—_Z of Conaress, tn the Year 1378, bu Street & Smith, in the Office ov” the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. OC. No. 12. Three Dollars Per Year. Two Copies Five Dollars. Vol. 34, ‘New York, Februar a OFFIOE No. 31 Rose a FRANOIS 8. STREET FRANOIS §. SMITH. MY LOVE. BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH. My love is a bouquet of flowers most rare, I never beheld one more fragrant and fair; Her bright eyes are violets, modest and blue, Her lips are ripe strawberries cover’d with dew; Her cheeks are the rose and the lily combined, And her hair the corn-tassel that flows unconfined; Her breath, let me add that, and then I have done, It exhalesall the sweet odors mingled in one. My love is a concert, the tones of her voice, Ae she trips through the grove, make the song-birds rejoice She's a inte, she’s a harp, she’s a Steinway piano, A whole band is heard in her glorious sopraao. Orpheus himself, with his wonderful lyre, Were he living in this era, couldn’t outvie her. He made the trees dance; but his music was stupid Compared with my love’s when she’s singing for Cupid. My love is a banquet—you’ve only to sit ver presence to feast upon beauty and wit The sourest cynic or soberest priest in her laughter would find a luxurious feaat; And Bacchus would let the rich vintage go by Por the intoxication which shoots from her eye. io short, among women my love stands alone— My Douqguet, my concert, my banquet, my ewn! see +. £P ks Shoemaker of Toulouse; OR, Ta AVENGER IN HOMBLE LIFE. Wriiten from F. 8. Hill’s celebrated drama of the same name, By John F. Cowan, Auther of “O'CONNOR'S CHILD,” Kée CHAPTER I. SENTENCE OF DEATH, » It was in the reign of Louis Thirteenth, that age of Intrigue, mystery, and mischief in general, when P. 0. Box 2734, New York. be muttered and gurgied by the sweeping waters of the Garonne as if washed the many quays. The citizens feared to go forth at night lest the ruthless knife of the mysterious destroyer should strike them down in their tracks. They glanced fearfully from their iron-barred windows ere they crept shuddering to bed, with vague anticipation of seeing the thing they dreaded sweep past upon its mission of blood. They awoke in the morning from uneasy dreams to ask each other who was the latest victim, and yet no trace, no elew, not even a suspicion could they get as to the personality of the secretslayer, = % = & +e < ¥ = It was drawing toward the close of a raw, gloomy day, unusually cold and stormy for the pleasant south of France. The damp Mediterranean breezes dimmed the window-panes and made the tiled roofs glisten in the chill blue light, and bedewed the painted walls of such buildings as it could gain entrance to. One of these was the great Hall of Justice, which was crowded to overflowing so that it was impossi- ble to shut the doors, for the eager mass of citizens blocked them up and extended even down the lofty steps and far along the red briek pavement. What was the eause of all this interest and ex- eitement ?” Had the autnorities at last succeeded in capturing the seeret perpetrator of so many butcheries? Surely nothing less important could cause such agitation in the sober citizens of the staid old city of Toulouse. Such were the questions asked by new-comers, who were unable to reach the chief point of inter- est, but the answer invariably was: “Alas! no. Haven’t you heard, neighbor? It is only poor Andrew Fourore, who is on trial for his life.” “On what charge, citizen?” “A very paltry, pitiful one, neighbor. It is for stealing an cld shabby doublet from his master, Claude Pernou.” One of these questioners was a man of. middle age, dressed in the humble garb of an artisan. He was of goodly stature and sturdy build,that de- louse knew Jacob Odet, the cobbler, who has his stand close by the Capitoul’s mansion. He's a strange character. No one seems to be able to make him exactly out.” A buzzcame from the Hall of Justice, and was in- creased to an uproaras it passed from moutints mouth, tillit reached thefurthest loungera in the street. pe “Poor Andrew!’ it said. “They've put him up {&- sentence, poor fellow!” And pitying expressions broke in all directions from the mouths of the very sensation mongers who would hasten on the morrow to gloat over the dying agonies of the doomed lad whom they now { professed to commiserate. Meanwhile the man in the red shirt, Jacob Odet, as he had been named, pushed his way resolutely through tho jammed passages util he stood breath- less, but sternly calm, in the presence of the tri- bunal whose word was fate. : Facing the judgment seat. loaded with chains, and upheld by two grim gendarmes, stood the pris- oner, aslim, trembling, pale-faged boy. His large eyes were fixed upon the stern judge in tearless horror, his colorless lips quivered with ir- repressible emotion, and the ghastly whiteneas of death had already settled upon his handsome fea- tures, a From close beside him came the continued sounds of heavy sobs. The man in the red shirt stretched his tall figure still higher and strove over the heads of those in front of bim to see the mourner. He was unsuceessful, but he eduld not be mis- taken as to whence the sounds proceeded. They could only come from the breaking heart of an anguish-striecken mother. andthe man smote his own heart with his clenehed hand, as if to beat down the sympathetic pang that stung him there, There was astir and a bustte. accompanied bya running whisper around the hall, asthe door of the judge’s room opened, anda portly gentleman of advanced years and intensely severe expression of face was bowed ia by atl Obsequious attendant. ry the “t-Cardinal Duc de Richelieu really ruled ever Sinny Prance, that the young Duke of Fron- pp —~. | os ~ noted great strength of bodys, as his massivé, firii- ;{ set face did strength of charaeter. iis oy —————— “It is the merghant, Claude Pernou,.” Whispered, Jacob Odet’s neighbor in his Fay The answer of the man in tpe red shirt was so singular and uttered in such atone as to cause the other to stare at him. "Pig well,” he said. heart. Here, here!” With the last words he smote himself (twice upon the: breast, so that his deep chest gave fiorth a dull, hollow sound, he allthe time keeping his strong eyes fastened on the merchant, Claude Pernou. That person stiffly saluted the judges and took the proffered seat beside him, bending the while his fieree, relentless eyes upon the pdor, trembling prisoner. “Curse him! “T have his portrait in my Ourse him!” muttered Jacob Odet, with bitterness. “He needs must come to enjoy the poor jlad’s terror. Oh, God! bow long?” The sobbing ceased on the accuseér’s appearance, asif thesight of him had stricken the afficted mother with the same damb, tearless terror that rested on the prisoner. Every heart was hushed, fer all knew what dread- ful words were going to break the silence. The judge solemnly put on the red cap, the sym- bol of death, and a shudder rasa through the crowd- éd audience, “Andrew Fourore,” said the judge, in ponderous y 3, TO CARISSIMA. ERROLL BY BERTIE Through memory’s gardens to-night I am roaming, And sighing o’er flowers that adorned brighter days; But of all the sweet names that I see in the gloaming, Not one loved as thine meets my heart-broken gaze. In the days when my feelings were blooming with gladness, Betore dark deception had taught me to hate, Thy face was the cause of my youth’s greatest madness, The vision e’en now can 2 passion create. But down to destruction thy finger hath beckoned, And swiftly I’ve traveled the dark path of sin; My soul its the chamber of miseries unreckoned, My life is destroyed where ull others begin Oh, come to me now when my being down crashes, And all the bright palace of yonth is decayed, While hope and ambition He dead In the ashes, Oh, gaze on the ruin thy folly hath made! And if to thy fancy the picture be painted, Others there are whom those eyes can enslave; Go, slay them; and when ’mid thy dead thou hast fainted, Perhaps thou canst spare then a tear for my grave e<+—__— THE WIDOW’S WAGER. A TALE OF Northern Hearts and Southern Homes. By ROSE ASHLBEIGH, OF SOUTH CAROLINA “The Widow's Wager’ was commenced last week. Ask News Asent for No. 11, and you will get the openéeg CHAPTER IV. A STUDY OF HANDS. As the pale young widow uttered the last sentence of her singular and most significant harangue, she rose from her place in the window recess, and swiftly left the room by an adjacent door. The various members of the’stlent company cst glances from one to another, and all toviird the ¢mperturbable face Gf Mr. Griswold, who alone seemed hot | your ne sit from his chair, and gathered up the import- ant document, which he relocked in the heavy rosewood escrifoire from which he had taken it. He then handed the key to Mr. | Dorsay, requesting that it be given into Mrs. | Haughton’s keeping, and stated that he would come the following day to have the will recorded in due form of law, after which he took his leave, but on his way to the door he encountered a servant, who called out in breathless haste for Dr. Cassidy, saying that Mrs. Haughton had fainted. Turning to Mr. Dorsay, as the’ doctor ° passed hastily up the broad stairway, Mr. Griswold said in an undertone: “‘T would call in Dr. Rawles as soon as he returns, Mr. Dorsay. In the extremely sensitive and critical condition of your daughter's nervous and mental system, so young, and, of course, inexperienced a prac- titioner as Cassidy, is hardly the proper per- son to have her case in hand. Besides, what do we know about him ?” With an expression which implied volun of suspicious possibilities, the lawyer acce uated the final question. ‘True ; and you are quite right. Isha see to it that Rawles is sent for the mom: he gets. back.” Ethel’s fainting spell proved to be no great matter. . Her organism, at all times {co . finely strung, had suffered so serious an in- . jury from the protracted strain of anxicty previous. to: her marriage,-and the fearful shock which succeeded it, that any unwonted tax on her sensibilities was for the present insupportable to her. An hour later she seemed entirely recovered from the weakness that hid overcome jer after the scene in the ; library, and sak q#etly half reclined in, a 1€S nt- ) a sn er | een eg anne \h } ! i 3 } ; f i ‘ i i ! fiellt i | | " Ne ii} a : tones that made the prisoner start as if stricken by an @leetrie shock, “you have besn found guilty of the most ungratefuland heinous erime of basely Ritchie “HOW DARE YOU POLLUTE MY CLOT sac was appointed governor of the ancient city of Toulouse, He was a young man of noble lineage, attractive person, and really good heart, but his better na- was perverted by the libertine teachings of his Madinier, a former creature of the licentious dinal duke. His example, then, had a most pernicious influ- ence on the morals of the young men of Toulouse 7 and on many of the old ones, too, who thought honorable privilege to ape the dishonorable vicious doings of their rufing prince. avenger fad suddenly startled the evil- tore tute sa ind Bot an doers. A weird, mysterious avenger, unknown save by his bloody work. An unseen protector of the innocent and op- pressed=-a sure-handed righter of wrongs—all the more terrible because unseen. At frequent intervals some offender of the dread unknown would be found by the horrified inbabi- tants weltering in blood in the most public streets, smote tothe heart by the blade of the secret assas- sin. That there was but one hand engaged in the per- petration of these frequent horrors was proved by the examination of the death wounds. They were all direct to the heart, and identieal in size and shape. which was peculiar, and plainly showed tothe bewildered authorities that they were executed by thesame weapon. But what that weapon was, or who was the awful boing that wielded it so mercilessly, they could not diving So consternation reigned in the quaint old city of Murder!” seemed to be whispered from the alley-ways and echoing arches. It seemed to shudder on the night wind, and to Q7 f HING WITH YOUR FILTHY HANDS?’ ; i} | visaged man in a red shirt. A tall conical hat, striped with various colors, covered his large head; a bright red flannel shirt enveloped his broad shoulders,and blue cotton trowsers, clumsy shoes and a grimy, leathern apron completed his costume. “Claude Pernou!the rich merchant?” he said, with astart and afrown, to one of the ready ex- plainers. “The same,” was the answer,in a pityine tone. “Is it not too mournful that such a hard-hearted | old hulks, that has millions stored away in his | treasure-chests, should be allowed to do away the life of & poor boy for the sake of a tattered old rag ofa garment that a chiffonier wouldn’t put in his rag-bag?” “Ay.” said another, “and the boy a poor widow’s} only child. Poor Andrew! it will break his mother’s heart.” Thestern eyes of the man in the red shirt flashed, and his bearded lips moved in a voiceless curse. | “Is:there proof of this theft?’he asked, in low, quick tones. “Only too strong ones—the boy’s found guilty, and they have brought him up for sentence.” With an inarticulate sound that might have been meant for thanks or a muttered malediction. the man in the red shirt hastily left his informants, and began to elbow his way vigorously through the | densely-packed crowd toward the portal of the Hall of Justice. This was seemingly a hopeless undertaking, but the man was strong and attuated by earnest re- solve, and, as the people parted to give him pas- sage, the men to whom he had spoken could see the singular hat’and red shirt pushing closer and closer to the coveted entrance. “A sturdy, determined fellow that,” satd one to theother. “Whois he?” “Who is he?” exclaimed the second. “Why. I robbing a good, kind, and indulgent master——” A low, deep, scornful, satirical laugh broke in apon thesolemn words with strange effect that startled every one that heard it. ‘ The gendarmes and court officers rapped warn- ingly with their staves, and ealled for order, while | ths judge and Pernou glared in the direetion from vhich the mocking sound had seemed to come, They saw # mass of intensely interested faces turned: toward them, and conspicuously a stern- “Prisoner,” resumed the judge, with additional sternness, “the crime of which you stand convicted is one almost as black as that of murder itself, and the law lays down the same punishment—pDzaTH!” At the dreadful word the prisoner reeled and sank like a corpse into the arms of one of the gendarmes, and the sobbing broke forth again, but | 30 intensified by depths of suffering that it seemed | searcely human in its agonized expression. Low, smothered sobs of sympathy burst from the | wemen of the audience, and many a hand was! dashed across moist manly eyes. “The sentence of the court,” went on the heavy, knell-like voice of the judge, “is, that you, Andrew Fourore, be taken_on to-morrow morn, unto the! public place of execution, and there hanged by the | neck until you are dead, and may God have mercy | on your guilty soul!” Again the low, horrifying laugh was heard, but | iuttention was drawn from it bythe utterance of | a blood-curdling shriek, and the rushing toward the judgment seat of a distracted-looking woman. / “No! no! not death!’ she shrieked. ‘My boy!! My poor Andrew! Oh God, not death! Mercy! | mercy! mercy!” Her frenzied grief overcame her, the power of) speech left her with a wild gasp, and the poor crea- ture threw herself before the judge and aecuser | with appealing action, that was more eloquent than words, } with a pitiless frown, drew his cloak closer around | him, and moved sullenly away. “Let that crazed woman be attended to,” said the} judge, gruffly, ‘and, officers, clear the court.” Several kind-hearted women hastened to where, the doomed boy’s mother Iny mute in her deep de- | spair, and raised her from the floor. She gave utterance to no sound. She had lost the power ef weeping. She looked at the bench, and saw that those on| whom she had vainly ealled for mercy were gone. She looked toward the prisoner’s dock, but it was | CONTINUED ON PAGE THREE. to have observed that the lady’s remarks were | pointedly directed to himself Dr. Cassidy | alone exchanged no look with any one, but | remained leaning upon the hand which still | . rr | shaded his eyes. The lawyer broke the awk- | ward silence, saying in a cold, but emphatic | voice, while his vulture-like eyes swept the | audience before him: deep chair by her bedroom fire, while the doctor conversed near by with her mother. *‘Can I see you out here for a‘moment, Mrs. Dorsay ?” asked Mrs. Howe, the house- keeper, who put her head in at the door. ‘*Excuse me, doctor.” And the little woman tripped out, and closed the door to keep out the sounds of ‘It is but natural that Mrs. Haughton, | the domestic confab to which she was sum= the sad sufferer by this calamitous disaster, to which we have listened. and above the efforts of lawful agents that will be employed, to trace the doer of the| of her | *,¢ . . * . | | propositions, namely, to disprove the validi- | frightful deed. As to the second ty of her husband’s will, there can be but one opi y no grounds for such a procedure. left to execute tl to carry out the behests of the will. Mean- time I would advise that no one agitate these painful questions with the most unhappy lady, leaving time and repose to make ; | nion among us all—there are literal-| As the | Olaude Pernow looked down on the prostrate form | attorney who drew the will, and the trustec | 1e. same, as duly witnessed |! | by three reliable witnesses, it must as plainly | sig | moned. | should feel and express the exaggerated ideas | It becomes our | duty, mine most of all, to aid and assist her | ,;in the first of her self-assigned duties; over ¥ U p to that moment Ethel had taken no part nor interest in the conversation, seem- ing scarcely aware of the presence of her companions. Now she turned with an eager motion, and fixing her starry gaze full upon Erl Cassidy’s eyes, she said : ‘“Would you recognize the general ap- pearance of, or any single feature in that document you signed as a witness three days ago, Dr. Cassidy ?” ‘I think there is no doubt at all but I 1ould recognize it from one peculiar feature on that page which was exposed during the ning,” answered the doctor, with quiet st + | become my duty to sustain the legality and|and prompt decision. ‘Will you tell me what that distinguish- ing feature was ?” ‘‘Certainly. One-half of the page was written with very dark ink, the other half clearer atmosphere about her disordered fac-| was several shades paler.” ”? ulties. ‘‘Did you think of accounting for that While uttering the last portion of his re-} fact?’ marks, Mr. Griswold had deliberately risen ‘“Yes. [looked upon the table at which _THE NEW aa. sisi aemiegipuanlamaios ORK WEEKLY. eal a eo pre en pe ey ae oe Mr. Griswold had been writing, and expect- ewe aversion that I ee ‘to Treini Gris. ed to see two bottles of ink. only one, however. But as a glass of water stood near it, I fancied there may have been so small a spply in ‘the inkstand that water was added in order to facilitate the’ writing, haste being so necessary.’ ‘* It is strange you should have considered all this at such a time,” said Ethel, with an interested expression growing outward upon her features as she watched the calm, reso- Inte, intellectuab face of the speaker, who thus circumstantially replied to her inquiry: “No, I think not. When one has learned the habit ef reflecting, and accustomed one’s self to find a reason for the lightest as well as the gravest things, it becomes second na- ture to notice and connect incidents so swift- ly as scaroely to be conscious of the process, and an idea once lodged in the brain re- mains fixed there for any future use that may arise. ” **Do yon believe that my husband, in the awful heur ef death, was capable ef com- mMitting the cruel wrong against me which that will declares he did?” ‘*Madam, I pray you reflect how little right I have to any opinion on such a ques- tion. I had no personal knowledge of Mr. Haughton’s character, can frame no concep- tion of his feelings or motives ; but, candid- ly, I have no cause at all to doubt that the document read in my hearing to-day, for the first time, was your husband’s will.” **Can you think that he, or any man with a human heart, or the soul of a gentleman, eguid have inflicted so shameful an insult upon his wife as to have consigned her in- terests to the custody of “hat creature?” Even the statuesque calm of Cassidy’s face ehanged for an instant at the galling venom with which Ethel pronounced the last words. He answered with a conciliatory tone : **Consider, Mrs. Haughton, that your husband could have none but the best inten- tions in leaving the business affairs of his young wife in the hands of his oldest and most confidential friend who has also been his legal adviser for many years. There is really nothing in this idea that is not nat- ural.” ‘Then you, asa man of honor, approve of that will?” asked Ethel, with flashing eyes. Excuse me. I neither approve nor dis- epprove. I have no right todoeither. I only answer you as the world at large will answer should you attempt to disprove the will on no better grounds than those you have just stated.” Ethel was silent and thoughtful some time, and her dark, humid eyes seemed to for ! There was! wold must forever remain unspoken in my own heart. God forgive me if 1 do him wrong, but—no, I dare not say it!” “Do not, I pray you; and let me en- treat, nay, command you, as your physician, to dismiss all these distracting thoughts for the present until your disturbed and sorely strained nerves have time to react from their present higi»tension, otherwise you will have no strength either of mind or body for any- thing in the Suture.” The significant stress laid en the closing sentence plainly indicated that the doctor's thoughts had reverted to Ethel’s solemn ob- ligation to expose and avenge the dark crime so wrapped in mystery. She smiled sadly, and answered, wearily: ‘‘Ah, yes; you are right. I must gather strength into all my forces and faculties for the task I have set myself.” ‘‘Do not speak, nor think of that now. Allow me?” And the doctor placed his cool, shapely | s fingers upon the rapid fluctuating pulse of the pale and languid girl, who let her small, slender hand lie like a nerveless thing be- neath the professional touch. Erl Cassidy was a man as well as a doctor, and the man was as sentient to all beautiful effects as the scientist was alive and alert to all physical ones, and therefore his eye as well as his fingers lingered on the sweet, pale lily-hand with something of warmer interest than merely a professional investigation. The starry diamond, and the broad, rich circlet of the wedding-ring seemed rather to impair than add luster to the delicate loveli- ness of that expressive hand. ‘‘Have you faith in chiromancy, Mrs. Haughton?” asked the doctor, as he rose and reached a vial anda glass from a table by him and began to drop some bright fluid as a sedative portion for his beautiful patient. Perhaps his question was only arandom one, meant to divert Ethel’s mind from the dark- er thoughts that brooded there. ‘*T have no knowledge whatever about it. Have you?” **None of a cabalistic. or occult nature. Yet I fancy there is no point or feature of the human frame more vitally expressive than the hand.” ‘Yours are very handsome. Perhaps that accounts for the reflection you've be- stowed on the subject,” said Ethel, with a wholly unintentional and charmingly natural coquetry, which at once betrayed the in- nocent freshness of an unsullied eharact¢ that was as yet under the ban of no Pharisa- ism. . “If the possession of a beautiful hand be searching the flickering pile of glowing | were enough to induce one to study its indi- coals upon the hearth for some guiding | cations scientifically, thought. At length sa Boe fed her wh ite, troubled face, and once yore the radia Sapphire eyes plunged! theif diicling eiebcsal into the doctor's, and she gaid with a pite@us | stand and take a ‘How foolish and/ maintain the defensive, and happy if he accent : ‘Yes, I see! I sce! unjust i¢ must all have seunded to those} who heard me down stairs. ‘They all think; what you have spoken, wrong. Hugh Haughton xever made that will, Iknow not why I am certain of it, but as if avoice from Heaven had whispered it, I seemed to receive the conviction the in- stant that I heard it, that my dead husband did not leave me in shat man’s power.” ‘‘Calm yourself, dear madam,” said the doctor, gently, for Ethel’s eyes were full ofa mournful pain, and her lips were quivering and paliid. ‘‘There is, after all, little for you to dread from the trustee, whose reputa- tion forbids the idea that he could defraud you, or misapply—— ” “ Heavens! do you imagine it is the mis- erable property of which I am thinking?” interrupted Ethel, with a look of horror, ‘Forgive me if I have unwittingly offend- ed by my words. No; Ido not think you have ever given a thought to that point. Naturally your womanhood rebels against the lack of confidence implied in the idea ef a check like those conditions being im- posed upon your future conduct in regard to another marriage.” “Oh, how you misjudge me! As God hears me I have not given that idea a thought till now.” There was no chance to doubt the honest trath of that suffering face, those sad, clear eyes, and Cassidy could have bitten off a piece of his tongue for the words that had called such a woeful look to that lovely face. “Pardon again! 1 am unfortunate in my expressions——” ‘*Cannot you understand that it is alto- gether and ondy the person to whom the trust is confided, and not the trust itself that fills me with horror and incredulity?” ‘‘From a general standpoint it is impos- sible to conceive of any one more likely to have been selected by the testator, or better | fitted to discharge the office confided to him.” Despite the cold practicality of the words employed there was an undertone of sympa-! thy and strong, manlike compassion in Er] Cassidy's countenance and tones that seemed to soothe and inspire Ethel with confidence that he divined her trouble better than his speech implied. ‘«* From a general standpoint’ what you say may be true, but you feel that my abhor- rence of this thing is neither unnatural nor | unfounded. ” ‘* [ feel that it is most probable you have a private and personal reason for your oppo- sition to Mr. Griswold as your trustee, but it must be a powerful and just reason that | the law would deem sufficient to incapacitate him for the discharge of his functions in your regard.” ‘Woe is me! I cannot even assign a single reason, or bring forth a single charge against it. Yet what I know I know, and my soul assures me there has been foul play in all this. My grounds for the deep- yet they are all | you, madam, should#be an adept.” 4, “Ah, you have turmgd my own blade against me, ‘That is not fair.’ ‘“Jrue, itis not. A ‘man should always lady’s thrusts, content to have the good fortune always to parry them Drink this, please,” and he handed the glass o Ethel, which she promptly emptied. “Ah | you can afford to take my thrusts quietly, having such bitter revenge ready to inflict,” said Ethel, with a pretty grimace, as she handed back the glass whose tonic con- tents were by no means of a nectarine flavor. ‘* But go on, and tell me your theory about hands.” ‘*One point is, never trust either man or woman with hands that have no special characteristic, but are merely amass of flesh, and bone, and muscle made into shape for use. Nor one whose hands cannot give yours a firm and steadfast clasp. The hand that has a loose and shuffling manner of salutation, is like the eye that has a shifting, furtive, and uneasy glance—both are treach- erous.” ‘* Are you describing any special hand and eye just now?” ‘‘No; there was no particular individual in my thought. Why?” ‘‘ Because I know one who answers to your portraiture precisely, and I both mis- trust and hate him, and I know that he is treachery incarnate. ¥ es, now I believe in chiromancy. Go on.” ‘*But when you find a cleanly-molded, thin-textured hand, with well-defined veins, cool palms, delicate nails, and quiet grasp, that can be light and chill, or warm, and close, and passionate at its owner’s will, then you have the hand that belongs to an honest, faithworthy heart, whether it beat under the lace of a duchess, or the rags of a beggar, the robe of a king, or the shirt of a yeoman. But what makes you smile at that?” Ethel’s eyes had sought and were resting on the white, nervous, sensitive hand that hung from Erl Cassidy's wrist over the black marble of the mantel, where he was leaning hisarm. He saw, and added : ‘*Do believe me that I was not thinking of my own, though it might possibly be classi- fied among those I have just described, as might yours; but, truly, neither were my mod- els for that picture ; I spoke generically.” ‘‘T think I shall explore the science of hands. Your lore about them must be in- valuable to you asa man of the world in helping you to avoid mistakes about char- acter. Must you go now?” asked Ethel, re- gretfully, as the doctor looked at his watch and prepared to depart. ‘“Yes; I have an engagement at two o'clock ; it is now almost that. You will send for me when you have need of further attention until your family physician re- turns.” ‘*[ have no physician, doctor, and if you will consider yourself permanently employed at Exmoor, you will confera kindness on met “‘You are very good; but consider what your parents, the world of Eikton, society in general, and Dr. Rawles, in particular would think of such a proceeding,” said Cas- \ | shall chink jenefto you. M ee a a a bright, Doc ucie curling his bronze miistache, and showing his strong glittering teeth, **It shall make no sort of difference to me : will come when t for, = ve whomsoever at what any one thinks, if you you are Exmoor.’ The laughing “face gt wgrave and quiet in a2 moment, and the gctor answered, with gentle decisiveness : ‘‘ Forgive me, dear madam, if Isay, ‘No, I will not come’ ither for the reason that it might be unwelcome to your friends, nor that my rival Esculapius’ might, and probably would, stigmatize it as unprofes- sional.~ These considerations would matter very little to me.” ‘Why, then, do you reject my patron- age, Dr. Cassidy?” asked Ethel, with serious and balf-offer ded dignity, as she fixed her clear, pure ar, on him. -‘*Can you think of no other and werthier reasop for my refusal to serve my own per- aterest so grell as I should in accept- nous, and now almost benignant regard, settle on Ethel’s. ‘Really no—I cannot.” **T am not afraid to tell you then. You are pure and noble enough to take my words without offense or migconstruction. If you should dismiss the regularly attending physi- cian of your father’s family, an old “inhabi- tant, anda marrof advanced years and estab- lished character, to employ a young mast and a stranger whose antecedents and per sonal worth are yet unknown, nay, strongly suspected in your community because he hails from that detested Nazareth out of which your people believe no good can come —only think what might be said cf you.’ Ethel’s face had turned scarlet, but her glance remained steadfast, though her lip quivered as she said, softly : “A thousand thanks. I should have thought of that—I was very stupid not to— but I only remembered that you are a stran- ger and. unfortunately placed here, and, more. than all, that you have. been so earn- estly kind and attentive to us during this great trouble, and-——” **Say no more; I need no explanation of your thoughts, and you shall surely know, some day, that they have net been more flat- tering than I will-deserve from you. I can- not be your physician, and I trust: you will seldom need me, but I can be; and am, your faithful friend, and ever your most humble and obedient servant.” € was smiling again now, and all his strong, noble face was alight and glorified as b y “The splendor of e snirit without blame.” here were teara unshed in Ethel’s lovely leyes that be wished to keep frm falling, therefore, he added. holding out “his hand te her: **Nay, never look so sad about it, or I mj y friendship ig a cross and a y time is up, quite. Good- Remember that 1 am yours vhemever you have need of a and a healthy heart.” ‘ei aid her hand within the t clasp of her new frieud’s hand ; her lips were smiling gratefully, but the bright rain was falling gently from the soft dark Jashes that curled against the pearly luster of her lice And so they longer. by. for to-day. to comm. tolerably | In silence close. and qui parted, but strangers no CHRAPTER. V. GREEK MEETS GREEK. Now, doubtless, Mrs. Grundy would count ita most disreputable proceeding that Ethel Haughton, in the “rst days of her tragie wid- owhood—even though unbereaved because unloving—should have been thus beguiled into any interest, far less any discussion, about subjects alien to her melancholy situ- ation. And, as to Erl Cassidy’s heartless and indecorous disregard of the etiquette of grief in proposing any topic not in strict harmony with the dismal crape draperies of his fair patient—well, there’s no telling what severity of criticism that did not merit. Mrs. Grundy is far too proper a persom to make allowance of expense for the need of light, and warmth, and freshness that the poor, pale prisoner within the double walls of gloom and horror must have had, or for the eager thirst with which the sad lips, wearied of their draughts of gall, must have quaffed the cup of reviving sympathy and pleasantry that youth held to youth. But we, dear reader, are not crested with Dame Grundy’s cup of propriety, and can understand poor Ethel’s enjoyment of brave, true, honest-souled Erl Cassidy's incidental and diverting talk. Wecan feel the waves of gentler feeling well gratefully up from her long repressed heart to meet the noble offer- ing of a good man’s friendship, and, like her, we can forget he was only an alien, a Nazarene in South Carolina, and a stranger whom she had no social right whatever to admit toherconfidence. Itis one of youth's divine prerogatives to forget the convention- alities sometimes-—and to be natural. Ethel Haughton sat quite alone in a small sitting-room appointed to her special use, and exquisitely adorned for the reception of his bride by the lavish expenditure of him who was called to his account before reaping the harvest he had sown in Ethel Dorsay's life. It is an hour past noon, and the time fixed by Mr. Griswo!d to make an official record of the dead man’s rar, and Itthel , listened restively for the arrival of the law-| lyer and the notary, for there was a purpose | in her mind that kept her unquiet. ‘The moment that Mr. Griswold has fin- | ished his. business in the library, Brutus, show him into the room,” she had: said: to the footman whose duty it was to admit vis- | itars. rn end: “Mrs. “Dorsay had Sak returned {1 to their own-home, a few miles distant from ’ l&xmoor, promising to revisit their daughter as frequently as their duties and the care of a young’ family would allow, so that; with the exception of the old housekeeper, Mrs. Howe, and the retinue of slaves, the young mistress of Exmoor was alone in her magnifi- cent new home. The gloom and terror of that awful bridal seemed still to fill the lofty chambers, for every ené spoke with hushed accents, and stepped slowly and cautiously, as if afraid of disturbing the ghest of the dark-visaged master whose fierce, imperious rule over his household had so lately been snatched from his grasp, and transferred to the delicate and gentle hands of the still-faced Chatelaine, who was already much more than half adored by the Exmoor slaves as something more than mortal, since she never spoke to the least among them save with the soft and kindly tone that made the music of her Voice. At last the roll of wheels upon the drive announced the arrival of Mr. Griswold and the notary, attended by Mr. Dorsay. Ethel heard their steps pass up the resounding hall, and then grow mufiled on the’ thick velvet pile of the library carpet. ‘*Mr. Griswold’s compliments, ma’am; and he begs you send the key to the rose- wood desk,” said the sable footman who now entered Ethel’s presence. She took the key, a curious, silver-plated key, from the pocket of her dress, and laid iton the salverin the servant’s hand. All was very quiet again for the space of halfan hour. Ethel sat almost breathless with the weight of thronging thoughts and the pres- sure of suspense. She was unaware of her father’s presence in the hotise, until rapid, uncertain footsteps crossed the hall, and, pallid and trembling, Mr. Dorsay steed fa- cing herat the threshhold. With low, husky articulation, he said : ‘‘Ethel, your husband’s will cannot be found! In Heaven’s name, child, who has had the key to that cabinet in which it was locked ?” Ethel, in her turn, grew white and scared. “No one has had it, father. You saw me lock it in my private desk up stairs. It has not been touched since until I brought it down with me two hours ago.” **The will is gone! Oh, child! child! after all you said about it before the others, yesterday, do you know what the inference will be concerning its mysterious disappear- ance ?” ‘* What, sir?” asked Ethel, absently. ‘< What, indeed, but that you have removed and destroyed it, to prevent its bemg re corded |” ‘‘ Who would dare suspect such a thing of me, sixty “ aded the pseudo! sergeant, one other than the individual named by Walt Whyte, winking as Britint oan malicious mirth as he spoke. Then out ffane thd squad of his own men, di d E him right ia front of Wale Whyte. : : “Tae tables are turned, new, ye scoundrel!’ he exclaimed, his eye flashing with hot wrath as he spoke. “Instead 0’ my being a were to a Homie ag you thought, you are a& prisuuer to the Water Wagteils, Wait Whrte—my prisoner! “You dare not make me your prisoner, Hugh Lee!” exclaimed Walt Whyte, defiantly; “yeu dare not!” - To the changed gitaation of affairs ho had quick himeelt; and net boing ent in antnal rage, tre omported himself as usual when roused—with passion aud de- ance. “FP darn*t, eh? returned our hero, seorn on his lip and fre in hiaeye. “Dara’t! Well, ther may be some shines Laapene do, & Waste, het by the lord Harry éi3 ain’t ene of’ F “A iabeipia tes Ke, FeO, Yes, COB Fo mot re wanted arfeer | : , Hugh Leo, ; divinins the import | ee ercenre: , Ha iokis ies Pie Sols . we b. ih ng the areatly pert net ‘bo required thas night, in that pl: - vidual in question left at once, glad, no epon a Scene so unconzental, with ite of vielenes and poss ities of biomishy d. ‘ t Wak Whyte cround bis teeth, and his { With a dead- iy fice, bet he stead stiil and s#id nothing, Hach was terug to an agrin, when the movement was ar- reated by that ef Walt Whyte’s two friends, who started to follow the clergyman, which eding did net aecord with hix wishes —1s fey wmizht ve going to bring others to the rescue of their Stop!” he commanded, im: ratively “stop! & look aut for ban —ictt Then Hugh tarned toward the man whe would kaye done possible, m the aiost dastardiy claimed, in a tone of bitter reproach, and or when Walt Whyte, not three Feet Land got im the blow, but received one iui-” fhim the most grievieus injury manner, **Scoundrel!* me ; k at . ] ng @oya in an instant in close And Berce embrace, Watt Whyte yin his back t@ the floor, and atthe merey ef Hugh, whose ood waa ap, aud whose reselye was te punish his etemy then aed there. Saat ot tightly. it Rad been detfer for Walt Whyte had the cutb of discretion restrained his ragh valor; as it did not, he was a severe sufferer ~ -g$the hands ot Hugh Lee, thai whese mo arm was ever Rrore righteously raised avainst anotiter. Five minutes later, his arms bound behind htm, his eyes ndazed, a gag between his teeth, Wale Whyte was es eerted froin the Joy tarm-liise by two ofthe pseudo seldters of nit Soonee, his destinution beiug the secret. enve of the Water agtitix. What a tnen the tide tn his affairs had taken within a few mo- ments! How suddenly it had swept him fimin the rosy view ou Point Triain p's to the desotate outleok on Gape Disaster! Hugh bee, together with Sol Blake, for some naongis a mem- | ber of phe Wagtall crew, and tho ether mock soldier, Jake Long, reviained behind, aa did the two felends of Watt Whyte, whe were constrained to prolong thear visit from: prudential motives en the part of our hero. Only these @ve remained of the twelve present a few momenta , Constance having been taken from the room by her fether and brother the moment she had been relinquished te them by Hush, wko new went in quest of one or the other of her Kinsmen, anxious to learn of her coudition, mental and phys- Ye can't go needs twa.” — tg ee eine eee 2 ow ing them of the Hollands, which had been nectected, Sot out. that he was going to parade bis squad up the read a Htile way, to be back shortly; and pressiog the sergeants and tis mon te de jastice te the Hollaids—somethmg they did pat Gill of do- ing—te preked out with hie comrades, the Britons reeling oat of the inn te see the awkward squad eff, laughing uprearieusily, and ochifling them most mrnercitully. “Go. bap tran! see (hic) Wals Whyte,” cried out, Sergeant Beeswing, who, struck with the idea at the moment, was es pleased with #. “Go h'up, So!, Mand dan’t mise bit dic Bipody ead joke, yea knew—haw! haw! (hic)” — it, darn my ekin ef} don’t! shouted baek. Sot Blake, lauching heartily, ua though rmfinitely pleased with the sug- ‘eation. tat oe oo they ers ; ‘ a é ; Who could tolerasiy well mimics the speesh and tene i Sarvcant Bueawing a8 these were when the latter had been freely indulging, and whe dit so! on this evening, passed)us the —— serzeant with Walt Whyte without question, and learned frem hin, to his greatsurprise, of the intended weddme, and that he ees his men page wanted a ae liprsobanad by any pessible chance, appen tv} iu ares he and eave etelne erate ower ean i echonrpatis Ar aiands being furnt ‘ Thinkin that, under the eireutistances, Hash Lee should be esent it Wie; Bol seat one of his cemradcain searcief their j young chielarkewse met by the man about hait-way betweon the twefarcnrs, _ ee een ny ite te re ia already Known his | te the reader. @o BE CONTIXUED.) THE Shoemaker of Toulouse; OB, THe AVENGER IN HUMBLE LIFE. Written from F. 8. Hil’s eelebratsd drama of the same name, By John F. Cowan, Author ef “O'CONNOR'S CHILD,” Ete. empty—for the gendarmes had borne her bey away. je They whispered kindly werdsin her ears, and tried to caress her back to sensibility, but she seemed to neither hear the words nor feel the caresses, for her face was frozen inte a dread iin- movability. _ : 16 vast erowd gazed upon her with tearful pity as they surged past in making their exit. Saddenly she started off like a sleep-walker,and the women supported her, for they divined where she was going—to the prison where her darling boy was to spend the last short hours of his yeung life, She woutd at Isast have the dreadful eomtort of sharing them with him. . The crowd dispersed in little squads, with many comments upon the sad mutter, but through the erush tke man in the red shirt had rapidly worked his way. and hastened to the side sutrance of the Hall of Justice, As the weaithy Claude Pernou descended the steps and conchos Wepapveent. wrapping himself warm amp air. he felt a slight touch upon from the raw, his shoulder. : He turned quickly, and confronted the artisan whose flaming shirt had eaught his eye in the crowded court-room. i “Well, fellow?” be said, with am angry scowl. ‘ WNP BFs you that dure assail me with your greasy auc f “Fleaven forbid,” said the artisan. humbly, “that sugh as I should presume to be the fellow af his axecelleney. the great Monsieur Perneu. Lam hum-’ ble Jageb Ouet, known as tue Shoemker of Tou- we uso! “Aud what, think you, should the great Monsieur Pernou co conversing with a low-Hved eobbler on the public street?” exeluimed Pernou, with con- temptueus anger, as he turned te ge. “Stay! Listen but one moment, your excellency |” eee acob Odet, catehiug him by the wafting eloak, Pernou turned flereely around and struck the shoeinaker’s hand from the garment. “Again? Qanaille!” he growled. “How dare you’ pollute my elothing with your fitthy hands ?’ The shoemaker’s oyes suapped, but he retained stained, but well-washed hands, | “They are tanned by honest toil,” he said, some- what prouly, “and from that hew can pollutio He learned ahortly from Gil, whem he saw leaving the room of Ris sister, that the latter had not recovered te conseiousness, bat lay like ane in the embrace of dexth. “And uo woinae here te care for her!” eur hero feelinaty re- } fram the eyes of the widow, nevar——’ marked. “Gurse scou who brought her to this—who wou d have done toorse/” he then articulated in his throat, as though te stay the passion rising in his breast, ad 8a, tag,” said Gil Joy; “but I can’t de nath’n. He'n’ the of wian—— come? They have never seized upon the goods my fellow-man, never robbed the erphan of his in- heritance, never wrung the bitter tears of misery “Tush!” exelaimed Pernonu, impatiently. “Shall Istand herea guping-steck ? See you not, fellow, that the psopie xre gathering? What mean you by this wild harangue? What can you want of ne?” *Mut upon you for a chicken-heart!"' exclaimed Hush Lee, nA omnes getting the better uf propricty. “if ye had the spunk of a toa 2, ie Gonstance'’s room epened at this instant, and Parner Jay stepped mee the pa . The deer et “flow is she—Gonstance om asked our hero, immediately, the | taterro-atory ameunting toa demand, so earnest and-vyelkoment “ae his tone. *40uhe TMe«it'h be your fanit, Huch Lee, e@ and mor——" “Deas! —shere’a ne danger of her dymeg, is there ?” interrupted Hugh, vee, Mon- sicur Madinier, approached them. _ He was 2 middte-aged, subtle-looking man, clad 42 the sober style that became his offices of precep- er. ' “Ah, geod-motrrow. my friend,” said old Pagot, warmly ; “we were just thinking ef making a eal on : “Why.” said Madinter. spenking to the mercer, while his gazo was fixed laciviously on the lovely Adelnide, engaged at the shop-window, “I am atraid you would hurdly have found his grace ready for the reception of visitors at such an hour as this. Your fair daughter is early at her oeeupation; I perceive.” 4 ; “Yos; the nature of our business calls for atten- tion,” said Pagot. ; “But, pray tell moe,” said Madinier, quickly, “echat is this dreadful story I hear spoken of at ie oer of all the streets in this neighbor- ood 7?” : . Henry explained that Claude Pernou had been assassinated during the night, and the court pre- eeptor shrugged his shontders, as if he had only been informed of a dog-fight. “Ah, indeed! Poor Claude,” he said. “I knew him when T was a obild; we were school-fellows, and he used to flog me most unmercifuliy.” “The city does not lose much in his death,” said Henry. in his incautious manner. : “Aylay! 1 understand,” said Madinier, with a more meaning shrug. “I recollect you were not on good turms with him. Well! welll never speak illof the dead. There’s no knowing what may hup- pen to either of us.” This remark, coupled with the Capiteul’s very evident suspicions, caused considerable apprehen- sion to the young soldier, for there wus the possi- bility that a ehain of light cireumstances, more especially his own ineonsiderate words, might i} drag himinto identifiestion with the mysterious { assasein, and he shuddered at the bare thought. | “He's gone,” said Madinier, lightly, “so let him pass. Ieome to bring you a piece of intelligence, which, I trust, will be weleome. The eolonel of the Languedoc regiment is in Toulouse; he arrived Jast night. Itisto him you must address your re- quest forthe extension of Heury’s furlough, and that, foo, without delay.” “Gertaintly! certainly! oxeinimed Henry. “Come, father, let us seek him without delay.” | "You will ascertain his present lodgings by in- quiring at the Hotel de Ville.” “TE vou will step into the shop.” said Pagot, gerate- fully, “my daughter will endeavor to entertain you until our return.” “Very good; don’t fear me,” said Madinier, gaz- ing at them with a sinister smile as they departed, while Jacob rested on his work and watehed him. Adelaide, hearing hee father’s parting words, eame from the shep to pay her respects to the dis- tinguished visitor. ; “Well, my fnir Adelaide,’ he said, insinuntingly, “T have not had an opportunity yet fo eall upon you in the way of business. But we will soon be re- arranging the dukoe’s apartments, and you must then display your ehoicest goods.” “[thank you, sir,” she anawered, in the most mu- sical of voices, her eyes falling, and her eheek flash ing under his bold gaze. “I shall remember your kind promise to make a portion of your purchases atour shop. We have had a eustomer since I saw you last, who talks of buying quite largely at our little establishment. Ho is a very interesting young man. “Oho! He’s a young man, is he?” said Madinior, “He is very handsome, and extremely amiable,” she answered, innocently. “He hns such charm- Ing manners, Madinier winead, and Jacob watching and listen- ing, muttered through his elenched teeth: “Should he have designe on thia innocent young girl.eurse him! Lethim heware!” - “Has this charming person called here often, fair Adelaide?” “Yes. Thres times yesterday morning,” growled the shoemaker, in deep tones that made the duke’s tutor startiwith afright, “Eht What was that?” horxaid, nervously. “Oh, it. was only that confounded cobbler. How he startied me. 80 he has been a frequent visitor, mademoiselle 2?” “Oh, yes.” she anid, “he has made numerous pur- chases of gloves, perfumes, and Inees.” “Can ft be possible,” mused Madinier, “that he hans found his way to this part of the eity? Nol no} he would have told me of the affair, Was hea na- tive of the city ?” ‘No.” answered Adelaide, know the streets, inqnired the way.” “To what plage 2” “Po the government palaee,” said Jacob, in his decp bags. “He did!” said Madinier, with a start. “How should this eobbler know all nbont the business, It must be the duke himself. Oan you deseribe him?” “Beo’s «a slender young man, with a pleasant countenance, and very genteel,clogant air, “Hoe did not even When he left the shop he always “Oh, merciful powers!” she eried, “what a horri- | nen iy “Geutee!! Humpht” growled Jaceb. “He hes the air of a dands-—jack.” A customer eutersd-the store. and Adelnide ex- cused lrerself that sre might attend to business. Madinior steed in thought fora fow. rromen and then his eyes falling on Jacob he appreachke im. “Well, my friend.” he said, suavety, “haya you not a little job on hand for me?” “You may clap your feet inte these. shoes in less than an hour,” said Jacob, bluntly. “If you ehoese Vil. do myselt. the Lener to bring them to yeu.” ' “That will do.” said Madinier. “Tell me. when you came the other day tothe palace did you net see his grace the Duke of Fronsaec?” “Yes,” unswered Jacob, morosely, “and I beliaye, when Ideoffed my cap to him, he econdeseended to breathe the same air and enjoy the same sun that we do. What an overwhelming honor te us ple- beians ?” ‘ “Yes, yes,” said Madinier, impatiently. “He is very affablé and amiable. f have educated bim with extrem care. You will find that he goes inte “ pees and publie walks just the same as a mero “Why,” said Jacob, meaningly, “Thad but a slight glimpse of him—but it seems to me——* Should you know him if you were to meet him?” The shoemaker did not answer, for hia attention was drawn to a richly-dressed geatieman and & servant, who abruptly turned a corner of the Capi- toul’s house and made toward Payot’s store. _ The gentleman motioned for ie servant fo re- main without atte he dsappeared tito tre shop. Madinier saw the shoemaker'’s start, und turned, but net in time, to see the gentleman enter the store. Tho sight of the servant, however, bad a decided offect upon him, 5 “Hal Howisthis? The duke’s vaieti” he said, wit a start. ; Sent : ae “Oho! his valet!’ said Jacob, aalda. ras {must pump him a Httle. Fluevet, this way,” said Madinier, beckoning the lackey aside. dxeob fotlowed them stenlthily, and listened, “Fell me, Flueret, what brings you here ?” “Tam here by erders of my master. sir.” oa By the order of his master, good,” said Jacek, involuntarily. “Keep your distance, fellow—hegone!” eried Ma- dinier, turning upon him angrily, at the same mo- ment that Chignard ealied him from the doer of the Capitoul’s house. “Thore’s some (eviltry afoot, that I'taust undar- stand,” said Jucob, as he went toward his stall, Jaeob! You. Jucob Odet, I say1” bawled nard, authoritatively. “Bo quiet. and don’t disturb me,” grewled Jaeob, “Dil not be quiet,” roared Chignard. “Leowe for you_by the order of the Oapitoul.” “What does the Capitoul want with me? In buy —I haven't time.” : “You must make time. The Capiteul orders you toappear before him off-hand, to be questioned about the assassination.” we cried Jucob, with a start. “Quacetion mea “He wants you asa witness in the examination into the murder of Claude Pernou.” “Wants meas a witness?” said Ineoh, with creat chagrin. “This is unlucky. 1 mustobey, bub CPE not forges you, my houey-lipped intrignuers.” He followed Chignard reiuctantty info the Capl- toul's house, looking backward as lie went. “TLassurce you, air.” said Fiueret. in anewer te some remark of Madinier's, “that he gave me post- tive orders fo wait for him here.” “Never mind his orders,” said Masinier; “Pu take the respousibilityon my own shgulders.”” “Vory woll, sir,” said the servant, "L will retire; but [ must not leave the neighborhoed.” “As you please, only don’t remain here,” said Madinier. | The obliging servant disappeared around the eorner justas Adelnide aud the gentleman eames out of the shop. o “Tinew f could not he deceived, and I must re- nounce my own desigus,” said Mudinier, steppitig¢ aside that he might see without being seen. ‘When you are in need of anything im our ling sir.” said Adeluide to the haudsome stranger, “t here you wil! not forget us.” “Forget you, dear creature, never,” be said. saft- ly; and then, seeing Madinier: “How. Madtnioer, youhere? Remember, Iam net the duke.” “T understand,” said tho tutor. “We were talking of you a few memente since, Monsieur Madinier,” said the duke. , Lwas teiling the gentleman,” said Adelaida, “of the friendship and regard you had for us aff, and of the antire confidence our family have in yeu.” The duke smiled satirieally at his tulor wher the word “confidence” was mentioned, and whispered to the precious preceptor aside: “ es 33 old rascal, not to tell me that you kmew tis gir Ft “Do you like her ?" whispered Madinier. Like her?” whispered back the duke, and furies! Tam over head and ears in love wth ner Adelaide, in the sweet siluplicity of her heat, fn- vited the two designing raseals into the bouse. and the duke would have eagerly accepted, but Mad- inier objected. “No, nol-it is useless,” said he. “Iwo words and we take our leave. Young gentleman, since you are acquainted with Mademoiselle Adelaide, I can afford you an epportunity of doing her a favor.” A favor?” said the duke, trying to read ¢he other’s meaning in his crafty face, for he was far fom bate, a8 yapey a schemer as his teachpr. ray wh af “Adelaide,” said Madinior, “you wish to precure an extention of your brother Henry’s leave. of ab- sence from his regiment. This gentleman caa ratify your wish.” 3 Uertainly, Lean, immediately," cried the dulce. “Who is this Henry you speak of?” ... He is the young lady’s brother,” said Madinier: a soldier in the regiment of Languedoe.” “Gan this gentleman confer so gréat a faver om us?’ said Adelaide overjoyed. with the duke.” snrid *“He can do what he wishes the villainous tutor. ; “Why, yes,” said the prineely pupil, “the duke andTare really quito attached to each other. 2 ot fou must know I am—Madinier, whet and who am This last remark was made asidete the tutor, who ueyer moved a muscle, but answered readily: “The gentleman istheduke’s confidential private seerctary. You will obtain, I presume, sir, an ex- tension of one month’s furlough fer Adelaide’s pee Tanuarit.’ sata the duke, t bi “Yes, I grant it.” said the duke, forgetting him- self, until eheeked by Madinier. “Zounds! You will spoil all.” whispered the arch-schomer, half angrily. “Don’t you see your chance to insist upon a visit from her at the pal- nee. ua true, fool that I am.” whispered the duke, “Mademoiselle, consider the matter settled.” “Oh. sir.” eried the girl, joyfully, “sou know pot how grateful lam. how grateful weall are.” “It will only be necessary to get the Bake of Fronsne’s consent first,” said the duke. “Gome ta the government paluce at one o’ciock to-day, and will get you his grace’s eonsent for your brother te remain at home.” “What! Igotc the palace? Oh, I dare not!” “What have sou to fear?” asked the duke. “Nothing, if Movsieur Madinier will go with me,” said Adelaide, with atrustfulness thut made the vaetlage smile; “or my father and brother will go with me. “But think.” said the wily Madinier, “whata leasant surprise it will be to give them the fur- nen without their suspecting the effort to obtain “Yes. monsieur, it ts so.” she said, detightedty. “Hore they eame down the street. They have been tothe eolonel’s; perhaps they have been already suceessfal.” Madinier and the duke exchanged meaning smiles, und watehed the approach of Paget and hia son. Adelaide ran to meet them, and inquire f€ they iad been succeasful. They shook their heads neg- atively. The colonel had been very busy, aud they had to go again the following day. Madinler presented the duke as his own private Bsecretary.and after an interchangeof ecivilities, and the proffer of service by the duke, they took their leave, Madinier whispering to Adelaide as he paased: ‘Remember one o’clock.” “Hush! I will be there,” sha replied. “What does all this whispering mean?” said Ja- cob Odet. who had come unobserved from the Cup- itoul’s house, “Come, my children,” said Pagot, “let us in and attand to the affairs of the housetiold. _ They went, toward the store, Adelaide fitlec with joyous anticipation, and Jacob stood gazing after hem. Be “Go, good and worthy friends be happy. Poor and o- oo ! *he said; “mo, and miserable as Tam, [havea strong arm andeipte heart, and, with the dleesiag of Heaven. 1 will protect you fromthe maehina. tions of those who would sap the foundations of your hap ota und humble your fereLcads te the ust. ‘ The soliloquy of thiastrange being was rudely broken in upon by the nearly breathless Ghignard, Come, Neighbor Jacob!” he bawled, “Ain’t you going ?” “Going where ?” Why, to see the fun, to be sure—the execution of Andrew. It is almost time.” “And do you wish to witness sueh a speotacte ?” asked the shoemaker. mournfally. “Witness it?” eried Chignard.in sarprise. “De you think P’'d miss n hanging? Not kL. W’d go with- out my dinner first—it’s so curions.” “Ourions ?’ exclaimed Jaeob. in a tone of abhor- renee, “The agony of a man in his last struggle curious ?”’ “Agony!” exelaimed the sight-seeker. “Why, They’re only go- there’s ne agony about it, man. ; ving to hang him. wy say it don’t hurt much (TO BRACONTINUBD,) him in the hope of gaining some infermutionfroem _ : THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #=—~ vee maa NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 3, 1879. Dereon Terms to Mail Subscribers : One month, (postage 2c. Year—| copy (postage freajgs Two ears S SGOT Atel, 50e, one ™ ROOE: sanny Sd4500 5 Three monthe ..... eee Tbe. aan ure Four months............. S104 EM. Qype All letters should be addressed to FPRANOIS 8. STREBT, } STRERT & SMITH, PEANQIS 8, SMITH, Proprictors, P.O. Box R734. R&, SI, VO & Si Rose Kt., N. XK. J. T. Preston, Printer, 27 Rese sz. J. P. Pelt, Mectroiyper and Sterbetgper, 2% Rese si. Extravagance at Funerals. Extravagant display at funerals, especially at the funorals of the poor, is useless and silly. It is not uncommon for people of slender means, on these melancholy occasions to burden themselves with harassing debt for the purpose of making an un- necessary display. Some persons are so destitute of common sense as to imagine that great grief cannot be manifested unless at great expense, Long after time has assuaged the mourners’ sor- row, they are engaged in a hard and often hopeless struggle to cancel a debt contracted to perform the last sad rites according to the dictates of “fashion.” We are pleased to learn that at a ministers’ meet- ing in Troy, N. Y., this subject was freely discussed, and extravagance at funerals emphatically con- demned. It was also recommended that brief and simple services be encouraged, and that private funerals, being less expensive, are far more appro- . priate than extravagant ones. & © NOT SATISFIED. Was ever any mortalupon this mundane sphere fully satisfied ? The Bible tells us that “a contented mindisa continual feast,” but where shali we find one? The poor man says thatif he could be rich, and eat roast turkey and plum pudding every day, and dress his wife and daughters in silks and velvets, and keep a horse and carriage, and have a bank ac- count, he would ask for nothing more. He would be satisfied. o The rich man says that if he knew Where to in- vest his money so that it would be safe, if he knew what banking institution was solvent, if his wife was a well woman so that she could watk, and if his irls had the bloom of some of the operatives in is manufactories, he should be perfectiy happy. The married woman wants to unmarried, and envies the spinster her care-free Gondition ; the un- married woman wants a husband to see after things, and take some of the eares of life off from her shoulders. Boys want to be men, and men wish they were boys again, The little girl who is “seeing her best days,” longs for the time when sheshall be a young lady, and wear trails, and have a beau to send her bouquets, jike sister Annie’s beau does. The handsome matron when she sees her hair ‘taking on the sheen of silver, would give all she possesses of this world’s goods to be young again. The fine lady who rides in her eostly carriage, wrapped in elegant robes to keep out the cold, looks with envy upon the healthy young shop-girl whose grace of motion, as she hurries along the pave- ment, wins the admiration of the male part of creation, and makes the female part sick with joal- ousy. : yt eople want to be lean, and lean people want © be Lat. The adipose individual looks upon the inventor of Anti-Fat as_a national benefactor, and as far above George Washington in being a benefit to mankind as George was above the ordinary urchin who was not afraid to tell a lie, The lean person thinks the inventor of Anti-Fat ought to be “taken care of;” but the originator of Anti-Lean is a man angel, and deserves to be canon- ized. It a family have boy babies they aiways want girls, and vice versa. Not long ago, afriend of ours who has five boys, and was very tired of having boys added to7his stock of children, was favored, by way of variety, with a girl baby. He had been wishing for such an event for ten years. So had his wife. They had told their complaints to all their friends, and eyery- . body knew what they wanted, and there was a sort of jollification all around when it was known that a little daughter had put in an appearance, For a day or two our friends were charmed, but ' meeting the gentleman who had the honor of being father to the long-prayed-for girl baby, on the third day after its birth, we warmly. congratulated him on the happy realization of his wishes. He looked theughtful—and compared one button on his over- goat with another, as if not quite sure if they were ' mates. and then he said: “Well, to tell the truth, if I had known how much e1osser a girl babyisthan a boy, I would rather have gone on with boys to the end of the chapter!” He was not satisfied, any more than the rest of * the unsatisfied world. Our friend, Mrs. G., said to us, the other day: “If [hada pearl brooch like Mrs. Smith’s, I should be perfectly happy!” So. by way of experiment, we bought her what ' would secure her happiness. and the next day we ' were told by, a mutual friend that Mrs. G. was so sorry her brdoch was not a garnet one instead of a ' pearlone! Garnets were so much more becoming. It isevident tothe most indifferent of observers ' that the human heart is never satisfied with what this world can give. There is a continual reaching out after the unattainable—a never-ceasing desire for things to be different—a restlessness of the present, and a longing for the future. Will the life which comes after this, satisfy ? Will every wish find there its fruition ? Will every mind - be eontented, and in consequence ‘a continual feast ?” : ; Then, certain it is, that there must be a change in some people we know, for there are persons in this * world who would not be satisfied with heaven, and all that it contains, for the space of asingle day. They would be wondering if there was not some- thing better somewhere else. Kare THORN. ——————__>-9-—+ Contagious Diseases and Ventilation. The inerease of contagious diseases in winter, . such as scarlet fever and diphtheria, is attributed to closed doors and windows and poor ventilation. When cold weather prevails, the occupants of a house are accustomed to associate more closely than at other periods; visitors also occupy closer companionship with the members of the family visited, and consequently the diseases are spread ‘by contact with the clothing of persons from infect- ed houses. For the sake of comfort, people ven- tilate their homes in warm weather. Perfect yen- tilation is as much needed in winter to prevent disease, A good plan is to keep up brisk fires in the rooms more generally occupied, and be certain that the thermometer never rises above sixty-eight degrees. To keep the thermometer at this point with brisk fires, windows must be kept open, and thus ventidation is secured. Rapid Transit to Prospect Park. Too mueh time is required to reach Prospect Park from the ferries, by the horse-cars. If steam eommunication were established between Brook- lyn’s great park and the ferries, it would receive fully three times as many visitors as usually seek its pleasant walks and attractive nooks. Flatbush avenue is a wide thoroughfare, and a steam rail- road through it, from the mouth of the park, com- municating with the South and Fulton Ferries by Atlantic and Furman streets. would prove a great convenience, and also a profitable investment. Capitalists, think of it, ° SHOPPING TRIALS. BY MRS, M. A. KIDDER. Gh! the heurs of sadness, Berdered round by gladness, Making up one’s mind Where to spend one’s monay, Sboulki the day be sunny— Why should gall and honey Bver be combined? Where to purchase dresses, Bennets, and false tresses, Proves a problem quite, TiK one learns the places, Studies facts and faces, As the surest basis, How to shop just right. What will jast the bngest, Prove the best and strongest, As to wear and tear What will loek the neatest, What will drape the “sweetest,” Pashion the compietest, Gives us daily care. When at Jast the bill's paid, How to have the dress made Stylishly and well! Must the skirt trail slightiy? Shab we trim it lightly, Modestly or brightly? Would that we could teil! Brave lords of creation Heed our situation— Heed, but Jet not rise Augry admonition, Por we make admission, Manner, dress, position, All as for your eyes. THE SNAKE’S coucH. BY BE. T. TAGGARD. “Uncle John, what kind of a snake is a copper- head ?” “Well, boy, I can answer that question, but if you desire to impress the subject upon your mind, re- fer to your book on herpetology which you will find in the library yonder. [ve had the subject vividly impressed on my mind, I can tell you. Well, now eee ae haye the book, what definition do you nd?” “Here it is, unele: ‘Copperhead—trigoriocephalus contoririz; genus, agkistro A North American venomous serpent, the most dangerous after a rat- tlesnake.’ Did you ever see one, Uncle John ?” .“Did I ever see one? Well, my boy, if my expe- riexees with the copperhead had begun and ended with asimple sight of the serpent, I should have spared one of the most terrible ordeals to which a human being was ever subjected. “Most dangerous after the rattlesnake’—why, I had rather meet an army of rattlesnakes than one copperhead, forthe simple reason that the former will seldom or never attack you, and if you should happen to £0 into too close a proximity to one he will spring a rattle, by which warning, if you avail yourself of it, you Gan escape. But the copperhead gives no such warning, aad the first indication, perhaps, that you will have of the presence of one, is his venomous bite, which is almost certain death.” stories.’ : “Well, my boy, I don’t object to tell you, although when I recall the terrible experiences of that day, it fairly makes my hair stand on end. There, get me my pipe and tobacco; now a match. Now 8 draws beautifully, and I will begin. Lhaye not re- lated this story before in years, and ve ost registered a vow in Heaven that I never would refer to it again.” “Why, Uncle John, what could have induced you to think of taking any such action ?” “Well, the truth is, boy, you are not quite old enough to understand that a vision of snakes is to certain people ‘proof as strong as Holy Writ’ that the observer was under the influence of strong al- coholic stimulants. I once described my experi- ence with the copperhead to a party of gentlen friends who had assembled in a public-roo Albany. They listened to my recital with e interest, and I concluded the tale laboring un the idea that I had succeeded in making a: C impression upon my auditors, when one ; party exclaimed, in solemn tones: > “John, we do not doubt your story exeept as to one point, and that we consider material. You have had that snake in your boots. : Re “That, my bey, was a serious reflection upon my sobriety; or, in other words, they intimated that tie snake was the emanation of a drunken brafn. It was useless to assert the truth of the narrative, for they solemnly and slowly filed out of the room, and of the many expressions which greeted my ears on their departure, there are two which I skall whispered, ‘Delirium tremens!’ while another ras- eal began to grab at imaginary objeets in the air, and darted out of the room, singing out at thetop of his voice, ‘Jim-jams! jim-jams!’ He escaped in time, fo¥, in a momentary fit of anger, I hurled the nearest Ghair at him, but only succeeded in making an extensive fracture in the plaster of the room, for which I had to foot the bill. , “Twenty years have elapsed since that day, and I have never even intimated toa human being any- thing in regard to my snake experiences, fearing I should be compelled to undergo the ordeal of their unmercifuljests and jibes; but as L neglected to re-. gister an oath that [ should thereafter refrain from Do tell us all about it, for I.do love snake not located the serpent properly. Weali think you |. never forget. One fellow tapped his forehead, and | "To add to my suffering and terror [found my- self attacked by black auts who inhabited an ant- hill near, and haying discovered au intruder was in their neighborhood they crawled and swarmed over me, torturing me with their bites. While I dared make no demonstration toward driving thom off. knowing that any movement ou my part would result in un attack from my venomous com ion, the very thing that I dreaded oceurred. One large black ant, more venturesome than his asso- ciates, had crawled up to and upon'my face, and pursuing his curiosity still farther crawled into my nosiril, I endeavored by breathing through My nose to eject , but all my efforts in that di- rection were fruitless, and as the necessary result of his action I felt an irresistible desire to sneeze. “My horror and fear were now complete. To sneeze to me ment certain death. TI endenvored to cheek it, and pressed my lips tightly together, but nll my efforts only resulted in delaying the entas- trophe, not in avertingit. It came, and when it did come my efforts.to suppress itinthe manner I did only added to its force, and the explosion that fol- lowed sounded to my ears like a salvo of artillery. It fairly roused the snake from my breast,and with ahissingsound he lifted his body nearly a foot above me, his e fairly emitting sparks of fire, and his fangs working ominously. Icould actually see those ter: premature death, “IT closed my eyts and waited for the attack. It seomed an age to me. nds were prolo into months, and minutes into years. In the frenzy of the moment I almost determined to end the ter- rible torture and uncertainty. casting him off, but on reflection wisdom prevailed, and I concluded it was ‘better to bear the ills we. have than fly to others that we know not of,’ 50 I remained almost as motionless as a stone, but certainly as cold and clammy, . “The copperhead was about to resume his re- Gumbent position when the distant bark of a-dog was heard, evidently the companion of somesports- man. The snake heard it immediately, and I could reeive that it had an alarming effect at once. The rk was repeated. The snake raised himself slowly, gazed carefully around him, and then slow- jy, but deliberately, crawled into the woods, My eyes grew di .and I remembered nothing more, Thad fainted. When I recovered the sun had set in the west, but I managed to walk to the road, and ja passing farmer kindly took me home in his wagon.” When he had concluded the door Spare: anda gentleman entered. It was his brother, and the father of the boy for whose amusement he had re- cited the story. — : 3 “Thats a good snake-story, Uncle John,” said e. . “Yes,” said Unde John. “I fancy I told that nicely! What do you think about it?” “What dolthink about it? Lalways think one way. When a man tells me that he has seen snakes, Linvariably conclude that he has been drinking too mueh whisky.” “Here, bey, do you hear that? I swear, by the eternal, that I will never tell that story again. There, now, the vow is registered at last.” Josh Billings’ Philosophy. GIMBLETS. No man ever dares to flatter the man who never flutters himself, Our grate strength lays in our pashuns, and our grate weakness lays there too. Thare are many people who spend all their spare time figureing on a slate the exact time when the millenium iz a going to put inan appearanée, This time wasted. 6 millen in when all the men and wimmin in) their duty, and not an ineh se ‘ar solid cumfort, next to asleepy yawn cumsa ~. liant sneeze. ; No man ever yet. got so debased that he did not _respekt truth and ho The most depraved desperados oten hay the strongest. kind ov aitach- ments, This iz not for the muti ute courage they possess, but it iz fer the ov truth and honesty they diskover in each other away down among the debris. ; Ot a oe I like the jolly rooster andthe bitter hornet. The spurs ov one and the javelin of the other baks up their pretenshuns. © 7 If wedo here on earth ag well az we kau, it ig all the angells kan do in Heaven. Religion iz not a thing of sadness and sorrow; if thare iz ennyboddy that haz a right to laff and shout, lay down and rool over, git up and kik at the stars, it is a good Christian. _ Most people define a suckcess bi giving their nm goments kreditfor it; this is charitable enny- Ww e Pride, vanity. and envy are the $ attendant sins— mankind only Rad wiv menny don’t hav enny- thing else. _ ; Whenever i see a man with a marked excentricity iam reddy to bet (and am sure to win) that the ex- centricity iz about all thare iz ov him. ‘ Mankind are a set ov vain and _ seif-konsaited asses, show them the finest paragaff ever written, }andthare wou d'b improvements enuff suggested bi them to take all the buty and power out ov it. Thav known men who didn’t drink, nor chew, nor smoke, nor kuss,norr ‘fite,aud who didn’t seem to hay a sing) Boing a ut them that wazn’t purpundikular, and yet they waz no more use to the world at large, than the 10 commandments would be printed inthe Patagoniantung. =. Mi natral idea iz that no man nor woman izov ok pepenaues some world ON “- ir more 5 itho a taylor mite m an_exquisit suitoy es, fie ain’t the rite man to lead the fashuus. Wimmin role the world, and still waste one-haff arecital of the events of that memorable day, If liberty togrant your request to tall you alla it, particularly as you know that while your Un John undoubtedly possesses many weaknesses, drinking of ardent spirits is not one of them. me another match, for, as I live, this pipe is out. “Well; boy, the event which Lam about to relate occurred just forty years ago thissummer. Letme see, is it as long us that? Yes; I was twenty-five at that time, and I have just turned sixty-five years of age. “We all have our hobbies. Yours is conchology, and you amuse yourself strutting along the beach in search of shells. My hobby was entomology, and I have scoured the woods and, plains, the hills and valleys of the Empire State in search of insects for my eabinet, which is now in the adjoining room. But age brings its infirmities, and old Time com- pelied me at last to forego my pleasures and setile down here a rheumatic old man. » é “One day in the latter part of September I started out after the sun had dried the dew on the grass, and the insects had begun to buzz and fly, in search of new and fresh specimens for my cabinet. The night before was extremely blustry and cold, and as there seemed every indication of an early frost I determined to put to good use the few remaining hours left me, particularly as my number of butter- flies were few, and a number of fine specimens were flying around. ; “Concluding that in all probability it would be the last opportunity [should have that season, I prose- cuted my search diligentlyand persistently, scour- ing the woods, the plains, the hills, and the vales, and so intent was Lin my pursuit, that I failed to notice that in the meantime the sun had traveled toward the west. “It was about the hour of two in the afternoon when [ aseended a small hill, and I began, for the first: time, to realize the fact that I was becoming tired. AsI had journeyed a considerable distance, and was some miles from home, I determined to sit down on an elevation which afforded a magnificent view of thesurrounding country,and rest my weary limbs before I began my return home. “T pulled out my pipe, and recliniag upon the grass I was soon wrapped in a peaceful reverie, which was soon followed by a heavy sleep. Judging from the appearance of the sun, I) must have slept nearly an hour, when I was. awakened by a cold, clammy, feeling across my chest and a feeling of depression that was nearly suffocating in its effect, it seemed as if I had been suffering from a terrible Alanimare, if a daylight experience can be so named. “When I had fairiy opened:my eyes my first in- tention was to jump to my feet and shake off the lethargy by a brisk walk,when the presence of an ob- ject upon my body invited my attention. On the first casual observation I thought it was a small bough that had fallen from the tree overhead, but when on my making a slight muscular movement the ob- ject raised its head, and I saw its glittering eyes and protruding fangs, I diseovered, to my horror, that not only hada snake made my warm body its abiding place, but that the serpent was thatterribly pemenelive and venemous one, the dreaded copper- ead. “I almost swooned, but yet, although I could al- most feel my life-blood coursing through my veins like ice-water, [had presence of mind enough left to know that to make any movement to throw the snake from. my body, under the circumstances, was inevitable and speedy death. [lay like astatue, but the slow and painful movement I made to breathe, so as not to alarm the snake, almost anni- hilated me. “Tn afew minutes the copperhead recovered its composure, and.to my horror. instead of crawling away to its den, slowly and comfortably settled it- self again across my chest to’ renew its nap. I watched it with half closed eyes, and as I looked forward to the merrow I thought that for me that morrow might never come. I called to mind the terrible deaths that I had known and read of as having been caused from snake-bites, and I won- dered if I, too, was to be added to the long list, ;| and if yu had wings yu mite their power, <4 n “Be konteated and yu will be yy.” Jess so, ssibly fly. Jess so. A broken h iz the saddest ov all things, bu ieee to kind Heaven, it iz one ov the rarest. never See aperson in mi life who had one | that i thought could not be mended. 4 ~ Yung man, if yu look to the yoee for yure re- ward, yu will beinsolyent before yu git haff way thru life. First gitthe approval of yure own con- shience, and the world will certainly, in due time, giv yu theirs, re fe Center shots are what tells—one bullet in the bull’s-eye iz worth 10 that just miss it. Buty and branes are seldum found together—this iztoo mutch. The best ov us willing to admit. I haint got but little konfidence in mi own judge- - ment, and i haint got mutch more in other peo- e's. Ekonemy will beat all the good luk and kunning in this world, and will giy even kapasity a hard fite for the belt, Thare iz nothing so cheap az opinyuns—every body haz sumtodispoze ov; they aint worth mutch enny how; if they waz, folks wouldn’t be so anx- ious to giv them away. Most ov the lies that are told, are told from habit rather than a malishus desighn. Yu ain’t certain ov enny man’s reputashun or estate untill he iz in the hands oy the undertaker. Silence iz allwuss safe, and iz frequently the smartest thing we kan say. ; It iz the.fear ov the law, more than the luv ov it, that keeps the best ov us out ov mischief. It iz no disgrace to be bit bi a dog once, but the seckond time it iz : I think we reach more konklushuns bi guessing than we do bi reazoning. The most penitent and humble ple in the world are thoze who hay simply outlived their sins and transgreshuns. Flattery often may be innosent, but it iz never but one remove from decepshun. It iz quite possible totell how mutch branes a man haz got. but to tell how mutch harte iz another thing entirely. : A coquet iz like a kiking heifer, dredphull hard © brake, but onee broke, nothin iz more tame than she iz. A weak man for a friend izfull az unsafe aza krazy one. Thare iz no animal s0 cunning az the fox, and thare iz none that iz hunted that iz oftner kaught. Iluv a speshiality, it shows karakter ov sum kind. Ikno aman in Pordunk who kan beat the world sneezing, and I luy him for it. When I see a man who izin an awphull big hur- ry, iam apt tothink he haint got mutch to do, and haz got lots ov time to doit in. Mi dear boy, remember this, thare ain’t no thing that kan kompensute yu for doing a thingthat yu will be ashamed ov after it iz done. If you kant reach a man with politeness, try a klub on him, I hay known men to be squelched bi a single word, and even bi a single look, but never knu a tirade oy 30 minnitts to do it. Mi dear friend, don’t talk too high; thareizno = remorseless az to hav to eat your own words. owe more to chance than we are —_——_——__>-0< An author’s fair is to be the next sensation in Boston. There will be ten booths, each devoted to the sale of an author’s books, The attendants are to be young ladies in costume, representing the prin- cipal characters in the books, teeth that I felt were to cnusemy | TEE UNFORGOTTEN. BY MIOHAEL BOAHLAN, Oar darting drooped when the leaves were failing— Drooped and dropped with the dying flowers— Her spirit heart great Nature calling The soul of bloom from this world of ours; And sympathetic, rose up, crying: “Voice of my Master, I obey !” And from her smiling lips up-fiying, Pagsed, with blossom and bloom, away. “Oh, loving friends, when the flowers are dying, And the red moss pales on the gray old rocks, When wind-torn clouds are wildly flying Over the flelds in ragged flocks; When the yellow woods are rudely shaken. . And sirew the earth with showers of grie— Let the elcen love. in your bosems waken ; For her who passed with Stafower and leaf? ~- Oh, not when the woodlands shed their glory, And the wild sea shakes his foamy locks, And nature writes her olden story . Of transientness.on the fields and rociss, And sighing wiuds’o’er our souls Come sweeping, Toning them down to a minor key— -_ Not then, alone, shall our love be keeping His vestal fires alight for thee! But when the spring, like some blushing maiden, Trips, in song, thro’ the morning dew, ; ie And summer comes with bloom o’erladen— Thro’ bud and blossom we’ll think of you! When the holly glistens beneath the raiter, And yule jogs blaze on the Christmas hearth, Thy name shall s6a) the lips of laughter, ts Thy looks rebuke our household mirth! We sit and list to the bright streams flowing, eae And think of thy pleasant ways and werdB; We see thine eyes in the high stars glowing, Thy songs are sung by the woodland birds; ° All that blooms and al! that blossoms, All that brightens the earth and sea, Appeal to the hearts in our aching bosems With sweet remembrances of thee! Remember thee when the leaves are fattiag? Remember thee when the flowers decay? Forever and ever thy voice is calling “Remember,” and, darling, we obey. Ali day and night thou art beside us; We feel thy presence till we deem The very shadows that divide us Are melting away iike a somber dream, To Correspondents. S@ GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS. Maz 4, R., Wilkesbarre, Pa.—Compuisory education bas within a comparatively few years come to be recognized as a yery important question, both in the morals and the politics of the nation, and has been made the subject of legislation in many oi the States. There are thousands of parents who, from indifference to the benefits arising from a common school edu- catisn, allow their claldren to grow up in ignorance, while there are others, who from avariciousness -alid gfeed, put their chil- dren to some kind of employment as soon as they are able to earn a penny, regarding time spent in school as wasted in idle- ness. en, again, in a country which is constantly receiving accessions to its population trom foreign shores, it becomes ne- cessary, in order that their chikiren should become good citizens, and vote inteHigently on State and national questions, that they should be familiar with the language of the country, and with its civil and political history, and its mode of government, muni- cipal State and national. For these and other reasons quite as weighty, laws compelling attendance at school at least twelve weeks in the year of children between certain ages have been ssed in many States, and the benefits arising trom the system om become 50 apparent that the adoption of similar laws are urged in several others. EB. Smith, Kansas City, Mo.—lst. A single man can be cone pelied to pay hisjust debts, as wellasa married man, We do not gee any reason why he should not. The same rule applies to taxes as well. 2d. See paragraph headed ‘To Purchasing Agency Correspondents.” 3d. All hair dyes are injurious, and we eannot, therefore, recommend their use; but if you should finally make up your mind to color your bair, the following receipe will be found a very simple and inexpensive ene: Toone dram of Junar caustic add enough aqua ammonia to @issolve the caustic; then add two ounces of rain water. This dyes the hair black. By adding double the quantity of water, a lighter brown shade will be produced. Apply to the hair with a toothbrush, being’ careful not to touch the skin. 4th. A recipe for a gold plating powder will be found in No. 11 G. Edwin.—lst. Pensions to the heirs of persons killed or dy- ing in the U.S army or navy are granted in the following order: Fo the widow and children under sixteen years of age; if there is no widow nor child, then te the mother 3 if no mother, then to orphan sisters under sixteen years ot age. A late act ineludes dependent fathers and brothers. Only one pension is granted on account of one person, and only one is granted to the same per- son. If the application is not made within three years aiter the death of the person on whose account it is claimed, the pension, if aliowed, dates from the filing ot the last paper, and not from such person’s death. Write to the Comuniasioner of Pen- sions, Washington, D C. Claims for back pay and bounty must be made to the Second Auditor, Treasury rtment, Wash- 1 ington, D. C J. L: B., Brantford, Ont.—ist. In response to our request for information in regard to the storm in Ireland known as the “big wind,” we have received a number of letters which coincide as to the day and month—6th and 7th of January—but disagree as to the year, being about equally divided on 1836 and 1839, one only giving the year as 1837. The only printed record we can find gives the year as 1839, so we have concluded to let the mat- ter rest atthaf. 2d. For rheumatism. a high medical authority pronounces the following recipe excellent: Peppermint water, one and a halt ounces; wine of colchicum-root, half an ounce; sulphate of morphia, one grain; magnesia, one scruple. Dose, one teaspooniul three times a day. J.K.L.—Peddiers’ license jaws differ so materially, and there are so many municipal regulations on the subject, that it is im_ possible in the space at our disposal in this department to give the various rates. Buffice it to say that you are not likely to be molested in any of the cities named while peddling a tool of your own manufacture. . In Philadelphia it will cost $8 for a license to travei on foot with the article, In Boston and New Haven none is required if you are a citizen, except on certain kinds of goods. You can avoid trouble any where by having a hardware dealer in each city act as your agent in supplying customers. » Richmond, Philadelphia.—We are unable to inform you how many families there are in New York city which occupy a whole house. There are comparativelyf ew, in proportion to the number of the population. According to the census of 1870, there were in New Vork 64,044 houses and 185,759 faumilies—an average of near- ly three families to a house, or }4,72 persons. In Philadelphia, at the same date, there were 127.746 families and 112,366 houses, with an average of a trifle over one family, or 6.01 persons, to a B.J.B, Cincinnati.—Fragrance may be imparted to tobacco by mixing-with it, while slightly damp, a little cascarilla, re- cently powdered. Cizars may be perfumed by moistening them externally with the concentrated tincture of cascarilla. The odor of cuscarilla is very pleasant, but it should beused in mod- eration, as otherwise it may produce vertigo or dizziness. mitted tothe various classes at the Cooper Union evening schools, or to the public evening high school, where all the high- ‘er branches’ of school education are taught. 2d. We cannot enlighten you as to the probabilities of obtaining a situation in this sity mext April. ; Inquirer, Anarsy Switch, Ky.—The $4 50 telegraph outfit con- sists of instrument, battery; etc. If you wish to establish a short line with a friend, you will to duplicate the apparatus The wire tor the intervening distance will $4 per quarter mile. Sucha line is not necessary to a learner, but it would probably furnish instructive amusement for two students. Patrick Killen, Halifax, N. 8—We do not know in what paper the advertisement was inserted. We have examined the Heraid’s list of “heirs wanted,” covering a period of thirty-five years, and do not find the name. Perbops if you address a letter to the “Public Administrator’s Office, New York City.” you may ob- tain some information. Private, New York.—The marriage ceremony is not invalidated by the fact that your husband married you under an assumed name. Were such the case there could be no punishment for bigamy. A'man might marry a dozen women, and escape pun- ishment on the greund that he had no wife, as he had married each time under an assumed name. Married Lady.—The best book you can get is Dr. Warren’s “Household Physician.” It will cost $6,and although not ex- ‘actly such awork as you desire, is of more value and of general use. Books such as re describe are generally written up. by quacks, and are calculated todo more injury than good. Plymouth, N..H.—ist.. We know nothing ofthe firm. 2d. The fare trom your town to St. Paul is about $38 3d. Enlisted men in the U. S.army get $13.2 month. 4th. Our advice is to go est in the Spring and hire out to a farmer until something uter offers. Constant Reader.—lst See paragraph headed ‘fo Purchasing Agency Oorrespondents.”” 2d. There are no papers which make ateature of such advertisements. We suggest that you pur- chase business directories of the two cities. 3d. Very good. = Vemo.—We know nothing of the firm named, but as the busi- ness is simply a speculation on the rise and fall of stoeks, we auenedt that you will do better by keeping your money in your pocket. A., Perth Amboy, N. J.—A letter addressed to the President of the Howard Association, in either of the Southern cities afflicted with the yellow fever during the past year, will no doubt meet with a prompt answer. Snuff-Bozx, Chapman, 0.—Ist. We are not posted in the various devices used by horse dealers to disguise a horse by changing his color or dying him in spots, 2d. See ‘‘Etiquette Department.” J. P. S., Indianapolis, Ind.—Ist. Consult a boat-builder. 2d. To your question as to whether one can make a living at fish- ing, we Say yes, as many thousands do. J. C.—The entire works of Mary J. Holmes, consisting of 18 books, wull cost $27. May Agnes Fleming’s works, consisting 0 9 works, will cost $15.50; eight at $1.75 each, one at $1.50. B. J., Bloomfield, Ia.—The MS. was declined. W. J. Carier, Sand Hill, N. C.—The offense of falee pre in law consists of obtaining money, goods, or Yatudbien ot any kind through misrepresentations. ; A K.—“Thrown on the World,” by Bertha M. Clay, has not been issued in cheap book torm. It is bound in cloth, price $1.50 per copy. H. B. W., Atlanta, Ga.—We do not know the name ofthe com pany. “We ound the paragraph floating around in our ex- changes. ls), Hartiord, Conn, Wm. Smith, New York.—The fare by rail from New York te New Orleans is $42.50; to Memphis. Tenn., $33.60, Sample Swiichel—The play, which we will send you for sents, describes the costumes of the characters, _ faabel Bullock and Hugo Jones, Milwaukee, Wis.—See para- gt headed “To Purchasing Agency Oorrospondents,”” dier.—We do not know .ddress. Any music publisher verses set to music you. outh, Va.—Iist. y to “Nemo.” 24. We are un Portsm See to inform you what ‘Serkys” tea is. . P.—We have no Albany directory, and consequently cannot ‘i your question. icago.—No, ; IROUASING AGENCY CORRBSPONDENS. > queries of onr co the New York WEeKLy Purchasing Agency: Cotton Spinner,” ook on ? $2.60; * 35 cents; T ysis Haven's “Rhetoric,” $1.50; Townsend’s “Ana ernment,”* $1.30; rian =o Grammar, w Analysis, $1; Autograph Albums, $1, ard; Ahn’s “Method puage,” 86 $1.30; Morale’s ‘Prog watch jution, ish r,” $1.50; Spanish-English Dictionary, $2 MSS. are respectfuHy declined: “John’s New . ie Christianity,” “Boreas,” “The Broken Reso- Fee “oe ies ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT. lic. It is also exacted that she does not see the bridegroom om the wedding-day until they meet atthe altar. 2d. Only rela- tives and the most intimate friends are asked to be bride-maids, | the slaters ot the bride and the bridegroom, where it is possible] legroom chooses the best man and the ushers from his ; circle ef relatives and friends of his own age and from the rela ‘tions of his fiancee of suitable age. 3d. The bridegroom and ushers wear full morning dress, when the ceremony takes place mor -dark blue or dark frock-coats, light neckties, Bder any © wedding occu the evening, difference in the cere- monials of the morning is that or groomsmen wear fuli toilet, and the bridal pair - quietly to dress for their before the dancing part perses, a us Jeave un- observed. 65th. At the morning wedding only bride-maids, - the departure ot the pair. ers and relatives remain to witness 6th. Where there are no bride-maids nor ushers, the order oi the ceremonies is as follows: The members of the bride’s family set off before the bride. She follows with her mother, The bridegroom awaits them, and gives his arm to the mother. They walk up the aisle to the altar, the mother falling back to her tion on the left. The tathber, or relative representing the ther, conducts the bride to the bridegroom, who stands atthe altar-steps, with his face turned toward her, as she fps ee and the father tatis back to the left, Tnerelutiyes follow, their places standing, those of the bride to the left, those groom to the right. “Atter eling at the altar a moment, the bride, ng on the egroom, takes the glove off fom her left hand, while he takes the gloveoff from hisright. 7th. The father of the bride gives her away by bowing when the question is asked, which simplifies the part oe assigned him of, step- ping forward and placing his daughter’s hand in the hand ef the Clergyman. 8th. The bride leaves the akar taking the bride- groom's right arm, and drive away in their own carriage; the rest follow in their carriages, i. Constant Reader.—ist. 1f the gentleman and lady were not en- gaged, and she only wore the gentieman’s ring as a joan, then she should have returned the ring to him without waiting to be asked for it. 2d. If they were engaged, and they broke the en- gazement, we think she should have also reterned him his ring, or in other words the enzacement ring, thereby absolving her- self from all obligations to the gentleman. 3d. We can bardly understand how a gentleman could ask a lady for any present he may have nted her with, neither can we understand how a ao any spirit could wait to have, bim ask for the return them, Calvin Kingstey, Waterloo, lowa.—If a gentleman desires the company of a lady to a place of amusement he should call upon her, and ask her if he cam have the pleasure of her company upon the occasion. Ifa gentleman meets a lady upon the street, and she is unascompanied, he may turn and walk with her a short distance, providing always that she welcomes him, and if he wishes to cali upon her be should then ask if he may be al- lowed the great pleasure, and when? She will of course Dame some day, or evening, when she will be disengaged. J. Kismet.—When a gentleman desires to marry a young lady he should, even if he has the promise of the Jady berpelf, ask permission of her parents, and gain. their consent “to the match. But strict etiquette would require that a tleman first ask permission of the, parents to seek their daughter’s love. Their consent ie there would be no reason why he shouki not woo, and win her, if he coukl, without any fear of opposition either party, = : Englishman.—ist. Custom does not require that those geutle- men who bave made New Year cals should call personali¥ GY bend their cards the week following to those families on whom they have ‘‘caiied New Year day.” 2d. It is not customary to ac- knowledve the recipt of New Year cards except by cailing on New-Year day, or by leaving a card, even though one dees not enter the house. Formal calls are generally made twice a year, ence a year is all that is binding where no invitations have been received that require calls in return. MARRIED LIFE. BY FPLORENCE H. BIEN BY. Married life is not all: made up of sanehine and peace. Shadows will sometimes darken the do- mestic horizon; thesun will often hide behind a Peloud, which ‘apparently has no silver lining. But don?t fret’ over it. Make up your mind to in anew. Take a white, new leaf in your book of ex- perience, and try to forget the blots and erasures on the laet one. Above all things, preserve sucredly ie. privacies of i your hause, heart, and married No good is gained b¥ imparting to relative or t_ During the year 1878 friend the sorrews and disappointments you en- dure, and sooner or Jater you are sure to’ regret making such a confidence. x There are few who can be trusted with thesecrets of hans daily life; there are few who will not whisper the. story of your marital difficulties to some “dear, copfidential friend,” and soon:your private affairs are freely diseussed by all your ac- uaintances, and commented upon without stint, urnishing food for gossip over ‘Many a tea-table. Build your Own quiet world, not allowing your dearest earthly friend to be the confidante of aught that concerns your domestic peace. Let moments of alienation, if thes oceur—and they often do—be heeded at once. Never let the sun go down seeing you at variance with each other. Women cling to men, lean upon them for protec- tion, care, and loye. It a man would have a woman do him homage, he must be manly in every,sense ; a true gentleman, ready at all times to treat his wife’s wishes with deference and respect, because |she is a woman. * Such deportment, witl" noble ; 4 | principles, a good mind, energy, and industry, will Gooper Institate.—Ist. If a resident of the city, you will be ad- | ; win any woman in the land who is worth winning. Women all have their faults, and sometimes they are very provoking ones. But with certain virtues are always coupled certain disagreeables, and we must make up our minds to accept the bitter with the sweet. For instance, every husband in the land rejoices in a cleanly, comfortable, well-arranzed abode, but he seldom thinks to praise his wife for her excellent regulation of the household ma- chinery; and if she requests him, on_ entering, to use the door-mat, or foot-scraper, he is apt to give vent to an impatient expression. * : : But what a mortification it would be to him if his house was in such astate of dust and disord to.cause unkind remarks from the neighbors. It is a poor ieturn when a wife has thing bright and fresh,to be unwilli little pains to keep it so, or to object. 3 cible be horn, Abingdon, Mo,—Address the Pouttry World (month- mients who send ne at which the following articles may be | Key to Penmanship, $1.30; Brown’s — of Learning the Spanish Lan- — ~~ Seay-Box and Canons, Chapman, Ohio,—ist. After the mar | riage invitations are issued, the jlancee does not appear in pub- bridegroom wears white gloves; the me delicate color. ite neckties are oats unde rt nees. 4th. Ifthe — Y _»- t with fe Jangtage to being reminded of those 8m 1 po nts _ which ail men are apt to forget oecasiotially. — ._ Don't worry about feminine mw and feminine untruth, young man. Be true to your wife, love her sincerely, and tell her about it fre- quently, and a more fond, faithful, persevering being you could not meet anywhere. — _ RAILROAD BUILDING IN 1678. In 1872 7,340 miles of railroad were built in the United States; in 1873 the mileage fell to 3,883; in 1874 2,025 miles were built, and it was not until 1875, twooyears after the great crash, that construction of this kind touched bottom with 1.561 miles. In 1s76there was an increase to 2.460 miles: in 1877 it fellagain to 2,281, and in 1878 it rose to 2,620, the largest mileage Since 187: Towa, 255: Colorado. 198, of whieh 86 were of three- foot gauge; Pennsylvania, 182; New York, 142; Tex- as. 118; and at the other extreme, New Jersey, but 3 miles; Massachusetts, 6, and Arkansas, 7, —_———_>@+_____ The scarlet fever,.in epidemic form, Se ; Minnesota built 338 miles; | ed ; twenty children in the Sheltering Arms Dateary, Dean street, Brooklyn. The attending physician, Dr. EB. 8. Bunker, tried a novel course of treatment for thie dangerous disease. The twenty little sufferers were quarantined on an upper floor, in four rooms. Brisk fires were kept up night and day, but om no account were the thermometers per- mitted to vary above or below sixty-eight degrees. The nurses were compelled to keep the windows open to reduce the temperature, and thus excellent ventilation was secured. Quinine was used on two or three occasions to allay high fever; but other medicine was employed. Ninetéen_ of the_ little patients recovered, and now Dr. Bunker is the envy of the faculty. " Fe ee “# Peietiter te EE eg ae ¢\ Sone. ss ewasit