel!”

“Come

dsin his feverish clasp. |

His flushed face, glowing |
eyes, and ringing voice, hardly lowered as he speaks |
the passionate words, tell her of the wild excitement |

He lay |

answer, Captain Bess; —
isly On. |

the beach |

Later on Wallingford came out of the cabin, and
the men all shrank from hin when they saw his blaz
Ing eyes and his ghastly pallor. He looked back at

| the tug and the yacht, and something like a satanic
lJaugh broke from his lips.

“Do you know what yacht thatis?’ he asked the

| sailing-master.

“Tt’s the Sea Witch.

| sand.”

“{ thought it must be.’”’ muttered Wallingford. ‘“‘See
here, captain,” he said in a voice hoarse and dry, ‘1
want you to let the yacht come alongside before the
| tug does. Ifancythey both wish to. I have a—an
acquaintance on the yacht, [ think.”

The sailing-master shuddered in spite of himself at
the expression and tone of Wallingford.

“All right, sir,” he answered. “I can come about
now, and dodge the tug. See! they are hailing us.

Wallingford looked a moment, and then leaped into
the cabin and brought out a Sea-glass and examined
the tug through it.

“It is he,” he hissed through his teeth. ‘Good!
let him come. Lillie is gone, and we will follow her.
But he shall suffer first. Let the tug come alongside!”’
he ordered the sailing-master.

The latter looked his surprise at this change of
order, but discreetly held his tongue, thinking that a
madman was betterobeyed than disputed with.

Wallingford felt in his pocket, smiling like a demon
as he did so, and then removed big hand like one
satisfied with what he had found. He stood erect,
watching the tug as it swept nearer and nearer, and

Vd know her among a thou-

as he saw that those on the tug were studying him
throngh their glasses.

 

| little row-boat let down from the side of the tug, but
| Stood erect and sneering all the while that it sped
toward him.

them with a glance of bitter nate, to say to the sail-
| ing-master:

‘Give them every assistance to come on board.”
Rupert.

look in his stern eyes.

“T can see him smiling as if he had foiled us,’ |
“Heaven's mercy be |

answered Rupert, in alow tone.
with him if he has done aught to my darling!”
“He ean have done nothing,” f‘
ingly.
“You do not know him as I do,”
“My heart misgives me!”
The very courtesy of their reception by the sailing-
master, While Wallingford stood silent, with that

dread.

the sailing-master.

“T will answer that and all questions,” interposed
Wallingford, quickly, and in so peremptory a tone
that the sailing-master shrugged his shoulders and
remained silent. “So,” went ou Wallingford, turning

and strode forward, ‘‘you are looking for my wife.”

him with blazing eyes, ‘‘you know that thatis an in-
famy that was never consummated. I defeated your
vile plots then, and [ shall do so now.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Wallingford with diabolical
ree “do you mean that you will take Lillie from
me?’

“IT mean that,” replied Rupert, steadily. ‘Mr.
Daniels, go into the cabin and seek her. I will see
that this scoundrel does not interfere with you.”

Wallingford put out his hand scornfully.

“Do you think I would ever have let you come
aboard here alive if she had been here ?””

“IT saw her come on board,’ cried Dick, with a
triumphant air.

“And Isawher go off again,” said Wallingford,
somberly.

“Ah,” cried Rupert, ‘do not think to palter with
me, Mortimer Wallingford.
and you shall] tellme. Ihave you in my power and
you shall answer for my darling.”

“Yes,” anda strange smile flitted overthe dark,
forbidding face, “I know where Lillie is, and I will
tell’ you, but not because [I fear
Rupert Morgan, thatI despise you utterly.
victim of my superior address.
Do you ask where Lillie is ?”’

1 demand to know,’ replied Rupert, with superb
dignity.

Mortimer Wallingford’s face lighted up with a ter-
rible expression at once of mad love and demoniac
hate, and he slowly motioned with his right hand
toward the sea.

“Tillie is there!’ he said. ‘She preferred the cold
embrace of the ocean to mine, and she sought it last
night. And now, Rupert Morgan,” he cried, fiercely,
and passionately, ‘‘you shall join her, and I will go
with you.”

And before any one could anticipate him, and try
to check him, he snatched a revolver froin his pocket
and leveled it full at the heart of Rupert Morgan.

port rang outsharp and clcar, and Rupe

it and fell to the deck, @ lond gery jssuing

And I foil you now.

 

et

Is
‘And eried
I 8 head,

unknown
muzzle to hi

into the
pointing the

ow liow him
Vallngford, and
aid pressing it close, he pulled the trigger.
There was .a flash, a stunning report, a wild fery,
and the soul of Mortimer Wallingford had gone to
seek its outraged Maker.

n a
y ;

CHAPTER LVII.
TELLING THE TERRIBLE TRUTH.
The Sea Witch had followed elose after the tug,

skimming before the wind like a great, white-winged
bird; but it had not been near enough to board the
other yacht at the same time as Rupert and Dick.

of the latter, however, and bad watched them
naked eye.

She had seen the two men standing face to face
with threatening mien, and something seemed to
whisper that evil portended. Quickly she made up
her mind how to act.

“Let the Sea Witch run close alongside,” she com-
manded.

“Close ?”’ queried the sailing-master.

“Till she touches,” replied Captain Bess, almost
angrily.

The young sailor did not comprehend what his

go through the other yacht, itis more than likely
that he would have obeyed; for his secret was that
he worshiped her, and would have done anything to
tind favor in her eyes.

Alas! how many hearts there are that go aching
through life! There was Bess, who adored another
in vain, and by her very side breathed a noble young
sailor who would have held his life cheap as the price
of one loving smile from her.

But Rupert did not know of the love he had won,
and Bess did know that her young sailing-master
was her slave. She knew it, and she had laughed at
it before. Perhaps there was a trace of pity in her
heart now.

He was a handsome fellow, and as he stood there
on deck that morning and gave the orders that sent
the Sea Witch dashing toward the other yacht, he
might well have won the regard of a princess.

But the eyes of Bess were only for Rupert. She
watehed him, and knew by his manner that he was
having hard words with the dark-browed stranger,
who stood before him like another Lucifer.

She even noticed a convulsive movement of the
hand of Wallingford toward his coat-pocket, and she
essayed to ery out a word of warning to Rupert, but
it was too late; and almost as the sides of the two
yachts touched, the man she loved tossed up his arms
and fell prone upon the deck.

With a ery of horror Dick saw Wallingford per-
form the double deed of crime, and then stooped to
take up the body of Rupert; but before his hands
could touch him he was thrust aside and a loud wail
fell upon his ear.

Bess had leaped like a fawn from her own yacht
to the deck of the other, and had cast herself upon
the body of Rupert.

‘Dead! dead! dead!” she wailed, taking the hand-
some head in her lap and covering the white, set
face with frenzied kisses. ‘

Dick drew back in dismay. Why was this woman
by his side, bemoaning his death?

“Why did. you not save him?” she cried, with the
fierceness of a tigress deprived of her young. “You
stood here by his side and never moved. Oh, why
was I not here in time? The bullet should have
found a home in my breast ere ever it touched
him.”

“My dear young lady!” stammered the grief-
stricken man. ‘Are you sure his wound is fatal?’

“What! she cried, with a sudden hope. ‘Can it
be possible? Oh, yes, it must be; Heaven would
never be so cruel. Why do you stand there? Come
to him and find outif life still remains. Oh, I will
not let him die! Heaven be thanked, he opens his
eyes!”

“It was indeed true. He had opened his eyes. and
they fell upon the beautiful face bending over him.

“Oh, Lillie, my darling!’ he moaned, and again
consciousness left him.

“Where is she?’ demanded Bess of Dick.
is she for whom he asks ?”’

“Dead—drowned !” was the melancholy answer.

Who can tell what thoughts flashed through the
mind of Bess at that intelligence, which let her know
that the one woman on earth she feared was taken
from her path ?

“Cut away his coat,” she said softly to Dick, ‘Let
us see where he is wounded. He may recover.
Gently!”

Dick wondered at the sudden light of contentment
that shone in the beautiful eyes of Bess, but without
stopping to guess the reason, stooped over Rupert
and with his penknife cut away the coat from the
side.

He removed the vest and shirt where it was dis-
colored by the blood that had flowed, and the noble
chest was laid bare.

“The wound is slight,’”’ said Dick. “Iam not skilled

“Where

 

he showed his gleaming teeth through his white lips |

He did not change his position when he saw the}

_He had recognized Dick as well as Rupert im the }
little boat, and he only turned from contemplating |

“He sees us, and recognizes us,” Dick whispered to |

Rupert was pale as death, but there was a terrible |

t said Dick, feassur- |
‘How could he, with all those men aboard 2” |
answered Rupert. |

sneering smile on his dark face, added to Rupert’s |

‘Is there a young lady aboard?’ he demanded of |
|

and facing Rupert and Dick, who had leaped on deck |

“Base, lying wretch!’ cried Rupert, confronting |

You know where she is, !

you; for know, |
: I have}
foiled you from first to last, making you the foolish |

Captain Bess had not lost any of the movements |

through her glass at first, and afterward with the |

young mistress wished, but if his orders had been to |

|in such matters, but the bullet must have struck a
{rib and glanced off. It is plainly seen just under
the skin.”

‘*Heaven bless you for those words of hope!” eried
Bess, bestowing a heavenly smile on Dick.

Then she turned her head and saw that her yacht
was near by.

“Tell my yacht to come closer,” she said to Dick,
“Or, stop! have out one of the boats of this vessel,
and we will take him on the Sea Witch. You are
his friend and you will come with us, will you not?”

So it was done as she said, and Rupert was carried
aboard the Sea Witch and placed in his former berth.
Then the old boatswain attended to him onee more,
and pronounced him in no very bad way.

“He must’afainted because he wasn't quite himself
yet. That an’ the loss of blood,” he said.

And that seemed to be the truth, for when he pres-
enlty came to consciousness again, he seemed to be
on the road to rapid recovery, But there was a set-
tled melancholy in his face tnat was terrible to see.

‘“T did not dream it,” he said to Dick in a low voice.
“It was true what he said to me.”

Dick would have been glad to let him hope, but he
had asked some of the sailors on the yacht, and they
had corroborated the words of Wallingtord.

“Tt is true,” be answered, gently. “I asked some
of the men.”

“Telliue about it,” said Rupert,

“Not now,” pleaded Dick, ‘‘Wait until you are
stronger.”

*‘Alas!” said Rupert, “I am only too strong now.
If I could only find death by hearing of her. how
gladly would I hail it! But, no, [ must live and
suffer. Whereis he?’

_ “He ended his own life after, as he supposed, tak-
ing yours. Only the buliet he chose for himself was
| fatal.”

**Tell me about Lillie,” said Rupert, after a pause.

‘There is little to tell. Wallingford presented him-
self to her, and told her no doubt that she was in his
| power. She appealed to the men, but they had been
made to believe thatshe was his wife, and they woutd
not interfere. After that he did not molest her until
after night had fallen, when he endeavored to em-
brace her, and she leaped into the sea rather than
submit to his hateful’ touch.”

“Wretch!” groaned Rupert.

“The men say he was frantic after he saw what he
had caused her to do, and tried to leap in after her;
| but the storm was raging at the time, and they would
not permit him to do so.”

“Did they not try to save her?”

“Oh, yes, they came about and searched the place
all night and the next morning, hoping to find at
least her body.” :

Rupert knew there was no more to be said, and he
closed his eyes and, with a look of awful agony on
| his handsome features, turned his face toward the
side of the yacht.
| Dick left him and went up on deck. Mrs. Crofton
| was there, and greeted him kindly. She had been
| told of some of the details of the tragedy, and more
| than once. regretted that she had done anything to
| bring it about; for she felt that if she had not said
anything to Rupert, he would not have induced Bess
to turn back.

She had said as much to Bess, but Bess had looked
; at her with a strange smile on her pretty face, and
| had said:
| . “Who ean tell whatis for the best? I should have
| been angry if I had known at the time that you had
| interfered with wy plans, but I am not angry now;
| for he is here, and he is free. It will be strange if I
do not nake him love me. Only do not try to come
between him and me again, Croftie. I love him so.
that IL would be like an angry lioness, and would rend
whoever tried to separate us.”

“IT would be glad to help you, now,” Mrs. Crofton
| had said.

While Dick was talking sadly with Mrs. Crofton,
Bess beckoned him to her.

“How is he?” she asked.

“He is well enough in body, butsorely ill in mind,”
answered Dick, remembering the words of bitter
grief this beautiful girl had uttered in the abandon-
ment of her first agony. :

“What do youmean ?” asked Bess, look him steadily
in the eyes.

“T mean,’ said Dick, gently, for he felt. for her,
‘that he has lost ali that is dear to him in this world,
and he prays for death.”

“Did you know her—Goldie Lisle ?”” asked Bess.

“She was the dearest friend of myself and wife—an
angel on earth,” answered Dick, wiping away a tear
that fell upon his cheek.

“Will you tell me about her, and—him?’ asked
Bess. ‘I don’t ask for anything I ought not to know;
but I would like to know of their love.”

“Yes,” answered Dick, *‘I will tell you all I know.”

 

CHAPTER LVIII.
BETROTHED TO BESS,

Rupert must have fallen asleep from the effects of
the opiate given him by the old boatswain. He
slept long and heavily, and when he awoke he could
not comprehend what had happened to him.

Nothing seemed to be the same. There was no mo-
tion of the yacht, and there was none of that peculiar

that beior ips

 

i odor 7s to sh

v re

lin 2 marrow berth ¢
1 turns without either f
. the side of the yacht.

And when he opened his eyes, it was to discover
that he was in a luxuriously furnished chamber, and
that he was. lying in a wide bed amid snow-white
sheets.

**Where aim I?” he muttered to himself.

There was a faint rustle, and in a second he was
looking up into the face of Captain Bess. No, not
Captain Bess any more, but a simply dressed young
lady, who looked down into his eyes with the tender-

| est solicitude.
| “You are in my home, Mr. Morgan,” she said, in a
| low, soft tone. ‘‘You have been introduced to papa,
only you didn’t know it at the time. He was very
glad to have you come here to get well. Do you not
| feel better?
| “Much better, thank you.”
| “The doctor said you weuld be. We have hada
| real doctor this time. -1 wouldn’t leave you in the
hands of our amateur doctor any longer than I could
| help.”
| “Oh, why did you save my life again ?” he moaned.

Her face grew very white, but there was a gentle
smile on her lips as she answered.

“JT could not let you die. I wanted you to live, to
make some one happy, perhaps, if you would.”

“No one will ever be happier for me,” he said,
sadly.

“You do notknow,” sheanswered, softly. “Do you
| feel well enough to get up?”

“Yes, indeed, and I beg you will permit me.”

“Permit! Oh, we do not permit anythin: here,”
she answered. ‘‘We are only too glad of the oppor-
tunity toserve you. You have only to express a wish,
and it shall be gratified.”

“You are too kind,’’ he answered, and he could not
help but feel it pleasant that this sweet-faced, soft-
voiced creature should be so anxious for his welfare.

She left him, and a man-servant came and helped
him to dress. New garments had been procured to
take the place of those that had been rendered use-
less by the wounds he had received.

Afterward he made his way down stairs and was
met in the hall by Bess.

“You are still weak,” she said, with grateful tender-
ness.

‘*A little,” he answered.

“If you would lean on me.” she said, eagerly, and
then as she noted his amused sinile, “Oh, you think
jam only a weak little woman! Now, [ insist that
you shall lean on me,” and with a pretty playfulness
she made him put his arm on her shoulder.

She took him into the conservatory, saying that she
thought it would be the next best thing to being in
the open air.

This was the first day, but other days followed, and
each one Bess did something to make the time pass
pleasantly. And he seemed to know that she was not
merely nursing his bodily bealth back, but was trying
to cure his bereaved heart of its woe.

He knew that could never be. He had given his
whole heart and soul into the keeping of Lillie, and
never again in this life could he hope to know real
happiness.

No one could help being charmed by Bess, who, in-
deed, had a most wonderful faculty of pleasing, and
Rupert felt his heart warm toward her as toward a
younger sister, so that his eyes always lighted up
when she came near him, and it was always a pleasure
to him to hear her musical voice and soft, fiute-like
laugh.

And so the days went by. He urged more than
once that he was quite well enough to go away, and,
indeed, would have been glad to go where he could
bury himself in solitude and there nurse his sorrow.

But no one would listen to suchathing. Bess’s
father declared he would put a guard over him if he
hinted such a thing, and Bess, more by looks and
coaxing ways, begged hii to stay a little longer.

Then came a day which was a terrible one in the
life of Rupert Morgan. He had wandered into the
library for a book, and had seated himself in a cur-
tained corner of the great bay-window.

He fell into a doze there and did not wake up until
he was aroused by voices in the adjoining room. He
had no notion of hearing anything private, or he
would at once have announced himself; so he sat
there lazily waiting for them to finish and go away.

Then came words that rooted him to the spot, and
he could not let them know that he had heard what
it was never intended that he should hear.

“Oh, Croftie !’’ he heard the tuneful voice of Bess
say wailingly, ‘‘he will never love me. I would die
to win a little portion of his love, but it can never be.
He is true to the memory of his dead love, and he
does not even see that I am perishing for one little
word or look.”’

‘*‘My poor Bess!” said Mrs. Crofton, sympathetically.
“But you must not despair. Remember that he owes

| you his life twice over, and that you have some claim
on him.”

“No, no,” sobbed Bess, “I will not have any claim
on him. [free him from all that. And yet, it I
, could but call him husband, I would do anything. I
would not ask his love. Only a little, little bit. And
I love him so much that I could surely make him
happy. I would not want him to forget her he

ould not make two
ig Out or coming up against

a

a@iilt

 

 

 

 

Nor was he any longer | |

 

 
le NER epee

 

 

 

 

VOL, 47—No, 35.

cay THE NEW Y

 

RK WEEKLY. #3 —

 

mourns. I even love him the more for his faithful-
ness to her.” .

“But this unrequited love is killing you, my
Bess,’ said Mrs. Crofton, sadly. ‘I can see what no
other eye seenis to. Your cheeks are growing paler,
and your eyes shine with alight that is not of this
world. You will die, and he will be the cruel cause,”
she said, bitterly.

“But I shall be glad to die,” said Bess, cheerfully.
“Do you think I would care to live and know that [
could not have him by my side? Oh, you do not
know whai love is if you think so.”

Great drops of perspiration broke out on the fore-
head of the listener in the library. What was this
he had learned? Bess loved him, and was breaking
her heart because he could not give her any love in
return

He shut lis ears that he might hear no more, butit
Was needless; for Bess’s father entered the room at
that moment and presently took the two ladies away
with him to look at a new horse he had been buying.

Then Rupert stole away from the library and shut
himself up in his own room. He could not bear that
any one should see him until he had learned to com-
pose his features after what he had heard.

For long hours he paced his room. pondering what
he haa heard, his face growing whiter and whiter,
and alook of despair coming into his eyes. But
tinally the battle was fought, and he told the result
ina few words.

“Why should I deny her the little happiness that I
can give? My life is nothing to me, and is inuch to
her. Itshall be givento her. If you know and un-
Ere my Lillie, you will say that I am doing
right.”

That evening, after dinner, he was alone with
Bess’s father, according to the custom of the house,
when the ladies retired to the drawing-room and lett
the two gentlemen with their wine and cigars.

“T have enjoyed your hospitality very much,” Ru-
pert began.

“Not more than we have your company,” said
Bess’s father, heartily.

**Perhaps,” weuton Rupert, drawing a deep breath,
“you willthink, by what I am going to say, that I
wish to make an ill requital for it.”

“Tut! Um notafraid of that. You're not in need
ofany money,eh? You've only to say the word. my
boy. My purse as well as my heart is open te you.”

“No,” answered Rupert, gravely, “I have far more
money than I know what to do with.”

“Glad to hear that. Money isn’t a thing to be des-
pised.”

“What Ido wish from yoti is the hand of your
daughter in imarriage—that is, providing she will
have me.”

The old gentleman pursed up his lips as if to
whistle, but seemed to change his mind, and did not
doso.

“What an old fool I am!” he eried, striking the
table with his hand. ‘I might have known that's
how it would end. Well, I won't pretend I don’t like
it, for I do.
as glad to give her to.

been afraid more than once she would fall in love |
Not but

with that handsome sailing-master of hers.
what I'd have said yesif she wanted him, but you suit
me exactly, and now [ think of it Pshaw! go and
ask her, wy boy! go and ask her!”

(fO BE CONTINUED.)

——ene oe

This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form,

Beautiful Viola,

THE CLOAK-MAKER’S MODEL;
DID SHE MARRY FOR LOVE?

By JULIA EDWARDS,

AUTHOR OF
“Tempted to Leave Her Lover,”’ ‘“‘He Loves Me,
He Loves Me Not,” ‘‘Beautiful, but Poor,”
“The Little Widow,” Etc.

(“‘ BEAUTIFUL VIOLA” was commenced in No. 25.
numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.]

Back

CHAPTER XXIV.—(ContTINUED.)
“He is not i?” again demanded Viola, ina
voice full of piteous entreaty.
“No, he wa

quite well,” he answered _

“Ab!” she cried, springing to her feet, nav=

ing sunk back into her seat in her first dis-
tress, “you saw him, spoke with him; he will
be here to-morrow. Some business——”

The pity Sidney felt for her enabled him to
act his part to the life. He held up his hand
with a gesture of pain.

“Hush, I beg of you!” he said, in a low
tone. “Do not make my task too hard.”

Again that pallor invaded her cheeks, and
she dropped into the seat.

“Do not keep me in suspense,” she said.
“You are killing me. Speak, and tell me
everything you have to tell.”

“You will hate me,” he said.

She made a beseeching gesture with her lit-
tle hand, and he saw by the expression of, her

face that she could not stand the agony of sus-
pense much longer.

“I found him without difficulty,” he said.
“But before I went to him I sought the house
of some relatives,
een ns being sure they would know

im.”

Viola merely showed by a movement of her
head that she had heard.

“Prepare yourself for a great pain,”.he said
to her.

A look of agony crossed her face, and left it

‘drawn in lines of suffering.

“They knew him well,” he went on, feeling
all the while like the executioner who is tor-

turing an innocent victim, and yet pushed on |
“And when !

by his mad desire to possess her.
I spoke of him, they said he was engaged to
marry a beautiful girl.”

Viola stared at him, as if she could not
comprehend what he was leading to.

“lL asked the name of this girl, and they said
it was—Stella Montgomery.”

“Ah!” gasped Viola, but that was all.

“TI said I did not believe it could be so, since
I had heard that he wasto marry a young
lady named Viola Greylock,” he went on,
merciless in fulfilling his terrible purpose.

“They laughed at that, and declared that he
had, no doubt, been infatuated with Viola
Greylock at one time, but that he had a few
days since lost his entire fortwne, and had
found himself unable to resist the chance of
being set right again by marrying the rich
heiress, who had always loved him, and to
whom he had at one time been engaged.”

“Tt -is false, all false!” cried Viola. “He
never loved.her. I was his first and his only
love. Do you think I could be mistaken? No,
no, no! And Douglas would not marry for
money. Noone shall ever make me believe
that.”

The face of Sidney Gorman, as he heard
these noble words, was a profound study. It
changed from white to red and back again,
and the desperation of a hunted anima] was
in his eyes.

“So I said when they told me these things,”
he said, when she had ceased to speak, for he
was determined now tocrush all hope from
her breast, though it needed the cruelty ofa
savage to carry out thedreadful design. “But
they laughed at me, and showed me a society
paper which contained a notice of the engage-
ment,”

“It was in a paper?” cried Viola, in a voice
of agony.

“TI procured one and brought it with me to
show you, for I was sure you would be more
incredulous than I; though it is incredible to
me how any man could prefer even the wealth
af the world to the possession of such as you.”

She seemed not to have heard his compli-
ment, as, indeed, she had not. No words had
any meaning for her at that moment, except
such as told her something about this awful
catastrophe that had befallen her.

She held out her hand asif for the paper,
and he drew it with seeming reluctance from
his pocket, opening it and pointing to a
marked paragraph.

“That is it,” he said.

» She took the paper and read the words with

I don’t know a man in the world I'd be |
To tell you the truth, [ have }

and I asked about Mr. |

straining eyes. There had been no deception
about it; the terrible words were there.

.

“The engagement is announced of two of society's
most prominent figures; Mr. Douglas Wainwright
and Miss Stella Montgomery. It has been an open
secret for along time that this event would come to
pass, and, as it was only a question of time, no oné
is really surprised. As a matter of fact, the union of
these two, who are at once the richest and hand-
somest of their set. is exactly what it shonld be, and
everybody wishes the= the greatest happiness. The
wedding is set for a near day.”

She read and re-read the terrible paragraph,
and she could no longer doubt, though she
was yet unable to reconcile herself to the truth.
Till, at last, a new thought came to her, and,
with aray of hopein her heart, she murmured:

“He believes me dead. [ will never doubt
his love.”

To Sidney all this was iike a deadly duel.
He loved this beautiful creature,: who had
wandered so strangely into his life, and it
was agony to give her such pain, and yet he
would not refrain from plunging the knife
again and again into her bleeding heart.

“That is what I said at once,” he ejaculated,
in a dry, hard tone.

Viola looked at him with. distended eyes.
Had he, indeed, thought of everything, and
was he not going to leave her one little gleam
of hope?

“T could not believe that any man would give
you up,” he went on. “I said to myself that if
Heaven had granted me the sweet boon of
your love, I would have never given you up.
Ah!” he cried, passionately, “if Heaven had
been so good to me, I would not have yielded
you even to death.”

She could not fail to understand: him now,
but she gave no other sign of it than to move
her head sadly.

“T said to myself,” he continued, “that I
would go to Douglas Wainwright and tell
him that the treasure he deemed lost was his
to claim again.”

Viola nodded her head eagerly, her lips
moving in some unspoken prayer, and her eyes
begging Sidney to end her agony.

: “T did go to him,” he went on, “and I saw
nim.

 

please you, I would sacrifice my immortal
| soul.”

|} “Oh, Heaven have mercy!” moaned Viola.

| “T told him how you had come to us. I said
| you were well, and eagerly expecting him to
|come to you. Shall J tell you what he said?”

“Tell me, tell me!” she exclaimed. “Per-
haps his words will mercifully kill me. Do
not try to spare me.”

Sidney looked anxiously at her, to see if
there were real danger to her in the frightful
falsehood he had coined to win her to himself.
He studied her with the eye of a physician,
} even as in the old days a surgeon stood by the

saw that her heart was breaking, but he knew
she could live through it.

“<«Tell her,’ he said, ‘that I love her yet,
but that I cannot make her my wife.

that I
her in some retired place, where [I can see her
sometimes.’ ”

accent of horror in her voice, “he did not say
those things. Tell me that he did not utter

Unsay

—say that you did not hear aright!
Oh,

them! unsay them, or I shall go mad!
Heaven! will you not let me die?”

She caught Sidney Gorman by the arm, and
secret of his very soul. He shuddered at her
her own, and he swore within himself that he
would goon with the cruel fraud, though it
killed her; for then he could take his own life
and enter the other world with her.

“IT told him you would not believe me, for I
could not believe my own ears. I told him that
I would slay him with my own hand were it
nop tiay> I wished lim tu live and be a mon-
ument to his own perfidy and wickedness. I
told him I would take you to him tu hear him
say what he had said to me.”

Viola's lips could not form a word, but her
| eyes spoke for her and demanded what the an-
swer had been.

“He said he did not wish a scene, and that
he would write down what he had said, and
that you would be sure to believe that.”

“The letter!” gasped Viola, in an almost
inaudible tone.

“He repeated many times over that he still
loved you,” went on Sidney, not yet ready to
deal the final blow; “but I told him he did not
comprehend love; that love would never seek
to degrade its object, and that if I consented
to carry his infamous letter to you, it was
only because I helieved you ought to know
upon what shifting sand you had built the
edifice of your pure and holy love. This is the
letter! Are you strong enough to bear it?”

“T would that each word were a knife to
pierce my heart,” she wailed, bitterly.
~ She took the letter and broke the seal, though
| she first saw that the seal was, in truth, that
| of the man she had loved with such pure and
idolatrous affection.

“DEAREST VIOLA:” it began; “I wish, above every-
thing else, to make you understand that I love you.
And if everything had gone smoothly with us, you
would now be my wife. But since you so strangely
left us—I believed that you were dead, and am very
glad to know that you are still spared to me—since
then, I say, I have lost all the great wealth that I be-
lieved was surely mine.

‘Under these circumstances, and knowing how you
love me, putting your own happiness second to mine,
T have decided thatit would be better to inarry Stella,
who, as you know, has always loved me.

“But, in marrying her, need I lose you whom I love
now as I always have done? Why

husband and wife in everything but name? I can fix

first hoped to be.

“T write this in haste, being expected by Stella,
with whom I am going to:ride in the park; but I
shall expect an answer, and a loving and favorable
one, too, from my darling Viola, who is the mest
beautiful of women.

“Your own DOUGLAS.”

Sidney watched her while she read this in-
famous concoction. It was so infamous that
it would have carried its own untruth on its
face, had not Sidney, with such devilish cun-
ning, a cunning inspired by Stella, first pois-
oned Viola’s mind with his skillfully con-
structed fabric of lies,

She read the words that invited her so cold-
ly toshare a life of infamy, and the blood
seemed to stand still in her veins.

She read to the last word, each one seeming
to sear itself on her tortured beart. Then the
letter fluttered from her nerveless hand, and
she would have sunk lifeless to the earth had
Sidney not caught her.

“She is mine!” muttered Sidney, a terrible
expression in his eyes. “I have won her, but
the awful price is my immortal soul!”

CHAPTER XXY.

THE DRUGGED WATER—THE FACE AT THE WIN-
DOW.

For three days the ae spirit of Viola hov-
(

ered between lifé and death, and then, sud-
denly, she revived and began to grow better.

Sidney, watching her with agony and fear
in his heart, could not comprehend the swift
change at first, but her first words enlightened
him, and made him quiver with dread.

“TI must go to New York. I must see Doug-
las. There issome terrible mistake. You can-
not comprehend, because you do not know
Douglas; but my soul and his have mingled
together, and if there had been anything so
base in it as that letter would indicate, I
should have known it. And thé Lord would
not let me live if it were true. I must hear
those things from his own lips. Then, if they
are spoken by the lips that have pressed mine,
I know that I shall die, and I shall be glad to
do so. But,” and an ineftable smile of trust
parted her perfect lips, “I shall never hear
such words from his dear lips.”

 

And, if I did not strangle him, it was |
only because I knew you loved him; and, to}

rack and watched to see how much the victim |
could stand without yielding up his life. He}

Tell her |
that I shall be rich when I am married, and |
will then make a cozy little home for |

No, no!” screamed Viola, with a terrible |

such wicked words. Say that you are mistaken |

fixed her eyes on his as if she would read the!

expression; but his madness was no Jess than |

san we not. be |

up the dearest of little cottages where you and I can |
defy the censorious world, and be as happy as we |

pale, and great drops of perspiration breaking
out on his brow.

It seemed to him that Viola must have had
a vision of the truth during the hours of her
illness, and he fully expected her next words
to be a denunciation of him.

“No,” said Viola, quietly, “I am not fit to
go now, but I shall beto-morrow. You will
szee how quickly I shall recover. Now that I
know that Douglas is true, nothing can pre-
vent my recovery.”

Sidney stared ather with fearful eyes. Such
calm certainty made him tremble as if Heaven
had, indeed, filled her mind with the truth.
But he had nothought of yielding to her with-
out a struggle.

“You shall go,” he said, in a low voice, “as
soon as you are able to do so. You are right.
There may be some strange misunderstanding,
and I will help you all can to clear it up.”

“Thank you,” she said, simply, and he knew
by the tone that she didnot mistrust him.

“IT will help you,” he wenton; “but I cannot
do so without saying to) you something which
I never intended to reveal to you.”

She looked at him with a puzzled glance,
which in a moment changed to one of compre-
hension, and caused a ‘flush to rise to her
cheeks, pale though they were.

“Would not some othe? time do?” she asked,
apprehensively.

“No,” he said. “I see that you suspect what
Lam going to tell you; but there is no need of
alarm. Yes, I love you,” he said. “I have
;loved you from the first moment I saw you,
| but my love is such that I would die to make
you happy.”

“Oh!” she murmured, pathetically.

“T will do all I can,” he said, huskily “to re-
store you to the man you love if I can believe
that he is worthy of you, but I would kill him
if he again offered you the insult which in my
| duty to you I faithfully repeated.”
|} “Yam very grateful for your kindness,” she
said; “but I know there is some terrible mis-
take. I must see Douglas.”

“T will take you to him when you are fit to
| go,” he said.

“That will be to-morrow,” she insisted.
| “Let us decide that when the morrow
| comes,” he said.

She smiled trustfully and closed her eyes.
:

 

She was determined to be well, and she knew
| that sleep was her best medicine. Her newly
| revived hope was life to her, and she felt that
| she needed only rest besides.
| She went to sleep almost at once; and Sid-
jney, standing there looking down on the
| beautiful picture she made, swore within his
| heart that she should not be well enough to go
\to New York until after the marriage of Doug-
|las and Stella.
| He left the sick-room with soft and stealthy
| steps, and repaired to his laboratory, where
ihe shut himself in, bolting and locking his
door, and drawing the curtains over the win-
| dows.

For several hcurs he remained closely shut
/up in there, and when his aunt came to sum-
mon him to dinner, he told her he was not
hungry, and that he preferred to be left alone.

Many powders and liquids he mixed in cru-
cible and retort, and many strange odors filled
the stifling atmosphere of that room, but he
labored on, watching the bubbles rise in the
| glass bulb of the retort, and carefully grinding
| his compound in his heavy stone mortar.

And at last, when the light outside had
| grown dim, and he had been obliged to light

his lamp to see, he poured from a little still
| into a crystal vial, a colorless liquid and held
it up to the lamp.

“Ah!” he muttered, “it has neither taste
nor odor, but it will enthrall the senses with-
out harming. Now you shall remain here until
I will it that you shall go.”

“Will you give her any more medicine?”
asked Miss Gorman of Sidney that evening,
as they both stood by Viola’s bedside.

Viola looked at Sidney, waiting for his re-

ly.

. ay do not think she needs any more medi-

/cine,” he saia. “How da yon feel, Miss Viola?”

“T feel so much better,” she answered, with

asmile, “that I think with you, doctor, that

I shall be better without medicine. But I am
| very thirsty.”
| An imperceptible smile flitted across his
| lips.
You may have all the water you wish,” he
|said. “Water, indeed, will be good for you.
|}Aunt Rhoda, will you have fresh water
| brought?”

So water was brought, and Sidney, saying
| he, too, was thirsty, took a glass and drank it
|down. Then they said good-night to Viola
and left her, ’

But that night, when the house was still,
and Viola slept as peacefully and soundly as a
child, a figure stole stealthily through the cot-
tage and into Viola’s chamber. It was Sid-
ney, and he crept to the water-pitcher, and let
three drops of his colorless liquid fall into the
water.

The water instantly turned as black as ink
and almost seemed to move about in the
| pitcher, but in a second the color disappeared
; and the water was as before.

. This being done, Sidney left the room, but
ihe returned ere many minutes, carrying the
| pet house cat in his arms. This he threw sud-
|denly into the room, causing the good-tem-
| pered creature to protest.

The noise roused Viola with a start, but she
saw at once that the cat was the reason of the
noise, and she called to it and stroked it. Then
she poured herself out a glass of water, and
drank it gratefully down.

She then sank back on her pillow and fell
asleep, while Sidney, satisfied with his work,
stole away to hisownroom. And neither he
nor Viola had been aware of a face peering in
| at the window of her room, a silent witness
of the whole scene.

The next day Viola was slightly delirious,
but. seemed otherwise no worse, and Sidney
said she would be better toward night, which,
indeed, turned out to be the case, and she
asked Sidney anxiously if she were going to
be ill again.

He told her that she might have a return the
next day, but that she need not alarm herself.

“But I must go to New York,” she said.

“You shall go,” he said, and she was con-
tent, having confidence in him.

He had been careful to remove the water in
the morning, which was an easy matter, since
she was at that time sleeping very heavily;
but at night, rather than risk being caught at
midnight in her room, he waited until’ she had
had a drink, and then went himself to procure
her some fresh water, depositing his terrible
drops in it on the way to her room.

Viola had slept so much during the day, and
the effects of the drug having worked off, she
felt so much better that she did not go to sleep
at once after being left alone, but lay in her
bed, listening to the sounds as one by one they
ceased through the house.

Then she rose up and poured herself out a
glass of water, and was about to raise it to
her iips, when a voice from the window whis-
pered, but in eae distinct tones:

“Do not drink that!”

“Who speaks?” she cried out in startled
tones.

“A friend,” was the answer. “That water is
drugged. If you will let me enter the room, I
will satisfy you of the truth of what I say,”

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Do you remember Herbert Morrow ?”

“The friend of Douglas? Oh, yes!” was her
! joyful response,

“Hush!” he whispered. “I havemuch to tell
you. May lenter your room? I swear to you
that I come as a friend, and to help you.”

“Oh!” she answered, in an eager whisper,
“TI beg of you to enter.”

In another moment Herbert Morrow stood
by the bedside of the sick girl.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

_ er oor
The temperate are the most truly luxurious,

By abstaining from most things, it is surpris-
ing how many things we enjoy.

 

} “You are not fitto go,” said Sidney, his face

 

 

 

AN ACCIDENTAL DISCOVERY.

An accident led to the discovery that large
screw propellers are not so effective as smaller |
ones. Years ago, when the writer was a young |
mechanic, screw propellers for steamers were |
made as large as possible, it being the theory |
that the greater the diameter the higher the |
speed. A vessel was placed on Lake Erie with |
a propeller so large that it was deemed best to |
cast each blade in two parts, and then weld |
them together. During a storm all these!
blades of the propeller broke at the welding, |
reducing the diameter by more than two-thirds. |
To the surprise of the captain, the vessel shot |
forward at a speed such as had never been at- |
tained before. Engineers then experimented |
with small propellers, and discovered that
they were much more effective than large |
ones. Had it not been for that accident, we
might have gone on using large-bladed pro- '
pellers to the present day.

—_—_——_>- @—<______

TOOTHPICK FLOURISHERS.

No sight is more common, about the dinner
hour, than to see knots of men gathered in
front of hotels and boarding-houses, standing
on street corners, riding in public conveyances
or elsewhere with a toothpick ostentatiously

protruding from the mouth, or with the said
wooden splinter in diligent use as an exca-
vator. If we go farther back toward the din-
ing table, we shall find that the disgusting
habit grows even more pronounced, and that
the table itself is often a witness of the in- |
delicate proceeding. It is a inatter of con- |
gratulation, therefore, that a better habit is |
asserting itself. Really refined people do not |
pick their teeth at the table. A person might |

 

as well brush the teeth at a meal, and it would |=

be quite as agreeable a diversion. The tooth- |
pick is properly an article of toilet and for |
the. bath-room and the dressing-room rather |
than the dining-room. People do not clean |
their nails at the table, which would be far |
preferable than the opening and exploring of |
cavernous mouths.

DO YOU WANT

$45.00 in cash and a ladies or gentieman’s gold or silver
watch? You can have both,—one for a little labor, the
other for nothing. Write us about it.

TRUE & CO., BOX 1261, AUGUSTA, ME.

 

 

 

 

West t te

The above letters and characters form the name of the Goyerno:
lof one of our great states. Who is he?

We will give @800 Cash to the Ist person sending

orrect solution to tho above Rebus. To the 2d, #100;
to the 8d, #50; to the 4th, an elegant Diamond Ring.

o each of the next 5, a SOLID GOLD WATCH. f
the next 10, a Beautiful $25 Silk Dress. To the nex
25, a Nickel or Gold-Plated Watch. Toeach of th
next 50, a Genuine Diamond Ring. To each of the
next 106, 2 valuable Business or House Lot near New!
York City werth $50 each. Answers must reach us on 0
before Aug. 10th. With your answer send
postal note or 15c. in stamps fora trial | 0 Cents
three months’ subscri
Paper.

Write yo
ame and address plainly and enclose subscription money to

CANWELL & 00,, 27 Beekman St., N. Y,

Dr. MURAT'S

|. FRENCH PILLS.
A faithful Friend. Always reliable
S and safe. B@&They never fail. The
great French Remedy. Used 70
years; no bad results. $2 per box
sealed. Enclose stamps for particu-
lars. Dr. E. B. DuBois,
m Sole Am. Agent, 138 Rich-
mond St., Cincinnati, O.

 

 

TRAOL- MARK

 

Chichester’s English Diamond Brand

ENNYROYAL PILLS

Original and Only Genuine.
SAFE, always reliable. LADIES ask Druggist for
Chichester's English Diamond Brand in Red
and Gold metallic boxes, sealed with blue ribbon.
Take no other. Refuse dangerous substitu-
tions and imitations. At Druggists, or send 4e;
in stamps for particulars, testimonials and **Relief for
Ladies,” in letter, by return Mail. Name Paper.
Chichester Chemical Co., Madison Square,
Sold by all Local Druggists, Philadelphia, Pa.

 

We send the marvelous French
Remedy CALTHOS free, and a
legal guarantee that CALTHOs will
STOP Discharges & Emiasions,
CURE Spermatorrhea. V aricocele
and RESTORE Lost Vigor.

Use tt and pay tf satisfied.

Address, YON MOHL CO.,
Sole American Agents, Cincinnati, Ohio.

LADIES ONLY

For every case where our ** MAGIC RELIEF’? for
LADIES, used as directed, fails to produce pesir-
ED RESULTS we will forfeit FIFTY DOLLARS.
SURE, Quick, EASY TO TAKE. y mail $2.
Sealed. GOOK REMEDY CO., OMAHA, NEB.

A ARRIED LADIES, worry and doubt never come to
8 those who use our “Companion.” Just introduced,
lasts a lifetime, safe, reliable, only 50c. prepaid, to intro-
duce. Reliable. Supply Co., 2048. Clark St., Chicago, Ill

 

 

 

 

 

 

For :.
ian tor "
and for our work, we make you the following bona=
fide offer: Send us a good photograph, ora tintype, or
faintly Lite Bat tea if oF any member of your
; or dead, and we will make 2 of
RA VON PORTRAITS thee ohckoree

finest C.

AOUTUTHUCALA HOTT TUETT EAE EAgyy,
Zz

TOUEUCUCUUCURDECHOGEEROUAERORE CLEAN OCEUERECREUL

| = dissolves and removes the worst forms of moth-patches,
|= brown or liver spots, freckles, blackheads, blotches,

TEUUUMUERERREETROEEEEE

4)

aa

DUUGUORNGHROUDGORAVEUGEOURU ERO UEURUNGREREECEEEY

LOVELY FACES,
WHITE HANDS

Nothing will
WHITEN and CLEAR
the skin so quickly as

Derma-Royale

The new discovery for # dissolving
and removing discolorations from the cuticle, and bleach-
ing and brightening the complexion. Inexperimenting =
in the laundry with a new bleach for fine fabrics it was =
discovered that all spots, freckles, tan and other discol-
orations were quickly removed from the handsand arms
without the slightest injury to the skin. The discovery
was submitted to experienced Dermatologists and Phys-
icians who prepared for us the formula of the marvelous =
Derma-Royale. tHERE NEVER WAS ANYTHING LIKEIY?. It=
is perfectly harmless and go simple achild can use it.
Apply at night—the improvement apparent after asingle =
= application will surprise and delight you. It quickly

sallowness, redness, tan and every discoloration of the
cuticle. One bottle completely removes and cures the
most aggravated case and thoroughly clears, whitens =
and beautifies the complexion. It has never failed—ir S
CANNOT FAIL. It is highly recommended by Physicians =
and its sure results warrant us in offering
$500 REWARD.—To assure the public of its merits

~~~ weagree to forfeit Five Hundred
= Dollars casu, for any case of moth-patches, brown spots,
liver spots, blackheads, ugly or muddy skin, unnatural
redness, freckles, tan or any other cutaneous discolor-
ations, (excepting birth-marks, scars, and those of a=
scrofulous or kindred nature) that Derma-Royale will =
not quickly remove and cure. We also agree to forfeit =
Five Hundred Dollars to any person whose skin can bein-
jured in the slightest possible manner, or to amyone
whose complexion (no matter in how. bad condition it
may be), will not be cleared, whitened, improved and
beautified by the use of Derma-Royale.

Put up in elegant style in large eight-ounce bottles,

= Price, §1.00. EVERY BOTTLE GUARANTEED.
Derma-Royale sent to any address, safely packed and =

curely sealed from observation, safe delivery guaran- =
= teed, on receipt of price, $1.00 per bottle. Send money
by registered letter or money order with your ful=s
ost-office address written plainly; be sure to give=
= your County, and mention this paper.
= Correspondence sacredly private. Postage stamps
se

= AGENTS WANTED SSicder: (10 A DAY,

Address The DERMA-ROYALE COM PANY,
Corner Baker and Vine Streets. CINCINNATI OHIO.

CUTLER ee tir Tin rin

a
g

“at

ets

 

The Queen & Crescent and

East Tennessee, Virginia & Georgia Railways are
established as the greatest

Southern Trunk Lines. The northern

part of these great systems starts from

Cincinnati, from which point they run

Solid Vestibuled Trains to ST. AUGUSTINE, FLA.,
going through Lexington, Ky., Chattanooga, Tenn.,
Atlanta, Ga., Macon, Ga., Jacksonville, Fla,
Making Through Vestibuled Trains to all

cities named and intermediate points.

The Queen & Crescent Specials are

Solid Vestihuled Trains running via

Chattanouga and Lookout Mountain, Birmingham
and Meridian to New Orleans.

At MERIDIAN the lne diverges for Jackson and
Vicksburg, Miss. to Shreveport and Northern Texas
At New Orleans, connection is made for

Texas, Mexico and California.

The Q. & C. is 94 miles shorter and quicker

than any other line and takes

ONLY 27 Hours CINCINNATI TO NEW ORLEANS.
The Q. & C. and E. T. V. & G. are 110 miles
shortest line between Cincinnati and Jacksonville,
The Q. &C. and E. T. V. & G. run sleeping cars
through Cincinnati to Knoxville, Tenn,,
connecting for Asheville, N.C. The

shortest and most direct route.

Before deciding on your route

write for rates, maps, and any Other

information you want about the

South.

Address D.G@. EDWARDS, G. P. A.

Vincinnati, Ohio,

HIGHAM

BAND INSTRUMENTS

ost no more than other high
grades, but are

- INCOMPARABLY SUPERIOR,

If you want the best you must haye the Higham. We gladly
send them on trial.in competition. Used by the British Army
and the world’s leading bands everywhere. Send for free Hlus-
trated HIGHAM CATALOGUE. Also the Campaign edition of our
General Band Catalogue, containing everything used by bands,
and illustrated by 400 superb engravings, will be sent free upon

request, LYON & HEALY, 152 to 162 State St.. Chicago.

6 = Morphine Habit Cured tia 10
to 20 days. No Pp. till .
OP lan Dr. J. Stephens, Lebanon a.

—

 

Be dave. In order to introduce our CRAYON
AITS in your vicinity, and thus create a de-

S free oe iS

rovided you exhibit it to your friends and use your influence in securing }
Bis out and return it tous with your photograph, with your name and address back of photos, so we oun

Ship your portrait accordingly. CODY
REFERENCES, all Banks and Mercantile Ag

 

& CO., 755 De Kalb Avenue, Brooklyn, N

encies in New York City or Brooklyn.

 

WHEN YOU GET TIRED

with the doctors with their big prices and quack
remedies, write to me and I will.send (sealed) F
a prescription that will quickly cure Lost REE
Vitality, Nervousness, Weakness and restore com-
plete vigor. A new positive remedy that cures
when everything else fails. Address

J. D. HOUSE, Box 6, ALBION, MICH.

COMPETITION No 1,
O Closed March S3ist, ’92
Prize awarded to HARLEY DEENE, for
FOR  “coRTLANDT LASTER, CAPITALIST”
Be A great story in every respect.
COMPETITION No. 2is open

in ebay he
AMERICAN (0s jut
apply to LEE,

Publishers, Chicago, Ill,

f [ S CARTER’S RELIEF for WOME
isasafe and always reliable medi-
cine for Irregularities and all

other Female troubles. Success-
fully used in thousands of cases,isagure remedy, guaran-
teed. Sent promptly on receipt of ®1.00, and 6e, in stamps for
postage. or full particulars for s 2-cent stamp.
RICOH MEDICAL ©O., East Hampton, Conn.

and WOMEN can quickly eure
themselves of Wasting Vitality,
Weakness from youthful errors,

&c., quietly at home. 64p, Book en all Private Diseases sent FREE,
Cure Guaranteed. 30 years’ experience. Dr.D.H, LOWE, Winsted, Conn,

 

GUNS Ske: SPORTING GOODS
catalogue FREE. & HENRY & CO, No, 21, Box EB, CHICAGO, ILL,

 

ays a R : ED LAD i E Beware of cheap frauds.

For absolute safety use

our “GEM” Safe, always reliable, guaranteed. Sent with

our book, “Private Hints to the Married.” $1. GEM CO.

Kansas City, Mo. Lt eI ae
(The Gem Co. furnish reliable references.—ED. }

 

 

q Celebrated Female

Powders _ never _ fail.

PRIS ET) SNP EERE Wo CAPA CAPSS

a 10,000 Ladies declare them safe

and sure (after failing with Tansy and Pennyroyal Pills}

guaranteed superior to all others. Particulars 4 cents.
Dr. S. T. DIX, Back Bay, Boston, Mass.

T@ANSY PILLS!

Safe and Sure. Send 4e. for ““WOMAN’S SAFE
GUARD.” Wilcox Specific Oo., Phila. oe

 

FULL BEARD ano ALL FOR 25c, To introduce, we
HAIR IN 21 DAYS mail complete Elixir Remedy, 2 kinds of

Prof. Dyke’ s Elixirforceshea- | grr Lovely Photos, Money Mak-

vy Mustache, Full Beard and | ide, Unique Pocket Book and Lovere
air in 21 days. Guaranteed, {@ to Marriage, all for 25 cts.,. in stampa
‘an prove this, No one else ler silver, price of Elixir alone.

dare attempt it. See other side!
the recipe that cured

VARICOCGE me Free to anyone,

L. 8S. Franklin, Music Dealer, Marshall, Mich,

LIVER SPOT Those unsightly yellow spots that cover
1 80 many people removed by CANADENSIS,

Price $1. Jos. M. Mahoney, 476 Freeman ave.,Cincinnati, 0.

Smith Mfg. Co., Palatine, His.
Sure Cure, £ wiusena

A friend in need is a friend indeed. If you
want a regulator that never fails, address
THK WOMAN’S MED. HOME, Buffalo, N.Y.

new customers, we have decided to make this Special Offert

Send us a Cabinet Picture, Photograph, Tintype,Ambrotype or Daguerotype of yourse.

or any member of your family, living or dead and we will make you a CRAYON POR-

For 30 Days. Wishing % introduce our CRAYON PORTRAITS and at the same time
extend our business and make

If

TRAIT FREE OF CHARGE, provided you exhibit it to your friends asa sample of our

work, and use your influence in securing us future orders. Place name and address om

back of ct and it will be returned in perfect order. We make any change in picture

you wis

mailto THE CRESCENT CRAYON CO. Opposite

@100 to anyone sending us photo and no’ receiving crayon picture FREK as per this offer. This offer is bonafide,

not interfering with the likeness. Refer to any bank in Chicago. Address all

New German Theatre, CHICAGO, ILL. P.S.—We will forfeit

Li siealalieh

 

Ifthe Baby is Cutting Teeth, |
Be sure and use the old and well-tried remedy, Mrs.
WINSLOW’S SOOTHING SYRUP for children teething. It
soothes the child, softens the gums, allays all pain, cures
wind colic, and is the best remedy for diarrhea. 25 cents.

‘

PILE Remedy Free. Instant Relief. Final cure in

10 days. Never returns; no purge; no salve; ne
suppository. A victim tried in vain every remedy has dis-
covered a simple cure, which he will mail free to his fellow
sufferers. Address J. H Reeves, Box 3290,New York City

 

 

 

 

 

 
  
  
   
     
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 

 

 

 

 

ai

 

>

HR
x

 

 

. sag THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #38 ons

 

 

. MAUD ANDI.

BY THEO. D. Cc.

 

MILLER, M. D.
The cricket sang its sweetest song,
So happy in the gloaming,
When o’er the star-lit valley fair
Maud went with me a roaming.
The buttercups hung low their bloom,
The rosebuds spared their blisses,
As hand in hand we wandered on,
Our lips grown warm with kisses.

*T was ’neath the old-time maple’s shade
We sat us down to ponder,
And speak of happy days to come,
As through life’s vale we wander.
The nightingale on branches low,
Grew merry o'er our wooing,
And sang a song as tenderly
As any night-bird’s cooing.

A passing zephyr paused in glee
To toy with Maud’s fair tresses;
And as it gamboled o’er the lea
It watched our fond caresses.
I saw the dimples come and go
On Maui’s fair face so smiling,
And heard her dear lips murmur low
Fond words.of love beguiling.

*T was in the purple twilight shade,
While Luna beamed above her,

I drew her bonnie lips to mine
And told her how I loved her.

She shyly raised her witching eyes,
And on a fond inspection,

I saw the love-light beaming there—
A maiden’s first affection.

I wooed and won the maiden fair,
While stars were o’er us beaming,

As ’neath the dear old maple’s shade
Our hearts of love were dreaming.

We walked among the daisies white,
So happy in the gloaming ;

And I shall ne’er forget the time
When Maud and I went roaming.

MATRIMONIAL MISHAPS,

BY W. W. CARTNER.

 

 

 

(“MATRIMONIAL MISHAPS” was commenced in No. 15.
Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.?

 

 

 

 

me, he has missed his caliing. He could knock
John L. over a ten-rail fence,” he moaned, as
he slowly struggled to his feet.

“Did he hit you?” she asked, as she picked
up the pieces of broken glass.

“Hit me! Ifa streak of lightning had hit
me, it would not have done me up any quicker,”
he replied.

“Tam glad of it. You are always trying to
whip some one, and invariably get the worst
of it. Oh, Henry, what a face! Why, your
eyes are almost shut! What will people say?
A fine thing to come out in the papers. I sup-
pose it will read like this:

“*One of our aspirants for political honors
distinguished himself yesterday afternoon by
kicking Elder Osborne from his stoop. The
elder was taken at a disadvantage, but, recoyv-
ering himself, he planted on the tough’s face
a blow that closed his eyes and completely
knocked him out. We understand that the
would-be pugilist has his eye on no less an ob-
ject than the gubernatorial chair. He has
taken the first step up the ladder of fame.’

“There! how will that look on paper?” she
asked.

“Mrs. Wilson, all you need is a goose-quill
and apintof ink to be aneditor. The ease
and grace with which you could murder the
English language would only be equaled by
the fact that your writings would be devoid of
any symptom of sense. Now, if you think it
would not cause congestion cf the vacuum
where your brain should be, to get mea cloth
and wet it in cold water, I would like it.”

Presently there was asecond ring, and in
an instant Wilson was on his feet.

“You sit down; I will see who itis. You
have done enough mischief for one night,” said
Mrs. Wilson, going to the door.

“Mrs. Osborne said she sent you the wrong
puerage by Mr. Brown’s gardener, and she
wished me to stop and exchange them,” said a
servant of the minister.

“Well, it isnot so bad as I expected,” ex-
claimed Mrs, Wilson, after the packages had
been exchanegd.

“So it was that heathen that pulls weeds
for Brown that basted me! There will be a day
of reckoning!” he muttered to himself.

“Now, Henry Wilson, if you ever again
cut up such a foolish caper as you did to-
night, I will disown and advertise you to that
effect,” she said.

“Advertise! Disown! What do you intend
to do? [suppose you will say, ‘Whereas, my
husband, Henry Wilson, has left my bed and
board, I will not be responsible for any debts
contracted after this date,’ ” he yelled.

“That is what I shall say, and sign it ‘Anna
Wilson, Guardian.’ I have put up with all
the foolishness that it is possible for a woman
to endure.” :

“Ts there anything in this house that I can
put on my face?” he bellowed.

“There is some liniment on the shelf, and I
will get some water to bathe it.”

“This liniment smells like a pair of sec-
ond-hand rubber boots,” he growled, after he
had applied some of it to his face, as his wife
returned with the water.

“Great heavens, Henry! has mortification
set in already?” she cried, sinking breathlessly
into a chair.

Under his eyes were streaks of black; down
his cheeks and neck were irregular lines of the
same tint; on his forehead were great blotches
of the same ebony hue; and _ his nose bore the
polish of a base-burner. .

He sprang to his feet, and givin
ried glance in the mirror, he reeled
ing wildly at the bottle.

“Stove polish! by the rings of Saturn!” he
ejaculated. “Mrs. Wilson, this is the last
straw. Pack your trunks! we start- on the
night train for our Montana ranch! By the
time you get back among white people, you
will know enough to behave yourself,”

“Will you travel as a servant?” she asked.

“You pack those trunks; Iam running this
trip,” he howled. : Kao P

one hur-
ack glar-

 

 

**“GREAT HEAVENS, HENRY! HAS MORTIFICATION
SET IN ALREADY?” SHE CRIED BREATH-
LESSLY,.

NUMBER SEVENTY-THREE.

Wilson Endures the hadlenicy of a Clean Knock-
ut.

“Henry, the State Inspector of lightning-
rods was here this afternoon, and examined
our rod. He——”

 

“The what?” yelled Wilson.

“The State Inspector of lightning-rods,” she
replied.

“Well, by the bow-keys of the yoke of op-
pression! State Inspector of lightning-rods!”
he exclaimed, sinking feebly into a chair,

“That is what I said, Mr. Wilson.”

“What did he do, Anna?”

“He held an instrument against the rod, and
declared that it was not down in the earth
within nineceen feet of moisture, and that if
it was not attended to befdére the next elec-
trical storm, it would burst and tear the house
down.”

“What would burst—the rod, or the storm?”

“Why, the rod, of course,” she snapped.

“Did he charge anything, Anna?” and Wil-
son .craned his head forward, eagerly await-
ing her reply.

“No; but he said the State required each
owner of a lightning-rod to buy a bottle of
Point Elixir, which was manufactured and

-sold by the State at exact cost, which is five

ae

dollars per bottle. Hesaid that if the point
of the rod was bathed in this elixir before
every storm, it did not matter where the other
end of the rod was.”

“Does the State furnish a balloon or a flying-
machine for a man to go up and irrigate the
rod? I suppose you bought a case or two?”

“No; I told him you attended to the pur-
chase of such things, and that if he would
come around this evening you would undoubt-
edly buy a couple of dozen bottles.”

“Did he say he would come?” anxiously in-
quired Wilson.

“Yes; he said he was very busy, but that he
would be here.”

“You said I’d buy some, eh? I will have
him fill the cistern with his invaluable elixir.
It is impossible to get too much of a good
thing. It will be driving times for the State
Inspector,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean, Henry?”

“Was he a large man, Anna?”

“A man of average size.”

“Do you think he could whip me in a square
stand-up fight?” at

“lam a poor judge of prize-fighters, but I
think he could whip about seven: such men
as you, all at one time,” she thoughtfully re-

lied.

e “T will bet you forty dollars——”

There was a ring at the door, and Wilson
sprang to open it. Seeing a man with a pack-
age in his hand, Wilson bounded forward and
kicked him off the stoop.

The man staggered backward, and fell to the

ground.

“Take that, my fine State Inspector and
elixir sharp!” Wilson exclaimed, as he slam-
med the door behind him.

In a few moments a package came crashing
through the window.

Mrs. Wilson screamed, and Wilson rushed

he door,
othe next instant he measured his length on

t. s
Peis dot buy any, Anna! I will shoot him as

~ goon as I can see,” he muttered, rubbing his

ey

wa Fou have done it now, Henry! This is

the minister’s wife was to send over

. y him | this evening,” she cried.

“Henry, you will have to wear goggles, or
peopie will think you are u prize-fighter ren:

ning from the police,” she coaxing!y said,
. will take you to a country where hgh
rod inspectors and liquid stove- ish do

not grow—where your chief diet will be cactus
and quartz rock, and your callers will consist
of mountain lions and coyotes,” he snorted, as
he indignantly left the room.

“T can stand it if he can, so there!” she said,
as‘she went to her room to pack her trunk,

(TO BE CONTINUED).

 

The Ladies’ Work-Box, |

Wood.

 

Edited by Mrs. Helen

 

FASHION’S FANCIES.

Wide baby sashes of moire or fancy ribbon will be very
popular with summer dresses.

Skirts are still made plain, and trimmed at the ex-
treme edge.

Linen collars and cuffs are worn, turn-over collars
with turn-over cuffs, and straight collars with straight

cuffs.

The long street skirts are going out of fashion, and in
their place there is around skirt, which just clears the
ground. : 4

Opera jackets and blouse waists are not new, but they
promise to remain very popular. :

Breakfast ees are made of flowered delaines and
nainsook, and trimmed with Valenciennes lace and rib-
bons the exact shade of the pattern.

Lace is more popular than ever. Flanders lace, point
de Venice, and Chantilly being used unsparingly on
dresses.

Au improvement in the summer girl’s wardrobe is the
substitution of the becoming frill to the shirt for the
mannish tie.

The most fashionable china is pure white, with scol-
loped edges, and it has the monogram or a single initial
engraved on one side.

The new straw hats are dyed in all the fashionable
colors, and many of them are tartan, while the old-fash-
ioned boat-shaped hat is again coming in.

English jackets of pale chamois-colored cloth are worn
with pretty blouse waists of cherry silk, laid in fine plaits
and fastened with tiny gold buttons.

Some new Visiting, jackets are shown in rich brocaded
silk, all black, and made in the usual long ‘coat shape,
with a deep shoulder cape of fine black lace.

A pretty fancy is for bridesmaids to walk up the
chureh aisles in diamond procession, first one brides-
maid, then two, and a fourth alone, followed by the bride
with her father.

Striped effects are decidedly aimed at in every depart-
ment of fashion at present, even mantles and outdoor
wraps and dress skirts being no exception.

New Russian embroideries are displayed for trim-
ae the blouses and Moujik coats now so popular,
while passementerie bands in Russian colors are ex-
tremely effective.

Red is to be extensively used in millinery, and not only
the deeper tints, buta brilliant scarlet, gilt wire bonnets
being embellished with field poppies and trails of trumpet
creeper and loops of red ribbon.

Many white dresses for summer are made up over yel-
low silk, with wide yellow sashes at the belt, or yellow
silk girdles, while Spanish yellow ribbons of either silk
or velvet are used as a garniture for cream white wool or
silk gowns.

The latest Russian blouse is made of lace a yard wide
and scolloped on one edge. It is sleeveless, and is worn
over crepon, surah, and bengaline dresses, is quite full at
the neck, and belted in at the waist with a soft, wide
band of the same material as the dress,

Evening shoes are in great variety, and must match
the gowns. Black shoes with paste ornaments are worn
with white dresses, while the newest decoration is in the
form of a small diamond shaped buckle, and has a scrap
of satin. through it to give it a touch of color; blac
patent leather shoes often have bright red bows; the
daintiest shoe of all hasa gold network at the toe and
heel, and it may be over pale blue or pink, while the rest
is of black or white satin.

 

Miss Lucey G.—A very jaunty traveling-dress of blue
and gray tweed has a vest of silk, which comes down in a
deep point below the jacket fronts of the waist. At the
top of the vest there is a round,collar of its material,
with turned-over points of velvet. The revers are
notched, and are also of velvet, and extend to the top of
the bust, while the sleeves are high, and tight on the

forearm. The side pieces reach almost to the knee-line,
but part widely, displaying almost allof the vest above
and below, with large buttons, which hold the center.
The skirt is plain in the front, and has large, regular
plaits at the back, and, in length, just escapes the ground.
The vest has small silver bullet buttons, which also
decorate the outside of the sleeves near the wrists.
Cheviot and tweed are made a as often with loose jacket
front, requiring a vest or shirt-waist beneath, as with
the blouse waists now so general, and at the top of many
jackets forming the waists of traveling suits the Di-
tectoire revers are displayed, A very simple traveling
suit, of tan-colored cloth, has a long jacket, with the but-
tons of its fastening concealed under the meeting edges,
while the sides are of three quarter length, the sleeves
high and plain on the forearm, and the skirt buttoned on
each hip, and repeated at the back.

Stella W., Dublin, Ind.—Party dresses for little girls,
and dresses for summer afternoons when company is ex

 

pected, one of China crape, crepon, challie, or India silk,

“Well, if that was the preacher that hit |

bPed) A t ida-at she }

either white, pink, blue, green. or lilac, and are worn with
mull or lace guimpes, while moire ribbon of the same
color is worn around the waist, and hangs in a Watteau
bow at the back, between the shouiders. White China
silk guimpes are made with full sleeves, with feather-
stitching or shirring at the wrists, and lace ruffles, and
round collars falling low on the waists and over the tops
of the sleeves. |

Mabel H.—In using sealing-wax it is very necessary to
be familiar with the significance of each color. The bright
red is used for business letters; black, for mourning;
violet, for letters of condolence ; old gold, for dinner invi-
tations; white signifies a proposal of marriage; green
means hope; pale gray, friendship; pink, love; blue,
gold, or silver, constancy; aud yellow, jealousy. Buta
fine ee white or cream paper, with the envelope
soo invisibly, is always in fashion, and shows refined

e. :

Ursie L., Brooklyn, N. Y.—Simple lawn and cambric
dresses are made over a low-ntcked fitted lining of white
lawn or cambric, with a foundation skirt of the same
gathered to a deep yoke, anil sloped in the back seam:
then trimmed with a foot plaiting of the figured lawn, in-
serted at the end of the hem orfacing. The high lawn
waist is cut as a Russian blduse of very simple shape,
buttoned down the left side, or else it has a yoke of open
patterned white embroidery. The bell skirt is three yards
wide, and is simply hemmed, or it may be slit up from the
foot in tabs, the space filled in with embroidery, and a
scolloped ruffle at the foot.

OLD MART’S ADVENTURE.

BY HOWARD AUSTIN.

It was the hour of sunset, and upon the
bosom of the Platte River, in Nebraska, a
small and apparently unoccupied canoe was
floating.

The shore upon eachside of tke river was
fringed with a thick growth of bushes and tall
trees, behind one of which, in all the glory of
savage war-paint, crouched a stalwart war-
‘rior, who was intently engaged in watching
the motions of the foating boat, which,
though to all appearance empty, glided down
the stream with such celerity, and with such
a careful avoidance of all obstacles, such as
floating logs, bushes, etc., as to give to the
superstitious mind of the watchful savage the
idea that the boat was propelled by means of
some invisible agency. _

But this erroneous idea was swiftly dissi-
pated as a last bright ray of the declining sun
fell across the streamand disclosed to his
eager gaze a huge, sun-embrowned hand hang-
ing over the side of the boat, and making
rapid evolutions to and fro in the water.

The expression of awe, which at the first
thought of the supernatural had appeared upon
his face, oe faded away, and gave place
to a demoniacal look of triumph, as with an
inward chuckle he imprudently stepped a few
paces from the sheltering tree and launched
an arrow at the hand,

But as the bowstring twanged upon the air,
the hand was dextrously withdrawn, the ar-
row buried itself where a moment before the
hand had been, and, an instant later, a man
somewhat advanced in years—but lacking none
of the vigor of youth for all that—sprang
up from the bottom of the boat, and, with a
loud, pinnae exclamation, raised his
long rifle to his shoulder, and taking a swift
but steady aim at the savage's heart, fired.

In vain the Indian endeavored to regain the
shelter of the tree; the swift-winged mes-
senger of death overtook him, and he fell dead
across its trunk.

But as Old Mart—for so the occupant of the
canoe was known to the residents of that sec-
tion of the country—seized the paddies and
turned the boat’s head shoreward, for the
purpose of securing the fallen Indian's scalp,
a loud yell of rage was heard, and, raising his
eyes, he beheld six savages leave the shelter
of the several trees behind which they had
been concealed, and at the same instant, as
many arrows and bullets—for some of the
party possessed fire-arms—whistled harmlessly
past. Startled but not dismayer » guick-

writt ped his

 

 

‘
:

| bottom of the boat
2S i 1¢ had been shot, he allowed :} self to
fall over the side ¢ oat int

But the redskins, with the proverbial cun-
ning of their race, were not to be deceived by
aruse which might have imposed upon any
one less experienced in border, warfare, and
they waited patiently for the reappearance
of the hunter.

But if the savages were cunning, Old Mart
was equally so. Incoming to the surface he
was careful to keep upon the side of the boat
farthest from the savages. Fortunately he
came up within a few inches of it, and taking
hold of the bottom he allowed himself to float
along with the current.

For fully fifteen minutes he maintained this
uncomfortable position, during which time he
heard nothing save the rippling of the stream,
and as it had now becomeso dark that ob-
jects were not discernible at the distance of
three yards, of course he saw nuthing.

At the end of that timea slight splashing
sound arrested his attention, but although he
listened attentively, the sound was not re-

Ife}
BUCS

peated.
Suddenly the boat gave a lurch, as though a
hand had been laid upon one side of it. It re-

quired no further proof to convince Old Mart
that an Indian was within three feet of him.
Drawing his long knife with his disengaged
hand, SP ce it between his teeth he let
go his hold upon the canoe. As he came up
again on the opposite side his hands came in
contact with the body of a huge savage, and
ere the latter could strike a blow in his own
defense, or give utterance to the slightest
sound, the hunter’s bony fingers had clutched
as throat, and his keen knife had found his
eart.

With a dextrous sweep of his knife the vic-
tor severed the scalp from the Indian’s head,
and thrusting the bloody trophy into his belt,
he struck out toward the shore, still keeping
the gory knife between his teeth.

He did not pursue a direct course toward the
shore, but made aslight detour, and came
upon the bank ata distance of about twenty
yards from the spot where ke supposed the
savages to be awaiting the return of the brave
whose scalp hung at his belt. As he stepped
upon the shore his foot encountered some ob-
ject lying directly across his path, This object
was, in reality, the body of the Indian whom
he had shot, but he, supposing it to be the
animate body of one of his foes, who, perhaps,
was lying in wait for him, sprang suddenly
backward and gave utterance to a slight but
imprudent ejaculation of alarm. As he did so
his foot became entangled in a dead vine, and
he came to the ground with a dull crash. But
even in this extremity his presence of mind
did not desert him. He lay quiet for a moment
and listened.

For an instant all was still; then he heard
the slow, cautious tread of several men ap-
proaching.

It was folly to attempt to move. It seemed
like courting death to remain. But the hunter
chose the latter course.

Picking up a small pebble which came with-
in reach of his hand, he threw it over upon
the ground a short distance away.

The ruse was partially successful. The In-
dians paused a moment, as if in consultation,
and then three of them moved toward the spot
where the pebble had fallen, while the remain-
ing two again started noiselessly forward.

The experienced borderer knew by the sound
of the approaching footsteps that the Indians
were coming directly toward _the spot where
he was lying, and he resolved that one, if not
both of them, should pay dearly for disturb-
ing him. ; ‘
As the foremost one came up, he seized him
| by the feet and threw him forward upon the
ground. So completely were his opponents
taken by surprise, that Old Mart had already
buried his knife to the hilt in the heart of the
first, and had grappled with the second before
the remaining three, who were now about
thirty yards from the spot where the struggle
was going on, took the alarm. Old Mart saw
the immediate necessity of ending the strug-
gle, and with a powerful exertfon of his iron
muscles, he hurled the savage to the ground,

 

 

 

e

 

long rifle into the!
and throwing Up his hands |

jand planted his right knee firmly upon his

breast.

In the fall the Indian’s arm became twisted
under him, and the sturdy hunter, seeing his
advantage, ere the redskin could release the
imprisoned member, seized the latter’s. own
tomahawk, and with a tremendous sweep he
buried its blade deep into its owner’s brain.

Rapidly disengaging himself from his dead
enemy’s grasp, Mart sprang to his feet and
bounded toward the water, into which he
plunged and struck out with long and rapid
strokes toward the opposite shore. He had
been in the water perhaps five minutes, when
in making an outward stroke his hand came
in contact with some object, which, upon in-
vestigation, proved to his great joy to be the
yery boat which he had left a short time be-

ore.

Quickly drawing himself over the side, with
a derisive shout, he seized the paddle with a
firm hand and with,a few rapid strokes sent
the light craft skimming across the calm sur-
face of the stream, and hater the baffied sav-
ages could fully realize that he had escaped,
he was out of rifle range, and in a few mo-
ments he reached the opposite shore and dis-
appeared in the depths of the forest.

—t> a
—>

WOOING A WIDOW.

 

The old saying that a German farmer piles

up greenbacks where the American sets out
for the poor-house is strikingly illustrated in
Kankakee County, Illinois.
_ Fritz Loeb, an awkward youth, trudged
into the county asking the price of twenty
acres of land. Young Ed Bunch, having in-
herited a one-hunderd-acre farm, laughed at
the little German.

“Twenty-acre farm! That wouldn’t support
a pi are her chickens !”

‘ oO ”?

But from Mr. Bunch he bought twenty
acres anda small dwelling. Then he rolled
up his sleeves.

Driving daily to town behind a span of bays,
Mr. Bunch saw Fritz weeding the garden,
cutting thistles, hoeing corn. he German’s
land yielded more an acre, his cows gave more
milk, his hens laid more eggs than Bunch’s—
more money was made from the twenty acres
than from the eighty.

Pretty Mrs. Bunch, slanetg at the German’s
well-filled pocket-book, said to him, “You
should marry.”

“No one would have me.”

aoe little Dutch girl might.“

“cr 0?” i

Years rolled on. Fritz worked so late in
the field that he milked the cows after dark.
He wore his old bluecoat until a neighbor
offered to give a dollar toward buying him a
new one, just for the appearance of the place.
Mr. Bunch rode totown behind his span of
bays. He now borrowed money from Fritz,
mortgaging the farm and stock. Mr. Bunch
died, the debts unpaid. The property, having
in years decreased in value, must be sold, leav-
ing little for the widow and her two boys,
aged ten and twelve. Fritz said to her:

“Der leetle boys could drive oop der cows
und dig ’taters.. Let dem live mit me.”

She consented; and the boys, fond of Fritz,
threw up their hats and turned somersaults
on the grass.

A thunder-storm in July drove Fritz from
haying to the Bunch farm-house. The widow,
fearing the lightning, was glad tosee him,
giving him the best plush chair in the parlor,

lling and lighting his pipe.

a the smoke curled up over his head, he
said:

“Der farm vas mine?”

“Yes, Fritz.”

“Der span of bays vas mine?”

“Yes, Fitz.”

“Der leetle boys vas mine?”

“Yes, Fritz.”

“IT no likes to leave noddings.
vidder mine?”

Ss oked through a window
bow arening the
she answered ir

Yes, Fritz.’

At three o’clock the other afternoon they

drove to. a parsonge behind a span of bays,

Pleasant Paragranhs.

Vas der

at the rain-

ry Ir
OFT-CiON Ge

 

a low voice:

 

BY CHARLES W. FOSTER.

 

-Smelled Kerosene.
Husband (sniffing)—'‘Seems to me I smell kero-
sene.”’
Wife—‘‘Yes; by the way, my dear, you must go to
the intelligence office and geta new girl. You can
ride down with the undertaker.”

Rather Confusing.

Bilkins—“There comes Jinks. He’s a hateful fel-
low.”

Wilkins—“Is he one of these miserable, low down
dead-beats who are always borrowing money ?”’

Bilkins—*N—o, he—er—he—um—er—never has any
to lend.”

It Never Fails.
Sniffers—“Do you ever have hay-fever. influenza,
or anything of that kind?’ :

Biffers—‘‘No, I never had any trouble with my
nose but once. On that occasion it leaked about a
gallon.”

“Eh? When was that?’

“One evening when I went toa party and forgot
my pocket-handkerchief.”

Werth Keeping.

Lady—“I want you to take this dog back. He is
handsome, I admit, but he can’t be taught anything
at all, and is of no earthly use.”

Dealer (slowly)—‘‘Y-e-s, mum, I know, mum; but
just think wot a fine rug he'll make when he’s dead.”

Suited Both.’
Caller—“T greatly like the tone of that picture.”’
Mrs. Shoddie—"Oh, I wouldn’t buy anything that
wasn’t high-toned.”

Theory vs. Fact. °
Professor—‘‘For anatomical reasons, women Ccan-
not stand so long as men.”
Young Lady—“I guess you never saw a woman
having a dress fitted.”
A Spoiled Child.
Father—“Our daughter is incorrigible, and I can’t
see what is to be done. She is too old to spank.”
Mother—“Have patience a year or two longer, and
our troubles with her will be over. She’ll marry
somebody.”

Not Appreciative.

Young Mother (proudly)—“Everybody says the
baby looks like me.” : ‘

Bachelor Brother (amazed)—“The spiteful things
don't say that to your face, do they ?”

A Hopeful View.

He Cee Ree Gcarne marriage will have to be
postponed. I have lost my situation, and haven’t
any income at all.”

She (hopefully)—‘That doesn’t matter now, my
dear. We won’t need any. I’ve learned how to trim
my own hats.”

Bad Shooting.

Stranger (at Gory Gulch) ‘What did you lynch that
fellow for?’

Leader of Mob—“‘He fired at a man an’ killed my
horse.”

Cheap Lodgings.
Old Gentleman—*Where do you lodge ?”
Tramp—‘‘I lodge where I get board.”
Old Gentleman—‘Ah! And where do you get
board ?”’
Tramp—‘In a lumber yard.”

Spoiled Children,
Jinks—“There’s one good thing about spoiled chil-
dren.”
Binks—“What’s that ?”
Jinks—‘‘One never has them in one’s own house.”

Another Victim.

Police Captain—‘Who is that long-haired person-
age who complained that he was swindled by a con-
fidence man ?”

Lieutenant—‘He is Prof. Facielle, the lecturer on
‘Character and Physiognomy.’”

Made Him Tired.

Manager (wearily)—“‘Wish to go on the stage, eh?
After a husband, I aepnoee y?

Fair Applicant—‘I have a husband.”

Manager—“Oh, I see. After another one.”

Her Exact Words.'

Housekeeper—‘‘How’s this? You promised to saw
some wood if I gave you a lunch.”

 

Tramp—‘I recall no such promise, madam.”

and |

 

 

“The idea! I told you l’d give you alunehif you'd
saw some wood, and you agreed.”

“Pardon me, madam. Your exact words were:
‘T'll give you a lunch if you saw that wood over
there by the gate.’”

“Exactly. That’s just what I said.”

“Well, madam, I saw that wood over there by the
gate, as I came in.”

Senseless Pride.
Mother—‘What? Going to marry that fellow Gin-
sling? He's a bartender.”
Daughter—“Huh! Yow needn’t talk. Your only
son tends a soda fountain in a prohibition town.”

An Infant Industry.
De Writer—‘‘What are you doing now ?”
Scribbler—‘Writing $10,000 prize stories for the
Great North American Literary Syndicate.”
“What do they pay you?’
“Ten dollars a week.”

SELECTED PLEASANTRIES.

Maud—“There is so much individuality in Hender-
son’s pictures—you feel that he puts himself into his
work.” Elise—‘‘Yes, indeed; just look at the air of
consciousness that calf possesses.”—Harper’s Bazar,

A PRUDENT GIRL.—Elderly Relative (to school-
girl)—‘‘Amanda, you are looking pale. You must not
be too ambitious. Tell me the truth, now—haven’t
you been burning the midnight oil?”

Miss Amanda (her paleness all gone)—“*Why, yes,
auntie, but—but not much. We turned the lamp
down very low.”’— Chicago Tribune.

ANxIots TO GET HER OFF.—He (planning an
elopement)—“‘And at twelve o’clock you sneak
quietly out of the house and meet me at the corner.
[ won’t have acarriage, as we must be as economical
as possible.

She—‘Oh, I’ve made papa promise to pay for the
carriage, George !’’—Puck.

Wuy SHE JUMPED.—Wagg—“It’s too bad about
that girl that jumped off the Washington monument,
isn’t it?’

Wooden—“‘Why, what did she jump off for ?”’

“Why. you see she was very thin.”

“What had that to do with it?”

“Why, she thought she’d come down plump.”

Boston Courier.

A LAYMAN’s Locic.—Mrs. Loudman—‘I do 80
wonder why imitation diamonds are called paste ?”’
Mr. Loudman—’‘Don’t worry overit. It’s because
those who buy them are generally stuck.”
Jeweler’s Weekly.

His ForTE.—Consin Sue—“‘Mr. Bungley told me he
was somewhat of an athlete. What does he do?”

Jack—“‘Oh, he’s very skillful in tossing glasses
over a horizontal bar.”—Harvard Lampoon.

“There is such a thing as carrying a joke too far,”
remarked Funnicus, after he had visited a dozen
newspaper offices, at all of which his joke had been
declined.— Yonkers Slatesman.

Asker—“Why is it that saloons are always so
abundant in the neighborhood of a court-house?’
Tasker—‘‘For the most natural reason in the world.
Isn’t it expected that people who are bailed out will
want to fill up the first chance they get?”

Yonkers Gazette.

Smiggins (at the dinner table)—“‘Ugh! this pud-
ding isn’t fit for a hog toeat.” Boarding Mistress
(sweetly)—‘‘Then I wouldn’t eat it, Mr. Smiggins.”

Boston Transcript.

“Ts this song popular?’ she asked of the music
store clerk. ‘‘Well,” he answered, “lots of people
sing it, but, as yet, no one is sufficiently tired of it for
it tobe what you’d call a popular song.”

Washington Star.

Manager—“‘What! Are you actually smiling in the
death scene?” Actor—‘Certainly! With the wages
you pay us, death comes as a happy release.”

Scranton Truth.

A building at the Chicago World’s Fair is to be de-
voted exclusively to bric-a-brac, furniture,and other
articles brought over in the Mayflower. The struc-
ture will necessarily be the largest on the ground.

Norristown Herald.

Mrs. Figg—“‘Where is that custard I put away this
noon?” Tommy—“I—I guess. it vanished into the
empty heir.”—Indianapolis Journal,

Jones—‘‘What has made the telephone so success-
ful, do you imagine?’ Brown—‘I presume it is
owing to the fact that it is run on sound principles.”

Detroit Free Press.

—> oe

Items of Interest.

es > ife of a stic@ uf the peace in Sionx City,
Towa, had a litt dispute with her husban nd as he
had the better of the argument, she closed the debate by

giving him a good sound thrashing. The next day he
issued a warrant for her arrest, and sent an officer to
bring her before the court. She wasted po words upon
the officer, but beat him so severely that he was glad to
run from her presence. The relations between the jus-
tice and his wife have since been slightly strained, as the
diplomats say.

A Texas convict, while working on a railroad em-
bankmentin Brenham, dug a depression in the ground,
and his fellow prisoners spaded earth over him until he
was completely covered, all but a little breathing space.
It was just about quitting time, and when the other con-
victs were marched back to camp, the roll was called and
the discovery was maids that one of their number was
missing. He has not since been found.

A bullet whizzed through a window of a Danbury
(Conn.) hat factory, and struck Miss Agnes Shepard in
the ear. She removed the missile from her ear, and then
went in search of the young man who had fired it. He
had been shooting at a target. She told him that he was
too nervous to be intrusted with a pistol, that he couldn’t
hit a cow, and that he ought to take lessons in a shooting-
gallery.

Suspicious circumstances seemed to surround the
death of Mrs. Hannah Green, of Columbia, 8. C., and it
was thought she had been poisoned. It was decided to
hold an autopsy, and just as the surgeon was about to
plunge the knife into the body, the old lady slowly opened
her eyes and sat upright in the coffin, She had been in @
trance for eighteen hours.

A double golden wedding was celebrated a few
days ago, at Thompson, Conn. The principals were
Déacon and Mrs. Hiram Arnold, of Thompson; and
Deacon and Mrs. Alvin Green, of Westerly, R. I. Deacon
Arnold is Mrs. Green’s brother, and both couples were
married by the same clergyman, at Pawtucket, R. I., in
1842.

A newly-married man in this city did a strange
thing just after the bridal ceremony. He buried a cask
of port-wine in his cellar, and informed his guests that it
was not to be touched until the twenty-fifth anniversary
of his wedding, when he intends to invite his friends to
assist him in drinking it.

Several observant ladies have discovered that veg-
etarians have clear complexions, and have either re-
nounceé the use of meat entirely, or partake of it spar-
ingly. Lady Paget, wife of the British Ambassador to
the Austrian Court, is one of the recent converts to vege-
tarianism.

Trash buckets are distributed about the lawns and
paths of Chicago’s parks, to induce the visitors to place
therein paper and refuse, which otherwise might be
thrown recklessly on the ground,

To hasten the eure of a burn orscald, there is noth-
ing more soothing and effective than the white of an egg.
It is contact with the air which makes a burn so painful.
The egg acts as a varnish and excludes the air completely,
and also prevents inflammation.

An indignant justice of the peace in Barry, Il,, fined
a poor marksman six dollars for firing six shots at his
wife. The weapon was a six-shooter. Had it been a
seven-shooter, the man would have probably been fined
one dollar more.

Some village lads in Shelton, Conn., while “playing
circus,” hanged little Eddie Gould as a horse-thief. The
performance was so natural that a physician exercised
his skill half an hour before Eddie recovered conscious-
ness.

An attractive little cottage, beautiful enough to
satisfy any reasonable woman, is now nearing completion
in Newport. The owner is W. K. Vanderbilt, and the
cost is a mere trifle—only $250,000.

To keep himself cool, the King of Siam has a house
made of glass, hermetically sealed. This he enters, and
it is so contrived as to be readily sunk in water. A four-
inch pipe supplies ventilation. é

Tiger-hunting in India, as now conducted, is peril-
ous sport. Formerly the animals were shot from plat-
forms erected in the forests. Now the daring sportsmen
hunt them on foot.

A Deadwood paper has an advertisement for “a
girl for light housework.” One of the answers contained
an inquiry as to “how often boats ran from the light-house
to the city.”

A promising lad is Myron Jilson, of Whittingham,
Vt. He is only eighteen, yet his weight is 200 pounds;
his height is 6 feet 10 inches, and he is still growing.

Rubber-heels, to facilitate marching, are to be at-
tached to the shoes worn by French soldiers. Experi-
ments with them have given decided satisfaction.

The daughter of Thomas Kennman, of Elnora, Ind.,
while asleep, stepped out of a third-story window, but
was only slightly hurt.

A bottomless bog exists in Mattawamkeag, Me.
Several bridges have been built upon it, but each in turn
has sunk from sight.

A tribal law in Mashena, Central Africa, decrees
the death by drowning of twin babies immediately after
they are born.

Small electric wagons, for the delivery of groceries
and other light articles of merchandise, are novelties in
London.

Peach-stones are widely used as fuel in California.
oer are supplied by canning factories, and bring $15 per

n.

An artificial waterfall, seventy-five feet in height,
is to ornament the Golden Gate Park, San Francisco.

Squire Beasley, of Aberdeen, Ky., has performed
the marriage ceremony for over 14,000 people. :

  

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

mantel casei

con an nahin REM?

4