St % S 5 3 BBO E 5 [hgs. Men were grooming the sorry-| The one member of the company which | “If they could have just one day of ings, and a grotes ey Spee h “ X : { Nete™: \ \ Be \ \ S aaa VB? : e Say Fs ‘4 \ N MAG a SS < IG Wooly) TELS <= fered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1891, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D.C. Entered as Second-class Matter at the New Yorl:, N. Y., Post-Office, March 14, 1891. Vol. 2. ; iy Romanian EGDobST Sins. New York, March 14, 1891. FIVE CENTS PER Cory. No. A5, Wee ee neat ne nem eet ae maternal a ere oF ue heehee nnareetaetee™ anne aetna esta ste ee Fast aetee® Peet ot ee eta nten®, Subscription Price, $2.50 per Year. [This Story will not be Published in Book-Form.] SLAVES OF THE CIRCUS; The Royal Amphitheatre. ||| By WALTER MORRIS. Author of “Joe the Call-Boy,” ‘“Ihe Clown’s Protege,” ‘ Kirk Sheldon’s Mine,” etc. — —<—— SS SS =k: CHAPTER I. was the proprietor, would arrive at a }! THE ROYAL AMPHITHEATER. very early hour. ows Half a hundred of them walked two IAN N a certain day in June past every | or three miles down the road to meet the AAA ee fellow in the town of Norwich was | circus, and felt fully repaid for the exer- }\PA\y, { perfectly well aware that the} cise when they saw on the bank of the “AS Royal Amphitheater and Colossal | river a troop of elephants being washed gerecation, whereof Jacob Howe, Esq., | and bedecked with bespangled velvet trap ti | | Tl HH] { MOAT iI , mM i PA Wii) UMMM LLL i) -RUBE-RUBE ! ON HI —= sy oe yy shy Wi WY Y WITHOUT THE SLIGHTEST HESITATION, NEAL WALKED PAST THE TERRIFIED EMPLOYEES, AND THREW HIS ARM AROUND THE TIGER’S NECK ! ane hat, approached the Dro q ing steeds, and concealing their too] attracted the spectators’ attention was a} this life they would want to hunt some- | vehicle, as he crie } Ute inent ribs with parti-colored blank- | sleepy-looking boy on the box of a can-| where else for their fun,” the lad on the | Come, Neal, me boy, faith an’ it’s time Iy,.°f decorating them with faded | vas wagon. : | wagon muttered to himself, and settled ye were gettin’ ready for the grand pa- fitmes, The dirty canvas coverings were | “There’s a lucky fellow. I wonder if| down once more for a nap, when a tall, rade.’ : : ana removed from the gilded chariots, | he rides a horse in the ring?” one of the/ good-natured looking Irishman, clad in a | What have I got to do this morning? telve © performers were arraying them- lookers-on said. “I’d sooner be with a/crimson velvet jacket, top-boots, which | was the petulant question. 8 in tawdry finery. circus than own Ben Chapman’s store.” | partially concealed a pair of soiled flesh-| “Sure an’ Misther Howe says ye’ll be ‘ advice ye'll hurry up a bit, for it’s time 706 after ridin’ the spotted pony. The gintle- min who attinds to the ..wardrobe: is waitin’ to.rig ye out,-an’ by takin’=my we were starting.” The boy, who answered to the name of Neal Dunlap, clambered down from the wagon, and with many a yawn, went toward the rear of the caravan, where he was greeted by a burly, red-faced man, who cried: “Come! Hurry up! Do you propose to keep the whole show waiting just be- cause you want an extra nap?” “Tt isn’t an extra one [I’m after, but a chance to shut my eyes once without being in danger of tumbling off the wagon. I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” “Well, there’s more than you in the same box, an’ they ain’t grumblin’ about it either. Jump into this costume, an’ get on the spotted pony as quick as possible, if you don’t want the old man around with a sharp stick.” A rude semblance of armor, made of cotton cloth and silver spangles, was handed Neal, and, after putting it on outside his own clothes, he went forward to where the spotted pony was awaiting a rider. Half an hour later the Royal Amphi- theater was making its way through the principal street of the village, while Neal fought desperately against the sleepiness which threatened to overcome him, for the spotted pony was a danger- ous beast, ready at any time to give his rider a fling in the mud. When the tenting-ground was reached, and the huge canvas had been erected, Neal, divesting himself of his armor, tried once more to gain the needed rest. Before he could so much as close his eyes the tall Irishman approached, and said, as he seized him by the arm: “Come wid me, lad. Faith an* I’ve got a spot picked out where you an’ [ kin have a quiet little chat, which is more’n we’ve had for many a day.” Then without waiting for a response he led the boy to the rear of the animal’s cages. “Are you going to sleep, here, signor?” Neal asked, drowsily. “If yez will call me Mike I’ll answer; but it’s tired I am of that Eytalian han- dle tacked onto me name, an’ I’ll have no more ay it from this day out.” “But it’s printed on the bills ‘Signor Fausta, sword-swallower and contortion- ¢ > 7 ist. “Faith an’ I know it, lad. Haven't I seen thim same outlandish letters starin’ me in the eye ivery where I go till it makes me think av the first night I spint on the ship what brought me out from the ould country? It’ll be Mike Foster betwixt you an’ I, for it’s @ name more than wan has heard at Donnybrook to his cost.” “Very well, we'll have it Mike, if you choose. Now, why did you bring me here?” “Tt’s a matter that’s bin troublin’ me these last two weeks, an’ I mane this same show. It’s in a bad way, lad.” “How so?”” “Can't yez see that we’re tumblin’ to ieces intirely? Haven’t the performers Fin lavin’ us at ivery town till the Royal Amphitheater is hardly more’n a skili- ton? Didn't they go because the wages couldn’t be collected? And by that same token I’m stayin’, for if Jacob Howe, Esq., iver gits shut av a man it’s precious little av his money that’ll be seen.” “A good many of the people have left, that’s a fact,” Neal said, slowly; “but we still go on giving shows.” “Av course we do. Let the ould man lay on his oars for a week, an’ the sheriff would nail him so fast he’d niver git away. It’s the big railroad shows that's killin’ thim what travels on wheels. We make a brave display av posters; but that’s the ind av it. There’s only one famale equestrian lift, an’ by the way she’s carryin’ on I’m thinkin’ we’ll soon lose her intirely. It’s but a week gone since Professor Kunkel wint, an’ yer- self’s* bin forced to give exhibitions av tiger tamin’. D’ye think he’d broke wid the show, if it hadn’t bin in a bad way?” Neal laughed heartily, as he exclaimed: “It’s only Beauty’s cage I go into, and she wouldn’t hurt any one she knows. I’ve fed her ever since I’ve been with the show, and get along with her even better than the professor did.” “True for yez, lad; but at the same time there’s no tellin’ whin a baste like her may turn rusty. It isn’t safe, an’ I’d maintain that same, if the ould man Howe stood here this blissed minute.” To Neal the business of going into the tiger’s cage was no more dangerous than to fondle a common cat, for she had been born in captivity, and never displayed any signs of ill-temper. “T’d be satisfied if that was the hardest work L had to do,” he said, with a laugh; “but accordin’ to your idea: we’ll soon be sucking our thumbs for lack of something better, unless prospects brighten.” ; “Now yer spakin’ the truth, an’ whin the time comes that the Royal Amphi: | theater is swallowed up by debt, it’s wid Gooyp Mike Foster you'll be goin’. I’ve me eye on a place where yez kin earn a dacint livin’-instead av galivantin’ around wid a circus.” “T’ll be only too glad when that mo- ment comes, for one week of this travel- ing is enough to satisfy any fellow—— | ca Hello! Are they letting people in al- ready?” Neal pointed to the opposite side of the tent where stood an odd-looking young girl not more than fourteen years of age, dressed in the quaintest fashion with an ancient bonnet, a cape evidently intended for a very fleshy person, and a bright green dress which only half-concealed a pair of dilapidated shoes. Despite this costume the girl’s face was attractive, and “Signor Fausta” gazed in evident admiration several moments be- fore he said: “The wind must have blown her down from the mountains, an’ she’s landed here by mistake. I’ll be after showin’ the child out ginteelly before some av thim canvas-min frighten the wits from her intirely.” The good-natured Irishman walked across the newly-made ring, spoke a few words which caused the girl to look around in alarm, and then the two started slowly toward the entrance. “While he is gone I may as well get my nap,” Neal said to himself; but before he could lie down acry of alarm came from the main entrance,: and springing for- ward he distinguished the words: “Where’s.that boy? The tiger is out of her cage!” In an instant he was standing where he could sée the cause of the uproar. The tiger’s cage was second from the main entrance in the circle of wagons, and he understood that the shaky bolts had slipped during the journey, allowing the beast to free herself with but little difficulty. She stood half-way between the ring and the entrance looking bewildered, and the terrified employees were making all pos- sible haste to get out of the tent. At the first alarm Mike caught up the little girl, and clambered with her on to the monkey wagon. Outside the tent could be heard a con- fused medley of cries and shouts for the proprietor or the boy, until the din seemed to frighten even the animal. Neal considered the huge beast as an overgrown house-cat, rather than any- thing ferocious. ’ Without the slightest hesitation he walked toward her, and it looked very. much as if the tiger, not the boy, needed a protector. She arched her back and actually rubbed against him as, throwing his arms over her neck, he led her to the cage. “Jump in, Beauty, there’s nothing here to hurt you,” he cried, and she leaped at once. An instant later the shaky bolts were shoved into their fastenings, and Neal stood in front of the cage talking to his et. : At this point the bullet-like head of Mr. Howe protruded nervously from be- tween the folds of canvas at the entrance, and Mike shouted: “Vez kin come in now, Mister Howe. The lad has handled the baste as cleverly as a basket of eggs, an’ by that same token your precious body is in no danger, if you venture widin the canvas.” Then the worthy proprietor, somewhat ashamed of his cowardice, stepped boldly in as Mike assisted the young girl down from her lofty perch. “How did it happen?” the great man asked, sternly, as if fancying Neal had been at fault. “Sure, an’ it was all the trouble of the ould cage,” Mike replied, promptly. “It’s been in a bad way this many a day like a good many other things.” Very likely Mr. Howe understood ex- actly what the Irishman intended to con- vey; but he pretended not to have heard the words, and busied himself with an inspection of the bolts, CHAPTER II, JUNE’S OPPORTUNITY, “oot R. HOWE’S examination of the N/\| worn fastenings required quite a J >YY) long time, during which Neal re- —SS>y mained standing at a respectful distance, until a light touch on his arm caused him to look around. “Why, you are as brave as the biggest man. lever saw, and it’s a wonder that lion didn’t chew you all to pieces.” It- was the girl who had spoken, and Neal laughed, as he replied: “That isn’t a lion. It’s only Beauty, and she was frightened almost as much as the men were. By going right up, and speaking. kindly you could have sent her back. into. the cage.” “I wouldn’t like to try it,” was_ the re- ply, as she looked timidly at the huge cat, who kept her eyes fixed upon the boy as if to assure herself she had # friend in the immediate vieinity, , NEWS. : During a few moments neither the boy nor the girl spoke, and then as several of the employees eame into the tent to.sat- isfy themselves that there was no further danger, Neal asked as he unconsciously led the visitor to the rear of Beauty’s ge: “How did you get in here? The can- vas-men ought to have stopped you, for strangers are not allowed inside until the cireus begins,” “Is that so? Then Is’pose I’d better walk right out again,” the girl said, with a’ show of mingled timidity and awkward- ness, “The tent was open, an’ nobody around, solcamein. I never saw @ cir- cus before,’an’ couldn't. have paid for this, so made up my mind to get all that was going for nothing.” Neal laughed heartily at the tone rather than the words, and fastened to say:: “You needn’t hurry now; I was only wondering where the canyas-men were. What’s your name?” “June.” “June?” “Just June, that’s all. Old Miss Foss tries to. make me say June Foss, but I won’t.” “You’re bound to be somebody besides June, though.” “T.s’pose L.am;-but.no.one knows: who. I must have been an awful bad baby, for my folks leftme with Farmer Littlefield a good many years ago. When he died I hung around till Miss Foss wanted some- body to wash the dishes, and took me in; but I won’t stay much longer.” “Where are you going?” “T don't know; but I'll find a chance some where. Just look at these clothes! Wouldn’t you think they came out of the ark? Miss Foss thinks, they’re too stylish for anything, an’ wasn’t going to let me wear the green dress to-day, so. I put it on when she went outand here I am with all the fixings. Have’ you always. been with this show?” “Indeed I haven’t,” Neal replied, quick- ly. “I used to run errands. for a lawyer; but didn’t. earn..more’n -enough-for the poorest kind of board, and had to shinney around for my clothes. When the Royal Amphitheater came to town I thought it would be awful nice to travel with a cir- cus, so asked Mr. Howe to give me a job.” “T s’pose you earn lots of money.” “That’s where you make a mistake,” Neal replied, with a laugh, as if the idea was very comical. “I’ve been with the show seven weeks and received two dol- lars. Of course, I didn’t have to pay any board, and a fellow don’t need many fine clothes when he’s riding around. on a can- vas-wagon.” “Two dollars! Why, that’s a great deal of money! Do you think you could earn more?” and the girl looked up, as if be- lieving the amount extravagantly large. “Perhaps it’s all I deserve,” he replied ; “but a little less than thirty cents a week seems pretty small wages. June stood for a moment as if in deep thought, and.then said abruptly: “TI wish I could go with a circus so’s to get away from Miss Foss, and the people who are all the time telling me what a sight of trouble I am.” “You wouldn’t want to be with a show very long,” Neal replied, and before he aay speak again a voice from the rear said: “Perhaps she would like it better than you think, young man. At all events, I fancy she nes grateful if anything was done for her.” It was the proprietor of the Colossal Aggregation, who, unnoticed, by the others, had drawn near enough to over- hear the conversation, and the sound of the man’s voice was sufficient to silence Neal. That e owner of the circus should consider it worth his while to notice such an ode sppest girl, filled the boy with surprise nearly bordering on bewilderment, and he stepped back a few paces, as the gentleman asked: “Where are your parents?” “If you mean my father and mother, I don’t know anything about them,” the girl replied in a tone of impatience. “Miss Foss says she’s been almost a arent to me; but I’d like to have some- ody boss her around the same way; then she’d find out how nice it is.” “Ts she your only relative?” “She ain’t any relation at all, and hasn’t the right to say what I must do.” The proprietor turned toward “Signor Fausta” to end the conversation, as Neal believed; but the first words spoken con- vinced him of his mistake: “That girl looks smart as a whip, sig- nor, and according to my way of thinking would, work into the business mighty quick. Not bad looking, if she had on good clothes.” “Ts it takin’ her wid us you’re thinkin’ of?” Mike asked, in surprise. “Well, to tell the truth, the circus. is sadly deficient. in female performers. She might. be taught. to act. after a couple of weeks’ training, and we could bill her as the ‘Infant Prodigy.’ At present Made- moiselle Jeanette is the only eqtestrienno left, and ehe’s beginning to fancy that ett pretty nearly the entire receipts should be paid her as salary.” Mike thought if Mademoiselle Jeanette reeéived no more on her salary account than he did on his, she had .good cause to complain, but he said: “T’d be after finding out if she states ~ the truth, before makin’ the trade, or yeZ . . ‘ ’ might get into a pretty mess. by takin her away.” “T’ll make it my business to’see to that part‘of it. Keep your eyes open to pre vent her from giving us the slip.” Then turning to June, he added: “Tf you want to travel with: a circus, and are willing to learn to ride, you shal have the opportunity.” _ The gentleman then left the tent, and June stood gazing after him in open mouthed astonishment because of the pede fortune she believed was about to be ners. Obeying the commands given, Mike kept close beside the girl, and in order t0 be entertaining led her from cage to cage explaining in his voluble way, oftentimes inaccurately, the peculiarities of the dif- ferent animals. : So far as June herself was concerned these efforts were needless, for she would have. been. perfectly satisfied to wander from.one..tent to another; ane indefimite time with nevera thought of returmi®Z to her unhappy hone: — : When Mike went to the hotel for dil ner, Neal assumed the duties of guardi@” and on the former’s return the Jrishma® made what both the young people thoug a Very important statement. ‘d “June is to stay wid. us,” he, salve “Mister Howe has been after talkin’ 1 ould Miss Foss, an’ fixed the scheme tirely. I’m thinkin’ he paid a tidy bit 0 money for her sarvices;.but that’s nather *twixt you nor me. She’s to go ul e Mrs. Wilson’s wing, an’ to-morre mornin’ the ring-master will give her lesson.” ¥ Then Mike led the way to the dressivs” tents where Mrs.. Wilson, mistress 0 be wardrobe. and.wife.of..the ring-master was busily engaged repairing some 9 t bespangled costumes. ok June’s scrutiny of her new guardiim was evidently satisfactory. A. mother yi looking little woman. she was, on although her garments were travel-stalne hi and considerably worn, one could JU 8 that she lacked’ only the opportunity be neat and cleanly. ild “T don’t approve of allowing 3 Aas like this to travel with a circus, Mr Wilson said, after Mike repeated is Howe’s instructions. “Such a life cae enough to killa grown person, ane in & parents can permit a young girl to Io show beats me.” une’ “Faith she has no parents, ™mé@ oer Mike explained. “She’s been Tumi, wild loike a colt in a ten-acre pastur an’ though business is none 00 , Fhe wid the Royal Amphitheater, she} no worse off than in this same towD\irs. “No parents, poor child!” and a inl’ Wilson put her arms around the, une neck and kissed her affectionately, pips was well content to brave the hardsi™ of circus life in such company. __. There was no reason why Mik@ ince Neal should linger, more especially © ei they were in the tent where mais ag, bers of the company are seldom allow ce she wes former said as he turned t0 is departure: . ve We'll be goin’ now, me child; but ia fons lavin’ the town Vil come back 10w you’re gettin’ along.” , , rae wanke fully occupied with Mis Wilson that she only nodded her men adieu, and the two went into t tence agerie tent, where Neal, under Beauty 3 of making certain the bars_on ei yjated cage were securely fastened, spea pave as to the effect June’s coming wou j upon the circus in general and hi particular. itor OF Mike went out to watch the vie de- the grounds, and the main tent 1 aning serted, save by Neal, who, i deeP against the wheel of the wasn n bis thought, had unconsciously hid@e? acs, self from view of those who might Pevare After a few moments he became ¢ d that two men had entered; but °& chem no attention to the fact until ON® ©) jm 10 said in a tone sufficiently loud for hear: ot ty 200% “Unless business picks up Pre ance Ct Howe will make the acquala\y4'p some sheriff, and although we time © get a very big haul, there’s ? f lose.” ae that oA Neal recognized the voice a | notte Sim Thomas, Mademoiselle erly pee? husband, a man who had omy ; in charge of the horses; but, ovis ree, intemperate habits, Mr. Howe ©," )6 wa him several weeks previous, now what is known as a “ ange “Tt don’t seem worth while °0, 0 jjate, many risks ‘on the sake of i W an the ex-hostler’s companlo e this time Neal failed to recOBh in any voice. “I wouldn’t say @ wore os @ fa plan you’ve made if, there change for a big stake: + 4 DR i , . Sale dit ane”: ild tes 4 GOoOoD NHEwWsés. 2707. “There won’t be less than three or fou, hundred dollars in the ticket-wagon afte_ ithe show opens, no matter how bad busi ness is,” Thomas replied, “and it may count up pretty large. If we want to make a strike it must be done now or not at.all.” “Well, how are you. calculatin’ on get- tin’ at the stuff?” “I have a plan figured out,” Sim said, lowering his voice to a yet fainter tone, and then the two men passed on toward the dressing-tent; thus preventing the boy from hearing more of the conversation. Neal peered around the corner of Beauty’s cage, but without getting any additional information. The second man was a total stranger, and, after some thought, the boy said to himself: “T’ll tell Mike about it to-night, and he can take the responsibility of going to Mr. Howe.” By the time this conclusion was arrived at the doors hail been opened for the afternoon’s performance, and it was nec- essary he should make all haste to pre- pare for the grand entree. Thus there was no opportunity to speak with “Signor Fausta,” although this did not trouble Neal very much, because it was hardly probably Thomas would put any plan into immediate execution. . The good people of Norwich were very generous in their patronage. When Neal rode into the ring with the others, the big tent was more nearly full than he had ever seen it, and Mr. Howe had a look of intense satisfaction on his fat face. The boy went through his part of the entertainment without a thought of harm, until a loud uproar from the men- agerie-tent caused the audience and per- formers to start in alarm, ' (TO BE CONTINUED.) SHIFTING WINDS: OR, CRUISE OF THE COAST CANOES. By W. B. LAWSON, Author of ‘‘The Young Duck Hunters,” etc, [“Surrrina Wrnps” was commenced in No. 36. Back Numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.] ange CHAPTER XXXII. TOSSED ABOUT LIKE CORKS. % N hour later the two canoes were moving along the wide Stone River, which, however, soon nar- - rowed as they proceeded, so that they had to finally come down to paddles again, There is a passage from Charleston to Fernandina called the inside route, Steamers ply it almost daily. f course, our friends could follow the ‘ Youte, and the worst they might expect Would be a delay in crossing such broad Seas as St. Catherine’s, Sound, Tybee Roads, and St. Simon’s Sound, where they would have to watch their chance, as some of these waters were nearly ten miles across, with the sea rolling in heavily. They never crossed a bridge until they Came to it, however, and hence did not worry about these anticipated troubles Until they saw what was to be met. Progress was good on this day. At noon they were on the Wadmelaw iver, and when. evening came camped On. the South Edisto, at a point where ey were about to enter a creek, On’ the following day they made an- Other good run, camping a mile or so be- yond Beaufort. They were now really more than half- Way to Savannah, and as yet had met no impediments. ortune ceased favoring them. Port Royal Sound, with its inlet several Mhiles in width, confronted them on the Morning of the twelfth. t was very rough, indeed. ‘ They had the choice of going miles out Of their way in order to get around, or lying to, waiting for the sea to subside. , So they went into camp onan island JUst out of the ship channel, and waited Patiently. uring the balance of the day the sea remained very high, so that it would ave been folly for them to have attempt- ed the passage. During the night the wind went down, 4nd with the morning they found only a fone swell rolling in, which they did not ar, Dreading lest the sea should come up 4gain, they ate their breakfast as speedi- ly as possible, and then the canoes floated bon the heaving bosom of the deep. The paddles urged them on, for as yet there was no wind, but before they had 80ne a mile the breeze came sweeping in, hh with it a nasty sea that tossed the little boats ahout Ifke corks, Our cruisers were in for it, and showed no signs of flinching. They had fastened the aprons around them, so when a wave broke over the canoes it did not enter the cockpits and flood them, They were now more than half-way over Port Royal Sound, and soon the shore line would screen them in a meas- ure from the wind. Then they could breathe easier. “Safe at last!” called out Jerry, as he found the waves less violent, and Paul breathed freely once more. cae had been in peril, and they knew it. Back of Hilton Head Island, in Skull Creek, and close to the mouth of May tiver, they discovered a house which proved to be the habitation of a negro, | the father of a large family. He cultivated the once famous Sea Island cotton, and was worth considera- ble money. As a Slave he had worked in the same fields he now owned. They procured some fresh eggs from the black planter, who came down to their camp after supper and spent the evening with them. They could hardly see land, so rough had the sea become all of a sudden. “Keep close together!” shouted Jerry. Paul knew from this that his compan- ion feared trouble, and his own heart ex- perienced a thrill of alarm as he noted the rolling seas, and the fact that with every minute the wind increased in vio- lence. os was very near the canoe-cruisers then. CHAPTER XXXIII. IN FLORIDA AT LAST, ee ‘7 I was very fortunate for the young I} cruisers that the wind was at their at backs, for had it been otherwise they must certainly have soon met their fate in that raging sea. Every muscle was strained to keep the boats. headed aright, for should they broach to in the trough of the seas all was lost. The wind sent them on, To the right opened up the broad Med- y River, while .on their left lay the | Ww Like most of his race he was delighted | open sea, rolling up the bay and lashing to see any one from the North, for al- though twenty years and more had flown itself into foam. If they could only hold out all would since the colored people were set free, ‘be well. our cruisers found that they had a lively Ahead of them they saw St. Catherine’s recollection of what they owed the North. | Island, well to port, and under which They had seen many very degraded specimens of the African race along the coast, and could well believe that some of | the blacks had gone back to the fetich worship of their ancestors, so that it was really a pleasure’ to converse withan in- telligent man race. He had many stories to tell them con- nected with his slave life, and what he did during the war. They passed a very pleasant evening with this bright colored man, and wished there were only more like him to be met with. On the following day they paddled belonging: to the negro | they hoped to get some shelter from this cold blast. Straining every nerve they drew nearer to the land, and then found they would have difficulty in reaching the shore, on | account of the high sea. On this they allowed themselves to be carried along, hoping to reach the’ nar- row roadway between. the islands. They | seized the first opportunity to dart into |a retreat. It was not the regular steam- boat channel, and boats larger than the canoes might have had some difficulty | passing through. This they soon realized when they came /upon a yacht stuck fast on the mud, havy- across the head of Calibogue. Sound, !ing been blown into this hole by the skirted along tumbled and tossed, and. would have given them much trouble had they. been compelled to cross it as at first intended. Savannah was not reached that night. They got lost in the ereeks near the mouth of the Savannah River, and before they found their bearings again night had come on. Making the most of a bad bargain, they | camped here, and spent a poor night, the | mosquitoes being especially troublesome. | In the morning they set about finding | the way out of the labyrinth, and after considerable difficulty managed to reach the river. Here new trouble awaited them. Wind and tide were against them, and they could make no progress, SO were com- pelled to lie to until flood tide. The wind.changed also, and at two P. M. they tied up at a Savannahdock. Paul went for the mail, and bought | some provisions, which were dumped on the dock at four. Meanwhile, Jerry had made inquiries, but could learn nothing of the Vesper, so he concluded the launch had not yet arrived. They did not care to remain at the city, as a squad of loafers had taken great in- terest in the boats, which they pronounced the “neatest» tricks” they had ever seen, though utterly incredulous when told the boys had come all the way from New | York in such mere shells. By the time they had temporarily | stowed their groceries away, and Jaid in| a stock of fresh water, it was almost night. . Where should they go? Jerry had considered this before when on the way up to Savannah, and had even picked out the camping-ground. 4 Presently the two boats were moving down the river, the current of “which is at times fearfully strong. They managed to avoid flats more by good luck than anything else, and, as darkness set in, drew upon an island, where they pro- ceeded to make themselves comfortable. On the following day they entered a stream below the big island, following the tortuous course of which, they skirted at noon the head waters of a body of, water they presumed was Wassaw Sound. Again they explored the interior be- hind the islands, and at night had Ossa- ban Sound before them. Some fishermen had a big camp-fire on the island, and were pretty noisy during the night, but, as our boys were weary, they slept well. On the following day they reached St. Catherine’s Sound—it. stretched before them broad and rough. They remem- bered their tossing at Port Royal and hesitated, but. the wind seemed.so favor- able that they finally ventured out, Before they had gone a mile they were sorry, for the wind whipped into the North, and blew great guns. Down came the sail in a flash, and out with the paddle, the shore where Tybee | storm. Roads lie, a great body of water that | To their surprise they found her to be the White Wings, of New York, one of the yachts that had preceded them through the draw of the Raritan Bridge, 'and which the keeper had jokingly told them they might be in time to save from a shipwreck, never suspecting how liter- ally true his words were. As the sea here is diminished in force they managed to paddle up to the yacht. She is stuck in a peculiar way, as though on a pivot. If the bow could be swung clear she would float. They could oe anchor down, and all would be well. Unless something is soon done she will be pushed farther up on the mud, and, perhaps, be wrecked. At Jerry’s suggestion ropes are thrown to ‘them, a boat puts’ out, manned by sturdy sailors, and all give a pull to- gether, swinging the bow around until the yacht floats clear. An anchor is speedily dropped, and all is well. They receive the hearty thanks of the owner, who. is bound for Florida, and whom they meet again on the’ Indian River, near Rockledge. ; Having crossed the dreaded St. Cather- ine’s Sound, as by a miracle, the cruisers look for a camp where they can stay out the norther. This they find in the thoroughfare back of the great island, and a few miles from Sapelo Sound. The cold wind. continues’ with great fury, and at nightfall it is snowing. They have discovered a cove, where the shore protects them from the terrible wind. Fuel. is gathered, and a roaring fire made that. keeps them comfortable. Let the norther rage...So long as there is wood to burn and provender to supply | the inner man; they will not complain. The roaring of .the.breakers comes to them from across the foot of the island, and somehow they are reminded. of that night at Hatteras when the wild storm raged. During the night snow to the depth of several inches fell, and ice formed wherever the water dashed up on the decks of their boats. It was.a dismal sight that met the gaze of the canoe-cruisers when morning came. They had hardly expected to find winter thus early in the season, and down at the foot of Georgia. During the day they were kept busy with the fire, eutting wood for the night, and cooking. The storm still. howled, although the clouds had shown signs of parting. It was not until the morning of the eighteenth of December that they finally 'Jeft their, camp in the cove, and made for Sapelo Sound, which they crossed. on a heaving sea, but with a light. breeze | from the west. At. two o'clock they sighted Doboy light-house, and half an hour later grap- pled with the seas on the sound of that name, which they passed over without ac- cident, although Paul had arather nar- row escape from one. In the creeks leading to Darien they spent this night, to once more push reso- lutely on when morning came. E St. Simon’s Sound was before them at three o’clock on the nineteenth. They de- cided to cross early in the morning before the wind arose. With that end in view they got up be- fore dawn, and cooked breakfast. Just after the daylight came, and with a gentle wind favoring them, they flut- tered across the broad stretch of water like a pair of, frightened birds. It was well they decided on this, too, for the last part of their trip was in quite a sea, and had they delayed departure until the regular time they must have hada hard paddle. At four that afternoon they crossed Cumberland Sound, and at dark reached Fernandina. They were in Florida. The great voyage had been made, al- though they still intended going farther south to Jupiter Inlet, on the Indian River. , At Fernandina they did not halt long, for Jacksonville was their goal. They were anxious to reach it before the day which Paul called his birthday, when he fully expected the strange man, whom he knew as Captain Cross, would explain the mystery of his life. So, on the morning of the twenty-first of December, they left their camp back of Fernandina; and set out,on the most diffi- cult day’s cruise of the voyage. CHAPTER XXXIV. PAUL HEARS SOMETHING AT VILLE, y : a N this day they meant to take the canoes to Jacksonville, on the St. John’s River, and: an early start “4S” was made, for the only real out- side work of the trip must come in here. They passed Nassau Sound, and noted with extreme pleasure that for once the sea was redlly tranquil, a west wind being on deck. Both prayed. it might last until they were safe in the St. John’s, for there is no disputing the fact that they dreaded that outside run, even if it was for only a few miles. At twelve o’clock the sea was before them. They saw there was a chance, and took JACKSON- it. The ride was made in perfect safety, but in crossing the bar at. the mouth of the St. John’s they came near having trouble, for the foamy waves spluttered and boiled around them like mad. Once inside they passed Mayport on the left, and Fort George Island on the right. The former presented a pretty picture when they were far up the river on the now easterly breeze, the red light house standing out among the white houses, Fine progress was made, and soon the tide came to help them. They saw cabins where the shad _fisher- men live, little settlements, indeed, with great nets hanging out in the sun or being mended. The St. John’s they pronounced a noble river for cruising, and when about five miles from the bar they saw a couple of canoes bearing down upon them, they ran up their burgees, and sounded their horns. 2 These gentle craft belonged to the Jack- sonville Canoe Club, and carried the fac- simile of a pelican on their main sails. They were manned by a couple of mem- bers of the club, who had infcarmation of their coming, and had taken this: run to meet them. Glad to have guides who knew the river so thoroughly, the weary cruisers headed for the city beyond. Paul’s heart beat high with hope. As evening drew near they» saw Jack- sonville beyond, and it was with a great sigh of relief that the boats rounded up at the float of the club-house. Paul had seen what he looked for. The Vesper was tied up only half a block away, and no doubt the captain had witnessed their arrival. They donned their store clothes for the first time since leaving Staten Island. Their voyage had been completed, and during what was very nearly two months they had not slept in a house a single night. The time at Hatteras did not count, for they called that camping in the light-house. Their canoes were left in the club-house secure from harm, and crossing over to the Carleton they had a grand supper. That was the best meal they had eaten for many a week, for, although it is all very fine to do your. own cooking and live upon canned goods on a cruise, it be- comes rather monotonous when kept up for two months, and the educated appe- tite yearns for roast beef, vegetables, and sweets, 708 ° The boys were bronzed like Indians, and their hands as hard inside as a day laborer’s, for during this voyage they had paddled hundreds of miles through weary creeks. It had not been all easy sailing, although they could look back to many a scene when everything went well and left nothing to be desired. When supper was over they walked down Bay street, and found their way to the landing at which the Vesper was tied up. Lights were on board. Perhaps the captain expected them. They would soon know, at any rate. Stepping aboard, the fitst person they met was Brad, who welcomed them warmly. He had not forgotten the ser- vice these lads did him at Norfolk weeks before. “Walk right into the cabin. The cap’n is expectin’ yees boys,” said the sailor. Poor Paul almost staggered as he ad- vanced. He was about to hear the story of his life, and to him this was the most interesting event that could ever befall im, They entered. Captain Cross sat at a table, upon which were numerous papers and books. As they came in he sprang to his feet and warmly pressed each lad’s hand. It was evident that he had grown to enter- tain for them a high regard beyond that which his secret might bring. Seating them near him he plied“ them with questions concerning their trip from Charleston, and declared they had been very fortunate in making such a|J speedy trip, a declaration which the log of the cruise corroborated. So much for pluck and endurance. They had been greatly favored by good weather during the better part of the wearisome voyage. Both boys had tired of it when in Currituck, but their determination to carry out their design had kept them from saying so, even to each other. After they had spoken of many adven- tures by the way, some serious and others comical, the captain began to look straight at Paul. The boy trembled, he could hardly say why, but there was something about this look that thrilled his soul. “Paul, come here in front of me. Look mein the eyes, lad. Now, tell me, can you guess the relationship between us— you and I?” Paul trembled more than ever. “You are—my father !” he gasped, while Jerry held his breath in suspense. “Ay, lad, your father—John Paul Stevens, master of the once famous clip- _ per California.” Jerry gave a shout, as Paul clasped his arms around the neck. of his newly-found parent, _—_— CHAPTER XXXV. CONCLUSION, AUL wasa sensible young fellow. “ He had deep emotions, but could YY keep them under control as a gen- eral thing, andin a few minutes he had recovered enough to sit down and listen to the captain’s story. It was strange in one sense, and yet full of suffering. He made it as short as possible, and much was left for the imagination, or would be supplied at a future time. He had been unfortunate in his mar- riage, for he and his wife did not live happily together. The captain took the blame upon himself when relating the facts, for which Paul and Jerry thought the more of him. He was a born sailor, and his wife somehow took an aversion to the sea. Other causes arose between them, and finally they separated, he going away on a big vessel, and Mrs. Stevens remaining in New York with the child, then buta couple of years old. The captain, in separating, had made a solemn promise to his wife that he would never trouble her again, and would not reveal himself to his boy until the latter was eighteen. This promise to the dead he had been tempted to break, and might: have done so with no discredit to himself, but he seemed to feel that as it was the last re- quest his wife had ever made of him, he ought to keep it faithfully. That trip had been an eventful one with him, as he went from England to China, back again to the tight little island, and then to India. Five years rolled away. He had heard nothing of wife or child, and his heart was very sore over the past, so he decided to go home, seek out the woman he still loved, beg her pardon for the past, and endeavor to make amends for it. Alas! he reached Liverpool only to re- ceive a letter from a friend, telling him that his wife and child were gone, and no one knew where. Again, he roved the world over, Years flew by, Goop Once more memories were awakened in his heart, and he came to America to see if it was not possible to discover some traces of his lost ones. A detective was placed on the track, and ina few weeks found that Mrs. Stevens had died, and the boy been taken away by a woman who seemed the lady’s good friend. Again time elapsed. Finally the sailor smelled a rat, and learned that the detective was living off him. Then he pushed things to a con- clusion, and found the woman who had taken care of Paul. She would never tell the boy anything, save that his mother was a lady, and that she had been her nurse in times past, and had been left a sum of money to educate Paul. All was clear as daylight now. The captain had been delighted with his boy, and in secret had told Jerry’s father, the doctor, everything. He had determined to follow the boys on their way south, and, while keeping his vow, be in a position, perhaps, to look after them in case they got into trouble, though as luck would have it the boot was on the other leg, and it was the for- tune of the young cruisers to help him. Paul was deeply moved. He saw that whatever his parent had once been as a out by long years of deep thought and repentance, and that he now came out as one tried by fire—pure gold. He had only one regret—that his mother was not alive to share in their oy. More was told, which need not be given here, but the father and son left not a stone to act as a barrier between them. It was midnight when the boys went to the Carleton, where they had engaged aroom. The captain asked them to stay with him, but his accommodations were limited on the launch, and they begged off, Several pleasant days were spent in Jacksonville, and the second morning after Christmas saw the twocanoes mov- ing up the St. John’s. The launch went outside to Mosquito Inlet, and waited for them at New Smyrna. Here they turned up three days later, having had their boats brought across from Palatka to Daytona on the Halifax by the new railroad called White’s Road. In company they went through Mos- quito Lagoon, the new Haulover Canal, and entered the famous Indian River, reaching Titusville that same day, two days from New Smyrna. A stop was made at Rockledge, and then they opened up for three days’ run, and three others in camp, because of head winds, when. they finally reached the prettiest place on Indian River, the pineapple region of Eden. Between here and Jupiter Inlet they spent a full month, when the boats were taken up to Jacksonville. The canoes went north on the same steamer, the Cherokee, belonging to the Clyde Line, while the launch was sold at a satisfac- tory price, Brad accompanying them to his Staten Island home. Paul, was happy. He no longer felt a mystery hanging over him. He and Jerry have made canoe trips every summer since, but never expect to equal the dar- ing cruise down the coast to Florida. [THE END. ] —__~+- oe -@___—__- The Young Bear Killer, STORY of an encounter between five bears and a boy, in which the latter came out victorious, reached us recently from Montana, The hero of the adventure is said to be Bert Monroe. The boy is about nineteen or twenty years old, and is an enthusiastic hunter, and a dead shot. Last fall he killed the largest bear that had ever been killed in’ that section, and he refused seventy-five dollars for the hide. Al- though this latest adventure in which he is said to have figured so prominently sounds considerably like a bear story, his friends in this city are inclined to think he would not hesitate to tackle one bear or a dozen, if he came across them to- gether. Young. Monroe started out for St. Peter’s Mission on a hunting expedition. He was after bear and he found more than he had bargained for. His journe took him up toward the head of Milk River, and, while not expecting it, he came face to face with a bear, which emerged from what afterward proved to be a bears’ den or lair. He had no sooner killed the bear with his trusty rifle than another one appeared. He killed this one He killed this one also, and before he had time to realize that he was getting about all the bear he cared for in one day bear number four appeared. This fellow was also killed, and there was only one cartridge left in his magazine. He needed this cartridge, too, for a fifth bear, and larger than any of the other four, came. hasty, passionate man had been wiped! NEWS. out of his den and made for him. He | the light-house at Havre saw the glare fired his last shot, and though it prob- | distinctly at a point two and a half miles ably hit Bruin it did not do the business, | for he came straight at him. Monroe did | not have time to get another cartridge in his gun before the infuriated beast was on him. The animal made a slap at him, which sent the useless gun flying out of | his grasp, and he just had time to draw his hunting-knife and give Bruin an ugly | cut in the throat. In doing this he re- | ceived a severe squeeze from the monster and a fearful bite on the shoulder. Then | he lost consciousness. It must have been /only a few moments, however, for when he came to again his horse was between him and the bear. The latter was evi- dently hurt, for he was making a feeble attack upon the horse, and was bleeding profusely from the wound in the throat. When the horse turned tail to his adver- | sary and began to kick, the bear made off to the brush, leaving a trail of blood be- hind. Monroe found that he was hurt in his back and side, which had_ been terri- bly torn in his brief struggle. With difficulty he mounted his horse, which | was quite unhurt, and rode two miles to a point where men were at work on a railroad grade of the Great Northern. From there he was taken to the Piegan | Agency, where he now is. A party which went out the next day found the four | bears which had been killed, and a trail _ of blood leading as far as a stream, made | by the fifth bear, The gun was also found where it had fallen. Shadow Figures. (CONTINUED. ) Sn “The Toper” the hat and the bottle SI are cut out of catdboard; so are the THE TOPER. THE JUGGLER. in the same way, and the third appeared. | away, and. it is plainly visible for over five miles. ae GG [This Story will not be Published in Book-Form.] FRANK AND FEARLESS ; FORTUNES OF JASPER KENT BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. Author of “Grit,” “Only an Irish Boy,” “Ragged Dick,” ‘Fame and Fortune,” “Sink or Swi, “Tattered Tom,” “Brave and Bold,” etc. Fi pares (“FRANK AND FEARLESS” was commenced last week. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.] oe CHAPTER VIII. SUDDEN DEATH. UL. WO months later there was a vaca- 1 >» tion for a week. Nicholas expected th) to spend this with his mother, but for some reason Mrs. Kent gave him no invitation. Probably she thought that Nicholas, though a paragon in her eyes, was not likely to win favor in the eyes of Mr. Kent. His rough, brutal dis- position would have repelled the sick man, who had become gentle in his en- forced seclusion. ‘ Thorne was disappointed, but his dis- appointment was softened by a timely remittance of ten dollars from bis mother; which he spent partly in surreptitious gather of billiards, partly in overloading is stomach with pastry and nearly mak- ing himself sick. 0 Ade Jasper spent the week at home. His company was the source of great comfort and joy to his father, and this repaid him for the intrusion of his step-mother. She treated him with politeness and apparent cordiality, but once or twice, when he chanced to look up unexpectedly, he detected her eyes fixed upon him wit a glance that seemed to express detesta- tion. On these occasions her expression changed instantly, and she addressed him in a soft, friendly voice. All this puzzled him. d “Does she hate me or not?” he aske himself. “I certainly don’t like het Still, I shall force myself to treat her ae as long as she treats my father well.” His father seldom spoke of his wife his son, but sometimes Jasper notice that he breathed a sigh of relief when she left the room, as if her presence had bee? a restraint upon him. He didn’t like to ask his father any question directly as to the relations be tween them. He hoped that at least they did not add to his father’s discomfort. Ati the end of the week Jasper wa about to return to school. “How long before you have another | vacation, Jasper?” asked his father, wist- fully. “Eleven weeks, father.” “Tt seems a long time, Jasper.” | f “TI can come home during that time. f “To my mind such interruptions + study are bad for a boy,” said Mrs. Kent “Perhaps they are,” assented Mr. Kents reluctantly. “T won’t let them be an interruption father,” said Jasper. “If you want me come home I will.” d “I hope, Jasper, you will understa? my motive for speaking,” said Mrs. Keres softly. “I should really be glad to fice you, but sometimes we have to. sacrl our own inclinations, don’t Wwe, Kent?” (dé. “Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Kent, lis lessly. to And he turned his eyes once 0d Jasper, who had his overcoat on, and W ‘D waiting for the carriage to convey him the depot. rt” “Do you feel as well as usual, fathe ’ THE BOATMAN. | Next week we will publish four shadows, which can be produced without the aid of any accessories. ———_—__-~+— eo _e———__—__—. A SEA-LIGHTING BUOY. Experiments have been made at Havre | with a luminous buoy invented by M. . Dibos. The buoy emits the light which is produced by phosphide of calcium on_ go home quicker. reaching the water, and as it is very} powerful, the sea is illuminated for a con- siderable distance around. Spectators in‘: asked Jasper, anxiously. “Yes, I don’t know but I do; perhaps a little more languid, but that is nob U™ usual,” “Well, good-by, father. If you to see me at any time, write a line, I’ll come at once.” ‘ er: “Thank you, my dear boy. Don’t ov work yourself at school.” nt’s There was a slight smile on Mrs Kenny thin lips. Jasper noticed and meni, resented it. But the time had come leave-taking, and he hurried away: from Six weeks passed. Jasper heard ae home that his father was about the oe ie and this assurance relieved him of ohe iety. Still, he made up his mind tpi would spend the next Sunday at an He would go on Saturday mornings ine come back on Monday morning, ar .veul knew that his father would enjoy this brief visit. But he was destine want and u On Thursday afternoon a boy came . 8 to the main entrance of Dr. Bento? school, /' ! GOOD NEWS. 709 “It’s the boy from the telegraph office,” said Wilder to Jasper. “T wonder whether he’s got a message for the doctor, or one of us boys,” said Jasper, not suspecting that it was for himself. “T’ll ask,” said Wilder, “Here, you boy, who’s your telegram for?” “For Jasper Kent,” said the boy. “ Will you call him?” “T am he,” said Jasper, hurrying for- ward, with pale face and beating heart, for a telegram always inspires fear. “Then here it is. Just sign the book,” said the boy. . Jasper scrawled his name _ hurriedly, and tore open the envelope. These were the brief words~ of the dis- patch: “Come home, for the Lord’s sake, Master Jas- per. Your father’s dying. ‘(MARGARET BOWER.” The paper swam before Jasper’s eyes. “What is it, Jasper, bad news?” asked Wilder; but Jasper did not wait to an- swer. He rushed to Dr. Benton’s oftice, got his permission to go home, packed his valise, and in five minutes was on his way to the depot. He was just in time for the afternoon train. At seven o’clock in the evening he entered the avenue that led to his fa- ther’s house. Throwing open the front door, he met Margaret in the hall. “t’m glad you're here, Master Jasper,” Said the faithful hand-maiden, heartily. “Ts it too late?” “TI hope not; indeed, I hope not.” Jasper waited for no more, but rushed up stairs, and into his father’s room. There were two persons there—the step- mother and a man of thirty, with black whiskers and sallow complexion, with whom she was talking earnestly. They started when Jasper entered, and looked discouraged. Mrs, Kent looked displeased and annoyed. “How is my father?” exclaimed Jasper, excitedly. “Hush! He is very low,” said Mrs. Kent. “You shouldn’t have dashed in here so abruptly.” “Is there no hope for him?” asked the boy, sorrowfully. “No, my young friend,” said the man, Smoothly. “All has been done that hu- man skill can do, but without avail.” “Are you the doctor?” 2. al,” “Where is Dr. Graham, my father’s old octor.” «,_! dismissed him,” said his step-mother, He was not competent to attend so criti- Cala case. This is Dr. Kenyon.” “IT never before heard Dr. Graham’s skill doubted,” said Jasper. “Is my fa- ther conscious?” “No; he is under the influence of mor- phine. Do not wake him up.” “Was he, then, in great pain?” “Yes, in great pain.” : Quietly Jasper drew near the _ bedside. His father lay unconscious, his form rigid, his face thin and betraying marks of weariness and suffering. The tears rose to the eyes of Jasper, as he realized that his father was passing away. As he looked on, there was a slight convulsive movement; then repose. In that one Moment his father had passed on to another world. The doctor had approached the bedside also, and he, too, saw the movement. “He is dead!” he announced. “Dead!” repeated Mrs. Kent, in a voice rather of surprise than of sorrow. ea es,” “Well,” she said, coolly, “we must all die. We have the satisfaction of know- Ing that we have done all we cquld do to Preserve his life,” “Certainly, my dear madam, you may Comfort yourself by that thought,” said the physician. “Why did you not send for me before?” asked Jasper, turning with moist eyes to Ms step-mother, “that I might see my father before he died?” “We could nct foresee his sudden death,” said Mrs. Kent. “How do you happen to be here this afternoon?” “Didn’t you direct Margaret to tele- 8raph for me?” asked Jasper, surprised. “Did Margaret take upon herself to telegraph to you?” asked Mrs, Kent, in 4 tone of displeasure. Yes,” said Jasper, bitterly. “Did you Mean to keep me wholly unacquainted With my father’s illness?” No; I wrote a line this afternoon, Which I should have sent to the office at Once ” . When it was too late!” | our reproaches are unseemly and /| “Nealled for,” said his step-mother, quite | coldly, “I think differently,” said Jasper, bit- terly, “You should have sent for me as! Soon as my father got worse than usual.” | In consideration of your grief I will, Sverlook your impertinence,” said Mrs. } ent, compressing her thin lips, as she eft the room. he doctor followed her out, and Jasper Was left alone with the dead. _He did not realize it, but his father’s ' garet ! death was to seriously affect his for- tunes. CHAPTER IX. A DECLARATION OF WAR, room where his father lay dead. He did not seek the presence of his step-mother, who, he felt, had done him wrong in keeping from him his father’s condition. He went instead to the kitchen, where he found Margaret. “This is a sad day for you, Master Jas- per,” said the sympathizing servant. “It is, indeed, Margaret, I have lost my best friend.” ‘True for you.” “But for your telegram I should not have known even now that he was dan- gerously ill. I thought at first Mrs. Kent asked you to telegraph.” “No, she didn’t. I asked her would she send for you, and she told me it was none of my business.” “It was lucky you didn’t heed her,” said Jasper. “She is a cold, unfeeling woman.” “That she is, Master Jasper,” assented Margaret, with emphasis. “How long has my father been so sick?” “For a week or more, but he tooka sudden turn at the last. I think he got worse after the new doctor came.” “I wanted to ask you about that. Why was Dr. Graham dismissed? He has at- tended my father for years.” “Shall { tell you what I think, Master Jasper?” said Margaret, stopping short in a work, and looking mysterious, “ es.” He] 0 an hour later Jasper left the “I “Hush!” said Margaret, suddenly put- ting her hand on her lip. Jasper understood her caution, when he saw his step-mother enter the kitchen. She looked from one to the other with a suspicious glance. “This is a strange place for you, Jas- per,” said she, in slow, cold accents. “IT don’t see why, madam,” he an- swered, in a voice equally cold. “T find you—a young gentleman—con- ferring with a servant.” “With a trusted servant, who has been in our family for years. Nothing could be more natural.” “I don’t agree with you,’ Kent, in a chilly tone. “T am unfortunate in not winning your approbation,” said Jasper, not caring to suppress the sarcasm. “It strikes me you are impertinent,” said Mrs. Kent. She had thrown off the mask. During her husband’s life she had taken special pains to be polite to Jasper, though in so doing she did violence to her feelings. There was no more to be gained by it, and she had changed suddenly. Jasper could not help alluding to it. “How happens it, madam,” he said, “that your treatment of me has changed so entirely since my father’s death? Brief as the interval is, you have lost no time.” There was hatred in the glance she shot at him. “I was silent out of regard to your father, who was blind to your faults,” she answered. “You must not expect me said Mrs. to be equally blind.” “T don’t, madam.” “Do you kitchen?” intend to remain in the demanded Mrs. Kent. ‘WHY DID YOU NOT SEND FOR ME BEFORE, THAT I MIGHT SEE MY FATHER BEFORE HE DIED ?” “Let me whisper it, then. Come nearer, Master Jasper.” Rather surprised at her manner, Jasper obeyed. “It’s my belief,” she whispered, “that your step-mother didn’t want your father to get well.” Jasper looked horror-struck. 7 “Are you crazy, Margaret?” he ejacu- lated. She nodded her head positively. “I know what I’m saying,” she an- swered. “But what can make you believe such a horrible thing?” he asked. She answered in the same low voice: “A month ago she got your father to make his will. What thereis in it I don’t know, but it is likely it suits her. After that she had nothing to gain by his living.” “You don’t think hesitated to proceed. “Poison him? No, I don’t. It wasn’t needful; but your papa was that delicate, it would be enough if he was not rightly treated, and I don't believe this new doc- tor did the right thing by him. Dr. Gra- ham and Mrs. Kent never could agree, but she and the new doctor have been as thick as can be. They understand one another, I'll be bound.” é Jasper looked shocked, and was silent for a moment. “1 don’t like Mrs. Kent,” he said, “but Margaret, I hope you’re wrong in this. That any one could wish my dear, gentle father dead I find it hard to believe.” “You haven’t seen as much of your step-mother as I have, Master Jasper.” “Heaven grant you are wrong, Mar- If I thought it were true I should never want to look at the woman again,” she’d——” Jasper “I was questioning Margaret about my father's last days.” “T am the proper one to question.” “Would you have afforded me the infor- mation I desired?” “If the questions you asked were of a proper character,” “Mrs. Kent, I will take you at your word. How does it happen that you dis- missed Dr. Graham, my father’s old fam- ily physician?” His step-mother hesitated, and looked angry, but she replied, after a brief pause: “He did not understand the case.” “What makes you think so? He cer- tainly ought to understand my father’s constitution.” “Perhaps he ought, but he didn’t,” said Mrs. Kent, sharply. “You haven’t given any reason.” “Thave given all I choose. I don’t mean to be cateehised by a boy.” “Who is this Dr. Kenyon whom you called in afterward ?” “A very skillful physician.” “He looks young.” “He has a high reputation.” “When did he assume charge of my father’s case?” “A week ago,” “And since then he has grown steadily worse,” “Who told you that?” demanded Mrs. Kent, sharply. “Ts it not true?” “Did Margaret tell you this?” “T did,” said Margaret, quietly. “T shall remember this,” said Mrs, Kent, spitefully. “TI didn’t need to ask Margaret,” said Jasper, “when my father lies dead after a week’s. treatment by this skillful physi- cian,” | death Mrs. Kent was white with anger. “You ought to know that life and death are in the power of no doctor,” she said, for angry as she was, she saw that it was necessary to reply to what Jasper said. “In sending for Dr. Kenyon I did not much expect that he would cure your father, but I felt that it was my duty to give him this last chance, Unfortunately he was too far gone.” “You thought that matters were as bad as that a week ago, and yet you didn’t send for me?” exclaimed Jasper. “It would have done no good,” said she, coldly. “But it would have been a satisfaction to me to see something of him in his last sickness. Mrs. Kent, you haven't treated me right in this matter.” “Is that the way for a boy to talk to his —elder?” “Yes, if he says only what is strictly true.” “T shall not continue this conversation, * said Mrs. Kent, haughtily, “nor shall I submit to be talked to in this style. It is not for your interest to make me your enemy,” she added, significantly. Jasper was frank and fearless by tem- perament, and anything in the shape of a menace roused his high spirit. “That consideration doesn’t weigh with me a particle,” be said, hastily. “We will see,” she retorted, and with a look of anger, she swept from the room. “Margaret,” said Jasper, abruptly, “did you go into my father’s sick chamber at any time?” “Yes, Master Jasper.” “Did you ever hear my father inquire after me?” “I heard him say more than once, with a sigh like, that he wished to see you.” “And she wouldn’t send for me!” ex- claimed Jasper, bitterly. “She always opposed it, saying it wouldn’t do no good, and would only take you off your studies.” “Much she cared for my studies! Mar- garet, I will never forgive that woman, never!” “Well, I can’t blame you, Master Jas- er.” . Here Margaret heard her name called in a loud voice, and was forced to obey. “She wants to separate us,” thought Jasper, as he slowly and sadly went up, to his own chamber. CHAPTER X. NICHOLAS APPEARS UPON THE SCENE. HE funeral was over. Mrs. Kent iy was considered by those present to ‘\ display a great deal of fortitude. As she felt no real grief for the of her husband, this was not re- Markable. Jasper looked pale and sor- TOwin!, but gave way to no violent de- monstrations of sorrow, though he be- gan to understand that he had not only lost his best friend, but become at the same time exposed to the machinations of a resolute and relentless enemy. In due time the will was read. It was very brief, and clear in its pro- visions. To Mrs. Kent was left one-third of the estate, real and personal, of which the deceased was possessed, and the balance was willed to his only child and dear son Jasper, of whom his step-mother was left guardian. When this clause was read Mrs. Kent directed a brief and triumphant glance at Jasper. He met the glance, and under- stood what it meant. He knew that it boded him no good. he company assembled gradually dis- persed, and Jasper was left alone with his gtep-mother. “You see that I am left your guard. ian,” she said. “Yes,” answered Jasper, briefly. “Perhaps you would have chosen a differ- ent one, if the choice had been left to you,” she continued, with a sneer. “T should,” said Jasper, promptly. “Well, that is plain language.” “T suppose you expected a plain an- swer,” said the boy, firmly. “TI did not expect a polite one. You appear to forget that I am a lady.” “You are mistaken,madam. I am read to treat you as well as you treat me. won't pretend that I like your guardian- ship, as I fear that we shall not agree.” “If we don’t, you will have to yield,” said his step-mother. “I would rather not dispute till it is absolutely necessary,” said Jasper. “May I ask whether you desire me to return to school?” “TI have not made up my mind. I may be able to tell you to-morrow.” “Until you make up your mind you ex- pect me to remain at home, I suppose?” “ Yes.” Jasper bowed and turned away. He went down stairs into the hall, just as the front door was open, and the familiar voice of Nicholas Thorne was heard. Jas- per stared in some surprise at the in- truder, not knowing that he was ex- pected, 710 _ “Hallo, Jasper!” said Thorne, boister- ously. “How are you?” “T am well,” said Jasper, distantly. “Where’s mother?” “Your mother?’ Your aunt, you mean.” “No, I don’t. That’s all gammon. She’s my mother.” “She is!” exclaimed Jasper. “What made you deny it then?” “Policy,” said Thorne, laughing. “Your father might not have liked it. Now it’s all right.” “Did your mother send for you?” asked Jasper. “Yes, of course she did. This is to be What could my home now.” Jasper made no comment, he say? If Thorne were his step mother’s son, it was only natural that he should live in the house of which she was mis- tress. But it seemed to himasif he were being pushed out of his own father’s house, and these strangers were coming in to occupy it. Hefelt that it would no longer seem like home to him, “Well, where’s my mother?” asked Thorne. “She’s up stairs. Shall I show you the way?” “Jf vou’re a mind to. I guess I’ll know my own way round here pretty soon.” “What a detestable fellow,” thought Jasper. “ITam afraid we shall quarrel soon.” He led the way up stairs, and ushered Nicholas into his mother’s presence, This uncouth boy was theone object this selfish woman loved. She uttered an exclamation of delight. “Welcome home, my dear Nicholas,” she exclaimed, advancing hastily, and throwing her arms round his neck. He received the embrace apathetically, but made no opposition, as at another time he might have done. He felt on good terms with his mother and. the whole world, in the face of the. brilliant improvement of his prospects. “Are you well, my dear boy?” asked Mrs. Kent. “Oh, I’m well enough, mother, This is a splendid old place, isn’t it?” Mrs. Kent laughed at Jasper. “Yes, it is a fine country-place.” e Jasper left the two, and went down- stairs. “Say, mother, ‘how about the will?” asked Thorne. “Is it all right?” “A third of the estate is left to- me.” “Only a third! Does Jasper get the rest!” “ Yes. ” “That's a shame. had half.” “T shall have control of the whole till goes is of age. I am left his giame, ian.” ee “That’s good, anyhow. You must make. him toe the mark, mother.” “T mean to.” “He’s always had his own way, and he may give you trouble. He feels high and mighty, I can tell you.” “T shall know how to deal with him,” said Mrs. Kent, closing her thin lips resolutely. “He will find meas firm as himself.” “T guess that’s so, mother. You’ll prove a tough customer.” Mrs. Kent smiled, as if she enjoyed the compliment. “T’ll stand by you, mother. If you have any trouble, just call me in.” “IT don’t, expect to need any. help, Nicholas; but I am glad to find L have a brave son, who will stand by his mother. Certainly, there was no one who be- lieved in Nicholas .so thoroughly as his mother. To the world generally he was a cowardly bully, rough, brutal, and sel- fish. In his mother’s eyes he was manly and a paragon of youthful virtue. I have already said that Thorne’s affection for his mother was far less disinterested, as is very apt to be the case with boys. His intention to benefit by the change of cir- cumstances was shown at once. “What allowance are you going to give me, mother?” he asked. “T have not thought yet, Nicholas.” “Then I want you to think, mother,” “How much do you want?” “T want as much as Jasper gets.” “You shall receive as much,” said his mother, promptly. “Do you know how much he has received?” “Yes, he has had five dollars a’ week.” “That’s too much.” “Tt isn’t too much for me.” “T shall reduce his allowance to three dollars a week.” “You don’t expect me to get along on three dollars?” grumbled Thorne, “T will give you five.” “And Jasper only three?” “ Yes.” “Won’t he be mad?” exclaimed Nicho- las, with malicious satisfaction. “ What’ll you say to him about it?” “T shall merely announce my decision,” said Mrs. Kent, coolly. “Iam not bound to assign any reasons.” “Won’t there be a precious row?” said Thorne, “T presume he will complain, but he You ought to have r panning GOOD has not conducted himself toward me in a@ manner to secure any favors.” “TL say; mother, can you give mé my first week’s allowance in advance?. I’m awful hard up.” “Here; my son,” said Mrs. Kent, draw- ing out her pocket-book, and placing a five dollar bill in her son’s hand. “Good for you, mother. When are you going to have supper?” “Tn an hour.” “How much property did the old man leave?” “The estate is probably fully up to one hundred thousand dollars. This place is worth fifteen thousand. The rest is in good interest paying stocks and bonds.” “And a third belongs to you! I say, mother, you’ve feathered your nest’ well. I guess I'll go out and take a look round.” In the rear of the house, in front of the stable, Nicholas caught sight of Jasper. He smiled maliciously. “T’ll go and tell him about the reduc- tion in his allowance,” he said tc himself, (TO BE CONTINUED.) —_—_———_+ 0-9 NOTHING BUT A BOY. By OLIVER OPTIC, Author of ‘‘Lake Shore Series,” ‘Great Western Series,” “Onward and Upward Series,” «Yacht Club Series,” etc, « {“Norsine Bur A Box” was commenced in No. 33, Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents’) SYNOPSIS. Squire Abijah Basswood was the wealthiest man in Pondville, and the meanest. His son, Timothy, was the exact counterpart of his father. What- ever Tim Basswood did was right in the squire’s estimation, and all the other boys of the village were wrong. One day Ralph Binkerton, son of Captain Phineas Binkerton, Sam Baxter, son of a poor laborer, Timothy Basswood, and a number of other boys were engaged in building a dam. Ralph was the boss of the job, but Tim contrived to render himself as disagreeable as possible, and finally ordered little Sam to bring him some stones. Sam refused to obey the command, and. Tim slapped him on the side of the head. Ralph inter- fered in behalf of the little fellow, when Tim rushed at him, and was soundly thrashed by young Binkerton. Just at that moment Squire Basswood arrived upon the scene, and attempted to horsewhip Ralph, but that young man would not submit to such treatment, and seizing a sod he hurled it at the squire, hitting him square in the face, and knocking him down. For this Ralph was marked as the victim of the squire’s hatred. Captain Binkerton had purchased some property from Squire Basswood, upon which the latter helda mortgage. This mortgage was due, and the squire, in his rage, demanded immediate payment. As the captain had intended to pay off the mortgage that day, the squire’s demand was promptly met ; but the money had scarcely been paid when a flood carried the buildings away, killing Captain /Binkerton. Ralph had zone out to the stable, and there were no witnesses to the paying of the money except Miss Tabitha Gadwing, who was the captaln’s housekeeper and the squire’s sister- in-law. Squire Maythorn had been called in to acknowledge the discharge of the mortgage, but had left without seeing the money paid. After the flood, Ralph was picked up and cared for by Deacon Elijah Basswood, the squire's brother. When the squire learned this, he commanded his brother to turn Ralph out, which the deacon would not do, and he became also a victim of the squire’s wrath. The deacon had mortgaged his farm, and spent the money in manufacturing brick and building a boat to carry the brick to Riverport for sale, The squire held the mortgage. The deacons boat, or ‘‘the ark” as Ralph called it, was named Roxana, after the deacon’s wife, and a sailboat owned by Ralph. was.called Mercy, after the deacon’s daughter. ‘The brick scheme proved a failure, and the deacon nearly died from grief; but Ralph set his wits to work, and by his ingenu- ity soon turned the failure Into a success. After the flood, Ralph founda tin box which had be- longed to his father. This box contained a num- ber of papers, among which was the release of the mortgage, showing that the money had been paid before Mr. Binkerton was killed in the flood. The demand for bricks became greater, as the facilities of the deacon for their manufacture increased, and soon the good man informed Ralph that he had over six thousand dollars in bank, and did not owe a dollar. About this time a company sought a site for the building of a mill, and some of the deacon’s property was selected, together with the land | Which Ralph’s father had bought, and which Squire Basswood had taken possession of after the death of Ralph’s father, claiming that the mort- gage had not been paid off. During a conversation on this subject between Ralph and the deacon, the latter had remarked that some one ought to be selected to look after Ralph’s interests in the mat- ter, and the boy asked the deacon to act as his guardian, which the good man consented to do. CHAPTER XXXYVI. THE BINKERTON BOY, QUIRE BASS WOOD'S oldest daugh- ter was married, and lived in Chi- cago, and her father had started in April to. pay her,a_visit, and see) something of the great West. He had| hardly been away from home before in his life, and traveling did not seem to agree with him, for he was taken si¢k soon after | his arrival at his destination, He was con- fined to his bed for two months, and Mrs. Basswood and Tim went.on to take care of him. Fora time it was thought he could not recover; but he began to im- ! ¥ x turn to his home, The deacon hoped that, and made a better man of him; but» the squire came back no better than when he went away. On the contrary; his disap- pointment at seeing so little of the West had made*him more sour and morose than usual. Two months on a sick bed, in- stead of gazing upon the wonders of a new land, had not improved his temper. The agent of the Silver Lake Mill Com- pany had written to him, offering to take the Binkerton place at the squire’s own price, if the seller would take all the amount in stock. The rich man had not answered the letter, but he had hastened home as soon as possible to attend to the business. Everything had been delayed by his absence, for the agent would not close his bargains till -the land for water privileges was secured. The squire was too feeble to travel rapidly, and he did not reach Pondville till the last day of June. Neither the squire nor any member of his family was given to letter-writing, and it is not probable that the absentee knew anything at all about. his brother’s affairs, or‘had heard of the mighty results of the brick speculation. If Miss Tabitha Gadwing, who kept house for the. squire in the absence of his wife, knew any- thing about the matter, she did not deem it prudent to. say anything on his return. In fact, she and. the rich man had fallen out. on a matter of business. The first thoughts that came into the head of Abi- jah Basswood, when he got up on the morning of the first of July, was that his brother owed him two thousand dollars, due on that day. He had no reason to suppose Hlijah could pay the note, for he had not “heard the news.” his revenge, long deferred, had come at last. As soon as he had eaten his break- fast, Tim was ordered to harness the horse, and the squire drove down to his brother’s house. When he came in sight of the deacon’s residence he had a sudden start, for the house did not look as it did when he went away. It had been thoroughly repaired and painted. Green blinds had been added, and new fences put up. The barn had been restored, and everything about the place had a remarkably thrifty ap- pearance. The squire did not know what to make of it, but he promptly concluded that the deacon had sold a few thousand of his bricks, and had spent all the money received for them in beautifying his home. It was like him to do such stupid things. He drove into the yard with a fearful frown upon his pale and wrinkled face. Deacon Basswood was just going over to the brick-yard, and met his brother as he stopped his horse. The good man had heard of the squire’s return, and it may be truly said that he was glad to see him. The maker of bricks had improved in his appearance.quite as much as. his house and grounds, and he looked well and hearty. Prosperity was the panacea which had wrought his cure, for it was nothing but adversity and worrying over the future which had robbed him of health and strength. “I’m glad to see you, ’Bijah!” ex- claimed the deacon, extending his hand to the squire. The rich man mechanically took the offered hand because he could not well avoid doing so, but he made noreply, and looked cold and savage. “You don’t look very well yet; how's your health?” asked the good man. “T’m better,” answered the squire, curtly, for he felt that he had already yielded too much in accepting the offered hand. “What you been doin’ here?” “We have been busy here eversince you went away, brother.” “You've been spendin’ money on your house. I didn’t know you had any to spend,” growled the squire. “You didn’t seem to like the looks of the place the last time I talked with you,” added the deacon, smiling. “You said I was letting it run to waste, in order to cheat you when you came into possession of it. I thought I’d fix it up a little.” “Fix it up!” sneered the squire. “ You’ve been wastin’ your money foolin’ it away in white paint and green blinds.” “T think the house looks better for it.” “T don’t care how it looks. I don’t be- lieve in spendin’ money for looks. What’d you want. to put them green blinds on for, to keep a-rattlin’ when the wind blows?” “I rather like green blinds on a white house,” “One extravagance leads to another. I s’pose yourun in debt for all this finery?” “No, brother, I did not. I don’t owe a dollar for it.” “Then you must have sold some of your bricks, and spent all the money in white | paint and green blinds.” “Not all of it, ’Bijah.” “No matter; it’s none of my busiuess, That mortagge-note comes due to-day,” continued the squire, uttering the words prove about the first of June, and toward as though they sealed the doom of his the last. of the month he was able to re- | brother. “[Lknow it does,” replied the deacon, this long illness had softened his heart blandly, The time for.| get over it for a week. 'to hear it,” continued the deacon. i a renner ncn | “T want the money;” “And you shall have it; brother. Have you executed the discharge?” “The discharge?” The squire looked puzzled. As he “had not heard the news,” he had come to his brother with no expectation whatever that:he would be able to pay the note. “Of course, 1 want the mortgage dis- charged,” added the deacon. “Do'you mean that you are goin’ to pay it?” demanded the squire, in hostile tones. “That’s just what I mean, dear brother,” answered the delighted debtor. . “Then you’ve raised the money?” SIOHaVE. "29 * “TI wonder who was fool enough to loan it to you?” “Noone lent it to me, dear brother.” “Don’t ‘dear’ me any more!” protested the squire, “That sort of thing will do well enough for inquiry meetings, but it won’t go down with me.” “I meant no offense, ’Bijah,” pleaded the good man, very sorry to find that his. brother’s long sickness had produced no healing effect upon his mind and heart. - “T don’t want any of that sort of talk. It don’t mean nothin’,” added the squire. “You've stood out agin me for over tw® years, You won’t hear to nothin’ I say. , “T’m sure I’m very willing to hear you. “No, you ain’t! Is that Binkerton boy here now ?” “Yes, Ralph is here still.” “That’s enough! .That. boy half-killed . my only son; and not satisfied wit that, he pelted me with mud, knocked me down, and blinded me so’t I didn’t - That’s what the Binkerton boy did! Now, what did you. do—you, that want to call me ‘dear brother?” demanded the squire, with @ > withering sneer. “Did you try to punish - him?” : “No; but_I reasoned with him,” inte? - posed the deacon. “I told him it was: wrong for him to fight, or to throw mud at you, when he could just as well run. away. I pointed out to him the duty of forgiving our enemies, and giving a kiss: for a blow.” ; “That’s enough of that sort of cant. I wanted the boy sent to the poor-house, where be belonged,” roared the squire» almost furious at the construction which the deacon put upon the case. “Instead of doin’ that, you took him into your house, fed and clothed him—fed and clothed the viper that bit me! You treated him like a gentleman !” ee “I certainly tried to do well by him, but I never encouraged him to fight; ang I always taught him to ‘resist not evi. | “TI s’pose you mean that I am evil,” 8a} the squire, writhing under the interpre- tation he had put upon the words. of Scripture. “You have kept him heres and let him eat you out of house a2 home,” : f “T am afraid we can’t agree in this matter, brother, and I don’t want to have any hard words,” added the good mal, mildly. “Let us live in peace, if we cau live in love.” i “You can’t live in peace with me while you harbor that Binkerton boy; that’s the whole on't. You think more of him tha® you do of me, and you can’t have him a® me both.” “Ralph is a good boy, and he has done a good deal for me.” You said that 0? “There “tis again. A purpose to irritate me. You know I ha the boy.” es “I’m sorry you hate him, for I love him as I should love my own son, if I had one: “I don’t want to hear no more stuff A that sort. *You’ve stood between me av the Binkerton boy long enough.” t “T should like fo tell you, brother, wha” Ralph has done for me,” persiste good man. “T don’t want to hear a word on’t, 7 tested the squire, violently, “Don’t te me. Tabitha began to tell me sunthi™ about him last night arter I got homes but I shet her up quick.” the Then if: appeared to the deacon that is squire was ignorant of the news 0 if brother’s good fortune; and probably, Miss Tabitha Gadwing had _ written ah letters to the absent ones in the oa she had not deemed it prudent 0 iph count the wonderful deeds of Ra for Binkerton, who had been town-talk Ht But writing the nL three months. was not the spinster’s forte; it V her: ing; and perhaps she had kept it to 16 self so that she might have the pleas —we might say the bliss—of retailing to Squire Basswood on his return. “aly ever it was, the rich man was profoun . ignorant in regard to the affairs 0 prosperous brick-maker of Pondville, “T think that, under Providence, 14 has saved me from ruin; but I won ant you about the matter if you don’t W: ” ro- “T don’t want to hear a word on’ and what’s more, I won’t. Saved you ruin!” muttered the squire. | to see The good man waa Hoo simple pinker- is f § “ a this was the sum-total o he deacon ton’s offending—he had saved GOOD NEw s. Fil from the ruin which the squire had. so persistently decreed and prophesied, “T.don’t wish to tell you what you don’t want to hear, brother; but you can’t understand how I feel toward. Ralph without knowing what he has done for me.” “TI don’t want to know what he has done. Don’t tell me: . You insult me when you do it.” The rich man was certainly determined to be ignorant of Ralph’s victories, CHAPTER XXXVII, THAT BOY AGAIN. TAAHERE is another. thing I want te i. speak to you. about,” continued Deacon Basswood. “What is that?” demanded Squire Basswood, “It is about sep Ss and——” “Don’t mention his name to me again !” interrupted. the squire, savagely...“ don’t want to hear a word about him!” “Perhaps if I had said it was about Ralph’s. property, it-—” ‘ “His property!” exclaimed the squire. “He hain’t got no property.” __ Possibly the rich man was alittle star- tled at the words of his brother, but he was too willful and obstinate, even to gratify his own curiosity in regard to the meaning of the remark. The deacon felt it to be his duty to speak to the squire about the discharge, and give him an op- portunity, to make _ restitution of. the property, thus, to. some extent, if not wholly, enabling him to escape the obloquy and the penalty of his crime. He had determined to do this some months be- fore. He had considered the subject very faithfully with Ralph, who had no de- sire to punish his great enemy. He had obtained enough of the good man’s spirit of forgiveness of. injuries, to be entirely Willing that the squire should escape the penalty of his crime, : Deacon Basswood had been .appointed administrator of “the estate of the late Captain Phineas Binkerton,” but peoplc generally supposed he had done so in order to be able to dispose of the .horse which had saved himself from the flood, and possibly the timber and boards he had used in building the barn and other structures at the brick-yard. The deacon had also been appointed the “guardian of the minor son of the de- ceased.” It was-not supposed that the boy inherited any property other than the proceeds of the horse and the lumber, but the deacon had thus obtained the legal control of Ralph, who had been so valuable to hime Up to the first of July, the labors of the guardian, as such, had not been very onerous, and consisted merely in crediting his ward with the Value of the horse and lumber, as esti- mated by three appraisers, Nothing was Said to them, or to any one, about. the farm of Captain Binkerton, the mortgage On which had been legally discharged. The deacon wished to talk with his brother first, and he only dreaded that Some inquisitive searcher of the records at Selma might stumble upon the re- lease, The Silver Lake Mill Company had not yet gone so far as to look up the titles of the property it was to purchase. “T think we had better talk about this Matter a little, ’Bijah. It may save trouble in the future,” persisted the dea- con, “Not one word to me! Don’t speak the boy’s name! I won’t hearit. You in- Sult me when you do so,” raved the Squire, . I have been appointed the boy's guard- lan, and I’m the administrator of Cap- ig Binkerton’s estate,” added the dea- on, “You are?” gasped the squire. am; I was appointed in May.” “What is there to administer Sneeringly demanded the rich man. “So far all ‘the property is the horse 4nd the lumber picked up after the reshet. It sold for one hundred-and fifty Ollars, and I bought it. The horse was rized at a hundred dollars, and the lum- er at fifty.” ~All that..belongs to me, and I shall on?” Sue for’t,” added the squire, groutily. “I Sreclosed the mortgage, and the place Was sold. It was. bid off to me at five hundred dollars; so I lost a thousand by the boy’s father. ‘If there’s anything left 1t belongs to me.” But you have an offer of ten thousand dollars for the place.” . That's nothin’ to do. with it,” ave you the mortgage note, brother?” asked the deacon, not a little embarrassed 4s he approached the difficult subject. th No; *twas burned up in the fire; but b © mortgage ison. record, and. hain’t roe discharged; and the sale to me is teorded. But I hain’t got nothin’ at all a Say about that,” said the squire, sud- aly becoming viclent again, as he con- ‘dered that he had been discussing the Sthidden topic. “You've gone and got Surself’ appointed administrator 8Uardian of the Binkerton boy, have “ you?. What have you done it for? For nothin’ on airth but.to fight me: You declare war agin. me, You want to talk about my mortgage on the Binkerton place. You want to rip up what I’ve done. You want to quatrel. with me. I see it all!” “No, brother, I don’t want to quarrel with you.” “Yes, you did. What. did you get app’inted for?” persisted the squire, who was certainly a little alarmed, though he felt absolutely sure that the note and the discharge had been burned with the house. “T’ll tell you why, .brother:” “No, you, won't. I don’t want to hear a word on’t. You mean war,” “T did it for your sake: to save you——” “That’s enough! Don’t tellme! You want to rip up what I’ve done! Goon and do it! If you want to go to law I’m ready for you!” “J don’t want to go to law,” groaned the deacon, terribly exercised by the per- versity of his brother. “Ralph has——” “Shet up! That boy’s name, when I told you I didn’t want to hear it again!” The deacon intended to say that: Ralph had found the discharge and the note in the tin box under the soil which had been washed up,on the shore of the pond; but the squire, insane with passion refused to hear him, and swore like a. pirate, so that the good man’s blood was almost frozen in his veins. With soft speech he tried to appease the wrath of his brother, protesting warmly that. he was acting only in the squire’s interest, It was use- less to say any more, and the deacon gave up his point in despair, feeling that, if he said any more, he should partake of the sin of the rich man’s profanity, by provoking. him to use it. ut the good man determined to adopt some. other means in the future,*to save. his. brother from the consequences of his crime. He wondered how ‘his brother could be so perverse and. wicked; but it was prudent to drop the exciting topic for the present. “Some time, I am afraid, you will be sorry you did. not hear me; but I will not mention the matter again this time.” “Never mention it again!” stormed the squire. “I came here for my money. You owe me two thousand and sixty dollars, principal and interest. You say you can pay it. I don’t believe you can.” “If you will come into the house, brother, I will try to satisfy you that I can pay it.” The deacon led. the way into. the kitchen. When he heard, the night be- fore, that his brother had arrived from the West, he had drawn acheck for the principal and interest of. the note. He took it from the drawer in the table, where he kept his papers,.and presented it, to the creditor, “What’s this?” demanded the squire, putting on his glasses, and reading the check, “Tt’s a check for two, thousand and sixty dollars,” “A check! whose check?” “My check.” “T. don’t know nothin’ about- your checks” added the squire, handing it back to the deacon, with a contemptuous sneer. “Tt’s good,” said the deacon. “T don’t know whether ’tis .or not; but I want the money.” “Oh, very well, brother! When you give me. the. discharge, I will have the money ready,” replied the debtor, “T will go up to the village and have the discharge made out. Have you really got the money?..I don’t want to fool about it.” “Of course, I have the money, ’Bijah. If you get Squire Maythorn to write the discharge I will. meet you at his office with: the money.” “T have to go to him; there ain’t no- body. else to go to,” answered the squire, testily, for he hated his political rival, and avoided him as much as possible. “Ralph,” called the deacon. from the window, “harness the. brown horse.” “All right, deacon,” replied the skipper of the Roxana, who was at work with Sam Baxter in the garden. “The brown hoss?” repeated the squire. “How many hosses do you keep now?” “T have six just now.” “Six hosses!” exclaimed the rich man. “You seem to be bent on ruinin’ yourself as fast as you can,” “T have plenty of work for all of them most of the time.” “Don’t tell. me! But I suppose ’tain’t none of my business, arter you pay this | No note.” “T can pay.it, brother, and have some- thing left afterward. I don't owe any man a dollar in the world, after you are aid,” 4 “You didn't borrow it then?” “Not a dollar of it.” “Where did you git it?” “Ralph made it for me.” “Ralph again |” “T sold all the bricks I had on hand and | when you went away.” “Sold ’em all!” exclaimed the squire, “Yes, and three. hundred thousand more that 1 made this spring.” “Sho !” “My then are going to make about three hundred thotisand more; in fact, they will be ready for the market within a week.” “Did you sell ’em here in Pondville?” “No; in Hillburg and Riverport.” “How ’d you git ’em there?” “In the boat.” “In the boat! Don’t tell me!” “Ralph moved them all without any help from me, or from any one except the Baxter boy.” : “That boy?” “That boy. He runs a three-horse power in the boat, and carries twenty-five thou- sand bricks a day in her, either to River- dort or Hillburg.” “Tf he does, the evil spirit helps him.” “JT think the Lord helps him and me. Why, brother, I have- received seventy- three hundred dollars for bricks. this year,” said the deacon, proudly... “Ralph fixed uv that boat so that he could make it go three miles an hour with three horses.. Now I have told you why I think so much of Ralph.” “But he is nothin’ but a boy,” sneered the squire, overwhelmed, in spite of him- self, at the deeds of the hero. “I know that, but he has done wonders forme. From this day he is to have one- third of the profits of the business.” “That boy?” “Yes; and it won’t be less. than two thousand dollars a year.” “You are crazy, “Lijah! Give that boy two thousand dollars a year!” exclaimed the squire. “He has made the business, and it’s no more than fair. that he should have some of the profits.” “You've lost your senses,” “That’s what you have told me for two or three years; but. I shall have-over four thousand dollars on hand. when I have paid you all I. owe you... The Lord has prospered me exceedingly.” “The Lord is on the side of. the fools!” said the squire, utterly disgusted. with his brother, and especially with Ralph Binkerton, for presuming to be successful in the face of his decree and prophecy. Before dinner-time the mortgage was discharged, and the release sent to Selma to be recorded. (TO BE CONTINUED.) —___~+-0-e—- Three Books Given Away to Every Reader FREE. eee 6 EL SERIES “BRB” BOOK PREMIUMS. eid t 2 Commenced in No, 19 au Ended in No, 30; ——i gk N the first page of Goop News, from > 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 Nryws’” Liprary that you may select from the fol- lowing list. There are no conditions in this premium offer except to send us the complete set nuni- bering from 1 to 12, inclusive. The first twelve numbers of ‘‘Goop News” Liprary have been carefully selected from the entire list of the well-known ‘‘Golden Library.” Future issues of ‘‘“Goop News” Lisprary 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. “G00D NEWS” LIBRARY No. 1.—CAMP AND ‘CANOE; or, Cruise of the Red Jackets in Florida, by St. George Rathborne. No. 2.-SENT ADRIFT; or, Around the World on Eighty Cents, by Henry A. Wheeler. o. 3.—A YOUNG BLUE JACKET; or, En- isted for the War, by Robert E. Morse. No. 4.—BOY CARIBOU-HUNTERS; or, EN EEeee of Hudson Bay, by Charles . Cross. No. 5._ALL ABOARD; _ or, The Rival Boat Clubs, by Weldon J. Cobb. No. 6.—EVERY INCH A BOY; or, An Amatonr Actor’s Adventures, by Johu Tulk- inghorn. a No. 7.-WORKING HIS WAY; or, The Brookville Boys’ Club, by Dwight Welden. _ 8. TOM BROWN’S PLUCK; or, The Fortunes of a Soldier Boy, by Major A, F. we DY Grant. No. 9.-BRIGHT AND EARLY; or, The Boy Who Became a Detective, by Jobn Tulkinghorn. No. tU.—ONE CENT CAPITAL; or, A Young Clerk’s Adventure, by Archie Van. C No. 11.-WESTWARD HO! or, The Cabin in the Clearing, by Henry L. Black No, 12.—AFLOA WITH A CIRCUS; or, r Ae Dinmend-Beekprs of Natal, by Henry 1. Black. We will send any one of the above books, postage free, on receipt of 10 cents. Address | ‘‘Goop News” Laprary (Street & Smith), 31 Rose Street, New York, ‘papers to exchange for stamps. EXCHANGE DEPARTMENT, —dilenetm Qutoeaiinins {ImporRTANT.—This column is free to all our readers. We will not be responsible for transactions brought about through notices in this column. Ali 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 appear in a reasonable time, it may be understood that they were not accepted. Address all communications for this column to “Exchange De partment.”] oe ee MASTIFFS.—W. H. Townsend, 1533 8. 36th St., Omaha, has St. Bernard and English mastiffs, poultry, pigeons and type to exchange for fencing foils, photo outfit, typewriter, books and watch. BOOKS.—Berrie Riggs, Winchester, DL, has books by Alger, Jr., to exchange for any suitable thing. Alger’s books preferred. No postals answered. BOOKS.—C. C. Davis, 1100 M St., N. W., Washington D. C., has “Bruce Angelo,” a book on short-hand, and “How to become a Detective,” valued in all 45 cents, to exchange for any four books of Goop News LIsRARY “Series B.” Sendlist. Will be exchanged separately if desired, or for best offer. STAMPS.—Chas. Deitering, 3046 Locust St., St. Louis, has 500 Foreign stamps to exchange for every 700 com- mon. U. 8S. stamps or 100 cigarette cards. SAFETY.—H. C, Birr, 1339 Wolfrom St,, Lake View, Chicago, Il., has a fine Boys’ Safety to exchange for a tien Safety or a nice typewriter. Will answer all eters, ALBUM.—Alphonse Sanguinet, 386 Park Av., Wor- cester, Mass.; has 75 Goodwin slips, a stamp album worth 25 cents, and a book entitled “Tom Brown at Oxford” to exchange for reading matter. STAMPS.—C. B. Sheafor, Burlington, Kan., will ex- change three Foreign stamps for one cigarette picture, but not less than ten taken. Also has good rare for- eign stamps to exchange for books by Alger, Optic, Castlemon, ete. For particulars regarding correspond- ing club, address the above. BOOKS.—H. T. Wood, P.O. Box 765, Moberly, Mo., has Bulwer’s complete works in nine volumes, and vol- umes one and two of Encyclopedia Britannica, and story books in cloth bindings, and _a volume of boys’ paver to exchange for the best offer of a shot-gun, odak or Hawkeye camera. BATTERY.—W. E. Blynn, Box 167, Richmond, Mich., has plating battery valued at $15, to exchange for job- type or typewriter in good order. All letters answered. PICTURES.—Geo. S. Willis, Gridley, Cal., has 421 cigarette pictures, 14 five-cent libraries, 12 ten-cent libraries; a book by Horatio Alger, Kimball’s albums, and 100 Dukes’ certificates to exchange for small steam engine, stationary or locomotive, or for best offer. GOOD NEWS LIBRARY.—C. G. Stephens, 1211 W. Lanvale St., Baltimore, Md., has Nos. 8,6 and 7 of the Goop News Lripraky to exchange for others. BOOKS:—Eéwin Joseph DeCelle, Troy, N. Y., has 16 Goop NEws and two bound books to exchange for a large size magic-lantern, or for best offer. NEWSPAPER HEADINGS.—Wm. Engelman, 43 Mc- Kibben St., Brooklyn, N. ¥., has to exchange for best offer newspaper headings of the principal papers in the United States and Canada, no two alike, in Sets of 25, 50,75 and 100. “The headings are all clean and cut from eet pliblications with dates. Inclose stamp for reply. LIBRARY.—-Maleolm McLeod, Box 452, So. Hadley Falls, Mass., has a library to exchange for any copy of Goop NEws between Nos. 31 and 40. WATCH.—Rolland La Ru, Columbus, Kan., has gold- plated watch, warranted, a small steam force-pump engine, thirty copies of Goop Nrws, and a lot of novels to exchange for a one-quarter horse-power engine. NOVELS.—Samuel Haberly, Terre Hante, Ind., has 100. five-cent novels to exchange for best offer. Com- plete list sent on application. DUMB-BELLS.—Harry Moser, 214 Main St., Paterson> N. J., has papers, libraries, books, and dumb-bells to exchange for books, NOVELS.—Paul Bartel, East Williston, L. L, has ten Coles worth of novels to exchange for best offer in novels. SKATES,—C. W. Schultze, 219 E. 89th St., New York City, has pipe album, ice skates, drum sticks, fife, novels, and books to exchange for best offer of printing press or camera. PAPERS.—F. C. O'Toole, cor. Dalhousie and Catchart Sts., Ottawa, Ont., has papers to exchange for best offers. BOYS’ PAPERS.—V. Jann, 248 Canal St., New York City, has boys’ papers to exchange for a self-inking printing press, STAMP ALBUMS.—H. Mullerline, 145 George St., Brooklyn, E. D., N. Y., has cigarette pictures, stamp albums, Declaration of Independence, 15 book papers, and books to exchange for a banjo, or printing press and type, or magic lantern. FOREIGN STAMPS.—F. L. Wernett, Box 423, Coshoc- ton, O., has 200 rare foreign stamps to exchange for best offer. FOREIGN STAMPS.—Chas. FE. South, Burlington, Kan., has three mixed foreign stamps to exchange for every cigarette card. Send stamp for reply. SKATES.—Austin Pardu, 341 W. 23rd St., New York City, has a pair of Eureka nickle-plated ice skates to ex- change for best offer. PAPERS.—Wm. G, Myers. Box 350, Savanna, IlJ., has Write for list, enclos- Neb., ing stamp for reply. NOVELS.—Thomas Greene, 90 Colgate St., Cleveland, O., has Goop NEws and novels to-exchange for four or five-pound Indian clubs. ARTICLES.—W. 8. Rust, Guthrie, I. T., has a num- ber of valuable articles to exchange for steam engine, : = one to four horse-power, or best offer. Send for is NOVELS.—Morris Woif, 124 E. 108th St., New York, has boys’ papers, novels, and foreign stamps to ex- change for best offer in books. STAMPS.—F. A Russell, 8 Exchange St., Fair Haven, Conn., has 500 foreign stamps, scrap-pictures, trans- parent cards, songs, autograph album, etc., to exchange for large tobacco cards. . Young ladies over nineteen years of age, wishing to join Goop News CoRRESPONDING CLUB, Will please ad- pe Frank P. White, 103 E. State St., Marshalltown, owa. All boys wishing to join a Social Circle, should_ad- dress John Arthur, 5 Lincoln’Place, E. 18th St., New York city. C. W. Schultz, 219 E. 89th St., New York City, desires to hear from young men over fifteen years of age, who would like to organize a Goop NEWS PLEASURE CLUB. F. O. Dickinsheets, Box 125, Burlington, Kan., is or ganizing, National Exchange Association. Write for particulars. Wm. G. Schmittberger, (with Frank & Dubois,) 58 William St., New York city, represents one of the Goop News CORRESPONDING CLUBS in New York. ts 0 ey : \ WN, LE eS oS TUES he vay GLA ISSUED WEEKLY. W. B. Lawson, Editor. NEW YORK, MARCH 14, 1891. ‘Verms to Mail Subscribers: (POSTAGE FREE.) 8months - - = - - 65c. | 1 copy, two years - $4.00 4months - - = - - ssc. |The New York Weekly and 6months - - - - - $1.25 | Goop News, both for one One Year = .- = - 2.00 LYOaR: 2.9 e, Aa 4.50 2copies, one year- - 4.00 Wow To SEND Monry.—We will be responsible for the receipt of money sent to us only when remittance is made by Post-Oflice 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 ready ana willing to lend you all possible aid, and wiil send, free, as many sample copies as i think you can ju- diciously use, together with other advertising matter. Special inducements made for large clubs. Ail letters should be addressed to STREET & SMITH’S GOOD NEWS, P.O. Box 2734. 29 & 31 Rose Street, 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. Contents of this Number. en “Slaves os the Circus,” by Walter Morris. “Captain Carey,” by Lieutenant Lionel Lonnsberry. Be a and Fearless,” by Horatio Alger, Ee ‘Tjieutenant Carey’s Luck,” Lionel Lounsberry. “Shifting Winds,” by W. B. Lawson. “Whits-Horse Fred,” by Harry Castlemon. ‘Nothing but a Boy,” by Oliver Optic. “Peter Potter,” by “Jack.” ‘Daring Deeds of Boys,” by Nathan D. Urner. “Short Talks With the Boys,” by Arthur Sewall. “Concussion,” by Max Adeler. ‘Interesting Facts,” by John R. Coryell. And the usual interesting departments. —_—__~+2-- Send us the names of your friends who have not seen Good News, and we will send them a sample copy free. ——_—_>-_e_____- Ir it is impossible or difficult to obtain Goop News at any newsdealer’s in city, town, or country, please write us, giving full par- ticulars, by Lieut. ——__+-e-+ Ir is assumed that contributions unac- companied with stamped envelopes to guar- antee their return if unused, are not regarded by their writers as worth recovering. Goop News cannot undertake to send back such manuscripts. 41 Tus is the ninth paper in the guessing contest. Only one more paper to count, and the result will be known, An official count will be made, but in reality our readers are the judges, as the paper will be on file in thousands of homes, and they will enjoy the same facilities as we do for knowing the cor- rect results. oe We are constantly receiving letters, ask- ing if back numbers of Goop News can be obtained at this office. We can supply, on application, all the back numbers of Goop News from the first number issued, and par- ties wishing them have only to write us, enclose the money, and receive, postpaid, what they ordered, by return mail. ———_—_+-e-—>—— Amona the regular contributors of Goop News will be found the names of the follow- ing well-known and popular authors: Horatio Alger, Jr., Jas. Otis, Edward 8S, Ellis, Lieut. Lounsberry, Max -Adeler, Wm. H. Thomes, Lieut, Jas. K. Orton, Walter Morris, W. B. Lawson, Oliver Optic, John R. Coryell, Harry Castle- mon, and M. Quad. GOOD INTERESTING FACTS. -—— BY JOHN R. CORYELL, —o Volcanoes and Earthquakes. ONVULSIONS of nature are awful ' & enough to read about at the safe distance ot several thousand miles; but the awfulness and terror of an actual experience are simply beyond de- scription. You have heard persons tell of a night- mare as a dreadful experience, but even the worst nightmare realized would be as nothing compared to the terrors which overcome the man who awakes to find nature in convulsion and himself in her grasp. The solid earth opens and yawns for him, the sea rises like a wall and rushes to ingulf him, the air is filled with poisonous gases and pelting stone, and rivers of fire remorselessly pursue and surround bim. And why is all this? and may these ex- periences some day come to us? are ques- tions which, perhaps, you, like many another, have asked. Science knows a great deal, but these are questions which she cannot posi- tively answer. She has some theories, however, which are at least interesting, and, as they are built upon facts, are also instructive. Of course, the cause of earthquakes and volcanoes can only be guessed at until the nature of this globe of ours is known. We do not know what the earth is made of, though scores of guesses at it have been made; and most persons fancy that it isa ball of fire or molten metal covered with a cold crust of rocks and dirt, as that idea was one of the first and most attractive guesses. But at last some man with more com- mon sense than fancy came along and suggested that if there were such a terri- ble hot ball under our cold crust it surely must melt that same cold crust; for as the crust was ei supposed to be about eight hundred miles thick at most, and the hot ball nearly six thousand miles in diameter, it was not an even chance be- tween them, and the ball would of a cer- tainty melt the crust. So there was an end of that theory, and it is generally believed now that the earth is solid and comparatively cool down to the center. However, you may have your own theory about what the center of the earth is, for nobody knows any more about it than you do. But it is another matter about the crust of the earth. We know positively that not very far from the surface there are flowing rivers of molten stone, and immense reservoirs of boiling hot water. Or, to tell the real and startling truth about it, is to say that water can be so compressed as to be heated like a metal, You know what happens if water be put in a tight vessel and boiled, The vessel is spoiled, and it makes a good deal of noise in the spoiling. So itis with any gas—for steam is gas—that is confined too closely. It will break loose. It requires no great effort of the imagina- tion then to see what must happen when a vast quantity of gas is confined in some great subterranean cavern... The earth rocks, shakes, rumbles, bursts open, We call it an earthquake, Now mark the result. This crack in the crust runs out into the bed of the ocean, gulps down a few billion gallons of cold water into its scorched stomach, and closing up creates just about such a commotion in the internal economy of mother-earth as a good draft of hot mus- tard and water would in yours, and with very much the same result—an upward tendency to everything movable therein. The water, let down upon the rivers of molten stone, turns to steam, and not being able to escape, combines with the lava, and increases its volume so enor- mously that the stream is forced be into every hole and crevice, until at last it comes upon a vent leading to the surface, and then with a rush it shoots up, carry- ing everything before it, and pouring down with destructive pire upon the smiling face of the earth, leaving ita scarred and blighted thing. Sometimes in this terrible struggle mountains are made or swallowed up, When mountains are made under water they appear as islands, and the enormous displacement of water makes the tidal wave, which, heaving forward in a vast mass, sweeps over adjacent shores with fatal effect. Frequently the upheaved mountains do not come to the surface of the water, and are consequently unknown until an unfortunate ship is lost there. At first thought it seems as if these throes of nature might be expected in any part of the world, and fadeed we have no absolute certainty that any portion will be exempted; but we have good reasons to suppose that these unpleasant exhibitions will be confined to certain easily defined places. A careful study of voleanoes and earthquakes has been made only within the past century, but a his- NEw s. tory of their occurrence has been pre- served fairly well for nearly two thou- sand years, and it is noticed that these phenomena have never taken place out- side of a certain belt. The Atlantic Ocean, for example, sel- dom sees any such convulsion, while the Pacific Ocean is almost begirt with vol- canic mountains. Occasionally a slight shock of earthquake has been felt along the eastern coast of North America. On the whole, we may feel safe on the Atlantic coast unless we make our way to Iceland, where nature seems to be hav- ing a most riotous time. One important fact must be noticed in speaking of these disturbances, and that is that mountain chains are the result of displacement, mostly due to other causes, and only helped along by internal commotion, a > CONCUSSION. ——+ BY MAX ADELER, Sea igre HAT,” said the magistrate, as the young man removed the bandage from his wounded eye, and readjusted his arm in the sling. “What is the nature of the com- plaint you have to make against Mr. Jones?” “Why,” said the witness, “I’ll_ tell you. You know that I have been calling to see Mr. Jones’ daughter, Sally.” - “Coming early and staying late,” growled Jones, “Well, yesterday evening I called as usual, and as supper was not yet over, Miss Sally asked me to stay to tea.” “Hecame early on purpose, your honor,” said Jones. “He knew we were going to have ham and waffles.” “So I said I would, and I staid. After eating a frugal meal, I——” “Do you call it frugal, your honor, when a man eats fifteen waffles, and is helped to ham four times; let alone pre- serves? I call it ruinous,” said Jones, “After supper,” continued the witness, “we went into the parlor, and Miss Sally turned the gas down low because she said her father was mad about the size of the gas bills.” “Thirteen dollars last month, your honor,” said Jones, “because this chap eb every night until on toward day- ight. “And while we were sitting there, with my chair ata little distance from Miss Sally’s——” “You couldn’t have got the chairs closer if you'd tied them together, your honor,” remarked Jones. “IT asked Miss Sally,” continued the witness, “if she had: read in a recent number of a scientific journal that a con- cussion produced by a simple kiss would cause a gas-jet to flicker. She said that she had been so busy with her music les- sons that she had not read about it; but she said she took a deep interest in science. Then I asked her if she believed it, and she said it was incredible.” _ “She seems to be a far-sighted girl,” re- marked the magistrate. “T said,” continued the witness, “that, purely in the interests of science, I would demonstrate the fact to her. So I leaned over—leaned only my head over—and kissed her gently.” “Did it flicker?” asked the justice. “T thought it did, but Miss Sally said she declared she forgot to notice.” “That puts her on bread and water for a week!” said Jones, indignantly. “Then it seemed to me, somehow,” per- sisted the witness, “that the only way to repair her inadvertent inattention was to try the experiment again; so I did.” “Did she keep her eye on the flame that time?” inquired the justice. “Yes, sir; but she said it didn’t flicker half as much as she expected,” “T’ll flicker her when I get home!” ob- served the paternal Jones. “Then, of course, as the interests of science seemed likely to suffer unless the demonstration was complete, I kissed her again; this time with a rather loud noise like tearing a piece of muslin, you know.” “Was she satisfied with the experiment that time?” asked the! magistrate. “Well, I don’t know. She remarked: ‘How very interesting!’ and then she asked me what the scientific explanation was.” “She did, did she?” yelled Jones. “Well, I’ll get her mother to make a scientific application of a slipper to her before the day is out?” “So I explained to her that it was the concussion that did it; the concussion vi- brated the air, and the air vibrated the as-jet, and soon, She said she would ave been more interested during the rogress of the experiment, if she had veard the explanation first; and, of course, I offered to repeat it. Then I got a little closer to her, and——” “And put his arm around her, Jones. “And was just elucidating the scien- ” said tific principles involved in the beautiful phenomenon, when——” “When I suddenly emerged from the dining-room with a club,” said Jones. “Yes, your honor,” said the witness, “came at me with aclub as thick asa table-leg, and interrupted our scientific inquiries by banging me over the head.” “Well,” questioned the judge, “did you see the gas flicker when the club struck you?” “IT observed a number of flickering lights, but I am of the opinion that what I saw were stars.” “Ah! then your assailant must have violently attacked you?” “Yes; he succeeded in bruising my arm, mutilating ed eye, and fiercely kicking me out of the front door.” “And I'll do it again!” shrieked Jones. “Jones,” said the justice, “I will have to hold youin four hundred dollars to keep the peace.” Jones gave the bond; the scientific in- vestigator smiled, and the parties with- drew. Friends of the family regard the prospects of a consolidation between the students of science as not very encourag:- T icklets. BY CHARLES W. FOSTER. A Theory. Miss St. Fashion—“I cannot understand how the delicate and refined Miss Greendell, the poetess, could marry an Indian.” Miss Brownstone (after reflection)—‘‘Perhaps he was rich.” No Hurry. Old Gentleman—‘My boy, don’t you go to school ?” Boy—‘‘Yessir.” ‘It’s long after nine, and here you are playing.” “That's all right. We had a rather late break- fast, and mamma was ’fraid I’d be late, so she wrote me an excuse, and I’ve got it in my pocket.” Looking Forward. Old Bullion—"‘That black velvet is very becom- ing to you.” Young Wife—‘Oh, I knew black was becoming before 1 married.” The Sailors Lot. Merchant—‘‘You made good time from the Fever Islands. How is the crew ?” Ship Captain—“Half of them are sick,” “Sick of the fever ?” “No; of the fumigations,” Mother’s Little Boy. Mother—‘“‘I am glad to see that you gave your sister the larger piece of cake.” Little Boy—“The littlest piece had the most raisins,” Two Williams. Gotham Boy—“That great big city building We saw in Philadelphia, is going to have a great D: statue of William Tell on it. Papa—‘‘Not William Tell, but William Penn, the Quaker.” Gotham Boy—‘‘Well, I knew it was some William who never took off his hat.” , Unfashionable Canines. ‘ ks De Style—“Have you any fashionable ogs “ Honest Dealer—‘‘I am sorry to say I sold the last about an hour ago.” ft Mrs. De Style—‘‘You appear to have hundreds 0 beautiful dogs of all sorts and kinds left. Are none of them fashionable ?” Dealer—“‘No, madam. All of these are good for something.” A Comforting Item, Mrs. Shortpurse—The paper. says seals have made their appearance in New York harbor an several have been killed by fishermen.” b Mrs. Slimpurse—‘‘My sacque is made of plug. thank fortune. No one can mistake me for a 18 wite.” Blessings of Synonyms. Teacher—‘‘What is a synonym ?” of Bright Boy—"‘It’s a word you can use in place ie another one, when you don’t know how to spell other one.” A Friendly Tip. Tramp—‘‘Please, mum, I haven't had a bite 2 eat for most a week. I’ve a fine set o’ teeth, mu " but they don’t seem to be of much use to me. tist Experienced Housekeeper—“‘There is & \den od down street who pays ten cents a piece for go teeth.” The Powers That Be. of First Congressman—“What do you think Senator Sapheada’s hill 2?” put Second Congressman—‘T opposed it at first. nto lately have found so much popular opposit: “00d it, that 1 am inclined to think it must be & 8 thing.” A Pleasant Programme. Mamma—‘Mercy me! Don’t take 80 candy.” gome Little Dot—“But you said I could have candy for taking that medicine.” gick “Of course, but so much will make you again.” e and “Well, then I can take some more medicip have some more candy, can’t 1?” Kept His Appointment. ee Mrs. Blifkins (time, midnight)—‘Horrors ‘rowing band! ee Y I hear some one bul through the wall.’ ok Mr. Blifkins—Well, well! It must be via, a agent, I knew we'd all be in bed by eleven and I told him to eall at half-past.” Uses of a Livery. son—Father, I want to drive to Blank this afternoon. Do you need the span ” is Father—‘‘My son, to get to Blank’s Corn and TS ward pack in time for supper will require very @ driving. I think it will be wiser to hire @ livery horse,” yauch i < (This CAPT * Fig! By Autho: Lu (“Carr mer Of a. _—_ ewe Se Bt Sein (This Story will not be Published in Book-Form.] CAPT, CAREY OF THE GALLANT 7TH; a Fighting the Indians at Pine Ridge. -—— By Lieut. LIONEL LOUNSBERRY. Author of ‘Cadet Carey,” “Lieutenant Carey’s (* Luck,” “Midshipman Merrill,” ete. Caprarn CAREY OF THE GALLANT 71TH” was com- Menced last week. Back numbers can be obtained Of all News Agents.]} CHAPTER VI. SOLDIERS TO THE RESCUE, ney HO fired that shot?” Y\\ Clear and stern rang out the : question from the lips of Lieu- tenant Carey, as he beheld the Bteat Sioux chief reel in his saddle from a Ord, Sit t his 0 fl Shot fired by one of the Indian police. 0 take Sitting Bull alive had been his €rs, and only in case of direst neces. Y to fire a shot. Was true that Sitting Bull had called tedskins to the rescue, yet the gallant Cer and the Indian guard were in full rece » well mounted, and could have, a PS, escaped with their prisoner. Ot until the last desperate moment towla Kit Carey have dealt death upon € Sioux chief. GoonDpD slaught the followers of the mighty Tatanka-Yotanke broke in wild disorder and fled. Loud roared the guns, as the soldiers pursued, and the Sioux only stopped their flight when they reached the shel- ter of the ravines, where the small force dare not follow them. Then suddenly the (firing ceased, but the battle was won, and _ the Sioux chieftain lay dead upon the field where he had fallen. “Lieutenant Carey, I congratulate you upon your escape, for it was a miracu- lous one. We knew you had gotten into trouble when we heard the firing, but, though we came to the rescue at a run, we expected to find you dead, you and every man of your force. Again, I con- gratulate you, sir,” and the commanding officer warmly grasped the hand of the young soldier, who said in his modest way: “Tt was a close call, sir, and you com- ing when you did, alone saved us. I am sorry Sitting Bull was killed, but the Sioux began the fight, and the man who killed him had already received his death wound. I shall never forget the look of reproach that the chief turned upon me as he felt the death grip upon him, There was a world of meaning in it.” “Well, Carey, it was just your luck to be in at the death of the most noted of Indian chiefs, and ae to escape com- mad’ an Indian officer had been stung to| pleteannihilation *” 4 afterward. treqn’ss by a wound, there were hun- have heard you otf vba spoken of asa hot b of Sioux warriors pressing onin man of destiny 4 { ‘ and aman of Wer aste to the rescue, and many men luck, and if ,*s 38 the two can lovey BOUnting to aid in tearing their|bereconciled 4 ’y¥°? I_ believe €d leader from his captors. u are Ay on 3 th firm hand upon Ds hag Sig 4h Wetged Woy, ceived his own death h sa Yon y aide ee Moye his braves to the the me Dlunging horse of wed thas Th jb } 4, Soul nana th Pag ding in nn, ? tus * and thus had the &gle for life or death of time. Indian officer who Ted the shot at the chief had _ but himself, for he The “ and fell from his haan before the one dt ‘ 5 dia urned his bullet ting Bull had reeled the death wound, en broke from be- 1s teeth his death- . another com- Is last utterance, Sit . “idle rein Kit Carey lef -onward, deter- 0 carry him to for he knew not © Wound was mor- Suddenly Sitting (ildte hie tened up in his “Nde@ 148 @rms were ex- » his lips parted, yet tug tt Came from them, ung eS headlong to the ae te Ho neath the feet of |Agpa ihe. Tses in their mad eo leaa Sioux Ba e saw their % i halls and knew that VA Ntting ®° ld Wyre en ta? th FiD NY: WS 1///) uy Dike ‘iN RIZE kN, By Y eee Zo NS ae he to the happy x 2 a Xo lee 8rounds of their @ Mey Y Could not rescue him alive, but avenge him dead. ending .went up one wild wail of Was a a yellof rage and hatred th it a. ‘Ppalling, a Weird” well knew the meaning of ands terrible ery, and the Indian Vas renew it but too well also, la \ Blan ittle band doomed? ittleys ea into the face of their young » Surrounded now by odds too © break through, had stood at Sta n ° ei of tp and die right here, over the ty, Carey € Sioux chief!” cried Lieuten- ih” Nee his red cavalrymen rallied thous ty tho wsh shots rang out thick and {ng Vou the Indian guards fell dead reet nave, and the Sioux went down tn? Not re of the little band, they | Min doomed to he sacrificed, for with Me by Captar, the gallant Boys in Blue, Hig*Scue, ind Fechet, came dashing to : 10Ww the cry » “Sol. ike the Be ere cry became, “Sol ‘. ae a ta. In Yelanche they came on, break- Wtop, “42 line about the little band 4 8, hurli > : 'ling back the surprised Teing them upon their vil- til) brary disorder. i odds were terribly against aj » maddened into frenzy hea ve their chief, the Sioux 0] &rusn, when into sight \ ip the “nel Dunn and his infantry at : Boog eh nie guns }y O ‘an all sides redskins, mounted and a young e ot Were appearing. They had been try offi- Sy the Mes to open fire upon og Buy ePturers of Sitting Stry lista Precipitated in an K oth, %, “L ; 740A AV Ww VR ig ez pa We Wy py I Wr nigge SOREL i eo io TM yy NG pag MS MhlgZns iijjf a. a J YU eft y f aA y H LP) YBa ite KG "WG Wp : yeahs t he Spel LT a fi Ye —«) To yes zs lo alA f is ag yes PING pi pei (Gp A a NEWS. | mean to speak so warmly upon a subjcet | an officer, I suppose, has no right to dis- cuss; but, mark my words, the killing lof Sitting Bull will be denounced as | cowardly, investigated, and wept over by ' people in the East, when, had his cap- |ture or death been delayed six hours longer, he would have led thousands. of | warriors into the field and deluged this | whole borderland with the blood of set- | tlers, their wives and children, not to {speak of the soldiers,” and Kit Carey wheeled on his heel and strode away, while the looks that passed between those who had heard his words showed that he had voiced the sentiments of those who understood the situation as it was. CHAPTER VII. KIT CAREY TAKES THE TRAIL. HE body of Sitting Bull was carried to headquarters and decently bur- 4 ied, and many a brave fellow who e wore the Blue breathed more freely, knowing well at rest one whose thun- der tones in life would have led his that in the grave lay -¢ ANS , pea Yh ec oi WY . \\ SAN LIEUTENANT CAREY’S LARIAT WHIZZED THROUGH THE AIR, AND SETTLING OVER THE SHOULDERS OF THE CHIEF, PINIONED HIS ARMS TO HIS SIDES, said, sauntering up and joining the xroup. “Well, lieutenant, you can carry the body of the dead chief into headquarters when you will,” the commander ‘*re- marked, “Yes, and ng one can now say that Sitting Bull is not a good Indian,” ven- tured a cavalry lieutenant, but though his remark was appreciated he was “frowned down” for appearances’ sake, But he was sustained by Kit Carey's decided response, almost vehement in fact: “Yes, and when there are many more Indians made good in the same way this whole frontier will be the better for it. It is their nature to be savage, to rebel against restraint, and yet when they do unbury the hatchet they are not put ‘down as they should be, with a lesson that will last them for all time, and which will do more to teach them civili- zation than anything else that can be done. The moment a redskin is killed certain humanitarians raise a howl of horror, not seeming to care how many officers and soldiers are slain, or the wives of settlers sacrificed, and their being brought | homes raided by these red wards of the Style, and before this on- Government; but, pardon me, I did not people to their destruction triumph- antly. They knew also that the thirst to avenge their leader would not inflame the hearts of his people, as his words, urging them to strike their pale face foes, would have done had he lived: And while the cry went forth that he had been murdered, those dwellers near the scene knew that it was better for all that Tatanka-Yotanke was on the long trail to the happy hunting grounds; Kit Carey had reported in his modest way the scene that had occurred, and was congratulated upon his coolness and cour- age in the affair. Then he had asked for orders, and the general had said: “Sit down, Lieutenant Carey, for I wish a talk with you?” Kit obeyed, and then came the question: “Ts it true that you know this country as well as do the Indians?” “The Indians learn a country pretty well, general, better than a white man does, for their instinct teaches them much; but years ago I wandered over this part of the country a great deal, and with a guide who knew every part of it, or so it seemed to me, and since I have been in the army I have scouted 713 through it at times under orders from Colonel Crandall.” “Ah, yes; but you knew the country, you say, before you were in the army?” “Yes, sir, for I was a border boy.” “And who was this guide that you were with?” “In. a few words, general, he was an ex-army Officer, whose name I am not at liberty to give; but he met with misfor- tunes and sorrows, and became a recluse, seeking a home in what was then the very heart of the Indian country. He went South when the Civil War began, being a Southerner, and one night when alone on the prairies a horse went into his camp upon the back of which were two children, a boy and a girl. I was the boy, and the young girl is now living with her adopted parents jn New York. We had escaped from a wagon train, where people had been massacred, and roamed into the camp of the one who from that day became a father to me, taking me into the Confederate army with him as a boy soldier.” “Your story interests me greatly, Lieu- tenant Carey—and the young girl?” said the general. “Was adopted by settlers, whose home we went to, and, as I said, is now living in New York.” “And you?” “Returned to the frontier with my adopted father, sir, who was. known as the hermit of the Black Hills.” ‘ I have heard of him. He was killed by a renegade wuite man who was a chief among the Sioux, I believe?” “Yes, sir, and his death was avenged,” was the sig- nificant response of the young officer; and_ the words recalled to the gen- eral that he had heard that Kit Carey was the avenger, and how his services to army Officers as a boy guide and scout had gotten him his cadetship to West Point. But to this he did not refer more than to say: “Well, Lieutenant Carey, you_are the very man [ need for the work to be done, and I shall wish you to hold yourself in readi- ness for duty, and perilous duty it will be.” Kit bowed, and asked: “Am I to go alone, sir, or with a force?” “You are to pick your men from the Indian police, and I only hope and be- lieve they will not prove treacherous; but therein lies your danger, should they do so, as great as it will be from the avowed hostiles. Take as many as you deem necessary, only do not go over fifty men, and your duty will be to know all that goes on in the hostile camps, report the move- ments of bands, and all you can learn of what the friendly Indians may do, for just now is the most critical time along the frontier, and I have little faith in professions of friendship from armed redskins. Start as soon as you can getready, and report by your Indian cour- iers to-the officer nearest your position when you have any news to send through of importance, while above all, Carey, be careful of yourself, for you are not to be sacrificed, you know, only there is no one to send who can do the work as you will, with all your border experience.” “IT shall be cautious, general, and my redskin soldiers will also be.” After a few minutes longer spent in conversation, Kit Carey bade the general good-night, and in an hour more was off }on his special service of great danger, | while behind him in single file rode thirty 'redskin horsemen, Uncle Sam's Indian | cavalry. yee CHAPTER VIII. AN INDIAN LOVER, FN a fertile valley, through which ran | if a limpid, swiftly flowing stream, not very far from the Indian reserva- | tion, dwelt a settler by the name of Vance Bernard. | He wasaman of striking appearance, |and one who, always hospitable, was friendly with no one. ; He had been a miner in the Black Hills, it was said by those who knew him, and having “struck it rich,” had come to that part of the country to establish a home, Yet, when asked pointedly regarding Vance Bernard, those who professed to | know him could tell nothing regarding Tit him, and there were those in that scat- tered community who set him down as a man who was seeking to hide himself away from his fellows. Be that as it may, he went to work and “homesteaded” some land, bought for cash many more acres, and erected the most comfortable house on that part of borderland. He paid good prices for labor, and all he undertook was well done. Then, to the surprise of the other set- tlers, a wagon-train arrived one day at Bernard’s home, and there came with it a handsome woman of thirty-eight, a youth of eighteen, and a maiden of four- teen, and these were introduced as his wife and children. For people supposed to have been reared in the East, they adopted themselves stangely well to the new order of things, and within afew days seemed perfectly at home in their surroundings. The mother was a sad-faced woman, al- most as taciturn as her husband, and the son, Herbert, was a powerfully built young fellow, with a face that was bold and determined, yet not wholly attrac- tive. His sister, Jennie Bernard, was a maiden of rare loveliness of form and face, and the only ray of sunshine in the household, for the others really made it gloomy at times. Herbert Bernard appeared to care noth- ing for the warnings of the settlers who dropped in at the house, not to go far from the place until he knew the country well, for he would ride away alone in the morning and be gone all day, showing, it seemed, that he was fully able to take care of himself, if he was called a “ten- derfoot.” Jennie, too, was wont to go for 4 ride alone, and be gone for hours, while no anxiety appeared to be felt for her safety by either her parents or brother: “Such was the family of Vance Bernard several years after their coming to dwell in their border home. They sought no friendships, returning no visits from their neighbors, yet were ever hospitable to those who called. Of course, a girl of Jennie Bernard’s beauty could not but win admirers, and even in that sparsely settled valley she had half g dozen lovers, all of them most anxious to win her especial regard, yet not one of whom was assured that he could do so. But one lover Jennie had, to whom she was more friendly than to any of the others. This one was Red Hatchet, a young Sioux chief, and as handsome a specimen of Indian manhood as could be found anywhere. Six feet in his moccasins, possessing a superb physique, quick as a panther in his movements, yet graceful as a deer, while his face was cast in an intelligent and noble. mold, that bespoke spirit and an undaunted nature. He was a bold hunter, and was wont to come to the Bernard homestead with pelts for sale, and game, and he always found in the settler a ready buyer of what he brought. One afternoon he was on his way back to his village, when he heard a shot fired not far from the trail he was following, and then a cry, as if of pain, or alarm, followed by a second shot. The cry came from a woman’s lips, he knew, and not an Indian’s, Quickly he bounded toward the spot from whence the shots had come, and came upon a strange scene. A horse lay dead in the trail, and stand- ing near was Jennie Bernard, the captive of two warriors. As he drew nearer Red Hatchet beheld a third brave lying dead upon the ground. It was the sweet face of Jennie Ber- nard that had drawn the young chief to her home more than to sell his pelts and game, and recognizing the braves as bad men of his tribe, yet of considerable in- fluence, he rushed toward them deter- mined to free the maiden. They heard his bounding footsteps, turned, and beholding that he came in anger, warned him off, But on he came, several shots followed, and Red Hatchet, bleeding from two wounds, stood by the side of the young girl, at whose feet, dead, now lay the trio who had been her captors. “They killed my horse, Red Hatchet, and as they ran upon me I shot that one. I owe you more than life, my ‘good friend,” said Jennie, and she grasped the hand of the young chief in both her own. He made no response, but stood in deep, seemingly painful thought, which, by a sudden intuition, Jennie Bernard seemed to read, for she said quickly: “Oh! this will cause trouble all along the frontier, for the Sioux will listen to no reason as to the killing of those three evil men.” “The Snow Flower speaxs the truth; but her lips must not tell the story, no Indian or pale face must know. The Red Hatchet will hide his bad braves in an unknown grave, their trails shall be cov- GOOD ered up, and no one must know, only the Snow Flowér and the Red Hatchet.” “Tt is a fearful secret to keep, chief, yét I feel that you are right; but you are wounded, so come with me to’my home.” “No, the wounds of the Red Hatchet must not be known. They are nothing— to an Indian,” and he seemed proud at the thought that to a white man they would be considered severe, indeed. “Let the Snow Flower go to her home. The Red Hatchet has work to do here,” and he pointed to the bodies of the dead warriors. And so Jennie started on her way home- ward, for she had several miles to go. Arriving there she told her father all, and he, too, said that the secret must be kept—the Indians must never know the truth. When the dawn came the saddle and bridle left on the dead horse were found upon the piazza, showing that the Red Hatchet had brought them there under cover of the darkness, and that day Jen- nie rode with her father to the scene, and the dead horse alone was a silent witness of the tragedy enacted there. The bodies of the Sioux braves seemed to have been spirited away, as no trace of a trail could be found. It was a couple of months before Red Hatchet again appeared at the Bernard home, and he looked as though ‘he had béen seriously ill. But he said nothing of the past, though from that day each month brought -him to the home of the Bernards, and the young girl could not but know that he was her most devoted lover, and into her heart stole a great dtead of coming evil. CHAPTER IX, LASSOING A SIOUX. O one knew better than did Lieu- tenant Carey just what was ex- ected of him by the general, and 16 was fully aware of all the dan- gers attending the performance of his du- ties. The Indian police were as yet untried in war against their own race, and with the medicine men of the tribes urging them to madness almost in regard to the coming of a redskin messiah to aid them in wiping the pale faces off the earth, and again becoming the masters of their country. Might not some, if not all, of those under his command prove treacherous? It was a question that could not be readily answered; but he was launched upon his special work and must abide the consequences, It was true that the Indian guards had proven heroes, and true as steel in the capture of Sitting Bull, but then the red- skins were as fickle as the wind, here to- day and gone to-morrow, friends by day and foes by night. Still Kit Carey hoped for the best, and at the head of his redskin cavalry boldly plunged into the dangers before him. The Indians, having broken away from the reservations, and corrals held about them by the wavering line of soldiers, the young officer knew that to hover about the Bad Lands was his duty, and only chance of discovering the informa- tion he sought. Knowing the countrv well he divided his force into squads, sending them to various points, from whence they could watch the trails in and out of the Bad Lands, and the bands that were assem- bling there. In this way he hoped to get at the real force of the redskins, and by a round of the posts himself learn just what he wished from his Indian police, as to all movements made under their observation. “T will learn the exact situation, if I have to go into the Bad Lands myself,” he muttered, in his determined way. When morning came he had placed sev- eral observation squads of his men, and by noon had only a dozen left with him. These went into hiding in a ravine, with a sentinel in a tree to watch a trail running a mile away. Then Kit Carey started off on a recon- noissance alone, intending to make a wide circuit of the trails leading into the Bad Lands, It was nearly sunset when he neared the top of a ridge, and wisely dismounted to look cautiously over into the valley beyond before venturing. He.took off his hat, gained the shelter of a bush, and peered over. What he saw seemed to surprise him. Not three hundred yards away were two persons on horseback. ; One was an Indian chief, in war-paint and eagle feathers. The other was a woman, and a pale face, As do many army officers, Kit Carey carried a repeating rifle when on a scout. It hung at his saddle horn, and he quickly sprang to the side of his horse and secured it. He could believe only that the woman was the captive of the redskin, His rifle was of large caliber and long range, and he was noted as the best shot in the army of the frontier. “There must be others near, though I could not discover them; but I can drop him, mount, and dash to her aid; and then run for it with her,” he mused to himself, while éxamining his rifle to see that it was in perfeétt trim: Then he crept cautiously toward the bush again, peered through; with rifle ready. But Kit Carey did not fire as he had in- tended, for, to his surprise, he beheld the Indian chief riding slowly up the trail toward him, while the one whom he had supposed was his captive was cantering off in the other direction. But the Indian was a chief, and in full war-paint, and that meant trouble, if the two met. He was in a locality whére his lifé was at stake, within the danger line for milés, and a shot might bring hundreds upon him. “This will bé better than my rifle, though I would have fired to save her,” he muttered; and he .took his lasso coil from his saddle. One end he left attached to the saddle horn, and leading his horse close to the steep bank near the bush, stood there be- hind its shelter with the noose in his hand ready to throw. On came the Sioux chief all unconscious of danger, and, peering fixedly at him, the officer said, with some surprise: “Ah! it is that desperate young chief who tried so hard to rescue Sitting Bull some days ago, for twice he fired full at me, yet my star of luck hovered over me. Now I will have a chance to get even,” and he grasped the lariat more firmly. On came the Sioux chief; his black and white spotted pony, all unconscious of danger even: Nearer and nearer ap- proached the Sioux chief, until suddenly Lieutenant Carey arose, and his lariat went whizzing through the air with surest aim, settling over the shoulders of the chief, pinning his arms to his side, and, as his pony bounded away, dragging him from his saddle to the ground. Hardly had the Indian fallen ere Kit Carey was standing over him, his revolver |muzzle in his face, while he said sternly in the Sioux tongue: “You are my prisoner, chief! Make no resistance, and I will not harm you.” But the chief had uttered one loud ery, as he felt the noose tighten about him, and Kit Carey felt that it was a call for help to braves who were near, and so was anxious to secure his prisoner, deter- mined to use him as a hostage and foil, if caught in a tight place. In response to his words the Sioux joes into the face of the officer, and re- plied; “The Red Hatchet is the friend of the ale faces, not their foe. He is here to keep his warriors back from the war- trail.” “Does the Red Hatchet think that I am blind; for did I not see him lead the red- skins to rescue Tatanka-Yotanke?” And as he spoke Kit Carey turned quickly, for up the steep trail came a horse at full speed, and the rider he bore was Jennie Bernard. CHAPTER. X, A WOMAN’S WAY. Gy 4 IT CAREY was fairly startled at ‘K 3+ the vision of loveliness he beheld ASS bef re him, for Jennie Bernard ~?™ had drawn rein suddenly, as she came to where the Sioux chief lay upon the ground, still in the toils of the lasso held in the hand of his captor, who stood over him, his revolver covering him. Attired in a buckskin riding habit that fitted her form perfectly, wearing a slouch dove-colored hat, and sitting her horse like one reared in the saddle, she was a perfect picture of a border girl, handsome and fearless. Hardly had her horse been reined to a sudden halt, when the chief spoke in good English: “Let the Snow Flower speak! Is the Red Hatchet the friend, or the foe, of the pale faces?” Ever courteous Kit Carey had raised his hat, and now at the words of the im- prisoned Sioux chief, spoken most im- pressively, he had looked straight into the face of the young girl with a strange expression. “The Red Hatchet is my: friend, the friend of our people. Oh, sir! I beg you not to do him harm!” Instantly did Kit Carey stoop, and un- loosen ‘the noose and’ coil, while he ex- tended his hand, and said: ' “Rise, chief, and, believe’ me, I feel sorry at having made you a prisoner, though to find you here near the retreat of the hostiles T could but take you fora foe, while you are also in full war-paint and battle costume. Why is this, chief?” “The Red Hatchet wears a double face now. He isthe friend of the pale faces, 4 —_— yet not the foe of his people. He will not E be a traitor Sioux, and only when in wakz, braves as one who is not a coward, and ik Wh paint and feathers can he talk to B® A IAN urge them not to strike the blow that will destroy them.” The words were delivered with a natu: ral oratory, for which many Indians are noted, and they had their effect evel 7 upon such an old frontiersman as was Kil; Carey, for he said frankly: j “Again, I say that. I am sorry, chieh so let us be friends, though I could sweat that I saw you lead the attempted reseu@ = : of Sitting Bull, and several times seé my life.” ita *“The Red Hatchet was not there at the ~ death of our great. medicine chief,” W4? the quick response of the Sioux. “Then it was your twin brother?” “No, no, sir; the Red Hatchet was 000 772 there, and I beg you will allow him g0,” quickly said Jennie Bernard. “May I ask, miss, how you heard dow? | here of the death of Sitting Bull, so 8008 after its happening,” and the eyes of officer were fixed searchingly upon the face of the maiden. Her face flushed, yet she answered if & * : quiet way: > & B; 4 Mhor of « 7 Ys Col } drank x “The news was brought by a Sioux [ney a ag dian, sir.” “Ah!” and with this exclamation 1% rious thoughts flashed like lightnimé through the mind of the officer. J Vouched for by a white maiden, lovey” in face and form, and declared not ite: have been at the attempt at rescue of si ; ting Bull, in contradiction to his oa eyesight, even, Kit Carey felt compel to yield. 4 Yet. the sad thought came upon ed : 1, Suited that this lovely young pale face gitl the Indian chief. 5 What could he believe otherwl now the belief at first that she was # ; sptalo tive, had changed to the almost certal knowledge that he had come up ner % : lovers’ tryst, if one was white, the ° red. Cal 2 Pocahontas had saved the life of hite tain Smith, and then married @ Wig. man, anda number of such marnaner had occurred away back in the ea history of our country. ; g be Here was as handsome an Indian ® 3 ora: had ever seen, one who spoke like ve and tor, and seemed born to commal ‘with the romantic girl had fallen in lowe him, Kit Carey decided. +] It was a bad thing for the ey in good for her people, for such a chie’ ould have power over his braves, and } hold them in check. ve Carey | So, turning to the maiden, Kit said: 1 889 “T am glad, miss, if it is as JG jou% and I accept your pledge for the % go: chief, while, to him I would gs ut: among his people, and tell them tp gh! terly useless will it be for them —(. ghe the whites, and the sooner he #™ — better will it be for all.” d will “The Red Hatchet has heards @M cop be do as the White War Hagle Say%~ met b? knows him.” d “Ah! I thought that we ha fore,” quickly said the officer. pean’ te “The White War Eagle beeg th wat is put bitter foe of the Sioux, when 0 i rien path; but the Red Hatchet 15 h h now. o - ad; avd g The chief extended his han@s ot Carey grasped it, and then said | of, Ui “There is the pony of the his ma lose no stpie in going ie is 4 gi and urging them against . e Thus diam tased, the chief stall 100) lently to his pony, mounted, (Jeph, away, while Kit Carey turLe piused if, Bernard, who now seeme eae ers? the iit in which she t for she spoke not a word. hi Lieutet ott be Your sglel “May I introduce myse Carey, miss, and offer to a to your home, for I know © ” am dwelling within miles of be gif J the “My father’s is the neares 1 8es ‘and a } Miss Bernard,” was the resporr partes se for- Fe t cape ; : ush oF ? hy Ra j ids Hae . \ 8 @ ea ih Q ela; yj ag x ‘ Warton thy Tely t 8 he, “ON E meting Str re Vildey ied. a q —~th einen and tone seemed more me 08). hh the @; than before. tf Per fe ; “And Miss Bernard will accel pet i ilteg, Dear she is in dange? ed hi He ue escort, for she i is tb ig bur ere?” ie “I will, sir, and thank you , jot?) i 7 earnest reply. +mse . Then, aa Kit Carey threw him of neh wh e OF +5t0- his saddle and wheeled alongs rat las she cried suddenly as she , pat tears : ba iP “Oh, Lieutenant Carey | Told YONHe i may I not have done, 10h tch 18 a falsehood, for the Red a ostilee 4 most desperate leader of the ; (TO BE CONTINUED: —____—__—_<-6 INCOMBUSTIB i Take a sheet of paper, § nis ? water, and let it dry-. Follows r¢ tion three or four times, a1, at some one to light it at 4 Prd gneet will find that the prepare not burn, Wi “1 < ‘acy pare ene eel Gime GrooDp NEWS. 715 / yf w@ wWhite-Horse Fred; 4 4 af MUN AMONG THE OUTLAWS. ae d By HARRY CASTLEMON, ven Mhor ot “A Sailor in Spite of Himself,” ‘True to Kit - up Colors,” ‘Frank, the Young Naturalist,” ® (ak in the Woods,” ‘The Steel Horse,” ief, “ae Gl ank on the Mountains,” ‘“The Rod and Gun eh, MUD,” «Snowed Up,” ‘Guy Harris,” etc, + «Wea seek tre tronsr FRED” was commenced in No. 38. . umbers can be obtained of all News Agents. ] -——- i } SYNOPSIS. "4 julian Mortimer had been taken from his home Wee, Witte young, and when he reached his six- nob lt year we find him with a wagon train cross- : m ° Plains, under the guidance of an old trap- pn 10 ; ait, sree Silas Roper. While encamped one “ Ribe llaghad gone off on a scout, and Julian lowe = Bin On guard for a time, when a man came goon — yy oe told him that Silas wanted his assist- the tions Mitacking a band of outlaws under the ¢he bere? of Ned Sanders. ‘The boy accompanied F a S0n, and was soon surprised to find him- £ baeSoner in the camp of the outlaws, where jn 4 yas securely bound to a tree. Julian was j " eermed that one Dick Mortimer had offered - Ine “thousand dollars if he would kill him ; ok don stnald Mortimer had offered five thou- yar ht nah for the boy alive, Sanders had deter- ‘ Man 410 accept the larger amount, and deliver Mino the hands of his Cousin Reginald. _ Ac- aan huge accompanied by an outlaw named Tom, ovelY Ferg at once proceeded to Reginald Mortt- ot b yi, puck. where he arrived and delivered the t Si od and the hands of Reginald, receiving five ow2 heoliars for his services, with the promise olled also U82nd more for the delivery of Silas eC Ne an Pe On the morning after his arrival at SA as of Reginald Mortimer, or Uncle Regi- pin Rg, tlan was told to call him, our hero was loved dro With a beautiful white mare, named itig yo), Reginald Mortimer had told Julian for- ‘Our Mght take a ride, and the youth at once Cy ap" 4. » »0t being familiar with the*country, he a Ci in H fon © mare to go where she pleased, and stay Ritet? himseit at the door of a cabin situated op. — fe nam Yavine. This cabin was occupied by a other 4 ed €d Smirker, and as he came to the door, ‘ete Mew hag utan as White-horse Fred. Although Cap: it Wag Hot the remotest idea who White-horse pite Stactay 4nd as the-man seemed to be a rough Ww es pW peste once assumed the title, and all ya ‘of ‘tite Until Julian was about to take his de- aril , 4 60 mirker had brought out a horse, the teq UMterpart of Snowdrop, which Julian as be 8 sand was about riding off, when a shrill ora: a punded through the gorge. Smirker . and Whew plver from his belt and leveled it at 1, ith help son just asa youth of about Julian’s age 5 wll f by VS pen’ back of an Indian pony. Had the t ity, eo dressed alike, it would have been ‘I, bur Wag ( to distinguish one from the other, so us ty > Cuelr resemblance; and, toadd to Ju- ould Ayn Se, the new-comer claimed to be Julian weet rye a, parinatod vant Julian one ep ‘ 2 hy eeing that this deception was the carey ny that could safely carry him out of his fy eong Comfortable surroundings, Julian for 1 88S) ~ he Fro qume declared that he was really White- gious “ke an, This information greatly mystified £0 BO i Pregnd he intimated to Julian that White- ut 1, S immediate departure would be con- Ww ; ght Oye thy ereat blessing to Mr. Smirker. Acting ) epe SInto peesestion Julian at once dashed the $8," ot trom S horse, which sprang forward like an ai] yt P8eq gp COW and tore down the path with am} Men iy 9 the wind, leaving the other boy a for he ™ the hands of Smirker. net be CHAPTER XXII. ant be THE SPECTERS OF THE CAVE. wal, 0 1e ris ; rie™ teRCELY waiting for Julian to get oi Y. out of the stable, Smirker nd git iy; mmed the door ant locked. it, te, avUrning fiercely upon his new f. 6 4 be isarmed him by jerking off “prat Ayelvey Which contained his knife. and . th. boy, “48ving thus put it out of cod Se d tke * Power to do any mischief, d Mie ys; SUddenly seemed to become | Jeo Atk ae of his presence, He had sed i peduart think about, and for the per hi, SX Of am hour he gave himself ys Vlre . c Hin, ely to his reflections, never once teeny Non Single lance toward his com- y OF 8 tt long § paced up and down the stable ttle” Aten Strides, shaking his head and ae in’ oxpr and trying in vain to find 4 eet Wewijqretion for the strange, and to ‘and ged iy @q «ting, incidents that had just rr eyy + Lhey were now more than be- i Nth m they were absolutely terrify- > Rae beayi pression on his face and his Wd. DS and manner abundantly be ah ‘iis ae walked with a very unsteady v8 beg ee frame trembled like an nt? Dyer hig h rm, and now and then he elf pen | Hietio ee to dash away the _per- of pt? Tykops of nie stood on his forehead °S $7 prj In, a et Boer Was as cool and collected f BY 8) Rasisly are left to himself, he strolled 1 Yo pe is p ie out the stable, examining , 184. fate in it, and occasionally di- es! aX Baze toward the open door # € stable into the living- ie Cabin. Finally he leaned Te, S bare. the stalls, and when Rf Ug fron, V2 turned hastily pulled aio m ©m his pocket and tossed it in? ae Noi 48er—something that gave js P rest alignetallic sound as it fell. relief ey} ay Sht as it was, caught the and ee Mag, He nd aroused him from his eet fe at pared and confronted his “Nothing at all,” was the-reply. “I am. waiting as patiently as I can for you to explain why you have robbed me of my weapons, and are keeping me here. I assure you that my Uncle Reginald will have something to say to you about this before you are many hours older,” “What you doing there?” repeated Smirker, fiercely; “I heard something chink.” “Perhaps it was my persuaders,” said the boy, Rfting his boot and exhibiting a huge Mexican spur, ornamented with lit- tle silver bells, which tinkled musically as he moved his feet about. “P’raps it was, and p’raps most likely it wasn’t. Haven’tI lived long enough to tell the difference between the rattling of spurs and the jingling of money? If have, I bet you. Ill soon find out what you’ve been up to.” Smirker walked into the stall in front of which the boy was standing, and then for the first time the prisoner began to show signs of anxiety. He closely watched the man’s movements, and cast frequent and impatient glances toward the door of the* living-room, as if he were expecting and earnestly desiring the arrival of some one. Smirker was in the stall but a few mo- ments, and when he came out he carried in his hand asmall canvas bag, at the sight of which the prisoner turned white with terror. Taking his stand under the lantern, Smirker untied the string with which the bag was fastened; but no sooner did his eyes fall upon its contents than he dropped it as if it had been a coal of fire, and his face grew livid with rage and alarm. “Betrayed!” he roared, stamping his feet furiously upon the ground, and flourishing his fists: in the air. “And, fool that I was, I might have known it! I suspected it from the beginning.” “‘What’s the matter?” asked the boy, and his voice was as firm and steady as ver. “What's the matter?” shrieked Smirker, driven almost insane by his intense pas- sion. “Do you stand there and ask me what’s the matter? It’s the last question you will ever ask me, for you are as good as a dead man already. Didn’t I say that there was something at the bottom of all this? You are White-horse Fred—that bag proves it. It contains nuggets, and gold-dust, and _money—my share of the swag which I have received and sent to the fellows below. I expected to get it from that other boy, and asked him for it; but of course he couldn’t give it to me, being an impostor. And I allowed him to go off scot free, and even told him some secret that nobody outside the band ought to know, How long will it take him to ride to the fort and tell what he has seen and heard, and lead a squad of soldiers back here? And you helped him out in it—you, a sworn member of the band! Now, you shall tell me what you mean by acting as you have done. Speak in a hurry, or I’ll choke it out of you!” Smirker, howling out these words with a fierceness and energy which showed that he was terribly in earnest, advanced toward his prisoner in a low, crouching attitude, something like that a wild beast would assume when about to spring upon its prey. The boy’s face was very pale, but he bravely stood his ground. Knowing that escape was impossible, he was prepared to fight desperately for his life, “Will you tell me?” asked the robber, creeping forward with a slow, cat-like motion. “1 have nothing to tell,” replied the boy, “except this: I have friends close at hand, and they ought to be here now.” “Then I will have this business over before they arrive.” “Come on, and I will show. you what a Mortimer is made of.” : Before the words of defiance had. fairly left the boy’s lips, Smirker_ bounded for- ward, and the two closed in a death struggle. The fight was of longer duration, and was much more desperate than one would suppose it could have been, considering the immense advantage which Smirker possessed over his wiry antagonist in weight and muscle; but of course it could end in but one way. _ White-horse E red, bruised and exhausted, was borne to the ground at last with the man’s knee on his breast and his brawny hand at his throat. at ot “Now let’s hear from you, hissed Smirker. “Who was that fellow who came here and passed himself off for you, and why did you help him out in it? Speak, before I choke the life out of you, If Fred could have obeyed, his reply would have been as defiant as ever, but the powerful grasp on his throat rendered articulation impossible. “You won't tell me?” demanded Smirker; “then take the reward of your treachery.” se The robber’s hand glided around his side to his belt, and when it came in sight again it brought with it a gleaming bowie-knife, which was raised in the air above the prisoner’s breast; but just as it was on the point of descending it was arrested as effectually as though the arm which wielded it had been turned into stone. “Hold hard, thar!” The words, uttered by a strange voice and spoken ina tone of stern. command, |rang through the stable with startling | distinctness. Smirker raised his eyes, and there, standing in the door to which Fred had'so often directed his gaze, was a gigantic figure clad in buckskin, hold- ing in his hands a long, heavy rifle, the muzzle of which was pointed straight at the robber’s head. “Silas Roper !” gasped Fred’s antagonist. “’Tain’t nobody else, as you’ll find out mighty sudden if you move an eyelid,” was the reply. “Drop that we’pon an’ get up from thar.” The’ command was no sooner uttered than it was obeyed by the tremblin Smirker, who threw down his knife an slunk away like a whipped cur before the stalwart trapper, as he came striding into the stable, and retreating toward the nearest stall, held both his hands above his head in token of sarrender. “None of that ar, now,” said Silas, as he bent over the prostrate form of the boy. “Keep out in plain sight whar I can have an eye on you. Are you had hurt, Fred? If you are, that feller signed his death-warrant.” “No! no!” moaned the boy, faintly. “Don’t touch him.” Smirker was amazed to hear the one who had so narrowly escaped death at his hands interceding for him. It re- lieved him of all fear of bodily injury, and he straightway began to recover his composure; but he drew a step or two nearer to Fred’s side, thinking it best to keep'as far as possible out of the reach of the giant, whom he knew had good cause to be at enmity with him. “T shall be all right as soon as I “have had time to recover the breath he choked out of me,” continued the latter. “Oh, Silas, Iam so glad to see you! But why didn’t you come just a few minutes sooner. IJ have seen him. He was in this very stable.” “Him!” repeated the trapper. “Who? Not Julian?” “Yes, Julian. I didn’t think I should know him when I met him, but I did. I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him that he was my brother, but Smirker was in the way. am terribly disappointed in him, Silas. He is from the States, you know, and I expected to see a boy who hadn’t courage enough to face a sheep. But he’ll do.” “Why, how come he here?” asked Silas, in great surprise. “T haven’t the least idea. Make Smirker tell. He’ll do anything you ask him.” “How was it?” demanded the trapper, turning to the owner of the cabin. “Tell nothing but the truth.” Smirker was too completely cowed by the presence of the giant, with whose powers he had more than once been made fully acquainted, to fabricate a falsehood even if he had anything to gain by it. Not daring to. disobey, or even to hesi- tate, he began, and in a faltering voice told the story of Julian’s visit to his cabin just as we have related it. He also described what had taken place after Fred’s arrival, but added that Silas must ask the boy to explain that, for it was something he could not comprehend. “J can soon make it plain to you,” said White-horse Fred, now taking up the story. “You can’t imagine how surprised I-was to find Julian here, and if Smirker had possessed any control over himself I should not have known what to do. But the way’he looked and acted gave mea clew, and I saw through the whole thing as clearly as if it had been explained to me in words. Uncle Reginald, you know, happened to ride by old Antoine’s cabin the other day while I was absent, and seeing one of my _ horses, Snowdrop, there, suddenly conceived a violent pas- sion for her, and took possession of her without saying so much as ‘by your leave.’ I wondered what he. intended to do with her, and now I have _ found out. He gave her to my brother. Julian this morning thought he would take a ride and look over the country, and not know- ing that the horse belonged to a band of robbers, gave her a loose rein and she brought him here. Finding that he had got himself into trouble, he acted upon some hint ‘that Smirker gave him, and passed himself off for me; and if I had not arrived just as I did, he would have got away without being suspected, To help him out of the difficulty, I told Smirker that my name was Julian Morti- mer, and the blockhead believed it.” “Thar ain’t nothing so very strange in that,” observed Silas. “No man on airth could tell you two apart, if you. was dressed alike.” ; “But we were not. Smirker has seen me. in these clothes a hundred times, I suppose, and I should think he ought to have recognized me. Now that I think of it, lran something of @ risk, didn’t I? Suppose that when I said that my name was Julian Mortimer, my brother had lost his courage and revealed himself? Wouldn’t I have been in a scrape? I de- pended entirely upon his presence of mind to carry me through, and I didn’t lose b it. But wasn’t he astonished, though? j thought he would tumble out of his sad- dle. But he behaved pretty well, con- sidering that he is from the States.” “Why didn’t you want to tell me who he was?” asked Smirker, who had lis- tened attentively to the story. “JT would have been smart to do that, wouldn’t I?” returned White-horse Fred. “Suppose I had told you, and you had succeeded in making an end of me before Silas came, what would you have done? You would have gone straight to Uncle Reginald and told him what had hap- pened, and he would—— Well, it’s enough for you to know that he would have made trouble for Julian. Silas, if you had only come a few minutes sooner he would have been with us now. IT am uneasy about him. He will get into diffi- culty when he gets home, now you see if he doesn’t.” “JT couldn’t come no sooner,” replied the trapper; “’cause I had more trouble than I thought I’d have crawlin’ down that long, dark passage-way that leads from the top of the cliff. What’s the matter with you?” This question was addressed to Smir- ker, who suddenly began to exhibit a greater degree of terror than the circum- stances seemed to warrant. The show of courage he had maintained ever since he found that Fred was disposed to stand between him and the vengeance of the trapper vanished as quickly as it had appeared; and scarcely able to retain an upright position, he was obliged to lean against the wall for support. “You needn't be no ways skeery,” said Silas, who seemed to feel some compas- sion for the trembling wretch. “We've got plenty agin you, but if you behave yourself, nobody’s goin’ to hurt you. All we ask of you is to tell us something we want to know; an’ if you will do that, we'll turn you loose, an’ you can dig out of this country as soon as you please.” “T’ll tell you anything,” replied Smir- ker, quickly. “But, first, I’d like to have you tell me something. When I was going to pitch into you,” he added, turning to White-horse Fred, “you told me to come on, and you would show me what a Mor- timer was made of, didn’t you?” “TI did,” replied the boy. “I knew, of course, that you were too much for me, but I wasn’t.going to surrender. That’s something I don’t know how to do.” “And you have said two or three times that Julian is your brother, hain’t you?” Smirker went on. “T have, and:he is.” o “Then you must be the son of old Major Mortimer?” “T am proud to say that I am.” “Well, now if you are, what business you got walking about on top of the ground? That’s what I’d like to know. You had ought to be at the bottom of the lake that lies behind your father’s ranch. Sanders put you there, ’cause I seen him do it with my own eyes.” “TI know he did, and my body is there yet,” replied White-borse Fred. “Eh?” exclaimed Smirker, drawing away from the boy toward the trapper. “Don’t you know that a Mortimer can’t be killed?” asked Fred, who, having: re- covered from the effects of his struggle with the robber, was his jolly, reckless self once more. “And have you not yet learned that the members of: our family have the power of throwing the shield of their protection around their servants? It’s a fact. You remember old Juan, do you not? Dick Mortimer shot him twice with his own hands, and you knocked him on the head with the butt of your rifle; and then you both picked him up and threw him over a cliff, didn’t you?” “There ain’t no use in saying we didn’t,” replied Smirker. “But was hired to I ag in that work.” “Oh, of course. Menalways have some excuse for doing wrong. Well, that old fellow’s body may be at the bottom of that gorge now, but I don’t believe it is. There is something that looks wonder- fully like him walking about above ground this very day. If you want to see it we can show it to you.” “You needn’t put yourselves to no trouble,” whined Smirker. “Ask me all the questions you want to and turn me loose.” “The old chap walks around of nights, too,” continued White horse Fred, in a tone of voice that made the cold chills ereep all over his listener, “assisting his friends in every possible way and execut- ing all sorts of vengeance on his ene- mies How would you feel if you should wake up about midnight and see him coming toward you just this way?” Fred threw himself into a crouching eg similar to that which Smirker 1ad assumed a few minutes before, drew his head down between his shoulders, dis- torted his features, opened his eyes and 716 mouth to their widest extent, spread out his fingers like the claws of a wild beast, and crept slowly toward the robber. “Don't!” cried Smirker, “We're goin’ to take you right whar he was seed last,” said Silas, who, believing that time enough had _ been wasted, thought it best to bring Fred’s pleasan- tries to an end; “and if you don’t tell us what we want to know we’ll show him to you as sure as you’re a hoss-thief. Put the saddles on the critters, Fred, while I tie this feller.” “T will tell you what you want to know now,” said Smirker, who continued to exhibit the most abject terror. “Yes; but you see we want to'take you to a place whar we can keep you safe till we find out whether or not you tell us the truth.” As Silas spoke he detatched a halter from one of the bridles hanging on the wall, and with it securely bound the arms of his prisoner, who remonstrated earnestly against the proceeding, but never once thought of resistance. By the time this was done Fred had saddled the two horses in the ‘stable, one of which was Snowdrop, and the other an animal belonging to Smirker, replaced the belt containing the revolver and knife about his waist, and also secured posses- sion of the bag containing, the nuggets and gold-dust. Silas then mounted Smirker’s horse, and bending down from his saddle and placing his arm about his prisoner, raised him to a seat behind him as easily as if he had been a child. In a few minutes more the. trio were riding down the gully at a brisk trot. Silas and his young companion held their weapons ready for instant use, and kept a good lookout on all sides of them, if they chanced to meet any of the band of which their prisoner was a member, they might be called upon to fight for possession of him. But they accomplished the descent of the gorge, crossed the val- ley, and entered the woods on the oppo- site side without meeting any one, and finally found themselves in the vicinity of the ranch. Here they became very cau- tious in their movements, White-borse Fred leading the way at a slow walk, and frequently stopping to look about and listen. Presently he dismounted in a dense thicket, and having tied his nag to one of the bushes, seated himself on the ground, his example being followed by the trapper. For fully half an hour they and their prisoner sat motionless in their place of concealment, and at the end of that time Silas Roper’s quick ear caught the sound of a stealthy footfall. He communicated the fact to Fred in a whisper, and the latter was instantly on the alert. He crept away through the bushes, and presently came back again. “It’s Dick,” said he, in a low tone; “and after Julian again I[’ll warrant. Isn't he persevering? He is coming down the hill. Do you think I could get ahead of him?” “T reckon you might if you’re right lively,” replied the guide. “But be care- ful of what you do. One mistake would spoil everything.” The active Fred was out of sight almost before Silas had ceased speaking. Thread- ing his way rapidly but noiselessly through the woods, he reached the bot- tom of a wide and deep ravine, which he crossed with a few swift bounds. Arriv- ing at the base of a hill on the opposite side, he pushed aside a thick cluster of bushes, disclosing to view a dark open- ing, which seemed to extend far down into the regions below.- Into this he dived like a squirrel going into his hole, and in a second more was out of sight. The bushes which concealed the opening had searcely sprung back to their places when Richard Mortimer appeared in sight, moving down the ravine with slow and cautious steps, and pausing every few feet to look about him. When he reached the mouth of the cave he backed into the bushes, and, concealing himself among them, stood for a long time listening and gazing up and down. the ravine. Being satisfied at last that his movements were unobserved, he drew back into the open- ing, and hurried along a narrow passage- way, which led first to the store-room be- fore spoken of, and thence through the hill to Reginald Mortimer’s ranch. “Tam now going to make amends _ for GrooDp The passage-way was as dark as mid- night, but Richard Mortimer, being per- fectly familiar with all its windings, walked rapidly through it, and turning an abrupt bend,.found himself at the place where the passage opened into the store-room. Although he had braced his nerves, called all his courage to his aid, and was fully prepared to encounter something more, he could not repress the thrill of horror that ran through him, or the exclamation of astonishment that es- caped his lips the moment he emerged from the passage- way. A pale green light, whose source was invisible, and through which objects could but be dimly seen as through a mist, was streaming through the cellar. To Richard Mortimer’s excited imagina- tion it seemed to proceed from the bodies of two persons who were slowly approach- ing him from the opposite end of the apartment—one a very aged man, and the other a youth who looked remarka- bly like White-horse Fred. They were walking side by side, gazing into each other’s faces, and appeared to be con- versing earnestly, for their hands were constantly employed in gesticulating, and their lips moved, although no sound came forth. The light, which gave a strange and unearthly appearance to their feat- ures, seemed to move as they moved; and, instead of diffusing itself about the room, was confined to a narrow space in the immediate vicinity of the figures. Richard Mortimer gazed, and as he gazed felt his courage oozing out at the ends of his fingers. His first impulse was to turn and take to his heels, but the weakness was only momentary. Recovering him- self by a strong effort, he advanced boldly into the store-room, but its mysterious occupants took no notice of him. He drew one of his Derringers from his pocket, and. leveled it at the old man’s breast. “T have just one bullet apiece for you, my friends,” said he, his voice trembling in spite of his efforts to control it, “and unless you stop that pantomime and speak to me, I will bring this farce to an end in a way that you probably have not expected.” He paused, but no answer was returned, nor was there the least change in the ex- pression of the countenances of the two figures to show that his words had_ been heard. ‘They continued to approach the place where he was standing, talking earnestly and gesticulating. They were now quite near to him—so near that Richard Mortimer retreated a step or two, ard as he did so his finger pressed the trigger. There was a bright flash, a stunning report, and when the smoke, which for a few seconds obscured his vision, cleared away so that he could see the effect of his shot, he dropped his empty weapon and staggered back as if he were about to fall. There stood the old man, erect and unharmed, still talk- ing with his companion, and neither of them seemed to have heard the report. of the pistol. To draw the other and discharge it was but the work of an instant, but it had no visible effect upon the objects of his vengeance, who continued to advance, the light keeping pace with them, and their faces appearing to assume a more ghastly and unearthly look the nearer they approached. And now Richard Mortimer discov- ered something that had hitherto escaped his notice—a tiny stream of blood which was trickling down the old man’s temple, and two holes in the breast of his buck- skin jacket. White-horse Fred was as wet as if he had just come out of the lake, and the water dripped from his garments as he moved along. The sight reminded Richard Mortimer of one and bloodshed had been enacted at the ranch, and drove away every particle of he turned and fled like the wind, (TO BE CONTINUED.) —__~+ o> ____—- CARE OF CANARIES. sun or cold araught. Let him have a lit- the cowardice I exhibited last night,” soliloquized Richard Mortimer, “T am heartily ashamed of what I did, and I shall never again allow myself to. be frightened from my purpose by so shal- low an artifice. It couldn’t have been old Juan’s ghost I saw, for there are no such things. Neither could it have been the old man himself, for he was put out of the way long years ago, and as I was present when the deed was committed, and even assisted in it, I know that the work was thoroughly done. The appari- tion certainly looked exactly like him, and if it comes in my way to-night I am going to find out what it is. My Derrin- gers, are freshly loaded, and I will see what impression the bullets in them will pat will alw make upon it,” live on such stuff, if he could help it. Give him'fresh water every day; crumbs ‘of bread soaked in milk, egg, lettuce, chickweed. Let him fly about the room occasionally. Treat. him just as you would like to be treated if you were a} | canary, —_—_~+>-->—__—- Usrrun, profitable, and instructive, are NEWS. DARING DEEDS OF BOYS, BY NATHAN D. URNER, NUMBER TEN. William Surles, the Boy Scout. ({Q7 ILLIAM H. SURLES was not ( Io yet sixteen years of age when he entered the Union army dur- ing the recent war, but he soon gained a high reputation for his coolness and courage. He was always a pet of the officers. He particularly distinguished himself at_ the battles of ,Mission Ridge and Lookout Mountain. During the latter battle, when Hooker was having his famous “fight above the clouds,” General Carlin (who had taken young “Surly,” as he was called, as an orderly upon his staff) sent our hero for- ward—rather upward—to see how the contest was progressing. Over one half of the way lay along rocky steeps and precipices, and, leaving his horse at headquarters, the youth pro- ceeded alone, taking the sound of the thundering cannon for his only guidance. A regiment of Alabama _ soldiers were stationed directly between him and the fighting division he designed visiting, and, before he was aware of it, he stum- bled directly into their camp. The enemy were around him instantly, but he did not lose his presence of mind. He knew neither the password nor ccuntersign. “Vou’re a Yankee soldier,” said the ser- geant who arrested him—and his blue uniform was proof positive. “T have been,” he replied; “but I’m a Southerner, and came to join the South- ern cause. That is why you see me here,” They shook hands with him, “bor- rowed” all the tobacco he had, and passed him on to the colonel’s tent, with an old Alabama soldier for an escort. When they were within three or four hundred yards of the colonel’s quarters, and just at the verge of a steep bluff of the mountains; Surles complained of a sore foot, and asked his guard to let him rest a moment. The soldier consented, and as they were about to sit down on the rocks, Surles obtained possession of his musket and threw it over the cliff. Then commenced a wild struggle be- tween the soldier and the boy scout—the latter clutching the former so strongly by the throat that he was unable to make an outcry. Although beaten severely in | the face by his older antagonist, the boy retained his hold until the other was | He felt a thrill of compunction to have destroyed even an enemy in this way, | but the instinct of self-preservation was too strong in his breast to admit of more than a momentary feeling of remorse. He dragged the body into a near thicket, and then crept through the camp. Good luck befriended him. He managed to evade the other sentries, and—with the boom- ing cannon still for his guide—he man- aged to make his way to General Hooker’s presence just as the van of the Southern army were flying, broken and scattered, before his victorious columns, “How did you reach this position from General Carlin’s brigade?” asked “ Fight- ing Joe,” looking, with surprise, at the ‘boy, as he appeared before him with his bruised and bleeding face. The lad briefly related his adventure. “The Alabama regiment, through which you passed, is by this time either cap- memorable night when scenes of_ horror | his courage. With a wild shriek of terror Don’t put your canary bird in the hot tle mirror for company occasionally, and don't let the sun or gas reflect in it to dazzle its eyes. Don’t keep him on dry bird-seed. No bird in the world would tured or dispersed,” replied the general. ie Return to General Carlin and tell him we have conquered everything; and tell | him—just say to him, you know, that I ithink you a noble fellow, There’s my | hand on it.” Young Surles’ regiment, the Second Ohio Infantry, was one of the foremost in the pursuit of Bragg’s army, after the latter had sustained its disastrous defeat in East Tennessee. Carlin’s brigade had taken a cross-road, by which they could intercept the enemy on the main road. The latter burned all the bridges in their flight, and threw every possible obstacle in the way of their pursuers, but the lat- ter pressed on so vigorously that they were almost continually upon their heels. At the close of the first day of the pur- suit the shouts and yells of the enemy could be heard, and even the rumbling of their artillery and wagon trains. When within a quarter of a mile of the main road the Union troops were ordered to halt and form a line of battle, preparatory to charging the enemy, who were evi- dently under the impression that their enemies were far in the rear, General Carlin was in the advance with his skirmishers, but with none of his staff or escort except young “Surly.” , | the expressions w » obliged to make use o eee a “ i oe ae Ee ht “Tittle Tt was one of those doubtful moments Lgsicys Pri hace te “ oT agra Ww 8 ie which almost always precede a battle. paper, Printers’ Ink. Tt is truly an adver-| phe skirmishers were halted, and the tiser’s counselor and a publisher's guide, ays be received in this office as far ahead of the main body of his com- a welcome guest on our editor’s table, ‘general somewhat undetermined. He was mand, and so close to the enemies that strangled, and then slowly relaxed it. | it ‘this regiment, and Will ee J Se he could hear them talking, singiD&:™ #tommon laughing. Ww 4 “Surly,” said he, “do you think yn disguise yourself sufficiently to 89 re & took ¢ ward and ascertain the condition o i. ot country, so that I may have a better *” /Atrse seiz how to make the attack?” tl Adity’ of al “If you will lend me your overeed gto the r will do the best I can, general,” 1®Uspicion the boy. “l gaini The general’s overcoat was a black om | bist pic and he immediately transferre an Sin com Will’s shoulders. pall ‘Poncha “I’m afraid they will take you fo a8 8 out th old clo’ man!” said Carlin, laugh Ss Toad j the lad tucked himself inside the ® Then tal garment. ay “So long as they don’t take me iors Ne oat Union spy I am content, general, h Which the reply. « fo0ts PON Wi He tucked his trousers into his plack ; ordered and, as he happened to have 0D @ 49 a slouched hat, he was tolerably disgo tng toned es as it was already after dark. HE my tbe Wned +} upon his horse and galloped 0 alized _ stony road. ut (bt, : He knew nothing of the pass- words lien here again his “luck” befriende h nother ‘Oners, As he rode along he heard ®) the Win Sur horseman, who preceded him, g} ew ‘BEL at the countersign in a loud voice to the Srennity eht on t) ravalvy pickets, who held the & *“elebrat of the road. 1d onl ct Marcel He strained his ears, but aa ppat Sed wit) catch the last syllable of the wor 8ement syllable was “train.” 4 evel b Nerals | What was the rest of it? AlmO*, apitied word in the vocabulary with a as Dek nted t, ending flashed through’ his be@®, ¢ hey dashed on toward the pickets, yopabil: \, could think of none that had @ P ieee ity of being the countersign. to sto?) On he rode. It was too lave carbine 3 now, and yet how proceed? The veled at TER of the mounted sentries were “Ha his breast, and their command OF he ‘ il. aes rang out through the night Viryaily, | countersign—what was 1} a auld ME SGA i“train,” “train.” What wor the belong to? er ‘+ Povichartiatn !” he cried outs was inspiration of the moment, 4? 1 correct. The leveled carbines were lower guard reined in their steeds, 4? F scout sped on. ptry be A Taking careful note of the cou travel me proceeded, he was enable to © men nearly one-half of the rebel bia before he was stopped again; 1 stacle in this case was a squad nter who cared very little for his cou “Who are you? Where are J ey asked, lodiels ae “One of my colonel S_ AN tin loose,” said Surly, “an I'm bunt the Aut poy . , Jong “What regiment do you 0 a stranger?” rw “The Thirty-eighth Alabame oops nad > ready response ; for the Union uber oll just previously, capturec les was hi i ott [eg aware of it. tty © of My “Your colonel gives you a. Pri one : horse to chase runaways OD se the men, eying the fine stee gre 2 ml with suspicion, 1 was Uy avd “Yes, he always does that,’ But J bar he ply. “That is one of his ware yous 5 he 8 no time to banter words wit arts a 19 th “Hold on!” cried one of the Pawha € was about to gallop away: ill ‘tig the name of your colonel case io of Betas This was almost a settlers the part had not the remotest idea © Clb an My. the colonel commanding the ith Alabama; but he was reacy swer, me ? “Tf you don’t know the na | bravest officer in the oh pas | vice,” said he, speaking va ; ‘cool’ dignity, “I am not © OC ER ‘form you! What regime? ‘ eM, a long to?” gordiet, Ser? ny My, Thoroughly abashed, the and Of, af a the name of his regiments © oteste nett ey was permitted to pass on Gerly of 4 ab hy Young Surles met an 0™ tance Oey Bragg's, within a short dist® : i it Owe) aid mien ‘ Be officer’s tent. y ng “Rough riding to night, cal iD familiar tone; “is the gen@ in thea Ole “No, he’s eating supper " repre tb? hy house, over the field then to orderly, who took the, Src gem 0 courier of one of the brig@ splent! ob Sane “The retreat has been aad yur, ih ain t hasn’t it?” said Will. wid? To tobe Co “First rate,” was the rep our ee De ii hagtse /kees are ful: thirty miles oreeks ao | Shon ta lif they get over thos they! a w te | crossed, without bridges, redit ic ec ‘than I give even Yankee’ 4 do My Og ty gone “They won't be Likett 6 showing sof Mi of ye ‘hurry,” said Surles. “J? at porden ay ay i ha deal of sense in Brage "0° saw at ip | pat? retreat with jookouts. oP ie Beg OT as I came through. the tr a Dot eas. fu “But you must have seen palf it nav Bee ltrenched on the main TO? qos? at i ana’ beyond the junction - ply: ey Rt } exclaimed the other, 814 zecis? ll aly £00); This information W s Pp Surles wanted to know: he i ‘ ab “Oh, certainly,” 841 » . * (%mmon precaution. But I must go oat 60 the farm-house and see the general yu Ue Onee,” I’ iy » be h00k down the rails of the fence, + {dea 4 20de directly across the fields; but, of Klse, seized the first favorable oppor- coat ! ity of altering his course, and return- epliel 7¢0 the main road. “eSpicions of his true character had on .8aining ground since he had passed it h, 8b picket lines, and the whole camp 7.2 commotion as he sped homeward. for}, Mchartrain’ won't do this time!” ng, ne out the mounted men guarding the amp’ ts Toad junction. en take the ‘Union army,’ ” cried | iy escaping the shower of bullets ! Which they saluted him. Pon Will making his report, the gen- Ordered his entire brigade forward. ised 5, & skirmish the .affair rapidly de- spials Ped into a battle, and fresh disaster yu We Ned the retreat of the already de- ight, oo enemy. During that single d, put ite” Carlin’s brigade captured an entire p: tke) Of artillery, and four hundred nother | ppners, theyll Surles’ brother, Alexander, was ehtehe’ the battle of Chickamauga. Will F ton throughout the war. He was in by ebrated campaign in which “Sher- d only bre, Marched down to the sea,” and pha wd With distinction in a number of yp ents. , evel hy tals Carlin, Palmer, and Thomas, ich ie PDO} themselves to have Will Surles a8 ireted to the West Point Academy, but yub A ail “Ommendatory papers were lost by 2 for ay ” was v t3r aa obabil: ade and the appointment was never 0 stOP | u Sita urbe PE je i, TER i Hl POTTER THE PAGE ; ra HR g ly wid MCAPEGRACE OF THE SENATE, ex th? -— e By “JACK.” pe Author of “Grimsy,” ete., etc. ed, t be boy aoe NUMBER ONE. ost " AWAKENED TOO SOON. apo ERE was a commotion in Congress. be eds 4 b Uch a commotion as had never of jg? vin Witnessed before. erg! hon ye tess than a dozen members gO? a a their feet, all trying to speak at the Speaker (as the chairman Was pounding vigorously with .and bawling himself hoarse, I the face trying to restore ot falieg OF hy Save) ist, NY t Meg Ro purpose. The longer it con- as g ing f We pats Wbey .° Worse grew the confusion, Each ¥ s dog) sPOn his feet insisted upon speak- J wa haved that he had the floor, and [s hikey 8 to nothing else, until the got xt Yrdered the seargent-at-arms to y pe % we th ®m and bring them before the oF, coul Ne Ofte House. e a Wooquders were, without exception, eM Wtlego. members who had little y pat? : ub. Of the rules of the House, and ” NRayoc had been brought about by the 7 as ‘th ities pages, principally through mat Me toicatality of one page—Peter— rill Mite wen manner : 2 se Wg Heth 48 a question before the House, pa? ih 88t; in ayseed” members all took an eB 4. weal. » 4nd upon which each desired pis a *Windea the meantime, however, a pe rayt Speaker had the floor, and , of oth Off j Country members had wan- ate vd 4 8p Into the various rooms and gone jo? a "ord Wi fing a night session), and n 10 be aye the pages to call them up ou" A them. time, having arranged be- a heclves so that they would be mAs, My alf at & B an hour apart. In other put he a we Town, of Texas, should be ted: 16) Nie? at ah Mr, Tutewiller, of In- GeMpab hyo Of Wi alf-past nine; Mr. Ditch- of Ma ny fad Peusin, at ten, and so on. 8 Ma? How, arrying out these instruc- nes itl Aes differc, Peter, the Page, arranged is oot My, Sac es e {athe mnBed i Aine o'clock he got the pages jie? spe MaSh t,0 2 line, and marched them i ty od ces rooms where the pet 01 Mh, Chin mbers were peacefully id oP HS and each page in turn ah hme tinember on the shoulder, at He gfe Sry» “Me shouting: “Ayes and eats, 90 MR CON». sce Me a phe by the time the twentieth do. 5 ted pred him on the shoulder, for vide ae his ear, the member was it he Cong ake, but naturally in a bad gf r Usion, ink & to their feet, and in this dl to iplee and bewilderment, i i Bhe “Don © House, and at once in- OP 8 Dry Cone Making a speech. agi isi] eSi0 * * ays ) th n that followed can be ere triewued than described. Ki led and ‘ it foolish returned to their seats, Mo ®bon, . 22d wondering what it © Payttse, ynty way. 4, Uh by peses were brought to 7. »Sut each and all of the lat- let off with a repri- » dashing through them, and fortu- | GooDp ter pleaded ignorance in the matter and referred the irate Congressmen to Peter, who stood in the light of dictator or leader among the pages. But when one after another of the indignant “mossy- back” statesmen bristled up to that young gentlemen, they found a paragon of inno- cence. “How should I know anything about it?” he asked, with a look of injured in- nocence, when rather sharply interro- gated by the Hon. Snorter Cutfeed, of Arkansas. “The Hon. Snively P. Hog- whiskers told me to call him at nine, and I did. If the other boys called all the rest of the delegation at the same time that is none of my business.” And the honorabe gentleman had noth- ing to do but swallow his wrath and re- turn to his seat. But, perhaps, I had better tell my readers what a page is. You have all heard and read about Congress. You may also know that Con- gress consists of two bodies of men, com- posed of representatives from various parts of the United States, and that one of these bodies is called the “Senate,” and the other the “House.” These two bodies are composed of what are supposed to be the wisest men in the country; but they are not always so. If they were the pages wouldn’t have any- thing like as much fun as they do. These Senators and Congressmen are furnished with errand-boys, called pages. A boy musé be naturally quick and bright to hold the position of page, and his constant contact with the great va- riety of characters, many of whom are famous wits, soon'renders him a _ prince NEWS. bill through Congress, these people, who ! ure thoroughly conversant with all the ins and outs of legislation, and know just how to get at the weak points of the average Congressman, are ready to use their influence with the members toward securing their votes, provided they are well paid for their services. One of the principal methods of gain- ing the confidence of a member, and thereby securing his vote, is to invite him to a quiet little banquet, where they can talk the matter over privately. A lobbyist, then, who desired to secure the vote of acertain Congressman who hailed from the rural districts, who knew more about subsoiling than statesman- ship, wrote said Congressman the follow- ing note, which, unfortunately for all parties concerned, was carried to him by the irrepressible Peter, the Page: ¢ ‘‘RuBy TERRACE, Pennsylvania gt ahaa ‘“‘WASHINGTON, D. C., Feb. 6, 18—. “HON. BLUE JEANS SOGGINS, “Representative Ague Paradise, Indiana, “Dear Sir: Wishing, in a slight measure, to show my appreciation of your remarkable talents, eloquence, and statesmanship, my good wife and I have prepared a modest banquet in your honor, which will be held in our parlors, on the evening of the 7th ultimo, after the session. “A few select friends from the cream of Wash- ington society will be present, and will be delighted to meet so distinguished a person as yourself. “Trusting that you will rot disappoint them and us, we remain, most honored sir, “Very truly yours, “Mr. and Mrs. SILas SLYFOX. Unfortunately for Mr. Slyfox two acci- dents happened. First, Peter received the note during recess; and second, the note had not been securely sealed, so that it came open. — |X Ld Tee (4 (OS THE LOBYIST MADE A WILD SPRING GLASS of cunning and a paragon of wit; in short, “up to snuff.” Perhaps the liveliest specimen of the genus page that has shaken up the dry bones of the legislative halls for many years, was “Peter, the Page.” Nobody knew who he was, or where he came from. He had_ received the appointment through the recommendation of some member of the House, probably, although the general impression was that he had just drifted in from some unknown quar- ter, and that he was made up of a com- pound of fun and frolic. And yet to look at the boy you would never have believed him capable of per- petrating a practical joke of any kind. He was the most innocent boy in the whole lobby, especially: just after some trick had been played, which had shaken up the entire House. 3 i He was bright and good-looking, with a winning face, earnest, eloquent, large eyes. and curly hair, and was so good-na- tured and accommodating that he made friends with everybody, notwithstanding that he made life a burden for a good many of them, especially the green coun- try members. ; Only two days had elapsed since the oc currence recorded above, when another one‘of Peter’s tricks convulsed the House with excitement, this time including many of the knowing ones. It happened in this wise: A lobbyist—but first let me tell you what a lobbyist is. There are many men and women who make it a business to hang about the Capitol at Washington, and when anybody comes there to get a INTO THE AIR AND WENT CRASHING THROUGH THE DOOR. Peter’s curiosity to know the contents of the note was too great to resist, and | he, withdrew it from the envelope and read it. Next, the temptation to play a joke on the “hayseed” member and the lobbyist at the same time, was too great to resist, | and he played it in the following manner: Taking advantage of the leisure afforded by recess, he made a number of copies of the note, enough, in fact, to supply each member of the House with one apiece, | substituting the name of the member for whom it was intended in each instance. This task had occupied Peter the better | art of the night, assisted by several of is chums among the pages, but Peter did not mind that, so long as there was some fun in view. Having distributed the spurious notes among the various pages for delivery to the several mem- | bers, Peter had came forth smiling and) radiant on the present morning, the very | ‘ |about in rage, “when I gave you that in- picture of innocence. The day had passed without unusual | incident, but Peter could see the expres- sion of anxiety on the members’ faces all day long, and now that the evening ses- sion was drawing to a close he could not but notice that this anxiety waxed stronger. Finally the House adjourned, and then came a bustle among the members to get to their respective apartments or hotels; to prepare for the banquet given, as each one supposed, for his own especial benefit, and believing that he would be the only member present. Along about midnight Peter and sev- |hands and smiling sweetly, | Tennessee. the little man, waxing angrier fL7. concealed themselves conveniently near the threshold of the Slyfox mansion, were rather pleased to witness an un- usual jam of carriages at the curb. Shortly afterward they saw aswarm of gentlemen in full dress emerge from the carriages and ascend the steps of the Sly- fox mansion. It would-be hard to imagine the nature of their thoughts as one member after another recognized a fellow-member, as they made their way from their carriages to the door; but the real surprise awaited them, as well as the host, inside. The latter had expected and made pre- parations for one Congressman and a dozen friends besides, then what was his surprise and consternation at receiving over two hundred Congressmen? He knew there was.a mistake, or else, what was worse, a trick, somewhere; but he dared not admitit. To have denounced the invitations as forgeries would have ruined his prospects as a lobbyist, for the members either would not have believed him, or else they would take all his in- vitations in future for forgeries. And yet to accept theni as genuine left him no better off, for each individual Congressman had been led to believe that he was the only one invited, while the swarm about him proved this'to be false, and the host a fraud. Slyfox, who was a dapper little man, with a waxed mustache and a general French air, danced about in a perfect ec- stacy of excitement for a few minutes, but finally a happy thought occurred to him. “Gentlemen,’ ? he said, rubbing his “Tam de- lighted to see you; but, as you. must see from the invitations you have received, a blunder has been made. It is all the fault of my stupid secretary. What I intended was to give each of you honorable gentle- men a special reception, but on different dates, of course. And now the stupid fellow has sent the invitations all at once, fixing the date of each special re- ception for the same evening. How ridiculous !” The various members viewed the situa- tion in different ways. Most of them were indignant, but some of them treated the matter philosophically; smiled, shrugged their shoulders, and strode out. Others did not look at it in that way; they felt that they had been humbugged, and were as mad as a wet hen. Besides, they had 'come for a “feed,” as they expressed it, ‘and didn’t propose to be cheated out of iit. / bers, of course. These latter were the country mem- Several of these stood glaring at the little lobbyist for about a ‘minute after he had finished speaking, and seemed undecided whether to make a meal off him, or simply tear him to pieces 'and leave him to be swept up. Finally | one of them said: “Yas, Mr. Slyfox, it is a bit ridiculous —your story I mean. Now, sir, I reckon |you expect us to believe this yarn of | yours.” “Why, my dear sir,” cried the little man, growing nervous, “you don’t for a moment doubt——” “Oh, no, we don’t doubt your word, Mr. Slyfox,” said a big, burly member from Texas, pushing up his sleeves and spitting over his shoulder. “We don’t doubt a word you say; we simply know you’re lying. Now, just trot out that grub in double-quick time, or there’ll be fun! Wedon’t propose to come all the way here and pay hack-hire for nothing!” “But, my dear sir, I——” “That’s all right,” cried a rather tough member from the mountain districts of “You bring out the vittles, and that quick. I haven’t killed a man this week, and this is my week!” By this time the lobbyist was too badly frightened to speak. He just stood and trembled, glancing wildly about for an avenue of escape. He was surrounded on three sides by the irate members, and shut in on the fourth by a glass door, which was unfortunately locked on_ the other side. Slyfox gave one despairing glance at the circle of angry Congress- men. They looked determined, and began closing inon him. Something must be done, and at once. The case was desper- ate. He made a wild spring into the air, and the next moment went crashing through the glass door. “You young rascal!” yelled Slyfox, when he met Peter in the lobby, dancing vitation to carry to Sogzins the other day what did you do with it, sir?” “Gave it to Mr. Soggins, sir,” replied Peter, innocently. “Didn’t you want me to give it to him, sir?” “Yes, you blockhead,” yelled Slyfox; | “of course, I wanted it given to him; but I didn’t want it given to every other member of the House.” “T didn’t give it to every other member of the House, sir, nor any other member of the House,” protested Peter, with the look of a martyr. “Do you mean to tell me, sir,” screamed all the eral of his confidential friends, who had time, “that you didn’t give that invita 718° tion to all those men who infested my house last night?” “How could I, sir, when there was but one invitation?” “Copies, then; you distributed copies of the invitation, sir.” “How could I, sir? Wasn’t the invita- tion sealed when you gave it to me?” “Yes, and——” “Wasn’t it sealed when Mr, Soggins received it, sir?” “Yes: and that——” “Then how could I make copies from it, even if I was mean enough and smart enough to do such a thing?” “That is just what puzzles me,”™said the little man, cooling down a trifle. “Soggins showed me his invitation —the identical one that I wrote—and it showed no indications of having been tampered with. I-don't understand it.” “T don’t either, sir,” said Peter, with a puzzled expression, “unless, sh-s-s-sh!” and here he grew very mysterious and glanced cautiously about to make sure that they were not being overheard. “Unless it’s the work of one of those sec- ond-sight chaps.” “What do you mean?” “Why, haven’t you seen any of those fellows, sir?” asked the boy, with a well- feigned look of surprise and pity. “No. What are they? W Bo are they?” “Sh-s-s-sh!” growing still more myste- rious. “They are all around here—lobby- ists, pages, everybody. They can read a letter from the outside as well as when it is open.” “You don’t tell me?” “Yes, sir. Have you any enemies among the lobbyists, sir?” “Undoubtedly. A man in my position necessarily has some enemies. Why?” “T shouldn’t wonder if it was some of them played this trick,” said the boy, with a warning look. “They’re the only ones who could have any motive in up- setting your plans.” “You are right, my boy,” said Slyfox, with a troubled expression of counten- ance, “Do you happen to know any of these second-sight people among _ the lobbyists?” “T shouldn’t like to say for certain, be- cause I might be mistaken, But I have my suspicions?” “Well, who do you suspect?” “You know that Mr. Oilytongue, the big fellow with long hair, who uses vas- aline on his whiskers and smells like a rose-water vaporizer?” “Yes, I know him,” said Slyfox, biting his lip, “and I have no use for him, Do you think he possesses this power?” “T wouldn’t like to say positively; but, in my opinion, he’s a good man to keep your eye on.” “T believe you, my boy, and shall profit by your advice.” Two minutes after the little man’s de- parture Peter was surrounded by a score or more of other pages, who seemed to have popped up from mysterious con- cealment in every direction. “What did he say, Petey?” “Is he on to our racket?” “What kind of a bluff did you give him, Pete?” These and a score of similar questions greeted him before he had time to answer the first. “Why, to answer all your questions with one,” said Peter, as soon as he could make himself heard, “it makes no differ- ence what he or I said; but I can tell you this much, that man went away more than satisfied, and thinking us the most inoffensive set of boys that ever lived.” “You’re a corker,” cried a chorus of pages, A vigorous clapping of hands in the House at that moment notified the boys that several of them were wanted, and they darted away, and a moment later entered the House looking as sedate and decorous as a lot of dancing-masters. The page’s pranks, let it be said to his credit, are generally prompted by a pure love of fun. But occasionally a practical joke partakes of the nature of revenge. The page, like all boys in similar ser- vice, adores a “tip,” and he is prone to look upon the meniber or the lobbyist who refuses or neglects this little cour- tesy as mean, and not infrequently wreaks his vengeance upon the head of such de- linquents—or, to use his own words, “gets even” with them—through the me- dium of a practical joke. The “anti-tipper” is usually some wealthy old skin-flint, who could easily afford the pittance expected by the boy for extra work, but who considers it a bad precedent to pay a hoy for what “he is already paid for.” “He gits a salary,” they will say, “and ain’t that enough?” The boys do not think so, and here arises the motive for many acruel joke at the expense of the too economical Congress- man, Senator, or lobbyist. A few days after the above events took place, the House had a long evening’ ses- sion. It was between two and three o’clock in the morning, and still no sign of adjournment, The pages (such as were off duty for the moment) sat about the lobby asleep, ’ GooDp Peter was among the sleepers. Sud- denly he was aroused by a page who had just come in from a long errand. It was pouring rain outside, and although the boy was supplied with rubber coat. and boots, he looked the picture of woe. It wasn't the moisture that caused his grief, however. Let him tell. his own story: “Where’ve you been, Roxy?’ inquired Peter, looking up sleepily and rubbing his eyes. “Ask me where I haven’t been,” said Roxy, bitterly, sinking wearily into a seat. “All over creation is where I’ve been.” “How’s that?” “Why, an old muff from somewhere out on the prairies has had me running errands for him for the last three hours through the rain and slush—first to the depot to see if his wife had arrived on a certain train, then back here to let him know that she hadn’t. Then to the hotel to see if she hadn’t missed me or come} on an earlier train, and gone there. Well, | she hadn’t, and I came back to: tell him, He looked worried, and had mé run away | off to the other end of the town to inform | his son that his (the son’s) mother | hadn’t arrived, “Then I came back here again and told him that I had notified his son. The old gopher said: ‘Huh. It’s plaguey funny. She must ’a’ come to the hotel, Come ’long; we’ll go see.’ “With that he tramped me off to the hotel again. He went along, and we walked. I’d been taking the car before and paying my own fare, thinking, of course, he’d make it up handsome.” “Did he?” “Not a hooter. We got to the hotel, and he said he reckoned he’d go to bed. I didn’t exactly ask him fora tip, but I told him I’d spent about a dollar in street-car fares.” “What did he say to that?” “He said that if I was too ’tarnal lazy to walk it wa’n’t none o’ his business how much I spent, and climbed into the elevator.” “Would you know him if you saw him?” asked Peter, wide awake now. “Know him? Well, I should say I would,” said Roxy, contemptuously. “All right, Roxy, we’ll get even with him, if it takes to the close of the ses- sion,” (TO BE CONTINUED.) T [ALKS ORT as BY ARTHUR SEWALL, ahah H. E: G., Jersey City, writes: ‘IT am desirous of becoming a physician, and would like to know the best and cheapest course to pursue, as Tam not rich. Would it be profitable at my age to begin the study ? Iam twenty years of age, and reside with | my parents. I have had a common school educa- tion, and have been working in a dry goods store for the last five years without success,” There are no colleges where you can study medicine in New. Jersey, and in New York City there are three: the College of Physicians and Surgeons, the Bellevue Hospital Medical College, and the Medical Department of the Univer- sity of the City of New York, at any one of which you can study to become a phy- sician, but the course in each of these in- stitutions is expensive, being something like one hundred and fifty dollars a year for fees. If you are determined to study medicine, and feel that you cannot afford the money and time reauired by the New York schools, we would advise you to go to some college remote from here, such as, for instance, the medical department of the University of Michigan, in Ann Arbor. - The fees there are only nominal, and board is very cheap. Write to the secretary of the university for a catalogue or prospectus, which will give you full information. You are by no means too old to begin to study a profession, indeed, with your experience in business, you will be better able to get along. You will know what the advantages of a good education are, and hence will make every effort to im- prove your opportunities. The best men in this world are those who are not heard of until they are about forty years of age, when they have somehow gained a repu- tation for ability by quiet, unassuming work, and many of these have not under- taken that which ultimately becomes their life-work until after they’ have made sufficient money in some special work to educate themselves, NEW S.! ing school it was necessary for him to earn his living, and it was not until after he was thirty years of age that he was able to study astronomy, but at the age of forty his brilliant discoveries about the sun made him one of the first scien- tists in the country. Kansas John, Peabody, Kans., writes: ‘‘What is | the best out-door business, and what would you learn to do if your health needed out-door work? I do not like the carpenters’ trade. Something that would compel you to eat and sometimes sleep out doors.” Your question is rather too vague for a satisfactory answer, You might become a traveling salesman with some spec- ialty, say a book canvasser, or a canvas- ser of any definite article or novelty which would compel. you to visit house after house in coantry districts, Perhaps you can make arrangernents with the business end of Goop Nrws to intro- duce our paper in Kansas, and for every subscriber you obtain, of course a liberal commission will be given. During the summer time you could sleep out of doors and so save hotel bills. Serving in some capacity on the water would give you out-door experience. There are various boats, from steamers to row- boats, where the services of men and boys are desirable. We should fancy that a nice soft job would be on a pleasure yacht. Another out-of-door job that is specially attractive is that of gardener or florist. The cultivation of flowers asa business is remunerative, and may ex- tend in several branches, thus, the rais- ing of special plants in order to obtain perfumes from them, or in order to col- lect the special essential oils that they contain. In Michigan there is a single dealer who makes a specialty of oil of | peppermint, and in Wayne County, New York, there are likewise farmers who make their living exclusively from the mint crops. We believe (and have always wondered why no one attempted it) that a farm de- voted to the cultivation of the rarer medicinal plants would be a success. Many of our drugs are imported, some |of them coming from very remote coun- tries, while with our diversity of climate there is no reason why they cannot be made to grow here. Of course, it would be necessary to study up the subject somewhat, and a beginning would have to be made with such plants about which there would be no doubt, but soon the rarer plants could be introduced, and then the profit would accrue, Write to the Secretary of Agriculture, Washing- ton, D. C., abcut this, and see if he can- not use his influence to procure for you detailed information on this point, H. W., Philadelphia, Pa., writes: ‘I amsixteen years of age. and am employed in an office where there is no chance of advancement, so I thought I would consult you as to which trade—book binding or wood-working, I should learn. I would like to be a traveling salesman, but my parents want me to learn one of the above trades.” There are several trades schools in Philadelphia where you can acquire a trade, such as at the Leland School, on Locust street, above Broad. There sys- tematic instruction is given in free-hand and mechanical drawing, carpentry and joinery, @vood-carving, wood-turning, pattern-making, proper care and use of tools, forging, bench work and fitting, and study of the steam-engine, including management and care of steam-engines and boilers. From among these you surely will be able to select a trade that will be congenial to you. There is no place where bookbinding is taught, as far as we know, so that if you decide to pursue that vocation you will have to enter the establishment of some bookbinder, and work your way up to the top, going through the various stages, until you are thoroughly proficient in each. We would in this connection point out the fact that a good “letterer” or me- chanic who stamps the titles on the backs of books can invariably command a good price. The bookbinders’ business is a good one, and the pay is excellent, J. ©. J., Towa, asks the following questions: “1, When the solutions are in good working order, will a gold coin for plating gold, with gold solution, do in place of an anode, 2. Where can the anodes be obtained, and at what price? 8. Can the same kind of a battery, or dynamo, be used as we use in telegraphy ; namely, copper, zinc, and vitriol? 4. If using the above battery should the anode be at- tached to the copper or zinc ?” In answer to your first question we sa yes. Second, write to Condit, Hanson & Van Winkle, Newark, N. J., for their catalogue, Which will give you full infor- mation on the anodes, with prices. Third: Formerly the carbon or chromic acid bat- teries were ‘chiefly used in plating, but more recently in all of the larger places some kind of a dynamic electric machine is used, so that we see no reason why you cannot use the battery you mention; nut, of course, it is not the best kind of a battery owing to its weakness. Fourth. The electricity is said to proceed from the copper end of the battery, hence that The present secretary of the Smithson- ian Institution, Professor Langley, is an | anode. You will And it much better to pur- illustration of what we mean, On leave ee pole is always to be connected with the chase one of the books that we_2eleita® questions, ae a ; f Pr Your 4 you to instead of asking then, again, it is best to experimel Know! dition %) « another, whereas #) ei certain extent yourself. comes from comparing one con affairs with simply ask questions you gain no edge of the art, but simply the answer ; Kate di to your specific questions. -The mentioned are not expensive, a2 Where can any one learn the trade, and went soapmaker, except by direct servi? coh. one who has some knowledge 0 ject. In every large city there @ boilers, from whom you could business. Likewise, there is 2° rate by which soap boilers ar more than ordinary clerks. Ne the entirely tell you how long it takes to business. The latter depends upon yourself, your ability, a2 learn. 5 We would advise you to purchas ander Watt’s book, entitléd “508% ing; or, the Manufacture 0 Soft Soaps, Toilet Soaps, e will cost $3. Other excellent bo? “Soap: A Treatise on the 1 j and Candles, Lubrica? soap zara the re paid, d desize Manufact”, 8 fixed to Jex- Stak sue” ae 5 and, a. yom lad close would do well to send for one of theMhy yy BE. A. S., La Crosse; Wis., writes: “1am years of age, and think of learning the oe las § trade }You, w jong ’ But does it take? What is the salary of @ soap” ' There is no means of learning 00 vritl! jing | ave soug Wed th: Hu. Tt is Ae a ‘ # You wil hin | {ur Io eC of Soa ivhi¢ Glycerine,” by W. Lant Carpenter; Wes! : tI love will cost you $4; and “Soap av ade} A Technical Treatise on Soap af m, dles, with a Glance at the In ich} pet yo Fats and Oils,” by R. S. Christiats 1 nd lig jou i will cost you $7.50. The Oil, PO yiam | wy YOu Drug Reporter, published at 7 for mand | tthe 8, street, New York City, has had nt i its « ee years a soapmaker’s departme yearned Ove wld columns from which much can 4. and ary « a! If you read the books mentione™: to makey « mi if diligent, you will soon learn ho ait fol he ewhi soap, but, on the other hand, a ta an a blindly the old traditions it Wt es: correspondingly long. : oe «Pon ye es,” An idl Lieutenant Carey's Ul I a! a | A Companion Story to “Calél GHD Vesa, ee . y. By Lieut. LIONEL LOUNSBERY vee in} » was comms Rens Author of “Cadet Carey,” “Midshipma® (“LievuTENANT CAREY’s LUCK’ of No. 36. Back numbers can be obtained Agents.] CHAPTER XXXV: A SECRET INFLUENOB nt TRHERE was much. comm go fort upon the coming ie the supposed Sioux chit Bajo F Captain Neyil fe ith. was not let into the secre WhO ope | Duluth and Surgeon powelb the knew were with the colone!" . view, as well as that all other barred out. c ing is¢ q ic en Ty on the ei tof A bp os ‘OLO3 The troops who had seen, Sithe sul? ont « had | service were resting, and 1 oq OU, a of many the horses were S74] 1 the prairie under asa that th asa This seemed to imp chief had brought news © of their forces. : Still three separate couriers patched to Fort B—— atches and going by 4 aaa ke should fail to another would. ee Thus passed several day *nop® were and 2 had giv eee? geelP three exceptions, Of, a young aid-de-camp, Kit eae pad It. seemed certain killed or captured by. +6 “woul the latter, what his f@ knew. dso deep, As Kate Osmond seen Te per tressed regarding her yoaay: y Crandall said to her on@ «ret? , “Kate, can you keep 4 © tions “Why, uncle, what a que} “Will you keep one? n b “Certainly I will, eit. uc “Then don’t worry Copey-f , “Uncle!” ve “He is all right, for 190% from him, and he se wish # for me, only I do 20 know it.” Y “This is, indeed, joys early as for I love Kit Carey 45 “", 10" he were my own brothe™ oy I “I know that, my che, as I would a son. ' Before more cou > came to say_that Captene par seg a to see Miss Osmond 12 4 é With a sigh Kate arog tovil gt the room, where Captaip of window awaiting bere long He was gnawing 2)” |. pa ae nervously, and his face was PY (i see Mee Cp i : c game 8 ij Fort. L—, all carryiD Brent, trae? ab news gone p hi) Fort stb Wipe Hy dS > pect adel yo tre SiOUD ho Ego" abl fo 8 edge n af ‘tmest. you} he 4 5}, Dac ok be Miss Osmond, I sent for you to have lain talk with you.” \ Your talks, as you call them, are al- Pays plain, sir.” Ome, no sarcasm now, for I amin Be seated and hear what I have wSay.” Kate dropped into a chair ina tired aa and, standing before her, after he bag Closed the door, Fred Nevil said: am aware that your opinion of me changed, that I am hardly liked by rae. But it is not my fault that I hold Jong aker? eo mith sub-| soap | y the } fixe 1 ‘(le q Q secret which gives you pain. I love you YOtedly, in spite of all your sarcasm, Urdeep cuts at me before others, your “Ming hatred of me. Loving you, We sought to win you, and I have Swed that no other man should wed Mi. It is my desire now to resign from “army as soon as this Indian war is y f a, yer and I wish you to become my wife. the ot will promise to do so, I will do all re jrelY Yo ty power to make you happy, to win Ur love after you are my wife. We will 8vel in Europe for years, and my life- hg devotion shall be yours, Kate. Let see jt uncle know that you are willing to Me hea) wife, and from that moment I am aD Pagmost blessed among men.” oe R {I refuse?” came in a low tone from ing Eve Osmond, who was now deathly pale ihe ud trembling. epee ‘bic! | that les : you refuse, then I am forced to say Llove you so devotedly that I will % Tc you up. Cad: | ry a Dn i ” at means—— of A “ >) pic) That you must marry me. af " You will use your power to force me i wed you?” wees; I am ‘sorry to say I will do so wer than give you up.” ng Ould you have a wife who could not ou ” 1 |b, [eq ip opt 4 akel ixes, if it is you.” hocwho loves another?” 1 man started, and said: Sthis true?” ” Yes, «PON your honor?” Vos, “ . wan idle fancy?” ? fancy as lasting as death.” peat border boy?” Will not say who I love, but I do Oe with all my heart, yes, as de- Ney as I hate you, Captain Fred ag Man gritted his teeth, but said al- Xe flercely : wpill you will be my wife.” acs? demand it?” « 4 “ Pio 4 lq thrat I refuse you will carry out your Tinade me long ago?” igthen i risk myself utterly, Fred Nevil, Vite mtice my life, and will become your Me, a’ She uttered the words so full of de- Oher the door opehed and Major Lentered the room. CHAPTER XXXVI. SACRIFICED. @SLONEL CRANDALL’S | servant lad ushered Major Duluth, when 4 he called, into the parlor, not |e howing that Miss Osmond was } & that Captain Nevil was visiting t Hb, Ust a ; ntere | ‘fas rt In ale: a Tl es Mag hall 404.70 gtond’ ” ty d dy ut dis Ay Ae hs ait pte that exact time. Hilteq OOF Closed behind the major, who tnd, bed though he saw that he was an a. ineg Mick eye revealed the deeply- th look upon Kate Osmond’s face, look oF Tiumphant expression in the ; tered Nevil. i, Com, ate rallied quickly, and said: gy 0, Major Duluth, for I am glad hang? and she arose and extended legen I think, Duluth, I am entitled Sjy., O28ratulations, as Miss Osmond Consented to become my wife.” Was a malignant glitter of tri- eo cvil’s face as he spoke, and he MMs hago at beholding how deep his 4c cut, for he saw the major turn Pale, while the voice of the brave lvered, as he asked: ro true, Miss Osmond?” i Dututnyrs° not doubt my word, 85 6 case, sir, I require the word ag} mond to believe that such a le.» °F engagement to you can be Dune? there was no mistaking uth’s words and looks. ask Miss Osmond to confirm! ve said, sir, and then I shall apology from you, Major Du- =~ r i oak gt ly Tygeet an Pak confirm his assertion, Miss @nd Major Duluth looked ‘nto the beautiful face of the So dearly loved. Anctly came the answer: toy: Mayuirm what Captain Nevil has he his’ Duluth, for I have promised Sb lfa: * p ere ; but I beg of him that, for Noy, 2g] Tan fy Wife Se us mat feast, the engagement be- | e ; ® my ungle oe te no one else ~™ Coop Major Duluth bowed low, and-said: “Y¥ wish you every happiness ‘in life, Miss Osmond.” Then he quickly turned +o ‘the exultant captain, and continued ; “Nevil, -crave- your pardon for my words to you, and you may be sure that I ‘ne keep Miss Gsmond’s secret invio- ate.” Without another word he strode from the room, while Kate said pleadingly: ' “You will go now, will you not?” “To see your uncle, and tell him of your promise to me.” “So be it, if you wish.” The man held forth, his hand, but she bowed, failing to see it, and he left her alone in her misery. Straight to the quarters of Colonel Crandall went. Nevil, and asked for an interview. Colonel Crandall had never liked the man, and discouraged always his atten- tions to Kate, until he saw. that she would not refuse him her society. “You wish to speak with me, Captain Nevil?” he said, coldly. “Yes, sir, I desire to ask for the hand of your niece, as she has just consented to tecowe my wife, after the close of this Indian war, Colonel Crandall.” “Captain Nevil”—and. the colonel’s face was stern, his words eold and cutting —“you are not the man whom Kate Osmond should have selected for a hus- band, nor the one whom], had I. the in- fluence to prevent, would allow her to marry. Miss Osmond is of age, and Iam but nominally her guardian, so she can do as she deems best in the matter; and I predict for her, as your wife, only un- happiness, for in not a single way are you twocongenial. When, this .present Indian war is at anend, and not until then, I will announce your engagement, and I would suggest that. yoti now look more directly to war-making “than love- making. You, sir, I congratulate upon your winning Kate Osmond, and as Iam a frank man, I will add that I deeply re- gret that I cannot also extend my con- gratulations to her.” When she is your wife I will transfer to her keeping the fortune I have of her’s, and of which I can render a just stewardship.* Is there aught more to say, Captain Nevil?” “Not a word, sir, and I thank you for your candid expressions of regard for for me, Colonel Crandall.” With this Captain Fred Nevil bowed his way out, the same evil glitter of tri- umph in his eyes. Then Colonel Crandall sought Kate Os- mond. She was seated in her room, overlook- ing the rolling prairies-and timber lands, and her eyes were red from weeping. “Come in, uncle.” He did so, and seated himself near her. “Kate, I haye just seen Nevil.” “Yes, he told me he was going to you.” “Tt is true, then, what he told me?” “That I had promised to become his wife?” “Was.” “T did so promise. “You do not love the man, Kate?” “T shall marry him, sir.” “What secret influence does he hold over you, my child, to force you to this sacrifice?” “Do not ask me, uncle, only know that I have promised to be his wife when the present Indian troubles are over. More I will not say, though Ihave asked him to keep our engagement secret for the present.” : “Té he does not I shall break his infer- nal head,” ripped out. the colonel, with more vehemence than Kate Osmond had ever known him to exhibit before. “Don’t, uncle, the army regulations forbid,” said Kate, with a sad smile. “Now, if it was only that splendid fel- low, Dick Duluth, I would dance at your wedding; but Nevil—great Scott! I only hope some good Indian will scalp him before the day of your sacrifice rolls round. Well, I can, only give the red- skins a chance at him——” “Oh, uncle!” “T have no more to say, Kate,” and the colonel left the room with the bright hope that as Nevil was a dashing officer and daring fellow, he might meet a sol- dier’s fate anne before the wedding- day came round. ‘Then he mused half-aloud: “T would not do one act to harm him: but if, in the discharge of his duty he lost his life, I would not feel any very deep sorrow at his taking off. But won’t Kit Carey rave when he knows that Kate is to marry Nevil, and maybe the boy will find some plan to prevent it when he knows that she does not love the fellow.” » CHAPTER XXXVI. THE “SPIRIT CHIEF’S” MISSION, IT CAREY rode away from the + fort with no officer or man sus- pecting his disguise. o~ “The roan stallion was an easy goer, with a long swinging walk that NEw s. ‘would carry him many miles in a day, and yet not tire him much. Kit’s desire was to reach a point where renegade chief. If seen by any of the Sioux scouts, coming from the fort, he would give them to understand by the “sign language” * that he had done some daring deed, and affairs were working to suit him, which latter statement would be a fact. on his way from the fort, and in this he was fortunate, for none did do so. The White Wolf chief, renegade Dia- mond Dan, was, as Kit had reported, moying his warriors.upon Fort B—, though making a feint on Fort Forward. When his last reserves came up Dia- mond: Dan was to go with them to lead the attack on Fort B——, and until their arrival he was camping a day’s ride from Fort-Forward, devoting his time to get- ting well of-his wound with all the dis- patch possible, for it did give him trouble. As to his wonderful escape from death, it had been as Kit Carey had surmised, that he had taken morphine to destroy the consciousness that he was dying. He had been rolled in a blanket by two soldiers; who believed him dead, and then put ina grave apart, as they had been ordered;-and which their weariness did not permit them to dig very deep. Hardly had they turned away when three Indian warriors crept to the spot, having been watching. from the rocks, and they soon had their chief out of the grave, and, to their’ joy, discovered that he yet lived. When day dawned the .renegade re- turned to consciousness to find himself well cared for by the braves, and to know how close had been his escape. Discovering that his wound had not been a severe one, he at once began to plot and plan to destroy the troops now in the mountains, the Indians regarding him with still greater awe than before. It was night when Kit Carey rode into the camp, where the White Wolf and a few of his warriors were awaiting the ar- rival of the bands from the south. In the sign language the spirit chief, as he was supposed to be, told the renegade to follow him. Even the renegade chief did not dare refuse, for, until proven a false chief, or winning the right to be a leader, the one who dared take upon himself the risk as spirit chief was all powerful. And so the renegade followed to where his horse was staked out, mounted at the sign from his leader, and went with him alone. Kit led the way toward the range, and it-was not until dawn, as the Blue Pass came in sight, that the renegade, paused and signed to know where he was being taken. Kit made signs to go up in the range, and he would make a great discovery, in- timating that he would find there a most important prisoner. The. renegade followed, and as he turned into a narrow canon he was dealt a blow which felled him from his horse, Quick as a flash Kit was by his side. Handcuffs, which Surgeon Powell had secured for him, at his request, were slipped upon his wrists, and iron bands placed upon his ankles, with a chain be- tween them. Then a gag, already prepared, was forced into his mouth, and Kit awaited his return to consciousness, for the blow had been a severe one. At last the renegade started up and be- held the supposed spirit chief before him. “Now, don’t worry, Diamond Dan, for you are my prisoner, and I intend to take you to Fort Forward by easy stages.” The prisoner writhed in agony of spirit, for now he knew that the spirit chief was a white man and not an Indian, as he had believed. But the gag in his mouth kept him me crying out, and uttering lots of pro- anity. “You see, Diamond Dan, I have your own confession, when you thought you were dying, that you killed my father to marry my mother, whom you had loved as a girl, and also to get the fortune my father had found in the gold mines of New Mexico. You plotted the massacre of the train on our way to Texas, and so murdered my poor mother; but I escaped, along with a little girl, whom some kind man put upon a horse, and started ou over the prairies at night. I was saved to avenge my parents, Diamond Dan. We next met when I was a border boy livin with the hermit of the Black Hills, an you were Colonel Crandall’s traitor guide. I foiled your game then, Diamond Dan, and I believed I had killed you at the fight in the mountains. Now you are my prisoner, and I shall take you to the fort with me, where you know what your fate will be. I will have to make a long trail of it, to avoid your scouts, and travel *The Indians have asign language, which is known to nearly allthe tribes, ecu he could make a flank movement upon | the bands of redskins and reach the main |! force, where he knew -he would find the | But he hoped no scouts would see him 719 only by night;;but we willget there in time, Diamond Dan. Now you know what is before you, and we camp here until night, for I have a suit of clothes and some traps to look up that I left here when I put on this rig, and the rest for the day will help our horses, who may have to run for it.” (TO BE CONTINUED.) —————__~»_ ep ____ THE first battle between the houses of York and Lancaster was that of St. Al- bans, fought May 22, 1455. The last was that of Tewkesbury, fought May 4, 1471. In these battles the Yorkists, or “ White | Roses, were victorious against the house ' of Lancaster, or the “Red Roses,” but in | the sixteen years between these dates |more than thirty great battles were |'fought with different success, and half the country was depopulated, and nearly the whole of the nobliity exterminated. CONSTIPATION and other bowel complaints Cured and prevented by the prompt use of Ayer’s Cathartic Pills They regulate the liver, cleanse the stomach, and greatly assist digestion. Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co. Lowell, Mass. VASEHELINE. OR ONE DOLLAR sent us by mail, we will deliver, free of all charges, toany person in the United States, all the following articles carefully packed in a neat box: One two.ounce bottle of Pure Vaseline, 10 cts, One two-ounce bottle Vaseline Pomade, 15 “ One jar of Vaseline Cold Cream ........ 15 “ One cake of Vaseline Camphor Ice...... 10. ¥ One cake of Vaseline Soap, unscentea.. 10 “ One cake of Vaseline Soap, scented...... 25 “* One two ounce bottle of White Vaseline 25 ——$1.10 Or for stamps any single article at the price. If you have occasion to use Vaseline in any form be careful to accept only genuine goods put up by usin original packages. A great many druggists are trying to persuade buyers to take VASELINE put up by them. Never yield to such persuasion, as the article is an-iniitation without value, and will not give you the result you expect. A bottle of Blue Seal Vaseline is sold by all druggists at ten cents. Chesebrough M’f’g Co., 24 State St., New York. The Taxidermist’s Manual. S. & 8. Manual Library, No. 12. PRICE 10 CENTS. A complete manual of instruction for the use_of beginners and amateurs in the art of Taxidermy. With twenty-one descriptive illustrations, tells how to collect, orepare, mount, and preserve all varieties of beasts, irds, insects, etc. If you are ready to struggle for the mastery of the art you will enjoy it, and it will pay. For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent postpaid, ren receipt of price, 10 cents, by the publishers, STREET & SMITH, 3L Rose Street, N. Y. EASY METHOD OF VENTRILOQUISM. S. & 8. Manual Library, No. 16. PRICE 10 CENTS. The most efficient and easy method of learning the art based upon the experiences of a professionel exhib- itor. Amusing dialogues for beginners. Ventrilo- uism and mimicry for the million. Apart from the Enencia! value attached to the professional exhibition of this art, there is much pleasure and amusement to be derived from its practice among one’s friends. For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent, postpaid, STREET & SMITH, 31 Rose Street, N. Yi 15 Portraits of Actresses, The Golden Wheel For= FRE tation, Lovers’ Telegraph, Magic Age Table, Ma- { gic Square, 200 Selections for Autograph Albums, Deaf and Dumb Alphabet, Morse Telegraph Alphabet, a Calendar for the current year, and a book containing hundreds of Tricks and Par- everything desctibed above will be sent to all persons who cut out this advt. and send it to us with 10¢, to Pi, postage, &c. Address Place, N upon receipt of price, 10 cents. by the publishers, tune Teller, Dictionary of Dreams, Guide to Flir- 79 Money Making Secrets, 20 Popular Songs, 84 Conundrums, The lor Magic; also 30 Compete Love Srorigs. All the books and | W. SIMPSON., 8&7 College ew York. heed epee tae <3 Pia TELEGRAPHY. Learners’ manual of complete instructions, with de- | : scription of itistruments. How to put up Telegraph -Lineés, Hlectric Bells, Batteries, etc. By spat fe = , J. H. BUNNELL & CO., 76 Cortlandt St., New York. MOTHERS Be sure and use *‘Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup” for your children while Teething. 25 cents a bot tle 17 Beanties, latest out, only 10c. 57 for 250 PHOTOS ! THURBER & Co.; Bay Shore, N. ¥ Cc A FR D me {EW GAMPLE BODE of Hidden Kame, Silk Fringe, Gold, a1) 4. Tinted Baas Cards, The Finest ever offered fren nane, HAP ONAL Chk 00.) 8010, OIE ORGAN Chart teaches a tune in ro'minutes, Agts. watd. gcstamp. Music NoveltyCo., Detroit, Micn, 720 Puzzle Corner. [Original contributions solicited. send poe containing obsolete w “Puzz 2734.) No. 1—STAR. COAR OP wrors — ns, A letter. . In «‘Boston.” . A leather, Coasts. Smooths. . A refuser. . Scent. . In “Charleston.” . A vowel. No. 2—Cross WorpD ENIGMA. -_ SOPAS OP wr Please do not ords. Address, e Editor” Goop News, New York City, P. O. Box J.G.1.C. In lamb, not in sheep. . In shallow, not in deep. In pull, not in jerk. In knife, not in dirk. In wasp, not in bee. In bush, not in tree. In vine, not in stalk. . Inrun, not in walk. . In star, not in sun. In play, notin fun. My whole is an author that pleases wears one. No, 3—INVERTED PYRAMID. 1. An impostor. 2. To untie. 3. To annex. 4. An abbreviation. 5. A letter. No. 4—ANAGRAM. Kill us, dad, if we are not good. fond men! Fan. No, 5—DIAMOND. A letter. Have eat. A tale. Wrong. A letter. No. 6— HippEN NATIONALITIES. Ou go bo A bird tamer I can see, . Give me that auger, man. . This pan Is heavy. The fir is high. . Jobn went to the brewer's, No. 7—Worp SQuarRE, 1. A kind of fruit. 2. A girl’s name. 3. A Single thing used in numeration. 4, Something used in halls, No. 8—TRANSPOSITION. Rusecd eb het icaosl seil htat wrpa het hutrt. No. 9—DOUBLE AOROSTIC. 1. It bowls along with lightning speed; 2. An animal flerce—he is indeed ; 3. Reversed, a vegetable sweet ; 4, The way a hungry man will eat. 5. Diamonds come from here I’m told; 6. The prince of darkness here behold. In primals and finals two names are espled, To males you'll find they are applied. . LICK. T, Port. Farewell! sad 4 RUFE. R, M, G. W. M, Anpy R, Lorrig ENOos, RICKEY, Answers t0 Puzzles in No. 44 Good News, No. 1— ESTIMA BLE S TRA ¥-E D CAROL ACE O APE STORM RAILING EXPLOSION No, 2— The people rule. No, 3— “x RED RU; RA L PERSIAN th ek fA N No. 4— Facts are stubborn things, No. 5— REVEAL EVENT VEND END AT L No, 6— N—ose. L—ose. R—ose. D—ose, No. Tj Asparagus, No. 8— >> Zbrord> Dae ZIOOM Pris UOb PUZZLE SOLVERS. Bertha M. Colvin, Josie Randolph, John D. Hag- gard, Olive D. Winthrop. Jas. McGowan, R. E. Flect, J, Dick, John Hancock, Mamie Myers. GOooD NEWS. Muli My as ——_ YW), \ | ee " a \ Wee ?, — = a, | my { | A. R. (St. Louis, Mo.)—The Loeomotive Engineer i 3 fully described in No. 20, Goop News, under Shall Our Boys Do,” by Chas. Barnard. } A Constant Reader (New York.)\—We do not | your ailment would keep you out of West Point, if you should pass all the other requirements. re- J. R. (Weir, Kan.)—You will find full particulars garding West Point, in Nos. 22 and 29 GooD NEWS, under heading “Short ‘Talks with the Boys.” ur name iD P. B. (Conneautville, Pa.)—You can get yo the directory you inquire about by writing to the pub- lishers. We thank you for your well wishes. A. S. (New York.)—Story declined with thanks, 9% we have on hand all the stories we can use for time. Manuscript will be returned if desired. C. R. F. (Danville, Va.)—1, Jas. Otis writes exclusively for Goop News. 2. We will soon publish a new ® story by Edward S. Ellis. 3. Twenty-six numbers. ive F. H. (St. John, N. B.)—It is not too late to er sremiums or book coupons. Back numbers pel and, and will be sent postpaid upon receipt p ed ell 0 Howard (Wheeling, W. Va.)—March 4, 184, f They Monday, and September 10. 1872, fell on Tues BY: = Og, were both leap years. Wethank you for kind opinion! ti 7 7 7 jption, w W. E. M. (Ashton, R. L.)—From your descript be would Say the coin is some sort of medal and Den. valuable toa museum. We thank you for kin ions. \ » = 0, P. H, M. (Elmira, N. ¥.)—The mean weight of AYR" man at 2] years of age, is 104 pounds, an heig: ds feet x oF inches. You are above the average #8 weight. ae a Subscriber (Charleston, 8.°C.)\—We are alway 8 Peter Bs to hear from our readers on any subject. 20 ous Cony you write about has already received our ser sideration. voi you S. S'S. Menominee, Mich.)—1, No. 2 Wethink Ti, —& oya ae | err would be able to make a successful and or oD by canoe to Florida. 3. We have no object rather aP- naming of your boat Goop News; in fact, we preciate it. 0 80 R. B. (Terre Haute, Ind,)—1. There are oft or not called submerging ships in existence, but tera fictiod- | been a success. The successful ones are ODLY : 2. Probably. a ; in the J. C. North Adams, Mass.)—1. Foreign coins value. United States have not much. if anys prvork: 2, The Write to coin collectorsin Boston or New % of the wi2° official count of the contest, with the names ners, will be published. _ 8, post: Constant Reader (New York.)—1. Cancelled Ur iefaken ‘a age stamps have no intrinsic value. _ It en 8 ps. if ’ idea. You might find a market for Fors alone, #2 they oy rare. a ieee quack medicine’ consult a regular physician. aking. all n Reporter (Pawtucket, R. I.)—1. Generally spe and. New York and Boston reporters write . ae advan- Your knowledge of shorthand would be ing. 3, One taze to you in reporting and intervie ‘aD average _ CF hundred and twenty-five words is W. speaker speaks in a minute. elashes Minnie S. (Albany, N. Y.)—Let your eyes and 1 eyuld en » et \ y | statistics giving the average height of her 3]| Some authors make all their A plan that might have worked if the string had not broken. Short Stops. WHAT points the most? Your nose. Every kind of work that we can’t do looks easy. WHEN shall we have a new moon? When the old one goes out. Wuy is a dead dog’s tail like a toll-gate? Be- cause it stops a waggin’, Way is the sun like a good loaf? Because it’s light when It rises. THERE Is a great decrease in the New Zealand expenditure upon intoxicants, Wuy do you look out of the window? Because you cannot look through the wall. WE give aid and comfort to the devil’s rebellion against God when we are untrue to ourselves. Don’r have too much humility. The crushed worm couldn’t turn if he had not a little pride. Ir we could.look deeper into the hearts of the ee it wouldn’t be near so hard to love some of hen. THE reason there is so much assassination in oe is because the Spaniards are such a sassy nation, THE prison population of England has fallen off of late years. Out of 113 prisons, 57 have been alto- gether closed, AFTER the year 1892, the free admittance of for- elgn goods Into Siberia by way of the Yenisei River, will be stopped, A. NEVADA Chinaman cut down six telegraph poles for firewood and used the wire to make fox- traps. He was last seen golng upahill. There was a man after him, “Ts it wrong to cheat a lawyer?” was recently very ably discussed by the members of a debating society. The conclusion arrived at was that it was not wrong, but impossible. WHEN you see acouple walking on the street, and they show when you are a block away that they want you to pass them, it isa sign among young folks that they are engaged, “I pon’r wish to say anything against the indl- vidual in question,” said a very polite gentleman, “but would merely remark, in the language of the poet, that to him truth is stranger than fiction.” THE following is a copy of a letter received by a Western undertaker: ‘Sur, mi wyfe is ded and . wants to be berred to morrer at wunner klok yu | no wher to dig thee hole, bi the side of mi 2 uther | ded wyfs—let it be depe.” ; ' Our Mail Bag. (Gasetionis on subjects of general interest ony are dealt with in the ‘Mail Bag.” Medical or legal questions not answered. Goop NrEws goes to press two weeks in advance of date of publication, and there- fore answers cannot appear until two or three weeks after we receive them, Communications intended for this column should be addressed “Goop NrEws” Mail Bag, P. O. Box 2734, New York City.] C. M. (Chicago, Tl.)—We agree with you.’ oF (Plainfield, N. J.)\—Circus story commences this week, J.D. C. (New York.)—Cash offers are not inserted in exchange column. K. G. B. (Canajoharie, N. Y.—Read answer to T. M. R. in Goop NrEws, No. 44. : E. L. R. (Pittsburgh, Pa.)—Old soin dealers offer $1.50 for a silver dollar dated 1798, F. R. C. (Boston, Mass.)—Read “Short Talks with the Boys,” in No, 21 and 29 Goop Nrews. W. P. B. (Mechanicsville, N. Y.)\—Rub the spots with equal parts turpentine and spirits of ammonia 0. N. (New Brighton, S. I.)—Ask your newsdealer to order the song for you from his News Company. W. F. L. (Leon, Iowa.)—Story declined with thanks, as we have all the stories we can use for some time. G. E. N. (Philadelphia, Pa.)—1. No, 2. Accept thanks for names sent us. Specimen copies have been sent em. Heathen Chinee (Detroit, Mich.) —Any newsdealer can get you the books mentioned by sending to his News Company. A. D. B. (Grand Blane, Mich.)—You will receive full are by writing to Spalding Brothers, Broad- way, E. N. (Patchogue, L. I.)—1. The first newspaper was published in England in 1588. 2. Read answer to C. H. in this column. R. M. H. (Boston, Mass.)—A boy fourteen years of age should be four feet eight inches in height, and weigh at the least, 68 pounds. A. A. (Port Jervis, N. Y.)\—We cannot give zou a book for four coupons. Three books will be sent you upon receipt of the complete set. E. G. R. Hadley, N. Y.)—The trade you write about is @ very good one and improving every day. Salary, however, is small for beginners. T. L. T. (Hagerstown, Md.)--1. History does not give the name of the lady referred to. 2. Kerosene was first used for lighting purposes in 1826, C. Q. (Terre Haute, Ind.)—The only coin in your col- lection that has any premium is the copper cent dated 1806, which has a premium of 15 cents. Empire (Hanover St., New York.)—Yes, we will accept ostage stamps in payment for a Goop NEws binder. hen writing always sign your full name, remain as they are. ‘The one ex ST yousense. LOU deavor to get into the former is that of the jud 34 have no idea how that beautifies af ace ‘And for the of those whose opinion is of any vaca cious as col wrinkles, we know of no receipt 50 tentment. y i ow of a0 | Rogavi (Philadelphia, Pa.)—1. We do not koe) storie® eroes tall, black since hair, handsome mustache and six ect, present, we you are five feet six inches tall ae Footer WE hink you are in a fair way to become a ; full grown. 1s ’ e ne Penman (San Francisco, Cal.)—1. Th “except dated April 15, 1865, are not valuable relics the streets SOT i ne few people. Last month they were 80 ere not t of New York for five cents each. , They W neraving original, but fac similes done by. the photon pusi ; process. 2. Your writing is_good, bu style, on account of the shading. 4 other j ange e . i) F.J. K. Ravenels, 8S. C.)—New York ane © ont. By cities are flooded with people out of employm hy young : c : ‘ut uP. “ages business you write about has been i smaller 8 —ar ti girls who can afford to work for MUC1 oct 088 than aman. Our advice would be 0 go Ninore suce' new States, and we think you will, > than you would in the crowded cities. a sad m i 0. ¥. TV. Denver, Col.)—You would mae bri 90. take if you gave upa trade which Js Sourpali ic in money, for an uncertainty in the } Tf you Why not work both at the same time vie a new and bright ideas in the line YOU.” the larKe fi mit them to the regular comic, paper swith success Jal and it they have merit, you will mee 1d is § Fi u bo n° E. W. F. Rome, Ga.)—1. The position to be Son: : responsible one, and we think yo100 Loft promo aniy ; tented, providing there is any likeli ty ou, but pre ot as @ We admit ciréumstances are agains ¥ North, 38 avout: . not as much as you imagine. « je you write gout» ; flourishing as pictured for the peop nist jn the If you can learn the trade of mac. ee do so by all means. prised, be i. E. D. W. Buffalo, N. ¥)—We are NOt "Goon Hye © 7 you did not see. your exchange nO pont ayo. yet, although you sent it over a xchat 7 should insert every week all tl er q out some | to the ceived, we would be obliged to ae doing ust! tne eo reading matter, which would not be terested en ne | majority of readers who are no jaced on file W change column. All notices are P: a ceived, and inserted in their turn. nt of ‘4 me nei r : ‘ aad tre’ the 31 r §. (Ludington, Mich.)—The ex feet to aa Bariholdi Statue of Liberty, from the ted pand, 3. end of the torch held by the outs 5 a granite The B - feet 9 inches. Thestatue is placec mn the lip tw pe q 83 feet hich. Aperson standing OD ‘ne ey y tholdi Status of ‘dberty cau just reach to corner, BAY ; eyes measure six feet from and in New yoyo) CO? 4 statue is situated on a smal r lights on the it and on clear nights the electri : js be seen ten miles away. vin day ed * } & scr D. WD. t Joseph, Mich.—1. Thanet is OOF ory usually the last Thursday in Nove? jg not # 8% thé i in all the States, though in some premiv™ ied YY : 7 f an is 4 holiday. 2 Wedo not know of {oA 1794.38 ‘oin you have. A silver dollar ¢@ iaen and $35" x3 Women cannot vote, for Pre state nd 3 United States in any Risto. é x q Pennsylvania, women can provement vate elect a E. on questions of local, im yO! worden voted in New York. Sey at omen cans at < in 1887, and were not punishes ry State, elections &school elections in almost eve f municipa) © wor Delaware allow women to vote at My ave give Twenty-eight States and Perritort a some form of suffrage. a Military Ma er fiv! ey; ov ni 1 boys in the State of New Jersey» pa hietuht wishing to join or organ mill please United States Volunteer Cade Newark, N. 9 Jas. 8. Grealy, 121 Johnson St., 4 n, sherman All members of the Hamilto Lata 0 d Washington Cadets, in the axe ordered fo report to Col. Jas. 8 G 121 Johnson St., Newark, N. J;