i) ths nse . Ta» oe" <4 5 7 - ) a ¥, Le | | = av? » 3) 5 € vB} > AMR Y a *e6ba¥ » we ., , - oc end > es : as! Entered . Entered as Second-class SrrReET & SMITH, 31 Rose Street. Publishers, P. O. Box 2734. —— OR, Tulian Among the Outlaws. By HARRY CASTLEMON. Author of “Guy Harris, the Runaway,” ‘‘A Sailor in Spite of Himself,” etc, CHAPTER I. WAGON TRAIN, ley, when two horsemen, who had been | picking their way along the rocky and }almost impassable road that ran. through AWE sun was just sinking out of sight | Bridger’s Pass, drew rein on the summit behind the western mountains, and | Of an elevation, and looked about them. the shadows of twilight were be-| One of them was a trapper—he never ginning to creep through the val- | would have been taken for anything else THE ' ‘ j G Pa JULIAN STOOD LIKE ONE PETRIFIED, Baan ap, Want j St Out forty years of a Sil,, ~ength and stature. ey 0 Maine er i % lec 8g by °Mpanion Ww 7 ° ix- Many, Years nf as a youth."about six ge, and a This man yer—one of the best guides & wagon train across the fair, almost girlish face, and a mild blue eye. There was plenty of strength in his slight figure, and one might have looked the world over without finding a more determined and courageous spirit. He was an excellent shot with the rifle, and man- Xen, 8, and ¢} age, Julian Mortimer by | aged the fiery little charger on which he Dente a wh 1¢ hero of our story. He pre-| was mounted with an ease and grace that ‘ He ~ 8t contrast to the burly trap- | showed him to be an accomplished horse- 4S slender and graceful, with a| man, aK OM-EVE fecording lo Act of Congress, in the Year 1890, by Street & Smith, tr the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Matter at the New York, N. ¥., New York, January i 1891. enn rte ona WHILE HIS GUIDE POINTED TOWARD HIM AND SAID: WOE Washington, D.C. Post-Office, January 1, 1891. FIVE CENTS PER Cory. Subscription Price, $2.50 per Year. Mj awd | i i Hi SF “HERE HE is, FELLERS !” The trapper and his young companion 2 z é flanks of the train, and the guide knew belonged to an emigrant train which, a wh that they were awaiting a favorable op- few weeks previous to the beginning of | portunity to swoop down upon it. Hitherto our story, had left St. Joseph for Sacra- | Silas had had an eye only to the comfort mento, and they had ridden in advance|of the emigrants, and in picking out his of the wagons to select a camping ground | camping grounds had selected places that for the night. This was a matter of no| were convenient to wood and water, and ordinary importance at that particular| which afforded ample pasturage for the time, for during the last two days a band | stock belonging to the train; but now he of Indians had been hovering upon the‘ was called upon to provide for the safety 546 of the people who were under his charge. The road, at the point where the horse- men had halted, wound around the base of a rocky cliff, which arose for a hun- dred feet without a single break or crev- ice, and was barely wide enough to admit the passage of a single wagon. On the side opposite the cliff was a deep gorge, which seeméd to extend down into the very bowels of the earth. It was here that the guide had decided to camp for the night. He carefully examined the ground, and a smile of satisfaction lighted up his face. “This is the place we’ve been looking fur,” said he, dismounting from his horse and tying the animal to a neighboring tree. “Now I will go out an’ look around a little bit, an’ you can stay here till the wagons come up. You won’t be afeared if | leave you alone, will you?” “Afraid?” repeated Julian. “Of course not. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” “You may think differently afore you see the sun rise again,” replied the guide. “Now, when the train comes up tell the | 1 |chains so that they could not be easily | The space be- | with | plows, harrows, stoves, bedsteads, and | fellers to take half the wagons an’ block up the road, here at the end of the cliff, an’ to put the others at the lower end. Then we’ll be protected on all sides. The Injuns can’t come down the cliff to get | 2 smile of satisfaction. | him. |came in sight, : | carry out the instructions Silas had given OOD NX WEe. to the train; and he probably would have done so had he not at that moment be- come aware that the train was coming to He heard the rumbling of the wheels and the voices of teamsters below him, and the familiar sounds brought his courage back to him again. He remained at his post until the foremost wagons and then proceeded to him, CHAPTER II. JULIAN HEARS SOMETHING, 13 the night were all completed, and camp with a There were twenty wagons in the train, and of these two barricades had been made, one at the upper and the other at the lower end of the cliffs, as the guide had directed. The vehicles had been drawn close together, and were fastened to one another by ey Z oy N half an hour the preparations for 4 r Julian surveyed the moved from their places. tween the wheels was blocked up chairs, thus rendering it a matter of some at us, ’causeit’s too steep; an’ they can’t | difficulty for any one to effect an entrance cross the gully nuther. They’ll have to| into the camp. come along the road; an’ when they try that we’ll get behind the wagons an’ fight ’em the best we know how. While this work was being performed | the shadows of twilight had deepened It’s risky | into the gloom of night, and now all ob- business, too,” added Silas, pulling off his | jects outside the circle of light made by cap and digging his fingers into his head, | the camp-fires were concealed by Egyp- “’cause if they are too many fur us we! tian darkness. won't have no chance on airth to run. We'll have to stay right here an’ die, the hull kit an’ bilin’ of us.” “Do you really think there is danger of attack?” asked Julian. The trapper, who was in the act of un- tying a haunch of venison that was fast- ened behind his saddle, turned and looked curiously at his companion. “Youngster,” said he, “if you should diskiver a cloud as black as midnight comin’ up over these mountains, an’ should see the lightnin’ a playin’ around the edges, an’ hear the thunder a grumb- lin’, what would you say?” “That we were going to have a storm,” replied Julian. “In course you would. An’ when I know that thar are Injuns all around us, an’ that they are takin’ mighty good care to keep themselves out-of sight, I tell myself that they’ll bear watchin’. When I see their trail, an’ find out that thar are nigh onto three hundred braves in the party, an’ that they hain’t got no women or plunder with ‘em, I know that they are on the war-path. An’ when they foller us fur two hull days, an’ their spies watch us every night while we are makin’ our camp—like that varlet over thar is watchin’ they are arter usan’ nobodyelse. The signs are jest as plain to me as the signs of a thunder storm are to you.” “Ts there some one watching us now?” asked Julian, in great excitement. “Sartin thar is. I’ve seed that copper- colored face of his’n peepin’ over that rock ever since we’ve been‘ here. If he was within good pluggin’ distance all the news he would carry back to his friends wouldn’t do ’em much good, I reckon.” As the trapper spoke he pointed toward the opposite side of the gorge. Julian looked in the direction indicated, closely scrutinizing every rock and tree within the range of his vision, but nothing in the shape of an Indian’s head could he see. His eyes were not as sharp as those of the guide. “Never mind,” said Silas, “you’ll see ye of ’em afore mornin’, an’ they’ll ye closer to you than you'll care to have "em. But you needn’t be any ways on- easy. They won’t hurt you. It’s white men that you’ve got to look out fur.” “White men?” echoed Julian. “Sartin. Thar’s two persons in the world—an’ I can lay my hand on one of ’em in less’n five minutes—who would be willin’ to give something nice if they could get hold of you. I know a heap more about you than you think I do.” “You have hinted something like this before, Silas, and I don’t know what you mean. [ wish you would explain your- self.” “T hain’t got no time now,” replied the uide, shouldering his rifle and walking Beigkiy up the road. “Keep your eyes open, an’ don’t go out of the camp till I get black. Don’t forget what I told you about them wagons nuther.” The trapper quickly disappeared around a bend in the road, and Julian once, more directed his gaze across the gully, and tritd in vain to discover the hiding-place of the spy. He began to feel timid now that he was alone. The thought that.there were hostile Indians all around him, and that one of their number was concealed almost within rifle shot of him, watching every move he made, was by no means an agreeable one. His first impulse was to put spurs to his horse and make the best of {his way back Inside the i scene was presented that was a cheering | | us now—I know that | one to wearied with their day’s journey. Julian Mortimer, from a neighboring wagon, on which he had perched himself to await the return of the guide, watched the scene presented to his gaze, as he had done every night since leaving St. Joseph, and bemoaned his hard lot in life. “Among all these people,” he solilo- quized, “there are none that I can call relatives and friends, and not one even to 7 a kind word to me. How I envy those fellows,” he added, glancing at a couple of boys about his own age who were seated at the nearest camp-fire con- versing with their parents. “They have a father to watch over them, a mother to care for them, and brothers and sisters to love, but they do not seem to appreciate their blessings, for they are continually quarrelling with one another, and no longer ago than this morning one of those boys flew into a terrible rage be- cause his mother asked him to chop some wood to cook breakfast with. If he could be alone in the world for a few days, as I have been almost ever since [ can remem- ber, he would know how to value that mother when he got back to her. If the Indians attack us to-night some of the men lemigrants will certainly be killed, and the friends they have left behind them in the States will mourn over their fate; but if I fall there will be no one to drop a tear for me or say he is sorry I am gone. Thereis nothing on earth that cares whether I live or die, unless it is my horse. he will miss me.” Julian’s soliloquy was suddenly inter- rupted by a light footstep behind the wagon in which he was sitting. He turned quickly and discovered a man stealing along the barricade and examin- ing it closely, as if he were looking for a place to get through it. Julian’s first thought was to accost him, but there was something so stealthy in the man’s ac- tions that his curiosity was aroused, and checking the words that arose on his lips he remained quiet in his concealment, and waited to see what was going to hap- pen. He had often seen the man during the journey across the plains, and knew that he was one of the emigrants, but why he should seek to leave the camp at that time and in so unusual a manner was something the boy could not under- stand. The man walked the whole length of the barricade, turning to look at the emi- grants now and then, to make sure that none of them were observing his move- ments, and finally disappeared under one of the wagons. Julian heard him work- ing his way through the obstructions that had been placed between the wheels, and presently saw him appear again on the outside of the barricade. Almost at the same instant the boy dis- covered another figure moving rapidly but noiselessly down the road toward the camp. At first he thought it was the guide, but when the man came within the circle of light thrown out by the camp-fire he saw that he was a stranger. The emigrant who had left the camp in so suspicious a manner discovered the stranger the moment he reached the out- side of the barricade, but he did not ap- pear to be surprised to see him. On the contrary, he acted as if he had been ex- pecting him, for he placed one foot on the nearest wagon-tongue rested his elbow on his knee and when the stranger had ap- barricades a | If the Indians kill me perhaps | proached within speaking distance said in a suppressed whisper: “How are you, Sanders?” The latter paid no more attention to the greeting than if he had not been addressed at all. He advanced close to the wagon in which Julian was concealed—so close that his brawny shoulders were almost within reach of the boy’s hand—and peered through the barricade, taking in at one swift glance all that was going on inside the camp. He next looked up and down the road, fixing his eyes suspic- iously on every tree and rock near him that was large enough to conceal a foe, and having satisfied himself that there was no one near him, he dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground, and growled out: “Wal!” “Well,” replied the emigrant, “I have been to Missouri, and I have returned, as you see.” “T reckon you’re satisfied you?” he asked. “Tam. Iam satisfied of four things: That the boy is alive and hearty; that he now, hain’t remembers more of his early history than | we thought he would; that he has come out here to make trouble for us; and that he is at this. very moment with this wagon train.” As the emigrant said this he folded his arms, and looked at his companion to ob- serve the effect these words would have upon him. He, no doubt, expected that the trapper would be surprised, and the latter’s actions indicated that he cer- tainly was. He stepped back as suddenly as if a blow had been aimed at him, and after regarding the emigrant sharply for a woment struck the butt of his rifle with his clenched hand, and ejaculated. : “Sho!” “Tt's a fact,” replied his companion. “Wal, now, I wouldn’t be afeared to bet my ears agin a chaw of terbaiker that you’re fooled the worst kind,” said the trapper, who was very much excited over what he had heard, and seemed quite un- able to bring himself to believe it. “The boy was young when he was tuk away from here—not more’n eight years old— an’ do you ’spose he could remember any- thing that happened, or find his way across these yere prairies to his hum agin? Don't look reason’ble.” “Tt’s the truth, whether it looks reason- able or not. have seen Julian Morti- mer, and, talked with him, and conse- quently may be supposed to know more about him and his vians than you who have not seen him for years. What was that?” Julian, astonished to hear his own name pronounced by one whom he be- lieved to be a stranger to him, uttered an ejaculation under his breath, and forget- ting in his excitement how close the men were to him, bent forward and began to listen more intently. The men listened a moment, but hear- ing nothing to alarm them, Sanders folded his arms over the muzzle of his rifle, in- timating by a gesture that he was ready to hear what else the emigrant had to | say, and the latter once more placed his foot on the wagon-tongue, and continued: “It is time we had an understanding on one point, Sanders. Are you working for my cousin, Reginald, or for me?” “I’m workin’ fur you, in course,” re- pest the trapper. “I’ve done my level vest fur you. I had my way with one of the brats, an’ put him where he’ll never trouble nobody.” “Has he never troubled any one since that night? Has he never troubled you?” asked the emigrant, in a significant tone. “Could you be hired to spend an hour in Reginald’s ranch after dark?” “No, I couldn’t,” replied the trapper, in a subdued voice, glancing nervously around, and drawing a little closer to his companion. “But that thar boy is at the bottom of the lake, an’ I’d swar to it, ’cause I put him thar myself. What it is that walks about that ranch every night, an’ makes such noises, an’ cuts up so, I don’t know. You had oughter let me do as I pleased with the other; but you got chicken-hearted all of a sudden, an’ didn’t want him rubbed out, an’ so I stole him away from his hum for you, an’ toted him off to the States. If he comes back here an’ makes outlaws 0’ you an’ your cousin, it’s no business of mine. ut Iam on your side, an’ you know it.” “T don’t know anything of the kind. It is true that you did all this for me, and that I paid you well for it; but I know that you have since promised Reginald that you would find the boy and_ bring him back here. Will you attack this train to-night?” “Sartin. That’s what we've been a fol- lerin’ it fur. If you want to save your bacon, you’d best be gettin’ out.” “T intend to do so; but I don’t want the boy to get out; do you understand? You know where to find me in the morn- ing, and if you will bring me his jacket and leggings to prove that he is out of the way, I will givé you athousand dollars, There are a.good many boys with the train, but you will have no trouble in | that money when another i'making a successful attack upo? icking out Julian, if you ; ow he looked eight years ago. You will know him by his handsome face a2 straight, slender figure.” aude “Ill find him,” said the trapper; “its a bargain, an’ thar’s my hand onto it. Now I'll jest walk around an’ take @ squint at things, an’ you had best pack up what plunder you want to save 4? el’ar out; ‘cause in less’n an hour me an’ the Injuns will be down on this yere wagon train like a turkey ona tater-bug. The emigrant evidently thought it Wa to act on this suggestion, for withou® wasting any time or words in leaye- oe ing he made his way carefully throus the barricade into the camp. dis- The trapper watched him until he ¢ Mt appeared from view, and then said, 4, é talking to himself, but in a tone of Vor loud enough for Julian to hear: “A thousand dollars fur doin’ @ that you are afeared to do yourself be don’t mind shootin’ the boy, but 4 fur the biggest kind of a dunce to do_it rs man offers yi five thousand dollars for him alive * well. If that youngster, Julian, 7 Fa this eamp, I'll win that five thousan®, night, or my name ain’t Ned Sanders 4 The trapper shouldered his rifle, ake with a step that would not have an ened a cricket, stole along the barrie# carefully examining it at every P and mentally calculating the chances rt 1D yi, a ‘aiment When he had passed out of sight darkness Julian drew a long brea settled back in his place of conce@ to think over what he had heard. CHAPTER III. = ; ich *O' describe the feelings with Bye i Julian Mortimer listened tot 0 7* were impossible. He knew in he had. been .greatly mista some opinions he had _ hitbe ta few tained. He had told himself but ™ on earth who cared whether he lived Opaste but scarcely had the thought that there were at least two pe that very matter—so much 80 was willing to pay a ruffian @ offered five times that amoun live # him delivered into his hands @ overwhelmed with fear and bew¥™", hit “Whew!” he panted, pullFarops A RIDE IN THE DARBSB* versation we have just recorded that rto enter minutes before that there was D0 through his mind before he became a iD the world who were deeply interesat one dollars to kill him, while the othe well. It was no wonder that t Na bos ent. sombrero and wiping the pis perspiration from his forebeas o¢ I cose uae of anything I ever heard this wonder if Silas had any referent” m when he said that there were §W to the world who would be willie ve! something nice to get hold o the done for. If Iam not killed }Y jyake# dians that villain, Sanders, Wa to Rest prisoner of me and take me 0" hat hav, nald. Who is Reginald, and anxion I done that he should be 80. wort to see me? Inever knew ¥ five thousand dollars to_ any d is that emigrant, and bow come that I am in his way? that he has talked with eb am all about my plans, but. tive that I never spoke to bi I never saw him until I foun h this. wagon train at St. Josep had some thrilling adventuree past few weeks, and I c# nded. plainly that they are not yet e Julian was so completely Kk ‘ his reverie that he forgot to a piss dark on what was going on atone ‘¢wo consequently he did not see along p iD cD ve ‘m e figures which came stealing | be road as noiselessly as SP! "it oy di® ine figures were there, and whe? 1" into iif ered Julian they drew bac be 5 res" bushes that lined the bast ation: the and held a whispered consul! + int ye 0 ently one of them steppe caDP*, on, road again and ran towar the se atl did not attempt to escape but hurried along as thoug fect right to be there. He § ignorant of the boy's 4 heard his voice and saw his face: .» pis rifle looking straight into ™aing wits pis “Halt!” cried Julian, Sane enforced. finger on the trigger, Treat. tantly ob command, if it yrere not ins upon’ “Who are you?” Dp. Y lied the ™® ave “A friend,” rep 4 shoot !” d, and let ¥ s “Come up here, frien 1 # a look at you.” hed julia b ex As the stranger approac ae mue ‘1 ne that he appeared to be Vig th@! san cited about something, q bee? breathed heavily as if b nd ning long and rapidly. hat are yoo the 4 “ : f ienc w Tf you are a : the camp on the outside 0 j boy. n’ here “Why, we've been trapPi remembet leche Mountains, me an’ my pardner have, an’ to-day the Injuns driv us out,” replied ‘the stranger. “We jest had to git up an’ ig out to save our har, an’ left all our Plunder in the hands of the redskins— Spelter, hosses, traps, an’ everything ex- cept our rifles. . While we were a makin’ tracks fur the prairies we come plump agin somebody; an’ who do you s’pose it Was? It was Silas Roper. We used to be chums, me and him did, an’ have hunted and trapped together many a day Up in the Blackfoot country. We found him watchin’ the camp of Ned Sanders an’ his band of rascals, an’ Silas said that if he had just one more man he could kill or captur’ the last one of ’em. He told me whar his wagon train was, an’ axed me would I come down an’ get one of the fellers to lendahand. He said that Julian Mortimer was plucky an’ a 0od shot, an’ he’d like to have him. febbe you know him an’ can tell me Whar’ to find him.” Tr can. Dlied the boy, proudly. “You!” The trapper seemed to be first Surprised, and then disappointed. He Surveyed Julian from head to foot, and en continued: “Sho! I expected tosee a Man. What could a little cub like you 0 with Sanders and his gang?” “Iam man enough to puta ball into One of them, if I get a fair chance,” re- lied Julian. “I know something about anders, and have reasons for wishing tm put where he will never see me again.” “Wall, you’re spunky if. you are little, 4n’ spunk is the thing that counts arter all, Mebbe you’ll do as well as anybody. all you go?” vf course I will, if Silas sent for me.” . ,Nough said. Go easy now, an’ do Jest as you see me do.” ay e trapper shouldered his rifle and Started down the road at arapid run, With Julian close at his heels. hen they passed the first bend in the Toad a man came out of the bushes, Where he had been concealed, and fol- Owed after them with noiseless footsteps. Ulian did not see him, and neither did © see the dark forms that were hidden ehind the trees and rocks on each side the path; he saw no one except his puide until he came suddenly around the ase of a cliff and found himself in front Of acamp-fire, beside which lay half a phe rough-looking men stretched out on heir blankets. Ulian stopped when this unexpected Sight Sieeted his eyes, but his guide kept be and seating himself on the ground fore the fire jerked his thumb over his Oulder toward the boy, and coolly an- Nounced : th Here he is, fellers. Leastwise, he says at’s his name.” ; Ulian stood like one petrified. He Soked at his guide, at the trappers that Were lying around, and then his gaze Wandered toward an object which he had t before noticed. It was Silas Roper, NO stood on the opposite side of the fire, With his back to a tree, to which he was Securely bound. i he glance at him was enough for Jul- qe who now saw that he had _ been paped. He understood the trick that had ie played upon him as well as though dl had been explained in words, and won- fred at his own stupidity. eva his excitement and alarm, forgetting Verything except that he was in the pres- ai of enemies, he faced about and took Ste is heels; but he had not-made many hie’ vben the man who had followed oth. fiom the camp, and who was none & er than Sanders himself, Ppeared in his path. to Ot quite so fast!” said he, in savage oni “You’re wuth a heap to us, if you D Y knowed it, an’ we couldn’t think of artin’ with you so soon.” bots the trapper spoke he twisted the whi 8 rifle out of his grasp, tore the belt n ‘ch contained his revolvers and hunt- hig knife from his waist, and then seized a y the collar and dragged him toward S fire—Julian, who knew that it would ram: © height of folly to irritate the a, 0, Offering no resistance. bin Call this a good night’s work,” con- ued Sanders, who seemed to be highly hen... we've been waitin’ fur both Rot fellers fur more’n a year, an’ we've suddenly hovwem, at last. This is Julian. I one ed him the minute I sot my eyes ame, him, and could have picked him out in hie-® million. He ain’t changed a bit an’ is face, but he’s grown a heap taller on hi Outer, an’ p’raps is a leetle livelier Toy JS lees than he was when me an’ him Mem1.2' foot-race eight years ago. Re- «aber that—don’t you, youngster?” Tan .”? I don’t,” replied Julian. “I never Say tace with youin my life. I never «pou until to-night.” Manwin’t! Wal, I’ve seed you a good “XY times durin’ the last two months, Greased talked with you, too; but I was Rebbe that like a gentleman then, an‘ hat’s the reason vou don’t recog- Me now, Dick thinks he knows I am Julian Mortimer,” re- GooDp NEw S. |}down from the wagon. more about you than anybody else, but I reckon he don’t.” “Who is Dick?” asked the boy. “He’s the feller who was talkin’ to me to-night while you were settin’ in that wagon listenin’ to us. I didn’t know you were about thar until Dick had gone back into the camp, an’ then I seed you come I wanted to get you away from thar, ‘cause I was afeared that if you were in the camp durin’ the fight some of the Injuns might send a ball into you, an’ that would have been bad fur me an’ my mates, ’cause it would have tuk jest five thousand dollars out of our pockets. I didn’t see no chance to slip Bp an’ make a pris’ner of you with- out alarmin’ the emigrants, so [ come back here an’ got one of my men, an’ me an’ him made up that story we told you. It worked first-rate, didn’t it!” “But you have not yet told me who Dick is,” said Julian, without answering the outlaw’s question. “How did he be- come acquainted with me; and what reason has he for wishing me put out of his way. I heard him say that he would give you a thousand dollars if you would me?” “Didn’t think you would, Bill, dat’s de reason I brought my ax down on him,” said John Henry, with a twinkle of fun in his eye, “but is yer hurt much, boy?” “Not as bad as I mought ha’ bin, ef I hadn’t ke’p dese here fingers roun’ de beast’s froat. Much obleeged, John Henry, fur de sistance you give me.” The boys now came up, and when they found that their friend Bill was only slightly wounded, they gave whoop after whoop in honor of the victory. = “But it isn’t a "possum after all, is it?” said Teddy. “Bless de chile, no more it ain't,” re- “T guess Uncle Zip Bill here burst out into a loud guffaw It was not long until the peculiar bark | of a laugh as if he had thought of some- of the dogs told John Henry’s practiced ; thing awfully funny. ear that they had “treed,” and, of course, “What is it, Bill? Rattle it out, old it never entered his head that they had | fellow,” said Archie. “treed” anything but a ’possum. Hurry- | “Golly, but it’ll be boss fun! Let’s tote ing forward, they soon reached the tree,| home de catamount, and keep dark till at the foot of *which the four dogs were mornin’ ; den when de Christmas gif’s is | barking as if each one wanted to be the, flyin’ roun’ promiscus, let’s march down first to stick his tooth in the game. to Uncle Zip’s cabin, and lay dt beast “Now, boys,” said John Henry, “stick! afore him and ax him to ‘vite us to de de torches in de ground, and Bill, come on wid yer ax. We'll soon have dis tree down and bag de possum.” “Which way will you lay the tree, John ! Henry!” asked Archie. “Right over dere, Massa Archie,” re-| the old man be tickled . * * plied the “General,” pointing out the di- rection. “You all stan’ on dis side an’ you’ll be outen de way*” An old hand with the ax has only to chop in a certain way to lay a tree wherever he wishes, and as John Henry and Bill began their work the bright blades of the axes gleamed in the torch- light, and the hig chips flew out thick and fast. The boys grew more and more excited as they saw the gap get larger and larger, and when the tree came down with a crash that awoke all. the slumber- ing echoes of the woods, they uttered a loud shout of triumph, and the whole party, led by the dogs, sprang forward toward the branches where they expected to find the ’possum. But what was the} .matter with the dogs? They had rushed up to the branches boldly enough, but now they hesitated, and a sound between |a bark and a howl told John Henry that somethng was wrong. Keeping back the boys, he and Bill advanced, and as they | ,did so a fierce, angry, snarling growl, which sent the shivers down their backs, came from the tree. | “A catamount, by hokey!” said Bill. ' “Look! don’t you see his eyes?” Yes, there they were, gleaming like two balls of greenish fire in the glare of {the torches. John Henry and Bill still had their axes, and they prepared for the battle. The dogs hung back, and yet seemed eager to attack the enemy, as if i } : | | 1 ‘stew’ party.” “Tip-top !” said Sam, and they all broke out in roars of laughter. “Tt'll be the best fun Uncle had for ten years,” said Archie. Zip has “Won’t * a The next morning, a little after day- break, a procession, headed by Archie and Bill, carrying something all covered up and swung on a_pole between them, marched down to Uncle Zip’s door and demanded admittance in the name of his majesty Santa Claus. “Walk in, Massa Claus,” called out Uncle Zip’s voice, from within, and as the old man arose smiling to meet them, Archie removed his hat, and, in a comi- cally serious manner, said: “Uncle Zip, we have been sent by his most high majesty, King Santa Claus, to wish you a merry Christmas and to offer, as a token of his regard for you, an en- tirely new and recently-discovered _ speci- men of a ’possum, intended especially for a Christmas stew. Archie and Bill then laid down their burden, and throwing off the cloth which concealed it, exposed to Uncle Zip’s eyes the body of a ‘huge catamount. The old man looked at it a moment in’ speechless surprise, and then, as he took in the situation, he laughed and laughed until his sides ached and the tears ran down his cheeks like little rivers. The boys hoped that the joke would be enjoyed by Uncle Zip, but when they saw how much it tickled him, and how his good old face beamed with the fun, they whooped and danced about him until they got his feet into motion, and then, 548 Ccro°onD as if new life had been given him, he joined in with the party in a Christmas | break-down. “Now. chillun,” said Uncle Zip, when | the romping dance was Over, as he panted | for breath, “come down to de ole man’s cabin to-night and we’ll havea big pot 0’ catamount stew. Go ’way, possum! Catamount’s de fashion now. Ho! ho! he! he! Golly! ole Zip is young ag’in dis mornin’! Compliments. to Massa Claus, Many varieties of frope and twine are made on costly machines, which spin, twist, and wind up the product at same time, but the most interesting operation connected cordage is that gone through in the long, dimly lighted tunnel where, when the visitor stands at one end, the other end is lost in the perspective. Through double swinging doors a stairway takes you down into the supply end of the walk. the | NEW S. one uses the car track for a promenade, and but one car is used on each track. We leave the car as it passes under a | street crossing, through the wall of which with the making of |may be beard the jingle of bells as a | | horse car crosses on its way to the ferries, land going back to the supply end find the three young men who have previously arranged the thread ends for their long | journey. One of them is looking after the threads on either side of the shelves and gemmen ! Tell him ole Aip’s a boy ag’in.” Here a row of shelves is seen to be closely | carefully noting their condition as they +0 Rope-Making Under Ground. » WAY out on one of the busy ave- 2 nues in Brooklyn, a low building, VS five windows, usually covered with iron shutters, is. sandwiched in be- tween two dwelling houses. It looks odd, because there seems to be no way of get- ting into it unless one crawls through the windows. There is an entrance to it, or rather to an underground passage leading to it, but this entrance is something like | half a mile away, up a side street. I I cai 4 =a a ENTRANCE TO THE UNDERGROUND WALK. The odd looking low building is the ter- minus of a subterranean ropewalk, where the operators work all day weaving rope strands over twelve hundred feet long. Longfellow wrote of the ropewalk: “Tn that building long and low, With its windows all a row Like the portholes of a hulk, Human spiders spin and spin, Backward down their threads so thin Dropping, each a hempen bulk.” In the days of which Longfellow wrote ropes were made by man power. The rope- maker wound the hemp about his body, and, walking back ward, twisted the strands as he moved away from the bob- bin which held the hemp. This | was usually held by a boy, and when all | the hemp was unrolled the lad would | knot the end toanew thread and keep | the workman constantly supplied with | material. The name ropewalk was in| those days in no sense a misnomer. Man power was afterward replaced by | horse power, and about the year 1850 | steam power was utilized for the first | time. In the establishment now operating the | underground walk a workman named | Craves introduced the first spinning | jenny, an accomplishment which earned him, among other things, a good coat of | tar and feathers, contributed by his grate- | ful fellow workmen. The raw material for the rope made in | the subterranean walk is principally ma- | nila hemp, made from the leaves of the banana plantain of the Philippine Islands, | Jute is largely used in the manufacture of | twines for bagging and other cordage | which is not required to be very strong, | and sisal is used for cheap clothes-lines and similar grades of rope on which no great strain may be put. Raw jute is ob- tained from the stem of a plant found in the country about Calcutta, and sisal in its raw state is made from the leaves of | the century plant, imported from Mexico | and Yucatan. Manila is the only reliable hemp for durable rope, and before it is| spun off and wound on the bobbins ready for rope-making it is seen in large cube- shaped bales about three feet in diameter. ROPE- which seems to have no doors and | bobbin | | packed with tightly wound bobbins of |hemp. ‘These large spools look corpulent lat the middle, for they have been packed with as much manila fiber as they will conveniently hold. On either side of the array of shelves is a slanting frame, with several thick boards running lengthwise. Along each | of these boards is a long row of bobbins |on steel pegs, which fit so loosely in the | hole through the spool as to admit of its | revolving easily. At the end of each board a metal plate is attached to the side of the slanting frame. | Each one of these plates has twenty- | three holes bored in it. Through each of these holes is put the end ofa manila thread from one of the bobbins. Three plates are used on each side, and when the time comes to make astrand one hun- dred and thirty-eight bobbins commence to revolve, and the same number of | threads start on their long journey down lthe tunnel. About five feet from the plates on the frame, midway between the two sets of bobbins, a center frame con- {taining six cireular plates is fixed. In each of these plates there are innumerable perforations. The hole in each circular | plate is much larger than the ones around it. Through each of these larger holes seven threads are introduced, while each of the THE CAR CARRIES THE STRANDS, remaining sixteen which go through the circular plate to join later on the seven filling the place of honor has an orifice for itself. Eventually the twenty-three threads form a strand of rope, and the threads, which, until the bobbins began to revolve, were, perhaps, never together before since they were parts, perhaps, of the same leaf, are joined when the far end of the shadowy tunnel is reached, never to separate again until worn out and useless. When the ends of the threads are put through the circular plate each lot of twenty-three is kitotted together. Away down the tunnel a dark object is moving swiftly toward the supply end, drawn by | a stout cable which revolves on a flange wheel at one side of the car. The powsae which works the underground cable is 'supplied by a powerful Corliss engine, which also propels innumerable looms and jennys in the buildings on top of the tunnel. When this car has reached the end of the track beside the center plates | it is seen that it has six projecting hooks, leach of which joins a spindle connected with a cogwheel. The six cogs connect with a center cog, back of which is a slanting cogwheel which connects with two others having a reverse movement. These two join the axis of the car, and when the signal is given and the powerful engine starts the cable, the movement of the car as-it goes on its backward journey, starts all the cogs at once, and the six hooks, to each of which in the meantime a bunch of threads has been attached, begin to re- volve rapidly. . The car moves slowly down toward the terminus of the long tunnel, the outer threads begin to twist about the seven inner ones, and the mak- ing of six rope strands, each of which will be over twelve hundred feet, is be- gun. This car is the modern machine which goes backward, as man used to do, weay- ing, as Longfellow’s human spider could not do, six strands at once. The car goes away at a very dignified pace with its long, hempen cables attached, for speed l|might do damage to the frail threads the fast-moving car, now walks on ahead, back at the plates. Its attendant, who, ‘coming up, treated himself to a ride on | much in the same way as does a flagman | who precedes a train of cars which have THROUGH THE CENTER PLATE AND READY, to go through city streets. There is no FOR WEAVING. danger of running anything down, for no go through the frame plates. The other two watch the bobbins and replace empty | ones with new ones from the shelves, ‘B yi i Mp ORS i i Whi Se re ee NARS Wp s SS WW a —— THE PASSING OF THE THREADS, The young man who cares for the mov- ing threads has to be’ very watchful. Le carefully notes the condition thread as it passes by him, and his hands are constantly employed straightening them out where they appear to be tan gled, and at other times smoothing off roughness inthe hemp. On the frames are a number of bobbins and one or two lates not now in use. Through the holes 1ang a number of thread ends within easy reach of the tender’s active fingers. When a moving thread is particularly rough he sometimes breaks it, and grasp- ing a hanging thread at another plate he deftly joins the two, and anew bobbin begins to revolve and the other one stops. In the meantime the bobbin tender passes the end of a new supply through a plate, and:as the end of a string from some bared spool comes through one of these ends is joined to it and the comple- ment of twenty-three threads is still ready for the twisting strand on the other side of the center plate. Far down the track the car—now al- most out of sight—is nearing the ter- minus, and the material for two ropes five-eighths of an inch thick is almost ready. When the slowly-moving car has made its trip to the other end a bell rings at the starting-point and the thread ten- der cuts the six strands on the track side of the circular plates. The ends of the cut threads are again knotted in bunches and are ready for the next trip of the car. The six strands are now picked up and laid along a strip extantine the whole length of the tunnel. This strip is sup- ported by a number of stout uprights about fifteen fect apart, each of which has two stout metal pins at the top to keep the partly-made ropes in place. On the outer track at the ee yer time a car will be started on its seks journey with three strands attached to its revolv- ing hooks, and when this car reaches the terminus a stout rope, of the five-eighths size, will be finished. The material loses about twenty per cent. in twisting, and what was originally something over becomes a rope about two hundred feet shorter, are at work making different things used in the work, and here and there a solitary pedestrian tramps one way or the other along the subterranean workshop. on business of importance. At the terminal end men are busy at different. things, and the windows of the queer low building are opened to give them light. About three hundred feet from this end a side entrance leads from the tunnel to a side street, where the rope is carried for shipping. Every twenty minutes the car starts on a new trip with its material for over two thousand feet of rope, and all day long the bobbins feed it until enough strands are made to warrant the side car making its completing trip. Many years ago, when Brooklyn was not so populous the ropewalks we tell of had the usual long, low shed above ground. When the demand for new streets necessitated a change the concern contemplated moving out into the coun- try, and a site was found farther up on Lorg Island. The underground plan was decided on finally, and now the street cars rattle over the works, and _ the occu- nants do not realize that they ride over a pusy hive, where men and machines work ten hours a day twisting hemp into stout ropes, | times. | old it is. Above the walk in many places tall buildings have been erected, and at other -— | points small | other walls of the tunnel. frame dwellings join ¢ ) One building connected with the works | is an old stone structure, which Was originally a dwelling house of No one seems to know To secure the just how ¥ with brick. —_—___~+-e- HUTCHINS’ BOY. BY MAX ADELER, 7 2 isn’t there?” asked Mr. Jones © ‘\ police magistrate. ” ms Yes, most kind of boys anyhow: — Well then the law ought to do some; thing to protect citizens against Hutchins, boy, s0’s nobody’! be obliged to kill him “What's he been doing?” a t “Why, Hutchins, you know, lives nex door to me, and his boy Jim k miserable for my family. Saturday vo ; our hired-girl had toothache, and Jute ins’ boy gave her some raw cotton init. Hang that infernal boy! Ws gun-cotton; and the first time, you kno 4 she went to blow out a candle, ban a goes the cotton! Pretty near bleWa wa: girl’s brains out. Hasn’t got @ yon left! It actually loosened her head from — & “ to pu vas of each | twelve hundred feet of hempen_ threads | Along the sides of the tunnel mechanics | her shoulders! ‘Excavated her moube® that it looks like a mammoth cave; tice “Did she get over it?” asked the jus but “Oh, yes, she kind of got over phat our skye terrier hasn’t got over t™ | boy on Tuesday—let’s see was, ib T |we had such a gale? Yes, Tuesd got to flying a kite as big as a pie-bt }and when it was high up and pullin | a tow-boat, he tied the string to the | rier’s tail! I’ll kill that boy of I | yet, before I’ve done with him | of course, the dog, off he goes # Ww ing about ten miles high! Loe bigger’n a tick; and then he startle south like lightning, and for a he’s in Patagonia by this time, del Fuego, and still moving.” _,, “Have you advertised for him? “Advertised? Thunder! No! 4 And the next day Jim, Hutchins — he gets another kite and goes up O™ roof to fly it. And then he has to BOT he ing around and fooling around U? gets on to my roof, and up on my “hows ney; and then, somehow, T dunno all of asudden he comes foremost down the flue! Holle never heard a boy holloa as he j thought to fish him out with 4 line and a slippernoose; no use, him with a fishing-pole; too far k; t poked up from below with @ stic wi far up. I wanted to blow him be powder; but his mother threatenee a me if I did. Finally we tied a aA and rope, let the man down, pulls ba to brought him up black as ink from Ne he foot; and then old Hutchins on thought the least I could do woud flue pay for the boy’s clothes, because FS was so dirty !” Ss “Did you pay for the clothes? “Of course not; but only two ost that boy got out down by my stable his mother’s kerosene can, and c must have emptied it in amons my "ow ; othes- {felt for milked-coal oil—clear—for the see milkings, and ever since we na ae burning her milk in our students evenings. Gives a beautiful makes an inferior quality of is unpalatable to the baby, wh? confined to oatmeal gruel ane one that 3 | next cow I get’ll be e ow ml ye comes in the yard, - “Does it seem to agree W! “Well, not so very well. But | wanted to ask you about wer vee prea ee, Geceee to put ae ee ump? ecause this mornings, gay rir Poet out for wash-water, o Hutchins’ boy running, then 5 he 2B | something sizz in the pony Oe ie minute the top of the pumP “He som vomit out fire and smoke, " ex thing or other was rumbling, an éo yr a ing, and tearing inside. Vest quarter of an hour. vius. Must have _ been packs in there, and I expect gunpowder and pieces of re it for the next three days. se all boy’ll blow the roof off my nO the © up a simultaneous earthquake } ins” 1 lar, and then I s’pose old He to coming around and wanting ie damages for disturbing the 4" family.” “T’l]l send a policeman around Hf ate,, the boy to behave,” said the MaBNi yt he “All right,” said Mr. Joness in6 only won't mind. Sudden death 1 get it thing that boy wants, and he he isn’t careful.” at least we wart the colonial needed strength le |for the jarring machinery used in rope |making the sides have been buttressed HERE is a law against killing DOYS — makes life fie. se ‘ he s booming "you oe down. ae pe to . com. feed. Anyhow, all I know is that my two ae Be t ; Like Moun ‘agtee? i pot , _ + of BIS ‘ ¥y * h the cov atl cr ‘ pesday ay 1¢ poares g like 1e ter: chins nd $0, Thoop- ed no 1d due now Terra DO GOOD. —— BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH. The miser hoards his golden store, And views his wealth with pride— He counts his millions o’er and o’er, And has no joy beside. He starves himself trom day today, And shivers in the cold, And finds his recompense alway In feasting on his gold. The reckless spendthrift profligate Has his peculiar view ; He daily squanders his estate lu seeking pleasures new. He wastes his precious time and health {ui vain pursuits that cloy— Thus does he throw away his wealth, And thus he finds his joy. And each from poverty is free, Though neither can secure That blessing born of sympathy : With fellow mortals poor. The Christ-like part of man is shown In acts of brotherhood— The only solid pleasure known Is that of doing good. NOTHING BUT A BOY. By OLIVER OPTIC, Author of «A Battle for His Own,” “Where He Got His Money,” “An Operation in Clams,” ‘The Young Acronauts,” “Alone in the World,” “An Involuntary Voyage,” ete. pl Nora 3uT A Boy” was commenced in No. 33. ak Numbers can be obtained of all News Agents. } CHAPTER IX. AN IMPORTANT QUESTION. = EKACON BASSWOOD was so much “?)) interested in the affairs of his & young friend that he took Ralph . ~*~. into the wagon and drove up to ere Maythorn’s house the next day. Chri tted his business at once, like a if istian who values his neighbor’s time we does not his own. Bin) hie sir, | was called into Captain hee s house on the day of the Ben. Said Squire Maythorn. “I hadn’t hons fone half an hour when I heard the ber it had been carried away. I remem- Wid Very well. I was on the way to the be Ow Winchester s to make her will befo a They were afraid she would die el te I got there, but she’s alive and «y2OW. Ralph called me in.” tho 1at was the business, Squire May- wn?” asked the deacon, nervously. ardly know, except that it was to Wledge a legal document.” «y/@ you acknowledge it?” es: . ‘ot ar ack ry ra » Boeume) your brother acknowledged the Hlled out the blank and signed it.” Wag? t you know what the document “ 0 net me see,” mused the squire. “T do Ww arte of these things I can’t remember ate they all are, and I was _in a desper- Wood a that morning. Squire Bass- he on ected to signing the paper before Was. his money. Now it comes to me—it inke ischarge of mortgage. Captain the erton told the squire he could keep «7 'Scharge till he got the money.” the 9 you know whether the captain paid «740ney or not?” asked the deacon. lef On’t know anything more about it. I t the house as soon as I had written Thaen’:” replied Squire Maythorn. Obt was all the information that could Caco ained, and, like a Christian, the his 0 left the squire’s office as soon as “my Siness was done. J Up ¢ at looks as though your father paid off, © Mortgage,” said he, as he drove “« Ackno “ S hs 4m sure my father wouldn’t have Unlege he intended to pay the mortgage 4 1 he meant to do so,” replied Ralph. the “8a must have been about the time the 4007 came down on the house,” added «deacon arn in Squire Maythorn I went to the nq “24 I cleaned off the horse a little Put the harness on him. I led him Phar tt when I was going for the wagon Say if the noise of the water. I should afte was about a quarter of an hour honge °2W Squire Maythorn go into the eal] ea W882 little while before it. After I a 9 «Was it so long as that?” for + COuldn’t have been any less time, Ange faned off Charley, got out the the}, @nd pat it on him. I didn't curry on hag much, but I must have worked Phen” long as ten minutes.” ney. t was time enough to pay the “ v5 hen.” all si, ees think so, if the papers were Hime gs Pe was Miss Gadwing all this W ne Was in the room part of the time. a led the horse out of the barn she Wag 5, York in the back room. The door Pen, and I saw her there.” GOOD “Perhaps she knows something about the matter,” suggested the deacon, who thought it would be safer to question her than his brother in regard to the dis- charge. “Do you know that your father had the money to pay off the mortgage?” “No, I don’t; my father never said much to anybody about his business. He al- ways used to say that aman was a fool to tell anybody he had any money.” “Do you know where he kept his money?” “Sometimes in atin box he used to sarry to sea with him, but generally in his pocket.” “It may be that he hadn’t paid the money to my brother when the flood came,” mused the good deacon. “T don’t know’'s he had,” added Ralph. “Tt ain’t best to think too much of this matter, my boy. Kvenif the farm is all paid for, and belongs to you, Ralph, there ain’t much left on’t.” “That’s true,” replied the orphan, sadly. “The place looks like a desert now.” “There’s three or four acres of the farm on the side hill, adjoining Cap’n Meeker’s place, that is pretty good land; but it ain’t worth much to anybody but the cap’n, because there ain’t no way to git at it except over his farm.” “All the land by the river is spoiled— about twenty acres of it.” “That never’ll be good for anything again, and it would cost more to make a | road to the upland than the three or four acres are worth. I suppose your father’s! rative of her “miraculous preservation”— llay that up against you after all that’s NEWS. come upon you.” “But he will; it’s just like him.” “T know it’s like him; and I wish he was a better man. However, I’ll see him in a few days and find out whether your | father paid the mortgage or not,” added Deacon Basswood, as he drove into the yard of his house. For a month Miss Gadwing had talked about the flood in évery neighbor’s house in this part of Pondville. Not less than a hundred times had she related her mar- velous escape from the house, “only a quarter of a second afore the water bu’st | into the back room,” where she was. For thirty days she had been a heroine, and she made the most of the distinction the disaster had conferred upon her. The neighbors listened with interest to the story the first time, but when she began to go around and relate it for the second or the third time, enlarged and improved, they became weary of it. The deacon and his wife heard of her every day, as she | went from house to house; but not once did she visit them, after Captain Binker- | ton’s funeral. It seemed very strange, in- deed, to hear that she did not come, for she was in the habit of making occasional calls upon Aunt Roxy; but as they had a representative of the calamity in the house, perhaps Miss Tabitha thought her own star would be paled by a rival, and she | preferred to shine “alone in her glory.” But at last she did come, when the nar- nt to be his free act and deed, and | s SS = Ss — ~ Ss Ss os = ea ay ee ae 33s == SS .. ss PA Nes “YOU CHOOSE TO TAKE THAT BOY IN AND CAST ME OUT. VERY WELL! WHILE HE IS IN YOUR. HOUSE I WILL NEVER DARKEN YOUR DOORS !” buildings cost something like fifteen hun- dred dollars, and they are all gone. Per- haps Captain Meeker might give fifty dollars an acre for the land on the side hill. We might as well look the thing right in the face, Ralph, and understand the whole truth. Even if the place be- longs to you, I don't cal’late it’s worth more than four or five hundred dollars, as things stand now.” “That’s something.” “T know ‘tis; it’s worth looking after. Then you’ve got the horse, and all the old timber and boards I picked up on the pond belonging to you. I can use the horse and the lumber about my_ brick business, and I’m willing to pay all they are worth.” “Tf they belong to me you shall have them without paying a cent,” replied Ralph, with energy. “We won't talk about them now; but if we find that your father paid up the mort- gage, and what’s left of the place belongs to you, an administrator will have to be appointed to settle your father’s estate. If he didn't pay off the mortgage, why, my brother will foreclose it and take pos- session. Any how he can fix it, ’Bijah will lose about a thousand dollars.” “T am sorry for that.” “Tt was the work of God, and nobody’s to blame for it, and my brother can afford to lose it better than any other man in Pondville,” added the deacon. “I wonder he hasn’t been over to see you, and tell you about it.” “The don’t like me very well,” said Ralph, “I suppose it will take him a good while to forget what happened the day before the flood.” “I’m sorry you threw .mud at him, my boy. It would have been better for you to run away when you could have done so just as well as not, But he ought not to she never said a word about the miracu- lous preservation of, Squire Basswood, for that would have been admitting the claims of a rival—when the narrative had become threadbare, and was a bane in every house within a mile of Silver Pond. It was in the afternoon, and for two hours Aunt Roxy and Mercy listened to her story. It was almost tea-time, and before she had wound it up the deacon and Ralph came into the house. Elijah was sind to see her, and without waiting to hear the finale he began to question ber in regard to the business matter in which he was so deeply interested. “Squire Maythorn was at the house just before the water came down upon you— wasn’t he?” asked the deacon. For some reason or other, Miss Tabitha had studiously avoided any allusion to the visit of Squire Maythorn. As he was fairly out of the house, and at least half a mile from the river when the flood came, it could not be that she regarded him as a rival claimant for the honors of the “miraculous preservation.” “Now, I think on't, Squire. Mayfhorn did call, but that was before the devas- tatin’ element overwhelmed us,” replied the maiden, borrowing a phrase from the sermon the minister had preached on the Sunday after the freshet; indeed, she had considerably enriched her narrative after listening to this discourse. “T knew he was well out of the house; but what did Captain Binkerton want of him?—for Ralph says his father told him to call in the squire.” “Captain Binkerton was as good a man as ever was, but he always kept his busi- ness to himself,” replied Miss Tabitha, evasively, as she glanced at (Ralph, as if to assure herself that he appreciated her magnanimity in speaking so well of the deceased. “Squire Maythorn says the went in to 549 acknowledge a discharge of the mortgage my brother held on the place,” added the deacon, in his mild way. “Good gracious! Did he say that?” ex- claimed the maiden, with a startled look, which did not escape the notice of Ralph and the deacon. “That wasn’t much to say, if it was true—was it?” “TI don’t know’s it was,” answered Miss Tabitha, with a sickly smile, as she pos- sibly thought she had committed herself by her surprise. “Of course, my brother had to sign the discharge?” “How on airth should I know?” de- manded the maiden, blankly, asshe arose from her chair, evidently with the inten- tion of terminating the interview. “I don’t know no more’n nothin’ what was goin’ on. That man never told me a word about his business, and I never knowed what he was doin’, or what he was goin’ to do. I guess I must be movin’ toward home.” “Didn’t you see my brother sign the paper?” persisted the deacon. “T don’t know whether I did or not: I was so stirred up by the devastin’ flood, that it .druv everything else out 0’ my head.” “Didn’t you witness the paper?—that is, sign it as a witness of my brother’s signature?” “T can’t tell whether I did or not. I can’t even recollect what we had for breakfast that mornin’. I was tryin’ to think t’other day, when I was tellin’ Captain Meeker’s folks about it. But I must be goin’; I had no idee it was so ate.” She would not stay to tea. It was plain that she knew more than she cared to tell. ’ CHAPTER X. SQUIRE BASSWOOD’S DEMAND. } said Deacon Basswood, when Miss Tabitha had gone. “Her memory al- ways was very good. She can recol- lect when every child in the neighbor- hood was born, and what the folks had for dinner on the day it was born, If any man, woman, boy, or gir] makes a slip, she never forgets it; and she knows more about other people’s business than any other individual in town. She needn’t tell me she can’t remember. I know bet- ter.” “But you know, Elijah, that ’Bijah don’t want none of his folks to talk about his business to anybody,” added Mrs. 3asswood. “He hates to have the women folks say a word about his doin’s. He says they don’t know nothin’ about busi- ness, and get him into difficulty.” “That may be it,” added the charitable deacon, musing. “But it can’t do any great harm to tell whether she signed that discharge as a witnessor not. It wouldn’t kill nobody.” “Tabitha talks a good deal, and she don’t always hit things just right. I hain’t the leastest doubt ’Bijah’s told her never to say a word to anybody about his business.” “Well, I guess there’s need enough on’t,’@@huckled the deacon, as they sat down to té@a. Beforé dark the family, including Ralph, were nota little surprised to see Squire Abijah Basswood drive into the vard. Whey could not help connecting this visit, so promptly made, with that of MisgyTabitha. The deacon gave his brother a kind and respectful greeting, as he always did, but the squire seemed to be particularly surly on this occasion, and had more than his usual difficulty in giving his kins-people a civil word. “T came down to see you, Elijah,” said the rich brother, without getting out of his wagon—a second-hand vehicle he had picked up at the village, as the vicinity of the factories above was called. “I’m glad to see you, ’Bijah,” replied the deacon, elevating his right foot to the step of the wagon, to obtain an easy standing position. The poor brother would have drowned himself in Silver Pond rather than tell a lie, but it was a shade doubtful whether he was especially rejoiced to see the squire. Perhaps he considered his _re- mark allowable by the social license under which even very good people some- times make themselves amiable at the ex- pense of the strict letter of the truth; or he may have been glad to see his brother because he had business with him on Ralph’s account.” “When you want to talk about my business, "Lijah, come to me and do it like a man,” continued the squire, sternly. “Don’t go sneakin’ ‘round the women folks to git sumthin’ out of them.” The deacon’s face flushed a little, but it was not with anger, for the good man al- ways strove to “give place to wrath.” He was more in grief than anger that his brother should charge him with such an Qwv | DON’T understand that woman,” | 2s 550 undignified offense as an attempt to pry into his business in an underhand manner. “Why, ’Bijah, I only asked Tabitha if Captain Binkerton paid off the mortgage when you called upon him the day of the flood,” replied the deacon, mildly and softly. “Why didn’t you ask me about it, if you wanted to know?” growled the squire. “T don’t meddle with your business, and I don’t want you to meddle with mine.” “But you see, ’Bijah, Captain Binker- ton’s boy is at my house, and I’m sort of looking after him a little,” pleaded Eli- jah. “It makes some difference to him whether the mortgage was paid or not.” “You ought to come to me about it if you wanted to know. Tabitha don’t know no’ more about it than a goose.” “TI haven’t happened to see you lately, or I should have spoken to you about it.” “T don’t live a great way from here,” sneered the squire, starting up his horse as if to get farther away from Ralph, who sat on the door-step, within hearing dis- tance of the wagon. “What have you got that. boy here for?” “He was brought here after he was hurt on the day of the flood, and he’s been here ever since,” replied the deacon, ina sort of apologetic tone, as he followed up the wagon. “You ain’t obliged to keep him because- you fetched him here arter he was_ hurt,” said the squire, manifesting his disgust at the conduct of his brother in his tone and in his looks. “Why don’t you send him to the poor-house, where he belongs?” “Send Ralph to the poor-house!” ex- claimed the deacon. “Yes, certainly, why not?” snapped the rich man. “That would be too hard.” “Hard? They’d give him enough to eat in the poor-house, and make him work enough to earn his board.” “Roxy and I have talked the matter over, and we’ve concluded to keep him here. I always liked Ralph.” “T s’pose you’ve done this thing to spite me!” added the squire, with com- pressed lips, and a savage frown. “Why, no, 'Bijah; nothing of the kind,” pleaded the deacon. “I always liked Ralph, and so did Roxy. That's the only reason why I wanted to keep him.” “He is a bad boy.” “No, I don’t think he is.” “T don’t care what you think, ’Lijah. You know he licked Timothy so he hain’t got over it yet.” “That was a boy’s quarrel. Timothy began it.” “Timothy did not begin it. Ralph in- terfered with what he was doin’, and “then the fight came on.” “Yes, but, ’Bijah, what. was Timothy doing?” argued the deacon. “He was going to lick Samuel Baxter for not obey- ing his order, which Timothy had no right to do.” “T see the boy has turned you agin your own brother,” added the squire, as- suming an injured tone, for he knew the weakness of his brother. “Ralph never spoke a word to me about the quarrel. It’s the speech of people that alph had the rights of the case.” “T don’t care for the speech of people; Ralph was all wrong, as he always is. Then he throwed mud at me,” stommed the squire, suddenly, giving venf to his wrath. “T told Ralph it was wrong for him to throw anything at you, when he could have run away just as well as not.® “Run away? Then you approve of the boy’s running away from me, when was trying to teach him manners?” *T don’t think you had any right to horsewhip him, ’Bijah,” said the good man, softly, so as not to provoke his brother “But I don’t excuse him for throwing mud at you. ‘ “He needed hosswhippin’. It would have done him good. But that’s neither here nor there. That boy has abused my son, and insulted me in the most outrage- ous manner, and you take his part agin me !” “T don’t take his part.” : “Yes, you do! You take him into your own house! You keep him and harbor him! It’s only liftin’ your hand agin me for you to do so,” “1 don’t think so, ’Bijah. I don’t mean to lift my hand against you. The Lord knows that I would not injure you for all the world! Besides, brother, I shouldn’t think you’d lay up all these things against the boy after all he had to undergo.” 3 “'Tain’t altered him none. He’s jest the same boy he was before,” growled the squire, “If you don’t send him to the poor-house, where he belongs, you ain’t no brother-.o’ mine.” “Really, "Bijah, you wrong the poor boy. I’m afraid the Lord would forget me if I should dosocruela thing. We are required by the Book of Holy Writ to be a father to the fatherless——’ “TI don’t want none of your preachin’ to me,” interposed the squire, angrily. “That kind of cant won’t go down with Besides GooDp [ me. IT want Age to send the boy to the poor-house, If you don’t do it it’s be- cause you want to quarrel with me,” “T certainly don’t wish to quarrel with you, brother, but I can’t send Ralph to | the poor-house; I want to keep him, and |so does Roxy. He’s a good boy to work, jand he’ll be a great comfort to us be- sides.” “All stuff and nonsense,” snapped the squire. “He won’t work enough to pay his salt, and you know it. of one at that. the young rascal. You'll have to go to the poor-house yourself one of these days if you don’t send him there.” “I guess I can make my own living for a while longer,” replied the deacon, smil- ing at what seemed to be the absurdity of his brother’s proposition. “I’ve man- aged to get along somehow so far; and while I have my health I think I can con- tinue to do so.” “You are running in debt every year. I’ve got a mortgage on your farm of two ‘three thousand under the hammer to-day. | How long will it take you to get rid of he other thousand, at the rate you’re | goin’ on?” “T have five hundred thousand bricks on hand now, and they are worth more than my farm.” hain’t come into Pondville yet,” said the squire, sharply. “Your five hundred thousand bricks ain’t worth five hundred dollars, and they might as well be at the bottom of the ocean. There ain’t no mar- ket for "em, and you can’t sell more’n a hundred or two of ’em once in a great while. It makes me mad to hear a man talk so like a fool!” “T shall find a market for the bricks, every one of them, as soon as the boat I’m building is done, brother,” replied the deacon, confidently—a confidence begotten of ignorance and folly, the squire thought. “We won’t talk no more about that. I’ve warned you times enough, and if you are bound to be a fool, why I can’t help it ” “T believe I’ve paid the interest of the mortgage-note when it was due.” “Yes, you have; if you hadn’t I should have foreclosed the mortgage, and tried to keep you from wastin’ what little prop- erty you’ve got left,” replied the squire, bluntly. “But have your own way, and you'll live the longer. Now, about that Soy I want a square answer. Will you send him to the poor-house, where he be- longs, or will you continue to insult me own bosom that stung me?” you——” “Don’t make no more talk, but answer me,” interposed the squire, violently, “I consider it an insult and an outrage on me for you to keep him.” “T don’t think——” “ Answer me!” thundered the rich man. “T shall keep the boy,” replied the dea- con, gently but firmly; for though he was a Christian man, mild and soft-spoken, there was no milk and water about him. “That’s all I want toknow. You choose to take that boy in and cast me out. You are willing to sacrifice your only brother for that unlicked cub! Very well! While he is in your house I will never darken your doors |” “But, brother——” “You owe me two thousand dollars, and if you fail to pay the interest I’ll take your place,” stormed the _ irate squire, hitting his horse with the whip, and whirling him around. It was no use to say anything, and Deacon Basswood held his tongue. CHAPTER XI. WHAT BECAME OF THE MONEY, GR EACON BASSWOOD felt like a iss) martyr in a good cause, but he be- C lieved it was his duty, literally, = to “be father to the fatherless.” Meek and forbearing as he was, he had a lion’s courage in doing what was right. He was one of those men who could die at the stake in devotion to principle. In the changed issue which his brother had forced upon him he forgot for the mo- ment the business relating to Ralph’s temporal interests. But it feame back to him before the squire had reached the gate at the road. “*Bijah!” he shouted, at the top of his lungs, and they were not weak lungs, either. Perhaps the squire thought his brother intended to recede from his position, and allow him to take his cruel and unreason- able revenge upon the “fatherless,” and he ‘stopped his horse. The deacon ran down to the road. “Well, what do you want now?” de- manded the squire. “T wanted to ask you about that mort- gage-note,” replied the deacon, out o He’s nothing | but a boy, and an all-fired poor specimen | You can’t afford to keep | | thousand dollars, and it wouldn’t fetch | “Tf the Lord ever made a bigger fool in| business matters than you are, ’Lijah, he | by keepin’ him, takin’ the viper into your | } | than he was in the habit of doing, except “Well, ’Bijah, I don’t want to insult | ‘ie 8 p f | had breath, but as unruffled as before. “I should like to know whether Captain Binkerton paid the note or not.” “What business is that to you?” snarled the squire. “I guess you’ve got enough to do to look out for your own affairs, and more. “I grant it’s none of my business, but Ralph has a right to know whether his father left anything for him or not.” “You needn’t consarn yourself about it. Go lang,” added the squire, hitting the horse with the whip. “Squire Maythorn,” the deacon began. But he did not finish the remark then, for his brother was a rod from him when he had the name out of his mouth. “Whoa!” said Sguire Basswood, hauling in his horse. “What do you say about Squire Maythorn,” he continued, looking | back at his brother. Evidently that name had done the busi- ness with Abijah Basswood, for Squire Maythorn was a lawyer, residing at the village. Both of them were justices of the peace, and both had represented the | town in the Legislature, and both of | them hoped to go to the Senate in the | future. They were political rivals, with | all the moral, mental, and Christian ad- vantage on the side of Maythorn, though the influence of Basswood’s wealth gen- erally gave him the preponderance. The former was an educated, refined man, while the latter was illiterate and coarse. Each was afraid of the other, and each was on the lookout for flaws in the other’s record. “You needn’t tell me anything if you don’t want to, brother,” said the deacon, with a deprecatory smile. “T sha’n’t;” and the squire evidently re- garded the remark asa suggestion of a threat. “What have you got to say about Squire Maythorn?” “He told me he acknowledged a dis- charge of mortgage before you, at Cap- tain Binkerton’s, just before the flood came down,” replied the deacon. “Have you been to him?” asked the squire, in milder tones. “T have. I took Ralph up to see hima week ago.” “Stickin’ your nose in where it don’t consarn you,” sneered the squire. “IT don’t think that’s so, ’Bijah. I’m lookin’ out for Ralph's affairs a_ little, and actin’ for him. I think I had a right to go to Squire Maythorn, or anybody else that knows anything about him.” “Why didn’t you come to me?” “T don’t think you have given me much encouragement to go to you about the business; and I don’t think I shall be likely to do it again,” replied Elijah, put- ting rather more spirit into his remarks when he exhorted in the conference meet- ings. “Humph! What do you mean by that?” “When I asked you about the mort- gage, you told me it was none of my busi- ness.” . Taint “So be it, then; and I won’t keep you any longer, brother,” added the deacon, blandly. “What are you going to do about it?” demanded Abijah, who evidently felt that he held the key to the situation. “There’s only one thing that can be done.” “What’s that?” “Have an administrator appointed.” “What is there to administer on?” “That's what I want to know.” “And I suppose you will take out the letter of administration yourself?” sneered the squire. “T certainly shall not be administrator myself,” “Who then?” “T don’t want to do anything about it, if Captain Binkerton left no property. Thus far I have not been able to find out whether he paid the mortgage-note or not.” “The proper way to find out is to go to the county records.” “Of course, if Captain Binkerton paid the money, his death prevented him from putting the discharge on record. I sup- pose the administrator would be able to ascertain. I intended to ask Squire May- thorn to take out the letter.” Abijah started, then bit his lip. Avari- cious as he was, perhaps his love of money alone would not have induced him to ro the orphan of what the flood had left of his patrimony, if he had not hated the heir; in a word, if Ralph had _ not “licked” his son, and thrown a soft black sod into the face of his own sacred person. Squire Basswood was small, mean, and malicious enough to do this thing, and he had evidently decided to do. it, or, at least, to have the way open so that he could do it if it was safe. He knew that Captain Binkerton had gone back for the box which contained the discharge of the mortgage, when they were about to leave the house. When he got out of the window, and when he dropped upon the floating corn-crib, he the frail bark on which he tried to escape * was dashed to pieces in the gorge. those mad waves of that roaring torrent the tin-box had doubtless filled with water and sunk. Whatever papers it con- tained must have been effectually de- stroyed. In this view there was no possi- ble chance of that discharge ever being recovered. No one, not even Miss Tabitha Gadwing, who could be easily managed in his interests, had seen the captain pay = the fifteen hundred and fifty-five dol- ars, To the squire it looked like an entirely safe operation so far. But to have 4 smart lawyer like Squire Maythorn look- ing into the business, harrowing him up with examinations and cross-examina- tions, was utterly intolerable. And this smart lawyer his political rival, too Squire Maythorn would certainly make the most of his opportunity, and Abijah Basswood was sagacious enough to seé that even the suspicion of fraud, of rob- bing the “fatherless” of his inheritance, would be fatal to his aspirations. : But whatever opinion he had of his worldly and irreverent brother, Deacon Basswood did not consider him capable of such a monstrous crime, and did nob suspect the squire of anything worse tham disliking and even hating the heir. He did not mention Squire Maythorn’s name as the suggestion of a threat, as his brother felt it to be. “T suppose you've got the money to pay Squire Maythorn for doin’ the business— hain’t you?” demanded Abijah, still haughty, though he did not mean that his political rival should investigate the case, “ Administrators are generally paid out of the estates they settle,” replied the deacon. s “There ain’t no estate in this case.’ “If there isn’t I don’t want to do any; thing about it. You have said just abou as much as that Captain Binkerton di not pay off the mortgage, ’Bijah,” adde the deacon, anxiously. ee - “He did not pay it,” said the squiz® squarely, thereby embarking in fraudulent enterprise. The reader knows that he uttered @ ue; liberate falsehood, all the more mean &2 wicked because the lie robbed the orpha? of what Heaven had spared for him. ‘ Heaven manages these things much ne wisely than we know, and in the end t il lie was all the better for the heir, a2 . the worse for his persecutor, as the seq™ will abundantly demonstrate. ou “Well, if the captain did not pay J it’s no use to do anything more.” re “If he did not,” repeated the squit t “Do you mean to say I am lying @ at it?” demanded Abijah, frowning, ® struggling a like an innocent mink “Of course I don’t mean to say OF t mean The good any such thing,” protested ed to know deacon, warmly; “I only want how the matter stood.” “You know now, don’t you?” “IT do; but it seems very strange- tain Binkerton told his son the 1g fore the flood that he had the money pay off the mortgage,” y I “He may have had the money for er ee 2 es say he hadn’t. it; I say he didn’t pay it to me.” e “He wouldn't have had the disch ere drawn up, and called in Squire DSP van’t to acknowledge the paper, if he 2® moant to pay it.” “I don’t suppose he would; but he talked as if he hadn’t any idea © ing it.’ : d “That’s what Ralph says,’ adde deacon; and this agreement 0 the. tion nesses did its part in carrying conv! to the mind of the good man. . pinker” “For my part I think Captain ton had the money to pay off gage,” added the squire, than he had yet spoken, f that Stacey ee oo his explanation, an wou / in upon Squire Maythorn to investigat® the capacity of administrator. _,,, “You think he had the money fact. t “I have no doubt of it, im = if I shouldn’t have signed the release, had not supposed he had the money i449” “What do you suppose became © of the : “Became of it? What became bi ouse?” +h t “Very true; it was burned up wie it house. It was not on the body W was found.” the tit: The squire said nothing about nytbing box, and no other person knew = saw } about it except Ralph. If any e * qoated in the captain’s hands when ae pave down the mad tide be cou 4 seen it told what it was, unless he bae * before. put that ou if ¢ first of pay: “T guess theres any doutt the money was burned.” é “What "wecatne of the discharge signed?” asked the deacon, woP 4 the squire would now show 1t. 1 signe “I left it on the table where purned, my name. I suppose that oe e secon too,” replied the squire, but he box in his hand, He had it when ‘ st. lie was only the reflection of the a ‘ Woog tainly we will,” added Mrs, Bass- _ eds ut I ain’t quite a heathen. h Poor boy! There is nothing left for im,” sighed the deacon. iG | S’pose it’s hard on the boy; but you nt seem to think of me. How much ave I lost? Fifteen hundred dollars! hat is left of the place ain’t worth the trouble of foreclosing the mortgage; and shall let it rest till somethin’ turns up.” It’s rather harder on the boy than on You, brother.” Tought to take the horse that was Keep th boy and the horse, ’Lijah, for you ink more of him than you do of me.” st ith this last arrow Squire Basswood arted his horse, and drove toward home. CHAPTER XII, x THE BRICK SPECULATION, <= fs) ines BASSWOOD went into e house, feeling very sad in- deed, for he had really hoped that a few hundred dollars might be ace for Ralpb from the wreck of his fa- ; lar fo: prOPer ty. But there was not a dol- and t oo orphan—nothing but the horse that old lumber; and he was not sure these the squire would not seize upon © Was not quite a heathen, though the eath €acon thought he was nearer a Cage ea than he should be willing to ac- «ym of being. about at on airth have you been talking Wood all this time?” asked Mrs. Bass- house’ when her husband came into the Se. “You and *Bijah don’t often have «Uch to say to each other.” ton’s 28 asking about Captain Binker-. a oped replied the deacon, glanc- nd Ought so!” exclaimed Aunt Roxy. Thad an idee that ’Bijah was a lit- “we €d some of the time.” a l, that’s his way, you know. But ms, Ralph, that your father did not € mortgage. My brother thinks OF the gio Money in the house to do so, «p-© discharge was signed.” | keg What on airth became on’t?” With Aunt Roxy, her mouth wide open “ Par uehment. 1 4S all burned up in the fire,” re- hes’, the deacon, who was so well satis- to gq 1 this point that he did not hesitate “\ 80 without any qualification. Sake! What an awful pity! Fif- do an Undred dollars burnt up, and can’t 7. dy any good,” added Aunt Roxy. It,» ‘ey afraid that might be the way of Seemed Ralph, to whom this explanation thoy ht 2. be entirely plausible. “I saiq ® Squire Basswood would have Something about it, if my father had Paid him thing about it, if my father ha it, for kon *Bijah feels rather sore about thong at the least cal’lation he loses a Beg dollars by the flood.” Bloomiyy TTY for that,” added Ralph, You 24 there ain’t a single cent left for uy ae boy. “ be apie t care for that. I think I shall Ta to earn my board and clothes. If Sang at Smart enough to lay up a thou- 77 tplars I'll pay off the squire.” him— Susand dollars ain’t nothing to He ene 80 much as five dollars is to me. Wor, 2 t suffer for’t, and you needn’t « Ya out it” Say her t like to have Squire Basswood ther, Hes a thousand dollars by my fa- ive inp. Jl, heave it at me as Jong as I oI h Ondville.” fan}y, HOP! not, Ralph, for it ain’t your hing fat Won’t make any difference with Able ae I'm afraid I sha’n’t always be “Yon Keep still.” You are Must try to be patient, even when t y do Suffering wrong, my boy.” be equi, t mean to be saucy to him, but Ray h, ~¢ is terrible overbearing,” added ie bat ye almost everybody; he is to on. Worst don’t mind it. Now we know W eal} On't, Ralph, and we must make ti don tions accordingly.” Shs to eee that there are any calcula- mth wast make up your mind to live geld till you are twenty one, if I aio} “a Spared so long. You can go to Bet Care of the time, and we’ll take as mn” “© Of you as if you were our own a, 0 stope have done everything for me, and Oy hae all be able to do something for rete hi, time,” said Ralph. lizeg PO of the orphan boy was fully «tion or within two years he was the Tain's? the family, or a portion of it. at all concerned but that you'll te Can to help me,” added the dea- Sine Lord prospers me I shall do Nbrig.et™mer. I've got half a mil- Ret the, ©n hand, and all I want now is a shonit into the market.” wh trond} n't suppose there would be 0, © about that,” replied Ralph, € was mad enough to do so, if! GOooDp NEWS: 551 ' j about the subject. “Can’t you send them | down to Riverport, or up to Hillburg? | “That’s where the hitch comes in,” said | the deacon, with a smile. “’Bijah says the bricks might as well be at the bottom of the ocean.” “What on airth does he mean by that?” asked Mrs. Basswood, with a startled look, for she knew that the squire was a shrewd business man, whatever else he might be. 3 , “He says I can’t sell the bricks.’ “Can’t sell’em! I thought they were fetchin’ ten dollars a thousan’ here in Pondville.” “But there ain’t no demand of any con- sequence for them here. There ain’t much buildin’ can’t sell more than five or ten thousand a year. But I didn’t expect to do any- thing more than that here when I set out. I shall have the boat in a week or ten days, and then I expect to do some- thing.” of money making bricks.” “That’s a fact,” said the deacon, a shade of anxiety crossing his face. about used up the two thousand dollars [ borrowed of ’Bijah; but the bricks I have on hand ought to fetch three or four thou- sand dollars. If they do, I shall be well off.” There was an enormous “If” in the path of the good deacon’s financial and _ busi- ness calculations. If the bricks could be sold at the market price in Riverport or Hillburg, Elijah Basswood was a rich man, as he measured wealth; if they could not be sold, he was a poor man, Even though they were sold, if the greater part of the value was absorbed in getting them to a market, it was about the same thing as not selling them. The deacon went to bed, thinking of his brick speculation. As it was in connection with this enter: prise that our hero particularly distin- guished himself, unromantic as the field may seem, we feel called upon to give some more of the details of the deacon’s worldly affairs. The good man had not done much farming for the last two years, though he had sown his winter rye, planted his corn and potatoes, and got in his hay as usual. Aunt Roxy made only butter and cheese enough for home use, and the stock was reduced to two cows, two pigs, and a horse. He had over a hundred acres of land, but about half of it was in woodland, a mile anda half from the house, on the other side of the pond, where it could be reached only in the winter, when everything was frozen. Of the rest, about twenty acres were in a pasture, bordering on Silver River and the pond. Silver Pond was a sheet of clear water a mile and a half long by a mile wide at its greater extremities. On the northern shore the land was high, and the bottom was sand, while the southern shore was mostly low and swampy land, though more than half of the deacon’s wood lot was pine, spruce, and hemlock, growing on a considerable knoll. The good man’s farm bordered on the north shore, and in the winter he hauled his year’s wood across the lake on the ice. His house was on the great road from Hillburg to Riverport, which were respectively twelve and fourteen miles distant. Be- tween this road and the pond was the deacon’s farm, extending from Silver River to the East Brook, as it was called, to distinguish it from another, called West Brook, near Squire Basswood’s place. The outlet of Silver Pond was on the south side, by a stream called Pond River, which had a course of two miles through a low and swampy country, and then dis- charged its waters into the great Mero- pack River, navigable for small craft, be- tween Riverport and Hillburg. Near the outlet of the pond was Oak Island, which took its name from the trees that grew upon it. Like the deacon’s wood lot on the south shore, it was high land, and when the young people in this part of Pondville wanted a frolic, they had a picnic on this island, going over in boats. t was not more than ten rods from the shore, on either side of Pond River. As far as the bridge, near where Captain Binker- ton’s house had stood, was deep water; but just above the gorge, where the bridge spanned it, the rapids commenced, and continued all the way up to the factory village. About two years before our story opens, Deacon Basswood ascertained that the finest brick-clay in the country, if not in the State, was to be found ata point on the other side of the pond, exactly south of his house. The spot was half a mile from the outlet and Oak Island. = The deacon was too honest to deceive the owner of the land in regard to its value, and in consequence thereof he had to pay one hundred dollars an acre, when he would have sold his wood lot, a mile distant on the same side of the pond, for a fifth of that sum. Course, knew nothing at all yoing on in town, and [| “T hope so, for you have spent a heap | “Tve' gold mine in those clay-pits, and in | another year he had purchased a two-horse power engine and all the improved ma- chinery for manufacturing bricks. Durin |a whole season of eight months he ha |} employed several men, and in the spring, when the flood occurred, he had his half million of bricks on hand. He had sold |a few thousand, but, except in the win- iter, when the ground was frozen, it was |almost impossible to get them from the brick-yard to the main road unless by boating them across the pond. The enterprising manufacturer had a | good boat, sixteen feet long, but it was | hardly suitable for the transportation of | bricks, though he used it for this pur- |pose. A horse could not draw more than | one hundred bricks by the cart path used | for hauling out wood ‘in the winter, be- | cause a good part of it extended through | the swamp, where the wheels went down to the hubs. | Squire Basswood was not the only man who laughed at the deacon on account of | his brick speculation, as everybody called | it. Business men generally agreed that it would cost more to get the bricks toa | market than they were worth, and that the good man was practically ruined. It was only a question of a few years, if not of afew months, when he should fail, and his rich brother take all he had. Peo- ple were sorry for the deacon, and pitied (him; but it was his own fault. He had been sufficiently warned of his folly. But in spite of all the discouraging talk | of people the deacon was still sanguine; }and when anybody said anything dis- |paraging about his enterprise, he rather | chuckled over it, for he had a plan upon | which all his hopes rested. He had con- tracted in Riverport for the building of a sort of boat, whose model he had made | himself. It was to be fifty-one feet long by fifteen feet beam, and four feet deep. It | was to be a flat-bottomed affair, like a | scow ; but the bow was to havea long bevel, 'so as to diminish the resistance of the | water. Under the bevel at the stern a ‘kind of keel was to be built, so that a | broad rudder would work. This craft was to have a square sail; and it could also be | moved by oars or poles. This boat was | the good deacon’s hope for his financial | salvation. (TO BE CONTINUED,) Say ra at Three Books Given Away to Every Reader — SERIES “3B” BOOK PREMIUMS. ‘Commenced in No, 19 and Ended in No, 30, ——_« —_—. vy AS N the first page of Goop News, from 2) Nos. 19 to 30, inclusive, appeared a coupon. These coupons are num- bered from 1 to 12, inclusive, and by sending us the set complete we will send | you any three books in the ‘‘Goop Nrws” | Lrsrary that you may select from the fol- | lowing list. There are no conditions in this premium offer except to send us the complete set num- bering from 1 to 12, inclusive. The first twelve numbers of ‘‘Goop News” Lisrary have been carefully selected from the entire list of the well-known ‘‘Golden Library.” | Future issues of ‘‘Goop News” Lrsrary will be composed of original stories specially writ- ten for us. All fiction published in this library will deal with exciting incidents and adventure, while entirely free from objec- tionable sensationalism. We feel certain that everybody will be pleased with them. Make Your Own Selections. “GOOD NEWS” LIBRARY No. 1.-CAMP AND CANOE; or, Cruise of the Red Jackets in Florida, by St. George Rathborne. o. 2.-SENT ADRIFT; or, Around the World on Pa Cents, by Henry A. Wheeler. Ne. 3.—A YOUNG BLUE JACKET; or, En- listed for the War, by Robert E. Morse. o, 4.—BOY CARIBOU-HUNTERS;_ or, creaeure-Trove of Hudson Bay, by Charles .» UPoss. No. 5.-ALL ABOARD; or, The Rival Boat Clubs. by Weldon J. Cobb. No. 6.—EVERY ‘i A BOY; or, An Amateur Actor’s Adventures, by Johu Tulk- inghorn, io. 7.-WORKING HIS WAY; or, The Brookville Boys’ Club, by Dwight Welden. No. 8.-TOM BROWN’S PLUCK; or, The Rextauee of a Soldier Boy, by Major A. F. xrant. No. 9.—BRIGHT AND EARLY; or, The Boy Who Became a Detective, by Jobn Tulkinghorn. . No. 10.-ONE CENT CAPITAL; or, A Young Clerk’s Adventure, by Archie Van. No. 11.-WESTWARD HO! or, The Cabin in the Vienne by Henry L. Black ‘ Noe eee WITH A CIRCPS 4. or, : , = eee Sepeere of Natal, by Henry 4 ack. We will send any one of the above books, postage free, on receipt of 10 cents, Address “Goop News” Lisrary (Street & Smith), Tr Deacon Basswood felt that he had a 31 Rose Street, New York, EXCHANGE DEPARTMENT. +. {[IMPORTANT.—This column is free to all our readers. We will not be responsible for transactions : brought about through notices in this column. All offers must be strictly exchange offers. We will not insert any “for sale” advertisements, nor exchanges of fire-arms, explosive, dangerous, or worthless articles. If exchange notices do not appearin areasonable time, it may be understood that they were not accepted. Address all communications for this column to “Exchange De- partment.”} + PRINTING PRESS.—Leo W. Manck, Burlington, Kas., would like to hear from boys who have a print- ing press with type to exchange. GOOD NEWS.—Bert Calwell, 1223 Ogden St., Phila- delphia, Pa., has Goop News from number 1 to present date, three boys’ libraries, and 300 postmarks, all dif- ferent, of the United States for best offer. Will ex- change separately if desired. GOOD NEWS.—F. McClatchey, 1521 South Garnet St., Philadelphia, Pa., has twelve Goop NEws, two libra- ries, and five books for boys to exchange for “Life of Wim. Penn,” or small printing press. CIGARETTE ALBUM.—Willie Goodman, Box 1428, Mobile, Ala., has about 300 cigarette pictures, no two alike, about 125 foreign stamps, and eight cigarette al- bums to exchange for a good magic lantern. STAMP ALBUM.—E. C. Covert, Vassar, Mich., has stamps in album, value $23, a one horse-power steam engine, value $35, and books, games, and magazines, value $8, for a rubber tire safety bicycle, large enough for a rider of a fifty-six to sixty inch ordinary bicycle. LIBRARIES.—G. E. Anderson, 1718 Second ave., New York, wishes to hear from parties haying tive cent libraries to exchange. MUSICAL.—John Haynes, Jr., 2562 Eighth ave., New York, has an orchestra drum, cost $9.50, a silver- plates fife, cost $2.50, a set of four pound iron dumb- ells, cost forty cents, a pair of patent strap roller- skates, cost $1, a pairof Barney & Berry nickel-plated club skates, cost $1.75, total $15.15, to exchange for either steam engine with track, electric motive magic lantern, bicycle or anything useful, all together or sep- arate. All letters answered. ROLLER SKATES.—Thomas D. McMahon, 274 West Jefferson St., Fort Wayne, Ind., has a pair of roller skates and a book entitled “Handy Andy,’ to exchange for en lantern, or small printing press. All letters answered. WEEKLY PAPER.—Geo. F. Collins, 4366 St. Ferdi- nend ave., St. Louis, Mo., has one volume of boys’ weekly paper to exchange for some other boys’ paper, or “Nugget,” or “Log Cabin,” libraries, one hundred certificates for foreign postage stamps. CIGARETTE PICTURES.—O. C. Schaefer, 10 South State St., Chicago, has 200 assorted, clean cigarette pic- tures, 100 Duke’s and Allen & Ginter’s cigarette certili- cates, and fifteen five cent libraries to exchange for best offer in stamps. PRINTING PRESS.—W. Wheeler, Baltimore, Md., wants a printing press with type. CIGARETTE PICTURES.—H. A. Schoenfeld, Box 128, Seattle, Wash., has 38 cigarette pictures to ex- change for same or albums, a $4 mayic lantern, new, for best offer, also novels and books for same. All let- ters answered. _LIBRARIES.—Jack Bourbons, 79 East 111th St., New York, has about $20 worth of libraries, story papers, and coupons for a Kodak camera or best offer. BOYS’ PAPERS.—Willie A. Beatty, St. Catharine’s, Ont., has 100 copies of boys’ papers to exchange for banjo, detective camera or best offer of stamps. Cana- dian offers only. STYLOGRAPHIC PEN.—W. H. Senior, Jr., Mont- gomery, N. Y., has three volumes of boys’ papers, five cigarette albums, about 200 cigarette pictures, one sty- lographic pep, six volumes of boys’ libraries for com- plete photograph outfit or best offer. 2 NOVELS.—F. M. Keffer, Lock Box 10, Ligonier, Pa. las novels and papers to exchange for best offer of reading matter. Send list. STAMPS.—Geo. A. Relyea, 119 Tallmadge St., Pough- keepsie, N. Y., has a book entitled “The Yankee Cham- pion,” and 100 U.S. stamps to exchange for old U. 8 coins. FOREIGN STAMPS.—E. B. Quackenbush, Box 593, Ballston Spa, N.-Y., has one hundred foreign stamps. one hundred different postmarks, two gvod novels, one game of authors, Goop News from number 18 to 30, for best offer of anything in the printing line. STAMPS.—C, F. Gardner, Waterloo, IIL, has U. 8. stamps of different. denominations for Canadian stamps assorted. LIBRARY.—G. H. Nimocks, Lock Box 232 Fayette- ville, N. ©., has five numbers of comic library, 800 clean cigarette pictures, and a book for best offer. Will anata separately if desired. All letters an- swered. BOYS’ PAPERS.—S. Wertheimer, 179 Greenwood St. Cleveland, Ohio, has seventy-five numbers of boys story papers in good condition, for the best offer in cae All offers considered and all letters an- swered. ZITHER.—Harry Prall, Jr., 249 North Tenth St., Philadelphia, has a zither and case, a pair of nickel- plated skates, air gun, dark lantern, black fife, book on maxic, 200 tobacco cigarette slips, two five cent libraries, and six boys’ papers to exchange for a thirty-eight bracket professional or lady’s star banjo. FOREIGN STAMPS.—W. A. Kennedy, Box 61, Bowl- ing Green, Ky., has about $10 worth of boys’ papers, about 1000 foreign stamps, some old revenue stamps as far back as 65, and a 334x534 inch, inside of chase, print- ing press with four fonts of type to exchange for a typewriter or best offer. All letters answered. No pos- tals. BOOKS.—Leroy Cramer, Box 213, Braddock, Pa., has books “Pilgrim's Progress,” and “Arbuckle’s Atlas of the United States,” for best offer in cigarette cards or stamps. All letters answered. CIGARETTE PICTURES.—Owen Taylor, 385 South Orange ave., Newark, N. J., has 320 cigarette and tobac- co pictures, album, comic and boys’ papers to exchange for four fonts of metal type. BOOKS.—Ben Weynberg, 73 West Twelfth St., Coving- ton, Ky., has $1.25 worth of useful books to exchange for best offer in cigarette certificates, BOYS’ PAPERS.—C. B. Sheafor, Burlington, Kans., has about sixty numbers of boys’ papers, and a new typewriter to exchange for best offer. CIGARETTE PICTURES.—Beecher Ogden, 410 Tenth St., Brooklyn, N. Y., has one hundred cigarette pic- tures, almost all different and in good condition, for the best offer of stamps. American preferred. C. H. M., Vicksburg, Miss. —The notice you send us is a for sale advertisement, and therefore, cannot appear in our exchange column. R. I. Stamp Cius—Your notice comes under the heading of for sale advertisement, and, therefore, not suitable for this column. E. J. W., Lynn. Mass.—This column is for exchanges only. In your notice you offer to sell goods for money, and, therefore, it is an advertisement. ¢ A cg weirs Hoe ig arg cOOD NEWS. ISSUED WEEKLY. W. B. Lawson, Editor. NEW YORK, JBNUARY 1, 1891. Terms to Mail Subscribers: (POSTAGE FREE.) - 65c. | 1 copy, two years - $4.00 - 85¢.|'The New York Weekly and - $1.25| Goop NEws, both sono K 3months - 4months - 6 months - One Year - - - - 250| year <« + + « -'6 2copies, one year- - 4.00 How To SEND Money.—We will be responsible for the receipt of money sent to us only when remittance is made by Post-Office Money Order, Bank Check or Draft, Registered Letter or Express Money Order. We particularly recommend our subscribers to the Ameri- can Express Company, who will receive subscriptions at any of their offices, and guarantee the delivery of any amount not over $5.00 for the low sum of five cents. We cannot be responsible for money lost in transit unless sent in One of the above ways. To CLUB RAIsERS.—We are at all times eee ana willing to lend you all possible aid, and will send, free, as many sample copies as you think you can ju- diciously use, together with other advertising matter. Special inducements made for large clubs. All letters should be addressed to STREET & SMITH’S GOOD NEWS, P. 0. Box 2734. 29 & 31 RoseStreet, N.Y. Advertising rates, 50 cents per agate line. Back numbers of GOOD NEWS can always be obtained from your Newsdealers. If they do not have them please send direct to this office and we will supply them by mail on receipt of price. None of the stories published in GOOD NEWS will appear in book-form. ~ Contents of this Number. “White-Horse Fred,” by Harry Castlemon. “Nothing but a Boy,” by Oliver Optic. “Between the Lines,” by Lient. James K. Orton. “On Land and Sea,” by Wm. H. Thomes, ‘Daring Deeds of Boys,” by Nathan D. Urner. ‘Journal of a Jolly Drummer,” by the author of ** A Bad Boy’s Diary.” “Short Talks With the Boys,” by Arthur | Sewall. “Qld Prob.’ and His Work,” by Charles Barnard. “A Christmas Dinner Story,” by An Old Traveler. “Johnny's Prayer,” by Jane Kavanagh. “Hutchins’ Boy,” by Max Adeler. “Old Zip’s 'Possum,” by D. B. Waggener. “Interesting Facts,” by John R. Coryell. And the usual interesting departments, —_——___+-e-—__—— E have received a large number of 49 letters calling for book premiums in which the coupons were not in- closed; other letters in which the set of 12 coupons was incomplete; many more con- taining no address, and in some cases even the names of the writers were not given, All readers who have not complied with instructions, as published in every issue of Goop News containing coupon, should do so at cnee, if they desire to secure premiums. We have given very clear and explicit directions regarding our coupon offer, and we cannot fairly be held responsible if errors oceur where these directions have been dis- regarded. We cannot promise satisfactory or prompt attention to any of those readers who have not addressed Goop News Liprary as di- rected, when sending coupons, for the many thousands of letters properly addressed and carefully written will receive the first and most prompt attention. Neither can we promise to answer inquiries or give attention to anything contained in the thousands of letters addressed to Goop News Lrprary, which should contain coupons and address of sender only. a ot Anew story by Lieut. Lounsberry, au- thor of “Cadet Carey,” and “‘Midshipman Merrill,’? will commence in No. 37. , Beats Santa Claus’ Visit, NEXT WEEK. NEXT WEEK, No. 36. SHIFTING WINDS; OR, CRUISE OF THE COAST CANOES. | By W. B. LAWSON. This is the most interesting story that the author has yet written for Goop News. It is full of thrilling adventure and mystery, and at the same time it portrays the delight- | ful pleasures of life in the cedar canoe, of | samp-fires, storms on the great coast sounds, mysteries of the gloomy swamp, etc. The story is bound to be interesting, as the scenes are laid near home. ‘Two boys cruise in canoes from Staten Island, N. Y., to Florida, along the coast. Jerry Manly, a young medical student, just graduated, and seeking health, secures a companion in Paul Stevens, whose past is a mystery. From the time they leave the Raritan River to pass through canals, bays, and swamps on their way to the Palmetto State, their life is one long day of mystery, strange adven- ture, and considerable pleasure, Don’t Fail To Read This Interesting Story. —_—__~+-0-e—__—_ hnnay Cromb Johnny THE ELEVEN-YEAK-OLD HERO. Goop News Humans Soctrry’s Gold Medal is presented this week to Johnny Cromb, of Crookston, Minn., for saving the life of his little playmate. On the morning of July 10, 1890, a little girl, known by the name of Little Clipper Buckman, while playing on the logs near the shore of Red Lake River, Minnesota, accidently fell in the water, which was over her head in depth, and would have been drowned had not little Johnny. rendered her timely assistance, AFFIDAVIT FROM HIS FRIENDS. CROOKSTON, MINN., Nov. 24, 1890. MESSRS. STREET & SMITH: Gentlemen: We, the undersigned, hereby certify that the young hero, Johnny Cromb, is known, to us as a boy worthy, in all particulars, of receiving the Goop News HUMANE SOCIETY’S medal, which is offered to life-savers by you. Signed. ADOLPH P. KIRSCH, G. W. Lewis, Justice of Peace, GEO. J. MCMANUS, Notary Public, M. E. Krrscu, Notary Public. ——e—E——— INTERESTING FACTS. BY JOHN R. CORYELL, A Big Wind. WIND that circles around as it goes on its blustery way is called a cyclone. A cyclone is not neces- c sarily a very strong gale, for in any country road, in dry weather when the dust is light, you may see a dozen cyclones in a ten-mile drive. I say see it, because it usually catches up te dust and whirls it along until the force of the wind is spent. A real, genuine cyclone which can lift up a hundred tons of water from off the ocean and slap it down with destructive force on the deck of a ship, is produced by precisely the same immedi- ate causes as the little whirlwind in the country road. The little whirlwind is made by the meeting of two little gusts,of wind, going in opposite directions.. Neither will give way, and as one must be stronger than the other, it will take the weaker one along with it; but all the time the weaker one is trying to go its own way, and so the two gusts struggle, and the result is something like the same dance two des- perate men might have when they were wrestling for. the mastery. If, then, in- stead of two little gusts of wind you can imagine two vast volumes of: wind en- aged in such a tussle, you will have an dea of what a giant cyclone is. In this last case, however, you must also imagine a general disturbance of the magnetic currents of the earth, and so the whole result is something altogether too fright- ful for anybody to realize unless he has actually seen a cyclone in action. But before we come to the cyclone it will be well to see where the great bod- ies of wind that make it come from, and why they should come in conflict. And right here is a good place to try a very simple, but very suggestive experiment, The air outside is now pretty cool, and the cooler it is the better for our experi- ment. Your kitchen opens into the yard, of course, and your kitchen is very warm to-day, for it is ironing day. All who are not interested in your experiment should be sent into some other room, for they may object. Take some pieces of tissue paper, cut small, and sweep them | toward the door; just as they are near | the door let somebody open it. The cold air will try to get in and the | hot air will try to get out, and there will | be a cyclone, with the tissue paper whirl- ing in it. The cold air will get the best of | the struggle, and carry the paper with | it. And while you have the door open, | notice, please, that all the cool air is at the bottom of the room and the hot air at the top. Also notice, if there is no other opening but the door, that while the cold airis coming in at the bottom of the door-way, the hot air is going out at the top. All we need to do now is to apply our knowledge, gained in a small way, to great things; and, by the way, that is all we ever need to do in this world. If we only understand principles as they apply to small things, we can just as easily understand their application to great | things. The difficulty seems to be that we become frightened at the size of great objects simply because of their size. How- ever, let_us apply. Around the equator, in the tropics, it is very hot, as you know, and at the poles, where there is ice all the time, it is natu- rally very cold. Of course, then the air at the equator becomes heated and_ rises, while the air at the poles is cold, and keeps down. Of course the hole made by the air rising at the equator must be filled, and so the cold air comes sweeping along to fill it, while the hot air, driven away, rushes up north, where it cools off, | settles down, and is ready to take the place of the air at the equator, which has quickly become heated. So you see it is the same story as the hot and cold air in the kitchen, only the operation never ceases, but goes on forever. You can even feel the two currents if you goto the right place. At the peak of Teneriffe, for example, in the Canary Islands, you can feel the coo) current at the bottom, and then climbing up you can feel the warm current. ; Now suppose the cool current working its way swiftly but sedately along. It has things pretty much its own, way, and does not hug very near the surface, In the meantime a great body of air has been very much heated from some cause, and” makes a violent effort to rise. It meets the regular current, and neither will give way. A quarrel follows, or a cyclone, as we call it, and as usual, when big folks quarrel, small folks must do the suffer- ing. Ships are swamped, houses blown down, trees torn up, and thousands of lives sacrificed simply because of the ob- stinacy of two windy fellows, It is said that the center of a cyclone is perfectly calm, but little good that does anybody, for the wind not only whirls like mad, but, as it whirls goes furiously forward, sometimes at the rate of a hundred miles an hour. Perhaps you think a hundred miles an hour is not much, but it is quite enough to lift you off your feet, and carry you like a chip; it is enough to raise waves forty feet high. But, perhaps, you have read of waves mountain high, and. think, there- fore, that forty feet are nothing. Let me tell you that if ever you find yourself in mid-ocean in the biggest ship that ever was built, with a cyclone eatn as ribbons of your sails and toothpicks of your masts and decks, and with forty-feet waves playing around you, you will imagine that the Andes Mountains have broken loose and are on a war dance. Still if you want higher waves go nearer shore, where the water is shallower and you will see waves one hundred and fifty feet in height. And what destruction follows such waves. A cyclone, or a typhoon, as the Chinese call it, visited the southern coast of China some years ago, in 1874 I think it was, and blew the water from the sea up the Pearl River, flooding the whole surrounding country, and drown- ing some twenty thousand persons. A British gunboat found itself the morning after the storm lying high and dry in a Chinese village several miles from shore, and that was only a sample of what the storm did, If my advice is worth anything I would say be content with your kitchen cyclone, for there you have all the principle with- out the deep interest which usually re- sults from an acquaintance with the real | in this family ?” | ought to come down. Officlal—“Y-e-s,, but think oh: thing. Ticklet BY CHARLES W. FO =n S. STER. Fair Warning. Lady (who has determined to rid her pet | fleas)—‘‘Have you anything that w Druggist’s New Boy—“Yes’m, but ivll skin smart.” Uses of Cotton. 1 ; Inquiring Youth—‘Fadder, vas dese clodings made haluf cotton so dey nod shrink ?” adele Dealer—‘‘No; dey vas made haluf cotton 80 de gustomers vould nod shrink vrom de price.” pe Curing a Patie Patient—‘Isn’t there some mistake abou it'scorrect, five ‘hundred bill you sent me,” Doctor—‘‘No, sir; dollars.” Patient—“To pay that will t have; Ill starve.” nt. dog of ill kill fleas?” make b that ake every cent ej Doctor—“‘Well, dieting is what you need.” A Wearisome Adjunct. Small Boy Visitor—‘There’s a great man in this Now tell me, 1 little dear, how you knew there was @ great mab family, isn’t there ?” Delighted Hostess—*‘Ha, ha! Small Visitor— No Arrests. Indignant °Citizen—‘Don't yo boys down there smoking cigare you arrest them ?” Policeman—‘'Fact is, Mr. Tax is my son, and the other is your Citizen—“Um—er—very pleasant weathe having.” Chance for Argu u see ttes ? pay, son.” ment. why 4 one of them » “Oh, you all look so sort 0” tired.’ two those on't r we're i Private Citizen—“I think those telegraph They dangerous.” Telegraph shade they give.” More Than Welcome. Mrs. Downton—“Who is that horrible 1 away.” : creature at the door? Send her Maid—‘‘She says she heard y’r husba want of a typewriter, and she'd like Mrs. Downton—‘‘Ask her in.” the Too Cheap to be Decent. Mr. De Fashion (ready for the opera)— to take theme are your opera glasses ?” Mrs. De Fashion—‘“I am not going You must get me a new pair.” Mr. De F.—*What is the matter wi ones ?” Mrs. De F.—"“They are of alun by the paper to-day that the price has dropped from twenty do eighty-five cents.” References. Mistress-—‘‘Have you any references ?” Have you?” New Girl—"‘No, mum, iinium, llars @& Juvenile Experiences. Country Boy—‘Yes, I lives in Squedun you ever in Squedunk ?” * City Boy—‘*Nope. Hostess—“‘No, he’s at home, away for months. Why ?” But I was in Brookly® A “By the Way.” Caller—‘‘Your husband is out of tow He of @ p, isn’t he pasn't , bee are unsightly © nD ” place.” yynere th the old and i) pou? ~ i? the Caller—“Oh, nothing, nothing at all. me of t way, I wonder what has beco Widow Wilkins.” Reportorial Mem Mother—‘“1 am glad to hear y¢ to-day. ories. yu went What was the sermon about ?” Adult Son (a reporter)—"I don’t know, I haven’t written out my notes yet.” Go West. Mother—‘‘Now that you have become dist, where are you going to sett Ambitious Youth—‘I think, Nebraska, All the papers say t State.” A Thoughtful Hostess- ‘s le ?” Hostess (to male wall-flower)—‘‘Perm troduce you to a charming d end.” Mr. Westend—‘‘Au, thanks, no, «Would you like to join the car drawing-room ?” “Au, thanks, no, that black coffee ?” Mamma—' Mercy ! out of your boots !” “Oh, no, mamma; my becoming very light ?” Beloved Pastor (gloomily)— this time of year; the ladies are 8a money for Christmas slippers for me- | eee for Your Friend. a A Gift One of the most useful g could present toa friend is her a subscriber to satisfactorily invested. By you guarantee to your sister, the regular weekly panion whose presence, 10 and delights. Therefore, friend by sending his or I do not play.” “Well, supper will be ready soon. In No Danger. Little Dick—‘‘Mamma, mayn’ No; it will make her ac ancer, ” poots is awful Light Collections. Good Deacon—'‘Seems to me the epney ” to m n tk friend, visit nother, Ul at is a gt T neva colle alway’ ving UP Jeasure 00 eal & dann a party eto im: mew t I have some you j tight.” 3 il etions af ‘ g ate well 1 St a py" 2 Goon Nuws £07 OF ition Its pages afford a great deal of and entertainment, and the P certainly last for a whole year. way could two dollars and filt t structs, gurpTls' {dre resent gs to” office, with two dollars and fifty oer G00? J thus make that person & Pp News for one year. jog of as 2” ke yr odings go de it, that undred cent I in this ne, I i mae tired.” se two v don’t ¢ them r we're hh poles ly and of te jooking ewwhere 0 them. the old v q 1 sa minty yund © k was he - »n once" 7 sn't he? rt pee! , {ne @ pret ty > church mother? eniroP® ny go © vat cor tions are re rays & wip welt ) ee ee Sees _ BETWEEN THE LINES. P Mliident of the Morgan Pa into Oui _— By Lieut. JAMES K. ORTON. - Dumbers can be obtained of all News Agents.] CHAPTER XV. ROBBED. 0 delay after this peremptory com- Mand would have been worse than USeless, as all in the wagon, save ‘Wignee ePPeX, understood, and _ they donna as the bushwhackers gathered ‘taineg to learn whether the vehicle con- Atte anything worth carrying away. Wigy, -- the first order had been given the ot) °Mers took no pains to hide their Wagoh *Pose ; but. began searching the 4; much as thieves might have done. 7 the Order not to be behind his followers, and eer made the first examination, Mhign — dragging forth a bag of corn, We horses speedily distributed among Bln, Ses of the troop, he struck some- © arouse his curiosity. fe 48 hothing more nor less than Pep- e cou that little darky having fancied We remain concealed while the others Wig .*tChed, and, much to his fear, he Ton Pulled out amid roars of laughter, Sam joining in i“ = ; WeEEtWeEN THE LINES” was commenced in No. 28, GOooD any more which they wanted, one of the robbers proposed to search each individ- ual member of the party for money. “Are we to submit to such an outrage }as that?” Tom asked, and Sam replied, in a matter of fact tone: “We can’t help ourselves, so what is the use of kicking? They are welcome to | what you and I have got; but Mrs. Curtis may suffer.” = “We have two revolvers,” Tom said, with a menacing gesture. “Tf we had a dozen nothing could be accomplished. Don’t be foolish; but hold your tongue until they are through.” Pete was evidently of the same opinion, for when some of the party advanced to search him he offered no resistance, and the first thing discovered was the cipher dispatch. “Hello, what’s this?” one of the men asked, as he looked at the figures suspic- iously. “Nuffin but a fool piece ob paper what I picked up afore we done lef’ de planta- tion,” Pete replied, carelessly. “Why are you carryin’ it?” “I dunno.” Each of the men in turn looked at the array of figures; but without being able to so much as guess what they might mean, and then Mrs. Curtis was ordered to give up any money or valu- ables she had about her. “Tf you are willing to rob women and ill-treat children, it is useless to make any appeal to your manhood,” Pite the;, . ; * E MS robbed. anger at being beg taint everything had iq theca from the wagon tleala leader pay any par- tom attention to those Wiha’, Vas despoiling, Pact he literally lifted his Tom the ground by ity ts a, and throwing tong 1€ Nearest, trooper, ‘ te a that some one take Maid, the prize of the Aeeee Oposition which D gpted by the men as Bone him from one § shri] €r, fully enjoying t Om ¢ Cries of terror. thy Ted to curb his While this cruel 5 88 going on; but 0 my Screams provéd ei ch, and he said an- f "h hye i te intend to rob us, thet 00 do it, and leave foul hecllow alone? Men Bye stro@Shamed to use Ps of sth at the ex- Dhime coild who cannot » lq s darky until he disappeared from ‘) view around a bend in the road, | | “7” and then Tom said, with a feeble | attempt at cheerfulness: “We might as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible, for he may be gone a long time. Do you suppose those bushwhackers have left us anything to eat?” “From the thorough search made it is hardly probable,” Mrs. Curtis replied; “but it won't require very much labor to ascertain exactly. Pepper, see if you can find enough to serve us as lunch.” The little darky, who had grown hungry immediately he saw the men take possession of the provisions, obeyed with surprising alacrity, and after a few mo- ments his mournful voice was heard from beneath the coverings. “Dey’s done gone lugged off ebery vooat bit, missey, an’ we’se boun’ to aie, “What kind of nonsense is that?” Sam asked, impatiently. “Do you think there’s any danger of starving when a tramp of two or three hours at the longest will take us to some house?” ‘ “Den we’se got to make er tramp fur iv. “You can’t be very hungry, if you don’t want food badly enough to walk after it,” Tom said, sharply, and then the brief conversation came to an end as the two boys went up the road a short distance in the hope that they might see some signs of inhabitants near by. Failing in this they returned to the ’ broken wagon, into which Mrs. Curtis had clambered again in order to gain a shelter against the burning rays of the sun, and during the next two hours very little was said. Tom and Sam laid down under the ve- hicle and went to sleep. Pepper curled himself up somewhere amid the packages, and no one save Mrs. Curtis made any pretence at keeping watch. Not until nearly nightfall did the boys | awaken, and, springing to his feet quickly as if afraid he had overslept him- self, Sam said, after looking around scru- tinizingly: “Tf Pete had found a house within any | reasonable distance he should have been here by this time. I reckon he has kept on walking, and the chances are that we sha’n’t see him to-night.” “What are we todo? Camp out here until morning?” and Tom began to look | seriously disturbed. “Try to fix the wagon so that we can ush ahead. I believed at the time Pete eft that it could be done; but he went | away before a fellow had a chance to talk with him.” “But we have no tools.” “Are you certain it can't be accom- plished because of that fact?” “No, and I am perfectly willing to} make any and every effort, if you will | suggest how we shall go to work.” This was what Sam could not do until after some study, and then he proposed to so far rob the harness of straps as to enable him to fasten a stout pole across the entire length of the axle. “T don’t count on fixing it’ so that we can carry any very heavy load,” he said; “but if all save Mrs. Curtis walk we should be able to get the wagon along.” “We can try it at all events,” Tom re- plied, as he set about cutting down a stout sapling with his pocket knife. “I had rather be at work than loafing, and if Pete comes before we have finished there’ll be no harm done.” Pepper thought it was very foolish to erform any more labor than was abso- utely necessary, and positively refused to take part in the task which followed. He | stretched himself out on the ground, however, and from time to time sug- gested how it might be accomplished at the least outlay of strength, It was nightfall when Sam’s plan had been carried into effect, and the best that could be said of it was that the wagon might be hauled along without falling apart providing the road was not too rough. “You are not thinking of starting in the night?” Mrs. Curtis asked, in surprise. “What is to prevent?” Tom replied, quickly. “We have surely had sleep enough, and it won’t be particularly pleasant to stay here until morning.” Since she was to be allowed to ride, Mrs. Curtis could not make any very de- cided protest against the proposition, and the boys harnessed the animals. In order to make sure he would not |} steal a ride on the shaky wagon, Pepper was detailed to walk near the heads of the steeds for the ostensible purpose of keeping them in the road, while Tom and Sam alternately trudged on ahead and be- hind where it would be possible to keep an eye on the weak axle. In this manner they started, hoping soon to meet Pete; but the hours passed on, until, as nearly as could be judged, it was midnight, and neither man nor house had been seen. They were not traveling more than two miles an hour; but yet the old darky would hardly make much better speed, and as the animals stopped at a brook to drink, Tom said: “Tt seems as if we must have made a mistake in the road, otherwise we should have seen him before this.” “How could anything like that hap- pen?” Sam asked, impatiently. “We haven’t come to so much as a path, and he surely wouldn't think of making a cut across the country.” “He intended to be back before sunset, and it doesn’t seem possible he’d kept on more than two hours when there were no houses to be seen.” Discuss the matter as they might, the fact remained that no traces of the old darky could be found, and Tom and Sam were in a fine state of perplexity when Mrs. Curtis said, as she looked out from beneath the wagon covering: “T really do not think it is safe to go any farther. We may not find a house if we continue to travel all night, therefore but little time can be lost if we stay here, since it will be necessary to stop presently on account of the animals.” Both the boys feared they had been reckléss in starting from the last halting place, and the lady.had_ hardly ceased speaking when Sam guided the team out of the road near where a quantity of wood was stacked up, pYparatory to being tran- sported to the river. “The wagon will be out of sight here,” he said, beginning to wunharness the steeds, “and Tom and I will keep watch for Pete until morning. Pepper, crawl in GooDp and go to sleep, for I reckon you're tired | by this time.” | “T’se mos’ dead,” the little darky re- | plied, emphatically, scrambling quickly | into the wagon as if fearing the permis- | sion might be retracted, | “Why are you taking so much trouble?” |'Tom asked, as Sam led the animals quite |a long distance from the road. “There is as much grass here as will be found far- ther on.” “That is true; but for some unexplain- able reason I feel as if extra precautions should be taken. Then again Pete’s ab- | sence makes me nervous.” | The tone in which he spoke had its in- fluence upon ‘Tom, and he no longer thought anything too much _ trouble which would insure them against further | disaster. | When the animals were tied where they could not be seen from the road, and the | vehicle pulled behind the stack of wood, ' the boys sat down beneath it to watch for the missing member of the party. During half an hour neither of them | spoke, and then was heard a sound which itold that horsemen were coming down the beaten track. “There’s Pete!’ Tom exclaimed, as he started out to intercept the new-comers; but Sam pulled him back quickly, whis- pering as he did so: “More likely the bushwhackers are about. Wait here until we know posi- tively who it is.” Five minutes later two mounted men were seen coming from the same direction which Pete had taken, and when they were nearly opposite the wood-pile one of the horses stumbled, throwing his rider to the ground, “TI thought he’d cast that loose shoe before long, and had no business to take him out to-night,” the man said, as_he scrambled to his feet in anything rather than an amiable frame of mind. “It was a foolish piece of work anyway, for we had only to wait until the wagon came along, when the little nigger could have |been pulled in and we'd been saved a long ride.” : 7 “Now you are talking like a child,” |the second man replied. “After we got | hold of the old one the boys would most | likely be scared, and ten to one they’ll turn back. We wanta full load by the time Bill shows up, and every nigger counts.” “Yes, if we can get them through; but I tell youit ain’t going to be such an easy job to run a lot of darkies from here to Cuba without being overhauled, and if that should happen we’d be in a bad box.” “You're a fine one, you are. Here’s a | chance to make ourselves rich, for these |niggers never’]ll be missed, and we can i get big prices for them with but precious | little work. Bill is taking the most risk, |and putting out all the cash, while you | kick because a little work is required to | pick up a decent lot.” | “I ain’t kicking; but a fellow can’t | help thinking of what may happen.” | “Think of it as much as you want to; | but keep on doing the best you know how at the same time.” “T don’t want to lame my horse. “You don’t stand any chance of doing that. The road is soft, and it won’t hurt him to travel eight or ten miles.” By this time the man who had been thrown was in the saddle again, and the two rode away. “What does it mean?” Tom asked, when the strangers were swallowed up by the darkness. “T heard the folks at home talking about such things; but never believed they could be true.” “About what things?” “Tt was said that a lot of men had got together to run the darkies over to Cuba, and sell them as slaves again. If one or even half a dozen was missed from a plantation it would simply be supposed they had run away; or, if some got into the Federal lines and disappeared, no one would pay any attention to the fact. The difficult part of the job would be getting them out of the country.” “And you believe those men were doing that kind of work?” “T know it now because of what they said, and it is no longer strange why Pete does not come back.” “How dumb I was not to understand the conversation !” Tom exclaimed. “They met himon the road, and he probably gave’ himself up without a struggle, be- lieving he was being made a prisoner again by the soldiers.” “That is it exactly, and now they have come back for Pepper. Those fellows were somewhere near when we broke down.” “We must try to get the old man out of his trouble.’ “That goes without saying; but what bothers me is where to find him, and how we are to dispose of Pepper in the mean- time. It won't do to let him get caught.” “The wagon might be hidden in the bushes, and he and Mrs. Curtis could stay in it until we got back,” | ” NEW Ss: “That's a good idea. Suppose we tell her what has been heard, and then begin operations?” (TO BE CONTINUED.) —~>- 8 WITH THE B 0 S BY ARTHUR SEWALL. C. A. 8., a subscriber in San Francisco, writes : “I would like some clean indoor trade, such as that of a tailor. Where should I start? In a shop or with a custom tailor who works by the piece? Also, I would like to know about what wages an ap- prentice would receive.” C. A. S. will find in Goop News of | May 29, 1890, a “‘Short Talk” about becom- ing a tailor. Our opinion is the work in a custom shop is the better, for the reason that a more varied experience can be ac- quired there. The essential part of tailor- ing is the cutting, and this can be best learned where goods are continually being made for different customers. Incidentally, the fitting is an important feature of the business ; you must be able, when the cus- tomer tries ona new suit, to rectify any mistakes that have occurred in the cut- ting, and upon this depends very largely your success in the trade. A_ well- fitting garment is an excellent advertise- ment, while one that is poorly made is sure to injure the reputation of the tailor. For the reasons which we have given, herewith, you will at once see the desira- bility of getting into a first-class shop. It is much better to. acquire your informa- tion at the hands of a competent man} than from one who has not done good work, The wages paid to apprentices are discussed in the issue of Goop NrEws mentioned above. C. 8. writesfrom 8t. Louis, asking: ‘Advice in regard to the railroading business, which I wish to enter. Which is the best way to learn? What are the wages ?” The question is somewhat too vague to answer specifically. If you desire a cleri- cal place with some railroad, of course, you must begin asaclerk in the office, and work your way up by industry and perseverance. Chauncey M. Depew became attorney for the New York and Harlem Railroad in 1866, and three years later, on the consolidation of the Hudson River Railroad with the New York Central, he was made general counsel of the consoli- dated company. In 1882 he was chosen second vice-president of the New York Central Railroad, and in 1885 was advanced to the presidency. His success as a rail- road man has been largely owing to his familiarity with the axtatls of the organi- zation. He began as the attorney for one of the affiliated roads, and to-day is the largest employer of labor in the United States, John Edgar Thomson was educated as acivil engineer. After serving on the con- struction of-various roads he was, when thirty-nine years of age, made chief en- gineer of the Pennsylvania Railroad. Five years later, in 1852, he was made presi- dent of the road. At that time the cor- oration owned 246 miles of road, and 1ad a capital of $13,000,000. Mr. Thom- son remained at the head of the road until his death in 1874, a period of twenty- two years. Owing to his executive skill and engineering ability the road _ pros- pered, and a statement was made some years since showing that the company then owned 2,346 miles of. road, 66 miles of canal, and had increased its capital to $150, 000, 000. One more illustration. Colonel Thomas A. Scott was left without a father at the age of ten years. He worked on a farm and served in country stores until he was seventeen years old, and then became chief clerk to a collector of tolls in Phila- delphia. Subsequently he took an active part in the building of the partially constructed Pennsylvania Railroad, and later became its general superintendent, He succeeded Mr. Thomson in the presi- dency of the road, and held that office for six years. The career of these three men is not ex- ceptional. They began poor, and by their own energies made places for themselves through which they advanced until they reached the presidency of the road in which they had begun as a subordinate, On the other hand, if you desire to enter the mechanical department of a road, then your course will be through the work shops. Wages at first will be small, but you will gain experience rapidly, if you apply yourself to the work, and your success will be largely dependent upon your own behavior. There are doubtless technical schools in St. Louis where you can spend a few hours every evening in acquiring a knowledge of the theory of pete mechanics. If not, a letter addressed e Professor William B. Potter, or Protess a Francis E. Nipher, of the Washingt University, asking their advice as: to course in reading, will receive @ reply: be, the mechanical department you am ni advanced until you attain the chief @ gineership of the road, or, perba a come the general superintendent. Ja 7 where you become localized, so t0 spe fr are not desirable. Do not become a brakeman nor a conductor, for advan ment from such places is seldom 5# factory. S. M., from Chicago, writes: “In No. 28 News there is an article on ‘Light With 1 have tried it but it doesn’t work. Do you boil the oil every time you use it? What boiling point ?” There is always difficulty in mank Le ing chemicals, and the so calle tion phorous Lamp” is apparently no exceP are to the rule. The directions, as giVe™s 7, clear enough, and itis not necessary iy is heat the oil each time that the luminy al is desired. Simply open the vial am low the air to enter. We assume & ant explanation of the phenomenon 18 from the phosphorous seizes the oxyge? the air and becomes luminous, JU magnesium when ignited in the alt forming the oxide of magnesium, or potassium, when placed in wort and tracts the oxygen from the. bye oil bursts into flame. In heating is originally the temperature referre probably the boiling point of wate is, 212 degrees Fahrenheit. The fi culty is, probably, in getting the ® the bottle. Also, in making sue you will do well to procure pure ton: Ordinary olive oil is apt to be cot n> oil, and; perhaps, that may interfer the success of the experiment. cote” a Another letter from Chicago, by F: W. Heres A tains the following: “I have taken gress I would Py in your ‘Short Talks With the Boys, oan jeatl” ~ Vh, like you to give me some good advice 2b? ing the machinist trade.” ut Fire vi ew I ree — ‘ was The Chicago Polytechnic Institute It opened on September 8th of this yer, ine is the purpose of that institutle all thé clude in its system of teaching » jgtrial departments of technical an seen education, with a special refer ome whatever will fit young men oan ene for the practical duties of life, gkilled able them to earn a living at jncluee labor. The trades taught Ww ping eg bricklaying, plastering, plumb" tone pentry, house and sign paintint orig” cutting, machinists’ work, a itech watch-making, wood-working giver ure, etc. Special lessons will also gch0? in all English branches and IB" Gnort studies, la.iguages, hook-keep itt des are hand, and typewriting. 1 he mas supervised by a committee of ‘ ding associations of Chicago, o Traders’ and Builders’ nominal charge is made_ for is tion. Our advice to F. W. F-? at this institution for as lon wor Le 2 or is necessary, and then see +) al fe shop. Any education acqul ones stitution has a tendency to ‘le and principles are taught, whi dent is given an opportunl experience and dexterity 1? tual labor. In this way De! fold advantage of acquiring practical and theoretical asp trade, whereas, if he goes shop, he acquires the pra quently remains ignorant © ‘ In a general way, if you have ® | for machinery, by all meapS, >, You are more likely to succe€ anything else. the re adeB pro the ac’ wit? i i 0 : . from J+. viol We have received the folio studying tial of New York city: “I have been $ Z for some time, and am attending « national reputation. My instructor learning, assures me I have the - to become a good violinist, and p ne iD me a place when I graduate f eee which will not be a long time nag much and practice a great deal be successful. Please give me y ‘ ' tion The expressions of satisfac r correspondent leaves no room fe ther remarks. He is succe work that he has chosen, the praise of his teacher, his success; indeed, so ™ believes that he can secure Surely what can be mores the promise of an inco e which you are fond of. 0 more. ca ‘ ‘ m The Heaviest Timepiece in STAHE clock in Trinity | {fo York, is the heaviest & America. It might fort as “> its construction aD a in ] made to ascertain how TY Gtiee qT possibly be planted in @ © 136 stands nine feet long, five nh feet ee The thirty inches in ai Giton while in the time tras ’ each in the strike and chi gal ing-wheels are formed 0 of GOO) ~The ters ve i Lb ato? GooDp NEWS. 555 lWches in diameter and two inches 14nd are driven by a “pinion and Noth, N this arbor is placed a jack, . a wheel, pinion, and crank, and turns of this crank to wind ite tup. It requires 700 feet of an Tope for the three cords, and ik melt for two men to wind the lillatae Pendulum is 18 feet long, and a ht 25 times per minute. The dials hd ttt feet in diameter, although they Re Wei. more than half that size. The hy, angen tip the scales at about 800, Ne bo 1,500 pounds, respectively. A Xx is placed at the bottom of the 3 ef, "Bich hold : m8 that s about a bale of cotton f : h t : e if a cord should break the Ould check the concussion. Christmas Dinner Story. —— ¢ BY AN OLD TRAVELER. —--_— \ 1387 was in California, in ; whi: I had a little adventure a nace Trecall to mind often, and iat hand. t forget when Christmas is “ihe lamiee acquaintance of an old rman, named Hank Petti- was at San Jose that fall, Promise from me to take ‘ Y amon im on Christmas at his a " ge & the Redwood over on the 8ive you trout, venison, quail, and ick Hi, And you can’t get better a se down in old ’Frisco!” Nehos 'mto meet me early with bg r Saddle. mules—on Christmas a () € Half-Way House on the May in. SUntain Road, and I would | . ie trav. stage. The stage would | iy Sai a at nine in the morning, hy tide th Was only a two or three year na Ugh forest and chaparral of Red Where he had taken up a nig? te Wood forest, the trees on eet Ber’ in diameter, and two t. . i, *Rtful morn I left San Jose ig thet, Bob Heller’s stage, he teds a ribbons over six as fiery Ma At ever kicked up a dust on idge ~ the hour and to the minute 4 and W up to change horses at the Dea leaped to the ground, i» (netting My hand with a live shake yy S8rn, aown-east salutation : OU Wo, Creation, old fel, I was so ni ther Uldn’t come! But here you tle be pore the bronks !” @ pitted to two quiet-lookin ost near by, wit ew Spanish saddles on them. aj Vickea © ee Oh Ine mule that be destj,.”. 8° 1 gave the heels of the n*tore ee, for me a wide berth, lao the piped to mount, whacked Ktho, {08 three or four times with Cane to show him I under- Nat; Situation, °° meant to be mas- nu} Uatuve knew I was educated in 0 Uh ‘and come out on the flat roof, one hun- he >» and . i t when I got into the the ited oft like an old cow, | t Onishment of Hank, who | ed ee me “histed,” as he ac- bout fcc ward, when he _ got , Pal, €n feet over the head of | X pl trick he said both the) Wer Jed on their riders—for out “educated in the Dan Rice f

" ever imagine what daring deeds have been performed by boys of their own age. Yet such there are, and such there have been, which cannot but be worthy of their youthful emulation—which cannot, at least, but prove an incentive to noble ad- miration and exalted thought. The incident Iam about to relate will be found to be one of this character. In the year 1832, in the valley of Cha- monix, and on the bank of the impetuous river Arve, there stood a quaint little Swiss cottage, which was the home of Felix Bertolz, a chamois hunter of fame throughout the entire Alpine region. The only other occupants of the little cottage were his nephew and niece, Fran- cois and Justine Oberman by name. The latter was a bright, tidy girl of sixteen, or thereabouts, who made a capital little housekeeper for her uncle. Her brother was a shy, reserved lad, one year younger, who had so little in the way of his ac- tions or personal appearance, to recom- mend him, that the peasantry of the neighboring village of Chamonix voted him a dolt, and prophesied that he would never become a true mountain-boy. Old Bertolz was almost inclined to fall in with the general belief. To be sure, Francois’ was a hunter by breeding. He would now and then sig- nalize himself by shooting a chamois, when he could do so without any diffi- culty or peril, but asingle trophy would satisfy his ambition for a very long time, and this inactivity was generally ascribed to cowardice. “Pshaw! he is a baby!” was the ordin- ary comment bestowed upon him by the hardy young hunters of near his own age. “ He is fit to chase wild-goats on the hills, but he fears the ice-rifts where the cha- mois leaps. He would sooner sit with his pencil there, and make pictures for which no one cared, than show the true blood of a hunter’s son.” The truth of the matter was that Fran- cois Oberman was a genius, Through the good-nature of a young Englishman, a traveling artist, who had once spent several months of a sketching- tour at his uncle’s cottage, he had ac- quired a thorough knowledge of the rudi- ments of drawing, and he loved the por- trayal of the stupendous and magnificent scenery surrounding his home much bet- ter than the hardy and difficult physical task of chasing the chamois from peak to peak and ledge to ledge. Certainly no youthful genius ever had a nobler inspiration for the cultivation of his art than young Oberman. All around the little valley—itself but a green well in the heart of the Appe- nines—rose the wild mountains, with their tops of ice and everlasting snow. The majestic Montauvert was exactly oppo- site, at the distance of about a league; and behind and above it roared Mont Blanc, the supreme, the magnificent Mont Blanc; while all around, alone, in clusters, and in chaotic heaps, sprang the wild glaciers--titanie needles of ice, piercing the clouds, and glittering with fadeless splendor. Directly below the cot- tage-garden, the Arve, cold, brilliant, and shouting from its torrent cradle in the mountain tops, sped like an arrow to the vale below. So Francois eared very little for the sneers of his fellow-peasants, their taunts of cowardice, their persistent misunder- standing of his real nature, so long as he was permitted to sit, with his sketch-book on his lap, in the little garden in front of his uncle’s cottage, or to roam to some scarcely accessible crag, and thence, amid the dashings of the torrents and the rumb- ling of the distant avalanche, portray in miniature on the paper before him a faint impression of the awful and tremendous landscape within his vision’s reach. Sometimes, when even his pretty sis- ter’s excuses in his behalf failed to si- lence old Bertolz’s sneers and taunts at his inertness, he would lazily seize his rifle, saunter away to the mountains, and after remaining all day, rarely fail to re- turn to the cottage with a chamois on his shoulder, He would get poor enough thanks for even that much; for upon such occasions, his comrades were wont to say: “Look, Francois has a beast! On what open plain among the hills did he find it sleeping?” But he minded not their injustice, and quietly returned to his sketch-book and pencils. One day, succeeding much rainy and otherwise unfavorable weather, Francois was sketching from a very wild and pre- cipitous ledge, which had long been a favorite spot of lis, when he observed an unusual number of people on the side of Montauvert, but a short distance from where he was sitting. “Ah, they are a party of tourists watch- ing the descent of some avalanche, I sup- pose,” said Francois to himself. But as the party was unusually large, and many of its members gave signs of | great excitement, throwing up, their arms and giving utterance tg wild cries, he concluded, inasmuch as he had finished his sketch, to move along the path and see what it was all about. When he reached the point occupied | by the party, he was no longer surprised |at the manifestations they had exhibited. An appalling sight greeted him. Between the. side of Montauvert, whereon they were standing, and Mont | Blane, immediately opposite, was a gla- |cier which slanted upward to a_ tremen- |dous height, and terminated at its lower | |edge in an abrupt precipice, that formed, with the craggy walls of its two compan- ion-peaks, the wall of a chasm so awful ;and stupendous in its depth, that a mere | glance into its bare mouth was enough to | make the head of the hardiest to reel and the breast of the boldest to sick with horror and fear. Down this intervening slope was mov- ing a most imposing avalanche. A vast field of snow, comprising a surface of hundreds of acres, undermined by the re- cent rains and thaws, was in slow and majestic motion, until it seemed that the very glacier itself was toppling over into the abyss. Now and then a sudden loosening. of the base of moving field would cause the entire mass to shoot down a hundred feet at atime with in- credible velocity, then some obstacle in the surface of the mountain would arise, and the motion would be scarcely per- ceptible. When these sudden shoots would occur the smoke of the avalanche would spring aloft in great fountains of spray; but, during the slower passages, the awful stillness, the terrible placidity of the scene, was even more awful and imposing. But far more terrible, far more fright- ful, than anything else, was a sight pre- sented by glancing down the chasm. Upon a broad ledge of ice directly under the edge of the precipice over which the avalanche must at any moment hurl its acres of white destruction, stood the figure of a man, with the dead body of a chamois at his feet, and his hands crossed over the muzzle of the rifle that supported him. This man was the old hunter, Felix Bertolz. The crowd of lookers-on were lifting their voices in useless lamentation over the dreadful fate that awaited him, but the hunter leaned silently upon his rifle, and gazed stolidly at the opposite wall of the abyss. He could hear the steady rum- ble of the terrible masses overhead, and was apparently resigned to his fate, for his lips were moving, and he was appar- ently praying devoutly. Although his position was over a hun- dred feet below the crag upon which the crowd of witnesses was standing, he might have been reached by a man _ being lowered down to a corresponding ledge, and tossing the end of another rope across the neck of the chasm to the shelf he oc- cupied. But who, in the presence of that mov- ing wonder, which might, at any instant, rush like a very Niagara of snow over the precipice, would have dared such a death- defying attempt? The eye of young Francois Oberman took in this tremendous situation—which I have taken so much pains to describe so feebly—at a single glance. “Henry,” said he, turning to a young hunter whom he knew, “take my sketch- grow “What would you do?” exclaimed the young hunter in astonishment, “T would merely rescue my good Uncle Felix—nothing more,” was the cool reply. “Now, do just what I tell you, and be lively, for I have no time to spare. There are ropes in the party?” “Plenty of them,” replied the young fel- low, who was scarcely able to compre- hend what he heard. “Bring me the longest, and tie one end under my arm-pits. Quick, man! You are as slow as the avalanche that is creep- ing along the mountain there!” Henry complied, scarcely knowing what he was about; but when the rest of the party fully comprehended young Ober- man’s purpose, they thronged around him, and declared he should not carry it into effect. Unpopular as he had always been in the valley, they were unwilling to see him throw away his life in an at- tempt apparently so absolutely devoid of hope. “Do not resist me!” exclaimed Francois, sternly; “do as I bid you, or I shall cast myself into the chasm! I will not live to see my uncle perish !” Seeing that he was, indeed, determined, they followed his directions with alac- rity; and many of them considered his conduct doubly noble and heroic when they remembered that his uncle ‘had not always been kind to him. The rope being made fast, and the end of another one given him—which he placed between his teeth—Francois di- rected them to lower him over the verge of the chasm. This was accordingly done, amid breath- less suspense. He had_ barely disap- peared over the ledge, when, as if in. ill- omen of his undertaking, the avalanche jmade one of those sudden, swift slides I |} have described, throwing up vast foun- tains of spray. But with his face to the wall of ice, Francois called out to them to lower him faster, and as he proceeded he kept him- self off with one hand and his knees, hatchet busily, cutting at regular inter- | vals deep crevices into the brittle ice, so as to greatly facilitate the progress of any one making the ascent, It was not until he had accomplished nearly half the descent that his uncle ap- peared to realize the effort that was being made to rescue him; and then those at the edge of the chasm could see. him shake | his head sorrowfully, as though he placed little confidence in the success of the at- itempt. But Francois called out cheer- |ingly: “Courage, dear uncle, I shall yet save you!” Andat each time he did so he |; would have to reach out for the end of ‘the rope, which the utterance of the | words would compel him to relinquish from between his teeth, And all this time the party on the cliff were trembling with dread; for there, close at hand, moved on that terrible ; avalanche, inexorable in its mobile si- ;lence, or loudly menacing in the deep |rumble of its sudden leaps. But Francois proceeded bravely down, |plying his hatchet as he went, and ina | short time he stood on the crag immedi- | ately opposite his uncle, to whom he | tossed the end of the spare rope without any difficulty, inasmuch as the neck of the chasm, in which they were, was only a few yards in width. “Quick, uncle! I hear the voice of the avalanche grow louder!” cried Francois, “Tie the rope securely under your arms!” The old man needed no second bidding, but with eager, trembling hands, Shaver He swung across the chasm, and they were drawn up together. Bertolz reached the top first, and was dragged over the edge, more dead than alive, with fear. But Francois was only half-way over the edge, when he grasped the rope, and cried out: “Hold! rope once more. chasm again.” “What for?” cried those at the top, in amazement, “To get my uncle’s gun and the fine chamois, which he has left upon the ledge.” “You shall not!” exclaimed a dozen voices at once. “It is madness! The avalanche already trembles at the verge of the abyss!” “Do as I bid you,” said Francois, sternly, “or I cut this rope, and cast myself into the chasm !‘” They saw how useless were their pro- testations, and obeyed him as before; and the hardy lad was again lowered into the abyss amid a suspense, ten-fold more dreadful than that which had previously prevailed, if such were possible. While the thunder of the avalanche each moment grew louder and more threaten- ing, he reached the ledge, and succeeded, after two or three ineffectual attempts, in swinging himself across to the other side. Here he quickly made the chamois and Give me the end of the other I must descend into the book, and give me your hatchet and belt,” his uncle’s rifle fast to the rope, whose while with the otber hand he plied his } end he carried between his teeth; at i two burdens were then drawn Up s 8 Just as Francois crept over the ede the precipice, the avalanche, a8} been awaiting the event of his sprang into the yawning abys . . . ? ye BY noise far surpassing any thunder clouds, and the entire party recle@ an On), as the vast fields of ide and snow I Toy shal rushing down, flinging up a ©@ ANd think 7 | - : , obs¢ 1K 1 n mist, which for many moments © © Polished the sun. : “te part ines Vhen it sared away. the & bd eme When it cleared away, the a prow | Drever cn with that devotion which is such Swiss nent and noble element of oe character, fell upon their }me y offered up a fervent prayer 0f 8 and praise. 3 quiet! When this was over, Francowe et returned Henry his belt and hate - ‘with, received his sketch-book im Tew™ loves the simple remark: vou wi! Witdtears’to “There! I hope, hereafter; yr andy "hose actions hunt your chamois by yourse da i W heart leave me to du my sketching 2 acy I shall not dwell upon which awaited Francois in th Chamonix, nor upon the fame W" pro his heroic deed. was resounded out the cantons of Switzerland. Even greater rewards were 6 hin be his, This event attracted t artis! attention of a number of eminen enue who, upon seeing the germs °¢ehess genius in his rade mountain sage couraged him freely with both ® advice to that extent that came a great painter himse™ } Ottles to q a Hed have t) | Ang Never g Spc oss or . rom who Surely ney honor to his native land, at thee arnis acquiring a name honored a2 Nap in all civilized countries. he } And all through a single » And | ate, self-sacrificing deed 0 et t —____~+-0->—— GHT- t . IMPROVISHED NIGHT 11 — gigi the yo 2 In a tumbler filled with wate f ng after Rees ot euinles fter navibo- £0dore a paraffin candle is placed, @ lower en . weighted by a nail stuck im the f ei ~ £0ing keep the candle floating. stat Y Sar y Go er, s vi UH NNTHNNTNRHUANTTY AM i ae i a i hi matte t Timing aT — N ca, ‘veg Ris yi hair g Se w; in mes 1 () v F : blue y abc Seg b con ak Y 0ee le ; he Onduc i) n ] on he i \ lred : b> . cena Y hy ie, Nad hot Hytlor, “lee sz the eet is Joerg» hera) my : Your { Wife’, pot ol pa a vi’ Official Census a +4508 © Ap ( ‘ cite ol \ HE following is a list oe tbe i100 fay bt \? over 50,000 popu pee ‘ buy of their rank, It “od from reports give? philade of con enumerators.. New York, le, { Brooklyn claim they agit count U correctly and demand @ 2 i'& ad, New York, N.Y. .. 1,513,601 cole 8 Page Chicago, Il....... 1,099,139 | oy Ha . Philadelphia, Pa.. 1,044,894 ew ‘Mi two ( Brooklyn, N. Y.... $47.1 70 ma) P canis. Mo..... y ; 3oston, Mass....-. § Baltimore, Md.... Ory ! San Francisco, Ca hn ey Wa Cincinnati, O...:. Sac ie Cleveland, O.....- é g Buffalo, N. ¥,.-.-.- n ad ¢ New Orleans, La.. , but Pittsburg, Pa.....- an? a. Washington, D. ©. 9 | Grand bow Se Detroit, Mich....- wilmi Muc Ms Hwenkes, Wis... Trov. A Zot: j Newark, N.v....-- oa dings Minneapolis.Minn 38 Ray tons N. Jersey City, N. J.. yentODs »7'. tus} Louisville, Ky. ..-. Omaha, Neb....-.- Rochester, N. Y-.. Ss St. Paul, Minn.... the : Kansas City, Mo.. . Providence, R. I.. Indianapolis, Ind. Denver, Colo..._.- t b Allegheny City, Pa y Albany, N. Y.... - > Car throy A companion story 10 ; t the will commence In ae f a 4 ‘ “LIEUTENANT CA © do jbl Lieut. Lounsberry- Our Doys Shall all be FE Ang 8 wie Who j) a 0 loves Bangers % Who Crogs OUR BOYS. _ > BY A. H. HUTCHINSON, - gentlemen ; don’t misunderstand, think 1 mean that they shall all Polished, stiff and grand. Dtlem¢ ; > Ww ; in in is one who is Ever kind ana true, Rew es to do to others as d have them always do. Hever speaks to those at home, fh Or Saucy word, a whose lips a word profane rely never heard. 100’'S great c nands ce Se eae roe unds to keep, ‘etions all are right and true, heart is pure within. > ee ____- Se sm ily aur By the duthor of 7 i ; , a pice? ito x Ry But 0 TP * Youn ; di & man, | jth ap ie. oa 1GHT nh we he Theos. hi iceman “A BAD BOY'S DIARY,’ NUMBER ELEVEN. A NARROW ESCAPE. 4rnish man from Cincinnati g00d many —_ He was unmarried, like my- eq? ond polished up to ihabelecsee, #8 if the company’s varnish had him, three coats deep. arrive in Cincinnati about Invited me to dine with urnett House and go to the terward to a grand concert lttae °re Thomas at the top of it. bof... cepted, though I had tej ata to hear the minstrels; Agegpnsi is not up to the Wag- ib, “tl, but I didn’t want a man Zamut higher than a New Hea, qe so I told him I should be ug Sat at ted Cs admit, to see the music- th “i the train stopped at Spring- Ncame in our car, taking a et of aed and me. is and beard, with pale blue ; ad Was red, too, with cold. He Ohy bieoet of the build of 1860, matey ue yarn comforter twined in Y about his neck. He settled ‘SSeat- with alow but deep GoonDpD wife’s funeral?” and the red hair ap- | how, yhen ; re ) i astonishment | cratic family of Boston—visited Philadel- peared to bristle with under the buckskin cap. “My orders are decisive; it’s not for me to judge. I regret that your wife has died, but I am not at liberty to give you a ride for nothing.” “An’ they call this a free kentry!” ejaculated the impecunious one, bowing | his head on the back of the next seat, while the tears fairly dripped from his cap. “A free kentry, full of rich men oppressing the poor? It’s enough to make me wicked. I feel like I could become a train-wrecker, I do.” “Come, I shall have to stop the train and put you off.” “Hold on a minute till I git over bein’ dizzy. Oh, my poor wife! to think I’m goin’ to be too late to yer funeral !—de- nied the sad pleasure of burying you—the only pleasure lef’ me,” and he wiped his nose on his comforter and looked up dis- tractedly. This was too much for Varnish, Baker, Squills, and me—our wallets came out simultaneously; we began to make up the price of a ticket; meantime, the train had been buzzing along at the rate of forty miles an hour, and now slowed up at the next stopping-place; the conductor could not wait for us to make the change, so we gave it to the poor man, who thanked us heartily and went to get adrink of water, telling us “he had cried so much he was dry.” NEWS. when the Harvesters—a very aristo- phia, their equally aristocratic cousins there concluded to take them to the min- strels, the young gentleman who pro- cured the tickets in the morning confided to the ticket-agent the fact that the Harvesters, of Boston, would be “thar,” putting in a plea against anything coarse in the evening’s fun. Well, evening came, and with it our aristocratic friends; then, every time one of the minstrels began a funny story, the end man would assume a look of terror, and whisper loudly: “’Sh! ’sh! hush! Boston, are here!” Pretty soon the audience began to rea- lize the situation, until cheers and roars of laughter followed the admonition, and our fair dude had to pilot his high-toned guests out of that irreverent company, which suggests tome a maxim, “When you are with other folks, don’t be better than they are.” Pretty good fora N. Y. D., ain’t it? We never are. Half our success depends on our being jolly good fellows. After we’ve been sweet to the business men all day, it’s second nature to be sweet to the girls, and they take to a drummer like a bee to clover. Well, right in the midst of the latter half of the programme, when the princi- pal singers were going mad, the orchestra groaning and moaning, the trees crash- ing, the waves dashing, the thunder roll- The Harvesters, of 4 “typ, typ CS UY wi ne Sark \s A Y om - See yi > os \ “WYLIE Z WYYyfyy Z . Sor7 audience added the last perfect touch to the power and naturalness of the finale. (TO BE CONTINUED.) ———__ +0 ——___—__ ON LAND AND SEA; California in the Years 1843, 44 and *45, By WILLIAM H. THOMES, Author of ‘*‘The Gold-Hunters of Australia,” ‘The Bushrangers,” ‘‘The Gold-Hunters jn Europe,” “Life in the East Indies,” ‘‘A Slaver’s Adven- tures,” ‘“‘Running the Blockade,” “A Whale- man’s Adventures,’ ‘“‘The Belle of Australia,” ete., ~ a (“ON LAND AND SEA” was commenced in No. 3. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.]} CHAPTER XITI.—(Continued.) KR VANE y \ \ LL classes of citizens welcomed the Admittance and her crew. Even the 4 \% old ladies, who had sniffed at the OTN S SS . boys, now smiled blandly on us when we passed their houses. In us they saw angels of hope, for, from all that we could learn, it appeared that there was an- other revolution on the tapis, and this time a serious one, that threatened to shake the whole social fabric of California, and cause lots of blood to be shed. In fact, one Mexi- can soldier had already been fired at, and, if he had not been a mile or more away from the person who shot at him, the danger of murder in the first degree would have béen | great. Governor Micheltoreno issued a pronunci- amento, and told the people that he would die for them, and fight for them until the |last drop of blood was pumped out of his veins Then General Castro, not wishing to be behind any one in valor, and in issu- ing paper bullets, threw a pronunciamento at the heads of the Mexicans that would have inspired them, if they had taken the time to peruse it, or got some one to do it for them. But, as the Mexicans were tired of reading, or listening while the more learned read, the proclamation fell harmless. Castro wanted all the Americans expelled from the country, and the women were de- sirous of keeping them, as they made good husbands, and did not smoke and play ~ a = monte all night. Then Pio Pico went for them with a pro- nunciamento that knocked all the others into tS Whi . tinge Could be heard all over the aker and Squills to look Wee, ey %Ccupied the seat in front of i OMer, . z 4 . “lit] he, the train started on, eye Onductor Singled ou ; Soon i ; 5 appeared, and his t the fresh passen- approached, punch in ay man didn’t appear to Roig td the conductor. th” hag tad a funeral,” replied the h fh n . hea pid, ! A 9 ty ine,” bE ay y, i ” littie Ss | »' : ae; to alle ot paid. . “Samee,” said the patient 8Y dow oe ” th icket a Cincinnatty. ire fDerg] wey mire ticket?” © 8 funeral,” observed the confidentially, while a 0 ; ; Kleq a the snow on his buckskin Own his nose. » Ory, : a but I want to punch your 8 tbh oy oSamnation, It’s a dread- ped ti they tell me, I’ve been Pit aan all our young uns ill a too. They say little ‘Cady for the undertaker ar, It will cost a lot, the © coffins, double funeral, ; 1an—been out o’ work all § try! Show up your ticket.” Stans so bad off they hed Sena ee Mmeat—conductor! I but em a ten-dollar bill at mycan’y I didn’t hev it to send— h mien” money in a letter, “ch he loves his family, _ kin he?” m sorry for you, my See your ticket and iD t Ot j pigs Not, it, must iy’, ang ally has it powerful Mian, “he Manin the comforter hay Sir» Can? noney & buy a ticket when he 1e?”’ O Say °ugh all the way to Cin- MWe : Hyjtith.* the Size of it, Mr. Con- nother tear dropping +18 old cap. Oy » Sir. It’s against the deer 4 nhtistit® tell me a rich corpora- N man country won't dead- n through to his own you expect me to, y ant + ‘ \ ‘\ SON GUY SSA eG \ \ ri \ XM Nt AWE AL “I ASSURED HER I WOULD SAVE HER, OR THE When the conductor went his’ rounds again our sad-faced widower had not re- turned to his seat. In fact, he could not be found on the train. He had gaineda ride of over thirty miles, and over four dollars in good money. When we realized this we elt as “dry” as he did—so dry that.we had to get adrink of water all around. Live and learn! The next time | I see an old buckskin cap weeping I shall | let it weep. We had an excellent dinner at the Bur- | nett; it was Varnish’s treat; so we, washed down a dear little roast pig with | bumpers of Longworth’s champagne, al- most as “dry” as our man in the com- | forter was. t didn't have any trunk of, samples ordered to the Burnett; since I’ve made up my mind to marry Kitty | next summer I’m trying to be more savy- | ing. Ourhouse pays for first-class hotels, and I pocket the difference. Varnish | isn’t engaged, so he can afford to slather | his money around. Mem.—Charge that dollar I gave that. dead-broke to-day to the firm, under the | head of necessary expenses. Varnish was born in Cincinnati, so has | hosts of friends. Called and took two nice young ladies to the concert; the pret- | tier one was his cousin. If it were not | that I am always true as steel to Kitty I | should have fallen head over ears in love | with her. We didn’t any of us care much | for Wagner’s style of music; we were sure they were only tuning their instru- | ments, so kept on laughing and chatting, until that impertinent Thomas suddenly | brought the whole thing to a dead pause, and pointing over at us, said the music would wait until we bad finished our con- | versation. I guess we knew what good- breeding is, but we all supposed they were tuning up. We felt rather solemn for a few min- utes, but I made the girls laugh, during the recess, telling them a true story, PIECES, IF I LOST MY HAT IN THE ATTEMPT.” ing, the lightning flashing in true Wag- nerian style, and T. T. making motions like a wind-mill worked by dynamite, a small god in the gallery yelled “Fire!” Everybody in the hall jumped up, glared around, shouted, shrieked, hustled, pushed, scrambled—but T. T. kept calmly on. Varnish’s cousin threw herself in my arms, begging me to save her. I stood quiet, holding her tight, assuring her I would save her, or the pieces, if I lost my hat in the attempt. Then her head drooped on my shoulder, and she seemed satisfied Varnish was holding the other girl. Thus we remained while the crowd surged by. After several minutes of up- roar and crush, a thunderous voice was heard—“Stop!” The flying crowd paused —turned; the uproar in the orchestra came to a full pause—silence reigned. “Ladies and gentlemen,” spoke a calm voice, “we will not go on until the fire has finished this unseemly interruption.” I guess the fire was scared, for it went out—at least, it could not be found, and the audience returned to their seats. Varnish’s cousin clung to me until nearly every one had settled down, and then I settled her gently in her seat. Owing to my forethought in holding her she did not even lose her back-hair, though I believe Varnish’s girl swallowed her chewing- gum in the first excitement. Mem.—Saw by the papers, next morn- ing, that the small boy who cried “fire had been arrested. He gave as an excuse ‘that the music frightened him so he thought there was a thunderstorm and |Theodore Thomas: was struck iby light- ning; and the paper added: “The poor boy is now in the lunatic asylum; he imagines he is a huge bass-viol as big as a whale. and that T. T. is playing on him with a lightning-rod. The musical critic of the paper, however, adds to a long and flatterng notice the conclusion that the screeching and shouting of the a cocked hat. He wanted the people to rally around him, as he was the only man in the country who was suitable to govern, and keep the custom duties high, and the citizens free of taxation. As he had some money, and was ready to spend it, every one paid marked attention to his words, and a ser- geant and two privates of the regular army were reported as wavering in their fidelity to the regular government, but this the al- calde promptly denied, and said that a loyal Mexican woald never falter when duty called him to arms. : Things were decidedly mixed, and we did not know whom to believe, or whom to sup- port, for our agent wanted to be on the win- ning side, on account of trade. The revolu- tionists would not dare to interfere with our ship, but, confound them, they would pre- vent us from receiving our fair proportion of hides, while there was trouble in the coun- try, so the supercargo praised and flattered all, and looked out for number one every time. Then Castro, finding that he had fright- ened no one in Monterey, sent a special mes- senger and a pronunciamento to Captain Graham, at Santa Cruz, and requested him to get out of the country as fast as a horse could carry him, as he was a bad man, and a dangerous one. The captain read the pa- per, lighted his pipe with it, and returned to the general a single rifle bullet, and informed him there were plenty left, with powder to back them. This made Castro so mad he refused to speak with Graham, or to take any notice of him for some months. He even avoided him on every possible occa- sion, for fear he might lose his temper, and hurt the captain. In the meantime the people of Monterey were in a state of great excitement, and Cook thought of raising the price of his aguardi- ente, there was such a demand for it, but re- considered his resolution, and watered the liquor instead, which was much better for the consumers and his treasury. The reports which were received each day by Mr. Larkin, the headquarters for all the news, was that Captain Sutter, with five hundred wild Indians, all armed with bows and arrows a fathom long, was on his way to the neighborhood of Monterey, to take a hand in the fight, and that he was making forced marches of five miles a day, for the 1 Guaagaeuecsis ; eiedaias 0 eee SRE OTL ULE a eS PETE EIS GOOD NEWS. ———aaaeee ere. on some other side than the regular gov- ernment, They said that when they met | and, thinking that the ship was attacked, | pe slichted Sutter’s wild Indians they would strew:| came on deck with a flying leap, and fired “T am but a boy.” I said. as soon as the revolters, who had yielde ’ the 4) fh Deg of the earth with their carcases, and hasten | away at the beach with his two pistols, | +} : id nda: a Oli x over ‘its “rather; , al ) i , re Was £ an ad a chance yovernment itself, or, v4 oD iddiey c ! there was a lull, and I had achanceto 8 ? forced marcel tS] egg vast, W . ; ; j ] Q : purpose of being in at the death of some one, | tents of his pipe on the priming, and then guard my life. I am willing to fight In- | live boy is better than @ bundred doh jeter did he did not care particularly whom. | there was a flash, a roar, and the slum-|dians, and save women and children, but men. — e p the ped One morning the bugles at the presidio | bers of the town’s-people were interrupted | no one shall put me between* cross-fires. We pulled off to the ship, although on] dn sounded, and al! the gallant soldiers were | by the report of the cannon, warning all| I would like to live a few years longer, if boat was so full of women that we & le et Te summoned to arms, to march out of the| that wild Indians were on them, and no|I can.” : Ee use but two oars, but never wer yirel t bel town, and defend the lawful governor, | quarter was to be given. “T am anxious to do aseaman’s duty,” more grateful for their seeming de and hi ahh whoever he was. General Castro issued Captain Peterson was disturbed by the | the third mate cried, “but nothing shall. ance. “The men we left on the Leach ol Mas to’ another pronunciamento, and promised to | discharge, as were all hands. The old! tempt me to step on the beach if we are to when we had discharged our freight Wes i put himself at the head of the army, and | man rushed on deck, not too well clothed, | be fired on in the rear. ’Ta’n’t ‘ship- returned for them, there were but boang Sno conquer, or die in the attempt. Then he/ Trifle in hand, and then very resolutely | shape.” | be found. Most had taken to the winds Coast phe mounted his horse, and rode down the /| fired at the shore, although for what pur “T am an old man.” Jones exclaimed. as | OF returned home, not hearing any 8? rj or 2 coast, to raise more troops, and get them | pose I could not divine, as no enemy was | he removed his hat, and aeiotie ia aan of warfare near the town: de® forever is ready for immediate service. He returned | in sight, and not a wild whoop was heard} the scanty gray have on his ; 1 eT The ladies and children Welt mechs e et, after all danger was passed, and said that | on the beach, or near the presidio. | have encountered all ett of dé 2 te: and comfortable as possible betweed ort | by Eitic the whole State was just wild to fight| Mr. Prentice was just behind the cap Ratan engaged in Kine nabtina: iat} oak on blankets and hides, and 12 t fast Nimed > 1 some one, Americans preferred, if there| tain, and did not stop to put on his Peculiar of ni life Wide tabi on ing all were treated to a goo ren bet pos was any choice. shoes, or anything else. As soonas he| fyelish ships-of-war, and Danese Het, ries of coffee and ship-bread, an ea C00 athena The commandante of the presidio, and | Saw the old man discharge his rifle, he up| eyen when lightning struck the ld Hec. | articles as could be provided by t Ping 7% a his men, did not display much animation, | With a ship’s musket, and banged away tor. near the: courte I sacri : i s B t if and stewards cont Jack “isch even if the bugles sounded cheerfully, | at the town, and was kicked heels over | that deck aaa bn He Aved "with r I As the sun rome there was a new, alk the pend. t They were a long time cleaning their guns, | head by the gun, because he had loaded it while bear Ge On shore::T want z a} ; os —_ plication for us, one not anticipal’ ques Home emis and getting them ready, and when they | to kill, and put in too much powder and | say my prayers ‘ind “He” . EE doe it promised to be an internation@ Wing wore did start it was late in the afternoon, | lead. He got up, swore a little, and re fin Kiet areata That's all I hae re aid ig tion before it was settled. . ists ht Sayy ward, They made a forced march of a mile and / turned to his state-room, put on his shoes, and FAs ut on his hat ge t a, We supposed that the revolutions that Rang rita a half, and camped near the Mission Car- | and other useful articles of dress, such as | fresh ehew ee itt oti asi iP ok ‘a a attempted to capture the fort, ® a con | ‘font, Ref mel, At dark all returned back to the|are considered proper in civilized coun- |! gjoneq to almost any ini a8 late rrr our guns had frightened them 1 ied ® | lasso Fe tuwn, to see if there was fresh news, and | tries, and on ship-board, by cabin com- “You vitiet only bee: a little talk too.” plete capitulation, for they had 4 pefor | tality CAP if any money was to be made in fighting | pany. whispered lawey. Swit wi ambitious for that they surrendered the night ne v | Me leew : Mr. Mellus awakened from adeep sleep, | the honor of our boat, and didn’t want to #lthough not a shot had a stead oy ere } pare ’ : the Vang, 2s at the direction of the presidi0 , ~ back to be crowned with laurel by the|and then returned to the cabin to reload put in my oar, “but still life is very ®rmy that had made é 4 tee women. The ladies, it was noticed, did | and dress. l sweet. I Gavh a little money coming to Mile and a half, and then, tiring ond et fire h id | not gather large heaps of evergreen in Mr. Davidson rushed along the deck | me when I ati’ of age. 1 “will ’b oy . alarm, had retraced their steP ss oy coll eg, © Cre anticipation of the event. They preferred | with a boarding pike, and nearly jabbed| oun eantain. if you will bal td t be tered: their old quarters, W ere t . GP Yim, OF to wait for important results. it in the back of the captain; while the fre i wulsihe wi-Are-Oi ack ee sleep in peace, and not be oblig at all Mig, atns Considering that Captain Sutter, as we| third mate went forward, and called all This manly fair and just request w guard duty liable to be s¢e@ the al d) Pom a h afterward learned from the gentléman’s | hands to get under way, with the impres- | yo{ Canatdad ith ints favor — ea moment. When we discharged," agin® Meas ete own lips, had not left his fort, on the} sion that we were to leave port at once, | “J yj]] promise vou eaariotia bi! ven vou gun the officers in comman ined po it on? a banks of the American and Sacramento | while the doctor started a fire in his gal- | egmes ad ” was the response. “'s d that the revolutionists had er ou b vi Ht tor » an Rivers, to take part in the troubles, the|ley, and began to heat water to scaid| yoy vill. feel it for a long 4 Py Goo ‘ session of the ship, OF ba irect | lew Th threat was a safe one. | some one, he didn’t care whom. shore for de peovles Pa a Stein Oi ee influence, and that our fire war idi0. ‘i Mang ig There was s0 much alarm on shore, and! At last the confusion subsided, and then Be waiter r in rit fire yi ats tie Ae toward the defenders of the pre that n Was sO many rumors, our captain and agent | the captain demanded who hail fired the | jg gone.” = wo the army had all the fightin€ rent jel Bers { determined to do what they could to in- | gun, and whose anchor-watch it was? We rave three cheers, and bent to c wanted for a week oF ws ay then te Was They spire confidence, and save the lives of the “Lewey and Thom’s,” was_ the prompt | gars M 7 boat was the first to Seca the was agreed to unanimously, an jo88 we ato, ot tl women and children, if necessary. It|reply from all quarters, for the men were Roach ana Thad 0 sooner landed th: * travel-stained and tired warl ; as | MOble Way was a praiseworthy motive, and. deserved | anxious to give credit where it was due, bia cae? e comnts i arms Weis’ extend Seri to sleep, all ready to be sworn the ? t0 ut We 800. much credit; but, when it is understood | for some reason. embrace: me but, as the ladi . . a il fenders of the new governme” ‘en 008 iy ftteg s wi that there were no enemies near Mon-|} The old man uttered a dismal groan, as old cent anisiied ead “ eet ‘ } oe lic day, provided there was money | for ! ited that terey, that no one expected to attack the | though he felt a terrible pain, and pre- | 7 did nit appreciate fheir a eane test pay each soldier a dollar oh Bs ito mint . © S» ¢ sw oath. ion 4a, b mor tificalt ight hy, with C town, that all fighting was done with|sentiment, and did not know but_ the} wondered why the young and pretty ones trouble of taking a D ronunciamentos, except on one occasion, | former might be a dangerous one, and the : ; d eis sx Sh oe see TI ana uy a little , wir a Mexican was accidentally in- | latter ominous. pes Dot come forward, and be assured of eee Fife! oe facts car’ acto ho} Salut, jured, it will be seen that our officers| “Vot for you fire de gun?” the captain |~ ,, °° +“ But all was explained quite $4” od by wt title Sted s never failed to step to the front at the | demanded, sternly of us boys. Oh, the brave marineros,” howled the and a vote of thanks Wa Me part ast Men oe m right time, and thus reflected honoron| “De presidio is taken by de vild In- | ¢lderly females, and then three thoughtful 4).a)4e and his advisers 10F : had | iti, ent a our flag and country, as in duty bound. jines,” Lewey said, promptly. “I seed husbands entered my boat, and left their had taken. All the women praves jo hid the for ] It was resolved, at a council held at|’em. You can hear ’em now.” wives to take care of themselves, sisted said that we were BS jn a ie Eng) Mr. Larkin’s house, that our ship should| The captain ran to the topgallant fore-| ,‘1 made the boys a sign, which they un- tp brave, but when We oy WF Oe Oy UD try shelter the women and children in case | castle, mounted it, and hailed the fort. derstood. ...'them on the beach a2 elder did, ht ies Monte the town was threatened by the wild In-| “Presidio, ahoy!” he shouted, so loudly | , Chey rT xe areas a sudden cant Re boxed Lewey’s ears becar as b Os mayvin Sone s vin ett” i . tt ain s sere i Ane en” abn oe tits awhitin cy eg : » anc e Mexicans w : she “. . s { Cig dians, and, to warn all to be on the beach | that even the coyotes ceased barking, and pega sade An 1 exicans were pitched jandie her quite as carefu ‘ght bere’ b ninth ee ave a rh the have done, although how he pur om th et Monet: in time, one Ot oul Six pot nders should be listened and the dogs skulked under the wc uld I t have care her discharged if we saw the least signs of an | houses, and remained quiet for at least a Heavens, how they did swear, and shake themselves, and curse the water, . he about, as long as He enemy. We were to land with our boats, | minute, waiting for something to turn up. s wo . of and take offall who wanted to go on| “Si, senor,” was the answer, in a/| the, sailors, the revolutionists, the wild yj aiahs. . the course at fh board. This was an excellent arrange- | humble tone. Indians, and everything that caused | Things settled dow? in t re gent 4 duty Sear, ment, and the husbands and fathersswore| “Vot is de matter dere on shore?” was | them such extreme hardship. > few days. Scouts, WO werner ard se We ll that the Americans, next to the Mexi- | the next question, but no one understood _When the other boats landed, Mr. Pren-|+)., Carmel Mission, retus sige tif i’ of 'e fier cans, were the greatest people in the} him. tice commenced embarking the women vorted that there was apd + ell Som Tain, rorld. Then they got up a little game of| «m . Ps and children, and not a man would he P® te ae places ‘spell of sO .ebim WOLD 1en they got up a little game oO Iodas surrendry, capitano,” was the wild Indian near the t Mich eto BM, the eS : 1 avery creditable cock-figt : ete a3 ey a permit to enter the pinnace, although ee, Sea t last ver eh ut. <° Sha] monte, ana a very creditad ckK-ight, | satisfactory reply. j scare blew over; but @0 7 ce) aM tain. ta during which some hundred dollars} “Good!” yelled the captain. “Just re BieSy eee nee Se had to vacate the poste pis plarade ty Hlowe? bu changed hands, and two caballaros had a| main vere you are, or I’]l blow you out of | 1; W hile he was thus engaged a pretty and Don Pio Pico k 3 and yr ty te sy quarrel, and drew knives on each other, | de yvater.” ? . little girl threw herself into my arms, reigned two or three year athe. poli Cate) Spot; but did not use them. Considering that the Mexicans were on and begged me, for the love of the saints, very good officer {_believ fe did th Nit hese Mh: ic > “guns was loade ; F ; rae oat save her fr sath. ae : a hepper an 1 t Se. That night one of our guns was loaded, | the land, and that we had not fired a shot to. You ‘ from ae ‘aid in a hurried | id not care much whet} perso, ole ot tt nay > and the anchor-watch was told to look | at them, this threat was a. most remark ee ee en ee are senna The most ungratefu spo Dae ad oi’ wi nf sharp for the war-whoops of the Indians, | able hin os and’ showed the estimation it tone, a ou must remember me. You town was the little girl w 41 0% dor i, Nt hile - ais ; '! once kissed me. By the memory of that rs the DI bt Ny Nop, ’Ppe ; me so desperately pise seni 1 t and the roll of musketry, and to listen | which we were held. But they announced i ; : xy BO ernie WA tena tata ve jon ; " ; 1 ill ti kiss, such as a sister would give to a off to the ship, and prom” 10; an ashe (8 + : ig for the twanging of bow-strings. But no| tp, ; - dara ‘ 7 : ar ols 5 iat all had surrendered, and that was \ ‘1a a Ps a iF enemy appeared, and the town slept as|, aad dead + Sea 4 Be ee 7 brother, you will save me, will you not? ce ad only take? (ig, abe pb’ y Canta bm} Py glory enough for us. The big gun and As 1 did. hot consider that: there was kisses. I had Ter pous 1 nm Set alking quietly 2s possible, only disturbed by the! the “small arms had done the business : nel I called one day at io Dy, J ; all arms hs BB; beviiae Auta ‘Aawioae ics é a] yas t 7 thOytt area any particular danger, I was willing to that 9s id the pad | Nes do; kfas} barking of dogs, and the yells of the! and we felt like givi ia oticare wel ; » halance ‘ é gS, z i » fe , OF ng three cheers witl ane 7 sabes Se : for the balance ! coyotes on the hills, where the celebrated | great hewrtiede,” Mie SRE ree | let her cling to me as long as she desired, laughed in my facc, 4DO ” he it a of ace : Hotel of the Mountain now stands, asI|" But there was work for us. We saw nae 2 me anane | ee aoa i oo a fool not to take My pee whee Nit an ® to have been told by those who have recently | crowds of people moving toward the winded bb thas ) 1é6 Weoit a ee de chance, and that alarn fo woh} me) to? of the visited Monterey. s beach, and could hear the voice of gentle li seria Pa a another midnight 240" Oy whe ware Te tHe? But the next night there was music 0n | woman, as she yelled out her complaints ee \full. That was a Jes5" time é tap re “Senorita,” I said quietly, “the wild forgot, but at the same Indians are near. I can hear their ter-| kind of that Mexica® rible yells. If I save you will you give!me in such a brusave |me a kiss?” my exertions ine beha “Yes, a dozen, if you like,” and she put |" We left. Monterey 0% sone up her pretty face for the chaste salutes, | in company with the s¢ Maz ship and shore. It was the anchor-watch | and fears, and called upon the saints to between twelve and one, and Lewey and hear her prayers, and to consign to eter I had the deck to ourselves. It was a/ yal perdition all the wild Indians in the calm, quiet morning, with a full moon. | ¢ountry, if such a thing were possible. The French lad and I were leaning over “Lower avay de quarter-boats and de | the rail, looking toward the town, and pinnace,” the captain said. “Ve vill save pet : ‘ t wondering. why each Mexican family | qe vimmin and de childrens at all haz- | @nd didn’t want any time wasted in the| the latter boun 1 passe? thought it necessary to keep ten or @alards. Be lively.” operation. Mexican officers ane - oun dozen dogs, when we suddenly saw the) Down went our boats with a run, and I took two hurried kisses, and would to return home. 4® occas} gleam of steel and a dozen or more men |t¢he crews were in their places when they | have had more, but just at that moment quiet there was o peing ~ stealing across the ravine toward the| struck the water. Mr. Prentice took |I saw that Lewey was helping young la- | formidable man-of-we sapitanns presidio. |charge of the pinnace, the third mate of | dies into the boat, and receiving liberal | coast to defend ae ne co The expected attack had come at last, | the larboard quarter-boat, and I retained | pay from each one he carried off through | Cooper thought year pack }8 we thougnt. The enemy were to capture | my position as coxswain of the gig, for|the surf. This was taking an unfair ad- | as Mazatland me e was Ora the fort, and then murder the inhabi-| the captain knew that he could depend! vantage, and depriving me of some of ; three months, ! t]eman, ® tants. There was no time to lose if we|upon his boys at all times, and under all|the perquisites of my office, for many of | wished the old a » his would save them from a terrible fate. | circumstances, the girls were very pretty. I rebuked and away he we? 1e po tot Some boys would have called the captain, | “Shove off,” the old man said, “and|him for his greed, but it did not appear: and nearly all and imparted the information to him, | bring all de vimmin and childrens you | to have any effect on his hardened nature, brought up from and let him act on his own judgment in|can. I vill cover your landin’ vid de six |for he said he was not going to get wet/| did not carry 0” * Ue ok 1 our men laid In 49" regard to the matter, but we were not | pounder.” |at that time of night for nothing. for many that kind of boys. We knew when there At this terrible information we all| I took the little girl, who was clinging | that lasted ber -q, we ! st was danger as well as any person on the| stopped rowing. We were anxious to|to me so frantically, in my arms, and| At Santa Bar each to ship. Wedid not stop to consider that | risk our lives for the people of Monterey, | placed her in the stern-sheets of the boat, | of Mr. Prentice, 0 could , ¥9 : Pa ) : e a of California was re- | but we were not willing to be exposed to|and then her sense of gratitude was so captain and mat ‘a paged, } , g dscne: of |a chance shot from one of our deck guns. | great that she raised one of my hard, sun- 80 the latte b yer » Chi jaD went on board of @ rd. afterwat st, @ al a ‘ the regular army turning to the fort, for the purpose having a safe place to sleep, and to escape When it was discharged you never! burned hands, and madea motion to press further hardship. Other lads might have | knew where the ball was going to strike, it to her lips, but I was too quick for mate, » CO few months left tae oe thought of such things, but we did not. | and it was more liable to knock our heads her. and, somehow, we reversed positions, I , We were different from most boys. otf than the greasers’. ‘for I saluted her hand, and told her she saw him agaim newhe I “T vill de gun fire,” said Lewey, who “If you are going to fire one of|was now safe, and that I would die for that he died sc enerous a kind-hearted, & nt the was smoking a pipe, and, before I could|those six-pounders while we are on | her if necessary, which was not quite stop him, even if I had wanted to, he had |shore,” said the mate, firmly, but decid-| true, but it must have consoled her very | sailor and office?s og ea run to the six-pounder, knocked the con ledly, “T want to know it, so that Ican|much atthe time, In an emergency one , wouldn’t underst@ ie aL AREF TS OT en 8 PRO NE TERT AI OR NT Be ase peace re PE RES CaS ETE GrooDpD NEW SB. 559 ever did; and so Mr. Prentice got care- % 8nd did not carry on ship’s duty as old man wanted him to do, and the : et. Temedy was to separate, as they did; 3 ast believe the captain regretted his his action before many days, and asked Wy, omer chief officer to return, but it t, MY “Stoo late. €shook hands when we pulled him on | tear Ora little trade, and there was a : ao his dark eye as we bid him good-by “the &. Mr. Davidson was promoted to te sition of chief mate, and Mr. Good- st | Yan, 4S made second officer, and a man prea nr : We Bishop was shipped as third mate. Ov ed Bar, Tan down to San Pedro from Santa “tnd ata, and thence went to San Diego, od F Tack ischarged our skins, we left Scotch new athe. “2d two kanakas to take charge of 8 Fone Mises, and cure the hides, took in Wina wore ballast, and once more beat to W Ward, and stopped at all the ports, hita'and Engracia for a moment, at nt efugio, and again anchored at ty, where we found the bark fcaPtain Hastings, and the ship mee ward to load for home. While n we there the ships Sterling and Soa teetrived from Boston, with full | rd . e YA ¢ ¢ . h >» tas vessel that had touched on the 7 1 0 $ Mage ts Which was bad for us, as the | Ne th id not belong to our firm. We| a3,-° Crews of the new-comers all the | ere (Bs 49d Mine of our experience, and told them | obli alll “alig Yarns which made them wish that | alpe an Mh | Bro hia had never been discovered. ged tbe ine Bae Vandalia I received a box of | d Bi tout articles which my friends had | ior, , The = the money I had ee | atter was very acce le | any and me, for my hang steak of | M,..28 getting low, and the many HBS that we ried to the ship | wy oF never Bhn oe ‘Twente shen. NS Not the cus m1 ry to W custom of the country to | Pei ocd ney on boys who did the} urn. “heh aed hile we were here that we ae i - ee Larkin was ap pated for: eS Consul for the whole o ‘i oa but, as he had gone to Mazat- Rr salue pea Cooper, — ee neiste € the consular flag until it) finema, SCmMe months afterward. The pene made a good officer, and our 0 Aegtion, to an excellent selection for the ied td the = oa had done a great deal to Country from gaining a foothold a, slonterey we went to Pan en: Ying there February 16, 4, ight diately stripped the ship of sails Ma: ars, ¢ red. t Ss Bie a Propered i pass More Ce by Mr. Teschemacher, and in ‘ € commenced our trips up the Nty €arch of hides and tallow. But hy Were fe was not a pleasant one, for Poy’ Of». Herce southeast gales, and tor- 2 Met; M, and the weather was cold, ‘) the Mes there were thin cakes of | taing hallow pools, and snow on the | om lowe’ but the grass was green, and | Ay e made their appearance in| 1%. ttle ts. Every one promised to | AYty. The. M the spring, and pay their nay’ Promises were never kept, | CF a Wy, Nately. : bene lying here that a terrible | nin Pened on board. It was on | & of the 24th of May, and and Mr. Teschemacher quarter-deck, just - Some of the men were om little job of os a Ny >to snit Mr. Davidson, who | 1 Pee ty oe Beeotisnt pean ae ene M © Sailors, and jumped into Mapiggsing. He went up the ratt- ton 4}, Passed over the top, and z pard He € foot-rope of the foretop- f en “fel ett must have missed his hold, Alf: nt Oued gine’, & terrible crash to the r one? Cr, ' qvas a In less than half an hour, ho yatla” aD™ mh not Used, bleeding,and mangled, IF anks rer a word after he touched Pree Heber was he conscious. Wag a Work was suspended, and OD Ww Urning fore and aft, for Mr. sted, 48 a most taithfal offleer, , , and a better sailor dered On the deck of a ship. If! by Wont’ Some of his early years to | t Meta ry d have been a master in- tans hoist ate, years before me Mt shon’, the colors half-mast, and Hone*laimes a surgeon, but the only My De, €d the title was away from rot A the doctors in the world la jit’s lif Saved him, or given him Lena = The foreign residents in hiita,® Oa, €re very kind; and a Mr. ‘Meath, Ut, ang ain John Patty, an old “Pay th Ted qui & sailor, came off, and Wag OR] Hite freely their services, dla, view Ss that they could fur- ‘q + the €@ as to the funeral. This ha onext day. The body was 1 Ay td Oden box, made by the car- Swered it into the pin- ea the Intter boat to the © remains were met by the tha Buena, and carried to Telegraph Hill, and in- al) they 6% yt) 4 AY omelet rr pt gor ib e h ‘ potatthe 4 nis. ower er. i of Peek + we Tia, Captain Arthur, both going to | we!|to Captain Richardson’s, ithe bay. | should be called upon to embark, as the terred, and a piece of plank set up at the head of the grave, with the name and age of the deceased. The bones had not been disturbed in the early part of 1849, but I suppose they have long since been swept away to make room for improvements. The captain felt the mate’s death quite keenly, and for one week did not scold us boys. He began to realize that valuable people were scarce, and probably feared that one of us might die. The ships Sterling and Vandalia were in port at the time of the accident, and all the officers were present at the fu- |a very clever man. The next week, after the gloom had | lifted, and Mr. Goodhue got accustomed ito his new position of chief mate, the launch was fitted out for a week’s trip to San Rafael, and Murphy’s Ranch, where the captain had an invitation to shoot deer. We took provisions, a tarpaulin to shelter us from the rain, and our oiled | our sail u coats and heavy boots, as it is no joke to be caught out in a southeaster, in an open boat, during the winter season. We hoisted sail, and ran across the bay, where Lewey and I had the pleasure of once more see- ing the young and handsome ladies of the "Of goods, intending to trade on| family; but I regret to say that they only gave us a mere glance, and not so much neral, and expressed sorrow at the loss of | little fun at the tongue go and poke a all seriousness there captain. But in were s0 many deer at San Rafael that it! was not uncommon to see a dozen’ within gunshot of the boat every morning, and they did not pay us much attention, even when we moved about, and shouted, to see them jump and pose before us. They were rarely hunted except by the officers of men of-war, who were in port, and wanted a good day’s sport, and they could always find it at Murphy’s Ranch, even if all the comforts of life were not ob- tainable at the place, for, although Mr. Murphy was rich in land and cattle, his house and domestic affairs were not gor- geous, and visitors used to wipe their faces and hands, when they had to wash them, on any part of their shirts that ap- peared most convenient and the best | adapted for the purpose. | as a formal smile, for which we did not} blame them. After the captain had uttered his usual stock of compliments, taken a drink of milk, and a glass of wine, we were off for San Rafael, where we arrived in the afternoon, and found some Indians with a horse to take the captain to the ranch, We were told to remain, and wait for hides, and all the deer the old man might shoot. We were requested to behave our- selves, just as though such advice was necessary, and the French boy resented it by saying ina sneering tone that he could eat all the venison the captain killed. He had not uttered the remark until his super- ior was some distance on his way, for reasons that were quite satisfactory. As the launch was manned by Lewey, Davy, and myself, we had no one to order us about; so we put on airs to Davy, and told him to remain by the boat, while we went up to the adobe, to pay a visit to the American and his Mexican wife, whose child Lewey had cured the first time we visited the place, some months before, when we were called sailor vaga- bonds by the shrill-voiced . Mexican woman, tired of a drunken husband, and discouraged by the illness of her child, whom she was tending with all a mother’s tenderness, and without the faintest idea of how it should be treated in the absence of medicines and a physician’s advice. The place looked the same as when we first saw it—untidy and neglected, with open door, and no windows, and a mess of garbage in front, smelling like a cess- pool, as it had not been cleared away for months, and the rainy season had added to the accumulation by forming miniature ponds. We found our distinguished country- man, as usual, under the influence of aguardiente, and uproariously glad to see us, while the woman gave us a hearty welcome, and said that we were the best boys she had ever seen, which was not news to us. Then she called in the child that had been cured, gave its face a dry wash with the skirt of her dress, and asked us to admire it, which we did, al- though we should have expressed our ad- miration a little more forcibly had there been less dirt and more traces of natural skin. There was nothing in the house too good for us, but candor compels me to state that the larder contained only corn and dried beef. By borrowing from the stores of:the launch we were enabled to make a very good supper, and then the husband, disdaining the courtesies of modern society, took a long pull at a bladder full of his fiery liquor, and went to sleep, leaving the wife to entertain us, and remarkably pleasant she became in the course of the evening. As it grew late, and we were about to leave, our hostess pressed us to remain, but we told her that it would be wrong to leave our shipmate all alone, and that we might have to sail in the night for We could not tell when we captain was a very uncertain person, and would get angry if he found us absent from our boat. The captain spent three days at Mur- phy’s Ranch, and then sent down two deer, which some one said he had_ shot, and we didn’t see how he could help it, as venison was so plentiful that if he had fired his rifle in any direction he could not very well miss bringing down a buck ora doe. Lewey said that he could take a club, and go into the woods, and kill more deer in an hour than the old man could in a week with his gun. But that was only one of the French lad's exag- gerations. He couldn’t have done any- thing of the kind, and he knew it, but liked to talk for the sake of hearing his An hour after the arrival of the deer the captain put in an appearance. We got 9, drifted tice the creek, out across the 1 and were soon on board. I heard the old man tell Mr. Goodhue that he had had glorious sport, although he did not bring to the ship even one quarter of what he killed. This shows that hunt- ing stories in California can _ be traced back long before the present San Fran- cisco Gunning Club was formed, of which my friend, Mr. Bent, is a member, and whocan always get more ducks and geese in his bag, according to his account, than any, one else, if he has a fair show. (TO BE CONTINUED.) ~~ JOHNNY'S PRAYER. A CHRISTMAS STORY. sitet BY JANE KAVANAGH. eect “TAHE bells of old Trinity tolled mer- tw rily out on the clear, frosty air, 5 proclaiming. to the busy inhabi- tants of the metropolis that the grand old festival was approaching. The sound brought a joyous thrill to some hearts; to many more, alas! it lent but an added pain to poverty or bereavement. Johnny Warren iistened carelessly to the musical chimes, his attention being all engrossed just then in the wonderful contemplation of the display of toys in the window before him. Splendid toys all of them, but supreme above them all in Johnny’s estimation was the beautiful sled and shining skates that hung right before him. But a tap on the shoulder recalled Jobnny to business, and he turned to sup- ply a customer from his bundle of papers; then casting another longing look in the direction of the coveted treasures, he pro- ceeded on his way. His stock of papers was fast decreasing when he raanied ai large hotel. Several gentlemen were standing around, and Johnny approached a pleasant-faced gen- tleman with: “Please buy a paper, sir.” The stranger looked down at the thinly- clad little figure and shrewd, boyish face, and, taking a paper from the outstretched hand, asked Jonas where he lived and what was his name, information which our hero gave quite freely, having no feel- ing of delicacy as to his shabby home. The last rays of daylight were fading in the winter sky as Johnny, having sold all his papers, reached a cross street in the direction of his home, when his attention was arrested by a knot of boys standing on a corner. “I say, fellows,” one was exclaiming, “it’s just lovely! and a sight better than the theater,and you can go in for nothing, too.” That last consideration decided his hearers, and Johnny followed the rest, and in a few moments was entering the portal of a church in the vicinity. It was, indeed, a beautiful sight, and Johnny looked in wondering amaze at the life-like figures of the infant Saviour, His virgin mother, and the wise men who knelt in humble adoration of their new born Lord. Johnny was ten years old, and had read the New Testament, but the grand old story had never borne such significance to him as this life-like representation of the stable at Bethlehem. In the meantime the minister had come out and was ad- dressing the people. His words were plain and simple, appealing to the hearts of the humblest there: and Johnny turned from the attractive sight to listen. The good man dwelt on the joyful anniversary that was approaching, and entreated his hearers to come to Him on the eve of His birthday, and lay their sins and sorrows at His feet, and He would surely heed and help them. The words sunk deep in Johnny’s heart, and when the minister had retired, and the people were fast leaving the church, Johnny went close to the altar, and kneel- ing down, murmured audibly: “Oh, dear, kind Jesus, I’m not a very good boy, but you know mother is awful good,eand loves you very much. Will you send her some money to buy coal and pay | the rent?” Johnny paused, and a wild thought of the window where hung that lovely sled ‘for a moment distracted him, but a more unselfish thought prevailed, and he bravely closed his prayer without adding his own desires. In a plainly furnished apartment, in a very humble tenement-house, sat a woman of about thirty. She had been sewing, but the daylight had faded, and she sat looking out at the wintry twi- light. She, too, had listened to the chimes of old Trinity with a dull fore- boding at her heart. Not many more times she told herself would she listen to the familiar sound. Privation and over- work were doing their work on her weakening frame, and all she could do, added to her boy’s small earnings, was | insufficient to provide their small neces- |sities. And the widow sighed bitterly as | she thought how very friendless were her | boy and herself in that great city. | May Warren wasa pious woman, and | knew where to seek comfort, but a yearn- ing desire filled her heart on this Christ- |mas Eve to know where to find her only living relative. Many years had passed ;since her only brother had gone West, where he had married and settled. Life had seemed to prosper with him, but his letters had grown cold and infrequent, until they finally ceased altogether. Per- haps he was dead. And Mrs. Warren’s tears dropped through her clasped fingers as she thought of the brother who was once so loving and kind to his only sister. But the widow was too poor to sit in idle indulgence of grief, so she arose and lighted the small lamp, and prepared the simple evening meal, wondering the while why Johnny was so late. Just then steps were heard in the lower passage, and the sound of a man’s voice was heard talking to one of the tenants. The steps approached, and a knock sounded at the door, which Mrs. Warren opened, and a stranger entered. For one breathless second the two stood gazing at each other, and then John Wilders was clasping the hands of the sister he had neglected so long, while she, poor thing, was sobbing hysterically. We left Master Johnny on his way home from the church jafter offering his characteristic prayer. | Some strange fascination led him rather | out of his way—to take one more look at jthat lovely sled—but alas!—he was doomed to disappointment, for the places were vacant where he had seen the sled and skates; some: one’ had purchased them, and poor Johnny heaved a sigh as he envied the happy boy who would pos- sess them. But then, he had sold all his papers, and with the unquestioning faith of child- hood, Johnny implicitly believed that his prayer would be answered, and his mother obtain relief. So, stuffing his cold hands in his pockets, and gayly whistling a popular melody, our hopeful young hero soon reached his home. But what had come to his poor home to make it so bright? And I am sorry to say that Johnny’s covetous eyes went straight ast his mother, sitting so happy-looking yeside the bearded stranger of the hotel to the far corner of the room, where—no, he was not mistaken—there was the identical sled and skates, the sight al- most taking Johnny’s breath away. That was the merriest Christmas Eve that Johnny. had ever known, and the next day, when the bells were calling the people to worship the Saviour whose birthday it was, Johnny went to church, and in a quaint boyish fashion thanked the blessed Saviour who had so promptly answered his prayer, and, he religiously believed, had added that sled and skates, ——__~>_0-o__——- BOTTOM OF THE SEA. It is a curious fact that the precise na- ture of the mud which is formed at thé hottom of the sea has been only recently determined. It is found, on analysis, to consist of organic matter, more or less decomposed, interspersed with minute round bodies about sixteen one-hundreths of an inch in diameter. These bodies have been called coceospheres and cocco- lites, and are so set in the mud as to re- semble mosaic work. Some of these look under the microscope like thick watch- glasses. Immense numbers of minute shells are also found. The mud is exces- sively sticky, being rendered so by minute pellets of a jelly-like consistency. These pellets are dotted all over their surfaces, and are found to contain great numbers of granules, from one-four-thousandth to one-twenty-thousandth of an inch in diameter; they are, undoubtedly, organic in their character, forming, perhaps, one of the representatives of the assumed ground between plants and animals. en — — “| IEUTENANT CAREY’s LUCK,” by Lieut, Lounsberr ~, will commence in No. 37, 560 Puzzle Corner. eevee {Original contributions sore “Ple ase do not send puzzles containing obsolete words. Address, fs ae uzzie Editor” Goop News, New York City, P. O. Box 2734.) eeudtis No. 1—HUbDEN Ciry. Daniel did not stay in the lion’s den very long. CLIME 8, 2—WORD SQUARE. 1 One who lives in a monastery. 2 A sign. > Latin for no one. 4 A tie. No, ~NUMERICAL ENIGMA. I ee . compose d of 30 letters. My 12, 13, 1, 21, 2, ¢ 5 is surprise. My 3, 4,8, Tis a girls name. My 17, 9, 23. 25, 20, 26, 28, 19, 18 is being in error. My 27, 2is a pronoun. My 29, 30, 21 is queer. My 14, 15, 16, 11 is reality. My 10, 22, 18 is the opposite of no. My 6, 7, 11 is an animal. My whole is an old proverb. No, No. A. T. LIVINGSTONE, ELIZA WALSH, 5—DIAMOND. 1 A consonant. 2 To hurt. 3 Plural of male. 4 A city of Canada, 5 To repair. 6 Did sit. 7 A consonant, S. Lick. No. 5—ABSENT VOWELS. G——d N—ws sh——ld b— r——d b— b——s —nd g—rls —n th — —n—t—d st—t—s, EDGAR PILI, JR. i No. 6—CRYPTOGRAM. Kyv uffijkvg kf kyv kvdgen fw nzjufd zt befncvuxv fw fli fne zxefiretv. SILVER CITy. No. 7—WoORD SQUARE. A knavish fellow. 2 A drink. ‘lo worship. ‘To immerse. A torked instrument used by clothiers. FRED E. HAYMER. 3 4 5 8—DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 1 A high, rocky place, A part in music. Sung by one person. To choose, Part of an arrow. A grand division. A New England city, A man’s name, Primals and finals, read down, hame popular games. Do U. C No. 9—REBUS. No. Answers to Puzzles i NI 34 Good News. pees No. 1— Saratoga. No, 2— No. 3— Book-case. W—heel. W—omen., A—void. F—eel. Deer—Reed. Tears—Stare. Cat—Act. Mate—Tame, Note—Tone. Salt—Slat—Last, 8 NOT SOLES TEN Ss Mis—siss—ippi—Mississippl. Ark—an-—-saw—Arkansaw. Mis—sour—i— Missouri. Minnie—sot—a—Minnesota, Louis—i—anna—Louisiana. Collar—a—do—Colorado. Ten—S—E—Tennessee, Horse-chestnut, ATTIRE Ss A i 8S R I A L YEASTY 1 Crews, cruise. 2 Fair, fare. 8 Feat, feet. 4 I, eye, ay, No, 10-— Lincoln. ANSWER TO REBUS IN NO, 84. Keep respectable company, be honest, avoid drinking, and success will attend you. GOOD NEWS. WAETINGS FROM THE WINGS. ONE AGT DRAMA NRE E £ 4 é. a { li, +4 yy yu ia } im. LEADING SS LADY. = ESTO Re a SUCCESS THHMATRICAL. DRI TL. Short Stops. Wauat is that which, “ty losing an eye, has only a nose left? A noise. A MuFF—a thing that holds a young lady’s hand without squeezing it. WirH what poet ought a man disfigured by fire | Studs: to be THe fellow who lectured on butter doubtless thought he was making a “spread.” familiar? Burns, | | THovuew a bad habit be thrice destroyed, yet ' will it spring into life from its own ashes, WE never do anything well until we realize our own worth, and nothing extra good until we for: get it. “l’p rather be excused,” answered little Dick, when a maiden aunt, in the neighborhood of thirty-five, asked him to kiss her. THE following is given as a flreman's toast: “The ladies—the only incendiaries who kindle a flame which water will not extinguish.” How natural it is to dislike those people who step so lightly that you don’t know they are in the house until they are standing beside you. Tne difference between a man's being out of temper and out of money is, that when he’s out of money he shows the least of it, but when he’s out of temper he shows the most of it, AFTER the clergyman had united a happy patr, not long ago, an awful silence ensued, which was | broken by the impatient youth exclaiming, “Don’t be so ‘unspeakably’ happy !” You are apt to think that to-morrow will be better than to-day, but to-morrow will have to- day’s annoyances. It depends upon yourself whether you are better able to stand them. “Wat advice would you give to a young man who was contemplating matrimony ?” asked a young man of his bachelor uncle. 4 ‘‘l should advise him to keep on contemplating t.” Ir there is anything calculated to make even a} man of the most rugged constitution nervous, it is to have two or three children standing around sating bread and jam when he has a new black sult on. “T HAVE assau.ted you, and you will have to brook the Insult,” said a little man to a big one. “T will brook you,” said the big one, taking him up, and tossing him into the middle of a stream close by. “Any butter to-day, sir?” asked a boy who was peddling that article. “Ts it clean?” asked the customer. “Why, certainly it is,” replied the peddler, “my mother has just finished pulling the hairs out.” A MAN out West who married a widow has in- vented a device to cure her of “eternally” praising her former husband, Whenever she begins to descant on his noble qualities, this ingenious number two merely says: ‘‘Poor dear man! How I wish he had nov died !” A poor Irishman, who had just landed in Liver- pool, seeing a crowd of people approaching, asked what was the matter. He was answered, a man was going to be buried. “Oh,” replied he, “Ill stop’ to see that, for we carry them to be buried in our country.” A WONDERFUL flower has been discovered in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. Its chief peculiarity is the habit of changing its colors during the day, In the morning It is white ; when the sun is at its zenith it is red, and at night it is blue. The red, white, and blue flower grows on a tree about the size of a guava tree, and only at noon does it give outjany perfume, — | THE other morning, at a railroad station, an old lady asked for a ticket. “Single ?” asked the pale-looking clerk. ‘Tt ain’t any of your business, young man,” she replied. “I might ha’ been married a dozen times, if I’d felt like providing for some poor shift- less wreck of @ man!” That poor clerk! ey Sambo, SAY, where did you git de shirt oN “In de shop, to be sure.” “Yah; you just told me you hadn’t no money.” “Dat’s right.” “Flow did you git ’em den ?” “Well, 1 saw on a card in de window, studs,’ so 1 went in and collared ’em.” ‘collar A YANKEE, going down the street, met an Irish- man. ‘Mike, do you know that I can beat any man in town seeing ?” said he. “Can ye?” asked Mike. ‘Well, even, for I can out-hear any one.” “Well,” continued the Yankee, pointing to a very high steeple, “I can see a fly walking on the top of that steeple,” “Och! an’ 1can’t see him,” said Mike; “but I can hear him tread !” ao | Our Mail Be Bag. [Questions on subjec ts of general interest only are dealt with in the ‘Mail Bag.” Medical or legal questions not answered, Goop Nrws goes to press two weeks in advance of date of publication, and thore fore answers cannot appear un il two or three weeks after we receive them. Communie ations intended for this column should be addressed “Goop NrEws” Mail Bag, P. O. Box 2734, New ee ity. J thin, we are G. F. @. (Detroit, Mich.) Sexe: W. C. (Columbus, Ind.)—One year. rs J. D. (Oakdale, Pa.)—We a cannot accept your kind omer Nameless (Anniston, Ala.)—We are not in need of any stories W. B. Jersey City, N. J.)- coupons. C. P. (Valparaiso,*Tnd.) coupons. QO. C. A. (Malone, N. opinion. C. W. B. (Detroit, Mich.)—December 8, 1874, fell on Tuesday. -You omitted to send us -Your letterZreceived without . ¥.)—We thank you for your kind C. S. L. (St. Louis, Mo.)—You write a very good busi- ness hand. W. A. B. (Chicago, I1.)— premiums. W. M. (Troy, N. Y.)—Money exchanges not inserted in this column. T. IL. M. (Margaretville, N. ¥.)—Back numbers will cost you five cents each. D. HB. M. (Frankfort, O.)—Write to A. V. Benoit, 148 Fulton street, New York. Coupons are always zood for T. L. B. (Charleston, 8. C.—When you send puzzles please forward the answers. A. C. G. (St. Louis, Mo.)—Oysters live to the age of from twelve to fifteen years. W. B. (New Haven, Conn.)—You will find list of Goop News Lrprary in this issue. J. C. H. (New York.)—An average reader gets through four hundred words a minute. A, F. F. Jr. (Turner’s Falls, Mass.)—Christmas num- ber was published December 6. W. L. W. (Toledo, O.)\—You will find the desired in- formation in coin book sent you. W. HH. B. (Philadelphia, Pa.)—“Lay figures” are wooden images;with free joints, used by artists, chiefly cor the er of drapery. This is a me taphorical use of the word “lay,” artists dividing their models into two classes—the living and ‘the lay. ‘The ir tet origin of the designation is that ‘these figures can be ee ; laid or placed in any position in some whats the if” manner as the flesh-and-blood. models, Laity, eo de ing the people as distinguished from the clergy» ; rived from the Greek word laos, the people. ne , M. S. (Denver, Col.)—There are said to be 13,00 y ent kinds of postage stamps in the world.» out qi H. L. K. (Sencea Falls, N. Y.)—Accept thanks 10s kind favor. Only three books were intende@ oe ’ H. 7. W. @ast Brookfield.)—The surveyors ‘in 4 ment, is the ground-work of civil e spgineering. ¥ sw! C. H. (Chicago, Il.) ill be § n “Short Talks With the Boys,” we Heman M. (Boonville.)—Please name, address, and names of books you ¥ ps ' T. J. B. (Albany, N. Y.)\—We_ cannot furni oul Goop News Binder without the lettering f side cover. Your que stions W in afew us your send ue it sent (Evansville, and, therefore, we Upper Street, sign your name, pre miums. A R. (Albany, N. Y)—St. Nicholas, the path ed of Russia, was a native of Asia Minor. hop of My™ many good and pious works, and died Bis in 326. A. S. (New York.)—The article you ni teresting, but we do not think it entirely ? therefore, could not credit it to you if We lish it. German Count (New York -city)—OF | population of the United States taken 6,580,793 are colored, 105,613 Chinese, and 6 ilized Indians. L. S. D. (Buffalo, N. Y.)—We derive, tne itt Sunday from the Saxon word Witte, Sie wisdom imparted to the Apostles by th them of the Holy Spirit. du 1 W. F. G. (St. Paul, Minn.)—You did not Fo Ben un any me pons, and, therefore, we did not sel as. p te mium. We willsend three premium b00 ceipt of twelve coupons. mentirt oc ‘ou enn0 Grit (Lockport, N. Y.)—1. The author ¥ ot bt 0 may write for Goop News at some future by 3 poral at present. 2. We will commence @ sto Alger in afew weeks. 3. We hope 80. J. W. S. (Philadelphia, Pa.)—Your weight average. You need more exercise, practic if bells every morning ; after school pours, 17° i find any outdoor work, exercise by W# ton “ - ie ee W. HZ. K. (Philade ‘phi 1, Pa.)—In rl an 1 a a steamboat on the Hudson River, B x ut ord and named “ The North River.” It i es rec?! to Albany. This is the first steam st a gts P. E. (La Grange, Ind.)—The new Unitt ted vessel Maine, launched Noy. 18.1 tha ted 19 Ind.)—¥ use j send usis ve ’ ind bal ees, Vol. es os, ween e the ist a tb tae pn can? UST cruiser in the American Navy, and will al for a good fight, at least, with any thi der any flag. te e 88 t A. P, (Detroit, Mich.)—1. It is nob BEC 0 af yearly subscriber to receive the Id nrooatl al change column. 2. The paper pA inder you on the day mentioned. 3. The fifty-two copies. Par Chicago, Tl.)—The longest day nineteen hours at St. Petersburg, 5 Hamburg, sixteen and one-fourt thre fifteen hours at New York, and months at Spitzbergen. Jim Ridley (Red Bank, consisted of 8,000 in a square joined, and spears crossing each ec formed by Philip of Mace don, Ca ; the 4 phalanx, was formed by him 306 B. sit is a Ge of the os seventet, 10 Greek J.)—The jod me, bata ee ‘io | 4 a Re ui Lillie D. (Sacramento. Cal. ae eae magnificent water-lily tuken_to a nd potas’. by Sir Robert Schomburg, in 18: t the BotrronD the queen. Five specimens ah =a tt was dens, at Kew, Regent's Park, the open air in 1855. Nellie K (Buftalo, N. Y.)—Th lated into the Saxon language iD i ar language, by ‘Tindal and Cover was in 3 authorized edition in England war ia translation was ordered to be re ad ned i The present translation was finishe ister iz Grit. (New York.) —The Ame rican Mina, § is Ezekiel E. Smith, from Nor uh fornid § a Japan—John F. Swift, from Call diandy. 8 inia: SM China—Charles Denby, from 1 Pent psy the UP Roumaina—A, L. Snowden, bie sth jon $6,500. ‘The address of Foreign poste States is Washington. D. C val foe ‘ E. B. H. (Baltimore, Md.)—12 our a : t we announced that we would ited d mje Po # who guessed the correct stane fhe “ta ach ne wow National and Players’ League. ; who would win the champions’, pelt i ber: arge > nub! ble e Bin o tae leagues did not appear to bea v' our readers, as we received @ “phe! finn.) (yoton W. E. J. G. (Minneapolis, 3 great wonders in Ameeie “ly name inde New York city; F airmont APake largest park in the world; Leb lake in the world; Mauimot! Niagara Falls. three-quarte rs 0) ab of 175 foeti Hatare i Albany, ii, NeW ginia; State Capitol, at Ave a rk i ' 4 Brooklyn Bridge; the Centré ea ies aa Washington Monument een a, , aD -_ high; Yosemite Valley, Califor 1 Os JOE re | terville, a valley Frost vight to andy one mile wide. aol sa oe Puzzles Accepted.—F. A. Durt Der Mamie Hay, Wm. T, Harrisom,, che ont J. Irving, Fred C. ‘Tompkins, © J. Downing. ea , Nene Ds on Os i et nc inde FIT, ot poi oo Dn