_ I tion hat I —one ‘orite y ac fore- sub- e. ne in- arine 1 the t the it on ht me brow pain, cross of the ill in- 10ked I was UAage ; dying do, it ne on apors inued. Then, snifier 6 ‘the > hav- adam, . My ceepest Piece nes of - more you,” later en led ; as it of Pil ! the » your sertain. o tight do not her she 1 with her on of use- sight a it, cry- poison | larmed should of the having is aged my bio- t, and I missed vas too of my on the ranvas- or, The ). Zoo. ttle in- to him, ten dol- icket. I ping to it pum- s after- e draw- al prize uled his bation, f cook- orn the 1 to the | hat tips rin the } tshawl, elergy- } ” ladin & ed with lfe cere- re one. nd care- li-coun- ur wed- lottery dollars ¢ , for this o whom | - OB ’ MY FLORA. BY FRANCIS 8& SMITH. 4 Down in the depth of the valley, Hidden from view by sweet roses, Nestles a cot where my darling In her rich beauty reposes. Eyes full of eloquent pleading, Blue as the bright sky aboye her, Breath, balmy odors exhaling— Sweet Flora, oh, how I love her!" Oh, when she sings the rich musie Hearing and heart are beguiling, Oh, when she smiles how ny senses Rejoice in the light of her smiling! When she is near me I’m wealthy, E’en though my poverty showing, When, she is gone I’ma beggar H’en though with coffers 9 *erflowing. Flora, my darling—my dear one, In my arms let me inféld thee! Safe from the world and its trials, Constant and true let me hold thee! Thou art the star of my morning, Losing its radiance never, In my fond heart let me shrine thee— Burn there in beauty forever! ————_>-0~+__ Amber, th the ‘Adopted; SCHEMING 10 WIN. ns By Mrs, HARRIET LEWIS, : AUTHOR OF Syne Rival Cousins; a a walle AT Stake,” etc. « ; . CHAPTER 1. , : A WQMAN AND A CHILD. ‘ Courtney Hall, the seat of Sir John Courtney, baronet, was one of the loveliest rural homes to be found in England, standing i. the midst of piloping lawns and terraced gardens, with wind- ‘ing walks and ecdzy little groves, where the air _¥as vocal with the songs of birds, and fragrant with the perfumes of flowers. tentury by the founder of the family, castellated stucture, with lofty turrets and mas- sive walls, but additions had been made to it, from time to time, with balconies. bay-windows, and other improvements, so that it possessed the lended characteristics of an ancient stronghold and a modern dwelling. A range of blue-topped hills bounded the hori- wn inland, while glinrpses of the North Sea were afforded between bluffs and wooded shores tothe eastward. A handsome park formed one tide of the estate, inclosing a beautiful lake, in which tall trees were reflected, and on the other tide lny green meadows and plowed fields, dot- ted with thatched farm-heuses and fir planta- tions, the whole forming a scene of unusual beauty. “Ina pretty latticed bleh at one side of the hall was seated Sir John, one sunny afternoon in May, looking over some memoranda on the | tablets of his pocket- book. He was forty-five years of age, hale and hearty, rather above medium size, with light hair and military whiskers, clegr blue eyes, and delicate features. His countenance was as genial as noble, dis- playing a kindly and sympathetic spirit, and his appearance was singularly refined and pre- possessing. In brief, he was a true type of the wealthy English gentleman; simple and unos- tentatious in his habits, well-informed, the pos- sessor of a sound judgment, generous and high- 4 minded, dignified without being haughty, and regarded with affection and reverence by all who knew him, including his many tenants. “It will cost me quite a sum to repair that _ property,” he soliloquized, still regarding his ling her tablets, ‘‘but the money will be well expended, ! she mat- ned wo- ndchild, pet face ong and ants, is” and for . | . Heaven) Touston r threé ney. igar (ont ‘eat de “T furs m pres ke, and | ter. ely com male av at ther@ ing thé ar; “you since the tenants will be so much more comfort- able than they are at present. Let me see—two, four, and three make seyen——” His calculations were suddenly interrupted. A girlish form, bearing an apron filled with wild flowers, and having a face wreathed with smiles of mischief, presented itself at an open | door behind him, and a long blade of grass, ad- vanced by a delicate hadd and arm, touched one of his ears, whereupon he slapped himself vigorously, uttering an ejaculation, and a mer- ry peal of laughter succeeded. “Oh, it’s you, is it, you little witch?’ ex- claimed Sir. John, as he sprang to his feet and seized the maiden by the hand. ‘You are back from your walk already ?” “Yes, dear papa. I could not stay away from you any longer.” , She was Amber Courtney, his adopted daugh- She was about sixteen years of age, and a little awkward and unrounded, as so many girls budding into womanhood are, with a dark com- plexion, and one further tinged by daily expos- ure to the sun, inthe gardens, on the adjacent »lake, or in the park and meadows. _ The main building, erected in the fifteenth | was a ‘ ' on, = ie A GIRLISH FORM, wire A FACE OF SMILES AND MISCHIEF, TOUCHED ONE or HIS EARS WITH A BLADE OF GRASS. Wir HARRIET LEWIS, a ge. A bent at oi Hniered According ‘to Act of Conaress. in the Year 1879, bu Street Vo. 34, OFFICE No. 31 Rose &t., reser aes: ae $$ = ei FRANOIS 8, 8ST a B. 0, Box 2734. New York. ' REET New York, Te uy 2l, 1879. FRANOIS 8. SMITH Tre Dollars Per Year, = WT o - 6. — 5 ive Dollars. ae -mber, the Adopted. infant in this manner. In short, the whole affair became a most impenetrable mystery. All we could do we did, adopting you as our daugh- ter.” The listener’s heart beat fast with loving gratitude to Sir John, as she responded: “To you, dear papa, I owe allthat Iam. You have educated me, have been a dear, dear fath er to me, and would now crown my life with honors and happiness! Oh, if I could repay. your goodness, your kindness——~” The marked characteristics of her face were her regular, white teeth, not too small, and her large, earnest eyes, of a deep dark gray, shaded by reddish-brown lashes. The rare purity and | refinement of her soul were evinced by the | sweetness of her voice, as she seated herself be- | side her father on a sofa just without the door, and continued : “T have made a couple of calls among our ten- ants, as I proposed. I have made a present to Mrs. Jones, and she’s going to buy a dress with it for each of her twin babies. From Mrs. | Jones’ I went to the Widow Garret’s. Her deughter has had a fever, and I took her a little basket of dainties. That is all for to-day, but I have been so well received by everybody that | ‘my face still burns with excitement. How hap- and how beautiful everything is I do not know what I have done ” py I am! around me! to deserve so many blessings! “Well, that’s the right spirit,” said Sir John, with the warmest sympathy and admiration. _ ‘Lam glad to see you so radiant, so happy! The -like banners—all are beautiful! world’s sunshine is not so plentiful as to be ig- | nored or discarded. We must enjoy it when we can. The life of a young girl like you, Amber, ought to be especially suuny.” . “Mine is, I am sure, dear papa,” responded the maiden. ‘To-day my soul is overflowing w te happiness. The sky seemed fulle gold, asI came home, and the air vocal with rare melodies. The clouds above, the sails on the sea, the trees waving to and fro in the wind | How such a day makes one love to live! I wonderif Ralph sees more bewitching sunshine in Germany ?” She referred to the baronet’s only son, Ralph Courtney, who was studying on the Conti- nent. “Thinking of Ralph always, Amber,” said Sir John, with a fond smile. ‘That is as I would ave it. Lam pleased to seé that you are not forgetful of him. You know that he is not vonr brother, but can you imagine why I have wished him to remain abroad*so long, away from us all ?” 6 Amber shook her hea. < “You are old enough to understand my views fully,” continued the baronet, after a minute’s reflection, “I have had a little’plan of my own in view during the four years of Ralph’s absence, He left you a mere child, but he w ilfreturn to should learn to regard you + eda as a sister. Knowing your worth, my dear child, I am sure | that Ralph, when he returns, will love you as i you deserve. During his absénee I have fos- tered your affection for him, have taught you to _look upon him as your future husband; have | had his picture hung up in your private rd6ins ; | have caused you to read all his glowing, erithus- _ iastic letters ; and have done everything else in ; my power to make you love him. Tell me, Am- ber, have I succeeded? Will Ralph find a loving : bride awaiting him ?” |. The happy flush on the maiden’s cheeks, the | quivering of her sensitive lips, and the emotion , With which she hid her face in his bosom, were sufficient answers to the baronet, and he clasped ) her hand warmly. | “Phere are somany frivolous women in the | world,” he continned, ‘‘that Lady Courtney and I conceived the idea of educating our son’s wife ourselves ; of inculeating right principles in her mind; of making her a noble, cultivated lady, one able to share Ralph’s intellectual pursuits, | and yet one with atrue woman’s heart. We en- | gaged a suitable governess for you, adding our | personal exertions, and I am proud to say that my highest hopes in regard to you are realized, i Amber—that you surpass my highest PEPER EAR : tons and wishes.” ‘But I am go plain-looking,” f: alte red. the girl. |, “So plain-looking!” repeated the Baronet, smiling. ‘What! with those eyes, Amber ?— ‘those great eyes of yours that shine and* glow | like stars, and are constantly changing expres- sion? Plain! not atall. Besides, you are only ja child. There is plenty of time for you to de- velop into a great beauty.” ; “Do you think,” faltered Amber, ‘that Ralph will mind the fa<* that—that my parents are unknown ?” “Mind? I should hope not,” answered Sir John, with genial heartiness. ‘‘To be sure, he doesn’t know the whole story—only thatyou are an adopted daughter, and not his own sister. I did not like to speak of it, or be reminded that you did not wholly belong to me.” ; Amber leaned her head caressingly against i her father’s breast, as she said: “Tell me all about myself, father dear. You I am old enough now, I have been thinking a! promised me you would when I grew older, and allowed to have it. sets me to dreaming, to wondering—but’ that is all. I could not be unhappy, as I see you are so good to me!” Sir John was silent a moment, appearing to commune with himself, and then he said: “The story of your adoption is a singular one, but can be briefly told. The event took place fifteen years ago. Ralph, a boy of nine, was at school. Justat dusk one afternoon a woman with a babein her arms called at the kitchen door, saying that she had made a Jong journey |, on foot, was weary and hungry, and desired food and repose. She was poorly dressed, coarse- looking, and evidently a woman in humble cir- cumstances, if not a disreputable one, while the babe was richly dressed, clear-eyed, intelligent, and4n every way presented a striking contrast to its supposed mother. “So remarkable was this contrast that Mrs. George, our housekeeper then as now, whose at- tention was called to the wanderer, conceived a taade a pet of you. tof educating yeu for him—eF. amaking yd ‘You have repaid me a thousand times over,” returned Sir John. ‘You have been to me a great blessing. How lonely I should have been since my wife’s death without you! I am great: ly to be envied in the love that is borne me by . my children—your’s and Ralph’s. I love you both alike. I see no difference between the child of my blood and the child of my adop* tion.” ; “How strange that you did adopt me!” mur- mured Amber. “Strange! Not at ali, Your winning ways made us leve you. Somehow, there is a void in the parental heart that @ Son; ¢annot entirely fill. Ralph was a dear, good, affectionate boy, but he was away at school, and so we felt the” need of a daughter, and you supplied that need. You were’neverso happy a6 when allowed to do” Some favor for Lady Courtney. When Ral, came home he took.a great faney te yo And then we. took the daughter in law asim loye.” ry “But what if Ralph should not W iat 29 sot ~o? suggested Amber, timidly. e ae er. Sitpeshor for four years, you knoy Wetiful women On-tha eaust have S60: Br soit one else to me.’ oe may vc Sir John started. ; The idea had never been. presented_to him j ans such a way before, and it now struck a with chilling force. What if he had learned to love one of the ladies around him ?” -° Not only, in that case, would the “father’s, hopes and plans be blighted, but Amber, who. had been so carefully taught to love the absent son, would be cruelly and terribly stricken. But the idea seemed too monstrous to be en- tertained, and Sir John set it aside, saying, with a smile: “No, he will not™ love any one but you, deax, I have hinted to him repeatedly in my letters that Lhave a wife picked out for him, and he has not said nay to my éuggestions. He will soon,be at home, and you and he can take pleas- ant rambles together during the bright summer days.” : Amber flushed again. woman’s already, under the hot-house process adopted by the well-meaning baronet, and it was entirely occupied by one great passion—her love for Ralph Courtney, about whose return euspicion that something was wrong in the wo- she had long been fondly dreaming. man’s relations to the infant, and Lady Court- | ney and myself were notified of the whole mat- | mured. | ter. On a closer observation we found that the child wore under its cape a small but costly diamond necklace, with a quaint device and two blended initials engraved on the clasp. To our astonishment, on questioning the woman, we found that she was entirely ignorant of the | value of the jewels. she declaring that she had bought them when she was in prosperous cir- cumstances. “Continuing to question her whilg she was partaking of the refreshments placed before her, we elicited other false and contradictory answers. She said at first that the child was hers, and next that she was taking it to its par- ents, but refused to say where the parents lived, where she had come from, or where she was. go- ing. To suspect that she had stolen the child, through cupidity or revenge, was the sole ex- planation left us. “During the excitement that followed, the child, which had commenced crying, stretched out its little hands to Lady Courtney, asif im- ploring assistance, and this act touched her ladyship so deeply that she at once took posses- sion of it, informing the woman that she must prove her relationship to it before she would be Within an hour thereafter, while all eyes were busy with the child, the wo- find you one of the most charming laglies in ex- | great deal about this subject during the last few | man suddenly slipped away from the hall, van- istence. He will be delighted ang astonished. | weeks, It is so sad and strange, you know, not | ishing as completely as if she had sunk into the My long-cherished project’ will be realized, and to have any birthdgys, not to know the place of | earth, and from that hour to this we have never you will become Mrs. Ralph Courtney, for which | one’s birth, and to be ignorant of one’s own | heard or seen anything of her.” position you have been so carefully educated | and trained.” Amber blushed, and a happy light shone in | her clear eyes, but she remained silent. , “After her ladyship’s death, four year ago,” resumed Sir John, ‘I sent Ralph abroad, lest he | father and mother. Do tell me!” | The baronet sighed, and atremor of emotion | shook his form. “OL, no,” was the response. “It frequently “And I was that child ?” sighed Amber. “Yes, love. We were satisfied that a grievous wrong had been doné,: and that you were most ; of our knowledge, woman were fruitless. pee the mystery render you unhappy 7?” he respectably connecttd, and this was the extent All our efforts to find the | | deeply agitated. Neither could we find -ing the mystery concerning Amber to take a “We shall be very happy, no doubt,” she mur- ‘My heart is already so full of joy, | dear papa, that it is almost a pain.” Sir John dismissed her after a few further re- marks, and she flitted into the house, followed by his affectionate glances. He sighed pro- foundly when she had vanished. “So good! so pure!” he murmured. “May Heaven always shower its blessings upon her!’ Searcely a minute had passed when Mrs. George made her appearance. She had been a wealthy lady in her. younger days, but misfortune had overtaken her, and she had accepted a home with Lady Courtney as housekeeper, a post she had filled ever since. She was getting past the prime of life, but still preserved a rare freshness of spirits, and was as genial as good-tempered. Her chief traits were devotion to Sir John and Amber, and pride in the family honors. “Excuse me, Sir John, for troubling you,” she said, with deep agitation, “but I have just learned that a strange woman has been at the village to-day, stopping at the Crown Inn, who has been making all sorts of inquiries, in a cau- ticularly about Amber. “A strange woman?” repeated the baronet, starting to his feet and becoming deathly pale. “Inquiring about Amber?” “Yes, Sir John, an old, ill-favored woman, who acted in such a way as to arouse the sus- picions of Mr.Goss, the landlord, who is familiar with the story of Amber’s adoption, and he has sent one of his sons to give us a hint of her pres- ence and conduct. The young man is here now. Will you see him?” “A strange woman ?” again repeated Sir John, “JI have long been expect- 4 any wealthy or titled parents who had lost an What if Ralph should prefer some one elset “ Child as she was physically, her heart was a , tious way, about you pane your family, and par- . ow - - : — ; ‘ wanes _—_———- re _™ . . eiace die ladheen-suie ee ay een SE I " r t ; : . : wat . »y : 3 PU. e ee 0 . a " } 4 be . / 4 “4 \ ol Wid ad 6 — 1, - ! 1¥ ' BIR JENS _@ is i io errens iat SSS TO —_ eas & es ee 7 ‘oe sae ——— — eee ee : oa ae ; ij vei ; ly. “A day|ment, When her husband returned she Sh.44. deat eS oe ne thane GHEE EbeRartites for .mécand my | “Disapperd ” repdated the baronet, in as- | Hon dampt aia abe sald eeeh ent him, carelessly : : , hea on t » turn of this kind. Perhaps the woman is the | except those : er) ” | tonishment''Why, where has she goue? | with y Se tS ate ead mie fifo,” “Phat was Madame Vanira with Lord@-) thin one who left Amber with us so many. Years eer he iio ee nd meas a tutor | “T don't bw, sit,” was the reply. oa | oo raa ; ars ba > m b bao he eit not. | dos, I am sure,” il you al ) o + © i “Then if you could recomme até : ‘ as tee ,w be | e did not answer her, bece i” . ga i . . 2s aa ::3 ago 1” -eply, when th ) in some family? hicle with ¢ ’oss came up, and he a. 1. | He waited untibhis heart was calm and atrest| “You had better bring stronger glast. “saying Mrs. George ‘was about to ree’ when 6 “a tutor! Oh, dear, no, Jasper. Why, be-| ing on the |kout, she ired it and ¢ ISAPPOATOC + | in: then henmid>" cleafer eyes with you the next time you mem.’ great gates at the bottom of the lewn ides Amber and Ralph, rou and Blanche ate all | I made no abt that it was the fly your visitor | agam; t trow, Leone; no ene knows | he replied, laughingly ; and then Lady Eiyy¢ fair, opened by the lodgekeeper, and a carriage came os coe \2 the world: A futor!| came in, fort came trom this direction. ane L ae foullbure, may bring forth. Let} knew that she was quite right in her suspll Ce c one re ie eye eee ” | Rs ldadahs yond watering, and feeding) what twenby- : often | It w ly a jest to her, and she thought): } rolling up the drive. 1” laimed | Nonsense! Lappreciate your desire to be inde- | driver didixtop»beyon 1 4 ‘ntention | usgo to-morrow, Leone. Rise early, How often | #} was only 4 Je ; r pat here . “Itis not Ralph—no, a stranger! exciaime Ni a a +3 awhile, and I may be | the ‘oss, at betere T suspected her intent ae pone. or while tke dewlay on fing of if, That same even, when Lady IP*> vs fe sndent, but stay with us awhile, an y a ; » her, thera’ be- | we have gone out together while the de y e ie ords. i = can the visitor be? It isa vis- | ponent, oul I he ga _” shad ga 1 conldn’t pursue her, th ° ae 1s it, be ” o was one of Lady Marion’s dearest fri... ~ Sir Jen ‘tout & trunk and a carpet-bag on the aby “¢ vie thin Danie loses 2” asked i E no anikin the stables i besides, = pal i epwers sudigapes! | Shale Team WE pres- ma feo fe Stontland Meuslady Evely n tal. rhe, aa , rine POS EL - a tart ‘ as yy Ti > any business to fonow | Cea 7 inci Bt jest ady Ilfield ley bots demanded the steps of the porch, and Mrs. Longley, his restless glances encoantertng me a. ei ent any | enee as she answered ‘Yes. 1 Re a in he inert ot 2 ae i ove ms tee ’ § > , oct i ; f “Y. ; ‘ 3 ‘ ; i re } dt « ihe COnCernDs George retreated into the mansion, at thy. eon ae oo oa. $ a reply. “She had a “But wh made you think that this woman loved him, Gies taco ola Boule Givedone “Do you really mean that you saw Lord it that I moment that the carriage stopped, and. its 9e- vornil tho was an excellent musician, but | was—was { one——” FO ae en lied there in the splendor of her | dos with Madame Vanira ut Ouseley 7?” shea. ay Byel cupant sprang out .and advanced toward Whe Sore tout ht Tohanallene knew I let her go “Becauséir John, she asked after you - | bemar had ee ot hor Lodi oo have said} “Alone without his wife Fr eased the ILpe y . - ber ¢ ' , . o : . chy 7a ; 5 Dé : as mt baronet. last week *Ammber is a splendid player, but I} particularke - -amd Miss Amber—why, oshe | beauty anc Pp “Yes,” langhed Lady Hyelyn; ‘‘a stolen) \, ut she ‘ . 5 ‘ ; ‘ ° 1 . | i : : : ee : ; he asked about) “Yes.” So it was arranged. | ‘ ye : ae : : shall engage another music teacher for her— couldavt ’e@ Bee veal her educa-) “We will have a beautiful day,” said Lord | dition, evidently. He looked horrified )\¢\ is, it ye . s, he her positiat the 7 A 4 : Nantal 4g ke to him.” “W hat d »h is so fond of music.” ; ‘ 7 ; ad re jokes ‘1 ama capital rower, Leone, a8 you | Captain Blake. spoke to | - Tife ; ane | CHAPTER II. a ehaee I could fill the post,” said Jasper, | tion, hertlts, w hether she . 2 oa — Se Gan I will take you as far as Med-| “I do not like it,” said Lady Iifield, wh, begin | THE BARONE1’S COUSIN. going to the piano, “Music has always beew a plenty of >ketemon®y, anc more * " mersham Abbey; we will land there, and spend | one of the old oeenoe — a net have ve anytl | The uew-comer wae aman about thirty years | 8) cclon with me, and I have had thé benefit of Oo anid the baronet. “How did she!an hour in the ruins; bat you will have to rise | the science of modern flirtation. ll me, DI iki ppearance. He | qistinguished masters.” ee of ago, and of striking personal appe gpg ie 9 pas 1 keys, produe- | look, Mr. 6s 2” ; .° and I like his wife T 3 t r, graceful in his movements, e ran his fingers over the pearl keys, produc- | 100K, AIT. SS» a Sd ; : mind that.’ me; and I like fe,” - on Then. is aod ene a amounted strong contrasts all a wildly-beautiful strain of melody, that | ‘ Like wold wonesn. dt , oe one net shall mind nothing that brings me to you,” | This simple conversation iy as the bem? hasten of lightand shade, his, hair and oye vas ry Cea eee ee anrpat t aoe fe lof: a ‘ vf Ff Wauita defined like in her langnage she said, with a vivid blush, and 80 it was an Hs el pe pores ee eae Mady Evel : ; i < Tas Ve ai relle rin t yet-tones full of wild | ot way, é 1 ae Tragedies on which 3 er § ae > a Tivel black ae night, while his complosion was, "ery | again swelled out in jum of Wa), aa Nees have 10 oot LOOK tn | sebted. pale, glossy a > a ; I 3 J : . 2 2» y B” aid Lord (, ; ; ae ‘cht! They for es of honor; he forgot| “‘] am sorry that he saw me,” said LOray), andos Ww i : a : ae ‘ove that she has no right} They for got the dictates ; : . “ppt al adieu... per lip, and concealed the expression of his |” When he had finished he wheeled around on /|’em. I wiasve could pet due to his wife at home, and she for- | dos, as the captain waved his final ulietie song. early and drive down to the river-side, You will | already more of Lord Chandos than has ph. y it. , ahs + 9 what was : 3 id he ?” i ‘ r baronet’s decision. to Miss Ater. d , > atid 4ashi he did not see your face, Leone, did he Lady Ma mouth. _ | his stool, and awaited the bai > “ . Mr. Goss,” sighed Sir John. | got prudence and justice, ee S © aa ry: : 9 aly DER : fi . “i ~ Tasper clared I wiaslo, too, Mr, Goss, & : ; “ey ’ 2 rw i ? 3 replied, “I think not. ; dae TAs héapproachedythe baronet he held ont Ms "Yon are a aston Fourelt ROE lente | “Tt te, mush ahould rovurn fo your bi, bog | Te meme he long moors of che git; te | “Ledges not mater about, me,” be sald so” She na, sayin ‘ ; : ' > ane TS , c . . sane k y it at ex ossible | r 1b : : ; ; : ae wee ; : ae eee no eT ete hap iness of seeing Sir John | touch you have! ast Rou yn, dra rau i lope know it at the earliest p wakes her with the song of the a = ae Te have liked any one to hevappest suo! ° - f J + xr a 0 : 1 . J ° ‘ A.3 P 2 — Wa, € y 7 . - ” J Courtney—cousin oan eR a those 9 ee : a will be a ay Jasper reated to his seat, thinking. : shine of the ore ee net, Vaart aut ve- He forme the incident soon after. Wht ould uae . peyraue cig’ Bs rel .d the proffered | weed A ee 7 lad to do so,” returned Jasper “There; a mystery, then, and aboné this | sense of palo at seas whole day with him, | boat was once more on the bright, dancing; gle cha ee see end. Rciginaae m , ‘ondivided Miss Amber herself is willing to ac-| adopted dghter of Sir yohn’s. I ay ee oy h . edb pon that h eared waa that | then they forgot the world and everythim, lyn sa § Sib » : 4 mS at 5" : av y I ‘* * r- we ~ 4 7 Ina ais it possible ? You are the son of my cousin | gapt meas her teacher, and provided that she ae aboutet. It may be worth something he was leaving ‘# wife at home who had all except t at the By ar ape. eatothom” band a dward ?” does not herself surpass me." but in- " His comtions were interrupted by the en- claims to his time and attention, | a , anaes, ald like te } gather one.” hi ers 1 “T am Jasper Longley.” A shadow flitted over the girl’s face, but tn - frank, open| “One happy day before I die!” she said to | lilies, I should like to gathe 3 handos, Obediently enough he went close to thé...) | % ey von, Jasper,” declared the baro- | stantly vanished. | trance ofxe baronet, over whose ae 1 i i) . | TN «es Tht alas wongley’s hand. “Why,| She had been strangely thrilled by the music | conntenae a shadow rete now, Jasper,” herselt ai it be ‘happy? The sun will shine | water lilies, and placed the oars at, the bof | ady Ma it’s years since I saw you. ql heard a year ago of | to which she had just listened, but it had also I willaow you ie oo os his recent visitor, | brightly, but there will be a: background ; yet it | the boat while he gathered the lilies for Bed ; the our poor father’s death, and I’ve often won-/ developed within her goul a feeling which she | he said, thout at en to dress for dinner.” | shall be happy; because it will be with him, gvas more like a poem thin a reality; a] «\y hus areal what had become of you and Blanche. | gonld not define—a sort of mistrust of this mar- You wihave barely time to are : : y; be mi F , i river, the boat amy. (i:iine V wi , ‘ “ vas yet early inthe morning W hen she drove.| sun, a blue, shining 1 ; ine | “ut the, : : , Longlebowed ‘ant followed the, barotve|to the appol lace iverssi 18 } water lilies, the béautiful, regal woman, hid ; ‘ina | Your sister is with you, of course ?” t ad VeRORPOE ROUND hi otion, however sisenek eeorridor, up a flight of massive | to the appointed place at the riveryside, a waster ] SS ae ee ee ene | A glance at the Omer ar however, assure Instantly ropremelne. this emotion, ver, ‘ : sun shone in the skies. the birds sang in the rious face pen’ Ove We i Ly, even | him that Jasper had come alone. she expresses Bie in, oe : q nl ir Jon pened adoor off the corridor, and “No. Blanche is in Paris,” replied the young | Sir John said: Sir 2 pened Bi. Pinan eee: ta "“T have been too unsettled to keep her “Tt is settled then, Jasper, that you are te be ushered liscaest into a handsome sitting-room, eee wi wens ; hq oe ; 7 . oo : ive P nd gai srt * ; r . 3)) 2 ‘ . “e Thi rater hihes at the feet 0 s hi: teat cee ee ae Serer oon an tes ME al get you nee tt This sip of rooms. is yours while youremai a if ae Ww ft but ar by SNe ee hee the prety weer se havaah abe had grown nae alph at home esson every day, oa eS. vat oY Ma : ‘xt, and be- | if she were but Leone Noel once again,. a a ; z fie 1 : ; ro”? r- rear, i r pay _ Are these | with us, aper. This bedroom 1s next, anc) 38 : ie eee Wer r. “hie the water ran laz acy Onn a ei pace at Jee es Ge ae ates-& 3 tisk: is ee ‘abr i Beg yond tha id your dressing-room. You will find | life all unspoiled before he r; ee a Pager ene gh notes ae golden aja Lede eS ert ns Jaan wae have not Dctty mderstoca that he was indebted to your tru: inthe roehae roger pag hvaes: red, oe ‘a hepa’ — ond ae ; pg an, sree te we lor fim. r eee od seen Ralph &ince he and you were at your first | his relationship and to the baronet’s kind heart | of conrs If you want anything, mn ; : fe the light, the waters seemed to dance, and the}. It was the: .prettiest picture. ever seeNg} andos ¥ 1er delight in warm terins, and | stairs to # cond floor of the east wing. roosts 0 ee eter dedhed ani elqwed i’ throwing the drops of epkay on ‘the greet, I.cno'V | Chandos filled the boxt-with flowers; helongiit he green leaves to thrill. : : “ 5 ” he said; “and that, Ag oe ; ; hes of a b love for t One song, Leone,” he said; *"s tour eyes : : : , i : s offe ian wilttend you. these burning as é : ate 7 » clear and ditharsoni et ae ted i cad son , nese Ser ite 2 ae = So a . Longlthanked his relative warmly, and the light, poEhe ar ie fhe ie which® ees rs nigger of vee se ok g , ‘banda is Willa wued Jeans arm within his own, the Ven will bea member of our family,” con- | baronetithdrew. : oie tiie bop Ege in ony ee iy SE Sr ET ae bagh antiatinet of phan baronet led him into the magnificent drawing- | tinned the baronet, ‘‘and erent a to feel at | - chan Tee aT + epee oe ook | eat eed hoon so good to her; He had given to | or pride eo A er heart, for she raised her ht] would n ome. The hall, the stables 6 game pre- StrMye 100) : ’ - \ snius that was im- | looked at him. ol swore od must be lonely in Rakph’s absence, cous- Berek the trout streams, everything " at your | made upf satisfaction and triumph. her me tee thine tite elds moat fair and | “Yes, L will sing for you, Lance,” she, Lady Alt in,” observed Jasper, throwing one ines service.” a Lind, SirJohn,” lied J (70 Re GONEDECED.) Hiey wate all lost te Tier, because of her a “These ene take me pou. 2 Wi jompt in t! SV shai Th surve. yin the apartment. “You are in eed in ’ Sir John, rep 1 as- an shes —+>-@—+—___—_—— Bi si Fi : e sun was 8 in- son of w ich not one wore as passe oad 7 : e ah . head observing a bi ¢ embroidery per, 6 look ok enlaiiaction mentees bite. Sateen Meacing a yin the sun, and ' nak Isaw you. Listen! Seeif you ky" is ioe on the table, “perhaps I should congratulate | shall take every pains with my pupil, and shall A. er to oul the day ak him. She had | words: f |. ee you on a second marriags, sir ?” __ {in every way endeavor to merit your good dressed herself to perfection in a close-fittin - ‘In sheltered wale 9 mit Weel pill rive J There was a barely perceptible eagerness in opinion. JI will enter npon my duties to-mor- | dress of dark-gray velvet, relieved by ribbons o er Sect onee did dwell there, “nember ¢. his voice as he asked the question. ; row. ‘ : rose-pink; she wore a hat with a dark-gray Bat now she’s-far away. hiave faith The baronet flushed strangely, and his man-| “No, not till next week. This week you must /# : © | plume, under the shade of which her beautiful A ring In pledge I gaye ae it. And if ner was slightly embarrassed a8 he replied : devote to getting acquainted with us and the gt ace looked doubly bewitching; the little hands naeescebergeane, . apoy theee “No, I am no married, Jasper. I am altogeth- country. Ralph will come home at the close of . which, by their royal gestures, swayed multi- The Ding ee aiacheaer * 1 good ex} er too old for that.” é his present term, and [ want him to find Amber By Bertha M. Clay, | pades, were cased. in dark gray. Lord Chandos ; , norninaa ee roe er bonahe detectodthls cous | pon Berea yon Tie coupes a ae | looked at her with undisguised admiration. The cia — tt “4 ane sonversati ’s ion, and he thought: — eaching her as you like.” AUTHOR OF Ok i . mned to float over. the water; it @rol™ MN ot derzicd | But adonét y in love with in The Srouil look with which he regarded the | ; i HE WORLD,” “A BITTER fo rae, es — Breen Inge beat. |e water-lilies ; it seemed to ae some one! A little observation may show mej girl showed that he considered her already quite “THIWN OF ae iL. 7s s y c Siew laneiaa : there was just the least tinge | a vail overthe low boughs : it startled) lic vanae the object of his attachment.” nerfect.” é we : ’ : a ehat R and hushed even the summer win ave 7 At this juncture the drawing-room door was ; “There’s only one thing more necessary to our + ange ak ae we oad have gray skies, |S0 sweet, so soft, so low, as he listen ? ld partially opened, and Amber’s pretty head was | happiness, continued the baronet. “We must | («4 a Love” was commenced in No, 20. Back mum.) | 4 “ 4d bleak, bitter winds,” she said. _| into his heart, and worked most sweet&)., went: thrust in, as she said, merrily ; have Blanche over here, before she becomes a | pers care obtained of all News Agents.””) cole oe - . . eee Montel away | mischieé. He buried: his: face.in hia o wae “Papa, papa, dre you there? There’s a young | Frenchsyoman. Write to her, Jasper, and tell : fons , hae eae Seeatifel stream. wept aloud. ot, burst of a man waiting who wants to see you. He came | hemhow glad bs shall be to. cag hess Dope she CHAPTE® AELX. Ott was a day on which to dream of heaven; n went the sweet voice with its jealousy, | aa ee tat oon aia flys a the ML oNous age ir,” lied Longle “she is pas WoUN® ee ‘ there was hardly a ripple on the beantiful | he held up his hand z 120 i ching sight for the fai oe Wine is: black Sho looks wonderfully | She wild have avoided Lord Chandos as she | ¢he scent of hay from the meadows, of or hush! I eee oe ee ; Ishe had ‘ oe, Dee e € ia é ¥ . sen 5 ene thai like as saccade while Iresemble my father.” ” | wonlaave shunned the flames of fire; that one | from the banks; it was as though they had float- On went the sweet yc * ° cause; bu emcee: wo pare face anc i i = ot dt How old is sl i SUNS evenif showed her that she stood on the edge | ed away into Paradise. _“ ‘But while I hear that mill-wheeljthinx ove ors of the caMRAe a ani Sir John, arisi nd an. h itat “ad ima ‘ent, seeming td be | of a pcipice. Looking in her own heart, she} “Lord Chandos bent forward to see that the My pains will never cease. somew hat a ee he 6,” said Sir John, arising & aoe Fang aoe i * alatiatio ri and then re- knew y its paionee once and passionate rugs were property disposed ; he opened her sun- I wou id the gesxe coal. hide me I a as . 7 ng her. 4 é , J S, & sain-tatithe love in er lal meyer been ¢CON- | ghade, but she would not use it. x beredalone is peace.’ S Lady ave Amber permitted herself te be drawn into the | plied: pain'@ he aa : : he eveni roe ple : ; he beik a For therealone is p my 2 S “amet ‘ ; : i » re .She said to herself, when the evening ‘Let me see the beautiful river, the banks, an ‘ Bs ae of invent - apartment, but her dark cheeks were sc arlet | “She is twenty-four, being, six. yea: os Oupaee quere . alee F Teletints- thenudee — ‘while I may,” she said, “the sun will not “| will sing that verse again,” she Sil ,.member with 6mbarrassment, and her eyes were down-|thanI am. We arc very much abt to each rab. “that she word new B: Herself to | fart me.” i ; prophetic : : back to h ; canted Ws xl ‘ ether, and I run over to Par eee quently to see ees 4 in. aa : i _ There was no sound save that of the oars cleav- “ «] would the grave could hide mel Tuesday sh = looked really beautiful - Bhat manent, , | her.’ | Ser Ag es tural for hgr—she ing the bright waters. Leone watched the river - For there alone is peace.’ learly and RR al ce oat. This paectibaanas te “Twenty-four, a nd at scuool yebr™ ae ees had spent | with loving eyes; since she had left, River rigs She bent her head .as ghe sang the should no pusill, war plex] sg i the baronet. “Why, Jaspér, yom are ney ice away and|— and she had loved it with something like pas- ; to a mo his son—the Jaaner of whom you have aiften | tio¢ by your sister. She will wast® \y » ; , all ys len | right by your sister. ili waste | cord. My Yeti, Mire ste 1S ppowent cob | Best eae and hewuty of youth i, BAO ‘= “ti esper ackno ty édged this informal intro es. sionugt. whenshe ous ol now,” : on by arising and shaking hands. with \ge, “Oh, gh— sact, she. left seh . * : an the "as silénee a l woman who was ?oiny i+ ned like part of that happy married | words, and then the re was si a aly their pale, Bolaen cys Oyu uneReL, WHETS Uae wibas-wETe ging arte? { walang, nbreker pase AR poat ani eat pt y on her. 5h} a mad fashion of theirown. 4 of a lark thaé soared high in the sky. «és nntil the Tings) “stop aud listen,” she said, holding up her} “Leone,” said Lord Chandos, “you nearly dit ) she return they had ni , sheidrovs home; 88 said Longley,?| mast shine down > L.« 8 sd her whitents; she exhausted herself nor wife “s oung gitl,,and Amber, gatheri how Tally acc : whnool fonr years clenchec er. € ; ; p hand. me. I thought I had a stronger,,. brayé jj). . re fy: ADC , gathering riyop sy, Tully accomplis i ; ¥ Me - : Bn zer, een Bpen meee and smiled. en vee i | Sort of bachelor: uplished a wanderin. made LOE eae sobs, yet no tears came from | }{e stopped, and the boat fidated gently with | I thought I had a stronger nat ly, so far ey and she made the acquaintanm— oF & decayec B CYES.41 the noiseless tide. killed me.” c Ainber !?__cepeated Jasnar : . Fa 5 asne “T wonder,” said Leone, “if in that n bird He looked qnite exhausted, and she . ~ aoe ih 10 nae ‘ aed her faith ioe Vout de aR eed the barqpet,. with a| French noblewoman, who took a fancy to her Was ever woman ‘so foully, so cruelly wronged : sie > ured , : , by the go ! Mavrewing the girlto him. “It is one of aud who, on the payment of ahandsome annua. ae eau’ been #0 canely vorsy ee kingdom there are tragedies such as take place | lines of pain round his mouth, great #f jut talk. | ama € Mit dasitoned names that used to be very {S22 consented to introduce her into the gayest | oie. “y ap bes ar we Bne.P Aer- | in ours?” : hig eyes. What v Laer, on among ladies, and has been borne in the | Srench society, She hasbeen a great belle in | “Tong ft napapee 4 Beet, and: the ori Lord Chandos laughed. “Hawe I been cruel to you?” she # 0. theo may family for a long period. My favorite Paris fo — oes ong -years, but 2 ow : ee een ee ae ll tana 5 ng lbacsey Bhar 1 br yak a ‘The beautiful head drooped wearily, the beau- | lovely, happy to-day! beantiful sun and balmy Poy eaeeee etek aiether Word: a oe cp yptbiaal detach Sponge, poe Pr sic thn catia Te ita ocahign eontat ie nag la ee shat y. tiful voice trembled and died away in a wail that | wind, blooming flowers and singing birds. Lord sotetaul tied daiide: Or che adieu: bat | both perished in India.” Parente again. *)°F'| an honored friend dd at of | was pitiful to hear; all her beauty, her genius, | Chandos made a comfortable seat for Leone on | heen no mention of parting, and that; *2dte uy fathir 6 cata ‘ Lf oo “sir John.” ‘said Mrs. Ge ot her talent—what did it avail her ? the river bank, and sat down by her side. They | Jast thing botl et ee | Madaz our father could leave you but little,” said ; Sir John,” said Mrs. George, 28 500 us she Lord Chandos had sutfered much, but his pain | did not remember that they had been wedded ast thing both thought of. | on the ee baronet, ‘but your mo sher’s marriage set- read courteously greeted J — Mr. Goss him-| had never been so keen a8 now at this moment, | lovers, or that a tragedy lay between them; they wWaPTHI } you th dements must have amounted to something.” self has come over to see you. I believe he has} when this beautiful queenly woman wailed out | did not talk of love or of w, but they gav CHAPTER LL EB “La “So her ae, oo on her death her property | Something Pent se tell you. As soon aé| her sorrow to him. ’ themselves up to the ins ypiness of the hour, to THE CONFESSION | began yas y y r atiwee ¢ > y are @ y: oé r . a : 7 i Pale : ~ Oar ee shania aaa Ge fatee es oe : Oh, “ie Scoala will excuse me ‘a minute’ 1%; What shall Ido, Leone? I would give my} the warm, golden wbmablstes to the thousand ! “TI do not believe it,” said Lady Marid faces pt le eee ane ms wedge ios Z CeO We Pea ie bates ‘Where ia Mr Goss?” » | life to undo what I have done, but it is useless— | beauties that lay around them. {some absurd mistake, If Lord Cham “La | Hidioulously small Oe tae or rence dere “Hoe is just o GAL lage 38 Songer an pe Icannot. Do yon mean that we must part?” They watched a pretty_pleasure-boat drifting | been out either alone or on a party of I is not | letter I receive from her contains a request for | steps. {sent him there thinking you'd see him The eyes she raised to his face were haggard | slowly along the river. It was well filled with | where you say, he would have tald me. The money.” . > tae 2 > So ae pois, ae oF p 3 des. — anos nn to 2 = te — gp meer ae that if Bight The aeeats go ows , aR ; pe é § 1 or ut parting, Lance,” | party, and somewhat to his dismay the whole; Captain Blake spoke to him there, al oi wo jy be. beaenes FY gee gina ype crm 9 gga _“Right, Mrs. George. Send him into the cor-| she said. “I thought we could be fonda but | party landed near the spot where he: with Leone, Evel nh saw lgidtetine Vanira wi “It With princal eae ag ve " ae ‘er ridor, if you please, J asper, be kind enough to! it is not pessible; we have loved each other too | was sitting. him. “W Sedee eibrk” Whink-dt Wes 4G. id: edit ha or Oe te a moment. f wel . . ' ‘T hope,” he thought to himself, ‘‘that there is| The speakers were Lady Chandos al The straitened in pecuniary matters, and hy os _ He followed the housekeeper from the draw-| | ‘‘We need not part now,” he said. ‘Let us/ no one among them who knows me—I should not | Ilfield; the place was the drawing-rooma twee! nevolent heart was immediately ex liste 1 oes ing-room into the corridor. : think it over; life is very long; it will be hard | like it, for Leone’s sake.” land House; the time was half-past thre again per’s behalf : yY enlisted in Jas- “ How excited he looked when she mentioned | to live without the sunlight of your presence, The thought had hardly shaped itself in his | afternoon; and Lady Ilfield had called § “Li “What ti pol Ghaibie ta’ do! Hapbe? BE ie ci thought Jas er, When he found him- | Leone, now that I have lived in it solong. Let} mind when some one touched him on the arm. | friend becanse the news which she h The |. asked. in» his ‘straightforward mai per? he | self a lone. o is Mr. Goss? What does he | us think it over. Do you know what I wanted} Turning hastily, he saw Captain Harry Blake, | preyed upon her mind, and she felt that tion. line straightiorward manner. “‘So| want? His manner seemed to show that there | to ask you last evening ?” one of his friends, who cried out with astonish- | reveal it. Like all mischief-makers, Lad) seem young and healthy as you are, you cannot wish | was some secret in the affair, which,as a mem-| “No,” she replied. “Wh it?” : : ; a Raptr : yy ee : | “gach. state of affairs to eoutinue 7” i ar. a — ’ m. “No,” she replied. at was it? ment at seeing him there, and then looked in| persuaded herself that She was acting ff from There was a slight expression of Mint ' reg of, the family, it may be well for me to ¥ A good that you may still grant me,” he said. | still greater astonishment at the beautiful face | scientious motives; she herself had no nt “a / mentin Lougley’s eyes as he heard his ie ‘ws | Hee ithe fl . We may part, if you wish it, Leone, let_ us| of Madame Vanira. cal ideas about singers and actresses ; t He question, but he replied, quietly : is comsim’s : se eatin the floer softly, gently opened the | have one happy day before the time comes. Le-| “Lady Evelyn is on board the Water Witch,” | quite out of her sphere, quite beneath | muc “F don’t know . what so aD * ee ae I oor leading into the corridor, and then stood | one, you see how fair the summer is—I want you | he said. “Will you come and speak to her ?” tice, and no good, she was in the habit off one Hawa ae tukn trodocrant et Sronla it Se 5 sok quate near it, 8 et ee eee nT erate pe Bae — Rope “= me 7 — rivet. rhe ‘ ae ee face of Lord Lanswell’s son | ever came from associating with them. || _ liev ger scaeietT tae as ++ nat a Spence: p zy ; - ; n flower—the whole world is | darkened. met Madame Vanira several times at Sf) ew mises as Bodega tisteere ont oe atl sii dae conversation between the baronet | full of beauty, and song, and fragrance; the} ‘‘No,” he replied, briefly, ‘pray excuse me; | Honse, and had always feltauuered Gaal fat eoldiars lifts. i dam's Gea lames oe 1 ais > Wwe ea aon ss Mr..G ie red great boughs are dipping into the stream, and | and—Harry, say nothing of my being here. her idea was that a singer, an actress, lel) him for'siftiilar Foasonk T hacor as oa e Seat ty Tet r. Goss?” he-heard Sir John | the water-lilies lie on the river’s breast. My | rowed down this morning. There is no need for | beautiful as a goddess, and talented af}, tell and that might bring me in a littl i a “thi ri ene 1% is hearty tones. Mrs. George told me | dear,love and Jost love, come with me for one | every one in London to hear of it before night.” | other women, had no right to stand on i gui [new how "U3 nab lay fa Bie oka | Gus Git tal Ofc rete tae’ prevasel Tat ahi | Cas As a cr een a ee ae na a eat) Le sie dees ae ' Be a ee re se ’ av stead y ge / ; one day. of that laugh Lord Chandos felt the greatest | Lady Ilfield pers 8 that it | eS | ae a en Gabler Bae See a to him. I intend to see him immediate- Her face Bfightened at the thought. Surely | impulse to knock himdown. His tabe Hashes pai fer ateniore Chostian vinty, to il | La juvenile days, when you were a youn i viep -e sent hi ‘ome, Sir John.” : for one day they might be happy; long years! hotly. and his eyes flashed fire. Leone had not Chandos know what was going on. § | ‘ oh determined to apply to row Ris ‘ nfeaints aC SS ee Aull. ‘ome, Sir John,” replied Mr, | would have to pass, and they wonld never meet. | heard one word, and had persistently turned her | quite sure of the trath of what she had | qu a aiemaee ipply to y , situation “dae ta ‘ fo oma appened since | Oh, for one day, away on the river, in the world | face from the intruder, quite forgetting that in| and she chose a beautiful sunshiny afi | |. gteerotars sepeeted the tinrunet, ‘Dire yp ate tla Pony whisalsent pvorte rue sioee’| ciomaeaatarearctiee aeamictd muaae MRA eee sone rains Minkeees in aoe hee na | Means ee ROC |e tad Sau a seteeee ey ety RE god $21) SAR Pa ° ) you a iy , away m the world which had tram- | Lady Evelyn Blake was the first to see her, and | importance—she seated herself ite ¢ . 4 for a secretary. I write all my own letters, | Sir John, has disappeared—’ meled and fettered them. ishe knew just enough of life to make no com- Lay Marion. : moa | ow : | a > | a Oe ee ey bet Wn sa engl = a , ; Rs *; x com THE NEW YORK inv laphberningiseeneiiaiinnl a VEEKLY. 33055 & 3 e : 1 «fpdear Laty Chandos.” J on the most unpieasaut business. There } oe wove 1 an quite sure 1 ougiit ia cag tellyou, aud 1 really do not know how. People | Pee — jing such things—you ought te know} ys a Leas Evel efair, sweet face lost none of its tranquilli- Susplclo; ¢y gone of its calm. eHow could she surmise he thought n é , st is w A lan Calty 0 ha Ne heart was to be stabbed by this woman’s ; dearest frien y Evelyn told ; addy Ttield look turned she saic¢ « with Lord Chg is sayings of people trouble me but little y lifield,” she answered, with a calm smile, t I have to tell coneerns you,” she said; “oat you very much. I would not tell you putthat I consider it my duty to do so. I told dyEvelyn that she, who had actually wit- ed the scene, ought to bethe one to describe it, ut she absolutely refused; unpleasant as the duy is, it has fallen on me.” ‘What duty? whatscene?” asked Lady Chan- 4 beginning to feel some little alarm. “If you @anything to say, Lady Dfield—anything to q tell mé, bray speak out; 1 am anxious now to < it a saw Lord Chg eley ?” she ask; 3 “a stolen ex) | horrified w) y Iifield, who y _ hot understa 2. “Thave h than has ple Sie tease ust u indeed was Lady Lfield in her glory. ot ey Shehastened to tell the story. How Captain and P h the sadd jaly Evelyn Blake had gone with a few friends r eid Tora Chy for a Bret panty, and at Ouseley had seen Lord final adien; ‘4 Cia 4 with Madame Vanira, the great queen ’ did he ?? lady Marion’s sweet face colored with indig- pation. She denied itemphatically ; it was not tmé. She was surprised that Lady LIifield should tsuch a calumny. ‘But, my dear Lady Chandos, it is true. I should not have repeated it if there had been a ) single chance of its being a falsehood. Lady l ' yelyn a w, ane pa qastoned to a tree, your wband and Madame Vanira sat on the river- se to those wa bak,and when the captain spoke to Lord sawed undos, he seeme ite ¢ . i lose to the wil Clandos, he seemed quite annoyed at being at the bottom lilies for her, 2,7 he said ; “| 1¢ to have req rfter. When; ht, dancing ri | everything & lady Marion’s fair face grew paler as she list- she said, “I have day, and witb ner? “Yos, it is true,” he replied. Aud the poor child tlung her arms in the air, as she cried out: “Oh, Lance, it isa sword in my heart, and it has wounded me sorely !” {TO BE CONTINUED. } CORINNE’S RANSOM; THE COLONEL’S FOE. By Annie Ashmore, . Author of ° - “Faithful Margaret,” “The Bride Elect,” etc. (“Corinne’s Ransom” was commenced in No. 29. Back numbers can be obtained from all News Agents. } CHAPTER XXI. A LETTER FROM PHIL. Kingsley Duvar and Sylvie Arden left the court- room arm in arm, surrounded by their friends. They were too happy to remember past coldnesses, and smiled with everybody. They looked into each other's faces, and saw hea- ven reflected. The instant they were alone (in Gen- eral B——’s parlor, at his boarding-house) they flew into each other’s arms. — “My heroine I” “My King!” “All my own, with no false “Saved, my own dear love?’ “And by you!” They wept with joy, and with one accord guve stigma to part us!” end; the story seemed so improbable to her. : “My husband—Lord Chandos—does not kuow boat amongt Yadame Vanira one-half so well as 1 do,” she Ce sid; “madame is my _friend; it is 1 who like, the eet. & ny, even love her. It is by wy invitation that ane xe ay Madame Vaniru has been to iy house. Lord Bo l¢ Chandos was introduced to her by accident. I i acs mgt her acquaintance. If people had said efeetof Leq giehad been our for a day ou the river with me ad eTown. out ‘thers would haye been some sense in it.” oo lazily py Lady Iifield siniled with the air of a person en splendor, ssed of superior knowledge. Tim. L “My dear Lady Chaudos,” she said, “it is time and that in 4 eyes were opened; you are about the only and disting — erson in London who does not know that Lord ‘Chandos is Madame Vanira’s shadow.” “Ido not believe it,” was the indignant reply. {would not believe it, Lady LIifield, if all * - _ din swore it.” _ Lady ilfield langhed, and the tinge of con- _ tempt in that laugh made the gentle heart beat with indignation. She rose from her seat. eality ; a gold ‘inet of detigy ed her head g_ thanks to God for this hour of hz piness. ‘And she never mistrusted me - “Never, indeed!” “Nor wished we had never loved each other?” “Are you not my all?” _ “Poor girl,solam Sweet love,” whispering low- iy, tor great joys goes on gentle wings, “I’ll try to be all to you that they would have liked me to be to their darling—loving you forever!” “Oh! my dear, to k that they are all—all gonel”’ “What! weeping, sweetest, while you have me?” “I’ve lost my precious oirclet ef gems, Kingsley, but I’ve got, instead, a diamond solitaire !” ae and by they remembered outsiders. “That lawyer, King, I'll never forget him !” “Didn't hacyork! the noble fellow!” “When I ‘i to see his blue -_ flashing at Pearse, rosecuting avtorney, I wanted to get down on my ess and thank him! Dear old fellow! ask him to be our friend.” ime friend, my love!” We must wT say, sweothoust. will you marry me now :” “Ob! oll’ “What, my precious gir ?”" “Ido not doubt,” she said, “that you came to | . pian ia. tell me this with a good-natured intention. I| bn ye will give you eredit for that always, when I re- | ere, member this painful scene, Lady Ifielt, but I} | have faith in my husband. Nothing can shake | ke ; it And if the story you tell be true, I can only | say that I am quite sure Lord Chandos can give | agood explanation of it. Permit meto say good- | morning, Lady Dfield, and to decline any further | ‘and plaint) ™MeMmne, | piai nti gonversation on the matter.” nd 2 — *) “For all that,” said Lady Ilfield, to herself, irtled the Fae “yon will have to sufter, my lady; you refuse to believe, but the time will come when you will have to believe and to deplore.” Yet Lady Lliield was not quite satistied when if went away. ” hand, |) _ While to Lady Chandos had come the first its sad ste. burst of an intolerable pain, the first anguish of “e of entreal jealousy, her only emotion at the commencement vind to siley listened it st sweet and fg or God's of the conversation was one of extreme indigna- tion. It was all a calumny, she told herself; and _ she had vehemently espoused her husband’s "i * eause; but when she was alone, and began to wheel, . think over what had been said, her faith was hoe somew hat shaken. f... It was a straightforward story. Captain and Lady Evelyn Blake were both quite incapable of inventing such a pray [Then she tried to remember how Tuesday had passed. It came he said; * *e back to her with a keen sense of pain—That on Sigg _ Twesday she had not seen him all day. He had risen ~ «early and had gone out, leaving word that he 1g phe last{ should not return for luncheon. She had been betweén t to a moruing concert, and had staid until »**ryle off nearly dinner time with the countess. When od the she returned to Stoneland House, he was there ; } . y they had a dinner party, and. neither hasband | we e kil nor wife had spoken about how the day had braver hea? |jwen spent. She remembered it now. Certain- ire—you hi jy, so far his absence tallied with the story ; but her faith in her husband was not to be destroyed | she saw by the gossip of people who had nothing to do at Shado } but tal : -— What was it Lady Ilfield had said? That she one ¢ was the only pees Fs London Who did not know | he answer, that her husband was Madaime Vanira’s shadow. | ome, we w | Could'that be true? She remembered all at once | gs heard his long absences, his abstraction, how she had | id of thet | wondered if he had any friends whom he visited tht, Leone ong and intimately. a se a i ht my ble Madame Vaniras beautiful face rose before her, with its noble eloquence, its grandeur, aud truth. No, that was not the woman who would |! try to rob a wife of her husband’s leve. Madame Vanira, the queen of song, the grand and noble woman who swayed men’s hearts with her glori- ous voice; Madame Vanira, who had kissed her face, and called herself her friend. It was im- olor die fr vhat wast hat I was he room i 16, and it f; and n ne; they sible. She could have sooner believed that pone, sac | the sun and the moon had fallen from the n find pest | heavens than that her husband had connived : | with her friend to deceive her. The best plan ttalk abq Would be toask her husband. He never spoke be no des ‘falsely, he would tell her at once whether it : | ‘were true or a — waited until dinner was : ' over, then said to him: Z oe “Lance, can you spare me a few minutes? I was for want to speak to you.” my lov They were in the library, where Lord Chandos had gone to write a letter. Lady Marion looked very beautiful in her dinner dress of pale blue silk, and suite of costly pearls. She went up to her husband, and, kneeling down by his side, she laid her fair arms round his neck. ald, “Lance,” she said, “before I say what I have ered. sad to say, I want to make an act of faith in you. every | He smiled at the expression. at tap never t “An act of faith in me, Marion?” he said; “I though ope you have all faith.’ : A hen, remembering, he stopped, and his face r this ¢ ushed. ena “Thavye had need of faith,” she said, ‘for I eaven. have heard a strange story about you. I denied | it, I deny it now, but I should be better pleased Heayen, ‘if I had your denial also.” ( ; “What is the story?” he asked, anxiously , and Without) her quick ear detected the anxiety in his voice, there hi “Lady Ilfield has been here this afternoon, , was th and tells me that last Tuesday you were with Madaine Vaunira at Ousele y—that yourowed her ' on the river—and that Captain Blake spoke to you there. Is it true?” ’ “Lady Ilfield is a mischief-making old——” j began Lord Chandos; but his wife’s sweet, pale on; “ith face startled him. ndos hi “Lance!” she cried, suddenly, “oh, my God! it pleasuly is not true ?” tei , ae }. The ring of pain and passion in her voice f is true frightened him; she looked at him with eyes full nd La t of woe. as we “It is not true ?” she repeated. ; “Who said it was true ?” he asked, angrily. nd La . Then there were a few minutes of silence be- atStont | tween them, and Lady Marion looked at him ee in th again. npon hit “Lance,” she said, ‘tis it true ?” d heal | Their eyes met, hers all full of one eager ques- she nut | tion. His lips were parted; her whole soul ly itic | geemed to hang onthe word that was coming ‘Om ca from his lips. Onse ug “Is it true ?” she repeated, ley well He tried to speak falsely ; he would have given her né # much for the power to say “No.” He knew that saying one word would content her—that she would be She hw | lieve it implicitly, and that she would never re- onelant new the question. Still with that fair, pure ‘it; bit* | face before him—with those clear eyes fixed on ther l¥ | him—he could not speak falsely, he could not ove all | teM «lie; he could have cried aloud with an- erms ol i guish, yet he answered, proudly : hancdos | ' “Tt is true, Marion,” was lel, “True!”? she repeated, vacantly —“ true, t Lady Lance ?” vi M: he we “Yes, the gossips have reported correctly ; it is to tell quite true,” he said. 2 ernool, + | But he was not prepared for the effect of the Teatests | | words on her. Her fairface grew pale, her ten- lose t der arius released their hold, and fell. “Tyne!” she whispered, ina low, faint voice— “My graudpa! my grandpa !’’ “There—there, sweet, I kiss those sacred tears uway! Don’t you think that if he knows how friend- less his darling Sylvieis, and how I love her (and who can say he doesn’t), that he would rejoice to see me take you into these strong arms and protect you from alithe world? He knows now, I’ll warrant, that he was hard on me.” “He knew it the night before—before he died, poor “Yes, King. He said a great many gentle, kindly things about you. His mind seemed strangely changed ou many subjects. Limight have known that sucha lifting of the vail meant death.” “Dear old captain! Sylvie, I’m glad I never re- turned him a bitter word for all he said to me.” While thus these lovers talked in love’s sweet com- munion, a letter, the first which had reached him for two months, was putinto the hand of Kingsley Du- var. He glanced at it, and gave a shout of pleasure. “Hurrah! letterfrom Phil!” She wasn’t selfish ; she said: “Read it! read it this minute. I love Phil, too, since he’s like you.” So he kissed her, and opened the envelope. The sheets were numberless, of many sizes—some in Fag ey some in ink, all neatly numbered through. e had not read far when he put his arm round Sylvie, closely, strongly, and said: ae on with me, love, it’s yours as much as ae 1”? a Then Sylvie read of Philip and his dear mistress. Ah! put yourself in her place, reader, as she read the true story of her lost sister! Think what it must have been to learn the unexampled self-sacrifice that prompted to such deeds Corinne, the condemned! aa vee has aah abe hands euecienhy ying, to rescue a ov ather mysterious bate, ai send him back to~ those-wire teeined him c lead. ; They took a ag time to read that letter, weeping, wondering, thanking God that the long-lost weré yet alive. When Mr. Blennerhasset came to congratulate them, they put Philip’s letter into his hand. He carried it off with him, and studied it dili- gently. Ww ca n he had considered it for awhile, he slapped it | down on the table with an inarticulate growl “Tl think I know now who did it,” said Lawyer Blennerhasset. Shortly afterward, Sylvie, yielding to the persua- sions of her lover, consented to take a wedding trip. That wedding trip was to Cuba, and Lawyer Blen- nerhasset was to be of the party. CHAPTER XXII. THER LOT ONE. “Senorn, I have seen him!” Philip Duvar was standing before the woman who was to him the star of his existence. He had been absent on a long journey, and she had grieved sorely in his absence. But a flash broke over the sweet, care-worn face now. She rose trembling, thrilling. 4 “Is he well? Oh, Philip, shall I see him yet?” she asked, low-voiced. ‘He is well.” “You saw him with your own eyes, Philip?” “Yes, beloved mistress.” For she has thrown herself upon his loyal heart, andis trembling and weeping, and thanking God and her dear knight in a wild way. “My father! my father! I thank God for sendin, me # friend like you! Bless you, sir, a thousan times!” He gazes upon her pesnay his foolish heart plunges madly, and he dares not let her suspect the truth “When shall I see him?” she asks, raising her tear- drenched, ape face. And he avoids the sweet eyes with a flush of pain. She draws back quickly, blushing and abashed, and sighs tremulously. “My poor Puilip!’ he hears ber taintly saying to herself. “ *“T have brought you a paper from your father, says he, taking from his pocket-book a tiny scrap of paper covered with minute pencilings. , rinne receives it, growing paler, and covers it with fond kisses. She essays to read, but shivers, and looks up at her dear friend fearfully. “Where is he, Philip?” asks she. He takes her hand kindly, and holds it fast. “Tt must be a shock to you however you hear it,” says he. ‘Would it had been my lot to bear you good news.” Her gentle eyes fill with terror—her slight fingers return his pressure convulsively. “Where?” breathes she. And with lowered voice he answers: “He isa slave in the diamond mines at Minas Ge- raes in Brazil.” A cry of anguish, like that of a wounded bird, es- capes the heart-broken creature, and she throws her- self upon her chair, drowned in tears. “Oh, my poor lost one!” she cries; “1 shall never see him again !’’ For the Portuguese send their malefactors to per- petual slavery in the diamond mines, and the wretch that enters those terrible regions never returns to tell the tale. He soothes her with kind words, lowly spoken, for his gallant heart is aching for her; and at last, at her desire, he reads to her the history written by Colonel Arden of his captivity. “In the month of September, 1867, I, Colonel Bligh Arden, and some comrades, took a trip to Cuba. Cir- cumstances brought me into contact with a Spanisl Cuban of the name of Senor Garcia Di Sagra. Wa were inspecting his sugar plantation, and witnessed some cruelties: which he was inflicting on his slaves. Unable to restrain our indignation, we all remonstra- ted, upon which the monster redoubled his brutali- ties. “In an evil moment [interfered between him and the poor slave whom he was lashing to death. struck him on the face, then out the slave's bou and let him go. Di Sagra did not say a word to u | after Thad struck him. j “That night, as [was walking alone in a street ‘ Santiago, | was suddenly struck down, and bou’ hand and foot. Half a dozen Portuguese sail’s —_ just weighing anchor, and without getting any OP- portunity to inform my friends of my seizure, hi Hiabagped. The first person I saw was Di Sagrs 26 bent over me as I lay gagged and at his mereypon the deck, and exulted in my condition. He eae perpetual slavery at Minas Geraes would be e iho | ward for the blow I had given him; and t? the Brazilian government would never s ft froé #uan ‘“4rue that you took Madame Vanira out for a Lenhores, the Portuguese smuggler, trev, that you Were’ seen by these people | “T understood my saic; Lé had bribed’ the captain of the Portuguese schooner tu seiz ted felon and éarry me away. “He leit the schooner at once, and we set sill. “That night a man was brought up from tie hold | and thrown overboard, and I was loaded with his chains, and thrust into his place. Some other con- victs, who were in the hold, explained that Lenhores | could speak Englisi and his own language with equal | fluency, having passed mugh of his lite in America: so that there was little chance of my protestations | that I was an American subject being believed. i ‘Tuey were right. I was marched with the Test | through the burning wilds of Brazil to the diamond mines without even getting a hearing. Here then I | toil among malefactors of dee Paya: wasted by | hunger, and fever, and despair; sifting the river | sands continually, under a maddening sun, wn |} old already, a wreck of myself. From this living | death [never willescape until itis proved that Len- hores, for whose crimes I suffer, is dead, and that Di Sagra has put me in his place, “T have written this statement hoping to find some way of sending it to my friends, before it be tuo Lite; and now I despair of ever sending it. Iam cut off from my loved ones, ny country, and my life; noth- ing remains but death.’ Tr followed the address of hisfamily in New ork ; Corinne heard the terrible disclosure with speech- 688 aD : “Now, Corinne,” said Duvar, earnestly, “we must save him at ones. This broken, apathetic story of his shows how broken is his spirit. We must do all for him. Unfortunately, I could not get permission to exchange a word with him; no one may speak to the slaves in the diamond mines. But by signs I let him know that I had come to look for him, and he contrived to give me this narrative. He was hoping ene us 8O0lue ho- { ; Hie sory and we must obtain it for him. But ow ?” “There is but one way,” said she—her eyes lowered y. “TI know it,” said he. ‘“‘We must demand his release from Di Sagra. I shall go to him at once.” As he spoke her sweet face became paler and paler, she clasped her hands about his arm, and gazed at him with a stifled agitation which perplexed him. “You shall not go—no, Philip, not you,” she said, beginding to flush and falter. “Haye you not done Snes for me, and far more than enough? Shall I sacrifice you altogether do youthink? No, no, my dear, my blessed, blessed friend!” covering his hands with wild, fond kisses. “I have taken too much from you, and would you have ine take Your very life ?” He understood with a leap of the heart what she Ineant now. She knew she had his love, and she prized it far too much in her humility and kind gratitude to exact an- other service from him. “My sweet mistress!” he said, almost as much agi- tated as she was, “is not my life dedicated to yout And God knows I expect or deserve no reward which it would not be right foran angel to bestow. Let ine serve you still; who else have you but me?” “No one, my dear,” she cried, with glistening eyes; “but I love you too, too well to sacrifice you quite;” and she looked like an angel as she sald so. “No, Philip, you must live and be happy yet, and some time we will meet and love each other eternally, but not here, my dear—oh, not here!” She clung to him, and hid her dear face on his shoulder, sobbing in a wild way; and for a moment the young man held her strongly to his heart, faint with ecstasy. She loved him! Oh, sweet, sweet soul, she leved him ! “Now you must go away and let me think awhile,” said she, rising with a quiet, tender grace, and put-. tiug aside herown great emotion that he might re- gain his calmness. “May I not goon this mission ?” he faltered, longing to be doing something for her still “Not yet; you don’t know Di Sagra, and I do,” said she, averting he face quickly. ‘Come to-morrow and hear ny = and now eyes “9 She held out her beautiful hand toward him, keep- ing her face still hidden, and he covered it with BBe8. “Why do you send me away?’ he asked. “Must I go already ?” “Yes, yes,” she faltered, almost inaudibly. ‘Leave mé now, Philip. . “Tam nota very valiant knight, butI am an obe- name one,” said he, half sadly. ““Guod-night, Cor nne.”” She pressed his hand mutely, and let him go; but as he threw a last fond look upon her he saw her sweet face, white and drenched with tears, turnea upon him with a passionate gratitude and regre never to be forgotten. a ; Nextday when he came to see her; a bitter grief awaited him. ‘ She had gone and left for him this letter: “My DEAR: 1 have gone to seek Garcia Di Sagra myself. Do you think Icould allow you to meéta man who thirats for your blood? Ah! no, your life must not be sacrificed even to save my father’s. “T will meet him—be will not harm me—and will find some means to obtain my request. “You said you were an obedient ht, therefore I know you will obey my command’ You nist rot seek to see me until te nae oe “Till then farewell, my true and only friend. “CORINNE.” (TO BE CONTINUED.) : men A eng get 4S GUY,THE RUNAWAY: OR, A Bold Boy’s Trials, By Harry Castlemon, Author of ’*White- Horse Fred,” “Gunboat Series,” “Rocky Mountain Series,” ““Go-Ahead Series,” “Sportsman’s Club Series,” eto. (“Guy, the Bunaway,” was commenced in No. 27. numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.) CHAPTER XXVI. GUY RECEIVES A PEROPOSITION. The shipping clerk and commercial traveler walked out of the store arm-in-arm, and bent their steps toward a bil- liard saloon. Mr. Jones talked incessantly. The sober face Guy wore, and the words he had let fall a while ago were sn:all things in themselves, but much too important tobe disregarded, for they weresigns of the awakening which was a « ome oP ae re one ie re on8 of his o Ww ) postpone just a y or two longer. So he tried to keep up Guy's spirits, and, believing that a little assistance might not come amiss, led him into Dutch Jacke’s saloon, where they had a glass of beer anda cigar apiece, Jones paying for one and Guy treating to e other. “Chalk it, Jake,” said Guy, as he walked around the end of the counter for a match to light his cigar. “Vell,” said the Dutchman, with some hesitation, ‘I shalks dis, but I don’t likes dis shalking pisness pooty yell, nohow. You peen shpebding monish like p 8, Meester Harris—you know it? Your pill peen running dwo months.” Guy reddened to the roots of his hair. This was a gentle hint that Jake wanted him to pay up, and he had never been dunned before. “How much do I owe you?” he asked, “Kight tollars und vorty zents; you know it now?” “Eight dollars aud—GreatScott! how can that be?’ ex- claimed Guy, almost overwhelmed with astonishment. “I haven’t been stuck fora game of cards for the last two weeks.” Vell. it’s all fair, ovely zent!”* almost shouted the Dutchman, bringing his fist down upon the counter with a sounding whwk. “You dinks I sheats you, py dun- er?"’ . “Oh, now, Jaks, you needn’t get on the rampage,” said Jones, interposiig to calm the rising storm. “Guy is not disputing your dill—he is a gentleman. He will pay every cent of if ins Hw days.”’ “Vell, dot’s all right; put it’s petter he bays it pooty gwick. Vena man oe here mit vine glose und a vine vatech und shain, und runs méapill here in mine house von eight olars und vorty zents, I don’t likes dis pisness.”’ While ths Dutchman was talking himself hoarse, Guy and his companion beat a hasty retreat. Jones seemed to look upon he matter in the light of an excellent joke, and laughed hartily over it, but Guy said nothing. He was }in a very @rious trame of mind. He did not in the least enjoy thegame of billfards that followed, for his thoughts were ful of the unpleasant incident that had just hap- yened. iewas learning now whatall people who goin ebt mut learn sooner or later—that a bill, like the snow- balla toy rolls up to build his mimic fort, accumulates rapidly He was glad when the game was finished. He and Joes took a cigar at the counter, and were about to move way, When the bartender beckoned to Guy. “7 @n’t want you to think hard of me, Harris,” said he, leading Guy out of earshot of his companion, “but I just thou ht I would suggest to you that perhaps your bill here is rather larger than you think. It has been run- Back i+) FLad he be | them? were my assnailants—I was overwhelued with n- | his companion at the bers. They ourried me on board a schooner which *88 | ti | and that I OnE you to their notice supposing you to be } you don’t do it, nincfive weeks, and we like to have our customers settle up “least once a month.” «fow rmouch is it!’ asked Guy,with as much indifference as (6 could throw into his tones. i Only twenty-four dollars. Don’t misunderstand me } | nav. am not dunning you, for I know that you are a toroughbred, and that you are able to pay itat any mo- pent. I merely wish to call your attention to it.” | “Tam glad you did,” said Guy. “I'll see to it. Good. | svening.”’ Had Guy suddeuly been knocked over by some invisible hand he could not have been more amazed. Thirty-two | dollara in debt, and several creditors yet to hear from! | son asked an hour ago to name the sum he owed | these two men, he would have said not more than five dol- lars. He had kept no account of the bills he had run at | other places, and if they exceeded his estimate of them in the same proportion that these two did, what would be- come of him? Where could he raise the money to pay He could not bear to think about it. He overtook s door, and the latter saw very plainly | iat the pelndeceie | had come. | “Well, perhaps itis as well that it should come now as | at a later day,” solilequized the commercial traveler. | “T’'ve got him just where I want him, and I’li make him a | roposition to-night. I have another whole day to operate | | in before I start out on my travels, and a gréat deal can be accomplished in that time. How much ts it, Guy? Twon- | ty-four dollars! That is less than I thought it would be. | Billiards at twenty-five cents a game, and fanoy drinks at | fifteen cents each, count up, you know. When are you | going to pay it?” } ' know the reason for it. <= | “T don’t know. I can a *t pay Jake’s bill, much less this | 6.” “Ww ell, now, I say! Look here, my dear fellow, this | won't do, you know!" exclaimed Mr. Jones, suddenly stop- | ping in the street and turning a most astonished face to- ward Guy. “Remember, if you ploase, that these people to whom I have introduced you are my personal friends, | | | agentieman. You must pay these bills. My honor is at | stake as well as your own, because I indorsed you. If L c your creditors will call upon Mr. Walker,” “Great Scott!" ejaculated Guy, who had never thougiit of this before. “Certainly they will,” continued Mr. Jones; “and just | consider how I should feel under such circumstances! I should never dare to look a white man in the face again. I didn’t think you were dishonest.” “And I am not, either,” returned Guy, with spirit. “I should be glad to settle these bills, but how can I do it without money ?” “Oh, that’s the trouble,is it? It isn’t want of inclina- tion, but alaok of means. Is that it?” a re Ane way poe rege | stands,” answered Guy. _ “Then a your pardon,” said Mr. Jon y Guy’s hand and shaking it icantly. oE eee roe. as >, you ee oe of uneey t’ he added, with a of surprise, oug 8 knew very well that Guy vee Tennille, ne had been on weeks. ¥ ” “| haven’t a red,” was the despairing reply. “Don't let it trouble you. I can re -’ that.” “You can!’ exclaimed Guy, astonished and delighted. “Of course. I earn three or four thousand every year, outside of my commission, and in an hour I can éxplain the mode of operating, so that you can do the same.” “And will you?’ ed Guy. “T will, I assure you. Harris, when I am a friend to a I am a friend all over; and what is the use of my Ledeumgrs to think so much of you if I am not willing to prove “You are a friend indeed,” returned Guy, with enthusi- asm; “and if you will help me out of this scrape, I will néver go in debt again as long as I live.” ‘Oh, as to that,” sard Mr. Jones, indifferently, ‘it doesn’t signify. The best of us get short sometimes, and then it is very convenient to have a friend or two who is willing to credit us. All one has to do isto get upa reputation for honesty, and then hecan run hisface as long as he chooses.” “What is this plan you were ing of?” asked Guy. “T willtell you this eveninit aiber supper we will ‘0 up to our room, and while we are smoking a cigar we'll have a long, friendly talk.” “Guy did not want any supper. He could think of noth- ing but his debts and his companion’s friendly offer to help him eut of them, and he was impatient to learn how his relief was to be accomplished. 6 ur Jones to reveal the secret at once; but the latter could not be prevailed upon to say more on the subject just then, and Guy was obliged to await his pleasure. Supper over, the cigars lighted, and the door of their mclosed to keep the smoke from going out into the all where the landlady would be sure to detect it, Guy and the commercial] traveler seated the ves, one in the easy-chair and the other on the bed, and proceeded to dis- cuss matters. 5 “In the first place,” said Mr. Jones, “in order that I may know just what todo, you must mehow much you owe, and give mé the names of those to whom you are in- debted—that is, if you are perfectly willing to do 80.” “Of course I am,” returned Guy, readily. “I will meet your friendly advances half way. To begin with, there are my bills at Dutch Jake’s and the billiard saloon, amounting to thirty-two dollars and forty cents. Then am indebted thirty dollars to Mrs. Willis; and, if I ma r judge by the way she looks at me now and then, she woul wonderfully pleased if I would pay u. 4 “Oh, see doesn’t n the money,” said Jones. “She has a little fortune of her own, and only keeps boarders for company. If she says anything to you, there are vane of ways to put her off. Tell her that you will settle up as soon as you draw your next quarter’s “a “That would be a good joke on her, wouldn’t it?’ said Guy, with aforced laugh. ‘To tell the truth,” he added, with some hesitation, ‘“I—thatis—you know Mr. Walker al- lows me to be my own paymaster, and I have already drawn and spent my next quarter’s salary. I shall not get a cent of money from the firm for five weeks.” “T am overjoyed to hear it,” said Mr. Jones, to himself. “Things are working betterthan I thought. I've got you ina a corner, my lad, and all that is required is a little care handling to get you in the way of embezzling.” Then aloud, he said: “That is a very bad state of affairs, | 80 doin bein These people must be paid at once.” “TI know they ought to be paid, and you said you would put me in the way of doing it.” j “SolIwilL I'll come to that directly. But who else do | you owe?” | Guy went on with the listof those to whom he was in- debted, checking each one off on the fingers of his left | hand as he pronounced his name. Jones listened in genu- ine amazement, for Guy had been carrying things with a much higher hand than he had supposed. His debts, ac- cording to his own showing, footed up one hundred and twerity-five dollars; and if the amounts eharged against him on the books of his creditors exceeded his expecta- tions as greatly as Jones hoped they would, he owed at least two hundred dollars. The commercial traveler took down the names and amounts as Guy called thpm off—a proceeding that Guy could not see the necessity of. “You .mustn’t show that to anybod y,’’ said he. “Certainly not,’ replied Jones, with an injured air. “I wish to asce just how much you. owe, so that I may know how large a sum of money it will take to put you on your feet again. One hundred and twenty-tive dollars,” 6 continued, after he had added up the column of figures. “That is a bad showing, Guy—a very bad showing indeed. It is a large sum to one whose salary amounts to only four hundred dollars a year, but it must be paid. Are you ready to listen to my plans now?’ “T am,’’ said Guy. “I am allears.” “T do not suppose that you will like them at first,” said Mr. Jones, “butif you will take my advice, you will con- sider well before you reject them. I can only say that I am about to describe to you a business to which, as I ve to know, a great ay sople resort to enable them to eke out a respectable liveli ood.” With this, Mr. Jones took a long pull at his cigar by of inspiration, settled back on his elbow on the bom ee with a minute and careful explanation of the usiness to which he had referred. He had not said many words before Guy’s eyes began to open with surprise, and the longer he listened the more amazed he became. When aEr. Tones Crew frem his pocket the implements of his trade and exhib vr to Guy, the latter jumped from his chair in high indignation. { “T’ll never do it!’ said he, with emphasis. “I haven't amounted to much during the time 1 have knocked about the world, but I have never yet been mean enough to play confidence man.” “This is the way you repay the interest I take in you, is it?'' demanded Mr. Jones, angrily. ‘I offer youa friend’s advice and services, and you abuse me forit.’ “You are no friend when you try to get me into danger,” said Guy. “There’s no need of getting excited over it,” said Mr. Jones, as the shipping clerk began pacing nervously up and down the room. “I am not trying to get you into dan- er. Ihave followed thia business for years, and know at there is no trouble in carrying it out successfully ; but mark you: there will be trouble if you don’t pay your debts, and serious trouble, too. What will Mr. Walker say? He thinks everythihg ot you now—says you're one of the finest young fellows Iu St. Louis.” “Does he say that?" asked Guy, who could not remem- ber that any one had ever spoken a word in his praise be- way and fore. Yee, he does; and if I were you I would work hard to retain his good opinion.” “I don’t see that I can retain it by becoming a swind- ler,”’ said Guy. “He will never know it; but he will know there’s some- thing wrong when your creditors carry their bills to him, as they certainly will, if you don’t settle up soon.” “Great Cesar!’ gasped Guy, who trembled it the bare mention of the merchant's name in connection with his debts. ‘Is there no other way out? Can't you lend me some money ?”’ “Nota red, my dear fellow. 1 manage to spend all I make as soon as it getsinto my hands. There is no other way out that I can think of now. As I told you before, I did not expect that you would like the business at first— I know I objected when it was proposed to me—but you will find thet it will grow less distasteful the longer you think about it. Itis a sure road to ease and fortune, and ou had better take time to consider before you refuse to try it. But you are getting down-hearted, Guy. Let's go out for a breath of fresh air. It will ven you up a bit.” “No, I don’t care to go out,”’ said Guy. ‘I am in no mood to enjoy anything.” “Then you will excuse me, won’t you? I have an en- gagement at this hour. I'll be back at eleven, and in the meantime you had better smoke another cigar, and think the matter over.”’ “There’s no need that 1 should think it over. I'l) never consent to it—never. My creditors will not drive me to such extremities.” “Oh, they won’t, eh?’ said Mr, Jones to himself as he closed the door and paused a moment on the landing outside. “We'll see about that, ie fine lad. I'll have them follow- ing you like so many sleuth-hounds before twenty-four hours have passed over your head. You'll find that they won't care what becomes of you s0 long as they get the money. There ix another way out of the sie yey but I don’t think it quite safe to propose it to Guy to-night. I will tell him of it to-morrow. By that time he will be cornered 80 tightly that he will be glad to do anything to et out.” . i saying the commercial traveler laughed softly to him- solf, and slowly descended the stairs. CHAPTER XXVII. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE STORE. In the hall Mr. Jones met his landlady. The sight of her seemed to recall something to his mind, for he quickly thrust his hand into his pocket, and said as he apprvached her: “T am ashamed of myself, Mra. Willis, but I never thought of it before, I assure you.” “Why, what do you mean, Mr. Jones?’ asked the lady, in surprise. F “I mean that, contrary to my usual custom, I huve ve- glected to pay my week’s board.” | “Pray don't mention it,’ said Mrs. Willis, accepting the | bill her lodger tendered her. ‘If I had needed the money | I should not have hesitated to ask forit. But, Mr. Jones, | am really afraid that I shall have to speak to your friend | #uy.”’ j The commercial traveler spread out his feet, placed his | hands behind his back, and gazed fixedly at the oil-cloth on the floor, but had nothing to say. “It isn’t the money I care for,’”’ said the landlady ; “but I can see very plainly that Guy is getting into bad habits. He is going to ruin as fast as he can, and I think it is your duty to advise him to do better,” “I do, Mrs. Willis; indeed I do, very Fe Ths re- plied Jones, in a sorrowful voice; “but I find that it is of no use. J have no more influence with him than I have with the wind. I am surprised to hear that he owes you,” he added, with some indignation in his tones, “but I It isn’t because Guy isn’t.able, or doesn’t want to pay, but simply because he is 80 careless. If yon will take my advice you can get your money to- morrow.” “What must I do?” “Deo as the rest of his creditors do—call upon him at the store. Suppose you come aboutsix o'clock in the evening? You will be sure to find him in then.” “Oh, I can’t do that,” said Mrs. Willis, quickly. “I don’t want to dun Mr. Harris.” “Of course not: you merely wish to remind him that he isin your debt, that’s all.” “Why couldn't I speak to him here and now?” “You could, certainly, butit would do no good. He would promise faithfully to pay up at once, and never think of the matter again. He is just so forgetful. I real- a ce cen tne ree eee ne ly wish you could make it convenient to call on him to- minorrow evening at six o’ciock,” added Mr. Jones, “Yor by you will benefit Guy as well as yourself. He wi draw his quarter’s salary then, andif youcan get your money out of him it will keep him from spending it for beer and billiards—a practice to which he has of late, I am sorry to say, become very much addicted.” This argument was a clincher, and put all the good lady’s scruples to rout. She did not need the money, and neither | did she want to dun Guy; butif by that means she could | keep him from 8 nding his hard earnings foolishly. it was her duty todoit. Soshe promised to folow Mr. Jones’ ; advise, and the latter, after begging her to say not a word to Guy concerning what had just passed betweensthem, | leisurely pulled on his gloves and left the house. “Phere’s one hound I have put on your track, Mr. Har ris,” muttered the commercial traveler, when he had gained the street. “If I could only raise a suspicion in her mind that her money is in danger, wouldn’t she make things lively, though? For govud, fine, ornamental dun- ning, Commend me to a mad landlady, who can de more of it in five minutes than any ten men Can do in half an hou: I know, tor T have had experience with them” With this reflection, Mr. Jones pulled his coat-collar u p around his ears, for the one r was chilly, and hurry- ing down Fourth street, turned in at the door of a fashion- able tailoring establishment. Meeting the proprietor as he entered, he exclaimed “Now, Mr. Warren, Iam quite sure that yeu were on the point of starting for my boarding-house to dun me fer that bill I owe you. Tam really ashamed of myself but here’s the-——_”” “Hallo! what's the matter with you, Jones?” interrnpt- ed the tailor. “Your bill is a mere trifle, not more than ten or tifteen dollars, and if I had wanted the money, I shoi id not have failed tolet you knowit. But, Jo T intend to make you a present of that, and more, too. You have recommended our house extensively dur ng your travels, andin that way have helped us many a If you will step into the back part of the store we'll take your measure and put you up a fine business suit.” ~ “You are very wi) AO a said Mr. Jon = your offer with I should like a new business 8 aero something like that you made for Harris u tew 8 ago. B Ww i, the way, if it is a fair question, what did he pay you for it?” “Not one dime,” said the merchant, with a laugh. “How? I don’t understand you.” “T mean that we have never seen a cent of his since he began trading with us.” P “Is it possible?’ exclaimed Mr. Jones. “I never saw that fellow’s equal for putting off thin, your bill down to the store to-morrow evening at si and give him a first-class overhauling.” ; “Oh, I guess I won’t do that. He may be alittle short just at present, and if he is, I don’t wantto press him. We are not in need of money.” “But Guy isn’t short; he’s got plenty of funds.” “Then perhaps I should make him angry, and that wouldn’t pay, for he’s a good customer.” “No, youll not make him mad,” said Mr. Jones, ‘for he has got so in the habit of being dunned that he expects it, and never thinks of paying a bill withoutit. You'll have to talk right up to him, for he is as full of excuses as an eggisof meat. He’s perfectly honest, but so peculiar, ou needn't tell him that I suggested this plan of opera- tions to you.” “Of course not,” said Mr. Warren. - The conversation ran on in this channéf' while the tailor was taking Mr. Jones’ measure, and the result wus that the merchant announced his determination to send his bill faba Lnet at the store on the following evening ut six o'clock. When Mr. Jones went out he bent his steps toward a livery stable, Where a conversation of a like character with the above took place between himand the proprietor, and with the same result. Then he called at a billiard sa- loon, drop into Dutch Jake's fora moment, and wound ed his w by visiting a hat store and one or two fur- shing establishments. Having then called upon all Guy’s creditors, he lighted a cigarand strolled slowly homeward, well satisfied with his evening's work. Guy's debts amounted to two hundred and seveuty-tive dollars. “He'll never be able to pay them out of the salary he draws now,” thought Mr. Jones. ‘There are only two courses of action open to him, and, no matter which one he chooses, he is doomed as surely as his pame is Guy naeseiyeng ought to manage some way to bring this b uess to Old Walker’s ears,” added Mr. Jones, stopping sud- denly and looking down at the sidewalk in a brown study. “Thave it. Hyslom isjust the man. He is mean enough for anything.” Mr Jones turned, and, hastily retracing his steps to a billiard saloon he had visited a few minutes before, beck- oned to a seedy-louking man he found there, who followed him to the farthest corner of the room. A whispered con- versation was carried on between them for afew moments, } and was brought to a close by Mr. Jones, who slipped a eee. bill into the hand of his seedy companion aud went Oum, His plans against Guy were now all perfected, and, mak- ing his way homeward with a light heart, he tumbled into bed and slept soundly beside his victim, who all the night long tossed uneasily about, never once Closing his ey és in slumber. [TO BE CONTINUED ] a Recent Publications. THE LOST TEN TRIBES. By Rey. Joseph Wild, D. D., pastor of the Union Congregational Church, Brooklyn, N. Y. Publisher, James Huggins, New York. This very in- teresting work is made.up of twenty able diseourses se- lected trom over a hundred delivered by the author be- fore his congregation during the past three years. He says in the preface that the main idea conveyed in the book is that God is conducting His Providence through His ancient chosen people, Israel. whom he believes @ found in the Saxon race. No one can fail to be profited) a careful perusal of “The Lost Ten Tribes.” It daw’ er research on the part of the author, who enjoys a very reputation for scholarly attainments, and it will be 1 arded everywhere as an invaluable addition to p is ea The book is well printed and handsomely und. MOORE’S RURAL LIFE. This isa periodical designe promote the home interests of such country and city ; dents whe delight in tlowers and kitchen gardening in the adornments which make their dwelling plac tractive. The first number er & Very creditab pearance. It is issued monthly. TS, igh Pack 62 French Transparent Cards, securely sealed, sort 30c. 2 pks 60c, Alling & Co., Hamden, © $52 $20 Glaas, Silk, Lace, Motto, &c. Cards, in fancy case 100. J name in gold. Atlantic Card Co. ie. Wallingford, Ct. oF A YEAR and expenses to Agents. Outtit Free. Address P.O. VICKERY, Augusta, Maine. W28-13t $2.000 33-8t BU 64 week in your own town. Terms and $5 outtit free. ) Address H. HALLET & CO., Portland Maire. 32-13 - a2 16-2 50 Chromo, Snowflake, and Lace Cards, with name, 100. 40 all chromos, 10c. Star Printing Co., Northford, Ct. 30-26 WAN TE —Salesmen to take general State Agencies. Salary and expenses res TRIUMPH MF’G CO., 116 Monroe st., Chicago, 11. per day at home. Samples worth $6 fre ; Address STINSON & CO., Portland, DN | he a 82-18 | A YEAR for honest, intelligent business men or agents. New business; light work. Address JB, CHAPMAN, Madison, Ind. Cards, in Case, « Northtord, Ct. 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A wonderful discovery—forces " 5 heavy mustache or beard even ou snooth faces, in from 20 to 80 days. it works like magic, and never fails, No possibleinjury to the skin, easily applied, and cert.in in effect. PkKg., post-paid, 24 ets; Sfor sGcts. i. L. & Co., Sole Agents, Vulatine, Ml. All others ecounte 17-13teow / ™ 1 WY ‘EZ . A TM! Latest thing MAGIC TRICK FAN Gioia ty and durable Fan; hand it toa fiend, and it instantly falls in pieces: you alone can restore it; arvich joke; causes endless fun and wonder; worth double the price asa fan alone. Sent, post-paid, for 20¢c.; two for 35e; ¢1 40 ner doz. Postage-stamps taken. Address EUREKA TRICK & NOVELTY ©o., P. O. Box 4614. No. 39 Ann street, New York. TRUTH IS MIGHTY. As the little lea ven hid in the me scare of meal, made alldeaven, 50 truth gradualiy overcomes all doubt and disbelief. When iw. Pierce, of Buffalo. N. Y., announced that his Favorite Pre- scription would positively cure the many diseases and weaknesses peculiar to women, s0me doubt- ed, and continued to employ the harsh avd caus- tic local treatmeni. But the mighty truth grad- ually became acknowledged. Thousands of laciies who had uselessly undergone untold tortures at the hands of different physicians, employed the Favorite Preseription, and were speedily cured. Many physicians now prescribe it in their prac- tice. Sosanguine is Dr. Pierce of its power to eure, that he now sells it through druggists un- der a positive guarantes. Poeitia vielt. a *e ° veh ry. HY —————— YORK WEEKLY. ¢3e— SR a —aeeorryrY NEW YORK, JULY 21, 1879. eo noe men Auta |Terms to Mail Subscribers: 1 month, (postage free) 25c | 1 Year—1 copy (postage free) $3 MEARS, yb sin ov Kinin 506 - QGommes. seus ss 5 2 ) SAROMUNS: so s05 5.55 760 “ AIGOOIOE ; 2's ieee» 10 MONIUTIM, «50s cic n ss $1.00 es 8 copies........ - 20 All letters should be addressed to FRANCIS 8. STREET, STREET & SMITH, FRANCIS 8. SMITH. Proprietors, | P. O. Box 2734. 25, 27,29 & 31 Rose St, N.Y. Money and Happiness. If the question were put, whatis most likely to bring happiness and earthly enjoyment, nine men out of ten would answer, “Money.” Certainly money is not to be despised. It will buy whatever is need- _ ful to satisfy the wants, to vratify the tastes, or to enhance the importance of its possessor; but it can neither purchase happiness, nor, in some cases, even secure physical comfort. de Rothschild, the most conspicuous of Money, has recently died. He was @ financial king: or, rather, he was the financial king. Nations could not go to war without his aid and per- mission. Had his tastes been luxurious, he might have imitated the luxury of Sardanapalus, for what- ever money could procure might have been his. Of course, he was ahappy man. Before we decide, let us read this description of his physical condition: “For the last seventeen years of his life he was a cripple froma disease in the nature of rheumatic gout, affecting the joints of the lower limbs. During all that time he seld walked. At tirst he was able to move about, but the least exercise caused him so much pain that he gradually gave it np altogether. He was usually carried or supported from one room to another by two attendants. On his best days he would sometimes struggle along for a few steps on his own legs, but these occasions of late years were rare, aud the pain he suffered was distressing. He had to bear violent headaches also, depriving him of sleep.” This was the man who, probably, more than any ether, excited the envy of his kind. All his money could not buy him animmunity from pains. Who would not rather be a clerk or mechanic, on a smmall salary, than the King of Finance, with his physical disabilities? Of course, all rich men are not invalids, but most of them have their crosses, while honest poverty has its compensations. Few persons can become very wealthy, but happiness is within the reach of most. If this were better understood there would be less envy of rich men, and less sigh- ing after riches, which are often secured by the sac- rifice of what is more valuable. --——— &- @—4- THE IMPERIAL UKASE. We have got a Russian word at the head of this ar- ticle, and we are going to tell about Johnny Bulls— that is, female Johnny Bulls; but the word ukase sounds well, and everybody who does not know the meaning of it, will give us credit for using good lan- guage for once, Ciinada is under a new regime ; the dynasty of bare as setin. The newly-arrived wife of the gov- sneral, or whatever his title may be, has is- er royal edict that nobody is to appear at her high-necked dress! cess wants to study anatomy, evidently. anatomy. Female anatomy. tter how much any one of these women who _go to the princess’ reception, may dread p ‘ria, or bronchitis, or sore throat, or showing a of fleshless collar bones, she must come under the 4 and regulations. Her bare shoulders is her t—her ticket of admission. No matterif she throat, let her tie her neck up in fat pork- iext week. Anybody ought to be glad to go iven by the live daughter of a live queen, e had to get inside a hog—and go the whole matterif she does get a cough. She has >aroyal ball! No matterif her neck is scraw- ne goeht to live on seal oil, tillit gets into a on to be seen by a princess! rather hard on the elderly women who want to ear young, but no matter. They have no business ld! Didn’t they know a princess was coming? their mothers thinking about in having so soon as to beelderly when Victoria’s caine to Canada? It was a mistake not to their births postponed. ‘ess must have the climate of Canada Of course, she cannot change her edict, mbt the weather can be induced to become but no lder. Royalty has power to do almost anything. mada, if it be a loyal country, will be only too glad to change its cold for Florida’s mildness, and arrange its climate so that its fair daughters can wear low- necked dresses, and please the new potentates. Without being deemed officious, we Would advise Mrs. Hayes to do something noteworthy. Every man deems himself capable of advising the President; why should not every woman deem her- self capable of advising the President’s wife ? Mrs. Hayes might declare that no woman could come to her receptions who did not wear striped stockings; or she might request every woman to sport false teeth, or bring a baby with her. Think what an impetus would be given to the striped stocking trade. To the dentistry business. To marriage ! Honest industry would be encouraged, and benefit- ed. Nobody would suffer from the toothache, and the babies would get a little fresh air, now and then. And we should have a court. An American court! And all the newspapers which are so afraid we are going to have a monarchial form of government, and who publish “Houg’s Vision” about once a year, to support their theory, would grow fat and happy, and say to each other, “I told you so!” KATE THORN. 4 “Vy, ’Arry,” said one Cockney to another, as the announcement was made that Weston had taken all the wind out of Blower Brown, “Vy ’Arry, them ere Hamericans seem to be getting along inthe world. They hexcel us in yacht-sailing, they beat us horse- racing, they play with our best oarsmen, and walk off from our cleverest pedestrians. Mark my predic- tion, ’Arry, if ever a British fleet contests for the su- premacy of the seas witha Yankee squadron, itis my belief that the Yankees will speedily become the masters of the Queen’s navee.” o=<___—_ A GLASS OF COLD WATER. Where is the liquor which God the Eternal brews for all his children? Not in the simmering still, over smoky fires choked with poisonous gases, and sur- rounded with the stench of sickening odors, and rank corruptions, doth your Father in heaven pre- pare the precious essence of life, the pure cold water. But in the green glade and glossy dell, where the red deer wanders, and the child loves to play ; there God brews it. And down, low down in the lowest valleys, where the fountains mumur and the rills sing; and high upon the tall mountain tops, where the naked granite glitters like goldin the sun; wherethe storm- cloud broods, and the thunder-storms crash; and away far out on the wide wild sea, where the hurri- cane howls music, and the hig waves roar; the chorus sweeping the march of God; there He brews it, that beverage of life and health, WATER. And everywhere it is a thing of beauty; gleaming in the dew-drop; singing in the summer rain; shining in the ice-gem, till the leaves all seem to turn to living jewels; spreading a golden vail over the setting sun; or a white gauze around the midnight moon. Sporting in the cataract; sleeping in the glacier; dancing in the hail-shower; folding its bright snow curtains softly about the wintry world; and waving the many-colored iris, that seraph’s zone of the sky, whose warp is the rain-drop of earth, whose roof is the sunbeam of heaven; all checkered over with celestial flowers by the mystic hand of refraction. Still always it is beautiful, that life-giving water; no poison bubbles on its brink; its foam brings not madness and murder; no blood stains its liquid glass; pale widows and starving orphans weep no burning the grave curses itin the words of eternal despair. renege tears in its depths; no drunken, shrieking ghost from Speak on, friends, would you exchange for it demon’s sti mm BRIDGING A CANYON. BY E. T. TAGGARD. “Our race is run, boys,” said Zeke Simpkins, as he lowered his rifle after sending a ball into the dense thicket beyond, in whose deytiis were safely hidden @ 8eore or more Sioux Indians. “Them Injuns has stuck to us like leeches, and after a race of nigh onto half a hundred miles here we are on the edge of this camyon, with certain death behind us and before us. The question now is, how are we to get across it? It’s out of the question to attempt to go down this side and climb up the t’other. for even if we succeeded in reaching the hottom these redskins would pop us off like weasels afore we could climb the other side.” It was Jake Britten who spoke, and as his experi- ence as a scout was more extensive than any of his companions his words consequently had a depressing effect Ono them. : “At all events we can sell our lives dearly,” said the first speaker. : “Wa’al I don’t exactly tally with you there,” drawled Bob Morris. “Aslong ‘as the moon shines out so brightly we are comparatively sate, for these Injuus will keep cover andeayoid our rifles, partic’lar- ly as we’ve taught them the necessity of caution by uttin’ daylight through a few on ’em. But when shat moon sets, as it willin a couple of short hours, these redskins will make a rush upon us, and chaw us up like a pack of hungry ‘wolves would a pound of buffalo meat. Sell our lives dearly? Pooh! Why these fellows won’t give you the chance when they can get them so cheaply.” The speakers were a party of half a dozen scouts out on a hunt, who, being attacked by a war party of Sioux had kept up a running fight, until at the close ot the day, they found themselves on the edge of a canyon. Finding further flight impossible, they had thrown themselves behind a declivity, where, in comparative security, they had successfully aepenee every effort made by the Indians to dislodge them. The canyon was nearly a thousand feet deep at the spot where they had made their halt, and some two hundred feet wide with almost perpendicular sides, at the bottom of which a river rushed, and jumped, and foamed, as though maddened at being pent up within such narrow limits. , For the first time in their eventful lives these hardy sons of the prairie and the forest found themselves outwitted by the Indians; for the fact now became apparent to them all, that the maneuvers of their enemies had all been directed toward what they had now in reality accomplished, to drive them into the ny “Tf IT could only get a shot, just one more, I'd be willin’ to give up the ghost, but these devils over there won’t move an eyebrow that I can draw a bead on,”’ sighed Zeke. “No more they wont, I tell you,” said Bob Morris, “but the waters of Niagara will be nothing to the work of these fellows when it’s dark enough to suit ‘em. Hello! what’s that?” The sharp report of a rifle broke the stillness, and ce whistle of a bullet was heard as it flew through e air. . “We're flanked!” said Jake Britton. “That rifle was fired trom the other side of the canyon. Lay still, boys. I thought so. Some varmint behind those rocks is a shootin at us, for I can see the blue smoke slowly rising.” “The ball didn’t strike hereaways,” said Bob Mor- ris, “and perhaps arter all it may be some friend who has taken that method of notifying us that he is near. “Friends don’t drop from the skies like hail-stones !” exclaimed Zeke, contemptuously. The moon was fast descending into the western sky, and in a few short minutes, darkness would envelop the land. This certainty evidently oppressed the scouts, who, although they carefully scrutinized the distant forest for an opportunity fdr a shot at the Indians, still in their minds were actively engaged in attempts to unfold a scheme that wowd perndit them to escupe from the trap in which they found them- selves almost hopelessly entangled. The stillness was long and painful. As the scouts gazed into each other’s eyes, they saw reflected there defiance and despair, a determination to die like brave men, accompanied with hopelessness, and a realization that the morning sun would rise upon their cold and mangled bodies. Fe: Among the scouts was old Ned Travis. In the con- versation which had heretofore taken place between them he had taken no part. ) Was a man of few words, but the numerous scars which disfigured his body bore unmistakable evidence of his bravery. Now he spoke, and it is easily to conceive that from his established reputation he was listened to with re- spectful attention. 2 “Boys,” said he, with a drawl, “I’ve listened to what you’ve all had to say. I agreé with you that to remain here means death. Death to us all. Our many years of scouting will end right here on the edge of this canyon. Dye been thinkin’ somewhat of that shot that was fired from the other side, and I think there’s more in it than bread and water. I think it means hope. The moon is set, as you see, and somethin’ must be done.” “Well, Ned, what do you propose?” inquired Jake ero never taking his eyes from the woods be- mond. ‘“‘We inust get a rope across that canyon.” “Why don’t you build a wire suspension bridge at once and be done with it?” said Zeke, sarcastically. “I’m goin’ to get a rope across that canyon.” re- plied Ned, heedless of the remark of Zeke, “if we have the materials to do it with. Who’s got a news- yaper Vv? . ‘‘Here you are,” said Morris. tle driver, yesterday.” Ned Travis seized the newspaper, and drawing his bowie-knife he cut a few sticks from the brushwood around him. These he crossed and tied together, placed them upon the newspaper, which he had spread open for that purpose, turned down the edges of the paper, and securing them with a needle and thread, with which he sewed them, he held up to the wondering eyes of the scouts, a kite. A burst of derisive laughter greeted his effort. “Let him laugh who wins,” said Ned, in his most sober mood. “But I must have tail. A kite is as harmless as a snake, if it has no tail.” : Although they were upon the very brink of the grave, this singular proceeding on the part of the scout was so ludicrous to his companions that they could not, and did not attempt to restrain their mer- riment, but a shot, again from the other side of the canyon, recalled them to a realizing sense of their dangerous position. Finding it useless further to appeal to his compan- ions, Ned Travis removed his coat, tore its ragged lining therefrom, and out of the material so furnished, he provided himself with the necessary material to balance his kite. It was now dark, and yet the savages made no at- tack. They were restrained somewhat by the con- stant fusilade which the scouts, acting under the ad- vice of Ned Travis, kept up against them. His kite was now flying in the air, and, thanks to a favorable wind, was slowly making its way, guided by the hand of Ned Travis across the canyon. He could not see 1t owing to the darkness, but the See cae of his boyhood served him well, and he could judge of its position from the jerking of the string with which he held it almost as accurately as though it was broad daylight. “Now, boys, I’ve landed it,’ said Ned, “If that shot came from a friend Pll knowit in a minute. There, easy, boys. Somebody has got hold of it. Now give me a couple of those lassos.” They were immediately procured. Fastening the end of the lasso tothe end of his kite-string Ned care- fully played it out, and his heart rose in his throat as he felt it gradually drawn across the canyon. When the end of the lasso was reached he knotted the other to it, and this was drawn from him as be- fore. Suddenly the rope slackened. “Now, boys,” said Ned Travis, ‘‘I’ve bridged the canyon. Let’s secure this end of the rope, and, if that fellow across the canyon is a friend, we’re safe. I'll cross first, and if I find everything all right Pll tire two shots, and you can follow. I go first only to prove my belief in the kind of a fellow I think we will find en the other side.” Slinging his rifle across his back, Ned Travis grasped the rope, and in a minute he was swinging on it and had disappeared in the darkness. It seemed hours to the other scouts since Ned Travis had left them, and yet no signai had been re- ceived, for minutes to men situated as they were seemed of interminable length. They had almost began to despair when the sharp report of a rifle was heard from the other side of the canyon. Breathlessly they stood until a second re- port reached their ears. The rest is soon told. One by one the scouts safely crossed, and when the Sioux made their assault an hour later, in place of victims they ,found the place deserted. Their surprise was great, but with the coming of the dawn a severed rope which hung far down in the depths of the canyon told them how the escape was consummated. “T got it from a cat- NEXT WEEK we will publish a splendid large Pic- ture of the Babies on Our Block. Many of our readers will discover An HExact Portrait OF SOME BABY ON THEIR BLOCK. drink, aleohol?!—John B. Gough. esis Mrs. Lewis’ Great Story. It would be diffieult to say too much in praise of the great story we begin this week, under the title of “AMBER, THE ADOPTED; or, SCHEMING TO WIN.” It was written expressly for the New YORK WEEKLY, by Mrs. HARRIET Lewis, author of “The Rival Cous- ins,” “A Life at Stake,” ‘““Lady Roslyn’s Pensioner,” ete., and is certainly one of her most delightful sto- ries. It opens with a perplexing mystery, which is so adroitly introduced that the reader's curiosity 1s at once aroused; and throughout the entire story, with its ever varying s¢enes and incidents, the mys- tifying secret on which the ingenious plot turns, is never permitted to escape from the reader’s mind. Here and there, in chapter after chapter, it 1s inge- niously indicated, without being elucidated, by the introduction of some tantalizing expression, or the description of an unexpected incident having a direct bearing upon the all-pervading mystery. It will also be observed that Mrs. HARRIET LEWIS always keeps her stery progressing; each chapter seems to give afresh turn to her charming kKaleido- scope of fiction, and a few touches of her magic pen powerful Venetian republic.” Taking a gondola at the steps of the Piazzetta, I was walted homeward over the Grand Canal. Though I afterward explored the city thouroughly, visited its archives and its galleries, gather a thousand unwritted legends from the lips of its low- ly as well as high-born sons and daughters, and made myself familiar with its history and romance, still no after experience yielded me so much dreamy delight as the fascinating hours of my *first “Night in Venice.’ a Josh Billings’ Philosophy. DEW. It iz the honest mep in this world that want watch- ing; the rogues will cheat yu ennyhow, whether yu watch them or not. I kind ov notiss thoze folks who are krazy to find out all that iz going on, allwuss find out a good deal that ain’t so, Honesty iz no doubt the best pg but i have seen policy that wasn’t the best kind ov honesty. One ov the best ballaneced chaps that I meetin mi ee iz the one who talks the most and lies the east. Thare is no man so poor but that he kan afford to keep a dog, andihav seen themso poor that they could afford to keep three. 4 An original wize maniz very diffikult to find, but to find an original fool iz still more diffilkult. The man who iz free from vanity haint been born yet, and probably never will be. Them folks who never look ahed, but allwuss look back and around them, and akt ackordin, are a going effect a complete revolution of her characters, with regard to their hopes aid fears, their circumstances, and their individual prospects of ultimate triumph. It should also be stated that “AMBER, THE ADOP- TED,” increases in interest as it progresses, and some- thing new, something strange, or something wholky unexpected is constantly occurring. Itis really one of the most entertaining stories we have ever read, and we therefore request everybody to readit. To neglect to peruse this 8 plendid story—certainly one of the best of Mrs. HARRIET LEWIS’ productions— would be the denial of a pleasure which fs not often placed before the public. The opening installment, although exceedingly interesting, is merely a prelude to the splendid literary treat which “AMBER, THE ADOPTED,” affords as an entire story; yet we are confident that those who read the opening part of Mrs. HARRIET LEWIS’ new story will find it impossi- ble to resist the desire to follow the spirited romance to the end. > © + WHILE the blundering New York detectives were disputing over idiotic theories in regard to the mur- der of Mrs. Hull, a reporter of the Boston Herald, Mr. W. R. Balch quietly spotted the criminal and se- cured his arrest. This shows the power of the press and the promptness of its represcutative. The dis- covery of the assassin effectually dispels an outra- geous suspicion whichno logical mind entertained for a moment—the criminality of the heart-crushed husband of the unfortunate victim. _—— ——__ -- > @ =< —_—_ A NIGHTIN VENICE. BY FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE. It had aa been my wish to see thé Queen of the Adriatic by the light of the moon, and chance rratified the desire of my heart. It was dusk when he railway train glided into the handsome station of the silent city of the waters. No importunate cab- men poked their whips at us and vociferated ‘ker- ridge?” but a handsome gondolier, ina blue and sil- ver livery, sent by the proprietor of the hotel to which [ had telegraphed for a room, looked at me as I lighted, and remoying his hat, asked: “Have I the honor of addressing his excelleney, Signor Durivage?’ ; . His excellency repliedin the affirmative, and then his excellency’s boatman led the way through the lass-roofed station, out into the air, and I stood at he head of a flight of marble steps leading down to the Grand Canal. A second boatiman,in blue and silver like the first, Wabelding an elegant gondola tothe shore, as a groom holds a horse for you to mount, and {f stepped into the little portable cabin amidships and drew the curtains, both because the evening was chilly and because I knew the moon would be upinan houror two, and I wished to get my first view of the Mrangc romattice city by ber light. Seeing nothing, therefore, I was sensible only of being borne along with a light soothing motion like that of the car of the n in which I made my first ascension many years ago. No sound jarred onthe ear except the sharp warning cry of the for- ward gondolier, when he was about turning a corner. In ashort time the motion ceased, and I sprang out and ran up the steps of a hotel, formerly a palace. “To what base uses,’”’ &¢c., but the passage is trite. One must eat even in Venice, for are we not ‘‘half dust, half deity, alike unfit to sink or soar?’ Ignor- ing poetry and romance for the time, I did ample justice to the supper provided by my host, and “took mine ease in mineinn,” like Falstaff, completely for- getting that I was in Venice. ce I was recalled to asense of my whereabouts by a remark of the waiter as Lrose from the table. This man was one of those polyglot machines which are invented for the use of the traveling public—a fellow who could speak four or fivecontinental languages equally well—I will not say _ well, “Wouldn’t your excellency like to take a walk in the romantic and tranditional gondoletta on the Grand Canal? It is plenilunio.” ‘ When he said it was a “‘full moon,’’ I started from him, rushed out of the house, and sat downon a bench at the top of the marble stairway. Ah! now I be- held Venice for the first time The Grand Canal— Canalazzo, in the local dialeci—is worthy of the name, being a8 broad as the Arno at Florence. Right opposite me rose the Chiesa della Madonna della Sa- lute (the Church of our Lady of Salvation), whose vast white marble domes, walls, and columns, sup- ported by one million two hundred thousand piles, rose at the bidding ef a Contarini. A curving line of palaces stretched far away to the right, now dark, and casting black shadows in the water, broken only by the gliding lights of gondoletie, but seon to be bathed in molten silver. To the left, in the broad basin at the entrance of the Grand Canal, lay many vessels at anchor, including a five-gun brig of the royal navy, and a huge steamship of the Austrian Lloyds. In the distance stretched the sandy length of the Lido, and above it rolled up slowly the crimson disk of the full moon, rising like a monsteraerostat just freed from the ropes, soon changing to a shield of frosted silver, and pouring down a generous flood of rays on the most picturesque and romantic city that ever lifted its spires and domes above tle water. It seemed as if some invisible enchantress were hold- ing a silver lamp above Venice, and uttering the single word “‘Behold!” / The picture she exhibited was strangely besutiful, its features coming out one by one, as those of apho- tographic negative are gradually revealed in a divel- oping bath. The dark gray of the Dogana and the domed church changed to sparkling snow; the sera- ted steel prows of the gondolas flashed out in the bue night like the true blades of Damascus cimeters; te path of the canal, that wondrous sheet of watr, seemed asif an azure velvet carpet, studded wih silver stars, had been rolled along its length to n- ceive the satin-shod feet of the bridal procession ¢ some incomparable prineess; the gondoliers foun their voices, and the strains of Tasso their echoes guitars tinkled, and the whole atmosphere was ful) of light and music. I could have sat there dreaming all night; but I roused myself, went back through the hotel, out at the rear, along narrow canals, over bridges, past old churches and palaces. Below all was dark and mys- terious; but above, the sky was bright, and the spires and roof-trees were silver. Now and then a girl in a mask—for it was mid-Lent, and one day of revelry was permitted to alleviate the gloom of the penitential season—would stop and chatter a few words in the ear of the signor forestiero (foreign gen- tleman), waking the musical laughter of her gay companions, though the wit was not appreciated b the recipient of her raillery; or a skulking vagabond, with his rags hidden by a cloak thrown aristically over his left shoulder, called up ideas of a traditional bravo or a stage villain— “In me tableau of the last act with the blood upon his row.” Suddenly passing through the openings of an arcade, I found myself in a grand square, brill- iantly lighted up, full of maskers, promenaders, and musicians. The three sides of the square were occu- pied by shops and cafes, like those of the Palais Roy- alin Paris. Opposite was astrange splendid church, half mosque, gay with external gilding and coloring. Near it avast tower soared up into the blue moon- Hehe: there was a palace on the right anda portion of another palace beyond the tower, and then my heart beat high, for I knew I was in the Piazza of St. Mark, and that before me were the church of St. Mark, the Royal Palais, the Doge’s Palace, the Cam- ‘panile or Bell-tower three hundred feet high, and the tall masts from which, in days of old, floated the victorious standards of the strauge, mysterious, to learn the most and suffer the least. The karakters who are all energy, and thoze who are all judgment, are like the grayhound and the fox- hound, the first follows the game bi sight, the other bi scent. The choicest kompliment that kan be paid to vir- tew iz that the best lies we hav are thoze which most resemble the truth. [never yet had mi own way in ennything, but whatisaw afterward how i could hay improved upon it. Yung man,iwouldn’t hav yu too wize for yure years; thure iz no fun, it iz true, in getting kikt bia mule, but thare iz absolute joy in learning that the mule kant do it agin. When i hear aman red hot in argument, i oftner hunt for the lie he iz trieing to bury, than ido for the truth he iz trieing to dig up. The grate blunder we makeizin mistaking plez- zure for happiness; thare may be sum plezzure in gitting tight, but thare don’t seem to be enny happi- ness in gitting over it. : Thare iz nothing that a man will talk loud? #bout than to prove hiz religious beleaf, and thare1z noth- ing which really interests the bistanders less. The man who never takes enny risks, makes az menny blunders az enny boddy. The comforts and discumforts ov life are so nicely ballanced amung humanity, that evry one thinks he iz just a little better off than the other phellow. The top round oy the ladder iz the dangerous one; come and roost with me, mi boy, on the middle one. Thare iz no man wize enuff to kno what others think ov him. Our pleazures too often are the most silly things about us. ere nae As the British belt once more returns to this side of the Atlantic, the plucky little fellow who won it— Edward Payson Weston—may with reason be per- mitted to part his name in the middle, and sign him- self Edward Pace-on. -——--- > @ = LA PETITE IRENE. HOW I CAME TO OWN HER. BY CLEW GARNET. As the readers of the NEw YORK WEEKLY all know, I am a sailor, born and bred—one whose home has long been on “The glad waters of the dark blue sea, With thoughts as boundless and with souls as free.” Though condemned by fate to live ashore from time to time, even then it hath been my great de- light, when the winds were high and the clouds were black in the ragged sky, to hire some stout bay boat and go out for a cruise on the salty brine, even though but a league or two away from the sound of the breakers’ roar. I was off outside of age 8 Hook one day last sum- mer in a little sharpie, with my little lug-sails close reefed, beating in through the old Gedney channel, when I happened to look back at n tant schooner which I had noticed before Im the offing, and new saw much nearer, for She carried a mad press of sail for srek weather. It was blowing a gale all the time, and every little while the wind would come ina heavier gust, mak- ing me luff up to it, though close-reefed down. All atonce I saw the tall-masted schooner bend over till I knew her lee-gunwales must be under wa- ter, and to my horror she did not rise again, but seemed to lay over more and more, and I felt sure there was a capsize coming, if not already achieved. T let fly my sheets, ai my tiller hard-a-port, and bore short around. In ten seconds I was heaving down toward the imperiled vessel, and could see that all too late they were trying to lower her sails, for now she wason her beams ends and her sails lay flapping on the water. I was but a mile from her, and I soon ran down and found her to be a beautiful little yacht—La Petite Irene I saw painted on her stern, as I rounded to under it. On her half-submerged quarter deck stood a group of seamen, and one tall, gray-haired gentleman in citizen’s clothes, holding close to his breast a lovely girl just budding into wemanhood. All hands seemed about scared to death, unable to do anything from very fright. One look at that fair girl and that noble-looking old man was enough for me. I jum on board the yacht, ran forward as wellas I could by holding on to the weather rail, and with my large fishing-knife cut ths stops of the anchor which swung from the cat-head. In aninstant a scope of fifteen ortwenty fathoms of chain ran out, and the next second the cable brought the yacht a with a jerk, head to wind. “Down with this fore-sail—down with it or cut it from the hoops!” I shouted to the crew. Recalled to action probably by my example, the crew got forward, and by almost superhuman efforts got the canvas down from the forward spars. Swinging now head to wind fairly, the yacht righted; the mainsail was lowered and reefed, under my directions, and then a balance-reefed foresail and jib set. Then, while we pumped her out, the yacht was worked in shore, the writer at the helm. Tnow found that a drunken sailing-master had thus carried sail on the yacht while the owner was below with his sick daughter, and not until the vessel and all on board were in deadly peril, did that owner, Mr. Durivage, know how the master was acting. _ To make the story short, I worked the yacht safely into port, and while doing so, worked my way, un- sought, into the affections of the lovely girl for whom the yacht was named, and in afew weeks after, the noble father of the former gave me his Irene at the altar, and our bridal trip was made in La Petite Irene. Short Sermons by Telegraph. NO. 41. Ezeziel xxxvi. 25: ‘‘Then will I sprinkle clean wa- ter upon you, and ye shall be clean, from all your tilthiness, and from gll your idols, will I cleanse you.” Blessed water—God’s favorite symbol of purity since the fall of man; and how gratefully should our fallen natures respond to its holy touch, gladly yield- ing to its purifying influence. ‘o not let us forget, however, that it is but a sym- bol; we are to believe as well as be baptized; believe yurselves impure in God’s sight—believe that our earts must be sprinkled with the Lamb’s blood, be- tre they can respond to the water and be sealed with te love of God. yod waits—the water is ready—heaven is looking o1—“‘what doth hinder us to be baptized?” TELL E. GRAPH. 4 —_——--—__—->>-@—~<4-_- ptnintpatssitnats Ts belles of Cincinnati entertain themselves with dinntrs to which no gentlemen are admitted. They are Gled “dove feasts.” As the darling creatures take ¢pecial pains to advertise these feasts among their antlemen friends, it is evident that few of them are avese to being led to the altar as ringed doves. Lipide vig SoBe AMBEL THE ADOPTED, by Mrs. HARRIKT LEWIS, which iscommenced in this numberof the NEw YORK WEKLY, should be read by everybody who buys a coy, After reading it, be sure to recommend it to your fends. abd hae ¥ ; GLOVES Wh thirty-two buttons are now the style in Paris for ill dress. When a lady asks a gentle man to buttolone of these gloves, it is almost cer- tain that she ls a pretty arm, and is anxious for him to study its symmetry. LITTLE ELENA OF SATILLO. BY JESSIE. 7 { i The townof Satillo is in the State of Coahuila, Mexico, and is delightfully situated between flower-decked hills and smiling valleys; a thou-. sand arroyos, or little streams, prattie, in happy freedom there, while the many factories lend) the town and its outskirts an air of thriving’ prosperity. It was Christmas Eve, and all the town was astir, preparing to confmemorate the birthday of the Saviour. other in displayin an imitation of the Star diamonds to make His divinity. row, and death visited many a home. “Oh, that I were rich!” sobbed little Elena Flores, who was in hertenth year. ‘Then,’ she continued, ‘I should make this a Noche Buena (anodaieeny) for all the poor!” She was kneeling 7 the bedside of a dying man, whose little daught and playmate. Povert vented the care: man from ‘asking charity of any of his neighbors: “Let us pray to our good Saviour!” cried Ele- na, and, prostratin ther, you have told us to ask and that we shoul receive. Please, Lord, help these poor people, and I promise to devote each Christmas Eve to consoling the poor and attlicted.” silver piece into her friend’s hand, she departed happy in the belief that the small sum he had been so long hoarding, would purchase a refresh- ing cup of tea for the poor invalid. tlena’s mother was a poor widow, who had oy her to cheer her old wage. A very wealthy widow lady, without relatives, took a great fancy to Elena, and employed both her and her mother to make tortillas, or corn-cakes, clean her plate, ete. The ar was so satisfied of their fidelity that having along journey to make to the city of Mexico, she gave them the entire charge of her magnificently-furnished house, dismissing all her servants, except the portero, or gate-opener. Little Elena loved to read the sacred Scrip- tures every night to her mother. The good goy- ernor of the State, Don Victorio Cepeda, had sent a Spanish copy to her school-teacher, and much comfort did they all derive from its peru- sal. The house (or rather, the palace) they took care of was a grand, old-fashioned building, containing over fifty rooms. In the patio was a fountain, orange trees, and the loveliest flowers bloomed there. To the rear of the building was an immense corral, which was used in former times for the cows and horses, but was now com- paratively abandoned, as it had the reputation of being haunted. It was long after midnight when Elena and her mother were suddenly awakened by a noise on the stairs, resembling the rattling of chains. They both arose, and calling on Heaven for pro- tection, they lita lamp, and went down, exam- ining Fy spot from whence the sounds had proceeded, but there was no trace of mortal foot- steps to be found! eturning to their room, they were just pre- paring to compose themselves to sleep when the noise was renewed with greater force than ever. This time poor Elena was all alone, for her mo- ther had fainted with fright. “Should it be a trick of some robbers,” thought she, ‘‘to terrify us out of the honse, they will never have the satisfaction of robbing our kind benefactress. Portero! Portero!” she shouted, as locking her mother’s bedroom door on the outside, she darted down stairs, and then toward the saguan, where the gate-keeper slept. The gate-keeper was nowhere to be seen. Poor Elena was trembling with terror, for the night was dark and dismal, and the winds moaned through the trees, as if in sad forebod-- ing. Large beads of perspiration stood on her fore- head; yet the brave little girl was suddenly re- animated by remembering doc consoling words: ‘‘Though I walk through the valley of the Sha- with me!” The large gate leading to the corral was open, and without waiting to consider what danger lay 1n there for her, ious hastened toward it. On reaching the corral she was literally trans- fixed to the spot on beholding a supernatural sort of bluish light moving about the place, and after remaining visible for a short time in a cor- ner quite near her, disappeared altogether! Speechless with horror and amazement, she thought of her mother, whom she had abandon--: ed, and who had, by this time, completely re- covered her self-possession. Elena embraced her tenderly, thanking God for their mutual safety ; and, not many minutes after, the old portero, who had gone out through the corral pete to a party, returned to his post from which he had so imprudently absented himself. Elena did not wish to terrify her mother with the story of the blue light, but, early on the fol lowing morning, while the poriero and her mo- ther were at church, she took a spade and shovel and went to the very spot (a moist, damp one) where the blue light had vanished. _This good little girl thought that some Chris- tian’s bones lay there, and that the soul of the frail tenement wandered about in the shape of a blue light, begging for a resting-place in conse- crated ground. “T will beg the money with which to bury it,” she muttered, as, having dug very deep, she struck against something hard. With great dif- ficulty she cleared the earth all round it, and soon discovered that it was a large earthen pot. On breaking the cover, Elena saw that it was actually peckee with large, Spanish gold pieces! She had not fourd a skeleton, but a fortune of over one hundred thousand dollars! Having removed all the gold to her mother’s room, she carefully Souneatid it under the mat- tress, and covering up the hole she had made in the corral, she ran to open the gate for her mo- ther, to whom she longed to relate her extraordi- nary discovery. er mother was accompanied by a lawyer and some other gentlemen. “The last post brings youimportant news from San Luis Potosi,” said the lawyer. “Oh, sir, Iam so glad!” replied Elena. ‘“‘Come and see all the gold I found in her corral this morning! Won’t our dear, kind mistress be well pleased at her return ?” “She will never return, poor lady!” said he. “She died several days since, leaving this house, her plate, jewelry, diamonds, with her great wealth, to little Elena. The corral was hers, but is yours now, with all that it has contained, so that additional piece of good fortune is yours, gone lady,” he cried, shaking her hand warin- y: Elena wept sincere tears of regret, mingled with the deepest gratitude for her benefactress. Her little school-fellow’s father did not die, but was kindly and carefully nursed back to life, and since that day Elena has most religiously kept her promise about caring for the poor, at all times, but particularly at Christmas. The noise resembling the rattling of chains was caused by some rats, who were dragging several pieces of bones and stale bread to their holes down stairs. And the bine light was caused by the exhalations emanating from the damp ground of the corral, making an “ignis Jatuus,’ _ Elena, however, thought that the finger of God was seen through all, using even inanimate things as His agents to benetit those who wish to befriend the poor. Quite a shock was experienced by the topers of Michigan who held public positions, on learning that the Legislature had passed a law which vacates all offices held by men who habitually get drunk. But they recovered their equanimity when the governor promptly vetoed the bill,and there was a “smile” all around as the gentlemen with’ florid noses gleefully clinked glasses. > @ 4 THE noiseless steam-engine just introduced on the Third avenue surface roadis unanimously appre- ciated by the hurses, which have labored long enough to deserve a period of rest. F Rich and poor vied with each — what is called a “Nacimien-— to,” when the wealthy took off their most costly — dow of Death, 1 will fear no evil, for Thou art - which guided the Wise Kings to the humble | crib where Jesus had concealed all the glories of | In the midst of all this jubilee, poverty, sor- iia er was her school-fellow — ‘ty reveled in that sad abode, and there — was neither fuel nor light; but pride had pre- — herself, she exclaimed: ha & She arose, full of hope, and. slipping a little © wi thuila, tween , thou- happ ; len riving n was lay of each ople, ve to ;OV- h and ru- 00k ng, is a ers vas ner he ion nd 1se a a nega _ Lor knows what de forsooken ole heat BY MRS. M, A. KIDDER. We curious souls are ne’er content To take things just as they are sent, Rejoicing that no worse we fare Than of earth’s ill our part to bear! ‘ We strive to pierce the mists of deudt We put ourselves and neighbors but, And pass the sunny. places by To fathom out “the reason why.” We start a fire that will not burn— We forge a wheel that cannot turn— And then amid our garnered fears We sit and shed poor useless tears. And yet the fire might burn our stock, The ready wheel strike on a rock And bring disaster, still we cry And long to know the reason why. “Who made the world?’ the skeptic cries, And then unto himself replies: “Twas chance that formed the glorious whole That bade the ceaseless planets rol— Gave godlike energies to man. Yea! Chance.” Why such a perfect plant Then foolish mortal. Look on high And ponder on the reason why. To God who knows our weakness best, We leave dark doubt, and all the rest, Convinged that in the latter day, When we have done with work and play, When all our toys are laid aside, And we, with loved ones who have died, Shall live in heavenly homes on high, We then shall know “the reason why.” SECRET SORROW ; THE ROVERS BRIDE. B; Cousin May Carleton. (“The Secret Sorrow" was commenced in No. 30. Back Pg be obtained from any newsagent in the Uni- ea States.) “ CHAPTER XVI. KATE ON THE SEA. “Oh! glorious! tee caiemcl aia And she is mistress of the winds, And mistress of the tides. “But, alas! for the widows’ and orphans’ tears, When the death-flag sweeps the wave; Alas! that the laurel of victory Must grow but upon tne grave.” —Miss Landon. Slowly and wearily the days glided by to Kate in her subterranean prison—seeing no one but the old negress and the young quadroon, Syra. Her eyes yearned to look once more upon the blue sky, to breathe thefresh air, and catch a glimpse of the world once more. Her days were spent almost continually in thinking of Alice, whom she still imagined a prisoner in the manor; and then her thoughts would revert to heruncle, and her cheeks would flush with the honest glow of indignation, and her eyes would flash, as she thought of his baseness. Then at times her thoughts would revert to the young rover-chief and the quadroon girl, Syra. How came he, so young, so refined, so handsome, so noble-looking, to be the leader of a gang of outlaws—a crew of blood-thirsty pirates? She had often heard of Captain Raymond—heard him spoken of as a demon in man’s form—one whose deeds of blaod might make the firmest heart quail, and the ae ep orestemeteneniee oe “Captain Raymond bade me ask if you wonld grant him the favor of an interview,” she said. Kate litted her eyes tothe face of the quad- roon in surprise. There was something in her tone which startled her; the words were spoken with such concentrated fierceness. Kate felt amazed that ske should be the subject of a slave girl’s jealousy; her aristocratic pride shrank from such a thought, and holding her head erect, she said coldly: “You may tell Captain Raymond I shall be very happy to see him at any time. His pres- ence will at least make my prison a little more endurable.” A fierce flash shot from Syra’s black eyes, as, compressing her lips, she turned away to deliver her message. “That I should be despised for her,” she said, fiercely. “I, who am_a thousand times more beautiful than she. Why did she come here ? He might have loved me but forher. /hate her!” She hissed in a tone of deep passion; ‘‘end I wish she were dead !” Her face actually grew liyid with passion; her beautiful features worked convulsively, and her small hands clenched together until they grew bloodless. Meanwhile Kate’s thoughts ran on in a very different strain, but they were of the same per- son. “What delicacy,” she murmured, ‘“‘not to in- trude! Can one so perfectly gentleman-like so refined, be really a pirate captain? Strange, ange? What can ever have brought him to shis Her meditations were brought to an end by the entrance of the young captain himself. With an easy smile he advanced to Kate and held out his hand. “How handsome! What beautiful eyes he has!” was woman-like Kate’s first thonght, as she arose to welcome him. ““And how has the time passed since my de- parture ?”? he asked. seating himself. “I trust my servants have attended to your comfort.” “T thank you, yes. Asa captive, I have been far better provided for than I could expect.” “You cannot regret your captivity more than I do,” he said, quickly. “What strange freak of tortune led you here, I cannot account for. But while you stay I trust at least to provide ror your bodily comfort.” Kate sighed. “You are looking very pale, Miss Sidney,” said Captain Raymond, a slight shade passing over his handsome face. ‘‘I wish to Heaven I dared restore you to your friends.” i He rose from his seat, and began to pace the floor rapidly, while Kate regarded him, scarcely knowing what tosay. At length he stopped ab. ruptly, and said: ‘ “Would you venture on the sea? My men are rough and savage: but they are perfectly under my control, and you would be safe. Syra can accompany you, and you need fear nothing; though only a pirate chief, I have not forgotten I was once a gentleman.” A look inexpressibly sad shone in his deep, dark eyes; but Kate did not notice it. Her heart bounded at his words; she might yet escape; orif not, she would at least breathe the blessed air of heaven once more. Without a moment’s hesitation she looked up and said, quietly: “T will go with you.” An expression of pleasure flitted across his face; but asif fearing she had decided hastily, he said : “But consider first the danger. We are always exposed to storms, shipwreck, and disasters on sea, from which we are safe on land. Besides, we are pirates ; we must follow our calling, and scenes of bloodshed and death are hardly fitted for a lady’s eyes.” Kate shuddered. Her new-born hope seemed about to be crushed in its birth; and she saw before her long, dreary days of solitude and gloom in the old Moor Manor. The young chief saw the sudden look of disappointment, and re- strongest cheek blanch ; and now she had_ seen him—could it be ? Could those blue eyes, so bean- sumed: “Tt do not say positively these will occur; I THE NEW YORK WEEKLY: #5< it most signally failed, however. Miss Sidney -had no intention of betraying family secrets to the rover-chief. | A few moments after he took his leave. As he rose to go, Kate said: “IT must thank you again for the kindness with which you have placed both these rooms at my disposal. But as I am aware there is no other room you can use here but this, I must beg of you to oceupy it. I seldom or never leave my sleeping apartment even in day-time, so I beg you will have no delicacy in aceepting “I thank you, Miss Sidney,” said the young captain, with asmile. ‘I willingly accept your offer in the same spirit in which itis made. I must own Iam often reduced to a strait when I wish to read, or write, or remain by myself. The outer apartinents are always filled with my noisy crew, so that it is impossible to remain one moment quiet. Therefore I shall make use of this room tor a few hours each day, but you must still continue to consider it your own. I shall now direct Syra to prepare ia departure with you, se I shall bid you adieu for the present.” During the few days that remained before their departure, Kate and the pirate captain had frequent interviews. And afer each Kate no- ticed that_the fierce look of jealousy increased in the quadroon’s face. A fiery look of intense hate flashed from her black eyes whenever she encountered Kate. Tortured by the pangs of jealousy, poor Syra was miserable indeed. Kate noticed her growing hatred toward her- self with a feeling of sincere regret. She could sympathize with the poor girl, whose passionate heart gave, unasked, all her hope of happiness in this life into another’s keeping. And he—how little he cared for her! It was doubtful whether he even dreamed that this handsome slave girl could ibly love him. The light smile with which he met her, the careless glance of his blue eye, the tone of easy superiority in which he ad- dressed her, left little room to doubt that he merely considered her a very handsome servant —but still a servant. And had Syra not been blinded by her mad passion, she would have seen, likewise, that in Miss Sidney he only saw a lady—one whom, as belonging to a superior rank, he was obliged to treat as became a lady— one whom, as his captive, he was forced to care for. But Syra saw not this in his frequent visits to her—she saw only the lover visitin g his lady- love ; and, as she saw him enter Kate’s room, a new degree of hate tilled her heart toward her rival. When he informed her of his design of bring- ing Kate with him, her jealous fears were con- firmed. ‘‘He cannot endure to be parted from the wo- man he loves!” she exclaimed, bitterly. ‘‘Many and many a time he went before, leaving me here to wait for his return, unthought of and uneared for. And she—she does not, she cannot love him as Ido, I who would die for him joy- fully. But she will never be his bride—no, NEVER, if I have to slay her in his arms!” Little dreaming of the resolution of the quad- roon, Kate sat one evening alone in her little sleeping-chamber, her chin resting upon her hand, her eyes fixed vacantly upon the wall, her thoughts of Syra and the young pirate chiet she so passionately loved. Her own feelings toward him it would be hard toanalyze. She despised and loathed the profession, but in spite of her- self she admired the man; she shuddered as she thought of his crime, but some irresistible sym- pathy drew her toward him. There was little danger of her falling in love with him; she would as soon have dreamed of becoming a pi- rate herself; but still something she could not account for made her like him. Sometimes, if by chance he ever alluded to the past, his voice would become so inexpressibly sad that it went to her heart; and looking into his mournful blue eyes, she would heave a sigh, and wonder what great sorrow he, so young, could have met with. ‘Perhaps like others, he has loved and lost,” tiful and sad, ever flash with the light of mur- | only speak of probabilities. I do not wish to | der? Could those hands, small and delicately- | raw you blindly with me. Consider—I have | shaped as a girl’s, ever shed a fellow-creature’s blood? Could that voice, so gentle and musical, ever shout the death-cry of the pirates? Oh? | no, no, no! Kate's heart recoiled from the thought. Whatever fate had driven him here from the society of the high-born and refined, to which she feit he ought to belong, he could never become a deliberate murderer. And Syra, this dark-browed, wild-hearted, assionate child of the South, dying with love or him—would he ever care for her? Kate sighed as she thought of that impulsive young heart pouring out its treasures of love at the feet of one who, she felt sure, would never regard her as other than a servant. Poor Syra! the great, mournful black eyes would light and sparkle with joy at the mention of that loved name, and her dark face would flush with deep- est joy at the thought of his return home. Every- thing his hand had touched was sacred in her eyes; everything was arrranged for the sole pur- pose of affording him pleasure. The wild, un- taught child of nature worshiped him as an Eastern devotee does his idol; she knew no other god but him ; willingly, joyfully, she would have lain down and died at his feet, had he com- manded it. And allthis time she clung, as a drowning man will to a straw, to the hope that he would love her yet. He was not made of marble; he could not always withstand this wild love given him so freely: she was young and fair, and worshiped him. Oh! surely, surel that heart she would have died to save would love her yet. ; . late, Kate had avoided mentioning his name o her, For some time after his departure, Syra would sit by her side talking of him alone for hours; butonce, when Kate accidentally remarked that one so young and handsome might win the heart of the fairest lady in the land, the quadroon’s fierce black eyes emitted a sharp flash of jeal- ousy; and from that day forward her manner toward Kate changed. he grew cold and reserved, never speaking, unless to answer a question; and then if it re- lated,even in the most distant way, to the young chief, the same suspicious light kindled in her eye. Kate well knew the reason of this change, and might have smiled perhaps at the idea of her being in love with Captain Raymond, had she not felt her lonely situation too keenly. Syra’s iness to converse had at first made the hours pass unperceived; but now, with no com- panion save her own sad thoughts, they dragged on like ages. The effect of confinement, and rooding in silence over the restraint of which she was too proud to complain, soon betrayed = in her pale cheek, listless eye, and languid step. > Aweek or two had thus passed, when one morning Kate was aroused by the sound of many feet inthe adjoining chamber, and numerous rough voices speaking loudly. Rising hastily, she dressed and_ rang the bell, andin afew moments Aunt Moll made her ap- pearance. “What is the cause of this unusual noise?” de- manded Kate, as the old woman entéred. | “Laws, chile, marse cappen’s back; ’deed he is, chile; he’s arriv’. Dey all’rived las’ night, an’ dey been cummin’ eber since. One o’ dem tower his ’fernal ole ge | at my head. a eae him, an’ it hit Black Simon right in de e, he eye. he! Sarve him right, too. De hen would a done nex’ if marse cappen hadn’t drapt in an’ gin hima kick which tke ter knock his brains ng ’Deed he did, honey. Sarve him right, 100. Kate felt a sensation of pleasure at hearing the young chieftain had returned. But she care- fully concealed every outward sign of satisfac- tion, and inquired for Syra. “Lor, chile!” replied the old woman—it is thus she invariably addressed every one—‘‘she’s wid young marse. Nebber. seed anybody crazy out any one like she is ’bout him. Dar, I specs now, I’ll fetch gon in breakfas’, honey, you's hungry by dis_ time, and you an’ marse pap wil raise Sam if I doesn’t’tend toyou. He, e, he! nd with her usual chuckle, Aunt Moll de- parted. Kate’s slender meal was_ spon over, and she Was again left to her own thoughts. At length © Was aroused by a light footstep; and_ look- ing up, she saw the quadroon standing before her, Bec cheeks were flushed to a burning red, and her great black eyes had a streaming, un- natyral light. Poor Syra! it was the baleful ght of jealousy. named the dangers, but then its advantages will be far above this lonely subterranean residence. | As you decide, so shall it be.” Kate paused for a moment; but even the dan- gers would be far preferable to the dismal soli- tude here. and she said. firmly : “T will brave all dangers and go with you. This dismal place would soon drive me insane.” “Be it so,” said Captain Raymond, gayly. “It will not be the first time the Water-Witch has been graced by the presence of alady, 1 trust you will find your residence there pleasanter than it has been here. The sea breezes will soon bring back your lost roses.” The young lady courtesied. ‘When do you start ?” she said, smiling. “Oh, unmediately, if possible, or at That as soon as everything can be got ready. I soon tire of the land, and cannot be off too soon for blue water. My men, too, like true sailors, are growing weary of delay, and must be oft.” There was a pause. Kate scarcely heard his words; she was thinking of something else, “I wish you wouldtell me of those with whom I was in the manor,” she said, at length, looking up anxiously in hisface. ‘Iam sure you know. Do tell me.’ “They are gone.” “Gone!” repeated Kate, starting to her feet. “Where? How? When did they go?” “Really, Miss Sidney, that is more than I can tell you. They were here when I left, and were gone the next day. They have not returned since. Perhaps,” he said, with a slight smile, “the ghost frightened them away.” “The ghost!” repeated Kate, vacantly. “Yes, the ghost of the old Moor Manor. have heard itis haunted, I presume?” he said, with a wicked twinkle of his blue eye. “Yes,” said Kate, looking up in his face with a half smile. “I certainly have heard of it, but I begin to think it is a fresh-and-blood ghost.” “Upon my honor, Miss Sidney, I give you credit for great penetration. Pray, who told you it was a flesh-and-blood ghost.” ‘Not you, certainly,” said Kate. “But con- fess, sir,isitnot so? Is this ghost not an in- genious device for frightening people away from the old Moor Manor? “No, Miss Sidney, I cannot claim the honor of devising that project. It was one of my men,” he replied, laughing. ‘When first—long before I joined them—they used this old mansion fora rendezvous, they found these subterranean vaults so useful that they determined not to be troubled with visitors. Forthis purpose they undertook to play the ghost. A mask, resembling a skeleton, a Hitt ered ochre to represent blood, some phosphorus to ba them the appearance of being enveloped in flames, and the disguise was rfect. The place soon got the reputation of eing haunted, and people would sooner go ten miles round than pass here. Some foolhardy braggarts, having more brandy than wisdom in their heads, undertook to spend a night here, but one sight of the ghost and its awful groans sent them flying with shrieks of terror.” “Still,” said Kate, “it puzzles me how they could pass through the room and_ disappear, as hosts ought to do, without exciting suspicion, Spirits, you know, don’t generally open doors to go out.” ‘ [ “Very true,” said the captain, ‘“‘and neither does the ghost of the old Moor Manor. There is a passage which connects these underground chambers with the rooms above. Through this assage they go to asnite of rooms bia over- head of the onein which you were. This old manor is full of secret doors, constructed for Heaven knows what evil panera ‘These my men, by dint of long search, uave discovered ; and by their aid they are enabled to play the ghost to perfection. ‘The ghost enters throngh a secret door, which opens noiselessly by a Spring ; and keeping down in the shadow, where its fiery garments will stand boldly out, passes across the room, and vanishes through another secret door.” ; : “Well, I must say it is a very ingenious plan,” said Kate; ‘‘tand one I suppose which has suc- ceeded in securing your domain from intruders.” “Tt certainly has,” answered Captain Ray- mond, “until of late. In vain the ghost has tried to drive the party you came with away. Nothing could succeed until of late; it appeared regularly every night, but all In Valin; it tramp- ed overhead, but still they staid. It frighten- edthem terribly—there can be no doubt of that —but not enough to make them leave, It must have been, indeed, a strong inducement that made them remain here.” ; This was said inquiringly, as if to draw from Kate an explanation. If such was his purpose, You | | | | } thought Kate, as she mused. “I wish I knew. And Syra, poor, half-crazed child, with her fiery, southern blood. and_ passionate nature, what will become of her? JTwonder if he knows she loves him. I will speak of her to him the very next time I meet him.” She rose as she: spoke, and pushing aside the | heavy velvet curtain, stepped to the outer room. As she did so, she perceived to her surprise it was tenanted. ane at the table, his head mening on his hand, his fair, clustering locks oe impatiently off his white forehead, his arge blue eyes fixed on vacancy, sat the object of her thoughts. In the full glare~oef the damp she could see distinctly the noble contour of the head, shaped like that of a prince—the fine features, classic as those of a Grecian statue, now wore a look of such deep, settled, immovable sorrow as Kate had never witnessed before. He could not see her where he sat, and she had a full oppor- tunity of watching him unnoticed. The look of profound sorrow went to her heart, it was so seldom he look thus—always gay, always ani- mated, only sometimes the dreary expression would come, as though the world were after all a blank to him. Kate shrank from intruding then, when his thoughts were evidently far away. According- ly she retreated behind the curtains, when the oor opened, and Syra entered. The young chief started, passed his hand across his brow, drew a long breath, then the sad, dreamy look was gone, and his usual one of careless good-humor returned. “Well, Syra, what is it?” he said. Her message was a trifling one; evidently she had entered more to see if Kate were with him than for any other purpose. Assoon as she was gone, Kate stepped out and stood before him. “Ah, Miss Sidney!’ he said, rising, “Syra has just been here to know if vou will have your books packed to go on hoard? I answered yes, in your name, not wishing to disturb you.” “Thank you,” said Kate; “I am glad you did so. By the way, captain, is Syra willing to go to sea?” “Syra!? he repeated, in surprise. “I never asked her. Of course she must accompany you,’ ” “She has grown very pale and thin of late,” remarked Kate, seating herself. ‘I fear she has the disease of the heart.” “What? I donot understand,” said the young chief, in a tone that convinced Kate his thoughts were very little of Syra. “T mean that 1 think she is in love,” said Kate, making a desperate resolve to say the worst at once, Captain Raymond uttered a prolonged “Oh!” “T never was in love, myself,” said Kate, laughing; “butI believe Syra has fallen into that unhappy state. I wonder who is the happy man ?” and she glanced at him from under her long eyelashes. “Really! Lam sorry I cannot tell you,” said Captain Raymond, smiling. ‘“I’ll make inquiry, if you like! “Oh, no! by no means!—pray don’t trouble yoursalf !” said Kate, hurriedly, now thoroughly convinced how little he cared for poor Syra; “nerhaps Iam mistaken. We start to-morrow, do we not?” she asked, anxious to change the subject. “To-morrow _night, Heaven be_ praised!” re- plied Captain Raymond. “TI shall not feel like myself until Iam once more on the deck of my good vessel !” Thus ended Kate’s conversation concerning Syra. In the bustle and hurry of departure, she saw little more of him for some time after. Two days later, Kate sat in the cabin of the pirate ship. It had been fitted up in the most elegant style for the reception of Miss Sidney ; and, as far as outward comfort went, her uncle’s stately mansion of Dirritole did not surpass it. Old Moll had been left behind, by her own de- sire, declaring she couldn’t stand ‘‘dem ar rain- pagin’, tarrifying, rip-stavin’ sailors !”—but Syra accompanied Kate. Whither they were bound she had not asked; and after being on board awhile, she felt little inclination to ask—being prostrated in body and mind by_sea-sickness. And so Kate Sidney was on the blue sea, in a pirate vessel, outward bound. CHAPTER XVII. THE DOOMED SHIP. “The captain he is young and fair— How can he look so youn His locks of youth—his golden hair, Are o’er his shoulders flung. “The fiercest of our pirate band Holds at his name the breath ; For there is blood on his right hand, And in his heart is death !”’ It was a glorious summer sunuset—sunset on the sea! Nota breath of air was stirring; the sails flapped lazily against the mast, while the pirate vessel lay still and motionless on the glassy sea. The day had been, and still was, in- tensely warm; the hot rays of a tropical sun, streaming on the deck, had -rendered it almost insupportable. An awning had been construet- ed which had rendered the burning heat some- what more endurable; and sitting beneath it, gazing on the ‘gorgeous scene around her, was Kate Sidney. Not a cloud moved over the deep azure firma- ment, save a few white, fleecy specks, looking to. Kate’s eyes, like stray glimpses of angels’ wings. Far down in the horizon the red sun was slowly sinking, tinting the sky with brilliant purple, crimson, and gold. The waveless ocean reflected the gorgeous dyes of the firmament in in its polished surface, making the still scene beautiful beyond description. The deep silence that reigned rendered it still more impressive; for the sailors, overcome by the heat, lay indo- lently lounging about the deck, or leaning over the side of the vessel, to catch, if possible, a breath of air. fe Everything on board the Water Witch was in the most perfect, order, the deck scoured to a most shining whiteness, every rope hauled taut, everything in its place—for Captain Raymond maintained perfect order and discipline among his pirate crew. Kate sat taking in the scene with the eye of an artist. Now her gaze would wander over the gorgeous but desolate scene around her, on which no living thing was to be seen save them- selves; then it would wander over the trim deck, resting for a moment on the swarthy, say- age-looking pirate erew—each one with a long, glittering knife stuck in his belt—their tierce faces and evil eyes making her involuntarily shudder, as she thonght of the many deeds of blood committed by them; again it would wan- der to the opposite end of the vessel, where, leaning against the bulwarks, stood Syra. She formed a beautiful picture in the rich scene around; her white dress falling from her taper waist in graceful folds to her feet, her long, glossy, ebon ringlets streaming over her shoul- ders, while a turban of crimson satin was wound around her head. Her great black eyes were fixed earnestly yet dreamily on the face of the young captain, who lay leaning over the side of the ship, his eyes tixed on the bright waters be- neath. Now and then, at some peeing thought, the vivid red on her oval cheeks would fade, the subdued light would die out in her magnificent eyes, and be supplied by a fierce flash, as they would rest for a moment on Kate. And seated by herself, under the awning watching the sun go down, Kate Sidney looked strangely out of place among the pirate crew. Plainly as she was dressed, in asimple robe of gray muslin, with a broad-leafed straw hat, ese was about her the unmistakable stamp of a lady. é Poor Kate! she wassad and lonely enough. Her waking thoughts, and dreams by night were of the friends behind, in ‘“‘merrie En land.” Of her sad-browed aunt—of Lord Arndale, still ignorant of the fate of her he loved—ot her brother Charley—of her base-hearted uncle—but most of all of poor Alice Desmond; a presenti- ment thatthe earl would discover her visit to the manor, and render the fate of Alice still more bitter, lay on her mind. For herself, she did not so much care, though her fate was no enviable one. Althoughevery re- spect was shown her, she still felt she was among lawless pirates; though every comfort she cn been accustomed to from childhood was hers here, still she could not forget how it had possi- bly been obtained. ‘hen, too, the daily increasing jealousy of Syra rendered her miserable; she feared it might be discovered by the young chief himself—and then, what would follow[ The pirate captain had often occupied her thoughts, too; but still the mystery regarding him remained unsolved. Sometimes, in the midst of her conversation, he would appear on the point of revealing to her something of the past; but again he would check himself, and resuming his accustomed sagt of careless drollery, seem to forget the im- pulse. ; The sun at length sank beneath the horizon, the brilliant hues of the sky began to fade and flee from the gray shadows of evening; a slight breeze, too, arose, delightfully refreshing after the intense heat of the day. Under its reviving influences, the idle sails began to fill—the gal- lant bark sped merrily onward, as though re- joicing in its delightful coolness—the sailors arose from their lazy positions, and new life seemed to animate the drooping crew. Kate, too, felt its influence, and rising, she walked slowly over to where the captain still reclined. As Syra caught sight of her coming, she hastily retreated to a spgt where she could watch them, and remain herself unseen; and she stood like a tigress preparing to spring on her prey. “A glorious evening, captain,” said Kate, as she stood by his side; ‘fone does not see many such sunsets in a life-time.” He looked up witha start, for she had ap- proached unheard; and Kate saw that his face still wore the same look she had seen on it once before. He laughed—a sort of subdued langh—and ran his fingers through his luxuriant, clustering hair, as he answered: “Yes, a glorious sunset, indeed. Ah, Miss Sid- ney, there is no place like the wide ocean after all. ‘Free and unfettered, it spurns contro’— something like myself, or as I would be. Still it is not in times like this, when everything is as still amd beautiful as a fairy tale of our child- hood, that I love it best. No, give me the roar- ing blast that sends the good ship seudding, like a frightened courser, through the foam-crested waves, rising through the gloom of. the storm likeaAlpine avalanches; when the lurid light- ning shows us our course, them comes that wild enthusiasm, that fierce feeling of freedom, that none butasailor can know. Then it is I love the boundless sea.” His eyes kindled, and his nostrils dilated with the sudden enthusiasm with which he had spo- ken. Kate listened quietly, and after a moment, replied: “Yes, that is all very fine to you, Ihave no doubt; but if, like me, you were, at such times, at the last gasp with sea-sickness, you wouldn’t wish so ardently fora storm. I remember, dur- ing the last storm we had, or gale, as you called it, how utterly miserable and wretched I felt; every time the vessel pitched headlong into the waves, I prayed most devoutly she might go to the bottom at once, that I might be rid of the pangs I endured !” Captain Raymond laughed; then, leaning over the side, he continued to watch the vessel as she danced through the now sparkling waves, for some time in silence. Then, looking up, he said: “How gallantly she cuts her way through tlie sea-foam—fl¥ing onwardas if she, too, knew and rejoiced in her freedom. ‘What a perfect little beauty she is, with her elegantly-modeled hull, and graceful, tapering spars!” and he ran his eyes aloft with a sailor's pride. “T certainly have seen worse-looking vessels than the Water-Witch,” said Kate, composedly, following the direction of hiseye; ‘“‘what a sav- age-looking set your men are!” “Upon my honor, Miss Sidney, you throw a terrible damp on my enthusiasm!” said Captain Raymond, with a good-natured laugh. ‘‘You are a terribly matter-of-fact person, I begin to think !”’ “T faney I will hardly ever make much of a sailor,” replied Kate, smiling; ‘‘while the wea- ther continues thus, do very well; but the very thought of a storm is fearful, not so much for the storm itself, but the demon that accom- panies it—I mean sea-sickness—the very idea of it gives me a qualm!”’ “T always fail into my old habits of day-dream- ing on evenings like this,” he said, after <) eear speaking evidently as much to himself as to Kate; “and yet how little there is left for me to dream about! The past seems like a dark dream to me, now; and in the future there is nothing to look forward to but a grave. And yet, sometimes, I forget the present, and fancy myself once more rich and honored, and loved, as I was once; and I awake with a start, to re- member Lam only Captain Raymond, the rover chief, witha price on my head He paused, and tixed his eyes steadily on the bright waves, while a shadow passed over his fine face. Kate stood, listening intently, with a look of deep sympathy in her dark eyes. “Yes,” he went on, slowly, ‘‘strange as it may seem to you—strange as it seems now to myself, I was once wealthy and honored, with a name, Miss Sidney, as proud as your own, and of gi family as old and aristocratic. Once I was heir to broad lands and stately mansions, with menials to bow at my word, and with friends who were proud to call me a descendant of their ancient house!” “And yet you are here!” satd Kate, sadly. ‘And yet I am here—and_ here I will die! All has gone—all has faded like a dream, leaving nothing to wish, nothing to hope for in the future, either here or hereafter. I ameunloved, an unloving man, one shunned by his fellow- men as accursed, with the brand of Cain on my brow—one who, like Ishmael of old, has his hand against every man’s, and every man’s hand against him! Well, be it so! I have a long score of revenge to wipe out against my race; and yet I never willingly shed blood. I am a free rover—I take without remorse what I can win on the wide ocean; yet, if I could avoid it, I would never slay afellow-being. And still Lhave done it,still I do it,and still I will doit. Sgme dark fate, over which I have no control, seems hurry- ing me on to my destiny. Often and often, dur- ing the still hours of the night, the ghastly faces of those who have fallen by my hand, rise be- fore me. I can see them, as they fall backward into the sea, their wild, agonized faces, their dis- torted eyes straining from their sockets—their hands stretched forth, vainly striving to sue for mercy, or to ward off their death-blow. And then they go down, down, down! into the waves, with human blood, their dying cry of agony drowned under the bubbling wayes! And [ start up, to hear their white lips hiss ‘murderer!’ into my ear!” _ He started to his feet, as he spoke. his face livid, and great drops of Rereton starting on his brow. Kate stood, listening, white wit horror. “I know not why I have told all this to you,” he said, hurriedly, after a pause, ene. 8 which he paced rapidly up and down—“except that you remind me of one I loved once—one who has for- gotten me! Once, I—”’ “Sail, ho!” cried the lookout, at this moment. ““Whereaway ?” demanded Captain Raymond, his whole countenance changing, as if by magic, as he turned toward the mast head. “On the lee bow, sir!” “Can you make her out ?” “Ay. ay, sir! A merchantman, heavily loaded !” A cheer arose from the pirates at the words. They had not come across a apt since the: started; and frequent were their oaths an murmurs at this want of luck, all of which they attributed to their having women on board. Now, the prospect of taking a prize elated them be- yond measure, and their shouts were for a mo- ment quite irrepressible. _ Captain Raymond seized a glass and sprang into the rigging. There was a moment’s breath less pause—all stood eagerly awaiting the re- sult of the scrutiny. “It’s a merchantman!” he exclaimed, leaping once more to the deck, ‘‘bound, I take it, with a valuable cargo, from Jamaica. All hands ahoy! Crowd on all sail after her—she will be a glori- ous prize! Merrily, there, my men! work with a will! Our gallant little brig will soon over- take yonder overgrown ship!” The men sprang willingly to their post; anda few moments after, the pirates were rapidly giving chase to the heavily-laden ship. Captain aymond paced the quarter-deck rapidly, now and then raising his glass to examine the mer chantmen. **Mast-head, ahoy!” he shouted, after a pause, during which the men stood eagerly regarding their prize. “Ay, ay, sir!” came from the cross-trees. Can you make her out any plainer?” “Yes, sir. She’s an English merchantman!”’ “How far is she off ?” “Nearly two miles, sir.” Again the pirate captain regarded the strange through his glass. Then, lowering it, he mut tered: “About that, [fancy ; and the moon is rising aaa by the time we over her, it wall be clear as day. So much the better UB, 2 aC much the worse for her !” a a tho As he spoke, he approached watching with breathless inte Touching her on the shoulder, h as he passed : “There may be danger at hand—you_ ter go below !” enn In a moment he was gone, an rections rapidly at the other en hismen. Kate looked after hin then turned again to watch chase, with an interest scarcel of the pirates themselves. “Heaven grant they may fervent ejaculation, as she gla ling eyes and fierce faces of the 1e moon had now risen in its rz dor, flooding the sea with overs p a lovely night; every object could plainly as by day, as the pirate © proached the merchantman. | As the men passed to and fro errands across the deck, Kate «: looks of discontent and fierce upon her, now and thon accomp. growl or a smothered curse. Sat 6 too deeply excited by the chase and the th of the approaching contcst to quit the deck. This is no place for you ike ei ( hand! Go below!” f t Kate looked up; it was Captain Raymor had rapidly spoken the words as There was a kindling light in his eyes, an¢ impetuous tone in his voice she had heard there before. And still she lingered, un heeding the fierce growls and oaths froi irates, which were every moment growing ouder. The intense anxiety al e fate of the Englishman overcame every other feeling, anc she remained. The two vessels were now with‘1 a short dis tance of each other, and Kate could almost dis tinguish the throng of forms leaning over the bulwarks of the merchantman. “By my soul, this will be a glorious night’s work !” cried the voice of the pirate chief, at s little distance from where she stood. ‘She wil be asplendid prize! Ha! there soes her flag!” As he spoke it fluttered for a moment on it way, and the next, the red cross of St. Georg floated proudly from the ship’s peak. The nex instant she fired a gun. “That’s a polite hint. for us to show our bunt ing!” cried the pirate chief, “ILallo, Simon! uy with the black flag!” A shout arose from the pirate crew, and. the next moment the ominous black flag with its skull and cross-bones, fluttered in the nigh# breeze, There was a moment’s death-like silence; ther Kate fancied something like a groan of despai came from the merchantman. It might be fancy however, for the next moment a fierce shout 0: defiance arose from the brave English crew. “By all the fiends, they shall repent this bold ness!” shouted the pirate captain, maddene by the taunt. ‘Ahoy, my men! take your sta ae for working ship. We'll rake her fore anc att. The men flew to obey the order, and Captair Raymond approached the spot where Kate stil stood. As he caught sight of her he advanced and said, sternly: “Why will you be so obstinate? Don’t yo see you are creating disorder among my men Go below !” Kate dared disobey no longer. Casting on look after the brave merchantman, she turne and descended to the cabin. Syra stood in th¢q middle of the floor, her hands clasped, her eye almost straining from their sockets, and listen ing intently toevery sound; Kate knelt dowy and covered her face with her hands, as, with sickening feeling of horror, she waited for th conflict to commence. The few moments that followed seemed to he like ages. She could hear the hurrying to and fro, the tramp of many feet, the confused ming ling of voices, and, clear and distinct as th tones of a trumpcot, the clear, commanding voice of the pirate captain, high over all. The restraint grew intolerable. Kate’s hig spirit chafed like a caged lion at the restrain Springing to her feet, at length, she exclaimed 3 “T will see!” and she cautiously ascended th cabin stairs. Here, crouching in the shadow she was about to remain, when a deafening uy roar, as though heaven itself was annihilatec crashed upon her ear, as the merchantman, su¢ denly turning, discharged her whole broadsid on the pirate brig. For an instant, the air was filled with th shrieks of the dying and the. groans of th wounded, mingled with the cries of rage an tierce oaths of the survivors. “Death tothe murdering dogs! Onward! mi = — ; ae at follow me!” shouted the pirate chief, se with rage, as he sprang from the rigging is own ship, sword in hand, into that of the hantman, followed by his blood-thirsty ra few moments the carnage was awtul, hts, oaths, shrieks, and groans, mingled in ible discord with the clash of steel, and the rt of fire-arms. The deck of the doomed was literally slippery with blood, and the 4s around were purple with the same bloody ward! my men; slay, and spare not!” called eree tones of the pirate chiet, as the crew of the hantman fled, like grass before the mower, be- the rapid blows of ‘his sword. br God and St. George! death to the pirates!” with the pirates in the conflict. vely the gallant crew of the merchantman t, falling but fighting to the last. Slowly, but y overpowered by superior numbers, they re- dtoward the round-house—the deck growing on with blood as they went, and the gallant slowly, but surely decreasing. denly they fled, and the pirates closely wedged her, and, unable to retreat, saw themselves ing by the yawning muzzle of a brass eighteen- er, loaded to the throat with grape. There was rond’s death-like pause; then the clear, calm of Captain Raymond shouted, as be sprang for- pistol in hand: bwh with the gunner!” he was too late. Even as he spoke, with a ming roar it was discharged, dealing death Riteotnait their center. At the same moment, a rent crashing through the skull of the gunner, he pistol of the pirate chief. r God and our country! Death to the pirates!” the crew of the merchantman, exultingly, as orang from their retreat, dealing death among astonished rovers. ‘ ‘ crew !’’ shouted the pi- ,as the man Simon tell tf a blow aimed at the No quarter in the best man in hief, frenzied with ra at his feet, warding r captain's life. “Follow me, men! murderers! Slay, and spare not!” uth to the pirates!” came defiantly back from rave handful, who alone remained of the nu- is crew of the Englishman. 1 one concentrated yell of rage, the maddened 8 sprang upon them. The carnage—for such it vwas—xzrew terrific ; one by one, the crew of the Kh ship were butchered and cast overboard—a imson bubbles marking for a moment the spot they had sunk, as they, one by one, disappeared br. And, high over all, still arose the voice of in Raymond, with the death-ery of the English- ith to the murderers !” bone in some horrible trance. Kate stood with ing eye-balls, and face blanched to the hue of immovable as a statue, watching the fearful ke. For the first time she realized they were pirates, and he—whom, in spite of all, she had ed—he, the worst of all! Oh! the dreadful r of horror that filled her heart, and rooted her spot, as she watched him dealing death around. rra! hurra! hurra!” came exultingly from the GTAW, as the last of the merchantmen were cast ard. i they had cop hinged ; but the victory was dear- cht. More tilhn salf their own crew lay dead ing on the deek of the ship. — 1 pirates now began busily carrying thei hployed themselves in transporting everything bie from their prize She proved to be the Lady of Liverpool, bound trom Jamaica home, with > of sugar, rum, and coffee, and a large amount ar Valuables. These were quickly conveyed on the Water-Witch; and then, setting fire to the id ship, the pirates held on their course. smed to Kate as though the whole affair was rk ofa moment. The moonlight still fell as over the waves as before; but the burning hAntinan before her showed it to be but too ila reality. Rapidly the fire spread on its de- iz course, now licking its forked tongue around ering masts—now bursting forth here and n different parts of the vessel—now shooting t upward in a red, lurid column, and, anon, zits deadly coils, like the folds of a serpent, the ship. Suddenly, a bright, lurid column of bt upward, tinging the sky crimson; then fol- an appalling crash, that seemed to rend the “avons, as the magazine exploded, The pirate rself, though already hull down in the horizon, “i and trembled in every jeint, at the terrific on. The, ne oment the waves were flow- cefully over the spot where the doomed ship own, #8 though death and destruction had beon there. The moonlight shone as calmly neefully the bright waters as though they er been dyed with human blood. ; (TO BE CONTINUED.) , THE NIATA SCOUTS. French and Indian War. : -was commenced in No. 31L 1ed from all news agents. } APTER XXVITI. ESSI@’S CONVERT. id ob me, nor nobody else, missy,” ; ie, a8 O'Meara made his threat hy—de kurnel is your friend, and ere, you bet. I doesn't bear you no for dat pelt you give me, cause I sot two good that night, allon your account—one here in 6 an’ one over at ole Girty’s cabin. A drunk le nigger like meisa big thing—I can’t get bn. Dekurnel done tole me to be jess as po- ou as & queen. af’ to show you dat chest ob There’s nobody else ever can wear ’em, an’ nb’ to burn up what yon don’t take soon as rone. I heard him say so.” take some of them now,” said Jessie. “He very kind to me, and, I think, means all he missy, he does alldat. Dere’s worser men irnel when he tries to be good. I’m a gwine de bestest dinner I’ve had fora month, for bo dine wid him. And when you go to sleep » sleep in de front chamber dat has bars on ows and a lock on de door, so you can turn nside and feel safe.” he has been so thoughtful as this ?” missy.” B very good. I forgive him for all my suffer- when I kneel down to pray, I'll ask God to m. t prayin’, missy? I’ve hearn about it.” and I will pray God to bless and save you, nd to keep you from getting drunk.” nut dat last, missy. Jess leff me up dere, for wkey doesn’t have much comfort now. You kcar? De TInjuns did dat when dey killed my an’ two little piccaninnies. They kept me for ’em, Kase I was big and strong. Sol from one to anoder till dey got me here. De vanted a good cook, and I’se all dat when I’m sheuld always keep sober.” 8, missy, 'ceptin’ when I get a chance to get When I'm drunk I forget all about de ole de poor picaninnies. But come, missy, let’s ick out dem clothes. My dinner is a’most ‘ve got turkle soup, roast wenison, boiled ik blackberry pie.” siniled, for the poor old negress meant well, followed her to the room where poor Cicely’s d been stored. rl was surprised when she saw the ward- ) Was richer far than her own had ever been, br father and mother lived, and she was their were dresses of the finest lawn, rich silks, roidered underlinen of the chvicest kind. took seme of this, clean hose, a beautiful kid shoes, her own size exactly, and a scarf eck, of embroidered silk. She chose a pear]- bss, because it was very neat and plain, though th elegant taste. x these, she went to the ehamber which Chloe she was to. occupy, to wash and dress. The as well furnished, and, as Chloe had said, locked from the inside, and the windows fred. oor girl felt happier now than she had for long day, and she took pains to dress as neat- > could. She almost blushed at her own vhen she looked at herself in the great mirror 16 toilet-table. ; ging her hair, which hung in dark, natural out her neck, she found her toilet com- los, who had gone back to the kitchen to see er dinner, came in now, and seemed wonder- with the transformation dress had made in 1g girl’s looks. x’! De kurnel will jess go crazy when he !” she cried. “‘Hethort Missy Cic’ly was mn’, but she wasn’t a half a showin’ to you. ish he’d made a bargain to have you for his vful wife, instead of sendin’ yon back, I’ll smiled, and said she had no wish to be the ny one. | now told her dinnér was ready, but the colo- | d wait till she was ready for it. ‘¢ the brave EngliShinen, as they met, hand to} h the densely-crowded pirates, cutting a lane | hpanions to their own vessel, while the remain- yo Jessie said she would go to the dining-room at once, and Chloe went down to serve up the dishes. The colonel entered one door of the dining-room as Jessie stood at the other. He was too well-bred to express his surprise, but his flushed face, his glance of intense admiration, could not be conned, Bowing very low, he said: “Dear lady, I am sorry to have caused you so much suffering, but my future conduct shall, 60 far as it oan, atone for the past.” “Do not speak of it, Colonel de Marsanne—your kindness now makes me very happy!” “Ah, you know my name ?” “Yes, and I will neyer pray without asking God to bless you.” “Sweet lady! It is more than I deserve, but I will try to be a better man, and merit your prayers and good thoughts.” “T know yon will!” she said, gently, as she took the chair at the table, opposite to him, that he pointed out. “Surely you were not born and réared in the wilder- ness!” he said, after helping her to some delicious soup made from the riverturtles. _ “T was not born there, sir—but my father and mother came to this country when I was very young, and I have literally been r: the wildwood.” “Excuse me—I am a plain soldier, and no flatterer, but your grace, your exquisite beauty, and your noble expression, all speak of geutle blood, and a retined education.” “My father and mother I know were both of good family in their own land, and I owe all my education to them.” “Do you speak French, sweet lady?” ‘Out monsieur.” Thenceforth, to his astonishment and gratification, Jessie conversed with the colonel fluently in his own native tongue. They were two hours at the dinner-table, yet to him it seemed not half so long. He offered her wine once, but ber refusal was at- tended with a little story, and he did not press her u second time. , “My father,” she said, ‘never would touch wine or strong drink in this country. He said that the quar- rel which made him an exile from his native land, ending in a duel fatal to his opponent, arose at a wine table. He looked on strong drink as a curse to man or woman, and shunned ft all the rest of his life.” “He avas right, it is a curse, and for your sake, fair maiden, as well a8 iy own, I will henceforth, so long as [ live, refrain from its use.” Jessie blushed. She had not thought to preach him asermon. Yet she felt proud of her convert. And she thanked him warmly, that he believed as she did. “Do you know anything about this man who calls himself Sir Richard O’Meara?’ he asked, as they sipped coffee after dinner. | “T do not,”’ she said. ‘But I believe my father was an O'Meara, and entitled to large property in his own land. Ido not iike this man. He is a base villain and a coward, for he threatened me when [I sto alone and unprotected, and wanted me to sign off claims for inheritance, and to marry him. I told bim {i would sooner marry a wild Indian, and I would choose death. before that.” “He shall not annoy you again. Very likely he now holds what belongs to you, or he would not ask you to sign off claims.” “Tt may be. A letter has already been sent to Ireland by a kind friend, old Mr. Brady, the father of the Boren foget. to find out about the family and estates 16re.”” ie “And the reply may inform you that a noble ances- tral home awaits your coming—that vast estates are urs.” : “It is true, sir. I sometimes dreain so, myself.” “You will go there, and standing fairest, highest of all around you, forget one who can never forget you— a poor French colonel, doomed to service in the wil- derness, most like to find a bloody grave in some wild solitude.” “T shall never forget you, or your present kindness, Colonel] de Marsanne. id [ not say that each ni nt When I bent in prayer, you should be remembered!” “You did, angel that you are, and I will ask no more. While I live, striving to lead a better Lfe, I will endeayver to be worthy of your remembrance. I will leave you now, to go to yourrest. Your cham- ber is next to my own, and though I feel that you are perfectly safe, the slightest alarm from you will reach my ear.” . Jessie thanked him courteously, and allowed him at parting to respectfully touch his lips to her hand. Then she went to her chamber, clo: the outer shutters, and prepared to rest. The couch was better than any she had ever seen before, and she was weary enough to rest. But the sound of steps pacing to and tro in the next room kept her awake a long time, and ae she woke again in the night, she heard them sti é The poor colonel had found at last one who could turn his wayward mind from passion, and yet fill his heart with love—one who had been chosén by him for a victim, had conquered him, and he now felt an agony almost unspeakable when he thought that true to his word, he must send her away in the morn- ing, and see her nevermore. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CONSPIRACY. Dick O'Meara followed Girty in silence to his cabin, and when the latter once inside broke out in a yolley of fearful oaths, cursing the colonel for his fickle mind, he remained quiet until the scout exhausted himself and his vocabulary of ruffian epithets. Then he said, gruflly : os you hate this man, why do you stay in his ser- vice?” aire is it to you whose service I am in!” growled wIrty. “Tt may not be much to you, nor to me, whom you serve. But you might serve me for better pay than you get from him. Were Tin Philadelphia my check for ten thousand pounds would be cashed. And I am not penniless even here. I can find a belt of gold when [ need its use.” Girty turned a look of eager interest on the speaker. “You are @ real nobleman, then, in your own land ?” “Yes, with a castle to live in, a hundred servants under my roof, and a thousand more on my estate!” “Black or white ?” “White. We haveno blackamoors in our country.” “What are you doing over here if you are so rich?” “IT caine to put that girl or any of her relations out of the way. Since I’ve seen the beauty I mean to possess her if it is in the power of man!’ “You'll find thata hard matter now. The colonel will send her back to her friends under escort in the morning.” “Ts there no way to get her away on the route? Or if that cannot be done, to kill her?” “There might be a way if it paid well enough !” said Girty, cautiously. “Man, name your price’ Help me asI would be helped, and you shall have all the gold I carry, and more when I get East.” “How much gold can you give me now 2?” “A hundred guineas in red gold!” “Strike hands with me. Iam yourman. Give me that down and a thousand more when the girl is yours and you reach the East, for ’il have to go with you, and [ll do the job!” “Get possession of her for me?” “Yes. I ean control nealy every Indian at this post. With an expenditure of a few hundred francs to-night in presents, [can engage a hundred of the best warriors to desert and go with me to-morrow. I speak their language as well as I do my own, and in spite of my recent bad luck have their confidence. They call me a Great Brave and a Big Medicine!” The villian O’Meara unbuttoned coat and waist- coat, and took from beneath all a leathern belt, out of which he counted one hundred guineas in gold, and there were more lett. These he gave te Girty, as he said: “You see I am in earnest!’ ‘ . sir, and I will as earnestly serve you. Do you rink «”’ : “Liquor do you mean?” “Ot course.” “Yes, when I can get it.” “Then we will seal our bargain in some of the best rum at the post. The colonel has some old brandy, but I am out of favor there, and no chance to get any of that.” “Rum is good enough in this wilderness country. It is better than I’ve had in three weeks.” Girty got out a large stone jug of rum and set it on the table. He placed a large mug of water, a bowl of maple sugar, and twocups near-it. He also got out some bread, cold venison, and pickled fish. : “Tt’s the best I have,”’ he said. “I had a nigzer cook, but she stole all my rum, and she was found dead one morning. Nobody asks who kills a nigger or an Indian here; so it made no matter, but it is a little inconvenient to do one’s own cooking here in the settlement. In the woods I’d rather do it than es nota rnm, sugar, water, and grub—help your- self. Dick O’Meara, or Sir Richard, as he told his com- panion te call him, helped himself to a cupful of rum, and he did not wait to sweeten it or to weaken it with the water. Tossing it off at a breath, he swore that it put new life in him, and he took a second to put more there. | Then be went into the cold venison with a voracious | appetite, for he had eaten nothing since the night before. . é Girty, a hard drinker and a hearty eater himself, looked on in astonishment, though not grudgingly. O’Meara had paid a good price for his supper. After both had eaten heartily, and settled down to a steady drink and a pipe, their plans were discuased for the morrow. It was decided to wait to see what the colonel would order in the morning. If he ordered that O'meara should go back with Jessie’s escort, he was to make no objection, but start away apparently willing. But he was to slip away at their first camping-place, or earlier if he conld, and wait for Girty and his Indians, wno would follow that night in light canoes, travel all night, and be ready to overtake the escort by the time it reached the mouptains. There they were to pass them, form THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. a an ambuscade, attack and destroy them, while the girl, saved alive, was to be turned over to O’mearu. It was a plan worthy of its originators—base aud devilish, yet one which seemed feasible, and not dift- cult to carry out. The two co-inates in rascality sat and drank for hours, and at last turned in to eine @ the light of another day should call them up to their work. CHAPTER XXIX. THE PARTING. Bright. and early next morning Jessie was up and dressed, looking a8 neat and pretty as on the night before, indeed even more so, for she was rested now. The colonel was up also, but his sad face and heavy eyes told that his rest had not been good. Yet he met essie most courteously, und begged her for his sake to select such garments as she could ase trom the chest, to have carried with her; and he had two large rose-Dlankets and a beautiful mantle of furs rolled up ina paok tor her use when the por camped, He also gave to her the mate of the pistol he had wiven to Captain Jack, and a small peurl-handled pete telling her to use themilf ne be in her de- ‘euse, though he believed hia escort safe wand reliable, and the officer In command « brave and honorable min. Jessie now astonished him by surrendering her for- mex weapons of defense, the old horse-pistol and the large buteher-knile which she hud secured on the nizht of her escape. He laughed, and as he looked at the ungainly pistol he said it was not very handsome, but surely fhight be servicenble. He was proceeding to mstruct her how to load the pistol he gave ber trom a flask, and charge, and the bullet-box in the case, but she told him that she had long known how tw load and fire. Chloe now called them to breakfast, and at the table Jessie was introduced to Captain Barbot, the officer detailed to Command ber escort, He was a grave, middle-aged mun, yery courteous in his manner, and evidently a soldicrin fact as well as uniform. “You will care for this young lady aa if she were your own sister,” suid the colonel to Captain Barbot., “And use every endewvyor tu Iake he journey both safe and pleasant.” “T will do so, my colonel,” said the pfficer. “T left a dear sister near her age in France, whom [never may see again. Have you any other orders, colonel, than those handed me in writing by the adjutant?” “Yes. Iforgot in them to allude toa tellow who came here calling himself a relative of this lady, and pretending to warn me of an expedition fitting out to attack me. I believe he is animpeastor. He an impudent wretch at any rate, but I inust send him baok to the English lines. Take char,e vi him, but do not allow himinthe same boat with this lady; neither permit him even to address her without she desires it. If he gives you any trouble, put him in double irons, and keep him there. Discharge him after this lady is safe with the friends to wuom she ee “T will carry out your orders, colonel. Has he been notified to be ready to go with me ?” “Not specially. I will send an orderly to him at Girty’s cabin as soon as we have breakiast. [Is your command ready ?” : “Yes, colonel—putting the tents and stores in the boats now.” “Do not forget your flag of truce either.” “T have al y seen it put in my own boat, colonel” “All right. A box of stores and provisions from ot own quarters, camp comforts, and some clothing will be sent to your boat for Miss Jessie.” They now paid attention to the substantial and zee rarrey meal which old Chloe had cooked for them. Atter breakfast the colonel sent his orderly to Dick O’Meara with orders to get ready ior a start, and then he told Captain Barbot to embark his men—he would himself attend the lady to the boat. ‘‘May Task one favor of you, before we part?’ he asked, as Jessie was putting on her bonnet and a warm shawl taken from the chest. “When you ar- rive at your destination will you, under your own hand, me of your safety, and if you have been treated kindly on the way ?’ : re colonel, and do it too with pleasure,” said essic. Seeing Chloe standing near, apparently anxious for a parting word, Jessie 8poke kindly to her, and gave her a string of Coral beads from her own neck. “T’se too wicked to ask de d Lor’ to bress you, missy !” she said, as tears started trom her one eye. “But you is next to the angels, dat’s what you is!’ Colonel De Marsanne now offered his arm, u sol- dier took Jessie’s luggage, and they moved down to the boat. @aptain Barbot was there, all ready for a start. There were five boats in all, with six soldiers in each art on Indian guide in the captain’s boat, the largest or a ¥ O'Meara sat silent and sullen in one of the boats, having just received a caution in regard to what his conduct must be, given in very peremptory tones by Captain Barbot. Girty was not visible. For reasons of his own, he kept in the background. But he and O’Meara hada perfect understanding before the latter came away. The colonel now helped Jessie to her seat in the oon and while his voice trembled with emotion, he said: .. “TI cannot bid you tarewell, for I hope yet, in some brighter hour, to meet you again. I wiil say aw re- voir, and wish you a safe and prosperous voyage.” “Thanks, kind friend; I do hope we shall meet again !” said Jessie. The boats now shoved off and started on their course, but the colonel did not move. He stood there as long as they were in sight, and only when the last flutter of a white handkerchief was seen and returned by him as the boat in which Jessie sat turned & bind, far up the river, did he stir. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned towasd his quarters. “Old Chloe was right, when she said that sweet girl was next to the angels!” he said. “Were she my wife I would ‘be a better man, She has taught me a les- sou, and I have made a promise. I will keepit. No more Wine or strong drink shall passimy lips, That 48 One step toward a better life!” The colonel went to his quarters to spend a lone- re She day—the most lonesome he had ever spent 16©re. CHAPTER XXX. O’MBARA’S FLIGHT. Jessie was happier now than she had ever been since the death of her dear parents. She contrasted her present condition with that in which she had twice come down that river and once tore her way through tie tangled forest going up, trying to es- cape. ®Shbhe now sat on a cushioned seat, hooded and shawled, her face vailed from the wind and the gaze of men, while those who were near her, with one ex- ception, looked kindly on her. Thst exception was Richard O’Meara, who sat glow- ering from his boat, with a face that spoke evil in its every line. Hecould not even be hypocrite enough to hide his hate. For scorned as he had been by her, his heart was full of black bitterness, and had he been armed, he felt as if he could have sacrificed his life to take hers. She saw his evil glance and she shuddered, for she remembered his threat on the night before, and she felt that her fate would indeed be terrible if she ever fell into his power. Captain Barbot, continually attentive, saw her emotion, and guessing its cause, ordered the boat which carried O’Meara to fall to the extreme rear. “And,” he said to O’ Meara, “if you know when you are well off, you will try to wear a more content: | ed face—at the least sign of insubordination on your | part, [ will put you in double irons and Keep you ironed till we part.” “T have the toothache,” said the villain. smile much under that.” The officer made no reply, and the boat took its place last in the little flotilla. Tunis suited the rascal exactly. The sooner he found achance to escapes, the better would it be for him, and the quicker would he rejoin Girty and his mur- derous band of savages. For he had not a thought that Girty, with a hun- dred guineas in hand, would play him false and leaye® hin to his fate. Your hardened villain is almost ever true to his mates—it is his only virtue. The flotilla progressed very fairly, and halted at noon for dinner, a good distance up the river, at a spot Where a cold crystal brook came dashing down the rocks on the eastern shore of the stream, where it was swift and narrow. Jessie was enjoying the nice lunch that Captain Barbot laid out before her with his o-vn hands, and all the people were chatting and eating away. merrily, when a sudden outery broke from the lower boat, and great confusion was seen at that end of the line. Several men were rushing up the bank, when Cap- tain Barbot shouted : “Hold! What is the matter ?” “The prisoner has escaped !’”’ was the ery returned. “Did he have any arms with him ?”’ 5 “No, captain.” “Then let the wretch go. He will be glad to get | back to the fort before two days are over. Let go. Finish your lunch, and we'll start again.’ Jessis felt relieved when she knew that the scoun- drel was out of the flotflla. She felt an instinctive drend of his presence even as she had disliked him the first moment her eyes fell upon his evil face. Little did she dream that this escape, 50 well car- | ried out, nad been a part of a plan to destroy that | fair company ot soldiers, and to gain possession of _ her person; that, even then, Girty down at the post was choosing out his Indian braves, making them presenta, and preparing to follow them on his fiend- ish mission. The colonel, lost in his new sorrow, was spending ; the day gloomily in his own quarters, and knew noth. 1ing of what Girty was about. He even absented | himself from the evening parade, telling his next in cominand to supervise it, as he felt unwell. Two hours later, he was surprised when his adju- | tant came to his quarters and said that Girty and one hundred warriors had just lett the post, boasting that “T can’t they were going over to the Mohawk regioy, to make war on their enemies there. This wus a ruse of Girty’s to keep his real destina- tion unkuown, lest Coloue!) De Marsanne should send soldiers to folow him ani reinforce Captain Barbot. The colonel was very angry at Girty’s defection, for his post was already weakened by the absence of the escort party, and the loss of one hundred of the best Indian warriors would be severely felt if he should indeed be attacked by un Enghsh force, To make matters worse, ad express Message ar- rived from Canada, ordering him to keep his fort in order tor an attack, that the Wuglish were increasing their force in the colonies, und threatened to make aun aggressive war ail along the border. They had followed the example of the French government, and Bet a prise upon tue scalps of their enemies, which would put hundreds of daring scouts, border-men, and friendly Indians on the war-path. “T have no torce to spare to bring Girty back with,” said he; “butit he ever comes back here, he shall have short time for shrift. I have only been too kind to him. There is no gratitude in such villains as he. Kept down under the lash, they submit like other curs, and are serviceable. Allow them the least lib- erty, and they abuse it.” — “Had not a watch better be kept over the other Indians, lest they too slip away?” asked the adju- tant. “Yes. I will at once and see them myself. I felt so much confidenee in them that I had no thought any would go out without my order; and I thought, tov, Girty would have lost populanty with them by his late reverses. He must have been very lavish of his presents to have kept it. And it is my own fault that he has been able to make them presents. I will cin you presently, adjutant, at the council-tent. {ave every chief that is left behind called to meet me tuere.”” Tne adjutant saluted, turned on his heel, and went to obey orders. SHAPTER XXXII. GIRTY SURPRISES O’MEARA. When Richard O’Meara saw the flotilla landing for lunch, he made up his iimd to escape, for he saw there was now no guard on him there, and he feared that when night came a special sentinel might be put over him. So while he pretended to eat heartily of the bread and meat placed before him, he watched the position of fhe soldiers in his boat, saw where their arms were laid, and looked for a éhance to spring beyond their reach before a weapon conld be brought to bear npon him. The boat, moored last in the line, lay against the bank nnder a dense thicket of dwarf pines, and look- ing into this, O’Meura saw » kind of trail or path, evidently mude by animals that had come down to drink, or perhaps to Gross the river here at its nar- rowest, point. T? he could ence spring into that path, he thought, he would be out of sight and beyond reach of bullets in a few seconds. Taking a large cup of rum which the soldier near- est him kindly offered, the wretch drank a little, and then suddenly ns the rest in the face and eyes of the soldier, O'Meara bounded from the boat, and in an instant was lost to sight in the thicket. The soldier, half choked and blinded, uttered a ery of pain, and then his comrades saw that their prison- er Was gone. They sprung up to give chase, but he was out of sight, when Captain Barbot shouted to them to let him go—he was not worth following. Had the French officer dreamed of the villain’s plans, and known hisown danger, a terrible catas- trophe might have beer perhaps averted, if he had been followed and caught. In an hour the flotilla wus on the move up the river, and shortly aiter Richard O'Meara crept down to the river-side, und peering through the bushes, saw the last boat pulling leisurely up the stream. He had heard the shout of the captuin adonian g pursuit, and he laughed at the thought expressed by the offi- cer—“he would be glad to get back to the fort.” O'Meara now began to gather a quantity of dry drift-wood, ready to light a signal-fire when night came on, for he had flint und ateel ever with him to light his pipe, and could readily light a fire. ‘My pretty cousin thinks she is safe now,” he mut- tered. “A pretty reprimand she got me this morn- ing when she shuddered at my sour looks. But I wil soon be more than ever with her. By the end of another day I will beas close to her as now, and soon, pressing her dainty form in my strong arms, I will teach her that shuddering is of no avail. Her hate will be but spice to my pleasure. Andif she will not yield to my every demand, the wild beasts of the forest shall rend her fair limbs, and there will a no , bar to my peaceful enjoyment of her her- tage.’ Thus the villain talked to himself while he moved to and fro collecting drift-wood up and down the bank of the river, until he had a large pile, enough, indeed, properly used, to keep a watch-fire going through all the coming night. O'Meara, a8 We know, was unarmed—his weapons had been taken from him at first and never restored, but he had been well ted at the fort and was not hun- gry, and he did not think of any danger which would require the use of arms. Girty had given him a bottle of rum before he Started, and this was company enough for him now. 80, well fatigued with his labor in getting wood to- together, he sat down, and pulled out his bottle, and enjoyed it éontents. Tuen he lay down to sleep, for he knew that Girty would not leave the fort till night fell, and that he | ie have to watch all night long perhaps for his coming. How long the ruffian slept he knew not, but he was wakened by a terrible splash in the river close to where he lay, and he was met with spray as he sprung to his feet. The next instant he saw that adver had leaped into the water, and wuile he glanced at it swimming away, he heard something rush throug’h the bushes behind him, and then an immense pautier bounded over his head far out into the streain in chase of the terror-stricken deer. The latter was bleeding about the shoulders and neck, and had evidently shaken off its terrible pur- suer before it got to the water, and now its efforts to escape seemed weak and unavailing. It bleated pitifully as it turned its head in the rush- ing water and saw that the panther was close upon it, and O’Meara, like the heartless wretch he was, lauzhed at the sight. “The deer is the fair Jessie, and I am the panther!” he cried. “We'll see who'll win the race.” Alas! it was soon won. The deer was indeed able to reach the further bank before the puuther got to it, but there its strength failed, and the great tawny beast borung upon it as it tried to go up the bank, and tore it down. One wailing bleat, a faint struggle, and the poor deer was de “Ha! ha!” The villain laighed till the woods rang again and again with the echoes of his voice. “That’s the way I’ll conquer you, Jessie O'Meara,” he cried. ‘‘You’ll surely rue the hour when you turned a cold face on me!” And hedrank long and deeply from his bottle, while he watched the panther rending apart the limbs of ite poor victim. The bungry beast now gorged itself on the meat, and then went up into the woods beyond the river, out of sight. “It is lucky for me that the tan-colored beast got deer meat before he saw me,” said O’Meara. ‘I don’t like ann here without arms, over much, but Girty will be with me before midnight.” He was right in that conjecture. Having kindled a fire which he believed would keep wild beasts away, just as soon a8 night set in, O’Meara sat down by it, only rising now and then to put on more wood, when the blaze began to lessen. It was not far from midnight, certainly not later, when he sat in a half doze, that a hand waa laid rude- , ou his shoulder. Terrified, he sprang to his feet, only to hear a shrill laugh from Girty’s lips. “A pretty watch you keep!” cried the latter. “TI could bave killed and scalped you, and you'd’ have never known what hurt you.” O'’Meura looked out on the river. It seemed half covered with the canoes of the Indians. “What time did you get away?” asked Girty. “At noon, when they stopped here to lunch. I sprang into the bushes, and the French captain would not let his soldiers follow me. He said, as I _ no arms, I’d be glad enough to get back to the oO Dey “Good. followed.’’ “No. Did you get away easy ?”’ “Yes. It is not likely the colonel will hear of it be- fore morning. He has kept in his office, moping all day. Ireckon he has fallen dead in love with the oe for my life I can’t see why he sent her ac. ” Then he had no suspicion that he would be “Tcan. He has got aright idea of who and what she is, and knows if she gets her own, she’ll be the best match in all Ireland, so far as property goes, not to speak of her beauty.” “Maybe so. He dressed her like & queen, and treated her as if she was one. One of my mates told me he kissed her hand when they ,and stood waving his handkerchief to her till she was out of his sight up the river.” “That's all the good it will do him. He will never see her face again. I'd like to throttle him, though, for his insolence to me!” : “Never mind him now. We have other things to think of. Get into my canoe, and we'll push on up the river. I want to keep close enough to Barbot to be ready for him as soon as he makes his last land- ing.” iWwhy not attack him before he geta there. We can easily overtake him, for his men take their time with the oars.” “It will not do. Ontheriver some of them might escape and carry back news of what we’ve done. On land, we can kill all but her, and then make our own way across to Philadelphia, sending the Indians back to their towns on the Miami.” “All right. You know best what to do and how to doit. I will leave all to you.” O'Meara now followed Girty te his canoe, whieh lay under the bank just below the tire, and soon tho whole band were following Girty up the river. ‘They kept on until near daylight, and then stopped on anisland, where they camped, but made no fires, for at daylight they saw the smoke of Barbot’s camp ahead, where his mon were at that moment cooking breakfast. “We will wait here a couple of hours,” said Girty, “and then it will be safe to go on and cook our own breakfast over his tires. So he will have no new smoke to see. Weare as close now aa l want to be till we get to the last landing-plaee.” Bome of the Indians were now seen catching fish, others Went on shore after game, .or war parties like this never incambered themselves with provisions, They knew when their leader wanted to go on, and none would be away when the time came for him to move. O'Meara looked on in wonder, for he had never be- fore seen an Indian scout out, and he was surprised to think a white man could control so wild a band. The sun was between two and three hours high when the Indians were called in and started again, An hour later they were at the deserted camp of Captain Barbot. “They have tentsand everything for comfort,” said O'Meara, as he saw the spot where,.the tents had been pitehed, and noticed a large bed of soft spruce boughs which had undoubtedly been spread for Jessie. “Yes; you don’t catch regulars foregoing comforts when they can have them,” said Girty, with a sneer. The Indians now encamped for the day, feasting on the fish and game they had taken. Girty, as he had sald before, he liked to do, now cooked food tor himself and his friend, boiled some coffee, and they sat down on a log to enjoy the meal. r it was eaten, and the coffee tinished, pipes were lighted, a bottle of rum set out, and the two villains talked and planned out their future. O'Meara promised, if all things went as he popes, to carry Girty to Ireland with him, and to make him agent of his estate. “You have just enough devil in your nature to suit me for that,” said the villain. “You’l make the peo- ye under you buckle like reeds under a gale of wind. hey’re hard to manage, and want to have a rough master!” CHAPTER XXXII. COLONEL, WASHINGTON, The Seven Scouts, with Captain Jack at their head, and tle gallant bordermen who had come at their call, hurried back over the mountains on the morn- ing after they met, and repaired to the spot which had been elected for a block-house. They found there a young officer in the Virginian service, whe had been selected to sec to the arming of the border, and making preparntions for the war which had fairly begun, and must soon rage hotly wherever it pe be pursued to advantage. He was « tall man, with elegant form, and the most winning manners, but with his beardless face he looked far too young for such duties. Buvtthe scouts soon found that Colonel Washington was 6lder in service than his looks denoted, and that he knew well what should be doue. The block-house was laid out neatly on paper before a log was cut, the ground aptly chosen, where a ditch could be easily dug around it, and that filed with water, so that the garrison would never lack for bey- erage, or be endangered by fire, while it served as « means to repel assault. Then the house was built, the floor of the second story projecting on all sides over the first, 80 that no foe could find a lodgement beneath without being exposed to death from above. The roof was nade nearly fiat, and at each corner a strong platform was laid on which to mount cannon, which the young colonel suid would come when his troops, already on the mareh, should arrive. After the Louse was built and completed inside and out, a strong stockade of pointed stakes, too heavy to be moved aside by hand, was set deep in the ground along the inside of the ditch. From the ditch to a well inside the fort, a small channel was cut, thus affording a good supply of wa- ter inside, without exposing any of the garrison to fire, if the fort should be invested from without. Colonel Washington having Remgner supervised all this work, which being done by strong and willing hands only took three days for completion, now pre- ared to ride back with a single attendant to hurry orward liis troops. But before he went, he called Captain Jack and the Seven Scouts to his presence, with the other men. “Gentlemen,” said he, *‘I claim no right to com- mand ye, since you, in truth, belong to another State whose forces are not under my charge. But it will be for our common weal, all along the border, if we actin concert. If you will listen to my advice I will give it.” “That we will right gladly do, colonel. You wear an old head on young shoulders, and I’m not one of those that think a man can’t be a man till his beard is grown. We'll take your orders,” said Captain Jack. “Say rather my advice. I would advise that a part of these men garrison this post, while others hunt and smoke, and dry deer meat to use in case of siege also getting in a quantity of corn, if that is to be had in the neighboring settlements. And while these are 80 engaged, you, Captain Jack, with these brave } young nen, the Seven Seouts, keep close espial on all the passes that lead from the west to give us time- ly warning of the approach of the French and their savage allies, for I have sure information that the ' Count De Villiers has left Canada with a large force | of French and Indians, and is marehing directly for this border, avoiding the New England forces and | our friendly Mohawks, by keeping to the weat of the Delaware and Susquehanna country.” | “Then we'll be off to cover the passes, colonel,” : paid Captain Jack, ‘‘and you may stake your life no | French force will pass our beat.” : |}. “Where shallI go?” asked Lawyer Manson, who had remained with the party, and had not shrunk from any of the hard work. “Baok to the cabin to wait for Jessie,” said Captain Jack. ‘Most like we'll see her before you do, and we'll burry her on.” “All right,” said the good lawyer. “I pray Heaven she will be along soon!” “Don't you take her away before we get back,” said Lois, earnestly. “If you do there’ll be a boy about my size on your trail.” The lawyer laughed and said he would net take her away until all her friends had seen her. Golonel Washington, now by their own request, se- lected who should stay to garrison ‘*Fort Necessity,” as he ealled it, till he came with his forces to defend it, and who should go to collect provisions. He took the weakest of the party for the former duty, and sent out the strongest for the last, for he felt confident of getting bis treops up before the French commander could cross the border. Everything being now arranged,the young colonel mounted his horse and left, and soon after Captain Jack and the Seven Scouts started for their base of operations. The good lawyer went with them, for tiieir route lay past the cabin of Mr. Brady, and they served to escort him through wilds where he would have been very apt to lose his way. The old man, Mr. Brady, was delighted to see his sons and guests once more, but grieved to bear that Jessie had not been yet recovered. Put he took com- fort at Captain Jack’s assurance that shesoon would be restored in safety. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Old Personals. “The theater at Botany Bay appears to bein a very flourishing condition,” said a gentleman to John Kemble, speaking of the state of the drama at that far distant point. “Yes,” replied the witty tragedian “the performers ought to be all good for they have been selected and sent to that situation by very good judges.” e “Herostratus lives that burnt the temple of Diana, (but) he is almost lost that built it,” says Sir Thomas Browne in his Urn Burial; and in Colley Cibber’s Richard III. oceurs this metrical paraphrase ; “The aspiring youth that fired the Ephesian dome, Outlives in fame the pious fool that raised it.” Erostratus never would have been Known outside his own family but for this act of arson on the night of Alexander's birthday, 356 B.C. It took 220 years to build the temple, and only a day to destroy it. The heaviest ransom ever given for the release of a -prisoner was that paid to the Spaniards by Atahualpa the captured Inca of Peru. He agreed that if his life was spared, he would bring together, in two months, articles of gold which should filla room 22 feet long and 17 broad, to the height of 9 feet. When this was done, and the gold melted, it was found to amount to 1,326,539 pesos de oro. The commercial value of the peso, according to Prescott was $11.67. The sum paid for the Inca’s ransom was, therefore, $15,480,710 of our money. What is the use of an elaborate outfit in the hands of a man who is bound to compass his object, how- ever great? Little David killed the giant of the Philistines with a pebble; Franklin discovered eleo- tricity by means of a bottle and a kite-string; Sam- son pulled down the great gates of Gaza with his hands and shoulders, and with the jawbone of an ass slew a thousand Philistines ; a Rothschild, with a stroke of his pen, has saved a nation; and with an ordinary spy-glass the great Jewish astronomer, Hermann Goldschmidt, who died in 1866, discovered, from his attic window, 14 asteroids and 6 satellites or companions to Sirino; and was able by the same simple means to potnt over 10,000 stars wanting in the Berlin Academy maps, =~ | j } | : aii - pn THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. , i I will let be the cardinal virtues, ; And mythology never abuse. So I'll sing of the parting to-morrow From friends and from fireside dear, And wish you a prosperous voyage O’er the blue waves that bear you from here. To a Young. Lady in the Country, Personally Unknoien to the Awthor. ‘You are a young lady I never have seen, But I hope to have some time that pleasure; You live in the country, ’mongst hills and vales green, I live from you miles beyond measure. A vast length of railway stretches between The spots where we hang out our shingles; You live where they grow the beet, carrot, and bean, And country lads, all of them “singles.” You live where the ear is regaled all the day With the lark'’s swelling note in the skies, Where the cows bang their bells in the greatest dismay As they brush from their tails the blue-tlies. I live ‘midst the roar of the mighty New York, Where the noise is terrific, kinder, Where you hear the wild ery, “Any ttnware to mend?’ And the song of the poor organ-grinder. (But Tam rambling away from the subject.) The sweet name of Sadie insptres me to write In your album these verses so queer; Let me hope that the time when you'll gladden my sight Is not very distant from here. a. Lagepicete-amenealaas Sole onl i THE Bully of the Village: TOM TEMPLE’S CAREER, By Horatio Alger, Jr., Author of “TONY THE TRAMP,” “THE WEST- FERN BOY,” “ABNER HOLDEN’S > ' BOUND BOY,” ete., he }"The Bully of the Village”’ was commenced in No. 33. Back Nos. oan be obtained from any News Agent. ] ‘ CHAPTER XIII. ; HOW THE NEWS AFFECTED TOM’S FRIENDS. When Nathan Middleton reached home, at three o'clock in the afternoon, his face wore the look of mysterious importance that indicated the possession of-a secret. is wife understood this at once, and asked, immediately: “What's happened, Nathan?” ‘ aoa happened? Who said anything bad hap- penec ” “Your looks said so.” 5 “Perhaps mE looks will tell you what it is.” ‘Nonsense, Mr. Middleton! Don’t keep me in sus- pense,” “It’s about Tom.” “What's he done?’ asked the lady, eagerly. thing bad %” “T should say it would be bad for him-—and for us, “Any- +, too.” T “Do tell me, Mr. Middleton, without beating about y the bush all day.” 7 “Then this is the long and Short of tt—he’s lost his fertune.” “Good gracious! How?” “Bad investinents. It’s a pity the money hadn’t been placed in my hands.” “rine he lost torty thousand dollars?” ejaculated the lady. “All but a few hundred dollars.” eis “Then he’s got enough to pay his board a few “Se months longer. ; ‘Mr. Sha says he must leave us at onoe, or pay only five dollars a week. “Five déllars a week! Ridiculous!” “Of course it can’t be, Corinthia, So he leaves us to-morrow morning.” “Did you get paid for this month?” asked Mrs. Mid- ' dleton, anxiously. “Yes, | made sure of that.” “Wall,” said the lady, “it’ll be a loss to us, but I ain’t sorry for the boy. It'll be a good Lesson for him with all his airs andimportance. I’m glad he’ll have to carn his own living.” “As far as that goes, I’m not sorry myself,” said Nathan. “Does he know it?” “Not yet.” “When are you going to tell him ?” “At supper.” “Be sure and tell him before me. he stands it.” “T meant to, Corinthia. needn’t have any meat on at supp > begin at once to deny himself.” “A xood suggestion, Mr. Middleton.” Just then the door was opened, and Squire Daven- port was ushered in. ‘Tcalled to see you about renewing the insurance ou house, Mr. Middleton,” said he. “Glad to see you, squire.” “Are you quite well, Mrs. Middleton? [ needn't ask after your young ward, [ left him at my house.” Mr. and Mrs. Middleton looked at each other. The former coughed. L, “Tom leaves us to-morrow,” said Nathan, “Indeed? You surprise me,” said the lawyer. “Ciroumstances render it necessary for him to make different arrangements.” “Has he become tired of Plympton? James will miss him.” ‘Tdon’t know that he has become tired of it, but he has lost his fortune, and is now a poor boy.” “You amaze mo!” ejaculated Squire Davenport. “f thought him rich.” “Three months ago he was worth forty thousand dollars. - ‘How has it been lost ?” “By bad investments. I'll tell you all I know about it,” and Nathan repeated the information he had heard in the morning.” “Of course,” he concluded, “he must now earn his own living.” “T see,” said the lawyer. ‘How does he take it.” “He doesn’t know it.” “Tam gina heistoleavye Plympton. Of course, f could no longer receive him at my house as the inti- 'mate companion of my son and daughter, if he is to be a workingboy.” “Certainly not,” said Nathan, obsequiously. “Your children have a right to look higher,’ “Of course,” said the lawyer, pompously. ‘While he was the heir to a handsoine fortune, it was all very well, but social distinctions must be respected—eh, Mrs. Middleton ?” ; “You are quite right, [am sure, Squire Davenport,” [want to see how By the way, I think you ie may as well Lat sald Mrs. ddleton. “The boy may be a common ton laborer or mechanic.” nt “To be sure, Well, Mr. Middleton, I thank you for hi your information. It is well that he is not afew ia years older, or his evident admiration for Imogene hea might have led to unfortunate complications.” mit “No donbt,” said Nathan, though remembering the Lifig™ Fe far from flattering terms in which Tom had. often , ca spoken of the young lady, he by much doubted seu og ai there was any ground for such an appre- we ension. yw An hour later Squire Davenport bent his steps vill homeward, i t hi On the way he met iene returning from his 16 it own house. Usually he had been very polite and gra- j ela cious to our hero, but now he walked stiffly by, very t; te slightly inclining bis head, to Tom’s decided amaze- Ther! ment. ve a “What's up?” thought our hero. ‘‘He’s as cold as rms | ania berg. What have I been doing, I wonder?’ mda Tom thought, butin vain. He had been unusually na If ei for a weok past, and could not imagine how he “ id ad offended the village magnate. ; 1 “T suppose I'll find ont sometime,” he thought. 6 Ww | “Meanwhile I woe't trouble myself about it.” { A new Ace uwaited our hero. Generally Mr. noe ! and Mrs. Middleton were quite deferential to him. {| @ome when you wi |} Tom with spirit. “Thomas, this is aserious charge,” said Nathan, saverely. : Here was another surprise for Tom. “Lt strikes me you are both crazy,” he said, looking from one to the other. “Settle it between you. Iam going up stairs.” “Nathan, will you suffer him to insult me?” scream- ed Corinthia, showing signs of hysterics. Tom did not hear the reply, as he was already en- tering his room. “Semething’s up,” he said to himself. what itis.” Tom’s curiosity was soon to be satisfied. CHAPTER XIV. TOM LEARNS WHAT LS UP. When Tom came down stuirs to supper be was struck by the naked appearance of the table. The { Middletons had returned to their old economical fare. Mr. Middleton looked sober, and his wife had a for- bidding aspect. “Very jolly this!” thought our hero, aa he sat down in his usual place. , “A little more milk, if you please,” said Tom, as | ie passed his tea, diluted by a spoonful | of milk. “T wonder Corinthia, sourly. Tom reached over without a word, and taking the milk-pitcher, used what he wanted. Mrs. Middleton’s sallow face flushed. “Did you see that, Mr. Middleton ?” she demanded. “T did, my dear.” “What do you think of it?” “T think it very ill-bred.” Tom looked from one to the other attenttvely. He didn’t know what to make of the change in their de- ineanor. ‘Has milk risen in ee he asked. “No,” said Mr. Middleton, embarrassed. “Then why am [ to be stinted? Don't I pay enough board to entitle me to a decent supply 3” This was a difficult question to answer. Whatever the future had in store for him, Tont was certainly at this moment paging: twenty dollars a week for his board. af “You make a great fuss about your victuals,” said Corinthia, not very elegantly. “T don’t care about being starved in order that you may make a little more money,” retorted Tom. “Do you hear that, Mr. Middleton?” ejaculated the lady, angrily. “Young man,” said Mr. Middleton, solemnly, ‘‘you should not speak lightly of starving. The tine may want for food.’ “The time has come alreuly, it seems to me,” said “T should like some meat.” “There is no meat on the table,” “T suppose there is some in the house,” said Tom, quietly. “You oan do without it,” said Corintha, spitefully. ‘Will you tell me if anything has nen! nod %”” asked Tom, laytng down his knife and fork. ‘‘Pro- bably there is some cause for your change of treat- ment.” “Something has happened,” said Mrs. Middleton, with a look of spiteful exulation. “fT should like to hear what it is.” “You have lost your fortune,” “That accounts for it,’ said Tom, ae F am no longer surprised. Aslam rather interested, will you be kind enough to let me Kuow all about it?” | «Pell him, Nathan,” said Corinthla. “Ahem!” said Mr. Middleton. “I regret to com- municate bad tidings, but I was at Centreville this morning, and learned from Mr. Sharp, that through the bad way in which your money was Invested when } ee: are a beggar.” No Py quite,” said Tom, proudly. but no one will ever sce ma beg. “You'll have to earn your own living,” said Mrs. Middleton, spitefully. “You wont find it for your interest to tur up your nose at your victuals.” “Tam more likely to turn up my nose at the want of them—as to- t,” answered Tom. -. “You'll be lucky if you always fare as well.” “Perhaps so. Will you tell me, Mr. Middleton, if my whole fortune is gone? Is nothing lett?’ A few hundred dollars remain, [ believe.” “That is better than nothing. So [ must now make my own why.” : ‘Lam glad qs seo it,” sneered Corinthia. “It seems me rather a sudden collapse,” seid Tom, thoughfully. “I must ask Mr. Sharp about it.” “Mr. Sharp wishes you to come to Centreville to- morrow. You will find that my statement is perfectly correct.” “T don’t doubt it,” said Tom. ‘‘If you and Mrs. Mid- dleton were not quite convinced that my fortune was gone, you wouldn’t have treated me as you have this afternoon.”’ “Good gracious, Corinthia! Do you hear that?” ejacula Nathan. “T hear it, Mr. Middleton, and [ am not surprised,” said the lady, venomously, “This is our reward for toiling day and night, for this ungrateful boy. This is our reward for permitting him to upset ail our plans, and run riot through the house. And this is gratitude! Oh, heavens |” “No, it isn’t,” said Tom. ‘I don’t see any cause for i gratitude, and I hevn’t pretended to feel any. You've had twenty dollars a week for my board, when I | could get as good ne whore else tor one-third the } price, or some less. think it’s you that ought tu be | grateful.’ “Do you bear that, Nathan? It’s an out “T hear it, Corinthia, nnd I agree,” said band, solemaly. | “May [askif Iam paying at the rate of twenty dollars a week for this supper?” inquired Tom. Mr. Middleton was in a quandary. The bill had been paid up to that day, but for the extra portion of a day he meant to deduct payment out of ti. ° «se dollars which had been given for Tom’s tray x enses. Hecould notdo this with any fair... ae decent meals were supplied. “Corinthia,” he said, “you had better send for some meat.” “Why should I? [ don't think it necessury,” said the laiy, reluctantly. “T have iny reasons, Which you will aoknowledge to be good. [ will explain to you afterward.” Mrs. Middleton compl with her husband's re quest, but with no great show of willingness. “As this is your last supper under my roof,” he said to Tom, while Lis wife was gone for the meat, ‘T wish you to be satisfied.” “Then [ am not to return to Plympton?” said Tom. “No; it will probably be necessary for you to work for your living at once. You may, ee g0 into a shoe-shop, or learn ‘the carpenter’s trade.” “Did Mr. Sharp say that?’ “No; Lonly suggested it.” “Thank you. Perhaps you would take mo into your office, to learn the insurance business.” “Not with my consent,” said Mrs. Middleton, who reappeared in time to hear Tom’s question. “T don’t think it would be advisable,” said Nathan. “Then perhaps [ shall have to go into a shoe-shop, as you suggest. If there should be an opening in Plympton, perbaps you would give me your trade for the sake of old times.” “Perhaps so,” said Nathan, dubiously. Tom helped himself to the meat, and in spite of the bad news he had heard, displayed his usual good ap- petite. i “[really believe,” Corinthia remarked afterward to her husband, ‘that boy would eat if the house were on fire.” r ” “Very likely,” said Nathan. ‘Ho's a strange boy. At length Tom rose from the table. “As I’m ing to-morrow,” he said, “I will make my farewell calls, and then come home and pack my trunk.” “[ may be poor, a. ” er hus- An CHAPTER XY. TOM LRARNS THE LESSON OF POVERTY. There was another tea-table in Plympton where Tom's affairs were discussed the same afternoon. As the reader will conjecture, I refer to thatof Lawyer Davenport. “Was Thomas Temple here this asked, when they were all seated. “Yes,” sald Imogene, promptly. aa “Imogene is setting her cap for him, said James. “You should not tease your sister, James,” said bis smother. “It is pertectly natural that Tom should be polite to your sister. He is in her own social rank, and will possess a fine fortune. What do you say, Mr. Davenport ?’”’ B “That the intimacy had better cease,” said the law- er. “Really, [ can’t understand your reasons,” said Mrs. Davenport. ‘ “What is the matter with Tom ?”’ demanded Imo ene, . “T have heard some news about him this afternoon,” said the lawyer, “which influences mein what [have afternoon ?” he “T have given you as much us I take myself,” sald | | it came into his hands, the whole has melted away, ; | Mrs. Davenport, with emphasis, “ “Right, my daughter!’ said her mother, approy- ther. “He is far below you in the social scale.” “T understand that well enough, mother. I should not be willing to associate with a working boy.” “Right, my love! £ see that you cherish sentiments worthy of my daughter. There is nothing like hay- ing a proper sense of your own dignity.” “You won’t have to complaih of me,” said Imo- gene, tossing her head. “Nor of me,” said James, “I'll keep him at a dis- tance, never fear!” “Tf he persists in coming here, you must tell him : Geoidediy that he is not wanted,” said Mrs. Daven- | port. “There will be no difficulty.” saidthe lawyer. “He is to leave town at once, and probably Mr. Sharp will find him a place.” “Tam glad of that.” “Tam not,” said James. “I should like to see him working at some trade here in town, so that I could ae him. and so pay him off for his independent airs.”’ The family bad just risen from the supper-table, when Tom was ushered into the room by the servant. The four who had been discussiug him and his affairs looked at each other in a significant manner. Tom was sharp enough to see that the change in his for- | tunes was known, and he smiled to himsclf. | | “Good-evening. Thomas,” said the lawyer, in a re- | | served tone. “Do you bring any message from Mr. Middleton ?” “No, I don’t,” said Tom, independently. with Mr. Middleton. him.” “It appears tome that you exhibit an unbecoming pride,” said the villuge magnate. “Do I?” cried Tom. “I was only stating a fact, which you didn’t appear to understand. I came on my own business. You may know that I am to leave Plympton to-morrow.” “Have you gota place yet?” asked James, witha “T board I don’t carry messages fer | sneer. | “What kind of @ place?” ' “T had an idea that you were going to learn a | trade.” “Did yout Where did you get the idea from ?”’ i “You've lost your money, haven’t you?” “So they say.” “And have got to earn your living.” “You wppear to know all about my affairs. Prob j; ably you're lit. Perhaps you could assist me by ; Some sug rertion."’ “If we hadn’t a stable-boy already L would ask father to take you.” “Thank you,” said Tom, quietly. “It’s a good thing | to have friends when you’re bard up, but I don’t ‘ think I'll trouble you. here is one favor you can do ‘me, however.”" . ; ‘It James can couscientiously do you a favor,” aon ue lawyer, guaniedly, “I shall not object to his ' doing it. “Oh, it wou’t hurt Lis conscience,” said Tom, laugh- jing; ‘fat any rate it ought not.” “Tthink the tone you employ is hardly appropriate, } a8 you are going to ask a favor.” | “What is it?” asked Jam&mes, who felt rather curious, jand had no idea what Tom meant. Tf he had he ; Would not Lave felt so complacent. | “Why,” said Tom, “IT feela little delicate, but as I jam leaving Plympton, and am likely to need the | money, I should like to have James pay me the could not pretend that he wished to return. “If TI should desire to return, I will write to you.” Mr. Middleton on second thoughts had thought it best to treat our hero well, as there was no knowing but some of the bad investments might turn out bet- ter than was expected. Tom went to bed early. The next morning the Cen- treville stage drove round to the door, ears got on board. Mr. Middleton bade him a cordial farewell, but Mrs. Middleton had less hopes of tie restoration of his fortunes. She coldly said good-by, and Tom shed no tears at pone neo twelve o’clock he entered Mr. Sharp’s of- ce. : “Glad to see you, Tom,” said the lawyer, rising quickly. “I suppose you’ve heard the news.” **Yes, sir,” “Tam heartily sorry,” said the lawyer. you don’t think it my fault.” “T haven’t heard tie particulars,” said Tom; “but I felt sure you were not to blame.” “Sit down, and I'll tell you all about it,” said Mr. Sharp. “Twas going to ask that favor,” said Tom. “I didn’t get a very clear idea from Mr, Middleton as to what had happened, or rather how it happened. He told ine I had onky a few hundred dollars to look to now.” “T hope it will be better than that. Ten thousand dollars were lent to Archibald Armstrong, a New York merchant, who has failed. His estate will pay something, though very little. If only ten per cent., Phat would amount to a thousand. That’s some- thing.” “To be aure it is,” said Tom. “Then you have fifteen thousand dollars invested in mining shares. They are worth very little, but they will sell for something.” “Do you think I shall gek ton per cent. on these?” “T think you will.” . “Why, that will be fifteen hundred more! Really, things are not so bad as they might be,” said Tom, cheerfully. “Tum glad you take itso well,Tom. But I can’t offer you any hope of realizing anything from the balance. It was invested in merchandise, shipped to a foreign port, and the vessel, we have every reason to believe, is lost.’’ “Not much chance there,” said Tom. “We had better give up all hopes in that quarter. As to the other items, you may depend upon my do- ingamy best for you.” “Thank you,” said Tem, warmly. “It is pleasant to get a little sympathy. I didn’t get muchin Plymp- ton.” “From Mr. Middleton, you mean.” ‘Yes, and others., Mr. and Mrs. Middleton are both as mean as they can well be. Notwithstanding the liberal board I paid, they tried to starve me at first, but I wouldn’t stand it, and they had ty improve their fare.” “Didn’t they express any sorrow at losing you?” “Oh, they were sorry enough, but it was at losing the money. Then there was a lawyer's family, who were very polite and attentive to me while I was rich; but as soon as they learned my reverses, they tried to look down upon me, but they didn’t succeed very well.” said Tom, with satisfaction. “I gave them as good as they sent.” “T warrant that, Tom,” said Mr. Sharp, laughing. “You generally do.” “I hope money I have lent him at different times.” | James flushed, and looked uncomfortable. His | father asked, hastily : | “Jamos, have you borrowed money of Thomas ?” i “| borrowed a trifle on two or three occasions,” | James admitted, reluctantly. | “A trifle! How much ?”" | “Here is the atateme:t,.” saidTom. ‘It to tifteen dolinex frit tena altegether.” “It ean’t be!’ suid James. “You may lock over the items,” said Tom. “Give me the paper,” sald the lawyer. “James, is this eorrect?” he demanded rather sternly. “T am almost sure it isn't,” said James. ; sure he has put down more than I borrowed.” | “You know that is false, James Davenport,” said Tom, contemptuoualy. : | “f didn’t think you were 80 mean as to get every- i thing down,” said Junivs. Nes “T did it because Lalways keep an account of the money I spend,” said Tom; “but I will tell you frank- }ly [should never have asked you to repay it, if you Lad not chosen to aneer at my loss of fortune.” “Did you expect my son to treat you fust the same us when you were rich ?” asked Mr. Davenport. oe for I knew him too well,” sald Tom, signifi- cantly. “He lus acted in a manner onan amounts “T am roper,” said venture to say that my daughter, Imogene, agrees with me.” “L[ do, ma,” said Imoge ne. i} ingly. i Rom looked at Imogene attentively, but made no |} @omment, He expressed no surprise, for he felt ; none. } “Yi you were about to remain in Plympton,” said | Mrs. Davenport, ‘‘I should feel compelled to say that | my son and daughter could no longer associate with you on terms of equality.” “Itis fortunate that I am going then,” said Tom. “Treally don’t think I could live in Plymptom if I were deprived of their society.” “You might see us occasionaly if you became our stable-boy,” said Jumes, “Thank you,” said Tom, ‘‘but I must decline. “I am afraid you would want to borrow all my wages.” “You are linpertinent,” said James, ang ly “So are you,” said Tow with spirit. “Hush, James!” said his father. ‘Such discussion is pnseea In regard to these swns you haye lent my son, Thomas,” he proceeded, ‘I should be justi- fled in refusing to oe them, since they were lent toa miner, who, in the eyes of the law, has no right to contract debts.” “Do as you like,” sald Tom. ‘If you are unwilling to pay it, James may regard it as a present from 6. “T should not wish my son to remain under such an obligation, and I am quite aware that your present aircumstances will noty justify you in making 80 large a present, or indeed any atall. I therefore re- ou.” ; rt ‘ > received the bank-notes, and put them in his Po et-book. ‘Thank you,”’ he said, “both for the money and the consideration for poverty. I won't occupy any more of your time, but will bid you all good-by. I should be glad to have you send good-by to Mary Somers when you write.” “T’ll do it,” said James. ‘By the way, you would be a good mateh for her. She hasn’t got a cent, and can’t expect anything better than being a mechanic's e ” “Would you be willing to accept a mechanic fora cousin ?” asked Tom, smiling. “We shouldn't need to be intimate.” ‘Very true. Thet'’sacomfort. But we won't look too far ahead. Good-by.” Tom withdrew “What a ridiculous pride that boy has,” said Mre. Dayenport.- : “He’s very Unpudent,” said James. “[’'m glad bo’s gone,” said Imogene. “Very probably yen will never meet again sald her father; ‘‘if youdo, you oan be very distant.” Poor Tom! A tew hours had made a great differ- ence in the demeanor of the Davenperts toward him. Such is life! CHAPTER XVI. NEW PLANB. It must not be supposed that Tom cared nothing for the loss of his fortune. He was old enough to know the value of money, and to realize the great difference it would tnake in the life that lay before him. But he was one of those who think it foolish to ery over spilled milk, and he at once resolved to make the best of his position. As to the loss of such friends as the Davenports, he cared little. He had always understood that they cared for him only be- cause he was rich, and he was neither astonished nor disappointed at the change which had come over them. He made two other calls, and then returned to his boarding-house. He went up stairs to his room, and ked his trunk. As he was thus engaged, Mr. Mid- fieton tapped at the door. “Come in,” said Tom. Mr. Middleton entered. “There is a little matter I wished to speak to you about,” said Nathan. “Very well, sir.” : “Mr. Sharp paid your hoard bill up to to-day.” “Very well, sir.” ' “But there will be one day over, for which no pay has been received. will be no difficulty about “Oh!” sald Tom; “the that. Tell me how much it is, and I will pay you.” | sive luxuries which make home life pleasant. “Dd like to get rich again just to turn the tables on thein,’’ said Tom, thoughtfully. “You must take the world as you tind it,” said the lawyer. “There are more selfish than unselfish peo- ple in it. But you mustu’t jump to the conclusion that all men are mereenary.” “T am sure they are not,” said Tom. “Keep your confidence in human nature, ny boy, and you will be happier. Don’t become a eynic. i would only make you unhappy. Besides, ifwould be unjust to the large number of really excellent people, some of whom I hope you will meet. But to come back to your affairs, what would you like to do?” “What can I do?” “You can go toa boarding-school a year without exceeding the money I have to your credit. Then if you realize what I think probable, you can continue yet longer, and still have something to begin the world with.” Tom leoked thoughtful. “T am sixteen,” he said, “and my educationis good though it might be better. I have thought I ahould like to seek my fortune in the world.” : “Don’t decide hastily, Tom. Another year at school would do you good.” “T know it, and I will take time to consider. But I must know more of the world first. Give me fifty dollars, and let me go to New York and look about me. It will keep me there a Lo ame During that time I will look around, and decide how to spend the next year.” “You have consent, Tom,” said the lawyer. “The city abounds in temptations, but you are six- teen, and I trust to your good sense to keep clear of them. When do you want to go?” “To-morrow,” said Tom, promptly. “Very well. You will stay at my house to day, and you can take the morning train for the city to-mor- row. The money shall be ready.” (TO BE CONTINUED. } -_-—+-——_ > 2-2 Correspondence. GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS. Green Horn.—ist. The tare from New York to Milton, Wis., is $25.50. You can go to Chicago by either the Erie, Pennsylvania Central or New York Central roads,and there change to the Chicago and Northwestern R. R. to Milton. Leaving New York say on Monday evening, you will ar- rive at your destination at 20’clock on the afternoon of Wednesday. 2d. You can buy @ railroad guide of the newsdealer at the station or on the train. 3d. Freckles, if of not long standing, may sometimes be removed b 4 equal parts of pure glycerine and rose water, applied every night, and allowed to dry. 4th. A good hair curling Hquid is made as follows: Borax, two ounces; gum-arabic, one dram; warm water, one quart; stir til dissolved, and add three tablespoonfdls of strong spirits of camphor. Wet the hair with the liquid, and roll it in twists of paper. W. H. A, Trenton, N.J--The tensioliar certificates now on sale at post-ottices bear interest at the rate of four per cent. per annum, and are convertible, at the option of the holder, into four per cent. coupon or registered bonds of the United States, consuls of 1907, upon presentation at the office of the U. 8. Treasurer in sums of $50, the tnter- est to be allowed to the date of their conversion. They are transferable without indorsement, the same as Nae- tional bank or Treasury notes, the last holder getting the benefit of the acorued interest. As the interest accrues on each certiticate at the rate of one cent in nine days, or forty cents a year, in case the holder is compelled by ne- cessity to spend if, he can readily determine its value in ourrency. J. B. W.--The girl is but a ohild, physically and men- tally, and in no respect qualified to assume the cares and responsibilities which must devolve on her as a wife, and her parents would be very remiss in their duty if they permitted her to marry for atleast three years, In the meantime you may visit the family as usual, paying her the same attention as you have been; but ff would not be advisable to become engaged until you can name a definite time to make her your wits. In the meantime your own rospects will have linproved, and by economy you will ave saved enough to commence your married Ife sur- rounded with the Comforts and many of the more inexpen- As far as your respective ages ars concerned, there is no disparity yet ween them. G. Arab.-To galvanize tron, the plates are first im- mersed in a cleansing bath of equal parts of sulphuric or muriatic acid and water, used wartn. They are then scrubbed with emery or sand, to clean them thoroughly and detach all scales, if any are lett; after which they are immersed in a preparing bath of equal arts of saturated solutions of ch oride ot zinc and chloride of ammonium from which bath they are directly transferred to the tic metallic bath, consisting, by weight, of 640 pounds of zine to 106 of meroury, to which are added from five to six ounces of sodium; As s00n as the iron has attained the temperature of this bot fiaid bath, if may be removed, and will then be found thoroughly coated with zine. H. G H.—*What is the climate of Arizona like?’ Its spoken of as betng one of the purest and most healthy on the face of the globe. At the height of 6,000 feet, the sea- sons of spring, summer, andautamn are delightful, the nights cool and agreeable; at 3,000 feet, the winters are mild. For consumption and asthma the climate is more favorable than any other ; for the latter complaint it ia said to be a radical cure in afew months. On Salt River, Maricopa County, there are a million of acres of rich, alli. vial land adapted to every kind of grain and fruit. The wild grasess affort nutriment to countless herds, and wr- ter i8 nexwr at land to the stock ranges. There are now “ns { smembe r ity k, they | said.” Mr. Middleton coughed. ; 1 7 2,000,000 of sheep alone in Arizona. at Smale fe penitent ent ae cpmat ab posatbie, * "We shoulin't be too bard upon his boyish scrapes,” | ‘It can be settled another way,” he said. ‘Mr. GNEt S,000} ee ee ' : 7 Now ine hes opened the door, and was about to go | said Mrs, Davenport, charitably. ‘Boys will be | Sharp banded me three dollars for your traveling ex- J. J. Tonquin, Genoa,—Rusty-nail water will sometities J up stairs, Mrs. Mic dleton called out sharply : ~ | Doys.”” penses. I can take it out of that.” remuve treckles of the most obstinate kind. . 8. 3 e 7 a eee poe Stowe 4 acewemanenne— < ——-— — LHe & a or. SS » ’ * ie oa 1 oa : . | half a pint of pure Canada balsam. + oe Se ee oe ae cree a ALBUM POETRY. “Wipe you feet, will yon? Do you think [ shall; “It isn’t any boyish scrape.” ; “Just as you like.” | German Reader—“Wiich is the lar ery : allow @ peck of dust to be tracked up stairs.” | “Wat is it, tuen ?” 4 , “T tind,” proceeded Nathan, ‘that one-seventh of | world?’ ‘That is rather a difficult ee na Lines to a Young Girl on Her Departure for Europe.| Tom red at her in amazement. | “Much worse than that. He has lost his entire for- | twenty dollars is two dollars and eighty-six cents. I |. ; ‘ : : eat “What do you stand guping at?’ demanded Corin- | tune!” will, Thaeionn hand you fourteen cents, and that | ¥° Pclieve we are safe in saying that the brewery of BY FLETCHER COWAN. thia, in the same tone. “Didn't you heir what [| “You don't mean it!” ejaculated his wife. will make us square.” jday. 4. . ius 4 Co, in London, is, if not the largest said? | “It can't be true, papa,” said Imogene. Tom’s lip curled, for he fully appreciated Mr. Mid- | PE 028 be. orst in the world. Itis situated in Park I esteem it a duty and pleasure You 7 pet eae for me to hear,” said Tom, | “It is perfectly true, I had it from Mr. Middleton, | dleton’s meanness. chikice te ue oe oe ke ee ; io 3 by res. “a1 z 5 2 pS ng 28. ’ _cellar © é 56 vats, the con To register herein my name, a. a - a y = ng oe matter with you? nae he received the information this very day from. Never mind about the change,” he said. “Keep ! of which vary from 500 to 4,000 barrels each. T we ies ee eee < _ ean Mr. Sharp, the boy’s guardian. the three dollars. ou each year’s brewing exceeds $1,000,000, and o ‘ver expected, I thought you might have eaten something that! ‘But how could he loge it?” asked James. “T am quite ready to pay you the fourteen cents,” | 150,000 quarters of barley are consumed. - And delight sets my spirit aflame. © didn’t agree wits hi, said Tom ‘ “By bad investments, and the failure of large cred-| said Nathan. . . Bi ee ated 4g Pita sail ell, I declare!” ejacula Mrs. Middleton, “ you | itors.” . “Tt’s of * : ep i «i : *- V. Scott, N. J.—To prepare gun-cotton, immerse The usual things written in albums * beat all for impudence !” 4 “Has he lorat everything?” by.” TO caginouonte. "Keep 1t. to. ronmamher ane few seconds Well-carded cotton in a mixture of ayia Are different in drift and in tone, $s] $ nerally treat people well if they treat me “All but a few hundred dollars.” “T shall remember you, Thomas,” said Mr. Middle- | of oil of vitriol of specific gravity 1845, and nitrie ac Some sing of the roses and lilies, net Be! ea coro ly, ue if you are impu- ae re _ ar the ae very much,” said | ton, whose heart was touched by the unexpected | specific gravity of 1500. The cotton, when well den . Ishall answer accordingly. Mrs. Davenport. ‘He is a poor boy now.” gift. “I am really sorry that circumstances are to | rated. is to be remov . ae Seema tt oan But wiser ones leave them alone. This was too much for Mrs. Middleton, Had Tom| “To be sure. He will have to work for a living. | separate us.” , ¥ on ae FP pi ge a hE eget ee il sant ke eee. Some rhapsodize madly bright blue eyes, still been rich, he would have had a right to assume | Probably he will become # common mechanic,” “No doubt you’ll miss my money,” thought Tom; | the water no longer reddens litmus paper. It is then . And sigh over hearts that are broken, such a tone, but in a poor boy it was intolerable. “Horrible! exclaimed Imogene, with a shudder. | but it was his rule to treat others as well as they | at a heat not exceeding 212 degrees. The cotton & I'll tell Mr. Middleton how you treat me!” she} “Of course, he is no fit companion for our children | treated him, and he answered, politely : prepared explodes well, but you should not attemy Some frenziedly tear at dark auburn, said, angrily. now.” “T should prefer to have kept my money, but I peeen it unless you have had some experience ir And think it of love a grand token. “Do,” said Tom, “4f you want to.” “Certainly not,” said Mrs. Davenport, decidedly. { must take things as they come.” Cees “Nathan,” called his wife, opening the door of the; “Tam not sorry,” said James. “I never liked him.| “You may get a part of your money back; if you| -¥. 2. 8.—‘‘In England they call the hangman ‘ As forme, Pll have none of this tionsense, apartment in which her liege lord was reading. IT always thought him rather low.” do, I shall be happy to receive you back into my fam- | Ketch.’ Can you tell me why? Isit only a nicknal s Original must be my muse, ; wae is the meer wy Saget ; ani e, Imogene,” en pee mother, aT won't | ily 2 aS cane corn: and if so, what was the origin of it?’ Although ‘Thomas has been udent to me.’ of encouragin sits now,” said her mo-j| “I can’t tell wha 4 ” sai 7 ‘ f Pp & ’ at my plans will be,” said Tom, who Ketch is now only the traditionary appellation of the cutioner, it was once arealname. In the reign of Jz I. the executioner was Jack Ketch, who executed J] Russell and the Duke ef Monmouth. Ever since that the oe “finisher of the law” has been famili called Jack Ketch. In Ireland he is designated “Ca the hangman.” M. Buel, New York.—In the sentence quoted “wid and children” is the nominative, and the verb “havd properly used, under the rule that a verb must agree its nominative in person and number. The sentence complete and grammatical asit stands. It may be tr posed and read “A free passage home has been gi the widows and children,” in which case “fre: passoge the nominative and ‘widows and children” the oljec The latter is the better form ot expression. Greenhorn, Elmira, N. Y.—‘‘Two strong and willing b of seventeen” would be doing a very unwise thing to s as sailors before the mast. Besides being abused ¢ cuffed around, as is most likely to be the case, the du are very irksome, and the romance of a “life on the oc wave” would soon be dispelled. We suggest that instd of wasting your time in this way, you apprentice yo selves to a good mechanic or tradesman, and thus acqu knowledge and skill te carry you through the future. Cotton Planter, Monticello, Fla.—Ilst. Silver dollars 1799 are worth a premiuin to coin collectors of 50 cents! $1, according to condition. You have confounded the dt With that of 1804, of which but three or four are kuo to be in existence, and they are, consequently, wor fabulous prices—several hundred dollars. 2d. Cop cents of 1819 are worth from five cents to $l. 38d. Unie from associations connected .with it, the button has value except as a metal. Author.—-The way to set about getting your book co righted is as follows: Before it is printed forward a pr of the title-page to the Librarian of Con Washingt D. C., together with fifty cents—the charge for enteu the same. Ifyou wish him tosend you a certiticate the copyright, send fifty cents more, or one dollar in As soon as the book is published you must send a copy the Librarian of Congress. Student.—-The word cosher is from cosaty, a feast, banquet, and means to levy certain exactions or twibu upon. In the old feudal times it was the prerogative custom for lords to live and feast themselves at their te ants’ houses. Just how the word is applied in the seng — state, we do not know, unless it means boarding t andlord as an equivalent for rent. Parker, Cincinnati, O.—We do not think it advisable t ropose to a lady, and ask her to wait five years for you f you have reason to think she returns your afiectio: and your present salary will not permit you to marry, i fo not be difficult to come to an understanding as to th uture. Miss Edith D., Chicago.—Silk. handkerchiefs should soaked in tepid water and washed by themselves. Afte washing them, if some stains remain, wash them a secon time. Afterward rinse them in cold water, in which d tablespoonful of salt has been dissolved. E. T. B., Fremont.—We have no means of ascertaining what vessels left the port of Liverpool in August, 1878 Predably if you addressed a letter to the U.S. Consul a Liverpool, he may put you in the way of obtaining the in tormation. : Coralville, lowa.—To make varnish for transferring and fixing engravings or lithographs on. WwW ; four ounces of mastich y. tears), and fo darach in one and a half pints of rectified Owen, Lewiston, Me.--There are so many ’ juvenile works, without we know the name or publication, we cannot tell where it ¢ price. . e Bulwer, Pittsburg.—Most druggists of calisaya bark and iron on hand, which mend you to procure in preference to compound yourself. ea Baltimore Club.—We are unable to find will send us the name of the author, it’ Mrs, Nellie Justice, Philadelphia.—aA ]} the postmaster at Louisville will prob formation. We have no other means of @) F.S.8., Vermillion, Iu.—To promote ous metals certain fluxes are used, a efficacious is borax. Hence its general Mrs. E. J. L., Dakota.—Benzine will ele: Use it with a piece of flannel, and rub the g toward the fingers, holding it firmly with A Constanl Subscriber, New York.—We that will prevent supertiuous hair from gre A Reader, New York, and Ignorant Youth, i No. 16, Vol. XXXIV. Ley Viola B., Orient, L. I.—We know of no remedy. R. E., Pittsburg.—We cannot inform yon. Constant Reader, Boston.—No. , HT. BE. M.—No recipe. fy ETIQUETTE DEPAR TMENT, Poe J. F. H., Delaware Station, N. J.—1st. In giving a letter of introduction do not sealit, at least until you have al- lowed the bearer toread it. This would be extremely un- courteous. 2d. You should prove to the person recommend- ed that you have spared no pains to render him or her a service. 3d. Ifany one requests an introduction, which either in respect to your situation with the person re- questing it, or with the one to whom it would be addressed, you do not consider it would be proper to give, refuse it with firmness; and do not be induced to alter your deter- mnination, since, in giving letters of introduction, a great amount of responsibility isincurred. 4th. In society alady, upon a first introduction either to a lady or a gen- tleman, makes a slight, grac:*.~ inclination of tlre head. 5th. On asecond meeting between two ladies the hand may be extended in addition to the bend of the head; buf you should not proffer your hind to a gentleman unless you are roar intimate. A bow at meeting and at parting is all that etiquette demands. M. &. T., Mitteneaque, Mass.—-lst. During the period ot courtship, itis highly important that the lady should se- lect her friends with the utmost edre. This is important at all times, but especially under the circumstances to which we have alluded, 2d. The cement of such friend- ship is confidence, or in other terms, telling secrets... Such contidence often leads to many evil results. Two catrkeep |. & secret—three cannot. . From all such econtidentia! friends the lady sbould be very careful to Keep secret her own Jove-match. She should never discuss with them the good or bad qualities of her future husband; she ought to esteem him too much for that, and if she be wise, the opinion of a & group of gossips would be valueless to her. 3d. Good breeding obliges us to keep up a certain course of visits, and to receive with complacency the visits of others; but there is no open intimacy. This is a matter of choice, and tho choice should be made under the direction of the judg- ment, 4th. The gentleman to the lady. Jennie M.—l1st. No person of correct feeling will pre- sume to make an introduction toalady without tirst ob- taining her consent. 2d. The number of your guests will, of course, be determined by the size of the table and con- yenience of your accommodations. You ought, however, if possible, to engage an equal number of ladies and gen- tlemen, that two of the same sex may not sit together; if this, however, is unavoidable, do not place two gentlemen of the same profession beside each other, as they might be inclined to indulge in an aside dialogue, and thus injure the general conversation. 3d. The two most distin- wuished gentiemen should be seated on the right and left ot the mistress of the house, and the two most distin- guished ladies on either hand of the master of the house. 4th. The right hand is especially the place of honor. Sth. Do not wear gloves at table—it is not etiquette to do so. 6th. The host and hostess should give equal attention to all the guests. Doubtful, Brooklyn. N. Y.—When a cup of tea or coffee has been given you at the table, and the waiter has spilled it over into the saucer, you may usk if taey will not change the saucer or remove the tea from it. If it happens ata house where they do not have a servant to attend table, you should “erly d sip your tea from your cup with your teaspoon, and let that which has been spilled into the saucer remain. It is more likely than not, how- ever, if the hostess observes that it has been spilled over into the saucer while being passed, that she will offer to exchange the saucer, and in that event you can pass it Wack to her, and she will either give you a fresh saucer or she will empty the tea from the saucer ito the slop-bowl]. EB. J. L., Dayton, Nevada.—Ist. It is customary for the gentleman to make some present to his fiancee soon after the engagement. The most elegant and desirable present is a handsome ring, “the engagement-ring,” which should be cither of diamonds or pearls. 2d. The lady sometimes returns a similar ring, or the gentleman has two made ex- actly similar, each of the betrothed wearing one. 3d. The first present must be made by the gentleman. Dolly T. W., Cincinnati, O.—When two ladies are return- ing home, unaccompanied by any escort, from an enter- tainment. or elsewhere, if two strangers, gentlemen, ac- | cost. them and offer to become their escort, the ladies | shonld most decidedly refuse to accept their offer. None | put vulgar, ill-bred men would be guilty of addressing i strange ladies in the street, or elsewhere, without they | were tirat addressed by the ladies. ; } Jee Avenue, Brooklyn.—It would be perfectly proper for |alady when attending church (even though she was ac- | companied by a gentleman) to put money upon the contri- | bution plate, although there would not be any breach of etiquette if she did not. Se A AR II THE GIRL OF THE SEWING-MACHINE. BY MICHAEL SCANLAN. Wer’t mine to inherit the power and’the spirit, The touch which to fancy and genius belong, As virtue is beauty and honor is duty, Her name would be shrined in the temple of song; But what can I bring her, a poor rustic singer }— A song of the heart from some old village green, Sweet, loving and tender, whose theme lends it splendor, As I sing of the girl of the sewing-machine. Behold her each morning, a plain rose adorning The rich ample folds of her warm sunny hair, Ags she sings at her labor, and tell me, proud neighbor, Can fancy or wealth paint a picture more fair? While the spirit and motive which make her life votive— An offing of love, on life’s altar, unseen !— Would challenge the Roman to deify woman, To worship the girl of the sewing-machine, My lady may dash on all hauteur and fashion, But truth does not blink in the glare of gold, But turns to life’s pleasure that old household treasure, The girl of the heart, that can never grow old! All blessings attend her, and angels befriend her, As gentle in spirit, as modest in mien, Whose cares sit upon her as chaplets of honor, As she works all day long at her sewing-machine. Though her dress may be faded, her brow sadly shaded, Her merit ignored by the vain and the grand, While goodness is beauty, and honor is duty, And labor is love, she’s the salt of the land ; or virtue is royal, and liberty loyal To truth in the peasant, to truth in the queen ; Hence man must approve her, and woman must love her, The brave working girl of the sewing-machine. OLD INDIAN FACE. BY ALFRED B. 8TREET. “Why, Leo, where are you going?’ said I, one August morning, to my Indian comrade. He was dressed in his war-paint, with the scal lock bristlings on his head instead of the usual onala feathers, his tomahawk, keen and: bright, slung at his back, the handle ready for the hand, and the sharp scalping thrust through a belt of wampum. With the exception of his waist-cloth and moccasins he was naked. The totem of his tribe, the wolf, shone distinct upon his brawny breast, in azure mezzotint, beside a gold medallion of Washington, wou by his gallantry in the war of 1812, and which dangled by a blue ribbon from his neck. He was evidently bent on an expedition. “Me, Gach-gook, go to see Great Rock Medicine, Ole Injin Face,” answered he. “Old oie Face!” repeated I. “What on earth is that?’ “Tt’s a face cut in rock on Lower O’ Sabble Pound,” said Bart, coming to the rescue. “Face cut in rock on the Lower Ansable Pond!” said I. ‘Explain, Bart.” “There’s a rock on Lower O’ Sabble that looks jest like a face, and the rock being red,it is called Old Injin Face,” and well worth seeing, thought I. Je were encamped at the Marcy Brook, (a little stream rising in the Panther Gorge, between Mount Tahawus or Marcy, and Haystack, the mountain , close adjoining) and about five miles from the two Ansable Ponds lying north from our camp toward the Keene Flats. We had just made the ascent and descent of Taha- wus, the Sky-Piercer, of which more at some future time. We lingered by the lovely little stream through the early hours of the morning, listening to ita low melody which had entered into a musical contest with all the lyrists of the woods. Firsta robin entered the field. He warbled for a half hour a8 loud as his mottled throat could well be strained te ct, I was fearful a dead robin with a cleft rould be the final result. But it was of no 8 brook kept up its low music as pertina- ; a black-fly its sting of a warm, moist D ng. bet pause of the robin’s song which he th the purr, purr of the stream woukd the robin gave up in despair and flew the saucy little brook then swelled out murmurs in yietory! I really thought it ht a new dribble in its bright arms, and was its descant with its own. Then came a What a clatter to be sure. How the feath- y did bray! And every time he brayed he eon-wing. At first the stream was { persistence on its part at last prevailed, finding itself conquered in spite of its iself off. Then a Saranac nightin- i I, you’ve met your match at last, lit- tf tle woods! Now the real contest, the faee began. Clear, bold, brilliant, tightingale rang through the forest, the monotone of the stream. Clear. choed the notes. Still the brook 106 | irtened. Out it poured its low, ee memory mingling with it, and of f1 ds and home. But the superb song bé queen of green leaves would I fear have been too much for the naiad, had not at the moment I was about to fling a laurel-leaf toward the pine where the little minstrel sat, a stone rolled from the scamper ‘of arabbit clicked into the stream and created a water-break. How that water-break did purl! It completely disconcerted the nightingale and a sudden cessation of music in the -pine told the triumph on the part of the brook. I flung the leaf into the brook, which immediately wafted it to a fairy cove, where it anchored itself probably for the summer. > was on the point of slipping from the dizzy pathway into the seething waters below, the lightnuings would show a branch extending a friendly hand for my grasp, and open a timely cleft for my cling. We conquered the ascent at length, and stood upon the summit, and a terrific scene was presented. Up soared the mountains fitfully seen by the frequent leaps of the lightnings, and downward far downward tumbled, and writhed, and dashed be deep waters of the Acheron-like caldron set within those mountains as the black insect lurks in the globe of the yellow water-lily. Leo produced a stout rope sfrom his waist, knotted it under his arm-pits, and then lashed it to a deep crevice of the rock. Then, with another keen war- whoop, he sprang from the rock, flourishing his knife and tomahawk in either hand. All this, seen by the almost stationary blaze of the skies, was startling to the last degree, and I shuddered and shouted as the rope jerked to the falling weight with a sullen sound. Leo, as he descended to the full length of the rope, caught with the agility of a wild-cat upon the projec- tions of the crag forming the features of the giant face, and then commenced a sight wild, fearful, and exciting to the uttermost to my fancy. Up and around the features of the face the Indian clung and bounded, as none but an Indian could, waving his Weapons around his form with quick flashes, and crooning a war-song, interrupted frequently by loud- ringing whoops. For one lingering half hour we saw this wild warrior pay his strange, mysterious rites flooded with the red glare of the storm, although now and then, but rarely, his shape was swallowed in the darkness. He then ascended by means of the rope, and once more stood by our side. Bart said nothing, neither did I. Awe kept me silent, some- thing akin toit, him. Neither did Leo speak. We all descended the rock and embarked again in the pos ode As we did so, the rain, so long delayed, as is frequently the case in these mountain-regions, tumbled. So furious wasits fall it flattened thé swells so as to render our progress comparatively easy. Our Tee was a deserted log-hut at the foot of the pond. We soon reached it, hauled the dug-out on the bank, and found ourselves sheltered in the shanty for the night. Allthrough that night the tempest raged. About midnight we were awakened by a sound sterner than the thunder comingfrom the acclivity above the cabin. We rushed out. There, bathed deep in the lightning, we saw a torrent of plunging trees and rolling rocks, tumbling, as it seemed, upon us. “A land-slide! a land-slide!” shouted Bart. As he thus exclaimed, I saw the fearful torrent.split asunder. Our cabin stvod upon a mound or hillock. At the head of this hillock, the flood divided, and in two awful forks or branches thundered harmlessly past us, and plunged into the pond. High leaped the waters, scattering their spray even to where we stood, the crash of the plunging slides, overpowering for the moment the peals of the accompanying thun- der. The nest and the waters tumbled only to the tempest. Thanking God for our deliverance, we re entered the cabin and slept until morning. We found the dug-out safe, it having been placed under a shelv- ing rock, and with vivid memories of the scenes on my part, so lately witnessed, we returned to the foot of Tahawus ‘‘The Piercer of the Sky.” + © The Great Wonders Around Us. NUMBER TWENTY-THREE. BY PROFESSOR RUDOLPH. WONDERS OF THE OCEAN. In our last two articles, we described the wondrous- ly-beautiful “phosphorescence of the sea” and its cause. In this article we come to what will probably prove far more startling to most readers, because not so generally known. » It is well understood by all that the waters of the ocean are intensely salt, and have also a peculiar bitter taste, and that avery small quantity will pro- duce nausea. Few, however, are aware that besides this salt, there are also VARIOUS METALS IN THE WATERS OF THE OCEAN, We have already noticed the vast quantities of lime from which all shells are more or less formed, and which few suspect to be of metallic origin. Never- 7 eae ren nent eee teemery claim the five hundred dollars; and if it dun’t come Tm going to sue Hoover for it.” ‘But that is not what makes you lame, is it?” ‘“‘Wicherby’s Wizuard’s Sure Cure for Rheumatism is responsible for that. I had rheumatism in my knee- cap, and Iapplied six bottles of the Sure Cure with- out any result. Wicherby encouraged me to continue, and before I was half through the eighth bottle [ had rheumatism in both legs, in the small of my back, in my chest, in my left shoulder, and in both elbows. I began to have occasional twinges in my neck. One more bottle of Wicherby’s Sure Cure would have made me ache out loud, sv’s you could have actually yea that rheumatism for half a mile on a still day.” “Did you complain to Wicherby ?” “No; he left townfor the summer. Gone to the White Mountains. But I have engaged an energetic and experienced murderer to go up there after him with a soot era and if you see in the papers that Wicherby, the Sure Cure man, has been assassinated, you will understand that [’ve got even with him. And now I must say good-morning. I’m going down to take out a warrant for a man who sold me a liver- pad filled with sawdust. Billerton isis name. I’m going to take the law on him!” And then Mr. Cripps hobbled off down the street, looking like a complete ruin. o~< AN AWKWARD MISTAKE. BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES. “T never thought to die and leave her penniless. I never thought——” And here a sharp, sudden spasm seemed to take away the voiceof the dying man; he gasped for breath, and his wandering fingers seemed to grope blindly in the dark, while little Juliet burst out into sobs, as she clung wildly round his neck, Mr. and Mrs. Montague Aylesford looked blankly at one another. Mr, Aylesford took snuff. Mrs. Ayleés- ford untied the bonnet strings that seemed moment- arily to choke her “Tt can’t be-——”’ hesitated Mrs, Aylesford, in a low tone, with an inquiring elevation of her eyebrows. “Tt must be,” nodded her husbahd, And Juliet Dallas, throwing herself wildly upon the corpse that amoment age had been her living, loving father, cried out: ‘Dead! dead! Oh, bring him back to life, some one! Don’t let them take him away from me!” And then the poor child fainted. ' “My dear,” said Mr Montague Aylesford to his wife, “I’m afraid this is a bad business.” “My dear,” said Mrs, Montague Aylesford to her husband, *‘we have been under 4 mistake all along.” And they rang the bell for the hotel chambermaid to come and “look after” the forlorn young orphan! For Mrs. Aylesford, who had ‘dearest,” and ‘darl- ing,” and “sweetest oned” poor Juliet for the last three days, under the impression that sue was an embryo heiress, had suddenly grown cold since Digby Dallas’ dying speech had produeed so different a con- vietion in her mind, “Do you think that we are under any speciai obli- gation to take charge of her?’’ Mrs. Aylesferd asked, on the day of the funeral, when poor Juliet sat in her deep mourning weeds, alone in the room in which her father had died. Mr. Aylesford looked dubious. He had just been examining the papery of the deceased. “Tam convinced, my dear,” he said, “that we have been kept systematically in the dark as to my cousin Digby’s affairs. He allowed us—wickedly allowed u as Imay say—to-sappose him a man of wealth, an here he has actually had the—the presuniption, my dear—to go and die, and leave a great girl on our hands! A girl to be fed, and clothed, and educated, and—and all sorts of things, Mrs. Aylesford!” But in this account of the existing state of affairs, Mr. Montague Aylesford entirely omitted to mention that he had burried from a distant part of the coun- try to his relative’s dying bedside, without any suim- mons—there he had volunteered of his own accord to take the pretty young orpban in charge, and there he had fawned on Captain Dallas after the most obse- quious manner, firmly believing in his wealth. And now, #fter all, to be disappointed—it was a bitter cup to quaff! “Tt’s the most unheard of thing that ever trans- pired within my knowledge,” said Mrs. Aylesford. theless, it is true that lime is nothing but the oxide of calcium, that is, the rust of calcium, just as the oxide of iron is simply the rust of iron. | Now calcium is a soft white metal, softer, indeed, | than lead, and can be cut with a common knife as | easily as raw wax, and worked or molded by the | fingers like putty. It can be obtained by. chemical process from the waters of the ocean, and is used only for scientific purposes. So again the metal potassiun:, fron which potassa or potash is produced, exists im great quan- tities in sea-water, and like calcium is soft, and plas- tic in the hand like putty. These twe metals have the very extraordinary pro- perty of taking fire the moment they are thrown into ice-cold water, or, even when placed on ice itself. They are used—particularly patassium—in perform- ing that striking experiment of lighting a candle witb an icicle, described in a former article. This remarka- ble substance—poetassium—is readily and abundantly obtained from the ashes of certain sea-weeds, par- ticularly from kelp, which is burned im large quanti- ties for this purpose. So also iron is dissolved in the same way, in the ocean, and in enormous quantities. But what will surprise the reader, perhaps, more than all, is the faet that SILVER EXISTS IN FHE WATERS OF THE OCEAN, and in large quantities. Indeed, from what has been already extracted, it is evident that THOUSANDS OF TONS OF THIS METAL are to-day dissolved in the waters of our globe. Con- siderable quantities have been often obtained by chemists, but the process is so expensive that it does We then started for the ponds. The trail led over the slope of Haystack. Although - only the instep of the wild mountain, the barrier proved tiresome and rough. The declivity was steep, and tasked my strength. , It was deep in the afternoon ere we heard the hum of the “Shanty Brook” prophesying our approach to the upper Ansable pond, the first to be met in our route. At length the smooth, beautiful waters shone be- fore us in response to the sunset shining in the west. Vast mountains lowered around the pond, inclosing itlikeacup. We here took our evening meal prepar- atory to our walk to the Lower Ansable, one mile dis- tant. So deep lies the pond that the evening shadows were trembling over the scene long before the sun sets to the world outside. The gleam that rimmed the upper edge of the mountain goblet shone the level ray in the Keene valley, telling the kine only to begin their browse homeward, and saying to the dew that there was time enough yet to commenee crystal- lization. As the last glow vanished a deeper shadow dimmed the heavens than that caused by the twilight. It was evident a thunder-storm was on the wing. Faint glances of lightning touched at long intervals the wild mountain landscape, and played upon the lake as is the Upper Ansable. A mutter was now and then likewise audible as the Tahawus was at his evening prayer. An unnatural calm brooded, the aspen was still, and the tip of the white pine stood erect as if it were a finger of rock. The red berries of the moose-missee, or mountain-ash, were repeated in the glassy waters like clusters of rubies without a ruffie. A night of storm without doubt. But Leo determined to pay his vows to the red medicine of the rock this very night, so we determined to accom- pany him. We accordingly sallied forth on the trail toward the Lower Ansable, lighted by the fitful torch of the coming tempest. It was night before we reached our goal. The storm was evidently at hand, for the woods com- menced to throb, and at last to groan, asif in antici- pation of stern trouble ahead. We consumed some ime in searching for the dug-out. We at last found it in a thicket of alders, and embarked. The storm by this time had burst in lightning, thunder, and blast. The black waters of the Ansable turned white, seen as the storm launched his red, terrible tongue from his sable lair, and the thun- ders, as they rang and echoed along the scene, seemed like the voices of the mountains in auguest co flict. upon the pond. thought our clumsy, narrow dug-out would be swamped every: moment, but the skill with which Bart and Leo managed the hatchet-hallowed log, the hunter at the oars, and the Indian with the paddle, reassured my doubtful fancies. The lightnings were not rapid, so the scene scowled in the deepest blackness for several minutes, and then would bound out te the sulphury glare, as if in eonvulsions. Our progress was slow, for the wind Was against us, and I knew no more where we were roing than if I were laboring under a nightmare. I eard the deep roaring of the woods all round and above me, mingled with the hollow crash of the swells as they foamed about us. Ait last a glare opened asif the pit had been rent sagunder, rendering its fierce flame Visible. A belting rock started out of the blackness, and cut upon the erimson gleam, glanced full upon me the stern like- mess of a facé looking like some demon unloosed from the pit for our destruction, It was awful, fearful, the first glance at those fea- tures! I shuddered and shrank bank, giving an in- voluntary cry. “Old Ingin face!” ejaculated Bart, calmly, while Leo uttered a war-whoop which rang over the wild landscape like the shriek of some wretch wrestling with the tumbling’ waters. The next moment the dug-out dashed into a cove, seen by the lightning, and we disembarked. The lightnings were now more frequent and vivid, and the thunders rolled and crashed as if to cleave the scene into fragments. As yet no rain had fallen. Lighted by the stern lantern of the skies. we began the ascent of a steep, rugged rock, clinging to the fis- We soon left the crooked channel and launched | The swells rolled so heavily I} not compensate the operator. Bhe time may come, however, when, with improved chemical processes, the ocean may become the most productive silver mine in the whole world. In these processes, proba- bly, electricity may play an important part. his metal, or rather its oxide, is dissolved in the water by the aid of acid springs in some parts of the world which find their way from various quarters into the ocean. Indeed we can hardly suppose that, as the waters cover about three-quarters of the earth’s surface, they are not destined to serve far more important purposes for man than they have yet accomplished. > Who can tell what rich stores are treasured up in its depths awaiting the progress of science to de- velop? Who can conjecture what latent forces may be operating throughout their vast domain, and be even now on the eve of discovery—forces that will do more for mankind than even electricity and its eog- nate force, magnetism, have ever done for us? Cer- tajn it is that all the uses of this vast expanse have not yet been ascertained, but that more startling ex- hibitions of the wisdom and power of the Creator are yet to be made known to us fromits profounder depths. The man is to be pitied who can look upon its majestic heavings, its vast expanse, and resistless force, and not experience a feeling of awe, while he regards all these as only foreshadowings of the in- conceivably greater power of their Creator, WHY CRIPPS SUFFERED. BY MAX ADELER. “Why, Cripps, what.on earth isthe matter?” ex- claimed Bodley, as he met him upon the street. Mr. Cripps presented the appearance of a man who had undertaken to engage in a prize-fight, and had thrown up the sponge at the end of the three thous- and four hundred and eighty-seventh round. He was in a general condition of bang and bung and batter. “Matter!” replied Mr. Cripps. “What’s the matter withme? You wait until I meet the manufacturer of Butterwick’s “ Oleaginous Scalp Balsam and Nourisher for the Hair,” and ’'ll inform him what’s the matter with me.” “Had a fight with him, eh?’ “No, sir; I believed in him, that’s all. Believed the lies he published in the papers. And he’s not the only one. There’s a whole lot of others just as bad. Why, you know that my hair began to come out, and Butterwick’s advertisement induced me to buy four bottles of his Oleaginous Nourisher. The first bottle rooted the hair out by the handful. By tht time I got “But, of course, we can’t be held responsible; and it’s my duty to-tell the. girt so, at once, and prevent | seasons in a locality with a temperate climate. Seal-brown, “ “Eh” cried Mr. Aylesford, “Mr. Richard Dallas is quite mistaken,” said Mrs, Aylesford, tossing her head and smoothing down an invisible crease in her black silk dress. ‘‘Cousin Dig- by died without leaving——” “He died le.ving a fortune of a hundred thousand dollars to his girl,” interrupted Mr. Dallas, ‘‘of which I happen to be the trustee.” Mr. and Mrs. Montague Aylesford exchanged as- tounded glances. Could it be that they had so woe- fully misinterpreted the last untinished sentence of the dying man? Was Juliet an heiress after all? and bas phey, the wealth worshipers, defeated their own ends But it was in vain to retrace their footsteps now. Mr. Dallas, evidently put in possess of the facts of the case by his niece, treated the worthy couple with ill-concealed contempt when next they met, and took Juliet away with him within a week to complete her education in Europe. And the Montague Aylestorde had the satisfaction of knowing that they had made a fatal mistake. pligpg ——— itt The Ladies’ | Work-Box. Edited by Mrs. Virginia Ingram. “A Mother’ asks, if there is not some simple yet grace- ful model by which she can make a school costume for her daughter, whose age is twelve years? We have seen sev- eral very pretty models from which we select the following one: It re-introduces the yoke waist, and is formed of lawn. The yoke of the waist is tucked, and is plainly joined to gathered bala Serge which lend a graceful roundness to the figure, without at the same time provim uncomfortable. It closes at the back, and may be sew to the overskirt belt for convenience in the adjustment of the two, if desired. The sleeves have considerable full- ness in the outside seam, and are finished at the bottom with two plaitings of the material. The model is No. 6,064, and is in eight sizes for misses from ¢ight to fifteen years of age, price 20 cents. The overskirt is cut from model] 6,653, price 25 cents. The skirt is four-gored, and may be trimmed to suit the fancy of the person making it, either a Spanish flounce or with a plaiting. This model is No. 6,527, prices 25 cents. “Eveline,” Boston, Mass.—lst. A black Spanish lace | basque, made up over pale blue foulard silk, will be pretty pand dressy for evening wear with your silk skirts. There are also charming casaquias of, white India muslin, trimmed with Breton lace that would answer. These are merely long sacques eaught up in the seams on the sides and behind, and worn with a wide sash of watered or satin ribbon knotted before, behind, or on the left side. Plaited waists are rather too negligee for your purpose, as they are most used with morning dresses. 2d. Undressed.kid gloves, lisle-thread with clocked wrists, and lace mitts, are used for chairch this summer. 3d. Blue bunting will be pretty with your gray wool dress. 4th. The Mask, with the atcompanying Lotions, will remove freckles. Price $3. Send to the NEW YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency. “Housekeeper.”—Ist. Yes. Wecan seng you the “Royal Baking Powder” upon receipt of 60 cents. 24. We believe it to be perfectly pure, it is made from grape cream of tar- tar, imported exelusively for this powder from the wine district of France. It 1s sold in eans by all grocers. A pound can mailed to any address, postage paid, on receipt of 60 cents. 3d. Yes. Most cheap powders contain alum ; dangerous to health; avoid them, especially when offered loose in the bulk. | 4th. The Royal Baking Pov der is never sold except in tin eans. 5th. The little book, “Baking Maste Easy,” is in pamphlet form, and we can send it to | Mamnma. catia THE NEW YORK’ WEEKLY. °¢ * She vas goin yun vay un 80 vere we. Der vas dwenty-eight beoples on dot train vat vas haf nodding more to say afder we met der cow. Der cornductor vas very quiet too; he vas rebosin’’ peside der smoke-stack, vere it vas plown two milesh avay, yo..st as though nodding vas happen. Some beoples tole me afterward dot der cow vas haf no puziness on der railroad. But vy didn't dey say dot to der cow’s face ? LANB. ‘ A Very Dirty Soldier. The dirtiness of the Afghan soldier is proverbial, and it is said, that upon one occasion, General Ro- berts captured a Mongol, who was 80 preternatyrally dirty, that it was thought necessary, for the safety of the whole camp, that he should be washed. Two nen were told off for this RuEpoee, They stripped lim and scrubbed him with formidable brushes and a large ae of black soap for two hours, at the end of which they threw down their brushes in disgust, and went to their colonel. “What is it, men?’ “Well, sir, we’ve washed that Afghan for two hours, but it was no good, After scrubbing him, sir, till our arms were like to break, blest if we didn’t come upon another suit of clothes.” An Ingenious Cook. A worthy lady advertised for a plain cook, and sey- © eral persous applied for the situation. Owing to her fastidiousness, however, none of them seemed*to suit her requirements; butatthe “eleventh hour’ a maiden from the Emerald Isle made application. In reply to a question whether she was able to do plain cooking, she gave an affirmative answer, adding : “The plainer the bethor for me.” Atter being further tested in an oral manner, the good lady said: ‘“‘My husband likes his meai boiled, and I like mine pasted, Now, if you had a fowl to cook, how would you do?” “Please, ma’am,” said the girl, “I wud roast it forst, an’ you could ate your share; then I wud boil what you left for the musther.” . Playing the Monkey. A South Norwalk (Conn,) physician a few days ago was overhauling an electrical machine, and, after yutting it in order, turned the crank to test it. His ittle duughter wanted to help. so he told her to turn and he would hold the handles. The child did her part well, and the current of eiectricity was so strong that the doctor’s jands shook as though he had an attack of the ague. The next day the little girl asked | her father to let her “play the hand-organ again.” “Hand-organ?” said the doctor, in an inquiring tone of voice, ‘‘I didn’t know that you ever played a hand-organ.” “Oh, yes, [did, yesterday and you was the monkey.” . A Popular Waltz. An amusing reply was given by an American girl who, while at a London ball, strayed away from the ball-room. Her mother subsequently discovered her | in a remote nook with a gentleman, who had his arm around her waist, while she rested the tips, of her pretty little fingers on his manly shoulder. “Daughter, what’s all this?” exclaimed the irate The daughter looked up ealmly, ays replied: “Mamma, allow me to introduce Captain & to ioe. I had promised him a dance, but I was so tired hat I couldn’t keep my word, and Ym just giving him a sitting-still waltz instead.” , any of our readers upon reeeipt of ten eents. } “An Old Reader.’’"—1st. Cashmere is a fabric worn at all } ashes-of-roses, coffee-tint, plum-eolor, or garnet, will be bé- coming tea young lady with dark or light complexion. 24. | Your brown silk is in good style once more, and will do very well made up with dark seal-brown sitk, but will be | more stylish if you use it fora lewer skirt, vest, and sleeves | of an almond or tan-colored wool or grenadine polonaise, | any of the new models. 3d. The “Ladies Guide | made b, to Needlo-work,” bound in paper, will cost you 50 cents.a | copy ; in cloth, $1. Wecan send it to any address, postage | paid by us. “Mrs. D. P.," Virginia City, Nev.—Ist. Black French | bunting, or else grenadine, for a Marie Antoinette panier | polonaise will be stylish to wear with the black silk skirt. | Trim with jet fringe, or the polonaise may be cut from | pattern No. 6,645; this mode) is im eireular shape, and ig any misunderstanding on the subject.” he rang the bell and ordered a servant to tell Miss Dallas to attend her in the blue parlor. Juliet came—a fair, shrinking young creature, soft blue eyes, a rose-fair complexion, and features east after the pure Grecian type, straight, clean-cut and aristocratic. Her dress of eep black was plain, yet became her like that s ef a royal princess, and a jet cross suspended rou raulabaster throat upon a black velvet ribbon, was alk the ornament she wore. “Juliet,” said Mrs. Montague Aylesford, sourly. The orphan glanced timidly up. She could not eomprehend why Mrs. Aylesford’s tone had so radi- cally changed teward her during the last twenty-four ours. “Yes, Mrs. Aylesford” ¢ “Mr. Aylesford and I ‘have been talking your sad ease over. It ts nothing extraordinary—in fact, it occurs every day, and you muy as well follow the ex- ample of others, in a like predicament, and @ecide at ence what you will do.’” Juliet looked a little surprised. ore she hesitated,. *that I was to live with u ” Mrs. Aylesford compressed her lips. “Of course, you cannot expeet to eat the bread of idleness,” she enmnciatel.. “Mr. Aylesford and I are merely distant relations. That we have kindly in- terested ourselves in you so far,is more tham eould have been expected. Don’t stare so,” she added, with some irritation in her voice and manner. “Is there anything so very extraordinary in what I have been saying?’ “F think there is,” Juliet said, im a sort of ehoked voice. “T think yr She checked herself, but her eyes were brimming over with tears, and her lip une, ; “f do wish you wouldn’t make: such a baby of your- self!” said Mrs. Aylesford, sharply. “Look the mat- ter straight in the face at once; you will Lave to do so, sooner or later. Mr. Aylesford finds by an exami- nation of all oe ae your deeeased father has left,”’—Juliet sh ered inyoluntarily, as if some ernel hand had been laid on an exposed nerve—‘‘that all the property you will inherit amounts to only a hundred or two of dollars, and you will be eompelled te do something to earn an honest living at once. Mr. Aylesford and F certainly shall not support you. Cap- tain Dallas must have been improvidert and extrava- gant to the last degree, not te——” But Juliet’s pallid face and upraised hand checked Mrs. Aylesford’s farther speech. “Hush!” the orphan cried, passionately. “You shall not cast the shadow ef ene reproachful word upon my dear dead father’s memory. He was too noble and too good fer one like you to comprehend his nature! He 7 But here she stopped, the breath fluttering on her lips, like a wounded bird. “Upon my word!’ Mrs. Aylesford ejaculated, bristling up, and turning searlet, “l might have ex- ected this impertinence, but I will not endure it fami a penniless beggar like you. Go te your room at once, Juliet Dallas, and remain their until I and } | 4 extraordinary and unlooked for state of things.” And Juliet obeyed, weeping in solitude the bitter- had ever known. - Not until the next day did Mr. and Mrs. Montague Aylesford deign to announce their final decision in the matter. “There is a lady here,” said the former, sonorously clearing his throat, “who wants a well-bred and lady- like young person, not altogether without education, to take charge of her four little girls. The wages— ahem, I mean the salary—wiil be of course small, at first, but the position is unexceptionably genteel, and I think, my dear,” with a sidelong glance at his wife, “that our young relative could searcely do better than to accept it.” But Juliet shook her head with quiet dignity. “TI do not think,” she said, ‘‘that papa would have been willing for me to assume a menial place.” “Mrs. Aylesford rolled up her small blue eyes in holy horror, and elevated her hands to correspond. “A menial place! Your papa! Well, [ showld like to know what some people expect! live upon Mr. Aylesforc But yor won't and myself, that I ean pro- through with the fourth bottle I was bald as a water- melon, and my head, which was swelled up to the | size of a beer Keg was red as fire and all covered with | lumps as large as door-knobs. And just when I was | at the worst Butterwick sent an agent around to get | | me to give him a certificate that the Oleaginous | Nourisher was what it is represented to be.” “You refused, of course ?”” “T tried to brain the agent with the fourth bottle, but. it missed him. Just at the time when I began with Butterwick’s poison I undertook to use Parker’s Balm of Indiana Dentifrice to cure soreness of my mouth. I don’t want to speak harshly of Parker, but if I ever encounter him I will explain my views to him with a elub. Look at my mouth! only three teeth left! Gone, sir, gone! Parker’s Balm of Indi- ana swooped ’em out just as a fifteen-inch ball goes throw a row of ten pins. If you ever want to get rid of atooth don’t have it pulled. Touch it with the cork or the butt end of one of Parker’s bottles and it will fly out of your mouth as if your jaw was loaded with blasting-powder.” “Ts that what blistered your cheeks and chin so ?” “Ob,no! Thatwas done by Dr. Hoover’s Elixir for the Beard. You know I never had any beard worth speaking of and so I thought I would stimulate its growth with Hoover’s Elixir, which was warranted, under penalty of five hundred dollars, to produce beard and mustache on the smoothest face within six weeks. I first tried for a mustache, but the only effect was to make my upper lip stand out like a front door- step; and when I applied the Elixir to my cheeks they puffed out so that they buried my ears. As the sures and swinging by the bushes, Oiten while I mise you!” “T would die soonerthan eat a morsel of your bread!’ Juliet answered, defiantly. “Tt’s a great deul easier to talk about dying than it is to die!’ said Mr. Aylesford, acidly. “And what, may Task, do you propose to do?” “T don’t know,” Juliet said, growing pale as the ntter loneliness of her position flashed itself upon her. ‘Papa telegraph last week to my Unelo Richard——” “Exactly so!” interrupted Mr. Aylesford, with a countenance of intense relief. ““Your Unele Richard, to be sure—the very person to take charge of you. Only I supposed he was off somewhere on the other sile of the globe.” Juliet supposed 80, too, especially as no answer had as yet arrived to tlic summons of the dying man; but she said nothing, only stood with drooping head, clasped hands, and lily-pale face. At this very moment the door swung swiftly open, and a short, stout man, With a shining bald head and a bro ized face, strode into the room. “Ha—my niece !” he said, abriiptly. “And my Cous- in Aylesford and her husband? So poor Digby has one, eh? But Tecouldn’t get here an hour sooner. ’ve traveled day an night—day and night.” As he spoke the words he took Juliet unceremoni- ously in his arms and kissed her. “IT know by experience, my dear,” he said,in a tone gentler than his brown face and brusque man- ner would lead one to anticipate, ‘what it is to be left an orphan; but in your case you have the advan- tage of wealth to smooth the road of life. ZF was beard has not grown I have written to Dr, Hoover to poor.” | ous use of food. } Mr. Aylesford have had time to talk ever this very | ment.” | est tears that she, a tender father’s spoiled darling, | | Purchasing Agence also well adapted. for washable goods. Price of pattern:| 30 cents, 2d. A eran Hille shoulder cape, which wilt | be as popular fer light gBods as for dark ones, and fer thin sterial twenty-two inthes | time, and almost as hurtful as indiscriminate and continu. | It is much better to read ‘i few of the | very best_ books, than a great many poor ones. 2d. The:| fashionable way of wearing the hair—that is, combed straight back with a fringe across the front, and tied ‘iow in a thick braid or curts—is as becoming a way ax you can find for a full face.. 3d. Garnet silk would eombine with | gray stripe very handsemely. ‘ “Mrs. H.,” New Haven, Ct.—Ist.. The prettiest and sing | plest way of making up pereales for girls-of ten and four. } teen is with two skirts and a blouse waist, belted in. 24a. A complete box of decaicomanie material). imcluding pic: | tures, costs two dollars. 3d.The Chiropedin is in boxes | of two sizes, price 25 and 50 cents per box: 4th. The Rose | Wine is the best remedy for removing pimples and black- heads, price $1 per botthe. The NEW YORK WEEKLY ehasing Agency will sen@ it to you. “A. L. E.,” Worcester, Afass.—lst. Get plain grenadine for a basque, and trim yeur overskirt around, if you like, | putting the bias flounees. up the baek breadths, or else | ar the overskirt in the front breaths. as: high wp as they | will go, 2d. The Pinafore sailor sacque is suitable for | your little girl. 3d. Get am Ulster of slender shape made of homespun cloth in irregular dim plaids of gray or brown. 4th. Fichu mantles are worn by girlsof sixteen. | “J. R.,” Providence, R. I.—Persons destimed to be thin, | are constructed in an elongated shape. They generally | have thin hands and ‘feet, skinny legs, not. mach flesh about the lower part of the body, their ribs visible, an uiline osne, ee ere eyes, a large mouth, pointed chin, and brown hair. Suchisthe general type. Seme portions of the body may escape this description, butrarely. “Mrs. C. S.,’’ Chicago, IN.—Thank you: fer your kindly praise of the “Chirepedin,” and we are glad that it helped your corn. You will-find that it is equally as i fora glove powder, and also a face powder: It cools the face and gives it a delightfully fresh feeling,.if applied when one is warm and cevered with perspiration. “H. C. D.”—The “Magic Reinette’” is. the best remedy that we know of to dispel wrinkles. Price $1 per bottle. The NEW YORK WEEKLY Purehasing Ageney will send it to you ppon reciept of price. We cannot send it through the mail, as the post-office laws. prohibit sending any liquids throug’ the poss office. “Miss Cora Lee,” Stanwich, Ct.—The only way to re. ceive the goods will be to have them sent by express—in case of delay or loss they can be recovered; but if sent Pur- through the mail, we are not responsible if the goods are | not received. “Anna.”’—Gold and silver jewelry could be worn te gether in the way you mention. There is nothing arbitra- ry in rules which prohibit jewelry oa the street; itisa matter of taste ané convenience. See “Etiquette Depart- “J. C. M.,” Centerville, low2.—There are several meth- ods of cutting dresses. The eheapest and the easiest is probably Madame Demorest’s. It will cost you $3. We can send it fo you upon receipt of the price, postage free. “Eddie,’’ Millersburg.—Send te the NEW YORK WERBKLY y, the sum of $1, and we will send you the Velvet Cream. You cansend the money either in a registered letter or post-office order. —>-@~<+—_______- Pleasant Paragraphs. Most of our readers are undoubtedly capabie of contrib- toward making this column an attractive feature of EW YORK WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by send- ine oe ublication anything which may deemed of suificient interest for general perusal. It is not necessary that the articles should be Seen, in scholarly style; so long as they are pithy, and likely to afford amusement, minor defects will be remedied. } ‘Owed to a Mother-in-Law.” Gaze upen these sunken eyeballs, And these weary feet so sore, Then retiect, for all these troubles Came ugh taking a mother-in-law. Think! young man, before you venture In upon this field of war, Or you, too, may some day tremble At the name of mother-in-law. ut the Don't be gulled by soft persuasions, Scores have fell that way before, When they once have caught you safely, Then you'll feel the mother-in-law.” Look around and find an orphan, One that parents never saw, And you'll bless the day we told you All about a mother-in-law. Should you disregard this warning, And to our ranks add still one more, You deserve whatever befalls you At the hands of a mother-in-law. She Vas Coming. I vas on der train, mine frou un T; un dot train vas trgflin bout a hooner milesh a minute. ; Vas @ ’scursion train, bound from Pitehburg to Fran Sancisco, We vere all literary beoples, un der i yet?” textures as for heavy fabrics, is cut from pattern Ne. 63648 Puller, with ¢ Price 20 cents. It regjnires of m: | Wide, on@ yard an@s fourth, for a pers@n of mbdium size ° ° } ““s. D.,” San Francisco, Cal.—Ist. Indiscriminate read- | | ime is of very little value—in faet, it is a great waste of | A Romance. ‘ = It was night. The sable goddeas had stretched her leaden scepter over, the silent,slumbering werld, and they were still swinging on the eld fropt gate. He had placed his arm around her gracetul waist, and drew her closer to his throbbing breast to protect her from the falling dews of heaven. Her head was rest- img on his strong, manly shoulderg, and the love-light was shining in her lustrious eyes “as bright as the head-light of a locomotive. He looked her earnestly m the eyes, and passionately murmured * . “Jemima, is your folks had a niess of sprin > ® yy N : Punishmeit After Death) Mr. Jobn Fuller saw wtog worrying aud killing the _—- of an Trish neighbor, Mr. Dooley, the other aay. if 5 a a He snatched up an old Quegn’s Arm yausket of his, and shot the dog, in the act, so dead it hever kicked. But Dooley ran for the dog, and with a huge elub Weean'to pound it. “Why do you do that * The dog is dead!” said Mr. . . & peas No 'U.” - “Little de I eare for that, sir?” said he.” « the baste there’s a punishifient after death.” The Miser’s Present. A certain old gentleman, very rich and sult more stingy, isin the habit of. wearing his elothes to the last thread. boulevard, exelaimed :. “Mon Dieu! they told me that you had a new hat, | and T’ll be hanged if you haven't !’”’ “Oh, ¥es,” said the miser, looking as if he were a trifle ashamed of himself, “you see my wife kept tell: ing me that the old one was a geod deal worn out. Well, yesterday was my wife’s birthday, andI got myself a uew hat for he? birthday present.” * A Hungry Man.. A countryman, seating himself at a fashtonable restaurant with the intention of taking a hearty dinner, summoned a waiter and made known his purpose. The latter skipped briskly away, and finally returned with a handsomely bound bill éf fare, whieh , he opened and placed before the euest, who, pushing | it away, seornfully observed: n of “Oh, conse Row, you can’t cram no literature’dews — me; Vittals is what I waut—vittals—agd purty darned — quick,. too.”* Truth Mast be Wace | thered in tears in thé anteroom to — They had weep overa discuss the virtues of the Leautiful Mme. de B.,. eut_off in the flower of her age, whose body lay in the adjoining apartment. “What a pity,” said a sympathizing friend, “for her tg die in the flower of her age, at twenty-eight!” *‘Thirty,” said a cousin of the deceased, and, bury-_ ing her face im her handkerchief, gave way to a.iresh burst of grief Three of a Kind. A coflege: professor, while on his way to Mott Ha- ven, by the Hartem railroad, with his wife and an- other lady, was joined by afriend. Turning to the lady with him, the professor said : y “What shall F do? Ihave only three tickets, this gentleman makes our party four.” “Oh,” said the lady, “give the three tickets to the conductor. Don’t you, know that three of a kind wilt take two pairs.” - ; An Admirer’s Remedy. A popular eoncert singer, advertised to participate in an entertainment in Arcola, Missouri, excused her absence-on the ground of having a seyere cold in the head, and the next day reeeived the following trom an admirer. “Thiz is gouse-greze; melt it, and rub it on the bridge of y ore noze until cured. I luy you to dis-) traxshun.” A Fellow of Both Sexes. { Among the replies to an advertisement of a musie comunittee for “a candidate as organist, music-teach er,” etc., was the following: “Gentlemen, I noticed your advertisement for o ganist and music-teacher, either lady or gentleman Having been both for several years, I offer you my services.” _A Played-Out Railroad. A locomotive engineer, who had just been dis- charged for some. cause, gave vent to hisspite in way eminently eharacteristic of American hum He said it was about time he left the eompany an how, for the sake of his life, for “there was nothin left of the track but two streaks of rust and the ri of way.” _ A Married Man in Trouble. “Ts married preferable to single life?” was ar ata recent meeting of a Pennsylvania debating | ciety. Only one married man appeared for the ne ative, and he came down to business next day wit his arm in a sling, a green patch over his eye, an a general appearance of having slept out all night: the cellar area. A Question in Mythology. Pe Professor to classical student: ‘“‘You ask, if Atl supported the world, what supported Atlas? Thi question, dear sir, has often been asked, but neve’ so far as [am aware, satisfactorily answered. I hay always been of the opinion that Atlas must hay marricd a rich wife, and got his support from he father.” A Boy’s Conundrum. It is told for a fact that a little flaxen-haired boy five years, who had passed the afternoon at the Bo ays rt Museum, looking up in his mother’s faeé said: | “If the mammas, when they die, turn into mu mies, do all the papas turn into puppies ?” A Scotchman’s Extravagance. © ? Scotchman—‘Here, laddie. Tak this luggage ta the Waverly Hotel, ye ken, and I'll gie ye a ha’per tae yerself.” j Street Boy--“‘Never! How’'ll ye pay it? once, or by installments ?” ; Wonderful! A Pittsburgh paper, in quoting the vital statisti of Philadelphia, says: “Of the births, 7,385 w children.” All ——_—_ > @-< THE impecnnious newspaper “sponge,” who ey: summer is permitted to play a star engagement the “regular correspondent” of some insignitic publication, is now at large, enjoying his annual cation. As his correspondence is usually gratuit train vas full. So vas der engineer un cornductor. arrifed at der Pacific coast ad nine der day pefore | come tissatifacatious mit der plack grass, un started on der railroad track for der East. We left Pitchburg at two o’clock, un we vould bat | only for one ding. } Some fellar vas moofed oud to der Plack Hills mit a cow un de resd auf der family ; un dot cow vas pe- | he expects to get his board ag an equivalent for ! idroit puffing of the hotels which he honors with i presence. Hotel proprietors fear these interlo | as they detest bedbugs, which once permitted to ta up their quarters iu any house, are difficult to lodge. “il show | N. B. a ,you know, when I played 4 ¢ ais / eo We 90 - |" IN ae || &@ | ¥ 7 4 weeassanenans j 4 a) : ee 4 bu Lt 44 Vol. ] = —>== One of his friends, meeting him onthe ~ . or. much of the w Longley is go being your cou: “Not necessa: a smile at the 1 self. ‘My relat than other peop scapegrace, and property, notwi cousin!” And ; “How do you the girl, though “Very well, in well educated, ; be a great addi then he playss “Yes, he does when I was in grand concerts formers with - music—none w be a good man, “So you’ve b good or not, eh that is better tl bright, frank R him!” Amber blushe on the question “As you thin! he said, after a ther not invite “Oh, I want ] enthusiasm. “ Longley said 1 sure she is pret Her name is pre means ‘white,’ perfect darling “You are ne dear,” returned you are warm-h that is required desire it—if she be a fashion-lc have no fears 0! “Oh, but she made up her 1 Was a paragon | have found it for such a belie thy of her nam for I do love form and featu: of mind and so “Very true, y Jobn, looking 1 sight, combine spoke. “‘Ands to what I purps of mine ?” “Object? W. I object, dear p They were in sation when J drawing-room. He had dres able style and i more handsome “Dressed so & “You have pro ry: